Chapter XIII: Church Music (1)

FIFTEEN choristers were maintained at the cost of the Archbishop in the Kapellhaus, and educated by

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special instructors. They afterwards entered the choir as singers or passed into the service of the court; if they showed extraordinary talent, they were sent to finish their training in Italy, and then took their place as solo singers.[3] Archbishop Sigis-mund allowed the male sopranos to die out, and did not replace them with others; on the other hand he sent the daughter of the cathedral organist, Maria Magd. Lipp, to be educated as a singer in Italy, and on her return in 1762 he appointed her court singer; she soon afterwards married Michael Haydn, lately arrived at Salzburg. In 1778 Hieronymus again took a male soprano into his service, Ant. Ceccarelli, a singer of moderate powers and bad moral character.

The orchestra belonging to the choir was an ample one for the time, and was strengthened by a trumpet band for the support of the voices in the church. There were further two bands of six trumpets and drums, which did not properly belong to the court, but to the chamberlain's office, and which ranked between the equerries and the lackeys.[4] But no one was taken into this service who could not also, at need, strengthen the stringed instruments.

In 1762, when Lolli was kapellmeister, and Leopold Mozart vice-kapellmeister, Joh.Michael Haydn[5] (1737-1806), the younger brother of Joseph, was appointed concertmeister and director of the orchestra, on the recommendation of a

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nephew of Archbishop Sigismund, at Grosswardein, where Haydn had been kapellmeister since 1757. The personal intercourse between the families of Haydn and Mozart was not over friendly. Haydn was fond of sitting over a glass of beer or wine, which was all the more reprehensible in the sight of the temperate and conscientious Mozart, since it caused frequent neglect of duty.

"Who do you think," he writes to Wolfgang (December 29,1777), "is appointed organist at the Holy Trinity? Herr Haydn! Every one laughs. He is an expensive organist; after every litany he drinks a quartern of wine, and he sends Lipp to the extra services, who drinks too." (June 29, 1778): "This afternoon Haydn played the organ for the litany and the Te Deum (at which the Archbishop was present), but so badly that we were all horrified.... Haydn will drink himself to death soon; or at least, being lazy enough already, he will become still lazier the older he gets."[6]

The conduct of Frau Haydn also must have been objectionable. Wolfgang writes mockingly to Bullinger (August 7, 1778): "It is quite true that Haydn's wife is ill; she has carried her rigours too far; there are few like her! I only wonder that she has not lost her voice long ago through her constant scourgings, wearing of sackcloth, prolonged fasts, and midnight prayers." Neither was Haydn's cultivation such as to cause L. Mozart to wish for nearer intercourse between the families. "I should like to hear him speak Italian in Italy," he writes (December 4, 1777); "the people would certainly say, 'Questo è un vero Tedesco!"'[7] Personal difference and trifling jealousies, such as easily arise in small communities, may have had some influence on this unfavourable criticism of Michael Haydn; it did not extend, however, to his merits as an artist. It is true that L. Mozart was of opinion when Michael Haydn, in 1787, composed the opera "Andromeda e Perseo," that he had no talent for

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dramatic music, and that his principal songs might have been written for a choir-boy. But he praised, in strong terms, the _entr'acte_ music for Zaire, which Haydn had composed in 1777, and analysed it carefully, telling his son that the Archbishop had done him the honour to say to him at table, that he could not have believed Haydn capable of composing such music; and that instead of beer he should drink nothing but Burgundy. Haydn received a reward of six kronthaler (October 1 and October 9, 1777). But when L. Mozart writes to his son: "Herr Haydn is a man whose musical merits you will not deny" (September 24, 1778), he is referring to his church music, which Wolfgang was in the habit of copying for study. Writing from Vienna, he asks for "small paper, Eberlin's Counterpoint, bound in blue, and some of Haydn's things";[8] and shortly after (March 12, 1783): "The 'Tres sunt' (M. Haydn's) is in score, in my handwriting." He wanted these things for the Sunday performances at Van Swieten's, and asked also for Michael Haydn's latest fugue. "The 'Lauda Sion,'" he writes (March 12, 1783), "was a great success; the fugue, 'In Te Domine speravi,' was much admired, as also the 'Ave Maria' and 'Tenebrae.'" Among Mozart's remains were found two fugues, 'Pignus futuræ gloriæ,' copied by his own hand from Michael Haydn's Litanies.

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The cathedral organist, appointed in 1751, was Anton Cajetan Adlgasser (1728--1777), a pupil of Eberlin, who had been sent by the Archbishop to study in Italy, a first-rate organ-player and accompanist, whose sacred compositions were afterwards performed and highly appreciated at Salzburg. Less remarkable was the second organist, Franz Ign. Lipp, Haydn's father-in-law.

The kapellmeister and organist did not confine themselves to conducting performances of church music: they made it a point of honour to provide suitable music for special festival occasions. At such time new compositions were considered indispensable; indeed, throughout the year a constant variety of music was sought to be provided. This activity in church music was of the greatest service to young composers, who never wanted an opportunity for bringing out new compositions, nor for learning by hearing and comparing.

