MASTERWORKS 3: Choral Fantasy – PROGRAM NOTES
Hallelujah from “Christ on the Mount of Olives,” Op. 85
Ludwig van Beethoven (1770-1827)
Written: 1803
Movements: One
Style: Classical
Duration: Four minutes
Audiences in the nineteenth century must have had longer attention spans than today’s
audiences. Consider the concert given at the Theater-an-der-Wien on April 5, 1803. It was essentially a
benefit concert presented by Beethoven for himself that featured his First and Second Symphonies, his
Third Piano Concerto and his oratorio Christus am Oelberge (Christ on the Mount of Olives) – and that
was after some pieces were dropped from the program. If the concert was long, the only rehearsal, held
on the day of the concert, was even longer. Beethoven’s secretary, Ferdinand Ries, recounted
The rehearsal began at eight o’clock in the morning. . . . It was a terrible rehearsal, and at half
past two everybody was exhausted and more or less dissatisfied. . . . Prince Karl Lichnowsky, who
attended the rehearsal from the beginning, had sent for bread and butter, cold meat and wine, in
large baskets. He pleasantly asked all to help themselves, and this was done with both hands, the
result being that good nature was restored again. . . . And so the rehearsal began again. . . . The
concert began at six o’clock . . . .
Beethoven wrote Christ on the Mount of Olives in just two weeks; he was still feverishly writing
the trombone parts in bed at 5 a.m. on the morning of the performance. It turned out to be his only
oratorio, and one of just a few overtly religious works that he wrote. Unlike the great oratorios of Bach
and the “Messiah” by Handel that depend heavily on a Biblical text, virtually none of the words of
Beethoven’s oratorio come from the Bible. Instead, it is a poetic interpretation of what Christ endured
immediately before he was taken prisoner by the Romans. Franz Huber wrote the text. Initially, Beethoven
was happy with the collaboration: “The poet was musical and had already written many things for music.
I was able to consult with him at any moment.” Twenty years later he was more forthright:
Let us leave out of consideration the value of poems of this sort. We all know that allowances are
to be made . . . so far as I am concerned, I would rather set Homer, Klopstock, Schiller to music. If
they offer difficulties to overcome, these immortal poets at least are worthy of it.
The oratorio begins with Jesus in agony in the garden. A seraph foretells his fate and humankind’s
resultant salvation. Jesus sings of his willingness to accept his death. The soldiers enter and amidst the
confusion, Peter draws his sword. Both the seraph and Jesus quell Peter’s anger. Jesus willingly surrenders
himself to the soldiers and a chorus of angels rejoices.
Critical response to the first performance of Christ on the Mount of Olives was tepid at best.
“Single passages in the oratorio were voted very beautiful, but the work in its entirety was too long, too
artificial in structure and lacking expressiveness, especially in the vocal parts,” wrote one reviewer.
Another wrote, “there are a few admirable passages.” One writer claimed the oratorio got
“extraordinary approval,” but another was “obliged to contradict [the] report; Beethoven’s cantata did
not please.” Beethoven reworked the piece twice—in 1804 and 1811—and it became “extremely
popular in England as well in Vienna during the nineteenth century.” The twentieth century has not
been so kind to it. The final chorus—what you will hear tonight—is about all that ever is performed.
©2014 John P. Varineau
Mass in G Major, D. 167
Franz Schubert (1797—1828)
Written: 1815
Movements: Six
Style: Romantic
Duration: 22 minutes
The Mass in G Major is the work of an eighteen-year-old. That fact alone is remarkable enough,
but even more so is the fact that it was Schubert’s second mass in a list of at least 160 other works that
included several symphonies, operas, string quartets, piano sonatas and scads of lieder (songs) including
one of his most famous, Gretchen am Sprinnrade (“Gretchen at the spinning wheel”). Is this what
teenagers are capable of when not distracted by video games, Twitter, and Facebook? Hardly. Schubert
was one of the greatest child prodigies, rivalled only by Mozart. When he died at the age of 31, he had
written nearly one thousand works. Mozart lived five years longer, but wrote “only” 630.
He was the son of a teacher and the twelfth of fourteen children. He started piano when he was
five and violin when he was eight. He sang in the boy-choir at the church in Liechtental and later in the
Imperial and Royal Chapel. When he was eleven, he became a student of the powerful composer Salieri,
that notorious nemesis of Mozart so ably depicted in the film Amadeus. He trained to become a
schoolteacher like his father, but music had the stronger pull. It was when he was in his twenties, still
producing prodigious amounts of music, that he lived the life of a “bohemian.” Rarely having very much
money, he would move in with various friends and somehow manage to get by, without seriously
pursuing a “career” in music. When he did play or compose, it was for his friends. Their evening
gatherings, called “Schubertiades,” were nineteenth century versions of today’s jam sessions. The first
public performance of his music in Vienna was in February 1828. Nine months later, the venereal
disease that he contracted five years earlier, finally claimed his life.
Schubert wrote his Mass in G Major in five days. It was first performed at the church in
Leichtental. It is straightforward presentation of the text of the Ordinary of the Mass—those five prayers
that remain constant throughout the liturgical year. Much of it has a texture in which the sections of the
chorus sing together as a group (homophony) rather than singing interweaving independent lines
(polyphony). The one outstanding polyphonic setting is the Sanctus. The soloists alternate with the
chorus to give contrast. Listeners familiar with the Latin text will notice some curious—and
inexplicable—omissions, most notably Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris, misere nobis (Who that sits at the
right hand of the Father, have mercy on us) from the Gloria and Et unum sanctum catholicam et
apostolicam Ecclesium (I believe in one holy, catholic and apostolic church) from the Credo. The first two
phrases of the Agnus Dei are in a worried minor key, but the last phrase, ending in dona nobis pacem
(grant us peace) ends in the hopeful key of G major, the home key of the Mass.
