Gloria
Francis Poulenc
(b. January 7, 1899 in Paris; d: January 30, 1963 in Paris)

Gloria was commissioned by the Koussevitzky Foundation for the Boston Symphony and its premiere was January 21, 1961, Charles Münch conducting—an occasion Poulenc attended.

In the celebration of the Catholic mass, Gloria is a single section of the unchanging parts (referred to as the ordinary of the Catholic mass). If a composer writes a mass it is sure to contain five parts: Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, Sanctus, and Agnus Dei, although it may contain more. Gloria, in its totality a joyful hymn of praise, in Poulenc’s hands, the one part is made into six movements from its Latin phrases with radical shifts in mood from one movement to the next.

“Gloria in excelsis Deo” (Glory to God in the highest) begins with expectant fanfares, then the chorus enters, rhythmical and understated (Stravinsky’s Symphony of Psalms comes to mind), only to build excitement quickly. Note how Poulenc lets the music dictate quirky emphases, “in excelSIS deO.” 

“Laudamus te” (We praise thee) dances along; a middle section offers sober reflection before the dancing resumes.

“Domine Deus, Rex caelestis” (Lord God, King of heaven) unfolds patiently and—atypically given the grand subject matter—mostly quietly. It is as long as the first two movements together and is the first where the soprano soloist sings.

“Domine Fili unigente” (Lord Son only begotten) flies by, barely over a minute in length. Playful and bouncy, it again defies expectations set up by the text. Why is “Jesu Christe!” dissonant and almost shouted?

“Domine Deus, Agnus Dei” (Lord God, Lamb of God), the longest movement, is slow and gloomy to begin with but becomes more hopeful. The awkward rising interval of a major seventh heard first in the soprano’s entrance is usually perceived as dissonant but is repeated gently until it loses its sting.

Forceful, a cappella men’s voices start “Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris“ (You sit at the right hand of the Father). Alternating orchestral reminders of the opening movement with the full chorus a cappella merge into muscular statements. When the soprano arrests the proceedings with her ethereal, soaring lines, the end is near—just a few more riffs from the opening “Gloria” then a hushed close.

Born into relative wealth (of the family behind pharmaceutical firm Rhône-Poulenc) Poulenc found his musical way mostly on his own. His mother gave him his first piano lessons beginning at five, but his father insisted he complete studies at the “great Liberal High School,” Lycée Condorcet, instead of a conservatory. Commencing study with Ricardo Viñes in 1914 he became a fine concert artist, a vocation that gave him steady income throughout his life.

Poulenc’s musical tastes ranged widely from “adorable bad music” to Schubert to Stravinsky. His first fame as a composer was among a group called Les Six, youngish composers associated with the art movements Dadaism and Fauvism. The others were his friends, but he did not see himself as belonging in it, especially as Les Six was not a title of honor to most people. A young man in Paris in the libertine 1920s, he could not escape perceptions.

In the 20s he showed off a pastiche of styles paying homage to composers before him and around him. Always ready with Gallic wit, ready to tweak the listener’s ear, he was from the beginning a great melodist.

Much later musicologist Claude Rostand pegged Poulenc as “half monk and half naughty boy.” If the naughty boy was more in evidence early on, Poulenc was terribly affected by the gruesome death by decapitation of fellow composer Pierre-Octave Ferroud in a 1936 auto accident. The very night of his death Poulenc began his first religious work, Litanies to the Black Virgin, scored for women’s chorus and organ.

Based on what Poulenc wrote about faith, his fixation on sacred works for the remainder of his life may have been less about abiding belief than exorcising demons and finding comfort in ancient forms but, by the time of his commission to write his Gloria in 1959, he was an acknowledged master, and the piece, the last large work he wrote, was a worthy capstone to his career.

(c) 2017, 2025 by Steven Hollingsworth,
Creative Commons Public Attribution 3.0 United States License.
Contact steve@trecorde.net