A Concert in Prague

Two weeks ago we attended a concert in St. Nicholas’ Church on Old Town Square. From April 1 through the summer Prague is replete with musical events, especially those of the Baroque and Classical variety. The city was, after all, a hotbed of compositional activity during those eras. So it seemed only right that we attend a performance of some Baroque and Classical pieces while we’re here.

St. Nicholas’ Church is a massive Baroque structure with a great dome that vaults five or six stories over your head as you enter. Statues of St. Cyril (slaying the devil) and St. George (slaying the dragon) sit on either side of the deep chancel. At the back of the chancel is a portrait of Jesus, his two fingers raised in the sign of peace. We sat down in the echoing chamber of ornately carved stone and perched cherubim. Craning our necks we could see detailed frescoes on the ceiling depicting anthropomorphized virtues of the Christian life. The audience crept into the hush of the sanctuary one by one, gradually filling up the pews and folding chairs. We waited in whispering anticipation for the concert to start; but no musician or announcer stepped forward. We just sat before this image of Jesus, offering us a silent peace while we waited.

Then the organ began to speak into the silence. The powerful notes of Preludium and fugue in F Minor by the great J. S. Bach reverberated through the sanctuary, vibrating the walls and floor with strong bass notes. The kaleidoscopic effect of a repeated musical theme infused the air, beckoning the audience to breathe in the thick scent of Baroque musical splendour. The overwhelming power of the music ebbed and flowed from under the organist’s expert hands, stretching and relaxing the aesthetic fibres of our being. The shifting tones of the fugue danced together, then apart, then together again until the whole piece came to its climax: a crescendo of volume and rhythm crowning the pinnacle of tonal resolution.

Then silence: a void both pregnant with applause and hushing with the wake of such gorgeous and powerful music. It was as if God the Creator, the Father, had spoken the word, and no other word could be dared to speak after it.

But another word was spoken. Next the flutist began his solo: Telemann’s Fantasy in B Flat Minor. In stark contrast to the deep rumbling notes of the organ, the breathy tones of the flute danced high above our heads. They called us to look upwards in search of the melody as one would search for a tiny bird among towering trees. The measures of aerial music hopped across the space above us, touching the hard stone walls and cascading down to our ears. Listening to this music lifted us up out of our seats and into the midst of the cherubim floating above us.

If the organ was the Father speaking then this was the Spirit speaking in her light but compelling tones.

Then flute and organ spoke together in a duet: der Grosse’s Solo in C Minor. The deep throaty growl laid a melodic groundwork for the high-flung harmony of the flute. We were drawn into the earth and carried to the heights of heaven all at once. If we might compare the divine voice to the mystery of music, then we came as close as a human might to experiencing the Trinity: Father and Spirit spoke above, below, and around us even as we sat before the Image of God, the Son, present before us.

After both flute and organ melted away and a round of applause clapped the air, the whole sequence began once more. Organ, then flute, then both played renditions of Bach, Marais, and Vivaldi. We received the word of music once more in an exquisite performance that fulfilled the angelic purpose of the architecture. The experience confirmed our suspicion that attending a concert in Prague is an absolute must for anyone who visits. To do so is to get a taste of history and more—perhaps a taste of divine beauty itself.

~ emrys