Odihnindu-se în pace…

“Dragul meu tată!

– în acest moment am primit o veste care mă întristează foarte mult – cu atât mai mult cu cât din ultima dumitale scrisoare am putut să presupun că te simți, slavă Domnului, foarte bine; – Dar acum aflu că ești cu adevărat bolnav! nu trebuie să-ți mai spun cât de mult tânjesc să primesc o veste consolatoare din partea dumitale; și o sper cu putere – deși mi-am făcut obiceiul să-mi imaginez întotdeauna și în toate privințele tot ceea ce poate fi mai rău – din moment ce moartea (când o luăm în considerare îndeaproape) este adevăratul scop al vieții noastre, mie de câțiva ani într-atât mi-a devenit de cunoscut acest sincer și foarte bun prieten al oamenilor, încât chipul lui nu mai are nimic înfricoșător pentru mine, ci mai degrabă îmi aduce liniște și  consolare! și îi mulțumesc dumnezeului meu că mi-a acordat prilejul (dumneata știi ce vreau să spun) de a înțelege că moartea este cheia care deschide ușa spre adevărata noastră fericire. – nu mă culc niciodată în patul meu fără a cugeta că aș putea (oricât de tânăr sunt) să nu mai fiu a doua zi – și nu există nici un om dintre cei ce mă cunosc care să poată spune că aș fi posac sau trist în relațiile mele – și pentru această binecuvântare îi mulțumesc zilnic Creatorului meu și o doresc din inimă fiecărui seamăn al meu…”

Viena, 4 aprilie 1787 

“Mon tres cher père!

– diesen augenblick höre ich eine Nachricht, die mich sehr niederschlägt – um so mehr als ich aus ihrem lezten vermuthen konnte, daß sie sich gottlob recht wohl befinden; – Nun höre aber daß sie wirklich krank seÿen! wie sehnlich ich einer Tröstenden Nachricht von ihnen selbst entgegen sehe, brauche ich ihnen doch wohl nicht zu sagen; und ich hoffe es auch gewis – obwohlen ich es mir zur gewohnheit gemacht habe mir immer in allen Dingen das schlimste vorzustellen – da der Tod |: genau zu nemen : | der wahre Endzweck unsers Lebens ist, so habe ich mich seit ein Paar Jahren mit diesem wahren, besten Freunde des Menschen so bekannt gemacht, daß sein Bild nicht allein nichts schreckendes mehr für mich hat, sondern recht viel beruhigendes und tröstendes! und ich danke meinem gott, daß er mir das glück gegönnt hat mir die gelegenheit |: sie verstehen mich : | zu verschaffen, ihn als den schlüssel zu unserer wahren Glückseligkeit kennen zu lernen. – ich lege mich nie zu bette ohne zu bedenken, daß ich vielleicht |: so Jung als ich bin : | den andern Tag nicht mehr seÿn werde – und es wird doch kein
Mensch von allen die mich kennen sagn können daß ich im Umgange mürrisch oder traurig wäre – und für diese glückseeligkeit danke ich alle Tage meinem Schöpfer u wünsche sie vom Herzen Jedem meiner Mitmenschen…”

Wien 4. April 1787

“Dearest father!

This very moment I have received some news which greatly distresses me – the more so as I gathered from your last letter that, thank God, you were very well; – But now I hear that you are really ill! I hardly need to tell you how eagerly I look forward to some reassuring news from you; and I hope for it – although I have now made a habit of being prepared for the worst in all affairs of life – as death (when we come to consider it closely) is the true goal of our existence, I have during the last few years come so know so well this best and truest friend of mankind, that his image is not only no longer terrifying to me, but is rather very calming and consoling! and I thank my God for granting me the opportunity (you know what I mean) of learning that death is the key which unlocks the door to our true happiness. – I never lie down at night without reflecting that (young as I am) I may not live to see another day – and there is no one of those who know me who could say that in company I am sullen or sad – and for this blessing I thank my Creator every day and wish it from my heart to each one of my fellow men…”

Vienna, 4 April 1787

Source of German transcription: Ludwig Nohl
Source of English translation: Emily Anderson (slightly modified)

Source of image of excerpts from Mozart’s letter: The Berlin Staatsbibliothek.

