In the early 20th century, the “discovery” of Mozart’s sixth violin concerto in Paris created a sensation. Dubbed the Adélaïde Concerto and supposedly written for Madame Adélaïde of France, it was hailed as a testament to Mozart’s genius. However, as the story unfolds, it becomes clear that this masterpiece was not the work of the child prodigy but rather a carefully orchestrated hoax by Marius Casadesus. Despite its unmasking as a forgery, the concerto continues to captivate audiences, raising questions about authenticity and the music industry’s willingness to deceive for profit.

The Salzburg Festival, far from being a mere celebration of Mozart’s genius, was born out of nationalist ambitions during a turbulent period in Austro-German history. Conceived by figures like Max Reinhardt, Heinrich Damisch, and Friedrich Gehmacher, the festival was deeply rooted in ultranationalistic ideals, transforming Mozart’s legacy into a tool for cultural dominance. The truth behind its founding has long been obscured, but the primary sources tell a different, darker story.

The earliest sonatas of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, K.6 and K.7, are traditionally seen as proof of his precocious genius. But as we explore the murky origins of these works, we find that they may be more a product of Leopold Mozart’s ambition than Wolfgang’s musical talent. The truth, as always, lies somewhere between the notes.

Pushkin does not see Salieri as a mere mediocre. In fact, Salieri embodies the struggle of the artist, much like Michelangelo, who reaches greatness through relentless effort. Pushkin himself identifies with both Mozart and Salieri, but he emphasises that true art demands work, discipline, and sacrifice. In poisoning the Mozartian element within himself, Salieri performs a service to art, freeing it from the frivolity of effortless genius. ‘Can genius and malice coexist?’ Pushkin’s answer is complex, but in the end, Salieri’s act seems to affirm that true creation lies in the hands of those who strive.