The mother corroborates all this, and declares she had never approved of the society of Wendling and Ramm, but that she had said nothing, for she was never listened to. In her next letter she asserts that it would certainly be dangerous companionship for Wolfgang, and tells her husband: "It is true that Herr Wendling is the best-natured man in the world, but neither he nor his family have any idea of religion, nor care for it; neither the mother nor daughter enter a church all the year round, nor do they ever confess nor hear mass, but they are always going to the play; they say the church is not healthy."
L. Mozart was not a little surprised that his wife and son WOLFGANG'S WISH TO REMAIN IN MANNHEIM. should so suddenly discover this lack of faith at the end of a long acquaintance. "You are quite right not to travel in undesirable company," he answers (February 16, 1778); "but you must have been aware of the bad qualities of these men for a long time, and you have had so little confidence in your anxious father, that you have never written to ask his advice on the subject, and (shocking!) neither has your mother done so." There was not much to be said in answer to this, except that they had allowed themselves to be deceived by the universal praise of Wendling, and by his really good qualities, and had overlooked his want of religion.
Wolfgang gave his father other reasons against the expedition (February 7, 1778):—
I have already given you my chief reason for not going with these people to Paris. The second is that I cannot quite see what I should have to do in Paris. My only means of advancement would be lesson-giving, and that work is distasteful to me. I have had a striking example of that here. I might have had two pupils. I went to each of them three times, then I found one of them out; consequently I did not go again. I will gladly give lessons as a favour, particularly to any one who shows genius and a real wish to learn. But to be obliged to go to a house at a certain hour, or to be obliged to wait at home for a pupil, is what I cannot do, even if it were to bring me some profit. I leave that to those who can do nothing but play the clavier. I am a composer, and a born kapellmeister; I ought not to bury my talent for composition which a merciful God has so richly bestowed upon me (I may say it without pride, for I feel it now more than ever); and pupils are most distracting to the mind. I would rather (so to speak) neglect the clavier than composition; for the clavier is only a subordinate affair; only, God be praised! a very powerful subordinate.
He had said the same to Wendling, and told him that if he would only put something certain in his way, he would gladly follow to Paris, "especially if it was an opera; opera-writing is my chief idea and object, French rather than German, but Italian rather than either French or German. Wendling and his friends are all of opinion that my compositions would be wonderfully successful in Paris; for, as you know, I can adapt myself to every sort and style of composition."
All things considered, we cannot but feel that Wolfgang's MANNHEIM. father was justified in writing as follows (February 23, 1778)
So you intend only to give lessons as a favour, do you? and you mean to leave your old father in his present straits? For a young fellow like you lesson-giving is far too much trouble, even when it is well paid. It is more fitted to your old father to run from house to house for a wretched pittance in order to support himself and his daughter, and to send the little that remains to you, instead of paying his debts; and all that you may amuse yourself by giving lessons to some silly girl for nothing! My son, reflect, and give ear to your own good sense. Reflect whether you do not deal more hardly with me than our prince himself. God has given you an excellent judgment, and two things only hinder you from employing it on your own affairs: first, a trifle too much of conceit and self-love, and, secondly, an inclination to be over-confiding and to open your heart to every one you meet.
He made him easy as to lesson-giving in Paris (February 16, 1778)
In the first place, no one will discharge his master at once in order to take you; and, in the second place, no one would venture to engage you, nor should you take any one, except a lady, now and then, who plays well already and has a fancy for learning from you, for which she is willing to pay well. Such lady pupils as these will take endless trouble to collect subscriptions for your compositions. The ladies in Paris are omnipotent; they are great amateurs of the clavier, and many of them play extremely well. They would be your best allies for getting commissions; and you will be able, by their help, to make both fame and money with clavier pieces, violin quartets, symphonies, and such collections of French songs with the clavier as you lately sent me; then, at last, you will arrive at an opera. Why do you hesitate? But you always want things done in a moment, before you have been either seen or heard. Look down the long list of our former acquaintances in Paris; they are all, at least the greater number, the best people in the town. They are all most anxious to see you again, and if only six of such persons (nay, a single one would suffice) were to take you by the hand, you might do as you pleased.
All this notwithstanding, however, we cannot but feel that Wolfgang's consciousness of his true vocation and his lively protest against any sort of pressure from without did honour to him, far more honour than the insinuation of unbelief against his true friend Wendling, to whom he was already deeply indebted. Not that Mozart was insincere—he was a faithful son of his Church—but other feelings were at work REPROACHES AND EXPLANATIONS. here, which obscured his judgment. Wendling was inconsolable at Wolfgang's refusal to join the party; and the latter endeavoured to persuade himself that motives of personal interest had a share in the regret of his friend. Be it as it may, Wendling and Ramm set off for Paris on February 15, leaving Wolfgang at Mannheim, not quite free from compunction. "If I thought," he writes to his father (February 14, 1778), "that you were really annoyed about my not going to Paris with them, I should repent having remained here; but, after all, the road to Paris is not closed to me."
