Mozart's Sister (51 page)

"You could visit as often as you'd like, and after the boy gets
older, I would come to visit you. Plus . . ." Papa approached the
baby and curled the boy's tiny fingers around one of his own. "Do
you see these long fingers? These are the fingers of a musician." He
kissed his namesake's hand, then stood. "I will fill the boy's life with
music, just as I did with my own two children. And with my help
and guidance, another prodigy can be molded."

"Maybe he won't like music."

Papa looked shocked. "Of course he'll like music. If a child is
exposed to the good earth, he comes to love the good earth. If he
is exposed to the process of numbers, he becomes good with numbers. And if he is exposed to music, he loves music." He spread his
arms as if there were no argument. "It is a proven fact."

I did not know if Papa spoke the truth but I appreciated his
argument. Johann was a man of facts, not emotion.

But then for good measure, Papa added a bit of emotion too.
"Besides, you will be doing me a favor. I am alone here. My pupils are
few My job is not as fulfilling as it once was. I need a reason to live
and enjoy life again. Little Leopoldl can be that reason." Then he
switched back to facts. "I will, of course, cover all his expenses."

Johann looked dumbstruck, as if he had no defense. He finally
looked to me. "You agree to all this? You would be willing to leave
your baby behind?"

With difficulty I swallowed. "I would. For his own good I
would do anything."

"And you think this is for his own good?" Johann asked.

My voice cracked. "I know it."

Johann took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I cannot believe
what I have just heard. Nor can I believe that I am going to agree
with it."

We shared the silence, waiting, hoping....

"But you are?" I asked.

"I am."

Papa rushed forward and shook his hand. "You will not be sorry,
Johann. This is for the best."

I agreed. But I held my baby closer. How could I ever let him go?

"Nannerl, you must let go."

Papa stood before me, his arms extended, waiting for me to give
up my son.

I knew this was the right decision. I'd thought long and hard
about it; I'd prayed about it. But for the time to be now ... Too
soon, too soon.

Johann stepped forward, his face a storm cloud. "Nannerl! We
have to go. I must be back at work tomorrow. The children are
already in the carriage."

I looked at the carriage, which was rocking wildly. I did not
want to enter its domain and endure six hours of bedlam. I wished
to stay here and lie on my old bed with my baby cooing and kicking
beside me. I'd sing him the songs Mama had sung to me. I'd be the
one at his side when he pressed his first ivory key on the pianoforte.
I'd see his face light up as he realized the cause and effect of his
action. See, my love? That's music. And it can be yours. It will be yours.

Karl screamed. Maria popped her head out of the carriage.
"Mania! Karl bit Wolfgang. Please come help."

Mother. Help. These other children-my other childrenneeded me. They had never been offered the opportunity of a life
full of learning, music, caring friends, and social graces. They were
living the consequences of such deficiencies. Perhaps with continued
hard work I could break through their pasts and give them some
semblance of a good future.

Perhaps.

But in order to do that, and in order to assure this new child
received the best the world could offer, I had to give him up. Like
the two women arguing over the same baby in front of King Solomon, I had to prove myself the true mother by being willing to
give him up for his own good. I had to love him more than myself.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the tears, kissed his tiny head,
and handed him to my father. "Love him for me, Papa"

I hurried to the carriage and climbed inside.

For his own good. For his own good. For his own good.

I read the letter from Papa, then sucked in a breath. "He's sick!
Leopoldl is sick!"

Johann looked up from his reading. "Apparently your father's
care is not superior to ours after all."

My defenses rose into what had become a familiar position. "He
says it's thrush. He has the doctor coming over twice a day. He's
sparing no expense.

Johann turned the page.

I brought the letter to him and placed it on top of his book.
"Look. See the steps he's taking to make our son well again?"

Johann offered the letter the most cursory glance before handing
it back to me. "Then you have no worries."

"Of course I have worries! Leopoldl could die. Papa can only
do so much. He is not God."

For the first time my husband offered me his full attention. He
removed his reading glasses. "I know that, and you know that. But
perhaps it is time he knows that."

"This is not the time to discuss your opinion of my father."

"Who has plenty of his own opinions about himself and everything else."

I was weary of our frequent arguing. "I want to see him," I said.

With slow deliberation Johann shook his head and pointed at
the window, at the snow blowing outside. I wasn't going anywhere.

I heard a crash from the boys' room. Karl screamed. He always
screamed.

Johann put his glasses back on and went back to his reading.

I left the room to attend to some of my children while worrying
about the other. I managed a prayer in the process. Only God could
help my son.

Only God and Papa.

I was sick to death of sickness.

