Mozart and the Mythologization of Genius GLORIA FLAHERTY In 1780, Frederick the Great (1712-1786) published one of the many treatises he wrote in French. It presented his views on cultural activity in the German lands, concentrating on the literary and performing arts. Frederick aimed to show that his fellow countrymen were so totally lacking in genius as well as taste that they could not possibly compete with the French and the Italians. German, which Frederick is said to have eschewed using, except in the stables with his horses and hounds, was “still a half-barbaric language, divided into as many different dialects as there were provinces.” And, there were around 300. “What one,” Fre derick continued, “writes in Swabia is hardly intelligible in Hamburg, and the Austrian style is obscure for the Saxons.”1 Recalling age-old weaknesses in the Holy Roman Empire of the German Nation, he men tioned that there was no unified, umbrella-like political entity to support cultivation of a common language. Consequently, there was neither a dictionary, nor a canon of works establishing any linguistic norms. Nor was there an authoritative body, like an academy, to enforce those norms. Frederick even went on to suggest that it would be physically impossible for an author even of the greatest spirit (esprit not Geist) to handle such a rude language excellently. Elsewhere, we learn of his response to German performers: “A German singer? I should as soon expect to receive pleasure from the neighing of my horse!”2 The language 289 290 / FLAHERTY spoken by the subjects of his maternal grandfather and his other Hano verian relatives fared no better: “All other languages lose, when one translates them; the English language alone gains thereby.”3 That is, unless the translation were into German. Frederick obviously meant translation into French or Italian. The current Shakespeare craze, rampant throughout the entire Holy Roman Empire in the last quarter of the eighteenth century, was a sure indicator of the lack of genius and taste. Those “abominable plays” were not only being performed all over, they were also being enthusiastically received by audiences. Frederick, who warmly supported Italian opera and French spoken drama, was appalled to think that “the whole gathering finds an exceptional pleasure in witnessing these ridiculous farces, which would only be worthy of performance before the savages of Canada. I judge these pieces so severely because they transgress against all the rules of drama. These rules are not arbitrary.”4 The surest indicator of the Germans’ total lack of taste, in Frederick’s opinion, was their enjoyment of indigenous dra mas emulating Shakespearean form and style. The very worst offender was a creature by the name of Johann Wolfgang Goethe (1749-1832). Goethe, like Mendelssohn, Herder, Kant, Wieland, Schiller, Gluck, Haydn, Mozart, and other such creatures, might have had high hopes for Frederick’s qualities as a political leader who could bring unity to the German lands. They did not, however, have much confidence in his aesthetic views. What Frederick meant by “genius,” “taste,” and “excel lence” had derived from the wearily long evolution of Franco-Roman neoclassicism. It represented the ultimate codification of creativity and critical response. Whether that code actually worked for the seventeenthcentury French, the Renaissance Italians, and the ancient Romans is not of importance here. It simply did not work for the Germanic peoples of the eighteenth century, neither those on the European mainland, nor those who had immigrated to the British isles. All those folk preferred induction to deduction. They also loved grassroots movements. Further more, they somehow required rule by precedent rather than rule by code.5 It is because of an ulterior motive that I go on to immortalize Frederick the Great’s closed mind at such length with this juxtaposition of Germanic and Franco-Roman, induction and deduction, precedent and code, inclination and taste, genius and rulebook, and freedom and restriction. I should very much like to communicate just how difficult it was for eighteenth-century Germans of intelligence and talent— not yet to speak of genius —to break free from the superimposed restrictions, from the predetermined forms, from the given, as it were, mind-set. Before proceeding any...