by Glover, Jane
Wolfgang was in fact rather in need of a change of musical scene. After his solid successes with the Viennese audiences in the mid-1780s, his star had waned somewhat. He had stopped putting on his own subscription concerts (no doubt the time taken to compose his two huge Da Ponte operas had precluded any great organizational activity), and other musicians were now capturing public attention. Not for the first time, he found he was no longer the sensation that he had been in his immediate past. But he did still have his staunch supporters, among them Baron van Swieten. This civilized, distinguished diplomat was the son of Maria Theresa’s personal physician. In his early working years he had gained wide diplomatic experience in Brussels, Paris, Warsaw and Berlin, but since 1777 he had been back in Vienna as head of the Education and Censorship Commission. The Baron was a knowledgeable and passionate music-lover, and he befriended many of Vienna’s foremost musicians, including Haydn, for whom in due course he would provide the texts of The Creation and The Seasons. It was he who had first introduced Wolfgang to the music of Bach and Handel, which he had learned to love in his days in Berlin.
Now in early 1789 the Baron asked Wolfgang to modernize some of Handel’s choral masterpieces (for, in an era when all music was contemporary, anything even a few decades old was considered old-fashioned). Wolfgang duly made extremely deft and witty reorchestrations of Handel’s Acis and Galatea, K566, and then Messiah, K572; and the equally loyal Aloysia was on hand to sing the solos in the performance of Messiah on 6 March. Wolfgang rather tactfully gave some of Handel’s very florid choral writing (the really tricky sections of ‘And he shall purify’ and ‘His yoke is easy’, for instance) to his soloists, who also included Adamberger, his first Belmonte, knowing that their coloratura would cope easily with what many choristers find a challenge. He also wrote for Aloysia the one completely new movement, setting ‘If God be for us’ as an accompanied recitative. (Later that year, after the Italian opera company had been disbanded, Aloysia continued her Mozartian allegiance and identity by singing the role of Constanze, to great acclaim, in Hamburg and Berlin.)
Wolfgang himself planned a trip to Berlin, via Prague, Dresden and Leipzig. Like so many of his trips in the past, the object was to drum up support and employment, and in that regard, like the others, it failed. But it was undertaken in the company of Count Karl Lichnowsky (later a patron to Beethoven), another Freemason and possibly also a pupil of Wolfgang’s. He probably subsidized Wolfgang’s expenses, and Wolfgang borrowed too from yet a third fellow Freemason, Franz Hofdemel. He was away from Vienna for two and a half months.
Within hours of leaving, Wolfgang was desperately homesick, and he wrote the first in a series of touching letters to Constanze:
Dearest little Wife! While the Prince is busy bargaining about horses, I am delighted to seize this opportunity to write a few lines to you, dearest little wife of my heart. How are you? I wonder whether you think of me as often as I think of you. Every other moment I look at your portrait – and weep partly for joy, partly for sorrow. Look after your health which is so precious to me and fare well, my darling! Do not worry about me, for I am not suffering any discomforts or annoyances on this journey – apart from your absence – which, as it can’t be helped, can’t be remedied. I write this note with eyes full of tears. Adieu.89
And although, throughout this long and fruitless trip, Wolfgang received a great deal of female attention, some from old friends and some from new ones, he continued to ache for his ‘beloved little wife’ (‘Today is the sixth day since I left you, and, by Heaven! it seems a year’90) to whose portrait he apparently talked ‘for a good half hour’ every night and morning. He wanted to check that her own family were playing their part, and visiting her at the Puchbergs’:
I should very much like to know whether our brother-in-law Hofer came to see us the day after my departure? Whether he comes very often, as he promised me he would? Whether the Langes come sometimes? Whether progress is being made with the portrait? What sort of life you are leading? All these things are naturally of great interest to me.91
(This almost sounds like one of his mother’s questionnaires.) Some letters that Wolfgang and Constanze wrote to each other seem to have gone astray, to their shared misery and dismay. Perhaps they each began to doubt the other’s loyalty, for Constanze accused Wolfgang of having forgotten her, and he anxiously begged her to be careful of her honour. When these tensions were at their worst, he made a meticulous list of all the letters he had sent and received (so the family passion for list-making had not completely passed him by, either), as if to prove that he himself was blameless in the mysteries of postal non-delivery. But he also had to warn Constanze that the hoped-for riches, that were the very purpose of this whole trip, were not forthcoming (‘my darling little wife, when I return you must be more delighted with having me back than with the money I shall bring’). He actually blamed Lichnowsky, and parted company with him. As he made his long and disconsolate way home, he asked that his best friends Michael Puchberg and Franz Hofer come with Constanze to meet him at the first staging-post. But it was his physical longing for Constanze, and the prospect of being with her once more, that kept him going:
