[Illustration: WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART.]
_BIOGRAPHIES OF MUSICIANS._
LIFE OF MOZART
BY
LOUIS NOHL
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN
BY
JOHN J. LALOR.
“_Man’s title to nobility is the heart._”
CHICAGO:
JANSEN, McCLURG, & COMPANY.
1880.
COPYRIGHT,
JANSEN, MCCLURG & COMPANY.
A. D. 1880.
STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED
BY
THE CHICAGO LEGAL NEWS COMPANY.
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE.
Mr. Louis Nohl, the author of the present little volume, has merited
for himself in Germany a high reputation as a writer of the biographies
of musicians, and some of his larger works have appeared in English on
the other side of the Atlantic. The present is the first translation
into our language of his shorter Life of Mozart. It will, we trust,
prove acceptable to those who desire to learn the chief events in
the life of the great composer, to see how his life influenced his
compositions, and how his great works are, in many instances at least,
the expression of his own joys and sorrows, the picture of his own soul
in tones.
The translator’s grateful acknowledgments are due to Mr. A. W. Dohn, of
Chicago, who was kind enough to compare the entire translation with the
original. His thorough knowledge of music and German, no less than his
rare familiarity with the English language, have largely contributed to
the fidelity of this translation.
J. J. L.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY TRAVELS.
Mozart’s Parentage--Early Development of his Genius--Character
as a Child--Travels at the Age of Six--Received by Maria
Theresa and Marie Antoinette--Mozart and Goethe--Meeting
with Madame de Pompadour--The London Bach’s Opinion of
Young Mozart--Asked to Write an Opera by Joseph II--Assailed
by Envy--Padre Martini--Notes Down the Celebrated Miserere
from Ear--The Pope Confers on him the Order of the Golden
Spurs--A Member of the Philharmonic Society of Bologna--First
Love--Personal Appearance--Troubles with the Archbishop, 7-41
CHAPTER II.
THE GREAT PARISIAN ARTISTIC JOURNEY.
Disgusted with Salzburg--In Vienna Again--Salzburg
Society--Character of Musicians in the Last Century--Jerome
Colloredo, Archbishop of Salzburg--Mozart’s Letter to
Him--The Father’s Solicitude for His Son--Paternal Advice--New
Compositions--Incidents of his Journey--Meets with
Opposition--Secret Enemies--His Ambition to Elevate
the Character of the German Opera--Disappointments--His
Description of German “Free City” Life--Meeting with Stein--In
his Uncle’s Family--“Baesle”--Meeting with the
Cannabichs--Attachment for Rosa Cannabich--Influence of this
Attachment on his Music--The Weber Family--The _Non so d’Onde
Viene_--Circumstances of its Composition, 42-82
CHAPTER III.
IDOMENEO.
New Disappointments--Opposition of the Abbe Vogler--Mozart and
the Poet Wieland--Wieland’s Impressions of Mozart--German
Opera and Joseph II--The Weber Family--Aloysia Weber--Mozart’s
Plans--His Father Opposes them and his Attachment for
Aloysia--Mozart’s Music and Heart-trials--In
Paris--Disappointments there--Contrast Between Parisian and
German Life--New Intrigues Against Him--Invited Back to
Salzburg--“Faithless” Aloysia--Meeting of Father and
Son--Reception in Salzburg--“King Thamos”--Character of
Mozart’s Music Composed at this time--Invitation to Compose
the Idomeneo--Its Success--Effect on the Italian Opera, 83-117
CHAPTER IV.
ELOPEMENT FROM THE SERAGLIO--FIGARO--DON GIOVANNI.
Opinions on the Idomeneo--Tired of Salzburg--Goes to Vienna--The
Archbishop Again--Mozart Treated by Him with
Indignity--Paternal Reproaches--Assailed by Slander--He Leaves
Salzburg--Experiences in Vienna--Austrian Society--The German
Stage--The Emperor Expresses a Wish that Mozart might Write a
New Opera--Mozart’s Love for Constance Weber--Description of
Constance--The New Opera--Mozart’s Marriage--The Emperor’s
Opinion of Mozart’s Music--Mozart’s Interest In the Figaro--Its
Composition--Its Success--Mozart’s Poverty--In Bohemia--His
Popularity in Prague--Meaning of the Don Giovanni--Richard
Wagner on Mozart, 118-180
CHAPTER V.
THE MAGIC FLUTE--TITUS--THE REQUIEM.
