A BIRTHDAY TO REMEMBER IN OLD VIENNA

A BIRTHDAY TO REMEMBER IN OLD VIENNA

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

"A BIRTHDAY TO REMEMBER IN OLD VIENNA" is the exclusive property of Marti Burger, and is not to be reprinted without
her written permission.

"A BIRTHDAY TO REMEMBER IN OLD VIENNA”
© 2004-2008 Marti Burger

To Madame Maria Anna Thekla Mozart
Im Windhof 4a, Augsburg

Wien, den 25. September, 1804

My dearest Marianne,
Gruess Dich Gott, meine liebe Freundin! (Greetings, my dear friend!)
My warm greetings also to your mother, your daughter, Josepha, and your son-in-law, Herr Streitel!
And my congratulations and very best wishes to you this day of your birth, Marianne, for eternal good health and happiness!
My sister Constanze, Widow Mozart, and I are enjoying good health, as is our family, praise the Lord.

Marianne, you know of our boarder, Herr Georg Nikolaus Nissen; he continues to lodge with Constanze and myself, and, above all, offers his steady companionship, comfort, and faithful and true friendship to my widowed sister.
My dear nephew - Constanze’s son and your cousin, Franz Xaver Mozart - also resides with us; he is returned from his stay in Prague.
Wowi, as we call him, is now thirteen years of age and shows great talent and promise as a pianist; we have high hopes for his future, though the burden of his father’s fame and Wowi’s being inevitably compared to the great Mozart are vexations Wowi shall have to deal with, should he indeed follow in his father’s footsteps, as we believe he shall.

And Wowi is an acutely sensitive lad.
Marianne, these last years, Wowi has been a pupil of your late cousin Mozart’s dear friend and colleague, Maestro Josef Haydn, who instructs Wowi in pianoforte technique, music theory, and composition.
Herr Haydn takes an uncommon, grandfatherly interest in Wowi and concern for him.
Our dear friend Haydn was as shaken by Wolfgang Mozart’s early, untimely passing as all of us family members.
Wowi is making excellent progress under Maestro Haydn’s strict but kind and affectionate tutelage.
Herr Haydn has said to Constanze and me that Wowi does indeed possess a strong talent for music.
He hopes Wowi shall further his father’s great legacy and light the wick—so to speak—so we can again experience that bright incandescent light and flame which was extinguished far too soon.
And Marianne, I feel certain nonetheless that your cousin Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s own flame shall continue burning brightly.

We continue to reside in Constanze’s apartment on the Michaeler-Platz opposite the Imperial Theater, and greatly enjoy the convenience of living squarely in the Inner City, in the heart of Vienna.
It is much to my liking to observe the often-bustling passing scene in front of our dwelling, and the special elegance of this square pleases me.
And my goodness, Marianne – the Michaeler-Platz is but a stone’s throw from the Hofburg (Imperial Palace).
Can you imagine: I, a Mannheim spinster, am transplanted to the hub and core of Vienna – for me, the center of the world.
At times, I feel I am dreaming.
Nevertheless, I shall get off my high horse immediately, Marianne – ha ha!
Pay me no heed!
Vienna holds no candle to the elegance of your Augsburg squares, vistas, and promenades.

Marianne, my longtime, beloved friend, Herr Jakob Haibl, is now hard at work on a new opera, a singspiel called “Die Hoffnung” (“Hope”) for the Freihaus-Theater.
He is very near to completing it, composing the last aria of the third act this very day.
Then in a fortnight, rehearsals begin.
Herr Haibl insisted on adding a small role for me, Marianne, and one for his Papa, Herr Alois Haibl.

Oh my, I do feel all excitement and anticipation to be singing before an audience again – little though my role may be – and in taking part in an opera.
Herr Alois Haibl shall sing the role of the hero’s father and I, the heroine's best friend and confidant.
The principal singers have already been engaged for “Die Hoffnung” – the well-known Viennese tenor, Herr Anton Otto Ortlieb and his wife, Frau Hella Maria Ortlieb, originally from Prussia.
I have appeared on stage before with each Ortlieb, though not with both together.
Colleagues say that the two are no longer on speaking terms – at least, not at present – yet on stage, not only must they discourse with one another, but sing and portray a couple passionately in love.
Herr Haibl says we plan to open in mid-December.

By the by, Herr Haibl has discarded and is no longer using his full name of Herr Jakob Meinke-Haibl, but has decided this anno to simplify it solely to Jakob Haibl.

And, dear Marianne, my own birthday follows closely on the heels of your own.
This Friday next, the first of October, I shall celebrate my one-and-forty years.
And as always, with cooperation from our fickle Viennese weather, we - my family and the Haibls - shall enjoy a picnic in the Prater.

Oh, dear Marianne, I have great news to tell you!
My dear sister, Constanze, has arranged a concert for Saturday next (the day following my birthday) at the Theater-an-der-Wien, largely featuring and celebrating your cousin’s – my late brother-in-law’s – sublime music.
One of Wolfgang Mozart’s symphonies and a pianoforte concerto of his shall be performed.
Constanze has successfully secured the services of an esteemed pianoforte soloist - the famous sensation of Vienna – the young and dynamic Bonn composer, Herr Ludwig van Beethoven.
Herr van Beethoven shall also play a new, original composition, penned by himself.
How intense and turbulent Herr van Beethoven’s music is!

