Mendelssohn in his youth composed a violin concerto with accompaniment of stringed instruments, also a concerto for violin and pianoforte (1823) with the same sort of accompaniment. These works were left in manuscript. It was at the time that he was put into jackets and trousers. Probably these works were played at the musical parties at the Mendelssohn house in Berlin on alternate Sunday mornings. Mendelssohn took violin lessons first with Carl Wilhelm Henning and afterwards with Eduard Rietz, for whom he wrote this early violin concerto. When Mendelssohn played any stringed instrument, he preferred the viola.
As early as 1838 Mendelssohn conceived the plan of composing a violin concerto in the manner of the one in E minor, for on July 30 he wrote to Ferdinand David: “I should like to write a violin concerto for you next winter. One in E minor is running in my head, and the beginning does not leave me in peace.” On July 24 of the next year he wrote from Hochheim to David, who had pressed him to compose the concerto: “It is nice of you to urge me for a violin concerto! I have the liveliest desire to write one for you, and if I have a fewpropitious days here, I’ll bring you something. But the task is not an easy one. You demand that it should be brilliant, and how is such a one as I to do this? The whole of the first solo is to be for the E string!”
The concerto was composed in 1844 and completed on September 16 of that year at Bad Soden, near Frankfort-on-the-Main. David received the manuscript in November. Many letters passed between the composer and the violinist. David gave advice freely. Mendelssohn took time in revising and polishing. Even after the score was sent to the publishers in December, there were more changes. David is largely responsible for thecadenzaas it now stands.
Mendelssohn played parts of the concerto on the pianoforte to his friends; the whole of it to Moscheles at Bad Soden.
The first performance was from manuscript at the twentieth Gewandhaus concert in Leipsic, March 13, 1845. Ferdinand David was the violinist. Niels W. Gade conducted.
The concerto is in three connected movements. The first,allegro molto appassionato, E minor, 2-2, begins immediately after an introductory measure with the first theme given out by the solo violin. This theme is developed at length by the solo instrument, which then goes on withcadenza-like passage-work, after which the theme is repeated and developed as atuttiby the full orchestra. The second theme is first given outpianissimoin harmony by clarinets and flutes over a sustained organ-point in the solo instrument. The chief theme is used in the development which begins in the solo violin. The brilliant solocadenzaends with a series ofarpeggios, which continue on through the whole announcement of the first theme by orchestral strings and wind. The conclusion section is in regular form. There is no pause between this movement and theandante.
The first section of theandante, C major, is a development of the first theme sung by the solo violin. The middle part is taken up with the development of the second theme, a somewhat agitated melody. The third part is a repetition of the first, with the melody in the solo violin, but with a different accompaniment. Mendelssohn originally intended the accompaniment (strings) to the first theme to be playedpizzicato. He wrote to David, “I intended to write in this way, but something or other—I don’t know what—prevented me.”
Thefinaleopens with a short introduction,allegretto non troppo, E minor, 4-4. The main body of thefinale, allegro molto vivace,E major, 4-4, begins with calls on horns, trumpets, bassoons, drums, answered byarpeggiosof the solo violin and tremolos in the strings. The chief theme of therondois announced by the solo instruments. The orchestra has a second theme, B major; the violin one in G major. In the recapitulation section thefortissimosecond theme appears again, this time in E major. There is a brilliantcoda.
Mendelssohn used the following orchestration for the works discussed in this chapter (save for the addition of an ophicleide in the overture toA Midsummer Night’s Dream): two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, kettledrums, and strings.—EDITOR.
Mendelssohn used the following orchestration for the works discussed in this chapter (save for the addition of an ophicleide in the overture toA Midsummer Night’s Dream): two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, two horns, two trumpets, kettledrums, and strings.—EDITOR.
(Born at Karevo, district of Toropeta, in the government of Pskov, on March 28, 1835; died at St. Petersburg on March 28, 1881)
Moussorgsky’s fantasy was composed in 1867 and was thus one of the few early Russian orchestral compositions of a fantastically picturesque nature. In the original form it was no doubt crude, for Moussorgsky had little technic for the larger forms of music; he despised “style,” and believed that much knowledge would prevent him from attaining the realism that was his goal. That he himself was not satisfied with this symphonic poem is shown by the fact that he revised it two or three times. He died; Rimsky-Korsakov edited it and orchestrated it. The music was finally heard after Moussorgsky’s death. Rimsky-Korsakov was a fastidious musician, a learned harmonist, a master of orchestrations. It is said that he sandpapered and polishedBoris Godounovto the great detriment of Moussorgsky’s opera; he chastened the wild spirit; he tamed the native savageness, so it is said. What did he do to this musical picture of a Witches’ Sabbath on Bald Mountain?
