Books: The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, V.1.
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Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart >> The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, V.1.
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110.
Paris, July 31, 1778.
I HOPE you have got my two letters of the 11th and 18th. Meantime
I have received yours of the 13th and 20th. The first brought
tears of sorrow to my eyes, as I was reminded by it of the sad
death of my darling mother, and the whole scene recurred vividly
to me. Never can I forget it while I live. You know that (though
I often wished it) I had never seen any one die, and the first
time I did so it was fated to be my own mother! My greatest
misery was the thoughts of that hour, and I prayed earnestly to
God for strength. I was heard, and strength was given to me.
Melancholy as your letter made me, still I was inexpressibly
happy to find that you both bear this sorrow as it ought to be
borne, and that my mind may now be at ease about my beloved
father and sister. As soon as I read your letter, my first
impulse was to throw myself on my knees, and fervently to thank
our gracious God for this blessing. I am now comparatively happy,
because I have no longer anything to dread on account of the two
persons who are dearest to me in this world; had it been
otherwise, such a terrible misfortune would have utterly
overwhelmed me. Be careful therefore of your precious health for
my sake, I entreat, and grant to him who flatters himself that he
is now what you love most in the world the joy and felicity soon
to embrace you.
Your last letter also caused my tears to flow from joy, as it
convinced me more than ever of your fatherly love and care. I
shall strive with all my might still more to deserve your
affection. I thank you for the powder, but am sure you will be
glad to hear that I do not require to use it. During my dear
mother's illness it would have been very useful, but now, thank
God! I am perfectly well and healthy. At times I have fits of
melancholy, but the best way to get rid of them is by writing or
receiving letters, which always cheers me; but, believe me, these
sad feelings never recur without too good cause. You wish to have
an account of her illness and every detail connected with it;
that you shall have; but I must ask you to let it be short, and I
shall only allude to the principal facts, as the event is over,
and cannot, alas! now be altered, and I require some space to
write on business topics.
In the first place, I must tell you that NOTHING could have saved
my mother. No doctor in the world could have restored her to
health. It was the manifest will of God; her time was come, and
God chose to take her to Himself. You think she put off being
bled too long? it may be so, as she did delay it for a little,
but I rather agree with the people here, who dissuaded her from
being bled at all. The cause of my mother's illness was internal
inflammation. After being bled she rallied for some days, but on
the 19th she complained of headache, and for the first time
stayed in bed the whole day. On the 20th she was seized first
with shivering and then with fever, so I gave her an anti-
spasmodic powder. I was at that time very anxious to send for
another doctor, but she would not allow me to do so, and when I
urged her very strongly, she told me that she had no confidence
in any French medical man. I therefore looked about for a German
one. I could not, of course, go out and leave her, but I
anxiously waited for M. Heina, who came regularly every day to
see us; but on this occasion two days passed without his
appearing. At last he came, but as our doctor was prevented
paying his usual visit next day, we could not consult with him;
in fact, he did not come till the 24th. The previous day, when I
had been expecting him so eagerly, I was in great trouble, for my
mother suddenly lost her sense of hearing. The doctor, an old
German about seventy, gave her rhubarb in wine. I could not
understand this, as wine is usually thought heating; but when I
said so, every one exclaimed, "How can you say so? Wine is not
heating, but strengthening; water is heating." And all the time
the poor invalid was longing for a drink of fresh water. How
gladly would I have complied with her wish! My dear father, you
cannot conceive what I went through, but nothing could be done,
except to leave her in the hands of the physician. All that I
could do with a good conscience, was to pray to God without
ceasing, that He would order all things for her good. I went
about as if I had altogether lost my head. I had ample leisure
then to compose, but I was in such a state that I could not have
written a single note. The 25th the doctor did not come; on the
26th he visited her again. Imagine my feelings when he all at
once said to me, "I fear she will scarcely live through the
night; she may die at any moment. You had better see that she
receives the sacrament." So I hurried off to the end of the
Chaussee d'Antin, and went on beyond the Barriere to find Heina,
knowing that he was at a concert in the house of some count. He
said that he would bring a German priest with him next morning.
