Mozart's Sister (16 page)

I looked down at my dress. Its color was appropriate, as it
matched my heart.

Envy, thy color is green.

I heard a smattering of applause, accompanied by delighted
laughter. But the music continued, unabated, fueled by the praise
and by the joy the musicians found in the act of creation.

Horses neighed and fidgeted in the courtyard below as drivers
conversed and smoked tobacco in their long pipes. What if I got
into one of those carriages and had them drive me away? Anywhere.
Just away.

"Nannerl?"

I glanced behind me to find Mama exiting the room. I realized
I was crying and quickly wiped my tears before facing her. I man aged a smile, but she would have none of it and came to me, her
face concerned.

"I looked up and saw you were gone. Are you ill?"

"I'm fine." I linked my arm through hers, leading her back
toward the room.

She stopped our progress. "Why did you leave?"

I tried to think of an acceptable excuse. I nodded toward the
window and put a hand at my corset. "I needed air, but I'm better
now.

She eyed me a moment. Obviously, I was a better actress than I
thought, for after I endured a few seconds of her scrutiny, she continued our walk toward the door. "Your brother is doing well, don't
you think?"

She didn't want to know what I thought. No one did.

As 1765 came upon us, the chances for us to perform became
fewer. Knowing after we left England there would be no more guineas, Papa took action. He began to advertise that prospective customers might find the family at home-at the inn-every day from
twelve to two o'clock. Many showed up, and Papa charged an
admittance fee. I enjoyed giving these impromptu concerts because
the attendees had obviously gone out of their way to come. These
were people from all segments of society. Some were familiar with
music, and others ... I will admit that both Wolfie and I played best
when we had a knowledgeable audience, as their expertise fueled
ours. To those who came to hear trifles, we gave trifles.

In between visitors, Wolfie and I often played marbles. Once,
when Wolfie was playing his violin, I saw a stray marble under
someone's chair. When Wolfie saw me looking in that direction, he
spotted it too and mouthed to me, "It's mine!" And sure enough, as
soon as the audience moved to the door, he pounced on it and put
it in his pocket. I truly think it was one of mine, but he was the
swifter. Finders keepers.

Losers weepers.

Although Papa never said anything outright, as winter passed into the spring-in April we'd been in London a year-as he and
Mama became engaged in many private talks (of which I heard
snatches), and as he suffered many sleepless nights, I came to believe
that he had been asked by the queen and king to take a permanent
position in the English court. I had no proof, but where Papa had
previously been complimentary and even envious of all things English, he suddenly saw only the negative. The weather was too variable and damp, the air too full of soot from thousands of chimneys,
the houses too cold-oh, for the even warmth of a tile stove-and
the diversity of its religions and the freedom of its classes now gave
offense. It was as if he'd suddenly set his sights toward home and all
things German.

If this were true, it helped explain why we were not asked to
perform again at Buckingham House. Had Papa truly rejected a
royal offer of employment and thus given offense? I hoped his decision wasn't because of Wolfie or me. For periodically we did whine
about wanting to see our friends back in Salzburg, and we often
egged each other on talking about the ecstasy of a good Austrian
apricot torte. Surely Papa would not make such a significant decision
because of our meager complaints?

Or ... there might have been another reason we had not been
invited back to Buckingham House. Had we done poorly? One
Sunday as we walked to church, I took advantage of the fact that
Mama and I were walking alone behind Wolfie and Papa.

"Mama?"

She adjusted her shawl. "Yes, Nannerl?"

"We haven't had many concerts lately. Did Wolfie and I do
something wrong?"

With a glance to Papa up ahead, Mama put a hand on my shoulder and slowed our walk, ever so slightly. "It's not your fault. Nor
your brother's. It is the fault of the nobility."

"How so?"

"The concerts we've been having for the ordinary people?"

"I like those. We make people happy. The other day a grandmother cried after I played."

She nodded. "I also enjoy the experience of reaching common folk, exposing them to a bit of the divine." Mama sighed heavily.
"But the nobility don't like it."

It only took me a moment to understand. "They want us all to
themselves?"

"Indeed."

"Then why don't they invite us to do more concerts-for
them?"

"Your father thinks it's a conspiracy: retribution for us having
the audacity to share you with the world instead of with just a privileged few The haves are never eager to give up their advantage over
the have-nots-not even in England." She sighed. "But unfortunately, the have-nots seem content to see you just once, while the
nobility would ask to see you again and again. Would ask, but
aren't."

A point entered my mind, but I wasn't sure I should share it.

Mama must have sensed my desire to say more, for she said,
"Speak, Nannerl. Speak now and then we need never speak of it
again.

Since she'd asked ... "Papa is always worried about money, and
since it is the nobility who can pay the good amounts ... perhaps
we shouldn't do the other concerts. They don't pay very well, and
I've noticed Papa keeps lowering the price."

She squeezed my shoulder. "You mustn't worry so much about
money, Nannerl. I know being in such close quarters you hear us
talk of it, but ... your papa has worked very hard to keep us here
in London, where all in all, the receipts have been generous. Now
that things have turned ... a man's pride is delicate, especially when
mixed with his necessity to provide for his family."

A man of the cloth who was walking in our direction suddenly
slowed, then stopped beside us.

"Fraulein Mozart!"

His exuberant greeting caused Papa and Wolfie to stop and
come back to join us. The man looked familiar, yet I did not-

But then I did. "Father. Reverend."

