nquillity. 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.

As Mozart was returning from this soiree (at which, as it happened, the
singer was not present), a somewhat excited friend was so indiscreet as
to r