



Produced by John Mamoun, Charles Franks and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team









THE LETTERS OF WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART. (1769-1791.)

In Two Volumes. Vol. I.

By Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

Translated, From The Collection Of Ludwig Nohl, By Lady Wallace

With A Portrait And Facsimile

New York and Philadelphia: 1866.



TABLE OF CONTENTS

   PREFACE
   THE LETTERS OF W.A. MOZART, VOLUME I

      FIRST PART: ITALY/VIENNA/MUNICH 1770-1776
      SECOND PART: MUNICH/AUGSBURG/MANNHEIM SEPT. 1777-MARCH 1778
      THIRD PART: PARIS MARCH 1778-JANUARY 1779
      FOURTH PART: MUNICH/IDOMENEO NOVEMBER 1780-JANUARY 1781

   CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. [LETTERS LISTED BY DATE]



PREFACE


A full and authentic edition of Mozart's Letters ought to require no
special apology; for, though their essential substance has already been
made known by quotations from biographies by Nissen, Jahn, and myself,
taken from the originals, still in these three works the letters are
necessarily not only very imperfectly given, but in some parts so
fragmentary, that the peculiar charm of this correspondence--namely, the
familiar and confidential mood in which it was written at the time--is
entirely destroyed. It was only possible to restore, and to enable
others to enjoy this charm--a charm so novel, even to those already
conversant with Mozart's life, that the most familiar incidents acquire
fresh zest from it--by an ungarbled edition of these letters. This is
what I now offer, feeling convinced that it will be welcome not only to
the mass of Mozart's admirers, but also to professional musicians; for
in them alone is strikingly set forth how Mozart lived and labored,
enjoyed and suffered, and this with a degree of vivid and graphic
reality which no biography, however complete, could ever succeed in
giving. Who does not know the varied riches of Mozart's life? All that
agitated the minds of men in that day--nay, all that now moves, and ever
will move, the heart of man--vibrated with fresh pulsation, and under
the most manifold forms, in his sensitive soul, and mirrored itself in
a series of letters, which indeed rather resemble a journal than a
correspondence.

This artist, Nature had gifted in all respects with the most clear and
vigorous intellect that ever man possessed. Even in a language which
he had not so fully mastered as to acquire the facility of giving
expression to his ideas, he contrived to relate to others all that he
saw and heard, and felt and thought, with surprising clearness and the
most charming sprightliness, combined with talent and good feeling.
Above all, in his letters to his father when travelling, we meet with
the most minute delineations of countries and people, of the progress of
the fine arts, especially in the theatres and in music; we also see
the impulses of his own heart and a hundred other things which, in
fascination, and universal as well as artistic interest, have scarcely
a parallel in our literature. The style may fail to a certain degree in
polish, that is, in definite purpose in expressing what he wished to say
in an attractive or congenial form,--an art, however, which Mozart so
thoroughly understood in his music. His mode of writing, especially in
the later letters from Vienna, is often very slovenly, evidencing how
averse the Maestro was to the task. Still these letters are manifestly
the unconstrained, natural, and simple outpourings of his heart,
delightfully recalling to our minds all the sweetness and pathos, the
spirit and grace, which have a thousand times enchanted us in the music
of Mozart. The accounts of his visit to Paris may, indeed, lay claim to
a certain aesthetic value, for they are written throughout with
visible zest in his own descriptions, and also with wit, and charm, and
characteristic energy. As these combined merits can only become apparent
by an ungarbled series of the letters, I have resolved, after many
long years of zealous research in collecting them, to undertake the
work,--that is, to publish the letters entire that have come to my
knowledge.

It now only remains for me to give some words of explanation as to the
method I have pursued in editing them.

In the first place, this edition, (being transcribed closely from the
originals,) if compared with the letters already published, will prove
that the latter are open to many corrections, both in trivial and more
important respects. I have forborne, however, attracting attention to
the deviations from the original text, either in Nissen or Jahn. I have
no wish to be punctilious about trifles, where, as in the case of Jahn,
the principal points are correct. Further, by this faithful production
of the letters, (nothing being omitted but the constant repetition of
forms of greeting and subscription,) we find many an additional feature
in the Maestro's life, and chiefly various facts with regard to the
creation and publication of his works, which may serve to complete
and to amend various statements in Dr. Ludwig Ritter von Kochel's
"Chronological Thematic Catalogue of the Musical Compositions of W. A.
Mozart," (Leipzig, Breitkopf and Hartel). This will be effected not only
by the hitherto unpublished letters, though comparatively few in number,
but also by passages being given in full, which have been hitherto
suppressed as of no consequence. I have referred to Nissen and Jahn only
when, in spite of all my inquiries, I could not discover the proprietor
of the original, or procure a correct copy.

I must also remark that all letters without a special address are
written to his father. I have only adhered to Mozart's defective
orthography in his few letters of early date, and in the rest adopted
the more modern fashion. I did so for this simple reason, that these
defects form a charm in his juvenile letters, from being in accordance
with their boyish contents, while, with regard to the others, they
only tend to distract the attention from the substance of the letters,
instead of imparting additional interest to them. Biographers can,
and ought always to render faithfully the original writing, because
quotations alternate with the text of the biographer; but in a regular
and uninterrupted series of letters this attraction must be very
sparingly used, or it will have a pernicious effect.

The explanatory remarks, and also the supplementary Lexicon, in which
I have availed myself of Jahn's catalogue, will make the letters more
intelligible to the world at large. The Index, too, has been most
carefully prepared to facilitate references.

Lastly, I return my best thanks to the keeper of the Archives of the
Mozarteum in Salzburg, to Herr Jellinck, and to all the librarians and
collectors of autographs who have assisted me in my task, either by
furnishing me with copies of their Mozart letters, or by letting me know
where I could procure them. I would also earnestly request all who may
possess any Mozart letters to send me an exact transcript of them in
the interest of Art; for those here given allude to many still unknown,
which are no doubt scattered about here and there, waiting to be brought
to light.

With respect to myself, the best reward I aspire to in return for the
many sacrifices this collection has cost me, is, that my readers may
do justice to the purpose which chiefly guided me throughout this
publication,--my desire being not merely to benefit science, and to give
a graphic description of the amiability and purity of heart which so
distinguished this attractive man, (for such was my aim in my "Life of
Mozart,") but above all to draw attention afresh to the unremitting zeal
with which Mozart did homage to every advance in Art, striving to make
music more and more the interpreter of man's innermost being. I also
wished to show how much his course was impeded by the sluggishness and
stupidity of the multitude, though partly sustained by the sympathy
of kindred souls, till the glorious victory was won over routine and
imbecility. Amidst all the fatiguing process of copying and collating
letters already so familiar to me, these considerations moved me more
vividly than ever; and no work on the Maestro can ever bring them with
such force before the intelligent reader as this connected succession of
letters, containing his own details of his unwearied artistic struggles
and productions. May these letters, then, kindle fresh zeal in
our artists of the present day, both in youthful genius and in
laurel-crowned Maestri!--especially may they have the happiest influence
on those who devote themselves to that phase of Art in which Mozart
attained the highest renown!--may they impart that energetic courage
which is derived from the experience that incessant efforts for
the progress of Art and its appliances enlarge the limits of human
intellect, and can alone insure an immortal crown!

LUDWIG NOHL.

MUNICH, October 1, 1864.




FIRST PART--ITALY, VIENNA, MUNICH.--1770 TO 1776.


Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born in Salzburg on the 17th January, 1756.
His father, Leopold Mozart, belonged to a respectable tradesman's family
in the free city of Augsburg. Conscious of being gifted with no small
portion of intellectual endowments, he followed the impulse that led
him to aim at a higher position in life, and went to the then celebrated
University of Salzburg in order to study jurisprudence. As he did not,
however, at once succeed in procuring employment in this profession,
he was forced, from his straitened means, to enter the service of
Canon Count Thun as valet. Subsequently, however, his talents, and that
thorough knowledge of music by which he had already (according to the
custom of many students) gained some part of his livelihood, obtained
for him a better position. In the year 1743 he was received into the
band (Kapelle) of the Salzburg cathedral by Archbishop Sigismund; and
as his capabilities and fame as a violinist increased, the same Prince
shortly afterwards promoted him to the situation of Hof-Componist (Court
Composer) and leader of the orchestra, and in 1762 he was appointed
Hof-Kapellmeister (conductor of the Court music).

In 1747 Leopold Mozart married Anna Maria Pertlin, a foster-child of the
Convent of St. Gilgen. The fruits of this marriage were seven children,
two of whom alone survived,--Maria Anna, (the fourth), called Nannerl,
born in 1751; and the youngest, Wolfgang Amadeus Johannes Chrysostomus.
The daughter at a very early age displayed a most remarkable talent
for music, and when her father began to give her instructions in it, an
inborn and passionate love of this art was soon evident in her little
brother of three years old, who at once gave tokens of a degree of
genius far surpassing all experience, and really bordering on the
marvellous. In his fourth year he could play all sorts of little pieces
on the piano. He only required half an hour to learn a minuet, and one
hour for a longer movement; and in his fifth year he actually composed
some pretty short pieces, several of which are still extant.

[Footnote: The Grand Duchess Helene Paulowna, a few weeks ago, made a
present to the Mozarteum of the music-book from which Mozart learned
music, and in which he wrote down his first compositions.]

The wonderful acquirements of both these children, to which Wolfgang
soon added skilful playing on the violin and organ, induced their father
to travel with them. In January, 1702, when the boy was just six
years old, they went first to Munich, and in the autumn to Vienna, the
children everywhere on their journey exciting the greatest sensation,
and being handsomely remunerated. Leopold Mozart, therefore, soon
afterwards resolved to undertake a longer journey, accompanied by his
whole family. This lasted more than three years, extending from the
smaller towns in West Germany to Paris and London, while they visited,
on their way back, Holland, France, and Switzerland. The careful musical
instruction which the father perseveringly bestowed on his son, went
hand in hand with the most admirable education, and the boy was soon as
universally beloved for his amiable disposition and natural simplicity
and candor, as admired for his rare gifts and acquirements.

After nearly a year passed at home in unremitting musical instruction,
and practice of various instruments as well as composition, the father
once more set off with all his family to Vienna,--on this occasion with
a view to Wolfgang paving the way to Italy by the composition of an
opera, (Italy, at that time, being the Eldorado of music.) He succeeded
in procuring the scrittura of an opera buffa, "La Finta semplice;"
but, when finished, although the Emperor himself had intrusted the
composition to the boy, the cabals of envious singers effectually
prevented its being performed. But a German operetta which the lad of
twelve also wrote at that time, "Bastien und Bastienne," was given in
private, at the summer residence of the Mesmer family, in the suburb
called Landstrasse. The father, too, had some compensation by the
Emperor commissioning his son to compose a solemn mass for the
consecration of the new Waisenhaus church, which Wolfgang himself
directed with the conductor's baton, in presence of the Imperial Family,
on the 7th December, 1768.

Immediately on their return home, the young virtuoso was appointed
archiepiscopal Concertmeister. He passed almost the whole of the year
1769 in Salzburg, chiefly engaged in the composition of masses. We also
see him at that time eagerly occupied in improving his knowledge of
Latin, although two years previously he had composed a comedy in that
language,--"Apollo et Hyacinthus." From this study proceeds the first
letter which is still extant from his hand:--



1.

Salzburg, 1769.

MY DEAR YOUNG LADY,--

I beg you will pardon the liberty I take in plaguing you with these few
lines, but as you said yesterday that there was nothing you could not
understand in Latin, and I might write what I chose in that language, I
could not resist the bold impulse to write you a few Latin lines. When
you have deciphered these, be so good as to send me the answer by one of
Hagenauer's servants, for my messenger cannot wait; remember, you must
answer this by a letter.

[Footnote: By a messenger of the Hagenauer family, in whose house,
opposite the inn of "Den drei Allurten," Mozart was born, and with whom
his family were on the most intimate terms.]

"Cuperem scire, de qua causa, a quam plurimis adolescentibus ottium
usque adeo oestimetur, ut ipsi se nec verbis, nec verberibus ad hoc
sinant abduci."

[Footnote: "I should like to know the reason why indolence is so highly
prized by very many young men, that neither by words nor blows will they
suffer themselves to be roused from it."]

WOLFGANG MOZART.



The father's plan to go to Italy, there to lay the foundation of a
European reputation for his son, was realized in the beginning of
December, 1769, and during the journey, the boy, who was at that time
just entering his fifteenth year, subjoined to his father's reports
scraps of his own writing, in which, in true boyish fashion, he had
recourse to all kinds of languages and witticisms, but always exhibiting
in his opinions on music the closest observation, the gravest thought,
and the most acute judgment.



2.

Verona, Jan. 1770.

MY VERY DEAREST SISTER,--

I have at last got a letter a span long after hoping so much for an
answer that I lost patience; and I had good cause to do so before
receiving yours at last. The German blockhead having said his say, now
the Italian one begins. Lei e piu franca nella lingua italiana di quel
che mi ho immaginato. Lei mi dica la cagione perche lei non fu nella
commedia che hanno giocata i Cavalieri. Adesso sentiamo sempre una opera
titolata Il Ruggiero. Oronte, il padre di Bradamante, e un principe (il
Signor Afferi) bravo cantante, un baritono, [Footnote: "You are more
versed in the Italian language than I believed. Tell me why you were not
one of the actors in the comedy performed by the Cavaliers. We are now
hearing an opera called 'Il Ruggiero.' Oronte, the father of Bradamante,
is a Prince (acted by Afferi, a good singer, a baritone)."] but very
affected when he speaks out a falsetto, but not quite so much so as
Tibaldi in Vienna. Bradamante innamorata di Ruggiero (ma [Footnote:
"Bradamante is enamored of Ruggiero, but"]--she is to marry Leone, but
will not) fa una povera Baronessa, che ha avuto una gran disgrazia, ma
non so la quale; recita [Footnote: "Pretends to be a poor Baroness who
has met with some great misfortune, but what it is I don't know, she
performs"] under an assumed name, but the name I forget; ha una voce
passabile, e la statura non sarebbe male, ma distuona come il diavolo.
Ruggiero, un ricco principe innamorato di Bradamante, e un musico; canta
un poco Manzuolisch [Footnote: Manzuoli was a celebrated soprano, from
whom Mozart had lessons in singing when in London.] ed ha una bellissima
voce forte ed e gia vecchio; ha 55 anni, ed ha una [Footnote: "She has
a tolerable voice, and her appearance is in her favor, but she sings out
of tune like a devil Ruggiero, a rich Prince enamored of Bradamante, is
a musico, and sings rather in Manzuoli's style, and has a fine powerful
voice, though quite old; he is fifty-five, and has a"] flexible voice.
Leone is to marry Bradamante--richississimo e, [Footnote: "Immensely
rich."] but whether he is rich off the stage I can't say. La moglie di
Afferi, che ha una bellissima voce, ma e tanto susurro nel teatro che
non si sente niente. Irene fa una sorella di Lolli, del gran violinista
che habbiamo sentito a Vienna, a una [Footnote: "Afferi's wife has a
most beautiful voice, but sings so softly on the stage that you really
hear nothing at all. A sister of Lolli, the great violinist whom we
heard at Vienna, acts Irene; she has a"] very harsh voce, e canta sempre
[Footnote: "Voice, and always sings"] a quaver too tardi o troppo a
buon' ora. Granno fa un signore, che non so come si chiame; e la prima
volta che lui recita. [Footnote: "Slow or too fast. Ganno is acted by
a gentleman whose name I never heard. It is his first appearance on the
stage."] There is a ballet between each act. We have a good dancer here
called Roessler. He is a German, and dances right well. The very last
time we were at the opera (but not, I hope, the very last time we ever
shall be there) we got M. Roessler to come up to our palco, (for M.
Carlotti gives us his box, of which we have the key,) and conversed with
him. Apropos, every one is now in maschera, and one great convenience
is, that if you fasten your mask on your hat you have the privilege
of not taking off your hat when any one speaks to you; and you never
address them by name, but always as "Servitore umilissimo, Signora
Maschera." Cospetto di Bacco! that is fun! The most strange of all is
that we go to bed at half-past seven! Se lei indovinasse questo, io diro
certamente che lei sia la madre di tutti gli indovini. [Footnote: "If
you guess this, I shall say that you are the mother of all guessers."]
Kiss mamma's hand for me, and to yourself I send a thousand kisses, and
assure you that I shall always be your affectionate brother.

Portez-vous bien, et aimez-moi toujours.



3.

Milan, Jan. 26, 1770.

I REJOICE in my heart that you were so well amused at the sledging
party you write to me about, and I wish you a thousand opportunities of
pleasure, so that you may pass your life merrily. But one thing vexes
me, which is, that you allowed Herr von Molk [an admirer of this pretty
young girl of eighteen] to sigh and sentimentalize, and that you did not
go with him in his sledge, that he might have upset you. What a lot of
pocket-handkerchiefs he must have used that day to dry the tears he shed
for you! He no doubt, too, swallowed at least three ounces of cream of
tartar to drive away the horrid evil humors in his body. I know nothing
new except that Herr Gellert, the Leipzig poet, [Footnote: Old Mozart
prized Gellert's poems so highly, that on one occasion he wrote to him
expressing his admiration.] is dead, and has written no more poetry
since his death. Just before beginning this letter I composed an air
from the "Demetrio" of Metastasio, which begins thus, "Misero tu non
sei."

The opera at Mantua was very good. They gave "Demetrio." The prima donna
sings well, but is inanimate, and if you did not see her acting, but
only singing, you might suppose she was not singing at all, for she
can't open her mouth, and whines out everything; but this is nothing new
to us. The seconda donna looks like a grenadier, and has a very powerful
voice; she really does not sing badly, considering that this is her
first appearance. Il primo uomo, il musico, sings beautifully, but his
voice is uneven; his name is Caselli. Il secondo uomo is quite old, and
does not at all please me. The tenor's name is Ottini; he does not sing
unpleasingly, but with effort, like all Italian tenors. We know him
very well. The name of the second I don't know; he is still young, but
nothing at all remarkable. Primo ballerino good; prima ballerina good,
and people say pretty, but I have not seen her near. There is a grotesco
who jumps cleverly, but cannot write as I do--just as pigs grunt.
The orchestra is tolerable. In Cremona, the orchestra is good, and
Spagnoletta is the name of the first violinist there. Prima donna very
passable--rather ancient, I fancy, and as ugly as sin. She does not sing
as well as she acts, and is the wife of a violin-player at the opera.
Her name is Masci. The opera was the "Clemenza di Tito." Seconda donna
not ugly on the stage, young, but nothing superior. Primo uomo, un
musico, Cicognani, a fine voice, and a beautiful cantabile. The other
two musici young and passable. The tenor's name is non lo so [I don't
know what]. He has a pleasing exterior, and resembles Le Roi at Vienna.
Ballerino primo good, but an ugly dog. There was a ballerina who danced
far from badly, and, what is a capo d'opera, she is anything but plain,
either on the stage or off it. The rest were the usual average. I cannot
write much about the Milan opera, for we did not go there, but we heard
that it was not successful. Primo uomo, Aprile, who sings well, and
has a fine even voice; we heard him at a grand church festival. Madame
Piccinelli, from Paris, who sang at one of our concerts, acts at the
opera. Herr Pick, who danced at Vienna, is now dancing here. The opera
is "Didone abbandonata," but it is not to be given much longer. Signor
Piccini, who is writing the next opera, is here. I am told that the
title is to be "Cesare in Egitto."

WOLFGANG DE MOZART,

Noble of Hohenthal and attached to the Exchequer.



4.

Milan, Feb. 10, 1770.

SPEAK of the wolf, and you see his ears! I am quite well, and
impatiently expecting an answer from you. I kiss mamma's hand, and
send you a little note and a little kiss; and remain, as before,
your----What? Your aforesaid merry-andrew brother, Wolfgang in Germany,
Amadeo in Italy.

DE MORZANTINI.



5.

Milan, Feb. 17, 1770.

Now I am in for it! My Mariandel! I am so glad that you were so
tremendously merry. Say to nurse Urserl that I still think I sent back
all her songs, but if, engrossed by high and mighty thoughts of Italy,
I carried one off with me, I shall not fail, if I find it, to enclose it
in one of my letters. Addio, my children, farewell! I kiss mamma's hands
a thousand times, and send you a thousand kisses and salutes on your
queer monkey face. Per fare il fine, I am yours, &c.



6.

Milan, Carnival, Erchtag.

MANY kisses to mamma and to you. I am fairly crazed with so much
business, [Footnote: Concerts and compositions of every kind occupied
Mozart. The principal result of his stay in Milan was, that the young
maestro got the scrittura of an opera for the ensuing season. As the
libretto was to be sent to them, they could first make a journey through
Italy with easy minds. The opera was "Mitridate, Re di Ponto."] so I
can't possibly write any more.



7.

Milan, March 3, 1770.

CARA SORELLA MIA,--

I am heartily glad that you have had so much amusement. Perhaps you may
think that I have not been as merry as you; but, indeed, I cannot sum
up all we have done. I think we have been at least six or seven times at
the opera and the feste di ballo, which, as in Vienna, begin after the
opera, but with this difference, that at Vienna the dancing is more
orderly. We also saw the facchinata and chiccherata. The first is
a masquerade, an amusing sight, because the men go as facchini, or
porters; there was also a barca filled with people, and a great number
on foot besides; and five or six sets of trumpets and kettledrums,
besides several bands of violins and other instruments. The chiccherata
is also a masquerade. What the people of Milan call chicchere, we call
petits maitres, or <DW2>s. They were all on horseback, which was a pretty
sight. I am as happy now to hear that Herr von Aman [Footnote: The
father had written in a previous letter, "Herr von Aman's accident,
of which you wrote to us, not only distressed us very much, but cost
Wolfgang many tears. You know how sensitive he is"] is better, as I was
grieved when you mentioned that he had met with an accident. What
kind of mask did Madame Rosa wear, and Herr von Molk, and Herr von
Schiedenhofen? Pray write this to me, if you know it; your doing so will
oblige me very much. Kiss mamma's hands for me a thousand million times,
and a thousand to yourself from "Catch him who can!" Why, here he is!



8.

Bologna, March 24, 1770.

Oh, you busy creature!

Having been so long idle, I thought it would do me no harm to set to
work again for a short time. On the post-days, when the German letters
come, all that I eat and drink tastes better than usual. I beg you will
let me know who are to sing in the oratorio, and also its title. Let me
hear how you like the Haydn minuets, and whether they are better than
the first. From my heart I rejoice to hear that Herr von Aman is now
quite recovered; pray say to him that he must take great care of himself
and beware of any unusual exertion. Be sure you tell him this. I intend
shortly to send you a minuet that Herr Pick danced on the stage, and
which every one in Milan was dancing at the feste di ballo, only
that you may see by it how slowly people dance. The minuet itself is
beautiful. Of course it comes from Vienna, so no doubt it is either
Teller's or Starzer's. It has a great many notes. Why? Because it is a
theatrical minuet, which is in slow time. The Milan and Italian minuets,
however, have a vast number of notes, and are slow and with a quantity
of bars; for instance, the first part has sixteen, the second twenty,
and even twenty-four.

We made the acquaintance of a singer in Parma, and also heard her to
great advantage in her own house--I mean the far-famed Bastardella. She
has, first, a fine voice; second, a flexible organ; third, an incredibly
high compass. She sang the following notes and passages in my presence.

[Here, Mozart illustrates with about 20 measures of music]



9.

Rome, April 14, 1770.

I AM thankful to say that my stupid pen and I are all right, so we send
a thousand kisses to you both. I wish that my sister were in Rome,
for this city would assuredly delight her, because St. Peter's is
symmetrical, and many other things in Rome are also symmetrical. Papa
has just told me that the loveliest flowers are being carried past at
this moment. That I am no wiseacre is pretty well known.

Oh! I have one annoyance--there is only a single bed in our lodgings,
so mamma may easily imagine that I get no rest beside papa. I rejoice at
the thoughts of a new lodging. I have just finished sketching St. Peter
with his keys, St. Paul with his sword, and St. Luke with--my sister,
&c., &c. I had the honor of kissing St. Peter's foot at San Pietro, and
as I have the misfortune to be so short, your good old

WOLFGANG MOZART

was lifted up!



10.

Rome, April 21, 1770.

CARA SORELLA MIA,--

Pray try to find the "Art of Ciphering" which you copied out, but I have
lost it, and know nothing about it. So pray do write it out again for
me, with some other copies of sums, and send them to me here.

Manzuoli has entered into a contract with the Milanese to sing in my
opera [see Nos. 2-6]. For this reason he sang four or five arias to me
in Florence, and also some of my own, which I was obliged to compose in
Milan (none of my theatrical things having been heard there) to prove
that I was capable of writing an opera. Manzuoli asks 1000 ducats. It is
not yet quite certain whether Gabrielli will come. Some say Madame de'
Amicis will sing in it; we shall see her in Naples. I wish that she and
Manzuoli could act together; we should then be sure of two good friends.
The libretto is not yet chosen. I recommended one of Metastasio's to Don
Ferdinando [Count Firmiani's steward, in Milan] and to Herr von Troyer.
I am at this moment at work on the aria "Se ardore e speranza."



11.

Rome, April 25, 1770.

CARA SORELLA MIA,--

Io vi accerto che io aspetto con una incredibile premura tutte le
giornate di posta qualche lettere di Salisburgo. Jeri fummo a S. Lorenzo
e sentimmo il Vespero, e oggi matina la messa cantata, e la sera poi il
secondo vespero, perche era la festa della Madonna del Buonconsiglio.
Questi giorni fummi nel Campidoglio e viddemmo varie belle cose. Se io
volessi scrivere tutto quel che viddi, non bastarebbe questo foglietto.
In due Accademie suonai, e domani suonero anche in una.--Subito dopo
pranzo giuochiamo a Potsch [Boccia]. Questo e un giuoco che imparai qui,
quando verro a casa, ve l'imparero. Finita questa lettera finiro una
sinfonia mia, che comminciai. L'aria e finita, una sinfonia e dal
copista (il quale e il mio padre) perche noi non la vogliamo dar via per
copiarla; altrimente ella sarebbe rubata.

WOLFGANGO in Germania. AMADEO MOZART in Italia.

Roma caput mundi il 25 Aprile anno 1770    nell' anno venture 1771.

[Footnote:

"DEAREST SISTER,--

"I assure you that I always expect with intense eagerness my letters
from Salzburg on post-days. Yesterday we were at S. Lorenzo and heard
vespers, and to-day at the chanted mass, and in the evening at the
second vespers, because it was the Feast of the Madonna del
Buonconsiglio. A few days ago we were at the Campidoglio, where we saw a
great many fine things. If I tried to write you an account of all I saw,
this sheet would not suffice. I played at two concerts, and to-morrow I
am to play at another. After dinner we played at Potsch [Boccia]. This
is a game I have learnt, and when I come home, I will teach it to you.
When I have finished this letter, I am going to complete a symphony that
I have begun. The aria is finished. The copyist (who is my father) has
the symphony, because we do not choose it to be copied by any one else,
or it might be stolen.

"WOLFGANGO in Germany.

"AMADEO MOZART in Italy.

"Rome, mistress of the world: April 25, 1770."]



12.

Naples, May 19, 1770.

CARA SORELLA MIA,--

Vi prego di scrivermi presto e tutti i giorni di posta. Io vi ringrazio
di avermi mandata questi "Art of Ciphering," [FOOTNOTE: "I beg you will
write to me soon, indeed every post-day. I thank you for having sent me
the 'Art of Ciphering.'"] e vi prego, se mai volete avere mal di testa,
di mandarmi ancora un poco di questi "books." [FOOTNOTE: "And I beg if
you ever want to have a headache, that you will send me some more."]
Perdonate mi che scrivo si malamente, ma la razione e perche anche
io ebbi un poco mal di testa. [FOOTNOTE: "of the same kind. Excuse my
writing so badly, but the reason is that I have a bit of a headache
myself."]

Haydn's twelfth minuet, which you sent me, pleases me very much; you
have composed an inimitable bass for it, and without the slightest
fault. I do beg that you will often exercise yourself in such things.
Mamma must not forget to see that the guns are both polished up. Tell me
how Master Canary is? Does he still sing? and still whistle? Do you know
why I am thinking about the canary? Because we have one in our ante-room
that chirps out a G sharp just like ours. [Footnote: Mozart was
extremely fond of animals, and later in life had always birds in his
room.] A propos, Herr Johannes [Hagenauer], no doubt, received the
letter of congratulation which we intended to write to him? But if he
has not got it, I will tell him myself, when we meet in Salzburg, what
ought to have been in it. Yesterday we wore our new clothes; we were as
handsome as angels. My kind regards to Nandl; she must not fail to pray
diligently for me.

Jomelli's opera is to be given on the 30th. We saw the king and queen at
mass in the court chapel at Portici, and we also saw Vesuvius. Naples is
beautiful, but as crowded with people as Vienna or Paris. As for London
and Naples, I think that in point of insolence on the part of the people
Naples almost surpasses London; because here the lazzaroni have their
regular head or leader, who receives twenty-five ducati d'argento
monthly from the king for keeping the lazzaroni in order.

Madame de' Amicis sings in the opera--we were there. Caffaro is to
compose the second opera, Ciccio di Majo the third, but who is to
compose the fourth is not yet known. Be sure you go regularly to
Mirabell, to hear the Litanies, and listen to the "Regina Coeli" or the
"Salve Regina," and sleep sound, and take care to have no evil dreams.
My most transcendent regards to Herr von Schiedenhofen--tralaliera!
tralaliera! Tell him to learn the repetition minuet on the piano, to be
sure to DO so, and DO not let him forget it. He must DO this in order
to DO me the favor to let me accompany him some day or other. DO give my
best compliments to all my friends, and DO continue to live happily, and
DO not die, but DO live on, that you may be able to DO another letter
for me, and I DO one for you, and thus we shall go on DOING till we can
DO something worth DOING; but I am one of those who will go on DOING
till all DOINGS are at an end. In the mean time I DO subscribe myself

Your W. M.



13.

Naples, May 29, 1770.

Jeri l'altro fummo nella prova dell' opera del Sign. Jomelli, la quale
e una opera che e ben scritta e che me piace veramente. Il Sign. Jomelli
ci ha parlato ed era molto civile. E fummo anche in una chiesa a sentir
una Musica la quale fu del Sign. Ciccio di Majo, ed era una bellissima
Musica. Anche lui ci parlci ed era molto compito. La Signora de'
Amicis canto a meraviglia. Stiamo Dio grazia assai bene di salute,
particolarmente io, quando viene una lettera di Salisburgo. Vi prego
di scrivermi tutti giorni di posta, e se anche non avete niente da
scrivermi, solamente vorrei averlo per aver qualche lettera tutti giorni
di posta. Egli non sarebbe mal fatto, se voi mi scriveste qualche volta
una letterina italiana.

[FOOTNOTE: "The other day we attended the rehearsal of Signor Jomelli's
opera, which is well written and pleases me exceedingly. Signor Jomelli
spoke to us and was very civil. We also went to a church to hear a mass
by Signor Ciccio di Majo, and it was most beautiful music. Signora
de' Amicus sang incomparably. We are, thank God, very well, and I feel
particularly so when a letter from Salzburg arrives. I beg you will
write to me every post-day, even if you have nothing to write about, for
I should like to have a letter by every post. It would not be a bad idea
to write me a little letter in Italian."]



14.

Naples, June 5, 1770.

Vesuvius is smoking fiercely! Thunder and lightning and blazes! Haid
homa gfresa beim Herr Doll. Das is a deutscha Compositor, und a browa
Mo. [Footnote: "Today we dined with Herr Doll, he is a good composer
and a worthy man" [Vienna Patois]] Now I begin to describe my course
of life.--Alle 9 ore, qualche volta anche alle dieci mi svelgio, e poi
andiamo fuor di casa, e poi pranziamo da un trattore, e dopo pranzo
scriviamo, e poi sortiamo, e indi ceniamo, ma che cosa? Al giorno di
grasso, un mezzo pollo ovvero un piccolo boccone d'arrosto; al giorno di
magro un piccolo pesce; e di poi andiamo a dormire. Est-ce que vous
avez compris?--Redma dafir Soisburgarisch, don as is gschaida. Wir sand
Gottlob gesund da Voda und i. [Footnote: "I rise generally every morning
at 9 o'clock, but sometimes not till 10, when we go out. We dine at
a restaurateur's, after dinner I write, and then we go out again, and
afterwards sup, but on what? on jours gras, half a fowl, or a small
slice of roast meat, on jours maigres a little fish, and then we go to
sleep. Do you understand? Let us talk Salzburgisch, for that is more
sensible. Thank God, my father and I are well" [Patois]] I hope you
and mamma are so also. Naples and Rome are two drowsy cities. A scheni
Schrift! net wor? [Footnote: "Fine writing, is it not?" [Patois.]] Write
to me, and do not be so lazy. Altrimente avrete qualche bastonate di
me. Quel plaisir! Je te casserai la tete. [Footnote: "Otherwise I
will cudgel you soundly. What a pleasure--to break your head!"] I am
delighted with the thoughts of the portraits [of his mother and sister,
who had promised to have their likenesses taken], und i bi korios wias
da gleich sieht; wons ma gfoin, so los i mi und den Vodan a so macho.
Maidli, lass Da saga, wo list dan gwesa he? [Footnote: "And I am anxious
to see what they are like, and then I will have my father and myself
also taken. Fair maiden, say, where have you been, eh?" [Patois.]] The
opera here is Jomelli's; it is fine, but too grave and old-fashioned for
this stage. Madame de' Amicis sings incomparably, and so does Aprile,
who used to sing at Milan. The dancing is miserably pretentious. The
theatre beautiful. The King has been brought up in the rough Neapolitan
fashion, and at the opera always stands on a stool, so that he may look
a little taller than the Queen, who is beautiful and so gracious, for
she bowed to me in the most condescending manner no less than six times
on the Molo.



15.

Naples, June 16, 1770.

I AM well and lively and happy as ever, and as glad to travel. I made
an excursion on the Mediterranean. I kiss mamma's hand and Nannerl's a
thousand times, and am your son, Steffl, and your brother, Hansl.



16.

Rome, July 7, 1770.

CARA SORELLA MIA,--

I am really surprised that you can compose so charmingly. In a word, the
song is beautiful. Often try something similar. Send me soon the
other six minuets of Haydn. Mademoiselle, j'ai l'honneur d'etre votre
tres-humble serviteur et frere,

CHEVALIER DE MOZART.

[He had received from the Pope the cross of the Order of the Golden
Spur.]



17.

Bologna, July 21, 1770.

I WISH mamma joy of her name-day, and hope that she may live for many
hundred years to come and retain good health, which I always ask of
God, and pray to Him for you both every day. I cannot do honor to the
occasion except with some Loretto bells, and wax tapers, and caps, and
gauze when I return. In the mean time, good-bye, mamma. I kiss your hand
a thousand times, and remain, till death, your attached son.



18.

Io vi auguro d'Iddio, vi dia sempre salute, e vi lasci vivere ancora
cent' anni e vi faccia morire quando avrete mille anni. Spero che voi
impararete meglio conoscermi ni avvenire e che poi ne giudicherete come
ch' egli vi piace. Il tempo non mi permette di scriver motto. La penna
non vale un corno, ne pure quello che la dirigge. Il titolo dell' opera
che ho da comporre a Milano, non si sa ancora.

[Footnote: "My prayer to God is, that He may grant you health, and allow
you to live to be a hundred, and not to die till you are a thousand
years old. I hope that you will learn to know me better in future, and
that you will then judge of me as you please. Time does not permit me
to write much. My pen is not worth a pin, nor the hand that guides it. I
don't yet know the title of the opera that I am to compose at Milan."]

My landlady at Rome made me a present of the "Thousand and One Nights"
in Italian; it is most amusing to read.



19.

Bologna, August 4, 1770.

I GRIEVE from my heart to hear that Jungfrau Marthe is still so ill, and
I pray every day that she may recover. Tell her from me that she must
beware of much fatigue and eat only what is strongly salted [she
was consumptive]. A propos, did you give my letter to Robinsiegerl?
[Sigismund Robinig, a friend of his]. You did not mention it when you
wrote. I beg that when you see him you will tell him he is not quite
to forget me. I can't possibly write better, for my pen is only fit to
write music and not a letter. My violin has been newly strung, and I
play every day. I only mention this because mamma wished to know whether
I still played the violin. I have had the honor to go at least six times
by myself into the churches to attend their splendid ceremonies. In the
mean time I have composed four Italian symphonies [overtures], besides
five or six arias, and also a motett.

Does Herr Deibl often come to see you? Does he still honor you by his
amusing conversation? And the noble Herr Carl von Vogt, does he still
deign to listen to your tiresome voices? Herr von Schiedenhofen
must assist you often in writing minuets, otherwise he shall have no
sugar-plums.

If time permitted, it would be my duty to trouble Herr von Molk and Herr
von Schiedenhofen with a few lines; but as that most indispensable of
all things is wanting, I hope they will forgive my neglect, and consider
me henceforth absolved from this honor. I have begun various cassations
[a kind of divertimento], so I have thus responded to your desire. I
don't think the piece in question can be one of mine, for who would
venture to publish as his own composition what is, in reality, written
by the son of the Capellmeister, and whose mother and sister are in
the same town? Addio--farewell! My sole recreations consist in dancing
English hornpipes and cutting capers. Italy is a land of sleep; I am
always drowsy here. Addio--good-bye!



20.

Bologna, August 21, 1770.

I AM not only still alive, but in capital spirits. To-day I took a fancy
to ride a donkey, for such is the custom in Italy, so I thought that I
too must give it a trial. We have the honor to associate with a certain
Dominican who is considered a very pious ascetic. I somehow don't quite
think so, for he constantly takes a cup of chocolate for breakfast, and
immediately afterwards a large glass of strong Spanish wine; and I have
myself had the privilege of dining with this holy man, when he drank a
lot of wine at dinner and a full glass of very strong wine afterwards,
two large slices of melons, some peaches and pears for dessert, five
cups of coffee, a whole plateful of nuts, and two dishes of milk and
lemons. This he may perhaps do out of bravado, but I don't think so--at
all events, it is far too much; and he eats a great deal also at his
afternoon collation.



21.

Bologna, Sept. 8, 1770.

NOT to fail in my duty, I must write a few words. I wish you would tell
me in your next letter to what brotherhoods I belong, and also let
me know the prayers I am bound to offer up for them. I am now reading
"Telemachus," and am already in the second volume. Good-bye for the
present! Love to mamma.



22.

I HOPE that mamma and you are both well, but I wish you would answer
my letters more punctually in time to come; indeed, it is far easier to
answer than to originate. I like these six minuets far better than the
first twelve; we often played them to the Countess [Pallivicini, at
whose country-seat, near Bologna, father and son spent some months].
We only wish we could succeed in introducing a taste for German minuets
into Italy, as their minuets last nearly as long as entire symphonies.
Forgive my bad writing; I could write better, but I am in such a hurry.



23.

Bologna, Sept. 29, 1770.

IN order to fill up papa's letter, I intend to add a few words. I grieve
deeply to hear of Jungfrau Marthe's long-continued illness, which the
poor girl bears, too, with such patience. I hope, please God, she may
still recover. If not, we must not grieve too much, for the will of God
is always best, and God certainly knows better than we do whether it is
most for our good to be in this world or in the next. But it will cheer
her to enjoy this fine weather once more after all the rain.



24.

Bologna, Oct. 6, 1770.

I AM heartily glad that you have been so gay; I only wish I had been
with you. I hope Jungfrau Marthe is better. To-day I played the organ at
the Dominicans. Congratulate the .... from me, and say that I sincerely
wish they may live to see the fiftieth anniversary of Father Dominikus's
saying mass, and that we may all once more have a happy meeting.

[Footnote: Jahn observes that he probably alludes to their intimate
friends, the merchant Hagenauer's family, with whom old Mozart had many
pecuniary transactions for the purpose of his travels, and whose son
entered the church in 1764.]

My best wishes to all Thereserls, and compliments to all my friends in
the house and out of the house. I wish I were likely soon to hear the
Berchtesgadner symphonies, and perhaps blow a trumpet or play a fife
in one myself. I saw and heard the great festival of St. Petronius in
Bologna. It was fine, but long. The trumpeters came from Lucca to make
the proper flourish of honor, but their trumpeting was detestable.



25.

Milan, Oct. 20, 1770.

MY DEAR MAMMA,--

I cannot write much, for my fingers ache from writing out such a
quantity of recitative. I hope you will pray for me that my opera
["Mitridate Re di Ponto"] may go off well, and that we soon may have
a joyful meeting. I kiss your hands a thousand times, and have a great
deal to say to my sister; but what? That is known only to God and
myself. Please God, I hope soon to be able to confide it to her
verbally; in the mean time, I send her a thousand kisses. My compliments
to all kind friends. We have lost our good Martherl, but we hope that by
the mercy of God she is now in a state of blessedness.



26.

Milan, Oct. 27, 1770.

MY VERY DEAREST SISTER,--

You know that I am a great talker, and was so when I left you. At
present I replace this very much by signs, for the son of this family
is deaf and dumb. I must now set to work at my opera. I regret very much
that I cannot send you the minuet you wish to have, but, God willing,
perhaps about Easter you may see both it and me. I can write no
more.--Farewell! and pray for me.



27.

Milan, Nov. 3, 1770.

MY VERY DEARLY LOVED SISTER,--

I thank you and mamma for your sincere good wishes; my most ardent
desire is to see you both soon in Salzburg. In reference to your
congratulations, I may say that I believe Herr Martinelli suggested
your Italian project. My dear sister, you are always so very clever,
and contrived it all so charmingly that, just underneath your
congratulations in Italian, followed M. Martini's compliments in the
same style of penmanship, so that I could not possibly find you out; nor
did I do so, and I immediately said to papa, "Oh! how I do wish I were
as clever and witty as she is!" Then papa answered, "Indeed, that is
true enough." On which I rejoined, "Oh! I am so sleepy;" so he merely
replied, "Then stop writing." Addio! Pray to God that my opera may be
successful. I am your brother,

W. M.,

whose fingers are weary from writing.



28.

Milan, Dec. 1, 1770.

DEAREST SISTER,--

As it is so long since I wrote to you, I thought that I might perhaps
pacify your just wrath and indignation by these lines. I have now a
great deal to work at, and to write for my opera. I trust all will go
well, with the help of God. Addio! As ever, your faithful brother,

WOLFGANG MOZART.



29.

MY DARLING SISTER,--

It is long since I have written to you, having been so much occupied
with my opera. As I have now more time, I shall attend better to my
duty. My opera, thank God, is popular, as the theatre is full every
evening, which causes great surprise, for many say that during all the
time they have lived in Milan they never saw any first opera so crowded
as on this occasion. I am thankful to say that both papa and I are quite
well, and I hope at Easter to have an opportunity of relating everything
to mamma and you. Addio! A propos, the copyist was with us yesterday,
and said that he was at that moment engaged in transcribing my opera for
the Lisbon court. Good-bye, my dear Madlle. sister,

Always and ever your attached brother.



30.

Venice, Feb 15, 1771

MY VERY DEAR SISTER,--

You have, no doubt, heard from papa that I am well. I have nothing to
write about, except my love and kisses to mamma. Give the enclosed--Al
sig. Giovanni. La signora perla ricono la riverisce tanto come anche
tutte le altre perle, e li assicuro che tutte sono inamorata di lei,
e che sperano che lei prendera per moglie tutte, come i Turchi per
contenar tutte sei. Questo scrivo in casa di Sign. Wider, il quale e un
galant' uomo come lei melo scrisse, ed jeri abbiamo finito il carnavale
da lui, cenardo da lui e poi ballammo ed andammo colle perle in
compagnie nel ridotto nuovo, che mi piacque assai. Quando sto dal Sign.
Wider e guardando fuori della finestra vedo la casa dove lei abito
quando lei fu in Venezia. Il nuovo non so niente. Venezia mi piace
assai. Il mio complimento al Sign., suo padre e madre, sorelle,
fratelli, e a tutti i miei amici ed amiche. Addio!

[Footnote: "To Herr Johannes [Hagenauer] The fair 'pearl' has the same
high opinion of you that all the other 'pearls' here have. I assure
you that they are all in love with you, and their hope is that you will
marry them all (like the Turks), and so please them every one. I write
this in the house of Signor Wider, who is an excellent man and exactly
what you wrote to me, yesterday we finished the Carnival in his house.
We supped there and then danced, and went afterwards, in company with
the 'pearls,' to the new masquerade, which amused me immensely. When
I look out of the window at Signor Wider's, I see the house that
you inhabited in Venice. I have no news. I like Venice very well. My
compliments to your father and mother, brothers and sisters, and all my
friends. Adieu!"]



31.

Venice, Feb. 20, 1771.

I AM still well, and, thank God, in the land of the living. Madame de'
Amicis has been singing at S. Benedetto. Say to Herr Johannes that the
Widerischen Berlein family are constantly speaking of him (particularly
Madlle. Catherine), so he must soon return to Vienna to encounter the
attacca--that is, in order to become a true Venetian, you must allow
yourself to be bumped down on the ground. They wished to do this to me
also, but though seven women tried it, the whole seven together did not
succeed in throwing me down. Addio!

The travellers arrived again at home towards the end of March, 1771. The
marriage of the Archduke Ferdinand with the Princess of Modena,
which took place in the October of that year, was attended with great
festivities, and recalled the father and son to Italy in the course of
a few months, Wolfgang having received a command from the Empress Maria
Theresa to compose a dramatic serenata in honor of these nuptials.



32.

Verona, August 18, 1771.

DEAREST SISTER,--

I have not slept more than half an hour, for I don't like to sleep
after eating. You may hope, believe, think, be of opinion, cherish the
expectation, desire, imagine, conceive, and confidently suppose, that we
are in good health; but I can tell you so to a certainty. Wish Herr von
Heffner a happy journey from me, and ask him if he has seen Annamindl?

[Wolfgang, who was then fifteen, had taken advantage of his leisure
during their short stay in Salzburg to fall in love for the first time.
We shall find frequent allusions to this subject. See also No. 25.]



33.

Milan, August 23, 1771.

MY VERY DEAR SISTER,--

We suffered much from heat in the course of our journey, and the dust
constantly dried us up so impertinently that we should have been choked,
or died of thirst, if we had not been too sensible for that. For a whole
month past (say the Milanese) there has been no rain here; to-day a
slight drizzle began, but the sun has now come out again, and it is once
more very warm. What you promised me (you well know my meaning, you
kind creature!) don't fail to perform, I entreat. I shall be indeed very
grateful to you. I am at this moment actually panting from the heat--I
tear open my waistcoat! Addio--good-bye!

WOLFGANG.

Above us we have a violinist, below us is another, next to us a
singing-master, who gives lessons, and, in the room opposite, a
hautboy-player. This is famous for a composer--it inspires so many fine
thoughts.



34.

Milan, August 31, 1771.

MY DEAREST SISTER,--

We are quite well, thank God! I have been eating quantities of fine
pears, peaches, and melons in your place. My greatest amusement is to
talk by signs to the dumb, which I can do to perfection. Herr Hasse [the
celebrated opera composer] arrived here yesterday, and to-day we are
going to pay him a visit. We only received the book of the Serenata
last Thursday. [Footnote: It was "Ascanio in Alba" that Wolfgang got to
compose for Milan; and it was this music which made Hasse exclaim, "This
boy will cause us all to be forgotten."] I have very little to write
about. Do not, I entreat, forget about THE ONE OTHER, where no other can
ever be. You understand me, I know.



35.

Milan, Sept. 13, 1771.

DEAR SISTER,--

I write only for writing's sake. It is indeed very inconvenient, because
I have a severe cold. Say to Fraulein W. von Molk that I rejoice at the
thoughts of Salzburg, in the hope that I may again receive the same
kind of present for the minuets which was bestowed on me at a similar
concert. She knows all about it.



36.

Milan, Sept. 21, 1771.

I AM well, God be praised! I can't write much. 1st, I have nothing to
say. 2d, my fingers ache from writing. I often whistle an air, but no
one responds. Only two arias of the Serenata are still wanting, and
then it will be finished. I have no longer any fancy for Salzburg; I am
afraid I might go mad too. [He had heard that several persons there had
lost their reason.]



37.

Milan, Oct. 5, 1771.

I AM in good health, but always sleepy. Papa has snatched from my pen
all that I had to write about, which is, that he has already written
everything. Signora Gabrielli is here, and we are soon going to see her,
as we wish to become acquainted with all distinguished singers.



38.

Milan, Oct. 26, 1771.

MY work being now completed, I have more time to write, but have nothing
to say, as papa has written you all I could have said. I am well, thank
God! but have no news, except that in the lottery the numbers 35, 59,
60, 61, and 62 have turned up prizes, so if we had selected these we
should have won; but as we did not put in at all we neither won nor
lost, but only laughed at those who did the latter. The two arias
encored in the Serenata were those of Manzuoli, and Girelli, the prima
donna, I hope you may be well amused in Triebenbach with shooting, and
(weather permitting) with walking.



39.

Milan, Nov. 2, 1771.

Papa says that Herr Kerschbaumer travels with profit and observation,
and we can testify that he conducts himself very judiciously; at all
events he can give a more satisfactory account of his journey than some
of his friends, one of whom said that he could not see Paris properly
because the houses there were too high. To-day Hasse's opera is to be
given; as papa, however, is not going, I can't go either. [FOOTNOTE:
Hasse had also a festal opera to compose, but Leopold Mozart writes, "I
am sorry to say that Wolfgang's Serenata has totally eclipsed Hasse's
opera."] Fortunately I know all the airs thoroughly by heart, so I can
see and hear them in my own thoughts at home.



40.

Milan, Nov. 24, 1771.

DEAREST SISTER,--

Herr Manzuoli, the musico, who has always been considered and esteemed
as the best of his class, has in his old age given a proof of his folly
and arrogance. He was engaged at the opera for the sum of 500 gigliati
(ducats), but as no mention was made in the contract of the Serenata, he
demanded 500 ducats more for singing in it, making 1000. The court only
sent him 700 and a gold box, (and enough too, I think,) but he returned
the 700 ducats and the box, and went away without anything. I don't know
what the result of this history will be--a bad one, I fear!



41.

Milan, Nov. 30, 1771.

That you may not suppose I am ill, I write you a few lines. I saw four
fellows hanged in the Dom Platz. They hang here just as they do in
Lyons.

We now find the father and son once more in Salzburg, in the middle of
December, 1771. Archbishop Sigismund died, and on the 14th of March,
1772, Archbishop Hieronymus was elected, who was destined to cause much
sorrow to Mozart. Soon after, in honor of the procession and homage of
the new prince, he composed the allegorical azione teatrale "Il sogno
di Scipione." In October he resumed his travels, having undertaken the
scrittura for the approaching Carnivals both at Milan and at Venice.



