strained to breaking-point. Wolfgang was now twenty-one, with a
reputation as a composer, but with no settled future; it was clear
that nothing was to be hoped for by his remaining in Salzburg, and
Leopold therefore resolved to undertake a professional tour with his
son. For this purpose a prolonged leave of absence was necessary; but
the Archbishop met Leopold's application with a curt refusal.
Even Wolfgang's docile nature would bend no further under such
treatment, and he forthwith requested to be relieved of his duties.
The salary connected with his post of Concertmeister was trifling in
amount, and Hieronymus was fully aware of the value of the services
which he professed to estimate so lightly. But that one for whom he
had expressed contempt should thus presume to take action on his own
behalf rendered him furious. He would have nothing to do with either
father or son. 'After the Gospel, you are both free to seek your
fortunes wherever you please!' was his reply to Wolfgang's
application. This hasty decision, however, he afterwards retracted
with respect to Leopold, and the father realised that the only course
left open to him was to allow Wolfgang and his mother to travel
together.
Arrangements were accordingly made, and early in the morning of
September 23, 1777, the carriage which was to convey the travellers
drew up at the door of Leopold's house. Now that the actual moment of
parting had arrived the father could with difficulty restrain his
emotion, and it was only when the carriage had driven off that he
remembered that he had forgotten to bestow a blessing on his dear
ones. Rushing to the window, he stretched forth his hand, to find that
he was too late--the travellers were already out of sight.
Wolfgang's spirits, however, rose as the towers of Salzburg faded into
the haze of that September morning. No sorrow of parting could stifle
the sense of freedom that was springing up in his breast; he had
escaped from a town which was intimately associated in his mind with
tyranny and oppression, to seek his fortune in a new and wider world,
where he was confident that his gifts would meet with the recognition
they deserved. Thus buoyed with hope and confidence he entered upon a
sea of difficulty and trouble.
[Illustration: '_The carriage which was to convey the travellers
drew up at the door._']
At Munich, where they first halted, Wolfgang endeavoured to secure an
engagement at the Elector's Court; but there was no vacancy, and
although his playing brought forth many promises of future help in
addition to applause, the prospect of obtaining immediate engagements
fell empty to the ground. 'Fine words and bravissimos pay neither the
postboy nor the host,' wrote the practical Leopold Mozart, when
Wolfgang applied to him for advice, and so mother and son went on to
Mannheim. Here, indeed, the prospects seemed to be much brighter.
Mannheim was a thoroughly musical town, and Mozart soon won both
esteem and admiration at the hands of the musicians. The Elector, Karl
Theodor, maintained an excellent orchestra, and with Cannabich, the
conductor, Wolfgang soon became great friends, giving music-lessons
to his daughter Rose. Nevertheless, albeit so gifted, and capable of
winning applause wherever he played, Mozart was constantly looking for
work that would bring in sufficient ready-money to maintain himself
and his mother, until something of a permanent nature could be found
for him. But here again disappointment followed disappointment. He was
desirous of staying the winter in Mannheim, in order to join some
friends who were leaving for Paris in the spring, but he must first
find something to do. He seized upon the opportunity of playing before
the Elector and the Electress as a possible means of securing their
children as pupils, and for some time success in this direction seemed
imminent. But his application was put off from day to day; weeks
passed over, and nothing was settled.
Amidst these hopes and delays Leopold Mozart was writing from Salzburg
urging Wolfgang to decide upon a course of action. He reminded him
that he had put his time to but little use up to the present, and that
it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to supply the money for
their maintenance. Wolfgang must give him longer notice of their
change of plans, as 'otherwise all will go wrong'; and he warns his
son to be careful lest he be stranded without money--and 'no money
meant no friends.'
