Warning: Rokoko Language Alert
Still in an Amadeus mood, I see the original premiere of the stage play was the occasion of Margeret Thatcher displaying the kind of reality reordering that currently has become almost universal among conservatives of all calibres. Wrote Peter Hall, who directed the original stage production:
She was not pleased. In her best headmistress style, she gave me a severe wigging for putting on a play that depicted Mozart as a scatological imp with a love of four-letter words. It was inconceivable, she said, that a man who wrote such exquisite and elegant music could be so foul-mouthed. I said that Mozart's letters proved he was just that: he had an extraordinarily infantile sense of humour (...) "I don't think you heard what I said", replied the Prime Minister. "He couldn't have been like that". I offered (and sent) a copy of Mozart's letters to Number Ten the next day; I was even thanked by the appropriate Private Secretary. But it was useless: the Prime Minister said I was wrong, so wrong I was.
Indeed, of the many liberties Amadeus takes, letting Mozart make dirty jokes of a scatological type wasn't one. The most famous examples are probably in the "Bäsle Letters, i.e. the letters to his cousin in Augsburg, in a translation of Robert Spaethling that catches all the punning and rhyming: "Deares cozz buzz!I have received reprieved your highly esteemed writing biting, and I have noted doted thy my uncle garfuncle, my aunt slant, and you too, are all well mell. We, too thank god, are in good fettle kettle (...) You write further, indeed you let it all out, you expose yourself, you let yourself be heard, you give me notice, you declare yourself, you indicate to me, you bring me the news, you announce unto me, you state in broad daylight, you demand, you desire, you wish, you want, you like, you command that I, too, should could send you my Portrait. Eh bien, I shall mail fail it for sure. Oui, by the love of my skin, I shit on your nose, so it runs down your chin..
(Another famous example, from a letter to his father, no less, has him describing a snobby concert audience as the "Ducheße arschbömerl, die gräfin brunzgern, die fürstin richzumtreck, und die 2 Princzen Mußbauch von Sauschwanz", translated by Schröder as "the Duchess Smackarse, the Countess Pleasurepisser, the Princess Stinkmess, and the two Princes Potbelly von Pigdick".)
Now if Peter Hall had wanted to irritate Margaret Thatcher further, he could have added it wasn't just Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, quondam citizen of Salzburg, who wrote with such frankness about bodily functions in that time. In the same year, 1777, Mozart wrote the above quoted lines to his cousin after a lengthy visit in Augsburg, Joseph II, co-ruler of the Empire with his mother Maria Theresia, also paid a visit to relations. (Yes, that's the same Emperor Joseph depicted in Amadeus.) He visited his younger sister Marie Antoinette in Paris, where she and her husband Louis had in seven years of marriage not managed to have intercourse in a way that produced an heir. Since the Austria/France alliance (after centuries of hostility) was a relatively recent thing, a lot was riding on this particular marriage being a success. Which meant Joseph during his visit found himself acting as unofficial Dr. Ruth to the younger couple. So this is the highest ranking man of his and Mozart's time writing home to brother Leopold after a first personal chat with both his sister and his brother-in-law in which he finally figures out what the problem is:
(Louis) has excellent erections, puts his penis inside, remains there perhaps two minutes without moving and without ejaculating, then he pulls his still erected penis out and says goodnight to his wife. The entire thing is incomprehensible since he does have the occasional wet dream. He appears to be completely satisfied and admits that he regards the act solely as an exercise in duty, finding no pleasure in it. If I could have been present, I'd have taught him! He should be whipped like an ass so he might ejaculate. As for our sister, she's not very sensually inclined, either, and the two of them together are a pair of blatant amateurs.
(Joseph expressed himself more tactfully towards Louis, successfully so, sine Marie Antoinette finally did get pregnant afterwards.)
What I'm trying to get at: context! The 18th century was far more comfortable discussing bodily functions than the two subsequent ones, and Mozart might have been an extraordinary musical genius, but when it came to his attitude towards sex and waste, he fit right in with his contemporaries. :)
This entry was originally posted at https://selenak.dreamwidth.org/1370984.html. Comment there or here, as you wish.
