The morning star and Catholic messenger. [volume] (New Orleans [La.]) 1868-1881, 1868-03-01

were watching every movement Of the del
4 icate, cMldike figure, and over whose fai
face there was spread pallor of deep emo
ton. "A black lace veil concealed her exu
covered her slender figure. Around he
lips there was an expression of melanchol,
sadness, and yet they tried to smile, whei
all at once every sound was hushed, and til,
first notes from piano were Yibratin,
through the hall. Little Franz was playing
concerted piece by Hummel with q won
derful skill and power. The large audienc,
did not in the least embarrass him, but OF
the contrary he appeared rs calm and steady
as the skillful pilot at his r1Glder on q Storm
sea. What, then, was it that made yonde1
fair lady tremble and breathe so an1fouslyi
she perceived how his face was flushed with
joy, when he sat down again by his fathers
side for short rest!
- The pretty little lady in the white satin
dress, and the rosei in her hair, who was now
>singing fine tremulo, did not receive q
dark eye lashes; they were all the time
fixed on the boys face.
How pale his finely moulded face appeared
with the aristocratic mouth! The ladi
singer, accompanied by loud applause, was
just Withdrawing, and in passing him tapped
lady with the lace veil observed it with a
sigh. Then again the boy approached the
piano, and after a short childish boWShis
fingers were gliding again over the KEYS In
concerto in B minor by Hummel. The
face of yonder lady in the corner light
flush was spreading.
Then, after short pause, the bow for the
last time took his seat ut the piano in order
to play fantasia of his own composition,
A deep stiffness pervaded the hall, as in
church during prayer. It was themes of
Mozart and Beethoven which his youthful
fingers Intervene and variated in the most
enchanting manner. A proud smile was
visible ON the wrinkled face of Salieri, but
the fair lady in the corner dropped her head
on her bosom, and big tears, which nobody
should see, were rolling down her cheeks.
Her hands were nervously clasped, and a
fervent prayer rose to heaven from pious
soul for the welfare of the boy who was
playing. /Sosfervent this prayer was, that
even the loud acclamations in which the
audience burst forth when the last notes
from the piano had died away, could not
voice made her start suddenly. This voice
said =" Madam, your son has played we'll
1 am satisfied with him he viii certainly
be o. source of great joy to you, and you
may well be proud of your boy. Let us go
to him. -
The mother of Franz Liszt arose to rest
her hand on the arm of tall, gloomy look
ing gentleman who was standing before
her. His rich hair was in the most genial
disorder, and his clothes were carelessly
worn. The audience, notwithstanding they
were engaged in the most lively converse
ton, made room for them as if it had been
the Emperor himself who was approaching.
They spoke no word, but from time to time
she would raise her soft eyes to look with
admiration and awe at her companion, who
in his turn would nod at her with the affec-
ton of father. At-fast the son saw them.
So Mamma and Won are really hero
Beethoven I" he exclaimed with passionate
emotion. And n moment afterward the |
"star of the evening" was in the embrace
of his mother, and the friendly smile of
Ludwig Van Beethoven was the first genu-
inc laurel won by the young artist.
From that day Franz LISTS course of life |
was decided, and his mothers heart, in spite |
OF many apprehensions and misgivings,
submitted. All her fears of the tempta-
lions and disappointments besetting the |
way of young artist she braveIy repressed +
eco forth-and may God protect you and
guide you to his true peace" Thus spoke
the gcntlcst voice in the world and her
darling child entered upon the thorny path
If an artists life, path leading to heights
where but few are standing. Without muir
murlng, the pious woman buried the favor
lite wish of her heart, of seeing her son on
that path which, as her childlike soul fan
cIed, was the safest and shortest to heaven
she had always hoped to see him an or
dained priest. From that time henceforth
she was the mother of the artist.
Inc mothers of all our great men may
be divided into two classes the fit repre-
sentative OF the first of these may be said
TO be, the gentle and sanity character of a
Monica, the mother of st. Augustine; the
representative of the other, the youthful,
blooming figure of the Frankfort patrician.
Mrs. Rath Goethe.
In the first of these groups we find those
ep1T1tual beings with eyes fixed on Heaven,
HoAoWlng the footsteps of the childlike