The Devil's Cave

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Bruno Courreges seldom felt happier about the community he served as Chief of Police than when standing at the rear of the ancient stone church of St Denis, listening to rehearsals of the town choir. Unlike the formal ceremonies at Mass when they dressed in neat white surplices, the choir practised in their normal dress, usually gathering directly after work. But Father Sentout’s daring decision that the choir should reach beyond its usual repertoire to attempt Bach’s St Matthew Passion had required some additional rehearsals early in the morning. Farmers stood alongside schoolteachers and accountants, waitresses and shopkeepers. These were people Bruno knew, wearing clothes he recognized, and usually singing hymns that were familiar; perhaps the only memory of his church orphanage that still gave him pleasure.

On this Saturday morning two weeks before Easter, the twenty-four choristers were mostly in casual clothes and the front pews of the church were filled with coats and shopping baskets they would take to the town’s market, about to get under way in the street outside. As he entered the twelfth-century church, Bruno heard the first notes that led into the chorus of ‘Behold Him as a Lamb’. The noises of the street seemed to ebb away behind him as Florence’s pure soprano voice filled the nave. He knew there should be two choirs and two orchestras, but St Denis made do with its trusty organ and the enthusiasm of its singers plus, of course, the determination of Father Sentout, whose love of choral music was matched only by his devotion to the pleasures of the table and the fortunes of the local rugby team. It made him, Bruno thought, an entirely suitable pastor for this small town in the gastronomic and sporting heartland of France.

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