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

W >> Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart >> The Letters of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, V.1.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

I must now tell you about the music here. On Saturday, All-
Saints' day, I attended high mass. The orchestra is very good and
numerous. On each side ten or eleven violins, four tenors, two
hautboys, two flutes, and two clarionets, two corni, four
violoncellos, four bassoons, and four double basses, besides
trumpets and kettle-drums. This should give fine music, but I
would not venture to produce one of my masses here. Why? From
their being short? No, everything is liked short. From their
church style? By no means; but solely because NOW in Mannheim,
under present circumstances, it is necessary to write chiefly for
the instruments, for nothing can possibly be conceived worse than
the voices here. Six soprani, six alti, six tenori, and six
bassi, to twenty violins and twelve bassi, are in the same
proportion as 0 to 1. Is it not so, Herr Bullinger? It proceeds
from this:--The Italians are miserably represented: they have
only two musici here, and they are already old. This race is
dying out. These soprano singers, too, would prefer singing
counter-tenor; for they can no longer take the high notes. The
few boys they have are wretched. The tenor and bass just like our
singers at funerals. Vogler, who lately conducted the mass, is
barren and frivolous--a man who imagines he can do a great deal,
and does very little. The whole orchestra dislike him. To-day,
Sunday, I heard a mass of Holzbauer's, which is now twenty-six
years old, but excellent. He writes very well, and has a good
church style, arranges the vocal parts as well as the
instrumental, and writes good fugues. They have two organists
here; it would be worth while to come to Mannheim on purpose to
hear them--which I had a famous opportunity of doing, as it is
the custom here for the organist to play during the whole of the
Benedictus. I heard the second organist first, and then the
other. In my opinion the second is preferable to the first; for
when I heard the former, I asked, "Who is that playing on the
organ?" "Our second organist." "He plays miserably." When the
other began, I said, "Who may that be?" "Our first organist."
"Why, he plays more miserably still." I believe if they were
pounded together, something even worse would be the result. It is
enough to kill one with laughing to look at these gentlemen. The
second at the organ is like a child trying to lift a millstone.
You can see his anguish in his face. The first wears spectacles.
I stood beside him at the organ and watched him with the
intention of learning something from him; at each note he lifts
his hands entirely off the keys. What he believes to be his forte
is to play in six parts, but he mostly makes fifths and octaves.
He often chooses to dispense altogether with his right hand when
there is not the slightest need to do so, and plays with the left
alone; in short, he fancies that he can do as he will, and that
he is a thorough master of his organ.

Mamma sends her love to you all; she cannot possibly write, for
she has still to say her officium. We came home very late from
the grand opera rehearsal. I must go to-morrow after high mass to
the illustrious Electress; she is resolved absolument to teach me
to knit filee. I am very eager about this, as she and the Elector
wish that I should knit in public next Thursday at the great gala
concert. The young Princess here, who is a child compared with
the Electress, knits very prettily. The Zweenbruck and his
Zwobrucken (Deux Ponts) arrived here at eight o'clock. A propos,
mamma and I earnestly beg you, dear papa, to send our charming
cousin a souvenir; we both regretted so much having nothing with
us, but we promised to write to you to send her something. We
wish two things to be sent--a double neckerchief in mamma's name,
like the one she wears, and in mine some ornament; a box, or
etui, or anything you like, only it must be pretty, for she
deserves it. [FOOTNOTE: The father was still in possession of
many of the ornaments and jewels presented to these children
during their artistic tours.] She and her father took a great
deal of trouble on our account, and wasted much time on us. My
cousin took the receipts for me at my concert. Addio!

72.

Mannheim, Nov. 5, 1777.

My dear Coz--Buzz,--

I have safely received your precious epistle--thistle, and from
it I perceive--achieve, that my aunt--gaunt, and you--shoe, are
quite well--bell. I have to-day a letter--setter, from my papa--
ah-ha, safe in my hands--sands. I hope you also got--trot, my
Mannheim letter--setter. Now for a little sense--pence. The
prelate's seizure--leisure, grieves me much--touch, but he will,
I hope, get well--sell. You write--blight, you will keep--cheap,
your promise to write to me--he-he, to Augsburg soon--spoon.
Well, I shall be very glad--mad. You further write, indeed you
declare, you pretend, you hint, you vow, you explain, you
distinctly say, you long, you wish, you desire, you choose,
command, and point out, you let me know and inform me that I must
send you my portrait soon--moon. Eh, bien! you shall have it
before long--song. Now I wish you good night--tight.

