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
retard 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.