At the Archbishop’s table he sat between the castrato Ceccarelli and the violinist Brunetti. If he felt revolted by his present circumstances he seems, however, to have taken refuge in the inner sanctuary of his spirit. He created quantities of priceless works and, in so doing, could forget situations in themselves repugnant. There were church compositions, serenades, divertimenti; the gorgeous Symphonie Concertante for violin and viola (K. 364); a triple concerto for violin, viola, and cello; the adorable E flat concerto for two pianos (K. 365); three symphonies in G, B flat, and C; some music for Gebler’s drama, Thamos, König in Aegypten, which he had begun five years earlier and was a foretaste of The Magic Flute; and lastly, an operatic fragment, entitled Zaide after Mozart’s death and destined to remain a torso.
By 1780, however, Wolfgang was to some degree compensated for his disillusionments. While laboring on Zaide he was commissioned by the Bavarian Elector, Carl Theodor, to write an opera seria for the Munich Carnival of 1781. The Munich authorities picked a libretto Idomeneo, re di Creta; ossia Ilia ed Idamante, which was based on a book by Antoine Danchet and which, as composed by André Campra as far back as 1712, had enjoyed a day of fame in Paris. It dealt with the tale of the Cretan king who had made a rash Jephtha vow to Neptune on returning from the Trojan war and was saved from sacrificing his son only by a deus ex machina. The libretto was put in shape by the Salzburg cleric, Giambattista Varesco, and called for, in accordance with French models, massive crowd scenes, ballets, choruses, and all the effects of a large-scale spectacle as well as vocal virtuosity and elaborate instrumental tone painting.
For a change Mozart had things more or less his own way. The Weber family had moved to Vienna, much to Leopold’s relief, and for the moment the composer had no time to worry about Aloysia but went ahead putting his new opera into shape and helping to prepare the production. On the whole he met with sympathetic cooperation. The Elector, Carl Theodor, welcomed him cordially. The Intendant, Count Seeau, was helpful, and the women singers declared themselves pleased with their arias. The chief difficulties were caused by the aging tenor, Raaff, who had the title role, and the sixteen-year-old artificial soprano cast for the part of Idamantes. Mozart, who used to call him “mio molto amato castrato Del Prato,” deplored the poor boy’s lack of stage experience, musicianship, and vocal method. Nevertheless, Idomeneo, when brought out late in January 1781, was warmly acclaimed, and the Elector, who had followed the rehearsals from the first, marveled that “so small a head should contain such great things,” insisting he had never been so stirred by any music.
He had reason for his enthusiasm. The score of Idomeneo is one of its composer’s most superb achievements and, if it lives on today chiefly as a museum piece, it does so because, like Mitridate, Lucio Silla, and Il Re pastore before it and La Clemenza di Tito after it, the work is a specimen of opera seria—a form that had lost every trace of vitality and dramatic punch. Yet to the end of his days its creator valued it highly and made some unavailing efforts to reanimate it.
Mozart’s Break with Salzburg
Mozart had reason to suppose that the work might gain him a permanent and rewarding position. Once more he was disappointed; and a short time after the production he received a summons from Salzburg to join the Archbishop in Vienna, whither Colloredo had gone with a part of his musical staff. Leopold, it should be added, was left at home. Wolfgang boiled inwardly at the prospect of “having the honor once more of sitting above the cooks at table.” His father begged him to be patient, but to no avail. In a way he welcomed the present call to Vienna and seemed to sense his impending liberation, if without knowing exactly how it was to come. “It seems as if good fortune is about to welcome me here,” he wrote his parent not long afterwards from the capital, “and now I feel that I must stay. Indeed, I felt when I left Munich, that, without knowing why, I looked forward most eagerly to Vienna.” He was seeking an opportunity to break forever with his detested chief, to whom he alluded as an “Erzlümmel” (“Archbooby”).
He soon found his chance. The archbishop at first refused Mozart permission to appear at the Tonkünstler-Societät, about which he wrathfully wrote to his father (yet a postscript added that, in the end, he got it). That his place at table was between the valets and the cooks is, Alfred Einstein says, rightly shocking both to the composer and to us. But Mozart’s rank as court organist was actually that of personal servant, and according to eighteenth century etiquette, which knew nothing of special treatment for genius, this seating at table was formally correct. In the end the threatened explosion did occur. Colloredo ordered him back to Salzburg on a certain day. Alleging some “important engagement” in Vienna, he refused and, when the archbishop told him he could “go to the devil,” he applied for his dismissal from the cleric’s service. Three times he presented applications. Finally, when he made an effort to enter Colloredo’s apartment to hand him the paper personally, Count Arco, son of the court chamberlain, kicked him out of the room. But Mozart did get the discharge he had demanded.
The tale of the kick is familiar even to people who have not the vaguest familiarity with eighteenth-century codes. We might be well advised, however, to suspend our judgment till we know both sides of the celebrated story.
“No more Salzburg for me!” Wolfgang gaily wrote his father. Barring repeated journeys to different cities, Vienna was to be his home for the rest of his days. He was not to find the material rewards and the secure position he had sought for so long, but he had that freedom his spirit craved. And in Vienna he was to absorb those creative impulses that Haydn had known before him and Beethoven was to know after him. In a mood of elation he begged his father to leave Salzburg and join him in Vienna. But Leopold was no longer young and, besides, he was made of other clay.