Stephen Walsh
To most people, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was a musical genius, a child protégé-turned-pioneer who on the world of music left an indelible impression incomparable to that of any other composer. But when one reads some of the letters he sent to family, friends, and potential patrons throughout his life, no such characterizations are rendered. Rather than a grand, proud aristocrat, as might be expected, we see this image of a meek and humble man, desperate for financial security and excessively apologetic. The letters show not “Mozart the Great,” but instead, “Mozart the Despondent.”
The sad fact is, Mozart was poor. And while obviously not proud of it, he exhibited very little shame in begging for patronage, in imploring his “Dearest, best of Friends” for even large sums of money to help him get by. Take for example his numerous letters to Michael Puchberg, a wealthy merchant of Vienna, who, along with Mozart himself, was a member of the lodge of Freemasons. Knowing the man’s favorable social status in comparison to his, Mozart continuously petitions him for sizeable loans, from “one or two thousand gulden” (237) in his initial letters to a few hundred florins here and there to help him subsist – sums he never fully paid back, thus generously leaving a rather substantial debt to his soon-to-be-widowed wife. Such lack of diplomacy even extended beyond the realms of friendship to that of royalty, as evidenced in his letter to Sebastian Winter, Royal-Groom-of-the-Chambers, in which he so forwardly proposes “If his Highness [the Prince] would be so gracious as to commission me, year by year… and if he would be pleased to endow me with a fixed yearly salary therefor, his Highness should be well and punctually served.” Such generous employment, he asserts, would allow him to compose with a liberated mind, and result in music far unparalleled to that which is created by a burdened brain. Whether driven by complete financial desperation or by strong character (or perhaps both), it’s clear that Mozart had little reservations carrying out what most might label “brash” or “tactless,” but which he would call “necessary.”
Securing such favors was indeed no easy task, so in order to possibly capture the sympathies of his targets, Mozart often resorted to excessive flattery and fawning. Obviously, a little “kissing up” is an oft-used tactic for those in need of a particular end, but the famed composer takes it to a whole new level. For example, his aforementioned letter to Sebastian Winter opens up: “Dearest friend! Companion of my youth!” in an overt attempt to win over this man’s pity. Likewise, in his letters to Mr. Puchberg, before asking for any money, he attempts to loosen up his friend’s wallet by inflating his ego by calling him a “man of honor,” a “true brother” to whom Mozart himself has opened up all his heart in a way he would do to no other human being. Such flattery isn’t even existent in his letters to his wife, to whom he says typical, trite utterances in the “I miss you” and “I can’t wait to see you again” realm. While some of the flowery language may indeed be genuine, such a cunning way of relating to his supporters is clearly, largely driven by an end goal.
Mozart further embodies this idea of subservience and humility by being markedly apologetic and offering numerous excuses for having not completed certain tasks. For instance, he opens up his letter to Professor Anton Klein with a myriad of reasons why he didn’t respond to three consecutive letters from his companion, ranging from “my hands are so full of affairs” to “I… need reading through not only once, but numerous times” (227). Additionally, in a number of letters to his wife, he explains why he has been so unreliable in responding to letters, whether due to the poor conditions of the road, extremely busy business trips, or nonstop itineraries. Thus, between excessive excuses, fawning flattery, and shameless financial inquiries, it’s easy to see that Mozart was not the grand, proud man his music and current prestige might imply.
