Mozart's Sister (41 page)

I pushed away, needing more distance to fully capture what he
was going to say. What I hoped he was going to say. "Meaning?"

"I spoke with the archbishop again."

"About us?"

He nodded and pulled me close again.

Once again, I pushed away. "Did he give us permission to
marry?"

"Not yet," Franz said. "But he assured me he's giving it the
highest consideration."

It was something, yet not enough.

"You look disappointed."

I was overreacting. I needed to show my appreciation, offer
encouragement, think positively.

I put my hands on his shoulders and traced the curved braid on
his waistcoat. "I'm sorry I just want a decision now. I want to marry
now."

"As do I, dear lady. But we must be patient. These things take
time."

His kiss made me forget about the inequities of being a woman.

Life went on, and Archbishop Colloredo controlled us all. Franz
and I waited for his permission to marry. Wolfie continued to complain about Colloredo, and Colloredo continued to complain about
him with poor Papa in the middle.

A reprieve was received when Wolfie obtained a commission
from Elector Karl Theodor to write an opera for Munich's carni val-an opera called Idomeneo, about the king of Crete, sea monsters,
and sacrifice. Both he and Papa were so excited about it that they
agreed he should charge less than the normal rate. The librettist,
Giambattista Varesco, visited our home in August 1780, and the
work began. The archbishop reluctantly granted Wolfie a six-week
leave to go to Munich to work on the composition and supervise
the rehearsals. It seemed a generous offer but wasn't because the
work wasn't scheduled to be performed until late January 1781, and
with Wolfie leaving on November fourth ... I left the discrepancy
in time for Papa and my brother to work out.

Papa showed his support by taking over some of Wolfie's duties
under the archbishop and by acting as go-between with Wolfie and
Varesco. Changes in the libretto were many, and Papa had to use
great tact and grace to make the project come to satisfactory fruition.

Even after Wolfie arrived in Munich, the work did not progress
smoothly. The lead character-Idomeneo-was to be played by
Wolfie's friend Anton Raaff. But Raaff was getting old and was not
a good actor, and the castrato playing the other lead part wasn't particularly good at acting or singing and seemed incapable of memorizing. As usual, Wolfie had to adapt the music to the limitations
and egos of the singers, which was both frustrating and timeconsuming. Rehearsals commenced in early December, before
Wolfie was even done with the composition. It was hard for me to
understand why Wolfie loved writing operas so much. The stress
and politics involved made the composition of a sonata or flute solo
far preferable. At least in my eyes.

But not in Wolfie's. Although his letters were full of complaints
about the process, I could also sense that these types of complications
fueled him. Having no musical challenge-as was the case in Salzburg-sapped his life breath and made him suffocate for lack of creative air.

And though I never mentioned such thoughts to Papa, the idea
of Wolfie coming home again ... I wanted better for him. Despite
wanting his company, I knew that the best thing for my brother
would be liberation from this place we called home.

Little did I know Papa agreed with me. One night over his mushroom soup, Papa said, "When the opera is complete, Wolfgang
needs to make his way to Vienna."

I choked on a bite of bread, and Papa had to slap my back until
I was breathing normally again.

"Eat slowly, Nannerl."

My choking had nothing to do with the speed of my eating.
"What would he do in Vienna?" I asked.

"With the success of Idomenco-and I do believe it will be a
success-your brother's worth will increase in the eyes of the world.
He's been very open to the changes I've suggested to him, and the
work is progressing nicely. It may even be his best to date. That's
why Vienna is the logical choice. There he will earn new operatic
commissions, perhaps even a few in Prague. Plus I'm hoping to get
the publisher Breitkopf to print some of his music. We do have
other options beyond the archbishop, Nannerl."

If only it were true. "But his position here ... We need the two
salaries to survive."

"Ah." Papa dabbed a napkin at his mouth. "We needed the two
salaries to pay off Wolfgang's traveling debts. But now, since those
are paid ..

"They're paid?"

He shrugged slightly. "They will be soon-but don't let
Wolfgang know"

"But the pressure of our finances on him ..."

"Needs to remain in place in order to keep him focused. You
know your brother. If I give him ten florins he will spend twenty. If
I tell him to save ten he will save five." Papa reached for my hand
across the table. "I believe the time has come where the security of
two salaries isn't worth the drain on our Wolfgang's talents." He let
go and nodded once. "Your brother's right. He's being wasted here."