Haydn’s Opinion of Mozart--Made Court Composer by Joseph
II--Don Giovanni in Vienna--Mozart’s Extreme Poverty--His
Cheerfulness under Adverse Circumstances--“The Song of the
Swan”--Other Compositions--Mozart’s Opinion of
Handel--Acquaintance with Sebastian Bach--Mozart’s Opinion
of Church Music--Mozart’s Characteristics--Audience
with the Emperor--Petition to His Imperial Majesty--His
Religious Feelings--Joins the Free Masons--History of the
Magic Flute--The Mysterious Stranger--The Requiem--Success
of the Magic Flute--Mozart as Reflected in his Music--His
Industry--Last Illness--Strange Fancies--His Last
Days--His Death, 181-236
THE LIFE OF MOZART.
CHAPTER I.
1756-1777.
CHILDHOOD AND EARLY TRAVELS.
Mozart’s Parentage--Early Development of his Genius--Character as a
Child--Travels at the age of Six--Received by Maria Theresa and
Marie Antoinette--Mozart and Goethe--Meeting with Madame de
Pompadour--The London Bach’s Opinion of Young Mozart--Asked to Write
an Opera by Joseph II--Assailed by Envy--Padre Martini--Notes Down
the Celebrated Miserere from Ear--The Pope Confers on him the Order
of the Golden Spurs--A Member of the Philharmonic Society of
Bologna--First Love--Personal Appearance--Troubles with the
Archbishop.
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was born in the city of Salzburg, on the 27th
of January, 1756. His father, Leopold, was descended from a family
of the middle class of the then free imperial city of Augsburg, and
had come to Salzburg, the domicile of a prince-bishop and the seat
of an excellent university, to study law. But as he had to support
himself by teaching music, even while pursuing his legal studies,
he was soon compelled to enter entirely into the service of others.
He became _valet de chambre_ to a canon of the Roman church, Count
Thurm; afterwards court-musician and then _capellmeister_[1] to
the archbishop. He had married in 1747 a young girl, educated in a
neighboring convent. Himself and wife were considered the handsomest
couple in Salzburg in their day. Of seven children born to them, they
lost all but two, Maria Anna, known by the pet-name of Nannerl, and our
Wolfgang, most frequently called Wolferl. Anna was about five years
older than Wolfgang, and both gave evidence, from the time they were
little children, of an extraordinary talent for music.
An old friend of the family tells us how, from the moment young Mozart
had begun to give himself to music, he cared neither to see nor hear
anything else. Even his childish games and plays did not interest
him unless accompanied by music. “Whenever,” says our informant, “we
carried our toys from one room to another, the one of us who had
nothing to carry was always required to play, or sing a march,” ...
and further: “He [Mozart] grew so extremely attached to me because
I kept him company and entered into his childish humors, that he
frequently asked me ten times in a day, if I loved him; and when I
sometimes said no, only in fun, the tears instantly glistened his eyes,
his little heart was so kind and tender.”
We learn from the same source that he manifested no pride or awe, yet
he never wished to play except before great connoisseurs in music;
and to induce him to do so it was sometimes necessary to deceive him
as to the musical acquirements of his hearers. He learned every task
that his father gave him, and put his soul so entirely into whatever
he was doing that he forgot all else for the time being, not excepting
even his music. Even as a child, he was full of fire and vivacity, and
were it not for the excellent training he received from his father,
who was very strict with him, and of a serious turn of mind, he might
have become one of the wildest of youths, so sensitive was he to the
allurements of pleasure of every kind, the innocence or danger of which
he was not yet able to discover.
When only five years of age he wrote some music in his _Uebungsbuch_ or
Exercise-book, which is yet to be seen in the Mozarteum[2] in Salzburg;
also some little minuets; and, on one occasion, his father and the
friend of the family mentioned above, surprised him engaged on the
composition of a concerto so difficult that no one in the world could
have played it. His ear was so acute, and his memory for music so good
from the time he was a child, that once when playing his little violin,
he remembered that the _Buttergeige_, the “butter-violin,” so-called
from the extreme smoothness of its tones, was tuned one-eighth of a
tone lower than his own. On account of this great acuteness of hearing,
he could not, at that age, bear the sound of the trumpet; and when
notwithstanding his father once put his endurance of it to the test, he
was taken with violent spasms.
His readiness and skill in music soon became so great that he was able
to play almost everything at sight. His little sister also had made
very extraordinary progress in music at a very early age, and the
father in 1762, when the children were respectively six and ten years
of age, began to travel with them, to show, as he said, these “wonders
of God” to the world.
