“DON GIOVANNI.”
THE ARRIVAL.
A light travelling carriage stopped before the hotel of the Three Lions, in Prague. A drove of servants poured out of the house; one opened the carriage door, and assisted an elegant young lady to alight; she sprang out, and was followed by a young man, humming a cheerful tune.
“St. Nepumuck!” cried the host, who had come to the door; “do I see aright? Herr von Mozart?”
“You see, I keep my word!” replied Mozart, saluting him cordially. “Yes! here I am once more, and you may keep me till after harvest; and as a surety for my wise behavior, I have brought my wife along with me.”
The host bowed low to the fair lady, and began a set speech with the words—“Most honored Madam von Mozart—”
“Leave your speechifying, man!” cried Mozart, interrupting him, “and show us our quarters; and let us have some refreshments; and send a servant to Guardasoni, to inform him that I am here.” He gave his arm to his lady, and stepped into the house, followed with alacrity by the host, and the servants with trunks and band-boxes, which they had unpacked from the carriage. A handsome young man, who just then crossed the market, when he heard from a footman the name of the newly arrived guest, rushed up the steps, and into Mozart’s chamber, and threw himself into his arms with an exclamation of joy.
“Ho, ho! my wild fellow!” cried Mozart, “you were near giving me a fright!” and turning to his wife, he presented the young stranger to her. “Well, how do you like him? this is he—Luigi Bassi, I mean.”
THE LIBRETTO.
“I sing this evening the Count in your Figaro, Master Mozart!” said Bassi.
“Very well!” replied Mozart. “What say your Prague people to the opera?”
“Come to-night to the theatre, and you shall hear for yourself! This is the twelfth representation in sixteen days; and this evening it is performed at the wish of Duke Antony of Saxony.”
“Ho, ho! and what says Strobach?”
“He and the whole orchestra say every night after the performance, that they would be glad to begin it over again, though it is a difficult piece.”
Mozart rubbed his hands with pleasure, and said to his wife—
“You remember, I told you, the excellent people of Prague would drive out of my head the vexation I endured at Vienna! And I will write them an opera, such as one does not hear every day! I have a capital libretto, Bassi, a bold, wild thing, full of spirit and fire, which Da Ponte composed for me. He says he would have done it for no one else; for none else would have had the courage for it. It was just the thing for me! The music has long run in my head; only I knew not to what I should set it, for no other poem would suit! In Idomeneo and Figaro you find sounds—but not exactly of the right sort; in short—it was with me, as when the spring should and would come—but cannot; on bush and tree hang myriads of buds, but they are closed; then comes the tempest, and the thunder cries, ‘burst forth!’ and the warm rain streams down, and leaf and blossom burst into sudden and bright luxuriance! The deuce take me, if it was not so in my mind, when Da Ponte brought me the libretto! You shall take the principal part; and the deuce take you!”
Bassi wanted to know more of the opera; but Mozart assumed an air of mystery, and laughing, put him off, exhorting the impatient to patience.
FIN CHAN DAL VINO.
In the evening, when Mozart appeared in the theatre, in the box of Count Thurn, he was greeted by the audience with three rounds of applause; and during the representation this testimony of delight was repeated after every scene. This was the more pleasing to the composer, as his Figaro had been very indifferently received in Vienna. Through the ill offices of Salieri, the piece had been badly cast and worse performed; so that Mozart had sworn an oath never to write another opera for the Viennese.
Loud and prolonged “vivats!” accompanied his carriage to the hotel; there he found his friends—Duscheck, the leader Strobach, and the Impressario of the opera company, Guardasoni, who had ordered a splendid supper; afterwards came Bassi, Bondini with his wife, and the fair and lively Saporitti. Much pleasant discourse about art, and sportive wit enlivened the meal; the gaiety of the company, even when the champagne was uncorked, never once passing, however, the bounds of decorum.
In his festive humor, Mozart was not so reserved to the curiosity of the impetuous Bassi, as he had been in the morning; but was prevailed on to give him a sketch of his part, of which three airs were already finished.
