ination made good her every deficiency. He thought he
loved the girl. It was not the girl at all he loved: he only loved the
ideal that existed in his own heart. His father opposed the mating and
hastily transferred the youth from Vienna to Paris; but who ever heard
of opposition and argument and forced separation curing love? So matters
ran on and letters and messages passed, and finally Mozart made his way
back to Vienna and with breathless haste sought out the object of his
whole heart's love.

She had recently met a man she liked better, and as she could not hold
them both, treated Mozart as a stranger, and froze him to the marrow.

He was crushed, undone, and a fit of sickness followed. In his illness,
Constance, a younger sister of Aloysia, came to him in pity and nursed
him as a child. Very naturally, all the love he had felt for Aloysia was
easily and readily transferred to Constance. The tendrils of the heart
ruthlessly uprooted cling to the first object that presents itself.

And so Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart and Constance Weber were married. And
they were happy ever afterward. It would have been much better if they
had quarreled, but Mozart's gentle, yielding character readily adapted
itself to the weaker nature of his wife. In his music she took a sort of
blind and deaf delight and guessed its greatness because she loved the
man. But when two weak wills combine, the net result is increased
weakness--never strength.

Constance was as beautiful a specimen of the slipshod housekeeper as
ever piled away breakfast dishes unwashed, or swept dirt under a settee.
If they had money she bought things they did not need, and if there was
no money she borrowed provisions and forgot to return the loan.
Irregularity of living, deprivation and hope deferred, made the woman
ill and she became a chronic sufferer. But she was ever tended with
loving, patient care by the overburdened and underfed husband.

A biographer tells how Mozart would often arise early in the morning to
set down some melody in music that he had dreamed out during the night.
On such occasions he would leave a little love-letter for his wife on
the stand at the head of the bed, where she would find it on first
awakening. One such note, freely translated, runs as follows:
"Good-morning, Dear Little Wife. I hope you rested well and had sweet
dreams. You were sleeping so peacefully that I dare not kiss your cheek
for fear of disturbing you. It is a beautiful