Close to the latter, at one side of the house, was the rope-maker’s open shop, a small room stuffed full of his wares, for in addition to the immediate products of his own craft there were a number of other things standing around or hanging up for sale: all kinds of wooden utensils for the kitchen or the cellar, farm implements, blubber and axle grease, and an assortment of seeds such as dill and caraway. A young girl, whose business it was to serve the guests as a waitress and also to look after the shop, was just dealing with a peasant who, holding his little son by the hand, had come in to buy a few things: a fruit measure, a brush, a whip. He would select one among many similar articles, examine it, put it down, pick up a second and a third and then revert irresolutely to the first, evidently unable to make up his mind. The girl left him several times to wait on customers, then came back, tirelessly attempting to ease his choice and make it acceptable to him, though without too much persuasive talk.
Mozart, sitting on a bench by the skittle-alley, watched and listened to all this with the greatest pleasure. And much as he appreciated the kind and sensible behaviour of the girl and the calm seriousness in her attractive features, it was the peasant who chiefly aroused his interest, and who now, after he had gone away finally satisfied, continued to give him food for thought. He had found himself fully identifying with the man, feeling how seriously he had taken his small piece of business, how anxiously and conscientiously he had considered and reconsidered the prices, although they differed by only a few pence. He thought of the man coming home to his wife, telling her what a good bargain he has made, and the children all watching for his knapsack to be opened in case there was something for them in it too; and his wife hurrying to serve him the light meal and the cool glass of home-brewed apple cider he has saved up all his appetite for till now!
If only one could be so happy, he reflected, so independent of other people, so entirely relying on Nature and her bounty, however hard one might have to work for it! And yet even if my art does impose a different task on me, one after all that I would not exchange for any other in the world: even so, why does this mean that I must live in circumstances that are the very opposite of such an innocent, simple existence? If only I had a small property, a little house at the edge of a village in lovely countryside, what a new lease of life that would be! Busy all morning with my scores, and the rest of the time with my family; planting trees, inspecting my fields, going out with the boys in autumn to shake down the apples and pears; sometimes a trip into town for a performance or whatever it might be, from time to time inviting a friend or two home – how wonderful! Ah well, who knows what may yet happen.
He went up to the shop, spoke kindly to the girl, and began to take a closer look at her wares. Many of them were directly associated with his idyllic daydream, and this gave the clean, pale, polished look and even the smell of the various wooden implements a particular appeal. It suddenly occurred to him to buy a number of the things for his wife, choosing what he thought she would like and find useful. The garden tools were the first to catch his eye. About a year ago Constanze had in fact, at his suggestion, rented a small allotment outside the Kärntner Tor and was growing some vegetables on it; accordingly he now judged that a large new rake, together with a smaller one and a spade, would meet the case. As he then considered further possibilities, it does great credit to his sense of thrift that after that brief reflection, though unwillingly, he resolved not to buy a butter-keg which greatly caught his fancy; though he did decide in favour of a tall wooden vessel designed for some uncertain purpose, with a lid and an attractive handle. It was made from narrow staves of two kinds of wood, alternately light and dark, tapering towards the top and well coated with pitch on the inside. As indispensable kitchen equipment he chose a fine selection of wooden spoons, rolling-pins, chopping-boards, and plates in all sizes, as well as a very simply constructed salt container which could be hung on the wall.
Finally he looked long and hard at a stout stick and its leather-covered handle properly studded with round brass nails. Noticing that this too seemed to tempt her eccentric customer, the young saleswoman remarked with a smile that it was not really quite suitable for a gentleman.
‘You are quite right, my dear,’ he replied. ‘Sticks like this are for butchers’ journeymen; away with it, I will not have it. But please deliver to my house today or tomorrow all these other things we have chosen.’ So saying, he told her his name and address. He then returned to his table to finish drinking; of his three companions only one, a master tinsmith, was still sitting there.
‘Well, it’s a lucky day for our waitress,’ remarked the man. ‘Her cousin allows her a penny or two in the florin for the sales in the shop.’
At this, Mozart was doubly glad of his purchases; but his interest in the girl’s welfare was soon to increase still further. For when she approached again, the tinsmith called out to her: ‘And how are things with you, Crescence? How’s your locksmith? Won’t he soon be working his own iron?’
‘Oh, goodness me,’ she answered as she hurried off, ‘I think that iron’s still growing back there in the mountain.’
‘She’s a good girl,’ said the tinsmith. ‘She kept house for her stepfather for years, and nursed him in his illness, and then when he was dead it came to light that he had spent all her money. Since then she’s been in service with her kinsman, does all the work in the shop and in the inn and with the children. She’s friendly with a fine young fellow and would like to marry him, the sooner the better; but there are difficulties there.’
‘What difficulties? I suppose he has no money either?’
‘They’ve both got savings, but not enough. And now the half share of a house, with a workshop, is coming up for auction soon; it would be easy for the ropemaker to lend them the balance of the purchase price, but of course he doesn’t want to lose the girl. He has good friends in the city council and in the guild, so now the young fellow finds himself blocked at every turn.’
