The Boy Organist — Mozart

1874

Mozart's first experience of a large organ was in the monastery of a little town on the banks of the Danube. He was then only six years old, and in company with his father had left his home in Salzburg, and started upon a long course of travel.

All day long they had been sailing down that majestic river, past crumbling ruins, frowning castles, cloisters hidden away among the crags, towering cliffs, quiet villages nestled in sunny valleys, and here and there a deep gorge that opened back from the gliding river, its hollow distance blue with fathomless shadow, and its loneliness and stillness stirring the boy's heart like some dim and vast cathedral.

The company of monks with whom they had been traveling that day were at supper in the refectory of the cloister, when father Mozart took Wolfgang into the chapel to see the organ.

And now as the boy gazed with something of awe upon the great instrument looming up in the shadows of the great empty church, his face lit up with serene satisfaction, and every motion and attitude of the little figure expressed a wondering reverence. What tones must even now be slumbering in those mighty pipes? Tones which, if once awakened, could give utterance to all that voiceless beauty which the day's scenes had showed him — life and death, present and past; the peaceful river and the deserted ruin; the sunshine unfailing and the unfailing shadow at its side.

"Father," said the boy, "explain to me those pedals at the organ's feet, and let me play?"

Well pleased, the father complied. Then Wolfgang pushed aside the stool, and when father Mozart had filled the great bellows, the elfin organist stood upon the pedals, and trod them as though he had never needed to have their management explained.

How the deep tones woke the somber stillness of the old church. The organ seemed some great uncouth creature, roaring for very joy at the caresses of the marvelous child.

The monks, eating their supper in the refectory, heard the tones and dropped knife and fork in astonishment. The organist of the brotherhood was among them; but never had he played with such power and freedom. They listened; some grew pale; others crossed themselves; till the prior rose up, summoned all his courage, and hastened in the chapel. The others followed, but when they looked up into the organ-loft, lo! there was no form of any organist to be seen, though the deep tones still massed themselves in new harmonies, and made the stone arches thrill with their power.

"It is the devil himself," cried the first one of the monks, drawing closer to one of his companions, and giving a second look over his shoulder into the darkness of the aisle.

"It is a miracle," said another. But when the oldest of their number mounted the stairs to the organ front, he stood petrified with amazement. There stood the tiny figure, treading from pedal to pedal, and at the same time clutching the keys above with his little hands, gathering handfuls of those wonderful chords as if they were violets, and flinging them out into the solemn gloom behind him. He heard nothing, saw nothing besides; his eyes beamed like stars, and his whole face lighted with impassioned joy. Louder and fuller rose the harmonies, streaming forth in swelling billows, till at last they seemed to reach a sunny shore, on which they broke; and then a whispering ripple of faintest melody lingered a moment in the air, like the last murmur of a wind harp, and all was still.