Stille Nacht (Silent Night)

Below is an abridged, and slightly adapted, version of a lecture given by Andrew Page at the Stille Nacht 200 Jahre event hosted at Cairo Street Unitarian Chapel, Warrington, on 13th December 2018.

 

We are all familiar with Silent Night – or, at least, we think we are.

We know the famous tune, we can recite the familiar English words, we might even know one of the tales about the church organ - either the one about the flood damage or the rather more beautiful story about the mice whose supposed gnawing through the bellows necessitated the writing of a new carol played by guitar.

Familiarity, however, does not necessarily lend itself to understanding. To understand the meaning of Stille Nacht the first thing that must be done is to strip away the myths. When a mythologised version of events becomes widely accepted as historical truth, it must be challenged. And so it is with the myth of Silent Night.

The traditional story tells us of how hungry church mice had eaten a hole in the bellows of the church organ in Nikolauskirche (St Nicholas’ Church) in Oberndorf. (In some versions, it is the River Salzach bursting its banks that caused localised flooding, which in turn damaged the organ.) The damage was discovered on Christmas Eve, just a few hours before the young priest, Father Mohr, was due to lead midnight Mass. Attempts were made to find a means of repairing the organ, but these efforts proved unsuccessful. As Mohr’s congregation would need something to sing, and with the organ out of commission, the priest ran to the organist, Franz Gruber, to ask him to quickly compose a tune that could be played on a guitar by an unskilled musician. The carol - Stille Nacht - was quickly put together with the melody using only three main chords. It was performed that evening and the rest is history.

Or is it?

Dispelling myths

While the myth does not stand up to any serious scrutiny, it continues to be accepted as fact over 200 years later. 

There is a little more to the traditional story than the mice/flooding, the bellows and the guitar. The narrative often has a lot to say about the character of the priest, Father Joseph Mohr. He is presented as a hard-drinking gambler who was, shall we say, also fond of the company of women. Does this description of him stand up to historical scrutiny, or it is later romanticised embellishment? It is also said he had served in the armed forces and had  experienced the horrors of war, which is reflected in the carol.

We must look beyond the popular tales and the romantic images associated with both the song and its composers. It is impossible to understand Stille Nacht without understanding Joseph Mohr. The myths surrounding him can largely be dismissed: he was never a soldier, there is no evidence of  womanising and even the claims of drinking and gambling are open to question. However, the general depiction of him as unconventional is accurate and if there is one thing we can be sure of it is that he was a very gifted musician - certainly not the kind to require simple tunes.

Mohr was born in 1792, an illegitimate child whose father had abandoned his mother during her pregnancy. It is fair to say he did not have the best start in life. Mohr began school and somehow came to the attention of the director of Salzburg Cathedral Choir, which rescued him from poverty and anonymity – he was soon performing at the University and St Peter’s Cathedral. At the age of 16 he went to the Benedictine Monastery of Kremsmünster to study music. Despite the priesthood being off limits to those of illegitimate birth, Mohr was ordained as a priest in 1815 – almost certainly owing to influence from Salzburg Cathedral. The musical prodigy was now a member of the clergy – but he never forgot his heritage, either social or musical.

The idea of Mohr being a gambler and drinker stems from a diocesan report that described him as: “acting immaturely, walking through the streets with a long tobacco pipe, his pouch at his side. Similarly to the ship boys, he rides the river at flood stage, gambles, drinks and above all, he sings unedifying songs.” There is no reason to doubt there was some substance to this, but it must be pointed out that while the “ship boys” were a rowdy bunch, it was they who had requested Mohr to be their priest! Perhaps Mohr was simply taking his calling to these people seriously – after all, given his background he would easily understand and relate to their social conventions. But what is particularly interesting is that he was using his musical abilities - note that the greatest objection is to the kind of songs he performed.

Mohr was certainly a little unconventional. But no further concerns about his behaviour were raised, and Mohr continued to serve as a priest until his death 33 years later. But the facts we have confirm what the myths tell us about someone who was happy to identify with the poorest in society and who cared little for social conventions.

 

The organ and the guitar

Let's return to the question of the organ and the guitar. It is often stated, as if indisputable fact, that the organ was broken. There is, however, no historical evidence for this. It is certainly true that the church organ was in a poor state of repair and that the church had little money to remedy it; it is also true that organ builder Karl Mauracher visited the organ and would later carry out repair work, something referenced by Franz Gruber. However, there is no evidence that the organ was unplayable or that a sudden discovery was made on the morning of Christmas Eve, 1818.  Neither is damage by mice (or flooding) given as the reason for either the use of a guitar or the creation of a new Christmas carol. 