And our conductor?
Why, tis our dear friend, Herr Maestro Josef Haydn, who shall also honor us with one of his own symphonies!

Marianne, next Saturday evening, Herr Haydn shall fetch us and his pupil, Wowi, in his own carriage and transport us to the concert.
Marianne, Constanze and I have driven all over Vienna in our carriage, putting up posters to advertise the concert.
We are at present selling the tickets here within our dwelling.
The tickets can also be procured at the Theater-an-der-Wien.
Frequently, the doorbell sounds, and Constanze and I are much occupied as ticket vendors.

I very much look forward with eager anticipation to next Saturday’s concert, Marianne.
What a memorable moment it shall be to again see our old and revered friend, Herr Josef Haydn, now aged two-and-seventy years, on the podium, and to savor your cousin’s – Mozart’s - heavenly music.

Well, that is all our news, Marianne.
To you and yours a healthy, very happy and blessed birthday, with many affectionate greetings from your faithful friend,
Sophie, nee Weber

SOPHIE CELEBRATES TURNING FORTY: THE BIG FOUR-OH

SOPHIE CELEBRATES TURNING FORTY: THE BIG FOUR-OH

"SOPHIE CELEBRATES TURNING FORTY: THE BIG FOUR-OH" is dedicated to an unforgettable person--my lifelong beloved friend and mentor from Frankfurt an der Oder, Germany, later Murnau am Staffelsee, Upper Bavaria, to whom I am greatly indebted for inspiring me to write about "Herr Meinke-Haibl".

DR. MARCEL ROGER
May 19, 1924 - December 25, 2003

If you love someone and that person dies, your love for that person does not die.

Thanks for the memories, Marcel.
You are dearly missed.

DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

"SOPHIE CELEBRATES TURNING FORTY: THE BIG FOUR-OH" is the exclusive property of Marti Burger, and is not to be reprinted without
her written permission.

"SOPHIE CELEBRATES TURNING FORTY: THE BIG FOUR-OH"
© 2003-2008 Marti Burger

To Madame Maria Anna Thekla Mozart
Im Windhof 4a, Augsburg

Wien, den 1. Oktober, 1803

Gruess Dich Gott, meine liebe (my dear) Marianne,
This day, the first of October, 1803, I celebrate the milestone of reaching the venerable age of forty years.
I was born on October first in the year of our Lord 1763.
Has it really been so long ago as that?
I am as ever the youngest among my sisters, and am still sometimes regarded as the "Nesthaeckchen"--the baby (in its nest).
Well, I feel still young and chipper, and the main thing is how one feels, is it not, Marianne.
All my life, my good mother has been of an indeterminate age to me, and I have not reached that stage as yet.

Marianne, I hope that this letter finds you, your lovely daughter, Josepha, and your son-in-law, Herr Streitel, in the best of health!
Since my dear mother departed this earth these ten years ago, I have been lodging with my dear sister, Constanze, Widow Mozart.
Marianne, we have another lodger.
Constanze has formed an attachment with a Danish diplomat, Herr Nikolaus Nissen.
Such a good, honest, serious, and affable a gentleman as ever there was!

I cannot compare another man to my beloved, late brother-in-law, Mozart.
There was never another man like him.
However, I am speaking only of the living......
Nissen and my sister have been together for some years now and, alas, his position as diplomat expressly forbids his taking a wife.
I believe Constanze and Herr Nissen ARE as man and wife, although she is the landlady and he the renter, so no scandal, you see.

And, Marianne, my beloved friend Herr Meinke-Haibl and I are still attached as ever--united in spirit and in deep friendship.
Marianne, my dearest one has a wife all these many years who is still living, though their unfortunate marriage has been but on parchment.

Marianne, I have not the boldness of character to openly court scandal.
Therefore, I reside demurely with my sister, though Herr Meinke-Haibl and I manage to see one another often enough.
He lodges with his father in a spacious, light and airy apartment very near the Freihaus-Theater, where he is engaged as composer, actor, and singer.
Herr Haibl Senior, his father, still does play character parts there in operas and plays as does, of course, his son.

More and more, my dear Herr Meinke-Haibl gives himself over to composing operas.
I rejoice in his success, Marianne, since several of his works have been performed in recent years.
One opera in particular, "Der Tiroler Wastel", has enjoyed great success here in Vienna.
Herr Meinke-Haibl's study is the ideal room to compose in, where his muse visits him--such a warm and cheerful place!

I myself am still engaged at the Burgtheater, where I play and sing supporting roles.
I am content with my lot, Marianne and--I being the youngest--was not encouraged by my parents to aspire to prima donna rank.
I thus also lacked the ambition to pursue that goal.
I thought that by now, I should have long since been married with children, but such is life; one never knows.

On this day in the beginning of October, as the waning summer unites with the cool winds of autumn, our family has made it a tradition, starting with my seventeenth birthday, to spend the afternoon in the Prater when the weather permits.
Providence must look favorably upon our party, or else we have had fantastic good luck, Marianne, since most years this early autumn day has been mild and without rain.
So is it today, Marianne.