Arrange your dear sweet nest very daintily, for my little fellow deserves it indeed, he has really behaved himself very well and is only longing to possess your sweetest [word deleted]. Just picture to yourself that rascal; as I write he crawls on to the table and looks at me questioningly. I however box his ears properly – but the rogue is simply [word deleted] and now the knave burns only more fiercely and can hardly be restrained.92
The homecoming at the beginning of June was no doubt as passionate as Wolfgang had hoped, not least because he learned that Constanze was once again pregnant. But in one sense this news would have appalled him. To incur the necessary medical expenses for childbirth (about which Leopold had complained at Wolfgang’s own birth), and indeed to expand his family at all at this financially disastrous time, must have filled him with dread. Worse was to come: Constanze became dangerously ill. She incurred some infection in her foot, which became ulcerated, and even the bone was threatened. She was bedridden for a long time, and did not fully recover for eighteen months. Her family rallied round her. Sophie came to take care of her in the apartment in the Judenplatz, where the Mozarts were now living; and their mother came too, to look after the running of the house, but, as Sophie told Nissen, years later, ‘secretly, for we did not want [Constanze] to realize how ill she was.’93 Wolfgang was desperate with worry, and, as Sophie again was later to recount, would endure all manner of personal discomfort in the interests of Constanze’s recovery:
How attentive Mozart was when something was wrong with his dear wife. Thus it was once when she was seriously ill and I nursed her for eight long months. I was just sitting by her bed, Mozart too. He was composing at her side; I was observing her sweet slumber, which had been so long in coming. We kept as quiet as the grave so as not to disturb her. Suddenly an unmannerly servant came into the room. Mozart was terrified that his dear wife might be disturbed from her gentle sleep, tried to beckon the man to keep quiet, pushed the chair back behind him, but happened to have the pen-knife open in his hand. This impaled itself between the chair and the thigh in such a way that it dug in up to the handle in his flesh. Mozart, who usually made such a fuss, did not stir, but, biting back the pain, signalled me to follow him. We left the room . . . and our mother bound him up . . . Although he had to limp somewhat from the pain, he managed to conceal it from his dear wife.94
When Constanze was well enough, she went to take the cure at the nearby spa of Baden. The Mozarts could not afford this at all, but for every possible reason, not least Constanze’s pregnancy, they felt she needed to go. Once more, Wolfgang had to beg for a large sum of money from Michael Puchberg, and, to an extent at least, Puchberg complied. By this time Wolfgang was working furiously on his third opera in collaboration with Lorenzo Da Ponte, Così fan tutte, K588 (a libretto which had first been gi
ven to Salieri, who had turned it down), and, what with that and writing new music for a revival of Figaro, he could not be with his wife all the time, though he did make quick visits to Baden to see her (‘to stay here until the 19th without you would be quite impossible’95). And again, as was so often the case when they were apart, his anxiety about her led him to entertain jealous suspicion of her naturally high spirits, and therefore to write (almost like his father) stern moralistic homilies:
Dear little wife! I want to talk to you quite frankly. You have no reason whatever to be unhappy. You have a husband who loves you and does all he possibly can for you. As for your foot, you must just be patient and it will surely get well again. I am indeed glad when you have some fun – of course I am – but I do wish that you would not sometimes make yourself so cheap. In my opinion you are too free and easy . . . A woman must always make herself respected, or else people will begin to talk about her.96
Constanze did benefit from her time in Baden, and returned to Vienna in the autumn. But when her baby, another girl whom they named Anna Maria, was born on 16 November, she was sickly and lived only one hour. And again, Wolfgang’s only real escape from all this tragedy and alarming anxiety, was into his own creative world. At the end of 1789 he was writing not only Così fan tutte, but his exquisite clarinet quintet in A, K581, which his friend Anton Stadler performed at a ‘Grand Musical Concert’ presented by the Tonkünstler-Societät on 22 December. (Wolfgang’s sister-in-law Josefa also took part in this concert, singing the soprano solos in a cantata by her former teacher Vincenzo Righini – whom Wolfgang rather despised.)
