Today’sQuote of the Daycomes to us from composer, musician and critic Carl Maria von Weber, one of late 18th – early 19th century Germany’s most influential and important composers of the Romantic era:
“What love is to man, music is to the arts and to mankind.
Music is love itself - it is the purest, most ethereal language of passion,
showing in a thousand ways all possible changes of color and feeling;
and though true in only a single instance, it yet can be understood by thousands of men - who all feel differently.”
-Carl Maria von Weber
Enjoy below one of the greatest Overtures in opera (according to the author of this blog!) from under the baton of the greatest conductor to have ever performed it: the famous Overture from Carl Maria von Weber’s Der Freischütz (The Marksman) as performed by the Südfunk-Sinfonieorchester in this rare 1970 recording.*
Footnotes:
*Rare in the sense of the maestro’s ever-illusive mystique surrounding rehearsal footage - which was included alongside this concert footage, and whose distaste for such ventures included audio recordings in addition to video (see: Did You Know? Tristan und Isolde from my post on Schopenhauer). Kleiber, an infamous perfectionist and recluse “astonished” contemporary conductors across Germany (and indeed, across the continent), when he agreed, nearly 50 years ago - at what would be the very Zenith of his career as a much esteemed master of the baton and orchestra - to be recorded in rehearsal with the Südfunk-Sinfonieorchester, rehearsing the overtures of Weber and waltz king Johann Strauß II (Der Freischütz and Die Fledermaus, respectively – that latter of which would become a staple piece of his repertoire, along with Strauß' full opera). It is said the audience was so bowled over by the lush interpretation and personal aesthetics of Kleiber, that those attending the concert for the overtures became rhapsodized by the German maestro, and would begin what would become a trend in the later performances in which he would conduct – with all eyes on Kleiber.
I am of the opinion that when it comes to Carlos, the undoubted veracity of Weber's quote is put to the testwith triumphant results - just look at that passion! The late maestro Kleiber was second to none in the esteemed realm of enrapturing an audience - how could one possibly witness a 'performance' like this - and not "feel" what Carlos is feeling? In Carlos, truly, the spirit of all men are united.
"The Death of Chopin." Chopin surrounded himself with close family and friends (including his physician) whilst on his deathbed. Among them were George Sand's daughter
Solange, and one Princess Marcelina Czartoryska, pictured at the head of the bed. This
engraving, after the painting by Félix Joseph Barrias, re-tells the pitiable scene recalled by
Solange:"One October evening in 1849, the 16th, approximately twenty people were
fearfully waiting in the living room..Chopin had someone ask whether Countess
Potocka was also in the living room, and if she would sing. The piano was moved closer,
the doors were opened, and the beautiful countess began to sing. She sang with a
broken heart, a voice full of tears! The gathered guests fell on their knees, stifling a sob."
17th of October, 1849, Place Vendôme 12, Paris, sometime after midnight: a grievously ailing Frédéric Chopin lay on his deathbed, soaked in sweat and appearing gaunt and pale in his sickly pallor (telltale signs of advanced"consumption"- the colloquial term for Tuberculosis - that highly “romantic” yet exceedingly infectious disease which earned its moniker from the sufferer appearing to onlookers to be "consuming from the inside."
It was considered a "fashionable" pestilence, beloved by an uninformed public who bore witness to the various stages of “beauty” which the vile scourge would temporarily extol in it’s victims - many of them poets, artists, writers, composers - stricken during the so-called “romantic era” of music and art: those poor victims who, as the disease progressed, would experience a brief period of external grandeur: a tauter waistline (due to anemia) and more porcelain complexion. It seemed a gift from heaven for men and women alike seeking to edge off a few years - an otherworldly elixir of youth.
For actual suffers of the disease, however, the slow moving contagion was anything but a gift from the gods. Chopin knew this all too well: when prompted that fateful autumnal evening at the Place Vendôme, the very mortal Chopin had seemingly accepted his early mortality and must have known the end was drawing near. He at once informed his physician, who had gathered at his deathbed, that he was suffering“no longer”.
Within hours, he would be dead. With his passing, the Polish-born, French idol joined a large cast of artistic carriers of the disease, all of whom expired before their time, and before the advent of penicillin (antibiotics) (see: Louis Pasteur here at Unraveling Musical Myths) and the discovery of the illness’s progression by German physician and microbiologist Robert Koch (pictured below, right) in the late 19th century.
Prior to Koch’s discovery in the 1882 of the slow growing bacteriumMycobacterium tuberculosis, it was widely believed amongst the public (and even among physicians themselves) that “TB” (code for Tuberculosis) was an inherited disease– the public taking it one step further, claiming it a disease inherited only by the minds of great men, and could be “healed” only by the divine touch of a Royal Monarch (which quite a few Kings were known to have taken advantage of, providing the "healing service" - for a pretty penny, of course). Parisian women and men alike were known to mask their faces in a veil of lead-ridden white paint (makeup: a disaster of its own), starve themselves and tighten their corsets to the point of asphyxiation and repeated cases of syncope to mimic the mysterious disease which inflicted their exalted idols. With his passing, Chopin found himself in the company of fellow composers Alfredo Catalani – the Italian mastermind behind the 1892 operaLa Wally;The exquisitely gifted and much admired German composer and musician Carl Maria von Weber ofDer Freischütz fame; the young and immensely talented Giovanni Batista Pergolesi - just 26 when he perished from the infernal white plague, and whose glorious Stabat Mater remains to this day one of the greatest sacred works ever composed; Igor Stravinsky – that Russian-born mover and shaker that revolutionized the modern orchestra and ballet not only in Paris but around the globe, and, just over a century and a half earlier to Chopin’s demise, the great English composer Henry Purcell, beloved – and employed by - Britain’s reigning Royal family – and that's just to name a few.
