Chapter VI: Part 6

A few weeks later Wolfgang played the harpsichord and organ at Ranelagh Gardens, a celebrated pleasure resort of the Londoners of those days, on behalf of a public charity, and held the delighted attention of a huge crowd which had gathered to hear him. Not long after this Leopold Mozart was seized with severe illness, and when he was recovering, the family removed to Chelsea for the sake of the air and quiet. Chelsea at that time was a riverside village, and the lodgings of the Mozarts were in Five Fields, a name which conveys a pleasant suggestion of the country, but, alas! it has long since lost its ancient signification with its change to Lower Ebury Street, Pimlico.

As the children were not allowed to play any instrument, Wolfgang spent the time in composition, and one day he confided to Marianne that he was composing a symphony, and begged her not to forget to remind him to give a good part to the horns, the horn being a very favourite instrument with him in those days. The great work was duly completed, and the father having regained his strength, the family returned to town. They were accorded a further gracious reception at Court, and in token of his gratitude Leopold Mozart printed six of Wolfgang's sonatas for harpsichord and violin, and dedicated them to the Queen, whose acceptance of the works was accompanied by a present of fifty guineas. At the concerts which followed the overtures were all of Wolfgang's composing, and on one occasion the children won great applause by the performance of a duet for four hands, written by Wolfgang, a style of composition which was then quite new. The novelty of the prodigies, however, had to some extent worn off, and the public were by no means so eager to patronise their performances. Leopold endeavoured to reawaken interest in their doings by announcing private exhibitions of the children's skill 'every day from twelve to three--admittance two shillings and sixpence each person,' but despite the smallness of the fee, and the fact that it included the privilege of testing the powers of the performers by the audience, the number of visitors was very small.

In July, 1765, the family left London to visit the Hague, but now for the first time heavy misfortune attended their journey. Both Wolfgang and Marianne fell ill--the latter so dangerously as to cause Leopold the deepest anxiety. No sooner had Marianne recovered than Wolfgang was struck down a second time with violent fever, and it was several weeks before he was sufficiently strong to resume his travels. During his convalescence, however, he was so eager to pursue his studies that he had a board laid across the bed to serve as a table on which to compose. Their reception at the Hague was gracious and kindly, both the Prince of Orange and his sister, Princess Caroline of Nassau-Weilburg, showing a deep interest in their playing. After leaving the Hague they paid a second visit to Paris, where they added to their former triumphs, in addition to playing at many towns by the way, and, finally, the long tour was brought to a close by the return of the family to Salzburg in November, 1766.

Up till now we have seen Mozart chiefly in the light of a musical prodigy, exciting delight and astonishment by the exhibition of his marvellous powers. By those around him, however, Wolfgang was beloved for his own sake--for the simple, affectionate boy that he was. Notwithstanding the praise which had been lavished upon him during his travels, he remained unspoilt, and, apart from his music, as child-like as ever. When not engaged in actual composition, his mind, in the course of his long journeys, had been occupied with the creation of an imaginary kingdom, peopled entirely by children, to which he had given the title of 'Rücken.' Of this kingdom he supposed himself to be king, and he was never tired of planning and arranging its buildings, drawing maps of the towns, framing the laws under which it was to be governed, and generally providing for the comfort and happiness of his subjects. It was all the outcome of a natural tenderness of heart which was equally shown in his relations with strangers and friends--a desire to place others before himself.

At times, however, he could assert himself with considerable force. On one occasion, shortly after his return to Salzburg, a gentleman of rank in the town called upon the family, and being desirous of conversing with Wolfgang, was at a loss how to address him. The formal pronoun _sie_ could hardly be used to a child; _du_, on the other hand, implied a familiarity which might be resented by so celebrated an artist; the gentleman, therefore, took refuge in _wir_, and thus began: 'So _we_ have been in France and England,' '_we_ have been introduced at Court'; '_we_ have been honoured'; when Wolfgang interrupted him hastily. 'And yet, sir, I do not remember to have seen you anywhere but in Salzburg!'

* * * * *

We must now return to the point at which we left our hero in his room in the Archbishop's palace. The little musician realises that upon his shoulders rests the burden of justifying to the Archbishop his father's expressed belief in his powers, and love and gratitude whisper to him that he cannot do too much in striving to uphold the judgment of his beloved parent. His gratitude to his father was only what might have been looked for in one so naturally thoughtful for others. Leopold Mozart had, indeed, made great sacrifices for his children, and he was prepared to go to even greater lengths of self-denial in order to procure for them a good education, and to found a musical career for the son in whose God-sent gifts he placed the most implicit faith. 'I offer my children to my country,' he wrote to a friend at this time. 'If it will have none of them, that is not my fault, and will be my country's loss.'

And so, prompted by love and gratitude, Wolfgang works on until at last the long task is finished, and the composer lays down his pen with a sigh of relief. 'What will the Archbishop think of the work? Will he laugh at it, and tell the father that he is mistaken in believing that his son can write good music? Would this week of toil be thrown away, and the sheets be cast into the fire?'

Such are the thoughts of the child-musician as he glances anxiously through the manuscript. 'Yet, no; it has some good points--as a musician he is sure of that--and surely his Grace will not fail to observe those good points.'