The 5th.--Yesterday I conversed with the illustrious Electress;
and to-morrow, the 6th, I am to play in the gala concert, and
afterwards, by desire of the Princess, in their private
apartments. Now for something rational! I beg of you--why not?--I
beg of you, my very dear cousin--why not?--when you write to
Madame Tavernier in Munich, to convey a message from me to the
two Demoiselles Freysinger--why not? odd enough! but why not?--
and I humbly ask pardon of Madlle. Josepha--I mean the youngest,
and pray why not? why should I not ask her pardon? strange! but I
don't know why I should not, so I do ask her pardon very humbly--
for not having yet sent the sonata I promised her, but I mean to
do so as soon as possible. Why not? I don't know why not. I can
now write no more--which makes my heart sore. To all my kind
friends much love--dove. Addio! Your old young, till death--
breath,

WOLFGANG AMADE ROSENCRANZ.

Miennham, eht ht5 rebotoc, 7771.

73.

Mannheim, Nov. 8, 1777.

This forenoon, at Herr Cannabich's, I wrote the Rondo of the
sonata for his daughter; so they would not let me leave them all
day. The Elector and the Electress, and the whole court, are very
much pleased with me. Both times I played at the concert, the
Elector and she stood close beside me at the piano. After the
music was at an end, Cannabich managed that I should be noticed
by the court. I kissed the Elector's hand, who said, "I think it
is now fifteen years since you were here?" "Yes, your Highness,
it is fifteen years since I had that honor." "You play
inimitably." The Princess, when I kissed her hand, said,
"Monsieur, je vous assure, on ne peut pas jouer mieux."

Yesterday I went with Cannabich to pay the visit mamma already
wrote to you about [to Duke Carl Theodor's children], and there I
conversed with the Elector as if he had been some kind friend. He
is a most gracious and good Prince. He said to me, "I hear you
wrote an opera at Munich" ["La finta Giardiniera"]? "Yes, your
Highness, and, with your gracious permission, my most anxious
wish is to write an opera here; I entreat you will not quite
forget me. I could also write a German one, God be praised!" said
I, smiling. "That may easily be arranged." He has one son and
three daughters, the eldest of whom and the young Count play the
piano. The Elector questioned me confidentially about his
children. I spoke quite honestly, but without detracting from
their master. Cannabich was entirely of my opinion. The Elector,
on going away, took leave of me with much courtesy.

After dinner to-day I went, at two o'clock, with Cannabich to
Wendling's, the flute-player, where they were all complaisance.
The daughter, who was formerly the Elector's favorite, plays the
piano very prettily; afterwards I played. I cannot describe to
you the happy mood I was in. I played extempore, and then three
duets with the violin, which I had never in my life seen, nor do
I now know the name of the author. They were all so delighted
that I--was desired to embrace the ladies. No hard task with the
daughter, for she is very pretty.

We then went again to the Elector's children; I played three
times, and from my heart too,--the Elector himself each time
asking me to play. He seated himself each time close to me and
never stirred. I also asked a certain Professor there to give me
a theme for a fugue, and worked it out.

Now for my congratulations!

My very dearest papa,--I cannot write poetically, for I am no
poet. I cannot make fine artistic phrases that cast light and
shadow, for I am no painter; I can neither by signs nor by
pantomime express my thoughts and feelings, for I am no dancer;
but I can by tones, for I am a musician. So to-morrow, at
Cannabich's, I intend to play my congratulations both for your
name-day and birthday. Mon tres-cher pere, I can only on this day
wish for you, what from my whole heart I wish for you every day
and every night--health, long life, and a cheerful spirit. I
would fain hope, too, that you have now less annoyance than when
I was in Salzburg; for I must admit that I was the chief cause of
this. They treated me badly, which I did not deserve, and you
naturally took my part, only too lovingly. I can tell you this
was indeed one of the principal and most urgent reasons for my
leaving Salzburg in such haste. I hope, therefore, that my wish
is fulfilled. I must now close by a musical congratulation. I
wish that you may live as many years as must elapse before no
more new music can be composed. Farewell! I earnestly beg you to
go on loving me a little, and, in the mean time, to excuse these
very poor congratulations till I open new shelves in my small and
confined knowledge-box, where I can stow away the good sense
which I have every intention to acquire.

74.

Mannheim, Nov. 13, 1777.

