Mozart's Sister

by Nancy Moser

  Then Papa eased my fears. “We still have many places to see, children. Many places that need to see and hear you. I would have liked to get to Italy, but the pull of the archbishop …” He sighed deeply. “Oh, who knows what is in store for us upon our return to Salzburg? Perhaps we will be greeted in such a distressful way that we will happily put our knapsacks over our backs and leave forever. I am bringing you back to the fatherland. If that isn’t enough for them, if they don’t appreciate you as others have …” He took a fresh breath. “They will not have you gratis.”

  “It will be good for the children to rest and recuperate,” Mama said. She tucked a throw over Wolfie’s legs. He was just getting over yet another illness.

  Papa sighed. “I have promised to return home, and I am keeping my word.” There was a hint of defiance in his voice.

  Mama spoke to Wolfie and me. “Did you know your papa is trying to get us new lodging? For you are both larger than you were when we left. Nannerl, we realize you need your own sleeping area now, and we all need separate work areas”

  “We’re moving away from the Hagenauers’?” Wolfie looked worried.

  “Eventually. But not until we find a place that’s suitable,” Papa said.

  My own space. I would like that. Although I loved my family dearly, I was tired of sharing a bed with Mama on the road and sharing a bedchamber with my family at home. I had left Salzburg a child and returned a woman.

  Suddenly Mama pointed out the window. “There’s the Salzach River! It will lead us home.”

  “Mmm,” Papa said.

  I stood with my friend Katherl in front of the glass case. “Papa had Herr Hagenauer make it special. See? It has a lock.” I opened the glass door and took out a gilded snuff box. “The queen of France gave this to me the second time we played at court” I held the intricate box in the pahn of my hand. “Go ahead, you can touch it. It’s real gold. Just be careful.”

  Katherl moved her fingers close but at the last minute withdrew them, clasping them behind her back. “What do you need with a snuff box?”

  A good question. “It’s not what it’s used for that’s important, but the fact it’s gold, it’s beautiful, and it’s worth a lot of money. The queen wouldn’t have had to give me anything. One does not question gifts-especially from royalty.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Katherl said.

  I put the snuff box away and picked up a cloisonne mirror a duchess in Holland had given me. “This used to have a matching brush, but Wolfie dropped it and it broke into a million-”

  She looked toward the door. “I got a new kitty.”

  It took me a moment to move my thoughts from royalty to pets. “What’s its name?” I asked.

  “Pfc[fcr..”

  I imagined a peppered calico. I turned back to the display case. My eyes focused on the figurine of a cat Baroness Solomon had given me when I’d played for her birthday.

  “Want to see her?” Katherl asked. “And Otto Ferringer spent a week in Vienna with his parents and brought me back some chocolates. I saved one for you.”

  I glanced back at the case. How could she not be interested in these treasures and hearing the stories of how I came to have them, and who gave them to me? And so what if ferret-faced Otto Ferringer had been to Vienna for a week? My family had been gone three and a half years. I’d brought Katherl back some Belgium lace. Wasn’t that better than any chocolates that were here today, gone tomorrow?

  “Come on,” Katherl said, taking my hand. “When I get her playing with yarn, Pfeffer will jump a foot off the floor.”

  I wanted to pull my hand away. What did I care of a house cat when I’d seen the world?

  But I did not pull away, and I let Katherl lead me into the streets of ordinary Salzburg.

  Papa came into the kitchen for dinner and tossed his gloves on the chair. “Gossip! I despise gossip.”

  Mania looked up from setting the forks. “What gossip?”

  Papa removed his coat and hung it on the hook near the door. “Beta Hubner has printed in his inane Diariiurrl that …” He retrieved a page from his coat pocket and read, “I believe it certain that nobody in Europe is as famous as Herr Mozart with his two children.”

  “That’s very complimentary,” Mama said.

