ACT III
The beginning of the last act finds Suzuki, Butterfly, and Trouble just where they were at the close of the second, excepting that the child and the maid are now sound asleep. It is morning and there are noises from the harbor. Butterfly takes her sleeping little boy into another room, singing him a lullaby. Into the garden comes the Consul Sharpless, accompanied by Lieutenant Pinkerton and Kate Pinkerton, his American wife. Suzuki almost at once realizes who this is. She cannot bear to tell her mistress, and neither can Pinkerton. He sings a passionate farewell to his once-happy home, and leaves. But Butterfly, coming in now, sees Kate and realizes that inevitable tragedy has struck her. With dignity she tells Kate that she may have her boy if Pinkerton will come soon to fetch him.
Left alone with the child, she knows there is only one thing to do. First she blindfolds him; then she goes behind a screen; and with her father’s dagger she stabs herself. As she drags herself toward the boy, Pinkerton comes rushing back, crying, “Butterfly! Butterfly!” He is, of course, too late. He falls on his knees by her body as the orchestra thunders forth the fateful Asiatic melody heard before, each time that death has been mentioned.
THE MAGIC FLUTE
(Die Zauberflöte)
Opera in two acts by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
with libretto in German by Emanuel
Schikaneder, possibly with the help of Karl
Ludwig Gieseke
TAMINO, an Egyptian prince Tenor
PAPAGENO, a birdcatcher Baritone
SARASTRO, High Priest of Isis and Osiris Bass
THE QUEEN OF THE NIGHT Soprano
PAMINA, her daughter Soprano
MONOSTATOS, chief of the temple slaves Tenor
PAPAGENA Soprano
THREE LADIES-IN-WAITING TO Two Sopranos and a
THE QUEEN OF THE NIGHT Mezzo-soprano
THREE GENII OF THE TEMPLE Two Sopranos and a Mezzo-soprano
THE ORATOR Bass
TWO PRIESTS Tenor and Bass
TWO MEN IN ARMOR Tenor and Bass
Time: unspecified but roughly about the reign of the Pharaoh Ramses I
Place: Egypt
First performance at Vienna, September 30, 1791
The Magic Flute is what the Germans call a Singspiel (a “sing play”)—that is, a play with a good deal of singing, like an operetta or a musical comedy or a ballad opera or even an opéra comique. Well, most operettas and musical comedies present certain absurdities and inconsistencies in their books, and this one is no exception. For instance, the Queen of the Night seems to be a good woman in the first act and a villainess in the second. Again, the story starts out as a romantic fairy tale, pure and simple, and later takes on serious religious significance. In fact, the rites of the Temple of Isis and Osiris are generally regarded as being reflections of the ideals of the Masonic order, while various critics, writing long after the death of the authors, have found political symbolism of the most profound sort in Act II. There may be something in this if for no other reason than that both Mozart and his librettist were Masons, and Masonry was officially frowned on at the time.
Today such questions seem to matter very little. Far more important is the fact that Schikaneder, a swashbuckling, in-and-out actor-singer-writer-impresario commissioned the work from his old friend Mozart in the last year of the composer’s life, when he needed such a commission badly. Mozart wrote his glorious score with specific singers in mind—for example, Schikaneder himself, with a very limited baritone, did Papageno, while Josefa Hofer, Mozart’s sister-in-law, was the brilliantly pyrotechnical coloratura for whom the Queen of the Night’s arias were composed. Gieseke, who may have written parts of the libretto (he later claimed the whole of it), was a gifted man of science and letters and probably served as the model for Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister; but he possessed no great talent for the stage and was assigned the role of the first man in armor.
As for the inconsistencies in the plot, they may be accounted for by the fact that, while the libretto was being written, a rival theater put on a successful musical show called Casper the Bassoonist, or the Magic Zither, which was based on the very story Schikaneder was working on—Lulu, by one Liebeskind. It is conjectured that Schikaneder changed the whole plot in midstream, that is, after the first act and the beginning of the second were completed. This is a tidy theory, but the only evidence for it is circumstantial.
