Nollaig Chridheil! ~ Two Gaelic Christmas Carols

Nollaig Chridheil dhuibh, a h-uile duine. Merry Christmas, everyone.

Today I'm afraid you, my readers, will have to endure another outburst of my Scottish geekiness. Fortunately, this one is appropriate to the season, and it involves more listening than reading. So turn up your speakers and prepare yourself for a wash of musical Christmas beauty.

~

 

Last Christmas I taught myself one Gaelic carol. That was all I had time for, what with the host of other preparations I had to make for the feast day. But this year I was eager to discover more: traditional Gaelic music holds a special place in my heart and I was sure there were some gorgeous Christmas songs out there just waiting for me. I was not disappointed. In my search I quickly uncovered the album Duan Nollaig: A Gaelic Christmas, by Fiona Mackenzie.

 

The album is lovely as a whole, including, along with the traditional Scottish carols, translations of some English favorites, like "In The Bleak Midwinter" and "Silent Night". Two of the native Gaelic songs in particular caught my attention: "Oran na Nollaig" (The Christmas Song) and "Bha Buachaillean an Dùthaich Shear" (There Were Shepherds in an Eastern Country). Below I post the videos and English translations of each song.

 

 

As soon as I read the lyrics to this song I knew I had to learn it. The words tell the story of a different kind of "Night Before Christmas"--this time, the midnight visitor is not a jolly St. Nicholas, but the voice of the Holy Spirit Himself. I invite you to read along as you play the video.

 

Oran na Nollaig (The Christmas Song)

 

The night before Christmas sleep fled far from me,

I lay on my elbow with a whisper in my ear

Saying, "Arise, get dressed and we'll go for a wander--

To a town far away across the ocean.

 

"There'll be a star in the sky," said the voice in my ear:

"Follow it and you'll get your reward:

You will glimpse the child they call the Lamb

Lying in a manger--his cheek like a star.

 

The Lamb of Reconciliation in the manger. Give him hospitality and welcome.

The Savior of the world, the beautiful child of joy,

What the prophets reported in the Bible

You will see tomorrow night--come sail with me."

 

"Who are you," I asked, "Whose voice do I hear?

Who leads me to the sleeping child?

Why did you invite a poor, wretched sinner?

Come and tell me the reason--don't leave me so quickly."

 

"Farewell," said the whisper, "I'm the Author of the book;

May the song of Christmas be daily on your lips

May the child's mercy follow your steps--

As long as you're on earth give honor to Him."

 

If you've read this far, it means you've survived the beauty of Fiona Mackenzie's voice and the heart-wrenching violin interludes. I congratulate you! But you ain't seen nothing yet...

 

When I first heard the opening harp chords of "Bha Buachaillean an Dùthaich Shear", a chill pricked my spine and felt my heart pulled into a kind of swoon. This I had to learn! To my surprise, when I looked up the lyrics, they were merely a straightforward account of the angels' appearance to the shepherds on Christmas Eve. The story itself was utterly familiar, but the Gaelic poetry and swoon-inducing melody infused it with a new beauty, gentleness, and wonder. The song sounds like stars. I'm sorry, that's the only way I can describe it.

 



 

Bha Buachaillean an Dùthaich Shear (There Were Shepherds In An Eastern Country)

 

There were shepherds in an eastern country,

Watching their flocks by night,

When there came an angel from heaven,

And the slope lit up with light.

The men were terrified but he said to them,

"Fear not, for I bring good tidings of great joy

To you and all generations."

 

"The Savior of the world,

The Christ, the Holy Lord,

Tonight has come to Bethlehem,

A helpless, gentle child;

And you shall find him securely wrapped

In a warm manger in the hay,

The precious, heavenly babe

Promised to us since the beginning of time.

 

Thus said the angel to them,

And suddenly the heavens were full

Of angels singing sweetly

And this was what they sang:

Glory to God in the heavens,

Everlasting peace of earth!

Glory to God in the heavens,

Everlasting peace of earth!"

 



I have no doubt these two carols will become part of my favorite Christmas repertoire. There is something breathtaking about viewing Christ's birth through the eyes of another culture's language. I have enjoyed it immensely, and I hope I've helped open your ears to another world of Christmas music. Beannachd leibh, agus Nollaig Chridheil! (Blessings and a Merry Christmas to you all!)





 





Feathers & Trumpets: A Story of Hildegard of Bingen, by Joyce Ray

 

Recently I signed up as a volunteer on CatholicFiction.net, a wonderful site dedicated to "news, views, and reviews of classic and contemporary Catholic fiction." The following is my first book review for the site. My Great Books series will return next week.

 

When I picked up this book I knew little enough about St. Hildegard of Bingen--only that she was a medieval nun who composed music and wrote books, both of which activities were unusual for women of her time. However, thanks to Joyce Ray's beautiful and well-researched novel, I now have a much greater appreciation for this unique saint and Doctor of the Church.

