Choosing Joy through Cold Spring Winds (Mendelssohn, Schubert, Johann Baptist Gaensbacher, Bach, Brahms, Louis Théodore Gouvy)

Photographs by the author, Deeann D. Mathews, taken March 27, 31, April 1, and April 2

The winds of a cold spring are still whipping through in the midst of the loveliness of the season ... this from Mendelssohn, with that ending that fits my decision about things this week as well!

There has been so much going on, good and bad ... but the bad primarily is what is common to time and life ... most outside of that has been left outside my iron walls ... I am so grateful for being led to climb out of all that in 2022 and 2023 ... I accept that life must have its storms even in spring, like this one that overtook me on the last day of March...

... but I must confess I rather enjoyed being in it, thinking of Schubert's "Der Schiffer," about a boatman, rowing cheerfully through the storm toward a better world ... I truly appreciated this song with that in mind ... if one knows one is called on high, even a storm is an occasion to learn how to rejoice in it, with hope ... and of course, it does not hurt at all in rejoicing that Kurt Möll is singing it!

And, being led through is a further occasion for rejoicing ... I did get home before that gentle warm rain turned into this, for which I was not dressed!

But by that time, of course, I was listening to that lovely singing, all wrapped up in Herr Möll's voice and in the mode of "What pain? What problems? I have had walked and I have this music and I am wet but not soaked -- I am grateful!"

And then I turned my head a bit to the side and found an entire playlist I would not otherwise have seen ... a whole album ... and there on that collection are his recordings of Hugo Wolf, which lesser-known composer he had mentioned as one of his favorites to August Everding! How long did it take me to stop smiling? I honestly do not know, even in the middle of that big storm, even though I did not have time yet to enjoy those selections!

Though the spring has dawned cold, the skies are silver-cast ... there is a lot of opportunity I am doing my best to seize ... the weekend and the week were critical ... I had another realization while in the process, one begun last week as I seized new ground. The good, the bad, and ugly of life, hitting as it has been, requires a great deal of reverent submission -- I am not Catholic but I understand why saying Kyrie eleison, or, "Lord, have mercy," is a way of life, daily ...

Yet I have been checking out a good number of Catholic masses in music and finding in them something that pops up in Bach from time to time as well: gratitude for access to God allows for a balance of reverent celebration ... this is why Bach could say, "Dress up, O beloved soul!"

Though I do not want the world's idea of celebration, and came to terms with that last year ... though consolation, rest, and celebration all come along one path to me ... there was a sense last week that I felt while also in the rain this week ... the fact that I am still able, in light of how ill I actually was three months ago, to push the trail forward while keeping necessities going is a cause for both gratitude and celebration ... I understood why people did things to mark such matters ... a pause to rest, breathe, and choose joy, individually and collectively.

I also rethought how I showed up where historically I would not have been welcomed in the previous week, and how I have been rolling into San Francisco's City Hall fearlessly ... and because of that rethought authority and position as a stewardship, not as something to be pursued for itself, but if granted, then alto usable for good. This has settled into my mind ... sort of suddenly ... perhaps in contrast to those things being so roundly abused and looking for more ways to bless in spite of ...

... and then, concurrently realizing to an even deeper level than before, to so many ... there is no bridge. There is actually an inverse relationship to me achieving more and being able to help those of my old circle ... I made the observation in the autumn that I was like a stronger climber who had turned around to help some others and done a rescue, only for them to want to hang around in the danger zone ... sure enough ... even the ones who climbed after me in late 2024 are falling back ... to my heartbreak, but I have learned ... it is so hard when the pattern is set ... when Bin gewohnt das Irregehen -- "I am used to going in error" is one's life pattern, chasing after the shiny squirrels previously known as wills-o'-the-wisp ... or in German, das Irrlicht. It is a cold spring realization that requires Herr Möll to sing from Winterreise, specifically, "Irrlicht"!

Of course, two winters beyond 2023, I am not going to be even listening to people going into the whole conversation the character in Winterreise has that explains why, by song 20, he cannot make himself go to a safe place if he tried, the signpost of death written over the only path he can walk -- damned to error-going and its results, by his choices in songs 1, 4, 5, 9 ("Irrlicht") and 10. That conversation, translated into casual American English, is still in common conversations every day ... "I'm off track, but I'll get back ... not worried about it ... I'm used to going astray and it doesn't matter ... all our joys and sorrows are just the play of a will-o'-the-wisp anyway ... it's all a game."