Listen below to the exquisite voice of Renata Tebaldi as she sings from Catalani's opera La Wally"Ebben! Ne andrò lontana:"
Tuberculosis, Consumption, Phthisis, The White Plague, The White Death, “TB” - a disease of many names - even made appearances on the theatrical and operatic stage. Italian composerGiacomo Puccini famously (and erroneously) referred to it as a “social disease,” in his 1896 opera La bohème: abandoned by her lover for fear of catching TB via sexual transmission, the opera’s heroine, Mimi, ashamed, ailed, and anguished, perishes without seeking medical intervention.
It's high time for another installment of
TRIVIA & HUMOR.
In this, Unraveling Musical Myth's 12th journey behind the scenes of Western
Classical music's lives of centuries past, we once more indulge into the
sometimes horrifying, almost always hilarious
harems of hell on earth in which our beloved icons of yore so greatly
enjoyed (or, in some instances, recoiled from).
Without further ado, I present to the readerTRIVIA & HUMOR XII:
German composer
Richard Wagner
may not have been
triskaidekaphobic
(as far as we know). However, according to a statistician living in 1895, the
vast multitude of incidences in which the Number 13 would make an appearance
in the controversial composer's life would have been sufficient enough grounds
to make
Schoenberg
faint dead away like a
groupie
at a
Liszt
concert.
Here are more than a few instances in which the number occurs throughout
Wagner’s work/life, as recounted by author Willey Francis Gates from
the calculations of a “statistically inclined writer” living in the 19th
century:
Of course we see what we want to see, and much of this is a stretch – like
picking at straws, but a clever anecdote nonetheless:
Born 1813: The sum of the figures in 1813 equals 13. (1+8=9; 1+3=4:
9+4=13) Died on the 13th day of February, 1883
The full date of his death was the 13th day of the 2nd month in ’83.
It makes 13 twice: first the day of death: 13; and again in the 2nd
month of the year (February: 2+ 8+3 =13)
There are 13 letters in the name Richard Wagner
Wagner composed 13 operas (music dramas)
His decision to pursue a dramatic career was formed on the 13th day
of the month; he was influenced in changing his format after hearing
Carl Maria von Weber’s"Der Freischütz,” which, in it’s entirety (famous
overture included) was completed on the 13th May 1820; it’s first
appearance at Dresden, home to Wagner, was in 1822 (1+8+2+2=13).
Weber died in Wagner’s 13th year
Wagner’s first appearance as a “musical personage” occurred in 1831
(1+8+3+1=13) during his tenure as a music student at Leipzig.
He would become director of the stage at Riga, which opened its
doors on the 13th day of September, 1837; it was here that Wagner
began to compose his early opera “Rienzi,” completed in
Paris some 3 years later in 1840 (1+8+4+0=13)
On April 13, 1844, Richard completed Tannhauser, which was
performed in Paris on March 13 1861
By 13th of august in the year 1876, Wagner began the first
presentation of the “Bayreuth Dramas,” the Nibelungen Ring.;” the last
day at “Bayreuth” was on 13th of September 1882
Wagner would be forced into exile from Saxony for a total of 13 years
Richard would visit his father in law, Franz Liszt for the last time
in Venice on January 13th, 1883, before dying on the 13th of February,
in the 13th year of the new German Confederation.
Whew!
In keeping on the subject of all things Wagner, allow me to
re-introduce the reader to some rather famous scandals that rocked the life of
the erudite composer:
FISTFIGHT AT WAGNER PREMIERE:
It seemed Wagner was destined for controversy almost from the beginning. The
premiere of his second opera Das Liebesverbotwas already off to a poor start for then relatively unknown composer, with a
lead singer resorting to reciting a load of gibberish after failing to
remember his lines.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, the second performance had to be cancelled
altogether following a pre-show backstage row – complete with fists and curses
– courtesy of the works’ lead tenor and the husband of the opera's
Prima Donna. Wagner fully intended to see the performance through after
having quelled the violent scuffle, yet, much to his embarrassment, when the
curtain finally arose, both composer and orchestra were greeted to an audience
only 3 patrons strong. Humiliated, Wagner never again attempted to
stage this opera during his lifetime.
FUN FACT:Fist fights were no stranger to Richard Wagner; in fact, in the composer’s
personal autobiography
Mein Leben
(written at the request of Wagner patron
King Ludwig II of Bavaria
in 1865), Wagner describes a real-life experience of
mistaken identity and a near-riot that made such a frightening
impression on him, he would later incorporate the experience into the second
act of his 1862 music dramaDie Meistersinger von Nürnbergin which the diarist relates:
"Out of this situation evolved an uproar, which through the shouting and
clamour and an inexplicable growth in the number of participants in the
struggle soon assumed a truly demoniacal character. It looked to me as if
the whole town would break out into a riot...Then suddenly I heard a heavy
thump, and as if by magic the whole crowd dispersed in every
direction...One of the regular patrons had felled one of the noisiest
rioters.... And it was the effect of this which had scattered everybody so
suddenly."
-Richard Wagner, Mein Leben
HIERONYMUS BOSCH: "BUTT MUSIC"
Back in 2015, the worldwide press erroneously labeled Oklahoma Christian University student Amelia Hamrick as having “discovered" a formerly “unnoticed"
fraction of a 'musical' score on the backside of a man, positioned fanny-up
(that's derrière, to you naughty folks in the U.K) in
Dutch/Netherlandish Painter Hieronymus Bosch’s infamous triptych The Garden of Earthly Delights.
Certainly I, and many fans of this peculiar work have pondered the mystery of
the “formerly unnoticed score” – hint: we noticed– long ago: in fact, speculation as to the meaning of the music has been a
hot topic amongst artistic circles since the renewed interest in the
Dutch artists' work peaked during the height of the Surrealist Movement in the
20th Century. Likely, it sparked interest in it's heyday as well.
