Mysticism and music 13: Benjamin Britten's "Saint Nicolas" cantata

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When I was still fairly young and just “discovering” Christian mysticism through the writings of Thomas Merton, Evelyn Underhill, Vladimir Lossky, and others (including The Philokalia, St. John of the Cross, and Dante), listening to particular pieces of music — those that helped stay my thoughts in a “mystical” ambiance — played a significant role. Admittedly, there was quite a lot of the aesthete in my appreciation of mysticism in those heady days. Among the pieces of music I was especially drawn to were three modern English compositions, and I returned to them rather frequently. Two of them I have included in this occasional series of musical offerings already: Holst’s Hymn of Jesus (you can find that post here) and Elgar’s setting of Newman’s Dream of Gerontius (which you can find here). The third was Benjamin Britten’s cantata, Saint Nicolas (1948; it is spelled without the “h” in the title), with a libretto — see below — by Eric Crozier (about whom you can read here).

The Wikipedia article tells us that “the composer wrote the work for the centenary of Lancing College in Sussex, with the resources of the institution in mind. It is scored for mixed choir, tenor soloist, four boy singers, strings, piano duet, organ and percussion. The only professionals required are the tenor soloist, a quintet of string players to lead the other strings, and the first percussionist. Saint Nicolas is Britten's first work for amateur musicians, and it includes congregational hymns” (the entire Wikipedia entry can be read here).

December 6th is, in both East and West, the feast day for the greatly beloved St. Nicholas of Myra (270 - 343), known as “the Wonderworker.” He became the subject of numerous legends, and the cantata recounts a few of them in stirring poetry and music.

There is also something of a “time travel” motif right at the outset, which made a lasting impression on me in my youth; the Wikipedia entry describes it this way: “Saint Nicolas opens with an introduction in which the mixed choir, representing a contemporary people, calls to Nicolas to speak to them across the ages. They sing, ‘Our eyes are blinded by the holiness you bear’, and they wish to hear the true story of Nicolas, the man. After being implored to ‘Strip off [his] glory’, Nicolas responds in a flourish, speaking to the choir, ‘Across the tremendous bridge of sixteen hundred years…’ The first movement ends with a choral prayer.”

The 18th-century hymn that concludes the cantata — William Cowper’s “God Moves in a Mysterious Way” — became a favorite of mine largely because it deeply moved me when I first heard it in the context of Saint Nicolas.

Below is a YouTube video featuring the “Downtown Voices,” presenting the cantata at Trinity Episcopal Church, Wall Street, in a 2015 concert. Below that, you will find the entire libretto by Eric Crozier.

And a blessed feast of St. Nicholas to you all.

Saint Nicolas (Opus 42, by Benjamin Britten)

I. Introduction

Our eyes are blinded by the holiness you bear…
the bishop’s robe, the mitre, and the cross of gold
obscure the simple man within the Saint.
Strip off your glory, Nicolas, and speak!
Across the tremendous bridge
of sixteen hundred years
I come to stand in worship with you,
as I stood among my faithful congregation long ago.
All who knelt beside me are gone.
Their name is dust, their tombs are grass and clay,
yet their shining seed of faith survives in you!
It weathers time, it springs again in you!
With you it stands like forest oak or
withers with the grasses underfoot.
Preserve the living Faith for which your fathers fought!
For Faith was won by centuries of sacrifice
and many martyrs died that you might worship God.
Help us, Lord, to find the hidden road…
that leads from love to greater Love…
from faith to greater Faith.
Strengthen us, O Lord!
Screw up our strength to serve thee with simplicity.

II. The Birth of Nicolas

Nicolas was born in answer to prayer, and
leaping from his mother’s womb he cried:
God be glorified!
Swaddling bands and crib awaited him there,
but Nicolas clapped both his hands and cried:
God be glorified!
Innocent and joyful, naked and fair,
he came in pride on earth to abide.
God be glorified!
Water rippled Welcome! in the bathtub by his side;
he dived in open-eyed, he swam, he cried:
God be glorified!
When he went to church at Christmastide,
he climbed up to the font to be baptized.
God be glorified!
Pilgrims came to kneel and pray by his side.
He grew in grace, his name was sanctified.
Nicolas grew in innocence and pride.
His glory spread a rainbow round the countryside.
“Nicolas will be a saint!” the neighbours cried.
God be glorified!

