Mozart's Sister

by Nancy Moser

  Franz squeezed my hand and gave me a smile. “I know that would please our Nannerl very much. She misses him so-”

  “Perhaps you can be of help to us. I have been negotiating with the archbishop, trying to secure a position for Wolfgang as the organist, in Aldgasser’s position, with hopes of his being Kapellmeister someday”

  Franz’s face showed his surprise. “Nannerl has mentioned you wanted him to come home, but-”

  “It’s more than a watt. Wolfgang needs to come home and assume a salaried position. According to my calculations, it will take two years to pay off the debts he’s incurred on his travels. And Paris has proven to be a disaster-though there was talk of a position at Versailles.” Papa sighed. “At this point, Salzburg offers many advantages over any German city in that ours is a cathedral court rather than a political one. Being an employee of the court here means we are better protected in the event of the death of our ruler. It’s not like the debacle caused by the death of the elector Maximilian, wreaking havoc to the point of war.” Papa cocked his head. “Speaking of … what is the current talk of war?”

  I was shocked into deafness as Franz answered. How had a discussion about romance turned to talk about Wolfie’s job prospects-and now war?

  Franz fidgeted beside me, bringing my thoughts back to the conversation. Papa stood. “So as you see, we would really appreciate anything you could do to procure a good position for our Wolfgang.” He glanced at me. “Nothing can go forward until then.”

  I was taken aback. So he’d guessed why we’d come?

  Papa showed us out, saying he had work to do.

  Apparently, so did we. I led Franz to the front door. “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Papa tends to focus on one thing, and one thing alone. My brother is everything to him.”

  Franz pulled my hands to his lips. “I assure you, that is not true. He loves you very much. He is rightfully concerned about your future.”

  I pulled my hands away. “Then why wouldn’t he listen to our plans-our plans to be together?”

  “Because he is a father and has bigger concerns than his daughter’s immediate happiness.”

  I snickered. “As you say.”

  He fingered the lace at my shoulder. “He is your provider, Nannerl. Your protector. And you know-as does he-that my salary is not worthy of excitement.”

  I leaned my forehead against his chin. “I don’t need riches, Franz. I just need you.”

  He cupped the back of my head with a hand and kissed my hair. “We will work this out, my love. We will.”

  He sounded so certain.

  The rest of the day was full of lessons, chores, and a trip to the theater in the evening to see a traveling troupe. As usual Papa invited some of the lead players to our home afterward, and though I was the good hostess, my heart wasn’t in it. After the failed discussion about my future that afternoon, I’d wanted to talk with Papa alone, to somehow explain to him how being married-even to a man who wasn’t rich-would ease his own financial burden.

  But all day Papa was unavailable to me-whether by busyness or design. I’d regrettably resigned myself to having our discussion another day, when on my way to bed, I passed his room and saw that a candle was still lit. I hesitated, not sure-even after the anticipation I’d experienced all day-that I was up to the task of this confrontation.

  He must have sensed my presence, for he said, “Nannerl?”

  I took a fresh breath and opened the door the rest of the way. He was propped in bed against some pillows, reading by the flickering candle on the bed stand. “Did you and Therese get things put to right?”

  “Yes, Papa.” My mind locked on the trivial. “To let you know, Therese has asked for a new flour container. The one we have is letting in all types of bugs. She’s tired of picking them out.”

  “Just last week she broke the hourglass and asked for a new one. And now this?”

  “We need it, Papa.”

  He sighed deeply. “There is always something.”

  Money. Again. My courage was doused. I turned toward the door. “Good night, then.”

  “You love this man?”

  I was stopped in my tracks and turned to face him. “I do.”

  “Are you wanting to marry this man?”

  I nearly laughed at the way this entire subject had been brought into the open. “I do.”

  Papa shook his head. “We need more, Nannerl. He is not enough.”

  My laughter died. “We, Papa? We would not be getting married. I would be getting married.”

  He lowered his chin and looked at me through his lashes. “Surely you are not that naive.”

