Books: The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, V.1.

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If this were a place where people had ears to hear or hearts to
feel, and understood just a little of music, and had some degree
of taste, these things would only make me laugh heartily, but as
it is (so far as music is concerned) I am surrounded by mere
brute beasts. But how can it be otherwise? for in all their
actions, inclinations, and passions, they are just the same.
There is no place in the world like Paris. You must not think
that I exaggerate when I speak in this way of the music here;
refer to whom you will, except to a Frenchman born, and (if
trustworthy) you will hear the same. But I am now here, and must
endure it for your sake. I shall be grateful to Providence if I
get away with my natural taste uninjured. I pray to God every day
to grant me grace to be firm and steadfast here, that I may do
honor to the whole German nation, which will all redound to His
greater honor and glory, and to enable me to prosper and make
plenty of money, that I may extricate you from your present
emergencies, and also to permit us to meet soon, and to live
together happily and contentedly; but "His will be done in earth
as it is in heaven." I entreat you, dearest father, in the
meantime, to take measures that I may see Italy, in order to
bring me to life again. Bestow this great happiness upon me, I
implore you! I do hope you will keep up your spirits; I shall cut
my way through here as I best can, and trust I shall get off
safely. Adieu!

103.

Paris, May 14, 1778.

I HAVE already so much to do that I don't know how I am to manage
when winter comes. I think I wrote to you in my last letter that
the Duc de Guines, whose daughter is my pupil in composition,
plays the flute inimitably, and she the harp magnificently; she
has a great deal of talent and genius, and, above all, a
wonderful memory, for she plays all her pieces, about 200 in
number, by heart. She, however, doubts much whether she has any
genius for composition, especially as regards ideas or invention;
but her father (who, entre nous, is rather too infatuated about
her) declares that she certainly has ideas, and that she is only
diffident and has too little self-reliance. Well, we shall see.
If she acquires no thoughts or ideas, (for hitherto she really
has none whatever,) it is all in vain, for God knows I can't give
her any! It is not the father's intention to make her a great
composer. He says, "I don't wish her to write operas, or arias,
or concertos, or symphonies, but grand sonatas for her instrument
and for mine." I gave her to-day her fourth lesson on the rules
of composition and harmony, and am pretty well satisfied with
her. She made a very good bass for the first minuet, of which I
had given her the melody, and she has already begun to write in
three parts; she can do it, but she quickly tires, and I cannot
get her on, for it is impossible to proceed further as yet; it is
too soon, even if she really had genius, but, alas! there appears
to be none; all must be done by rule; she has no ideas, and none
seem likely to come, for I have tried her in every possible way.
Among other things it occurred to me to write out a very simple
minuet, and to see if she could not make a variation on it. Well,
that utterly failed. Now, thought I, she has not a notion how or
what to do first. So I began to vary the first bar, and told her
to continue in the same manner, and to keep to the idea. At
length this went tolerably well. When it was finished, I told her
she must try to originate something herself--only the treble of a
melody. So she thought it over for a whole quarter of an hour,
AND NOTHING CAME. Then I wrote four bars of a minuet, saying to
her, "See what an ass I am! I have begun a minuet, and can't even
complete the first part; be so very good as to finish it for me."
She declared this was impossible. At last, with great difficulty,
SOMETHING CAME, and I was only too glad that ANYTHING AT ALL
CAME. I told her then to complete the minuet--that is, the treble
only. The task I set her for the next lesson was to change my
four bars, and replace them by something of her own, and to find
out another beginning, even if it were the same harmony, only
changing the melody. I shall see to-morrow what she has done.

I shall soon now, I think, receive the poetry for my two-act
opera, when I must first present it to the Director, M. de
Vismes, to see if he will accept it; but of this there can be no
doubt, as it is recommended by Noverre, to whom De Vismes is
indebted for his situation. Noverre, too, is soon to arrange a
new ballet, for which I am to write the music. Rudolf (who plays
the French horn) is in the royal service here, and a very kind
friend of mine; he understands composition thoroughly, and writes
well. He has offered me the place of organist at Versailles if I
choose to accept it: the salary is 2000 livres a year, but I must
live six months at Versailles and the remaining six in Paris, or
where I please. I don't, however, think that I shall close with
the offer; I must take the advice of good friends on the subject.
2000 livres is no such very great sum; in German money it may be
so, but not here. It amounts to 83 louis-d'or 8 livres a year--
that is, 915 florins 45 kreutzers of our money, (which is
certainly a considerable sum,) but only to 383 ecus 2 livres, and
that is not much, for it is frightful to see how quickly a dollar
goes here! I am not at all surprised that so little is thought of
a louis-d'or in Paris, for it does not go far. Four dollars, or a
louis-d'or, which are the same, are gone in no time. Adieu!