Having heard several musical descriptions of these unholy Sabbaths,where reverence was paid Satan, exultantly ruling in the form of a he-goat, where there was horrid, obscene revelry, if we may believe well-instructed ancient and modern writers on Satanism and witchcraft, we wonder why any woman, young or old, straddled a broomstick and made her way hopefully and joyfully to a lonely mountain or barren plain. If we can put faith in the musical descriptions given by Berlioz, Boïto, Gounod, Satan’s evening receptions were comparatively tame affairs, with dancing of a nature that would not have offended the selectmen and their wives and sisters of our little village in the sixties, when the waltz was frowned on as a sensual and ungodly diversion. Liszt’sMephisto Waltzis, indeed, sensuous, fleshly, but Satan in this instance only plays the fiddle; he is not master of sabbatic revels. In Moussorgsky’s symphonic poem theallegrodevoted to the worshipers of the devil is rather commonplace; its laborious wildness becomes monotonous in spite of the editor’s instrumentation. Far more original and effective is the second section, in which a church bell puts the blasphemous revelers to flight.
In September, 1860, Moussorgsky wrote to Balakirev: “I have also been given a most interesting piece of work to do, which must be ready by next summer: a whole act ofThe Bald Mountain(after Megden’s dramaThe Witch). The assembly of the witches, various episodes of witchcraft, the pageant of all the sorcerers, and afinale, the witch dance and homage to Satan. The libretto is very fine. I have already a few materials for the music, and it may be possible to turn out something very good.” In September, 1862, he wrote to Balakirev, saying that his friend’s attitude towardsThe Witches[sic] had embittered him. “I considered, still consider, and shall consider forever that the thing is satisfactory.... I come forth with a first big work.... I shall alter neither plan nor working-out; for both are in close relationship with the contents of the scene, and are carried out in a spirit of genuineness, without tricks or make-believes.... I have fulfilled my task as best I could. The one thing I shall alter is thepercussion, which I have misused.” A letter to Rimsky-Korsakov dated July, 1867, shows that he did rewriteA Night on Bald Mountain, but remained unwilling to make further alterations.
During the winter of 1871-72 the director of the opera at St. Petersburg planned that Moussorgsky, Borodin, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Cui should each write a portion of a fairy opera,Mlada. Moussorgsky was to write music for some folk scenes, a march for the procession of Slav princes and a great fantastical scene, “The Sacrifice to the Black Goat on Bald Mountain.” This would give him the opportunity of using his symphonic poem. The project fell through on account of pecuniary reasons. Rimsky-Korsakov’sMladawas produced at St. Petersburg in 1892.
In 1877 Moussorgsky undertook to write an operaThe Fair at Sorotchinsi, based on a tale by Gogol. He purposed to introduce in itA Night on Bald Mountain, and he revised the score.
It is said that the original version of the symphonic poem was for pianoforte and orchestra; that the revision forMladawas for orchestra and chorus; that the work was to serve as a scenic interlude in the unfinished opera,The Fair at Sorotchinsi.
Rimsky-Korsakov as Moussorgsky’s musical executor revised the score of the poem. He retained the composer’s argument:
“Subterranean din of supernatural voices. Appearance of Spirits of Darkness, followed by that of the god Tchernobog. Glorification of Tchernobog. Black mass. Witches’ Sabbath. At the height of the Sabbath there sounds far off the bell of the little church in a village which scatters the Spirits of Darkness. Daybreak.”
The form is simple: a symphonicallegrois joined to a shortandante;allegro feroce;poco meno mosso.
A Night on Bald Mountain, dedicated to Vladimir Stassov, is scored for piccolo, two flutes, two oboes, two clarinets, two bassoons, four horns, two trumpets, three trombones, bass tuba, kettledrums, bass drum, cymbals, tam-tam, bell in D, and strings.
The first performance was at a concert of the Russian Symphony Society at St. Petersburg on October 27, 1886. Rimsky-Korsakov conducted. The piece met with such success that it was played later in that season.