 

Young Hildegard is an unusual girl. The tenth child of noble parents in 12th century Germany, she is from her birth destined to become a nun, thanks to the medieval practice of "tithing" every tenth child to the Church. As a girl she is plagued by headaches, fainting spells--and visions. She predicts the color and markings of a calf before it is born. She sees fantastic landscapes and ferocious mythical creatures. Troubled about the source of these visions, her family agrees Hildegard will be safer behind the walls of a monastery.

 

The plot follows Hildegard through her years of preparatory training, her profession as a Benedictine nun at the age of fourteen, her life as a secluded anchoress in St. Disibod Monastery, and later her leadership role among the larger community of nuns. All through these events her visions continue. Some are terrifying, others unbearably beautiful. Because Hildegard is still unsure whether the source of the visions is holy or evil, she only shares them with her two closest companions--her ascetic mentor Jutta and her beloved disciple, Richardis. But when a Voice out of a blinding light commands her to write down her visions, she cannot keep them a secret any longer. With the help of a monk named Volmar she begins recording God's revelations.

 

Hildegard's visions are some of the most beautiful prose passages in the story. All her life Hildegard searches for love in her fellow man, but she only finds love's consummation in her intense encounters with the living God:

 

"In the clear radiance, the blue was azurite, as pure as the pigment illuminating her Psalter. The point came nearer, took human form and shimmered with sapphire brilliance. The human figure gazed as Hildegard. She floated on a gentle current....She neared the radiant human, knowing that he was her destination, that he was the answer to her pain. But the current supporting her flowed faster now. It became a torrent of floodwaters that churned and sped her toward the shimmering sapphire which radiated heat. When the figure engulfed her, she knew instantly that the arms of her Lord cradled her."

 

The strength in God that her visions inspire allows her to carry on her monastic work through much physical suffering and human opposition. In the latter part of the book she receives a vision, which she believes is a command, to move her community of nuns from St. Disibod  and to build a new monastery at Mount St. Rupert. The abbot of St. Disibod, who has enjoyed the funds and notoriety his monastery has received ever since Hildegard revealed her visions, resists the change. But through Divine intervention he is eventually forced to allow Hildegard to follow her calling.

 

One of the remarkable things about the book is Joyce Ray's skill in portraying Hildegard a character with whom the reader can sympathize. Most of us are not cloistered monastics, nor do we have heaven-sent visions. But Hildegard is not distant or incomprehensible. She loves music and gardening. As a girl she dislikes the tedium of memorizing Latin psalms. She cannot follow the ascetic habits of her mentor Jutta, who flays herself and fasts to the point of sickness. As a young nun, she struggles with her attraction towards the monk Volmar; as an older woman, she feels a mother's pain when her faithful disciple Richardis leaves her to lead a different monastery. In fact, the character of Hildegard presents a remarkable portrait of a person who really is ordinary, but is also given immense gifts by God.

 

As historical fiction, the book is researched thoroughly enough that the setting feels honest and real. For an added treat, each chapter is headed by a quote from Hildegard's actual poetry, letters, and biography. As a young adult novel, is does an excellent job of turning a character who would at first seem foreign into a person whom the young reader can care about. Under Joyce Ray's pen, the monastic life becomes a drama of love between God the Creator and his created. Feathers and Trumpets is a worthy tribute to this unique and wonderful saint. 

 

A bonus for my blog readers: a taste of Hildegard's music. Listen to as little or as much as you like; it is all gorgeous.

 



 

 



Death, The Awakening: Leo Tolstoy and John Rutter

Spoiler Alert! This post discusses one of the climactic scenes of War and Peace. If you'd like to experience that scene on your own, read no further! (But go find your copy of War and Peace--you've got some work to do.)

As my last year of high school closes (hurrah!), I thought I should cap it off by reflecting on the best Great Books experience I had this semester. Interestingly it includes not just a book but also a piece of music.

I am happy to say that before the age of 17 I have already put the accomplishment of reading War and Peace under by belt. It was a long tramp of a story, not always thrilling, but at its high points very moving, and ultimately well worth it. Here I would just like to give a little reflection on my favorite chapter--Chapter 14, Book 12, to be exact.

Prince Andrew Bolkonski is dying. By this point in the story, we have followed him down a long river of life, including several rapids and not a few waterfalls--his dissatisfied marriage, his ambition in the army, his capture on the field of Austerlitz. His return home on the same night his wife dies in childbirth. His regret and despondency. His newfound love for Natasha, their courtship and engagement. His shock at discovering his betrothed's near-elopement with the shallow charmer Anatole. His return to the army, his fear of death, and his fatal wounding at Borodino.

