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Updated: May 17, 2025
Before long Wolfgang was composing pieces which his father wrote down for him. It was only a year or two later that Leopold Mozart, coming home with a friend one day, found the boy very busy with pen and ink. "What are you doing there, Woferl?" asked the father. "Writing a concerto for the clavier," answered the small boy. "The first part is just finished." His father smiled.
"It must be something very fine, I dare say; let us look at it." "No, no," said Woferl, "it isn't ready yet." Leopold however picked up the paper, and he and his friend began to laugh as they looked at the rudely scrawled notes. The paper was also covered with blots, for the boy had kept jabbing his pen to the very bottom of his inkstand, and often wiped the clots of ink across the paper.
When she began to play, her small brother Wolfgang, or Woferl as he was called in nickname, although only three years old, constantly watched her, and whenever he had the chance tried striking the keys himself. At four he had shown the ability to remember solos from concerts he was taken to, and it then first occurred to his father that his son was a genius.
The Emperor and Empress took special delight in them, loaded them with presents, and insisted on having them treated with all the respect given to grown artists. Little Woferl appeared at court in a suit of white and gold, very resplendent with lace, ruffles, and ornaments of all sorts. His small sister, in white brocaded taffeta, was dressed exactly like an archduchess in miniature.
He learned privately of a place where this man would be present on a certain occasion, and had Woferl go there, and took with him an exceedingly hard concerto which the man had written. During the afternoon this concerto was placed before the boy, and he played it perfectly. The musician could not help but show his delight at hearing his own music so wonderfully given. He had to speak the truth.
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