Serail, thanks to its popular element.  But, on the other hand, several years later Figaro made a most unexpected and lamentable fiasco, in comparison with the success of its pleasing, though quite insignificant rival Cosa rara—­and not alone through the intrigue of the manager.  It was the same Figaro which, soon after, the cultivated and unprejudiced people of Prague received with such enthusiasm that the master, in gratitude, determined to write his next great opera for them.

But despite the unfavorable period and the influence of his enemies, Mozart, if he had been more prudent and circumspect, might have received a very considerable sum from his art.  As it was, he was in arrears after every enterprise, even when full houses shouted their applause to him.  So circumstances, his own nature, and his own faults conspired to keep him from prosperity.

And what a sad life was that of Frau Mozart!  She was young and of a cheerful disposition, musical, and of a musical family, and had the best will in the world to stop the mischief at the outset, and, failing in that, to make up for the loss in great things by saving in small affairs.  But she lacked, perhaps, skill and experience.  She held the purse, and kept the account of the house expenses.  Every claim, every bill, every vexation was carried to her.  How often must she have choked back the tears when to such distress and want, painful embarrassment, and fear of open disgrace, was added the melancholy of her husband, in which he would remain for days, accomplishing nothing, refusing all comfort, and either sighing and complaining, or sitting silent in a corner, thinking continually of death!  But she seldom lost courage, and almost always her clear judgment found counsel and relief, though it might be but temporary.  In reality she could make no radical change in the situation.  If she persuaded him in seriousness or in jest, by entreaties or by coaxing, to eat his supper and spend his evening with his family, she had gained but little.  Perhaps, touched by the sight of his wife’s distress, he would curse his bad habits and promise all that she asked—­even more.  But to no purpose; he would soon, unexpectedly, find himself in the old ruts again.  One is tempted to believe that he could not do otherwise, and that a code of morals, totally different from our ideas of right and wrong, of necessity controlled him.

Yet Frau Constanze hoped continually for a favorable turn of affairs, a great improvement in their financial condition, which could hardly fail to follow Mozart’s increasing fame.  If the anxiety which always pressed upon him, more or less, could be lightened; if, instead of devoting half his strength and time to earning money he could live only for his art, and, moreover, could enjoy with a clear conscience those pleasures which he needed for body and mind, then he would grow calmer and more natural.  She hoped, indeed, for an opportunity to leave Vienna, for, in spite of his affection for the place, she was convinced that he would never prosper there.  Some decisive step toward the realization of her plans and wishes she promised herself as the result of the new opera, for which they were now on their way to Prague.