III. Nicolas devotes himself to God

My parents died… all too soon…
I left the tranquil beauty of their home…
and knew the wider world of man. Poor man!
I found him solitary, racked by doubt: born, bred,
doomed to die in everlasting fear of death:
the foolish toy of time, the darling of decay –
hopeless, faithless, defying God.
Heartsick, in hope to mask the twisted face of poverty,
I sold my lands to feed the poor.
I gave my goods to charity but Love demanded more.
Heartsick, I cast away all things
that could distract my mind
from full devotion to His will; I thrust my happiness
behind but Love desired more – still.
Heartsick, I called on God to purge my angry soul,
to be my only master, friend and guide.
I begged for sweet humility, and Love was satisfied.

IV. He journeys to Palestine

Nicolas sailed for Palestine across the sunlit seas.
The South West Wind blew soft and fair,
seagulls hovered through the air
and spices scented the breeze.
Everyone felt that land was near,
all dangers now were past,
except for one who knelt in prayer,
fingers clasped and head quite bare,
alone by the mizzenmast.
The sailors jeered at Nicolas, who paid them no regard
until the hour of sunset came
when he stood up and stopped their game
of staking coins on cards.
Nicolas spoke and prophesied a tempest far ahead.
The sailors scorned such words of fear
since sky and stars shone bright and clear,
so “Nonsense!” they all said.
Darkness was soon on top of them,
but still the South Wind blew.
The captain went below to sleep, and
left the helmsman there to keep his course
with one of the crew.
Nicolas swore he’d punish them for mocking the Lord.
The wind arose, the thunder roared,
lightning split the waves that poured
in wild cascades on board.
Waterspouts rose in majesty until the ship was tossed
abaft, aback, astern, abeam,
lit by lightning’s livid gleam,
and all aboard cried “Lost!”
Lightning hisses through the night,
blinding sight with living light! Ah! Ah! Ah! Ah!
Man the pumps! Man the pumps! Axes! Axes!
Winds and tempests howl their cry
of battle through the raging sky!
Spare us! Save us! Lifeboats! Lower away!
Waves repeat their angry roar,
fall and spring again once more.
Let her run before the wind!
Shorten sail! Reef her! Heave her to! Thunder rends the sky asunder
with its savage shout of wonder.

(“The Story of St. Nicholas”: This and the two panels shown below are taken from the predella of a large triptych painted in 1437 by Fra Angelico for the Chapel of St Niccolò in the Church of S. Domenico in Perugia.)

Pray to God! Kneel and pray!
Lightning, thunder, tempest, ocean…
praise their God with voice and motion.
Nicolas waited patiently
till they were on their knees.
Then down he knelt in thankfulness,
begging God their ship to bless,
and make the storm to cease:
O God! We are all weak, sinful foolish men.
We pray from fear and from necessity at death,
in sickness or private loss.
Without the prick of fear our conscience sleeps,
forgetful of Thy Grace.
Help us, O God! to see more clearly.
Tame our stubborn hearts.
Teach us to ask for less and offer more
in gratitude to Thee.
Pity our simplicity, for we are truly pitiable in thy sight.
Amen!
The winds and waves lay down to rest.
The sky was clear and calm.
The ship sailed onward without harm
and all creation sang a psalm of loving thankfulness.
Beneath the stars the sailors slept
exhausted by their fear, while I knelt down
for love of God on high and saw his angels in the sky
smile down at me and wept, wept, wept.

V. Nicolas comes to Myra and is chosen Bishop

Come, stranger sent from God!
Come, man of God!
Stand foremost in our Church
and serve this diocese,
as Bishop Nicolas, our shield,
our strength, our peace!
I Nicolas, Bishop of Myra and its diocese
shall with unfailing grace of God,
defend his faithful servants,
comfort the widow and fatherless, and
fulfill his will for this most blessed church.
Amen! Amen!
Place the mitre on your head
to show your mastery of men.
Take the golden robe that covers you
with Christ’s authority.
Wear the fine dalmatic woven with the cross of faith.
Bear the crozier as a staff and comfort to your flock.
Set the ring upon your hand in sacramental sign,
in sign of wedlock with our God.
Amen! Amen!
Serve the faith and spurn his enemies…
Serve the faith!

All people that on earth do dwell,
Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice;
Him serve with fear, His praise forth tell,
Come ye before Him and rejoice.

O enter then his gates with praise,
Approach with joy His courts unto,
Praise, laud and bless His name always,
For it is seemly so to do.

For why? The Lord our God is good:
His mercy is for ever sure;
His truth at all times firmly stood,
And shall from age to age endure. Amen.