It was not the less beneficial in the way of training that they were obliged to keep within the limits of certain clearly defined forms, and to be content with the often scanty means which they found ready to hand. Through the influence of transmitted customs and individual peculiarities, as well as of the taste of those in authority, local traditions grew up, whose narrow rules hindered freedom of development. Such control is most irksome in church matters, wherein all, even what is in itself unimportant, must be considered as partaking of the sanctity of the whole. The counterbalancing gain of such training is technical finish, the indispensable foundation for the development of genius, with which alone can any effort to break loose from what is false in tradition be successful.

Mozart found the rules and forms of church music as clearly defined as those of the opera. Both had been formed in the Neapolitan school, and the impulses given up each had been in the same direction. The turning-point was the introduction of melodies which had their own significance as expressions of emotion, without regard to their harmonic or contrapuntal treatment. No sooner had melody gained recognition in opera and cantata, as the natural and

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legitimate form of musical expression, than it made a way for itself into the church by means of oratorio. The simple grandeur of the older church music (particularly that of the Roman school, with Palestrina as its representative) depended chiefly on the fact that the chorus of voices was treated as an organic whole, of which no one part could be recognised as a distinct entity apart from the rest. The impression made by such music resembles that of the sea. Wave follows upon wave, and each one seems to be like the last; yet underlying the apparent monotony there exists an ever-varied life, an invincible strength, manifesting itself alike in peaceful calm and raging storm, and filling the mind with a sense of sublimity and grandeur, without satiety and without fatigue. But so soon as one melody was distinguished above the rest the union and equality of the voices was disturbed. Separate voices became more or less prominent as occasion required; and it could not fail to follow that the other voices should be employed merely to fill up and support the principal melody. A certain amount of independence and character might indeed be given to the accompanying voices by skilful management, but the principle remains unaltered, so long as a melody and its accompaniment are in question.

The change became more marked when instrumental music gained admission into the church. At first the organ and trumpets were employed merely to support and strengthen the voices. But when stringed instruments, and by degrees the various wind instruments of the orchestra, came into use in churches, they gradually adopted in church music, as in secular, the part of accompaniment to the voices. This tendency was most apparent of course in solo singing; but a manner of orchestral accompaniment to the choruses was gradually elaborated which could not fail to influence the treatment of the voice parts. The use of the severest contrapuntal method had hitherto been considered an essential condition and embellishment of church music; but on this point also an alteration of opinion and taste gained gradual ground.

The perfection of contrapuntal treatment, consisting in the absolute freedom and independence of the several parts,

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with their due correlation, can only be obtained by strict obedience to well-defined laws; added to which must be a firm conception of some simple fundamental idea whose many-sided development shall give unity and cohesion to the whole work. This form of composition is therefore peculiarly appropriate to the delivery of serious and weighty ideas; it is however but a form, and can be endued with life and significance only by the matter which it contains, and by the spirit which animates it. In old times the madrigal served to illustrate contrapuntal forms in secular music; and even in the present day canons and fugues, sometimes with comic effect, sometimes giving expression to very varied emotions, are often so skilfully constructed that the uninitiated have no suspicion of the artistic learning with the effect of which they are charmed. Although counterpoint is in itself neither spiritual nor ecclesiastical, it is conceivable that in proportion as secular music freed itself from the trammels, the error should arise of imagining severity of form and structure to be peculiarly appropriate to church music. This identification of counterpoint with ecclesiastical ideas caused its development to proceed side by side with those other forms which had made good their footing in church music. The opposition which was felt to exist between severe methods and methods not severe led to a compromise; certain parts of the liturgical text were treated contrapuntally, and others freely. The proportions depended greatly on personal and local influences, but the main points of the division were decided by the Neapolitan school.

The moral tendency of this change of construction must not be overlooked. The free treatment of melody gave to subjective emotion, with its ever-varying alternations, a suitable method of musical expression, and an art which was developing in this direction must have had extraordinary influence. The effort to make church music subject to this influence was the necessary consequence of a newly awakened life in art. The musician felt himself impelled to represent religious emotion in its full strength and truth, and with all the means at his command; the liturgy called forth the expression of the liveliest and most passionate emotion, it

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offered opportunities for representing the most vivid dramatic situations; even the glory of worship called on its votaries to bring the splendour of music, as well as of painting and sculpture, into the Divine service. But the direction taken by the intellectual progress of that time, especially in Italy, was fraught with the dangers which invariably threaten an art which is struggling to free itself from tradition. The Church was tolerant towards the aspirations of art, so long as they afforded an effective means for her glorification, but she sternly repressed any efforts to break loose from the fetters of her ordinances and customs. On the other hand, men rejoiced in what had been so easily and rapidly gained, and satisfied themselves with the superficial freedom which they had attained. Proportionally was the development of a formalism in accordance with the Italian character, which seeks for beauty always in set forms, and demanded the adoption of such forms by church music. The opera was the model; thence sprang the moral and artistic element which became manifest in the forms of church music, appealing not so much to the faith of the congregation as to the taste of musical connoisseurs. Any attempt to transport operatic forms directly into church music was forbidden by the liturgical form of Divine service, to which the music must be subordinate. But the connection was severed with the old church modes from which ancient church music borrowed its subjects, treating them after a long since obsolete tone-system; and a merely devotional musical symbolism was renounced for the freedom of original creation. For though subjects were borrowed in later times from the old church modes, they lost their significance when detached, and were, besides, treated according to the new lights. Finally, the sway of the singer was mighty in church music as elsewhere. The habit of delighting in the finished performances of the vocalist was united with the idea that he who could most fully satisfy the prevailing taste was also the most worthy to serve the Most High and to exalt the glory of worship. We shall therefore find the church music of the latter half of the eighteenth century composed of the same materials as operatic music, and exercising much the same effect.

