CHAPTER III.

MOZART returned home immediately, threw himself on his seat at the writing table, and began to write. In a few minutes, however, he started up, and cried laughing to his wife-"It will not come right yet! I will go to bed for an hour; wake me up at that time, and make me some punch!" And without undressing, he flung himself on the bed. Constance prepared the punch, and in an hour's time went to awaken her husband; but Mozart slept so soundly, she could not find it in her heart to disturb him. She let him lie another hour; then, as time pressed, she awakened him.

Mozart rubbed his eyes, collected his thoughts, shook himself, and without further delay began his work. Constance sat near him, gave him the punch, and to keep him in good spirits, began to relate a variety of funny old traditions-of

VOL. XI. NO. CXXXVII.

the Princefish, of Blue Beard, of the Princess with swine's snout, etc., etc., and Mozart, still writing, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. At two o'clock in the morning he began his wonderful work; at six it lay on the desk finished. The Master started up; he could hardly stand upright. "Done for this time!" he muttered; "but I shall not soon try it again!" And he laid himself down again to sleep.

At seven the copyist came for the notes, in the utmost hurry to write them out, which he could not accomplish before halfpast seven in the evening; so that the performance, instead of commencing at seven was postponed to eight o'clock. Still wet, and covered with sand, the hastily copied parts were brought in and arranged in the orchestra.

The strange story of the composition of

2 c

the overture soon spread among the audience. When Mozart came into the orchestra, he was greeted with thundering "bravos!" from an overflowing house. He bowed low, and, turning to the performers in the orchestra, said

"Gentlemen, we have not been able to have a rehearsal of the overture; but I know what I can venture with you. So, quick! to work!" He took up the timestaff, gave the signal, and like a thunderburst, with the clang of trumpets, sounded the first accord of the awful andante, which with the succeeding allegro, were executed by the orchestra with admirable spirit. When the overture was concluded, the storm of applause seemed as if it would

never cease.

"There were indeed a few notes dropped under the desk," observed Mozart, smiling, to Strobach, during the introduction; "but on the whole it went off splendidly! I am greatly indebted to these gentlemen."

How during the remainder of the opera the applause rose from scene to scene-how from its first representation to the present day, on every occasion, the "Fin chan dal vino," called, and still calls forth, enthusiastic encores, is well known, not only to the good people of Prague, but to the whole civilized world.

This little circle of scenes may prove a pleasant memorial of the first production of a noble work, destined through all future time to command the admiration of feeling hearts.

We now arrive at Mozart's last visit to Doles. It was a holiday in 1789, and the venerable chantor of Saint Thomas' church, Leipzig, after morning service was over, made ready to take a walk about the city, in company with a few of his friends.

The month was May, and the morning was lovely; the old gentleman had smoothed the immaculate ruffles of his shirt-bosom, placed his three-cornered hat on his head a little over the left ear, and taking his Spanish gold-headed walking stick in his hand, was ready for his promenade-when a sudden idea darted into his head. The music he had partly composed early that morning, while engaged about the churchservice, and which he had thought would turn out nobly, came to him all at once;

and fearful of losing it, he turned immediately back, with his customary ejaculation, "To Him alone be the glory!" and entered his own house, where his faithful wife and his beloved daughter, Lena, were already arrived.

The good dame asked with some anxiety, wherefore he had returned so soon; and Lena looked as if she feared she would next have to run for the doctor. But Father Doles (it was no less a person), soon dissipated their fears by informing them that nothing but a new musical thought had brought him back. The women laughed at this; Lena took his hat and stick, and while her mother helped him to pull off his brown over-coat, and to put on his flowered silk dressing-gown, not forgetting the little black silk cap, she arranged the writingtable, and placed on it some fresh paper for his notes. Next she brought him a bowl of soup, with a little bottle of old Rhenish wine, a cask of which had been given to her father by the gracious Elector, in token of approbation of his services.

When all was ready, Father Doles embraced his wife, kissed the white forehead of his daughter, and they both left him to his labours. He sat down and commenced his work, not without an inward prayer for success, as was his pious custom.

He had not been writing very long, when the door was opened more hastily than usual, without much ceremony. A tall, stately man strode in, and across the room, to where Doles was quietly sitting. It was Jacobus Freigang, a merchant and highly respected magistrate. He came near the table, and struck the floor hard with his Doles looked up from his work, nodded with a cordial smile, and said, reaching his hand to his friend, "Salve!"

cane.

His friend did not take his offered hand, but cried rather angrily-" Tell me, I entreat you, are you going to behave like a vain fellow in your old days, and treat your friends as if they were not deserving of civility? There we all are -Weisse, Hiller and I, and Friedrich and another person; there we all are, waiting and waiting for you, and running to the door to see if you were coming, and thinking how we should enjoy your surprise at sight of our newly arrived guest. At last, Brietkopf comes to ask after you, and you are not arrived-though you promised me in the choir

you would speedily join us! The company are impatient; Hiller grows surly; I stand there like a fool; at last Fredrich says you must have gone home-so here I come and find you sitting quietly at work! In the name of decency! what are we to make of you?" Doles laughed heartily at his friend's I comical anger, and then good-naturedly apologised for his neglect. "Do not be angry with me, old friend; I had to write down my thema ! Bethink you, I am seventy-two, and any day may be my last. I must use what time I have, and when Heaven sends me a good musical idea, make haste and write down what my old head cannot long retain. Now I have just finished à my thema, and if you wish it, I will go with you; though, after all, I am but dull =company for younger ones, and they must have dined already."

