Today, in the usual Thursday-noon recital, a fellow-piano-major and I played Debussy's beautiful Petite Suite for piano, four hands. For the first two movements I played the upper part and he the lower, and for the other two, we switched places. We received a good deal of very flattering praise; it was, by all accounts, a pronounced success.
The suite, and some of the things Mr. Schene has said about it, were still turning over in my head after the recital; and when I got home I wrote down this little "suite" of verses. The music can be found on youtube (I'll put links in the titles). My readers may listen to them, and tell me how accurate my little images are.
Petite Suite
(Hommage á Claude Debussy)
I. En Bateau
The paddles slice the waters silently,
And in the peaceful golden light of noon
We glide along the river easily,
Far from the faintest thought of dark or ruin;
No ripples on the glassy water lie
To mar its softly pointillistic gleam,
And even the breeze sings, as it whispers by,
A tune I half-remember from a dream...
II. Cortége
The fairy-flutes are piping, far and high,
Sweet as the laughter of the elfin crowd,
And as their small procession marches by,
We cannot help but smile at them - so proud,
Tossing their braids, or curly-tops held tall,
Waving the spoil of a successful raid,
Flowers and nuts from some King Squirrel's hall,
Borne in a gay victorious child-parade.
III. Menuet
Cast off that melancholy from your face!
Upheld by an enchanting violin,
The pairs advance with charming ancient grace;
The minuet is going to begin.
The pipe and viol their harmonies unfurl;
Across the sward they sweep unerringly -
Balance together, step and step and twirl,
And we dream on, lulled by the melody.
IV. Ballet
One rich-voiced cello guides the airy tune,
And trippingly the children whirl away,
Carefree small fairy folk, beneath the moon,
Light-footed, lighter-hearted, bright and gay -
Until the waltz, with passionate romance
(That music is inebriety divine!)
Lifts us, who love, aloft into the dance,
Soaring on wings of song, of love and wine.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Sunday, September 27, 2009
what a gorgeous Sunday!
Today we all went to the church early for choir practice, and so that Mom could go get Dad at the airport. Choir practice went smoothly, though I'm still trying to get used to the fact that now I'm the one calling the shots. After High-Mass I practiced a Bach prelude-and-fugue in the choir room, signed the thank-you card for Father Alphonsus, CSSR, who preached us a MARVELOUS mission last week and heard our general confessions, and then we all headed for home. It was a brief stop, as we had open house, but I yanked on a dress I could ride in and Ignacio and I took the Vespa while everyone else went in the car, up to Barnes and Noble. We spent an hour there, then the family dropped Maria at school for volleyball and I flew off to the University.
I practiced on the Precious for a while, printed out the ballad I had written for Colleen, a dear friend and fellow-pianist, (based on a crazy dream she had,) and then raced over to Webster Hall, where I whipped on my concert gown and went into the hall to rehearse my duet with Andy Kenney. It sounded good, and Dr. Carter, our wonderful Department Chair, gave us some good advice for the actual performance. We sat outside and talked with a fellow Chorale member until everyone else showed up at half-past three. The Chorale warmed up in the conference room next to the hall, and then we all found our places in the hall. The Chorale took the back rows, but I went up to the front row with Andy, as our duet would come before the Chorale's performance.
Dr. Carter began the recital with a short speech and then turned it over to a freshman pianist and a trumpeter who gave us a beautiful rendition of two short pieces by Purcell, the Intrada from The Indian Queen, and the Rondo from the Incidental Music for Abdelager. One of our sopranos followed it with a lovely rendition of I Attempt From Love's Sickness to Fly, also by Purcell; another sang Music for a While. Then it was Handel's turn to dominate the program; one of our wonderful young baritones performed Del minacciar del vento, from Ottone, and then Andy and I sang our duet, Thou in thy Mercy from Israel in Egypt. Another soprano sang Mio caro bene, a glorious aria from Rodelinda that I'll have to learn sometime; and the last soloist was another great baritone who gave a spectacular rendition of Arm, arm, ye brave! from Judas Maccabeus. Then the piano was pushed to the back of the stage, and the Chorale filed on, led by Colleen and alternating soprano-tenor-alto-bass from there. We sang Purcell's Funeral Sentences for Queen Mary, which turned out haunting and beautiful, with Dr. Carter himself at the portativ organ and, of course, Dr. Bowers conducting.
Afterward, Colleen and I showed the dream-ballad to her mother, who was highly amused and somewhat shocked (it was a very intense and somewhat violent dream, haha!) While Colleen and her mother talked to Mr. Schene about the outfit Mrs. Johnson (who sews amazing formals) is going to make for his upcoming concert, Rhapsody in Blue, I chatted with Mrs. Johnson's friend Carmen, who happens to be from Guatemala, so we chattered away a mile a minute in Spanish. I walked Colleen to her car, mounted Tesla the Vespa and flew away home. And here I am, enjoying a lull before dinner.
I practiced on the Precious for a while, printed out the ballad I had written for Colleen, a dear friend and fellow-pianist, (based on a crazy dream she had,) and then raced over to Webster Hall, where I whipped on my concert gown and went into the hall to rehearse my duet with Andy Kenney. It sounded good, and Dr. Carter, our wonderful Department Chair, gave us some good advice for the actual performance. We sat outside and talked with a fellow Chorale member until everyone else showed up at half-past three. The Chorale warmed up in the conference room next to the hall, and then we all found our places in the hall. The Chorale took the back rows, but I went up to the front row with Andy, as our duet would come before the Chorale's performance.
Dr. Carter began the recital with a short speech and then turned it over to a freshman pianist and a trumpeter who gave us a beautiful rendition of two short pieces by Purcell, the Intrada from The Indian Queen, and the Rondo from the Incidental Music for Abdelager. One of our sopranos followed it with a lovely rendition of I Attempt From Love's Sickness to Fly, also by Purcell; another sang Music for a While. Then it was Handel's turn to dominate the program; one of our wonderful young baritones performed Del minacciar del vento, from Ottone, and then Andy and I sang our duet, Thou in thy Mercy from Israel in Egypt. Another soprano sang Mio caro bene, a glorious aria from Rodelinda that I'll have to learn sometime; and the last soloist was another great baritone who gave a spectacular rendition of Arm, arm, ye brave! from Judas Maccabeus. Then the piano was pushed to the back of the stage, and the Chorale filed on, led by Colleen and alternating soprano-tenor-alto-bass from there. We sang Purcell's Funeral Sentences for Queen Mary, which turned out haunting and beautiful, with Dr. Carter himself at the portativ organ and, of course, Dr. Bowers conducting.