There was justice in these urgings and warnings, for it was a fact
that to Wolfgang life in Mannheim had become so pleasant and
easy-going that it was time that he should be reminded of the call of
duty. In the midst of intercourse with friends, who were only too
willing to second his wishes to remain in Mannheim, Mozart was in
danger of forgetting the sacrifices which were being made for him at
home. Both father and daughter were indeed denying themselves and
working hard to keep up the supplies of money. In addition to being
heavily in debt on Wolfgang's account, Leopold had increased his
labours by giving music-lessons at a small fee, whilst Marianne was
practising all manner of shifts to make ends meet. Each fresh
disappointment which her brother's letters conveyed caused 'Nannerl's'
tears to flow with sympathy and vexation, and added to her father's
anxieties.
The latest letter had brought the depressing intelligence that, after
tedious delays, the Elector had decided that he could not see his way
to offering Mozart the engagement which he sought. Nothing remained to
be done, therefore, but to relinquish the idea of wintering in
Mannheim. But coupled with this announcement of failure, Wolfgang had
let drop some complaints on the subject of lesson-giving which aroused
his father to the pitch of administering a severe rebuke. Wolfgang's
protest was to the effect that so long as he was called upon to seek
work in the shape of music-lessons at small fees, the time which he
felt ought to be given to composition must suffer serious curtailment,
with the result that his progress would inevitably be hindered, if it
were not brought to an actual standstill. There was doubtless sound
sense behind this protest, for who could deny that Wolfgang's aims
were high, or that he possessed the power to accomplish great things
with his art? It is, however, easy to understand that his expressed
disinclination to give music-lessons touched his father on a tender
point. 'And so,' Leopold writes, with more bitterness than he has ever
shown before in his letters--'and so you will throw away chances of
earning money, whilst your old father has to run from house to house
for a wretched pittance in order to support himself and his daughter,
and to send the little that remains to you, instead of paying his
debts!' He begs Wolfgang to reflect whether he was not treating him
as hardly as the Archbishop himself. Then follows a remark which
refers to Mozart's proneness to place undue reliance on promises,
instead of using his own judgment. 'You have judgment,' says Leopold,
'but a trifle too much of conceit and self-love, and you are inclined
to be over-confiding, and to open your heart to every one you meet.'
However, Wolfgang's stay in Mannheim was, after all, prolonged over
the winter, through the efforts which his friends made to procure him
work; but when the spring came round, and the three musicians whom he
had promised to accompany to Paris were ready to start upon their
journey, he found an excuse for letting them go without him. Leopold
Mozart was a deeply religious man, and when he learnt from Wolfgang
that his reason for breaking off his intended journey was that his
three companions had not a particle of religion in them, he approved
his son's judgment without expressing any surprise at the tardiness of
his discovery.
But Mozart had a deeper reason, which he was not so anxious to
disclose, and which perhaps he could not, without knowing his mind
exactly at the time, have explained. Be this as it may, however,
Mozart could never have been surer of anything than that his father
would have disapproved in the strongest manner of the feelings which
were swaying him at that moment. Yet if Leopold had but read between
the lines of his son's letters he must have seen why it was that
Wolfgang was seemingly so blind to his own interests, and so forgetful
of his duty to those who loved him at home. The fact is Wolfgang was
in love. And if the vigilant eye of the kindest and tenderest father
that ever watched with unremitting care over the welfare of a gifted
son could have pierced the space that separated him from Wolfgang at
the moment when he was perusing that letter of excuse, it might have
lighted upon the following little scene which was being enacted in the
parlour of a small house in Mannheim.
A young man is seated at the harpsichord playing the accompaniment of
a song from the manuscript before him. Every now and then he lifts his
eyes from the music-sheet to let them rest upon the fair young face of
the maiden standing beside him, and that oft-repeated glance reveals
more than admiration for the singer's notes, pure and melodious as her
singing is--more than a recognition of the singer's charms, sweet
beyond question as those charms are; it reveals, in a word, the love
which is burning within the player's breast, a love as yet unspoken,
but beside which even art herself must for the time sink her
supremacy.
