by Glover, Jane
And, as always with Mozart, all these characters, whether of the cloister, or the world of magic, or popular theatrical tradition, are manifestly human, with recognizable emotions eloquently expressed. Sarastro may head a stern order bound by strict rite and regulation, but he is calm, warm and gentle in his dignified authority, even when he displays flashes of irritation with his adversary. Papageno is by no means merely a lovable fool, for he too shows vulnerability and integrity. And Tamino’s upright decency is irradiated by the ardour of his commitment both to Pamina and to his search for truth. And, yet again, the women in Die Zauberflöte are drawn with profound human understanding. The Queen of the Night emerges from a mountain and sings in extra-terrestrial registers, but her grief at the abduction of her daughter, and then her obsessive fury and hatred of Sarastro, are understandable feelings. Her Three Ladies are not merely her officers, handy for supernatural plot-twisting and a certain amount of comedy too, but women who respond entirely naturally to the presence of a handsome young man, or to an irritating teller of lies. And Pamina is so much more than a beautiful story-book princess, for she is imbued with gentle sympathy, a forthright courage, and, in her own potential suicide scene, desolate vulnerability. That Mozart has yet again so staunchly taken the side of women is somehow all the more remarkable in this essential depiction of Freemasonry. For all that Sarastro’s society is seen as benevolent, tolerant and just, there was decided anti-feminism in Masonic practice. Mozart and Schikaneder have not sidestepped this, for it is apparent in the exchanges between Sarastro and his priests. Rather they have met it head on; and even so they have given the most profound utterances (if not to the Three Boys) to Pamina.
In the opening moments of the opera, Tamino is rescued from the clutches of a great serpent by the dramatic arrival of the Three Ladies. Mozart’s writing for them, both as a group and in their separate lines, is predictably idiomatic. (It is extremely tempting to imagine that he might have been remembering his three Salzburg ladies – Lipp, Brauenhofer and Fesemayr – with their solid techniques and vibrant personalities, who had launched his operatic career a quarter of a century earlier.) Having with little ado dispatched the serpent and allowed themselves a moment of congratulation, they then become three romantic women admiring an attractive man. Their excitement is expressed in breathlessly fragmented words and sudden, unexpected forte chords, and although they end their scene in perfect harmony, departing together to inform their Queen of Tamino’s arrival, they have established themselves as three individuals. There have been echoes not only of the competing divas, Mesdames Herz and Silberklang in Der Schauspieldirektor (when they propose that one of them should stay and take care of Tamino), but also of the playful sides of Fiordiligi and Dorabella contemplating the respective merits of their sweethearts.
It is during the ensuing (dialogue) conversation between Tamino and Papageno that the very mystique of the Queen of the Night is introduced. She is terrifyingly described by Papageno as a ‘sternflammende Königin’ (starbright queen), whom nobody has even seen. And after the Three Ladies have returned to punish Papageno for claiming to have killed Tamino’s serpent, they set up the mystique of Pamina too, for they present him with her portrait which stirs new emotion in him (‘mein Herz mit neuer Regung füllt’). By these simple theatrical devices, the audience is made to feel eager to encounter both these women long before they actually appear; and when they do there is no disappointment. The Queen has a marvellously dramatic entrance. As the Ladies shout ‘Sie kommt! Sie kommt!’ (She’s coming!), the mountains part to reveal her. And Mozart reflects this in rumbling but animated syncopations in the strings (recalling the openings of his D minor piano concerto, K466, and of his ‘Prague’ symphony, K504 – both indications of creative buoyancy and exuberance), clambering arpeggios in the bass line, and a mighty crescendo. And here at last is Josefa Hofer, with all the technical traits of her sister Aloysia – magisterial accompanied recitative, a gloriously pathetic cantabile line in her andante section (‘Zum Leiden bin ich auserkoren’ – I am condemned to grief), and sensational coloratura, repeatedly hitting top Fs, in her allegro section (‘Du wirst sie zu befreien gehen’ – You must go and set her free). The famous difficulty of this aria has led to its virtually being adopted as the definition of demanding coloratura. But for a Weber girl, this was simply par for the course.
