Most gracious Lady,
Here I sit, poor wretch, in your paradise, like our forefather Adam after he had tasted the apple. The damage is already done, and I cannot even shift the blame for it to my dear Eve, who at this very moment, with the graces and amoretti of her canopied bed fluttering round her, lies at the inn enjoying the sweet sleep of innocence. Command me, and I will personally answer to your Ladyship for a misdeed which I myself find incomprehensible. In sincere mortification
Your Ladyship’s most humble servant
W. A. Mozart,
en route to Prague.
Folding up the note rather clumsily, he handed it to the servant, who was still waiting uneasily, and told him to deliver it as directed.
No sooner had the enemy withdrawn than a carriage was heard entering the courtyard at the back of the castle. It was the Count bringing home his niece and her fiancé, a rich young baron, from the neighbouring estate. Since the Baron’s mother had for years been confined to her house, today’s betrothal ceremony had taken place there, and now an additional happy celebration, with a number of relatives invited, was to be held at the castle, for it was here that Eugenie, whom the Count and Countess treated like a daughter, had found a second home since her childhood. The Countess and her son, Lieutenant Max, had returned a little earlier to make various arrangements, and the whole house was now a hive of activity upstairs and downstairs, so that it was only with difficulty that the gardener at last managed to hand the note to the Countess in the anteroom; she however, paying little attention to what the messenger said, did not open it at once but went hastily about her affairs. He waited and waited, but she did not return. One after another of the servants, valets and lady’s maids and footmen, hurried past him. He asked for the Count and was told that his lordship was busy changing his clothes. Then he looked for Count Max, but he was deep in conversation with the Baron, and fearing that the gardener was about to make some inquiry or announcement which would prematurely reveal something about the evening’s plans, cut him short as he spoke: ‘Yes, yes, I’m coming, off you go now.’ Some time passed before the father and son eventually appeared together and received the painful news.
‘Why, damnation take it!’ exclaimed the good-natured, stout but somewhat irascible Count, ‘that’s absolutely intolerable! A musician from Vienna, you say? Some sort of tramp, I suppose, wandering about begging for alms and grabbing whatever he can find?’
‘By your leave, my lord, that is not quite what he seems to be. I think he’s not right in the head. And he’s very arrogant. He says his name is Moser. He’s down there waiting to hear from us. I told Franz to stay near by and keep an eye on him.’
‘What’s the point of that now, damn it! Even if I have the fool locked up, the damage can’t be repaired. I’ve told you over and over again that the main gate must always be kept shut. But the mischief would have been prevented anyway if you’d taken proper precautions sooner.’
At this point the Countess, with Mozart’s note open in her hand and in a great state of joyful excitement, hurried in from the adjoining room. ‘Who do you think is in our garden?’ she cried. ‘For God’s sake, read this letter – it’s Mozart from Vienna, the composer! We must go down at once and invite him in – if only he hasn’t left already! What will he think of me! I hope you treated him politely, Velten? Whatever happened?’
‘Happened?’ retorted her husband, whose annoyance could not be immediately and completely assuaged even by the prospect of a visit from such a celebrity. ‘Why, the crazy fellow has picked one of the nine oranges off that tree I was keeping for Eugenie! It’s monstrous! This means that the whole point of our little pleasantry has been spoilt, and Max may as well scrap his poem straight away!’
‘Oh, nonsense!’ insisted his wife. ‘The gap can be filled easily, just leave it to me. Go to him now, the two of you, release the dear man and make him welcome, as kindly and flatteringly as you can! He shall not travel any further today if we can possibly keep him here. If you don’t find him still in the garden, look for him at the inn and bring him back with his wife. What a splendid present, what a wonderful surprise for Eugenie, on this day of all days! There couldn’t have been a happier chance.’
‘Certainly!’ replied Max. ‘That was my first thought too. Quick, Papa, come along!’ And as they hurried out and down the steps, he added: ‘You can set your mind at rest about the lines. The ninth Muse shall not be the loser; on the contrary, I shall turn this mishap to particular advantage.’
