When Mozart reached Munich, he was still in mourning for his mother, and dressed according to the French custom of the time, in red coat with black b.u.t.tons. He hurried to meet Aloysia and felt at once the chill of her jilt. The lips once so warm under his gave him merely the formal German kiss. She seemed scarcely to recognise the one for whose sake once she shed so many tears. Whereupon Mozart immediately flung himself upon the piano stool and sang, in a loud voice, with forced gaiety, "Ich la.s.s das Madel gern das mich nicht will,"--which you might translate, "Gladly I give up the girl that gives up me." It was on Christmas Day that Mozart had hastened to the presence of his beloved. For the Christmas gift she gave him back his heart! and right gallantly he took it. But his gaiety was hollow, and when he went to the house of a friend he locked himself in a room and wept for days.

Still he continued to live with the Webers and to brave out his despair before them all. He feared to turn to his father for full sympathy, and his fears were apparently justified, for his father seemed only to have answered with rebuking him for his foolish "dreams of pleasure." To this ill-timed reproof Mozart answered:

"What do you mean by dreams of pleasure? I do not wish to give up dreaming, for what mortal on the whole compa.s.s of the earth does not often dream? above all, dreams of pleasure--peaceful dreams, sweet, cheering dreams, if you will--dreams which, if realised, would have rendered my life (now far rather sad than happy) more endurable."

In a few weeks, however, he returned home to Salzburg, and there his cousin the Basle, who had brightened a part of his trial in Munich, followed him. And this was in the month of January of the year 1779.

As for Aloysia, she had cause enough to regret jilting one of the greatest, as well as one of the most gentle, souls in the world. She married the actor Lange and lived unhappily with him. According to Jahn, each both gave and received cause for jealousy. Years after, Mozart drifted back into her vicinity under curious circ.u.mstances. The lovers became good friends, and such friends, that for him, at least, Lange could not feel jealousy, according to Jahn, who adds, "Otherwise he would hardly have taken the role of Pierrot in the pantomime in which his wife played Columbine and Mozart the Harlequin."

Nohl thus sums up the whole affair: "Neither happiness nor riches brightened Aloysia's path in life, nor the peace of mind arising from the consciousness of purity of heart. Not till she was an aged woman, and Mozart long dead, did she recognise what he had really been; she liked to talk about him and his friendship, and in thus recalling the brightest memories of her youth, some of that lovable charm seemed to revive that Mozart had imparted to her and to all with whom he had any intercourse. Every one was captivated by her gay, una.s.suming manner, her freedom from all the usual virtuoso caprices in society, and her readiness to give pleasure by her talent to every one, as if a portion of the tender spirit with which Mozart once loved her had pa.s.sed into her soul and brought forth fresh leaves from a withered stem. But years of faults and follies intervened for Aloysia. Meanwhile, he parted from her with much pain, though the esteem with which he had hitherto regarded her was no longer the same."

Of all strange things in the strange history of lives upon this earth, there cannot be many more strange than this, that Mozart, after being so sadly treated by this woman, should have his next love affair with her youngest sister. A novelist would not dare tax the credulity of his readers with such a plot. But such impossibilities and implausibilities belong exclusively to the historian.

The Webers moved to Vienna where Aloysia was highly successful as a prima donna. In March, 1781, the Archbishop, to whom Mozart played the part of musical lackey, summoned him to the same city. The Archbishop was one whose petty malicious and grinding temper almost drove the pious Mozart to contempt of all churchmen. At least he drove him finally to a declaration of independence which, in our modern eyes, he was very long in reaching. The Archbishop's brother, Count Arco, was so infuriated at the impertinence of a mere musical flunkey, like Mozart, daring to present a formal resignation, that he heaped abuse upon him and finally kicked him out of the room. Everybody knows about this kick, but seemingly ignores the fact that Mozart was restrained from retaliation only by the fact that he was in the apartment of the prince, and that it was the dream of his life and his very definite plan to meet Count Arco and return the kick with interest. But the Archbishop and the count went back to Salzburg and the opportunity did not occur.

The portrait usually presented of Mozart meekly accepting the humiliation is of a piece with the legend that Keats died of a broken heart because of a bitter review of his poetry. The fact being, of course, that Keats' death was due to const.i.tutional weakness, and that the emotion inspired by the attack upon his art was a burning desire to punch the critic's head.

Strange to say, Mozart could not convince his pusillanimous father that he did not owe an apology to the Archbishop for being kicked. But he was so deeply offended that he never returned to Salzburg. So much for those who cherish the pathetic belief that the days of patrons were of benefit to the artist and his art.

