Remember me as you saw me when you left us, standing wretchedly beside your carriage ; remember, too, that, although a sick man, I’d been up till 2 o’clock, doing your packing, and was at your carriage again at 6, seeing to everything for you – afflict me now if you can be so cruel! Win fame and fortune in Paris, then, once you have some money, you can go to Italy and receive invitations to write operas; it will be hard to achieve this by writing letters to impresarios, although I shall keep trying; then you can recommend Mlle Weber : one can do more in person! Write by the next post without fail. We kiss you both millions of times. I am your old and honest father and husband
Mzt
Herr Bullinger sends his best wishes.
Nannerl has wept her full share these last 2 days.
[ On the envelope ]
We’re in a state of real confusion here, the whole chapter met at court last Monday. There was amazing criticism of the prince19 and a terrible row so that he’s no longer keeping an open table. But that’s the least of it. Vienna has informed the prince and chapter in Passau that on his death everything will move to Austria and a bishop will be appointed in Linz.20 A start will then be made on improving the fortifications of the castle at Oberhaus and securing Passau. The archbishop already has worries of his own, regiments are on their way here from Italy and it’s feared that some will remain here. No money can be expected from the salt, so how will people be paid?21 Perhaps we’ll see you sooner than expected, everything’s in a state of confusion. We’ll then travel to Italy together.
Addio.
Mama will go to Paris with Wolfg. so that you can arrange things properly.
74. Leopold Mozart to his wife and son, 16 February 1778, Salzburg
My Dear Wife and Son,
Your letter of 7 Feb., enclosing the French aria, 1 has arrived safely, just as you will have received my letter of the 12th, which was written in fear and anguish. I began a letter yesterday but I’m unable to finish it today: I’ll save it for another post day. The enclosed aria has allowed me to breathe a little more easily as it has again enabled me to see something by my dear Wolfgang, and something so excellent, moreover, that it convinced me that you must have been much put upon to prefer a dissolute existence to the fame that can be won in so famous and, to men of talent, so advantageous a city.
Everyone is right to say that people will like your works in Paris: and you yourself are convinced – as I am – that you’re capable of imitating all the different types of composition. That you didn’t travel with the company in question was undoubtedly a good thing: you long ago saw the evil nature of these people yet all the time that you were pursuing their acquaintance you didn’t trust your father, who cares so much about you, and didn’t write to him to ask him for his advice: and – shockingly – your mother didn’t do so either. My son! You’re hot-headed and overhasty in everything you do! Your whole character has changed since your childhood and your years of boyhood. As a child and boy you were more serious than childish and whenever you sat at the keyboard or were otherwise occupied with music, no one was allowed to play even the slightest joke on you. Yes, the expression on your face was so serious that on seeing your premature talent and your grave and pensive expression many perceptive people in various countries were concerned that you wouldn’t reach a ripe old age. But it seems to me now that you are much too ready to respond to the first challenge by adopting a jocular tone – and this is the first step towards familiarity etc., a quality that no one should seek to acquire in this world if he wants to maintain his self-respect. If one has a kind heart, one is of course used to expressing oneself freely and naturally: but that is misguided. And it is very much your kind heart that blinds you to the failings of a person who praises you valiantly, holds you in high regard and lauds you to the skies, so that you offer that person all your trust and love: as a boy, by contrast, you were exaggeratedly modest and even burst into tears when people praised you too much. The greatest art is to know oneself and then, my dear son, do as I do and apply yourself to getting to know other people properly. You know that that was always my concern, and there is no doubt that it is a fine, useful and, indeed, necessary concern. As for giving lessons in Paris, you don’t need to worry about that. First, no one will dismiss his teacher at once and call on you instead. Second, no one would dare to do so, and you yourself would not take on anyone, except perhaps a lady who already plays well and who wants to learn how to play with style – that sort of work would be well paid: after all, wouldn’t you have gladly given Countess Lützow and Countess Lodron22 or 3 lessons a week for 2 or 3 louis d’or a month, not least because these ladies are also making every effort to find subscribers for your works? In Paris, the ladies do everything – they’re also great keyboard lovers, and many of them are excellent players. – These are the people for you: and these, too, are the works for them, as you can make your fame and fortune by publishing keyboard works, string quartets etc., symphonies, not to mention a collection of good French arias with keyboard accompaniment, like the one you sent me, and, finally, operas. – How can you possibly object to that? – – But you want everything to be done at once, even before people have seen you or heard anything of yours. Read the long list of acquaintances we had in Paris – all of them – or at least most of them – are the leading people in the city, all of them will want to see you again: and even if only 6 of them were to champion your cause (and a single one would be enough), you can do whatever you like. I’ll arrange for the arias Mlle Weber asked for3 to be copied and I’ll send you whatever I can find, but if they go by mail coach, they won’t reach you before the 23rd at the earliest. I’m enclosing two open letters of recommendation that you must keep safely and then give to Herr Joseph Felix Arbauer, one of the leading dealers in fancy goods in Paris. Monsieur Mayer is his agent. Count Wolfegg4 used to live there. I’m sending an official letter today to Paris, it will contain all the details about accommodation etc., these letters are simply to explain that you are the people for whom these arrangements have been made. I must close. Nannerl and I kiss you 1, 000, 000 times. I am your faithful husband and father
Mzt
Martin Grassl, Prince Breuner’s valet, was buried today, Wolfg. will recall writing a little horn piece 5 for him. War upon war! No more formal dinners at court! 2 windowsills were stolen from the new building in the archbishop’s garden outside the town, and a lot of damage was caused during the night.
[ On the envelope ]
At Hellbrunn6 a tame stag that used to take bread from people’s hands and that the prince was very fond of was killed during the night and its body dragged away. There were 200 people at yesterday’s ball, last Wednesday there were only 36. The prince still hasn’t attended. We’ve not the slightest reason to think of a ball. Everyone sends their best wishes: Herr Deibl, who asks after you every Sunday, Cat. Gilowsky, Herr Bullinger, Sallerl etc. etc. I’ll tell you everything else about Paris in my next letter.
75. Mozart to his father, 19 February 1778, Mannheim
Monsieur mon très cher Père,
I hope you’ll have received my last 2 letters: in the second I expressed my concerns about my mother’s return home, but I now see from your letter of the 12th that this was entirely unnecessary. I always assumed that you’d disapprove of my travelling with the Webers and never had any such thought in mind in our present situation – that goes without saying; but I gave them my word that I’d write to you. Herr Weber doesn’t know how things stand with us; I’ll certainly not tell anyone; wishing only that I was in a position of not having to think of others and that we were all well off, I forgot, in the intoxication of the moment, the present impossibility of the matter and failed, therefore, to tell you what I’d done. The reasons why I’ve not gone to Paris will be sufficiently clear from my last two letters. If my mother hadn’t started on about it, I’d certainly have gone with them; but when I realized that she didn’t like the idea, I didn’t like it any more either; for as soon as people don’t
trust me, I don’t trust myself any longer. The days when, standing on a chair, I sang the oragna fiagata fiagata fa and at the end kissed the tip of your nose are past, of course, but does this mean that my respect, love and obedience towards you have decreased? – – I’ll say no more. As for your reproach about the little singer in Munich, I must confess that I was a fool to tell you such a barefaced lie. After all, she simply doesn’t know what singing means. It’s true that for a person who’s been studying music for only 3 months she sang extremely well; and she also had a very pleasing, pure voice. The reason why I praised her so much was no doubt because from morning till night I never stopped hearing other people saying that there was no better singer in the whole of Europe and that until you’d heard her, you’d heard nothing; I didn’t dare contradict them, partly because I wanted to be good friends with them, partly because I’d come straight from Salzburg, where we’ve been taught not to contradict. But as soon as I was on my own, I couldn’t help laughing out loud, why didn’t I also laugh in my letter to you? – I don’t know.
Your caustic comments on the fun that I had with your brother’s daughter I find deeply offensive; but since things are not like that, I feel under no obligation to reply. As for Wallerstein, I simply don’t know what to say; I was very reserved and serious at Beecke’s; and at the officers’ table, too, I maintained a true air of authority and spoke to no one. But let’s forget all this, you wrote it only in the first flush of anger.