We received your last two letters, and now I must answer them in
detail. Your letter desiring me to inquire about Becke's parents
[in Wallerstein, No. 68] I did not get till I had gone to
Mannheim, so too late to comply with your wish; but it never
would have occurred to me to do so, for, in truth, I care very
little about him. Would you like to know how I was received by
him? Well and civilly; that is, he asked where I was going. I
said, most probably to Paris. He then gave me a vast deal of
advice, saying he had recently been there, and adding, "You will
make a great deal by giving lessons, for the piano is highly
prized in Paris." He also arranged that I should dine at the
officers' table, and promised to put me in the way of speaking to
the Prince. He regretted very much having at that moment a sore
throat, (which was indeed quite true,) so that he could not go
out with me himself to procure me some amusement. He was also
sorry that he could have no music in honor of me, because most of
the musical people had gone that very day on some pedestrian
excursion to--Heaven knows where! At his request I tried his
piano, which is very good. He often said Bravo! I extemporized,
and also played the sonatas in B and D. In short, he was very
polite, and I was also polite, but grave. We conversed on a
variety of topics--among others, about Vienna, and more
particularly that the Emperor [Joseph II.] was no great lover of
music. He said, "It is true he has some knowledge of composition,
but of nothing else. I can still recall (and he rubbed his
forehead) that when I was to play before him I had no idea what
to play; so I began with some fugues and trifles of that kind,
which in my own mind I only laughed at." I could scarcely resist
saying, "I can quite fancy your laughing, but scarcely so loud as
I must have done had I heard you!" He further said (what is the
fact) that the music in the Emperor's private apartments is
enough to frighten the crows. I replied, that whenever I heard
such music, if I did not quickly leave the room it gave me a
headache. "Oh! no; it has no such effect on me; bad music does
not affect my nerves, but fine music never fails to give me a
headache." I thought to myself again, such a shallow head as
yours is sure to suffer when listening to what is beyond its
comprehension.

Now for some of our news here. I was desired to go yesterday with
Cannabich to the Intendant, Count Savioli, to receive my present.
It was just what I had anticipated--a handsome gold watch. Ten
Carolins would have pleased me better just now, though the watch
and chain, with its appendages, are valued at twenty Carolins.
Money is what is most needed on a journey; and, by your leave, I
have now five watches. Indeed, I have serious thoughts of having
a second watch-pocket made, and, when I visit a grandee, to wear
two watches, (which is indeed the fashion here,) that no one may
ever again think of giving me another. I see from your letter
that you have not yet read Vogler's book. [FOOTNOTE: Ton
Wissenschaft und Ton Kunst.] I have just finished it, having
borrowed it from Cannabich. His history is very short. He came
here in a miserable condition, performed on the piano, and
composed a ballet. This excited the Elector's compassion, who
sent him to Italy. When the Elector was in Bologna, he questioned
Father Valoti about Vogler. "Oh! your Highness, he is a great
man," &c., &c. He then asked Father Martini the same question.
"Your Highness, he has talent; and by degrees, when he is older
and more solid, he will no doubt improve, though he must first
change considerably." When Vogler came back he entered the
Church, was immediately appointed Court Chaplain, and composed a
Miserere which all the world declares to be detestable, being
full of false harmony. Hearing; that it was not much commended,
he went to the Elector and complained that the orchestra played
badly on purpose to vex and annoy him; in short, he knew so well
how to make his game (entering into so many petty intrigues with
women) that he became Vice-Capellmeister. He is a fool, who
fancies that no one can be better or more perfect than himself.
The whole orchestra, from the first to the last, detest him. He
has been the cause of much annoyance to Holzbauer. His book is
more fit to teach arithmetic than composition. He says that he
can make a composer in three weeks, and a singer in six months;
but we have not yet seen any proof of this. He despises the
greatest masters. To myself he spoke with contempt of Bach
[Johann Christian, J. Sebastian's youngest son, called the London
Bach], who wrote two operas here, the first of which pleased more
than the second, Lucio Silla. As I had composed the same opera in
Milan, I was anxious to see it, and hearing from Holzbauer that
Vogler had it, I asked him to lend it to me. "With all my heart,"
said he; "I will send it to you to-morrow without fail, but you
won't find much talent in it." Some days after, when he saw me, he
said with a sneer, "Well, did you discover anything very fine--
did you learn anything from it? One air is rather good. What are
the words?" asked he of some person standing near. "What air do
you mean?" "Why, that odious air of Bach's, that vile--oh! yes,
pupille amate. He must have written it after a carouse of punch."
I really thought I must have laid hold of his pigtail; I
affected, however, not to hear him, said nothing, and went away.
He has now served out his time with the Elector.

