Music and Its Masters Otis Bardwell Boise

The hands of the house clock, which persistently kept up its monotonous ticking, moved slowly forward. Minute after minute passed, and with every minute the vice chapelmaster grew more and more anxious. A piano stood at one side of the room. To divert his thoughts he went to it, and with trembling hands struck a few chords, whose soft, full tones seemed to exert a quieting influence upon him. He wiped the perspiration from his brow, and his dimmed eyes grew brighter as he went to the window and looked up at the sky.
“Let the dear God do as He wills,” he gently said to himself. “He will surely do everything that is for our best and highest good.”
He stood at the window several minutes with clasped hands and uplifted eyes. The sky was overcast with dark clouds, with here and there occasional glimpses of the blue. The air was sultry and oppressive, and seemed to threaten a storm. Suddenly the dark cloud-veil was rent, as it were, and the dazzling sun shed a brilliantly glorious flood of light upon the beautiful scenery of Salzburg. The glistening sunbeams also streamed into the vice chapelmaster?s room, and Father Mozart welcomed them with a serene smile.