Winter Wonderland

A Christmas morning dressed in the quietness of snow flakes… a little house adorned with snow… a snowfall from a fairy tale, gentle and pure… from the snowbound street, now and then, tinkling of bells and children’s merry laughter… inside the house scents of fir tree and vanilla, festive lights and Mozart’s music: of commencement and without end…

Merry Christmas!

A Bright, Merry Christmas to all the children of humanity’s most wonderful child: Mozart!  🙂

The night has come, Mozart…

The papers of divorce

between the world and the genius

were deposited

in the common grave of the Vienna cemetery

on 6 December 1791,

there where,

to its glory,

the World

threw Mozart

under the  septic lime

of final oblivion.

And since then

the scene

has kept repeating.


The night has come,

Mozart.

He drew his last breath on the day of 5 December, at one in the morning, watched by his wife’s sister. His body was washed by loyal friends. They accompanied him when he left his house for the last time. It was them again who brought him to the Saint Stephen Cathedral, in a chapel in which he would wait for the religious ceremony – a simple one, according to the low fee of the third class funeral paid for by Baron Van Swieten. His wife had left the house a few hours after his death, “out of too much pain”, and would stay with friends for the next days. She didn’t keep vigil over his dead body, she didn’t follow him on his last journey. It was winter in Vienna, it was cold, it was almost night… God, what a terrible night of mankind!… One by one, the living abandoned the funeral convoy, and so by the time the hearse had passed the Stubenthor and reached the graveyard of St Marx, Mozart‘s lifeless body was being attended only by the driver of the carriage. By that time, in St Marx there had already been two pauper funerals. Mozart was the third. His body was deposited in the common grave, uppermost, by the gravedigger’s assistant and the driver of the hearst. Then came the night. 

Mozart left alone. He remained alone. His wife, “dearest, most beloved little wife”, as he would address  her in his letters, didn’t look for his grave for eleven years (some biographers say seventeen). Although her state of health seemed to have quickly improved, since only a few weeks after his demise she was already corresponding with a few well-known editors with a view of selling his manuscripts. And never again, after his death, was she in need to go to Baden for cures; she capitalized his musical inheritance, she remarried, she rewrote his life together with her second husband, and she outlived her first husband fifty years. 

None of his close friends, none of those who knew and loved his music and being, no one looked for his grave, not after one day, not after one month, not after one year. It was the “custom” of the time. Relatives and friends paid homage and said goodbye at home, at the church, then the body was taken to the cemetery and buried. Visiting a grave was not customary – there were no Sunday mornings at the cemetery, with flowers and candles. The regulations of the time indicated the deposition in a “common” grave according to the amount of money paid (by the Baron in Mozart’s case), but they did not forbid the placing of a funeral stone on the cemetery wall. Neither Constanze Mozart nor his friends, or the nobles he had ennobled with his feeling and creation, or the Viennese who would hum his melodies in cafes, no one felt the need to mark his resting place, no one searched for him in all those years, no one felt the need to prove their respect and affection by remembering the place where, on top of other bodies, he found his rest… 

Ten years after, the common grave was opened, the bones taken out, to make space for other mortals. This was what the third class funeral meant: a grave which confined more bodies together for ten years, and that was all. After ten years, a pile of bones, taken out to be deposited where?… we will never know. A higher class funeral would have (possibly) meant a grave in the family’s property in the St Marx Cemetery. But it would have cost more. And none of those who knew him, who were close to him, none of those whom he had honored with the divine touch of his being, no one felt that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart deserved a funeral of a higher class. 

The papers of divorce

between the world and the genius

were deposited

in the common grave of the Vienna cemetery

on 6 December

1791,

there where,

to its glory,

the World

threw Mozart

under the septic lime

of final oblivion.

And since then

the scene

has kept repeating.

The night has come,

Mozart…

Rest in peace, beloved friend!


Mozart-Grab

“The night has come, Mozart…” © Claudiu Iordache – published with the author’s permission. 

Rest in peace, beloved friend…

It is 5 December. For so many years humanity has been waiting for you to come back. Your music has survived and will go on. But we miss your living heart, your soul enlightened by a divine feeling of harmony! For you have been His gift, which we have not loved enough when He took you back.

You, Mozart, harrowing light of the darkness that surrounds us! In your park clad in mourning dress, the leaves of winter are whispering your name. It is 5 December. A serene calm overtaken by the night until the world abandoned itself to the despair of understanding it had lost you for ever! If only we could, through our love, resurrect your fragile being, so you could smile to us again, you, Mozart majestically  sleeping in our soul! If only you could hear how it hurts to know you were summoned forever there where only angels shiver as they listen to you. Oh, Mozart, it is night, the total, endless night in a day of 5 December! A day in which both you and we died a little…

Mozart, Mozart, Mozart, celestial echo of humanity’s child… 

  © Claudiu Iordache – published with the author’s permission

Dinu Lipatti: Unvergänglich… Unvergessen…

33 years of life. 16 years of extraordinary artistic career. “An artist filled with divine spirituality” (Francisc Poulenc), who “gives the impression that he is embarrassed with his own genius” (Clara Haskil). An exceptional pianist, a wonderful artist, a rare and precious sensitivity, a noble being that was only allowed to offer his thorough artistry for so little time…

On the day of 16 september 1950, suffering from leukemia, physically weak, he still goes onstage at Besancon, in France, in a concert that would be the last in his life.

In the second part of the recital he wanted to play the 14 Waltzes by Frederic Chopin. He had no more strength. The public remained seated, silent, waiting for him… and after a long pause Dinu Lipatti came back onstage, sat at the piano and interpreted the motif “Jesus bleibt meine Freude” from the cantata “Herz und Mund un Tat und Leben” by Johann Sebastian Bach. It was a hearbreaking prayer that crowned his last public appearance.

Two and a half months later, on 2 December 1950, Dinu Lipatti passed away, aged only 33, with the score of Beethoven’s  F Minor String Quartet in his hands. His last words were: “It’s not enough to be a great composer to write this music, you need to have been chosen as a instrument of God!”

A wonderful rendering of Chopin’s c minor Concerto  – Zurich 1950

Dinu Lipatti’s last concert with the orchestra took place at the Lucerna Festival on 23 August 1950, when Herbert von Karajan accompanied him in a moving rendering of Mozart’s Concerto 21.

In his last concert, on 16 september 1950 at Besancon, France, Dinu Lipatti also played two Impromptus by Schubert.

Heartfelt thanks to those who keep him alive in our memory!

http://dinulipatti.com

http://markainley.com/music/classical/lipatti

http://www.lipatti-haskil-foundation.com

Dinu Lipatti Society” Facebook page –http://www.facebook.com/pages/Dinu-Lipatti-Society/109363469102346?ref=ts&v=wall