UC-NRLF $B biM fin 164 MOZART: vent in the fiii^h i?, which changes to A, with a strange effect, on the repetition of the theme at the words " vendetta e crvr deltd.'*'' The audience trembled as she began her aria, and the old man in the corner of the orchestra, whose bony hand was closed round his daughter's aim, while he leaned for- ward with eyes wide open, appeared to catch eagerly every tone of voice and instrument. Now conies the J^ — then the repetition of the theme : now the A — then his eyes sparkle, his face grows pale, but not with anxiety, it is with ecstasy, and in a trembling voice he cries, "Victory! Electra sur- passes Clytemnestra !" And in very truth Electra had surpassed Clytemnestra; Mozart had triumphed over Gluck. Hail to him, king of tones ! Then comes the meeting of Idomeneus with his son on the beach. The old king, who had been wandering ten years and now returns, seeking anxiously his son whom he left a child, finds him only to be his fated murderer. The soene is one which has few equ^als on the stage. When the curtain descended at the end of the first Act, after the splendid con- cluding chorus, a tempest of applause burst from the whole house. The old man in the orchestra rubbed his hands with de- light. He could not speak, but his eyes expressed his joy. Only once he leaned over to his daughter's ear and whis- pered, as he brushed a tear from his cheek — " If the good mother could have been spared to see this !" Then he ap- peared sunken in deep thought, but a contented smile bright- ened his face. He stood in the evening of his life like Moses on Nebo's top, looking over into the promised land of a new musical world — into a promised land whither his son would lead the people. Then, for the second time, the great curtain rustled up ward — " Se il padre perdei La patria, il riposo Tu padre me sei. ' Soggiorno amoroso E Greta per me." Ilia, whose fetters Idamante has broken, expresses her gratitude to the king, and lets him guess the secret of her heart The melody is bewitchingly sweet, and the instru- A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 105 mentation of the cavatina speaks forth the Trojan maiden's love, because it is tlie very voice of the composer's own soul in communion with his beloved Constanze. In the background of one of the boxes sat Constanze her- self, sobbing with ravishment at this voice so familiar to her. At her side, and sitting at her clavier, her dear friend had found this melody, that (as he had whispered in her ear) all the world might know that he loved and worshipped her! But now these tones are ended: a stately march, heard behind the scenes, leads us to the harbor of Cydonia, where everything is ready for the departure of Electra and Ida- mante. The sailors sing the fine chorus, " Placido h il mar," which, with its peaceful music, makes a happy transition be tween the foregoing and following scenes. A pure blue deeply colors the clear harmonies ; flutes and clarionets waft over them the fresh sea-air, while the quartette points out the rippling and rocking of the waves; and borne up on these waves of sweat sounds every heart hears the assurance, " Peaceful calm on wind and sea !" All at once the chorus is silent. A siren-song reaches the ears of the sailors. It is the voice of Electra, in a rare melody, tender and caressing as the breath of a zephyr, be- seeching for ffworable winds. The strong will of the Greek princess seems to compel the elements to her bidding. Swell- ing breezes sigh and wave from the violins. Then they murmur softly in the sextette, repeating, "Placido h il mar!'' After this chorus the applause was tremendous ; and the old man in the orchestra moves about nervously on his chair, till Kannerl asks him what is the matter. " Ah, the devil !" he replies; "I must get my arms round that young sunbeam, and hug him to my old heart !" But what now? Why storm the violins so suddenly and the brass instruments moan in long-drawn sighs ? Why this fearful confusion in the music, as the wood instruments rend through the tone-masses with their cry of terror? Why this mighty storm so grandly given by the orchestra, till the foundations of the immense building seem shaken, while the chorus shouts in fear, " Quel nuovo terrore !" Neptune has struck the sea with his trident, till it bellows and tosses to the clouds, while on its crests swims the deadly monstei- toward the shore of Crete. Then Idomeneus declares, amid the crash of thunder-peals, Ihat he himself is the guilty one. He bares his own head U f n in-. REESE LIBRARY OK rni: UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. VT-l^ MOZART A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE rnOM TBE QEBMAN OF Heribert Rau // ■T E. R. Sill < ^m^ » (XJNIVERSITT BOSTON: OLIVER DITSON COMPANY. NBWYORK: CHICAGO: PHILA: BOSTON: C I. DitsoQ & Co. LyoQ&Healy. J. £. Bitson & Co. MnCHayies&iSDL 1,3 OS f Sntered according to act of Ck)Dgrc8s, in ttie year 186B, Bt E. R. SILL, fc the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United SUtes jl>r Or 3oathem District of Ne\^ York. -ONIVERSITTj AUTHOR'S PREFACE. *' Low at his feet with loviag heart I bow, And bring these leaves to crown the Master^s btcw." TiiEUE words of the great Goethe express the feelmg which was the principal occasion of this book. It arose out of reverence, out of sincerest enthusiasm for Mozart, that beautiful soul, that exalted master of the Tone-art. Not that worthy memorials of this noble spirit have not abeadj been given a place in German literature. "We have had, not long since, " The Life of Mozart," by Alexander OuHbicheff, and the excellent work of the same title by the Herr Professor, Dr. Jahn. Yet good as these works are, and especially the latter one, they have evidently a wholly different purpose from the present book. Both are, in a literal sense, " musical works," de- voted to an analysis of Mozart*s creations. They appeal only to those readers who are themselves musicians; their purpose lies, therefore, purely in the si)here of art and science. The object of the present book is different. Its un- pretending aim is. by means of the familiar and confi- dential style of a romance, to bring closer. to the heart 4 AUTU0K8 PREFACE. of the German people one of its noblest sons ; and so to newly awaken a love, veneration, and enthusiasm for Mozart and for his creations. In behalf of those who may desire to ^o deeper into musical analysis, reference is continually made to the works of Oulibicheff and Jahn. At the same time, the higher task of the historical ro- mance has never been lost sight of ; and pains have been taken to unroll before the reader's eyes a true picture of the history and social circumstances of the epoch which it represents. Such is the object of this book, and the task it has set before it. Perhaps it will a little touch the conscience of the German people, which so gladly raises monuments to its heroes, when once it has allowed them to perish. And so may right many turn over these leaves and listen with loving pleasure to what they shall tell them, for, " On heights of olden stoiy Fair beckoning spirits stand, "Who hint the golden glory Hidden in wonder-land." And this wonder-land is the kingdom of the Tone-world, and Mozart wore its crown. Heribert Rau. TRANSLATOR'S NOTICE. Some liberties, mainly of omission, have beer taken with the German original of this book. It was thought that some portions of the work, which would have swelled the volume to an undesirable size, were of exclusively foreign interest, and would not increase its value for American readers. A few changes were made from other consider Rtiona E. R. s. or THE ^ ^yXRSITTi CONTENTS PART L THE WONDERFUL OHUJD. Chapter L— A Birthday— Dec. 14, 1759 ....... 7 ** IL— Prophetic Ink-blots 17 « III.— The little Virtuoso 21 IV.— The Court of Vienna 24 v.— A Surprise 80 VL— An Evening at the Court of Versailles 36 a M PAET II. / MOZART'S YOUTH-IN ITALY. Chapter L — Evening Twilight and Morning Red 44 " n.— II Cavaliere Filarmonico 50 •* m.— Kissing St Peter 58 •• IV.— The Miserere 57 «• v.— Giuditta *. 61 •* VI.— Strategy against Strategy 67 •• VII.— The Magic Ring 74 •* VIII. — Signora Bernasconi 79 •* IX.— Life and Death 85 " X.— A Battle at Milan 89 1 CONTENTS PART nx ILLUSIONS. Chapter L— At Court (8 •• XL— Two Sisters 101 " m.— Christmas Gifts Ill • IV. — A new Enemy and a new Friend 120 " v.— Discords 127 •• VL— Disenchantment 134 •• VLL — Disappointment 138 " VLLL — ^And again Disenchantment 143 • IX.— The Future's beautiful Star 147 PAET IV. KINO ANr> SLAVE. Chapteb L — ^Idomeneus 153 •• IL— The King of Tones 159 •• HL— Life in Vienna 167 " rV.— Kaiser Joseph the Second 184 • v.— Joseph Haydn 195 • VL— The Last ITight 204 • Vn.— Two Elopements 209 PAET V. N O O ND AY. Chapteb I. — Shadows and Light 217 " n.— The Mysterious Flowers 220 •• m.— Sorcery 226 " rV.— The Three Lions 231 •* v.— Passion and Love 240 •• VL— The Grand Rehearsal 248 •• VTL— The Unwritten Overture 255 • VnL— Don Giovanni 263 C0XTKST8. S PAUT TL EVEXING AKD NIGHT. Chapteh L — ^Twilight 873 ** IL— The Presentiment 280 IIL— The Violet 284 •• rV.— The Unknown MeaBenger 291 v.— TheMagicFhite 298 VL— -And the Dsfiifcr Spent" 308 • VIL— The Requiem 313 * VllL— The Angel of DaUk ^ 318 T7NIVERSITT MOZABT: A BIOGKAPHICAL KOMANCE, PART I. THE WONDERFUL CHILD. CHAPTER I. A BIRTHDAY DECEMBER 14, 1759.* ""1T7HAT a sight you are, Wolferl!" cried Frau Vice- V T Capellraeister Mozart to her little three-years-old son, as with motherly care she brushed the dust from his clothes, and set to rights the rumpled kerchief which let the child's open breast be seen. " How in the world did all this sand get in your hair ? Your sister had brushed it so nicely, and to-day IS father's birthday !" " Yes, Mamma, I and Andreas have been turning summer- saults !" said Wolfgang earnestly, and looked up with such a frank and winning smile in his beaming blue eyes, that the light folds gathering on the high brow of Frau Mozart quickly disappeared. " Summersaults !" answered the mother, hardly repressing a smile, as she gave the little rogue a gentle tap on his cheek ; " people can't turn summersaults with their Sunday clothes on. Don't you know that these cost the father a great deal of money, and that the money cost him so much hard work ?" " Yes, Mamma," cried the boy ; and his great eyes grew moist as his tender heart took in the thought that he had troubled his dear father and mother. " But 'twas only my head got into the dirt ; the legs were all the time in the air !" > Leopold Mozart was born December 14, 1719. His 8CD, Wolfgang Amadeas. tbf **t masician, was burn at Sal^^urg, January 27, 1756. S MOZART: " And tliat's the reason your hair is full of sand, and youi clotlies all dust from top to bottom." " Please, then, get the sand out of my hair, and it shan't get in again. And" — he added coaxingly, as he leaned his brown head against the full, but still beautiful form of his mother — "you won't be angry with me, will you, Mamachen ?" ' " No, indeed, dear child, when you are good," answered Frau Mozart, as she pressed a kiss on the childish lips. Then Wolfgang ran out, and called to his little friend An- dreas Schachtner,' who had remained in the outer room. " What shall we do next ?" he asked ; " for we can't turn any more summersaults." "Then," replied Andreas, "let us play school." " Good !" Wolfgang responded ; " but let us go into the otjier room. It's warmer there. I'm schoolmaster, and you sliall go to school to me. You take the little bench, and I'll take the table and the piece of chalk." Andreas obeyed. But when he was starting to go into the other room, Wolfgang seized him fast by the arm, and cried : " That's not the way ! Put yourself behind me ! So — and now we must march first all around the room, while I sing the music." Then the little fellow, with sparkling eyes, sang, in his childish tones, a march that he had learned, while the four little shoes stamped on the floor in time to the tune, till the dust flew about the room in clouds.' Now it happened that his mother was at this moment busy in the kitchen, where Nannerl, his seven-yeare-old sister, was helping her ; for this was the father's birthday, and an ex- ception must be made in their usually strict and economical liousekeeping. Already the roast upon the spit was filling the house with its savory fragrance, and a notable loaf of cake was in the oven, browning its rich crust into perfection. While these luxurious preparations were going on, the two youngsters had established themselves in the warm room. Andreas sat on the floor, with a footstool placed over his outstretched legs, on which his slate lay. But Wolfgang, in the capacity of schoolmaster, had applied the chalk to floor, 1 The terminations chen, erl, etc., are diminutive. The Germans use the dimlnii live as a sort of vocal caress. '•* Afterward a good musician, and a poet. • Historical.— Nissen, p. 17. Jahu, Part I., p. 29. A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMAJSVS 9 oralis, and furniture, covering them with T\bit#> scribbliiigs, apparently the alphabet of some unknown topgre which the elf had learned from the fairies. In his zeal he was just on the point of using the old leather-covered sofa as a basis for his mystic hieroglyphics, when his sister, with the dinner- things on her arm, entered the room. But knives, acd forks, and linen were like to have fallen from her hands at her first glance. She stood a second as if dumbfounded, and then cried — " What in the world have you been abo he was wont to do at least twenty times in the day — " Nannerl, do you love me ?" But his sister was really angry, and said : "No, when you do such naughty things, I don't love you !" This was too much for the tender little heart. Turning around quickly, that the tears which swam in his eyes might not be seen, he sat down in a comer of the room, and looked in mournful silence straight before him. At that moment the roof of clouds, which till then had darkened the wintry sky, was rent asunder. A sunbeam fell into the little room, and 10 MOZART: as it struck the cage of a golden-winged canary hanging before the window, the bird turned his little head up in de- light, hopped a few times from one perch to the other, and then began to warble and trill a song that was bright and joyous as the blue sky. But what is this? Why brightens up little Wolfgang's face at once so wondrously ? His eyes are beaming, and his checks grow ruddy; a rapt and passionate expression, far beyond his years, gives to the childish face a strange — one might almost say, an unearthly — look. Wolfgang — the little three-years-old Wolfgang — is now all ear. He listens to the ringing trills of his feathered darling, and forgotten is his small trouble, forgotten are sister and playmate ; to him the world contains but one existence, and that a song. It is a child, who is listening here to those sweet tones ; but the soul of this child is so wondrously organized, that music touches every fibre of nerve and brain with thrills of ecstasy, till his soul itself seems to throb on in musical pulsation, — the shadowy, vanishing presage of an immortal harmony, which one day will ring throughout the world. Little Wolfgang understands not what music is; only, wherever and however it strikes his ear, he is thrilled as by electric waves. He must sing himself a march, as he bears his playthings to another room ; he is ravished with delight, if his canary answers a sudden sunbeam with a song. The bird had long since ceased his singing ; the little play- mate, Andreas, had slipped away home ; but Wolfgang still sits motionless in his corner, seeing and hearing nothing about him; waking-dreams are passing across his mind. Fancies like fairy-tales set to music are weaving within him ; like the stories which the mother tells him, before bed-time, in the twilight. He dreams that he is a king ; and imagina- tion builds him strange inhabitants for his realm — grotesque creatures, cities and castles by mountain lakes, to which he gives fantastic names. On his head a crown sits, and from it shines a splendid light, far out into the distance of the world. Long dreams the boy in this manner, — and long would he have gone on dreaming, had not a kiss startled him awake. He looks up in astonishment. It is his sister, bending down her dear affectionate face above him. Swiftly his little arma clasp tight about her neck, and his first question is, *'Do you love me, Nannerl ?" A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. n ** Indeed I do!" she answers heartily, as they hold each jther fast in their arms. It was a pretty group ; but the little restless creature, so sensitively organized to catch every impression from without, had already noticed something else besides his sister^s caress. It was comical to see the small head lift itself suddenly up from her embrace, and the wide-open nostrils testify that Wolfgang had discovered, through the sense of smell, tho gastronomic preparations of his mother. His face beamed, and not with more triumphant joy did the sea-worn mariners of Columbus raise the cry of " Land-ho !" than the little Mozart now cried out, " There's the dinner !" "Yes," Said his sister, "and a birthday dinner, too; for you know to-day Papa is forty years old." Then the two went racing into the other room, where an appetizing repast was smoking on the table, and the father and mother already awaited them. The Vice-Capellmeister was a fine-looking man, not of great size, but well proportioned. His dress was exceedingly plain — one might almost call it poor ; yet was there a stateliness in his presence, which was increased by the noble earnestness ofhis fine face, with its small, delicately cut mouth, thought- ful eyes, and the high full brow, which at once betrayed the musician. The genuine stamp of a true man was not to be mistaken in him. His wife, too, bore the traces of great beauty, and prided hei*self a good deal, still, on the fact that they had been formerly reputed to be the handsomest pair ever married in Salzburg. It is true that sorrows, many and severe, had ploughed furrows in both their faces, but love at least, founded as it was on mutual respect, had in no wise yielded to their assaults. On the contrary, it had been dou- Dly tempered and strengthened in the fire of fate, growing ever more and more heartfelt through the many anxious sea- sons which they had battled through together. Therefore, in the festivities of this birthday, quietly and simply as it was celebrated, there was no pretence. They sprang out of the heart, and they went to the heart as well. Herr Leopold Mozart was wont to say that these little family-feasts were as necessary to the household life as the Sundays and. holidays are to the public life, giving it color, light, and warmth. With evident emotion, therefore, the usually cold and practica. man received the good wishes of his household. 12 MOZART: Before the dinner Wolfgang was mounted on a footstool, where he recited a little poem in honor of his father. The strange oldness in the child's face, and his mature appre- ciation of what he was saying, might have moved his parents- hearts with a painful anxiety, had it not been accompanied by the boy's childlike and roguish utterance. Wlien the poem had been recited, he stood there on the stool, reached his little arms around his father's neck, and said slowly, " Papachen, I love you so very, very much ! And do you know ? after God, next comes my Papa !" ' The father embraced him, but could answer nothing, ex- cept, " Keep both in your heart, and all will go well with you !" At this moment two of the Court-musicians, Adlgasser and Lipp, both good friends of Father Mozart, entered the room. They had been bidden to dinner, and since it was not an ordinary thing for the Mozart family to entertain guests, their presence was so much the greater addition to the common cheerfulness. They jested, and told stories, and talked of this thing and that, and at last came upon the sub* ject of their common poverty. It was probably no laughing matter for any one of them, but they treated it so, and dis- cussed the slender incomes which music yielded them, as though it were the most comical of all occurrences. " Yes," said Adlgasser, " we all have to pinch ; but Father Mozart has at least the comfort of having done something extraordinary, nevertheless." " Something extraordinary ?" returned the Capellmeister. " I'm sure I didn't know of it." " Oh, oh, how modest !" cried the other. " Isn't it any- thing, then, to gain fame and honor ?" • " And how have I deserved that ?" asked Leopold Mozart, brimming his friend's glass with red wine. " Do you mean the violin lessons ?" " No !" replied Adlgasser. " Those have brought you honor, indeed ; but it is the ' School for the Violin,' I meant, which has attracted so much notice." ' " And has already been translated into French and Dutch," added Lipp. "Well," returned Mozart, rubbing his hands and looking pleased, " I confess the result of that undertaking has given * The child?B own words.— Nissen and Jatin. • Historical.— Jahn and Marpurg. GRSITT ir) A BIOGRAPHICAL RdMAi mM^]! ^^^ 13 me a great deal of pleasure. I give thanks to my Maker every day right heartily that He has given me so much taste for music. And as for my violin, that stands first with me, after wife and children. The soul of music, the celestial comforter, speaks itself best and purest from the tone of a solo instrument ; for this tone, disdaining all admixture with alien sounds, is the serenest expression of the spirit. Yes, my friends ! when I am happy, then it is the violin that best rings out my joy : if I would pray from my innermost heart, it is in the bell-tones of the violm that the prayer must be expressed ; if sadness weighs me down to the earth, it is the violin that weeps with me, or comforts me like an angel sent from God. Is not music, indeed, the mystical language of God, moving the heart of every mortal, who will but receive its message, with wondrous might? Is it not the chosen language, in which the eternal Divine Spirit yearns out of nature toward us all— when the spring-time rejoices, or the storm howls, when the lark trills his song, or the raging ocean thunders out its sublime harmonies ?" " Yes, yes," cried Adlgasser with flashing eyes ; " there lies a wondrous magic in it. Orpheus' lyre opened the gates of the nether world: — what a deep significance lurks in that charming Grecian story !" " There lies hidden in it," said Lipp, " this exalted and blessed truth — that music opens to men an undiscovered realm, a world which has nothing in common with the outer world of sense. " " Yea !" cried Adlgasser, " a world of noblest desire, of holiest love, of purest pain, of divinest passion." " Let us, then, empty one glass to the honor of Musica, the ravishing goddess !" broke in Father Mozart. " Happy is he to whom God has given a taste and susceptibility for her charms. Though he be a poor devil, as we all are, ycL there are hours in which, through the grace of this divine one, he dreams himself a Croesus and a king. So, vivat Musica /" and the glasses clinked, and a joyous " Vivat P'' rang out, in which little Wolfgang joined with the rest, although he did not comprehend what the conversation had been about, and the good things of the dinner had claimed his undivided attention. But the gaze of his father rested with content- ment and tenderness on him and his sister. " You two," he said, almost sadly, " are all that th ^ Lord has left me of seven. I wonder whether any little drop 1 4 MOZART: of musical taste will overflow upon you, from my own life ?" " Wherefore not ?" responded the mother. " Nannerl haa a great fancy for it already. Let it be tested at once. You long ago promised to commence piano-lessons with her." " Ah yes, Papachen," begged the child ; " let me at last learn to play. I am seven years old now, and I promise to try very hard." " Good, then !" said the father. " You shall all see that I am grateful for the love you have brought me to-day, for I 7^111 coram Bnce NannerPs lessons this very night. ^ "And me, too?" cried Wolfgang. "Mayn't I learn music too ?" They all laughed, and the father said : " You, little man, must grow some inches before you will be able to reach the keys. But would you really become a musician ?" " Yes !" cried the little one, " and I can play some now !" " Indeed you can," said the mother — " summersaults with Andreas !" "No," cried Wolfgang, with heat, for his sensitive pride was touched, " I played a march for him this morning !" A great laugh followed this childish declaration, as the company rose from the table, and separated — the musicians to go into the city till evening, Nannerl and her mother to pursue their household avocations, while the little Mozart betook himself to his favorite high seat by the window, and watched the clouds with his great sad eyes, till the clattering dishes set the canary to singing its song, which wound him in a woof of childish dreams. It was a dark December day, and night already had closed about the earth when the Mozart family gathered at the tea- table. The wind made its weird music without, but a warm fire burned in the grate, around which the chairs were drawn after tea, and they sat in contented silence in the glow of the fire, and listened to the wind in the chimney, fluttering as if invisible wings were descending it, and then roaring and rumbling like the bass-notes of a huge-throated organ-pipe. Nannerl gazed into the red coals, and built crumbling castles there, splendid as transitory, and seemed to see her future in the shifting tracery of the flame. The old people watched instead the flitting shadows cast upon the walls, and in those fading and glimmering cartoons they saw only pictures of the past. But little Wolfgang's quiet blue eyes took in the A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 15 n^hole scene — the shine and the shadows, the old hearts and the young — and melted it all in love unto a soft, unspoken, unspeakable music, deep down in his childish soul. When the candles were brought in, Father Mozart, true to his promise, opened the piano and called Nannerl to take her 6rst lesson. The little girl showed, from the beginning, a patient deter- mination, and a brightness of apprehension, which promised well for her progress. Wolfgang planted himself, with his hands behind his back, close at the side of his sister, still as a statue, watching every motion of her fingers. He was a charming sight, as he stood there, with the light of the candles from the piano falling on his brown hair and beautiful elfin figure. The open breast, only half concealed by the white folds of the kerchief, the tender face, with its delicate features, lighting up more and more as the lesson went on, formed a lovely little figure, on which the mother's eyes hung in still ravishment. In this way an hour passed by, in which the boy, usually so restless and bent on childish play, had not moved for an instant from his place. New ideas were crowding upon the sensitive brain. Many a time had he heard his father bring finest music from those glistening keys, without its calling his attention from his sport ; but now those first ^ropings of his sister among them fastened him with magical power. The father's skilful playing had lain too far beyond the boy's comprehension ; the intricate harmonies had gone sweeping high over his head. But now for the first time the thought flashed through him, " Thou, too, canst do this !" His eyes, therefore, never left Nannerl's fingers, as they crept hesitatingly among the white and the black keys, his oar easily grasping the simple relations of the difiTerent tones ; and when his father had finished the lesson, and Nannerl left the piairo, he slipped softly into her place, and began with his little hands to seek out thirds.