Mozart’s concert! Surprised and pleased that some of his acquaintance had remembered him, Mara suffered himself to be led away by his companion.
The concert was a splendid one and attended by all the taste and fashion of Leipzig. The orchestra was admirable, the singers were full of spirit and good humor, the audience delighted, the composer gratified and thankful. The good effect of his drilling at rehearsal was evident; but those who listened to the noble music and rewarded the performers by frequent bursts of tumultuous applause, knew not the source of their unusual animation and gave them all the credit. Mozart thanked them in a brief speech, and as soon as the concert was at an end was led off in triumph by the connoisseurs, his friends.
Magnificent beyond expectation was the entertainment prepared, and attended by many among the wealthy and the noble, as well as the most distinguished artists. The votaries of art had indeed superior claims, for the feast was in honor of Art and her noblest son. The revelry was prolonged beyond midnight, and as the guests became warmed with good cheer, we are bound to record that the conversation lost its rational tone, and that comical sallies and uproarious laughter began to usurp the place of critical discourse. They had songs from all who were musical; Mara, among the rest, was brought in, dressed in a fantastic but slovenly manner, and made to play for the amusement of the company. When he had played several pieces, the younger guests began to put their practical jokes upon him and provoke him to imitate the noises of different animals on his violoncello. Mara entered into all their fun, convulsing them with his grotesque speeches and gestures, drinking glass after glass, till at last he fell back quite overpowered and insensible. Then his juvenile tormentors painted his face and clipped his mustaches and tricked him out in finery that gave him the look of a candidate for Bedlam, and had him carried to his own house, laughing to imagine what his sensations would be next morning, when he should discover how ludicrously he had been disfigured. In short, the whole party were considerably beyond the bounds of propriety and sound judgment. Mozart also——
It was considerably after noon the next day, that poor Mara, the victim of those merciless revellers, might be seen sitting disconsolately in his deserted home. He had no heart even to be enraged at the cruelties practised on him. Pale as death, his eyes sunken and bloodshot, his limbs shivering, sat this miserable wretch, dressed in the same mockery of finery which had been heaped upon him in wicked sport.
The door opened and Mozart entered.
At sight of the composer Mara rose and mechanically returned his salutation. Mozart looked grave and sad.
“You are much the worse for last night’s dissipation, my good fellow,” said he.
“Ah, Master Mozart,” said the violoncellist, with a faint smile, “it is too good of you to visit such a dog as poor Mara.”