ery correctly. We
now commenced writing in three parts. She tried it, and fatigued
herself in attempts, but it was impossible to help her; nor can we
move on a step further, for it is too early, and in science one
must advance by the proper gradations. If she had genius--but
alas! there is none--she has no thoughts--nothing comes. I have
tried her in every imaginable way; among others it occurred to me
to place a very simple minuet before her, to see whether she could
make a variation upon it. That was all to no purpose. Now, thought
I, she does not know how to begin; so I varied the first bar for
her, and told her to continue the variation pursuing that idea;
and at length she got through tolerably well. I next requested her
to begin something herself--the first part only--a melody; but
after a quarter of an hour's cogitation nothing came. I then wrote
four bars of a minuet, and said, 'What a stupid fellow I am, I
have begun a minuet, and cannot finish the first part of it. Have
the goodness to do it for me.' She distrusted her ability, but at
last, with much labour, something came to light. I rejoiced that
we got something at last. She had now to complete the entire
minuet, that is to say, the melody only. On going away, I
recommended her to alter my four bars for something of her own; to
make another beginning even if she retained the same harmony, and
only altered the melody. I shall see to-morrow how she has
succeeded."

In the midst of this irksome labour, Mozart's beloved mother expired
at Paris in the summer of 1778, after a fortnight's illness. He then
wrote to his father that she was "very ill," and to a family friend at
Salzburg, desiring him to prepare his father and sister for the truth.
The whole correspondence at this time is interesting. The letter to
the Abbe Bullinger is in these words:--

"Sympathize with me on this the most wretched and melancholy day
of my life. I write at two o'clock in the morning to inform you
that my mother--my dearest mother--is no more! God has called her
to himself. I saw clearly that nothing could save her, and
resigned myself entirely to the will of God; he gave, and he can
take away. Picture to yourself the state of alarm, care, and
anxiety in which I have been kept for the last fortnight. She died
without being conscious of any thing--her life went