‘Impossible!’
‘Most certainly!’
‘Well, if that is so – but I’ll have to take your word for it – let us find this strange fellow and do him all the honour we can.’
While this was happening at the castle, our quasi-prisoner, not greatly concerned about the outcome of the incident, had sat on for some time writing busily. But since no one appeared, he began to pace uneasily to and fro; and now, too, an urgent message came for him from the inn to say that lunch was ready and waiting, that he must please come at once, that the postilion was anxious to continue the journey. And so he gathered his things together and was just about to leave without further ado, when the two gentlemen appeared outside the summerhouse.
The Count greeted him heartily in his loud booming voice, almost as if he were an old friend, cutting short all his attempts to offer an apology, and at once expressing his wish to have both Mozart and his wife spend at least this afternoon and this evening with him and his family. ‘My dearest Maestro,’ he declared, ‘you are so far from being a stranger to us that I may say I know of no other place in which the name of Mozart is mentioned more often or with more fervent admiration than here. My niece sings and plays, she spends almost her entire day at the piano, knows your works by heart, and it has been her dearest wish that one day she might see you at closer quarters than was possible last winter at that concert of yours she went to. We are going to Vienna for a few weeks before long, and her relations have promised her an invitation to Prince Galitzin’s9 where you are often to be found. But now you are going to Prague, you’ll be staying there for some time and God knows whether your return journey will bring you our way again. Give yourself a holiday today and tomorrow! We can send your carriage back at once, and if you will permit me I shall take care of the rest of your journey.’
The composer, well used to making much greater sacrifices to friendship or pleasure than the Count’s invitation involved, very gladly accepted his hospitality for the rest of the day, on the understanding that he must resume his journey early the following morning. Count Max requested the pleasure of fetching Madame Mozart from the inn himself and of making all the necessary arrangements there. He set off on foot, giving instructions for a carriage to follow him immediately.
We should remark in passing that this young man combined the happy temperament he had inherited from his father and mother with a talent and enthusiasm for intellectual pursuits, and although military life was not really to his taste, he had also distinguished himself as an officer by his wide knowledge and good education. He was well read in French literature, and at a time when German poetry was not very highly regarded in fashionable circles, he had won praise and favour by writing in his native tongue, using the poetic forms with considerable facility and deriving them from good models such as Hagedorn, Götz10 and others. Today, as we have already heard, he had been presented with a particularly agreeable opportunity to make use of his gift.
Madame Mozart, when he arrived, was sitting at the laid table chattering to the innkeeper’s daughter, and had already helped herself in advance to a bowl of soup. She was too well accustomed to unusual incidents and bold impromptu behaviour by her husband to be unduly surprised by the young officer’s arrival or the message he brought. With undisguised pleasure, and using all her good sense and competence, she at once discussed and took charge of the needful arrangements. The luggage was repacked, the bill paid, the postilion dismissed; and making herself ready without too
much anxious attention to her toilet, she drove in high spirits with her escort to the castle, little suspecting how strange her husband’s introduction to it had been.
He in the meantime was already very contentedly installed there and enjoying the best of entertainment. It was not long before he met Eugenie and her fiancé. She was a most graceful, sensitive girl in the flower of youth: blonde, slender, festively dressed in lustrous crimson silk trimmed with costly lace, and wearing round her brow a white fillet set with splendid pearls. The Baron, only a little older than his bride, was of a gentle and open disposition and seemed worthy of her in every way.
The first and almost too generous contributor to the conversation was the genial and temperamental master of the house himself, whose rather boisterous manner of speaking was plentifully larded with jests and anecdotes. Refreshments were served, and our traveller did them full justice.