(Born at Salzburg, January 27, 1756; died at Vienna, December 5, 1791)
In this life that is “so daily,” as Jules Laforgue complained, a life of tomorrow rather than of today, we are inclined to patronize the ancient worthies who in their own period were very modern, or to speak jauntily of them as bores, with their works of “only historical interest.” Mozart has not escaped. Many concertgoers yawn at his name and wonder why such men as Richard Strauss or Vincent d’Indy could praise him with glowing cheeks. They suspect this attribute of worship to be a pose. Remind them of the fact that to such widely different characters as Rossini, Chopin, Tchaikovsky, Brahms, the musician of musicians was Mozart, and they say lightly, “There’s no accounting for tastes; surely you do not pretend to maintain that Mozart is a man of this generation.”
No, Mozart was neither a symbolist nor a pessimist. He was not a translator of literature, sculpture, or painting into music His imagination was not fired by a metaphysical treatise. He simply wrote music that came into his head and disquieted him until it was jotted down on paper. He did not go about nervously seeking for ideas. His music is never the passionate cry, never the wild shriek of a racked soul. His music is never hysterical, it is never morbid. It is seldom emotional as we necessarily and unhappily understand that word today. Perhaps for these reasons it is still modern, immortal, and not merely on account of the long and exquisitemelodic line, fitting, inevitable background, delicate coloring. Music that is only the true voice of a particular generation is moribund as soon as it is born.
His music, whether it vitalizes stage characters or is absolute, as in the three famous symphonies, and in the chamber works, is as the music on Prospero’s isle: “Sounds and sweet airs that give delight and hurt not.” The analyst may find pleasure in praising the unsurpassable workmanship, which is akin to the spontaneity of natural phenomena; he may marvel at the simplicity of plan and expression; the simplicity that is the despair of interpreters, for it is the touchstone of their own art or artificiality—and Mozart himself, when he told his emperor that his opera had just the right number of notes, anticipated the judgment of time—but he is still far from explaining the peculiar and ineffable tenderness of this music that soothes and caresses and comforts.
The serenity, the classic suggestion of emotion without the distortion that accompanies passion, would grace a tragedy of Sophocles or a comedy by Congreve. Mozart’s music is essentially Grecian, yet now and then it reminds one of Watteau.
Hazlitt said of art that it should seem to come from the air and return to it. But he characterized it with finer appreciation when he said, without mention of Mozart’s name, “Music is color without form; a soul without a body; a mistress whose face is veiled; an invisible goddess.” And for this reason Debussy is the spiritual brother of Mozart, moderns both, yet classics.
Symphonies in E flat (Koechel No. 543), G minor (Koechel No. 550), C major (“Jupiter”), (Koechel No. 551)
Mozart wrote his symphony when in a condition of distress, but who would know from the music of the composer’s poverty and gloom? The iteration of the chief theme of the second movement soon frets the nerves, not from any poignancy of emotion, but from its very placidity. And how seldom in Mozart’s music is there any emotional burst as we understand emotion today! There are a few passages in the first movement of the G minor symphony, pages in certain chamber works, and in theRequiem, and there are the two great scenes inDon Giovanni, the trio between the Don, the Commander, and Leporello after the duel, and the scene between the blaspheming rake and the Stone Man. As a rule the emotion of Mozart is that of the classic frieze or urn. Beauty with him is calm and serene, and emotion, he believed, should always be beautiful.
The symphony in E flat induced A. Apel to attempt a translation of the music into poetry that should express the character of each movement. It excited the fantastical E. T. A. Hoffmann to an extraordinary rhapsody: “Love and melancholy are breathed forth in purest spirit tones; we feel ourselves drawn with inexpressible longing toward the forms which beckon us to join them in their move with the spheres in the eternal circles of the solemn dance.” So explained Johannes Kreisler in thePhantasiestücke in Callots Manier.
It seems as if Mozart lost his classic serenity whenever he chose the key of G minor. In the immortal symphony there is, except in the beautiful, characteristically Mozartianandante, a feverishness, an intensity not to be found in his other symphonies; and so in the perfect flower of his chamber music there is a direct, passionate appeal of one theme (G minor again) that reminds one of the terribly earnest Verdi of the ’fifties.
Some years ago, a prominent writer about music, a wild-eyed worshiper of Liszt and Wagner, published the statement that this symphony is interesting only in a historical sense. His idols would have been the first to laugh at him. There are few things in art that are perfect. The G minor symphony is one of them. Its apparent simplicity is an adorable triumph of supreme art.
Hearing theandante, theminuet, and the wonderfulfinale, one no longer questions the famous and subtle saying of Rossini. When asked who was the greatest composer, he answered “Beethoven”; he then said, “But Mozart is the only one.”
