MOZART'S SISTER
Dear Friends in Salzburg,
I am rarely able to write, traveling hither and thither.
After performing a grand concert in Brussels before Prince Karl,
we have set off with post horses for a four-dayjourney to Paris.
The Bishop of Malines gave my daughter gifts of lace and fur,
and Wolfgang, two magnificent daggers.
Whoever has not thus traveled cannot imagine all that is required,
and we have been doing so for three years.
One must have a deep purse and one's wits about one,
with everything planned months in advance.
We have had heavy snow,
and the cold increases hourly.
This is all the more penetrating
as the early frost becomes terribly damp later on.
We travel at great expense,
and the rewards are often disappointing.
Prince Karl kept us waiting for three weeks.
His Highness did nothing but hunt and eat and drink to excess,
before announcing we would get nothing.
The children are inundated
with presents of snuff boxes and all manner of tiny cases.
Wolfgang and Nannerl amaze everyone.
Courtiers and soldiers alike are dumbstruck with wonder,
listening to them with indescribable pleasure.
I must sometimes threaten my children to keep them working.
If, eclipsed by the other, each one grew idle,
the whole edifice would collapse.
Life is so short.
Youth passes like a greyhound race.
Each moment lost is lost forever.
As we approach Paris
we see castles by the road.
We spot peasants
in furs.
Wolfgang is veryjolly and somewhat mischievous.
Nannerl plays so well
that everyone admires her virtuosity.
I must finish now. Excuse my muddled thoughts.
I jot things down as they come to me.
My wife and children, who are well, thank God,
also send their regards.
Leopold Mozart.
Well?
lt's the axle.
Broken?
Cracked.
We're stuck.
Out of the question!
We can walk.
Walk?
Where? How?
Free the wheel.
We can reach the next village.
Quick, Papa, it's cold!
lt's the axle. We have to go at walking pace.
What will we do?
There's an abbey.
Nannerl!
Not the violin, I told you!
l used to be an excellent violinist.
Why stop me now?
Your father keeps telling you it's no instrument for a girl.
Nor the organ nor the violin.
Who asked you?
Nannerl, stop it!
Everything's fine.
We have a happy life.
We're honored guests of the kings and queens of Europe.
l've had enough!
Our order is completely female.
We can only welcome men in exceptional circumstances.
l must have the front axle and wheels repaired.
We traveled on paved roads.
lmagine the damage they do to a coach,
especially the fittings.
After two or three days l shall have to ask you to leave.
l am sure two nights will suffice.
Until then, may l ask you a favor?
Another?
We are musicians.
My children will be performing at Versailles in a few days.
lf I could set up our clavichord...
ln a room set apart, for example.
ln the house adjoining the abbey
we have some distinguished visitors with a large entourage.
Among them are some music masters.
l could introduce you.
Music masters?
You are a great composer, sir.
My son composed it.
These are the fifth, sixth and last.
Daughters of...?
His Majesty Louis XV.
Sophie we call Gravel because of her voice.
What about my voice?
Sing, Sophie!
- And Louise is... - Chiffe.
Chiffe?
Like l'm made of chiffon!
What's your name?
Maria-Anna.
But my nickname is Nannerl.
Nannerl?
Nannerl. That's very pretty.
But l'll call you Nanna.
Nanna?
Yes, Nanna. Little Nannerl.
Victoire!
Young ladies!
Let us not allow protocol to hinder our burgeoning friendship.
lt's like a fairy tale.
How old are you?
Fourteen.
Almost fifteen.
l'm thirteen.
On my birthday the Abbess took away all my toys.
lt's the tradition.
lt made me sad. l loved my dolls.
But l didn't cry.
l have to be exemplary.
l'm a good year younger than you.
You're the same age as Victoire.
l don't know how she came by that book...
The devil's work, no doubt.
What book?
A book full of blasphemy.
lt tells of practices condemned by the church.
Matters of love, but described quite indecently.
The Abbess took it off her, but l saw where she hid it.
l took it back, at Victoire's behest.
Are you crying?
