Despite the development of technology and science, our spiritual development ...
This book is a historical novel, and by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. Historical - because the life of Mozart is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time, and, therefore, this book is also the history of his time. The novel is because in creating images and developing an action, the author resorted to the means of fictional prose. However, this work is in no way a flight of fantasy.
All external circumstances in her are genuine. Streets, houses, palaces, cities, furniture, clothes - all life of the second half of the eighteenth century - are described as they were during Mozart's life.
Events develop in a strict chronological order. The striking coincidences encountered in the novel are by no means an invention of the author, it was so in reality. Not a single fact is rigged by the author. No love story is invented for fun. All the works of Mozart mentioned in the book correspond exactly to the dates indicated in the thematic catalog of Koechel. The author cites many documents, and they are all reliable. All the persons with whom the reader will meet lived in reality. The narrative nowhere goes beyond the scope of historical facts.
Mozart's life is carefully documented. Many contemporaries 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. The extensive correspondence of Mozart and the correspondence of his father has survived - a magnificent chronicle of their century, the places they visited, the moods that dominated people at that time, and therefore the world of Mozarts is often shown through the prism of their own impressions.
And yet there are white spots in Mozart's biography - this also applies to his thoughts and feelings; and, wishing to fill in these gaps as much as possible, the author decided that the best form for Mozart's life would be a historical novel. It was necessary to recreate with the power of imagination and accordingly motivate various situations and statements, Mozart lived a stormy life; she had everything: risky adventures, stubborn struggle, ups and downs - she 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, if any event did not take place in reality, something like that is quite could have happened.
Thanks to the extensive correspondence between Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart, we know their way of expressing their thoughts; the author tried to preserve it as much as possible, avoiding, however, archaisms. In addition, Wolfgang, who was very sharp in language, was often quoted by his contemporaries, and therefore, wherever possible, his true words are quoted. And although it would be presumptuous to consider himself 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 - very simply and clearly; tried to portray him without prejudice, without timidity and flattery, as he was. Mozart's music is what inspired the author in the work on the book all these years. And if the stormy and vain existence of the entire human race can find its justification in the creations of one person, then Mozart, undoubtedly, was such a person.
David Weiss
new York City, November 1967
EPITAPH TO V. A. MOZART
He believed in Something
What is not named
And there are no words to explain it.
He was able to tell about it with music.
When he died,
Only his bodily form was taken away.
They said they couldn't identify him
And the corpse was buried in a common grave.
But we choose to believe
That he was never buried
Since he never died.
Listen.
Staymin Karpen, Translated 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 rather to himself: "This one is completely different." As if he had to convince himself alone. The words, repeated twice, encouraged him for a while. He even made peace with the squalid, cramped and low bedroom on the third floor of number nine Getreydegasse.
At the time of the birth of the baby, Anna Maria Mozart wanted to know only one thing: whether the child would live. After all, so many children have died - five out of six, she thought with horror, from which she was not saved even by faith in God's providence.
The midwife, who accepted the baby a minute ago, held him in her arms in indecision, as if not knowing what to do next. And yet she was the best midwife in Salzburg, which is why Leopold hired her. In this city, only midwives can be sure of tomorrow, he thought sadly; they earn more than musicians.
The baby did not move, and Leopold became afraid. Does it happen that a newborn is silent? All normal babies cry. Leopold Mozart himself was proud of his good health. At thirty-six, he, like the rest of the musicians at the court of the Archbishop of Salzburg Schrattenbach, was busy above his head. As an assistant conductor, Leopold gave music lessons, taught the boys' choir, played the violin in the court orchestra and was the court composer, but with sudden horror he thought: if the baby dies, life will lose all meaning. The health of Anna Maria is already undermined by frequent childbirth, there is still nothing 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 welcome sound. For him, screaming was sweeter than music, and he thanked God for this sign of life.
“No, just look, this is some kind of freak,” said the midwife, looking at the boy by the light of the lamp.
He really is all wrinkled and red, and his skin is flabby, Leopold thought, but to call his son a freak - no, that's too much.
“Still, you're in luck. No damage. Even the head is not dented.
- Give it to me, Madame Albrecht.
