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This book is a historical novel, and by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. Historical - because Mozart's life is closely intertwined with historical events time, and therefore this book is also the history of his time. A novel - because in creating images and developing action the author resorted to the means of artistic prose. However, this work is in no way a flight of fancy.
All external circumstances in it are genuine. Streets, houses, palaces, cities, furniture, clothing - the entire life of the second half of the eighteenth century - are described as they were during Mozart's life.
Events develop in strict chronological order. The striking coincidences found in the novel are by no means the author’s imagination; they happened in reality. Not a single fact has been manipulated by the author. None love stories not invented for the sake of interest. All Mozart's works mentioned in the book correspond exactly to the dates indicated in Köchel's thematic catalogue. The author provides many documents, and all of them are reliable. All the people the reader will meet lived in reality. The narrative never goes beyond the historical facts.
Mozart's life is thoroughly documented. Many contemporaries have left us their memories of him, since he became a celebrity from the age of six. The list of literature about Mozart is huge; almost all the facts of his life are well known. Extensive correspondence between Mozart and his father has been preserved - a magnificent chronicle of their century, the places they visited, the moods that owned people at that time, and therefore the world of the Mozarts is often shown through the prism of their own impressions.
And yet, there are blind spots in Mozart’s biography - this also applies to his thoughts and feelings; and, wanting to fill these gaps as much as possible, the author decided that the best form for the life of Mozart would be the historical novel. It was necessary to recreate the power of imagination and motivate various situations and statements accordingly, Mozart lived a tumultuous life; it had everything: risky adventures, persistent struggle, ups and downs - it seemed destined for a novel. But even in those cases when this or that event was created by the author’s imagination and interpreted by him in his own way, it always corresponds to the image of the hero and is historically plausible, in other words, even if any event did not take place in reality, something like this is quite could have happened.
Thanks to the extensive correspondence between Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart, we know their manner of expressing their thoughts; the author tried to preserve it as much as possible, avoiding, however, archaisms. In addition, Wolfgang, who was very sharp-tongued, was often quoted by his contemporaries, and therefore, wherever possible, his original words are given. And although it would be arrogance to consider oneself capable of revealing the whole truth, the indisputable and only truth about Mozart, the author still believes that this work will shed New World on his life, on his character, his thoughts and feelings.
This book is the fruit of a lifetime. The author tried to write about Mozart the way Mozart himself wrote his works - extremely simply and clearly; I tried to portray him without prejudice, without timidity and flattery, as he was. Mozart's music is what inspired the author to work on the book all these years. And if the stormy and vain existence of the entire human race can find justification in the works of one person, then Mozart, undoubtedly, was such a person.
David Weiss
New York, November 1967
EPITHAPH TO W. A. MOZART
He believed in Something
What doesn't have a name
And there are no words to explain it.
He managed to say this with music.
When he died,
Only his physical appearance was taken away.
They said he couldn't be identified
And the corpse was buried in a common grave.
But we choose to believe
That he was never buried
Because he never died.
Listen.
Staymin Karpen, Translation by D. Samoilov.
Part one. BIRTH.
- This one is completely different!
In fact, Leopold Mozart, looking at his newborn son, wanted to say: “This one will be different,” but he was afraid that such arrogance could be considered disobedience to the will of God. And yet he repeated, turning more to himself: “This one is completely different.” "As if he had to convince only himself. The words, repeated twice, encouraged him for some time. He even reconciled himself with the wretched, cramped and low bedroom on the third floor of house number nine in Getreidegasse.
At the moment the baby was born, Anna Maria Mozart wanted to know only one thing: whether the child would live. After all, so many children died - five out of six, she thought with horror, from which even faith in God’s providence could not save her.
The midwife, who had received the baby a minute ago, held him in her hands indecisively, as if not knowing what to do next. Yet she was the best midwife in Salzburg, which is why Leopold hired her. In this city, only midwives can be sure of the future, he thought sadly; They actually earn more than musicians.
The baby did not move, and Leopold became afraid. Does it ever happen that a newborn is silent? All normal babies cry. Leopold Mozart himself was proud of his good health. At thirty-six years old, he, like the rest of the musicians at the court of the Archbishop of Salzburg Schrattenbach, was busy beyond his head. As an assistant bandmaster, Leopold gave music lessons, taught a boys' choir, played violin in the court orchestra and was a court composer, but with sudden horror he thought: if the baby dies, life will lose all meaning. Anna Maria's health has already been undermined by frequent childbirth; there is nothing more to think about. True, Nannerl, who was not even five, was already learning to play the harpsichord, but she is a girl...
