Mozart, as we have seen, wrote much for the church. Unfortunately the
best known of his masses were written to suit the florid taste of his
patron; and his church music, judged thereby, has been reproached for its
frivolity and insincerity. Some, forgetting the solemnity of the litanies
de venerabili, the dignity of the vespers, the heavenly "Ave Verum," the
"Qui tollis" from the mass in C minor, and portions of the Requiem, have
denied him religious feeling, so far as his religious music is concerned.
But the musical expression of religious feeling differs with the time,
the place, and the individual. What is religious music? To the Aztec, who
in religious sacrifice cut out the victim's heart, the beating of the
serpent-skin drum was religious music; to the monks of the Middle Ages the
drone of the plain song of the church seemed the expression of religious
contemplation; and to-day many worthy people find spiritual consolation
in the joyous ditties of the Salvation Army. We define religious music
conformably with our own religious sentiment. In the days of Palestrina,
church music influenced subtly the congregation; it created a mood,
a _Stimmung_. In the days of Haydn and Mozart the influence of the
virtuosoship of the opera-singer was strongly felt; it invaded the church;
it was recognized by the composer of the mass. So in more modern days
the dramatic instinct of operatic composers is seen in their religious
works; and one may say with Rubinstein, "I think it an error, however, to
condemn for that reason the 'Stabat Mater' of Rossini or the 'Requiem'
of Verdi in Protestant countries. The Protestant may indeed say: 'I have
a different feeling,' but not, 'That is bad, because it is other than my
feeling of worship.'" Thibaut may attack the church music of Mozart, and
Lorenz may defend it; each expresses thereby his own religious sentiment.
It is true that many of the masses of Mozart, considered as music, are
not to be compared with his works of a higher flight; and the one that is
the most popular, the 12th, so called, was not written by him. But how
about the "Requiem," which he left unfinished, and which has been the
subject of so many legends, so many disputes? Did not the mystery that
for a time surrounded its birth give it a fictitious value? The Requiem
and Kyrie are the work of Mozart as they now exist; the movements from
the Dies Iræ to the first eight bars of the Lacrimosa, also the Domine
Jesu and Hostias, were finished by him in the voice part and bass, and
the principal points of the instrumentation were also indicated by him.
It will be seen, therefore, that the part of Süssmayer, who completed it,
is considerable. Now there has been much discussion concerning the merits
of the double fugue even from the technical standpoint, and it is true
that the most beautiful portions of the work are the least polyphonic,
as the wailing Lacrimosa, which beyond a peradventure belongs to Mozart,
although so little was actually written with his own hand; the Confutatis
with the antiphonal effects of male and female voices, and the marvellous,
unearthly harmonies of the _Oro supplex_; the powerful and concise
_Rex tremendae_. On the other hand the _Tuba mirum_ with the trombone
cantabile is an inadequate setting of the dread scene. By many worshippers
of Mozart, who at the same time believe in the supremacy of religious
music, the Requiem is called the truest and most genuine expression of
Mozart's nature, and his imperishable monument. But the contrary opinion
now prevails among prominent musicians. The Requiem as a whole cannot
be considered as complete a revelation of the genius of the composer as
the G-minor symphony, the quartets dedicated to Haydn, "Figaro" or "Don
Giovanni."
Now the supreme genius of Mozart is seen in his dramatic works. It has
been said that he completed the palace of Italian opera and laid the
enduring foundations of the German. This saying has more of epigram than
truth; or it is only partially true. The opera is a thing of fashion,
an amusement of the day. It is finally shaped by the prevailing popular
taste, although the beginnings of a new and varying form may be in
opposition to that taste. The history of opera from the time of its
invention at Florence to the pilgrimages to Bayreuth is a story of fickle
tastes, passionate caprices, violent disputes. First there was the revolt
against the contrapuntists; then came the rule of the singer; then the
conflict between dramatic truth and personal vainglory, a conflict that
was born with the birth of opera. Run over the "History of Operas" by
Clément and Larousse; glance at the roll of singers from the early times
of virtuosoship: names that are utterly forgotten, and yet they once
filled the mouths of men and were the idols of the day. It is a dreary
business, this reading of the exploits of singers and opera makers of
the past,--not unlike the deciphering of moss-covered tombstones in
the hillside graveyard of a well-nigh deserted New England village.
To better appreciate the work of Mozart, let us briefly consider the
condition of opera when he first looked toward the stage. In the middle
of the eighteenth century the singer ruled supreme. They were great days,
those eighteenth-century days,--"When men had longer breaths and voices
that never grew old, when strange and terrible things still happened,
sapphire rings presented them by the demon, processions to welcome them,
and violent deaths by murder or in brawls." The singers had contributed
largely in forming the lyric drama, but their demands became exorbitant
and the composer was their slave. The introduction of castrates on the
stage was of special influence in shaping the operatic conditions. Take
any _opera seria_ of that day: it consists simply of a series of detached
airs strung together by the poet's story. There was no dramatic action;
there was simply an operatic concert. The _prima donna_ was the queen
of the theatre; she claimed the privilege of the escort of a page when
she made her entrance; he held the train of her robe and followed every
movement. The tenor was obliged to be either a noble father, a traitor or
tyrant. The _basso_ was restricted to _opera buffa_, for it was thought
that his voice was naturally too "grotesque" to be heard in _opera seria_.
The castrate was the monarch of the scene. Singularly enough, he was
called the _primo uomo_, and to him was given the lover's part. His very
person was sacred on the stage. Others might slay and be slain; he was
inviolable, and his head was always crowned with laurel. It was the rule
in Italy, never to admit the murder of the chief singer, although the
piece itself might reek with blood. These male sopranos were spoiled
children. One must make his appearance upon a horse; another insisted on
descending from a mountain; another would not sing unless his plume was
five feet in length. The moment they finished their airs, they left the
stage, or remained upon it sucking oranges or drinking wine. They made
their demands on the composer; he was obliged to write a bravura aria,
or an air _di portamento_ with perhaps a trumpet obligato, according to
their caprice. They robbed their associates of their airs if they saw a
possible distribution of glory. The chief singer and the composer between
them made the opera, for there was but little ensemble work. The custom
was to finish the second act with a duet between the castrate and the
first soprano; to end the third by a terzetto in which the first tenor
was admitted. Grétry tells us that during the seven or eight years he
lived in Rome, he never saw a serious opera succeed. "If the theatre was
crowded, it was to hear a certain singer; and when the singer left the
stage, the people in the boxes played cards or ate ices, and the people
in the parterre yawned." And Voltaire summed up the whole matter when he
wrote M. de Cideville (1752) that "the opera is a public rendezvous where
people meet on certain days without knowing why; it is a house which is
frequented by everybody, although the master is freely cursed and the
crowd bored."
[Illustration: PRIZE MODEL FOR NEW MONUMENT TO MOZART IN VIENNA.