42.

Bologna, Oct. 28, 1772.

We have got to Botzen already. Already? rather not till now. I am
hungry, thirsty, sleepy, and lazy, but I am quite well. We saw
the monastery in Hall, and I played the organ there. When you see
Nadernannerl, tell her I spoke to Herr Brindl (her lover), and he
charged me to give her his regards. I hope that you kept your promise
and went last Sunday to D----N----[in cipher]. Farewell! write me some
news. Botzen--a pig-sty!



43.

Milan, Nov. 7, 1772.

Don't be startled at seeing my writing instead of papa's. These are the
reasons: first, we are at Herr von Oste's, and the Herr Baron Christiani
is also here, and they have so much to talk about, that papa cannot
possibly find time to write; and, secondly, he is too lazy. We arrived
here at 4 o'clock this afternoon, and are both well. All our good
friends are in the country or at Mantua, except Herr von Taste and his
wife, who send you and my sister their compliments. Herr Misliweczeck [a
young composer of operas from Paris] is still here. There is not a word
of truth either in the Italian war, which is so eagerly discussed in
Germany, or in the castles here being fortified. Forgive my bad writing.

Address your letters direct to us, for it is not the custom here, as in
Germany, to carry the letters round; we are obliged to go ourselves to
fetch them on post-days. There is nothing new here; we expect news from
Salzburg.

Not having a word more to say, I must conclude. Our kind regards to all
our friends. We kiss mamma 1,000,000,000 times (I have no room for more
noughts); and as for my sister, I would rather embrace her in persona
than in imagination.



44.

CARISSIMA SORELLA,--

Spero che voi sarete stata dalla Signora, che voi gia sapete. Vi prego,
se la videte di farla un Complimento da parte mia. Spero e non dubito
punto che voi starete bene di salute. Mi son scordato di darvi nuova,
che abbiamo qui trovato quel Sign. Belardo, ballerina, che abbiamo
conosciuto in Haye ed in Amsterdam, quello che attaco colla spada il
ballerino, il Sign. Neri, perche credeva che lui fosse cagione che non
ebbe la permission di ballar in teatro. Addio, non scordarvi di me, io
sono sempre il vostro fidele fratello.

[FOOTNOTE: "DEAREST SISTER,--I hope you have been to see the lady--you
know who. I beg that when you see her you will give her my compliments.
I hope, and do not doubt, that you are in good health. I forgot to tell
you that we found Signor Belardo here, a dancer whom we knew at the
Hague and at Amsterdam--the same person who attacked Signor Neri with
a sword, because he thought he was the cause of his not obtaining
permission to dance in the theatre. Adieu! Do not forget me, always your
faithful brother."]



45.

Milan, Nov. 21, 1772.

I thank you exceedingly--you know for what. I cannot possibly write to
Herr von Heffner. When you see him, make him read aloud what follows. I
hope he will be satisfied with it:--

"I am not to take it amiss that my unworthy friend has not answered my
letter; as soon as he has more leisure, he will certainly, beyond all
doubt, positively and punctually send me a reply."



46.

Milan, Nov. 28, 1772.

We both send our congratulations to Herr von Aman; tell him from me
that, owing to his having all along made a mystery of the affair, I feel
much annoyed, for I fear I may have said more than I ought about his
bride. I thought he had been more straightforward. One thing more. Say
to Herr von Aman that, if he wishes to have a right merry wedding, he
must be so kind as to wait till we return, so that what he promised me
may come to pass, namely, that I was to dance at his wedding. Tell Herr
Leitgeb [a horn-player in the Archbishop's orchestra] that he must come
straight to Milan, for he is sure to succeed well here; but he must come
soon. Pray let him know this, for I am anxious about it.



47.

Milan, Dec. 5, 1772.

I have now about fourteen pieces to write, and then I shall have
finished. [Footnote: He alludes to his Milan opera, "Lucio Silla."]
Indeed, the trio and the duet may be considered as four. I cannot
possibly write much, for I have no news, and in the next place I
scarcely know what I am writing, as all my thoughts are absorbed in my
opera, so there is some danger of my writing you a whole aria instead of
a letter. I have learned a new game here, called mercanti in fiera. As
soon as I come home we can play at it together. I have also learned
a new language from Frau von Taste, which is easy to speak, though
troublesome to write, but still useful. It is, I own, rather a little
childish, but will do capitally for Salzburg. My kind regards to
pretty Nandl and to the canary, for these two and yourself are the
most innocent creatures in our house. Fischietti [the Archbishop's
Capellmeister] will no doubt soon begin to work at his opera buffa
(translated into German, his CRAZY opera!). Addio!

The following letter of Wolfgang's shows the sparkling state of his
spirits, caused by the completion of his opera. At each line he turns
the page, so that one line stands, as it were, on the head of the other.
The father, too, in the joy of his heart that the arduous work was
drawing to a close, and with it his long journey, writes four lines,
one above another, round the edge of the page, so that the whole forms a
framework for a sketch of a burning heart and four triangles (symbols
of fidelity), and a bird on the wing from whose beak a distich is
streaming:--

Oh! fly to seek my child so fair Here, and there, and everywhere!

Wolfgang adds:--



48.

Milan, Dec. 18, 1772.

I HOPE, dear sister, that you are well, dear sister. When this letter
reaches you, dear sister, my opera will be in scena, dear sister. Think
of me, dear sister, and try, dear sister, to imagine with all your might
that my dear sister sees and hears it also. In truth, it is hard to say,
as it is now eleven o'clock at night, but I do believe, and don't at
all doubt, that in the daytime it is brighter than at Easter. My dear
sister, to-morrow we dine with Herr von Mayer; and do you know why?
Guess! Because he invited us. The rehearsal to-morrow is to be in the
theatre. The impresario, Signor Cassiglioni, has entreated me not to say
a word of this to a soul, as all kinds of people would come crowding in,
and that we don't wish. So, my child, I beg, my child, that you won't
say one syllable to any one on the subject, or too many people would
come crowding in, my child. Approposito, do you know the history
that occurred here? Well, I will relate it to you. We were going home
straight from Count Firmiani's, and when we came into our street we
opened our door, and what do you think happened? We went in. Good-bye,
my pet. Your unworthy brother (frater),

WOLFGANG.



On the 26th of December "an incomparable performance" of "Lucio Silla"
took place; it was eminently successful, and continued to fill the house
night after night in the most surprising way. The father writes home
regularly, and Wolfgang subjoins the usual postscripts, which, however,
at this time contain nothing worth quoting. We give only part of an
Italian letter which he writes for practice:--



49.

.... Vi prego di dire al Sig. Giovanni Hagenauer da parte mia, che non
dubiti, che andro a veder sicuramente in quella bottega delle armi, se
ci sono quei nomi [?] che lui desidera, e che senza dubbio doppo averlo
trovato le portero meco a Salisburgo. Mi dispiace che il Sig. Leitgeb
e partito tanto tardi da Salisburgo [see No. 46] che non trovera piu in
scena la mia opera e forte non ci trovera nemeno, se non in viaggio.

Hieri sera era la prima prova coi stromenti della seconda opera, ma ho
sentito solamente il primo atto, perche a secondo mene andiedi essendo
gia tardi. In quest' opera saranno sopra il balco 24 cavalli e . . .
mondo di gente, che saro miracolo se non succede qualche disgrazia. La
musica mi piace; se piace al replico non so, perche alle prime prove non
e lecito l' andarci che alle personne che sono del Teatro. Io spero che
domani il mio padre potra uscir di casa. Sta sera fa cativissimo tempo.
La Signora Teyber e adesso a Bologna e il carnevale venturo recitera a
Turino e l'anno sussiquente poi va a cantare a Napoli.

[Footnote: "Pray say from me to Johannes Hagenauer, that he may entirely
rely on my going to the armorer's shop, to see if I can procure what
he desires, and after getting it I will not fail to bring it with me to
Salzburg. I regret that Herr Leitgeb delayed so long leaving Salzburg
[see No. 46], for he will no longer find my opera in scena, nor will he
find us either unless we meet on our travels. Yesterday evening was our
first rehearsal of the second opera with instruments, but I only heard
the first act, for I went away at the second, because it was so very
late. In this opera there are to be twenty-four horses and a crowd of
people on the stage at the same time, so it will be surprising if no
accident happens. The music pleases me; whether it will please others
I cannot tell, for no persons but those belonging to the theatre are
permitted to attend the first rehearsals. I hope that papa will be able
to leave the house to-morrow. The weather is detestable this evening.
Madame Teyber is now at Bologna; she is to act at Turin in the ensuing
Carnival, and the year following she is to sing at Naples."]

After enjoying some more of the amusements of the Carnival, they arrived
again in Salzburg about the middle of March. This place, or rather their
position at court there, was in the highest degree repugnant to both; so
the father, in the course of his travels, applied to the Grand-Duke of
Tuscany for an appointment for his son. As, however, nothing was to
be got in that quarter, he directed his views to the Imperial capital
itself; and thus, at the end of three months, we find him again with
his son in Vienna. From thence Wolfgang often wrote to his loved ones at
home.



50.

Vienna, August 14, 1773.

I HOPE that your Majesty [Footnote 1: O. Jahn remarks that this epithet
is a reminiscence of a fantastic game that often amused the boy on his
journeys. He imagined a kingdom, the inhabitants of which were endowed
with every gift that could make them good and happy.] enjoys the best
state of health; and yet that now and then--or rather sometimes--or,
better still, from time to time--or, still better, qualche volta, as
the Italians say--your Majesty will impart to me some of your grave
and important thoughts (emanating from that most admirable and solid
judgment which, in addition to beauty, your Majesty so eminently
possesses; and thus, although in such tender years, my Queen casts into
the shade not only the generality of men but even the gray-haired).

P. S. This is a most sensible production.



51.

Vienna, August 21, 1773.

When we contemplate the benefit of time, and yet are not entirely
oblivious of the estimation in which we ought to hold the sun, then it
is quite certain, Heaven be praised! that I am quite well. My second
proposition is of a very different character. Instead of sun, let us
put moon, and instead of benefit, science; then any one, gifted with
a certain amount of reasoning powers, will at once draw the conclusion
that--I am a fool because you are my sister. How is Miss Bimbles? [the
dog.] I beg you will convey all sorts of amiable messages from me to
her. I also send my kind remembrances to M. Kreibich [conductor of the
Imperial chamber-music], whom we knew at Presburg and also at Vienna;
and very best regards from Her Majesty the Empress, Frau Fischerin, and
Prince Kaunitz. Oidda!

GNAGFLOW TRAZOM.



52.

Vienna, Sept. 15, 1773.

WE are quite well, thank God; on this occasion we have contrived to make
time to write to you, although we have so much business to do. We hope
you also are well. Dr. Niderl's death grieved us very much. I assure you
we cried a good deal, and moaned and groaned. Our kind regards to "Alle
gute Geister loben Gott den Herrn" [to all good spirits who praise the
Lord], and to all our friends. We graciously remain

Yours, WOLFGANG.

Given from our capital of Vienna.



The travellers returned home the end of September, for no situation was
to be found in Vienna either; indeed, they did not even give a public
concert there. Wolfgang remained in his native town during the whole of
the ensuing year, writing instrumental and church music. At length he
received a commission from the Elector of Bavaria, Maximilian III., to
write an opera buffa for the Carnival of 1775,--"La finta Giardiniera."



53.

Munich, Dec. 28, 1774.

My Dearest Sister,

I entreat you not to forget, before your journey, [FOOTNOTE: Nannerl had
also the most eager desire to see the new opera, and the father at last
succeeded in getting a lodging for her in the large market place, in the
house of a widow, "a black-eyed brunette," Frau von Durst.] to perform
your promise, that is, to make a certain visit. I have my reasons for
this. Pray present my kind regards in that quarter, but in the most
impressive and tender manner--the most tender; and, oh!----but I need
not be in such anxiety on the subject, for I know my sister and her
peculiarly loving nature, and I feel quite convinced that she will do
all she can to give me pleasure--and from self-interest, too--rather
a spiteful hit that! [Nannerl was considered a little selfish by her
family.]



54.

Munich, Dec. 30, 1774.

I BEG my compliments to Roxalana, who is to drink tea this evening with
the Sultan, All sorts of pretty speeches to Madlle. Mizerl; she must not
doubt my love. I have her constantly before my eyes in her fascinating
neglige. I have seen many pretty girls here, but not one whose beauty
can be compared with hers. Do not forget to bring the variations on
Ekart's menuet d'exaude, and also those on Fischer's minuet. I was at
the theatre last night. The play was "Der Mode nach der Haushaltung,"
which was admirably acted. My kind regards to all my friends. I trust
that you will not fail to--Farewell! I hope to see you soon in Munich.
Frau von Durst sends you her remembrances. Is it true that Hagenauer is
become a professor of sculpture in Vienna? Kiss mamma's hand for me,
and now I stop for to-day. Wrap yourself up warmly on your journey, I
entreat, or else you may chance to pass the fourteen days of your visit
in the house, stifling beside a stove, unable once to move. I see the
vivid lightning flash, and fear there soon will be a crash!

Your brother.



55.

To HIS MOTHER.

Munich, Jan. 11, 1775.

WE are all three well, Heaven be praised! I cannot possibly write much,
for I must go forthwith to the rehearsal. Tomorrow the grand rehearsal
takes place, and on the 13th my opera is to be in scena. I am much vexed
that you should cast any slight on Count Seeau [Intendant of the Munich
Theatre], for no one can be more kind or courteous, and he has more good
breeding than many of his degree in Munich. Herr von Molk was in such a
state of wonder and admiration at the opera seria when he heard it, that
we felt quite ashamed of him, for it clearly showed every one that he
had never in his life seen anything but Salzburg and Innspruck. Addio!



56.

To HIS MOTHER.

Munich, Jan. 14, 1775.

GOD be praised! My opera was given yesterday, the 13th, and proved so
successful that I cannot possibly describe all the tumult. In the first
place, the whole theatre was so crammed that many people were obliged
to go away. After each aria there was invariably a tremendous uproar and
clapping of hands, and cries of Viva Maestro! Her Serene Highness the
Electress and the Dowager (who were opposite me) also called out Bravo!
When the opera was over, during the interval when all is usually quiet
till the ballet begins, the applause and shouts of Bravo! were renewed;
sometimes there was a lull, but only to recommence afresh, and so forth.
I afterwards went with papa to a room through which the Elector and
the whole court were to pass. I kissed the hands of the Elector and the
Electress and the other royalties, who were all very gracious. At an
early hour this morning the Prince Bishop of Chiemsee [who had most
probably procured the scrittura for his young friend Wolfgang] sent to
congratulate me that the opera had proved such a brilliant success in
every respect. As to our return home, it is not likely to be soon, nor
should mamma wish it, for she must know well what a good thing it is to
have a little breathing time. We shall come quite soon enough to----.
One most just and undeniable reason is, that my opera is to be given
again on Friday next, and I am very necessary at the performance, or it
might be difficult to recognize it again. There are very odd ways here.
1000 kisses to Miss Bimberl [the dog].

The Archbishop of Salzburg, who was very reluctant to admit the merits
of his Concertmeister, was an involuntary witness of the universal
approbation bestowed on Wolfgang's opera, although he would not go
to hear it himself. On the 18th of January, 1775, Wolfgang added the
following lines to his father's letter:--



57.

MY DEAR SISTER,

[FOOTNOTE: Nannerl had not yet gone home, but was enjoying the Carnival
in various masks.]

How can I help the clock choosing at this moment to strike a quarter
after seven o'clock? It is not papa's fault either. Mamma will hear all
the rest from you. At present there is no fair sailing for me, as
the Archbishop is staying here, though not for long. It is currently
reported that he is to remain till he sets off again! I only regret that
he is not to see the first masked ball.

Your faithful FRANZ v. NASENBLUT.

Milan, May 5, 1756.


Immediately after Ash Wednesday the trio returned to Salzburg, where
Mozart remained uninterruptedly for another year and a half, actively
engaged in the duties of his situation. He wrote the following letter
on the 4th of September, 1776, to the celebrated Pater Martini in
Bologna:--



58.

MOLTO REVDO PADE MAESTRO, PADRONE MIO STIMATISSIMO,--La venerazione,
la stima e il rispetto, che porto verso la di lei degnissima persona mi
spinse di incommodarla colle presente e di mandargli un debole pezzo
di mia musica, rimmettendola alla di lei maestrale giudicatura. Scrissi
l'anno scorso il Carnevale una opera buffa ("La finta Giardiniera") a
Monaco in Baviera. Pochi giorni avanti la mia partenza di la desiderava
S. A. Elletorale di sentire qualche mia musica in contrapunto: era
adunque obligato di scriver questo Motetto in fretta per dar tempo
a copiar il spartito per Sua Altezza ed a cavar le parti per poter
produrlo la prossima domenica sotto la Messa grande in tempo
del Offertorio. Carissimo e stimatissimo Sigr. P. Maestro! Lei e
ardentemente pregato di dirmi francamente e senza riserva il di lei
parere. Viviamo in questo mondo per imparare sempre industriosamente, e
per mezzo dei raggionamenti di illuminarsi l'un l'altro e d'affatigarsi
di portar via sempre avanti le scienze e le belle arti. Oh quante e
quante volte desidero d'esser piu vicino per poter parlar e raggionar
con Vostra Paternita molto Revda. Vivo in una paese dove la musica fa
pocchissimo fortuna, benche oltre di quelli che ci hanno abandonati, ne
abbiamo ancora bravissimi professori e particolarmente compositori di
gran fondo, sapere e gusto. Per il teatro stiamo male per mancanza dei
recitanti. Non abbiamo Musici e non gli averemo si facilmente, giache
vogliono esser ben pagati: e la generosita, non e il nostro difetto. Io
mi diverto intanto a scrivere per la camera e per la chiesa: e ne
son quivi altri due bravissimi contrapuntisti, cioe il Sgr. Haydn e
Adlgasser. Il mio padre e maestro della chiesa Metropolitana, che mi da
l'occasione di scrivere per la chiesa, quanto che ne voglio. Per altro
il mio padre gia 36 anni in servizio di questa Corte e sapendo, che
questo Arcivescovo non puo e non vuol vedere gente avanzata in eta, non
lo se ne prende a core, si e messo alla letteratura per altro gia suo
studio favorito. La nostra musica di chiesa e assai differente di quella
d'Italia e sempre piu, che una Messa con tutto il Kyrie, Gloria, Credo,
la Sonata all' Epistola, l'Offertorio osia Motetto, Sanctus ed Agnus
Dei, ed anche la piu solenne, quando dice la Messa il Principe stesso,
non ha da durare che al piu longo 3 quarti d'ora. Ci vuole un studio
particolare per queste sorte di compositione, e che deve pero essere una
Messa con tutti stromenti--Trombe di guerra, Tympani ecc. Ah! che
siamo si lontani Carissmo Sgr. P. Maestro, quante cose che avrai a
dirgli!--Reverisco devotamente tutti i Sgri. Filarmonici: mi raccommando
via sempre nelle grazie di lei e non cesso d'affligermi nel vedermi
lontano dalla persona del mondo che maggiormente amo, venero e stimo, e
di cui inviolabilmente mi protesto di V. Pta molto Rda

umilissmo e devotssmo servitore,

WOLFGANGO AMADEO MOZART.

Salisburgo, 4 Settembre, 1776.

[FOOTNOTE:

To Father Martini.

"Salzburg, Sept. 4, 1776.

"MOST REVEREND AND ESTEEMED FATHER AND MAESTRO,--

"The veneration, the esteem, and the respect I feel for your illustrious
person, induce me to intrude on you with this letter, and also to send
you a small portion of my music, which I venture to submit to your
masterly judgment. Last year, at Monaco, in Bavaria, I wrote an opera
buffa ("La finta Giardiniera") for the Carnival. A few days previous to
my departure from thence, his Electoral Highness wished to hear some of
my contrapuntal music; I was therefore obliged to write this motett in
haste, to allow time for the score to be copied for his Highness, and to
arrange the parts so that it might be produced on the following Sunday
at grand mass at the offertory. Most dear and highly esteemed Maestro,
I do entreat you to give me unreservedly your candid opinion of the
motett. We live in this world in order always to learn industriously,
and to enlighten each other by means of discussion, and to strive
vigorously to promote the progress of science and the fine arts. Oh,
how many and many a time have I desired to be nearer you, that I might
converse and discuss with your Reverence! I live in a country where
music has very little success, though, exclusive of those who have
forsaken us, we have still admirable professors, and more particularly
composers of great solidity, knowledge, and taste. We are rather badly
off at the theatre from the want of actors. We have no MUSICI, nor shall
we find it very easy to get any, because they insist upon being well
paid, and generosity is not a failing of ours. I amuse myself in the
mean time by writing church and chamber music, and we have two excellent
contrapuntists here, Haydn and Adlgasser. My father is maestro at the
Metropolitan church, which gives me an opportunity to write for the
church as much as I please. Moreover, my father has been thirty-six
years in the service of this court, and knowing that our present
Archbishop neither can nor will endure the sight of elderly people, he
does not take it to heart, but devotes himself to literature, which was
always his favorite pursuit Our church music is rather different from
that of Italy, and the more so, as a mass including the Kyne, Gloria,
Credo, the Sonata all Epistola, the Offertory or Motett, Sanctus, and
Agnus Dei, and even a solemn mass, when the Prince himself officiates,
must never last more than three-quarters of an hour. A particular course
of study is required for this class of composition. And what must such
a mass be, scored with all the instruments, war-drums, cymbals, &c, &c!
Oh! why are we so far apart, dearest Signor Maestro? for how many things
I have to say to you! I devoutly revere all the Signori Filarmonici. I
venture to recommend myself to your good opinion, I shall never cease
regretting being so distant from the person in the world whom I most
love, venerate, and esteem. I beg to subscribe myself, reverend Father,
always your most humble and devoted servant,

"WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART"]




SECOND PART.--MUNICH, AUGSBURG, MANNHEIM.--SEPTEMBER 1771 TO MARCH 1778.


On the 22d of December, 1777, Mozart's father wrote as follows to Padre
Martini in Bologna:--"My son has been now five years in the service of
our Prince, at a mere nominal salary, hoping that by degrees his earnest
endeavors and any talents he may possess, combined with the utmost
industry and most unremitting study, would be rewarded; but in this hope
we find ourselves deceived. I forbear all allusion to our Prince's mode
of thinking and acting; but he was not ashamed to declare that my son
knew nothing, and that he ought to go to the musical training school in
Naples to learn music. And why did he say all this? In order to intimate
that a young man should not be so absurd as to believe that he deserved
a rather higher salary after such a decisive verdict had issued from the
lips of a prince. This has induced me to sanction my son giving up his
present situation. He therefore left Salzburg on the 23d of September"
[with his mother].



59.

Wasserburg, Sept. 23, 1777.

Mon Tres-Cher Pere,--

God be praised! we reached Waging, Stain, Ferbertshaim, and Wasserburg
safely. Now for a brief report of our journey. When we arrived at the
city gates, we were kept waiting for nearly a quarter of an hour till
they could be thrown open for us, as they were under repair. Near Schinn
we met a drove of cows, and one of these very remarkable, for each side
was a different color, which we never before saw. When at last we got to
Schinn, we met a carriage, which stopped, and ecce, our postilion called
out we must change. "I don't care," said I. Mamma and I were parleying,
when a portly gentleman came up, whose physiognomy I at once recognized;
he was a Memmingen merchant. He stared at me for some time, and at last
said, "You surely are Herr Mozart?" "At your service," said I; "I
know you, too, by sight, but not your name. I saw you, a year ago, at
Mirabell's [the palace garden in Salzburg] at a concert." He then told
me his name, which, thank God! I have forgotten; but I retained one of
probably more importance to me. When I saw this gentleman in Salzburg,
he was accompanied by a young man whose brother was now with him, and
who lives in Memmingen. His name is Herr Unhold, and he pressed me very
much to come to Memmingen if possible. We sent a hundred thousand loves
to papa by them, and to my sister, the madcap, which they promised to
deliver without fail. This change of carriages was a great bore to me,
for I wished to send a letter back from Waging by the postilion. We then
(after a slight meal) had the honor of being conveyed as far as Stain,
by the aforesaid post-horses, in an hour and a half. At Waging I was
alone for a few minutes with the clergyman, who looked quite amazed,
knowing nothing of our history. From Stain we were driven by a most
tiresome phlegmatic postilion--N. B., in driving I mean; we thought we
never were to arrive at the next stage. At last we did arrive, as
you may see from my writing this letter. (Mamma is half asleep.) From
Ferbertshaim to Wasserburg all went on well. Viviamo come i principi;
we want nothing except you, dear papa. Well, this is the will of God; no
doubt all will go on right. I hope to hear that papa is as well as I am
and as happy. Nothing comes amiss to me; I am quite a second papa, and
look after everything.[Footnote: The father had been very uneasy at the
idea of allowing the inexperienced youth, whose unsuspicious good-nature
exposed him still more to danger, to travel alone; for the mother also
was not very expert in travelling.] I settled from the first to pay the
postilions, for I can talk to such fellows better than mamma. At the
Stern, in Wasserburg, we are capitally served; I am treated here like
a prince. About half an hour ago (mamma being engaged at the time) the
Boots knocked at the door to take my orders about various things, and
I gave them to him with the same grave air that I have in my portrait.
Mamma is just going to bed. We both beg that papa will be careful of
his health, not go out too early, nor fret, [Footnote: The Father was
strongly disposed to hypochondria.] but laugh and be merry and in good
spirits. We think the Mufti H. C. [the Archbishop Hieronymus Colloredo]
a MUFF, but we know God to be compassionate, merciful, and loving. I
kiss papa's hands a thousand times, and embrace my SISTER MADCAP as
often as I have to-day taken snuff. I think I have left my diplomas at
home? [his appointment at court.] I beg you will send them to me soon.
My pen is rude, and I am not refined.



60.

Munich, Sept. 26, 1777.

WE arrived safely in Munich on the afternoon of the 24th, at half-past
four o'clock. A complete novelty to me was being obliged to drive to the
Custom House, escorted by a grenadier with a fixed bayonet. The
first person we knew, who met us when driving, was Signor Consoli; he
recognized me at once, and showed the utmost joy at seeing me again.
Next day he called on us. I cannot attempt to describe the delight of
Herr Albert [the "learned landlord" of the Black Eagle, on the Kaufinger
Gasse, now Hotel Detzer]; he is indeed a truly honest man, and a very
good friend of ours. On my arrival I went to the piano, and did not
leave it till dinner-time. Herr Albert was not at home, but he soon
came in, and we went down to dinner together. There I met M. Sfeer and
a certain secretary, an intimate friend of his; both send their
compliments to you. Though tired by our journey, we did not go to bed
till late; we, however, rose next morning at seven o'clock. My hair was
in such disorder that I could not go to Count Seeau's till half-past
ten o'clock. When I got there I was told that he had driven out to the
chasse. Patience! In the mean time I wished to call on Chorus-master
Bernard, but he had gone to the country with Baron Schmid. I found
Herr von Belvall deeply engaged in business; he sent you a thousand
compliments. Rossi came to dinner, and at two o'clock Consoli, and
at three arrived Becke [a friend of Mozart's and an admirable
flute-player], and also Herr von Belvall. I paid a visit to Frau
von Durst [with whom Nannerl had lived], who now lodges with the
Franciscans. At six o'clock I took a short walk with Herr Becke. There
is a Professor Huber here, whom you may perhaps remember better than I
do; he says that the last time he either saw or heard me was at Vienna,
at Herr von Mesmer's, junior. He is neither tall nor short, pale,
with silvery-gray hair, and his physiognomy rather like that of Herr
Unterbereiter. This gentleman is vice-intendant of the theatre; his
occupation is to read through all the comedies to be acted, to improve
or to spoil, to add to or to put them aside. He comes every evening to
Albert's, and often talks to me. To-day, Friday, the 26th, I called on
Count Seeau at half-past eight o'clock. This was what passed. As I was
going into the house I met Madame Niesser, the actress, just coming out,
who said, "I suppose you wish to see the Count?" "Yes!" "He is still in
his garden, and Heaven knows when he may come!" I asked her where the
garden was. "As I must see him also," said she, "let us go together."
We had scarcely left the house when we saw the Count coming towards us
about twelve paces off; he recognized and instantly named me. He was
very polite, and seemed already to know all that had taken place about
me. We went up the steps together slowly and alone; I told him briefly
the whole affair. He said that I ought at once to request an audience of
his Highness the Elector, but that, if I failed in obtaining it, I
must make a written statement. I entreated him to keep this all quite
private, and he agreed to do so. When I remarked to him that there
really was room for a genuine composer here, he said, "I know that
well." I afterwards went to the Bishop of Chiemsee, and was with him for
half an hour. I told him everything, and he promised to do all he
could for me in the matter. At one o'clock he drove to Nymphenburg, and
declared positively he would speak to the Electress. On Sunday the Count
comes here. Herr Joannes Kronner has been appointed Vice-Concertmeister,
which he owes to a blunt speech of his. He has produced two
symphonies--Deo mene liberi [God preserve me from such]--of his own
composition. The Elector asked him, "Did you really compose these?"
"Yes, your Royal Highness!" "From whom did you learn?" "From a
schoolmaster in Switzerland, where so much importance is attached to
the study of composition. This schoolmaster taught me more than all your
composers here, put together, could teach me." Count Schonborn and his
Countess, a sister of the Archbishop [of Salzburg], passed through here
to-day. I chanced to be at the play at the time. Herr Albert, in the
course of conversation, told them that I was here, and that I had given
up my situation. They were all astonishment, and positively refused to
believe him when he said that my salary, of blessed memory, was only
twelve florins thirty kreuzers! They merely changed horses, and would
gladly have spoken with me, but I was too late to meet them. Now I must
inquire what you are doing, and how you are. Mamma and I hope that you
are quite well. I am still in my very happiest humor; my head feels as
light as a feather since I got away from that chicanery. I have grown
fatter already.



61.

Munich, Sept. 29, 1777.

TRUE enough, a great many kind friends, but unluckily most of them have
little or nothing in their power. I was with Count Seeau yesterday, at
half-past ten o'clock, and found him graver and less natural than the
first time; but it was only in appearance, for to-day I was at Prince
Zeill's [Bishop of Chiemsee--No. 56], who, with all courtesy, said
to me, "I don't think we shall effect much here. During dinner, at
Nymphenburg, I spoke privately to the Elector, who replied: 'It is
too soon at this moment; he must leave this and go to Italy and become
famous. I do not actually reject him, but these are too early days
as yet.'" There it is! Most of these grandees have such paroxysms of
enthusiasm for Italy. Still, he advised me to go to the Elector, and
to place my case before him as I had previously intended. I spoke
confidentially at dinner to-day with Herr Woschitka [violoncellist in
the Munich court orchestra, and a member of the Elector's private band],
and he appointed me to come to-morrow at nine o'clock, when he will
certainly procure me an audience. We are very good friends now. He
insisted on knowing the name of my informant; but I said to him, "Rest
assured that I am your friend and shall continue to be so; I am in turn
equally convinced of your friendship, so you must be satisfied with
this." But to return to my narrative. The Bishop of Chiemsee also spoke
to the Electress when tete-a-tete with her. She shrugged her shoulders,
and said she would do her best, but was very doubtful as to her success.
I now return to Count Seeau, who asked Prince Zeill (after he had told
him everything). "Do you know whether Mozart has not enough from his
family to enable him to remain here with a little assistance? I should
really like to keep him." Prince Zeill answered: "I don't know, but
I doubt it much; all you have to do is to speak to himself on the
subject." This, then, was the cause of Count Seeau being so thoughtful
on the following day. I like being here, and I am of the same opinion
with many of my friends, that if I could only remain here for a year
or two, I might acquire both money and fame by my works, and then more
probably be sought by the court than be obliged to seek it myself. Since
my return here Herr Albert has a project in his head, the fulfilment of
which does not seem to me impossible. It is this: He wishes to form an
association of ten kind friends, each of these to subscribe 1 ducat (50
gulden) monthly, 600 florins a year. If in addition to this I had even
200 florins per annum from Count Seeau, this would make 800 florins
altogether. How does papa like this idea? Is it not friendly? Ought not
I to accept it if they are in earnest? I am perfectly satisfied with
it; for I should be near Salzburg, and if you, dearest papa, were seized
with a fancy to leave Salzburg (which from my heart I wish you were) and
to pass your life in Munich, how easy and pleasant would it be! For if
we are obliged to live in Salzburg with 504 florins, surely we might
live in Munich with 800.

To-day, the 30th, after a conversation with Herr Woschitka, I went to
court by appointment. Every one was in hunting-costume. Baron Kern was
the chamberlain on service. I might have gone there last night, but
I could not offend M. Woschitka, who himself offered to find me an
opportunity of speaking to the Elector. At 10 o'clock he took me into a
narrow little room, through which his Royal Highness was to pass on his
way to hear mass, before going to hunt. Count Seeau went by, and greeted
me very kindly: "How are you, dear Mozart?" When the Elector came up to
me, I said, "Will your Royal Highness permit me to pay my homage and
to offer your Royal Highness my services?" "So you have finally left
Salzburg?" "I have left it forever, your Royal Highness. I only asked
leave to make a journey, and being refused, I was obliged to take this
step, although I have long intended to leave Salzburg, which is no place
for me, I feel sure." "Good heavens! you are quite a young man. But your
father is still in Salzburg?" "Yes, your Royal Highness; he humbly lays
his homage at your feet, &c., &c. I have already been three times in
Italy. I have written three operas, and am a member of the Bologna
Academy; I underwent a trial where several maestri toiled and labored
for four or five hours, whereas I finished my work in one. This is
a sufficient testimony that I have abilities to serve any court. My
greatest wish is to be appointed by your Royal Highness, who is himself
such a great &c., &c." "But, my good young friend, I regret that there
is not a single vacancy. If there were only a vacancy!" "I can assure
your Royal Highness that I would do credit to Munich." "Yes, but what
does that avail when there is no vacancy?" This he said as he was moving
on; so I bowed and took leave of his Royal Highness. Herr Woschitka
advises me to place myself often in the way of the Elector. This
afternoon I went to Count Salern's. His daughter is a maid of honor, and
was one of the hunting-party. Ravani and I were in the street when the
whole procession passed. The Elector and the Electress noticed me very
kindly. Young Countess Salern recognized me at once, and waved her
hand to me repeatedly. Baron Rumling, whom I had previously seen in the
antechamber, never was so courteous to me as on this occasion. I will
soon write to you what passed with Salern. He was very kind, polite, and
straightforward.--P. S. Ma tres-chere soeur, next time I mean to write
you a letter all for yourself. My remembrances to B. C. M. R. and
various other letters of the alphabet. Adieu! A man built a house here
and inscribed on it: "Building is beyond all doubt an immense pleasure,
but I little thought that it would cost so much treasure." During the
night some one wrote underneath, "You ought first to have counted the
cost."



62.

Munich, Oct. 2, 1777.

YESTERDAY, October 1st, I was again at Count Salern's, and to-day I even
dined with him. I have played a great deal during the last three days,
and with right good will too. Papa must not, however, imagine that I
like to be at Count Salern's on account of the young lady; by no means,
for she is unhappily in waiting, and therefore never at home, but I am
to see her at court to-morrow morning, at ten o'clock, in company with
Madame Hepp, formerly Madlle. Tosson. On Saturday the court leaves this,
and does not return till the 20th. To-morrow I am to dine with Madame
and Madlle. de Branca, the latter being a kind of half pupil of mine,
for Sigl seldom comes, and Becke, who usually accompanies her on the
flute, is not here. On the three days that I was at Count Salern's I
played a great many things extempore--two Cassations [Divertimentos]
for the Countess, and the finale and Rondo, and the latter by heart.
You cannot imagine the delight this causes Count Salern. He understands
music, for he was constantly saying Bravo! while other gentlemen were
taking snuff, humming and hawing, and clearing their throats, or holding
forth. I said to him, "How I do wish the Elector were only here, that he
might hear me play! He knows nothing of me--he does not know what I can
do. How sad it is that these great gentlemen should believe what any one
tells them, and do not choose to judge for themselves! BUT IT IS ALWAYS
SO. Let him put me to the test. He may assemble all the composers in
Munich, and also send in quest of some from Italy and France, Germany,
and England and Spain, and I will undertake to write against them all."
I related to him all that had occurred to me in Italy, and begged him,
if the conversation turned on me, to bring in these things. He said, "I
have very little influence, but the little that is in my power I will
do with pleasure." He is also decidedly of opinion that if I could only
remain here, the affair would come right of itself. It would not be
impossible for me to contrive to live, were I alone here, for I should
get at least 300 florins from Count Seeau. My board would cost little,
for I should be often invited out; and even were it not so, Albert would
always be charmed to see me at dinner in his house. I eat little, drink
water, and for dessert take only a little fruit and a small glass
of wine. Subject to the advice of my kind friends, I would make the
following contract with Count Seeau:--I would engage to produce every
year four German operas, partly buffe and partly serie; from each of
these I should claim the profits of one performance, for such is the
custom here. This alone would bring me in 500 florins, which along with
my salary would make up 800 florins, but in all probability more; for
Reiner, an actor and singer, cleared 200 florins by his benefit, and
I am VERY MUCH BELOVED HERE, and how much more so should I be if I
contributed to the elevation of the national theatre of Germany in
music! And this would certainly be the case with me, for I was inspired
with the most eager desire to write when I heard the German operettas.
The name of the first singer here is Keiserin; her father is cook to a
count here; she is a very pleasing girl, and pretty on the stage; I have
not yet seen her near. She is a native of this place. When I heard her
it was only her third appearance on the stage. She has a fine voice, not
powerful, though by no means weak, very pure, and a good intonation.
Her instructor is Valesi; and her style of singing shows that her master
knows how to sing as well as how to teach. When she sustains her
voice for a couple of bars, I am quite surprised at the beauty of her
crescendo and decrescendo. She as yet takes her shakes slowly, and this
I highly approve of, for it will be all the more pure and clear if she
ever wishes to take it quicker; besides, it is easier when quick. She is
a great favorite with the people here, and with me.

Mamma was in the pit; she went as early as half-past four o'clock to get
a place. I, however, did not go till half-past six o'clock, for I can go
to any box I please, being pretty well known. I was in the Brancas' box;
I looked at Keiserin with my opera-glass, and at times she drew tears
from my eyes. I often called out bravo, bravissimo, for I always
remembered that it was only her third appearance. The piece was Das
Fischermadchen, a very good translation of Piccini's opera, with his
music. As yet they have no original pieces, but are now anxious soon
to give a German opera seria, and a strong wish prevails that I should
compose it. The aforesaid Professor Huber is one of those who wish
this. I shall now go to bed, for I can sit up no longer. It is just ten
o'clock. Baron Rumling lately paid me the following compliment: "The
theatre is my delight--good actors and actresses, good singers, and a
clever composer, such as yourself." This is indeed only talk, and words
are not of much value, but he never before spoke to me in this way.

I write this on the 3d of October. To-morrow the court departs, and does
not return till the 20th. If it had remained here, I would have taken
the step I intended, and stayed on here for a time; but as it is, I hope
to resume my journey with mamma next Tuesday. But meanwhile the project
of the associated friends, which I lately wrote to you about, may be
realized, so that when we no longer care to travel we shall have a
resource to fall back upon. Herr von Krimmel was to-day with the Bishop
of Chiemsee, with whom he has a good deal to do on the subject of salt.
He is a strange man; here he is called "your Grace,"--that is, THE
LACKEYS do so. Having a great desire that I should remain here, he spoke
very zealously to the Prince in my favor. He said to me, "Only let me
alone; I will speak to the Prince, and I have a right to do so, for I
have done many things to oblige him." The Prince promised him that I
should POSITIVELY be appointed, but the affair cannot be so quickly
settled. On the return of the court he is to speak to the Elector with
all possible earnestness and zeal. At eight o'clock this morning I
called on Count Seeau. I was very brief, and merely said, "I have only
come, your Excellency, to explain my case clearly. I have been told that
I ought to go to Italy, which is casting a reproach on me. I was sixteen
months in Italy, I have written three operas, and all this is notorious
enough. What further occurred, your Excellency will see from these
papers." And after showing him the diplomata, I added, "I only show
these and say this to your Excellency that, in the event of my being
spoken of, and any injustice done me, your Excellency may with good
grounds take my part." He asked me if I was now going to France. I said
I intended to remain in Germany; by this, however, he supposed I meant
Munich, and said, with a merry laugh, "So you are to stay here after
all?" I replied, "No! to tell you the truth, I should like to have
stayed, if the Elector had favored me with a small sum, so that I might
then have offered my compositions to your Excellency devoid of all
interested motives. It would have been a pleasure to me to do this." At
these words he half lifted his skull-cap.

At ten o'clock I went to court to call on Countess Salern. I dined
afterwards with the Brancas. Herr Geheimrath von Branca, having been
invited by the French Ambassador, was not at home. He is called "your
Excellency." Countess Salern is a Frenchwoman, and scarcely knows a word
of German; so I have always been in the habit of talking French to her.
I do so quite boldly, and she says that I don't speak at all badly,
and that I have the good habit of speaking slowly, which makes me more
easily understood. She is a most excellent person, and very well-bred.
The daughter plays nicely, but fails in time. I thought this arose from
want of ear on her part, but I find I can blame no one but her teacher,
who is too indulgent and too easily satisfied. I practised with her
to-day, and I could pledge myself that if she were to learn from me for
a couple of months, she would play both well and accurately.

At four o'clock I went to Frau von Tosson's, where I found mamma and
also Frau von Hepp. I played there till eight o'clock, and after that
we went home; and at half-past nine a small band of music arrived,
consisting of five persons--two clarionet-players, two horns, and one
bassoon. Herr Albert (whose name-day is to-morrow) arranged this music
in honor of me and himself. They played rather well together, and were
the same people whom we hear during dinner at Albert's, but it is well
known that they are trained by Fiala. They played some of his pieces,
and I must say they are very pretty: he has some excellent ideas.
To-morrow we are to have a small musical party together, where I am
to play. (Nota bene, on that miserable piano! oh, dear! oh, dear! oh,
dear!) I beg you will excuse my horrid writing, but ink, haste, sleep,
and dreams are all against me. I am now and forever amen, your dutiful
son,

A. W. MOZART.



63.

Munich, Oct. 6, 1777.

Mamma cannot write; in the first place, she is not inclined, and,
secondly, she has a headache. So I must hold the pen for her and keep
faith with her. I am just going with the Professor to call on Madlle.
Keiserin. Yesterday we had in our house a clerical wedding, or altum
tempus ecclesiasticum. There was dancing, but I only danced four
minuets, and was in my own room again by eleven o'clock, for, out of
fifty young ladies, there was only one who danced in time--Madlle.
Kaser, a sister of Count Perusa's secretary. The Professor thought fit
to leave me in the lurch, so I did not go to Madlle. Keiserin, because
I don't know where she lives. Last Saturday, the 4th, on the stately
and solemn occasion of the name-day of his Royal Highness the Archduke
Albert, we had a select music-party at home, which commenced at
half-past three o'clock and finished at eight. M. Dubreil, whom papa no
doubt remembers, was also present; he is a pupil of Tartini's. In the
forenoon he gave a lesson on the violin to the youngest son, Carl, and I
chanced to come in at the time, I never gave him credit for much talent,
but I saw that he took great pains in giving his lesson; and when we
entered into conversation about violin, concert, and orchestral playing,
he reasoned very well, and was always of my opinion, so I retracted my
former sentiments with regard to him, and was persuaded that I should
find him play well in time, and a correct violinist in the orchestra.
I, therefore, invited him to be so kind as to attend our little music
rehearsal that afternoon. We played, first of all, the two quintets of
Haydn, but to my dismay I could scarcely hear Dubreil, who could not
play four continuous bars without a mistake. He could never find the
positions, and he was no good friend to the sospirs [short pauses]. The
only good thing was that he spoke politely and praised the quintets;
otherwise--As it was, I said nothing to him, but he kept constantly
saying himself, "I beg your pardon, but really I am out again! the thing
is puzzling, but fine!" I invariably replied, "It does not in the least
signify; we are only among ourselves." I then played the concertos in
C, in B, and in E flat, and after that a trio of mine. This was finely
accompanied, truly! In the adagio I was obliged to play six bars of his
part. As a finale, I played my last divertimento in B; they all pricked
up their ears. I played as if I had been the greatest violin-player in
all Europe.

The Sunday after, at three o'clock, we were at a certain Herr von
Hamm's. The Bishop of Chiemsee set off to-day for Salzburg. N. B.--I
send my sister, by him, "6 duetti a clavicembalo e violino," by
Schuster. I have often played them here; they are by no means bad. If
I remain long enough, I intend to compose six in this style, for it is
much liked here.



64.

Munich, Oct. 11, 1777.

WHY have I not as yet written anything about Misliweczeck? [See No. 43.]
Because I was only too glad not to think of him; for when he is spoken
of I invariably hear how highly he praises me, and what a kind and
true friend he is of mine; but then follow pity and lamentation. He
was described to me, and deeply was I distressed. How could I bear that
Misliweczeck, my intimate friend, should be in the same town, nay, even
in the same corner of the world with me, and neither see him nor speak
to him? Impossible! so I resolved to go to visit him. On the previous
day, I called on the manager of the Duke's Hospital to ask if I might
see my friend in the garden, which I thought best, though the doctors
assured me there was no longer any risk of infection. The manager agreed
to my proposal, and said I should find him in the garden between eleven
and twelve o'clock, and, if he was not there when I came, to send for
him. Next day I went with Herr von Hamm, secretary in the Crown Office,
(of whom I shall speak presently,) and mamma to the Duke's Hospital.
Mamma went into the Hospital church, and we into the garden.
Misliweczeck was not there, so we sent him a message. I saw him coming
across, and knew him at once from his manner of walking. I must tell
you that he had already sent me his remembrances by Herr Heller, a
violoncello-player, and begged me to visit him before I left Munich.
When he came up to me, we shook hands cordially. "You see," said he,
"how unfortunate I am." These words and his appearance, which papa is
already aware of from description, so went to my heart that I could only
say, with tears in my eyes, "I pity you from my heart, my dear friend."
He saw how deeply I was affected, so rejoined quite cheerfully, "Now
tell me what you are doing; when I heard that you were in Munich, I
could scarcely believe it; how could Mozart be here and not long ago
have come to see me?" "I hope you will forgive me, but I had such a
number of visits to make, and I have so many kind friends here." "I feel
quite sure that you have indeed many kind friends, but a truer friend
than myself you cannot have." He asked me whether papa had told me
anything of a letter he had received. I said, "Yes, he did write to me,"
(I was quite confused, and trembled so much in every limb that I could
scarcely speak,) "but he gave me no details." He then told me that
Signor Gaetano Santoro, the Neapolitan impresario, was obliged, owing
to impegni and protezione, to give the composition of the opera for this
Carnival to a certain Maestro Valentini; but he added, "Next year he
has three at liberty, one of which is to be at my service. But as I
have already composed six times for Naples, I don't in the least mind
undertaking the less promising one, and making over to you the best
libretto, viz. the one for the Carnival. God knows whether I shall
be able to travel by that time, but if not, I shall send back the
scrittura. The company for next year is good, being all people whom I
have recommended. You must know that I have such influence in Naples
that, when I say engage such a one, they do so at once." Marquesi is
the primo uomo, whom he, and indeed all Munich too, praises very highly;
Marchiani is a good prima donna; and there is a tenor, whose name I
cannot recall, but Misliweczeck says he is the best in all Italy. He
also said, "I do beg of you to go to Italy; there one is esteemed and
highly prized." And in truth he is right. When I come to reflect on the
subject, in no country have I received such honors, or been so esteemed,
as in Italy, and nothing contributes more to a man's fame than to have
written Italian operas, and especially for Naples. He said he would
write a letter for me to Santoro, which I was to copy out when I went
to see him next day; but finding it impossible to return, he sent me
a sketch of the letter to-day. I was told that when Misliweczeck heard
people here speaking of Becke, or other performers on the piano, he
invariably said, "Let no one deceive himself; none can play like Mozart;
in Italy, where the greatest masters are, they speak of no one but
Mozart; when his name is mentioned, not a word is said of others." I can
now write the letter to Naples when I please; but, indeed, the sooner
the better. I should, however, first like to have the opinion of that
highly discreet Hofcapellmeister, Herr von Mozart. I have the most
ardent desire to write another opera. The distance is certainly great,
but the period is still a long way off when I am to write this opera,
and there may be many changes before then. I think I might at all events
undertake it. If, in the mean time, I get no situation, eh, bien! I
shall then have a resource in Italy. I am at all events certain to
receive 100 ducats in the Carnival; and when I have once written for
Naples I shall be sought for everywhere. As papa well knows, there is an
opera buffa in Naples in spring, summer, and autumn, for which I might
write for the sake of practice, not to be quite idle. It is true that
there is not much to be got by this, but still there is something,
and it would be the means of gaining more honor and reputation than by
giving a hundred concerts in Germany, and I am far happier when I have
something to compose, which is my chief delight and passion; and if I
get a situation anywhere, or have hopes of one, the scrittura would be
a great recommendation to me, and excite a sensation, and cause me to be
more thought of. This is mere talk, but still I say what is in my heart.
If papa gives me any good grounds to show that I am wrong, then I
will give it up, though, I own, reluctantly. Even when I hear an opera
discussed, or am in a theatre myself and hear voices, oh! I really am
beside myself!

To-morrow, mamma and I are to meet Misliweczeck in the Hospital garden
to take leave of him; for he wished me last time to fetch mamma out
of church, as he said he should like to see the mother of so great a
virtuoso. My dear papa, do write to him as often as you have time to do
so; you cannot confer a greater pleasure on him, for the man is quite
forsaken. Sometimes he sees no one for a whole week, and he said to me,
"I do assure you it does seem so strange to me to see so few people; in
Italy I had company every day." He looks thin, of course, but is still
full of fire and life and genius, and the same kind, animated person
he always was. People talk much of his oratorio of "Abraham and Isaac,"
which he produced here. He has just completed (with the exception of
a few arias) a Cantata, or Serenata, for Lent; and when he was at the
worst he wrote an opera for Padua. Herr Heller is just come from him.
When I wrote to him yesterday I sent him the Serenata that I wrote in
Salzburg: for the Archduke Maximilian ["Il Re Pastore"].