  I crossed to the safe shadows near the wardrobe. “I know my marriage affects the family. I know that. But Franz makes enough to support me. And you still have a fine job as the Vice Kapellmeister and-”

  “So I am to work the rest of my life?”

  I felt the air go out of me. The rest of his life? Now I was the provider? My thoughts moved to Wolfie. “But when Wolfie comes home from France and gets a position …”

  Papa shut his book with a snap. “If. If. And yet that is the only solution. That boy has no idea of the debts that hang over our heads, that prevent you or me from having a good night’s sleep, that prevent us from having the life we would like to have. We all must make sacrifices, Nannerl.”

  My legs buckled. All energy was gone. I turned toward the door, needing the comfort of my bed to enfold me.

  “Nannerl.” Papa held out his hand, wanting me close. Somehow, I managed to go to his bedside. “I’m not saying no-not yet. But there are obstacles. First and foremost, our debts.”

  “Franz doesn’t care about our debts.”

  “He would have to. They are a part of us until we find a way to get them paid. He is not a rich man. You cannot saddle him with our financial burdens. It would not be fair to him.”

  Put that way …

  “Besides, the archbishop will never approve of the marriage.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because he hates us, Nannerl. And your d’Ippold is in his employ on multiple accounts, as a teacher and as a member of his war council.”

  “I agree we’ve had our problems with the archbishop,” I said, “and Wolfie has tested him sorely. But right now you’re negotiating with him for Wolfie’s return. That doesn’t sound as if he’s against us. He wants Wolfie back. He doesn’t hate us.”

  Papa shrugged. “I’m just stating that these are obstacles you must address. It will not be easy.”

  My heart jumped. “So you don’t disapprove-not completely?”

  He shrugged again. “Obstacles must be overcome. With that … we’ll see.”

  I leaned over the bed and wrapped my arms around him. “Oh, thank you, Papa. Thank you.”

  “Yes, yes, enough of that. To bed now To bed.”

  Dallying. That’s what Wolfie did best. He dallied in every city he was in-anything to keep from coming home. The autumn after Mama’s death we expected Wolfie home many times, but he always found a reason to stay away-some lead or some great opportunity. Some near-miss that never materialized.

  The truth was, Wolfie didn’t want to come home and work for Archbishop Colloredo. I knew that. Everyone who knew Wolfie knew that.

  Except Papa-who knew it but refused to acknowledge it. To Papa, getting Wolfie back in Salzburg, safely ensconced in a salaried position, would save our family’s finances. I couldn’t see that he was wrong in this, but I knew keeping Wolfie in such a position would be like trying to cage a hummingbird. I’d nearly come to believe that the reason God had not allowed my brother to obtain a position anywhere was because the Almighty knew it would kill him.

  Money. A necessary evil. If only Wolfie didn’t have to think about money but could concentrate on creating and performing for the sheer joy of it.

  If only we all could do what we wanted to do.

  In mid January 1779, after months of taking his time heading home, Wolfie finally showed up in Sa
lzburg. It was evening and he fell into bed without giving us a chance to talk. The next morning Papa slipped away to work with instructions to let Wolfie sleep. But when it turned twelve noon …

  We were morning people. I’d already been to mass at seven, taken care of the household chores, done some ironing, gone to the home of one of my pupils for a lesson, and had walked Bimperl-twice. Papa would be home for lunch soon, and even though he’d pretended to be lenient about Wolfie’s first day home, I knew if Wolfie wasn’t up and about, Papa’s nerves would pay. As would the peace of our home.

  After Mama’s death, peace became my goal. Keep the peace, create peace, nurture peace. Perhaps it was the cowardly path, but as grief continued to hover close, peace became more than a desire. It was a lifeline to survival.

  Toward that end I carried a tray of rolls and coffee to my brother’s room. I’d awaken him, take the edge off his morning hunger, and cajole him into getting dressed and presentable before Papa showed up for lunch.

