Love Letters
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart to Constanze Weber
(Vienna, April 29, 1782)
Dearest, Most Beloved Friend!
Surely you will still allow me to address you by this name? Surely you do not hate me so much that I may be your friend no longer, and you – no longer mine? And even if you will not be my friend any longer, yet you cannot forbid me to wish you well, my friend, since it has become very natural for me to do so. Do think over what you said to me to-day. Inspite of all my entreaties you have thrown me over three times and told me to my face that you intend to have nothing more to do with me. I (to whom it means more than it does to you to lose the object of my love) am not so hot-tempered, so rash and so senseless as to accept my dismissal. I love you far too well to do so. I entreat you, therefore, to ponder and reflect upon the cause of all this unpleasantness, which arose from my being annoyed that you were so impudently inconsiderate as to say to your sisters – and, be it noted, in my presence – that you had let a chapeau measure the calves of your legs. No woman who cares for her honor can do such a thing. It is quite a good maxim to do as one’s company does. At the same time there are many other factors to be considered – as, for example, whether only intimate friends and acquaintances are present – whether I am a child or a marriageable girl – more particularly, whether I am already betrothed – but, above all, whether only people of my own social standing or my social inferiors – or, what is even more important, my social superiors are in the company? If it is true that the Baroness herself allowed it to be done to her, the case is still quite different, for she is already past her prime and cannot possibly attract any longer – and, besides, she is inclined to be promiscuous with her favors. I hope, dearest friend, that even if you do not wish to become my wife, you will never lead a life like hers. If it was quite impossible for you to resist the desire to take part in the game (although it is not always wise for a man to do so, and still less for a woman), then why in the name of Heaven did you not take the ribbon and measure your own calves yourself (as all self-respecting women have done on similar occasions in my presence) and not allow a chapeau to do so? . . . But it is all over now; and the least acknowledgment of your somewhat thoughtless behavior on that occasion would have made everything all right again; and if you will not make a grievance of it, dearest friend, everything will still be all right. You realize now how much I love you. I do not fly into a passion as you do. I think, I reflect and I feel. If you will but surrender to your feelings, then I know this very day that I shall be able to say with absolute confidence that Costanze is the virtuous, honorable, prudent and loyal sweetheart of her honest and devoted.
Mozart