* When he found the notes which harmonized, how his face beamed with rapture ! Little did he know what significance of prophecy lay in those first touches upon the " cold keys ;" it was the first tread of the royal child over the boundary to take possession of his k'ng- iom. Father Mozart had lit his pipe and taken up the news* « HiBtoripal.-rOuHblcUeff, Part I., p. 7; Nissen, p. IS. 16 MOZART: paper, and at first gave no heed to these earliest experiments of "his little son. By and by his wife plucked him by the sleeve, and pointed at Wol:%ang; slowly he let the news- paper sink at his side, and then the pipe also. More and more joyful grew his look, greater and greater was the astonishment gathering in his face ; but he could scarcely trust his ears and eyes when Wolfgang, the little three-years- old creature, repeated faultlessly with his bits of fingers tlie simple exercise which had been given to his sister. The newspaper now lay on the floor ; the pipe had gone out ; the tall smoking-cap, which his left hand had unconsciously pushed back from his forehead in his amazement, hung now on the back of his venerable head, while his eyes were brimmed full of happy tears. At last he found motion and speech. Hastening to the piano, he caught up his little son stormily, and, with an expression of iijdescribable delight, cried out — " Wolferl ! little Star-beam ! Yes, you too will be a musician !" Father and mother both kissed the wondering child, and, wiping the tears from his eyes, Father Mozart said, slowly and solemnly, looking upward, " Lord, I thank Thee for this gift ! I think that Thy goodness has granted to me a won- drous blossom, and in gratitude I would devote my whole life and being to Thy service, forever !" Then he took the child, and, as he was wont to do every evening before he went to rest, placed him on a footstool before him, folded his small hands together, and repeated before him his simple evening prayer. But this time the father's voice trembled, as with tjie deepest feeling he said these words : "Dear Heavenly Father, I thank Thee for Thy good- ness — " And the little Wolfgang repeated after him with his child ish voice : " Dear Heavenly Father, I thank thee for Thv goodness :'* " Thou hast bestowed upon me a precious girt" — " Thou hast bestowed upon me a precious gift :" " Grant me Thy blessing, that I may use it aright" — " Grant me Thy blessing, that I may use it aright:** , " For Thy glory, and for my best good" — " For Thy glory, and for my best good;" « Amen I" "Amenr A BIOGRAPUICAL ROMANCE. 17 But the last words were repeated slowly and wearily, for Bleep began to claim its rights over the boy, and the mother had scarcely made the little form ready for bed, when he was fast asleep. And now fluttered a flock of white-winged dreams about his soul, hovering nearer and nearer, till-^-he seemed to be standing in a summer meadow. Thousands of blossoms clus- tered about his feet, and nestled by the side of mossy stones, and printed their starry shadows on other and smallei blossoms; the sky was swept pure by the round white clouds, and out oi its blue depths the sun streamed warm and clear. How the child's heart leaped to hear the singing of the birds, and the humming of the bees ! And now he sprang forward to pluck a pearl-white lily, — but lo ! as soon as he touched the flower, it began to breathe forth beautiful tones; another and another he touched, and always thev began to sing the loveliest melodies, that mingled with eacn other in rare sweet music, which swelled and swelled, deeper and louder, and the flowers grew with it in his hands, higher and higher, till the sound was the tumbling billows of the sea, and the blossoms had become stars. There in the sky they were burhing and flashing, — but now the heavens were no longer blue and bright, but shadowy sombre. Then the child wept for grief; but as the tears rolled down his cheeks, the beau- tiful tones swept over him again, and the stars had become mightiest harmonies, whose rushing majesty bore him away with it, up and up, till there was no longer an^ earth, nor anything but the still rapture of his own infantile, fathom- less souL CHAPTER II. PBOPHETIC INK-BLOTS. ^pHE winter was over ; spring had taken away the shroud of X snow, replacing it Avith her green and blossom-broidered robe, and greeted the resurrection of the living earth with jubilant bird-songs. Summer was already changmg the green of the harvest-fields into gold. Bees were contentedly hum- ming among the flowers, and the afternoon sunbeams wera 18 MOZART: bright and still over all the land. Father Mozart was walk- ing home from Hellebrunn to Salzburg, and that sedate, courtly man accompanying him was Count Herberstein, hia friend. The conversation had turned upon the family of the Vice-Capellmeister, who had found his favorite topic in ex- patiating on the marvellous performances of his little Wolf gang, who was now four years old. " You should see him," cried the father, with an enthusiasm very different from his usual steady manner, " when he sits at the piano on his little stool, scarce able to reach the keys, and practises his exercises ! Would you believe it, that the child already plays quite skilfully ?" " Impossible !" " It is even so," continued Mozart, " and he invariably re- members all the most brilliant airs which he hears.* It takes nim scarcely a half-hour to learn a whole minuet ; and for longer pieces, an hour is all that is necessary." " And the child really plays them afterward ?" " Yes, with perfect accuracy, and a firm confident touch.' He even has taken a fancy for composing, and if I did not think it best to hold him back, rather than push him, I should already be teaching him the rules for musical composition." " But, my dear friend," cried the count, standing still in his astonishment, " that's a miracle ! The child must be be- witched. Won't you take me home wdth you ? I must set eyes on this new marvel." "With the greatest pleasure," replied the Yice-Capell- meister ; and as soon as they reached Salzburg, the two hastened toward his humble dwelling. While they had been on the road from Hellebrunn, a curious scene had been preparing for them at the Mozart house. The afternoon sun laid its level beams of gold into the clean and tidy room, where the little Wolfgang had seated himself at his father's writing-table. His mother and sister were busy in the next room, and all was quiet and peaceful about him ; only the trill of the canary was now and then to be heard, as he sang good-night to the setting sun. Was it only the glow of the sunbeams, or was it an inward exaltation which made the boy's face so radiant ? Kneeling on a high stool, with one elbow propped on his father's desk, » Historica ,— Nisaen, p. 15. « Historical.— Oulibicheff, Part I., p. 8. A BIOQRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 19 and his little chin upon his hand, he gazes straight before him, as if in deepest thought. It mubt be a daring idea which is engaging the small creature's brain, for his deep blue eyes, now flashing out, and then drawing back into themselves, give evidence of an intense inner activity. At the same time the lips softly move, and from time to time the murmuring childish voice seems to express a search after vanishing melodies, that tempt and elude the longing imagination of the bov. All at once his whole countenance lights up like an electric flash. Swiftly he seizes a sheet of paper that lies near him, grasps a pen, plunges it into the ink, and commences to write. But, O luckless elf! in his sacred fury he had thrust the pen-point down against the bottom of the inkstand, and at the third note a mighty blot suddenly descends upon the paper, and drowns the surrounding tract in a dismal flood. Little did the boy mind this. Without letting himself be delayed, he wipes the blot off with the palm of his hand, streaking the ink away from it in a curve, like a dingy comet. Still his ideas are not at all disturbed. Note after note soon covers the paper ; and as the boy's zeal increases, blot after blot accompanies them, all of which, like their first-bom brother, are wiped out with the already ink-soaked palm, till one can imagine what a looking sheet was there. It could very well represent, figuratively, the Black Sea, with all its bays and promontories. And still the little composer dashes down the notes, weep- ing bitterly now with^ anger at the. blots, but in no wise letting himself be disturbed. The salty drops mingle with the inky ones, and both together are wiped out with the in- exorable little dingy palm ; and still the notes follow each other thicker and faster, half of them next to illegible, but yet written, and — the door opens, and in walks the Vice- Capellmeister, and with him Count Herberstein. The small creature hears them not ; he hums half aloud a melody ; he goes on writing — crossing out — writing again — makes new blots — wipes them out — writes again — and now, a cry of exultation, as he flings the pen out of his inky fingers. 1 hen he hears a wondering voice : " What in the name of Heaven are you doing, Wolferl ?' Wolfgang looked around, and seeing his father standing :0 MOZART: '.here with a pleasant-faced stranger, he spreads his soaked fingers wide apart, and cries gleefully — " O Papa ! A piano sonata ; the first part is already done !" Father Mozart and the count looked at each other with a smile, and Mozart called out, jestingly — " Let us see it ; it must be something fine !" But the youngster held back the sheet, and cried warmly — " No, no ! 'tisn't ready yet !" But at his father's bid- ding he delivered it up reluctantly, and then the two old musicians laughed till their sides ached ; for the sonata, with its variegated embellishments of splashes, and blots, and spider-tracks, was a wonderful sight to see. But what is this ? Why looks' the father with sudden sur- prise at the notes, and why do his eyes fill slowly with tears of wondering pleasure ? " Look you here ! Only look, dear count !" he cries, hold- ing the paper trembling in his hand ; " do you see how it ia all written correctly, and according to rule ? Only, one could never play it ; it is so intricate and difficult." " But it's a sonata, Papachen !" cried Wolfgang ; " one must practise it first, of course ; but this is the way it should go." And he sprang to the piano and commenced to play. The harder parts he could not bring out, but the small and stumbling fingers gave enough of it to show to his audienccj which now was increased by his mother and sister, what was his idea. The piece was written correctly, and arran^^od with all the parts. ^ They all stood speechless for astonishment, till Father Mozart, catching the child to his breast, and kissing him, cried : " Wolfgang ! you will become a great man !" And the count added, "Yes, and all Gennany shall one day be proud of you, dear child!" Then turning to the father, he said, with a smile, " Who now is the richer, you or the king ?" And Father Mozart answered, with beaming eyes, " I would not give this hour for all the kiiigdoms of the earth !" > Historical.— NiBsen, p. 18 ; Oulibicheff and Jahn. A BIOQRAPIUCAL ROMANCE. SI CHAPTER III. THE LITTLE VIRTUOSO. rHK fatlicr*s |)ro})heey appeared to commence, its fulfil ment with wonderful speed. Wolfojang made extraor- Ainary progress, and in his fifth year would constantly com- pose little pieces for his father, many of which have been preserved and may be examined by whosoever will.' The father had the clearness of sight to see at once that he had no common powers to direct in the boy, and soon gave pp all other eni})l()yment for the education of his son. Not alone in music did he show a strange quickness and power; in all his studies, and particularly in mathematics, which has such mysterious connections with music, he sliowed marvel- lous ability. No one knew what to think of the child. He wandered about among the common persons who surrounded him, like a being of another race. No matter what was taught him, his spirit seemed to have had a previous intima- tion of it — some dim remembrances which needed only to be recalled by least hints and suggestions. Looking deep down into the wise childish eyes, and watching the beautiful mouth, in whose expression all sweet experiences seemed already to have clustered, one could not but feel that this strange life had been lived before, in some purer country, where wisdom was a natural birthright, and music was the common speech of souls. Two years passed swiftly by, and "Wolfgang was six years old, and now the great world was opening to the boy. In company with his father, he left Salzburg, and started upon a long course of travel. To genius, — at least when it is as yet untarnished by the common uses of the world — when its wings, still moist with the dew of the dawn, are mighty to soar, — to young geniud the finite is infinite. The eye takes in the distance, the height, the depth, but not the boundaries and limitations. The blue sky and the blue ocean seem alike fathomless; the » Vide Ni3sen, p. 14. 22 MOZART: momentary woe appears an eternity, and joy and beauty ar« immortal. Salzburg had been a world to the little M( zart ; its streets had been to him endless vistas, reaching — he knew not whence nor whither ; save that here was home — the centre, and there was the woild, and life — the circumference. If already the little experiences and sight of the small city had become transmuted into music in the child'^s dreaming heart, what now did mountains, forests, rivers, multitudes of living men, and the unbounded sea, give to him? Every new land- scape, each scene that unrolled its fresh pictures before the childish eyes, as they journeyed from day to day, had for his heart a message. Out of them all a voice seemed to call to hira for expression. Nature and Life — the two dumb, en- chanted genii — seemed to stretch out imploring arms to him, and beg for the voice of his music to express their infinite sorrow, their immortal and triumphant joy. Everywhere they went, the fame of the little Mozart pre- ceded them. At every court he must show his marvellous skill. But it was not at court that the boy most delighted to prove his power. Here and there in quiet places, in some solitary chapel, it was his greatest pleasure to fill the silence with fantastic melodies, or with joyous strains. His first experience of a large organ was in the monastery of a little town on the bank of the Danube. All day long they had been sailing down that majestic river, past crum- bling ruins, frowning castles, cloisters hidden away among the crags, towering cliffs, quiet villages nestled in sunny valleys, and here and there a deep gorge that opened back from the gliding river, its hollow distance blue with fathomless shadow, and its loneliness and stillness awing the boy's heart like some dim and vast cathedral. The company of monks with whom they had been travel- ling that day, were at supper in the refectory of the cloister, when Father Mozart took Wolfgang into the chapel to see the organ. The boy had been since morning more than com- monly reserved and thoughtful ; but now, as he gazed with something of awe upon the great instrument, looming up in the shadows of the empty church, he seemed to come out of his moodiness, and become his bright and cheery self His face was lit up with serene satisfaction, and yet every motion and jittitude of the little figure which stood gazing up at the organ, expressed a wondering reverence: What tones must A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCB 21 even now be slumbering in those mighty pip^s ! Tone^ which, if once awakened, could give utterance tr ?\\ ihat voiceless beauty which the day's scenes had showed him— Life and Dea-th ; Present and Past ; the peaceful river, and the deserted ruin ; the sunshine unfailing, and the unfailing ghadow at its side. " Father," said the boy, " explain to me those pedals at the orsfan's feet, and let me play !" Well-ple;ised, the father complied. Then Wolfgang pushed aside the stool, and when Father Mozart had filled the great bellows, the elfin organist stood upon the pedals, and trod them as though he had never needed to have their manage- ment explained.' How the deep tones woke the sombre stillness of the old church ! The organ seemed some great uncouth creature, roaring for very joy at the caresses of the marvellous child. The monks, eating their supper in the refectory, heard the tones, and dropped knife and fork in astonishment. The organist of the brotherhood was among them ; but never had he played with such power and freedom. They listened and listened: some grew pale; others crossed themselves; till the Prior rose up, summoned all his courage, and hastened into the chapel. The others followed, but when they looked up into the organ-loft, lo ! there was no sign of any organist to be seen, though the deep tones still massed themselves in new harmonies, and made the stone arches thrill with their power. " It is the Devil himself," cried the last one of the monks, drawing closer to his companions, and giving a scared look over his shoulder into the darkness of the aisle. " It is a miracle !" said others. But when the boldest of their number mounted the stairs to the organ front, they stood as if petrified with amazement. There stood the tiny figure, treading from pedal to pedal, and at the same time clutching the keys above with his little hands, gathering handfuls of those wondei-ful chords as if they were violets, and flinging them out into the solemn gloom behind him. He heard nothing, saw nothing, besides ; his eyes beamed like stars, and his whole face lightened with uupassioned joy. Louder and fuller rose the harmonies, and » Historicai.— Nissen, pp. 2a-37; Jahn, Part I., p. 35. 24 MOZART: Btreamed forth in swelling billows, till at last they seemed to reach a sunny shore, on which they broke ; and then a wliis- ering ripple of faintest melody lingered a moment in the air ike the last murmur of a wind-harp, and all was still. I CHAPTER IV. THE COURT OF VIENNA, THE first triumph of the little Mozart, in a worldly sense, was at Vienna. Here he played before the Archduke Joseph, and created at once quite an excitement among the nobility. It was one round of invitations to great dinners and parties, at which the small virtuoso was the crowning feature. Soon came an invitation to play before the Empress Maria Theresa and her court. It was with mingled feelings of pride, anxiety, and excite- ment that Father Mozart and the two children w*aited in the anteroom, till they should be bidden to the presence of the great empress. At last the door was thrown open. It was a splendid apartment into which they entered — an octagon, of whose eight sides, four were covered with immense gold-frame Vene- tian mirrors. Two of the others showed great windows, half- covered with drooping folds of heavy silk ; while the remain- ing two sides led through folding-doors to the ante-chamber and the inner rooms. A large chandelier of massive silver, laid with gold, whose eight arms were carved in curious intricacies of design, hung from the frescoed ceiling by a heavy chain of the same metal. The walls were covered "v^'ith tapestry of white silk, on which bunches of many-col- ored flowers were embroidered, and the furniture was uphol- stered with the same rich material, and its carven wood-work inlaid throughout with gold. The inlaid floor was smooth and shining as glare ice, and answered the bright colors of the frescoes above by the reflection from silk and gold be- low. Two richly ornamented Augsburg pianos completed the splendor of the apartment ; which was imposing in its A BIOQRAPHWAL ROMANCE. 25 eimple richness, at the same time that it breathed an air of cheerful goodness of heart. In the centife of this room sat Maria Theresa, on a raised seat, over which glittered a golden crown. Around her were grouped the princes and ladies of her court, while her con- sort, Francis I., leaned upon one of the instruments. It was a a^roup which might well attract and delight the eye. For the empress, though at this time forty-five yeans old, and of late grown quite stout, was still exceedingly handsome. The slightly curved nose, the delicately chiselled lips, the large blue eyes beneath the fearless brows and lofty forehead, gave her face an expression of nobleness and quiet dignity ; while the glance, and a certain look about the mouth, betrayed the tenderness and goodness of her character. One must be attracted to her involuntarily, and it was easy now for the Vice-Capellmeister to understand how Maria Theresa's beauty and loveliness could bewitch and captivate the heart of Hungary. To complete this charming group, several of the young archdukes and duchesses, were clustered about their mother, among w^hom a child of seven years, with a face like an angel, laid her curly head against the arm of the empress. This was Marie Antoinette, afterwards the unhappy Queen of France. Who could have dreamed that the sweet darling, standing there in all the witching grace of innocent child- hood, would, after so few summers, breathe out her life on the scatfold ? God be praised for His mercy in veiling the future from mortal eyes ! The background of this interesting picture was made up o\ figures who would have been comical in any eyes but their own. Tliey were the antiquated court-dames, with their stiflf, proud faces and bejewelled robes, striving to make up in starch and glitter what they lacked in grace ; and the ancient cavaliers, with mighty perukes adorning their gray heads, and their clothes so resplendent with inflexible gilt and stiff- ness, that they could with difliculty move at all. Little Wolfgang, in the mean time, saw nothing cf all this on entering, except the kind eyes of the empress resting upon him, and the curly head of Marie Antoinette, which pleased him more than any sight he had ever yet seen. He had email time to consider this, for Francis I. had already ad vanced to meet him, and led him to the empress, whc 26 MOZART: stretched ou^ Ootti hands to him in a motherly way, a\ ith the words — " So this is the little pianist of whom we ^ave heard so many stories ?" " Yes, your Majesty !" answered Wolfgang, with as com* plete an absence of hesitation or embarrassment as if he were addressing his own mother. " I am little, that is true ; but I can play on the piano, nevertheless, as I would gladly prove to you, lady Empress !" At these unconstrained words of the child, a panic teiTor smote the whole imperial train, like an electric shock ; and only the gigantic coiifures of the court-dames and the heavy perukes of the cavaliers prevented their most noble hair from standing straight up on end, at this outrageous invasion of court etiquette. But the emperor and empress laughed good-humoredly ; and the latter, who took an evident delight in the frank nature of the boy, asked — " Are you, then, so confident of your powers ? Behind us here are many gentlemen who understand music, and they will be sure to sharply criticise you." At these words of the empress, Wolfgang turned to one side, and gazed at the group of courtiers wdth his great wise eyes ; then he shook his head with a contemptuous look, and said — *' H'm ! None of those people seem to me to know any- thing of music !" " Why so ?" asked Maria Theresa. *' I see it in their looks : they are a great deal too stiif !" At this the empress could not but laugh aloud ; and the whole court circle, little as they felt themselves flattered, felt obliged to laugh also, though the sweet-and-sour look on many of their high-mightiness' faces showed that the laughter was by no means hearty. But Maria Theresa stroked the boy's cheeks, and, turning to her husband with that winning gentleness which she always fchowed in the circle of her family, said — " Franzerl, here is a sprite who bids fair to make a states- man, if not a courtier. He has sharp eyes, at least !" " And is certainly not lacking in courage," answered the emperor, laughing. " Then let us keep him here !" broke in the little Marie Antoinette, lifting her curly head, and looking up with bright eyes into ^^er ir ther's face ; " I like hini, too I'"' A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 27 ** Tliat wtre not so bad a plan," replied the mother. " You would all at least have a good example m him, to make you practise on the piano." " Does he play so well, then ?" " Finely, every one says." " Then shall he let us hear him now ?" Wolfgang's small face was in a glow with the strange feelings which these words of the charming little archduchess awakened. His pride was aroused, and, it may be, the presage of another and a deeper emotion also, which hereafter would 80 often touch his tender heart. Quickly he turned to the instrument, determined to do his best, that the little imperial lady might see he had not been too highly praised. But the emperor stopped him with the words — " Hold, little man ! If you do not deem those lords and dames your equals in the art, nor think them capable ol criticising your playinn-, who then shall we have for judge of it ?" The boy bethought himself a moment — " Is not Herr Wagenseir here V" cried he, so loud that all could hear him. " He must come, for he understands it !* The emperor, moro and more delighted with the boy's naivete^ gave a sign that Wagenseil should be summoned. Meanwhile Wolfgang had pulled his sister forward, and pre- sented her to the empress without any ceremony, only Baying — " Tliis is Nannerl, my sister, who plays, as well as I !" Maria Theresa was greatly amused at this straightforward mtroduction. Beckoning to Father Mozart, she conversed with him for some time \n a friendly manner concerning the two children and their wonderful gift. In the mean time the arcMuchesses had approached Xan- nerl, and Marie Antoinptte plied Wolfgang with friendly questions, till his cheeks were all on fire again. Soon the empress took notice of this conversation, and when Wolfgang, greatly to her delight, praised his sis- ter's playing, without the least shade of envy, she asked nim — " Do you, then, iove Nannerl so much ?" "Yc3, ^Tideed *" oried the boy, looking at the empre?g with beaming '^y^s, and taking her two outstretched » At: rminent roraoosor of that time, and music-roachcr to the empress. 