104.

Paris, May 29, 1778.

I AM pretty well, thank God! but still I am often puzzled to know
what to make of it all. I feel neither hot nor cold, and don't
take much pleasure in anything. What, however, cheers and
strengthens me most is the thought that you, dearest papa, and my
dear sister, are well; that I am an honest German, and though I
cannot SAY, I may at all events THINK what I please, and, after
all, that is the chief thing. Yesterday I was for the second time
at Count Sickingen's, ambassador from the Elector Palatine; (I
dined there once before with Wendling and Ramm.) I don't know
whether I told you what a charming man he is, and a great
connoisseur and devoted lover of music. I passed eight hours
quite alone with him. The whole forenoon, and afternoon too, till
ten o'clock at night, we were at the piano, playing all kind of
music, praising, admiring, analyzing, discussing, and
criticizing. He has nearly thirty scores of operas. I must not
forget to tell you that I had the satisfaction of seeing your
"School for the Violin" translated into French; I believe it is
about eight years since the translation appeared. I have just
returned from a music-shop where I went to buy a sonata of
Schobert's for one of my pupils, and I mean to go again soon to
examine the book more closely, that I may write to you about it
minutely, for to-day I have not time to do this.

105.

Paris, June 12, 1778.

I MUST now write something that concerns our Raaff. [Footnote:
Mozart wrote the part of Idomeneo for Raaff in the year 1781.]
You no doubt remember that I did not write much in his favor from
Mannheim, and was by no means satisfied with his singing--in
short, that he did not please me at all. The cause, however, was
that I can scarcely say I really heard him at Mannheim. The first
time was at the rehearsal of Holzbauer's "Gunther," when he was
in his every-day clothes, his hat on his head, and a stick in his
hand. When he was not singing, he stood looking like a sulky
child. When he began to sing the first recitative, it went
tolerably well, but every now and then he gave a kind of shriek,
which I could not bear. He sang the arias in a most indolent way,
and yet some of the notes with too much emphasis, which is not
what I like. This has been an invariable habit of his, which the
Bernacchi school probably entails; for he is a pupil of
Bernacchi's. At court, too, he used to sing all kinds of airs
which, in my opinion, by no means suited his voice; so he did not
at all please me. When at length he made his debut here in the
Concert Spirituel, he sang Bach's scena, "Non so d' onde viene"
which is, besides, my great favorite, and then for the first time
I really heard him sing, and he pleased me--that is, in this
class of music; but the style itself, the Bernacchi school, is
not to my taste. He is too apt to fall into the cantabile. I
admit that, when he was younger and in his prime, this must have
made a great impression and taken people by surprise; I could
like it also, but there is too much of it, and it often seems to
me positively ludicrous. What does please me in him is when he
sings short pieces--for instance, andantinos; and he has likewise
certain arias which he gives in a manner peculiar to himself. Let
each occupy his proper place. I fancy that bravura singing was
once his forte, which is even still perceptible in him, and so
far as age admits of it he has a good chest and a long breath;
and then his andantino! His voice is fine and very pleasing; if I
shut my eyes and listen to him, I think his singing very like
Meissner's, only Raaff's voice seems to me more agreeable. I speak
of the present time, for I never heard either in his best days. I
can therefore only refer to their style or method of singing, for
this a singer always retains. Meissner, as you know, had the bad
habit of purposely making his voice tremble at times,--entire
quavers and even crotchets, when marked sostenuto,--and this I
never could endure in him. Nothing can be more truly odious;
besides, it is a style of singing quite contrary to nature. The
human voice is naturally tremulous, but only so far as to be
beautiful; such is the nature of the voice, and it is imitated
not only on wind instruments, but on stringed instruments, and
even on the piano. But the moment the proper boundary is passed
it is no longer beautiful, because it becomes unnatural. It seems
to me then just like an organ when the bellows are panting. Now
Raaff never does this,--in fact, he cannot bear it. Still, so far
as a genuine cantabile goes, Meissner pleases me (though not
altogether, for he also exaggerates) better than Raaff. In
bravura passages and roulades, Raaff is indeed a perfect master,
and he has such a good and distinct articulation, which is a
great charm; and, as I already said, his andantinus and
canzonetti are delightful. He composed four German songs, which
are lovely. He likes me much, and we are very intimate; he comes
to us almost every day. I have dined at least six times with
Count von Sickingen, and always stay from one o'clock till ten.
Time, however, flies so quickly in his house that it passes quite
imperceptibly. He seems fond of me, and I like very much being
with him, for he is a most friendly, sensible person, possessing
excellent judgment and a true insight into music, I was there
again to-day with Raaff. I took some music with me, as the Count
(long since) asked me to do so. I brought my newly completed
symphony, with which, on Corpus Christi day, the Concert
Spirituel is to commence. The work pleased them both exceedingly,
and I am also well satisfied with it. Whether it will be popular
here, however, I cannot tell, and, to say the truth, I care very
little about it. For whom is it to please? I can answer for its
pleasing the few intelligent Frenchmen who may be there; as for
the numskulls--why, it would be no great misfortune if they were
dissatisfied. I have some hope, nevertheless, that even the
dunces among them may find something to admire. Besides, I have
been careful not to neglect le premier coup d'archet; and that is
sufficient. All the wiseacres here make such a fuss on that
point! Deuce take me if I can see any difference! Their orchestra
begins all at one stroke, just as in other places. It is too
laughable! Raaff told me a story of Abaco on this subject. He was
asked by a Frenchman, in Munich or elsewhere,--"Monsieur, vous
avez ete a Paris?" "Oui." "Est-ce que vous etiez au Concert
Spirituel?" "Oui." "Que dites-vous du premier coup d'archet?
avez-vous entendu le premier coup d'archet?" "Oui, j'ai entendu
le premier et le dernier." "Comment le dernier? que veut dire
cela?" "Mais oui, le premier et le dernier; et le dernier meme
m'a donne plus de plaisir." [Footnote: The imposing impression
produced by the first grand crash of a numerous orchestra,
commencing with precision, in tutti, gave rise to this
pleasantry.] A few days afterwards his kind mother was taken ill.
Even in her letters from Mannheim she often complained of various
ailments, and in Paris also she was still exposed to the
discomfort of cold dark lodgings, which she was obliged to submit
to for the sake of economy; so her illness soon assumed the worst
aspect, and Mozart experienced the first severe trial of his
life. The following letter is addressed to his beloved and
faithful friend, Abbe Bullinger, tutor in Count Lodron's family
in Salzburg.