Now to turn to something else. Yesterday I went with mamma immediately
after dinner to take coffee with the two Fraulein von Freysinger. Mamma,
however, took none, but drank two bottles of Tyrolese wine. At three
o'clock she went home again to make preparations for our journey. I,
however, went with the two ladies to Herr von Hamm's, whose three young
ladies each played a concerto, and I one of Aichner's prima vista, and
then went on extemporizing. The teacher of these little simpletons,
the Demoiselles Hamm, is a certain clerical gentleman of the name of
Schreier. He is a good organ-player, but no pianist. He kept staring
at me with an eye-glass. He is a reserved kind of man who does not talk
much; he patted me on the shoulder, sighed, and said, "Yes--you are--you
understand--yes--it is true--you are an out-and-outer!" By the by, can
you recall the name of Freysingen--the papa of the two pretty girls I
mentioned? He says he knows you well, and that he studied with you. He
particularly remembers Messenbrunn, where papa (this was quite new
to me) played most incomparably on the organ. He said, "It was quite
startling to see the pace at which both hands and feet went, but quite
inimitable; a thorough master indeed; my father thought a great deal of
him; and how he humbugged the priests about entering the Church! You are
just what he was then, as like as possible; only he was a degree shorter
when I knew him." A propos, a certain Hofrath Effeln sends you his kind
regards; he is one of the best Hofraths here, and would long ago have
been made chancellor but for one defect--TIPPLING. When we saw him
for the first time at Albert's, both mamma and I thought, "What an
odd-looking fish!" Just imagine a very tall man, stout and corpulent,
and a ridiculous face. When he crosses the room to another table, he
folds both hands on his stomach, stoops very low, and then draws himself
up again, and makes little nods; and when this is over he draws back his
right foot, and does this to each individual separately. He says that
he knows papa intimately. I am now going for a little to the play. Next
time I will write more fully, but I can't possibly go on to-day, for my
fingers do ache uncommonly.

Munich, October 11th, at 1/4 to 12 at night, I write as follows:--I
have been at the Drittl comedy, but only went in time for the ballet, or
rather the pantomime, which I had not before seen. It is called "Das von
der fur Girigaricanarimanarischaribari verfertigte Ei." It was very good
and funny. We are going to-morrow to Augsburg on account of Prince Taxis
not being at Ratisbon but at Teschingen. He is, in fact, at present at
his country-seat, which is, however, only an hour from Teschingen. I
send my sister, with this, four preludes; she will see and hear for
herself the different keys into which they lead. My compliments to all
my kind friends, particularly to young Count Arco, to Madlle. Sallerl,
and to my best of all friends, Herr Bullinger; I do beg that next Sunday
at the usual eleven-o'clock music he will be so good as to make an
authoritative oration in my name, and present my regards to all the
members of the orchestra and exhort them to industry, that I may not one
day be accused of being a humbug, for I have everywhere extolled their
orchestra, and I intend always to do so.



65.

Augsburg, Oct. 14, 1777.

I HAVE made no mistake in my date, for I write before dinner, and I
think that next Friday, the day after to-morrow, we shall be off again.
Pray hear how generous the gentlemen of Augsburg are. In no place was
I ever so overwhelmed with marks of distinction as here. My first visit
was to the Stadtpfleger Longo Tabarro [Burgomaster Langenmantl].
My cousin, [Footnote: Leopold Mozart had a brother in Augsburg, a
bookbinder, whose daughter, "das Basle" (the cousin), was two years
younger than Mozart.] a good, kind, honest man and worthy citizen, went
with me, and had the honor to wait in the hall like a footman till my
interview with the high and mighty Stadtpfleger was over. I did not
fail first of all to present papa's respectful compliments. He deigned
graciously to remember you, and said, "And pray how have things gone
with him?" "Vastly well, God be praised!" I instantly rejoined, "and I
hope things have also gone well with you?" He then became more civil,
and addressed me in the third person, so I called him "Sir"; though,
indeed, I had done so from the first. He gave me no peace till I went
up with him to see his son-in-law (on the second floor), my cousin
meanwhile having the pleasure of waiting in the staircase-hall. I was
obliged to control myself with all my might, or I must have given some
polite hint about this. On going upstairs I had the satisfaction of
playing for nearly three-quarters of an hour on a good clavichord
of Stein's, in the presence of the stuck-up young son, and his prim
condescending wife, and the simple old lady. I first extemporized, and
then played all the music he had, prima, vista, and among others some
very pretty pieces of Edlmann's. Nothing could be more polite than they
all were, and I was equally so, for my rule is to behave to people just
as they behave to me; I find this to be the best plan. I said that I
meant to go to Stein's after dinner, so the young man offered to take me
there himself. I thanked him for his kindness, and promised to return
at two o'clock. I did so, and we went together in company with his
brother-in-law, who looks a genuine student. Although I had begged that
my name should not be mentioned, Herr von Langenmantl was so incautious
as to say, with a simper, to Herr Stein, "I have the honor to present to
you a virtuoso on the piano." I instantly protested against this, saying
that I was only an indifferent pupil of Herr Sigl in Munich, who had
charged me with a thousand compliments to him. Stein shook his head
dubiously, and at length said, "Surely I have the honor of seeing M.
Mozart?" "Oh, no," said I; "my name is Trazom, and I have a letter for
you." He took the letter and was about to break the seal instantly, but
I gave him no time for that, saying, "What is the use of reading the
letter just now? Pray open the door of your saloon at once, for I am
so very anxious to see your pianofortes." "With all my heart," said he,
"just as you please; but for all that I believe I am not mistaken." He
opened the door, and I ran straight up to one of the three pianos that
stood in the room. I began to play, and he scarcely gave himself time
to glance at the letter, so anxious was he to ascertain the truth; so
he only read the signature. "Oh!" cried he, embracing me, and crossing
himself and making all sorts of grimaces from intense delight. I
will write to you another day about his pianos. He then took me to a
coffee-house, but when we went in I really thought I must bolt, there
was such a stench of tobacco-smoke, but for all that I was obliged to
bear it for a good hour. I submitted to it all with a good grace, though
I could have fancied that I was in Turkey. He made a great fuss to me
about a certain Graf, a composer (of flute concertos only); and
said, "He is something quite extraordinary," and every other possible
exaggeration. I became first hot and then cold from nervousness. This
Graf is a brother of the two who are in Harz and Zurich. He would
not give up his intention, but took me straight to him--a dignified
gentleman indeed; he wore a dressing-gown that I would not be ashamed to
wear in the street. All his words are on stilts, and he has a habit of
opening his mouth before knowing what he is going to say; so he often
shuts it again without having said anything. After a great deal of
ceremony he produced a concerto for two flutes; I was to play first
violin. The concerto is confused, not natural, too abrupt in its
modulations, and devoid of all genius. When it was over I praised it
highly, for, indeed, he deserves this. The poor man must have had labor
and study enough to write it. At last they brought a clavichord of
Stein's out of the next room, a very good one, but inch-thick with dust.
Herr Graf, who is director here, stood there looking like a man who had
hitherto believed his own modulations to be something very clever, but
all at once discovers that others may be still more so, and without
grating on the ear. In a word, they all seemed lost in astonishment.



66.

Augsburg, Oct. 17, 1777.

WITH regard to the daughter of Hamm, the Secretary of War, I can only
say that there can be no doubt she has a decided talent for music, for
she has only learned three years, and can play a number of pieces very
well. I find it difficult, however, to explain distinctly the impression
she makes on me while she is playing; she seems to me so curiously
constrained, and she has such an odd way of stalking over the keys with
her long bony fingers! To be sure, she has had no really good master,
and if she remains in Munich she will never become what her father
wishes and hopes, for he is eager beyond measure that she should one day
be a distinguished pianiste. If she goes to papa at Salzburg, it will
be a twofold benefit to her, both as to music and common sense, of which
she certainly has no great share. She has often made me laugh very much,
and you would have amusement enough for your trouble. She is too absent
to think of eating much. You say I ought to have practised with her? I
really could not for laughing, for when I occasionally played something
with the right hand, she instantly said bravissimo, and that in the
voice of a little mouse.

I will now relate to you as briefly as possible the Augsburg history
to which I have already alluded. Herr von Fingerle, who sent his
compliments to you, was also at Herr Graf's. The people were very civil,
and discussed the concert I proposed to give, all saying, "It will be
one of the most brilliant concerts ever given in Augsburg. You have
a great advantage in having made the acquaintance of our Stadtpfleger
Langenmantl; besides, the name of Mozart has much influence here." So
we separated mutually pleased. I must now tell you that Herr von
Langenmantl, junior, when at Herr Stein's, said that he would pledge
himself to arrange a concert in the Stube, [Footnote: The Bauernstube,
the Patrician Casino.] (as something very select, and complimentary to
me,) for the nobility alone. You can't think with what zeal he spoke,
and promised to undertake it. We agreed that I should call on him the
next morning for the answer; accordingly I went; this was on the 13th.
He was very polite, but said that as yet he could not say anything
decided. I played there again for an hour, and he invited me next day,
the 14th, to dinner. In the forenoon he sent to beg that I would come
to him at eleven o'clock, and bring some pieces with me, as he had
asked some of the professional musicians, and they intended to have some
music. I immediately sent some music, and went myself at eleven, when,
with many lame excuses, he coolly said, "By the by, I could do nothing
about the concert; oh, I was in such a rage yesterday on your account.
The patrician members of the Casino said that their cashbox was at
a very low ebb, and that you were not the kind of virtuoso who could
expect a souverain d'or." I merely smiled, and said, "I quite agree with
them." N. B.--He is Intendant of Music in the Casino, and the old father
a magistrate! but I cared very little about it. We sat down to dinner;
the old gentleman also dined up-stairs with us, and was very civil,
but did not say a word about the concert. After dinner I played two
concertos, something out of my head, and then a trio of Hafeneder's
on the violin. I would gladly have played more, but I was so badly
accompanied that it gave me the colic. He said to me, good-naturedly,
"Don't let us part company to-day; go to the play with us, and return
here to supper." We were all very merry. When we came back from the
theatre, I played again till we went to supper. Young Langenmantl had
already questioned me in the forenoon about my cross, [Footnote: Mozart,
by his father's desire, wore the "Order of the Golden Spur," conferred
on him by the Pope.] and I told him exactly how I got it, and what it
was. He and his brother-in-law said over and over again, "Let us order a
cross, too, that we may be on a par with Herr Mozart." I took no notice
of this. They also repeatedly said, "Hallo! you sir! Knight of the
Spur!" I said not a word; but during supper it became really too bad.
"What may it have cost? three ducats? must you have permission to wear
it? Do you pay extra for leave to do so? We really must get one just
like it." An officer there of the name of Bach, said, "For shame! what
would you do with the cross?" That young ass, Kurzen Mantl, winked at
him, but I saw him, and he knew that I did. A pause ensued, and then he
offered me snuff, saying, "There, show that you don't care a pinch of
snuff for it." I still said nothing. At length he began once more in
a sneering tone: "I may then send to you to-morrow, and you will be so
good as to lend me the cross for a few minutes, and I will return it
immediately after I have spoken to the goldsmith about it. I know that
when I ask him its value (for he is a queer kind of man) he will say
a Bavarian thaler; it can't be worth more, for it is not gold, only
copper, ha! ha!" I said, "By no means--it is lead, ha! ha!" I was
burning with anger and rage. "I say," rejoined he, "I suppose I may,
if need be, leave out the spur?" "Oh, yes," said I, "for you have one
already in your head; I, too, have one in mine, but of a very different
kind, and I should be sorry to exchange mine for yours; so there, take
a pinch of snuff on that!" and I offered him snuff. He became pale with
rage, but began again: "Just now that order looked so well on that grand
waistcoat of yours." I made no reply, so he called the servant and said
"Hallo! you must have greater respect for my brother-in-law and myself
when we wear the same cross as Herr Mozart; take a pinch of snuff on
that!" I started up; all did the same, and showed great embarrassment.
I took my hat and my sword, and said, "I hope to have the pleasure of
seeing you to-morrow." "To-morrow I shall not be here." "Well, then,
the next morning, when I shall still be here." "Ho, ho! you surely don't
mean to"--"I mean nothing; you are a set of boors, so good-night," and
off I went.

Next day I told the whole story to Herr Stein, Herr Geniaulx, and
to Herr Director Graf--I don't mean about the cross, but how highly
disgusted I was at their having bragged so much about a concert, and
now it had come to nothing. "I call this making a fool of a person and
leaving him in the lurch. I am very sorry that I ever came here. I could
not possibly have believed that in Augsburg, my papa's native town, such
an insult could have been offered to his son." You cannot imagine, dear
papa, how angry and indignant these three gentlemen were, saying, "Oh,
you must positively give a concert here; we don't stand in need of
the patricians." I, however, adhered to my resolution and said, "I am
willing to give a small farewell concert at Herr Stein's, for my
few kind friends here who are connoisseurs." The Director was quite
distressed, and exclaimed, "It is abominable--shameful; who could have
believed such a thing of Langenmantl! Par Dieu! if he really wished it,
no doubt it would have been carried through." We then separated. The
Director went down-stairs with me in his dressing-gown as far as the
door, and Herr Stein and Geniaulx walked home with me. They urged us to
make up our mind to stay here for a time, but we remained firm. I must
not forget to say that, when young Langenmantl lisped out to me, in
his usual cool indifferent way, the pleasant news as to my concert, he
added, that the patricians invited me to their concert next Thursday. I
said, "I will come as one of the audience." "Oh, we hope you will give
us the pleasure of hearing you play also." "Well, perhaps I may; why
not?" But having received so grievous an insult the next evening, I
resolved not to go near him again, to steer clear of the whole set of
patricians, and to leave Augsburg. During dinner, on the 16th, I was
called out by a servant-maid of Langenmantl's, who wished to know
whether he might expect me to go with him to the concert? and he begged
I would come to him immediately after dinner. I sent my compliments in
return, that I had no intention of going to the concert; nor could I
come to him, as I was already engaged (which was quite true); but that
I would call next morning to take leave of him, as on Saturday next, at
furthest, I was to leave Augsburg. In the meantime Herr Stein had been
to see the other patricians of the Evangelical party, and spoke so
strongly to them that these gentlemen were quite excited. "What!" said
they, "shall we permit a man who does us so much honor to leave this
without even hearing him? Herr von Langenmantl, having already heard
him, thinks that is enough."

At last they became so excited that Herr Kurzenmantl, the excellent
youth, was obliged to go to Herr Stein himself to entreat him, in the
name of the patricians, to do all in his power to persuade me to attend
the concert, but to say that I must not expect great things. At last
I went with him, though with considerable reluctance. The principal
gentlemen were very polite, particularly Baron Belling, who is a
director or some such animal; he opened my music-portfolio himself. I
brought a symphony with me, which they played, and I took a violin part.
The orchestra is enough to throw any one into fits. That young puppy
Langenmantl was all courtesy, but his face looked as impertinent as
ever; he said to me, "I was rather afraid you might have escaped us,
or been offended by our jokes the other evening." "By no means," said I
coolly; "you are still very young; but I advise you to be more cautious
in future, for I am not accustomed to such jokes. The subject on which
you were so facetious did you no credit, nor did it answer your purpose,
for you see I still wear the order; you had better have chosen some
other topic for your wit." "I assure you," said he, "it was only my
brother-in-law who"--"Let us say no more about it," said I. "We had
nearly been deprived of the pleasure of seeing you altogether," he
rejoined. "Yes; had it not been for Herr Stein, I certainly should not
have come; and, to tell you the truth, I am only here now to prevent you
Augsburg gentlemen being the laughing-stock of other countries, which
would have been the case if I had told them that I was eight days in the
city where my father was born, without any one there taking the trouble
to hear me!" I played a concerto, and all went off well except the
accompaniment; and as a finale I played a sonata. At the close, Baron
Belling thanked me in the warmest manner in the name of all the company;
and, begging me to consider only their good will, presented me with two
ducats.

They give me no peace here till I agree to give a public concert next
Saturday. Perhaps--but I own I am heartily sick of it all. I shall be
indeed glad when I arrive at a place where there is a court. I may with
truth say that, were it not for my kind cousins, my regrets would be as
numberless as the hairs on my head for ever having come to Augsburg. I
must write you some account of my fair cousin, but you must excuse my
deferring this till to-morrow, for one ought to be quite fresh to praise
her as highly as she deserves.

The 17th.--I now write early in the morning to say that my cousin is
pretty, intelligent, lovable, clever, and gay, probably because she
has lived so much in society; she was also some time at Munich. We do,
indeed, exactly suit each other, for she too is rather inclined to be
satirical, so we banter our friends most merrily together. [The Mozart
family were both well known and dreaded for their somewhat sharp
tongues.]



67.

Augsburg, Oct. 17, 1777.

I must now tell you about the Stein pianos. Before seeing these, Spath's
pianos were my favorites; but I must own that I give the preference to
those of Stein, for they damp much better than those in Ratisbon. If I
strike hard, whether I let my fingers rest on the notes or lift them,
the tone dies away at the same instant that it is heard. Strike the
keys as I choose, the tone always remains even, never either jarring or
failing to sound. It is true that a piano of this kind is not to be had
for less than three hundred florins, but the pains and skill which Stein
bestows on them cannot be sufficiently repaid. His instruments have a
feature of their own; they are supplied with a peculiar escapement.
Not one in a hundred makers attends to this; but, without it, it is
impossible that a piano should not buzz and jar. His hammers fall as
soon as they touch the strings, whether the keys be held down by the
fingers or not. When he has completed an instrument of this class,
(which he told me himself,) he tries all kinds of passages and runs on
it, and works away at it, testing its powers till it is capable of doing
anything, for he labors not for his own benefit alone, (or he might be
saved much trouble,) but for that of music. He often says, "If I were
not such a passionate lover of music, playing also myself a little on
the piano, I should long ago have lost patience with my work, but I like
my instruments to respond to the player, and to be durable." His pianos
do really last well. He warrants the sounding-board neither breaking nor
cracking; when he has finished one, he exposes it in the air to rain,
snow, sun, and every kind of devilry, that it may give way, and then
inserts slips of wood which he glues in, making it quite strong and
solid. He is very glad when it does crack, for then he is pretty sure
nothing further can happen to it. He frequently makes cuts into them
himself, and then glues them up, thus making them doubly strong. He
has three of these pianos at this moment finished, and I played on them
again to-day.

We dined to-day with young Herr Gassner, who is the handsome widower
of a lovely young wife; they were only married two years. He is an
excellent and kind young man; he gave us a capital dinner. A colleague
of the Abbe Henri Bullinger, and Wishofer also dined there, and an
ex-Jesuit, who is at present Capellmeister in the cathedral here. He
knows Herr Schachtner well [court-trumpeter at Salzburg], and was leader
of his band in Ingolstadt; he is called Father Gerbl. Herr Gassner, and
one of his wife's unmarried sisters, mamma, our cousin, and I went after
dinner to Herr Stein's. At four o'clock came the Capellmeister and
Herr Schmittbauer, the organist of St. Ulrich, a worthy good old man.
I played at sight a sonata of Becke's, which was rather difficult, but
very poor, al solito. The astonishment of the Capellmeister and the
organist was indescribable. I have played my six sonatas by heart
repeatedly, both here and in Munich. The fifth in G, I played at
the distinguished Casino concert, and the last in D, which has an
incomparable effect on Stein's pianos. The pedals, pressed by the knees,
are also better made by him than by any one else; you scarcely require
to touch them to make them act, and as soon as the pressure is removed
not the slightest vibration is perceptible.

To-morrow perhaps I shall come to his organs, that is, write to you
about them, and I reserve for the last the subject of his little
daughter. When I said to Herr Stein that I should like to play on one of
his organs, as the organ was my passion, he seemed surprised, and
said, "What! such a man as you, so great a pianist, like to play on an
instrument devoid of sweetness and expression, with no gradations from
piano to forte, but always going on the same?" "That does not signify;
the organ always was, both in my eyes and ears, the king of all
instruments." "Well, just as you please." So we went together. I could
readily perceive from his conversation that he did not expect me to do
great things on his organ, evidently thinking that I should handle it
in the style of a piano. He told me that by Schobert's own desire he
had taken him also to the organ, "and very nervous it made me," said he,
"for Schobert had told everybody, and the church was nearly full. I did
not doubt the man's spirit, fire, and execution; still, this does not
much suit the organ. But the moment he began my opinion was entirely
changed." I only said in reply, "Do you then think, Herr Stein, that
I am likely to run wild on the organ?" "Oh! you!"--When we came to the
organ-loft, I began a prelude, when he laughed. A fugue followed. "I can
now quite understand why you like to play the organ," said he, "when you
can play in this manner." At first the pedal was a little awkward for
me, as it was without the breaks, beginning with C, then D E in one row,
whereas with us D and E are above, just where E flat and F sharp are
here; but I quickly mastered it.

I went also to try the old organ at St. Ulrich's. The stair that leads
to it is really dreadful. I requested that some other person might play
the organ for me, that I might go down and listen to it, for above the
organ has no effect; but I profited very little by this, for the young
leader of the choir, a priest, made such reckless runs on the organ that
it was impossible to understand them, and when he attempted harmonies
they proved only discords, being always false. Afterwards they would
insist on our going to a coffee-room, for mamma and my cousin were with
us. A certain Father Emilian, a conceited jackass and a sorry witling,
was very sweet on my cousin, and wished to have his jest with her,
but she made a jest of him. At last, when rather tipsy, (which soon
occurred,) he began to talk about music, and sang a canon, saying, "I
never in my life heard anything finer." I said, "I regret that I can't
sing it with you, for nature has not given me the power of intoning."
"No matter," said he. So he began. I made the third, but I sang
different words--thus: "Pater Emilian, oh! thou numskull"--sotto voce to
my cousin; then we laughed on for at least half an hour. The Pater said
to me, "If we only could be longer together, we could discuss the art of
musical composition." "In that case," said I, "our discussion would soon
come to an end." A famous rap on the knuckles for him! TO BE CONTINUED.



68.

Augsburg, Oct. 23, 1777.

MY concert took place yesterday. Count Wolfeck interested himself much
in it, and brought some chanoinesses with him. I went to his lodgings
the very day I arrived, but he was not here at that time. A few days
ago he returned, and on hearing that I was still in Augsburg, he did not
wait for a visit from me, but at the very moment when I was taking my
hat and sword to go to call on him he walked in. I must now give you a
description of the last few days before my concert. Last Saturday I was
at St. Ulrich's, as I already told you. Some days before my cousin
took me with him to present me to the Prelate of the Holy Cross, a kind
excellent old man. Previous to going to St. Ulrich's last Saturday, I
went with my cousin to the Monastery of the Holy Cross, as the first
time I was there neither the Deacon nor the Procurator was at home,
and my cousin told me that the Procurator was very jolly. [Here mamma
inserts a few lines--which frequently occurs in the letters. She says at
the close:] "I am quite surprised that Schuster's duets [see No. 63] are
still"--Wolfgang: "Oh, he has got them." Mamma: "No, indeed; he always
writes that he has not got them." Wolfgang: "I hate arguing; I am sure
he has got them, so there's an end of it." Mamma: "You are mistaken."
Wolfgang: "No; I am right. I will show it to mamma in his own writing."
Mamma: "Well, where is it?" Wolfgang: "Here; read it." She is reading it
at this moment.

Last Sunday I attended service at the Holy Cross, and at ten o'clock we
went to Herr Stein's, where we tried over a couple of symphonies for the
concert. Afterwards I dined with my cousin at the Holy Cross, where a
band played during dinner. Badly as they play in the monastery, I prefer
it to the Augsburg orchestra. I played a symphony, and a concerto in
B of Vanhall's, on the violin, with unanimous applause. The Dean is
a kind, jovial man, a cousin of Eberlin [deceased Capellmeister of
Salzburg]. His name is Zeschinger. He knows papa well. At night, after
supper, I played the Strassburg concerto; it went as smooth as oil;
every one praised the fine pure tone. A small clavichord was then
brought in, on which I preluded, and played a sonata and the Fischer
variations. Some of those present whispered to the Dean that he ought to
hear me play in the organ style. I asked him to give me a theme, which
he declined, but one of the monks did so. I handled it quite leisurely,
and all at once (the fugue being in G minor) I brought in a lively
movement in the major key, but in the same tempo, and then at the end
the original subject, only reversed. At last it occurred to me to
employ the lively movement for the subject of the fugue also, I did not
hesitate long, but did so at once, and it went as accurately as if Daser
[a Salzburg tailor] had taken its measure. The Dean was in a state of
great excitement. "It is over," said he, "and it's no use talking about
it, but I could scarcely have believed what I have just heard; you are
indeed an able man. My prelate told me beforehand that in his life he
never heard any one play the organ in a more finished and solid style"
(he having heard me some days previously when the Dean was not here). At
last some one brought me a fugued sonata, and asked me to play it. But I
said, "Gentlemen, I really must say this is asking rather too much,
for it is not likely I shall be able to play such a sonata at sight."
"Indeed, I think so too; it is too much; no one could do it," said the
Dean eagerly, being all in my favor. "At all events," said I, "I can but
try." I heard the Dean muttering all the time behind me, "Oh, you rogue!
oh, you knave!" I played till 11 o'clock, bombarded and besieged, as it
were, by fugue themes.

Lately, at Stein's, he brought me a sonata of Becke's, but I think
I already told you this. A propos, as to his little girl, [Footnote:
Nanette, at that time eight years old; afterwards the admirable wife
of Andreas Streicher, the friend of Schiller's youth, and one of
Beethoven's best friends in Vienna.] any one who can see and hear her
play without laughing must be Stein [stone] like her father. She perches
herself exactly opposite the treble, avoiding the centre, that she may
have more room to throw herself about and make grimaces. She rolls her
eyes and smirks; when a passage comes twice she always plays it slower
the second time, and if three times, slower still. She raises her arms
in playing a passage, and if it is to be played with emphasis she seems
to give it with her elbows and not her fingers, as awkwardly and heavily
as possible. The finest thing is, that if a passage occurs (which ought
to flow like oil) where the fingers must necessarily be changed, she
does not pay much heed to that, but lifts her hands, and quite coolly
goes on again. This, moreover, puts her in a fair way to get hold of a
wrong note, which often produces a curious effect. I only write this in
order to give you some idea of pianoforte-playing and teaching here, so
that you may in turn derive some benefit from it. Herr Stein is quite
infatuated about his daughter. She is eight years old, and learns
everything by heart. She may one day be clever, for she has genius, but
on this system she will never improve, nor will she ever acquire much
velocity of finger, for her present method is sure to make her hand
heavy. She will never master what is the most difficult and necessary,
and in fact the principal thing in music, namely, time; because from her
infancy she has never been in the habit of playing in correct time.
Herr Stein and I discussed this point together for at least two hours.
I have, however, in some degree converted him; he asks my advice now on
every subject. He was quite devoted to Becke, and now he sees and hears
that I can do more than Becke, that I make no grimaces, and yet play
with so much expression that he himself acknowledges none of his
acquaintances have ever handled his pianos as I do. My keeping so
accurately in time causes them all much surprise. The left hand being
quite independent in the tempo rubato of an adagio, they cannot at all
comprehend. With them the left hand always yields to the right. Count
Wolfeck and others, who have a passionate admiration for Becke, said
lately publicly in a concert that I beat Becke hollow. Count Wolfeck
went round the room saying, "In my life I never heard anything like
this." He said to me, "I must tell you that I never heard you play as
you did to-day, and I mean to say so to your father as soon as I go to
Salzburg." What do you think was the first piece after the symphony?
The concerto for three pianos. Herr Demmler took the first part, I the
second, and Herr Stein the third. I then played a solo, my last sonata
in D, for Durnitz, and afterwards my concerto in B; then again a solo
in the organ style, namely, a fugue in C minor, then all of a sudden a
splendid sonata in C major, finishing with a rondo, all extempore. What
a noise and commotion there was! Herr Stein did nothing but make faces
and grimaces of astonishment. Herr Demmler was seized with fits of
laughter, for he is a queer creature, and when anything pleases him
exceedingly, he can't help laughing heartily; indeed, on this occasion
he actually began to swear! Addio!



69.

Augsburg, Oct. 25, 1777.

The receipts of the concert were 90 florins, without deducting the
expenses. Including, therefore, the two ducats we took in the Casino
concert, we had 100 florins. The expenses of the concert did not exceed
16 florins 30 kreutzers; the room I had gratis. I believe most of the
musicians will make no charge. We have now ALTOGETHER lost about 26 or
27 florins. This is not of much moment. I am writing this on Saturday
the 25th. This morning early I received the letter with the sad news of
Frau Oberbereiterin's death. Madlle. Tonerl can now purse up her mouth,
or perhaps open it wide, and shut it again as empty as ever. As to the
baker's daughter, I have no objection to make; I foresaw all this long
ago. This was the cause of my reluctance to leave home, and finding it
so difficult to go. I hope the affair is not by this time known all over
Salzburg? I beg you, dear papa, most urgently to keep the matter quiet
as long as possible, and in the mean time to pay her father on my
account any expenses he may have incurred by her entrance into the
convent, which I will repay gladly when I return to Salzburg.

I thank you most truly, dear papa, for your good wishes on my name-day.
Do not be uneasy on my account, for I have always God before my eyes,
I acknowledge His omnipotence, I dread His wrath; but I also know His
love, His compassion and mercy towards His creatures, and that He will
never forsake His servants. When His will is done I am resigned; so I
never can fail to be happy and contented. I shall certainly also strive
to live as strictly as possible in accordance with your injunctions and
advice. Thank Herr Bullinger a thousand times for his congratulations.
I mean to write to him soon and thank him myself, but I may in the mean
time assure him that I neither know nor have any better, more sincere,
or truer friend than himself. I beg also humbly to thank Madlle.
Sallerl; pray tell her I mean to enclose some verses to show my
gratitude to her in my letter to Herr Bullinger. Thank my sister also;
she is to keep the Schuster duets, and give herself no further trouble
on the subject.


In your first letter, dear papa, you write that I lowered myself by
my conduct to that lad Langenmantl. Anything but that! I was only
straightforward, no more. I see you think he is still a boy; he is one
or two and twenty, and a married man. Can any one be considered a boy
who is married? I have never gone near him since. I left two cards
for him to-day, and excused myself for not going in, having so many
indispensable calls to make. I must now conclude, for mamma insists
absolument on going to dinner, and then to pack. To-morrow we go
straight to Wallerstein. My dear little cousin, who sends you her
regards, is anything but a prude. She dressed a la Francaise to please
me yesterday. She looked at least 5 per cent, prettier in consequence.
Now, Addio!

On the 26th of October the mother and son set off to Mannheim. The
mother writes that Wolfgang intended to write to Augsburg, "but he will
scarcely be able to do so to-day, for he is now at the rehearsal of the
oratorio; so I must beg you to accept my humble self instead." Wolfgang
then adds:--



70.

Mannheim, Oct. 30, 1777.

I must beg you also to accept my insignificancy. I went to-day with Herr
Danner to M. Cannabich's [Director of the Elector's orchestra]. He was
uncommonly polite, and I played something for him on his piano, which
is a very good one. We went together to the rehearsal. I could scarcely
help laughing when I was presented to the musicians, because, though
some who knew me by renomme were very civil and courteous, the rest,
who knew nothing whatever about me, stared in such a ludicrous way,
evidently thinking that because I am little and young nothing great
or mature is to be found in me; but they shall soon find it out.
Herr Cannabich is to take me himself to-morrow to Count Savioli, the
Intendant of Music. One good thing is that the Elector's name-day is
close at hand. The oratorio they are rehearsing is Handel's, but I did
not stay to hear it, for they first rehearsed a Psalm Magnificat of the
Vice-Capellmeister here, [Abbe] Vogler, which lasted a good hour. I must
now conclude, for I have still to write to my cousin.



71.

Mannheim, Nov. 4, 1777.

I am at Cannabich's every day, and mamma went with me there to-day. He
is a very different man from what he formerly was, [FOOTNOTE: Mozart had
been at his house, when a boy, with his father.] and the whole orchestra
say the same. He is very fond of me. He has a daughter who plays the
piano very nicely, and in order to make him still more friendly towards
me I am working just now at a sonata for her, which is finished all but
the Rondo. When I had completed the first allegro and andante, I took
it to him myself and played it over; you can't think what applause this
sonata receives. There chanced to be some of the musicians there at
the moment--young Danner, Lang, who plays the French horn, and the
hautboy-player, whose name I forget, but who plays remarkably well, and
has a pleasing delicate tone [Ramm]. I made him a present of a concerto
for the hautboy; it is being copied in Cannabich's room. The man is
wild with delight. I played him the concerto to-day at Cannabich's, and
THOUGH KNOWN TO BE MINE it pleased very much. No one said that it was
NOT WELL COMPOSED, because people here don't understand these things.
They ought to apply to the Archbishop; he would soon put them on the
right scent. [FOOTNOTE: The Archbishop never was satisfied with any of
the compositions that Mozart wrote for his concerts, but invariably had
some fault to find with them.] I played all my six sonatas to-day at
Cannabich's. Herr Kapellmeister Holzbauer went with me to-day to Count
Savioli's. Cannabich was there at the time. Herr Holzbauer said to the
Count in Italian that I wished to have the honor of playing before his
Serene Highness the Elector. "I was here fifteen years ago," said
I, "but now I am older and more advanced, and I may say in music
also"--"Oh!" said the Count, "you are"--I have no idea whom he took
me for, as Cannabich interrupted him, but I affected not to hear, and
entered into conversation with the others. Still I observed that he was
speaking of me very earnestly. The Count then said to me, "I hear that
you play the piano very tolerably?" I bowed.

I must now tell you about the music here. On Saturday, All-Saints' day,
I attended high mass. The orchestra is very good and numerous. On each
side ten or eleven violins, four tenors, two hautboys, two flutes, and
two clarionets, two corni, four violoncellos, four bassoons, and four
double basses, besides trumpets and kettle-drums. This should give fine
music, but I would not venture to produce one of my masses here. Why?
From their being short? No, everything is liked short. From their church
style? By no means; but solely because NOW in Mannheim, under present
circumstances, it is necessary to write chiefly for the instruments,
for nothing can possibly be conceived worse than the voices here. Six
soprani, six alti, six tenori, and six bassi, to twenty violins and
twelve bassi, are in the same proportion as 0 to 1. Is it not so,
Herr Bullinger? It proceeds from this:--The Italians are miserably
represented: they have only two musici here, and they are already old.
This race is dying out. These soprano singers, too, would prefer singing
counter-tenor; for they can no longer take the high notes. The few boys
they have are wretched. The tenor and bass just like our singers
at funerals. Vogler, who lately conducted the mass, is barren and
frivolous--a man who imagines he can do a great deal, and does very
little. The whole orchestra dislike him. To-day, Sunday, I heard a mass
of Holzbauer's, which is now twenty-six years old, but excellent. He
writes very well, and has a good church style, arranges the vocal parts
as well as the instrumental, and writes good fugues. They have two
organists here; it would be worth while to come to Mannheim on purpose
to hear them--which I had a famous opportunity of doing, as it is the
custom here for the organist to play during the whole of the Benedictus.
I heard the second organist first, and then the other. In my opinion the
second is preferable to the first; for when I heard the former, I asked,
"Who is that playing on the organ?" "Our second organist." "He plays
miserably." When the other began, I said, "Who may that be?" "Our first
organist." "Why, he plays more miserably still." I believe if they were
pounded together, something even worse would be the result. It is enough
to kill one with laughing to look at these gentlemen. The second at
the organ is like a child trying to lift a millstone. You can see his
anguish in his face. The first wears spectacles. I stood beside him at
the organ and watched him with the intention of learning something from
him; at each note he lifts his hands entirely off the keys. What he
believes to be his forte is to play in six parts, but he mostly makes
fifths and octaves. He often chooses to dispense altogether with his
right hand when there is not the slightest need to do so, and plays with
the left alone; in short, he fancies that he can do as he will, and that
he is a thorough master of his organ.

Mamma sends her love to you all; she cannot possibly write, for she has
still to say her officium. We came home very late from the grand opera
rehearsal. I must go to-morrow after high mass to the illustrious
Electress; she is resolved absolument to teach me to knit filee. I am
very eager about this, as she and the Elector wish that I should knit in
public next Thursday at the great gala concert. The young Princess here,
who is a child compared with the Electress, knits very prettily.
The Zweenbruck and his Zwobrucken (Deux Ponts) arrived here at eight
o'clock. A propos, mamma and I earnestly beg you, dear papa, to send
our charming cousin a souvenir; we both regretted so much having nothing
with us, but we promised to write to you to send her something. We wish
two things to be sent--a double neckerchief in mamma's name, like the
one she wears, and in mine some ornament; a box, or etui, or anything
you like, only it must be pretty, for she deserves it. [FOOTNOTE: The
father was still in possession of many of the ornaments and jewels
presented to these children during their artistic tours.] She and her
father took a great deal of trouble on our account, and wasted much time
on us. My cousin took the receipts for me at my concert. Addio!



72.

Mannheim, Nov. 5, 1777.

My dear Coz--Buzz,--

I have safely received your precious epistle--thistle, and from it
I perceive--achieve, that my aunt--gaunt, and you--shoe, are quite
well--bell. I have to-day a letter--setter, from my papa--ah-ha, safe in
my hands--sands. I hope you also got--trot, my Mannheim letter--setter.
Now for a little sense--pence. The prelate's seizure--leisure, grieves
me much--touch, but he will, I hope, get well--sell. You write--blight,
you will keep--cheap, your promise to write to me--he-he, to Augsburg
soon--spoon. Well, I shall be very glad--mad. You further write, indeed
you declare, you pretend, you hint, you vow, you explain, you distinctly
say, you long, you wish, you desire, you choose, command, and point
out, you let me know and inform me that I must send you my portrait
soon--moon. Eh, bien! you shall have it before long--song. Now I wish
you good night--tight.

The 5th.--Yesterday I conversed with the illustrious Electress; and
to-morrow, the 6th, I am to play in the gala concert, and afterwards, by
desire of the Princess, in their private apartments. Now for something
rational! I beg of you--why not?--I beg of you, my very dear cousin--why
not?--when you write to Madame Tavernier in Munich, to convey a message
from me to the two Demoiselles Freysinger--why not? odd enough! but why
not?--and I humbly ask pardon of Madlle. Josepha--I mean the youngest,
and pray why not? why should I not ask her pardon? strange! but I don't
know why I should not, so I do ask her pardon very humbly--for not
having yet sent the sonata I promised her, but I mean to do so as
soon as possible. Why not? I don't know why not. I can now write no
more--which makes my heart sore. To all my kind friends much love--dove.
Addio! Your old young, till death--breath,

WOLFGANG AMADE ROSENCRANZ.

Miennham, eht ht5 rebotoc, 7771.



73.

Mannheim, Nov. 8, 1777.

This forenoon, at Herr Cannabich's, I wrote the Rondo of the sonata for
his daughter; so they would not let me leave them all day. The Elector
and the Electress, and the whole court, are very much pleased with me.
Both times I played at the concert, the Elector and she stood close
beside me at the piano. After the music was at an end, Cannabich managed
that I should be noticed by the court. I kissed the Elector's hand, who
said, "I think it is now fifteen years since you were here?" "Yes,
your Highness, it is fifteen years since I had that honor." "You play
inimitably." The Princess, when I kissed her hand, said, "Monsieur, je
vous assure, on ne peut pas jouer mieux."

Yesterday I went with Cannabich to pay the visit mamma already wrote to
you about [to Duke Carl Theodor's children], and there I conversed with
the Elector as if he had been some kind friend. He is a most gracious
and good Prince. He said to me, "I hear you wrote an opera at Munich"
["La finta Giardiniera"]? "Yes, your Highness, and, with your gracious
permission, my most anxious wish is to write an opera here; I entreat
you will not quite forget me. I could also write a German one, God be
praised!" said I, smiling. "That may easily be arranged." He has one
son and three daughters, the eldest of whom and the young Count play the
piano. The Elector questioned me confidentially about his children.
I spoke quite honestly, but without detracting from their master.
Cannabich was entirely of my opinion. The Elector, on going away, took
leave of me with much courtesy.

After dinner to-day I went, at two o'clock, with Cannabich to
Wendling's, the flute-player, where they were all complaisance. The
daughter, who was formerly the Elector's favorite, plays the piano very
prettily; afterwards I played. I cannot describe to you the happy mood I
was in. I played extempore, and then three duets with the violin, which
I had never in my life seen, nor do I now know the name of the author.
They were all so delighted that I--was desired to embrace the ladies. No
hard task with the daughter, for she is very pretty.

We then went again to the Elector's children; I played three times, and
from my heart too,--the Elector himself each time asking me to play. He
seated himself each time close to me and never stirred. I also asked a
certain Professor there to give me a theme for a fugue, and worked it
out.

Now for my congratulations!

My very dearest papa,--I cannot write poetically, for I am no poet. I
cannot make fine artistic phrases that cast light and shadow, for I am
no painter; I can neither by signs nor by pantomime express my thoughts
and feelings, for I am no dancer; but I can by tones, for I am
a musician. So to-morrow, at Cannabich's, I intend to play my
congratulations both for your name-day and birthday. Mon tres-cher pere,
I can only on this day wish for you, what from my whole heart I wish for
you every day and every night--health, long life, and a cheerful spirit.
I would fain hope, too, that you have now less annoyance than when I was
in Salzburg; for I must admit that I was the chief cause of this. They
treated me badly, which I did not deserve, and you naturally took my
part, only too lovingly. I can tell you this was indeed one of the
principal and most urgent reasons for my leaving Salzburg in such haste.
I hope, therefore, that my wish is fulfilled. I must now close by a
musical congratulation. I wish that you may live as many years as must
elapse before no more new music can be composed. Farewell! I earnestly
beg you to go on loving me a little, and, in the mean time, to excuse
these very poor congratulations till I open new shelves in my small and
confined knowledge-box, where I can stow away the good sense which I
have every intention to acquire.



74.

Mannheim, Nov. 13, 1777.

We received your last two letters, and now I must answer them in
detail. Your letter desiring me to inquire about Becke's parents [in
Wallerstein, No. 68] I did not get till I had gone to Mannheim, so too
late to comply with your wish; but it never would have occurred to me
to do so, for, in truth, I care very little about him. Would you like
to know how I was received by him? Well and civilly; that is, he asked
where I was going. I said, most probably to Paris. He then gave me a
vast deal of advice, saying he had recently been there, and adding, "You
will make a great deal by giving lessons, for the piano is highly prized
in Paris." He also arranged that I should dine at the officers'
table, and promised to put me in the way of speaking to the Prince.
He regretted very much having at that moment a sore throat, (which
was indeed quite true,) so that he could not go out with me himself to
procure me some amusement. He was also sorry that he could have no music
in honor of me, because most of the musical people had gone that very
day on some pedestrian excursion to--Heaven knows where! At his
request I tried his piano, which is very good. He often said Bravo! I
extemporized, and also played the sonatas in B and D. In short, he was
very polite, and I was also polite, but grave. We conversed on a variety
of topics--among others, about Vienna, and more particularly that the
Emperor [Joseph II.] was no great lover of music. He said, "It is true
he has some knowledge of composition, but of nothing else. I can still
recall (and he rubbed his forehead) that when I was to play before him
I had no idea what to play; so I began with some fugues and trifles of
that kind, which in my own mind I only laughed at." I could scarcely
resist saying, "I can quite fancy your laughing, but scarcely so loud
as I must have done had I heard you!" He further said (what is the fact)
that the music in the Emperor's private apartments is enough to frighten
the crows. I replied, that whenever I heard such music, if I did not
quickly leave the room it gave me a headache. "Oh! no; it has no such
effect on me; bad music does not affect my nerves, but fine music never
fails to give me a headache." I thought to myself again, such a shallow
head as yours is sure to suffer when listening to what is beyond its
comprehension.

Now for some of our news here. I was desired to go yesterday with
Cannabich to the Intendant, Count Savioli, to receive my present. It was
just what I had anticipated--a handsome gold watch. Ten Carolins would
have pleased me better just now, though the watch and chain, with its
appendages, are valued at twenty Carolins. Money is what is most needed
on a journey; and, by your leave, I have now five watches. Indeed, I
have serious thoughts of having a second watch-pocket made, and, when
I visit a grandee, to wear two watches, (which is indeed the fashion
here,) that no one may ever again think of giving me another. I see from
your letter that you have not yet read Vogler's book. [FOOTNOTE: Ton
Wissenschaft und Ton Kunst.] I have just finished it, having borrowed it
from Cannabich. His history is very short. He came here in a miserable
condition, performed on the piano, and composed a ballet. This excited
the Elector's compassion, who sent him to Italy. When the Elector was in
Bologna, he questioned Father Valoti about Vogler. "Oh! your Highness,
he is a great man," &c., &c. He then asked Father Martini the same
question. "Your Highness, he has talent; and by degrees, when he is
older and more solid, he will no doubt improve, though he must first
change considerably." When Vogler came back he entered the Church, was
immediately appointed Court Chaplain, and composed a Miserere which
all the world declares to be detestable, being full of false harmony.
Hearing; that it was not much commended, he went to the Elector and
complained that the orchestra played badly on purpose to vex and annoy
him; in short, he knew so well how to make his game (entering into so
many petty intrigues with women) that he became Vice-Capellmeister. He
is a fool, who fancies that no one can be better or more perfect than
himself. The whole orchestra, from the first to the last, detest him. He
has been the cause of much annoyance to Holzbauer. His book is more
fit to teach arithmetic than composition. He says that he can make a
composer in three weeks, and a singer in six months; but we have not yet
seen any proof of this. He despises the greatest masters. To myself he
spoke with contempt of Bach [Johann Christian, J. Sebastian's youngest
son, called the London Bach], who wrote two operas here, the first of
which pleased more than the second, Lucio Silla. As I had composed the
same opera in Milan, I was anxious to see it, and hearing from Holzbauer
that Vogler had it, I asked him to lend it to me. "With all my heart,"
said he; "I will send it to you to-morrow without fail, but you won't
find much talent in it." Some days after, when he saw me, he said with
a sneer, "Well, did you discover anything very fine--did you learn
anything from it? One air is rather good. What are the words?" asked he
of some person standing near. "What air do you mean?" "Why, that odious
air of Bach's, that vile--oh! yes, pupille amate. He must have written
it after a carouse of punch." I really thought I must have laid hold
of his pigtail; I affected, however, not to hear him, said nothing, and
went away. He has now served out his time with the Elector.

The sonata for Madlle. Rosa Cannabich is finished. Last Sunday I played
the organ in the chapel for my amusement. I came in while the Kyrie was
going on, played the last part, and when the priest intoned the Gloria I
made a cadence, so different, however, from what is usually heard here,
that every one looked round in surprise, and above all Holzbauer.
He said to me, "If I had known you were coming, I would have put out
another mass for you." "Oh!" said I, "to puzzle me, I suppose?" Old
Toeschi and Wendling stood all the time close beside me. I gave them
enough to laugh at. Every now and then came a pizzicato, when I rattled
the keys well; I was in my best humor. Instead of the Benedictus here,
there is always a voluntary, so I took the ideas of the Sanctus and
worked them out in a fugue. There they all stood making faces. At the
close, after Ita missa est, I played a fugue. Their pedal is different
from ours, which at first rather puzzled me, but I soon got used to
it. I must now conclude. Pray write to us still at Mannheim. I know all
about Misliweczeck's sonatas [see No. 64], and played them lately at
Munich; they are very easy and agreeable to listen to. My advice is that
my sister, to whom I humbly commend myself, should play them with much
expression, taste, and fire, and learn them by heart. For these are
sonatas which cannot fail to please every one, are not difficult to
commit to memory, and produce a good effect when played with precision.



75.

Mannheim, Nov. 13, 1777.

Potz Himmel! Croatians, demons, witches, hags, and cross batteries! Potz
Element! air, earth, fire, and water! Europe, Asia, Africa, and America!
Jesuits, Augustines, Benedictines, Capucins, Minorites, Franciscans,
Dominicans, Carthusians, and Knights of the Cross! privateers, canons
regular and irregular, sluggards, rascals, scoundrels, imps, and
villains all! donkeys, buffaloes, oxen, fools, blockheads, numskulls,
and foxes! What means this? Four soldiers and three shoulder-belts! Such
a thick packet and no portrait! [FOOTNOTE: The "Basle" (his cousin) had
promised him her portrait. She sent it subsequently to Salzburg, where
it still hangs in the Mozarteum.] I was so anxious about it--indeed, I
felt sure of getting it, having yourself written long ago to say that I
should have it soon, very soon. Perhaps you doubt my keeping my promise
[about the ornaments--see No. 71], but I cannot think this either. So
pray let me have the likeness as quickly as you can; and I trust it is
taken as I entreated--in French costume.

How do I like Mannheim? As well as I can any place where my cousin is
not. I hope, on the other hand, that you have at all events received my
two letters--one from Hohenaltheim, and one from Mannheim--this, such as
it is, being the third from here, but making the fourth in all. I must
conclude, for we are just going to dinner, and I am not yet dressed.
Love me as I love you, and then we shall never cease loving each other.
Adieu! J'espere que vous aurez deja pris quelque lection dans la langue
francaise, et je ne doute point que--ecoutez!--que vous aurez bientot le
francais mieux que moi; car il y a certainement deux ans que je n'ai pas
ecrit un mot de cette langue. Encore adieu! Je vous baise les mains.



76.

Mannheim, Nov. 14-16, 1777.

I, Johannes, Chrysostomus, Amadeus, Wolfgangus, Sigismundus, Mozart,
plead guilty to having both yesterday and the day before (and very often
besides) stayed away from home till twelve o'clock at night, from ten
o'clock till the aforesaid hour, I being in the presence and company of
M. Cannabich, his wife and daughter, the Herrn Schatzmeister, Ramm, and
Lang, making doggerel rhymes with the utmost facility, in thought and
word, but not in deed. I should not, however, have conducted myself
in so reckless a manner if our ringleader, namely, the so-called Lisel
(Elisabeth Cannabich), had not inveigled and instigated me to mischief,
and I am bound to admit that I took great pleasure in it myself. I
confess all these my sins and shortcomings from the depths of my heart;
and in the hope of often having similar ones to confess, I firmly
resolve to amend my present sinful life. I therefore beg for a
dispensation if it can be granted; but, if not, it is a matter of
indifference to me, for the game will go on all the same. Lusus enim
suum habet ambitum, says the pious singer Meissner, (chap. 9, p. 24,)
and also the pious Ascenditor, patron of singed coffee, musty lemonade,
milk of almonds with no almonds in it, and, above all, strawberry ice
full of lumps of ice, being himself a great connoisseur and artist in
these delicacies.