28 MOZART: hands. " And I love vou also, for you please- me ever so much !" • " Most flattering !" said the empress pleasantly. " And how will you prove that to me ?" *' With a kiss !" cried tlie boy ; and before the court- dames had time to think of fainting away at this unheard-of bold- ness, and while the prim gentlemen knew not whether to draw their swords or sink into the floor, little Wolfgang had sprung into the empress's lap, clasped his small arms about her neck, and given her a hearty kiss." Maria Theresa, the emperor, and the older archduchesses laughed at tliis ex])l()it, till they had to wipe the tears out of their eyes; and when the rest of the company heard this, they recovered from their righteous indignation as fast as possible, and joined in the merriment. Meantime Wagenseil had made his appearance, and, quick as a flash, Wolfgang was seated at the piano. Then, turning to the empress's maestro^ he said — " I'm right glad you have come, Herr Wagenseil. I'm going to play a concerto of yours, and you must turn over the leaves for me." ' Now the small fingers commenced to fly over the keys with a swiftness and strength which astonished everybody. As he played on and on, the silence in the room became more and more profound, till one could hear the heaving of a sigh. The boy's inlaying took them by storm, especially when he went on improvising, taking the melody of Wagenseil's con- certo as a theme. When he had finished, every voice cried, " Bravo ! bravo !" and endless applause greeted him ; but what he most cared for was the light clapping of Marie Antoinette's small palms, and her bright face, which seemed to give him a thousand thanks in its delighted expression. Nannerl's playing also pleased them; but her brother's age, as well as his extraordinary apprehension and execution, threw her performance comparatively into the shade. The empress congratulated Father Mozart on his good for- tune in having two such children. " May they," said she, " find every happiness in life. The dear God has bestowed ai)on- you a great gift, but with it He lays upon you heavy ' The boy's own language.— Oulibicheff, Part L, p. 12. Historical.— Nissen, p. 24. » His owfl words.— Jahn, Part I,, p. a& A BrOGRAPriICAt--J^O^JK^^^p^, \y 29 responsil)i!itios; for it were a crime not to complete by edu cation what Nature has already so wondrously begfun," "Your Majesty," answered Mozart, witli unaffected hu- mility, " I certainly feel this great mercy of God ; I under- stand fully what should be my life's task; and should it please Heaven to provide the necessary means to complete the edu- cation of these children, there shall be no failure on my part." " The means will not be watiting,'' said Maria Theresa ; " and Avere we not involved in this unhappy war with Prus- sia, which claims all the financial resources of the land, we would ourselves undertake the whole future education of thtj children. Yet what is possible at present shall be done. You remain some time in Vienna ?" " Already this gracious inquiry of your Imperial Majesty would be to me a command, eveu if it were not in accordance with our plans. This is the very city of musicians — the me- tropolis of art. Where could the children better begin their career than in Vienna ?" " That is true !" answered the empress ; " and how are you pleased with our nobility ? It is to be hoped they interest themselves in rising artists, like these of yours !" " Certainly !" replied Father Mozart. But there played at the same time such a peculiar smile about the mouth of the Vice-Capellmeister, that Maria Theresa inquired its cause. "Certainly," he answered, "we cannot complain of the kindness of this reception ; if only the Art is not lost sight of in the w^onder over the extraordinary child." " 1 know," returned the empress; " but it is the same in all great towns as it is here in Vienna. The world must have its wonders, to rouse it out of its enm.ii by their remarkable- ness. Everywhere can be found those who only cultivate music because it is the fashion, or out of jealousy at some one else's a(;complishments ; and with what owlish wisdom they will discuss its princi])les, or the performances of its professors! Yet, Ilerr Viee-Capellmeister, we may console ourselves by knowing that the jud?;ment of a few who under- stand, outweighs the chatter of these shallow pates a hun- dred-fold." A sudden burst of laughter, from the side of the rooiii where the emperor was talking with Wolfgang, interrupted the conversation at this point. Maria Theresa looked aroun*! in surprise, and something like anger shone in her eyes. I>ut :^) MOZART: she herself had to smile when lier Imshand approat^hed her^ and said that he had just asked the boy whom he eonbidered the greatest musician of past times, and he had replied " The trumpeter who blew down the walls of Jericho !" When the time had arrived for their departure, Maria Theresa raised the boy up and gave him a motherly kiss ; then giving her hand to Nannerl, she bade them good-bye, and they separated. Wolfgang and Nannerl each held a beautiful diamond ring in their hands, and Father Mozart's countenance shone with satisfied pride. CIIAPTEU V. A SUKPRISE. ON Wolfgang's seventh birthday, the winter lay heavy and cold upon Salzburg ; but in the heart of that city's " wonder-child" it was spring-time. No matter what snow and ice might lock up the earth as in a marble tomb, it was all sunshine and song in the boy's soul. More and more as the months went by, it became evident that music was with him no mere fancy, but the passion of his life. Wherever harmonious sounds were, there was his happiness ; nothing but discords and jangling noises could cast a shadow over his always cheery face.* When at last the May month had come upon the earth, with joy of larks and songs of nightingales, with hue and odor of early blossoms, and all the twigs were roughening, and every little bud was swelling, and million-fold new life was putting fortn on every side ; then in the breast of the boy rose jubilant songs and streaming melodies of joy, and I lis quickening life put forth buds like the flower-stems ; a mighty impulse toward creative effort awoke in his soul, and 1 An incident, related by Oulibicheff (Part I., p. 15) illustrates the exceeding sen- Btllveness of Mozart's ororanization. Up to his tenth year he retained an uncon- QMorable aversion to the trumpet (his friend Schlachtner's favorite instrument). In crder to overcome what seemed to his father a mere whim, he had a trumpet sounded suddenly once near the child's ear. The little frame shook like an aspen, and sank to the fsrround as though felled by a blow. Later in life Mozart conquered this le- pn.Q'nance. and no one knew better than he how to make the trumpets splendidlj idectivc in orchestra A BIOGRAPHICAL IWMAACK m the wliole woild seemed to liiin too narrow and confined. His world was the realm of Music, and its boiindaiies must, before all other things, be widened and enlarged. "The piano no longer pleases me!" said he one day ; "] must learn the violin." A few weeks afterward, the old friends Schlachtner, Adl- gasser, and Lipp were assembled one day at the house of the Vice-Capellmeister. It was a lovely spring afternoon. The sky lay sunken in a sea of deepest blue ; the luminous green of the new vege- tation seemed to smile upon mankind, fresh, and cool, and pure, as if it were the maidenly morning-greeting of the year — as bright, and as transient. For soon the mounting sun will bathe lield and forest in deeper colors, even as the innocent laughter of childhood fades under the heat and passion of life, and gives place to a sadder earnestness. But to-day there was no sadness in Nature's face ; all was joy and laughter, youth and brimming life, trustfulness and liope ! In the little garden of the Vico-Capellmeister, also, there was bloom and odor, costly and rare. Tulips lifted their proud splendors along the borders, and creamy hyacinths breathed their delicious fragrance on every side, while thou- sands of bees hummed and buzzed about the great apple- tree, with its countless delicate blossoms, under which the little company v%'as gathered. Frau Mozart, busy about her housewifely affairs, had re- mained at home, but she had taken care to send out to her husband and his friends, who had met for a sort of musical picnic, a goodly supply of wine and cold viands, and had despatched little Kannerl to set the table, which now ap- l)eared decked in its snowy linen under the vine-shadows of t!ie rustic summer-house. Just as Nannerl, having put the last touches to her handiwork, and received a kiss from her father for her wages, was taking her dej)arture, Wolf- gang entered with another of the Vice-Capellmeister's friends. This was the violinist Wenzel, who had for some time been taking lessons of Father Mozart in composition, in order to complete his musical culture. He was a little natty man, nicely dressed, with uncommonly pretty hands and feet, and small eyes, black as juniper-berries, which rolled about con- tinually, in a manner almost terrifying to behold. Yet, sraalJ :^2 MOZART: and restless as thev were, out of tliein sliot fiery a/ul soultul glances, and the thin face, nearly hidden under the peruke, bore an expression of great intelligence. Father Mozart had an affection for this young man — young at least in comparison with his own years — because he took hold of the science of counterpoint with extraordinary quick- ness, and really showed a remarkable talent for composition. With joy, therefore, he stretched out both hands to the new- comer, and bade him welcome, — not noticing, meantime, how Wolfgang slipped into the summer-house, concealing some- thing behind his back with his two hands. " I am delighted, dear Wenzel," said the Capellmeister, " that you have come out to join us here in God's free world of nature. See how everything is luminous and fragrant ; and this air — one feels like drinking it in in deep draughts; while in the city yonder it seems sultry, and thick, and smothering !" " Oh yes, Herr Capellmeister," replied Wenzel, shaking hands heartily with his friend, and rolling his round black eyes over the group ; " everything is beautiful here : what a rare spot to write a poem or a symphony !" " lndeeefore me on the tablet" The master of ceremonies having complied, with unwonted lack of gracefulness, being in some doubt as to the best mannej of lifting the stately little fellow, she looked at him graciously, as she stood before him, when Wolfgang on a sudden bent forward to kiss her, in his German fashion. But fire and flame mounted to his face, when, at this motion, the proud dame drew herself back, and turned haughtily away. " Ha !" cried he, angrily, " who is this, then, that she won't kiss me ? Wasn't I kissed by the Empress ?" ^ Fortunately, these indiscreet words were spoken in German, which none of the bystanders understood, except the Princess Victoire, who was greatly amused at the occurrence. The Princess Adelaide, to test the powers of the boy, now asked him if he could extemporize an accompaniment to a new song of hers. Without the least hesitation he sat down at the piano, and not only accompanied the song gracefully, but played a new and diiferent accompaniment for each oi the ten repetitions of the song, which the Princess gave in order to try his inventive skill.^ During the remainder of the evening, the Princess Vic- toire scarcely would let Wolfgang go out of her arms. She unfastened a diamond brooch from her breast, and put it upon the boy's bosom ; while the queen could not sufficiently caress him, and give him motherly kisses. A few weeks later, Father Mozart and the little Wolfgang took their leave of the French court at the royal country seat of Choisy-le-Roi. And if the boy had received costly presents from the queen and the princesses, it was now his turn to do them honor, little as they appreciated it then, by a precious gift. He had, during these weeks in France, com- posed his first two published works (and was yet only seven years old !^) Each ojjus consisted of two piano sonatas, with » ITistorical.— Oulibicheff, Part I., p. 20. ' Historical.— Grimm's letter to a German Prince. Nissen, p. 47; Oulibichef!^ Part I., p. 20 ; Jahn, Part I., p. 51. ' Senates ponr le Clavecin, qui peuvent se jouer avec Taccompagnement de Violon, dediees a Madame Victoire de France. Par J. G. W. Mozart de Salzbourg, age de sept ans. Ouvre premier. Senates pour le Clavecin, qui peuvent se jouer avec Faccompagneraent de Violon, dediees a Madame la Comtesse de Tesse, etc. Par J G. W. Mozart de Salzbourg, age de sept ana. Ouvre II. .1 BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 43 riolin accoinpanimenl ; the first was dedicated to the Princessi Victoirc, the bccond to the Countess Tesse, These two compositions little Mozart brought, and with his own hands presented to the ladies, who had so won liia heart by their kindness and appreciation. When the time caijie for his departure, after having played the sonatas for them with his usual power, and received their praises and thanks, the young princesses approached the boy to say adieu. But, suddenly turning his back, he leaped out of one of the long windows which opened on the terrace, and disappeared among the trees in the park. They stood in astonishment, and were almost ready to believe that success had turned the child's head, and bereft him of reason. But hark ! There came in through the open window where little Mozait had disappeared, a strain of sweet music. It was the voice of the great organ in the park-chapel. The boy had chosen his own manner of leave-taking. Ilis heart had been too full for polite speeches ; and his grief too sincere for words : music was his only language for farewell. At first softly, almost sadly, breathed the strain, like a re- gretful adieu ; then deeper and mightier it swelled forth, as though the pain of parting grew ever more mighty and deep ; and then, in chords whose wailing minor bemoaned their very weakness to utter the ineffable woe, the sorrowful music wandered away into the distance, and sank to silence. Oh ! that was no mere leave-taking from these human friends; it was the sobbing of farewells to a vanished Paradise — the lost Eden of Childhood, which to-day had ended, as \ is work in the world began. triTIVERSITTi PART ri. MOZART'S YOUTH. — IN ITALY. CHAPTER I. EVENING-TWILIGHT AND MORNING-RED. A BRIGHT March day of the year 1770 was flooding with its golden sunshine the famous old town of Bo- logna. The sky of Italy, from its deep blue eyes, seemed smiling down upon the city as upon its darling. But this loving glance of heaven was scarcely returned as tenderly ; for Bologna lay beneath it, dark and stern, among its palaces, cloisters, and churches — lost in sombre thoughts upon long- departed centuries — as if it were the image of the Middle Ages, turned to stone. The lofty buildings all exhibited the severe mediaeval style of architecture ; every house was built up with heavy porches, every pillar of these porches buttressed with its deep shadow, so that the streets had an expression almost of gloom. Over the whole conduct and life of the people, too, there seemed to be an all-pervading breath of mediaeval times ; an appearance which was increased by the frequent companies of cowled monks and proud-looking priests passing silently along the streets and squares. It was in the rich villas in the neio^hborhood of Bolosrna that the best evidence was to be seen of the real life and culture which existed in Italy at the time of which we write. At the gate of one of these villas, not far from the city, a noble and stately form paused for a moment before entering, to watch the full sunshine of noonday pour its splendor over the marble roofs and spires of Bologna, and the luxuriant groves and greenery of the country about its walls. His ^iilvered hair, and something in the yet stately and command- A BIOGRAPIUCAL ROMANCE. 45 iiig presence, betrayed the approach of age. His dress A^a? ricJi, tliough severely simple ; the deep and meditative still- nes-s of the dark eyes, the endless good feeling and friendli- ness in tlie lines of the handsome mouth, as well as the air of artistic culture about the whole man, had an effect upon you which seemed to harmonize exactly with the impression made by the appearance of the abode which he was about to enter. The villa was not of great extent, but a noble and elegant taste had evidently reigned in its design. Cheerfully, airily, and lightly it lifted itself, like a crown, on the brow of a gently-ascending slope, the slender pillars bearing up the porticoes like flower-stems. Olive, chestnut, and pomegranate trees mingled their deep shadows with those of the pine, cypress, and laurel, in picturesque beauty. Between this rich leafage and the broad beds of flowers stood costly sculp- tures ; — a Perseus of the famous Donatello, victorious with the awful head of Medusa in his hand ; a daring Roman, half- fiercely, half-tenderly supporting on his sinewy arm a ravished Sabine, done by John of Bologna ; with other of the great creations of the Italian masters. It was a spot of rare beauty. One could not but perceive that here unusual wealth and refinement of taste had built themselves a chosen temple, and at the same time one saw that rest and peace had here their dwelling. Ah ! and rest and peace — one has said — are found so seldom among man- kind, that even their mere outward aspect is felt to be a talisman, under whose protection we would gladly place all the wild desires, all the passionate conflicts of our own souls. The stately form which now opened the vine-clambered gate of the garden was that of Signor Carlo Broschi, sur- named Farinelli, one of the most famous men of his century. He had been the greatest singer of his own or any preceding time. Gifted by nature with a marvellous voice and a genius for music, he had received all the culture which wealth and Italy could give him, and had stood for years without a ri'^al. During a long residence at the court of Spain, he had re- ceived almost royal honor and favor; for all through the reign of the unfortunate Philip V., as well as through that of hu successor, Ferdinand VI., upon whose life an equally terrible blight had settled, Farinelli had been more than a David to the stricken Saul. His music had been almost tbs i6 MOZART: only power which was able to rouse the bed-ridden monarch, for some small portion of the day, to his duties as soveieigc of Spain. ^ Farinelli had returned to Italy, laden with honor and wealth, to spend his declining years in the culture of art and philosophy, and had built this villa as a quiet refuge for the peaceful close of a brilliant and successful life. The inner aspect of this new Tusculum was in harmony with its exterior. The entrance to the house was through a "V^ ide veranda, whose slender pillars were already clasped about by the young leafage of twining vines. Handsome and cosy armchairs and a quaintly carven desk betrayed that this was the favorite nook of the venerable philosopher and musician. Through this veranda you entered a roomy hall, on both sides of which stood white marble busts of the greatest men of the Roman world. The furniture of the whole ground- floor was of the antique style, and its solid simplicity, and harmony with the architecture of the building, would have done honor to the abode of a Roman emperor. Quite different was the upper story of the villa. If the apartments below were fitted for the reception of aristocratic visitors or royal guests, these chambers above were evidently meant to be a quiet and comfortable home, rich in noble associations of the past, for a true artist and philosopher. Of the two spacious front rooms on each side of the richly ornamented hall, the one to the east contained the world- renowned musical library of Farinelli, the costly inheritance of the Queen of Spain; while the western room held the pianos and other musical instruments, also the gift of that same royal hand, in gratitude and veneration towards the benefactor of two kings. Each instrument bore the name of some one of the great Italian painters — Raphael, Correggio, Titian, Guido, etc. Besides these was the most rare and precious one of all — the famous violin, Farinelli's especial darling, named by him the viola cV amour, a masterpiece from the hand of Amati, at Cremona, in the sixteenth century. The stately old musician was not wholly alone in his elegant mansion. One friend he had, who was more to him than wife or brother. This was the learned Franciscan, John Baptiste Martini, Italy's greatest master of musical science^ » VideBvtM. w I* Histoire delaMusiquc, Lamberg'e Memorial d'un Mondain, p. 97 EkJilosser's History of the 18th and 19th centuri3& A BIOORAPUICAL ROMANCE 47 the president of the renowned Philharmonic Academy (/ Bologna, *and author of the great work, " Laggio Fonda- mentale Prattico di Contrapunto," on account of Avhich, and in grateful acknowledgment of the service he hud rendered to the world of art, Frederick the Great had sent him his likeness, set in jewels, accompanied by an autograph letter of friendly congratulation.^ The two old friends were at this time deeply engaged in a " History of Music," which was to be a most extensive and philosophical work. It was the especial undertaking oi Martini, but his comrade contributed to the work the use oi his immense library, as well as the results of his own life- long study. When now (not being delayed as we have been by the foregoing long description) Farinelli entered his library, he found Father Martini bending over his writing-desk, which stood in the centre of the great room, half buried under a heap of folio tomes and rolls of parchment. But, for some reason, the venerable Franciscan, as Farinelli could not but notice after the first cordial greeting, was not 80 cheerfully at work as usual. Something in his manner betrayed a restlessness most unusual in him. At last he put away the ink-stained quill and arose. " It does not go at all to-day !" said he, as if his conscience a little disturbed him for his want of diligence. " I am too much excited and preoccupied." " Is it so ?" responded Farinelli with a smile, as he motioned to a white-haired old servitor who had entered behind him, and who now offered to each of them a sparkling glass of real Lachrima Christi. " I thought it was only myself who was 8o t^ken possession of by the concert last evening !" "It is not so much the concert which has moved me," replied Father Martini, pushing back the black velvet cap from his high, white forehead, " but the thoughts which the appearance of this wonderful young w^aestro has awakened in me. He has captivated me, but yet I cannot but tremble for him. I fear lest, instead of being the great musical creator, whose prophetic possibility darkles in his deep blue eyes, he shall become a mere prodigy of supei*ficial brighir ness — only a skilful and popular />6r/brmer, as these prodigiea usually turn out to be." Vide Wilhelm vou Vallo— Antolog:ia Romana. 48 MOZART: " But, my dear friend and brother, remember that the whole history of the young Amadeus Mozart, so far, contradicts this fear. Think what they have written us about him, from Vienna, Paris, and London. In Vienna he wrote two operas, and now this youth of fourteen years has engaged to furnish a new opera for the next carnival at Milan, as though it were the lightest undertaking in the world." " Yes," returned Father Martini, sipping his Lachrmta Christi with an anxious look ; " but now he has entered Italy, and is brought face to face with music — not as a mere amusement, not as a mere field for the display of skill, but as a noble and mysterious art. If we could but bring hira into the Philharmonic Academy, then, as a cavaliere Jilar- monico^ his career would be certain in Italy; but it is a terrible ordeal he would have to pass !" " We will see what can be done," replied Farinelli. " One thing is certain — the young Mozart has spent the last years in most earnest study of the great masters. Stradella, Caris- simi, Scarlatti, Leo, Hasse, Bach, and Handel have been his familiar spirits, as his father testifies ; and I know that his perfect acquaintance with our language has made him at home with the Italian masters. Fear not, Martini ! Where genius is, there is the finger of God to direct its course." " It is a comfort to remember that," answered the Fran- ciscan. " As for me, I feel that the young maestro^ with his bright fair face, and those passionate eyes, as deep and blue as the sky above us, has stolen away my heart !" " And, dear Martini," returned his friend, leaning forward in his earnestness, " let me make a confession. The appear- ance of this young musician has reminded me anew of some- thing which a thousand times before has come to my mind, but never without painful thoughts." "And that is — ?" asked the Franciscan. " The departure, and the farewell so soon to be spoken ! As I gazed into the great spiritual eyes of the young maestro, it was clear to me as sunlight that these were the morning stars which would usher in a new day for music. Around us, dear brother — around us lies the evening-twilight; but there, glows the morning-red !" " What matters it ?" asked Father Martini, while a smile full of rest and contentment played on his noble countenance • " the life of the individual and the life of the race, both exist only through eternal changes of light and shadow — A BIOQRAPHIOAL ROMANCE. 49 moraing and evening — the dewy bud and the fallen flower.'