Many thanks to Dr Michael Lorenz for the information that the digitized document is actually a copy dating from around 1850, in the handwriting of Ludwig von Köchel!

Mozart a parcurs drumul și ne lasă muzica…

“S-a spus de multe ori că miracolul lui Mozart ca muzician constă în această perfecțiune a formei pe care n-o găsești dacă aspiri la ea, dacă lași să se vadă efortul, chiar eroic, căutarea, chiar nobilă; da, Mozart este un moștenitor și cu el se desăvârșește o civilizație a muzicii, ale cărei rezultate savante și artificii sfinte el le rezumă cu o naivitate intactă și o simplitate divină; da, Mozart poartă în el, înnăscut, geniul experienței; prin natură, întreaga cultură; geniul său îl condamnă la perfecțiune: și se știe cum ne-o dă, supraabundent. Unui om aflat din punct de vedere fizic în pragul prăbușirii, gata să se dezintegreze, o ultimă stagiune îi impune efortul incredibil a două opere, fiecare epuizând inventivitatea, prospețimea ideilor creatorului său; și totuși, în acest timp,  în subteran, un întreg Recviem își sapă calea, conducând la alte nuanțe, la un alt ton. Acest exces de sarcini, la fel de urgente, la fel de pasionante, nu apasă asupra lui Mozart decât pentru a-l obliga în sfârșit să lase ceva neterminat, pentru a-i converti viziunea la deschidere. Până acum, cu mici excepții în Don Giovanni, Mozart nu a locuit decât în universul închis și binecuvântat al formelor, și doar melancolia muzicii sale, ea însăși acoperită cu vălul Maiei și ademenindu-ne cu frumusețea sa, dezvăluie strigătul sufletului. Dar iată că vălul se rupe. Titus și Flautul sunt creații ale secolului lor, ale lumii noastre, terminate, închise; dacă ceva evocă aici o lume de dincolo, nu e nici virtutea sublimă a unui suveran, cu atât mai puțin înțelepciunea preoților sau riturile lor; toate acestea mai degrabă ar reconforta și împăca – dar numai durerea. În vocea Vitelliei, a Paminei, durerea sfâșie vălul. Tot ce e strigăt al inimii la Mozart, fie că-l încredințează unui clarinet, unei viole sau unei voci de femeie, doar asta deschide către o altă lume și o reflectă deja cu această blândețe excesivă, care disperă și totodată consolează. Înainte de Recviem însă, nu există la Mozart muzică din altă lume, care să te smulgă din lumea aceasta. Neterminarea Recviemului nu înseamnă că moartea i-a smuls pana lui Mozart din mână înainte de a scrie muzica pentru cor ca să-l încheie; înseamnă că Mozart, cu pana în mână, pătrunde în sfârșit în propria lume de dincolo. Copil fiind, a văzut picturile de pe tavanul Capelei Sixtine; imaginea lor pune din nou stăpânire pe el, eclipsează, aneantizează aceste frumoase spații albe și aurii ale barocului pe unde trec atât de frumoși îngeri manieriști, purtători ai vreunei vești teribile. Până acum Mozart n-a scris decât muzică, dar muzică perfectă. Iată sunetul instantaneu: un sunet pur, erupție a materiei, ca un scandal. Tuba mirum spargens sonum. Sunetul acestei tube nu trezește nici un fel de admirație, cum s-ar traduce prost din latină; el uimește și dezrădăcinează, el expatriază; credeam că locuim în peisajul nostru uman, iată exodul. Astfel și culoarea, într-un tablou, pură erupție și prezență, trimite în zădărnicie tot ce se credea formă. În fața unui asemenea sunet, vocile noastre își inventează o declamație înfricoșată, haotică, pe care Mozart nu ne-a făcut niciodată s-o ascultăm. Aici Mozart intră în celălalt secol al său și ne lasă să înțelegem cine ar fi fost dacă s-ar fi născut în vremea și în spațiul lui Beethoven, în loc să se lupte de unul singur pentru ca apariția celor ca Beethoven să fie posibilă. O frescă prinde viață, prezențe redutabile își găsesc relieful, gestul. Mozart locuiește în ceea ce Kant al Criticii facultății de judecare, contemporanul său, numea peisajul Frumosului, unde totul e reconciliere, integrare, acord al universului cu fiecare; iată-l transpus în Sublim; mai mult cer înstelat ca să ne spună și norma și forma; mai mult din numărul de aur pentru ca cel mai adevărat să fie în același timp și cel mai frumos. Mozart nu intră în nedesăvârșit, ci în nedesăvârșibil; altă lume pentru altă artă; Deschisul. Recviemul este pragul unei cu totul alte inițieri decât aceea, foarte comună, care dintr-un ucenic face un maestru. Rilke a spus-o: “Cumplit e orișice înger.” Acestui mesager pe care-l evocă legenda trebuie să i se redea numele, etimologic și totodată rilkian: Îngerul. 