(Private.) 106.

Paris, July 3, 1778.

MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--

Mourn with me! This has been the most melancholy day of my life;
I am now writing at two o'clock in the morning. I must tell you
that my mother, my darling mother, is no more. God has called her
to Himself; I clearly see that it was His will to take her from
us, and I must learn to submit to the will of God. The Lord
giveth, and the Lord taketh away. Only think of all the distress,
anxiety, and care I have endured for the last fourteen days. She
died quite unconscious, and her life went out like a light. She
confessed three days before, took the sacrament, and received
extreme unction. The last three days, however, she was constantly
delirious, and to-day, at twenty minutes past five o'clock, her
features became distorted, and she lost all feeling and
perception. I pressed her hand, I spoke to her, but she did not
see me, she did not hear me, and all feeling was gone. She lay
thus till the moment of her death, five hours after, at twenty
minutes past ten at night. There was no one present but myself,
Herr Heiner, a kind friend whom my father knows, and the nurse.
It is quite impossible for me to describe the whole course of the
illness to-day. I am firmly convinced that she must have died,
and that God had so ordained it. All I would ask of you at
present is to act the part of a true friend, by preparing my
father by degrees for this sad intelligence. I have written to
him by this post, but only that she is seriously ill; and now I
shall wait for your answer and be guided by it. May God give him
strength and courage! My dear friend, I am consoled not only now,
but have been so for some time past. By the mercy of God I have
borne it all with firmness and composure. When the danger became
imminent, I prayed to God for only two things--a happy death for
my mother, and strength and courage for myself; and our gracious
God heard my prayer and conferred these two boons fully on me. I
entreat you, therefore, my best friend, to watch over my father
for me; try to inspire him with courage, that the blow may not be
too hard and heavy on him when he learns the worst. I also, from
my heart, implore you to comfort my sister. Pray go straight to
them, but do not tell them she is actually dead--only prepare
them for the truth. Do what you think best, say what you please;
only act so that my mind may be relieved, and that I may not have
to dread another misfortune. Support and comfort my dear father
and my dear sister. Answer me at once, I entreat. Adieu! Your
faithful

W. A. M.

107.

