Chapter VI (2)

The disconsolate state in which his father was thus left, decided Mozart, however reluctant, to return to the hated service of the Archbishop at Salzburg. The terms on which he was received back were somewhat improved, for his absence had rendered his value more perceptible; and a greater latitude was allowed him in visiting, and composing for other courts. In the winter of 1780-1, he made use of his leave of absence by writing and bringing out at Munich, with triumphant success, the splendid serious opera of _Idomeneo_, always so great a favourite with himself, and which is still regarded as a masterpiece.

"With this work, the most important in its influence on music,
Mozart crowned his twenty-fifth year. The score is still a picture
to the musician. It exhibits consummate knowledge of the theatre,
displayed in an opera of the first magnitude and complexity; which
unites to a great orchestra the effects of a double chorus on the
stage and behind the scenes; and introduces marches, processions,
and dances, to various accompaniments in the orchestra, behind the
scenes, or under the stage. This model opera, in which Mozart
rises on the wing from one beauty to another through long acts,
was completed, as we have seen, within a few weeks, and ever since
has defied the scrutiny of musicians to detect in it the slightest
negligence of style."

In March 1781, Mozart followed the Salzburg court to Vienna, where he was subjected to such indignity by his patron, as finally to terminate their connexion. The author of _Idomeneo_ was required to take his meals at the same table with his grace's valets, confectioner, and cooks. This was too much, even for Mozart's good-nature; and, aggravated by the Archbishop's refusal to allow the display of his talents to the public, gave him courage to insist for his dismissal.

"The step, however, of resigning a pension, and of throwing
himself entirely upon the public for fame and support, was a more
important one than his sanguine imagination and excitement of
feeling permitted him at the time to contemplate. How far his
being an _unappointed_ composer may have hastened the production
of his immortal works, is open to question; but that his life was
sacrificed in struggling against the difficulties in which he was
thereby involved, is beyond a doubt.

"In the absence of any immediate design of a new dramatic
composition, and delighted at the effect which his public
performance on the pianoforte had created at Vienna, Mozart forgot
all the fears he had expressed previously to his journey to Paris;
thought no more that teaching would interfere with the higher
vocation of his muse; and was content to become the fashionable
performer, teacher, and pianoforte composer of the day. This mode
of life for a time had its temptations and its success; and he
hoped that he might still better assist his father at Vienna than
at Salzburg, as he was at intervals able to remit to him sums of
from ten to thirty ducats. But here commenced the precarious
existence which the composer was for the future destined to lead.
For, not only was the taste of Vienna then, as now, proverbially
variable and flippant--not only was concert-giving an uncertain
speculation, and teaching an inconstant source of income--but in a
man, who, like Mozart, had, from time to time, strong impulses to
write for the theatre, it frequently happened that the order and
regularity of his engagements were made to yield to the object
which engrossed him; and that the profits of his time were
sacrificed on the one hand, without any proportionate advantage on
the other."

Let it be observed that Mozart's payment for teaching among the Austrian nobility, was, at the rate of five shillings a lesson!

Mozart was distinguished for virtues which belong only to great or good men when labouring in the field of emulation--an absence of all envy and jealousy, of which he was himself too much the object, and a just and generous estimate of excellence in others. As observed by Mr Holmes, good music, not his own, was his best relaxation from his toils; and his predecessors and contemporaries were alike sure of that sincere admiration which sprang from an unselfish love of the art. His regard and respect for Haydn, who was greatly his inferior in genius and power, is a pleasing illustration of what we have said.

"At this time, Joseph Haydn was established as kapell-meister in
the service of Prince Nicholas Esterhazy, and enjoyed a very
extensive reputation, which, indeed, the native energy of his
genius, and the fortunate circumstances of his mature life,
enabled him to earn with ease in a variety of compositions. He was
frequently at Vienna, in the suite of his prince; and it was
natural that Mozart, who had long lived on terms of mutual esteem
with Michael Haydn, at Salzburg, should be predisposed to a regard
for his brother;--but the simplicity, benevolence, and sincerity
of Joseph Haydn's character, when united with the charming
qualities of his genius, offered more than the materials for an
ordinary friendship. The attachment of these two men remains
accordingly one of the most honourable monuments of the virtuous
love of art that musical history can produce. Haydn was at this
period about fifty years of age. His constant habit of writing
five hours a-day, had accumulated in a series of years a large
collection of quartets, pianoforte music, church music, and
symphonies, most of which were greatly admired for the spirit and
elegance of their style, and the clearness and originality of
their design. Mozart at once saw and acknowledged the excellence
of Haydn; and in his future intercourse with that master, took the
part which the difference of their age, if not of their genius,
rendered graceful--by deferring to his judgment with all the
meekness of a learner. To Haydn he submitted many of his
compositions before publication; delighting often to call him his
master and model in quartet writing, which he now began to
cultivate in earnest; and omitting no circumstance which could
gratify the veteran musician in possessing such an admirer. Haydn
on his part repaid all this devotion with becoming generosity.
However conscious that, in the universality of musical power, his
own genius must be placed at a disadvantage in comparison with
that of his friend, he harboured no envious or unworthy sentiment;
and death alone interrupted the kind relation in which each stood
to the other.

