Mozart's Sister

by Nancy Moser

  “What?”

  “I’ve heard firsthand accounts of an awful row. The archbishop screamed at Wolfgang-and Wolfgang screamed back”

  My heart pulled and I pushed a hand against it. “I cannot imagine such a thing. Are you sure?”

  Papa’s smile was eerie. “Apparently when His Grace’s father recovered and he decided to come home to Salzburg, he gave his employees permission to follow One at a time they left Vienna.”

  “But Wolfie hasn’t said anything about being given leave to return.”

  “Everyone has been given their instructions to come homeexcept Wolfgang.”

  I had trouble swallowing. “But perhaps … Wolfie had always planned on asking for an extended leave so he could stay in Vienna and-”

  “He never got a chance to ask for it, because the archbishop found a way to make sure he had to come back here. He told Wolfgang he had a very important package he needed him to bring back to Salzburg.”

  “Wolfie wouldn’t like being treated as a messenger.”

  “Your brother doesn’t like a lot of things. And apparently he made a string of excuses why he couldn’t leave Vienna, the strongest being that he needed to stay in order to collect fees for lessons and concerts he’d given, suggesting that surely His Grace would not insist upon doing him financial injury….”

  “Was this the truth or-?”

  Papa rose, as did his voice. “Of course not. It always comes down to Wolfgang only wanting to do what Wolfgang wants to do.”

  I could not argue, for more and more I’d noticed that his rebellious streak had widened.

  “As it played out, Wolfie took the advice of the archbishop’s valet, who suggested he show himself cooperative by meeting faceto-face with the archbishop, to explain how he couldn’t take the package because there were no available seats on the coaches.” Papa shook his head. “It was a trap. He was lured into a trap by a valet loyal to His Grace. In fact, I don’t believe there ever was a package.”

  “What happened?”

  Papa stood at the window. The moonlight cast the front of him in light, leaving his back in darkness. “The archbishop greeted him by saying, `Well, boy, when are you going?’ To which Wolfgang offered the valet’s excuse of there being no seats. Others took the opportunity to come forward and accuse him of lying-which he was. Which gave fuel to the archbishop’s listing all of Wolfgang’s indiscretions, such as not waiting outside his antechamber for instructions every day like the other musicians did. He called him the most negligent knave he knew, and complained about how badly Wolfgang had served his court.” Papa took a breath and looked in my direction. “The archbishop was ranting, red in the face, in a terrible rage.”

  “What did Wolfie do?”

  Papa shook his head and snickered. “He yelled back. `So Your Grace is not satisfied with me?’ To which the archbishop replied …” Papa looked to the ceiling. “Let me make sure I get this correct … `What? You dare threaten me? You miserable fool! Oh, you miserable fool! Look, there is the door. I will have nothing more to do with such a rogue.”’

  “Oh no.”

  “To which your brother answered, `Nor I any longer with you.’ He was shown the door.” Papa looked back to the street. “Everything we’ve worked for is over. Ruined. Finis.”

  I went to his side, put my hands on his shoulders, and leaned my cheek against his back. “Oh, Papa …” I wanted to say everything would be all right, but I wasn’t sure it was the truth.

  Had Wolfie gone too far?

  It was over an hour before Papa and I returned to bed-but not to sleep.

  Archbishop Colloredo had fired my brother. My brother had yelled at the archbishop and further strained the already faltering relationship between His Grace and the Mozart family. The hate he’d previously shown had surely been fed to the point of satiation.

  Yet in our favor was the fact that Papa had been a good employee of late. He’d done whatever the archbishop had asked of him. So perhaps the court would accept Wolfie’s indiscretions as those of an immature individual and not those of the Mozart family as a whole.

  My own words spoken earlier interrupted my wishful thinking: “What affects one of us affects all.”

  Then, with a bolt as swift as lightning, my thoughts sped to dear Franz, who’d asked the archbishop for permission to marry.