Mozart did not starve upon being left positionless in Vienna. The emperor desired to establish a national opera, and Mozart took up the composition of his "Die Entfuhrung aus dem Serail." In the first moment of his quarrel with the Archbishop Mozart had left the retinue and sought rooms outside. Where could he go for a home but back to the household of the Webers?--now more than ever in poverty since the good father had died and Aloysia had married soon after obtaining her new engagement.

The very name of Weber was a red rag to Leopold Mozart, and he began a series of bitter rebukes, which the son answered with ample dignity and gentleness.

"What you write about the Webers, I do a.s.sure, is not the fact. I was a fool about Madame Lange, I own; but what is a man not when he is in love? But I did love her truly, and even now I feel that she is not indifferent to me; it is perhaps, therefore, fortunate that her husband is a jealous b.o.o.by and never leaves her, so that I seldom have an opportunity of seeing her. Believe me when I say that old Madame Weber is a very obliging person, and I cannot serve her in proportion to her kindness to me, for indeed I have not time to do so."

A little later one of Mozart's letters is interrupted and is finished in a strange hand as follows:

"Your good son has just been summoned by Countess Thun, and he has not time to finish the letter to his dear father, which he much regrets, and requests me to let you know this, for, being post-day, he does not wish you to be without a letter from him. Next post he will write again.

I hope you will excuse my P.S., which cannot be so agreeable to you as what your son would have written. I beg my compliments to your amiable daughter. I am your obedient friend,

"CONSTANZE WEBER."

This is the first appearance in Mozart's correspondence of this name.

Constanze Weber was the younger sister of Aloysia. She had no dramatic or vocal ambition, though she had musical taste and sang and played fairly well, especially at sight. Strangely enough, she had an unusual fondness for fugues and made Mozart write down many of his improvisations.

The gossips of Vienna lost no time in construing his renewal of friendship with the Webers. The buzz became so noisy that it reached the alert ears of the father in Salzburg, and he wrote demanding that Wolfgang should move at once.

Mozart answered that he had been planning to move, but only to quiet the gossip that he is to marry Constanze--ridiculous gossip, he calls it.

"I will not say that, living in the same house with the young lady to whom people have married me, I am ill-bred and do not speak to her, but I am not in love with her. I banter and jest with her when time permits (which is only in the evenings when I chance to be at home, for in the morning I write in my room, and in the afternoon am rarely in the house), but nothing more. If I were obliged to marry all those with whom I have jested, I should have at least two hundred wives."

Among the rooms elsewhere offered to Mozart was one at Aurnhammer's. The daughter of the family threw herself at Mozart's head with a vengeance.

According to his picture of her, she was so ugly and untidy that even Mozart could not flirt with her. He draws an amusing picture of his predicament--a sort of Venus and Adonis affair, with a homely Venus:

"She is not satisfied with my being two hours every day with her,--I am to sit there the livelong day while she tries to be agreeable. But, worse still, she is seriously smitten with me. I thought at first it was a joke, but now I know it to be a fact. When I first observed it--by her beginning to take liberties, such as reproaching me tenderly if I came later than usual, or could not stay long, and similar things--I was obliged, to prevent her making a fool of herself, to tell her the truth in a civil manner. This, however, did no good, and she became more loving than ever. At last I was always very polite, except when she began any of her pranks, and then I snubbed her bluntly; but one day she took my hand and said, 'Dear Mozart, don't be so cross; you may say what you please I shall always like you.' All the people here say that we are to be married, and great surprise is expressed at my choosing such a face. She told me that when she heard anything of the sort she always laughed at it. I know, however, from a third person, that she confirms it, adding that we are to travel immediately afterwards. This did enrage me. I told her my opinion pretty plainly, and warned her not to take advantage of my good nature. Now I no longer go there every day, but only every two days, so the report will gradually die away. She is nothing but an amorous fool."

Life in Vienna has always been gay enough. In those days it was far from prudish and Mozart was always of unusual fascination for women. He loved frivolity and went about much, but he seems by no means to have deserved the reputation given him by the gossip of that time and this, that he was a confirmed rake. It is impossible for any one acquainted with Mozart's career and letters to accuse him of studious hypocrisy, and this accusation is necessary to support the theory that he was anything but a serious-minded toiler, and for his time and surroundings a well-behaved and conscientious man.