With trembling hands, Leopold took his son and gently hugged 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,” the midwife confirmed. - Thank you, God, was born at last.
With a sigh of relief, Anna Maria leaned back on the pillows. In the long hours of labor pains, it seemed to her more than once that she could not bear the suffering and would die. Her whole body was covered with sweat, although the snow covered the ground and it was January in the yard. But now the bed was no longer a bed of torture. The excitement disappeared from Leopold's face, and Anna Maria also calmed down. She fumbled under the pillow for a hand mirror. How does she look after the seventh birth - exhausted and aged or renewed and prettier? She studied her face in the mirror. Neither, her face changed at all, and that disappointed her. If she were prettier, she could enjoy the victory gained at such a high price, otherwise she could revel in self-pity. Anna Maria felt cheated and tucked the mirror back under the pillows. When he 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 hasn't changed much, Anna Maria thought. The same correct facial features, a sharp, protruding chin and dark gray eyes - lively and penetrating. How proud Leopold, not without vanity, must have had a son!
David Weiss
Sublime and earthly
Dedicated to John Willie
This book is a historical novel, and by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. Historical - because the life of Mozart is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time, and, therefore, this book is also the history of his time. The novel is because in creating images and developing an action, the author resorted to the means of fictional prose. However, this work is in no way a flight of fantasy.
All external circumstances in her are genuine. Streets, houses, palaces, cities, furniture, clothes - all life of the second half of the eighteenth century - are described as they were during Mozart's life.
Events develop in a strict chronological order. The striking coincidences encountered in the novel are by no means an invention of the author, it was so in reality. Not a single fact is rigged by the author. No love story is invented for fun. All the works of Mozart mentioned in the book correspond exactly to the dates indicated in the thematic catalog of Koechel. The author cites many documents, and they are all reliable. All the persons with whom the reader will meet lived in reality. The narrative nowhere goes beyond the scope of historical facts.
Mozart's life is carefully documented. Many contemporaries 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. The extensive correspondence of Mozart and the correspondence of his father has survived - a magnificent chronicle of their century, the places they visited, the moods that dominated people at that time, and therefore the world of Mozarts is often shown through the prism of their own impressions.
And yet there are white spots in Mozart's biography - this also applies to his thoughts and feelings; and, wishing to fill in these gaps as much as possible, the author decided that the best form for Mozart's life would be a historical novel. It was necessary to recreate with the power of imagination and accordingly motivate various situations and statements, Mozart lived a stormy life; she had everything: risky adventures, stubborn struggle, ups and downs - she 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, if any event did not take place in reality, something like that is quite could have happened.
Thanks to the extensive correspondence between Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart, we know their way of expressing their thoughts; the author tried to preserve it as much as possible, avoiding, however, archaisms. In addition, Wolfgang, who was very sharp in language, was often quoted by his contemporaries, and therefore, wherever possible, his true words are quoted. And although it would be presumptuous to consider himself 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 - very simply and clearly; tried to portray him without prejudice, without timidity and flattery, as he was. Mozart's music is what inspired the author in the work on the book all these years. And if the stormy and vain existence of the entire human race can find its justification in the creations of one person, then Mozart, undoubtedly, was such a person.
David Weiss
new York City, November 1967
EPITAPH TO V. A. MOZART Mozart dwells hereHe believed in SomethingWhat is not namedAnd there are no words to explain it.He was able to tell about it with music.When he died, Only his bodily form was taken away.They said they couldn't identify himAnd the corpse was buried in a common grave.But we choose to believeThat he was never buriedSince he never died.Listen.
Staymin Karpen, Translated 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 rather to himself: "This one is completely different." As if he had to convince himself alone. The words, repeated twice, encouraged him for a while. He even made peace with the squalid, cramped and low bedroom on the third floor of number nine Getreydegasse.
At the time of the birth of the baby, Anna Maria Mozart wanted to know only one thing: whether the child would live. After all, so many children have died - five out of six, she thought with horror, from which she was not saved even by faith in God's providence.
