Mozart's Sister (26 page)

At least someone understood. "It's hard having them gone,
but ..."

She looked at me a long moment, then nodded. "It's hard having them return?"

I added ny own nod.

Fran Hensler bumped her shoulder into mine. "Men can be difficult," she said. "Although I have enjoyed the letters your mother
has shared. What an honor it was for our little Wolfgang to compose
a serenata for the marriage of one of our empress's sons"

"Papa hopes they're pleased enough to offer Wolfie a position in
their court." I leaned forward with my own bit of confidence. "They
stayed in Milan until the bridal couple got back from their wedding
trip, hoping ... And then they did have an audience with Archduke Ferdinand but . . ." I shrugged. I didn't tell her that Papa had feigned
illness in his letters-coding them to tell Mama he was all right, but
with full knowledge that illness was one of the few acceptable reasons for their extended delay home. When Mania had shared the
letters speaking of intestinal problems, vertigo, and rheumatism, all
of Salzburg sympathized. Or so we thought.

"Nothing was offered?"

"Papa is still hopeful."

Frau Hensler looked in the direction of the oven and sniffed the
air. She did not get up. "I heard the archbishop stopped your father's
pay while he was gone. Again."

I couldn't imagine Mama sharing that bit of information, but I
was not totally surprised it was known. Little remained unknown in
Salzburg. "He hopes to be reimbursed. And we hope Wolfie will
soon start receiving a salary to go along with his title of Konzertmeister."

"He hasn't received any pay for that?"

"None."

She spit on her finger and rubbed at a stain on her skirt. "'Tis
logical, I suppose. After all, the men in your family haven't exactly
been around to do the work."

"But they are promoting the archbishop and Salzburg on their
travels. Everyone knows of their roots-and the archbishop's patronage."

Frau Hensler shook her head. "Perhaps daily work means more
than a few good words said in faraway places"

It was a point I'd thought of myself. But just as I began to
answer, Herr Hensler came in the door with a load of wood. "Hilda!
There's-" He saw me and nodded. "Griisse Gott, Nannerl."

"What's got you huffing and puffing so?" his wife asked.

"There's news! Archbishop Schrattenbach is dead!"

I put a hand to my chest, feeling as if my heart had stopped.
"But Papa just arrived home."

Herr Hensler looked confused. I did not feel inclined to explain
but stood and made my good-byes.

"But the bread for your father . . ." Frau Hensler said.

Upheaval and chaos. Those were the conditions that reigned
upon our family for the three months after Archbishop Schratten-
bach's death on December 16, 1771. Papa had trouble forgiving His
Grace for waiting until he and Wolfie had returned home. "If only
he'd had the courtesy to die while we were away, we might have
stayed longer in Milan and secured a position."

Mama chastised him for saying such a thing, but we all knew it
to be the truth. Yet Papa did concede-in an attitude more private-that it was good they were home because all of Salzburg was
in an uproar over who would be our next prince archbishop, and
beyond that was the underlying question of what the new ruler
would do about his court musicians. Would Papa finally get the promotion to full Kapellmeister?

While Wolfie worked on two commissioned operas that Papa
had arranged for him to write (one for Milan and one for Venice),
Papa bustled about town, smiling the smile, talking the talk, bowing
the bow. Though he was charming to everyone else, at home he
was testy, always after me to practice. "Your fingers have grown stiff,
Nannerl."

He was right, of course. I had slacked off during their second
trip to Italy. For what was the point of honing my skills when no
one of import would ever hear them? And yet ... I had not given
up the music. I could never do that. It was as much a part of me as
was air, drawn in and let out. Over and over...

Actually, practicing did provide solace. If I played loudly enough
I could overlay the music upon my parents' discussions about the
future. It's not that I wasn't interested-for until I married, Papa's
future impacted my future-but their talk drained me and made me
long for the simpler times when Mama and I had the house to ourselves and led less dramatic lives.

Hmm. What a hypocrite I was. Complaining of the mediocrity
of life when the men were away, yet complaining of the commotion
they brought with them when they were home.

In truth, most of the time, even my practice had to be postponed because Wolfie needed the keyboard for his composing. And so I found it best to make myself scarce by spending time with Katherl and my other friends. I also tried to make new friends-new
male friends. I was twenty now, and though Joseph Schiedenhofen
had not married as yet, I had backed away from any hint of flirting
with him as a defense against a broken heart.

One day in mid-March, I had plans to go shooting and was just
gathering my air gun when Mama came back from the market, her
face flushed.

"They've chosen!" she said. "The name is going to be announced from the palace balcony at noon."

The shooting was forgotten-as was Wolfie's opera, as was all
else.

This, this, could change everything.

