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 THE MUNICH SINGERS. 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 IDOMENEO. 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.