Despite the inconsistencies (and maybe even because of them!) the opera has always had the dream fascination of a fairy tale, and it was a huge success from the beginning. That success did not help Mozart much. He died thirty-seven days after the premiere. As for Schikaneder, he was able, partly with the proceeds from the continued success of the opera, to build himself a brand-new theater seven years later and crown it with a statue of himself dressed in the feathers of Papageno. It was the high point of his career, and fourteen years after that he died as poor as Mozart, and insane.
OVERTURE
The overture begins solemnly, making use of three heavy chords which appear later at some of the most solemn moments connected with the rites of the temple. But, excepting for a later repetition of these chords, as a sort of reminder, the rest of the overture is just as light and gay, in its contrapuntal fashion, as the prelude to a fairy tale ought to be.
ACT I
Scene 1 The fairy tale itself begins—as a fairy tale should—with a handsome young prince lost in a valley. His name is Tamino, and he is being chased by a vicious serpent. He cries for help, sinks unconscious to the ground, and is promptly saved by three lovely ladies. These are ladies-in-waiting to the Queen of the Night—a supernatural personage, of cours&-and they vastly admire the handsome young man, who has fainted away. When they have gone, the leading comedian comes on the scene. He is Papageno, a birdcatcher by trade, and he introduces himself in a gay, folksy tune (Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja—“It’s a birdcatcher I am”). He says that he likes catching birds, but he’d rather catch a wife. He also plays a snatch of a tune on his pipes—one we shall hear more of later on.
Papageno informs Tamino that he is in the realm of the Queen of the Night, and he also takes credit for having killed the snake. For this lie the three ladies return and place a lock on the birdcatcher’s lips. Then they show Tamino the picture of a beautiful young girl. She is the Queen of the Night’s daughter, who has been stolen and whom Tamino is to rescue. Tamino at once falls in love with the picture and sings the so-called Portrait Aria. Now the Queen of the Night appears, and in a dramatic and extremely difficult aria she tells Tamino about her daughter and promises him her hand in marriage when he rescues her. The first scene then ends with a quintet, a beautifully sustained lyric-dramatic composition quite in a class with the wonderful finales of The Marriage of Figaro though in an appropriately different style. During this finale the three ladies-in-waiting present Tamino with a magical flute that should make everyone who hears it happy, and they give the birdcatcher, Papageno, a set of musical bells. For Papageno is to accompany Tamino on his quest, and the bells will always protect him.
Scene 2 takes us to the palace of Sarastro. He is the head of a secret and powerful Egyptian religious order, and it is he who has Pamina, daughter of the Queen of the Night, in his power. At the moment she is under the care of a blackface comic villain named Monostatos. This Moorish gentleman drags in Pamina, threatening her with death if she refuses to love him. At the critical moment the birdcatcher Papageno wanders in. He and Monostatos are terribly frightened of each other—but it is the sort of fright that is really comic. No child of eight would be taken in by it. Monostatos finally flees, and when Pamina and Papageno find themselves alone together, he assures her that someone who loves her will come to the rescue, while she assures him that he too will find someone to adore. It is a charming duet in praise of tenderness (Bei Männern welche Liebe fühlen—“The man who loves possesses a kindly heart”).
