Part 10 (2/2)
Despite the success of 'Figaro' Mozart still remained a poor man--still was he compelled to earn a living by the hated drudgery of teaching. 'You happy man,' he said to a young musician who was leaving for a tour in Italy; 'as for me, I am off now to give a lesson to earn my bread.' The desire to visit England was once more uppermost in his mind, and when the Emperor, with a view to retaining him in Germany, appointed him Kammer-compositor at a salary of eight hundred gulden (about eighty pounds sterling), it must have occurred to many besides Mozart himself that such a 'beggarly dole' but poorly represented the value which his Majesty professed to set upon the composer's services to art. This feeling was accentuated in Mozart when he discovered how trivial were the requirements of his royal master in connection with the position. 'Too much for what I produce, too little for what I could produce,' were the bitter words which he penned on the official return stating the amount of his salary.
The 'beggarly dole,' indeed, brought small relief to the domestic anxieties which now more than ever oppressed Mozart and his wife. The latter's ill-health necessitated frequent change of air, and in this way tended to increase their embarra.s.sments. Applications to friends for a.s.sistance became more and more numerous. 'I am still most unfortunate,' he writes in one of these appeals. 'Always hovering between hope and anxiety.' Repeated attempts were made at reform.
Mozart even commenced to keep strict accounts of their expenditure, but they came to nothing, for the want of management was always apparent in every detail of his domestic life. Yet, despite all, the merry side of Mozart's nature refused to succ.u.mb to the stress of adversity; amidst his difficulties he retained the suns.h.i.+ne of his boyish days, being as merry-hearted, and full of jokes, and as open as a child. One winter day an old friend found him and his wife dancing madly about the room; knowing Mozart's fondness for this pastime--his favourite of all forms of amus.e.m.e.nt--the friend expressed his pleasure at finding them so light-hearted, when Mozart, pointing to the empty stove, explained that they were dancing in order to keep themselves warm, as they had no money to purchase fuel. Horror-struck, the caller darted from the house, and returned in a few minutes with his arms laden with logs.
To some extent a natural leaning to extravagance may be held accountable for Mozart's embarra.s.sments, for he was extremely fond of dress, and had a great weakness for lace and watch-chains. But if he indulged his tastes overmuch in this particular, he was no less lavish in regard to giving where he thought help was needed. He could never turn a deaf ear to the appeal of a beggar, and his kindness was frequently imposed upon; even when monetary help was not forthcoming to meet the request of a brother-musician, he would contrive to find time amidst the pressure of his own work to compose a concerto for the latter's benefit. To the animal world, also, his affectionate nature went forth in no small degree, and he became deeply attached to a starling, which had learnt to pipe the subject of the Rondo of his 'Pianoforte Concerto in G Major.'
And if his distresses failed to diminish his joy in the very fact of living, even less did they affect his powers of work. His father had declared that 'procrastination was his besetting sin,' and Mozart was certainly given to putting off the evil day as far as possible; but no one knew better than Leopold Mozart himself how tireless was Mozart's industry, or how boundless his powers of coping with a gigantic task which he had set his mind to accomplish. When, in September, 1787, he was at Prague, writing the score of 'Don Giovanni,' his favourite resort was the vineyard belonging to his friend Duschek, situated close to the city; here he would be seated at his work[13] whilst conversation or skittle-playing went on around him, often quitting his task to join in one or the other. The time was short, for the opera was to be produced on October 29, and when the evening of the 28th arrived it found the overture still unwritten. Nothing daunted, however, Mozart bade his wife brew him some punch, and bring her book of fairy-stories, and then, for hour after hour, he wrote on, whilst Constanze read aloud to keep him awake. When sleep could no longer be resisted he lay down for an hour or two, but when the copyist came for the score at seven o'clock in the morning it was ready for him. His musical memory was so marvellous that the merest sc.r.a.ps of notes, jotted down whilst driving, conversing, or soothing his wife in her pain, were sufficient to recall to mind without the slightest effort the exact ideas which he desired to reproduce. An entire work would thus be completed in his brain before he began to write a single note on paper, and it was no unusual thing for him to be thinking out a second part whilst writing down the first. 'He never composed at the clavier,' says his wife, in speaking of his manner of work, 'but wrote music like letters, and never tried a movement until it was finished.'