This afternoon, therefore, Herr Nissen, my sister, Constanze, and myself shall take the carriage to the Prater--homemade victuals in hand, and we shall be joined there by my eldest sister, Josefa, and her husband and daughter, as well as my second eldest sister, Aloysia, and her children.
My beloved friend, Herr Jakob Meinke-Haibl together with his father, Herr Alois Haibl, shall also most certainly be present at our celebration this afternoon.
My two beloved nephews--Constanze's sons, Karl Thomas and Franz Xaver--are alas living abroad at the present time.
We always look forward so to their letters and visits home!

Dearest Marianne, I must make haste and finish packing the sandwiches and fruit.
I am so looking forward to the soothing breath of nature to be found in the Prater!
I shall pack some champagne as well, and my family shall not fail to heartily drink a toast to your good health, well-being, and happiness.
Dear Marianne, that is our news.
Now we both are one year older and for us, let the New Year commence!
Many affectionate greetings from your faithful friend,
Sophie, nee Weber

SOPHIE WEBER HAIBL'S MEMORIES OF MOZART

SOPHIE WEBER HAIBL’S MEMORIES OF MOZART

My dear visitors, here are some more of my reminiscences of my late brother-in-law, Mozart, which appear in Nissen’s biography of him:

He was always good-humored, but even in the best of moods very thoughtful, looking at one with a sharp expression.
He would look you keenly in the eye and give a thoughtful answer to anything you said, whether the subject was merry or sad, and yet he always seemed to thinking deeply about something entirely different.
Even when he washed his hands in the morning, he paced restlessly up and down the room, never standing still, tapping one heel against the other, and deep in thought.
At the dining table, he often took the corner of his napkin, crumpled it up tightly, rubbed it up and down his upper lip, and appeared to be unaware of what he was doing, and often making grimaces with his mouth at the same time.
In his leisure, he was always passionately attached to the latest fad, whether it was riding or billiards.
To keep him from company of an unworthy kind, his wife patiently shared everything with him.
Otherwise his hands and feet were always in motion; he was forever playing with something, for instance his hat, pockets, watch-chain, tables, chairs—as if he were playing the piano.

SOPHIE'S ACCOUNT OF MOZARTS DEATH IN THE ORIGINAL GERMAN

SOPHIE'S ACCOUNT OF MOZARTS DEATH IN THE ORIGINAL GERMAN:

SOPHIES BERICHT UEBER MOZARTS TOD:

Sophie Haibl an ihren Schwager Georg Nikolaus Nissen, Konstanzes zweiten Gatten, als Beitrag zu seiner Mozart-Biographie:

