The following is a talk given by Paul Weber at the April 29th concert of the Franciscan Chamber Orchestra at Franciscan University of Steubenville to commemorate the 250 anniversary of Mozart's birth:
Through the darkened streets of the medieval city a young musician hurries along the snow-covered alleyways and hidden passages carrying a small package wrapped in cloth. Careful of his steps, he quickly makes his way through the deserted city, with its narrow streets and wrought iron signposts, determined in his mission and cautious in his movements so as not to upset his precious cargo. Upon reaching his destination, he pulls the rope next to the portal of a small house to alert the sleeping inhabitant of his urgent presence. The church next door briefly wakes from its slumber with the tolling of a bell, the only sound audible in the dormant town other than the heavy breathing of the exhausted emissary. Suddenly, the door bursts open and the tired priest stands before his night visitor, wearing an old discolored robe over his night-shirt. With only a few words exchanged, the two enter the house, both focusing their attention on the swaddled package. Inside, the priest grabs the stole that hangs on the rack in the hallway and the two proceed quickly to a small room where the priest unpacks his guest's parcel. A candle is lit and the package is revealed to be a baby, the son of the panicked musician whose purpose on this frosty night is to have his sickly newborn christened, lest he die without the sacrament like so many of his infant children. Without delay, the priest brings a basin filled with water and pronounces the words of baptism, christening the newest member of the Church with the name Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus. His family name is Mozart.
Over the next thirty-five years, this sickly, supremely talented child would shower the musical world with immortal gifts that would grace countless concert halls and churches and would be the object of countless music lessons, classroom lectures and doctoral theses. A legendary figure in the history of Great Art, who astonished kings and emperors, was rumored to have been jailed by the pope and exonerated by his mystical abilities, who is said to have proposed marriage to Marie Antoinette, and a connoisseur of toilet humor, Mozart’s music has inspired the world for over two centuries with its transparent beauty and noble simplicity; its exacting power and alluring charm; its quick wit and graceful profundity. But, this eulogizing on the well-known qualities of an iconic figure such as Mozart hardly evokes a clear image of the man we celebrate 250 years after his birth. For we cannot help feel the desire to draw closer to such a familiar musical friend, someone whose musical offspring have become so well known to us. So, the unavoidable, predictable, and regrettably cliché question arises: who was Wolfgang Mozart?
Consumed by his career and vast talent, we know he contributed to nearly every genre of music, but was particularly keen to be successful in opera. He counted Joseph Haydn, the great "Father of the Symphony," among his friends, and contributed some forty-one of his own symphonies over the course of his short life. His twenty-seven piano concertos can be said to be the prototype for the 19th century genre, and it was his abilities as a pianist that first paid the bills upon his move to Vienna in 1781. But let us dig a bit deeper than the names and dates of Mozart’s life and try to get to know our "musical friend" through the prodigious body of contemporary letters.
One of the more colorful episodes in Mozart’s career occurred at that poignant moment when he first glimpsed the possibilities that awaited him in the bustling capital city of Vienna. Over the years he and his father had been successful in obtaining leave from their employer, the Prince-Archbishop of Salzburg, in order to undertake numerous tours around Europe. However, by the age of twenty-five, the young man was not content to be let out of his cage once in a while, nor was he pleased with his employer’s view of him as merely a valet, one of the many lap-dogs with which the archbishop surrounded himself. No, indeed, Mozart was far too talented (in his own estimation) to be lumped together with the coachman, the tailor and the chambermaid. After the successful premiere of his opera Idomineo in Munich and the flood of offers coming in a steady stream from Vienna, Mozart handed in a petition for his release from service. Unfortunately for Mozart, the archbishop was quite willing to put up with the arrogant outbursts of his talented court organist, and Mozart found himself having to submit his petition three times. One can imagine the exchange of words between the insufferably self-assured Mozart and the unfortunate bloke who had to deal with him. In fact, the final encounter between Mozart and the archbishop’s secretary is recorded by the composer himself in a letter to his Father:
"The Archbishop on two occasions said the most insulting things to me and I never said a word in reply... instead of acknowledging my readiness to serve him and my endeavor to please him, he behaves for the third time, and at the very moment when I am expecting something quite different, in the most disgraceful way imaginable… Well, if he does not want me, that is exactly what I wish. Instead of taking my petition or procuring me an audience or advising me to send in the document later or persuading me to let the matter lie and to consider things more carefully… Count Arco hurls me out of the room and gives me a kick on my behind. Well, that means in our language that Salzburg is no longer the place for me, except to give me a favorable opportunity of returning the count’s kick, even if it should have to be in the public street..." (Weiss/Taruskin, p. 309).
