The Two Mozarts. The difficult relationship between father and son: the clash between art and life

Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt is a renowned, prolific French writer and playwright, one of the most frequently staged in the theatre and also adapted for the cinema, and widely translated in other countries (in Italy by the publisher e/o). He was awarded the Goncourt Prize for the short stories in "Concerto per la morte di un angelo", and indeed the short story form is where he is at his most compelling. His recent work I due Mozart (translated by Alberto Bracci Testasecca) should therefore be read as a highly enjoyable long short story, rather than as a novel. This is because there is but a single theme: the difficult relationship between a father and a son, Leopold and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart. All the other characters are merely supporting figures, barely sketched out and sometimes reduced to caricatures. Even of the highly talented Nannerl, the elder sister of ‘Wolfi’ – as the great composer is known within the family – we are told very little. She, too, was musically gifted, but these were not times when one would have bet on female talent, especially when it was overshadowed by the presence of an absolute genius who revealed his genius from the very earliest childhood. Yet the clash remains fascinating between Leopold—who believed in his son from the very start, whilst stubbornly insisting on keeping him in line, attempting to mould a personality that was by nature excessive and rebellious—and Wolfi, who, whilst loving his father dearly, is compelled by his very nature to betray him; a nature that ‘knows how to create wonder and, through art, give the appearance of naturalness without ever sacrificing depth’.

It is wonderful, in this book, to follow the musical – and obsessive – discoveries of the future composer from his childhood onwards. Everything is music to him, ‘the jingling of bells and the clatter of hooves crunching through the snow’; and in the same way, when reading a score, ‘a whole tiny universe of snow-covered woods and icy dust comes to life within him’. In a final note, the author warns the reader of a slight departure from the facts of the story, because ‘the truth must not only be told, but also made to be felt’. Therein lies the point: this statement rings so true of novels based on real events and people that perhaps Schmitt could have dared more, strayed further from the facts, and thus cast upon the reader that spell which is lacking in his prose.

Setting aside what might be an overly harsh judgment, the narrative, as they say, ‘works’ very well just as it is, and will certainly convince those who know little about music or Mozart, enabling them to grasp very precisely the difficulty faced by the father, who struggles to relinquish a futile and anxious authority over a son who carries within him the powerful duty to follow a calling – a unique talent stronger than himself. The final pages are deeply moving, with Wolfgang deciding not to attend his father’s funeral because he is too absorbed in his work (at least on the surface; this is the reason he likes to give himself) and who must then come face to face with the Commendatore’s ghost in his Don Giovanni – a figure who is none other than his deceased father, returning in all his might to terrify him and demand that the opera’s protagonist (or Wolfi himself?) repent for his sins.

The program will conclude with the famous Requiem of 1791, which remains unfinished due to the death, at the age of just thirty-five, of the musician who never truly came of age and for whom no requiem had been composed when Leopold passed away. Here, the mysteries surrounding this final composition are touched upon with appropriate discretion, whilst once again feelings of guilt come to the fore and the author has a Mozart—who is himself on his deathbed—say: (he) “knew how to be a father; it is I who did not know how to be a son”.