Why I Love ‘Missa Solemnis’
So far, in this mini-series, I have written about two of my favourite operas, ‘Parsifal’ and ‘Don Carlos’, so today, I thought I might be adventurous and branch out into the world of oratorio and religious music, and discuss one of the greatest musical compositions of all time, the ‘Missa Solemnis’ by Ludwig van Beethoven. To my enormous regret, I have only sung this masterpiece twice in my long career, and the second was nearly thirty years ago. I was tremendously excited, in 2020, to be engaged to sing it again in Northampton, had booked my train tickets from Edinburgh (two changes, not an easy place to reach from Scotland!), and was working it back into my voice after all these years, and…..Wham! Covid! What a disappointment, as this concert, along with all the others that year, was cancelled. The Choral Society with which I was to sing, made an extraordinarily generous offer of a cancellation fee, and they covered my train tickets as well. This gesture was much appreciated and showed an understanding of a singer’s precarious financial position, rare in my experience. However, this didn’t make up for the disappointment of not singing this wonderful work, and I don’t know if I will ever get to sing it again. At the very least, I can take this opportunity to write about the ‘Missa Solemnis’ and tell you why I love it.
In my article on Beethoven, in the series ‘A Singer’s Guide to the Great Composers’, I wrote a fair bit about the ‘Missa Solemnis’, but here I have a little more space to go into the work in depth.
In 1819, at the height of his success, and after various incidents in his life, good and bad, which had formed his character both musically and personally, Beethoven learned that his patron and pupil, Archduke Rudolph, the half-brother of the Austrian Emperor, had been appointed Archbishop of Olmütz in Moravia, now Olomouc in the Czech Republic, and a few months later he became a cardinal in the Roman Catholic Church. Rudolph was born in the Pitti Palace in Florence in 1788, the youngest son of Leopold of the house of Habsburg, who at that time was Archduke of Tuscany. Leopold was surprisingly liberal and had abolished the death penalty in Tuscany two years before Rudolph’s birth. He was the son of Maria Theresa, and his sister was Marie Antoinette (soon to perish in the French Revolution). In 1790, he became Holy Roman Emperor, as Leopold II, in direct line of descent from Charlemagne, but only ruled for 2 years, dying suddenly in 1792 at the age of 44, nine months before Mozart.
Rudolph’s half-brother, Francis, became Emperor Francis II and ruled until his death in 1835, although by that time, after the disastrous defeat by Napoleon at Austerlitz in 1804, he had been forced to dissolve the Holy Roman Empire in 1806, becoming instead Francis I of the Austrian Empire. I have gone into some historical detail here, although perhaps not enough for perfect clarity, in order to show at what level of society Beethoven was working, and also to show the significance of Rudolph’s patronage.
When Rudolph was appointed Archbishop, Napoleon had been defeated at Waterloo and exiled a couple of years before. An eerie peace descended on Europe after the tumultuous years of Napoleon’s rise, and Beethoven had time to reflect on life, relatively free from the worry of imminent death by cannon fire. He set to work to compose a huge mass to celebrate Rudolph’s enthronement in 1820, but the work grew so much in scope and complexity, that it was evident that the deadline would be missed, and it was not until 1824, under the auspices of the Russian Prince Galitzin, who had commissioned some string quartets from the composer, that the Mass was performed in St Petersburg. Beethoven conducted some parts of the Mass later that year in Vienna, but found himself deeply preoccupied with his Ninth Symphony, and never actually heard a complete performance of the ‘Missa Solemnis’. He was, however, very aware of the significance of the mass, and his famous inscription on the autograph score (“from the heart—may it go to the heart”) reveals how much he valued this magnificent masterpiece. I can’t say it is perfect, and there are plenty of caveats to follow, but for me it is a revelation, and one of the most profound human artistic achievements of all time.