The famous triptych, so named after it’s middle panel, is said to be a
depiction (from left panel to right) of Paradise, Purgatory (debated), and
finally, Hell. It is in the right panel (the portion that covers the
subject matter of this post both cropped and highlighted for the viewer) that
one finds the oddest of material: some say the proliferation of nude men and
women engaging in destructive behavior (our “Butt” man is seen being crushed
by a giant lute and harp, his derrière and legs protruding underneath the
instruments) as being symbolic of Bosch’s
distaste for worldly lust, and their inevitable path to hell through
displaying such lewd and loose behavior. Whilst the Oklahoma grad may not have been the first to “notice” the
music on the “butt” of the figure, she was perhaps the most recent musician to
draw a large public interest in what scholars of the era refer to as "faux
notation." Reveling in her newfound fame, Hamrick told her followers on social
media site Tumblr:
“I decided to transcribe it into modern notation, assuming the second
line of the staff is C, as is common for chants of this era,”
Hamrick titled the score “The 500-Year-Old Butt Song from Hell.”
Whilst we can thank Hamrick for attracting the attention of newer generations
to both Bosch and the idea of Gregorian chant, this subject has been
thoroughly debated for some time. That the notation is Gregorian or that it is
'music' at all has been contested publicly for some time, and Hamrick's claims
have caused controversy with previous 'transcribers.'
Early music aficionado and musician Ian Pittaway offered an excellent rebuttal
(no pun intended) on his
personal blog
in May 2021. Extensively researched, and with exquisite attention to detail,
Pittaway reminded his readers of a 2003 album release by Swedish musicians Vox
Vulgaris (titled The Shape of Medieval Music to Come) who claim to have been the first to "transcribe" the 'music', which,
Pittaway is apt to point out, has also proven false, with transcriptions
appearing in 1961 (by J. Lenneberg in ‘Bosch’s Garden of Earthly Delights: Some Musicological Considerations’,
Gazette des Beaux-Arts), in 1978 (in an album release by Atrium Musicae titled
Codex Gluteo), and in 1981 (by Laurinda S. Dixon, Professor in the
Department of Art and Music Histories, Syracuse University in
Alchemical Imagery in Bosch’s Garden of Delights, (UMI)) respectively.
That the music is not music at all, but rather "faux notation" is a theory
bolstered by the absence of a clef on the buttocks, without which no definite
pitch can be ascertained. Pittaway offers a convincing alternative to
the "Gregorian chant" claim, identifying the notation as a mere imitation of
Strichnotation, described by the author as"...an imprecise form of written music that gives very little or no
indication of rhythm, with a staff which gives an indication of the pitch
of notes relative to one another, but no indication of the actual pitch,
which makes any interpretation guesswork."
Pittaway's response may be read in full by clicking
here.
ERIK SATIE: VIGILANT HOARDER BY DAY, MANIACALLYEN GARDE!BY NIGHT
A sketch of Erik Satie by Frueh
Parisian composer
Erik Satie,
ever the eccentric, held a rather filthy secret all the way to his
grave: much like his musical predecessor
Ludwig van Beethoven,
whose shared ‘secret’ was discovered during the larger-than-life composer’s
downward spiral into anacusis during the late 1800’s. Perhaps a reaction to
stress and undoubted fear – perhaps a stalwart dedication
then more than ever before to compose beautiful music – Beethoven would
be discovered living in a state of utter squalor and disarray: it is said the
rank and vile odor from wasted food piled up in his lodgings permeated the
streets wherever the Bonn native chose to set up shop. Ludwig, once
maestro supreme of Germany, had become a full-blown hoarder,
“collecting” (or simply not disposing) of anything that would enter into the
vicinity of his lodgings. This behavior – although understandable from a psychological/physiological
aspect still left fans of the composer stunned: how could such a dynamic,
creative mind reduce himself thus?
In light of the 227th observance of the death of Unraveling Musical Myths' favorite composer, Wolfgang "Amadè" Mozart, I have decided to launch early the first installment in my new series on the composer"The Mozart Files: Facts vs. Fiction."
I was first inspired to create this series after reading one too many articles containing often repeated, falsified accounts of Herr Mozart in both reputable news media and on educational-themed, pop-culture-slanted websites (which shall remain nameless.) Unfortunately where Mozart is concerned, details concerning his demise and of the events that occurred post-mortem are, and have been for generations, supported by as much - or perhaps even more - grandiose tales of legend than by factual biographical data which may be quite readily cross-referenced against archival material (much of it made available for public access via the modern trend of digitizing personal letters, registers, and related memorabilia.) Sometimes, discrepancies may be traced to poor translation from the German tongue - however more often, dubious accounts of Mozart's life have simply been passed down though the musical ages - fantastical dramatizations of otherwise unremarkable events that have permeated even the seams of modern pop-culture, often the direct result of overactive imaginations, exaggerations, and through the practice of quoting from quasi-biopic, dated material rife with fiction. How fitting it is, then, to begin with the funeral of Wolfgang Amadè Mozart, which occurred today - onthe7th of December, in 1791.
The reader may already be familiar with the melancholic story of Mozart, lying stiff in his coffin, the icy chill surrounding his corpse the result not just of a severe case of rigor mortis, but of an (appropriately) dramatic storm of snow, rain, violent wind (and thunder!) which raged so untameable it forced an already ill-manned procession (which may or may not have includedFranz Xaver Süssmayr as a pallbearer) to turn back at the gates of St. Marx Cemetery. You may have even bore witness to iconography depicting the same scene - or perhaps, even more pitiably, depicting a lonesome pup, it's tail tucked in between its legs and head drooped woefully toward the earth as it follows a horse-driven hearse with his friendless Master inside - together making the doleful journey toward the graveyard under the cover of a frigid, moonless night:
"Mozarts Begräbnis" - c. 1860 engraving depicting a fabled journey of Mozart's corpse w/ poem: "Mozart's Burial"
Translation of poem into English: "As the storm roars about, on the snow-covered field / On the final path, brightened by no beam of light / He heads on alone; no eye weeps for him, / Only his loyal dog follows along, his only friend."