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The same influence which had been won by Italian operatic music in Germany penetrated to the churches of Catholic Germany, and attained to complete sovereignty. But there was a difference, important, though not at the time generally or consciously felt. The conception and mode of expression of Italian church music was, although secularised, yet in its essence national, and in its appeals to religious emotion it might count upon universal comprehension and sympathy.

But transplanted to Germany both the ideas and their mode of execution were strange, and could only be adopted after a preliminary artistic training; what in Italy had grown up in the course of national development was transmitted to Germany as mere form. The delicate sense of beauty and of grace, the excitable, passionate nature of the Italians, could not be transplanted, and the external adjuncts were even more superficially treated than on the soil from which they sprang. Contrapuntal work, especially the fugue, was haunted by the school traditions of church usages, which conduced to a spiritless formalism of routine. Thus, carelessness and pedantry, superficiality and dulness were combined, and church music declined more rapidly and visibly than the opera. The difference between the true essence and its extinct form is the more apparent and significant the deeper it lies; and to this must be added the fact that the continuous demand for church music' gave rise to the production of a mass of inferior work, from which the opera was preserved in deference to the taste of the public. Under these circumstances it was impossible even for a surpassing genius to do more than distinguish himself in some particulars; the efforts of an individual after thorough-going reform could only be successful supported by the spirit of the age and of the nation.[9]

This general position held by church music was modified in different regions by local peculiarities of the liturgy, by the tastes of church authorities, and by the differences in the

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musical forces at command. The peculiar circumstances under which Mozart wrote in Salzburg are described by himself in a letter to Padre Martini (September 4, 1776):[10]--

I live in a place where music prospers but little, although we have some good musicians, and some especially good composers of thorough knowledge and taste. The theatre suffers for want of singers; we have few male sopranos, and are not likely to have more, for they require high pay, and over-liberality is not our weak point. I busy myself with writing church and chamber music, and we have two capital contrapuntists, Haydn and Adlgasser. My father is kapellmeister at the metropolitan church, which gives me the opportunity of writing as much as I like for the church. But as my father has been thirty-six years in the service of the court, and knows that the Archbishop does not care to have people of an advanced age about him, he takes things quietly and devotes himself chiefly to literature, which has always been his favourite study. Our church music differs widely and increasingly from that of Italy.

A mass, with Kyrie, Gloria, Credo, the Sonata at the Epistle, the Offertorium or Motett, Sanctus and Agnus Dei, must not last longer than three-quarters of an hour, even on festivals when the Archbishop himself officiates. This kind of composition requires special study. And yet the mass must have all the instruments, trumpets, drums, &c. Ah, if we were not so far from each other, how much I should have to tell you!

We have further information on the arrangements made for church music in the cathedral.[11] "The cathedral contains a large organ at the back by the entrance, four side organs in front of the choir, and a little choir organ below the choir where the choristers sit. The large organ is only used on grand occasions and for preludes; during the performance one of the four side organs is played, generally that next to the altar on the right side, where the solo singers and basses are. Opposite, by the left-side organ, are the violinists, &c., and on the two other sides are two choruses of trumpets and drums. The lower choir organ and double-bass join in when required."[12]

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Among Mozart's compositions for the Church, his masses.[13] by reason of their importance in Divine service, take the first place.[14] In the divisions of the several parts, we find him following in the beaten track of the Neapolitan school. The different parts of the text coincide with the prescribed pauses made by the officiating priest, but are very differently worked out.[15] Where the composer has free scope, the separate sections are usually treated as independent pieces, with regular alternations of solo and chorus. But such elaborate masses were only performed on solemn occasions (Missa solemnis) or through the preference of an influential personage--they took up too much time for the regular service.

In the short mass (Missa brevis) the larger divisions were treated in the main as a connected musical movement of which the separate sections were detached indeed, but not independent of each other; the degree of connection is of course very varied.

The thrice-repeated cry, "Kyrie eleison! Christe eleison! Kyrie eleison!" is regularly developed into a lengthy movement. It was formerly the custom[16] to prefix a short, slow and solemn movement on the words "Kyrie eleison," to an agitated more elaborate one[17] (49, 65,66, K.); but afterwards the whole became one movement. The prayer for the mercy of God is animated, and though devoid of depth, never sinks to mere trifling. A more serious mood is generally indicated by the severer contrapuntal treatment of the voices (192, 194, 262, K). The words "Christe eleison" are regularly accentuated, usually with an expression of beseeching melancholy, and often by solo voices. The solo voices and choruses generally alternate in the Kyrie.

The Gloria[18] is divided into several movements,

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conformably to the successive invocations of which it consists. The character of the whole is one of exulting praise, the tone being indicated by the opening words, "Gloria in excelsis Deo." The effort to express the solemn dignity of divine worship by external splendour, is apparent in the animated, fervent, and often stately progress of this movement. The opening subject is revived at appointed places, usually at the Quoniam, and forms a connecting thread throughout the piece. A solo is often introduced at the words "Lau-damus Te and, even without much intentional expression, the four commas of the words, "Laudamus Te, benedicimus Te, adoramus Te, glorificamus Te," form natural pauses, and regulate the musical and rhythmical division of the passage.