© 2014 John P. Varineau
Symphony No. 36 in C Major, K. 425 (“Linz”)
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart (1756-1791)
Written: 1783
Movements: Four
Style: Classical
Duration: 26 minutes
Mozart and his wife Constanza were on their way back to Vienna after a two-month visit—really
an attempt at a rapprochement—with his father and sister in Salzburg. Their journey took them through
Linz. Wolfgang wrote to his father on October 31:
When we reached the gates of Linz . . . we found a servant waiting there to drive us to Count
Thun’s, at whose house we are now staying. I really cannot tell you what kindnesses the family
are showering on us. On Tuesday, November 4th, I am giving a concert in the theater here and, as
I have not a single symphony with me, I am writing a new one at breakneck speed which must be
finished by that time.
Four days to write a symphony! This at a time before copy machines; all of the parts would have
to be written out by hand. One wonders if there was any time at all for a rehearsal before the first
performance!
That Mozart could dash off a complete symphony in the matter of four days may demonstrate
his general attitude toward the symphony. For Mozart, the focus of his concerts was always the piano
concertos that he composed and performed. The symphony was often used merely as a sort of festive
concert opener. Sometimes Mozart would pepper the various movements of a symphony throughout a
concert, used as filler between vocal arias, chamber music and, of course, the concerto.
Mozart was surprisingly indifferent about his symphonies. When he sent the score of the “Linz”
symphony to his father, he wrote: “You might arrange to have [it] copied some time. You can then send
it back to me, or even give it away or have it performed anywhere you like.” His instructions about a
concerto he sent were far different: “Do not show it to a single soul.” When he charged for his
symphonies, it was for substantially less than for his piano concertos. The symphonies just weren’t as
important to him. Not so today! Mozart’s symphonies, especially the later ones, are the crown jewels of
the orchestral repertoire.
The emotional scope of this symphony belies the fact that Mozart wrote it in such haste.
Throughout there are contrasts between joyful exuberance and quiet introspection. It is the first of his
symphonies to begin with a slow (but majestic) introduction. The main body of the first movement
begins in a contemplative mood before it erupts into full blown Mozartian festivity. The second
movement has a quiet, gently rocking character to it, a somber contrast to the first movement and the
joyous third movement. The spirited finale begins in a quiet, understated way, but eventually regains
the festive character of the first movement.
©2014 John P. Varineau
Te Deum
Anton Bruckner (1824 – 1896)
Written: 1881-84
Movements: Five
Style: Romantic
Duration: 25 minutes
“Bruckner! He is my man!” That was Richard Wagner’s assessment. The conductor Hans von
Bülow had a different idea. He called Bruckner’s symphonies—for which he is best known today—“the
anti-musical ravings of a half-wit.” Johannes Brahms called them “Symphonic boa-constrictors.” The
composer Jean Sibelius was more favorably impressed: “[The Symphony] moved me to tears. For a long
time afterwards, I was completely transported. What a strangely profound spirit, formed by a religious
sense . . . as something no longer in harmony with our time.”
Anton Bruckner was a deeply religious Roman Catholic from the peasant class in upper Austria.
He was the oldest of eleven children and spent the first years of his life studying to become a
schoolmaster, organist, and village fiddler. As a teenager he was admitted to the Augustinian monastery
of St. Florian as a choirboy. Here he learned the music of the great Viennese classical composers Haydn
and Mozart and developed his life-long love of the music of Schubert. After leaving St. Florian, he had a
year of teacher training in Linz and then spent a couple of years teaching in tiny Austrian villages before
returning to St. Florian where he taught for the next ten years—all the while honing his organ “chops.”
In 1855 he became the organist for the cathedral in Linz—the city of tonight’s Mozart symphony. He
studied composition while he was there, and thirteen years later he accepted a teaching post in organ
and music theory at the Vienna Conservatory where, in spite of constant critical derision that made life
unpleasant, he remained for the next twenty-three years.
His composition studies relied heavily on the old masters. Beethoven was as "modern" as
Bruckner knew, until his encounter with the music of Wagner. Here he realized that one could break the
academic laws of composing and still produce great works. In 1865, beginning with his symphonies,
Bruckner set out on a course of composition that was so individual in character that it was not until this
century that his genius achieved worldwide acclaim. In addition to his ten symphonies—actually nine
and another called “number zero”—Bruckner wrote a lot of choral works: eight masses, 32 motets, five
Psalm settings, the Te Deum and over 40 secular works.
He began the Te Deum in 1881 and worked on it concurrently with his Seventh Symphony. The
death of Bruckner’s idol Wagner in 1883 had a profound effect on both works, and he finished the Te
Deum in 1884, dedicating it "to God in gratitude for having safely brought me through so much anguish
in Vienna." He took the Te Deum—a “joyous affirmation of faith” dating from the fourth century A. D.—
and split it into five sections featuring both and choir and vocal soloists. On his copy of the score, Gustav
Mahler crossed out "for chorus, solos, and orchestra, organ ad libitum" and wrote "for the tongues of
angels, heaven-blest, chastened hearts, and souls purified in the fire!"
Both the Seventh Symphony and the Te Deum were the most frequently performed during
Bruckner’s lifetime. Of all his works, Bruckner ranked the Te Deum as his best. “When God finally calls
me and asks, ‘What have you done with the talent I gave you, my lad?’ I will present to him the score of
my Te Deum,” Bruckner has reputedly said. “I hope He will judge me mercifully.”
©2014 John P. Varineau