The fateful kick.

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A true story from June 8th 1781

The coach shook wildly as the narrow wheels rolled down the stony county-side road. Wolfgang tried to keep his bottom steady on the seat, but it started to hurt from jumping up and down. He had been sitting there for hours this day. He was already two days late, after being held back by the Munich people who so much loved him. It was not with good feelings he now went to Vienna, especially since he still worked for the archbishop Colloredo of Salzburg with whom he had been quarrelling for years. This man was now on a visit in Vienna and had left Salzburg, where he lived and his employee Wolfgang worked.
Wolfgang had been visiting Munich because of his recent opera; Idomeneo, king of Crete. It had its premiere in this city and now he was two days late after having huge success with it.

After several hours more, the coach finally stopped. It was a rather simple coach, worthy of a man whose profession still was seen as a sort of servant-like. He did not make much money from composing and giving concerts and operas, but he was convinced the reason was archbishop Colloredo. He gave him too much work and too little money. And yet, Wolfgang had been trying to quit his employment at Colloredo, but both his father and Colloredo himself urged him to stay. Even though he loved Vienna and wanted to live there, he had to return to Salzburg whenever the archbishop said so. He wanted to be free and he felt it was a waste of time to be stuck in Salzburg where the people hated him, composing “dinner music” instead of being free to compose as he wished.

During his time in the service of the archbishop he felt wildly misplaced. At dinners he had to sit in a special room along with the maids and servants who told mean jokes and mocked him for having his coat decorated with the medallion of the golden-spur order he got from the pope himself. Wolfgang was free to call himself a knight. He did not feel like bragging too much so he simply put the medallion on his favourite red coat with unusual yellow buttons, to let people see for themselves. During the dinners he ate in complete silence, pretending the maids and servants wasn’t there.

It was a rather sunny day, the birds sung their usual melodies and Wolfgang whistled along to keep himself in a good mood. He was about to enter the house where archbishop Colloredo stayed and he knew the man would not be happy with an employee coming two days late to work. Wolfgang hoped he would be dismissed from his job to finally be free.
Having paid the driver of the coach, Wolfgang stroke his left hand on the nose of one of the two horses that had been taking him all the way from Munich to Vienna. They were wet from sweat and breathing loudly, it almost sounded like their lungs were going to explode.
“Have a good day.” The man, sitting on top of the coach said quickly and tapped one of the horses on its bottom with a stick. Both of the horses immediately began running.

It became quite silent as Wolfgang stood still, looking up on the grand building he was about to enter. A cold breeze went through his dark blond hair so he had to run his fingers through it to make himself look presentable. He was wearing his favourite red coat with unusual yellow buttons and had the golden-spur medallion on the left side of his chest, shining proudly and strong.
His footsteps were firm and determined as he walked to the door. He told himself he would remain calm no matter what happened. If the archbishop weas in a rage he would still keep cool.

The stairs were not that long but rather steep. It was no match for Wolfgang to walk up it since he was used to visiting people most of his life and that meant climbing a lot of stairs. This day it took about two minutes to get up to the floor where Colloredo would be waiting, and usually it took him only half a minute. He tried to come up with something to say that would sound heroic but it was impossible. Standing outside the door of Colloredo’s salon, he decided to just tell the truth and as planned; keep calm.

“Herr Mozart.” A servant shouted as the doors opened. The first thing Wolfgang saw as he took the first step into the room, was the archbishop himself, standing at the end of the room and turning his head towards the composer with eyes shooting fire canons.
Wolfgang bowed politely as usual and then faced the archbishops’ large figure. He was wearing a red cloak with white fur around it.
“Ah, Herr Mozart,” Colloredo begun. They were not alone in the salon; the chamberlain Count Arco was present along with some servants, who pretended to not listen even though they did with all their attention. “There he is, the scamp who won’t obey my orders.”
Wolfgang sank his eyebrows, looking rather irritated.
“You are the worst I’ve ever had in my service! The idiot! The ass!”
Now Wolfgang felt he were about to loose his temper, but he stood still, accepting the insulting words he had to hear.
“You are incapable of obeying my orders, the fool he is!” Colloredo continued in a high voice, almost screaming. His face was red of anger and spit fell out of his mouth as he spoke.
Wolfgang could not resist anymore. He could not take this insulting; he had some dignity and was not so accepting as to say nothing.
“So his majesty is not satisfied with me?” he said, trying to look normal and put a disguise over the rage he was in. He held his three-edges hat with both his hands and looked straight at the archbishop, into his burning eyes.
Colloredo took a deep, chocked breath and pointed at the exit door behind Wolfgang.
“There’s the door! Out! I do not want to see you here ever again, the idiot scamp he is!”
Wolfgang sighed.
“Finally!” he said loudly and turned around quickly. “Tomorrow you shall get it on paper!” he added as he walked to the door. He did not care to bow when he left the salon, which anyone always had to do while meeting with a person of such high society as the archbishop. Wolfgang had no reason to bow. After being insulted so gravely he did not care he stood up against the man who ruled all of Salzburg. Anyone who insulted him wasn’t to expect Wolfgang being nice in return, no matter who it was. That was one of his standards; treat others as they treat you.

It was with relieving feelings he left the salon. He was now free, and tomorrow he would turn in a letter of resignation and then settle down in Vienna as a freelancer.
Just as he was about to set his foot down the first step of the stairs, he heard the door behind him open. He put his right hand on the wall next to him and turned his head. The only thing he saw before he fell was an angry face of the chamberlain Count Arco, the man who had been at presence in the salon. Wolfgang felt a heavy foot hit his behind and felt his own neck snap as it were thrown back from the pressure. Then he fell down the stairs. Even though they were easy to climb, they were not easy to fall down. Every step hit him roughly and he tried to cover his head with his arms as much as possible.

At the end of the stairs he landed on his bottom and he hurried to get up, even though his whole body ached. He was in a rage and looked up the stairs to see if Count Arco was still there, but he wasn’t.
Wolfgang wanted to run up the stairs and hit Arcos ass in return, but smiling vindictive, he decided to return Count Arco the favour in a more crowded place where people could see him do it. That would be better and much more satisfying.

Leaving the building was relieving. Now he was finally free, as he h...