Chapter XXII: "idomeneo." (1)

ALTHOUGH in his earlier years Mozart's career had, as we have seen, been hindered by the circumstances

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to which he was forced to succumb at Salzburg, yet the severe discipline to which he was subjected must have been in many respects useful during his period of education. Since his return from his travels, however, his Salzburg surroundings were utterly oppressive and distasteful to him. His time of training was over; what he now required was freedom, work worthy of his powers, and the means of producing all that he was able and willing to produce. But of all this Salzburg could give nothing, and want of appreciation and mistrust, in addition to external obstacles, almost caused Mozart to lose heart and spirit, and throw up his post. His longing looks were naturally turned in whatever direction deliverance might seem to lie, and he considered it a fortunate circumstance when he was commissioned to write the opera for the Carnival of 1781 at Munich. The interest he had excited in Karl Theodor and his consort rendered it comparatively easy for Mozart's friends among the court singers and musicians to direct the choice so that it should fall on him; the Archbishop had promised leave of absence too distinctly to be able to draw back, nor would his many obligations to the Bavarian court have rendered a refusal possible. An entirely new opera was desired on this occasion, and the Abbot Giambatt. Varesco, who had been court chaplain at Salzburg since 1766, was commissioned to write the libretto; he could take counsel with Mozart, who knew the Munich company well, and by obeying his suggestions make the text quite according to his mind, so that a work not unworthy of the brilliant fame of the Munich Opera might be expected. When a translation of the text was called for later, Mozart proposed his old friend Schachtner, who was

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employed to do it; and Leopold Mozart could write with some pride to Breitkopf (August 10,1781): "It is remarkable that every part of the work is by persons residing in Salzburg: the poetry by the court chaplain, Abbate Varesco, the music by my son, and the German translation by Herr Schachtner."

Varesco's "Idomeneo" was modelled on the opera "Idomenée," written by Danchet and composed by Campra, first performed in 1712 and revived in 1731.[1]

The _dramatis personæ_ are as follows:--[See Page Images]

The plot is briefly as follows:--

Idomeneo, King of Crete, after the siege of Troy, has wandered a long way from his home, where his son, Idamante, grown to man's estate during his absence, awaits him in filial love. Electra, daughter of Agamemnon, banished by the people of Argus on account of the matricide of Orestes, has taken refuge with Idamante, and becomes deeply enamoured of him. But Ilia, daughter of Priam, who, with other Trojan captives, has been sent to Crete by Idomeneo, has conceived a passion for Idamante, which he returns. At the opening of the opera we find Ilia struggling with her love for the enemy of her fatherland (aria, 2). Idamante approaches her joyfully. He has received tidings that his father's fleet is in sight, and has sent his old confidant, Arbace, to bring more exact intelligence. On this joyful day he gives freedom to all the Trojan captives, and declares his love for Ilia, which she, although reluctantly, rejects; whereupon he bewails himself in an aria (3). The captive Trojans are led in and loosed from their fetters,

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giving occasion for a joyful chorus. Electra comes and expresses dissatisfaction at the liberation of so many enemies. Then follows Arbace with intelligence (which is mistaken) of the shipwreck of Idomeneo. Idamante departs overwhelmed with grief. Electra remains behind and gives vent to her jealousy and despair in a song (aria, 5). The scene changes to the sea-coast, and the fleet of Idomeneo is seen threatened by a storm, and driven on to the rocks, the mariners lamenting and beseeching aid. Neptune appears and commands the winds to depart. Idomeneo prays for his help, but the god casts threatening glances on him, and disappears. The sea being calmed, Idomeneo lands and declares that, during the storm, he has vowed to sacrifice to Neptune the first person who shall meet him on shore. He trembles at the rashness of his vow, and anxiously looks for the sacrifice he is to make (aria, 6). Idamante enters, having sought solitude as ease to his grief. He offers shelter to the stranger, whom he fails to recognise. In the course of conversation it transpires that he is mourning for his father Idomeneo. Whereupon Idomeneo makes himself known, but overcome by the horror of his situation, he departs, forbidding Idamante to follow him. The latter, ignorant of the cause, is inconsolable at his father's rejection of his proffered love and services (aria, 8). An intermezzo of suitable character follows the first act. The warriors of Idomeneo disembark to a march (9), are welcomed by their wives and children, and "express their joy in a grand figure-dance, ending with a chorus (10)."

At the beginning of the second act Idomeneo is in conversation with Arbace. He communicates to him his fearful vow, from the fulfilment of which he wishes to escape. Arbace represents to him that this is impossible. But when he hears that Idamante is to be the sacrifice, he counsels his being sent to a distant country, and that during his banishment they should seek to appease the wrath of Neptune. Idomeneo decides upon commanding Idamante to accompany Electra to Argos, and there ascend the throne, and commissions Arbace to bid him prepare for the journey. Arbace promises obedience (aria, 11), and departs. Ilia now appears, expresses delight at Idomeneo's safety, and, while extolling Idamante's goodness, declares her own gratitude and submission (aria, 12). Her warmth causes Idomeneo to suspect their love, and his grief and confusion are thereby augmented (aria, 13). Electra, entering, thanks him for his care. He leaves her alone, and she expresses her joy at the fulfilment of her dearest wishes (aria, 14). The warriors assemble in the harbour to the sound of a march (15). Electra appears with her followers, the sea is calm, and all look forward to a fortunate voyage (chorus, 16). Idomeneo dismisses Idamante, who sees in this command a fresh proof of his father's inexplicable displeasure. They express their opposing sentiments in a terzet (17). As they prepare to embark, a terrific storm arises, and a huge sea-monster rises from the waves. This convinces Idomeneo that his

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disobedience has offended Neptune, and he determines to die himself, and not to sacrifice the innocent. "The storm continues to rage, the Cretans fly, and the act closes with the expression of their fear and horror by singing and pantomimic dancing."

