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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WOLFGANG ROMATZ.
112.
St. Germains, August 27, 1778.
I WRITE to you very hurriedly; you will see that I am not in
Paris. Herr Bach, from London [Johann Christian], has been here
for the last fortnight. He is going to write a French opera, and
is only come for the purpose of hearing the singers, and
afterwards goes to London to complete the opera, and returns here
to put it on the stage. You may easily imagine his joy and mine
when we met again; perhaps his delight may not be quite as
sincere as mine, but it must be admitted that he is an honorable
man and willing to do justice to others. I love him from my heart
(as you know), and esteem him; and as for him, there is no doubt
that he praises me warmly, not only to my face, but to others
also, and not in the exaggerated manner in which some speak, but
in earnest. Tenducci is also here, Bach's dearest friend, and he
expressed the greatest delight at seeing me again. I must now
tell you how I happen to be at St. Germains. The Marechal de
Noailles lives here, as you no doubt know, (for I am told I was
here fifteen years ago, though I don't remember it.) Tenducci is
a great favorite of his, and as he is exceedingly partial to me,
he was anxious to procure me this acquaintance. I shall gain
nothing here, a trifling present perhaps, but at the same time I
do not lose, for it costs me nothing; and even if I do not get
anything, still I have made an acquaintance that may be very
useful to me. I must make haste, for I am writing a scena for
Tenducci, which is to be given on Sunday; it is for pianoforte,
hautboy, horn, and bassoon, the performers being the Marechal's
own people--Germans, who play very well. I should like to have
written to you long since, but just as I had begun the letter
(which is now lying in Paris) I was obliged to drive to St.
Germains, intending to return the same day, and I have now been
here a week. I shall return to Paris as soon as I can, though I
shall not lose much there by my absence, for I have now only one
pupil, the others being in the country. I could not write to you
from here either, because we were obliged to wait for an
opportunity to send a letter to Paris. I am quite well, thank
God, and trust that both of you are the same. You must have
patience--all goes on slowly; I must make friends. France is not
unlike Germany in feeding people with encomiums, and yet there is
a good hope that, by means of your friends, you may make your
fortune. One lucky thing is, that food and lodging cost me
nothing. When you write to the friend with whom I am staying
[Herr Grimm], do not be too obsequious in your thanks. There are
some reasons for this which I will write to you some other time.
The rest of the sad history of the illness will follow in the
next letter. You desire to have a faithful portrait of
Rothfischer? He is an attentive, assiduous director, not a great
genius, but I am very much pleased with him, and, best of all, he
is the kindest creature, with whom you can do anything--if you
know how to set about it, of course. He directs better than
Brunetti, but is not so good in solo-playing. He has more
execution, and plays well in his way, (a little in the old-
fashioned Tartini mode,) but Brunetti's style is more agreeable.
The concertos which he writes for himself are pretty and pleasant
to listen to, and also to play occasionally. Who can tell whether
he may not please? At all events, he plays a thousand million
times better than Spitzeger, and, as I already said, he directs
well, and is active in his calling. I recommend him to you
heartily, for he is the most good-natured man! Adieu!
113.
Paris, Sept. 11, 1778.
I HAVE received your three letters. I shall only reply to the
last, being the most important. When I read it, (Heina was with
me and sends you his regards,) I trembled with joy, for I fancied
myself already in your arms. True it is (and this you will
yourself confess) that no great stroke of good fortune awaits me;
still, when I think of once more embracing you and my dear
sister, I care for no other advantage. This is indeed the only
excuse I can make to the people here, who are vociferous that I
should remain in Paris; but my reply invariably is, "What would
you have? I am content, and that is everything; I have now a
place I can call my home, and where I can live in peace and quiet
with my excellent father and beloved sister. I can do what I
choose when not on duty. I shall be my own master, and have a
certain competency; I may leave when I like, and travel every
second year. What can I wish for more?" The only thing that
disgusts me with Salzburg, and I tell you of it just as I feel
it, is the impossibility of having any satisfactory intercourse
with the people, and that musicians are not in good repute there,
and--that the Archbishop places no faith in the experience of
intelligent persons who have seen the world. For I assure you
that people who do not travel (especially artists and scientific
men) are but poor creatures. And I at once say that if the
Archbishop is not prepared to allow me to travel every second
year, I cannot possibly accept the engagement. A man of moderate
talent will never rise above mediocrity, whether he travels or
not, but a man of superior talents (which, without being
unthankful to Providence, I cannot deny that I possess)
deteriorates if he always remains in the same place. If the
Archbishop would only place confidence in me, I could soon make
his music celebrated; of this there can be no doubt. I also
maintain that my journey has not been unprofitable to me--I mean,
with regard to composition, for as to the piano, I play it as
well as I ever shall. One thing more I must settle about
Salzburg, that I am not to take up the violin as I formerly did.