VI. Nicolas from Prison

Persecution sprang upon our Church
and stilled its voice.
Eight barren years it stifled under Roman rule:
And I lay bound, condemned to celebrate
my lonely sacrament with prison bread,
while wolves ran loose among my flock.
O man! The world is set for you as for a king!
Paradise is yours in loveliness.
The stars shine down for you,
for you the angels sing.
Yet you prefer your wilderness.
You hug the rack of self,
Embrace the lash of sin,
pour your treasures out to bribe distress.
You build your temples fair without and foul within…
you cultivate your wilderness.
Yet Christ is yours, yours!
For you He lived and died.
God in mercy gave his Son to bless you all,
to bring you life,
and Him you crucified to desecrate your wilderness.
Turn, turn, turn away from sin!
Ah! Bow down your hard and stubborn hearts!
Confess yourselves to Him in penitence,
and humbly vow your lives to Him, to Holiness.

VII. Nicolas and the Pickled Boys

Famine tracks us down the lanes,
hunger holds our horses’ reins.
Winter heaps the roads with snow…
O we have far to go.
Starving beggars howl their cry,
snarl to see us spurring by.
Times are bad and travel slow...
O we have far to go.

We mourn our boys, our missing sons,
We sorrow for three little ones.
Timothy, Mark and John are gone.
Are gone! Are gone! Are gone!
Landlord, take this piece of gold!
Bring us food before the cold…
makes our pangs of hunger grow…
O we have far to go!

Day by day we seek to find
some trace of them but Oh! Unkind!
Timothy, Mark and John are gone, are gone….
Let us share this dish of meat!
Come, my friends, sit down and eat!
Join us, Bishop, for we know that you have far to go!

Mary meek and Mother mild
who lost thy Jesus as a child,
our Timothy, Mark and John are gone, are gone.
Come, Your Grace, don’t eat so slow!
Take some meat…
O do not taste! O do not feed on sin!
But haste to save three souls in need!
The mothers’ cry is sad and weak…
within these walls they lie whom mothers sadly seek.
Timothy, Mark, and John!
Put your fleshly garments on!
Come from dark oblivion!
Come! Come! Come! Come!

See! Three boys spring back to life,
who slaughtered by the butcher’s knife,
lay salted down!
And entering, hand in hand they stand and sing:
Alleluia! Alleluia! to their King!
Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia! Alleluia!

VIII. His piety and marvellous works

For forty years our Nicolas, our prince of men,
our shepherd and our gentle guide
walked by our side.
We turned to him at birth and death,
in time of famine and distress,
in all our grief, to bring relief.
He led us from the valleys to the
pleasant hills of grace.
He fought to fold us in from mortal sin.
O! He was prodigal of love!
A spendthrift in devotion to us all,
and blessed as he caressed.
We keep his memory alive in legends
that our children and their children’s
children treasure still.
A captive at the heathen court wept sorely all alone.
“O Nicolas is here, my son!
And he will bring you home!”
“Fill, fill my sack with corn,” he said,
“We die from lack of food!”
And from that single sack he fed a hungry multitude.
Three daughters of a nobleman were
doomed to shameful sin till our good Bishop
ransomed them by throwing purses in.
The gates were barred, the black flag flew,
three men knelt by the block,
but Nicolas burst in like flame and
stayed the axe’s shock.
“O help us, good Nicolas! Our ship is full of foam!”
He walked across the waves to them
and led them safely home.
He sat among the Bishops
who were summoned to Nicaea:
then rising with the wrath of God
boxed Arius’s ear!
He threatened Constantine the Great
with bell and book and ban,
till Constantine confessed his sins
like any common man!

Let the legends that we tell,
praise him with our prayers as well.
We keep his memory alive in
legends that our children
and their children’s children treasure still.

IX. The Death of Nicolas

Death, I hear thy summons and I come in haste,
For my short life is done;
and Oh! My soul is faint with love
for Him who waits for me above.
Lord, I come to life, to final birth.
I leave the misery of this earth for light,
by thy eternal grace,
where I shall greet Thee face to face.
Christ, receive my soul with tenderness,
for in my last of life I bless Thy name,
who lived and died for me,
and dying, yield my soul to Thee.

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,
according to thy word.
For mine eyes have seen thy salvation…
which thou hast prepared before
the face of all people.
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles….
and to be the glory of thy people Israel.

Glory be to the Father, and to the Son,
and to the Holy Ghost.
As it was in the beginning, is
now, and ever shall be…
world without end. Amen!

God moves in a mysterious way
His wonders to perform;
He plants his footsteps in the sea,
and rides upon the storm.

Deep in unfathomable mines
of never-failing skill
He treasures up his bright designs,
and works his sovereign will.

Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
the clouds ye so much dread
are big with mercy
and shall break in blessings on your head.
Amen!