Mozart's Sister

by Nancy Moser

  Mama turned to go upstairs. “The doctor, Leopold. Now”

  Papa sighed with relief. “So it’s not smallpox,” he said to the doctor. “The Hagenauers had smallpox and I was afraid-”

  “Not smallpox.” The doctor patted Wolfie’s forehead with a damp cloth.

  “But his legs,” Mama said. “He is swollen and paralyzed from his knees to his toes.”

  “That will pass,” the doctor said.

  As we watched, Wolfie thrashed his head back and forth and moaned. Oh, that it was I who was sick! I was stronger than he was. I would not have let myself be sick so long.

  The doctor motioned Mama and Papa to the door where I was standing. I moved into the hall to give them room and was glad they did not shoo inc away

  “He has rheumatic fever.”

  Mama put a hand to her mouth. “Will he recover?”

  The doctor lifted his shoulders, then dropped them. “Unfortunately, the illness often produces a weakened heart that may permanently affect him … plus, he may be susceptible to this disease all his life.”

  All his life? I wanted my brother well; I wanted him pulling my hair, making me climb after him under the furniture. I wanted to play music with him. We were a team. The Wunderkinder-the miracle children. I was half without his whole.

  The doctor gave Mama a paper packet of powder. “Give him this and keep him comfortable. I’ll be back tomorrow”

  Mania and Papa showed the doctor out, leaving me alone with my brother. Although they’d told me to stay away, I couldn’t. Not when he looked so small in the bed. He was smaller than most sixyear-olds-which was to our advantage while performing. But now, sick in bed … I wished him large and strong. I moved beside him and dipped the cloth in the water and wrung it out just as I’d seen Mania do. I placed it on his forehead.

  He opened his eyes. He smiled. “Horseface …”

  “I’m here, Wolfie. I’ll always be here.”

  He managed a nod, then closed his eyes.

  One thing would never change. He was my brother. Forever and always.

  Papa was now the assistant conductor. The Vice Kapellmeister.

  The table for our party was set with bread, cheese, meat, and cake. The apartment was crowded with guests, including my friend Katherl. There were members from Papa’s orchestra present, and some of Mama’s friends from church. I wondered-but I did not ask-if Archbishop Schrattenbach himself would come. When we’d first returned from Vienna nearly eight weeks previous, he was peeved at Papa for being gone so long but seemed pleased with us now. When Wolfie and I played for him earlier that evening-February 28, which was his birthday-he patted our heads and called us special children who were bringing honor to Salzburg.

  I didn’t know about honor, but Papa and Mama were proud, and that was enough.

  One of the musicians offered a toast. “To Vice Kapellmeister Mozart! May his direction be inspired, may our music transcend earthly bounds, and may his patience be bestowed by the very realms of heaven.”

  Everyone laughed and Katherl and I did too, even though we weren’t sure about the joke. Katherl and I snuck food and whispered about whose dress we liked better (Frau Kraus wore my favorite: a pale blue satin with tiny bows like a ladder up the front.) Yet that sport soon paled and we escaped to the bedchamber. I had something important I wanted to tell her.

  We sat on the window seat and I gave her an extra shawl against the draft. “So?” she asked. “What’s the big secret?”

  I glanced at the door one last time. “Papa is planning to take Wolfie and me on a Grand Tour.”

  “What’s that?” Katherl asked.

  “We’re traveling to Paris, to London, then to Venice …” I took a fresh breath. “And maybe even to Rome.”

  “To play?”

  I nodded. “We’ve been practicing very hard. Papa’s even had Wolfie practice the violin.”

  “When did he start playing violin?”

  “Just a few weeks ago. When Papa and his quartet were practicing here, Wolfie asked to play second violin. Papa told him no, he didn’t want his chicken-scratching to interfere with their rehearsal. But Wolfie wept and had such a fit that the second violinist told Papa he didn’t mind. So Papa gave his permission but told Wolfie to play quietly. Wolfie took up his tiny violin and proceeded to play with the group-well enough that the second violinist stopped his own playing in amazement. No one had taught Wolfie how to play. It was a miracle. I was watching from the hall and I saw Papa cry.”