All that you say about Mlle Weber is true; and even while I was writing it, I knew as well as you that she’s still too young and needs to learn how to act and must first appear on stage, but with some people one must often proceed by degrees. These good people are as tired of being here as – you know who and where.1 At the same time they think that everything is possible. I promised them that I’d tell my father everything, but even while the letter was on its way to Salzburg I kept telling them that she just needs to be a bit more patient, she’s still a bit too young etc. They accept whatever I say as they think very highly of me. At my suggestion, her father has invited Madame Toscani – the actress – to give his daughter acting lessons. Everything you say about Mlle Weber is true, except one thing, namely, that she sings like a Gabrielli, as I wouldn’t like it at all if she sang like that. Everyone who’s heard Gabrielli will say that she’s capable only of singing passagework and roulades; and she earned admiration by performing these in a very particular way, but people stopped admiring her after they’d heard it 4 times. In the longer term they got no pleasure from it as one soon grows tired of passagework; and she had the misfortune of not being able to sing. She was unable to sustain a breve properly, she had no messa di voce, she couldn’t hold a note, in a word, she sang with art but no understanding. But this singer goes to the heart, and she enjoys singing cantabile most of all. I introduced her to passagework only through the great aria 2 as she’ll need to sing bravura arias if she goes to Italy. She’ll certainly never forget cantabile singing as this is her natural inclination. When asked his honest opinion, Raaff – who’s not given to flattery – said she sang not like a pupil but like a teacher. So now you know everything. I commend her to you with all my heart; and please don’t forget the arias, cadenzas etc. Farewell. I kiss your hands 100, 000 times and remain your most obedient son
Wolfgang Amadé Mozart
I’m too hungry to write any more.
My mother will open up our large cashbox for you. I embrace my sister with all my heart, she mustn’t cry at every shitty misfortune, otherwise I’ll never come back as long as I live. Best wishes to all our good friends, especially Herr Bullinger.
[ Maria Anna Mozart’s postscript ]
My dear husband, I hope this letter finds you in good health again and we’re both sincerely sorry our last letter came as such a shock to you, conversely your last letter of the 12th upset us greatly, I beg you by all that’s dear to you not to take everything so much to heart, it’s bad for your health. Everything can be put to rights again, and nothing will have been lost but bad company. We’ll do the best we can to make arrangements for our journey to Paris, our money amounts in total to 140 florins, we’ll try to sell the carriage, but I don’t think we’ll get much more than 60 or 70 florins for it – only recently a beautiful four-seater carriage with glass was bought for 9 louis d’or – we’ll pack all our things into 2 trunks and travel to Paris by mail coach, which won’t be all that expensive, decent folk travel that way, but we should have lodgings, so that we shan’t need to stay at an inn for long, if the businessman you mentioned would do us this favour and help us, that would be most kind of him. Meanwhile I await your next letter with impatience, so that we can organize what you think needs to be done. Addio, farewell, both of you, I kiss you many 10, 000 times and remain your faithful wife
Maria Anna Mozart
All conceivable good wishes to all our good friends. This is a terrible pen, and the ink’s no better.
76. Leopold Mozart to his son, 23 February 1778, Salzburg
Mon très cher Fils,
Just so that you can convince me good and proper that you’re absent-minded and inattentive in everything, you say at the start of your letter of the 14th that you see from my letter of the 9th that I’ve not yet received your last 2 letters, in other words, you’re claiming that by the 9th I’d already answered your fanciful and near-fatal letter of the 5th, even though you must know from my extended correspondence with you in Mannheim that a letter takes around 6 days and even though I’ve already told you that your own letters always arrive on a Tuesday or Friday, so you can’t receive a reply to them in under a fortnight. It wouldn’t be worth my while to spell this out if it weren’t by way of information, as such an observation is extremely useful for travellers. I know very well when you’ll receive my letters: and I’ve also been at pains to ensure that you receive everything in good time. – But what’s the use of my meticulousness, care, consideration and a father’s efforts applied to so important and necessary an undertaking when – faced by an apparently serious obstacle that your Mama may have seen long ago – you fail to place any real trust in your father and change your mind only when caught between two fires and can go neither forwards nor backwards. Just when I think that things are on a better footing and proceeding smoothly, some new idea, as unpredictable as it is foolish, occurs to you or else it turns out that the situation is different from what you’d reported it was. Have I again guessed aright? – So you’ve received only 96 florins instead of 200?1 – – And why? – – Because you completed only 2 concertos and 3 quartets.2 – How many were you supposed to write for him as he paid you only half? – – Why did you tell me a lie and say that you were to write only 3 short and easy concertos and a couple of quartets: why didn’t you listen to me when I explicitly wrote to say that you should deal with this gentleman’s request as a matter of the utmost priority ? Why? So that you’d be sure of getting these 200 florins, because I know people better than you.