Paris, July 3, 1778.

MONSIEUR MON TRES-CHER PERE,--

I have very painful and sad news to give you, which has, in fact,
been the cause of my not having sooner replied to your letter of
the 11th. My dearest mother is very ill. She has been bled
according to her usual custom, which was indeed very necessary;
it did her much good, but a few days afterwards she complained of
shivering and feverishness; then diarrhoea came on and headache.
At first we only used our home remedies, antispasmodic powders;
we would gladly have had recourse to the black powder, but we had
none, and could not get it here. As she became every moment
worse, could hardly speak, and lost her hearing, so that we were
obliged to shout to her, Baron Grimm sent his doctor to see her.
She is very weak, and still feverish and delirious. They do give
me some hope, but I have not much. I hoped and feared alternately
day and night for long, but I am quite reconciled to the will of
God, and hope that you and my sister will be the same. What other
resource have we to make us calm? More calm, I ought to say; for
altogether so we cannot be. Whatever the result may be, I am
resigned, knowing that it comes from God, who wills all things
for our good, (however unaccountable they may seem to us;) and I
do firmly believe (and shall never think otherwise) that no
doctor, no man living, no misfortune, no casualty, can either
save or take away the life of any human being--none but God
alone. These are only the instruments that He usually employs,
but not always; we sometimes see people swoon, fall down, and be
dead in a moment. When our time does come, all means are vain,--
they rather hurry on death than retard it; this we saw in the
case of our friend Hefner. I do not mean to say by this that my
mother will or must die, or that all hope is at an end; she may
recover and be restored to health, but only if the Lord wills it
thus. After praying to God with all my strength for health and
life for my darling mother, I like to indulge in such consolatory
thoughts, and, after doing so, I feel more cheerful and more calm
and tranquil, and you may easily imagine how much I require
comfort. Now for another subject. Let us put aside these sad
thoughts, and still hope, but not too much; we must place our
trust in the Lord, and console ourselves by the thought that all
must go well if it be in accordance with the will of the
Almighty, as he knows best what is most profitable and beneficial
both for our temporal and spiritual welfare.

I have composed a symphony for the opening of the Concert
Spirituel, which was performed with great applause on Corpus
Christi day. I hear, too, that there is a notice of it in the
"Courrier de l'Europe," and that it has given the greatest
satisfaction. I was very nervous during the rehearsal, for in my
life I never heard anything go so badly. You can have no idea of
the way in which they scraped and scrambled through my symphony
twice over; I was really very uneasy, and would gladly have had
it rehearsed again, but so many things had been tried over that
there was no time left. I therefore went to bed with an aching
heart and in a discontented and angry spirit. Next day I resolved
not to go to the concert at all; but in the evening, the weather
being fine, I made up my mind at last to go, determined that if
it went as badly as at the rehearsal, I would go into the
orchestra, take the violin out of the hands of M. La Haussaye,
the first violin, and lead myself. I prayed to God that it might
go well, for all is to His greater honor and glory; and ecce, the
symphony began, Raaff was standing beside me, and just in the
middle of the allegro a passage occurred which I felt sure must
please, and there was a burst of applause; but as I knew at the
time I wrote it what effect it was sure to produce, I brought it
in once more at the close, and then rose shouts of "Da capo!" The
andante was also liked, but the last allegro still more so.
Having observed that all last as well as first allegros here
begin together with all the other instruments, and generally
unisono, mine commenced with only two violins, piano for the
first eight bars, followed instantly by a forte; the audience, as
I expected, called out "hush!" at the soft beginning, and the
instant the forte was heard began to clap their hands. The moment
the symphony was over I went off in my joy to the Palais Royal,
where I took a good ice, told over my beads, as I had vowed, and
went home, where I am always happiest, and always shall be
happiest, or in the company of some good, true, upright German,
who, so long as he is unmarried, lives a good Christian life, and
when he marries loves his wife, and brings up his children
properly.

