Fictionalized accounts like Peter Shaffer’s Amadeus immortalize Mozart’s final days, but the facts alone are dramatic enough. Three years away from his legendary burial in a common grave, Mozart was in desperate financial straits. The family’s extravagant tastes had sunk them deep into debt, and the wartime economy severely curtailed cultural activities, including the opportunity for commissions. Despite its warm reception in Prague, Don Giovanni had just failed in Vienna, and Mozart was losing favor with the Viennese public. Unable to afford city rent, Mozart had to find less expensive lodgings in the suburbs, and by June 1788 was begging for money. Mozart produced some of his finest work amidst this personal chaos. During the summer of 1788, in the breathtakingly short span of about six weeks, he composed his final three symphonies: No. 39, No. 40, and No. 41, the Jupiter.
This symphonic trilogy raises several questions. Why did Mozart write these works? He may have intended to revive his subscription concert series, which began in 1781 soon after he arrived in Vienna and ended in the spring of 1786. It is also possible, although highly unlikely, that he was simply inspired to create the symphonies. Second, did Mozart hear them before he died? There are several likely performance scenarios. Mozart went to Frankfurt in 1790 for the festivities surrounding Austrian Emperor Leopold II’s coronation as Holy Roman Emperor and presented a concert that included an unnamed symphony. In April 1791, a charity concert benefiting ailing and elderly Viennese musicians featured “a large new symphony” by Mozart. What is certain, however, is that Mozart had no idea they would be his last. Daniel Heartz writes, “By adding three grand symphonies to his portfolio in the summer of 1788, the composer was thinking ahead to future concert seasons, not just those in Vienna.”
While the Jupiter Symphony wasn’t a conscious summation of Mozart’s symphonic oeuvre, its complexity and scale have led many to view it in this light. Although the origin of its majestic sobriquet is unknown (an eager publisher probably bestowed it), its monumental quality is more than marketing hyperbole. From the start, it makes an unforgettable statement. The opening motive of the Allegro vivace is boldly extroverted and quietly pensive, encapsulating the main contrasting moods of the work. The jaunty second theme comes from a comic aria Mozart wrote for another composer’s opera buffa, originally accompanying the words, “You’ve but sluggish wit, dear Signor Pompeo! Go and learn a bit of the ways of the world.” Muted strings help create the warmth and intimacy of the Andante cantabile, in which contentment gradually gives way to restless passion. Following the jocular Menuetto, the contrapuntal opening of the monumental Molto allegro was so surprising that it led to the work’s nickname, “Symphony with the Fugue Finale.” Although the counterpoint is striking, it is far from an academic exercise. Mozart uses his remarkable skill with the technique to explore the dictates of classical form, jubilantly taking the Jupiter Symphony to dizzying new heights of creativity.
