Part 2

Leopold had overstayed his leave from his Salzburg post but he seemed in no hurry about returning to it. He had originally planned to go home by way of Italy, since an Italian trip was regarded as an indispensable finishing touch to an artistic education. At the beginning of August 1765, the Mozarts landed once more on the Continent. Both father and son fell ill, and then Nannerl came down with pneumonia and was actually given the last rites. Wolfgang, scarcely convalescent from a siege of fever, composed a medley for piano and orchestra—a _quodlibet_ of popular tunes—the _galimathias musicum_, a thing of rough humors revealing in its contrapuntal workmanship the tastes and teachings of his father. Variations on a Dutch patriotic song, six sonatas for violin and piano, a mellifluous symphony in B flat, and various other “trifles” indicate that sickness was not regarded as a valid excuse for idling.

Paris, to which they returned in May 1766, seemed less stirred by the prodigies than it had been on the earlier visit, though Prince Karl Wilhelm of Brunswick, on hearing Wolfgang, exclaimed in amazement, “Many a kapellmeister dies without ever having learned anything like what this child knows!” In July they left the French capital and arrived in Salzburg the last day of November 1766, laden with gifts and rich in glowing memories. A considerable quantity of new music from Wolfgang’s pen filled their luggage. The artist was supplanting the prodigy. Wolfgang had seen something of the world and had made many valuable contacts. The Archbishop, Sigismund von Schrattenbach, skeptical of the brilliant reports he had heard, asked him to compose a cantata—_Die Schuldigkeit des ersten Gebotes_—and isolated him for a week to see how much truth there was in all the talk.

Vienna and _La Finta semplice_

Not quite a year later the Mozarts were off again, this time to Vienna, for the betrothal festivities of the Archduchess Maria Josepha and King Ferdinand of Naples. But their great expectations were hardly realized. A smallpox epidemic in the capital carried off the royal bride, and Leopold fled with his family to Olmütz, where both the children contracted the disease. Wolfgang lay blind for nine days and for some time had to be careful of his eyes. Only on Christmas Eve were they well enough to set out again. On their return to Vienna, Maria Theresia received them kindly, but things had changed. Economy was the order of the day: the aristocracy followed the example set by the imperial household, musical activities were reduced, and the Mozarts felt the pinch. Interest in the prodigies diminished.

Joseph II, who had succeeded his mother on the throne, expressed a desire to hear in Vienna an opera of the twelve-year-old boy’s composition and suggested such a work to the lessee of the court theater, Giuseppe Afflisio. The result was _La Finta semplice_, its libretto based on a Goldoni farce, and it was arranged that the composer should lead it from the harpsichord. Nothing came of the scheme, however, presumably because of intrigues.

The youth was partly consoled for this check by a noted physician, the celebrated Dr. Anton Mesmer (an early practitioner of mesmerism), at whose suburban home the one-act German _Singspiel_, _Bastien und Bastienne_, based on a parody of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s famous pastoral _Le Devin du village_, was performed. The little piece for all its simplicity lives on. Perhaps the most striking thing about the score is the fact that the prelude, or _intrada_, begins with the theme that was to be the main subject of Beethoven’s _Eroica_.

The travelers came back to Salzburg early in 1769. The trip had not been a financial profit, but Wolfgang was undoubtedly richer in experience and had added to his creative store. The Archbishop delighted them by ordering a performance of _La Finta semplice_, though he had no genuine _opera buffa_ personnel at his disposal. The leading soprano part of Rosina was sung by Maria Anna Haydn, Michael Haydn’s wife. The year was largely devoted to further study and composition—chiefly of masses and other church music written at the command of the friendly Archbishop and, in addition, of symphonies and other forms of “entertainment” music for garden parties, festivities, and social functions of the high-placed and well-to-do. And Wolfgang was appointed concertmaster in the archiepiscopal orchestra.

