Then he didn't send you?
No, sir. This was my own idea.
- I see.
- Sir, we're desperate.
We really need this job.
My husband spends far more
than he can ever earn.
I don't mean that he's lazy because he`s not at all,
he works all day long.
It's just that he's not practical.
Money simply slips through his fingers.
It's ridiculous.
Let me offer you some refreshment.
Do you know what these are?
Capezzoli di Venere.
Nipples of Venus.
They're Roman chestnuts in brandied sugar.
Try one. Go on, try one.
They're quite surprising.
They're wonderful.
Thank you very much,
Your Excellency.
Don't keep calling me that.
Keeps me at such a distance.
I wasn't born a court composer,
you know.
I'm from a small town.
Just like your husband.
Are you sure you can't leave this
and come back again?
It's very tempting, sir.
But it's impossible, I'm afraid.
Wolfgang would be frantic
if he found those were missing.
You see, they're all originals.
- Originals?
- Yes, sir. He doesn't make copies.
These...
are originals?
Astounding.
It was actually... It was beyond belief.
These were first and only
drafts of music.
But they showed no corrections of any kind.
Not one.
He had simply written down music,
already finished in his head.
Page after page of it.
As if he were just taking dictation.
And music...
finished as no music is ever finished.
Displace one note,
and there would be diminishment.
Displace one phrase,
and the structure would fall.
It was clear to me.
That sound I had heard
in the archbishop's palace
had been no accident.
Here again was the very voice of God.
I was staring through the cage
of those meticulous ink strokes,
at an absolute beauty.
Is it not good?
It is miraculous.
Yes, he's very proud of his work.
So you will help us?
I dine with the emperor
tomorrow evening.
One word from me and the post is his.
Thank you, Your Excellency.
Thank you.
Come back tonight.
- Tonight?
- Alone.
What for?
Some service deserves service in return.
No?
- What do you mean?
- Isn't it obvious?
It's a post all Vienna seeks.
If you wish it for your husband,
come tonight.
I'm a married woman, sir.
Then don't.
It's up to you.
And not to be vague,
that is the price.
There is no God of mercy, Father.
Just a God of torture.
Evening came.
I sat there,
not knowing whether she would return or not.
I prayed as I had never prayed before.
Dear God...
enter me now.
Fill me with one piece of true music.
One piece with your breath in it,
so I know that you love me.
Show me one sign of your favor,
and I will show mine to Mozart.
I will get him the royal position.
Enter me.
Please.
Please.
Yes?
That lady is back, sir.
Show her in.
Well?
I'm here.
My husband has gone to a concert.
He didn't think I would enjoy it.
Well, where shall we go?
Should we stay here?
Well...
Do you still want to look at these?
Or don't we need to bother anymore?
Suppose we don't, really.
Show this woman out.
Stanzi.
Stanzi.
What is it?
What's the matter?
Tell me.
Tell me.
I love you.
I love you.
From now on, we are enemies.
You and I.
Because you choose for your instrument
a boastful, lustful, smutty,
infantile boy,
and give me for reward only the ability
to recognize the incarnation.
Because you are unjust...
unfair...
unkind...
I will block you.
I swear it.
I will hinder and harm
your creature on earth,
as far as I`am able.
Majesty, I don't like to talk
against a fellow musician.
Of course not.
I have to tell you.
Mozart is not entirely to be trusted alone
with young ladies.
Really?
As a matter of fact, one of my own pupils,
a very young singer,
Maria Theresa Paradis,
told me she was...
Well...
Well, what?
Molested, Majesty.
Twice, in the course of the same lesson.
Sir, there is a Herr Mozart
waiting for you in the salon.
- Whom did they choose?
- Herr Zummer.
Herr Zummer?
But the man's a fool.
He's a total mediocrity.
No, no.
He has yet