* " That know I well !" returned Farinelli ; " think me not BO childish that into the great All, and for the great All, I would net cheerfully go away. If only the separation — ^the farewell, were not there before me !" •* Aa for me," said the Franciscan, a little sadly, " I have Raid farewell to so many things, during my life, that it is a familiar sound to me !" Farinelli seemed not to have heard these words, but ap- peared lost in recollection. After a moment he continued, as if clearing himself from a misunderstanding — " Not that I complain of departing joys ; but onlv that 1 must rend myself away — who knows how soon — from all these surroundings, among which I have felt myself so shel- tered and at home; from all these circumstances and em- ployments which have grown a part of my life. It is not the great matters, the supreme joys, which fasten upon the hu- man heart with such force, but the small interests and pleas- ures — the unnoticeable violets — from which the departure is BO painful. When some pitiless fate has grasped with iron hand the fortune of a whole life, a heroic will stands up in man's breast, and cries in calm defiance, ' Take it then ; I cai live my life without it !' and then a noble self-respect over- masters the pain of bereavement, and we stand firmly and proudly among the ruins of our hopes. But when fate seizes upon one great expectancy after another, takes one flower after another from our lives, and color after color fades out of the picture of our days, till at last it lies before us cold and gray — then a nameless sorrow comes upon the man, and he feels his heart shaken within him." " But, oh, my friend !" returned the Franciscan, " what then is this life, with all its joys and sorrows? We are standing, indeed, in the evening twilight, and all is disap- pearing about us. We also, as all things on this earth-ball, are passing by. The moment comes, and as it delights his heart, man says, * Tarry with me !' but while he speaks it has vanished, and another is in its place. Yet, swift as the moments are, their image remains with us, and the echoes of the feelings which that image awakens in us, can bless ufl forever. See, my brother, this is the transfiguration of be- reavement. The joys of life are not alone like the rainbow, in that they are formed of moments which incessantly fall 60 MOZART: and aie replaced, but in this also, that they are most radi&nt when far away. And has not God blessed us above most men ? — has He not given us a cheerful old age, the joy of noble labor and creation, a holy enthusiasm for divine art — ■ has He not given us one another ? Oh, my brother ! I would not give the evening-twilight for any morning-red !" " Yes !" said Farinelli, grasping his friend's hand with emotion, as his face lit up with a smile of good-will and gratitude, " I have to thank God for many happy hours — and, most of all, that these hours, like the yeai*s of childhood, leave no after-taste of bitterness behind." " We may confess, too, at least to ourselves," added Father Martini with a smile, " that we possess the main conditions of quiet happiness in ourselves ; I mean that thoughtfulness of the spirit, which receives life in its depth and purity, and, amid the stormy moments incessantly fleeting by, discerns the permanent and immortal ; and also that cheerful seren- ity, which is disturbed by no Titan-battles of the passions, and dwells untouched by envy or undisciplined ambition. In these two blessings God has given us the telescope through which the inner eyes of man may discover the streaming constellations of the everlasting life. Only through it is dis- cerned, faintly and afar, out from the dim nebulte of earthly virtue and beauty, the star-shine of other worlds, which show us, in the fathomless darkness of the future, the immortality of our being !" At that moment the door of the library was opened, and the servitor announced — " Signor Amadeus Mozart 1" CHAPTER II. IL CAVALIEEE FILAEMONICO. THE enthusiasm of the Italians is lavish in its expression, because it comes from the heart. Nowhere found the young Mozart such a warm reception, such universal good- will, and so immediate a recognition as in Italy. Both among the nobility and the artists, and especially at Bologna, he found cordial friends and allies at once. A BIOORAPHICAL ROMANCE. 61 I5ut greatly as Amadeus* was pleased with such a result, his spirit was too childlike and modest to be carried away by any popular homage. If in years and outward appearance he was but a boy, in musical development his soul was that of a full-grown man. In Bologna, his main thought was to be recognized at the incorruptible judgment-seat of the Phil- harmonic Academy — which was the leader of the musical world at that time — as a maestro ; and to win the approval of Father Martini, whom the Italians almost worshipped, and whose judgment in musical questions was decisive for all Europe. To-day, therefore, in his visit to the villa Mtrinelli, Wolf- gang approached the famous president of the Academy with the most profound respect, and with that sincere admiration which true genius so readily gives, to true genius. If as a child he had said, " After (jlod, comes my papa !" he might now have added, " And after papa, Father Martini !" Mozart was in raptures over Farinelli's instruments, and was as pleased as a child at the famous names with which the old Italian had baptized them. He fixed upon the grand piano named " Raphael" as his favorite, and sitting down to the costly instrument, he improvised for a long time, weaving and unweaving his golden phantasies in beautiful tones, till Farinelli and the Franciscan were enthusiastic over his mar- vellous playing. When they had spent some time in music and conversa tion. Father Martini brought to Wolfgang a theme, expressed in a few notes, and said — " My son, let us hear you perform the fugue which I have hinted here." Amadeus complied, and brought out the strong harmonies with a fire as unusual as was his audience. *' Raphael" thrilled and trembled under his nervous fingers, as did the hearts of liis hearers, with the majesty of the composition. When he had done, they both took him cordially by the hand, and Father Martini said, with the tears flashing in his dark eyes, to his friend — " Evening-twilight and morning-red ! How truly you said it, my brother ! And this dawn foretells a glorious day !" The time soon came when Amadeus was to be examined as a candidate for membership of the Accademia Filarmonica, > The Italians always called Mozart Amadeus, becaus? it suited their musical Ian Bua^je better tlian Wolfgang. 52 MOZART: It was an important day for him. A refusal would rum h'8 prospect for life ; an admission would establish his fame for- ever. On the appointed afternoon the whole cultured and musical world of Bologna was in motion. On foot and in carriages, people were hastening to the imposing building in whose rooms the Academy held its sittings. At the scene of examination only the menibers might be present, but the announcement of admission, if the vote were fa- vorable, was made in public. The candidate, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, made his appearance at four o'clock in the afternoon in the hall of the Academy. The members were already present. Father Martini and Farinelli among them, sitting in a wide circle, with the president and the censors, all of them distinguished composers, in their places, awaiting the candidate, whose age — only fourteen years — made the event an unprecedented one. After the formalities of introduction, the president and censors arose, and Amadeus was presented with an Anti- phonia, from the Antiphonarium JRomanmn^^ which was to be arranged for four voices, in a closed room, in the space of three hours. Amadeus received the sheet with a respectful obeisance, and, with a quick and confident tread, followed the official, who showed him into a small writing-room, shutting the door behind him with a clang. To arrange such an antiphony for four voices w^as a severe trial of musical knowledge and ability. Only a master could accoinplish it ; and already many a musician of celebrity had been wrecked on this rock, in his attempt to enter the Academy. Composers of ability had before now, in the same place where Amadeus w^as fitting, occupied the whole three hours in w^orking out an antiphony of only three parts. Who can describe the amazement of the whole Academy, when, at the expiration of only half an hour, the official en- tered, and, himself pale with astonishment, announced that the young composer had given the sign that his work was finished. A universal excitement now communicated itself throughout the assemblage. For more than a hundred years the Academy had existed, but there had never in all that time been such a case before. Was this boy of fourteen years a magician ? Father Martini and the censors arose, in evident excite- > Antioh. ad Magnificat. Dom. XIV., post Pentecost ei in festo Cajetani. A BIOGRAPHICAL RQMMICE. J 63 ment, and went to the writing-room. At the doer the official received the key from the president's hand, threw back the bolt, and they entered. There stood Wolfgang, smiling good- humoredly, with the manuscript in his hand. On his frank, boyish face there shone an expression of great joy — a joy which was mingled with the pride of conscious power, but far removed from any arrogance or vanity; it was that radiant expression which Raphael delighted to depict upon the faces of the angels who bear up the Queen of Heaven on lier throne of billowy clouds. Father Martini's eyes beamed with pleasure, though he spoke no word ; and it was with difficulty that he refrained from taking Wolfgang to his breast in a rapturous embrace. But custom prescribed a second shutting up of the candi- date, while his work was being examined by the assembled com- posers and judges. This occupied nearly an hour. At last It was concluded, and the president called for the vote. In profound silence a black and a white ball were distributed to each one of the circle. No word betrayed the intention of the voters, but the sparkling eyes of most told the tale. And now the box was emptied before the president, and the moment of decision had come — and it was favorable. " All the balls white !" cried Father Martini ; " the cand;. date is accepted f ' Then the doors were thrown open, and while the people streamed in at one side, Wolfgang entered at the other, and was greeted by the Academy with an enthusiastic clapping of hands, while the people thundered their mvas to the new cavor Here Jilarmonico I CHAPTER III. KISSING ST. PETER. PASSION- WEEK is among all the Catholic people of Christendom the great epoch of the year. But nowhere 13 it so grandly celebrated as in that greatest temple of the l^'orld, the sublime St. Peter's Church, m Rome. Early in the morning of Maundy-Thursday, crowds of people are already streaming in from all parts of the hobr 64 MOZART: city and the neighboring country ; while for clays beforehand strangers have been gathering from north, south, east, and west. Piety and zeal, curiosity and the search for excite- ment, penitence and worldly pleasure, jealousy, cupidity, and every other human interest and passion, were at the bottom of this gathering, which now filled the streets of Rome till they were one swaying sea of people. It would be difficult to find a finer sight than this joyous throng of humanity, dressed for the most part in picturesque costumes, crowding, laughing, bantering, scolding, along the blocked-up streets leading to the church. Mountaineers in their brigandish-looking garb, peasants clothed in sheep-skins, noblemen in splendid robes, fiery-eyed women from the country, haughty dames and voluptuous girls of the city — all pressing on, without regard to rank or station, age or race, toward the lofty dome of St. Peter's ; where all — peapint- girls and duchesses, princes and fishermen, rich and poor, sick and sound — in a kind of fanatical insanity, crowd about the seat of the Pope, who is to grant absolution to these souls languishing in sin. Yet let no one suppose that an earnest religious feeling animated this moving mass of people. Oh, no ! They jested and laughed, told good stories and discussed pretty women (for the proverb goes in Italy, Xa mattina una messetta^ Vapodinar una basetta, la sera una donetta). They sought the Pope's chair, partly because it was the fashion, partly be^ cause they wanted to be on hand to see everybody else do it, and partly because, to an Italian, a hundred days' absolution in advance is always a pleasant and convenient thing to have. Let us follow the stream of humanity which, on this glo- rious sunny day, is entering the majestic porch of St. Peter's. Above, the great dome glitters, at its giddy height, far away toward the clouds. Below, this mass of living creatures, moving slowly up the marble steps, seems like a swarm of ants, in comparison with the vastness of the building. See, on the right-hand side of the entrance stands an ancient bronze statue of St. Peter. It was once worshipped by the old Romans as Jupiter Olympus. How are the mighty fallen ! Every one who enters stops to kiss the foot of the statue — almost worn out by the millions and millions of kisses it has received, Kow the throng divides reverently to make way for a cai* A BIOGUAPHWAL ROMANCE. 65 dinal und his train. He, too, leaves a holy kiss on the apostle's toes ; but before his train can follow hun in this pious act, a mass of people storms, and struggles, and quarrels as to who shall kiss first after the cardinal, as if that carried a special blessing in it. When the momentary turmoil is over, the servants of the great priest draw near; but they first rever- ently wipe the sacred toes with their handkerchiefs before they put their lips to them, and then they, too, pass on. " Let's make haste !" said at this moment a beautiful young girl to her youthful companion — "let's make haste, Ve- ronica, for the crowd is growing thicker every minute. If we don't get a place soon, we shall miss the feet-washing." "But, Giuditta!" replied the other in astonishment, " shan't we get a blessing from the Holy Father at all ?" " Let that be till Easter," answered Giuditta ; " the feet- washing is a great deal more interesting." " But shan't we kiss St. Peter's foot, first ?" asked the other, rather anxiously. " For aught I care !" cried Giuditta, in a cheerful tone ; " anything, so we go ahead." And with these words she took her companion by the arm, and pulled her energetically toward the apostle's statue. Giuditta was a girl of fourteen years, charming as a freshly- opening ro>5e-bud. There was a certain peculiar appearance of natural vigor about her, and the graceful figure, slender yet fully developed, and with an air of voluptuous strength, was well matched by the frank face, with its brown Italian tint, and its fiery dark eyes. She was dressed in the pic- turesque garb of the Itoman maiden, which seems made to show such young creatures in all the fulness of their beauty. A frock of some soft material, blue as the sky of Italy, concealed the graceful form ; and as the bodice only covered the waist, above it there was nothing but the snow-white chemise, gathered in light folds over the breast and back, — so that its pure white, together with that of the wide sleeves, made a rare contrast with the rich tint of neck and arms. A high comb of silver confined her heavy black hair, while a long white veil covered her head, beneath the lace points of which the perfect oval of her blooming little face looked out, naive and innocent. It was a real pleasure to watch the two maidens, both dressed almost alike, and both brimming with youth and life. And this youthful overflow of life expressed itself in everv* 56 MOZART: thing about them — in the frank smile playing ab)ut the mouth, in the soft lire of the dusky eyes, and the suddenness and energy of gesture and movement. It was the true Italian blood ! How it would, sooner or later, stormily awake in both those young hearts ; what fierce passions were asleep there beneath that rosy dawn of girlhood, like the flames of Vesuvius under laughing vineyards and olive-groves ! It made a picture which Raphael's pencil would have loved to catch, when the two maidens knelt before the pedestal of the ancient bronze statue of the apostle, rising above their "beautiful heads in its stern, grim antiquity. But Giuditta's i^itention seemed to be wandering while she prayed. The beads of her rosary were indeed slipping through her pretty fingers, and the ripe young lips were in motion, but her thoughts were evidently somewhere else, and those dark fixed eyes rested on a handsome boy, who, in company with an elderly man, was approaching the statue of St. Peter. They must be strangers — ^that was evident from their gar- ments, and from the look of wonder which their fine faces wore. The boy seemed to be some travelling prince, so easy and courtly were his manners and all his motions. Giuditta had taken note of all this between the beads of her rosary, and during the Paternoster and Ave Maria she imparted her impressions to her friend. " Cospetto di Bacco !" she whispered now ; " the little prince pleases me. Only look at his blue eyes and fair fore- head !" " And the small mouth !" added Veronica. "And how elegantly he is clothed !" continued Giuditta; " his cocked hat is fastened with a jewel which has all the colors of the rainbow." " Do you suppose he is English ?" whispered her friend. Giuditta shook her little head, said an Ave^ and replied — " He must be German, his face is so pleasant ; you know I ought to judge pretty well, for — Deum de Deo^ Liimen de Lumine — father is a papal courier, and — genitum non factum ■ — w^e have a roomy house — consuhstantialem Patri — and see many guests of all sorts of countries ; and to-morrow they are to arrive — per quern omnia facta sunt — two Germans; a gentleman with his son — qui propter nos homines — ^who is a magician." *' A magician ?" whispered Veronica, aghast. "Yes, but only in music," continued Giuditta. "Look! A BIOORAPHICAL ROMANCE. 57 there come the prince and his companion. How piously the older one kisses the holy foot !" "And now the prince is going to, also." " But see — he cannot reach above the pedestal, he is so Bmall." " And nobody helps him ; his companion is praying, and pays no attention." " Eh !" cried Giuditta, and her dusky eyes flashed fire, "Then I must help the prince myself!" And before Veronica could hold her back, she had sprung up, caught the handsome boy in her arms, and lifted him up.* The youngster, supposing of course that it was his com- panion who was doing him this friendly service, bent his head over the worn foot of the bronze saint, and pressed a kiss upon it. As he slipped gently down, it seemed to him that he felt a woman's garment and form behind him. Quickly turning his head, the red blood mounted to his cheeks, for he was looking into a beautiful girlish face that was blushing like his own. But it was only an instant. Scarcely had his feet touched the floor, when the angel had vanished, and a new crowd of people pushed Amadeus and his father into the church. CHAPTER IV. THE MISEKEEE. THE evening of the day on which the incident related in the last chapter occurred, brought to Amadeus the hour to which he had been looking forward all his life — the hour for which he had longed with all the strength of his souL » Historical.— The following Is the boy's own account of it, in a letter to his sister. (Mozart's Letters, No. 9 : N. Y., Leypoldt & Holt. 1867.) Rome, April 14, 1T70. T am thankful to say that my stupid pen#and I are all right, so we send a thousand kisses to you both. Papa hasjust told me that the loveliest flowers are being car ried past at this moment. That I am no wiseacre is pretty well known. Oh ! 1 have one annoyance— there is only a single bed in our lodgings, so mamma may easily imagine that I get no rest beside papa. I rejoice at the thoughts of a new lodging. I have just finished sketching St. Peter with his keys, St. Paul with hia Bword, and St. Luke with— my sister, etc., etc. I had the honor of kissing St. Peter't foot at San Fietro, and as I have the misfortune tobe&) short, your good old Wolfgang Mozart was lifted up ' 68 MOZART: That evening he was to be present at the perfonnance oi Mass m the Sistine Chapel, and the young musician was in a Btate of excitement and agitation whicli he had never ex- perienced before. The Miserere of Allegri is perhaps the most wonderful composition which the world has ever seen. It is in some re- spects beyond all other music of human creation.^ It is truly an unearthly music, in its removal from all the expressions of common human feelings or ideas. There is in it none of that tremulous, expectant, and then exultant, resolution of dissonances, which image our pain — hope — triumph — ever momentary and vanishing. It has no rhythm, which follows the flight of the wings of Time, and is measured by the pulsations of human hearts ; nothing which awakens a worldly thought, or speaks the language of mortal passion. It is a sacred music, more literally than any other that was ever composed. Holiness is written upon its mysterious tones. It is ancient, but its antiquity knows no growing old — its beauty and its wonder are eternal. Only a soul which lives wholly and entirely in music, as m a separate world — a soul which carries music into all its works and ways, into every meditation and aspiration, into thought and feeling, eflbrt and desire, as did Mozart — can imagine the mood which possessed his spirit as he awaited the experience of this evening. It was such as fills the unfolding rosebud, over which, in the sultry summer night, the first breath of a tempest blows ; such as trembles through the maiden's heart upon her bridal night, when the first kiss of her beloved ia pressed upon her lips. That practical person, Father Mozart, enthusiastic lover oi > [H. Taine, writing from Rome, 1864, says of the Miserere of Palestrina and Alle- gri : " These two Miserere are above, and perhaps beyond, all music to which I ever listened ; previous to acquaintance with these, one could only imagine such sweet- ness and melancholy, such strangeness and sublimity. Three points are ver}' strik- ing—discords abound sometimes, so as to produce what, in ears like ours, accus- tomed to agreeable sensations, we call false notes. The parts are multiplied in an extraordinary degree, so that the same chord contains three or four harmonies, and two or three discords, all constantly decomposed and recomposed in its various por- tions ; some voice at every instant is heard detaching itself through its own theme, the aggregate number being so well distributed that the harmony seems an eft'oct of chance, like the low and intermittent concert of rural harmonies ; the continuous tone is that of a plaintive ecstatic prayer, ever persistent, or unweariedly recurring without regard to symmetrical chant or ordinary rhythm ; an indefatigable aspira- tion of the suffering heart which can and will find rest only in God— the ever-renewed yearnings of captive spirits sinking to their native dust through their own burden— the prolonged si^hs jf an infinite number of loving, tender, unhappj souls, - evei liscouraged in adoring and in worshipping."— Tb.] A BIOORAPniCAL ROMANCE. 69 music as he was, could not resist an unwonted fever of ex pectation to-niglit ; yet he could not share the intensity of Wolfgang's mood. But he was too wise a man to check or chide his son for an emotion, because he could not perfectly sympathize with it. At the appointed hour they entered the Sistine Chapel, What a spectacle met their eyes ! The world has not another similar one. More than seven hundred burning wax-candles lit up the vast and already crowded building. The colossal dome lifted itself above, like the arch of the blue heaven. The walls were painted in gigantic frescoes ; and on the oppo- site wall, as you entered, loomed up the sublime Last Judg- ment of Michael Angelo. It smote upon the sensitive and imaginative spirit of Amadeus with an irresistible awe. He felt his limbs tremble, and the blood gather at his heart. But now — on a sudden — all the countless lights were extinguished, as by magic, ex- cept fifteen, which twinkled above the altar; and the whole Sistine Chapel lay in ghostly gloom. And then began the Matutiyio delle tetiebre, from a choir of thirty-two voices, without instrumental accompaniment. This famous compo- sition consists of fifteen psalms, and a number of prayers, and concludes with the Miserere. A stillness as of death reigned in the great building. Aa each psalm was ended, one of the fifteen candles was extin- guished, and the gloom and silence throughout the chuich became more profound and awful, and the singing grew sad- der and deeper, till its tender pathos was as if a nightingale, wounded to the death, were singing its pain ; — and then it deepened and swelled, till it was the woe of all humanity for the wrongs of its noblest sons, going up before the throne of the Eternal Spirit. Then hot tears rushed from the hearts of the listeners, and they forgot that they were children of the dust, in a dust- born world. And when now the fifteenth psalm was ended, and the last light was extinguished, and the darkness of the grave reigned over the whole chapel, then arose the Miserere. The impression was indescribable. Amadeus no longei was a bodily existence ; he neither felt, nor saw, nor breathed m the flesh. The Jflserere had long been finished ; but Amadeus still 00 MOZART: stood motionless. A gigantic cross, brilliant with hunureds of blazing lights, was lowered from the centre of the dome, and flooded the darkness with a sudden sea of splendor. It was a magical effect: but Amadeus marked it not; he stood unmoved. The stream of thronging humanity had crowded by, and only a few loiterers remained in the empty chapel; but he knew not of it, and still stood motionless, as if stricken to a statue. Then his father, almost in alarm, bent down, and said, w ith a voice full of affection, " Wolfgang ! it is time for us to go !" The boy started, as out of a dream, and stared with great eyes at his father. Then, passing his hand over brow and eyes, and looking about him, as though to recollect where he was, he nodded to his father, and silently followed him into the open air. Not a word came from the boy's lips, as they walked home- ward : father Mozart, too, was full of thought ; and when they reached the house, he was glad to have his son hasten to their chamber, which they occupied together, and retire to rest. But scarcely had his father fallen asleep by his side, when Amadeus softly arose, lit the lamp, and made ready pen and music-paper. Then he quietly threw open one of the windows, and gazed out. There it lay at his feet — the Eternal City — the tomb of so many centuries — the mausoleum of half the history of the world ; and over its ruined glory that heavenly night had folded the moonlight like a shroud. For a few minutes Amadeus gazed upon the impressive scene ; then, with a glance at the splendid night-sky, lie closed the window hastily, and seated himself before the music- paper at the table. When the next morning's kindling sunrise greeted the earth, it threw its first rays over a beautiful boyish head that was resting on folded arms across the desk, fast asleep with weariness and toil ; and it gilded the sheets of music-paper that lay beside the young sleeper, on whose closely-written pages appeared the Miserere of Allegri. Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, the boy of fourteen years, had performed what has ever since been considered almost a miracle — he had written out, incredible as it may sf em, that wonderful masterpiece of composition, which thf Romish A BIOQRAPmCAL ROMANCE. CI Church neld so jealously guarded under pain of excommu- nication to any one of its singers who should lend, show, or copy a single note of it — written it out from memory, after one hearing, and without an error 1* CHAPTER V. GIUDITTA. A MADEUS was a fully ripened and mature man, only J\. in music : in all other respects he was as boyish as need be. It was, therefore, with the greatest delight that he ac- companied his father, the next day, to their new quarters, at the house of Signor Uslinghi. There was no trace left in him of the last night's exaltation and mental strain ; except, perhaps, the reaction from it, which expressed itself in all manner of pranks and jollity, as they threaded the streets of Rome to find their future abode. Father Mozart, too, was pleased at the prospect of a change from their previous nar- row lodgings, and especially so since he had learned that the Italian gentleman, who was to be his host, was a papal courier, and therefore that he would meet at his house none but such people as he would desire to know. The outer door of the house stood wide open, as they ap- proached, and on entering they passed through a cool hall mto a still cooler court, surrounded by stone arches. Large vines clasped the pillars in their sturdy embrace, and cling- ing to the heavy arches, dropped a slender arm here and there, with whose tendrils the wind lightly played ; while a tossing fountain, which sprang up in the midst of the court, from a crumbling antique marble basin, kept up a pleasant murmur with its continual plashing. Near the fountain sat a woman, dressed in the picturesque Roman costume, whose white hands were busy at the spin- iiing-wheeL As soon as she saw the two strangers, she rose quickly, and hastening forward to meet them, as though ..hey were well known to her, she said, in a friendly tone — » Historical.— Ffrf*; Oulibicheff; and Jahn, Part I., p. 199. It waa only of a pioc« ■r'th other of Mozart's surprising feats. k'2 MOZART: "I am heartily glad to see you; for I am greatly mistaken if you are not the Monsignore Mozart who was so warmly commended to me with his son, the inaestro illustrissimo, by Signor Farinelli !" " I am Capellmeister Mozart, certainly," replied the Ger man, in his straightforward style, " and this is my son, the musician ; but we are neither princes, as has been reported here, nor Monsignore^ nor illttstrissimo.^^ "Ah, well!" cried Signora Uslinghi, laughing, "'tis all one ! That's their fashion in Rome. The proverb says : * Al gato del papa si dice Monsignore !' (The pope's cat is called Sir.) You find a touch of exaggeration everywhere. If there is a crowd of a hundred men here, in the next street they'll have it a thousand. If they talk to you, as a musician, about a concert-room, it will be ' I'anticamera del Paradiso !' Every house that has two windows more than its neighbor, is called a palace ; and every old stone has a miracle under it. Oh ! you will see a good many queer things in Rome : a prince who is next door to beggary talks of his ' court ;' and many a Donna, in the greatest state, and with a servant behind her, hasn't a garment to spare. Everything is put under magnifying glasses here, my friend !" " I admire your frankness, dear Madam !" replied Father Mozart, in a lively tone ; " I always get on best with plain- spoken people. And now that you have guessed who we are, allow me the same privilege. Are you not Madam Uslinghi, wife of the papal courier ?" " I am," answered the lady, with some pride ; " and as my husband happens now to be in Portugal, on business for the Holy Father, and only I and my little daughter are at home, vou, Monsignore, shall be master of the house, and we will be at your service ! And I am sure," she went on, with a volubility which ever increased, like a mountain-torrent after a storm, " you'll like it here with us. There's a good deal of flourish and bombast, to be sure ; but, after all's said and done, Rome is the city of the world. For my part, I have never been outside the Pope's dominions ; but Uslinghi has said to me a thousand times — and you know he has travelled hither and yon — he has said to me, says he, ' Give me Rome and Naples ! Rome for art and life — Naples for nature. In Naples you're in paradise : in Rome you're in heaven !" Well, is it not almost as the good lady said, in her holy Real ? Has not a great philosopher also testified — " In Rome A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 63 we live as the gods live ?" A glass of ice-water and a crust are nectar and ambrosia, with the Vatican to loiter in, and Raphael's faces for company ! The blue blue sky of Italy ; the inspiring atmosphere; the classic surroundings of art; the luscious fruits and golden wine ; the living models of Raj)haer8 Madonnas and Guido's Magdalens, with their pas- sionate eyes and voluptuous forms ; the ever-verdant oaks, and plane-trees, and pines, with those symbols of the victo- ries of heroes and martyrs, the tufted palms ; all this glowing Southern land, lapped by the azure sea; where else — O for- tunate mortal, whose eyes have beheld Rome — where else will you find all these ? In further lively talk, the worthy dame rattled on (oi rather rippled on, for the Italian tongue never rattles) with- out interruption, somewhat at the expense of her guests' patience. At last she seemed to bethink herself, and cried, spreading out her hands, " But, holy Maria ! here I am chat- tering on, and leaving your Excellency standing in the court- yard. Come in — come in ! I will show you and the young maestro to your chambers." In saying this, the kind dame showed such hearty hospi- tality, that the slight impatience of the Mozarts gave place immediately to a sense of being at home, such as they had not experienced since they left Salzburg. This feeling was increased when they saw the apartments to which Madame Uslinghi conducted them. They had already become accus- tomed to expect untidiness in every Italian household, but here all Avas clean and neat as at home. There was an air of comfort and tasteful elegance in all the furniture and. arrange- ment of the rooms; and in the windows stood slender vasep full of fresh flowers. Just as Father Mozart was turning to ask whom he had to thank for this attention, the door opened, and Giuditta entered, bearing in one hand, pressed against her round bosom, another vase of blossoms. It had nearly fallen, so surprised was she at the sight of the strangers ; and as she grasped it with her other quick hand, she uttered a little cry, and the words, " Ha, the prince !" It would be difficult to say whose cheeks burned with the rosiest blush, hers or Wolfgang's, as they caught each other's eye. This did not escape the mother's keen glance, who asked Giuditta for an explanation ; and now the whole story of yesterday's occurrence at St. Peter's came out, and there was ialk and jest and banter about it, till they all four felt as welJ 64 MOZART: ftcquainled as though they had been old friends. Father Mozart and the Senora were very well pleased with each other ; and as for Giuditta and Amadeus, they were, before an hour had passed, one heart and one soul. Before the expiration of a week, invitations began to come in from the highest nobility in Rome, at all whose houses Amadeus was received with great attention, and, as soon as opportunities for a display of his musical powers occurred, with enthusiastic welcome. The musical world of Italy, at that time, formed a solid phalanx — a compact, united band, suffering no opposition, and overwhelming all resistance. Its apostles were sent all over the earth, and preached as those that had authority, for the Italian school held the monopoly and the power. It was therefore indispensable to every European musician that he should go to Italy. There, all were sure of recogni- tion from their common mother. Indeed, sometimes she gave the preference to foreigners, over her own most famous children, and adopted them with love, and took pride in their triumphs : only, however, on condition that they came to her to be taught, and not to teach ; and that they, in turn, com- pletely adopted the Italian style. Even Handel and Gluck had won their spurs in Italy, and given to their foster-parent their first tribute of imitation — that most flattering homage, which she so inexorably claimed. But woe to that musician who should dare to hold by the doctrines of any foreign school ! He was sure, like poor Jomelli, to be hunted to death with hisses and anathemas. Amadeus, however, won the caresses of this exacting Italy upon his first arrival. Perhaps the boy's excellent command of the language aided to this result. At all events, they looked upon him, in Rome, as a child of the soil. Foremost among his friends was Cardinal Pallavicini, who paid him every attention, and even introduced him to His Holiness the Pope. Vieing with the cardinal in kindness were the Neapolitan prince St. Angelo, Prince Ghigi, Princess Bar- barini, the Duke of Braiciano, and others. But it was not this favor and flattery which threw such a golden glow, for Amadeus, over his residence in Rome ; nor was it the great city's wealth of historical associations and glorious art. True, he spent many a happy afternoon with his father, wandering among the ruined monuments of long- sunken centuries ; many a memorable hour was devoted to A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. ^5 the enjoyment of statues and paintings, the lavish treasures of the Eternal City. But Amadeus found in Rome another treasure : a pearl, which to him — who was, and ever remained, in the midst of his wondrous genius, so thoroughly and mere- ly a man — was priceless then, and costly with consequences for his whole future. Years came and went — storms spent their fury upon his head — joys and woes, triumphs and dis- asters came to him — but always memory held in his heart one bright and happy spot, where lay the recollections of those days which were spent in the quiet abode of Uslinghi, and of the bliss which bloomed there for him, from a heart as glad and as freshly innocent as his own. Whether his meeting with the passionate-eyed young maiden in the porch of St. Peter's, at the foot of the stern old statue, had been merely a freak of fortune ; or his good genius had determined that the vigorous round arms and soft form of the Roman girl should help him to the holy kiss, — certain it is, that from this moment commenced an attraction between these two young hearts, which grew stronger with every hour of their intercourse. But this in- clination took, in each, a form as different as were their two nationalities. Amadeus looked upon Giuditta as another Nannerl, and with the most unrestrained brotherly affection he clung to the joyous and bewitching girl, who made the few hours of each day which were passed at home the bright- est portion of his life at Rome. Always merry, as he was, and often running almost wild with mad pranks, he found in her an equal madcap with himself; but Wolfgang never stopped to suspect that the innocent wantonness of the young Roman had any different source from his own. In him was this curious mixture — full musical maturity in union with physical and spiritual boy- hood. His body and mind had arisen upon earth like those of other mortals, and were growing in healthy and natural development toward manhood ; but his musical being seemed to have lived a previous existence, and to find all earthly things only reminiscences of that former life. To such an extent, at least, the poet's words seemed to be verified in Mozart : ** Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting : The soul that rises with us, our life's star, Hftth had elsewhere its setting, And Cometh from afar. 66 MOZART: Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory, do we come From God, who is our home." Where music was in question, he was, as we know, man and master ; but for all tliat, Nature gave not up her rights ; the youthful flood of life broke through in the careless and romping boy. Nothing shows this more plainly than his own letters to his mother and sister, which, through all liis residence in Italy, are brimful of boyish nonsense ; — as that one which we have quoted, where he calls himself, apparently conscious of this boyishness, " no wiseacre." So that it was unfolding power, a demand for free expansion, an exuberant overflow of young animal spirits, which were the sources of his wild sportiveness. Quite otherwise was it with Giuditta. In her veins the hot southern blood was in motion. Physi- cally, she was fully developed — she was a flower of the warm Italian sunshine. A girl of only fourteen summers it is true she was ; but behind a form so fully and ripely rounded as was hers, and under eyes of such a dusky fieriness, lies al- ready the possibility of passion; and when it has once awakened, it kindles, not as in the northern blood, slowly andsmoulderingly — but, lit to-day, to-morrow it flames up in burning fire, and threatens to consume its own heart or another's. When Giuditta, seized with a sudden impulse, had clasped her arms round the boy, and raised him up to kiss St. Peter's foot, she had been only a child, with the most quiet heart in the world. When, a minute later, Amadeus turned his beautiful, glowing face to hers, the gaze of those soulful eyes and the touch of his form thrilled her like a magnetic cur- rent, and her heart beat fast — its childish rest was broken forever. And now, since Wolfgang had come to live under the same roof, she loved him — not after the cool northern fashion, but in the Italian way — deeply, warmly, passionately. Yet she was herself too much a child to understand this passion, and its object was still more incapable of compre- hending it. But there it was, blossoming and burning withiL her — and she hid it under playful wantonness and sport. She could not whisper to her fair young friend what was going on within her ; but when they were playing together, teasing each other, and what not, she could laughingly put her soft arms around his neck, and press herself to him, ami A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 67 pivc him little bites and kisses. In all this there was some- thing, they knew not what, endlessly delightful to them both ; and a wild, sweet glow made each more beautiful than ever. Amadeus called her his " little wild-cat !" and often would he lie down under the cool vine-trellis of the court- yard, and beckon her as one does a kitten, to come and bite him and be caressed. With his violin, too, he often enticed her to his side; espe- cially when some voluptuous Italian night hung over the earth, and the older people were walking up and down the garden. Then she would lay herself down at his feet, with her hands clasped under her head, and her gaze fixed on the starry night-sky, and listen in still ravishment to the tones which Amadeus conjured, like a magician, from the instru- ment. Hour after hour he would play, and she would listen. Not a word would be spoken, but her dusky eyes told the starlight what his ravishing melodies told the deep night ; an old, old story — the most beautiful story upon earth ; the innocent expression of that pure passion — which has no pur- pose but itself, not even pleasure — which is pure as dew, and puro as fire. At the end, Amadeus would very likely sink upon one knee, and press a kiss on the full lips which had long been pouting up for it. And then would follow the sport between the boy and his " wild-cat." When at last they sought their beds, Wolfgang would have a good laugh by himself over their frolic, and quickly be asleep. Not so with Giuditta. All the ice-water she would drink cooled her not ; sleep would not come as it used to ; and when it came, she tossed and murmured in strange dreams. CHAPTER VL STRATEGY AGAINST STBATEGY. THE beautiful Roman girl had one great sorrow, and on« great rival, in her love for Amadeus. Her rival was music ; and her sorrow was, that her friend forever slipped from her embrace, as it were, into another world whither she tXNIVERsiTT 68 MOZART: could not follow him. Together they would be sitting, hand in hand, and suddenly the soul of the young maestro would be far away in his own enchanted realm of music, and, lii the maiden in the fairy-tale, she would hear the gate harshly clang behind her lost prince, and be left weeping by herself. She indeed loved music, and did not lack appreciative talent in the art ; but as yet she could do nothing in it. But now Amadeus discovered that she possessed a fin? contralto voice, and at once determined to give her instruc- tion in singing. This plan pleased his charming friend ex tremely; for it would be a splendid opportunity to hav( Amadeus all to herself, unrestrainedly, for several hours ir the day. She was a most diligent pupil, — only, it had some times a strange effect on her teacher, when, in her zeal foi the art which was to be learned, she would lay her soft arm about him, and, listening intently to every word and tone, with her pleading dark eyes would sink her very soul deep, deep down into the clear blue depths of his own. Then he would feel her warm hand tremble in his, till a glow would pass over him, and a feeling touch him, which was half pain and half joy, and made his heart beat stormily. These two innocents had a wonderful similarity in their method of rewards to each other. If Giuditta had practised bravely, and learned her singing lesson well, then her teacher was wont to take his " little wild-cat" by the chin, turn hei tempting face to his, and give her, in pay for her diligencCj divers sound kisses. But then, of course, Giuditta, feeling that she did not deserve any reward, and that she could not sufficiently thank Amadeus for his painstaking with her, so dull a pupil, would press close to him, and imprint the most glowing kisses on his lips — kisses so burning and passionate, that the young teacher would grow rosy to his very ears, and be nearly dizzy. Then he would look at her with such affectionate pleasure, in return for her caresses, that the just Boul felt obliged to repeat her repayment, over and over again. Father Mozart, overcome by the languor of the southern climate, was accustomed to take his siesta at the hour when these lessons were in progress ; and, after the first practising had begun, usually went sound asleep. But nothing is immortal in this world — except mortality — and so the time which had been fixed for their residence in Rome drew near its close. The Capellmeister already wae making preparations for their departure to Naples* A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 69 It is easy to imagine what grief the approaching separation Drought to these two young hearts. Tt^y had but one com- tbrt, and that was the sure expectation of seeing each othei again after a few weeks. For Father Mozart had begun to discover that Wolfgang felt something more than a brotherly affection for the charming daughter of the house, and he was 80 much the more determined to depart on the appointed day; and he used so much strategy, as to lay great stress on the hope of a speedy return to IJslinghi's hospitable mansion, making very light of their departure, as for a mere pleasure- trip to Naples. But the last afternoon of their stay, in order to cut the leave-takings as short as possible, the astute Capell- meister suddenly announced that, on the advice of Cardinal Pallavicini, they would join company with some White Friars who would leave their convent for Marino at daybreak the next morning ; and in order not to delay their starting, it would be best for them to spend the night at the convent. The prudent man had already made tlie necessary prepara- tions, and now the word was " mount and away !" Father Mozart was uncommonly cheerful; he joked with Madame Uslinghi, kissed Giuditta, and spoke only of a speedy return to their pleasant quartern. The jollier the father became, the more disconsolate grew the young folks. Amadeus had a cheery and vivid imagina- tion, which overleaped the few weeks of separation before them, but there was a nameless something in his relations with his beautiful friend, which made it seem impossible to depart without her. Yet the father's will was a law with the boy, and he must go. Giuditta allowed none to see what she felt in her heart. Was she too proud to show her pain ? or was she indignant at the artifice by which the shrewd Capellmeister had robbed ihem of their last delicious night together, with its bitter- sweet of farewells ? However it was, she was as brisk and bright at the last moment as if the departing guests had been only setting out for a day's ride into the country. "Practise your singing well," cried Amadeus to her, as they separated ; " when we come back, we will go on with the lessons," — and he added lightly in her ear — " with some other things also !" " Yes," replied Giuditta ; and whispered, as she held him back by his small white hand, "and when you get to Marino, be sure to go to the grotto of St. Cecilia, alone — do you * MOZART: hear? alone — and say a Paternoster for me! Be sure now !" " You may depend on me, little wild-cat," returned Wolf- gang, with forced cheerfulness, and trying to keep down a choking sensation in his throat, as he followed the long strides of his father. The next day, after a rather dreary ride across the barren and desolate Campagna, they reached the Austin convent at Marino, where they were to rest several hours and take dinner. Wolfgang was very still, and apparently lost in lonely meditations the whole way: there was little in the wide plain, deserted and treeless, with its ruins, and here and there a wild-looking animal, to cheer and please a heart like his, which was born for songs, sunshine, and flowers. When dinner-time came, he begged to be excused from that meal, saying that he would dine on some oranges by him- self. For some hours, therefore, Amadeus was free to enjoy his solitude, and could now, without danger of interruption, fulfil his promise to say a Paternoster for Giuditta, in the grotto of St. Cecilia. This holy lady, as the guardian of all musical people, was his patron saint, and the legends of her wonder- ful music, and her organ-playing, had always had a special charm for him. One of the monks having showed him the path he must follow to find the grotto, he joyfully set out alone. The way led through a pleasant valley, which seemed all the more delightful from its vivid contrast with the dry and desolate Campagna^ in the midst of which it lay like a bright oasis in the desert. Through the valley a small, clear brook ran down from the rocks, among which the convent was perched, and slipped quietly along, now showing its crystal mountain-current, and now hidden by the large stalks and leaves of luxuriant water- plants. Waving cornfields and fresh meadow-green, starred with thousands of anemones and daisies, gave to the place a look of pleasant comfort, which Amadeus had missed throughout his morning ride from Rome. No human being was to be seen in the valley. Everything slept in the sultry noon. At last our hero espied the entrance to the grotto, which was formed of volcanic rocks, hurled up and piled about in this confusion ages ago, by some fierce eruption of the nether W^orld. The mouth of the cave was almost concealed by treo- A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 71 roots and i\ y-stems, whose tangled web proved how rarely the shrine of the Saint was visited. Amadeus with some difficulty made his way through, and Btood still with wonder at the sight which presented itself. The cavern branched out in several directions into shadowy openings, and had from this cause alone an appearance of mystery. But this appearance was heightened by the dusky twilight which reigned on all sides, and by the bushes which grew down from the cloven walls, and veiled the entrance with their green curtain. Among the rocks, on a sort of rough altar, stood a stone statue of St. Cecilia, — evidently not the handiwork of a great sculptor, and much dilapidated under the touch of time. Amadeus, true to his promise, performed his devotions, and then penetrated farther on into the depths of the grotto, where he found a sloping bank, carpeted thick and soft with moss. This was just the spot for his solitary picnic, and drawing the oranges from his pockets, he did justice to his frugal meal. Then he stretched himself at full length on the deep moss, and closing his eyes, allowed his imagination to retrace the last pleasant weeks, as in a waking dream. Suddenly, from the depths of the grotto, he hears the first bars of a well-known song, — well-known, for it was of his own composition. Still more familiar was the contralto voice of the singer. He sprang up — the ear of a Mozart could not be deceived ; but — how could she be here ? — it was impossible ! Taking a few hasty steps forward, there stood before him a girlish form, hidden in the garb of a pilgrim, which is the universal disguise of solitary wanderers in Italy, since this dress is sacred, even to the bandits. Quickly the wide-brimmed palmer's hat flew ofl", and the long necklace vf cockle-shells was thrown down, and — Giuditta lay upon his breast ! " Giuditta !" cried Wolfgang, beside himself with amaze- ment ; " is it possible that you are here ?" " I appear to be !" she answered, with a saucy smile ; " the dear Capellmeister thought he had cheated us of our good- bye, so cunningly ! Did you think I would let you go with- out a good farewell ? and did he think an Italian girl was to be trapped so easily ? You were both out, there !" " But I don't see — " cried Amadeus, stammering in his be- sdlderment. " How tl e * little wild-cat' got here ?" asked the fair Roman. Yi MOZART: " Didn't your father say that you would stop for dinner at the convent here ?" " Well—" " And you travelled with monks, and when monks stop at a convent for dinner, it is the same as to say they will stop at least six hours — two at table, two in the wine-vaults, and two asleep." " But how did you know that ?" *' Amadeo !" cried Giuditta, with a laugh, " that is one, of your real German questions. In Italy every child knows it !" " And how did you get here ?" " Why, I knew that you would be here to-day, and as I always make four pilgrimages here, every year, I went to mother, and told her it would be a clear shame for an Italian to be so cheated, and that I was determined to have a good-bye from you by strategy. She laughed, for the idea just suited her — especially as your father's spending the night at the convent had piqued her a little." "But how came you here so soon?" insisted Amadeus, patting her round cheek impatiently. " Well, I just took my pilgrim hat and shells, and trudged right after you." "Not on foot?" " Yes, I walked all the evening and half the night. Then I slept a few hours at Novelli with my aunt, and I have been here now for these three hours, and have been praying to the holy Cecilia." " But you must be terribly tired !" " That is notliing : I was