The claim about the broken organ first appears in a 1909 essay by Josef Gottlieb, who provided no evidence to support his assumption. The mouse legend was created by Hertha Pauli in her 1943 book, Silent Night: The Story of a Song, which was later published in German as Ein Lied vom Himmel: Die Geschichte von "Stille Nacht" (1954). Pauli's retelling is fanciful, adding various details that could not possibly be known including Mohr writing the lyrics in response to a pastoral visit he made on the morning of Christmas Eve, 1818 and Gruber and Mohr performing the carol for Karl Mauracher when he later repaired the organ (Mohr had moved on to a new parish at Kuchl by this point, so the claim is not plausible). It's fair to point out that Pauli's book was aimed at children and she was not writing a researched history. 

While Pauli simply added details to an existing myth, Gottlieb was perhaps trying to make sense of why Gruber and Mohr would have used the guitar to perform their new carol and so imagined the organ must have been broken. After all, the use of a guitar for the occasion makes no sense to anyone familiar with the religious practices of the time. In early 19th century Germany, the guitar was not seen as an instrument fit for church. Its use for midnight Mass would have been seen as inappropriate to put it mildly. Given that Franz Gruber was a church organist who composed over 90 hymnal tunes, it would be surprising if he was overly enthusiastic about writing a guitar tune. I imagine that, on that Christmas Eve over 200 years ago, the two men who produced what we now regard as one of the greatest carols of all time may have been as concerned with how the congregation would receive the instrument as they were with how well liked their new song would be.

The organ myth is based on the assumption that there must have been a need to use such an inappropriate instrument and to compose a new carol. Such assumption of need overlooks the possibility that the creation of Stille Nacht may not have been necessary at all and was instead the product of a desire to create something new. The explanations, however, are not logical. The claim that a broken organ would have required the use of alternate tunes written for a beginner-level guitarist and new German lyrics can be safely disregarded for the following reasons:

a) There is no record of the Nikolauskirche organ being unplayable in December 1818;
b) The story of the defective organ necessitating the creation of a new carol does not appear until 1909;
c) Mohr was an accomplished musician who was perfectly capable of playing complex classical pieces on a variety of stringed instruments;
d) It was not unusual to sing a cappella on such occasions and there was no requirement for instrumental accompaniment;
e) Mass was sung in Latin, never German. It could easily have gone ahead without creating a new hymn in the German language.

Which begs the question - was the guitar actually used at all? What we know comes from Franz Gruber's “authentic account” of the origins of Stille Nacht, written in 1854. In this he says that he wrote the music for Stille Nacht on the afternoon of 24th December 1818 but provides no specific reason for the request, which would seem odd if there genuinely had been a sudden emergency. He stated that Mohr sang the tenor part and provided accompaniment with guitar, while he (Gruber) sang bass. However, even that much is questioned by some members of the Stille Nacht Gesellschaft (Silent Night Society), who believe a guitar would never have been used for midnight Mass and that any singing would be in Latin.

They have a point - after all, the shift away from singing Mass exclusively in Latin in German Catholic churches occurred many years later as a result of the Second Vatican Council (1962-1965). However, sermons were often delivered in the vernacular and, while not common practice, some congregational hymns sung prior to the Mass itself may also have been. If Stille Nacht was used at all during the service, which is in itself doubtful, it would have been before the main event after which all other singing would presumably have been a cappella. The notion that a new German song was necessary for the Mass to go ahead therefore makes no sense - if Mohr and Gruber had been genuinely motivated by a need to provide music for the Mass, they would surely have used Latin lyrics?

It is understandable that some would question Gruber's narrative, but why would he need to lie? From what we know of Mohr, the unusual use of both instruments and language seem quite in character. There is a suggestion that Stille Nacht was actually played after the service had finished, when people gathered around the nativity. Gonzallo Caballero alludes to the possibility that "it could rather be that Mohr and Gruber composed [Stille Nacht] for guitar because their idea was to sing it next to the manger once the liturgical service was over."  That is a more convincing explanation than the defective organ hypothesis. Another possibility is that Stille Nacht is a more subversive carol than we were ever encouraged to believe. Perhaps it was created simply because Mohr cared little for conventions? 