“Very good, Master Amadeus!” said Bassi, “but these airs are, with deference, rather insignificant for me.”
“How?” asked Mozart, looking at him with laughing eyes.
“I mean,” answered Bassi—“there is too little difficulty in them; they are all too easy!”
“Do you think so?”
“Yes—exactly so—Master? You must write me some very grand, difficult airs, or give me some you have ready! eh? will you do so?”
“No!” replied Mozart with a smile; “no, my good Bassi! that I will not do.” Bassi’s face visibly lengthened, but Mozart continued good humoredly, “Look you, tesoro! that the airs are not long, is true; but they are as long as they should be, and neither more nor less. But as to the great, too great facility, of which you complain, let that pass; I assure you, you will have plenty to do, if you sing them as they should be sung.”
“Ha?” mused Bassi.
“For example, sing me this air—‘Fin chan dal vino!’”
He stepped to the piano; Bassi followed him somewhat unwillingly; and just glancing at the notes, began hurriedly and with not too gentle a touch.
“Gently—gently!” cried Mozart, laughing, and interrupting his playing; “not so con furio over hedge and stone! Can you not wait, to keep pace with my music? Where I have written presto, must you sing prestissimo, and pay no heed at all to forte and piano? Eh? who sings there? a drunken beast of a landlord, or a merry Spanish cavalier, who thinks more of his gentle love, than of the wine? I pray you—drink a glass of champagne, think of your beloved, and, mark me! when it begins to hum in your ears—in the softest, most ærial tempo, piano, piano! crescendo forte piano! till at the last all crashes together in the loud, wild jubilation—that is what I mean.”
And Bassi, inspired by the exhortation of the master, sprang up, drank a glass of champagne, snatched a kiss from the lovely cheek of Saporitti, began the air anew, and completed it this time with such effect, that the whole company were electrified and encored the song with shouts of applause.
“Well!” cried Mozart with a smile, after Bassi had three times rehearsed it, “said I not so? does it not go off pleasantly!” Before he could prevent it, Bassi seized his hand, kissed it, and said modestly—
“I will do my best—to have you satisfied with me!”
HERR VON NEPUMUCK.
At Duscheck’s urgent request, Mozart quitted his abode in the city, and removed to Kosohirz to the country-seat of his friend. He came there on a lovely morning in September. Duscheck had quietly arranged a little fête, and the composer was not a little surprised and delighted to find himself welcomed to his new abode by his assembled friends and acquaintances. To crown his joy, Duscheck handed him a written request, signed by many of the most distinguished citizens of Prague, that he would very soon give a concert! For this purpose the theatre was placed freely at his disposal, and Count Johann von Thurn had offered to bear the expenses. Mozart, with a heart full, observed—
“The Viennese did not this to me.”
“It seems, my friend,” said Duscheck, “that your good Viennese, as you always call them, knew not rightly what they had in you, and less what they should do with you! The Emperor left you without a place, and made the sneak, Salieri, master of the musical band; while he well knew who you were and who Salieri was;—and the people of Vienna looked on quietly—O, fie!”
“Nay,” replied Mozart to his zealous friend; “think not so ill of him; Joseph has more important affairs than mine to think about; and then, you know, he has counsellors, on whom he depends, and who know how to get the right side of him. As to the Viennese, I always maintain that they are brave fellows. When I came from Salzburg, where my lord the Prince Bishop had treated me like a dog, and the Viennese received me so cordially—I felt as if I had stepped into paradise! For that I shall remember them now and ever! In truth, they are often a little stupid, and always willing to be told that they are magnanimous, and connoisseurs, and the like; yet if one tells them the truth to their face—they will hear, and will applaud him, and grant him all he asks. But that I cannot do; I would rather bear a blow than thrust my praises into any body’s face. I have held a wheedler, all my lifelong, for a shabby fellow, and shall I myself become one? Salieri makes nothing of it—but it is not so bad with him, for he is an Italian, and they bepraise each other even to plastering. Bah! let the Viennese prefer him to me! let them stuff him with sweetmeats! Give me a glass of Burgundy!”