"At the musical parties which Mozart gave from time to time, when
he had new compositions to try, and leisure to indulge his
disposition for sociality, Haydn was a frequent guest, and no one
more profoundly enjoyed the extraordinary beauty and perfection of
Mozart's pianoforte playing. Years after, when those fingers, and
the soul which animated them, were sought for in vain, a few
touching words from Haydn spoke more feelingly to the imagination,
in the description of that beauty, than the most laboured and
minute criticism could have done. 'Mozart's playing,' said he, 'I
can never forget.'"

Haydn's high estimate of his friend's superiority to himself, was always expressed with equal generosity. In a company of critics, who discovered that there were faults in Mozart's operas, Haydn, when appealed to, replied--"All I know is, that Mozart is the greatest composer now existing." When applied to in 1787, to write a comic opera, Haydn thought a new subject, or _libretto_, would be necessary, and adds--

"Even then it would be a bold attempt, as scarcely any one can
stand by the side of the great Mozart. For were it possible that
I could impress every friend of music, particularly among the
great, with that deep musical intelligence of the inimitable works
of Mozart--that emotion of the soul with which they affect me, and
in which I both comprehend and feel them, the nations would
contend together for the possession of such a gem. Prague ought to
retain him, and reward him well too; else the history of great
genius is melancholy, and offers posterity but slight
encouragement to exertion, which is the reason, alas! that many
hopeful and aspiring spirits are repressed. I feel indignant that
this _unique_ Mozart is not yet engaged at some royal or imperial
court. Forgive me if I stray from the subject--but I love the man
too much."

Again, when engaged, along with Mozart, for Salomon's concerts in England--a plan which, so far as Mozart was concerned, was unhappily not carried out--Haydn's only stipulation was, that his compositions should precede those of his friend; and avowed, with unparalleled frankness, his feeling that he would otherwise have less chance of being heard with success.

The celebrity of Mozart, and the applause which attended some of his new compositions, procured him the notice, and ultimately the patronage, of the Emperor Joseph--though somewhat unsteadily conferred, and divided with unworthy Italian rivals. The change, however, was tardy, and, when it came, did not much improve his external circumstances. The appointments he held made but a miserable sinecure, with a still more miserable salary; but the deficiency was supplied by soft words and familiar looks, which, with Mozart's kindly disposition, served to attach him to his imperial master, better than would have been done by a larger allowance ungraciously given.

In the mean time, relying upon his position as a composer, and hoping for the best, Mozart had formed the connexion, as to which Mr Hogarth justly says, "that his fixing his affections on the admirable woman whom he married, was the wisest act, as it was the happiest event, of his life. Constance Weber was his guide--his monitress--his guardian angel. She regulated his domestic establishment--managed his affairs--was the cheerful companion of his happier hours--and his never-failing consolation in sickness and despondency. He passionately loved her, and evinced his feelings by the most tender and delicate attentions."

It is remarkable that Mozart's attachment had at first been directed to his wife's elder sister, and seemed to be returned on her part. But after his absence in Paris, he was coldly received when they again met, and, fortunately for himself, he transferred his affections to Constance, who became his wife.

Rich as this union was in affection, and in all the happiness that affection can bestow, it was soon checkered by distress and difficulty. The health of the wife became precarious; and Mozart's ignorance of the world, as well as his generous and joyous disposition, joined to the precarious and varying amount of his earnings, and the disappointment in his prospects of imperial favour, involved him in debt, which, by overtaxing his mind and body, led to the errors and excesses, such as they were, of his latter life, and ultimately undermined his constitution, and brought him to an untimely tomb.

The "res angusta domi" stimulated the composer's pen, and the rapidity of his productions at this time is marvellous. The taste of Vienna, however, was capricious; and cabals among singers and critics succeeded in deadening the effect of his _Figaro_, when first brought out, and in thoroughly disgusting Mozart with the Viennese opera. How different the reception which it met from the true hearts and well-attuned ears of the Bohemian audiences! It was in February 1787, after parting with the Storaces, on their leaving for England, with a hope that the mighty master would soon be allured to follow them, that his Bohemian visit was paid.

