“Mara? I have heard of you; you are a famous player. I am happy to make your acquaintance.”
“I thank you, Master Mozart; I am most honored and happy to make yours; I have long wished for this good fortune. I am aware, sir,” with a glance at Hiller, “that I have enemies who misrepresent me; and that is easy, too, for I sometimes misrepresent myself. But I would have you appreciate me. I should like to hear your judgment on my playing; I should hold it an honor, sir, to be permitted to play before you. I should esteem it a favor if you would visit me. I live at 857 Windmill street, and shall be happy to see you at any time—before noon. It would give me great pleasure”—
“I will certainly visit you,” said Mozart.
“You—visit this drunken wretch?” exclaimed Hiller in unfeigned surprise. “No, he is not worthy of your acquaintance.” Just then Madame Mara passed out and descended to her carriage. “He is the torment of his excellent wife, who has made sacrifices enough for him, and now that he is wholly lost and there is no hope of his reformation, she allows to him the necessaries of life, even while she leaves him forever.”
“How?—Gertrude—my wife—” stammered Mara.
“Yes, your injured wife;” repeated the music-director. “You have outraged her feelings by your miserable excesses; you have destroyed her rest by your midnight orgies; she is weary of you. She will return no more to your house; she will see you no more. To-morrow she departs for Paris.”
“Bravo, Heinrich, what fun we shall have!” cried the violoncellist, with a flourish of his stick. “Eh bien, foster father—”
“In pity, to you, degraded wretch,” continued Hiller, “she has directed me to supply you with provisions as you need, but with no money to minister to your depraved passion for drinking. Now you know what you have to depend upon.”
“Your most obedient, my lord,” said Mara, bowing with a flourish almost to the ground, from which obeisance he recovered himself with great difficulty, amidst the laughter of the bystanders. “I am wholly at your service, most excellent director of music—at your excellency’s service! But I shall not draw on my banker. I am beholden to Madame Mara, but I can play the violoncello as well as she. You should hear me play,” turning to Mozart. “These gentlemen here, can tell you something of my taste in music.”
“Oh, yes,” cried several in a breath; “Monsieur Mara is a first rate player on the violoncello. You are too severe with him, Monsieur Hiller.”