their steps to Vienna, only, however, to meet with fresh
disappointments. The Imperial family received them very kindly, but
the public evinced little desire to attend their performances. The
Empress lived in retirement, and the Emperor was practising a rigid
economy in regard to matters of entertainment and display--an example
which was followed as a matter of course by the nobility. Moreover,
the public taste for art was at a very low ebb, the preference being
for music of the lightest description. As if these were not
sufficiently serious obstacles to contend with, the twelve-year-old
musician was subjected to marked hostility on the part of the chief
performers of the city, who not only held aloof from his performances,
but did not scruple to vent their envy by speaking disparagingly of
his powers. That his son should be thus slighted without being heard
seemed to fill Leopold's cup of bitterness to overflowing. To oppose
such a phalanx of jealous rivals was impossible, and he had made up
his mind to shake the dust of Vienna from his feet and return home,
when the arrival of a messenger from the palace turned his sorrow into
joy.
'See here, Wolfgang,' cried the delighted father, as he sought the
boy's side after the departure of the royal messenger, 'is not this a
recompense for our trials and waiting? Here are the Emperor's commands
to you to compose an opera--an opera, mark you!--for performance at
the Royal Theatre!' and Leopold gave the astonished Wolfgang a hearty
embrace, as he thrust the important missive into the boy's hand.
Wolfgang read the letter through with the seriousness which always
characterised his manner when his beloved art was mentioned, and then,
lifting his face to his father's, he threw his arms around Leopold's
neck, exclaiming as he did so, 'It shall be done, papa--the Emperor's
commands shall be obeyed!'
Fired with zeal to deserve the confidence thus reposed in his powers,
Mozart set himself to work to accomplish his gigantic task. In a short
time, with assiduous labour, he had produced no fewer than five
hundred and fifty-eight pages of music, and 'La finta Semplice,' as
the opera was called, was ready for rehearsal. In the meanwhile,
however, the envious ones had formed themselves into a cabal with the
object of hindering, and, if possible, preventing its production. All
kinds of mean and untrue things were whispered about the work, of
which not a single note had yet been seen or heard by any of these
detractors. The music was declared to be worthless, and when this
slander had been disproved by the testimony of those who were capable
judges, another sprang up to the effect that the work was the
production, not of Mozart himself, but of his father. This, too, was
swept aside only to be supplanted by a fresh outburst of jealousy.
Before long these evil reports found their way to the singers and
performers, who, from being at first loud in their praises of the
opera, began to express a disinclination to take part in the
performance, for fear of losing their reputation. Then Affligio, the
manager who had undertaken to produce the work, in like manner began
to draw back, and put off the rehearsals from time to time. Finally,
after a series of such postponements, when brought to bay by Leopold's
insistence, the manager declared that he would produce the opera if
the father desired it, but that it should not benefit the Mozarts, as
he would take care that it should be hissed off the stage. The Emperor
was powerless to interfere, as Affligio held the theatre independently
of the Court, and nothing remained to be done but to withdraw the
opera.
This was a great blow to Mozart and his father, but, though
momentarily crushed by disappointment, they comforted each other with
the hope that the work would see the light at a later period. It was
now imperative that they should return to Salzburg immediately, more
especially as Leopold had received an intimation from the Archbishop
that his salary must cease so long as he stayed away. Their
circumstances were, in fact, much straitened owing to the ill success
of their visit, and during the weary months of suspense and waiting
they had been living upon the profits of their previous travels. They
were not allowed to leave Vienna, however, without a ray of sunshine
to cheer them on their homeward journey. Wolfgang had written an
operetta, 'Bastien und Bastienne,' founded upon a burlesque of one of
Rousseau's operas, and he had the pleasure of hearing his little work
performed before a select company of connoisseurs, and of receiving
their praises. Nor would the Emperor let him depart without a further
sign of royal favour, for he was commanded to write a Mass, an
offertorium, and a trumpet concerto to celebrate the dedication of a
new chapel in the city. The occasion was an important one, for the
ceremony was graced by the presence of the Imperial Court, and it must
have been a happy moment for Wolfgang when, having conducted his
compositions, he bowed his acknowledgments of the hearty applause
which followed. With this comforting assurance of the royal regard was
brought to a close an expedition which to both father and son had been
filled with trial and disappointment.
