Nevertheless, sacred music remained the primary outlet for composers of the time. Among the greatest of these, we must include the Spanish priest Tomás Luis de Victoria (1548–1611), who remains one of the most well-known and frequently performed composers to this day. Of the three figures identified as the pinnacle of the Roman school—Palestrina, Orlando di Lasso, and Victoria—the latter is often described as the most mystical, though the accuracy of this claim is debatable. I was once told that Lasso composed music for princely courts, Palestrina for the papal court, and Victoria for God. This is certainly an oversimplified characterization, attempting to capture a complex reality in a somewhat superficial way. What is undoubtedly true, however, is that Victoria's music, entirely dedicated to the sacred repertoire, possesses an intensely spiritual quality, a "Spanish" mysticism reminiscent of the great saints of his time who are foundational to Christian mysticism, such as John of the Cross and Teresa of Ávila.
According to tradition, Victoria may have had contact with Teresa of Ávila, but this is contradicted by an article by musician and Carmelite Antonio Bernaldo de Quirós Álvarez, who states:
“It has already been demonstrated that Saint Teresa and Tomás Luis de Victoria had no direct relationship, due to their age difference and separate paths. Teresa was born in 1515, and Victoria in 1548. She was, therefore, thirty-three years older than Victoria. (Perhaps Victoria's father and Teresa could have been part of the same circle of friends, given that they were of similar age, co-parishioners at San Juan, and did not live far apart).”
Even though there was no direct encounter, it is reasonable to believe that the profound mysticism of the great Teresa, along with that of other Spanish saints and the renewed spirituality of the Catholic Counter-Reformation, undoubtedly penetrated the heart of the Spanish composer, making him one of the greatest musicians of the Renaissance.
Among the most famous works by this composer is O magnum mysterium, for four mixed voices. This motet is undoubtedly one of the most extraordinary examples of the qualities discussed earlier: the profound mysticism and intense spirituality that are tangibly, almost palpably, present in Victoria's music. Through his extraordinary compositional skill, he transports us to a supernatural realm where faith transcends private devotion, becoming an intense, passionate, yet sublime love.
In the dedication of his collection Cantica Beatae Virginis to Cardinal Michele Bonelli, Victoria wrote:
“If anyone seeks utility, nothing is more useful than music, which, penetrating gently into hearts through the message of the ears, seems to benefit not only the soul but also the body.”
Indeed, this idea that music, through the spirit, can also benefit the body spans centuries and has been embraced by modern music therapy. Unfortunately, this is not well understood in our times—times in which people fail to recognize that music can have beneficial effects on the body, but also harmful ones if styles and genres are promoted that do not align with the dignity of divine worship. However, this is an issue that would take us far afield.
The text of the motet O magnum mysterium is taken from one of the responsories for the Christmas Matins but was also used for the Feast of the Circumcision of the Lord:
"O magnum mysterium et admirabile sacramentum, ut animalia viderent Dominum natum iacentem in praesepio. O Beata Virgo, cuius viscera meruerunt portare Dominum Jesum Christum. Alleluia."(O great mystery and wonderful sacrament, that animals should see the newborn Lord lying in a manger. O Blessed Virgin, whose womb was deemed worthy to bear the Lord Jesus Christ. Alleluia.)
This text introduces us with great efficacy to the mystery of Christmas and to the very concept of “mystery.” The theologian Father Tarcisio Stramare, who passed away a few years ago, a victim of COVID-19, spoke thus about the relationship between mystery and liturgy:
“Beyond clarifying the meaning of the term ‘mystery,’ it is crucial to identify the individual mysteries and relate them to their respective ‘facts,’ which they embody. Here the discussion shifts to the Liturgy, which is their ‘realization’ and, for us, the ‘detector’ to identify the mystery itself and to trace back to the ‘fact’ that underpins it. Just as the Old Testament must be read in the light of the New, that is, of Christ, so the New Testament must be read in the light of the Liturgy, in which and through which Christ continues His presence and His work. This close relationship presupposes and demands a corresponding ‘methodology,’ certainly practiced in the life of the Church, but not equally acknowledged.”
We should not overlook what the Benedictine Odo Casel says in his Das christliche Kultmysterium (1959), where he asserts:
“Mystery is, above all, God in Himself, God as the One who is infinitely distant, the holy and inaccessible, to whom no one can draw near without dying, in comparison with whom all is impure, as the Prophet says: ‘I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips; yet I have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts.’ And this most holy Being reveals His mystery, lowers Himself to His creature, and manifests Himself to it, but still ‘in mystery,’ that is, in a gracious revelation given to the souls He has chosen—those who are humble, pure of heart—not to the foolish or the presumptuous. Thus, Revelation itself remains a mystery, for it is not made manifest to the profane world but is hidden from it, revealing itself only to the believer, the elect.”
The motet we are discussing is included by Victoria in a collection printed in Venice in 1572: Thomae Ludovici de Victoria. Abvlensis. Motecta. Que partim, quaternis, partim, quinis, alia, senis, alia, octonis vocibus concinuntur. This collection was printed by Gardano. In the dedication, Victoria writes:
“But, since nothing can ever deceive or disappoint those who act honestly, it would be truly necessary for me—whose aim was nothing other than the glory of God and the common benefit of humanity—to deeply understand and hope to gain approval in achieving all my goals, whatever they may be.”
It is very interesting that the author correctly identifies the purposes of a liturgical composer: the glory of God and the benefit of humanity, that is, the sanctification of the faithful.
The scholar Bernhard Meier, in his The Modes of Classical Vocal Polyphony, categorizes O magnum mysterium in the second mode, transposed a fourth higher, with frequent cadences on G and D. From the very opening, we are enveloped in a deeply spiritual atmosphere that reverberates from voice to voice. I have always been struck by the relationship between the static and the dynamic in this piece. At times, the polyphony gives way to homorhythm in a manner that seems quite distinct from other motets by the same composer or of the same period. It is almost as if mystical contemplation seeks to eternalize itself in the stillness of the voices.
Indeed, the polyphony brings a certain humanity, as in the words iacentem in praesepio, where the spiritual outpouring becomes warm—a warmth that burns like an inner fire and sublimates into a faith that burns within. O beata Virgo is declaimed rhetorically in homorhythm, and rhetorical usage is also observed in the opening of the Alleluia, set in triple meter. Triple meter is associated with dance, but here one must be cautious: some emphasize this aspect of dance as if it were part of a profane celebration. However, the dance referenced here is a sacred dance, a spiritual dance seeking not the frenzy of the body but the lightness of the spirit.
With this motet, we are offered a splendid meditation on the mystery of the Incarnation—a meditation that should be undertaken on one’s knees, with hands joined in prayer.

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