The first place they went to was Munich, then as now the real capital
of Southern Germany, and after that to Vienna. Maria Theresa and her
consort were very fond of music. They received the children with
genuine German cordiality, and little Wolfgang without any more ado,
leaped into the lap of the Empress and kissed her; just as he had told
the unfortunate Marie Antoinette, who had helped him from the slippery
floor: “You are good and I’ll marry you.” The youngest son of Maria
Theresa, the handsome and amiable grand-duke, Maximilian, was of the
same age as young Mozart, and always remained his friend, as he was,
subsequently, the patron of Beethoven. The picture of Mozart and his
little sister dressed in the clothes of the imperial children hangs on
the walls of the Mozarteum; his animated eyes and her budding beauty
have an incomparable charm.
He now, in his sixth year, learned to play the violin, and his father
neglected nothing to give him, in every way, the best musical
instruction. For he was himself an excellent composer, and had written
a “violin method” which had a great reputation in its day, and was
honored with translation. Mozart’s education in music continued even
during the journey. Instruction in playing the organ was soon added to
instruction in the use of the violin. The next scene of the marvels of
the little ones was Southern Germany. This was in the summer of 1763.
In Heidelberg, Mozart’s little feet flew about on the pedals with such
rapidity that the clergyman in charge made a record of it in writing
on the organ itself. Goethe heard him in Frankfort, and thus obtained
a standard by which to measure all subsequent men of musical genius
whom he chanced to meet. In his declining years, Goethe listened to a
child similarly gifted, Felix Mendelssohn. In Paris, also, the court
was very gracious to the children; but when little Wolfgang, with the
ingenuousness of childhood, tried to put his arms about the neck of the
painted Madame de Pompadour as he had about that of Maria Theresa, he
was met with a rebuff, and, wounded to the quick, he cried: “Who is
that person there that won’t kiss me? The empress kissed me.” He always
thought a great deal of Maria Theresa, and his heart, through life, had
a nook in it for her, and was ever loyal to the imperial family, as we
shall see further on.
The princesses were all the more amiable in consequence, and did not
trouble themselves about etiquette. Every one wondered to hear so young
a child tell every note the moment he heard it; compose without the aid
of a piano, and play accompaniments to songs by ear only. No wonder
that he was greeted everywhere with the loudest applause, and that the
receipts were so flatteringly large.
The reception extended to them in London in 1764, was still kinder; for
the royal couple themselves were German, and Handel had already laid
a lasting foundation there for good music; while the French music of
the time seemed to our travelers to be exceedingly cold and empty--“a
continual and wearisome bawling.” Their stay in England was, on this
account, a very long one, and the father made use of the opportunity
he found there to give an excellent Italian singer as an instructor
to Wolfgang, who soon mastered the Italian style of melody, which was
then the prevailing one. It was in London that Mozart wrote his first
symphonies.
Their journey back in 1765, led them over Holland, where both children
were taken very dangerously ill, and the father’s strength for the
difficult task of preserving and educating such a boy as Wolfgang,
was put to the severest test. Even during the Lenten season, he was
allowed, in Amsterdam, to exhibit “for the glory of God” the wonderful
gifts of his son, and he finally returned in the fall of 1766, after
an absence of more than two years, to Salzburg, laden not so much with
money as with the fame of his little ones.
The journey taken thus early in life was of great advantage to Mozart
himself. He learned to understand men--for his father drew his
attention to everything; he even made the boy keep a diary--he got
rid of the shyness natural to children, and acquired a knowledge of
life. He had listened to the music of the different nations, and thus
discovered the manner in which each heart understands that language of
the human soul called melody. The refined tone of the higher classes
at this time was also of great advantage to his art. The magnificent
landscape scenery of his native place had awakened his natural sense
of the beautiful; its beautiful situation, its numerous churches and
palaces, had further developed that same aesthetic sense; and now the
varied impressions received from life and art during these travels,
so extensive for one so young, were one of the principal causes why
Mozart’s music acquired so early that something so directly attractive,
so harmoniously beautiful and so universally intelligible, which
characterizes it. But this phase of his music was fully developed only
by his repeated long sojourns in that land of beauty itself, in which
Mozart spent his incipient youth, in Italy.
Mozart’s father, indeed, did not remain long in Salzburg. Salzburg was
no place for him. And must not the boy always have felt keenly the
impulse to display his artistic power before the world? Had not the
London Bach, a son of the great Leipzig cantor, Sebastian Bach, whose
influence on Mozart we shall hear of further on, said of him that many
a _capellmeister_ had died without knowing what this boy knew even
now? The marriage of an archduke brought the family, in 1768, to Vienna
once more, the first place they lived in after leaving Salzburg. Here
the father saw clearly, for the first time, that Italy and Italy alone
was the proper training-school for this young genius. The Emperor
Joseph had, indeed, confided to him the task of writing an Italian
opera--it was the _La Finta Semplice_, “Simulated Simplicity”--and the
twelve-year-old boy himself directed a solemn mass at the consecration
of a church, a performance which made so deep an impression on his
mind, that twenty years after he used to tell of the sublime effect of
his church on his mind. A German operetta, _Bastien and Bastienne_,
was honored with a private performance. But this first Italian opera
was the occasion of Mozart’s experiencing the malicious envy of his
fellow-musicians, which, it is said, contributed so much, later, to
make his life wretched and to bring it to an early close.
