I called on you twice, but had not the good fortune to find you at home;
yesterday you were in the house, but engaged, so I could not see you. I
hope you will therefore excuse my troubling you with these few lines, as
it is very important to me to explain myself fully. Herr Baron, you are
well aware that I am not an interested man, particularly when I know
that it is in my power to do a service to so great a connoisseur and
lover of music as yourself. On the other hand, I also know that you
certainly would not wish that I should be a loser on this occasion; I
therefore take the liberty to make my final stipulations on the subject,
as it is impossible for me to remain here longer in uncertainty. I agree
to write a monodrama for the sum of twenty-five louis-d'or, and to stay
here for two months longer to complete everything, and to attend all the
rehearsals, &c., but on this condition, that, happen what may, I am
to be paid by the end of January. Of course I shall also expect free
admission to the theatre. Now, my dear Baron, this is all that I can
do, and if you consider, you will admit that I certainly am acting with
great discretion. With regard to your opera, I do assure you I should
rejoice to compose music for it, but you must yourself perceive that I
could not undertake such a work for twenty-five louis-d'or, as it would
be twice the labor of a monodrama (taken at the lowest rate). The chief
obstacle would be your having told me that Gluck and Schweitzer are
partially engaged to write this work. But were you even to give me fifty
louis-d'or, I would still as an honest man dissuade you from it. An
opera without any singers! what is to be done in such a case? Still, if
on this occasion there is a prospect of its being performed, I will
not hesitate to undertake the work to oblige you; but it is no trifling
one--of that I pledge you my word. I have now set forth my ideas clearly
and candidly, and request your decision.
119.
Mannheim, Dec. 3, 1778.
I MUST ask your forgiveness for two things,--first, that I have not
written to you for so long; and secondly, that this time also I must
be brief. My not having answered you sooner is the fault of no one but
yourself, and your first letter to me at Mannheim. I really never could
have believed--but silence! I will say no more on the subject. Lot us
have done with it. Next Wednesday, the 9th, I leave this; I cannot do so
sooner, because, thinking that I was to be here for a couple of months,
I accepted some pupils, and of course wish to make out the twelve
lessons. I assure you that you have no idea what kind and true friends
I have here, which time will prove. Why must I be so brief? Because
my hands are more than full. To please Herr Gemmingen and myself, I am
writing the first act of the melodramatic opera (that I was commissioned
to write), but now do so gratis; I shall bring it with me and finish
it at home. You see how strong my inclination must be for this kind of
composition. Of course Herr von Gemmingen is the poet. The duodrama is
called "Semiramis."
Next Wednesday I set off, and do you know how I travel? With the worthy
prelate, the Bishop of Kaisersheim. When a kind friend of mine mentioned
me to him, he at once knew my name, expressing the pleasure it would be
to him to have me as a travelling companion. He is (though a priest and
prelate) a most amiable man. I am therefore going by Kaisersheim and
not by Stuttgart; but it is just the same to me, for I am very lucky in
being able to spare my purse a little (as it is slender enough) on the
journey. Be so good as to answer me the following questions. How do the
comedians please at Salzburg? Is not the young lady who sings, Madlle.
Keiserin? Does Herr Feiner play the English horn? Ah! if we had only
clarionets too! You cannot imagine the splendid effect of a symphony
with flutes, hautboys, and clarionets. At my first audience of the
Archbishop I shall tell him much that is new, and also make some
suggestions. Oh, how much finer and better our orchestra might be if the
Archbishop only chose! The chief cause why it is not so, is that there
are far too many performances. I make no objection to the chamber-music,
only to the concerts on a larger scale.
A propos, you say nothing of it, but I conclude you have received the
trunk; if not, Herr von Grimm is responsible for it. You will find in it
the aria I wrote for Madlle. Weber. You can have no idea of the effect
of that aria with instruments; you may not think so when you see it,
but it ought to be sung by a Madlle. Weber! Pray, give it to no one, for
that would be most unfair, as it was written solely for her, and fits
her like a well-fitting glove.
120.
Kaisersheim, Dec. 18, 1778.
