Story-Lives of Great Musicians

by Francis Jameson Rowbotham

'Mitridate' had indeed succeeded even beyond their utmost hopes; it was repeated twenty times before crowded houses, and its success brought with it the honour of election as 'Maestro di Capella' (the Italian equivalent of the German title 'Capellmeister') by the Accademia Filarmonica. Mozart's position was now assured, and he had nothing more to fear from intrigues or cabals. So that when, in August, 1771, we find him once more in Milan, he is on cordial terms with all his fellow-artists, and hard at work composing a dramatic serenata for the approaching marriage of the Archduke Ferdinand with Princess Beatrice of Modena. He is working amidst a Babel of sounds, for in the room above dwells a violinist, in the room below another, whilst a singing-master lives next door, and an oboist opposite. But he is not dismayed. 'It is capital for composing,' he writes to Marianne; 'it gives one new ideas.'

The serenata, 'Ascanio in Alba'—an allegorical pastoral play—was a great success, and Hasse, a master of opera, who had also composed a work for the occasion, was fain to admit that he stood nowhere compared with Mozart. 'This boy,' he exclaimed, 'will cause us all to be forgotten.' The Empress, who had commissioned Mozart to write the work, was so pleased with the result that, in addition to the stipulated fee, she presented the composer with a gold watch with her portrait set in diamonds at the back.

Our story of Mozart's life has now reached the point which marks the beginning of a series of misfortunes and trials of a far more serious character than those with which his earlier struggles for fame had been associated. There was no foreshadowing of these troubles at the moment when the travellers set out on their return journey to Salzburg, whither they were carrying the hopes which had been built upon their successes in Milan. Shortly after their return, however, to their great grief the good Archbishop Sigismund died, and both Leopold and Wolfgang realised that they had lost their best protector and friend. The news of the appointment of Hieronymus, Count von Colloredo, as his successor was received by the townspeople with feelings of displeasure and even dismay, for it was well known that the character of Hieronymus was almost entirely opposite to that which had made Sigismund beloved by his subjects. The Mozarts, father and son, were soon made to taste the bitterness of the change. Appreciation for art formed no part of the new Archbishop's nature, and he lost no opportunity of showing his contempt for those who followed it as a profession. Notwithstanding the fame which had now gathered about Mozart, whose latest opera, 'La finta Giardiniera,' had been produced in Munich, at the carnival of 1775, with the greatest success, the Archbishop persistently refused to recognise his genius, or to grant any facilities for enabling his dependents to better their condition of life. Once, during his master's absence in Vienna, Leopold had gone to the capital with Wolfgang, hoping to be able to secure some appointment at the Court which might relieve them of their necessities, but the effort was in vain. To his wife he wrote: 'Things will and must alter; take comfort, God will help us.' But they returned empty-handed.

Despite the fact that monetary anxieties were daily growing more pressing, and the aspect of affairs at the Salzburg Court remained as hopeless as ever, Wolfgang worked at his compositions with untiring diligence, and by the time he had attained his twenty-first year he had accumulated a mass of music that embraced every branch of the art, in addition to numberless carefully worked out studies of other masters. But Hieronymus viewed his Concertmeister's industry with disdain. Even when, by happening to be in Vienna shortly after 'La finta Giardiniera' had taken the Viennese by storm, he had been made the unwilling recipient of congratulations at the hands of the nobility upon the possession of so gifted a composer, he had contrived to evade an admission of Mozart's genius by protesting, with a sardonic smile and outspread hands, that he knew nothing about such matters. Even this disclaimer, however, did not prevent the Archbishop from making use of Wolfgang's powers whenever their display could be made to add to his own glorification. But nothing softened his ill-nature; no degree of praise which was justly awarded either to Mozart as a composer, or to his father for the care with which he had conducted his son's musical training, availed to remove or even to mitigate the deeply-rooted dislike which Hieronymus bore to father and son. He professed to regard them both in the light of professional beggars, and he never lost an opportunity of speaking slightingly of Wolfgang's compositions.

It was not long before the relations with the Archbishop became strained to breaking-point. Wolfgang was now twenty-one, with a reputation as a composer, but with no settled future; it was clear that nothing was to be hoped for by his remaining in Salzburg, and Leopold therefore resolved to undertake a professional tour with his son. For this purpose a prolonged leave of absence was necessary; but the Archbishop met Leopold's application with a curt refusal.

Even Wolfgang's docile nature would bend no further under such treatment, and he forthwith requested to be relieved of his duties. The salary connected with his post of Concertmeister was trifling in amount, and Hieronymus was fully aware of the value of the services which he professed to estimate so lightly. But that one for whom he had expressed contempt should thus presume to take action on his own behalf rendered him furious. He would have nothing to do with either father or son. 'After the Gospel, you are both free to seek your fortunes wherever you please!' was his reply to Wolfgang's application. This hasty decision, however, he afterwards retracted with respect to Leopold, and the father realised that the only course left open to him was to allow Wolfgang and his mother to travel together.

Arrangements were accordingly made, and early in the morning of September 23, 1777, the carriage which was to convey the travellers drew up at the door of Leopold's house. Now that the actual moment of parting had arrived the father could with difficulty restrain his emotion, and it was only when the carriage had driven off that he remembered that he had forgotten to bestow a blessing on his dear ones. Rushing to the window, he stretched forth his hand, to find that he was too late—the travellers were already out of sight.

Wolfgang's spirits, however, rose as the towers of Salzburg faded into the haze of that September morning. No sorrow of parting could stifle the sense of freedom that was springing up in his breast; he had escaped from a town which was intimately associated in his mind with tyranny and oppression, to seek his fortune in a new and wider world, where he was confident that his gifts would meet with the recognition they deserved. Thus buoyed with hope and confidence he entered upon a sea of difficulty and trouble.