Mozart's fears were groundless. When the old Archbishop came to inspect the work, his face showed the pleasure and astonishment which he felt. Boyish the workmanship may have been, yet there was nothing of boyishness about the music itself. Wolfgang had taken the Italian oratorio as his model, and the result showed how completely he had mastered its forms. Such was the verdict which the connoisseurs passed upon the work, nor did those judges fail to call attention to its dignity and delicacy of expression, its well-chosen harmonies, and the flowing melodies that were a foreshadowing of the Mozart of later years. The cantata--the two remaining parts of which were composed by the Court musicians--was performed with great success during Lent, 1767, by the students of Salzburg University, and in the programme the eye of the composer met the words, 'The first part of this work was set to music by Herr Wolfgang Mozart, aged ten years.'

Wolfgang's studies had been much interrupted by travel, and now that they were home again his father began to give him regular instruction in counterpoint as a solid groundwork for future composition. There were many little breaks in these studies, however, and one which afforded Wolfgang immense delight whenever it came round was to visit the monastery of Seeon, with the monks of which he was on a footing of firm friendship. For one of the priests, known as Father Johannes, the boy had a deep affection; and whenever the good man made his appearance, Wolfgang would spring to embrace him, and, stroking his cheeks, would sing his greeting to a little air of his own:

The monks were always teasing Wolfgang about his tune. On Father Johannes' fête-day the boy presented him with an offertory of his own composing, in which he introduced the little melody as a birthday greeting. The caressing little air runs through the piece, and is 'twice interrupted by the words, "Ecce Agnus Dei, qui tollit peccata mundi" (Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world), given in a quiet, serious manner that has a charming effect.' Good Father Johannes had no need to feel ashamed of the moisture which gathered in his eyes as he scanned this tender little offering of his child-friend on his birthday morning.

But the visits to the old monastery were to be interrupted by a further period of travel. Vienna was making great preparations for celebrating the betrothal of the Archduchess Josepha, who had made herself beloved of the people, and Leopold Mozart was desirous of being present with his children at the festivities. Accordingly, they set out in September, 1767, but no sooner had they arrived at the capital than they were met by the news that the Princess had been struck down with small-pox. A few days later the tidings of her death spread grief and consternation throughout the city. The dread of infection caused the nobility to flee the place, and Leopold hastened to remove the children to Olmütz. Their efforts to escape, however, were vain, for both children developed the disease, and for nine days Wolfgang was quite blind. A good Samaritan, in the person of Count von Podstatzky, Dean of Olmütz, received the family into his house, with a noble indifference to the risk which he incurred, and treated them with every kindness and consideration, so that with good nursing Wolfgang and Marianne soon recovered.

It was with renewed hopes that Leopold and his children once more bent their steps to Vienna, only, however, to meet with fresh disappointments. The Imperial family received them very kindly, but the public evinced little desire to attend their performances. The Empress lived in retirement, and the Emperor was practising a rigid economy in regard to matters of entertainment and display--an example which was followed as a matter of course by the nobility. Moreover, the public taste for art was at a very low ebb, the preference being for music of the lightest description. As if these were not sufficiently serious obstacles to contend with, the twelve-year-old musician was subjected to marked hostility on the part of the chief performers of the city, who not only held aloof from his performances, but did not scruple to vent their envy by speaking disparagingly of his powers. That his son should be thus slighted without being heard seemed to fill Leopold's cup of bitterness to overflowing. To oppose such a phalanx of jealous rivals was impossible, and he had made up his mind to shake the dust of Vienna from his feet and return home, when the arrival of a messenger from the palace turned his sorrow into joy.

'See here, Wolfgang,' cried the delighted father, as he sought the boy's side after the departure of the royal messenger, 'is not this a recompense for our trials and waiting? Here are the Emperor's commands to you to compose an opera--an opera, mark you!--for performance at the Royal Theatre!' and Leopold gave the astonished Wolfgang a hearty embrace, as he thrust the important missive into the boy's hand.

Wolfgang read the letter through with the seriousness which always characterised his manner when his beloved art was mentioned, and then, lifting his face to his father's, he threw his arms around Leopold's neck, exclaiming as he did so, 'It shall be done, papa--the Emperor's commands shall be obeyed!'

Fired with zeal to deserve the confidence thus reposed in his powers, Mozart set himself to work to accomplish his gigantic task. In a short time, with assiduous labour, he had produced no fewer than five hundred and fifty-eight pages of music, and 'La finta Semplice,' as the opera was called, was ready for rehearsal. In the meanwhile, however, the envious ones had formed themselves into a cabal with the object of hindering, and, if possible, preventing its production. All kinds of mean and untrue things were whispered about the work, of which not a single note had yet been seen or heard by any of these detractors. The music was declared to be worthless, and when this slander had been disproved by the testimony of those who were capable judges, another sprang up to the effect that the work was the production, not of Mozart himself, but of his father. This, too, was swept aside only to be supplanted by a fresh outburst of jealousy. Before long these evil reports found their way to the singers and performers, who, from being at first loud in their praises of the opera, began to express a disinclination to take part in the performance, for fear of losing their reputation. Then Affligio, the manager who had undertaken to produce the work, in like manner began to draw back, and put off the rehearsals from time to time. Finally, after a series of such postponements, when brought to bay by Leopold's insistence, the manager declared that he would produce the opera if the father desired it, but that it should not benefit the Mozarts, as he would take care that it should be hissed off the stage. The Emperor was powerless to interfere, as Affligio held the theatre independently of the Court, and nothing remained to be done but to withdraw the opera.

