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古殿殿主
去年，蕭邦國際鋼琴大賽剛辦完第十九屆。每當這時候，台上的評審們與全世界的樂迷都在激烈地討論：「什麼是蕭邦精神？」、「什麼才是正確的蕭邦？」
看著這些比賽，我有時候會忍不住想：我們現在聽到的「完美」，真的是蕭邦當年在巴黎沙龍裡彈琴的樣子嗎？如果我們有一台時光機，回到過去，聽到的聲音會不會完全顛覆我們的想像？
其實，早在1930年的德國柏林，就有人意識到了這件事。當時有一場鮮為人知、但對音樂史至關重要的「搶救行動」。
這場行動的主角，是一位叫做：莫里茲·羅森塔爾 (Moriz Rosenthal,1862-1946) 的老人
而策劃這場行動的人，就是傳奇錄音製作人蓋斯柏格（Fred Gaisberg,1873-1951）。
他們的目標只有一個：
在一切消失之前，搶救下「距離蕭邦本人最近的聲音」。
為什麼他是「活化石」？一條沒斷過的血脈
我們先來聊聊主角，莫里茲·羅森塔爾。
你可以把他想像成武俠小說裡那種身懷絕世武功、卻隱居在市井的老師傅。在1930年，他已經是一位快七十歲的老人了。為什麼蓋斯柏格看著他，會像看到稀世珍寶一樣緊張？
因為他的「師承」實在太嚇人了。
羅森塔爾年輕的時候，跟隨過一位老師叫卡爾·米庫利 (Karol Mikuli,1819-1879)。
如果你對蕭邦有點研究，聽到這個名字應該要起立致敬。米庫利不僅是蕭邦的嫡傳弟子，更是蕭邦晚年的助教。蕭邦生前非常信任他，甚至把許多作品的編輯工作交給他。
換句話說，羅森塔爾是「蕭邦學生的學生」。他從米庫利那裡，直接繼承了蕭邦是怎麼呼吸、怎麼運用手腕、怎麼讓鋼琴「唱歌」的秘訣。
但這還沒完。後來，羅森塔爾又跑去跟隨「鋼琴之王」**李斯特(Franz Liszt,1811-1886)**學習，並且成為李斯特晚年最傑出的門生之一。
所以，羅森塔爾身上流著兩條最頂級的「血液」：
- 蕭邦的靈魂： 繼承了那種如歌般的連奏（Legato）、細膩的語氣。
- 李斯特的骨架： 繼承了那種在大舞台上震攝全場的氣魄、強大的投射力。
到了1930年代，曾親眼見過蕭邦、李斯特那一代大師的人幾乎都凋零了。羅森塔爾，就是那個時代僅存的「最後武士」。
蓋斯柏格的焦慮：搶救即將消失的「宏大風格」
當時著名的錄音製作人蓋斯柏格，敏銳地嗅到了時代的變化。
1930年代，新一代的鋼琴家開始崛起。那一輩的年輕人（也就是現在我們說的老大師）開始追求客觀、精準、忠於樂譜。這當然很好，但在蓋斯柏格眼裡，有一種更古老、更迷人的東西正在消失。
那就是**「宏大風格」（The Grand Manner）**。
蓋斯柏格在當時裡流露出一種急迫感。他說：羅森塔爾坐在鋼琴前，不像是在彈琴，而像是一位帝王在發號施令。那種威嚴、那種把鋼琴彈得像管弦樂團一樣的氣度，是19世紀浪漫派獨有的遺產。
蓋斯柏格心裡很清楚：
「必須在這些老人過世前，把這種『不合時宜』但『絕對正統』的聲音留下來。」
如果不錄下來，等羅森塔爾走了，這條線就斷了。後人就再也聽不到「蕭邦式」的說話方式，只剩下紙上的音符。這就是為什麼我常說，我們在古殿聽的不是黑膠，是「歷史的遺跡」。
於是，在1930年到1931年間，柏林的錄音室裡，誕生了一套偉大的錄音：由羅森塔爾演奏，韋斯曼（Frieder Weissmann）指揮柏林國立歌劇院管弦樂團的《蕭邦第一號鋼琴協奏曲》。
在錄完那首蕭邦協奏曲後，據說羅森塔爾對蓋斯柏格說了一句很霸氣的話：
「現在，你們終於有一張『正確』的蕭邦了。」
他不是在吹牛，他是真心地認為，在他死後，如果沒有留下這份錄音，世界就會忘記蕭邦真正的聲音是什麼樣子。
這不是第一套，卻是「最有意義」的一套
如果你去查資料，嚴格來說，這並不是《蕭邦第一號鋼琴協奏曲》的「世界首錄」。
早在1928年，另一位鋼琴家亞歷山大·布萊勞夫斯基 (Alexander Brailowsky,1896-1976) 就已經和柏林愛樂錄製了這首曲子。那份錄音也很棒，線條乾淨、目標明確，就像是現代鋼琴演奏的先驅。
但為什麼我總是推薦大家聽羅森塔爾這版？
這就像是「打字」跟「書法」的差別。