As the decade changed in 1790, apart from the immediate excitement of Così fan tutte, the future looked bleak. In her still feeble state, Constanze was probably shielded from the whole truth, but Wolfgang was again having to plead for cash with Michael Puchberg. Swayed perhaps by the seductive invitation to attend, with Haydn, some closed rehearsals of Così fan tutte, Puchberg duly handed over 300 florins. But throughout the first half of the new year Wolfgang continued to write to him regularly and pathetically, asking for more (‘even though it be only the small sum you sent last time’97), and the loyal Puchberg generally complied. Così fan tutte was a success. Its apparently frivolous subject-matter appealed more than the shocking violence of Don Giovanni to Viennese audiences, who probably failed to recognize its damning indictment of human behaviour (their own). Count Zinzendorf described the music as ‘charming, and the subject rather amusing’.98 But there were only five performances, because in February Vienna and the whole of the Habsburg Empire were thrown into turmoil by the death of Joseph II.
For Wolfgang this was indeed the end of an era. Joseph had known him since boyhood, and, although he had never found the opportunity to give him a really prestigious post (perhaps he was still influenced by his mother Maria Theresa’s dismissal of the Mozarts as ‘useless people’), he had encouraged and applauded and to some extent even appreciated Wolfgang’s gifts. Wolfgang had to begin all over again to create a relationship with Joseph’s successor, his younger brother Leopold, Grand Duke of Tuscany. He began a letter to Leopold’s son, the Archduke Franz, asking if he might perhaps be considered for the post of second Kapellmeister, but he never finished it. He seemed, at this time of crisis, to be completely lacking in confidence.
In the summer of 1790, Constanze was ill again. She went back to Baden to recuperate in its rural airiness, which she loved, and for a time Wolfgang stayed there too. He returned to Vienna without her, to conduct Così fan tutte again, and also to do some more Handel arrangements (Alexander’s Feast, K591, and Ode to St Cecilia, K592) for the ever-enthusiastic Baron van Swieten. But when they were apart, Wolfgang’s thoughts vacillated between deep longing for Constanze and irritability that she had apparently not replied to his letters. There were clearly tensions in the marriage at this point. And then he too became ill. His letter to Puchberg of 14 August shows just how low his spirits had sunk:
Whereas I felt tolerably well yesterday, I am absolutely wretched today. I could not sleep all night for pain. I must have got overheated from walking so much, and then without knowing it have caught a chill. Picture to yourself my condition – ill and consumed by worries and anxieties. Such a state quite definitely prevents me from recovering. In a week or a fortnight I shall be better off – certainly – but at present I am in want! Can you not help me out with a trifle? The smallest sum would be very welcome just now. You would, for the moment at least, bring peace of mind to your true friend, servant and brother.99
Yet more disappointment followed after the summer. In September there were big celebrations in Vienna for the double wedding of Maria Theresa and Louisa, daughters of King Ferdinand and Queen Karoline of Naples, to their Habsburg cousins, Archdukes Franz and Ferdinand. Among the festivities were operas by Salieri and Weigl, and concerts of music by a great number of composers, including Haydn. But Wolfgang was completely ignored. Similarly, when the new Emperor Leopold II was crowned in Frankfurt, several Viennese musicians were invited to go there to take part in the festivities. Again, Wolfgang was not one of them. In desperation he decided to go to Frankfurt anyway, under his own steam. He would put on his own concerts and attract the attention of all the gathered nobility of Europe. Once again, he asked his good friend and brother-in-law Franz Hofer to travel with him. (Since the death of his mother in Paris, and his chaotic return on his own, Wolfgang had hated to travel without company. His journey back from Berlin in the previous summer, after his falling-out with Count Lichnowsky, had likewise made him miserable; and he knew he would be better off with a companion.)
