And yet, there was no shortage of occasions, no matter the two were thirty years apart in age: they both frequented the same cities, from London to Vienna, where Casanova worked for a year as a secretary to ambassador Foscarini, and were generally in the same circles, including Freemasonry. However, what is even more curious for us is that the two were in Prague at the same time, in the fall of 1787. In those months, it is well known that Casanova, now sixty, met librettist Lorenzo Da Ponte, who at the time was working on the final touches for the Don Giovanni. This coincidence gave rise to conjecture and anecdotes about the two meeting. It doesn’t help that there is barely any source to prove or discredit the hypothesis. Some maintain that Casanova saw the Don Giovanni premiere at the Nostitz Theatre on October 29, and some go even further, claiming that since Da Ponte had to leave Vienna in haste only a few days before the premiere, it must have been Casanova who fixed a few weak points in the libretto. This rumour might find some corroboration thanks to the work of musicologist Paul Nettl, who, over a century ago, found some papers of Casanova’s bearing variations, edited multiple times, on Leporello’s verses, second act, a moment of peak comedic tension in the Don Giovanni.
The myth of the collaboration between the two won over even Edward Dent, who reckoned ‘all but proved’ Casanova’s intervention on the libretto, and went so far as to hypothesize the origin of said intervention, probably the consequence of some complaining, on part of the performers, on the distribution of solo arias. Mozart often lamented the issue, though never explicitly addressing the point precisely. Mozart then moved some observations to Casanova, who in turn rewrote the scene as we now know it. Charming idea, as much as it is devoid of any possibility of being confirmed, as Dent is forced to admit a bit further. Yet, it passed on to other scholars, growing into a trope of Da Ponte’s bibliography. In his critical edition of the Don Giovanni, G. Gronda correctly noticed that the aforementioned reconstructions do not take into account the editorial history of Da Ponte’s libretto, which had been published three times (Prague, 1787; Vienna, 1787; and Vienna, 1788), and had several variants. Mozart showed he knew these variants, as shown in his self-authored score. Gronda compared stylistically the printed version, consistent with the rest of the opera and with Da Ponte’s experience, with Casanova’s verses, which are utterly inharmonious viz. the drama overall, and stigmatized them as amateurish. Apparently, it is more likely that the verses in question were a mere literary exercise and not meant for theatrical representation. It is otherwise common for intellectuals to take inspiration in what they see or hear, as is the practice of theme and variations. The analysis, supported by in-depth exam of the text’s style and content, seems effective, and as such was take at face value from subsequent studies, which in turn debated, at most, why that particular scene struck Casanova so strongly that he felt compelled to rewrite it. The myth we discussed was well received even among the most notable scholars, though appears to be, by now, devoid of any real foundation. What we may deduce from Casanova’s writings is that, if Casanova didn’t see the premiere, he may at least have read its libretto. This prompted him to work on variations, secretly (involuntarily?) accommodating for a story in his memoir about servant Leduc donning lordly clothing to seduce women, just like Leporello in Don Giovanni swapping identity with his master.
Featured image: Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, posthumous portrait by Barbara Krafft (1819)