But to all such people, I have put up the silence of an iron wall ... I can carry them no further, nor can I dissuade them from their love of erring lights no matter how those lights will lead them to the pit ... the pit I am no longer wrestling people from the brink of, when they do not desire any of the things that belong to the climb. There is no point. There is no bridge. I have accepted that I will have to walk with grief ... but ...

Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted.

Or, let Brahms sing it: "Selig sind, die da Leid tragen ... ."

Meanwhile, my students of previous decades are coming back to me hungry to learn more in many ways ... I have enough to do ... again, choosing to look at what is for me to focus on ... choosing to focus on the joys of that ... while also experiencing and acknowledging the griefs common to all, and of observing the loss others are choosing for themselves with anticipatory grief. Yet about that I had also been warned in the previous spring:

Do not allow the anticipation of future grief to rob you of present joys.

I had choices to make in this spring ... cold winds and allergies though there surely must continue to be ... into every life some rain must also fall ... one prepares for and deals with these things ... but still, in a life packed with everything, one still has choices ... one can learn to row singing out with hope and joy and gratitude even a storm ... and if that is true, then when how much more joy can one meet the sunny days?

The week offered me exactly one sunny day to walk in, and on that day I had errands to run in a chilly but beautiful morning ... P is for pretty ... that was a remarkable moment to photograph ...

... and at the end of my morning errands I found myself with leisure in the late morning to get my walk and relax at last ... I felt led to take a different route home, and to my delight I was able to link up on that route to the bus that would take me three-quarters of the way up my darling Buena Vista Hill!

Though it was chilly, I was delighted by it until I hit that one spot in which winter was still blowing through like it was going nowhere fast ...

... but then the Ghost of Musical Greatness Past came around the corner behind me and announced his presence by cheerfully humming "Der Schiffer" ... oh, the beauty of that voice, humming! I turned around to find his arms open to me, and in them I forgot what cold was! He carried me through that gap, and then did an act of humility that utterly filled my heart ... he accepted his place as a lesser warmth, echoing a greater one ... for once across he let me go into the full brightness of the sunshine, and stepped out of the way, content to sit beside me and also be blessed by that beauty. He had epitomized such humility in his mortal life, and it was one of the things that drew me to his legacy of love ... and so he smiled gently to see me lean upon his shoulder, even in the presence of a far greater warmth ... deeply wanted, if not strictly needed ... and wrapped that arm around me affectionately.

"You have been rethinking position, status, and authority as stewardship, Frau Mathews. I provide you this little object lesson to begin: you think me a great man with many great accomplishments, but all such things, for one so called, are just greater means to reflect a still greater light. There is no reason to avoid them as they come to you to be used in your calling, no need to be afraid because you have seen so many bad examples in the world around you. Good examples are needed for others to see, and you are being fitted more and more. You may embrace others with all of that, and by doing so, bring them into better understanding of the power and love of Him Who calls you, provided, of course, that they are ready and willing to understand."

"For many are called," I quoted, "but few are chosen."

"Correct, Frau Mathews. The chosen choose what they are chosen for, but they will always be few, for in the end, as you know, choosing to walk one way is choosing not to walk in the other. To follow the true light, one must choose not to follow any wills-o'-the-wisp ... one must become disturbed at the thought of being lost, and though used to error-going, forsake it, along with the idea that it does not matter what way one goes. You see, Frau Mathews, you have found your spring yet again, but there are those who will never see an end to their Winterreise in this world, by their own choices."

"To borrow from Shakespeare," I said, "the winter of discontent for many will never end."

"That is a good Anglo-Saxon literary way of handling the same thought," he said. "If I remember correctly, Richard III is even more tragic than Macbeth, in that he succeeds so well and is so proud of his cunning. He has no chance to repent, just because of that. He is like the character in 'Irrlicht,' indeed."

"I imagine a semi-staged Winterreise might borrow a little from such ideas," I said.

He considered this.

