Mozart's Sister (30 page)

Papa's lips curled back in a snarl. "Giacomo Rust." He returned
to the chair, closed his eyes, and perched his fingertips on his forehead. "I've been duped! Two years I've worked with no additional
pay. Two years I've stayed here, afraid to leave and seek positions
elsewhere. I formed myself into the most pliable, acquiescent
employee, assuming His Grace would see and appreciate ..." He
leaned his head back against the chair's cushion.

Wolfie pointed toward the window, in the direction of the archbishop's Residenz. "He should at least pay you the difference in salary. He owes you an additional five hundred florins-per year. He
needs to make things right." Wolfie had become much more forceful in his opinions since turning twenty-one and suffering his own
employment inequities. For since Munich, there had been no job
offers. A few commissions, much composition and growth in that
regard, but no salaried position.

Papa opened his eyes and smiled sarcastically. "Ah, but the new
Kapellmeister gets paid even more than Fischietti. He gets a thousand florins a year."

We all gasped. Compared to Papa's salary of three hundred fifty
florins, it was a fortune.

Mama moved beside his chair, her hand touching its back as if
wanting to touch Papa in consolation but not sure if she should.

Wolfie grabbed the sill of a window and leaned heavily upon it,
his head shaking back and forth. "An Italian again. I find snobbery
against one's own kind unconscionable. Why can't Germans appreciate Germans?"

"We must take solace in the fact that even Christ was not appreciated in His hometown," Mama said.

Papa flipped a hand, "Oh, that's just Jesus, don't mind Him! Oh,
that's just Leopold, don't mind him either. He's just a native son
who's spent thirty-six years in service, a great portion to an ungrateful, unscrupulous, demanding, arrogant, ignorant-"

Mama glanced toward the open windows. "Shh, dear one."

"Let him say it, Mama," Wolfie said. He opened the window
wider and leaned out to yell, "It's not fair, I tell you! Not fair at all!"

Mama stood between Papa and Wolfie, her mouth open but unspeaking, her arms extended toward both, as if she wanted to
calm them but didn't know how.

I was of no help. For I was angry too and would have liked to
open a second window to do my own yelling. How Papa was
treated reflected on all of us. Wolfie was still on only half pay as the
concertmaster but was at least getting commissions for his compositions. I was helping out as I could with Wolfie's music and by
giving lessons, but our main source of income continued to be Papa.

His deep sigh broke through my thoughts. "I'm done," he said.
"I know of no more I can do."

Wolfie left the window and stood before him. "I can do more,
Papa. I can leave this horrible place and try for another post. Years
have passed since we last ventured out to look. We've been two
good boys, at the court's beck and call, bowing and accepting their
scraps as dutiful peons. But now that they've humiliated you so ...
it's time I leave. I can find a post, a great post that will support us
all."

Papa leaned forward in his chair. "Perhaps it is time to leave
again. We've been home for over two years. I shall petition for travel,
and we can-"

"No, Papa. Not us. Just me."

We all stared at Wolfie, though I'm sure the source of our dismay
was different. Mama and Papa saw his declaration as the boast of a
whippersnapper. I saw it as the boast of a brave brother-a boast I'd
heard in private many times over the past years. I was proud of him
for finally being bold.

Papa pushed himself out of the chair. "Don't be ridiculous. You,
pack? You, handle money exchanges? You, handle transportation
and lodging?"

"I could. I've seen you-"

"Seeing me do it all for you is not the same as you doing it for
yourself."

"But if I never get to go by myself, how can I-?"

Papa took the ends of Wolfie's cravat and tied it correctly.
"Look. You can't even dress yourself."

"I am at home, Papa. I was composing. It doesn't matter if my
cravat isn't-"

Papa snapped his fingers at Mama. "Get me some clean paper
and a fresh quill. I have to write a petition for travel."

During this exchange, my mind had hovered over Papa's use of
the word we in regard to travel. He hadn't said to Wolfie "You and
I," he'd said "we." I wanted to ask Papa to clarify, yet I was afraid to
do so. I didn't want to hear another no.

Blessedly, Mama did it for me. "We are all going, then?" she
asked from the doorway.

Papa blinked twice, as if the question surprised him. "Of course
not. The expense. No, no. You and Nannerl will stay here."

I looked at Mama. She looked at me. I silently begged her to
stand fast, insist we travel as a family. For though I had been allowed
to hear Wolfie's opera performed in Munich, that had been over two
years ago. We'd all been home since then, Papa tied to his work as
the interim Kapellmeister, and the rest of us stuck in Salzburg
because he was stuck.

Yet in spite of my wishes, Mama only nodded at Papa's words
and left the room. She accepted her fate. If there was going to be
any rebellion, it would have to come from me.

Papa was at his desk, mumbling to himself, verbally creating the
words he would soon put on paper. I moved beside the desk, facing
him. He was so mentally entrenched in his words that he did not
even look up.