Recviemul nu se termină, iar Mozart se împlinește. Astfel, și asta purta în el: o izbândă a finisării și izbânda contrară; omul care se simte în largul său în trestia lui finită și omul demn în același timp de Dumnezeu, cum spune Pascal, sau demn de infinit, cum arată Mozart. Ritmul nebunesc, halucinant din Dies irae nu ar putea fi decât al lui Mozart, dar nu seamănă cu nimic din ce-a făcut Mozart, deși spaimele din Idomeneo și angoasele din Don Giovanni au pregătit pentru asta; și clarinete, oboaie și chiar corni, Mozart ni le-a făcut de neuitat în aceste aparteuri sau aceste dialoguri care sunt întreaga viață a concertelor sale. Dar acest sunet brusc, pur și care umple spațiul, ne trimite în același timp la elementar și la final, și, pentru a ne apăra de acest lucru, recurgerea la forme nu înseamnă nimic. Nu știu dacă marea suferință ne face mai buni, spune Nietzsche, dar sunt sigur că ne face mai profunzi. Chiar în clipa când se aude acest sunet care e stupoare (și chiar Mozartea, de îndată, stupebit), iată-l pe Mozart fără moștenire; și muzica a sfârșit-o cu Vechiul său Regim; un nou testament nu se scrie, iar cel vechi e perimat; există Arcadii unde nu vom mai dormi. Ce contează că Mozart nu a terminat? Cu totul altceva îi spune, ne spune Recviemul lui: Ascultați-mă altfel; folosiți acele urechi pe care le-a deschis în voi acest sunet teribil; și-l veți auzi cu totul altfel chiar și pe Mozart cel considerat cunoscut și desăvârșit; aceeași lume de dincolo, ascultați-o în prezent în Cosi fan tutte și adierile sale, în cvintete; acest sunet teribil, învățați să ascultați cât a costat ca să faci din el o melodie și o vrajă care ne surâd în Contesă, în Cherubino; ascultați-o pe Barbarina pe înserate, care n-a făcut decât să piardă un ac și al cărei suflet plânge. Mi-am pus jos pana, dar mi-am lansat săgeata și mă aveți pentru totdeauna în inimă, statornic și amical, Înger eu însumi. 

Miracolul lui Mozart: muzica sa se topește pur și simplu în sufletele noastre, dar și în simțurile noastre, mai întâi; în mod imperceptibil sensibilă (și chiar senzuală) și spirituală; astfel ne amintim că de la simțuri la suflet drumul nu e așa de lung, nici interdicția atât de severă. Doar Mozart, de la greci încoace, ne spune: Simțurile nu-ți sunt blestemate, sufletul nu ți se află în exil. Voce pentru sufletul cel mai rezervat, Mozart e înainte de orice binecuvântare, acest frison resimțit pe piele; concret și celest; bun-venit celui sociabil ca și celui solitar; sociabil pentru cel solitar. O, Înger! 

Averi i-au alunecat printre degete, funcțiile pe care le merită de o sută de ori ajung la alții – astfel el rămâne ca și noi: un om strâmtorat. Ni-l imaginăm pe Mozart înstărit? Căpătuit? Proprietar? Sau încărcat de ani și de onoruri și un tânăr spunându-i: tată, cum i-a spus el lui Haydn. El n-a venit pe lume ca să se îmbogățească pe sine, ci pe noi. Dacă se supără, întrerupându-se din cântat pentru că nimeni nu-l ascultă, e din cauză că nu trebuie risipită apa pură într-o lume care piere de sete. El nu este acest tânăr Iosif pe care Thomas Mann ni-l arată sub clar de lună felicitându-se pentru alegerea sa. Din copilărie se pregătește să fie Iosif, tatăl adoptiv, cel care va avea grijă de dezmoșteniții ce vor veni și acumulează, timp de șapte ani bogați, o adevărată comoară muzicală. 

