Ruhe sanft, mein holdes Leben from Zaide, K. 344

Ω COMPOSED : 1779–81

Ω ORCHESTRATION: oboe, bassoon, and strings

THE MUCH-EARLIER Zaide comes from a far different time, place, and genre than the two previous examples. The piece is a singspiel (a light opera with dialogue) begun in 1779, left unfinished in 1781, but forgotten until well after Mozart’s death when the composer’s widow discovered a manuscript containing most of the first two acts. It premiered in fragmentary form in 1866, unveiling the deeply tranquil lullaby, “Ruhe sanft, mein holdes Leben.” The vocal line is as challenging as it is memorable. Four bars after the soprano’s entrance, a heart-lifting upward octave leap on the word “Leben” (love) demands to be exactly on pitch to achieve its full effect. But what an effect.

It’s possible Mozart abandoned Zaide because the piece — written in keeping with the vogue for light, Turkish-oriented operas at the time — was shaping up to be too serious for its own good. A year or so later in 1782, he wrote The Abduction from the Seraglio, also a Turkish-themed opera whose serious implications are presented with a comic veneer, and it was a success. The fact that Mozart didn’t mine Zaide for the later opera suggests that his music was too character-specific — and that Mozart’s imagination was fertile enough that recycling wasn’t needed, until his singers needed short-notice changes.

Masonic Funeral Music, K. 477 (479a)

Ω COMPOSED : 1785

Ω ORCHESTRATION: 2 oboes, clarinet, 3 basset horns, contrabassoon, and strings

BASSET HORNS , a larger 18th-century cousin to the clarinet, provide a musical connection between Mozart’s Masonic Funeral Music and the Figaro aria “Al desio.” Guest conductor Bernard

Labadie relates, “The instruments are rarely available, and when they are it’s always a special treat.” Mozart long had an affection for the instrument and was friends with the players Anton and

Johann Stadler, who were brothers and followed Mozart to Prague for the special solos written for them in La Clemenza di Tito. The Figaro aria was written with two basset horns players in mind and the funeral music, written in 1785, has three in this eloquent lament written for one of Mozart’s fellow Freemasons, incorporating the Gregorian chant, “Tonus peregrinus.”

Venga la morte... Non temer, amato bene from Idomeneo, K. 490

Ω COMPOSED : 1781

Ω ORCHESTRATION: 2 clarinets, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, and strings

“VENGA LA MORTE ... Non temer, amato bene” is more difficult to untangle. It arises from Mozart’s 1781 opera Idomeneo, one of his greatest and most serious works, written in the stately opera seria style that was soon to go out of fashion. It premiered in Munich, though Mozart revived it in Vienna for a special 1786 concert performance, and with it, wrote a new Act II scene in the then-fashionable rondo form with a violin obbligato for his friend, Count August von Hatzfeld. The new scene positions two characters  — the Trojan princess Ilia and the prince she loves, Idamante — in the classic romantic dilemma of having to choose love or duty. However, in K. 490’s life as an independent concert piece, the duet becomes a solo by cutting part of the recitative. Labadie explains: “K. 490 is more than an alternative aria from Idomeneo. It’s actually a complete little scene that starts with an extended recitative involving both Idamante and Ilia, although the aria is intended for Idamante.... In concert performance with only one singer, it is customary to skip the first three paragraphs of the [recitative]... and start in the middle of the fourth paragraph, hence the title ‘Venga la morte.…’”

Those with a deep familiarity of Mozart’s concert arias can easily confuse K. 490 with the somewhat later and rewritten version “Ch’io mi scordi di te?” (K. 505) using a similar text and piano instead of violin obbligato. The miracle is that each transformation of this material — from the opera to K. 490 to K. 505 — doesn’t feel provisional, truncated, or transitional. Mozart’s creativity is such that every version sounds whole, complete, and inevitable. Thus, the fictional Salieri wasn’t wrong.

— David Patrick Stearns

David Patrick Stearns is a music journalist who currently writes for the Philadelphia Inquirer, Classical Voice North America, MusicalAmerica.com, Gramophone magazine, and others. A native of Sycamore, Illinois, he now resides in Brooklyn.