Micaele Sparacino General Director and Conductor

Program Notes: Petite Messe Solennelle

When Gioachino Antonio Rossini (1792-1868) devoted the summer of 1864 to writing his Petite Messe Solennelle, or Little High Mass, it had been more than 20 years since he had produced a major work, the Stabat Mater, and more than 30 years since his last opera, William Tell.

He had been comfortably retired since 1855 in his villa outside of Paris, holding court and receiving visits from leading artistic and intellectual figures of his day. Even Beethoven and Richard Wagner made the pilgrimage to Passy. During these years, Rossini composed more than 150 chamber and salon works, piano pieces, arias and ensembles, which he humorously called his “sins of old age” (péchés de viellesse).

The Little High Mass dates from this same period and shares with the péchés many musical characteristics, including its original scoring for a chamber ensemble. In his typically witty manner, Rossini described the work: “Petite Messe Solennelle, in four parts with accompaniment of two pianos and harmonium, composed during my country vacation at Passy. Twelve singers of three sexes — men, women, and castrati — will be sufficient for its execution.”

The Petite Messe is dedicated to the Countess Louise Pillet-Will, a munificent benefactor of the arts and a friend of Rossini. It was commissioned for the consecration of the chapel in the new townhouse she shared with her husband, Count Michel Frédéric, the banker for Napoléon Bonaparte.

Rossini meticulously supervised the rehearsals and during the performance turnedpages for the primary pianist (pianoforte concertato), setting the tempo of each movement by nodding his head.

By all accounts, the small but select audience at the premiere (including such opera bigwigs as Camille Saint Saëns, Ambroise Thomas and Giacomo Meyerbeer) was ecstatic over the new masterpiece. Meyerbeer, in particular, was overwhelmed — trembling and even weeping.

In 1867, Rossini orchestrated the work and arranged it for performances in a cathedral with much larger forces — a chorus and solo quartet. The work was never performed in a cathedral during his lifetime, however. Pope Pius IX declined to grant a dispensation permitting the use of female altos and sopranos in a cathedral.

“I prefer it with the accompaniment of piano and harmonium, as we performed it,” Rossini wrote, and listeners today generally feel the original keyboard parts, highly idiomatic of Rossini's bravura style, give the work much of its charm.

Opera Bel Canto will perform the edition by Klaus Doge, based entirely on Rossini’s autograph of the original version, published by Carus-Verlag, Stuttgart, in 1992. — Micaele Sparacino

Reflections on Rossini and his last work

Though Rossini's Stabat Mater has always remained a staple of the choral concert repertoire, Petite Messe Solennelle has mostly sat on the shelf.

Yet, the more I have studied this elusive final opus of maestro Rossini over the past 15 years, the more complex and profound I find it, the more I want to perform it.
Despite its name, it is no particularly petite — it is almost two hours long. It is not always solennelle or solemn, either.

The highly original score calls for 12 soloists, two pianos and an harmonium—an ensemble I have never seen elsewhere. It is always operatic and requires great vocal technique and elegant virtuosity. The polyphonic, filigreed writing is beyond compare. The Kyrie with its unique entwining of Gregorian chant, Palestrina-like harmonies and a Victorian harmonium in an hauntingly metric dance foreshadows Carl Orf's Carmina Burana. The fugal sections of both the Gloria and the Credo surpass even Beethoven in length and solemnity.

Then, in the midst of this splendor, Rossini spikes with moments of delicious musical humor. He breaks the deep silences of the Gloria and Credo with tremendous, brilliant fortes. His "pop song" treatment of the crucifixus, with its lilting rhythm, veiled eroticism and descending chromatic melody, was not lost on Massenet or Tosti. They couldn't seem to let go of it.

Was he mocking the Church or just displaying his magnificent wit? The key may be in his inscription to the work in which he asks God to forgive him this one last sin or péché. In fact, Rossini referred to all of his last works as sins of his old age — péchés des viellesse, as he liked to call them.

The arias, duets, trios and quartet pieces, unparalleled in their elegance, became models for the Italian style of vocal writing that ruled Victorian Europe for the next 150 years. All of the great sacred works and salon music of Gounod, Mendelssohn, Stainer and Sullivan follow this tradition established by Rossini. Even Beethoven's great concert aria, "Ah! Perfido" is based completely on Rossini's last work. Mozart never had this much influence on styles of later composition.

You can hear echoes of the duet "Qui Tollis," with its harmonium accompaniment, in Alice Hawthorn's undying "Whispering Hope." Indeed! It is this association with Victorian parlour music that may have alienated modern musicians, who too often dismissed it as "religious salon music." How unfortunate for them. We can now hear its originality and depth.

The most moving piece is the Agnus Dei. Its exotic piano motif is hypnotic. The arabesque vocal line which resembles a Sicilian funeral prayer, calls on the contralto to implore at both extremes of her voice. Very moving, very bravura! It made Meyerbeer tremble and cry. It still has a similar effect upon me. —M.S.

This web page revised March 20, 2004