filled with musicians on the afternoon of October 9, 1770. They had
gathered to welcome a small boy who had recently come with his father
from the town of Salzburg in Austria. The most marvelous stories of his
genius as a composer had preceded him, and his travels through Europe
had been one long success. Yet it scarcely seemed possible that a boy of
fourteen could know so much about music as this one was said to. That
was why the learned men of Bologna had gathered together this afternoon.
They were going to test Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart's skill.
It was about four o'clock when the usher at the door announced Leopold
Mozart and his son Wolfgang. The members of the society faced the
newcomers. They saw a tall, fine-looking man accompanied by a slim,
fair-haired boy with smiling eyes and mouth. The boy was richly dressed,
with much gold lace upon his coat and trousers. He was perfectly
self-possessed, and when he saw the eyes of all the men in the room
fixed upon him he made a low bow. It was gracefully done, and a murmur
of welcome rose from the members. So this was the boy of whom all the
musicians of Europe were talking.
The skill of the young composer was now to be put to the test. Three men
approached the boy, the president of the society and two experienced
Kapellmeisters, or choirmasters. In the presence of all the members the
boy was given a difficult anthem, which he was invited to set to music
in four parts. He was then led by a beadle into an adjoining room, and
the door locked. There the boy set to work on his composition.
Just half an hour later the boy knocked on the door in signal that the
music was finished. The beadle opened the door, and the boy presented
his completed score to the president. The latter examined the score
carefully, then handed it to the Kapellmeisters. They in turn examined
it, and passed it on to the other members. Each man as he looked at the
composition showed his surprise. Finally it had made the circuit of the
room. Then a ballot-box was passed, and each member was asked to cast
either a white or a black ball, depending on whether he thought the
newcomer was worthy to be admitted to the distinguished society of
Bologna. Every ball cast was white.
Young Mozart was then recalled to the room. When he entered this time he
was greeted with cheers. The president met him, and informed him of his
election. Then the members pressed about him, eager to praise his work.
He had been set a very difficult type of composition, and had
accomplished in half an hour greater results than any other candidate
had ever reached in three hours.
The musicians of Bologna decided that the judgments of the European
courts as to this boy's genius were correct.
Father and son proceeded on their journey south through Italy. They
reached Rome during Holy Week, and learned that the celebrated music of
the "Miserere" was being given in the Sistine Chapel at the Vatican. It
was very difficult to gain admittance to the Chapel, as the Pope and
many of the Cardinals were there. The rich dress of the two visitors,
the German they spoke, and the singular air of authority which the boy
showed, convinced the Swiss guards at the door that these were people of
importance. One soldier whispered to another that this was a young
German prince traveling with his tutor. They were allowed to enter, and
the boy, accustomed from infancy to the life of courts, immediately
walked to the Cardinals' table, and placed himself between the chairs of
two of those Princes of the Church.
One of the latter, Cardinal Pallavicini, surprised at the boy's
assurance, beckoned to him, and said, "Will you have the goodness to
tell me in confidence who you are?"
"Wolfgang Mozart of Salzburg," answered the boy.
"What!" cried the Cardinal. "Are you really that famous boy of whom so
many men have written to me?"
Mozart bowed in assent. "And are you not Cardinal Pallavicini?" he asked
in turn.
"Yes," said the prelate. "Why do you ask?"
"My father and I have letters to your Eminence," said the boy, "and are
anxious to wait upon you with our compliments."
The Cardinal was delighted at the boy's arrival, had a seat placed for
him, and talked to him in the intermissions of the service. He
complimented him on learning Italian so quickly, saying that he could
speak very little German. When the music was over Wolfgang kissed the
Cardinal's hand, and the latter, taking his red biretta from his head,
invited the boy to make a long stay at the Papal court.
The boy was very much impressed by the music of the "Miserere," and when
he left the Chapel asked where he could get a copy of it. To his dismay
he was told that the music was considered so wonderful that the Papal
musicians were forbidden on pain of excommunication by the Pope to take
any part of the score away, or to copy it, or allow any one else to copy
it.
