Free Mozart's Sister by Nancy Moser Page A

of face paint. Papa
said it made even a naturally beautiful woman unbearable to the eyes
of an honest German. I found it less detestable. I would have liked
to try it, but Papa would never have allowed it.
    And then ... we got invited by Madame Pompadour to play in
her private apartments.
    The king's mistress. Oh my.
    By that time I'd heard more about her. She'd been married
when she'd come to court twenty years previous and had met King
Louis at a masquerade ball. They'd had an affair and she became his
mistress. She left her husband for him.
    But what if she hadn't wanted to leave her husband? What if the
husband hadn't wanted her to go?
    I suppose neither one had had much choice.
    She was the king's mistress for five years, but since then had been
his confidante, even directing him on political matters. Some say she
pushed him to get involved in that Seven Years' War France and
Austria had fought against England and Prussia-a war that had even
carried over onto the soil of the Americas, where native Indians
were involved. The whole thing had been resolved the previous
February, but its effects were still seen. Yet it was odd ... although
we saw great poverty and hardship among the common people, the
royalty at Versailles acted as if nothing had ever happened, as if
extravagance was the key to their country's recovery. Did they act
that way because they wanted to forget anything unruly or
unseemly?
    Papa said Madame Pompadour was a handsome woman, still good-looking, even if she was forty-five-about Mama's age. She
reminded him of our own empress Maria Theresa, especially in her
eyes. She was tall and stately, stout, but very well proportioned. She
was extremely dignified and very intelligent.

    I thought it odd Papa would agree for us to perform in her
chambers. He and Mama had made it clear (at least to us, in private)
that they did not approve of spouses being unfaithful. Yet it was as
though there were two courts at Versailles. One belonging to the
queen and the royal children, and the other to this mistress. People
lived how they wished here. Life was very sensual. Mama and Papa
had the opinion that if God was not especially gracious, the French
state would suffer the fate of the former Persian Empire, which had
prospered with trade and art but was broken by weak rulers and
decadence. I did not know much of empires, but I wondered something of a more personal nature-wouldn't the queen know of our
performance before Madame and be offended?
    Papa thought it wise to play both sides-at least at first. But he
urged us to keep our ears open to what people were saying about us
so we could parry to the other side if advantage was to be made.
    "A paradise!" Papa whispered as we entered Madame's apartments. There was gold everywhere and painted furniture, heavy
with carving. Her harpsichord was covered in gold leaf, lacquered,
and painted in intricate detail. The rooms looked out on the gardens. On the wall were two life-sized portraits-one of herself and
one of the king.
    She was very gracious and lifted Wolfie onto the bench of the
harpsichord. Then an odd thing happened. We'd been so used to
hugs and kisses, and Wolfie-being of a demonstrative nature anyway-embraced her. But she repelled his affection, as if she wanted
none of it. Wolfie pouted a bit and did not play his best. Afterward,
when we were back in our room, he exclaimed, "Who does she
think she is, not wanting to kiss me? Why, the empress herself kissed
me!"
    Mama consoled him, and Papa agreed it was rude. I remained
quiet, for I never got as many hugs and kisses as my brother. Yet I
did get praise. Just that day I'd heard Papa telling a gentleman, "My
little girl plays the most difficult pieces with unbelievable precision and in such a manner that even fine musicians cannot conceal their
jealousy." I hoped he wasn't just speaking as my father but out of
true appreciation.

    In regard to the choice between Madame