piano as soon as he
perceived that Marianne's lesson was about to begin. There he would
remain until the lesson was finished, listening intently to everything
that was played or spoken. At other times he would amuse himself by
finding simple chords on the instrument, striking them over and over
again, and bending his head to catch the harmonies thus produced. At
length Leopold Mozart began to teach him, half in fun at first, but
very soon in earnest, for it was apparent that the child regarded the
lessons seriously.

The father could not conceal his joy at the discovery of such early
promise on the part of his little son, whose progress, indeed, was so
rapid as to call for special care to prevent his learning too fast.
Marianne had a manuscript book in which her father used to write
simple pieces for her to learn, and very soon he was entering in the
book similar pieces for Wolfgang.[11] The rapidity and ease with which
the boy mastered these tasks opened his father's eyes to the fact that
Wolfgang possessed capacities far above those of an ordinary child. In
a short time the boy began to write in the book little compositions of
his own, some of them plainly showing that his skill in composing had
forged beyond the point at which his tiny fingers had the power to
express his ideas.

One day, when Leopold Mozart had brought Herr Schachtner, the Court
trumpeter, home to dinner, they found Wolfgang busily employed with
his pen. In answer to his father's inquiry what he was doing, Wolfgang
replied that he was writing a concerto for the pianoforte. Leopold
asked to see it, but the boy was not anxious to have his work
inspected, and objected that it was not finished. 'Never mind,' said
Leopold, 'let me see it. It must be something very fine.' Taking the
paper into his hand, the father and his friend glanced at it
curiously. The sheet was bedaubed with ink-smears which almost
concealed the notes; the child had dipped his pen each time to the
bottom of the ink-bottle, so that when it reached the paper it had
dropped a huge blot. This had not disturbed him in the least, however,
for he had merely rubbed his hand over the offending blot and
proceeded with his writing.

At first sight both Leopold and his friend laughed to see the manner
in which the composer had traced the notes over the smudges, but soon
Schachtner observed the father's eyes fill with tears of delight and
wonderment as he began to follow out the theme. 'Loo