On my way back I looked in on Madame d'Epinay and M. Grimm for a
moment as I passed. They were distressed that I had not spoken
sooner, as they would at once have sent their doctor. I did not
tell them my reason, which was, that my mother would not see a
French doctor. I was hard put to it, as they said they would send
their physician that very evening. When I came home, I told my
mother that I had met Herr Heina with a German priest, who had
heard a great deal about me and was anxious to hear me play, and
that they were both to call on me next day. She seemed quite
satisfied, and though I am no doctor, still seeing that she was
better I said nothing more. I find it impossible not to write at
full length--indeed, I am glad to give you every particular, for
it will be more satisfactory to you; but as I have some things to
write that are indispensable, I shall continue my account of the
illness in my next letter. In the mean time you must have seen
from my last letter, that all my darling mother's affairs and my
own are in good order. When I come to this point, I will tell you
how things were arranged. Heina and I regulated everything
ourselves.
Now for business. Do not allow your thoughts to dwell on what I
wrote, asking your permission not to reveal my ideas till the
proper time arrived. Pray do not let it trouble you. I cannot yet
tell you about it, and if I did, I should probably do more harm
than good; but, to tranquillize you, I may at least say that it
only concerns myself. Your circumstances will be made neither
better nor worse, and until I see you in a better position I
shall think no more about the matter. If the day ever arrives
when we can live together in peace and happiness, (which is my
grand object),--when that joyful time comes, and God grant it may
come soon!--then the right moment will have arrived, and the rest
will depend on yourself. Do not, therefore, discompose yourself
on the subject, and be assured that in every case where I know
that your happiness and peace are involved, I shall invariably
place entire confidence in you, my kind father and true friend,
and detail everything to you minutely. If in the interim I have
not done so, the fault is not solely mine. [FOOTNOTE: He had
evidently in his thoughts, what was indeed manifest in his
previous letters, a speedy marriage with his beloved Aloysia.] M.
Grimm recently said to me, "What am I to write to your father?
What course do you intend to pursue? Do you remain here, or go to
Mannheim?" I really could not help laughing: "What could I do at
Mannheim now? would that I had never come to Paris! but so it is.
Here I am, and I must use every effort to get forward." "Well,"
said he, "I scarcely think that you will do much good here."
"Why? I see a number of wretched bunglers who make a livelihood,
and why, with my talents, am I to fail? I assure you that I like
being at Mannheim, and wish very much to get some appointment
there, but it must be one that is honorable and of good repute. I
must have entire certainty on the subject before I move a step."
"I fear," said he, "that you are not sufficiently active here--
you don't go about enough." "Well," said I, "that is the hardest
of all for me to do." Besides, I could go nowhere during my
mother's long illness, and now two of my pupils are in the
country, and the third (the Duke de Guines's daughter) is
betrothed, and means no longer to continue her lessons, which, so
far as my credit is concerned, does not distress me much. It is
no particular loss to me, for the Duke only pays me what every
one else does. Only imagine! I went to his house every day for
two hours, being engaged to give twenty-four lessons, (but it is
the custom here to pay after each twelve lessons.) They went into
the country, and when they came back ten days afterwards, I was
not apprised of it; had I not by chance inquired out of mere
curiosity, I should not have known that they were here. When I
did go, the governess took out her purse and said to me, "Pray
excuse my only paying you at present for twelve lessons, for I
have not enough money." This is a noble proceeding! She then gave
me three louis-d'or, adding, "I hope you are satisfied; if not, I
beg you will say so." M. le Duc can have no sense of honor, or
probably thinks that I am only a young man and a thick-headed
German, (for this is the way in which the French always speak of
us,) and that I shall be quite contented. The thick-headed
German, however, was very far from being contented, so he
declined receiving the sum offered. The Duke intended to pay me
for one hour instead of two, and all from economy. As he has now
had a concerto of mine for harp and flute, for the last four
months, which he has not yet paid me for, I am only waiting till
the wedding is over to go to the governess and ask for my money.
What provokes me most of all is that these stupid Frenchmen think
I am still only seven years old, as they saw me first when I was
that age. This is perfectly true, for Madame d'Epinay herself
told me so quite seriously. I am therefore treated here like a
beginner, except by the musicians, who think very differently;
but most votes carry the day!