This was a great blow to Mozart and his father, but, though momentarily crushed by disappointment, they comforted each other with the hope that the work would see the light at a later period. It was now imperative that they should return to Salzburg immediately, more especially as Leopold had received an intimation from the Archbishop that his salary must cease so long as he stayed away. Their circumstances were, in fact, much straitened owing to the ill success of their visit, and during the weary months of suspense and waiting they had been living upon the profits of their previous travels. They were not allowed to leave Vienna, however, without a ray of sunshine to cheer them on their homeward journey. Wolfgang had written an operetta, 'Bastien und Bastienne,' founded upon a burlesque of one of Rousseau's operas, and he had the pleasure of hearing his little work performed before a select company of connoisseurs, and of receiving their praises. Nor would the Emperor let him depart without a further sign of royal favour, for he was commanded to write a Mass, an offertorium, and a trumpet concerto to celebrate the dedication of a new chapel in the city. The occasion was an important one, for the ceremony was graced by the presence of the Imperial Court, and it must have been a happy moment for Wolfgang when, having conducted his compositions, he bowed his acknowledgments of the hearty applause which followed. With this comforting assurance of the royal regard was brought to a close an expedition which to both father and son had been filled with trial and disappointment.

Old Archbishop Sigismund, too, was forward in showing his sympathy with Wolfgang on his return to Salzburg; for with a kindness which was unexpected even at the hands of one who had already proved himself to be a true friend, he gave orders that 'La finta Semplice' should be performed in his palace. It was a fitting reward for the Archbishop to bestow upon one whom he had subjected to so severe a test, and both Mozart and his father were full of gratitude. Sigismund, moreover, showed his appreciation of Mozart's genius by making him his concertmeister, though no salary was attached to the appointment. As regards the opera itself, as Mozart was shortly to write a work of a much higher character, not much need be said; at the same time, when we learn that the best judges of the day pronounced it to be in many respects superior to the operas which were then in possession of the stage, and that it pointed 'unmistakably to a glorious future for its composer,' we may appreciate the remark with which one who was himself a great musical judge sums up the opinion passed upon Mozart's first opera: 'Surely, this is extraordinary praise for the work of a boy!'

Leopold Mozart was now resolved upon undertaking a journey to Italy with a view to completing Wolfgang's musical education. At that day Italy stood foremost in the world as the home of music. Of Italy could it be truly said, as it could be said of no other country, that music was native to the soil. The craving for music pervaded every class--to prince, and peer, and peasant alike, music was as natural a possession as the very air they breathed. It was bound up with the people's sentiments and passions, to which it afforded the truest expression, and it was connected to an equal degree with their surroundings and conditions of life. Consequently, every facility existed for the development and encouragement of the art, whilst on every hand there was a steady demand for the best that that art could produce. Thus, as has been well said, there came to be formed in Italy 'a sort of musical climate, in which artists found it easy to breathe.' More than this, it became evident to musicians of other countries, as the years went on, that he who aspired to do great things with his art, and to establish a reputation for himself as singer, player, or composer, must imbibe this atmosphere--for a time, at least--and put the finishing touches to his education under the influence of the Italian schools of composition and execution.

In respect to musical art Germany and Italy were rivals. The music of Germany was to a very great extent independent; but the spirit of creation in Germany was not so universally diffused as in Italy, being, as a matter of fact, chiefly confined to the northern Protestant portion of the country. Again, the operas performed at the German Courts were Italian; the music to be heard in the German Catholic churches was written by Italian composers; whilst both singers and performers were either drawn from, or had been educated in, Italy. The two countries, as we have said, were rivals, and every succeeding year witnessed the growth of this spirit in Germany; but for long Italy held the supremacy in instrumental as well as in every other class of music, as the result of that inborn love of music which pervaded every grade of society throughout the country.

And so in December, 1769, Mozart, who was now thirteen years of age, came to Italy to listen to the brightly-clad peasants singing at their work in the sunny fields; to watch them dancing on the vine-trellised terraces that overlooked the deep blue waters of the lakes; to witness the wonderful processions of the priests through the narrow streets of the towns; and, above all, to hear the grand music in the cathedrals.

Mozart's bright, happy nature was never more in evidence than on the occasion of this journey, which he seemed to regard as having been planned solely for pleasure. His merry jokes and light-hearted conversation served to ingratiate him in the affections of all. Leopold kept up a regular correspondence with those at home, but Wolfgang never failed to add a little letter of his own, addressed either to his mother or to Marianne, in which he joked about the incidents of the journey, the people whom they met, or the friends they had left behind. The letters were a mixture of German and Italian, with an occasional bit of Salzburg _patois_ thrown in to make Marianne laugh. But he relapsed into a serious style whenever he referred to his playing or the performers whom they had heard in the course of their travels.