Afterward, Colleen and I showed the dream-ballad to her mother, who was highly amused and somewhat shocked (it was a very intense and somewhat violent dream, haha!) While Colleen and her mother talked to Mr. Schene about the outfit Mrs. Johnson (who sews amazing formals) is going to make for his upcoming concert, Rhapsody in Blue, I chatted with Mrs. Johnson's friend Carmen, who happens to be from Guatemala, so we chattered away a mile a minute in Spanish. I walked Colleen to her car, mounted Tesla the Vespa and flew away home. And here I am, enjoying a lull before dinner.
Friday, September 18, 2009
7 Quick Takes Friday, Vol. 13
It's been forever since I remembered to do one of these. Life's been crazy. But here we go.
1.
Last Tuesday I acquired a lovely blue Vespa, which has been cause of much admiration and envy among my peers. Pictures can be found on TradCats.
2.
Our grandparents, who have been visiting for the past two weeks with us and our sister Lucia, who is home from New Zealand, (witness the posts below!), left this morning. It was a lovely visit and I'll miss them.
3.
I'm re-reading the memoirs of violinist Albert Spalding. He had the good fortune to live around a lot of awesome composers; he played for (and with) Saint-Saens, Respighi, Dohnanyi, and toured all over the place. Rise to Follow is humorous, charming, and paints a wonderful picture of life both as a child prodigy and a mature artist.
4.
I'm enjoying John Mark Ainsley's rendition of The Trumpet's Loud Clangour, from Handel's Ode for St. Cecilia's Day. What a voice.
5.
Among my many pieces, I'm working on Debussy's Petite Suite, for piano four-hands, with a fellow piano-major. Here is a rendition of the first movement, En Bateau, played by a recently graduated friend, Michael McElvain, with another friend of ours (not a student, though I used to see him often around the music building.) Enjoy... it's gorgeous!!!
6.
Plans are beginning to heat up for the next Jam Session, over New-Year's. I can't wait. This one will be all the way up in New York! Some snow, for a change! I hope our voices survive the chill!
7.
Telemann's woodwind concertos are amazing... right now, having watched O Brother, Where Art Thou?, we're enjoying his Oboe Concerto in E minor. Good stuff...
1.
Last Tuesday I acquired a lovely blue Vespa, which has been cause of much admiration and envy among my peers. Pictures can be found on TradCats.
2.
Our grandparents, who have been visiting for the past two weeks with us and our sister Lucia, who is home from New Zealand, (witness the posts below!), left this morning. It was a lovely visit and I'll miss them.
3.
I'm re-reading the memoirs of violinist Albert Spalding. He had the good fortune to live around a lot of awesome composers; he played for (and with) Saint-Saens, Respighi, Dohnanyi, and toured all over the place. Rise to Follow is humorous, charming, and paints a wonderful picture of life both as a child prodigy and a mature artist.
4.
I'm enjoying John Mark Ainsley's rendition of The Trumpet's Loud Clangour, from Handel's Ode for St. Cecilia's Day. What a voice.
5.
Among my many pieces, I'm working on Debussy's Petite Suite, for piano four-hands, with a fellow piano-major. Here is a rendition of the first movement, En Bateau, played by a recently graduated friend, Michael McElvain, with another friend of ours (not a student, though I used to see him often around the music building.) Enjoy... it's gorgeous!!!
6.
Plans are beginning to heat up for the next Jam Session, over New-Year's. I can't wait. This one will be all the way up in New York! Some snow, for a change! I hope our voices survive the chill!
7.
Telemann's woodwind concertos are amazing... right now, having watched O Brother, Where Art Thou?, we're enjoying his Oboe Concerto in E minor. Good stuff...
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Monday, September 14, 2009
Love
I'm posting this as a kind of follow-up to the Viking's talk, though I wrote it long ago (when I was trying to persuade him to give the talk).
One of the first philosophical facts I learned about love, from something my mom said, is that love is to the will what a "light bulb moment" is to the intellect, because the good and the truth are both from God. The truth is correspondence with what is, and good is correspondence with He who Is. They are the ultimate focus of the intellect and the will, respectively, which is why St. Augustine says that we are restless until we rest in Him who is truth and goodness itself.
One implication that I drew from this correspondence of love with a "lightbulb moment," or understanding, is that, though love is a movement of the will, it is often involuntary--we can no more help loving something we perceive as good than we can help that moment of delight when we grasp a concept for the first time. Our will is made to seek the good, so on finding something good it turns towards it automatically, as for example most people's reaction to ice cream.
This applies to all or most meanings of the word love; one of the things you can learn from Tolkien the philologist is that when the same or a related word is used for concepts that seem different to us, it usually means that at some distant time and place they were connected in meaning as well as in name. Thus loving ice cream, loving your husband, and loving your enemy are all at bottom the same thing, though they work in different ways. When you taste ice cream, for example, your taste buds tell you "this is good," and your will says, "well, then I want it," and that is loving ice cream. You love a person when your will is moved towards the good you find in them.
The difference between the different types of love lies in the degrees of goodness in the object and the clarity of our perception of this goodness. God can have perfect love for even an imperfect creature, seeing all the good in it because He is the source of all good, but the kind of love anyone, even God, can have for ice cream is limited by the nature of ice cream, which is good in only a very limited way--in creaminess, sweetness, freshness--as opposed to a person who can be good by heroic faith, hope, and charity.
Another limit in our capacity to love is that we can only love what we know, and often our knowledge of a thing or person is limited or faulty, as happens to Elizabeth in Pride and Prejudice. Her prejudice blinds her to Darcy's good qualities and hinders her from loving him, even though they are the very qualities that she loves best. The difficulty of loving your enemies is that you have to move your will (often almost by force) towards the good God sees in them, for the very fact that He made them who can make no evil, rather than for any good that you personally can see in them.
In the case of "falling in love," on the other hand, the outstanding thing is that you perceive great good in the person without much effort in looking for it--and the movement of the will is instantaneous and effortless. For example, I easily recognize the good of a keen intellect and a certain type of humor, and would be likely to fall in love with someone who has these qualities, whereas other people might notice more someone's humility, mechanical skill, or other good characteristics. Your "soulmate" is the one who most incarnates the goods that you most clearly perceive, and vice versa--someone in whom you can always discover, and help to polish, new facets of good, reflections of different aspects of the infinite goodness of God.
