Lauda

At our choir concert this week we sang a baroque set, complete with baroque organ (tuned down) and cello. I didn't think I really liked "Lauda Jerusalem," partially because it was ridiculous trying to memorize the words. However, I changed my mind after we heard the story on Thursday.
If you are a history buff, forgive me, because I'm just going by what I heard from Ruth, our organist. Apparently, "Lauda Jerusalem" was written for an orphanage for girls in Italy, an orphanage established specifically for girls who were the product of their fathers' philanderings. (Good word, eh? If that's not a euphemism...) Anyway, at the door of this orphanage there was a drawer, and the mothers of these illegitimate girls could just drop them off and push in the drawer. Naturally, the orphanage was only for girls, because the fathers were willing to endure a little shame to claim their strapping boys. (Sorry, the feminist in me shudders.)
So the thing is, they taught these girls to sing, and some of the best composers in Europe wrote for them. It was better than the Italian opera, and the girls sang like angels, but no one ever saw them because there was a metal grate between the girls and the audience. Once Rousseau visited and asked why no one ever got to see the girls. It seemed to him to be the perfect opportunity for them to find husbands and get out of the orphanage. He was invited to eat dinner there and meet the girls.
The first girl came in and she was hideous, horribly disfigured. The next was missing an eye, and another's face was covered with pockmarks. Nearly every girl had been abused and bore the scars of her past, but Rousseau talked to them, and he said that when he left he was nearly in love with all of them.
The girl telling the story asked us all to think about these girls as we sang, we, the girls of the 21st century who get to go to college, hold jobs, live our lives. Suddenly, "Lauda Jerusalem" became a more beautiful song, and I sang for those girls who never had a chance. I do.