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than for the dust under his feet, and treated them no better, sometimes,--indeed even worse,--than the lowest of his lackeys. Upon this occasion he several times displayed his contempt for them in a manner so utterly devoid of decency that Father Mozart resented it, and in depressed spirits returned to Salzburg on foot. Naturally his artistic pride rebelled against such treatment; but when tempted, as he often was, to break the galling fetters of this servitude, consideration for his family forced him to be patient, and to endure it uncomplainingly. The trifling compensation which he annually received for his service as vice chapelmaster was not sufficient to relieve himself and family from anxiety; but even these few hundred guldens he could not spare, except at the risk of impoverishment, and as the small sums received from private instruction were not large enough to support the family, he was forced to submit to this indignity, and conceal his resentment as best he could, by the exercise of the strongest self-control.
As he proceeded along the shaded avenue to Salzburg, absorbed in mournful contemplation, and vainly seeking to calm his disturbed spirit, a friend and patron unexpectedly met him. He had been attached to Mozart for a long time, because he knew his worth and thoroughly appreciated his faithfulness and industry.
"Good day, my dear Mozart," he cordially said. "Where are you going? And why are you so troubled? I did not suppose a good musician and a master of art like you could ever be out of humor."
"Oh, if you only knew, Count von Herbenstein," replied Mozart, pleasantly surprised by his patron's greeting. "The shoe often pinches us poor musicians in more than one place, and sometimes so hard that the best disposition cannot stand it. You were there this very day, Herr Count, when the Archbishop treated us so shabbily. Did he not insult us before all the guests by calling us a 'dissolute rabble,' 'frivolous fellows,' and 'a good-for-nothing pack'? I could have sunk into the earth for shame. What must these distinguished strangers have thought of us when we were treated in such manner by our own master? Really, sometimes I would rather be a wood-chopper or a boot-black than the Archbishop's vice chapelmaster."
"Restrain yourself, dear Mozart," said Count Herbenstein, gently placing his hand on the vice chapelmaster's shoulder. "We all know the Archbishop, and what to expect from him. Believe me, you are not lowered in our estimation by his aspersions. Do not let them disturb you. Seek consolation in your beautiful art. I know that you are a great violin virtuoso, and that you have written a famous 'Violin School.' I have thought for some time of asking you to write me some nice chamber music, for which I will advance you twenty-five ducats."
"Oh, you are too generous, Herr Count," replied Mozart, delightedly. "It will be a welcome addition to my meagre income, and I will thankfully undertake your kind commission. It will help to pay the expenses of a journey to Vienna, which I am going to make as soon as possible with my Wolfgang."
"Ah! so you are going with your little son to Vienna," said Count Herbenstein. The conversation now took a new turn. "Is it really true that your little Wolfgang is such an extraordinary genius as I hear on all sides?"
Whenever his son was mentioned, Father Mozart was aflame with enthusiasm. "Certainly it is, Herr Count," he replied, excitedly. "I cannot say too much for that child. It is perfectly astonishing the progress Wolfgang has made in such short time. It absolutely surprises me. Just think of it, notwithstanding his hands are so little, he already plays the piano finely; better, indeed, than his sister, who is older than he, and who is not without talent herself. When he has been to a concert, he can play every piece by memory."
"This is really extraordinary," said the Count. "And does he actually play intelligently and correctly?"
"Correctly and sometimes brilliantly," answered Father Mozart. "He learns with incredible facility. It hardly takes him half an hour to learn a minuet or any other small concert piece, and play it clearly and neatly."
"Impossible! Impossible!" exclaimed the Count.
"Do you not believe me, Herr Count?" said Father Mozart. "If you will give me the honor of your company and go home with me, you shall have proof of my statements, and see for yourself that I have not exaggerated."
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