But the contrast of solo and chorus is determined less by the sense of the words than by the necessities of art, requiring variations of light and shade. As a rule, the words of highest import are given to the chorus; the solos serve for ornament, or as a preparation for a chorus of renewed and increased strength.

The central point of this part of the mass is formed by the thrice-repeated cry:--

Qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis!
Qui tollis peccata mundi, suscipe deprecationem nostram!
Qui sedes ad dexteram patris, miserere nobis

Here we have a mood expressed of deep agitation, offering excellent opportunity for musical treatment, both in feeling and form. The "Qui tollis" is the nucleus of all Mozart's Glorias; he enunciates it simply enough through the chorus, relying for effect on the charm of rich and original harmonies, as bold in conception as they are clear and decided in rendering. The words which follow, "Quoniam Tu solus sanctus, Tu solus Dominus, Tu solus altissimus, Jesu Christe," are

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treated as a song of praise,[19] in order to relieve the gloom of the "Qui tollis," and to give stronger emphasis to what is to follow. For the last words, "cum Sancto Spiritu in gloria Dei Patris, Amen," are treated without regard to the context, as an independent fugue. In Mozart's early masses the fugue is short (49, 65, K.), but they soon became long and often elaborate (60,115,139,167,192, 262, K.). Archbishop Hieronymus, however, had an aversion to fugues; and in Mozart's later masses the Gloria came to an end in a short choral passage (220, 257, 258, 259, K.).

The Credo offered the greatest difficulties to musical treatment. A long movement, whose several parts are dependent on one emphatic verb placed at the beginning, cannot be musically rendered in such a way that the connection remains apparent to the hearer; each phrase disturbs the grammatical construction of the period. In order to overcome this difficulty the word "credo" was repeated at fitting points (192,257, K).[20] But although logical requirements are thus to a certain degree satisfied, the repeated "credo" does not fit into the grammatical structure, and the contrast between the spoken and the musical expression is in reality only intensified.

In close connection with this is the further difficulty that the delarations of faith belong essentially to the domain of speculation, and can rarely work directly on the feelings; neither does the form into which they are thrown incite the fancy to musical expression. These difficulties might be surmounted at a time when music with all her powers and capacities placed herself unreservedly at the disposal of worship, accepting the prescribed words with perfect faith in their sanctity, and only anxious to give them their fullest and truest expression. There was as little question of

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individuality in art as in faith; the unquestioned law of ecclesiastical infallibility impressed on every work the stamp of the subjection of art to religion. Even the forms of the music followed the ancient and hallowed traditions of the cultus, and embodied ecclesiastical formulas in strict counterpoint. But as by degrees subjective emotion and expression gained ground in church music, and as the old severity of form gave place to a wealth of means and expedients, the ecclesiastical text fell under the criticism of the musicians, who subjected it to the test of the conditions required for the production of a perfect work of art. Composers learned to look upon the Credo as material to be worked up into an artistic musical form, even when it did not lend itself easily to the process. A sort of type was gradually evolved, that was closely adhered to in many particulars. One such, for instance, is the strong accentuation of death in the words, "judicare vivos et mortuos," and "resurrectionem mortuo-rum," the tone-painting of the "descendit de coelis," the repetition of the "non" in the words "cujus regni non erit finis," and others of the same kind. Such an evident tendency to emphasise details at the cost of the whole, only shows how composers took refuge in whatever was capable of musical expression, in order to extricate themselves as far as they could from the burden of the rest.

The main passages on which the musical strength of the Credo was concentrated are those in which the mention of the incarnation, crucifixion, and resurrection of Christ appeal most vividly to the senses and the imagination. It had become customary to connect the words, "Qui propter nos homines et propter nostram salutem descendit de coelis," whether made prominent by solo singing or not, with those which preceded them, and to make a pause with "Et incarnatus."[21] These words are generally rendered by a tender solo voice, as if they would fain hover round the cradle of the heavenly Child, to express the gratitude of mankind for his incarnation. Then solemnly and sadly the chorus depicts

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the deep pain of "Crucifixus etiam pro nobis sub Pontio Pilato, passus et sepultus est," breaking out at "Et resur-rexit" &c., into joyful trust in the resurrection. In all this Mozart's wonderful genius succeeded in awakening imagination and emotion which, again, his artistic moderation knew how to calm; his firm grasp of his art enabling him to produce the most striking effect with the simplest means, and to gather up the details, so that each sustains and elevates the other without injuring the consistency of the whole Credo. This unusual combination of qualities gives to this part of the mass a high degree of artistic finish even when the treatment is most simple and confined.

The words "Et in Spiritum Sanctum" are usually given to a solo voice,--more, however, from custom than for any special signification of their own (49, 65, 139, K.); they are introduced by a long instrumental prelude (262 K.). Apart from the interests of the Church, which might have some influence here, the necessity could not but be felt for a strong contrast between this and the following passages. For what follows, "Et unam sanctam catholicam et apos-tolicam ecclesiam," &c., is given by the whole strength of the chorus. The last words, "et vitam venturi saeculi. Amen," is again treated as a fugue. Here, again, we find first a short fugued movement (49, 65, 192, K.), but later a long and cleverly worked-out fugue (139, 167, 262, K.), until the influence of Archbishop Hieronymus led to the conclusion of the Credo, like the Gloria, in a short animated chorus (257, 258, 259, 275, K.).