Someone had opened the piano, the score of The Marriage of Figaro was lying there ready, and the young lady, accompanied by the Baron, was about to sing Susanna’s aria11 in the garden scene – that aria in which the very essence of sweet passion seems to pour into us with the fragrant air of the summer night. The delicate flush on Eugenie’s cheeks gave way for a moment to extreme pallor; but with the first melodious note her lips uttered, all the bonds of diffidence dropped from her heart. She moved smilingly and effortlessly along the high wave of the music, inspired by this moment which was surely one that she would treasure as unique for the rest of her life.
Mozart was clearly taken by surprise. When she had finished he approached her and spoke in his artlessly sincere manner: ‘My dear child, what can I say? You are like the sun in the sky, which sings its own praises best by shining and warming us all! When one’s soul hears singing like that, it feels like a baby in its bath: it laughs, it is amazed, it has not another wish in the world. And believe me: hearing one’s own music rendered with such purity, such simplicity and warmth, indeed with such completeness – that’s not a thing that happens to one every day in Vienna!’ And so saying he took her hand and kissed it affectionately. Eugenie was so overwhelmed by his great charm and kindness, to say nothing of the honour he did to her talent with such a compliment, that she came near to fainting, and her eyes filled suddenly with tears.
At this point Mozart’s wife arrived, and soon after her came new and expected guests: a baronial family, neighbours and close relations, whose daughter Francesca had been Eugenie’s bosom friend since childhood and knew the castle as her second home. Greetings, embraces and congratulations were exchanged all round, the two visitors from Vienna were introduced, and Mozart sat down at the piano. He played part of one of his own concertos, one which Eugenie happened to be studying at the time.
The effect of such a recital in a small circle of this kind is naturally distinguished from any given in a public place by the infinite satisfaction of immediate personal contact with the artist and his genius in a familiar domestic setting. The concerto was one of those brilliant pieces in which pure beauty, as if by gratuitous choice, freely submits to the service of elegance, but in such a way as to seem merely disguised by the exuberant play of forms, merely hidden behind a myriad dazzling points of light: for in its every movement it discloses its own essential nobility and pours forth its own passionate splendour in rich profusion.
The Countess privately observed that most of the small audience and perhaps even Eugenie herself, despite the rapt concentration and reverent silence with which they listened to so enchanting a performance, were nevertheless very much in two minds between listening and watching. With one’s eyes involuntarily drawn to the composer, to his simple, almost rigid posture, his kindly face, the rounded movement of those small hands, it must have been scarcely possible to dispel from one’s mind a whole complex of conflicting thoughts about this miraculous prodigy.
When the master had risen to his feet again, the Count turned to Madame Mozart and said: ‘How lucky the kings and emperors are! It’s no easy matter, you know, to meet a famous artist and praise him as a wit and a connoisseur should. But in a royal mouth, anything at all sounds pointed and remarkable. What liberties they can take! How easy it would be, for example, to come right up behind your good husband’s chair, and at the final chord of some brilliant fantasy to give the modest classical master a clap on the shoulder and say “My dear Mozart, you are a hell of a fellow!” The word would no sooner be spoken than it would go round the room like wildfire: “What did he say to him?” “He said he was a hell of a fellow!” And all the fiddlers and pipers and music-makers would be beside themselves at this one phrase. In short, that’s the grand style, the inimitable homely imperial style I’ve always envied in the Josephs and Fredericks of this world, and never more than at this moment. For may the devil take me if I can find in all my pockets even the smallest coin of any other compliment to pay him!’
The roguish manner of the Count’s speech was well enough received, and the company could not help laughing. Now, however, at their hostess’s invitation, they proceeded to the richly decorated circular dining-room, where a festive scent of flowers greeted them and a cooler air sharpened their appetite as they entered.