He finally left the home of the Webers and had previously written his father, as we have seen, that he was not at all in love with Constanze.

But he was either in love with her without knowing it, or he soon tumbled headlong in love with her; for, soon after leaving the house, he plighted his troth with her.

He was some time, however, in mustering courage enough to break the news to his father. To a letter dated December 5, 1781, he added a vague hint of new ideas. This was enough to provoke his father's curiosity. It was satisfied in Mozart's long reply of December 15th:

"My very dearest father, you demand an explanation of the words in the closing sentence of my last letter. Oh! how gladly long ago would I have opened my heart to you; but I was deterred, by the reproaches I dreaded, from even thinking of such a thing at so unseasonable a time, although merely thinking can never be unseasonable. My endeavours are directed at present to securing a small but certain income, which, together with what chance may put in my way, may enable me to live--and to marry! You are alarmed at this idea; but I entreat you, my dearest, kindest father, to listen to me. I have been obliged to disclose to you my purpose; you must therefore allow me to disclose to you my reasons also, and very well-grounded reasons they are.

"My feelings are strong, but I cannot live as many other young men do.

In the first place, I have too great a sense of religion, too much love for my neighbour to do so, and too high a feeling of honour to deceive any innocent girl. My disposition has always inclined me more to domestic life than to excitement; I never have from my youth upward been in the habit of taking any charge of my linen or clothes, etc., and I think nothing is more desirable for me than a wife. I a.s.sure you I am forced to spend a good deal owing to the want of proper care of what I possess. I am quite convinced that I should be far better off with a wife (and the same income I now have), for how many other superfluous expenses would it save! An unmarried man, in my opinion, enjoys only half of life.

"But now, who is the object of my love? Do not be startled, I entreat you. Not one of the Webers, surely? Yes, one of the Webers,--not Josepha, not Sophie, but the third daughter, Constanze. I never met with such diversity of dispositions in any family. The eldest is idle, coa.r.s.e, and deceitful--crafty and cunning as a fox; Madame Lange (Aloysia) is false and unprincipled, and a coquette; the youngest is still too young to have her character defined,--she is merely a good humoured, frivolous girl; may G.o.d guard her from temptation!

"The third, however, namely, my good and beloved Constanze, is the martyr of the family, and, probably on this very account, the kindest hearted, the cleverest, and, in short, the best of them all; she takes charge of the whole house, and yet does nothing right in their eyes. Oh!

my dear father, I could write you pages were I to describe to you all the scenes I have witnessed in that house. She is not plain, but at the same time far from being handsome; her whole beauty consists of a pair of bright black eyes and a pretty figure. She is not witty, but has enough of sound good sense to enable her to fulfil her duties as a wife and mother. Her dress is always neat and nice, however simple, and she can herself make most of the things requisite for a young lady. She dresses her own hair, understands housekeeping, and has the best heart in the world. I love her with my whole soul, as she does me. Tell me if I could wish for a better wife. All I now wish is, that I may procure some permanent situation (and this, thank G.o.d, I have good hopes of), and then I shall never cease entreating your consent to my rescuing this poor girl, and thus making, I may say, all of us quite happy, as well as Constanze and myself; for, if I am happy, you are sure to be so, dearest father, and one-half of the proceeds of my situation shall be yours.

Pray, have compa.s.sion on your son."

This news was answered by a simoom of rage from Salzburg. The father had a partial justification for his wrath in the fact that a busybody had carried to him all manner of slander about Mozart and, likewise, slander about Constanze. He writes reminding Wolfgang of his mistake about Aloysia, and mentions a rumour that Wolfgang had been decoyed into signing a written contract of marriage with Constanze. To this Mozart writes very frankly and in a manner that shows Constanze in a beautiful light:

"You are well aware that, her father being no longer alive, a guardian stands in his place. To him (who is not acquainted with me) busybodies and officious gentlemen must have no doubt brought all sorts of reports, such as, that he must beware of me, that I have no fixed income, that I would perhaps leave her in the lurch, etc., etc. The guardian became very uneasy at these insinuations. We conversed together, and the result was (as I did not explain myself so clearly as he desired) that he insisted on the mother putting an end to all intercourse between her daughter and myself until I had settled the affair with him in writing.

What could I do? I was forced either to give a contract in writing or renounce the girl. Who that sincerely and truly loves can forsake his beloved? Would not the mother of the girl herself have placed the worst interpretation on such conduct? Such was my position. The contract was in this form:

"'I bind myself to marry Madlle. Constanze Weber in the course of three years, and if it should so happen, which I consider impossible, that I change my mind, she shall be ent.i.tled to draw on me every year for 300 florins.'