His father writes:
“Thus, indeed, have people to scuffle their way through. If a man has
no talent, his condition is unfortunate enough; if he has talent,
he is persecuted by envy, and that in proportion to his skill.”
Young Mozart’s enemies and enviers had cunning enough to prevent the
performance of his work, and the father was now doubly intent on
exhibiting his son’s talent where, as the latter himself admitted, he
felt that he was best understood, and where he had won the highest fame
in his youth.
Italy is the mother country of music and was, besides, at this time,
the Eldorado of composers. The Church had nurtured music. With the
Church it came into Germany. From Germany it subsequently returned
enriched. It reached its first memorable and classical expression in
the Roman Palestrina. After his day, a worldly and even theatrical
character invaded the music of the Catholic Church, of which Palestrina
is the great ideal. The cause of this change was the introduction of
the opera, which was due to the revival of the study of the antique,
and especially of Greek tragedy.
The pure style of vocal composition was founded on the Protestant
choral, and reached its highest classical expression, in modern times,
in the German Sebastian Bach. His contemporary and countryman, Handel,
on the other hand, remained, by way of preference, in the region of
opera; and, after he had achieved great triumphs in it in foreign
countries, he rose to the summit of his greatness, in the spiritual
drama, the oratorio. The world at this time loved the theatrical; and
its chief seat, so far as the opera was concerned, was the country
which had given birth to music. As, in its day, Italy had the greatest
composers, it had now, to say the least, the greatest and most
celebrated singers, and with a single victory here one entered the
lists with all educated Europe. “Then up and go there,” the father must
have said to himself, when he saw that his son’s talent for composition
was not recognized in Germany as much as it deserved to be recognized
even then, and the superior excellence of his performances denied there
when it was admitted everywhere else.
We need not here enter into the details of this journey. The youthful
artist continued to work wonders similar to those which we have
already related. And on one occasion, in Naples, the boy was even
obliged to remove a ring from his finger, because his wizard-like art
was ascribed by the people to his wearing it. We must here confine
ourselves to tracing the course of development of this extraordinary
genius, and to showing what were the influences that made him such.
At the end of the year 1769, that is, when Mozart was nearly fourteen
years of age, we find him and his father journeying through the
Tyrol to the land of milder breezes and sweet melodies. Everywhere
the same unbounded admiration of his talent. In Vienna, the two--who
now traveled unaccompanied by the mother and sister--were obliged to
elbow themselves through the crowd to the choir, so great was the
concourse of people. In Milan, such was the impression made by our
hero, that Wolfgang was asked to compose an opera. In Italy new operas
were introduced twice a year; and he was given the first opportunity
to display his talent during the season preceding Christmas. The
honorarium paid him was, as usual, one hundred ducats and lodging free.
He received no more at a later period for his _Don Giovanni_. But
such an amount was a large remuneration, at that time, for the young
beginner.
In the execution of his task, however, he showed himself by no means a
mere beginner. For when, continuing their journey--to which they could
give themselves up with all the more composure as the libretto was to
be sent after them--they came to Bologna and there called upon the most
learned musician of his age, Padre Martini, even he could do nothing
but lose himself in wonder at the power of achievement of our young
master, who, as Martini said, solved problems and overcame difficulties
which gave evidence both of innate genius and of the most comprehensive
knowledge. Wolfgang here became acquainted with the greatest singer
of his time, the sopranist, Carlo Broschi, known as Farinelli, and
received from him as a last legacy the Italian art of _bel canto_;
for, said he, only he who understands the art of song in its highest
sense, can, in turn, properly write for song. And yet this vocalist was
already in the sixties.
Florence was still governed by the Hapsburgs, and hence the best of
receptions was given to our travelers there. Of the magnificent works
of art in the place, the letters to his mother and sister do not say
anything. But we can scarcely suppose that the _Venus Anathusia_
and the _Madonna della Sedia_ remained unknown to him who was alone
destined to give life to Raphael and the antique, even in tones.
Mozart’s own letters from Rome do not leave us in the dark on this
point. He writes to his sister: “Yesterday we were in the Capitol
and saw many beautiful things, and there are, indeed, many beautiful
things there and elsewhere in Rome”--Laocoon and Ariadne, the Apollo
Belvedere and the head of Olympian Jove. And then the many churches,
and among them a St. Peter’s! But naturally enough, the music remained
the most remarkable thing of all to the two musicians; and then there
was the Sistine Chapel, in which alone something of the art of the
great Romans still lived and ruled. Of Palestrina we hear nothing in
this connection, but Wolfgang went so far as to make a copy of Allegri.
