In about 1920 I found in the archives of the Mozarteum at Salzburg a bundle of papers most probably belonging to the so-called “Mozart Legacy” (i.e., a legacy of Mozart's son, including many pieces of the property of the master himself.) This contained manuscript parts of Viennese origin produced already in the 18th century, perhaps in the Offizin Lausch. The title of the envelope of the Bass part reads: “Concerto in C: oboe principale 2 violini 2 oboi 2 corni viola e basso Del Sigre W. A. Mozart.” It was immediately clear that these parts corresponded with the famous Flute Concerto in D Major. When, later on, I reconstructed the score from them, I noticed a number of apparently unimportant deviations from the flute version which, however, turned out to be most significant, as they convinced me that I had come across the original version of this Concerto.

In giving premières of three notable contemporary works within the space of four weeks, the Zürich Stadttheater recently proved its outstanding artistic capacity.

The performance of Richard Strauss's Arabella, which took place on the 21st October, was of great importance, in the first place because of Professor Rudolph Hartmann's new production, but also on account of the re-casting of the leading parts, especially the title role sung by Lisa della Casa, on whom the audience's main interest was concentrated. Her achievement was constantly compared to the magnificent performance with which Maria Cebotari triumphed at the last Zürich performance in 1946. Lisa della Casa held her own even against that dazzling memory.

It is only eighteen months since the first performance of Let's Make an Opera!, but it is not surprising to learn that this “Entertainment for Young People” is already being produced as far away as in Tel-Aviv, for it has been greeted with enthusiasm by audiences of all ages, wherever it has been performed. One of the most outstanding achievements of the opera has been the remarkable way in which it transforms the expression on the faces of the grown-ups in the audience during the interval in which the four Audience Songs are rehearsed. Before this interval, their expressions may have shown polite and intelligent interest in the experiment, but by the time the rehearsal is over they look so radiant with triumph that it is difficult to recognise any resemblance to the passive listeners of twenty minutes ago. And yet how painfully embarrassing this experiment might have been if it had not been managed so skilfully. One thinks with horror of other attempts at “group activity”—self-consciously determined efforts to make unwilling audiences “join in all together.” Britten avoids any such pitfalls by taking it for granted that the audience will be needed as an essential part of the opera, just as he avoids the pitfall of making his child-performers sound like a prize elocution class by giving them, as a matter of course, the things that they will most enjoy doing. They enjoy doing them so much that they achieve an almost fanatical seriousness of purpose which prevents any hint of preciousness from creeping into the production.

In the previous article reference was made to the two ways by which genuine Hungarian elements could be absorbed into a generally acceptable instrumental style; in the Concerto for Orchestra the elements of traditional instrumental practice are integrated, while Variations—the full title of the work being: FELSZÁLLOTT A PÁVA (freely translateable as ‘Peacock’) Variations on a Hungarian Folk-Song—constitutes a solution where vocal elements are assimilated into an orchestral idiom.

I begin this summary of my impressions of music in Britain with the hope that anything. I say will not be construed as impertinence, or ingratitude to my hosts of the last six months for the stimulating experience and generous reception I have had here both as a practising musician and as an observer.

During the past year London ballet-goers have had an opportunity of studying interpretations in the title role of Giselle by the three most accomplished ballerinas of our time. This seems, in retrospect, to be the outstanding feature in a memorable year at the ballet, and the one most pleasant to recall.

I had an invitation this year to go to Salzburg for a month. This came from a group of Americans who run what is known as the Salzburg Seminar. The seminars were started by the Harvard Students Council because a group of young students there felt that there ought to be some means, after the recent war, of getting together young Europeans. The idea was to let them study the American way of life, culture and so on: and also to exchange views with each other, to compare notes and discuss what was going on in the various European countries. They thought it especially valuable that young students from the vanquished countries should have a chance of meeting their fellow Europeans, many of them, for the first time. Such a meeting place helps enormously understanding between nations: at least, between the lucky fifty or so a month who manage to get to Schloss Leopoldskron, formerly Max Reinhardt's castle, where the seminars are held.