‘Damnation!’ exclaimed Mozart, quite startling the tinsmith, who looked about him to see if anyone was listening. ‘And is there no one here who can speak up for what’s right and just? No one to put the fear of God into that fellow? The scoundrels! Just wait, you’ll get your come-uppance yet!’
The tinsmith, mortally embarrassed, tried ineptly to tone down what he had said, almost retracting it completely; but Mozart would not listen to him. ‘Be ashamed of yourself to talk like that!’ he said. ‘That’s how you contemptible wretches always behave if you ever have to stand up and be counted.’ And with that he unceremoniously turned his back on the poltroon. But as he passed the waitress, who had her hands full with new guests, he murmured: ‘Come early tomorrow; and give my greetings to your sweetheart. I hope things will turn out well for you both.’ She was quite taken aback and had neither the time nor the presence of mind to thank him.
He set off first by the way he had come, walking more quickly than usual in the excitement to which the scene had roused him; but on reaching the glacis he took a detour and followed the city walls round in a wide half-circle at a more leisurely pace. Busily pondering the affairs of the unfortunate young couple, he thought in turn of a whole series of his acquaintances and patrons who might be able in one way or another to intervene in the matter. Since, however, it would be necessary to get further particulars from the girl before deciding on any action, he resolved to wait calmly until he heard them; and in the meantime his heart and mind, hastening ahead of his footsteps, were filled with the anticipation of getting home to his wife.
Inwardly he felt quite sure that she would welcome him affectionately and indeed joyfully, that she would kiss and embrace him on the very threshold, and longing quickened his pace as he entered the Kärntner Tor. Near it he heard his name called by the postman, who handed him a small but weighty package, addressed in an honest and meticulous hand which he instantly recognized. He stepped into the nearest shop with the messenger to sign for it; then, back in the street and unable to co
ntain his impatience until he reached his house, he tore open the seals and devoured the letter half walking and half standing.
‘I was sitting at my sewing-table,’ continued Madame Mozart at this point in her narrative to the ladies, ‘when I heard my husband coming up the stairs and asking the servant whether I was at home. His step and his voice seemed to me more sprightly and assured than I expected and than I really liked to hear. He went first to his room and then came straight to me. “Good evening!” he said. Rather abashed, I answered him without looking up. After pacing the room once or twice in silence, he put on a show of yawning, and took the fly-swatter from behind the door, a thing I had never before known him do. Muttering to himself: “All these flies again! Where on earth have they come from!” he began swatting as hard as he could in various places. The noise of this was something he never could stand, and I had never been allowed to do it in his presence. Hmm! I thought, so it’s quite all right, is it, if one does it oneself, especially if one’s the man! In any case I hadn’t noticed any great number of flies. I was really vexed by his strange behaviour. “Six at one stroke!” he cried. “Do you want to look at them?” I didn’t answer. Then he put something right down on my sewing-cushion, so that without raising my eyes from my work I couldn’t help seeing it. It was nothing less than a little pile of gold, as many ducats as you can pick up with two fingers. And behind my back he went on playing the fool, delivering a swipe here and there and muttering as he did so: “Disgusting, useless, shameless brutes! Obviously the sole purpose of their existence – smack! – is to be swatted dead – slap! – And that’s something I may say I’m quite good at. We read in natural history how amazingly these creatures multiply – smack, slap! – well, they get short shrift in my house. Ah, maledette! disperate! Here’s another score of them! Here, do you want them?” And he came to me and did the same thing as before. Up to this point I had found it hard to keep a straight face, but now I could do so no longer, I burst out laughing, he caught me in his arms, and there the pair of us were, laughing and giggling our hearts out.
‘“But where on earth did you get the money?” I asked, as he shook the rest of it out of the purse. “From Prince Esterhazy! Transmitted to me by Haydn!23 Just look at this letter!” I read:
Eisenstadt, etc.
My dear friend!
His Serene Highness, my most gracious master, has done me the great pleasure of entrusting to my hands these sixty ducats which I am to convey to you. Recently we again performed your quartets, and His Highness was so delighted and gratified by them as I think he scarcely can have been when he first heard them three months ago. The Prince remarked to me (I must give you his exact words): “When Mozart dedicated this work to you, he thought it was only you he honoured; but he will not object to my seeing it as a compliment to myself as well. Tell him that I think almost as highly of his genius as you do; and more than that he truly cannot ask.” – To which I add: Amen! Does this content you?
Postscript: A word in your dear wife’s ear: Please make sure that proper thanks are rendered without delay, preferably in person. We must make the most of this favourable wind.
‘“Oh, you dear, dear man! You noblest of souls!” exclaimed Mozart over and over again, and it would be hard to say which delighted him the most, the letter or the Prince’s approval or the money. As for me, I must say frankly that it was the money I was truly glad of at that particular time. We passed a very festive evening.