"In the very same week that he parted from his English friends,
Mozart himself set out upon a journey to Prague, whither he had
been very cordially invited by a distinguished nobleman and
connoisseur, Count John Joseph Thun, who maintained in his service
an excellent private band. This was the first professional
expedition of any consequence in which he had engaged since his
settlement in Vienna; it was prosecuted under the most favourable
auspices, and with glowing anticipations of that pleasure for
which he so ardently longed, but so imperfectly realized at
home--the entire sympathy of the public. Nor was he disappointed.
On the same evening that he alighted at the castle of his noble
entertainer, his opera of 'Figaro' was given at the theatre, and
Mozart found himself for the first time in the midst of that
Bohemian audience of whose enthusiasm and taste he had heard so
much. The news of his presence in the theatre quickly ran through
the parterre, and the overture was no sooner ended than the whole
audience rose and gave him a general acclamation of welcome,
amidst deafening salvos of applause.

"The success of 'Le Nozze di Figaro,' so unsatisfactory at Vienna,
was unexampled at Prague, where it amounted to absolute
intoxication and frenzy. Having run through the whole previous
winter without interruption, and rescued the treasury of the
theatre from ruinous embarrassments, the opera was arranged in
every possible form; for the pianoforte, for wind-instruments
(garden music,) as violin quintets for the chamber, and German
dances; in short, the melodies of 'Figaro' re-echoed in every
street and every garden; nay, even the blind harper himself, at
the door of the beer-house, was obliged to strike up _Non piu
andrai_ if he wished to gain an audience, or earn a kreutzer. Such
was the effect of the popular parts of the opera on the public at
large; its more refined beauties exercised an equal influence on
musicians. The director of the orchestra, Strobach, under whose
superintendence 'Figaro' was executed at Prague, often declared
the excitement and emotion of the band in accompanying this work
to have been such, that there was not a man among them, himself
included, who, when the performance was finished, would not have
cheerfully recommenced and played the whole through again.

"Finding himself, at length, in a region of sympathy so genial and
delightful, a new era in the existence of the composer seemed to
open, and he abandoned himself without reserve to its pleasures.
In retracing a life so ill rewarded by contemporaries, and so
checkered by calamity, it is pleasant to dally awhile in the
primrose path, and enjoy the opening prospects of good fortune.

"In a few days he was called upon to give a grand concert at the
opera-house. This was in reality his first public appearance, and
many circumstances conspire to render it memorable; but chiefly
that every piece throughout the performance was of his own
composition. The concert ended by an improvisation on the
pianoforte. Having preluded and played a fantasia, which lasted a
good half-hour, Mozart rose; but the stormy and outrageous
applause of his Bohemian audience was not to be appeased, and he
again sat down. His second fantasia, which was of an entirely
different character, met with the same success; the applause was
without end, and long after he had retired to the
withdrawing-room, he heard the people in the theatre _thundering_
for his re-appearance. Inwardly delighted, he presented himself
for the third time. Just as he was about to begin, when every
noise was hushed, and the stillness of death reigned throughout
the theatre, a voice in the pit cried '_from Figaro_.' He took the
hint, and ended this triumphant display of skill by extemporising
a dozen of the most interesting and scientific variations upon the
air _Non piu andrai_. It is needless to mention the uproar that
followed. The concert was altogether found so delightful, that a
second, upon the same plan, soon followed. A sonnet was written in
his honour, and his performances brought him one thousand florins.
Wherever he appeared in public, it was to meet testimonies of
esteem and affection. His emotion at the reception of 'Figaro' in
Prague was so great, that he could not help saying to the manager,
Bondini, 'As the Bohemians understand me so well, I must write an
opera on purpose for them.' Bondini took him at his word, and
entered with him, on the spot, into a contract to furnish his
theatre with an opera for the ensuing winter. Thus was laid the
foundation of 'Il Don Giovanni.'"

The greatest of Mozart's operas was composed at Prague, on a second visit thither in 1787, when he lived with a musical friend in the suburbs of the city. "Here, on an elevated site which commanded a view of the antique magnificence of Prague, its faded castles, ruined cloisters, and other majestic remains of feudal times, under the mild rays of an autumnal sun, and in the open air, _Don Giovanni_ was written." It was immediately brought out at Prague with the success it deserves, and was afterwards performed at Vienna, but was badly got up, and but indifferently received. "Don Giovanni," said its author, "was rather written for Prague than Vienna, but chiefly for myself and my friends." It is a disgraceful fact, that it was eclipsed in popularity among the Viennese by the "Tarrare" of Salieri, of which no one now knows any thing.

In 1787 Mozart's father died at Salzburg, less happy, it is to be feared, than his own worth and his son's genius should have made him. But he was ignorant of the great truth, that fame, and often merely posthumous fame, is the chief external blessing that awaits men of extraordinary mental powers in the arts, and that the appropriate reward of genius, any more than of virtue, is not always--"bread." On hearing of his father's illness, Mozart had written him in affectionate terms--

"I have just received some news which has given me a sad blow; the
more so, as your last letter left me reason to suppose that you
were in perfect health. I now, however, learn that you are really
very ill. How anxiously I await and hope for some comforting
intelligence from you I need hardly say, although I have long
since accustomed myself in all things to expect the worst. As
death, rightly considered, fulfils the real design of our life, I
have for the last two years made myself so well acquainted with
this true friend of mankind, that his image has no longer any
terrors for me, but much that is peaceful and consoling; and I
thank God that he has given me the opportunity to know him as the
key to our true felicity. I never lie down in bed without
reflecting that, perhaps (young as I am), I may never see another
day; yet no one who knows me will say that I am gloomy or morose
in society. For this blessing I daily thank my Creator, and from
my heart wish it participated by my fellow-men."

