Where could I have learnt to value money? – I’ve had too little in my hands until now. – All I know is that once, when I had 20 ducats, I thought myself rich indeed. – Only necessity teaches one to value money. –
Farewell, beloved, dearest father! – My duty now is to make good and replace through my care and hard work what you think you have lost by this occurrence. – I shall certainly do this, and shall be infinitely happy to do so! – Adieu. I kiss your hands 1000 times and embrace my sister with all my heart. I am ever your most obedient son
Wolfgang Amadè Mozart
P. S. As soon as any of the archbishop’s people go to Salzburg, the portrait6 will follow. – Ho fatto fare la sopra scritta d’un altro espressamente, perchè non si può sapere7– You can’t trust anyone.
Best wishes to all my acquaintances.
111. Mozart to his father, between 26 May and 2 June 1781, Vienna
Mon très cher Père,
Two days ago Count Arco1 sent word to say that I should call on him at 12 and that he’d be expecting me – he’s often sent this kind of message, as has Schlauka, but as I hate conversations in which virtually every word I have to listen to is a lie, I’ve not attended them; – and I’d have done the same on this occasion, too, except that he’d sent word to say that he’d received a letter from you. – So I went; – it would be impossible to rehearse the whole conversation, which passed off very calmly and dispassionately, as this was the first thing I asked for. – In short, he placed everything before me in the friendliest manner; one could have sworn that it came from the heart. – But I don’t think he’d have cared to swear that it came from my heart; – with all possible calmness, politeness and the most civil manner in the world I told him the absolute truth in reply to his set speeches, which merely seemed true. – And he – he couldn’t say a word against it; the outcome was that I tried to make him take the memorandum and my travelling expenses, both of which I had with me. – But he assured me that it would be too upsetting for him to interfere in this matter and that I should give it to one of the valets. – And he’d take the money only when everything was sorted out. – The archbishop has been rude about me to everyone here and doesn’t have the sense to see that this does him no credit; people here think more highly of me than they do of him. – He’s known as an arrogant, self-opinionated divine who despises everyone here – while I’m known for my amiability. It’s true; I grow proud when I see someone trying to treat me with contempt and en bagatelle.2 – And that’s how the archbishop behaves towards me. – But – with kind words – he could have made me do as he wanted. – I said this to the count. I also said that the archbishop doesn’t deserve the high opinion you have of him. – And finally – what good would it do if I were to go home now? – In a few months’ time – even without a further insult – I’d still demand my discharge for I cannot and will not remain in service any longer on such a salary. – But why not? – Because – I said – because I could never live happily and contentedly in a place where I’m paid so little that I’m always bound to be thinking, oh, if only I were somewhere else! – But if the pay were such that it wouldn’t be necessary for me to think of other places, I’d be content. And if the archbishop pays me that, I’m ready to set off today. –
How happy I am that the archb. doesn’t take me at my word. For there’s no doubt that it’s to your own advantage as it is to mine that I’m here. You’ll see. Farewell now, dearest, most beloved father! Everything will work out for the best. – I’m not writing this in a dream – my own wellbeing depends on it. Adieu.
I kiss your hands 1000 times and embrace my dear sister with all my heart. I am ever your most obedient son
Wolfgang Amdè Mozart
P. S. Best wishes to all our good friends.
112. Mozart to his father, 2 June 1781, Vienna
Mon très cher Père,
You’ll have gathered from my last letter that I’ve spoken to Count Arco in person; praise and thanks be to God that everything passed off so well. – Don’t worry, you’ve nothing whatever to fear from the archbishop – Count Arco didn’t say a single word to make me think that you might be adversely affected – and when he told me that you’d written and complained about me, I immediately interrupted him and said: But not to me? – He wrote such things that I often thought I’d lose my wits – but, no matter how much thought I give to the matter, I simply cannot etc. – He then said: Believe me, you’re allowing yourself to be too easily dazzled here;1 – here a man’s fame is very short-lived – he’s universally praised at the outset and earns a lot, too, that’s true – but for how long? – within a few months the Viennese want something new; – you’re right, Count, I said; – but do you think I’m staying in Vienna? – – By no means; I already know where I’m going. – The fact that this incident took place in Vienna is the archbishop’s fault, not mine; – if he knew how to treat people who have talent, it would never have happened. – Count, I’m the nicest person in the world – as long as people treat me the same; – well, he said, the archbishop thinks you an extraordinarily insolent person; I’m sure he does, I said; and so I am towards him; I treat people as they treat me; – if I see that someone despises me and holds me in low esteem, I can be as proud as a peacock. –
Among other things, he also asked if I thought that he too often had to swallow insults? – I shrugged my shoulders and said: You’ll have your reasons for enduring it, and I – I have my reasons for not enduring it. – You know the rest from my last letter. – Do not doubt it for a moment, dearest, most beloved father, this will all turn out for the best, both for me and – consequently – for you too. – The Viennese are no doubt people who like to shoot one down – but only in the theatre. – And my speciality2 is too popular here for me not to be able to support myself. This is without doubt the land of the piano! – And even if it’s true, they won’t tire of me for a number of years, certainly not before then. – Meanwhile I’ll have gained honour and money – after all, there are other places – and who knows what opportunities may arise in the meantime? – I’ve spoken to Herr von Zetti and shall be sending you something with him – for the present you’ll have to make do with only a little – I can’t send you more than 30 ducats. If I’d foreseen all this, I’d have taken on the pupils who approached me earlier – but I thought I’d be leaving in a week; and now they’re in the country. – The portrait will follow; if he can’t take it, it will go by post. Farewell now, dearest, most beloved father. I kiss your hands 1000 times and embrace my dear sister with all my heart. I am ever your most obedient son
Wolfgang Amadè Mozart
Best wishes to all our good friends. I’ll be replying to Ceccarelli3 shortly.