Italy and Mozart’s Early Operas

Leopold realized that the hour had now struck for that long-projected trip to Italy which he wished to take “before Wolfgangerl reached the age and stature which would deprive his accomplishments of all that was marvelous.” Plainly, it would not do to let the boy outgrow his precocity. And so on December 13, 1769, father and son set out on an adventure that was to resolve itself into three separate journeys to what was, rightly or wrongly, esteemed as the home of music and of art in general.

The youth was now ripe for Italy. The language he absorbed by second nature, as it were. Everywhere he made valuable new friendships and came across old acquaintances. In Milan he was commissioned to write an _opera seria_ and the following October he composed _Mitridate Re di Ponto_, which, produced on December 26, 1770, amid cries of “Viva il Maestrino,” had twenty performances. In Bologna he greatly impressed the aged _castrato_ Farinelli and the great Padre Martini, dean of Italian musicians. At Naples he had to remove a ring from his finger upon playing to convince the superstitious that it was not the real explanation of his “magic” skill. In Rome, after a single hearing of the Papal choir singing Allegri’s celebrated _Miserere_, which nobody was allowed to copy under penalty of excommunication, he wrote it down from memory and then listened to it a second time to make a few minor corrections. The Pope bestowed on Wolfgang the Order of the Golden Spur, which enabled him to sign his letters with the whimsical “Chevalier de Mozart.” He was invited to undergo a difficult examination for membership in the Philharmonic Academy of Bologna and passed it by working out in an hour a problem that consisted of producing in the “strict” church style an antiphon _Quaerite primum_. The real truth, however, is that the authorities accepted him only _after_ they had charitably “corrected” what he submitted. It was not long before the Philharmonic Society of Verona likewise conferred membership upon him—this time presumably without the preliminary of a test. Now “Maestro di Cappella,” he was ordered to provide a serenata—_Ascanio in Alba_ (Wolfgang completed its fairly voluminous score in twelve days)—for the impending marriage of Archduke Rudolf and the Princess Maria of Modena.

Leopold imagined his son “made” for life. But the boy’s music, for all its charm and fluency, still wanted the unmistakably creative touch. The tireless traveler, Dr. Burney, wrote a little later: “If I may judge of the music which I have heard of his composition, in the orchestra, he is one further instance of the early fruit being more extraordinary than excellent.” And the composer Hasse believed that “young Mozart is certainly a prodigy for his age. The father adores his son overmuch and does all he can to spoil him; but I have so good an opinion of the innate goodness of the boy that I hope that, despite his father’s adulation, he will not allow himself to be spoiled.”

The pair went briefly to Salzburg in 1771 and started south again for Milan, where _Ascanio in Alba_ was to be given in October. The work was duly presented for the princely nuptials along with Hasse’s opera _Ruggiero_, likewise commissioned for the festivities. According to the father’s report, the youth’s _festa teatrale_ completely eclipsed the work of the venerable master who, far from being jealous, is said to have remarked, “This boy will throw us all into the shade.”

Scarcely were the travelers home once more than the kindly Archbishop died. His successor was the former Bishop of Gurk, Hieronymus, Count of Colloredo. Like many others, the Mozarts scented trouble, for Colloredo was a hard-boiled bigot and in every respect the reverse of his predecessor. He lives on in history principally as Mozart’s evil genius and as the man who, in the end, was to fan Wolfgang’s detestation of Salzburg to white heat and to drive him to open mutiny. Hieronymus knew by a kind of intuition that his new subjects were not well disposed to him so, in the words of a contemporary chronicler, “he despised them and held himself aloof.” His rule, says Paumgartner, was something other than the “ancient regime” of his forerunner, the musical highlights of which had been Leopold Mozart, Ernst Eberlin, and Cajetan Adlgasser. Colloredo was a revolutionary and a deadly foe of routine and sought to put his ideas into force by sharpest disciplinary measures. His taste, however, ran to the easy grace of Italian music; yet he did in his chilly way at first look upon Wolfgang as a talent he might use for the greater glory of his court. For his new master’s festive installation in 1772 the composer wrote a one-act serenata along the lines of his _Ascanio_, entitled _Il Sogno di Scipione_, to a text by Metastasio, adapted from Cicero. The score was a typical “occasional work” of allegorical character. Far more important in the creative sense are at least eight symphonies and four _divertimenti_, in all of which are traces of the ripening genius shortly to emerge.