The ‘Missa Solemnis’, (Solemn Mass), so-called to distinguish it from the more mundane Missa Brevis (Short Mass), is a monumental work, lasting around 80 minutes, and is a setting of the Mass Ordinary of the Catholic Church, arranged in five sections, scored for four soloists, chorus and full Classical orchestra. It has almost everything, except arias for the soloists, and is fiendishly difficult, both technically and vocally. Beethoven’s style was fully evolved by 1823/24, and he didn’t hesitate to use all his accumulated genius to produce a work of thrilling virtuosity and a profound spirituality. He was not a regular churchgoer and does not seem to have had a strong connection with organised religion. Some commentators have suggested that he was an atheist, but this would be very rare at the time. I think it is likely that he preferred a more individualist attitude to matters of the soul, a sort of direct conversation with God, although his increasing deafness and other ailments had given him a somewhat jaundiced perception of the deity as a benevolent entity. His sense of spiritual harmony was bound up in the musical harmony within him, and he wrote in a letter to a friend in 1824: “my chief aim was to awaken and permanently instil religious feelings in the singers as well as in the listeners.” I’m not sure about that. My personal feelings after singing or listening to ‘Missa Solemnis’ revolve more around exhaustion and exhilaration, rather than religiosity! Whatever one’s attitude to God, there is no doubt that this work transports both performer and listener to a different level of awareness, whether religious or secular, and that is surely worth achieving!
The ‘Missa Solemnis’ begins in D Major and one is instantly aware that this is no easy gig, and that concentration will be of the utmost importance. Not for a single minute of the next 80 or so minutes can one relax, either as performer or listener, and, after a dreamy orchestral opening, you are immediately thrown into the maelstrom of the full orchestra and chorus. The soloists are used sparingly at the beginning but have their first extended burst of quartet singing in the Christe Eleison section. Since there are no arias, and almost all the solo parts are as part of a quartet, it is essential that the four soloists are well matched. You can’t just throw four singers together and hope for the best. Details of balance, clarity of enunciation and voice range are all crucial factors in the choice of singers. The soprano needs to have a wide range, an unflagging top, and considerable vocal stamina to get through what is one of the most demanding solo engagements in the repertoire. The alto needs to be smooth and even throughout her range and requires both a strong chest voice (a technical term not a fashion statement!) and a cutting edge to get through the thick textures of the writing. Unlike the Ninth Symphony, where the poor alto chunters away largely unheard, the alto part of ‘Missa Solemnis’ requires fine musicianship and a formidable sense of parity and determination, up against the blazing potential dominance of the soprano. The tenor, like the soprano, needs to be strong and easy at the top, as he often is asked to cut through the textures at the beginning of extended sections. Finally, the bass must be a bass and not a baritone, as he is often asked to project seriously low notes through the texture, and, apart from the beginning of the Benedictus, he is not required to sing high at all. Compared to, say, ‘The Messiah’, the bass has only the odd E natural to contend with, and nothing higher. By the end of Messiah, the bass will have sung countless Ds and scores of Es! He also needs to have vocal clarity, as do all the soloists, since much of the solo writing is for quartet, and wide vibratos or woofy timbres are anathema to a good quartet. It was interesting to note that, when I was doing my research for this article, listening to recordings and reading comparative reviews of various recordings, one or two of the reviewers (obviously not singers) referred to the bass part as problematic, in that it lay quite high for some singers, and needed a bass-baritone. Where this view came from, I have no idea, but, dear reader, ignore it. Trust me, it needs a bass, albeit a flexible one.
The Gloria begins in a blaze of, well, glory, and now we are fully immersed in the work, soloists, choir and orchestra combining in music of transcendent majesty. I am always slightly sorry for the choir altos, who enter on a low D rising to an A on the words “Gloria in excelsis Deo”, mirrored immediately by the tenors at exactly the same pitch. The trouble is that the altos are at the low end of their range, whereas the tenors are at the top. The tenors ring thrillingly while the poor altos are grovelling in the middle. This is an early example of Beethoven not really understanding voices and their ranges. More of that later!