There. He'd finally said it plain. I could do nothing more than
gape at him.

"What?" Papa asked. "You do not agree?"

I managed to hold in a laugh. "I agree completely. Although I'll
hate to see him go. I know the restraints set by Colloredo are-"

Papa tossed his napkin on the table. "If I could leave with
Wolfgang, I would. I am a prisoner here when I long to be in Munich to help with the opera. The archbishop is being incredibly
stingy with leave."

"But you did say the two of us were going to Munich to see the
final performance."

"That is the plan, dear girl. But, in truth, I'd prefer to go earlier."
He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Actually, that could cone
about. The father of His Grace is sick and there is talk he will visit
him in Vienna. Let me tell you, if that happens I will not be the
only Salzburg musician to slip out of town during his absence." He
suddenly sat back, his face clouded. "Unless Colloredo's father dies
and he cancels the visit. Or ... or what if the opera itself is postponed because of the mourning for the death our dear Maria
Theresa?"

This time I could not stifle a laugh. "Your compassion for the
sick and dead is moving, Papa."

He raised his chin defiantly. "I am a pragmatic man"

Of that, there was no question.

When Wolfie was little he had a saying, "Next to God conies
Papa." Every night before bed he used to stand on a chair and sing
to Papa, kissing him on the tip of his nose, telling him that when he
grew old Wolfie would put him in a glass case and protect him from
every breath of air, so that he might always give Papa honor and
have him close.

Although Wolfie still loved Papa, during our time with him in
Munich, seeing his opera come to life before our eyes ... I saw my
brother in a new light. He was no longer the dependent boy, eager
to please. He was a man of twenty-five whose inner essence showed
forth with a strength that surpassed even the love of a son for a
father. Seeing him direct the orchestra, direct the singers and actors
with the knowledge that every movement, every note, and every
sound that filled my heart and soul were from his annoying but brilliant mind made me accept that he was not ours anymore. Not
entirely ours.

Sitting in the audience as they clapped and shouted, "Bravo!" I realized I could let him go. But glancing at Papa standing beside me,
seeing the way his spine was erect and his chin held high ... seeing
how he perused the room, nodding and smiling as if he too were
responsible ...

I wasn't sure Papa could let him go, and I sensed-and fearedthe battles yet to come as Mozart the younger fought for independence.

Papa got his wish about Wolfie going to Vienna. Archbishop
Colloredo had gone to that city to see his sick father, taking with
him an extensive retinue of his court. Weeks later, after the opera
performances were over, he sent word to Wolfie that Wolfie's presence was required in Vienna. The archbishop was putting together
a musical group there (no doubt to show off the musicians as his
possessions) and wanted Wolfie to join them.

Papa had wanted Wolfie to go to Vienna, yet for Colloredo to
be the one to summon him there was advantageous, but odd. His
Grace also made insinuations that Papa needed to get back to Salzburg immediately. The two Mozart men were being purposely separated. None of us was sure how this would play out. Wolfie had
wanted to leave Salzburg to escape the thumb of the archbishop. But
to be summoned to his city of choice by the archbishop? And what
about the question of my marriage to Franz? Would Colloredo ever
make a decision? I hated that so many of the major options of our
life were in the hands of this one man.

Wolfie agreed to go to Vienna, but of course he had ulterior
motives. He would use the time-while under salary-to peruse
other alternatives on the sly. Leaving Papa and me, he played out
one of his character's lines: "Andro ramingo, c solo"-he would "wander forth alone."

Though we parted in Munich as though his trip were temporary, I had a feeling even then that my brother had no intention of
ever returning to us. I'd witnessed a different Wolfgang in Munich.
Gone was the bitter anger of my Salzburg brother. In its place was a
confident, exuberant, significant man who knew exactly what he wanted and was not beyond plucking a few strings to the point of
breaking in order to get it.

In truth, I could not imagine this new Wolfie back home with
Papa and me. As he'd hinted at before, I'd actually witnessed audiences swoon to his music, and had far too many memories of Salzburg audiences offering no more response than an audience of tables
and chairs. How could I deny him the one while condemning him
to the latter?

And so I said good-bye to my dear Wolfie with an extra hug
and two extra kisses as he headed from Munich to one city and we
to another.

Godspeed, brother.

I opened my eyes from sleep, froze, and held my breath.