The midwife, suddenly realizing that the baby was still not breathing, gave him a resounding slap, and the child screamed.
Never before had Leopold heard such a desired sound. For him, the cry was sweeter than music, and he thanked God for this sign of life.
“No, just look, he’s some kind of freak,” said the midwife, looking at the boy in the light of the lamp.
He really is all wrinkled and red, and his skin is flabby, Leopold thought, but calling his son a freak is no, that’s too much.
- And yet you are lucky. No damage. Even the head is not dented.
– Give it to me, Mrs. Albrecht.
With trembling hands, Leopold took his son and gently pressed him to him. The baby stopped screaming, as if warmed by his father's affection.
Anna Maria said:
- He looks so weak.
- Small, not weak. This one will live.
“Yes,” confirmed the midwife. - Thank God, I finally gave birth.
With a sigh of relief, Anna Maria leaned back on the pillows. During the long hours of labor pains, it seemed to her more than once that she would not endure the suffering and would die. Her whole body was drenched in sweat, even though snow covered the ground and it was January. But now the bed has ceased to be a bed of torture. The excitement disappeared from Leopold's face, and Anna Maria also calmed down. She felt under her pillow for a hand mirror. What does she look like after her seventh birth - exhausted and aged or renewed and prettier? She studied her face in the mirror. Neither one nor the other, the face did not change at all, and this disappointed her. If she had gotten better, she could have enjoyed the victory won at such a high price, otherwise she could have wallowed in self-pity. Anna Maria felt deceived and put the mirror back under the pillows. When she and Leopold got married, they were considered almost the most beautiful couple in Salzburg, but that was so long ago, since then every year has been marked by pregnancy and another failure, with the exception of Nannerl and, perhaps, this baby. But Leopold has hardly changed, Anna Maria thought. The same regular facial features, a sharp, protruding chin and dark gray eyes are lively and penetrating. How proud Leopold, who is not without vanity, must be that he has a son!
David Weiss
Sublime and earthly
Dedicated to John Willey
This book is a historical novel, and by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. Historical - because Mozart's life is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time, and therefore this book is also the history of his time. A novel - because in creating images and developing action the author resorted to the means of artistic prose. However, this work is in no way a flight of fancy.
All external circumstances in it are genuine. Streets, houses, palaces, cities, furniture, clothing - the entire life of the second half of the eighteenth century - are described as they were during Mozart's life.
Events develop in strict chronological order. The striking coincidences found in the novel are by no means the author’s imagination; they happened in reality. Not a single fact has been manipulated by the author. Not a single love story is invented for the sake of interest. All Mozart's works mentioned in the book correspond exactly to the dates indicated in Köchel's thematic catalogue. The author provides many documents, and all of them are reliable. All the people with whom the reader will become acquainted lived in reality. The narrative never goes beyond the historical facts.
Mozart's life is thoroughly documented. Many contemporaries have left us their memories of him, since he became a celebrity from the age of six. The list of literature about Mozart is huge; almost all the facts of his life are well known. Extensive correspondence between Mozart and his father has been preserved - a magnificent chronicle of their century, the places they visited, the moods that owned people at that time, and therefore the world of the Mozarts is often shown through the prism of their own impressions.
And yet, there are blind spots in Mozart’s biography - this also applies to his thoughts and feelings; and, wanting to fill these gaps as much as possible, the author decided that the best form for the life of Mozart would be the historical novel. It was necessary to recreate the power of imagination and motivate various situations and statements accordingly, Mozart lived a tumultuous life; it had everything: risky adventures, persistent struggle, ups and downs - it seemed destined for a novel. But even in those cases when this or that event was created by the author’s imagination and interpreted by him in his own way, it always corresponds to the image of the hero and is historically plausible, in other words, even if any event did not take place in reality, something like this is quite could have happened.
Thanks to the extensive correspondence between Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart, we know their manner of expressing their thoughts; the author tried to preserve it as much as possible, avoiding, however, archaisms. In addition, Wolfgang, who was very sharp-tongued, was often quoted by his contemporaries, and therefore, wherever possible, his original words are given. And although it would be arrogance to consider oneself capable of revealing the whole truth, the indisputable and only truth about Mozart, the author still believes that this work will shed new light on his life, on his character, his thoughts and feelings.
This book is the fruit of a lifetime. The author tried to write about Mozart the way Mozart himself wrote his works - extremely simply and clearly; I tried to portray him without prejudice, without timidity and flattery, as he was. Mozart's music is what inspired the author to work on the book all these years. And if the stormy and vain existence of the entire human race can find justification in the works of one person, then Mozart, undoubtedly, was such a person.
