Beethoven’s Missa Solemnis is one of art’s mightiest thunderbolts. Written about the same time as the 9th Symphony, it was first performed in Saint Petersburg, Russia on April 7, 1824. The mass is scored for a quartet of vocal soloists, chorus, and orchestra. The first three parts were performed in Vienna a month later. A performance of the entire mass took place in a liturgical setting in 1830 in the Church of St. Peter and Paul in the Bohemian town of Varnsdorf. I’ve written about this work before, but its greatness is so acute that it deserves a return.

Beethoven’s Solemn Mass is one of the supreme achievements in religious choral writing. Many critics rank it as supreme in the genre. In my opinion, there are only two other settings of the standard mass (requiem masses are in another category) that approach it in inspiration and compositional merit – Bach’s B-Minor Mass and Haydn’s Mass in Time of War (aka Paukenmesse).

The five sections of the Beethoven Mass are the Kyrie, Gloria, Sanctus, Credo, and Angus Dei. The famous Benedictus is the final part of the Credo. Its justly earned renown is due to the beauty and intense feeling of its music. But in truth, these descriptors could be applied to any of the parts of Beethoven’s celestial creation. The entire mass sounds as if Beethoven had created a universe of his own.

The Agnus Dei which I will present here is a setting of the plea “miserere nobis” (have mercy on us). It starts with the bass singing “Agnus Dei”, he is soon joined by the men’s chorus followed by the other soloists and the whole chorus. The music set to “Miserere” is especially beautiful. After a fugal passage, the music turns martial as in Haydn’s Mass in the Time of War. It ends with the word ‘pacem’ – peace.

The recording of the Agnus Dei linked here was made in performance by the Cleveland Orchestra, soloists, and chorus conducted by George Szell. Beethoven Missa Solmnis Agnus Dei

Why is this composition so great? Musicologists will offer erudite reasons that while accurate don’t get to the core of what makes a work of art supreme. Donald Tovey the esteemed British commentator on music wrote: “Not even Bach or Handel can show a greater sense of space and of sonority. There is no earlier choral writing that comes so near to recovering some of the lost secrets of the style of Palestrina. There is no choral and no orchestral writing, earlier or later, that shows a more thrilling sense of the individual colour of every chord, every position, and every doubled third or discord.” True, but completely inadequate as to why Beethoven’s famous note on the score that he gave to its dedicatee Archduke Rudolf of Austria is fulfilled – “From the heart – may it return to the heart!”

A great artist works through a mysterious process. Great skill in the techniques of the particular art form practiced is needed, but it’s not enough. It’s inspiration that’s needed along with technical prowess. But what is inspiration? It’s the ability to touch the human heart. Like Potter Stewart and Conan-Doyle before him, we know it when we see or hear it, but words fail us when we try to define it. Great art touches the ineffable. There is some primitive center in whatever organ we choose to place the core of humanity that responds to art in proportion to its worth that we can experience but not articulate. Beethoven had a key that unlocked that center. Only a very small number of those keys have been made over the past two millennia.