  No, no, no, no,no…

  No matter how many times I repeated my mantra, willing the answer to be otherwise, I knew the archbishop would refuse our request.

  There would be no marriage. All our waiting had been for nothing.

  I slapped my hands against my mouth, my head still shaking in a feeble attempt to stop the inevitable. Tears came, tears of frustration, sadness, and … and …

  Even hate.

  How could Wolfie do this to me?

  I tore off the covers and started to dress. I would go see Franz and share the horrible news. Surely he’d say I was overreacting, calm me, and take me in his arms, where all things were possible.

  But as I saw the deepness of the night through the lace curtains, I knew I could not go out. Although Franz lived just across the square in the school in which he taught, I could not risk disturbing others simply because my worries loomed large and frightening.

  I forced myself to sit on the bed, to pause amid my panic.

  My heart thundered against my chest and my breathing was audible. The worry pressed around me, threatening to smother me and crush my bones to dust.

  I shook my head, fighting against its presence. I’d always lived a life of hope; I could not let this worry break me. The fact the whole situation was out of my control was nothing new I’d lived with such limitations every day of my life. I’d survived. And I’d held on to hope.

  As I had to do now

  I forced a deep breath into my chest and pressed a hand against the beat of my heart. Calm. Calm. Things might work out. Perhaps by some miracle of God, the archbishop would look upon Franz and me with mercy and grant our request, allowing two of his subjects to marry out of love.

  Perhaps it would snow in June.

  I opened the door and felt a wave of dread enter with the summer heat.

  Franz stood before me, his eyes holding mine for but a moment before seeking the floor.

  “The archbishop said no, didn’t he?” I said.

  He came inside and shut the door behind him. He took my hands. He nodded.

  I shook his touch away. “Did he give his reason?”

  Franz gave me a look. “His Grace did not say why-he did not have to, either by protocol or common sense. We all know why.”

  W lfie.

  “Did you remind him that my father and I are very loyal? That my father has served the court for over thirty years?”

  “One does not argue with His Grace”

  Wol/ie did.

  And look where it got him.

  Franz pulled me into his arms until my cheek rested against the rough wool of his waistcoat. “I am not brave enough for you, Nan. I should resign my teaching position, resign my position on the archbishop’s war council, and run away with you to a far-off land where no one knows us, where we can begin again.”

  I closed my eyes, letting his words ring with possibilities. But then I thought of Wolfie-truly a man of extraordinary talentwho’d been unable to find positions in countless cities, even with the unrelenting force of our father working to make it happen.

  Although I loved Franz deeply, he was a quiet man. Unassuming. Unremarkable to all who did not love him. It was not prudent to discard any position and venture out without capital-especially at his age of fifty. And without the archbishop’s blessing, there would be no monetary wedding gift, which was key to helping any couple start their new life together.

  Papa always said, “Marriage is irresponsible without an adequate financial basis.”

  Unfortunately, in spite of our desire to be otherwise, neither Franz nor myself were irresponsible sorts. Our lives hinged on duty, loyalty, and doing
what was expected of us. Holding on to the status in quo.

  Only Wolfie had managed to break free of this burden to act as was expected, and to fear disturbing the peace over any desire to obtain something newno matter how enticing. Although Wolfie frustrated me, sometimes I admired his courage to just be.

  I held Franz tighter and he put a hand on the back of my head, holding me close. We stood like that for a long time. There were no further words required.

  Or available.

  My dear friend, Katherl, stopped by one day soon after Franz and I abandoned our hope to marry. I was glad for her presence. I hadn’t been able to openly display my grief and anger with Papa, and a stew of emotions welled within me to the point of overflow With Katherl, I would find blessed release.

  I was mistaken.

  After I’d aired my feelings, Katherl took a sip of coffee and set her cup against the saucer. She put a hand on her burgeoning midsection, very much with childher third child in four years. “You must move on, Nan. It does no good to think about could-have- beens.”