– Haven’t I already guessed everything? It seems that, even though I’m some distance away, I can still see more and judge things better than you, for all that these people are under your very nose. You shouldn’t doubt me when I mistrust people but should proceed with all the caution that I always enjoin on you. Much to our detriment, you’ve learnt this lesson within a short space of time. Admittedly, you’ve already come to an agreement with Herr Wendling, you’ll still be paid and you’ll forward the works in due course. Indeed – if Herr Wendling can persuade lovers of the flute in Paris to buy what you’ve already supplied, he’ll try to get some more. One person has to pay; the other takes advantage of it. You also wrote to me about a few pupils and in particular said that the Dutch officer would pay you 3 or even – you thought – 4 ducats for 12 lessons: but it now turns out that you could have had these pupils but that you’ve abandoned them simply because they missed the odd lesson. You prefer to give lessons as a favour – yes, that’s what you want! And you’d rather leave your old father in need. The
effort is too much for a young man like you, no matter how good the pay, it’s more fitting that your 58-year-old father should run around for a pittance so that by the sweat of his brow he can earn what he needs to support himself and his daughter and, instead of paying off his debts, support you with what little is left, while you amuse yourself by giving a young girl lessons for nothing. My son, give it some thought and try to be reasonable! Just think whether you’re not treating me more cruelly than our prince. I never expected anything from him. – From you I expect everything – from him I must accept everything as a favour – from you I may hope to receive it on the strength of your duty as a child. He is ultimately a stranger to me – but you are my son – you know what I’ve put up with for more than 5 years – what a burden of care I’ve taken on because of you. The prince’s behaviour could only humiliate me; but you can annihilate me: he could only make me ill; but you can kill me. If I didn’t have your sister and Herr Bullinger, this true friend of ours, I would probably not be able to write this letter, on which I have already been working for 2 days. I have to hide my fear from the whole world, these are the only 2 people who are allowed to know everything and who are a comfort to me. I believed that everything you wrote was true, and since everyone here is sincerely glad when all goes well with you and since they are always asking about you, I was happy to give them a detailed account of the money that you were making and of the journey you were taking to Paris; you know that people take pleasure in annoying the archbishop, and there were plenty who used this account to that end. Old Herr Hagenauer was very upset to hear that you had to draw 150 florins in Mannheim as these people want us to do well and earn some money. But when I told him what you’d written and explained that your board and lodging was costing you nothing and that you’d be receiving 200 florins and that you also had some pupils, he was very pleased. I naturally had to ask him to be patient over payment of the 150 florins, but he replied: It doesn’t matter. I’ve every confidence in Herr Wolfgang, he’ll do his duty to you as a son, just let him go to Paris, while you relax. Just consider these words and our present circumstances, and tell me whether I shan’t suffer a stroke because as an honest man I can’t leave you in this situation, no matter what it may cost. You can be assured that not a soul knows that we transferred 150 florins to Mannheim as the Hagenauers would never in a million years give the archbishop that pleasure: but how upset these friends will be if I again have to support you in order for you to go to Paris. But let me prove to you that this must remain your only firm decision. It’s simply not possible to think in terms of travelling around, especially in the present critical situation: it’s often impossible even to recover one’s travelling expenses; you invariably have to go cap in hand, looking for patrons, simply to ensure that the concert pays its way; you must always go looking for new letters of recommendation to take from one place to the next; you always have to beg for permission to give a concert and have to deal with a hundred eventualities of an often trivial nature; and ultimately you scarcely earn enough to pay the landlord, so that you have to fall back on your own money – assuming you have any – to pay for the journey or else you have to pawn or sell your clothes, watches and rings. I’ve already experienced the former for myself. I had to borrow 100 florins from Herr Olenschlager in Frankfurt, and as soon as I arrived in Paris I had to borrow another 300 florins from Tourton & Baur, although in the event, of course, I didn’t need it all as we were soon paying