When I returned to the kingdom, would I do what I needed and free the queen? Or would I bring my brother with me and present him to Hyacinth? The two sides of me stirred, clashing, and in this moment, I could not tell which would win.
“I will do it,” I found myself whispering. “I will meet you here.”
Hyacinth did not respond. When I opened my eyes again, the courtyard was gone, along with the castle and the thorns and the moat. I was standing in the box again with my parents, Woferl beside me, and I was clapping, along with everyone, as the librettist down on the stage curtsied for her adoring audience.
Already, Hyacinth’s hands on me felt like little more than the touch of a ghost. Woferl looked at me, his eyes curious and expectant. My heart hammered against my ribs. Perhaps Hyacinth had come to him too, coaxed him in the same way he coaxed me. I could feel the threads of his web tightening around us.
“Remember this lesson well, Nannerl,” my father said, leaning over to me. “Think of all that Psyche suffers, for the sake of her love, and how noble her loyalty makes her.”
I nodded but did not answer. Perhaps the fulfillment of her wishes was never worth what she had to sacrifice. Perhaps Psyche could have suffered for something other than love of a man. Perhaps, in another life, things could have been different for her.
The opera was a harbinger of things to come. That night, I dreamed over and over of Hyacinth in the tower, his teeth sinking into the young princess while I stood by. I felt his bloodstainedhands touch my cheek. I called after Woferl as he walked ahead of me down the path through the woods, growing more and more distant until I could no longer see him.
And when I woke in a sweat the next morning, I heard the news. The princess-bride Maria Josepha had become stricken with what we all feared the most.
The smallpox.
THEHARBINGEROFDEATH
Rumor is that she caught it from the Emperor Joseph’s late wife, at her funeral,” Herr Schmalecker told us through a mouthful of eggs and ham slices as we sat for breakfast.
I looked at Mama. Her face was pale. At my side, Woferl picked at his food, his expression tired. I’d heard him toss and turn all last night, murmuring in his sleep.
“It is the will of God,” Papa said. His mouth was pulled tight, and his head stayed bowed. “We will pray for her recovery.”
“Recovery!” Herr Schmalecker chuckled. “Listen to this man. Still thinking about how you will make your ducats here, aren’t you? Well, do not lose hope yet, Leopold. The emperor has not retracted his request to hear your children perform.”
So we waited. I spent the night awake, shaking. Hyacinth was slowly setting the final act of his game. I knew it, could feelhis hands at work, letting the claws of this epidemic creep ever steadily closer to us. In the middle of the night, when I could bear it no longer, I went to Woferl’s room to make sure he was still there. He lay asleep, unaware of me as I crawled into his bed and cradled him in my arms until morning came.
Celebrations across the city were disrupted, canceled, shuffled around. We stayed at the house for longer stretches. My father spent much of his time listening to Herr Schmalecker’s gossip and pacing the floors. Woferl buried himself in his writing. In the quiet hours after everyone had retired, and in the early morning before the birds had roused the city, I would work on my own composition for Hyacinth. Papa sat with us for endless hours as we played at the clavier. There was little else we could do now.
Days later, an announcement from the royal court confirmed all the rumors we’d heard. Papa wrote a hasty letter to our landlord Herr Hagenauer, to tell him that the smallpox rash had appeared on Maria Josepha and that our concerts would be delayed.
I prayed for the princess that night. She had been among the crowd during our very first performance in Vienna years ago, and as I prayed, I tried to remember what she looked like. Had I taken the time to smile at her? There had been so many archduchesses.
Papa prayed for her too, although he prayed first for Emperor Joseph to not cancel our royal performance in light of the dire circumstances.
Two days later we heard gossip about her gradual recovery, and for an instant Vienna returned to its festive state. She would pull through! A miracle from the heavens! The sounds of music and dance returned to the streets outside my window, and Papa brightened, began talking again about when we’d go to the court.The happiness lasted until the next week, when the princess-bride took a turn for the worse.
Mama fretted quietly with our father by candlelight, when they thought Woferl and I had gone to bed. “Another archduchess has come down with it,” Mama said. “So has the empress herself.”
I tried to write that night, but my hands shook so badly that I finally had to stop. I closed my notebook, then wrapped it in a silk petticoat and pushed it far underneath my bed. In the silence, I thought I heard a sound. When I sat up and listened to it, I realized that it was Woferl weeping softly in his sleep, lost again in his dreams.
This was how we hovered for days and weeks, holding our breath along with the rest of Vienna, until the day finally came when the royal court issued a last announcement.
The princess-bride Maria Josepha had died. The empress followed her a day later.
The fanciful operas, plays, and fireworks that had lit Vienna for weeks suddenly came to a halt. Theaters shut their doors until further notice. Streets were stripped of colorful banners. In their place hung mourning notices, and instead of the sound of music, we heard wails in the streets, saw crowds gathered in the city plazas for masses in honor of their late empress and princess. Still others spread news of the smallpox appearing in corner houses and alleyways, rashes blistering the skin of their kin.
It was Hyacinth’s whisper, the poison of him seeping throughthe city, searching for my brother. I could hear it in the air, the sharp pitch of it from the kingdom. My writing grew more urgent. There was not much time now for me to finish my composition for Hyacinth, for me to return to the kingdom before he came to claim Woferl.
“We must leave Vienna,” Mama argued that evening with Papa. “There’s nothing here for us now. I will not have Nannerl or Woferl catching the smallpox.”
“Anna, be reasonable.”
“Reasonable? The entire city has been thrown into a panic. What would you have us do? Surely you do not want to stay here.”
“Well, we certainly can’t leave. The emperor has not retracted his invitation, and we must wait for word from him. He may still wish to hear the children perform.”