Old Archbishop Sigismund, too, was forward in showing his sympathy
with Wolfgang on his return to Salzburg; for with a kindness which was
unexpected even at the hands of one who had already proved himself to
be a true friend, he gave orders that 'La finta Semplice' should be
performed in his palace. It was a fitting reward for the Archbishop to
bestow upon one whom he had subjected to so severe a test, and both
Mozart and his father were full of gratitude. Sigismund, moreover,
showed his appreciation of Mozart's genius by making him his
concertmeister, though no salary was attached to the appointment. As
regards the opera itself, as Mozart was shortly to write a work of a
much higher character, not much need be said; at the same time, when
we learn that the best judges of the day pronounced it to be in many
respects superior to the operas which were then in possession of the
stage, and that it pointed 'unmistakably to a glorious future for its
composer,' we may appreciate the remark with which one who was himself
a great musical judge sums up the opinion passed upon Mozart's first
opera: 'Surely, this is extraordinary praise for the work of a boy!'
Leopold Mozart was now resolved upon undertaking a journey to Italy
with a view to completing Wolfgang's musical education. At that day
Italy stood foremost in the world as the home of music. Of Italy could
it be truly said, as it could be said of no other country, that music
was native to the soil. The craving for music pervaded every class--to
prince, and peer, and peasant alike, music was as natural a possession
as the very air they breathed. It was bound up with the people's
sentiments and passions, to which it afforded the truest expression,
and it was connected to an equal degree with their surroundings and
conditions of life. Consequently, every facility existed for the
development and encouragement of the art, whilst on every hand there
was a steady demand for the best that that art could produce. Thus, as
has been well said, there came to be formed in Italy 'a sort of
musical climate, in which artists found it easy to breathe.' More
than this, it became evident to musicians of other countries, as the
years went on, that he who aspired to do great things with his art,
and to establish a reputation for himself as singer, player, or
composer, must imbibe this atmosphere--for a time, at least--and put
the finishing touches to his education under the influence of the
Italian schools of composition and execution.
In respect to musical art Germany and Italy were rivals. The music of
Germany was to a very great extent independent; but the spirit of
creation in Germany was not so universally diffused as in Italy,
being, as a matter of fact, chiefly confined to the northern
Protestant portion of the country. Again, the operas performed at the
German Courts were Italian; the music to be heard in the German
Catholic churches was written by Italian composers; whilst both
singers and performers were either drawn from, or had been educated
in, Italy. The two countries, as we have said, were rivals, and every
succeeding year witnessed the growth of this spirit in Germany; but
for long Italy held the supremacy in instrumental as well as in every
other class of music, as the result of that inborn love of music which
pervaded every grade of society throughout the country.
And so in December, 1769, Mozart, who was now thirteen years of age,
came to Italy to listen to the brightly-clad peasants singing at their
work in the sunny fields; to watch them dancing on the vine-trellised
terraces that overlooked the deep blue waters of the lakes; to witness
the wonderful processions of the priests through the narrow streets of
the towns; and, above all, to hear the grand music in the cathedrals.
Mozart's bright, happy nature was never more in evidence than on the
occasion of this journey, which he seemed to regard as having been
planned solely for pleasure. His merry jokes and light-hearted
conversation served to ingratiate him in the affections of all.
Leopold kept up a regular correspondence with those at home, but
Wolfgang never failed to add a little letter of his own, addressed
either to his mother or to Marianne, in which he joked about the
incidents of the journey, the people whom they met, or the friends
they had left behind. The letters were a mixture of German and
Italian, with an occasional bit of Salzburg _patois_ thrown in to make
Marianne laugh. But he relapsed into a serious style whenever he
referred to his playing or the performers whom they had heard in the
course of their travels.
The young musician had, indeed, no lack of work before him, for, in
addition to the regular performances which formed the chief business
of the tour, he was set difficult problems to solve at sight by the
various professors who desired to test his powers. The fame of his
playing preceded him everywhere, so that the further they penetrated
into Italy the more numerous became the demands to hear him. At
Roveredo, where it was announced that he would play the organ at St.