After my conversation with Grimm, I went the very next day to
call on Count Sickingen. He was quite of my opinion that I ought
to have patience and wait till Raaff arrives at his destination,
who will do all that lies in his power to serve me. If he should
fail, Count Sickingen has offered to procure a situation for me
at Mayence. In the mean time my plan is to do my utmost to gain a
livelihood by teaching, and to earn as much money as possible.
This I am now doing, in the fond hope that some change may soon
occur; for I cannot deny, and indeed at once frankly confess,
that I shall be delighted to be released from this place. Giving
lessons is no joke here, and unless you wear yourself out by
taking a number of pupils, not much money can be made. You must
not think that this proceeds from laziness. No! it is only quite
opposed to my genius and my habits. You know that I am, so to
speak, plunged into music,--that I am occupied with it the whole
day,--that I like to speculate, to study, and to reflect. Now my
present mode of life effectually prevents this. I have, indeed,
some hours at liberty, but those few hours are more necessary for
rest than for work.
I told you already about the opera. One thing is certain--I must
compose a great opera or none. If I write only smaller ones, I
shall get very little, for here everything is done at a fixed
price, and if it should be so unfortunate as not to please the
obtuse French, it is all up with it. I should get no more to
write, have very little profit, and find my reputation damaged.
If, on the other hand, I write a great opera, the remuneration is
better, I am working in my own peculiar sphere, in which I
delight, and I have a greater chance of being appreciated,
because in a great work there is more opportunity to gain
approval. I assure you that if I receive a commission to write an
opera, I have no fears on the subject. It is true that the devil
himself invented their language, and I see the difficulties which
all composers have found in it. But, in spite of this, I feel
myself as able to surmount these difficulties as any one else.
Indeed, when I sometimes think in my own mind that I may look on
my opera as a certainty, I feel quite a fiery impulse within me,
and tremble from head to foot, through the eager desire to teach
the French more fully how to know, and value, and fear the
Germans. Why is a great opera never intrusted to a Frenchman? Why
is it always given to a foreigner? To me the most insupportable
part of it will be the singers. Well, I am ready. I wish to avoid
all strife, but if I am challenged I know how to defend myself.
If it runs its course without a duel, I should prefer it, for I
do not care to wrestle with dwarfs.
God grant that some change may soon come to pass! In the mean
time I shall certainly not be deficient in industry, trouble, and
labor. My hopes are centred on the winter, when every one returns
from the country. My heart beats with joy at the thought of the
happy day when I shall once more see and embrace you.
The day before yesterday my dear friend Weber, among other
things, wrote to me that the day after the Elector's arrival it
was publicly announced that he was to take up his residence in
Munich, which came like a thunder-clap on Mannheim, wholly, so to
say, extinguishing the universal illumination by which the
inhabitants had testified their joy on the previous day. The fact
was also communicated to all the court musicians, with the
addition that each was at liberty to follow the court to Munich
or to remain in Mannheim, (retaining the same salaries,) and in a
fortnight each was to give a written and sealed decision to the
Intendant. Weber, who is, as you know, in the most miserable
circumstances, wrote as follows:--"I anxiously desire to follow
my gracious master to Munich, but my decayed circumstances
prevent my doing so." Before this occurred there was a grand
court concert, where poor Madlle. Weber felt the fangs of her
enemies; for on this occasion she did not sing! It is not known
who was the cause of this. Afterwards there was a concert at Herr
von Gemmingen's, where Count Seeau also was. She sang two arias
of mine, and was so fortunate as to please, in spite of those
Italian scoundrels [the singers of Munich], those infamous
charlatans, who circulated a report that she had very much gone
off in her singing. When her songs were finished, Cannabich said
to her, "Mademoiselle, I hope you will always continue to fall
off in this manner; tomorrow I will write to M. Mozart in your
praise." One thing is certain; if war had not already broken out,
the court would by this time have been transferred to Munich.
Count Seeau, who is quite determined to engage Madlle. Weber,
would have left nothing undone to insure her coming to Munich, so
that there was some hope that the family might have been placed
in better circumstances; but now that all is again quiet about
the Munich journey, these poor people may have to wait a long
time, while their debts daily accumulate. If I could only help
them! Dearest father, I recommend them to you from my heart. If
they could even for a few years be in possession of 1000 florins!