Diakovar, den 7.ten April, 1825.
...Nun zur letzten Lebenszeit Mozarts.
Mir bekam unsere selige Mutter immer lieber und selbe ihn auch, daher M. oeffters auf die Wieden, (wo unsere Mutter u. ich beym goldenen Pflug logierten) in einer Eile gelaufen kam, ein Saeckgen unter dem Arme trug, worinnen Cofee und Zucker war, ueberreichtete es unserer guten Mutter und sagte: Hier, liebe Mama, haben Sie eine kleine Jause. Dies freute sich denn wie ein Kind. Dies geschah sehr oft. Kurz, M. kam nie leer zu uns.
Nun, als M. erkrankte, machten wir beyde ihm die Nacht-Leibel, welche er vorwaerts anziehen konnte, weil er sich vermoeg Geschwulst nicht drehen konnte; und weil wir nicht wussten, wie schwer krank er seye, machten wir ihm auch einen wattirten Schlafrock (wozu uns zwar zu allem das Zeug seine gute Frau, meine liebste Schwester, gab), dass, wenn er aufstehete, er gut versorgt sein moechte, und so besuchten wir ihn flessig; er zeigte auch, eine herzliche Freude an dem Schlafrock zu haben. Ich ging alle Taege in die Stadt, ihn zu besuchen, und als ich einmahl an einem Sonnabend hineinkam, sagte M. zu mir: Nun, liebe Sophie, sagen Sie der Mama, dass es mir recht sehr gut gehet, und dass ich ihr noch in der Octave zu ihrem Namensfeste kommen werde, ihr zu gratulieren. Wer haette eine groessere Freude als ich, meiner Mutter eine so frohe Nachricht bringen zu koennen, nachdeme selbe die Nachricht immer kaum erwarten konnte; ich eilte dahero nach Hause, sie zu beruhigen, nachdem er mir wirklich auch selbsten sehr heiter und gut zu sein schien. Den andern Tag war also Sonntag; ich war noch jung und, gestehe es, auch eitel--und putzte mich gerne, moechte aber aufgeputzt nie gerne zu Fuss aus der Vorstadt in die Stadt gehen, und fahren war mir ums Geld zu thun; ich sagte dahero zu unserer guten Mutter: Liebe Mama, heute gehe ich nicht zu Mozart--er war ja gestern so gut, so wird ihm wohl heute noch besser sein, und ein Tag auf oder ob, das wird wohl nichts machen. Sie sagte darauf: Weisst du was, mache mir eine Schale Cofee, und nachdeme werd ich dir schon sagen, was du thun sollst. Sie war ziemlich gestimmt, mich zu Hause zu lassen, denn die Schwester weiss, wie sehr ich immer bey ihr bleiben musste. Ich ging also in die Kueche. Kein Feuer war mehr da; ich musste ein Licht anzuenden und Feuer machen. Mozart ging mir denn doch nicht aus dem Sinne. Mein Cofee war fertig, und mein Licht brannte noch. Nun sah ich, wie verschwenderisch ich mit dem Licht gewesen, so viel verbrannt zu haben. Das Licht brannte noch hoch auf, jetzt sah ich starr in mein Licht und dachte, ich moechte doch gerne wissen, was Mozart macht, und wie ich dies dachte und ins Licht sehe, loeschte das Licht aus, und so aus, als ob es nie gebrannt haette. Kein Fuenkgen blieb an dem grossen Dochten, keine Luft war nicht, dies kann ich beschwoeren; ein Schauer ueberfiel mich, ich lief zu unserer Mutter und erzaehlte es ihr. Sie sagte: Genug, ziehe dich geschwinde, aus und gehe hinein, und bringe mir aber gleich Nachricht, wie es ihm gehet. Halte dich aber nicht lange auf. Ich eilte, so geschwinde ich nur konnte. Ach Gott, wie erschrak ich nicht, als mir meine halb verzweifelnde, und doch sich moderiren wollende Schwester entgegen kam, und sagte: Gott lob, liebe Sophie, dass du da bist; heute nacht ist er so schlecht gewesen, dass ich schon dachte, er erlebt diesen Tag nicht mehr. Bleibe doch nur heute bey mir, den wenn er heute wieder so wird, so stirbt er auch diese Nacht. Gehe doch ein wenig zu ihm, was er macht. Ich suchte mich zu fassen und ging an sein Bette, wo er mir gleich zuruffte: Ach gut, liebe Sophie, dass Sie da sind. Sie muessen heute nacht da bleiben, Sie muessen mich sterben sehen. Ich suchte, mich stark zu machen und ihm es auszureden, allein er erwiederte mir auf alles: Ich habe ja schon den Todten-Geschmack auf der Zunge, und: Wer wird denn meiner liebsten Constance beystehen, wenn Sie nicht hier blieben. Ja, lieber M., ich muss nur noch zu unserer Mutter gehen, und ihr sagen, dass Sie mich heute gerne bey sich haetten, sonst gedenkt sie, es seie ein Unglueck geschehen. Ja, das tun Sie, aber kommen Sie ja bald wieder.