  “Are you playing violin too?”

  The instrument didn’t interest me. But I thought of something else I could brag about. “I’ve been singing more”

  Katherl drew her knees to her chest and tucked her dress around her shoes. “Those cities you mentioned … I can’t imagine going to places like that.”

  “Papa is making arrangements for us to play at Versailles, before King Louis the Fifteenth.”

  “Who’s he?”

  I wasn’t surprised she didn’t know. If not for our travels and all the teaching Mama and Papa did while we were in the carriages, I might not have known. “He’s like our empress, but he rules France. And we hope to play before royalty in London too. Papa and Mama have been working very hard to arrange it.”

  “But why is it a secret?”

  I leaned toward her and whispered. “The archbishop would need to give us permission. And now, with Papa’s new position ..

  “Oh.” Katherl put a hand to her mouth.

  “Papa already fears the archbishop suspects. We’ve needed to get letters of introduction and …” I shrugged.

  “But if he knows, why did he give your father the promotion?”

  I’d never thought of that. “Maybe the archbishop wants Papa to have a tide ‘the Vice Kapelhneister of Salzburg’-so people will know we’re from Salzburg, that we belong to him.”

  “Belong to him. That doesn’t sound like a pretty position.”

  It didn’t, but I was learning it was the way of the world. “We must have support, benefactors, money”

  “This is too odd. People of power coming to see you, to hear you…

  “And Wolfie.”

  Katherl shook her head. “Your little brat of a brother.”

  “He’s very talented. People say so all the time.”

  “What do they say about you?”

  I thought back to our trip to Vienna and Hungary. The applause, the smiles, the compliments. Wolfie had gotten most of the attention, yet I’d received my share.

  “Nannerl? What do they say about you?”

  “They say I’m greatly skilled at the keyboard and that my talent at accompanying is extraordinary.” I was not lying. Such things had been said.

  Katherl again drew up her knees. “But accompanying someone else … that’s not very glamorous.”

  I resented her words. Katherl knew little about music, and for her to minimize the skill that I needed in order to accompany another musician … “There is much more to playing the clavier than playing written music. Do you realize with accompanying there is often nothing written out but the bass line-the left hand? There might be a few notations as to a suggested harmony, but it is up to me to fill in the music, at the proper volume, style, and harmony for the soloist-often instantly. I’ve heard it said that Bach questioned whether the soloist or the accompanist deserves the greatest glory. And Papa told me that women often play better than men because they are more sensitive to the needs of the music, and-”

  Katherl laughed and held up her hands, stopping my words. “I give up. I give in. I was mistaken. Enough. Enough”

  I felt my face redden. I hadn’t meant to get so emotional. I was agreeable to Wolfie learning the violin and with the accolades he received. After all, Papa was taking both of us on the Grand Tour. He loved me just as much as he loved—

  Suddenly the door opened. “Boo!” Wolfie jumped into the room, his hands curled into claws. His mouth was dirty with cake crumbs.

  “You’re a
mess, brother.”

  He ran a finger along his lips, looked at it, then licked it clean. “I came to tell you someone brought a new cake. An apricot torte. If you don’t hurry, I’m going to eat it all myselfl”

  And he was gone. I heard his feet pounding down the stairs.

  I stood. “Shall we?”

  Katherl and I went downstairs, our elbows intertwined like two ladies.

  The daylight streamed through the window, and I angled my body so the paper on the worktable suffered no shadows. Papa had given me a music theory lesson, and I wanted to finish it before dinner.

  Wolfie sat at the clavier in the corner, practicing. I didn’t recognize the piece. Apparently, neither did Mama because she looked up from the pile of papers in her lap and said, “What song is that, Wolferl?”

  He didn’t stop playing. “My own.” He tilted his head back and sang along with Fa-la-las, making his voice sound a harmony with his fingers.

  “As I’ve told you before, you need to write it down,” Papa said.

