The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries Volume Vii Part 70

"Max, read us what is written beneath the picture," said the Countess.

"They are verses from a celebrated ode of Horace.[32] The poet Ramler, of Berlin, made a fine translation of them a while ago. It is in most beautiful rhythm. How splendid is even this one pa.s.sage:

"--And he, who never more Will from his shoulders lay aside the bow, Who in the pure dew of Castalia's fountain Laves loosened hair; who holds the Lycian thicket And his own native wood-- Apollo! Delian and Patarean King."

"Beautiful!" exclaimed the Count, "but it needs a little explanation here and there. For instance, 'He who will never lay aside the bow,'

would, of course, mean in plain prose, 'He who was always a most diligent fiddler.' But, Mozart, you are sowing discord in two gentle hearts."

"How so?"

"Eugenie is envying her friend--and with good reason."

"Ah! you have discovered my weak point. But what would the Herr Baron say?"

"I could forgive for once."

"Very well, then; I shall not neglect my opportunity. But you need not be alarmed, Herr Baron. There is no danger as long as the G.o.d does not lend me his countenance and his long yellow hair. I wish he would. I would give him on the spot Mozart's braid and his very best hair-ribbon besides."

"Apollo would have to be careful, in future, how he gracefully laved his new French finery in the Castalian fountain," laughed Franziska.

With such exchange of jests the merriment grew; the wines were pa.s.sed, many a toast was offered, and Mozart soon fell into his way of talking in rhyme. The Lieutenant was an able second, and his father, also, would not be outdone; indeed, once or twice the latter succeeded remarkably well. But such conversations cannot well be repeated, because the very elements which make them irresistible at the time--the gaiety of the mood and the charm of personality in word and look--are lacking.

Among the toasts was one proposed by Franziska's aunt--that Mozart should live to write many more immortal works. "Exactly! I am with you in that," cried Mozart, and they eagerly touched gla.s.ses. Then the Count began to sing--with much power and certainty, thanks to his inspiration:

"Here's to Mozart's latest score; May he write us many more."

_Max_.

"Works, da Ponte, such as you (Mighty Schikaneder, too),"

_Mozart_.

"And Mozart, even, until now Never thought of once, I vow."

_The Count_.

"Works that you shall live to see, Great arch-thief of Italy; That shall drive you to despair, Clever Signor Bonbonniere."

_Max_.

"You may have a hundred years,"

_Mozart_.

"Unless you with all your wares,"

_All three, con forza_.

"Straight _zum Teufel_ first repair, Clever Monsieur Bonbonniere."

The Count was loth to stop singing, and the last four lines of the impromptu terzetto suddenly became a so-called "endless canon," and Franziska's aunt had wit and confidence enough to add all sorts of ornamentation in her quavering soprano. Mozart promised afterward to write out the song at leisure, according to the rules of the art, and he did send it to the Count after he returned to Vienna.

Eugenie had long ago quietly examined her inheritance from the shrubbery of "Tiberius," and presently some one asked to hear the new duet from her and Mozart. The uncle was glad to join in the chorus, and all rose and hastened to the piano, in the large salon.

The charming composition aroused the greatest enthusiasm; but its very character was a temptation to put music to another use, and indeed it was Mozart himself who gave the signal, as he left the piano, to ask Franziska for a waltz, while Max took up his violin. The Count was not slow in doing the honors for Madame Mozart, and one after another joined in the dance. Even Franziska's aunt became young again as she trod the minuet with the gallant Lieutenant. Finally, as Mozart and the fair Eugenie finished the last dance, he claimed his promised privilege.

It was now almost sunset, and the garden was cool and pleasant. There the Countess invited the ladies to rest and refresh themselves, while the Count led the way to the billiard room, for Mozart was known to be fond of the game.

We will follow the ladies.

After they had walked about they ascended a little slope, half inclosed by a high vine-covered trellis. From the hill they could look off into the fields, and down into the streets of the village. The last rosy rays of sunlight shone in through the leaves.

"Could we not sit here for a little," suggested the Countess, "if Madame Mozart would tell us about herself and her husband?"

Madame Mozart was willing enough, and her eager listeners drew their chairs close about her.

"I will tell you a story that you must know in order to understand a little plan of mine. I wish to give to the Baroness-to-be a souvenir of a very unusual kind. It is no article of luxury or of fashion but it is interesting solely because of its history."

"What can it be, Eugenie?" asked Franziska. "Perhaps the ink-bottle of some famous man." "Not a bad guess. You shall see the treasure within an hour; it is in my trunk. Now for the story and with your permission it shall begin back a year or more.

"The winter before last, Mozart's health caused me much anxiety, on account of his increasing nervousness and despondency. Although he was now and then in unnaturally high spirits when in company, yet at home he was generally silent and depressed, or sighing and ailing. The physician recommended dieting and exercise in the country. But his patient paid little heed to the good advice; it was not easy to follow a prescription which took so much time and was so directly contrary to all his plans and habits. Then the doctor frightened him with a long lecture on breathing, the human blood, corpuscles, phlogiston, and such unheard-of things; there were dissertations on Nature and her purposes in eating, drinking, and digestion--a subject of which Mozart was, till then, as ignorant as a five-year-old child.

"The lesson made a distinct impression. For the doctor had hardly been gone a half hour when I found my husband, deep in thought but of a cheerful countenance, sitting in his room and examining a walking-stick which he had ferreted out of a closet full of old things. I supposed that he had entirely forgotten it. It was a handsome stick, with a large head of lapis lazuli, and had belonged to my father. But no one had ever before seen a cane in Mozart's hand, and I had to laugh at him.