Aloysia Weber, the fifteen-year-old maiden for whom Mozart had
conceived this attachment, was the second daughter of Fridolin Weber,
a member of the Elector's band. The young composer had been attracted
first by her voice, and later by her personal beauty, and both of
these gifts had gained in power through the sympathy he felt for the
family who were in poor circumstances. He longed to be able to help
them; Aloysia's singing was of a high order, and only needed to be
heard in public to secure the approval of the connoisseurs; he had
already written a song specially for her, and she sang it as well as
he could wish. Thus he wrote to his father, in the hope of enlisting
the latter's interest in his protégé, adding that he only wished his
father could hear her sing. But he gave no indication in the letter of
those deeper feelings which animated his desire to be of use to the
family.
The father, however, was soon to receive a communication which
startled him into a knowledge of the true state of affairs. Wolfgang
had formed a project for helping the Webers by undertaking a journey
to Italy in company with Aloysia and her father, with the object of
writing an opera in which Aloysia should appear as prima donna. Their
plans would embrace, with Leopold's sanction, a visit to Salzburg by
the way, when Wolfgang would have the pleasure of introducing the fair
singer to his parent and 'Nannerl,' by whom he was sure she would be
welcomed and beloved. Leopold was distracted by the proposal. 'What!'
he writes, in reply to Wolfgang's letter, 'are you so mad as to prefer
a vagabond life to Mannheim and fame! Away with you to Paris, and that
immediately. Take up your position among those who are really
great--_aut Cæsar aut nihil_. From Paris the name and fame of a man of
talent spreads throughout the world.' The father wisely refrained from
making any direct allusion to the subject of Mozart's attachment,
trusting to the latter's sense of what was due to one who had made
such sacrifices on his behalf. His trust was not misplaced; duty and
affection prevailed, and with a heavy heart Mozart yielded to his
father's wishes, and his love-dream came to an end. His ready
compliance brought a most affectionate letter from Leopold, in which
he assures his dear Wolfgang that he does not entertain the least
mistrust of him; on the contrary, he has perfect confidence and hope
in his filial love. His good judgment, if he will only listen to it,
will direct him how to act. As for himself, he is resigned to
separation, and he adjures Wolfgang to live the life of a good
Catholic Christian. 'Love God and fear Him,' he continues; 'pray to
Him sincerely and devoutly, and let your conduct be such that, should
I never see you again, my death-bed may be free from anxiety. From my
heart I bless you.'
The departure for Paris was now fixed, but the leave-taking with the
Webers was not accomplished without tears, for the family insisted on
regarding Wolfgang as their 'greatest benefactor.' Aloysia was
encouraged to hope for better things, for she had already been heard
in public on several occasions through Mozart's influence, and now she
was to be placed under the care of a celebrated singer named Raaff,
who had undertaken to carry on the training of her beautiful voice,
and to assist in bringing her out.
The hopes which Leopold Mozart had built upon Wolfgang's prospects of
success in Paris were not destined to be fulfilled. The enthusiasm
which he had evoked as a marvellous prodigy was not to be elicited by
his matured powers as a young man, and the influence necessary to
enforce his claims to be recognised as a composer of standing was
lacking. Three months passed away in more or less unsuccessful
endeavour, and then the mother, who had been his companion and
comforter throughout this long period of trial and travel, was struck
down by serious illness, and on July 3, 1778, she breathed her last in
her son's arms. Wolfgang's first thought in the hour of sorrow was for
his father, and he wrote to an old friend at Salzburg, begging him to
break the sad news as gently as possible. When he knew that this had
been done he himself wrote a letter to his father, full of sympathy
and affection.
Mozart now determined to leave Paris at once, and his father was the
more willing to acquiesce in this step because an offer had been made
by Archbishop Hieronymus to instal Wolfgang in the place of the Court
organist, who had just died, and to give him a salary of five hundred
florins, with permission to absent himself whenever he might be called
upon to conduct one of his own operas. The offer had also attached to
it the near prospect of being made full Capellmeister at the
Archbishop's Court. Leopold urged Wolfgang's acceptance, pointing out
that their joint income would in such case amount to one thousand
florins a year--a sum that would enable them to discharge their debts
and live in comparative comfort.