I ARRIVED here safely on Sunday the 13th, God be praised! I travelled in
the most agreeable way, and had likewise the inexpressible pleasure to
find a letter from you here. The reason that I did not forthwith answer
it was, because I wished to give you sure and precise information as to
my departure, for which I had not fixed any time; but I have at length
resolved, as the prelate goes to Munich on the 26th or 27th, to be
again his companion. I must tell you, however, that he does not go by
Augsburg. I lose nothing by this; but if you have anything to arrange or
transact where my presence is wanted, I can at any time, if you wish it,
(being so near,) make a little expedition from Munich. My journey from
Mannheim to this place would have been most agreeable to a man, leaving
a city with a light heart. The prelate and his Chancellor, an honest,
upright, and amiable man, drove together in one carriage, and Herr
Kellermeister, Father Daniel, Brother Anton, the Secretary, and I,
preceded them always half an hour, or an hour. But for me, to whom
nothing could be more painful than leaving Mannheim, this journey was
only partly agreeable, and would not have been at all so, but rather
very tiresome, if I had not from my early youth been so much accustomed
to leave people, countries, and cities, and with no very sanguine hope
of soon or ever again seeing the kind friends I left. I cannot deny,
but at once admit, that not only I myself, but all my intimate friends,
particularly the Cannabichs, were in the most pitiable distress during
the last few days after my departure was finally settled. We felt as
if it were not possible for us to part. I set off at half-past eight
o'clock in the morning, and Madame Cannabich did not leave her room;
she neither would nor could take leave of me. I did not wish to distress
her, so left the house without seeing her. My very dear father, I can
safely say that she is one of my best and truest friends, for I only
call those friends who are so in every situation, who, day and night,
think how they can best serve the interests of their friend, applying to
all influential persons, and toiling to secure his happiness. Now I do
assure you such is the faithful portrait of Madame Cannabich. There may
indeed be an alloy of self-interest in this, for where does anything
take place--indeed, how can anything be done in this world--without some
alloy of selfishness? What I like best in Madame Cannabich is, that she
never attempts to deny this. I will tell you when we meet in what way
she told me so, for when we are alone, which, I regret to say, is very
seldom, we become quite confidential. Of all the intimate friends who
frequent her house, I alone possess her entire confidence; for I alone
know all her domestic and family troubles, concerns, secrets, and
circumstances. We were not nearly so well acquainted the first time
I was here, (we have agreed on this point,) nor did we mutually under
stand each other so well; but living in the same house affords greater
facilities to know a person. When in Paris I first began fully to
appreciate the sincere friendship of the Cannabichs, having heard from
a trustworthy source the interest both she and her husband took in me.
I reserve many topics to explain and to discuss personally, for since my
return from Paris the scene has undergone some remarkable changes, but
not in all things. Now as to my cloister life. The monastery itself made
no great impression on me, after having seen the celebrated Abbey of
Kremsmunster. I speak of the exterior and what they call here the court
square, for the most renowned part I have yet to see. What appears to
me truly ridiculous is the formidable military. I should like to know of
what use they are. At night I hear perpetual shouts of "Who goes there?"
and I invariably reply, "Guess!" You know what a good and kind man
the prelate is, but you do not know that I may class myself among his
favorites, which, I believe, does me neither good nor harm, but it is
always pleasant to have one more friend in the world. With regard to the
monodrama, or duodrama, a voice part is by no means necessary, as not a
single note is sung, but entirely spoken; in short, it is a recitative
with instruments, only the actor speaks the words instead of singing
them. If you were to hear it even with the piano, it could not fail to
please you, but properly performed, you would be quite transported. I
can answer for this; but it requires a good actor or actress.
I shall really feel quite ashamed if I arrive in Munich without my
sonatas. I cannot understand the delay; it was a stupid trick of
Grimm's, and I have written to him to that effect. He will now see that
he was in rather too great a hurry. Nothing ever provoked me so much.
Just reflect on it. I know that my sonatas were published in the
beginning of November, and I, the author, have not yet got them,
therefore cannot present them to the Electress, to whom they are
dedicated. I have, however, taken measures in the mean time which will
insure my getting them. I hope that my cousin in Augsburg has received
them, or that they are lying at Josef Killiau's for her; so I have
written to beg her to send them to me at once.
Until I come myself, I commend to your good offices an organist,
and also a good pianist, Herr Demmler, from Augsburg. I had entirely
forgotten him, and was very glad when I heard of him here. He has
considerable genius; a situation in Salzburg might be very useful in
promoting his further success, for all he requires is a good leader
in music; and I could not find him a better conductor than you, dear
father, and it would really be a pity if he were to leave the right
path. [See No. 68.] That melancholy "Alceste" of Schweitzer's is to be
performed in Munich. The best part (besides some of the openings,
middle passages, and the finales of some arias) is the beginning of
the recitative "O Jugendzeit," and this was made what it is by Raaff's
assistance; he punctuated it for Hartig (who plays Admet), and by so
doing introduced the true expression into the aria. The worst of all,
however, (as well as the greater part of the opera,) is certainly the
overture.
As for the trifles that are not to be found in the trunk, it is quite
natural that under such circumstances something should be lost, or even
stolen. The little amethyst ring I felt I ought to give to the nurse who
attended my dear mother, whose wedding-ring was left on her finger. [A
large blot.] The ink-bottle is so full, and I am too hasty in dipping
in my pen, as you will perceive. As for the watch, you have guessed
rightly. I sold it, but only got five louis-d'or for it, and that in
consideration of the works, which were good; for the shape, as you know,
was old-fashioned and quite out of date. Speaking of watches, I must
tell you that I am bringing one with me--a genuine Parisian. You know
what sort of thing my jewelled watch was--how inferior all the so-called
precious stones were, how clumsy and awkward its shape; but I would not
have cared so much about that, had I not been obliged to spend so much
money in repairing and regulating it, and after all the watch would one
day gain a couple of hours, and next day lose in the same proportion.
The one the Elector gave me did just the same, and, moreover, the works
were even worse and more fragile. I exchanged these two watches and
their chains for a Parisian one which is worth twenty louis-d'or. So now
at last I know what o'clock it is; with my five watches I never got so
far as that before! At present, out of four, I have, at all events, one
on which I can depend.
121.
Kaisersheim, Dec. 23, 1778.