I will no longer conduct with the violin; I intend to conduct,
and also accompany airs, with the piano. It would have been a
good thing to have got a written agreement about the situation of
Capellmeister, for otherwise I may have the honor to discharge a
double duty, and be paid only for one, and at last be superseded
by some stranger. My dear father, I must decidedly say that I
really could not make up my mind to take this step were it not
for the pleasure of seeing you both again; I wish also to get
away from Paris, which I detest, though my affairs here begin to
improve, and I don't doubt that if I could bring myself to endure
this place for a few years, I could not fail to succeed. I am now
pretty well known--that is, the people all know ME, even if I
don't know them. I acquired considerable fame by my two
symphonies; and (having heard that I was about to leave) they now
really want me to write an opera, so I said to Noverre, "If you
will be responsible for its BEING PERFORMED as soon as it is
finished, and will name the exact sum that I am to receive for
it, I will remain here for the next three months on purpose," for
I could not at once decline, or they would have thought that I
distrusted myself. This was not, however, done; and I knew
beforehand that they could not do it, for such is not the custom
here. You probably know that in Paris it is thus:--When the opera
is finished it is rehearsed, and if these stupid Frenchmen do not
think it good it is not given, and the composer has had all his
trouble for nothing; if they approve, it is then put on the
stage; as its popularity increases, so does the rate of payment.
There is no certainty. I reserve the discussion of these matters
till we meet, but I must candidly say that my own affairs begin
to prosper. It is no use trying to hurry matters--chi va piano,
va sano. My complaisance has gained me both friends and patrons;
were I to write you all, my fingers would ache. I will relate it
to you personally and place it clearly before you. M. Grimm may
be able to help CHILDREN, but not grown-up people; and--but no, I
had better not write on the subject. Yet I must! Do not imagine
that he is the same that he was; were it not for Madame d'Epinay,
I should be no longer in this house. And he has no great cause to
be so proud of his good deeds towards me, for there were four
houses where I could have had both board and lodging. The worthy
man does not know that, if I had remained in Paris, I intended to
have left him next month to go to a house that, unlike his, is
neither stupid nor tiresome, and where a man has not constantly
thrown in his face that a kindness has been done him. Such
conduct is enough to cause me to forget a benefit, but I will be
more generous than he is. I regret not remaining here only
because I should have liked to show him that I do not require
him, and that I can do as much as his Piccini, although I am only
a German! The greatest service he has done me consists in fifteen
louis-d'or which he lent me bit by bit during my mother's life
and at her death. Is he afraid of losing them? If he has a doubt
on the subject, then he deserves to be kicked, for in that case
he must mistrust my honesty (which is the only thing that can
rouse me to rage) and also my talents; but the latter, indeed, I
know he does, for he once said to me that he did not believe I
was capable of writing a French opera. I mean to repay him his
fifteen louis-d'or, with thanks, when I go to take leave of him,
accompanied by some polite expressions. My poor mother often said
to me, "I don't know why, but he seems to me somehow changed."
But I always took his part, though I secretly felt convinced of
the very same thing. He seldom spoke of me to any one, and when
he did, it was always in a stupid, injudicious, or disparaging
way. He was constantly urging me to go to see Piccini, and also
Caribaldi,--for there is a miserable opera buffa here,--but I
always said, "No, I will not go a single step," &c. In short, he
is of the Italian faction; he is insincere himself, and strives
to crush me. This seems incredible, does it not? But still such
is the fact, and I give you the proof of it. I opened my whole
heart to him as a true friend, and a pretty use he made of this!