Mozart, it must be owned, viewed the prospect of a return to Salzburg
under the implied conditions with positive dismay, but he could not
withstand his father's appeal. He set out from Paris immediately,
promising himself only one indulgence before entering upon the bondage
which lay before him--and that was to take Mannheim on his homeward
journey. Arrived at Mannheim, however, he found that the Webers had
migrated to Munich, whither the Elector had already gone to take up
his new residence. After exchanging greetings with a few old friends,
therefore, he bent his steps to Munich, hoping to find consolation in
a brief renewal of the happy hours which had left so strong an
impression on his memory. But, alas! his disappointments found their
crown within the Webers' dwelling. The family, it is true, received
him as warmly as of old; but she to whom his glance was first directed
showed in her eyes nothing more than a friendly welcome, and Mozart
was quick to perceive that his hopes had here no abiding-place.
Aloysia was fickle, and her affection had so far waned as to be unable
to withstand even the test afforded by Mozart's change of dress. When
he appeared before her with black buttons sewn upon his red coat,
after the French fashion, to indicate that he was in mourning, she
resented the innovation; and, after a brief intercourse, in which she
plainly showed that she had forgotten him for whom her tears had
flowed some months before, they parted.
It was with a mind stored with invaluable experience, but with a heart
saddened and sore by disappointed love and ambition, that Mozart once
more entered the portal of his Salzburg home. If anything could have
cheered him at that moment and served to dispel the clouds which
seemed to obscure his future, it would have been the warmth of the
welcome bestowed upon him by the inmates of that home which he had
left nearly two years before filled with the brightest anticipations.
And, indeed, it was little short of triumphant, this greeting and
homage which poured in upon him from father, sister, and friends. In
_their_ eyes, at least, his successes were unshadowed by his failures;
to them he was still the Mozart, the genius amongst musicians, who was
yet to leave his mark upon the roll of fame. But, grateful as he felt
for these proofs of sincere affection and esteem, his aversion to
Salzburg and his duties at the Court remained in full force, and it
was with a new-kindled joy that he set forth once more for Munich, in
November, 1780, to complete and produce the opera which he had been
commissioned to write for the carnival of the following year.
To the realisation of these the first-fruits of his previous sojourn
at Munich Mozart was to owe the establishment of his fame as a
dramatic composer of the first rank. 'Idomeneo,' as the new opera was
called, fulfilled the high expectations which his Munich friends had
formed from the composer's powers. Its reception at the rehearsals
rendered success a certainty, and the Elector, who was present, joined
with the performers in expressing his unqualified approval. At home
the progress of the work was watched with the deepest interest. 'The
universal subject of conversation here,' writes Leopold to his son,
'is your opera.' The first performance took place on January 29, and
as the Archbishop was then staying in Vienna, Leopold and Marianne
journeyed to Munich to witness Wolfgang's triumph. It was a proud and
happy moment for all three, and the enthusiastic applause which shook
the theatre at the close of the performance must have seemed to the
old father, who stood gazing with swimming eyes at the sea of waving
hands around him, to set the seal of greatness upon his son's career.
Mozart was soon, however, to taste the bitterness of his bondage by
receiving orders from the Archbishop to attend him in Vienna. From the
moment of his arrival the arrogant ecclesiastic gave him to understand
that, except when his services were required for his master's
glorification, he would be expected to take his place amongst the
servants of the household, to dine at their table, and to receive the
like treatment and consideration. The indignities to which he was
subjected beneath the Archbishop's roof, however, did not for a time
prevent Mozart from feeling happy, for the aristocracy as a body
welcomed him with enthusiasm, and invited him to their houses to dine.
To Hieronymus, on the other hand, who was cordially detested by the
nobility, and especially by the Emperor Joseph, the fact that one of
his musicians--a mere domestic of his establishment--was made the
object of all this attention on the part of the great people of
Vienna, was in itself sufficient to rekindle the hatred which he had
always felt towards Mozart. It was a purely selfish feeling which had
induced the Archbishop to reattach Mozart to his Court; and now, when
he found that requests were flowing in from the nobility to be allowed
to hear the composer play at their own houses, where Hieronymus
himself was far from being a welcome guest, he gave full rein to his
spite, with the result that Mozart's life speedily became unbearable.