Let the first movement pass with its second theme that reminds one of charming music inThe Marriage of Figaro. Theandantecould have been written only by Mozart. There is spiritualized sensuousness; there is perfect form, exquisite proportion, and euphony.
Has there not too much been said about the marvelous display of science in the construction of thefinale? The wonder of it is that the display does not impress the hearer unduly. To him it is merely gay and charming music. It ravishes his ear without his taking interest in the technical devices, even if he could recognize and understand them. If the title should be “Symphony in C major with the Fugue,” the word “fugue” would not fill his soul with dismal foreboding. There has been only one Mozart, as there has been only one Handel.
It is not known who gave the title “Jupiter” to the symphony. There is nothing in the music that reminds one of Jupiter Tonans, Jupiter Fulgurator, Jupiter Pluvius; or of the god who, assuming various disguises, came down to earth, where by his adventures with women semi-divine or mortals of common clay he excited the jealous rage of Juno. The music is not of an Olympian mood. It is intensely human in its loveliness and its gayety.
It is possible that the “Jupiter” symphony was performed at the concert given by Mozart in Leipsic. The two that preceded the great three were composed in 1783 and 1786. The latter of the two (D major) was performed at Prague with extraordinary success. Publishers were not slow in publishing Mozart’s compositions, even if they were as conspicuous niggards as Joseph II himself. The two symphonies played at Leipsic were probably of the three composed in 1788, but this is only a conjecture.
Some say the title “Jupiter” was applied to the symphony by J. B. Cramer, to express his admiration for the loftiness of ideas and nobility of treatment. Some maintain that the triplets in the first measure suggestthe thunderbolts of Jove. Some think that the “calm, godlike beauty” of the music compelled the title. Others are satisfied with the belief that the title was given to the symphony as it might be to any masterpiece or any impressively beautiful or strong or big thing. To them “Jupiter” expresses the power and brilliance of the work.
The eulogies pronounced on this symphony are familiar to all—from Schumann’s “There are things in the world about which nothing can be said, as Mozart’s C major symphony with the fugue, much of Shakespeare, and pages of Beethoven,” to Bülow’s “I call Brahms’ First symphony the Tenth, not because it should be placed after the Ninth: I should put it between the Second and theEroica, just as I think the first not the symphony of Beethoven but the one composed by Mozart and known by the name of ‘Jupiter.’” But there were decriers early in the nineteenth century. Thus Hans Georg Nägeli (1773-1836) attacked this symphony bitterly on account of its well-defined and long-lined melody, “which Mozart mingled and confounded with a free instrumental play of ideas, and his very wealth of fancy and emotional gifts led to a sort of fermentation in the whole province of art, and caused it to retrograde rather than to advance.” He found fault with certain harmonic progressions which he characterized as trivial. He allowed the composer originality and a certain power of combination, but he found him without style, often shallow and confused. He ascribed these qualities to the personal qualities of the man himself: “He was too hasty, when not too frivolous, and he wrote as he himself was.” Nägeli was not the last to judge a work according to the alleged morality or immorality of the maker.
Mozart wrote his three greatest symphonies in 1788. The one in E flat is dated June 26; the one in G minor, July 25; the one in C major with thefugue-finale, August 10.
His other works of that year are of little importance with the exception of a piano concerto in D major which he played at the coronation festivities of Leopold II at Frankfort in 1790. Why is this? 1787 was the year ofDon Giovanni; 1790, the year ofCosi fan tutte. Was Mozart, as some say, exhausted by the feat of producing three symphonies in such a short time? Or was there some reason for discouragement and consequent idleness?
The Ritter Gluck, composer to the Emperor Joseph II, died November 15, 1787, and thus resigned his position with a salary of 2,000florins. Mozart was appointed his successor, but the thrifty Joseph cut down the salary to 800 florins. And Mozart at this time was sadly in need of money, as his letters show. In a letter of June, 1788, he tells of his new lodgings, where he could have better air, a garden, quiet. In another, dated June 27, he says: “I have done more work in the ten days that I have lived here than in two months in my other lodgings, and I should be much better here, were it not for dismal thoughts that often come to me. I must drive them resolutely away; for I am living comfortably, pleasantly, and cheaply.” We know that he borrowed from Puchberg, a merchant with whom he became acquainted at a Masonic lodge, for the letter with Puchberg’s memorandum of the amount is in the collection edited by Nohl.
Mozart could not reasonably expect help from the Emperor. The composer ofDon Giovanniand the “Jupiter” symphony was unfortunate in his emperors.