Ilia opens the third act, bewailing her unhappy love (aria, 19). Idamante surprises her, and declares his resolve to seek death in combat with the monster who is laying waste the land; this leads to a disclosure of her love, and the two express their happiness in a duet (20). Idomeneo, entering with Electra, discovers them; he cannot bring himself to acknowledge to Idamante the true cause of his mysterious behaviour, but commands him anew to leave Crete at once, and seek an asylum in a distant land. The various emotions of those present are expressed in a quartet (21). Idamante having departed, Arbace enters and announces that the people are hurrying with the high priest at their head to demand deliverance from the monster; Idomeneo goes to meet them, and Arbace expresses his earnest wish for the happiness of his ruler (aria, 22). On an open space in front of the castle the high priest appears with the multitude; he describes the ravages of the monster, which can only be terminated by the fulfilment of Idomeneo's vow, and demands to know the name of the promised victim (23). When Idomeneo names his son as the sacrifice, horror seizes the people (chorus, 24). During a march (25) Idomeneo with his subjects enters the temple of Neptune, and while the priests prepare for the sacrifice they offer their solemn prayers to the god (26); cries of joy are heard from afar, and Arbace hastens in and announces that Idamante has slain the monster in heroic combat. Idamante is presently borne in by priests and warriors, crowned and in white robes; he now knows his father's vow, and satisfied as to his feelings towards him, he is ready to fall a joyful sacrifice to the angry god (aria, 27). As Idomeneo is in the act of striking the fatal blow, Ilia hastens in and restrains him; she insists upon taking the place of her lover, and a tender strife arises between them, which Idomeneo listens to with emotion, Electra with rage and jealousy. As Ilia kneels before the altar, "a great subterranean disturbance is heard, the statue of Neptune totters, the high priest stands entranced before the altar, all are amazed and motionless from fear, while a deep and majestic voice declares the will of the gods": Idomeneo is to renounce the throne, which Idamante is to ascend, and to be united to Ilia (28). At this unexpected issue, Electra breaks into violent anger, and "goes off raging"; Idomeneo arranges everything according to the divine will (30), and expresses his grateful joy (aria, 31); Idamante is crowned in a pantomimic ballet, during which the chorus sing a joyful conclusion to the opera (32).[2]

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Varesco omitted the prologue of his original, and reduced the five acts to the customary three. He also left out altogether the divinities and allegorical personages, which were somewhat prominent in the French text; and of three confidants he retained only Arbace. For the rest he follows the progress of the plot pretty closely, only judiciously omitting the love of Idomeneo for Ilia, and altering the conclusion. In the original, Idomeneo, after voluntarily raising his son to the throne, and bestowing on him the hand of Ilia, is stricken with madness by Nemesis, and slays Idamante with the sacrificial axe. He is then prevented from committing suicide, but Ilia falls by her own hand. Metastasio had weaned Italian opera from such horrors. Varesco naturally looked to opera seria as the foundation of his adaptation,[3] but he endeavoured at the same time to make use of the distinctive features of French opera. This is evident in his care for variety of scenery and machinery, in the marches and processions which occur in every act, and in the pantomimic dances which are made subservient to the plot. Further, the frequent introduction of the chorus was evidently suggested by French opera, and a marked progress displayed in the fact that the chorus was not employed merely to heighten the pomp of the piece, but took part in the action at critical moments, and expressed important dramatic situations. The ensembles, too, are not placed in regular succession at the end of the acts, without reference to the plot; they occur naturally as the piece proceeds, and have a dramatic signification of their own. Such movements are indeed rarely introduced, and not all the suitable points are made use of for them; no attempt is made either to unite the several connected points of the plot into a musical whole in the finale, but rather each separate situation has its own independent musical treatment.[4] On the other hand, there

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is an evident intention to give the piece a tragic tone rather than that of the then prevalent effeminate tenderness, and to invest the characters with a psychological interest, and the plot with natural development and climax. It must be admitted that the success is but partial. Varesco was no poet, and the spirit of French tragedy was not calculated to raise him to a higher sphere than that of Italian opera. Conventionality predominates, passion and emotion find but unnatural expression, pedantry and exaggeration, both alike untrue, jostle each other; and the plot hangs on such slender threads that, in spite of the strong passions which are set in motion, it awakens no lively interest. The weak points both of French and Italian opera are here combined; but there are other faults belonging more especially to the latter. Such, for example, is the giving of the part of Idamante to a male soprano, and employing the bass voice only for the subordinate part of the Oracle. Idomeneo is tenor, according to traditional usage, and stands almost alone against three soprano voices, for Arbaces as second tenor acts only as a stop-gap, and the high priest only appears once in an obbligato recitative. Generally speaking the airs do not form the culminating point of a dramatic situation, but only close it with a kind of point. Frequently they have only a commonplace phrase or an elaborated image for their subject, and all their individuality is bestowed upon them by the music. Varesco is nevertheless a practised verse-maker, who has employed, not without skill, the materials he found ready to hand, but is far removed from Metastasio's delicacy and grace.