Papa had joined us, Wolfie in hand. His eyes were wary. "Sir?"

The reverend nodded with a little bow "My apologies, sir.
Madam. Let me introduce myself. I am Reverend Collins. I had the pleasure of meeting . . ." He hesitated and looked at me. I hoped he
would not give away my secret that I'd taken solace in a nonCatholic church. Finally he said to my parents, "I had the pleasure
of hearing your children play at the Swan and Hoop."

Papa cleared his throat. "Yes, well ..." I knew he thought our
recent residence at the Swan was an indignity, so for this man to
bring it up ...

"The performance was glorious," Reverend Collins said. "I witnessed the children playing the covered keyboard, sitting side by side.
The music was quite astonishing. And the four-handed duets were
something these ears have never heard." He gave me a wink. "And
then, of course, I especially enjoyed your prodigious playing, Fraulein
Mozart."

I felt myself blush but gave him a quick curtsy. I looked at Papa.

Unfortunately, before Papa smiled at the compliment, I saw his
left eyebrow rise. That one gesture disheartened me, but I maintained my smile and manners while Reverend Collins continued his
chat, hearing him say that he had also purchased a copy of Wolfie's
sonatas and a copy of the engraving the Parisian Carmontelle had
made of me, Wolfie, and Papa performing. For some reason his litany of compliments embarrassed me. Finally he said his good-byes.

"What a nice man," Mama said as we resumed our walk.

"He liked my playing," I said softly.

Papa's eyes flashed. "Excuse me, young lady?"

Mama saved me by taking Papa's arm and leading him forward
with chatter about our afternoon plans.

Wolfie kicked a pebble and it clattered ahead of us, coming to
rest near a horse trough. "Your turn. Get it!" he said.

I ignored him and walked on.

Papa waved his hands in the air. "The very sight of all this luggage makes me perspire!"

I agreed. After living in London for fifteen months, we'd
accumulated ... too much. New clothes, housewares, souvenirs.
Papa had spent a great deal of time picking out watches for his friends back in Salzburg-especially Herr Hagenauer. English
watches were superior to German watches, but Papa worried
whether, if they broke ... could they be repaired in Salzburg? And
Herr Hagenauer had requested some red cloth that had to be sent
ahead because customs regulations in France were stringent about
such things-though I had no idea why. There were many details to
think about and plan for.

To ease our exit from London on August first, we looked forward to answering an amazing number of invitations: Holland,
Copenhagen, Hamburg, and St. Petersburg. Yet even though I
would have liked to see Denmark and Russia, none of us wanted to
spend the winter in such places. Papa's plan was to return to Paris to
spend the winter concert season there, and afterward, move on to
sunny Italy.

But then Papa's choice of our next venue was decided for him.

Holland.

I'd always wanted to see Holland with its canals and windmills,
but Papa had been hesitant, fearing the people there would be crude
and base as we had experienced in other lowland places. But the
Dutch envoy to London had sweetened the invitation with promises
of high pay if we would play at court for William V, the Prince of
Orange. When the prince's sister, Caroline, insisted we come, the
engagement was settled.

Unfortunately, with our carriage and many of our possessions
stored in Calais, we had to return to the mainland via that route.
Luckily, this time our Channel crossing was without queasy incident-the day lovely, and the seas calm. We even had a big lunch
once we landed, then headed east to Holland via Dunkirk, Antwerp,
and Rotterdam.

Both Papa and Wolfie suffered bad attacks of catarrh along the
way, coughing horribly (was the variable weather to blame?), and
we were delayed enough that it was six weeks before we entered
The Hague in September. Once there, we were very glad to not
have missed Holland, for its landscape and towns were unlike any
we had ever seen: flat expanses of green, with tree-lined canals
bisecting each plot of land. It was all so ordered and ... perfect. To
better see the land, we even left our carriage behind in Antwerp to utilize the horse-drawn barges on the water.

At The Hague we took lodging at an inn, and Papa sent word
to the prince that we had arrived. The prince and princess arranged
for us to give the first of many concerts two days after our arrival.
They even supplied a carriage for us.

But then I got sick. At first I thought it was merely chest congestion as Papa and Wolfie had suffered. Yet on the night of September twelfth, when we were to present our first concert, I couldn't
go. Mama stayed behind with me. Poor Mama. Always having to
play the nurse for the rest of us. Mama never got sick. I admired her
strength, and her patience and care. Every time I would wake from
sleep, she was beside my bed, ready to help me sip water or broth,
or stroke my head.

I tried to get well, I truly did, but each time I attempted to sit
or stand, the illness demanded attention and I fell back to bed. After
two weeks I realized it was serious, for on the twenty-sixth, a chill
and fever took hold. Swallowing became an act of will as my throat
was swollen and sore.

A doctor bled me, but I did not get better. He said the blood
was very bad; it was inflamed and half of it was white slime and
grease. I dared not look and make myself feel sicker still.

As the sickness took on a stronger grip I fell deeper and deeper
into a place that had nothing to do with the inn at The Hague. My
thoughts lived in places unreal and came in odd bursts that had no
connection with one another. I even heard myself speaking in
German, then French, then English. I would hear soft laughter then,
and if I managed to open my eyes, often found Papa and Mania
smiling at me. At something I said? One time Wolfie made a funny
face and mimicked me in English, "I want more mutton, if you
please!"