Knowing all this, Wolfgang was calm when he appeared with his father, whose face wore an anxious look, in the hall of the Academy. Padre Martini, Farinelli, and all the other members at that time in Bologna, most of them old and famous chapelmasters and composers, were already assembled there. They received the boy in a dignified manner. It was a solemn moment. Father Mozart’s heart beat with secret fear and his limbs trembled, as he stood before the stern and stately judges of his son. Wolfgang, however, was undisturbed as he looked at their array, but he displayed no sign of overconfidence.
After the formal greeting Father Mozart was conducted outside into the library. Wolfgang was requested to approach. After a few instructions the judges arose and handed him the paper containing the test. It was, as Padre Martini had said, the arrangement for four voices of an antiphon from the “Antiphonarium Romanum,” which Wolfgang must accomplish in a closed room, three hours being allowed for its completion.
Wolfgang took the paper, made a low bow of reverence, and with quick step and confident manner followed an official, who conducted him to an apartment and locked him in. Anxiously and with secret misgivings Padre Martini and Farinelli watched the exit of this boy so full of life, animation, and courage. They had ample reasons for their anxiety, for they knew of course the difficulty of the test. They also remembered that many clever musicians had been wrecked by it, and that others had labored the entire three hours, exerting their utmost ability to arrange an antiphon of even fewer parts. The members watched him go in silence. Here and there they whispered together. Padre Martini and his friend Farinelli walked quietly up and down the hall. All were deeply moved. The majority of the judges wished the young candidate good luck, but there were some who were envious of the young artist’s ability and secretly cherished the hope that he would not accomplish his task. Eager expectation was visible on every face. Some were anxious and hopeful, others were jealous and envious.
Thus a half hour passed. No one dreamed that the painful waiting was so nearly over, when the door of the hall was suddenly thrown open, and the official who such a short time before had locked Wolfgang in his room, entered. He looked pale and uneasy, and was evidently overcome with astonishment. “What is it? What has happened?” asked Padre Martini, breathlessly.
“Signor, I am almost afraid to tell you,” replied the official. “I can hardly trust my own ears. The young Mozart has given the signal that he has completed his task.”
“Impossible! In so short a time? Impossible!” exclaimed Padre Martini, his face growing somewhat pale.
“Impossible!” repeated several other members, who were amazed at the official’s announcement. “The young man is either foolhardy or out of his head.”
“We shall soon see,” said Padre Martini, calmly. “Nothing is impossible to a great genius, and Mozart’s genius is far above the ordinary.”
“But the Academy has flourished a hundred years, and such a thing as this has never occurred before,” said one member.
“That has little significance. What has never yet happened may have happened now,” replied Padre Martini, who tried to conceal his anxiety behind outward composure. “The signal has been given. Come, gentlemen censors, and receive the young man’s work and test it here in pleno.”