In the autumn of the same year, he lost a valued and valuable friend in Dr Barisani of Vienna, whose medical attentions had already been eminently useful to him, and might, if they had been continued, have saved him from those irregularities of alternate labour and indulgence which so soon afterwards began to affect his health. Mozart made, on this occasion, an affecting entry in his memorandum-book, under some lines which his friend had written for him.

"To-day, the 2d of September, I have had the misfortune to lose,
through an unexpected death, this honourable man, by best and
dearest friend, and the preserver of my life. He is happy!--but
I--we, and all who thoroughly knew him, cannot again be so--till
we have the felicity to meet him in a better world, never again to
separate."

In 1789, Mozart visited Prussia, where he was well received by every one, and seems to have been happy. We may here insert part of a well-known letter, written about this time, to an amateur baron, which gives a curious picture of Mozart's character and habits, as well as of the mixed tone of good humour and good sense with which he seems to have both written and conversed. The baron had sent him some tolerable music, and some better wine.

"TO THE BARON V----.

"Herewith I return you, my good baron, your scores; and if you
perceive that in my hand there are more _nota benes_ than notes,
you will find from the sequel of this letter how that has
happened. Your symphony has pleased me, on account of its ideas,
more than the other pieces, and yet I think that it will produce
the least effect. It is too much crowded, and to hear it partially
or piecemeal (_stueckweise_) would be, by your permission, like
beholding an ant-hill (_Ameisen haufen_). I mean to say, that it is
as if Eppes, the devil, were in it.

"You must not snap your fingers at me, my dearest friend, for I
would not for all the world have spoken out so candidly if I could
have supposed that it would give you offence. Nor need you wonder
at this; for it is so with all composers who, without having from
their infancy, as it were, been trained by the whip and the curses
(_Donnerwetter_) of the maestro, pretend to do every thing with
natural talent alone. Some compose fairly enough, but with other
people's ideas, not possessing any themselves; others, who have
ideas of their own, do not understand how to treat and master
them. This last is your case. Only do not be angry, pray! for St
Cecilia's sake, not angry that I break out so abruptly. But your
song has a beautiful cantabile, and your dear _Fraenzl_ ought to
sing it very often to you, which I should like as much to see as
to hear. The minuet in the quartet is also pleasing enough,
particularly from the place I have marked. The _coda_, however,
may well clatter or tinkle, but it will never produce _music_;
_sapienti sat_, and also to the _nihil sapienti_, by whom I mean
myself. I am not very expert in writing on such subjects; I rather
show at once how it ought to be done.

"You cannot imagine with what joy I read your letter; only you
ought not to have praised me so much. We may get accustomed to the
hearing of such things, but to read them is not quite so well. You
good people make too much of me; I do not deserve it, nor my
compositions either. And what shall I say to your present, my
dearest baron, that came like a star in a dark night, or like a
flower in winter, or like a cordial in sickness? God knows how I
am obliged, at times, to toil and labour to gain a wretched
livelihood, and Staenerl, (Constance,) too, must get something.

"To him who has told you that I am growing idle, I request you
sincerely (and a baron may well do such a thing) to give him a
good box on the ear. How gladly would I work and work, if it were
only left me to write always such music as I please, and as I can
write; such, I mean to say, as I myself set some value upon. Thus
I composed three weeks ago an orchestral symphony, and by
to-morrow's post I write again to Hoffmeister (the music-seller)
to offer him three pianoforte quatuors, supposing that he is able
to pay. Oh heavens! were I a wealthy man, I would say, 'Mozart,
compose what you please, and as well as you can; but till you
offer me something finished, you shall not get a single kreutzer.
I'll buy of you every MS., and you shall not be obliged to go
about and offer it for sale like a hawker.' Good God! how sad all
this makes me, and then again how angry and savage, and it is in
such a state of mind that I do things which ought not to be done.
You see, my dear good friend, so it is, and not as stupid or vile
wretches (_lumpen_) may have told you. Let this, however, go _a
cassa del diavolo_.

