Mozart's Portrait

     Last week for English, I was given an assignment to describe the face of someone in great detail. As soon as I heard what my assignment would be, I knew exactly whose face I would describe! Here is what I wrote...I think my professor liked it too! (I'm not sure if she knows yet exactly how obsessed I am with Mozart...)

     Mozart's face was nearly as enchanting as his music. It was long and oval; pale in complexion and nicked with poxmarks. His long, pointed nose cast shadows on one side of his face and above his upper lip. It dented in slightly at the top where it met his forehead, then came back out to form two gentle, golden-brown eyebrows that defined the emotion in his giant, almond-shaped, ocean blue eyes which gave off a look of mystery and passion. His tiny mouth was accented by salmon-pink lips; the bottom lip jutted out making a crease just above his chin, while his upper lip curved slightly to form a subtle smile just as mysterious as his eyes. His mess of fine blond hair was covered by a coarse, grey powdered wig, which was pulled into the back by a large, black bow.

(I looked at the Croce portrait while I wrote!)

Mozart, the Animal Lover

Mozart loved nature and animals. He kept several pets, and I thought it would be fun to write about them.

. . .

A Canary

Picture from Wikipedia

We read in a letter from 14-year-old Wolfgang to his sister Nannerl on May 19, 1770 about a little canary that the Mozarts kept. He wrote:

Write me, how is Mr. Canary? Does he still sing? Does he still pipe? Do you know why I am thinking of the canary? Because there is one in our anteroom that makes the same little sounds as ours.

. . .

A Dog

     Unfortunately, I can't seem to find much information on the dog that the Mozart family kept. Some sources say that it was a fox terrier.

     Mozart family letters refer to a "Miss Bimbes", a "Bimperl", and a "Pimperl". After much research, it sounds to me like they are all the same dog, but sometimes it's hard to tell. If I can find out any more, be assured that I will post it.

     

In a letter dated August 21, 1773 (at age 17), Mozart wrote to his sister:

How is Miss Bimbes? Please present all manner of compliments to her.

In an October 1777 letter from Leopold to 21-year-old Wolfgang (who was in France with his mother at the time), we read:

As the weather is fine, [Nannerl and I] take an early walk every day with our faithful Bimperl, who is in splendid trim and only becomes very sad and obviously most anxious when we are both out of the house, for then she thinks that because she has lost you two, she is now going to lose us as well. So when we went to the ball and she saw us masked, she refused to leave Mitzerl, and, when we got home, she was so overjoyed that I thought she would choke. Moreover, when we were out, she would not stay on her bed in the room, but remained lying on the ground outside the porter's door. She would not sleep, but kept on moaning, wondering, I suppose, whether we should ever return.

Then, while Mozart was writing and rehearsing Idomoneo, K. 366, in 1780, he wrote to his father:

Give Pimperl a pinch of Spanish snuff, a good wine-biscuit, and three busses (kisses).

. . .

A Starling

Picture from Wikipedia

On May 27, 1784, Mozart noted in his expense book that he had bought a pet starling. In the same book he also wrote down a tune that the bird whistled for him, and noted, "That was beautiful!"

Besides the two G sharps, the notes are identical to the theme of the third movement to Mozart's 17th Piano Concerto, K. 453, which had been written earlier that year. It is unknown whether he taught this to the bird, or if the bird whistled it for him (having been taught the tune by someone else), and that is what made him buy it.

The bird died on June 4, 1787. Mozart wrote a sad little poem on the occasion and buried the bird in his back yard.

To read the poem, click here.

. . .

A Horse

Mozart wrote to his wife, who was at the spa in Baden due to illness, in 1791:

Now as to my mode of life: As soon as you were gone I played two games of billiards with Herr von Mozart who wrote the opera for Schickaneder's theatre (The Magic Flute); then I sold my nag for fourteen ducats; then I had Joseph call my primus (valet) and bring a black coffee, to which I smoked a glorious pipe of tobacco...

Since his health was failing, Mozart's doctor advised him to buy a horse and ride every day. However, Mozart didn't care for the exercise and sold his horse.

Mozart's Requiem

         When Mozart's Requiem in D Minor, K. 626, was commissioned by a mysterious visitor (a messenger of Count Walsegg, who wanted to pass the composition off as his own), Mozart felt that the messenger was from heaven, telling him that his time was coming. He had been sick for a few months, and wasn't getting any better (he had a suspicion that a composer rival had poisoned him). He had a great fear of death. He wasn't in a good financial position, which worried him even more since he had a wife and two sons. 
         The Requiem in D Minor is probably Mozart's most incredible work. Unfortunately, a large portion of it was unfinished when he died. His pupil Franz Xaver Süßmayr finished the work after Mozart passed away.
         The story of the Requiem inspired me to write a little piece of poetry based on Mozart's point of  view while he is writing his last piece of music. I never write poetry, and this therefore doesn't follow any sort of writing rules. I just wrote what came to me and I hope you like it!

What is this pain inside

Which fills this joyful heart with sorrow,

Which counts every heartbeat as if it were the last,

And fills my every day with terror?

Each note I inscribe sings of my approaching doom,

The fate every man is sentenced to --

Rich and poor, good and dishonest alike.

My hand trembles as I begin each new measure;

The work is no longer mine, but my fate singing through me.

Why me? -- A man so young

And with multiple mouths to feed --

Why is this the man death searches for?

My beloved Creator would not call me so soon,

But jealous rivals made of flesh

Are anxious to be rid of me.

I feel the cruel, invisible weapon

Put in my goblet for an unsuspecting sip;

It creeps up my body and clutches on

With teeth like a venomous snake.

This mortal is lost in the battle for life;

His feeble body is no match for men's jealousy.

But listen!
My music rings out loud in the streets;

I am not dead, but alive!

I sing through ivory, ebony and wood,

Through brass horns and pipes of silver!
What man tried to be rid of,

Man brought back to life!