Various methods were employed to gather the phrases of the Creed into a consistent musical work. The repetition of the word "credo" (167, 257, K.), even in places where it somewhat disturbs the grammatical construction, serves to combine the musical texture of the movements

The periodical recurrence of the musical phrase conduces to careful mechanism, and gives opportunity for variety and increased intensity in the treatment of the subject. Apart from this, unity is provided for by a pregnant rhythmical passage or a carefully finished subject which marks the beginning of the Credo, and underlies its several divisions,

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forming a sort of background from which the more impressive images stand out.

The appropriate elaboration of this subject is the special task of the artist, and the text is to be considered only as a _point de départ_ to it. The mode of treatment varies and is sometimes contrapuntal, sometimes harmonic; in one part the voices predominate, in another the instruments, in which latter case the then favourite running passage for the violins is frequently employed.

The general character of church music was more prominently displayed in the Creed than elsewhere. An animated and elevated frame of mind was vividly portrayed, with more cheerfulness and brilliancy than solemnity or earnest devotion, and only at moments does the music show a consciousness of the deep significance of the text. Mozart pays tribute to his time; but his artistic nature did not allow him to sink into triviality or commonplace; symmetry, beauty, and delicacy are never found wanting. The remaining sections of the mass lend themselves more readily to musical treatment. They express deep and universal sentiments in words as simple as those of the Kyrie, and musical both in sound and suggestion.

The Sanctus falls naturally into three well-defined parts. The first words, "Sanctus, Dominus Deus Sabaoth!" intended to convey an impression of the most exalted sublimity, are generally treated as a solemn introduction to the more animated and fervent words, "Pleni sunt coli et terra gloria Tua." Agitation rises into joyful emotion in the Osanna, to which the form of a short fugal movement is usually given.

The Benedictus,[22] on the other hand, strives to express the secret thanksgiving of the heart at the coming of the Lord. A mild fervour penetrates the simple words, which seem to cast illumining beams on every side. Mozart's artistic originality has so clearly stamped the impress of his genius on the traditional form of the Benedictus that his interpretation of it has become the customary one. It is, as a rule, given

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to solo voices, to which more prominence is given here than elsewhere. Now and then single voices (65,139,194, K.), but more often all the four--now alternately, now in unison--announce the message of consolation; obbligato organ accompaniments serve still further to mark the prominence given to this movement (259 K.). It has a charming effect (258 K.) when the chorus recurring at intervals during the solos enunciates with sustained expression the word "benedictus." The Osanna is usually repeated either entire or abridged from the Sanctus, but it is sometimes interwoven into the Benedictus (139, 262, K.)

The last movement falls naturally into two strongly contrasting sections. The first, expressing the sentiments of contrition, of anguished appeal for mercy, was treated with great partiality. The cry, "Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi," and the prayer, "miserere nobis," furnish a natural grouping not seldom employed for alternations of solo and chorus; the mood expressed is very favourable to musical treatment.

The "Dona nobis pacem" is in complete contrast, and in no movement of the mass is the alteration in the spirit of church music more apparent. The peace which is prayed for is vividly represented, and just as vivid is the tone of cheerful confidence with which the prayer is offered. The devout hearer was to be dismissed with a pleasant impression on his mind, and therefore the deep earnestness of this petition for peace was sacrificed in order to produce a feeling of self-satisfied enjoyment. The music of the Dona maintains throughout this cheerful tone, and though Mozart's variety and grace are as marked and effective here as elsewhere, even with him earnestness and depth are rarely to be met with.

We may now conclude this general description with a glance in detail on Mozart's masses. We have already spoken of his first attempts. Some unfinished masses, presumably the result of his studies under Padre Martini, exist, bearing date 1771 and 1772. The furthest advanced, in C major (115 K.), breaks off at the ninth bar of the Sanctus. It is accompanied only by a figured organ bass,

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and is strictly treated with the exception of the two fugues; it is worked out in severe contrapuntal form almost throughout, as the Kyrie, introduced by five bars of Adagio, will serve to show:--[See Page Image]

{MASS IN C MAJOR, 1772.}

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The whole work reminds us forcibly of Padre Martini's church compositions, and it is not surprising that the hand of a learner should be here apparent. A Mass in F major (116 K.), which breaks off at the words "sedet ad dexteram patris," is of the same kind, as well as a Kyrie in C major (221 K.). An Osanna in C major (223 K.) and a Credo ("in remissionem" to "mortuorum") belonging to it seem also to have been studies in counterpoint.

A Mass in C major (139 K.), probably belonging to the year 1772, is an effort in quite another direction. Every means is employed to produce an extraordinary effect, and it may be conjectured that this, like the Pater Dominicus mass, was composed for some special occasion.[23] Every section is treated as a detached independent movement.