Mozart, however, was determined to have a copy of that music, even if he
had to pay the penalty of being excommunicated. He soon hit on a plan.
The next morning the boy arrived early at the Sistine Chapel, and
devoted all his thought to remembering the music. It was exceedingly
difficult, performed as it was by a double choir, and full of singular
effects, one of which was the absence of any particular rhythm. The task
of putting down such music in notes was tremendous. Yet, when Wolfgang
left the Chapel he went straight home to the lodgings his father had
taken, and made a sketch of the entire music. He went again on Good
Friday morning, and sat with his copy hidden in his hat. In that way he
corrected and completed it. When it was finished he told his father of
it, and the news soon spread through Rome that this wonderful boy had
actually stolen the complete score of the "Miserere" exactly as it was
composed by Allegri.
The feat was said to be unheard of, and many considered it impossible.
Certain men of importance called to see Wolfgang's father about it, with
the result that the boy was obliged to show what he had written at a
large musical party held for that special purpose. The musician
Christofori, who had sung in the choir in the Chapel, pronounced the
copy absolutely correct. Every one was amazed, and then so much
delighted at the marvelous skill of this boy of fourteen that the
penalty of excommunication was entirely forgotten. Princes, Cardinals,
all that part of Rome which loved art and music, had only wondering
admiration for the young German musician.
There had never been any doubt among those who had met the boy Mozart
that he was a genius. At fourteen years of age he had already been
playing the clavier and the violin for a number of years. His father,
himself a musician, was attached to the court of the Archbishop of
Salzburg, and had written a great deal of music. But when he discovered
the amazing genius of his two children, his son and daughter, he devoted
himself entirely to training them.
The boy was born January 27, 1756, and was christened John Chrysostom
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, quite a large collection of names. The girl,
Maria, was four years older. When Maria was seven years old her father
began to give her lessons on the clavier, which was an instrument very
much like the piano, and the girl soon won the highest reputation for
her playing. When she began to play, her small brother Wolfgang, or
Woferl as he was called in nickname, although only three years old,
constantly watched her, and whenever he had the chance tried striking
the keys himself. At four he had shown the ability to remember solos
from concerts he was taken to, and it then first occurred to his father
that his son was a genius. Before long Wolfgang was composing pieces
which his father wrote down for him.
It was only a year or two later that Leopold Mozart, coming home with a
friend one day, found the boy very busy with pen and ink.
"What are you doing there, Woferl?" asked the father.
"Writing a concerto for the clavier," answered the small boy. "The first
part is just finished."
His father smiled. "It must be something very fine, I dare say; let us
look at it."
"No, no," said Woferl, "it isn't ready yet."
Leopold however picked up the paper, and he and his friend began to
laugh as they looked at the rudely scrawled notes. The paper was also
covered with blots, for the boy had kept jabbing his pen to the very
bottom of his inkstand, and often wiped the clots of ink across the
paper. But after a moment's examination Leopold stopped laughing, and
both men looked hard at the sheet. There were ideas in music scrawled
there which even a grown man found it difficult to understand.
"See," said the father in amazement, "it is written correctly and
regularly, though it can't be used because it's so difficult we couldn't
find any one who could play it."
The boy looked up quickly. "It's a concerto, father, and must be
practiced a long time before it can be played. It ought to go this way."
He began to play it as best he could on the clavier, but could give them
only the barest outline of it. As a matter of fact the boy had written
the music with a full score of accompaniments, ready to be played by a
full orchestra.
At six Mozart knew the effect of sounds as shown by notes, and could
compose unaided by any instrument.
Leopold Mozart could not keep the story of his children's great talents
to himself, and in a very short time news of their remarkable ability
had spread through Austria. Invitations poured in upon the father asking
him to bring the boy and girl to different courts, and he decided to
take them on a concert tour.