“You know,” the father writes, “that the Miserere sung here is esteemed
so highly that the musicians of the chapel are forbidden, under
pain of excommunication, to copy any part of it, or to give a part
of it to anybody. But we have it. Wolfgang has written it down from
ear. However, we do not wish this secret to come into anyone’s else
possession, lest we should incur the censure of the Church directly or
indirectly.” The Mozarts, indeed, attached some importance to their
faith in the Catholic Church. To them it was intrinsic truth. And thus
Wolfgang’s youthful soul was forever consecrated, for the reception
of the highest feelings of the human breast, by the peculiarly sacred
songs sung during this holy week in Rome--feelings which, even in
compositions not religious, he, in the course of his life, clothed
in sounds so beautiful and enrapturing. In after years, he was wont
to tell of the deep impression made on him by these incidents in
his religious experience. “How I felt there! how I felt there!” he
exclaimed, over and over again, in speaking of them.
We have heard already of Naples. The father had written from Rome
that the further they got into Italy the greater was the wonder of
the people. The intoxicating beauty of nature mirrored in the Bay of
Naples, could not but make a deep impression on the artist, who was
himself destined one day to give expression in so magical a manner
and in sounds so entrancing, to the charm and intoxication of the
serenest joys of life. “Naples is beautiful,” he writes curtly but
characteristically to his sister. Yet it may be that the immense
solemnity of Rome was more in harmony with Mozart’s German nature.
They were there soon again, and this time they had an opportunity to
see what can be seen only in Rome--the Pope. Delighted with young
Wolfgang’s playing, the Holy Father--it was the great Ganganelli,
Clement XIV--granted him a private audience, and conferred on him the
order of the Golden Spurs, that same order which afterwards gave us a
chevalier Gluck. Mozart did not, at first, make much of this honor, and
his father wrote: “You may imagine how I laugh to hear him called all
the time _Signor Cavaliere_.” Later, however, they knew when a proper
occasion presented itself, how to turn such a distinction to advantage.
The end now aimed at by young Mozart and his father was fame and
success. A step towards the attainment of these was Wolfgang’s
nomination as a member of the celebrated Philharmonic Society of
Bologna, which invested him, in Italy, with the title of _Cavaliere
Filarmonico_. And when father and son came to Milan again in 1770,
he had, so far as his rank as an artist and his position in life
were concerned, attained success. At fourteen, he was _Signor
Cavaliere_--Chevalier Mozart. The journey itself had done much to bring
his artistic views to maturity. His technical ability was very plainly
now supplemented by the pure sense of the beautiful, the result of the
highest intellectual labor. He had surmounted all difficulties, and
especially those purely natural ones by which the rough, lack-lustre
north, with its inhospitable climate, only too frequently keeps Germans
back in art. From this time forward the divine rays of ideal beauty
beam brightly from Mozart’s melody, and they never became extinct. In
Mozart’s art there was now no room for perfection of form. His art
could be added to only by adding to the life that was in it; and we
shall soon again meet with traces of that personal contact with life
which matures man’s capabilities and develops them. Let us first look
at the earliest decided successes of the composer, successes which, for
a long time, bound him to the “land where the citron blooms.”
The Italian opera which then ruled supreme everywhere, was far from
being such a dramatic performance on the stage as rivets the attention.
The taste of the Italians which revelled in beautiful songs, soon made
these the chief feature in the entire opera. Interesting or thrilling
incidents from history, and still more the great myths of antiquity and
of the middle ages, were so adapted for the occasion that a love affair
always played the principal part in them, and the whole culminated
in the effusions of happy or heart-broken lovers. There was here,
certainly, a rich opportunity for an art like music. As it was, almost
the entire opera was made up of arias, and the person who wrote the
prettiest arias, of course, carried off the palm. These arias had like
a garment to be made to order, so to speak, for the several singers,
and to fit them exactly, if they were to produce their full effect: the
finest note of the prima donna, or a tenor, had to be at the same time
the finest part of the air, and _vice versa_. Thus prepared, the opera
was sung, and went the round of one-half of Europe. We have seen this,
in this century, in the case of Rossini, Bellini and Donizetti, and we
see it in our own day, in the case of Verdi.
