“‘You see,’ he cried, ’I have surrendered myself to my cure, with all its appurtenances.  I will drink the water, and take exercise every day in the open air, with this stick as my companion.  I have been thinking about it; there is our neighbor, the privy-councilor, who cannot even cross the street to visit his best friend without his cane; tradesmen and officers, chancellors and shop-keepers, when they go with their families on Sunday for a stroll in the country, carry each one his trusty cane.  And I have noticed how in the Stephansplatz, a quarter of an hour before church or court, the worthy citizens stand talking in groups and leaning on their stout sticks, which, one can see, are the firm supports of their industry, order, and tranquillity.  In short, this old-fashioned and rather homely custom must be a blessing and a comfort.  You may not believe it, but I am really impatient to go off with this good friend for my first constitutional across the bridge.  We are already slightly acquainted, and I hope that we are partners for life.’

“The partnership was but a brief one, however.  On the third day of their strolls the companion failed to return.  Another was procured, and lasted somewhat longer; and, at any rate, I was thankful to Mozart’s sudden fancy for canes, since it helped him for three whole weeks to carry out the doctor’s instructions.  Good results began to appear; we had almost never seen him so bright and cheerful.  But after a while the fancy passed, and I was in despair again.  Then it happened that, after a very fatiguing day, he went with some friends who were passing through Vienna to a musical soiree.  He promised faithfully that he would stay but an hour, but those are always the occasions when people most abuse his kindness, once he is seated at the piano and lost in music; for he sits there like a man in a balloon, miles above the earth, where one cannot hear the clocks strike.  I sent twice for him, in the middle of the night; but the servant could not even get a word with him.  At last, at three in the morning, he came home, and I made up my mind that I must be very severe with him all day.”

Here Madame Mozart passed over some circumstances in silence.  It was not unlikely that the Signora Malerbi (a woman with whom Frau Constanze had good reason to be angry) would have gone also to this soiree.  The young Roman singer had, through Mozart’s influence, obtained a place in the opera, and without doubt her coquetry had assisted her in winning his favor.  Indeed, some gossips would have it that she had made a conquest of him, and had kept him for months on the rack.  However that may have been, she conducted herself afterward in the most impertinent and ungrateful manner, and even permitted herself to jest at the expense of her benefactor.  So it was quite like her to speak of Mozart to one of her more fortunate admirers as un piccolo grifo raso (a little well-shaven pig).  The comparison, worthy of a Circe, was the more irritating because one must confess that it contained a grain of truth.