The third Italian visit differed in some ways from the earlier ones. _Lucio Silla_, produced in Milan on December 26, 1772, was not acclaimed as _Mitridate_ had been. Outwardly it was successful and enjoyed more than twenty performances but did not hold the stage. To begin with, the opera had an inferior libretto and Wolfgang, absorbing other musical influences, was less concerned about catering meticulously to Italian tastes. Moreover, he was no longer the child prodigy whose every action was to be considered phenomenal. But the real reasons lay deeper. A prophetic ear might have detected the vibrations of a “storm and stress” period beginning to ferment in the spirit of the artist. Leopold made a vain effort to secure his son a post at the Grand Ducal Court of Tuscany, but Wolfgang received no more operatic commissions for Italy. So early in March 1773, taking a last leave of that land, they returned to Salzburg, where Leopold was angered to see Colloredo appoint an Italian rather than a German to the position of conductor.

The elder Mozart now determined to try his luck in Vienna. After the death in 1774 of Florian Gassmann, the court composer, Leopold hoped to secure the appointment for Wolfgang and the two obtained an audience with Maria Theresia, who, for all her graciousness, merely replaced Gassmann by one Giuseppe Bonno. At the moment there was no opportunity to earn anything in the capital; but the young man became acquainted with something that, in the long run, was to prove even more rewarding. This was the music of Joseph Haydn, whom he was not to meet personally until later. The influence of Haydn on Mozart as of Mozart on Haydn was to be incalculable from every standpoint.

On December 9, 1774, father and son were on a journey once more, this time to Munich where the Bavarian Elector, Maximilian III, had commissioned Wolfgang to write an opera for the following Carnival. It was a _buffa_, _La Finta giardiniera_, and on January 14, 1775, the composer wrote to his mother: “My opera went so well yesterday that I find it impossible to describe the applause. In the first place the theatre was so packed that many had to be turned away; after every aria there was a wild tumult, with handclappings and shouts of ‘Viva Maestro,’ which began again as soon as it ended!” And Christian Daniel Schubart wrote in the _Teutsche Chronik_: “I heard an opera buffa by the marvelous Mozart. The fires of genius lurk and dart in it. Yet this is still not the sacred fire which rises to the gods in clouds of incense. If Mozart does not become a hot-house plant he should be the greatest composer who ever lived.”

_Il Re pastore_

However, Archbishop Colloredo was growing irritable over these continual absences of his servants. He had not been able to refuse the request of the Elector to permit the Mozarts to go to Munich but he at last wanted his Vice-Kapellmeister and son back. Henceforth it was not going to be so easy to obtain the great cleric’s leave to go wandering, whatever the reason. So for the immediate future the impatient young genius settled down to compose and to perform. A stream of works were put on paper in 1775 and 1776. Five violin concertos were written the first year. They are the best known of Mozart’s concertos for that instrument and were conceived, in the main, for the violinist Brunetti of the court orchestra. With all their charm they still stand below the great clavier concertos in grandeur and epoch-making qualities. Wolfgang did not particularly enjoy the violin although his father exhorted him to practice and told him that he could be the greatest violinist in Europe.

Another work in 1775 was _Il Re pastore_, a cross between opera and cantata, to a poem by Metastasio composed for a visit to the Archbishop of Archduke Maximilian. A score of sensitive loveliness, it is known today chiefly for its tender soprano aria with violin solo, “L’amero, saro costante.” Of the many other creations of this period we can only mention in passing the six clavier sonatas for the Baron Dürnitz, the innumerable variations, the serenades, _notturni_, _divertimenti_, masses, offertories, organ sonatas, litanies, _graduales_; the stunning clavier concertos for his own use, for the French pianist Mlle. Jeunehomme, the Countess Lützow, and other high-placed local amateurs. Last, but far from least, he composed the _Serenade_ (later transformed into a symphony by the elimination of a movement or two) for the wealthy Haffner family, of whom Sigmund Haffner, a merchant prince, was Burgomaster of Salzburg.

