Vienna to play
some of his music...
...at the residence of his employer,
the Prince Archbishop of Salzburg.
Eagerly, I went there
to seek him out.
That night...
...changed my life.
As I wandered through the salon...
...I played a little game with myself.
This man had written
his 1st concerto at the age of 4...
...his 1st 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! Listen. You don't know
where you are.
Here, everything goes backwards.
People walk backwards
and dance backwards...
...and sing backwards
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 this game!
-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-minded creature
I'd just seen crawling on the floor.
I think that went off
remarkably well, don't you?
Indeed.
The Viennese certainly know good music,
when they hear it, 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 with me,
he can dismiss me.
I wish you to return immediately
to Salzburg.
Your father is waiting
for you there, patiently.
No, Your Grace!
I mean with all humility...
...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 that I 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 piece had to be an accident.
It had to be.
It better be.
How good is he,
this Mozart?
He's remarkable, Majesty. I heard an
extraordinary opera of his last month.
-Idomeneo, King of Crete.
-That?
A most tiresome piece.
I heard it too.
Tiresome?
A young man trying to impress
beyond his abilities.
Too much spice.
Too many notes.
Majesty...
...I thought it was the most promising
work I've heard in years.
Well then, we should make
some effort to acquire him.
We could use a good German composer
in Vienna, surely?
I'm sure he could be tempted
with the right offer. Say...
...an opera in German
for our National Theater.
Excellent, Sire!
But not German.
I beg, Your Majesty.
Italian is the proper language
for opera.
All educated people agree on that.
What do you think, chamberlain?
In my opinion, it's time
we had a piece in our own language.
Plain German for plain people.
Kapellmeister?
Majesty...
...I must agree with Herr Direttore.
German is...
...too brutal for singing.
Court composer...
...what do you think?
I think it's an interesting notion
to keep Mozart in Vienna, Majesty.
It should really infuriate
the