With all its drawbacks the advantage of a settled tradition is very visible, the external arrangements, such as the distribution among the characters of the different pieces being carefully carried out. In short, if "Idomeneo" is compared with Mozart's earlier operas, the progress in the choice and treatment of material is very marked. Such an absolute blending of the essential features of French and Italian opera as is aimed at does not indeed take place; a compromise between the two had first to be made. It can scarcely be doubted that Mozart had a share in the construction of the libretto in its more important parts, and that

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his experiences in Mannheim and Paris had qualified him for the task; but his influence was not felt in the details of the work.

When the libretto was ready, and part of the music composed, Mozart repaired to Munich, according to custom, to finish the opera on the spot. After a journey in the postcarriage, "which shook the soul out of one's body," and gave him not an instant's sleep, he wrote to his father (November 8, 1780), "Joyful and glad was my arrival!" There was plenty to be done: the opera was to be rehearsed, to be put on the stage, and the greater part of it was still unwritten. How much of it he took with him ready to Munich is not precisely known; probably the majority of the recitatives, the first act, and perhaps part of the second; at all events his first letters mention some of the songs as already composed.

He was able to set to work with a good heart, for he was met with goodwill on all sides. Count Seeau was altogether at his service; and when they sometimes fell out, and Mozart was provoked to be rude, it was always the Count who gave way. The Elector received him very graciously. "I had almost forgotten the best!" he writes (November 15, 1780); "Count Seeau presented me _en passant_ to the Elector last Sunday, after mass; he was very gracious, and said, 'I am glad to see you here again.' And when I said that I would endeavour to deserve the approbation of his highness, he patted me on the shoulder and said, 'Oh, I have no doubt it will all go very well indeed.' _A piano piano si va lontano!_" The nobility, too, were favourably disposed towards him. Cannabich introduced him to the Countess Baumgarten, who was then the favourite of the Elector. "My friend is everything in this house," he writes (November 13, 1780), "and I, too, now; it is the best and most useful house here for me, and so far all has gone, and by God's help will go, well with me." He was able, therefore, to satisfy his father as to the success of the opera (November 24, 1780): "Have no care as to my opera, dear father; I hope there will be no hitch. A little cabal is opposed to it, but it will certainly come to grief, for all the best and most powerful houses

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of the nobility are in my favour, as well as the principal musicians, especially Cannabich."[5]

There was, at all events, no opposition to be feared on the part of the singers or the orchestra; they and Mozart were mutually anxious to satisfy each other. But their joint labours and the requirements of the stage showed many alterations in the text to be necessary, and Varesco must have been often appealed to to undertake these, or to sanction proposed changes. Among the performers for whom he wrote, Dal Prato gave him some real trouble. Soon after his arrival he had "a piece of roguery" to narrate (November 8, 1780): "I have not indeed the honour of knowing the heroic Dal Prato, but according to the description Ceccarelli must be better than he; for sometimes his breath fails in the middle of a song, and, _nota bene_, he was never on the stage, and Raaff is like a statue. Now, you may imagine the scene in the first act, the meeting of Idomeneo and Idamante." Further acquaintance with Dal Prato justified the reports concerning him. "My _molto amato Castrato dal Prato_," he writes (November 15,1780), "requires teaching the whole opera"; "he has to learn his part like a child, and has not a pennyworth of method" (November 22, 1780). He was the stumbling block also in the quartet, which had to be rehearsed six times before it went right.

"The fellow can do nothing," complains Mozart (December 30, 1780); "his voice would not be so bad if he did not sing in his throat and head, but he is absolutely without intonation or method or sentiment, and sings like the best among the boys who come to be heard when they seek admission to a choir."

He had trouble of quite another kind with his "dear old friend" Raaff. He was exceedingly fanciful, and Mozart made many alterations out of love for him and consideration for his gray hairs (December 27, 1780):--

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Let me tell you that Raaff is the best and honestest man in the world, but so wedded to his old jog-trot ideas that it is enough to drive one crazy. Consequently it is very difficult to write for him; very easy, too, I grant you, if one is content to write songs such as, for example, the first, "Vedrommi intorno," &c. If you could only hear it--it is good, and it is pretty; but if I had written it for Zonca I should have made it much better fitted to the words. I had a good deal of trouble with him about the quartet. The oftener I hear this quartet the more effective it appears to me, and every one that has heard it likes it. Only Raaff thinks it will be wanting in effect; he said to me, "Non c' è da spianar la voce." As if there should not be more speaking than singing in a quartet! But he knows nothing about these things. I only said, "My dear friend! if there was only one note in this quartet that I thought should be altered, I would do it; but I am better satisfied with it than with any other piece in the opera, and when you have once heard it together, you will alter your mind. I have done my best to please you with your two songs, and so I will with the third, with good hopes of succeeding; but as far as regards the terzets and quartets, the composer should be allowed his own way." That satisfied him.