  Wolfie continued to play. “I’ll remember.”

  Papa’s voice became stern. “Write it down”

  Wolfie stopped playing. “It’s not my tune. It’s Haydn’s. I just made it better.”

  “Don’t be impertinent,” Mama said.

  “I thought I recognized the basic tune,” Papa said. “And I agree. It is better.” He pointed at me. “Nannerl, bring your brother some paper.” Then to Wolfie he said, “You write it down. But remember, I want you to continue writing your own music. Original music.”

  I brought him a piece of staffed paper. He curled it over his head like a bonnet and giggled.

  “Wolfgang!” Papa said.

  Wolfie slipped off the bench and lay on his stomach on the floor. His legs were bent at the knee, in constant motion.

  Papa pointed to my place by the window. “The table, young man. I will not have you using quill and ink on your mother’s rug. Nannerl, make room.”

  I scooted over but didn’t want to. I’d never be able to concentrate with him sharing the table. It was hard enough to work with Papa and Mama talking about the details of the Grand Tour. Letters of credit and introduction, lodging arrangements, discussions of which music and clothing to pack for all possible occasions. I wanted to help plan too.

  Wolfie sat in the chair across from me, placing the sheet of staff paper directly on top of my work. I moved it. He moved it back.

  I saw Papa hold a map between himself and Mama. He pointed to a city. “I would like to winter in Paris the first year.”

  The first year?

  “Why Paris?” Mama asked.

  “Because there will be plenty of money to be earned there. Travel is easier in the warm months, but during that time much of the nobility leave for their summer palaces, wreaking havoc on concert life. So we must plan to be in town when they are.”

  Mama lifted a list from her lap. “And I’ve made a listing of the special days of celebration at all the courts. Our patrons tend to be more generous at such times.”

  Papa smiled. “Especially if we can perform on their name day.”

  Mama pointed to the list. Apparently, she’d already noted such things. My name day was coming up soon. Actually, since Mama and I shared the given names Maria and Anna, we also shared the same day of celebration. St. Anne’s day was July 26.

  Papa sat back and perused the map with a sigh. “It’s imperative we be organized.”

  Mama put a hand on his arm. “You are nothing if not that, dear one.

  They were a good pair and worked together well. I wanted to have such a marriage someday. Perhaps after making a name for myself as a musician.

  Wolfie kicked me under the table, then made a funny face.

  Traveling with Mama and Papa would be fun, but traveling with my little brother-for over a year? I prayed God would give me patience. A double dose.

  e~271~ 5z—

  I had little concept of the depth and breadth of the details for our trip, our Grand Tour of Europe. What I heard Papa and Mania say about lodging, horses, routes, and venues was noted but neatly discarded with a certainty that someone was handling what needed to be handled. Papa said adjustments would have to be made according to weather, opportunity, and the cooperation-or noncooperation-of our concert patrons. Yet how did one plan for a trip that would take years? Yes, years. For the “one year” I’d heard mentioned had been extended to many. To think I would start the journey as a child within a month of my twelfth birthday and wouldn’t return until I was a young woman…. It scared me, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it. Papa knew best.

  Our Grand Tour began in June of 1763, with a trip to Munich.

  The carriage was heavy with luggage. We had a servant along to help as a general domestic and hairdresser. His name was Sebastian Winter. The driver and coachman would trade off when we stopped for new horses and to rest, but Sebastian would stay with us for a while. I was glad. He was a nice man who did animal imitations. Wolfie liked his pig noises. I preferred Sebastian’s rooster and could not rightly tell it from the feathered form.

  When we began we were all in great spirits, and after a few hours of riding Mama started us singing songs. Wolfie sang very loudly and didn’t care much about the right notes. He sang beyond the melody, making up harmony. At first it was annoying, but I eventually chose to like it, for it allowed me the melody. I found Papa smiling, even though he didn’t join in.

  Then suddenly, the coach dipped to the left, sending me into Wolfie’s lap! Papa and Mama fell toward us, making our arms and legs bump and pinch.

