With some reluctance, I accepted that my time away from Salzburg was coming to an end and that I could no longer find convincing reasons to extend my absence. The prospect of returning felt like stepping back into a painting that refused to dry – beautiful to look at, but unwise to touch. Everywhere I went, I felt the urge to smudge its perfect lines.
Salzburg was undeniably picturesque. The surrounding mountains stood with haughty confidence, the river flowed with graceful restraint, and the street appeared meticulously ordered, as if disorder were a personal failure. Above all of it presided the Archbishop, who regarded music as agreeable background decoration. I thought of him as a melody in desperate need of variation.
Once my official duties resumed, I was assigned to compose entertainment music for the expected visit of Archduke Maximilian. The music was so dutiful and uninspiring that even the court mice lost interest and departed early. To keep myself awake during rehearsals, I redirected my energy elsewhere and began writing a violin concerto.
Although I had played the violin since childhood, I had never truly considered it my favorite instrument (too many strings attached). Still, boredom is a powerful motivator, and – perhaps – to demonstrate what I was capable of, I wrote a second concerto, and then a third. Within a few months, I had written five violin concertos in total. This, I discovered, is what happens when too much talent is left with too little supervision.
Each concerto developed a personality of its own, ranging from playful to refined. What pleased me most was realizing that the violin could tell jokes, subtle ones. A sly turn of phrase here, a playful echo there. This kind of musical humor extended well beyond the monotony of church rehearsals and would have surely startled the Archbishop, had he cared to listen long enough. My true inspiration, the force that kept me going, was the prospect of performing these works myself, standing as lead violinist before the Salzburg court orchestra. It was not escape, exactly, but it felt like a small act of independence, and at the time, that was enough.