Of course, love can also be a voluntary act in the ordinary sense. You can look for and love the good in anyone, and it would be easier to find it in a spouse because of the shared life of marriage, which places you in the best position to look for it--this is why arranged marriages can work. But I think it is ALSO possible for true love at first sight to happen--a person's face, voice, and gestures can tell us a lot about them, even enough to move a true and lasting love. The most important thing to remember, I guess, is that God is love, and ultimate love can only be found with and through Him.
One of the first philosophical facts I learned about love, from something my mom said, is that love is to the will what a "light bulb moment" is to the intellect, because the good and the truth are both from God. The truth is correspondence with what is, and good is correspondence with He who Is. They are the ultimate focus of the intellect and the will, respectively, which is why St. Augustine says that we are restless until we rest in Him who is truth and goodness itself.
One implication that I drew from this correspondence of love with a "lightbulb moment," or understanding, is that, though love is a movement of the will, it is often involuntary--we can no more help loving something we perceive as good than we can help that moment of delight when we grasp a concept for the first time. Our will is made to seek the good, so on finding something good it turns towards it automatically, as for example most people's reaction to ice cream.
This applies to all or most meanings of the word love; one of the things you can learn from Tolkien the philologist is that when the same or a related word is used for concepts that seem different to us, it usually means that at some distant time and place they were connected in meaning as well as in name. Thus loving ice cream, loving your husband, and loving your enemy are all at bottom the same thing, though they work in different ways. When you taste ice cream, for example, your taste buds tell you "this is good," and your will says, "well, then I want it," and that is loving ice cream. You love a person when your will is moved towards the good you find in them.
The difference between the different types of love lies in the degrees of goodness in the object and the clarity of our perception of this goodness. God can have perfect love for even an imperfect creature, seeing all the good in it because He is the source of all good, but the kind of love anyone, even God, can have for ice cream is limited by the nature of ice cream, which is good in only a very limited way--in creaminess, sweetness, freshness--as opposed to a person who can be good by heroic faith, hope, and charity.
Another limit in our capacity to love is that we can only love what we know, and often our knowledge of a thing or person is limited or faulty, as happens to Elizabeth in Pride and Prejudice. Her prejudice blinds her to Darcy's good qualities and hinders her from loving him, even though they are the very qualities that she loves best. The difficulty of loving your enemies is that you have to move your will (often almost by force) towards the good God sees in them, for the very fact that He made them who can make no evil, rather than for any good that you personally can see in them.
In the case of "falling in love," on the other hand, the outstanding thing is that you perceive great good in the person without much effort in looking for it--and the movement of the will is instantaneous and effortless. For example, I easily recognize the good of a keen intellect and a certain type of humor, and would be likely to fall in love with someone who has these qualities, whereas other people might notice more someone's humility, mechanical skill, or other good characteristics. Your "soulmate" is the one who most incarnates the goods that you most clearly perceive, and vice versa--someone in whom you can always discover, and help to polish, new facets of good, reflections of different aspects of the infinite goodness of God.
Of course, love can also be a voluntary act in the ordinary sense. You can look for and love the good in anyone, and it would be easier to find it in a spouse because of the shared life of marriage, which places you in the best position to look for it--this is why arranged marriages can work. But I think it is ALSO possible for true love at first sight to happen--a person's face, voice, and gestures can tell us a lot about them, even enough to move a true and lasting love. The most important thing to remember, I guess, is that God is love, and ultimate love can only be found with and through Him.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
The Dream of the Rood
Someone compared the Vexilla Regis to the Dream of the Rood in a comment awhile back, and when teaching them both for English class last Lent I decided to try to make an alliterative translation of the former--not directly from Anglo-Saxon, which I can't read, but from a literal translation. Also, there are sections left out where I got lazy; I might add them in someday.
The Dream of the Rood
Cynewulf, 770-840
Lo! I will tell of the best of dreams
What I dreamed in my bed at darkest midnight
When speakers were silent, all asleep.
It seemed I saw a wondrous tree
Rising aloft and wrapped in light,
Brightest of trees. That beacon was all
Covered with gold. Colored gems crusted
The ground it grew in, and five most flaming
Were set at its center. The saints in glory
Looked on the Lord's sign, light from heaven.
No grim wrongdoer's gallows this!
All holy spirits and heroes on earth
God's glorious works on Him all gazed.
Though stained with sins I saw it too--
For all my faults I knew its glory--
gloriously garbed and gleaming with joy
the Lord's tree lovely with gold and jewels.
Through ancient enmity of wicked men
its right side began to be red and bleeding.
Then feared I, for all its fulgent glory
for sometimes it seemed to be red with rubies
and sometimes soaked with the flow of blood.
Nonetheless, lying a long time there
troubled I gazed at the Savior's tree
until the tree began its tale.
So spoke the tree all trees excelling:
It was years ago, I yet remember
I was felled not far from the forest edge,
severed from rootstock. Strong foes seized me
set me as a spectacle, a gallows for grim ones;
high on a hill I was set and secured.
Then the Lord of all living came hasting here
afire with zeal to climb upon me.
I obeyed and bowed not down nor broke
when I saw earth's surface tear and tremble.
I stood firm and fell not to crush his foes.
The young hero, child of God almighty
stood strong and steadfast, stripped for the fight.
Willfully went he upon the gallows,
bold before many to liberate men.
I trembled when the man embraced me
but dared not bow down to the earth;
fall flat on earth's face. As ordered, I stood fast.
Climbing on high I lifted the King:
the King of the skies, and I could not bow.
They pierced me with nails. You can see my scars,
these wicked wounds, yet I would not harm them,
though they scoffed and scorned us both together.
Dripping I was, drenched with dark blood
from his speared side after he sent forth his spirit.
Many cruel sights on that hill I saw.
The Lord of hosts stretched out severely;
darkness draping the bright radiance
of His corpse with clouds. Creation in shadow
under dark skies wept for its King.
Though Christ was dead on the cross, there came
eager friends from afar to the prince, as I saw.
In bitter sorrow I bowed to their hands,
humble and zealous they haled God almighty
down from my torments; they took Him away.
The warriors left me, and wounded I stood
Pierced very deeply and drenched in His blood.
They laid him down there, weary-limbed;
gazed on the Lord as he lay awhile weary
resting from battle. But still in my sight
they carved a sepulcher from living rock
and laid the Lord of Victories within.
A song of sorrow then they sang,
but evening came and they wanted to go
leaving the glorious Lord alone.