"Such staging has been done," he said, "but I think only your mind would consider the irreverence of Richard III as fitting there ... a step further than my un-sentimental approach to it ... to really bring out the means by which the character in Winterreise initially and continues to choose the doom he cannot avoid later though he wishes to."

He considered this still more, and then his eyes went wide, and then he tightened his embrace of me.

"Cold indeed have been the winds of your life of late to have brought you to such dark thoughts!"

"My elders must continue to age and endure such things as come with that, and I must endure with them," I said. "But ... I was not prepared for the third return of some folks to multiple levels of the foolery. There is nothing I can do but move on, even after that hopeful winter, for I already know: I and just the few are going to have to climb out of a wreck again, and it is best for me to get started now. Already, things are falling in ... I see it ... time to go."

"It is good that you know what is required, Frau Mathews," he said. "It is good that you have the clarity and strength to do what you must, and that you are doing it, for you are not in denial, you are not angry, you are not bargaining in the sense of trying to change it. You are walking in acceptance, already."

He was going over the stages of grief, having left off, for the moment, depression, for he knew that and acceptance could walk concurrently with me ... hence his concern and specific encouragement ... commending me, literally, for my courage to move forward.

He was also controlling himself, for his burning eyes belied his calm voice. I knew he wanted to sing me clear out of even the knowledge of what pain was, and even to the point that I might not even remember for a long, long time. He had the power to do that, but instead, again choosing the path of greater humility, he simply walked along with me through the pain and grief, as he had since 2021 in music, and since 2023 in Q-Inspired.

He was silent, but already he had given me his arm, and so on we went, him lightening my burden with his sheer, strong presence. He was so glad to do this that he was slowly glowing up, and I loved him so much for that simple offering that the moment of pain passed and we walked on again without it, having chosen what was better.

Also without saying ... we were climbing the final quarter of the hill ...

... and of course I did not choose the easiest path ...

"Frau Mathews, since apparently you do not care about having your doctor pull her hair out because you just are clear to do the quarter of the hill ... just cleared ... surely you care about your sedate octogenarian walking service, who is just a day short of 87 years old?"

"Who would run up this hill and up a few clouds right back home if he gets overexcited in his ethereal state, no longer content to step up on orchestra boxes because no longer worried about breaking the whole thing and his neck."

He laughed.

"I wasn't worried then! Frau Möll may have had a few thoughts, but of course, that is none of your business, Frau Mathews! None of this excuses the fact that given a perfectly extensive stairway as it is, you have to find an even steeper one -- the absolute hardest way to do this quarter of the hill."

"Well, you can't be an Eisenblumenkind going the easiest way up the hill," I said.

The affectionate chagrin on his face was deep, and the head shake and following facepalm were rich before he let his laughter roll down the hill!

Up another level, and we turned and saw the Sutro Tower looming behind us ...

... still clearly visible to our southwest, although there were clouds to the northwest over the Pacific ...

"It is a good thing we get up here just before noon," he said. "The winds will be violent later."

Upward again ... above this there appeared to be a place in which there had been many young trees cut off ...

... but it turned out this was a creative set of stairs ...

"It looks like a waterfall frozen in wood," I said, "so we can walk up it."

"Fanciful, but not at all unreasonable," he said, but then looked down and his eyes widened.

"They are less even than the stairs we came up on, and the lack of steepness of the way is deceiving -- Bei vorsichtig, mein Liebling."

With foresight, my love-ling -- 'be careful, my darling,' in essence, is what he said, and he was right, for at the top, around the corner, the steepness suddenly ramped up.

But we were up and over, and I realized we were on the south rolling height before the top...

... and before long we looked back upon it from the top ...

... on an ideal day for a panoramic view ...

"See, I gotta pre-burn these calories because tomorrow is your birthday and I know we are about to do some eating!" I said.

He again put his head in his hands.

"Your doctor is not going to be yelling at me, Frau Mathews!" he said, "and I have no joints that are going to be letting me know ... the way you bustled down that two blocks on 18th Street this morning like you are some Olympian cross-country skier training in the Castro and talking about 'I can catch that bus ... yes, I can beat it to that stop in this traffic with it still being that far back."

He paused for dramatic effect...

"Once you beat this anemia I do not know what I am going to be doing with you!"

"And you know you can hardly wait to find out, so stop it!" I said, and we rolled laughing at the top of the hill.

