Mozart's Sister (28 page)

"On your first trip to Italy Papa said we couldn't go because we
would have never been able to handle the cold, on the second, the
heat ... now we're back to cold again?"

"That's not the only reason," Wolfie said. "Once we're there I'll
be consumed with work. Although I've mapped out my basic plan
and worked on some of the recitatives, I haven't even begun to compose most of the arias, and the opening is set for late December, just
two months away. And who knows how many adjustments I'll have
to make for this reason or that."

I tossed the dress at his face and he raised his arms in defense of
it. "Mama and I can find things to do. You've gone on and on about
how beautiful Milan is. Isn't it time we see it?"

"It's not up to me, Nan. You know that. It's not my fault."

But it was.

I ran at him, pushing him over. He fell hard on the wooden
floor.

Within moments Papa came in. "What's going on here?"

"I tripped," Wolfie said.

Although I was surprised at his cover-up, I did not want his
effort. It was time for all of this to come out. "I pushed him down."

"Why?" Papa asked.

14 I,,

Wolfie stood and brushed off the back of his breeches. "She's
mad because she can't go to Milan with us."

Papa leveled me with a look. "I've decided-as I was forced to
do before-that it's too expensive for four of us to travel, Nannerl.
Besides, the mountain passes are difficult and-"

I didn't need to hear the same excuses twice. "But I need to
go!"

Papa gave me a condescending smile. "Now, now Need and
want are two very different things, and it's best to realize"

I shook my head and stomped a foot on the floor. "This isn't
fair! Not fair at all!"

Papa's eyebrows rose. He took a step toward me and it took all
my effort to hold fast. When he was close enough for me to smell the bratwurst on his breath, he said, "Is it fair that I was passed over
for the Kapellmeister position after over three decades in service? Is
it fair your brother works his fingers to the bone and is still not
offered a salaried position? Is it fair he and I have to constantly be
on the road-rough, dusty, and dangerous roads-staying in inns
with far fewer amenities than home, eating bad food, dealing with
the stress and nerve-wracking tension of never knowing how things
will turn out in spite of our best intentions? Is it fair your mother
and I are forced to live out our marriage apart more than we are
together? Is it fair that the livelihood and utter future of this family-of you, my dear ungrateful Nannerl-is on our shoulders? Is it
fair you get to spend time with friends, playing cards, shooting air
guns, taking leisurely strolls through the Mirabel Gardens, while
we-your brother and I-barely have time to breathe?"

He took a new breath. He needed it. His chest heaved.

He lowered his voice, but his final words were thick with intensity. "Do not talk to me about what's fair, nor about need."

What could I say? I had no defense, no counter to any of his
points, each of which had been a lead weight, weighing down my
arguments. I stood there, torn between anger and shame.

"I would think you would be more grateful. I've given everything to-"

Shame won out. I lunged toward him, wrapping my arms
around his torso. "I'm sorry, Papa. I didn't mean it."

He hugged me close and kissed the top of my head. "There's a
good girl, Nannerl. For what I need you to do is keep your mother
safe and our house a home so Wolfie and I have something wonderful to think about on our journeys."

I nodded, rubbing my cheek against the rough wool of his waistcoat. "I will, Papa. I will."

It was the least-and the most-I could do.

They left me. Again. And then again. First Milan for the opera,
then Vienna, where Papa desperately continued his quest to find a
post for the two of them. Although they were home a few months in between, it didn't really count. They were not here. They lived in
the future of their minds, in the next commission, the next concert,
the next opportunity for a position that was anywhere but home in
Salzburg.

When I allowed myself to be understanding, I knew they were
being stifled by the new archbishop Colloredo-whom Papa often
discredited in private by reminding us that he had been elected on
the forty-ninth ballot. Colloredo was completely reshaping the
music program that was under his tutelage, and his new Kapellmeister, Fischietti, was loving every minute of it. The only satisfaction
Papa gained was that the archbishop was peeved at Fischietti when
he found out the man was married. Wives created expense and
expected pensions.... Plus, Fischietti showed his true greedy colors
by coveting the retired Lolli's living quarters and holding out for
more money.

Not that any of Fischietti's actions counted against him. For the
archbishop still gave him a three-year contract at a ridiculous salary
and retained the old-fashioned rococo style of music that Papa had
longed to change. Papa would rather have died than be held musically stagnant. So I understood their burning need to go elsewhere.
Yet the archbishop had made it clear there would be no pay in their
absence.

It was an extremely delicate situation because the more they
made it known they were looking for a position, the greater the risk
the archbishop would find out and cut Papa's ties completely. Plus,
I'd heard rumblings from the parent of a piano student that the
empress herself was not pleased with Papa and Wolfie putting themselves out there, like itinerant musicians, like beggars. Apparently,
they cheapened themselves in her eyes. I wondered if her opinion
was the reason her son Ferdinand had not hired them and that so
many doors were closed.

Dealing with royalty required a careful balance-being confident
could work for or against you. Of course, the empress had more
important things on her mind besides the Mozart men. Poland, for
one. She was in the midst of a tug-of-war over that country with
Empress Catherine of Russia.... The politics were beyond my ken.
The empress had her concerns and I had mine.