N-a trebuit decât să cânte, ne spune Richard Strauss, iar sufletul omenesc, al cărui mister îl duce la disperare pe filozof, s-a arătat. Ideea de sunet a devenit sunet, ideea de perfecțiune, perfecțiune. Mozart a venit, iar noi știm ce este sufletul. Aflat departe din străfundul timpurilor, acesta a reușit aspirația milenară de a fi propriu-i trup. Favoare acordată nouă: această mediere cerească, pentru a se împlini, a ales muzica! Un sculptor ar fi transpus-o în marmură; am fi crezut în veșnicia ei, în loc să învățăm din surâsul frumos al muzicii, în acea clipă, să dorim veșnicia pe care o reflectă. Astfel supranaturalul a încercat naturalul, pentru a putea locui printre noi. Mozart a parcurs drumul și ne lasă muzica.” 

Andre Tubeuf : Mozart, chemins et chants 

6 Decembrie 1791

“Actele de divorț dintre lume și
geniu au fost depuse
în groapa comună a cimitirului
din Viena
unde, spre gloria ei, lumea
l-a aruncat pe Mozart
sub varul septic
al uitării din urmă.
Și de atunci scena
se tot repetă.

Scriind pentru lume a sfârșit
prin a scrie
pentru îngeri.
Ca să înspăimânți
mediocritatea
e destul să
rostești: “Mozart!”

Între dionisiac
și apolinic, Flautul
și Recviemul,
ultimul fruct
depus în coșul
culegătorului.
Viața alege
dintotdeauna
parfumul
opusului ei.
Raiul îndoliat
la care bate Mozart
tânăr
ținând în
mâna sa de dantele
tremurânde
ultima Operă.

A sosit noaptea,
Mozart…”

Claudiu Iordache
Volumul de poezie “Nervurile transparenței”, 2012

Lacrimosa dies illa
Qua resurget ex favilla
Judicandus homo reus.
Huic ergo parce, Deus:
Pie Jesu Domine,
Dona eis requiem.
Amen. 

Requiem aeternam

5 Decembrie 1791

“Este 5 decembrie. De 225 de ani omenirea așteaptă să te întorci. Muzica ta a supraviețuit și va supraviețui. Dar ne e dor de inima ta vie, de sufletul luminat de un sentiment dumnezeiesc al armoniei! Căci ai fost darul Lui, și puțini dintre noi au înțeles…

Tu, Mozart, sfâșietoare lumină a întunericului ce ne înconjoară! În parcul tău cernit frunzele iernii îți șoptesc numele. Este 5 decembrie. O liniște senină care a înnoptat pe cer până când lumea a aflat cu disperare că te-a pierdut pentru totdeauna! Dacă am putea învia prin dragostea noastră ființa ta fragilă, pentru a ne surâde din nou, o, Mozart care dormi regal în sufletul nostru! Dacă ne-ai putea auzi durerea de a te ști chemat pentru totdeauna acolo unde numai îngerii te mai ascultă, înfiorați! O, Mozart, e noapte, deplina noapte înaltă într-o zi de 5 decembrie! Zi în care și tu și noi am murit puțin…

Mozart… Mozart… Mozart… ecou ceresc al fiului omenirii…”

Claudiu Iordache 

Time alone with Mozart

Closer to him.

A place between worlds.

A realm where time stood still.

Sankt Marx. 

January.

Mozart Week 2016

“Each year around the time of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart‘s birth in January, the Mozarteum Foundation Salzburg hosts the Mozart Week with opera performances and orchestral, chamber, and soloist concerts. World-renowned Mozart interpreters, orchestras, and ensembles are responsible for the unparalleled reputation of this unique event. This week of concerts, which was first held in 1956, invites visitors from around the world to rediscover Mozart’s works from ever-changing perspectives and to hear them afresh.” 