Before Duscheck could turn round to hand the glass to his friend, a tall corpulent man, having a red shining visage, with a friendly simper and low obeisance, offered the master a goblet full of the dark sparkling liquor.
Mozart took the cup, and drank a long draught, and repeated the following lines with a comic air of seriousness, looking the colossal Ganymede in the face:
“Johann von Nepomucken
Musst springen von der Prager Brucken,
Weils dem Wenzel nit wollt glucken,
Der Königin Beicht ihm zu entrucken.”
“The master recollects me, then?” asked the stout man with sparkling eyes; Mozart replied smiling—
“How could I have forgotten my excellent trumpeter, Nepomuck Stradetzky?”
“Herr von Nepomuck!” growled the trumpeter, correctingly; but immediately added in his blandest tone, and with an air of humility—“Pray, pray, Herr von Mozart—von!” The master nodded obligingly and reached out his hand to him.
When the company reassembled in the evening, they were unexpectedly entertained with pieces from “The Marriage of Figaro,” by a chorus of Prague musicians. Mozart listened well-pleased, and thanked them cordially when they ceased.
“But, if you would do me a very great pleasure, gentlemen,” said he, “I beg you to indulge us by playing and singing the fine old song of the Prague Musicians. You know which I mean!”
Highly honored and pleased at this request, the musicians began:—
“The Prague musicians’ band,
Wandering in every land,
A welcome still have they!
They wear no clothing rich,
Nor boast of courtly speech,
Yet fiddling,
And blowing,
Still welcome greets their way.
“How youth and maiden round,
When horn and fiddle sound,
Whirl in the dance so light!
To the old toper’s eyes
The sparkling goblet flies,
With fiddling,
And blowing,
In beauty doubly bright!
“And when the song is done,
And the dances through are run,
And quiet every guest—
Then sounds the thankful hymn
For joy filled to the brim,
Ascending,
Soft breathing
From every honest breast.
“Then let us onward ever,
Cheerful and gay for ever,
With us St. Nepomuck!
Till with full pockets, we,
And empty flasks—you see,
Still singing,
And blowing,
Stand on the Prager Bruck.”
Still playing, the musicians receded, the sound growing softer and fainter every moment; the moon rose above the mountains, the Moldau uttered its low mysterious murmur;—and deeply moved, Mozart rose, wished his friends a heart-felt good night, and betook himself to his chamber, where till near morning he continued playing on the piano.
THE DISTRIBUTION.
Mozart gave his concert, and reaped therefrom not only rich store of applause, but no contemptible gain. As Duscheck wished him happiness with the latter, and added—
“I know indeed, that you write more for the sake of fame than of gold—particularly in Vienna—”
“For what should I write?” muttered the master; “for fame? for gold? Certainly not! for generally I fail to get either. I write for love of Art—I would have you know!”
Meanwhile Mozart had worked assiduously at his Don Giovanni; and on the fourth of October, 1787, showed it to the Impressario complete, except the Overture, and a few breaks in the instrumentation.
Guardasoni was greatly rejoiced—and immediately counted out to the master the stipulated ducats;—but when Mozart began to speak of the distribution of the parts, the poor Impressario confessed with grief, that he had for the last month anticipated trouble in this business; for that there was always a ferment among the singers, male and female—every she and every he laying claim to a principal part.
“My people, I thank fortune,” he concluded, “are none of the worst, and Bassi is good nature itself; but in certain points they can manage to give a poor Impressario enough to do; and in particular, the fair Saporitti and the little Bondini are possessed with a spirit of tormenting, when they are in their odd humors.”
“Take care only, not to let them perceive your apprehension,” said Mozart; “they are friendly to me, that I know, and you shall soon see how I will bring them all under my thumb.”
“Between you and me,” observed Guardasoni with a sly smile, “I expect the greatest condescension from Saporitti; for, proud as she is, she is not only friendly to you, but, I imagine, something more than friendly!”