Mannheim and Paris

Despite all this work, the young man chafed at the narrow provincialism of his native town, at the absence of true artistic interest, at the company he was obliged to keep at the Archbishop’s table, and, most of all, at that cleric’s attitude. Leopold, seeing the dangerous way in which the situation was shaping itself between the young man and his master, made an effort to stave off a catastrophe by planning another trip. Wolfgang applied to the Archbishop for his discharge, whereupon Colloredo, who was not really anxious to lose the composer’s services, told the pair to “seek their fortunes where they pleased”—but at the same time would not permit Leopold to leave. The father thereupon decided that his son should go to Paris, perhaps to find some lucrative position at the French court, unless he should be lucky enough to discover one somewhere else. But since he was forbidden to go along he deputed his wife to go in his place and keep a careful eye on the impulsive young man.

The Webers and Paris

Early on September 23, 1777, Wolfgang and his mother (who would much rather have remained in Salzburg) drove off in a newly purchased carriage. The departure was a bitter event for Leopold, whose trouble was such that he forgot to give his son his blessing before the vehicle was out of sight! Nannerl, equally distraught, was sick and had to take to her bed. To add to the melancholy of the occasion Father Mozart darkened the house and fell asleep till roused hours later by Bimperl, the dog. The woeful day finally dragged itself to an end; it would have been far more terrible had they known that poor Maria Anna was never to return!

They went first to Munich, where Wolfgang made an ineffectual appeal to the Elector and received that answer with which he was in the course of his life to become so tragically familiar: “Yes, my dear child, but there is no position free! Now if only there were...,” etc., etc. At Augsburg, the next stop, he divided his time between Andreas Stein, the pianomaker whose instruments stirred his interest, and his cousin, the “Bäsle,” with whom he freely indulged in those ribaldries that so shocked the puritanical generations of the next century. From that ancestral seat they turned to Mannheim, which was a very different story. For here Mozart found all manner of musical interests and important personalities. And here he fell devastatingly in love!

He had made the acquaintance of the family of Fridolin and Maria Cäcilie Weber. A streak of bohemianism ran through the lot of them. The father, in straitened circumstances, eked out an existence in Mannheim as singer, musician, copyist, prompter—in short, a kind of man-of-all-work in the theater and orchestra. The mother was a sinister creature—an out-and-out adventuress. The couple had four daughters, Josefa, Aloysia, Constanze, and Sophie. Constanze was, in the fullness of time, to become Mozart’s wife. But his feelings were at first kindled by Aloysia, who was then only fifteen and with whom Maria Cäcilie at this stage set about to tempt the young man, who was quickly bowled over by the girl’s feminine charms, her lovely voice, and her musicianship. In the years to come each of these women was to play some part in the composer’s life. (A few years later there was born in a closely related branch of the Weber family that figure who made the name immortal—Carl Maria von Weber; so that through marriage the creators of _Der Freischütz_ and of _Die Zauberflöte_ became cousins!)

Love caused Wolfgang to build castles in the air and to concoct extravagant schemes. He composed abundantly in Mannheim, planned operas and what-not for his idolized Aloysia, and before long was writing to his father proposing to give up the Paris venture altogether and set out on a trip to Italy with the Webers. Leopold was horrified, the more so as his wife wrote telling him exactly how things stood. Father Mozart sternly laid down the law to his son and ended with the words: “Off with you to Paris! And that soon! Find your place among great people. _Aut Caesar aut nihil._ The mere thought of seeing Paris ought to have preserved you from all these flighty ideas!” Wolfgang did not, it is true, rebel and in the end he went to Paris. But he answered his father with some heat. He declared that he was no longer a child and had no intention of tolerating aspersions on his conduct with Aloysia. “There are some people,” he added, “who think it impossible to love a girl without evil designs and this pretty word mistress is indeed a fine one!”

