Grief, Memory, Three O'Clock in the Morning: My Mavis Gallant Centennial Diaries, July 31

Il n'y a pas d'arbres

4.30 a.m. Had a talking-to from my supervisor about my getting in late to work — which I’ve been doing, it’s true, 5 minutes, 6. Not admirable. I need to be more of a good German about my clocking-in time, which is 5 AM on a Sunday. So this is the briefest of posts, but also among the richest, a short, potent extract from “When Language is a Delicate Timepiece” a magnificent conversation between Mavis Gallant (MG) and Marta Dvorak. It was published in The Journal of Commonwealth Literature. The subjects were, in the main, art and music, which is to say, life. It took place on May 21, 2008, at the Dome, where MG was a regular.

There’s a timely reason for this, which is that the Bayreuth Festival is once again up and running, after its long COVID shutdown. I still remember the rising flush of embarrassment — this was, it’s true, about a hundred years ago and not last week — when I was made to understand that “Bayreuth” is not pronounced like Beirut or Babe Ruth. Kind of like learning that Proust ought not rhyme with deloused but with goosed.

Yesterday I wrote about MG’s reputation for being peevish or cutting. But she was also celebrated as a brilliant conversationalist, witty and warm, i.e. she was a whole human being. The long exchange at the Dome between MG and Marta merits reading and re-reading; it contains so much. But this particular moment in their back-and- forth I find particularly moving, and it comes from Wagner. Thanks for reading, xo, B

MD: … I know you’re a Wagner fan and used to go regularly to the Bayreuth festival.

MG: I became an admirer when I started going to the Bayreuth festival in the early sixties. I had a friend who used to lend me a little studio where I could stay, and the mother of a friend of mine knew how to get me tickets – that I paid for of course. Watching the operas performed in a concentrated time-span helped me see what Wagner was getting at. I was very taken. I went for many years.

MD: Tell me what you mean by what Wagner was getting at.

MG: Well, life on earth and life beyond. The end, the very end .... Well, I don’t think I would ride my horse to Valhalla and go into the flames. It would be very bad for the horse and my English blood wouldn’t stand for that, to be cruel to a horse [laughs], but the end of the Twilight of the Gods when the Rhine overflows, you know, dadadadadida, it just kills me every time, and then everything is calm. And I think, that’s death. I think that’s it, that’s how one dies; I think the Rhine overflows. Unless they’ve given you so much dope that you don’t know what’s happening. Then it just gets calmer and calmer.

MD: Which of the contemporary composers are capable of such transcendence, or just of giving us as much pleasure as Wagner? Who comes close for you?

MG: You know, when I was in hospital I had an IRM. I think it’s called MIR or something like that in English. Have you ever had one?

MD: No.

MG: Well, they see right into the core of your brain. As I was listening – because you hear this incredible noise – I thought, this is like certain kinds of modern music – boom, boom, ding, ding, ding, zzzshh. I was fascinated by this. They pull you out and they take the things off and ask, are you alright? And I said yes, I’m all right, mais je voudrais parler en français parce que c’était en français. J’ai dit, ça me frappe car c’est comme la musique moderne. On pourrait jouer ça à un concert. Ce serait accepté – il y a tous les bruitages, les sifflets, les tidididdi et puis derrière ça, on pourrait jouer quelque chose de Bach derrière, dans les interstices, you know, boom boom, and then you’d hear the lovely ...

MD: architectural ...

MG: Ce que Colette appelait la machine à coudre divine – the divine sewing machine, Bach. Then to conclude this performance there should be the end of the Twilight of the Gods, at the very end when you come to the last dingding boom boom, just the twilight dadadadida. While I was in the MIR listening to the noise, I thought, this is creation, but it’s creation of a different type – of a modern city with modern people in it, who are not like us and yet ... certainly not like me – a sort of iron city with elevators, tout ça mais il n’y a rien. Il n’y a pas d’arbres. Il n’y a pas ça. Il n’y a pas d’arbres.