When Mozart Stunned Rome; God at the Pub
When Mozart Stunned Rome; God at the Pub
Wolfgang's Memory Caught a Pope's Attention
By Elizabeth Lev
ROME, JAN. 26, 2006 (Zenit.org).- As any good music aficionado knows, 2006 marks the 350th anniversary of the birth of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. Opera houses worldwide are featuring "Don Giovanni" and "Figaro," while Mozart biographies and boxed sets of concertos and sonatas proliferate in music stores.
Even Rome was enchanted by this great composer and, indeed, the child prodigy from Salzburg was warmly received in the Eternal City during his brief sojourn here in 1770.
Mozart is often associated with the Freemasons -- he joined the Masons of Vienna in 1784 -- and "The Magic Flute" is held by many scholars to be a Masonic opera. The most important moments of his life, however, took place in the Catholic Church.
Mozart was born on Jan. 26, 1756, and baptized Catholic with the name Johann Chrysostom Wolfgang Theophilus. "Theophilus," which means "lover of God," was soon transformed into the more celebrated moniker "Amadeus." He married Costanza Weber in the Cathedral of Vienna, his children were baptized Catholic and he was given last rites by a Catholic priest.
In this light, the visit to Rome must have held great meaning for the 14-year-old Catholic Mozart. Immediately upon entering the city through the splendid Piazza del Popolo, the young Mozart and his father Leopold made their way to St. Peter's Basilica. Thanks to Wolfgang's fine clothes and Leopold's clever strategies, the two were allowed through the Vatican gates.
It was Holy Week in Rome -- Holy Tuesday to be exact. Pope Clement XIV was busy serving meals to the poor gathered in the Vatican, shortly before celebrating Mass in the Sistine Chapel. The two Austrian musicians managed to find their way into the papal presence and then accompanied the court into the chapel.
It was custom during Holy Week in the Sistine Chapel to sing the exceptionally beautiful piece of music known as the "Miserere," written a century earlier by Giorgio Allegri. The work, performed by two choirs of nine voices, was exclusive to the Sistine Chapel and could not be published, but was handed down from choirmaster to choirmaster.
The remarkable prodigy Wolfgang stunned everyone by returning to his lodgings and transcribing the music he had memorized during the liturgy. His proud father wrote to Wolfgang's mother Anna, "Perhaps you have heard of the famous 'Miserere,' whose publication is prohibited under pain of excommunication. Well, we have it. Wolfgang wrote it from memory."
Word spread fast throughout Rome of the child who could memorize music after hearing it once. The news eventually reached the ears of the Pope. Far from excommunicating the boy, Pope Clement received Wolfgang several times in audience, conferring medals and titles on him.
The Mozarts visited Santa Maria Maggiore and the Quirinal Palace in the Pope's company. Like good pilgrims, they acquired relics, including a piece of the Holy Cross. And, although perhaps not as salubrious for the soul, during that July in Rome, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart learned how to play bocce ball.
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Strong Brew, Theologically
The ancient Greeks invented the "convivium," pleasant gatherings where youths and adults, mellowed by food and wine would talk of gods, politics and culture. While this custom had problematic elements for Christians -- namely polytheism and a males-only rule -- the last few years have seen the spirit of the convivium Christianized.
Theology on Tap was started in the United States as an initiative to get young people to talk about Catholic faith and issues in a less formal setting than a church or classroom. Invited speakers give a short talk and then answer questions afterward. The relaxed atmosphere (and happy-hour prices) tends to draw considerable crowds.
Here in Rome, Theology on Tap has been gaining momentum ever since it was started last year. Last Thursday, a particularly interesting talk demonstrated even greater values to Theology on Tap than just getting young people to talk about God in the pub instead of just sports or movies.
Father Robert Sirico, president of the Michigan-based Acton Institute for the Study of Religion and Liberty, opened the 2006 lectures with the provocatively titled talk, "Can a Rich Man Go to Heaven?"
With hundreds of business students arriving that week to get their dusting in humanities, the talk couldn't have been better timed. The aptly-named Scholars Lounge in Rome was packed.
Father Sirico approached the scriptural question with scriptural answers. He reminded the young people of Genesis, the creation of the world and that God deemed it "good." He spoke of Adam and Eve and the dignity of human work. He reminded a rapt audience of how "God takes the material world seriously." So much so that the Redemption took place in the material world.
With a few well-delivered phrases, Father Sirico knocked down the barriers between business students and theologians, and he then went to on to find common ground for the politically left or right. Elucidating the dangers of "canonizing the poor while demonizing the rich," Father Sirico also warned against "Calvinism on steroids" policies, which imply that attainment of wealth is a sign of God's favor.
