Friday, October 15, 8.00pm
Sunday, October 17, 3.00pm
Symphony Hall

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PROGRAM NOTES

Mozart’s Adagio and Fugue, K. 546

When Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart moved to Vienna in 1781, one of the first important figures he met was the powerful and influential Baron Gottfried van Swieten, a diplomat who held a regular Sunday music salon. From his time as ambassador in Berlin, van Swieten had amassed an impressive collection of scores by Handel and Bach; this was the first time Mozart had ever come across such music, and the encounter proved to be deeply transformative.

Around the same time, Mozart began to fall in love with his landlady’s daughter, Constanze Weber. As unlikely as it seems, the music of van Swieten’s salons and his new love-affair had something in common, as Mozart explained to his father in April 1782: “When Constanze heard the fugues [from van Swieten’s library], she absolutely fell in love with them. Now she will listen to nothing but fugues, particularly the works of Handel and Bach.”

Among the fugues Mozart himself composed in this period, one especially grand one was scored for two pianos, K426. Mozart returned to this work in 1788, when he re-scored it for string orchestra and added an opening Adagio. This introduction finds Mozart at his most mysterious, while the following fugue is an impressive example of how comfortable he had become writing strict counterpoint.

Haydn’s Ave Regina

The Ave Regina (or Salve Regina, as many copies have it) is an early work of Haydn’s, one probably composed in the mid-1750’s. Haydn later wrote about this period in his autobiography: “I wrote diligently, but not quite correctly, until at last I had the good fortune to learn the true fundamentals of composition from the celebrated Herr Porpora.”

These lessons paid off here in the form of a beautifully-shaped Italianate motet. The work falls into three movements. The opening Andante is a florid showpiece for the soprano, with galant triplet-figures, extended trills, and even two cadenzas. The second movement, in sturdy 4/4, is for the chorus alone, while the soprano recovers from her exertions. All the forces come together for the final Adagio, an elegant triple-time movement where soloist and chorus answer each other.

Mozart’s Mass in C Minor, K427

Mozart’s great Mass in C Minor owes its existence not to any patron or sponsor, but to a personal vow of the composer himself. Like his Requiem, this masterpiece remained half-finished; if Mozart had completed it, the work would have been far too long for any contemporary church service. Moreover, it is composed in a magnificent style that was no longer in fashion, with exuberant operatic arias and grand choruses, at a time when (as Mozart wrote his father) “the paintings in the churches, the votive tablets, and the instrumental music… are to be done away with” in the name of simplicity and directness.

This Mass is really a testament of his love for his new wife Constanze, and it was designed to show off her talents to his old friends in Salzburg. Mozart’s letters to his father make it clear that, although he wanted to be a dutiful son and bring his new wife home to Salzburg at the earliest opportunity, he also wanted to put off this potentially uncomfortable encounter as long as possible. Leopold, after all, had made no secret that he though his son had made an unsuitable marriage. The Mozarts finally undertook the arduous journey to Salzburg in July 1783, leaving behind their newborn son Raimund in the care of a wet-nurse. Their lengthy visit was crowned by the premiere of Mozart’s new mass on October 26.

The Prince-Archbishop of Salzburg was probably not terribly happy to see Wolfgang again, having only recently had his chamberlain kick him downstairs. Moreover, his taste (like that of the Emperor) was for his church music to be brief, and not all that ornate. A lavishly operatic monument like this mass would hardly have been tolerated in his cathedral. Mozart prudently arranged for his new Mass to be performed in a monastery church that was conveniently outside the Archbishop’s jurisdiction.

The connections with Constanze are closely written into the music itself. The great aria “Laudamus te” first turns up as a wordless vocalization exercise he had written for her late in 1782; in fact, that version gives us some clues for the unornamented cadences. The other grand moment for soprano, the setting of “Et incarnatus est” where the singer is accompanied by obbligato winds, is closely modeled after one of Mozart’s favorite arias, “Se il padre perdei,” from his recent hit Idomeneo; apparently Wolfgang and Constanze liked to perform together this aria together en famille.

Grand, exuberant operatic arias are one element of Mozart’s musical architecture in this great work. Another, highly contrasting, element is the impressively weighty fugal movements, full of Baroque counterpoint. Mozart’s encounter with the hitherto unknown works of Bach and Handel was a transformative moment in his career, and this work shows how much he learned from both masters. But here again Constanze’s hand can be seen; if we are to believe Mozart (and why not?), he was particularly drawn to the fugal writing of Bach and Handel because Constanze liked it so much.

So here was a new work to show his old colleagues in Salzburg how far he had already come, and to introduce to them his new companion, a lovely young soprano. The only drawback to this picture is that, in fact, Mozart never finished his Mass. We have the Kyrie and Gloria and part of the Credo, with much of the details left unfinished. After the great “Et incarnatus est” aria, there is nothing more of the Credo. The other movements survive in different states: the Sanctus, for example, has come down to us in a copy made rather later, in which a double-choir texture seems to be hurriedly copied onto only four choral staves.

In fact, the first performance in Salzburg only included the Kyrie and Gloria; it’s a pity that Constanze never got to perform the “Et incarnatus est.” Among various attempts to complete Mozart’s work, tonight’s version by Richard Maunder is a real piece of detective-work, untangling the eight voices of the Sanctus from a short score, and completing the instrumental parts from Mozart’s fragmentary indications. Even in its incomplete state, this work remains one of Mozart’s most personal, and most moving, achievements.

-Robert Mealy