For my new historical/comic mystery “The Murder of Figaro,” I created a character loosely based on a historical opera singer, Luisa Laschi, who created the role of the Countess under Mozart’s direction.  I opted to give her a messy personal life, a serious case of self-involvement, or to put it more charitably, a strong instinct for self-preservation.

I needed to put a cliché horrible diva into my cast of characters, for the amusement of my readers; I picked Laschi for this role because she seemed to be so alone at the time: no stage mother, no husband, no protective brother who accompanied her from theater to theater, guarding her vulnerable virtue.  I have no idea how she comported herself in her real life, but I can tell you she was a trouper, she worked all the time, in Italy and in Austria, and she was adored.

I have a strong urge to apologize to, and set the record straight about, Signora Laschi; who, from her début in 1770 at ten years of age, was praised for her clear true lyric soprano, her  endless creamy legato singing, and her beautiful figure.  Laschi arrived in Vienna in 1784 when she was invited to join the Imperial Court’s Italian opera troupe.

By the time she appeared in “Figaro” in 1786, she was probably engaged to the famous tenor  Domenico Mombelli. Emperor Joseph II gave the couple permission to be married, but could not officiate at the wedding. He made a semi-icky joke in a letter to his Chancellor of Spectacles Count Rosenberg, whom he deputized to solemnize the marriage: “and I cede to you the Droit de Seigneur.” An obvious reference to “Figaro.”

Mombelli was invited into the troupe in August of 1786, making a third husband/wife singing team, along with the Mandinis and Bussanis.  The couple had two children who died in early infancy.  Laschi herself died in 1790 at the age of thirty.

Knowing operatic sopranos as intimately as I do, I can only say that the cliché of the demon diva is largely false. God knows performers are neurotic, insecure, melodramatic and occasionally, and necessarily, self-absorbed, but they also are kind, helpful, empathetic and willing to submit themselves to the wishes of composers, directors, conductors, impresarios, agents and patrons. They usually are able to suppress their own agendas to forward any performance they happen to be in. So, Signora, I apologize for using you so badly. You had a brief, incandescent career, knew Mozart, and gave life to his music;  and that is how we should remember you.