The young musician had, indeed, no lack of work before him, for, in addition to the regular performances which formed the chief business of the tour, he was set difficult problems to solve at sight by the various professors who desired to test his powers. The fame of his playing preceded him everywhere, so that the further they penetrated into Italy the more numerous became the demands to hear him. At Roveredo, where it was announced that he would play the organ at St. Thomas's Church, the crowd was so great that the monks of the adjoining monastery had to form a circle around Mozart to keep back the press until the steps leading to the organ-loft had been gained. The vast audience listened spellbound to the performance, and then refused to disperse until they had gained a glimpse of the boy-player. At Verona, where another triumph awaited him, and where one of his symphonies was performed, the Receiver-General ordered his portrait to be painted, and wrote a letter to the mother full of warm praise of her wonderful son.

On reaching Milan the chief musician of the city subjected Mozart to the severest tests, from which he emerged victorious, and after astonishing everybody by his playing and improvisation, he was commissioned to write an opera for the ensuing season. It was at Bologna, however, that he met with the most flattering reception. The city contained many artists of the highest rank, over whom Padre Martini, the famous composer of Church music and the first connoisseur of the country, reigned like a king. Martini was, in fact, worshipped by Italian lovers of the art, who deferred to his opinion in all questions affecting music. But the Padre was very old, and had given up attending concerts, so that every one was astonished when the coming of Mozart brought the aged musician from his retirement to form one of the brilliant gathering assembled at Count Pallavicini's mansion to witness the boy's playing. It was a great compliment to Mozart, but an even greater compliment to the country from which he came, and Wolfgang put forth his best powers, with the result that he earned the judge's warmly expressed commendation. Leopold was overjoyed at Wolfgang's success, and opined that Bologna would form a centre from which the boy's fame would spread all over Italy, an opinion that was justified by the results. As for Martini, he took to Wolfgang at once, insisted that he should visit him regularly whilst they remained in Milan, and gave him fugue subjects to work out at his lodgings. Mozart worked hard at these tasks, and the Padre expressed himself as perfectly satisfied with the boy's knowledge of composition.

The journey to Rome, in fact, was a succession of triumphs, which it would require a volume by itself to attempt to describe in detail. At Florence he was invited to play before the Court of the Archduke Leopold, and solved, 'as easily as if he were eating a bit of bread,' the difficult problems proposed by the Court music-director, who was regarded as one of the best contrapuntists of the day. Here he met Thomas Linley, a boy of about his own age, the son of the English composer, who was studying the violin under Nardini. Linley's playing was already exciting much attention, and as he showed great promise in his compositions as well, people were building high hopes as to his future. Mozart and he instantly became close friends, and when the time came for parting neither could restrain his tears. They were destined never to meet again, for a few years later poor Linley was drowned through the upsetting of a boat whilst on a pleasure excursion in Lincolnshire. Mozart never forgot the bright friendship which had flashed into his life during those few days spent at Florence, and many years afterwards he would refer in terms of endearment to the young genius whose career had been thus untimely cut off.

It was Holy Week when Mozart and his father reached Rome, and the city lay under the spell of that solemn time. The travellers at once bent their steps to the Sistine Chapel in order to hear the celebrated _Miserere_, written by Allegri, performed. Wolfgang had been looking forward to this moment during the latter stages of his journey with the deepest interest. He had heard from his father of the jealous guarding of this wonderful work by the Romans; how it was expressly forbidden to be performed in any other building than the Sistine; and how the choristers were under strict injunctions not to remove their parts of the score from the chapel. His anxiety, therefore, to hear a work of which the fame had spread throughout the whole of Europe, had hastened his progress to the Holy City.

It would, indeed, be difficult to imagine anything more beautiful and impressive than the singing of this wonderful _Miserere_.[12] It is introduced into the solemn service called 'Tenebræ' (Darkness), during which the six tall altar candles, by which the chapel is illuminated, are extinguished one by one, until only a single candle is left, and this is removed to a space behind the altar. Then, in almost complete darkness, the _Miserere_ begins. A single voice is heard singing the beautiful antiphon, as the short piece which ushers in the _Miserere_ is called; the sweet notes die away into silence--a silence so profound that the listener hardly dares to breathe lest he should disturb it. Then at length the first sad notes of the Supplication are heard, like the softest wailing of an anguished spirit; they gradually increase in force until the whole building is ringing with the plaintive melody in all its thrilling intensity.

The solemnity of the service and the beauty of the music left a deep impression on the mind of the young musician who heard it for the first time. Leopold Mozart, too, was greatly affected by what he had heard, and when they left the chapel to seek their lodgings neither of them spoke a word. Once within doors, however, Wolfgang asked for pen and paper, and, sitting down there and then, he wrote out the whole of the _Miserere_ from memory. On Good Friday, when the work was to be performed for the second time, he took his copy with him to the Sistine, and, concealing it in his cocked hat, he made one or two corrections in pencil as the service proceeded. It was not long before the news of this extraordinary feat reached the ears of the Papal musicians, and Wolfgang received orders to perform his version in the presence of Christoforo, the principal soprano of the Sistine, who could not conceal his amazement at finding it correct in every particular.

