On Sunday in Avignon, after my wander with Colin, I headed over to the Notre Dame cathedral, which is next to the palace of the Popes, the centerpiece of the old town. In my morning read of the paper (my translation duties not for naught here) I saw that the regional orchestra was presenting pieces by three French composers, the last being a full version of Faure’s Requiem, whose first movement is perhaps the most beautiful piece of music ever written. Colin opted to head back to the hotel and chill, so I bought my ticket and entered the cathedral. It was small but grand and typical of the classical cathedrals (note to reader: my knowledge of the architecture of classical cathedrals is limited to the six or seven I’ve visited in my life, this one looked like the rest of them, so for me, it was typical. Use this information at your own discretion). There were four pews across, each seating three people, culminating at the altar, where the orchestra was set up. Beyond the altar was the apse whose roof rose another 20 feet above the 50 (?) foot roof of the main area. Off to the side were a number of small enclaves celebrating one saint or another, I imagine, with images and candles and all that I associate with traditional Catholicism. There was a balcony that ran around the perimeter, acting as a roof for the enclaves and as a tableau for amazingly intricate stone work. I have not doubt that were I to know them, I could use at least 20 architectural terms to describe the interior but suffice it to say it was magnificent. The color scheme was stone grey (the entire building being made of grey stone) with red accents in the velvet that surrounded the pipes of the large organ located on the left balcony overlooking the altar, a red drape over the seat of priest (or maybe cardinal?) also to the left of the altar and in the small stained glass window at the very apex of the apse.
(Time-based interjection: it’s been difficult to keep up with all that has happened. I’m two weeks beyond Avignon, now in Aix. I put my sister Penny on a train this morning after a wonderful few days in Lagouile and Aix and I’m now sitting in a café in the Place des Augustus, one of the smaller squares of the old town, sipping Diet Coke (some habits die hard) and waiting for the rinse cycle to finish so I can put my laundry in the dryer. I have the next few days to myself and assuming I don’t suffer from severe writer’s block, will get caught up. My apologies for the very long posts this will result in as well as the slightly disjointed time line. Ah well, only genre fiction follows a straight time line.)
Alors, back to the cathedral. When I dressed in the morning, I knew I was probably going to end up at the concert but it was so sunny I just couldn’t bring myself to put a sweater in my bag. I was wearing a tank top, skirt and sandals, my southern uniform while the people around me were dressed in suits, scarves and coats, which they were layering on as time went by. The meaning of the phrase “stone cold” was becoming very clear to me as I became more and more uncomfortable. It is a testament to the music that for much of the time, I didn’t even think about it. I was freezing, no doubt, but whilst the music played, I was transported to a place where mortal concerns didn’t seem to have an impact. The concert consisted of three parts, representing the three composers: the first was solo soprano accompanied by the massive pipe organ, the second a multi-movement piece for the large choir, the third the Requiem. When the multiple layers of voices and harmonies from the choir rose up to the ceiling and then presumably to heaven, one could understand the meaning of “lifting their voices to God.” The Requiem was the grand piece with choir, orchestra, and solo soprano and baritone. A children’s choir joined on two movements offering frail voices of purity and innocence. I had no doubt that the beauty of the church and of one’s faith was strengthened and solidified when parishioners were able to sit in such magnificence. At the end of the piece, the crowd erupted into applause and would not let the musicians leave. To appease our desires, they prepared an encore. The children, dressed all in white, came down the aisle to stand in front of the orchestra and choir, all dressed in black. Someone opened the door in the back of the church and sunlight streamed into the formally dusky setting. As the encore began, the church bells at the palace also began their seven o’clock song. At times it created dissonance, making a traditionally romantic piece sound more like something from Zorn or Coleman; at other points, it blended beautifully and created another layer of harmony to augment the already rich sound. The bells ended before the piece and the musicians were able to finish with the sound they intended and the crowd left satisfied and feeling slightly larger and more important than when we arrived. It was two hours I will never forget.
Comments