"Ach, meine liebe Dame!" he cried at the end of that, "surely we have chosen our joys, in the midst of it all!"

"Indeed -- and why not!" I cried.

"My birthday is Saturday, and yet I have a gift for you now," he said. "I was on YouTube observing living basses you might enjoy ... I know I am wasting my time because you don't think anyone else even needed to have a job but me from 1966 to 2006, and since 2017 with the exceptions of Kevin Maynor, Morris Robinson, and Eric Hollaway, all basses may as well be retired ... ."

"Guilty as charged," I said.

"And shameless!" he cried before breaking down laughing. "But, have you heard of Manfred Hemm?"

"Yes -- his voice reminds me a little of yours, especially in certain contexts," I said.

"My search to see what he has been doing led to remember Louis Théodore Gouvy, and his little-known but remarkable Requiem."

"Gouvy is a new composer for me," I said.

"I will say nothing about his work except that in an age of far greater names and influences, Gouvy incorporated some but remained his own completely unique self -- for originality, one might consider Beethoven in his time, but also Bruckner his near-peer, and closer there, as you will hear -- but still, completely his own voice."

Like Bruckner, Gouvy understands the gravity of the matter before him ... his opening is deep and dark and unquestionably centered in E flat minor, but like Bruckner's F Minor Mass, it is still shot through with light ...

and his "Dies Irae," vigorously terrifying as it is, ends in a radiance of light that astounded me ... I had to listen to it twice to be sure I heard what I thought I did...

... and again, he turns from deep darkness to light ...

... and again ...

... and then the Offertorium makes an opening ascent into that light that is astounding ... rising up again and again through sorrow into light, and triumphantly determining it will keep its high ground ... an early climax and then a late one overwhelmed me, for I understood the journey of this lesson, but was not prepared for the impact upon me...

And then this ... the temporary suggestion of the minor key returning, but no ... the Sanctus remains in the radiant light, alternating from tender soprano singing to the choir joyously exulting in the light of a holy God, blessing His people now and hereafter... going from rejoicing to rejoicing as a fugue breaks out in the Hosanna section!

... and then, Gouvy suddenly has me liking tenors because of the mighty but tender tenor blessing of the Benedictus ... the beautiful simplicity hinted in the soprano solo earlier blossoms out here in full ...

Now at last, the Agnus Dei returns firmly to the minor mode, for in it is the recognition that we fallen, broken mortals of the world are in need of mercy we cannot provide ourselves as we face death, and as the living face a world they must survive without their loved ones ... a most moving alto solo joined by bass for duo, and then the soprano and tenor come in for the quartet before the choir closes out ... a heartbreaking moment, but light still shoots through this firmly minor-key close, for by no means does Gouvy deny the deep grief and pain and anxiety that goes with his topic ... yett if one truly believes in that eternal light, and resting in it, then in darkness, one will turn toward it, and then choose it, and then be seen in it. The darkness is there, the real-life anguish and need for help is there, but by this time, we have already been convinced that light is just past it.

Walk, abide, adorn, appropriate, affirm, appear ... Gouvy set forth the same lesson I have been having, just in a different order ... even in the midst of grief that none can avoid ... even in the midst of storms ... where faith, hope, and love are, there also will be light to rejoice in, if chosen, and from there, others will be drawn to that light.

Gouvy was nearly forgotten as a composer, great as he is ... but it is this Requiem that was brought back in 1994 that caused his music to see a revival of interest. At last, he himself has re-appeared, singing of light beyond darkness, to the light of the late 20th century!

I was in tears at the end of Gouvy's Requiem ... tears of joy, and when I at last looked up to receive an ethereal handkerchief, I saw that the offerer had a second one out and was using it freely as he was glowing up in joy.

"I considered my lesson for the day," he said, "but I also realized that Gouvy could teach it better ... far better! For yes, the storms and the shadows must come ... but in the way that you are called, before you and around and behind you, no matter the storm or shade, there is and ever will be light -- keep climbing in and choosing the light until at last, at last -- !"

