Mozart's Sister: A Novel Read Online Free Page B

intense and thorough study: I want Wolfgang to have lessons from the finest masters.”
    “I take your point, Herr Mozart. But doesn’t he seem too young for this?”
    Leopold had foreseen this objection. “It is nature, not I, who rushes onward. My son, at his tender age, is already a composer: with his childish hands, he draws perfectly formed notes on the page. I can’t let such a treasure be lost.”
    “I realize that. But aren’t you worried about the risk of exposing him to diseases during the journey? You could undermine the health of your children irreparably.”
    “I trust in the protection of Our Lord. What He decides, I will accept with a heart full of faith. Naturally I will take every precaution so that my son—”
    “Do I misremember, or don’t you have a daughter as well?”
    For this question, however, Leopold was not prepared. He looked at the priest, sincerely bewildered, and didn’t know what to say.
    “From the start of our conversation you have been speaking of your son,” Bullinger continued. “And yet at the time I introduced you into the circles of the aristocracy, the girl was your pride and joy. Do you intend to leave her in Salzburg?”
    “Of course not! Nannerl will perform duets with her brother! On the other hand, it’s obvious that it wouldn’t make any sense for a girl to learn composition.”
    “That is for you to decide—I cannot judge. I say only that all the creatures of the world are equal in the eyes of God, hence it is fitting that they should be also in the eyes of men.”
    “Yes, of course…Naturally, most reverend sir.”
    “Very well. Now explain to me how you propose to finance the journey.”
    Leopold gradually regained his confidence. “For one thing, I trust in gifts from the princes and so forth, and then, whenever possible, I will arrange for Wolfgang to give paid concerts, and, naturally, Nannerl, too! Also the girl, Reverend. In addition, my landlord has promised me a loan.”
    “I deduce, then, that that is not the reason you have come asking for my assistance. Shall we at last speak plainly, dear brother?”
    “Yes, well…,” Leopold stammered, trying to hide his nervousness behind tight lips, “as you can certainly imagine, I will have to ask the archbishop for a long leave of absence, and, further, I would expect, once I have returned from the tour, to take up my post again, for without it, my family’s subsistence would be in serious danger. Your intercession would be a great help.”
    “We have come to the point! I appreciate your frankness, Herr Mozart. On the other hand,” he added, not entirely convinced, “you must realize that your request is rather exorbitant. What arguments do you imagine I should use with His Excellency?”
    Leopold’s face lighted up. This was the best part of his speech, the part that he had studded with solid rhetorical effects.
    “One alone, beloved Father: that it was our Lord who gave a spark of musical genius to an ordinary child of Salzburg. Certainly it is not through any merit of mine, or of his mother, if this boy performs miracles with notes that have never been heard before. And if our Lord willed this, He did so in order that one day that child might sing His praises and celebrate His glory through music. We must all dedicate ourselves, each within the limits of his own role and using the humble means available to man, so that it may happen as soon as possible.”
    “That’s enough! My stomach is beginning to complain about lunch.” The priest rose stiffly. “All right, I will speak to the archbishop. Cura ut valeas.” And he went off.
     
     
     
    And meanwhile I went on writing music, passionately. I always wrote at night. I waited until I heard the regular breathing of my brother, the quiet hum of my father exhaling, my mother’s loud snoring. Then I got out of my bed, went barefoot along the hall, turned the mother-of-pearl handle, and let myself into the room with the instruments.
    I have