It was at this point that Mozart modestly entered on the musical
inheritance from the past. A youth of fourteen will certainly not
change or attack what more than a century and the whole educated world
has approved and admired. But how he took up into his work the several
features of the “fabulous history” of the old, unfortunate king of
Pontus, Mithridates, and united them into glowing music, we learn from
the critic of the day, after the performance of the piece on the 26th
of December, 1770, in the following words: “The young _Capellmeister_
studies the beautiful in nature, and then gives us back that beauty
adorned with the rarest musical grace.” Envy and intrigue were, indeed,
not wanting here, either. But Wolfgang was equal to the task of taking
care of himself, and even of adapting himself to the whims of the
singers. “If this duet does not give satisfaction, he can re-arrange
it,” the first sopranist exclaimed; and people were very much surprised
to see the tone of the home opera, its _chiaroscuro_, as they called
the beautiful discordance of the different pieces with one another, so
accurately hit by a young beginner. Cries of _Evviva il maestro! Evviva
il maestrino!_ were heard on every side; the work had to be repeated
twenty times, and it was immediately ordered for five other stages,
among them that of Mozart’s own beloved capital--all of which, however,
according to the custom of the time, turned only to the advantage of
the copyist.
The object of the first trip to Rome, in 1770, was thus attained.
Wolfgang had not spared himself, and his father had to keep a
watchful eye on him. Uninterrupted labor and earnest occupation had
given so serious a turn to his mind--and he was always naturally
reflective--that his father thought well to invite some friends to his
home while Wolfgang was composing. He asked others to write him jocose
letters, in order to divert him. The musical genius and the inner man
were ripening side by side. At the age of fifteen he had the maturity
of a full-grown youth.
Even now the chords of his nature, which lent to his melodies that most
fervid of tones which we think we hear even when only Mozart’s name is
mentioned, those tender feelings of the heart which made him above all
the minstrel of love, are heard in the soft vibrations of his music. In
his hearty attachment to his mother and sister, we see the development
of what the family-friend already mentioned has told us of his innate
craving for affection when only four years old. His little postscripts
to his father’s letters about this journey are delightful reading. He
never forgets the dear ones at home. He inquires about each one in
turn; and even the “weighty and lofty thoughts of Italy,” where he was
frequently “distracted by mere business,” do not keep him from doing
so. He tells his mamma he kisses her hands a billion times, and Nannerl
that he kisses her “cheek, nose, mouth and neck.” On post-days, he goes
on, “everything tastes better,” and only the abundance of his bantering
in these notes preserved in the Mozarteum can give any idea of his
overflowing tenderness for his sweet sister.
But it was not long before he discovered beauty in others than his
sister. His young eye caught sight of the _prime donne_ and pretty
ballet-dancers of Italy; but, with the fair ones, he had formed a
more intimate personal acquaintance in Salzburg, where his sister had
friends of her own sex. “I had a great deal to say to my sister, but
what I had to say is known only to God and myself,” he wrote from
Italy; and shortly after, still more suggestively: “What you have
promised me, my dear (---- you know you are my dear one), don’t fail
to do, I pray you. I shall surely be obliged to you.” This was during
his second journey to Rome, when his short and restful stay in his
beautiful home allowed his heart, so to speak, repose, and afforded him
leisure to busy himself with other matters than music. “I implore thee,
let me know about the other one, _where there is no other one_; you
understand me, and I need say no more,” he adds, evidently desiring to
cover something up, and what could there be for him to cover up but a
tender feeling of the heart? Later he adds: “I hope that you have been
to see the young lady; you know which one I mean. I beg of you when you
see her to pay her a compliment for me.” There certainly is nothing
more easy of explanation than that the young artist was attracted by
the fair sex, whose admiration for him was so unbounded. Nothing so
charms woman as fame and greatness, especially when fame and greatness
have an intellectual foundation; and was not the young _cavaliere
filarmonico_ famed beyond all men living? His mere appearance, indeed,
made no very powerful impression at the first sight. He was small of
stature. According to the account given of himself, in one of his
letters, he was “brought up on water.” His head seemed to be too large
for his body, the result of an abundance of beautiful flaxen hair;
and only his natural ease and grace of movement made him--especially
in the costume of the past century--irresistibly charming, an effect
which was heightened by the thoughtful expression of his beautiful
greyish-blue eyes. But when this excitable young man, in his velvet
coat, knee-breeches, silk stockings, buckled shoes, galoon-hat and
sword, was thought of as the celebrated _maestro_, whose fame was
only beginning; or when he was heard play and seen producing his own
compositions, the impression was changed, and the place of mere
physical attraction was taken by the unspeakable charm of the mind and
heart, by the spell-binding, mysterious force of creative genius. But
woman loves the power of genius, and surrenders her entire self to it.
A kiss from pretty lips when he had written a new minuet, he considered
a beautiful “present,” and kisses do not come singly.
