A Patchwork of Guesses

The sole surviving manuscript, housed in the Library of Congress, is attributed to Mozart with more hope than evidence. Key details are conspicuously absent: no date, no clear author, no definitive instrumentation. Even the watermark of the manuscript, often a vital clue for authentication, has vanished. Adding to the enigma, there are no other copies or printed editions, and the identity of the text’s author is unknown.

Yet, the piece was included in the first Köchel catalogue with a speculative date: Salzburg or Milan, 1772–1773. This guesswork has since ossified into “fact” for many scholars. But here’s the kicker: the manuscript is a so-called “fair copy,” combining the handwriting of both Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart. The pristine condition of the manuscript screams preparation for presentation, not original composition. Are we really to believe that this uninspired recitative and aria were the work of the teenage prodigy at the height of his creative vigor?

The “Gentle Melodic Contours” of… Someone Else?

Advocates for Mozart’s authorship point to a letter Leopold Mozart wrote in Milan on February 3, 1770, where he mentions two motets composed by Wolfgang for castrati. However, the stylistic features of K.143 reveal nothing uniquely Mozartian. Instead, the music adheres rigidly to the Italian church style of the period, showing “hardly any individual traits.” This blandness alone should raise eyebrows. Could this be a rushed transcription of another composer’s work? The suggestion, while plausible, has been curiously dismissed without serious consideration.

Some argue that Mozart’s copies of sacred works often served pedagogical purposes. But K.143 lacks the depth or ingenuity to justify such an effort. Why would a budding genius waste time copying an uninspired motet? The piece neither challenges compositional norms nor offers any discernible expressive innovation.

The Elephant in the Room

What if K.143 isn’t Mozart’s at all? This hypothesis—likely the most straightforward explanation—has been conveniently ignored. Why? Because it challenges the sacrosanct image of Mozart as a prodigious composer, churning out masterpieces at every turn. Yet the evidence (or lack thereof) makes a compelling case: K.143 is probably a sloppy patchwork cobbled together by Leopold, using Wolfgang’s handwriting to pass it off as the son’s work. This would not be the first time Leopold blurred the lines of authorship to advance his son’s career.

The refusal to entertain this possibility exposes the bias entrenched in Mozart scholarship. Instead of grappling with the uncomfortable uncertainties surrounding K.143, musicologists have leaned on circular reasoning and vague stylistic comparisons to maintain its place in Mozart’s oeuvre.

A Final Note of Dissonance

K.143 serves as a stark reminder of how little we truly know about Mozart’s catalog. If this uninspired piece can be so confidently attributed to him without solid evidence, how many other “Mozartian” works are similarly dubious? Perhaps it is time to admit that the emperor—or in this case, the child prodigy—might not always have been wearing any clothes.