The children played at all the chief cities of the empire, and
everywhere they were welcomed as infant prodigies. The Emperor and
Empress took special delight in them, loaded them with presents, and
insisted on having them treated with all the respect given to grown
artists. Little Woferl appeared at court in a suit of white and gold,
very resplendent with lace, ruffles, and ornaments of all sorts. His
small sister, in white brocaded taffeta, was dressed exactly like an
archduchess in miniature.
It is a wonder that both children were not hopelessly spoiled by the
treatment they received, but fortunately both had much good sense, and
they enjoyed their travels without becoming conceited.
Leopold and his children went from Austria to Paris, and then to London.
Everywhere their concerts met with the same success. In London the most
difficult pieces by Bach and Handel were put before the boy, but he
played them at sight, and without the slightest mistake. Bach was at
that time music-master to the English Queen, and he took special delight
in young Mozart. He would take the boy on his knees, and play a few
bars, and then have the boy continue them, and so, each playing in turn,
they would perform an entire sonata, as if with a single pair of hands.
The trip to England set a final seal on Woferl's fame. His father wrote
home: "My girl is esteemed the first female performer in Europe, though
only twelve years old, and ... the high and mighty Wolfgang, though only
eight, possesses the acquirements of a man of forty. In short, those
only who see and hear can believe; and even you in Salzburg know nothing
about him, he is so changed."
After a year or two of travel the family returned home. It was now
decided that the boy should try his hand at an opera. Genius, however,
is apt to inspire jealousy, and Mozart was now so well known that many
of the leading musicians of Germany plotted against him. It was galling
to their pride to find that a child knew so much more than they. As a
result they planned to avoid hearing the boy if they could, so that when
asked they could say they doubted his ability, and thought his great
skill most likely sham.
[Illustration: MOZART AND HIS SISTER BEFORE MARIA THERESA]
The father laid a plan to catch one of these men, a well-known Viennese
musician. He learned privately of a place where this man would be
present on a certain occasion, and had Woferl go there, and took with
him an exceedingly hard concerto which the man had written. During the
afternoon this concerto was placed before the boy, and he played it
perfectly. The musician could not help but show his delight at hearing
his own music so wonderfully given. He had to speak the truth. Turning
to the people present he said, "I can say no less as an honest man than
that this boy is the greatest man in the world; it could not have been
believed."
But in spite of such occasional confessions the boy had a hard time to
succeed. Every possible obstacle was put in the way of his opera. The
manager who had agreed to produce the opera was influenced to change his
mind, the singers complained of their parts, and said that the music was
too difficult for them to sing, the copyists so altered the scores that
the boy did not recognize his own work at rehearsals. Finally father and
son had to agree that the opera be withdrawn, realizing that if it were
played it would be so wretchedly done that it would bring more blame
than praise to its composer.
Yet this boy was not to be daunted. Although his opera which was a very
long work, containing 558 pages, was not to be given, he instantly set
to work again, and in little more than a month had finished three new
works for a full orchestra.
Seeing how much the jealousy of other musicians in Germany and Austria
hurt his work, the young Mozart turned his eyes toward Italy. That
country was the home of the arts, and each city had its band of citizens
who were as devoted to music as they were to poetry and the stage.
Fortunately at about the same time an invitation came from the Empress
Maria Theresa inviting the young musician to compose a dramatic serenade
in honor of the wedding of the Archduke Ferdinand in Milan. It was a
great compliment to pay so young a man, and Mozart gladly accepted.
Going to Milan, he set to work on the composition. In contrast to the
way in which he had lately been treated in Austria he found every one in
Milan eager to be of help. The singers liked the music, and did their
best with it. When the serenade was finally publicly given it made a
great impression. The Archduke was delighted with it. For days afterward
Mozart was kept busy receiving callers who wished to offer their
congratulations. The Italians proved that they at least were not
unwilling to admit his greatness.
Great honors had come to the young composer of Salzburg, but very little
money. Most musicians of that time were simply music-masters or
choirmasters at the different courts. Their support depended almost
entirely upon finding some prince who would keep them at his court.
