Mozart's Sister

by Nancy Moser

  We’d tackle geography some other day…. I pushed down middle C. “This is where we begin. C. All the keys have a name. The white keys are named A through G, then it starts over again.” I began playing a C scale.

  “I know some of my alphabet,” she said proudly. “I know to R pretty good but get mixed up toward the end.”

  My hopes for a musical partner crumbled.

  The boys ran past the window, and Maria jumped from her seat to see their ruckus. “They’re chasing the chickens. They’ll get them mad and they won’t lay. Can I go?”

  I merely nodded. Go. Leave me alone.

  The front door slammed, and Maria’s voice joined those of her brothers. Little Karl screamed and a chicken squawked. I didn’t move but remained in the presence of my savior.

  Then I silently prayed to my other Savior. Save me, Lord. Please save me.

  I sat down to play Wolfie’s newest concerto that Papa had sent me. But with the first chord, I cringed. I checked my fingers. Yes, they were hitting the right notes. The problem was not the pianist but the piano.

  Soon after coming to St. Gilgen, I was horrified to realize my pianoforte did not react well to our damp house on the lake. It quickly fell out of tune and the keys often stuck. And worse, there was no one in the area who could fix it. Papa said he’d send someone from Salzburg, but since the archbishop’s instruments needed to be tuned three times a week-Tuesday, Thursday, and Sunday for performances-and since the mountain roads to St. Gilgen were impassable most of the year due to rain or snow, and since it took six hours to get to this hamlet by foot or carriage (meaning the tuner would have to stay overnight), and since mine was the only piano in the area …

  It didn’t help my mood when Papa seemed to abandon me by going to visit Wolfie in Vienna for months on end. I heard tales of Wolfie having his own pianoforte hand-carried from house to house almost nightly in order to perform. He’d even had it fitted with a special bass pedal. Wolfie was doing quite well and was the toast of the town. Papa went on and on about their lovely apartment with its elaborate furnishings, the lavish dinners, his delight in his new grandchild, Karl, who was nearly eight months old, and of course his high praise of Wolfie’s music.

  All this while here I sat, a prisoner in St. Gilgen, with my one solace, my one retreat ruined by the idiosyncrasies of my very own home. Yes, I envied Wolfie his instrument, but I also envied his music. When I’d lived in Salzburg, I’d often heard Papa mourn not having the opportunity to hear Wolfie play. Now I felt the even greater loss of not hearing music of any sort. I had been banished to a silent oblivion.

  Silent of music, that is. There was always plenty of noise assailing my ears. The children did not embrace silence. Ever. And as far as sitting them down to try to work on their education? They had trouble concentrating for more than a few seconds at a time. Perhaps they’d never been required to do so?

  How could I-who’d been brought up memorizing intricate compositions from an early age-relate to children far past that age who had trouble remembering the very simplest school lesson they’d been taught the day before?

  There was an even bigger issue at stake. How could one love what one did not particularly like?

  I closed the lid on the piano’s keyboard. I was tired of challenges, of struggles, of being dissatisfied. I wanted to go home.

  And I had. Four times Johann and I had returned to Salzburg for a visit. Sometimes Papa had been there, sometimes he hadn’t. In fact, two times we’d returned to Salzburg only to find Papa had extended his visit in Vienna. Each time when I locked up the empty house on Hannibalplatz to return to St. Gilgen, I worried that Wolfie was winning Papa over, luring him to stay in Vienna. Why else would Papa risk losing his job at his age? All my pleading for him to return to Salzburg produced little effect. Not that I could blame him.

  I heard the glass lady outside and ran to the door hoping for a letter or a parcel from Papa. She stopped, lowered the long handles of the cart, and stood erect, arching her back. “Nothing, Frau Berchtold. He weren’t there this week neither. You got something for me to take to him?”

  I ignored the package of fish I’d wrapped. There was no reason to send it now “Nothing,” I said.

