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.