Which were focused on my father and brother's continued
absence from home. They missed all our birthdays, Christmas, and
even Mama and Papa's twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. For that
momentous event all Papa sent Mama was a note in a letter: Today
is the anniversary of our wedding day. It was twenty-five years ago, I think,
that we had the sensible idea of getting married, one which we had cherished,
it is true, for many years. All good things take time!

"It was twenty-five years ago-I think?" I think? Mama had
been distraught on the anniversary day and stayed in bed. Her mood
was not improved days later when she received the letter. The least
Papa could have done was send it ahead of time, to try to have his
greeting-bland though it was-arrive on the actual day. And he
forgot St. Anne's day, Mama's and my name day, then chastised
me for forgetting to send a greeting for his name day-after I did
send it.

Yet I'm sure he was too busy to think much of us-except to
give us directions about life in Salzburg and to ask for Mama's handcream recipe. And all the letters from Wolfie, complaining about
having to sleep in the same bed with Papa and not getting any sleep,
or being together all day, every day, and his intense longing for his
favorite liver dumplings and sauerkraut, fell on my deaf ears. Papa
even presented the news that some grandstands in Milan had collapsed just across the street from where they were sitting-killing
some people-as another reason we should not have been along on
that trip.

Even their difficulties with the opera performance in Milan
made me roll my eyes. So what if Archduke Ferdinand held up the
start of the first performance two hours because he was home writing a New Year's letter (obviously not being adept at such things).
So what if the packed house grew antsy. Singers who overacted, or
got sick and had to be replaced? It was trivial to me. Worthless information. An annoyance in my day.

During their months of further travel, I came to believe that
what Papa really wanted was to have his son all to himself. How
could I think otherwise? For what man would so eagerly give up
house and home, along with the companionship of a daughter who
loved him?

And a wife. As an adult I was also aware that the long months
of abstinence would wear on most men. Yet he chose to repeatedly
extend the separation. I'd thought my parents' marriage strong, yet
the very fact they were willing to remain apart so long made me
wonder.

It was not something I could talk to Mama about. And on her
part, I did not see any hint of true longing. At least, not for ... that.

Once, my friend Katherl brought up the subject when we were
sitting in the garden doing petit point. "Do you think your father
has a mistress?"

It had come forth just that bluntly. I was taken aback, of
course-not because I hadn't asked such a question within my own
mind but because Katherl had spoken the words out loud.

"I don't think so," I said. "No." I shook my head. "No, I'm sure
he doesn't."

"How can you be sure?"

"Because Papa is Papa." I'd gone back to the leaf of my petitpoint rose. "Besides, German men don't do such things. Just the
French." I remembered the court at Versailles, where even as a child
I was privy to men flaunting their mistresses and women bragging
about their lovers. I hadn't fully realized what it meant back then,
but now ...

"I bet Italian men do it too," she said.

"I wouldn't know" And I wouldn't, for I had never seen Italy.

Which led me back to the issue at hand....

It wasn't as if I sat idle while they were gone. I found things to
do and was very capable of amusing myself with activities and
friendships. It was the principle that rankled my pride. The injustice.
Getting invited back to Joseph's Triebenbach estate was a highlight
in our time without Papa and Wolfie. And oh, how Papa went on
and on about how happy he was for us! I believe he was happythat we were gaining pleasure and it didn't cost him anything. He
even told us we could have some new dresses made. As if a few
dresses could ever take the place of what we were missing in Italy. I
told Mama it was bribery, and other than saying, "Oh, Nannerl,"
she did not argue with me. And we did get the dresses. I admit to
having expensive tastes when allowed.

And then we received a bribe that was probably worth staying
home for.

We got a new home. Gone was the three-room cramped quarters we'd rented from the Hagenauers my entire life as we moved
across the Salzach River to the Hannibalplatz, to a house called
affectionately the Dancing-Master's House. It had eight rooms on
the first floor, one of them a huge room that had been used for
dance lessons. The doorways were arched, the floors were covered
with a patterned wood parquet, and the windows were large and
airy. Best of all, I had my own room from which I could look upon
the busy square and people-watch. As a bonus, out back we had a
large garden where we could entertain, shoot targets, and rest in real
beauty.

It was grand compared to our worn-down, cramped third-story
quarters on the Getreidegasse, and I wondered how Papa afforded
it. It was hard to know how we were doing financially. Most of the
time Papa was frantic about it, and yet, with this move ... Wolfie's
commission work must have made the difference. Mama and I were
even able to hire a cook and occasionally hire someone to come in
and do our hair.

I hated the boring hairstyles of most Salzburg women-shoving
their hair back in a hood-and liked mine piled high as I'd seen as
a child. Papa and Wolfie made fun of me for my gcshchopftc and
teased me about the amount of time I told them I spent creating it.
But what should they care? They were not here.

Actually, in many ways, neither was Mama. Although Papa sent
her detailed instructions regarding how to handle things while they
were gone, it was not something Mama enjoyed doing-nor something she was particularly good at doing. She did it because she had
no choice. But those responsibilities, combined with the usual
household duties, plus the absence of her husband and son, wore on
her emotions and mental state so, I began to fear for her health. She
faded. She pulled inward.

It took effort not to follow her.