After the rehearsal Raaff "gladly acknowledged himself in the wrong, and had no more doubt as to the good effect of the quartet" (December 30, 1780). When Mozart had "shown him the paces" of his first air, he was quite satisfied with it (November 15, 1780); and equally so with the air in the second act (December 1, 1780):--

He is as much in love with his song as a younger man might be with his fair lady: he sings it at night before he goes to sleep, and in the morning as soon as he wakes. He said to Baron Viereck and Herr von Castel, "I have always been used to have a hand in my own part, in the recitatives as well as the songs; but I have left this just as it was. There is not a note that does not suit me exactly." _Enfin_, he is as happy as a king over it.

Some ill-natured speeches were made in spite of all this, as Mozart writes to his father (December 27, 1780):--

_À propos!_ Becke tells me that he wrote to you again after the last rehearsal but one, and told you among other things that Raaffs song in the second act is not written for the words. "They tell me," he said, "that you know too little of Italian. Is it so?" "You should have asked me, and then written! I can assure you that he who told you this knows very little Italian himself." The song goes exceedingly well with the words. One hears the "mare" and the "mare funesto;" and the

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passages lead up to "minacciar" in a way that thoroughly expresses "minacciar"--a threatening; in fact, it is the finest song in the opera, and meets with universal approval.

The two other male vocalists belonged to the old Munich opera. "Honest old Panzacchi" had been an excellent singer and a good actor in his time, but his best days were over; and Valesi, too, who had a well-deserved reputation as a tenor, had almost given up the stage, and devoted himself to teaching. L. Mozart had reason, therefore, to write (November 11,1780): "What you tell me of your vocalists is sad, and shows that everything must depend on the composition."

There were no difficulties this time with the female vocalists. Both the Wendlings were friendly and amenable--they went Mozart's way, and were contented with everything he did. "Madame Dorothea Wendling is _arci-contentissima_ with her scena, and wanted to hear it three times over,', he wrote home (November 8,1780), and they were quite in accord about the second song. "Lisel Wendling," he wrote soon after (November 15, 1780), "sang her two songs half-a-dozen times; she is thoroughly pleased; I have it from a third person that both the Wendlings have praised their songs very highly."

Mozart kept up with great industry the work of rehearsing and composing (a song for Schikaneder was composed meanwhile, Vol. II., p. 102), although he was suffering from a severe cold. The homely remedies which his father ordered brought some alleviation of it, but, as he was obliged to continue writing, the cure was a slow one.

At Munich he fell in with Mara, who had not long left Berlin. "She is not so fortunate as to please me," he writes (November 13, 1780); "she does too little to come up to the Bastardina (Vol. I., p. 112), which is her ambition, and she does too much to touch the heart like a Weber, or an expressive singer." He was even less edified by the behaviour of the husband and wife than by Madame Mara's singing, and writes at a later date (November 24,1780) of the "pride, insolence, and effrontery which were visible in their countenances." When Mara was to sing at a court concert, after the first symphony "i saw her lord and master creep behind her with a violoncello in his hand; I thought it was going to be

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a song with obbligato violoncello. Old Danzi, a very good accompanist, is first violoncellist here; all at once old Toeschi--conductor when Cannabich is not there--said to Danzi, who is his son-in-law, by the way, 'Stand up, and let Mara take your place.' But Cannabich heard him, and cried, 'Danzi, stay where you are! The Elector likes his own people to play.' And the song proceeded. Herr Mara stood meekly with his violoncello in his hand behind his wife." The song which Mara was singing had a second part, but she went out during the ritornello without acquainting the orchestra, "with her native air of effrontery," and afterwards complained to the Elector.[6] He answered: "Madame, you sang like an angel, although your husband did not accompany you," and referred her to Count Seeau.

The first act was rehearsed at the end of November, and Mozart was able to report to his father such success as raised the general expectation to a still higher pitch (December 1, 1780):--

The rehearsal went off remarkably well. There were only six violins in all, but the proper wind instruments. No spectators were admitted but Seeau s sister and young Count Seinsheim. I cannot tell you how delighted and astonished every one was. It was only what I expected, for I assure you I went to this rehearsal with as light a heart as if it had been a banquet. Count Seinsheim said to me: "I assure you I expected much from you, but this I did not expect." The Cannabich family and all who know them are true friends of mine. I went home with Cannabich after the rehearsal. Madame Cannabich met us and embraced me, full of pleasure that the rehearsal had gone off so well; then came Ramm and Lang half out of their minds with delight. The good lady, my true friend, being alone in the house with her sick Rose, had been full of anxiety for me. Ramm said to me (if you knew him you would call him a true German, for he says to your face exactly what he thinks): "You may believe me when I say that no music ever made such an impression on me; and I thought fifty times what a pleasure it will be to your father to hear this opera." But enough of this! My cold was made rather worse by the rehearsal. One cannot help getting overheated when fame and honour are at stake, however cold-blooded one may naturally be.