The midwife, who accepted the baby a minute ago, held him in her arms in indecision, as if not knowing what to do next. And yet she was the best midwife in Salzburg, which is why Leopold hired her. In this city, only midwives can be sure of tomorrow, he thought sadly; they earn more than musicians.
The baby did not move, and Leopold became afraid. Does it happen that a newborn is silent? All normal babies cry. Leopold Mozart himself was proud of his good health. At thirty-six, he, like the rest of the musicians at the court of the Archbishop of Salzburg Schrattenbach, was busy above his head. As an assistant conductor, Leopold gave music lessons, taught the boys' choir, played the violin in the court orchestra and was the court composer, but with sudden horror he thought: if the baby dies, life will lose all meaning. The health of Anna Maria is already undermined by frequent childbirth, there is still nothing 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 welcome sound. For him, screaming was sweeter than music, and he thanked God for this sign of life.
“No, just look, this is some kind of freak,” said the midwife, looking at the boy by the light of the lamp.
He really is all wrinkled and red, and his skin is flabby, Leopold thought, but to call his son a freak - no, that's too much.
“Still, you're in luck. No damage. Even the head is not dented.
- Give it to me, Madame Albrecht.
With trembling hands, Leopold took his son and gently hugged 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,” the midwife confirmed. - Thank you, God, was born at last.
With a sigh of relief, Anna Maria leaned back on the pillows. In the long hours of labor pains, it seemed to her more than once that she could not bear the suffering and would die. Her whole body was covered with sweat, although the snow covered the ground and it was January in the yard. But now the bed was no longer a bed of torture. The excitement disappeared from Leopold's face, and Anna Maria also calmed down. She fumbled under the pillow for a hand mirror. How does she look after the seventh birth - exhausted and aged or renewed and prettier? She studied her face in the mirror. Neither, her face changed at all, and that disappointed her. If she were prettier, she could enjoy the victory gained at such a high price, otherwise she could revel in self-pity. Anna Maria felt cheated and tucked the mirror back under the pillows. When he 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 hasn't changed much, Anna Maria thought. The same correct facial features, a sharp, protruding chin and dark gray eyes - lively and penetrating. How proud Leopold, not without vanity, must have had a son!
David Weiss
Sublime and earthly
Dedicated to John Willie
This book is a historical novel, and by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. Historical - because the life of Mozart is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time, and, therefore, this book is also the history of his time. The novel is because in creating images and developing an action, the author resorted to the means of fictional prose. However, this work is in no way a flight of fantasy.
All external circumstances in her are genuine. Streets, houses, palaces, cities, furniture, clothes - all life of the second half of the eighteenth century - are described as they were during Mozart's life.
Events develop in a strict chronological order. The striking coincidences encountered in the novel are by no means an invention of the author, it was so in reality. Not a single fact is rigged by the author. No love story is invented for fun. All the works of Mozart mentioned in the book correspond exactly to the dates indicated in the thematic catalog of Koechel. The author cites many documents, and they are all reliable. All the persons with whom the reader will meet lived in reality. The narrative nowhere goes beyond the scope of historical facts.
Mozart's life is carefully documented. Many contemporaries 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. The extensive correspondence of Mozart and the correspondence of his father has survived - a magnificent chronicle of their century, the places they visited, the moods that dominated people at that time, and therefore the world of Mozarts is often shown through the prism of their own impressions.
And yet there are white spots in Mozart's biography - this also applies to his thoughts and feelings; and, wishing to fill in these gaps as much as possible, the author decided that the best form for Mozart's life would be a historical novel. It was necessary to recreate with the power of imagination and accordingly motivate various situations and statements, Mozart lived a stormy life; she had everything: risky adventures, stubborn struggle, ups and downs - she 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, if any event did not take place in reality, something like that is quite could have happened.
Thanks to the extensive correspondence between Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart, we know their way of expressing their thoughts; the author tried to preserve it as much as possible, avoiding, however, archaisms. In addition, Wolfgang, who was very sharp in language, was often quoted by his contemporaries, and therefore, wherever possible, his true words are quoted. And although it would be presumptuous to consider himself 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 - very simply and clearly; tried to portray him without prejudice, without timidity and flattery, as he was. Mozart's music is what inspired the author in the work on the book all these years. And if the stormy and vain existence of the entire human race can find its justification in the creations of one person, then Mozart, undoubtedly, was such a person.
