I had heard of Mozart earlier, mostly through his works. An odd symphony tune would come up as an inspiration for a Bollywood song, or would be used as a background score. I had also heard of Salzburg, the birthplace of Mozart, in Austria. So, the temptation was there to explore the artist through his works and to try to touch his roots through the city, where he had taken his very first breath.
As per schedule, me and my nephew started for Salzburg from Villach in a train. I had mentioned earlier - the trains in Austria ran on time and were clean, neat and in order. Much like the trains of Netherlands. The movie through the train-windows that I had been enjoying for the past few days continued further. Some breathtakingly picturesque views from the train onlooking the ridges and mountains kept our eyes and hearts busy. Those small buildings in between! How do the inmates keep their focus on their chores! If I were there, I would have done nothing but gaze the surroundings.
It was a hot day and we started a long walk through the stretches of roads leading us to our destination. Poets have rightly said - I have never seen these long roads getting tired, I have never seen them sleep after reaching their end-point. It is true that roads do not ever get tired, it is we who do. But Salzburg was a wonderful city to stroll around. At every corner we could see a touch of class, sophistication and an element of surprise. Among others, we saw a Church, a few high-rises and a chariot in the middle of the road.
We discovered some nice mixture of old and new architectures. I have always believed that anything that is cherished still today cannot be old. It must be new.
Step after step took us to the bridge leading up to Mozart's house. But before reaching there, there was another surprise waiting for me. Over the other end of the bridge was a huge poster of an Audi Car, it was a moment of peace, satisfaction and pride. When you see your tiny contribution to a great product being displayed publicly, it means something huge. Nevertheless, the stroll beyond the bridge would end to a small lane and then finally lead us to the house where the maestro was born.
The house was indeed beautiful, and it bore the marks of an ordinary, middle class household where finer qualities of life had to struggle to get their way through the more difficult and important ones - among others, earnings and maintenances. The little boy was born there, had a sister and his father was also a musician, playing occasionally at gatherings. His mother was the homemaker. On the banks of the river Salzach and in the heart of a rather ordinary neighbourhood grew up the youngest of a family of 7 children, 5 of which had died earlier. The relatively tiny stairs leading up to small rooms upstairs, which are now converted as Museum, did tell a story or two. If one is born in hardship, one might have a counter reaction to prove oneself everyday.
The father Leopold Mozart, the mother Anna Maria, the elder sister Maria Anna, and, the little Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, formed a close unit and tried combinedly to overcome all obstacles of life to make the child prodigy, Wolfgang, shine. The father took the son to different orchestras, toured across Europe and when the child had grown up to the age of 17, the man, the wizard of instruments went out of this house to try his luck in Vienna. The rest was not so flowery after all, because Vienna gave Wolfgang Mozart the fame and his prolific output of compositions continued to come out, but, in the process, he started to lose his health. By the ugly turn of fate, "The Mozart" died at the early age of 35, leaving behind a huge legacy for generations to remember and take inspiration from.
While we were finishing the day and coming out of the house, a few things happened. The Mozart magic, which had started on the 18th century and had ended in that, felt like evergreen, fresh and forever vibrant. There were a bunch of young students who had come from different countries to pay a respect to their creative mentor, and they burst out into a flash singing and performance act. For me, this was the true meaning of art - if it had died, it would not have been in the minds of new students of today. We stayed for a few minutes, listened to the act and then looked at the road on the other end. There was a small hill and castle on the hilltop. Young Mozart had no reference point, there were no one before him to draw inspiration from, he did it all alone. Multiple instruments, different genres like opera, symphony, and, countless compositions turned him into an institution. Perhaps, that tall mountain was an inspiration! He would have looked at it and said, I would be taller than you one day!
[Austria diary ends on this note...]
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