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Wolfgang's father received other confirmation of the success, which he did not withhold from his son:--

Fiala showed me a letter from Becke which is very eulogistic of the music of your first act. He writes that tears of joy and pleasure came to his eyes when he heard the music, and that every one declared it was the finest music they had ever heard--all so new and beautiful, &c. He says that the second act is about to be rehearsed, that he will write to me himself, &c. Well, God be thanked, this all looks well.

L. Mozart, who had been wont to exhort Wolfgang not to procrastinate, as indeed he often did at Salzburg, was now concerned to hear of his obstinate cold, the more so as his sister was suffering from a chest complaint, and he begs him to take care of himself; he was not to hurry over the third act, it would be ready quite in good time. Ready, as he always was, with good advice, he warns him to remember that an opera should not only please connoisseurs (December 11, 1780): "I recommend you not to think in your work only of the musical public, but also of the unmusical. You know that there are a hundred ignorant people for every ten true connoisseurs, so do not forget what is called _popular_, and tickle the long ears." But Wolfgang will not listen to this. "As to what is called popular," he answers (December 16, 1780), "do not be afraid, there is music in my opera for all sorts of people--only none for long-ears." Meantime the work of rehearsing went steadily forward. On December 16, in the afternoon, the first and second acts were rehearsed at Count Seeau's, the parts being doubled, so that there were twelve violins. All went well, as Wolfgang reported (December 19, 1780):--

The orchestra and all the audience gladly acknowledged that, contrary to their expectations, the second act was superior both in novelty and expression to the first. Next Saturday the second act is to be rehearsed again, but in a large room in the palace, which I have long desired, for the room at Count Seeau's is far too small. The Elector is to listen _incognito_ in an adjoining apartment. "We must rehearse for dear life then," said Cannabich to me. At the last rehearsal he was bathed in perspiration. You will judge from my letters that I am well and hearty. It is a great thing to come to the end of a great and laborious work, and to feel that one leaves it with honour and fame; this I have almost done, for now nothing is wanting but three songs, and the last chorus of the third act, the overture and the ballet--"et adieu partie!"

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The next rehearsal gave even greater satisfaction (December 27, 1780):--

The last rehearsal was splendid; it was in a large room in the palace, and the Elector was present. This time we had the whole orchestra (that belongs to the opera-house, of course). After the first act the Elector said "Bravo!" out loud; and when I went to pay my respects to him, he said, "This opera will be charming--it will certainly do you honour." As he was not sure of being able to remain to the end, we let him hear the concerted song, and the storm at the beginning of the second act. These he also approved of in the most kindly manner, and said, laughing, "No one would imagine that such great things could come out of such a little head." The other day at his early reception, too, he praised my opera very much.

In the evening at court the Elector again spoke in high praise of the music, and Mozart learnt from a sure source that he had said after the rehearsal, "I was quite taken by surprise--no music ever had such an effect on me--it is truly magnificent."

The news of this success reached Salzburg bit by bit. "All the town is talking of the excellence of your opera," his father tells him (December 25, 1780). "Baron Lerbach set it going; the chancellor s wife told me that she had heard from him that the opera was wonderfully well spoken of everywhere. Then came Becke's letter to Fiala, which he gave to be read everywhere." Becke wrote to L. Mozart himself that "the storm chorus in the second act is so powerful that none could hear it, even in the greatest heat of summer, without turning as cold as ice;" and he praises Dorothea Wendling's concerted song very much. The violinist Esser from Mayence, who had given concerts in Salzburg, wrote from Augsburg concerning the two acts of the opera which he had heard: "Che abbia sentito una musica ottima e particolare, universalmente applaudita." "In short," writes the father, "it would be tedious to tell you all the compliments paid to you. I hope that the third act will have as good an effect, and I do so the more confidently, since all the best situations are here, and the subterranean voices must be startling and terrifying.[7] I hope to be able to say, 'Finis coronat opus.'"

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To this his son answers, over head and ears in work (December 30, 1780): "The third act will be thought _at least_ as good as the other two: I like it infinitely better, and you may justly say, 'Finis coronat opus.'" But there was plenty to do meantime. "Head and hands," he writes (January 3,1781), "are full of the third act, so that I should not be surprised if I were to turn into a third act myself; It alone has cost me more trouble than the whole opera, for there is not a scene in it that has not peculiar interest." He had the satisfaction of finding after the rehearsal that it really was considered to surpass the other two acts.