The sonata for Madlle. Rosa Cannabich is finished. Last Sunday I
played the organ in the chapel for my amusement. I came in while
the Kyrie was going on, played the last part, and when the priest
intoned the Gloria I made a cadence, so different, however, from
what is usually heard here, that every one looked round in
surprise, and above all Holzbauer. He said to me, "If I had known
you were coming, I would have put out another mass for you."
"Oh!" said I, "to puzzle me, I suppose?" Old Toeschi and Wendling
stood all the time close beside me. I gave them enough to laugh
at. Every now and then came a pizzicato, when I rattled the keys
well; I was in my best humor. Instead of the Benedictus here,
there is always a voluntary, so I took the ideas of the Sanctus
and worked them out in a fugue. There they all stood making
faces. At the close, after Ita missa est, I played a fugue. Their
pedal is different from ours, which at first rather puzzled me,
but I soon got used to it. I must now conclude. Pray write to us
still at Mannheim. I know all about Misliweczeck's sonatas [see
No. 64], and played them lately at Munich; they are very easy and
agreeable to listen to. My advice is that my sister, to whom I
humbly commend myself, should play them with much expression,
taste, and fire, and learn them by heart. For these are sonatas
which cannot fail to please every one, are not difficult to
commit to memory, and produce a good effect when played with
precision.

75.

Mannheim, Nov. 13, 1777.

Potz Himmel! Croatians, demons, witches, hags, and cross
batteries! Potz Element! air, earth, fire, and water! Europe,
Asia, Africa, and America! Jesuits, Augustines, Benedictines,
Capucins, Minorites, Franciscans, Dominicans, Carthusians, and
Knights of the Cross! privateers, canons regular and irregular,
sluggards, rascals, scoundrels, imps, and villains all! donkeys,
buffaloes, oxen, fools, blockheads, numskulls, and foxes! What
means this? Four soldiers and three shoulder-belts! Such a thick
packet and no portrait! [FOOTNOTE: The "Basle" (his cousin) had
promised him her portrait. She sent it subsequently to Salzburg,
where it still hangs in the Mozarteum.] I was so anxious about
it--indeed, I felt sure of getting it, having yourself written
long ago to say that I should have it soon, very soon. Perhaps
you doubt my keeping my promise [about the ornaments--see No.
71], but I cannot think this either. So pray let me have the
likeness as quickly as you can; and I trust it is taken as I
entreated--in French costume.

How do I like Mannheim? As well as I can any place where my
cousin is not. I hope, on the other hand, that you have at all
events received my two letters--one from Hohenaltheim, and one
from Mannheim--this, such as it is, being the third from here,
but making the fourth in all. I must conclude, for we are just
going to dinner, and I am not yet dressed. Love me as I love you,
and then we shall never cease loving each other. Adieu! J'espere
que vous aurez deja pris quelque lection dans la langue
francaise, et je ne doute point que--ecoutez!--que vous aurez
bientot le francais mieux que moi; car il y a certainement deux
ans que je n'ai pas ecrit un mot de cette langue. Encore adieu!
Je vous baise les mains.

76.

Mannheim, Nov. 14-16, 1777.

I, Johannes, Chrysostomus, Amadeus, Wolfgangus, Sigismundus,
Mozart, plead guilty to having both yesterday and the day before
(and very often besides) stayed away from home till twelve
o'clock at night, from ten o'clock till the aforesaid hour, I
being in the presence and company of M. Cannabich, his wife and
daughter, the Herrn Schatzmeister, Ramm, and Lang, making
doggerel rhymes with the utmost facility, in thought and word,
but not in deed. I should not, however, have conducted myself in
so reckless a manner if our ringleader, namely, the so-called
Lisel (Elisabeth Cannabich), had not inveigled and instigated me
to mischief, and I am bound to admit that I took great pleasure
in it myself. I confess all these my sins and shortcomings from
the depths of my heart; and in the hope of often having similar
ones to confess, I firmly resolve to amend my present sinful
life. I therefore beg for a dispensation if it can be granted;
but, if not, it is a matter of indifference to me, for the game
will go on all the same. Lusus enim suum habet ambitum, says the
pious singer Meissner, (chap. 9, p. 24,) and also the pious
Ascenditor, patron of singed coffee, musty lemonade, milk of
almonds with no almonds in it, and, above all, strawberry ice
full of lumps of ice, being himself a great connoisseur and
artist in these delicacies.

The sonata I composed for Madlle. Cannabich I intend to write out
as soon as possible on small paper, and to send it to my sister.
I began to teach it to Madlle. Rose three days ago, and she has
learned the allegro. The andante will give us most trouble, for
it is full of expression, and must be played with accuracy and
taste, and the fortes and pianos given just as they are marked.
She is very clever, and learns with facility. Her right hand is
very good, but the left is unhappily quite ruined. I must say
that I do really feel very sorry for her, when I see her laboring
away till she is actually panting for breath; and this not from
natural awkwardness on her part, but because, being so accustomed
to this method, she cannot play in any other way, never having
been shown the right one. I said, both to her mother and herself,
that if I were her regular master I would lock up all her music,
cover the keys of the piano with a handkerchief, and make her
exercise her right and left hand, at first quite slowly in
nothing but passages and shakes, &c., until her hands were
thoroughly trained; and after that I should feel confident of
making her a genuine pianiste. They both acknowledged that I was
right. It is a sad pity; for she has so much genius, reads very
tolerably, has great natural aptitude, and plays with great
feeling.