"I now come to the most difficult part of your letter, which I
would willingly pass over in silence, for here my pen denies me
its service. Still I will try, even at the risk of being well
laughed at. You say, you should like to know my way of composing,
and what method I follow in writing works of some extent. I can
really say no more on this subject than the following; for I
myself know no more about it, and cannot account for it. When I
am, as it were, completely myself, entirely alone, and of good
cheer--say, travelling in a carriage, or walking after a good
meal, or during the night when I cannot sleep; it is on such
occasions that my ideas flow best and most abundantly. _Whence_
and _how_ they come, I know not; nor can I force them. Those ideas
that please me I retain in memory, and am accustomed, as I have
been told, to hum them to myself. If I continue in this way, it
soon occurs to me how I may turn this or that morsel to account,
so as to make a good dish of it; that is to say, agreeably to the
rules of counterpoint, to the peculiarities of the various
instruments, &c.

"All this fires my soul, and, provided I am not disturbed, my
subject enlarges itself, becomes methodized and defined, and the
whole, though it be long, stands almost complete and finished in
my mind, so that I can survey it, like a fine picture or a
beautiful statue, at a glance. Nor do I hear in my imagination the
parts _successively_, but I hear them, as it were, all at once
(_gleich alles zusammen_.) What a delight this is I cannot tell!
All this inventing, this producing, takes place in a pleasing
lively dream. Still the actual hearing of the _tout ensemble_ is
after all the best. What has been thus produced I do not easily
forget, and this is perhaps the best gift I have my Divine Maker
to thank for.

"When I proceed to write down my ideas, I take out of the bag of
my memory, if I may use that phrase, what has previously been
collected into it in the way I have mentioned. For this reason the
committing to paper is done quickly enough, for every thing is, as
I said before, already finished; and it rarely differs on paper
from what it was in my imagination. At this occupation, I can
therefore suffer myself to be disturbed; for whatever may be going
on around me, I write, and even talk, but only of fowls and geese,
or of Gretel or Baerbel, or some such matters. But why my
productions take from my hand that particular form and style that
makes them _Mozartish_, and different from the works of other
composers, is probably owing to the same cause which renders my
nose so or so large, so aquiline, or, in short, makes it Mozart's,
and different from those of other people. For I really do not
study or aim at any originality; I should, in fact, not be able to
describe in what mine consists, though I think it quite natural
that persons who have really an individual appearance of their
own, are also differently organized from others, both externally
and internally. At least I know that I have constituted myself
neither one way nor the other.

* * * * *

"Here, my best friend and well-wisher, the pages are full, and the
bottle of your wine, which has done the duty of this day, is
nearly empty. But since the letter which I wrote to my
father-in-law, to request the hand of my wife, I hardly ever have
written such an enormously long one. Pray take nothing ill. In
speaking, as in writing, I must show myself as I am, or I must
hold my tongue, and throw my pen aside. My last word shall be--my
dearest friend, keep me in kind remembrance. Would to God I could
one day be the cause of so much joy to you as you have been to me.
Well! I drink to you in this glass: long live my good and
faithful ----." "W. A. MOZART."

Before he left Prussia, the King offered him an appointment and a liberal pension. "Can I leave my good Emperor?" said Mozart with emotion. The proposal, however, made its impression, and shortly afterwards probably encouraged him, at Vienna, on occasion of fresh intrigues against him, to tender his resignation of his paltry situation there. But a kind-like appeal from his imperial patron drove him at once from his intention, and fixed him where he was. It was afterwards hinted to him that he might, at least, have taken this opportunity to stipulate for a better provision for himself. "Satan himself," he replied, "would hardly have thought of bargaining at such a moment."

The year 1789-90 seems to have been about the most disastrous in the situation of his affairs, and led to the most unhappy results.

"The music-shops, as a source of income, were almost closed to
him, as he could not submit his genius to the dictates of fashion.
Hoffmeister, the publisher, having once advised him to write in a
more _popular_ style, or he could not continue to purchase his
compositions, he answered with unusual bitterness, 'Then I can
make no more by my pen, and I had better starve, and go to
destruction at once.' The fits of dejection which he experienced
were partly the effect of bodily ailments, but more of a weariness
with the perplexity of affairs, and of a prospect which afforded
him but one object on which he could gaze with certainty of
relief, and that was--death. Constant disappointment introduced
him to indulgences which he had not before permitted himself.