No better introduction than this was needed to secure for Mozart a cordial welcome at the houses of the great, and during their stay in Rome they were fêted to their hearts' content.

At Naples, which was their next stopping-place, Wolfgang played at the Conservatorio alla Pietà before a brilliant gathering, and excited so much astonishment that several of the audience openly declared that his powers were derived from a ring which he wore upon his finger. 'He wears a charm!' they cried; and when Mozart, hearing their remarks, smilingly laid aside the supposed magic ring, and played even more brilliantly than before, the enthusiasm was redoubled. After this the Neapolitans vied with one another to show them honour and attention. A carriage was provided for their use, in which they drove about amongst the fashionable crowds on the Strada Nuova and the quay, on which occasions Leopold wore a maroon-coloured coat of watered silk, with sky-blue facings, and Wolfgang one of apple-green, with rose-coloured facings and silver buttons.

We have not space, however, in which to describe all the events of Mozart's wonderful tour, and so we may only mention how they returned to Rome at the instance of the Pope, who not only granted Wolfgang a private audience, but bestowed upon him the Order of the Golden Spur, thus entitling him to be styled 'Signor Cavaliere Amadeo'; how, when next he wrote to Marianne, he jokingly concluded his letter as follows: 'Mademoiselle, j'ai l'honneur d'être votre très-humble serviteur et frère, Chevalier de Mozart'; and how his portrait was once more painted in Rome by Battoni. A still greater distinction was conferred upon him on his arrival at Bologna, for the Accademia Filarmonica admitted him to their ranks as 'compositore,' notwithstanding that their statutes required that members should be at least twenty years of age. To test his qualifications for election he was given an antiphon to set in four parts, and locked up in a room to fulfil his task. At the expiration of half an hour he asked to be let out, to the astonishment of the officials, who could scarcely credit that he had completed the work in so short a time. The composition was then examined by the professors, who next voted upon it, and finally, amidst clapping of hands, it was declared that Mozart had been duly elected.

After some further intercourse with Padre Martini, who, before leaving, presented Mozart with a testimonial, the travellers proceeded to Milan, where Wolfgang set to work at once on the opera which he had been commissioned to write. It was a great task, and we find him writing to his mother and sister, begging them to pray for its success, 'so that they may all live happily together again,' 'Mitridate,' as the work was called, was at length finished, after three months' hard labour, some of which was devoted to fighting the opposition emanating from both singers and rivals. The first performance took place on December 26, 1770, and was conducted by Wolfgang, whose appearance in the orchestra was the signal for a great outburst of cheering, to be repeated again and again as the opera proceeded. Then came loud cries of 'Evviva il Maestro! Evviva il Maestrino!' in response to which Mozart gravely bowed his acknowledgments, and at the same time bent his glance towards the spot where his father sat with his eyes covered with his hand, in order to hide the tears of pride and joy which filled them to overflowing. Mingled with these feelings, however, Leopold felt a deep thankfulness in his heart that he had been spared to watch over his son's career, and to be a witness of his success.

'Mitridate' had indeed succeeded even beyond their utmost hopes; it was repeated twenty times before crowded houses, and its success brought with it the honour of election as 'Maestro di Capella' (the Italian equivalent of the German title 'Capellmeister') by the Accademia Filarmonica. Mozart's position was now assured, and he had nothing more to fear from intrigues or cabals. So that when, in August, 1771, we find him once more in Milan, he is on cordial terms with all his fellow-artists, and hard at work composing a dramatic serenata for the approaching marriage of the Archduke Ferdinand with Princess Beatrice of Modena. He is working amidst a Babel of sounds, for in the room above dwells a violinist, in the room below another, whilst a singing-master lives next door, and an oboist opposite. But he is not dismayed. 'It is capital for composing,' he writes to Marianne; 'it gives one new ideas.'

The serenata, 'Ascanio in Alba'--an allegorical pastoral play--was a great success, and Hasse, a master of opera, who had also composed a work for the occasion, was fain to admit that he stood nowhere compared with Mozart. 'This boy,' he exclaimed, 'will cause us all to be forgotten.' The Empress, who had commissioned Mozart to write the work, was so pleased with the result that, in addition to the stipulated fee, she presented the composer with a gold watch with her portrait set in diamonds at the back.