  Papa shook his head, cleared his throat, and continued. “Indeed, after God, he has his children to thank for his fame and his great wealth. The now completed journey is said to have cost them something near twenty thousand florins; I can easily believe it; but how much money has he not presumably collected?” He turned the page over. “It also says our Nannerl is `tolerably tall and almost marriageable already’ but he worries over Wolfgang’s small size.” Papa wadded up the sheet and threw it into the fire. “I thought he was our friend. For him to speculate about our children’s growth … and to even take a guess regarding our expenses and income is reprehensible. For us to have to come home to this … this … drivel ..

  “The children arc going to play for the archbishop next week,” Mama said. “I’ve heard buzz regarding his pride in us.”

  Papa made two fists and held them close to his chin. “I am stifled here. They don’t understand what we’ve done. They don’t understand the importance of our work, our sacrifice in bringing the world this extraordinary talent.” He looked around the room. His eyes skimmed past me, then landed back at Mama. “Where is Wolfie?”

  I did not hear my mother’s reply. Wolfie. He’d asked for my brother and only my brother.

  I slipped from the room and hurried down the stairs to the street. The bite of the December air took advantage of my being without my cloak. But I could not go back for it. For anything.

  I turned into an alley and walked until I was safely hidden in shadows. Only then did I let the wall of the building guide me to sitting. I tucked my dress around my legs and feet and leaned against my thighs for warmth. The cold was appropriate. For I’d felt very cold since returning to Salzburg. The warmth of our close family travels was slipping away. Every day forced us to deal with others beyond our small foursome.

  And Papa was right in his subtle heralding of Wolfie as the talent. What did I have to show for our time away from Salzburg? Thousands of notes played and heard by the ear, but immediately gone as another note took its place? A glass case full of gifts from important people who cared little for me as anything other than an oddity and a novelty? I had brought nothing substantial back to Salzburg except four extra inches in height-and width.

  Marriageable age? How could people say such a thing? I was one of the Miracle Children. And yet … Herr Hubner had also commented on Wolfie’s small stature. It was true my brother had not grown much during our absence, as if knowing that looking older would hurt our cause. Had he willed himself to stay small and childlike? Had I somehow made a mistake because I had dismissed God’s ability to stop time and keep me a child forever?

  As I huddled against the cold I felt my breasts against my legs. I was a woman now The novelty of two performing children, if not gone, was waning.

  And it was all my fault. No wonder Papa liked Wolfie best. My brother, the eternal child.

  And Nannerl, the girl of marriageable age.

  It was over.

  ezr& <~~

  Smallpox and operas. I hoped to never again have anything to do with either.

  One wouldn’t think that a disease and a musical creation had anything in common, but they both loomed large. So much loomed large….

  After being home ten months, I was excited about our next journey to Vienna-at first. Spending time in Salzburg had proven tedious, and though I didn’t want to come off as putting on airsdc haut en bas-in many ways it was a life too simple for my newly developed tastes. How spoiled we had become on our travels. For even beyond the places and people we’d met, there’d always been something of interest to do. But at home, as one day folded into the next, I felt in danger of being suffocated by the mediocrity of our normal routine. If I wasn’t careful, would I wake up
one morning and accept it all as my fate? Would I forget about my plans to be more than just a wife, more than just a mother, more than just a Salzburger?

  So when Papa announced we were taking another concert excursion to Vienna, I was thrilled-and relieved. And when he spoke of his high hopes for our future, mentioning our destiny, I knew he was speaking from my heart as well as his: “Providence binds everything together in such a way that if we give ourselves up to it with complete trust, we cannot miss our destiny.” Such lofty words, implying we would once again find our place in the world of music. I, Nannerl Mozart, would find my place.

  The event that spurred the trip to Vienna was the wedding of Empress Maria Theresa’s daughter, the Archduchess Maria Josepha, which was scheduled for October 14, 1767. We were not the only musicians of Salzburg to travel in hopes of being asked to play for the festivities that would take place over many weeks’ time. Papa mentioned at least three others. But, he assured us, we would be the jewels in the royal crown.

  However, once we reached Vienna in early September, protocol stated we could not play elsewhere until we had played for the empress. We were awaiting a summons from court when the first of our disasters struck.