113. Mozart to his father, 13 June 1781, Vienna
Mon très cher Père,
Most beloved of all fathers! How gladly I’d continue to sacrifice the best years of my life to you in a place where one’s badly paid if this were the only evil. But to be badly paid and to be mocked, despised and bullied into the bargain – that really is too much. – I wrote a sonata for myself for the archbishop’s concert1 here, together with a rondeau for Brunetti and Ceccarelli,2 I played twice at each concert and after the last one went on playing variations for a whole hour – it was the archbishop who gave me the theme – and there was such universal applause that if the archbishop were at all human, he must surely have felt pleased; but instead of showing me at least his contentment and pleasure – or, for all I care, not showing me them – he makes me out to be a street urchin – tells me to my face to go to the devil and adds that he can get a hundred people to serve him better than I do. – And why? – Because I couldn’t leave Vienna on the day he’d got it into his head I should do so; he expects me to leave his house, live at my own expense and then not have the freedom to leave when my purse allows me, quite apart from which I wasn’t needed in Salzburg and it made a difference of only 2 days. – Twice the archbishop said the rudest things to me and I neve
r said a word, indeed I even played with the same enthusiasm and commitment as if nothing had happened; and instead of acknowledging my eagerness to serve him and my desire to please him, he behaves on the third occasion in the most abominable way in the world – at the very time that I might have expected something different. – And in order that I should not be in the wrong but utterly in the right, it’s as if they want to get rid of me by force, well – if they don’t want me – that’s fine by me; – instead of Count Arco accepting my petition or obtaining an audience for me or advising me to send it in later or persuading me to let the matter rest and think it over, enfin, whatever he wanted – no, he throws me out of the room and gives me a kick up the backside. – Well, in plain language this means that as far as I’m concerned, Salzburg no longer exists, except to give me a chance to give the count a kick up the arse in return, even if it’s in a public street. – I’m not demanding any restitution from the archbishop as he can’t provide what I want; but I shall shortly be writing to the count to tell him what he can confidently expect from me as soon as I have the good fortune to meet him, wherever it may be, as long as it’s not a place where I’m obliged to show him any respect; –
Don’t worry about the good of my soul, most beloved father! – I’m just as likely to err as any other young man and by way of consolation wish only that others were as little likely to err as I am. – You may perhaps believe things about me that aren’t true; – my main failing is that I don’t always appear to act as I should. – It’s not true that I boasted that I eat meat on all fast days; but I did say that I set little store by it and don’t consider it a sin; for me, fasting means abstaining and eating less than usual. – I attend Mass every Sunday and feast day and, if I can make it, on weekdays too, but you already know that, father. – My only dealings with that person of ill repute were at the ball, and only until I knew she was a woman of ill repute – and then only because I wanted to be sure of having a partner for the contredanse.3 – But I couldn’t then stop without telling her the reason – and who would say something like that to a person’s face? – But in the end didn’t I stand her up more than once and dance with others? – On this occasion I was perfectly happy when the carnival was over. – In any case, no one can say that I saw her anywhere else or that I ever went to her house – they’d be a liar if they claimed otherwise. – For the rest, you can be assured that I believe in God – and if I should ever have the misfortune (which God forbid) to stray, I hereby absolve you, my most beloved father, of all blame. – I alone would be the villain – it is you whom I must thank for all the good things that have contributed to my temporal and spiritual welfare and salvation.