This portrayal, attr. Joseph Heicke bears striking similarity to an earlier coloured French Print by Pierre-Roch Vigneron, "Convoi du Pauvre" (Poor Man's Procession, c. 1800), now in Austrian archives.Ludwig van Beethoven is said to have hung a copy of Vigneron's engraving in his home as a reminder of his hero's humble burial. Even through recycled
iconography, we find material originally and wholly unrelated to Mozart take on an apocryphal association post-mortem.
. Even notable early biographers have re-told their versions of the mournful scenario: an early biography byOtto Jahnhas Mozart "receiv[ing] Benediction at St. Stephen's Church"on December 6th - shortly before winter's early sunset at 3 PM, before being accosted by
"aheavy storm of snow and rain [which was] raging...[which caused] the few friends who had assembled for the funeral procession [to stand] with umbrellas around the bier.. [the body] was then carried through the Schulerstrasse to the Cemetery of St. Mark. As the storm grew worse, the mourners decided to turn back at the gate, so that not a friend stood by when the body was lowered into the grave."[1]
The first known appearance of this sordid scene was recorded in the Vienna Morgen-Post on 28 January 1856 (a whopping 65 years after Mozart's death.) The story below which made it to print has been attributed to tavern ownerJoseph Deiner (d. 29 May 1823)of"The Silver Snake." It was printed thusly:
"The night of Mozart's death was dark and stormy; at the funeral, too, it began to rage and storm. Rain and snow fell at the same time, as if Nature wanted to shew her angerwith the great composer's contemporaries, who had turned out extremely sparsely for his burial. Only a few friends and three women accompanied the corpse. Mozart's wife was not present. These few people with their umbrellas stood round the bier, which then taken via the Grosse Schullerstrasse to the St. Marx Cemetery. As the storm grew ever more violent, even these few friends determined to turn back at the Stuben Gate, and they betook themselves to the "Silver Snake."[2]
Memorial tablet at St. Marx Cemetery, positioned at a
location believed by some to be Mozart's grave. Image:
Invisigoth67 [CC BY-SA 2.5], Wikimedia Commons
Subsequent biographers further added their own variations to this scene: InHugoRiemann's Musiklexikon (1882), Mozart's"few friends"would not even make it to the cemetery gate - already having turned back halfway through the journey to the graveyard due to the fury of the storm.Ernest Newman, in hisStories of the Great Operas, published in 1928, posits the inclusion of composersJohann Georg Albrechtsberger,Emanuel Schikaneder, the baronGottfried van Swietenand evenAntonio Salierias members of the procession."It is thought,"Newman contests, the men were there, alongside a "faithfulSüssmayr"but that"heavy snow"and"appalling" weather...drove them home."
This contradicts the account told byGeorg Nikolaus von Nissen, early Mozart biographer and second husband of Mozart's widow Constanze, who reported that Schikaneder had steered clear of the procession and funeral for the latter's stated reason that"his ghost follows me everywhere, I see him wherever I look."[3] Even more curious is the allegation made by Joseph Deiner, the aforementioned owner of the Silver Snake Tavern and progenitor of the 'stormy burial' fable, who - despite the complete absence of corroborating accounts - places himself at Mozart's funeral as a member of the procession.
Such romantic, highly dramatic accounts of Herr Mozart were part and parcel of the oft-whispered tales of intrigue and scandal that surrounded the composer's final days. We have even seen Mozart depicted on the silver screen as a sort of morbid soothsayer - foreshadowing his own death through the creation of his own Requiem (for his own funeral, no less), and on both film and stage as an unwitting 'victim' of a grotesquely envious and frighteningly duplicitous Salieri. But such Doomsday-esque rumors didn't begin with Shaffer's “Amadeus,” nor even Pushkin's account of our beloved icon's demise. Like early biographers, they simply perpetuated myths, loosely based on fantastical interpretation and wild conspiracy theories. To put things into perspective, it was as recent at 1971, on the 180th anniversary of Mozart's death, that a “new” analysis into what killed the composer was published by biographers Johannes Duda,Gunter Kerner andDieter Dalchow(“Mozart's Tod 1791-1971”) which played on an age-old hypothesis of mercury poisoning first made famous immediately following the composers death.
*Early Mozart biographer, Franz Niemetscheck
may have had ulterior motives of the financial
ilk when he sought the testimonials of a deeply
indebted Constanze following the composers
untimely death. Much of these accounts have
since been discredited through the revelation
of contemporary registers and documentation.
His publication was the first full-length account
of Mozart's life - replacing the brief, 6000-word
mini-bio published 5 years earlier by Friedrich
Schlichtgeroll in the obituary volume "Nekrolog
auf das Jahr 1791."
It was the Czech philosopher Franz Xaver Niemetscheckwho would become Mozart's first (full length) post-mortem biographer.* Mozart's widow Constanze willingly provided testimonials, both verbal and written, of her late husband's life to the critic - for Stanzi, it was a means to an economic end: Wolfgang's outstanding debts now rested squarely on her shoulders.[†] Niemetscheck certainly new how to play to a crowd - he famously printed in his biography a tale allegedly regaled upon him by the widow Mozart who claimed she had walked with a sickly Wolfgang in the Prater, whereupon he suddenly turned to face her, and, overcome with delirium, informed her “Indeed, I have been given poison.”It didn't help matters when a delayed obituary, published one week after Mozart's death in a Berliner newspaper ("Musikalisches Wochenblatt”) announced, sight unseen, the state of his corpse:“Because his body swelled after death, it is believed he had been poisoned.”