We stood weeping, still for a while;
the corpse cooled, and we were cut down to the earth.
Oh dreadful event! In a pit we lay.
But disciples discovered us, friends of the Lord
decked and adorned me with gold and with silver.
Now you can hear, my beloved hero,
what wrongdoers on me have wrought.
Formerly, I was the fiercest of torments
hated of men, till I opened the heavens,
the path of life for all speakers of words.
Lo, the prince of glory, the guardian of heaven
honored me over all trees of the forest!
Just as he honored, over all mankind,
Mary his Mother, over all women
chosen to bring forth God almighty.
Now I lay it upon you, beloved warrior
See that you speak of what you have seen:
tell all men the tale of the Tree of Glory;
how upon it all-powerful God in his Passion
suffered for mankind's many sins
and the deed Adam did of old.
I still have to do the part about the Resurrection and Ascension!
Based on Mary Rambaran-Olm's parallel translation at dreamofrood.co.uk.
Thanks to Paul Deane, the author of "Linking Letters: a Poet's Guide to Alliterative Verse" at alliteration.net.
The Dream of the Rood
Cynewulf, 770-840
Lo! I will tell of the best of dreams
What I dreamed in my bed at darkest midnight
When speakers were silent, all asleep.
It seemed I saw a wondrous tree
Rising aloft and wrapped in light,
Brightest of trees. That beacon was all
Covered with gold. Colored gems crusted
The ground it grew in, and five most flaming
Were set at its center. The saints in glory
Looked on the Lord's sign, light from heaven.
No grim wrongdoer's gallows this!
All holy spirits and heroes on earth
God's glorious works on Him all gazed.
Though stained with sins I saw it too--
For all my faults I knew its glory--
gloriously garbed and gleaming with joy
the Lord's tree lovely with gold and jewels.
Through ancient enmity of wicked men
its right side began to be red and bleeding.
Then feared I, for all its fulgent glory
for sometimes it seemed to be red with rubies
and sometimes soaked with the flow of blood.
Nonetheless, lying a long time there
troubled I gazed at the Savior's tree
until the tree began its tale.
So spoke the tree all trees excelling:
It was years ago, I yet remember
I was felled not far from the forest edge,
severed from rootstock. Strong foes seized me
set me as a spectacle, a gallows for grim ones;
high on a hill I was set and secured.
Then the Lord of all living came hasting here
afire with zeal to climb upon me.
I obeyed and bowed not down nor broke
when I saw earth's surface tear and tremble.
I stood firm and fell not to crush his foes.
The young hero, child of God almighty
stood strong and steadfast, stripped for the fight.
Willfully went he upon the gallows,
bold before many to liberate men.
I trembled when the man embraced me
but dared not bow down to the earth;
fall flat on earth's face. As ordered, I stood fast.
Climbing on high I lifted the King:
the King of the skies, and I could not bow.
They pierced me with nails. You can see my scars,
these wicked wounds, yet I would not harm them,
though they scoffed and scorned us both together.
Dripping I was, drenched with dark blood
from his speared side after he sent forth his spirit.
Many cruel sights on that hill I saw.
The Lord of hosts stretched out severely;
darkness draping the bright radiance
of His corpse with clouds. Creation in shadow
under dark skies wept for its King.
Though Christ was dead on the cross, there came
eager friends from afar to the prince, as I saw.
In bitter sorrow I bowed to their hands,
humble and zealous they haled God almighty
down from my torments; they took Him away.
The warriors left me, and wounded I stood
Pierced very deeply and drenched in His blood.
They laid him down there, weary-limbed;
gazed on the Lord as he lay awhile weary
resting from battle. But still in my sight
they carved a sepulcher from living rock
and laid the Lord of Victories within.
A song of sorrow then they sang,
but evening came and they wanted to go
leaving the glorious Lord alone.
We stood weeping, still for a while;
the corpse cooled, and we were cut down to the earth.
Oh dreadful event! In a pit we lay.
But disciples discovered us, friends of the Lord
decked and adorned me with gold and with silver.
Now you can hear, my beloved hero,
what wrongdoers on me have wrought.
Formerly, I was the fiercest of torments
hated of men, till I opened the heavens,
the path of life for all speakers of words.
Lo, the prince of glory, the guardian of heaven
honored me over all trees of the forest!
Just as he honored, over all mankind,
Mary his Mother, over all women
chosen to bring forth God almighty.
Now I lay it upon you, beloved warrior
See that you speak of what you have seen:
tell all men the tale of the Tree of Glory;
how upon it all-powerful God in his Passion
suffered for mankind's many sins
and the deed Adam did of old.
I still have to do the part about the Resurrection and Ascension!
Based on Mary Rambaran-Olm's parallel translation at dreamofrood.co.uk.
Thanks to Paul Deane, the author of "Linking Letters: a Poet's Guide to Alliterative Verse" at alliteration.net.
Hymn to Saint Philomena
Translated and adapted from one to St. Catherine; #77 in the Oxford Anthology of Medieval Latin Verse
Daughter of a Grecian king
Now your household to you sing
Veneration, impetration
That your prayers for us may bring,
Us, sin-laden,
O pure maiden,
To the joys of heaven's King.
Sprung of noble stock and bright
With the virtues' heavenly might
Soon you said that you would wed
None but Christ, the King of Light.
O pure virgin
Make us burgeon
Soon in Heaven's joy and light.
Even in your tenderest years
You desired heaven's spheres
More than treasures or earth's pleasures
Eyes on heaven, despising fears.
Maiden, heed us
Martyr, lead us
Upward from this vale of tears.
Catholic faith in you withstood
Lashes' sting and waters' flood
Stood unbending, prayer upsending
Staunch in faith though shedding blood.
Martyr, heed us
Maiden, lead us
To enjoy the perfect Good.
Then the lictor's sharpened spear
After days of torments drear
Crowned your ending, all wounds mending
With the sight of Christ, your dear.
O pure maiden
Virtue-laden
Lead us to eternal cheer.
Daughter of a Grecian king
Now your household to you sing
Veneration, impetration
That your prayers for us may bring,
Us, sin-laden,
O pure maiden,
To the joys of heaven's King.
Sprung of noble stock and bright
With the virtues' heavenly might
Soon you said that you would wed
None but Christ, the King of Light.
O pure virgin
Make us burgeon
Soon in Heaven's joy and light.
Even in your tenderest years
You desired heaven's spheres
More than treasures or earth's pleasures
Eyes on heaven, despising fears.
