Mozart's Sister (17 page)

But then I'd slip away into a sleep where the odd dreams
reigned. Dreams of standing before a massive door that led to a concert hall and having the music going on without me. Not being able
to open the door ... my fingers freezing on the keyboard, unable
to play ... watching from a window as Mama, then Papa, then
Wolfie rode away.

Sometimes I heard Wolfie's music as I slept. It comforted me.

There were many doctors, and one blended into the next. I
heard one say that he was going to stop up the cough with a milk
cure, by driving the matter of the disease down into my lower body
where it could be released. Honestly, I didn't care what they did, as
long as I found comfort.

Death would have been welcome. Even Mama and Papa said so.
But it was not allowed. Papa fumed, "I will not have one of us die
on foreign soil. I will not!" And Mama lamented, "I have lost five
children, I will not lose another! Take we, Father! Take iiie." I welcomed their fighting spirit, for I had little of my own.

For weeks they sat at my bedside. They often told me Bible
stories: the story of Jesus healing the nobleman's son, and the young
girl who was brought back from the dead.. At first these stories
scared me, for it was apparent my parents found similarities between
the dying children and myself.

Was I really dying?

I was really dying. I knew it even before the priest came to give
me Holy Communion. Even before the date of October twentyfirst, when the priest was so upset at my condition that he gave me
Last Rites. Over and over Mama and Papa reminded me that the
world was full of vanity and heaven was a good place. I would be
happy there-and free from the pain that wracked my body.

I heard yet did not hear. I spoke but could not speak. I slept.

And then on that same day, another doctor came. I heard Mama
say he was the retired doctor of the princess. One of the other doctors was there too, and Papa and the two men argued over me. The
old doctor answered questions of the new one, but Papa argued and
said, "What is this talk of boils and pocks? There are none present
now, and never were!" I wished they would stop arguing as if I
wasn't even there.

But then it was quiet and I opened my eyes to find the new
doctor taking my pulse, then touching my forehead. He put on his
glasses and examined my eyes and my tongue. He then proclaimed,
"It is nothing more than extraordinarily thick mucus. Some good
calves' soup with well-boiled rice will help"

And it did. For I began to recover. I was still weak, but slowly the world came back to me and took over the awful place of my
dreams.

But just a week after I gained enough strength to get out of
bed in early November, Wolfie became sick with the same illness.
For four weeks he fought off death. Fever wracked him, and for
a week he just lay there, barely breathing, unable to speak. And
frighteningly, his lips turned black and hard, and peeled away.

As they had during my illness, Mama stayed with him from midnight to six in the morning, and Papa took the six-to-noon shift so
Mama could sleep. They both stood watch during the day, rarely
leaving the room. I tried to help as I could, but I was still weak, and
they feared a reoccurrence if I remained too close. Wolfie was completely unrecognizable, nothing but tender skin and little bones.

For three months sickness held our family captive. What God
sends must be endured, but as Christmas neared, Papa rejoiced that
we had both risen from the dead. Wolfie walked a few steps on his
own and received our applause as if he had run a race.

I knew Papa worried about the lost income, as well as the
expense of doctors and medicines. But when I apologized for being
sick, he said, "Expense must not be considered. The devil take the
money, if one only gets off with one's skin!"

We had not planned to be in Holland so long and regretted
having sent our furs and winter clothes on to Paris. How we could
have used them in December! It was the people of Holland who
made us warm. We made many friends during our stay, and Wolfie
made a musical name for himself before he got sick. Alas, I did not
have a chance to play there because I took sick the day after our
arrival. But I wanted to. I was eager to prove to the Dutch that I
was a viable part of this performing duo. It was not the Miracle
Child but the Miracle Children.

God did not save me for nothing. I'd make sure of that.

Five months in Amsterdam, Antwerp, Brussels, then back to
Paris for two months where we picked up the luggage we had left
there. Did we really need these things we'd been without for over two years? Then on to Dijon for two weeks, Lyons for four, and
Geneva, Switzerland, for three. Lausanne and Berne, Zurich, Ulm,
and Munich. Places that had only appeared as a dot on a map
became real in our memories. Before the trip I'd never imagined the
vastness of the world. Afterward, I often thought about the people
I'd met and imagined what they were doing while I floated on a
canal in Holland or crossed a mountain pass in Switzerland. All these
people living the same day, the same hours, seeing the same sun and
moon and stars ... yet so far apart they didn't even know of one
another's existence.

I knew Only lucky ones like my family knew I sometimes
wondered if even kings and queens had seen as much as we. And
not just the places, not just buildings and rivers and hills. Not just
paintings, museums, and statues. But people. I could never count
the number of people we'd seen, and as amazing as that number was,
even more so was the number who had seen us and heard us play.
The multitude who'd talked to us, often in languages we did not
understand. Kings and shopkeepers, ambassadors and farmers. We'd
come into contact with them all. Who else could say as much? I
didn't mean to sound proud, but ... but who else? God was very
gracious.