The sonata I composed for Madlle. Cannabich I intend to write out as
soon as possible on small paper, and to send it to my sister. I began
to teach it to Madlle. Rose three days ago, and she has learned the
allegro. The andante will give us most trouble, for it is full of
expression, and must be played with accuracy and taste, and the fortes
and pianos given just as they are marked. She is very clever, and learns
with facility. Her right hand is very good, but the left is unhappily
quite ruined. I must say that I do really feel very sorry for her, when
I see her laboring away till she is actually panting for breath; and
this not from natural awkwardness on her part, but because, being so
accustomed to this method, she cannot play in any other way, never
having been shown the right one. I said, both to her mother and herself,
that if I were her regular master I would lock up all her music, cover
the keys of the piano with a handkerchief, and make her exercise her
right and left hand, at first quite slowly in nothing but passages and
shakes, &c., until her hands were thoroughly trained; and after that
I should feel confident of making her a genuine pianiste. They both
acknowledged that I was right. It is a sad pity; for she has so much
genius, reads very tolerably, has great natural aptitude, and plays with
great feeling.

Now about the opera briefly. Holzbauer's music [for the first great
German operetta, "Gunther von Schwarzburg"] is very beautiful, but the
poetry is not worthy of such music. What surprises me most is, that so
old a man as Holzbauer should still have so much spirit, for the
opera is incredibly full of fire. The prima donna was Madame Elisabeth
Wendling, not the wife of the flute-player, but of the violinist. She
is in very delicate health; and, besides, this opera was not written for
her, but for a certain Madame Danzi, who is now in England; so it does
not suit her voice, and is too high for her. Herr Raaff, in four arias
of somewhere about 450 bars, sang in a manner which gave rise to the
remark that his want of voice was the principal cause of his singing
so badly. When he begins an air, unless at the same moment it recurs to
your mind that this is Raaff, the old but once so renowned tenor, I defy
any one not to burst out laughing. It is a fact, that in my own case I
thought, if I did not know that this is the celebrated Raaff, I
should be bent double from laughing, but as it is--I only take out my
handkerchief to hide a smile. They tell me here that he never was a good
actor; that people went to hear, but not to see him. He has by no means
a pleasing exterior. In this opera he was to die, singing in a long,
long, slow air; and he died laughing! and towards the end of the aria
his voice failed him so entirely that it was impossible to stand it!
I was in the orchestra next Wendling the flute-player, and as he had
previously criticized the song, saying it was unnatural to sing so long
before dying, adding, "I do think he will never die!" I said in return,
"Have a little patience; it will soon be all over with him, for I can
hear he is at the last gasp!" "And I too," said he, laughing. The second
singer, Madlle. Strasserin, sang very well, and is an admirable actress.

There is a national stage here, which is permanent like that at Munich;
German operettas are sometimes given, but the singers in them are
wretched. Yesterday I dined with the Baron and Baroness von Hagen,
Oberstjagermeister here. Three days ago I called on Herr Schmalz, a
banker, to whom Herr Herzog, or rather Nocker and Schidl, had given me
a letter. I expected to have found a very civil good sort of man. When
I gave him the letter, he read it through, made me a slight bow, and said
nothing. At last, after many apologies for not having sooner waited on
him, I told him that I had played before the Elector. "Really!" Altum
silentium. I said nothing, he said nothing. At last I began again: "I
will no longer intrude on you. I have the honor to"--Here he interrupted
me. "If I can be of any service to you, I beg"--"Before I leave this I
must take the liberty to ask you"--"Not for money?" "Yes, if you will
be so good as to"--"Oh! that I can't do; there is nothing in the letter
about money. I cannot give you any money, but anything else"--"There
is nothing else in which you can serve me--nothing whatever. I have the
honor to take my leave." I wrote the whole history yesterday to Herr
Herzog in Augsburg. We must now wait here for the answer, so you may
still write to us at Mannheim. I kiss your hand, and am your young
brother and father, as in your last letter you say "I am the old man and
son." To-day is the 16th when I finish this, or else you will not know
when it was sent off. "Is the letter ready?" "Yes, mamma, here it is!"



77.

Mannheim, Nov. 20, 1777.

The gala began again yesterday [in honor of the Elector's name-day].
I went to hear the mass, which was a spick-and-span new composition of
Vogler's. Two days ago I was present at the rehearsal in the afternoon,
but came away immediately after the Kyrie. I never in my life heard
anything like it; there is often false harmony, and he rambles into the
different keys as if he wished to drag you into them by the hair of
your head; but it neither repays the trouble, nor does it possess any
originality, but is only quite abrupt. I shall say nothing of the way in
which he carries out his ideas. I only say that no mass of Vogler's can
possibly please any composer (who deserves the name). For example, I
suddenly hear an idea which is NOT BAD. Well, instead of remaining NOT
BAD, no doubt it soon becomes good? Not at all! it becomes not only BAD,
but VERY BAD, and this in two or three different ways: namely, scarcely
has the thought arisen when something else interferes to destroy it; or
he does not finish it naturally, so that it may remain good; or it
is not introduced in the right place; or it is finally ruined by bad
instrumentation. Such is Vogler's music.

Cannabich composes far better than when we knew him in Paris, but what
both mamma and I remarked here at once in the symphonies is, that one
begins just like another, always slow and unisono. I must now, dear
papa, write you something about the Holy Cross in Augsburg, which I have
always forgotten to do. I met with a great many civilities there, and
the Prelate is the most good-natured man in the world--a kind, worthy
old simpleton, who may be carried off at any moment, for his breath
fails sadly. He recently--in fact, the very day we left--had an attack
of paralysis. He, and the Dean and Procurator, begged us when we came
back to Augsburg to drive straight to the Holy Cross. The Procurator
is as jolly as Father Leopold at Seeon. [FOOTNOTE: A cloister in Lower
Bavaria, that Wolfgang often visited with his father, as they had a dear
friend there, Father Johannes.] My cousin told me beforehand what kind
of man he was, so we soon became as well acquainted as if we had known
each other for twenty years. I lent him the mass in F, and the first of
the short masses in C, and the offertorium in counterpoint in D minor.
My fair cousin has undertaken to be custodian of these. I got back the
offertorium punctually, having desired that it should be returned first.
They all, and even the Prelate, plagued me to give them a litany, De
venerabili. I said I had not got it with me. I really was by no means
sure; so I searched, but did not find it. They gave me no peace,
evidently thinking that I only wished to evade their request; so I said,
"I really have not the litany with me; it is at Salzburg. Write to my
father; it is his affair. If he chooses to give it to you, well and
good; if not, I have nothing to do with it." A letter from the Deacon
to you will therefore probably soon make its appearance. Do just as you
please, but if you do send him one, let it be the last in E flat;
they have voices enough for anything, and a great many people will
be assembled at that time; they even write for them to come from a
distance, for it is their greatest festival. Adieu!



78.

Mannheim, Nov. 22, 1777.

THE first piece of information that I have to give you is, that my
truthful letter to Herr Herzog in Augsburg, puncto Schmalzii, has had a
capital effect. He wrote me a very polite letter in return, expressing
his annoyance that I should have been received so uncourteously by detto
Schmalz [melted butter]; so he herewith sent me a sealed letter to detto
Herr Milk, with a bill of exchange for 150 florins on detto Herr Cheese.
You must know that, though I only saw Herr Herzog once, I could not
resist asking him to send me a draft on Herr Schmalz, or to Herrn
Butter, Milk, and Cheese, or whom he would--a ca! This joke has
succeeded; it is no good making a poor mouth!

We received this forenoon (the 21st) your letter of the 17th. I was not
at home, but at Cannabich's, where Wendling was rehearsing a concerto
for which I have written the orchestral accompaniments. To-day at six
o'clock the gala concert took place. I had the pleasure of hearing Herr
Franzl (who married a sister of Madame Cannabich's) play a concerto on
the violin; he pleased me very much. You know that I am no lover of mere
difficulties. He plays difficult music, but it does not appear to be so;
indeed, it seems as if one could easily do the same, and this is
real talent. He has a very fine round tone, not a note wanting, and
everything distinct and well accentuated. He has also a beautiful
staccato in bowing, both up and down, and I never heard such a double
shake as his. In short, though in my opinion no WIZARD, he is a very
solid violin-player.--I do wish I could conquer my confounded habit of
writing crooked.

I am sorry I was not at Salzburg when that unhappy occurrence took place
about Madame Adlgasserin, so that I might have comforted her; and that
I would have done--particularly being so handsome a woman. [Footnote:
Adlgasser was the organist of the cathedral. His wife was thought very
stupid. See the letter of August 26, 1781.] I know already all that
you write to me about Mannheim, but I never wish to say anything
prematurely; all in good time. Perhaps in my next letter I may tell you
of something VERY GOOD in your eyes, but only GOOD in mine; or something
you will think VERY BAD, but I TOLERABLE; possibly, too, something only
TOLERABLE for you, but VERY GOOD, PRECIOUS, and DELIGHTFUL for me! This
sounds rather oracular, does it not? It is ambiguous, but still may be
divined.

My regards to Herr Bullinger; every time that I get a letter from you,
usually containing a few lines from him, I feel ashamed, as it reminds
me that I have never once written to my best and truest friend, from
whom I have received so much kindness and civility. But I cannot try to
excuse myself. I only beg of him to do so for me as far as possible,
and to believe that, as soon as I have a little leisure, I will write to
him--as yet I have had none; for from the moment I know that it is even
possible or probable that I may leave a place, I have no longer a single
hour I can call my own, and though I have now a glimmer of hope, still
I shall not be at rest till I know how things are. One of the oracle's
sayings must come to pass. I think it will be the middle one or the
last--I care not which, for at all events it will be something settled.

I no doubt wrote to you that Holzbauer's grand opera is in German. If
not, I write it now. The title is "Gunther von Schwarzburg," but not our
worshipful Herr Gunther, barber and councillor at Salzburg! "Rosamunde"
is to be given during the ensuing Carnival, the libretto being a recent
composition of Wieland's, and the music also a new composition of Herr
Schweitzer. Both are to come here. I have already seen some parts of the
opera and tried it over on the piano, but I say nothing about it as yet.
The target you have had painted for me, to be given in my name to the
shooting-match, is first-rate, and the verses inimitable. [Footnote: For
cross-bow practice, attended weekly by a circle of his Salzburg friends.
On the target was represented "the melancholy farewell of two persons
dissolved in tears, Wolfgang and the 'Basle.'"] I have now no more to
write, except that I wish you all a good night's rest, and that you may
all sleep soundly till this letter comes to wake you. Adieu! I embrace
from my heart--cart, my dear sister--blister, and am your dutiful and
attached son,

WOLFGANG AMADE MOZART,

Knight of the Golden Spur, Member of the great Verona Academy,
Bologna--oui, mon ami!



79.

Mannheim, Nov. 26, 1777. --MOREOVER, every one acquainted with Mannheim,
even the nobility, advised me to come here. The reason why we are still
in this place is that I have some thoughts of remaining the winter here,
and I am only waiting for an answer from the Elector to decide my plans.
The Intendant, Count Savioli, is a very worthy gentleman, and I told
him to inform the Elector that, this being such severe weather for
travelling, I am willing to remain here to teach the young Count [Carl
Theodor's son]. He promised me to do his best for me, but said that I
must have patience till the gala days were over. All this took place
with the consent and at the SUGGESTION of Cannabich. When I told him
that I had spoken to Savioli and what I had said, he replied he really
thought it was more likely to be brought about than not. Indeed,
Cannabich spoke to the Elector on the subject before the Count did
so; and now I must wait to hear the result. I am going to call on Herr
Schmalz to draw my 150 florins, for my landlord would no doubt prefer
the sound of gold to that of music. I little thought that I should have
the gift of a watch here, [see No. 74,] but such is again the case. I
would have been off long ago, but every one says to me, "Where do you
intend to go for the winter? Travelling is detestable in such weather;
stay here." Cannabich also wishes it very much; so now I have taken
steps to do so, and as such an affair cannot be hurried, I must wait
with patience, and I hope soon to be able to send you good news. I have
already two pupils certain, besides the ARCH ones, who certainly won't
give me less than a louis each monthly. Without these I could not indeed
manage to remain. Now let the matter rest as it is, or as it may be,
what avail useless speculations? What is to occur we do not know; still
in so far we do! what God wills!

Now for a cheerful allegro--non siete si pegro. [Footnote: "Don't be so
desponding."] If we do leave this, we shall go straight to--where? To
Weilburg, or whatever the name of the place may be, to the Princess,
sister of the Prince of Orange, whom we knew so well at the Hague. There
we shall stay--N. B., so long as we like the officers' table, and no
doubt receive at least six louis-d'or.

A few days ago Herr Sterkel came here from Wurzburg. The day before
yesterday, the 24th, I dined with Cannabich's, and again at Oberstjager
von Hagen's, and spent the evening al solito with Cannabich, where
Sterkel joined us, [Footnote: Abbe Sterkel, a favorite composer and
virtuoso on the piano, whom Beethoven, along with Simrock, Ries, and
the two Rombergs, visited in the autumn of 1791, in Aschaffenberg.]
and played five duets [sonatas with violin], but so quick that it was
difficult to follow the music, and neither distinctly nor in time. Every
one said the same. Madlle. Cannabich played my six sonatas, and in fact
better than Sterkel. I must now conclude, for I cannot write in bed, and
I am too sleepy to sit up any longer.



80.

Mannheim, Nov. 29, 1777.

I RECEIVED this morning your letter of the 24th, and perceive that you
cannot reconcile yourself to the chances of good or bad fortune, if,
indeed, the latter is to befall us. Hitherto, we four have neither been
very lucky nor very unlucky, for which I thank God. You make us many
reproaches which we do not deserve. We spend nothing but what is
absolutely necessary, and as to what is required on a journey, you know
that as well or better than we do. No one BUT MYSELF has been the cause
of our remaining so long in Munich; and had I been alone I should have
stayed there altogether. Why were we fourteen days in Augsburg? Surely
you cannot have got my letters from there? I wished to give a concert.
They played me false, so I thus lost eight days. I was absolument
determined to go away, but was not allowed, so strong was the wish that
I should give a concert. I wished to be urged to do so, and I was urged.
I gave the concert; this accounts for the fourteen days. Why did we go
direct to Mannheim? This I answered in my last letter. Why are we still
here? How can you suppose that I would stay here without good cause? But
my father, at all events, should--Well! you shall hear my reasons and
the whole course of the affair; but I had quite resolved not to write to
you on the subject until I could say something decided, (which even yet
I cannot do,) on purpose to avoid causing you care and anxiety, which I
always strive to do, for I knew that uncertain intelligence would only
fret you. But when you ascribe this to my negligence, thoughtlessness,
and indolence, I can only regret your having such an opinion of me,
and from my heart grieve that you so little know your son. I am not
careless, I am only prepared for the worst; so I can wait and bear
everything patiently, so long as my honor and my good name of Mozart
remain uninjured. But if it must be so, so let it be. I only beg that
you will neither rejoice nor lament prematurely; for whatever may
happen, all will be well if we only have health; for happiness
exists--merely in the imagination.

Last Thursday week I went in the forenoon to wait on Count Savioli, and
asked him if it were possible to induce the Elector to keep me here this
winter, as I was anxious to give lessons to his children. His answer
was, "I will suggest it to the Elector, and if it depends on me, the
thing will certainly be done." In the afternoon I went to Cannabich's,
and as I had gone to Savioli by his advice, he immediately asked me if I
had been there. I told him everything, on which he said, "I should like
you very much to spend the winter with us, but still more to see you in
some permanent situation." I replied, "I could wish nothing better than
to be settled near you, but I don't see how it is possible. You have
already two Capellmeisters, so I don't know what I could have, for I
would not be subordinate to Vogler." "That you would never be," said
he. "Here not one of the orchestra is under the Capellmeister, nor
even under the Intendant. The Elector might appoint you Chamber Court
composer; only wait a little, and I will speak to Count Savioli on the
subject." On the Thursday after there was a grand concert. When the
Count saw me, he apologized for not having yet spoken to the Elector,
these being still gala days; but as soon as they were over (next Monday)
he would certainly speak to his Royal Highness. I let three days pass,
and, still hearing nothing whatever, I went to him to make inquiries. He
said, "My good M. Mozart, (this was yesterday, Friday,) today there was
a chasse, so it was impossible for me to ask the Elector, but to-morrow
at this hour I will certainly give you an answer." I begged him not
to forget it. To tell you the truth, when I left him I felt rather
indignant, so I resolved to take with me the easiest of my six
variations of the Fischer minuet, (which I wrote here for this express
purpose,) to present to the young Count, in order to have an opportunity
to speak to the Elector myself. When I went there, you cannot conceive
the delight of the governess, by whom I was most politely received.
When I produced the variations, and said that they were intended for
the young Count, she said, "Oh! that is charming, but I hope you have
something for the Countess also." "Nothing as yet," said I, "but if I
stay here long enough to have time to write something I will do so." "A
propos," said she, "I am so glad that you stay the winter here." "I? I
have not heard a word of it." "That does surprise me; how very odd!
for the Elector told me so himself lately; he said, 'By the by, Mozart
remains here all winter.'" "Well, when he said so, he was the only man
who could say so, for without the Elector I of course cannot remain
here;" and then I told her the whole story. We agreed that I should come
the next day (that is, to-day) at four o'clock, and bring some piece of
music for the Countess. She was to speak to the Elector before I came;
and I should be certain to meet him. I went today, but he had not been
there at all; but I shall go again to-morrow. I have written a Rondo for
the Countess. Have I not then sufficient cause to stay here and await
the result? As this important step is finally taken, ought I at this
moment to set off? I have now an opportunity of speaking to the Elector
myself. I shall most probably spend the winter here, for I am a favorite
with his Royal Highness, who thinks highly of me, and knows what I can
do. I hope to be able to give you good news in my next letter. I entreat
you once more neither to rejoice nor to be uneasy too soon, and not to
confide the affair to any one except Herr Bullinger and my sister. I
send my sister the allegro and the andante of the sonata I wrote for
Madlle. Cannabich. The Rondo will follow shortly; the packet would have
been too heavy had I sent it with the others. You must be satisfied with
the original, for you can more easily get it copied for six kreutzers a
sheet than I for twenty-four. Is not that dear? Adieu! Possibly you
have heard some stray bits of this sonata; for at Cannabich's it is
sung three times a day at least, played on the piano and violin, or
whistled--only sotto voce, to be sure.



81.

Mannheim, Dec. 3, 1777.

I CAN still write nothing certain about my fate here. Last Monday, after
going three days in succession to my ARCH pupils, morning and afternoon,
I had the good fortune at last to meet the Elector. We all, indeed,
thought that I had again come in vain, as it was so late in the day,
but at length we saw him coming. The governess made the Countess seat
herself at the piano, and I placed myself beside her to give her a
lesson, and it was thus the Elector found us on entering. We rose, but
he desired us to continue the lesson. When she had finished playing, the
governess addressed him, saying that I had written a beautiful Rondo.
I played it, and it pleased him exceedingly. At last he said, "Do you
think that she will be able to learn it?" "Oh! yes," said I; "I only
wish I had the good fortune to teach it to her myself." He smiled, and
said, "I should also like it; but would it not be prejudicial to her to
have two masters?" "Oh, no! your Highness," said I; "it all depends on
whether she has a good or a bad one. I hope your Highness will place
trust and confidence in me." "Oh, assuredly," said he. The governess
then said, "M. Mozart has also written these variations on the Fischer
minuet for the young Count." I played them, and he seemed to like them
much. He now began to jest with the Countess. I thanked him for his
present of a watch. He said, "I must reflect on your wish; how long do
you intend to remain here?" My answer was, "As long as your Highness
commands me to do so;" and then the interview was at an end. I went
there again this morning, and was told that the Elector had repeated
yesterday, "Mozart stays here this winter." Now I am fairly in for it;
so you see I must wait.

I dined to-day (for the fourth time) with Wendling. Before dinner, Count
Savioli came in with Capellmeister Schweitzer, who arrived yesterday
evening. Savioli said to me, "I spoke again yesterday to the Elector,
but he has not yet made up his mind." I answered, "I wish to say a few
words to you privately;" so we went to the window. I told him the doubt
the Elector had expressed, and complained of the affair dragging on
so long, and said how much I had already spent here, entreating him to
persuade the Elector to engage me permanently; for I fear that he will
give me so little during the winter that it will be impossible for me
to remain. "Let him give me work; for I like work." He said he would
certainly suggest it to him, but this evening it was out of the
question, as he was not to go to court; to-morrow, however, he promised
me a decided answer. Now, let what will happen. If he does not engage
me, I shall, at all events, apply for a sum of money for my travelling
expenses, as I have no intention to make him a present of the Rondo and
the variations. I assure you I am very easy on the subject, because I
feel quite certain that, come what may, all will go right. I am entirely
submissive to the will of God.

Your letter of the 27th arrived yesterday, and I hope you received the
allegro and andante of the sonata. I now enclose the Rondo. Schweitzer
is a good, worthy, upright man, dry and candid like our Haydn; only his
mode of speaking is more polished. There are some very beautiful things
in his new opera, and I don't doubt that it will prove a great success.
"Alceste" is much liked, and yet it is not half so fine as "Rosamunde."
Being the first German operetta no doubt contributed very much to its
popularity; but now--N. B., on minds chiefly attracted by novelty--it
scarcely makes the same impression. Herr Wieland, whose poetry it is,
is also to come here this winter. That is a man I should indeed like
to see. Who knows? Perhaps I may. When you read this, dear papa, please
God, all will be settled.

If I do stay here, I am going to Paris during Lent with Herr Wendling,
Herr Ramm, the hautboy-player, who plays admirably, and Ballet-master
Cauchery. Wendling assures me I shall never regret it; he has been twice
in Paris, and has only just returned from there. He says, "It is, in
fact, the only place where either real fame or money is to be acquired.
You are a man of genius; I will put you on the right path. You must
write an opera seria and comique, an oratorio, and every kind of thing.
Any one who composes a couple of operas in Paris receives a certain
sum yearly. There is also the Concert Spirituel and the Academie des
Amateurs, where you get five louis-d'or for a symphony. If you teach,
the custom is three louis-d'or for twelve lessons; and then you get your
sonatas, trios, and quartets published by subscription. Cannabich and
Toeschi send a great part of their music to Paris." Wendling is a man
who understands travelling. Write me your opinion of this scheme, I beg;
it seems to me both wise and profitable. I shall travel with a man who
knows all the ins and outs of Paris (as it now is) by heart, for it is
very much changed. I should spend very little--indeed, I believe not one
half of what I do at present, for I should only have to pay for myself,
as mamma would stay here, and probably with the Wendlings.

On the 12th of this month, Herr Ritter, who plays the bassoon
beautifully, sets off for Paris. If I had been alone, this would have
been a famous opportunity for me; indeed, he spoke to me himself
about it. Ramm (hautboy-player) is a good, jolly, worthy man, about
thirty-five, who has travelled a great deal, so has much experience.
The first and best musicians here like me very much, and respect me too.
They always call me Herr Capellmeister. I cannot say how much I regret
not having at least the copy of a mass with me, for I should certainly
have had it performed, having lately heard one of Holzbauer's, which is
also in our style. If I had only a copy of the Misericordias! But so it
is, and it can't be helped now. I would have had one transcribed here,
but copying does cost so much. Perhaps I should not have got as much for
the mass itself as I must have paid for the copy. People here are by no
means so very liberal.



82.

Mannheim, Dec. 6, 1777.

I CAN tell you nothing certain yet. I begin to be rather tired of this
joke; I am only curious to know the result. Count Savioli has spoken
three times to the Elector, and the answer was invariably a shrug of the
shoulders, and "I will give you an answer presently, but--I have not yet
made up my mind." My kind friends here quite agree with me in thinking
that this hesitation and reserve are rather a favorable omen than the
reverse. For if the Elector was resolved not to engage me, he would
have said so at once; so I attribute the delay to Denari siamo un poco
scrocconi [we are a little stingy of our money]. Besides, I know for
certain that the Prince likes me; a buon canto, so we must wait. I may
now say that it will be very welcome to me if the affair turns out well;
if not, I shall much regret having lingered here so long and spent so
much money. At all events, whatever the issue may be, it cannot be
an evil one if it be the will of God; and my daily prayer is that the
result may be in accordance with it. You have indeed, dear papa, rightly
guessed the chief cause of Herr Cannabich's friendship for me. There is,
however, another small matter in which he can make use of me--namely, he
is obliged to publish a collection of all his ballets arranged for the
piano. Now, he cannot possibly write these out himself in such a manner
that the work may be correct and yet easy. For this purpose I am
very welcome to him; (this was the case already with one of his
contredanses.) He has been out shooting for the last week, and is not to
return till next Tuesday. Such things contribute, indeed, very much to
our good friendship; but, independent of this, he would at least never
be inimical to me, for he is very much changed. When a man comes to a
certain age, and sees his children grown up, he then no doubt thinks a
little differently. His daughter, who is fifteen, and his eldest child,
is a very pretty, pleasing girl. She has great good sense for her age,
and an engaging demeanor; she is rather grave and does not talk much,
but what she does say is always amiable and good-natured. She caused me
most indescribable pleasure yesterday, by playing my sonata in the
most admirable manner. The andante (which must not be played QUICK) she
executed with the greatest possible feeling; and she likes to play it.
You know that I finished the first allegro when I had been only two days
here, and that I had then only seen Madlle. Cannabich once. Young Danner
asked me how I intended to compose the andante. "Entirely in accordance
with Madlle. Rose's character," said I. When I played it, it seemed
to please much. Danner mentioned afterwards what I had said. And it is
really so; she is just what the andante is. To-day I dined for the
sixth time with Wendling, and for the second time in the company of
Herr Schweitzer. To-morrow, by way of a change, I dine there again;
I actually have my board there. I must now go to bed, so I wish you
good-night.

I have this moment returned from Wendling's, and as soon as I have
posted this letter I am going back there, for the opera is to be
rehearsed in camera caritatis, as it were. I am going to Cannabich's
afterwards, at half-past six o'clock, to give my usual daily
music-lesson. A propos, I must correct a statement of mine. I said
yesterday that Madlle. Cannabich was fifteen; it seems, however,
that she is only just thirteen. Our kind regards to all our friends,
especially to Herr Bullinger.



83.

Mannheim, Dec. 10, 1777.

ALL is at an end, for the present, with the Elector. I went to the court
concert the day before yesterday, in the hope of getting an answer.
Count Savioli evidently wished to avoid me; but I went up to him. When
he saw me he shrugged his shoulders. "What!" said I, "still no answer?"
"Pardon me!" said he, "but I grieve to say nothing can be done." "Eh,
bien!" said I, "the Elector might have told me so sooner!" "True,"
said he, "but he would not even now have made up his mind, if I had not
driven him to it by saying that you had already stayed here too long,
spending your money in a hotel." "Truly, that is what vexes me most of
all," I replied; "it is very far from pleasant. But, at all events, I
am very much indebted to you, Count, (for he is not called "your
Excellency,") for having taken my part so zealously, and I beg you
will thank the Elector from me for his gracious, though somewhat tardy
information; and I can assure him that, had he accepted my services, he
never would have had cause to regret it." "Oh!" said he, "I feel more
convinced of that than perhaps you think." When I told Herr Wendling
of the final decision, he  and said, quite indignantly, "Then we
must find the means; you must, at least, remain here for the next two
months, and after that we can go together to Paris. To-morrow Cannabich
returns from shooting, and then we can talk further on the subject." I
left the concert immediately, and went straight to Madame Cannabich.
On my way thither, Herr Schatzmeister having come away from the concert
with me, I told him all about it, as he is a good worthy man and a kind
friend of mine. You cannot conceive how angry he was. When we went into
Madame Cannabich's house, he spoke first, saying, "I bring you a man
who shares the usual happy fate of those who have to do with courts."
"What!" said Madame, "so it has all come to nothing?" I told her the
whole, and in return they related to me numbers of similar things which
had occurred here. When Madlle. Rose (who was in the third room from us,
busy with the linen) had finished, she came in and said to me, "Do you
wish me to begin now?" as it was the hour for her lesson. "I am at
your orders," said I. "Do you know," said she, "that I mean to be very
attentive to-day?" "I am sure you will," answered I, "for the lessons
will not continue much longer." "How so? What do you mean?--Why?" She
turned to her mamma, who told her. "What!" said she, "is this quite
certain? I cannot believe it." "Yes--yes; quite certain," said I. She
then played my sonata, but looked very grave. Do you know, I really
could not suppress my tears; and at last they had all tears in their
eyes--mother, daughter, and Schatzmeister, for she was playing the
sonata at the moment, which is the favorite of the whole family.
"Indeed," said Schatzmeister, "if the Herr Capellmeister (I am never
called anything else here) leaves us, it will make us all weep." I
must say that I have very kind friends here, for it is under such
circumstances that we learn to know them; for they are so, not only in
words but in deeds. Listen to this! The other day I went, as usual, to
dine with Wendling, when he said to me, "Our Indian friend (a Dutchman,
who lives on his own means, and is an amateur of all the fine arts, and
a great friend and admirer of mine) is certainly an excellent fellow.
He will give you twenty florins to write for him three little easy short
concertos, and a couple of quattros for a leading flute. Cannabich can
get you at least two pupils, who will play well; and you could write
duets for the piano and violin, and publish them by subscription. Dinner
and supper you will always have with us, and lodgings you have at the
Herr Hofkammerrath's; so all this will cost you nothing. As for your
mother, we can easily find her a cheap lodging for these two months,
till you have had time to write about the matter to your father, when
she will leave this for Salzburg and we for Paris." Mamma is quite
satisfied; so all that is yet wanting is your consent, of which I feel
so sure that, if the time for our journey were now come, I would set
off for Paris without waiting for your reply; for I could expect nothing
else from a sensible father, hitherto so anxious for the welfare of his
children. Herr Wendling, who sends you his compliments, is very intimate
with our dear friend Grimm, who, when he was here, spoke a great
deal about me to Wendling; this was when he had just come from us at
Salzburg. As soon as I receive your answer to this letter, I mean to
write to him, for a stranger whom I met at dinner to-day told me that
Grimm was now in Paris. As we don't leave this till the 8th of March,
I beg you, if possible, to try to procure for me, either through Herr
Mesmer at Vienna, or some one else, a letter to the Queen of France, if
it can be done without much difficulty; if not, it does not much matter.
It would be better if I could have one--of that there is no doubt; this
is also the advice of Herr Wendling. I suppose what I am now writing
must appear very strange to you, because you are in a city where there
are only stupid enemies, and weak and simple friends, whose dreary daily
bread at Salzburg is so essential to them, that they become flatterers,
and are not to be depended on from day to day. Indeed, this was why I
wrote you nothing but childish nonsense, and jokes, and folly; I wished
to await the event here, to save you from vexation, and my good friends
from blame; for you very unwarrantably accuse them of working against
me in an underhand way, which they certainly never did. Your letters
obliged me to relate the whole affair to you. I entreat you most
earnestly not to distress yourself on the subject; God has willed it
so. Reflect also on this most undoubted truth, that we cannot do all we
wish. We often think that such and such a thing would be very good, and
another equally bad and evil, and yet if these things came to pass, we
should sometimes learn that the very reverse was the case.

I must now go to bed. I shall have plenty of work to do during the two
months of my stay,--three concertos, two quartets, five or six duets for
the piano, and I also have thoughts of composing a new grand mass, and
dedicating it to the Elector. Adieu! I will write to Prince Zeill next
post-day to press forward matters in Munich; if you would also write to
him, I should be very glad. But short and to the point--no cringing! for
that I cannot bear. It is quite certain that he can do it if he likes,
for all Munich told me so [see Nos. 56 and 60].



84.

Mannheim, Dec. 14, 1777.

I CAN only write a few words, as I did not get home till four o'clock,
when I had a lesson to give to the young lady of the house. It is now
nearly half-past five, so time to close my letter. I will ask mamma to
write a few days beforehand, so that all our news may not be of the
same date, for I can't easily do this. The little time that I have for
writing must be devoted to composition, for I have a great deal of work
before me. I entreat you to answer me very soon as to my journey to
Paris. I played over my concertone on the piano to Herr Wendling, who
said it was just the thing for Paris; if I were to play that to Baron
Bach, he would be in ecstasies. Adieu!



85.

[A P.S. TO A LETTER FROM HIS MOTHER.]

Mannheim, Dec. 18, 1777.

IN the greatest haste and hurry! The organ that was tried to-day in the
Lutheran church is very good, not only in certain registers, but in
its whole compass. [Footnote: The mother writes: "A Lutheran of degree
called on us to-day, and invited Wolfgang, with all due politeness, to
try their new organ."] Vogler played on it. He is only a juggler, so
to speak; as soon as he wishes to play in a majestic style, he becomes
dull. Happily this seems equally tedious to himself, so it does not
last long; but then, what follows? only an incomprehensible scramble.
I listened to him from a distance. He began a fugue, in chords of six
notes, and presto. I then went up to him, for I would far rather see
than hear him. There were a great many people present, and among the
musicians Holzbauer, Cannabich, Toeschi, &c.

A quartet for the Indian Dutchman, that true benefactor of man, will
soon be finished. A propos, Herr told me that he had written to you by
the last post. Addio! I was lately obliged to direct the opera with some
violins at Wendling's, Schweitzer being unwell.



86.

Mannheim, Dec. 20, 1777.

I WISH you, dearest papa, a very happy new-year, and that your health,
so precious in my eyes, may daily improve, for the benefit and happiness
of your wife and children, the satisfaction of your true friends, and
for the annoyance and vexation of your enemies. I hope also that in the
coming year you will love me with the same fatherly tenderness you have
hitherto shown me. I on my part will strive, and honestly strive, to
deserve still more the love of such an admirable father. I was cordially
delighted with your last letter of the 15th of December, for, thank God!
I could gather from it that you are very well indeed. We, too, are in
perfect health, God be praised! Mine is not likely to fail if constant
work can preserve it. I am writing this at eleven at night, because
I have no other leisure time. We cannot very well rise before eight
o'clock, for in our rooms (on the ground-floor) it is not light till
half-past eight. I then dress quickly; at ten o'clock I sit down to
compose till twelve or half-past twelve, when I go to Wendling's, where
I generally write till half-past one; we then dine. At three o'clock I
go to the Mainzer Hof (an hotel) to a Dutch officer, to give him lessons
in galanterie playing and thorough bass, for which, if I mistake not,
he gives me four ducats for twelve lessons. At four o'clock I go home to
teach the daughter of the house. We never begin till half past four,
as we wait for lights. At six o'clock I go to Cannabich's to instruct
Madlle. Rose. I stay to supper there, when we converse and sometimes
play; I then invariably take a book out of my pocket and read, as I used
to do at Salzburg. I have already written to you the pleasure your last
letter caused me, which is quite true; only one thing rather vexed me,
the inquiry whether I had not perchance forgotten to go to confession.
I shall not say anything further on this. Only allow me to make you one
request, which is, not to think so badly of me. I like to be merry,
but rest assured that I can be as serious as any one. Since I quitted
Salzburg (and even in Salzburg) I have met with people who spoke and
acted in a way that I should have felt ashamed to do, though they
were ten, twenty, and thirty years older than myself. I implore of you
therefore once more, and most earnestly, to have a better opinion of me.



87.

Mannheim, Dec. 27, 1777.

A PRETTY sort of paper this! I only wish I could make it better; but
it is now too late to send for any other. You know, from our previous
letters, that mamma and I have a capital lodging. It never was my
intention that she should live apart from me; in fact, when the
Hofkammerrath Serrarius so kindly offered me his house, I only expressed
my thanks, which is by no means saying yes. The next day I went to see
him with Herr Wendling and M. de Jean (our worthy Dutchman), and only
waited till he should himself begin the subject. At length he renewed
his offer, and I thanked him in these words: "I feel that it is a true
proof of friendship on your part to do me the honor to invite me to live
in your house; but I regret that unfortunately I cannot accept your most
kind proposal. I am sure you will not take it amiss when I say that I am
unwilling to allow my mother to leave me without sufficient cause; and
I certainly know no reason why mamma should live in one part of the town
and I in another. When I go to Paris, her not going with me would be a
considerable pecuniary advantage to me, but here for a couple of months
a few gulden more or less do not signify."

By this speech my wish was entirely fulfilled,--that is, that our board
and lodging do not at all events make us poorer. I must go up-stairs
to supper, for we have now chatted till half-past ten o'clock. I lately
went with my scholar, the Dutch officer, M. de la Pottrie, into the
Reformed church, where I played for an hour and a half on the organ. It
came right from my heart too. We--that is, the Cannabichs, Wendlings,
Serrariuses, and Mozarts--are going to the Lutheran Church, where I
shall amuse myself gloriously on the organ. I tried its tone at the
same rehearsal that I wrote to you about, but played very little, only a
prelude and a fugue.

I have made acquaintance with Herr Wieland. He does not, however, know
me as I know him, for he has heard nothing of me as yet. I had not
at all imagined him to be what I find him. He speaks in rather a
constrained way, and has a childish voice, his eyes very watery, and
a certain pedantic uncouthness, and yet at times provokingly
condescending. I am not, however, surprised that he should choose to
behave in this way at Mannheim, though no doubt very differently at
Weimar and elsewhere, for here he is stared at as if he had fallen from
the skies. People seem to be so ceremonious in his presence, no one
speaks, all are as still as possible, striving to catch every word he
utters. It is unlucky that they are kept so long in expectation, for he
has some impediment in his speech which causes him to speak very slowly,
and he cannot say six words without pausing. Otherwise he is, as we all
know, a man of excellent parts. His face is downright ugly and seamed
with the small-pox, and he has a long nose. His height is rather beyond
that of papa.

You need have no misgivings as to the Dutchman's 200 florins. I must now
conclude, as I should like to compose for a little time. One thing more:
I suppose I had better not write to Prince Zeill at present. The reason
you no doubt already know, (Munich being nearer to Salzburg than to
Mannheim,) that the Elector is at the point of death from small-pox.
This is certain, so there will be a struggle there. Farewell! As for
mamma's journey home, I think it could be managed best during Lent, by
her joining some merchants. This is only my own idea; but what I do feel
quite sure of is, that whatever you think right will be best, for you
are not only the Herr Hofcapellmeister, but the most rational of all
rational beings. If you know such a person as papa, tell him I kiss his
hands 1000 times, and embrace my sister from my heart, and in spite of
all this scribbling I am your dutiful son and affectionate brother.



88.

Mannheim, Jan. 7, 1778.

I HOPE you are both well. I am, thank God! in good health and spirits.
You may easily conceive my sorrow at the death of the Elector of
Bavaria. My sole wish is that our Elector here may have the whole of
Bavaria, and transfer himself to Munich. I think you also would like
this. This forenoon at twelve o'clock, Carl Theodor was proclaimed
at court Duke of Bavaria. At Munich, Count Daun, Oberststallmeister,
immediately on the death of the Prince, received homage in the name of
the Elector, and sent the dragoons to ride all round the environs of the
city with trumpets and kettledrums, and to shout "Long live our Elector,
Carl Theodor!" If all goes well, as I hope it may, Count Daun will
receive a very handsome present. His aid-de-camp, whom he dispatched
here with the tidings, (his name is Lilienau,) got 3000 florins from the
Elector.



89.

Mannheim, Jan 10, 1778

YES, indeed! I also wish that from my heart. [Footnote: In the mother's
letter, she had written, "May God grant us the blessing of peace'" for
there was much talk about the invasion of Bavaria by the Prussians and
Austrians, on account of the succession.] You have already learned my
true desire from my last letter. It is really high time that we should
think of mamma's journey home, for though we have had various rehearsals
of the opera, still its being performed is by no means certain, and if
it is not given, we shall probably leave this on the 15th of February.
When that time arrives, (after receiving your advice on the subject,)
I mean to follow the opinions and habits of my fellow-travellers, and,
like them, order a suit of black clothes, reserving the laced suit for
Germany, as it is no longer the fashion in Paris. In the first place,
it is an economy, (which is my chief object in my Paris journey,) and,
secondly, it wears well and suits both country and town. You can go
anywhere with a black coat. To-day the tailor brought Herr Wendling his
suit. The clothes I think of taking with me are my puce-brown spagnolet
coat, and the two waistcoats.

Now for something else. Herr Wieland, after meeting me twice, seems
quite enchanted with me. The last time, after every sort of eulogium, he
said, "It is really fortunate for me having met you here," and pressed
my hand. To-day "Rosamunde" has been rehearsed in the theatre; it is
well enough, but nothing more, for if it were positively bad it could
not be performed, I suppose,--just as some people cannot sleep without
lying in a bed! But there is no rule without an exception, and I have
seen an instance of this; so good night! Now for something more to the
purpose. I know for certain that the Emperor intends to establish
a German opera in Vienna, and is eagerly looking out for a young
Capellmeister who understands the German language, and has genius, and
is capable of bringing something new into the world. Benda at Gotha has
applied, but Schweitzer is determined to succeed. I think it would be
just the thing for me, but well paid of course. If the Emperor gives
me 1000 gulden, I will write a German opera for him, and if he does not
choose to give me a permanent engagement, it is all the same to me. Pray
write to every kind friend you can think of in Vienna, that I am capable
of doing credit to the Emperor. If he will do nothing else, he may at
least try me with an opera, and as to what may occur hereafter I care
not. Adieu! I hope you will put the thing in train at once, or some one
may forestall me.



90.

Mannheim, Jan. 17, 1778.

NEXT Wednesday I am going for some days to Kirchheim-Boland, the
residence of the Princess of Orange. I have heard so much praise of her
here, that at last I have resolved to go. A Dutch officer, a particular
friend of mine, [M. de la Pottrie,] was much upbraided by her for
not bringing me with him when he went to offer his new-year's
congratulations. I expect to receive at least eight louis-d'or, for as
she has a passionate admiration of singing, I have had four arias copied
out for her. I will also present her with a symphony, for she has a very
nice orchestra and gives a concert every day. Besides, the copying of
the airs will not cost me much, for a M. Weber who is going there with
me has copied them. He has a daughter who sings admirably, and has
a lovely pure voice; she is only fifteen. [Footnote: Aloysia, second
daughter of the prompter and theatrical copyist, Weber, a brother
of Carl Maria von Weber's father.] She fails in nothing but in stage
action; were it not for that, she might be the prima donna of any
theatre. Her father is a downright honest German who brings up his
children well, for which very reason the girl is persecuted here. He has
six children,--five girls and a son. He and his wife and children have
been obliged to live for the last fourteen years on an income of
200 florins, but as he has always done his duty well, and has lately
provided a very accomplished singer for the Elector, he has now actually
400 florins. My aria for De' Amicis she sings to perfection with all its
tremendous passages: she is to sing it at Kirchheim-Boland.

Now for another subject. Last Wednesday there was a great feast in our
house, [at Hofkammerrath Serrarius's,] to which I was also invited.
There were fifteen guests, and the young lady of the house [Pierron, the
"House Nymph"] was to play in the evening the concerto I had taught her
at eleven o'clock in the forenoon. The Herr Kammerrath and Herr Vogler
called on me. Herr Vogler seems quite determined to become acquainted
with me, as he often importuned me to go to see him, but he has overcome
his pride and paid me the first visit. Besides, people tell me that he
is now very different, being no longer so much admired; for at first
he was made quite an idol of here. We went up-stairs together, when by
degrees the guests assembled, and there was no end to talking. After
dinner, Vogler sent for two pianos of his, which were tuned alike,
and also his wearisome engraved sonatas. I had to play them, while he
accompanied me on the other piano. At his urgent request I sent for my
sonatas also. N. B.--Before dinner he had scrambled through my sonata at
sight, (the Litzau one which the young lady of the house plays.) He
took the first part prestissimo--the Andante allegro--and the Rondo more
prestissimo still. He played great part of the bass very differently
from the way in which it is written, inventing at times quite another
harmony and melody. It is impossible to do otherwise in playing at such
a pace, for the eyes cannot see the notes, nor the hands get hold of
them. What merit is there in this? The listeners (I mean those worthy of
the name) can only say that they have SEEN music and piano-playing. All
this makes them hear, and think, and feel as little--as he does. You may
easily believe that this was beyond all endurance, because I could not
venture to say to him MUCH TOO QUICK! besides, it is far easier to play
a thing quickly than slowly; some notes may then be dropped without
being observed. But is this genuine music? In rapid playing the right
and left hands may be changed, and no one either see or hear it; but is
this good? and in what does the art of reading prima vista consist? In
this--to play the piece in the time in which it ought to be played, and
to express all the notes and apoggiaturas, &c., with proper taste and
feeling as written, so that it should give the impression of being
composed by the person who plays it. His fingering also is miserable;
his left thumb is just like that of the late Adlgasser, all the runs
downwards with the right hand he makes with the first finger and thumb!



91.

Mannheim, Feb. 2 1778.

I COULD no delay writing to you till the usual Saturday arrived, because
it was so long since I had the pleasure of conversing with you by
means of my pen. The first thing I mean to write about is how my worthy
friends and I got on at Kirchheim-Boland. It was simply a holiday
excursion, and nothing more. On Friday morning at eight o'clock we
drove away from here, after I had breakfasted with Herr Weber. We had
a capital covered coach which held four; at four o'clock we arrived at
Kirchheim-Boland. We immediately sent a list of our names to the palace.
Next morning early, Herr Concertmeister Rothfischer called on us. He had
been already described to me at Mannheim as a most honorable man, and
such I find him to be. In the evening we went to court, (this was on
Saturday,) where Madlle. Weber sang three airs. I say nothing of her
singing, but it is indeed admirable. I wrote to you lately with regard
to her merits; but I cannot finish this letter without writing further
about her, as I have only recently known her well, so now first discover
her great powers. We dined afterwards at the officers' table. Next day
we went some distance to church, for the Catholic one is rather far
away. This was on Sunday. In the forenoon we dined again with the
officers. In the evening there was no music, because it was Sunday. Thus
they have music only 300 times during the year. In the evening we might
have supped at court, but we preferred being all together at the inn.
We would gladly have made them a present also of the dinners at the
officers' table, for we were never so pleased as when by ourselves;
but economy rather entered our thoughts, since we were obliged to pay
heavily enough at the inn.

The following day, Monday, we had music again, and also on Tuesday and
Wednesday. Madlle. Weber sang in all thirteen times, and played twice on
the piano, for she plays by no means badly. What surprises me most is,
that she reads music so well. Only think of her playing my difficult
sonatas at sight, SLOWLY, but without missing a single note. I give you
my honor I would rather hear my sonatas played by her than by Vogler. I
played twelve times, and once, by desire, on the organ of the Lutheran
church. I presented the Princess with four symphonies, and received only
seven louis-d'or in silver, and our poor dear Madlle. Weber only five.
This I certainly did not anticipate! I never expected great things,
but at all events I hoped that each of us would at least receive eight
louis-d'or. Basta! We were not, however, losers, for I have a profit
of forty-two florins, and the inexpressible pleasure of becoming better
acquainted with worthy upright Christian people, and good Catholics, I
regret much not having known them long ago.

The 4th.--Now comes something urgent, about which I request an answer.
Mamma and I have discussed the matter, and we agree that we do not like
the sort of life the Wendlings lead. Wendling is a very honorable and
kind man, but unhappily devoid of all religion, and the whole family
are the same. I say enough when I tell you that his daughter was a most
disreputable character. Ramm is a good fellow, but a libertine. I
know myself, and I have such a sense of religion that I shall never do
anything which I would not do before the whole world; but I am alarmed
even at the very thoughts of being in the society of people, during my
journey, whose mode of thinking is so entirely different from mine
(and from that of all good people). But of course they must do as they
please. I have no heart to travel with them, nor could I enjoy one
pleasant hour, nor know what to talk about; for, in short, I have no
great confidence in them. Friends who have no religion cannot be long
our friends. I have already given them a hint of this by saying that
during my absence three letters had arrived, of which I could for the
present divulge nothing further than that it was unlikely I should be
able to go with them to Paris, but that perhaps I might come later, or
possibly go elsewhere; so they must not depend on me. I shall be able to
finish my music now quite at my ease for De Jean, who is to give me 200
florins for it. I can remain here as long as I please, and neither board
nor lodging cost me anything. In the meantime Herr Weber will endeavor
to make various engagements for concerts with me, and then we shall
travel together. If I am with him, it is just as if I were with
you. This is the reason that I like him so much; except in personal
appearance, he resembles you in all respects, and has exactly your
character and mode of thinking. If my mother were not, as you know, too
COMFORTABLY LAZY to write, she would say precisely what I do. I must
confess that I much enjoyed my excursion with them. We were pleased
and merry; I heard a man converse just like you; I had no occasion to
trouble myself about anything; what was torn I found repaired. In short,
I was treated like a prince. I am so attached to this oppressed family
that my greatest wish is to make them happy, and perhaps I may be able
to do so. My advice is that they should go to Italy, so I am all anxiety
for you to write to our good friend Lugiati [impresario], and the sooner
the better, to inquire what are the highest terms given to a prima donna
in Verona--the more the better, for it is always easy to accept lower
terms. Perhaps it would be possible to obtain the Ascensa in Venice. I
will be answerable with my life for her singing, and her doing credit to
my recommendation. She has, even during this short period, derived much
profit from me, and how much further progress she will have made by that
time! I have no fears either with regard to her acting. If this plan be
realized, M. Weber, his two daughters, and I, will have the happiness
of visiting my dear papa and dear sister for a fortnight, on our way
through Salzburg. My sister will find a friend and companion in Madlle.
Weber, for, like my sister in Salzburg, she enjoys the best reputation
here, owing to the careful way in which she has been brought up; the
father resembles you, and the whole family that of Mozart. They have
indeed detractors, as with us, but when it comes to the point they must
confess the truth; and truth lasts longest. I should be glad to go with
them to Salzburg, that you might hear her. My air that De' Amicis used
to sing, and the bravura aria "Parto m' affretto," and "Dalla sponda
tenebrosa," she sings splendidly. Pray do all you can to insure our
going to Italy together. You know my greatest desire is--to write
operas.

I will gladly write an opera for Verona for thirty zecchini, solely that
Madlle. Weber may acquire fame by it; for, if I do not, I fear she may
be sacrificed. Before then I hope to make so much money by visiting
different places that I shall be no loser. I think we shall go to
Switzerland, perhaps also to Holland; pray write to me soon about this.
Should we stay long anywhere, the eldest daughter [Josepha, afterwards
Madaine Hofer, for whom the part of the Queen of the Night in the
"Flauto magico" was written] would be of the greatest use to us; for we
could have our own menage, as she understands cooking.

Send me an answer soon, I beg. Don't forget my wish to write an opera; I
envy every person who writes one; I could almost weep from vexation when
I hear or see an aria. But Italian, not German--seria, not buffa! I have
now written you all that is in my heart; my mother is satisfied with my
plan.

