Forever After and Gate Crashing

From our bus ride through Dijon, I got the idea that there weren’t a whole lot of interesting things to see here. I was wrong!

A clever ad agency or municipal booster several years ago came up with the brilliant idea of making a tiny owl the symbol of the city. Perhaps taking a clue from Aix en Provence, where brass plates in the sidewalks guide the tourist to various Cezanne historical sites, the owlet guides you around Dijon. It's called the "Chouette," and was originally a tiny owl carved in stone on the side of one of the churches. Everyone wants to touch it for good luck, so it's worn down to bumps. We followed the little plaques all over town, especially enjoying the museums that showed reconstructions of kitchens and living quarters from the 1600s onward.

The special, unexpected treat came at the Cathedral of St. Benigne. As we were wandering around the outside, admiring the architecture, the bells began to peal vigorously. The guide book said that St. B’s has the highest bell tower in town. That may be, but more impressive the most beautiful sounding bells I’ve heard. Coming in late to the song was a gorgeous, deep, resonant baritone bell that made it all extraordinarily joyous. What could be the occasion? It wasn’t Sunday.

We tried the side door, which was opened by a young boy who looked surprised to see us. Peeking past him, I saw a number of other young boys similarly dressed in white shirts and red ties. Were they altar boys? No. They were part of a wedding party, and we weren’t invited. We apologized for the interruption and continued walking around the building until we came to the front.

A crowd of cheerful, nicely-dressed people were filing in, coming from all directions, having found parking on the narrow streets or walked from their homes. We joined other onlookers in the little plaza across the way to watch. Soon we heard a car horn playing a raucous song and then down the street whizzed a red open convertible sports car festooned with flowers, carrying the lovely white-gowned bride. She got out and three boys dressed in white rushed to help keep the long train from getting stuck or dirty. I thought that was très gallant, but the boys were called away by the lady in charge to go and join the flower girls.

The scene was full of joy as tourists and friend photographed the bride who was soon joined by her father.

After the bride was inside the church, and many people had followed her inside, the large doors began go close. I was half afraid Mary would dash through them to watch the ceremony, leaving me behind. It happened 50 years ago, not at a wedding, but at one of the most famous theater complexes in the world, the Festspielhaus in Salzburg.

Here it is, just as I wrote it in August,1961 when all of Salzburg was given over to the music festival:

What an amazing city! Each evening two or more major events are performed. There are five, maybe six, different theaters – the Domplatz, which is outside in front of the cathedral and used for medieval mystery plays; the “Mozarteum” for Mozart; the New Festspielhaus which is the modern addition to the Old Festspielhaus [both together are now called the Grand Festival Theater]; the churches for Mozart's Masses, or anyone's; the something-or-other-Schule which is outside like the Greek Theater in L.A., and undoubtedly some others I've forgotten.

Even though we couldn't get tickets to anything (I would have stood on top of the trombones to see the “Rite of Spring” which included the ballet and was performed by the Vienna Philharmonic) we still got a thrill, at least I did, thanks to Mary.

Monday we ended up at the new Festspielhaus. It's a splendid feeling for me to see these places that I know so well from reading and studying about them. I kind of feel that I have a right to see inside them. But there were guards everywhere not letting anyone in, and signs that stated very clearly that no-one except performers and workers would be allowed into the theaters until after the festival closed on August 31. We wouldn’t be here then and I ached to see the backstage. Really, I could have cried, seeing the privileged ones going through and me being left outside.

Mary and I decided we would have to latch onto someone who could get us in. “We have to talk to someone,” she said, and the next second was gone. No sign of her. I waited for twenty minutes, maybe more, then gave up and went sightseeing to two churches, nothing great, then returned. She was waiting for me out front and, oh jealousy of jealousies! She had gotten inside and backstage! She just walked in with no idea of the significance of what she was seeing, except for what I had told her.

Not wanting to spend the next month dealing with me sulking, she told me to follow, so I did. We went up to the guard, told him – in English -- she had to see someone inside and I was with her. He was confused and sent us to the other guard, who was busy. While waiting for him, and while neither was looking, we dashed down the nearest corridor and around a few corners, not meeting a soul. We were in!

Through the walls we could hear the orchestra and chorus rehearsing, and on we went to the stage door. How I panic at opening a stage door during a performance! I know something awful will happen like I'll throw light onto the wrong place or the door will squeak or I'll knock down a stagehand. But god-bless-Mary walked up, opened it, nothing happened and in we went! The only visible person was a young stagehand listening to the music. We got talking to him.

He gave us a tour of the bottom, middle and top levels of the stage. There is an elevator that goes to each level and a permanent walkway going completely around the stage at each one, five above and the one below. Millions of feet of wiring lined the walls and formed roofs over these walkways. It was simply amazing! The lighting setup is outstanding and as nearly perfect for this theater as you could ever get.

The auditorium is nice but not pleasantly decorated and the seats are hard and straight-backed. It reminds me a little of Schoenberg Hall at UCLA, but much bigger and not as comfortable. There is a funny pattern of different shaded woods on the wall, rather loud and in poor taste, sort of like the ghastly designs you find in all the French and German dime stores. Really, I'm not being snooty, it's true.

Even though I couldn't hear anything except the snatch of a rehearsal, it was a terrific experience! I have been backstage at the New Festspielhaus! I should have a Master's Degree just for that. Mary gets a Ph.D. in gate-crashing.

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If I traveled alone, my intermittent shyness would make it impossible to have such unique encounters. Thank goodness people are not all alike. My weaknesses are countered by another’s strengths, and my strengths can help someone else’s weaknesses. It’s part of the great balance of nature and creation.