10

The Kerpen Family Orchestra

It took a week before they could finally bundle Wolfi up in blankets and travel to the Kerpen residence for a visit. The estate lay outside Coblenz, high on the banks of the Rhine, so Papa hired a private carriage. Nannerl felt her stomach grow tight with excitement as they pulled into the steep driveway. She heard music as soon as she stepped into the hall.

“Good evening, Mozarts,” boomed Baron Kerpen as he shook Papa’s hand. “We are honored to receive such esteemed guests. Please come to the music room to meet my children. That is, if they’ll stop playing long enough to say hello. They’ve hardly stopped since they arrived.”

Wolfi grabbed his violin and raced ahead.

“Wolfgang, your health—” Mama tried to hold him back, but she was too late. He was off in search of the music. Nannerl followed close on his heels, trying not to slip on the shiny floor. They stopped short at the open door to the music room, where candlelight flickered on the faces of the family orchestra. The sound of the violins and cellos and clavier stirred warmth into the autumn night. Then Charlotte stood and her voice poured through the room like golden syrup. The song ended in a whisper. There was a pause, and then they began to play a loud and lively dance.

Nannerl noticed Wolfi’s head moving in time to the music. Suddenly he grabbed his violin, walked right into the center of the circle, and began to improvise. His small fingers flew over the fingerboard of his violin; his head and body danced. The ending was fast and furious and wild, like the wind through the high trees outside.

“Hooray!” shouted the Kerpen family when it was over, clapping and crowding around Wolfi.

“Herr Mozart, can we keep your son?” laughed Charlotte, taking Wolfi’s hand. “We could make him a regular member!”

Nannerl hung back in the shadows with Mama. She wanted to jump up and laugh in the center of the group, but instead she bowed her head, looked at the pattern on the floor, and listened. She wished she could be like Charlotte, who didn’t seem to care one bit about stuffy rules—being quiet and ladylike in the presence of strangers.

“Allow me to introduce everyone,” said the Baron. “Franz, my eldest son, and Wilhelm and Hugo. Anselm, Louis, Clara, Karl, and Philipp. And of course you’ve already met Charlotte.”

“Here, Maria Anna, Frau Mozart, come sit in front of the fire,” said Charlotte, pulling up some chairs, while the others put away their instruments. Nannerl followed Mama across the room and sat down. She folded her hands in her lap, wishing that she was alone or with a friend like Katherl. A servant came around with steaming cups of cocoa and biscuits while the others took seats on chairs and on the floor before the fire.

“How wonderful to have such a fine orchestra, all in one family,” said Papa. “Do you ever play in public, for money?”

“No, we prefer just to play at home,” answered Charlotte. “Music is our way of speaking to each other and having fun. And how has your tour been? Did you get a chance to play for Maximilian the Third, the Elector of Bavaria?”

“Yes, the Elector paid quite a handsome sum for the two concerts that Wolfi and Nannerl gave,” said Papa. “But we had to wait over a week to collect our earnings.”

Charlotte frowned and scratched her head. She turned to the Baron. “Papa, wasn’t it the Elector’s sister, Frau Maria somebody, that lived near us, years ago, when we still lived in Paris?”

Nannerl’s heart hammered in her ears and she curled her fingers tight around her cup. The Elector’s sister! Charlotte must mean Sopherl!

The Baron slowly nodded and looked into the fire. “You have a good memory, Charlotte. How many years has it been since we lived in that old house on the rue François?”

Charlotte sighed. “Paris…if only Papa hadn’t been transferred and we could live there still! It’s such an exciting city. I can hardly wait to visit Grandmama and Uncle there this Christmas. Now I remember the name of the Elector’s sister. Her name was Maria Sophia…Maria Sophia Wenzel. Remember, her husband was that stern, handsome military officer?”

“But tell us, Papa,” said one of the boys, “Wasn’t there a story about her?”

The Baron kept his eyes fixed on the fire. When he finally spoke, it was in a slow, almost heavy voice. “What I know I heard from others, so I don’t know if the story is completely true,” he said. “But they say that Maria Sophia, or Sopherl as they called her, was a great musician in her day. Her brother, the Elector, composed and played the cello and she played the clavier and sang. They say that she held the crowds at Nymphenburg spellbound with her performances and that she was vivacious and charming—”

“Sort of like our Charlotte,” one of the Kerpens said. Charlotte leaned forward in her seat and fixed her green eyes on her father. “Do go on, Papa. I can’t believe you’re talking about the same person we lived next to for so many years!”

Nannerl pressed her fingers together. She wanted to tell Charlotte she had already met Sopherl at the Elector’s dinner. “Yes, well, as I was saying,” continued the Baron, “she was the darling of Munich. Then one day, Lieutenant Wenzel came calling and she married him and they moved to Paris. And soon after, she stayed inside and never came out and hardly ever spoke to anyone—”

“Do you think he didn’t let her?” asked Charlotte. “How perfectly awful. Caged inside like an animal—”

Nannerl thought of all the sound inside a clavier never being let out, or Wolfi’s violin shut up in its case. She shivered, although the fire was warm on her legs.

