“There’s not even any butter.”
“Invent something, you imbecile. Use your brain. Get going!”
Wandering among the dusty furniture of the room, Baptist searched for traces of Nannerl. Above an old harpsichord hung a painting that depicted the whole family: her father held a violin and was leaning on the case of a piano, while her mother, of whom Baptist had a vivid memory, was shown in a painting within the painting; she must by then have gone to a better life. Brother and sister were seated at the keyboard. Nannerl’s hair was done in an imposing and artificial style, bound at the top with a reddish ribbon from which a large tassel dangled. Her lovely face seemed to disappear completely, and her expression had something timid and sad about it. The celebrated Wolfgang did not seem much happier, but a greater resolve showed in his features; and if Nannerl touched the keys with some hesitation, his fingers reached out to dominate them.
“Good evening, Baron,” Leopold began, and, eying the card, added, “von Berchtold zu Sonnenburg.” He came toward the baron leaning on his cane. Under the scarlet jacket he had buttoned the waistcoat wrong, and from under his wig sprang a tuft of white hair. “Your family is known to me, naturally, and yet I don’t recall ever having met you in person.”
“No, in fact, Herr Mozart,” Baptist answered with extreme politeness, shaking Leopold’s hand. “On the other hand, I had the opportunity of meeting, some years ago, the late Frau Anna Maria and also your daughter, Nannerl.”
“Neither of the two is present in this house, for very different reasons. Of the death of my wife you have had news, I see, while at the moment Nannerl is outside the city.”
“In Sankt Gilgen. I know.”
“You know?”
“Yes, Herr Mozart.”
“And how is that, if I may ask?”
“Because I have lived in that village for some time; and in fact I have had occasion to see Nannerl more than once in the course of the summer.”
“Oh, really? Then perhaps you can tell me something about her.” In a tone of resentment he added, “Recently her letters have been rather scarce.”
“That is exactly why I am here, Herr Mozart. Nannerl has charged me to inform you that she does not intend to return to Salzburg.”
“May I?” the servant chirped from the doorway, bearing triumphantly a tray with two cups of coffee and slices of black bread on which she had smeared some dubious substance. “Here’s everything: spoons, sugar. Would you like me to bring some milk, sir? There is half a jug left.”
“Get out!” Leopold shouted, and she disappeared in a flash. “Baron, I fear I have not correctly understood your declaration,” he whispered with increasing nervousness. “Since when does my own daughter engage a perfect stranger to bring me a message from her? And then, what a message! I sent her to the village so that she could recover from a serious affliction, whose causes I am not about to explain to you, but at this point I am forced to consider that the mountain air has made the affliction worse. Nannerl must be out of her mind by now!”
“It may be,” Baptist said calmly, “since she has consented to marry me.”
The stick fell out of Leopold’s hands and rolled to the baron’s feet. He picked it up. “Sit down, Herr Mozart. You seem to need to.”
He accompanied Nannerl’s father to the sofa, while the old man stammered, “But how…what…marry? And I…I didn’t know anything about it?”
“I understand that it might seem to you a rather sudden decision, but I assure you that it has in fact been very much thought about and properly motivated. Need I add anything more?”
Leopold cast a sidelong look at this fine-looking man with the eyes of a serpent. He spoke with an intolerable self-assurance, and even with a sense of pity! With tight lips he said, “It seems the idea that I might deny my consent hasn’t even occurred to you. And if I did so?”
Baptist didn’t lose his composure in the least. “Are you not pleased that your daughter will become a baroness, Herr Mozart? I confess that it surprises me: I would have bet on the contrary.”
“No—that is, yes…Really, the fact is that—you understand, I should have been informed of the matter with some advance notice! It isn’t right for a father to be cut out of a deliberation of such importance. Also, to tell you the truth, there are some things that you probably don’t know, and of which I alone can inform you.”
“Oh, indeed? Do so immediately, please.”