I must give you a piece of intelligence that you perhaps already
know--namely, that the ungodly arch-villain Voltaire has died
miserably like a dog--just like a brute. This is his reward! You
must long since have remarked that I do not like being here, for
many reasons, which, however, do not signify as I am actually
here. I never fail to do my very best, and to do so with all my
strength. Well, God will make all things right. I have a project
in my head, for the success of which I daily pray to God. If it
be His almighty will, it must come to pass; but, if not, I am
quite contented. I shall then at all events have done my part.
When this is in train, and if it turns out as I wish, you must
then do your part also, or the whole work would be incomplete.
Your kindness leads me to hope that you will certainly do so.
Don't trouble yourself by any useless thoughts on the subject;
and one favor I must beg of you beforehand, which is, not to ask
me to reveal my thoughts more clearly till the time comes. It is
very difficult at present to find a good libretto for an opera.
The old ones, which are the best, are not written in the modern
style, and the new ones are all good for nothing; for poetry,
which was the only thing of which France had reason to be proud,
becomes every day worse, and poetry is the only thing which
requires to be good here, for music they do not understand. There
are now two operas in aria which I could write, one in two acts,
and the other in three. The two-act one is "Alexandra et Roxane,"
but the author of the libretto is still in the country; the one
in three acts is "Demofonte" (by Metastasio). It is a translation
interspersed with choruses and dancing, and specially adapted to
the French stage. But this one I have not yet got a sight of.
Write to me whether you have Schroter's concertos in Salzburg, or
Hullmandell's sonatas. I should like to buy them to send to you.
Both of them are beautiful. With regard to Versailles, it never
was my intention to go there. I asked the advice of Baron Grimm
and other kind friends on the point, and they all thought just as
I did. The salary is not much, and I should be obliged to live a
dreary life for six months in a place where nothing is to be
gained, and my talents completely buried. Whoever enters the
king's service is forgotten in Paris; and then to become an
organist! A good appointment would be most welcome to me, but
only that of a Capellmeister, and a well-paid one too.

Now, farewell! Be careful of your health; place your trust in
God, and then you will find consolation. My dearest mother is in
the hands of the Almighty. If He still spares her to us, as I
wish He may, we will thank Him for this blessing, but if He takes
her to Himself, all our anguish, misery, and despair can be of no
avail. Let us rather submit with firmness to His almighty will,
in the full conviction that it will prove for our good, as he
does nothing without a cause. Farewell, dearest papa! Do what you
can to preserve your health for my sake.

108.

Paris, July 9, 1778.

I HOPE you are prepared to receive with firmness most melancholy
and painful intelligence. My last letter of the 3d must have
shown you that no good news could be hoped for. That very same
day, the 3d, at twenty minutes past ten at night, my mother fell
asleep peacefully in the Lord; indeed, when I wrote to you she
was already in the enjoyment of heavenly bliss, for all was then
over. I wrote to you in the night, and I hope you and my dear
sister will forgive me for this slight but very necessary
deception; for, judging of your grief and sorrow by my own, I
could not prevail on myself to startle you suddenly by such
dreadful intelligence; but I hope you have now summoned up
courage to hear the worst, and that, after at first giving way to
natural and only too just anguish and tears, you will eventually
submit to the will of God, and adore His inscrutable,
unfathomable, and all-wise providence. You can easily conceive
what I have had to endure, and what courage and fortitude I
required to bear with composure seeing her become daily worse and
worse; and yet our gracious God bestowed this boon on me. I have,
indeed, suffered and wept, but what did it avail? So I strove to
be comforted, and I do hope, my dear father, that my dear sister
and you will do likewise. Weep, weep, as you cannot fail to weep,
but take comfort at last; remember that God Almighty has ordained
it, and how can we rebel against Him? Let us rather pray to Him
and thank Him for His goodness, for she died a happy death. Under
these heart-rending circumstances there were three things that
consoled me--my entire and steadfast submission to the will of
God, and the sight of her easy and blessed death, which made me
feel that in a moment she had become so happy; for how far
happier is she now than we are! Indeed, I would fain at that
moment have gone with her. From this wish and longing proceeded
my third source of consolation--namely, that she is not lost to
us forever, that we shall see her again, and live together far
more happily and blessedly than in this world. The time as yet we
know not, but that does not disturb me; when God wills it I am
ready. His heavenly and holy will has been fulfilled. Let us
therefore pray a pious Vater unser for her soul, and turn our
thoughts to other matters, for there is a time for everything.

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