What drew him to Constance?  Let him answer that question himself.  “But the middle one, my good, dear Constance,” he writes to his father, “is a martyr among them, and for that reason, perhaps, the best hearted, cleverest, and, in a word, the best among them. . . .  She is neither homely nor beautiful.  Her whole beauty lies in two small, dark eyes and in a fine figure.  She is not brilliant, but has common sense enough to perform her duties as wife and mother.  She is not extravagant; on the contrary, she is accustomed to go poorly dressed, because what little her mother can do for her children she does for the others, but never for her.  It is true that she would like to be tastefully and becomingly dressed, but never expensively; and most of the things a woman needs she can make for herself.  She does her own coiffure every day [head-dress must have been something appalling in those days]; understands housekeeping; has the best disposition in the world.  We love each other with all our hearts.  Tell me if I could ask a better wife for myself?”

The letter is so touchingly frank and simple that whoever reads it must feel that the portrait Mozart draws of his Constance is absolutely true to life.  He makes no attempt to paint her as a paragon of beauty and intellect.  It is a picture of the neglected member of a household—­neglected because of her homely virtues, the one fair flower blooming in the dark crevice of this shiftless menage.  And at the end of the letter is the one cry which, since the world was young, has defied and brought to naught the doubting counsels of wiser heads:  “We love each other with all our hearts.”

The elder Mozart, fearful for his son’s future, had kept himself informed of what was going on in Vienna.  He knew that when his son’s attentions to Constance became marked, her guardian had compelled him to sign a promise of marriage.  In this the father again saw a trap laid for his son, who in worldly matters was as unversed as a child.  But Leopold Mozart did not know how the episode ended, and little suspected that future generations would see in it one of the most charming incidents in the love affairs of great men.  For, when her guardian had left the house, Constance asked her mother for the paper, and as soon as she had it in her hands, tore it up, exclaiming:  “Dear Mozart, I do not need a written promise from you.  I trust your words.”

Frau Weber saw in Mozart, the suitor, a possible contributor to the household expenses, and as soon as she learned that he and Constance intended to set up for themselves, she became bitterly opposed to the match.  Finally a titled lady, Baroness von Waldstadter, took the young people under her protection, and Constance went to live with her to escape her mother’s nagging.  Frau Weber then planned to force her daughter to return to her by legal process.  Immediate marriage was the only method of escape from the scandal this would entail; and so, August 4, 1782, Mozart and his Constance were married in the Church of St. Stephen, Vienna.  When at last they had all obstacles behind them and stood at the altar as one, they were so overcome by their feelings that they began to cry; and the few bystanders, including the priest, were so deeply affected by their happiness that they too were moved to tears.