111.
To HERR BULLINGER.
Paris, August 7, 1778.
MY VERY DEAR FRIEND,--
Allow me above all to thank you most warmly for the proof of
friendship you gave me by your interest in my dear father--first
in preparing, and then kindly consoling him for his loss [see No.
106]. You played your part admirably. These are my father's own
words. My kind friend, how can I sufficiently thank you? You
saved my father for me. I have you to thank that I still have
him. Permit me to say no more on the subject, and not to attempt
to express my gratitude, for I feel too weak and incompetent to
do so. My best friend, I am forever your debtor; but patience! It
is too true that I am not yet in a position to repay what I owe
you, but rely on it God will one day grant me the opportunity of
showing by deeds what I am unable to express by words. Such is my
hope; till that happy time, however, arrives, allow me to beg you
to continue your precious and valued friendship to me, and also
to accept mine afresh, now and forever; to which I pledge myself
in all sincerity of heart. It will not, indeed, be of much use to
you, but not on that account less sincere and lasting. You know
well that the best and truest of all friends are the poor. The
rich know nothing of friendship, especially those who are born
to riches, and even those whom fate enriches often become very
different when fortunate in life. But when a man is placed in
favorable circumstances, not by blind, but reasonable good
fortune and merit, who during his early and less prosperous days
never lost courage, remaining faithful to his religion and his
God, striving to be an honest man and good Christian, knowing how
to value his true friends,--in short, one who really deserves
better fortune,--from such a man no ingratitude is to be feared.
I must now proceed to answer your letter. You can be under no
further anxiety as to my health, for you must have ere this
received three letters from me. The first, containing the sad
news of my mother's death, was enclosed, my dear friend, to you.
You must forgive my silence on the subject, but my thoughts recur
to it constantly. You write that I should now think only of my
father, tell him frankly all my thoughts, and place entire
confidence in him. How unhappy should I be if I required this
injunction! It was expedient that you should suggest it, but I am
happy to say (and you will also be glad to hear it) that I do not
need this advice. In my last letter to my dear father, I wrote to
him all that I myself know up to this time, assuring him that I
would always keep him minutely informed of everything, and
candidly tell him my intentions, as I place entire faith in him,
being confident of his fatherly care, love, and goodness. I feel
assured that at a future day he will not deny me a request on
which my whole happiness in life depends, and which (for he
cannot expect anything else from me) will certainly be quite fair
and reasonable. My dear friend, do not let my father read this.
You know him; he would only fancy all kinds of things, and to no
purpose.
Now for our Salzburg affair. You, my dear friend, are well aware
how I do hate Salzburg, not only on account of the injustice
shown to my father and myself there, which was in itself enough
to make us wish to forget such a place, and to blot it out wholly
from our memory. But do not let us refer to that, if we can
contrive to live respectably there. To live respectably and to
live happily, are two very different things; but the latter I
never could do short of witchcraft,--it would indeed be
supernatural if I did,--so this is impossible, for in these days
there are no longer any witches. Well, happen what may, it will
always be the greatest possible pleasure to me to embrace my dear
father and sister, and the sooner the better. Still I cannot deny
that my joy would be twofold were this to be elsewhere, for I
have far more hope of living happily anywhere else. Perhaps you
may misunderstand me, and think that Salzburg is on too small a
scale for me. If so, you are quite mistaken. I have already
written some of my reasons to my father. In the mean time, let
this one suffice, that Salzburg is no place for my talent. In the
first place, professional musicians are not held in much
consideration; and, secondly, one hears nothing. There is no
theatre, no opera there; and if they really wished to have one,
who is there to sing? For the last five or six years the Salzburg
orchestra has always been rich in what is useless and
superfluous, but very poor in what is useful and indispensable;
and such is the case at the present moment. Those cruel French
are the cause of the band there being without a Capellmeister.