布萊勞夫斯基的演奏，像是用高品質的打字機打出來的文章，字體清晰、排版工整，把作品推向觀眾，讓你看得一清二楚。
但羅森塔爾的演奏，像是書法大師在揮毫。你會看到墨色的濃淡、筆觸的輕重，甚至能感受到他在寫下這一筆時的呼吸與情緒。他不是把作品推給你，而是:把你也拉進那個作品裡。
在這份錄音裡，羅森塔爾展現了幾樣現代鋼琴比賽裡聽不到的絕學：
1. 像說話一樣的「語氣」
現代人彈琴，有時候太像在執行程式，每顆音都打磨得亮晶晶的，像一串完美的珍珠項鍊。羅森塔爾也像珍珠（他的顆粒感非常迷人，被稱為 pearly articulation），但他不是在展示珠子，他是在用珠子串成一句話。
你在聽的時候，不要去數他有沒有彈錯音（那是電腦在做的事），你要聽他的句子結尾。你會發現，他的句尾會「呼吸」，有時候會嘆氣，有時候會停頓一下，就像我們在跟朋友聊天時，講到激動處會加快，講到感傷處會放慢一樣。
2. 失傳的「彈性速度」（Rubato）
這是全曲的核心，也是蕭邦親傳的秘密。
所謂 Rubato，不是亂彈，不是忽快忽慢讓人暈車。在羅森塔爾的手下，Rubato 是一種極其自然的搖擺。蓋斯柏格在錄音時就驚嘆，這種速度的變化是沒辦法用節拍器量出來的。
這讓我想到現在這個時代，所有東西都在算計、都在追求標準化。但人的情感是不能被量化的。羅森塔爾的琴聲告訴我們：真正的美，往往就在那些無法被精準計算的「微小位移」裡。那種不確定性，才是人味，才是真實。
3. 第一樂章的「霸氣」
現代鋼琴家彈蕭邦第一號，通常會處理得很憂鬱、很陰柔，好像蕭邦隨時都要昏倒一樣。但請你聽聽羅森塔爾，他彈得像個王者！那種力量感與自信，會打破你對蕭邦「柔弱」的刻板印象。
鋼琴家？不，他是個大力士！
說到「力量」，這裡有個超級反差萌的故事，是我最喜歡分享關於羅森塔爾的軼事。
你聽他在唱片裡彈出那麼細膩、如歌的旋律，可能會以為他是個文弱書生。錯了！羅森塔爾其實是一位柔術（Jiu-Jitsu）高手！
在蓋斯柏格回憶中：在錄音室休息的時候，這位老先生不像其他人那樣喝水擦汗，而是喜歡向錄音室裡的年輕人炫耀他的肌肉，甚至跟人比力氣。
蓋斯柏格形容他有**「鋼鐵般的手指」（Iron fingers）**。這解釋了為什麼他在錄音裡，那些八度音技巧（Octaves）能像機關槍一樣又快又大聲，而且穿透力極強。
這給我們一個很棒的啟示：支撐偉大溫柔的，往往是強悍的內在與肉體。
想要在生活裡展現出真正的優雅與從容，你需要先讓自己的身心變得強大。這也呼應了我一直想跟你們分享的觀念——追求身心健康，從自己的生命狀態開始變好，你才能創造出美好的事物。
一位「毒舌」的智者
除了是武術家，羅森塔爾還是一位哲學博士，精通多國語言。
他在當時歐洲可是出了名的「毒舌王」。如果說另一位鋼琴怪傑帕赫曼（Pachmann,1848-1933）是負責搞笑的小丑，那羅森塔爾就是：尖酸刻薄的智者。
他看不起那些只會動手指、腦袋空空的「按鍵匠」。蓋斯柏格說，跟羅森塔爾聊天像是在做智力測驗，他的思維跳躍極快，充滿了機智與諷刺。如果你書讀得不夠多，根本聽不懂他在罵人還是誇人。
這種「有文化的幽默感」，在他的音樂裡也聽得到。他的演奏不是只有情緒的濫情，而是充滿了智慧的閃光與結構的思考。
最後，在這個時代，我們為什麼要聽這些？
回到2026年的今天。
但我希望你有機會聆聽份1930年的錄音。
蓋斯柏格當年拼了命要搶救的，不只是音符，而是歷史上曾存留的「人」的痕跡。
當你戴上耳機，或是來到「古殿」坐在留聲機前，聽著羅森塔爾那「不合時宜」的彈性速度，聽著那帶有雜訊卻溫暖無比的琴聲，你聽見的是一個活生生的人，跨越了將近一百年的時光，在跟你對話。
他告訴我們：音樂不是為了競爭，不是為了比誰彈得快、比誰零失誤。音樂是為了表達情感，為了記錄生命中那些無法被數據化的瞬間。
在「古殿」，殿主希望您有機會去感受那個蕭邦傳下來的呼吸，去想像那個歷史老頑童，去體會那種「雖然不完美，但絕對真實」的感動。
當羅森塔爾的琴聲一樣自由呼吸時，我相信，那才是我們一直在尋找的——心靈與身心的深度自由。
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活動資訊
- 活動名稱：【古殿歷史名曲音樂喫茶第38場】羅森塔爾之夜