The mother, however, adds the following postscript:--

"No doubt you perceive by the accompanying letter that when Wolfgang
makes new friends he would give his life for them. It is true that she
does sing incomparably; still, we ought not to lose sight of our own
interests. I never liked his being in the society of Wendling and Ramm,
but I did not venture to object to it, nor would he have listened to
me; but no sooner did he know these Webers than he instantly changed his
mind. In short, he prefers other people to me, for I remonstrate with
him sometimes, and that he does not like. I write this quite secretly
while he is at dinner, for I don't wish him to know it."

A few days later Wolfgang urges his father still more strongly.



92.

Mannheim, Feb. 7, 1778.

HERR SCHIEDENHOFEN might have let me know long ago through you that his
wedding was soon to take place [see Nos. 7, 10, 19], and I would have
composed a new minuet for the occasion. I cordially wish him joy; but
his is, after all, only one of those money matches, and nothing else! I
hope never to marry in this way; I wish to make my wife happy, but not
to become rich by her means; so I will let things alone, and enjoy my
golden freedom till I am so well off that I can support both wife and
children. Herr Schiedenhofen was forced to choose a rich wife; his
title imposed this on him. The nobility must not marry for love or from
inclination, but from interest, and all kinds of other considerations.
It would not at all suit a grandee to love his wife after she had done
her duty, and brought into the world an heir to the property. But we
poor humble people are privileged not only to choose a wife who loves
us, and whom we love, but we may, can, and do take such a one, because
we are neither noble, nor highborn, nor rich, but, on the contrary,
lowly, humble, and poor; we therefore need no wealthy wife, for our
riches being in our heads, die with us, and these no man can deprive us
of unless he cut them off, in which case we need nothing more.

I lately wrote to you my chief reason for not going to Paris with these
people, but another is that I have reflected well on what I have to do
in Paris. I could not get on passably without pupils, which is a kind
of work that does not suit me--of this I have a strong example here. I
might have had two pupils: I went three times to each, but finding one
of them not at home, I never went back. I am willing to give lessons
out of complaisance, especially when I see genius, and inclination and
anxiety to learn; but to be obliged to go to a house at a certain hour,
or else to wait at home, is what I cannot submit to, if I were to gain
twice what I do. I find it impossible, so must leave it to those who
can do nothing but play the piano. I am a composer, and born to become
a Kapellmeister, and I neither can nor ought thus to bury the talent
for composition with which God has so richly endowed me (I may say this
without arrogance, for I feel it now more than ever); and this I should
do were I to take many pupils, for it is a most unsettled metier; and
I would rather, SO TO SPEAK, neglect the piano than composition, for I
look on the piano to be only a secondary consideration, though, thank
God! a very strong one too. My third reason is, that I am by no means
sure our friend Grimm is in Paris. If he is, I can go there at any time
with the post-carriage, for a capital one travels from here to Paris by
Strassburg. We intended at all events to have gone by it. They travel
also in this way. Herr Wendling is inconsolable at my not going with
them, but I believe this proceeds more from self-interest than from
friendship. Besides the reason I gave him (about the three letters
that had come during my absence), I also told him about the pupils, and
begged him to procure something certain for me, in which case I would be
only too glad to follow him to Paris, (for I can easily do so,)--above
all, if I am to write an opera, which is always in my thoughts; but
French rather than German, and Italian rather than French or German. The
Wendlings, one and all, are of opinion that my compositions would please
much in Paris. I have no fears on the subject, for, as you know, I can
pretty well adapt or conform myself to any style of composition. Shortly
after my arrival I composed a French song for Madlle. Gustel (the
daughter), who gave me the words, and she sings it inimitably. I have
the pleasure to enclose it for you. It is sung every day at Wendling's,
for they are quite infatuated with it.



93.

Mannheim, Feb. 14, 1778.

I PERCEIVE by your letter of the 9th of February that you have not
yet received my last two letters. Wendling and Kamm leave this early
to-morrow morning. If I thought that you would be really displeased with
me for not going to Paris with them, I should repent having stayed here;
but I hope it is not so. The road to Paris is still open to me. Wendling
has promised to inquire immediately about Herr Grimm, and to send me
information at once. With such a friend in Paris, I certainly shall go
there, for no doubt he will bring something to bear for me. The main
cause of my not going with them is, that we have not been able to
arrange about mamma returning to Augsburg. The journey will not cost
much, for there are vetturini here who can be engaged at a cheap rate.
By that time, however, I hope to have made enough to pay mamma's journey
home. Just now I don't really see that it is possible. Herr de Jean sets
off to-morrow for Paris, and as I have only finished two concertos and
three quartets for him, he sent me 96 florins (having made a mistake of
four florins, thinking this sum the half of the 200); he must, however,
pay me in full, for such was the agreement I made with Wendling, and
I can send him the other pieces. It is not surprising that I have been
unable to finish them, for I never have a single quiet hour here. I can
only write at night, so I cannot rise early; besides, one is not always
disposed to work. I could, to be sure, scrawl away all day, but a thing
of this kind goes forth to the world, and I am resolved not to have
cause to be ashamed of my name on the title-page. Moreover, you know
that I become quite obtuse when obliged to write perpetually for an
instrument that I cannot bear; so from time to time I do something else,
such as duets for the piano and violin, and I also worked at the mass.
Now I have begun the pianoforte duets in good earnest, in order to
publish them. If the Elector were only here, I would very quickly finish
the mass; but what must be must be!

I am very grateful to you, dear papa, for your fatherly letter; I will
preserve it as a treasure, and always refer to it. Pray do not forget
about my mother's journey from Augsburg to Salzburg, and let me know the
precise day; and I beg you will also remember the arias I mentioned in
my last letter. If I recollect rightly, there are also some cadenzas
which I once jotted down, and at all events an aria cantabile with
coloraturas? I wish to have these first, for they will serve as
exercises for Madlle. Weber. I have just taught her an andantino
cantabile of Bach's. Yesterday there was a concert at Cannabich's, where
from first to last all the music was of my composition, except the first
symphony, which was Cannabich's. Madlle. Rose played my concerto in
B, then Herr Ramm (by way of a change) played for the fifth time the
hautboy concerto dedicated to Ferlendi, which makes a great sensation
here. It is now quite Ramm's cheval de bataille. Madlle. Weber sang De'
Amicis's aria di bravura quite charmingly. Then I played my old concerto
in D, because it is such a favorite here, and likewise extemporized for
half an hour, after which Madlle. Weber sang De' Amicis's air, "Parto m'
affretto;" and, as a finale, my symphony "Il Re Pastore" was given. I
do entreat you urgently to interest yourself in Madlle. Weber; it would
make me so happy if good-fortune were to attend her. Husband and wife,
five children, and a salary of 450 florins! Don't forget about Italy,
and my desire to go there; you know my strong wish and passion. I hope
all may go right. I place my trust in God, who will never forsake us.
Now farewell, and don't forget all my requests and recommendations.

These letters alarmed the father exceedingly, so he wrote a long and
very earnest letter to his son as follows:--"The object of your journey
was to assist your parents, and to contribute to your dear sister's
welfare, but, above all, that you might acquire honor and fame in the
world, which you in some degree did in your boyhood; and now it rests
entirely with you to raise yourself by degrees to one of the highest
positions ever attained by any musician. This is a duty you owe to a
kind Providence in return for the remarkable talents with which He
has gifted you; and it depends wholly on your own good sense and good
conduct, whether you become a commonplace artist whom the world will
forget, or a celebrated Capellmeister, of whom posterity will read
hereafter in books,--whether, infatuated with some pretty face, you one
day breathe your last on a straw sack, your wife and children in a state
of starvation, or, after a well-spent Christian life, die peacefully in
honor and independence, and your family well provided for." He goes on
to represent to him how little he has hitherto fulfilled the object of
his journey, and, above all, the folly of wishing to place so young a
girl on the Italian stage as a prima donna, both time and great training
being previously required. Moreover, it would be quite unworthy of
him to wander about the world with strangers, and to compose at random
merely for money. "Get off to Paris without delay. Take your place by
the side of really great people. Aut Caesar aut nihil. The very idea of
Paris should have guarded you from all passing fancies."

To this Wolfgang replies:--



94.

Mannheim, Feb. 19, 1778.

I ALWAYS thought that you would disapprove of my journey with the
Webers, but I never had any such intention--I mean, UNDER PRESENT
CIRCUMSTANCES. I gave them my word of honor to write to you to that
effect. Herr Weber does not know how we stand, and I certainly shall
tell it to no one. I wish my position had been such that I had no cause
to consider any one else, and that we were all independent; but in the
intoxication of the moment I forgot the present impossibility of the
affair, and also to tell you what I had done. The reasons of my not
being now in Paris must be evident to you from my last two letters. If
my mother had not first begun on the subject, I certainly would have
gone with my friends; but when I saw that she did not like it, I began
to dislike it also. When people lose confidence in me, I am apt to lose
confidence in myself. The days when, standing on a stool, I sang Oragna
fiaguta fa, [Footnote: Words sounding like Italian, but devoid of
meaning, for which he had invented a melody. Nissen gives it in his
Life of Mozart, p. 35.] and at the end kissed the tip of your nose,
are indeed gone by; but still, have my reverence, love, and obedience
towards yourself ever failed on that account? I say no more. As for your
reproach about the little singer in Munich [see No. 62], I must confess
that I was an ass to write such a complete falsehood. She does not as
yet know even what singing means. It was true that, for a person who
had only learned music for three months, she sang surprisingly; and,
besides, she has a pleasing pure voice. The reason why I praised her so
much was probably my hearing people say, from morning to night, "There
is no better singer in all Europe; those who have not heard her have
heard nothing." I did not venture to disagree with them, partly because
I wished to acquire friends, and partly because I had come direct from
Salzburg, where we are not in the habit of contradicting any one; but
as soon as I was alone I never could help laughing. Why, then, did I not
laugh at her in my letter to you? I really cannot tell.

The bitter way in which you write about my merry and innocent
intercourse with your brother's daughter, makes me justly indignant;
but as it is not as you think, I require to give you no answer on the
subject. I don't know what to say about Wallerstein; I was very grave
and reserved with Becke, and at the officers' table also I had a very
serious demeanor, not saying one word to anybody. But let this all pass;
you only wrote it in a moment of irritation [see No. 74]. Your remarks
about Madlle. Weber are just; but at the time I wrote to you I knew
quite as well as you that she is still too young, and must be first
taught how to act, and must rehearse frequently on the stage. But with
some people one must proceed step by step. These good people are as
tired of being here as--you know WHO and WHERE, [meaning the Mozarts,
father and son, in Salzburg,] and they think everything feasible. I
promised them to write everything to my father; but when the letter was
sent off to Salzburg, I constantly told her that she must have a little
patience, for she was still rather too young, &c. They take in all I
say in good part, for they have a high opinion of me. By my advice,
Herr Weber has engaged Madlle. Toscani (an actress) to give his daughter
lessons in acting. All you write of Madlle. Weber is true, except, that
she sings like a Gabrielli, [see Nos. 10, 37,] for I should not at all
like her to sing in that style. Those who have heard Gabrielli say, and
must say, that she was only an adept in runs and roulades; but as she
adopted so uncommon a reading, she gained admiration, which, however,
did not last longer than hearing her four times. She could not please
in the long run, for roulades soon become very tiresome, and she had the
misfortune of not being able to sing. She was not capable of sustaining
a breve properly, and having no messa di voce, she could not dwell on
her notes; in short, she sang with skill, but devoid of intelligence.
Madlle. Weber's singing, on the contrary, goes to the heart, and she
prefers a cantabile. I have lately made her practise the passages in
the Grand Aria, because, if she goes to Italy, it is necessary that she
should sing bravuras. The cantabile she certainly will never forget,
being her natural bent. Raaff (who is no flatterer), when asked to give
his sincere opinion, said, "She does not sing like a scholar, but like a
professor."

So now you know everything. I do still recommend her to you with my
whole heart, and I beg you will not forget about the arias, cadenzas,
&c. I can scarcely write from actual hunger. My mother will display the
contents of our large money-box. I embrace my sister lovingly. She is
not to lament about every trifle, or I will never come back to her.



95.

Mannheim, Feb. 22, 1778.

I HAVE been now two days confined to the house, and taking
antispasmodics, black powders, and elderflower tea as a sudorific,
because I have had a catarrh, a cold in my head, sore throat, headache,
pains in my eyes, and earache; but, thank God, I am now better, and hope
to be able to go out tomorrow, being Sunday. I got your letter of the
16th and the two unsealed letters of introduction for Paris. I rejoice
that my French song pleases you [see No. 92]. You must forgive my not
writing much this time, but I really cannot--I am so afraid of bringing
back my headache, and, besides, I feel no inclination to write to-day.
It is impossible to write all we think--at least, I find it to be so.
I would rather say it than write it. My last letter told you the whole
thing just as it stands. Believe what you please of me, only nothing
bad. There are people who think no one can love a poor girl without
evil designs. But I am no Brunetti [a violinist in Salzburg], no
Misliweczeck. I am a Mozart; and, though young, still a high-principled
Mozart. Pardon me if, in my eagerness, I become somewhat excited--which
is, I suppose, the term, though I might rather say, if I write as I
feel. I might have said a great deal on this subject, but I cannot--I
feel it to be impossible. Among my many faults I have also that of
believing that those friends who know me, do so thoroughly. Then many
words are not necessary; and if they do not know me, oh! how could I
find words sufficient? It is painful enough to employ words and letters
for such a purpose. This, however, is not at all meant to apply to you,
dearest papa. No! You understand me too well, and you are too kind to
try to deprive any one of his good name. I only meant it for--you can
guess to whom I allude--to people who can believe such a thing.

I have resolved to stay in the house to-day, although Sunday, as it is
snowing heavily. To-morrow I must go out, for our "house-nymph," Madlle.
Pierron, my highly esteemed pupil, who has usually a French concert
every Monday, intends to scramble through my hochgrafliche Litzau
concerto. I also mean, for my sins, to let them give me something to
hack away at, and show that I can do something too prima fista; for I am
a regular greenhorn, and all I can do is to strum a little on the piano!
I must now conclude, being more disposed to-day to write music than
letters. Don't forget the cadenzas and the cantabile. Many thanks for
having had the arias written out so quickly, for it shows that you place
confidence in me when I beg a favor of you.


96.

Mannheim, Feb. 28, 1778.

I HOPE to receive the arias next Friday or Saturday, although in your
last letter you made no further mention of them, so I don't know whether
you sent them off on the 22d by the post-carriage. I hope so, for I
should like to play and sing them to Madlle. Weber. I was yesterday at
Raafl's to take him an aria that I lately wrote for him [Kochel, No.
295]. The words are--"Se al labbro mio non credi, nemica mia." I don't
think they are by Metastasio. The aria pleased him beyond all measure.
It is necessary to be very particular with a man of this kind. I chose
these words expressly, because he had already composed an aria for them,
so of course he can sing it with greater facility, and more agreeably
to himself. I told him to say honestly if it did not suit his voice or
please him, for I would alter it if he wished, or write another. "Heaven
forbid!" said he; "it must remain just as it is, for nothing can be more
beautiful. I only wish you to curtail it a little, for I am no longer
able to sustain my voice through so long a piece." "Most gladly," I
answered, "as much as ever you please; I made it purposely rather long,
for it is always easy to shorten, but not so easy to lengthen." After he
had sung the second part, he took off his spectacles, and, looking at
me deliberately, said, "Beautiful! beautiful! This second part is quite
charming;" and he sang it three times. When I went away he cordially
thanked me, while I assured him that I would so arrange the aria that he
would certainly like to sing it. I think an aria should fit a singer as
accurately as a well-made coat. I have also, for practice, arranged
the air "Non so d' onde viene" which has been so charmingly composed by
Bach. Just because I know that of Bach so well, and it pleases me and
haunts my ear, I wished to try if, in spite of all this, I could succeed
in writing an aria totally unlike the other. And, indeed, it does not in
the very least resemble it. I at first intended this aria for Raaff; but
the beginning seemed to me too high for Raaff's voice, but it pleased
me so much that I would not alter it; and from the orchestral
accompaniment, too, I thought it better suited to a soprano. I therefore
resolved to write it for Madlle. Weber. I laid it aside, and took the
words "Se al labbro" for Raaff. But all in vain, for I could write
nothing else, as the first air always came back into my head; so I
returned to it, with the intention of making it exactly in accordance
with Madlle. Weber's voice. It is andante sostenuto, (preceded by a
short recitative,) then follows the other part, Nel seno destarmi, and
after this the sostenuto again. When it was finished, I said to Madlle.
Weber, "Learn the air by yourself, sing it according to your own taste,
then let me hear it, and I will afterwards tell you candidly what
pleases and what displeases me."

In the course of a couple of days I went to see her, when she sang it
for me and accompanied herself, and I was obliged to confess that she
had sung it precisely as I could have wished, and as I would have taught
it to her myself. This is now the best aria that she has, and will
insure her success whereever she goes. [Footnote: This wonderfully
beautiful aria is appended to my Life of Mozart.--Stuttgart, Bruckmaun,
1863.] Yesterday at Wendling's I sketched the aria I promised his wife
[Madame Wendling was a fine singer], with a short recitative. The words
were chosen by himself from "Didone": "Ah non lasciarmi no." She and her
daughter quite rave about this air. I promised the daughter also some
French ariettes, one of which I began to-day. I think with delight
of the Concert Spirituel in Paris, for probably I shall be desired to
compose something for it. The orchestra is said to be good and numerous,
so my favorite style of composition can be well given there--I mean
choruses, and I am very glad to hear that the French place so much value
on this class of music. The only fault found with Piccini's [Gluck's
well-known rival] new opera "Roland" is that the choruses are too meagre
and weak, and the music also a little monotonous; otherwise it was
universally liked. In Paris they are accustomed to hear nothing but
Gluck's choruses. Only place confidence in me; I shall strive with all
my might to do honor to the name of Mozart. I have no fears at all on
the subject.

My last letters must have shown you HOW THINGS ARE, and WHAT I REALLY
MEANT. I do entreat of you never to allow the thought to cross your mind
that I can ever forget you, for I cannot bear such an idea. My chief aim
is, and always will be, to endeavor that we may meet soon and happily,
but we must have patience. You know even better than I do that things
often take a perverse turn, but they will one day go straight--only
patience! Let us place our trust in God, who will never forsake us. I
shall not be found wanting; how can you possibly doubt me? Surely it
concerns me also to work with all my strength, that I may have the
pleasure and the happiness (the sooner the better, too) of embracing
from my heart my dearest and kindest father. But, lo and behold! nothing
in this world is wholly free from interested motives. If war should
break out in Bavaria, I do hope you will come and join me at once.
I place faith in three friends--and they are powerful and invincible
ones--namely, God, and your head and mine. Our heads are, indeed, very
different, but each in its own way is good, serviceable, and useful;
and in time I hope mine may by degrees equal yours in that class of
knowledge in which you at present surpass me. Farewell! Be merry and of
good cheer! Remember that you have a son who never intentionally failed
in his filial duty towards you, and who will strive to become daily more
worthy of so good a father.

After these frank confessions, which would, he knew, restore the
previous good understanding between him and his father, Mozart's genuine
good heart was so relieved and lightened, that the natural balance of
his mind, which had for some weeks past been entirely destroyed, was
speedily restored, and his usual lively humor soon began to revive.
Indeed, his old delight in doggerel rhymes and all kinds of silly puns
seems to return. He indulges fully in these in a letter to his Basle
(cousin), which is undoubtedly written just after the previous one.



97.

Mannheim, Feb. 28, 1778.

MADEMOISELLE, MA TRES-CHERE COUSINE,--

You perhaps think or believe that I must be dead? Not at all! I beg you
will not think so, for how could I write so beautifully if I were dead?
Could such a thing be possible? I do not attempt to make any excuses
for my long silence, for you would not believe me if I did. But truth is
truth; I have had so much to do that though I have had time to think of
my cousin, I have had no time to write to her, so I was obliged to let
it alone. But at last I have the honor to inquire how you are, and how
you fare? If we soon shall have a talk? If you write with a lump of
chalk? If I am sometimes in your mind? If to hang yourself you're
inclined? If you're angry with me, poor fool? If your wrath begins to
cool?--Oh! you are laughing! VICTORIA! I knew you could not long resist
me, and in your favor would enlist me. Yes! yes! I know well how this
is, though I'm in ten days off to Paris. If you write to me from pity,
do so soon from Augsburg city, so that I may get your letter, which to
me would be far better.

Now let us talk of other things. Were you very merry during the
Carnival? They are much gayer at Augsburg at that time than here. I only
wish I had been there that I might have frolicked about with you. Mamma
and I send our love to your father and mother, and to our cousin, and
hope they are well and happy; better so, so better! A propos, how goes
on your French? May I soon write you a French letter? from Paris, I
suppose?

Now, before I conclude, which I must soon do because I am in haste,
(having just at this moment nothing to do,) and also have no more
room, as you see my paper is done, and I am very tired, and my fingers
tingling from writing so much, and lastly, even if I had room, I don't
know what I could say, except, indeed, a story which I have a great mind
to tell you. So listen! It is not long since it happened, and in this
very country too, where it made a great sensation, for really it seemed
almost incredible, and, indeed, between ourselves, no one yet knows the
result of the affair. So, to be brief, about four miles from here--I
can't remember the name of the place, but it was either a village or
a hamlet, or something of that kind. Well, after all, it don't much
signify whether it was called Triebetrill or Burmsquick; there is no
doubt that it was some place or other. There a shepherd or herdsman
lived, who was pretty well advanced in years, but still looked strong
and robust; he was unmarried and well-to-do, and lived happily. But
before telling you the story, I must not forget to say that this man
had a most astounding voice when he spoke; he terrified people when he
spoke! Well! to make my tale as short as possible, you must know that
he had a dog called Bellot, a very handsome large dog, white with black
spots. Well! this shepherd was going along with his sheep, for he had a
flock of eleven thousand under his care, and he had a staff in his hand,
with a pretty rose- topknot of ribbons, for he never went out
without his staff; such was his invariable custom. Now to proceed; being
tired, after having gone a couple of miles, he sat down on a bank beside
a river to rest. At last he fell asleep, when he dreamt that he had lost
all his sheep, and this fear awoke him, but to his great joy he saw his
flock close beside him. At length he got up again and went on, but not
for long; indeed, half an hour could scarcely have elapsed, when he came
to a bridge which was very long, but with a parapet on both sides to
prevent any one falling into the river. Well; he looked at his flock,
and as he was obliged to cross the bridge, he began to drive over his
eleven thousand sheep. Now be so obliging as to wait till the eleven
thousand sheep are all safely across, and then I will finish the story.
I already told you that the result is not yet known; I hope, however,
that by the time I next write to you, all the sheep will have crossed
the bridge; but if not, why should I care? So far as I am concerned,
they might all have stayed on this side. In the meantime you must
accept the story so far as it goes; what I really know to be true I have
written, and it is better to stop now than to tell you what is false,
for in that case you would probably have discredited the whole, whereas
now you will only disbelieve one half.

I must conclude, but don't think me rude; he who begins must cease, or
the world would have no peace. My compliments to every friend, welcome
to kiss me without end, forever and a day, till good sense comes my
way; and a fine kissing that will be, which frightens you as well as
me. Adieu, ma chere cousine! I am, I was, I have been, oh! that I were,
would to heavens I were! I will or shall be, would, could, or should
be--what?--A blockhead! W. A. M.



98.

Mannheim, March 7, 1778.

I have received your letter on the 26th February, and am much obliged to
you for all the trouble you have taken about the arias, which are quite
accurate in every respect. "Next to God comes papa" was my axiom when
a child, and I still think the same. You are right when you say that
"knowledge is power"; besides, except your trouble and fatigue, you
will have no cause for regret, as Madlle. Weber certainly deserves your
kindness. I only wish that you could hear her sing my new aria which I
lately mentioned to you,--I say, hear her sing it, because it seems made
expressly for her; a man like you who really understands what portamento
in singing means, would certainly feel the most intense pleasure in
hearing her. When I am happily settled in Paris, and our circumstances,
please God, improved, and we are all more cheerful and in better humor,
I will write you my thoughts more fully, and ask you to do me a great
kindness. I must now tell you I was so shocked that tears came to my
eyes, on reading in your last letter that you are obliged to go about so
shabbily dressed. My very dearest papa, this is certainly not my fault;
you know it is not. We economize in every possible way here; food and
lodging, wood and light, cost us nothing, which is all we could hope
for. As for dress, you are well aware that, in places where you are not
known, it is out of the question to be badly dressed, for appearances
must be kept up.

My whole hopes are now centred in Paris, for German princes are all
niggards. I mean to work with all my strength, that I may soon have
the happiness of extricating you from your present distressing
circumstances.



99.

Mannheim, March. 11, 1778.

I HAVE duly received your letter of the 26th February, and learn from
it with great joy that our best and kindest of all friends, Baron Grimm
[the well-known Encyclopedist, with whom Mozart had become acquainted
during his last visit to France], is now in Paris. The vetturino has
offered to convey us to Paris by Metz (which, as you probably know, is
the shortest route) for eleven louis-d'or. If to-morrow he agrees to
do it for ten, I shall certainly engage him, and perhaps at eleven, for
even then it will be the cheapest way for us, which is the main point,
and more convenient too, for he will take our carriage--that is, he will
place the body on wheels of his own. The convenience is great, as we
have so many small packages that we can stow away quite comfortably in
our own carriage, which we cannot do in the DILIGENCE, and besides we
shall be alone and able to talk as we like. But I do assure you that if,
after all, we go in the DILIGENCE, my sole annoyance is the bore of
not being able to say what we choose and wish, though, as it is very
necessary that we should take the cheapest conveyance, I am still rather
disposed to do so.




THIRD PART.--PARIS.--MARCH 1778 TO JANUARY 1779.


100.

Paris, March 24, 1778.

YESTERDAY (Monday, the 23d), at four o'clock in the afternoon, we
arrived here, thank God! safely, having been nine days and a half on our
journey. We thought we really could not have gone through with it; in my
life I never was so wearied. You may easily imagine what it was to leave
Mannheim and so many dear kind friends, and then to travel for ten days,
not only without these friends, but without any human being--without a
single soul whom we could associate with or even speak to. Now, thank
Heaven! we are at our destination, and I trust that, with the help of
God, all will go well. To-day we are to take a fiacre and go in quest of
Grimm and Wendling. Early to-morrow I intend to call on the Minister of
the Palatinate, Herr von Sickingen, (a great connoisseur and passionate
lover of music, and for whom I have two letters from Herr von Gemmingen
and M. Cannabich.) Before leaving Mannheim I had the quartet transcribed
that I wrote at Lodi one evening in the inn there, and also the quintet
and the Fischer variations for Herr von Gemmingen [author of the
"Deutsche Hausvater"], on which he wrote me a most polite note,
expressing his pleasure at the souvenir I had left him, and sending me
a letter to his intimate friend Herr von Sickingen, adding, "I feel sure
that you will be a greater recommendation to the letter than the letter
can possibly be to you;" and, to repay the expense of writing out
the music, he sent me three louis-d'or; he also assured me of his
friendship, and requested mine in return. I must say that all those who
knew me, Hofrathe, Kammerrathe, and other high-class people, as well as
all the court musicians, were very grieved and reluctant to see me go;
and really and truly so.

We left on Saturday, the 14th, and on the previous Thursday there was an
afternoon concert at Cannabich's, where my concerto for three pianos
was given. Madlle. Rose Cannabich played the first, Madlle. Weber the
second, and Madlle. Pierron Serrarius (our "house-nymph") the third.
We had three rehearsals of the concerto, and it went off well. Madlle.
Weber sang three arias of mine, the "Aer tranquillo" from the "Re
Pastore," [Footnote: A festal opera that Mozart had composed in 1775, in
honor of the visit of the Archduke Maximilian Francis to Salzburg.] and
the new "Non so d' onde viene." With this last air my dear Madlle. Weber
gained very great honor both for herself and for me. All present said
that no aria had ever affected them like this one; and, indeed, she
sang it as it ought to be sung. The moment it was finished, Cannabich
exclaimed, "Bravo! bravissimo maestro! veramente scritta da maestro!" It
was given for the first time on this occasion with instruments. I should
like you to have heard it also, exactly as it was executed and sung
there, with such precision in time and taste, and in the pianos and
fortes. Who knows? you may perhaps still hear her. I earnestly hope so.
The members of the orchestra never ceased praising the aria and talking
about it.

I have many kind friends at Mannheim (both highly esteemed and rich) who
wished very much to keep me there. Well! where I am properly paid, I am
content to be. Who can tell? it may still come to pass. I wish it may;
and thus it ever is with me--I live always in hope. Herr Cannabich is an
honorable, worthy man, and a kind friend of mine. He has only one fault,
which is, that although no longer very young, he is rather careless and
absent,--if you are not constantly before his eyes, he is very apt to
forget all about you. But where the interests of a real friend are in
question, he works like a horse, and takes the deepest interest in
the matter; and this is of great use, for he has influence. I cannot,
however, say much in favor of his courtesy or gratitude; the Webers
(for whom I have not done half so much), in spite of their poverty and
obscurity, have shown themselves far more grateful. Madame Cannabich and
her daughter never thanked me by one single word, much less thought of
offering me some little remembrance, however trifling, merely as a proof
of kindly feeling; but nothing of the sort, not even thanks, though I
lost so much time in teaching the daughter, and took such pains with
her. She can now perfectly well perform before any one; as a girl only
fourteen, and an amateur, she plays remarkably well, and for this they
have to thank me, which indeed is very well known to all in Mannheim.
She has now neatness, time, and good fingering, as well as even shakes,
which she had not formerly. They will find that they miss me much three
months hence, for I fear she will again be spoiled, and spoil herself;
unless she has a master constantly beside her, and one who thoroughly
understands what he is about, she will do no good, for she is still too
childish and giddy to practise steadily and carefully alone. [Footnote:
Rosa Cannabich became, indeed, a remarkable virtuoso. C L. Junker
mentions her, even in his musical almanac of 1783, among the most
eminent living artists.]

Madlle. Weber paid me the compliment kindly to knit two pairs of mits
for me, as a remembrance and slight acknowledgment. M. Weber wrote out
whatever I required gratis, gave me the music-paper, and also made me a
present of Moliere's Comedies (as he knew that I had never read them),
with this inscription:--"Ricevi, amico, le opere di Moliere, in segno
di gratitudine, e qualche volta ricordati di me." [Footnote: "Accept, my
dear friend, Moliere's works as a token of my gratitude; and sometimes
think of me."] And when alone with mamma he said, "Our best friend, our
benefactor, is about to leave us. There can be no doubt that your son
has done a great deal for my daughter, and interested himself much about
her, and she cannot be too thankful to him." [Footnote: Aloysia Weber
became afterwards Madame Lange. She had great fame as a singer. We shall
hear more of her in the Vienna letters.] The day before I set off, they
would insist on my supping with them, but I managed to give them two
hours before supper instead. They never ceased thanking me, and saying
they only wished they were in a position to testify their gratitude, and
when I went away they all wept. Pray forgive me, but really tears come
to my eyes when I think of it. Weber came down-stairs with me, and
remained standing at the door till I turned the corner and called out
Adieu!

In Paris he at once plunged into work, so that his love-affair was for a
time driven into the background. Compositions for the Concert Spirituel,
for the theatre, and for dilettanti, as well as teaching and visits to
great people, occupied him. His mother writes: "I cannot describe to you
how much Wolfgang is beloved and praised here. Herr Wendling had said
much in his favor before he came, and has presented him to all his
friends. He can dine daily, if he chooses, with Noverre [the famed
ballet-master], and also with Madame d'Epinay" [Grimm's celebrated
friend]. The mother herself scarcely saw him all day, for on account of
their small close apartment, he was obliged to compose at Director
Le Gros's house. She had (womanlike) written to the father about the
composition of a Miserere. Wolfgang continues the letter, more fully
explaining the matter.



101.

Paris, April 5, 1778.

I MUST now explain more, clearly what mamma alludes to, as she has
written rather obscurely. Capellmeister Holzbauer has sent a Miserere
here, but as the choruses at Mannheim are weak and poor, whereas here
they are strong and good, his choruses would make no effect. M. Le Gros
(Director of the Concert Spirituel) requested me therefore to compose
others; Holzbauer's introductory chorus being retained. "Quoniam
iniquitatem meam," an allegro, is the first air by me. The second
an adagio, "Ecce enim in iniquitatibus." Then an allegro, "Ecce enim
veritatem dilexisti" to the "ossa humiliata." Then an andante for
soprano, tenor, and bass Soli; "Cor mundum," and "Redde mihi," allegro
to "ad se convertentur." I also composed a recitative for a bass air,
"Libera me de sanguinibus," because a bass air of Holzbauer's follows.
The "sacrificium Deo spiritus" being an aria andante for Raaff, with
a hautboy and a bassoon solo obligato. I have added a short recitative
with hautboy and bassoon, for here recitative is much liked. "Benigne
fac" to "muri Jerusalem" andante moderate. Chorus. Then "Tunc
acceptabis" to "super altare," allegro and tenor solo (Le Gros) and
chorus. Finis. [None of this music is known.]

I must say that I am right glad to have done with this task, for it is
really detestable not to be able to write at home, and to be hurried
into the bargain; but now, God be praised! it is finished, and I hope it
will make some effect. M. Gussec, whom you no doubt know, when he saw my
first chorus, said to Le Gros (I was not present) that it was charming,
and could not fail to be successful, that the words were so well
arranged, and, above all, admirably set to music. He is a kind friend of
mine, but very reserved. I am not merely to write an act for an opera,
but an entire one in two acts. The poet has already completed the first
act. Noverre [ballet-master], with whom I dine as often as I please,
managed this, and indeed suggested the idea. I think it is to be called
"Alexander and Roxana." Madame Jenome is also here. I am about to
compose a sinfonie concertante,--flute, Wendling; oboe, Ramm; French
horn, Punto; and bassoon, Ritter. Punto plays splendidly. I have this
moment returned from the Concert Spirituel. Baron Grimm and I often
give vent to our wrath at the music here; N.B.--when tete-a-tete, for
in public we call out "Bravo! bravissimo!" and clap our hands till our
fingers tingle.



102.

Paris, May 1, 1778.

THE little violoncellist Zygmatofsky and his unprincipled father are
here. Perhaps I may already have written you this; I only mention it
cursorily, because I just remember that I met him at a house which I
must now tell you about. I mean that of the Duchesse de Chabot. M. Grimm
gave me a letter to her, so I drove there, the purport of the letter
being chiefly to recommend me to the Duchesse de Bourbon, who when I was
last here [during Mozart's first visit to Paris] was in a convent,
and to introduce me afresh to her and recall me to her memory. A week
elapsed without the slightest notice of my visit, but as eight days
previously she had appointed me to call on her, I kept my engagement
and went. I waited half an hour in a large room without any fire, and as
cold as ice. At last the Duchess came in, and was very polite, begging
me to make allowances for her piano, as none of her instruments were in
good order, but I might at least try it. I said that I would most gladly
play something, but at this moment it was impossible, as my fingers were
quite benumbed from the cold, so I asked her at all events to take me
to a room where there was a fire. "Oh! oui, Monsieur, vous avez
raison"--was her answer. She then seated herself, and drew for a whole
hour in company with several gentlemen, all sitting in a circle round a
large table, and during this time I had the honor to wait. The windows
and doors were open, so that not only my hands, but my body and my feet
were cold, and my head also began to ache. Moreover, there was altum
silentium, and I really did not know what to do from cold, headache, and
weariness. I again and again thought to myself, that if it were not
on M. Grimm's account I would leave the house at once. At last, to cut
matters short, I played on the wretched, miserable piano. What however
vexed me most of all was, that the Duchess and all the gentlemen did
not cease drawing for a single moment, but coolly continued their
occupation; so I was left to play to the chairs and tables, and the
walls. My patience gave way under such unpropitious circumstances. I
therefore began the Fischer variations, and after playing one half of
them I rose. Then came eulogiums without end. I, however, said all that
could be said--which was, that I could do myself no justice on such a
piano, but I should be very glad to fix some other day to play, when a
better instrument might be found. But the Duchess would not hear of
my going away; so I was obliged to wait till her husband came in, who
placed himself beside me and listened to me with great attention, while,
as for me, I became unconscious of all cold and all headache, and, in
spite of the wretched piano, played as I CAN play when I am in the right
mood. Give me the best piano in Europe, and listeners who understand
nothing, or don't wish to understand, and who do not sympathize with me
in what I am playing, I no longer feel any pleasure. I afterwards told
all this to M. Grimm.

You write to me that I ought to pay a good many visits in order to
make new acquaintances, and to renew former ones. This is, however,
impossible, from the distances being so great, and it is too muddy to go
on foot, for really the mud in Paris is beyond all description. To go
in a carriage entails spending four or five livres a day, and all for
nothing; it is true the people say all kinds of civil things, but there
it ends, as they appoint me to come on such and such a day, when I play,
and hear them exclaim, "Oh! c'est un prodige, c'est inconcevable, c'est
etonnant!" and then, Adieu! At first I spent money enough in driving
about, and to no purpose, from not finding the people at home. Unless
you lived here, you could not believe what an annoyance this is.
Besides, Paris is much changed; the French are far from being as polite
as they were fifteen years ago; their manner now borders on rudeness,
and they are odiously self-sufficient.

I must proceed to give you an account of the Concert Spirituel. By the
by, I must first briefly tell you that my chorus-labors were in a manner
useless, for Holzbauer's Miserere was too long in itself, and did not
please, so they gave only two of my choruses instead of four, and chose
to leave out the best; but this was of no great consequence, for many
there were not aware that any of the music was by me, and many knew
nothing at all about me. Still, at the rehearsal great approbation
was expressed, and I myself (for I place no great reliance on Parisian
praise) was very much satisfied with my choruses. With regard to the
sinfonie concertante there appears to be a hitch, and I believe that
some unseen mischief is at work. It seems that I have enemies here also;
where have I not had them? But this is a good sign. I was obliged to
write the symphony very hurriedly, and worked very hard at it. The four
performers were and are perfectly enchanted with the piece. Le Gros had
it for the last four days to be copied, but I invariably saw it lying
in the same place. Two days ago I could not find it, though I searched
carefully among the music; and at last I discovered it hidden away.
I took no notice, but said to Le Gros, "A propos, have you given my
sinfonie to be copied?" "No; I forgot all about it." As, of course, I
have no power to compel him to have it transcribed and performed, I said
nothing; but I went to the concert on the two days when the sinfonie was
to have been performed, when Ramm and Punto came to me in the greatest
rage to ask me why my sinfonie concertante was not to be given. "I don't
know. This is the first I hear of it. I cannot tell." Ramm was frantic,
and abused Le Gros in the music-room in French, saying how very
unhandsome it was on his part, etc. I alone was to be kept in the dark!
If he had even made an excuse--that the time was too short, or something
of the kind!--but he never said a syllable. I believe the real cause to
be Cambini, an Italian maestro; for at our first meeting at Le Gros's, I
unwittingly took the wind out of his sails. He composes quintets, one
of which I heard at Mannheim; it was very pretty, so I praised it, and
played the beginning to him. Ritter, Ramm, and Punto were all present,
and gave me no peace till I agreed to continue, and to supply from my
own head what I could not remember. I therefore did so, and Cambini was
quite excited, and could not help saying, "Questa e una gran testa!"
Well, I suppose after all he did not quite relish this, [The symphony in
question has also entirely disappeared.]

If this were a place where people had ears to hear or hearts to feel,
and understood just a little of music, and had some degree of taste,
these things would only make me laugh heartily, but as it is (so far as
music is concerned) I am surrounded by mere brute beasts. But how can it
be otherwise? for in all their actions, inclinations, and passions, they
are just the same. There is no place in the world like Paris. You must
not think that I exaggerate when I speak in this way of the music here;
refer to whom you will, except to a Frenchman born, and (if trustworthy)
you will hear the same. But I am now here, and must endure it for your
sake. I shall be grateful to Providence if I get away with my natural
taste uninjured. I pray to God every day to grant me grace to be firm
and steadfast here, that I may do honor to the whole German nation,
which will all redound to His greater honor and glory, and to enable me
to prosper and make plenty of money, that I may extricate you from your
present emergencies, and also to permit us to meet soon, and to live
together happily and contentedly; but "His will be done in earth as it
is in heaven." I entreat you, dearest father, in the meantime, to take
measures that I may see Italy, in order to bring me to life again.
Bestow this great happiness upon me, I implore you! I do hope you will
keep up your spirits; I shall cut my way through here as I best can, and
trust I shall get off safely. Adieu!



103.

Paris, May 14, 1778.

I HAVE already so much to do that I don't know how I am to manage when
winter comes. I think I wrote to you in my last letter that the Duc
de Guines, whose daughter is my pupil in composition, plays the flute
inimitably, and she the harp magnificently; she has a great deal of
talent and genius, and, above all, a wonderful memory, for she plays
all her pieces, about 200 in number, by heart. She, however, doubts much
whether she has any genius for composition, especially as regards ideas
or invention; but her father (who, entre nous, is rather too infatuated
about her) declares that she certainly has ideas, and that she is only
diffident and has too little self-reliance. Well, we shall see. If
she acquires no thoughts or ideas, (for hitherto she really has none
whatever,) it is all in vain, for God knows I can't give her any! It
is not the father's intention to make her a great composer. He says, "I
don't wish her to write operas, or arias, or concertos, or symphonies,
but grand sonatas for her instrument and for mine." I gave her to-day
her fourth lesson on the rules of composition and harmony, and am pretty
well satisfied with her. She made a very good bass for the first minuet,
of which I had given her the melody, and she has already begun to write
in three parts; she can do it, but she quickly tires, and I cannot get
her on, for it is impossible to proceed further as yet; it is too soon,
even if she really had genius, but, alas! there appears to be none; all
must be done by rule; she has no ideas, and none seem likely to come,
for I have tried her in every possible way. Among other things it
occurred to me to write out a very simple minuet, and to see if she
could not make a variation on it. Well, that utterly failed. Now,
thought I, she has not a notion how or what to do first. So I began to
vary the first bar, and told her to continue in the same manner, and
to keep to the idea. At length this went tolerably well. When it was
finished, I told her she must try to originate something herself--only
the treble of a melody. So she thought it over for a whole quarter of
an hour, AND NOTHING CAME. Then I wrote four bars of a minuet, saying
to her, "See what an ass I am! I have begun a minuet, and can't even
complete the first part; be so very good as to finish it for me." She
declared this was impossible. At last, with great difficulty, SOMETHING
CAME, and I was only too glad that ANYTHING AT ALL CAME. I told her then
to complete the minuet--that is, the treble only. The task I set her
for the next lesson was to change my four bars, and replace them by
something of her own, and to find out another beginning, even if it were
the same harmony, only changing the melody. I shall see to-morrow what
she has done.

I shall soon now, I think, receive the poetry for my two-act opera, when
I must first present it to the Director, M. de Vismes, to see if he will
accept it; but of this there can be no doubt, as it is recommended by
Noverre, to whom De Vismes is indebted for his situation. Noverre, too,
is soon to arrange a new ballet, for which I am to write the music.
Rudolf (who plays the French horn) is in the royal service here, and
a very kind friend of mine; he understands composition thoroughly, and
writes well. He has offered me the place of organist at Versailles if I
choose to accept it: the salary is 2000 livres a year, but I must live
six months at Versailles and the remaining six in Paris, or where I
please. I don't, however, think that I shall close with the offer; I
must take the advice of good friends on the subject. 2000 livres is
no such very great sum; in German money it may be so, but not here.
It amounts to 83 louis-d'or 8 livres a year--that is, 915 florins 45
kreutzers of our money, (which is certainly a considerable sum,) but
only to 383 ecus 2 livres, and that is not much, for it is frightful to
see how quickly a dollar goes here! I am not at all surprised that so
little is thought of a louis-d'or in Paris, for it does not go far.
Four dollars, or a louis-d'or, which are the same, are gone in no time.
Adieu!



104.

Paris, May 29, 1778.

I AM pretty well, thank God! but still I am often puzzled to know what
to make of it all. I feel neither hot nor cold, and don't take much
pleasure in anything. What, however, cheers and strengthens me most is
the thought that you, dearest papa, and my dear sister, are well; that I
am an honest German, and though I cannot SAY, I may at all events THINK
what I please, and, after all, that is the chief thing. Yesterday I was
for the second time at Count Sickingen's, ambassador from the Elector
Palatine; (I dined there once before with Wendling and Ramm.) I
don't know whether I told you what a charming man he is, and a great
connoisseur and devoted lover of music. I passed eight hours quite alone
with him. The whole forenoon, and afternoon too, till ten o'clock
at night, we were at the piano, playing all kind of music, praising,
admiring, analyzing, discussing, and criticizing. He has nearly
thirty scores of operas. I must not forget to tell you that I had the
satisfaction of seeing your "School for the Violin" translated into
French; I believe it is about eight years since the translation
appeared. I have just returned from a music-shop where I went to buy a
sonata of Schobert's for one of my pupils, and I mean to go again soon
to examine the book more closely, that I may write to you about it
minutely, for to-day I have not time to do this.



105.

Paris, June 12, 1778.

I MUST now write something that concerns our Raaff. [Footnote: Mozart
wrote the part of Idomeneo for Raaff in the year 1781.] You no doubt
remember that I did not write much in his favor from Mannheim, and was
by no means satisfied with his singing--in short, that he did not please
me at all. The cause, however, was that I can scarcely say I really
heard him at Mannheim. The first time was at the rehearsal of
Holzbauer's "Gunther," when he was in his every-day clothes, his hat
on his head, and a stick in his hand. When he was not singing, he stood
looking like a sulky child. When he began to sing the first recitative,
it went tolerably well, but every now and then he gave a kind of shriek,
which I could not bear. He sang the arias in a most indolent way, and
yet some of the notes with too much emphasis, which is not what I like.
This has been an invariable habit of his, which the Bernacchi school
probably entails; for he is a pupil of Bernacchi's. At court, too, he
used to sing all kinds of airs which, in my opinion, by no means suited
his voice; so he did not at all please me. When at length he made his
debut here in the Concert Spirituel, he sang Bach's scena, "Non so d'
onde viene" which is, besides, my great favorite, and then for the first
time I really heard him sing, and he pleased me--that is, in this class
of music; but the style itself, the Bernacchi school, is not to my
taste. He is too apt to fall into the cantabile. I admit that, when he
was younger and in his prime, this must have made a great impression and
taken people by surprise; I could like it also, but there is too much of
it, and it often seems to me positively ludicrous. What does please me
in him is when he sings short pieces--for instance, andantinos; and
he has likewise certain arias which he gives in a manner peculiar to
himself. Let each occupy his proper place. I fancy that bravura singing
was once his forte, which is even still perceptible in him, and so far
as age admits of it he has a good chest and a long breath; and then his
andantino! His voice is fine and very pleasing; if I shut my eyes and
listen to him, I think his singing very like Meissner's, only Raaff's
voice seems to me more agreeable. I speak of the present time, for I
never heard either in his best days. I can therefore only refer to their
style or method of singing, for this a singer always retains. Meissner,
as you know, had the bad habit of purposely making his voice tremble at
times,--entire quavers and even crotchets, when marked sostenuto,--and
this I never could endure in him. Nothing can be more truly odious;
besides, it is a style of singing quite contrary to nature. The human
voice is naturally tremulous, but only so far as to be beautiful;
such is the nature of the voice, and it is imitated not only on wind
instruments, but on stringed instruments, and even on the piano. But the
moment the proper boundary is passed it is no longer beautiful, because
it becomes unnatural. It seems to me then just like an organ when the
bellows are panting. Now Raaff never does this,--in fact, he cannot
bear it. Still, so far as a genuine cantabile goes, Meissner pleases me
(though not altogether, for he also exaggerates) better than Raaff. In
bravura passages and roulades, Raaff is indeed a perfect master, and he
has such a good and distinct articulation, which is a great charm; and,
as I already said, his andantinus and canzonetti are delightful. He
composed four German songs, which are lovely. He likes me much, and
we are very intimate; he comes to us almost every day. I have dined
at least six times with Count von Sickingen, and always stay from one
o'clock till ten. Time, however, flies so quickly in his house that it
passes quite imperceptibly. He seems fond of me, and I like very much
being with him, for he is a most friendly, sensible person, possessing
excellent judgment and a true insight into music, I was there again
to-day with Raaff. I took some music with me, as the Count (long since)
asked me to do so. I brought my newly completed symphony, with which,
on Corpus Christi day, the Concert Spirituel is to commence. The work
pleased them both exceedingly, and I am also well satisfied with it.
Whether it will be popular here, however, I cannot tell, and, to say
the truth, I care very little about it. For whom is it to please? I can
answer for its pleasing the few intelligent Frenchmen who may be there;
as for the numskulls--why, it would be no great misfortune if they were
dissatisfied. I have some hope, nevertheless, that even the dunces among
them may find something to admire. Besides, I have been careful not
to neglect le premier coup d'archet; and that is sufficient. All the
wiseacres here make such a fuss on that point! Deuce take me if I can
see any difference! Their orchestra begins all at one stroke, just as
in other places. It is too laughable! Raaff told me a story of Abaco
on this subject. He was asked by a Frenchman, in Munich or
elsewhere,--"Monsieur, vous avez ete a Paris?" "Oui." "Est-ce que vous
etiez au Concert Spirituel?" "Oui." "Que dites-vous du premier coup
d'archet? avez-vous entendu le premier coup d'archet?" "Oui, j'ai
entendu le premier et le dernier." "Comment le dernier? que veut dire
cela?" "Mais oui, le premier et le dernier; et le dernier meme m'a donne
plus de plaisir." [Footnote: The imposing impression produced by the
first grand crash of a numerous orchestra, commencing with precision,
in tutti, gave rise to this pleasantry.] A few days afterwards his
kind mother was taken ill. Even in her letters from Mannheim she often
complained of various ailments, and in Paris also she was still exposed
to the discomfort of cold dark lodgings, which she was obliged to
submit to for the sake of economy; so her illness soon assumed the worst
aspect, and Mozart experienced the first severe trial of his life. The
following letter is addressed to his beloved and faithful friend, Abbe
Bullinger, tutor in Count Lodron's family in Salzburg.



(Private.) 106.

