The trade-off was simple: a good deal less sleep at night for a great many more friends and connections in Vienna.
Nannerl found herself looking forward to the arrival of the first guest each night, even to the point of being distracted during the day. By the time the family assembled for dinner, Nannerl was breathless, barely able to eat as she waited for that knock on the front door of the Gods Eye. Waiting for that moment that Aloysia would turn to her with her knowing grin and ask, "Will you be joining us this evening, Fraulein?"
As if she could stand to go up to her room and sleep when freedom was so close!
Past the silent parlor, across the musty basement, through the winding catacombs, the ruined church was always waiting.
Of course, she had spotted the old organ the moment Aloysia had first lifted her up on the altar and kissed her. It was nestled into an alcove behind the cards table, a collection of tarnished pipes crowning a cracked keyboard. It had lingered in her thoughts as Aloysia led her around and introduced her to her comrades, the notion of sitting before it even driving her to forget the others' names at first. She hadn't been allowed to play an organ since she was a girl, since her last recital before her father had told her that it was time to focus on Wolfgang's career, and time for Nannerl to help her mother manage the household.
Though she hadn't remembered everyone's names that first night, she did notice that most of the members of Aloysia's circle came from musical backgrounds. The core of the group were dancers and singers Aloysia must have collected during her career at the Opera. Then there were their partners: there was Tatiana, a brown-eyed ballerina who always arrived with her Algerian lady's maid, the air of formality between them only dissolving when they were in the safety of the church; golden-haired Benedikta Faust was another wiry dancer who spent her evenings with her arms around a stocky seamstress named Charlotte. There were perhaps a dozen women all told. They were a friendly, relaxed group who were content to chat the night away over their cards games, none of them even lifting an eyebrow if two or three members of the group broke away and closed themselves off in the maintenance cupboard behind the organ, or slipped down the stone stairs and disappeared into the dark crypt beneath their feet.
The strange thing was that after only a few nights, Nannerl knew more about the other members of the underground order than she knew about Aloysia herself.
It wasn't for lack of trying, of course. But Aloysia seemed to be more interested in playing Nannerl's body like the old organ in the corner, observing with that look of detached interest in her large eyes as Nannerl twitched and gasped under her touch, then pulling away whenever Nannerl reached for her. It certainly wasn't what Nannerl had expected. Maybe she was too romantic. Had she been foolish to think that somewhere behind the armor of sarcasm in which Aloysia had encased herself, there was a human heart that over which Nannerl had some influence?
At least the other women wanted to get to know her. The first time she had sat at the old organ and picked out the tune of one of the hymns she used to know, the ladies had abandoned their cards game and crowded around her. By the time she reached the second verse, some of them were even singing along. For a few minutes she was a child again, her legs too short to reach the pedalboard, her father groaning each time she hit a sour note. It had been so long! She didn't want to spell to break. After playing through every hymn she could remember, her fingers found their way through one of her original compositions, a song her father had told her was too derivative to be performed in public. The ladies had cooed over it; lovely Tatiana had even made up lyrics and sung along.
Music became a regular part of their evenings after that. Aloysia had her way with her first, leading her into a shadowy corner of the crypt or pushing her onto one of the hard pews at the back of the chapel. Her kisses were always light and brief, just a brush of skin and a flutter of breath before she leaned away, out of reach again. Nannerl would be left biting her lips and thrusting against Aloysia's fingers, imagining what it would be like to wind her arms around her, to kiss her deeply and properly, to run her fingers over Aloysia's exposed skin and elicit a gasp from her, to catch her off-guard. But then Aloysia would inevitably crook a finger and be the one to catch Nannerl off-guard. She would watch her with that knowing smirk until she was done, wipe her fingers along the inside of Nannerl's thigh, and, if she was feeling particularly warm, catch her hand and press a kiss to her knuckles. Sometimes Aloysia would linger after that, presiding over the group like an empress among her courtiers; more often than not, she would wait until Nannerl had installed herself in front of the organ and slip away while the ladies sang.
Outside of the chapel and the crypt, nothing had changed. Frau Weber's favorite salons were filled with the same leering social climbers and her daughters' gossip with the same unfamiliar names. At least her hosts were kind enough to avoid voicing the question that she sometimes saw in their eyes when they regarded her: what did she hope to make of herself now that her father was gone? What did she hope to find here in Vienna? Maybe her new acquaintances would help show her the way.