David Weiss
New York, November 1967
EPITHAPH TO W. A. MOZART Mozart lives hereHe believed in SomethingWhat doesn't have a nameAnd there are no words to explain it.He managed to say this with music. When he died, Only his physical appearance was taken away.They said he couldn't be identifiedAnd the corpse was buried in a common grave.But we choose to believeThat he was never buriedBecause he never died. Listen.
Staymin Karpen, Translation by D. Samoilov.
Part one. BIRTH.
- This one is completely different!
In fact, Leopold Mozart, looking at his newborn son, wanted to say: “This one will be different,” but he was afraid that such arrogance could be considered disobedience to the will of God. And yet he repeated, turning more to himself: “This one is completely different.” "As if he had to convince only himself. The words, repeated twice, encouraged him for some time. He even reconciled himself with the wretched, cramped and low bedroom on the third floor of house number nine in Getreidegasse.
At the moment the baby was born, Anna Maria Mozart wanted to know only one thing: whether the child would live. After all, so many children died - five out of six, she thought with horror, from which even faith in God’s providence could not save her.
The midwife, who had received the baby a minute ago, held him in her hands indecisively, as if not knowing what to do next. Yet she was the best midwife in Salzburg, which is why Leopold hired her. In this city, only midwives can be sure of the future, he thought sadly; They actually earn more than musicians.
The baby did not move, and Leopold became afraid. Does it ever happen that a newborn is silent? All normal babies cry. Leopold Mozart himself was proud of his good health. At thirty-six years old, he, like the rest of the musicians at the court of the Archbishop of Salzburg Schrattenbach, was busy beyond his head. As an assistant bandmaster, Leopold gave music lessons, taught a boys' choir, played violin in the court orchestra and was a court composer, but with sudden horror he thought: if the baby dies, life will lose all meaning. Anna Maria's health has already been undermined by frequent childbirth; there is nothing more to think about. True, Nannerl, who was not even five, was already learning to play the harpsichord, but she is a girl...
The midwife, suddenly realizing that the baby was still not breathing, gave him a resounding slap, and the child screamed.
Never before had Leopold heard such a desired sound. For him, the cry was sweeter than music, and he thanked God for this sign of life.
“No, just look, he’s some kind of freak,” said the midwife, looking at the boy in the light of the lamp.
He really is all wrinkled and red, and his skin is flabby, Leopold thought, but calling his son a freak is no, that’s too much.
- And yet you are lucky. No damage. Even the head is not dented.
– Give it to me, Mrs. Albrecht.
With trembling hands, Leopold took his son and gently pressed him to him. The baby stopped screaming, as if warmed by his father's affection.
Anna Maria said:
- He looks so weak.
- Small, not weak. This one will live.
“Yes,” confirmed the midwife. - Thank God, I finally gave birth.
With a sigh of relief, Anna Maria leaned back on the pillows. During the long hours of labor pains, it seemed to her more than once that she would not endure the suffering and would die. Her whole body was drenched in sweat, even though snow covered the ground and it was January. But now the bed has ceased to be a bed of torture. The excitement disappeared from Leopold's face, and Anna Maria also calmed down. She felt under her pillow for a hand mirror. What does she look like after her seventh birth - exhausted and aged or renewed and prettier? She studied her face in the mirror. Neither one nor the other, the face did not change at all, and this disappointed her. If she had gotten better, she could have enjoyed the victory won at such a high price, otherwise she could have wallowed in self-pity. Anna Maria felt deceived and put the mirror back under the pillows. When she and Leopold got married, they were considered almost the most beautiful couple in Salzburg, but that was so long ago, since then every year has been marked by pregnancy and another failure, with the exception of Nannerl and, perhaps, this baby. But Leopold has hardly changed, Anna Maria thought. The same regular facial features, a sharp, protruding chin and dark gray eyes are lively and penetrating. How proud Leopold, who is not without vanity, must be that he has a son!
David Weiss
Sublime and earthly
Dedicated to John Willey
This book is a historical novel, and by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. Historical - because Mozart's life is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time, and therefore this book is also the history of his time. A novel - because in creating images and developing action the author resorted to the means of artistic prose. However, this work is in no way a flight of fancy.
All external circumstances in it are genuine. Streets, houses, palaces, cities, furniture, clothing - the entire life of the second half of the eighteenth century - are described as they were during Mozart's life.