  The woman lifted the handles and started to walk away, shaking her head. “I sure wish your father would get back. This current arrangement ain’t doing me a bit o’ good.”

  I agreed with her completely.

  The post brought better news. A letter from Vienna said that Papa planned to be home in mid-May, which was the following week. Unfortunately, the desire to see me had not been the draw. Apparently the archbishop had given him an ultimatum to return or his salary would be stopped (Papa had received six weeks’ leave but had been gone fourteen). Leave it to money to be the propelling force for Papa’s actions.

  Whatever the reason, my plan was to be there when he returned. But to justify one more trip to Salzburg would be difficult. Johann was a busy man. And once in Salzburg, assured that Papa would be there, I wanted to stay at least a week.

  I ventured downstairs into no man’s land-or certainly no woman’s-my husband’s chancellery offices. He’d made it very clear he was never to be disturbed. On Tuesdays he often heard cases regarding breaches of law (he’d had an especially scandalous case of fornication last week where I’d heard the people arguing all the way upstairs). Who knew what he’d been asked to handle this week? Swearing, poaching, working on Sundays? I was just glad the more serious cases were sent to a Salzburg court. I did not want my husband having to deal with murders or witchcraft.

  I tentatively made my way into the front office. The clerk, Rolf, looked up. The way his eyebrows rose revealed his surprise and discomfort. “Frau Berchtold?”

  “I need to speak to my husband.”

  Rolf glanced toward the main meeting room beyond the doorway. “He’s getting ready for a hearing.”

  I mustered as much authority as I was owed-which was minimal. “It’s important.”

  After the slightest hesitation, he pushed away from the desk and went into the meeting room, closing the door behind him. I heard their voices. A few moments later, Johann came out, his brow furrowed. “Really, Nannerl. You know this is not appropriate.”

  I took his hand and led him into an office that archived the paper work of the region. “I am sorry to disturb you, but I have just received word that Papa is returning next week, and I want to be there when he gets back, and-”

  “We’ve already been to Salzburg twice thinking he was going to return. A total waste of time. Your father’s rudeness …” He shook his head. We’d had arguments about this before. “We were also there in September and at Christmas. I have an important job to do here, Nannerl. I cannot simply leave on a whim to visit your fath-”

  “You’re going to be a father again yourself,” I said.

  I had not meant to blurt it out like that and, in fact, had not even considered making it a reason to visit Salzburg now. But once it came out, I immediately saw the advantage.

  I waited for Johann to take me in his arms.

  He did not.

  “Did you hear-?”

  “I heard. There will be another mouth to feed”

  I felt tears threaten but held them in. Johann did not respond well to tears.

  “How far along?”

  “About four months,” I said. It was my closest determination. Just recently I’d seen a change in my body and had felt the oddest fluttering inside like a butterfly flapping its wings from within. I remembered Mama telling me about such signs. “I want Papa to know as soon as possible. Nothing will make liii,i happier”

  “He will certainly be pleased. As will the archbishop”

  I could have cared a fig about the archbishop, yet indirectly, he was Johann’s boss.

  With a sigh Johann said, “I suppose we can go.”

  I ventured to bring up an alternative I knew would not be taken easily. “I could go alone,” I said. “Since you’re so busy.” />
  He seemed to consider it a moment, then said, “I cannot have you traversing those mountain roads in your condition, alone. I will have to go with you.”

  “But the children… ?” I really did not want the children to go this time. “I would prefer to tell Papa the news in a more … more tranquil setting.”

  Johann studied me. Then he said, “We’ll have the children go stay with my brother.”

  A journey with one husband, no children, and one baby growing inside me. It would have to do.

  The point was, I was going home.

  Going home was easier said than done. The weather had been rainy and we got stuck on one of the mountain passes, with the carriage collapsing into the mud four times. Some farmers pulled us out, but the six-hour trip turned to nine. Yet even with that we got to Hannibalplatz before Papa. Our shoes and clothes were muddy, and I had to lay them over chairs so they could dry and be brushed off in the morning. Dear Therese made us some soup and coffee before we fell into bed.