The Emperor Joseph was in the habit of getting up at five o’clock; he dined on boiled bacon at 3.15P.M.; he preferred water as a beverage, but would drink a glass of Tokay; he was continually putting chocolate drops from his waistcoat pocket into his mouth; he gave gold coins to the poor; he was unwilling to sit for his portrait; he had remarkably fine teeth; he disliked sycophantic fuss; he patronized the English, who introduced horse-racing; and Michael Kelly, who tells us many things, says that Joseph was “passionately fond of music and a most excellent and accurate judge of it.” We know that he did not like the music of Mozart.
Joseph commanded from his composer Mozart no opera, cantata, symphony, or piece of chamber music, although he was paying him 800 florins a year. He did order dances, for the dwellers in Vienna were dancing mad. Kelly, who knew Mozart and sang in the first performance ofLe Nozze di Figaroin 1786, says in his memoirs (written by Theodore Hook): “The ridotto rooms, where the masquerade took place, were in the palace; and, spacious and commodious as they were, they were actually crammed with masqueraders. I never saw or indeed heard of any suite of rooms where elegance and convenience were more considered, for the propensity of the Vienna ladies for dancing and going to carnival masquerades was so determined that nothing was permitted to interfere with their enjoyment of their favorite amusement.... The ladies of Vienna are particularly celebrated for their grace and movements in waltzing, of which they never tire. Formy own part, I thought waltzing from ten at night until seven in the morning a continual whirligig, most tiresome to the eye and ear, to say nothing of any worse consequences.”[39]Mozart wrote for these dances, as did Haydn, Hummel, Beethoven.
We know little or nothing concerning the first years of the three symphonies. Gerber’s “Lexicon der Tonkünstler” (1790) speaks appreciatively of him: the erroneous statement is made that the Emperor fixed his salary in 1788 at 6,000 florins; the varied ariettas for piano are praised especially; but there is no mention whatever of any symphony.
The enlarged edition of Gerber’s work (1813) contains an extended notice of Mozart’s last years, and we find in the summing up of his career: “If one knew only one of his noble symphonies, as the overpoweringly great, fiery, perfect, pathetic, sublime symphony in C.” And this reference is undoubtedly to the “Jupiter” the one in C major.
Mozart gave a concert at Leipsic in May, 1789. The programme was made up wholly of pieces by him, and among them were two symphonies in manuscript. At a rehearsal for this concert Mozart took the firstallegroof a symphony at a very fast pace, so that the orchestra soon was unable to keep up with him. He stopped the players and began again at the same speed, and he stamped the time so furiously that his steel shoe buckle flew into pieces. He laughed, and, as the players still dragged, he began theallegroa third time. The musicians, by this time exasperated, played to suit him. Mozart afterwards said to some who wondered at his conduct, because he had on other occasions protested against undue speed: “It was not caprice on my part. I saw that the majority of the players were well along in years. They would have dragged everything beyond endurance if I had not set fire to them and made them angry, so that out of sheer spite they did their best.” Later in the rehearsal he praised the orchestra, and said that it was unnecessary for it to rehearse the accompaniment to the pianoforte concerto: “The parts are correct, you play well, and so do I.” This concert, by the way, was poorly attended, and half of those who were present had received free tickets from Mozart, who was generous in such matters.
Mozart also gave a concert of his own works at Frankfort, October 14, 1790. Symphonies were played in Vienna in 1788, but they were byHaydn; and one by Mozart was played in 1791. In 1792 a symphony by Mozart was played at Hamburg.
The early programmes, even when they have been preserved, seldom determine the date of a first performance. It was the custom to print: “Symphonie von Wranitsky,” “Sinfonie von Mozart,” “Sinfonia di Haydn.” Furthermore, it should be remembered thatSinfoniewas then a term often applied to any work in three or more movements written for strings, or strings and wind instruments.
Le Nozze di Figaro: dramma giocoso in quadro atti; poesia di Lorenzo Da Ponte, aggiustata dalla commedia del Beaumarchais, “Le Mariage de Figaro”; musica di W. A. Mozart, was composed at Vienna in 1786 and produced there on May 1 of the same year.
The overture opens (presto, D major, 4-4) immediately with the first theme; the first part of it is a running passage of seven measures in eighth notes (strings and bassoons in octaves), and the second part is given for four measures to wind instruments, with a joyous response of seven measures by full orchestra. This theme is repeated. A subsidiary theme follows, and the second theme appears in A major, a gay figure in the violins, with bassoon, afterward flute. There is no free fantasia. There is a longcoda.