Maiden, heed us
Martyr, lead us
Upward from this vale of tears.
Catholic faith in you withstood
Lashes' sting and waters' flood
Stood unbending, prayer upsending
Staunch in faith though shedding blood.
Martyr, heed us
Maiden, lead us
To enjoy the perfect Good.
Then the lictor's sharpened spear
After days of torments drear
Crowned your ending, all wounds mending
With the sight of Christ, your dear.
O pure maiden
Virtue-laden
Lead us to eternal cheer.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Today I was listening to Schumann's piano concerto and once again I was awed at the pure glory of it. The first movement is really unusual because it was conceived as a Fantasie for piano and orchestra; Robert Schumann transformed it into a concerto at the instigation of his concert-pianist wife Clara, who premiered his works after his career as a pianist was spoilt by an injured hand. He added an "Intermezzo" and concluding Rondo, and the result was one of the most gorgeous concertos ever, if not the most.
Here is the beginning of the first movement, played by Amir Katz; as it is a very long piece, this version is split into six sections. Go to Youtube for the rest of them. It's well worth the half-hour it takes to listen to the piece.
Here is the beginning of the first movement, played by Amir Katz; as it is a very long piece, this version is split into six sections. Go to Youtube for the rest of them. It's well worth the half-hour it takes to listen to the piece.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
One Week in the Life of a Camp Counselor - Thursday and Friday
THURSDAY - Today, unfortunately, Mrs. Eastman was out with a sore throat, but we hoped to have her back the next day. For a change, the morning didn't begin with a recital, but rather with a class by Ruth in which we discussed interpretation - what image does this section of a piece give you, why, and how do you bring that across? She chose a good one for it, too - Debussy's Claire de lune - and we talked about what kind of moonlight each part might represent. It was very interesting how different kids saw different sections. They also discussed a sonata by Schubert, which was a lot of fun, though not so easy to think up images for, because, not being Impressionist, it wasn't meant to only convey an image. Then, of course, there were lessons; and at noon, as usual, we split up and walked to lunch. The kids voted for pizza unanimously this time so I was introduced to Raccanelli's while Matt took his bunch to Imo's.
We got back in time for a little practice, but then it was time for Mr. Schene's recital. To me this was the highlight of the whole week, if not of the whole summer, musically speaking. He started it with the Beethoven sonata I happen to be working on now, Op. 2 No.1 in F minor. There's really not much to say about it, it's Beethoven! He did it beautifully, as always (this is the second time I've had the good fortune to hear him play it.) The first movement sparkled, despite the piano marking which he followed perfectly; the second was wonderfully gentle; the minuet-and-trio danced, as all good minuets should; and the final movement had me watching his flying fingers breathlessly till the last arpeggio came whirling down the keyboard. Beethoven doesn't need huge chords for an effective ending - that arpeggio ends in a single note that is a perfect period to a swiftly-but-well-spoken sentence! He followed it with Reflets dans l'eau, from Debussy's Images. It sounded exactly like reflections on water look - softly shimmering. I haven't had a really good look at the score yet but it's definitely a piece I want to play someday. And then, he finished it off with Chopin's Scherzo in B-flat Minor. Every note rang like a bell; after the martial introduction, the second theme, rather like a dance, was delightful! I couldn't take my eyes off his hands - I love watching him play, because it's so obvious that every finger knows exactly where it's going next, and in this piece, which I am familiar with and fond of, it was awesome to watch.
After a well-deserved thunder of applause, he had time for a couple of questions, ("No, I am not going to tell you how old I am," he joked, and I laughed "I know!" which made him give me a mock-glare as he said, "Well, thanks!"). We discovered that he had begun to teach himself piano at the age of seven and started lessons at nine. "That was a long time ago," he added, which made us all laugh. (And he made his concert debut at the age of fifteen! I wanted to ask what that first concerto was, but never got the chance; I'll ask him sometime.) Someone asked him how long it took him to learn the Scherzo; and he left us all stunned by saying, "Well, considering I learned it when I was fifteen, (wow! that's quite a piece for any fifteen-year-old!) I couldn't tell you exactly. But if I tried to learn it now, let's say, with some hard work, it could be done in... ten days." The children were amazed. I wouldn't be surprised, knowing Mr. Schene, but - phew!
We had to run over to Winifred Moore Auditorium then (Winnie Moore, as we all call it for short), for the first run-through of the recital. We didn't have time for everybody, but almost all of them got to play before we walked back over to the Music Building at four.
FRIDAY was lots of fun too! They started off with lessons and "practice till you fall off the bench," as Donna instructed on the daily schedule I typed that morning (I made that phrase bold, italicized, underlined and extra big!) Even Matt and I taught a lesson each, because Mrs. Eastman's sore throat had become a violent case of flu and so there was, of course, no way she could come. At ten-thirty we had dress rehearsal, clad in our olive-green Piano Camp t-shirts, and the children collapsed laughing at the end of Matt's and my rendition of Randall Compton's C.S. Theme and Variations -- it begins like Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody, but turns into Chopsticks, thence the "C.S." And at one point, the secondo, or lower part, comes flying up the keyboard and the primo has to jump out of the way and come round behind the bench to take the lower half of the piano -- so maybe "C.S" stands for "change seats" too, haha! As we came back to the building to leave our things, Connor had a light bulb and said, "Why don't you run around the piano instead of the bench?" I thought it was a brilliant idea and so did Matt, so we determined to do it! And when we came back and had a bit of time to practice, we tried it with the lovely Steinway grand in the Recital Hall (a.k.a. the Precious!) and it worked splendidly.
The recital that afternoon was wonderful. Only a few small slips occurred, but in general it was perfect and the children really did us credit, from Matt's perfect Bach to Miriam's delightful "Golliwogg's Cakewalk", the grace of the trio and the sparkling duets, and Matt and I ended it with the hilarious Chopsticks duet. There was as much laughter as applause at the end, which was a good thing! Actually, it became even funnier along the way because I nearly miscalculated my dash around the piano, since I hadn't considered one thing: the Steinway in the recital hall is a model B, about seven feet long, while the concert hall's piano is a full ten-foot concert grand, adding about six feet to the distance I had to run! As it was, I managed to collapse breathlessly onto the bench exactly in time to hit the next chord, and we kept going without a pause! Even Mr. Schene said afterward that we'd performed it very well, which was a relief, because we two had wondered what he would think of two of his serious (haha) piano majors playing such a nonsensical piece, (though it takes a lot more technique than it sounds like it does!)
