didn’t even turn to him, and then I said simply, ‘You were speaking to me, monsieur?’ ”
“I hope you kicked him. He’s owed it.”
“I would have liked to, but he is, after all, a nobleman, and I’m as common as angels, as Sophie would say. Verbally I kicked him; that must suffice.”
“I’m glad I came; I’m very glad. I couldn’t be happier, but now I must go.”
“Don’t,” he said.
They stood in the room holding hands, and kissing by the light from the street. He unfastened her dress buttons and kissed her neck and shoulders, and together they moved toward the rumpled bed. His ordinary clothes were thrown on it, and she felt the buttons of his day coat when she lay down. His mouth pressed against hers, and his hands untied her bodice. The lacing snagged. Her leg was entwined with his. They felt for each other, their hands exploring more secret places than they had before. He was clumsy, and she was shy. He entered her, and she cried out when he poured himself into her.
Afterward, they lay gazing at each other in the near darkness. “You know,” he whispered, “after we’re married, we’ll take bigger rooms on the Graben itself, the best rooms. And musicians and actors will come. It will be like your old Thursdays, but at the end of the evening I won’t kiss your hand and go away but lead you to the bedroom.”
Then he said seriously, “I never was with a woman before this. I hope I did well.”
“I’ve never been with a man, but I don’t think it could have been better.”
“We won’t wait for anyone’s permission,” he said. “We’ll marry. ”
Dawn woke her, and she dressed rapidly, finding her hose curled under the bed, tying her petticoat over her shift, slipping on her bodice, lacing her skirt. She moved as softly as possible so as not to wake him. Mozart lay on his back with his arms above his head, his breath coming softly through his lips. She touched his lips and whispered in his ear. He sighed, moved to kiss her, and fell asleep again before doing so. The still gray light fell on the table containing his closed, bound opera score. She ran down the steps past the concierge, who was eating soup with a tin spoon as she surveyed the newly washed cobbles in front of the church and the faithful as they slipped inside for morning prayer.
At home Constanze could hear the clatter of breakfast dishes. She was about to rush up the steps when her mother came from the kitchen, her face pale and angry. “You come here like a whore. You’ve been out all night with him, haven’t you? You know what he is, what all men are! I doubt he’ll marry you after having gotten what he was after, but if he does, even then I won’t come to your wedding.”
“Then don’t come,” said Constanze simply, as she climbed up to her room, flung her arms around her younger sister, and told her everything.
Nearly a month had passed since the premiere of the Turkish opera, which had been performed many times; on the strength of the opera’s success, several lucrative commissions, and a public concert that was already almost sold out, Mozart had taken rooms for himself and Constanze in the elegant Graben, where the world, or at least the most beautiful part of it, would pass daily beneath their windows. After predictions of hunger and infidelity, their mother came forward suddenly to help with the planning.
Josefa and Sophie sat for hours in the sewing room embroidering flowers on the yellow satin wedding dress. The wedding was to take place at Stephansdom at three o’clock on a Thursday at the end of October.
Then it was half an hour before the ceremony. Constanze, in her bedchamber and still wearing only her smock and petticoat, pulled away from Sophie and Josefa who were helping her dress and burst into tears. She had suddenly recalled being lost in the Mannheim market when she was about four years old, and wandering for what seemed like hours before her father found her sitting under the sausage vendor’s stall. And then she remembered the year everyone forgot her birthday. She sobbed, “I want Papa! How do I know what marriage will be like? Sharing everything with him the way I did with you, and besides, how do I know that he’ll still love me in a year or two?” She stared