Wedding Music

It was a gray afternoon as I entered the Historic Catholic Church in Toledo. Although I feigned composure when crossing the iron gates, in truth I was embarrassed at having forgotten the names of the wedding party. The music had alread begun. To avoid disturbance, I reserved myself to a side pew. What a beauty the church was, well preserved in the midst of the city’s rust and decay. My eyes caught the two precocious looking gentlemen in front of me, their ears turned upwards to accept the acoustic bliss. Heavens! I’d forgotten the music for a moment! As I closed my eyes, I could not hear past the imprudent exchange of my immediate company…

FLORESTAN: My dear Eusebius, such passion deceives your mind. Countless repetitions of Bach’s “Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring” at wedding after wedding besmirch his illustriousness name. These touching moments do require music of careful selection; however, one should not employ such art in her service. Art arises only when one surrenders to it. The young gather in front of families and friends, bringing the unpolished voices of their kin in tote, to present fabrications of works they do not understand. That is the fashion, and fashion deprives art of its innocence. One should not commit to everlasting love in ignorance of art’s pure passions, for that art could breath new strength into withering hearts. Herr Pachebel, will you ever find sleep in your grave? As you are taunted with false hopes of rest, they exclaim: “Once more! Our marriage begs you postpone your peace so we might dress our ceremony in your music once more.” The devout state a musician must observe in filling the halls with such heavenly sounds cannot be reached when winking at Oma and Opa in the second row.

EUSEBIUS: Have you no heart, my friend? It is not unreasonable that such selections be conventional. Look at the young angel as she sings “Ave Maria.” She is full of life and her smile gleans with excitement for the touching occasion. How such moments bring forth memories of my youth. Florestan, you cannot sit still as others enjoy art for reasons that do not satisfy your lofty principles. Even if this sacred hall were cloaked in plastic art and empty feelings, it would only be you who would find torment. Look before you; they respond to such sounds appropriately for the event. It is their day to enjoy the melodies of our German masters. But perhaps I am too gentle. When Wagner’s bridal chorus strikes up in a moment, and brings this crowd to their feet, even my own forgiving heart will remain seated with you in protest.

…I considered their debate for a few moments, but I did not share their opinions. Do the friends and families not rise to Wagner’s chorus because they are eager to see the bride? How pathetic it is that two gentlemen would impose themselves upon a joyous occasion to ridicule the accompanying music as critics might judge concert selections. But what I heard next astonished me: drums and trumpets. I was deceived, for it was not Wagner that pulled me up like puppeteer. My legs had become extended to a most unexpected melody. The shimmering brass and snare rolls were dignified and stately. As the bride made her way down the aisle in white gowns, I suddenly recalled that I’d heard this march before. Before reaching another thought, the Baroque Rondeau suddenly came to me…the theme from Masterpiece Theatre.