“They are here indeed,” he said after a time, respectfully putting his hand over mine. “May I?” At my nod of permission, he began to remove the contents of the box. There were folded letters, some dried flowers, some words written on the back of a piece of music, the announcement for a concert. “Who are the letters from?”
“Some from someone she loved; others are hers to someone she loved in spite of herself, most unsent.”
“You didn’t tell me she had such a love.”
“Constanze was secretive. She was the most secretive of us, though I knew her best. Sometimes I didn’t know which thoughts were hers and which were mine. We had to join together, with the older two gone their own ways, and perhaps we always had. We were the two young girls waiting for the others. I dreamed of her last night, the way we slept with arms and legs all entwined, the way I sometimes mistook my breathing for hers, her heartbeat for mine. Will you ring for coffee? I feel the need of it.”
He took up the bell to ring.
“I’m going to tell you about the things in this box,” I said to him. “But I want to get things in order so as not to confuse you. Let me tell you what happened to our Mozart when he found himself with his trunks in Stephansplatz before the palace of the knights.”
“Ah yes, tell me,” my visitor said, sitting back so that his coat opened and his vest with its watch chain seemed to expand in anticipation. I could see from the amusement in his eyes that he already knew where the proud, strong-headed composer went to lay his head.
PART FOUR
Vienna and Maria Sophia, 1781
Dearest Father,
My “Paris” symphony was played at the benefit concert and well received. Meanwhile, I have money from the publisher of the quartets, and I am giving another recital at the house of the Baroness von Waldstätten, who is very good to me, and who has an excellent new fortepiano. I am sending on some money so you see I have begun to do a little better. For the love of God, buy yourself some undergarments and good food and a new dress for my sister. It breaks my heart that you should stint yourselves. I have two new suits (one red with silver lace), which I bought only from necessity, for you know I have no vanity, but one cannot appear looking shabby, and the tailor will wait for the balance of the money. I dine at others’ expense as much as possible. My heart is steadfast, this I swear before God; I want nothing but work. (I send six, no twenty, no ninety-three kisses to my sister’s nose.)
But dearest Father, now I must explain how I managed since that dreadful night. Leutgeb had gone home to his rooms above his cheese shop before he knew what had happened, and the drunken man whom I sent took two hours to bang on his door, and my exhausted friend came at once and took me with him, but there was no room there to remain, of course. His wife’s family is there, and there was no place for me. On my life, I did not know what I would do, for I am but a poor wretch left in lodgings alone. You know I can write a movement of a symphony easier than arranging for a laundress to wash my things, and last night for the concert I could find only white hose already splattered with Viennese street muck. Yes, this is a trial. (I send fifty-nine embraces to you, and I embrace faster than I shit, which is fast enough I assure you.)
Now my story. Can you imagine my fortune? I met the widow of that excellent musician Weber while buying bread and ink, and she said she had an empty room for rent, and would welcome me. This is truly all I need to continue to make my success in Vienna. I am sure you will not mind. The two younger sisters, Constanze and Sophie, are sweet; they copy music, keep the household accounts, and cook. They could sew on my coat buttons when they come loose and mend my wretched hose. You know I can’t manage those things myself as my music takes all my time. The older sister scowls at me; we were friendly, I thought, but she’s discontent and doesn’t like