  Smallpox.

  It had all started four months earlier in late May, when the second wife of the new emperor, Joseph II, contracted the disease and died, as had his first wife. Joseph was the new emperor because his father, Emperor Francis, for whom we’d played years before, had died while we were in France. Even Empress Maria Theresa succumbed to smallpox. She recovered, but in her recovery she only made things worse….

  The empress had a habit of visiting the tomb of her dear husband once a month. On one such visit in October, the soon-to-be bride Maria Josepha accompanied her and immediately fell in with the pox. Rumor had it that the air of the tomb was infected because the body of the poor girl’s sister-in-law was also presentin an unsealed casket.

  Then, horror of horrors, the betrothed, Maria Josepha-who was just my age, only sixteen-died on the day after what should have been her wedding! The entire city roiled with shock and sadness. How could God allow such a thing? Papa said it was God’s will, but if God is good, then how could He allow such a tragedy to happen? It’s hard for me to wrap my mind around such mysteries.

  Papa also moaned about how unfair it was that so many had come to Vienna with such high hopes of performing, only to be silenced by this turn of events. “Why did she have to die now?”

  If he wished to speak of the inequities of life, I think Papa should have thought of poor Maria Josepha….

  But then the smallpox visited as. The son of the goldsmith with whom we had been living fell ill-but not before infecting two of his younger siblings. Papa went into a panic and sought new lodging. Yet he was unable to find any large enough for four, so two days after Maria Josepha’s death, he left Mama and me behind at the goldsmith’s and escaped with Wolfie to a safer part of town.

  Left Mama and me behind in a house full of sickness.

  Nine out of ten children who were dying in Vienna were dying of the pox.

  Yet he left us there.

  The next day, I did not get out of bed, and Mama wondered if I too had fallen in. But my sickness was not caused by disease.

  When I didn’t get up on the second day, she sat at my bedside, feeling my forehead, asking if I wanted a doctor.

  I shook my head and turned away from her.

  “Then, what’s wrong?” she asked.

  Surely she knew .. .

  She smoothed my hair behind an ear. “Nannerl?”

  Like poison from a body being bled, I let my accusation seep out. “Papa left us behind. He doesn’t care if we live or die.”

  Mama removed her hand and sat back with a soft whooph of breath.

  I pushed myself to sitting against the pillows. “Why didn’t he take us with him to a safer place?”

  Mama adjusted the coverlet under my arms. “He couldn’t find lodging for four. Only for two.”

  “We could have made room. We’ve stayed in cramped quarters before. When something is life and death one makes do.”

  “When you were a child you had some pockmarks. We assume you are immune.

  “Assume?” My voice rose and I waited for a reprimand.

  I didn’t get one. Mama stood, then stroked my cheek with the back of her hand. “He’ll send for us soon.” She left the room. Fled the room. Escaped more questions.

  It didn’t matter. I didn’t need to ask more. Papa’s actions spoke volumes. He’d made it clear whom he loved the most.

  Papa finally sent for us, and we fled Vienna to Moravia. But there was something missing in our reunion. Upon seeing Papa, upon accepting his embrace, I held back enough for him to notice. “Is something wrong, Nannerl?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” I said.

  It was a lie. For something between us had broken, and I wasn’t sure it could ever be mended.

  Then there, in Olmiitz, in a smoky, damp room, in spite of all our precautions, Wolfie succumbed to the disease. His face grew red with fever while his hands felt cold. After a fitful night they carried him, wrapped in furs, to a better room. But his condition did not improve. The fever rose and he became delirious.

  I felt bad for my complaints about being left behind. Yet what good had it done for Papa to move Wolfie when he’d still succumbed to the disease?

  The innkeeper made it very clear we could not stay. Papa sought the help of a friend, Count Podstatsky, who made light of the fact that Wolfie had the pox and ordered rooms to be readied in his own home. He sent his private physician to the inn, from where Wolfie was dispatched to the count’s home, again swathed in furs, his red swollen face nearly overwhelmed by the protective coverings.