[FOOTNOTE: The old Capellmeister, Lolli, had died a short time
previously.] I therefore feel assured that quiet and order are
now reigning in the orchestra. This is the result of not making
provision in time. Half a dozen Capellmeisters should always be
held in readiness, that, if one fails, another can instantly be
substituted. But where, at present, is even ONE to be found? And
yet the danger is urgent. It will not do to allow order, quiet,
and good-fellowship to prevail in the orchestra, or the mischief
would still further increase, and in the long run become
irremediable. Is there no ass-eared old periwig, no dunderhead
forthcoming, to restore the concern to its former disabled
condition? I shall certainly do my best in the matter. To-morrow
I intend to hire a carriage for the day, and visit all the
hospitals and infirmaries, to see if I can't find a Capellmeister
in one of them. Why were they so improvident as to allow
Misliweczeck to give them the slip, and he so near too? [See No.
64.] He would have been a prize, and one not so easy to replace,
--freshly emerged, too, from the Duke's Clementi Conservatorio. He
was just the man to have awed the whole court orchestra by his
presence. Well, we need not be uneasy: where there is money there
are always plenty of people to be had. My opinion is that they
should not wait too long, not from the foolish fear that they
might not get one at all,--for I am well aware that all these
gentlemen are expecting one as eagerly and anxiously as the Jews
do their Messiah,--but simply because things cannot go on at all
under such circumstances. It would therefore be more useful and
profitable to look out for a Capellmeister, there being NONE at
present, than to write in all directions (as I have been told) to
secure a good female singer.
[FOOTNOTE: In order the better to conciliate Wolfgang, Bullinger
had been desired to say that the Archbishop, no longer satisfied
with Madlle. Haydn, intended to engage another singer; and it was
hinted to Mozart, that he might be induced to make choice of
Aloysia Weber; (Jahn, ii. 307.) Madlle. Haydn was a daughter of
Lipp, the organist, and sent by the Archbishop to Italy to
cultivate her voice. She did not enjoy a very good reputation.]
I really can scarcely believe this. Another female singer, when
we have already so many, and all admirable! A tenor, though we do
not require one either, I could more easily understand--but a
prima donna, when we have still Cecarelli! It is true that
Madlle. Haydn is in bad health, for her austere mode of life has
been carried too far. There are few of whom this can be said. I
wonder that she has not long since lost her voice from her
perpetual scourgings and flagellations, her hair-cloth, unnatural
fasts, and night-prayers! But she will still long retain her
powers, and instead of becoming worse, her voice will daily
improve. When at last, however, she departs this life to be
numbered among the saints, we still have five left, each of whom
can dispute the palm with the other. So you see how superfluous a
new one is. But, knowing how much changes and novelty and variety
are liked with us, I see a wide field before me which may yet
form an epoch. [FOOTNOTE: Archbishop Hieronymus, in the true
spirit of Frederick the Great, liked to introduce innovations
with an unsparing hand; many, however, being both necessary and
beneficent.] Do your best that the orchestra may have a leg to
stand on, for that is what is most wanted. A head they have [the
Archbishop], but that is just the misfortune; and till a change
is made in this respect, I will never come to Salzburg. When it
does take place, I am willing to come and to turn over the leaf
as often as I see V. S. [volti subito] written. Now as to the war
[the Bavarian Succession]. So far as I hear, we shall soon have
peace in Germany. The King of Prussia is certainly rather
alarmed. I read in the papers that the Prussians had surprised an
Imperial detachment, but that the Croats and two Cuirassier
regiments were near, and, hearing the tumult, came at once to
their rescue, and attacked the Prussians, placing them between
two fires, and capturing five of their cannon. The route by which
the Prussians entered Bohemia is now entirely cut up and
destroyed. The Bohemian peasantry do all the mischief they can to
the Prussians, who have besides constant desertions among their
troops; but these are matters which you must know both sooner and
better than we do. But I must write you some of our news here.
The French have forced the English to retreat, but it was not a
very hot affair. The most remarkable thing is that, friends and
foes included, only 100 men were killed. In spite of this, there
is a grand jubilation here, and nothing else is talked of. It is
also reported that we shall soon have peace. It is a matter of
indifference to me, so far as this place is concerned; but I
should indeed be very glad if we were soon to have peace in
Germany, for many reasons. Now farewell! Your true friend and
obedient servant,
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