Libera me
Giuseppe Verdi
“I have striven for perfection, it has always eluded me, but I surely had an obligation to make one more try.”
Lent puts the image of Death before us. It places Death on our foreheads and reminds us that we will indeed return to dust. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. How fitting then, that we should meditate on Death, and prepare our hearts for that day, for we know neither the day nor the hour.
In the year 1868, the great Italian composer Giuseppe Verdi composed a setting of the Libera me from the Roman Catholic Missa pro defunctis. This was to be part of a larger project, in which twelve Italian composers contributed parts in order to honour the death of Giaochino Rossini. The project, Messa per Rossini, was abandonded by the organising committee just nine days before the premiere. What Verdi composed he later reworked to form the basis of what we now hear in the famous “Manzoni Requiem,” which the composer set out to write when the author Alessandro Manzoni died in 1873. Ever the patriot, Verdi first performed his newly crafted masterpiece at the church of San Marco in Milan with all Italian musicians in 1874.
Though it bears the form of a Requiem, let’s get one thing straight, this is not church music; it’s more akin to opera masquerading as a Mass. Despite it not being really fit for liturgical use, Verdi’s composition does show a deep understanding of the text in question. It isn’t simply beautiful words to set to music; the setting written here greatly emphasises the dread of death, and the great need of deliverance. Three phrases really shine and continually stand out above the rest. The word Requiem is always beautifully done and brings the listener back to that point of rest. The bombastic and explosive Dies irae reappears throughout, hemmering home the awe and fear in that day of judgement. Finally, Verdi dwells with some length on his original composition: Libera me: Deliver me. The words of the Mass are placed in the mouth of his dead Manzoni: Libera me. A sinner in need of mercy repeats his plea over and over: Libera me. Whilst the Valediction continues, Verdi throws the libera me back at the listener to remind them of the need the soul has for deliverance: Libera me.
Because of its bombast and grandeur, as well as its use in other works I love, this Requiem has been a special favourite of mine. I had a chance to see this performed recently at the Atlanta Symphony Orchestra and have some brief thoughts on each of the sections, to perhaps give an unfamiliar listener a taste of what’s to come. Happy listening!
1) Requiem-Kyrie
The opening might fool you into thinking this could actually be used for Holy Mass. It is subdued, sombre, and lets the chorus do most of the heavy lifting with the strings surrounding. There is much done a cappella and only by the chorus, until the Kyrie brings in the quartet of soloists. This is the most liturgical section of the whole work, and really places the listener in a state of rest before the earth-shattering next section awakens him.
2) Dies Irae
The Dies Irae is the most memorable part of this Requiem. It’s the most bombastic and monumental section of the work, and perhaps the most famous choral setting of the Dies Irae after Mozart’s. The chorus wails the day of wrath is overdramatic
Other notable parts of this section is the Tuba mirum spargens sonum… as verdi places the trumpets within the seating. This was quite cool to see live, as I was sat in the dress circle and suddenly had trumpets next to me as they began their call and response with the players on the stage. Verdi makes special use of the soloists throughout the different stanzas of the Dies Irae to really highlight each section. If you are not familiar with the Latin, look at a side-by-side translation whilst you listen and notice what parts are given to which voices. It’s as if each stanza forms a little “scene” and it all comes together in once giant composition. Thus the bass soloist takes up the Mors stupebit to emphasis the profundity of nature’s response to the judgement; but the mezzo-soprano takes charge on the following Liber scriptus, interrupted by dies irae over and over. Similarly, the poignant Recordare section is just the female soloists, before switching once again to the males for the Ingemisco and the Confutatis, and then again bringing in the chorus for the huge Dies Irae! Verdi brings it all to a close in the Lacrymosa, referencing the previous Kyrie and shifting to G-major for the Amen.
“But what finally ended this cycle was Verdi’s Requiem Mass, which he had never heard performed on Earth. The “Dies Irae,” roaring with ominous appropriateness through the empty ship, left him completely shattered; and when the trumpets of Doomsday echoed from the heavens, he could endure no more.”
3) Domine Jesu Christe
This is the Offertory, and Verdi employs the soloists here. I particularly like the use of the soprano, as Verdi tends to take the music high when discussing the angels. She comes in on a high note as if it is St. Michael itself.
4) Sanctus
Relatively brief, but effective, the Sanctus is contrapuntal in nature, introduced by trumpet fanfare. The interesting thing here is that it is not normally split at the Benedictus as most settings of the Sanctus are. Rather, the music flows one into the other uninterrupted like a single sentence.
5) Agnus Dei
The beginning of the Agnus Dei might remind the listener of Gergorian Chant, and is introduced by the two female soloists in unison but an octave apart and alternates between soloist and chorus, playing as variations on the melody. This works very well for the repetition inherent in this text.
6) Lux aeterna
The lower soloists take over here, with the bass harping on the Requiem aeternam as the brass follows and the strings add a sort of shimmer around them, grasping at that idea of “eternal light.”
7) Libera me
Verdi brings it all together again in the final Libera me, thrusting us back into the Dies irae and reprising the Requiem aeternam. The soprano soloist grounds everything in the human need for repentance, and the soul of the dead needing deliverance: Libera me! She gets higher and higher, perhaps like the soul rising to the heavens: Libera me! There is real emotion coming from the soprano here, Verdi has captured it brilliantly: fear, anger, doubt, loss, but ultimately peace.