Thomas's Church, the crowd was so great that the monks of the
adjoining monastery had to form a circle around Mozart to keep back
the press until the steps leading to the organ-loft had been gained.
The vast audience listened spellbound to the performance, and then
refused to disperse until they had gained a glimpse of the boy-player.
At Verona, where another triumph awaited him, and where one of his
symphonies was performed, the Receiver-General ordered his portrait to
be painted, and wrote a letter to the mother full of warm praise of
her wonderful son.
On reaching Milan the chief musician of the city subjected Mozart to
the severest tests, from which he emerged victorious, and after
astonishing everybody by his playing and improvisation, he was
commissioned to write an opera for the ensuing season. It was at
Bologna, however, that he met with the most flattering reception. The
city contained many artists of the highest rank, over whom Padre
Martini, the famous composer of Church music and the first connoisseur
of the country, reigned like a king. Martini was, in fact, worshipped
by Italian lovers of the art, who deferred to his opinion in all
questions affecting music. But the Padre was very old, and had given
up attending concerts, so that every one was astonished when the
coming of Mozart brought the aged musician from his retirement to form
one of the brilliant gathering assembled at Count Pallavicini's
mansion to witness the boy's playing. It was a great compliment to
Mozart, but an even greater compliment to the country from which he
came, and Wolfgang put forth his best powers, with the result that he
earned the judge's warmly expressed commendation. Leopold was
overjoyed at Wolfgang's success, and opined that Bologna would form a
centre from which the boy's fame would spread all over Italy, an
opinion that was justified by the results. As for Martini, he took to
Wolfgang at once, insisted that he should visit him regularly whilst
they remained in Milan, and gave him fugue subjects to work out at his
lodgings. Mozart worked hard at these tasks, and the Padre expressed
himself as perfectly satisfied with the boy's knowledge of
composition.
The journey to Rome, in fact, was a succession of triumphs, which it
would require a volume by itself to attempt to describe in detail. At
Florence he was invited to play before the Court of the Archduke
Leopold, and solved, 'as easily as if he were eating a bit of bread,'
the difficult problems proposed by the Court music-director, who was
regarded as one of the best contrapuntists of the day. Here he met
Thomas Linley, a boy of about his own age, the son of the English
composer, who was studying the violin under Nardini. Linley's playing
was already exciting much attention, and as he showed great promise in
his compositions as well, people were building high hopes as to his
future. Mozart and he instantly became close friends, and when the
time came for parting neither could restrain his tears. They were
destined never to meet again, for a few years later poor Linley was
drowned through the upsetting of a boat whilst on a pleasure excursion
in Lincolnshire. Mozart never forgot the bright friendship which had
flashed into his life during those few days spent at Florence, and
many years afterwards he would refer in terms of endearment to the
young genius whose career had been thus untimely cut off.
It was Holy Week when Mozart and his father reached Rome, and the city
lay under the spell of that solemn time. The travellers at once bent
their steps to the Sistine Chapel in order to hear the celebrated
_Miserere_, written by Allegri, performed. Wolfgang had been looking
forward to this moment during the latter stages of his journey with
the deepest interest. He had heard from his father of the jealous
guarding of this wonderful work by the Romans; how it was expressly
forbidden to be performed in any other building than the Sistine; and
how the choristers were under strict injunctions not to remove their
parts of the score from the chapel. His anxiety, therefore, to hear a
work of which the fame had spread throughout the whole of Europe, had
hastened his progress to the Holy City.
It would, indeed, be difficult to imagine anything more beautiful and
impressive than the singing of this wonderful _Miserere_.[12] It is
introduced into the solemn service called 'Tenebræ' (Darkness), during
which the six tall altar candles, by which the chapel is illuminated,
are extinguished one by one, until only a single candle is left, and
this is removed to a space behind the altar. Then, in almost complete
darkness, the _Miserere_ begins. A single voice is heard singing the
beautiful antiphon, as the short piece which ushers in the _Miserere_
is called; the sweet notes die away into silence--a silence so
profound that the listener hardly dares to breathe lest he should
disturb it. Then at length the first sad notes of the Supplication are
heard, like the softest wailing of an anguished spirit; they gradually
increase in force until the whole building is ringing with the
plaintive melody in all its thrilling intensity.