"You must not dine at home to-day!" E cried his visitor, 66 our friends are waiting -you must go to Breikopf's this moment." "Nay, Freigang, now I think of it, 'tis a holiday-and my wife and daughter must not sit down alone to table."

"They know you are going with me; and as for leaving them alone, I have sent Friedrich to them. He will eat enough for two! So, off with your dressing-gown, and on with your coat."

"But-"

"But me no buts! I will fetch you a valet who will make you bestir yourself!" so saying, Freigang stepped to the door, opened it, and cried-" Come in!"

A young man, of some pretension, elegantly dressed, of pale complexion, large, dark, flashing eyes, a handsome aquiline nose, and a mouth that seemed made for music entered quickly. The voice in which he gave cheerful greeting to Father Doles, as he sprang to his side, was music itself.

Doles started from his seat with an exclamation of joy: his grey eyes sparkled, his cheek flushed, and as he embraced the young man, tears of delight rolled down them.

"My Wolfgang!" he cried, "my dear, good son! I am rejoiced to see you once

more!"

lively girl clapped her hands over his eyes, standing behind him, and cried

"Who is this, Wolfgang-can you tell?" "A lovely, mischievous little girl!" answered Mozart, laughing, "who calls herself Lena, and shall give me a kiss!" and turning round, he caught her in his arms, and took his revenge.

"Is your wife with you this time?" asked Madame Doles.

"No, I have not brought her with me," answered Mozart, while he assisted Doles to arrange his dress. "She is not fully recovered from her last winter's illness. Ah! how often she wishes for you, good mother; you would hardly believe we could feel so lonely and desolate in so large a city as Vienna!"

"Why do you not come and live here?" asked Lena impatiently, "where we all love you so much. We would never let you feel lonely or desolate. Your wife should like us all, and I would keep your boys with me. Be advised, Mozart, and come to live in Leipzig."

"You are always couleur de rose, Lena," said the composer, laughing; "but I should find it harder to get away than you imagine. In the first place I could not leave the Emperor, and in the next, so far as art is concerned, one can do in Vienna what he cannot do as well elsewhere."

"Hem," muttered Freigang, 66 we are not badly off as to music, here."

"By no means," said Mozart, earnestly, " and most excellent music. Your church music and your concerts are unrivalledmay I never live to see the day when they shall be talked of as a thing that is past! But you know, father," he turned to Doles, "while your artists and connoisseurs stand among the first, as regards the public and the popular taste, you cannot compete even with the Viennese, much less with mine excellent friends of Prague and Munich. I hope and trust these matters will change for the better in time; just at present, I at least find it my interest to prefer Vienna, Munich, or Prague."

"It is as you say, dear Wolfgang," replied Doles; "they call our Leipzig a little Paris; but we must plead guilty to some northern coldness and caution, and this excessive prudence it is which hinders us from following immediately in the new path you have opened for us."

"And yet I have reason to quarrel with the Viennese," interrupted Mozart. "My Giovanni can testify to that."

"Shall I confess to you," said Doles, "that as much as I have heard of this opera, though it surprises, astonishes, charms me, it does not, to say the truth, quite satisfy me?"

The composer smiled; his old friend began to criticise, when he interrupted him

"Why have you heard the opera piecemeal in this way? After Idomeneo, Don Giovanni is my favourite—I might say my masterpiece! But you must not hear it piecemeal; you cannot judge of it except as a whole."

"For my part, I am delighted with your Figaro," said Lena; "it is sung and played everywhere here; you may hear it in the streets on every barrel organ. I sing it myself on the piano;" and therewith she began carelessly to sing

on,

"And my glass still flattering, tells me
That I am not such a fright!"

"Lena! Lena!" said her mother, shaking her head. But Mozart cried-" Bravo! go little one!" and going to the piano, he began to play. They went through the duet, and at the end Freigang applauded heartily. Then he took Father Doles under one arm, and the composer, still humming, under the other, and bidding the ladies a friendly" adieu!" departed.

"What a charming man is Mozart!" exclaimed Lena, and still singing her favourite tune, accompanied her mother to the dining room, where they found Friedrich just arrived.

After a social dinner at the house of the hospitable Breitkopf, Mozart's publisher, the friends adjourned to the celebrated Rosenthal, where Goëthe, as a student, used to amuse himself. The pretty Swiss cottage was not then built; but on the place where it now stands, was pitched, in the summer months, a tent or pavillion, spacious enough to accommodate a large party of ladies and gentlemen in case of a sudden shower, or when they sought refuge from the heat.

men. It was a pleasant little party; the guests were all in high spirits; even the stern Hiller, who sometimes appeared something of the cynic, was heard to burst into frequent laughter at Mozart's sallies of humour and impromptu verses. Friedrich, a lad of about eighteen, the favourite pupil of Doles, stood near the composer, and listened smiling, though now and then he looked grave when Mozart's gaiety seemed about to overstep the bounds of decorum.

