From the archive: Mysticism and music 9: Stabat Mater in nine versions
Gratis post (originally published: April 2024)
In Latin hymnography, one of the best-loved compositions is the 13th-century Stabat Mater Dolorosa, attributed variously to Pope Innocent III (1161 - 1216), St. Bonaventure (1221 - 1274), and Jacopone da Todi (1230 - 1306). In Luke’s Gospel, when the infant Jesus is presented in the Temple after his Mother’s “days of purification” are completed, the aged Simeon greets them with an exclamation of thanksgiving (known by its Latin title in the liturgies of the West as the Nunc Dimittis) and also a dire prophecy addressed to Mary: “Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising again of many in Israel; and for a sign which shall be spoken against; Yea, a sword shall pierce through thy own soul also, that the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed” (emphasis added; see Luke 2:22-39). These darkly mysterious words inform the text of the Stabat Mater, which are seen as fulfilled in Mary’s sorrows at the foot of the cross as she witnessed the death of her Son.
The hymn reflects the spirituality of the Franciscan movement, with its stress on the humanity of Christ. In Christian tradition, Mary — virgin and mother — is associated with the Church as its purest icon (she is also considered a type both of personified Wisdom — “Mary kept all these things, and pondered them in her heart… [H]is mother kept all these sayings in her heart”; Lk. 2:19, 51 — and of the sanctified human soul, themes especially evident in medieval exegetical reflection and piety). The great theologian, Henri de Lubac, wrote: “Everywhere the Church finds in [Mary] her type and model, her point of origin and perfection: ‘the form of our Mother the Church is according to the form of his Mother.’ Our Lady speaks and acts in the name of the Church at every moment of her existence… because she already carries the Church within her, so to speak, and contains her, in her wholeness, in her own person” (quoted in my book, The Woman, the Hour, and the Garden: A Study of Imagery in the Gospel of John, Eerdmans, 2016; pp. 33 - 34). Hence, her sorrow, which will be turned into joy at the Resurrection, is her second “travail” or “birth pangs” (compare John 16:21 and 19:24-27, and see my book mentioned above). Thus, her “travail” is linked to that of ourselves in this present age and of all creation: “ For we know that the whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. And not only they, but ourselves also, which have the firstfruits of the Spirit, even we ourselves groan within ourselves, waiting for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of our body” (Romans 8:22-23). The Franciscan ingredient, seen in the hymn, adds pathos and “heart” to this mystical conviction.
Below, in four YouTube videos, are nine settings of the Stabat Mater (and there are many others, as well, but I’ve kept the number to nine because, after all, this is the ninth of my occasional “music and mysticism” posts): two Latin chant versions, and the settings of Pergolesi, Palestrina, Vivaldi, Boccherini, Bononcini, Pärt, and Dvorak. Of these, I am particularly moved by Pergolesi’s (I suspect I’m not alone in this estimation) and — just behind that rendition — both plainchant versions (though I deeply appreciate all the others).
Before proceeding to the videos, here is the text in Latin, followed by the familiar English translation of Fr. Edward Caswall (1814-1878):
Stabat mater dolorósa
juxta Crucem lacrimósa,
dum pendébat Fílius.
Cuius ánimam geméntem,
contristátam et doléntem
pertransívit gládius.
O quam tristis et afflícta
fuit illa benedícta,
mater Unigéniti!
Quae mœrébat et dolébat,
pia Mater, dum vidébat
nati pœnas ínclyti.
Quis est homo qui non fleret,
matrem Christi si vidéret
in tanto supplício?
Quis non posset contristári
Christi Matrem contemplári
doléntem cum Fílio?
Pro peccátis suæ gentis
vidit Jésum in torméntis,
et flagéllis súbditum.
Vidit suum dulcem Natum
moriéndo desolátum,
dum emísit spíritum.
Eja, Mater, fons amóris
me sentíre vim dolóris fac,
ut tecum lúgeam.
Fac, ut árdeat cor meum
in amándo Christum Deum
ut sibi compláceam.
Sancta Mater, istud agas,
crucifíxi fige plagas
cordi meo válide.
Tui Nati vulneráti,
tam dignáti pro me pati,
pœnas mecum dívide.
Fac me tecum pie flere,
crucifíxo condolére,
donec ego víxero.
Juxta Crucem tecum stare,
et me tibi sociáre
in planctu desídero.
Virgo vírginum præclára,
mihi iam non sis amára,
fac me tecum plángere.
Fac ut portem Christi mortem,
passiónis fac consórtem,
et plagas recólere.
Fac me plagis vulnerári,
fac me Cruce inebriári,
et cruóre Fílii.
Flammis ne urar succénsus,
per te, Virgo, sim defénsus
in die iudícii.
Christe, cum sit hinc exire,
da per Matrem me veníre
ad palmam victóriæ.
Quando corpus moriétur,
fac, ut ánimæ donétur
paradísi glória.
In English:
At the Cross her station keeping,
Stood the mournful mother weeping,
Close to Jesus to the last.
Through her heart, His sorrow sharing,
All His bitter anguish hearing,
Now at length the sword had pass'd.
Oh, how sad and sore distress'd
Was that Mother, highly blest
Of the sole begotten One!
Christ above in torment hangs;
She beneath beholds the pangs
Of her dying glorious Son.
Is there one who would not weep,
Whelmed in miseries so deep,
Christ's dear Mother to behold?
Can the human heart refrain
From partaking in her pain,
In that Mother's pain untold?
Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled,
She beheld her tender Child
All with bloody scourges rent;
For the sins of His own nation,
Saw Him hang in desolation,
Till His Spirit forth He sent.
O thou Mother! fount of love!
Touch my spirit from above,
Make my heart with thine accord;
Make me feel as thou hast felt;
Make my soul to glow and melt
With the love of Christ my Lord.
Holy Mother! pierce me through;
In my heart each wound renew
Of my Saviour crucified;
Let me share with thee His pain,
Who for all my sins was slain,
Who for me in torments died.
Let me mingle tears with thee,
Mourning Him who mourn'd for me,
All the days that I may live:
By the Cross with thee to stay;
There with thee to weep and pray;
Is all I ask of thee to give.
Virgin of all virgins best!
Listen to my fond request:
Let me share thy grief divine;
Let me, to my latest breath,
In my body bear the death
Of that dying Son of thine.
(1) The plainchant versions:
(2) The versions of Pergolesi, Palestrina, Vivaldi, Boccherini, Bononcini, and Pärt:
(3) Dvorak’s version:
Thank you very much for this bounty, Addison. I will listen to them as I work today.
As a small token of gratitude, here is a link to my favorite version of another Marian hymn--"Salve Regina," as sung by the monks of the Grande-Chartreuse in France: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kW0Tcl3Du1A
A bit off topic, but I went back and reread "A Vignette" by M.R. James. Quite creepy. The face staring out through the gate reminded me a bit of C.G. Jung's ghostly encounter in "a charming cottage" in Buckinghamshire: https://www.forbiddenhistories.com/2013/10/c-g-jung-haunted-house/
Thank you for this rich post.
Is it reasonable to imagine that, while perhaps theologically insignificant, Christ’s earthly father, Joseph, also stood before the cross in deep sorrow? For a modern reader his absence from the gospels is very odd. I’d welcome any comments you have about this if possible. Or direction to other reading.