Sensing a possible payday, aspiring writers almost immediately set pen to paper, expanding on Niemetschek's poison theory: potential assassins included disgruntled Freemasons to the wealthy baron van Swieten (who funded Mozart's third-class funeral), to Salieri, who was falsely alleged to have proclaimed himself a murderer whilst incarcerated in a mental asylum (an allegation later discounted by his around-the-clock caregivers.)** The reality is, we really don't know what killed Mozart. His cause and manner of death were never officially documented, save for a vague blip in a Viennese death register, written not by an attending physician, but rather a city official (as it was not customary for a doctor to prepare a death certificate in 1791 Vienna.) It simply reads:
“On 5 December 1791, the honorable Wolfgang Amadeus K.K. Kappellmeister and chamber composer died in a small Kaiserhouse in Rauhensteinergasse in Vienna of fevered prickly heat”[4]
Excerpt from the Official death register at St. Stephen's.
Dated 6.12.1791, this timestamp is widely believed among
modern scholars to have been an error on the part of the
city official who recorded it. A known laxity in regard to
attention to detail combined with multiple contemporary
weather reports (both public and private) refute a
December 6 burial for Herr Mozart.
Given that the description offered forth in the official register is symptomatic – not diagnostic – compounded by the fact that no DNA exists of Mozart's corpse – his remains now lost to the world – one can only offer educated guesses, or, as has often been the case, substitute for fact outright fiction in order to fill in the blanks. Modern analyses frequently presented by physicians theorizing in absentia must therefore be interpreted with much caution. Regardless of advances in modern medicine and technology, one must be mindful of the primitive state of medicine in the late 18th century. The symptom of “hitziges Frieselfieber” attributed to Mozart was a common one in Mozart's time – and it ran the gamut, covering a variety of maladies, both treatable and fatal. We mustn't forget the era in which Mozart lived, thrived, and died was not far removed from medieval interpretation and treatment of disease. But what can be ascertained – and most certainly has been ascertained through the discovery of archival material are the circumstances surrounding Mozart's funeral. We now know, thanks to the revelation of contemporary documents, that Mozart's funeral did not occur on the 6th of December, nor was a violent storm brewing that afternoon. An entry in the diary of Saxon-Austrian civil servantKarl von Zinzendorf, well known to Mozart, dated 6th December 1791 (the day of the alleged funeral) describes"mild weather and frequent mist"– a far cry from a thunderous storm or frigid blizzard. Additionally, a weather report which appeared in the court sanctionedWiener Zeitung(Vienna Newspaper)speaks only of a"light north wind and temperatures hovering slightly over freezing."[5]
In other words, the skies were clear.
Groundbreaking research byDr. Carl Bär in the late 20th century would uncover even more documented evidence refuting the accounts of a December 6th burial. In an erudite report, "Mozart, Krankheit, Tod und Begräbnis" (1967, 2/ 1972), Bär would expose in detail the fine minutiae of Josephine law in regard to burials. Chiefly, Mozart's body could not have been buried in daylight hours. If "Benediction" truly occurred at 3PM, even a leisurely walking pace 4.1 km south to St. Marx would have taken under an hour, placing the funeral party at the cemetery just before 4PM. Even with the early sunset brought upon by the winter season, the sky would not have been devoid of light - the procession would have arrived at Stuben gate well before Twilight. Furthermore, a law, enforced by Joseph IIstrictly forbade even the parking of hearses in front of local taverns before sundown. Bodies were only permitted to receive burial following sunset (after 6 PM) - a by-product of an not-always irrational fear of being buried alive which had seized Vienna and even permeated the Imperial court (such events did occur - this was the 18th century.) The Emperor's new law decreed that a mandatory48 hour period must elapse before a body could be interred – an exercise in overabundant caution against the potential of an unfortunate soul being buried whilst in a coma.[6]
Not Mozart's grave: this mid-19th century lithograph, after an
original engraving, depicts the result of an official inquiry into
the "disappearance" of Mozart's corpse. Held in 1855, it relied
on the testimonies, provided no earlier than a half-century post
mortem, of an auditor (who offered memories from his youth
of being told of the location of the grave by his mother), the
dubious assertion by the Sexton at St. Marx, who claimed to
have been in possession of "Mozart's skull" (which he later
alleges he transferred to the anatomist Josef Hrytl), and from
the word of flautist Carl Scholl, whose shaky credibility lay
only in the fact that he knew Mozart personally whilst the
composer was alive. This engraving may be arguably viewed
an early example of the type of rumor, built on confusion, that
enabled later inquirers to plant the seeds of a "mass grave
theory." Note the numerous, unnamed crosses which dot the
surface of a large mound. (see: footnotes)
- "Grab von Wolfgang A. Mozart," anon., Österreich. .