One of the stand out moments in the ‘Missa Solemnis’ occurs when the lovely melody for the Gratias Agimus (‘we give thanks to Thee for Thy great glory’) section emerges blinking into the light from within quite a dense texture, after a spirited chorus repeating Glorificamus Te (‘We glorify Thee’), firstly as a clarinet solo, then sung by the tenor. The other voices soon join in, and another fast and loud section, ending with a long sustained choral chord on Filius Patris (‘Son of the Father’) which fades to piano, introduces a section marked Larghetto (‘Quite slow’) and the words “who taketh away the sins of the world, have pity on us. Hear our prayer”. This long, slow section, with careful interplay between soloists and chorus, is characterised by a deep sense of spiritual awareness, out of which, in only two bars, the chorus sopranos find themselves transported to Heaven, sitting at the right hand of God on a top B flat. The energy required dissipates quickly into more prayers for mercy, and we are all left asking for help from God in a section which deliberately takes us down a harmonic byway, out of which we are gloriously awakened, first by full orchestra and then by the chorus tenors, on a top A, proclaiming that ‘Quoniam Tu solus sanctus’ (‘only Thou art Holy, Lord, and Most High, Jesus Christ, with the Holy Ghost’). This leads directly into the great fugue, ‘In Gloria Dei Patris, Amen’ (‘in the glory of God, the Father’), which sweeps all before it, despite taking a tiny breather with the solo quartet declaiming Amen on their own, before repeated Amens crash around the texture. In a breathtaking dive to the side, just as everyone seems to have concluded that a very loud and high Amen will finish things off, Beethoven suddenly turns to 3/4 time, marked Presto (Bloody Fast), repeating the original words of the movement, ‘Gloria in Excelsis Deo’ (‘Glory to God in the Highest’), as we hurtle to oblivion, and the final Gloria is shouted into a silence after the orchestra has stopped. It is an absolute work of genius, exhilarating and ecstatic in equal measure, leaving performers and audience shell-shocked in wonderment.
We all need to go and lie down, but after a few seconds, off we go again into the Credo. What I wrote earlier, with regard to Beethoven’s complete lack of awareness about the voice and its fragile nature, becomes crucial by this point in the work. We must remember that by 1823 he was profoundly deaf, and was hearing the music entirely in his head, with little understanding of the reality of vocal health. In performance, one is aware that, particularly for the chorus, and particularly for the sopranos, the writing is completely mad. All you can do is cross your fingers, take several deep breaths, and hope you survive. This is the main reason why most amateur Choral Societies cannot perform ‘Missa Solemnis’. Even for professionals, it is an almost impossible task, but the sheer magnificence of Beethoven’s imagination somehow will carry you through, if you have some vocal training and a bit of luck!
A longer article than this would be necessary to do full justice to the complexity of the ‘Missa Solemnis’. All I can do here is to point out one or two highlights: the magical revelation of the mystery of the virgin birth, the ecstatic wonder at the resurrection, the breathless hush of the Sanctus and the profound desire for peace, after the horrors of war, that permeates the entire Agnus Dei. Crowning everything else is the miraculous Benedictus, with its extended violin solo, and glorious interplay between soloists and chorus, reaching a climax in the soprano solo’s top C ‘in the name of the Lord’.
I have been revisiting the work for this article and discovering anew the many elements which make it unique. Something I have found, which is quite extraordinary, is how much of the work I remember. As I said, I only sang the solo bass part twice, once in the early 1980s, and then again in 1992, but I also sang the bass chorus in a performance in the Usher Hall in Edinburgh with the Edinburgh Royal Choral Union in 1972, long before I became a professional. We must have been wonderfully trained, because I feel I could pick up the score and sing most of it now, without much trouble. Memory is a strange thing!
There are some great recordings, and readers will not be surprised to find that my two recommendations both come from my Golden Era, the 1960s. The majestic recording made by Herbert von Karajan with a truly immaculate solo quartet of Gundula Janowitz, Christa Ludwig, Fritz Wunderlich and Walter Berry, from 1966, is absolutely fabulous. Recorded in Berlin by DG, with the Berlin Philharmonic Orchestra, and the Wiener Singverein imported from Vienna, it has a magic which almost seems to glow. Astonishingly, EMI recorded the work the year before in 1965, with the Philharmonia Orchestra and Chorus, and a fine, although less starry, solo quartet, conducted by the octogenarian Otto Klemperer. This reading is as fine as the Karajan, and the chorus is possibly even better, and I would suggest that both recordings are a vital part of any collection.
The more I listen to the ‘Missa Solemnis’, the more I love it. I hope you will come to love it too!
