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.