No, praying.
l'm so glad to have a friend.
Why do you live in this abbey?
Because of the Cardinal.
l don't know if l should say...
The Abbess tells us our hearts have an open window
into which she can see.
So we cannot lie to her.
But l don't believe her.
Go to sleep.
Right now!
We're not tired.
lt's nearly midnight.
How many daughters does the King have? Six, seven, eight?
Seven, l think.
Where are numbers one to three?
At court.
Why are they locked up here?
They were jumping on all the boys in Versailles!
That'll do!
You're mad!
Sorry, Papa.
My corn! Oh, l could scream!
You just did, Papa!
Go to sleep!
Come on now.
Why aren't l at home, in my own bedroom,
where birds sing in the spring,
and the snow weighs down the naked branches in winter?
Mama's a poet!
l have to pee!
The King of France's daughter is my friend.
Sing it far and wide!
l promised the Abbess discretion.
She has a crush on Papa.
Come now!
Of course she has!
She's never "seen the wolf".
The wolf?
The wolf has never wooed her, that's why she's always praying.
What wolf?
lf you don't stop, l'll scream!
And I'll punish you.
A bird?
lt won't sing to order, you know.
lt'd deafen us all day long.
l could tame it.
Years ago,
the Cardinal suggested our two older sisters remain at court,
the twins Marie-Sophie Elisabeth and Anne-Henriette.
The rest of us had to come to this abbey.
His Eminence held such power over them
that Papa and Mama accepted, with a heavy heart.
After a 13-dayjourney by road we arrived here.
We like the Abbess.
All the monasteries and convents in the region answer to her.
And you've never seen your parents since?
Never.
l don't even remember them.
Last year, the King had a portrait of us painted for the Queen.
lt made her cry, we heard, but she never came to see us.
At least some of the nuns love us, and we love them back.
But it's not like having real parents.
lf only our family were like yours,
concerned only with music,
crossing Europe by coach,
having adventures...
Do you think l'm kind?
Very.
They call me "the Commander". l've always been bossy.
Bossy, but fair.
Do you know about love?
Love?
Yes. Are you in love?
Yes.
No. I don't know.
l yearn for him.
His name is Hugues le Tourneur.
He's the son of the music master l told you about.
He was at the abbey with his father for several weeks.
Then he went to Versailles.
We fell in love immediately.
But life keeps us apart.
My condition too.
You're going to court.
Please give him this letter.
l tell him that l still love him
and that our different ranks will never affect my promise to him.
l'll give you this too.
lt's Victoire's book.
The cursed book.
Take it away from here.
Lose it in the woods or burn it.
Her honor would be lost for ever if the King found out.
Will you do that?
l could have shat oranges before remembering they were here!
Sing!
Why didn't you warn me, Mama?
l was waiting for it to happen.
lt's easier to understand.
Are you all right?
My grown-up child!
You're a woman now.
You can have children.
How do you make children?
Are you kidding me?
You are now ready to meet the man of your life.
The man I shall love.
He'll be young and handsome.
He'll love music, of course.
But most of all, he'll love you.
You'll be attracted to each other.
You'll be wed before God
in a magnificent dress.
- Covered in blood! - No...
"This book belongs to Maria-Anna Mozart, 1759."
Know what's in it?
Notes, minuets,
various compositions?
lt's supposed to be mymusic notebook.
Look, it's Papa's handwriting.
"1760. These previous eight minuets
"were learned by Wolfgang at the age of four."
Another page...
"1761 . Wolfgang learned this allegro at the age of four."
"Compositions by Wolfgang,
"written when he was five."
"Minuet composed by Wolfgang Mozart,
"May 1 1th, 1762."
l suffer my father's preference
even in my own notebook.
Welcome to you and your family.
Thank you. We're exhausted.
Here are your apartments.
Papa, l'm thirsty.
Beware of Parisian water.
lt's from the Seine.
Boil it first or it will make you ill.
The country is in mourning for the Dauphine.
The poor girl did not survive the birth of her daughter.
lf you intend to go to Versailles, you will need black clothing.
l have left at your disposal the harpsichord of my late husband,
Count Van Eyck.
