“You, child!” said the lady in surprise. “What can you play?”
“The piano, violin, or organ, just which is most desired.”
“Impossible! It is impossible for such a little man as you.”
“Why is it impossible? I played last winter before the Empress Maria Theresa, in Vienna. Why should I not play here? Have you not heard anything about me?”
“No, my child, to tell the truth I have not.”
“Then you do not read the papers much,” said Wolfgang. “They have had whole columns about me. Try to remember, fair lady; you must have heard of Wolfgang Mozart.”
“It would be useless,” said the lady, smiling, “for I scarcely ever read a paper. But it is a matter of little consequence anyway. If you play at Court I shall be there, and shall be delighted to renew our acquaintance.”
“Ah! So you are also attached to the Court? I am so pleased,” said Wolfgang. “When you get there you will know all about me. I do not play badly if I am a little boy.”
“Dear me,” said the lady to herself, “can it be possible that—listen, my child,” she said, turning again to Wolfgang, “can you tell me who was playing the organ just now in the castle chapel?”
“It was I, and my father was blowing for me,” replied Wolfgang.