Clearly, Mozart was not intimidated by those with real authority and power over him, especially when he felt his pride hurt. Even with rumors of his possible arrest if he were to ever return to visit his father, Wolfgang Mozart maintained his indignant position and attempted to cuddle up to the emperor for protection (which, incidentally, worked). However, he was not always insufferable. He was devout, loyal, hard-working and enjoyed a good, serious conversation about things musical and political. He had a quick wit and brilliant sense of humor that occasionally delved into the obscene, however, he was imminently likeable, as is attested to by his large circle of friends and by how well his widow was cared for upon his early death.
As a child, Mozart was frequently ill, perhaps a side-effect of the non-stop tours that his father arranged for him. He first traversed the continent at the age of six, making quite a splash with rich hangers-on and musicians alike. His enormous talent and the unrelenting pressures of having an international career before he could reach the cookie jar made for an interesting mixture of personality traits in the child Mozart. From the report of a London physician we get the delightful impression of a precocious boy of eight:
"His voice in the tone of it was thin and infantine, but nothing could exceed the masterly manner in which he sung. His father, who took the under part in this duet, was once or twice out, though the passages were not more difficult than those in the upper one; on which occasions the son looked back with some anger pointing out to him his mistakes, and setting him right." (Weiss/Taruskin, p. 309)
While Mozart may have been an exacting professional at the ripe old age of eight, the same reporter demonstrates that he was, nevertheless, still a little boy:
"...whilst he was playing to me, a favorite cat came in, upon which he immediately left his harpsichord, nor could we bring him back for a considerable time. He would also sometimes run about the room with a stick between his legs by way of a horse." (Weiss/Taruskin, p. 310)
As we have already seen, the adult Mozart was self-assured to the point of exceeding arrogance. Shortly before his move to Vienna, he took a trip to Paris with his mother in order to try out some of his music in the French capital with the hopes that he might be able to produce an opera. While his prospects for a Parisian opera career ultimately came to nothing, we can thank the trip for the commissions that produced the Concerto for Flute and Harp and his famous “Paris” symphony, which is the subject of the following letter to his father:
"Today I brought along the new Symphony, which I have just complete and which will open the Concert Spirituel on Corpus Christi… I am very pleased with it myself. Whether or not it will be a success, however, I can’t say- nor, to tell the truth, do I really care. For, who will not like it?- I’ll wager it will please the few sensible Frenchmen there; as for fools, I cannot view it as a calamity if they don’t like it. But I have hopes that even Donkeys will find in it something to please them..." (12 June 1778, to Papa; emphasis original)
Despite the complete confidence in his own abilities displayed in this letter written before the premiere, he reveals his fragile ego to his father in a report of the actual performance on July 3rd. The more sensitive musician is revealed here, where we will leave our short excursion into the life of Wolfgang Mozart:
"… I resolved not to attend the Concert; but the weather turning fine in the evening, I finally decided to go- determined, however, that if things went as badly as they had at the Rehearsal, I should certainly go up to the stage, snatch the violin from [the leader of the orchestra], and conduct myself.
I prayed God that it might go well- it is, after all, for His greater honor and glory- and lo and behold, the Symphony began… Just in the middle of the first Allegro there was a Passage I was sure would please. All the listeners went into raptures over it- applauded heartily. But as, when I wrote it, I was quite aware of its Effect, I introduced it once more towards the end- and it was applauded all over again. The Andante pleased them too, but the last Allegro even better. I had heard that final Allegros, here, must begin in the same way as the first ones, all the instruments playing together, mostly in unison. I began mine with nothing but the 1st and 2nd violins playing softly for 8 bars- then there is a sudden forte. Consequently, the listeners (just as I had anticipated) all went “Sh!” in the soft passage- then came the sudden forte- and no sooner did they hear the forte than they all clapped their hands. I was so glad, that, the minute the Symphony was finished, I went to the Palais Royal, ordered a good ice cream, said my Rosary as I had vowed to do, and went home." (Weiss/Taruskin, p. 312)
So, this is our musical friend: devout, exacting, self-assured, playful, cosmopolitan, ambitious, and, as times, insecure. It may not be too much of a stretch to suggest that these qualities can be found in his music as well. Clearly, the music you are about to hear [Symphony No. 21 in A Major, K. 134] reflects a potent personality. The brilliant joy of the first movement; the profoundly lyrical second movement; the idiosyncratic prissiness of the third and the playful and comic finale all reflect sides of this great artist. Indeed, we must conclude that the best way to get to know him is through his music, which I hope you will be able to achieve this evening.
If you are already a member of the Church Music Association of America, your special issue of Sacred Music (Volume 133, Number 2), edited by William Mahrt, will arrive in your mail box in two to three weeks. 