Places at table were suitably allocated and the company sat down, the guest of honour finding himself opposite the bridal pair. As neighbours he had on one side an elderly little lady, an unmarried aunt of Francesca, and on the other the charming young Francesca herself, who quickly captivated him by her intelligence and gaiety. Madame Constanze sat between their host and her obliging escort the Lieutenant, and the rest disposed themselves appropriately, making a party of eleven, with the sexes alternating as nearly as possible, and the lower end of the table left empty. In the middle were two enormous porcelain centrepieces with painted figures holding up large bowls heaped with natural fruit and flowers. Magnificent festoons hung on the walls. The remaining provisions already served or following in due course were appropriate to a prolonged banquet. Noble wines stood ready between the dishes and plates or gleamed from the sideboard, a whole variety ranging from the deepest red to the pale gold with its merry foam that is traditionally kept back to crown the latter half of a feast.
Until about this time the conversation, in which a number a lively participants joined, had been flowing in all directions. From the outset, however, the Count had several times alluded, at first obliquely but then ever more directly and boldly, to Mozart’s adventure in the garden; and since some of those present reacted to this only with a discreet smile, while others were vainly racking their brains to guess what he might be talking about, our friend felt it was incumbent upon him to address the company.
‘Since I needs must,’ he began, ‘I will confess how it was that I had the honour of becoming acquainted with this noble house. It is a story that does me little credit, and but for the grace of God I should now be sitting, not at this very happy table, but on an empty stomach in some remote dungeon of his lordship’s castle, counting the cobwebs on the walls.’
‘Goodness me!’ exclaimed Constanze, ‘now I shall hear some fine story!’
Whereupon Mozart described in detail first how he had left his wife behind in the White Horse, his walk in the park, then the calamity in the arbour, his confrontation with the garden constabulary, in short the facts more or less as we already know them, narrating them all with the greatest candour and to the extreme delight of his audience. Their hilarity was almost unstoppable, and even the quiet Eugenie could not refrain, but simply shook with laughter.
‘Well,’ he continued, ‘as they say, bad luck like this never comes amiss! The affair has stood me in good stead, as you shall see. But first of all let me tell you how it came about that a silly fellow like me could so forget himself. It came about partly because of a memory from my childhood.
‘In the spring of 1770, as a little boy of thirteen, I travelled to Italy with my father. From Rome we went to Naples. I had played twice at the Conservatoire there and at several other places as well. The no
bility and clergy showed us great kindness; in particular a certain Abbé attached himself to us, who took pride in being something of a connoisseur and was also well connected at Court. The day before we left, he took us with some other gentlemen to a royal garden, the Villa Reale, which runs along the fine boulevard by the seashore. A troupe of Sicilian actors was performing – figli di Nettuno they called themselves, as well as various other fancy names. There we were, with many distinguished onlookers, among them the charming young Queen Carolina herself with two princesses. We were sitting on a long row of benches, shaded by the tent-like canopy of a low loggia with the waves lapping against the terrace below it. The sea was ribboned with many different colours, reflecting the splendid blue sky. Straight ahead was Vesuvius, with the gentle curve of the lovely shimmering coastline to our left.
‘The first part of the performance was over; it was given on the dry wooden boards of a kind of raft moored offshore, and there was nothing specially remarkable about it. But the second and most beautiful part consisted entirely of boating and swimming and diving displays, and it has remained in my memory ever since, fresh in every detail.
‘Two vessels, elegant and very lightly built, were approaching each other from opposite directions, each of them seemingly on a pleasure trip. One of them was slightly larger, it had a half deck and rowing benches, but also a slender mast and a sail; it was splendidly painted, with a gilded prow. On board, five conventionally handsome and scantily clad youths, their arms, legs and chests apparently naked, were either rowing or disporting themselves with an equal number of attractive girls who were their sweethearts. One of these, sitting in the middle of the deck weaving garlands of flowers, was taller and more beautiful as well as more richly adorned than the rest of them. The latter were willingly serving her, spreading an awning to shelter her from the sun and handing her flowers from the basket. Another girl sat at her feet playing a flute, accompanying the singing of the others with its bright tones. This exceptional beauty also had her own particular protector; but the two of them behaved to each other with a certain indifference, and her lover almost seemed to me to be treating her rather roughly.
Mozart's Journey to Prague and a Selection of Poems Page 7
