Mozart was not wholly satisfied with the musicians, and he drilled them thoroughly. Once he stamped on the floor so emphatically, that he shattered a costly shoe-buckle. The performers were vexed, and played prestissimo; he cried “Bravo!” and said to an old friend, when he saw him shaking his head—“Nay, nay, do not disturb yourself about my strange behavior this morning. These people are old and slow: their work to-night will be a drag, unless I put some fire into them by scolding them out of patience. I think now all will go off admirably.”
And all did go off admirably that night. The boundless applause of the audience, and Mozart’s cheerful commendations and thanks, put the orchestra once more in high good humor.
Cecilia, who had already much reputation as a singer, sang two airs from Idomeneo. Mozart was delighted with her. The true feeling of her singing showed that she was possessed of genius, that rare and precious gift of heaven; thus he whispered to her father while she was singing, and at the end conducted her from the stage himself. Cecilia thought the master’s approval worth more than the noisy applause of the audience, and went home proud and happy.
Some of the wealthy connoisseurs had ordered a splendid supper to be prepared at the principal hotel, in honor of the distinguished composer. When the concert was over, they carried him off in triumph. Freigang was of the party. Doles relished not scenes of mirth, and went home with his wife and daughter, and Cecilia.
The ladies could not give up talking of the pleasures of the evening, till a late hour; and just as Cecilia was taking leave of her friends, a servant came from the hotel with a message to Father Doles that the chapel-master begged they would not wait up for him, as he should not return home that night. The messenger added, by way of comment—
“They are very merry yonder; I do not think for a year past we have opened so many bottles of champagne as for the party to-night—”
“Very well!” said Doles, interrupting him, and dismissed the servant.
“I am sorry for Mozart, indeed,” whispered Cecilia, as she bade Lena good night.
“Never mind,” returned that lively girl, “be quiet about it, and I will read him a lesson to-morrow, the like of which he has not heard for a long time.”
The next morning Mozart made his appearance at breakfast, pale and haggard-looking; confused in his discourse and looking much ashamed. Neither Doles nor his wife made any allusion to his dissipation of the preceding night, and Lena did not venture to show her displeasure in the presence of her parents. Yet Mozart felt that things were not exactly as they should be, and all frankness and openness as he was, he could not long disguise his real feelings. He began to lament what had passed, half in jest and half in earnest; “It had been,” he said, “too wild a night for him, and to say truth, he would have much preferred a quiet evening after the concert,” adding, “but you know, once is not always.”