Transcription
Now the rest of the story.
Father Joseph Moore had an emergency on his hands. He's a young priest in a newly created parish, and he's not yet accustomed to dealing with last-minute crises. Everything had been routine, had been minor, until now.
But now it's December 24. It's Christmas Eve. The little Bavarian village of Oberndorf was already cloaked in gray nightfall, gently swirling snow. Father Joseph's parishioners were so looking forward to the Midnight Church service. For them, Christmas would simply not be Christmas unless it was heralded by the choir singing joyful carols accompanied by the chapel organ.
That was the problem: the organ, or rather the absence of it. You see, the local schoolmaster and church organist, a young fellow named Franz Gruber, had come early that evening to rehearse for the midnight service. He'd noticed that there was curiously little resistance as his feet pumped the organ pedals, and when his fingers touched the keys, nothing—not a sound.
Further investigation revealed that hungry church mice had nibbled the bellows of the organ. No air pressure to feed the pipes, and on such short notice, repair was out of the question. So, organist Franz reluctantly made the announcement to Father Joseph. In a matter of hours, the church would be filled with an eager congregation, and then it would be Father Joseph's turn to break the news.
Half-heartedly, organist Franz mentioned that he also played the guitar. Father Joseph smiled. The magnificent service he had in mind would be incongruously diminished by such feeble accompaniment—unless, of course, Franz would like to write new music for the service, some music specifically suited to the guitar.
Now Franz was smiling, but Father Joseph was serious. With so little time to work, neither could expect a profound and polished finished product. But for the sake of a Merry Christmas, they would have to do their best.
With the midnight service fast approaching, Franz hurried home to get his guitar and some blank staff paper. When he returned to the church, Father Joseph handed him a poem of three verses. Father Joseph had written a poem himself; he had actually composed it the day before, without knowing how quickly it would become of use.
Franz took the poem and began scoring for two solo voices, chorus, and guitar accompaniment. The lines of music flowed onto the paper like sacramental wine. Perhaps the melody was a bit too naive, a little too simple, but there was no time to embellish that. Soon the choir would be arriving. They would need copies. Would there be a few minutes to rehearse? No, no time to rehearse. They would have to perform it cold.
What you have just heard is how a Merry Christmas came to a little Bavarian village in 1818. Franz and Father Joseph sang, accompanied by Franz's guitar and the chapel choir. Against a flickering counterpoint of quiet and candlelight, the Oberndorf parish listened—all because hungry mice had hushed the church organ.
The music for their midnight service had been a rush job, and yet the spontaneous creation of Franz Gruber, inspired by the simple poetry of Father Joseph Moore, unleashed a power born of stillness—a music reflecting majesty.
For the unsophisticated little Christmas song they wrote remained unrevised and is each year at Christmas time rediscovered and celebrated throughout the entire world: Silent Night.
Now you know the rest of the story.