After Ted Drewes' ice cream (a signature St. Louis delicacy) and a lot of chatter and farewells, Matt and I helped the ladies close up the concert hall and headed off home. It was a lovely week and they said they wanted us next year if we wanted to come, so I'm already looking forward to it!
We got back in time for a little practice, but then it was time for Mr. Schene's recital. To me this was the highlight of the whole week, if not of the whole summer, musically speaking. He started it with the Beethoven sonata I happen to be working on now, Op. 2 No.1 in F minor. There's really not much to say about it, it's Beethoven! He did it beautifully, as always (this is the second time I've had the good fortune to hear him play it.) The first movement sparkled, despite the piano marking which he followed perfectly; the second was wonderfully gentle; the minuet-and-trio danced, as all good minuets should; and the final movement had me watching his flying fingers breathlessly till the last arpeggio came whirling down the keyboard. Beethoven doesn't need huge chords for an effective ending - that arpeggio ends in a single note that is a perfect period to a swiftly-but-well-spoken sentence! He followed it with Reflets dans l'eau, from Debussy's Images. It sounded exactly like reflections on water look - softly shimmering. I haven't had a really good look at the score yet but it's definitely a piece I want to play someday. And then, he finished it off with Chopin's Scherzo in B-flat Minor. Every note rang like a bell; after the martial introduction, the second theme, rather like a dance, was delightful! I couldn't take my eyes off his hands - I love watching him play, because it's so obvious that every finger knows exactly where it's going next, and in this piece, which I am familiar with and fond of, it was awesome to watch.
After a well-deserved thunder of applause, he had time for a couple of questions, ("No, I am not going to tell you how old I am," he joked, and I laughed "I know!" which made him give me a mock-glare as he said, "Well, thanks!"). We discovered that he had begun to teach himself piano at the age of seven and started lessons at nine. "That was a long time ago," he added, which made us all laugh. (And he made his concert debut at the age of fifteen! I wanted to ask what that first concerto was, but never got the chance; I'll ask him sometime.) Someone asked him how long it took him to learn the Scherzo; and he left us all stunned by saying, "Well, considering I learned it when I was fifteen, (wow! that's quite a piece for any fifteen-year-old!) I couldn't tell you exactly. But if I tried to learn it now, let's say, with some hard work, it could be done in... ten days." The children were amazed. I wouldn't be surprised, knowing Mr. Schene, but - phew!
We had to run over to Winifred Moore Auditorium then (Winnie Moore, as we all call it for short), for the first run-through of the recital. We didn't have time for everybody, but almost all of them got to play before we walked back over to the Music Building at four.
FRIDAY was lots of fun too! They started off with lessons and "practice till you fall off the bench," as Donna instructed on the daily schedule I typed that morning (I made that phrase bold, italicized, underlined and extra big!) Even Matt and I taught a lesson each, because Mrs. Eastman's sore throat had become a violent case of flu and so there was, of course, no way she could come. At ten-thirty we had dress rehearsal, clad in our olive-green Piano Camp t-shirts, and the children collapsed laughing at the end of Matt's and my rendition of Randall Compton's C.S. Theme and Variations -- it begins like Liszt's Hungarian Rhapsody, but turns into Chopsticks, thence the "C.S." And at one point, the secondo, or lower part, comes flying up the keyboard and the primo has to jump out of the way and come round behind the bench to take the lower half of the piano -- so maybe "C.S" stands for "change seats" too, haha! As we came back to the building to leave our things, Connor had a light bulb and said, "Why don't you run around the piano instead of the bench?" I thought it was a brilliant idea and so did Matt, so we determined to do it! And when we came back and had a bit of time to practice, we tried it with the lovely Steinway grand in the Recital Hall (a.k.a. the Precious!) and it worked splendidly.
The recital that afternoon was wonderful. Only a few small slips occurred, but in general it was perfect and the children really did us credit, from Matt's perfect Bach to Miriam's delightful "Golliwogg's Cakewalk", the grace of the trio and the sparkling duets, and Matt and I ended it with the hilarious Chopsticks duet. There was as much laughter as applause at the end, which was a good thing! Actually, it became even funnier along the way because I nearly miscalculated my dash around the piano, since I hadn't considered one thing: the Steinway in the recital hall is a model B, about seven feet long, while the concert hall's piano is a full ten-foot concert grand, adding about six feet to the distance I had to run! As it was, I managed to collapse breathlessly onto the bench exactly in time to hit the next chord, and we kept going without a pause! Even Mr. Schene said afterward that we'd performed it very well, which was a relief, because we two had wondered what he would think of two of his serious (haha) piano majors playing such a nonsensical piece, (though it takes a lot more technique than it sounds like it does!)
After Ted Drewes' ice cream (a signature St. Louis delicacy) and a lot of chatter and farewells, Matt and I helped the ladies close up the concert hall and headed off home. It was a lovely week and they said they wanted us next year if we wanted to come, so I'm already looking forward to it!
One Week in the Life of a Counselor - Monday to Wednesday
This past week, I served as counselor at Webster University's annual Classical Piano Camp, a sort of workshop for young pianists between grades 7 and 12, who need to have studied for at least three years before entering. It was loads of fun! Here's the breakdown of the whole week -- I'll divide it in two parts, as I know it will be long!
MONDAY I arrived at the Music Building bright and early, about half-past eight, and the first thing I saw was a quiet-looking, dark-haired boy and a small blond girl in two of the red armchairs in the lobby. The girl, Katie, greeted me with the most exuberant "Good morning!" it has ever been my lot to hear.
Some people find it hard to break the ice. Katie shattered it with a sledge-hammer. She greeted everyone with the same lively "Good morning" as they entered, introduced herself, and chattered non-stop until none of us could help but join in the chatter, laughing; and from there, the group knit together without a bit of trouble, and we were soon good friends.
When all thirteen students had arrived, we joined them and the three teachers, Donna Vince, Pat Eastman (who has taught me these past two years), and Ruth Price, in the recital hall. The teachers introduced themselves, as well as myself and my "partner in crime," Matt Pankratz, fellow piano-major; and then they called out names and the kids raised their hands to be identified. There were seven boys and six girls, all between thirteen and seventeen. The boys were Matt (the first I'd met), Ethan and his brother Elliot, Zev, Connor, Morgan and Sam; the girls were Morgan's cousin Miriam, Alexandra, Katie, Natalie, and Sarah (an old friend of Rocio's, whom I was quite surprised but delighted to see!)
