Aloysia finds a new lover, and the Weber's get a new boarder.
One bright fall day, when I was supposed to be minding the house, I watched wordlessly as the maid, gone to lug water, disappeared down the alley with her boyfriend. Mama was out marketing, so this was an opportunity for me to rebel, too.
I leaned out the window and idly watched the bustle in the street. There was always something interesting down there. Fancy carriages drawn by glossy, matched pairs jangled by, liveried servants marched on errands, and hawkers shouted their wares. Sometimes bands of beggar musicians came by. If anyone tossed these fellows a couple of apples or half a loaf, they’d stop and play a love song. While they played, I’d lean in the window and pretend they were court musicians sent by a fine gentleman to serenade me.
Suddenly, I saw Aloysia emerge into the street. She was dressed in her best, as if she were on her way to the theater. Curiously, she was lugging a carpet bag stuffed to overflowing.
A shiny carriage rattled up. Before it fully stopped, a tall, well-dressed gentleman threw open the door and jumped out. Aloysia dropped her bag and flew to him, fairly leaping into his arms.
There in the public street, a flash of color above the gray paving stones, they whirled in an ecstatic embrace. I almost fell out the window when I realized that the man kissing my sister with such relish was none other than handsome Joseph Lange!
During their embrace, his valet hopped from the back of the coach, collected Aloysia’s bag and shoved it onto the rack at the rear. In the next moment, Herr Lange grabbed Aloysia around the waist and swept her across the cobbles and into his carriage.
The horses plunged forward so fast that their hooves slipped and sparked on the cobbles. Then they were off, scattering curious onlookers and chickens.
Why, I thought with utter astonishment, Aloysia has just eloped with the best-looking man in all of Vienna!
As soon as Mama came home, I ran to tell. Our mother turned so red I thought she would have an apoplexy right there in the kitchen. She lowered herself into a chair, clutched her chest, and directed me to fetch brandy. After downing a swallow, she wasted no time sending a boy off with an urgent message to Herr Thorwart.
Our Guardian responded immediately. He told Mama not to worry, that Herr Lange was single and rich. It shouldn’t be hard to get him to marry Aloysia and pay us recompense.
Nevertheless, every night after dinner Mama drank and brooded. Without Aloysia, she said, we would soon be on the streets. Taking in extra boarders would not provide enough.
Sophie and I would have to be sent to a nunnery of poor sisters, or married off to some lustful, ancient widower. She called Aloysia everything Papa had ever called her on that long ago night—and worse. “The heartless slut has abandoned her own flesh and blood,” she said. “That serpent in my bosom!”
Lange installed Aloysia in his apartment on the fashionable Graben.
Thorwart reported sourly that the Emperor had greeted them at the theater exactly as if they were a respectable married couple. High society’s approval would quickly follow. It seemed right, somehow, that the brightest star of the Viennese stage and the prettiest new prima donna should take up together.
Negotiations began. Mama rejoiced when she realized that Thorwart had the ear of Count Orsini-Rosenberg. This gentleman commanded the State Theater. He could make getting parts difficult for Herr Lange, no matter how popular he was.
Fortunately, possession hadn’t blunted Herr Lange’s appetite. He said that he adored Aloysia and was quite willing to legalize their relationship. He was also ready to pay as much as three hundred gulden a year to help support our family.
Mama thought that was much too easy. After all, a rich man like Herr Lange was a once-in-a-life-time opportunity. She wanted him to pay off the nine hundred gulden that had been advanced to Aloysia to settle Papa’s debts. Her reasoning here was cloudy, but she made it a sticking point. Thorwart, for some private, vindictive reason of his own, backed her.
Herr Lange, head over heels in love, finally paid the nine hundred and signed a contract promising to give Mama three hundred more a year in compensation for the loss of her daughter’s income.
Needless to say, we weren’t invited to the wedding.
Young musicians, one after another, stayed in our extra rooms at the Auge Gottes. As boarders, they had several shortcomings. They were generally low on cash and they kept late hours. Often, they came in drunk.
Mama knew all about it. She always began their stay with a lecture, saying that she expected her money, quiet, no visitors, and notice early if they wanted supper. Pointedly, she ended by saying that she was running “a respectable house.”
Poor young fellows! They nodded and dug in their pockets for at least a few kreutzers to show good intentions. We never had any trouble, although one of them did force a kiss on me.
~*~
One morning, a few months after Aloysia’s wedding, I sat in the parlor with Sophie. Together we confronted a great pile of mending. Most of it was Jo’s. It seemed as if I was forever letting out her dresses or taking them in.
Suddenly, there was a great commotion on the stairs. It sounded like the delivery boy from the butcher’s shop. When our Anna returned from answering the knock, she said there was a little Frenchman, a Monsieur Trazom, who wanted to see Mama about a room. Further, she said he had been sent over by some friends of ours at the Court theater.
Mama came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron, while Anna showed in a small man dressed in a smart green coat.
“It’s me, Monsieur Trazom!” As he entered, he flourished a fashionably outsize hat. “Paris, by way of Salzburg.”
Sophie was already running to hug him. I wanted to, but didn’t. Now that I was eighteen, it definitely wasn’t proper.
“You took a big chance, Herr Mozart,” said Mama. “I almost sent you packing without even looking at you. A Frenchman, indeed!”
We all laughed. Mama gave him a peck on the cheek and told Anna to go make coffee. “Sit! Sit! Tell us what you are doing in Vienna.”
Before he did, Mozart came to kiss my hand. “How delightful to see you again, Fraulein Konstanze.” The formality of this greeting was warmed by a big, blue wink.
“Well, Frau Weber,” he said, taking he proffered chair. “I’m here playing for my Prince Archbishop. The old monster is in town and as jealous as ever. Count Thun and Prince Cobenzl have both asked me to play for them, but the Archbishop won’t permit it.”
“You’d think he’d be glad to let someone else give you a few extra gulden,” said Mama.
Mozart shook his white-wigged head emphatically. “Not the monster. He won’t even allow me to perform for charitable events. I asked permission to play at a benefit for the Musicians’ Society, but his so-called Holiness even refused me that. I’m not to go anywhere or be seen by anyone except his friends; who are, without a doubt, the ugliest, the deafest, the most boring people in the entire world.”
He said he’d come to Vienna straight from our dear old Munich, where he’d had quite a success with a Carnival opera.
“I kept hanging around,” he said, “long after I had permission to be there. Anything to stay out of Salzburg. Then The Holy One summoned me here. I guess he knew I’d obey a command to come to Vienna.”
Wolfgang leaned toward Mama confidentially, his brilliant eyes shining like those of some exotic cat. “I just might never go back home at all.”
We were dumfounded. What did he mean? Had he found a new patron?
Sweet bread and coffee were brought out, putting a speedy end to his monologue. He loved Mama’s cake. While he ate, Mama told him sad stories: Papa’s death, of course, and then her version of Aloysia’s runaway marriage.
Mozart listened and commiserated. Mama squeezed out a few tears, sighed about Papa and complained about having to take in boarders. Typically, she never mentioned the assistance we were getting from Herr Lange.
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