‘Constanze. Constance. My little Connie, my true, plain dove.’ He cannot sing her praises without also mentioning her deficiencies. ‘Papa dear, she is not exactly beautiful but she has, I tell you now, such fine brown eyes and a selfless heart – you could not fail to admire the way she is devoted to her mother – and her voice, though small, has a distinctive grace’… or words to that effect. Is this passion? Is this love, I ask myself? Can my brother - be taken by a person so ordinary to our minds that she has faults as well as virtues? Ah, Wolfie dear, perhaps I am blind. Think of your next opera. Pazienza. N.