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The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VII. by Various

V >> Various >> The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. VII.




"What!" cried Mozart. "Pilfering! The devil! Do you believe, then, that
I meant to steal and eat that thing?"

"I believe what I see, sir. Those oranges are counted, and I am
responsible for them. That tree was just to be carried to the house for
an entertainment. I cannot let you go until I have reported the matter
and you yourself have told how it happened."

"Very well. Be assured that I will wait here." The gardener hesitated,
and Mozart, thinking that perhaps he expected a fee, felt in his pocket;
but he found nothing.

Two men now came by, lifted the tree upon a barrow and carried it away.
Meanwhile Mozart had taken a piece of paper from his pocket-book, and,
as the gardener did not stir, began to write:

"_Dear Madam_.--Here I sit, miserable, in your Paradise, like Adam of
old, after he had tasted the apple. The mischief is done, and I cannot
even put the blame on a good Eve, for she is at the inn sleeping the
sleep of innocence in a canopy-bed, surrounded by Graces and Cupids. If
you require it I will give you an account of my offense, which is
incomprehensible even to myself.

"I am covered with confusion, and remain

"Your most obedient servant,

"W. A. MOZART.

"On the way to Prague."

He hastily folded the note and handed it to the impatient servant.

The fellow had scarcely gone when a carriage rolled up to the opposite
side of the palace. In it was the Count, who had brought with him, from
a neighboring estate, his niece and her fiance, a young and wealthy
Baron. The betrothal had just taken place at the house of the latter's
invalid mother; but the event was also to be celebrated at the Count's
palace, which had always been a second home to his niece. The Countess,
with her son, Lieutenant Max, had returned from the betrothal somewhat
earlier, in order to complete arrangements at the palace. Now corridors
and stairways were alive with servants, and only with difficulty did the
gardener finally reach the antechamber and hand the note to the
Countess. She did not stop to open it, but, without noticing what the
messenger said, hurried away. He waited and waited, but she did not come
back. One servant after another ran past him--waiters, chambermaids,
valets; he asked for the Count, only to be told "He is dressing." At
last he found Count Max in his own room; but he was talking with the
Baron, and for fear the gardener would let slip something which the
Baron was not to know beforehand, cut the message short with: "Go along,
I'll be there in a moment." Then there was quite a long while to wait
before father and son at last appeared together, and heard the fatal
news.

"That is outrageous," cried the fat, good-natured, but somewhat hasty
Count. "That is an impossible story! A Vienna musician is he? Some
ragamuffin, who walks along the high-road and helps himself to whatever
he sees!"

"I beg your pardon, sir. He doesn't look just like that. I thinks he's
not quite right in the head, sir, and he seems to be very proud. He says
his name is 'Moser.' He is waiting downstairs. I told Franz to keep an
eye on him."

"The deuce! What good will that do, now? Even if I should have the fool
arrested, it wouldn't mend matters. I've told you a thousand times that
the front gates were to be kept locked! Besides, it couldn't have
happened if you had had things ready at the proper time!"

Just then the Countess, pleased and excited, entered the room with the
open note in her hand. "Do you know who is downstairs?" she exclaimed.
"For goodness' sake, read that note! Mozart from Vienna, the composer!
Some body must go at once and invite him in! I'm afraid he will be gone!
What will he think of me? You treated him very politely, I hope, Velten.
What was it that happened?"

"What happened?" interrupted the Count, whose wrath was not immediately
assuaged by the prospect of a visit from a famous man. "The madman
pulled one of the nine oranges from the tree which was for Eugenie.
Monster! So the point of our joke is gone, and Max may as well tear up
his poem."

"Oh, no!" she answered, earnestly; "the gap can easily be filled. Leave
that to me. But go, both of you, release the good man, and persuade him
to come in, if you possibly can. He shall not go further today if we can
coax him to stay. If you do not find him in the garden, go to the inn
and bring him and his wife too. Fate could not have provided a greater
gift or a finer surprise for Eugenie today."

"No, indeed," answered Max, "that was my first thought, too. Come, Papa!
And"--as they descended the staircase--"you may be quite easy about the
verses. The ninth Muse will not desert me; instead, I can use the
accident to especial advantage."

"Impossible!"

"Not at all!"

"Well, if that is so--I take your word for it--we will do the lunatic
all possible honor."

