“Gnädigste Frau,—Here I sit, a poor unfortunate, in your paradise, like Adam after having tasted the apple. The evil is done, and I cannot even seek refuge by throwing the guilt upon the shoulders of gentle Eve, for the latter is sleeping the sleep of innocence at the inn guarded by the Graces and Cupids of a four-post bed. You have but to command, and I will personally give your Grace an account of my incomprehensible offence. In sincere contrition, your most obedient servant,
W. A. Mozart (on the way to Prague).”
While this was passing in the schloss, our prisoner, not greatly concerned about the final result, had occupied himself with waiting. But as no one appeared, he began to walk up and down uneasily; then there came an urgent message from the inn to tell him dinner was ready, and would he please come at once, the postillion was anxious to get started. He picked up his things, and was about to leave without further ceremony, when the two gentlemen appeared before the arbour.
The Count greeted him as he would an old acquaintance, with a ringing, sonorous voice, did not listen to his apologies, but at once expressed his desire to have the couple for his guests. “You are, my dear maistro, no stranger to us; indeed I may say that the name of Mozart is heard nowhere more frequently and with greater fervour. My niece plays and sings, spends nearly the whole day at her piano, knows your works by heart, and has the greatest desire to approach you personally, as she could not do in your concerts last winter. As we are going to Vienna for a few weeks, her relatives had promised her an invitation from Prince Gallizin, where you are often to be found. But it seems you are going to Prague, and there is no knowing when you will come back. Rest with us for a day or two! We will send your carriage back, and you will have the kindness to permit me to see to the continuation of your journey.”
The composer, who was always willing to bring friendship or pleasure any sacrifice ten times as great as was here demanded, gladly complied for this half-day, at the same time setting his departure most definitely for the next morning. Count Max asked to be permitted to escort Frau Mozart from the inn, and to give the necessary orders there....
Edward Mörike (1804-1875).
A RABID PHILOSOPHER.
AT last I fell asleep, but it was only to be awakened at dawn by resounding footsteps passing to and fro in the adjoining room, intermingled with sounds from which I judged that there was an impatient searching of drawers or tables, and in every corner of the apartment. The hurrying and rummaging grew more violent, a soliloquy which at first softly accompanied the movements grew louder and louder, and gradually passed into exclamations of rage, and at last into a volley of oaths, which was not exactly in a Christian spirit, and which was accompanied by a savage stamping and bellowing. It seemed to me the man had gone mad. I dressed myself hastily, knocked at the door, and in my excitement, forgetting all form, I entered the room without awaiting his call. With flashing eyes the occupant darted at me as if about to seize me by my throat; suddenly he controlled himself, stood stock-still before me, gave me a penetrating glance, and said with quiet severity, “Sir, an unconscious thirst for knowledge has brought you to this room.” My conscience reproaching me for my breach of good manners, I was disarmed, and merely said “Yes,” in a dejected tone. I then asked him what for heaven’s sake was the matter with him. A. E.—for brevity’s sake I will henceforth call my fellow-traveller so—falling back into his fit of violence, cried in a voice of thunder, “My spectacles, my spectacles! They’ve seen fit to go and hide themselves—to say nothing at present of the key, the little devil!”
“So you are merely looking for your spectacles? Is this an object worthy of such rage? Don’t you know what it is to be patient?”