Now about the opera briefly. Holzbauer's music [for the first
great German operetta, "Gunther von Schwarzburg"] is very
beautiful, but the poetry is not worthy of such music. What
surprises me most is, that so old a man as Holzbauer should still
have so much spirit, for the opera is incredibly full of fire.
The prima donna was Madame Elisabeth Wendling, not the wife of
the flute-player, but of the violinist. She is in very delicate
health; and, besides, this opera was not written for her, but for
a certain Madame Danzi, who is now in England; so it does not
suit her voice, and is too high for her. Herr Raaff, in four
arias of somewhere about 450 bars, sang in a manner which gave
rise to the remark that his want of voice was the principal cause
of his singing so badly. When he begins an air, unless at the
same moment it recurs to your mind that this is Raaff, the old
but once so renowned tenor, I defy any one not to burst out
laughing. It is a fact, that in my own case I thought, if I did
not know that this is the celebrated Raaff, I should be bent
double from laughing, but as it is--I only take out my
handkerchief to hide a smile. They tell me here that he never was
a good actor; that people went to hear, but not to see him. He
has by no means a pleasing exterior. In this opera he was to die,
singing in a long, long, slow air; and he died laughing! and
towards the end of the aria his voice failed him so entirely that
it was impossible to stand it! I was in the orchestra next
Wendling the flute-player, and as he had previously criticized
the song, saying it was unnatural to sing so long before dying,
adding, "I do think he will never die!" I said in return, "Have a
little patience; it will soon be all over with him, for I can
hear he is at the last gasp!" "And I too," said he, laughing. The
second singer, Madlle. Strasserin, sang very well, and is an
admirable actress.

There is a national stage here, which is permanent like that at
Munich; German operettas are sometimes given, but the singers in
them are wretched. Yesterday I dined with the Baron and Baroness
von Hagen, Oberstjagermeister here. Three days ago I called on
Herr Schmalz, a banker, to whom Herr Herzog, or rather Nocker and
Schidl, had given me a letter. I expected to have found a very
civil good sort of man. When I gave him the letter he read it
through, made me a slight bow, and said nothing. At last, after
many apologies for not having sooner waited on him, I told him
that I had played before the Elector. "Really!" Altum silentium.
I said nothing, he said nothing. At last I began again: "I will
no longer intrude on you. I have the honor to"--Here he
interrupted me. "If I can be of any service to you, I beg"--
"Before I leave this I must take the liberty to ask you"--"Not
for money?" "Yes, if you will be so good as to"--"Oh! that I
can't do; there is nothing in the letter about money. I cannot
give you any money, but anything else"--"There is nothing else in
which you can serve me--nothing whatever. I have the honor to
take my leave." I wrote the whole history yesterday to Herr
Herzog in Augsburg. We must now wait here for the answer, so you
may still write to us at Mannheim. I kiss your hand, and am your
young brother and father, as in your last letter you say "I am
the old man and son." To-day is the 16th when I finish this, or
else you will not know when it was sent off. "Is the letter
ready?" "Yes, mamma, here it is!"

77.

Mannheim, Nov. 20, 1777.

The gala began again yesterday [in honor of the Elector's name-
day]. I went to hear the mass, which was a spick-and-span new
composition of Vogler's. Two days ago I was present at the
rehearsal in the afternoon, but came away immediately after the
Kyrie. I never in my life heard anything like it; there is often
false harmony, and he rambles into the different keys as if he
wished to drag you into them by the hair of your head; but it
neither repays the trouble, nor does it possess any originality,
but is only quite abrupt. I shall say nothing of the way in which
he carries out his ideas. I only say that no mass of Vogler's can
possibly please any composer (who deserves the name). For
example, I suddenly hear an idea which is NOT BAD. Well, instead
of remaining NOT BAD, no doubt it soon becomes good? Not at all!
it becomes not only BAD, but VERY BAD, and this in two or three
different ways: namely, scarcely has the thought arisen when
something else interferes to destroy it; or he does not finish it
naturally, so that it may remain good; or it is not introduced in
the right place; or it is finally ruined by bad instrumentation.
Such is Vogler's music.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19