But Leopold had, for the moment, won his point and in March 1778, Wolfgang and his mother were off. The Paris adventure turned out a dismal fiasco. Even Melchior Grimm, once so helpful, was not interested this time. He was willing to promote a sensation who gave promise of being a money-maker. But, as Alfred Einstein has noted,

“_It was Wolfgang’s character that made Leopold wrong in his estimate of Paris and the Parisian nobility. For Wolfgang was no conqueror and he could not have conquered Paris even if he had wanted to.... How carefully Gluck’s conquest of Paris had been prepared! Not only ambassadors and queens but the entire public took part in these preparations.... Mozart slipped into Paris quietly and unobserved, accompanied by his mother, who had come along to keep an eye on him._”

He detested Paris, thought continually of Aloysia, had no use for the now-surly Grimm, turned down the offer of an organist post in Versailles (feeling that the place was no more than a suburb), had some unsatisfactory dealings with Le Gros, director of the Concert Spirituel, composed for the Parisian stage no more than the ballet _Les Petits Riens_, easily succumbed to some of Le Gros’ intrigues, and was demoralized generally. Only one work of his—the D major Symphony (K. 297)—was outspokenly successful. To climax his woes his mother fell ill and died on July 3, 1778. He had to ask the old Salzburg family friend, Abbé Bullinger, to break the news to his father and sister. And he wrote, “You have no idea what a dreadful time I have been having here ... until one is well known nothing can be done in the matter of composition.... From my description of the music here you may have gathered that I am not very happy and that I am trying to get away as quickly as possible.”

“As quickly as possible” was not till September 1778. He decided reluctantly to return to Salzburg, to the Archbishop’s service, where he would conduct and accompany, but not play violin. Even so, he was momentarily tempted to stay on in Paris and might even have done so if Grimm had not been obviously eager to be rid of him. He did not hurry back to the hated Salzburg but stopped off in Strassburg, Mannheim, and Munich, where he found the flighty Aloysia already the wife of Joseph Lange (the itinerant actor to whom posterity owes the familiar unfinished portrait of Mozart). When he finally did submit to the inevitable trip home he lacked the courage to meet his bereaved father alone and so took his “dear little Bäsle” with him.

Idomeneo

At the Archbishop’s table he sat between the _castrato_ Ceccarelli and the violinist Brunetti. If he felt revolted by his present circumstances he seems, however, to have taken refuge in the inner sanctuary of his spirit. He created quantities of priceless works and, in so doing, could forget situations in themselves repugnant. There were church compositions, serenades, _divertimenti_; the gorgeous _Symphonie Concertante_ for violin and viola (K. 364); a triple concerto for violin, viola, and cello; the adorable E flat concerto for two pianos (K. 365); three symphonies in G, B flat, and C; some music for Gebler’s drama, _Thamos, König in Aegypten_, which he had begun five years earlier and was a foretaste of _The Magic Flute_; and lastly, an operatic fragment, entitled _Zaide_ after Mozart’s death and destined to remain a torso.

By 1780, however, Wolfgang was to some degree compensated for his disillusionments. While laboring on _Zaide_ he was commissioned by the Bavarian Elector, Carl Theodor, to write an _opera seria_ for the Munich Carnival of 1781. The Munich authorities picked a libretto _Idomeneo, re di Creta; ossia Ilia ed Idamante_, which was based on a book by Antoine Danchet and which, as composed by André Campra as far back as 1712, had enjoyed a day of fame in Paris. It dealt with the tale of the Cretan king who had made a rash Jephtha vow to Neptune on returning from the Trojan war and was saved from sacrificing his son only by a _deus ex machina_. The libretto was put in shape by the Salzburg cleric, Giambattista Varesco, and called for, in accordance with French models, massive crowd scenes, ballets, choruses, and all the effects of a large-scale spectacle as well as vocal virtuosity and elaborate instrumental tone painting.