  I tapped on the door but did not wait for an answer before entering. I found Wolfie sprawled on the bed diagonally. He was on his back with his head hanging precariously close to the edge. The covers were in disarray and were wrapped around his limbs as if binding him down. Only the deep timbre of his snores indicated he was a twenty-two-yearold man, not a boy.

  I set the tray on a table and yanked open the drapes, letting in the midday sun. “Up!” I said. “The day is wasting.”

  He put his forearm over his eyes and moaned. “Leave me alone.”

  “I can’t do that, brother dear. It’s nearly noon and-”

  He sat erect, the covers falling away. “Papa will be home.”

  He scrambled out of bed, his nightshirt tangled around his torso. I handed him the coffee. “Last night Papa let you go to bed because you were weary from traveling, but today he’ll want some answers about-”

  “About Mama. I know”

  I was going to say “About the position he’s trying to arrange for you with the archbishop.” Yet Wolfie was right. Papa would want to know about Mama too.

  As would I.

  He handed me the coffee and started getting dressed. I sat at the foot of the bed.

  “It wasn’t my fault, Nan. I did what I could.”

  But could you have done it sooner? I let that point go, as I knew Papa would cover it. What concerned me even more than the medical aspects of the situation were the social ones. “Why did you leave her alone so much, Wolfie? When she did write to us, she sounded terribly sad.”

  He tucked his shirt into his breeches. “She didn’t fit in. You know that. Our mother had the personality of a chair. And when her time came … she simply burned out like a candle.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say.”

  He shrugged and dug some stockings out of a travel trunk. “You want to know the truth of things?”

  “Of course I do.”

  He sat on the bed beside me and pulled on a stocking. “I didn’t like her. I loved her, but I didn’t like her. And she knew it.” Suddenly his composure crumbled and he put a hand to his eyes. “She knew it”

  “I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.”

  “It was. She cried a lot….”

  The thought of Mama crying alone in her room pained me more than mental images of her being sick.

  “I wanted to like her. I wanted to include her. And I would have, if she’d shown the least spark, the least hint that she approved of the company I was keeping, that she understood what needed to be done so I could obtain a position that would be satisfactory to … to…”

  “Papa”

  Wolfie moved to a mirror and ran his fingers through his hair. As usual, it did not behave. I retrieved a black ribbon from the floor and helped him tie it back. Only then did he turn to me and answer. “I’m beginning to believe there is no pleasing Papa”

  “That’s not true.”

  “It is true.” He sighed deeply. “But I’m home now. That should count for something. Though how sad it is, and what a loss, to waste my youthful years vegetating in such a beggarly place as this.”

  “Wolfie!”

  He shrugged. “Be happy I’m here, Nan, but don’t expect me to feel the same.”

  I heard the front door open and Papa’s voice. “Children?”

  Wolfie looked at me and rolled his eyes. “We will always be children to him, Nan.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  Wolfie offered me his arm, and we went to greet Papa together.

  Wolfie burst through the front door, ripped off his waistcoat, and threw it on a chair. “That man! He’s a liar! A man of God, full of lies!”

  I ran to quiet him, but with his pacing, I couldn’t get in front of him. “Who are you talking about?” I asked. Though I knew, I knew.

  Wolfie’s arms waved wildly as he moved. “His Gracelessness. The archenemy of everything good in life. The man who makes me consider breaking each and every one of the Ten Commandments!”

  Therese appeared in the doorway, her face clouded with concern. I waved her away. She’d already heard more than her share of imprudent ranting. Although she’d proven herself loyal, with Wolfie home these eight months, I was sure the temptation to tell others even a small bit about the vociferous complaints my brother had regarding the archbishop and his new position had been increased a hundredfold. Salzburg was a city that thrived on gossip, and Wolfie walked on one side of a very precarious line that once crossed could destroy our family’s reputation beyond repair. For him to feel these things in private was one thing, but to shout them from the rooftops-or in a street-side room with the windows open to the spring breezes-was dangerous.

