These pleasures, sometimes wild and extravagant, sometimes quieter in tone, were designed to refresh the severely taxed brain after extreme labors; and in the mysterious ways of genius they bore fruit in later days. But unfortunately he was so bent on enjoying to the full every moment of pleasure that there was room for no other consideration, whether of prudence or duty, of self-preservation or of economy. Both in his amusements and in his creative activity Mozart knew no limits. Part of the night was always devoted to composition; early in the morning, often even while in bed, he finished his work. Then, driving or walking, he made the rounds of his lessons, which generally took a part of the afternoon also. "We take a great deal of trouble for our pupils, and it is often hard not to lose patience," he wrote to one of his patrons. "Because we are well recommended as pianists and teachers of music we load ourselves down with pupils, and are always willing to add another; if only the bills are promptly paid it does not matter whether the new student be a Hungarian mustachio from the engineer corps, whom Satan has tempted to wade through thorough-bass and counterpoint, or the haughtiest little countess who receives us in a fury, as she would Master Coquerel, the hair-dresser, if we do not arrive on the stroke of the hour." So, when weary with the occupations of his profession, school-work, and rehearsals as well as private lessons, and in need of refreshment, he gave his nerves a seeming restorative only in new excitement. His health began to suffer, and ever-recurring fits of melancholy were certainly fostered, if not actually induced, by his ill health; and the premonition of his early death, which for a long time haunted him, was finally fulfilled. The deepest melancholy and remorse were the bitter fruits of every pleasure which he tasted; yet we know that even these troubled streams emptied pure and clear in the deep spring from which all joy and all woe flowed in marvelous melodies.
The effects of Mozart's illness showed most plainly when at home. The temptation to spend his money foolishly and carelessly was very great. It was due, as a matter of course, to one of his most lovely traits. If any one in need came to him to borrow money or to ask his name as security, he consented at once with smiling generosity and without making arrangements to insure the return of the loan. The means which such generosity, added to the needs of his household, required, were out of all proportion to his actual income. The sums which he received from theatres and concerts, from publishers and pupils, together with the Emperor's pension, were the smaller because the public taste was far from declaring itself in favor of Mozart's compositions. The very beauty, depth, and fulness of his music were, in general, opposed to the easily understood compositions then in favor. To be sure, the Viennese public could not get enough of Die Entführung aus dem Serail, thanks to its popular element. But, on the other hand, several years later Figaro made a most unexpected and lamentable fiasco, in comparison with the success of its pleasing, though quite insignificant rival Cosa rara—and not alone through the intrigue of the manager. It was the same Figaro which, soon after, the cultivated and unprejudiced people of Prague received with such enthusiasm that the master, in gratitude, determined to write his next great opera for them.
But despite the unfavorable period and the influence of his enemies, Mozart, if he had been more prudent and circumspect, might have received a very considerable sum from his art. As it was, he was in arrears after every enterprise, even when full houses shouted their applause to him. So circumstances, his own nature, and his own faults conspired to keep him from prosperity.
And what a sad life was that of Frau Mozart! She was young and of a cheerful disposition, musical, and of a musical family, and had the best will in the world to stop the mischief at the outset, and, failing in that, to make up for the loss in great things by saving in small affairs. But she lacked, perhaps, skill and experience. She held the purse, and kept the account of the house expenses. Every claim, every bill, every vexation was carried to her. How often must she have choked back the tears when to such distress and want, painful embarrassment, and fear of open disgrace, was added the melancholy of her husband, in which he would remain for days, accomplishing nothing, refusing all comfort, and either sighing and complaining, or sitting silent in a corner, thinking continually of death! But she seldom lost courage, and almost always her clear judgment found counsel and relief, though it might be but temporary. In reality she could make no radical change in the situation. If she persuaded him in seriousness or in jest, by entreaties or by coaxing, to eat his supper and spend his evening with his family, she had gained but little. Perhaps, touched by the sight of his wife's distress, he would curse his bad habits and promise all that she asked—even more. But to no purpose; he would soon, unexpectedly, find himself in the old ruts again. One is tempted to believe that he could not do otherwise, and that a code of morals, totally different from our ideas of right and wrong, of necessity controlled him.
Yet Frau Constanze hoped continually for a favorable turn of affairs, a great improvement in their financial condition, which could hardly fail to follow Mozart's increasing fame. If the anxiety which always pressed upon him, more or less, could be lightened; if, instead of devoting half his strength and time to earning money he could live only for his art, and, moreover, could enjoy with a clear conscience those pleasures which he needed for body and mind, then he would grow calmer and more natural. She hoped, indeed, for an opportunity to leave Vienna, for, in spite of his affection for the place, she was convinced that he would never prosper there. Some decisive step toward the realization of her plans and wishes she promised herself as the result of the new opera, for which they were now on their way to Prague.
The composition was more than half written. Trusty friends and competent judges who had heard the beginning of the work talked of it with such enthusiasm that many of Mozart's enemies, even, were prepared to hear, within six months, that his Don Juan had taken all Germany by storm. His more prudent and moderate friends, who took into consideration the state of the public taste, hardly expected an immediate and universal success; and with these the master himself secretly agreed.
Constanze, however, was like all women. If once they hope, particularly in a righteous cause, they are less apt than men are to give heed to discouraging features. She still held fast to her favorable opinion, and had, even now, new occasion to defend it. She did so in her gay and lively fashion, the more earnestly because Mozart's spirits had fallen decidedly in the course of the previous conversation. She described minutely how, after their return, she should use the hundred ducats which the manager at Prague would pay for the score. That sum would supply their most pressing needs, and they could live comfortably till spring.
"Your Herr Bondine will make some money with this opera, you may be sure; and if he is half as honest as you think him, he will give you later also a fair per cent. of the price that other theatres pay him for their copies of Don Juan. But, even if he doesn't, there are plenty of other good things that might happen to us; they are more probable too!"
"What, for instance?"
"A little bird told me that the King of Prussia needs a leader for his orchestra."