No sooner were we all introduced than we sat back and listened to a delightful recital given by a girl named Jennie, a "piano-camp alumna" who just finished her freshman year at Oberlin Conservatory, who played a Haydn sonata and... I forget what else, perhaps Debussy... ack, my mind's a blank! But she did it very well and we enjoyed it greatly! After the recital we sent all the kids downstairs to the practice rooms, having handed out copies of a piece they had to look at for that afternoon, and Matt and I pulled them out by twos to play their pieces for the teachers and be sorted, on that evaluation, into pairs for duets (and one trio, as of course thirteen can't be divided into pairs without leaving one out!) I listened outside the recital hall in admiration; the most impressive performances at that point were probably Alexandra's amazing rendition of Chopin's beautiful Fantaisie-Impromptu, and Sam's wonderful Introduction and Rondo-Cappriccioso, by Mendelssohn. Then they had an hour's Musicianship class with Colleen, another fellow-piano major, and then it was time for lunch and Matt and I divided them into two groups - those who elected for Raccanelli's Pizza went with Matt, and the Subway-eaters with me.
After lunch, back at the music building, they started having lessons - four with Pat, four with Donna, three with Ruth and a lucky two with Mr. Schene. Matt and I made sure they were where they had to be and practiced when we found time, or chatted in the lobby while listening to Sam's fiery playing - I couldn't get tired of the Introduction and Rondo, which he played over and over. At three we all gathered in the recital hall for discussion of the charming little waltz they'd been given to sight-read, and we talked interpretation. It was a lot of fun and we got some really interesting imagery from the children. All too soon it was four and time to go home, but before I did that I took Donna's handwritten schedule for the practice rooms in the Community Music School building (CMS for short) -- which all have grands, as opposed to the uprights downstairs, and she wanted to make sure everyone got their fair share -- and typed it neatly into a table, much easier to read, and posted it on the recital hall door.
TUESDAY the morning recital was given by a sophomore at University of Missouri, also a graduate of the piano camp, who gave a wonderful performance of a piece by Villa-Lobos, Beethoven's amazing thirty-first Sonata, and finally a lovely arrangement he had made of "The Farewell" from Disney's Pocahontas score. The morning once again was taken up by rehearsal, lessons and Musicianship, and they were given their duets - Morgan with Zev, Elliot with Tara, Matt with Ethan, Alexandra with Miriam, Sam with Connor, and Sarah, Katie and Natalie had the trio. After lunch they had a session on technique in the keyboard lab with all three ladies. At three we convened once again to discuss the day's sight-reading exercise, another waltz, but one that was very different from the first in style. We talked about how they were alike, and how they were different; and the final consensus was that the simple, traditional harmony of the first was more pleasant to the group, compared to the dissonance and ambiguity of the second. When Ruth said the first seemed more "honest", an as yet unsuggested comparison sprang to my mind and I exclaimed, "Why, it's as if the first were... the true lover's waltz, and the second, the seducer's -- the Don Juan waltz, if you like." They all laughed and agreed it was a good way to put it!
WEDNESDAY the recital was given by a dear friend, Michael McElvain, recent graduate of Webster; and as I had the good fortune of being asked to turn pages for him, I could see as well as hear, and marvel at the perfection in his music. He began with the introductory ricercare from Bach's Musical Offering, a beautiful fugue; followed it (laughing with us at his own boldness in so doing) with three Nocturnes of his own composition, of unusual harmony but no little beauty; and finished off the concert with Mozart's tenth Sonata. After it, as the others had done, he answered questions - in this case, he was asked about the compositional process, and how he ties together his three arts: composition, performance, and conducting. After the recital, as the children had their lessons, he and Colleen, his wonderful girlfriend, talked with me for a while in the lobby. It was weird thinking I won't be seeing him for a long time, as he was leaving for Chicago on Friday to continue his studies at DePaul University.
When Colleen went to teach musicianship, I went to take advantage of Mr. Schene's room being empty and practice on the magnificent grand (or rather, one of them - he has two taking up most of the space in his office! Wouldn't I love to be the head of a piano department, if you can do that...) Michael came in to listen to my Beethoven and make himself a cup of coffee, and from then on he was in and out of the room, at one point helping me in a desperate hunt for the poem I'd written for Colleen's birthday last Friday, which he had forgotten in the office. As we discovered that it had utterly vanished in the chaos of his music and Mr. Schene's, I dashed downstairs, typed it out clean and printed it just in time to give her as she came out of musicianship class at noon.
We were back from lunch at one o'clock, and at one-thirty was Mr. Schene's master class. He was surprisingly free with praise and no less generous with corrections as needed; the fortunate (or perhaps unfortunate, haha!) four who played, Tara, Connor, Morgan and Sam, acquitted themselves well, and seemed to blossom under his hand, their improvement evident even in the short half-hour each one of them had to work with him. At one point, Mr. Schene had Sam playing a difficult passage which included a rapid scale of octaves alternating right and left hands, and finally had Sam do the right hand while he did the left. They were so perfectly together that it sounded like one player, and they did it so fast and accurately that when they stopped we broke into a spontaneous burst of mingled applause and laughter! They received the first with delight and heartily joined in the second.
Later, as I waited for Mom, I went out to the picnic table in the wide front yard of the music building, where Michael and Mr. Schene were having one more good talk before Michael's departure, and joined them to listen for a bit to Mr. Schene talk enthusiastically about hearing Claudio Arrau play, and other wonderful musical experiences. All too soon I had to go meet Mom at the library, so I gave Michael a warm embrace of farewell, as he wasn't sure he'd be back the next day, bade goodbye to Mr. Schene, and flew away.
That day was also the day that Matt and I were handed Randall Compton's hilarious C.S. Theme and Variations to play at the final recital. I had the advantage of having played it before, but Matt said he would look at it and we'd try it the next day...
MONDAY I arrived at the Music Building bright and early, about half-past eight, and the first thing I saw was a quiet-looking, dark-haired boy and a small blond girl in two of the red armchairs in the lobby. The girl, Katie, greeted me with the most exuberant "Good morning!" it has ever been my lot to hear.
Some people find it hard to break the ice. Katie shattered it with a sledge-hammer. She greeted everyone with the same lively "Good morning" as they entered, introduced herself, and chattered non-stop until none of us could help but join in the chatter, laughing; and from there, the group knit together without a bit of trouble, and we were soon good friends.