  “Whoa! Whoa!” the driver yelled.

  There was a horrible sound of wood splintering and metal hitting rock. The carriage stopped but was tipped precariously.

  “Oh no … Leopold?” Mama said.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  Papa helped Mania back in her seat and held on to the door of the carriage to keep himself in place. “This is not what we need. Not when we’ve only just begun.”

  “What broke?” Wolfie asked.

  “The wheel. Obviously the wheel.” Papa looked mad, but I knew he wasn’t mad at us. He flung open the door on the low side and jumped out. Wolfie and I crowded together to look out the window.

  “It’s gone, completely broke to pieces,” Sebastian said.

  Papa rubbed the spot above his eyebrows. “One of my friends warned me the wheels were not in good shape, but since I’d just bought the carriage …” He sighed. “Expenses. Unforeseen expenses. This is not an auspicious beginning.”

  Sebastian and the driver looked down the road. “We passed a null a ways back. Perhaps we can find help to-”

  Papa waved them away. “Go. See what you can do”

  I heard their footsteps on the road, running back the way we’d come. Papa looked at us and blinked, as if only now remembering we were there.

  “Come. Come out.” He helped Mama down first, then me, then Wolfie. Mama and I held our skirts above the dust of the road.

  We looked at the wheel. All that was left were little pieces attached to the metal hub.

  “What are we going to do?” Mama asked.

  Papa knelt beside the carriage, looking underneath. “We wait.”

  “Yippee!” Wolfie ran off the road into the brush and picked up a stick. He pointed it like a sword. “En garde!”

  I looked to Papa. “Can we play?”

  He nodded and Mama said, “Don’t get dirty, and stay close.”

  I found my own sword and defended myself.

  What started out as an adventure wasn’t fun at all. We had to wait by the side of the road for over an hour until Sebastian and the driver returned with help. Then the wheel they brought was too small and too long in the hub. Papa and Sebastian had to fell a small tree to bind in front of the wheel so it would not run away. They broke up the smashed wheel to take the metal with us to the next town of Wasserburg, where we could get it fixed properly, but even that they had
to tie underneath. And Papa and Sebastian had to walk so as not to strain the carriage.

  We didn’t get into town until midnight. Papa left us at an inn while he and Sebastian went to find a smithy and a cartwright to forge the iron and form the new wooden wheel. Mama helped us out of our traveling clothes and we fell into bed. It smelled of perspiration-not ny own.

  The next morning at breakfast, Papa told us one of the other wheels was also in bad shape and would have to be replaced. As he drank his coffee, I noticed he was wearing the same shirt as yesterday There were dark circles under his eyes and his hair was mussed. Hadn’t he slept? He hadn’t been there when Mama got us up.

  Mama answered my unspoken question. “You must rest, Leopold.”

  “I will.” He ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it. “Although this is a bad start, and having to board the horses and Sebastian during the delay is a bothersome expense, by heaven it is better to lose ten wheels than a foot or a few fingers”

  Mama nodded. “When will it be ready?”

  “We’ve been told tomorrow morning,” Papa said. His voice echoed his unbelief.

  Mama’s shoulders dropped. “What are we going to do today?”

  Papa pressed his fingers over his eyes and sighed. “There is a church here called St. James. I’ve heard it has a fine organ.”

  “Organ!” Wolfie said. “I want to try!”

  Wolfie had played the organ for the first time on our last trip when we’d stopped at a small town near the Danube River. He’d played well then, even though no one had ever taught him. Perhaps this time I could try too. A keyboard was a keyboard, wasn’t it?

  “You may try, Wolferl.” Papa smiled. “Actually, that is my intent.”

  Wolfie jumped out of his chair, nearly knocking it over. “Now! I want to go now!”

  Mama righted the chair and pointed to it. “We will go when your father says it’s time. Now, let him eat a proper breakfast. It’s the least we can do considering his difficult night.”

  Mama was always looking after us.

  “See, Wolfgang,” Papa said. “These are the pedals. You played the keys before, but now it’s time to play the pedals too.”