Mozart's anxious father strove to draw his attention to every point that might contribute to success, and particularly cautioned him to keep on good terms with the orchestra (December 25, 1780). Experience of Salzburg must necessarily have shown him the importance of this:--

Try to keep your orchestra in good humour--flatter them, and make them devoted to you by praising them; I know your way of writing, and the unceasing and close attention it exacts from all the instruments; it is no joke for the orchestra to be kept on the stretch of their attention for three hours and more. Every one, even the worst fiddler, is touched by being praised _tête-ä-tête_, and becomes more and more attentive and zealous; and these courtesies cost you nothing but a few words. But you know it all yourself; I only tell you because such things are often forgotten at rehearsal, and you will need the friendship and zeal of the whole orchestra when the opera is in scena. The position is then altered, and the player's attention must be much more intent. You know that they cannot all be friendly towards you. There is always a _but_ and an _if_ to be met with. You say people doubted whether the second act would come up to the first. This doubt being relieved, few will have misgivings for the third act. But I will wager my head that there will be some who will doubt whether the music will be as effective in the theatre as in a room; and in that case the greatest zeal and goodwill are necessary on the part of the orchestra.

But the opera was not ready yet; there was to be no ballet, only a divertissement fitting into the plot, and this Mozart was, as he expressed it, to have the honour of composing (December 30, 1780). "I am very glad of it," he adds, "for then the music will be by _one_ master." He was

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hard at work at the "cursed dances" until the middle of January, and had no time to think of anything else, not even of his own health. It was not until January 18 that he could write: Laus Deo, at last I have come to an end of it!" Amid rehearsals and anxious labours, the day of representation drew near. L. Mozart had been concerned lest the death of the Empress Maria Theresa on November 29, 1780, should put a stop to it, but Wolfgang reassured him by saying that none of the theatres had been closed on this account. Soon after he was terrified by a rumour that the Electress was dangerously ill, but discovered this to be a "lie from beginning to end." At first January 20, 1781, was fixed for the performance, then the 22nd, and finally January 29; the last rehearsal was to be on the 27th, Wolfgang's birthday; he was pleased at the postponements: "The opera can be oftener and more carefully rehearsed." The fame of "Idomeneo," which had reached Salzburg even before its performance, was a great source of satisfaction to Mozart's friends; Dr. Prexl, for instance (Vol. II., p. 84), wrote to him of the "inexpressible satisfaction" with which he had learnt the honour done by Wolfgang to Salzburg, and more than one friend undertook the journey to Munich in order to be present; among these were Frau Robini and her family, two Fräulein Barisani, and Fiala, from the Kapelle. L. Mozart, who was "as pleased as a child about the excellence of the orchestra," intended to go to Munich with his daughter as soon as he could arrange to be absent. But as he dared not risk a refusal from the Archbishop, and it was rumoured that the latter meditated a journey to Vienna, he waited his time. It suited him very well that the first performance was postponed until Hieronymus had actually left Salzburg. This being so, he set out on January 26 to be present at the last rehearsal and the performance. Wolfgang had arranged that his father and sister should find accommodation at his own lodging (in the Burggasse), if they would be contented to live for the time "like gipsies or soldiers."

The arrival of Mozart's father and sister at Munich brings us to a detailed account of the performance of "Idomeneo"

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and its success. The "Munich Literary and Miscellaneous News" (February 1, 1781, No. XIX., p. 76) announced it briefly as follows:--

On the 29th ult. the opera of "Idomeneo" was performed for the first time in the new opera-house. The adaptation, music, and translation all proceed from Salzburg. The scenery, including a view of the harbour and Neptune's temple, are among the masterpieces of our well-known theatrical architect, the Herr Councillor Lorenz Quaglio.[8]

All that we read, however, of the success of the opera in rehearsal leaves us no doubt that it met with a very favourable reception.

As to the sum received by Mozart in payment for "Idomeneo" we know nothing; but it cannot have been a large one, or L. Mozart would not have written (December 11, 1780): "How about the score? will it not be copied? You must be careful as to this, for _with such a payment the score cannot be given up_." To which Wolfgang answered (December 16, 1780): "I made no ceremony as to the copying of the score, but spoke openly on the subject to the Count. It was always the custom in Mannheim (where the kapellmeister was well paid besides) to give up the score to the composer." The original score, in three volumes, is written in a very neat but rapid hand, with scarcely any alterations except a few in the recitatives. As usual, the different numbers are written separately and then put together; the double-bass part was written larger, as in other scores, for the convenience of the bass-player at the clavier. The score was to have been printed at the time, as appears from a letter of L. Mozart to Breitkopf (August 10, 1781): "We were advised to publish the opera, printed or engraved, either in full score or clavier score. Subscribers were promised for some thirty copies, among whom was his highness Prince Max of Zweibrücken, but my son's journey to Vienna and the intervening events caused us to postpone the whole affair." The music for the ballet which was given with "Idomeneo" has not yet been printed (367 K.).

Mozart seems to have set great value on "Idomeneo"

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(366 K.), even in later years;[9] it is certain that soon after he had made good his footing in Vienna he exerted himself to have it placed on the stage, for which purpose he intended entirely to remodel it. Unfortunately this project fell through, and when in 1786 a company of distinguished amateurs performed the opera at the residence of Prince Karl Auersperg, Mozart contented himself with several alterations, but did not attempt a complete remodelling. Later, and more especially quite recently, "Idomeneo" has been given from time to time on different stages, without exciting as much interest in the general public as the better-known works of Mozart; the judgment of connoisseurs, on the other hand, has always distinguished it.[10] Both phenomena are comprehensible on a close examination of the distinctive features of the work.