David Weiss
new York City, November 1967
EPITAPH TO V. A. MOZART
Mozart dwells here
He believed in Something
What is not named
And there are no words to explain it.
He was able to tell about it with music.
When he died,
Only his bodily form was taken away.
They said they couldn't identify him
And the corpse was buried in a common grave.
But we choose to believe
That he was never buried
Since he never died.
Listen.
Staymin Karpen, Translated 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 rather to himself: "This one is completely different." As if he had to convince himself alone. The words, repeated twice, encouraged him for a while. He even made peace with the squalid, cramped and low bedroom on the third floor of number nine Getreydegasse.
At the time of the birth of the baby, Anna Maria Mozart wanted to know only one thing: whether the child would live. After all, so many children have died - five out of six, she thought with horror, from which she was not saved even by faith in God's providence.
The midwife, who accepted the baby a minute ago, held him in her arms in indecision, as if not knowing what to do next. And yet she was the best midwife in Salzburg, which is why Leopold hired her. In this city, only midwives can be sure of tomorrow, he thought sadly; they earn more than musicians.
The baby did not move, and Leopold became afraid. Does it happen that a newborn is silent? All normal babies cry. Leopold Mozart himself was proud of his good health. At thirty-six, he, like the rest of the musicians at the court of the Archbishop of Salzburg Schrattenbach, was busy above his head. As an assistant conductor, Leopold gave music lessons, taught the boys' choir, played the violin in the court orchestra and was the court composer, but with sudden horror he thought: if the baby dies, life will lose all meaning. The health of Anna Maria is already undermined by frequent childbirth, there is still nothing 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 welcome sound. For him, screaming was sweeter than music, and he thanked God for this sign of life.
“No, just look, this is some kind of freak,” said the midwife, looking at the boy by the light of the lamp.
He really is all wrinkled and red, and his skin is flabby, Leopold thought, but to call his son a freak - no, that's too much.
“Still, you're in luck. No damage. Even the head is not dented.
David Weiss
Sublime and earthly
David Weiss
Sublime and earthly
Dedicated to John Willie
This book is a historical novel, and by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. Historical - because the life of Mozart is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time, and, therefore, this book is also the history of his time. The novel is because in creating images and developing an action, the author resorted to the means of fictional prose. However, this work is in no way a flight of fantasy.
All external circumstances in her are genuine. Streets, houses, palaces, cities, furniture, clothes - all life of the second half of the eighteenth century - are described as they were during Mozart's life.
Events develop in a strict chronological order. The striking coincidences encountered in the novel are by no means an invention of the author, it was so in reality. Not a single fact is rigged by the author. No love story is invented for fun. All the works of Mozart mentioned in the book correspond exactly to the dates indicated in the thematic catalog of Koechel. The author cites many documents, and they are all reliable. All the persons with whom the reader will meet lived in reality. The narrative nowhere goes beyond the scope of historical facts.
Mozart's life is carefully documented. Many contemporaries 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. The extensive correspondence of Mozart and the correspondence of his father has survived - a magnificent chronicle of their century, the places they visited, the moods that dominated people at that time, and therefore the world of Mozarts is often shown through the prism of their own impressions.
And yet there are white spots in Mozart's biography - this also applies to his thoughts and feelings; and, wishing to fill in these gaps as much as possible, the author decided that the best form for Mozart's life would be a historical novel. It was necessary to recreate with the power of imagination and accordingly motivate various situations and statements, Mozart lived a stormy life; she had everything: risky adventures, stubborn struggle, ups and downs - she 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, if any event did not take place in reality, something like that is quite could have happened.
Thanks to the extensive correspondence between Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart, we know their way of expressing their thoughts; the author tried to preserve it as much as possible, avoiding, however, archaisms. In addition, Wolfgang, who was very sharp in language, was often quoted by his contemporaries, and therefore, wherever possible, his true words are quoted. And although it would be presumptuous to consider himself 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 - very simply and clearly; tried to portray him without prejudice, without timidity and flattery, as he was. Mozart's music is what inspired the author in the work on the book all these years. And if the stormy and vain existence of the entire human race can find its justification in the creations of one person, then Mozart, undoubtedly, was such a person.