In one of the most engaging moments of the evening, Father Sirico waxed autobiographical, revealing that briefly in his youth he had worn tie-dye and dreamed of redistributing wealth. The crowd, their jaws dropped in wonder, stared at the starry-eyed socialist turned captain of a Catholic think tank.
The discovery of Father Sirico's remarkable transformation also answered the question that had brought everyone to the pub that night -- "with God all things are possible."
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The Angelic Chapel
As my semester starts during these cold, gray January days, I'm increasingly grateful for the feast of St. Thomas Aquinas. On Jan. 28, while the Church celebrates this great Dominican saint, my students will be getting off a plane to start a semester in Rome.
During the preceding weeks, the idea of classes brings to mind constant preparation, mountains of grading and early morning on-site appointments in cold and rain. Remembering the example of St. Thomas changes all that, at least interiorly. The chores of teaching vanish and the exciting challenges, the thrilling encounter with young people of different backgrounds and the important responsibilities of my work return to the forefront of my mind.
Although St. Thomas spent relatively little time in Rome, his presence is deeply felt in the Eternal City (as any good pontifical university student well knows). Rome's love of the Angelic Doctor was such that Pope Nicholas V established the official observance of his feast in the Dominican church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva in the mid-15th century.
The writings of St. Thomas not only influenced theologians; but they also inspired artists. Florentine painter Filippino Lippi produced one his finest masterpieces, the Carafa chapel in Santa Maria sopra Minerva, around a Thomistic theme.
In 1473, Cardinal Oliviero Carafa, who had a great devotion to St. Thomas, was appointed cardinal-protector of the Dominican order. Among his many works for the church was the construction of chapel dedicated to St. Thomas and the feast of the Annunciation, which the cardinal intended as his burial site.
To decorate the chapel, Carafa called Filippino Lippi, son of Filippo Lippi (a great Renaissance artist himself) and pupil of Sandro Botticelli. Painted from 1488 to 1492, the fresco cycle demonstrates a remarkable collaboration between painter and theologian -- a form of exegesis of the Summa Theologiae.
One enters the chapel through a high triumphal arch which introduces the theme of victory --victory over original sin and victory over error, in the works of St. Thomas.
The three walls articulate the three books of the Summa Theologiae. The altar wall illustrates Part III, flanked by representation of Parts I and II on either side.
Aquinas states in Part I of the Summa that all reality stems from God. God reveals himself to man through prophecy, miracles and teaching. A sibyl (an oracle to the Gentiles) crowns the right wall; "The Miracle of Chastity" (when Thomas was miraculously preserved from temptation) is represented underneath her.
The magnificent perspective used by Lippi in this painting has the miracle taking place closest to the altar wall and interlocking figures coming out in direction of the viewer -- a visual link between the divine and mortal.
The large fresco of the "The Triumph of St. Thomas" dominates this side of the chapel. The saint sits in a structure similar to the Arch of Titus in the Forum. He is surrounded by personifications of the liberal arts while his foot rests on a figure representing evil, which holds an inscription reading "Wisdom conquers evil." Below the arch, the most notorious heretics -- Arius, Pelagius and their cronies -- stand abashed and defeated before St. Thomas.
Part II of the Summa explains that a life of virtue is the surest path to God. Originally, allegorical figures of the virtues covered the left wall. The burial chamber on the other side of the partition was painted in turn with images of Roman heroines opting for death over lost virtue.
This wall was destroyed in 1559 when Cardinal Carafa's nephew, Pope Paul IV, had his funerary monument erected in the chapel.
The altar wall expresses Part III of the Summa -- how Christ, both man and God, allows us to return to God and eternal life through the Incarnation. The Cumean sibyl, waving a banner inscribed with Virgil's prophecy from the fourth Eclogue -- "a new generation descends from heaven on high" -- gestures dramatically upward.
Below her, Lippi groups two scenes together. The Assumption covers the whole wall except above the altar where the Annunciation is enclosed in a marble frame. Lippi used unusual iconography for the Annunciation. Instead of the customary image of the Blessed Virgin facing the angel, Mary turns away to look toward the figure of St. Thomas presenting the kneeling Cardinal Carafa.
Lippi's changes accentuate the intercessory role of Mary and her significance as the vessel of the Incarnation. Lippi employs surprising colors to enhance his theme of the supernatural encountering the natural, choosing bright, almost ethereal colors for Mary and the angel while the cardinal and saint are painted in ordinary tones.
Above them, Mary rises bodily into heaven, her earthly mission completed. The joyous spirit of the musical angels and the brilliant colors transform the theme of triumph into the representation of glory.
In this supreme example of the meeting of Truth and beauty, Aquinas is allowed once again to lift our sights from the mundane to the glorious.
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Elizabeth Lev teaches Christian art and architecture at Duquesne University's Rome campus. She can be reached at [email protected].