But it was Aloysia herself who presented Nannerl with her first opportunity in Vienna: Caterina Cavalieri, a well-known soprano who was presently engaged at the Burgtheater, had specifically requested a lesson from Nannerl Mozart.
It had been so long since Nannerl had given a lesson! She arrived at the palace an hour earlier than the prearranged time, sitting impatiently in the corner while another composer grumbled into his music, trying to keep her knees from bouncing restlessly beneath her skirts as she waited. The composer, a modestly-dressed man with a neat beard and dark eyes, couldn't seem to find a resolution to the aria he was writing that satisfied him. After a time, he snatched up all his sheet music, stormed over to the hearth, and flung it into the fire before turning to Nannerl and bowing deeply. "I cede the bench to you, Signora," he sneered before stalking out of the room.
Nannerl rolled her eyes as she began unpacking her own music and arranging it on the harpsichord. At least that proved that Wolfgang wasn't the strangest of the composers who wrote for the emperor.
La Cavalieri arrived exactly on time, slipping into the room so gently that Nannerl didn't hear her enter. Nannerl had already gone over all the music she had thought to bring and, remembering the aria the moody composer had burned, was idly composing a variation on it with a resolved ending when she was interrupted by a gasp. Worried that the composer himself had returned and taken offense, Nannerl sprang to her feet and spun around.
"Signorina Mozart!" La Cavalieri said. It was hard to tell whether it was a greeting or an announcement. "But... that was Maestro Salieri's opera, wasn't it?"
Nannerl shot a guilty glance at the fireplace, then back at the singer. La Cavalieri was a small, stout woman, shorter even than Nannerl herself, with a round face, a pointed chin, and piercing blue eyes. But even as Nannerl fumbled for an excuse as to why she had infringed on someone else's work, a smile broke across La Cavalieri's lips. "The maestro has been laboring over the ending of that aria for weeks," she said, "and you finished it in an afternoon?"
"Well- I wouldn't say I finished it, exactly," Nannerl stammered.
But La Cavalieri hurried forward, seizing both of Nannerl's hands in her own. "It's true, then? I've always heard rumors that you were your brother's equal in talent."
"Me? Wolfgang's equal? Surely not! After all his training- and I haven't even performed since-"
"Oh! How rude of me!" La Cavalieri interrupted, dropping Nannerl's hands at once and stepping back, the color rising in her cheeks. "To insist on talking business when I haven't even introduced myself You must think me terribly foolish!"
"Not at all! You need no introduction, Fraulein Cavalieri," Nannerl said with a curtsy.
"Please, you of all people can call me Caterina. And you- Signorina Maria Anna Mozart! I was a child the last time we met."
"We've met? Really?" Nannerl asked, dropping onto the bench and patting the seat at her side. She had heard La Cavalieri sing in one of Wolfgang's operas the last time she had come to Vienna, but had never had the chance to hear her speak. It was enchanting to watch her eyes sparkle as she leaned forward enthusiastically, with all the cold gravitas she displayed onstage melted away.
"I was at one of your last performances," La Cavalieri said, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "You were a girl, I think, maybe fourteen? And I was only ten!"
"Really? And you remember it?"
She nodded, her eyes still wide. "Every moment of it!"
"I couldn't have been that good, surely."
"You were!" La Cavalieri assured her, "but that wasn't what struck me. I was only a child, you know, but I already loved music. I sang while I worked. I sneaked out at night to linger outside concert halls. It was all so futile! I always thought music must be a man's realm. I certainly thought it was reserved for adults. But you! You were hardly older than me, and you were a girl! And you played so beautifully! I was changed after I saw you perform. It was the first true inspiration I had, the first glimpse of what was possible for a girl like me. Why, I owe you my career!"
"Me?" Nannerl said, searching the little soprano's warm face for any trace of a lie, of empty flattery, and finding only overt admiration. "Are you sure you aren't remembering Wolfgang's playing and confusing it with mine?"
La Cavalieri seized her hands again, folding them under her chin. "You were a prodigy then," she said gravely, holding Nannerl's gaze, "and you're still a genius today. Just look! You've already proven yourself a more talented composer than Maestro Salieri himself!"