He always gave me bad advice, knowing that I would follow it; but
he only succeeded in two or three instances, and latterly I never
asked his opinion at all, and if he did advise me to do anything,
I never did it, but always appeared to acquiesce, that I might
not subject myself to further insolence on his part.
But enough of this; we can talk it over when we meet. At all
events, Madame d'Epinay has a better heart. The room I inhabit
belongs to her, not to him. It is the invalid's room--that is, if
any one is ill in the house, he is put there; it has nothing to
recommend it except the view,--only four bare walls, no chest of
drawers--in fact, nothing. Now you may judge whether I could
stand it any longer. I would have written this to you long ago,
but feared you would not believe me. I can, however, no longer be
silent, whether you believe me or not; but you do believe me, I
feel sure. I have still sufficient credit with you to persuade
you that I speak the truth. I board too with Madame d'Epinay, and
you must not suppose that he pays anything towards it, but indeed
I cost her next to nothing. They have the same dinner whether I
am there or not, for they never know when I am to be at home, so
they can make no difference for me; and at night I eat fruit and
drink one glass of wine. All the time I have been in their house,
now more than two months, I have not dined with them more than
fourteen times at most, and with the exception of the fifteen
louis-d'or, which I mean to repay with thanks, he has no outlay
whatever on my account but candles, and I should really be
ashamed of myself more than of him, were I to offer to supply
these; in fact I could not bring myself to say such a thing. This
is my nature. Recently, when he spoke to me in such a hard,
senseless, and stupid way, I had not nerve to say that he need
not be alarmed about his fifteen louis-d'or, because I was afraid
of offending him; I only heard him calmly to the end, when I
asked whether he had said all he wished--and then I was off! He
presumes to say that I must leave this a week hence--IN SUCH
HASTE IS HE. I told him it was impossible, and my reasons for
saying so. "Oh! that does not matter; it is your father's wish."
"Excuse me, in his last letter he wrote that he would let me know
in his next when I was to set off." "At all events hold yourself
in readiness for your journey." But I must tell you plainly that
it will be impossible for me to leave this before the beginning
of next month, or at the soonest the end of the present one, for
I have still six arias to write, which will be well paid. I must
also first get my money from Le Gros and the Duc de Guines; and
as the court goes to Munich the end of this month, I should like
to be there at the same time to present my sonatas myself to the
Electress, which perhaps might bring me a present. I mean to sell
my three concertos to the man who has printed them, provided he
gives me ready money for them; one is dedicated to Jenomy,
another to Litzau; the third is in B. I shall do the same with my
six difficult sonatas, if I can; even if not much, it is better
than nothing. Money is much wanted on a journey. As for the
symphonies, most of them are not according to the taste of the
people here; if I have time, I mean to arrange some violin
concertos from them, and curtail them; in Germany we rather like
length, but after all it is better to be short and good. In your
next letter I shall no doubt find instructions as to my journey;
I only wish you had written to me alone, for I would rather have
nothing more to do with Grimm. I hope so, and in fact it would be
better, for no doubt our friends Geschwender and Heina can
arrange things better than this upstart Baron. Indeed, I am under
greater obligations to Heina than to him, look at it as you will
by the light of a farthing-candle. I expect a speedy reply to
this, and shall not leave Paris till it comes. I have no reason
to hurry away, nor am I here either in vain or fruitlessly,
because I shut myself up and work, in order to make as much money
as possible. I have still a request, which I hope you will not
refuse. If it should so happen, though I hope and believe it is
not so, that the Webers are not in Munich, but still at Mannheim,
I wish to have the pleasure of going there to visit them. It
takes me, I own, rather out of my way, but not much--at all
events it does not appear much to me. I don't believe, after all,
that it will be necessary, for I think I shall meet them in
Munich; but I shall ascertain this to-morrow by a letter. If it
is not the case, I feel beforehand that you will not deny me this
happiness. My dear father, if the Archbishop wishes to have a new
singer, I can, by heavens! find none better than her. He will
never get a Teyberin or a De' Amicis, and the others are
assuredly worse. I only lament that when people from Salzburg
flock to the next Carnival, and "Rosamunde" is given, Madlle.
