“One evening, when I visited him, he said to me: ‘I have just finished a little duet for my opera, and you must hear it.’ He seated himself at the piano and sang it. I was carried away, and the musical world will understand my transport--when I say that it was the duet of the countess, Ulmaviva with Susanna: _So lang hab’ ich geschmachtet_. Nothing more exquisite had ever before been written by human being. It has often been a source of pleasure to me to think that I was the first who heard it. I can still see Mozart in his red fur hat trimmed with gold, standing on the stage with the orchestra, at the first rehearsal, beating time for the music. Benucci sang Figaro’s _Dort vergiss leises Fleh’n, suesses Wimmern_, with the greatest enthusiasm and all the power of his voice. I stood beside Mozart, who repeatedly cried ‘bravo! bravo! Benucci!’ in subdued tones. When Benucci came to the beautiful passage: _Bei dem Donner der Karthaner_, he allowed his stentorian voice to resound with all his might. The players on the stage and in the orchestra were electrified. Intoxicated with pleasure, they cried again and again, and each time louder than the preceding one, ‘bravo! bravo! maestro! Long live the great Mozart!’ Those in the orchestra beat the music stands incessantly with the bows of their violins, thus expressing their enthusiasm. It seemed as if this storm of applause would never cease. The little man returned thanks for the homage paid him by bowing repeatedly. The finale at the end of the first act was received with similar delight. Had Mozart written nothing but this piece of music, it alone would, in my humble opinion, have stamped him the greatest master of his art. Never was there a greater triumph than that of Mozart and his _Figaro_.” This is the only detailed account which we possess. The father had heard enough of the astonishingly powerful intrigues caused by his son’s great talent and the respect in which he was held. Now he was able to write to his daughter, that five and even seven parts of the opera had been repeated, and that one duet had to be sung three times. The Italians induced the emperor to forbid these repetitions. But when he spoke to the singers of “this favor he had done them,” the person playing the part of Susanna frankly replied: “Do not believe that, your Majesty. They all wish to hear _dacapo_ cried. I at least can assert that of myself.” Whereupon the emperor laughed. But we may ask, was Mozart’s fortune now made? He was, indeed, at this time, in such pinching circumstances that he had to apply to his publisher, Hofmeister, for such petty advances as a few ducats.