Mass for four Voices

We may not be certain about where and when William Byrd was born (Lincoln or London? 1534 or 1543?), but we do know that his musical talents emerged early. He sang in London’s Royal Chapel under Thomas Tallis, one of the premier English composers of the day, when elaborate sacred music in Latin flourished (the so-called Tudor period of “Bloody Mary”). After taking his first official position as organist at Lincoln Cathedral, Byrd eventually returned to London and worked as a kind of composer-in-residence for Queen Elizabeth. But as with many public figures of that time, he suffered the fluctuations between Catholic and Protestant control of the throne. Even for a man who had achieved such prestige—composing for the highest circle of patrons, having a patent from the Queen herself to publish music—changing religious appetites meant that not all of Byrd’s music could be openly performed.
Such, apparently, is the case with his three masses (for three, four, and five voices) written in the mid-1590s. These Latin mass settings were aimed at England’s Roman Catholic community; they could not have been performed in public while Protestant Elizabeth held power. Instead, we believe the masses were heard only in private gatherings of the Catholic faithful, of which, without doubt, Byrd was himself one. The earliest of the three to be written was the Mass for Four Voices. Its five movements are the familiar portions of the Mass Ordinary, which texts did not change from day to day in the liturgical year (Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus/Benedictus, Agnus Dei).
From the start Byrd pours forth the “Renaissance sound” that we have come to view as archetypal for sacred music of the age; it is not universal, but Byrd’s genius has helped to define his era. Overlapping entries of voice parts mean that full cadences are reserved for major points of articulation in the text and, of course, section endings. The three lines of text in the Kyrie make a tripartite division almost unavoidable. Points of imitation are regularly spaced with entries occurring on the tonic or dominant (fifth) note, much as one would hear in any Bach fugue. Although text painting will become an issue in later movements, the brevity of the Kyrie text enhance the music’s “instrumental” nature. In other words, when text becomes so familiar and incapable of suggesting text painting, then Byrd’s long vocal melismas (i.e., many notes for one word) approach the sound of instrumental music; tone relationships and sheer sonority become the center of attention in place of the text. Ornamentation works to create momentary dissonances that maintain tension—slight though it may seem in such a serene soundscape.
The scoring of this mass for four voices should not mask the fact that, for a great deal of the time, it is essentially a three-voice texture. As a theme or motive finishes in one voice, a second voice is midway through the same material, a third voice has just begun, while a fourth is still waiting to come in. It must be remembered that every moment in this composition is based on one of two principles: either imitation, where a musical figure is presented at fixed intervals of time and pitch in successive voices; or chordal counterpoint, where all voices move together in equal rhythms. The vast majority of the work follows the first premise (imitation); the first instance of four-voice chordal homophony (the second premise) appears at “gratias agimus tibi” in the Gloria.
A touch of text painting may be heard at “tu solus altissimus” (you alone are most high) toward the end of the Gloria. Three other obvious moments for text-music parallels occur during the lengthy Credo: Byrd’s falling fourth motive at “descendit,” and two rising melodies on “resurrexit” and “ascendit in caelum.”
The atmosphere of the Sanctus is decidedly more meditative. Usually performed at a slower tempo than the other movements, it features stepwise motion and long lines that unfold in graceful arches. Here is musical architecture of the highest order, and Byrd carefully reserves such textures for the spiritual essence of the mass—the holy of holies. Finally, the Agnus Dei withdraws to a two-part texture at the start, as it opens with an extended duet for soprano and alto. This leads to an equally broad trio (S, T, B), so that in total only half the movement involves all four voice parts at the same time. This tactic reinforces the clarity of texture and principles of compositional organization that Byrd explores in all three of his “subversive” mass settings. In Protestant England expressions of Catholic faith earned one a prison sentence, or worse, and we are fortunate both that Byrd had the courage to follow his convictions in writing these Roman rites and that they survived to grace the sanctuaries of our own (hopefully) more tolerant age.

(c) Jason Stell