She was not pleased. In her best headmistress style, she gave me a severe wigging for putting on a play that depicted Mozart as a scatological imp with a love of four-letter words. It was inconceivable, she said, that a man who wrote such exquisite and elegant music could be so foul-mouthed. I said that Mozart's letters proved he was just that: he had an extraordinarily infantile sense of humour (...) "I don't think you heard what I said", replied the Prime Minister. "He couldn't have been like that". I offered (and sent) a copy of Mozart's letters to Number Ten the next day; I was even thanked by the appropriate Private Secretary. But it was useless: the Prime Minister said I was wrong, so wrong I was.
Indeed, of the many liberties Amadeus takes, letting Mozart make dirty jokes of a scatological type wasn't one. The most famous examples are probably in the "Bäsle Letters, i.e. the letters to his cousin in Augsburg, in a translation of Robert Spaethling that catches all the punning and rhyming: "Deares cozz buzz!I have received reprieved your highly esteemed writing biting, and I have noted doted thy my uncle garfuncle, my aunt slant, and you too, are all well mell. We, too thank god, are in good fettle kettle (...) You write further, indeed you let it all out, you expose yourself, you let yourself be heard, you give me notice, you declare yourself, you indicate to me, you bring me the news, you announce unto me, you state in broad daylight, you demand, you desire, you wish, you want, you like, you command that I, too, should could send you my Portrait. Eh bien, I shall mail fail it for sure. Oui, by the love of my skin, I shit on your nose, so it runs down your chin..
(Another famous example, from a letter to his father, no less, has him describing a snobby concert audience as the "Ducheße arschbömerl, die gräfin brunzgern, die fürstin richzumtreck, und die 2 Princzen Mußbauch von Sauschwanz", translated by Schröder as "the Duchess Smackarse, the Countess Pleasurepisser, the Princess Stinkmess, and the two Princes Potbelly von Pigdick".)
Now if Peter Hall had wanted to irritate Margaret Thatcher further, he could have added it wasn't just Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, quondam citizen of Salzburg, who wrote with such frankness about bodily functions in that time. In the same year, 1777, Mozart wrote the above quoted lines to his cousin after a lengthy visit in Augsburg, Joseph II, co-ruler of the Empire with his mother Maria Theresia, also paid a visit to relations. (Yes, that's the same Emperor Joseph depicted in Amadeus.) He visited his younger sister Marie Antoinette in Paris, where she and her husband Louis had in seven years of marriage not managed to have intercourse in a way that produced an heir. Since the Austria/France alliance (after centuries of hostility) was a relatively recent thing, a lot was riding on this particular marriage being a success. Which meant Joseph during his visit found himself acting as unofficial Dr. Ruth to the younger couple. So this is the highest ranking man of his and Mozart's time writing home to brother Leopold after a first personal chat with both his sister and his brother-in-law in which he finally figures out what the problem is:
(Louis) has excellent erections, puts his penis inside, remains there perhaps two minutes without moving and without ejaculating, then he pulls his still erected penis out and says goodnight to his wife. The entire thing is incomprehensible since he does have the occasional wet dream. He appears to be completely satisfied and admits that he regards the act solely as an exercise in duty, finding no pleasure in it. If I could have been present, I'd have taught him! He should be whipped like an ass so he might ejaculate. As for our sister, she's not very sensually inclined, either, and the two of them together are a pair of blatant amateurs.
(Joseph expressed himself more tactfully towards Louis, successfully so, sine Marie Antoinette finally did get pregnant afterwards.)
What I'm trying to get at: context! The 18th century was far more comfortable discussing bodily functions than the two subsequent ones, and Mozart might have been an extraordinary musical genius, but when it came to his attitude towards sex and waste, he fit right in with his contemporaries. :)
This entry was originally posted at https://selenak.dreamwidth.org/1370984.html. Comment there or here, as you wish.