Paris, July 3, 1778.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--

Mourn with me! This has been the most melancholy day of my life; I
am now writing at two o'clock in the morning. I must tell you that my
mother, my darling mother, is no more. God has called her to Himself; I
clearly see that it was His will to take her from us, and I must learn
to submit to the will of God. The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away.
Only think of all the distress, anxiety, and care I have endured for the
last fourteen days. She died quite unconscious, and her life went out
like a light. She confessed three days before, took the sacrament,
and received extreme unction. The last three days, however, she was
constantly delirious, and to-day, at twenty minutes past five o'clock,
her features became distorted, and she lost all feeling and perception.
I pressed her hand, I spoke to her, but she did not see me, she did not
hear me, and all feeling was gone. She lay thus till the moment of her
death, five hours after, at twenty minutes past ten at night. There was
no one present but myself, Herr Heiner, a kind friend whom my father
knows, and the nurse. It is quite impossible for me to describe the
whole course of the illness to-day. I am firmly convinced that she must
have died, and that God had so ordained it. All I would ask of you at
present is to act the part of a true friend, by preparing my father by
degrees for this sad intelligence. I have written to him by this post,
but only that she is seriously ill; and now I shall wait for your answer
and be guided by it. May God give him strength and courage! My dear
friend, I am consoled not only now, but have been so for some time past.
By the mercy of God I have borne it all with firmness and composure.
When the danger became imminent, I prayed to God for only two things--a
happy death for my mother, and strength and courage for myself; and our
gracious God heard my prayer and conferred these two boons fully on me.
I entreat you, therefore, my best friend, to watch over my father for
me; try to inspire him with courage, that the blow may not be too
hard and heavy on him when he learns the worst. I also, from my heart,
implore you to comfort my sister. Pray go straight to them, but do not
tell them she is actually dead--only prepare them for the truth. Do what
you think best, say what you please; only act so that my mind may be
relieved, and that I may not have to dread another misfortune. Support
and comfort my dear father and my dear sister. Answer me at once, I
entreat. Adieu! Your faithful

W. A. M.



107.

Paris, July 3, 1778.

MONSIEUR MON TRES-CHER PERE,--

I have very painful and sad news to give you, which has, in fact, been
the cause of my not having sooner replied to your letter of the 11th.
My dearest mother is very ill. She has been bled according to her usual
custom, which was indeed very necessary; it did her much good, but a
few days afterwards she complained of shivering and feverishness; then
diarrhoea came on and headache. At first we only used our home remedies,
antispasmodic powders; we would gladly have had recourse to the black
powder, but we had none, and could not get it here. As she became every
moment worse, could hardly speak, and lost her hearing, so that we were
obliged to shout to her, Baron Grimm sent his doctor to see her. She is
very weak, and still feverish and delirious. They do give me some hope,
but I have not much. I hoped and feared alternately day and night for
long, but I am quite reconciled to the will of God, and hope that you
and my sister will be the same. What other resource have we to make
us calm? More calm, I ought to say; for altogether so we cannot be.
Whatever the result may be, I am resigned, knowing that it comes from
God, who wills all things for our good, (however unaccountable they may
seem to us;) and I do firmly believe (and shall never think otherwise)
that no doctor, no man living, no misfortune, no casualty, can either
save or take away the life of any human being--none but God alone. These
are only the instruments that He usually employs, but not always; we
sometimes see people swoon, fall down, and be dead in a moment. When
our time does come, all means are vain,--they rather hurry on death than
<DW44> it; this we saw in the case of our friend Hefner. I do not mean
to say by this that my mother will or must die, or that all hope is at
an end; she may recover and be restored to health, but only if the Lord
wills it thus. After praying to God with all my strength for health
and life for my darling mother, I like to indulge in such consolatory
thoughts, and, after doing so, I feel more cheerful and more calm and
tranquil, and you may easily imagine how much I require comfort. Now for
another subject. Let us put aside these sad thoughts, and still hope,
but not too much; we must place our trust in the Lord, and console
ourselves by the thought that all must go well if it be in accordance
with the will of the Almighty, as he knows best what is most profitable
and beneficial both for our temporal and spiritual welfare.

I have composed a symphony for the opening of the Concert Spirituel,
which was performed with great applause on Corpus Christi day. I hear,
too, that there is a notice of it in the "Courrier de l'Europe," and
that it has given the greatest satisfaction. I was very nervous during
the rehearsal, for in my life I never heard anything go so badly. You
can have no idea of the way in which they scraped and scrambled through
my symphony twice over; I was really very uneasy, and would gladly have
had it rehearsed again, but so many things had been tried over that
there was no time left. I therefore went to bed with an aching heart and
in a discontented and angry spirit. Next day I resolved not to go to the
concert at all; but in the evening, the weather being fine, I made up
my mind at last to go, determined that if it went as badly as at the
rehearsal, I would go into the orchestra, take the violin out of the
hands of M. La Haussaye, the first violin, and lead myself. I prayed to
God that it might go well, for all is to His greater honor and glory;
and ecce, the symphony began, Raaff was standing beside me, and just
in the middle of the allegro a passage occurred which I felt sure must
please, and there was a burst of applause; but as I knew at the time I
wrote it what effect it was sure to produce, I brought it in once more
at the close, and then rose shouts of "Da capo!" The andante was also
liked, but the last allegro still more so. Having observed that all
last as well as first allegros here begin together with all the other
instruments, and generally unisono, mine commenced with only two
violins, piano for the first eight bars, followed instantly by a forte;
the audience, as I expected, called out "hush!" at the soft beginning,
and the instant the forte was heard began to clap their hands. The
moment the symphony was over I went off in my joy to the Palais Royal,
where I took a good ice, told over my beads, as I had vowed, and went
home, where I am always happiest, and always shall be happiest, or in
the company of some good, true, upright German, who, so long as he is
unmarried, lives a good Christian life, and when he marries loves his
wife, and brings up his children properly.

I must give you a piece of intelligence that you perhaps already
know--namely, that the ungodly arch-villain Voltaire has died miserably
like a dog--just like a brute. This is his reward! You must long since
have remarked that I do not like being here, for many reasons, which,
however, do not signify as I am actually here. I never fail to do my
very best, and to do so with all my strength. Well, God will make all
things right. I have a project in my head, for the success of which I
daily pray to God. If it be His almighty will, it must come to pass;
but, if not, I am quite contented. I shall then at all events have done
my part. When this is in train, and if it turns out as I wish, you must
then do your part also, or the whole work would be incomplete. Your
kindness leads me to hope that you will certainly do so. Don't trouble
yourself by any useless thoughts on the subject; and one favor I must
beg of you beforehand, which is, not to ask me to reveal my thoughts
more clearly till the time comes. It is very difficult at present to
find a good libretto for an opera. The old ones, which are the best,
are not written in the modern style, and the new ones are all good for
nothing; for poetry, which was the only thing of which France had reason
to be proud, becomes every day worse, and poetry is the only thing which
requires to be good here, for music they do not understand. There are
now two operas in aria which I could write, one in two acts, and the
other in three. The two-act one is "Alexandra et Roxane," but the
author of the libretto is still in the country; the one in three acts
is "Demofonte" (by Metastasio). It is a translation interspersed with
choruses and dancing, and specially adapted to the French stage. But
this one I have not yet got a sight of. Write to me whether you have
Schroter's concertos in Salzburg, or Hullmandell's sonatas. I should
like to buy them to send to you. Both of them are beautiful. With regard
to Versailles, it never was my intention to go there. I asked the advice
of Baron Grimm and other kind friends on the point, and they all thought
just as I did. The salary is not much, and I should be obliged to live a
dreary life for six months in a place where nothing is to be gained,
and my talents completely buried. Whoever enters the king's service is
forgotten in Paris; and then to become an organist! A good appointment
would be most welcome to me, but only that of a Capellmeister, and a
well-paid one too.

Now, farewell! Be careful of your health; place your trust in God, and
then you will find consolation. My dearest mother is in the hands of the
Almighty. If He still spares her to us, as I wish He may, we will thank
Him for this blessing, but if He takes her to Himself, all our anguish,
misery, and despair can be of no avail. Let us rather submit with
firmness to His almighty will, in the full conviction that it will prove
for our good, as he does nothing without a cause. Farewell, dearest
papa! Do what you can to preserve your health for my sake.



108.

Paris, July 9, 1778.

I HOPE you are prepared to receive with firmness most melancholy and
painful intelligence. My last letter of the 3d must have shown you that
no good news could be hoped for. That very same day, the 3d, at twenty
minutes past ten at night, my mother fell asleep peacefully in the Lord;
indeed, when I wrote to you she was already in the enjoyment of heavenly
bliss, for all was then over. I wrote to you in the night, and I
hope you and my dear sister will forgive me for this slight but very
necessary deception; for, judging of your grief and sorrow by my own,
I could not prevail on myself to startle you suddenly by such dreadful
intelligence; but I hope you have now summoned up courage to hear the
worst, and that, after at first giving way to natural and only too just
anguish and tears, you will eventually submit to the will of God, and
adore His inscrutable, unfathomable, and all-wise providence. You
can easily conceive what I have had to endure, and what courage and
fortitude I required to bear with composure seeing her become daily
worse and worse; and yet our gracious God bestowed this boon on me. I
have, indeed, suffered and wept, but what did it avail? So I strove to
be comforted, and I do hope, my dear father, that my dear sister and
you will do likewise. Weep, weep, as you cannot fail to weep, but take
comfort at last; remember that God Almighty has ordained it, and how can
we rebel against Him? Let us rather pray to Him and thank Him for
His goodness, for she died a happy death. Under these heart-rending
circumstances there were three things that consoled me--my entire and
steadfast submission to the will of God, and the sight of her easy and
blessed death, which made me feel that in a moment she had become so
happy; for how far happier is she now than we are! Indeed, I would fain
at that moment have gone with her. From this wish and longing proceeded
my third source of consolation--namely, that she is not lost to us
forever, that we shall see her again, and live together far more happily
and blessedly than in this world. The time as yet we know not, but that
does not disturb me; when God wills it I am ready. His heavenly and holy
will has been fulfilled. Let us therefore pray a pious Vater unser for
her soul, and turn our thoughts to other matters, for there is a time
for everything.

I write this in the house of Madame d'Epinay and M. Grimm, with whom I
now live; I have a pretty little room with a very agreeable prospect,
and am as happy as it is possible to be under my present circumstances.
It will be a great aid in restoring my tranquillity, to hear that my
dear father and sister submit with calmness and fortitude to the will of
God, and trust Him with their whole heart, in the entire belief that He
orders all for the best. My dearest father, do not give way! My dearest
sister, be firm! You do not as yet know your brother's kind heart,
because he has not yet had an opportunity to prove it. Remember, my
loved ones both, that you have a son and a brother anxious to devote all
his powers to make you happy, knowing well that the day must come when
you will not be hostile to his wish and his desire,--not certainly such
as to be any discredit to him,--and that you will do all that lies in
your power to make him happy. Oh! then we shall all live together as
peacefully, honorably, and contentedly as it is possible to do in this
world, and at last in God's good time all meet again above--the purpose
for which we were destined and created.

I received your last letter of the 29th, and see with pleasure that you
are both, thank God! in good health. I could not help laughing heartily
at Haydn's tipsy fit. Had I been there, I certainly should have
whispered in his ear "Adlgasser!" It is really disgraceful in so clever
a man to render himself incapable by his own folly of performing his
duties at a festival instituted in honor of God; when the Archbishop too
and his whole court were present, and the church full of people, it was
quite abominable.[Footnote: The father had written, "Haydn (organist of
the church of the Holy Trinity) played the organ in the afternoon at the
Litany, and the Te Deum laudamus, but in such a dreadful manner that we
were quite startled, and thought he was about to undergo the fate of
the deceased Adlgasser [who was seized with paralysis when playing the
organ] It turned out, however, that he was only rather intoxicated, so
his head and hands did not agree"] This is one of my chief reasons for
detesting Salzburg--those coarse, slovenly, dissipated court musicians,
with whom no honest man of good breeding could possibly live! instead of
being glad to associate with them, he must feel ashamed of them. It
is probably from this very cause that musicians are neither loved nor
respected with us. If the orchestra were only organised like that
at Mannheim! I wish you could see the subordination that prevails
there--the authority Cannabich exercises; where all is done in earnest.
Cannabich, who is the best director I ever saw, is both beloved and
feared by his subordinates, who, as well as himself, are respected by
the whole town. But certainly they behave very differently, have good
manners, are well dressed (and do not go to public-houses to get drunk).
This can never be the case in Salzburg, unless the Prince will place
confidence either in you or me and give us full powers, which are
indispensable to a conductor of music; otherwise it is all in vain.
In Salzburg every one is master--so no one is master. If I were to
undertake it, I should insist on exercising entire authority. The Grand
Chamberlain must have nothing to say as to musical matters, or on any
point relating to music. Not every person in authority can become a
Capellmeister, but a Capellmeister must become a person of authority.

By the by, the Elector is again in Mannheim. Madame Cannabich and also
her husband correspond with me. If what I fear were to come to pass, and
it would be a sad pity if it did,--namely, that the orchestra were to
be much diminished,--I still cherish one hope. You know that there is
nothing I desire more than a good appointment,--good in reputation, and
good in money,--no matter where, provided it be in a Catholic country.
You fenced skilfully indeed with Count Stahremberg [FOOTNOTE: A
prebendary of Salzburg, to whom the father had "opened his heart," and
told him all that had occurred in Salzburg. Wolfgang's reinstatement in
his situation was being negotiated at the time.] throughout the whole
affair; only continue as you have begun, and do not allow yourself to
be deluded; more especially be on your guard if by any chance you enter
into conversation with that silly goose---; [FOOTNOTE: He probably
alludes to the Archbishop's sister, Countess Franziska von Walles,
who did the honors of her brother's court, and who, no doubt, also
interfered in this matter.] I know her, and believe me, though she may
have sugar and honey on her lips, she has gall and wormwood in her head
and in her heart. It is quite natural that the whole affair should still
be in an unsettled state, and many things must be conceded before I
could accept the offer; and even if every point were favorably adjusted,
I would rather be anywhere than at Salzburg. But I need not concern
myself on the matter, for it is not likely that all I ask should be
granted, as I ask a great deal. Still it is not impossible; and if all
were rightly organized, I would no longer hesitate, but solely for the
happiness of being with you. If the Salzburgers wish to have me, they
must comply with my wishes, or they shall never get me.

So the Prelate of Baumburg has died the usual prelatical death; but I
had not heard that the Prelate of the Holy Cross [in Augsburg] was also
dead. I grieve to hear it, for he was a good, honest, upright man. So
you had no faith in Deacon Zeschinger [see No. 68] being made prelate?
I give you my honor I never conjectured anything else; indeed, I do not
know who else could have got it; and what better prelate could we have
for music?

My friend Raaff leaves this to-morrow; he goes by Brussels to
Aix-la-Chapelle and Spa, and thence to Mannheim, when he is to give me
immediate notice of his arrival, for we mean to correspond. He sends
numerous greetings to you and to my sister. You write that you have
heard nothing for a very long time of my pupil in composition; very
true, but what can I say about her? She will never be a composer; all
labor is vain with her, for she is not only vastly stupid, but also
vastly lazy.

I had previously answered you about the opera. As to Noverre's ballet, I
only wrote that he might perhaps arrange a new one. He wanted about one
half to complete it, and this I set to music. That is, six pieces are
written by others, consisting entirely of old trumpery French airs;
the symphony and contre-danses, and about twelve more pieces, are
contributed by me. This ballet has already been given four times with
great applause. I am now positively determined to write nothing more
without previously knowing what I am to get for it: but this was only
a friendly act towards Noverre. Herr Wendling left this last May. If I
were to see Baron Bach, I must have very good eyes, for he is not here
but in London. Is it possible that I did not tell you this? You shall
find that, in future, I will answer all your letters minutely. It is
said that Baron Bach will soon return here; I should be glad of that
for many reasons, especially because at his house there will be always
opportunity to try things over in good earnest. Capellmeister Bach will
also soon be here; I believe he is writing an opera. The French are, and
always will be, downright donkeys; they can do nothing themselves,
so they must have recourse to foreigners. I talked to Piccini at the
Concert Spirituel; he is always most polite to me and I to him when we
do by chance meet. Otherwise I do not seek much acquaintance, either
with him or any of the other composers; they understand their work and
I mine, and that is enough. I already wrote to you of the extraordinary
success my symphony had in the Concert Spirituel. If I receive a
commission to write an opera, I shall have annoyance enough, but this
I shall not much mind, being pretty well accustomed to it--if only that
confounded French language were not so detestable for music! It is,
indeed, too provoking; even German is divine in comparison. And then
the singers--but they do not deserve the name, for they do not sing, but
scream and bawl with all their might through their noses and throats. I
am to compose a French oratorio for the ensuing Lent, to be given at the
Concert Spirituel. M. Le Gros (the director) is amazingly well-disposed
towards me. You must know that (though I used to see him every day)
I have not been near him since Easter; I felt so indignant at his not
having my symphony performed. I was often in the same house visiting
Raaff, and thus passed his rooms constantly. His servants often saw me,
when I always sent him my compliments. It is really a pity he did not
give the symphony--it would have been a good hit; and now he has no
longer the opportunity to do so, for how seldom are four such performers
to be found together! One day, when I went to call on Raaff, I was told
that he was out, but would soon be home; so I waited. M. Le Gros
came into the room and said, "It is really quite a marvel to have the
pleasure of seeing you once more." "Yes; I have a great deal to do." "I
hope you will stay and dine with us to-day?" "I regret that I cannot,
being already engaged." "M. Mozart, we really must soon spend a day
together." "It will give me much pleasure." A long pause; at length,
"A propos, are you disposed to write a grand symphony for me for Corpus
Christi day?" "Why not?" "May I then rely on this?" "Oh, yes! if I may,
with equal confidence, rely on its being performed, and that it will
not fare like the sinfonie concertante." This opened the flood-gates; he
excused himself in the best way he could, but did not find much to say.
In short, the symphony [Kochel, No. 297] was highly approved of; and Le
Gros is so satisfied with it that he says it is his very best symphony.
The andante, however, has not the good fortune to please him; he
declares that it has too many modulations, and is too long. He derives
this opinion from the audience forgetting to clap their hands as loudly,
and to be as vociferous, as at the end of the first and last movements.
But this andante is a great favorite WITH MYSELF, as well as with all
connoisseurs, amateurs, and the greater part of those who heard it. It
is the exact reverse of what Le Gros says, for it is both simple and
short. But in order to satisfy him (and no doubt some others) I have
written a fresh one. Each good in its own way--each having a different
character. The last pleases me the best. The first good opportunity I
have, I will send you this sinfonie concertante, and also the "School
for the Violin," some pieces for the piano, and Vogler's book ("Ton
Wissenschaft und Kunst"), and then I hope to have your opinion of them.
On August 15th, Ascension Day, my sinfonie, with the new andante, is to
be performed for the second time. The sinfonie is in Re, the andante in
Sol, for here one must not say in D or in G. Le Gros is now all for me.

Take comfort and pray without ceasing; this is the only resource we
have. I hope you will cause a holy mass to be said in Maria Plain and
in Loretto. I have done so here. As for the letter to Herr Bahr, I don't
think it is necessary to send it to me; I am not as yet acquainted
with him; I only know that he plays the clarionet well, but is in other
respects no desirable companion, and I do not willingly associate with
such people; no credit is derived from them, and I really should feel
positively ashamed to give him a letter recommending me to him--even if
he could be of service to me; but it so happens that he is by no means
in good repute here. Many do not know him at all. Of the two Staunitz,
the junior only is here [Mannheim composer]. The elder of the two
(the veritable Hafeneder composer) is in London. They are wretched
scribblers, gamblers, and drunkards, and not the kind of people for me.
The one now here has scarcely a coat to his back. By the by, if Brunetti
should ever be dismissed, I would be glad to recommend a friend of mine
to the Archbishop as first violin; he is a most worthy man, and very
steady. I think he is about forty years of age, and a widower; his
name is Rothfischer. He is Concertmeister at Kirchheim-Boland, with
the Princess of Nassau-Weilberg [see No. 91]. Entre nous, he is
dissatisfied, for he is no favorite with his Prince--that is, his music
is not. He urged me to forward his interests, and it would cause me real
pleasure to be of use to him, for never was there such a kind man.



109.

Paris, July 18, 1778.

I HOPE you got my last two letters. Let us allude no more to their chief
purport. All is over; and were we to write whole pages on the subject,
we could not alter the fact.

The principal object of this letter is to congratulate my dear sister
on her name-day. I think I wrote to you that M. Raaff had left this, but
that he is my very true and most particular friend, and I can entirely
depend on his regard. I could not possibly write to you, because I did
not myself know that he had so much affection for me. Now, to write a
story properly, one ought to begin from the beginning. I ought to tell
you, first, that Raaff lodged with M. Le Gros. It just occurs to me that
you already know this; but what am I to do? It is written, and I can't
begin the letter again, so I proceed. When he arrived, we happened to be
at dinner. This, too, has nothing to do with the matter; it is only to
let you know that people do dine in Paris, as elsewhere. When I went
home I found a letter for me from Herr Weber, and the bearer of it was
Raaff. If I wished to deserve the name of a historian, I ought here to
insert the contents of this letter; and I can with truth say that I am
very reluctant to decline giving them. But I must not be too prolix; to
be concise is a fine thing, which you can see by my letter. The third
day I found him at home and thanked him; it is always advisable to be
polite. I no longer remember what we talked about. An historian must be
unusually dull who cannot forthwith supply some falsehood--I mean some
romance. Well! we spoke of the fine weather; and when we had said our
say, we were silent, and I went away. Some days after--though what day
it was I really forget, but one day in the week assuredly--I had
just seated myself, at the piano of course; and Ritter, the worthy
Holzbeisser, was sitting beside me. Now, what is to be deduced from
that? A great deal. Raaff had never heard me at Mannheim except at a
concert, where the noise and uproar was so great that nothing could
be heard; and HE had such a miserable piano that I could not have done
myself any justice on it. Here, however, the instrument was good, and
I saw Raaff sitting opposite me with a speculative air; so, as you
may imagine, I played some preludes in the Fischietti method, and also
played a florid sonata in the style and with the fire, spirit, and
precision of Haydn, and then a fugue with all the skill of Lipp, Silber,
and Aman. [Footnote: Fischietti was Capellmeister in Salzburg; Michael
Haydn and Lipp, organists.] My fugue-playing has everywhere gained me
the greatest applause. When I had quite finished, (Raaff all the time
calling out Bravo! while his countenance showed his true and sincere
delight,) I entered into conversation with Ritter, and among other
things said that I by no means liked being here; adding, "The chief
cause of this is music; besides, I can find no resources here,
no amusement, no agreeable or sociable intercourse with any
one,--especially with ladies, many of whom are disreputable, and those
who are not so are deficient in good breeding." Ritter could not deny
that I was right. Raaff at last said, smiling, "I can quite believe it,
for M. Mozart is not WHOLLY here to admire the Parisian beauties; one
half of him is elsewhere--where I have just come from." This of course
gave rise to much laughing and joking; but Raaff presently said, in a
serious tone, "You are quite right, and I cannot blame you; she deserves
it, for she is a sweet, pretty, good girl, well educated, and a superior
person with considerable talent." This gave me an excellent opportunity
strongly to recommend my beloved Madlle. Weber to him; but there was no
occasion for me to say much, as he was already quite fascinated by her.
He promised me, as soon as he returned to Mannheim, to give her lessons,
and to interest himself in her favor. I ought, by rights, to insert
something here, but I must first finish the history of our friendship;
if there is still room, I may do so. He was in my eyes only an every-day
acquaintance, and no more; but I often sat with him in his room, so by
degrees I began to place more confidence in him, and at last told him
all my Mannheim history,--how I had been bamboozled and made a fool of,
adding that perhaps I might still get an appointment there. He neither
said yes nor no; and on every occasion when I alluded to it he seemed
each time more indifferent and less interested in the matter. At last,
however, I thought I remarked more complacency in his manner, and he
often, indeed, began to speak of the affair himself. I introduced him
to Herr Grimm and to Madame d'Epinay. On one occasion he came to me
and said that he and I were to dine with Count Sickingen some day soon;
adding, "The Count and I were conversing together, and I said to him,
'A propos, has your Excellency heard our Mozart?' 'No; but I should
like very much both to see and to hear him, for they write me most
astonishing things about him from Mannheim.' 'When your Excellency does
hear him, you will see that what has been written to you is rather
too little than too much.' 'Is it possible?' 'Beyond all doubt, your
Excellency.'" Now, this was the first time that I had any reason to
think Raaff interested in me. Then it went on increasing, and one day I
asked him to come home with me; and after that he often came of his
own accord, and at length every day. The day after he left this, a
good-looking man called on me in the forenoon with a picture, and said,
"Monsieur, je viens de la part de ce Monsieur," showing me a portrait
of Raaff, and an admirable likeness. Presently he began to speak German;
and it turned out that he was a painter of the Elector's, whom Raaff
had often mentioned to me, but always forgot to take me to see him. I
believe you know him, for it must be the very person Madame Urspringer,
of Mayence, alludes to in her letter, because he says he often met us
at the Urspringers'. His name is Kymli. He is a most kind, amiable man,
well-principled, honorable, and a good Christian; one proof of which
is the friendship between him and Raaff. Now comes the best evidence of
Raaff's regard for me, and the sincere interest he takes in my welfare:
it is, that he imparts his intentions rather to those whom he can trust
than to those more immediately concerned, being unwilling to promise
without the certainty of a happy result. This is what Kymli told me.
Raaff asked him to call on me and to show me his portrait, to see me
often, and to assist me in every way, and to establish an intimate
friendship with me. It seems he went to him every morning, and
repeatedly said to Kymli, "I was at Herr Mozart's again yesterday
evening; he is, indeed, a wonderful little fellow; he is an
out-and-outer, and no mistake!" and was always praising me. He told
Kymli everything, and the whole Mannheim story--in short, all. The fact
is, that high-principled, religious, and well-conducted people always
like each other. Kymli says I may rest assured that I am in good hands.
"Raaff will certainly do all he can for you, and he is a prudent man
who will set to work cleverly; he will not say that it is your wish, but
rather your due. He is on the best footing with the Oberststallmeister.
Rely on it, he will not be beat; only you must let him go his own way
to work." One thing more. Father Martini's letter to Raaff, praising me,
must have been lost. Raaff had, some time since, a letter from him, but
not a word about me in it. Possibly it is still lying in Mannheim; but
this is unlikely, as I know that, during his stay in Paris, all his
letters have been regularly forwarded to him. As the Elector justly
entertains a very high opinion of the Padre Maestro, I think it would be
a good thing if you would be so kind as to apply to him to write again
about me to Raaff; it might be of use, and good Father Martini would not
hesitate to do a friendly thing twice over for me, knowing that he might
thus make my fortune. He no doubt would express the letter in such a
manner that it could be shown, if need be, to the Elector. Now enough as
to this; my wish for a favorable issue is chiefly that I may soon have
the happiness of embracing my dear father and sister. Oh! how joyously
and happily we shall live together! I pray fervently to God to grant me
this favor; a new leaf will at last be turned, please God! In the fond
hope that the day will come, and the sooner the better, when we shall
all be happy, I mean, in God's name, to persevere in my life here,
though so totally opposed to my genius, inclinations, knowledge, and
sympathies. Believe me, this is but too true,--I write you only the
simple truth. If I were to attempt to give you all my reasons, I might
write my fingers off and do no good. For here I am, and I must do all
that is in my power. God grant that I may not thus impair my talents;
but I hope it will not continue long enough for that. God grant it! By
the by, the other day an ecclesiastic called on me. He is the leader of
the choir at St. Peter's, in Salzburg, and knows you very well; his name
is Zendorff; perhaps you may not remember him? He gives lessons here on
the piano--in Paris. N. B., have not you a horror of the very name of
Paris? I strongly recommend him as organist to the Archbishop; he says
he would be satisfied with three hundred florins. Now farewell! Be
careful of your health, and strive to be cheerful. Remember that
possibly you may ere long have the satisfaction of tossing off a good
glass of Rhenish wine with your son--your truly happy son. Adieu!

20th.--Pray forgive my being so late in sending you my congratulations,
but I wished to present my sister with a little prelude. The mode of
playing it I leave to her own feeling. This is not the kind of prelude
to pass from one key to another, but merely a capriccio to try over a
piano. My sonatas [Kochel, Nos. 301-306] are soon to be published. No
one as yet would agree to give me what I asked for them, so I have been
obliged at last to give in, and to let them go for 15 louis-d'or. It is
the best way too to make my name known here. As soon as they appear I
will send them to you by some good opportunity (and as economically
as possible) along with your "School for the Violin," Vogler's book,
Hullmandel's sonatas, Schroter's concertos, some of my pianoforte
sonatas, the sinfonie concertante, two quartets for the flute, and a
concerto for harp and flute [Kochel, No. 298, 299].

Pray, what do you hear about the war? For three days I was very
depressed and sorrowful; it is, after all, nothing to me, but I am so
sensitive that I feel quickly interested in any matter. I heard that
the Emperor had been defeated. At first it was reported that the King
of Prussia had surprised the Emperor, or rather the troops commanded by
Archduke Maximilian; that two thousand had fallen on the Austrian
side, but fortunately the Emperor had come to his assistance with forty
thousand men, but was forced to retreat. Secondly, it was said that the
King had attacked the Emperor himself, and entirely surrounded him, and
that if General Laudon had not come to his relief with eighteen hundred
cuirassiers, he would have been taken prisoner; that sixteen hundred
cuirassiers had been killed, and Laudon himself shot dead. I have not,
however, seen this in any newspaper, but to-day I was told that the
Emperor had invaded Saxony with forty thousand troops. Whether the news
be true I know not. This is a fine griffonage, to be sure! but I have
not patience to write prettily; if you can only read it, it will do well
enough. A propos, I saw in the papers that, in a skirmish between the
Saxons and Croats, a Saxon captain of grenadiers named Hopfgarten had
lost his life, and was much lamented. Can this be the kind, worthy Baron
Hopfgarten whom we knew at Paris with Herr von Bose? I should grieve
if it were, but I would rather he died this glorious death than have
sacrificed his life, as too many young men do here, to dissipation and
vice. You know this already, but it is now worse than ever.

N. B. I hope you will be able to decipher the end of the prelude; you
need not be very particular about the time; it is the kind of thing that
may be played as you feel inclined. I should like to inflict twenty-five
stripes on the sorry Vatel's shoulders for not having married Katherl.
Nothing is more shameful, in my opinion, than to make a fool of an
honest girl, and to play her false eventually; but I hope this may
not be the case. If I were her father, I would soon put a stop to the
affair.



110.

Paris, July 31, 1778.

I HOPE you have got my two letters of the 11th and 18th. Meantime I have
received yours of the 13th and 20th. The first brought tears of sorrow
to my eyes, as I was reminded by it of the sad death of my darling
mother, and the whole scene recurred vividly to me. Never can I forget
it while I live. You know that (though I often wished it) I had never
seen any one die, and the first time I did so it was fated to be my own
mother! My greatest misery was the thoughts of that hour, and I prayed
earnestly to God for strength. I was heard, and strength was given to
me. Melancholy as your letter made me, still I was inexpressibly happy
to find that you both bear this sorrow as it ought to be borne, and that
my mind may now be at ease about my beloved father and sister. As soon
as I read your letter, my first impulse was to throw myself on my knees,
and fervently to thank our gracious God for this blessing. I am now
comparatively happy, because I have no longer anything to dread on
account of the two persons who are dearest to me in this world; had
it been otherwise, such a terrible misfortune would have utterly
overwhelmed me. Be careful therefore of your precious health for my
sake, I entreat, and grant to him who flatters himself that he is now
what you love most in the world the joy and felicity soon to embrace
you.

Your last letter also caused my tears to flow from joy, as it convinced
me more than ever of your fatherly love and care. I shall strive with
all my might still more to deserve your affection. I thank you for the
powder, but am sure you will be glad to hear that I do not require to
use it. During my dear mother's illness it would have been very useful,
but now, thank God! I am perfectly well and healthy. At times I have
fits of melancholy, but the best way to get rid of them is by writing
or receiving letters, which always cheers me; but, believe me, these sad
feelings never recur without too good cause. You wish to have an account
of her illness and every detail connected with it; that you shall have;
but I must ask you to let it be short, and I shall only allude to the
principal facts, as the event is over, and cannot, alas! now be altered,
and I require some space to write on business topics.

In the first place, I must tell you that NOTHING could have saved my
mother. No doctor in the world could have restored her to health. It was
the manifest will of God; her time was come, and God chose to take her
to Himself. You think she put off being bled too long? it may be so, as
she did delay it for a little, but I rather agree with the people here,
who dissuaded her from being bled at all. The cause of my mother's
illness was internal inflammation. After being bled she rallied for some
days, but on the 19th she complained of headache, and for the first
time stayed in bed the whole day. On the 20th she was seized first with
shivering and then with fever, so I gave her an anti-spasmodic powder. I
was at that time very anxious to send for another doctor, but she would
not allow me to do so, and when I urged her very strongly, she told me
that she had no confidence in any French medical man. I therefore looked
about for a German one. I could not, of course, go out and leave her,
but I anxiously waited for M. Heina, who came regularly every day to see
us; but on this occasion two days passed without his appearing. At last
he came, but as our doctor was prevented paying his usual visit next
day, we could not consult with him; in fact, he did not come till the
24th. The previous day, when I had been expecting him so eagerly, I was
in great trouble, for my mother suddenly lost her sense of hearing. The
doctor, an old German about seventy, gave her rhubarb in wine. I could
not understand this, as wine is usually thought heating; but when I said
so, every one exclaimed, "How can you say so? Wine is not heating, but
strengthening; water is heating." And all the time the poor invalid was
longing for a drink of fresh water. How gladly would I have complied
with her wish! My dear father, you cannot conceive what I went through,
but nothing could be done, except to leave her in the hands of the
physician. All that I could do with a good conscience, was to pray to
God without ceasing, that He would order all things for her good. I went
about as if I had altogether lost my head. I had ample leisure then
to compose, but I was in such a state that I could not have written a
single note. The 25th the doctor did not come; on the 26th he visited
her again. Imagine my feelings when he all at once said to me, "I fear
she will scarcely live through the night; she may die at any moment. You
had better see that she receives the sacrament." So I hurried off to
the end of the Chaussee d'Antin, and went on beyond the Barriere to find
Heina, knowing that he was at a concert in the house of some count. He
said that he would bring a German priest with him next morning. On my
way back I looked in on Madame d'Epinay and M. Grimm for a moment as I
passed. They were distressed that I had not spoken sooner, as they would
at once have sent their doctor. I did not tell them my reason, which
was, that my mother would not see a French doctor. I was hard put to it,
as they said they would send their physician that very evening. When
I came home, I told my mother that I had met Herr Heina with a German
priest, who had heard a great deal about me and was anxious to hear me
play, and that they were both to call on me next day. She seemed quite
satisfied, and though I am no doctor, still seeing that she was better
I said nothing more. I find it impossible not to write at full
length--indeed, I am glad to give you every particular, for it will be
more satisfactory to you; but as I have some things to write that are
indispensable, I shall continue my account of the illness in my next
letter. In the mean time you must have seen from my last letter, that
all my darling mother's affairs and my own are in good order. When I
come to this point, I will tell you how things were arranged. Heina and
I regulated everything ourselves.

Now for business. Do not allow your thoughts to dwell on what I wrote,
asking your permission not to reveal my ideas till the proper time
arrived. Pray do not let it trouble you. I cannot yet tell you about
it, and if I did, I should probably do more harm than good; but, to
tranquillize you, I may at least say that it only concerns myself. Your
circumstances will be made neither better nor worse, and until I see you
in a better position I shall think no more about the matter. If the day
ever arrives when we can live together in peace and happiness, (which
is my grand object),--when that joyful time comes, and God grant it may
come soon!--then the right moment will have arrived, and the rest
will depend on yourself. Do not, therefore, discompose yourself on
the subject, and be assured that in every case where I know that your
happiness and peace are involved, I shall invariably place entire
confidence in you, my kind father and true friend, and detail everything
to you minutely. If in the interim I have not done so, the fault is
not solely mine. [FOOTNOTE: He had evidently in his thoughts, what was
indeed manifest in his previous letters, a speedy marriage with his
beloved Aloysia.] M. Grimm recently said to me, "What am I to write to
your father? What course do you intend to pursue? Do you remain here, or
go to Mannheim?" I really could not help laughing: "What could I do at
Mannheim now? would that I had never come to Paris! but so it is. Here
I am, and I must use every effort to get forward." "Well," said he, "I
scarcely think that you will do much good here." "Why? I see a number of
wretched bunglers who make a livelihood, and why, with my talents, am I
to fail? I assure you that I like being at Mannheim, and wish very much
to get some appointment there, but it must be one that is honorable and
of good repute. I must have entire certainty on the subject before I
move a step." "I fear," said he, "that you are not sufficiently active
here--you don't go about enough." "Well," said I, "that is the hardest
of all for me to do." Besides, I could go nowhere during my mother's
long illness, and now two of my pupils are in the country, and the third
(the Duke de Guines's daughter) is betrothed, and means no longer to
continue her lessons, which, so far as my credit is concerned, does not
distress me much. It is no particular loss to me, for the Duke only pays
me what every one else does. Only imagine! I went to his house every day
for two hours, being engaged to give twenty-four lessons, (but it is
the custom here to pay after each twelve lessons.) They went into the
country, and when they came back ten days afterwards, I was not apprised
of it; had I not by chance inquired out of mere curiosity, I should not
have known that they were here. When I did go, the governess took out
her purse and said to me, "Pray excuse my only paying you at present
for twelve lessons, for I have not enough money." This is a noble
proceeding! She then gave me three louis-d'or, adding, "I hope you are
satisfied; if not, I beg you will say so." M. le Duc can have no
sense of honor, or probably thinks that I am only a young man and a
thick-headed German, (for this is the way in which the French always
speak of us,) and that I shall be quite contented. The thick-headed
German, however, was very far from being contented, so he declined
receiving the sum offered. The Duke intended to pay me for one hour
instead of two, and all from economy. As he has now had a concerto of
mine for harp and flute, for the last four months, which he has not yet
paid me for, I am only waiting till the wedding is over to go to the
governess and ask for my money. What provokes me most of all is that
these stupid Frenchmen think I am still only seven years old, as they
saw me first when I was that age. This is perfectly true, for Madame
d'Epinay herself told me so quite seriously. I am therefore treated here
like a beginner, except by the musicians, who think very differently;
but most votes carry the day!

After my conversation with Grimm, I went the very next day to call
on Count Sickingen. He was quite of my opinion that I ought to have
patience and wait till Raaff arrives at his destination, who will do all
that lies in his power to serve me. If he should fail, Count Sickingen
has offered to procure a situation for me at Mayence. In the mean time
my plan is to do my utmost to gain a livelihood by teaching, and to earn
as much money as possible. This I am now doing, in the fond hope that
some change may soon occur; for I cannot deny, and indeed at once
frankly confess, that I shall be delighted to be released from this
place. Giving lessons is no joke here, and unless you wear yourself out
by taking a number of pupils, not much money can be made. You must not
think that this proceeds from laziness. No! it is only quite opposed to
my genius and my habits. You know that I am, so to speak, plunged
into music,--that I am occupied with it the whole day,--that I like
to speculate, to study, and to reflect. Now my present mode of life
effectually prevents this. I have, indeed, some hours at liberty, but
those few hours are more necessary for rest than for work.

I told you already about the opera. One thing is certain--I must compose
a great opera or none. If I write only smaller ones, I shall get very
little, for here everything is done at a fixed price, and if it should
be so unfortunate as not to please the obtuse French, it is all up with
it. I should get no more to write, have very little profit, and find my
reputation damaged. If, on the other hand, I write a great opera, the
remuneration is better, I am working in my own peculiar sphere, in which
I delight, and I have a greater chance of being appreciated, because in
a great work there is more opportunity to gain approval. I assure you
that if I receive a commission to write an opera, I have no fears on the
subject. It is true that the devil himself invented their language, and
I see the difficulties which all composers have found in it. But, in
spite of this, I feel myself as able to surmount these difficulties as
any one else. Indeed, when I sometimes think in my own mind that I may
look on my opera as a certainty, I feel quite a fiery impulse within
me, and tremble from head to foot, through the eager desire to teach the
French more fully how to know, and value, and fear the Germans. Why is a
great opera never intrusted to a Frenchman? Why is it always given to a
foreigner? To me the most insupportable part of it will be the singers.
Well, I am ready. I wish to avoid all strife, but if I am challenged
I know how to defend myself. If it runs its course without a duel, I
should prefer it, for I do not care to wrestle with dwarfs.

God grant that some change may soon come to pass! In the mean time I
shall certainly not be deficient in industry, trouble, and labor.
My hopes are centred on the winter, when every one returns from the
country. My heart beats with joy at the thought of the happy day when I
shall once more see and embrace you.

The day before yesterday my dear friend Weber, among other things, wrote
to me that the day after the Elector's arrival it was publicly announced
that he was to take up his residence in Munich, which came like a
thunder-clap on Mannheim, wholly, so to say, extinguishing the universal
illumination by which the inhabitants had testified their joy on the
previous day. The fact was also communicated to all the court musicians,
with the addition that each was at liberty to follow the court to
Munich or to remain in Mannheim, (retaining the same salaries,) and in
a fortnight each was to give a written and sealed decision to
the Intendant. Weber, who is, as you know, in the most miserable
circumstances, wrote as follows:--"I anxiously desire to follow my
gracious master to Munich, but my decayed circumstances prevent my doing
so." Before this occurred there was a grand court concert, where poor
Madlle. Weber felt the fangs of her enemies; for on this occasion she
did not sing! It is not known who was the cause of this. Afterwards
there was a concert at Herr von Gemmingen's, where Count Seeau also was.
She sang two arias of mine, and was so fortunate as to please, in spite
of those Italian scoundrels [the singers of Munich], those infamous
charlatans, who circulated a report that she had very much gone off
in her singing. When her songs were finished, Cannabich said to her,
"Mademoiselle, I hope you will always continue to fall off in this
manner; tomorrow I will write to M. Mozart in your praise." One thing is
certain; if war had not already broken out, the court would by this time
have been transferred to Munich. Count Seeau, who is quite determined
to engage Madlle. Weber, would have left nothing undone to insure her
coming to Munich, so that there was some hope that the family might have
been placed in better circumstances; but now that all is again quiet
about the Munich journey, these poor people may have to wait a long
time, while their debts daily accumulate. If I could only help them!
Dearest father, I recommend them to you from my heart. If they could
even for a few years be in possession of 1000 florins!



111.

To HERR BULLINGER.

Paris, August 7, 1778.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--

Allow me above all to thank you most warmly for the proof of friendship
you gave me by your interest in my dear father--first in preparing, and
then kindly consoling him for his loss [see No. 106]. You played your
part admirably. These are my father's own words. My kind friend, how
can I sufficiently thank you? You saved my father for me. I have you to
thank that I still have him. Permit me to say no more on the subject,
and not to attempt to express my gratitude, for I feel too weak and
incompetent to do so. My best friend, I am forever your debtor; but
patience! It is too true that I am not yet in a position to repay what
I owe you, but rely on it God will one day grant me the opportunity of
showing by deeds what I am unable to express by words. Such is my hope;
till that happy time, however, arrives, allow me to beg you to continue
your precious and valued friendship to me, and also to accept mine
afresh, now and forever; to which I pledge myself in all sincerity
of heart. It will not, indeed, be of much use to you, but not on that
account less sincere and lasting. You know well that the best and
truest of all friends are the poor. The rich know nothing of friendship,
especially those who are born to riches, and even those whom fate
enriches often become very different when fortunate in life. But when a
man is placed in favorable circumstances, not by blind, but reasonable
good fortune and merit, who during his early and less prosperous days
never lost courage, remaining faithful to his religion and his God,
striving to be an honest man and good Christian, knowing how to
value his true friends,--in short, one who really deserves better
fortune,--from such a man no ingratitude is to be feared.

I must now proceed to answer your letter. You can be under no further
anxiety as to my health, for you must have ere this received three
letters from me. The first, containing the sad news of my mother's
death, was enclosed, my dear friend, to you. You must forgive my silence
on the subject, but my thoughts recur to it constantly. You write that
I should now think only of my father, tell him frankly all my thoughts,
and place entire confidence in him. How unhappy should I be if I
required this injunction! It was expedient that you should suggest it,
but I am happy to say (and you will also be glad to hear it) that I do
not need this advice. In my last letter to my dear father, I wrote to
him all that I myself know up to this time, assuring him that I would
always keep him minutely informed of everything, and candidly tell him
my intentions, as I place entire faith in him, being confident of his
fatherly care, love, and goodness. I feel assured that at a future
day he will not deny me a request on which my whole happiness in life
depends, and which (for he cannot expect anything else from me) will
certainly be quite fair and reasonable. My dear friend, do not let my
father read this. You know him; he would only fancy all kinds of things,
and to no purpose.

Now for our Salzburg affair. You, my dear friend, are well aware how
I do hate Salzburg, not only on account of the injustice shown to my
father and myself there, which was in itself enough to make us wish to
forget such a place, and to blot it out wholly from our memory. But do
not let us refer to that, if we can contrive to live respectably there.
To live respectably and to live happily, are two very different things;
but the latter I never could do short of witchcraft,--it would indeed be
supernatural if I did,--so this is impossible, for in these days there
are no longer any witches. Well, happen what may, it will always be the
greatest possible pleasure to me to embrace my dear father and sister,
and the sooner the better. Still I cannot deny that my joy would be
twofold were this to be elsewhere, for I have far more hope of living
happily anywhere else. Perhaps you may misunderstand me, and think that
Salzburg is on too small a scale for me. If so, you are quite mistaken.
I have already written some of my reasons to my father. In the mean
time, let this one suffice, that Salzburg is no place for my talent.
In the first place, professional musicians are not held in much
consideration; and, secondly, one hears nothing. There is no theatre,
no opera there; and if they really wished to have one, who is there to
sing? For the last five or six years the Salzburg orchestra has always
been rich in what is useless and superfluous, but very poor in what is
useful and indispensable; and such is the case at the present moment.
Those cruel French are the cause of the band there being without a
Capellmeister. [FOOTNOTE: The old Capellmeister, Lolli, had died a short
time previously.] I therefore feel assured that quiet and order are now
reigning in the orchestra. This is the result of not making provision
in time. Half a dozen Capellmeisters should always be held in readiness,
that, if one fails, another can instantly be substituted. But where, at
present, is even ONE to be found? And yet the danger is urgent. It will
not do to allow order, quiet, and good-fellowship to prevail in the
orchestra, or the mischief would still further increase, and in the
long run become irremediable. Is there no ass-eared old periwig, no
dunderhead forthcoming, to restore the concern to its former disabled
condition? I shall certainly do my best in the matter. To-morrow I
intend to hire a carriage for the day, and visit all the hospitals and
infirmaries, to see if I can't find a Capellmeister in one of them. Why
were they so improvident as to allow Misliweczeck to give them the slip,
and he so near too? [See No. 64.] He would have been a prize, and one
not so easy to replace,--freshly emerged, too, from the Duke's Clementi
Conservatorio. He was just the man to have awed the whole court
orchestra by his presence. Well, we need not be uneasy: where there is
money there are always plenty of people to be had. My opinion is that
they should not wait too long, not from the foolish fear that they might
not get one at all,--for I am well aware that all these gentlemen
are expecting one as eagerly and anxiously as the Jews do their
Messiah,--but simply because things cannot go on at all under such
circumstances. It would therefore be more useful and profitable to look
out for a Capellmeister, there being NONE at present, than to write in
all directions (as I have been told) to secure a good female singer.

[FOOTNOTE: In order the better to conciliate Wolfgang, Bullinger had
been desired to say that the Archbishop, no longer satisfied with
Madlle. Haydn, intended to engage another singer; and it was hinted to
Mozart, that he might be induced to make choice of Aloysia Weber; (Jahn,
ii. 307.) Madlle. Haydn was a daughter of Lipp, the organist, and sent
by the Archbishop to Italy to cultivate her voice. She did not enjoy a
very good reputation.]

I really can scarcely believe this. Another female singer, when we have
already so many, and all admirable! A tenor, though we do not require
one either, I could more easily understand--but a prima donna, when we
have still Cecarelli! It is true that Madlle. Haydn is in bad health,
for her austere mode of life has been carried too far. There are few
of whom this can be said. I wonder that she has not long since lost her
voice from her perpetual scourgings and flagellations, her hair-cloth,
unnatural fasts, and night-prayers! But she will still long retain her
powers, and instead of becoming worse, her voice will daily improve.
When at last, however, she departs this life to be numbered among the
saints, we still have five left, each of whom can dispute the palm with
the other. So you see how superfluous a new one is. But, knowing how
much changes and novelty and variety are liked with us, I see a wide
field before me which may yet form an epoch. [FOOTNOTE: Archbishop
Hieronymus, in the true spirit of Frederick the Great, liked to
introduce innovations with an unsparing hand; many, however, being both
necessary and beneficent.] Do your best that the orchestra may have a
leg to stand on, for that is what is most wanted. A head they have [the
Archbishop], but that is just the misfortune; and till a change is made
in this respect, I will never come to Salzburg. When it does take place,
I am willing to come and to turn over the leaf as often as I see V. S.
[volti subito] written. Now as to the war [the Bavarian Succession]. So
far as I hear, we shall soon have peace in Germany. The King of Prussia
is certainly rather alarmed. I read in the papers that the Prussians had
surprised an Imperial detachment, but that the Croats and two Cuirassier
regiments were near, and, hearing the tumult, came at once to their
rescue, and attacked the Prussians, placing them between two fires, and
capturing five of their cannon. The route by which the Prussians entered
Bohemia is now entirely cut up and destroyed. The Bohemian peasantry do
all the mischief they can to the Prussians, who have besides constant
desertions among their troops; but these are matters which you must know
both sooner and better than we do. But I must write you some of our news
here. The French have forced the English to retreat, but it was not a
very hot affair. The most remarkable thing is that, friends and foes
included, only 100 men were killed. In spite of this, there is a grand
jubilation here, and nothing else is talked of. It is also reported that
we shall soon have peace. It is a matter of indifference to me, so far
as this place is concerned; but I should indeed be very glad if we were
soon to have peace in Germany, for many reasons. Now farewell! Your true
friend and obedient servant,

WOLFGANG ROMATZ.



112.

St. Germains, August 27, 1778.