The simple fact of the matter seems to be that Mohr wanted to do midnight Mass a little differently, and not that he needed to. He could easily have played a host of other, well-known hymns on a guitar or a number of other instruments on which he was proficient - the situation hardly called for the writing of a new carol at the last moment.  As we know, Mohr wasn’t enamoured with tradition. We also know, through Mohr’s own admission, that the words were originally written as a poem two years previously – at some point thereafter he had asked Gruber to put it to music. The tune Gruber came up with draws heavily on Tyrolean folk influences and, while it would be possible for an accomplished composer with a knowledge of local musical traditions to create something in a few hours on Christmas Eve, it is unlikely to have been a spontaneous production as is often maintained. The various stories, attempting to explain circumstances in which the new carol had to be written, miss the much more important point about the purpose of Stille Nacht. 

 

The meaning of the lyrics

And what of the lyrics to Stille Nacht? What are we to make of those? If we are to understand Stille Nacht, then we must return to the original German version – with six stanzas – rather than the familiar English lyrics. Furthermore, we must read those lyrics through the eyes of 19th century Salzburgers and Austrians rather than the Christmas traditions that have developed in the two centuries since.

While we can dismiss the suggestion of Mohr’s active involvement in war, it is true that Stille Nacht was written in troubled times. The Napoleonic wars had just ended, boundaries had been redrawn at the Congress of Vienna and 1816 was when the “year without a summer” caused an agricultural disaster across Europe. Perhaps this is why Mohr’s fourth verse talks of Jesus embracing “the peoples of the world”, with the implication of a brotherhood of nations pointing the way to a more peaceful future. It is therefore apt that in 1914, when the Christmas truce descended on the trenches and carols were exchanged across no-man’s land, it was Stille Nacht that brought opposing sides together. For many British troops this was the first time they had heard Stille Nacht as the Germans sang it.

Stille Nacht, like Franciszek Karpińsk’s Polish carol Bóg się rodzi (God is Born) has a clear double meaning. Karpińsk’s religious themes – couched in highly poetic language – are clear, but beneath them is a deeply patriotic message. Written against the backdrop of the partition of Poland by Prussia, Austria and Russia, Bóg się rodzi calls for divine intervention at a time when things were not only going badly, but were about to become even worse—as other European powers were indifferent to Poland’s plight, who other than God could be appealed to? Like Karpińsk, Mohr’s words bemoan the destruction of his country. We often think of Mohr as an Austrian, and indeed Oberndorf today is within the modern Austrian state. However, Mohr would never have seen himself as an Austrian: he was born, and lived, within the state of Salzburg, which was independent until 1805. He would have perceived himself as a Salzburger. While Stille Nacht lacks the nationalist dimension of Bóg się rodzi and is less overt in its political intentions, it expresses an unequivocal hope for peace.

In 1803 Salzburg was given to Ferdinand III, the former Grand Duke of Tuscany. Two years later the territory was annexed by Austria following the Battle of Austerlitz, ending nearly 500 years of Salzburgian independence. In 1809, following the War of the Fifth Coalition, Salzburg came under Bavarian rule. In 1816, following the fall of Napoleon, Salzburg was partitioned between Bavaria and Austria under the terms of the Treaty of Munich. For over a decade Salzburg had been little more than a pawn in the military games of the major European powers, something that Mohr and his fellow Salzburgers would likely have resented. Salzburg had had little interest in the Napoleonic Wars, and yet had been destroyed by them. The social and economic consequences of successive occupations would have been hard-felt by the populations and communities Mohr served.

It was in 1816, shortly after the Treaty of Munich, that Mohr took pen to paper and first wrote the words we now call Silent Night. Whether consciously or otherwise, his poem reflected on a contemporary reality and looked towards a better world, a better Europe and a better Salzburg. What is most striking is Mohr’s vision of a world united by the love of Jesus: “Jesus die völker der welt” reads the now forgotten final line of verse 4. This can be  translated as “Jesus for all of the world”, but literally means “Jesus the people(s) of the world.”

However we interpret those words, there is an undeniably inclusive message behind them. Jesus, our brother, is for all of us. In him there is no Austrian, or Bavarian, or Salzburger. There are no exceptions: the grace of God extends to each of us. And not only is Jesus for us, he is us...all of us. Every person, every people in the world. This was the message Mohr intended his poem to convey.