Hofer agreed to go, despite the fact that his own wife Josefa had just had a baby – a little girl also called Josefa, who in due course would continue the Weber family tradition and become a celebrated singer herself. Wolfgang somehow bought a carriage, which he adored (‘I should like to give it a kiss!’100 he wrote to Constanze) and set out. He and Hofer were away from their Weber wives for six weeks. As could really have been predicted, the trip was not successful at all, for although Wolfgang gave his concerts in Frankfurt and met many of the right people, he never even got close to the new Emperor, let alone performed for him. But there were some joys, for he and Hofer went on to Mainz, Mannheim and Munich; and he had happy reunions with many of their old friends including the Cannabichs and Marchands, who made a big fuss of him as always. He felt in considerably better spirits as he began his return journey, and even contemplated returning with Constanze the following year.
Meanwhile, Constanze had at last realized how desperate their situation was, and had begun to take control of it. If Wolfgang had tried to shield her up to this point, he had only got them deeper into trouble. So while he was away, Constanze directed her acute practicality towards solving the problems. First, with the help of Stadler, she negotiated a loan against all their furniture, not from Michael Puchberg but from another merchant, Heinrich Lackenbacher. The sum, 1,000 florins, was large enough to cover Wolfgang’s debts and leave them something to live on, and was to be repaid over the next two years, at 5 per cent interest, through the profits of some new publications set up with Hoffmeister. Wolfgang knew she was now handling all this, and his letters from Frankfurt had a new and grateful respect for her, almost as a business partner. But he was determined to play his part too, and expressed this resolve with Chekhovian intensity: ‘I am longing for news of you, of your health, our affairs and so forth. I am firmly resolved to make as much money as I can here and then return to you with great joy. What a glorious life we shall have then! I will work – work so hard – that no unforeseen accidents shall ever reduce us to such desperate straits again.’101
As well as trying to sort out their money problems, Constanze also organized another house move. She found a first-floor apartment on Rauhensteingasse, with enough room for Wolfgang’s teaching and chamber music, and a courtyard below that could take his beloved carriage and horse. Wolfgang himself was anxious to see their new home, and
could not wait to return to his family. Soon after their reunion, Constanze was pregnant again.
If Constanze was now to take greater control of their finances, Wolfgang kept to his side of the bargain and worked extremely hard. He produced sets of German dances, K599–607, for winter balls at Court, as was required by his appointment as Kammermusikus; and he wrote chamber music for publication by Hoffmeister, as part of the loan agreement set up by Constanze. Some of this was first performed in their new home: Haydn joined them at the end of December, for instance, to play through a new string quintet in D, K593. Invitations started arriving, including not one but two to travel to England. The first was from a Mr Robert May O’Reilly, who tried to persuade Wolfgang to go for six months from December 1791, for a large fee (2,400 florins); and the famous London impresario, Johann Peter Salomon, came in person to Vienna to invite both Wolfgang and Haydn. Haydn was excited, as he had never before travelled very far afield, and he accepted his invitation. But Wolfgang declined his: he was no longer prepared to go anywhere without Constanze, and there was no question of travelling at all now before the arrival of the baby. Furthermore, there did at last seem to be other promising opportunities developing in Vienna.
Possibly with the help of Aloysia, Wolfgang started appearing again on Vienna’s performance scene. In March, he took part in a concert put on by the newest young sensation, a twenty-one-year-old clarinet virtuoso, Joseph Bähr. Wolfgang played his latest piano concerto, in B flat, K595, and Aloysia sang. In April, two huge concerts, involving 180 musicians conducted by Salieri, were mounted by the Tonkünstler-Societät. Again, Aloysia was one of the singers: as an insertion into extracts from Paisiello’s Phedra, she performed ‘No, che non sei capace’, which Wolfgang had written for her in 1783. And the programme began with one of Wolfgang’s symphonies. There were other positive developments too. Also in April, Wolfgang successfully petitioned the Magistracy of Vienna for the post of assistant to the Kapellmeister: the job was unpaid, but carried with it a guarantee to succeed the present incumbent, Leopold Hofmann, upon his death or retirement. But the most exciting prospect of all came from a commercial venture, the Freihaus-Theater an der Wieden. Since July 1789 it had been run by Wolfgang’s old theatrical friend, the multitalented writer, manager, singer, actor, dancer and composer, Emanuel Schikaneder.