Now mortal eye cannot see nor ear hear of such things -- but to see and hear him overjoyed at that moment was to catch an echo, even as Gouvy seems to have that echo rolling through his requiem. He had risen to his feet, and gravity shuddered, scarcely able to hold on there -- but then he sat back down and was quiet, remembering that he could split that hill and level the city if his immortal voice slipped its approximation to its mortal confines completely. Then it was that he had to use his handkerchief, his eyes overflowing with ethereal tears.

We rested there a long time, listening to the hawks cry out in their play and watching the loveliness of spring ... but as time passed, the woodwinds were increasing ... the trees before us were creaking more, and that alerted him to what I had scarcely noted: the trees behind us were roaring like the ocean distant, with white-capped waves visible from where we were. He came fully into the present in serious mind, and even without his English, I understood him.

"Frau Mathews, wir muss jetzt gehen."

The fastest path would get one down quickly, but, stairs for days before getting down to the Haight Street buses ...

"Absolut nein," I heard behind me, and when a basso profondo drops from an F2 -- already plenty low enough for the average bass -- all the way to an F1, his no is about as absolute as they come in this world.

The most direct path to go down the quarter of the hill back to the highest bus stop was the bike path ...

... so that was our choice though I had ignored it coming up ... but I certainly would not ignore it again, for fruit trees had bent low...

... already heavy with fruit ...

"I am glad to see that you shall be at last allured to take the easiest path upward, Frau Mathews!"

"Well, you know, bring me some fruit and anything is possible."

"I shall remember next week that you said that, meine liebe Dame!"

At length, after a bus ride down and around the great hill, we escaped the growing wind into the near meadows of Golden Gate Park ...

... and walked through there on the way to my home, now in less need for hurry because the wind was not yet howling at ground level. Now at more of a measured pace, I could see my companion was holding his peace, but was still very near being overjoyed ...

"For I have been blessed to be with you on the first day that you consciously, in the midst of your grief, chose your joy, and found the result of that blessing so deep and high --."

He stopped, and shook his head as he walked on, his voice again about to slip its mortal approximation.

"Well, you know I have a new favorite requiem," I said, "but not a new favorite bass, so if I am choosing my joys, Manfred Hemm and them can come, but ... ."

He broke out laughing, but then took me into his arms and swept me across the the meadows as gratitude, love, and joy overcame him.

"Du hast meine ewige Dankbarkeit!" he sang out, and then remembered it in English. "You have my eternal gratitude ... ach, mein geliebtes Eisenblumenkind, meine liebe Dame, mein Liebling ... ."

That had put him past the verge of ecstasy ... so around, and around, and around the meadows ...

... until at last the wind was high enough to remind him ...

"I must get you home ... bring dein Leben in den Griff, alte Mann ... get your life together, old man ... I must get you home, Frau Mathews, as your faithful sedate octogenarian pacing service."

"Well, we are not far," I said, "and I can hardly feel cold with you so near ... I choose this joy with you also!"

He whirled me up on a beam of light, and all those clouds to the northwest turned out to just be there as a comfortable dancing floor ... we just twinkle-toed along as he scared the entire national weather service on the West Coast half to death, for generally, thunderstorms do not come out of mere cumulus clouds, but they (think they) know what they heard, not understanding that ethereal basso profondos of excitable temperament, overjoyed at being chosen, sometimes get caught up and cannot help but laugh as they dance.

"I was not cold a moment -- I have enjoyed this day with you so much!" I said as at last we touched down again in the park by a magnolia tree.

He drew me close to him, his arms and voice wrapping around me in intense tenderness.

"You have so filled my heart with your sweetness and your trusting, willing love ... ach, meine liebe Dame, you have made my day and my birthday on Saturday -- all but my eternity, for of course that is taken care of higher -- but I have already said to you that you have my eternal gratitude and you keep showing me why!"

I laid my head upon his heart.

"How many days have you made for me, less eternity? Turnabout is fair play, you know."

He shivered from delight, but this time, the seismologists got scared ... the earth shook, and San Francisco's fault lines can only take so much ... so he pulled himself together, again positioning itself at my shoulder.

"I must get you home, and get home myself, for there is a shout in me that would break your world," he said, "but we have April still before us, and I am of a mind to celebrate with you as you press forward ... prepare yourself, for you have me just a bit more than a little excited!"

"Just a bit more?"

I laughed all the way home, and so did he, walking up from my house and scaring the national weather service one more time as he passed through to his home.