The Glass Window Boast in Frankfurt

As the Mozarts embarked on their “grand tour,” Leopold couldn’t resist leaving a boastful mark. At their lodging in Frankfurt, he etched onto a windowpane: “Mozart, Maitre de la Musique de la Chapelle de Salzbourg avec Sa Famille le 12 Aout 1763.” The inscription—claiming a title he did not possess—translates to, “Mozart, Master of the Music Chapel of Salzburg with his family, 12 August 1763.” This self-promotion shows Leopold’s habitual need to exaggerate their importance, raising himself to the rank of Kapellmeister without ever holding that position officially. One might even say it was a compulsive need to dress up reality, ensuring history would remember him more grandly.

Vienna and the Imperial Court: Unimpressed or Ignored?

On 18 September 1762, the Mozart family reached Vienna, aiming to dazzle the imperial court. Schlichtegroll’s account again attempts to paint a picture of prestige. Yet, if we delve deeper, we find that neither Emperor Francis I nor his musicians paid much attention to the Mozart children. The imperial Master of the Chapel and the court musicians seem to have carried on quite unbothered by the young prodigies. Only Empress Maria Theresa, sharp-eyed and ever vigilant, reportedly referred to the Mozarts as “gueux”—that is, “beggars.”

A Fabricated Anecdote to Boost Mozart’s Fame

Desperate to validate this visit, Schlichtegroll concocted yet another fiction, this time at the expense of Georg Christoph Wagenseil, a respected court composer. According to the fanciful tale, Emperor Francis summoned Wagenseil to turn the pages for young Mozart, who had allegedly charmed the sovereign with his musical precocity. The story even features a precocious Wolfgang commanding: “Where is Mr. Wagenseil? He must come; he knows what he’s doing!” Wagenseil then obediently took his place, flipping pages for the child who supposedly performed one of the composer’s own concertos.

Implausibilities and Contradictions

Not only does Schlichtegroll’s account lack coherence, but it also stretches credibility. Are we to believe that Emperor Francis, preoccupied with the pressing concerns of war, granted an audience to a child performing feats such as playing the keyboard blindfolded or with a single finger? Moreover, this narrative conveniently undermines both Wagenseil and the emperor himself, portraying them as incompetent spectators to Mozart’s supposed genius. How convenient for Leopold’s legend.

As we peel back the layers of myth and examine the actual records—or lack thereof—the narrative that emerges is far less extraordinary than Leopold or his biographers would have us believe. In truth, the Mozarts’ encounters with European nobility were often less grand and far more fabricated than history remembers. “To believe the extraordinary,” it seems, “requires extraordinary evidence.” Alas, Leopold’s stories often fall woefully short.