Mozart cast his eyes over Europe and saw no place that offered him much
promise. The world was willing enough to shower its praises on him, but
not to provide him with his daily bread.
There was no place open in Italy, and so, although with regret, he had
to turn homeward to Salzburg. Unfortunately a new Archbishop had just
been elected for that city, and he was devoted almost entirely to
hunting and sports, cared nothing for music, and could not understand
why young Mozart was entitled to any special favors from him.
Under such circumstances Mozart could not stay at home; he had to accept
such chances as were offered him to make a living. Being asked to write
an opera bouffe for the carnival at Munich, he agreed, and again met
with success. The night the opera was given the theatre was so crowded
that hundreds had to be turned away at the doors. At the close of each
air there was a tremendous outburst of applause, and calls for the
composer. Afterward Mozart was presented to the whole court of Munich,
and received their thanks for the great honor he had done them.
Singularly enough the Archbishop of Salzburg happened to be in Munich at
the same time, and was very much surprised at being congratulated on
every hand at possessing such a genius at his home. Some of the nobles
called upon him and paid him their solemn congratulations, and he was so
embarrassed that he could make no reply except to shake his head and
shrug his shoulders.
Such trips as that to Munich however were now of rare occurrence.
Wolfgang, now about nineteen, went back to Salzburg, and set to work
harder than ever. His skill was tested in many different ways. He wrote
compositions for the church, the theatre, and the concert-chamber; he
played brilliantly on the clavier; he was a wonderful organist at all
festivals of the church, and showed the greatest skill on the violin.
The Archbishop had to have the services of a musician on certain state
occasions, and never failed to call on Mozart when he needed him. Yet
all that he paid Mozart was a nominal salary, which was actually less
than six dollars a year. What was true of the Archbishop was now almost
equally true of all the court at Salzburg. The nobles there had never
undervalued his services until he wanted to be paid for them. Then he
was told that his abilities had been greatly overrated, and was advised
to go to Italy and study music seriously there.
At last their neglect forced him to start forth again upon his travels
to see whether he could find a prince who would accept his services at
something nearer their real value.
In vain the youth wandered from court to court; then for a time he
returned to Salzburg, where the Archbishop treated him as a showman
might a performing dog, using his great genius in tests of skill before
royal visitors.
Later he went to the Emperor's court at Vienna, and there at last he
began to receive something of his due. Not only other musicians, but the
public generally admitted his great gifts. He wrote operas, "Don
Giovanni," "The Magic Flute," and "The Marriage of Figaro," being the
most popular of them. Finally he was able to do somewhat as he pleased,
instead of writing only to suit the order of a prince or noble who could
pay him with some position in his court or at his home.
The world acknowledged Mozart's genius from the time when, a small boy
of six, he and his sister played the clavier. But the life of a musician
in those days, no matter how great his genius, was a hard one, and the
world was not very kind to the youth when he grew up and had to make his
own way. Perhaps his happiest days were those when his sister and he
traveled with their good father, and had nothing to think of but the
pleasure they could give with their great gifts.
X
Lafayette
The Boy of Versailles: 1757-1834
Marie Antoinette, the little Queen of France, was giving a fête at the
royal palace of Versailles, outside of Paris, and the beautiful gardens
of the palace, world famous for their wonderful statues and fountains,
flowers and groves, presented an amazing sight on that midsummer night.
A hundred elves and fairies, hobgoblins and wood-nymphs danced in and
out about groups of strangely dressed grown-up people, who were neither
in court costume nor in real masquerade. The older lords and ladies of
the court were trying to humor their young Queen's whim without parting
with any of their dignity, and the result of their attempt was this very
curious sight--tall, stiff goblins, wearing elaborate, powdered wigs and
jeweled swords, stout wood-nymphs with bare arms and shoulders, and
glittering with jewels.
Never had the court of France thought itself so absolutely absurd, and
never had the children of that famous court enjoyed themselves so much.
They played all sorts of games about the dignified people scattered over
the grounds, until the latter were quite ready to believe that the days
of elves and fairies had really returned.
