The Lost Musicians

By William Heinesen

About Kornelius, the aeolian-harp maker, and his sons

Far out in an ocean that gleams and glitters like quicksilver may be found a small leaden-colored land. In proportion to the immense ocean the size of the tiny mountainous land is like a grain of sand to a ballroom floor. But viewed through a magnifying glass this grain of sand is an entire world, with mountains and valleys, inlets and fjords, and houses with tiny human beings. At one place there is even a complete little old town, with jetties and piers, warehouses, streets, crooked lanes and steep alleyways, gardens and market-places and cemeteries. There is also an old church, situated high above the town; from its steeple there is a view out over the roofs of the houses and beyond-far out over the almighty ocean.

On a windy afternoon many years ago, a man and three boys were sitting in the steeple, listening to the unpredictable music emanating from an aeolian harp. It was Sexton Kornelius Isaksen and his three sons, Moritz, Sirius, and Little Kornelius. The aeolian harp to which they were listening was the very first in a long series to have been built by the sexton; this remarkable man in time became an aeolianharp builder on a very exceptional scale. At one time there were no fewer than seventeen aeolian harps hanging in the steeple and they must have produced music that pierced the listener right to the marrow of his bones.

But we will revert to the day that the magical music from an aeolian harp for the first time reached the ears of the three boys and awakened a strange and ravenous longing in their young souls. Until that time they had not heard any other music than that produced by the old asthmatic organ upon which Lamm the organist was fumbling every Sunday.

"Father, who is playing the aeolian harp?" asked Little Kornelius, who was six years old at the time.

"It´s the wind, of course," answered the oldest brother.

"No, it´s the cherubs, isn´t it, father?" asked Sirius, who, wide-eyed, tried to catch his father´s glance.
The sexton absentmindedly nodded in agreement, and the three boys listened even more breathlessly and with greater abandon. Sitting there, they stared out through the shutters up to the sky and the solitary wind-driven clouds that seemed to have put on an attentive mien, as if they also were listening to the distant music. The three brothers never forgot that strange afternoon, and when Sirius grew up he immortalized it in his poem "Cherubs Were Passing By."

As already mentioned, the building of aeolian harps later got somewhat out of band. Indeed, Kornelius Isaksen was on the whole an immoderate man; he would always get too enthusiastic about some fad or craze and often set himself impossible tasks. And when he did not succeed, he took it very hard, succumbed to melancholy, and not infrequently hit the bottle.

Nevertheless, he was a good and considerate father to his sons. It was his doing, for example, that their musical talents came under the diligent care and supervision of Kaspar Boman.

Kornelius became a widower early in life; as for himself, he attained to an age of a mere thirty-four. Therefore, his three sons were left to their own devices early in life and had to manage as well as they could. But the restless spirit of the builder of aeolian harps lived on in them, and, among other things, manifested itself in their immoderate love of music.



From: The Lost Musicians, Twayne Publishers, Inc., New York 1971

Translated by Erik J. Friis