The Kyrie begins with a slow pathetic passage in C minor, followed by an animated allegro in C major 3-4, and by the Christe eleison as a solo quartet, after which the Kyrie is repeated.[24] The solo voices are much used in different combinations, apart from the short passages inserted between the choruses. Laudamus is a duet for soprano and alto, Domine a duet for tenor and bass, Quoniam a soprano solo, Et incarnatus a duet for soprano and alto, Et in spiritum a tenor solo, and Benedictus a soprano solo, to which the chorus sings Osanna. Even the Agnus Dei begins with a tenor solo followed by a chorus; the last appeal before the Dona is given to the solo quartet. These solo movements are well rounded, and are both preceded and followed by long symphonies; the effort to produce a pleasing effect is apparent in the whole work, and a moderate amount of operatic bravura is not disdained. This brings into stronger relief the pathos which is given to every passage capable of it. The Qui tollis, Crucifixus, and Agnus, as well as the Kyrie, are in the

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minor key; striking harmonies are emphasised by means of the accompaniment, and three trumpets contribute to the orchestral effects. The solemn Crucifixus--[See Page Image]

{MASS SS. TRINITATIS, 1773.}

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follows in evident contrast immediately upon the soprano solo--[See Page Image] whereupon the chorus and orchestra, with three trumpets, fall in.

But the youthful master does not neglect the display of his skill in counterpoint. Besides some few instances of more or less elaborate imitation, the two customary fugues, the first on the theme--[See Page Image] the second "et vitam" are furnished with two subjects and every requisite for complete fugues. It is true that the strongly contrasting original ideas exist only as such, and form no united whole, so that we are all the more struck by the conventional treatment of the greater part of the work; but it must be conceded, notwithstanding, that progress has been made, and that the power is making itself felt which, with a wider field, shall produce better and more original work.

The mass composed in 1773 "In honorem SS. Trinitatis" (167 K.) is for chorus alone, without any solo movements: it displays no very high aim, but earnestness and ability throughout. The Kyrie is long and elaborate, without any sustained subject. In the Gloria the voices sustain the harmony, accompanied by a lively violin passage. The Credo is interesting through the persistent attempt to mould it into a firm musical organism. Three motifs occur quite at the beginning, apportioned in different combinations to the voices, viz., a rhythmical, characteristic passage--[See Page Image] a more melodious phrase--

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and a running passage:--[See Page Image]

{MASS SS. TRINITATIS, 1773.}

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These three subjects form the essential substance of the Credo, the first, with changing harmonies, forming the root whence the others spring at fitting places, by which means the due expression of the words and the musical exigences of the composition are alike provided for. The continuous agitation is only once interrupted, at the short but grave and dignified "Et incarnatus est," and at the words "Et in Spiritum Sanctum." These points are emphasised by their separation from the rest through a long symphony, and by a digressive mode of treatment which reminds one of a solo. Towards the end of the broadly elaborated fugue, "Et vitam," the violins return to the first motif of the Credo, the voices take up the second motif with the "Amen," and the violins, asserting the supremacy of the first, bring the whole to a conclusion.

The Benedictus is unusually grave for a chorus, but is relieved by the easy grace of the violins. The thematic treatment of the principal subject of the Dona--[See Page Image] gives it firmness and consistency; the accompaniment becomes more prominent in the middle, and the admirably well-sustained conclusion is dignified in mood and expression.

The Mass in F major (192 K.), composed on June 24,1774, is the work of a finished artist, and has rightly been placed

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next after the Requiem.[25] The whole mass, which reminds us of the finest examples of the older Neapolitan school, is in the strictest form of composition, none of the smaller sections forming an independent movement; the most delicate use is made of the simplest materials. The chorus and solos alternate throughout, the solo voices (never concerted) supplying the finer shadows to the chorus, which in return serves for response or repetition and conclusion. The accompaniment consists only of a bass (figured for the organ) and two violins, but it is independently worked out and effective both in tone-colouring and as a contrast to the voices.

Every section of the mass is in counterpoint, and shows the firm hand of a master. The unity of the whole and of the several parts, which is the necessary consequence of this musical method, is apparent here to a surprising degree. The parts combine to express and dilate upon a well-defined idea, the separate features of which are not thrown together arbitrarily or by chance. A subject which in one place is merely indicated or foreshadowed becomes in another the main subject; in short, the independence of each separate part produces the uniform clear texture of the whole. Thus the Gloria begins with an important subject for the soprano--[See Page Image]

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which is the groundwork of the whole movement, and--now entire and unaltered, now abridged or modified--appears in different positions as Cantus firmus; while the remaining parts, treated contrapuntally, give due emphasis to each change of mood, until the whole concludes with a grand Amen in unison. The same thing occurs in the Credo. The link here is a motif--[See Page Image] which, borrowed from the intonation of the Magnificat or of the Gloria in the third tone, has been often employed, by Al. Scarlatti,[26] for instance, in a mass, and by Michael Haydn in a gradual (Qui sedes, No. 3), as Alleluia. Mozart has made frequent use of it. We find it again in the Sanctus of another mass (257 K.) in a Symphony in B flat major (319 K.) composed in 1779, in a pianoforte Sonata in £ flat major, composed in 1785, each time easily treated as a connecting subject, until it finally appears as the theme of the last movement of the Symphony in C major (551 K.) In the present work it recurs again and again as Cantus firmus, or in imitation, always the bond and support of the detached articles of faith. Then it becomes the root of the subjects for single phrases, such as the magnificent Crucifixus, the Confiteor and the fugued Et vit am. We scarcely know whether to admire most the masterly skill which makes light of difficulty, or the inventive imagination which can develop an idea from so many and such varied-points of view, making the same subject express calm faith in the Credo, bitter pain in the Crucifixus, and joyful confidence in the Et vit am.

