Free Mozart's Sister: A Novel by Rita Charbonnier Page B

that hung down to his chest. The son, so different and so young, turned in a friendly manner to Wolfgang and Nannerl: “And here are the little Mozarts! The two prodigies I’ve heard so much about.”
    “And I’ve heard so much about you!”
    “Silence, Wolfgang. Children should speak only if spoken to.”
    “No, no, Herr Mozart, let the little one express himself. So, what do you know about me?”
    “That you are better than Papa! Nannerl said so.”
    A heavy silence fell. Bach, amused, said, “My dear girl, in art there is no established hierarchy, and it’s certainly not a contest, that one can win or lose. But you, little boy, you must try to preserve this lovely impudence. If you can put it into your music, no one will be able to stop you.”
    “Impudence? I think that music is a matter of discipline,” Leopold muttered.
    “No doubt, discipline is indispensable. But it is only the means that allows us to express passion.”
    “As in the works of your father!” Nannerl interrupted headlong. “He was the first composer who—”
    “Shall we get to the point?” And abruptly, and almost discourteously, Leopold offered Bach a bundle of scores. “These are Wolfgang’s most recent compositions. I would hope that you might examine them as soon as possible, to assess the possibility of taking him as a student.”
    “Of course! I can even do it right away, if you have the patience to wait a little while.”
    “Pardon me…I have some things to show you, too, if you wouldn’t mind: a lied with basso continuo, a duet, and even a cantata.” With trembling hands, Nannerl offered her music to the Maestro.
    “I’m impressed. So you, too, compose!”
    “Let’s not talk nonsense!” Leopold grew more and more nervous. “No woman composes.”
    “But I do—my scores prove it.”
    “Careful, Nannerl: this is the sin of pride! And as Saint Augustine says, superbia parit discissionem, caritas unitatem.”
    “You call me proud? And making a show of your own learning—isn’t that a sin of pride?”
    Herr Mozart was dumbstruck, but only for an instant. “Be quiet, you foolish girl!” he shouted, his red face a breath from hers. He seemed ready to strangle her with his own hands.
    There was a long silence. Embarrassed, Bach stared at the image of his father, as if looking for help. Nannerl held out the scores, but he didn’t take them. She felt her mother grab her by the arm.
    “Come, dear,” she said, dragging her bodily. “Let’s go in the other room, so Herr Bach can give Wolfgang a lesson; and then, if there’s time, he will also listen to you. Come on, my sweetheart.”
    As they left the room, the fixed smile vanished from her face. “Your father is right—you really are foolish. Did you have to cause a scene in front of the gentleman?”
    “I wanted him to listen to my music.”
    “You’re a young lady. You’ll never become a kapellmeister. Will you get that through your head? Papa has told you a thousand times.”
    “Are you taking his side now? Then I am telling you that to me it doesn’t matter at all what Papa says! Or you!”
    “Don’t you dare! Holy shit!”
    At that moment the butler arrayed like a noble entered with the never-failing tea tray. He looked at Anna Maria in shock, nearly dropped it as he put it down, and left.
    “What a bad impression you’ve caused me to make!”
    “Oh, of course. Now it’s my fault.”
    “That’s enough, Nannerl. You must stop using that tone.” She took her by the shoulder and looked her in the eye. “Your father has arranged everything for our well-being: Wolfgang is the pillar of the family, and it is he who is to become a composer. We’ll take him to study in Italy when he’s older, and he’ll become famous all over the world and we’ll all be happy. Even you!”
    “What do you know about what will make me happy?”
    “And then we’ll find you a husband. You’ll have children. What’s the use of all this passion for music?”
    The