busy correspondence started right away - peppered with code and secret language since it got read by our parents - which is today known only in parts; oddly enough, my own letters got lost completely. I often laughed heartily at his scribblings, sometimes I wept because I missed him terribly. Then Wolfgang's letters became rarer, I began worrying. Was he doing well? Certainly he was awfully busy. My knowledge of French was making progress, only when should I make use of it? Merely with my friend at the post office?
In summer something very sad happened, dear Aunt Anna died in Paris. Poor Wolferl, how did I wish to be with him in order to comfort him. Luckily, they soon said, he was coming back. Unfortunately he couldn't manage traveling directly to Augsburg, in a loving letter, however, he invited me at once to come to Munich. "My Angel, my Love, I am aching impatiently for you." he wrote. And I ought to come quickly. Presumably to even play a big role. Mon Dieu! Was my little-girl-dream to come true in the end? My heart was rejoicing.
Via my friend at the post, a carriage was available to me virtually at any time, and thus I flew to town within a short eight-hour-journey, right in the first week of January. Fourteen endless months had passed, no small wonder how ardent our reunion turned out. The Munich days were entirely filled with romance and passion. Above all, no watchdog for miles around. Naturally I accompanied Wolfgang to various official visits, I recall for example at Baron Götz. But he did have changed, and sometimes I found him depressed, or caught him looking sadly. Understandable, his Mama was dead, and in addition to that the thought of returning to his father was weighing upon him, in particular due to his failure in Paris. Above all the prospect of being forced to work again for the hated Arch-Heel was causing a knot in his stomach. Yes, I know what you want to ask. No, he didn't say a word about Aloysia. It was only two-and-a-half years later when I heard about that, but by then he was already in Vienna. We, however, are not yet so far. Well, we were together in perfect harmony, and Wolfgang absolutely wanted to take me to Salzburg. He in fact seemed to have the most honourable intentions; finally his father and Nannerl should get to really know me. I was happy through and through, and so we left Munich in the middle of January in company of the Salzburg salesman, Herr Gschwendtner, who was keeping a rather watchful eye on us while we were happily snuggling into each other under the fur in the cold carriage.
Never before in my life I had been that far away from home, and what a splendid town Salzburg was. So very different from Augsburg. There was the dominant castle, the River Salzach running right through the middle of the town, and the beautiful Alps in the south. Was Wolfgang aware of the beauty of his hometown at all? Almost in sight of the parental apartment there was Mirabell Palace and its lovely gardens - well, there was nothing like that at home. And then this apartment - wow! Something like that I had never seen before: eight rooms plus a huge hall where my uncle displayed musical instruments in order to sell them on commission. My word, Uncle Leopold! Living in a big way, eh? My uncle had one of the heatable front rooms prepared for me, and not only he but also Cousin Nannerl gave us a hearty welcome.
The building in foreground on this photo was my cousin's home, the Tanzmeisterhaus on the Hannibalplatz, today Makartplatz.
It was many unforgettable weeks I spent there; apart from the tense first days it was comfortable, amusing, in the evenings games were played, cards, shooting the air gun - do you know this one target with Wolfgang and me on, crying? - and of course music was played daily, wonderful! What gifted musicians my relatives indeed were! Nannerl, 27 years of age and not yet married, ran the household and gave regularly piano lessons, not however without having attended the early mass at 7:00 a.m. every morning, where I went with her very often, for I was used to this going to church from home. Wolfgang showed me his hometown and introduced me to all his numerous friends - quite an entertaining bunch of people. Naturally very many times he was called to the Prince-Archbishop together with whom he even played music, but nearly always he came home bad-tempered. He composed only little during the first time after his return, but on one occasion I kept him company during his writing down the latest composition. Two days before I departed he finished the so-called Coronation Mass. I admit, I was flabbergasted. How was it possible to create such a complex thing like composing music in one's head, and to follow a conversation while writing it down?! Ingenious! Like never before, however, I realized how distant his actual world, the music, really was to me .
The presumably inevitable happened. Of course, Uncle Leopold liked me a lot but - if at all - he did not want his son to marry, and certainly not at this very point in time. Oh dear, did that damn hurt! And Wolfgang? Time for revolting against his father had not yet come; facing the horrendous debts, and massive sense of guilt, he therefore did not dare to really contradict. It broke both our hearts. Like that I left Salzburg at the end of March, completely disillusioned, unspeakably disappointed, and literally ill from lovesickness. Later, Wolfgang wrote me this letter with that wonderful longing love poem - and I still know it by heart - but the number of Adieu's unequivocally showed me the true nature of his letter.