"He became wild in the pursuit of pleasure; whatever changed the
scene was delightful to him, and the more extravagant the better.
His associates, and the frequent guests at his table, were
recommended by their animal spirits and capacity as boon
companions. They were stage-players and orchestral musicians, low
and unprincipled persons, whose acquaintance injured him still
more in reputation than in purse. Two of these men, Schickaneder,
the director of a theatre (for whom Mozart wrote the
'Zauberfloete,') and Stadler, a clarionet-player, are known to have
behaved with gross dishonesty towards the composer; and yet he
forgave them, and continued their benefactor. The society of
Schickaneder, a man of grotesque humour, often in difficulties,
but of inexhaustible cheerfulness and good-fellowship, had
attractions for Mozart, and led him into some excesses that
contributed to the disorder of his health, as he was obliged to
retrieve at night the hours lost in the day. A long-continued
irregularity of income, also, disposed him to make the most of any
favourable moment; and when a few rouleaus of gold brought the
means of enjoyment, the Champagne and Tokay began to flow. This
course is unhappily no novelty in the shifting life of genius,
overworked and ill-rewarded, and seeking to throw off its cares in
the pursuits and excitements of vulgar existence. It is necessary
to know the composer as a man of pleasure, in order to understand
certain allusions in the correspondence of his last years, when
his affairs were in the most embarrassed condition, and his
absence from Vienna frequently caused by the pressure of
creditors. He appears at this time to have experienced moments of
poignant self-reproach. His love of dancing, masquerades, masked
balls, &c., was so great, that he did not willingly forego an
opportunity of joining any one of those assemblies, whether public
or private. He dressed handsomely, and wished to make a favourable
impression in society independently of his music. He was sensitive
with regard to his figure, and was annoyed when he heard that the
Prussian ambassador had said to some one, 'You must not estimate
the genius of Mozart by the insignificance of his exterior.' The
extremity of his animal spirits may occasion surprise. He composed
pantomimes and ballets, and danced in them himself, and at the
carnival balls sometimes assumed a character. He was actually
incomparable in Arlequin and Pierrot. The public masquerades at
Vienna, during the carnival, were supported with all the vivacity
of Italy; the emperor occasionally mingled in them, and his
example was generally followed. We are not, therefore, to measure
these enjoyments by our colder northern notions."

It should be added, what Mr Holmes tells us on good authority, that the vice of ebriety was not among Mozart's failings. "He drank to the point of exhilaration, but not beyond." His fondness for ballet-dancing may seem strange to us, who have almost a Roman repugnance to such exhibitions in men of good station. But it is possible that in some minds the love of graceful motion may be a refined passion and an exalted art; and it is singular that Mozart's wife told of him, that, in his own estimation, his taste lay in dancing rather than in music.

"That these scenes of extravagant delight seduced him into
occasional indulgences, which cannot be reconciled with the purity
of his earlier life, it would be the worst affectation in his
biographer to deny. Nor is it necessary to the vindication of
Mozart that such temporary errors should be suppressed by a
feeling of mistaken delicacy. Living such a round of excitements,
and tortured by perpetual misfortunes, there is nothing very
surprising in the fact, that he should sometimes have been drawn
into the dangerous vortex; but he redeemed the true nobility of
his nature by preserving, in the midst of his hasty inconstancies,
the most earnest and unfailing attachment to his home. It is a
curious illustration of his real character, that he always
confessed his transgressions to his wife, who had the wise
generosity to pardon them, from that confidence in his truth which
survived alike the troubles and temptations of their checkered
lives."

Let none lightly dare either to condemn or to imitate the irregularities of life of such wondrous men as Mozart and our own Burns. Those who may be gifted with equally strong and exquisite sensibilities as they, as fine and flexible affections, as bright an imagination, beautifying every object on which its rainbow colours rest, and who have been equally tried by affliction and misconstruction, and equally tempted by brilliant opportunities of pleasure in the intervals of penury and pain--these, if they stand fast, may be allowed to speak, and they will seldom speak uncharitably, of their brethren who have fallen; or, if they fall, they may be heard to plead a somewhat similar excuse. But let ordinary men, and men less extraordinary than those we speak of, beware how they either refer to them as a reproach, or follow them as an example.

The excesses of men of genius are always exaggerated by their enemies, and often overrated even by their friends and companions. With characteristic fervour they enter enthusiastically into every thing in which they engage; and, when they indulge in dissipation, delight to sport on the brink of all its terrors, and to outvie in levity and extravagance the most practised professors of their new art. Few that see or hear them think, that even in the midst of their revels their hearts are often far away, or are extracting good from the evil spread before them; and that all the waste of time and talent, so openly and ostentatiously exhibited, is compensated in secret by longer and intenser application to the true object of their pursuit, and by acts of atonement and self-denial, of which the conscious stars of heaven are the only created witnesses. The worst operation of dissolute indulgences on genius is not, perhaps, in producing depravity of heart or habits, for its pure plumes have a virtue about them that is a preservative against pollution; but in wearing out the frame, ruffling the temper, and depressing the spirits, and thus embittering as well as shortening a career that, even when most peaceful and placid, is often destined to be short and sad enough.

The good-natured sympathy which Mozart always felt in the welfare of the very humblest of his brethren of the lyre, is highly creditable to him. But the extent to which he sacrificed his own interests to serve them, was often any thing but prudent. He was devoid of every sordid and avaricious feeling, and indeed carried his generosity to an excess.

