Far, far away over land and sea lies the little town of Salzburg. What a
beautiful place it is! Old Mother Nature herself has given it its charm.
The town lies in the midst of a smiling plain. On one side are the
forest-clad hills, dark and green. Behind the town rise the mountains,
steep and rugged. As the great white clouds float across the blue sky
above, their shadows are seen on the bare rock of the mountain sides
below.
Here in 1756, in the home of a musician, a little child was born. The
fair-haired baby boy was very welcome. He was the pet and plaything of
the whole household. His sister Marian was especially fond of him. She
was four years older than her little brother. She looked forward to the
time when he would be old enough to play with her.
The baby's father was an organist and violinist. He played in the king's
chapel. The child's mother was a beautiful, loving woman. So it is not
strange that little Wolfgang Mozart, for that was his name, became a
musician.
No two children ever had a happier childhood than Marian and Wolfgang
Mozart. Their father and mother were always planning how to make them
happy. Leopold Mozart, the father, was not a rich man, but his heart was
full of love and tenderness.
Dearly did little Wolfgang love his father. He never went to bed without
kissing him on the tip of the nose, and singing a little good-night
song. He used to say, "Next to God comes papa."
Leopold Mozart devoted much time to the training of his two children.
When Marian was quite small, he began to give her piano lessons. The
child learned rapidly. Little Wolfgang, three years old, liked to listen
while his sister was having her lesson.
One afternoon Marian's father was giving her a music lesson. Wolfgang
stood close to the piano, as he was fond of doing. He was as quiet as a
little mouse. All through the lesson he watched and listened. When it
was over, he surprised his father. He searched for a few moments among
the white keys. Then with his baby fingers he played one of Marian's
exercises. He was only a tiny lad, and yet he played the exercise
correctly. Leopold Mozart caught his little son in his arms, exclaiming,
"Who would have thought the baby understood what I was teaching Marian?"
Little Wolfgang was fond of games and had many toys. Often some little
friend played with him. Wolfgang was happiest when they had music in
their games. Indeed, he would not play when there was no music. Even
when they carried their playthings from one room to another, the one who
went empty-handed must sing a march.
When the boy was four years old, his father began teaching him. He
learned music easily, often mastering a piece in half an hour. A year
later he began to compose little pieces, which his father wrote down.
One day Leopold Mozart came home from church with a friend. He found his
son daubing notes on a sheet of paper. The child dipped his pen to the
very bottom of the inkhorn each time. He made many blots on his paper;
but he was not discouraged. He wiped them off with the sleeve of his
coat and went cheerily on.
"What are you doing there, my boy?" asked his father. "I am writing a
concerto and have almost got to the end of the first part," replied
Wolfgang.
The father took the paper and showed it to his friend. They laughed
heartily at first. After a time, however, they saw that it was written
according to rule. The father said, "It is a pity it can not be made use
of. It is so difficult that no one could play it." "It is a concerto,"
said Wolfgang, "and must be studied till it can be played properly. See,
this is the way it should be given." Going to the piano, he tried to
play it for them.
Wolfgang Mozart was the most gentle and loving of children. He would say
many times a day to those about him, "Do you love me well?" Sometimes
they laughingly replied, "No." At this answer, tears would run down the
little fellow's cheeks.