  Since there was no way for us to know exactly when Papa would arrive, I didn’t want to stray far from the house. Luckily, Johann did not feel this need and spent our free days out and about Salzburg doing … whatever. I was glad for the solitude. A few friends heard I was home, and I quickly recaptured a bit of the camaraderie I’d sorely missed.

  Yet there was one particular person I really wanted to see. Unfortunately, it was not proper for me to go to him….

  Blessedly, I didn’t have to. On our second day home, an hour after Johann had disappeared into the streets of Salzburg, Franz d’Ippold came to visit. It was the first time we’d seen each other since I’d left in the carriage heading to my wedding day, since he’d given me the note I would always cherish.

  He bowed in the opened door. “Welcome home, Nan. Frau Berchtold.”

  “Nan,” I said, offering him a curtsy. Our eyes met. “To you, always Nan.”

  I felt such a connection with him, as if more than air filled the space between us, as if something tangible swelled and danced and vibrated there.

  He looked past me toward the entry hall. “Has your father returned from Vienna?”

  “Not yet. We expect him any day.”

  “Is your husband here?”

  “He’s gone out.”

  The boundaries had been set. Franz could not come inside. “Perhaps we could walk?” he suggested.

  “That would be lovely”

  I found my shawl and joined him outside. He helped me adjust it over my shoulders, and we took up the route we’d taken dozens of times before. He asked about St. Gilgen, and I started to tell him a rosy version of my life there.

  The lies didn’t last long. They couldn’t. Not with Franz. “None of that is true,” I finally said. “I’m miserable there. The children run amuck, they are uneducated and show absolutely no penchant for wanting to change that condition, they have not been taught the most basic rules of daily hygiene, the servants are lazy and dirty in their own right, as well as rude, and my new pianoforte is horribly out of tune and I can’t get anyone to come fix it”

  I hadn’t meant to say all this in one breath. I laughed with embarrassment.

  Franz did not.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “That was quite a list.”

  He stopped walking and faced me. “Is there no light, Nan?”

  I started to answer “Of course there is” but realized if pressed it would be hard …

  Yet the way his cheeks drooped with concern, the way his eyes peered into mine seeking hope … I knew I must come up with something positive to say.

  “I am with child.”

  His face skirted shock, dickered with dismay, then locked on happiness. He took my hands and kissed both my cheeks. “Oh, Nan. I am so happy for you. A child of your own! You will make a wonderful mother.”

  Not wanting to see his eyes, I took his arm and began to walk again. “But I’m not a good mother, Franz. I have been given the care of five children and am failing miserably.”

  “They were set in their ways. That’s what makes it difficult. Don’t blame yourself for a previous lifetime of neglect. And surely, with one of your own ..

  I wasn’t so sure. “Even assuming I am the best mother in the world-which I know I’m not the conditions at St. Gilgen, the lack of proper help, the ignorance and level of distrust toward any sort of education … there is more than mountain and lake holding those people down”

  “Perhaps they know nothing else. `All I know is I know nothing.

  Let Socrates speak for the past. The present and future were not so pliable. “If only they realized they know nothing. They take no issue with ignorance, for it is their norm”

  “And this frustrates you, a woman of education and experience.”

  I did not want to seem haughty. “I have spoken at length with Johann about this, but he …” I shook my head, not wanting to remember Johann’s repeated response, nor share it. “I am frustrated, Franz. Frustrated beyond comprehension”

  “I can see that.”

  I put my hand over my belly. “I fear for my child’s future.”

  “As you should.”

  “If only he or she could be brought up here”

  His voice lightened. “Would your husband agree to a move?”

  I laughed. “He considers St. Gilgen the gem of the world. His family roots are deep-and stubborn. He will not move.”

  Franz patted my arm. “Then I will pray for you. For you and the child you carry. Just know that I am here for you. Always.”

  I knew that. I knew that he was here.

  And I was not.

