![]() ![]() Scales I can handle, but when we move onto chords my hands begin to feel sluggish and unco-operative. When we move to scales, I incy-wincy-spider my fingers up and down the keys, playing the play them fast and slow, separately, or transitioning smoothly between them and letting the sounds overlap. I experiment holding the key near the point of the pluck, making the note slowly or fast. Two teachers hover at my shoulders, and we play with individual notes for a while testing how to let the note ride, or muffling it immediately with the damper which is above the plectrum. I should be wearing a huge silk dress with a corset and basket hoops, like the woman on the cover of one of Lillian’s music books plucking away elegantly at the keys. It feels strange to be sitting in this modern room. ![]() It’s a smaller sound than a piano, and even these few notes sound as if they come from another era altogether. It’s a ting, a pling, a thring and a ding. As the jack goes up, the plectrum presses against, then plucks the string above it. Near the top of the jack, a tiny bit of plastic called a “plectrum”, the size of a child’s fingernail pokes out of the side. As one end goes down, the other goes up, pushing up a small vertical piece of wood, the “jack” sitting on the end. ![]() I press down a key, which functions exactly like a seesaw. There is no such thing as a “standard” model, and Le Rouge is a modern harpsichord based partially on German models from the 18th century. Made by hand by one or sometimes two artisans, they reflect the styles of their time and place in history, as well as the individual preferences of their maker. The whole instrument is covered in elegant and intricate black and white paper design.Įvery harpsichord is different, and more like a living creature than a machine. My hands hover below a elaborately decorated wooden panel that bears the name of the builder Philippe Humeau, and the year 1999. The words violin, harp, grand piano all spring to mind. Lillian raises the lid, and I see the shiny strings, taut and delicate, lining the body of the instrument which stretches away, the bentside curving to a point like the waist of a woman lying on her side. Having a harpsichord at home seems a bit like having a bi-wing plane in the garage or using a steam locomotive to get to work, but Le Rouge is actually pretty unassuming, measuring only 90cm wide at the playing end, and 2.45m long. There are also two rows of keys, and it is much smaller than a piano. It feels a little like a piano, except the colours of the black and white keys are inverted. I sit down on the padded stool and rest the tips of my fingers gently on the wooden keys, polished with use and age. I’ve never seen one in real life before, but my good friend Adam is a player and teacher, and his friend Lillian has one of her own. This beautiful and relatively rare instrument was widely played during the Renaissance and Baroque periods until it’s cousin the piano pushed it off the main stage. Le Rouge is a harpsichord and we are going to get to know one another. He has lived his whole life in France, but travels frequently to perform on lit stages. Le Rouge is only 17 years old, but belongs to a family that can trace its roots back to the middle ages. He is smaller than I imagined, delicate even, built from acacia wood and painted a dark warm red. Le Rouge stands against the wall, taking up almost its whole length. With a laundry basket in the corner, and a steaming mug of hot coffee next to a laptop it looks like a typical twenty-something’s inner-city apartment. Sun streams into a room with overflowing bookshelves and posters hanging on the wall. It has one small room with a mezzanine platform for a bed, and a tiny kitchen and bathroom tucked under ancient wooden beams. Lillian’s apartment is the kind you can find all over Paris. ![]()
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