--Gott, wie war mir da zu Muthe. Die arme Schwester ging mir nach und bat mich um Gottes willen, zu denen geistlichen bey St. Peter zu gehen, und (einen) Geistlichen zu bitten, er moechte kommen, so wie von ungefaehr. Das tat ich auch, allein selbe weigerten sich lange, und ich hatte viele Muehe, einen solchen geistlichen Unmenschen dazu zu bewegen.
--Nun lief ich zu der mich angstvoll erwartenden Mutter; es war schon finster. Wie erschrak die Arme. Ich beredete selbe, zu der aeltesten Tochter, der seligen Hofer, ueber Nacht zu gehen, welches auch geschah, und ich lief wieder, was ich konnte, zu meiner trostlosen Schwester.
Da war der Sissmaier bei M. am Bette; dann lag auf der Decke das bekannte Requiem, und Mozart explicirte ihm, wie seine Meinung seie, dass er es nach seiem Todte vollenden sollte. Ferner trug er seiner Frau auf, seinen Todt geheim zu halten, bis sie nicht vor Tag Albregtsberger davon benachtrichtigt haette; denn diesem gehoert der Dienst vor Gott und der Welt. Glosett, der Doktor, wurde lange gesucht, auch im Theater gefunden; allein er musste das Ende der Piece abwarten--dann kam er und verordnete ihm noch kalte Umschlaege ueber seinen gluehenden Kopfe, welche ihm auch so erschuetterten, dass er nicht mehr zu sich kam, bis er nicht verschieden.
Sein Letztes war noch, wie er mit dem Munde die Pauken in seinem Requiem ausdruecken wollte, das hoere ich noch jetzt. Nun kam gleich Mueller aus dem Kunst Cabinett und drueckte sein bleiches erstorbenes Gesicht in Gips ab.
Wie grenzenlos elend seine treue Gattin sich auf die Knie warf und den Allmaechtigen um seinen Beystand anrufte, ist mir, lieber Bruder, unmoeglich zu beschreiben. Sie konnte sich nicht von ihm trennen, so sehr ich sie auch bat; wenn ihr Schmerz noch zu vermehren gewesen waere, so muesste er dadurch vermehrt worden sein , dass den Tag auf die schauervolle Nacht die Menschen scharenweis vobey gingen, und laut um ihn weinten und schrien. Ich habe M. in meinem Leben nicht aufbrausend, viel weniger zornig gesehen.
. . . Lieber, vergebe mir, wenn ich weitlaeufig in meinem Brief gewesen; allein ich weiss mich nicht zu erinnern, ob ich meiner Schwester die mir so auffallende Begebenheit mit dem Licht gesagt habe, indem ich immer sorgfaeltig vermiede, ihre Wunden zu erneuern.
O, wie war M-t besorget, wenn seinem lieben Weibgen etwas fehlte. So war es einmal, als sie schwer krank war und ich bei ihr durch 8 volle Monate Kranken wartete. Eben sass ich an ihrem Bette, Mozart auch. Er componierte an ihrer Seite; ich beobachtete ihren nach so langer Zeit gehabten suessen Schlummer. Stille hielten wir alles wie in einem Grabe, um sie nich zu stoeren.
Ploetzlch kam ein roher Dienstbote in das Zimmer. Moz. erschrak aus Furcht, seine liebe Frau wuerde in ihrem sanften Schlummer gestoeret, wollte stille zu sein winken, ruckte den Sessel rueckwaerts hinter sich weg, hatte gerade das Feder-Messer offen in der Hand. Dieses spiesste sich zwischen dem Sessel und seinem Schenkel, so dass es ihm bis an die Heft in das dicke Fleisch hinein ging. Moz., der sonst wehleidig, machte aber keine Bewegung und verbiss seinen Schmerz, winkte mir nur, ihm hinaus zu folgen. Wir gingen in ein Zimmer, in welchem unsere Mutter verborgen lebte, weil wir der guten Mozart nicht wollten merken lassen, wie schlecht sie seie, und die Mutter doch gleich zur Hilfe da seie. Die Mutter verband ihn und legte Coubey in die sehr tiefe Wunde; mit dem Johannes-Oel gelang es ihr, ihn wieder herzustellen, und obschon er etwas krumm vor Schmerzen ging, machte er doch, dass es verborgen blieb und seine liebe Frau es nicht erfuhr. Schreibe mir, ob du (das) alles schon wusstest.