“Yes, but don’t stand there, Baron. Have a cup of coffee and some tarts,” Leopold said unctuously, considering that the shoes worn by this man must have cost as much as the floor they rested on.
“Thank you, but I must refuse: I don’t drink coffee, and in any case I dined just an hour ago. Tell me, then.”
Herr Mozart took a long, deep breath, and with the grim expression of one who announces a catastrophe, he stated, “Nannerl has no dowry. All my earnings, the family savings, the very proceeds of her lessons have been used up in supporting the studies of my son. Apart from some extra linens for the house, and a few pieces of furniture—which in any case it would be in bad taste to reuse—I have nothing, nothing to give her, do you understand?”
“And so?”
“I mean only that…that marrying her includes accepting a responsibility, not only for your wife but in some way for the entire family. I, a poor old man, am in danger of being left here, completely alone—in short, I thought it was my duty to let you know about the situation in its entirety.”
“I am grateful for your conscientiousness, but don’t worry: I will provide thoroughly for Nannerl and the children I hope we will have, since my means allow me to guarantee a comfortable life for those who are dear to me”—his gaze was fixed on the worn upholstery of the sofa—“and only those who are dear to me,” he concluded with a polite smile.
“Oh, well, I understand.”
“I am delighted. The marriage will be celebrated in Sankt Gilgen, in exactly fifteen days, in the church of Saint Giles. The guests will be only those who are indispensable—and yet they are not few, between Tresel’s family and the sons of my previous marriage.”
“What? The servant will be there?”
“Yes, of course. I will arrange to put at your disposal a carriage, Herr Mozart, so that you may be present and then brought back here, to your house, after the ceremony.”
“All right, Baron,” he grumbled.
“You may call me Baptist, if you like. As far as your other child is concerned, however, I’m very sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t make the same arrangements, for obvious reasons of distance.”
The old man shook his head. “In any case, I don’t think Wolfgang would move from Vienna.” Then, growing animated, he continued: “His latest opera was a triumph, did you know? And you will understand that to abandon the field at the peak of success, even for a few days, might be an irrevocable mistake.”
“The concept is perfectly clear to me. Still, I imagine that Nannerl would like to tell him the news. Would you be kind enough to provide his address?”
“Please, forget it. I will write to him.” He lowered his voice and, with the air of one who is revealing a painful secret, added, “The relationship between my children is almost nonexistent now. At one time they loved each other dearly, and today they hate each other.”
“I wonder why,” Baptist said in a firm voice.
“Who knows?”
“Precisely: Who knows?” he repeated, then calmly retrieved his hat. “At this point I would say that we can end our meeting. I will let you know the details of your transportation to Sankt Gilgen.”
“Thank you.”
“Not at all. My respects, Herr Mozart.”
“Wait, Baron—that is, Baptist!” He stood up and hobbled to the door. With an attempt at a smile he said, “Would you accept that old harpsichord, at least? It has a certain value, and my daughter was very fond of it.”
“Frankly, Herr Mozart, I don’t think it would interest Nannerl anymore. Let’s le
ave it here. It goes very well under the painting.”
The Break
I.
Snow in the mountains, on the trees, snow icing the lake, snow even on the entrance drive.
The carriage stopped at the gate and a woman with a haggard face and wearing no makeup descended. She straightened the folds of her fur, which gleamed in the sun. Then from her purse she took a muff, also of fur, and put her hands inside. Breathing in the cold air she approached the iron bars and looked up at the roof of the villa, where a chimney was spewing smoke with a cheerfulness that was utterly out of place.
She went through the gate cautiously, leaving dainty footprints on the white ground, and passed a man who was intently hammering on a wheel. She gave him a vague nod of greeting.
“Would you like me to announce you, ma’am?” he said.
“I would prefer not,” she replied, and instead of going to the door, she slowly approached a window. With the muff, she cleared a square of frost, breathed on it, again wiped it with the fur, and tried to make out what was happening inside.
“Excuse me, but what do you want?” said the man at the wheel, coming up to her. “Tell me your name immediately!”