Events develop in strict chronological order. The striking coincidences found in the novel are by no means the author’s imagination; they happened in reality. Not a single fact has been manipulated by the author. Not a single love story is invented for the sake of interest. All Mozart's works mentioned in the book correspond exactly to the dates indicated in Köchel's thematic catalogue. The author provides many documents, and all of them are reliable. All the people with whom the reader will become acquainted lived in reality. The narrative never goes beyond the historical facts.
Mozart's life is thoroughly documented. Many contemporaries have left us their memories of him, since he became a celebrity from the age of six. The list of literature about Mozart is huge; almost all the facts of his life are well known. Extensive correspondence between Mozart and his father has been preserved - a magnificent chronicle of their century, the places they visited, the moods that owned people at that time, and therefore the world of the Mozarts is often shown through the prism of their own impressions.
And yet, there are blind spots in Mozart’s biography - this also applies to his thoughts and feelings; and, wanting to fill these gaps as much as possible, the author decided that the best form for the life of Mozart would be the historical novel. It was necessary to recreate the power of imagination and motivate various situations and statements accordingly, Mozart lived a tumultuous life; it had everything: risky adventures, persistent struggle, ups and downs - it seemed destined for a novel. But even in those cases when this or that event was created by the author’s imagination and interpreted by him in his own way, it always corresponds to the image of the hero and is historically plausible, in other words, even if any event did not take place in reality, something like this is quite could have happened.
Thanks to the extensive correspondence between Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart, we know their manner of expressing their thoughts; the author tried to preserve it as much as possible, avoiding, however, archaisms. In addition, Wolfgang, who was very sharp-tongued, was often quoted by his contemporaries, and therefore, wherever possible, his original words are given. And although it would be arrogance to consider oneself capable of revealing the whole truth, the indisputable and only truth about Mozart, the author still believes that this work will shed new light on his life, on his character, his thoughts and feelings.
This book is the fruit of a lifetime. The author tried to write about Mozart the way Mozart himself wrote his works - extremely simply and clearly; I tried to portray him without prejudice, without timidity and flattery, as he was. Mozart's music is what inspired the author to work on the book all these years. And if the stormy and vain existence of the entire human race can find justification in the works of one person, then Mozart, undoubtedly, was such a person.
David Weiss
New York, November 1967
EPITHAPH TO W. A. MOZART
Mozart lives here
He believed in Something
What doesn't have a name
And there are no words to explain it.
He managed to say this with music.
When he died,
Only his physical appearance was taken away.
They said he couldn't be identified
And the corpse was buried in a common grave.
But we choose to believe
That he was never buried
Because he never died.
Listen.
Staymin Karpen, Translation by D. Samoilov.
Part one. BIRTH.
- This one is completely different!
In fact, Leopold Mozart, looking at his newborn son, wanted to say: “This one will be different,” but he was afraid that such arrogance could be considered disobedience to the will of God. And yet he repeated, turning more to himself: “This one is completely different.” "As if he had to convince only himself. The words, repeated twice, encouraged him for some time. He even reconciled himself with the wretched, cramped and low bedroom on the third floor of house number nine in Getreidegasse.
At the moment the baby was born, Anna Maria Mozart wanted to know only one thing: whether the child would live. After all, so many children died - five out of six, she thought with horror, from which even faith in God’s providence could not save her.
The midwife, who had received the baby a minute ago, held him in her hands indecisively, as if not knowing what to do next. Yet she was the best midwife in Salzburg, which is why Leopold hired her. In this city, only midwives can be sure of the future, he thought sadly; They actually earn more than musicians.
The baby did not move, and Leopold became afraid. Does it ever happen that a newborn is silent? All normal babies cry. Leopold Mozart himself was proud of his good health. At thirty-six years old, he, like the rest of the musicians at the court of the Archbishop of Salzburg Schrattenbach, was busy beyond his head. As an assistant bandmaster, Leopold gave music lessons, taught a boys' choir, played violin in the court orchestra and was a court composer, but with sudden horror he thought: if the baby dies, life will lose all meaning. Anna Maria's health has already been undermined by frequent childbirth; there is nothing more to think about. True, Nannerl, who was not even five, was already learning to play the harpsichord, but she is a girl...
The midwife, suddenly realizing that the baby was still not breathing, gave him a resounding slap, and the child screamed.
Never before had Leopold heard such a desired sound. For him, the cry was sweeter than music, and he thanked God for this sign of life.
“No, just look, he’s some kind of freak,” said the midwife, looking at the boy in the light of the lamp.
He really is all wrinkled and red, and his skin is flabby, Leopold thought, but calling his son a freak is no, that’s too much.
- And yet you are lucky. No damage. Even the head is not dented.