This would have placed Mozart at St. Marx Cemetery on theeveningof the 7th December. Eyewitness accounts to the composers' Consecration survive which place his body at a side chapel (the Crucifix Chapel) adjacent St. Stephen's Cathedral though the night of the 6th,[7] yet the dramatic account of an afternoon burial that day continue to persist even today. Such apocryphal legends do have their place, however, in painting a picture of Mozart: a bright light, burning like a seemingly unquenchable flame – violently snuffed out by King Death storming in on his black steed, scythe at the ready to snatch away the bright beacon on the hill, resigning his soul to an empty fate within the depths of a lonely, dark abyss. We see this pitiable picture painted anew with a fresh coating as Mozart's corpse is said to have been callously tossed into a mass grave to rot among strangers – all of them too poor to have afforded a casket and individual grave, too destitute for anyone to claim them. Lost to the world. Except, nothing could be further from the truth. Mozart may have had a third-class funeral (note: not a "pauper's funeral" as it is frequently described), and one which was funded through a former colleague (by the baron van Swieten), however he was not, by modern, or even by contemporary standards, “poor.” Mozart's final year on earth was shockingly productive, and he earned a handsome enough wage to live comfortably in Vienna.[8] His debts, on the other hand, were insurmountable – he frequently borrowed more than he could pay back, his wages being spent on both frivolous (such as on a horse and carriage and an expensive apartment far larger than was necessary to house his small family) and on arguably necessary means: the sudden death and hasty burial of infant daughter Anna Maria two years previous and Constanze's spa treatments at Baden alone were enough to set Wolfgang's ledger askew.
Dramatic depictions and even Deifications of Mozart after death were not solely relegated to the literary sphere.
In this engraving by Amadeus Wenzel Böhm"Apotheose W. A. Mozart," we witness, alongside a weeping
Constanze and the couple's infant son, Franz Xaver, the "Apotheosis," or divinization of Mozart, as he transcends
the invisible barrier between earth and heaven, and between mortal man and immortal god. Note the flowing
Roman-esque coiffure sported by Mozart on his 'graveside' cameo (a nod to the god of music, Apollo, with whom the composer was often compared) and the Marian-like draped garments worn by Constanze. It is hardly a surprise that little Franz is depicted in the nude - Böhm's engraving is drenched in both pagan and religious symbolism. The presence of nine stars which form a halo (the colloquial "Crown of Immortality") around Mozart's cranium may also contain Masonic significance.
A similar depiction of an antiquated Mozart could be formerly found in a medallion of red wax over moulding, fashioned in ca. 1788 by the composers' confidante Leonhard Posch. That medal, which also depicts a long-tressed Mozart, disappeared from the Mozart Museum in Salzburg in 1945.
To begin to understand Mozart's burial – in ashaftgrave, not a “common” or “mass” grave - we must first seek to comprehend the strict by-laws enforced by Joseph II at the time of the composer's passing. On 23 August 1784, the emperor issued his“Burial Regulations of Joseph II” (Josephinische Begräbnisordnung.)[9]For reasons believed to be related to sanitation, not forgoing the possibility of being interred alive, the Emperor felt it necessary to stipulate how the body of a deceased individual could be properly disposed. His propositions included being wrapped in a linen sack and being covered in quicklime in order to aid in decomposition. By this logic, not only would the application of a caustic compound free up much needed space, the practice of dumping of corpses in linen sacks in lieu of coffins would provide the Emperor leeway to levy what he felt were fruitless expenses. These regulations, however, ignited a furore among Viennese citizens, still reeling from the scandal decades earlier of mass graves filled with victims of the plague,[10] leading to the eventual revocation of the linen sack clause, which gained legal authority on 20 January 1785 in the revised K.K. Erblande.[11]The emperor was forced to decree the burial of corpses in coffins. These were not the apocryphal “false bottomed” coffins of lore, but individual coffins, which were to be stacked, five to six on top of another in a deep vertical pit known as a shaft grave. This was not, by any means, an instruction to dig a large mass grave for the burial of untold numbers of bodies. By the time of Mozart's death in 1791, the laws governing lackluster burials previously attempted by the Josephine leadership in 1784 had been made redundant for more than half a decade - quite simply, they were no longer - and never had been - enforceable during this period.
"Allegorie auf den Genius Mozarts" (Allegory on the Genius
of Mozart) by Stich von Johann Adolf Roßmäßler depicts an
angelic putto crowning the 'god' Mozart, with a musician-angel
dictating music from the heavens to an earthly being - a play
on the age-old belief that Mozart's compositional gifts were
channeled from up on high by means of divine intervention.
As is the case with Böhm's engraving above, this too, depicts
the "apotheosis" of Mozart after death. | Österreich, 1794 |
A 3 tiered "class"-system remained in effect,[12]however - it dictated the level of ceremony (and, to an extent, the location of burial) for Viennese citizens. At the top of the hierarchy was the aristocracy - although a first class burial could be purchased even by a civilian for the right price. This has been colloquially referred to as a "Class One" funeral (not an official designation.) "Class Two" was reserved for public figures who could afford, through a last Will and Testament, donation, or other source of income a respectable "showing" (Beethoven was Class Two), and lastly and most common, there was "Class Three," to which most citizens, including Mozart belonged.
By the time of Mozart's death in 1791, the shaft grave was not at all an uncommon form of burial. It was economic for both Crown and state, and, foregoing dissolving bodies in quicklime, saved precious space. These vessels, however, often proved problematic - the graves would be cleared and re-used every nine years, leading to many a lost corpse. As of the writing of this post, we still do not know the precise location of Mozart's remains. Further compounding the issue of shaft burial was Joseph II's decision to shutter all graveyards within the city wall, and build new ones outside of it for "health concerns" at the end of the 18th century, citing a mid-sixteenth century ordinance on the same grounds. Some bodies were shifted, many were lost (Vivaldi's corpse was lost this way). This left Vienna with very limited space to bury it's increasing population. As such, the vertical shaft grave was preferred en masse, and tombstones identifying the deceased were discouraged, although memorial tablets could be affixed to the perimeter wall. Mozart's burial was not one performed in disgrace, but in necessary custom, enforced by a government seeking to rein in unnecessary expense, and was directly proportional to one's status and wealth at the time of death. This concludes this installment of Mozart Myths: Facts vs. Fiction.
Be sure to check back in periodically for the next episode!
