Berlin, he returned to Vienna, and at once set to work
upon some quartets which the King of Prussia had ordered from him.
"Cosi fan tutte," a comic opera, with the beautifully flowing music
that only Mozart could write, but with a stupid plot that has
prevented its frequent repetition in later times; and the glorious
"Zauberfloete," written to assist a theatrical manager, Schikaneder,
were his next works. At this time a strange melancholy began to show
itself in his letters--it may be that already his overwrought brain
was conscious that the end was not far distant. Such lines as these,
pathetic and sad in their simple and almost childlike expression,
occur in a letter he wrote during a short absence from his wife, at
Frankfort, in 1790: "I am as happy as a child at the thought of
returning to you. If people could see into my heart I should almost
feel ashamed--all there is cold, cold as ice. Were you with me, I
should possibly take more pleasure in the kindness of those I meet
here, but all seems to me so empty." On his return to Vienna pecuniary
want was rather pressingly felt; his silver plate had to be pawned,
and a perfidious friend, Stadler, made away with the tickets, and the
silver was never redeemed. On one occasion Joseph Deiner, the landlord
of the "Silberne Schlange," chanced to call upon him, and was
surprised to find Mozart and his wife Constanze dancing round the
room. The laughing explanation was that they had no firewood in the
house, and so were trying to warm themselves with dancing. Deiner at
once offered to send in firewood, Mozart promising to pay as soon as
he could.

That grand work, the "Zauberfloete," had just been completed when a
strange commission was given him. One day a tall, haggard-looking man,
dressed in gray, with a very sombre expression of countenance, called
upon Mozart, bringing with him an anonymous letter. This letter
contained an inquiry as to the sum for which he would write a mass for
the dead, and in how short a time this could be completed. Mozart
consulted his wife, and the sum of fifty ducats was mentioned. The
stranger departed, and soon returned with the money, promising Mozart
a further sum on completion, and also mentioned that he might as well
spare the trouble of finding out who had given this commission, for it
would be entirely useless. We now know that the commission had really
been given by Count Walsegg, a foolish nobleman, whose wife had died,
and who wanted,