David Weiss
Sublime and earthly
David Weiss
Sublime and earthly
Dedicated to John Willey
This book is a historical novel, and by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. Historical - because Mozart's life is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time, and therefore this book is also the history of his time. A novel - because in creating images and developing action the author resorted to the means of artistic prose. However, this work is in no way a flight of fancy.
All external circumstances in it are genuine. Streets, houses, palaces, cities, furniture, clothing - the entire life of the second half of the eighteenth century - are described as they were during Mozart's life.
Events develop in strict chronological order. The striking coincidences found in the novel are by no means the author’s imagination; they happened in reality. Not a single fact has been manipulated by the author. Not a single love story is invented for the sake of interest. All Mozart's works mentioned in the book correspond exactly to the dates indicated in Köchel's thematic catalogue. The author provides many documents, and all of them are reliable. All the people with whom the reader will become acquainted lived in reality. The narrative never goes beyond the historical facts.
Mozart's life is thoroughly documented. Many contemporaries have left us their memories of him, since he became a celebrity from the age of six. The list of literature about Mozart is huge; almost all the facts of his life are well known. Extensive correspondence between Mozart and his father has been preserved - a magnificent chronicle of their century, the places they visited, the moods that owned people at that time, and therefore the world of the Mozarts is often shown through the prism of their own impressions.
And yet, there are blind spots in Mozart’s biography - this also applies to his thoughts and feelings; and, wanting to fill these gaps as much as possible, the author decided that the best form for the life of Mozart would be the historical novel. It was necessary to recreate the power of imagination and motivate various situations and statements accordingly, Mozart lived a tumultuous life; it had everything: risky adventures, persistent struggle, ups and downs - it seemed destined for a novel. But even in those cases when this or that event was created by the author’s imagination and interpreted by him in his own way, it always corresponds to the image of the hero and is historically plausible, in other words, even if any event did not take place in reality, something like this is quite could have happened.
Thanks to the extensive correspondence between Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart, we know their manner of expressing their thoughts; the author tried to preserve it as much as possible, avoiding, however, archaisms. In addition, Wolfgang, who was very sharp-tongued, was often quoted by his contemporaries, and therefore, wherever possible, his original words are given. And although it would be arrogance to consider oneself capable of revealing the whole truth, the indisputable and only truth about Mozart, the author still believes that this work will shed new light on his life, on his character, his thoughts and feelings.
This book is the fruit of a lifetime. The author tried to write about Mozart the way Mozart himself wrote his works - extremely simply and clearly; I tried to portray him without prejudice, without timidity and flattery, as he was. Mozart's music is what inspired the author to work on the book all these years. And if the stormy and vain existence of the entire human race can find justification in the works of one person, then Mozart, undoubtedly, was such a person.
David Weiss
New York, November 1967
EPITHAPH TO W. A. MOZART
Mozart lives here
He believed in Something
What doesn't have a name
And there are no words to explain it.
He managed to say this with music.
When he died,
Only his physical appearance was taken away.
They said he couldn't be identified
And the corpse was buried in a common grave.
But we choose to believe
That he was never buried
Because he never died.
Listen.
Staymin Karpen, Translation by D. Samoilov.
Part one. BIRTH.
- This one is completely different!
In fact, Leopold Mozart, looking at his newborn son, wanted to say: “This one will be different,” but he was afraid that such arrogance could be considered disobedience to the will of God. And yet he repeated, turning more to himself: “This one is completely different.” "As if he had to convince only himself. The words, repeated twice, encouraged him for some time. He even reconciled himself with the wretched, cramped and low bedroom on the third floor of house number nine in Getreidegasse.
At the moment the baby was born, Anna Maria Mozart wanted to know only one thing: whether the child would live. After all, so many children died - five out of six, she thought with horror, from which even faith in God’s providence could not save her.
The midwife, who had received the baby a minute ago, held him in her hands indecisively, as if not knowing what to do next. Yet she was the best midwife in Salzburg, which is why Leopold hired her. In this city, only midwives can be sure of the future, he thought sadly; They actually earn more than musicians.
The baby did not move, and Leopold became afraid. Does it ever happen that a newborn is silent? All normal babies cry. Leopold Mozart himself was proud of his good health. At thirty-six years old, he, like the rest of the musicians at the court of the Archbishop of Salzburg Schrattenbach, was busy beyond his head. As an assistant bandmaster, Leopold gave music lessons, taught a boys' choir, played violin in the court orchestra and was a court composer, but with sudden horror he thought: if the baby dies, life will lose all meaning. Anna Maria's health has already been undermined by frequent childbirth; there is nothing more to think about. True, Nannerl, who was not even five, was already learning to play the harpsichord, but she is a girl...
