Mozart's Sister: A Novel by Rita Charbonnier

Author:Rita Charbonnier [Charbonnier, Rita]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Crown Publishing Group
Published: 2007-10-09T07:00:00+00:00

“My Lady Nannerl in Springtime

Winter are your hands,

locked promises, motionless, tenacious.

Summer is your voice

Of vibrant, quiet gold, and unexpected thunder…”

The baron’s voice was a steady sensual whisper. Nannerl listened to him, struck in spite of herself by verses so unlike the ones she was by now used to.

“Autumn is your hair,

soft and loose, warm in color.

Springtime is your face,

its fresh scents, a tender glow.”

He stopped and rolled up the parchment. The audience remained in bewildered silence.

“That’s it, ladies and gentlemen,” he said.

There was faint, polite applause; hands clapped without conviction, while a perplexed murmur of voices arose. The only one who exhibited no sign at all was the archbishop, for he had fallen asleep and was snoring lightly.

Katharina nodded to Frau Mozart to come to her. “My dear,” she whispered, “I fear that the baron has gone mad. I’ve never heard anything so awful, without even a rhyme! Maybe your daughter is not completely wrong in refusing him. That man must be mentally unstable.”

On the stage the unstable man had gone over to Nannerl, and she was looking at him in a new way. She offered him her hand without even thinking about it, and he took it and, kissing it ardently, noticed the long, uncared-for nails. His expression became skeptical and perplexed: How could Nannerl play, with those claws? They would get caught between the keys and break off; and surely the fingers could not run swiftly nor the pads have the proper sensitivity. She guessed his thoughts, pulled her hand away, and said, “It’s time, Baron. If you don’t mind…”

With those eyes of different colors, Baptist gave her a puzzled look and went to sit in the audience.

Slowly, Nannerl reached the instrument. She raised the lid. She turned to the audience and for an instant didn’t move. She distinctly felt her heart beating against her chest; she breathed through dilated nostrils. With all her soul she prayed that things would go well. With all her soul she asked forgiveness for the lie she had told. With all her soul she tried to convince herself that she was acting for the good. After all, what had the Reverend Bullinger said? Giving to our neighbor is a good thing when it makes us happy. And this particular gift had made her happy, up to that moment; and would make her ecstatic, if only God would help Victoria not to be overwhelmed by emotions.

“Now!” she cried, and disappeared into the wings.

The little door at the rear opened and Victoria appeared; in a fraction of a second she had sat down on the stool and was playing intently. But the first part of the piece was drowned out in a roar of dismay, an outcry on the part of counts, dukes, and marquises (on occasion they could become a mob of fishwives). Katharina, however, was openmouthed, mute, and Frau Mozart’s head was spinning. The self-discipline of Major d’Ippold vanished in an instant, and in a fury he headed toward the stage, ready

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