- 時間：2026年1月30日（週五） 19:30 - 21:00
- 地點：古殿樂藏
- 名額：限定10席（額滿即止）
「古殿歷史名曲音樂喫茶」將是台灣目前唯一固定舉辦此類深度歷史聆聽活動的空間。
（報名表單連結在留言中）
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活動名稱：【古殿歷史名曲音樂喫茶第38場】羅森塔爾之夜：
👉 立即預約您的時空席位 (需匯款確認)： https://forms.gle/1E9v295gE5nNrdrD8
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The 1930 Rescue Mission: Saving "The Sound Closest to Chopin Himself"
Last year, the 19th International Chopin Piano Competition just concluded. Whenever this event comes around, judges on stage and music fans around the world get into heated debates: "What is the true Chopin spirit?" or "What is the correctway to play Chopin?"
Watching these competitions, I sometimes can't help but wonder: Is the "perfection" we hear today really what Chopin sounded like when he played in those Parisian salons? If we had a time machine and went back, would the sound we hear completely overturn our imagination?
Actually, as early as 1930 in Berlin, Germany, someone realized this very thing. Back then, there was a little-known but historically critical "rescue mission."
The protagonist of this mission was an old man named Moriz Rosenthal (1862–1946). The mastermind behind it was the legendary recording producer, Fred Gaisberg (1873–1951).
Their goal was simple: To rescue and capture "the sound closest to Chopin himself" before it vanished forever.
Why Was He a "Living Fossil"? An Unbroken Bloodline
Let’s talk about our protagonist, Moriz Rosenthal.
You can imagine him like one of those grandmasters in a martial arts novel who possesses peerless skills but lives hidden in the marketplace. By 1930, he was already an old man nearing seventy. Why did Gaisberg look at him with the nervousness one might feel when handling a rare treasure?
Because his "lineage" was simply terrifying.
