Read Online The Christmas Cantata (The Liturgical Mysteries) by Mark Schweizer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mark Schweizer
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whispered Goldi Fawn to Meg, who was sitting on Goldi Fawn's other side.
"The composer of our cantata," Meg whispered back.
Ian shook his head. "No, I did not, and I'm bound to tell you that if I could not find out anything, there is probably nothing to find." He sat down, then stood back up quickly. "Half price on zinks," he said hurriedly, "sixty percent off the lysards. Snoods are full price." Then he sat again.
"Well, choir," I said, "here's what I know. La Chanson d'Adoration was written by Elle de Fournier and was to be premiered at St. Barnabas on Christmas Eve, 1942. For some reason—and no one seems to know why, at least no one we've found yet—the performance was cancelled. The chances are very good that this cantata has never been performed."
"So this would be the world premiere then?" asked Randy.
"I expect so," I said.
"Cool," said Tiff. "Can I put this on my resumé?"
"Absolutely, you can!" said Goldi Fawn. "I got all kinds of stuff on my resumé. Like this one time, Wynonna Judd came in to get her stars done..."
"What a great story!" I said, cutting her short. "So let's start at the beginning and see if we can get a handle on this thing."
* * *
An hour and a half later, we'd rehearsed all four movements of the cantata and the entire choir was frazzled. I was frazzled, too. Frazzled but determined.
"How about a break?" I suggested. "We could use one."
"Nah," said Bob Solomon. "I'd rather get this over with. Let's just do it."
The other choir members, noticeably frustrated, nodded.
"Okay," I said. "Then close your books. Time to clear your brains."
The books closed.
"Here's the thing," I said. "This is a difficult piece, but it's not that difficult."
"There's no time signature," complained Tiff. "I'm having a tough time counting."
"There are no bar lines," said Georgia. "Just these half lines, and they're different in every part."
"There's no key signature," said Bert. "I don't know where 'tonic' is."
"The words are weird," said Sheila. " The Song of Solomon ?"
All this was true, of course. The notation was difficult and not what anyone was used to. In addition, it was handwritten and that took some getting used to as well. The text was not the usual Christmas story.
"Listen," I said. " The Song of Solomon is sometimes viewed as a messianic text, especially during the time that this music was written. In fact, until the middle of the last century, The Song was regarded by theologians as an allegory describing the relationship of Christ and the Church. It's Advent."
"And then there's the whole apple tree/Garden of Eden thing," added Bev. "Okay, I buy it."
"Stand up," I ordered. "Open your scores to the first movement."
The choir complied.
"Relax. Take a deep breath. Close your eyes. Understand that singing is a gift and you are part of that gift. 'Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.' I don't know who said it, but it's true enough."
I looked across the choir. Surprisingly, all their eyes were closed.
"Now, just listen to each other. Listen to the music. Lose yourself in it, but think . You know the notes. You know how to sing this." I paused for a long moment, then said, "Okay, look at me."
I played their opening phrase, then raised my arms from the organ console and conducted the downbeat. Two measures later I quit conducting and my mouth dropped open.
As the apple tree among the trees of the wood,
so is my beloved among the sons.
I sat down under his shadow with great delight,
and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought me to the banqueting house,
and his banner over me was love.
The choir kept singing (and what singing!), going through the entire movement, beginning to end, without a break. They finished together, looked at me and I cut them off. The final chord echoed through the church, perfectly in tune, perfectly sung. This had never happened, not once in the twenty-odd years I'd been at St. Barnabas. Not once in all my years of
"The composer of our cantata," Meg whispered back.
Ian shook his head. "No, I did not, and I'm bound to tell you that if I could not find out anything, there is probably nothing to find." He sat down, then stood back up quickly. "Half price on zinks," he said hurriedly, "sixty percent off the lysards. Snoods are full price." Then he sat again.
"Well, choir," I said, "here's what I know. La Chanson d'Adoration was written by Elle de Fournier and was to be premiered at St. Barnabas on Christmas Eve, 1942. For some reason—and no one seems to know why, at least no one we've found yet—the performance was cancelled. The chances are very good that this cantata has never been performed."
"So this would be the world premiere then?" asked Randy.
"I expect so," I said.
"Cool," said Tiff. "Can I put this on my resumé?"
"Absolutely, you can!" said Goldi Fawn. "I got all kinds of stuff on my resumé. Like this one time, Wynonna Judd came in to get her stars done..."
"What a great story!" I said, cutting her short. "So let's start at the beginning and see if we can get a handle on this thing."
* * *
An hour and a half later, we'd rehearsed all four movements of the cantata and the entire choir was frazzled. I was frazzled, too. Frazzled but determined.
"How about a break?" I suggested. "We could use one."
"Nah," said Bob Solomon. "I'd rather get this over with. Let's just do it."
The other choir members, noticeably frustrated, nodded.
"Okay," I said. "Then close your books. Time to clear your brains."
The books closed.
"Here's the thing," I said. "This is a difficult piece, but it's not that difficult."
"There's no time signature," complained Tiff. "I'm having a tough time counting."
"There are no bar lines," said Georgia. "Just these half lines, and they're different in every part."
"There's no key signature," said Bert. "I don't know where 'tonic' is."
"The words are weird," said Sheila. " The Song of Solomon ?"
All this was true, of course. The notation was difficult and not what anyone was used to. In addition, it was handwritten and that took some getting used to as well. The text was not the usual Christmas story.
"Listen," I said. " The Song of Solomon is sometimes viewed as a messianic text, especially during the time that this music was written. In fact, until the middle of the last century, The Song was regarded by theologians as an allegory describing the relationship of Christ and the Church. It's Advent."
"And then there's the whole apple tree/Garden of Eden thing," added Bev. "Okay, I buy it."
"Stand up," I ordered. "Open your scores to the first movement."
The choir complied.
"Relax. Take a deep breath. Close your eyes. Understand that singing is a gift and you are part of that gift. 'Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.' I don't know who said it, but it's true enough."
I looked across the choir. Surprisingly, all their eyes were closed.
"Now, just listen to each other. Listen to the music. Lose yourself in it, but think . You know the notes. You know how to sing this." I paused for a long moment, then said, "Okay, look at me."
I played their opening phrase, then raised my arms from the organ console and conducted the downbeat. Two measures later I quit conducting and my mouth dropped open.
As the apple tree among the trees of the wood,
so is my beloved among the sons.
I sat down under his shadow with great delight,
and his fruit was sweet to my taste.
He brought me to the banqueting house,
and his banner over me was love.
The choir kept singing (and what singing!), going through the entire movement, beginning to end, without a break. They finished together, looked at me and I cut them off. The final chord echoed through the church, perfectly in tune, perfectly sung. This had never happened, not once in the twenty-odd years I'd been at St. Barnabas. Not once in all my years of
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