With sad, dark eyes she looked at his face and modest clothes. “All right, I’ll knock,” she said. She went to the door and rapped twice. A cheerful din escaped and some scattered cries, and yet no precise sound.
“They can’t hear you,” the man said. “You have to knock louder.”
So she raised the knocker and let it fall with a deafening thud and, when nothing happened, did it again and yet again, in a repetition that became more and more exasperated. The man observed her uneasily. Finally the door opened and a young man appeared with a child on his shoulders; the two of them emanated a palpable, irritating joyfulness.
“Oh, how nice! We have guests,” the young man began. “What may I do for you, ma’am?”
“I would like to speak to the baroness. Is she home?”
“Who are you?”
“Victoria d’Ippold, now Paumgartner. Your mother and I know each other well.”
“Really? Well, Nannerl isn’t my mother—she’s the woman I chose for my father,” he explained happily, and managed to kiss her hand without letting the child fall. “Enchanté. I am Vincent von Berchtold zu Sonnenburg. And this is Jeanette, my little sister. Jeanette, say hello to the lady. Come in, if you don’t mind, we’ll show you the way. It’s a great pity you’re married, Madame. I certainly would be inspired to court you.”
In a large room with a pillar in the center a lively disorder reigned. Tables, sofas, and floor were littered with toys of every sort: a tricycle with a horse’s head; a dollhouse with furniture; various wax and porcelain dolls dressed up in brocade, muslin, and lace; a mechanical creature in the guise of a painter; and a giant marble chessboard, complete with pieces at least a foot tall. And yet there was not a single instrument, not a drum, not a bell, not even a fife.
“Who’s here?” a deep voice called down from the floor above.
“Are you presentable?” Vincent said. “Anyway, it’s a woman, don’t worry.”
With her heart in her throat, Victoria, standing at an angle at the foot of the stairs, listened to those impetuous footsteps without looking up; then they ceased, and an astonished silence forced her to turn. Nannerl gripped the banister with two bare arms, and her chest, fuller than Victoria remembered, was animated by anxious breathing. She was forty but seemed younger than Victoria, and her cheeks glowed like those of a girl interrupted in a game. Her hair had been hurriedly gathered up by two combs at the top of her head, and curls, still blond, fell to the soft curves of her neck and shoulders, rising and falling with her breath.
She said nothing. She descended the last steps, staring at Victoria with those blue eyes that no longer seemed severe, and as her lips parted in a smile, she embraced her warmly. Victoria was unable to yield to the embrace, and she wished not to be there, not now, not for this reason. Nannerl released her and caressed her face and kissed her and sought in her features the memory of too many years of separation, murmuring, “Victoria…dear Victoria…”
Victoria had to push her away brusquely. She cleared her throat and said, “Please, send the child away.”
A hint of fear then appeared on Nannerl’s face. She looked at Vincent, who went upstairs without a word, holding his sister by the hand.
“Let’s sit down, Nannerl,” Victoria said.
Nannerl took the doll clothes off the sofa and piled them on the floor. She sat on a pillow, restless, her hands on her knees—practical, rough hands, no longer the lords of her body. “Tell me, please.”
“It’s about Wolfgang.”
II.
The door opened and Nannerl, frantic, ran out. A strange lament came from her mouth, her throat, her chest, and her brain, a visceral sound of animal grief. The man with the wheel heard her, saw her, started, and stood with his hammer poised in midair. She ran along the drive, reached the gate, seized it, gripped it as if to break it, then opened it and went into the woods; she stumbled and sank in the snow, staring at the sky and wishing it would crash down on her head.
“Go after her!” Vincent cried, darting outside, followed by Victoria. “I’m going to call my father.” He got on his horse and went off at a desperate gallop, while Victoria struggled along the drive, picking up her skirts and her fur, and looked around for Nannerl. She saw her crouched at the foot of a tree and, reaching her, was about to grab her, but she jumped up and continued on with agitated steps. Victoria, trying to keep up, was gasping, “Nannerl, please, stop.”