David Weiss
New York City, November 1967
EPITAPH TO V. A. MOZART
Mozart dwells here
He believed in Something
What is not named
And there are no words to explain it.
He was able to tell about it with music.
When he died,
Only his bodily form was taken away.
They said they couldn't identify him
And the corpse was buried in a common grave.
But we choose to believe
That he was never buried
Since he never died.
Listen.
Staymin Karpen, Translated 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 rather to himself: "This one is completely different." As if he had to convince himself alone. The words, repeated twice, encouraged him for a while. He even made peace with the squalid, cramped and low bedroom on the third floor of number nine Getreydegasse.
At the time of the birth of the baby, Anna Maria Mozart wanted to know only one thing: whether the child would live. After all, so many children have died - five out of six, she thought with horror, from which she was not saved even by faith in God's providence.
The midwife, who accepted the baby a minute ago, held him in her arms in indecision, as if not knowing what to do next. And yet she was the best midwife in Salzburg, which is why Leopold hired her. In this city, only midwives can be sure of tomorrow, he thought sadly; they earn more than musicians.
The baby did not move, and Leopold became afraid. Does it happen that a newborn is silent? All normal babies cry. Leopold Mozart himself was proud of his good health. At thirty-six, he, like the rest of the musicians at the court of the Archbishop of Salzburg Schrattenbach, was busy above his head. As an assistant conductor, Leopold gave music lessons, taught the boys' choir, played the violin in the court orchestra and was the court composer, but with sudden horror he thought: if the baby dies, life will lose all meaning. The health of Anna Maria is already undermined by frequent childbirth, there is still nothing 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 welcome sound. For him, screaming was sweeter than music, and he thanked God for this sign of life.
“No, just look, this is some kind of freak,” said the midwife, looking at the boy by the light of the lamp.
He really is all wrinkled and red, and his skin is flabby, Leopold thought, but to call his son a freak - no, that's too much.
“Still, you're in luck. No damage. Even the head is not dented.
- Give it to me, Madame Albrecht.
With trembling hands, Leopold took his son and gently hugged 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,” the midwife confirmed. - Thank you, God, was born at last.
With a sigh of relief, Anna Maria leaned back on the pillows. In the long hours of labor pains, it seemed to her more than once that she could not bear the suffering and would die. Her whole body was covered with sweat, although the snow covered the ground and it was January in the yard. But now the bed was no longer a bed of torture. The excitement disappeared from Leopold's face, and Anna Maria also calmed down. She fumbled under the pillow for a hand mirror. How does she look after the seventh birth - exhausted and aged or renewed and prettier? She studied her face in the mirror. Neither, her face changed at all, and that disappointed her. If she were prettier, she could enjoy the victory gained at such a high price, otherwise she could revel in self-pity. Anna Maria felt cheated and tucked the mirror back under the pillows. When he 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 hasn't changed much, Anna Maria thought. The same correct facial features, a sharp, protruding chin and dark gray eyes - lively and penetrating. How proud Leopold, not without vanity, must have had a son!
“For the sake of such an occasion, I will compose Mass,” said Leopold.
- Would the archbishop give permission? - 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 a baby, Leopold.
He carefully laid the baby in her arms, kissed it tenderly, and turned to the window overlooking the narrow back yard. Every time he saw a strip of sky brightening outside the window, he felt like a prisoner and became irritated. He was taught to perceive the world as it is, and yet some things were difficult to put up with. If you remember that his father was a modest bookbinder - in Augsburg and that there were no musicians in the family before him, he rose unusually high, but there were times when Leopold Mozart doubted whether he would ever get the post of conductor - the Italian was too great dominance in Salzburg. The bedroom suddenly struck him as insultingly squalid. The creaky plank floors and poor lighting became hateful.
Anna Maria, noticing that her husband suddenly became gloomy, was upset.
- Leopold, are you not offended by me? She whispered.
- For what?
- You deserve to become a conductor. Archbishop Schrattenbach treats you with respect. You do your job perfectly.
