Chapter I
The Wonder Child
Vice Chapelmaster Leopold Mozart[1] of Salzburg paced to and fro in his apartment, evidently disturbed and anxious. He stopped several times at the door of the adjoining room and listened intently to every sound within. Then he would resume his monotonous walk from one corner of the room to another. From time to time he whispered a hurried prayer. Great drops of sweat fell from his brow. His face was pale, and showed unmistakable signs of trouble and misgiving.
The hands of the house clock, which persistently kept up its monotonous ticking, moved slowly forward. Minute after minute passed, and with every minute the vice chapelmaster grew more and more anxious. A piano stood at one side of the room. To divert his thoughts he went to it, and with trembling hands struck a few chords, whose soft, full tones seemed to exert a quieting influence upon him. He wiped the perspiration from his brow, and his dimmed eyes grew brighter as he went to the window and looked up at the sky.
“Let the dear God do as He wills,” he gently said to himself. “He will surely do everything that is for our best and highest good.”
He stood at the window several minutes with clasped hands and uplifted eyes. The sky was overcast with dark clouds, with here and there occasional glimpses of the blue. The air was sultry and oppressive, and seemed to threaten a storm. Suddenly the dark cloud-veil was rent, as it were, and the dazzling sun shed a brilliantly glorious flood of light upon the beautiful scenery of Salzburg. The glistening sunbeams also streamed into the vice chapelmaster’s room, and Father Mozart welcomed them with a serene smile.
“Behold, it is as if the eye of God were shining out of heaven in token of his inexhaustible goodness and mercy,” he said to himself. “I will accept it as a good omen, Lord, my God.”
A cheery little nurse with smiling face entered, carrying in her arms a little boy, vigorously crowing and kicking.[2]
“Look, Herr Vice Chapelmaster,” she said with an expression of the heartiest delight; “this is what the beautiful sunlight, even yet glistening upon the roofs like gold, has brought us. If this is not a good omen, why, then, I am no prophet.”
The vice chapelmaster stretched out his arms to the little boy, held his hands in blessing over his head, and made no effort to restrain the tears of joy which ran down his cheeks.