Allow me above all to thank you most warmly for the proof of friendship
you gave me by your interest in my dear father--first in preparing, and
then kindly consoling him for his loss [see No. 106]. You played your
part admirably. These are my father's own words. My kind friend, how
can I sufficiently thank you? You saved my father for me. I have you to
thank that I still have him. Permit me to say no more on the subject,
and not to attempt to express my gratitude, for I feel too weak and
incompetent to do so. My best friend, I am forever your debtor; but
patience! It is too true that I am not yet in a position to repay what
I owe you, but rely on it God will one day grant me the opportunity of
showing by deeds what I am unable to express by words. Such is my hope;
till that happy time, however, arrives, allow me to beg you to continue
your precious and valued friendship to me, and also to accept mine
afresh, now and forever; to which I pledge myself in all sincerity
of heart. It will not, indeed, be of much use to you, but not on that
account less sincere and lasting. You know well that the best and
truest of all friends are the poor. The rich know nothing of friendship,
especially those who are born to riches, and even those whom fate
enriches often become very different when fortunate in life. But when a
man is placed in favorable circumstances, not by blind, but reasonable
good fortune and merit, who during his early and less prosperous days
never lost courage, remaining faithful to his religion and his God,
striving to be an honest man and good Christian, knowing how to
value his true friends,--in short, one who really deserves better
fortune,--from such a man no ingratitude is to be feared.
I must now proceed to answer your letter. You can be under no further
anxiety as to my health, for you must have ere this received three
letters from me. The first, containing the sad news of my mother's
death, was enclosed, my dear friend, to you. You must forgive my silence
on the subject, but my thoughts recur to it constantly. You write that
I should now think only of my father, tell him frankly all my thoughts,
and place entire confidence in him. How unhappy should I be if I
required this injunction! It was expedient that you should suggest it,
but I am happy to say (and you will also be glad to hear it) that I do
not need this advice. In my last letter to my dear father, I wrote to
him all that I myself know up to this time, assuring him that I would
always keep him minutely informed of everything, and candidly tell him
my intentions, as I place entire faith in him, being confident of his
fatherly care, love, and goodness. I feel assured that at a future
day he will not deny me a request on which my whole happiness in life
depends, and which (for he cannot expect anything else from me) will
certainly be quite fair and reasonable. My dear friend, do not let my
father read this. You know him; he would only fancy all kinds of things,
and to no purpose.
Now for our Salzburg affair. You, my dear friend, are well aware how
I do hate Salzburg, not only on account of the injustice shown to my
father and myself there, which was in itself enough to make us wish to
forget such a place, and to blot it out wholly from our memory. But do
not let us refer to that, if we can contrive to live respectably there.
To live respectably and to live happily, are two very different things;
but the latter I never could do short of witchcraft,--it would indeed be
supernatural if I did,--so this is impossible, for in these days there
are no longer any witches. Well, happen what may, it will always be the
greatest possible pleasure to me to embrace my dear father and sister,
and the sooner the better. Still I cannot deny that my joy would be
twofold were this to be elsewhere, for I have far more hope of living
happily anywhere else. Perhaps you may misunderstand me, and think that
Salzburg is on too small a scale for me. If so, you are quite mistaken.
I have already written some of my reasons to my father. In the mean
time, let this one suffice, that Salzburg is no place for my talent.
In the first place, professional musicians are not held in much
consideration; and, secondly, one hears nothing. There is no theatre,
no opera there; and if they really wished to have one, who is there to
sing? For the last five or six years the Salzburg orchestra has always
been rich in what is useless and superfluous, but very poor in what is
useful and indispensable; and such is the case at the present moment.