bent on stealing a last kiss from you, — and I have shown your father that 'tisn't so easy to cheat an Italian girl. Then, too. Father Frattina, my con- fessor, will count the pilgrimage as a penance, I know." Amadeus shook his head, in smiling reproof Much as it pleased him to see Giuditta once more, yet his conscience troubled him a little on account of the trick which — though without his design — was being played on his father ; for Fa- ther Mozart's will had not only been a law to the boy, but he had never concealed any plan or action from him, — ^in Buch mutual respect and confidence they had lived together. Never until now had he suspected anything in the remotest degree wrong in his brotherly affection for Giuditta, but this secret meeting put a doubt into his head, and that made him A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 7i observant, and so, all at once, he saw, a3 the ripe young Italian pressed her kisses on his lips, that it Avas no sister ha was holding to his breast ! Yet were these kisses so sweet that they nppled through him in tremulous thrills — never had her caresses so intoxi- cated him — and for the first time he felt that with the charm- ing maiden he held a heaven in his arms. Many a time he had petted, and kissed, and embraced Giuditta in their madcap play. But his part of the experi- ence had only been the joy of a wild boy at play with anothei boy, or with his sister. But now it was different. The man within the boy began to know what it is to clasp a beloved and beautiful girl. The witchery of this new impression was strong enough to drive out everything else. And had not Giuditta for his sake plodded the whole long way from Rome ? Had she not spent a day and night merely to have a farewell from her friend ? And could his generous heart remain un- touched by such a proof of her warm sisterly love ? In his operas he had often written love-songs, but without any real knowledge of his subject, that is certain. Now it came to him, like a revelation, what love really is. Giuditta, meantime, had seated herself on the soft moss, and drawn Amadeus down by her side, where he lay with his fair head in her lap. Long would they remain in this way, smiling into each other's faces in silence ; then, like two rosebuds which the wind moves, their heads would bend to- gether, and join in happy kisses. Hours went by in this manner, in banter and confidential talk, and the boy and girl were all the more beautiful and blessed, because no further longing came to their conscious- ness, and the Angel of childlike innocence sanctified their joys. The morning-glow of love was over them — rosy, gold- en, ineffably tender and fair. And into its delicious haze they looked, and in dim presentiments caught the rapture of the heaven which lay beyond. At last it was time to separate. Giuditta was the first to remember it, for she must be back before midnight to her aunt's abode in Novelli. And she said : " Now, Amadeo, we have had our farewell ; but there is one word more. You will come again, and I know you will never forget me." Then she drew forth from her bosom a Jttle cross of gold and gave it to Wolfgang, say i ng- " Take this amulet ; it has been blessed by the Hcly Fathoi 74 MOZART: himself. It has lain on my heart since I was sii years old ; let it lie now on yours, and when you look upon it, think ot* me!" Then with one wild sob she flung her arms about hun, kissed him passionately, and was gone. CHAPTER VII. THE MAGIC RING. ** O EE Naples, and die !" an English writer has said ; as if O it were the crown and summit of all earthly beauty. To the Mozarts it indeed seemed as such. The splendid situ- ation of Naples, the beauty of the city and its surroundings, the wonderful atmosphere, and the warm welcome they re- ceived at all hands, made it appear, as Madame Uslinghi had said, almost a Paradise. A few days after their arrival they were sitting at home, awaiting the coming of two of their new friends, who had promised to take them to the famous Conservatory Delia Pieta^ where they would meet a circle of distinguished Nea- politans, and hear the musical performances of the artists and pupils of the Conservatory there assembled. The ex- pected friends were Doll and Jomelli ; — the former a German composer of distinction ; the latter, one of the famous mu- sicians of his time,' whose opera Cajo Mario was just at that time being given before crowded houses in Naples. It was now seven o'clock in the evening. The extreme heat of the day was over, and through the open windows a fresh, reviving breath from the, cool sea stole in. Father Mozart had seated himself on the balcony, in quiet enjoyment of his fragrant German pipe, and the ravishing view which lay spread before his eyes, taking in its sweep the whole mag- nificent Bay of Naples. Amadeus was sitting at the piano, playing a new minuet of Haydn, which he had just received from Nannerl. Haydn was his very ideal — his joy — and, as a German, his pride ; and the piece before him filled him with delight. At that moment the two musicians entered the A BIOQRAPniCAL ROMANCE. 75 room. Amadeus did not cease playing, but cried, in his pe- :juliarly briglit and enthusiastic tones — " Just hear this ! It is a now thing of my glorious Haydn's ! — what a voice of joy there is in that ! Do you hear ? It is as if we were in a crowd of happy people ; and now — it is a flock of children, laughing, romping, and pelting us with flowers !" Then he rose, and with a look of almost inspiration on iua bright face, browned a little by the southern sun, said he — " What a noble sphere is that of the tone-artist ! I see it anew in this creation of the divine Haydn. It is not alone that he ravishes the souls of thousands and thousands with the sweet mysteries of his harmony : he exalts — purifies — com- forts them ; and when he dies, he is not dead — his works live on to bless tliousands and thousands more." " Yes," replied Jomelli, gravely ; " it is the only common language of all peoples and lands. If there were a second Babel, and all earthly tongues were confused again, music would still remain as a speech which every ear would under- stand." " Only," said Amadeus, " it must not speak of things — ^but only of feelings. It is because it rules the realm of the emo- tions with such absolute sovereignty, that music goes so deeply to the heart ; while for the head it has, directly, no message. Therefore all descriptive music is an abomination. Oh ! I am sure — I am sure, that music is the voice of the heart, and for the hearing of the heart alone !" It was delightful to the old Italian composer* to hear the young maestro^ standing there with his blue eyes so earnest, and his face lit up with enthusiasm, speaking like a new evangelist in art. As much to test his wisdom, as for any other reason, he asked : " What, then, would you give as the meaning of music ?" Amadeus thought an instant ; then, as if it were a part of nis new evangel, he replied : "Music is the melody, to which the world is but words." "Will you explain that?" asked Jomelli, with a puzzled expression. " Explain ?" returned Amadeus, with a little shrug of his shoulders : " if there were only no such thing as explanation ! > Jomelli wa^ a martyr to his efforts at reform in the Ttalian echool of music, II» died four years after this— iu 1774— brokeu-hearted at the persecutions of liis ene mies. 76 ' MOZART: I feel it all, but 'tis a harder matter to explain it. Here is my idea : The relation of the tone-art to its particular expressions, — marches, dances, chants, operas, and so on — is like the rela- tion of pure aesthetic architecture to its practical applications : we know it only as applied to human uses. A temple is to be built, or an opera-house, or workshop, or palace, and in their plan must be considered at once the object of the structure and the principles of beauty. So stands music in relation to life and the world. I can conceive of the ideal music, but it IS imeartlily, unattainable. For us earthly beings it only appears as a melody set to such words as life and the worla furnish. The mother sings her baby to sleep : the battalion shouts a war-song : a group of girls must dance : pious souls will pray : there have we the words for cradle-song, march, mazurka, and psalm. "Therefore, the freer it can be from such a definite em- ployment — the farther removed it can be from its words, the diviner it is. And so the sonata, and higher still, the symphony, stand at the head of our music!" In the mean time the hour for the gathering at the Conser- vatory had arrived, and they set out at once. It was a gloomy old edifice, and had rather the appearance of a cloister than an Institute for the culture of art. The huge dark door yawned like a lion's jaws, and the reception-saloon, in spite of the pictures of the saints along the walls, looked like a riding-school. The impression it made on Wolfgang, therefore, was by no means a pleasant one, and the mood into which it threw him was not at all brightened by the great throng of lords and dames who appeared here, besides the pupils of the Conservatory. "Here is the bane of my life again," he said in a half whisper to his companions, and with a look of despair on his face, after the first formal greetings were over ; " it will be all jugglery and musical tight-rope performance with these people ! Little they care for the flight of imagination, or the Bummoninfy of musical ideas, if only the fins^ers hop and fly." . ^ o F Amadeus was not himself: his temper was irritated, his look unsteady, his thoughts occupied with the conversation which their coming hither had broken ofi" — till he was invited to sit down at the piano. As soon as he had taken his seat, he was another being. The people in the room had no longer any existence for him. Earnest and i:estful was his -^tesE^uift^ ^-^.JC^U FORNIX A BIoaRAPHICAl RQMJ^CK J *j*j look, fixed straight before him ; every muscle was concen- trated to the expression of what was within his soul. He commenced, as he usually did, with an adagio move- ment. It was a simple melody, set in a still simpler harmony, which only after a time would become more interesting. He began m this way, partly to wait till his own spirit became ^aroused, and partly that his hearers might be drawn gradually to accompany him in his succeeding eagle-flights. Wolfgang did not notice how the people near him glanced at each other, with looks which said, half jeeringly, half in contempt — " Very ordinary !" Then Mozart's playing grew more fiery, till the harmonies massed themselves, and tossed like a stormy sea under his hands. But their turbulence was for common ears too intri- cate. It wearied many of his audience, and several of the dames began to whisper to each other : soon others followed, till at last half the company was talking. Finally, it attracted the attention of Amadeus, who had before been too deeply withdrawn into himself to notice any- thing but the tones which filled his spirit and busied hia hands. His blood, which was at any time sufficiently excita- ble, rushed to his face. " Dummkopfe !" ' he muttered, half aloud, but in German ; " they gab and chatter, because I do not make the tones turn summersaults on their ear-drums. Wait a bit: I will bring them to terms !" Then at once giving the motif a new and unexpected turn, he suddenly struck into a most brilliant variation, and his hands smote out the swift tones like sparks, and mingled them with glittering ice-drops, till the whole company stood spell-bound in silent amazement. But the more they won- dered and admired, the wilder grew Amadeus with anger md contempt. His fine little hands now flew over the keys, n pranks and entanglements which seemed to have been let oose in a very madness of mockery and derision, till the fin- *. er» were no longer visible, and only the diamond in his ring enowed their arrowy flight by its incessant flash. The company was dumb with astonishment. Many of the pupils of the Conservatory had anything but a comfortable feeling in their hearts, and especially some of the older ones, ipho had travailed for long years with their piano practice 1 Blockheads. V8 MOZART: and brought nothing out of it after all, — they saw their noth- ingness so vividly in contrast with this young stranger from the barbarous land of Germany. When Amadeus had ended, and a loud applause greeted him, several of these musical mechanics, halt-dead with envy, shrugged their shoulders, and whispered something in their nearest neighbor's ear. Then you could hear — " Ah ha !" — " Xow I understand !" — "Of course !"—" Pretty skill, that is!"— till the murmur seemed to go all through the room. Wolfgang was talking with the Director of the Conserva- tory, and knew nothing of what was going on ; but Joraelli noticed it, and said at last to Father Mozart : " I must see what that is all about." Then approaching one of the pupils, he asked him what it meant. " Oh, nothing !" the gaunt fellow answered ; " only, any one could do that if he chose to use the same means !" " ' Means ?' " said Jomelli, " I see no * means,* except a frightful amount of finger-power, with genius behind it !" " Ah ?" returned the long pupil, smiling scornfully. "What do you mean by your 'ah?'" thundered the old Italian, with such fierceness that the Director and Amadeus both turned to see what was the matter. " You are a friend of the gentleman !" responded the other, shrugging his shoulders. "I am a man of fifty years, with an established reputa- tion," answered Jomelli, haughtily; "and I ask you what you mean by your grimaces at the performance of an artist like the young maestro yonder !" " They say he wears a magic ring on his finger, and plays by witchcraft !" Jomelli and the rest of Mozart's friends laughed aloud at the absurdity of this. A little smile of pity and contempt passed over the beautiful face of Amadeus ; then slipping the ring from his finger, he laid it in the Director's hand, and went again to the piano, where he played for a few moments more wildly and wonderfully, if possible, than before. Then, a little languidly and wearily, as if too tired with the stupid- ity and baseness of these fools, he motioned to his friends tc 3ooe away. A bioqjufiiicaij romance. n% CHAPTER VIII. flIGNOEA BEENASCONI. SIGNORA BERNASCONI, at that time the greatest singer of Italy, had just dined. The costly Neapolitan soup of snails and muscles, the frutti di mare (oysters and little sliellfish), the lobsters, lettuce, fish, and roast game, had all been removed, and there stood on the table only the oranges, figs, peaches, and grapes, with some flasks of (Japri and Pctlernian wine. The table was set for ten ; but appa- rently only one had dined. It was the Signora's command that It should be always thus, whether ten, two, or no guest at all, were present at dinner. The latter had been the case to-day. The heat had been so oppressive to the Prima-donna, that she would not subject herself to restraint from the presence of guests. Therefore, although plenty of cavaliers had been announced, and among them such names as Prince Francavilla, and renowned ar- tists, to whom her lavish table was usually open, they had all been sent away with the cool answer : " Signora Bernas- coni dines alone to-day." A famous prima-donna, in Italy, rules like a tyrant ; for not only the composer who writes operas for her, has everything to hope if he obeys her commands, and every thmg to fear if he shows himself a rebellious slave ; but over the manager, also, as well as each of her admirers, whether he be artist or nobleman, marquis or prince, her sway is absolute. Signora Bernasconi was now reclining on a sofa, her finely moulded form only clothed in a white ntglige of some light and costly material. She was beautiful and proud as a Juno, and on her face lay not a May-day expression, but rather a midsummer look, suggestive of sun-glow and storm. Boundless hauteur was throned on her lofty forehead ; the arched nose, the boldly-marked eyebrows, the flashing eyes, and the faint hint of a spiritualized moustache on the curved upper lip, all betokened fire, force, and determination. Who* ever looked upDn this woman, could not but feel that it ra- quired a little courage to have anything to do with her. r^O MOZARl : The lofty forehead was, just at present, gathering in some- A^hat portentous folds, for ennui and a petulant humor were threatening the Prima-donna. No one was there to notice it, wO be sure, except her maid, who stood in the farthest win- dow niche, with one hand pressed anxiously over her beating heart, for she expected every moment that the tempest would break above her head. The jioor maiden shrank in fear, when now she heard, in a sharp tone — "Arabella!" " Signora," she answered, tremblingly, as she took a step forward. " Come nearer !" bade the singer; " am I to crack my voice in speaking to you ?" The abigail meekly obeyed. " Give me some ice-water !" Arabella reverently handed her a goblet, and the Signora drank : then she stretched her round arms apart, as if ter- ribly enmiied^ and asked — " Is there no one in the ante-room ?" " No one, Signora." " And why, in heaven's name, have they refused all vis- itors to-day ?" " Grazia^ Signora," stammered Arabella, " your ladyship commanded it !" " Stupid !" she returned ; " I said I would dine alone, but I said nothing about visitors after dinner." " Madonna — " '* Silence !" commanded Bemasconi : " your stupidities will be the death of me !" There was a little pause, in which the Signora moved her beautiful shoulders impatiently, and let the laces fall a little lower from her neck. Then the Juno called again : " Is that old fool of a philosopher my uncle at home ?" " I think so," replied Arabella : " he scarcely ever leaves his study." " Go and tell him I want to speak to him." The maid departed, and Bemasconi said to herself, while a derisive smile played around her mouth — " That's a good idea ; he shall come and amuse me. Kings and kaisers used to have their court-fools — why shouldn't Che Bemasconi have a philosopher for hers ?" The nncle appeared. He was a small, unsightly man, with A BlOGRAPmoAL ROMANCE. 81 B morose and misanthropic expression on his dry face. Scrubby white hair covered his head, and his careless cloth- ing sal crooked upon his body. His beautiful niece lay hidden on the sofa, as he entered, and the old fellow began to mutter to himself — *'Not here! Pretty way to do, that is! — disturb my studying for nothing ! — that's woman's fashion ! — oh, women — women !" He had approached a little round-topped table, which the Signora had received a few days before as a gift from Prince Francavilla. It was of great value — an imitation of those found in Pompeii, and inlaid with antique mosaic. " Ah ha !" he muttered ; " that's a beauty ! No place for it here, though — what do women know about art ! There — there — there !" he cried, as he whisked off some ribbons and laces which lay on the table ; " the finest mosaic in the world, and they cover it with such stuff as that !" Suddenly he perceived the Signora, who had raised herself on the sofa, and was laughing at him. The old man started in terror, not so much at having been overheard, as at the unexpected loveliness which confronted him ; for the singer's black hair had fallen down over her full bosom, and she was a picture for a painter — and naturally somewhat astonishing to a dry old gentleman like her uncle. He commenced an apology, but she cried — " Not a word, I heard it all ; but what makes you think so ill of us women ?" " It would be a waste of time to discuss that with you," he growled. " What did you want of me ?" "Never mind now, I want you to answei my question fii-st." " Well, women are frivolous, and unreasonable, and — " " What would you do without us, I'd like to know ?" " Do ? We would be happy," the old philosopher replied with lively gestures and enthusiastic tone — " happy as kings !" " And what do you think about marriage ?" " H'm ! I call it halving one's rights, and doubling one's duties !" "Excellent! excellent!" cried the Bemasconi, heartily laughing ; " and now for the proof that wc man is inferior to man." " Well, look you ! The higher a thing is in the scale of oeing, the longer it is in coming to ripe maturity. This is a A* 62 MOZART: uiiiversa. principle in nature. Now, what ni.ire proof do you want? Man scarcely reaches the maturity of liis reason at the age of twenty-eight years ; woman attains hers at sixteen or eighteen." " Nonsense, uncle !" replied the Signora, threatening him with her uplifted finger ; " you mean that it takes you slow creatures thirty years to get your reason, while we get it at fourteen !" " Yes, and what a thing it is, when you've got it !" growled the philosopher. " When did a woman ever have any genius in art, for instance ? All their cultivation of music, even, is only an imitation and affectation, for the sake of making them more pleasing to men." "You're pretty nearly right, as a rule, I must admit," laughed the Signora. " Every one knows that, who has looked below the sui-face at all. You can see it in their behavior at concerts or the opera. Who can help wishing them to the devil when they break in upon the most splendid music, with their idiotic chatter, chatter, chatter ! The Greeks kept their women out of the theatre, and showed their sense — for then they could hear something. Never was a woman yet who knew enough to keep quiet before a beautiful thing, be it in music or art." " And you say that to me, uncle ?" asked the Prima-donna, contracting her brows. " H'm," replied the philosopher, shrugging his shoulders ; " all I can say is, that you are a wonderful exception !" At that moment Arabella entered, and announced " Maestro Caraffa." ^ " Let him wait !" answered the Bernasconi in a hard voice. " And now," asked the old uncle impatiently, " may I know what you wanted with me ?" " I am getting what I wanted without your knowing it !" she replied, laughing. "What?" he cried, pushing his hands angrily over his Btubby hair — " you have only used me as a puppet, to kill time for you ?" " Oh ! uncle," she replied with a mocking smile ; " who could rate a man's shrewdness so low as to attempt such a trick as that ? Your male wits would of course see through .t at once, if it were tried !" The old philosopher made a face as if he had been drinking vinegar. A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 83 " Ass that I am !" he muttered to himself; " I have been made a pretty fool of — by a woman, too !" " No, no, uncle !" cried the Bernasconi ; " you have given me one piece of wisdom — that marriage is * halving one's rights and doubling one's duties !' and in return for it, I beg of you to accept the little mosaic table yonder, which you idmired so much." " Signora !" cried the uncle, " you can't mean it ! The table is of enormous value !" "I am glad if it has value for you and your art-collection," replied the Prima-donna, with some hauteur; "a Bernasconi recognizes no other value in it. Stephano shall take it to you ;" and she nodded adieu to him. But the old man pre- ferred to take his prize at once, and departed, carrying it hugged in his arms like a mother with her child. Maestro Caraffa, who was waiting in the antechamber, bit- ing his lips with vexation, was no more thought of He was a young composer, sprung from one of the best Neapolitan families, and numbered among his ancestors the great Car- dinal Anton Caraffa, who, under Pope Gregory XIII., was librarian of the Vatican library. Handsome, gifted, and of a sensitive and refined organization, he had given himself up wliolly to music, and had lately written an opera called Thisi- phoiie^ for the Neapolitan stage. The Bernasconi was to be its pnma-donna, and the principal parts had been written especially for her peculiarities of voice, form, and manner. With her, therefore, hung the success or failure of the work. 15ut, unfortunately, Caraffa had failed to find favor with the imperious singer, and she would not consent to give the opera a rehearsal. With one excuse and another she put it off, till the young composer was nearly driven mad with anxiety for his darling composition. It wanted now but three days to the king's birthday celebration, on which occasion the opera was announced to be given before the court and people. It was at present the hoarseness of the Prima-donna which was alleged as her reason for delay ; and Caraffa had called to make one final appeal to the great singer. After an hour's waiting in the antechamber, the Signora at last deigned to admit him to an audience. The young Italian entered the room, pale, worn almost to a shadow, and with a look of haggard desperation on his face, which had so altered him in the last feV weeks, that his friendi scarcely recognized him when they met on the street. 84 MOZART: Signora Bernasconi still lay on the sofa, in a ^art^less atid languid posture. She had not thought it worth her while even to rearrange the laces which showed her round shoulders and the swell of her bosom, nor to gather up the disordered wealth of her black hair; still less to apologize for keeping her visitor waiting so long. " Maestro Oaraffa," she began, roughening her voice a little, ** you hear how hoarse I am ; but it is somewhat better." Caraffa bit his lip in ill-concealed anger, and replied — • " I am glad it is better ; but that is small comfort to me, when the king has commanded that the Thisiphone be given three days hence, and you will not rehearse it even once." " I will not ?" cried the Prima-donna, with a black look. "You can not, I should say," the young composer cor- rected himself, though with an angry sarcasm in his tone, despite his eftbrts to hide it. " That is better," said the singer. " You have written me such awkward airs, too !" " But, good God !" cried Caraffa, " you declared them beautiful at first." " So I did, till I found out their vices. They strain my voice !" " I will alter them." " Then they will lose their interest." " Are they too high for you ?" "For me.