Mozarts Geburtshaus, the house in which Mozart was born on 27 January 1756, on Getreidegasse, is now one of the most frequently visited museums in the world. The exhibition, which spreads over three floors, carries the visitors into Wolfgang’s world, telling when he began to make music, who his friends and patrons were, how the relationship with his family looked like, how strong was his passion for the opera… Here can be seen portraits, original manuscripts and documents, as well as personal objects and musical instruments on which he has played: his childhood violin and the clavichord on which he composed a few of his wonderful works.  

In Makartplatz there is Mozarts Wohnhaus, the residence where Mozart lived between 1773 and 1781 (the year when he left for Vienna). The building was severely damaged in the Second World War’s bombings, but it was faithfully reconstructed and today hosts the second important Mozart museum in Salzburg.  

The fascinating history of how Mozart Residence was saved and reconstructed can be read on the page of The Mozarteum Foundation, in the anniversary year 2016 (20 years since the official opening of the rebuilt Mozart Residence). 

In the spacious rooms visitors can see portraits and original documents, manuscripts of Mozart’s works from the Salzburg years, Wolfgang’s original fortepiano, as well as the famous Family Portrait in the Master’s Dance Hall (Tanzmeistersaal). 

On 27 January 2016, the Tanzmeistersaal will host a wonderful moment of music: Andreas Staier and Alexander Melnikov will play Mozart’s fortepiano, and Nicolas Altstaedt will play the violoncello. Then, in the evening, Mozart’s Birthday will be celebrated outside Mozart’s Geburtshaus, with mulled wine and cake and musical interludes by Salzburg Superar Choir, at 8 p.m., the time of Mozart’s birth!

The entire programme of the Mozart Week 2016 is beautiful, with concerts taking place in the Grosser Saal Mozarteum, Grosses Festspielhaus, Wiener Saal Mozarteum, Universitaet Mozarteum, Mozart-Wohnung.

Salzburg is a city of Music: during the year extraordinary performances take place in churches, in palaces, in concert halls… Salzburger Schlosskonzerte is one of the biggest musical events in the world: the concerts take place in the marble hall of the Mirabell Palace, there where, in another time, young Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart played himself!  

On Mozart Week, or whenever you are in Salzburg, give yourself the joy of discovering the beauties of a city whose cultural, historical and memorial values have always been respected by its rulers and inhabitants! 

Tuesday, 27 January 1756

“S-a născut în 27 ianuarie și de atunci n-a mai apus niciodată!”

“He was born on 27 January and since then he never set again!” 

Happy Birthday, Humanity! Mozart is born! 

 

December Feeling

“God gave us memory so that we might have roses in December.”
~  J. M. Barrie

“Winter giveth the fields, and the trees so old,

their beards of icicles and snow.”

~ Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

“On a lone winter evening, when the frost

has wrought a silence.”

~ John Keats

“He withers all in silence, and in his hand
unclothes the earth and freezes up frail life.”
~ William Blake (1757-1827)

“He who marvels at the beauty of the world in summer will find equal cause for wonder and admiration in winter… In winter the stars seem to have rekindled their fires, the moon achieves a fuller triumph, and the heavens wear a look of a more exalted simplicity.”

~ John Burroughs

“Never are voices so beautiful as on a winter’s evening, when dusk almost hides the body,
and they seem to issue from nothingness with a note of intimacy seldom heard by day.”

~ Virginia Woolf

“How bittersweet it is, on winter’s night,
to listen, by the sputtering, smoking fire,
as distant memories, through the fog-dimmed light,
rise, to the muffled chime of churchbell choir.” 
~  Charles Baudelaire

“We feel cold, but we don’t mind it, because we will not come to harm. And if we wrapped up against the cold, we wouldn’t feel other things, like the bright tingle of the stars, or the music of the Aurora, or best of all the silky feeling of moonlight on our skin. It’s worth being cold for that.” ~ Philip Pullman

Welcome, December!

“Winter came down to our home one night
Quietly pirouetting in on silvery-toed slippers of snow,
And we, we were children once again…”

Bill Morgan Jr.

A Winter Wonderland!

“It is the life of the crystal, the architect of the flake, the fire of the frost, the soul of the sunbeam. This crisp winter air is full of it.”