I WRITE to you very hurriedly; you will see that I am not in Paris.
Herr Bach, from London [Johann Christian], has been here for the last
fortnight. He is going to write a French opera, and is only come for
the purpose of hearing the singers, and afterwards goes to London to
complete the opera, and returns here to put it on the stage. You may
easily imagine his joy and mine when we met again; perhaps his delight
may not be quite as sincere as mine, but it must be admitted that he is
an honorable man and willing to do justice to others. I love him from my
heart (as you know), and esteem him; and as for him, there is no doubt
that he praises me warmly, not only to my face, but to others also,
and not in the exaggerated manner in which some speak, but in earnest.
Tenducci is also here, Bach's dearest friend, and he expressed the
greatest delight at seeing me again. I must now tell you how I happen to
be at St. Germains. The Marechal de Noailles lives here, as you no
doubt know, (for I am told I was here fifteen years ago, though I
don't remember it.) Tenducci is a great favorite of his, and as he
is exceedingly partial to me, he was anxious to procure me this
acquaintance. I shall gain nothing here, a trifling present perhaps, but
at the same time I do not lose, for it costs me nothing; and even if I
do not get anything, still I have made an acquaintance that may be very
useful to me. I must make haste, for I am writing a scena for Tenducci,
which is to be given on Sunday; it is for pianoforte, hautboy, horn, and
bassoon, the performers being the Marechal's own people--Germans, who
play very well. I should like to have written to you long since, but
just as I had begun the letter (which is now lying in Paris) I was
obliged to drive to St. Germains, intending to return the same day, and
I have now been here a week. I shall return to Paris as soon as I can,
though I shall not lose much there by my absence, for I have now only
one pupil, the others being in the country. I could not write to you
from here either, because we were obliged to wait for an opportunity to
send a letter to Paris. I am quite well, thank God, and trust that both
of you are the same. You must have patience--all goes on slowly; I
must make friends. France is not unlike Germany in feeding people with
encomiums, and yet there is a good hope that, by means of your friends,
you may make your fortune. One lucky thing is, that food and lodging
cost me nothing. When you write to the friend with whom I am staying
[Herr Grimm], do not be too obsequious in your thanks. There are some
reasons for this which I will write to you some other time. The rest
of the sad history of the illness will follow in the next letter. You
desire to have a faithful portrait of Rothfischer? He is an attentive,
assiduous director, not a great genius, but I am very much pleased with
him, and, best of all, he is the kindest creature, with whom you can do
anything--if you know how to set about it, of course. He directs
better than Brunetti, but is not so good in solo-playing. He has more
execution, and plays well in his way, (a little in the old-fashioned
Tartini mode,) but Brunetti's style is more agreeable. The concertos
which he writes for himself are pretty and pleasant to listen to, and
also to play occasionally. Who can tell whether he may not please? At
all events, he plays a thousand million times better than Spitzeger,
and, as I already said, he directs well, and is active in his calling.
I recommend him to you heartily, for he is the most good-natured man!
Adieu!



113.

Paris, Sept. 11, 1778.

I HAVE received your three letters. I shall only reply to the last,
being the most important. When I read it, (Heina was with me and sends
you his regards,) I trembled with joy, for I fancied myself already in
your arms. True it is (and this you will yourself confess) that no
great stroke of good fortune awaits me; still, when I think of once more
embracing you and my dear sister, I care for no other advantage. This is
indeed the only excuse I can make to the people here, who are vociferous
that I should remain in Paris; but my reply invariably is, "What would
you have? I am content, and that is everything; I have now a place I can
call my home, and where I can live in peace and quiet with my excellent
father and beloved sister. I can do what I choose when not on duty. I
shall be my own master, and have a certain competency; I may leave when
I like, and travel every second year. What can I wish for more?" The
only thing that disgusts me with Salzburg, and I tell you of it just as
I feel it, is the impossibility of having any satisfactory intercourse
with the people, and that musicians are not in good repute there,
and--that the Archbishop places no faith in the experience of
intelligent persons who have seen the world. For I assure you that
people who do not travel (especially artists and scientific men) are but
poor creatures. And I at once say that if the Archbishop is not prepared
to allow me to travel every second year, I cannot possibly accept the
engagement. A man of moderate talent will never rise above mediocrity,
whether he travels or not, but a man of superior talents (which,
without being unthankful to Providence, I cannot deny that I possess)
deteriorates if he always remains in the same place. If the Archbishop
would only place confidence in me, I could soon make his music
celebrated; of this there can be no doubt. I also maintain that
my journey has not been unprofitable to me--I mean, with regard to
composition, for as to the piano, I play it as well as I ever shall. One
thing more I must settle about Salzburg, that I am not to take up the
violin as I formerly did. I will no longer conduct with the violin; I
intend to conduct, and also accompany airs, with the piano. It would
have been a good thing to have got a written agreement about the
situation of Capellmeister, for otherwise I may have the honor to
discharge a double duty, and be paid only for one, and at last be
superseded by some stranger. My dear father, I must decidedly say that
I really could not make up my mind to take this step were it not for the
pleasure of seeing you both again; I wish also to get away from Paris,
which I detest, though my affairs here begin to improve, and I don't
doubt that if I could bring myself to endure this place for a few years,
I could not fail to succeed. I am now pretty well known--that is, the
people all know ME, even if I don't know them. I acquired considerable
fame by my two symphonies; and (having heard that I was about to leave)
they now really want me to write an opera, so I said to Noverre, "If you
will be responsible for its BEING PERFORMED as soon as it is finished,
and will name the exact sum that I am to receive for it, I will remain
here for the next three months on purpose," for I could not at once
decline, or they would have thought that I distrusted myself. This was
not, however, done; and I knew beforehand that they could not do it,
for such is not the custom here. You probably know that in Paris it is
thus:--When the opera is finished it is rehearsed, and if these stupid
Frenchmen do not think it good it is not given, and the composer has
had all his trouble for nothing; if they approve, it is then put on the
stage; as its popularity increases, so does the rate of payment. There
is no certainty. I reserve the discussion of these matters till we meet,
but I must candidly say that my own affairs begin to prosper. It is no
use trying to hurry matters--chi va piano, va sano. My complaisance has
gained me both friends and patrons; were I to write you all, my fingers
would ache. I will relate it to you personally and place it clearly
before you. M. Grimm may be able to help CHILDREN, but not grown-up
people; and--but no, I had better not write on the subject. Yet I must!
Do not imagine that he is the same that he was; were it not for Madame
d'Epinay, I should be no longer in this house. And he has no great cause
to be so proud of his good deeds towards me, for there were four houses
where I could have had both board and lodging. The worthy man does not
know that, if I had remained in Paris, I intended to have left him next
month to go to a house that, unlike his, is neither stupid nor tiresome,
and where a man has not constantly thrown in his face that a kindness
has been done him. Such conduct is enough to cause me to forget a
benefit, but I will be more generous than he is. I regret not remaining
here only because I should have liked to show him that I do not require
him, and that I can do as much as his Piccini, although I am only
a German! The greatest service he has done me consists in fifteen
louis-d'or which he lent me bit by bit during my mother's life and
at her death. Is he afraid of losing them? If he has a doubt on the
subject, then he deserves to be kicked, for in that case he must
mistrust my honesty (which is the only thing that can rouse me to rage)
and also my talents; but the latter, indeed, I know he does, for he once
said to me that he did not believe I was capable of writing a French
opera. I mean to repay him his fifteen louis-d'or, with thanks, when I
go to take leave of him, accompanied by some polite expressions. My poor
mother often said to me, "I don't know why, but he seems to me somehow
changed." But I always took his part, though I secretly felt convinced
of the very same thing. He seldom spoke of me to any one, and when he
did, it was always in a stupid, injudicious, or disparaging way. He
was constantly urging me to go to see Piccini, and also Caribaldi,--for
there is a miserable opera buffa here,--but I always said, "No, I will
not go a single step," &c. In short, he is of the Italian faction; he is
insincere himself, and strives to crush me. This seems incredible, does
it not? But still such is the fact, and I give you the proof of it. I
opened my whole heart to him as a true friend, and a pretty use he made
of this! He always gave me bad advice, knowing that I would follow it;
but he only succeeded in two or three instances, and latterly I never
asked his opinion at all, and if he did advise me to do anything, I
never did it, but always appeared to acquiesce, that I might not subject
myself to further insolence on his part.

But enough of this; we can talk it over when we meet. At all events,
Madame d'Epinay has a better heart. The room I inhabit belongs to her,
not to him. It is the invalid's room--that is, if any one is ill in
the house, he is put there; it has nothing to recommend it except the
view,--only four bare walls, no chest of drawers--in fact, nothing. Now
you may judge whether I could stand it any longer. I would have written
this to you long ago, but feared you would not believe me. I can,
however, no longer be silent, whether you believe me or not; but you
do believe me, I feel sure. I have still sufficient credit with you to
persuade you that I speak the truth. I board too with Madame d'Epinay,
and you must not suppose that he pays anything towards it, but indeed I
cost her next to nothing. They have the same dinner whether I am there
or not, for they never know when I am to be at home, so they can make no
difference for me; and at night I eat fruit and drink one glass of wine.
All the time I have been in their house, now more than two months, I
have not dined with them more than fourteen times at most, and with the
exception of the fifteen louis-d'or, which I mean to repay with thanks,
he has no outlay whatever on my account but candles, and I should really
be ashamed of myself more than of him, were I to offer to supply these;
in fact I could not bring myself to say such a thing. This is my nature.
Recently, when he spoke to me in such a hard, senseless, and stupid way,
I had not nerve to say that he need not be alarmed about his fifteen
louis-d'or, because I was afraid of offending him; I only heard him
calmly to the end, when I asked whether he had said all he wished--and
then I was off! He presumes to say that I must leave this a week
hence--IN SUCH HASTE IS HE. I told him it was impossible, and my reasons
for saying so. "Oh! that does not matter; it is your father's wish."
"Excuse me, in his last letter he wrote that he would let me know in his
next when I was to set off." "At all events hold yourself in readiness
for your journey." But I must tell you plainly that it will be
impossible for me to leave this before the beginning of next month, or
at the soonest the end of the present one, for I have still six arias to
write, which will be well paid. I must also first get my money from Le
Gros and the Duc de Guines; and as the court goes to Munich the end of
this month, I should like to be there at the same time to present my
sonatas myself to the Electress, which perhaps might bring me a present.
I mean to sell my three concertos to the man who has printed them,
provided he gives me ready money for them; one is dedicated to Jenomy,
another to Litzau; the third is in B. I shall do the same with my
six difficult sonatas, if I can; even if not much, it is better than
nothing. Money is much wanted on a journey. As for the symphonies, most
of them are not according to the taste of the people here; if I have
time, I mean to arrange some violin concertos from them, and curtail
them; in Germany we rather like length, but after all it is better to be
short and good. In your next letter I shall no doubt find instructions
as to my journey; I only wish you had written to me alone, for I would
rather have nothing more to do with Grimm. I hope so, and in fact it
would be better, for no doubt our friends Geschwender and Heina can
arrange things better than this upstart Baron. Indeed, I am under
greater obligations to Heina than to him, look at it as you will by the
light of a farthing-candle. I expect a speedy reply to this, and shall
not leave Paris till it comes. I have no reason to hurry away, nor am I
here either in vain or fruitlessly, because I shut myself up and work,
in order to make as much money as possible. I have still a request,
which I hope you will not refuse. If it should so happen, though I hope
and believe it is not so, that the Webers are not in Munich, but still
at Mannheim, I wish to have the pleasure of going there to visit them.
It takes me, I own, rather out of my way, but not much--at all events it
does not appear much to me. I don't believe, after all, that it will
be necessary, for I think I shall meet them in Munich; but I shall
ascertain this to-morrow by a letter. If it is not the case, I feel
beforehand that you will not deny me this happiness. My dear father, if
the Archbishop wishes to have a new singer, I can, by heavens! find none
better than her. He will never get a Teyberin or a De' Amicis, and the
others are assuredly worse. I only lament that when people from Salzburg
flock to the next Carnival, and "Rosamunde" is given, Madlle. Weber
will not please, or at all events they will not be able to judge of her
merits as they deserve, for she has a miserable part, almost that of a
dumb personage, having only to sing some stanzas between the choruses.
She has one aria where something might be expected from the ritournelle;
the voice part is, however, alla Schweitzer, as if dogs were yelping.
There is only one air, a kind of rondo in the second act, where she has
an opportunity of sustaining her voice, and thus showing what she can
do. Unhappy indeed is the singer who falls into Schweitzer's hands; for
never while he lives will he learn how to write for the voice. When I
go to Salzburg I shall certainly not fail to plead zealously for my dear
friend; in the mean time you will not neglect doing all you can in her
favor, for you cannot cause your son greater joy. I think of nothing
now but the pleasure of soon embracing you. Pray see that everything
the Archbishop promised you is made quite secure, and also what I
stipulated, that my place should be at the piano. My kind regards to all
my friends, and to Herr Bullinger in particular. How merry shall we
be together! I have all this already in my thoughts, already before my
eyes. Adieu!



114.

Nancy, Oct. 3, 1778.

PRAY excuse my not having told you of my journey previous to leaving
Paris. But I really cannot describe to you the way in which the whole
affair was hurried forward, contrary to my expectations, wish, or
will. At the very last moment I wanted to send my luggage to Count
Sickingen's, instead of to the bureau of the diligence, and to remain
some days longer in Paris. This, I give you my honor, I should at once
have done had I not thought of you, for I did not wish to displease
you. We can talk of these matters better at Salzburg. But one thing
more--only fancy how Herr Grimm deceived me, saying that I was going by
the diligence, and should arrive at Strassburg in five days; and I did
not find out till the last day that it was quite another carriage, which
goes at a snail's pace, never changes horses, and is ten days on the
journey. You may easily conceive my rage; but I only gave way to it when
with my intimate friends, for in his presence I affected to be quite
merry and pleased. When I got into the carriage, I received the
agreeable information that we should be travelling for twelve days. So
this is an instance of Grimm's good sense! It was entirely to save money
that he sent me by this slow conveyance, not adverting to the fact that
the expense would amount to the same thing from the constant living at
inns. Well, it is now past. What vexed me most in the whole affair was
his not being straightforward with me. He spared his own money, but not
mine, as he paid for my journey, but not for my board. If I had stayed
eight or ten days longer in Paris, I could have paid my own journey, and
made it comfortably.

I submitted to this conveyance for eight days, but longer I could not
stand it--not on account of the fatigue, for the carriage was well hung,
but from want of sleep. We were off every morning at four o'clock, and
thus obliged to rise at three. Twice I had the satisfaction of being
forced to get up at one o'clock in the morning, as we were to set off at
two. You know that I cannot sleep in a carriage, so I really could not
continue this without the risk of being ill. I would have taken the
post, but it was not necessary, for I had the good fortune to meet with
a person who quite suited me--a German merchant who resides in Paris,
and deals in English wares. Before getting into the carriage we
exchanged a few words, and from that moment we remained together. We did
not take our meals with the other passengers, but in our own room,
where we also slept. I was glad to meet this man, for, being a great
traveller, he understands it well. He also was very much disgusted with
our carriage; so we proceed to-morrow by a good conveyance, which does
not cost us much, to Strassburg. You must excuse my not writing more,
but when I am in a town where I know no one, I am never in a good humor;
though I believe that if I had friends here I should like to remain,
for the town is indeed charming--handsome houses, spacious streets, and
superb squares.

I have one request to make, which is to give me a large chest in my room
that I may have all my things within my reach. I should like also
to have the little piano that Fischietti and Rust had, beside my
writing-table, as it suits me better than the small one of Stein. I
don't bring many new things of my own with me, for I have not composed
much. I have not yet got the three quartets and the flute concerto I
wrote for M. de Jean; for when he went to Paris he packed them in the
wrong trunk, so they are left at Mannheim. I can therefore bring nothing
finished with me except my sonatas [with violin]; M. Le Gros purchased
the two overtures from me and the sinfonie concertante, which he thinks
exclusively his own; but this is not the case, for I have it still fresh
in my head, and mean to write it out again as soon as I am at home.

The Munich company of comedians are, I conclude, now acting? [in
Salzburg.] Do they give satisfaction? Do people go to see them?
I suppose that, as for the operettas, the "Fischermadchen" ("La
Pescatrice" of Piccini), or "Das Bauernmadchen bei Hof" ("La Contadina
in Corte," by Sacchini), will be given first? The prima donna is, no
doubt, Madlle. Keiserin, whom I wrote to you about from Munich. I have
heard her, but do not know her. At that time it was only her third
appearance on any stage, and she had only learned music three weeks [see
No. 62]. Now farewell! I shall not have a moment's peace till I once
more see those I love.



115.

Strassburg, Oct. 15, 1778.

I GOT your three letters safely, but could not possibly answer them
sooner. What you write about M. Grimm, I, of course, know better than
you can do. That he was all courtesy and civility I do not deny; indeed,
had this not been the case, I would not have stood on such ceremony
with him. All that I owe M. Grimm is fifteen louis-d'or, and he has only
himself to blame for their not being repaid, and this I told him. But
what avails any discussion? We can talk it over at Salzburg. I am very
much obliged to you for having put my case so strongly before Father
Martini, and also for having written about me to M. Raaff. I never
doubted your doing so, for I am well aware that it rejoices you to see
your son happy and pleased, and you know that I could never be more so
than in Munich; being so near Salzburg, I could constantly visit you.
That Madlle. Weber, or rather MY DEAR WEBERIN, should now receive a
salary, and justice be at last done to her merits, rejoices me to a
degree natural in one who feels such deep interest in all that concerns
her. I still warmly recommend her to you; though I must now, alas! give
up all hope of what I so much wished,--her getting an engagement in
Salzburg,--for the Archbishop would never give her the salary she now
has. All we can now hope for is that she may sometimes come to Salzburg
to sing in an opera. I had a hurried letter from her father the day
before they went to Munich, in which he also mentions this news. These
poor people were in the greatest distress about me, fearing that I must
be dead, a whole month having elapsed without any letter from me, (owing
to the last one being lost;) an idea that was confirmed by a report in
Mannheim that my poor dear mother had died of a contagious disease. So
they have been all praying for my soul. The poor girl went every day for
this purpose into the Capuchin church. Perhaps you may laugh at this? I
did not; on the contrary, I could not help being much touched by it.

To proceed. I think I shall certainly go by Stuttgart to Augsburg,
because I see by your letter that nothing, or at least not much, is to
be made in Donaueschingen; but I will apprise you of all this before
leaving Strassburg. Dearest father, I do assure you that, were it not
for the pleasure of soon embracing you, I would never come to Salzburg;
for, with the exception of this commendable and delightful impulse, I
am really committing the greatest folly in the world. Rest assured
that these are my own thoughts, and not borrowed from others. When my
resolution to leave Paris was known, certain facts were placed before
me, and the sole weapons I had to contend against or to conquer these,
were my true and tender love for my kind father, which could not be
otherwise than laudable in their eyes, but with the remark that if my
father had known my present circumstances and fair prospects, (and had
not got different and false impressions by means of a kind friend,) he
certainly would not have written to me in such a strain as to render me
wholly incapable of offering the least resistance to his wish; and in my
own mind I thought, that had I not been exposed to so much annoyance
in the house where I lived, and the journey come on me like a sudden
thunder-clap, leaving me no time to reflect coolly on the subject, I
should have earnestly besought you to have patience for a time, and to
let me remain a little longer in Paris. I do assure you that I should
have succeeded in gaining fame, honor, and wealth, and been thus enabled
to defray your debts. But now it is settled, and do not for a moment
suppose that I regret it; but you alone, dearest father, you alone can
sweeten the bitterness of Salzburg for me; and that you will do so,
I feel convinced. I must also candidly say that I should arrive in
Salzburg with a lighter heart were it not for my official capacity
there, for this thought is to me the most intolerable of all. Reflect on
it yourself, place yourself in my position. At Salzburg I never know how
I stand; at one time I am everything, at another absolutely nothing.
I neither desire SO MUCH nor SO LITTLE, but still I wish to be
SOMETHING--if indeed I am something! In every other place I know what my
duties are. Elsewhere those who undertake the violin stick to it,--the
same with the piano, &c., &c. I trust this will be regulated hereafter,
so that all may turn out well and for my happiness and satisfaction. I
rely wholly on you.

Things here are in a poor state; but the day after to-morrow, Saturday
the 17th, I MYSELF ALONE, (to save expense,) to please some kind
friends, amateurs, and connoisseurs, intend to give a subscription
concert. If I engaged an orchestra, it would with the lighting cost me
more than three louis-d'or, and who knows whether we shall get as
much? My sonatas are not yet published, though promised for the end of
September. Such is the effect of not looking after things yourself, for
which that obstinate Grimm is also to blame. They will probably be full
of mistakes, not being able to revise them myself, for I was obliged
to devolve the task on another, and I shall be without my sonatas in
Munich. Such an occurrence, though apparently a trifle, may often bring
success, honor, and wealth, or, on the other hand, misfortune.



116.

Strassburg, Oct. 20, 1778.

You will perceive that I am still here, by the advice of Herr Frank and
other Strassburg magnates, but I leave this to-morrow. In my last
letter I mentioned that on the 17th I was to give a kind of sample of
a concert, as concerts here fare worse than even at Salzburg. It is, of
course, over. I played quite alone, having engaged no musicians, so that
I might at least lose nothing; briefly, I took three louis-d'or. The
chief receipts consisted in the shouts of Bravo! and Bravissimo! which
echoed on every side. Prince Max of Zweibrucken also honored the concert
by his presence. I need not tell you that every one was pleased. I
intended then to pursue my journey, but was advised to stay till the
following Saturday, in order to give a grand concert in the theatre.
I did so, and, to the surprise, indignation, and disgrace of all the
Strassburgers, my receipts were exactly the same. The Director, M. de
Villeneuve, abused the inhabitants of this most detestable town in the
most unmeasured terms. I took a little more money, certainly, but
the cost of the band (which is very bad, but its pay very good), the
lighting, printing, the guard at the door, and the check-takers at the
entrances, &c., made up a considerable sum. Still I must tell you that
the applause and clapping of hands almost deafened me, and made my ears
ache; it was as if the whole theatre had gone crazy. Those who were
present, loudly and publicly denounced their fellow-citizens, and I told
them all that if I could have reasonably supposed so few people would
have come, I would gladly have given the concert gratis, merely for the
pleasure of seeing the theatre well filled. And in truth I should have
preferred it, for, upon my word, I don't know a more desolate sight than
a long table laid for fifty, and only three at dinner. Besides, it was
so cold; but I soon warmed myself, for, to show the Strassburg gentlemen
how little I cared, I played a very long time for my own amusement,
giving a concerto more than I had promised, and, at the close,
extemporizing. It is now over, but at all events I gained honor and
fame.

I have drawn on Herr Scherz for eight louis-d'or, as a precaution, for
no one can tell what may happen on a journey; and I HAVE is better than
I MIGHT HAVE HAD. I have read the fatherly well-meaning letter which you
wrote to M. Frank when in such anxiety about me. [Footnote: "Your sister
and I confessed, and took the Holy Communion," writes the father, "and
prayed to God fervently for your recovery. Our excellent Bullinger
prays daily for you also."] When I wrote to you from Nancy, not knowing
myself, you of course could not know, that I should have to wait so
long for a good opportunity. Your mind may be quite at ease about the
merchant with whom I am travelling; he is the most upright man in the
world, takes more care of me than of himself, and, entirely to oblige
me, is to go with me to Augsburg and Munich, and possibly even to
Salzburg. We actually shed tears when we think that we must separate. He
is not a learned man, but a man of experience, and we live together
like children. When he thinks of his wife and family whom he has left in
Paris, I try to comfort him, and when I think of my own people he speaks
comfort to me.

On the 31st of October, my name-day, I amused myself (and, better still,
others) for a couple of hours. At the repeated entreaties of Herr Frank,
de Berger, &c., &c., I gave another concert, by which, after paying the
expenses, (not heavy this time,) I actually cleared a louis-d'or! Now
you see what Strassburg is! I wrote at the beginning of this letter that
I was to leave this on the 27th or 28th, but it proved impossible, owing
to a sudden inundation here, when the floods caused great damage. You
will probably see this in the papers. Of course travelling was out of
the question, which was the only thing that induced me to consent to
give another concert, being obliged to remain at all events.

To-morrow I go by the diligence to Mannheim. Do not be startled at this.
In foreign countries it is expedient to follow the advice of those who
know from experience what ought to be done. Most of the strangers who
go to Stuttgart (N.B., by the diligence) do not object to this detour of
eight hours, because the road is better and also the conveyance. I
must now, dearest father, cordially wish you joy of your approaching
name-day. My kind father, I wish you from my heart all that a son can
wish for a good father, whom he so highly esteems and dearly loves. I
thank the Almighty that He has permitted you again to pass this day in
the enjoyment of perfect health, and implore from Him the boon, that
during the whole of my life (and I hope to live for a good many years to
come) I may be able to congratulate you every year. However strange,
and perhaps ridiculous, this wish may seem to you, I do assure you it is
both sincere and well-intended.

I hope you received my last letter from Strassburg. I wish to write
nothing further of M. Grimm, but it is entirely owing to his stupidity
in pressing forward my departure so much, that my sonatas are not yet
engraved, or at all events that I have not got them, and when I do I
shall probably find them full of mistakes. If I had only stayed three
days longer in Paris, I could have revised them myself and brought them
with me. The engraver was desperate when I told him that I could not
correct them, but must commission someone else to do so. Why? Because,
being resolved not to be three days longer in the same house with Grimm,
I told him that on account of the sonatas I was going to stay with Count
Sickingen, when he replied, his eyes sparkling with rage, "If you leave
my house before you leave Paris, I will never in my life see you again.
In that case do not presume ever to come near me, and look on me as your
bitterest enemy." Self-control was indeed very necessary. Had it not
been for your sake, who knew nothing about the matter, I certainly
should have replied, "Be my enemy; by all means be so. You are so
already, or you would not have prevented me putting my affairs in order
here, which would have enabled me to keep my word, to preserve my honor
and reputation, and also to make money, and probably a lucky hit; for if
I present my sonatas to the Electress when I go to Munich, I shall
thus keep my promise, probably receive a present, and make my fortune
besides." But as it was, I only bowed, and left the room without saying
a syllable. Before quitting Paris, however, I said all this to him,
but he answered me like a man totally devoid of sense, or rather like
a malicious man who affects to have none. I have written twice to Herr
Heina, but have got no answer. The sonatas ought to have appeared by the
end of September, and M. Grimm was to have forwarded the promised copies
immediately to me, so I expected to have found them in Strassburg; but
M. Grimm writes to me that he neither hears nor sees anything of them,
but as soon as he does they are to be forwarded, and I hope to have them
ere long.

Strassburg can scarcely do without me. You cannot think how much I am
esteemed and beloved here. People say that I am disinterested as well as
steady and polite, and praise my manners. Every one knows me. As soon
as they heard my name, the two Herrn Silbermann and Herr Hepp (organist)
came to call on me, and also Capellmeister Richter. He has now
restricted himself very much; instead of forty bottles of wine a day,
he only drinks twenty! I played publicly on the two best organs that
Silbermann has here, in the Lutheran and New Churches, and in the Thomas
Church. If the Cardinal had died, (and he was very ill when I arrived,)
I might have got a good situation, for Herr Richter is seventy-eight
years of age. Now farewell! Be cheerful and in good spirits, and
remember that your son is, thank God! well, and rejoicing that his
happiness daily draws nearer. Last Sunday I heard a new mass of Herr
Richter's, which is charmingly written.



117.

Mannheim, November 12, 1778.

I arrived here safely on the 6th, agreeably surprising all my kind
friends. God be praised that I am once more in my beloved Mannheim!
I assure you, if you were here you would say the same. I am living at
Madame Cannabich's, who, as well as her family and all my good friends
here, was quite beside herself with joy at seeing me again. We have not
yet done talking, for she tells me of all the events and changes that
have taken place during my absence. I have not been able to dine once at
home since I came, for people are fighting to have me; in a word, just
as I love Mannheim, so Mannheim loves me; and, though of course I don't
know it positively, still I do think it possible that I may get an
appointment here. But HERE, not in Munich, for my own belief is that the
Elector will soon once more take up his residence in Mannheim, for he
surely cannot long submit to the coarseness of the Bavarian gentlemen.
You know that the Mannheim company is in Munich. There they hissed the
two best actresses, Madame Toscani and Madame Urban. There was such
an uproar that the Elector himself leant over his box and called out,
"Hush!" To this, however, no one paid any attention; so he sent down
Count Seeau, who told some of the officers not to make such a noise, as
the Elector did not like it; but the only answer he got was, that they
had paid their money, and no man had a right to give them any orders.
But what a simpleton I am! You no doubt have heard this long ago through
our....

I have now something to say. I may PERHAPS make forty louis-d'or here.
To be sure, I should have to stay six weeks, or at most two months, in
Mannheim. Seiler's company is here, whom you no doubt already know by
reputation. Herr von Dalberg is the director. He will not hear of my
leaving this till I have written a duodrama for him, and indeed I did
not long hesitate, for I have often wished to write this style of drama.
I forget if I wrote to you about it the first time that I was here.
Twice at that time I saw a similar piece performed, which afforded me
the greatest pleasure; in fact, nothing ever surprised me so much, for
I had always imagined that a thing of this kind would make no effect. Of
course you know that there is no singing in it, but merely recitation,
to which the music is a sort of obligato recitativo. At intervals there
is speaking while the music goes on, which produces the most striking
effect. What I saw was Benda's "Medea." He also wrote another, "Ariadne
auf Naxos," and both are truly admirable. You are aware that of all the
Lutheran Capellmeisters Benda was always my favorite, and I like those
two works of his so much that I constantly carry them about with me.
Conceive my joy at now composing the very thing I so much wished! Do you
know what my idea is?--that most operatic recitatives should be treated
in this way, and the recitative only occasionally sung WHEN THE WORDS
CAN BE THOROUGHLY EXPRESSED BY THE MUSIC. An Academie des Amateurs is
about to be established here, like the one in Paris, where Herr Franzl
is violin leader, and I am at this moment writing a concerto for violin
and piano. I found my dear friend Raaff still here, but he leaves this
on the 8th. He has sounded my praises here, and shown sincere interest
in me, and I hope he will do the same in Munich. Do you know what that
confounded fellow Seeau said here?--that my opera buffa had been hissed
at Munich! Fortunately he said so in a place where I am well known;
still, his audacity provokes me; but the people, when they go to Munich,
will hear the exact reverse. A whole flock of Bavarians are here, among
others Fraulein de Pauli (for I don't know her present name). I
have been to see her because she sent for me immediately. Oh! what a
difference there is between the people of the Palatinate and those
of Bavaria! What a language it is! so coarse! and their whole mode of
address! It quite annoys me to hear once more their hoben and olles
(haben and alles), and their WORSHIPFUL SIR. Now good-bye! and pray
write to me soon. Put only my name, for they know where I am at the
post-office. I am so well known here that it is impossible a letter for
me can be lost. My cousin wrote to me, and by mistake put Franconian
Hotel instead of Palatine Hotel. The landlord immediately sent the
letter to M. Serrarius's, where I lodged when I was last here. What
rejoices me most of all in the whole Mannheim and Munich story is that
Weber has managed his affairs so well. They have now 1600 florins;
for the daughter has 1000 florins and her father 400, and 200 more as
prompter. Cannabich did the most for them. It is quite a history about
Count Seeau; if you don't know it, I will write you the details next
time.

I beg, dearest father, that you will make use of this affair at
Salzburg, and speak so strongly and so decidedly, that the Archbishop
may think it possible I may not come after all, and thus be induced
to give me a better salary, for I declare I cannot think of it with
composure. The Archbishop cannot pay me sufficiently for the slavery of
Salzburg. As I said before, I feel the greatest pleasure at the thought
of paying you a visit, but only annoyance and misery in seeing myself
once more at that beggarly court. The Archbishop must no longer attempt
to play the great man with me as he used to do, or I may possibly play
him a trick,--this is by no means unlikely,--and I am sure that you
would participate in my satisfaction.



118.

Mannheim, Nov. 24, 1778.

MY DEAR BARON VON DALBERG,--

I called on you twice, but had not the good fortune to find you at home;
yesterday you were in the house, but engaged, so I could not see you. I
hope you will therefore excuse my troubling you with these few lines, as
it is very important to me to explain myself fully. Herr Baron, you are
well aware that I am not an interested man, particularly when I know
that it is in my power to do a service to so great a connoisseur and
lover of music as yourself. On the other hand, I also know that you
certainly would not wish that I should be a loser on this occasion; I
therefore take the liberty to make my final stipulations on the subject,
as it is impossible for me to remain here longer in uncertainty. I agree
to write a monodrama for the sum of twenty-five louis-d'or, and to stay
here for two months longer to complete everything, and to attend all the
rehearsals, &c., but on this condition, that, happen what may, I am
to be paid by the end of January. Of course I shall also expect free
admission to the theatre. Now, my dear Baron, this is all that I can
do, and if you consider, you will admit that I certainly am acting with
great discretion. With regard to your opera, I do assure you I should
rejoice to compose music for it, but you must yourself perceive that I
could not undertake such a work for twenty-five louis-d'or, as it would
be twice the labor of a monodrama (taken at the lowest rate). The chief
obstacle would be your having told me that Gluck and Schweitzer are
partially engaged to write this work. But were you even to give me fifty
louis-d'or, I would still as an honest man dissuade you from it. An
opera without any singers! what is to be done in such a case? Still, if
on this occasion there is a prospect of its being performed, I will
not hesitate to undertake the work to oblige you; but it is no trifling
one--of that I pledge you my word. I have now set forth my ideas clearly
and candidly, and request your decision.



119.

Mannheim, Dec. 3, 1778.

I MUST ask your forgiveness for two things,--first, that I have not
written to you for so long; and secondly, that this time also I must
be brief. My not having answered you sooner is the fault of no one but
yourself, and your first letter to me at Mannheim. I really never could
have believed--but silence! I will say no more on the subject. Lot us
have done with it. Next Wednesday, the 9th, I leave this; I cannot do so
sooner, because, thinking that I was to be here for a couple of months,
I accepted some pupils, and of course wish to make out the twelve
lessons. I assure you that you have no idea what kind and true friends
I have here, which time will prove. Why must I be so brief? Because
my hands are more than full. To please Herr Gemmingen and myself, I am
writing the first act of the melodramatic opera (that I was commissioned
to write), but now do so gratis; I shall bring it with me and finish
it at home. You see how strong my inclination must be for this kind of
composition. Of course Herr von Gemmingen is the poet. The duodrama is
called "Semiramis."

Next Wednesday I set off, and do you know how I travel? With the worthy
prelate, the Bishop of Kaisersheim. When a kind friend of mine mentioned
me to him, he at once knew my name, expressing the pleasure it would be
to him to have me as a travelling companion. He is (though a priest and
prelate) a most amiable man. I am therefore going by Kaisersheim and
not by Stuttgart; but it is just the same to me, for I am very lucky in
being able to spare my purse a little (as it is slender enough) on the
journey. Be so good as to answer me the following questions. How do the
comedians please at Salzburg? Is not the young lady who sings, Madlle.
Keiserin? Does Herr Feiner play the English horn? Ah! if we had only
clarionets too! You cannot imagine the splendid effect of a symphony
with flutes, hautboys, and clarionets. At my first audience of the
Archbishop I shall tell him much that is new, and also make some
suggestions. Oh, how much finer and better our orchestra might be if the
Archbishop only chose! The chief cause why it is not so, is that there
are far too many performances. I make no objection to the chamber-music,
only to the concerts on a larger scale.

A propos, you say nothing of it, but I conclude you have received the
trunk; if not, Herr von Grimm is responsible for it. You will find in it
the aria I wrote for Madlle. Weber. You can have no idea of the effect
of that aria with instruments; you may not think so when you see it,
but it ought to be sung by a Madlle. Weber! Pray, give it to no one, for
that would be most unfair, as it was written solely for her, and fits
her like a well-fitting glove.



120.

Kaisersheim, Dec. 18, 1778.

I ARRIVED here safely on Sunday the 13th, God be praised! I travelled in
the most agreeable way, and had likewise the inexpressible pleasure to
find a letter from you here. The reason that I did not forthwith answer
it was, because I wished to give you sure and precise information as to
my departure, for which I had not fixed any time; but I have at length
resolved, as the prelate goes to Munich on the 26th or 27th, to be
again his companion. I must tell you, however, that he does not go by
Augsburg. I lose nothing by this; but if you have anything to arrange or
transact where my presence is wanted, I can at any time, if you wish it,
(being so near,) make a little expedition from Munich. My journey from
Mannheim to this place would have been most agreeable to a man, leaving
a city with a light heart. The prelate and his Chancellor, an honest,
upright, and amiable man, drove together in one carriage, and Herr
Kellermeister, Father Daniel, Brother Anton, the Secretary, and I,
preceded them always half an hour, or an hour. But for me, to whom
nothing could be more painful than leaving Mannheim, this journey was
only partly agreeable, and would not have been at all so, but rather
very tiresome, if I had not from my early youth been so much accustomed
to leave people, countries, and cities, and with no very sanguine hope
of soon or ever again seeing the kind friends I left. I cannot deny,
but at once admit, that not only I myself, but all my intimate friends,
particularly the Cannabichs, were in the most pitiable distress during
the last few days after my departure was finally settled. We felt as
if it were not possible for us to part. I set off at half-past eight
o'clock in the morning, and Madame Cannabich did not leave her room;
she neither would nor could take leave of me. I did not wish to distress
her, so left the house without seeing her. My very dear father, I can
safely say that she is one of my best and truest friends, for I only
call those friends who are so in every situation, who, day and night,
think how they can best serve the interests of their friend, applying to
all influential persons, and toiling to secure his happiness. Now I do
assure you such is the faithful portrait of Madame Cannabich. There may
indeed be an alloy of self-interest in this, for where does anything
take place--indeed, how can anything be done in this world--without some
alloy of selfishness? What I like best in Madame Cannabich is, that she
never attempts to deny this. I will tell you when we meet in what way
she told me so, for when we are alone, which, I regret to say, is very
seldom, we become quite confidential. Of all the intimate friends who
frequent her house, I alone possess her entire confidence; for I alone
know all her domestic and family troubles, concerns, secrets, and
circumstances. We were not nearly so well acquainted the first time
I was here, (we have agreed on this point,) nor did we mutually under
stand each other so well; but living in the same house affords greater
facilities to know a person. When in Paris I first began fully to
appreciate the sincere friendship of the Cannabichs, having heard from
a trustworthy source the interest both she and her husband took in me.
I reserve many topics to explain and to discuss personally, for since my
return from Paris the scene has undergone some remarkable changes, but
not in all things. Now as to my cloister life. The monastery itself made
no great impression on me, after having seen the celebrated Abbey of
Kremsmunster. I speak of the exterior and what they call here the court
square, for the most renowned part I have yet to see. What appears to
me truly ridiculous is the formidable military. I should like to know of
what use they are. At night I hear perpetual shouts of "Who goes there?"
and I invariably reply, "Guess!" You know what a good and kind man
the prelate is, but you do not know that I may class myself among his
favorites, which, I believe, does me neither good nor harm, but it is
always pleasant to have one more friend in the world. With regard to the
monodrama, or duodrama, a voice part is by no means necessary, as not a
single note is sung, but entirely spoken; in short, it is a recitative
with instruments, only the actor speaks the words instead of singing
them. If you were to hear it even with the piano, it could not fail to
please you, but properly performed, you would be quite transported. I
can answer for this; but it requires a good actor or actress.

I shall really feel quite ashamed if I arrive in Munich without my
sonatas. I cannot understand the delay; it was a stupid trick of
Grimm's, and I have written to him to that effect. He will now see that
he was in rather too great a hurry. Nothing ever provoked me so much.
Just reflect on it. I know that my sonatas were published in the
beginning of November, and I, the author, have not yet got them,
therefore cannot present them to the Electress, to whom they are
dedicated. I have, however, taken measures in the mean time which will
insure my getting them. I hope that my cousin in Augsburg has received
them, or that they are lying at Josef Killiau's for her; so I have
written to beg her to send them to me at once.

Until I come myself, I commend to your good offices an organist,
and also a good pianist, Herr Demmler, from Augsburg. I had entirely
forgotten him, and was very glad when I heard of him here. He has
considerable genius; a situation in Salzburg might be very useful in
promoting his further success, for all he requires is a good leader
in music; and I could not find him a better conductor than you, dear
father, and it would really be a pity if he were to leave the right
path. [See No. 68.] That melancholy "Alceste" of Schweitzer's is to be
performed in Munich. The best part (besides some of the openings,
middle passages, and the finales of some arias) is the beginning of
the recitative "O Jugendzeit," and this was made what it is by Raaff's
assistance; he punctuated it for Hartig (who plays Admet), and by so
doing introduced the true expression into the aria. The worst of all,
however, (as well as the greater part of the opera,) is certainly the
overture.

As for the trifles that are not to be found in the trunk, it is quite
natural that under such circumstances something should be lost, or even
stolen. The little amethyst ring I felt I ought to give to the nurse who
attended my dear mother, whose wedding-ring was left on her finger. [A
large blot.] The ink-bottle is so full, and I am too hasty in dipping
in my pen, as you will perceive. As for the watch, you have guessed
rightly. I sold it, but only got five louis-d'or for it, and that in
consideration of the works, which were good; for the shape, as you know,
was old-fashioned and quite out of date. Speaking of watches, I must
tell you that I am bringing one with me--a genuine Parisian. You know
what sort of thing my jewelled watch was--how inferior all the so-called
precious stones were, how clumsy and awkward its shape; but I would not
have cared so much about that, had I not been obliged to spend so much
money in repairing and regulating it, and after all the watch would one
day gain a couple of hours, and next day lose in the same proportion.
The one the Elector gave me did just the same, and, moreover, the works
were even worse and more fragile. I exchanged these two watches and
their chains for a Parisian one which is worth twenty louis-d'or. So now
at last I know what o'clock it is; with my five watches I never got so
far as that before! At present, out of four, I have, at all events, one
on which I can depend.



121.

Kaisersheim, Dec. 23, 1778.

MA TRES-CHERE COUSINE,--

I write to you in the greatest haste, and in the deepest sorrow and
remorse, and with the determined purpose to tell you that it is my
intention to set off to-morrow to Munich. I would, I assure you, gladly
have gone to Augsburg, but the prelate was resolved to claim me, for
which you cannot blame me. It is my loss, so don't be cross. I may
perhaps make an escapade from Munich to Augsburg, but this is by no
means certain. If you will be as glad to see me, as I shall be to see
you, do come to the good town of Munich. Be sure you come by the new
year, that I may see your face so dear, and escort you far and near. One
thing I very much regret, which is that I cannot give you house-room,
because I am not at an hotel, but am living with--whom do you think?
I should like to know this myself [with the Webers]. But now Spassus
apart. For that very reason, and for my sake, it would be advisable
you should come; perhaps you may have a great part to play, but at
all events come. I can then pay you in my own mighty person all proper
compliments. Now adieu, angel of piety! I await you with anxiety. Your
sincere cousin,

W. A. MOZART.

P.S.--Write to me forthwith to Munich, Poste Restante, a little note of
twenty-four pages, but do not mention where you are to lodge, that I may
not find you out nor you me.



122.

Munich, Dec. 29, 1778.

I WRITE from the house of M. Becke [flute-player; see No. 60]. I arrived
here safely, God be praised! on the 25th, but have been unable to write
to you till now. I reserve everything till our glad, joyous meeting,
when I can once more have the happiness of conversing with you, for
to-day I can only weep. I have far too sensitive a heart. In the mean
time, I must tell you that the day before I left Kaisersheim I received
the sonatas; so I shall be able to present them myself to the Electress.
I only delay leaving this till the opera [Footnote: Schweitzer's
"Alceste." (See No. 120.)] is given, when I intend immediately to leave
Munich, unless I were to find that it would be very beneficial and
useful to me to remain here for some time longer. In which case I feel
convinced, quite convinced, that you would not only be satisfied I
should do so, but would yourself advise it. I naturally write very
badly, for I never learned to write; still, in my whole life I never
wrote worse than this very day, for I really am unfit for anything--my
heart is too full of tears. I hope you will soon write to me and comfort
me. Address to me, Poste Restante, and then I can fetch the letter
myself. I am staying with the Webers. I think, after all, it would be
better, far better, to enclose your letter to me to our friend Becke.

I intend (I mention it to you in the strictest secrecy) to write a mass
here; all my best friends advise my doing so. I cannot tell you what
friends Cannabich and Raaff have been to me. Now farewell, my kindest
and most beloved father! Write to me soon.

A happy new-year! More I cannot bring myself to write to-day. This
letter is scrawled hurriedly, quite unlike the others, and betrays
the most violent agitation of mind. During the whole journey there was
nothing to which Mozart looked forward with such joy as once more seeing
his beloved Madlle. Weber in Munich. He had even destined "a great part"
for the Basle (his cousin) in the affair; but he was now to learn that
Aloysia had been faithless to him. Nissen relates: "Mozart, being in
mourning for his mother, appeared dressed, according to the French
custom, in a red coat with black buttons; but soon discovered that
Aloysia's feelings towards him had undergone a change. She seemed
scarcely to recognize one for whose sake she had once shed so many
tears. On which Mozart quickly seated himself at the piano and sang,
"Ich lass das Madel gern das mich nicht will," ["I gladly give up the
girl who slights me."] His father, moreover, was displeased in the
highest degree by Wolfgang's protracted absence, fearing that the
Archbishop might recall his appointment; so Wolfgang became very uneasy
lest he should not meet with a kind reception from his father on his
return home."



123.

Munich, Dec. 31, 1778.

I HAVE this instant received your latter from my friend Becke. I wrote
to you from his house two days ago, but a letter such as I never wrote
before; for this kind friend said so much to me about your tender
paternal love, your indulgence towards me, your complaisance and
discretion in the promotion of my future happiness, that my feelings
were softened even to tears. But, from your letter of the 28th, I see
only too clearly that Herr Becke, in his conversation with me, rather
exaggerated. Now, distinctly, and once for all, as soon as the opera
("Alceste") is given, I intend to leave this, whether the diligence goes
the day after or the same night. If you had spoken to Madame Robinig, I
might have travelled home with her. But be that as it may, the opera is
to be given on the 11th, and on the 12th (if the diligence goes) I set
off. It would be more for my interest to stay here a little longer, but
I am willing to sacrifice this to you, in the hope that I shall have
a twofold reward for it in Salzburg. I don't think your idea about the
sonatas at all good; even if I do not get them, I ought to leave Munich
forthwith. Then you advise my not being seen at court; to a man so well
known as I am here such a thing is impossible. But do not be uneasy. I
received my sonatas at Kaisersheim; and, as soon as they are bound, I
mean to present them to the Electress. A. propos, what do you mean by
DREAMS OF PLEASURE? I do not wish to give up dreaming, for what mortal
on the whole compass of the earth does not often dream? above all DREAMS
OF PLEASURE--peaceful dreams, sweet, cheering dreams if you will--dreams
which, if realized, would have rendered my life (now far rather sad than
pleasurable) more endurable.

The 1st.--I have this moment received, through a Salzburg vetturino, a
letter from you, which really at first quite startled me. For Heaven's
sake tell me, do you really think that I can at once fix a day for my
journey; or is it your belief that I don't mean to come at all? When I
am so very near, I do think you might be at ease on that point. When the
fellow had explained his route to me, I felt a strong inclination to go
with him, but at present I really cannot; to-morrow or next day I
intend to present the sonatas to the Electress, and then (no matter how
strongly I may be urged) I must wait a few days for a present. Of one
thing I give you my word, that to please you I have resolved not to wait
to see the opera, but intend to leave this the day after I receive the
present I expect. At the same time I confess I feel this to be very hard
on me; but if a few days more or less appear of such importance to you,
so let it be. Write to me at once on this point. The 2d.--I rejoice at
the thoughts of conversing with you, for then you will first comprehend
how my matters stand here. You need have neither mistrust nor misgivings
as to Raaff, for he is the most upright man in the world, though no
lover of letter-writing. The chief cause of his silence, however, is no
doubt that he is unwilling to make premature promises, and yet is glad
to hold out some hope too; besides, like Cannabich, he has worked for me
with might and main.



124.

Munich, Jan. 8, 1779.

[Footnote: The second grand aria that Mozart wrote for Aloysia, bears
the same date.]

I HOPE you received my last letter, which I meant to have given to the
vetturino, but having missed him I sent it by post. I have, in the mean
time, got all your letters safely through Herr Becke. I gave him my
letter to read, and he also showed me his. I assure you, my very dear
father, that I am now full of joy at returning to you, (but not to
Salzburg,) as your last letter shows that you know me better than
formerly. There never was any other cause for my long delay in going
home but this doubt, which gave rise to a feeling of sadness that I
could no longer conceal; so I at last opened my heart to my friend
Becke. What other cause could I possibly have? I have done nothing to
cause me to dread reproach from you; I am guilty of no fault; (by
a fault I mean that which does not become a Christian, and a man of
honor;) in short, I now rejoice, and already look forward to the most
agreeable and happy days, but only in the society of yourself and my
dear sister. I give you my solemn word of honor that I cannot endure
Salzburg or its inhabitants, (I speak of the natives of Salzburg.) Their
language, their manners, are to me quite intolerable. You cannot think
what I suffered during Madame Robinig's visit here, for it is long
indeed since I met with such a fool; and, for my still further
annoyance, that silly, deadly dull Mosmayer was also there.

But to proceed. I went yesterday, with my dear friend Cannabich, to
the Electress to present my sonatas. Her apartments are exactly what I
should like mine one day to be, very pretty and neat, just like those of
a private individual, all except the view, which is miserable. We
were there fully an hour and a half, and she was very gracious. I have
managed to let her know that I must leave this in a few days, which
will, I hope, expedite matters. You have no cause to be uneasy about
Count Seeau; I don't believe the thing will come through his hands, and
even if it does, he will not venture to say a word. Now, once for all,
believe that I have the most eager longing to embrace you and my beloved
sister. If it were only not in Salzburg! But as I have not hitherto been
able to see you without going to Salzburg, I do so gladly. I must make
haste, for the post is just going.

My cousin is here. Why? To please me, her cousin; this is, indeed, the
ostensible cause. But--we can talk about it in Salzburg; and, on this
account, I wished very much that she would come with me there. You will
find a few lines, written by her own hand, attached to the fourth page
of this letter. She is quite willing to go; so if it would really give
you pleasure to see her, be so kind as to write immediately to her
brother, that the thing may be arranged. When you see her and know her,
she is certain to please you, for she is a favorite with every one.

Wolfgang's pleasantries, in the following; letter to his cousin, show
that his good humor was fully restored. He was received at home with
very great rejoicings, and his cousin soon followed him.



125.

Salzburg, May 10, 1779.