our way: but first we had to become better known and deliver our letters of recommendation etc.: and in a large city that took time as it’s not always possible to meet people or speak to them. My dear Wolfg., all your letters convince me that you invariably accept the first wild idea that comes into your head or that someone else puts there, and you do so, moreover, without considering it or analysing it properly. For example, you write: I’m a composer and mustn’t bury my talent for composition etc. etc. But who says you should do so? – Yet that’s precisely what you’d be doing if you roamed around like a gypsy. If you want to become universally known as a composer you need to be in Paris, Vienna or Italy. You’re now nearest to Paris. The only question is where do I have a better hope of achieving prominence? In Italy – where in Naples alone there must be at least 300 maestri and where, throughout Italy, the maestri often have a scrittura 2 years in advance from those theatres that pay well? Or in Paris, where there are 2 or 3 writing for the theatre and other composers can be counted on the fingers of one hand? The keyboard must bring you your first contacts and make you popular with the great, then you can have something engraved by subscription, which brings in a little more than writing 6 quartets for an Italian gentleman, 3 for which you may get a few ducats or even a snuffbox worth 3 ducats. It’s even better in Vienna, there at least you can arrange a subscription for music in manuscript form.4 Both you and others have had experience of this. In short, if I could teach you to be more mature and to adopt a more considered approach to these wild ideas of yours, I’d make you the happiest man in the world. But I can see that these things take time – and yet, where your talent is concerned, everything came before its time. Everything about the sciences you’ve always grasped with the greatest ease. Why shouldn’t it be possible to get to know people? – To guess their intentions? – To close one’s heart to the world? – And in every case to think things over and in particular not always alight on the good side of a question or the side that flatters me or my secondary aims? Why shouldn’t I apply my reason to examining the bad side and looking into all eventualities and all the consequences – and ultimately think of my own interests and show the world that I am capable of insight and reason ? Or do you think it does me more honour to regard myself as a fool and let others influence me in ways that are of benefit to them but of harm to me, allowing them to laugh up their sleeves and regard you as young and inexperienced and easily led. My dear son, God has given you excellent judgement, which – it seems to me – only 2 things are stopping you from properly applying. I’ve taught you how to use it and how to know your fellow humans. When I used to be able to guess what would happen and could predict much of what came to pass, you’d often say by way of a joke: Papa is second only to God. What do you think these two things are? – Examine yourself, learn to know yourself, my dear Wolfg.: – you’ll find that you have too much pride and self-love ; and that you immediately become over - familiar and open your heart to everyone, in short, in wanting to be unconstrained and natural you become too open. The first of these should of course drive out the second, for those who are motivated by pride and self-love do not easily stoop to familiarity. But your own pride and self-love are wounded only when you’re not shown the appreciation that is your due: even people who don’t yet know you should be able to see from your face that you’re a man of genius. But to sycophants who bend you to their self-interested will and praise you to the skies you open your heart with the greatest ease and believe them as readily as the Gospel. And, naturally, you’re taken in, as they don’t even need to pretend as their praise costs them little ; they don’t say anything that’s untrue and that they’d have to force themselves to admit; only their intentions remain hidden from you, intentions which must – and could – show you their ulterior motives. And in order to ensnare you all the more effectively, women become involved – if you don’t resist them, you’ll be unhappy for the rest of your life. Think of all that has happened to you in your short life – think it over in cold blood, with sound common sense – and you’ll see that I’m speaking to you now not just as a father but as your true friend. For however delightful and dear to my heart the name of son may be, the name of father is often hateful to children. But I don’t believe that this is true of you, even though a woman in Vienna once said to you: If only you didn’t have a father. These words should have filled you with disgust. Please don’t think that I mistrust your love as a child; everything I say is intended simply to make a decent man of you. Millions of people have not received the great favour that God has gr
anted you. What a responsibility! And what a lasting shame it would be if so great a genius were to be diverted from his course! – But this can happen in a moment! – You’re exposed to more dangers than the million people who have no talent as you’re exposed to infinitely more persecutions on the one hand and temptations on the other.
Mozart: A Life in Letters: A Life in Letters Page 29