“…and then she had a baby and it died, and then she had another, and it died as well.”

“How absolutely tragic,” said Charlotte, putting her hands on her hips and frowning at the Baron. “What happened to her awful husband?” Nannerl gasped a little. She thought he was awful, too, but to call a lieutenant that in front of Papa and the Baron?

“He died a few years ago,” answered the Baron. “So now Sopherl grows old alone in the house on the rue François, still not speaking and rarely coming out.”

Silence settled over the room. So that explained Sopherl’s sad eyes, but what about her music? Had she kept playing inside the house? Nannerl thought that her head would burst with questions. She cleared her throat to speak.

“But…but where is the rue François?” Nannerl’s voice came out in a tiny squeak. “Is it in the center of Paris?”

“Actually, it’s on the outskirts, near the road that leads to the Palace of Versailles,” said Charlotte. She gave Nannerl a puzzled smile. “Are you interested in streets and maps?”

Nannerl nodded, and Charlotte jumped up and grabbed her arm. “Come on,” she said. “There’s a map of Paris in Papa’s study. I’ll show you our old street.”

Nannerl followed Charlotte up some stairs to a huge room filled with books and a very large desk. Charlotte opened a few drawers and shuffled through some papers.

“Charlotte…”

“Yes?” Charlotte swirled around, a wrinkled map in her hand.

“I met Sopherl at the Elector’s dinner.”

“Really?” Charlotte sank into a chair.

“I asked her what instrument she had played and she didn’t answer,” said Nannerl. “She heard me play and the Elector gave me her address and I want to see her in Paris and I suppose I’ll have to ask Papa for help, but I know I need to visit her!”

“What an adventure! I wish I could come along! It would be fun to find Sopherl by yourself, don’t you think? You’re so clever—you don’t need your papa to help. Here, I’ll show you. You see, there is the Seine, the river that flows through Paris.” She traced her index finger along the edge of the river. “Here, at the great church Nôtre Dame, you turn left, past the Abbey of St Germain des Prés, along the rue de Sèvres for about fifteen blocks. Then you will come to the rue François, and our old house. It’s really quite simple. I’m sure you’ll be able to find it.” She handed Nannerl the map. “We go to Paris every Christmas and know it well, from when we lived there.”

“Thank you very, very much,” said Nannerl, taking the map and trying to hide her excitement. “There’s one more thing…” She had noticed a flute sitting up on one of the shelves.

“Yes?” Charlotte asked.

“Do you play the flute?”

Charlotte laughed. “Not officially.” She took the instrument down. “This is Papa’s. He plays along with our orchestra when he has the time. He’s actually quite good. But—” she smiled at Nannerl and put the flute to her lips, “—he’s given me a few lessons over the years. We’re all so crazy about music in this house.” She played a little tune.

Nannerl clapped. “If I sing something, could you play it back, just so that I can hear how it sounds on the flute?”

Charlotte laughed. “Of course! I’ll do my best, anyway.” Nannerl closed her eyes and hummed the flute tune from her symphony. She was glad that she had changed it to fit with a smaller orchestra.

Charlotte played part of it back. “It’s a very interesting tune. I like it. But I wonder about—” she played the last note a little longer, “—putting a pause there. Just to slow things down a bit, so the audience can really savor that note.”

Nannerl thought about it. “Maybe,” she said. “Can you play it that way again?”

“Nannerl!” Mama called from downstairs. “Come down now. It’s time to go.”

“Oh, bother,” said Nannerl. She wanted to stay and work on her symphony with Charlotte.

“Never mind,” said Charlotte. “I’m sure we’ll meet again, perhaps in Paris at Christmas! Who is the composer of this wonderful melody?”

Nannerl just smiled and didn’t say anything, but she knew that Charlotte knew who had written it.

“Keep working, Nannerl!” Charlotte whispered as they ran downstairs. “And good luck in finding Sopherl!”

“…yes, well, I’m sure we’ll manage to get a concert at Versailles,” Papa was saying as he buttoned his coat.

“Then we’ll look forward to hearing Wolfgang and Nannerl play,” said Charlotte, smiling. “We always go to the concert at Versailles on Christmas Day. It’s a family tradition.”

“Well, we really must get these children off to bed,” said Mama, hustling Wolfi and Nannerl out the door.

“Good-bye!” Everyone smiled and waved. “Come again before you leave Coblenz!”

Nannerl settled into her carriage seat for the long ride back to the inn. She peered out at the darkness and shivered. Then she reached deep into the pocket of her cape and felt the reassuring touch of her diary and Charlotte’s map.