Dear Friends,
I hope you are staying well. As I finish up the books on Mozart—after working on them many years—I find it is like cooking a Thanksgiving dinner for twenty, but somehow winding up with enough food for 100! Even though I’ve culled and discarded entire chapters, there are many things that I’m not sure will be included in the books simply because it will make them too long.
For example, in the chapter on Mozart’s use of strokes (about what they direct musicians to do, and how pianists can perform them to do convey what he intended on today’s pianos, etc.) I had included the following aside about seeing Mozart’s strokes in person, on a day in June many summers ago. I share it with you now with hopes for meaningful musical encounters in your present summer.
On seeing Notes marked with Strokes (NS) in a Mozart manuscript
I am grateful to the Morgan Library in NYC for my first experience of holding and viewing an autograph manuscript by Mozart. The autograph that I had hoped to see was of a Mozart piano concerto, but because it was being prepared for exhibit, I was instead offered the opportunity to view an early symphony. This was in many ways fortuitous, because I wasn’t familiar with the work and everything about viewing it was unknown to me.
I hadn’t anticipated what it would be like to hold the very paper that Mozart had held, on which he had written out sounds that he was internally hearing as he touched it; I was overwhelmed by this proximity, and needed several tissues to dry my tears before I could examine what I was holding.
I found almost everything about the autograph manuscript to be shocking. First of all, the paper size was small (it seemed roughly half the size of usual paper today). The manuscript was kept in a fancy, hand-tooled box that looked like a cross between a jewelry case and a casket (which, though understandable, seemed a profoundly inappropriate housing for this form of utter energy and life) covered in light blue satin that was extensively pleated, tucked and decorated. On the small pages, the writing of the orchestra parts was almost miniscule; however, everything was clear, and somehow all the notes fit—actually they fit quite beautifully—into the proportions of the page; only Mozart’s signature had been squeezed in at an odd angle.
I had a heightened awareness of the great importance of each mark on the page. The ink was mostly not faded, and the lines and curves of Mozart’s hand were elegant and sure, simultaneously formal and free, matching the grandness of the symphony’s opening in dotted rhythms. The second area began with a rest, which was rhythmically such a surprise that I heard myself gasp. Mozart’s fresh, new musical ideas sparkled with life.
I turned a page to see an ascending passage approaching the recap with strokes over the notes in the upper instruments. As he marked them, Mozart’s handwriting became more animated and vigorous, seeming to take on the energy of the strokes as the notes virtually lept forward to the musical goal! Seeing the energetic effect of the strokes reflected in Mozart’s own hand, I realized I was witnessing his giving his music its being.
Thank you for your patience the many years it has taken me to write the Joy of Mozart Manual for Performers and Teachers, and the Joy of Mozart Method for Students. Now to find a publisher who can get the particular joy of Mozart’s music they describe to YOU!
Warmest wishes,
Mary