 

Gaining popularity

There is some documentary evidence for the increasing popularity of Stille Nacht in the German-speaking world in the decades after it was first performed. As early as July 1819 the six verses of Stille Nacht found their way into a church songbook (now lost) compiled by Blasius Wimmer, an organist and teacher from Waldring in the Tyrol. In his own “authentic account” of the carol’s origins, Franz Gruber describes how Karl Mauracher, who rebuilt the Oberndorf organ in 1825 and had known Gruber since at least 1821, helped popularise Stille Nacht in the Tyrol region. 

What is certain is that, within a year of its first outing, this carol had spread to neighbouring villages and was taken further afield by two families, the  Rainers and the Strassers. As early as 1819 the Rainer Family Singers from Fügen had performed Stille Nacht at various places in the Zillertal Valley, in the Austrian Tyrol, during Christmas 1819. In 1822 the Rainers performed the carol at Bubenberg Castle, Fügen, on the occasion of a visit from  Austrian Emperor Franz Josef I and Russian Tsar Alexander I, and in later years travelled widely to bring the carol to new audiences across Europe and, eventually, America. The Strassers, from Laimach, were itinerant glove-makers and singers who toured the world, performing Stille Nacht for notables such as Queen Victoria.

By time the Strassers performed in Leipzig in December 1832, Stille Nacht had already become a popular favourite. We know this because the Leipziger Tagblatt, a local newspaper, wrote: The concert by the Strasser siblings on December 15th, 1832… The singers also fulfilled the wish expressed in these pages that they sing the beautiful Christmas carol ‘Stille Nacht! Heilige Nacht!’” This indicates how well known the carol had become, at least in Leipzig. A version of Stille Nacht was published in Leipzig by A. R. Friese in a sheet music booklet called Vier echte Tyroler Lieder (“Four authentic Tyrolean songs”), but without any reference to its origins or creators, and with several changes. It may be the case that Friese simply didn’t know these details, and it is possible that the lyrics had evolved over time. It is not only the lyrics that have evolved – the slow, meditative tune widely sung today is slightly different to Gruber’s original moderato melody.

The Rainers’ four year tour of America, which lasted from 1839 until 1843, had enormous impact in terms of popularising the song in the “New World”. On Christmas Day in 1839, Stille Nacht was performed on American soil for the first time, in front of the Alexander Hamilton Memorial in New York City.

English Translations

It is, therefore, not altogether surprising that the first translations of Stille Nacht appeared in the United States. Stille Nacht was always sung in German until 1859, when Episcopal priest John Freeman Young very loosely translated it. Other translations then appeared, perhaps the best in staying true to the original is the version still sung in the Church of Scotland, which was translated by Stopford Brooke in 1881and known as Still the Night.  Other  noteworthy versions were published by British artist and designer Alfred Bell (1869) and American actress Elsie Baker (1912).

Sadly, the English translations focused only on three verses and it would seem that during the mid-19th century the three other stanzas became “lost” – even in the German speaking world, although it is worth pointing out that they all appear within Hertha Pauli's book. These missing stanzas (3,4 and 5) were only "rediscovered" in 1997. Verses 4 and 5 do not relate to the Nativity, and it is only through them that the meaning of Stille Nacht becomes clearer. Verse 4 particularly is an incontrovertible celebration of freedom and peace. The Stille Nacht Gesellschaft promotes the use of the full six verses and the original tune, which has been slightly modified with time.

Fittingly for a carol that includes the lyrics "Jesus, for all of the world”, Stille Nacht has since been translated into over 300 languages and is particularly popular in Poland, the Czech Republic and France. Most translations focus on stanzas 1, 2 and 6, although the French version, Douce Nuit, has five verses. 

The myths around Stille Nacht have proved as endurable as the carol itself, and have arguably added to its appeal. While much is wrongly claimed as  "fact", what is undeniable is that a little over two centuries ago a song was performed that would achieve worldwide fame, becoming synonymous with what is deemed to be good about Christmas. To paraphrase Jo in Little Women, “Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas without Silent Night.” That would no doubt be surprising to Mohr and Gruber, but that is the real story of Silent Night.

 

Andrew Page's short book, The Story of Silent Night, is an extended version of this lecture and includes photographs, further information about Nikolauskirche, Mohr and Gruber, and an appendix consisting of music and lyrics. The book can be purchased here. 

 

Lyrics