^ Do you know whose voice it is that goes a whole octave above other sopranos?" she asked, smiling scornfully. " I know they call you * Italy's Nightingale ;' but — " " Well then, this nightingale will not let herself be heard m any rehearsal of your opera !" " What do you say ?" stammered Caraffa, white with de- spair, as he foresaw the shattering of all his musical ambition, m that hard, merciless tone. "I say that I will not rehearse it! and that is my last word upon the matter ;" and the Bernasconi rose, turned het back carelessly on the composer, and disappeared into an inner room. A BIOGRAPmCAL ROMANCE. ()5 CHAPTER IX. LIFE AND DEATH. THE next day was the one on which Signora Bernasconi had promised to go with her young friend Amadeus, to whom the great singer had taken a wonderful fancy, to the beautiful and famous island of Ischia. The party was to consist only of the Signora, the two Mozarts, Jomelli, and the constant attendant of the Prima-donna, Prince Francavilla, who had a magnificent residence on the island. There are two pearls in the Gulf of Naples. One is the blue Capri ; the other, beautiful Ischia. Out of the deep, unbroken azure of the sea these two islands rise, covered with flowers, balmy with fragrance, and spicy with all delicious fruits. They lie near each other, the fair children of that moment when the sea flung its strong arms around the land, aflame with inner volcanic fire, and mingled its waves of power with earth's creative glow. And this fiery life still remains in these islands ; it gushes in their hot springs ; it ripens the glowing grape-bunches ; it darkles in the deep eyes of the islanders ; and burns in the pomegranate and cactus blossoms. The little company reached Ischia in a yacht belonging * to Prince Francavilla. It was a sparkling introduction to a splendid evening — that tossing ride over the crisp blue waves, dancing and flashing under a light breeze and the clear afternoon sunshine. The Signora sat on a handsome raised seat at the stern of the yacht, and at either side re- clined the Prince and Amadeus ; while from lip to lip flew jest and retort, wit and compliment, with now and then the fragment of a song, broken in upon by banter or memment. At the island everything seemed to have been prepared to greet them with especial gayety, for it was one of the fes- tival-days of the Church, and the islanders were all arrayed in their holiday garments, with their black-ribboned straw-hats ituck jauntily on one side, and their scarfs, bright with all the colors of the rainbow, flying from their hips. All the way* side images and crosses were adorned with wreaths of flowers 86 MOZART: and here and there, in open grassy places, nimble fisher maidens were dancing the wild Tarantella to the rattling thump of t.'iTiibourines. Everything was in a glow with life and gayety — from the blossoming vines to the rii)e cheeks of the Italian girls, with their slender though voluptuous forms. At the villa of the Prince there was as merry, if a more refined and exalted festivity among the little company, who f)rolonged their meeting until late in the night. The gayety lad increased from hour to hour. Glowing wine, glowing eyes, glowing words and hearts — all was fire, life, pleasure. Wonderful had been the Bernasconi's singing of her finest arias j deliciously had Amadeus improvised upon piano and violin; divinely beautiful the star-strewn Southern sky glanced down on the revelling company; when suddenly Jomelli, who had strayed away to the sea-beach, came back pale, and with a face like that of a man who has seen a spirit. " Jomelli !" cried the Bernasconi, whose falcon eye nothing escaped, " what has happened ?— you are white as Death !" " Because I have just encountered Death !" replied the old Italian, gravely. " How so ?" asked all. Jomelli was silent a moment, while he regained his self- possession, and then said in a voice low with emotion : " Signora ! Heaven has granted us to-day a merry meet- ing: your kindness and that of the Prince have heaped joys and pleasures upon us, and all about us over the fair earth God has poured out balm and peace and blessing. I know that your heart feels this, for only with depth and greatness can a Bernasconi feel, think, and act. Signora! prove this now — call back an unhappy one, battling with himself and with the world — call back a dead man to life !" The Bernasconi laughed, half scornfully. " Jomelli," said she, " I knew you were a cunning musician and composer ; but I never knew before that you were such a famous tra- gedian !" " He means to give us a little serio-comic charade !" jested the Prince. " That is well — for over Death and his terrors, life and joy rise all the more glorious !" " Make them, then, bloom forth again out of the gloom of darkness !" said Jomelli, gravely yet softly, with his eyes itill fixed on the Signora. "I do not jest: on your magna- A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. B'< nimity hangs, this moment, the life or death of a human creature !" " I do not understand you !" said she, her face growing pale, and an unspeakable solemnity gathering about her heart. *' I will tell you what I have just seen," he returned. " I went down, as you know, to get a breath of the cool sea-air. Hardly had I gained the beach, when I saw a crowd of peo- ple collected at the water's edge. Moved by curiosity, I drew nearer, just as a boat, with several men carrying lights, touched the shore. Out of it, the fishermen lifted and bore to land the body of a young man." Jomelli paused: a deathlike pallor overspread the Sig- nora's face. " Well," said the Prince, in an indifferent tone ; " it was some fisherman or sailor, I suppose, who had been unlucky enough to be drowned." " No !" cried the Bernasconi aloud, with an expression of certainty in her voice ; " it was Caraffa !" All started. " Yes !" repeated Jomelli slowly, and deeply moved — " it was Caraffa !" A moment's deep silence ensued; then the Bernasconi asked : " And he is dead ?" " No !" replied Jomelli : " the fishermen had seen him f)lunge into the sea, and made haste to rescue him. He ives, but — I know the young man, and only yoa can save him. His life and his future lie in your hand !" Again deep silence. " Be generous, Signora !" commenced Jomelli's voice anew. •*Let me go and tell him, that to-morrow you have promised to rehearse his opera." " I have given mv word that I will never sing in a rehearsal of the Thisiphone H replied the Prima-donna, with a frown darkening upon her pale face. " And you will keep it, when it means death to a young, hopeful life?" The lightnings began to flash in the Signora's dusky eyes and the storm to gather on her brow, when wondrous tones fell upon the ear, — tones so pure, so sweet, so imploring, that it seemed a wounded spirit praying, in the death-struggle, to God for pity. It was Amadeus, who, moved to the deptha of his heart, 88 MOZART: had slipped away, and, with the tears standing in his eyes, was breathing forth a wondrous ^' Kyrle eleison^' from his vioUn. And the tones swelled upward, pleading and be- seeching, ^'Lord, have mercy upon us ! Christ, have mercy upon us !^* Then deep, deep in the soul of the Bernasconi it grew dim, as with a twilight of youthful recoliections — a glimmering dusk as of those times when the words had held significance for her, — when she, a little innocent maiden, had pressed her hand upon her breast in humility, as she sung it in the church choir, '■^Kyrie eleisonP^ And still the imploring tones arose — " Lord, have mercy upon us!'^ — soft, and sweet, and pure as an angel's voice from heaven. "Jomelli!" said now the Bernasconi, "go you, and tell Caraffa, that I will gratify his wish, and to-morrow there shall be the rehearsal, and his opera shall be brought out with all the power at my command/' Jomelli t^hanked her joyfully, and quickly turned to go. "And," called after him the Signora, vehemently, "tell him 'tis not because of this silly prank of his I do it, but of my own free accord," When Amadeus joined them again, she pressed his hand in silence. Soon the prince and she had disappeared, and did not return. It was after midnight when Jomelli came back from the beach. Caraffa was not out of danger, but the message had given him new life, and the friends only left him when, in accordance with the Signora's commands, the young com- poser had been brought to the prince's villa, and cared for with all needed attention. The gray of dawn was in the sky when Jomelli and the two Mozarts returned to the main-land. The light, fresh breath of the morning fanned their heated foreheads with a dehcious coolness; and as the hghts of the vessel, at the tirst ruddy streak in the east, were all suddenly extinguished, it seemed to them that they had just awakened out of a strange and troubled dream. A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. fiS CHAPTER X. A BATTLE AT ]MILAN. THE day had come on which Wolfgang Amadeiis Mozart*? first great dramatic work, " Mithridates, King of Pon- tus," was to be given at the Theatro ducale., in Milan. All Milan was in commotion, and divided into two parties; — the one composed of friends of Amadeus, eager for his success ; the other of his enemies, who had, ever since his arrival there, been secretly intriguing for his defeat and ruin. If it is easy for a genius to make friends in Italy, it is as easy to make enemies. The lire which warms is very much the same thing as the fire which burns ; and the southern temperament that is quick to kiss, under one set of circumstances, is quick to stab, under another. Amadeus had already gained a multi- tude of enthusiastic supporters at Milan, and the Bernasconi was so warmly attached to his cause, that no efforts of his enemies (and they had tried every means) could prevent her from being the prima-donna of his new opera. Not only with her, but with Santorini, the great tenore^ and others who were to take a part in the opera, every expedient had been tried — anonymous letters, bribes, threats, cajolery — to induce them to desert the young maestro, whose success drove his enemies mad with envy. With little hearts, to be a rival is to be a foe, and too many of the second-rate Italian musicians were of that character. Fioroni and Grimani, both eminent musical characters, and the former the Milanese Capellmeister, were the most dan- gerous enemies of the Mozarts, because neither father nor son suspected their being other than good friends to them. Kot alone their jealousy of the sudden popularity of Ama- deus, at Milan, but the contemptuous repulse they had re- ceived from the Bernasconi, in their efforts to seduce her from his cause, had aroused their bitter hatred to the young artist, and their determination, by fair means or foul, to make the forthcoming opera a failure. The most dangerous hate is that which is still, like the deepest water — still, like the deepest joy, the greatest virtues, and — the ugliest Jogs . 90 MOZART: Father Mozart was in a fever of anxiety for the success of the " Mitliridates," — so much depends with the Italians, and indeed with any public, on the first impression which a thing makes upon them. It might determine the entire future career of his son as a composer, whether the new opera at its first presentation should go alle Stella or a terra — to the stars, or to the ground. Amadeus himself, on the other hand, was full of the music alone. No shade of anxiety crossed his face. While the work was incomplete he was all diligence and earnestness, scarcely taking time for sleep or food ; and when it was finished, an Olympian serenity was throned on the high white brow, and his presence was a living sunbeam wherever he went. It was not pride, or self-seeking, or vanity, — Mozart never knew these from the beginning of his life to the end, — but a perfect cer- tainty of the w^orth of his work. This opera, " Mithridates," once finished, he recognized as far above the common tragic operas, such as were produced at that time on the Italian stage. He knew it as well — and as unconsciously — as he knew light from shadow, or heat from cold. So it was, that Amadeus was in no such fever as com- posers usually are on the eve of a new work's presentation. His eye was clear, his look restful and serene as ever, and only appeared on his face the cheerfulness of pleasant expectancy. The hour for the opening of the doors of the Theatro du- cole was now near at hand. A throng of people was already collected in front of the building, and constantly increas- ing. One side of the crowd, nearest the door of entrance, seemed to have some purpose or plan in common, which united them in a more compact mass, and kept them talking to each other in low tones, mingled now and then with half- repressed laughter. Most of them — men, women, and girls — ■ seemed to be from the lower classes, though not all; and among them was slipping about a small man, in handsome clothing, but with a dark, sinister face, — gliding like a snake hither and thither, with a word to say in every one's ear, or a meaning wink or gesture to each one of the throng. At last he api^roached two good-looking girls, who stood together a little on one side of the crowd, close to the building. One of them belonged to the chorus of the Theatro della Scala^ the other appeared to be a stranger in this company. The former was pretty, but with an evident consciousness of the fact; the other was beautiful, but seemed not to know it A BIOORAPUICAL ROMANCE. 91 In the look of the little chorus-singer appeared the scduvtive clianns of a fjillen angel : the face of her companion showed a childlike innocence, united with great energy. She was a sweet maiden — a Roman, one could see at a glance — bloom- ing with youth and radiant with life. Her lips evidently were made for good-natured smiles; but no such Bmiles wreathed them now : on the contrary, she wore an expres- sion of unrest, and earnest anxiety. " What are they all saying ?" asked the fair Roman of hei neighbor; " what is it that is to happen at the opening of the opera?" "Hasn't Maestro Grimani, your singing-master, told yon about it ?" replied the other. " Xo ! All I know is, that he says *tis bad music, and ho would like to have it fail — and I hate him for it ! For I know he lies, and that Signor Amadeus writes beautiful music." " You know him, then ?" " Yes, at Rome !" said she, turning away to conceal the glow which passion brought to her cheeks. To her happiness they were that minute interrupted by the small, sinister-look ing man, who now glided to their side. It was none other than Grimani himself. His first motion was to slip his hand into his pocket ; and, as he turned to the little chorus-singer, the Roman girl thought she saw something like gold glitter between them. " Remember !" he whispered ; then turning about, he greet- ed his fair pupil, and said in a low and wheedling tone — "And you, my beautiful young scholar, you Avill now liave an opportunity to do your teacher a great favor. Go up on to the stage with your pretty neighbor here, and there you will find a crowd of other girls who have been instructed by me just what to do. The Capellmeister Fioroni will be there, behind the side-scenes, and you are all to watch his movements. As soon as the Bernasconi advances to the foot- lights, in the beginning of the first act, you will hear a great coughing, shuffling of feet, and hissing. Then Signor Fioroni, hidden behind the scenes, will give a loud laugh. That is your signal. You and the rest of the girls must then laugh as loud as you can, and hiss, and cough. If the Prima-donna retires in rage, our game is won ; but if she should happen to persist in singing (for her pluck is tremendous), then you ui"e all to break in again in the middle of the song, at Fioroni's signal : you w.U hear it echoed from the parquet and tJie gal- 02 MOZART: leries, and tlie opera is gone to the dogs ! And Signor Fio- roni and I will make sure that you are well rewarded for your share in it !" " Hold !" cried the little Roman, and her eyes shone like those of an enraged lioness — but it was too late ; Grimani had vanished in the crowd, which now streamed past them, for it was time for the opera to commence. The theatre was nearly filled : the moment, for the begin- ning of the overture was at hand, and Father Mozart, with Amadeus, were hastening along the narrow passage beneath the stage which leads into the orchestra — the former to seek his box, and the latter to take his place on the conductor's stand. Suddenly a veiled figure stopped them. " For God's sake, one moment !" a voice cried. Both stopped in astonishment : the voice was that of a girl, and sounded familiar to them. " What is it ?" asked the Capellmeister, the thought flash- ing across his mind that they were in Italy, the land of sud- den revenge. " Maestro Mozart is ruined !" cried the veiled figure, in a hoarse whisper. "How ruined?" " A crowd of men have sworn to kill your opera, and to beat back the Prima-donna by a tumult. Fioroni is to give the signal — " " Fioroni ? — Impossible ! He is our best friend !" *' Friend or enemy, he is to stand behind the scenes, and give the signal for the uproar to begin. There is but one salvation — " "Andthat is— ?" " The father must stand close to Fioroni, and never let him out of his sight for an instant ! And the Bernasconi must know what awaits her !" " True — and God bless you !" cried Father Mozart, hasten- ing away to find Fioroni. But Amadeus stood rooted to the spot. That voice — did he not know it ? And it said " the father" — " Who are you ?" he cried, trembling with emotion. " First, a reward for my warning !" Amadeus instinctively reached after his purse. " Not so !" cried she, almost indignantly. " I ask only an answer to one question. Do you wear an amulet?" A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 93 " Yes," answered Amadeus, and with trembling hand he tore open the ruffles on his breast, and showed the little cross of gold which hung next his heart. " Thank God !" cried the form ; " then I need not despair !" " Giuditta !" broke from the lips of Amadeus — but she had disappeared, and from the orchestra there were anxious calld for their leader : the overture must begin. How he got to his place, Amadeus knew not. Giuditta K Milan — she, his guardian angel, who hovered near him, though he had almost forgotten her — she, who loved him so well ! — And then, too, Fioroni his enemy, who had pretended such warm friendship ! Enemies on the stage, and enemies in the audience ! And the Bernasconi ? will she have the courage to stem the storm of hisses and laughter? All this whirled through the brain of the young maestro in a chaos, till his liead burned. Quickly An/adeus grasped his baton — a sharp blow on his desk, and the house was still as death. The baton was lifted, and the overture began. The orchestra of sixty performers played finely, for they played with delight. The overture was a success, and the curtain rose. Now began the composer's heart to beat fast and thick, for the moment had arrived for the Bernasconi to enter as Aspasia. She came on — but Tshat a magnificent appearance was this ! A universal exclamation of astonishment aros* from the whole audience. A more beautiful woman never had been Been upon the Milanese stage ; a more commanding glance an empress could not have thi'own over her slaves ; more an- nihilating and resistless looks could scarcely be expressed in imraan eyes. It was apparent that those looks sought out expected enemies, and as they flew over parquet and boxes, hundreds of eyes dropped in shame, and not a sound was heard in the great audience. And now, after a fine Recita- Uve, the witching voice began the aria. Ah ! that was no Rich old-fashioned affair as they were accustomed to hear, with its inevitable snarl of trills and roulades : it was pas- sion — passion in the music and in the voice ; it was a song out of nature's very heart, ringing out with a sweetness ana fire that carried every hearer irresistibly on its wings. The crowd listened in utter silence, holding its breath, lest it lose a syllable. When the Bernasconi had ended, a tem- pest of applause burst forth, and would not lull or diminish 04 MOZART: till she had come back, sure now of the double triumph— of the music and her own rendering of it — and repeated the aria. Fioroni, meanwhile, stood with an ashy face by the side of Father Mozart, who had laid his arm thi-ough that of the Italian, and held him fast. His rage burned within him like a fire, for not a hiss, cough, or murmur was to be heard in the whole house, and the accursed Salzburger held him so tight and watched him so intently, that not a sign could be made to his hired troup on the stage. He was beaten — com- pletely defeated — in spite of all the gold he had spent, and his enemy's triumph was complete. He endured it nearly through the first Act ; but when the bursts of applause became more and more frequent and tre- mendous, he tore himself away froni Father Mozart, and rushed from the theatre. Unfortunately for him, he came upon Grimani, who had also been driven out by his rage. And now began an iangry quarrel : Fioroni insisted that Grimani must have embezzled the money which he had so lavishly furnished him for bribes. Words of fiercer and fiercer hate and fury passed from one distorted face to the other, till at last it was well that neither had a stiletto, for Milan had surely lost one, or two, of its notabilities. When the opera was over, a tempest of applause filled the theatre, — no longer for the Prima-donna, who had already received her laurels, but for Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart ; and shout upon shout rent the air, of " JEvviva il maestro /" " JEvviva il maestrino /" The slender, boyish form came before the curtain, and bowed again and again its thanks. And now out at the doors and down the street it still echoed, " JEvviva il maes- tro P^ " Long live the master !" — " Long live the little master !" As Amadeus took his seat in the carriage, trembling with joyful excitement, a veiled figure suddenly was at his side — a swift arm was about him; — a passionate kiss burned on hia lips. He cried out — " Giuditta !" — but the vision was gone, and only a bunch of flowers lay in his bosom ; and on its rib- bon was written, " True love till we meet again." PAET III. ILLUSIONS. CHAPTER I. AT COIJET. IT was a festival day at the court of the Elector Maximilian Joseph of Bavaria ; for His Royal Highness Prince Clem- ent of Saxony, Elector of Treves, was on a visit in Munich. Nymphenburg, the elegant chateau where the court resided, was then at the perfection of its richness. Splendid fountains threw their streams eighty feet high into the air in front of the palace, which crowned the summit of a sloping park, and was built in five detached castles, united by galleries. About it were broad gardens and running streams, with cascades and rocky grottoes ; and at one side orangeries and conserva- tories transported the visitor into Italy and the tropics. In the wide park were herds of deer and flocks of pheasants, and in the banks of the water-courses a whole colony of beavers had been domesticated. Nymphenburg had been fitted up by Max Emanuel, former Elector of Bavaria, in the most wildly extravagant manner. No expense was spared, in gorgeous upholstery, in gilding and carving, in statuary and paintings, or in the laying out of the grounds, with pleasure-houses, costly fountains, and the like. A ruinously expensive horde of courtiers had been maintained at this magnificent chateau, and in all respects it had been the aim and determination of the Elector to rival the splendor of Louis XIV.. king of France. Thirty millions of debt and a ruined country were the ro- lult of this royal imitation. Max Joseph, the present Elector, had set out with wholly different intentions. He was possessed with that noblest Rmbition which a prince can cherish — t he wish to see a happy tJNiVERsiTT ^^/FORNIA- 96 MOZART: people round his throne. First of all, his effort was to repair the not only emptied, but shattered exchequer, and to reduce the public debt. He began, therefore, with cutting down the riotous splendor and ostentation of his court. To set a good example, he even reduced his own personal expenditures to the lowest possible figure. But what are the noblest resolutions worth, when force fails, to carry them into action ? His mother, and all his rel- atives, as well as his counsellors, did their best to outwit these resolutions, and to restore the court of the Elector to its ancient splendor. Max Joseph's youth came at that time when the new phi- losophy of which Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, Holbach, Grimm, etc., were the priests, was just being transplanted from France into Germany, and when Frederick the Great had taken up its patronage. The Jesuits — and particularly the tutor of the young Elector, Father Stadler, one of the most learned Jesuits* of his time — could not entirely keep their young sovereign from breathing the atmosphere of the new spirit of the times. What they could do, they did ; and succeeded so far as to prevent Max from fulfilling his ardent desire to travel abroad ; and to so order his education, that- he knew far more of Judea and Rome than of his own father- land. His father confessor kept daily before his mind this Satanic aphorism : that it is dangerous to know too much of temporal affairs, for the greater the knowledge, the greater the responsibility before God ! But a noble nature is not so easily to be buried. Amid the seductions of a luxurious court, he had kept his heart pure ; and at the age of eighteen years, inexperienced, but uncorrupted, he had taken the throne. Between that time and the one of which we speak, two-and-thirty years had intervened, and the fresh and courageous boy had given place to a man of fifty years, whose will was subservient to the beck of those who surrounded him. A troop of worth- Ifiss favorites kept him continually in terror of being poisoned; and by means of this fear they drove him to everything which they wished. In this way alone was it possible that the once noble will should be broken and brought to naught ; that Bavaria should be left in poverty and wretchedness, at the mercy of pitiless bloodsuckers ; and that the old ruinous splendor of the Electoral Court should be restored. So it was, that now the court at Munich glittere^.l like a A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 9Y golden star among the other German courts, and Nymphen- Durg had become again the magnificent chateau which it was in the time of Louis Quatorze ; and here to-day, as we said, there were extraordinary festivities in honor of the visi; of Prince Clement of Saxony, Elector of Treves. It was early in the day, but already an unwonted bustle prevailed in the whole chateau. Every limb among all the army of servitors was in activity. In the great room of the garden-house stood the Chief Marshal and Steward, Count von Tattenbach, vrith the Chief Silver Chamberlain, Count Von Torring, surrounded by a throng of persons belonging to the lesser nobility, who carried out their orders ; while the five-and-sixty officers of the kitchens and wine-vaults, together with the twenty butlers and table-keepers, stood in solemn silence, and at a respectful distance, awaiting the arrival of their respective charges. In the park and garden were the head gardener, the grotto-master, the marble-keeper, and the landscape gardener, accompanied by a swarm of underling? busy in their several cares. The drives and paths, on which the autumn had strewn its withered leaves, were all swept clean ; the water- works all inspected once more; the arbors and trellises minutely cleared of the least suspicion of rubbish. Garlands of flow- ers festooned every available arch and pillar ; and marble Tases and statues were washed white as snow. The long avenue between Munich and Nymphenburg was all astir with carriages and foot-passengers; for other dis- tinguished guests besides Prince Clement had been invited for the day, to a hunt, a dinner, and a court concert in the evening. The carriages of the Munich nobility and the court officials rolled, closely following each other, along the broad and handsome drive, flanked at each side by the city people who had come out on foot to see what was to be seen. Among these aristocratic equipages was that of Prince Zeil. It was a new and elegant Viennese carriage, in one of whose luxurious corners the prince leaned idly back, while at his side sat Amadeus Mozart. " But, my dear Mozart," said the prince, " why wouldn't vou stay in the service of t^e Prince- Archbishop of Salzburg? Vou have already the position of concertmeister ?" " Yes, your Excellency," replied Mozart, with an ironica? smile, " if that can be called a ])Ositiou 1" " Why, what is your salary ?" 