Now back in Natasha's care, he has forgiven her and loves her more than ever. But he cannot survive. He senses this and is terrified. But then he receives a mysteriously insightful dream. In his dream he sees a door, feels a horrifying presence behind it:

Something not human--death--was breaking in through that door, and had to be kept out. He seized the door, making a final effort to hold it back--to lock it was no longer possible--but his efforts were weak and clumsy and the door, pushed from behind by that terror, opened and closed again.

Once again it pushed from outside. His last superhuman efforts were vain and both halves of the door noiselessly opened. It entered, and it was death, and Prince Andrew died.

But at the instant he died, Prince Andrew remembered that he was asleep, and at the very instant he died, having made an effort, he awoke.

"Yes, it was death! I died--and woke up. Yes, death is an awakening!"

This is the insight that brings him profound peace, deeper than any he has experienced so far. And it will be his last:

From that day an awakening from life came to Prince Andrew together with his awakening from sleep. And compared to the duration of life it did not seem to him slower than an awakening from sleep compared to the duration of a dream.

This I found astonishing. Everything that we have gone through with Andrew--ambition and regret, love and hate, sorrow and joy--all this the mere length and vagueness of a dream compared to the Life beyond life? This is a thought to mull over, to hold in one's hands.

When Prince Andrew died I didn't cry. I almost did. I felt an emptiness like I had never felt before at the death of a fictional character. But I had been in this character's mind and soul, been privy to his blackest fears and most brilliant joys. And now he was gone, simply, quietly gone. And I could only ask the same question as his sister, Princess Mary, and Natasha: "Where has he gone? Where is he now?..."

At the same time that I was soaking in this mystery, my high school chorale was rehearsing the first movement of John Rutter's Requiem. And I suddenly realized that the piece drew, in musical terms, almost exactly the same picture as Prince Andrew's death scene. Beginning with bleak and dissonant chords, it moves into mounting moans of despair, only to be abruptly pierced with light and the sweet, serene, gorgeous main melody. It was the same theme--death is an awakening!--translated into sound. For the rest of the year that was my personal connection to the music--Prince Andrew Bolkonski awakening from life to death.

Finally, I invite you to share this experience by clicking on the six minutes of profound beauty below:

A Minor ~ Margaret Ann Philbrick

 

Note: Recently I was contacted by author and writing teacher Margaret Ann Philbrick to review her new novel, A Minor. I am honored by this opportunity--my first little break into the writing and publishing world! (Thank you again, Margaret!) As such, this is a new experience for me. I do not typically read contemporary romance, so I have little idea what a good book in that genre should look like. I can thus only give my general opinions, which I hope are honest. Thanks for understanding!

~

 

The first thing I must say about this book, is that you absolutely have to listen to the music. Whether you're reading the hard format or the e-book, use the links provided to pull up all the beautiful piano pieces which weave this story together (I can particularly recommend the Tchaikovsky Concerto No. 1--but listen to them all). Ms. Philbrick has given us readers a unique glimpse into her creative process, and the emotional enhancement the music gives to the story is not to be missed.

 

A Minor is a tale of many loves. It opens with the estranged love of concert pianist Clare Cardiff and her husband Nero, who decide to separate temporarily for artistic reasons. While Nero stays in New England, hoping to excel at his potter's wheel out of his wife's shadow, Clare goes out to the Chicago suburbs to teach and re-group. There she discovers a new love in her student Clive Serkin, an exceptionally talented young pianist. Sensing greatness in him, she points him toward the prestigious Tchaikovsky Piano competition in Moscow. But just as Clive is becoming to her the son she never had, Clare discovers that she is developing early-onset dementia. While Nero takes her back to New England for medical testing, Clive--who has fallen innocently but deeply in love with her--must find strength in his music to go on to the international competition alone. 

 

All through this tapestry of loves pulses the love of music--the characters' and the author's. Ms. Philbrick has a lovely and knowledgeable way of describing music in words, which anyone, not just musicians, can appreciate. However, this translation of one art form into another still leaves something to be desired, which is why you must listen to the music. It's wrapped up inseparably with the story.

 

Ms. Philbrick handles all her characters gracefully, especially the relationship between Clare and Clive which is most prominent in the book. Some of the secondary characters could have been more rounded out, with, however, the notable exception of Nero--the most troubled and complex figure in the story. Although possessive to the point of violence, he really does love Clare, and his greatest regret is the child they never had together. His tragic attempt to survive without her, only to lose her again to dementia, adds a dark but enriching note to the story.

 

Ms. Philbrick's prose style matches the formality and elegance of the classical music she describes. The only place this was a drawback was in the dialogue. While I understand the author's desire for beauty and integrity in the whole book, I feel she could actually better accomplish this through more natural dialogue. When even commonplace exchanges between characters were written in a formal style never used in real life, I found it distracting and distancing. The eloquent dialogue did work, however, in the passages where the characters were deeply discussing music--an appropriate context.

 

Overall, a graceful first novel and a unique literary-musical experience, A Minor will appeal to lovers of all things beautiful.