The Sanctus and Benedictus are short, fine contrapuntal movements, the Benedictus especially simple and full of grace. The Agnus Dei is freer in form. Three solo voices make the appeal, which the chorus answers with "miserere nobis." The harmonic successions, and the beautiful violin passage in the accompaniment, give a peculiarly affecting

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character to this movement, which suggests a comparison with the Requiem. The Dona is fine and pure, but the effort to give it a cheerful and agreeable tone has robbed it of depth and significance.

Even the accompaniment of this mass has an importance of its own, and there is more art and beauty contained in the two violin parts than in many a fuller score. Not content with giving an independent course to the voices, Mozart allows the accompaniment also to go its own way, usually with a subject proper to it, treated freely, often in counterpoint, and always with visible partiality.

Inventive genius, technical scholarship, and deep, clear comprehension, are more evidently displayed by Mozart in this mass than ever before; the subjects have an intensity, a charm of beauty which had scarcely yet been suggested. Here, for the first time, we become aware of that wonderful beauty, Mozart's most special endowment, which we may designate sweetness, if we mean by that the perfect harmony of a naturally developed artistic organism. The maiden freshness of its manifestation here only increases the charm, and points to future expansion.

The Mass in D major (194 K.), composed on August 8, 1774, has been rightly placed next to the one we have been considering.[27] The whole plan, the strict form, the flowing treatment, contrapuntal throughout, the mature beauty, offer many points of resemblance, but the effort after gracefulness is more apparent in the later mass, and is achieved at the sacrifice of gravity and ideality. The Kyrie displays a very similar conception. With the opening words of the soprano--[See Page Image]

the foundation is laid on which the whole structure of the movement is built. In part in imitative combinations, in part extended into a longer subject, and in part connected with opposing subjects for the voices and the violins, this

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short theme is elaborated into a fine long movement, as interesting as it is expressive. The Gloria and the Credo do not reach the same height; the contrapuntal elaboration is only apparent in isolated passages, the solos are expressive, but over-graceful, the music proceeds in a fine flow, and delights the listener, but only now and then stirs deeper feelings. On the other hand, the Sanctus, Benedictus (a solo quartet), Agnus (alternate solo and chorus), are highly finished and tersely composed movements, in which beauty of form and sentiment combine. The somewhat lengthy Dona preserves its pleasing character, without degenerating into trifling. The effort to please by mere gracefulness is most predominant in the Mass in B flat major (275 K.), the date of which is not known. The commencement with a soprano solo[28]--[See Page Image] is characteristic of the whole mass. The solo element pre-dominates, and a wealth of lovely, seductive, and expressive melodies is scattered around; but neither the conception nor the execution takes a deep hold on the mind. The chorus is generally full, one might almost say merry; where harmonic or contrapuntal treatment comes to the front, it is executed with masterly ease; and such passages stand out in all the clearer relief against their surroundings. The principal passage of the Credo is striking:--[See Page Image]

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According to Lorentz it is a reminiscence--perhaps an accidental one--of a favourite Volkslied, "Bauer hang' den Pummerl an." The introduction of the following theme--[See Page Image]

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after a highly original and striking harmonic progression, cannot fail to injure the effect. The Sanctus is a short fugued movement, the Benedictus an unusually melodious soprano solo with an original accompaniment; the Agnus goes deepest, and is serious in feeling as well as wonderfully sweet. Works like the Masses in F and D major prove what Mozart was capable of in church music if his genius could have had free scope. But the "rapid advance of ecclesiastical reformation in Salzburg under the wise and immortal prince, Archbishop Hieronymus von Colloredo,"[29] had its effect on the treatment of the mass. The limitation of its duration and the abolition of solo singing proper and of fugues might appear to be the result of ecclesiastical rigour. But Hieronymus was far more inclined to favour secular taste in church music; and he was fond besides of displaying a royal magnificence and splendour. This external influence is apparent in the conception and treatment of the later masses composed after 1775, more particularly in one belonging to 1776 (262 K.), with a Kyrie in counterpoint and two elaborate fugues. Especially earnest and beautiful, both as to technical workmanship and expression, are the movements on which the musical treatment was becoming more and more concentrated, the Qui tollis (of which the accompaniment recalls the fugue, Quam olim Abrahæ in the Requiem), the Et incarnatus est, and Agnus Dei. Even the Benedictus (where the chorus answers the "Benedictus" of the solos by "Osanna") and the Dona are sustained in style. How fundamentally this mass differs from that in F major is clearly shown by the ground-tones of the Gloria and the Credo, which are animated and brilliant, but without any intensity or depth of meaning. The same tendency is still more marked in the remaining masses (220, 257, 258, 259, K.).[30] Increasing maturity is manifest in the

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firm and skilful handling of all available means, and the subjects display uncommon fertility of invention. But real creative inspiration is crushed by the obligation to compose after a set fashion.

We do not need to look further than such church music to become aware that the Archbishop loved to bring the pomp and glitter of his royal station into the services of the church. Such a task obliges the artist to use his art more and more consciously as a means to an end. The inevitable result is inequality and exaggeration, his genius and his work being often at variance; the charm of mere grace leads to the danger of softness and effeminacy, and fluent animation becomes meaningless superficiality. The effort to be light and pleasing is manifest in these masses by their superfluity of detail. We find an over-abundance of beautiful melodies and harmonies, combined with great freedom in the treatment both of voices and orchestra, and in the working-out of the subjects.

