up the dim bookstore. “In
that case, I shall save you some time and effort and tell you the
legend of Mozart and Kouzlo Noc .”
“Really? That would be marvelous,” I told
him. “Especially since I’m not sure what I’m hunting for.”
He motioned for me to sit back down on my
footstool then pulled a high-backed chair away from the wall. He
settled himself there, gently laid the cane next to the chair and
took a breath. Obviously this man was a storyteller. I only hoped
he would tell a tale that could explain why everyone got snarky
when flute-players, Mozart, and Kouzlo Noc were mentioned in
the same sentence.
“First, young lady, are you aware that
Mozart’s Die Zauberflote , was given its Prague premiere in
1792? Almost a year to the day that the original opera was
performed in Vienna.”
“I wasn’t sure of the dates, sir, but I did
know the first performances were in Vienna, not Prague, even though
Mozart was in Prague only months before. Is that right?”
He nodded as vigorously as he could, his
white hair bobbing enthusiastically after my response. “Very good.
Yes, Mozart was in Prague composing an opera in honor of the
coronation of King Leopold II. He did not want to do this, you
understand, but he was in need of money and he was already in ill
health. Perhaps he knew his death was not far off. He was very
depressed at this time. His soul was so low, in such a despair that
he’d even written a family member telling them that ‘everything
is cold—cold as ice. Everything seems empty.’ It breaks my
heart to this day. Such a fine young man. Perhaps that is why The Magic Flute became, in truth, such a hopeful opera—to
overcome his own misery.”
He nearly had me in tears myself over this
poignant quote from the young, brilliant composer but he continued,
“It hurts me deep in my heart that Mozart was never able to see Die Zauberflote performed in Prague at the beautiful Estates
Theatre.”
“Oh my gosh! That’s where I’ll be seeing
it.”
“Yes? Ah, that is good. You will get more of
a flavor of what I am to tell you, although most music lovers
believe National Theatre is better equipped for large operas
nowadays days than is the old Estates.”
“I’m sorry. I interrupted you.” I said.
“Please, go on.”
“You did not interrupt in a bad way; you
shared your happiness and I’m very pleased. It is quite nice to
hear that excitement in your voice when you talk of going to the
opera. Sadly, I have heard that most Americans your age are more
interested in hippy-hoppy video music than the lovely
classics.”
We were straying from his story, but since
God looked disappointed over my generation’s bad taste, I felt
compelled to reveal that my Dad and uncle are both very musical and
I was raised hearing Haydn and Bach issuing forth from the radio in
Dad’s office while Appalachian Mountain tunes were the order of the
day when Uncle Don taught them to his Bluegrass band. And lastly,
my cousin David (Don’s son) blasting away on his trumpet for his
mariachi band.
“Bluegrass?” God beamed at me. “I am a big
fan of Bluegrass myself. Although, I am not familiar with
‘mariachi.’ I will have to purchase a CD or two and listen.”
“I’ll get David to send you a few. He’s got
all the really good ones.”
We smiled at each other in perfect
understanding. Then, without skipping a beat, or a thought, he
continued, “When it was announced in Prague that The Magic
Flute would be performed here, the city went wild. Citizens of
Prague had always adored Mozart and mourned his death with much
intensity. The singers for the opera had already been chosen. Many
of the musicians had been picked as well. But this is where the
story really begins.”
I held my breath waiting for what had to be a
sad, spooky tale.
His voice was melodic and I was entranced.
“During the end of the Eighteenth Century there lived a wonderful
flautist, a man named Ignatz Jezek. He grew up in Prague,
that case, I shall save you some time and effort and tell you the
legend of Mozart and Kouzlo Noc .”
“Really? That would be marvelous,” I told
him. “Especially since I’m not sure what I’m hunting for.”
He motioned for me to sit back down on my
footstool then pulled a high-backed chair away from the wall. He
settled himself there, gently laid the cane next to the chair and
took a breath. Obviously this man was a storyteller. I only hoped
he would tell a tale that could explain why everyone got snarky
when flute-players, Mozart, and Kouzlo Noc were mentioned in
the same sentence.
“First, young lady, are you aware that
Mozart’s Die Zauberflote , was given its Prague premiere in
1792? Almost a year to the day that the original opera was
performed in Vienna.”
“I wasn’t sure of the dates, sir, but I did
know the first performances were in Vienna, not Prague, even though
Mozart was in Prague only months before. Is that right?”
He nodded as vigorously as he could, his
white hair bobbing enthusiastically after my response. “Very good.
Yes, Mozart was in Prague composing an opera in honor of the
coronation of King Leopold II. He did not want to do this, you
understand, but he was in need of money and he was already in ill
health. Perhaps he knew his death was not far off. He was very
depressed at this time. His soul was so low, in such a despair that
he’d even written a family member telling them that ‘everything
is cold—cold as ice. Everything seems empty.’ It breaks my
heart to this day. Such a fine young man. Perhaps that is why The Magic Flute became, in truth, such a hopeful opera—to
overcome his own misery.”
He nearly had me in tears myself over this
poignant quote from the young, brilliant composer but he continued,
“It hurts me deep in my heart that Mozart was never able to see Die Zauberflote performed in Prague at the beautiful Estates
Theatre.”
“Oh my gosh! That’s where I’ll be seeing
it.”
“Yes? Ah, that is good. You will get more of
a flavor of what I am to tell you, although most music lovers
believe National Theatre is better equipped for large operas
nowadays days than is the old Estates.”
“I’m sorry. I interrupted you.” I said.
“Please, go on.”
“You did not interrupt in a bad way; you
shared your happiness and I’m very pleased. It is quite nice to
hear that excitement in your voice when you talk of going to the
opera. Sadly, I have heard that most Americans your age are more
interested in hippy-hoppy video music than the lovely
classics.”
We were straying from his story, but since
God looked disappointed over my generation’s bad taste, I felt
compelled to reveal that my Dad and uncle are both very musical and
I was raised hearing Haydn and Bach issuing forth from the radio in
Dad’s office while Appalachian Mountain tunes were the order of the
day when Uncle Don taught them to his Bluegrass band. And lastly,
my cousin David (Don’s son) blasting away on his trumpet for his
mariachi band.
“Bluegrass?” God beamed at me. “I am a big
fan of Bluegrass myself. Although, I am not familiar with
‘mariachi.’ I will have to purchase a CD or two and listen.”
“I’ll get David to send you a few. He’s got
all the really good ones.”
We smiled at each other in perfect
understanding. Then, without skipping a beat, or a thought, he
continued, “When it was announced in Prague that The Magic
Flute would be performed here, the city went wild. Citizens of
Prague had always adored Mozart and mourned his death with much
intensity. The singers for the opera had already been chosen. Many
of the musicians had been picked as well. But this is where the
story really begins.”
I held my breath waiting for what had to be a
sad, spooky tale.
His voice was melodic and I was entranced.
“During the end of the Eighteenth Century there lived a wonderful
flautist, a man named Ignatz Jezek. He grew up in Prague,
Similar Books
