Leopold Mozart wished his son to hear this music and to become acquainted with the great Italian musicians. He hoped that he could talk with the composers. He told him to visit the art galleries and study the paintings. All this Wolfgang did and more, too.
He spent much time in the art galleries. He listened to much beautiful music and became acquainted with musicians and composers. Besides all this, he practiced regularly, and he studied French. He spent several hours each day composing.
In a letter to his mother, Wolfgang wrote: "To-day I had the pleasure of riding on a donkey. Every one in Italy rides a donkey, and I thought I must try it too." In the same letter he asked: "Does my little canary still sing in the key of G? Is there any one to pet my dog, now that I am so far away? Take good care of him."
Wolfgang and his father visited many Italian cities. There were no railroads in those days, so the father and son journeyed from place to place in a carriage. That is a slow and very tiresome way to travel, and Wolfgang sometimes became weary and impatient. Then he would jump from the carriage and race with the horses.
Often they stopped at some quaint old inn for lunch. The meal was occasionally served out of doors. How good the honey and fresh milk tasted after the long dusty ride! How sweet were the figs and how juicy the melons!
After visiting Florence, Verona, and other cities, Leopold Mozart and his son arrived in Rome. It was the week before Easter. Wolfgang liked to attend the services held each day in the magnificent cathedrals. He liked to watch the priests moving softly about the altar. He liked the faint odor of the incense and the glimmer of the candles.
When the great organ pealed forth, he forgot all these things. He forgot even his father, seated at his side. He had never heard such music before. It seemed to him like music from heaven.
In some of the churches there was singing as well as organ music. One day, while in Rome, Wolfgang visited the Sistine Chapel. He heard some singing that he never forgot. A choir of about thirty voices sang a very beautiful, yet very mournful, piece of music.
When the music began, all the candles were burning brightly. As the singing went on, the candles were extinguished one by one. The chapel became more and more dim. The choir sang softly and still more softly. At last not one candle was left burning. No sound could be heard but the sad, sad music and the sobs of the people.
Throughout the whole service, the child Mozart sat with clasped hands and bended head. When the music died away, he arose and walked home in silence. He went to his own room and wrote from memory the music which he had heard.