Mozart saw in the play of Beaumarchais an excellent libretto for an opera. Da Ponte tells the story in his amusingMemoirs: “Talking one day with him [Mozart], he asked me if I could turn Beaumarchais’sNoces de Figarointo an opera. The proposition was to my taste, and the success was immediate and universal. A little before, this piece had been forbidden by the Emperor’s command, on account of its immorality. How then to propose it anew? Baron Vetzlar [Wezlar] offered me with his customary generosity a reasonable price for my libretto and assured me that he would see to its production at London or in France, if it were refused in Vienna. I did not accept the offer, and I secretly began work. I waited the opportune moment to propose the poem either to the Intendant or, if I had the courage, to the Emperor himself. Martin alone was in my confidence, and he was so generous, out of deference to Mozart, to give me time to finish my piece before I began work on one for him. As fast as I wrote thewords, Mozart wrote the music, and it was all finished in six weeks. The lucky star of Mozart willed an opportune moment and permitted me to carry my manuscript directly to the Emperor.
“‘How’s this?’ said Joseph to me. ‘You know that Mozart, remarkable for his instrumental music, has with one exception never written for song, and the exception is not good for much.’
“I answered timidly, ‘Without the kindness of the Emperor, I should have written only one drama in Vienna.’
“‘True: but I have already forbidden the German company to play this pieceFigaro.’
“‘I know it; but, in turning it into an opera, I have cut out whole scenes, shortened others, and been careful everywhere to omit anything that might shock the conventionalities and good taste; in a word, I have made a work worthy of the theater honored by His Majesty’s protection. As for the music, as far as I can judge, it seems to me a masterpiece.’
“‘All right; I trust to your taste and prudence. Send the score to the copyists.’
“A moment afterward I was at Mozart’s. I had not yet told him the good news, when he was ordered to go to the palace with his score. He obeyed, and the Emperor thus heard severalmorceauxwhich delighted him. Joseph II had a very correct taste in music, and in general for everything that is included in the fine arts. The prodigious success of this work throughout the whole world is a proof of it. The music, incredible to relate, did not obtain a unanimous vote of praise. The Viennese composers crushed by it, Rosenberg and Casti especially, never failed to run it down.”[40]
Did Da Ponte show himself the courtier when he spoke of the Emperor’s “very correct taste in music”?
There was a cabal from the start against the production of Mozart’s opera. Kelly says in hisReminiscences: “Every one of the opera company took part in the contest. I alone was a stickler for Mozart, and naturally enough, for he had a claim on my warmest wishes.... Of all the performers in this opera at that time, but one survives—myself. [This was written in 1826.] It was allowed that never was opera stronger cast. I have seen it performed at different periods in other countries, and well too, but no more to compare with its original performance than light is to darkness. All the original performers had theadvantage of the instruction of the composer, who transfused into their minds his inspired meaning. I never shall forget his little animated countenance, when lighted up with the glowing rays of genius; it is as impossible to describe as it would be to paint sunbeams.”
Emanuel Johann Schikaneder, the author of the libretto ofDie Zauberflöte(The Magic Flute), was a wandering theater director, poet, composer, and play actor. Vain, improvident, shrewd, a bore, he nevertheless had good qualities that won for him the friendship of Mozart. In 1791 Schikaneder was the director of the Auf der Wieden, a little theater where comic operas were performed. He no doubt would have made a success of his venture, had he curbed his ambition. On the verge of failure, he made a fairy drama out ofLulu, or the Enchanted Flute, Liebeskind’s story in a collection of fairy tales published by Wieland. He asked Mozart to write the music for it. Mozart, pleased with the scenario, accepted the offer and said: “If I do not bring you out of your trouble, and if the work is not successful, you must not blame me; for I have never written magic music.” Schikaneder had followed closely Wieland’s text; but he learned that Marinelli, a rival manager, the director of the Leopoldstadt Theater, thought of putting upon the stage a piece with the same subject; so he hurriedly, and with the assistance of an actor named Gieseke, modified the plot, and substituted for the evil genius of the play the high priest Sarastro, who appears to be the custodian of the secrets and the executor of the wishes of the Masonic order.
Schikaneder knew the ease with which Mozart wrote. He also knew that it was necessary to keep watch over him, that he might be ready at the appointed time. Mozart’s wife was then in Baden. Schikaneder therefore put Mozart in a little pavilion which was in the midst of a garden near his theater. The music ofThe Magic Flutewas written in this pavilion and in a room of the casino of Josephdorf. Mozart was deep in doleful dumps when he began his task, so Schikaneder surrounded him with members of his company. It was long believed that the composer was then inspired by the beautiful eyes of the singing woman, Gerl, but the story may rest on no better foundation than the one of the Mme Hofdaemmel tragedy, which even Otto Jahn thought worthy of his investigation.