"Nothing in the world could be easier than to write this, for I knew that the payment of 300 florins never would be exacted, because I could never forsake her; and if unhappily I altered my views, I would only be too glad to get rid of her by paying the 300 florins; and Constanze, as I knew her, would be too proud to let herself be sold in this way.

"But what did the angelic girl do when her guardian was gone? She desired her mother to give her the written paper, saying to me, 'Dear Mozart, I require no written contract from you. I rely on your promise.'

She tore up the paper. This trait endeared Constanze still more to me."

The correspondence between father and son waxed fast and furious. Mozart does not attempt to defend Madame Weber or the guardian, but he will not have a word said against the devotion and honour of his Constanze.

Jealous perhaps of the activity of the prospective father-in-law, Madame Weber now began to go into training for a traditional rendition of the role of mother-in-law. She made the life of her daughter and of Mozart as miserable as possible, and fixed in them the determination that, whatever happened, they would not live with her after they were married.

Mozart and his sweetheart made a determined combination to win the affection of Mozart's sister, and Constanze sent to Nannerl many a little present, apologising because she was too poor to send anything worth sending. Finally she was bold enough to enclose a letter to Nannerl. The composition of such a letter under such circ.u.mstances is, at best, no easy matter, and I cannot help thinking that Constanze has evolved a little model:

"MY DEAR AND VALUED FRIEND:--I never should have been so bold as to yield to my wish and longing to write to you direct, if your brother had not a.s.sured me that you would not take amiss this step on my part. I do so from my earnest desire to make acquaintance, by writing at least, with a person who, though as yet unknown to me, bears the name of Mozart, a name so precious to me. May I venture to say that, though I have not had the pleasure of seeing you, I already love and esteem you as the sister of so excellent a brother? I therefore presume to ask you for your friendship. Without undue pride I think I may say that I partly deserve it, and shall wholly strive to do so. I venture to offer you mine, which, indeed, has long been yours in my secret heart. I trust I may do so, and in this hope I remain your faithful friend, CONSTANZE WEBER.

"My compliments to your papa."

With so much quarrelling going on around them and concerning them, it is small wonder that the two lovers were finally nagged into the condition of such nervousness that they fell to quarrelling with each other. One feud adds spice to the very first of these letters to Constanze, which she so carefully guarded,--Aloysia Weber seems never to have preserved any of Mozart's correspondence. It throws also a curious light on the social diversions of Vienna society at that time.

"VIENNA, April 29, 1782.

"MY DEAR AND BELOVED FRIEND:--You still, I hope, allow me to give you this name? Surely you do not hate me so much that I may no longer be your friend, nor you mine? And even if you do not choose henceforth to be called my friend, you cannot prevent my thinking of you as tenderly as I have always done. Reflect well on what you said to me to-day. In spite of my entreaties, you have met me on three occasions with a flat refusal, and told me plainly that you wished to have no more to do with me. It is not, however, a matter of the same indifference to me that it seems to be to you, to lose the object of my love; I am not, therefore, so pa.s.sionate, so rash, or so reckless, as to accept your refusal. I love you too dearly for such a step. I beg you then once more to weigh well and calmly the cause of our quarrel, which arose from my being displeased at your telling your sisters (N.B., in my presence) that at a game of forfeits you had allowed the size of your leg to be measured by a gentleman. No girl with becoming modesty would have permitted such a thing. The maxim to do as others do is well enough, but there are many things to be considered besides,--whether only intimate friends and acquaintances are present,--whether you are a child, or a girl old enough to be married,--but, above all, whether you are with people of much higher rank than yourself. If it be true that the Baroness [Waldstadten] did the same, still it is quite another thing, because she is a _pa.s.see_ elderly woman (who cannot possibly any longer charm), and is always rather flighty. I hope, my dear friend, that you will never lead a life like hers, even should you resolve never to become my wife.

But the thing is past, and a candid avowal of your heedless conduct would have made me at once overlook it; and, allow me to say, if you will not be offended, my dearest friend, will still make me do so. This will show you how truly I love you. I do not fly into a pa.s.sion like you. I think, I reflect, and I feel. If you feel, and have feeling, then I know I shall be able this very day to say with a tranquil mind: My Constanze is the virtuous, honourable, discreet, and faithful darling of her honest and kindly disposed,

"MOZART."