SOPHIE'S ACCOUNT OF MOZART'S DEATH IN ENGLISH

SOPHIE WEBER HAIBL:
DEAR VISITORS, HERE IS MY EYEWITNESS ACCOUNT OF MOZART'S DEATH IN ENGLISH.
FOLLOWING MY ACCOUNT, YOU WILL FIND MY MEMORIES OF MOZART, MY REPORT ON MY LIFE AT AGE FORTY, A BIRTHDAY TO REMEMBER IN OLD VIENNA, AND "THE DIARY OF SOPHIE WEBER HAIBL, MOZART'S FAVORITE SISTER-IN-LAW".

SOPHIE'S ACCOUNT OF MOZART'S DEATH IN ENGLISH:

SOPHIE HAIBL TO GEORG NIKOLAUS von NISSEN, SALZBURG

Diakovar, 7 April, 1825

Now I must tell you about Mozart’s last days. Well, Mozart became fonder and fonder of our dear departed mother and she of him.
Indeed he often came running along in great haste to the Wieden (where she and I were lodging at the Goldner Pflug), carrying under his arm a little bag containing coffee and sugar, which he would hand to our good mother, saying, ‘Here, mother dear, now you can have a little "Jause"’. She used to be as delighted as a child. He did this very often. In short, Mozart in the end never came to see us without bringing something.
Now when Mozart fell ill, we both made him a night-jacket which he could put on frontways, since on account of his swollen condition, he was unable to turn in bed. Then, as we didn’t know how seriously ill he was, we also made him a quilted dressing-gown (though indeed his dear wife, my sister, had given us the materials for both garments), so that when he got up, he should have everything he needed. We often visited him, and he was really delighted with the dressing-gown. I used to go into town every day to see him. Well, one Saturday when I was with him, Mozart said to me: ‘Dear Sophie, do tell Mamma that I am fairly well, and that I shall be able to go and congratulate her in the octave of her name-day’. Who could have been more delighted than I to bring such cheerful news to my mother, when she could barely expect the news? I hurried home therefore to comfort her, the more so as he himself really seemed to be bright and happy.
The following day was a Sunday. I was young then and rather vain, I confess, and liked to dress up. But I never cared to go out walking from our suburb into town in my fine clothes, and I had no money for a drive.
So I said to our good mother: ‘Dear Mamma, I’m not going to see Mozart today. He was so well yesterday that surely he will be even better today, and one day more or less won’t make much difference.’ Well, my mother said: ‘Listen to this. Make me a cup of coffee, and then I’ll tell you what you ought to do.’ She was rather inclined to keep me at home; and indeed my sister knows how much I had to be with her. I went into the kitchen. The fire was out. I had to light the lamp and make a fire.
All the time, I was thinking of Mozart.
I had made the coffee, and the lamp was still burning. Then I noticed how wasteful I had been with my lamp, I mean, that I had burned so much wax. It was still burning brightly. I stared into the flame and thought to myself, ‘How I should love to know how Mozart is’. While I was thinking and gazing at the flame, it went out, as completely as if the lamp had never been burning. Not a spark remained on the big wick, and yet there wasn’t the slightest draught—that I can swear to. A horrible feeling came over me. I ran to our mother and told her all. She said: ‘Well, take off your fine clothes and go into town, and bring me back news of him at once. But be sure not to delay.’ I hurried along as fast as I could. Alas, how frightened I was when my sister, who was almost despairing and yet trying to keep calm, came out to me, saying: ‘Thank God that you have come, dear Sophie. Last night, he was so ill that I thought he would not be alive this morning. Do stay with me today, for if he has another bad turn, he will pass away tonight. Go in to him for a little while and see how he is.’ I tried to control myself and went to his bedside.
He immediately called me to him and said: ‘Ah, dear Sophie, how glad I am that you have come. You must stay here tonight and see me die.’
I tried hard to be brave and to persuade him to the contrary. But to all my attempts he only replied: ‘Why, I have already the taste of death on my tongue.’ And, ‘who will support my dearest Constanze if you don’t stay here?’ ‘Yes, yes, dear Mozart,’ I assured him, ‘but I must first go back to our mother and tell her that you would like me to stay with you today. Otherwise she will think that some misfortune has befallen you.’
‘Yes, do so,’ said Mozart, ‘but be sure and come back soon.’
Good God, how distressed I felt! My poor sister followed me to the door and begged me for Heaven’s sake to go to the priests at St. Peter’s and implore one of them to come to Mozart—a chance call, as it were.
I did so, but for a long time, they refused to come, and I had a great deal of trouble to persuade one of those clerical brutes to go to him.
Then I ran off to my mother who was anxiously awaiting me. It was already dark. Poor soul, how shocked she was! I persuaded her to go and spend the night with her eldest daughter, the late Josefa Hofer. I then ran back as fast as I could to my distracted sister. Suessmayr was at Mozart’s bedside.
The well-known Requiem lay on the quilt, and Mozart was explaining to him how, in his opinion, he ought to finish it, when he was gone.
Further, he urged his wife to keep his death a secret until she should have informed Albrechtsberger, for the post should be his before God and the world. A long search was made for Dr. Closset, who was found at the theatre, but who had to wait for the end of the play. He came and ordered cold poultices to be placed on Mozart’s burning head, which, however, affected him to such an extent that he became unconscious and remained so until he died.
His last movement was an attempt to express with his mouth the drum passages in the Requiem.
That I can still hear.
Mueller from the Art Gallery came and took a cast of his pale, dead face. Words fail me, dearest brother, to describe how his devoted wife in her utter misery threw herself on her knees and implored the Almighty for His aid. She simply could not tear herself away from Mozart, however much I begged her to do so. If it was possible to increase her sorrow, this was done on the day after that dreadful night, when crowds of people passed by and wept and wailed for him.
All my life, I have never seen Mozart in a temper, still less, angry.
My dear, forgive me if I have been rambling and long-winded in my letter. I don’t quite recall whether or not I’ve told my sister about the very strange incident—in my opinion--with the light, as I’ve always carefully avoided renewing her wounds.
Oh how concerned Mozart was when his dear little wife needed something! So it was once when she lay very seriously ill, and I was by her side and tended to her for eight long months. I even sat on her bed, Mozart too.
He composed next to her; I observed her sweet slumber after she had been unable to sleep for such a long time.
We were both quiet as the grave so as not to disturb her. Suddenly, an ungainly domestic servant came into the room. Mozart was startled with fear that his dear wife would be disturbed in her gentle slumber, signaled to him to be quiet, moved the chair backwards behind him; Mozart was holding his pen knife in the palm of his hand. The knife became skewered between the chair and his thigh, so that the knife penetrated deeply into his thick flesh up to the handle.
Mozart, who was normally plaintive, didn’t move a muscle and clenched his teeth to suppress his pain, and signaled to me to follow him out of the room. We went into a room where our mother lived concealed because we didn’t want dear Mrs. Mozart, my sister, to know how ill she was, and our mother could render assistance at once.
Our mother bandaged up his leg and put Coubey into his very deep wound. And with Johannes-oil, she succeeded in restoring him to health.
Although Mozart limped because of the pain, he was successful in keeping his accident a secret, and his dear wife didn’t find out about it.
Write and tell me if you knew all this already.

FOOTNOTES:

1. Mozart, who had been in poor health for some time, became very ill early in November and bedridden about a fortnight before his death on 5 December, 1791. A vivid and moving account of his last days is given in the above letter, written many years later by Sophie Haibl to her elder sister Constanze’s second husband, Georg Nikolaus von Nissen, formerly Counsellor at the Danish Legation in Vienna, who at the time was collecting materials for his biography of Mozart.

2. Sophie Weber’s husband, Jakob Haibl, (1762-1826), musician and composer, was choirmaster at Diakovar.

3. Frau Caecilia Weber, Constanze's and Sophie's mother, who died on 22 August, 1793.

4. A Jause: i.e. afternoon coffee

5. Josefa Weber-Hofer, who in 1797 had married as her second husband the actor and singer Friedrich Sebastian Mayer (1773-1835), died on 29 December, 1819.

6. The Requiem: K.626. Six months previously, Mozart had been commissioned by Count Franz Walsegg-Stuppach to compose this work, which, however, had been delayed by his journey to Prague early in September for the production of “La Clemenza di Tito” and by his work on “Die Zauberfloete”, first performed on 30 September.

7. Albrechtsberger: As Mozart intended, Albrechtsberger, the court organist, succeeded him as assistant to the Kapellmeister at St. Stephen’s Cathedral, Leopold Hofmann.