The midwife, suddenly realizing that the baby was still not breathing, gave him a resounding slap, and the child screamed.
Never before had Leopold heard such a desired sound. For him, the cry was sweeter than music, and he thanked God for this sign of life.
“No, just look, he’s some kind of freak,” said the midwife, looking at the boy in the light of the lamp.
He really is all wrinkled and red, and his skin is flabby, Leopold thought, but calling his son a freak is no, that’s too much.
- And yet you are lucky. No damage. Even the head is not dented.
– Give it to me, Mrs. Albrecht.
With trembling hands, Leopold took his son and gently pressed him to him. The baby stopped screaming, as if warmed by his father's affection.
Anna Maria said:
- He looks so weak.
- Small, not weak. This one will live.
“Yes,” confirmed the midwife. - Thank God, I finally gave birth.
With a sigh of relief, Anna Maria leaned back on the pillows. During the long hours of labor pains, it seemed to her more than once that she would not endure the suffering and would die. Her whole body was drenched in sweat, even though snow covered the ground and it was January. But now the bed has ceased to be a bed of torture. The excitement disappeared from Leopold's face, and Anna Maria also calmed down. She felt under her pillow for a hand mirror. What does she look like after her seventh birth - exhausted and aged or renewed and prettier? She studied her face in the mirror. Neither one nor the other, the face did not change at all, and this disappointed her. If she had gotten better, she could have enjoyed the victory won at such a high price, otherwise she could have wallowed in self-pity. Anna Maria felt deceived and put the mirror back under the pillows. When she and Leopold got married, they were considered almost the most beautiful couple in Salzburg, but that was so long ago, since then every year has been marked by pregnancy and another failure, with the exception of Nannerl and, perhaps, this baby. But Leopold has hardly changed, Anna Maria thought. The same regular facial features, a sharp, protruding chin and dark gray eyes are lively and penetrating. How proud Leopold, who is not without vanity, must be that he has a son!
“For such an occasion I will compose a mass,” said Leopold.
– Will the archbishop allow it? – Anna Maria doubted.
– In honor of my own son?! Well, of course! And then I will compose a mass in honor of his lordship.
– Give me the child, Leopold.
He carefully placed the baby in her arms, kissed her tenderly and turned to the window overlooking the narrow backyard. Every time he saw a strip of sky brightening outside the window, he felt like a prisoner and became irritated. He was taught to accept the world as it was, and yet some things were difficult to accept. If we remember that his father was a modest bookbinder - in Augsburg and that before him there were no musicians in the family, he rose unusually high, but there were times when Leopold Mozart doubted whether he would ever receive the position of conductor - the Italian was too great dominance in Salzburg. The bedroom suddenly seemed offensively squalid to him. The creaky plank floors and poor lighting became hateful.
Anna Maria, noticing that her husband suddenly became gloomy, became upset.
– Leopold, are you offended by me? – she whispered.
- For what?
“You deserve to become a bandmaster.” Archbishop Schrattenbach treats you with respect. You do your job perfectly.
Anna Maria is too kind, he thought bitterly, she expects only good from all people, even from the prince-archbishop, but he himself is not so naive. Some people have no problem bending their backs in front of anyone, but for him it’s real torture. Leopold was a zealous Catholic, but he loved few clergy; he was a sincere supporter of Archbishop Schrattenbach and Empress Maria Theresa, but he was outraged by their preference for Italian musicians. He lived for music, but they also claimed that they loved music - but did that change anything for his son? Even if you were a genius, the world was created for the needs of aristocrats and the clergy. The houses of the local nobility and church dignitaries were located near the Archbishop's Residence, the cathedral where Leopold served, and other churches grouped around the cathedral.
Leopold knew them all: the churches of St. Michael, St. Peter, St. Cayetana, St. Erhard, the Franciscan Church and finally the University Church behind their house. Aristocrats knew where power and strength were. They called this tight group of buildings the "Sovereign City" and considered anyone who lived outside its borders to be an outsider. Even the part of Salzburg where the Mozarts lived - albeit on the same side of the Salzach River - was disparagingly called the "City of the Burghers", and no aristocracy or church dignitary would deign to settle on one of its narrow, winding, dark streets.
And the apartment they rented was not very comfortable, no matter what the owner of the house, Lorenz Hagenauer, said. Hagenauer, who occupied the first and second floors, often reminded Leopold that no musician in Salzburg had such a good apartment. However, climbing to the third floor is not so easy - the dirty stone staircase was cold and dark, and the kitchen with an open fireplace was so ancient and primitive that Leopold Mozart sometimes felt like a downright cave dweller.
