Requiem

The music of Gabriel Fauré (1845-1924) has never achieved the stature in America or England that it has in his native France, where Fauré’s position in the canon of true masters has been upheld since his death. For French students, the five greatest composers are Mozart, Beethoven, Debussy, Fauré, and perhaps Ravel. Of course, more than a touch of Gallic chauvinism is at work here, but it also demonstrates just how deeply devoted the French are to Fauré’s music. He wrote many delightful piano compositions and dozens of exquisite and influential songs. His chamber music has appeared on previous SMF programs, but without doubt, Fauré is most widely acclaimed for his Requiem in D Minor.
Written in the late 1880s—in the aftermath of his parents’ deaths but, according to the composer, not written because of those events—the Fauré Requiem takes the D-minor key of the most famous requiem mass of all, the one which Mozart left incomplete at his death. But where Mozart’s example sets out as a massive undertaking, nearly an hour in duration, Fauré’s fluid Requiem carries more modest dimensions. At just 35 minutes, it grounds a modern concert program without overwhelming the other works. The first version (1888), containing just five movements, was even shorter than the published version, which appeared with two new movements and revised orchestration in 1901. Echoes of Brahms’ Ein deutsches Requiem abound, from the lush harmonic texture to the scoring for soprano and baritone soloists, and the number of movements (seven).
The Introit begins in a staid, imposing manner of choral fragments. A more active melody, first heard by solo tenors, features the distinctive lowered-7th scale step (C natural), which remained one of Fauré’s most idiomatic modal touches. The same effect occurs at the head of the second melody, where a lowered 7th (this time E-flat) colors the soprano’s entrance in F major. These simple details help situate the Requiem in an antique, quasi-medieval soundworld. They provide contrast to the upward surging chromaticism of the final phrases, which take their cue more from Wagner than from plainchant.
Fauré’s vocal writing in the Offertory is tight and purposefully ambiguous as, for instance, altos and tenors cross and double each other before the lone baritone voice cuts through the texture. The moment is made doubly poignant by the emergence of D major. Each phrase features a kind of mesmerizing repetition of a single pitch, usually A, in an homage to the “reciting tone” of medieval chant. The full chorus returns to close the movement in a serene B major, even though B minor would be expected. (A technical detail: To create this surprise, Faure must change from D-naturals to D-sharps. Enharmonically respelled as E-flats, these D-sharps thus prepare the shift to the key [E-flat major] of the following movement.)
The lithe Sanctus in E-flat major, characterized by the undulating arpeggios in harp and strings, reveals the part of Fauré that excelled so well in writing popular song. Each melodic fragment projects a classical brevity and simplicity, though here, too, one notes the colorful interplay between normal 7th degree and the lowered 7th. (Fauré shifts from one to the other between sopranos and tenors at dominus.) Against the consistent arpeggios, some very striking harmonic changes take place. The brief Hosanna theme strikes a martial tone, literally worlds away from the blissful Sanctus.

No part of the Requiem has been more often excised for concert performance than the Pie Jesu for soprano solo. To call the movement “insubstantial” is not to slight it, as its entire ethos seems to be a kind of disembodied call for peace, a barely palpable voice praying on behalf of the departed. The repetitive melody also seems disconnected from the subtly shifting harmonies below, which recede almost to inaudibility at times and play their accompanying role to perfection.
The balance between voices and instruments is restored in the dramatic Agnus Dei. We revel in delightful duets such as one between tenors and second violas. At “Lux aeterna” Fauré unfolds a brilliant series of modulations that cast myriad colors across the scene. Strident brass then resurrects the opening D-minor theme. At the movement’s close, the radiant Agnus Dei material is reprised in D major, trailing off to a simple but effective conclusion.
Libera Me opens with a compelling baritone solo, though most of the movement features full chorus. For one brief moment at the very end do both soloist and chorus sing together. It is worth noting that Fauré avoids quoting the familiar medieval “Dies irae” plainchant during that passage of the text, choosing rather to stress the “day of wrath” with punctuations from brass and percussion.
The final movement, In Paradisum, is another favorite of choral groups around the world. No surprise that the prevailing texture of sustained melody above arpeggios recalls the mood of the Sanctus. And after a few delicious dissonant clashes, the final pages glide along on a pure D major without the slightest ripple. We would expect—perhaps long for—a reassuring, unhurried conclusion to the Requiem; after the ups and downs of a life lived, a life remembered, from the prayer for peace to the fear and trembling of Judgment Day. Yet, even if expected, that does not make the placid finale any less satisfying.

(c) Jason Stell