8. Mozart died at 55 minutes past midnight on 5 December, 1791.

9. Mueller: Count Josef Deym von Stritetz (1752-1804), alias Mueller, was the owner of a collection of wax-works, casts from the antique, and miscellaneous attractions, which from 1797 onwards was housed in a building on the Danube canal. Mozart’s death-mask has disappeared. According to Nohl (“Mozart nach den Schilderungen seiner Zeitgenossen”, p. 393), Constanze, one day while cleaning, smashed the copy in her possession. She is said to have remarked that ‘she was glad that the ugly old thing was broken’ (A. Schurig, “Leopold Mozarts Reiseaufzeichnungen, p. 92).

MOZART'S MOTHER-IN-LAW, CAECILIA WEBER: AN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY MATRIARCH--MY PAGE

And now, dear friends, my Mama, Caecilia Weber, always had the last word.
And so she does again!

MOZART’S MOTHER-IN-LAW, CAECILIA WEBER: AN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY MATRIARCH--MY PAGE:

Let me introduce myself, my dear visitors. My name is Caecilia, Widow Weber, nee Stamm.
I have lived a life of hard work and sacrifice, fretting over all my children, wanting the best for them, disappointed, of course, when they have thwarted my expectations.
But they are good children.
I have raised decent children—four daughters who can make their way with the musical skills my late husband, Fridolin, so faithfully taught them.

We women have it harder than the menfolk.
For want of a husband, how can we sustain our livelihood?
I wistfully think that I wish my daughters would have married moneyed men—gentlemen of property and wealth.
Oh, my daughters are so romantic: “We would only marry for love, Mama!”
But I ask you: Is it not just as easy to love a rich man as it is to love a poor one?

Many of my family members are musicians and singers, as are many of my late husband’s kin.
Fridolin saw to it that all my girls were likewise trained as musicians and singers.

A great misfortune for me was losing my life’s partner, Fridolin.
Gracious God; I could ill afford to dower all my four daughters!
How were they, now being orphaned, to procure husbands?
Fate took a hand in the end because Fridolin had trained my girls to be singers and musicians.
And as one would expect—since the theater was their milieu—all my daughters’ husbands turned out to be musicians and actors.

Upon the death of my husband, now I had to think ahead that my daughters were now of an age to marry.
And through Aloysia’s connections with the Court Theater, I obtained a guardian for my four daughters, one Herr Johann Thorwart, Inspector of Music, a man of importance at the opera house.

Thank God for Herr Thorwart!
I was grateful during those hard times that this man of authority would see that my daughters could not simply up and away!
If they wished to marry, Herr Thorwart would have to grant his permission--to approve the match and arrange the marriage contracts.

Wolfgang Mozart came to lodge in my boarding house, and formed a close attachment with my third daughter, Constanze.
Ach, after awhile the gossipmongers’ tongues were wagging.
I set Herr Thorwart to task to secure my daughter’s future; dependable Herr Thorwald did not let me down!
I insisted that Herr Thorwart draw up a contract to protect my Constanze; namely, as a condition to have further contact with my daughter, Mozart was made to sign the contract to either marry her within three years or ever after pay her the annual compensation of 300 gulden.

Ach, Josef Maria—Mozart took his sweet time in hying it off to the wedding altar at Saint Stefan’s Cathedral!
He could have done the honorable thing far sooner!
But you know what practically knocked me for a loop?..….Oh, the sheer gall of it!
My Constanze! She tore up the precious betrothal contract that Herr Thorwart had labored on so thoroughly and insistently—tore it up with her own two hands!
Just ripped that valuable piece of paper in two—poof!—like that!
O grosser Gott--O Gott, O Gott, O Gott—I hit the ceiling!
How could she!
“Mama”, Constanze explained sweetly, then emphatically, “Because I trust Wolfgang completely.”

Ach, the trust of the young!
They so lovingly and unquestioningly believe the ardent sweet-nothings and promises of their intended swains.
“It will always be so as it is right now,” they dreamily think and reason.
Ja, they need to keep the back of their minds free and uncluttered from this romantic nonsense!
“How much shall he provide for me?” should also be in their thoughts.

My dear guests, I find it ironic that Constanze’s husband, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, would distance himself somewhat from his own devoted but domineering father, Leopold Mozart, and Wolfgang’s sister, Maria Anna, who is very close to the father, and instead, turn to me and my daughters and their husbands for family love and comraderie.

Well, after my gifted daughter, Aloysia, deprived me of her income by up and eloping with that actor husband of hers, I found it only right and just that he remunerate me with a lifelong pension—modest thought it may be.
And why, pray tell, would I ever need mention this fact to my new son-in-law, Wolfgang Mozart?
Life, my dear friends, is not fair! We women do not have the fortunate option of making a living and earning good money as men do!
So if some slight, deserved gift should come my way, I certainly need hide it, or else other possible favors which I surely merit would then be lost to me. As you know, being a woman, I have no well-paying employment to fall back upon!

