Rating: T for character death
Pairing(s): Mozart x Austria, Mozart x Constanze
Summary: Even knowing that he existed somewhere was enough.
Author's note: Sorry for any historical inaccuracies, if there are any. Obviously fitting Mozart's life into the Hetalia canon can cause such things, so I apologize. I kinda wrote this on a whim so there may be future edits which I will inform you of if they do happen at all. Other than that, enjoy, I guess.
Oct. 15, 1791
To my dearest friend Roderich, -
The performances of The Magic Flute are going well… I have no doubt in my mind that you have seen it by now. Herr Salieri and Mdme. Cavalieri attended the performance yesterday and applauded loudly for every aria. Salieri’s presence there filled me with pride for my work. Were you there? I don’t remember seeing you… I miss the sight of your face, the sound of your laughter – this is not a love letter, I assure you –the long discussions we have about music, the duets we play together… everything. I haven’t gotten any replies from you recently; I don’t know why that is- but I don’t mind, as long as you are getting my letters! One day we will meet again in person and then we may talk non-stop.
The only thing that worries me- the man in grey, you know, surely – the man who commissioned the death-mass from me – is prodding again… I am aware that he instructed me to tell no one about this commission, but since you are my best friend, I had to confide this to you. In my last letter, I told you not to tell anyone else, but it still makes me uneasy… Please be careful! I told the man I am working on the Requiem and with more fervor now that The Magic Flute is complete. I try to keep my mind off of the mysterious man as I write, but it is impossible… tell yourself not to think of a cup of coffee, and you will think of one.
There are so many things I’d like to say to you, but I’d much rather say them in person. However, my mind is pestering me to write these things now, so I suppose I have no choice but to tell you all of the things that must be said. Yes, they must be said, and you will know why when you hear them.
I really like being around you. There is a quality about you that draws me closer to you, but I can’t quite figure out what it is, exactly. Perhaps it is the quips you make at me when I make a joke, or the times your voice wavers when I tell you how much you mean to me and you can’t find the right words to say in reply. Or maybe it is how you have inspired me. We are both composers, after all. That one minuet you wrote last summer actually gave me a new musical idea. No, I’m not copying you, though I do admit to using other composers’ ideas in my own works on occasion. I heard you play your minuet and an idea was born inside my head. Music works in ways that even those who create it cannot fully explain.
Is there such a thing as friendship-love? I fully believe in it. I truly believe our friendship is like that. You are the dearest friend I have ever had in my whole life. I kiss your hands a thousand times and I am eternally your most wonderful friend in the whole wide world
Wolfgang Amadé Mozart
Nov. 19, 1791
To my dearest, most beloved friend Roderich,-
I have fallen ill recently, but I’m feeling somewhat better today. I do not know how long this will last, but hopefully I will not fall ill again to the point where I cannot even pick up this quill. I know you are worried about me, I don’t know where you are now; I asked the officials to deliver this letter to “a certain Herr Roderich Edelstein” in hopes they would know who you are and it would reach you. I did this remembering that you once told me you had a government position of some sort, though you were not specific. I am not one to get involved in political activities, so I did not inquire further.
However, that is not the subject of this letter. I wanted to tell you some wonderful news. My Freimaurerkantate premiered yesterday; the rest of my lodge was honored that I had composed yet another marvelous work for them. I received comments from other members of my lodge- “a work of genius!”, “simplicity at its finest!”, and other comments of the same nature. I was truly elated to be surrounded by people who understood me and my music so well, and it actually encouraged me to continue writing my Requiem again. I am taking a break from writing the Confutatis to write to you. I hope I will be able to finish it within time, though under the circumstances of the commission I am not sure if you will ever be able to hear it.
My hand is getting tired, so I cannot write anymore. Please visit as soon as you can, I miss you terribly and I am forever your dearest friend
Wolfgang Amadé Mozart
Dec. 2, 1791
To Roderich Edelstein-
My husband has fallen deathly ill - please visit, I beg of you. He is saying that he wants to see you before he takes his final breath and that he wishes to give you instructions for the Requiem so that you may finish it.
I do not know what else to write, but this is urgent. Wolfgang is saying that death is near, he talks of the end, he talks of poison, he talks of the man in grey who commissioned the Requiem to begin with. It is scaring Sophie and me terribly, and all I can do is cry while he tries to comfort me but to no avail.
When you receive this letter, I beg you, come immediately!
“My dearest little wife…. Where is Roderich?”
“He’s not here yet. He hasn’t replied yet… I’m sorry.”
“He.... hasn't replied? Stanzi, please… won’t you stay with me forever?”
“I’ll always be here for you. I will always love you, until the very end.”
Dec. 5, 1791
Roderich hears the news, and he asks to be left alone. So that he may cry, in silence. And why silence? Because the man, the music he kept so close to his heart, has died.
His boss knocks on the door. “Herr Edelstein, this is important. There are letters here, for you.” He answers, takes the letters quietly and retreats back to his room.
The letters are painful to read. He knows it was his fault. His absence. You could have done something to prevent it all, you know. You could have just visited, Roderich says to himself.
The familiar handwriting hurts him even more.