"The extreme kindness of his nature was grossly abused by artful
performers, music-sellers, and managers of theatres. Whenever any
poor artists, strangers in Vienna, applied to him for assistance,
he offered them the use of his house and table, introduced them to
the persons whom he thought could be of use to them, and
frequently composed for their use concertos, of which he did not
even keep a copy, in order that they might have the exclusive
advantage of playing them. But, not content with this, they sold
these pieces to music-publishers; and thus repaid his kindness by
robbing him. He seldom received any recompense for his pianoforte
compositions, but generally wrote them for his friends, who were,
of course, anxious to possess some work of his for their own use,
and suited to their powers of playing. Artaria, a music-seller of
Vienna, and other members of the trade, contrived to get
possession of many of these pieces, and published them without
obtaining the author's consent, or making him any remuneration for
them. A Polish count, who was invited to a concert at Mozart's
house, heard a quintet performed for the first time, with which he
was so greatly delighted that he asked Mozart to compose for him a
trio for the flute. Mozart agreed, on condition that he should do
it at his own time. The count next day sent a polite note,
expressive of his thanks for the pleasure he had enjoyed, and,
along with it, one hundred gold demi-sovereigns (about L100
sterling.) Mozart immediately sent him the original score of the
quintet that had pleased him so much. The count returned to Vienna
a year afterwards, and, calling upon Mozart, enquired for the
trio. Mozart said that he had never found himself in a disposition
to write any thing worthy of his acceptance. "Perhaps, then," said
the count, "you may find yourself in a disposition to return me
the hundred demi-sovereigns I paid you beforehand." Mozart
instantly handed him the money, but the count said not a word
about the quintet; and the composer soon afterwards had the
satisfaction of seeing it published by Artaria, arranged as a
quartet, for the pianoforte, violin, tenor, and violoncello.
Mozart's quintets for wind instruments, published also as
pianoforte quartets, are among the most charming and popular of
his instrumental compositions for the chamber; and this anecdote
is a specimen of the manner in which he lost the benefit he ought
to have derived, even from his finest works. The opera of the
'Zauberfloete' was composed for the purpose of relieving the
distresses of a manager, who had been ruined by unsuccessful
speculations, and came to implore his assistance. Mozart gave him
the score without price, with full permission to perform it in his
own theatre, and for his own benefit; only stipulating that he was
not to give a copy to any one, in order that the author might
afterwards be enabled to dispose of the copyright. The manager
promised strict compliance with the condition. The opera was
brought out, filled his theatre and his pockets, and, some short
time afterwards, appeared at five or six different theatres, by
means of copies received from the grateful manager."

Mozart's career, when hastening to its close, was illumined by gleams of prosperity that came but too late. On returning from Prague, in Nov. 1791, from bringing out the _Clemenza di Tito_, at the coronation of Leopold, the new Emperor--

"He found awaiting him the appointment of kapell-meister to the
cathedral church of St Stephen, with all its emoluments, besides
extensive commissions from Holland and Hungary for works to be
periodically delivered. This, with his engagements for the
theatres of Prague and Vienna, assured him of a competent income
for the future, exempt from all necessity for degrading
employment. But prospects of worldly happiness were now phantoms
that only came to mock his helplessness, and embitter his parting
hour."

"Now must I go," he would exclaim, "just as I should be able
to live in peace; now leave my art when, no longer the slave
of fashion, nor the tool of speculators, I could follow the
dictates of my own feeling, and write whatever my heart prompts. I
must leave my family--my poor children, at the very instant in
which I should have been able to provide for their welfare."

The story of his composing the requiem for a mysterious stranger, and his melancholy forebodings during its composition, are too well known to require repetition here. The incident, to all appearance, was not extraordinary in itself, and owed its imposing character chiefly to the morbid state of Mozart's mind at the time.

On the 5th of December 1791, the ill-defined disease under which he had for some time laboured, ended in his dissolution; and subsequent examination showed that inflammation of the brain had taken place. He felt that he was dying--"The taste of death," he said to his sister-in-law, "is already on my tongue--_I taste death_; and who will be near to support my Constance if you go away?"

"Suessmayer (an assistant) was standing by the bedside, and on the
counterpane lay the 'Requiem,' concerning which Mozart was still
speaking and giving directions. As he looked over its pages for
the last time, he said, with tears in his eyes, 'Did I not tell
you that I was writing this for myself?'"

It should be added that this "Suessmayer, who had obtained
possession of one transcript of the 'Requiem,' the other having
been delivered to the stranger immediately after Mozart's decease,
published the score some years afterwards, claiming to have
composed from the _Sanctus_ to the end. As there was no one to
contradict this extraordinary story, it found partial credit until
1839, when a full score of the 'Requiem' in Mozart's handwriting
was discovered."

