More than a hundred years ago a man and his two children were journeying from their home in Salzburg to Vienna. They traveled by the Danube boat, and Marianne, the sister, stood by the rail tossing pebbles into the water and watching the turbulent river swallow them up. Her dress was worn almost threadbare, but her face was so sweet and her eyes so large and bright that she looked pretty for all her shabbiness.
Just behind her on the deck her father and brother were talking. "If we make some money in the city you'll buy sister a new dress, won't you, Father?" little Wolfgang asked.
Marianne whirled and started toward him. She knew that was sure to make her father sad, and she called, "Don't coax, Wolfgang. My dress will do very well until we can afford to buy another, and a new one will seem all the nicer because of my having worn this one so long."
Her brother turned his big, earnest eyes upon her, and answered, "But, Marianne, I know you want one. I heard you wish for it by the evening star, and last night you put it in your prayer."
Father Mozart turned from them with a sad look on his face, and walked up and down the deck, wishing very much he could do what Wolfgang asked. But he was just a poor orchestra conductor with an income so small he had to stretch it hard to provide food and shelter for his family.
Marianne must wear the shabby frock until better times began, which he hoped would be soon. They were to give some concerts in the Austrian capital, and maybe the rich, music-loving city would earn enough to make them more comfortable than they had been before. But until then they must not spend a penny save what was needed for food and shelter, because the custom fee on the harp they carried must be paid, and that would reduce their little fund to a very small amount.
Wolfgang, too, thought about it as the little boat crept in and out between the hills, and wondered much if there was no way in which Marianne might have a dress before they played in Vienna. His old teacher in Salzburg had often told him there is a way out of every difficulty if one is clever enough to think of it, and there must be out of this. But although he tried and tried, he couldn't think of one. His own suit was bright and new, for his birthday was just past and it had been his uncle's gift. But Marianne was a very shabby little girl, and he knew she was unhappy even though she was brave and sweet about it.
They were gliding past the ruins of the castle that once, men said, had been the prison of Richard the First, England's Lionhearted King, when his enemies took him captive on his return from the holy wars. Wolfgang thought of the many brave things that soldier ruler had done during the Crusades, for often in the twilight time at Salzburg, as they waited for their father to come from his work, the mother told his tale, and of how the faithful servant Blondel found him at last by singing a song he knew his master loved.
"He was very brave and wise, too," the boy thought as he looked at the crumbling pile. "He would have found a way for Marianne to have a new dress if she had been his sister."
Was it the prayer being answered, or just the fulfillment of the wish made by the evening star? For while he thought, an idea came into his head. It was a good idea, it seemed to him, so good that it made him smile. If it worked out, and he believed it would, Marianne might have the dress she wanted so much, because then his father would have more money to spend.
Just to the south they could see the great spire of St. Stephen's, a tall, gray finger against the sky, which told him that Vienna was not far away.
As it grew nearer and nearer, looming up larger and plainer before them, Wolfgang thought more and more of his idea, until when they reached the mooring his eyes were dancing and his cheeks were aflame.
His father believed the thought of seeing the great capital had excited him, but that was not it at all. He had a secret plan and could hardly wait until he knew whether or not it would work out.
The journey was ended and the people were going ashore. "Please loosen the cover, Father," he said as Leopold Mozart carried the harp towards the customs gate.
"Ah, you are proud of it!" the man answered with a smile.
Wolfgang did not reply, thinking what a poor guesser his father was.
He watched him as he set the instrument down and undid the wrapping, bringing the polished frame and glistening strings into full view. Then he went over and took his place beside the harp as the customs officer drew near, and Marianne came and stood beside him. She had forgotten all about her shabby dress in her eagerness to find out how much duty they would have to pay.
"What have you to declare?" the man asked.
"Only a harp," Leopold Mozart answered, as he laid his hand on their one treasure.
"It is a beautiful instrument and valuable," the official said as he looked at it, and named as the price of the duty an amount so big as to cut their little hoard nearly in half.
Father Mozart's face grew very serious, and the merriment went out of Marianne's eyes. But Wolfgang did not worry at all. He still had that idea in his mind, and believed it would work out.
Leopold Mozart reached into his pocket for the little sack containing his savings, but it was not necessary to open it, for just as he was about to do so Wolfgang started to play.
The customs officer turned with a start and listened, and the people gathered there forgot all about duty charges as they crowded around the little musician. His tiny hands swept the strings as if his fingers had some magic power, and the melody he made was sweeter than any ever heard on that old wharf. For five minutes, ten, he kept at it, and there was not a whisper or a murmur, only a sort of breathless surprise that one so young could play so wonderfully.
"What!" one exclaimed as he finished, "a lad of his age to perform like that!"
"Yes," the father answered with a smile, "he does well at the harp."
"Amazing," the officer murmured, "'tis amazing! I've heard many a good harpist in my day, but never anything sweeter than that. Play some more, boy," he said.
Wolfgang smiled. The idea was working out, and he was very glad. Already he had visions of a happy sister in a handsome new gown, and turning again to the instrument, he played even more beautifully than before, for the gladness that crept into his heart was creeping also into the music.
For some minutes he picked the strings while people listened as if held in a spell, until the father said, "We must go now, for it is getting late, and we have yet to find lodgings in the city." And he handed the money to the officer.
But the man shook his head. "No," he said, and his eyes were very tender as he spoke. "A boy who can give as much pleasure as that deserves something. Keep the money and buy a present for him."
As Wolfgang heard the words he gave a bound. "Father," he exclaimed, with sparkling eyes, "buy the dress for Marianne. You can do it now, since you have saved the customs money."
The officer looked at him in amazement. "He is a wonderful lad, truly," he exclaimed, "and as kind as he is wonderful!"
"Yes," came the low reply.
And she did get it, too, a beautiful one of soft, bright red, all trimed with shining buttons. Wolfgang danced with delight when he saw it, and there was no happier child in all the great capital.
They gave many concerts there, some before the royal family; and Maria Theresa, the empress, became greatly attatched to both brother and sister, giving them handsome clothes and beautiful gifts, and forgot all about affairs of state while Wolfgang played. She called him the "little sorcerer," and agreed that he was a wonderful child.
Then, after some weeks, they went back to their home in Salzburg, where the boy kept on at his music, doing such marvelous things that his fame traveled far. He grew to be the great master, Mozart, at whose glorious music the world still wonders, and he was a generous and sweet-souled man, just as he was a big-hearted and thoughtful child. Many lovely acts of kindness are told of him, but none shows his kindness and tenderness in a more delightful way than when as a boy on the Vienna wharf he charmed the customs officer and all others who heard, and Marianne had the dress for which she had wished for by the evening star with the duty money that wasn't paid...
(Educating by Story-Telling)
Notes: Wolfgang's sister's name was Maria Anna, but he called her Nannerl. They were very close, playing many duets together as children.
These stories are considered "outdated", the copyrights have expired and are in the public domain. Music by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Serenade No.4 in D Major, Allegro
