Mozart's Sister (44 page)

He acted like an old man. And though he was sixty-two, up
until this time he had seemed much younger. His surrender to life's
inequities aged him.

As they aged me. For in my own way, I too was old. I was nearly
thirty, unmarried, and living in the house of my father. And though
I did not succumb to letting my health deteriorate as Papa did, I
found it increasingly difficult to look at myself in the mirror. I had
never been a beauty, but now there were lines at my eyes and forehead, and the glow of youth was only falsely achieved by pinching
my cheeks.

Although I allowed myself the smallest glimmer of hope that
someday I would marry, it was a hope born out of desperation and
self-preservation. I'd already given up hope of being a noted musician, impressing the world with my prowess and talent. So to let this
final hope of home and family die would be to risk succumbing to
my own desire to doze the rest of my life away in a favorite chair.

I still thought of Franz often and knew he would never completely leave my consciousness. Initially Papa had offered his condolences at our situation-though I never did tell him how close I'd
come to running away-but he soon became so consumed with the
world of his own melancholy that I was forced to deal with my
plethora of feelings alone.

Franz tried to make things easier, and we still saw each otherthough less often because the angst of what could have been was too
painful.

And so while Papa surrendered, I became resigned. The distinction may have been slight, but it kept me going. My prayersthough they had not been answered as I had wished-continued.
Surely God had some plan for my life beyond this?

Surely there was more....

I could not stay angry at my brother for breaking his ties with the
archbishop so dramatically. I could not stay angry at the archbishop
for denying my application to marry his loyal employee Franz. I
could not stay angry at Franz for not being the kind of man who
could shun the known for the difficult life of the unknown.

If only I could.

Time moved on for Papa and me in Salzburg, and for Wolfie in
Vienna. Alone.

But not alone. Oh no, not at all alone.

For after leaving the archbishop's employ (how delicately said,
Nannerl!), Wolfie moved into a boardinghouse owned by the
Webers, the very same Weber family he'd stayed with back in
Mannheim. After the Weber father died, they'd moved to Vienna.
Wolfie's old love, Aloysia, had married (she'd been with child at the
wedding), leaving the mother and three other daughters to fend for
themselves by opening their home to boarders.

From what Wolfie implied in his letters, the oldest sister,
Josepha, at twenty-one, was too old for his twenty-seven-year-old
tastes, and the youngest, Sophie, at eighteen, was too young. Which
left the middle girl, Constanze, aged nineteen. Papa and I noticed in
his correspondence that unlike his letters describing Aloysia, lauding
her beauty and talent, his letters describing Constanze heralded her
tender care and solicitude, and her two little black eyes and pretty figure. Not that being a beauty or having great talent was a necessity
in a mate, but in many ways it seemed that Wolfie was settling.

And then we began to hear rumors regarding unsavory behavior
within the Weber household in regard to two unmarried young
people being in such close quarters.... Wolfie had to move out or
risk having Constanze's mother call the police. Once that was
accomplished, he complained about his new lodging arrangements,
saying that the household was too set in their ways. Apparently at
the Webers' he'd been allowed to compose until all hours, delaying
meals as long as he wished. They'd coddled him and let him keep
the eccentric habits that were his preference.

Over and over he asked Papa's permission to marry Constanze.
And over and over Papa said no. "What does Wolfgang not understand
about the word no?" Beyond Papa's obvious hesitations regarding the
reputation of the Weber family-her mother was said to be a drunk,
and a Salzburg friend had declared Constanze a trollop-Papa stated
that, in order to marry, Wolfie was still in need of a permanent
position. One did not become man and wife and enter a time of life
where the added expense of children would surely follow without a
good job. It was common sense.

Something Wolfie sorely lacked.

In his defense, Wolfie was earning some money through teaching (which he abhorred), giving concerts in the homes of nobility,
and getting an operatic commission for The Abduction from the
Seraglio. Yet his greatest dream of being hired by Emperor Joseph II
remained elusive.

Papa and I weren't sure whom to blame. Although a family
friend (the one who'd called Constanze a trollop) had also brought
word from Vienna that Wolfie was despised by the Viennese court
and nobility for the whole Weber affair, we also knew from other
sources that salaried positions were scarce under Emperor Joseph,
which had the consequence of sending more and more musicians
into the freelance market. Times were indeed tight.

And Wolfie was not.

Wolfie seemed incapable of adjusting his lifestyle to his income.
When he had a windfall, he spent as though he were aristocracy, but
when he fell on hard times, he had trouble pulling in the purse strings. It was my opinion that if Mama and Papa would have made
him aware of the financial side of life instead of always doing for
him, he would have been better off.

Not that I ever told Papa that.

