The Christian narrative has traditionally been broken up
into a series of static tableaus that can easily be absorbed by an illiterate
congregation of the faithful—the annunciation, the nativity, the sermon on the
mount, the last supper, the crucifixion, the resurrection. These events and
many others were rendered time and again on canvas and in stained glass and
stone to serve not only as architectural decoration but as objects of
contemplation, solace, and guidance.
The literary element came into play during the service,
often most powerfully as an element of musical performance. Masses were (as
they are today) patched together from various compositions, some of which took
on a life of their own. One of these was the Stabat Mater Dolorosa—the Grieving
Mother who stands before her crucified son.
Scholars have not been able to identify with precision who
composed the verses of the poem familiarly known as the Stabat Mater, but the
thirteenth-century Franciscan Jacopone de Todi is the most likely and also,
perhaps, the most colorful candidate. Few read Jacopone today, but In his magisterial
History of Italian Literature,
Francesco de Sanctis argued that the simple friar opened out "a new
road" in poetic expression, with greater sincerity and humanity than we
find in the poems of his Provencal predecessors.
Iacopone’s poetry is that of a saint moved by divine love. Not for him
the Provençals, the troubadours, the Courts of Love; that whole world is
non-existent for him. He knows nothing of philosophy and theology, and is quite
unscholastic. Nor does he value art, or language, or style: indeed, he seems
purposely to speak like the common people, just as the saints took pleasure in
dressing themselves in the garments of the poor. His whole longing is to unload
a heart overflowing with love—a heart exalted by religious feeling.
The fact the St. Francis's
religious mission was inspired by the poetry of the troubadours ought not to be
forgotten, but this doesn't undermine de Sanctis's argument that Jacopone's poetry has a "true vein of popular, clear, and
spontaneous inspiration that we miss in the works of the learned poets..."
De Sanctis continues:
Iacopone’s works reflect Italian life under one of its aspects more
truly than those of any troubadour. He gives us the religious feeling in its
first native expression; religion as it is found in the uncultivated classes,
not clouded by theology or scholasticism and carried to the heights of
mysticism and ecstasy. He communes directly with God, the Virgin, the saints
and the angels, speaks to them with domestic familiarity, and paints them with
perfect freedom of imagination, with those touchingly pious and affectionate
details that could only be imagined by a fancy moved by love. His chief idol is
Mary, and he speaks to her with the insistence and intimacy of a person who is
sure of his faith, and knows that he loves.
However, after reading through the
many verses of the Stabat Mater, it strikes me that there is more poetry in De
Sanctis's prose than in Jacopone's Latin verses. The poem is highly repetitive,
referring repeatedly to Mary's suffering as she stands before her son hanging
on the cross. Evidently the poet himself cannot drum up any particular
compassion at the gruesome sight of a crucifixion, because he asks Mary
repeatedly to help him feel:
Come then, Mother,
fount of love, make me feel the strength of your sorrow so that I may mourn
with you.
The sentiments are slightly
bizarre. The poet is asking Mary to help him feel her sorrow, but he doesn't seem to be directly interested in Jesus's suffering. Yet he later decides he wants to share in
that suffering, too, and he asks Mary once again to help him:
Make me by his wounds be wounded, make me inebriated with the cross
and with the flowing blood of your son
Chock it
up to extreme viceral bewilderment in the fact of suffering. But as sixty
years of rock 'n' roll have taught us, repetitive and nonsensical lyrics can have a powerful effect when
they're driving music of genuine emotional power. And that's what the Stabat
Mater has done, time and again. Many eminent composers have set the poem to
music, among them Palestrina, Pergolesi,
Alessandro Scarlatti, Vivaldi, Boccherini, Haydn, Schubert, Rossini, Verdi, Szymanowski,
Poulenc, and even Arvo Pärt.
I have CDs of most of the famous works, mostly by coincidence, and I was almost starting to think of them as a
"collection," but I recently came upon a blog
maintained by a man who owns more than 500 recordings of different compositions
based on Jocopone's poem. He's reviewed most of them on his blog, which also provides eight or nine English translations of the poem itself.
___
We went down to the Ordway
the other day to hear the SPCO do Pergolesi's version, which is my favorite. (You can listen to a performance with a slightly larger orchestra here.) I learned in the program notes that based on its publishing history, Pergolesi's Stabat Mater might well have been the most popular composition of the eighteenth century. I can see why. An economical forty-minute piece written for soprano, alto, organ, and small orchestra, it consists of a series of solos and duets, and the music is plaintive, cutting, haunting, lyrical, and occasionally quite buoyant, considering the subject matter.
In the first half of the SPCO program, a concerto grossi by Loccatelli was coupled with a very early symphony by Haydn; it seemed interminable, though it was only half an hour long. The second half was devoted to the Stabat Mater, and it went by in a flash.
The streets were glistening as we walked back to the parking ramp in the rain through downtown St. Paul, surrounded by clumps of women and men wearing green Minnesota Wild jerseys. The Wild had just lost their second straight playoff game at home, and a promising season was on the verge of going up in smoke, but no one seemed too upset about it. Well, what can you do?
I probably should have been thinking of the suffering of Mary, but I was actually thinking about the beauty of female voices in close harmony. Death is the mother of beauty, Yeats says somewhere. (Or was it Kawabata?) But I think Pergolesi deserves most of the credit here for weaving these two voices into such a complex and moving emotional experience. Sorry to say, he died at the age of 26, not long after completing this enduring work.
In the first half of the SPCO program, a concerto grossi by Loccatelli was coupled with a very early symphony by Haydn; it seemed interminable, though it was only half an hour long. The second half was devoted to the Stabat Mater, and it went by in a flash.
The streets were glistening as we walked back to the parking ramp in the rain through downtown St. Paul, surrounded by clumps of women and men wearing green Minnesota Wild jerseys. The Wild had just lost their second straight playoff game at home, and a promising season was on the verge of going up in smoke, but no one seemed too upset about it. Well, what can you do?
I probably should have been thinking of the suffering of Mary, but I was actually thinking about the beauty of female voices in close harmony. Death is the mother of beauty, Yeats says somewhere. (Or was it Kawabata?) But I think Pergolesi deserves most of the credit here for weaving these two voices into such a complex and moving emotional experience. Sorry to say, he died at the age of 26, not long after completing this enduring work.
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