Our story of Mozart's life has now reached the point which marks the beginning of a series of misfortunes and trials of a far more serious character than those with which his earlier struggles for fame had been associated. There was no foreshadowing of these troubles at the moment when the travellers set out on their return journey to Salzburg, whither they were carrying the hopes which had been built upon their successes in Milan. Shortly after their return, however, to their great grief the good Archbishop Sigismund died, and both Leopold and Wolfgang realised that they had lost their best protector and friend. The news of the appointment of Hieronymus, Count von Colloredo, as his successor was received by the townspeople with feelings of displeasure and even dismay, for it was well known that the character of Hieronymus was almost entirely opposite to that which had made Sigismund beloved by his subjects. The Mozarts, father and son, were soon made to taste the bitterness of the change. Appreciation for art formed no part of the new Archbishop's nature, and he lost no opportunity of showing his contempt for those who followed it as a profession. Notwithstanding the fame which had now gathered about Mozart, whose latest opera, 'La finta Giardiniera,' had been produced in Munich, at the carnival of 1775, with the greatest success, the Archbishop persistently refused to recognise his genius, or to grant any facilities for enabling his dependents to better their condition of life. Once, during his master's absence in Vienna, Leopold had gone to the capital with Wolfgang, hoping to be able to secure some appointment at the Court which might relieve them of their necessities, but the effort was in vain. To his wife he wrote: 'Things will and must alter; take comfort, God will help us.' But they returned empty-handed.

Despite the fact that monetary anxieties were daily growing more pressing, and the aspect of affairs at the Salzburg Court remained as hopeless as ever, Wolfgang worked at his compositions with untiring diligence, and by the time he had attained his twenty-first year he had accumulated a mass of music that embraced every branch of the art, in addition to numberless carefully worked out studies of other masters. But Hieronymus viewed his Concertmeister's industry with disdain. Even when, by happening to be in Vienna shortly after 'La finta Giardiniera' had taken the Viennese by storm, he had been made the unwilling recipient of congratulations at the hands of the nobility upon the possession of so gifted a composer, he had contrived to evade an admission of Mozart's genius by protesting, with a sardonic smile and outspread hands, that he knew nothing about such matters. Even this disclaimer, however, did not prevent the Archbishop from making use of Wolfgang's powers whenever their display could be made to add to his own glorification. But nothing softened his ill-nature; no degree of praise which was justly awarded either to Mozart as a composer, or to his father for the care with which he had conducted his son's musical training, availed to remove or even to mitigate the deeply-rooted dislike which Hieronymus bore to father and son. He professed to regard them both in the light of professional beggars, and he never lost an opportunity of speaking slightingly of Wolfgang's compositions.

It was not long before the relations with the Archbishop became strained to breaking-point. Wolfgang was now twenty-one, with a reputation as a composer, but with no settled future; it was clear that nothing was to be hoped for by his remaining in Salzburg, and Leopold therefore resolved to undertake a professional tour with his son. For this purpose a prolonged leave of absence was necessary; but the Archbishop met Leopold's application with a curt refusal.

Even Wolfgang's docile nature would bend no further under such treatment, and he forthwith requested to be relieved of his duties. The salary connected with his post of Concertmeister was trifling in amount, and Hieronymus was fully aware of the value of the services which he professed to estimate so lightly. But that one for whom he had expressed contempt should thus presume to take action on his own behalf rendered him furious. He would have nothing to do with either father or son. 'After the Gospel, you are both free to seek your fortunes wherever you please!' was his reply to Wolfgang's application. This hasty decision, however, he afterwards retracted with respect to Leopold, and the father realised that the only course left open to him was to allow Wolfgang and his mother to travel together.

Arrangements were accordingly made, and early in the morning of September 23, 1777, the carriage which was to convey the travellers drew up at the door of Leopold's house. Now that the actual moment of parting had arrived the father could with difficulty restrain his emotion, and it was only when the carriage had driven off that he remembered that he had forgotten to bestow a blessing on his dear ones. Rushing to the window, he stretched forth his hand, to find that he was too late--the travellers were already out of sight.

Wolfgang's spirits, however, rose as the towers of Salzburg faded into the haze of that September morning. No sorrow of parting could stifle the sense of freedom that was springing up in his breast; he had escaped from a town which was intimately associated in his mind with tyranny and oppression, to seek his fortune in a new and wider world, where he was confident that his gifts would meet with the recognition they deserved. Thus buoyed with hope and confidence he entered upon a sea of difficulty and trouble.

At Munich, where they first halted, Wolfgang endeavoured to secure an engagement at the Elector's Court; but there was no vacancy, and although his playing brought forth many promises of future help in addition to applause, the prospect of obtaining immediate engagements fell empty to the ground. 'Fine words and bravissimos pay neither the postboy nor the host,' wrote the practical Leopold Mozart, when Wolfgang applied to him for advice, and so mother and son went on to Mannheim. Here, indeed, the prospects seemed to be much brighter. Mannheim was a thoroughly musical town, and Mozart soon won both esteem and admiration at the hands of the musicians. The Elector, Karl Theodor, maintained an excellent orchestra, and with Cannabich, the conductor, Wolfgang soon became great friends, giving music-lessons to his daughter Rose. Nevertheless, albeit so gifted, and capable of winning applause wherever he played, Mozart was constantly looking for work that would bring in sufficient ready-money to maintain himself and his mother, until something of a permanent nature could be found for him. But here again disappointment followed disappointment. He was desirous of staying the winter in Mannheim, in order to join some friends who were leaving for Paris in the spring, but he must first find something to do. He seized upon the opportunity of playing before the Elector and the Electress as a possible means of securing their children as pupils, and for some time success in this direction seemed imminent. But his application was put off from day to day; weeks passed over, and nothing was settled.

