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Church of St. John the Divine
September 15, 2012
It gives me a thoroughly awed feeling to realize that I am writing this piece on Hildegard von Bingen's 12th century Mystery Play on the anniversary of the day she died, aged 81, on September 17 1169. This has been her Saint's Day ever since, though not until May this year was this brilliant, vibrant and fearless woman, a feminist long before that concept was devised, officially canonized and recognized as a Doctor of the Church by the current Pope.
That's 970 years of gestation for the full flowering of this woman's life and work to be honored by the institution, the Roman Catholic Church, to which she whole heartedly belonged, with its highest accolade. Why so long?
Known as the Sybil of the Rhine, Hildegard completely shattered the mold of what was expected of a daughter of the nobility, even of an Abbess, as an original thinker, a controversial theologian, a travelling preacher, a healer of advanced botanical and pharmaceutical skill, a musician and composer of extraordinary determination in spite of frail health, a mystic and visionary sought out by emperors, popes, Abbots and Saints, and a founder of two monasteries. She was, simply, too much for her time. Attempts to canonize her failed amidst doubts, which have persisted to this day, that music and theological language of such striking originality and power could have been written, or performed, by women.
I remember the first LP of some of Hildegard's liturgical writing, hauntingly titled "Feather on the Breath of God", issued by Gothic Voices (Emma Kirkby and Christopher Page) in the early 80s. I had heard nothing like these soaring cadences, at the same time ancient, yet vitally fresh, which alongside the equally mesmerizing complementarity of the male Gregorian chant tradition, ushered in a revival of interest in all things mediaeval. But where Benedictine chant was soothing, humble, protective, this female chant was vivid, creative, celebratory. No wonder feminists embraced this new/ancient voice.
Saturday's performance was of a unique and very rarely performed work - a dramatic piece in the tradition of mediaeval mystery plays, written, quite possibly, for her nuns to celebrate the opening of their new Abbey at St. Rupertsberg, in the Rhine valley in 1152. It represents the struggle of a young Soul as she tries to remain faithful to her experience of heavenly joys, while encountering the compelling and seductive allure of the world. The structure provides opportunities for seventeen different virtues, under their Queen, Humilitas, to give musical expression to their own unique characters while pleading with the Soul and combatting the Devil. As the contemporary treatment of Soul is couched in the language of psychology (psyche logos = study of the laws of the soul) I was hoping that the Devil would be modulated somewhat from the usual overblown and horrifyingly ugly representation of a force from which we can easily distance ourselves and give us something closer to the more subtle way in which we so often fail to listen to our own deepest voices, and then have to face the consequences.
The Ordo Collective was formed in Edmonton last year to perform music by and about women under the vocal direction of Eva Bostrand, who also visits BC regularly to conduct master classes. For this performance, with Caroline Howarth as stage director, they were also joined by a group of male singers for the chorus of patriarchs and prophets and Garret Spelliscy as the Devil.
Under the soaring ceiling of St. John the Divine, the action commenced, first with the sounds of the harp, then with the women filing in, each distinguished by her own colourful sash, their voices floating effortlessly upward, while the men, voices demure, quietly took up their positions behind them. What unfolded was Hildegard's response to her visionary command from "the living light" to "speak and write" so that the harmony of original creation, destroyed by the Fall, be repaired by the harmony of music. It was easy to feel oneself in a twelfth century monastery with women of all ages and voices of varying timbres, strength and character, some bejewelled and showing their hair, expressing both their inalienable rights to be individual (they were, originally, all drawn from aristocratic families) in their solo parts, while transcending all differences when they sang in unison. Hildegard's long unstructured lines are much more difficult to do well in unison (because of the lack of rhythm) and were accomplished with hypnotizing beauty here.
The drama of the various encounters was effected with the simplest of means and gestures, as when the white robed figure of Soul, after sighing that she only wants to enjoy the world, responds to the yes, loud, but decidedly masculine and very plausibly seductive entreaty of the Devil by shedding her gown to reveal a red cocktail dress underneath. When later she returns to the loving and solicitous concern of the Virtues, the depths to which she has fallen is conveyed by her rumpled hair (which they smooth) and her dirt-covered face. The Virtues themselves display a wide, and unstuffy, range of feeling beyond the usual hope faith and charity, as in Contemptus Mundi, representing in her red shawl, the fire of life, Disciplina as a lover, recalling that it is not whips that draws one to give one's life to another, or Verecundia representing the determination required to resist temptations. And I could not help but note that Discretio, that faculty which allows one to make the right decision when it comes to restoring harmony, attributes the loss of it to Adam...no mention of Eve. The musical conversation between the Faith and the harp, the shifts from solo to unison, from monophony to harmony, the use of drums and the male voices sometimes as a chorus, and sometimes as part of an overarching harmony, lent the whole performance a richness and complexity that belied its apparent simplicity. My companion remarked that she had no idea that Germanic Latin could be so beautiful, while someone else said they were not ready for it to end. And everyone agreed the Devil was perfect!
Clearly this group of extremely talented women owe their inspiration to the woman whose work provides them with their name, the Ordo Collective, and it will be fascinating to follow them as they explore other avenues of female expression. I hope we see them here again.
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