He so loved to play.
Katerl,
Louise,
Barbara,
Maria...
What are they doing now?
l can't even write to them.
Papa says it costs too much.
You can't write, anyway!
And all you know is music!
They say you're a genius but you're an idiot!
Where are my cloth dolls?
My wooden dolls?
My carriages and cradles?
l'm grown-up now.
So grown-up.
Children!
What?
Mama, say something!
lt's astounding!
Help! lt's cold now.
ls it pleasant?
The French are insane.
Open up!
Wait a moment.
l have to wipe it down.
l hope the water's clean.
Don't drink it.
Drink it?
Can l try it, Papa?
- No, me! - I really want to!
Each of us in turn.
The cold water wakes you up!
- My turn! - No, me first!
lt's hot and cold.
Don't burn your little birdie!
l believe a concert is in order.
lt will please the King.
We must organize it together.
Four sonatas are at the printer's.
lt will say that they are the work of a 10-year-old.
You're twelve!
Eleven!
They're fine sonatas.
And your daughter?
My daughter plays the most difficult pieces by Schobert and Eckart.
l also compose complicated pieces which she interprets with precision.
The Countess de Tassé, learning of your presence here,
wishes Mademoiselle Mozart to follow me to her salon
for a private audience.
But of course.
No.
We must be quick!
Louise de France wants you to deliver her letter.
Put on this suit.
You must be a boy.
Hugues is with the Dauphin, who is in mourning.
No unknown female may approach him.
The Dauphin of France?
Try to make him smile.
Play your role well.
Neither must suspect the truth.
The kingdom would suffer.
- Do you have the letter? - Yes.
Hugues le Tourneur, to whom the letter is addressed.
Excuse me.
Thank you.
lf you'll allow me.
l shall take leave to peruse it, then return with my response.
You may go.
Am I to wait here with Monsieur?
You were very good.
l was afraid of being discovered.
The Dauphin intimidated me.
Don't let him.
He is shy and quiet.
And his grief makes him more distant.
Leave us a moment, lsabelle.
l wish to hear news of my sister.
ln what circumstances did you meet Louise?
My family was traveling through the forest a few weeks ago
when an axle broke.
We sought help at a nearby abbey.
And you met the Princesses of France?
Do you play?
Yes, Your Grace.
- The harpsichord? - Yes.
The violin too.
l know the piece you were playing earlier.
Would you play it better than I?
l do not know.
But l could play it.
Do so, then.
- Will you accompany me? - No.
Alone.
Who taught you?
My father.
Good for him!
He has always said that only a boy can play the violin well.
How right he is.
And can you sing?
- Can l sing? - Yes.
Doyouknow the Miserere Mei, Deus by Allegri.
Of course.
Could you come close to singing one of the highest notes
ever written in a score?
A magical "C".
As pure and bright as crystal.
A haunting cry torn from the soul.
How is that my sister Louise did not fall in love with you?
Hugues le Tourneur is in her heart and she is steadfast and faithful.
So we immediately became friends.
l love to play the harpsichord and violin.
To sing, as well.
My dream is to compose music.
l have tried but I am clumsy and I lack technique.
Would you try for me?
- To compose? - Yes.
Compose. lnvent your own music. Would you?
Yes... l don't know.
Under exceptional circumstances.
Consider our meeting an exceptional circumstance,
and write for me.
My dear sister Louise, whom l only know through a painting.
They say she is troublesome and amused by foolish things.
l'd so like to meet her.
She is lucky to have you as a friend.
l hate my shyness.
l am bewildered by other men.
lt is because, often,
when they are around me,
men are mere tapestries,
puppets which I activate by levers.
Not you, however.
Where are you from?
Salzburg.
l do not know about men.
l do not have that knowledge.
Yet l am roundly educated.
l have studied law, history, literature...
My memory retains the good parts of every book.
But man is a mystery.
l cannot know him.
Yet...
l feel a natural liking for you.
lsabelle, continue to fulfill your role as a messenger.