  I had planned to ease into the news with Papa. I’d welcome him home, have Therese serve a nice dinner, get him comfortable sitting with Johann by the fire, pipe in hand, all warm and content. But as soon as I heard Papa enter the house all plans were forgotten. I ran to him, wrapped my arms around his neck, and pronounced, “I am with child, Papa. I am expecting a child!”

  It took him a moment to recover from my exuberant greeting and comprehend my words. But I knew he’d achieved both when he beamed and hugged me close, lifting me off of the floor. “Oh, dear girl. Nothing could make me happier.” He let go. “When?”

  “Late summer. Perhaps August.”

  He held me at arm’s length and looked at my midsection. “You are not showing yet.” Only Papa could get away with such a blatant observation.

  “My clothes are tight,” I offered.

  “And will get tighter!” He put his arm around my shoulders. “And where is your husband so I might congratulate him?”

  “On errands.”

  He handed me his hat and hung his cloak on a hook near the door. “He leaves you alone when you’re in this condition?”

  “Papa, I don’t mind. Really.” I hoped the double entendre was evident.

  It was. He gave me a pointed look.

  I looked away. “Come inside and tell me the news of Vienna. I want to hear everything.”

  I was happy to hear that Wolfie’s decision not to seek a permanent position had worked out for him and that he was being allowed time to write what he loved most: opera. And yet, this good news also frustrated me. Wolfie had done everything wrong and had gone against all Papa’s advice. Yet by doing so he’d broken free of Salzburg and Archbishop Colloredo, lived in one of the cultural centers of the world, spent his days hearing applause for his work, and had married the woman he loved.

  I had done everything Papa had told me to. I had been the good child, the obedient child. Yet I had been yanked from Salzburg and imprisoned in a town that was devoid of culture. I’d given up the man I loved, married a man I didn’t, spent my days dealing with chaos, heard only yells and complaints for all my hard work, and ached in body and soul for the sound of good music and the opportunity to play it.

  “You’ve stopped listening, Nannerl,” Papa said.

  He was right. “I’m sorry. My mind is elsewhere. I do want to hear. Really I do.”

&nb
sp; He set his coffee on the table next to his chair and leaned toward me, putting a hand on my knee. “There is something I must talk to you about. A plan I’ve made.”

  I cringed, anticipating his permanent defection. “Yes?”

  “Wolfgang has asked me-repeatedly-to move to Vienna. To leave my position here.”

  My heart sank. My fears gained legs. “When do you leave?”

  “I’m not going.”

  It took me a moment. “What?”

  He sat back in his chair. “I must admit I was tempted. Very tempted. But I will also admit my concerns about Wolfgang’s lifestyle.”

  “He appears to be living a high life.”

  “Which cannot last.”

  “But you said his success grows larger.”

  Papa shrugged. “Audiences and nobility are notoriously fickle, as is fame and fortune. I fear your brother-and his wife-are spending money they don’t have. I fear they are not saving for a time of lesser prosperity.”

  “Wolfie has never been good at saving for a rainy day.”

  “To him all days should be sunny or not allowed.”

  “Being an optimist can be a good thing,” I said.

  “But being a realist is more prudent.”

  Neither prudence nor being realistic was my brother’s strong point.

  Papa tented his fingers and rested them against his lips. “In addition, your brother’s word cannot always be trusted.”

  “How so?”

  Papa shook his head. “His ways are boisterous and wild, his hours eccentric, his company is questionable, and his road skirts the path of destruction.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. And I was.

  Suddenly Papa sat forward, his face transformed by a smile. “Besides, I cannot leave Salzburg. I want to be here for you. And be here for the birth of your child.”

  In seconds I was out of my chair, kneeling beside him, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Oh, Papa! Thank you. Thank you.”

  “Goodness, child. I never realized it would mean so much to you.”

  I sat back to see his face. “It does, Papa. I need you. The baby needs you.”

  He wiped away one of my unexpected tears with his thumb. “There, there, girl. I am not going anywhere. I promise.”