I’m going to gush for a second longer about the beauty of Salzburg: The land on which the city sits was undoubtedly beautiful, before the city came along — before man came along. There’s not much that’s unsightly in and around the Alps. But the hand of man, I believe, made the area even better.
To some, such a statement would be sacrilege. Or do I mean blasphemy? Sacrilege, blasphemy, heresy — one of these days, I’m going to get a handle on the precise meaning of those words.
Every year, the Salzburg Festival Society
has a series of public interviews, i.e., Q&A’s before an audience. Our first guest this year is to be Piotr Beczala, the Polish tenor. But he calls in sick. What to do?
We pluck a substitute from among our own ranks: Peggy Weber-McDowell, a member of the Festival Society, and an old friend of mine. I have mentioned her in my writings before. Peggy is both a Salzburger and an Atlantan, an Austrian and an American. For years — meaning like 500 — her family had a candle business in Salzburg. And then this electric-light thing caught on . . .
I ask her to tell some of my favorite stories. “I love to hear the story” (as an old line doesn’t go). Peggy is a vivid and captivating storyteller. How about the time Wilhelm Furtwängler (the great conductor) flirted with her? He is not on the list of the “most charming,” though — Peggy has a list of the most charming men she has ever met. They include Franz Lehár and Richard Strauss.
The former, recall, composed The Merry Widow. The latter composed Der Rosenkavalier and a few other hits. Strauss was a patron of the Webers’ candle shop. Not sure about Lehár — I think so.
Peggy is very frank about the war — about the Anschluss and all that followed. Frank and instructive. As you may know, Salzburg had a little Kristallnacht, in which shops owned by Jewish citizens were smashed up. The foreman of the Webers’ factory participated in this episode. He came back with bloody hands and forearms, from the glass.
“Matthias!” they cried. “What happened to you?” He smiled with relish: “Those Jews had it coming. We’ve been waiting a long time to do this.” According to Peggy, the family was shocked at what Matthias turned out to be.
Anyway, I wish you could have been there. (For the talk, not the war.)
Over the years, I’ve met many Salzburgers who have no connection to the festival and cannot attend performances — because of ticket prices. This always makes me wince a little. I know one girl who is hoping to win a place as an usher: She says she has to apply right now, this summer, for next summer.
Angelika Kirchschlager, a famous mezzo-soprano, is from Salzburg. In an interview some years ago, she told me she sang in the children’s chorus for Carmen. (An opera being put on this year, in fact.)
Genia Kühmeier, a soprano, is also from Salzburg. She’s singing Micaëla in the current Carmen. Christian Doppler was a Salzburger too — you know, Doppler, like the effect. And then there’s Mozart . . .
For several years, I stayed in a hotel around the corner from the house where Mozart was born. For the last several years, I’ve stayed around the corner from the house in which he grew up. Both houses are museums, tourist attractions. I have never been to either one. Strange, this lack of interest.
I addressed this issue in an essay for The New Criterion last year — in the last paragraph, in particular. Go here, if you like. (The essay is on Bruckner.) The connection between place and music? Not much of a connection, in my view. In any case, thanks for joining me, and I’ll see you tomorrow.
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