When Rosenthal was young, he studied under a teacher named Karol Mikuli (1819–1879). If you know a little about Chopin, you should stand up and salute at the mention of this name. Mikuli was not just Chopin's direct disciple; he was Chopin’s teaching assistant in his later years. Chopin trusted him immensely, even entrusting him with the editing of many of his works.
In other words, Rosenthal was "Chopin’s student’s student." He inherited the secrets of how Chopin breathed, how he used his wrists, and how he made the piano "sing" directly from Mikuli.
But that’s not all. Later, Rosenthal went on to study under the "King of Piano," Franz Liszt (1811–1886), becoming one of Liszt’s most outstanding students in his later years.
So, flowing through Rosenthal were two of the most top-tier "bloodlines":
- The Soul of Chopin: He inherited that song-like Legato and the subtle nuances of tone.
- The Skeleton of Liszt: He inherited the aura that could shake a grand stage and immense projection power.
By the 1930s, the masters who had seen Chopin and Liszt with their own eyes had almost all passed away. Rosenthal was the "Last Samurai" of that era.
Gaisberg's Anxiety: Rescuing the Vanishing "Grand Manner"
Fred Gaisberg, the famous producer, keenly sniffed out the changing times.
In the 1930s, a new generation of pianists was rising. That generation of young people (who we now call the old masters) began to pursue objectivity, precision, and loyalty to the score. This is certainly good, but in Gaisberg’s eyes, something older and more charming was disappearing.
That was "The Grand Manner."
Gaisberg revealed a sense of urgency at the time. He said that when Rosenthal sat at the piano, he didn't look like he was just playing an instrument; he looked like an emperor issuing commands. That majesty, that capacity to make the piano sound like a full orchestra, was a legacy unique to the 19th-century Romantics.
Gaisberg knew clearly: "We must record this 'outdated' but 'absolutely orthodox' sound before these old men pass away."
If it wasn't recorded, once Rosenthal was gone, the line would break. Future generations would never hear the "Chopin way" of speaking, leaving only notes on paper. This is why I often say that what we listen to at Gu Dian isn't just vinyl; it’s an "archaeological remain of history."
Thus, between 1930 and 1931, a magnificent set of recordings was born in a Berlin studio: Chopin’s Piano Concerto No. 1, performed by Rosenthal and conducted by Frieder Weissmann with the Berlin State Opera Orchestra.
After recording that concerto, it is said that Rosenthal made a very domineering remark to Gaisberg: "Now, you finally have a 'correct' Chopin."
He wasn't bragging. He genuinely believed that after he died, if this recording didn't exist, the world would forget what Chopin's true voice sounded like.
Not the First, But the "Most Meaningful"
If you check the records, strictly speaking, this wasn't the "World Premiere Recording" of Chopin's First Piano Concerto.
As early as 1928, another pianist, Alexander Brailowsky (1896–1976), had already recorded this piece with the Berlin Philharmonic. That recording is great, too—clean lines, clear goals—like a pioneer of modern piano performance.
But why do I always recommend listening to Rosenthal’s version?
It’s the difference between "typing" and "calligraphy."
Brailowsky’s playing is like an article typed on a high-quality typewriter: clear font, neat layout, pushing the work toward the audience so you can see it clearly.
But Rosenthal’s playing is like a calligraphy master wielding a brush. You can see the shades of the ink, the weight of the strokes, and you can even feel his breathing and emotions as he wrote each line. He doesn't push the work to you; he pulls you into the work.
In this recording, Rosenthal displays several "lost arts" that you won't hear in modern piano competitions:
1. A "Tone" Like Speaking Modern people playing piano sometimes seem like they are executing a computer program—every note is polished to a shine, like a perfect string of pearls. Rosenthal is like pearls too (his technique was famously called "pearly articulation"), but he isn't showing off the beads; he is using the beads to form a sentence.
When you listen, don't count if he hit a wrong note (that’s a job for computers). Listen to the ends of his sentences. You will find that his phrases "breathe." Sometimes he sighs, sometimes he pauses, just like when we chat with friends—we speed up when excited and slow down when sentimental.