Leopold went into the living room. He asked his friend, Doctor Barizani, to be present at the birth, but the doctor never showed up, and Leopold doubted whether he would come at all, because only aristocrats could count on such services. His annoyance increased when he looked out of the window onto Lochelplatz in the hope of seeing the belated doctor there. The small square was dark, like a crypt.
The baby behaved so quietly that Leopold's heart ached with worry for him. It will be a miracle if the child survives. And then suddenly there were footsteps.
Sylvester Barizani approached the Mozarts with reluctance. Of course, Leopold is his friend, but good chamber music is such a rarity in Salzburg, and the archbishop might have been offended if he left without finishing the concert. He already did Leopold a favor by agreeing to come, because in Salzburg all children, with the exception of those of the nobility, were taken in by midwives. In addition, Dr. Barizani believed that no matter what efforts the doctor makes, the life or death of a child is a matter of chance. And yet, a semblance of a smile appeared on the doctor’s long, sad face when he congratulated the couple on the birth of their son.
Leopold asked:
– Do you think he will survive? Does he have the opportunity?
- The same as everyone else. “The doctor felt the high tiled floor in the bedroom to see if it was warm, glanced at the windows, and made sure that the room was well ventilated. And only Leopold’s persistence forced him to turn to the baby.
- So how? – Leopold asked, again overcome with anxiety: the doctor looked too worried.
– I already said, he has the same opportunity as others,
– Do you think he can still die?
“We can all die—at any moment.”
- Of course. But our children are dying terribly.
– The child is not large, maybe a little weak, but, in general, as I said...
Leopold changed the subject:
– Was the concert successful?
Your absence was felt. The archbishop believes that Bruietti is playing poorly.
“Apparently you want to say, Mister Doctor, that this time his lordship could not complain that the performance was too German,” Leopold remarked sarcastically, “and therefore barbaric?”
– His Lordship said that the performance was Salzburg and even worse.
– Was he unhappy with my absence?
- Perhaps. You know he likes music to be played properly.
Anna Maria, seeing that everything was gradually being settled, perked up.
“Doctor, you should try what wonderful pies our Teresa makes,” she said.
While Teresa, the Mozarts' elderly maid, was setting the table, Leopold drew the doctor's attention to the fact that the baby had the fingers of a musician.
“He has the most ordinary fingers,” answered Doctor Barizani.
But Leopold continued to examine the baby’s fingers, as if they contained some kind of life of their own.
The next day, Leopold baptized the child in the cathedral. For this cathedral, the center of Salzburg's musical life, he wrote several significant pieces that were performed during the liturgy. The cathedral, with its majestic twin towers, baroque splendor and famous organ, was his second home. It was piercingly cold outside, but the presence of friends warmed Leopold. The baptism ceremony went smoothly, and little by little his gloomy apprehensions dissipated. He proudly wrote in the church register: “Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, born January 27, 1756. Father: Johann Georg Leopold Mozart, born November 14, 1719 in the city of Augsburg.
Mother: Anna Maria Pertl Mozart, born December 25
1720 in the city of St. Gilgepe.
Sister: Maria Anna Walburga Mozart, born July 30, 1751 in the city of Salzburg."
1
"The Sublime and the Earthly" is a novel about the life of Mozart and his times. This is by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. This is a historical novel, historical - because Mozart's life is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time. A novel - because in creating images and developing action, the author resorted to the means of artistic prose.
David Weiss
Sublime and earthly
Dedicated to John Willey
FROM THE AUTHOR'S FOREWORD TO THE LONDON EDITION
This book is a historical novel, and by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. Historical - because Mozart's life is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time, and therefore this book is also the history of his time. A novel - because in creating images and developing action the author resorted to the means of artistic prose. However, this work is in no way a flight of fancy.
All external circumstances in it are genuine. Streets, houses, palaces, cities, furniture, clothing - the entire life of the second half of the eighteenth century - are described as they were during Mozart's life.
Events develop in strict chronological order. The striking coincidences found in the novel are by no means the author’s imagination; they happened in reality. Not a single fact has been manipulated by the author. Not a single love story is invented for the sake of interest. All Mozart's works mentioned in the book correspond exactly to the dates indicated in Köchel's thematic catalogue. The author provides many documents, and all of them are reliable. All the people with whom the reader will become acquainted lived in reality. The narrative never goes beyond the historical facts.
