Mozart's Sister: A Novel Read Online Free

whole thing collapses! Concentration, please.”
    “Papa, I’ll do it; I’ll do the crescendo!”
    Leopold made a grimace of irritation. “Anna Maria, come and get Wolfgang.”
    “My papa is right!” the child yelled. “That phrase has to be heard forte. You were playing like a pig. I can do it better!”
    Faint smiles appeared among the players, and Leopold, brimming with parental indulgence, said, “Come, what do you know about these things? When you’ve learned to play, I’ll let you rehearse with us. Now go and play with your sister.”
    “Why don’t you let him try?” said the red-faced musician, launching into what he clearly imagined to be a good joke. “We’re all eager to hear the interpretation of the illustrious Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart!”
    There was a noisy burst of laughter.
    “All right!” Leopold yielded. “Try the second-violin part, but softly, so that no one will hear the mess you’ll certainly make of it.” With a little shove he sent his son to his place.
    Nannerl hid near the door and, under her incredulous gaze, as the musicians began, her little brother joined in, following the score attentively.
    The second violinist watched him, smiling under his whiskers, but his expression changed radically as he realized that Wolfgang was playing…well. Yes, well! Imitating what he saw the adults doing, he moved the bow and placed one note after the other; perhaps he made some mistakes in the fingering, but the notes were right, and the sound was full—in a word, beautiful. Was it possible that he had never had a violin in his hands? That he was only six years old? The man laid down his instrument, amazed, and little Mozart continued to play the part without the slightest hesitation. The others, too, stopped playing, one at a time, staring in astonishment at this extraordinary child, who was now performing like a soloist, as if it came naturally. Leopold, an expert teacher, and the author of a method that was known throughout Europe, would have sworn to God that such a thing wasn’t possible; and now here was his own son, the embodiment of this miracle before his very eyes! What higher instinct had suggested the violinist’s technique to this prodigy? Maybe God himself!
    Wolfgang ended the passage and bowed his head in a gesture of thanks, as if he were already an accomplished performer. Mad with joy, his father took him in his arms and held him up: “Gentlemen, my son is a miracle! My son is a divine miracle!”
    “Herr Mozart, the whole world must know him!” the second violinist shouted. “Take him on tour! Have him play at the courts of kings!”
    Nannerl opened the door and entered the room. Her brother had shown the way, and luckily he was there, and had had the courage; from now on it would be possible to break into the rehearsals of adults and play with them; and if you were good, you could even be applauded! She grabbed her brother’s violin and began playing a rapid, virtuosic passage.
    No one looked at her, or seemed to be aware of her. The little group went off, Leopold in the lead, carrying the child in triumph, and Nannerl, in the deserted room, went on playing for herself.
     
    V.
     
    The young woman was on her knees talking and weeping at once, and behind the purple curtain the man of the church was hidden, but the grille did not drain her words of sorrow, or lighten their import. How much time does it take for a person’s life to be ruined? For the attractive salon harpsichordist, the time taken for an intimacy consummated in a doorway had been enough, demanded by a count as a condition for engagement: an intimacy whose result was pregnancy, and not even the shadow of a ring. Her stomach was still flat; only the man directly responsible was aware of her condition, and he had denied his involvement.
    The Reverend Joseph Bullinger had the girl leave the confessional and, taking her by the hand, led her toward the pews.
    “I don’t even know how I managed to get