The E-flat symphony KV 543, completed on 26 June 1788, is perhaps the least well-known of Mozart’s final trilogy – certainly it has had less historical resonance than the “classical” Jupiter KV 551 (10 August 1788) or the “proto-Romantic” G minor KV 550 (25 July 1788). And Mozart’s reasons for composing his trilogy are unknown. Traditionally it has been thought that they were written out of an inner, compositional compulsion and never performed by the composer during his lifetime. It may be, however, that they were composed in response to Haydn’s recently-published “Paris” symphonies and that Mozart similarly hoped to publish his three works. Even more immediately, it is now thought that Mozart planned a series of subscription concerts in the summer (or possibly the autumn) of 1788 and that the trilogy was written for them. Evidence for this hypothesis derives chiefly from an undated letter, usually assigned to June 1788, to from Mozart to his Masonic brother Michael Puchberg: “I still owe you 8 ducats – but although at the moment I’m not in a position to pay you back, I nevertheless trust in you so much that I dare ask for your help with 100 florins until next week (when my Casino academies begin).”
Even if KV 543 has less cachet than its companions, it nevertheless represents a high point of Mozart’s symphonic art. The scoring alone sets it apart not only from K550 and 551 but from all of his other symphonies: it is his only work in the genre to dispense with oboes, which lends the work a characteristic dark and burnished sound, a sound that from the very first chord conjures up the world of Die Zauberflöte. And the introduction, with its majestic double dotting and chromaticism, sets a tone of instability that is characteristic of the first movement on the whole. It is only at the very end of the movement, and chiefly through a magnificent outburst of horns and trumpets, that the allegro seems to achieve its goal. The andante, cast in sonata form but with a main theme in binary form, including repeats for both halves, is similarly unusual – for all the theme’s apparent clarity, the storm and stress of what follows, a single-minded exploration of the opening idea, goes largely unrelieved; particularly notable are the spectacular wind band passages for flute, clarinet and bassoon. A courtly minuet follows, effectively set off by a trio with the character of a rustic Ländler, while the moto perpetuo finale, reminiscent of Haydn in character if not in style, plays with the listeners’ expectations, modulating to distant tonal regions and taking full advantage of the potential for disruption offered by several crucially placed pauses, especially at the movement’s conclusion.
Cliff Eisen