Amidst these hopes and delays Leopold Mozart was writing from Salzburg urging Wolfgang to decide upon a course of action. He reminded him that he had put his time to but little use up to the present, and that it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to supply the money for their maintenance. Wolfgang must give him longer notice of their change of plans, as 'otherwise all will go wrong'; and he warns his son to be careful lest he be stranded without money--and 'no money meant no friends.'

There was justice in these urgings and warnings, for it was a fact that to Wolfgang life in Mannheim had become so pleasant and easy-going that it was time that he should be reminded of the call of duty. In the midst of intercourse with friends, who were only too willing to second his wishes to remain in Mannheim, Mozart was in danger of forgetting the sacrifices which were being made for him at home. Both father and daughter were indeed denying themselves and working hard to keep up the supplies of money. In addition to being heavily in debt on Wolfgang's account, Leopold had increased his labours by giving music-lessons at a small fee, whilst Marianne was practising all manner of shifts to make ends meet. Each fresh disappointment which her brother's letters conveyed caused 'Nannerl's' tears to flow with sympathy and vexation, and added to her father's anxieties.

The latest letter had brought the depressing intelligence that, after tedious delays, the Elector had decided that he could not see his way to offering Mozart the engagement which he sought. Nothing remained to be done, therefore, but to relinquish the idea of wintering in Mannheim. But coupled with this announcement of failure, Wolfgang had let drop some complaints on the subject of lesson-giving which aroused his father to the pitch of administering a severe rebuke. Wolfgang's protest was to the effect that so long as he was called upon to seek work in the shape of music-lessons at small fees, the time which he felt ought to be given to composition must suffer serious curtailment, with the result that his progress would inevitably be hindered, if it were not brought to an actual standstill. There was doubtless sound sense behind this protest, for who could deny that Wolfgang's aims were high, or that he possessed the power to accomplish great things with his art? It is, however, easy to understand that his expressed disinclination to give music-lessons touched his father on a tender point. 'And so,' Leopold writes, with more bitterness than he has ever shown before in his letters--'and so you will throw away chances of earning money, whilst your old father has to run from house to house for a wretched pittance in order to support himself and his daughter, and to send the little that remains to you, instead of paying his debts!' He begs Wolfgang to reflect whether he was not treating him as hardly as the Archbishop himself. Then follows a remark which refers to Mozart's proneness to place undue reliance on promises, instead of using his own judgment. 'You have judgment,' says Leopold, 'but a trifle too much of conceit and self-love, and you are inclined to be over-confiding, and to open your heart to every one you meet.'

However, Wolfgang's stay in Mannheim was, after all, prolonged over the winter, through the efforts which his friends made to procure him work; but when the spring came round, and the three musicians whom he had promised to accompany to Paris were ready to start upon their journey, he found an excuse for letting them go without him. Leopold Mozart was a deeply religious man, and when he learnt from Wolfgang that his reason for breaking off his intended journey was that his three companions had not a particle of religion in them, he approved his son's judgment without expressing any surprise at the tardiness of his discovery.

But Mozart had a deeper reason, which he was not so anxious to disclose, and which perhaps he could not, without knowing his mind exactly at the time, have explained. Be this as it may, however, Mozart could never have been surer of anything than that his father would have disapproved in the strongest manner of the feelings which were swaying him at that moment. Yet if Leopold had but read between the lines of his son's letters he must have seen why it was that Wolfgang was seemingly so blind to his own interests, and so forgetful of his duty to those who loved him at home. The fact is Wolfgang was in love. And if the vigilant eye of the kindest and tenderest father that ever watched with unremitting care over the welfare of a gifted son could have pierced the space that separated him from Wolfgang at the moment when he was perusing that letter of excuse, it might have lighted upon the following little scene which was being enacted in the parlour of a small house in Mannheim.

A young man is seated at the harpsichord playing the accompaniment of a song from the manuscript before him. Every now and then he lifts his eyes from the music-sheet to let them rest upon the fair young face of the maiden standing beside him, and that oft-repeated glance reveals more than admiration for the singer's notes, pure and melodious as her singing is--more than a recognition of the singer's charms, sweet beyond question as those charms are; it reveals, in a word, the love which is burning within the player's breast, a love as yet unspoken, but beside which even art herself must for the time sink her supremacy.

Aloysia Weber, the fifteen-year-old maiden for whom Mozart had conceived this attachment, was the second daughter of Fridolin Weber, a member of the Elector's band. The young composer had been attracted first by her voice, and later by her personal beauty, and both of these gifts had gained in power through the sympathy he felt for the family who were in poor circumstances. He longed to be able to help them; Aloysia's singing was of a high order, and only needed to be heard in public to secure the approval of the connoisseurs; he had already written a song specially for her, and she sang it as well as he could wish. Thus he wrote to his father, in the hope of enlisting the latter's interest in his protégé, adding that he only wished his father could hear her sing. But he gave no indication in the letter of those deeper feelings which animated his desire to be of use to the family.