"Papa?"

His head whipped in my direction, his brow tight. "Not now,
Nannerl. I have important work to do."

"I know, but I would like to reaffirm what Mama asked. I would
like to go along. I've been helping Wolfie, and I can give lessons
anywhere, and Mama could help with the packing and the lodging
and-"

He put a hand on mine. "My answer now is the answer I gave
when you both wanted to leave before. If we all leave, the archbishop will guess that we are searching for a position. If just the two
of us go, we can mask the travel by saying it's in regard to a commission. Besides, I can't afford to pay for our home here as well as
the on-the-road lodging for four people. It's not feasible, Nannerl.
Not at all. You and Mama must remain here."

Like good little girls who had no say in anything.

The archbishop might have been unfair, but so was Papa.

Six months later I found Wolfie bent over a paper, writing with
a painstaking hand instead of his usual vibrant flourish.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

He finished the word and sat back, taking with him the breath
he had been holding. "I am copying a very important letter to the
archbishop."

"You're writing a letter to him?"

He pointed at the sheet beside him. "Papa wrote it. I'm just
copying it and will sign it as my own." He lifted the paper, studying
it as if it were a piece of art. "Papa is intent on getting the archbishop
to let me leave so I can pursue another position."

"But Papa's already asked," I said. "He petitioned the archbishop
for an increase in your salary and for leave." During the past months
our household had been consumed with petitions. Unsuccessful
petitions.

"You know Papa. He won't stop asking until he gets the answer
he wants. At one point the archbishop said I could go, but he
quickly reneged." He pointed the quill at me. "But since he said it
once, Papa is hoping with a little cajoling from me . . ." He gave me
his most charming smile, "Me, His Grace's most faithful composer
and clavier player extraordinaire."

Wolfie seemed confident, but I wasn't so sure. I knew how
angry Papa got when Wolfie or I pressed him with the same question over and over. Our actions often brought punishment.

"Read it for me," Wolfie said, handing it to me. "Make sure I
didn't spell anything wrong."

The paper read: Most Gracious Sovereign Prince and Lord! Parents
take pains to enable their children to earn their own bread, and this they owe
both to their own interest and to that of the State. The more talent that
children have received from God, the greater is the obligation to make use
thereof in order to ameliorate their own and their parents' circumstances, to
assist their parents, and to take care of their own advancement and fortune. The Gospel teaches us to use our talents in this way. May Your Serene
Highness graciously permit me, therefore, to beg most submissively to be
released from service.

I looked up. "Released from service? You're quitting?"

Wolfie shrugged, but the way he looked away spoke of his
uncertainty. "Papa says there is no other way. The archbishop will
not release us, so I must ask to be released. My income of one hundred twenty-five florins can surely be found elsewhere." His eyes
met mine. "It must be found elsewhere."

I looked back at the petition and wondered about the tone. I
wasn't sure His Grace would take the biblical lesson kindly. It was
almost as if Papa was admonishing him. "But perhaps this is a
bit ..

"Arrogant? Overstepping our bounds?"

"You see it too?"

"I do."

"Then maybe we should bring it to Papa and-"

Wolfie laughed. "Would you like to bring it to Papa?"

I handed him the page. He angled it to finish and dipped his
quill. "We have to trust Papa, Nannerl. He's taken care of everything
so far, yes?"

So far. Yes.

During the time between presenting Wolfie's petition and
receiving an answer, a strained hopefulness hovered over our home,
as if by the sheer act of our wills everything would turn out fine. If
all went well, the archbishop would release Wolfie from his position
and give his blessings. Wolfie was giddy about the idea of traveling
alone, but I found it hard to believe Papa would let him go. Yet
what choice would we have? There needed to be sonic regular
money coming in, and that meant Papa had to stay. Yet I still suspected Papa had an alternate plan, that somehow he would find a
way to also get travel leave. Papa had ways. Amazing ways.

Papa stormed in the door, shaking a piece of paper. In the past
few months, his emotional entrances were becoming far too familiar.
"Anna! Children!"

We gathered round as we always did, and Wolfie squeezed my
hand. "Is it from?"

"Yes, it's from . . ." Papa said. "You can bet your knickers it's
from ..." He raised the letter and read, "Father and son have permission to seek their fortune elsewhere-according to the Gospel."

I didn't know which part of the declaration to react to first: m y
father and brother's dismissal, or the fact His Grace had flung the
Gospel back at them.

"You're dismissed?" Mama asked. Her voice was small.

"I'm dismissed! We're both dismissed!" He looked at the letter
again, smacking it with the back of his fingers. "But the way he's
said it ... so smug, so arrogant. We can seek our fortune elsewhere ..." Suddenly Papa wadded up the page and threw it across
the room, where it bounced off a windowpane. "Pack our bags!" he
said. "Since he wants us to leave, that's exactly what we're going to
do"