There are isolated instances of deeper sentiment and more poetic conception which are heightened in effect by the earnest technical skill displayed in their working-out, and which give glimpses of happy inspiration, not belonging of necessity to the fundamental conception of the work.

Unhappily it is on these masses, in the composition of which Mozart's genius could only move within very confined limits, that his fame as a composer of church music chiefly rests; and musicians who have taken him as their model have striven most to imitate these, his least satisfactory works.

The great resemblance in plan and mechanism of the masses of contemporary composers, such as Hasse, Nau-mann, Joseph and Michael Haydn, proves a strict adherence to the rules of composition then in force. A consideration of their works serves to heighten the effect of Mozart's higher and nobler conceptions, of his poetical sentiment, and of that sense of proportion which regards a work of art as a whole, and recognises the limits imposed on it from without as the necessary conditions of artistic production. Many excellent qualities may be conceded to these musicians, but none of them attained to the harmonious beauty of Mozart.

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The artists of a later age, who imitated and exaggerated the cramped and obsolete forms, which had been the result of many circumstances, as if they were in themselves an all-sufficient musical method, judged Mozart's works by their own standard, and found them in many respects unsatisfactory.[31]

Before condemning Mozart's readiness to adapt his compositions to external conditions, we must consider the mode of thought of the time. All art, more especially music, stood in the closest connection with the ordinary affairs of life; operas, masses, instrumental works were composed when, where, and how they were required, for particular occasions, and particular performers. Occasions of the kind were eagerly sought for, and furnished an impulse and incitement to the composer, even when they somewhat hampered his productive powers. Exaggerated as the reference to external circumstances and mechanical resources became, it formed the groundwork, rightly understood, of thorough artistic production.

The demand for church music was one that came with peculiar authority at Salzburg, since the priest who commanded it was considered as the mouthpiece of the Church; he also stood in the place of the sovereign, arranging the performances and paying for them: respect for his position was both natural and proper. Mozart was by nature easily led, so long as his deeper feelings of antagonism were not stirred; then he was firm and decided. Trained under the discipline of his father to fulfil every duty conscientiously, and to turn to the best account whatever was inevitable, he endeavoured, as long as circumstances made it advisable, to satisfy the demands of the archbishop, and to make them conducive to his own improvement.

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In this he was guided by a nature so completely that of an artist as not to feel cramped or bound even by real restrictions. Composition was a joy and necessity to him, and a trifling impulse only was needed to set his poetical activity in motion; this once accomplished, external conditions served him for tools, and their just and appropriate use soon became second nature to him.

The statement often made, and for the most part with a very imperfect knowledge of the subject, that Mozart's masses are his weakest works,[32] cannot be accepted without large reservations; and we have it in our power to give a decided contradiction to Thibaut's assertion[33] that "Mozart thought little of his masses, and often when a mass was ordered, he objected that he was only made for opera. But he was offered one hundred louis d'or for every mass, and that he could not refuse; only he used to say, laughing, that he would take whatever was good in his masses and use it in his next opera."

The apparent particularity of this story is pure invention, employed, as so often happens, to give a colour to mere conjecture; and the invention is clumsy. Mozart only wrote for the church in Salzburg; in Vienna he did not compose a single mass to order, and only one, the unfinished one in C minor, on his own account. Such fees as that above mentioned never put his constancy to the test; we know that he received one hundred ducats for an opera. Again, thoughtlessness in the composition of church music is imputed to Mozart. He had strongly biassed opinions, but they were honest convictions; and his church work was always thoroughly earnest. Rochlitz tells us that at Leipzig,

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in conversation on church music, Mozart declared that a Protestant could not possibly conceive the associations which the services of the Church awoke in the mind of a devout Catholic, nor the powerful effect which they had on the genius of an artist.[34]

Mozart's education was calculated to make him a good Catholic; a conscientious observance of all that the Church prescribes and reverence for her usages were combined in him with a clear and penetrating intellect.[35] After his betrothal he wrote to his father (August 17, 1782), that he had heard mass and been to confession with his Constanze: "It seems to me that I have never prayed so earnestly, or confessed and communicated so devoutly as by her side--and it is the same with her."[36]

I find no trace whatever of Mozart's having looked with disdain upon church music. His way of expressing himself to Padre Martini directly disproves the assertion; he took his church music with him on his journeys, expecting to gain credit by it; and sent for some of it from Vienna that it might be heard by Van Swieten, a severe critic.

So far from giving himself out as a mere operatic composer, who has a mean opinion of church compositions, he recommends himself for the post of under-kapellmeister, by saying, "The learned kapellmeister Salieri has never devoted himself to church music, while I have made it my peculiar study from my youth up."

It is an unjust reproach also that Mozart robbed his masses for his operas. Among his numerous compositions of both kinds, a single Agnus Dei (317 K.)--a soprano solo--contains in its opening bars a slight suggestion of the aria "Dove sono," from "Figaro."

Next in importance to masses must be reckoned litanies and vespers; and here we find the influence of the opera much more decided. The words did not readily lend themselves to musical expression, nor to the arrangement of

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the movements. If the severity of ecclesiastical form was once relaxed, the easier and more pleasing forms were most likely to be employed in those places where the words were most opposed to musical expression. The dissimilarity of the different parts was increased by the supposed necessity of also representing the severe style, and of balancing a _tour de force_ of counterpoint by a _tour de force_ of execution. In this way certain conventional rules had become law, leaving little scope for variety or originality.