We have now done. The life and character that we have been considering, speak for themselves. Mozart is not perhaps the greatest composer that ever lived, but Handel only is greater than he; and to be second to Handel, seems now to us the highest conceivable praise. Yet, in some departments, Mozart was even greater than his predecessor. It is not our intention to characterise his excellences as a composer. The millions of mankind that he has delighted in one form or other, according to their opportunities and capacities, have spoken his best panegyric in the involuntary accents of open and enthusiastic admiration; and his name will for ever be sweet in the ear of every one who has music in his soul.

Two remarks only we will make upon Mozart's taste and system as a master. The first is, that he invariably considered and proclaimed, that the great object of music was, not to astonish by its difficulty, but to delight by its beauty. Some of his own compositions are difficult as well as beautiful, and in some the beauty may be too transcendental for senses less exalted than his own. But the production of _pleasure_, in all its varied forms and degrees, was his uniform aim and effort; and no master has been more successful. Our next remark is, that, with all his genius, he was a laborious and learned musician; and the monument to his own fame which he has completed in his works, was built upon the most anxious, heartfelt, and humble study of all the works of excellence that then existed, and without knowing and understanding which, he truly felt that he could never have equalled or surpassed them.

FOOTNOTE:

[6] _The Life of Mozart, including his Correspondence._ By EDWARD HOLMES Author of "A Ramble among the Musicians of Germany." London: Chapman and Hall. 1845

TO THE EDITOR OF BLACKWOOD'S MAGAZINE.

SIR,--The accompanying narrative was originally sent from the
Sandwich Islands in the shape of a letter. Since my return to
England, it has been suggested to me that it would suit your
pages. If you think so, I shall be happy to place it at your
disposal. The ground-plan annexed is intended merely to assist the
description: it has no pretensions to strict accuracy, the
distances have been estimated, not measured.--I remain, Sir, your
obedient servant,

AN OFFICER OF THE ROYAL NAVY.

ACCOUNT OF A VISIT TO THE VOLCANO OF KIRAUEA, IN OWHYHEE, SANDWICH ISLANDS, IN SEPTEMBER 1844.

The ship being about to proceed to Byron's Bay, (the Hilo of the natives,) on the N.E. side of Owhyhee, to water, the captain arranged, that to give all opportunity to all those who wished to visit the volcano, distant from the anchorage forty miles, the excursion should be made in two parties. Having anchored on Wednesday the 11th of September, he and several of the officers left Hilo early on the 12th; they travelled on horseback, and returned on the ensuing Monday, highly delighted with their trip, but giving a melancholy description of the road, which they pronounced to be in some places impassable to people on foot. This latter intelligence was disheartening to the second division, some of whom, and myself of the number, had intended to walk. These, notwithstanding, adhered to their resolution; and the second party, consisting of eight, left the ship at 6 A.M. on Tuesday. Some on horseback, and some on foot, we got away from the village about eight o'clock, attended by thirteen natives, to whose calabashes our prog and clothing had been transferred; these calabashes answer this purpose admirably; they are gourds of enormous size, cut through rather above their largest diameter, which is from eighteen inches to two feet; the half of another gourd forms the lid, and keeps all clean and dry within; when filled, they are hung by net-work to each end of a pole thrown across the shoulders of a native, who will thus travel with a load of fifty or sixty pounds about three miles an hour. The day was fine and bright, and we started in high spirits, the horsemen hardly able to conceal their exultation in their superiority over the walkers, whilst they cantered over the plain from which our ascent commenced; this, 4000 feet almost gradual in forty miles, is not fatiguing; and thus, although we found the path through a wood about three miles long, very deep, and the air oppressive, we all arrived together without distress at the "half-way house," by 1 P.M. Suppose a haystack hollowed out, and some holes cut for doors and windows, and you have a picture of the "half-way house," and the ordinary dwellings of the natives of these islands; it is kept by a respectable person, chiefly for the accommodation of travellers, and in it we found the comfort of a table, a piece of furniture by these people usually considered superfluous. Here we soon made ourselves snug, commencing by throwing ourselves on the mats, and allowing a dozen vigorous urchins to "rumi rumi" us. In this process of shampooing, every muscle is kneaded or beaten; the refreshing luxury it affords can only be perfectly appreciated by those who have, like us, walked twenty miles on a bad road, in a tropical climate. Here we were to stay the night, and our first object was to prepare dinner and then to eat it; all seemed disposed to assist in the last part of this operation, and where every one was anxious to please, and determined to be pleased, sociability could not be absent. After this we whiled away our time with books and conversation, till one by one dropping asleep, all became quiet, except a wretched child belonging to our hostess, who, from one corner of the hut, every now and then set up its shrill pipe to disturb our slumbers.

_Explanation of Plan:--_

A A The outer rim.
B B The inner rim.
C The active crater.
D D D D D The surface of the larger crater.
E E E E The dike.
F The house.
G The hut.
H H Track to and from crater.
I I Track of party on Wednesday night.
_o o o o o o_ Cones in large crater.