I must close now, otherwise I’ll miss the post. I kiss your hands 1000 times and embrace my dear sister with all my heart. I am ever your most obedient son
Wolfgang Amadè Mozart
P. S. Best wishes to young Marchand, also to Katherl and all our good friends.
114. Mozart to his father, 16 June 1781, Vienna
Mon très cher Père,
The portrait and ribbons for my sister will set sail tomorrow. I don’t know if the ribbons will be to her liking. – But I can assure her that they’re the latest fashion. If she wants any more or some that aren’t painted, she should let me know; and if there’s anything else that she’d like and that she thinks will be more attractive in Vienna, she should just write. I hope she didn’t have to pay for the apron, as it was already paid for; I kept forgetting to say this as I always had to tell you about that other wretched affair.1 – I’ll send the money as you indicated. –
But I can now tell you more about Vienna; until now I’ve had to fill all my letters with an account of that other blasted business. – Thank God it’s all over. – The present season is the worst for anyone wanting to earn any money; but you know this already; the foremost families are in the country, and so there’s nothing else to do but prepare for the winter, when one has less time. – As soon as the sonatas2 are finished, I’ll see if I can find a short Italian cantata3 to set to music; it will then be given at the theatre during Advent – for my benefit, of course; – I’m being slightly devious here, because in this way I can perform the piece twice and make the same profit each time as I’ll play something on the pianoforte when I give it the second time. – At present I’ve only one pupil, Countess Rumbeke, Cobenzl’s cousin; I could have more, of course, if I lowered my price. – But as soon as you do that, you lose your reputation – I charge 6 ducats for 12 lessons, while letting people know that I’m doing them a favour. – I’d rather have 3 pupils who pay well than 6 who pay badly. – I can just about manage to get by with this one pupil, and for the present that’s enough; – I’m telling you this only so that you don’t think I’m being selfish in sending you only 30 ducats – rest assured that I’d leave myself entirely destitute if I could! – But it’ll come. One must never let people see how things stand.
As for the theatre, I think I told you recently that when he left, Count Rosenberg commissioned Schröder4 to hunt down a libretto for me. It’s now been found, and Stephanie – the younger – has it in his capacity as manager of the opera; Bergopzoomer,5 who’s a very good friend of Schröder and me, tipped me off about it. – So I went to see him at once, en forme de visite. – We thought that he might play me false because of his support for Umlauf;6 but our suspicions were unfounded, for I later heard that he’d commissioned someone to tell me to come and see him as there was something he wanted to talk to me about; and as soon as I came in, he said: Oh, you’re right on cue. – The opera is in 4 acts, the first of which he says is unbeatable; but it gets a lot worse after that. If Schröder agrees to our changing it as we like, we could end up with a good libretto. – He doesn’t want to give it to the management in its present state but first wants to discuss it with him,7 as he knows in advance that it would otherwise be rejected. So these two can sort it out between them. – After what Stephanie had told me about it, I saw no point in asking to read it, because if I don’t like it, I’d have to say as much and would look foolish. And I don’t want to lose Schröder’s favour as he has the greatest respect for me. – In this way I can always excuse myself by saying that I’ve not read it.
I must explain why we had our suspicions about Stephanie. It grieves me to say that this person has the worst possible reputation in Vienna; he’s said to be rude, false and much given to slandering others as well as treating them with the greatest unfairness. – But I don’t want to get involved. It may be true, as everyone says rude things about him – but at the same time he’s highly regarded by the emperor; and he was very friendly to me when we first met and said: we’re already old friends and I very much hope that I shall be in a position to be able to help you. – I believe and hope that he will write an opera for me. Whether he’s written his plays by himself or with the help of others, and whether he’s stolen their ideas or created them himself, he understands the theatre and his plays are always popular. – I’ve seen only 2 new pieces by him and there’s no doubt that they’re both very good; one, Das Loch in der Thüre; and the second, Der Oberamtmann und die Soldaten. – Meanwhile I plan to write the cantata, because even if I did already have a libretto, I’d still not put pen to paper as Count Rosenberg isn’t here – if, in the end, he didn’t like the libretto, I’d have had the honour of writing it all for nothing. And I can do without that. – I’m not at all worried about the work’s reception, as long as it’s a good libretto. – Do you really think I’d write an opéra comique as though it were an opera seria? In an opera seria there should be as little frivolity and as much as that is learned and rational as there should be little that’s learned in an opera buffa and all the more that is frivolous and funny.
Mozart: A Life in Letters: A Life in Letters Page 46