Giovanni Battista Draghi (1710-36), known simply as Pergolesi, died far too young. It may be fitting, therefore, that he is known for his musical setting of the Stabat Mater, the hymn we know mostly from the Stations of the Cross. Its emotional and spiritual power may derive, in part, from its completion just before Pergolesi died of tuberculosis.
The Stabat Mater (the mother stood) is a liturgical poem that originates from the 13th century. “At the Cross her station keeping,” our normal translation begins, “stood the mournful mother weeping, close to Jesus to the last.” It has been associated with Good Friday, as well as the feast of Our Lady of Sorrows. It is fixed firmly within Catholic Lenten devotion, but it also has provided powerful inspiration for musicians throughout the centuries. Palestrina, Vivaldi, Haydn, Schubert, Rossini, Liszt, Dvořák, Verdi, and, more recently, Pärt (among many others) have all produced musical settings.
I first encountered Pergolesi’s rendition in Roger Scruton’s BBC documentary, Why Beauty Matters. Scruton narrates our descent into the banal and, worse, demonic iconoclasm. To provide a counter witness to the enduring power of beauty, he staged a public, impromptu performance of this piece, which calls for an alto and soprano duet, along with two violins, a viola, and basso continuo.
The opening movement is arresting. Though I don’t agree with him on most things, Rousseau testified its power: “It is the most perfect and touching duet to come from the pen of any composer.” In the midst of the more than 700 musical compositions of the text, Pergolesi’s stands out for its piercing effect. The twelve movements transfix our emotions and help us to enter into Mary’s sorrow, not simply with depressed and sorrowful sounds, but also the uplifting spirit that unites with her Son’s sacrifice.
Do the two voices even represent two distinct, yet complementary, approaches to the Mother’s stance under the Cross? The pain, on the one hand, which scrapes into the grit of human existence, the greatest pain and suffering imaginable. The other, higher, pointing us upwards, calling us to participate in the greatest act of human history, to join our voice to the Savior. The two reconcile as the Mother’s pain, united to her Son’s, becomes redemptive and provides a path to the joy.
In the suffering on his own death, Pergolesi may have captured the exaltation that can arise from redemptive suffering. Despite its pain, which we experience severely, Christ’s death has conquered death.
What emotions and spiritual movements do you think Pergolesi expressed? Listen and comment below.
2 Comments
Marie · April 17, 2019 at 2:59 am
I love this piece. I first heard it performed during Holy Week five years ago and have listened to it every year since. At first, I was surprised that it sounded almost joyful at times. But there is a mystery in that, and Pergolesi also expresses real sorrow that pulls at the heart and directs one’s inner gaze toward Mary and Christ.
Vijaya · April 17, 2019 at 4:04 pm
Beautiful, esp. the Amen. Whenever I look at the Pieta, what I see is a terrible beauty.