My Family

My father, Leopold Mozart :
He is happy to believe HIS talent has passed to the son and cajoles the archbishop not for himself but for Wolfgang. It is true he knows where to find my fur boots - in the trunk under the the roof - from a thousand miles away. My father has laid two eggs in one basket and is lying on them both just in case.
My mother:
She is devoted to her husband and God in that order. Anna Maria Mozart, nee Pertl, possesses a fine voice which is finest when she is vexed with the servants. Above all else, my mother has a wicked wit and a rare understanding of holiness.
My brother, Wolfgang:
He is a prey to toothache and an interest in his prettier cousins - a miniature rendition of a man, a boy prodigy who will soon be everything that my father forsees.
My lover: He has gold buttons on a scarlet coat and silk stockings on his legs- a cock of a man who visits me in dreams.
My future husband:
I have not met him yet but I know he will be dull by comparison. Perhaps I will die in childbirth. N

A Sin

The church bells are tolling to remind us of our sins. Here is one of mine: lust. I have a lust for satisfaction of ALL my appetites. It is a type of greed that takes hold at unexpected moments and is never satisfied. I was at church the whole day on Sunday. Between sermons, I tried to lay aside all thoughts that would ruin me and failed. So wild was my imagining, I fancied I drank spa water with a certain friend and spoke in French, which I cannot do otherwise, and was observed to look ill. It was no doubt due to the hankering kindness I felt for Herr -- who told me of a sonata for violin and clavier he had composed, which he would like me to play. Play WITH him! I would like to play WITH the curls on his wig and blow wind very gently behind his ears. I would like to COMPOSE myself! In all my fancies, I am like a tree that has been sunk into a flowerpot and can be lifted out very easily when I am in his company. But alas, this is a sin of dreaming and only my distraction is real. N.

My Beloved Brother

Mama and I are both longing for you to make your fortune as we believe that your success will mean happiness for us all. Although I wish to embrace you, I will delay such thoughts until you are NOT composing and can spare the time to receive them in spirit. Alas to bed I now must steal and with these words I do impart - as long as you can piddle, shit or deadly fart, our art will surely grab our heart O brother mine, the queerest fish, my dainty dish, your loving sister, Nan. Postum Scriptum Nonsensicum: the Latin psalms are difficult to read and a German translation would be helpful! What a pity this is not a letter but the dullest entry from your darling blister. N.