Yet in my brother's defense, the money situation was often
unfair. For Abduction, Wolfie received a one-time payment of 426
florins. It incensed him that even though the opera played to packed
houses, even though the theater owners were said to have brought
in 1706 florins in two weeks, Wolfie did not receive another coin.
The lot of a composer was difficult-no matter how talented.

I also empathized with Wolfie's desire to be married. Luckily for
Wolfie, since he didn't live in Salzburg anymore, he didn't need to
play by the archbishop's rules. Once he received Papa's consent"Your brother wore me down, Nannerl. Better to have them marry
than to create further scandal"-Wolfie and Constanze were man
and wife.

As I congratulated them, I hated them.

Some sister I was.

With their wedding vows still fresh, Wolfie and Constanze
started talking about coming to Salzburg for a visit. After all, we had
yet to meet his bride. And though Papa and I were not thrilled
about the union, we looked forward to seeing Wolfie again. It had
been over two years since we'd parted in Munich with Wolfie traveling to Vienna and us heading home.

Yet during the postmarriage months we received two things
from Wolfie in abundance: excuses and delays.

Papa read his latest excuse, allowing his hand to fall into his lap
with a familiar sigh of exasperation. "It's the weather, the concert
season, Constanze has a headache, she's pregnant, his students won't
let him leave.... Why doesn't he just admit that we are no longer
important to him?"

I brought Papa a cup of coffee. "That's not true, Papa. His letters
flow with their longing to see us."

Papa snickered. "Purple prose." He rolled his eyes. "A distraught Constanze is forcibly restrained from running after a friend's carriage
that's leaving for Salzburg. Constanze walking around an entire day,
holding my portrait to her chest, kissing it over and over" He made
a face. "The image is not pleasant. Nor the sentiment real."

I had to agree with him. I sat nearby with my own coffee and
biscuit.

Papa waved a hand as another thought materialized. "Then his
inane idea of wanting to meet in Munich because he's afraid the
archbishop is going to arrest him because he never officially turned
in his resignation. Resignation?" Papa laughed and took a sip of
coffee. "Humbug! And Wolfgang's position has long been filled."
The cup clattered against the saucer. "Will that boy ever understand
the world does not revolve around him?"

I did not mention Papa's part in creating that belief...

He picked up the letter and shook it. "And the writing ... it is
quite clear Wolfgang scribbles something at the last moment, probably as the post waits for him. If he truly cared to communicate out
of love rather than duty, he would do as I do and write something
of interest each day in an orderly fashion, so when it's post day, a
letter is ready to be sent."

"At least he writes."

"Either chicken scratches we can barely read, or letters full of
wordplay and fancy dalliances that tell us nothing. I get the distinct
feeling your brother loves to receive letters but hates to send them."

I opened my mouth to respond but closed it. In truth, I felt the
same way. Papa was the only person I had ever known who enjoyed
writing letters, who assumed the task as though he were writing for
historians' eyes in some future time.

"So," I said, "does he offer a new date for a visit?"

Papa stood, leaving his coffee and the letter behind. "When it
suits him."

I ran into the house, waving the newest letter from Wolfie.
"Papa!"

He was with a pupil and looked at me sternly. "Nannerl, you
know better than to inter-"

"You're a grandfather!"

Papa just stood there beside the clavier, frozen in the moment.
Then the look on his face changed from peeved to pleasant. Even
peaceful.

But then he blinked and the facade was broken. "Let me see."

I brought him the letter, putting a hand on the back of his pupil's
head, offering a smile.

Papa read aloud, "Congratulations, you are a grandpapa! Yesterday, the seventeenth of June, in this year of our Lord, 1783, at half
past six in the morning, my dear wife was safely delivered of a fine
sturdy boy, as round as a ball. I have had the child christened
Raimund Leopold." Papa found my eyes. "I am a grandpapa."

I pulled him into a hug. "And I am an aunt. Now there's even
more reason to arrange a visit!"

"A grandson" Papa's eyes were distant, then suddenly darted
back into the moment. "I wonder if he has the long fingers of a fine
musician....

On July twenty-ninth, the day before my thirty-second birthday,
my dear brother arrived with Constanze.

"But where is little Raimund?" I asked.

Constanze adjusted her bonnet, poking a stray brown curl
beneath its brim. "We left him behind."

I looked to Papa. His jaw dropped. "You didn't bring him?"

Wolfie pulled a satchel from the back of the carriage. "He's only
six weeks old, Papa, and we only plan to be gone a month. He's
much better off with a family friend."

My disappointment was immense. I'd longed to have a baby in
the house. If I wasn't ever going to be in a position to have my own
babies, at least I could enjoy my brother's.

Wolfie put the satchel down. "Aren't you glad to see us, Papa?"

I realized how glum we were. I didn't wait for Papa to answer
but picked up the satchel myself. "Of course we are. Come in, come
in.