While all this was going on in the palace, our quasi-prisoner, not very
anxious over the outcome of the affair, had busied himself some time in
writing. Then, as no one appeared, he began to walk uneasily up and
down. Presently came an urgent message from the inn, that dinner was
ready long ago and the postilion was anxious to start; would
he please come at once. So he packed up his papers and was just
about to leave, when the two men appeared before the arbor.

The Count greeted him in his jovial, rather noisy fashion, and would
hear not a word of apology, but insisted that Mozart should accompany
him to the house, for the afternoon and evening at least.

"You are so well known to us, my dear Maestro, that I doubt if you could
find a family where your name is spoken more often, or with greater
enthusiasm. My niece sings and plays, she spends almost the whole day at
her piano, knows your works by heart, and has had the greatest desire to
meet you, particularly since the last of your concerts. She had been
promised an invitation from Princess Gallizin, in Vienna, in a few
weeks--a house where you often play, I hear. But now you are going to
Prague, and no one knows whether you will ever come back to us. Take
today and tomorrow for rest; let us send away your traveling carriage
and be responsible for the remainder of your journey."

The composer, who would willingly have sacrificed upon the altar of
friendship or of pleasure ten times as much as was asked of him now, did
not hesitate long. He insisted, however, that very early next morning
they must continue their journey. Count Max craved the pleasure of
bringing Frau Mozart and of attending to all necessary matters at the
inn; he would walk over, and a carriage should follow immediately.

Count Max inherited from both father and mother a lively imagination,
and had, besides, talent and inclination for _belles lettres_. As an
officer he was distinguished rather for his learning and culture than
because of fondness for military life. He was well read in French
literature, and at a time when German verse was of small account in the
higher circles had won appreciation for uncommon ease of style--writing
after such models as Hagedorn and Goetz. The betrothal had offered him,
as we already learned, a particularly happy occasion for the exercise
of his gifts.

He found Madame Mozart seated at the table, where she had already begun
the meal, talking with the inn-keeper's daughter. She was too well used
to Mozart's habits of forming acquaintances and accepting impromptu
invitations to be greatly surprised at the appearance and message of the
young officer. With undisguised pleasure she prepared to accompany him,
and thoughtfully and quickly gave all necessary orders. Satchels were
repacked, the inn-keeper was paid, the postilion dismissed, and, without
too great anxiety over her toilet, she herself made ready, and drove off
in high spirits to the palace, never guessing in what a strange fashion
her spouse had introduced himself there.

He, meanwhile, was most comfortably and delightfully entertained. He had
met Eugenie, a most lovely creature, fair and slender, gay in shining
crimson silk and costly lace, with a white ribbon studded with pearls in
her hair. The Baron, too, was presented, a man of gentle and frank
disposition, but little older than his fiancee and seemingly well suited
to her.

The jovial host, almost too generous with his jests and stories, led the
conversation; refreshments were offered, which our traveler did not
refuse. Then some one opened the piano, upon which _Figaro_ was lying,
and Eugenie began to sing, to the Baron's accompaniment, Susanne's
passionate aria in the garden scene. The embarrassment which for a
moment made her bright color come and go, fled with the first notes from
her lips, and she sang as if inspired.

Mozart was evidently surprised. As she finished he went to her with
unaffected pleasure. "How can one praise you, dear child," he said.
"Such singing is like the sunshine, which praises itself best because it
does every one good. It is to the soul like a refreshing bath to a
child; he laughs, and wonders, and is content. Not every day, I assure
you, do we composers hear ourselves sung with such purity
and simplicity--with such perfection!" and he seized her hand
and kissed it heartily. Mozart's amiability and kindness, no less than
his high appreciation of her talent, touched Eugenie deeply, and her
eyes filled with tears of pleasure.

At that moment Madame Mozart entered, and immediately after appeared
other guests who had been expected--a family of distant relatives, of
whom one, Franziska, had been from childhood Eugenie's intimate friend.

When all the greetings and congratulations were over, Mozart seated
himself at the piano. He played a part of one of his concertos, which
Eugenie happened to be learning. It was a great delight to have the
artist and his genius so near--within one's own walls. The composition
was one of those brilliant ones in which pure Beauty, in a fit of
caprice, seems to have lent herself to the service of Elegance, but,
only half disguised in changing forms and dazzling lights, betrays in
every movement her own nobility and pours out lavishly her glorious
pathos.