The solemnity of the service and the beauty of the music left a deep
impression on the mind of the young musician who heard it for the
first time. Leopold Mozart, too, was greatly affected by what he had
heard, and when they left the chapel to seek their lodgings neither of
them spoke a word. Once within doors, however, Wolfgang asked for pen
and paper, and, sitting down there and then, he wrote out the whole of
the _Miserere_ from memory. On Good Friday, when the work was to be
performed for the second time, he took his copy with him to the
Sistine, and, concealing it in his cocked hat, he made one or two
corrections in pencil as the service proceeded. It was not long before
the news of this extraordinary feat reached the ears of the Papal
musicians, and Wolfgang received orders to perform his version in the
presence of Christoforo, the principal soprano of the Sistine, who
could not conceal his amazement at finding it correct in every
particular.
No better introduction than this was needed to secure for Mozart a
cordial welcome at the houses of the great, and during their stay in
Rome they were fêted to their hearts' content.
At Naples, which was their next stopping-place, Wolfgang played at the
Conservatorio alla Pietà before a brilliant gathering, and excited so
much astonishment that several of the audience openly declared that
his powers were derived from a ring which he wore upon his finger. 'He
wears a charm!' they cried; and when Mozart, hearing their remarks,
smilingly laid aside the supposed magic ring, and played even more
brilliantly than before, the enthusiasm was redoubled. After this the
Neapolitans vied with one another to show them honour and attention. A
carriage was provided for their use, in which they drove about amongst
the fashionable crowds on the Strada Nuova and the quay, on which
occasions Leopold wore a maroon-coloured coat of watered silk, with
sky-blue facings, and Wolfgang one of apple-green, with rose-coloured
facings and silver buttons.
We have not space, however, in which to describe all the events of
Mozart's wonderful tour, and so we may only mention how they returned
to Rome at the instance of the Pope, who not only granted Wolfgang a
private audience, but bestowed upon him the Order of the Golden Spur,
thus entitling him to be styled 'Signor Cavaliere Amadeo'; how, when
next he wrote to Marianne, he jokingly concluded his letter as
follows: 'Mademoiselle, j'ai l'honneur d'être votre très-humble
serviteur et frère, Chevalier de Mozart'; and how his portrait was
once more painted in Rome by Battoni. A still greater distinction was
conferred upon him on his arrival at Bologna, for the Accademia
Filarmonica admitted him to their ranks as 'compositore,'
notwithstanding that their statutes required that members should be at
least twenty years of age. To test his qualifications for election he
was given an antiphon to set in four parts, and locked up in a room to
fulfil his task. At the expiration of half an hour he asked to be let
out, to the astonishment of the officials, who could scarcely credit
that he had completed the work in so short a time. The composition was
then examined by the professors, who next voted upon it, and finally,
amidst clapping of hands, it was declared that Mozart had been duly
elected.
After some further intercourse with Padre Martini, who, before
leaving, presented Mozart with a testimonial, the travellers proceeded
to Milan, where Wolfgang set to work at once on the opera which he had
been commissioned to write. It was a great task, and we find him
writing to his mother and sister, begging them to pray for its
success, 'so that they may all live happily together again,'
'Mitridate,' as the work was called, was at length finished, after
three months' hard labour, some of which was devoted to fighting the
opposition emanating from both singers and rivals. The first
performance took place on December 26, 1770, and was conducted by
Wolfgang, whose appearance in the orchestra was the signal for a great
outburst of cheering, to be repeated again and again as the opera
proceeded. Then came loud cries of 'Evviva il Maestro! Evviva il
Maestrino!' in response to which Mozart gravely bowed his
acknowledgments, and at the same time bent his glance towards the spot
where his father sat with his eyes covered with his hand, in order to
hide the tears of pride and joy which filled them to overflowing.
Mingled with these feelings, however, Leopold felt a deep
thankfulness in his heart that he had been spared to watch over his
son's career, and to be a witness of his success.
