If one listens to his music, it becomes quite clear that Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart was a genius. And, to my mind, his letters also serve as an indication of that certain indescribable quality of his. He writes, in the flowery manner that was probably more or less characteristic of letter-writing at the time, like a man who feels supremely superior to other people, and is conscious of this. And yet, he does not come off as arrogant or coarse. For lack of better terminology, he writes like a genius would – expressively, and with impressive self-assurance.

The majority of the letters collected in these forty or so pages are addressed either to his wife (most of which during her prolonged illness) or to his friend, patron and fellow Freemason Michael Puchberg. These two individuals both being close associates of Mozart, we can derive much about how he acts in his circle of close acquaintances, but can only guess from various asides and a couple shorter letters addressed to others how he dealt with people whom he didn’t consider as, for lack of a better phrase, ‘on his level’. Again, that’s not to say he was haughty – he was just a genius, that’s all.

How can such a quality be made evident in writing alone, especially writing of this sort from this time period that is heavily rooted in established style and convention? To my mind, like his music, his writings to his wife are at once both flowery and very simple and structured (a duality from which his music derives its elegance and longevity). They are short, and yet his selection of details and the effusive quality of his language makes up for what they lack in length. In one of many letters to her in which he writes of how much he misses her – letters replete with what I imagine is sexual imagery that has been blotted out – he writes of how he treats a portrait he has of her: “If I were to tell you all the things I do with your dear portrait you would often laugh, I think! For instance, when I take it out of its case, I say, ‘Good morrow, Stanzerl! Good day little rogue! — pussy-wussy! saucy one! — good-for-nothing! — dainty morsel!’ And when I put it back I slip it in little by little saying all the time, ‘Nu–nu–nu–nu!’ with just the peculiar emphasis this very meaning-ful word demands…” One can only guess as to what sordid remembrances he is dredging up in this portion, but it’s pretty clear that it’s a rather interesting thing to dwell on, considering he admits he doesn’t have time to write letters very much because he’s overworked at the opera (but it’s more than likely he was busy gallivanting around with the local aristocracy) and can only compose short notes.

The letters in which he asks Herr Puchberg for money are similarly inventive and expressive – although there’s no clear indication here as to whether or not his finances were indeed in such disarray, at least at the time these letters’ were being written.  After having asked Puchberg a good five times for money (at least in the letters that are collected here), when Mozart describes an upcoming payment that should allow him to repay his debts to his friend, he writes: “How joyfully I shall then discharge my debts to you! How glad I shall be to thank you and, in addition, confess myself eternally your debtor! What a pleasant sensation it is to reach one’s goal at last – and what a blessed sensation to have helped thereto! Tears prevent me from completing the picture.” Perhaps needless to say, Mozart tells his friend in a following letter “In a week or a fortnight I shall be better off…could you not assist me with a trifle?”

In a couple asides in these letters, we are able to see how Mozart dealt with those not in his circle of familiars. He dismisses the youth he is tutoring as “that naughty boy Süssmayer” and often seems upset and frazzled whenever he must bring up the boy, usually over some trifle. Earlier, he writes to his father: “I am very displeased that my letter has failed to reach your hands through Mlle. Storace’s stupidity…it is quite likely that some servant of Count Thun’s took it into his head to pocket the postage money! I would much rather pay double the postage than suspect that my letters have fallen into the wrong hands…” Later on in the letter, he describes his frustration with certain singers and members of the orchestra at the opera: “…he plays like a bad beginner…Each ritornello lasts a quarter of an hour. Then the hero appears – lifts up leaden feet one after another and bangs them down alternately on the ground. His tone is utterly nasal…” As one can tell, Mozart is often frustrated with the incompetence of others – it seems almost the only emotion he feels towards anyone who isn’t his wife, his father, or his close friend. It would seem that the man is too absorbed in his work – too much of a genius – that he doesn’t connect too well with new people and is often frustrated with them.