The great admiration he excited as a clavier-player is described by his mother (December 28, 1777):—
Wolfgang is made much of everywhere; but he plays quite differently from what he does at Salzburg, for there are nothing but pianofortes here, and you never heard anything like the way he manages them; in a word, every one that hears him declares that his equal is not to be found. Although Beecké has been here, as well as Schubart, they all agree that he surpasses them both in beauty of tone, in gusto, and delicacy; and what they most admire is his playing out of his head whatever is laid before him.
Clavier-playing was less esteemed in Mannheim than proficiency on an orchestral instrument, and Peter Winter, a true representative of the Mannheim band, could not play the clavier at all, and could not abide such jingling noise, as he used to tell his friends.[ 73 ] But Mozart had plenty of opportunity for comparing himself with other clavier-players.
The Abbé Joh. Fr. Xav. Sterkel (1750-1817), one of the most celebrated performers of the day, came from Mayence (where he was pianist and chaplain to the Elector)[ 74 ] during Mozart's stay at Mannheim. "Last evening but one," he informs his father (December 26, 1777), "I was al solito at Cannabich's, and Sterkel came in. He played five duets, but so quick as to be unintelligible, and neither distinctly nor in time—they all said so. Mdlle. Cannabich played the sixth, and she really did it better than Sterkel."
The same fault that he found with Sterkel, viz., the endeavour to make an effect by rapid execution and playing at sight, in reality a mere device to hide imperfect execution, Mozart found also with the playing of Vogler (1749-1814), the solitary clavier performer resident at Mannheim.
He tells his father (January 17, 1778) of his meeting Vogler at a large party:—
After dinner he had his two claviers brought, which were tuned together, and also his tiresome printed sonatas. I was obliged to play them, and he accompanied me on the other clavier. I was obliged, at his pressing request, to have my sonatas brought also. Before dinner he had stumbled through my concerto—the Litzau one (246 K.)—prima vista;[ 75 ] the first movement went prestissimo, the andante allegro, and the rondo really prestissimo. He played almost throughout a different bass to the one that was written, and sometimes the harmonies, and even the melodies, were altered. Indeed, this was inevitable, owing to the great speed: the eye could not see and the hand could not grasp the music. But what kind of playing at sight is that? The hearers (those
I mean, who are worthy of the name) can only say that they have seen music and clavier-playing. They hear and think and feel just as little as the performer himself. You can imagine that the worst part of it to me is not being able to say: Much too quick. After all, it is much easier to play fast than slow; notes can be dropped out of passages without being noticed; but is that desirable? The rapidity allows the right and left hand to be used indiscriminately: but should that be so?
In what does the art of playing at sight consist? In playing the piece correctly, in strict time, giving the proper expression to every MANNHEIM. passage and every note, so that it might be imagined that the player had composed the piece himself. Vogler's fingering is atrocious; his left thumb is like Adlgasser's, and he makes all the runs for the right hand with his first finger and thumb.
