The procession climbs the hill in silence, each person carrying a flame.
Seen from a distance, the line of lights looks almost weightless —
a string of small stars ascending toward a darker sky.
And then the circle forms.
Fire touching fire, until the whole clearing glows.
It is here that Anthony steps forward, as if he were emerging from a Chagall dream — a figure lifted out of color and light, shaped by the courage to just be, give beyond what you have yourself and invite destiny in.
How to render the music and the atmosphere of that moment?
No composer has ever written it and none probably ever will.
This is about this moment only.
Perhaps approach like this:
• Prokofiev — Violin Concerto No. 1
for the impossibly high, glass-like threads of sound
that hover above human breath.
• “An Irish Party in the Third Class” — Titanic soundtrack
for the heartbeat of the earth:
feet stamping, hands clapping,
the communal joy that gathers people into one pulse.
• Paganini
for the fierce, unbroken line of mastery
that ignites after Anthony’s speech
as he turns away and the night draws him forward.
Three fragments —
and between them, a hint of the music that enchanted the people present in the circle of torches around midsummer and how the story started to glow.
As an echo, Chagall’s Le Violoniste, described here by the Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam:
→https://www.stedelijk.nl/nl/collectie/753-marc-chagall-le-violoniste
1.
2.
3.
Not the music itself. Not the one there. But something like an outline — a faint afterglow left by the torches.