Only through the tireless efforts of my father was my baby boy
treated to the best science had to offer. And the best a grandparent
had to offer. Papa, unlike a lot of men I knew, did not shun sickrooms but availed himself completely of the entire process-from
doctor to treatment to prayer. Barring none of the expense. Perhaps
this was done because he still harbored regrets about the lack of
treatment that had led to Mama's passing.

I received added comfort knowing that dear Franz was paying
daily visits to the house, checking on my boy. Papa said he'd taken a
large interest in Leopoldl, and the baby knew him and responded to
his presence with joy.

Knowing that the two most important men in my life were caring for my little man made it possible for me to remain in St. Gilgen.
If there would have been any doubt as to the care my dear son was
receiving, I would have dug a tunnel through the snow-clogged pass
to get to him.

Not that I was well myself. Since Leopoldl's birth, my womanly
system had not returned to normal. I felt pressure in my chest and
often suffered flashes of heat that overwhelmed my body. I feared
getting a feverish illness like that which had killed Mama. And
though Johann brushed aside my symptoms as trivial, I knew things
weren't right. I also knew that treating any sickness at an early stage
was vital.

Only Papa listened to my travails and sent advice from Salzburg
doctors. They gave me a detailed regimen of foods that would not
increase the heat of my body, self-tests regarding the color of my
urine, and prescribed medicines, bloodletting, and exercises to be
undertaken at very specific times.

I feared I was pregnant. I prayed for such a blessing-eventually-but also prayed that God would be merciful in His timing.
Not now, please. Not now

And then Papa got sick. Although he'd suffered the usual aches and pains that were the normal accompaniment to a man of sixtyseven years, when one of his good friends died after a short illness
that the doctors had proclaimed was "nothing serious," Papa's letters
became peppered with complaints of chest pains and pounding in
his ears, as well as details regarding his preparations to meet God.
His goal was to die well and at peace. In short, he did not want to
spend his remaining time worried about debts and Wolfie.

But how could he help it? Doctors and medicines cost money,
and the two extra servants he'd hired to help take care of my son
cost more money. To top off his worries, Wolfie seemed unconcerned and offered no help whatsoever. Although at Eastertime of
the previous year Papa had declared that Wolfie had two thousand
florins in his possession, it was apparent by my brother's infrequent
letters that he had none of that treasure now The news from
acquaintances was that Wolfie and Constanze were currently moving into more economical accommodations.

Yet he was still celebrating some musical success. We'd heard his
opera Le Nozze di Figaro-The Marriage ofFigaro had been acclaimed
in Prague, and he had another commission for one called Don
Giovanni. But it was also clear that whatever florins touched my
brother's upraised palms were quickly tossed to the wind of past
debts. And future ones too.

And then there was talk from Wolfie about leaving Vienna and
going to England. The grass was always greener.... Papa was totally
against it and detailed a dozen reasons why Wolfie should stay put
and capitalize on the contacts he'd made in Vienna. Besides, according to Papa, to undertake such a journey, Wolfie should have those
two thousand florins in his pocket for expenses.

All this to say, Wolfie had all but forgotten us. Since he'd left us
to go to Vienna five years earlier he had not sent a single florin our
way-in spite of his lofty words to do otherwise. It was hurtful after
all Papa had done for him. I was married now I was secure-at least
financially-but I feared for Papa's worries and how they affected his
health. The fact Papa took some money from my husband revealed
much about the true state of his affairs.

I offered to take Leopoldl from his care to ease his burden, but
he would hear none of it. The boy was the one light in his dim life. How could I possibly take that away from him?

And then our little Joseph got sick with a falling sickness. He'd
suddenly collapse and gyrate horribly. Then the oldest boy, Wolfgang, got sick, and his joints swelled and ached so he could not flex
them. The only ray of hope in this aura of dismay was that Maria
unexpectedly revealed an aptitude for caring for the sick. Perhaps
book learning wasn't everything.... I don't know what I would
have done without her.

In mid-March she would be sorely tested, because I left her
behind in order to make a trip to be with Papa. His health had
deteriorated, and I could not in good conscience stay away. So when
the sunny spring days led to an opening in the pass, I left St. Gilgen
and made my way to Salzburg.

Papa was very ill. He had swollen feet that prevented him from
taking care of his namesake, and he had inner pain that the doctor
was treating with a plaster. When I first walked in the room, he
looked up at me, all thin and pale, and said, "You came"

It was then I knew the pain of his physical illness was only part
of the problem.

I immediately set to work helping and comforting as I could.
The fact I was also in the presence of my dear baby boy ... He was
twenty months old. Although Papa had kept me abreast of his progress through letters, I had seen him only a few times since his birth.
I blame Johann for the dearth in visits. He always had some excuse
as to why we couldn't go. Papa had sent me many a scathing letter
regarding my husband's overblown sense of worth. As if St. Gilgen
couldn't get along without him so he could go visit his soil....