'Mitridate' had indeed succeeded even beyond their utmost hopes; it
was repeated twenty times before crowded houses, and its success
brought with it the honour of election as 'Maestro di Capella' (the
Italian equivalent of the German title 'Capellmeister') by the
Accademia Filarmonica. Mozart's position was now assured, and he had
nothing more to fear from intrigues or cabals. So that when, in
August, 1771, we find him once more in Milan, he is on cordial terms
with all his fellow-artists, and hard at work composing a dramatic
serenata for the approaching marriage of the Archduke Ferdinand with
Princess Beatrice of Modena. He is working amidst a Babel of sounds,
for in the room above dwells a violinist, in the room below another,
whilst a singing-master lives next door, and an oboist opposite. But
he is not dismayed. 'It is capital for composing,' he writes to
Marianne; 'it gives one new ideas.'
The serenata, 'Ascanio in Alba'--an allegorical pastoral play--was a
great success, and Hasse, a master of opera, who had also composed a
work for the occasion, was fain to admit that he stood nowhere
compared with Mozart. 'This boy,' he exclaimed, 'will cause us all to
be forgotten.' The Empress, who had commissioned Mozart to write the
work, was so pleased with the result that, in addition to the
stipulated fee, she presented the composer with a gold watch with her
portrait set in diamonds at the back.
Our story of Mozart's life has now reached the point which marks the
beginning of a series of misfortunes and trials of a far more serious
character than those with which his earlier struggles for fame had
been associated. There was no foreshadowing of these troubles at the
moment when the travellers set out on their return journey to
Salzburg, whither they were carrying the hopes which had been built
upon their successes in Milan. Shortly after their return, however, to
their great grief the good Archbishop Sigismund died, and both Leopold
and Wolfgang realised that they had lost their best protector and
friend. The news of the appointment of Hieronymus, Count von
Colloredo, as his successor was received by the townspeople with
feelings of displeasure and even dismay, for it was well known that
the character of Hieronymus was almost entirely opposite to that which
had made Sigismund beloved by his subjects. The Mozarts, father and
son, were soon made to taste the bitterness of the change.
Appreciation for art formed no part of the new Archbishop's nature,
and he lost no opportunity of showing his contempt for those who
followed it as a profession. Notwithstanding the fame which had now
gathered about Mozart, whose latest opera, 'La finta Giardiniera,' had
been produced in Munich, at the carnival of 1775, with the greatest
success, the Archbishop persistently refused to recognise his genius,
or to grant any facilities for enabling his dependents to better their
condition of life. Once, during his master's absence in Vienna,
Leopold had gone to the capital with Wolfgang, hoping to be able to
secure some appointment at the Court which might relieve them of their
necessities, but the effort was in vain. To his wife he wrote: 'Things
will and must alter; take comfort, God will help us.' But they
returned empty-handed.
Despite the fact that monetary anxieties were daily growing more
pressing, and the aspect of affairs at the Salzburg Court remained as
hopeless as ever, Wolfgang worked at his compositions with untiring
diligence, and by the time he had attained his twenty-first year he
had accumulated a mass of music that embraced every branch of the art,
in addition to numberless carefully worked out studies of other
masters. But Hieronymus viewed his Concertmeister's industry with
disdain. Even when, by happening to be in Vienna shortly after 'La
finta Giardiniera' had taken the Viennese by storm, he had been made
the unwilling recipient of congratulations at the hands of the
nobility upon the possession of so gifted a composer, he had contrived
to evade an admission of Mozart's genius by protesting, with a
sardonic smile and outspread hands, that he knew nothing about such
matters. Even this disclaimer, however, did not prevent the Archbishop
from making use of Wolfgang's powers whenever their display could be
made to add to his own glorification. But nothing softened his
ill-nature; no degree of praise which was justly awarded either to
Mozart as a composer, or to his father for the care with which he had
conducted his son's musical training, availed to remove or even to
mitigate the deeply-rooted dislike which Hieronymus bore to father and
son. He professed to regard them both in the light of professional
beggars, and he never lost an opportunity of speaking slightingly of
Wolfgang's compositions.