In the following quintet with Tamino and Papageno, the Three Ladies operate again as a team to effect the plot’s business: they release Papageno from the padlock they clamped on his mouth (as a punishment for having told lies), hand a magic flute to Tamino and magic bells to Papageno, and tell the men that three young, gentle and wise boys will guide and advise them on their journey ahead. Here Mozart changes the whole pace and colour of the music, presenting (like the boys they describe) supremely simple, innocent progressions, perfectly controlled. And the Three Ladies vanish into the night, like their Queen before them.
Pamina’s first appearance is almost as dramatic as that of the Queen. She is at the mercy of the wicked Monostatos, who is threatening to kill her. Although she pluckily maintains that she is not frightened of death, she faints in her fear of him. The arrival of Papageno brings pantomimic light relief, for his terror at the sight of Monostatos is mirrored by that of Monostatos himself, who darts away. After Papageno and Pamina have established each other’s identity, they have one of the most tender scenes in the opera. They discuss the importance of love, and of the necessity for a man to find a woman, and vice versa: ‘nichts Edler’s sei als Weib und Mann’ (nothing is nobler than a wife and husband). This is effectively a love duet, but it is sung by two strangers; and it is as brilliantly contrary as the first duet between Susanna and Figaro, in which a genuine bride and groom take no notice of each other. The duet for Pamina and Papageno, in the opera’s home key of E flat, is one of the emotional centres of the whole piece. It is in two parts, the first of utterly enchanting simplicity, and the second of delicate ornamentation, and, throughout, it is rich in emotional integrity. However ardently Mozart was promoting the brotherhood of Freemasonry in Die Zauberflöte, presenting its virtues in the best possible light, he did not neglect this opportunity to provide a hymn to the beauty of human relationships. In just 49 exquisite bars of music, he has utterly dispelled all the cynicism of Così fan tutte.
Pamina and Papageno reappear together in the finale to Act I, excited at being on the point of finding Tamino. Papageno’s magic bells save them from capture by Monostatos and his slaves, but, when Sarastro’s imminent arrival is heralded, they both become extremely nervous at being discovered in a place where they ought not to be. Again it is Pamina who is strong. When Papageno asks her what they should tell Sarastro, she answers with pellucid simplicity, ‘Die Wahrheit! Wär’ sie auch Verbrechen!’ (The truth – even if it is a crime). Schikaneder wrote more text for Pamina here, but Mozart chose not to use it; her single line, in his most pure of settings, said all that was required. And Pamina’s subsequent confession and apology to Sarastro are in the same vein of honest integrity. Sarastro is gentle with her, and extremely understanding. But when they begin to talk of her mother, he does become stern, and his instructive philosophy is in stark contrast to that of the ‘Mann und Weib’ duet:
Ein Mann muß teure Herzen leiten
denn ohne ihn pflegt jedes Weib
aus ihrem Wirkungskreis zu schreiten.
A man must guide your heart,
for without that, every woman
oversteps her natural sphere.
And this bald dictum is set by Mozart as straightforward accompanied recitative, literally as a matter of fact, lacking any emotional warmth or ornament. But the chilly tension of this moment is completely broken by the arrival of Tamino; and as he and Pamina at last set eyes on each other, Mozart brings the audience effortlessly back into the world of passion. ‘Er ist’s!’ – ‘Sie ist’s!’ (It is he! It is she!) they ecstatically exclaim, for this is love at first sight. The first act ends with Sarastro is
suing orders that Tamino and Papageno be blindfolded and taken into their temple of trial, while he himself takes Pamina away separately.
