Im Rhein, im heiligen Strome [1]

(from “Dichterliebe”, op. 48 by Robert Schumann)

 

Im Rhein, im heiligen Strome
Da spiegelt sich in den Welln,
Mit seinem grossen Dom,
Das grosse , heilige Köln.
Im Dom, da steht ein Bildnis,
Auf goldenem Leder gemalt;
In meines Lebens Wildnis
Hat’s freundlich hineingestrahlt.
Es schweben Blumen und Englein
Um unsre liebe Frau;
Die Augen, die Lippen, die Wänglein,
Die gleichen der Liebsten genau.

[1] (from The Penguin Book of Lieder, edited and translated by S.S. Prawer)

 

In the waves of the Rhine, that sacred stream,
is mirrored
the great and holy city of Cologne
with its great cathedral.
In the cathedral stands a picture
painted on golden leather;
it sent friendly beams
into my life’s wilderness.
Flowers and angels
hover about Our Lady;
her eyes, her lips, and cheeks
are just like those of my love.

 

The lovely train ride from Paris comes to an end at Köln Hauptbanhof, but the comfort does not. I’m only a short walk away from my very nice hotel facing the Dom, the very one so remarkably sung by Heine and Schumann in the Dichterliebe lied I couldn’t resist transcribing above. I hear there is a Sunday morning service with music which is not to be missed, so on Sunday, punctually at 9:55 am, I am allowed into the massive Dom by the guards, after assuring them that I’m not there to gape at the stained glass windows but to join the worshippers. Luckily, I didn’t have to explain that my love for music, and not my religious fervor, was what pushed me to be there.

I secure an excellent seat directly facing the altar but then realize that one of the cathedral’s huge pillars is impairing my view of the youth choir placed on a dais to my right. Never mind, I can hear them perfectly. All of a sudden, an immense swell of sound fills the cathedral. What an incredible organ! I learn they are using the older of two instruments, but even so, it was only built in the 1930s. The Dom itself, I also learn, was started in 1280 or so, but was never concluded until 1880, so the intricate mass of stone carvings is actually quite new, by Gothic cathedral standards. It is, nevertheless, in urgent need of cleaning, the originally white stone having turned to a very dark sooty gray which makes it, alas, difficult to notice all the details of the intricate lacework. I can’t help thinking of the admirable job the French do of keeping their monuments sparkling. The interior is another matter, and I let my eyes wander from pillar to pillar, from window to window, up to the soaring ribbed vaults, a model of Gothic architecture in spite of the church’s late conclusion.

But my attention is called back to what is going on in front of me. It is by far the most lavish display I have ever seen, in my not too great experience of Catholic masses. No less than four celebrants, including the auxiliary bishop of Cologne, all in extremely sober and low-key beige chasubles, without the usual display of shiny satin and gilt embroideries. About 20 altarboys and girls (also unusual, I know, but then they might also have been angelical blond long haired boys, I couldn’t really tell). Another surprise, the Mass was in Latin, Cologne being, if I’m not mistaken, the most conservative bastion of the ultra-conservative German Catholic Church. The Latin, the extraordinary organ, the youthful voices, the sheer number of the celebrants and acolytes, and the perfect “orchestration” all added up to a majestic celebration the grandiosity of which could not fail to move even the hardest-boiled spectactator. Riveted, I watched and heard the Mass unfold. A moment of particularly intense visual beauty came when the bishop climbed into the pulpit to deliver his sermon. The pulpit itself was a dark carved wood structure with a winding flight of stairs, not particularly original, but what struck me all of a sudden was that I realized that I was looking at a composition which seemed like a live Zurbarán painting: the stone gray of the church, the massive pillars and the Gothic ceilings, the glimmering colors of the stained-glass windows in the background, the bishop delivering his sermon in the pulpit, and beneath him, in the forefront, his three co-celebrants sitting together at different angles in statuesque immobility, their heads bent down, their hands folded, all four priests wearing the identical beige chasubles, while the 20 red and white clad altarboys formed two lines to either side of the altar, as if to emphasize the perspective. How sorry I am that I had left my camera in my hotel room, as this would have been an extraordinary picture indeed, for which I would not have hesitated to brave the certain fury of the watchful sacristans.

The different parts of the ceremony were punctuated by the songs delivered by the young voices and the powerful organ solos. I had come expecting Baroque and Classical, but the music was contemporary, including a lively, almost Bernstein-like Sanctus. I’m sorry that I couldn’t find out who the composers were, although I did try to ask around. No one seemed to know. The last piece was particularly beautiful, and sounded to me like Saint-Saens, but, alas, I haven’t a clue as to what it was.

Slightly disappointed to be left in the dark, I was thrilled to find out that the “Domorganist”, Winfried Bönig, would be giving a recital two days later. I would still be in Cologne and would then be able to hear that great sound again.

The Dom was even more crowded than for the Mass, although the atmosphere was very different from Sunday morning, less religious and more relaxed, with many more jeans and backpacks in sight. All the pews were already occupied, but we found excellent seats on a ledge against one of the walls, from which we actually had a very good view – not of the performer, of course, who remained invisible all evening, but of the church and the organ pipes. It was particularly lovely to see the light dimming as the sun went down outside, the colours of the glass windows slowly disappearing until they finally vanished completely, the natural lighting then replaced by that of the lamps inside.

Bönig’s choice of repertoire went from Reger’s beautiful Fantasy and Fugue on BACH, op.46, which I had already heard once at the Konzerthaus in Berlin, to his own improvisation on a Bach aria, and included Liszt’s Funérailles, 3 pieces from Widor’s Bach Memento, and César Franck’s 3rd Choral. The organ is not an instrument I am familiar with, and I wouldn’t venture to go into interpretative details. But what I can say is how impressed I was by this organist’s superb articulation and choice of registers, and especially, his unbelievable dynamic range. I have been used to hearing the organ as a very massive and resonating instrument, and I never thought it could also whisper and ripple as I heard it do that evening.

A walk through the Altstadt, dinner in a nice riverside restaurant and a glimpse of the mosaic floor visible through the strategically placed windows of the Römisch-Germanishes museum were exactly what one needed to unwind after the intensity of the musical experience, before retiring for the last night in this very refined city.