I have several connections to the French embassy and consultant here in Manhattan. I can’t exactly say how, but I do. Generally, I get along with traditionalist Frenchfolk who secretly harbor a return of the Monarch. There is a strange community of wealthy Frenchmen close to the heirs of the throne, maintaining the aurora of aristocracy, biding their time for when the moment is right. They act like a government in exile, longing for the return of a French Catholic Monarch. You can find a few of them up in Quebec too.
I find many similarities between Quebec and Virginia, I should mention. They both host lineages from an ancien régime maintaining traditions from before the Enlightenment, longing for some return to the medieval. Not many people are aware that both Quebec and Virginia were first settled by Europeans just a century after the fall of Constantinople. They were in all technical senses, Medieval settlers, not enlightenment settlers. They drew their origin myths from far older traditions than that of the Republic or Bills of Rights. Rather, on honor-bound obligations. For these reasons, both host families that have endured centuries of modernization, and linger on like living ghosts of the past.
Among the French, you can still find a few of these lineages in the musical arts. Most of these institutions are unbearably progressives, but some ghosts still linger. In Manhattan, the French Consultant puts on regular classical music shows, and it is at these socials that one can mingle with a few of these old families. One thing that is noteworthy is that these people possess oral traditions that are kept away from the public, and if you happen to befriend a few of them, they will let you in on many stories of composers totally unknown to scholarship. I’ve often appreciated the French privacy around such topics. It makes them something of an esoteric field.
One such composer from the 1930s, Jehan Alain, has an attaché of oral traditions I draw much inspiration from. He was apparently a man struck by visions of his own death, which he foresaw in a coming war - you know the one. On the eve of the comming conflict, he wrote a piece titled Litanies, which featured a preface supposedly derived from his vivid nightmares of death:
When the Christian soul no longer finds new words in its distress to implore God's mercy, it repeats incessantly the same invocation with a vehement faith. Reason has reached its limits. Alone, faith pursues its ascension
Much of Jehan’s music is funerary in nature. He was tapping into his nightmares and attempting to express his looming doom through music. The man also was not unfamiliar with death in his short life, with one of his pieces dedicated to the life of a sister who died in his youth, and was performed by their younger sister:
One of his final pieces, “Le Jardin Suspendu”, was an envisioning of the Prophet Daniel in Babylon’s Hanging Gardens. He envisioned the prophet surrounded by Babylon’s beauty, but having the knowledge it would all soon burn under Persian, Greek, and Roman invasions to come. Daniel knew the wars were coming from his visions, and even though the city seemed so beautiful and defendable, he knew the visible strength before him was doomed to fail against God’s prophecies. God’s word would fell the city, man could do nothing but repent. He described the piece as follows:
The ideal, perpetual pursuit and escape of the artist, an inaccessible and inviolable refuge.
In his mind, Jehan knew he couldn’t escape the coming wars and decline of France. He feared the dread end of that serene beauty of Paris. But he knew it had been foretold, and he could not escape it. However, in his mind too, he could rest on his faith of Resurrection in Jesus Christ that would come later.
It is no wonder why Jehan related to Daniel. Daniel knew the doom of Babylon was coming. Be Daniel also knew Jesus Christ was coming after, and again later. We know this, because the Wise Men knew the exact signs and times to look for Christ’s first arrival. As the Bible says Daniel was made chief of the Wise Men of Babylon, we know it was Daniel who taught them these signs and times.
The piece is a haunting combination of music, that somehow manages to capture both the beauty of the Hanging Gardens, the tranquility of being in them, but also the prophecy of looming doom for them. The listener can imagine both the serene beauty of green in the desert, and host in the background the haunting visions of fire coming. However, it also mirrors Jehan’s own premonitions of the fate of France, and himself. It is strange. Somehow both capturing the fate of empires and individuals past, and also the fate of empires and individuals present, and future. It’s hard to describe with words how one can capture both in one piece, but suffice to say, have a listen to the piece to feel it instead of read about it:
The piece was composed in 1934. Six years later, Jehan would find himself as a scout for the Eighth Motorised Armour Division during the German invasion of France. During frontline engagement, he was surrounded and ordered to surrender, but instead chose to engage the enemy. He was shot and killed, ending his short, but prolific, musical career. He earning the Croix de Guerre medal posthumously.
Jehan had a premonition of his death in a coming war. A premonition that would prove true. He foresaw France would enter a long decline. Another premonition that has come true. You see, perhaps, why many French Traditionalists draw faith from his faith. Through his nightmares, he stood steadfast in the faith that Christ was still due to arrive again, and rule the world. This third premonition hasn’t come yet, but I draw much strength that it will prove true too.