But now little time remained to him for the half-innocent,
half-sensuous idyls of the eighteenth century. He was again engaged
for the first season of the year, 1773, in Milan, this time for a
consideration of one hundred and thirty ducats, and in the meantime,
he received another commission, probably in consequence of the
reputation of “Mithridates,” to help celebrate the marriage of a son
of the Empress Maria Theresa, in Milan, by means of a _serenata_, _i.
e._, a kind of little opera. This was in the summer of 1771, and in
August both father and son were in Milan again. The subject-matter was
_Ascanius in Alba_. But flattery for the noble couple chiefly filled
this theatrical sketch, a fact which by no means kept Wolfgang from
doing his best. He writes: “Over us is a violinist, under us another,
next us a singing master, and in the only remaining room a hautboyist,
all of which makes composing very pleasant, and suggests many ideas
to one.” These ideas must have been of great consequence to him at
this time, because his rival, the composer of the principal opera, was
Hasse, the then most celebrated composer in Italy, the “dear Saxon,”
as the Italians called him, a man who had presented them with so many
hundred operas that he could not count them himself. The libretto did
not reach him until the end of August, and the festivities were to take
place in October. “And then my fingers pain me so from writing,” he
says, in an exculpatory way, after four weeks, to Nannerl. There were
now wanting only two arias. Thanks to the elasticity of his nature, he
preserved his health; but the fact that he “was always sleepy” shows
how very hard he had worked, nay, that he had worked too hard.
He did not fail of success. The noble couple set an example to the
public by their approbation, and the father writes: “I am sorry;
Wolfgang’s _serenata_ has so badly beaten Hasse’s opera that I cannot
describe it.” And it is said that the latter, with a delightful absence
of envy, exclaimed: “That boy will send us all to oblivion.” How true
was the prophecy, and how many, in all ages will not this same Mozart
eclipse by his refulgence!
The play was, contrary to custom, repeated several times, and on
this occasion a diamond snuff-box from the archduke was added to the
honorarium usually paid.
In December, 1771, we find the Mozarts at home once more, but enjoying
the pleasant prospect of new laurels in Italy. It was well that there
was such a prospect before them; for the death of Archbishop Sigismund
placed a new master over them. His successor, Jerome, whose election
was received with feelings anything but joyful, was destined to leave a
sad page in Mozart’s life.
The citizens of Salzburg entrusted their celebrated young
fellow-townsman with the composition of the music for the occasion of
their demonstration of respect to the new archbishop. It was the “Dream
of Scipio.” Besides this, there was little in Salzburg to be done. In
the capacity of _concertmeister_ to the archbishop, to which position
he was appointed after his success in Italy, he had to write the music
for the court and for the cathedral. In those days people were ever
craving for something new in their favorite art; and while Mozart’s
masses, yielding to the theatrical tendency of the time, like those of
Haydn, have more of a pleasant play in them than of church gravity,
and are therefore of less importance to posterity, the composition of
symphonies carried him into a department which, created by Haydn, was
destined, through Mozart, to lead to that mighty phenomenon, Beethoven.
The form of the sonata, which is the basis of the symphony, also
had originated in consequence of a more and more poetico-musical
development from the suite which introduced a series of dances,
the allemande being the first. And as the dance itself is a direct
imitation of natural human movement and passion, the sonata and
symphony, together with the quartette, became more and more, the
expression of the personal experience and feelings of the composer,
who, the more deeply and grandly he conceived the world, was able to
give of it, in his music, a more beautiful and ravishing picture--an
art which afterwards reached in Beethoven’s symphonies a height
unsurpassed as yet.
What poetry and prose were for the opera, the joy and the sorrow
of life felt by the composer himself were for the piano and the
orchestra--the impulse and poetical bait to musical composition. We
shall soon find Mozart’s life reflected in his art, and it is this that
makes the biography of the man so peculiarly attractive and so full of
meaning.
In November, 1772, we find our two travelers in Italy again. The opera
of Silla had to be written for Milan. And now, what the father desired
above all, was to see his son anchored there in a permanent position.
He first made some arrangements in Florence. He could not feel at home
in Salzburg after the appointment of the new archbishop. The latter
was, indeed, friendly to intellectual progress, and opposed to the
gloomy rule of the priesthood, but, at the same time, he was himself
too much of a tyrant to be able to bless his people by diffusing
prosperity among them, or to win their love. His mode of government
could not be acceptable to the independent spirit of the father any
more than to the liberty-loving genius of the son; and this all the
more, as he had no real feeling for, or understanding of art, or of
the sovereign rule of genius. And so it happened, that the father,
even during his journey, found it hard to banish what he called his
“Salzburg thoughts” from his mind. He was disappointed because he
accomplished nothing in Florence, and this added to his trouble.