The boy Marquis de Lafayette led the revels. It was he to whom the
little Queen had appealed for help when she first planned her garden
party. Her boy husband, Louis XVI, was more interested in machinery than
in anything else. He was fond of taking clocks to pieces and putting
them together again, and in working over old locks and keys, and so had
left his young Queen very much to herself ever since he had brought her
from Austria to France.
Marie Antoinette was passionately fond of fun, and the stiff lords and
ladies of her husband's court bored her extremely. They were anxious
above everything else to keep up their old ceremonies, and to make life
simply a matter of rules. So it was that the girl turned to the young
boy Marquis, who was almost as fond of sports as she was, and with his
help gathered a band of boys and girls of her own age about her.
Then one summer day, while Louis was busy in his workshop, Marie
Antoinette plotted with Lafayette to hold a _fête champêtre_ in the
gardens which should be very different from anything the court of France
had seen before. She said that all her guests should appear either as
goblins or as nymphs. They would not dance the quadrille nor any other
stately measure, but would be free to romp and play such jokes as might
occur to them. When he heard these plans Lafayette shook his head
doubtfully.
"What will the lords in waiting say to this?" he asked, "and your
Majesty's own ladies of the court?"
The Queen laughed and shrugged her pretty shoulders. "Who cares?" she
said. "As long as Louis is king I shall do what pleases me."
Then she clapped her hands as a new idea occurred to her. "I shall go to
Louis," she added, "and have him issue an order commanding every one who
attends the fête to dress either as a goblin or a nymph. He will do it
for me, I know."
When the King heard her request he good-humoredly agreed, for he found
it hard to deny his pretty young wife anything, and so the order was
issued. Imagine the horror of the grown-up courtiers when they heard the
command! Unbend sufficiently to dress as goblins and nymphs? Never! The
saucy young Queen and her friends must be taught a lesson. As soon as
she knew of their disapproval she would of course give up her scheme.
On the contrary, the Queen did nothing of the sort. She made Lafayette
master of ceremonies, and gave strict orders that no one should be
admitted to the gardens on the night of the fête unless they were
dressed as commanded. In the meantime the boys and girls were planning
the costumes they would wear and rehearsing the play they were to act.
But the court party was not to be beaten so easily, and the Royal
Chamberlain and the Queen's Mistress of the Robes hunted up the King in
his workshop and told him that such a performance as was planned would
shame the French court in the eyes of the whole world. Louis listened to
them patiently and said he would consider the matter. Then he sent for
his wife and Lafayette and the other ringleaders. Between them they
described how absurd the courtiers would look with such good effect that
Louis laughed until he cried. Then he dismissed the whole matter from
his mind and went back to the tools on his work-table, which were the
only things that seriously concerned him.
Now that the garden party was at its height, Lafayette was the
undisputed leader of the youths. It was he who swooped down upon the
stately Mistress of the Robes and ordered his band of hobgoblins to
carry her off to the summer-house on the edge of the woods, and keep her
a prisoner there, while they sang her the latest ballads of the Paris
streets. It was he who had a ring of fairies dance about the Lord
Chamberlain until that haughty person was so dizzy that he had to put
his hands to his eyes and run as rapidly as dignity would let him to a
place of safety. The boy took his orders from the beautiful Queen of the
Fairies, Marie Antoinette, who, more radiant and lovely than ever, sat
on the rustic throne and sent her messengers to the different groups in
the gardens. Beside her stood the young King Louis, laughing and
admiring the ingenuity of her plans.
Next day, however, came the retribution. The courtiers were up in arms.
They had managed to go through one such evening, but they did not
propose to stand another. The most important people in France went to
the King and placed their grievances before him. Louis loved peace, so
that now he was willing to take the side of the courtiers, and as a
result the day of the children was over.
Marie Antoinette, fond of pleasure above everything else, tried to have
her way for a short time, but before a month had passed, the weight of
its old time formal dignity had fallen on Versailles, and the children
were again made to pattern after their elders.