2. The Lost "Rubato" (Elastic Speed) This is the core of the piece and a secret passed down from Chopin. True Rubatoisn't playing messily, nor is it speeding up and slowing down so much that people get motion sickness. In Rosenthal’s hands, Rubato is an incredibly natural sway. Gaisberg marveled during the recording that these tempo changes were impossible to measure with a metronome.
This reminds me of our current AI era, where everything is calculated and standardized. But human emotion cannot be quantified. Rosenthal’s sound tells us: True beauty often lies in those "micro-shifts" that cannot be precisely calculated. That uncertainty is the human touch; that is reality.
3. The "Dominance" of the First Movement Modern pianists usually treat Chopin's No. 1 as very melancholic and feminine, as if Chopin were about to faint at any moment. But please, listen to Rosenthal—he plays it like a King! That sense of power and confidence will shatter your stereotype of a "fragile" Chopin.
A Pianist? No, He Was a Strongman!
Speaking of "power," here is a story with a huge contrast—it's my favorite anecdote about Rosenthal.
Hearing him play such delicate, song-like melodies on the record, you might think he was a frail scholar. Wrong! Rosenthal was actually a master of Jiu-Jitsu!
In Gaisberg’s memoirs: during breaks in the studio, this old gentleman wouldn't just drink water and wipe away sweat like the others. Instead, he loved to show off his muscles to the young people in the studio, even challenging them to tests of strength.
Gaisberg described him as having "Iron fingers." This explains why, in the recording, his octave techniques sound like a machine gun—fast, loud, and incredibly penetrating.
This gives us a wonderful insight: Great tenderness is often supported by a tough inner self and a strong body.
If you want to show true elegance and composure in life, you first need to make your body and mind strong. This echoes the concept I always want to share with you—pursue physical and mental health. Start by improving your own state of life, and only then can you create beautiful things.
A "Sharp-Tongued" Sage
Besides being a martial artist, Rosenthal was also a Doctor of Philosophy and fluent in multiple languages.
In Europe at the time, he was known as the "King of Sharp Tongues." If another piano eccentric, Vladimir de Pachmann (1848–1933), was the clown responsible for laughs, then Rosenthal was the sarcastic sage.
He looked down on those "key-pushers" who only moved their fingers but had empty heads. Gaisberg said chatting with Rosenthal was like taking an IQ test; his thinking jumped extremely fast, full of wit and satire. If you hadn't read enough books, you wouldn't even know if he was scolding you or praising you.
You can hear this "cultured humor" in his music. His playing isn't just emotional sentimentality; it is full of flashes of wisdom and structural thought.
Finally, Why Listen to This Today?
Back to today, in 2026.
I truly hope you have the chance to listen to this 1930 recording.
What Gaisberg fought so hard to rescue back then wasn't just musical notes, but the traces of a "human" that once existed in history.
When you put on your headphones, or come to "Gu Dian" (Ancient Palace) to sit in front of the gramophone, listening to Rosenthal’s "outdated" Rubato, listening to that warm piano sound through the crackle of static, you are hearing a living, breathing person speaking to you across nearly a hundred years of time.
He tells us: Music is not for competition. It’s not about who plays faster or who makes zero mistakes. Music is for expressing emotion, for recording those moments in life that cannot be digitized.
At "Gu Dian," I hope you have the opportunity to feel that breathing passed down from Chopin, to imagine that historical old rascal, and to experience that "imperfect, yet absolutely real" emotion.
When Rosenthal’s piano sound breathes freely, I believe that is what we have been looking for—the deep freedom of the mind and body.
Event Information
Event Name: [Gu Dian Historical Masterpiece Music Café - 38th Session] A Night with Rosenthal Time: Friday, January 30, 2026, 19:30 - 21:00 Location: Gu Dian (Ancient Palace Music Archive) Capacity: Limited to 10 seats (Registration closes when full)
"Gu Dian Historical Masterpiece Music Café" is currently the only space in Taiwan that regularly hosts this kind of deep historical listening event.
(Registration form link is in the comments)