At the beginning of the second act Sarastro and his priests agree to admit Tamino to their brotherhood, and a trial of silence begins for him and Papageno. Apart from Papageno’s natural tendency to chatter, the real test of their ability to remain silent comes in the form of the Three Ladies. Operating now completely as a team, singing therefore in close harmony, they taunt the men: ‘Wie? Wie? Wie? Ihr an diesem Schreckensort?’ (Why are you in this dreadful place?) they ask. Tamino refuses to engage in conversation with the Ladies, though Papageno comments freely on everything they say, becoming increasingly alarmed when they tell him that the Queen of the Night is close at hand. When these busy warnings fail to penetrate Tamino’s silence, the Ladies try another tactic. ‘Warum bist du mit uns so spröde?’ (Why are you so sharp with us?) they sing, now in their most wheedling mood, with caressing strings and calm winds. But that too is met with stern resistance, and, realizing they have lost this particular battle, the Ladies decide to retreat. When voices from within announce that the sacred threshold has been defiled by the presence of women, they disappear in crashes of thunder and lightning, and veritably comic shrieks of ‘O weh!’. Their power is decidedly on the wane.
Pamina, meanwhile, has really been having her own ‘trials’. She has first been all but molested by Monostatos, and then come face to face with the enraged Queen of the Night. She urges her mother to help her escape, but the Queen produces a knife and tells her that she must kill Sarastro; suddenly, out of nowhere, there is an agitated rumble in the strings, and the Queen bursts into her enormous aria: ‘Der Hölle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen’ (Hell’s vengeance burns in my breast). There is none of her earlier lyricism here; she is wild and terrifying with fury, and Mozart emphasizes this by adding trumpets and timpani into all the stabbing forte chords: he meant to frighten everyone, including himself. And here again Josefa’s brilliant technique was used to electrifying effect, for the music is of the utmost difficulty. There are repeated high notes, arpeggios again regularly hitting top Fs, and swirling triplet passages. When well sung, as it surely was when performed by Josefa (for otherwise Mozart would not have written such music), this aria invariably brings the house down.
As if all this were not enough of a trial for Pamina, Monostatos then reappears, and this time it is Sarastro who saves her from his odious intentions. Although she loyally tries to defend her mother to Sarastro, he is calmly firm with her, telling her in his sublime aria ‘In diesen heil’gen Hallen’ that revenge has no place in his sacred halls, but that love will lead a man back to his duty: he is in effect giving her licence to be associated with her prince. But when, later, she comes joyfully to Tamino, and he, still under his vow of silence, refuses to speak to her, she is stunned and uncomprehending. Her aria, ‘Ach, ich fühl’s’, is a simple expression of utter desolation (I feel that the joy of love has gone for ever). The emotional power beneath this simplicity is vast, with an undertow of reflected pain in discordant woodwinds (the flute, oboe and bassoon of Susanna’s ‘Deh, vieni’), and seemingly spontaneous coloratura drawn from the anguish of the moment. Five years earlier, when Anna Gottlieb was only twelve, Mozart had given her Barbarina a similar aria of ingenuous wretchedness and staggering beauty. Now seventeen, the prodigiously talented singer had been rewarded with another jewel, and this time her more mature technique enabled him to intensify the emotional gesture and content; the result is 41 bars of musical perfection.
After the priests’ chorus (‘O Isis und Osiris’) there is a scene (added later) which actually fractures the plot, making nonsense of Pamina’s next appearance. But in it Sarastro tells Pamina to bid Tamino a final farewell, and although he also promises them a happy reunion, the young couple take their tense leave of each other. Mozart is clear in his musical interpretation of it, for at first Pamina is heard on her own while the two men sing together, but eventually she and Tamino cling together in their music, even sharing a cadenza at the end of the trio, while Sarastro tries to tear them apart.