The father, however, was soon to receive a communication which startled him into a knowledge of the true state of affairs. Wolfgang had formed a project for helping the Webers by undertaking a journey to Italy in company with Aloysia and her father, with the object of writing an opera in which Aloysia should appear as prima donna. Their plans would embrace, with Leopold's sanction, a visit to Salzburg by the way, when Wolfgang would have the pleasure of introducing the fair singer to his parent and 'Nannerl,' by whom he was sure she would be welcomed and beloved. Leopold was distracted by the proposal. 'What!' he writes, in reply to Wolfgang's letter, 'are you so mad as to prefer a vagabond life to Mannheim and fame! Away with you to Paris, and that immediately. Take up your position among those who are really great--_aut Cæsar aut nihil_. From Paris the name and fame of a man of talent spreads throughout the world.' The father wisely refrained from making any direct allusion to the subject of Mozart's attachment, trusting to the latter's sense of what was due to one who had made such sacrifices on his behalf. His trust was not misplaced; duty and affection prevailed, and with a heavy heart Mozart yielded to his father's wishes, and his love-dream came to an end. His ready compliance brought a most affectionate letter from Leopold, in which he assures his dear Wolfgang that he does not entertain the least mistrust of him; on the contrary, he has perfect confidence and hope in his filial love. His good judgment, if he will only listen to it, will direct him how to act. As for himself, he is resigned to separation, and he adjures Wolfgang to live the life of a good Catholic Christian. 'Love God and fear Him,' he continues; 'pray to Him sincerely and devoutly, and let your conduct be such that, should I never see you again, my death-bed may be free from anxiety. From my heart I bless you.'

The departure for Paris was now fixed, but the leave-taking with the Webers was not accomplished without tears, for the family insisted on regarding Wolfgang as their 'greatest benefactor.' Aloysia was encouraged to hope for better things, for she had already been heard in public on several occasions through Mozart's influence, and now she was to be placed under the care of a celebrated singer named Raaff, who had undertaken to carry on the training of her beautiful voice, and to assist in bringing her out.

The hopes which Leopold Mozart had built upon Wolfgang's prospects of success in Paris were not destined to be fulfilled. The enthusiasm which he had evoked as a marvellous prodigy was not to be elicited by his matured powers as a young man, and the influence necessary to enforce his claims to be recognised as a composer of standing was lacking. Three months passed away in more or less unsuccessful endeavour, and then the mother, who had been his companion and comforter throughout this long period of trial and travel, was struck down by serious illness, and on July 3, 1778, she breathed her last in her son's arms. Wolfgang's first thought in the hour of sorrow was for his father, and he wrote to an old friend at Salzburg, begging him to break the sad news as gently as possible. When he knew that this had been done he himself wrote a letter to his father, full of sympathy and affection.

Mozart now determined to leave Paris at once, and his father was the more willing to acquiesce in this step because an offer had been made by Archbishop Hieronymus to instal Wolfgang in the place of the Court organist, who had just died, and to give him a salary of five hundred florins, with permission to absent himself whenever he might be called upon to conduct one of his own operas. The offer had also attached to it the near prospect of being made full Capellmeister at the Archbishop's Court. Leopold urged Wolfgang's acceptance, pointing out that their joint income would in such case amount to one thousand florins a year--a sum that would enable them to discharge their debts and live in comparative comfort.

Mozart, it must be owned, viewed the prospect of a return to Salzburg under the implied conditions with positive dismay, but he could not withstand his father's appeal. He set out from Paris immediately, promising himself only one indulgence before entering upon the bondage which lay before him--and that was to take Mannheim on his homeward journey. Arrived at Mannheim, however, he found that the Webers had migrated to Munich, whither the Elector had already gone to take up his new residence. After exchanging greetings with a few old friends, therefore, he bent his steps to Munich, hoping to find consolation in a brief renewal of the happy hours which had left so strong an impression on his memory. But, alas! his disappointments found their crown within the Webers' dwelling. The family, it is true, received him as warmly as of old; but she to whom his glance was first directed showed in her eyes nothing more than a friendly welcome, and Mozart was quick to perceive that his hopes had here no abiding-place. Aloysia was fickle, and her affection had so far waned as to be unable to withstand even the test afforded by Mozart's change of dress. When he appeared before her with black buttons sewn upon his red coat, after the French fashion, to indicate that he was in mourning, she resented the innovation; and, after a brief intercourse, in which she plainly showed that she had forgotten him for whom her tears had flowed some months before, they parted.

It was with a mind stored with invaluable experience, but with a heart saddened and sore by disappointed love and ambition, that Mozart once more entered the portal of his Salzburg home. If anything could have cheered him at that moment and served to dispel the clouds which seemed to obscure his future, it would have been the warmth of the welcome bestowed upon him by the inmates of that home which he had left nearly two years before filled with the brightest anticipations. And, indeed, it was little short of triumphant, this greeting and homage which poured in upon him from father, sister, and friends. In _their_ eyes, at least, his successes were unshadowed by his failures; to them he was still the Mozart, the genius amongst musicians, who was yet to leave his mark upon the roll of fame. But, grateful as he felt for these proofs of sincere affection and esteem, his aversion to Salzburg and his duties at the Court remained in full force, and it was with a new-kindled joy that he set forth once more for Munich, in November, 1780, to complete and produce the opera which he had been commissioned to write for the carnival of the following year.