Those cruel French are the cause of the band there being without a
Capellmeister. [FOOTNOTE: The old Capellmeister, Lolli, had died a short
time previously.] I therefore feel assured that quiet and order are now
reigning in the orchestra. This is the result of not making provision
in time. Half a dozen Capellmeisters should always be held in readiness,
that, if one fails, another can instantly be substituted. But where, at
present, is even ONE to be found? And yet the danger is urgent. It will
not do to allow order, quiet, and good-fellowship to prevail in the
orchestra, or the mischief would still further increase, and in the
long run become irremediable. Is there no ass-eared old periwig, no
dunderhead forthcoming, to restore the concern to its former disabled
condition? I shall certainly do my best in the matter. To-morrow I
intend to hire a carriage for the day, and visit all the hospitals and
infirmaries, to see if I can't find a Capellmeister in one of them. Why
were they so improvident as to allow Misliweczeck to give them the slip,
and he so near too? [See No. 64.] He would have been a prize, and one
not so easy to replace,--freshly emerged, too, from the Duke's Clementi
Conservatorio. He was just the man to have awed the whole court
orchestra by his presence. Well, we need not be uneasy: where there is
money there are always plenty of people to be had. My opinion is that
they should not wait too long, not from the foolish fear that they might
not get one at all,--for I am well aware that all these gentlemen
are expecting one as eagerly and anxiously as the Jews do their
Messiah,--but simply because things cannot go on at all under such
circumstances. It would therefore be more useful and profitable to look
out for a Capellmeister, there being NONE at present, than to write in
all directions (as I have been told) to secure a good female singer.
[FOOTNOTE: In order the better to conciliate Wolfgang, Bullinger had
been desired to say that the Archbishop, no longer satisfied with
Madlle. Haydn, intended to engage another singer; and it was hinted to
Mozart, that he might be induced to make choice of Aloysia Weber; (Jahn,
ii. 307.) Madlle. Haydn was a daughter of Lipp, the organist, and sent
by the Archbishop to Italy to cultivate her voice. She did not enjoy a
very good reputation.]
I really can scarcely believe this. Another female singer, when we have
already so many, and all admirable! A tenor, though we do not require
one either, I could more easily understand--but a prima donna, when we
have still Cecarelli! It is true that Madlle. Haydn is in bad health,
for her austere mode of life has been carried too far. There are few
of whom this can be said. I wonder that she has not long since lost her
voice from her perpetual scourgings and flagellations, her hair-cloth,
unnatural fasts, and night-prayers! But she will still long retain her
powers, and instead of becoming worse, her voice will daily improve.
When at last, however, she departs this life to be numbered among the
saints, we still have five left, each of whom can dispute the palm with
the other. So you see how superfluous a new one is. But, knowing how
much changes and novelty and variety are liked with us, I see a wide
field before me which may yet form an epoch. [FOOTNOTE: Archbishop
Hieronymus, in the true spirit of Frederick the Great, liked to
introduce innovations with an unsparing hand; many, however, being both
necessary and beneficent.] Do your best that the orchestra may have a
leg to stand on, for that is what is most wanted. A head they have [the
Archbishop], but that is just the misfortune; and till a change is made
in this respect, I will never come to Salzburg. When it does take place,
I am willing to come and to turn over the leaf as often as I see V. S.
[volti subito] written. Now as to the war [the Bavarian Succession]. So
far as I hear, we shall soon have peace in Germany. The King of Prussia
is certainly rather alarmed. I read in the papers that the Prussians had
surprised an Imperial detachment, but that the Croats and two Cuirassier
regiments were near, and, hearing the tumult, came at once to their
rescue, and attacked the Prussians, placing them between two fires, and
capturing five of their cannon. The route by which the Prussians entered
Bohemia is now entirely cut up and destroyed. The Bohemian peasantry do
all the mischief they can to the Prussians, who have besides constant
desertions among their troops; but these are matters which you must know
both sooner and better than we do. But I must write you some of our news
here. The French have forced the English to retreat, but it was not a
very hot affair. The most remarkable thing is that, friends and foes
included, only 100 men were killed. In spite of this, there is a grand
jubilation here, and nothing else is talked of. It is also reported that
we shall soon have peace. It is a matter of indifference to me, so far
as this place is concerned; but I should indeed be very glad if we were
soon to have peace in Germany, for many reasons. Now farewell! Your true
friend and obedient servant,