“Tell me more. When did it happen?”
“December fifth. They buried him the following day.”
“How did you find out?”
“My father was on a mission to Vienna. He saw the bier coming out of the Palace.”
“How did it happen?”
“He’d been ill for a long time, but no one knows what it was. The doctors didn’t know.”
Suddenly Nannerl stopped and grabbed her by the shoulders. Shaking her, she cried, “I knew nothing, nothing, do you see? Does it seem to you possible?”
Her voice echoed among the mountain peaks and gradually faded. For a moment Victoria thought Nannerl would lose consciousness, but instead she ran off among the trees repeating, “Go away. Leave me alone.”
III.
“I’m sorry, Baron, but should someone go and look for Nannerl in the woods?”
“No, certainly not, Frau Paumgartner. If my wife doesn’t want company, no one should impose it on her.”
“But the cold is terrible.”
Playing a game of chess with himself, Baptist didn’t answer. For a good half hour he had been playing with those big pieces; he moved one after careful consideration, then, in no hurry, he rose, went to the other side, thought about it, and moved another, then returned. Victoria no longer knew what to think.
“I wonder how you can be so calm.”
“I could not be,” he said, and at that exact moment the door banged and Nannerl burst in, crying, “Baptist, I’ve decided: tomorrow I’m going to Vienna.”
Seeing her, Victoria felt her heart contract with pity. She was trembling, and her teeth chattered, and it seemed that her body was drawn toward an abyss that she was desperately trying to avoid. Her wild stare had nothing human in it; she was no longer herself, neither the loving woman Victoria had just had time to see, nor the inflexible girl whom years before she had loved. From her wet, snow-stained skirt, spots dripped onto the floor, and she crossed her arms over her chest, gripping herself with pale fingers. She had a swelling on her cheek, as if she had run into a tree or as if, unable to bear the pain of her soul, she had hit it.
“I’m going to Vienna,” she repeated. “I have to understand, Baptist. You will tell me it’s useless to ask painful questions and search for answers, but I must try. You will tell me I should resign myself to fate, but I cannot! You will tell me that those who are res
ponsible don’t exist, but I must understand if somewhere, in fact, they do.”
As she spoke, from the upper floors came Vincent, and then three more young men, and beside one of them a young woman with an infant in her arms, and then the girl Jeanette, and a boy a little older. Vincent carried a blanket, which he unfolded and placed around Nannerl’s shoulders, and then he gently drew her to the hearth.
“I have to go alone, Baptist,” she continued. “You will tell me that someone should come with me, but this concerns me more than all of you, and I must face it in solitude. You will tell me that now I should go to bed and weep until I cannot anymore, and then begin to live again, but you know perfectly well that I am not capable of that! You will tell me that it’s hard for me to leave here, that I do not go willingly even to Salzburg—imagine Vienna. But now I feel, I feel it, that I must force myself. I must come to an understanding of what has happened. And it’s not a punishment. I need it, Baptist!”
He had remained sitting at the chessboard, and Victoria seemed to see a tear shine in those special eyes of his. Then he rose and in a clear voice said, “I will go and give the orders to the coachman.” As he passed Nannerl, he caressed her swollen cheek, and went out.
IV.
By late evening Nannerl had calmed a little. Wrapped in a blanket and sipping hot broth from a cup, she let Victoria rub her legs with aromatic oil.
“When I heard that Wolfgang was getting married, I was completely indifferent,” she said, “as he was, I imagine, at the announcement of my marriage. For some time our father functioned as a go-between, through those long-winded letters of his, telling Wolfgang about my family life, I suppose, and me of his successes. He also sent me some copies of his scores, which I haven’t even looked at.”
“You never play?”
She gave a tired smile. “Have you seen a piano in the house?”
“No—and I wonder how it is that you feel no desire to touch a keyboard, at least once in a while.”
Mozart's Sister: A Novel Page 28