Stiepanek, writing of the concert which Mozart gave in Prague (February, 1787), says:—
At the close of the concert Mozart improvised on the pianoforte for a good half-hour, and raised the enthusiasm of the delighted Bohemians to its highest pitch, so that he was obliged to resume his place at the instrument in compliance with their storm of applause. His second stream of improvisation had a still more powerful effect, and the audience again tumultuously recalled him. Their enthusiasm seemed to inspire him, and he played as he had never played before, till all at once the deathlike silence of the listeners was broken by a voice from among them exclaiming, "Aus 'Figaro'!" whereupon Mozart dashed into the favourite air, "Non più andrai," and improvised a dozen of the most interesting and artistic variations upon it, ending his wonderful performance amid a deafening storm of applause.[ 33 ]
Niemetschek also speaks of this concert (p. 40):—
A sweet enchantment seized upon us in listening to Mozart's improvisation on the pianoforte, which he continued for more than half an hour, and we gave vent to our delight in a perfect storm of applause. His playing surpassed anything that could be imagined, uniting all the qualities of first-rate composition and perfect ease of execution.
Such moments of inspiration as this gave his countenance an expression which betrayed the artist within him.[ 34 ] At other times, his appearance was in no way striking or distinguished. His head was somewhat too large in proportion to his body; his face was pale, though not unpleasing, but in no way uncommon, and the Mozart family nose asserted itself very plainly as long as he continued to be thin. His eyes were tolerably large and well shaped, with good eyelashes and bushy brows, but they were not bright, and his look was absent and restless. He had a great dislike to hearing his appearance commented on as insignificant (Vol. I., p. 381), and was seriously angry once when the Prussian ambassador gave him a letter of introduction, in which he said that he hoped Mozart's insignificant personal appearance would cause no prejudice against him.[ 35 ] "This absent creature," says the notice in Schlichtegroll's "Nekrolog," "became another being as soon as he sat down to the piano. His spirit seemed to soar upwards, and his whole mind was absorbed in what seemed the proper object of his being, the harmony of sound." "His whole countenance would change," says Niemetschek, "his eye became calm and collected; emotion spoke from every movement of his muscles, and was communicated by a sort of intuitive sympathy to his audience."
CHAPTER XXXIII. MOZART'S PIANOFORTE MUSIC.
THERE can be no reason to doubt what has often been asserted and maintained with proof, that Mozart was the greatest pianoforte-player of his time. Although, however, the fame of a virtuoso among his contemporaries is more brilliant and universal than that of a composer, yet posterity can form but a vague idea of the performances which were so enchanting to the hearers. It is impossible to give an accurate or very intelligible account of Mozart's playing, but it will not be without interest to note such of its characteristic features as are still within our grasp.
"He had small, well-shaped hands," says Niemetschek (p. 66), "and moved them so gently and naturally over the keys, that the eyes of his hearers were charmed no less than their ears." Like most pianoforte-players, his hands used involuntarily to assume the position they would have had in playing. The notice in Schlichtegroll's "Nekrolog" even observes that constant practising had rendered his hands awkward in ordinary use, and that it was only with extreme difficulty that he could cut up his meat at table!