Enjoy below an English rendition of Mozart's aria "Ruhe Sanft, Mein Holdes Leben" (Safely Rest, my chosen lover.) English soprano DameFelicity Lott sings an exquisite Zaide for the fabulous - yet fictional - masterpiece, "Amadeus," under maestro Neville Marriner.
Footnotes:
[†]It must also be mentioned that the widow Mozart, quite in contrast to her rather demure visage and unremarkable artistic talents, possessed an impressively shrewd business acumen. Whilst Mozart lay under the frozen earth at St Marx - unattended by his wife - Constanze was busy amassing what would eventually become a sizeable sum and liveable wage on Terra firma. Her activities following her husband's untimely demise were carefully orchestrated to both exploit her status as the lonesome widow of a remarkable genius, and to fully capitalize, to the best of her efforts, on Mozart's legendary status. Much has been made by biographers writing on Constanze about a free-verse poem, allegedly written in her own hand, in Wolfgang's Stammbuch (visitor album) adjacent a dedication made by the composer himself to a fallen friend and former doctor who had recently passed. That poem, which reads:
"What you wrote long ago, in honor of your friend, I repeat here for you, weighed down as I am by grief. Beloved husband! Mozart! Immortal for me and for the whole of Europe, you too, are at rest, now - forever!! At one hour after midnight, during the night of December 4 to 5th of this year, He departed, in his 36th year - too soon, Oh! how much too soon - eight years bound us together with an affectionate, indelible bond! Oh! that I may soon be united with you forever. your wife, distraught with grief Vienna, December 5th, 1791 Constanze Mozart née Weber."
Mozart's widow Constanze proved to be
ever the shrewd businesswoman following
her famous husband's death.
has clearly been "pre-dated" (i.e. written at a much later date following Mozart's funeral, and subsequently added to the Stammbuch under the date of his death on the 5th December.) What this proves is that much like the old adage which decrees a morsel of truth must lay behind every fiction, accounts of Constanze's noticeable absence at her husband's funeral (as regaled by Joseph Deiner) were in fact, correct. But then, there were more pressing matters at hand for Stanzi - chief among them included the welfare and education of her two young sons with Wolfgang: Karl Thomas, aged 7, and 5 month-old Franz Xaver (the latter of whom would later receive an all-star tutorship under Antonio Salieri, Georg Joseph Volger, Johann Georg Albrechtsberger and Johann Nepomuk Hummel, financed through the generous donations of her late husband's former colleagues and friends - both boys would also receive education in Prague under Niemetschek, in whom Constanze would collaborate on the first post-mortem biography on Mozart.) In less than one week following Mozart's death, Stanzi petitioned Leopold II for a pension in spite of restrictions which prohibited a bereaved party from receiving one should the deceased spouse have been in the Emperor's employ for under the mandatory 10 years required. It would be at the insistence and under the influence of the residing Minister of Finance, one Count Chotek, who pointed out that
"it would seem unbecoming for the imperial court to reduce to a beggar's state the widow of a man of such rare talent who had been in the Emperor's service"
Constanze after her marriage to Herr
von Nissen. This miniature by
Thomas Spitzer showcases Mozart's
former spouse clad in a lavish gown
and donning resplendent pearls.
that Leopold conceded. Constanze was granted a small percentage of her husband's annual salary (1/3, or 800 gulden) during his tenure as Imperial Chamber Composer, which was to begin retroactively, to 1 January, 1792.
Additionally, despite playing up the role of an impoverished widow (as a potential means of avoiding paying an inheritance tax), Mozart's debtors, would by all appearances, offer a fresh start for Stanzi - Wolfgang's chief creditor (and friend), the merchant Michael Puchberg (of whom Mozart owed 1000 gulden) refused to file a claim against the deceased composer's estate, setting a trend that would be followed by Mozart's remaining creditors. According to Nissen, theirs - and Puchberg's - names and claims were unanimously absent from the customary "Notice to all Creditors." Constanze, would, however, re-reimburse Puchburg, albeit at a much later date, thanks in part to finances earned whilst holding a series of memorial concerts in her late husband's honor. The remunerations received by Constanze via the Imperial court paled in contrast to the sizable fortune Mrs. Mozart would soon make through these concerts, launched throughout Vienna and Prague with sister (and Wolfgang's former love interest) Aloysia Lange as the star attraction (performing gratis, as it were, so that all profits went straight to Stanzi and her sons), and even billing on one occasion Ludwig van Beethoven - who adored Mozart - to perform Wolfgang's piano concerto in D minor. In addition to selling her husband's manuscripts and collaborating with Franz Xaver Niemetschek in addition to future husband #2, (Georg Nikolaus von Nissen, a Danish diplomat) on a biographies detailing the life of her first (the latter work she would sell in 1828, two years following Nissen's death), Constanze was able to enjoy a comfortable, well-traveled life post-Wolfgang. Outliving Mozart by 51 years, Stanzi would perish on 6th March 1842 at the age of 80.
With Mozart having passed some nine days earlier at his home in Vienna and with his Requiem left unfinished, it fell to the Bohemian composer in Prague,Antonio Rosetti (Anton Rösler)to provide the customary Mass for the Dead at a memorial service held in the Czech capital, where a ceremony was all but expected for the celebrated departed.
Mozart had strong ties to Prague and had been in the city mere months before his untimely death – he had been commissioned to write an opera forEmperor (Leopold II's) coronation festivities. La Clemenza di Tito would premiere at the still-standing Estates Theatre on the the 6th of September – three months and a day prior to Wolfgang's death. By this time, Mozart was already sickly - he would fall bedridden shortly after his return to Vienna.