"'You see,' he cried, 'I have surrendered myself to my cure, with all its appurtenances. I will drink the water, and take exercise every day in the open air, with this stick as my companion. I have been thinking about it; there is our neighbor, the privy-councilor, who cannot even cross the street to visit his best friend without his cane; tradesmen and officers, chancellors and shop-keepers, when they go with their families on Sunday for a stroll in the country, carry each one his trusty cane. And I have noticed how in the Stephansplatz, a quarter of an hour before church or court, the worthy citizens stand talking in groups and leaning on their stout sticks, which, one can see, are the firm supports of their industry, order, and tranquillity. In short, this old-fashioned and rather homely custom must be a blessing and a comfort.

You may not believe it, but I am really impatient to go off with this good friend for my first const.i.tutional across the bridge. We are already slightly acquainted, and I hope that we are partners for life.'

"The partnership was but a brief one, however. On the third day of their strolls the companion failed to return. Another was procured, and lasted somewhat longer; and, at any rate, I was thankful to Mozart's sudden fancy for canes, since it helped him for three whole weeks to carry out the doctor's instructions. Good results began to appear; we had almost never seen him so bright and cheerful. But after a while the fancy pa.s.sed, and I was in despair again. Then it happened that, after a very fatiguing day, he went with some friends who were pa.s.sing through Vienna to a musical soiree. He promised faithfully that he would stay but an hour, but those are always the occasions when people most abuse his kindness, once he is seated at the piano and lost in music; for he sits there like a man in a balloon, miles above the earth, where one cannot hear the clocks strike. I sent twice for him, in the middle of the night; but the servant could not even get a word with him. At last, at three in the morning, he came home, and I made up my mind that I must be very severe with him all day."

Here Madame Mozart pa.s.sed over some circ.u.mstances in silence. It was not unlikely that the Signora Malerbi (a woman with whom Frau Constanze had good reason to be angry) would have gone also to this soiree. The young Roman singer had, through Mozart's influence, obtained a place in the opera, and without doubt her coquetry had a.s.sisted her in winning his favor. Indeed, some gossips would have it that she had made a conquest of him, and had kept him for months on the rack. However that may have been, she conducted herself afterward in the most impertinent and ungrateful manner, and even permitted herself to jest at the expense of her benefactor. So it was quite like her to speak of Mozart to one of her more fortunate admirers as _un piccolo grifo raso_ (a little well-shaven pig). The comparison, worthy of a Circe, was the more irritating because one must confess that it contained a grain of truth.

As Mozart was returning from this soiree (at which, as it happened, the singer was not present), a somewhat excited friend was so indiscreet as to repeat to him the spiteful remark. It was the more amazing to him because it was the first unmistakable proof of the utter ingrat.i.tude of his protegee. In his great indignation he did not notice the extreme coolness of Frau Constanze's reception. Without stopping to take breath he poured out his grievance, and well-nigh roused her pity; yet she held conscientiously to her determination that he should not so easily escape punishment. So when he awoke from a sound sleep shortly after noon, he found neither wife nor children at home, and the table was spread for him alone.

Ever since Mozart's marriage there had been little which could make him so unhappy as any slight cloud between his better half and himself. If he had only known how heavy an anxiety had burdened her during the past few days! But, as usual, she had put off as long as possible the unpleasant communication. Her money was now almost spent, and there was no prospect that they should soon have more. Although Mozart did not guess this state of affairs, yet his heart sank with discouragement and uncertainty. He did not wish to eat; he could not stay in the house. He dressed himself quickly, to go out into the air. On the table he left an open note in Italian:

"You have taken a fair revenge, and treated me quite as I deserved.

But be kind and smile again when I come home, I beg you. I should like to turn Carthusian or Trappist and make amends for my sins."

Then he took his hat, but not his cane--that had had its day--and set off.

Since we have excused Frau Constanze from telling so much of her story we may as well spare her a little longer. The good man sauntered along past the market toward the armory--it was a warm, sunshiny, summer afternoon--and slowly and thoughtfully crossed the Hof, and, turning to the left, climbed the Molkenbastei, thus avoiding the greetings of several acquaintances who were just entering the town.

Although the silent sentinel who paced up and down beside the cannon did not disturb him, he stopped but a few minutes to enjoy the beautiful view across the green meadows and over the suburbs to the Kahlenberg.

The peaceful calm of nature was too little in sympathy with his thoughts. With a sigh he set out across the esplanade, and so went on, without any particular aim, through the Alser-Vorstadt.

At the end of Wahringer Street there was an inn, with a bowling alley; the proprietor, a master rope-maker, was as well known for his good beer as for the excellence of his ropes. Mozart heard the b.a.l.l.s and saw a dozen or more guests within. A half-unconscious desire to forget himself among natural and una.s.suming people moved him to enter the garden. He sat down at one of the tables--but little shaded by the small trees--with an inspector of the water-works and two other Philistines, ordered his gla.s.s of beer, joined in their conversation, and watched the bowling.

Not far from the bowling-ground, toward the house, was the open shop of the rope-maker. It was a small room, full to overflowing; for, besides the necessaries of his trade, he had for sale all kinds of dishes and utensils for kitchen, cellar, and farm-oil and wagon grease, also seeds of various kinds, and dill and cheap brandy. A girl, who had to serve the guests and at the same time attend to the shop, was busy with a countryman, who, leading his little boy by the hand, had just stepped up to make a few purchases--a measure for fruit, a brush, a whip. He would choose one article, try it, lay it down, take up a second and a third, and go back, uncertainly, to the first one; he could not decide upon any one. The girl went off several times to wait on the guests, came back, and with the utmost patience helped him make his choice.