‘As to the affair in the suburb, I heard nothing about it that evening or in the next few days, indeed the whole following week passed, no Crescence appeared, and my husband, caught up in the whirl of his own affairs, soon forgot all about the matter. One Saturday we had company, a musical soirée with Captain Wesselt, Count Hardegg and others. During an interval I was called to the door – and lo and behold, there was the whole kettle of fish! I went back in and asked him: “Did you order a whole lot of wooden goods in the Alservorstadt?” “My goodness gracious!” he exclaimed, “has a girl brought them? Ask her to come right in!” And so in she came in the most courteous manner, carrying a rake and a spade and a whole basketful of other things. She apologized for not having come before, saying she had forgotten the name of the street and had not been able to get proper directions until today. Mozart took all the things from her one after another, and with great satisfaction at once handed them to me. I thanked him most warmly and appreciatively for each and every item, though I could not imagine why he had bought the garden tools. He said: “But they’re for your allotment by the Wien, of course!” “Oh, good heavens, we gave that up long ago! There was always so much flood damage, and nothing ever grew there anyway. I told you at the time and you had no objection.” “What! So the asparagus we ate last spring –” “It was all from the market!” “Now look! If only I’d known that! I only praised it to you to be nice to you, because I felt really sorry for you, gardening away like that; those asparaguses were like skinny little pencils.”
‘The guests were greatly amused by this comical episode, and I was immediately obliged to distribute some of the unwanted articles to them as souvenirs. Mozart then questioned the girl about her marriage plans, urging her to talk to us quite frankly and assuring her that anything we might do for her and her sweetheart would be done on the quiet, discreetly and without making trouble for anyone. She answered with so much modesty, circumspection and tact as to charm everyone present, and in the end we let her go with very encouraging promises.
‘“We must do something to help these young people,” said the Captain. “The intrigues of the guild are the least of the problems; I know a man who will soon deal with that. What’s needed is a contribution towards the purchase of the house and the furnishing of it and so forth. How would it be if we were to announce a benefit concert in the Trattner Hall, with the entry fee at the discretion of patrons?” This suggestion was warmly supported. One of the gentlemen picked up the salt-cellar and said: “Someone should introduce the concert with an elegant little historical account describing Herr Mozart’s shopping expedition and explaining his philanthropic intentions, and this splendid vessel should be placed on the table as a collecting-box, with the pair of rakes crossed right and left behind it as a decoration.”
‘This was not in fact done, but the concert did take place; the profits were considerable, and various further contributions followed, so that the fortunate pair ended up with a surplus; the other obstacles were also soon overcome. The Dušeks24 in Prague, who are our closest friends there and with whom we shall be staying, got wind of the story, and Frau Dušek, who is a very charming and kind-hearted woman, asked me if she too might have some part of the collection as a curiosity. So of course I set aside the most suitable of the articles for her, and I have taken the present occasion to bring them with me. But since it has unexpectedly turned out that we were to make the acquaintance of a new and dear musical colleague who is just about to set up her own home, and who I am sure will not despise a humble piece of domestic equipment selected by Mozart himself, I shall divide my present in two, and you may have the choice between a very fine openwork chocolate whisk and the much-aforementioned salt-cellar, which the artist has permitted himself to decorate tastefully with a tulip. I would myself definitely recommend the latter piece: for salt, I believe, is a noble substance, symbolizing domestic bliss and hospitality, both of which we most heartily wish you may enjoy.’
This was the end of Constanze’s narrative, and it may be imagined with what delight it was heard by the ladies and with what gratitude the gift was accepted. Back in the house with the men, there was presently further occasion for rejoicing when the wooden objects were displayed and the model of patriarchal simplicity formally presented. Eugenie’s uncle promised that it would be accorded no less a place in the silver-cabinet of its new owner and her remotest descendants than that famous salt-cellar by the Florentine master occupied in the Ambras collection.25
It was now nearly eight o’clock, and tea was served.
But our musical hero soon found himself pressingly reminded of his promise, made that afternoon, to acquaint the company more closely with the ‘hell-fire story’ which he had with him in his luggage under lock and key, though fortunately not too deeply buried. He consented without hesitation. It did not take long to summarize the plot of the opera, and presently the text stood open and the candles were alight at either side of the keyboard.
How we wish we could here convey to our readers at least a touch of that singular sensation which can strike us with such electrifying and spellbinding force even when one unrelated chord floats from an open window, when our hearing catches it as we pass, aware that it can only come from that unknown source; even a touch of that sweet perturbation which affects us as we sit in a theatre while the orchestra tunes, and wait for the curtain to rise! Is it not so? If, on the threshold of any sublime and tragic work of art, whether it be called Macbeth or Oedipus or anything else, we feel a hovering tremor of eternal beauty: where could this be more the case, or even as much the case, as in the present situation? Man simultaneously longs and fears to be driven out of his usual self, he feels that he will be touched by the infinite, by something that will seize his heart, contracting it even as it expands it, as it violently embraces his spirit. Add to this the awe inspired by consummate art, the thought that we are being permitted and enabled to enjoy a divine miracle, to assimilate it as something akin to ourselves – and such a thought brings with it a special emotion, indeed a kind of pride, which is perhaps the purest and most joyful feeling of which we are capable.
Mozart's Journey to Prague and a Selection of Poems Page 10