In the summer of 1782, the great composer Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart found himself in a decidedly tricky situation.
Hours earlier, he had been visited by a maidservant of Frau Cäcilia Weber, to whose daughter Constanze he was betrothed. Ostensibly there to deliver music, the maid also brought some startling information with her. Frau Weber, evidently convinced that Constanze and Mozart were co-habiting prior to becoming man and wife, was insisting that Mozart ‘send Constanze back’ to the family home a short distance away.
If the composer didn’t, she would call in the police to ‘recover’ her daughter from Mozart’s lodgings. And forcibly restore Constanze to the moral sanctuary of the Weber residence.
'Can the police just walk into any house they like?'
Mozart’s initial reaction was to panic. ‘Can the police here just walk into any house they like?’, he asked his patron, the Baroness von Waldstätten, in an anxious letter. Would ‘the stupid Madame Weber’ really be so idiotic as to make private affairs public, bringing ‘disgrace’ on the family and ‘shame’ to the daughter whom she claimed to be protecting? Or was Frau Weber simply bluffing, hoping that her threat would be enough to bring Constanze home again?
Mozart was right to worry about Frau Weber’s covert ultimatum. Not least because there were elements of truth in her analysis of Constanze’s situation. Her daughter and Mozart had become romantically attracted when, on arriving in Vienna a year earlier, the composer rented a room with the Webers.
‘Fool’s talk’ (as Mozart put it) ensued. And Frau Weber asked Mozart if he would move out to silence the malicious tongue-wagging. Now, it seemed, Mozart and Constanze were actually living together at his new address, inviting the scandalised opprobrium of Viennese society. How could this possibly be tolerated?
A maelstrom of rumour and innuendo
Mozart did not wish the situation to continue. He had already extolled his would-be wife Constanze in a series of letters to his father, claiming she ‘knew all about housekeeping’ and had ‘the best heart in the world’. (Although he had first fallen for her sister, the soprano Aloysia, who had rejected him). Ever judgemental, however, Leopold was by no means happy with his son’s behaviour, and suspected Constanze of being ‘a schemer’.
But Mozart was not to be deflected. 'I can think of no better way through this than to marry Constanze tomorrow morning... Or even today if that’s possible,’ he wrote to the Baroness. On 27 July he wrote to Leopold, asking for consent to marry. His heart was ‘in turmoil’, his head ‘in a spin’, he wrote, from the maelstrom of rumour and innuendo surrounding his relationship with ‘my beloved Constanze’.
At this point, Frau Weber’s bombshell message landed. With police action threatened, Mozart could wait no longer, and parental consent became irrelevant. He may also have been worried that further indecision might seriously destabilise his relationship with Constanze, which had not always been entirely plain sailing.
Three months earlier, the pair had quarrelled over an incident at a social gathering, Mozart complaining that Constanze had allowed a male participant ‘to measure the calves of your legs’ during a parlour game. The couple briefly separated before all was forgiven.
'They saw how deeply moved we were in our hearts'
Whatever the precise balance of motivations, the wedding was swiftly booked, and took place on 4 August 1782 at St Stephen’s Cathedral in Vienna. Due to financial constraints, the wedding was simple, without lavish celebrations. Father Cajetan Hagenauer, a friend of the Mozart family, officiated the ceremony.
A small number of witnesses was present, including Constanze’s mother and her youngest sister Sophie. Perhaps unsurprisingly, given the recent turbulence surrounding the young couple – Mozart was 26, his bride 20 – it was an emotional occasion.
‘Both my wife and I were crying,’ Mozart later described in a letter to his father. ‘And everybody else, even the priest, began crying too, when they saw how deeply moved we were in our hearts.’
How many children did Mozart have?
Although Wolfgang and Constanze's marriage was not a long one (he would die some nine and a half years later), it was a happy one. Despite financial difficulties, the couple remained devoted to each other. They had six children, one of whom, Franz Xaver Wolfgang Mozart, also became a composer. Constanze supported Mozart’s career, managed finances, and later helped preserve his legacy after his death in 1791.
What happened to Constanze after Mozart's death?
After Mozart’s death in 1791, Constanze found herself widowed at 29 with two surviving children and significant debts. Resourceful and determined, she worked tirelessly to preserve and promote Mozart’s legacy. She organized memorial concerts, published his works, and successfully petitioned the emperor for a pension.
In 1809, she married Danish diplomat Georg Nikolaus von Nissen, who later co-wrote one of the earliest Mozart biographies. They settled in Salzburg, where Constanze lived comfortably and was respected as the composer’s widow. She remained active in shaping Mozart’s posthumous reputation until her death in 1842, having transformed his legacy and secured her family’s future.
Wedded bliss? The married lives of six other composers
1. Johann Sebastian Bach
Bach married twice. His first wife, Maria Barbara, died suddenly in 1720. A year later, he wed Anna Magdalena, a gifted soprano. Their marriage was warm and collaborative—Anna copied scores, raised their 13 children, and likely assisted with his music. Their partnership endured nearly three decades, marked by mutual respect, shared artistry, and family devotion.
2. Gustav Mahler
Mahler married Alma Schindler in 1902. Though deeply in love, the marriage was strained. Mahler initially forbade Alma from composing, expecting her to support his genius exclusively. Their relationship was tested by grief, illness, and Alma’s infidelity. Near the end of his life, Mahler accepted Alma’s talents, encouraging her music. Their union remains famous—passionate, artistic, but painfully unbalanced.
3. Clara and Robert Schumann
Clara and Robert Schumann’s marriage was one of classical music’s great love stories. Married in 1840 after years of legal struggle with Clara’s father, they supported each other creatively. Clara was a celebrated pianist and composer in her own right. However, Robert’s mental illness cast a shadow over their later years, culminating in his institutionalization. Their bond remained strong through tragedy and brilliance.
4. Richard Wagner
Wagner’s romantic life was turbulent. After a rocky first marriage, he began a scandalous affair with Cosima, the daughter of Franz Liszt—then wife of conductor Hans von Bülow. They eventually married in 1870. Cosima became Wagner’s staunchest defender and administrator, shaping his legacy long after his death. Their marriage was intense and symbiotic, though not without controversy and domination.
5. Benjamin Britten
Though Britten never married, his lifelong partnership with tenor Peter Pears was effectively a marriage in all but name. From the 1930s until Britten’s death in 1976, the two lived and worked together, forging one of the most influential artistic collaborations of the 20th century. Their bond was deep and enduring, reflected in Britten’s many vocal works written specifically for Pears.
6. Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky
Tchaikovsky’s marriage to Antonina Milyukova in 1877 was brief, disastrous, and driven more by societal pressure than love. Struggling with his sexuality and emotional health, Tchaikovsky hoped the union would bring stability. Instead, it led to a breakdown within weeks. Though they never formally divorced, he fled the relationship and never lived with her again. The trauma influenced his music, and the episode remains one of classical music’s most tragic mismatches.
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