Schikaneder made his proposal early in March, 1791. The overture, with the Priests’ March, was composed September 28, 1791. On September 30 of that yearDie Zauberflöte, a grand opera in two acts, was produced at the Auf der Wieden Theater.
Schikaneder’s name was in large type on the bill; Mozart’s name was in small type underneath the cast. Johann Schenk (1753-1836), who made money and won fame by the popularity of his operas—Der Dorfbarbier(1796) was long a favorite—Schenk gave Beethoven lessons in counterpoint at Vienna in 1793-94—sat in one of the orchestra seats. At the end of the overture, he went to Mozart and kissed his hand. Mozart stroked his admirer’s cheek. But the first act was not well received. Mozart went behind the scenes and saw Schikaneder in his costume of a bird. He reassured Mozart, but the opera disappointed the Viennese at first, and Mozart was cut to the quick. The cool reception was not due to the character of the subject; for “magic plays” with music of Viennese composers, as Wenzel Müller, were very popular, andThe Magic Flutewas regarded as aSingspiel, a “magic farce,” with unusually elaborate music. The report from Vienna that was published in Kunzen and Reichardt’s music journal,Studien fur Tonkünstler und Musikfreunde(Berlin, 1793, p. 79), tells the story: “The new machine comedy,The Magic Flute, with music by ourKapellmeisterMozard [sic], which was given at great expense and with such sumptuousness, did not meet with the expected success, for the contents and dialogue of the piece are utterly worthless.” Schikaneder was obstinate in his faith; the opera soon became the fashion. The two hundredth representation was celebrated at Vienna in October, 1795.The Magic Flutemade its way over the continent. The libretto was translated into Dutch, Swedish, Danish, Polish, Italian. Paris knew the opera in 1801 (August 23) asLes Mystères d’Isis. The first performance in London was on May 25, 1819, in Italian.
Mozart died shortly after the production ofThe Magic Flute, in deep distress. This opera, with the music of hisRequiem, was in his mind until the final delirium. While the opera was performing he would take his watch from under his pillow and follow the performance in imagination: “We are now at the end of the act,” or “Now comes the grand aria for the Queen of Night.” The day before he died, he sang with his weak voice the opening measures of “Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja,” and endeavored to beat the time with hishands. The frivolous and audacious Schikaneder, “sensualist, parasite, spendthrift,” filled his purse by this opera: in 1798 he built the Theater an der Wien. On the roof he put his own statue, clothed in the feather costume of Papageno. His luck was not constant; in 1812 he died in poverty.
Mozart composed five violin concertos at Salzburg in 1775. The accompaniment of the five concertos is scored for the same instruments: two oboes, two horns, strings. In 1776 Mozart wrote a sixth concerto—E flat major—with an accompaniment scored for flute, two oboes, two bassoons, two horns, and strings. A seventh was discovered by Dr. Kopfermann in 1907. There is some doubt as to its genuineness.
These concertos were undoubtedly written for Mozart’s own use. As a child, he played the violin as well as the forerunners of the pianoforte, and on his tour in 1763 he played the violin in public. His first published composition was a sonata in C major for pianoforte and violin (K. No. 6). This, and one in D major, were composed in 1763 at Paris. They are dedicated to the Princess Victoire of France. In 1775 Mozart was practicing diligently the violin to please his father. It was one of Wolfgang’s duties at the Court to play the violin. He disliked to do it. His father, an excellent violinist, encouraged his son: “You have no idea how well you play the violin; if you would only do yourself justice, and play with boldness, spirit, and fire, you would be the first violinist in Europe.” This was in answer to a letter from Munich in which Mozart had written: “I played as though I were the greatest fiddler in Europe.” In 1777 the father reproached him for neglecting the violin (in Vienna Wolfgang preferred to play the viola in quartets). And it was in 1777 that Mozart wrote of one Franzl whom he heard playing a violin concerto at Mannheim: “You know I am no great lover of difficulties. He plays difficult things, but onedoes not recognize the difficulties and imagines that one could do the same thing at once: that is true art. He also has a beautiful round tone—not a note is missing, one hears everything; everything is well marked. He has a finestaccatobow, up as well as down; and I have never heard so good a double shake as his. In a word, though he is no wizard, he is a solid violinist.”