The Countess noticed that most of the listeners, even Eugenie herself,
were divided between seeing and hearing, although they gave the close
attention and kept the perfect silence which were due to such enchanting
playing. Indeed it was not easy to resist a throng of distracting and
wondering thoughts as one watched the composer--his erect, almost stiff
position, his good-natured face, the graceful movements of his small
hands and curved fingers.

Turning to Madame Mozart, as the playing ceased, the Count began: "When
it is necessary to give a compliment to a composer--not everybody's
business--how easy it is for kings and emperors. All words are equally
good and equally extraordinary in their mouths; they dare to say
whatever they please. And how comfortable it must be, for instance, to
sit close behind Herr Mozart's chair, and, at the final chord of a
brilliant Fantasia, to clap the modest and learned man on the shoulder
and say: 'My dear Mozart, you are a Jack-at-all-trades!' And the word goes
like wild-fire through the hall: 'What did he say?' 'He said Mozart was a
Jack-at-all-trades!' and everybody who fiddles or pipes a song or
composes is enraptured over the expression. In short, that is the way of
the great, the familiar manner of the emperors, and quite inimitable. I
have always envied the Friedrichs and the Josefs that faculty, but never
more than now when I quite despair of finding in my mind's pockets the
suitable coin!"

The Count's jest provoked a laugh, as usual, and the guests followed
their hostess toward the dining-hall, where the fragrance of flowers and
refreshingly cool air greeted them. They took their places at the table,
Mozart opposite Eugenie and the Baron. His neighbor on one side was a
little elderly lady, an unmarried aunt of Franziska's; on the other side
was the charming young niece who soon commended herself to him by her
wit and gaiety. Frau Constanze sat between the host and her friendly
guide, the Lieutenant. The lower end of the table was empty. In the
centre stood two large _epergnes_, heaped with fruits and flowers. The
walls were hung with rich festoons, and all the appointments indicated
an extensive banquet. Upon tables and side-boards were the choicest
wines, from the deepest red to the pale yellow, whose sparkling foam
crowns the second half of the feast. For some time the conversation,
carried on from all sides, had been general. But when the Count, who,
from the first, had been hinting at Mozart's adventure in the garden,
came mysteriously nearer and nearer to it, so that some were smiling,
others puzzling their brains to know what it all meant, Mozart at last
took the cue.

"I will truthfully confess," he began, "how I came to have the honor of
an acquaintance with this noble house. I do not play a very dignified
role in the tale; in fact, I came within a hair's breadth of sitting,
not here at this bountiful table, but hungry and alone in the most
remote dungeon of the palace, watching the spider-webs on the wall."

"It must, indeed, be a pretty story," cried Madame Mozart.

Then Mozart related minutely all that we already know, to the great
entertainment of his audience. There was no end to the merriment, even
the gentle Eugenie shaking with uncontrollable laughter.

"Well," he went on, "according to the proverb I need not mind your
laughter, for I have made my small profit out of the affair, as you will
soon see. But first hear how it happened that an old fellow could so
forget himself. A reminiscence of my childhood was to blame for it.

"In the spring of 1770, a thirteen-year-old boy, I traveled with my
father in Italy. We went from Rome to Naples, where I had already played
twice in the conservatory and several times in other places.

"The nobility and clergy had shown us many attentions, but especially
attracted to us was a certain Abbe, who flattered himself that he was a
connoisseur, and who, moreover, had some influence at court. The day
before we left he conducted us, with some other acquaintances, into a
royal garden, the Villa Reale, situated upon a beautiful street, close
to the sea. A company of Sicilian comedians were performing there--'Sons
of Neptune' was one of the many names they gave themselves.

"With many distinguished spectators, among whom were the young and
lovely Queen Carolina and two princesses, we sat on benches ranged in
long rows in a gallery shaded with awnings, while the waves splashed
against the wall below. The many-colored sea reflected the glorious
heavens; directly before us rose Vesuvius; on the left gleamed the
gentle curve of the shore.

"The first part of the entertainment was rather uninteresting. A float
which lay on the water had served as a stage. But the second part
consisted of rowing, swimming, and diving, and every detail has always
remained fresh in my memory.

