Mozart's Sister (12 page)

"What can we do, Mama?" I asked.

She shook her head and didn't answer at first. "This is all happening because we haven't been observing the fast days here in
France." She looked up. "We tried, but the food was unavailable. We have no kitchen in our room here, and the water is bad and
needs to be boiled. We've missed many daily masses. And they do
not even use rosaries in church."

I fingered the rosary I had in my pocket. It was never far from
me. Everything Mama said was true. It was hard being a devout
Catholic in France. Had our inability to exhibit our devotion caused
God to be angry? Was the Almighty punishing us by afflicting the
apple of our eye, little Wolfie?

With a pat to my brother's hand, Mama stood. "Come, Nannerl.
We must make amends." She grabbed her cloak from the wall hook
and handed me mine. "We must find a church and implore them to
say a mass for our dear boy."

I tied the cloak at my neck. "Does Papa want to come with us?"

Mama gathered our gloves and was at the door. "He will stay
with Wolferl. Besides, praying is women's work. We may not have
influence and power in the here and now, but by our Lord, we have
influence with heaven." She pointed a finger at my nose and leaned
close. "And I dare any man to say different."

I could not argue. I would not. I liked the idea of having some
influence.

The Lord be praised! After four trips to church, after countless
prayers prayed, and after only two visits by Dr. Herrnschwand,
Wolfie was up and about. In only four days.

Mama and I declared it a miracle. Papa pooh-poohed such a
thing but could do nothing to change our minds.

Mama and I made Wolfie well-with God's help.

After nearly five months in Paris, it was April, and I stood at the
shore-the shore of an ocean! The feeling of adventure I'd experienced in Brussels when I'd seen oceangoing ships coming to port
was multiplied tenfold by standing on the edge of the ocean myself.
It was not ever-flowing in one direction like a river with somewhere
to go, nor still and mirrored like an Alpine lake. This ocean, this sea,
was alive. It ran away and advanced like a child with too much
energy. Would it ever be satisfied and remain still?

Never.

That, in itself, stirred me. My family had a lot in common with
the ocean....

I walked to the edge of the tide, collecting shells. They were flat
and many were broken. Had they come from the depths of the sea?
The wet portion of the sand was worn smooth and glimmered in
the sunlight. I teased the water, daring it to reach where it had not
reached before. As if in answer to my challenge, a wave broke and
sped over the wet sand until it nipped the toes of my shoes. Tag!
You're it!

"Don't get your shoes wet, Nannerl," Papa said.

I retreated a step, even though the ocean beckoned me to do
the unthinkable. How I longed to take off my shoes and stockings,
lift my skirt and petticoats high, and walk in the water. Play in it.

"Come," Papa said, taking Wolfie's hand. "We must catch our
boat to England."

I palmed the shells and took one last look across the water.
Although warm, the day was overcast, and I found it hard to imagine there was land beyond the foggy horizon. I'd heard it said the
earth was round, but looking over the expanse of ocean, I saw only
endless flatness.

It made me afraid. What if we got out in the middle and began
to sink? I had never tried to swim. And who would save us? Papa
had chartered a boat, so we would not have the luxury of feeling
safety in numbers.

We would not even have the security of all our belongings. We
were leaving the carriage and some of the luggage behind with
trusted friends. Choosing what to take and what to leave behind had
been difficult, for who knew how long we would be in England?
Papa had arranged letters of introduction to the court, but we could
only hope we were as generously paid there as we had been during
our stay in France.

I must say, I was not sorry to see France go. It was a confusing
place, a land of contradictions, with opulence forever nudging the
edge of poverty. And though we'd spent time in golden rooms that
rivaled heaven itself, just streets away we'd seen legions of poor,
many of whom were deformed in atrocious ways. Such suffering!
And the suffering did not restrict itself to the poor. For in the Place
de Greve there were many public executions. One day, a chambermaid, a cook, and a coachman had been hanged in company, side
by side, for embezzling from their blind mistress. We had driven
through the square quickly and Papa had said, "Avert your eyes!"
But his warning did not come quickly enough, for I saw the bodies
hanged by the neck, and I heard the crowd cheer.

"How can they cheer over death?" I asked.

Papa said, "However unfortunate, punishment must be carried
out to ensure the safety of the masses." Out of the corner of his
mouth he added, "Although this celebratory display is a bit
uncouth."

