The Webers moved to Vienna where Aloysia was highly successful as a prima donna.  In March, 1781, the Archbishop, to whom Mozart played the part of musical lackey, summoned him to the same city.  The Archbishop was one whose petty malicious and grinding temper almost drove the pious Mozart to contempt of all churchmen.  At least he drove him finally to a declaration of independence which, in our modern eyes, he was very long in reaching.  The Archbishop’s brother, Count Arco, was so infuriated at the impertinence of a mere musical flunkey, like Mozart, daring to present a formal resignation, that he heaped abuse upon him and finally kicked him out of the room.  Everybody knows about this kick, but seemingly ignores the fact that Mozart was restrained from retaliation only by the fact that he was in the apartment of the prince, and that it was the dream of his life and his very definite plan to meet Count Arco and return the kick with interest.  But the Archbishop and the count went back to Salzburg and the opportunity did not occur.

The portrait usually presented of Mozart meekly accepting the humiliation is of a piece with the legend that Keats died of a broken heart because of a bitter review of his poetry.  The fact being, of course, that Keats’ death was due to constitutional weakness, and that the emotion inspired by the attack upon his art was a burning desire to punch the critic’s head.

Strange to say, Mozart could not convince his pusillanimous father that he did not owe an apology to the Archbishop for being kicked.  But he was so deeply offended that he never returned to Salzburg.  So much for those who cherish the pathetic belief that the days of patrons were of benefit to the artist and his art.

Mozart did not starve upon being left positionless in Vienna.  The emperor desired to establish a national opera, and Mozart took up the composition of his “Die Entfuehrung aus dem Serail.”  In the first moment of his quarrel with the Archbishop Mozart had left the retinue and sought rooms outside.  Where could he go for a home but back to the household of the Webers?—­now more than ever in poverty since the good father had died and Aloysia had married soon after obtaining her new engagement.

The very name of Weber was a red rag to Leopold Mozart, and he began a series of bitter rebukes, which the son answered with ample dignity and gentleness.

“What you write about the Webers, I do assure, is not the fact.  I was a fool about Madame Lange, I own; but what is a man not when he is in love?  But I did love her truly, and even now I feel that she is not indifferent to me; it is perhaps, therefore, fortunate that her husband is a jealous booby and never leaves her, so that I seldom have an opportunity of seeing her.  Believe me when I say that old Madame Weber is a very obliging person, and I cannot serve her in proportion to her kindness to me, for indeed I have not time to do so.”