Weber will not please, or at all events they will not be able to
judge of her merits as they deserve, for she has a miserable
part, almost that of a dumb personage, having only to sing some
stanzas between the choruses. She has one aria where something
might be expected from the ritournelle; the voice part is,
however, alla Schweitzer, as if dogs were yelping. There is only
one air, a kind of rondo in the second act, where she has an
opportunity of sustaining her voice, and thus showing what she
can do. Unhappy indeed is the singer who falls into Schweitzer's
hands; for never while he lives will he learn how to write for
the voice. When I go to Salzburg I shall certainly not fail to
plead zealously for my dear friend; in the mean time you will not
neglect doing all you can in her favor, for you cannot cause your
son greater joy. I think of nothing now but the pleasure of soon
embracing you. Pray see that everything the Archbishop promised
you is made quite secure, and also what I stipulated, that my
place should be at the piano. My kind regards to all my friends,
and to Herr Bullinger in particular. How merry shall we be
together! I have all this already in my thoughts, already before
my eyes. Adieu!
114.
Nancy, Oct. 3, 1778.
PRAY excuse my not having told you of my journey previous to
leaving Paris. But I really cannot describe to you the way in
which the whole affair was hurried forward, contrary to my
expectations, wish, or will. At the very last moment I wanted to
send my luggage to Count Sickingen's, instead of to the bureau of
the diligence, and to remain some days longer in Paris. This, I
give you my honor, I should at once have done had I not thought
of you, for I did not wish to displease you. We can talk of these
matters better at Salzburg. But one thing more--only fancy how
Herr Grimm deceived me, saying that I was going by the diligence,
and should arrive at Strassburg in five days; and I did not find
out till the last day that it was quite another carriage, which
goes at a snail's pace, never changes horses, and is ten days on
the journey. You may easily conceive my rage; but I only gave way
to it when with my intimate friends, for in his presence I
affected to be quite merry and pleased. When I got into the
carriage, I received the agreeable information that we should be
travelling for twelve days. So this is an instance of Grimm's
good sense! It was entirely to save money that he sent me by this
slow conveyance, not adverting to the fact that the expense would
amount to the same thing from the constant living at inns. Well,
it is now past. What vexed me most in the whole affair was his
not being straightforward with me. He spared his own money, but
not mine, as he paid for my journey, but not for my board. If I
had stayed eight or ten days longer in Paris, I could have paid
my own journey, and made it comfortably.
I submitted to this conveyance for eight days, but longer I could
not stand it--not on account of the fatigue, for the carriage was
well hung, but from want of sleep. We were off every morning at
four o'clock, and thus obliged to rise at three. Twice I had the
satisfaction of being forced to get up at one o'clock in the
morning, as we were to set off at two. You know that I cannot
sleep in a carriage, so I really could not continue this without
the risk of being ill. I would have taken the post, but it was
not necessary, for I had the good fortune to meet with a person
who quite suited me--a German merchant who resides in Paris, and
deals in English wares. Before getting into the carriage we
exchanged a few words, and from that moment we remained together.
We did not take our meals with the other passengers, but in our
own room, where we also slept. I was glad to meet this man, for,
being a great traveller, he understands it well. He also was very
much disgusted with our carriage; so we proceed to-morrow by a
good conveyance, which does not cost us much, to Strassburg. You
must excuse my not writing more, but when I am in a town where I
know no one, I am never in a good humor; though I believe that if
I had friends here I should like to remain, for the town is
indeed charming--handsome houses, spacious streets, and superb
squares.
I have one request to make, which is to give me a large chest in
my room that I may have all my things within my reach. I should
like also to have the little piano that Fischietti and Rust had,
beside my writing-table, as it suits me better than the small one
of Stein. I don't bring many new things of my own with me, for I
have not composed much. I have not yet got the three quartets and
the flute concerto I wrote for M. de Jean; for when he went to
Paris he packed them in the wrong trunk, so they are left at
Mannheim. I can therefore bring nothing finished with me except
my sonatas [with violin]; M. Le Gros purchased the two overtures
from me and the sinfonie concertante, which he thinks exclusively
his own; but this is not the case, for I have it still fresh in
my head, and mean to write it out again as soon as I am at home.