“Eh! that may be!’ cried the master, rubbing his hands with delight; for much as he honored and loved his wife, he did not disdain a little flirtation now and then. Guardasoni continued innocently—
“As I tell you—for she said to me the other day—“I could fall in love with the Signor Amadeo, for he is a great man, and I should not mind his insignificant figure.”
“The master was crest-fallen! It was not a little mortifying to hear that the fair Saporitti had made mention of his small and insignificant figure, especially to such a tall man as Guardasoni. He colored, but merely said with nonchalance—
“Call them together for me, Signor Guardasoni, and I will read them the text they are to sing.”
Guardasoni went away, and the next day assembled all the singers in the green-room of the theatre. Mozart came in, dressed in rich sables, a martial hat adorned with gold lace on his head, the director’s staff in his hand. He ascended a platform, and began his address at first in a formal and earnest manner; but gradually sliding off into a good humored, sportive tone, for he never could belie his harmless character.
MOZART’S SPEECH.
“Honored ladies and gentlemen—
“It is known to you that long ago I received from your Impressario, Signor Guardasoni, the flattering commission, to compose an opera for his company. I undertook it the more gladly, as I have the pleasure of knowing you all, and therefore the certainty of laboring for true artists.
“My work is finished; ‘Don Giovanni, ossia il dissoluto punito.’ I can assure you, I have honestly endeavored to study carefully the peculiar character of each of the honored members of Guardasoni’s present company, and have had particular regard to this in every part in my opera.
“I have thus succeeded in composing a work, which forms not only of itself a harmonious whole, but in each separate part promises the artists for whom it was intended, the fairest success. An opera, which I believe will please even in future times; which will be perhaps pronounced my best work, as I myself esteem it such. But one thing I know; that a representation so perfect as I hope for it through you, is not to be procured hereafter.
“Where could we find a Don Giovanni, like my young friend Luigi Bassi? his noble figure, his wonderful voice, his manner, his wit, his unstudied fire, when he bends in homage to beauty,—qualify him eminently for the hero of my opera. Of the profligate he can assume just so much as is necessary; for my hero is no rude butcher, nor a common mischievous villain, but a hot-headed, passionate youth.
“Could I point out for him a more perfect Donna Anna, than the beautiful, stately, virtuous Saporitti? All conflicting feelings of love, hate, sympathy, revenge, she will depict, in song and in action—as I conceived them when I composed the work.
“And who could represent the faithful, delicate, resentful, yet ever forgiving and loving Elvira, more consummately than the charming, gentle, pensive Catarina Micelli? She is Don Giovanni’s warning angel, forsaking him only in the last moment. Ah! such an angel should convert me, for I also am a great sinner, spite of my insignificant figure! And now for the little, impatient, mischievous, inexperienced and curious Zerlina.
“O, la ci darem la mano, Signorella Bondini! sweet little one! you are too tempting! and if my stanzerl were to sing her “vedrai carino” to me, like you, by Jupiter! it were all over with me!”
“That the good Felice Ponziani is satisfied with his Leporello, and the excellent primo tenoro, Antonio Baglioni, with his Don Ottavio, rejoices my very heart. Signor Guiseppo Lolli has, out of friendship for me, undertaken the part of Massetto, besides that of the Comthur, because he would have all the parts well performed. I have already thanked him for his kind attention, and thank him now again.
“And thus I close my speech so meet;
With joy the evening will I greet,
When my beloved opera
Through you appears in gloria!
If author and singers are agreed,
Of toil for the rest there is no need!
And you shall see with what delight
I will direct and set you right;
I will pay diligent heed to all,
That neither in time nor touch you fall.
Let every one but do his best—
We of success assured may rest;
So tells you from his candid heart
Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart.”
The master ended his speech; his audience clapped approbation, and they separated in good humor and mutual satisfaction.
THE REHEARSAL.
