The Oratorio of the Century at Würzburg Cathedral
Bertold Hummel’s “Der Schrein der Märtyrer” was premiered to great acclaim.
One could almost say that for more than two hundred years, musical history has indeed been characterised by choral works of a sacred nature, including those based on scriptural texts, etc. , works that also bear the name ‘oratorio’, though in many cases only in terms of their formal structure, so that one also speaks of a secular oratorio, which is actually nonsense, even if Haydn writes grand ‘Thanks and Amen’ passages in his ‘Seasons’, but not of real oratorios. It is not the purpose here to examine why this is so. However, the thought inevitably arises when one is confronted with a genuine oratorio, such as this work , ‘Der Schrein der Märtyrer’ by Bertold Hummel.
Church musicians are no doubt familiar with the composer Hummel, for the name at least—even if they may not yet have sung or played anything by him—appears constantly in recent publications of liturgical music. And a good organist will not only introduce his congregation to contemporary organ music through his now famous “Alleluia”, but may also be able to win them over, for the famous Easter Alleluia is clearly audible and ever-present.
Hummel knows what an oratorio truly and originally is. He was a practising church musician for many years and does not confuse the concept of the prayer hall, the ‘oratorio’, with the concert hall. He knows how to handle the biblical, legendary and irrefutable texts of Christian doctrine at the close of the second millennium of the Christian era musically, incorporating tradition whilst doing justice to the present day, and evidently must do so in accordance with the text’s expressive power, for what was heard is simply convincing and compelling.
The text was conceived by Bishop Paul-Werner Scheele, in collaboration with the composer, as was and is customary with all major vocal works. The whole work is a commission from the Bishop of Würzburg – that is, the Diocese of the Apostles of Franconia – to mark the 1300th anniversary of the martyrdom of Sts Kilian, Kolonat and Totnan.
In the words of Bishop Scheele in the beautifully produced programme booklet , the work shares “the meaning and purpose, theme and structure with the Shrine of St Kilian by H. G. Bücker, which has stood in the west crypt of Neumünster Church since 1978.” The relevant panels of the shrine, which inspired the content and textual message, are also illustrated in the programme booklet at the respective points. The text itself contains excerpts from the ancient Irish “Lorica Patricii”, biblical events and New Testament texts, as well as medieval texts, hymns, sequences and other sacred poetry.
The instrumentation for this work, Bertold Hummel’s Op. 90, is astonishing at first glance. Five vocal soloists, a narrator, a large choir, a girls’ choir, a boys’ choir, an orchestra, a percussion ensemble within the orchestra and on the gallery by the grand organ, a choir organ, and an organ within the orchestra. But the work was written for St Kilian’s Cathedral in Würzburg, where these possibilities are available.
The interplay between space and the work is not a new phenomenon. A prime example of this is undoubtedly French organ music, although in that case the organ itself is also a factor. For a performance in another church, the composer would certainly make adaptations.
Perhaps this is taking things a bit too far, but the work strikes me as so significant that it justifies a mention of the various compositional elements and practices that reflect the entire musical heritage of the Christian West.
The Trinity is honoured with organ and percussion following a spoken text from the Lorica Patricis, and the listener is plunged into the music of our times. They are then led out by a monumental Trinity stanza from a Vespers hymn for the Feast of St Kilian, conceived in unison in an archaic style.
In the calling of the first disciples, based on the Mark text (Mk 1:16–18) concerning the calling of Simon and Andrew, the Evangelist (baritone) is introduced, reciting against a transparent orchestral backdrop, with the recitative elements enriched by grand, demanding melismas. Peter’s words from his First Epistle on the royal priesthood (1 Pet 2:9) are reminiscent of a classical accompagnato. The choir responds with “Dominus fecit nos regnum” (1 Pet 1:6) to a mysteriously restrained passage of the finest polyphony.
In the calling of the Apostles of the Franks, Kilian (tenor) is introduced with a beautiful cantilena. From Luke come the following texts on discipleship, culminating in an anonymous 12th-century text with a marvellous depiction of nature and life reflecting the omnipresence of Christ, a women’s choir of great grace together with the all-outshining solo soprano in a fascinating overall sound.
In the third part , “Storm at Sea”, one is reminded of a Baroque or early Classical depiction of nature, albeit with two organs and percussion instruments, truly menacing, before the Evangelist recalls the pericope of the storm at sea (Mark 4:37–40) in recitative.
A central part of the whole work is the Sermon on the Mount, where even the Evangelist’s announcement “et aperiens os suum dicens” (Mt 5:1 ff.) simply gets under your skin. The following eight Beatitudes are distributed among a wide variety of solo and choral parts, with the combination of alto solo and male choir for the ‘blessed are the pure in heart’ evoking something as irretrievably beautiful as Brahms’s Alto Rhapsody .
In the depiction of the missionary work of the Apostles of the Franks, the Duke’s voice (bass) commands attention when he asks God to transform his heart, a moment in which, in terms of instrumentation and musical diction, the secular prince appears thoroughly ‘worldly’ even musically.
A highlight in terms of its melodiousness and musical clarity, and also in its interpretation, is the addition of the high-priestly prayer (John 17:1) in the text from the Epistle to the Ephesians , ‘Unum corpus et unus Spiritus’, for alto solo and woodwinds. Here too, as so often in this oratorio, there is an extended vocalise that seems to continue the most beautiful Gregorian melismas into a virtuosic yet deeply internalised infinity. Something very similar follows from the soprano with the full orchestra, following the evangelist’s vivid account of the events at Golgotha, to the text from John: “No one has greater love than this, that one lay down his life for his friends.” So perfectly in textual relation to the subsequent account of the martyrdom of the Irish monks. Next come the sections “Resurrection” and “Heavenly Glory”: in the “Christus resurrexit a mortuis” (1 Cor 20–22), the ancient “Christ is risen” is incorporated into the composition, almost subliminally as a participation of the faithful.
The concluding homage to the three Franconian Apostles, introduced once again by the narrator’s opening prologue, presents the Kilian sequence in various compositional styles, ranging from unison through organum techniques to mixed choir. With Psalm 150, which crowns the entire work, the composer allows the over two-hour-long work to build to an apotheosis of indescribable grandeur and compositional density. A density one might have expected or feared throughout the entire work, given the vast scale of the performance. Yet this was not the case, for the richness and monumentality in this oratorio are achieved through a diversity arranged with marvellous transparency, which in turn must have grown entirely from the equally diverse texts.
Here, however, he interrupts the first verses of the psalm “Laudate Dominum in sanctis eius” following the opening Hallelujah with an awe-inspiring instrumental movement—structured as a kind of ritornello with massive brass and iridescent string clusters—interrupted by the choir, a narrator, recitative choruses, bass solo, soprano solo and finally the entire ensemble, before ultimately the “Gloria Patri” is sung by all, beginning slowly in a diminuendo that encompasses everything , until the boys’ choir alone reaches “…in saecula saeculorum. Amen”, which does not fade away in the space but lingers on. A conclusion that radiated a fascination which created a silence lasting several minutes, an inner reverberation within the packed St Kilian’s Cathedral, before the thunderous applause broke out.

FAS