Ulibicheff remarks with great justice that it is easy to distinguish in "Idomeneo" where Mozart has still clung to the formulas of the opera seria, where he strives to imitate Gluck and the French opera, and where he gives free play to his own independent impulses as an artist. These indications are, of course, not to be met with accurately marked out in the different pieces, Mozart's individuality, in the perfection to which it had now attained, being throughout the very pith of the work.

We have seen that the libretto unites the characteristics of Italian and French opera as far as style is concerned, but that the determining element is the Italian style. We have seen further that the singers, with the exception of the two female characters, belonged to the Italian school, which fact tended to the maintenance of Italian form.

It might therefore be expected that Mozart, especially in the songs, should set out from the traditional forms, and only

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attempt to modify them as far as was possible. But the influence of the French original on the opera lay deeper than this, and was impressed on its poetry, language, and nationality, Italian as these all were in external form. Let us consider the songs. The effort is evident to give a more individual expression to the sentiment arising from the dramatic situation than was usual even with Metastasio; but the form and construction are only modified, and have retained the specific character of Italian poetry. The rhetoric differs altogether from the rhetoric of French poetry. Indirectly, too, language by its rhythm and accent affects musical construction, and the distinctions between the Italian and French language are strikingly apparent, not only in the recitatives, which are governed by the musical character of the language, but in the formation of the melodies, where language must be taken into account as an essential element. But deepest of all lies the difference in the conceptions and ideas of the two nations. The emotions and passions of different nations vary not only in intensity but in mode of expression, and where a truly national art has developed itself this special character is stamped on all its productions. The Italians express their feelings vividly and accent them strongly, and not only so, but their instinctive love of formula calls forth sharply defined characterisation and favours typical developments, as is shown, for instance, in their singularly perfect talent for pantomimic representations. This tendency has had a marked influence on the development of music, particularly of dramatic music, in Italy. It still bears a national character, which is not only stamped on it in certain forms and turns of expression, but which is the artistic expression of emotions springing from the very nature of the people. Whoever has heard Italian music performed both by Italian and German singers will readily be convinced that the difference rests not only on style and method, but still more essentially on the peculiarities of the Italian national character. It should not therefore be matter for surprise that music which to Germans appears false or unnatural should make a much deeper impression on Italians than the merely sensual one which strikes the ear.

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Mozart's "Idomeneo" bears this distinctive Italian colouring, as do all his Italian operas, not only in the employment of Italian technicalities and mechanism, but in the living breath and fragrance which nothing but an absorption into the national spirit could bestow. Even as a boy he displayed a delicate sense of national distinctions, when in "Bastien und Baitienne" and the "Finta Semplice" he defined so sharply the limits of German vaudeville and of opera buffa. If "Zaide" is compared with "Idomeneo," the fundamental distinctions of conception and style are not less definitely marked; and the same was the case later in the "Entführung" and the "Zauberflote," in "Figaro," "Don Giovanni," "Cosi fan Tutte," and "Tito." To give only one example: one of the most beautiful and affecting scenes that Mozart ever wrote is that in which Idomeneo, at the request of the high priest, indicates his son as the sacrifice demanded by the gods, and all the people break out into lamentations; and yet this chorus (24) is a most unmistakable instance of the Italian form and style. Places like "Giä régna la morte" appear typical of similar modes of expression which occur so frequently in Italian operas. But the Italian mould in which Mozart's work is cast, and on which the harmony of the whole depends, is not consciously put forward as a national colouring. It proceeds from such an intimate acquaintance with the Italian style as was then considered the proper foundation for musical studies, and was only possible so long as Italian music bore actual sway in German churches and theatres, and found no contradiction in the national consciousness. This sway was undisputed in South Germany during Mozart's youth and period of artistic development. The musical atmosphere in which he grew up, the elements of culture which were offered to him, were thoroughly Italian; and Italian conceptions and fashions had become second nature to him as to all other German artists who took part in the development of Italian opera during the last century. The relation in which an artistic genius stands to his time and nation is difficult to grasp. Far from shunning the influences of either, his genius displays itself in his power of representing their significant

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features and tendencies with force and vigour, amounting even to one-sidedness; and then again it sets itself in opposition to them, and struggles until it rules and determines them anew. It would be a hard task indeed to fathom the nature of an artist to that point where the threads of his personal powers and proclivities, and those of the cultivation of his time and nation, are so interwoven that they appear as the root of his artistic individuality; we must be content with tracing onward the path of his development.

Although Mozart's training had so imbued him with the spirit of Italian music that its essence appeared to him as the essence of music itself, yet he transformed the elements which he had so absorbed with the whole force of his individuality. He did not consciously adopt them as national, neither did he oppose them from motives of patriotism, and seek to substitute a German style. His individuality joined issue with the elements of an art ready to hand in full development, and produced works of art which were genuinely Italian, and also genuinely Mozart. The fresh new life which had awakened in German poetry, and which first caused a consciousness of national existence to show itself in the realm of art, touched Mozart at a time when his musical education was already firmly grounded. He could therefore without self-contradiction continue along the trodden path, and carry on the development of the Italian opera as a settled form of art, which he had made his own in the truest sense. But the impulse of German art laid hold, as we shall see, of his innermost being, and gave him clear consciousness of his capabilities as a German artist. Granted that the German element of his nature--with which he could never dispense--remained latent and inactive while he appropriated Italian art as his own, yet all that he so took was treated as his own free property and turned to account with German thought and feeling. While thus the German school of music was partly founded, partly endued with new life by him, he brought Italian opera to a climax as far as its universal application was concerned; after Mozart it becomes more exclusively national. Like every genius who has made his mark in the history of art, he casts his

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glance over the past as well as into the future. To him it was given to concentrate the living elements of Italian music into works of mature perfection in art, and, setting to work with freshly tempered force, to turn to account the youthful impulses of German music, and lead them towards the goal of artistic freedom and beauty.

