As a student at Ashland University, I had the privilege to sing every December as a member of a madrigal troupe. We worked all fall, learning traditional carols and English music from the 16th century and doing our best to grow beards…the men, that is…to prepare for a week of performances at the annual Madrigal feast.
Each night, over the course of several days, my fellow madrigals and I would dress in mock-ups of Renaissance garb, complete with goofy hats, tights, and ill-fitting footwear, and attempt to entertain about 200 people who paid to consume Cornish game hens, applaud at the arrival of some kind of flaming dessert soaked in rum, and hear music of the season.
One of the highlights of the night for me was the final set of more traditional Christmas music, culminating with a performance of “Silent Night.” The troupe would sing the first verse in German, then the audience with lit candles in hand, would join in signing the remainder in English. It was always a touching moment.
Over the four years I participated in the feasts, I grew quite fond of the tradition. My family enjoyed it, as well, making the hour-long drive from their home in Akron one night each December to participate. One year, though, my mother had been suffering one of her frequent and crippling bouts with depression and it was unlikely that she would be able to attend.
