world.
Make me immortal.
After I die. . .
. . .let people speak my name
with love for what I wrote.
In return. . .
. . . I will give you my chastity. . .
. . . my industry. . .
. . . my deepest humility,
every hour of my life.
Amen. ''
And do you know what happened?
A miracle!
My life changed forever.
I knew God had arranged it all .
That was obvious.
One minute I was a frustrated boy. . .
. . .in an obscure little town.
The next I was here. . .
. . .in Vienna, city of musicians. . .
. . .and Emperor Joseph,
the musical king.
In a few years, l was his court
composer. isn't that incredible?
Every night l sat with
the emperor of Austria. . .
. . .playing duets with him. . .
. . . correcting the royal sight-reading.
Actually, the man had no ear at all .
But what did it matter?
He adored my music.
Tell me. . . .
If you had been me. . .
. . .wouldn’t you have thought
God had accepted your vow?
And believe me, I honored it.
I was a model of virtue.
I kept my hands off women.
I worked hours every day
teaching students, many for free!
Sitting on endless committees
to help poor musicians.
Work, that was all my life.
And it was wonderful .
Everybody liked me.
I liked myself.
Until he came.
He came to Vienna to play
some of his music. . .
. . .at the residence
of the Prince Archbishop of Salzburg .
Eagerly, l went there to seek him out.
That night. . .
. . . changed my life.
As l wandered through the salon. . .
. . .l played a little game with myself.
This man had written
his first concerto at the age of 4. . .
. . .his first symphony at 7,
a full-scale opera at 12!
Did it show?
is talent like that. . .
. . . written on the face?
Which one of them. . .
. . . could he be?
Mozart is not here.
-Stop it!
-I am.
-Stop it!
-I am stopping it.
I am! I' m stopping it. Slowly.
There. You see? I've stopped .
-Now we' re going back.
-No!
Yes! You don't know where you are.
Here, everything goes backwards.
People walk and dance and sing
and even talk backwards.
-That's stupid .
-Why? People fart backwards.
Ssa-ym-ssik!
Ssa-ym-ssik!
Yes, you are. You are very sick.
No! Say it backwards, shit wit!
Ssa-ym-ssik.
Ssik, kiss.
Ym, my. Ssa.
Kiss my ass.
Em-yrram!
-I' m not playing !
-Say it, it's serious.
It's very serious.
Yrram.
Marry me.
I' m not gonna marry you.
You' re a fiend .
Uoy-evoI-I-tub.
Tub.
But I . . .
. . .love. . . .
But I love you?
-Tihs-ym-tae.
-What?
-Eat.
-Eat.
-Ym, my.
-My.
Tihs. Eat my shit.
You filthy fiend !
You filthy--!
My music.
They've started without me.
That was Mozart!
That giggling, dirty creature
I'd just seen crawling on the floor.
-I think that went well, don't you?
-Indeed .
The Viennese know good music,
don't you think?
Certainly.
Your Grace.
Ah, Mozart.
-Why?
-Why what, sir?
Why do I have to be humiliated
in front of my guests. . .
. . . by one of my own servants?
The more license I allow you,
the more you take.
If His Grace is not satisfied,
he can dismiss me.
I wish you to return immediately
to Salzburg .
-Your father is waiting for you there.
-No, Your Grace!
I would prefer you dismissed me.
It's obvious I don't satisfy.
I have no intention of dismissing you.
You will remain in my service. . .
. . .and learn your place.
On the page it looked. . . .
Nothing!
The beginning simple, almost comic.
Just a pulse.
Bassoons, basset horns. . .
. . .like a rusty squeezebox.
And then, suddenly. . .
. . . high above it. . .
. . .an oboe.
A single note, hanging there,
unwavering .
Until . . .
. . .a clarinet took it over. . .
. . .sweetened it into a phrase
of such delight.
This was no composition
by a performing monkey.
This was a music I had never heard .
Filled with such longing,
such unfulfillable longing .
It seemed to me l was hearing
the voice of God.
Excuse me.
But why?
Why would God choose an obscene child
to be his instrument?
It was not to be believed .
This