98 MOZART: " My salary ? I'm afraid your Excellency would take mf for a slanderer or a foolish jester if I told you." " Not at all : tell me frankly." " Well, then, my salary as concertmeister to his Grace of Salzburg is a hundred and fifty florins a year !"* " Outrageous !" cried the Prince. " But that isn't the worst of it !" continued the musician, a frown gathering on his fine face. " How so ?" asked Prince Zeil. " His Grace the Archbishop is a pious man, and of course knows that the world is full of evil," returned Mozart, smiling ironically ; " so, in order to cut down our pride and shield us from the seductions of a well-larded purse, he not only forbids us musicians to have concerts, but treats us like valets, giving us language which would better become a street-ruffian, than an archbishop ! Of course I can't stay there." " You are right !" replied the Prince, with some indigna- tion. " But will you do me the favor not to speak of these facts commonly ? The whole nobility will be compromised !" " Prince Zeil is the first stranger to whom I have spoken of it," said Mozart, slightly bowing. "There is another thing," he continued : " I must have a broader field to work in than at Salzburg. I have set my eye on either Munich or Paris." " Well, whatever I can do toward getting a position for you from the Elector," said the Prince cordially, " you can rely upon my doing. Have you seen Count Seeau and Baron von Berchem, both favorites with the Elector?" " I saw the Baron last Friday," replied Mozart. " And what did the old knave have to say to you ?" " He had but little time for me," said Mozart, with a derisive smile ; " for just as I had entered the splendid room, fitted up in oriental voluptuousness, his servant announced that his warm bath was ready." "Everybody knows what that meant," said the Prince, with a look of disgust. " There was little to be hoped from him after that. Didn't you try it again ?" " Yes, and the next time a widow of one of the Baron's officials was there with a pretty-faced daughter, to obtain an order for her perquisites. I waited with the good mother two hours in the ante-chamber, while she prattled to me of her » Historical. Nissen, p. 360. A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 99 misfortunes, till the daughter came back. She had evidently been crying, and looked pale, but she held the order in her hand. The Baron was not to be seen afterward. The ser- vant announced that he was weary, and must sleep !" " Well, well," said the Prince, with a stern look in his eyes, which was evidently not for his companion : " It is a thou- sand pities that such men as you are, by the grace of the devil, made dependent for success on a * nobility' — save the mark ! — which contains such dogs as he !" The carriage had now reached the chateau, and as good luck would have it, they obtained audience of the Elector at once. It was an anxious moment for the young composer. He had now passed his twenty-first year, had used with the utmost diligence every advantage for musical culture, and could see before him a career, not only of fame and what the world calls "success," but of a nobler success in carrying out his own noble aspirations, — if only the Elector would help him to the first step. Oh happy countries, where genius is free to follow its own way, independent of the aid of some bestarred and betitled fool ! In Mozart's country and time the aristocracy held down the people like the slaves in a slave-ship, smothered be- neath the hatches, letting up only here and there one, as chance or favoritism directed, to the free air of his own possibilities! If he could only get from the Elector the position of con- certmeister or court-composer, it would be the standing-place from which his influence in the musical world could fall with effect; a working-place, where he could pursue his art un- harassed by anxieties or the necessity of unworthy labor, and where his darling plan could be worked out — of establishing a new and nobler style of operas in Germany. How happily he would toil ! How beautiful would be his life — devoted, untarnished by other cares, to his art ! And what a new and purer atmosphere he would create for music in the world ! "Mozart?" repeated the Elector slowly, when his name was announced in introduction — "the Salzburg concert- meister ?" " At your Excellency's service !" replied the young com- poser, with a joyfully-beating heart. " I have approached your Excellency to offer my services as musician." A little pause ensued. Max Joseph took a pinch from Lis golden snufl-box, and answered ; 100 MOZART: " Ah, yes ! There is no vacancy just now — no vacancy !' " And could not your Excellency make some modest place for so talented a young man ?" asked Prince Zeil. " 'Tis too early !" replied the Elector. " He must go and travel in Italy, and make himself a name. I don't promise anything ; but 'tis too early now." * And Max Joseph turned and walked away. Mozart stood as if petrified. He knew not whether he dreamed or waked. Had he heard straight ? " He must go to Italy !" where he had already been for seven years — whose darling and pride he had become. He, whom the Pope had made a Knight of the Golden Spur, who had been elected a member of the Academies at Bologna and Verona, whose operas had been received with such enthusiasm in Milan ? It seemed impossible ; but the Elector's icy words were yet in his ear. It was the first real disenchantment of his life. The consciousness of his inner worth triumphed, to be sure, over the slight which had been put upon him. He knew it was because he was not seen as he was, but judged from the majority. And with this thought in his mind, he left the chateau. But the sun-gold had all faded out of the day for him. He had witnessed in his heart the first clash of battle between his life that might be and his life that must be. To lose temporary success is a small thing : to lose the oppor- tunity for future success, or what seems such a loss, is hard enough. Still, it was, as we said, the first real disenchantment of his life ; and the losses of early years are only as those of a child, in a spring meadow full of flowers, who sees here and there a blossom trodden under foot. But later on, how is it then ? When the autumn has but a few daisies left — it is another thing to see the scattered darlings trodden down. And later still, when the shadows have grown long, and the twilight comes early — then, far as our eyes can reach, stretch the ice- 6 elds of winter, under whose snowy shroud lies the qui el burying-ground of all our hopes. 1 The Elector's very words. A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. \o\ CHAPTER II. TWO SISTERS. VT the time of which we write, the fine city of Mannheini; . round which the Rhine and Neckar are extended like protecting arms, had, on the side toward the former stream, an imposing entrance-way, surmounted by an elegant stone arch, and called the Rhine-gate. On the keystone of the arch is cut the coat of arms of the Elector who built it, Karl Philip, and beneath the shield these words : Bonus Prenceps nxjnquam UT Paci credit non Sb Pr^paret bello. " A good prince never trusts peace so far as not to be prepared for war." Close by this Rhine-gate of Mannheim stood, in the year 1777, a small, unpretending house. It made no display of size or expensiveness, but it was pretty and home-like, and showed at the first glance that its inhabitants believed in order and neatness. Two five-sided bay-windows, rising into turrets, projected on the sides of the house, as if there were eyes within which liked to see out ; and from the gable win- dows above, those eyes could enjoy a splendid view across the Rhine. The owner of this dwelling was an open-hearted, honora- ble man, named Weber. His position was not indeed among the high ones, but he had an ofiicc under the Elector, which he had filled with the greatest fidelity for many years : his salary had, until recently, been only two hundred florins a year, which was little enough, with wife and six children — five daughters and a son. But now the household circum- stances were a little less straitened, since, as a reward for his long faithfulness in the service of the Elector, his salary had been raised to four hundred florins. Fortunately, too, he owned the pretty house of which we have spoken, and had a little side-income from two of its chambers, which were rented to an old friend of the family. k" 102 MOZART: But small though his house and his salary were, the con tentment and happiness of the Weber household were great. There was not one of the family who made any further de- mand on life than for health, cheerfulness, daily food, and, ag the spice of all these, the heartiest affection for each other. And, in truth, fate was so friendly as to richly satisfy these modest demands. The father and mother both had the firm- est health, the children bloomed like fresh roses, and since bodies were sound and souls were satisfied, of course cheer- fulness and contentment were not wanting ; while the pleasant family-life made all desire for outside pleasures superfluous. Herr Weber was no dry and juiceless husk of a man, such as so many lawyers of that day were ; on the contrary, he loved art and science, and though his limited means made the purchase of books or the enjoyment of concerts a rare indulgence, yet the good man had many a friend who was glad to lend him choice volumes, and give him invitations to feasts of music. Music was one of the great pleasures of the Weber household, and the father spent many an hour in playing the old clavier, which it was the hope of his life to exchange for one of the new piano-fortes, at that time just coming into vogue in Germany. His scholarly and musical culture was kept constantly burnished by his duties as teacher of his children. . For in those times a man's education was prevented from becoming rusty by the necessity of being his own family's schoolmaster. Some idea of the facilities for school-education may be got from this fact : that even at the court of the Elector, the teacher of the young nobility ranked below the head hostler. The court coachman got a salary of three hundred florins ; the vice-coachman and the twelve trumpeters each two hundred and fifty florins ; the teacher- Professor Philosophise — two hundred florins, annually ! Herr Weber had, in his wife, a priceless assistant in the education of his children. She was good troops in every respect ; — notable as a housewife, simple, economical, unwea- riedly diligent, bent upon good order, and sincerely pious ; without in the remotest degree belonging to that class of women whose piety runs to a sentimental playing with reli- gious feelings. The oldest two of the children were girls. Aloysia was fifteen years old, Constanze fourteen. Both were beautiful, and blooming as fresh rosebuds on which the morning-dew B^ill t»'')mbles. A BIOORAPHIGAL ROMANCE. 103 Tliey loved each other devotedly ; yet their characters were 8l rongly contrasted. Aloysia, who had a fine voice and was educating herself for a singer, was full of life and fire. Noth- ing appeared to her too difficult or unattainable ; her zealous diligence bore down all obstacles to reach a chosen end. And this end the maiden had already determined upon — to charm the world with her voice. She was therefore pas- sionately enthusiastic in music, and revelled in dreams of being herself a priestess of it. Itwas quite otherwise with Constanze, who seemed much more restful, quiet, and spiritual than her sister. She was still a child, in the strongest sense of the word. She lived like a modest and lovely flower, born to bloom only for its own little forest-nook. That which especially characterized lier was a tender sorrowfulness, to which she seemed inclined by nature. To a keener insight it was apparent that thi? disposition to melancholy was nothing but the reflection of a deeply-sensitive soul, exalted and moved by its inner un- folding, as it passed from childhood into womanhood. Constanze had continually a vague, undefined conscious- o ness of somethinrf, she knew not what, unfolding and de- veloping in body and soul. She sought to understand it, but in vain; yet often its tenderness and yearning melted her even to tears. When, at such times, her sisters would banter and rally her, she could be as gay and merry as any of them ; but the gayety on her part always seemed a little over- strained. Constanze had, perhaps, more docility and patience ;/ than Aloysia, and loved music as well ; but her voice, though soft and sweet, was not powerful. All the Weber children had pure hearts behind their pure faces. They had but little to do with people outside of their ^ own household ; and of the world's wickedness they knew nothing. Never had they heard a word or a tale at which their cheeks must redden or their eyes be cast down. Of finery in dress they had no notion in that household. What they understood by " dress" was only extreme neat- ness and tidiness applied to the simplest materials. Therefore^ a whenever Aloysia or Constanze completed their dressing, by putting a flower in their fine hair, they had no thought of how they were made more beautiful by it, but only how beautiful the blossom looked upon them. So lived they, in ^/ pleasant, quiet contentment, with hearts warm to each other *nd friendly toward all the world. i^ 104 MOZART: Aloysia had already made her debilt on the Mannhpim stage in the opera of Xamori^ and had been well received. There seemed to be nothing to prevent her taking the position of prima-donna at once, except her lack of dramatic power. But this entrance upon the somewhat perilous life of the stage, had made no difference in Aloysia's character. Her girlish bashfulness, of course, was removed ; but the childlike modesty of her heart remained untouched. She possessed a great safeguard in her teacher, Wendling, who was conductor of the orchestra and a warm friend of her father's. Neither had her entrance into a public musical life made any great changes in the household. She could not, it is true, so regu- larly help in the housekeeping as before, on account of hei practising and rehearsals ; and at such times Constanze took her place at her mother's side. But in keeping the house tidy, in making the younger children's garments, in the evening employments of spinning and knitting — all was as before. She was the same diligent, simple-hearted, cheerful daughter of the house; only, there was a little tinge upon her face of increased dignity, and a certain respect paid to her by the others, as to one who had been out in the world. The mother's true heart was a little disturbed at the future prospect which seemed to open up before Aloysia. It was such a seductive career, that of a public singer, and the child knew so little of the temptations which were in store for her! Sometimes her motherly anxieties would express themselves in silent shakings of the head, or words of regret that the loud world would claim her oldest darling. At such times father Weber would bring to her comfort the calm, restful force of his reason, and show her how it was a true gift from God, that Aloysia possessed such a voice and such aspirations ; and how it was unchristian to be other- wise than thankful for it. The maid had good principles, and JO lon^^ as she held fast to them, he had no fear for her. " You are right, dear husband !" frau Weber would reply — " you are right ! I am a foolish woman ; but you know how Aloysia has grown a part of my very heart !" and she would brush a tear from her eyes with her apron corner. ISTot less so, indeed, were the other children to the good mother; but naturally the anxiety which the eldest caufei, made her doubly dear. Is it not always so ? Historical ,— Njssen, p. 343. Oulibicheff, Part I., p. 15a A BIOGRAPHICAL ROMANCE. 105 Nothing could be pleasanter than the group in tie com- fortable sitting-room, especially of an evening, when the raw autumnal wind beat and shook the round window-panes in a ghostly way. Then the smaller children would be clustered t^ near the fireplace, where a bright fire crackled and glowed; while Johanna and Maria sat knitting warm garments for themselves or the others, and the mother, with Aloysia and Cotistanze — ^sometimes, too, Wendling's daughter, Gustl — • o (Kept their spinning-wheels whirling and humming. Herr Weber, meantime, would be playing the old clavier, or walk- ing up and down the room, in his long dressing-gown, his pipe in his mouth, listening to the talk or singing of the others. Not for tons of gold would Weber have given up these y hours at home ; and if now and then a friend, as Wendling, joined the group, and the conversation became more inter- esting, he was happy as a king. On such an evening the family were so gathered together ^ about the cheerful fireside. November had set in, raw and fierce, and an icy wind came whistling from the Rhine, beat- ing and rattling about the bow-windows, so that now and then a single slate tile from the gable roof would fall crack- ing into the street, and the staid old weathercock was whisked around till it squeaked with anger. A fine rain blew against the windows, as if mocking spirits of the night were beckoning and making signals to the maidens, who from time to time would glance up, as an un- asually spiteful gust whished against the panes. " Nice -vyeather, this !" said father Weber, cheerily, stop- ping before the fire as he paced up and down in his gown of flowered chintz, and puffing a fragrant cloud from his long pipe. " You'll have no calls to-ni^t, girls !" " None made of sugar or salt, I^apa, that's certain !" said Constanze, looking up roguishly. *' None at all, I hope !" said the mother : " we are pretty well off, as we are." " Yes indeed — yes indeed !" replied Weber, with hearti- ness : " but how 1 pity, such nights, those human creatures who stand alone in life, and never know what a home is !" " Poor souls !" returned frau Weber : " no one knows bet- ter how to pity them than we women ; for no one can appre- ciate so well as we what they miss." " Yes, the family life !" said the father, standing in front of Aloysia, and laying a hand lovingly on her shoulder. " Mark 5* lOG MOZART: this well, you girls ! that woman has the family life to thank^ for what she is to-day. What was she in the early times of all nations ? Nothing but a slave ! Even with the Greeks exalted as they were, woman was shut up to the narrow circle of the one house and its petty concerns — shut up, for that matter, in a few rooms, called the * female apartments !' " "And mustn't they see even their papa?" asked little Sophie, in surprise. " Yes, the father and the husband — nobody else !*' an- swered Weber, with a smile. " With the Romans, though, it was better," said Aloysia. " Perhaps — a little," replied her father ; " but with them, as with our own chivalrous ancestors, there was, in the very reverence paid to woman, an implied contempt. The Egyp- tians worshipped their cats, you know !" " How horrible the Oriental life must be to women !" said Constanze. "Body and soul in chains," replied her father, — "iron chains or golden ones, it matters little which. Where there is a family life, there only is woman's position secured." " Ah !" exclaimed Aloysia, " if we only had the strength and independence of men ! I feel, every day, that there is no lack of good purpose in me, to do something great and distinguished ; but the strength, the strength is wanting !" Herr Weber smiled at his daughter's eagerness. Taking her by the chin, he lifted up her glowing face and looked down into her eyes for a moment ; then releasing her, he said — " I thought my Aloysia never lacked for courage, strength, or confidence." " That is not always true," replied the maiden ; and in her earnestness she made her spinning-wheel hum so swiftly, that the thread broke in her fingers. " Nor need it be," said the mother, at that : " otherwise many a thread in life would be snapped. Strength, for men: patience, for women !" At that moment came a loud knock on the street door. All listened while the old servant, Kathrina, went to the door, with her keys rattling in her hand. They heard the lock turn, and then a hearty voice inquire, "Are they at home ?" " That's Wendling I'' said father Weber ; " but what dots he stop on the steps to ask that question for?" rCXNIVERSITT) A BI0OBAPHlCAh^^MjSkM\t>^ 107 But Kathrina's answer had already been returned, and tliey heard two people come into the hall. " He is not alone !" muttered Weber, a little put out at the idea of having his pleasant evening disturbed by a stranger. But at the familiar tap on the sitting-room door, he called out, " Come in !" and the door opened. It was indeed their old friend Wendling ; but to their sur- prise, there stood at his side an unknown young man, of slight and not particularly imposing form, with a face not beautiful certainly, but peculiarly interesting, the brow liigh and swelling out at the temples, the mouth finely cut, and the eyes deep and full of soul. Wendling, who was evidently in the best of humor, cried out gayly — " Haven't I surprised you ? In such abominable weather- you ought to see the soaked hats and cloaks we gave to old Kathrina ! — at night, too, and especially in company with a strange visitor !" " Who must beg your forgiveness for the intrusion," said, with a courtly bow, the young man ; " but the Herr Orchestra- conductor — " " Led you astray," interrupted Wendling, laughing ; " be- cause he knew that he would be giving a great pleasure to the Webers, and at the same time showing his young friend something pleasant." "At all events, you are both heartily welcome," said father Weber, shaking hands with them cordially: "Wendling knows it for himself; and as for you, Sir, you could not have had a better introduction into our quiet household." " My dear fellow !" cried Wendling, with such a beaming face as they were not accustomed to see on him, as he brought one hand down on Weber's shoulder, and pointed to the stranger with the other, "our friend here needs no intro duction — his name and his works are recommendation enough." " Herr Conductor — " " Hush !" said Wendling, smiling delightedly, while the whole family gazed in curiosity at their guest, who began to feel quite embarrassed. "And whom, then, have we the pleasure of greeting?' asked the mother. The young man would have replied, but Wendling clapped a hand over his mouth. 108 MOZART: " Not a word !" he cried, threatening him, witti mocli ferocity. " You must guess !" Then all of a sudden, Aloysia sprang up, pushing aside her spinning-wheel, and cried — •' Mozart ! I bet it is Herr Mozart !" " So it is," said Wendling. Then there was an enthusi- astic greeting from every one ; for that name, already so re- nowned in the musical world, was well known in the Weber household. " But, girlkin !" at last said Wendling to Aloysia, " how came you to guess it?" Aloysia blushed, as the attention of all was suddenly turned to her by the question ; but immediately recovering herself, Bhe replied, that it had flashed upon her like a revelation. Besides, she had heard them say yesterday, at the opera, that Herr Concertmeister Mozart was present in the audience. " And so I was," sa^d Mozart ; " and was right glad to hear you sing, for your voice is exceedingly sweet and pure." "You heard and saw only a beginner," replied Aloysia, with sincere modesty. " ' Saw' — yes !" returned Mozart, with his own peculiar frankness ; " but I heard a cultivated singer. Your style is excellent, and when your acting is a little better, you can go where you please as prima-donna." Possibly this judgment, expressed by any other young stranger, might have seemed arrogant to the family, and been somewhat resented ; but the tone in which the words were said, full as it was of the same hearty frankness and straight- forwardness which shone in the young man's face, allowed of no mistake as to his good meaning. Besides, there is in all men of genius a certain something which acts as an over- mastering power over common persons. Their souls feel in- stinctively the presence of a mightier spirit near them, and they yield willingly to it, even before they are conscious of this natural submission. So was it here, while the lovable and genial nature of their guest put forth its unconscious winning influence on the Webers. It was evident that the characters which met here were naturally adapted for each other ; — frankness met frank- ness ; truthfulness met truthfulness ; sincere friendliness met sincere friendliness in return. It was no wonder, therefore, that Mozart had already, be- fore half an hour had expired, clean forgotten where he was ; A BlOORAPniCAL ROMANCE. 109 Bl least he felt as much at home as if he had grown up with the family. At Wendling's request he had brought with hirr several songs of his composition, which Aloysia now sang^ while he accompanied her on the clavier. Most enviable gift of genius, that it can so delight good o hearts I While the music was going on, there stood father Weber, blowing clouds of smoke from his pipe, as though he had undertaken to hide all Olympus with them ; the orchestra- '^- conductor expressed nothing but beaming delight from head to foot ; while the mother's eyes were full of tears, and the children sat as if at church. When at last Aloysia came to a terribly hard passage, which Mozart had written in Italy for the famous De Amicis^ and went through it with extraordinary skill, then Amadeus also was carried away with delight and surprise. Forgetting where he was, he sprang up from the clavier, took the maiden by the shoulders, and exclaiming, " Wonderful ! I must give the girl kin a kiss for that !" he carried out his words with- out an instant's hesitation. Every one laughed aloud, ; and little Hermann, clapping his