DEAREST, sweetest, most beauteous, fascinating, and charming of all
cousins, most basely maltreated by an unworthy kinsman! Allow me to
strive to soften and appease your just wrath, which only heightens your
charms and winning beauty, as high as the heel of your slipper! I hope
to soften you, Nature having bestowed on me a large amount of softness,
and to appease you, being fond of sweet pease. As to the Leipzig affair,
I can't tell whether it may be worth stooping to pick up; were it a bag
of ringing coin, it would be a very different thing, and nothing less do
I mean to accept, so there is an end of it.

Sweetest cousin, such is life! One man has got a purse, but another has
got the money, and he who has neither has nothing; and nothing is even
less than little; while, on the other hand, much is a great deal more
than nothing, and nothing can come of nothing. Thus has it been from the
beginning, is now, and ever shall be; and as I can make it neither
worse nor better, I may as well conclude my letter. The gods know I am
sincere. How does Probst get on with his wife? and do they live in
bliss or in strife? most silly questions, upon my life! Adieu, angel!
My father sends you his uncle's blessing, and a thousand cousinly kisses
from my sister. Angel, adieu!

A TENDER ODE. [Footnote: A parody of Klopstock's "Dein susses Bild,
Edone"]

TO MY COUSIN.

   THY sweet image, cousin mine,
    Hovers aye before me; Would the form indeed were thine!
    How I would adore thee! I see it at the day's decline; I see it
   through the pale moonshine, And linger o'er that form divine

   By all the flowers of sweet perfume
    I'll gather for my cousin,--By all the wreaths of myrtle-bloom
    I'll wreathe her by the dozen,--I call upon that image there To
   pity my immense despair, And be indeed my cousin fair

[Footnote: These words are written round the slightly sketched
caricature of a face.]




FOURTH PART.--MUNICH.--IDOMENEO.--NOVEMBER 1780 TO JANUARY 1781.


MOZART now remained stationary at Salzburg till the autumn of 1780,
highly dissatisfied at being forced to waste his youthful days in
inactivity, and in such an obscure place, but still as busy as ever. A
succession of grand instrumental compositions were the fruits of this
period: two masses, some vespers, the splendid music for "Konig Thamos,"
and the operetta "Zaide" for Schikaneder. At length, however, to his
very great joy, a proposal was made to him from Munich to write a grand
opera for the Carnival of 1781. It was "Idomeneo, Konig von Greta." At
the beginning of November he once more set off to Munich in order to
"prepare an exact fit," on the spot, of the different songs in the opera
for the singers, and to rehearse and practise everything with them. The
Abbate Varesco in Salzburg was the author of the libretto, in which
many an alteration had yet to be made, and these were all to be effected
through the intervention of the father.



126.

Munich, Nov. 8, 1780.

FORTUNATE and pleasant was my arrival here,--fortunate, because no
mishap occurred during the journey; and pleasant, because we had
scarcely patience to wait for the moment that was to end this short but
disagreeable journey. I do assure you it was impossible for us to sleep
for a moment the whole night. The carriage jolted our very souls out,
and the seats were as hard as stone! From Wasserburg I thought I never
could arrive in Munich with whole bones, and during two stages I held on
by the straps, suspended in the air and not venturing to sit down.
But no matter; it is past now, though it will serve me as a warning in
future rather to go on foot than drive in a diligence.

Now as to Munich. We arrived here at one o'clock in the forenoon, and
the same evening I called on Count Seeau [the Theatre Intendant], but as
he was not at home I left a note for him. Next morning I went there with
Becke. Seeau has been moulded like wax by the Mannheim people. I have a
request to make of the Abbate [Gianbattista Varesco]. The aria of Ilia
in the second act and second scene must be a little altered for what I
require,--"Se il padre perdei, in te lo ritrovo" This verse could not be
better; but now comes what always appeared unnatural to me,--N.B. in an
aria,--I mean, to speak aside. In a dialogue these things are natural
enough, for a few words can be hurriedly said aside, but in an aria,
where the words must be repeated, it has a bad effect; and even were
this not the case, I should prefer an uninterrupted aria. The beginning
may remain if he chooses, for it is charming and quite a natural flowing
strain, where, not being fettered by the words, I can write on quite
easily; for we agreed to bring in an aria andantino here in concert with
four wind instruments, viz. flute, hautboy, horn, and bassoon; and I beg
that you will let me have the air as soon as possible.

Now for a grievance. I have not, indeed, the honor of being acquainted
with the hero Del Prato [the musico who was to sing Idamante], but from
description I should say that Cecarelli is rather the better of the two,
for often in the middle of an air our musico's breath entirely fails;
nota bene, he never was on any stage, and Raaff is like a statue. Now
only for a moment imagine the scene in the first act! But there is
one good thing, which is, that Madame Dorothea Wendling is
arci-contentissima with her scena, and insisted on hearing it played
three times in succession. The Grand Master of the Teutonic Order
arrived yesterday. "Essex" was given at the Court Theatre, and a
magnificent ballet. The theatre was all illuminated. The beginning was
an overture by Cannabich, which, as it is one of his last, I did not
know. I am sure, if you had heard it you would have been as much pleased
and excited as I was, and if you had not previously known the fact, you
certainly could not have believed that it was by Cannabich. Do come soon
to hear it, and to admire the orchestra. I have no more to say. There
is to be a grand concert this evening, where Mara is to sing three airs.
Tell me whether it snows as heavily in Salzburg as here. My kind regards
to Herr Schikaneder [impresario in Salzburg], and beg him to excuse
my not yet sending him the aria, for I have not been able to finish it
entirely.



127.

Munich, Nov. 13, 1780.

I WRITE in the greatest haste, for I am not yet dressed, and must go off
to Count Seeau's. Cannabich, Quaglio, and Le Grand, the ballet-master,
also dine there to consult about what is necessary for the opera.
Cannabich and I dined yesterday with Countess Baumgarten, [Footnote: He
wrote an air for her, the original of which is now in the State Library
at Munich.] nee Lerchenteld. My friend is all in all in that family, and
now I am the same. It is the best and most serviceable house here to me,
for owing to their kindness all has gone well with me, and, please God,
will continue to do so. I am just going to dress, but must not omit the
chief thing of all, and the principal object of my letter,--to wish you,
my very dearest and kindest father, every possible good on this your
name-day. I also entreat the continuance of your fatherly love, and
assure you of my entire obedience to your wishes. Countess la Rose sends
her compliments to you and my sister, so do all the Cannabichs and both
Wendling families, Ramm, Eck father and son, Becke, and Herr del Prato,
who happens to be with me. Yesterday Count Seeau presented me to the
Elector, who was very gracious. If you were to speak to Count Seeau now,
you would scarcely recognize him, so completely have the Mannheimers
transformed him.

I am ex commissione to write a formal answer in his name to the Abbate
Varesco, but I have no time, and was not born to be a secretary. In the
first act (eighth scene) Herr Quaglio made the same objection that we
did originally,--namely, that it is not fitting the king should be
quite alone in the ship. If the Abbe thinks that he can be reasonably
represented in the terrible storm forsaken by every one, WITHOUT A SHIP,
exposed to the greatest peril, all may remain as it is; but, N. B., no
ship--for he cannot be alone in one; so, if the other mode be adopted,
some generals or confidants (mates) must land from the ship with him.
Then the king might address a few words to his trusty companions, and
desire them to leave him alone, which in his melancholy situation would
be quite natural.

The second duet is to be omitted altogether, and indeed with more profit
than loss to the opera; for if you will read the scene it evidently
becomes cold and insipid by the addition of an air or a duet, and very
irksome to the other actors, who must stand, by all the time unoccupied;
besides, the noble contest between Ilia and Idamante would become too
long, and thus lose its whole interest.

Mara has not the good fortune to please me. She does too little to be
compared to a Bastardella [see No. 8], (yet this is her peculiar style,)
and too much to touch the heart like a Weber [Aloysia], or any judicious
singer.

P.S.--A propos, as they translate so badly here, Count Seeau would like
to have the opera translated in Salzburg, and the arias alone to be
in verse. I am to make a contract that the payment of the poet and the
translator should be made in one sum. Give me an answer soon about this.
Adieu! What of the family portraits? Are they good likenesses? Is my
sister's begun yet? The opera is to be given for the first time on the
26th of January. Be so kind as to send me the two scores of the masses
that I have with me, and also the mass in B. Count Seeau is to mention
them soon to the Elector; I should like to be known here in this style
also. I have just heard a mass of Gruan's; it would be easy to compose
half a dozen such in a day. Had I known that this singer, Del Prato, was
so bad, I should certainly have recommended Cecarelli.



128.

Munich, Nov. 15, 1780.

The aria is now admirable, but there is still an alteration to be made
recommended by Raaff; he is, however, right, and even were he not, some
courtesy ought to be shown to his gray hairs. He was with me yesterday,
and I played over his first aria to him, with which he was very much
pleased. The man is old, and can no longer show off in an aria like that
in the second art,--"Fuor del mar ho un mare in seno," &c. As, moreover,
in the third act he has no aria, (the one in the first act not being so
cantabile as he would like, owing to the expression of the words,) he
wishes after his last speech, "O Creta fortuinata, O me felice," to have
a pretty aria to sing instead of the quartet; in this way a superfluous
air would be got rid of, and the third act produce a far better effect.
In the last scene also of the second act, Idomeneo has an aria, or
rather a kind of cavatina, to sing between the choruses. For this it
would be better to substitute a mere recitative, well supported by the
instruments. For in this scene, (owing to the action and grouping which
have been recently settled with Le Grand,) the finest of the whole
opera, there cannot fail to be such a noise and confusion in the
theatre, that an aria, would make a very bad figure in this place, and
moreover there is a thunderstorm which is not likely to subside during
Raaff's aria! The effect, therefore, of a recitative between the
choruses must be infinitely better. Lisel Wendling has also sung through
her two arias half a dozen times, and is much pleased with them. I heard
from a third person that the two Wendlings highly praised their arias,
and as for Raaff he is my best and dearest friend. I must teach the
whole opera myself to Del Prato. He is incapable of singing even the
introduction to any air of importance, and his voice is so uneven! He
is only engaged for a year, and at the end of that time (next September)
Count Seeau will get another. Cecarelli might try his chance then
serieusement.

I nearly forgot the best of all. After mass last Sunday, Count Seeau
presented me, en passant, to H.S.H. the Elector, who was very gracious.
He said, "I am happy to see you here again;" and on my replying that
I would strive to deserve the good opinion of His Serene Highness, he
clapped me on the shoulder, saying, "Oh! I have no doubt whatever that
all will go well--a piano piano si va lontano."

Deuce take it! I cannot write everything I wish. Raaff has just left me;
he sends you his compliments, and so do the Cannabichs, and Wendlings,
and Ramm. My sister must not be idle, but practise steadily, for every
one is looking forward with pleasure to her coming here. My lodging is
in the Burggasse at M. Fiat's [where the marble slab to his memory is
now erected].



129.

Munich, Nov. 22, 1780.

I SEND herewith, at last, the long-promised aria for Herr Schikaneder.
During the first week that I was here I could not entirely complete it,
owing to the business that caused me to come here. Besides, Le Grand,
the ballet-master, a terrible talker and bore, has just been with me,
and by his endless chattering caused me to miss the diligence. I hope
my sister is quite well. I have at this moment a bad cold, which in such
weather is quite the fashion here. I hope and trust, however, that
it will soon take its departure,--indeed, both phlegm and cough are
gradually disappearing. In your last letter you write repeatedly, "Oh!
my poor eyes! I du not wish to write myself blind--half-past eight at
night, and no spectacles!" But why do you write at night, and without
spectacles? I cannot understand it. I have not yet had an opportunity
of speaking to Count Seeau, but hope to do so to-day, and shall give you
any information I can gather by the next post. At present all will, no
doubt, remain as it is. Herr Raaff paid me a visit yesterday morning,
and I gave him your regards, which seemed to please him much. He
is, indeed, a worthy and thoroughly respectable man. The day before
yesterday Del Frato sang in the most disgraceful way at the concert. I
would almost lay a wager that the man never manages to get through the
rehearsals, far less the opera; he has some internal disease.

Come in!--Herr Panzacchi! [who was to sing Arbace]. He has already paid
me three visits, and has just asked me to dine with him on Sunday. I
hope the same thing won't happen to me that happened to us with the
coffee. He meekly asks if, instead of se la sa, he may sing se co la, or
even ut, re, mi, fa, sol, la.

I am so glad when you often write to me, only not at night, and far less
without spectacles. You must, however, forgive me if I do not say much
in return, for every minute is precious; besides, I am obliged chiefly
to write at night, for the mornings are so very dark; then I have to
dress, and the servant at the Weiser sometimes admits a troublesome
visitor. When Del Prato comes I must sing to him, for I have to teach
him his whole part like a child; his method is not worth a farthing.
I will write more fully next time. What of the family portraits? My
sister, if she has nothing better to do, might mark down the names
of the best comedies that have been performed during my absence. Has
Schikaneder still good receipts? My compliments to all my friends, and
to Gilofsky's Katherl. Give a pinch of Spanish snuff from me to Pimperl
[the dog], a good wine-sop, and three kisses. Do you not miss me at all?
A thousand compliments to all--all! Adieu! I embrace you both from my
heart, and hope my sister will soon recover. [Nannerl, partly owing to
her grief in consequence of an unfortunate love-affair, was suffering
from pains in the chest, which threatened to turn to consumption.]



180.

Munich, Nov. 24, 1780.

I beg you will convey to Madlle. Katharine Gilofsky de Urazowa my
respectful homage. Wish her in my name every possible happiness on
her name-day; above all, I wish that this may be the last time I
congratulate her as Mademoiselle. What you write to me about Count
Seinsheim is done long ago; they are all links of one chain. I have
already dined with, him once, and with Baumgarten twice, and once with
Lerchenfeld, father of Madlle. Baumgarten. Not a single day passes
without some of these people being at Cannabich's. Do not be uneasy,
dearest father, about my opera; I do hope that all will go well.
No doubt it will be assailed by a petty cabal, which will in all
probability be defeated with ridicule; for the most respected and
influential families among the nobility are in my favor, and the
first-class musicians are one and all for me. I cannot tell you what a
good friend Cannabich is--so busy and active! In a word, he is always on
the watch to serve a friend. I will tell you the whole story about Mara.
I did not write to you before on the subject, because I thought
that, even if you knew nothing of it, you would be sure to hear the
particulars here; but now it is high time to tell you the whole truth,
for probably additions have been made to the story,--at least, in this
town, it has been told in all sorts of different ways. No one can know
about it better than I do, as I was present, so I heard and witnessed
the whole affair. When the first symphony was over, it was Madame Mara's
turn to sing. I then saw her husband come sneaking in behind her with
his violoncello in his hand; I thought she was going to sing an
aria obligato with violoncello accompaniment. Old Danzi, the first
violoncello, also accompanies well. All at once Toeschi (who is a
director, but has no authority when Cannabich is present) said to
Danzi (N. B., his son-in-law), "Rise, and give Mara your place." When
Cannabich saw and heard this, he called out, "Danzi, stay where you are;
the Elector prefers his own people playing the accompaniments." Then
the air began, Mara standing behind his wife, looking very sheepish,
and still holding his violoncello. The instant they entered the
concert-room, I took a dislike to both, for you could not well see two
more insolent-looking people, and the sequel will convince you of this.
The aria had a second part, but Madame Mara did not think proper
to inform the orchestra of the fact previously, but after the last
ritournelle came down into the room with her usual air of effrontery to
pay her respects to the nobility. In the mean time her husband attacked
Cannabich. I cannot write every detail, for it would be too long; but,
in a word, he insulted both the orchestra and Cannabich's character,
who, being naturally very much irritated, laid hold of his arm, saying,
"This is not the place to answer you." Mara wished to reply, but
Cannabich threatened that if he did not hold his tongue he would have
him removed by force. All were indignant at Mara's impertinence. A
concerto by Ramm was then given, when this amiable couple proceeded to
lay their complaint before Count Seeau; but from him, also, as well as
from every one else, they heard that they were in the wrong. At last
Madame Mara was foolish enough to speak to the Elector himself on the
subject, her husband in the mean time saying in an arrogant tone, "My
wife is at this moment complaining to the Elector--an unlucky business
for Cannabich; I am sorry for him." But people only burst out laughing
in his face. The Elector, in reply to Madame Mara's complaint, said,
"Madame, you sang like an angel, although your husband did not accompany
you;" and when she wished to press her grievance, he said, "That is
Count Seeau's affair, not mine." When they saw that nothing was to be
done, they left the room, although she had still two airs to sing. This
was nothing short of an insult to the Elector, and I know for certain
that, had not the Archduke and other strangers been present, they would
have been very differently treated; but on this account Count Seeau was
annoyed, so he sent after them immediately, and they came back. She sang
her two arias, but was not accompanied by her husband. In the last one
(and I shall always believe that Herr Mara did it on purpose) two bars
were wanting--N. B., only in the copy from which Cannabich was playing.
When this occurred, Mara seized Cannabich's arm, who quickly got right,
but struck his bow on the desk, exclaiming audibly, "This copy is all
wrong." When the aria was at an end, he said, "Herr Mara, I give you one
piece of advice, and I hope you will profit by it: never seize the arm
of the director of an orchestra, or lay your account with getting
at least half a dozen sound boxes on the ear." Mara's tone was now,
however, entirely lowered; he begged to be forgiven, and excused himself
as he best could. The most shameful part of the affair was that Mara (a
miserable violoncellist, all here declare) would never have been heard
at court at all but for Cannabich, who had taken considerable trouble
about it. At the first concert before my arrival he played a concerto,
and accompanied his wife, taking Danzi's place without saying a word
either to Danzi or any one else, which was allowed to pass. The Elector
was by no means satisfied with his mode of accompanying, and said he
preferred his own people. Cannabich, knowing this, mentioned to Count
Seeau, before the concert began, that he had no objection to Mara's
playing, but that Danzi must also play. When Mara came he was told this,
and yet he was guilty of this insolence. If you knew these people, you
would at once see pride, arrogance, and unblushing effrontery written on
their faces.

My sister is now, I hope, quite recovered. Pray do not write me any
more melancholy letters, for I require at this time a cheerful spirit,
a clear head, and inclination to work, and these no one can have who is
sad at heart. I know, and, believe me, deeply feel, how much you deserve
rest and peace, but am I the obstacle to this? I would not willingly be
so, and yet, alas! I fear I am. But if I attain my object, so that I can
live respectably here, you must instantly leave Salzburg. You will say,
that may never come to pass; at all events, industry and exertion shall
not be wanting on my part. Do try to come over soon to see me. We can
all live together. I have a roomy alcove on my first room in which two
beds stand. These would do capitally for you and me. As for my sister,
all we can do is to put a stove into the next room, which will only be
an affair of four or five florins; for in mine we might heat the stove
till it is red-hot, and leave the stove-door open into the bargain, yet
it would not make the room endurable--it is so frightfully cold in it.
Ask the Abbate Varesco if we could not break off at the chorus in the
second act, "Placido e il mare" after Elettra's first verse, when the
chorus is repeated,--at all events after the second, for it is really
far too long. I have been confined to the house two days from my cold,
and, luckily for me, I have very little appetite, for in the long run
it would be inconvenient to pay for my board. I have, however, written
a note to the Count on the subject, and received a message from him
that he would speak to me about it shortly. By heavens! he ought to be
thoroughly ashamed of himself. I won't pay a single kreutzer.



131.

Munich, Dec. 1, 1780.

THE rehearsal went off with extraordinary success; there were only six
violins in all, but the requisite wind-instruments. No one was admitted
but Count Seeau's sister and young Count Seinsheim. This day week we are
to have another rehearsal, with twelve violins for the first act, and
then the second act will be rehearsed (like the first on the previous
occasion). I cannot tell you how delighted and surprised all were; but
I never expected anything else, for I declare I went to this rehearsal
with as quiet a heart as if I had been going to a banquet. Count
Seinsheim said to me, "I do assure you that though I expected a great
deal from you, I can truly say this I did not expect."

The Cannabichs and all who frequent their house are true friends of
mine. After the rehearsal, (for we had a great deal to discuss with the
Count,) when I went home with Cannabich, Madame Cannabich came to
meet me, and hugged me from joy at the rehearsal having passed off
so admirably; then came Ramm and Lang, quite out of their wits with
delight. My true friend the excellent lady, who was alone in the house
with her invalid daughter Rose, had been full of solicitude on my
account. When you know him, you will find Ramm a true German, saying
exactly what he thinks to your face. He said to me, "I must honestly
confess that no music ever made such an impression on me, and I assure
you I thought of your father fifty times at least, and of the joy he
will feel when he hears this opera." But enough of this subject. My cold
is rather worse owing to this rehearsal, for it is impossible not to
feel excited when honor and fame are at stake, however cool you may be
at first. I did everything you prescribed for my cold, but it goes on
very slowly, which is particularly inconvenient to me at present; but
all my writing about it will not put an end to my cough, and yet write I
must. To-day I have begun to take violet syrup and a little almond
oil, and already I feel relieved, and have again stayed two days in the
house. Yesterday morning Herr Raaff came to me again to hear the aria
in the second act. The man is as much enamored of his aria as a young
passionate lover ever was of his fair one. He sings it the last thing
before he goes to sleep, and the first thing in the morning when he
awakes. I knew already, from a sure source, but now from himself, that
he said to Herr von Viereck (Oberststallmeister) and to Herr von Kastel,
"I am accustomed constantly to change my parts, to suit me better, in
recitative as well as in arias, but this I have left just as it was, for
every single note is in accordance with my voice." In short, he is as
happy as a king. He wishes the interpolated aria to be a little altered,
and so do I. The part commencing with the word era he does not like, for
what we want here is a calm tranquil aria; and if consisting of only one
part, so much the better, for a second subject would have to be brought
in about the middle, which leads me out of my way. In "Achill in Sciro"
there is an air of this kind, "or che mio figlio sei." I thank my sister
very much for the list of comedies she sent me. It is singular enough
about the comedy "Rache fur Rache"; it was frequently given here with
much applause, and quite lately too, though I was not there myself. I
beg you will present my devoted homage to Madlle. Therese von Barisani;
if I had a brother, I would request him to kiss her hand in all
humility, but having a sister only is still better, for I beg she will
embrace her in the most affectionate manner in my name. A propos, do
write a letter to Cannabich; he deserves it, and it will please him
exceedingly. What does it matter if he does not answer you? You must
not judge him from his manner; he is the same to every one, and means
nothing. You must first know him well.



132.

Munich, Dec. 5, 1780.

The death of the Empress [Maria Theresa] does not at all affect my
opera, for the theatrical performances are not suspended, and the plays
go on as usual. The entire mourning is not to last more than six weeks,
and my opera will not be given before the 20th of January. I wish you to
get my black suit thoroughly brushed to make it as wearable as possible,
and forward it to me by the first diligence; for next week every one
must be in mourning, and I, though constantly on the move, must cry with
the others.

With regard to Raaff's last aria, I already mentioned that we both wish
to have more touching and pleasing words. The word era is constrained;
the beginning good, but gelida massa is again hard. In short,
far-fetched or pedantic expressions are always inappropriate in a
pleasing aria. I should also like the air to express only peace and
contentment; and one part would be quite as good--in fact, better, in my
opinion. I also wrote about Panzacchi; we must do what we can to oblige
the good old man. He wishes to have his recitative in the third act
lengthened a couple of lines, which, owing to the chiaro oscuro and his
being a good actor, will have a capital effect. For example, after the
strophe, "Sei la citta del pianto, e questa reggia quella del duol,"
comes a slight glimmering of hope, and then, "Madman that I am! whither
does my grief lead me?" "Ah! Creta tutta io vedo." The Abbato Varesco is
not obliged to rewrite the act on account of these things, for they can
easily be interpolated. I have also written that both I and others think
the oracle's subterranean speech too long to make a good effect. Reflect
on this. I must now conclude, having such a mass of writing to do. I
have not seen Baron Lehrbach, and don't know whether he is here or not;
and I have no time to run about. I may easily not know whether he is
here, but he cannot fail to know positively that I am. Had I been a
girl, no doubt he would have come to see me long ago. Now adieu!

I have this moment received your letter of the 4th December. You must
begin to accustom yourself a little to the kissing system. You can
meanwhile practise with Maresquelli, for each time that you come to
Dorothea Wendling's (where everything is rather in the French style) you
will have to embrace both mother and daughter, but--N. B., on the chin,
so that the paint may not be rubbed off. More of this next time. Adieu!

P.S.--Don't forget about my black suit; I must have it, or I shall be
laughed at, which is never agreeable.



133.

Munich, Dec. 13, 1780.

Your last letters seemed to me far too short, so I searched all the
pockets in my black suit to see if I could not find something more. In
Vienna and all the Imperial dominions, the gayeties are to be resumed
six weeks hence,--a very sensible measure, for mourning too long is
not productive of half as much good to the deceased as of injury to the
living. Is Herr Schikaneder to remain in Salzburg? If so, he might still
see and hear my opera. Here people, very properly, cannot comprehend
why the mourning should last for three months, while that for our late
Elector was only six weeks. The theatre, however, goes on as usual. You
do not write to me how Herr Esser accompanied my sonatas--ill, or well?
The comedy, "Wie man sich die Sache deutet," is charming, for I saw
it--no, not saw it, but read it, for it has not yet been performed;
besides, I have been only once in the theatre, having no leisure to go,
the evening being the time I like best to work. If her Grace, the most
sensible gracious Frau von Robinig, does not on this occasion change the
period of her gracious journey to Munich, her Grace will be unable to
hear one note of my opera. My opinion, however, is, that her Grace
in her supreme wisdom, in order to oblige your excellent son, will
graciously condescend to stay a little longer. I suppose your portrait
is now begun, and my sister's also, no doubt. How is it likely to turn
out? Have you any answer yet from our plenipotentiary at Wetzlar? I
forget his name--Fuchs, I think. I mean, about the duets for two pianos.
It is always satisfactory to explain a thing distinctly, and the arias
of Esopus are, I suppose, still lying on the table? Send them to me by
the diligence, that I may give them myself to Herr von Dummhoff, who
will then remit them post-free. To whom? Why, to Heckmann--a charming
man, is he not? and a passionate lover of music. My chief object comes
to-day at the close of my letter, but this is always the case with me.
One day lately, after dining with Lisel Wendling, I drove with Le Grand
to Cannabich's (as it was snowing heavily). Through the window
they thought it was you, and that we had come together. I could not
understand why both Karl and the children ran down the steps to meet
us, and when they saw Le Grand, did not say a word, but looked quite
discomposed, till they explained it when we went up-stairs. I shall
write nothing more, because you write so seldom to me--nothing, except
that Herr Eck, who has just crept into the room to fetch his sword which
he forgot the last time he was here, sends his best wishes to Thresel,
Pimperl, Jungfer Mitzerl, Gilofsky, Katherl, my sister, and, last of
all, to yourself. Kiss Thresel for me; a thousand kisses to Pimperl.



134.

Munich, Dec. 16, 1780.

HERR ESSER came to call on me yesterday for the first time. Did he go
about on foot in Salzburg, or always drive in a carriage, as he does
here? I believe his small portion of Salzburg money will not remain
long in his purse. On Sunday we are to dine together at Cannabich's, and
there he is to let us hear his solos, clever and stupid. He says he will
give no concert here, nor does he care to appear at court; he does not
intend to seek it, but if the Elector wishes to hear him,--"Eh, bien!
here am I; it would be a favor, but I shall not announce myself." But,
after all, he may be a worthy fool--deuce take it! cavalier, I meant to
say. He asked me why I did not wear my Order of the Spur. I said I had
one in my head quite hard enough to carry. He was so obliging as to dust
my coat a little for me, saying, "One cavalier may wait upon another."
In spite of which, the same afternoon--from forgetfulness, I suppose--he
left his spur at home, (I mean the outward and visible one,) or at all
events contrived to hide it so effectually that not a vestige of it was
to be seen. In case I forget it again, I must tell you that Madame and
Madlle. Cannabich both complain that their throats are daily becoming
larger owing to the air and water here, which might at last become
regular goitres. Heaven forbid! They are indeed taking a certain
powder--how do I know what? Not that this is its name; at all events, it
seems to do them no good. For their sakes, therefore, I took the liberty
to recommend what we call goitre pills, pretending (in order to enhance
their value) that my sister had three goitres, each larger than the
other, and yet at last, by means of these admirable pills, had got
entirely rid of them! If they can be made up here, pray send me the
prescription; but if only to be had at Salzburg, I beg you will pay
ready money for them, and send a few cwt. of them by the next diligence.
You know my address.

There is to be another rehearsal this afternoon of the first and second
acts in the Count's apartments; then we shall only have a chamber
rehearsal of the third, and afterwards go straight to the theatre. The
rehearsal has been put off owing to the copyist, which enraged Count
Seinsheim to the uttermost. As for what is called the popular taste, do
not be uneasy, for in my opera there is music for every class, except
for the long-eared. A propos, how goes on the Archbishop? Next Monday
I shall have been six weeks away from Salzburg. You know, dear father,
that I only stay there to oblige you, for, by heavens! if I followed
my own inclinations, before coming here I would have torn up my last
diploma; for I give you my honor that not Salzburg itself, but the
Prince and his proud nobility, become every day more intolerable to
me. I should rejoice were I to be told that my services were no longer
required, for with the great patronage that I have here, both my present
and future circumstances would be secure, death excepted, which no
one can guard against, though no great misfortune to a single man. But
anything in the world to please you. It would be less trying to me if
I could only occasionally escape from time to time, just to draw my
breath. You know how difficult it was to get away on this occasion; and
without some very urgent cause, there would not be the faintest hope of
such a thing. It is enough to make one weep to think of it, so I say
no more. Adieu! Come soon to see me at Munich and to hear my opera,
and then tell me whether I have not a right to feel sad when I think of
Salzburg. Adieu!



135.

Munich, Dec. 19, 1780.

THIS last rehearsal has been as successful as the first, and
satisfactorily proved to the orchestra and all those who heard it, their
mistake in thinking that the second act could not possibly excel the
first in expression and novelty. Next Saturday both acts are again to be
rehearsed, but in a spacious apartment in the palace, which I have long
wished, as the room at Count Seeau's is far too small. The Elector is
to be in an adjoining room (incognito) to hear the music. "It must be a
life-and-death rehearsal," said Cannabich to me. At the last one he was
bathed in perspiration.

Cannabich, whose name-day this is, has just left me, reproaching me for
discontinuing this letter in his presence. As to Madame Duschek, the
thing is impossible at present, but I will do what I can with pleasure
after my opera is given. I beg you will write to her and say, with
my compliments, that next time she comes to Salzburg we can square
accounts. It would delight me if I could get a couple of cavaliers like
old Czernin,--this would be a little yearly help; but certainly not for
less than 100 florins a year, in which case it might be any style of
music they pleased. I trust that you are now quite recovered; indeed,
after the friction performed by a Barisani Theres, you cannot be
otherwise. You have no doubt seen by my letters that I am well and
happy. Who would not feel happy to have completed such a great and
laborious work--and completed it, too, with honor and renown? Three
arias alone are wanting--the last chorus in the third act, and the
overture and ballet; and then--Adieu partie!

One more indispensable remark, and I have done. The scene between father
and son in the first act, and the first scene in the second act between
Idomenco and Arbace, are both too long, and sure to weary the audience,
particularly as in the first the actors are both bad, and in the second
one of them is also very inferior; besides, the whole details are only a
narrative of what the spectators have already seen with their own eyes.
The scenes will be printed just as they are. I only wish the
Abbate would point out to me how not only to curtail them, but very
considerably to curtail them; otherwise I must do it myself, for
the scenes cannot remain as they are--I mean, so far as the music is
concerned. I have just got your letter, which, being begun by my sister,
is without a date. A thousand compliments to Thresel--my future upper
and under nursery-maid to be. I can easily believe that Katherl would
gladly come to Munich, if (independent of the journey) you would allow
her to take my place at meals. Eh! bien. I can contrive it, for she can
occupy the same room with my sister.



136.

Munich, Dec 27, 1780.

I HAVE received the entire opera, Schachtner's letter, your note, and
the pills. As for the two scenes to be curtailed, it was not my own
suggestion, but one to which I consented--my reason being that Raaff and
Del Prato spoil the recitative by singing it quite devoid of all spirit
and fire, and so monotonously. They are the most miserable actors that
ever trod the stage. I had a desperate battle royal with Seeau as to the
inexpediency, unfitness, and almost impossibility of the omissions in
question. However, all is to be printed as it is, which at first he
positively refused to agree to, but at last, on rating him soundly, he
gave way. The last rehearsal was splendid. It took place in a spacious
apartment in the palace. The Elector was also within hearing. On this
occasion it was rehearsed with the whole orchestra, (of course I mean
those who belong to the opera.) After the first act the Elector called
out Bravo! rather too audibly, and when I went into the next room to
kiss his hand he said, "Your opera is quite charming, and cannot fail to
do you honor." As he was not sure whether he could remain for the whole
performance, we played the concerted aria and the thunderstorm at the
beginning of the second act, by his desire, when he again testified
his approbation in the kindest manner, and said, laughing, "Who could
believe that such great things could be hidden in so small a head?"
Next day, too, at his reception, he extolled my opera much. The ensuing
rehearsal will probably take place in the theatre. A propos, Becke
told me, a day or two ago, that he had written to you about the last
rehearsal but one, and among other things had said that Raaff's aria
in the second act is not composed in accordance with the sense of the
words, adding, "So I am told, for I understand Italian too little to be
able to judge." I replied, "If you had only asked me first and
written afterwards! I must tell you that whoever said such a thing can
understand very little Italian. The aria is quite adapted to the words.
You hear the mare, and the mare funesto; and the passages dwell on the
minacciar, and entirely express minacciar (threatening). Moreover, it
is the most superb aria in the opera, and has met with universal
approbation."

Is it true that the Emperor is ill? Is it true that the Archbishop
intends to come to Munich? Raaff is the best and most upright man alive,
but--so addicted to old-fashioned routine that flesh and blood cannot
stand it; so that it is very difficult to write for him, but very easy
if you choose to compose commonplace arias, as for instance the first
one, "Vedromi intorno." When you hear it, you will say that it is good
and pretty, but had I written it for Zonca it would have suited the
words better. Raaff likes everything according to rule, and does
not regard expression. I have had a piece of work with him about the
quartet. The more I think of the quartet as it will be on the stage,
the more effective I consider it, and it has pleased all those who
have heard it on the piano. Raaff alone maintains that it will not be
successful. He said to me confidentially, "There is no opportunity to
expand the voice; it is too confined." As if in a quartet the words
should not far rather be spoken, as it were, than sung! He does not at
all understand such things. I only replied, "My dear friend, if I were
aware of one single note in this quartet which ought to be altered, I
would change it at once; but there is no single thing in my opera with
which I am so pleased as with this quartet, and when you have once
heard it sung in concert you will speak very differently. I took every
possible pains to conform to your taste in your two arias, and intend to
do the same with the third, so I hope to be successful; but with
regard to trios and quartets, they should be left to the composer's own
discretion." On which he said that he was quite satisfied. The other
day he was much annoyed by some words in his last aria--rinvigorir and
ringiovenir, and especially vienmi a rinvigorir--five i's! It is true,
this is very disagreeable at the close of an air.



137.

Munich, Dec. 30. 1780.

A HAPPY New-Year! Excuse my writing much, for I am over head and ears
in my work. I have not quite finished the third act; and as there is
no extra ballet, but only an appropriate divertissement in the opera,
I have the honor to write that music also, but I am glad of it, for now
the music will be all by the same master. The third act will prove at
least as good as the two others,--in fact, I believe, infinitely better,
and that it might fairly be said, finis coronat opus. The Elector was so
pleased at the rehearsal that, as I already wrote to you, he praised
it immensely next morning at his reception, and also in the evening at
court. I likewise know from good authority that, on the same evening
after the final rehearsal, he spoke of my music to every one he
conversed with, saying, "I was quite surprised; no music ever had such
an effect on me; it is magnificent music." The day before yesterday we
had a recitative rehearsal at Wendling's, and tried over the quartet
all together. We repeated it six times, and now it goes well. The
stumbling-block was Del Prato; the wretch can literally do nothing. His
voice is not so bad, if he did not sing from the back of the throat;
besides, he has no intonation, no method, no feeling. He is only one of
the best of the youths who sing in the hope of getting a place in the
choir of the chapel. Raaff was glad to find himself mistaken about the
quartet, and no longer doubts its effect. Now I am in a difficulty with
regard to Raaff's last air, and you must help me out of it. He cannot
digest the rinvigorir and ringiovenir, and these two words make the
whole air hateful to him. It is true that mostrami and vienmi are also
not good, but the worst of all are the two final words; to avoid the
shake on the i in the first word rinvigorir, I was forced to transfer
it to the o. Raaff has now found, in the "Natal di Giove," which is in
truth very little known, an aria quite appropriate to this situation.
I think it is the ad libitum aria, "Bell' alme al ciel diletto" and he
wishes me to write music for these words. He says, "No one knows it, and
we need say nothing." He is quite aware that he cannot expect the
Abbate to alter this aria a third time, and he will not sing it as it
is written. I beg you will send me an immediate reply. I shall conclude,
for I must now write with all speed; the composing is finished, but not
the writing out.

My compliments to dear Thresel: the maid who waits on me here is also
named Thresel, but, heavens! how inferior to the Linz Thresel in beauty,
virtue, charms--and a thousand other merits! You probably know that the
worthy musico Marquesi, the Marquessius di Milano, has been poisoned
in Naples, but how? He was enamored of a Duchess, whose rightful lover
became jealous, and sent three or four fellows to give him his choice
between drinking poison out of a cup and being assassinated. He chose
the former, but being an Italian poltroon he died ALONE, and allowed
his murderers to live on in peace and quiet. I would at least (in my
own room) have taken a couple with me into the next world, if absolutely
obliged to die myself. Such an admirable singer is a great loss. Adieu!



138.

Munich, Jan. 3, 1780.

MY head and my hands are so fully occupied with my third act, that it
would not be wonderful if I turned into a third act myself, for it alone
has cost me more trouble than the entire opera; there is scarcely
a scene in it which is not interesting to the greatest degree.
The accompaniment of the underground music consists merely of five
instruments, namely, three trombones and two French horns, which are
placed on the spot whence the voice proceeds. The whole orchestra is
silent at this part.

The grand rehearsal positively takes place on the 20th, and the first
performance on the 22d. All you will both require is to bring one
black dress, and another for every-day wear, when you are only visiting
intimate friends where there is no ceremony, and thus save your black
dress a little; and if my sister likes, one pretty dress also, that she
may go to the ball and the Academie Masquee.

Herr von Robinig is already here, and sends his regards to you. I hear
that the two Barisanis are also coming to Munich; is this true? Heaven
be praised that the cut on the finger of the Archbishop was of no
consequence! Good heavens! how dreadfully I was alarmed at first!
Cannabich thanks you for your charming letter, and all his family beg
their remembrances. He told me you had written very humorously. You must
have been in a happy mood.

No doubt we shall have a good many corrections to make in the third act
when on the stage; as for instance scene sixth, after Arbace's aria, the
personages are marked, "Idomeneo, Arbace, &c., &c." How can the latter
so instantly reappear on the spot? Fortunately he might stay away
altogether. In order to make the matter practicable, I have written a
somewhat longer introduction to the High Priest's recitative. After
the mourning chorus the King and his people all go away, and in the
following scene the directions are, "Idomeneo kneels down in the
Temple." This is impossible; he must come accompanied by his whole
suite. A march must necessarily be introduced here, so I have composed
a very simple one for two violins, tenor, bass, and two hautboys, to
be played a mezza voce, and during this time the King appears, and the
Priests prepare the offerings for the sacrifice. The King then kneels
down and begins the prayer.

In Elettra's recitative, after the underground voice has spoken, there
ought to be marked exeunt. I forgot to look at the copy written for the
press to see whether it is there, and whereabouts it comes. It seems
to me very silly that they should hurry away so quickly merely to allow
Madlle. Elettra to be alone.

I have this moment received your few lines of January 1st. When I opened
the letter I chanced to hold it in such a manner that nothing but a
blank sheet met my eyes. At last I found the writing. I am heartily glad
that I have got an aria for Raaff, as he was quite resolved to introduce
the air he had discovered, and I could not possibly (N. B., with a
Raaff) have arranged in any other way than by having Varesco's air
printed, but Raaff's sung. I must stop, or I shall waste too much time.
Thank my sister very much for her New-Year's wishes, which I
heartily return. I hope we shall soon be right merry together. Adieu!
Remembrances to friends, not forgetting Ruscherle. Young Eck sends her a
kiss, a sugar one of course.



139.

Munich, Jan. 10, 1780.

My greatest piece of news is that the opera is put off for a week.
The grand rehearsal is not to take place till the 27th--N. B., my
birthday--and the opera itself on the 29th. Why? Probably to save Count
Seeau two hundred gulden. I, indeed, am very glad, because we can now
rehearse frequently and more carefully. You should have seen the faces
of the Robinigs when I told them this news. Louisa and Sigmund are
delighted to stay; but Lise, that SNEAKING MISERY, has such a spiteful
Salzburg tongue that it really drives me distracted. Perhaps they may
still remain, and I hope so on Louisa's account. In addition to
many other little altercations with Count Seeau, I have had a sharp
contention with him about the trombones. I call it so, because I was
obliged to be downright rude, or I never should have carried my point.
Next Saturday the three acts are to be rehearsed in private. I got your
letter of the 8th, and read it with great pleasure; the burlesque, too,
I like very much. Excuse my writing more at this time; for, in the first
place, as you see, my pen and ink are bad, and, in the second, I have
still a couple of airs to write for the last ballet. I hope you will
send no more such letters as the last, of only three or four lines.



140.

Munich, Jan. 18, 1780.

PRAY forgive a short letter, for I must go this very moment, ten
o'clock (in the forenoon of course), to the rehearsal. There is to be a
recitative rehearsal for the first time to-day in the theatre. I
could not write before, having been so incessantly occupied with those
confounded dances. Laus Deo, I have got rid of them at last, but only
of what was most pressing. The rehearsal of the third act went off
admirably. It was considered very superior to the second act. The poetry
is, however, thought far too long, and of course the music likewise,
(which I always said it was.) On this account the aria of Idamante, "No
la morte io non pavento" is to be omitted, which was, indeed, always
out of place there; those who have heard it with the music deplore
this. Raaff's last air, too, is still more regretted, but we must make a
virtue of necessity. The prediction of the oracle is still far too long,
so I have shortened it; but Varesco need know nothing of this, because
it will all be printed just as he wrote it. Madame von Robinig will
bring with her the payment both for him and Schachtner. Herr Geschwender
declined taking any money with him. In the meantime say to Varesco in
my name, that he will not get a farthing from Count Seeau beyond the
contract, for all the alterations were made FOR ME and not for the
Count, and he ought to be obliged to me into the bargain, as they were
indispensable for his own reputation. There is a good deal that might
still be altered; and I can tell him that he would not have come off
so well with any other composer as with me. I have spared no trouble in
defending him.

The stove is out of the question, for it costs too much. I will have
another bed put up in the room that adjoins the alcove, and we must
manage the best way we can. Do not forget to bring my little watch with
you. We shall probably make an excursion to Augsburg, where we could
have the little silly thing regulated. I wish you also to bring
Schachtner's operetta. There are people who frequent Cannabich's
house, who might as well hear a thing of the kind. I must be off to the
rehearsal. Adieu!


The father and sister arrived on the 25th of January, and the first
performance of the opera took place a few days afterwards; then the
family amused themselves for some little time with the gayeties of the
Carnival. The Archbishop had gone to Vienna; and, desiring to appear
in the Imperial city in the full splendor of a spiritual prince, he had
taken with him, in addition to fine furniture and a large household,
some of his most distinguished musicians. On this account, therefore,
Mozart, in the middle of March, also received the command to go to
Vienna. He set off immediately.

END OF VOL. I.



CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. [LETTERS LISTED BY DATE]



     FIRST PART
     ITALY VIENNA MUNICH
     1770-1776


     LETTER

      1.  Salzburg, 1769
      2.  Verona, Jan 7, 1770
      3.  Milan, Jan 26, 1770
      4.  Milan, Feb. 10, 1770
      5.  Milan, Feb 17, 1770
      6.  Milan, Carnival, Erchtag, 1770
      7.  Milan, Mar 3, 1770
      8.  Bologna, Mar 24, 1770
      9.  Rome, April 14, 1770
     10.  Rome, April 21, 1770
     11.  Rome, April 25, 1770
     12.  Naples, May 19, 1770
     13.  Naples, May 29, 1770
     14.  Naples, June 5, 1770
     15.  Naples, June 16, 1770
     16.  Rome, July 17, 1770
     17.  Bologna, July 21, 1770
     18.  Bologna, July, 1770
     19.  Bologna, August 4, 1770
     20.  Bologna, August 21, 1770
     21.  Bologna, Sept 8, 1770
     22.  Bologna, Sept 22, 1770
     23.  Bologna, Sept 29, 1770
     24.  Bologna, Oct 6, 1770
     25.  Milan, Oct. 20, 1770
     26.  Milan, Oct. 27, 1770
     27.  Milan, Nov 3, 1770
     28.  Milan, Dec 1, 1770
     29.  Milan, Jan, 1771
     30.  Venice, Feb 15, 1771
     31.  Venice, Feb 20, 1771
     32.  Verona, Aug 18, 1771
     33.  Milan, Aug 23, 1771
     34.  Milan, Aug 31, 1771
     35.  Milan, Sept 13, 1771
     36.  Milan, Sept 21, 1771
     37.  Milan, Oct 5, 1771
     38.  Milan, Oct 26, 1771
     39.  Milan, Nov 2, 1771
     40.  Milan, Nov. 24, 1771
     41.  Milan, Nov 30, 1771
     42.  Bologna, Oct 28, 1772
     43.  Milan, Nov 7, 1772
     44.  Milan, Nov, 1772
     45.  Milan, Nov 21, 1772
     46.  Milan, Nov 28, 1772
     47.  Milan, Dec 5, 1772
     48.  Milan, Dec 18, 1772
     49.  Milan, Jan 23, 1773
     50.  Vienna, Aug 14, 1773
     51.  Vienna, Aug 21, 1773
     52.  Vienna, Sept. 15, 1773
     53.  Munich, Dec. 28, 1774
     54.  Munich, Dec. 30, 1774
     55.  Munich, Jan. 11, 1775
     56.  Munich, Jan. 14, 1775
     57.  Munich, Jan., 1775
     58.  Salzburg, Sept. 4, 1776



     SECOND PART.
     MUNICH AUGSBURG MANNHEIM
     SEPTEMBER 1777 to MARCH 1778



     59.  Wasserburg, Sept. 23, 1777
     60.  Munich, Sept. 26, 1777
     61.  Munich, Sept. 29, 1777
     62.  Munich, Oct. 2, 1777
     63.  Munich, Oct. 6, 1777
     64.  Munich, Oct. 11, 1777
     65.  Augsburg, Oct. 14, 1777
     66.  Augsburg, Oct. 17, 1777
     67.  Augsburg, Oct. 17, 1777
     68.  Augsburg, Oct. 23, 1777
     69.  Augsburg, Oct. 25, 1777
     70.  Mannheim, Oct. 30, 1777
     71.  Mannheim, Nov. 4, 1777
     72.  Mannheim, Nov. 5 1777
     73.  Mannheim, Nov. 8, 1777
     74.  Mannheim, Nov. 13, 1777
     75.  Mannheim, Nov. 13, 1777
     76.  Mannheim, Nov. 14-16, 1777
     77.  Mannheim, Nov. 20, 1777
     78.  Mannheim, Nov. 22, 1777
     79.  Mannheim, Nov. 26, 1777
     80.  Mannheim, Nov. 29, 1777
     81.  Mannheim, Dec. 3, 1777
     82.  Mannheim, Dec. 6, 1777
     83.  Mannheim, Dec. 10, 1777
     84.  Mannheim, Dec. 14, 1777
     85.  Mannheim, Dec. 18, 1777
     86.  Mannheim, Dec. 20, 1777
     87.  Mannheim, Dec. 27, 1777
     88.  Mannheim, Jan. 7, 1778
     89.  Mannheim, Jan. 10, 1778
     90.  Mannheim, Jan. 17, 1778
     91.  Mannheim, Feb. 2-4, 1778
     92.  Mannheim, Feb. 7, 1778
     93.  Mannheim, Feb. 14, 1778
     94.  Mannheim, Feb. 19, 1778
     95.  Mannheim, Feb. 22, 1778
     96.  Mannheim, Feb. 28, 1778
     97.  Mannheim, end of Feb, 1778
     98.  Mannheim, Mar. 7, 1778
     99.  Mannheim, Mar. 11, 1778



     THIRD PART.
     PARIS.
     MARCH 1778 to JANUARY 1779



     100.  Paris, Mar. 24, 1778
     101.  Paris, April 5, 1778
     102.  Paris, May 1, 1778
     103.  Paris, May 14, 1778
     104.  Paris, May 29, 1778
     105.  Paris, June 12 1778
     106.  Paris, July 3, 1778
     107.  Paris, July 3, 1778
     108.  Paris, July 9, 1778
     109.  Paris, July 18, 1778
     110.  Paris, July 31, 1778
     111.  Paris, Aug 7, 1778
     112.  St Germains, Aug 27, 1778
     113.  Paris, Sept 11, 1778
     114.  Nancy, Oct 3, 1778
     115.  Strassburg, Oct 15, 1778
     116.  Strassburg, Oct 26, 1778
     117.  Mannheim, Nov 12, 1778
     118.  Mannheim, Nov 24, 1778
     119.  Mannheim, Dec 3, 1778
     120.  Kaisersheim, Dec 18, 1778
     121.  Kaisersheim, Dec 23, 1778
     122.  Munich, Dec 29, 1778
     123.  Munich, Dec 31, 1778
     124.  Munich, Jan 8, 1779
     125.  Salzburg, May 10, 1779



     FOURTH PART
     MUNICH IDOMENEO
     NOVEMBER 1780 to JANUARY 1781



     126.  Munich, Nov 8, 1780
     127.  Munich, Nov 13, 1780
     128.  Munich, Nov 15, 1780
     129.  Munich, Nov 22, 1780
     130.  Munich, Nov 24, 1780
     131.  Munich, Dec 1, 1780
     132.  Munich, Dec 5, 1780
     133.  Munich, Dec 13, 1780
     134.  Munich, Dec 16, 1780
     135.  Munich, Dec 19, 1780
     136.  Munich, Dec 27, 1780
     137.  Munich, Dec 30, 1780
     138.  Munich, Jan 3, 1781
     139.  Munich, Jan 10, 1781
     140.  Munich, Jan 18, 1781









End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus
Mozart, Vol. 1, by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart

*** 