The characteristics of the Salzburg violin concertos are the same. They are in three movements,allegro,andanteoradagio, androndo. The first movement is the one most developed, although it might be considered as in aria form rather than the form befitting a first movement of a symphony. There is the customary alternation betweentuttiand solo passages. The structure is more compact than that of the aria; it has more life. The “passage” measures grow out of the themes, play about them, or are closely related to them. The second movement requires expressive playing of sustained melody and is of a cheerful character. Thefinaleis in rondo form and joyful mood.
From Mozart’s letters, one learns something about his own manner of playing the piano:
“Herr Stein sees and hears that I am more of a player than Beecke—that without making grimaces of any kind I play so expressively that, according to his own confession, no one shows off his pianoforte as well as I. That I always remain strictly in time surprises everyone; they cannot understand that the left hand should not in the least be concerned in atempo rubato. When they play, the left hand always follows” (1777).
About Nannette Stein’s playing: “She sits opposite the treble instead of in the middle of the instrument, so that there may be greater opportunities for swaying about and making grimaces. Then she rolls up her eyes and smirks. If a passage occurs twice, it is played slower the second time; if three times, still slower. When a passage comes, up goes the arm, and, if there is to be an emphasis it must come from the arm, heavily and clumsily, not from the fingers. But the best of all is that when there comes a passage (which ought to flow like oil) in which there necessarily occurs a change of fingers, there is no need of taking care: when the time comes you stop, lift the hand andnonchalantly begin again. This helps one the better to catch a false note, and the effect is frequently curious” (1777). Nannette was then eight years old.
At Aurnhammer’s: “The young woman is a fright, but she plays ravishingly, though she lacks the true singing style in hercantabile; she is too jerky” (1781).
“Whenever I played for him [Richter, a pianist], he looked immovably at my fingers, and one day he said, ‘My God! how I am obliged to torment myself and sweat, and yet without obtaining applause; and for you, my friend, it is mere play!’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I had to labor once in order not to show labor now’” (1784).
“It is much easier to play rapidly than slowly; you can drop a few notes in passages without anyone noticing it. But is it beautiful? At such speed you can use the hands indiscriminately; but is that beautiful?” (1778.)
“Give me the best clavier in Europe and at the same time hearers who understand nothing or want to understand nothing, and who do not feel what I play with me, and all my joy is gone” (1778).
“Theandanteis going to give us the most trouble, for it is full of expression and must be played with taste.... If I were her [Rose Cannabich’s] regular teacher, I would lock up all her music, cover the keyboard with a handkerchief, and make her practice on nothing but passages, trills, mordents, etc., until the difficulty with the left hand was remedied.”
Saint-Saëns, lover of irony and paradox, wrote a preface to his edition of Mozart’s pianoforte sonatas, published at Paris in 1915, in which, after a discussion of the ornaments, he has this to say:
“One is accustomed in modern editions to be prodigal withliaisons, to indicate constantlylegato,molto legato,sempre legato. There is nothing of this in the manuscripts and the old editions. Everything leads us to believe that this music should be performed lightly, that the figures should produce an effect analogous to that obtained on the violin by giving a stroke to each note without leaving the string. When Mozart wished thelegato, he indicated it. In the middle of the last century, pianists were still found whose playing was singularly leaping (as one may say). The old non-legato, being exaggerated, became astaccato. This exaggeration brought a reaction in the contrary sense, and this was pushed too far....
“This music of Mozart during his early years is destitute of nuances;occasionally apianoor aforte; nothing more. The reason for this abstinence is because these pieces were written for the clavecin, and its sonority could not be modified by a pressure of the finger. Clavecins with two keyboards could alternate withforteandpiano, but nuances, properly speaking, were unknown to them.
“In the 18th century, one lived more quietly than today, nor were there in music our modern habits of speed, which is often inflicted on ancient compositions to their great injury. It is necessary to shun in the case of Mozart this tendency to hurry the movements, as too often happens. Hisprestocorresponds to ourallegro; hisallegroto ourallegro moderato. Hisadagiosare extremely slow, as is shown by the multiplicity of notes sometimes contained in a single beat. Theandanteis not very slow.
“It was the rule, in his time, not to put the thumb on a black key except from absolute necessity. This method of fingering gives to the hand great restfulness, precious for the performance of old music that demands perfect equality of the fingers.
“The first pianofortes were far from having the powerful sonority of the great modern instruments. Therefore, it is not always necessary to take Mozart’sforteliterally; it is often the equivalent of ourmezzo forte.”