  At the count’s we were waited on by his staff and treated with such kindness that we thought it was Christ himself showing us divine compassion. And though Wolfie suffered blindness for nine days, he did recover.

  As did I. For I too got the smallpox. Obviously, the pockmarks of my youth had offered no immunity. Papa had risked my life, leaving me behind….

  I was not allowed such self-pity for long. After being away from home, away from Vienna for two months, enter the opera, Lafinta semplice-The Pretend Simpleton, and with it another testing of the familial ties.

  After the smallpox epidemic had passed, we returned to Vienna, needing six horses to pull our carriage through the January snowdrifts. It was safe now, for once the imperial family accepted the miracle of inoculation, everyone else followed suit. In spite of the state of mourning at court, Papa still held on to the hope that we would be allowed to perform, that our trip to Vienna would find some profit. Yet people were wary of us because of the pox. It didn’t help that Wolfie’s pockmarks appeared redder in the cold. And I also heard talk that this time our musical “tricks” would not be so quickly accepted with pleasure. Had we become passe?

  Yet, only nine days after we returned to the center of Vienna, three months after the death of the Archduchess Maria Josepha, we were presented at court in a private event attended by the imperial family. It went well-for others. Mama and the empress spoke passionately about childhood illnesses and our Grand Tour, and Wolfie and Papa chatted with the emperor Joseph about music.

  I received no attention-other than one single time when the emperor commented on my blossoming beauty, which, of course, was pure flattery. It was clear I was of no consequence, any more than a nice vase or a finely upholstered chair. There was no attention given to me as a musician, or as an exceptional young woman of any kind. And we received no compensation, except a pretty medal that had no monetary value. Apparently, the empress had gotten into the habit of leaving issues of payment to her son, the emperor, who was very tight with his coins. Papa said, “The emperor enters it in his book of oblivion and believes that he has paid us by his most gracious conversations.”

  I would have liked to be a part of such conversations, but once again, Wolfie got the nod. In jest
Emperor Joseph mentioned something to Wolfie and Papa about Wolfie composing an opera. It was nothing really, not a request, more of a comment made during small talk. Most certainly not a commission.

  Yet Papa jumped on the idea as if our heavenly Father had requested an additional book to the Bible. Actually, I believe the idea was in his head all along, and he simply took the emperor’s comment as vindication of his own will. A sign. An accomplishment that would lead us to the land of opera-Italy.

  For the next seven months, the opera was the thing, the only thing. Oh yes, how it would increase Wolfie’s notoriety to compose an opera at age twelve. Any other attempts to procure us concerts halted so Wolfie could concentrate on this great composition. “Shh, Nannerl! Your brother needs silence to work” rang through our rooms, forcing me to find solace on long walks where I’d often end up in the square, feeding pigeons. I began to name them. There was Alfons, Dieter, Klaus, and Henrietta. At least they liked me and took what I had to offer.

  Snow yielded to green. And heat. And dust … We hadn’t brought summer clothes with us, only furs and wools. Papa sent word to Herr Hagenauer to send some lighter garments.

  Yet, in spite of the boredom and the endless days, I found that I could not stay angry at my brother. Poor Wolfie. Forget playing ball or tag or marbles-Papa had him holed up in the room for hours a day. And though I knew my brother enjoyed it, I wondered if he missed just being a boy and doing boyish things. Perhaps. Perhaps not.

  Finally, in July, the opera was complete and I looked forward to a return to normalcy. Perhaps the focus could return to both of the Mozart children.

  But the completion of the opera was only the start of new troubles. In trying to get it produced, negative talk surfaced-on both sides. As people spoke disparagingly about the opera, Papa talked badly about the nobility’s taste for inconsequential music, and despaired over their tight pockets. Since Emperor Joseph was tight, so were they. Papa said, “If the chief is extravagant, everyone lets things rip. But if the chief economizes, everyone wants to have the most economical household.” This philosophy was not good for our pocketbook.