John Burroughs

“What a severe yet master artist old Winter is… No longer the canvas and the pigments, but the marble and the chisel…”

John Burroughs

“The simplicity of winter has a deep moral. The return of Nature, after such a career of splendor and prodigality, to habits so simple and austere, is not lost either upon the head or the heart. It is the philosopher coming back from the banquet and the wine to a cup of water and a crust of bread.”

John Burroughs

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The night has come, Mozart… 6 December 1791.

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! 

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

Mozart. An endless sorrow.

It is 5 December. For 222 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, and few of us have understood… 

You, Mozart, harrowing light in 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 forever! 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 feel our hurt, knowing you were summoned forever there where only angels listen to you, shivering in the divine beauty of your music! Oh, Mozart, it is night, a neverending night in a day of 5 December! A day in which both you and us died a little… 

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

11 February 1785: the Premiere of the D Minor Concerto

“Heavy snows and freezing temperatures accompanied Leopold and Heinrich to Vienna. They arrived on 11 February 1785 to find the apartment a hive of activity as Mozart oversaw the copying of a new piano concerto he was to play that evening at his first Mehlgrube concert of the season. During the performance, Leopold marveled at the orchestra’s ability to cope with the “superb” concerto it had to play well at sight.” 

On a stormy evening in February 1785, the elite of Vienna gathered to hear a new work of Austria’s leading virtuoso pianist, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. The importance of what lay within this masterpiece was known to only one man: Leopold Mozart, the composer’s estranged father…   

The d Minor Piano Concerto was first performed by Mozart at the Mehlgrube Casino on 11 February 1785 (one day after he had entered the work in his Thematic Catalogue). This was the first of six weekly ‘Friday concerts’ given by Mozart during spring 1785. Leopold Mozart arrived in Vienna, after a very difficult trip, just in time for the Premiere of The d Minor Concert. In a long letter written between 14 and 16 February, Leopold described the event to Nannerl, Mozart’s sister:  

“On 11 February we drove to his first subscription concert, at which a great many members of the aristocracy were present. Each person pays a souverain d’or or three ducats for these Lenten concerts. Your brother is giving them at the Mehlgrube. … The concert was magnificent and the orchestra played splendidly. … we had a new and very fine concerto by Wolfgang, which the copyist was still copying as we arrived, and the rondo of which your brother did not even have time to play through, as he had to supervise the copying.”   

To read more about the Premiere of The D Minor Concerto, click here.

228 years ago, at the Mehlgrube, this is how it must have sounded like… 

10 February 2013: Happy 228th Anniversary to the D Minor Piano Concerto

“the 10th of February. A Piano concerto. Accompaniment. 2 violins, 2 violas, 1 flute, 2 oboes, 2 bassoons, 2 horns, 2 clarinets, timpani and bass”.  

It is Mozart’s entry in his hand-written catalogue of works, on a Thursday the 10^th of a cold, harsh February, in Vienna. Two lines announcing the birth of one of the most beautiful musical creations that humanity has ever known: The d minor Piano Concerto.  

Of all his wonderful piano concertos, it’s the d minor I love the most. It is in resonance with my profound being. I sense each note deep in my heart… the music is breathtaking, majestic, tremendous, it moves and troubles my soul, leaving within it a longing I am not able to understand…  

To read more about this day of 10 February 1785, click here

 

27 January 2013, at Mozart’s resting place

Des cloches aux sons clairs annonçaient ta naissance
Vois
          Les chemins son fleuris et les palmes s’avancent
                Vers toi…  

At Mozart’s resting place, “les chemins sont fleuris”… 

The roses are frozen, yet they seem alive, for they are a gift of the heart. 

Close to the angel, near a tree, a silhouette stands in silence. She came all the way here in high snow and freezing air, just so she could bring home the memory of this day. She remained close to Mozart for a while, closer than any of us could get on his Birth Day… she locked the precious images inside her camera… then she left. The silence stayed. 

Thank you, Merisi! Through your pictures, I was able to be there, too!

Thank you for the moving emotion!  

© Images Merisi – viennaforbeginners.com – Used with permission by the owner

Click on the pictures to read Merisi’s beautiful homage to Mozart, on his birthday!

