Mountain songs

Vincent d'Indy; Symphony on a French Mountain Air; Montreal Symphony Orchestra; Charles Dutoit, conducting; Jean-Yves Thibaudet, piano

I chaperoned a chorus and band made up of young musicians on a tour through Europe during the summers 1991, 1993 and 1995. Each time, we flew from the Minneapolis – St. Paul International Airport to Gatwick International Airport in the United Kingdom. The majesty of London would fill the first few days, followed by a drive through France and the magic of Paris. After six days in cosmopolitan grandeur, the third stop on our excursion enchanted our young travelers with its highland pastures, mountain ranges and pure, fresh air.

The village of Morgins lies literally a quarter of a mile into French-speaking Switzerland from France. Five hundred people make their home there year-round in traditional Swiss chalets. The population of the village multiplies by a factor of ten during the winter time due to the spectacular skiing.

The forty-five minute bus ride from Lausanne up toward the quaint Alpen hamlet took us around impossible hair-pin turns, past misty waterfalls and Edelweiss-clad meadows to finally reach an unobstructed view of a frightfully craggy mountain range called “The Jaws of the Earth”. The small number of beautiful homes and chalets that dotted the wide swath of landscape gave rise to elbow room in abundance. As we coasted into town, we saw the giant tent in the center of town where the band and chorus would perform for the local audience.

The condos in which we stayed were humble, but clean and adequate. My roommates and I would keep the windows open through the night to fill ourselves with the cool mountain air that wafted down the slopes surrounding the little town. When I opened my eyes on that first morning, I heard bells. Not the drone-like sounds of American bells, but melodious tones that melted together into a colorful, resonant afghan that suspended effortlessly in the coolness of the morning. It must be Sunday, I thought. We should find a church. So I rushed to the window, hoping to find the steeple that brought this heavenly music, but instead found something else. Cows. In the road. With bells. Around their necks. Lucky, lucky cows.

Before the chorus and band gave their concert in the big tent, a local choral group presented a small program of French and Swiss folk songs. When the concert finished, a few of us went into the pub at the condo and found the local choral group, sitting at tables, quaffing brewskies and singing their way through a new folk song book. They invited us to join them. I couldn’t sing the French, but it was fun to “la-la-la” our way through some four-part traditional French music.

French composer Vincent d’Indy wrote his “Symphonie sur un chant montagnard francais” (“Symphony on a French Mountain Air”) in 1886 after hearing a local folk song in the city of Perier near the Cevennes Mountains in south central France. The piano features prominently in this work. But it is not a piano concerto. The piano never takes over to lead the charge as it would in a concerto. It’s not really a symphony in the traditional sense of the word. The movements in a symphony typically have a single element in common, like a key or a rhythmic figure. But the three major sections of this piece have a whole song in common. One could use the term “theme and variations” to better describe this work. The role of the piano is substantial and virtuosic, but it is so tightly and intricately nestled within the confines of the piece’s orchestration that to give it solo status would confound the listener. Yet the piece is brilliantly written. Mr. d’Indy gives us a musical travelogue through the Cevennes Mountains, bringing magnificence and spice to a tune fraught with beauty and simplicity.

On the night after the concert, again in the big tent, the Morgins community treated their American musical guests to an evening of cheese fondue and more folkloric music. They taught the kids traditional French Swiss dances and gave anyone who wanted it the opportunity to play an Alpenhorn.

It never fails. The band and chorus members leave the likes of London and Paris, wondering how the rest of the tour could be any fun at all. Then, on the way home, they reveal that their favorite part of their European experience occurred in Morgins. I’m with them on this one. I love French Switzerland. And with that, I bid you all fondue.

Credits: To the people of Morgins, for being genuinely eager to both receive the good will that is graced upon them, and to return it by sharing a bit of themselves in the tradition of culture exchange. Thank you.