A serious opera composer, even one as fluent as Mozart, is absorbed in this work over a relatively extended period. It is natural, therefore, that singularities of style should contribute to its particular character, what in the nineteenth century would have been called its ‘colorito’ or ‘tinta’. Musical ideas are prone to recur in an intriguing fashion, although not necessarily in circumstances which impel one to search for what Dent called a ‘ridiculous’ or ‘Wagnerian’ name. This chapter seeks to describe aspects of the musical language which have struck responsive chords in one listener's extended exposure to Idomeneo.

It is no part of my intention to demonstrate that the opera is musically an ‘organic whole’. It may be that, of course, but only if conceived as an inextricable combination of a dramatic idea, words, scenery, and music. The music is undoubtedly the most important single element, but it is never independent of the others. Mozart himself, in excising so much as the performances approached, made it clear that musical integrity was not the principal criterion in shaping his work.

In practice external factors, apparently restraints upon the Composer's fantasy, may contribute positively to the unique colour of an opera. In Idomeneo one such factor was the personnel of Munich (see chapter 3, above), because of whom the orchestration is of unparalleled richness; Mozart had to order trumpet mutes from Salzburg, but Munich provided the four horns, the excellent strings, and wind players clearly equal to the Viennese for whom he composed later. But orchestral players do not impose a style to the extent that singers may.