Eduard Morike's "Mozart's Journey to Prague"

Downloaded this novella because Handke alluded to Morike and this was all that's available. Morike was known more as a poet, but he wrote this little piece. The only piece on Kindle available in English.

I visited the Mozart Museum in Prague more than 20 years ago, so I thought I'd give it a try. Very short. Already half way through.

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‘It’s seventeen years now since I saw Italy. What man who has seen it, and seen Naples above all, does not remember it for the rest of his life, even if, like myself, he was still half a child at the time! But scarcely ever have I experienced so vivid a recollection of that beautiful evening by the Gulf as today, in your garden. Every time I closed my eyes, there it was – quite plain and clear and bright, its last veil lifting and drifting away, that heavenly panorama spread out before me! The sea and the sea-shore, the mountain and the city, the motley crowd of people on the embankment, and then that wonderful complicated game with the balls! My ears seemed to hear that same music again, a whole rosary of happy melodies, some my own and some by others, all and sundry, all following on from each other! Suddenly a little dancing song jumped out, a motif in six-eight time, quite new to me. “Hang on!” I thought, “what’s this? Now that’s a devilish neat little thing!” I took a closer look, and – good God above, it’s Masetto and it’s Zerlina!’ And he looked laughingly across at Madame Mozart, who at once understood him. ‘The fact is simply this,’ he continued. ‘In the first act of my opera there’s an easy little number which I hadn’t yet written: a duet and chorus for a country wedding. Two months ago, you see, when it was the turn of this piece to be composed, I couldn’t get it right first time round. A simple, childlike melody, bubbling over with happiness, like a fresh posy of flowers and a fluttering ribbon fastened to the girl’s dress: that was what I needed. But because one must never try to force anything, and because trifles of this kind often simply write themselves, I just passed it by, and scarcely gave it another thought as I carried on with the main work. Quite fleetingly, as I sat in the carriage today, just before we drove into the village, I remembered the text of that song; but no musical idea developed from it, at least not so far as I know. In fact, only an hour later, in that arbour by the fountain, I picked up a happier and better tune than I could ever have invented at any other time and in any other way. In art one sometimes has strange experiences, but I had never known a trick like that before. For lo and behold, a melody, fitting the line of words like a glove – but let me not anticipate, we’re not quite there yet. The little bird had only just stuck its head out of the egg, and at once I began to scoop it out clean and complete. As I did so, I clearly saw Zerlina dancing there before my eyes, and in a strange way that laughing landscape of the Gulf of Naples was there as well. I could hear the voices of the bride and the groom turn about, and the lasses and lads singing in chorus.’ And at this point Mozart began merrily trilling the opening lines of the song: ‘Giovinette, che fate all’ amore, che fate all’ amore, Non lasciate che passi l’età, che passi l’età, che passi l’età! Se nel seno vi bulica il core, vi bulica il core, Il remedio vedetelo quà! La la la! La la la! Che piacer, che piacer che sarà! Ah la la! Ah la la!’ etc.