…When Mozart presented himself at our door, my little
sister, Sophie and I would scamper to open it. We knew, you see, that Aloysia
would make him wait. It was a torment she routinely inflicted on all her
admirers.
Sophie and I didn’t care how long she took. While Mozart
waited for his goddess, we had him all to ourselves. He was always obliging; a
delightful playmate who showed us cat’s cradles we’d never seen. He was also a
dangerous and incredibly dexterous opponent in games of jacks.
As soon as Aloysia appeared, however, the fun was over. By
the time the little man straightened from bowing to the coquette posing in the
doorway, lover’s anxiety had entirely extinguished his natural sparkle.
I couldn’t endure being around them then, even though their
music was beautiful. I hated the slave who now gazed from Wolfgang’s blue eyes.
I hated the gushing Italian compliments he paid. I knew my sister. The more he
doted, the more she would despise.
Poor Wolfgang! His tics, and he had a fair number,
intensified in the presence of his idol mio. His nervous fingers were the
worst, often going completely out of control, either drumming on the tabletop
or tying his watch chain into hopeless knots.
Within a few weeks Aloysia could mimic him perfectly—his
busy hands, his submissive bow, his florid Italian. Spiteful Jo was her most
appreciative audience. Heaven knows, Mama and Papa, who had begun to dream
about a match with the wunderkind
from Salzburg
“I think you’re both horrible,” I said, wanting to defend
him, but this only sent Jo and Aloysia onto the sofa where they rolled about
giggling in a most unladylike fashion...
~~Juliet Waldron
See all my historical novels @ http://www.julietwaldron.com