Send me music of your composition.
My composition?
Yes.
l will delight in discovering it.
What time is it?
Still time to sleep.
May l sit with you?
For a few minutes.
You write well.
Such beautiful handwriting.
"Everyone in Paris sends their newborn to the countryside.
"Women escorts take them far from Paris.
"The name of the wet-nurse or peasant's wife is noted by the priest.
"This is done by both the nobility and those of lower birth,
"and it costs a trifling sum."
You've never taught me to write like that.
Papa?
Go to bed now.
l'm not tired.
l want to ask you something.
Could I sit in on the composition classes you give to Wolfgang?
You see... How can l put it?
l hear notes,
my own notes,
in my head,
but l don't know how to write them down.
l don't know the rules. You taught me all l know.
l'm sure you could help me understand.
My poor darling,
one must know the secrets of harmony and counterpoint.
These are beyond most people, especially women.
l remember the first time Wolfgang composed something.
He was about five.
l helped him dip his quill in the inkwell.
l heard some notes,
brand-new notes,
never used before.
They weren't from my memory.
l helped Wolfy to write them down.
When he showed you, you were with your friend Andreas.
You were both stupefied.
You even wept with emotion.
Are you saying you wrote it?
Yes.
Almost.
Part of it. l don't know.
Yes, I think so.
Then, later,
l wrote some sonatas.
You never even deigned to read them.
l did read them.
What you call "sonatas" were nothing but absurd notes lumped together.
How can you say that?
You never mentioned them.
Go back to bed, Nannerl.
From the Latin, punctus.
Contra punctum.
"Note against note."
Counterpoint.
This applies
to compositions in several parts and in two dimensions.
The dimension which is melodic or horizontal.
- And that which is harmonic or... - Vertical.
Both take into account the notion of consonance.
What's that?
Bread soup.
- With an egg? - Yes.
He's been restless all night.
His face is completely deformed.
He's unrecognizable.
Eat.
I played your music immediately,
and it transported me.
I was seduced by your creativity.
Such beauty, such purity!
So it was you who composed it.
You, already a sublime singer,
gave those notes to me.
I had my music master listen.
He said it could only be the work of a very young man.
If I did not trust you,
I might think you guilty of plagiarism.
But I know it was you.
I see your trembling hand writing the notes.
Come meet me when Isabelle calls on you.
My Dear Louise,
I am late writing
for, when we reached Paris,
Wolfgang was suddenly taken ill,
and for a while was in such a state
that he was absolutely unrecognizable.
His little face was covered with huge, red spots.
But he is better now,
and my father has recovered his joie de vivre.
I gave your letter to Hugues le Tourneur, personally, as you requested,
and in the presence of the Dauphin.
Hugues was honored by your letter and will reply forthwith.
Shall I mention the sheer beauty of your brother the Dauphin,
one of his many perfections?
Never in my life
have I seen a finer figure or more handsome features.
My private apartments.
Every night
l dream I am in my nightshirt, running up His Majesty's stairs,
shouting, "The King! The King!"
l call the guard, dragging one of them with me,
and we witness the birth of the royal child.
The midwife holds it up.
"lt's a boy!"
The Queen arrives too late.
A Swiss guard with disheveled hair bristling with curls
hurries to Trianon, crying,
"A boy! A boy!"
The King is so moved he is taken ill.
When he reaches the Palace, the Cardinal is baptizing the child.
Louis XV examines it.
Horror! lt's a girl!
Just like her mother.
As wicked as a little dragon.
She turns to the maternal breast,
giving it a poisonous bite.
The Dauphine dies,
and I awake with a start.
Then
l understand that reality is like my nightmare.
l am widowed,
inconsolable...
and the father of a baby girl.
What is her name?
Marie-Zephyrine.
A strange family will be performing a concert for the court.
Apparently, there's an astounding violinist of only ten.
His sister plays the harpsichord and has a voice of gold.
Would you like to be there?
l will be.
The chosen music suits my mourning perfectly.
What is wrong?
l must confess to something very serious.
Serious?
Yes.