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nebroadweEvery year, in honor of the Easter Triduum (the liturgies of Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Vigil of Easter as celebrated in the Roman Catholic Christian tradition), I filk a speech from Shakespeare to reflect the experiences of that year's choir hell. This time, it's the "Seven Ages of Man" speech from As You Like It. Shakespeare purists should avert their eyes ...
The Duke, a Triduum choir member, and Jaques, his fool,
contemplate all the people straggling home to bed after the Easter Vigil.
THE DUKE:
Thou seest we are not all alone exhausted:
This wide and universal choir loft
Presents more tiring liturgies than the ones
Wherein we warble.
JAQUES:
All the world's a loft,
And all the men and women merely singers:
They have their Trid books and their music stands;
And one man in his time sings many parts,
His Trid being seven stages. At first the picking,
Posing and voting till the slate is set.
And then the endless practice, every chorister
Come fifteen minutes late, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to Newman. Then the Maundy,
Close as a hothouse, with tuneful polyphony
Cribbing the gospel of John. Then Good Friday,
Full of sound checks and yet still unbalanced,
Fighting through Stainer, iterating the Taizé,
Seeking to cover veneration. And then Tenebrae,
Each motet in extra rehearsals learned,
With harmony close and unaccompanied,
Mouthing Latin and e’en a little Greek,
The choir sings its part. The sixth age shifts
Into the long and smoky Vigil Mass,
With handbells on the left and bass the right,
The organ loft, well crammed, a world too small
For this stout choir; and its rich dulcet voice,
Hoarsening now from such harsh usages, coughs
And quavers in the reek. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful Holy Week
Is Easter Sunday and the Orphans' meal,
With meat, with bread, with fruit – with EVERYTHING!
(Yes, the new fire did get a little out of hand during the Vigil. Good thing the church is historic and therefore not required to have such modern amenities as a sprinkler system, or we'd have been renewing our baptismal promises early ... )
contemplate all the people straggling home to bed after the Easter Vigil.
THE DUKE:
Thou seest we are not all alone exhausted:
This wide and universal choir loft
Presents more tiring liturgies than the ones
Wherein we warble.
JAQUES:
All the world's a loft,
And all the men and women merely singers:
They have their Trid books and their music stands;
And one man in his time sings many parts,
His Trid being seven stages. At first the picking,
Posing and voting till the slate is set.
And then the endless practice, every chorister
Come fifteen minutes late, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to Newman. Then the Maundy,
Close as a hothouse, with tuneful polyphony
Cribbing the gospel of John. Then Good Friday,
Full of sound checks and yet still unbalanced,
Fighting through Stainer, iterating the Taizé,
Seeking to cover veneration. And then Tenebrae,
Each motet in extra rehearsals learned,
With harmony close and unaccompanied,
Mouthing Latin and e’en a little Greek,
The choir sings its part. The sixth age shifts
Into the long and smoky Vigil Mass,
With handbells on the left and bass the right,
The organ loft, well crammed, a world too small
For this stout choir; and its rich dulcet voice,
Hoarsening now from such harsh usages, coughs
And quavers in the reek. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful Holy Week
Is Easter Sunday and the Orphans' meal,
With meat, with bread, with fruit – with EVERYTHING!
(Yes, the new fire did get a little out of hand during the Vigil. Good thing the church is historic and therefore not required to have such modern amenities as a sprinkler system, or we'd have been renewing our baptismal promises early ... )