Harmonizing History: Heavenly Music from a Hellish Place
Note: This is Part III of a series where I am curating a soundtrack to accompany my reading of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn's The Gulag Archipelago. For background information about the project, please read Part I. Part II can be read here. You can access an Apple Music playlist of the soundtrack here (music will be added as installments are released).
First Cell, First Love
We concluded part II amidst Solzhenitsyn's interrogation, an alien process to those of us fortunate to live in freedom. The torment endured in the Gulag interrogations lasted for months, and the accused were left to their own devices, devoid of legal representation. Even if legal counsel had been granted, it would have been futile, for the distinction between innocence and guilt held no significance whatsoever. The methods employed in these interrogations were closer to torture than investigation. The brutality was so extreme that finally being delivered to a cell with the company of fellow prisoners was a welcome reprieve:
Now for the first time you were about to see people who were not your enemies. Now for the first time you were about to see others who were alive, who were traveling your road, and whom you could join to yourself with the joyous word “we.”
Through countless transfers within the Gulag system, Solzhenitsyn vividly recalls his first co-occupied cell with "an emotion that you otherwise experience only in remembering your first love." One night, a mere half-hour after the call to rest, he was awoken and commanded to gather his bedding. Led along silent corridors, he passed rows of occupied cells before halting at the entrance of Cell 67. As he entered, a trio of inmates, enveloped in sleep, stirred in unison, their heads instinctively turning towards the creaking of the cell door.
Those three heads lifted, those three unshaven, crumpled, pale faces, seemed to me so human, so dear, that I stood there, hugging my mattress and smiled with happiness. And they smiled. And what a forgotten look that was.
Stool Pigeons
But not all was joyous. Merely moments after being introduced to his cellmates, Solzhenitsyn's "internal sensor relay" cautioned him against confiding in a particular fellow prisoner. Time would prove his instinct well-tuned, as one of his cellmates was indeed a "stool pigeon," or "stoolie," one among the many he would encounter in the Gulag. Enticed by the allure of special privileges, these unfortunate individuals readily betrayed their fellow prisoners. Solzhenitsyn's sensor relay served him well, but he worries that "because we live in too technological and rational an age, we neglect this miracle and don't allow it to develop.
Life in Confinement
Although the company of fellow man improved one's mental state, life behind bars was far from easy. Prisoners were abruptly awoken at 6 am daily and expected to jump up without delay. Lollygagging earned time in the punishment cell. And the food was hardly nourishing, consisting of "unrisen wet bread, with its swamplike sogginess of texture, made half with potato flour" accompanied by a meager serving of tea. However, relationships with fellow prisoners offered moments of humanity, making life somewhat tolerable.
Solzhenitsyn and his cellmates endured a staggering sixteen hours a day confined within their cells. The only respite they were granted was a short break for walking. Most would deem this length of time in cramped quarters torturous. Remarkably, Solzhenitsyn managed to find enjoyment amidst the dire circumstances.
“The sixteen-hour days in our cell were short on outward events, but they were so interesting that I, for example, now find a mere sixteen minutes’ wait for a trolley bus more boring…by evening, I would sigh because once more there had not been enough time, once more that day had flown. The events were trivial, but for the first time in my life I learned to look at them through a magnyfing glass.”
The Gulag Archipelago is a source of valuable lessons, offering insights into the perils of ideology, the importance of introspection, and the nature of humanity. Yet, even if one fails to grasp these teachings, the reminders of what we take for granted make reading this book worthwhile. During their daily walk break, Solzhenitsyn and his fellow prisoners could see the Sun in all its glory — "not a reflected, not a secondhand Sun, but the real one! The real, eternally living Sun itself."
The Music
Searching for a musical piece that could capture the darkness of confinement and the everlasting radiance of the Sun, the agony of stolen freedom, and the delight of being surrounded by "interesting people," I listened to hours of music. Teetering on the edge of choosing several pieces, I needed to be more thoroughly convinced. And then I read about French composer Olivier Messiaen's Quatuor pour la fin du temps (Quartet for the End of Time). After listening to it, I knew the selection was made (V: Louange à l'Eternité de Jésus (Praise to the Eternity of Jesus).
It is crucial to emphasize that this soundtrack is not merely a compilation of my favorite music. While the selections will lean toward pieces that resonate with my musical preferences, this particular choice stands as an exception. Under ordinary circumstances, it is not a piece I'd actively seek out. However, I have included it for several compelling reasons — the historical parallels, the ensemble's unusual instrument combination, and the profound emotional resonance it elicits.
Prisoner of War
In 1939, Messiaen dutifully responded to the call of active military service in the French Army as a hospital nurse. However, before long, he was captured by German troops and subsequently imprisoned in Stalag VIII-A, a prisoner-of-war camp in Görlitz, Germany. The conditions were undeniably harsh, with an alarming overcrowding issue where approximately 50,000 French and Belgian prisoners were crammed into barracks designed to accommodate 15,000. Hunger and exposure to the bitterly cold weather tested the resilience of those confined.
Nevertheless, as dire as these conditions may have been, they paled in comparison to the unspeakable horrors endured by the victims of the Nazi Concentration camps. (2).