When all thirteen students had arrived, we joined them and the three teachers, Donna Vince, Pat Eastman (who has taught me these past two years), and Ruth Price, in the recital hall. The teachers introduced themselves, as well as myself and my "partner in crime," Matt Pankratz, fellow piano-major; and then they called out names and the kids raised their hands to be identified. There were seven boys and six girls, all between thirteen and seventeen. The boys were Matt (the first I'd met), Ethan and his brother Elliot, Zev, Connor, Morgan and Sam; the girls were Morgan's cousin Miriam, Alexandra, Katie, Natalie, and Sarah (an old friend of Rocio's, whom I was quite surprised but delighted to see!)
No sooner were we all introduced than we sat back and listened to a delightful recital given by a girl named Jennie, a "piano-camp alumna" who just finished her freshman year at Oberlin Conservatory, who played a Haydn sonata and... I forget what else, perhaps Debussy... ack, my mind's a blank! But she did it very well and we enjoyed it greatly! After the recital we sent all the kids downstairs to the practice rooms, having handed out copies of a piece they had to look at for that afternoon, and Matt and I pulled them out by twos to play their pieces for the teachers and be sorted, on that evaluation, into pairs for duets (and one trio, as of course thirteen can't be divided into pairs without leaving one out!) I listened outside the recital hall in admiration; the most impressive performances at that point were probably Alexandra's amazing rendition of Chopin's beautiful Fantaisie-Impromptu, and Sam's wonderful Introduction and Rondo-Cappriccioso, by Mendelssohn. Then they had an hour's Musicianship class with Colleen, another fellow-piano major, and then it was time for lunch and Matt and I divided them into two groups - those who elected for Raccanelli's Pizza went with Matt, and the Subway-eaters with me.
After lunch, back at the music building, they started having lessons - four with Pat, four with Donna, three with Ruth and a lucky two with Mr. Schene. Matt and I made sure they were where they had to be and practiced when we found time, or chatted in the lobby while listening to Sam's fiery playing - I couldn't get tired of the Introduction and Rondo, which he played over and over. At three we all gathered in the recital hall for discussion of the charming little waltz they'd been given to sight-read, and we talked interpretation. It was a lot of fun and we got some really interesting imagery from the children. All too soon it was four and time to go home, but before I did that I took Donna's handwritten schedule for the practice rooms in the Community Music School building (CMS for short) -- which all have grands, as opposed to the uprights downstairs, and she wanted to make sure everyone got their fair share -- and typed it neatly into a table, much easier to read, and posted it on the recital hall door.
TUESDAY the morning recital was given by a sophomore at University of Missouri, also a graduate of the piano camp, who gave a wonderful performance of a piece by Villa-Lobos, Beethoven's amazing thirty-first Sonata, and finally a lovely arrangement he had made of "The Farewell" from Disney's Pocahontas score. The morning once again was taken up by rehearsal, lessons and Musicianship, and they were given their duets - Morgan with Zev, Elliot with Tara, Matt with Ethan, Alexandra with Miriam, Sam with Connor, and Sarah, Katie and Natalie had the trio. After lunch they had a session on technique in the keyboard lab with all three ladies. At three we convened once again to discuss the day's sight-reading exercise, another waltz, but one that was very different from the first in style. We talked about how they were alike, and how they were different; and the final consensus was that the simple, traditional harmony of the first was more pleasant to the group, compared to the dissonance and ambiguity of the second. When Ruth said the first seemed more "honest", an as yet unsuggested comparison sprang to my mind and I exclaimed, "Why, it's as if the first were... the true lover's waltz, and the second, the seducer's -- the Don Juan waltz, if you like." They all laughed and agreed it was a good way to put it!
WEDNESDAY the recital was given by a dear friend, Michael McElvain, recent graduate of Webster; and as I had the good fortune of being asked to turn pages for him, I could see as well as hear, and marvel at the perfection in his music. He began with the introductory ricercare from Bach's Musical Offering, a beautiful fugue; followed it (laughing with us at his own boldness in so doing) with three Nocturnes of his own composition, of unusual harmony but no little beauty; and finished off the concert with Mozart's tenth Sonata. After it, as the others had done, he answered questions - in this case, he was asked about the compositional process, and how he ties together his three arts: composition, performance, and conducting. After the recital, as the children had their lessons, he and Colleen, his wonderful girlfriend, talked with me for a while in the lobby. It was weird thinking I won't be seeing him for a long time, as he was leaving for Chicago on Friday to continue his studies at DePaul University.
When Colleen went to teach musicianship, I went to take advantage of Mr. Schene's room being empty and practice on the magnificent grand (or rather, one of them - he has two taking up most of the space in his office! Wouldn't I love to be the head of a piano department, if you can do that...) Michael came in to listen to my Beethoven and make himself a cup of coffee, and from then on he was in and out of the room, at one point helping me in a desperate hunt for the poem I'd written for Colleen's birthday last Friday, which he had forgotten in the office. As we discovered that it had utterly vanished in the chaos of his music and Mr. Schene's, I dashed downstairs, typed it out clean and printed it just in time to give her as she came out of musicianship class at noon.
We were back from lunch at one o'clock, and at one-thirty was Mr. Schene's master class. He was surprisingly free with praise and no less generous with corrections as needed; the fortunate (or perhaps unfortunate, haha!) four who played, Tara, Connor, Morgan and Sam, acquitted themselves well, and seemed to blossom under his hand, their improvement evident even in the short half-hour each one of them had to work with him. At one point, Mr. Schene had Sam playing a difficult passage which included a rapid scale of octaves alternating right and left hands, and finally had Sam do the right hand while he did the left. They were so perfectly together that it sounded like one player, and they did it so fast and accurately that when they stopped we broke into a spontaneous burst of mingled applause and laughter! They received the first with delight and heartily joined in the second.
Later, as I waited for Mom, I went out to the picnic table in the wide front yard of the music building, where Michael and Mr. Schene were having one more good talk before Michael's departure, and joined them to listen for a bit to Mr. Schene talk enthusiastically about hearing Claudio Arrau play, and other wonderful musical experiences. All too soon I had to go meet Mom at the library, so I gave Michael a warm embrace of farewell, as he wasn't sure he'd be back the next day, bade goodbye to Mr. Schene, and flew away.
That day was also the day that Matt and I were handed Randall Compton's hilarious C.S. Theme and Variations to play at the final recital. I had the advantage of having played it before, but Matt said he would look at it and we'd try it the next day...
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