Vierne was appointed Widor’s assistant at St-Sulpice; he was wary of the colossal instrument (then the largest in France) but reassured by Widor: “I will only leave you in the big bath when you have learned to swim.” And swim he did, especially when the two men inaugurated the organ in the Victoria Hall Geneva where Widor conducted his third symphony with as soloist his blind pupil who had to contend with both the temperamental new instrument and his master’s conducting “of which it was sometimes difficult to have an absolute certitude”, as Vierne tactfully put it. However, all proceeded well at St-Sulpice, where Vierne wrote a Mass in C sharp minor and his First Symphony. Dedicated to Alexandre Guilmant and cast unusually in six movements (all his other symphonies have five), the First Symphony begins with a brooding “Prélude”, very much in the spirit of Franck from the nature of its opening theme via the two presentations of the a repeated phrase over changing harmonies to the quiet ending. Next comes a “Fugue” (Vierne’s only published one) followed by a “Pastorale” which begins (as will others of his slow movements) with a pedal solo. A lively “Scherzo” then takes us to a dreamy “Andante”. Widor, with his great sense of occasion, must have been especially pleased with the “Final”, a noble peroration in the French manner with quieter episodes just made for the St Sulpice récit at the very top of the organ case and, capping it all, the expected confident tune in the pedal. Tournemire stated that Franck’s improvisations had been lost forever, to be gathered up by the angels. Some of his own were fortunately gathered up by the Polydor record company in two sessions, one in April 1930 and the other late in the following year. To avoid traffic noise the recording session took place at night, the team narrowly escaping arrest by a passing policeman who thought they were breaking into the church. In fact they were involved in the laborious business of bringing the recording gear into the church and then getting it up to organ level as the discs had to be close-miked; at Ste-Clotilde this took one practically into the roof. A quarter of a century later Tournemire’s pupil and one-time assistant Maurice Duruflé performed the exacting task of transcribing these records, having to play passages several times, or at slower speeds, to unearth every facet of his master’s voice. Duruflé was certainly familiar with Tournemire’s style, and just as familiar with his behaviour at the console when improvising.