"When I arrived at the camp, I was stripped of all my clothes, like all the prisoners," Messiaen said. "But naked as I was, I clung fiercely to a little bag of miniature scores that served as consolation when I suffered. The Germans considered me to be completely harmless, and since they still loved music, not only did they allow me to keep my scores, but an officer also gave me pencils, erasers, and some music paper." And so he got to work composing.
Messiaen was excused from routine chores and assigned an early-morning watch to accommodate his interest in ornithology. Karl-Albert Brüll, a sympathetic and admiring German officer, procured manuscript paper, provided extra food and even posted a guard at the door of an isolated barracks to enable Messiaen to study and compose in privacy. (An unsung anti-Nazi nationalist hero, Brüll also protected Jews in the camp, including Akoka.) (1).
The Ensemble
The Quartet for the End of Time showcases a distinctive piano, violin, cello, and clarinet ensemble. This unconventional combination exemplifies Messiaen's ingenuity. As a prisoner within the camp, he composed the quartet specifically for the instruments that happened to be available among his fellow inmates.
The creation of the Quatuor unfolded over several months, each day marked by four-hour rehearsals. Violinist Jean Le Boulaire "recalled that although the score was difficult and his demands severe, Messiaen provided constant guidance and reassurance."
On January 15, 1941, the work premiered inside the prison camp with guards and fellow prisoners in the audience:
While the music was strange even to trained ears, and many were unaccustomed to chamber music, clearly all seized upon the occasion as a profoundly spiritual vehicle to escape actuality, if only for a few moments, and it resonated deeply within each man’s soul. (2).
The Music
The Quatuor was Messiaen's most ambitious work to date, comprising eight movements to represent this Biblical passage from the Book of Revelation:
I saw a mighty angel descend from heaven, clad in mist; and a rainbow was upon his head. His face was like the Sun, his feet like pillars of fire. He set his right foot on the sea, his left foot on the earth, and standing thus on sea and earth he lifted his hand to heaven and swore by Him who liveth for ever and ever, saying: There shall be time no longer; but on the day of the trumpet of the seventh angel, the mystery of God shall be finished.
As previously mentioned, for this soundtrack to The Gulag Archipelago, I have chosen to highlight movement V: Louange à l'Eternité de Jésus (Praise to the Eternity of Jesus). This composition conjures images of Solzhenitsyn's initial encounters within the prison cell, primarily due to Messiaen's masterful use of time and space — "There shall be time no longer."
Messiaen took the passage to heart:
By 1941, this composer no longer wanted to hear time being beaten out by a drum — one, two, three, four; he had had enough of that in the war. Instead, he devised rhythms that expanded, contracted, stopped in their tracks, and rolled back in symmetrical patterns. Such music is heavenly to analyze but devilishly difficult to play. (3).
This parallels Solzhenitsyn's distorted perception of time, where the passage of days seemed swift, yet the meaningful reference points that typically shape our existence had all but vanished. Within the confines of imprisonment, the significance of the days of the week and months of the year faded as time lost its relevance, save for the routine morning trip to the toilet and the cherished daily walk. And as Messiaen explored the concept of eternity, so too did Solzhenitsyn, for he had no idea how long he'd be imprisoned.
Albert Combrink described the musical piece, saying:
The slow melodic line is incredibly hard to sustain on the cello and the repeated chords on the piano difficult to judge. It is not minimalism. It is a fluid state which you can only convey by really entering into that state of mind yourself. The notes become the medium for a spiritual containment that is very hard to define.
While the piece possesses an inherent darkness, it also carries an undercurrent of profound love within it. For Messiaen, this love finds its embodiment in Jesus Christ. For Solzhenitsyn, it may manifest as an affection for his newfound sense of collective identity, the camaraderie he experiences within confinement, and the unexpected moments of joy he receives from "the eternally living Sun itself." As beautifully articulated by Alex Ross: "This is the music of one who expects paradise not only in a single awesome hereafter but also in the happenstance epiphanies of daily life."
The Book of Revelation culminates with a powerful affirmation from Christ, assuring us that his arrival is imminent:
"Look, I am coming soon! My reward is with me, and I will give to each person according to what they have done. I am the Alpha and the Omega, the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End."
Imprisoned, Solzhenitsyn was undergoing a personal rebirth, a transformative awakening that brought forth a new and enlightened comprehension of the world:
I would come to understand many things here, Heaven! I would correct my mistakes yet, O Heaven, not for them but for you, Heaven! I had come to understand those mistakes here, and I would correct them!
While The Quartet for the End of Time poses a challenge for many listeners, including myself, I hope that by pairing Messiaen's music with the experiences of Solzhenitsyn, you will uncover its intrinsic beauty, resounding power, and profound depth. As I bring my thoughts to a close, I am reminded of the eloquent words conveyed by Alex Ross:
Messiaen’s apocalypse has little to do with history and catastrophe; instead, it records the rebirth of an ordinary soul in the grip of extraordinary emotion. Which is why the Quartet is as overpowering now as it was on that frigid night in 1941. (3).
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