I agreed. Shouldn't punishment for sins be a private matter? Wasn't there enough shame in a person's heart to negate the need
for public humiliation?

Besides confusing, daily living in France had also been stressful.
The sanitary conditions were deplorable, with waste filling the street
with nauseating smells. And we'd all suffered from a sickness of the
innards that was embarrassing enough when we were at home, and
much more so on the road.

As for the food ... there was little cheese or fruit, and no good
seafood. And the fish wasn't fresh. Oh, to eat fresh fish from a clear
Austrian lake! Only wine was inexpensive, and though I didn't nand
the taste, I could not drink much of it without feeling heady. So
what alternative was there to thirst? Mama did not trust the milk,
and since the water was taken from the Seine River, all of it had to
be boiled before we drank. I left France thirsty...

I left the French oceanside behind. Within the hour I would be
riding upon its back.

May heaven help us.

"Look!"

I pointed over the side of the boat to some strange gray animals
jumping out of the water around us. They had long noses and fins
like a fish. But their size ... They were as big as Wolfie.

Wolfie saw them too and scooted to my side of the boat. "Papa!"

Papa pulled him back on the bench. "Sit still or you'll capsize us
all!" Papa said.

"What are they?" Mama asked.

A man who had paid Papa a fee to fill one of the four extra seats
on our charter sailboat tipped his hat to her. In halting German he
said, "Pardon, madame, but those are dolphins. They are a ... a ..
His German failed him. "A mammifere. They breathe ..." He took
a deep breath, demonstrating.

They breathed air? I looked back toward the animals-there
were three of them now, swimming and jumping in unison as if they
were playing and putting on a show just for us. Yet I'd seen them
dive deep into the depths of the water. "How can they breathe?"

He struggled for the word but pointed to the top of his head.
"Trou."

After a moment, Papa said, "Ah, Bohrung."

Hole? I saw that the dolphins did indeed have an air hole on the
top of their heads. Periodically, they blew water from them.

One did so just then, and Wolfie exclaimed, "A fountain! He's
making a fountain."

We all laughed. "They seem to be smiling," I said.

Papa nodded. "As they should." He put an arm around Mama
and Wolfie, who sat on either side of him. "For they are happy the
Mozart family is crossing the Channel to visit such a faraway place."
He lowered his voice. "I am quite sure that not one other citizen of
Salzburg has ever traveled so far."

I sat back in awe. To be the first ...

Papa nodded. "In fact, I have decided to learn English myself. It
will do no harm to have someone at the Salzburg court who speaks
English; one never knows how handy it might be."

I looked again at the dolphins as they entertained us. So many
new things. I was very blessed.

Perhaps being so enthralled with the dolphins' dance, watching
their constant movement-combined with the pitch and yaw of the
boat on the turbulent water-made us in. The man who knew
about dolphins said we were seasick.

Another new experience-one I could have done without. Papa
suffered the most, but once we reached Dover ...

The cliffs were bright and striking. Such a difference from the
flat, sandy shores of Calais. It was as if England had created its own
fortress against the sea.

To ease our entrance into this strange land of England, Papa
hired two new servants. One was an Italian named Porta, who'd
taken the France-to-London trip eight times. He knew some English and was very good at handling the porters-who, he warned,
had a tendency to grab luggage and hurry it off to the inn of their
choice, where they expected exorbitant payment for its return. He
would surely save Papa money.

The other new servant, jean Pierre, took the place of our dear
friend and companion Sebastian Winter, who'd been with us since
Salzburg. Sebastian left us to return to his hometown to take a position as a hairdresser to its prince, Joseph Wenzeslaus von Fiirsten-
berg. Wolfie and I were distraught. Sebastian had spent a lot of time
with us, playing, making animal noises, drawing maps of an imaginary land Wolfie had created-the Kingdom of Back. Wolfie often
gave me a detailed account of this fantasy world where children
reigned. I encouraged him not to let Mama and Papa hear of it,
though, for occasionally his descriptions spoke too much of children
being free to do as they wished.

Upon landing, we were immediately glad for Porta's presence as
he took command of our arrival and arranged for a carriage to take
us to London.

Mama and I noticed the difference in the clothing. It was less
fussy than the clothes in France, with fewer adornments. And hats!
It seemed no one could cross the street without wearing a hat. Plus
parasols. We'd seen them in France but discovered the style had
started in England-a necessity against the more frequent rain?