There are melodies one does not forget. Not out of sentiment, but because they were once engraved, indelibly, in that secret place where memory becomes prayer. Such is the case with this hymn to the Sacred Heart — “Sacred Heart of Jesus, I believe in your love for me…” — which I first learned as a child at the Collège du Sacré-Cœur in Beirut, and found again, unchanged, decades later beneath the white crown of the Basilica of Montmartre, where I served the great organ from 1985 to 1993.

No one seems to remember who composed this humble supplication — and perhaps that is just as well. It has survived upheavals, erasures, councils and fashions. It escaped the slow dismantling of Catholic liturgical music that followed the Second Vatican Council. Not a relic, but a glowing ember that still burns.

Montmartre Variations is not a literal setting, but an orchestral meditation on this hymn, drawing out its inner flame, its resonances and quiet fervour. After an introduction of pulsed dominant chords — like a heart suspended — the theme emerges plainly, anchored on a sustained dominant pedal, as a kind of offering. What follows is a sequence of symphonic variations, seamlessly linked, each seeking contrast in character and tempo, in tonal colour and orchestral texture.

• Moderato, where the theme appears with devotional calm, almost like a chorale.

• Allegro moderato, with syncopated strings lending a rhythmic lift.

• L’istesso tempo, a gentle siciliana with an obstinate lilt, like a swinging thurible.

• Più moto, where cellos and bassoons weave an ornate perpetuum mobile, like a thread of nervous gold.

• Then the motif grows lighter: flutes and clarinets spin fluid arpeggios, delicately supported by pizzicato strings.

• Moderato, the mood deepens: the trumpet takes up the theme with solemn dignity, beneath chords echoing the introduction.

• Again l’istesso tempo, but now the theme is doubled, enriched — first in tight harmony over a steady pulse, then in octave unison, broadened in a gentler harmonic breath: a quiet joy.

• Finally, Allegro con fuoco, a dancing, spirited final variation in the form of a rondo-sonata. A swirling ritornello launches the refrain, which transforms the foundational theme into a festive, luminous affirmation.

The tonal journey is no mere ornament; it breathes through the form itself, animating the discourse from within — a kind of ascent toward an invisible summit, always hinted at, never declared. For here, nothing is explained. Everything is offered — to the ear, or to the heart.

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