On the twenty-eighth day of October, Don Giovanni being complete except the overture, the rehearsals began. On the morning of the first rehearsal, before Mozart went to the opera-house, he walked for recreation in the public garden. Before him he saw the well known figure of the trumpeter, Nepomuck Stradetzky, absorbed, as it seemed, in meditation. Mozart walked faster, overtook him and tapped him gently on the shoulder. Nepomuck turned quickly, growling out—
“Ha, what do you want?” but bowed almost to the ground as he recognised the master, and said: “Ah! I beg a thousand pardons, worthy Herr von Mozart! I was deep in revery, and thought it some knave who wanted to play a trick upon me! I beg your pardon—”
“For what?” replied Mozart. “Nobody is pleased at being disturbed in a revery—not I, at least! But what were you thinking about, Herr von Stradetzky?”
Nepomuck answered with a clear brow, “Ay, of what but your opera, most excellent Herr von Mozart? Is not all Prague full of expectation of the miracle that is to appear? Wherever I go, I am asked, “Herr von Nepomuck, when is the first representation? You play the tenor-trumpet, eh, Herr von Nepomuck?”
“No.” I answer, “the bass-trumpet!”
“So, so!” they say—“the bass-trumpet, eh, Herr von Nepomuck?”
“Have you tried your notes through, Herr von Nepomuck?”
“Yes, indeed! Herr von Mozart! and I am delighted with the long full tones; but in the two choruses are a few hard notes.”
“Pah! you will get through with them, Herr von Nepomuck!”
“I hope so, Herr von Mozart, and will do my best.”
They walked a little longer, chatting, in the shaded avenue, and then betook themselves to the theatre.
The rehearsal began; Mozart was everywhere! now in the orchestra, now on the stage, directing or improving the scenic arrangements. In the ball scene of the first act, where Bassi did not dance to please him, he himself joined the circle and danced a minuet with Zerlina with so much grace, that he did all credit to his master Noverre. So by a bold stroke he amended the shriek of Zerlina, which after repeated ‘Da capos’ did not suit him; creeping behind her at the moment she was about to repeat the cry for the fourth time, he suddenly seized her with such violence that, really frightened, she screamed in good earnest; whereupon he cried laughing, “bravo! that is what I want! you must shriek in that way at the representation.”
The good-humored little Bondini forgave him her fright; but an instruction in the second act was not so well received. Here, in the church-yard scene, to strengthen the effect of both adagios, which the statue has to sing, he had placed the three trumpeters behind the monument. In the second adagio the trumpeters blew wrong; Mozart cried, “Da capo!” it was repeated and this time the bass only failed. The master went to the desk, and patiently showed Nepomuck how he wanted the notes played; but even after the third repetition Nepomuck made the same blunder.
“What the mischief, Stradetzky!” cried Mozart, with vexation, and stamping his foot; “you must play correctly!”
Nepomuck, offended, grumbled out, “Herr von Stradetzky is my name, and I play what is possible to play with the trumpet! what you have written there, the devil himself could not play.”
“No, indeed!” said Mozart gently; “if what I have written suits not the instrument, I must by all means alter it!” He immediately made the alteration and added to the original instrumentation both bassoons as well as two double basses. Finally, he let the chorus of Furies sing under the scene, and would not permit visible demons to drag Don Giovanni into the abyss.
With this the rehearsal ended. Mozart, on the whole, was satisfied with the singers and the orchestra; and the performers promised themselves the most brilliant success. As the master went home from the theatre, Nepomuck Stradetzky came behind him, took hold of the skirt of his coat, and said earnestly—
“Do not be angry with me, Herr von Mozart, because I have been a little bearish! That is often my way, and you know I mean well!”
Mozart replied cordially, “Nay, Herr von Nepomuck, I ought to be grateful to you, for having pointed out to me the error in my notes for the trumpet. Nevertheless, it is true, faults may be pointed out in a pleasant manner! Well, in future we will observe more courtesy!”
Nepomuck promised, and they parted in friendship.
THE OVERTURE.
