Mozart had longed for years to write a German opera. He boasted of
himself as a thoroughly patriotic German and longed for the day when “we
should dare to ‘feel as Germans and even, if I may say so, to sing in
German.’” The nearest he had come to composing a German _Singspiel_ was
when as a child he had produced his little song-play _Bastien und
Bastienne_ and again when, in 1782, he turned out the inimitable _Die
Entführung aus dem Serail_. But his ambitions soared even higher and he
consumed no end of time and energy perusing the countless opera books
sent to him without finding anything that suited his true artistic and
dramatic purposes. For a while he had dreamed of accomplishing something
in his Mannheim days, even listening with interest, but nothing more, to
stuff like Holzbauer’s _Gunther von Schwarzburg_. Though he briefly
thought of a _Rudolf von Habsburg_, he had no choice, in the end, but to
return to Italian models—now, however, with a difference!
Soon after the amateur presentation of _Idomeneo_ in Vienna he had the
good fortune to be brought together with Lorenzo da Ponte, whose real
name was Emmanuele Conegliano and who belonged to a Jewish family in
Ceneda, near Venice. The youth entered a theological seminary and became
an industrious student with a poetic bent, which resulted in quantities
of Italian and Latin verse. An outspoken adventurer, with countless
amorous escapades _à la_ Casanova to his credit, he began his theatrical
career in Dresden, went to Vienna where he was to enjoy the favor of
Joseph II, and in the process of time went to London and finally to
America, where he became a teacher of languages, a liquor merchant, a
theater enthusiast, and what-not. He died in New York many years after
Mozart but, like him, was buried in a grave of which all traces have
been lost.
Mozart suggested to his picturesque collaborator (who cheerfully wrote
opera books for Salieri, Martin, Righini, and others) a libretto to be
adapted from Pierre Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais’ _Les Noces de
Figaro_, of which Paisiello had recently composed Beaumarchais’
predecessor, _Le Barbier de Seville_. But _Figaro_ had been prohibited
in France because it reflected on the morals of the aristocracy and the
same ban had been in effect in Vienna. Da Ponte, altering it for
Mozart’s purposes, adroitly eliminated its barbed satire and then,
tactfully explaining his alterations to the Emperor, secured his
permission for the performance. The composer, who limited his teaching
to the afternoon in order to complete the score, had been “as touchy as
gunpowder and threatened to burn the opera” if it were not produced by a
certain time. To Joseph II’s credit it must be said that the music
delighted him as soon as Mozart played him a few samples.
_Figaro_ was produced at the Burgtheater on May 1, 1786. A lucky star
shone on its birth in spite of intrigues set in motion against it. Its
success was tremendous and was abundantly foreshadowed during the
rehearsals. The Irish tenor, Michael Kelly (Italianized as “Occhelly”),
left us in his memoirs a striking account of the delight with which the
singers and orchestra joined the listeners at the end of the first act
in acclaiming the composer. “I shall never forget,” he says, “his little
animated countenance when lighted up with the glowing rays of genius; it
is as impossible to describe as it would be to paint sunbeams.” Father
Mozart wrote to Nannerl that, not only had almost every number to be
repeated, but that, at the following performance, five were encored, the
“Letter Duet” having to be sung three times. In the end the Emperor
forbade repetitions. That season _Figaro_ received nine hearings—and for
the two following years not a single one! Mozart’s opponents, after a
momentary check, had conspired successfully once more.