zen steps in the
Prater," said his wife; "these same rare cones and mushrooms are to be
found there too!"

"The Prater! Heavens, how can you mention it! What is there in the
Prater but carriages and swords, gowns and fans, music and hubbub! As
for the trees, large as they are--well, even the acorns on the ground
seem like second cousins to the old corks lying beside them! You could
walk there two hours, and still smell waiters and sauces!"

"Oh, what a speech from a man whose greatest pleasure is to eat a good
supper in the Prater!"

After they had returned to the carriage and sat watching the smiling
fields which stretched away to the mountains behind them, Mozart
exclaimed: "Indeed the earth is beautiful, and no one can be blamed for
wanting to stay on it as long as possible. Thank God, I feel as fresh
and strong as ever, and ready for a thousand things as soon as my new
opera is finished and brought out. But how much there is in the outside
world, and how much at home, both wonderful and beautiful, that I know
nothing about! Beauties of nature, sciences, and both fine arts and
useful arts! That black charcoal-burner there by his kiln knows just as
much as I do about many things. And I should like well enough to look
into some subjects that aren't connected with my own trade!"

"The other day," interrupted his wife, "I came across your old
pocket-calendar for '85. There were three or four special memoranda at
the end. One read: 'About the middle of October they are to cast the
great lions at the imperial brass foundry.' Another was underlined twice
'Call on Professor Gottner.' Who is he?"

"Oh Oh yes, I remember! That kind old gentleman in the observatory, who
invites me there now and then. I meant, long ago, to take you to see the
moon and the man in it. They have a new telescope, so strong that they
can see distinctly mountains and valleys and chasms, and, on the side
where the sun does not fall, the shadows of the mountains. Two years ago
I planned to go there! Shameful!"

"Well, the moon will not run away!"

"But it is so with everything. It is too hard to think of all that one
puts off and loses, not duties to God and to man only, but pure
pleasures--those small innocent pleasures which are within one's grasp
every day!"

Madame Mozart could not or would not turn his thoughts into another
channel, and could only agree with him as he went on: "Have I ever been
able to have a whole hour of pleasure with m