Salzburg II: Playing Mozart

Did you hear about the guy who was streaking in church?  He ran past the altar, but they caught him by the organ....

Mozart's Organ in Salzburg Cathedral

The cathedral in Salzburg where Mozart had been organist retains the organ he played, despite the cathedral having been bombed in WWII.  He was born in Salzburg, and everywhere in the town one finds "Mozart Balls."  That is, a chocolate/truffle/mousse spheroid with a stylized picture of Mozart on the foil covering.  People I met raved about them.  They also bought Mozart chocolate liqueur in bottles shaped like a ball.  I tried neither the solid nor the liquid.  But I had a ball in Salzburg with the people who were also at a conference I was attending.

Mozart Balls

The spirit of Mozart is palpable in this town, so you will see various music students looking for inspiration.  You can tell who they are -- all glassy-eyed whilst walking round with aspiration pouring from their organs.  However, you may find something actual beyond the ethereal or merely commercial: his house.

Looking for Mozart?

And in Mozart's house you can see his kitchen.  I didn't go into his house because A) I wasn't invited, and B) I heard he wasn't home.

Mozart's Kitchen, with a "Timeout Bench"

In an earlier post [Link], I wrote about what we hope to find by visiting the houses of the famous.  And that goes on here, too: the desire to touch and be inspired by something that the "Great One" had used.  A piano Mozart owned was in his house, but of course I didn't see or hear it.  What I did find (though not in the original) was something -- or someone -- Mozart scored: he doodled a young woman, Barbara Ployer, who was his favorite student.  But she had (it's a quote from the movie Amadeus) "too many notes," which even range into her hair.

Here's the Score: Mozart's Doodle of Barbara Ployer, the Only Known Image of Her

A statue of Mozart honors the hometown boy in one of the squares, "Mozart Platz."  When the statue was unveiled, the commemoration included Mozart's son playing his father's music.  Part way through the performance, however, his son began to play his own hot, new tunes and was quickly ushered from the stage.  So much for grateful kids.

But his ability -- his genius!  Everyone says it, sure.  To be truly convinced, just listen to his 23rd piano concerto (one score of which sports the doodle of, and which was apparently written for, Ms. Ployer) [Link].  Can't say more than that.

Leopold's Little Golden Rooster

Mozart Leopold Salzburg Piano concerto 23 amadeus Mozart Ployer

Time Passing

                                 Forgive my grief for one removed,

                                    Thy creature whom I found so fair.

                                     I trust he lives with Thee and there

                                  I find him worthier to be loved.

                                                                     ~Tennyson

Given but six months to live, it was after 11 months that my nephew, Michael, passed away.  He went more "gentle into that good night" than anyone might have hoped, but -- shall it be said? -- not without dying, which is what must be faced, what must be endured [Link].  Obviously.  Yet through those months, I saw bravery.

He distinguished himself not only in his stamina of enduring those 11 long months, but also in the dignity with which he passed that time -- and more.

He had been in a coma for a about a day before his passing, and so through the night.  In mid-morning his breathing slowed.  He then opened his eyes and looked momentarily at his parents, who had knelt by his bed when they heard the change in his breathing.  With what must have been an immense act of will, given his inability to move muscles and the fact that he had not eaten anything for 49 days, he gave one final nod to his parents in farewell, and within three seconds was gone.

One quote from the cynical House M.D. is, "You can live with dignity.  You can't die with it."  House, in this case, for all his Holmesian attributes, was simply wrong; this 13-year-old boy proved him so.  Science can't explain everything. It knows nothing of the spirit.

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

                                   Hamlet (1.5.166-7)

An early entry in this blog concerns the red thread [Link] -- a thread connecting us regardless of where we may be within time and space.  I don't believe time or even eternity is strong enough to break that thread.  Perhaps the sole event possessing the power to break our connections with others is within an act that disregards human connectedness and Love that wove the thread.  I mean Love Incarnate, seen within daily acts of love which carry Him and connectedness to others.

The thread remains, but death?  Well, I'm not sure if it's slack in the line or an uncommon pull upon it.  Whether slack at the other end or a pulling, both hurt.  It doesn't hurt quite so much given that he lived and loved well, endured with faith and dignity, and distinguished himself in passing.  Should he have relinquished Love or human connectedness, the pain of that broken thread would be something more severe.  But no: here is the line, still connected, still present.