Anna Maria is too kind, he thought bitterly, expecting only good from all people, even from the prince-archbishop, but he himself is not so naive. Some people find it easy to bend their backs in front of anyone, but for him it is a real torture. Leopold was a devout Catholic, but he loved few clergy; he was a sincere supporter of Archbishop Schrattenbach and Empress Maria Theresia, but he was outraged that they preferred Italian musicians. He lived in music, but they also claimed that they loved music - only did that change anything for his son? Whether you are at least seven inches in your forehead, the world was created for the needs of aristocrats and clergy. The houses of the local nobility and church dignitaries were located near the Residence of the Archbishop, from the cathedral where Leopold served, and from other churches grouped around the cathedral.
Leopold knew all of them: the churches of St. Michael, St. Peter, St. Caetana, St. Erhard, the Franciscan Church and finally the University Church at the back of their home. The aristocrats knew where power and strength were. They called this tight group of buildings the "City of the Sovereign" and considered an outsider anyone who lived outside of it. Even the part of Salzburg where the Mozarts lived - albeit on the same side of the Salzach River - was scornfully 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 has such a good apartment. However, climbing to the third floor was not so easy - the dirty stone staircase was cold and dark, and the kitchen with an open hearth was so ancient and primitive that Leopold Mozart sometimes felt like a caveman.
Leopold went into the living room. He asked his friend, Dr. Barisani, 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 at Lohelplatz, hoping to see the late doctor there. The small square was as dark as a crypt.
The baby was so quiet that Leopold's heart ached for him. It will be a miracle if the child survives. And then suddenly steps were heard.
Sylvester Barisani went to the Mozarts with reluctance. Of course, Leopold is his friend, but good chamber music is such a rarity in Salzburg, and the archbishop could be offended if he left without hearing the rest of the concert. He already did Leopold a favor by agreeing to come, because in Salzburg all children, with the exception of noblemen, were received by midwives. In addition, Dr. Barisani believed that no matter what efforts the doctor made, the life or death of a child was a matter of chance. And nevertheless, the doctor's long, dull face showed a semblance of a smile when he congratulated the couple on the birth of their son.
Leopold asked:
- Do you think he will survive? Does he have an opportunity?
- The same as everyone else. - The doctor felt the high tiled night in the bedroom - is it warm, glanced at the windows, made sure that the room was well ventilated. And only Leopold's persistence made him turn to the baby.
- So how? - asked Leopold, again seized 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 — any minute.
- 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 thinks Bruietti is playing poorly.
- You, apparently, want to say, Mr. Doctor, that this time his lordship could not complain that the performance is too German, - Leopold remarked sarcastically, - and therefore barbaric?
“His lordship said the performance was Salzburg and even worse.
- Was he dissatisfied with my absence?
- Perhaps. You know, he loves to have the music 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 elderly servant of the Mozarts, was setting the table, Leopold drew the doctor's attention to the fact that the baby had the fingers of a musician.
“He has ordinary fingers,” Dr. Barisani replied.
But Leopold continued to examine the baby's fingers, as if they had some kind of life in them.
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 bitter cold outside, but the presence of his friends warmed Leopold. The baptismal ceremony went smoothly, and little by little his dark forebodings dissipated. He proudly wrote in the church book: “Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, born January 27, 1756. Father: Johann Georg Leopold Mozart, was born on November 14, 1719 in the city of Augsburg.
Mother: Anna Maria Perthl Mozart, born December 25
1720 in the city of St. Gilgepe.
Sister: Maria Anna Walburga Mozart, was born on July 30, 1751 in the city of Salzburg. "
1
"The Sublime and the Earthly" is a novel about the life of Mozart and his time. This is by no means a biography, documentary or romanticized. This is a historical novel, historical - because the life of Mozart is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time. The novel is because in the creation of images and the development of action, the author resorted to the means of fictional prose.
David Weiss
Sublime and earthly
Dedicated to John Willie
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 the life of Mozart is closely intertwined with the historical events of the time, and, therefore, this book is also the history of his time. The novel is because in creating images and developing an action, the author resorted to the means of fictional prose. However, this work is in no way a flight of fantasy.
