I was invited to a concert. A Russian orchestra and choir were to interpres Orff’s Carmina Burana and Thchaikowsky’s 5th Symphony. I’ve always loved classical music, and I was happy to accept the invitation. Carmina Burana always amuses me, not only by its catchy music but also by its delightful Latin text. They are authentic XII century couplets written by monks in a celebration of life with a freedom and a joy that shakes a bit the concept we have of monastic life in those days. They were found in the library of the Benedictine monastery of Beuern (hence their name ‘Burana’) in the XIX century, and set to music by Carl Orff in the XX century. The abbot of the monastery speaks in them and tells those who would like to meet him to look for him in the tavern, as he likes to drink with those who drink. The wine helps him to relax from his monastic responsibilities.

‘Abbas sum Cucaniensis;
consilium meum cum bibulis.
In taberna cuando sumus
non curamus quid sit humus.’ 

I am the abbot of Cockaine
where drunkards are my company.
When we drink we don’t think we are dust
and unto dust we shall return.

The allusion ‘we are dust and unto dust we shall return’ is from the Bible and from Lent, but not for the tavern. Besides, they duly pray for the pope there.

‘Tam pro papa quam pro rege
bibunt omnes sine lege.’

We pray for pope and for king,
We drink our full and we sing.

‘Bibit hera, bibit herus,
bibit miles, bibit clerus.’

The lady (hera) drinks, the lord (herus) drinks, the soldier (miles) drinks and the clergy (clerus) drink. Herus and clerus. The abbot minds his rhymes and seems to be enjoying himself at it. They also throw dice among themselves, and some of the monks have to leave their habits there as payment for their gambling debts and come out half naked from the tavern.

‘Sed in ludo qui morantur,
ex his quidam denudantur.
Quidam ibi vestiuntur,
quidam saccis induuntur.’

Some of the gamblers
come out in shambles.
Some with new clothes,
others in sackcloth.

New habits were given them in the monastery, as everything was prepared for those who ‘come out undressed at the time of Vespers’.

The mandates of Venus had them to be obeyed, as ‘what Venus commands is always soft and pleasing’:

‘Quidquid Venus imperat
labor est suavis.’

I’m leaving out more explicit terms. In a word, the monks did seem to have a good time, and they had the sense of humour to say it all in verse. It would appear that the Middle Ages were not such dull times after all, and that the monks did something else besides copying out manuscripts of classical works for posterity. And people knew it. Carl Orff’s music is also playful and sticks to the ear, and I remember the first time I heard these tunes in concert I came out singing them full voice, which is not usual with me. 

‘O Fortuna
velut luna!’

Fortune is like the moon, waxing and waning again and again. Such too was the monks’ life. And the Russian orchestra and choir promised a glorious performance. The conductor was also well-known for his command and energy.

As for Tchaikowsky, his 5th Symphony is not precisely my favourite one, but Russian musicians in orchestra always bring out the best in their most famous composer, so that the programme was quite attractive. But as we arrived at the Music Hall there was a surprise waiting for us. We arrived on time but the doors were still closed and we were told we would have to wait for a while outside. Why so? It was already time. Yes, but it was explained to us that the orchestra and the choir were practicing inside. A little late for a practice, we thought. Finally the doors opened, we entered and found our places. When we were all in, silence descended on the hall, and the mystery was solved. The loudspeakers informed us that there was a change in the programme. The scores of Tchaikowsky’s 5th Symphony had been misplaced…, and in its place another piece would be performed…, Beethoven’s 9th Symphony!

We all burst into applause. Nothing wrong with Tchaikowsky and his Fifth, but nothing again in comparison with Beethoven and his Ninth. And for the same price. That was quite a present. That also explained the last minute rehearsal. Apparently, every Concert Hall has on hand the scores of Beethoven’s 5th, and every orchestra and every choir know it by heart, and just a brief practice would be enough for its performance. Soloists and all. Ideal concert. Carmina Burana to begin with, and Beethoven’s 9th alter the interval. Quite a treat. At times it is a good thing the scores are lost.

‘O Fortuna
velut luna!
Statu variabilis.’

O Fortune,
like the moon!
Always in your changes.

 

Beethoven’s 9th always moves me. It was quite a few years since I had heard it in concert, though in CD I often play it to myself. As a piano student in my youth I even had the effrontery to learn it for piano at four hands, so that it is now with me in my fingers and in my soul. Its first movement with its tantalising introduction, its swift octaves and its daring chords; the adagio with it second theme in C even better that the first one in B flat; the playful scherzo; and the last movement with Schiller’s words and the simplest and most fascinating motif in the history of music in only five notes. When the first notes of ‘A Hymn to Joy’ started to sound pianissimo in the double basses my eyes went wet and I wept like a child. The beauty of music, the memories of childhood, the magic of the moment overwhelmed me. And then the theme keeps on working its way up from double basses to cellos, from cellos to violins, from string to metal, from the orchestra to the baritone, from the baritone to the choir, from pianissimo to fortissimo till its fills up the mind and the soul and the air and the heart. Freude, schöner Götterfunken, Tochter aus Elysium! That was heaven indeed.

I listened and I melt and I cried and I clapped and I shouted ‘Bravo!’ when the last chord sounded; and when at last I calmed down and got up and went out, I told the friends that had invited me something that I remembered very well that day but that I had not told them yet: ‘You have unknowingly contributed to a very intimate joy of mine today. You have seen me enjoying Beethoven down to tears. But you did not know that another personal celebration of mine is joining today this musical feast. Today is the anniversary day of my priestly ordination. 52 years ago on the 25th of March, in the feast of the Annunciation of Our Lord, I was ordained a priest in Anand, Gujarat. You may now understand my feelings at the unexpected gift. Your invitation and Beethoven’s Ninth.

O Fortuna
velut luna!
Statu variabilis.

Semper crescis
aut decrescis;
vita detestabilis.

The only discordant note in all this beautiful concert was the Benedictine abbot of Cockaigne calling his life ‘detestable’ in his last verse. ‘Detestabilis.’ He does it, of course, to rhyme with ‘variabilis’  for the variations of the moon in her waxing and her waning, and we know that rhyme mattered for the good abbot. But he could have found a happier rhyme. Or a happier tavern, perhaps.

O Fortuna
velut luna!
Statu variabilis.

O Fortune
like the moon!
Always in your changes.