"From opposite sides of the water two graceful light boats approached
each other, bent, as it seemed, upon a pleasure-trip. The larger one,
gorgeously painted, with a gilded prow, was provided with a
quarter-deck, and had, besides the rowers' seats, a slender mast and a
sail. Five youths, ideally handsome, with bared shoulders and limbs,
were busy about the boat, or were amusing themselves with a like number
of maidens, their sweethearts. One of these, who was sitting in the
centre of the deck twining wreaths of flowers, was noticeable as well
for her beauty as for her dress. The others waited upon her, stretched
an awning to shield her from the sun, and passed her flowers from the
basket. One, a flute player, sat at her feet, and accompanied with her
clear tones the singing of the others. The beauty in the centre had her
own particular admirer; yet the pair seemed rather indifferent to each
other, and I thought the youth almost rude.

"Meanwhile the other boat had come nearer. It was more simply fashioned,
and carried youths only. The colors of the first boat were red, but the
crew of this one wore green. They stopped at sight of the others, nodded
greetings to the maidens, and made signs that they wished to become
better acquainted. Thereupon the liveliest of the girls took a rose from
her bosom, and roguishly held it on high, as if to ask whether such a
gift would be welcome. She was answered with enthusiasm. The red youths
looked on, sullen and contemptuous, but could not object when several of
the maidens proposed to throw to the poor strangers at least enough to
keep them from starving. A basket of oranges--probably only yellow
balls--stood on deck; and now began a charming display, accompanied by
music from the quay.

"One of the girls tossed from light fingers a couple of oranges; back
they came from fingers in the other boat, as light. On they went, back
and forth, and as one girl after another joined in the sport dozens of
oranges were soon flying through the air. Only one, the beauty in the
middle of the boat, took no part, except to look on, curiously, from
her comfortable couch. We could not sufficiently admire the skill on
both sides. The boats circled slowly about, turning now the prow, now
the sides, toward each other. There were about two dozen balls
continually in the air, yet they seemed many more, sometimes falling in
regular figures, sometimes rising high in lofty curves, almost never
going astray, but seeming to be attracted by some mysterious power in
the outstretched hands.

"The ear was quite as well entertained as the eye--with charming
melodies, Sicilian airs, dances, Saltorelli, _Canzoni a ballo_--a long
medley woven together like a garland. The youngest princess, an
impulsive little creature, about my own age, kept nodding her head in
time to the music. Her smile and her eyes with their long lashes I can
see to this day.

"Now let me briefly describe the rest of the entertainment, though it
has nothing to do with my affair in the garden. You could hardly imagine
anything prettier. The play with the balls gradually ceased, and then,
all of a sudden, one of the youths of the green colors drew out of the
water a net with which he seemed to have been playing. To the general
surprise, a huge shining fish lay in it. The boy's companions sprang to
seize it, but it slipped from their hands to the sea, as if it had
really been alive. This was only a ruse, however, to lure the red youths
from their boat; and they fell into the trap. They, as well as those of
the green, threw themselves into the water after the fish. So began a
lively and most amusing chase. At last the green swimmers, seeing their
opportunity, boarded the red boat, which now had only the maidens to
defend it. The noblest of the enemy, as handsome as a god, hastened
joyfully to the beautiful maiden, who received him with rapture,
heedless of the despairing shrieks of the others. All efforts of the red
to recover their boat were vain; they were beaten back with oars and
weapons. Their futile rage and struggles, the cries and prayers of the
maidens, the music--now changed in tone--the waters--all made a scene
beyond description, and the audience applauded wildly. Then suddenly the
sail was loosed, and out of it sprang to the bowsprit a rosy,
silver-winged boy, with bow and arrows and quiver; the oars began to
move, the sail filled, and the boat glided away, as if under the
guidance of the god, to a little island. Thither, after signals of truce
had been exchanged, the red youths hastened after boarding the deserted
boat. The unhappy maidens were released, but the fairest one of all
sailed away, of her own free will, with her lover. And that was the end
of the comedy."

"I think," whispered Eugenie to the Baron, in the pause that followed,
"that we had there a complete symphony in the true Mozart spirit. Am I
not right? Hasn't it just the grace of _Figaro_?"