“Des cloches aux sons clairs…” – Un soir, par Guilllaume Apollinaire 

Happy Birthday, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born on 27 January 1756 and left our world on 5 December 1791. Thirty five years was the time on earth of this wonderful child of humanity. God loved him too much and called him back. The angel who lightened our life returned to heaven. His body rests in the peace of the St Marx Cemetery, but his kind and generous soul, his free spirit, his tremendous genius will live eternally through his divine Music… 

Thank you, Mozart, for the gift of your beautiful music!… Eternal gratitude, flowers and tears… a moving homage carrying within it all the loving thoughts which wend your way today and for ever…  

Leopold Mozart from Salzburg, 9 February 1756  

“… on January 27, at 8 pm, my wife fortunately gave birth to our son. Praise God, at this moment both mother and son are alright. We have named the boy Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgang Gottlieb.”   

Vienna, 16 October 1762   

“The order to go to the Court arrived immediately after it was known we had arrived in Vienna. We were received with such extraordinary kindness by their majesties that if ever I tell them about it, people will say I have made it all up. Suffice it to say that Wolferl jumped up into the empress’ lap, grabbed her round the neck and kissed her right and proper. In short, we were with her from 3 till 6, and the emperor himself came in from the next room and took me to hear the infant play the violin.” 

 Paris, 1 February 1764   

“You can easily imagine, then, how impressed and amazed were these French people, who are so infatuated with the customs of their court, when the king’s daughters stopped stock still not only in their apartments but in the public gallery when they say my children and approached them…  But the most extraordinary thing of all in the eyes of these French people was that at the grand couvert after nightfall on New Year’s Day, not only was it necessary to make room for us all to go up to high table, but my Herr Wolfgangus was privileged to stand next to the queen, speaking to her constantly, entertaining her, repeatedly kissing her hands and consuming the dishes that she handed him from the table.”  

Paris, 1 February 1764  

“4 sonatas by Monsieur Wolfgang Mozart are currently being engraved. Just imagine the stir that these sonatas will make in the world when it says on the title-page that they are the work of a 7-year-old child. You’ll hear in due course how good these sonatas are; one of them has an Andante in a very unusual style. And I can tell you that every day God works new wonders through this child. He is always accompanying other performers at public concerts. He even transposes the arias while accompanying them a prima vista; and everywhere people place Italian and French works before him that he has no difficulty in sight-reading.”  

London, 28 May 1764  

“The kindness with which both their majesties – the king as well as the queen – received us is indescribable. Their common touch and friendly manner allowed us to forget that they were the king and queen of England; we have been received at every court with extraordinary courtesy, but the welcome that we were given here surpasses all the others . All will be well as long as we stay healthy with God’s help and if He keeps our invincible Wolfgang in good health. The king gave him not only works by Wagenseil to play, but also Bach, Abel and Haendel, all of which  he rattled off prima vista. He played the king’s organ so well that everyone rates his organ playing far higher than his harpsichord playing. He then accompanied the queen in an aria that she sang and a flautist in a solo. Finally he took the violin part in some Haendel arias and played the most beautiful melody over the simple bass, so that everyone was utterly astonished. In a word, what he knew when we left Salzburg is a mere shadow of what he knows now. You can’t imagine it.”  

Munchen, 15 November 1766  

“God – who has been far too good to me, a miserable sinner – has bestowed such talents on my children that, apart from my duty as a father, they alone would spur me on to sacrifice everything to their decent education.Every moment I lose is lost for ever. And if I ever knew how valuable time is for young people, I know it now. You know that my children are used to work: if – on the excuse that one thing prevents another – they were to get used to hours of idleness, my entire edifice would collapse; custom is an iron shirt. And you yourself know how much my children, especially Wolfgangerl, have to learn. But who knows what’s being planned for us on our return to Salzburg? Perhaps we’ll be received in such a way that we’ll be only too pleased to shoulder our bundles and go on our way. But, God willing, I shall at least be bringing my children to their fatherland; if they are not wanted, it won’t be my fault; but people won’t get them for nothing.”   