  I was momentarily stunned into silence. “But you managed to marry the man you loved. Surely, you understand how I also want-”

  She shrugged. “Even if a woman gets what she thinks she wants, it doesn’t mean she wants what she gets.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise. “You’re not happy with Heinz?”

  Another shrug. “Is anyone happy with anyone?” She pressed a finger against her plate, getting the last of the cake crumbs. “Sometimes I envy you, Nan.”

  “Envy? Me?”

  “You get to stay in a familiar home that offers comfort, your thoughts are your own, and your life is not disrupted by the constant needs of children-and a husband.”

  “I thought you loved Heinz.”

  “And I love my children. But that doesn’t mean I’m happy.” She sighed deeply “I look back at the days before my marriage when I had time to go shooting and to the theater. When I could spend an entire afternoon walking the Gardens, having a picnic, being jolly with friends. Now …”

  I was shocked. I had no idea how to respond.

  Katherl tried to get comfortable on the chair that was now too small. “You still have that life, Nan. Instead of being sad or angry about what you think you lost by not being able to be with Franz, I suggest you count your blessings.”

  I looked back at my bedchamber one final time. I grieved not being able to fit more of my clothes into my satchel, but for that I would need a trunk. And a trunk of clothing was an impossible encumbrance when one was running away. Perhaps after Franz and I were settled somewhere I would send Papa a letter asking himbegging him to have my things sent to me.

  Whether he would comply… ?

  It was not the time to think of petty items like dresses or favorite music. I would have to live with the clothes on my back and the music in my head. Yet as long as I was side by side with the man I loved, nothing else would matter.

  When I’d gotten up that morning, if someone had told me by midafternoon I would be leaving forever, I would have laughed aloud. If such a thing had been suggested while I was serving Katherl her third cup of coffee, I would have said, “Don’t be absurd.” Such a decision was unfathomable even in the half hour after our visit ended.

  But in the half hour after that … as Katherl’s ridiculous statement that she envied me sank in …

  How dare she negate what she had accomplished by marrying the man she loved? How dare she toss aside that privilege and honor as if it were an annoyance to her day? How dare she choose the frivolities of an unencumbered afternoon over the love and devotion of a husband and children? How dare she misuse her blessings?

  As my anger grew, so did my resolve. I would not allow others to determine my future. I would grab hold of it with my own two hands and yank it to submission. I would take the happiness that could be mine and make it happen.

  I picked up the satchel and adjusted the note on the dresser so Papa would be sure to see it. I’nr sorry, Papa, but I could not discard my love because of the vindictive decision of the archbishop. I am not my brother. I have done nothing wrong and do not deserve to be punished. I will write to you as soon as Franz and I are married and settled. Be happy for nre, Papa. Be happy For my happiness. A thousand kisses, your Nannerl.

  I knew the note would not be enough. I knew Papa would be furious. I knew he might come after us. But I did not care. I could not care. My future had to override my past, enrich my present, and…

  And cause Papa sorrow?

  I shook the thought away and hurried toward the kitchen, where I slipped out the back door. If I allowed myself to entertain such thoughts of guilt and loyalty, my habit of being the good girl would envelop me and kill the independence that had been sparked that afternoon.

  As I walked across the square, I kept the satchel low against my skirts, hoping it would not be seen by neighbors and friends who would wonder about the trip it represented. If only it were night and the darkness could cover my escape.

  But I dared not wait until dark. I had to go immediately, while the fire within me burned brightest.

  I entered the Virgilianum, the school Franz directed, and deposited my satchel in a corner behind a coatrack. In the classrooms around me I heard boys reading aloud and teachers giving lessons. Doubt suddenly assailed me. How could I interrupt Franz with this most serious of all decisions while he was in the middle of his work?

  How could I not?

  I turned down the hall toward the classrooms and was immediately fueled by the sound of his voice. I paused outside a door and basked in the knowledge that he was near. I waited for a pause in his teaching. Taking him away was bad enough. I didn’t have to be rude and interrupt.

