NOBODY who was anybody was there. Just lovers, and good music. Over 700 of them, sitting before the screen on Meeting House Square, in Dublin's Temple Bar last night. Watching the New York Philharmonic, who were playing Bruckner a mile away. They were in the National Concert Hall, where everybody who was anybody sat among the 1,200.
But Meeting House Square was the place to be, as the setting sun made red brick glow russet in the sultry August air. Far above, wispy mares' tails stroked the stratosphere, as soon did the hearts of many present, carried there by the romance of Bruckner's Fourth Symphony, and the ethereal atmosphere of it all.
Dull would (s)he be of soul who could pass by such a sight, so touching in its ... simplicity. Towers, domes, theatres, and Temple Bar lying, open unto the fields and to the sky. All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. It is on such nights the city comes into its own.
The crowd was made up of all age groups, from infants to the elderly, who were as one listening to the desultory English Horn concerto by Ned Rorem, played by Thomas Stacy, which began proceedings. Free, decadent chocolates, handmade by Butlers, were given to everyone, and eaten wantonly while satellite images on the screen struggled for recognition with the last light of day. But the sound was perfect.
At the beginning, few wanted to sit in front, with a going to Mass of a Sunday feel about the place while many congregated at the back. Others came and went from the Irish Film Centre (IFC) nearby, while passers by gathered at the sides.
The clouds became violet and indigo, with greying blue between, as the light faded.
By the end of intermission the rich mahogany of the violins had conquered the day, and then the night. Bliss was it.
