I could never have guessed that I would like opera so much. Singing a beautiful aria is not opera: it is when something happens on stage, when personal suffering and worries are expressed. Handel, as much as Mozart, was born to write operas, and it could be said that for them writing instrumental music was a complementary activity. You realize this when you analyse parallel works, that is to say those from the non-operatic repertoire. The way the violin sings in Mozart’s concertos, or in the sonatas of Handel, closely resembles the psychological features of the personalities created by the composers, which in many cases closely resemble each other, such as Constanze and Alcina. Or at least that is how it seems to me. It’s not based on science, but if we go deeper into it we can observe how Handel’s Sonata in D major starts with the arpeggio D-Fsharp -E. Why an E and not a D? A rising arpeggio already has a heroic character, to rise as far as a D has still more, like Orlando, who falls in love with a queen and sinks into fit of jealousy. Mozart’s Concerto in A Major, which I am going to record with Capella Coloniensis, starts with the arpeggio in A Major - the violin solo - in adagio time, after the orchestra’s Allegro aperto. For me, Constanze with her rising arpeggio reflects the loneliness and sense of abandonment of the heroine. Mozart’s music is extraordinarily subtle and moving. Do you know how I came to appreciate and understand it at all? Through Wagner. When I didn’t know how to come to grips with Mozart, a friend took me deep into the world of Wagner. Everything happens in the orchestra, articulated by the Leitmotiv. Mozart is the same: the orchestra is as eloquent as, or more eloquent than, the pertinent character alone. In a while I am going to perform The Flying Dutchman in its original 1842 version - also with the Cappela Coloniensis - but I am still learning and cannot rush at it.

In spite of your numerous concert obligations you still give classes at the universities of Vienna and Salzburg. What do you get out of teaching?

Teaching brings many things. It enriches me, and as a human being I always come out winning: in order to explain things better, you have to reflect on them; it allows you to see other people’s errors and that can be used to deal with your own. I tell a student “ don’t do that”, and the next day discover that I do it myself! I also give classes because I like reliving the feeling of discovering early music, and seeing how other eyes perceive it. I am also setting up workshops with modern orchestras, as I did with the Mozarteum with Vivaldi and Mozart. It was very tricky, but it turned out satisfactorily; they accepted my tempos. I’ve also worked on Handel with the Bavarian State Orchestra, who are used to incorporating a great deal into their repertoire. Similarly, this summer I taught two courses: one at the Fundación La Caixa in Vitoria, and another in Austria with participants from Eastern Europe. It was meant to be a real exchange of ideas between students and teachers, a splendid attempt to get rid of the iron curtain, because unfortunately I believe that one does exist.

And what is it that you want to pass on to your students?

I am more interested in teaching the philosophy of each period, than in teaching its style. Style is only the surface of ideas and aesthetics. If after learning this somebody wants to continue with a period instrument, then good, but first he has to know the philosophical background.

And as for purely technical considerations, what importance do you ascribe to them?

It’s important to know the technical parameters of the past, so as not to invent things that in reality were not done. One can analyse the techniques of Geminiani or Lully, but it’s more interesting to study them in the context of their times. I have worked in the pre- Romantic repertoire and have seen the differences between the last part of the eighteenth century and the decades that followed. The transformation is very noticeable. It was a period of great changes in general, and also in music, and let us not forget that music is an expression of its times. The most pronounced difference arose as a result of the French Revolution, which demanded equality for all. This idea of equality was manifest in music with notes égales, sounding the same with upper or lower bow. The Mannheim orchestra was famous, amongst other things, for being able to play notes égales. Students ask me why they started using staccato dotting. It was because the performers, as a matter of course, played all the notes inégales. At times, the textual interpretation we give today depends on what we consider to have been “usual” in days gone by, but they didn’t write down what “usual” was. Another example is that it wasn’t necessary to write a rest after a note to make it shorter, because it was already the custom to shorten them. If the composer did write in rests it was for a reason, it meant somewhat more than shortening the notes. The composers used to write figures that sound alike, even if they were written using different forms. Knowing the composer’s intentions enables us to play them so that they do not sound the same.