A few words from the Missa's conductor, Jay Friedman

By Jay Friedman, Missa Solemnis Conductor and Music Director

Being the conductor of this upcoming performance of Beethoven's Missa Solemnis is a great honor and a great responsibility as well. Besides preparing the orchestra I have the responsibility of preparing the soloists. Luckily we have choral director Bruce Tammen and the wonderful Chicago Chorale as well as our own symphony chorus, Bill Chin, chorus master, to fulfill Beethoven's demanding choral writing. Beethoven's writing for voices has long been viewed as some of the most difficult in the repertory. He seems to have viewed the human voice as an orchestral type instrument, capable of the facility of a violin or flute. He seemed to have no reservations about writing long, high exhausting, passages for soprano and alto voices, as well as the men. The fugues in the Missa Solemnis are especially taxing and have long been thought to be the most difficult to sing. As fiercely difficult as many tutti passages are for the chorus there are moments of great beauty and expression. It's as if Beethoven had a vision of setting the Mass to music with no thought of sparing the performers any practical considerations toward that goal.

We suspect that Beethoven was not a religious person in the normal sense of the word. He seemed to believe in a more encompassing view of humanity, as exhibited by the text in the ninth symphony, and his crossing out of the dedication of the Eroica symphony to Napoleon when the latter declared himself emperor.
An insight to his thoughts on life and humanity are best illustrated by his own words in a document he penned in 1802 called the "Heiigenstadt Testament." It is interesting to note that Beethoven lived another 25 years and wrote some of his greatest works when completely deaf, one being the Missa Solemnis.


For my brothers Carl and Johann Beethoven
Oh you men who think or say that I am malevolent, stubborn, or misanthropic, how greatly do you wrong me. You do not know the secret cause which makes me seem that way to you. From childhood on, my heart and soul have been full of the tender feeling of goodwill, and I was even inclined to accomplish great things. But, think that for six years now I have been hopelessly afflicted, made worse by senseless physicians, from year to year deceived with hopes of improvement, finally compelled to face the prospect of a lasting malady (whose cure will take years or, perhaps, be impossible).
Though born with a fiery, active temperament, even susceptible to the diversions of society, I was soon compelled to isolate myself, to live life alone. If at times I tried to forget all this, oh, how harshly was I flung back by the doubly sad experience of my bad hearing. Yet it was impossible for me to say to people, "Speak Louder, shout, for I am deaf". Oh, how could I possibly admit an infirmity in the one sense which ought to be more perfect in me than others, a sense which I once possessed in the hightést perfection, a perfection such as few in my profession enjoy or ever have enjoyed. – Oh I cannot do it; therefore forgive me when you see me draw back when I would have gladly mingled with you.
My misfortune is doubly painful to me because I am bound to be misunderstood; for me there can be no relaxation with my fellow men, no refined conversations, no mutual exchange of ideas. I must live almost alone, like one who has been banished. I can mix with society only as much as true necessity demands. If I approach near to people a hot terror seizes upon me, and I fear being exposed to the danger that my condition might be noticed. Thus it has been during the last six months which I have spent in the country. By ordering me to spare my hearing as much as possible, my intelligent doctor almost fell in with my own present frame of mind, though sometimes I ran counter to it by yielding to my desire for companionship.
But what a humiliation for me when someone standing next to me heard a flute in the distance and I heard nothing, or someone standing next to me heard a shepherd singing and again I heard nothing. Such incidents drove me almost to despair; a little more of that and I would have ended my life. It was only my art that held me back. Oh, it seemed to me impossible to leave the world until I had forth all that I felt was within me. So I endured this wretched existence, truly wretched for so susceptible a body, which can be thrown by a sudden change from the best condition to the worst. Patience, they say, is what I must now choose for my guide, and I have done so - I hope my determination will remain firm to endure until it pleases the inexorable Parcae to break the thread. Perhaps I shall get better, perhaps not; I am ready. - Forced to become a philosopher already in my twenty-eight year, oh, it is not easy, and for the artist much more difficult than for anyone else. Divine One, thou seest my inmost soul thou knowest that therein dwells the love of mankind and the desire to do good. Oh, fellow men, when at some point you read this, consider then that you have done me injustice. Someone who has had misfortune may console himself to find a similar case to his, who despite all the limitations of Nature nevertheless did everything within his powers to become accepted among worthy artist and men.
You, my brothers Carl and Johann, as soon as I am dead, if Dr. Schmid is still alive, ask him in my name to describe my malady, and attach this written documentation to his account of my illness so that so far as it is possible at least the world may become reconciled to me after my death. At the same time, I declare you two to be the heirs to my small fortune (if so it can be called); divide it fairly, bear with and help each other. What injury you have done me you know was long ago forgiven. To you, brother Carl, I give special thanks for the attachment you have shown me of late. It is my wish that you may have at better and freer life than I have had. Recommend virtue to your children; it alone, not money, can make them happy. I speak from experience; this was what upheld me in time of misery. Thanks for it and to my art, I did not end my life by suicide - Farewell and love each other.
I thank all my friends, particularly Prince Lichnowsky and Professor Schmid; I would like the instruments from Prince L. to be preserved by one of you, but not to be the cause of strife between you, and as soon as they can serve you a better purpose, then sell them. How happy I shall be if I can still be helpful to you in my grave - so be it. With joy I hasten towards death. If it comes before I have had the chance to develop all my artistic capacities, it will still be coming too soon despite my harsh fate, and I should probably wish it later - yet even so I should be happy, for would it not free me from the state of endless suffering? Come when thou wilt, I shall meet thee bravely. Farewell and do not wholly forget me when I am dead; I deserve this from you, for during my lifetime I was thinking of you often and of ways to make you happy - be soo - .

Ludwig van Beethoven
October 6th, 1802