What do the composer and pianist Franz Liszt and the Feast of All Souls have in common? The answer: the Dies Irae.
The Dies Irae, Latin for “Day of Wrath,” is a hymn from the thirteenth century. The poem, describing the Day of Judgement, is written with an underlying pulse that resonates through the main melody line. In the extraordinary form, it serves as the sequence for the requiem Mass. In the ordinary form, it was retained as a hymn for use in the Liturgy of the Hours for the Feast of All Souls, with the verses split between the Office of Readings, Lauds, and Vespers. Interestingly enough, it is also an option for the weekdays between Christ the King and the first Sunday of Advent, though this is only found in the universal Latin Liturgia Horarum. The 1975 American translation of the breviary omitted it.
The text of the Dies Irae is based on the Book of Zephaniah 1:15-16:
“Dies irae dies illa, dies tribulationis et angustiae, dies vastitatis et desolationis, dies tenebrarum et caliginis, dies nebulae et turbinis, dies tubae et clangoris super civitates munitas et super angulos excelsos” (Nova Vulgate).
“That day will be a day of wrath, a day of distress and anguish, a day of ruin and devastation, a day of darkness and gloom, a day of clouds and thick darkness, a day of trumpet blast and battle cry against the fortified cities and against the lofty battlements” (NRSV).
However, the full hymn pulls from numerous other places in Scripture: Matthew, Luke, 1 Thessalonians, 2 Peter, and Revelation.
As powerful and beautiful as the text is, the most memorable part is the pulsing melody line. A single listen can lock the melody into your head for an entire day. Part of the reason is obvious: it repeats incessantly. In some ways it reminds me of the way in which Edgar Allan Poe uses “nothing more” or “nevermore” or “evermore” at the end of his stanzas in The Raven. The repetition provides the same sort of “pulse” that makes the reader feel like the poem may never end, but at the same time keeps him reading. Unlike the consistent placement of words like “nevermore” in Poe’s poem, the melodic repetition within the Dies Irae occurs in a very curious way, by appearing in different parts of the verses. In the first and second stanzas, the pulsing melody occurs in the first line. In stanzas three and four, it occurs in the second line. In five and six it doesn’t occur at all. Somehow the manner in which the main melodic theme moves from the beginning of stanzas to the middle of stanzas to being absent altogether gives the pulse a sense of the unpredictable, which in a strange way makes it even more haunting.
While the sequence was originally set in Gregorian chant, many of the great composers have used the text of the hymn as a defining moment in their requiem Masses: Mozart, Berlioz, Verdi, Stravinsky, and others. Their compositions find varying melodies complete with harmonies and orchestrations. The results are beautiful to be sure, yet they always seem to me to be missing the haunting solemnity uniquely captured by the simple Gregorian pulse.
What I find more interesting is how the actual melodic theme of the original chant has influenced other musical works, perhaps most notably in film scores. My favorite example of this occurs is in Frank Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life, when George Bailey is looking over the bridge pleading with Clarence to restore his life, “Help me, Clarence, please. Please, I want to live again.” The simple Gregorian melody of the Dies Irae plays in the background.
As prominent as the musical theme is in film, some of the most famous composers have used it as an influence in a variety of works beyond just requiem Masses. Berlioz uses in his Symphonie fantastique, Haydn uses it in his Symphony Number 103, and it shows up in Mahler’s second symphony. Rachmaninoff seems to have had a life-long obsession with the hymn, as some have estimated that a musical reference to it occurs in nearly a third of his composition. Saint-Saëns, Shostakovich, Tchaikovsky … the list goes on. And speaking of liszts, or rather a certain Liszt …
Franz Liszt completed the Totentanz, or Dance of the Dead, in 1849, though it went through a couple revisions in the 1850s. Some would claim that Liszt had a particular fascination with death. After all, he has at least three other pieces dealing with the theme: Funerailles (Funeral), La lugubre gondola (The dismal gondola), and Pensée des morts (Think of the dead). The Totentanz, however, is based directly on the melodic theme of the Dies Irae.
The Totentanz is a work of art to be sure. It does, however, differ considerably in tone from the original Gregorian hymn. While the chant has an almost haunting pulse that carries the listener along, the Totentanz is considerably more percussive. In fact, it opens up with the pianist quite literally banging the keys, with the melody from the Dies Irae sounding through the deep-voiced instruments of the orchestra at about half the speed as the original chant. Supplemented by the other musicians, the soloist strikes the lower register keys desperately hoping to produce the violent volume needed to convey the emotion of the composition.
Following the violent opening, the melody returns again and again, with variation upon variation. It weaves in and out persistently, and in the end has the same effect as the original hymn: that simple musical phrase is stuck in the listener’s head the rest of the day.
Richard Pohl, an early biographer of Liszt, wrote on this composition, “Every variation discloses some new character—the earnest man, the flighty youth, the scornful doubter, the prayerful monk, the daring soldier, the tender maiden, the playful child.”
If the Totentanz is too harsh for your ears, I might recommend Brahms’s haunting Intermezzo in E♭ minor, the last movement in his “Six Pieces for Piano.” It also opens and plays with the Dies Irae theme.
While I certainly don’t want to ignore the important place the Dies Irae has in the Liturgy, I also want to attempt to restore a certain consciousness of the musical impact the Gregorian hymn has produced. The Totentanz is one of the best examples of such an influence, at least within classical music. If you have heard it, you already know this. If you haven’t, give it a try. Yet beware, fair listener; the Totentanz, like the great Dies Irae that precedes it, will likely not leave you in peace anytime soon.