Vienna, 30 January 1768  

“Now, in order to convince the public of what is involved here, I decided on a completely exceptional course of action, namely, to get him to write an opera for the theatre. And what kind of an uproar do you think immediately arose among these composers?… What? Today we are to see a Gluck and tomorrow a boy of 12 sitting at the harpsichord and conducting his own opera?… Yes, despite all those who envy him! I’ve even won Gluck over to our side…”   

Vienna, 30 July 1768  

“His Grace has no liars, charlatans and swindlers in his service who with his prior knowledge and gracious permission go to other towns and like conjurors throw dust in people’s eyes; no, they are honest men who to the honour of their prince and their country announce to the world a miracle that God allowed to see the light of day in Salzburg. I owe it to the Almighty God to see this through, otherwise I’d be the most thankless of creatures: and if it were ever my duty to convince the world of this miracle, it is now, when people are ridiculing all that is called a miracle and denying all such miracles. And so they have to be convinced: and was it not a great joy and a great triumph for me to hear a Voltairean say to me in amazement: ‘For once in my life I have seen a miracle; it is the first!’”  

THE VOICE OF GOD 

WALKING WITH MOZART ON HIS BIRTHDAY

Mozart Week 2013

“Each year around the time of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart‘s birth in January, the Mozarteum Foundation Salzburg hosts the Mozart Week with opera performances and orchestral, chamber, and soloist concerts. World-renowned Mozart interpreters, orchestras, and ensembles are responsible for the unparalleled reputation of this unique event. This week of concerts, which was first held in 1956, invites visitors from around the world to rediscover Mozart’s works from ever-changing perspectives and to hear them afresh.” 

On January 26, one day before Wolfgang’s birthday, the MOZART RESIDENCE in Makartplatz will open its door to visitors eager to see a special exhibition:  

MOZART PICTURES – PICTURES OF MOZART 

Portrayals between wishful thinking and reality 

Exhibition in the Mozart Residence, Makartplatz 8, 26 January – 14 April 2013

The exhibition Mozart Pictures – Pictures of Mozart organized by the Mozarteum Foundation presents the most important historical portraits of the composer. The preparations for this exhibition have produced some sensational findings, of which the identification of a portrait as an original image of Mozart. Quite different than our own image of the great composer! 

The portrait is likely to have been painted in 1783, thus represents Mozart at 27 years old, in a time when he was already living in Vienna. It is a miniature painting on ivory, in a brass frame beneath glass, inset in a snuff box. It is supposed to be a work of Grassi, as Mozart and the painter met in Vienna. It is the only portrait on which, since 1781 until his death in 1791, Mozart is shown facing the observer. 

And there are new things to be found out about the Mozart – Lange portrait, the one which Constanze Mozart, on Vincent Novello’s request, pointed out as having the greatest similarity to the original 🙂 For more details visit Mozarteum Foundation Salzburg.

Mozarts Geburtshaus, the house in which Mozart was born on 27 January 1756, on Getreidegasse, is now one of the most frequently visited museums in the world. The exhibition, which spreads over three floors, carries the visitors into Wolfgang’s world, telling when he began to make music, who his friends and patrons were, how the relationship with his family looked like, how strong was his passion for the opera… Here can be seen portraits, original manuscripts and documents, as well as personal objects and musical instruments on which he has played: his childhood violin and the clavichord on which he composed a few of his wonderful works.

In Makartplatz there is Mozarts Wohnhaus, the residence where Mozart lived between 1773 and 1781 (the year when he left for Vienna). The building was severely damaged in the Second World War’s bombings, but it was faithfully reconstructed and today hosts the second important Mozart museum in Salzburg. 

In the spacious rooms visitors can see portraits and original documents, manuscripts of Mozart’s works from the Salzburg years, Wolfgang’s original fortepiano, as well as the famous Family Portrait in the Master’s Dance Hall (Tanzmeistersaal). 

Salzburg is a city of music: during the year extraordinary performances take place in churches, in palaces, in concert halls… Salzburger Schlosskonzerte is one of the biggest musical events in the world: the concerts take place in the marble hall of the Mirabell Palace, there where, in another time, young Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart played himself! 

On Mozart Week, or whenever you are in Salzburg, give yourself the joy of discovering the beauties of a city whose cultural, historical and memorial values have always been respected by its rulers and inhabitants!