Mozart: Requiem in D minor, K.626 (1791)
Arrangement for string quartet by Peter Lichtenthal (1802)
Introitus – Kyrie
Sequenz:- Dies Irae – Tuba Mirum – Rex Tremendae – Recordare – Confutatis – Lacrimosa
Offertorium:- Domine Deus – Hostias
Sanctus – Benedictus
Agnus Dei – Communio
It was inevitable that during 2006 there were few notes by Mozart left unplayed; and string quartets like ourselves (the Fitzwilliam) dutifully ensured that our particular branch of his output was no exception, there being 23 bona fide quartets, as well as a number of smaller pieces which also qualified for inclusion – virtually all of them familiar, and hardly in need of the opportunity for special pleading which an anniversary year can offer. But all this had already happened a mere fifteen years previously, at the bi-centenary of his death! So for our principal contribution we chose to turn to something more off the beaten track. The story of the provenance of the Requiem is well known – and much romanticised:- for example, when the already stricken composer was visited by a “man in grey” – actually a representative of Count Franz von Walsegg, who wished to commission a Requiem from the famous composer, which he would then pass off as his own; or that Mozart didn’t live to complete the work, but his impoverished widow Constanze – not wishing to lose the much needed commission fee – called on various pupils of her late husband to complete it. What is perhaps not known is that a younger acquaintance and one-time pupil made a version of the Requiem for string quartet, taking as his starting point the edition by Franz Xaver Süssmayr which has become the standard version of the piece (until latterly, when a number of scholar-performers have exposed Süssmayr’s shortcomings and produced solutions of their own, notably Franz Beyer, Duncan Druce, and Robert D. Levin).
There would have been nothing strange or unusual about such an arrangement as this: until the arrival of radio and recording the principal means of getting to know new works – especially if live concerts were not easily accessible – was to play them oneself. Thus many large scale pieces would also be published for domestic consumption – usually for piano solo or duet, but sometimes for chamber ensemble as well: even Beethoven resorted to this means of promotion, for example with arrangements of his second symphony for piano trio and his fourth piano concerto with string quintet accompaniment. And opera selections for wind band were particularly popular towards the end of the 18th century. Lichtenthal was actually a good friend of Mozart’s son Karl; and although he composed a considerable amount of music in various genres and produced writings of significance he was actually a medic by profession, later moving from Vienna to Milan to take up a post for the Italian government. His reduction of the Requiem, along with much of his other musical work, is preserved in the conservatoire library there, and we are most grateful to them for making it available via a colleague. Whilst it hardly displays the mastery of the aforementioned Beethoven transcriptions – let alone whatever Mozart himself might have produced – it has nevertheless been done with skill and a degree of imagination, without being especially ambitious. This means that for the most part he has reproduced either the original orchestral string parts or the four-part vocal lines, but at other times necessarily creating new instrumental parts which combine both. Inevitably, in such a richly textured work, much detail had to be left out. But we quickly found that, rather than lamenting what was lost, it was crucial to treat this piece of work as a string quartet rather than the skeleton of a greatly loved masterpiece. In any case, you can easily fill in some of the missing bits yourselves, in your own heads! Since the time of writing we have discovered how effective and moving it is as a whole: most of the movements work really well – not that all listeners have quite agreed on this. Controversial, certainly; but eminently worthwhile, surely?
© Alan George
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