"Fraulein, I think your memory and your misplaced esteem for me are clouding your perception," Nannerl insisted, pulling her hands away. Her cheeks were burning, though it was hard to pinpoint why the singer's compliments unsettled her so.
La Cavalieri rose from the bench with a sigh, smoothing her skirts into place and taking up her position by the harpsichord. "I'm sorry if I've upset you, Signorina," she said, her chin held high. In one move, she had become the perfect little diva again, poised to perform.
"Call me Nannerl, please. I'm not upset! Just... surprised."
The warm light seeped back into La Cavalieri's eyes as she said, "Nannerl. How lovely."
Nannerl leaned down to retrieve a piece of music that had slid to the floor, pressing the back of her free hand to her burning cheek while she was out of La Cavalieri's line of sight. How had all this flattery managed to fluster her so deeply?
"Did you bring any of your own compositions?"
Nannerl sat up, clearing her throat and hoping that the flush had begun to fade from her cheeks. "A few. I haven't composed new music since I was a child, though. At least, nothing that I could perform."
"Go on!" urged La Cavalieri. "Let me sing the newest one you have. Something that you've never heard sung before."
"Well, there's this one," Nannerl said, passing her a page. It was an aria she had written while her father was sick, a woman's lament as she struggles with the warring notions that she owes a man everything while she still has every right to hate him. The words she had set to it were in Latin, some small insurance that any of the staff who might have overheard her singing it to herself wouldn't be able to guess that the subject matter was so ungrateful.
La Cavalieri took the page eagerly, scanning it with that inextinguishable enthusiasm. "Oh," she sighed as she reached the end, "how true! How very true! Please, can I sing it?"
"Of course. And if- if you think of any revisions, please let me know." Nannerl struck the first note on the harpsichord and closed her eyes, imagining that the sharp chords were replaced by an orchestra.
When La Cavalieri's powerful voice took up the first word of her aria, Nannerl's eyes flew open again and she very nearly hit a sour note. The emotion, the grandeur in the enormous voice that was resonating from within such a small woman! She could hardly believe that this was what her aria sounded like, that Caterina Cavalieri had looked at her disjointed writing and seen something so relatable, that she could add so many layers of confusion and sorrow to this silly, self-indulgent song Nannerl had written in secret.
By the time she reached the end of the crescendo, the final note of the aria, Nannerl's fingers had gone completely still. She was staring rather foolishly, her lips parted, her eyes stinging.
Caterina clasped the sheet of music over her heart and heaved a long, contented sigh. "I knew it," she murmured, her expression still dreamy. "Your brother has never written anything like this." And while Nannerl continued to gape wordlessly at her, she rounded the harpsichord and took a seat on the bench at her side. "Would you write an opera? An entire opera, just like this?"
"An- an opera?" Nannerl repeated hoarsely. "Me?"
"Beautiful music like this can't stay trapped in your head, Nannerl Mozart. All of Vienna should know about your talent. All of the world!"
Nannerl suddenly realized that she was leaning in toward the other woman, staring at her lips, at the mouth from which that overwhelming voice carried her music. She sat up straight; her heart was pounding in her chest as though she had just run up a flight of stairs. She shot a quick glance toward the clock on the mantel and cleared her throat. "I- I fear we may run out of time on our lesson if we don't-"
"Can I see you again?" Caterina interrupted.
"Another lesson?"
"If you like," the singer said, returning the page of music to the stand and taking one of Nannerl's hands in hers. "Or dinner. Or a walk in the gardens."
Nannerl's eyes widened; she curled her fingers around Caterina's and caught her eye, studying her upturned face. Did she mean to suggest-?
The image of the stately, tarnished pipe organ arose in Nannerl's thoughts. It had gone untouched for years, yet with a little attention and work, now it brought the members of the underground order together in song each night. Could Nannerl's talent be revived just as easily? Could she really write an entire opera after having pushed the music she heard in her head aside for so many years?
Caterina brought their joined hands to her lips and murmured, "Do you have any plans for this evening, Maestra? Can we meet again?"
And that was all she needed to know. Nannerl clapped her free hand to the back of Caterina Cavalieri's neck and pulled her into a long, deep kiss.