  Then suddenly I heard a bit of commotion from the room, and before I knew what was happening, I heard Franz say, “Master Dieter, cone outside with me a moment, please?”

  I slid behind the opened door just as Franz came into the hall with a boy. I held my skirts close against my body and peeked around the edge of the door. There a boy of seven or eight stood with his arms crossed defiantly. Franz had one hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Now, Dieter. Why did you shove Markus out of his seat?”

  “He made fun of me for doing poorly on the test.”

  “You can do better.”

  The little boy shrugged. Franz took the boy’s chin in his hand and lifted it, looking directly in his eyes. “You are a smart boy, Dieter Schultz. You can get the best mark of any boy in that room.”

  “I can’t-”

  “You can.” Franz tousled the boy’s hair. “And you will. You stay after class today and I will help make you the best in the class.” He leaned close. “Markus will be very jealous.”

  The boy smiled and nodded.

  “Good. Now, let’s go back inside, and no more shoving. Impress them with your knowledge, Dieter. Knowledge is something not even time can take away from you.”

  They returned to the classroom, leaving me behind the door. As I heard Franz claim control of his charges once more, as I heard him continue the lesson, I knew that I could not take him away from this world of knowledge he loved. I could not force him into an uncertain life in a new place where he would lose all that he had gained through decades of hard work. Would he find another job as the director of a school? Or even as a teacher? Perhaps. But perhaps in our effort to survive and start again, he’d have to take a job as a smithy’s assistant or earn a living as a farmhand or by chopping wood.

  Such mental pictures were alarming. I could not imagine this gentle man doing manual labor. He was not a man of muscle but of mind.

  Yet … I could help earn a living. I would give lessons and offer my music-copying abilities to various churches andI sucked in a breath. Give lessons? On what? I would not have a clavier, nor even be guaranteed access to one. As we would be starting with nothing, a clavier would be an unaffordable luxury.

  “This will not work,” I whispered to the empty hall. “It can never work.�
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  A moment passed. Then another. No new, enlightened thought overrode my conclusion.

  So with this final truth reverberating in my soul, I retreated down the hall, picked up my satchel, crossed the square, and reentered the home of my father. I did not pause. I did not look left or right. I went straight to my room and set the satchel on the bed.

  Then I picked up the note I’d written to Papa and took it to the fireplace. The coals were smoldering and nearly cold. Did they still possess enough spark to do this final job?

  I held the corner of the note against them, hoping, praying …

  Blessedly, a flame burst to life.

  My declaration of independence was quickly consumed.

  Ashes to ashes …

  What affects one of us affects all.

  In the months after I resigned myself to life without Franz as my husband, in the months after Wolfie severed his ties with the archbishop and remained in Vienna, life continued. Yet it was forever changed.

  First off, Papa changed. He grew fat and talked too much about who’d died and what aches and pains visited his body. He stopped speaking of the future. Gone were detailed plans and grand schemes. Nor did he reminisce about the golden years of our family, when we traveled through Europe playing before royalty. The future and the past became dead to him as he immersed himself in the here and now.

  His decision to avoid two-thirds of his life-whether made unintentionally or with dogged determination-caused a part of him to die. Instead of living, he existed. Instead of breathing deeply, he settled for short snippets of air. Instead of immersing himself in all things musical, he was content to sit in his chair and doze. Doze? Leopold Mozart doze?

  He acted like an old man. And though he was sixty-two, up until this time he had seemed much younger. His surrender to life’s inequities aged him.

  As they aged me. For in my own way, I too was old. I was nearly thirty, unmarried, and living in the house of my father. And though I did not succumb to letting my health deteriorate as Papa did, I found it increasingly difficult to look at myself in the mirror. I had never been a beauty, but now there were lines at my eyes and forehead, and the glow of youth was only falsely achieved by pinching my cheeks.