In the midst of their talk Hiller became suddenly serious, then turned about quickly, as if he had a mind to go back, before they entered the tent. Freigang caught his arm, and cried

"What is the matter with you, Hiller? Right about, you do not part from us till after sunset."

man.

"Let me alone!" answered the stern old "I cannot bear to look at the goodfor-nothing fellow!" "At whom?" Freigang followed the direction of his friend's finger, and burst out laughing. "Ha! Mozart!" he cried, "look yonder; there comes Hiller's favourite!"

A man was coming towards the company; he approached with very unsteady steps, but did not perceive them till he stood directly before them. He seemed about thirty years of age, perhaps older; was slender and well formed, but his features were sharpened and pallid, and his whole person bore the marks of excessive dissipation. His oiled-cloth cap was placed sideways on his uncombed head; his coat had once been a fine one, but lacked much of the lace belonging to it, and several buttons here and there; his satin vest was frayed and torn; his rumpled collar (the cravat was entirely wanting), as well as the rest of his attire, bespoke a slovenly disregard to comfort or cleanliness.

"Bon jour, monsieur?" cried Freigang, as this disgusting object came near.

You seem to be in deep thought," observed Freigang, laughing.

"He is drunk, the wretched dog!" muttered Hiller, greatly disgusted.

"If I am not mistaken," stammered the man, "I have the honour to salute the most excellent Director of music-Monsieur Hiller-yes I am right-it is he! I am happy-to speak with your excellency! I am highly pleased at the unexpected pleasure of this meeting!"

"I am not," retorted Hiller, angrily; "I would have walked a mile out of the way to avoid it. I do not feel honoured at being in such company."

"Nay, Hiller," remonstrated Mozart.

"Let the excellent Director scold as much as he likes," said the stranger, indifferently, and speaking more fluently than at first; "what is in the heart, must come out of the lips; and after all, I must allow, Monsieur Hiller has indeed some little cause to be vexed with me! You must all know I ran away with his foster-daughter! I am the famous violincellist, MARA, the husband of the famous singer-"

"Is it possible?" cried Mozart, astonished and grieved; "can this be Mara?"

"At your service, most worthy master eh? what is the honest man called?" said he, addressing Doles.

Doles answered-"It is the chapel-master, Mozart, from Vienna."

Mara lifted up both hands in amazement. "What!" he cried, "the great Mozart who has composed such splendid quartettos! who has composed Don Giovanni, and I know not what !"

"The same!" answered Weisse; and Freigang advised Mara to look at him straight, for he was worth taking some pains to see.

Mara seemed overpowered with his respect; he took off his soiled hat, and making a low bow, said to Mozart, "I have the honour to be-your-servant! You see me to-day for the first time en canaille; I need not apologise to you, for you know how apt good resolutions are to melt away in a bowl of liquor!" The composer coloured slightly. "Another time," continued the tippler, you shall see me with my best face, and hear how I can handle my instrument; till then, I have the honour to commend myself to your friendly remembrance!" He went on past the com

pany, but on a second thought turned back for an instant and addressed Hiller. "Before we part, most worshipful music-director-I know you have had much uneasiness on the score of Gertrude; her running away from you was to be excused, as you were only her foster-father! but you would be quite shocked to learn in what manner she has behaved to me, as Madame Mara, and what I have had to bear on her account! I wish not to insinuate that she has not her good qualities, or is altogether an ill-disposed person-au contraire! She paid my debts once in Berlin, but what did that help me? Did not the great Frederick -may he rest in peace-keep me a quarter of a year among his soldiers, and had not the brutal corporal the impudence to beat me! Sir, I assure you, such treatment soured my feelings, and to this day, when I am playing, I often think of my wife and the King, and the corporal with his heavy cane! Excuse me then, sir, for if I do take a drop too much now and then, 'tis to drown my sorrows at Gertrude's scandalous behaviour! Let us part good friends, old gentleman; mind not trifles. I shall be happy to see you at any time at my house in Windmill Street, No. 857. I am sober every day, till eight o'clock; come and see me, and if you like a dance I will play for you; my violincello is a capital old instrument, a veritable Cremonese, full-toned and strong. Your servant, sir." Therewith the drunken musician walked on, leaving Hiller undecided whether to laugh or be angry.

The company sat down to a collation under the tent. Mozart was astonished to find Cecilia grown so much. The last time he had seen her was at Berlin, five years before. She was then a pretty child, but now a very beautiful girl. It is not for words to paint that fresh, innocent beauty, the pledge of an unsullied soul. She had grown a woman, and her manner was changed from girlish vivacity and frankness, to womanly dignity and reserve. Mozart did not, however, like her dropping the familiar "Du," (thou,) and "Wolfgang!" in conversation with him.

"Why do you not still call me Wolfgang?" he asked. "Lena calls me so, and is she not of the same age with yourself?"

But Cecilia said "Mozart," so prettily, it sounded like music from her lips. The