But he now met with compensation in Milan. In his letters, Wolfgang
says: “It is impossible for me to write much, because, in the first
place, I know nothing to write about, and in the second place, I do not
know what I am writing; for all my thoughts are with my opera, and I
am in danger of writing a whole aria to you instead of a letter.” The
performers were very well satisfied this time too, and what an effect
the work must have produced is attested by a mishap which occurred
to the principal male voice. He had unwittingly provoked the prima
donna to a fit of laughter, which confused him so much that he began
to gesticulate himself in a most unmannerly way. The audience, whose
patience had been taxed to the utmost by being obliged to wait for the
archduke, who lived in the city, caught the contagion, and began to
laugh likewise. Spite of this, the opera proved victoriously successful
the first time it was performed, and was repeated more than twenty
times.
This closed Mozart’s real work for the Italians. He would certainly
have been called upon to do much more in that country, but the
Archbishop of Salzburg refused him leave of absence, saying that he
“did not want to see his people going begging about the country.”
And yet Mozart himself said subsequently: “When I think it all over,
I have nowhere received so many honors, and nowhere been so highly
esteemed as in Italy. A man has good credit indeed when he has written
operas in Italy.” And, in reality, it was due to his success in Italy
that Mozart was, two years after this, called to Munich to write the
music for another Italian opera. This was the charming _opera buffa_
(comic opera), the _La finta giardiniera_; and here Jerome could not
refuse his permission; his relations, personal and official with the
neighboring elector’s court, did not allow him to do so.
The elector Maximilian III. was a kindly, good-hearted gentleman, and
very fond of music himself. He had long before manifested a great deal
of interest in Mozart, and knew as well as anybody what success the
young composer had met with in the world. Mozart saw himself loved
and honored, and the excellence of the opera in Munich was a great
incentive to induce him to do his very best in the performance of the
task now given him. In it we find early traces of those living streams
of pleasant feelings which flowed from Mozart’s heart. The words of
the opera had been frequently set to music; but the people said that
no more beautiful music had ever been heard than that of Mozart’s
opera, in which all the arias, without exception, were beautiful.
“Thank God,” he wrote on the 14th of January, “my opera was put upon
the stage yesterday, and came off so well that I find it impossible
to describe the bustle to mamma. In the first place, the theater was
so very crowded that a great many people had to go back home. Every
aria was followed by a frightful hubbub and cries of _viva maestro!_
Her highness the electoress and the electoress dowager, who were just
opposite me, saluted me with a _bravo!_ When the opera was out, there
was nothing to be heard but the clapping of hands and cries of _bravo!_
interrupted by pauses of silence, only to be taken up again, and again.
After this, I went with papa into a room, through which the elector
had to go, where I kissed the hands of his highness, of the electoress
and of the nobility, all of whom were very gracious to me. Early this
morning his grace, the prince-bishop of Chiemsee, sent a special
messenger here to congratulate me on the fact that the opera had proved
so unprecedently successful.” The prince-bishop, who had been a canon
of the cathedral in Salzburg, and loved Mozart very much, had, it is
very likely, procured for him the commission from Munich, and hence his
enhanced interest in Mozart, and the peculiar satisfaction he felt in
his great success.
Even the archbishop himself was an unwilling witness of the triumph of
his _concertmeister_, to whom he showed so little respect. He had not,
indeed, seen the opera himself, because it was not performed during
his visit, which was a mere visit on business connected with his
office; but, as the father writes, he could not help hearing Mozart’s
praise, and accepting many solemn congratulations on having secured the
services of so great a genius, from all the elector’s household and
from the nobility. This confused him so much that he could answer only
with a nod of the head and a shrug of the shoulders. We shall soon see
that all this did not redound to Mozart’s welfare and advantage.
An operetta, the _Il Re Pastore_, “The Royal Shepherd,” written in
honor of the sojourn of the Archduke Maximilian Francis in Salzburg,
in the same year, 1775, must also be classed among the youthful works
of our artist. He had now passed his twentieth year. He had learned
all there was to be learned, and proved it in many ways by what he had
achieved in practice. His feelings urged him to display his powers
before the world. He felt himself a man with
“Muth sich in die Welt zu wagen,
Der Erde Weh, der Erde Glück zu tragen.”
His boyhood was over; the youth was growing into the man, and the man
craves to try his strength--craves action.
This craving brought our artist, for the first time, into a personal
struggle with life; and as he was compelled henceforth to carry on that
struggle alone, experience quickly strengthened his moral power; and we
find him no longer simply the divinely favored artist, but the strong,
noble-minded man as well.