The Act II finale begins with the Three Boys, who herald the sunrise with some monumental Enlightenment statements. But Pamina is in distress, contemplating suicide; and from the sublime and positive trio for the Boys, the music suddenly becomes broken, almost like accompanied recitative. The Boys reassure her that Tamino does still love her (they still cannot tell her why he refuses to speak to her – ‘Dieses müssen wir verschweigen’); and, convinced and moved by them, she joins them to sing their (and Mozart’s) wonderful little moral:
Zwei Herzen, die von Liebe brennen
Kann Menschen ohnmacht niemals trennen;
Verloren ist der Feinde Müh’,
Die Götter selbsten schützen sie.
Two hearts united by love
can never be parted by weakness.
Their enemies strive in vain
for the gods protect them.
And so the scene changes into the most spectacular, both scenically and musically, of the opera, with two armed men standing guard over a rural place with a waterfall at one side and a burning fire at the other. Anticipating Tamino’s final trials, these two men declare that, if he overcomes his fear of death by travelling through fire and water, he will be purified, and his soul will soar heavenward. Mozart set these most grave, veritably mystic words to a Lutheran chorale tune, ‘Ach Gott, vom Himmel sieh darein’ (as used in Bach’s cantata BWV 2), lending a truly solemn, cathedral tone to the proceedings. Like all chorale preludes, the music is both awesome and somehow intimate, and a world away from that of serpents, lustful ladies and birdcatchers, where the opera started. As the brave Tamino is about to embark on these trials, Pamina’s voice is heard: ‘Tamino, halt! Ich muß dich seh’n!’ (I must see you!) She is brought in, and her exquisite line, ‘Tamino mein! O welch ein glück!’ is set by Mozart with utter radiance, and can only come from one who truly knows the pain of separation and the joy of reunion. And it is Pamina who leads Tamino through the fire and water while he plays his magic flute. Their shared triumph is roundly celebrated by the offstage chorus.
After the Boys have rescued Papageno too from possible suicide, and he has been reunited with his beautiful Papagena, they contemplate the joys of a long marriage and many children. And now it remains only for the Queen of the Night and her cohorts to be dispatched by the power of sunlight, and for her evil therefore to be conquered by Sarastro’s forces for good. The Queen’s promises to Monostatos are now meaningless, her powers are empty: she, her Three Ladies and Monostatos are consumed in another monumental effect of thunder, lightning and blazing light (and trumpets). And the final moral, sung by the chorus, draws on the three central words of Masonic ritual – strength, beauty and wisdom – as the opera reaches its magnificent conclusion.
But if this spectacular ending seems to put the seal on the allegorical aspect of Die Zauberflöte, it is still the intimate presentation of human interaction which lingers long in the mind. And it is Pamina herself, as first portrayed by the seventeen-year-old Anna Gottlieb, who seems most to have moved Mozart, and has therefore become the central focus of the whole multisided story. Here again, perhaps, is Mozart’s ideal woman. While she lacks the fiery side to the character of Susanna (certainly it is hard to imagine her hitting anyone), Pamina does inherit her sweetness, courage and strength. She is steadfastly loyal, to Tamino and even to her mother, respectful to Sarastro, compassionate and sympathetic to Papageno, and utterly honest in her every action. It is she whose authority reassures Papageno of the inevitability of perfect human love, and of the sanctity therefore of the union between ‘Mann und Weib’; and it is she who leads her own ‘Mann’ through the trials which bring him his wisdom, his maturity and therefore his security. This seems to have struck a real chord in Mozart. He was, to be sure, entirely at home in Sarastro’s (Masonic) world, which he respected, honoured and defended. But for him the presence too of a woman as
companion and guide was absolutely essential.
After Mozart
MOZART’S OWN companion and guide, Constanze, was only twenty-nine years old when she was left a widow with a seven-year-old boy and a four-month-old baby. Wolfgang had died intestate. With no guaranteed income or any pension (this was Wolfgang’s ultimate penalty for having left Salzburg employment), she was again facing real financial hardship.