Success in Paris and London
The “celebrity tour” began, strictly speaking, in Munich where the pair of prodigies performed with sensational success before the Bavarian Elector Maximilian III, who wished to hear the young people “soon and often.” But Leopold was out for bigger game and wanted, incidentally, to exhibit his wonder children to his relatives in Augsburg before proceeding to world conquests. Besides old acquaintances the “Herr Kapellmeister” had the good luck to present his “gifts of God” to the noted Italian violinist, Pietro Nardini, then concertmaster of the court orchestra of Stuttgart, and to the Italian composer, worthy Niccolo Jommelli, who was struck by Wolfgang’s abilities but against whom the mistrustful Leopold harbored various unjust suspicions. In Schwetzingen the Mozarts had the first opportunity to hear the then unrivaled Mannheim orchestra, which was to play a significant part in Wolfgang’s development. He and his sister were put through all their paces as the weeks went by; besides playing and improvising they were made to perform all manner of showy stunts. Wolfgang had to name tones and chords sounded on keyboards covered with a cloth, as well as guess the exact pitch of bells, glasses, and clocks.
The travelers went on to Bonn, Cologne, and Aachen, where lived the Princess Amalia, sister of Frederick the Great, whose pressing invitations to Berlin left Leopold cold as soon as he realized she had no money; he reflected that the kisses without number which she gave the children would have pleased him better if they had had cash value! Finally, after further progress through the Low Countries the little band reached Paris, where the father discovered that most of his letters of recommendation and introduction amounted to little. Only when they were taken in charge by the Bavarian-born Baron Melchior Grimm, a literary figure of some distinction, did results begin to shape themselves. A first-rate publicity man, Grimm launched a campaign for the youngsters in his Correspondance littéraire, with the result that doors promptly opened and invitations began to pour in. On New Year’s Eve, 1764, the Mozarts were asked to a grand couvert at the court in Versailles. Wolfgang stood next to the Queen who fed him dainties and translated for the King—Louis XV—what the boy said to her in German.
The great Madame Pompadour was on hand and the elder Mozart noted that she must once have been a great beauty for all her present stoutness. Later, when Wolfgang offered to give her a kiss, she drew back; whereupon the boy indignantly asked, “Who does she think she is, anyhow? Our Empress herself did not refuse to kiss me!” Leopold was careful to note the countless features of the Parisian scene. For one thing, the abundance of make-up on the faces of the Frenchwomen was something to revolt “an honest German.” He saw eye to eye with Baron Grimm in his preference for Italian over French music, declaring that the latter was “not worth a farthing.” Wolfgang was eventually to share his distaste for French customs, French art, even the French language. Leopold brought his son to the attention of several prominent German musicians who happened to be in Paris, such as Johann Schobert, Gottfried Eckhart, and Leontzi Honnauer, all of whom registered appropriate astonishment and presented the children with some of their own compositions, suitably inscribed. Four sonatas for clavier with ad libitum violin parts by Wolfgang were printed, and on the title page it was duly noted that their author was “only seven years old.” For all their charm and freshness these works clearly betray the improving touch of Leopold.
On April 23, 1764, after an easy Channel crossing, the Mozarts arrived in London, where the children were announced as “Miss Mozart of Eleven and Master Mozart of Seven years of age, Prodigies of Nature.” The Hon. Daines Barrington subjected the boy to “scientific tests,” which demonstrated that his talents were, indeed, “out of the ordinary.” The musical George III and Queen Charlotte received them at St. James’s Palace on April 27. A few weeks later there was another concert before the royal couple, when the King asked Wolfgang to play at sight pieces by Wagenseil, Johann Christian Bach, Handel, and Carl Friedrich Abel. The monarch praised the lad’s performances on the organ even more than on the clavier, and had him accompany the Queen in a song and improvise a melody on a figured bass of Handel’s. Leopold wrote home that what his son knew now completely overshadowed his earlier abilities. At a charity concert in Ranelagh Gardens they made over a hundred guineas. Yet these successes did not last: several concerts had to be postponed because of Leopold’s sudden indisposition; a mental illness of George III increased alarmingly; the political situation was unfavorable; and the public began to lose interest in the wonder children.
