The news has been ablaze this week regarding the burning and collapse of the roof of the Cathedral of Notre Dame in Paris – but I don’t mean to make light of the situation. Terrible puns aside, many people were saddened by the damage, regardless of religious faith or nationality. Humanity has claimed Notre Dame as a universal work of art: loved, admired, maybe even “owned” by all.

What I found fascinating was the immense response on social media. I was amazed at how many of my contacts had a personal connection to Notre Dame, whether it was religious (the seat of the Catholic Church in France), musical (concern for its magnificent organ), artistic (loss of a centuries-old work of art), or just emotional (remember that romantic weekend in Paris? Ahhh…). It’s no surprise that a billion dollars were raised in two days for the restoration of this building.

And of course, since this is 2019, there was an immediate response criticizing the Notre Dame donations as unimportant compared to the ongoing needs of climate change, deep poverty, hunger, sex trafficking, and more. After all, we’re talking about a lump of stones, not human lives. And yet, while those needs are significant, very real, and desperately need to be addressed, I don’t think we should so quickly condemn the efforts to preserve this monument.

Works of art, like Notre Dame cathedral, remind us that we are an insignificant speck in a long history of humanity. The cathedral has been a symbol of France for centuries, and will (probably) remain so until the apocalypse. It might be an active church now, but who knows, one day it might be treated like an ancient Greek temple – a pilgrimage for tourists who care nothing for religion, but instead seek it for its beauty; or perhaps it makes them think about their own mortality and their place in the universe.

And still, from the perspective of the universe, the cathedral went up and burned down in the blink of an eye (not to mention, humanity itself is just a flash in the universe’s pan). Maybe we’re thinking about it all wrong. Maybe all art needs to be treated as fleeting, whether it’s a 5 minute performance that will never be repeated (a jazz improvisation), a drama that enjoys a 50-year popularity (a Rodgers & Hammerstein musical), or a 4000-year-old monument (Stonehenge or the Pyramids). Some art might last longer than others, but really, is 6,000 years of history anything more than a fart in the wind compared to the history of earth?

And so, in honor of France, and Notre Dame, here is the Patrie (Homeland) Overture by the iconic French composer George Bizet.

There’s a great hymn, O Filii et Filiae, which is sung in many churches on the Sunday after Easter, because its text mirrors the gospel lesson of the day – the story of doubting Thomas. It is one of those instances of a gripping narrative wed to a simple yet interesting melody which, being roughly 600 years old, has clearly stood the test of time.

For me, it’s a chance to pull out one of my favorite organ pieces, don my beret, and pretend to be French. French organs stand out in that they are jam packed with fiery trumpets and other noisy stops, making them exceedingly loud – necessary to fill the cavern of a massive French cathedral with sound. Before the revolution, the French organ tradition included writing (or improvising) variations on popular chants or sacred melodies. Jean-François Dandrieu did just this when we wrote his Offertoire pour la fête de Pâques – variations on O Filii et Filiae, showcasing the terrifying thunder of French organs.

When I hear that sound, it makes me imagine a peasant from a village, coming into Paris and going into a church – and being petrified and awestruck at the sound of the organ. Our human fascination with loud sound, like the appeal of this hymntune, hasn’t changed.

 

How do you fill a massive cathedral with sound? A really loud organ. But, if the organ is too loud, how do you accompany the choir? Easy – build another organ.

Believe it or not, it is not uncommon for large churches to have more than one organ. Even so, there’s not exactly a wealth of music written for two organs. First of all, these organs tend to be placed far apart (there’d be no point in putting two organs next to each other); this means that they two organists would struggle to stay together, musically. Second, these organs tend to be designed with very different things in mind (there’d be no point in building two identical organs in the same building); one will often be the “main” organ for solo repertoire, while the other will be a “choir” organ for accompanying. Or, one will be designed for Baroque repertoire and the other for Romantic, and so the two instruments would sound like oil and water.

There is, however, a unique piece for two organs and choir which makes a strong argument for this instrumentation – the Messe Solemnelle of Louis Vierne, longtime organist of Notre Dame. The choir sings with the softer organ in the chancel, and the loud organ gets the play the fun parts, a football field away, in the west gallery.

French organs are known for their fiery, dark, thunderous sound (they are also known for never, ever being in tune). I often wonder what it was like for a 19th century French farmer to come to the Paris and hear the organ at one of the cathedrals. I imagine they may have needed new underpants after the experience.

Things I love about this video: 1) this is a REAL MASS, not a concert performance; 2) The French mispronunciation of Latin; 3) you can hear the two organs get out of sync with each other if you listen carefully; 4) the last chord is held so long that you can see the singers taking extra breaths to get through it.