Along the way we added Wolfie's compositions to the concerts.
Composition became his passion, and he spent many hours each day
at work. Once a piece was completed, Papa arranged for it to be
engraved (usually dedicating it to some royal personage), and soon
after, we played it in public. In Amsterdam we repeatedly heard
people humming one of Wolfie's melodies.

I tried to compose some too. Yet every time I started, Mama or
Papa found something else for me to do, or shooed me away from
Wolfie saying, "Move on, Nannerl. We must give your brother
quiet."

After a while, I stopped trying.

We returned to Salzburg on November 29, 1766, filled with
apprehension and exhaustion. Our trip home from London had taken sixteen months. Even as recognizable mountains graced our
view, even as my stomach knotted with anticipation at seeing familiar people and places, Papa held Mama's hand, shaking his head,
clearly worried.

"The archbishop will be angry we've been gone so long. Longer
than we'd planned," he said. "Years more."

"But you've sent him music and presents. You've sent word
through Hagenauer about our triumphs."

"Wherever we played, people knew our roots," I offered.
"People always knew we were the children of the Kapellmeister of
Salzburg."

"Vice Kapellmeister," Papa said.

Oh dear. I'd forgotten. On our trip, they'd always called Papa
Kapellmeister-and he hadn't corrected them. But he wasn't Kapellmeister. Someone else was. I hoped nothing about that detail had
gotten back to the archbishop. My own worry grew.

Papa adjusted the cuffs of his waistcoat. "Hagenauer told me
there was talk of our going to Scandinavia next, then Russia. And
even to China."

"We're going to China?" Wolfie asked.

"No, no. We're not," Papa said. "Though it is true we were
asked to Russia and Denmark. But to have such talk spread . . ." He
shook his head.

"How can it hurt if people think that well of us?" Mama asked.
"Surely talk of such invitations-true or not-only strengthens our
position."

"To the populace, yes," Papa said, raising a finger. "And I have
no qualms about letting them think what they may. Our travels are
a novelty to them, a dream, a fairy tale beyond their imaginings."
He dropped his finger. "But in regard to the archbishop ... if he
believes we are leaving again ..."

Mama pulled in a breath. "You don't think he'll take away your
position, do you?"

"I don't know." He closed his eyes and rubbed the space
between them. "And moreover, I'm not completely sure I care."

"Not care?" Mama asked.

"Oh ... perhaps I'm just weary." He patted her hand; then their fingers intertwined and sat together on her knee. "As the miles
between ourselves and Salzburg have diminished, the rumors and
gossip have increased: which Salzburg musicians have composed
what, who is controlling whom in His Grace's court ... Life has
very obviously gone on without us." He sighed and crossed himself.
"For a few years-praise God-I was at peace and free from such
idiocy, and I want to remain so. Truth tell, I'm not sure I'm capable
of coming back from the grand courts of Europe to be a mere fiddler."

Mama drew his hand to her lips and kissed it. "You are much
more than that, dear one."

Papa pulled his hand away and pointed angrily out the window
"Not to them I'm not!" He looked across the coach at Wolfie and
me, and suddenly seemed embarrassed that we'd seen his outburst.
He reached out and patted our knees. "I'm very proud of you, children. These years together have been precious and irreplaceable." He
sat back and looked outside again, but this time his eyes were wistful.
"Never to be replaced...."

I appreciated his praise but had a question. "We are leaving
again, aren't we, Papa?"

He looked at each of us in turn. "We do like to travel, yes?"

We all nodded. Although I was glad to be returning home, a
part of me was a little afraid of staying put, of not hearing a multitude
of languages, not seeing grand museums and concert halls, not being
in exotic places beyond the ken of our neighbors. I had the awful
fear if I remained at home, I would fall into the domestic destiny
Mama had deemed mine. I was fifteen now, and the expectations
that haunted my gender loomed distressingly close.

Then Papa eased my fears. "We still have many places to see,
children. Many places that need to see and hear you. I would have
liked to get to Italy, but the pull of the archbishop . . ." He sighed
deeply. "Oh, who knows what is in store for us upon our return to
Salzburg? Perhaps we will be greeted in such a distressful way that
we will happily put our knapsacks over our backs and leave forever.
I am bringing you back to the fatherland. If that isn't enough for
them, if they don't appreciate you as others have ..." He took a
fresh breath. "They will not have you gratis."

"It will be good for the children to rest and recuperate," Mama
said. She tucked a throw over Wolfie's legs. He was just getting over
yet another illness.

Papa sighed. "I have promised to return home, and I am keeping
my word." There was a hint of defiance in his voice.

Mama spoke to Wolfie and me. "Did you know your papa is
trying to get us new lodging? For you are both larger than you were
when we left. Nannerl, we realize you need your own sleeping area
now, and we all need separate work areas"

"We're moving away from the Hagenauers'?" Wolfie looked
worried.

"Eventually. But not until we find a place that's suitable," Papa
said.

My own space. I would like that. Although I loved my family
dearly, I was tired of sharing a bed with Mama on the road and
sharing a bedchamber with my family at home. I had left Salzburg a
child and returned a woman.

Suddenly Mama pointed out the window. "There's the Salzach
River! It will lead us home."

"Mmm," Papa said.