The culminating point was reached when the Emperor purposely left the
Archbishop out of the list of guests invited to his summer residence
at Laxenburg. Enraged at the slight thus offered to him, Hieronymus
before leaving Vienna sought to gratify a portion of his revenge by
turning Mozart from his doors. Mozart had just before made up his mind
to quit the Archbishop's service, for his treatment had of late become
unendurable, and there was every prospect of his being able to make a
living in Vienna. He now requested an audience for the purpose of
ascertaining his position. Hieronymus seized the occasion for
showering upon the head of his Concertmeister all the abuse which he
could summon to his aid. Calling him 'villain,' 'low wretch,' 'low
fellow of the streets,' the Archbishop declared that none of his
servants treated him so badly. 'Your Grace is dissatisfied with me,
then?' said Mozart. 'What! you dare to employ threats! Fex! there is
the door! I will have nothing more to do with such a vile wretch!'
'Nor I with, you,' was Mozart's retort, as he quitted the room.
Mozart was now virtually free from the intolerable burden under which
he had suffered, but his actual discharge was not obtained without
further indignity and insult. Leopold Mozart received the news of the
rupture with alarm, and endeavoured to induce Wolfgang to reconsider
his decision not to return to Salzburg. But even though an official
acceptance of his resignation was not then forthcoming, Mozart made a
stand for his independence. 'Do not ask it,' he wrote to his father in
reply. 'Demand of me anything but that. The very thought of it makes
me tremble with rage. I hate the Archbishop almost to frenzy!'
We must pass over the time of struggle which followed the severance of
Mozart's connection with the Archbishop, when he found himself with
only a single pupil as a visible means of support, but, fortunately,
not without friends, and come to the point when, for the second time,
he fell in love. He was lodging with his old friends the Webers.
Fridolin Weber was dead; Aloysia had married, and was well known as a
professional singer; and Madame Weber, with her two unmarried
daughters, was living, in reduced circumstances, in Vienna. Mozart's
prospects had greatly improved, for his latest opera, 'Entführung aus
dem Serail,' had brought him increased fame, both in Vienna and in
Prague, and he had secured the patronage of many distinguished
personages, in addition to that of the Emperor Joseph. Bachelorhood to
him now seemed insupportable. 'To my mind,' he says in a letter to his
father, 'a bachelor lives only half a life,' and so he had determined
to marry. The object of his choice was Constanze Weber, the third
daughter, and, despite Leopold's remonstrances, Mozart made her his
bride on August 16, 1782.
[Illustration: "_There is the door!_"]
His marriage marked the beginning of a new era of struggle, for
Constanze, though a devoted wife, was incapable of managing a home,
and as their means were uncertain to start with, they were soon
involved in a sea of monetary troubles, from which there seemed to be
no prospect of their extricating themselves. An unpropitious note had
been struck on the very day of the wedding, when it must have appeared
to Mozart that he had committed a crime in robbing the family of one
of its members. 'As soon as we were married,' he wrote to his father,
'my wife and I both began to weep. All present, even the priest, were
touched at seeing us so moved, and wept too.'
With the friends and influence which Mozart's genius had ranged upon
his side it was hoped that a post of importance would by this time
have been found for him in Vienna. The bestowal of a Court appointment
would have relieved him of much of the drudgery of teaching and the
anxiety of tiding over periods when pupils and engagements were
scarce, but the Emperor, despite his sincere interest in all that
concerned the composer, showed a seeming disinclination to make a
proposal. Yet there could be no doubt of the appreciation in which
Mozart was held at the Court, for in a letter to his father at this
time he quotes a remark made by Prince Kaunitz to the Archduke
Maximilian on the subject of the Emperor's inaction with regard to
retaining Mozart's services: 'That men of that stamp only came into
the world once in a hundred years, and that they ought not to be
driven out of Germany, especially when, as good luck would have it,
they were already in the capital.'