Scene 3 And then the scene changes once more—this time to a grove outside the Temp
le of Sarastro. Tamino is led there by three boys, the genii of the temple, who encourage him but will answer no questions. Left alone, he tries to enter three different doors. From two he is warned away by a voice offstage, but from the third appears a priest. In a rather long (and, I must admit, slightly dull) exchange Tamino learns that Sarastro is not the villain he had thought, and that Pamina is somewhere around and still safe. In his gratitude for this information Tamino plays a fine tune on his magic flute, and then sings the same tune himself (Wie stark ist nicht dein Zauberton—“O voice of magic melody”). Suddenly he hears Papageno’s little pipes, and he rushes off to find them. If only he had stayed, he should have met both Pamina and Papageno coming in. They are pursued by the comic villain Monostatos, who summons slaves to bind them in chains. At the last moment Papageno thinks of his magic bells. He plays them (they sound like a child’s music box), and the delightful magical tune makes the slaves and Monostatos both dance harmlessly away. Pamina and Papageno then have another short and charming duet, when they are interrupted by the arrival of the dread Sarastro and his court in a solemn march. Pamina begs Sarastro’s forgiveness for having tried to flee, which is granted with kindly understanding. Prince Tamino is then brought in by Monostatos, who demands a reward from Sarastro. He gets the reward he deserves—a sentence of seventy-seven strokes from the bastinado for his impudence; and as the act ends, Tamino and Pamina are solemnly prepared to undergo the rites of initiation, which may or may not prove them worthy of each other;
ACT II
Scene 1 The second half of the opera has more swift changes of scene than the first. It also has more serious music in it. For example, the very first scene is a meeting of the priests of Isis and Osiris in a palm grove. Sarastro informs the priests that Tamino has been chosen to marry the captive Pamina, but first the couple must prove itself worthy of entering the Temple of Light. He then intones his magnificent invocation O Isis und Osiris. Of this grand, simple, and dignified aria with male chorus George Bernard Shaw said: “It is the only music which might be put into the mouth of God without blasphemy.”
Scene 2 Outside the temple Tamino and Papageno undergo some elementary religious instruction. Two priests (who sing in octaves—possibly to make their instructions quite clear) warn the Prince and the birdcatcher to be on guard against women, the root of most of man’s troubles. Sure enough, right on their heels come the three ladies from the Queen of the Night. These, in turn, warn the men against priests. Papageno is inclined to discuss the matter with the ladies, but the high-minded Tamino will have nothing to do with such temptations. A lucky thing, too. For a moment later an off-stage chorus of priests sends the girls right back where they came from—the kingdom of the nether regions!
Scene 3 Once more the scene changes, this time to a garden. Monostatos rather horridly gloats over the lovely Pamina as she lies asleep, practically at his mercy. Just in time, her mother, the Queen of the Night, interferes. In her terrific Revenge Aria she demands that her daughter murder Sarastro. She hurls a dagger to Pamina for the purpose and swears that, should she fail, her daughter shall be disowned. This Revenge Aria, with its two high F’s, has defeated dozens of otherwise quite able coloratura sopranos.
Immediately after her departure Monostatos returns, threatens to reveal the plot, and demands the love of Pamina as the price for silence. But she is again saved, this time by the entrance of Sarastro. When Pamina begs forgiveness for her mother, he explains that within the sacred halls of this temple there is no such thing as revenge and that only love binds man to man. It is an aria of extraordinary beauty and dignity (In diesen heil’gen Hallen—“Within these sacred halls”).
Scene 4 In some productions there is an intermission at this point, and the next scene is given as the first of Act III. In most printed scores, however, it is simply the next scene in Act II—a hall, and a pretty bare one. Two priests continue their instruction of Tamino and Papageno, enforcing on them the oath of silence and threatening punishment with lightning and thunder if the oath is broken. Tamino is a very good boy about this, but the birdcatcher cannot hold his tongue, particularly when a sprightly old crone appears and tells him two startling bits of gossip—one, that she is just eighteen years and two minutes old, and, two, that she has a sweetheart a little bit older named Papageno. But just when she is about to tell her own name, that thunder and lightning come, and off she goes as fast as she can. Immediately after, the three boys enter once more and, in a charming trio, present Tamino and Papageno, not only with food and drink, but also with the magic flute and the bells that had been taken from them. As the birdcatcher solaces himself with the comestibles and the Prince with his flute, Pamina comes in and runs confidently up to her lover. She does not know about his oath of silence and, misinterpreting his actions, sings a mournful aria (Ach, ich jühl’s, es ist verschwunden—“Ah, I feel it all is vanished”). At its close the trombones sound out, calling the men to the test.
Scene 5 In the following scene, outside the temple gates, Pamina is fearfully afraid that she will never again see her beloved Prince Tamino. Sarastro, in his most comforting tones, assures her that all will be well, but in the trio that follows, with Tamino, she is far from reassured. As Tamino is led off, the two lovers utter a prayer that they may meet again.