The Munich company of comedians are, I conclude, now acting? [in
Salzburg.] Do they give satisfaction? Do people go to see them? I
suppose that, as for the operettas, the "Fischermadchen" ("La
Pescatrice" of Piccini), or "Das Bauernmadchen bei Hof" ("La
Contadina in Corte," by Sacchini), will be given first? The prima
donna is, no doubt, Madlle. Keiserin, whom I wrote to you about
from Munich. I have heard her, but do not know her. At that time
it was only her third appearance on any stage, and she had only
learned music three weeks [see No. 62]. Now farewell! I shall not
have a moment's peace till I once more see those I love.
115.
Strassburg, Oct. 15, 1778.
I GOT your three letters safely, but could not possibly answer
them sooner. What you write about M. Grimm, I, of course, know
better than you can do. That he was all courtesy and civility I
do not deny; indeed, had this not been the case, I would not have
stood on such ceremony with him. All that I owe M. Grimm is
fifteen louis-d'or, and he has only himself to blame for their
not being repaid, and this I told him. But what avails any
discussion? We can talk it over at Salzburg. I am very much
obliged to you for having put my case so strongly before Father
Martini, and also for having written about me to M. Raaff. I
never doubted your doing so, for I am well aware that it rejoices
you to see your son happy and pleased, and you know that I could
never be more so than in Munich; being so near Salzburg, I could
constantly visit you. That Madlle. Weber, or rather MY DEAR
WEBERIN, should now receive a salary, and justice be at last done
to her merits, rejoices me to a degree natural in one who feels
such deep interest in all that concerns her. I still warmly
recommend her to you; though I must now, alas! give up all hope
of what I so much wished,--her getting an engagement in
Salzburg,--for the Archbishop would never give her the salary she
now has. All we can now hope for is that she may sometimes come
to Salzburg to sing in an opera. I had a hurried letter from her
father the day before they went to Munich, in which he also
mentions this news. These poor people were in the greatest
distress about me, fearing that I must be dead, a whole month
having elapsed without any letter from me, (owing to the last one
being lost;) an idea that was confirmed by a report in Mannheim
that my poor dear mother had died of a contagious disease. So
they have been all praying for my soul. The poor girl went every
day for this purpose into the Capuchin church. Perhaps you may
laugh at this? I did not; on the contrary, I could not help being
much touched by it.
To proceed. I think I shall certainly go by Stuttgart to
Augsburg, because I see by your letter that nothing, or at least
not much, is to be made in Donaueschingen; but I will apprise you
of all this before leaving Strassburg. Dearest father, I do
assure you that, were it not for the pleasure of soon embracing
you, I would never come to Salzburg; for, with the exception of
this commendable and delightful impulse, I am really committing
the greatest folly in the world. Rest assured that these are my
own thoughts, and not borrowed from others. When my resolution to
leave Paris was known, certain facts were placed before me, and
the sole weapons I had to contend against or to conquer these,
were my true and tender love for my kind father, which could not
be otherwise than laudable in their eyes, but with the remark
that if my father had known my present circumstances and fair
prospects, (and had not got different and false impressions by
means of a kind friend,) he certainly would not have written to
me in such a strain as to render me wholly incapable of offering
the least resistance to his wish; and in my own mind I thought,
that had I not been exposed to so much annoyance in the house
where I lived, and the journey come on me like a sudden thunder-
clap, leaving me no time to reflect coolly on the subject, I
should have earnestly besought you to have patience for a time,
and to let me remain a little longer in Paris. I do assure you
that I should have succeeded in gaining fame, honor, and wealth,
and been thus enabled to defray your debts. But now it is
settled, and do not for a moment suppose that I regret it; but
you alone, dearest father, you alone can sweeten the bitterness
of Salzburg for me; and that you will do so, I feel convinced. I
must also candidly say that I should arrive in Salzburg with a
lighter heart were it not for my official capacity there, for
this thought is to me the most intolerable of all. Reflect on it
yourself, place yourself in my position. At Salzburg I never know
how I stand; at one time I am everything, at another absolutely
nothing. I neither desire SO MUCH nor SO LITTLE, but still I wish
to be SOMETHING--if indeed I am something! In every other place I
know what my duties are. Elsewhere those who undertake the violin
stick to it,--the same with the piano, &c., &c. I trust this will
be regulated hereafter, so that all may turn out well and for my
happiness and satisfaction. I rely wholly on you.
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