Thus, in Idomeneo we recognise the genuinely Italian character of the opera seria, brought to its highest perfection by the force of Mozart's perfectly cultivated individuality; but in details we still perceive the ascendency of traditional form, to which the artist was obliged to yield.

It is most unmistakably present in the two songs allotted to Arbace. The part of confidant was intended both musically and dramatically as a stop-gap; it served as a foil for the more important characters, and was a principal adjunct in the production of that _chiaroscuro_ which was considered as essential to scenic effect. On this account Arbace's two songs (11, 22) are not woven into the dramatic web of the opera either in words or music. Some concessions were doubtless made to Panzacchi, a clever and accomplished singer of the old school, and there is no lack of runs, jumps, and similar feats for display of execution. The songs follow the old fashion in other ways also (except that they have only one tempo, and a structure modified accordingly), as, for instance, in the introduction of cadenzas; a very long ritornello of the second song is afterwards shortened at both ends. But in order to give them some musical interest, the accompaniment, although weak in instrumentation, is carefully worked out in counterpoint, especially in the second song. The preceding accompanied recitative, in composing which Mozart plainly had Panzacchi in view, is fine and expressive.

Dal Prato also, for whom the part of Idamante was intended, had only the knowledge of an Italian singer, and that in no considerable degree. Mozart was again, therefore, fettered by tradition, and could venture little to render the song more original and lifelike. In all the three songs for this character (3, 8, 27), the old type is clearly to be recognised. The first, if the singer had had a powerful execution,

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which he avowedly had not, would probably have been an ordinary bravura song; it has the general plan of one, but is without bravura passages. The emphasis is laid on the accompaniment, which is independent and interesting throughout; the constant use of the wind instruments supplies it with fine sound effects. The frequent changes of time, the construction of the song being in all other respects very regular, is intended to give animation to the expression. The second air is shorter, to suit the situation, more lively and energetic in expression, but equally dependent on the accompaniment for originality and interest. The third adheres to the old form by the introduction of a slow middle movement (Larghetto 3-4) and the accompaniment is simpler; but the song as a whole is conciser than was the fashion formerly.

Raaff's advanced age would have prevented his satisfying any very great expectations; but he was also, as Mozart complained, "so wedded to his old jog-trot ideas that it was enough to drive one crazy." He was obliged therefore in the very important part of Idomeneo to submit to much that was against his convictions and inclinations. But Raaff was an accomplished and sensible singer, from whom much could be looked for in respect of delivery and expression. His first air (6) vividly expresses deep and painful feeling in two tolerably short and precise movements, an andantino sostenuto 3-4, and allegro di molto (5); it is dramatically quite in its place, and gives opportunity to the singer to display a well-trained voice. The detached, sharply defined motifs, united by interludes, remind us of the old style, but they are very cleverly arranged and carried out, and the treatment of the wind instruments gives a splendidly sonorous and yet subdued effect to the orchestra, which was then quite novel, and must have been remarkably impressive. The second air (13) is a long bravura song in one movement (allegro maestoso) in the grand style. Mozart calls it "the most splendid song" of the opera; and protests vigorously against the idea that it was not written "for the words"; but more was demanded from the singer than Raaff was able to give. It has the proper heroic character of the opera seria, and affords opportunity for the display of vocal art in

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sustained passages, long notes, and bravura passages. The last are completely obsolete; but Mozart was right to think well of the song; it is full of expression and character, interesting through its rich and brilliant accompaniment, and containing, especially in the middle movement, surprising beauties of harmony. How striking and expressive is, for instance, this harmonic transition:--[See Page Image]

The third air (30), which Mozart endeavoured to write to please his old friend, is on that very account quite after the old pattern; it has great resemblance to the song which Mozart had so accurately fitted to Raaff at Mannheim (p. 408). The chief movement is a broadly sustained adagio, simple and noble in tone, and giving opportunity to the singer to display sustained singing, the effect of which is enhanced by a figured accompaniment, shared between the strings and the wind instruments; the middle movement, allegretto 3-8, is of less importance. A sketch which has been preserved of this song affords a good example of Mozart's method of work; the ritornellos, the voice and the bass are

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all fully noted. Probably he submitted the sketch to Raaff before elaborating the song; it coincides in all but a few unimportant alterations with the later elaboration. He wished at first to compose the words of the middle movement in the same time and measure as the first movement; after four bars, however, which he erased, he wrote the middle movement as it at present stands.