But apart from the sympathy Wolfgang was always to feel with the English people, one experience of his London sojourn really outweighed all others. This was the friendship he and Johann Christian Bach, the son of Johann Sebastian, formed for each other and the influence the older musician exercised on the creative genius beginning to blossom in the child. As Hermann Abert has written, “Christian Bach signified for Mozart a blithe, elegant counterpart to Schobert by virtue of the modernized Italianism that came to pervade his style.” The “gallant” manner, the fresh, playful rhythms of his finales, and the relaxation modifying the dry composition technique of Leopold’s are elements for which Mozart is deeply indebted to the “London Bach.” Wolfgang’s early symphonies and piano music make it plain how much he looked upon Johann Christian as his model and how fully this master was the chief inspiration of that “singing allegro” that became a hallmark of the mature Mozart.
Not only for his boyhood symphonies and sonatas but for his piano concertos was Wolfgang obliged to his great London friend. His earliest clavier concertos are largely copies or rearrangements of the concertos and sonatas of Johann Christian, as of Schobert, Honnauer, and similar masters. From these seeds came those glorious fruits of concerto literature that stand among his grandest and most original achievements.
Leopold had overstayed his leave from his Salzburg post but he seemed in no hurry about returning to it. He had originally planned to go home by way of Italy, since an Italian trip was regarded as an indispensable finishing touch to an artistic education. At the beginning of August 1765, the Mozarts landed once more on the Continent. Both father and son fell ill, and then Nannerl came down with pneumonia and was actually given the last rites. Wolfgang, scarcely convalescent from a siege of fever, composed a medley for piano and orchestra—a quodlibet of popular tunes—the galimathias musicum, a thing of rough humors revealing in its contrapuntal workmanship the tastes and teachings of his father. Variations on a Dutch patriotic song, six sonatas for violin and piano, a mellifluous symphony in B flat, and various other “trifles” indicate that sickness was not regarded as a valid excuse for idling.
Paris, to which they returned in May 1766, seemed less stirred by the prodigies than it had been on the earlier visit, though Prince Karl Wilhelm of Brunswick, on hearing Wolfgang, exclaimed in amazement, “Many a kapellmeister dies without ever having learned anything like what this child knows!” In July they left the French capital and arrived in Salzburg the last day of November 1766, laden with gifts and rich in glowing memories. A considerable quantity of new music from Wolfgang’s pen filled their luggage. The artist was supplanting the prodigy. Wolfgang had seen something of the world and had made many valuable contacts. The Archbishop, Sigismund von Schrattenbach, skeptical of the brilliant reports he had heard, asked him to compose a cantata—Die Schuldigkeit des ersten Gebotes—and isolated him for a week to see how much truth there was in all the talk.
Vienna and La Finta semplice
Not quite a year later the Mozarts were off again, this time to Vienna, for the betrothal festivities of the Archduchess Maria Josepha and King Ferdinand of Naples. But their great expectations were hardly realized. A smallpox epidemic in the capital carried off the royal bride, and Leopold fled with his family to Olmütz, where both the children contracted the disease. Wolfgang lay blind for nine days and for some time had to be careful of his eyes. Only on Christmas Eve were they well enough to set out again. On their return to Vienna, Maria Theresia received them kindly, but things had changed. Economy was the order of the day: the aristocracy followed the example set by the imperial household, musical activities were reduced, and the Mozarts felt the pinch. Interest in the prodigies diminished.
Joseph II, who had succeeded his mother on the throne, expressed a desire to hear in Vienna an opera of the twelve-year-old boy’s composition and suggested such a work to the lessee of the court theater, Giuseppe Afflisio. The result was La Finta semplice, its libretto based on a Goldoni farce, and it was arranged that the composer should lead it from the harpsichord. Nothing came of the scheme, however, presumably because of intrigues.
The youth was partly consoled for this check by a noted physician, the celebrated Dr. Anton Mesmer (an early practitioner of mesmerism), at whose suburban home the one-act German Singspiel, Bastien und Bastienne, based on a parody of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s famous pastoral Le Devin du village, was performed. The little piece for all its simplicity lives on. Perhaps the most striking thing about the score is the fact that the prelude, or intrada, begins with the theme that was to be the main subject of Beethoven’s Eroica.
The travelers came back to Salzburg early in 1769. The trip had not been a financial profit, but Wolfgang was undoubtedly richer in experience and had added to his creative store. The Archbishop delighted them by ordering a performance of La Finta semplice, though he had no genuine opera buffa personnel at his disposal. The leading soprano part of Rosina was sung by Maria Anna Haydn, Michael Haydn’s wife. The year was largely devoted to further study and composition—chiefly of masses and other church music written at the command of the friendly Archbishop and, in addition, of symphonies and other forms of “entertainment” music for garden parties, festivities, and social functions of the high-placed and well-to-do. And Wolfgang was appointed concertmaster in the archiepiscopal orchestra.