  I moved his waistcoat and patted the back of a chair. “Please, Wolfie. Sit. Then tell me what happened.”

  He dove into the chair, twisting his body until he finally sat in some semblance of normal. “My position as organist and Konzertmeister is not what I was promised. They’re making me do the most mundane tasks-tasks Papa assured me others would do. I don’t want to spend time with the other musicians-though they certainly want to spend time with me. And the people I do want to associate with-the nobility-will have nothing to do with me.”

  It distressed me that Wolfie only wanted to associate with the elite. Had Paris done that to him?

  He continued. “No one appreciates my music. Colloredo treats me as he would a tramp pulled in off the street who tinkers with music between picking at his lice and getting drunk. The other musicians are mediocre at best. The woodwinds are atrocious and squeak and squawk like caged birds.” He took a fresh breath. “My best years are being wasted here. I feel as if I’ve returned to serfdom in Salzburg.”

  “I’m sorry things aren’t going well,” I said, folding his waistcoat over my arm. “But you’re being paid better than any other musician of your level has ever been paid in Salz-”

  “And that’s supposed to make me feel good about things? Just because Papa allowed himself to be treated like chattel his entire life doesn’t mean I should do the same.”

  “Wolfie!”

  He rose from the chair. “Oh, don’t defend him. You know I’m right. Colloredo’s court may be all there is for Papa, but the world is out there waiting for me.” He pointed toward the windows. “The world, Nan. You and I both had it in our hands, but then it slipped away. Now you’re here and I’m here and …” He took hold of illy upper arms and looked at me eye to eye, for we were of the same height. “You seem to like it here, Nan. But I don’t. I hate it.”

  Did I like it here? It wasn’t something I’d thought about much. Salzburg was home. Salzburg, I knew. And yet … “I would like to travel and perform, Wolfie. But I wasn’t given that option”

  He actually looked shocked. “Other than our impromptu plan to travel, the plan Papa laughed at because he said we weren’t old enough, weren’t able enough … you’ve never said anything. You’ve never asked …”

  I threw the coat at his face. “How could I ask? Wha
t could I say to anyone? Should I moan about being a woman? Groan about having to stay home and take care of the household tasks? Should I resent every letter you send that tells of concerts and dinners and chances to create music-music that I love every bit as much as you do? Should I be angry because up until the last few years when he was stuck here with me, Papa focused all his attention on you, on your talent, on your education, on your potential? Should I let envy eat me up because you’re seeing the world that I only remember in childish snatches of memory? Should I hate you because you’ve been given a thousand chances that haven’t materialized, complaining all the way?”

  During my tirade he’d retreated to the chair and I ended up standing over him, my finger pointing in his face. I touched the tip of his nose. “I should hate you, brother. But I don’t. God help me, I don’t.”

  I took a step back, my chest heaving. I’d never blown up like that. Ever. Yet in spite of the embarrassment that tinged the edges of my feelings, my strongest emotion was pleasure in this unexpected surge of power.

  Wolfie was only temporarily cowed. He recovered quickly and applauded. “Bravo, sister! Who knew you had that in you?”

  Now he was teasing. I swatted at his hands. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m serious.”

  “I know And though your presentation is surprising, the content of what you said is valid and correct.”

  I had trouble remembering all that I had said. “It is?”

  He took my hands and pulled them to his chest. “I am a vain, arrogant, stubborn human being. And I’m blind too. For me to not see your suffering …”

  “I haven’t been suffering. I’ve accepted my lot. I know how little can be done to change it. I am just one woman. I can’t change the world.”

  “Oh, but use can!” Suddenly he swung me in a circle, dancing the length of the music room. My skirt trailed behind me, knocking over a music stand, moving a chair …

  “Stop!” I said. “We’re going to break something!”

  He pulled me close and we spun to a halt, out of breath. “We could change the world, Nan. You and I could leave this horrid city together and venture off on our own Grand Tour without Papa’s interference.”