The limits of our story forbid even a mention of the compositions which made up the life-work of Mozart; the few to which we have found s.p.a.ce to refer are those connected with the chief episodes of his career. Much less can we convey an idea of his powers of improvisation. Hours s.n.a.t.c.hed from sleep would be spent at the piano, and into the silence of the night drifted many a divine melody which no ear but his own was destined to hear. One who lived to be eighty, speaking of those wonderful improvisations, says: 'I still, in my old age, seem to hear the echo of those heavenly harmonies, and I go to my grave with the full conviction that there can never be another Mozart.'
It was at such times that the inspiration of true genius shone forth in his expression. Ordinarily there was nothing distinguished about his appearance; the head, with its profusion of fine hair, was somewhat too large for the body, which was short and slim; the face was pale, and the nose a rather too prominent feature; the eyes were large, well-shaped, and shaded by long lashes and bushy eyebrows, but the expression was absent and restless. When seated at the piano, however, the whole countenance changed; the eye became calm and fixed, and every movement of his muscles spoke the emotion which his playing expressed.
Even the success of 'Don Giovanni'--at the performance of which the Prague audience greeted Mozart's appearance in the orchestra with thunders of applause and a triple flourish of trumpets--failed to remedy the desperate condition into which his affairs had fallen; and when his pupil and patron, Prince Karl Lichnowsky, proposed that he should accompany him to Berlin, Mozart gladly accepted the invitation.
The visit, however, was productive of much honour, but very little money, and at its conclusion he wrote to his wife: 'On my return you must be glad to have _me_, and not think about money.' The King of Prussia received Mozart with every mark of kindness and respect, and being himself very musical, and desirous of having the best musicians about him, he sought Mozart's advice regarding the proficiency of his band. 'It contains some great players,' replied Mozart; 'but if the gentlemen would _play together_ they would make a better effect.' The King was evidently much impressed by this remark, for before Mozart left he offered him the post of Capellmeister, with a salary of three thousand thalers (equal to about six hundred pounds sterling). Mozart was deeply affected by the munificent offer, and for the moment he hardly knew how to reply; then, reflecting how much he owed to the Emperor Joseph for the latter's friends.h.i.+p and interest, he said: 'How could I abandon my good Emperor?'
Though his loyalty had thus withstood the temptation of an offer which, if accepted, would have ensured his liberation from the 'net of embarra.s.sments' in which he was so hopelessly entangled, the feeling of resistance weakened later on, when his return to Vienna revealed no improvement in the situation of affairs. Yielding therefore to the advice of others, he told the Emperor of the King of Prussia's offer, and at the same time tendered his resignation. Dismayed by this unlooked-for resolution, the Emperor exclaimed: 'What, Mozart, do you mean to forsake me?' The tone in which this remonstrance was uttered, and the expression which accompanied it had their effect upon the tender-hearted, grateful Mozart, and with emotion he answered: 'Your Majesty, I throw myself upon your kindness--I remain.'
Thus perished the only chance which was destined to fall within Mozart's grasp of freeing himself from his troubles, for soon afterwards the Emperor fell ill and died, and no renewal of the Berlin offer was forthcoming.
The coronation of the Emperor Joseph's successor, the Emperor Leopold, took place at Frankfort, on October 9, 1790, and Mozart journeyed thither for the occasion, having first p.a.w.ned all his valuables in order to raise the necessary funds. Whatever hopes Mozart may have built upon the results of this tour were doomed to disappointment, for though he visited and played at several towns on his return journey, and was the recipient of numerous honours, his efforts produced no permanent fruit, and the horizon remained as dark as ever. His arrival in Vienna was timed with the departure of Haydn, whom Salomon, the impressario, had come to carry off to London, and it was with a heart heavy with gloomy forebodings that Mozart said good-bye to his truest friend.
The month of July, 1791, found Mozart hard at work writing a magic opera to help a friend who had taken a little theatre in the suburb of Wieden. Whilst thus engaged he was visited by a stranger, 'a tall, thin grave-looking man, dressed from head to foot in grey,' who refused to divulge his name, but stated that his business was to commission Mozart to compose a Requiem for a personage whose ident.i.ty must likewise remain concealed.[14] After a brief colloquy the terms were arranged, and the mysterious stranger rose to take his leave. As he did so he looked fixedly at Mozart, and said warningly: 'Make no effort to discover the ident.i.ty either of myself or your patron; it will be in vain.'
