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Access of wrath
VIENNA, Mozart House. 1781
I went to Vienna, obeying an order from the
archbishop who had gone there and had dreamed
of having his court musicians perform there. There I had no problem in saying what I thought about the prelate's avarice. I demanded that he respect me as an artist, as a creator of beauty.
I made it clear with indignation, as my wig stuck to my forehead from the heat that suddenly inflamed me, that I would no longer accept Colloredo's treatment of me as one of the servants who washed his clothes. I left by slamming the door and at the beginning of May, after yet another quarrel with the archbishop,
I submitted my resignation in writing to him.The archbishop's chamberlain, in agreement with my stubborn father, tried several times to convince me to withdraw my resignation, without success. In the end, in a last, tense conversation, Count Arco, the chamberlain, literally threw me out by kicking me in the derrière. I told the episode to my father, writing him
in a letter that I was tired, that I would not tolerate it any longer, that I felt humiliated, drowned, mutilated in my honourable artistic aptitude! I asked him how he could ever trust the Count after what he had done to me. And I confirmed that no, I would certainly not beg to get back into the archbishop's good graces, for me the matter was closed.
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