News of Mozart's eventual death spread like a tidal wave back in Prague. A memorial service was at once organized in the city, which took place on the 14th of December, 1791 at the Lesser Town parish Church of St. Nicholas, led by its residing regens chori, Jan Joseph Strobach. It was here, under Kapellmeister Strobach, that Rosetti "premiered" what would become known as his “Requiem for Mozart”(it was originally his Requiem in E Flat, composed to mark the death of thePrincess of Oettingen-Wallersteinin 1776.)
The citizens of Prague so loved Mozart, that the 100-plus musicians performing the mass did so without accepting a fee. Some 4000 spectators flooded the Church and surrounding area to hear the Requiem, and to bid farewell to their idol.
Listen to Rosetti's Requiem for Mozart below. The Prague Singers and Camerata Filarmonica Bohemia perform under Johannes Moesus:
Footnotes:
The results of the official inquiry into the location of Mozart's remains were announced in 1855, to
coincide with the upcoming 100th anniversary of the composers' birth. It concluded the following:
"The place where Mozart's body was buried on 6 December 1791 is a long shaped quadrilateral at St. Marx' cemetery which is in the direction of the cemetery's cross adjoining the entrance, on the right of the main path and in the fifth row of the common grave. It is planted with young willows."
** An "Attestation of Salieri's Two Attendants", being the infirmieri of the former (with a "confirmation" by
the medical attendant to the composer, one Dr. Rörhik) was penned in
Vienna on 5 June 1825 (nearly one month after the death of the composer)
and subsequently published in the October 1826 issue of Harmonicon (4, no. 46. pp. 189-90).
Seen at right, it reads:
"We the undersigned, who are, by profession, attendants on the sick (infermieri), declare, in the presence of God and man, that in the spring of 1824, we were called to attend the Cavaliere Salieri, maestro di capella
to the Royal court, and that during the whole course of his long
illness we never quitted him a single moment; that is, when one of us
was absent, the other always remained in attendance. We also attest,
that in consequence of his weak state, no one was permitted to visit him
except ourselves and his medical attendants; it being judged proper
that not even the members of his own family should see him. With
respect, therefore, to the following question put to us; Whether it
is true that the aforesaid Cavaliere Salieri had said, during his
illness, that he had poisoned the celebrated composer Wolfgang Mozart?
- we reply, upon our honour and conscience, that we never heard such
words uttered by the said Salieri, nor the slightest mention of anything
alluding to it.
In confirmation of this, we subscribe our names as follow;
GIORGIO ROSENBERG, Infermiere
AMADEO PORSCHE, Infermiere presso il Signor Salieri, Maestro di Capella di Corte.
Vienna, 5th June 1825.
N.B. Dr. Rörhik, the medical attendant of Salieri, confirms, as far as his knowledge goes, the above statement made by the two assistant infirmieri."
Author's note:
It
is worthy to note that piano virtuoso Ignaz Moscheles claimed a denial
by Salieri himself. Contained within a collection of letters and diary entries penned
by Moscheles and later published after his death by the pianist's wife
Charlotte ("Aus Moscheles Leben, Nach Briefen und Tagebüchern" ) is a recollection of a conversation shared with an ailing Salieri, in which he allegedly begs of his former pupil: "Although I am mortally ill, I assure you in good faith that there is no truth to that absurd rumor. Mozart, you know - I am supposed to have poisoned him. But no, it's malice, nothing but malice. Tell the world, dear Moscheles; old Salieri, who is about to die, told you so himself."[13]
The dubious assertion that Salieri "confessed" to "poisoning" Mozart in a state of weakened delirium has long been a rumor that just won't quit. Far from being the salacious sort of gossip spread by the whispering of lips behind closed doors and among select company, the tale of Salieri's pitiful mea culpa even made it to print: a correspondent's report from Vienna printed in the May 25 issue of the Leipzig Allgemeine Musikalische Zeitung in 1825 - some thirty years following Mozart's death - reads: "Our worthy Salierijust won't die - as the popular expression goes. His body suffers all the infirmities of old age, and his mind is gone. In his distorted fantasies he actually claims to be partially responsible for Mozart's death - a bit of lunacy which surely no one but the poor, delirious old man believes."[14]
Bibliography:
[1]Slonimsky, Nicolas: "The Weather at Mozart's Funeral," The Musical Quarterly Vol. 46 No 1 p. 12, Jan. 1960, after Jahn, Otto: Life Of Mozart, Vol. III, 1856 [2]Deutsch, Otto Erich, Mozart: A Documentary Biography tr. Noble, Jeremy, 1965 [3]Nissen, Georg Nikolaus von: Biographie W.A. Mozarts, Leipzig, 1828, p. 572 [4]Bär, Carl, Mozart: Krankheit, Tod und Begräbnis, 1966 pp. 7-10 [5]Abert, Hermann tr. Spencer, Stewart, ed. Eisen, Cliff: W.A. Mozart, 2007, p. 1310 [6]Bär, Krankheit, pp. 126-157 [7]Abert, W.A. Mozart, p. 1310 [8]Keefe, Simon P.: Mozart 1st ed. (The Late Eighteenth Century Composers, excerpt: "Mozart in the Market-Place," Moore, Julia: Journal of the Royal Musical Association, 64, 1989, pp. 18-42) [9,10,11]Lorenz, Michael: "Mozart and the Myth of Reusable Coffins," 1 July, 2013 [12]Stafford, William, after Bär, Carl: The Mozart Myths: A Critical Reassessment, 1991, p. 50 [13]Braunbehrens, Volkmar: Mozart and Vienna, 1991, pp. 409 [14]ibid., p. 408
[†]Gärtner, Heinz: Constanze Mozart: After the Requiem, 1991, pp. 10-19; Cantagrel, Gilles: Mozart: Letters and Manuscripts, 2005, p. 202; Servatius, Viveca: Constanze Mozart: Eine Biografie (auf Deutsch), 2018, p. 136