I have discovered in my hard labor of running a boarding house in Vienna that money is only important when one does not have it.
Otherwise, one does not think of it, though in its absence, it is all that matters!
Believe me, a person does not want to be old and to be poor.
A full purse string would soften the discomforts of advancing years.

My friends, I was born in Mannheim in 1727, and am six years my late husband’s, Fridolin’s, senior.
Ja, Fridolin, my dear departed spouse: Ach, how different we were—he compliant, kind, and gentle, and I—forceful, strong, very opinionated.
We were opposites, but we were a team; we made it work.
I relied on Fridolin’s steady, gentle nature to nurture and support me.

Well, my friends, I am proud of all my children. My dear, late husband, Fridolin, and I did good—if I may say so myself.
And now, in my dotage, my dear youngest daughter, Sophie, lives with me and is my comfort and my solace.

"MOZART’S MOTHER-IN-LAW, CAECILIA WEBER: AN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY MATRIARCH--MY PAGE" is the exclusive property of Marti Burger, and is not to be reprinted without her written permission.

"MOZART’S MOTHER-IN-LAW, CAECILIA WEBER: AN EIGHTEENTH CENTURY MATRIARCH--MY PAGE"
© Marti Burger 2003-2008

MOZART'S SISTER-IN-LAW, JOSEFA WEBER: DOWN-TO-EARTH DIVA--ABOUT MYSELF

Please meet my older sister, Josefa Weber:

Mozart's Sister-in-Law, Josefa Weber:
Down-To-Earth Diva--About Myself:

Gruess Gott--meine Damen und Herren!
Ach, do come in and please--bitte--make yourselves at home here in my comfy parlor.
Is the chair comfortable?
I shall bring you some Kaffee and Linzertorten straight away.
I so love how my cooking and meals please my visitors.

Please let me introduce myself, meine lieben Gaeste.
I am Josefa Hofer Mayer, nee Weber, the eldest child of Fridolin and Cecilia Weber, my father being a Musiker by trade.
I was born in the year of our Lord 1759 in Zell im Wiesenthal in the Black Forest.
I was blessed to be born tall in stature, quite the tallest of us four sisters, large-boned, sturdy, and as strong as a horse.
I have energy in abundance, and my bustling about and frequent constitutionals contribute to my great lung capacity, which is indispensable to me in the art of singing.

For I am a soprano at Emanuel Schikaneder's Theater in Vienna and, I am often told, gifted with a fine, strong, powerful voice.
The good Lord saw fit to endow me with a range of more than four octaves, to F above high C.
Yes, my vocal range is Praise God extremely wide and flexible.

Ach, my weakness is food. I LOVE it! And I love to cook; I delight in it and in concocting new and savoury recipes.
I see how my cooking delights especially the menfolk.
How their eyes twinkle and their cheeks glow rosy with pleasure and anticipation, and their lips smile upon first seeing (and smelling) my delicious culinary creations at table.

Ach, meine lieben Gaeste, my love of the culinary arts has alas contributed to my unfortunate avoirdupoids—how I hate to pronounce the word: yes—plain and simple—FAT.
Not that I am obese, mind you—far from it.
And being tall and large-boned, I carry my extra weight well.
I am just a trifling overweight.

My physical imperfections would be of little consequence were it not for Aloysia, the second oldest of us Weber girls.
Aloysia like myself is a songbird to the core, and blessed with an alabaster complexion, small and dainty features, a slim and well-proportioned figure, a ready smile, and coquetterie in abundance.
My voice is more powerful and purer than my sister’s, the Prima Donna's, but it is she who garners all the attention, acclaim, admiration, applause, and throngs of lovesick admirers.

Oh, I do not bear Aloysia any jealousy. It would serve no purpose.
Thanks to God, there is a place also for me on the stage, with my powerful voice, deftness with comedy, razor-sharp timing, and my acting ability.
Thank goodness there is also work for me in my chosen profession; there is a place for me to tread the boards and employ my musical talent.
And, you know, I take comfort in the fact that my extra weight, in my opinion, also gives extra weight and power to my voice.

I suppose that I am known largely because I was the first "Queen of the Night" in my esteemed brother-in-law, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's, opera "The Magic Flute."
Mozart was very instrumental in my life.
I married Mozart's close friend, the violinist Franz de Paula Hofer, my late husband.
After his death, I married singer and actor Friedrich Sebastian Mayer, who likewise interpreted Mozart's music.
Among his roles were Sarastro in "The Magic Flute" and Pasha Selim in "The Abduction from the Seraglio".
Now you know, meine lieben Gaeste, a little of my life and my interests, and the influence upon me of my dear brother-in-law, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.

Here we are come so soon to the end of our discourse.
I was called to the Lord in December of 1819, aged sixty years.
I am very proud of my daughter, Josefa Hofer-Hoenig, herself also blessed with a beautiful soprano voice.
Like myself, Josefa is a soprano at Schickaneder’s Theater an der Wien and is also a talented pianist.

"Mozart's Sister-in-Law, Josefa Weber:
Down-To-Earth Diva--About Myself" is the exclusive property of Marti Burger, and is not to be reprinted without her written permission.

"Mozart's Sister-in-Law, Josefa Weber:
Down-To-Earth Diva--About Myself"
© Marti Burger 2003-2008