Feast of Champions

Feast of Champions

Although the three Viennese masters are often treated as successive, distinct stages in a generational relay, their greatest triumphs do not, in fact, follow any strict chronological order. They likely all became acquainted in the 1780s. The eldest, Haydn – affectionately known as “Papa”– was already famous throughout Europe thanks to the circulation of manuscript copies and unauthorised prints of his brilliant symphonies. Younger composers were drawn to him, seeing him as a mentor. When they met Mozart, he – despite his youth — was already a mature artist, the creator of well-received operas, piano concertos and symphonies.

Beethoven, meanwhile, arrived in the imperial capital in 1787 as a sixteen-year-old in search of a teacher of composition. It was likely then that he met Mozart, who was just sketching the first ideas for Don Giovanni – his “opera of operas”. Beethoven is said to have impressed him with his improvisation and to have taken a few lessons in composition. Significantly, no mention of this meeting survives in documents from the period; our knowledge of it comes from anecdotes recorded by later, not always reliable, biographers. The words attributed to Mozart – “do not lose sight of this boy; one day he will astonish the world” – should be treated as pure legend. Beethoven did not remain in the city for long: news of his mother’s failing health soon called him back to his native Bonn. When he returned to Vienna a few years later to study with Haydn, Mozart was already dead.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart –  Overture to the opera Don Giovanni, K. 527

Don Giovanni was commissioned by an Italian theatrical troupe that had only just staged the well-received Marriage of Figaro. The subject was proposed by the librettist himself, Lorenzo da Ponte – a former priest, a poet in the service of His Imperial Majesty, and a personal friend of the celebrated libertine Giacomo Casanova. The work tells the story of the punishment of its titular rake, combining a moralising tone with a generous dose of humour. In his private catalogue, Mozart listed the piece as an opera buffa, harbouring no illusions that it was to be taken entirely seriously.

The Prague premiere was postponed twice while the manuscript was still awaited. The composer – as was his habit – left the writing of the overture until the very end, completing it the day before the scheduled performance. For the first time in his oeuvre, Mozart alludes directly in the overture to musical material from the opera itself. The opening notes of the slow introduction already foreshadow the tragic end that awaits the unrepentant anti-hero at the hands of supernatural forces. When performed in concert as a standalone work, the overture seems to break off mid-sentence. This is because Mozart conceived it not as a separate piece, but as an integral part of the opera’s first scene, binding the music directly to the dramatic action that follows.

Ludwig van Beethoven – Piano Concerto No. 4 in G major, Op. 58

Ostentatious prudery prevented Beethoven from considering the subject of Don Giovanni worthy of being set to music. He nevertheless studied its ensembles closely, hoping to emulate their contours in his own virtuous Fidelio. The opera’s cool reception led him to turn once again to instrumental music. Like many of Beethoven’s works, the Fourth, completed soon afterwards, is regarded as a milestone in the history of the genre. Unusually, the concerto opens with a piano solo, quietly articulating chords in a simple rhythm that will grow into the motivic fabric of the entire movement. The composer here spares no bold modulations or dissonant harmonies, while the pianist’s virtuosity is balanced by an almost symphonic shaping of the musical narrative, in which orchestra and soloist are equal partners. The second movement reduces the forces to strings alone, whose relentless, halting march contrasts with the piano’s lyrical line. The final rondo, unlike those in Beethoven’s other concertos, begins with an orchestral tutti – yet the ensemble plays in the ‘wrong’ key, a joke swiftly corrected by the sudden entry of the piano.

From the publication of his Piano Trios, Op. 1, in 1795, Beethoven deliberately wrote music that challenged his listeners. Haydn remarked on this with disapproval, predicting that his pupil’s works “would not be graciously received by the public”. The old master, already debilitated by rapidly advancing dementia, most likely never heard the Piano Concerto No. 4. The work was first performed in public at a benefit concert on 22 December 1808, devoted entirely to Beethoven’s music. The composer both conducted the performance and appeared as soloist. The programme also included, among others, the premières of his Fifth and Sixth Symphonies and the Choral Fantasy. The biting winter cold and the poor preparation of an orchestra hastily assembled from various ensembles – and far from sympathetic to its conductor – led not to the Viennese public’s expected admiration, but to a spectacular fiasco. It was, incidentally, Beethoven’s final appearance as a soloist.

Joseph Haydn – Symphony No. 103 in E-flat major, 'Drumroll', Hob. I:103

Haydn is a striking example of social ascent. In 1779, as Kapellmeister of a court orchestra in the Hungarian provinces, he successfully renegotiated the terms of his service. From then on, he was able to compose on external commission, earning money from the performance and publication of his works. Thanks to his indispensable talent for tough negotiation and to a series of ingenious manoeuvres (often of questionable legality), this wheelwright’s son died in affluence, having amassed a considerable fortune. Most lucrative of all were his triumphs during two journeys to London in 1791–92 and 1794–95. The penultimate of the twelve so-called ‘London Symphonies’ written at that time was also the penultimate in the composer’s catalogue of more than one hundred symphonies. It was nicknamed the ‘Drumroll’ by the English, after the tremolo – the drumroll – of the timpani that opens the work.

This intrada, as the composer himself termed it, was intended to seize the attention of the audience waiting for the performance to begin (and likely unceremoniously loud). Otherwise, the subsequent piano theme – led by the lower instruments in unison – might have gone unnoticed. From beginning to end, Haydn plays with sharp contrasts. A solemn chorale alluding to the medieval Dies irae sequence (Day of Wrath), evoking the image of the Last Judgement, is followed by a somewhat over-heated, joyful Ländler which, as it unfolds, begins nervously to lose its footing. The second movement, Andante, consists of a set of double variations, in which two themes of related contour and distinctly folk character are developed alternately: the first in a gloomy, marching minor, the second in a cheerful, lilting major. In the subsequent movement, a yodelling, rather undignified minuet meets a static, pacing trio. The exuberant final Allegro opens with a noble horn call. Here Haydn seems inexhaustible in his ideas. The simple rhythmic motif of the first four notes of the main theme becomes a basic melodic cell, which he exploits with great dexterity in a series of inventive transformations.

Haydn was among those masters who not only openly valued and supported their pupils, but also drew inspiration from them in their own work. The inventive orchestration of this symphony’s finale reveals the influence of Mozart’s last three symphonies on the ageing maestro. He also learned one further lesson from his younger colleagues: the need for artistic independence. The financial security he achieved in England allowed him to compose on his own terms. Seeking to express more elevated ideas, he turned his attention to the monumental oratorios The Creation and The Seasons, which he shaped patiently and in great detail. Despite the entreaties of his compatriots, he never wrote another symphony.

– Jakub Strużyński

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