But just as the Baron would have repeated this remark to Mozart, the
composer continued: "It is seventeen years since I was in Italy. But who
that has once seen Italy, Naples especially, even with the eyes of a
child, will ever forget it? Yet I have never recalled that last
beautiful day more vividly than today in your garden. When I closed my
eyes the last veil vanished, and I saw the lovely spot--sea and shore,
mountain and city, the gay throng of people, and the wonderful game of
ball. I seemed to hear the same music--a stream of joyful melodies, old
and new, strange and familiar, one after another. Presently a little
dance-song came along, in six-eighth measure, something quite new to me.
Hold on, I thought, that is a devilishly cute little tune! I listened
more closely. Good Heavens! That is Masetto, that is Zerlina!" He smiled
and nodded at Madame Mozart, who guessed what was coming.

"It was this way," he went on; "there was a little, simple number of my
first act unfinished--the duet and chorus of a country wedding. Two
months ago, when in composing my score I came to this number, the right
theme did not present itself at the first attempt. It should be a simple
child-like melody, sparkling with joy--a fresh bunch of flowers tucked
in among a maiden's fluttering ribbons. So, because one should not
force such a thing, and because such trifles often come of themselves, I
left that number, and was so engrossed in the rest of the work that I
almost forgot it. Today, while we were driving along, just outside the
village, the text came into my head; but I cannot remember that I
thought much about it. Yet, only an hour later, in the arbor by the
fountain, I caught just the right _motif_, more happily than I could
have found it in any other way, at any other time. An artist has strange
experiences now and then, but such a thing never happened to me be fore.
For to find a melody exactly fitted to the verse--but I must not
anticipate. The bird had only his head out of the shell, and I proceeded
to pull off the rest of it! Meantime Zerlina's dance floated before my
eyes, and, somehow, too, the view on the Gulf of Naples. I heard the
voices of the bridal couple, and the chorus of peasants, men and girls."
Here Mozart gayly hummed the beginning of the song. "Meantime my hands
had done the mischief, Nemesis was lurking near, and suddenly appeared
in the shape of the dreadful man in livery. Had an eruption of Vesuvius
suddenly destroyed and buried with its rain of ashes audience and
actors, the whole majesty of Parthenope, on that heavenly day by the
sea, I could not have been more surprised or horrified. The fiend!
People do not easily make me so hot! His face was as hard as bronze--and
very like the terrible Emperor Tiberius, too! If the servant looks like
that, thought I, what must His Grace the Count be! But to tell the truth
I counted--and not without reason--on the protection of the ladies. For
I overheard the fat hostess of the inn telling my wife, Constanze there,
who is somewhat curious in disposition, all the most interesting facts
about the family, and so I knew--"

Here Madame Mozart had to interrupt him and give them most positive
assurance that he was the one who asked the questions, and a lively and
amusing discussion followed.

"However that may be," he said at last, "I heard something about a
favorite foster-daughter who, besides being beautiful, was goodness
itself, and sang like an angel. '_Per Dio_!' I said to myself, as I
remembered that, 'that will help you out of your scrape! Sit down and
write out the song as far as you can, explain your behavior truthfully,
and they will think it all a good joke.' No sooner said than done! I had
time enough, and found a blank piece of paper--and here is the result! I
place it in these fair hands, an impromptu wedding-song, if you will
accept it!"

He held out the neatly written manuscript toward Eugenie, but the Count
anticipated her, and quickly taking it himself, said: "Have patience a
moment longer, my dear!"

At his signal the folding-doors of the salon opened, and servants
appeared, bringing in the fateful orange-tree, which they put at the
foot of the table, placing on each side a slender myrtle-tree. An
inscription fastened to the orange-tree proclaimed it the property of
Eugenie; but in front of it, upon a porcelain plate, was seen, as the
napkin which covered it was lifted, an orange, cut in pieces, and beside
it the count placed Mozart's autograph note.

"I believe," said the Countess, after the mirth had subsided, "that
Eugenie does not know what that tree really is. She does not recognize
her old friend with all its fruit and blossoms."

Incredulous, Eugenie looked first at the tree, then at her uncle. "It
isn't possible," she said; "I knew very well that it couldn't be saved."

"And so you think that we have found another to take its place? That
would have been worth while! No! I shall have to do as they do in the
play, when the long-lost son or brother proves his identity by his moles
and scars! Look at that knot, and at this crack, which you must have
noticed a hundred times. Is it your tree or isn't it?"