The lovely Saporitti endeavored sedulously to efface from the memory of the little Master Amadeo, the unintentional offence her remark had given him. Mozart speedily forgave and forgot it, and was unwearied in giving her assistance in the study of her part, not hesitating to find fault where it was necessary, but likewise liberally bestowing encouraging praise.
The Signora one morning took occasion to praise the serenade of Don Giovanni, as peculiarly happy, and commended its bland southern coloring; observing that such soft persuasive love tones were foreign to the rude northern speech. Mozart replied with a smile—
“We Germans speak out indeed more honestly; yet it often-times sounds not ill!” And the evening of the same day, the master sang a serenade, charming indeed, but quite in the taste of the bagpipe-playing Prague musicians, under the window of the Signora Saporitti.
Meantime the day appointed for the first representation of ‘Don Giovanni,’ the third of November, was just at hand, and Mozart had never yet written the overture! Guardasoni urged—the master’s friends were anxious—Mozart only laughed, and said, “I will write it this afternoon.” But he did not write it; he went on an excursion of pleasure with his wife. Guardasoni was now really in despair.
“You see, it never will do!” he cried repeatedly, and sent messengers in every direction in vain; Mozart was no where to be found; and Strobach was obliged to promise that in case of extreme necessity he would adopt the overture to Idomeneo.
It was midnight when Mozart’s carriage stopped before his dwelling; and his friends, Guardasoni at their head, immediately surrounded him with complaints and reproaches. The master sprung out of his carriage, crying—
“Leave me to myself; now I will go to work in good earnest!” He went into the house, shut the door behind him, threw himself on his seat at the writing table, and began to write. In a few minutes, however, he started up, and cried laughing to his wife—“It will not come right yet! I will go to bed for an hour; wake me up at that time, and make me some punch!” And without undressing he flung himself on the bed. Constance prepared the punch, and in an hour’s time went to awaken her husband; but Mozart slept so sweetly, she could not find it in her heart to disturb him. She let him lie another hour; then, as time pressed, she awakened him.
Mozart rubbed his eyes, collected his thoughts, shook himself, and without further ado began his work. Constance sat by him, gave him the punch, and to keep him in good spirits, began to tell him all manner of funny and horrible stories—of the Prince-fish, of Blue Beard, of the Princess with swine’s snout, etc., etc. till Mozart, still writing, laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. At two o’clock in the morning he began his wonderful work; at six it lay on the desk finished. The master started up; he could hardly stand upright. “Done for this time!” he muttered; “but I shall not soon try it again!” And he laid himself down again to sleep.
At seven the copyist came for the notes, in the utmost hurry to write them out, which he could not accomplish before half-past seven in the evening; so that the performance, instead of commencing at seven was postponed to eight o’clock. Still wet, and covered with sand, the hastily copied parts were brought in and arranged in the orchestra.
The strange story of the composition of the overture soon spread among the audience. When Mozart came into the orchestra, he was greeted with thundering ‘Bravos!’ from an overflowing house. He bowed low, and turning to the performers in the orchestra, said—
“Gentlemen, we have not been able to have a rehearsal of the overture; but I know what I can venture with you. So, quick! to work!” He took up the time-staff, gave the signal, and like a thunder burst, with the clang of trumpets, sounded the first accord of the awful andante; which, as well as the succeeding allegro, was executed by the orchestra with admirable spirit. When the overture was at an end, the storm of applause seemed as if it would never cease.
“There were indeed a few notes dropped under the desk,” observed Mozart, smiling, to Strobach during the introduction; “but on the whole it went off splendidly! I am greatly indebted to these gentlemen.”
How during the remainder of the opera the applause rose from scene to scene—how from its first representation to the present day, on every occasion, the ‘Fin chan dal vino,’ called and still calls forth enthusiastic encores, is well known, not only to the brave people of Prague, but to the whole civilized world.
This little circle of scenes may prove a pleasant memorial of the first production of a noble work, destined through all future time to command the admiration of feeling hearts.