A crowd gathered in the square in front of the Residenz Palace.
Papa pushed our way toward the front. Some people looked peeved
at him, but others let us through. Once settled, he placed Wolfie in
front of him, his hands on his shoulders. At sixteen, Wolfie was still
short in stature and looked years younger. The crowd was abuzz
with conjecture. There were many possibilities, some good for our
family, some bad.

Finally the door opened and an official came onto the balcony.
The crowd quieted. "I am pleased to announce that the new prince
archbishop of Salzburg, assuming the sacred throne of St. Rupert,
is ... Count Hieronymus Franz de Paula Joseph Colloredo, canon
of Salzburg and prince-bishop of Gurk."

No. This couldn't be!

I wasn't the only one who felt this way. The entire crowd stood
in stunned silence. Why would they choose Colloredo, who only
graced us with his presence every couple of years, who held himself
up as better than Salzburg, who was cold, aloof, and often rude?

The official's face was perplexed. He had obviously expected
cheering and applause instead of this low murmuring.

The street-level doors opened and the archbishop's attendants
appeared, all dressed in their finest robes. They were going to lead him in a procession to the cathedral for the celebration of the
Te Deum.

The crowd parted, making way, but as the new archbishop
emerged and began his short walk to the church, they still did not
cheer. And even worse, their murmuring had turned to silence.

At first the archbishop waved to his constituents, but when they
did not respond with adulation, he set his chin and walked through
the crowd, his eyes straight ahead.

As soon as he and his attendants passed, the people filled in and
began their chatter. I was eager to hear what Papa had to say.

"Is this a good thing or bad?" Wolfie asked him.

"He is definitely an arrogant one," Papa said, moving us toward
home. "But he does have an appreciation for music. He plays the
violin quite well."

Wolfie scrambled to keep up with Papa's long gait. "But will we
benefit?"

Papa put a hand on the back of Wolfie's neck. "We will break
through his haughtiness and find the favor we need. I promise."

I felt a little better. Papa never broke his promises.

"But I was promised!" Papa banged his fist on the table, making
his spoon jump out of his bowl, splattering soup.

Mama dabbed at the soup with a towel. "Promised, Leopold?"

He waved her comment away. "It was implied. As Vice Kapellmeister, it was logical when Lolli retired or died that I move up.
Even mere children can understand the logic in that." He spread an
open hand across the table in our direction. Even at ages sixteen and
just months away from twenty-one, it was clear we were "mere children."

Yet Papa was right. His promotion was assumed because he'd
been waiting so long. Lolli was a good Kapellmeister, so the only
way Papa could attain his position was from Lolli's death or retirement. And now that Lolli was seventy and his health was tenuous...

"Perhaps His Grace wants new blood?" Mama passed Papa a roll, which he tore in half, causing flakes of the outer crust to crumble
to the table.

He let them lie. "At nearly twice the pay?"

We'd heard that the newly appointed Kapellmeister, Domenico
Fischietti-who had the gall to be an Italian, and from Naples, a
place Papa had found particularly dirty and distasteful-was going to
be paid eight hundred florins for his services. Lou had received
456-plus perks and free lodging. And poor Papa was paid only 354
florins-with no perks. At least now that he was home again, he was
getting paid. But to know his chances of promotion had faded, that
perhaps he had achieved his pinnacle in Salzburg ...

Papa tossed the bread in his soup and pushed the bowl away.
"I'm fifty-two years old. I gave my life to our son and to further the
glory of Salzburg throughout all of Europe, and this is the thanks I
get.
get?"

"I'll get a position somewhere, Papa," Wolfie said. "Then I'll
support all of us."

He looked so proud when he said it, I suddenly wondered if
Papa would take offense.

Yet when Papa looked across the table at Wolfie, his eyes weren't
stern at all; in fact, his brow dipped a bit, and I sensed that only
through great effort did he keep his expression under control. "You
are a good son. You work very hard to bring this family honor and
income.

Mama extended her hand to both of the men of the family and
gave me a nod too. "We have many blessings. I pray that someday
both of you will find a patron who appreciates who you are and
what you do."

After a moment of hesitation, Papa nodded. He slapped the table
again, but this time his palm was flat. "In fact, enough with this
tiresome intrigue. If they do not appreciate us here, we shall go elsewhere."

Oh no. Not again.

"We've already been to Italy twice, Papa," Wolfie said. "They
don't want-"

"Nonsense! Archduke Ferdinand did not tell us no."

"But he did not offer us a position."

Papa's voice turned stern. "He did not tell us undefiably, undeniably no."

I looked to Wolfie. He was the only one other than Papa who'd
been a witness to what was truly said. He glanced at Mama, then at
me. "No ... I suppose not."

Papa pulled his soup bowl close, retrieved a soggy piece of bread,
and took a big bite. "Exactly! When we go to Milan in the fall for
the production of your opera Lucio Silla-which will bring us even
more favor-we will ask again. Surely, after the production of two
operas in his fair city, he cannot refuse."