All external circumstances in her are genuine. Streets, houses, palaces, cities, furniture, clothes - all life of the second half of the eighteenth century - are described as they were during Mozart's life.
Events develop in a strict chronological order. The striking coincidences encountered in the novel are by no means an invention of the author, it was so in reality. Not a single fact is rigged by the author. No love story is invented for fun. All the works of Mozart mentioned in the book correspond exactly to the dates indicated in the thematic catalog of Koechel. The author cites many documents, and they are all reliable. All the persons with whom the reader will meet lived in reality. The narrative nowhere goes beyond the scope of historical facts.
Mozart's life is carefully documented. Many contemporaries 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. The extensive correspondence of Mozart and the correspondence of his father has survived - a magnificent chronicle of their century, the places they visited, the moods that dominated people at that time, and therefore the world of Mozarts is often shown through the prism of their own impressions.
And yet there are white spots in Mozart's biography - this also applies to his thoughts and feelings; and, wishing to fill in these gaps as much as possible, the author decided that the best form for Mozart's life would be a historical novel. It was necessary to recreate with the power of imagination and accordingly motivate various situations and statements, Mozart lived a stormy life; she had everything: risky adventures, stubborn struggle, ups and downs - she 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, if any event did not take place in reality, something like that is quite could have happened.
Thanks to the extensive correspondence between Wolfgang and Leopold Mozart, we know their way of expressing their thoughts; the author tried to preserve it as much as possible, avoiding, however, archaisms. In addition, Wolfgang, who was very sharp in language, was often quoted by his contemporaries, and therefore, wherever possible, his true words are quoted. And although it would be presumptuous to consider himself 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 - very simply and clearly; tried to portray him without prejudice, without timidity and flattery, as he was. Mozart's music is what inspired the author in the work on the book all these years. And if the stormy and vain existence of the entire human race can find its justification in the creations of one person, then Mozart, undoubtedly, was such a person.
David Weiss
new York City, November 1967
EPITAPH TO V. A. MOZART
Mozart dwells here
He believed in Something
What is not named
And there are no words to explain it.
He was able to tell about it with music.
When he died,
Only his bodily form was taken away.
They said they couldn't identify him
And the corpse was buried in a common grave.
But we choose to believe
That he was never buried
Since he never died.
Listen.Staymin Karpen, Translated 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 feared that such arrogance could be considered disobedience to the will of God. And yet he repeated, turning rather to himself: "This one is completely different." As if one had to convince oneself. The words, repeated twice, encouraged him for a while. He even made peace with the squalid, cramped and low bedroom on the third floor of number nine Getreydegasse.
At the time of the birth of the baby, Anna Maria Mozart wanted to know only one thing: whether the child would live. After all, so many children have died - five out of six, she thought with horror, from which she was not saved even by faith in God's providence.
The midwife, who accepted the baby a minute ago, held him in her arms in indecision, as if not knowing what to do next. And yet she was the best midwife in Salzburg, which is why Leopold hired her. In this city, only midwives can be sure of tomorrow, he thought sadly; they earn more than musicians.
The baby did not move, and Leopold became afraid. Does it happen that a newborn is silent? All normal babies cry. Leopold Mozart himself was proud of his good health. At thirty-six, he, like the rest of the musicians at the court of the Archbishop of Salzburg Schrattenbach, was busy above his head. As an assistant conductor, Leopold gave music lessons, taught the boys' choir, played the violin in the court orchestra and was the court composer, but with sudden horror he thought: if the baby dies, life will lose all meaning. The health of Anna Maria is already undermined by frequent childbirth, there is still nothing 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 welcome sound. For him, screaming was sweeter than music, and he thanked God for this sign of life.
“No, just look, this is some kind of freak,” said the midwife, looking at the boy by the light of the lamp.
He really is all wrinkled and red, and his skin is flabby, Leopold thought, but to call his son a freak - no, that's too much.
“Still, you're in luck. No damage. Even the head is not dented.
- Give it to me, Madame Albrecht.
With trembling hands, Leopold took his son and gently hugged 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,” the midwife confirmed. - Thank you, God, was born at last.