Though somewhat disconcerted by the stranger's mysterious injunction, Mozart felt all his love for Church music reawakened by the new commission, and he set to work upon the Requiem without delay. His labours on this composition, as well as on the magic opera, however, were interrupted by a pressing request from the Estates of Bohemia that he would compose an opera for the coronation of Leopold II. at Prague. As the ceremony was fixed for September 6 no time was to be lost, and, banis.h.i.+ng every other thought from his mind, Mozart prepared to set out at once for Prague. The travelling carriage was at the door, and he was about to step into it when the mysterious stranger suddenly appeared, and inquired after the Requiem. Startled by the suddenness of the man's appearance, and at a loss to explain his remissness, Mozart could only promise to fulfil the commission on his return, and, hastily entering his carriage, he drove away.
The strain involved by his arduous labours at Prague was increased by the indifference with which his opera, 'La Clemenza di t.i.to,' was received, and Mozart returned to Vienna with spirits depressed, and mind and body exhausted by overwork. Nevertheless, he braced himself anew, and on September 30 the new opera, 'Die Zauberflote' (the Magic Flute) was produced. Though somewhat coldly received at first, the work increased in popularity at each subsequent representation, until its success was everything that could be desired. A friend who had a place in the orchestra on the first performance relates that he was so enchanted with the overture that he crept up to the chair in which Mozart sat conducting, and, seizing the composer's hand, pressed it to his lips. Mozart glanced kindly at him, and, extending his right hand, gently stroked his cheek.
The Requiem was still far from finished, and to this work Mozart now turned his attention. But it was too late; the strain and excitement which he had undergone during the past few months had done their work, a succession of fainting fits followed, and it was evident that the marvellous powers which he had controlled in the past were no longer under his command. With fast-fleeting strength came the oppressive thought, haunting him from day to day, that he would not live to complete the work. 'It is for myself that I am writing this Requiem,'
he said one day to Constanze, whilst his eyes filled with tears.
Vainly she endeavoured to comfort him; he declared that he felt his end approaching, and, indeed, death--the 'best and truest friend'--was very near him now, far nearer than they who gathered about his bed, and sought to cheer him with the news that his freedom from anxiety was at last to be a.s.sured by the combined action of the n.o.bility in securing to him an annuity--far nearer than they, or other well-wishers, whose tardy recognition of his claims had come too late, imagined. He who had 'always hovered between hope and anxiety' was now hovering between life and death, soon to be released from all earthly travail.
On the evening of December 4 they brought the score of the Requiem to him at his request, and, propped up by pillows, he began to sing one of the pa.s.sages, in company with three of his friends. They had not proceeded far, however, before Mozart laid the ma.n.u.script aside, and, bursting into tears, declared that it would never be finished. A few hours later, at one o'clock in the morning of December 5, 1791, he pa.s.sed away in sleep.
The body was removed from the house on the following day,[15] and taken to St. Stephen's Church, where it received benediction. The hea.r.s.e, with the few mourners, then proceeded to St. Mark's Churchyard, but before the burial-place was reached a terrific storm of snow and rain burst overhead, and with one accord the followers turned back, and left the hea.r.s.e to proceed alone. And thus the master of whom it was prophesied that he would cause all others to be forgotten--he whose triumphs had caused him to be acclaimed by thousands as 'grande Mozart'--was left to be buried by the hands of strangers in a pauper's grave, without even a stone to mark the spot where he was laid.
And to this day no one knows exactly which is the resting-place of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.
FOOTNOTES:
[11] This ma.n.u.script book is preserved in the Mozart Museum at Salzburg, and beneath several of the pieces may be seen the notes made by the father at the time. For example, 'Wolfgang learnt this Minuet and Trio in half an hour, when he was five.' or 'Wolfgang learnt this Minuet when he was four.'
[12] 'Have mercy'--a psalm of supplication.
[13] The room and the stone table at which he worked are still shown to visitors at the Villa Bertramka, Koschirz.
[14] It was ascertained after Mozart's death that this personage was a certain Count Walsegg, who desired a Requiem to be performed in memory of his wife. The messenger was his steward. The reason for secrecy was that the Count intended to pa.s.s off the Requiem as his own composition, and in this he actually succeeded.
[15] Mozart died of malignant typhus fever.
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