Mozart's life is thoroughly documented. Many contemporaries have left us their memories of him, since he became a celebrity from the age of six. The list of literature about Mozart is huge; almost all the facts of his life are well known. Extensive correspondence between Mozart and his father has been preserved - a magnificent chronicle of their century, the places they visited, the moods that owned people at that time, and therefore the world of the Mozarts is often shown through the prism of their own impressions.
And yet, there are blind spots in Mozart’s biography - this also applies to his thoughts and feelings; and, wanting to fill these gaps as much as possible, the author decided that the best form for the life of Mozart would be the historical novel. It was necessary to recreate the power of imagination and motivate various situations and statements accordingly, Mozart lived a tumultuous life; it had everything: risky adventures, persistent struggle, ups and downs - it seemed destined for a novel. But even in those cases when this or that event was created by the author’s imagination and interpreted by him in his own way, it always corresponds to the image of the hero and is historically plausible, in other words, even if any event did not take place in reality, something like this is quite could have happened.
Thanks to the extensive correspondence between Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart, we know their manner of expressing their thoughts; the author tried to preserve it as much as possible, avoiding, however, archaisms. In addition, Wolfgang, who was very sharp-tongued, was often quoted by his contemporaries, and therefore, wherever possible, his original words are given. And although it would be arrogance to consider oneself capable of revealing the whole truth, the indisputable and only truth about Mozart, the author still believes that this work will shed new light on his life, on his character, his thoughts and feelings.
This book is the fruit of a lifetime. The author tried to write about Mozart the way Mozart himself wrote his works - extremely simply and clearly; I tried to portray him without prejudice, without timidity and flattery, as he was. Mozart's music is what inspired the author to work on the book all these years. And if the stormy and vain existence of the entire human race can find justification in the works of one person, then Mozart, undoubtedly, was such a person.
David Weiss
New York, November 1967
EPITHAPH TO W. A. MOZART
Mozart lives here
He believed in Something
What doesn't have a name
And there are no words to explain it.
He managed to say this with music.
When he died,
Only his physical appearance was taken away.
They said he couldn't be identified
And the corpse was buried in a common grave.
But we choose to believe
That he was never buried
Because he never died.
Listen.Staymin Karpen, Translation by D. Samoilov.
Part one. BIRTH.
1
- This one is completely different!
In fact, Leopold Mozart, looking at his newborn son, wanted to say: “This one will be different,” but he was afraid that such arrogance could be considered disobedience to the will of God. And yet he repeated, turning more to himself: “This one is completely different.” As if I had to convince myself alone. The words, repeated twice, encouraged him for a while. He even reconciled himself to the wretched, cramped and low bedroom on the third floor of house number nine Getreidegasse.
At the moment the baby was born, Anna Maria Mozart wanted to know only one thing: whether the child would live. After all, so many children died - five out of six, she thought with horror, from which even faith in God’s providence could not save her.
The midwife, who had received the baby a minute ago, held him in her hands indecisively, as if not knowing what to do next. Yet she was the best midwife in Salzburg, which is why Leopold hired her. In this city, only midwives can be sure of the future, he thought sadly; They actually earn more than musicians.
The baby did not move, and Leopold became afraid. Does it ever happen that a newborn is silent? All normal babies cry. Leopold Mozart himself was proud of his good health. At thirty-six years old, he, like the rest of the musicians at the court of the Archbishop of Salzburg Schrattenbach, was busy beyond his head. As an assistant bandmaster, Leopold gave music lessons, taught a boys' choir, played violin in the court orchestra and was a court composer, but with sudden horror he thought: if the baby dies, life will lose all meaning. Anna Maria's health has already been undermined by frequent childbirth; there is nothing more to think about. True, Nannerl, who was not even five, was already learning to play the harpsichord, but she is a girl...
The midwife, suddenly realizing that the baby was still not breathing, gave him a resounding slap, and the child screamed.
Never before had Leopold heard such a desired sound. For him, the cry was sweeter than music, and he thanked God for this sign of life.
“No, just look, he’s some kind of freak,” said the midwife, looking at the boy in the light of the lamp.
He really is all wrinkled and red, and his skin is flabby, Leopold thought, but calling his son a freak is no, that’s too much.
- And yet you are lucky. No damage. Even the head is not dented.
– Give it to me, Mrs. Albrecht.
With trembling hands, Leopold took his son and gently pressed him to him. The baby stopped screaming, as if warmed by his father's affection.
Anna Maria said:
- He looks so weak.
- Small, not weak. This one will live.
“Yes,” confirmed the midwife. - Thank God, I finally gave birth.