Scene 6 And now—as a sort of change of pace from the serious goings-on—we switch again to the birdcatcher Papageno. He is told that he may have one wish granted, and after drinking a glass of wine he sings a delightful little aria that makes a single request: Please, he says, let me have a sweetheart or, at any rate, a wife! Promptly the little old woman reappears, demands a vow of faithfulness, and then reveals herself as a young and feathery counterpart of Papageno. Her name—Papagena! But before they can do much about it, she is dragged off by the Orator.
Scene 7 The next scene takes place in a garden, where the three boys of Sarastro’s temple are looking forward to the triumph of goodness. But poor, distracted Pamina wanders in, dagger in hand. She is convinced that she will never see Tamino again, and she prepares to kill herself. Just in time, the boys stop her and promise to take her to Tamino.
Scene 8 The boys are as good as their word. For in the next scene Tamino is about to endure the tests of the four elements—fire, water, earth, and air—and is brought in by the priests and the two men in armor, who again give instructions in octaves. Just before he enters the dread gates, Pamina rushes in. She wishes only to share the Prince’s fate, and the two men in armor give their permission gladly. Tamino takes up his magic flute; he plays upon it; the two lovers stroll unharmed through the tests of the elements; and a joyous chorus welcomes them as they come through.
Scene 9 But what of our friend Papageno? Why, he is still looking for his sweetheart, his Papagena. He calls and calls throughout the garden, and finding no one, he decides, like Pamina, to commit suicide. With great reluctance he throws a rope over the bough of a tree, ready to hang himself. But those three boys who saved Pamina save him too. They advise him to play his magic bells, and he does. The sweet little bird-girl appears, and in a delightfully comic stuttering duet, Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-Papageno, they decide to raise a simply huge family.
Scene 10 And finally—still one more change of scene. Monostatos is now in league with the Queen of the Night, who has promised him Pamina. They invade Sarastro’s temple, together with the three ladies-in-waiting. But the power of Sarastro is too great for them. There is thunder and lightning, and the villainous quintet disappears into the bowels of the earth. The Temple of Isis and Osiris appears, and a chorus of triumph of the forces of good ends this fairy opera.
MANON
Opera in five acts by Jules Massenet with libretto
in French by Henri Meilhac and Philippe
Gille, based on Antoine François Prévost’s novel
Les aventures du Chevalier des Grieux
et de Manon Lescaut
MANON LESCAUT Soprano
LESCAUT, of the Royal Guard, her cousin Bar
itone
COUNT DES GRIEUX Bass
CHEVALIER DES GRIEUX, his son Tenor
GUILLOT DE MORFONTAINE, an old roué Tenor
DE BRÉTIGNY, a nobleman Baritone
actresses Sopranos
POUSETTE
JAVOTTE
ROSETTE
Time: 18th century
Places: Amiens, Paris, and Le Havre
First performance at Paris, January 19, 1884
The Abbé Antoine François Prévost’s semi-autobiographical novel Les aventures du Chevalier des Grieux et de Manon Lescaut supplied the inspiration for stage works by a number of distinguished composers. Before Massenet, Auber had made an opera of it and Halévy a ballet. And after the present work, Puccini wrote an opera on the subject described in this book, and still later Massenet himself came back to the same theme in Le portrait de Manon—a one-act sequel that has never been very popular.
There is no question, however, about the popularity of Manon (a title which Massenet claimed he had copyrighted: the other operas are called Manon Lescaut). After Faust and Carmen it is the most popular French opera there is, both in and outside of France. It is also Massenet’s most durable work, and one for which he felt a particular affection. Perhaps one reason is the lively personal attraction he seemed to feel for the character of the attractive and unfortunate heroine.
In his memoirs the composer tells two stories that seem to be to the point. The first has to do with the time when he was composing the score. On a walk, one day, he saw a florist’s assistant with sparkling eyes who, he imagined, was yearning for rich pleasures beyond her station. “There she is,” he said to himself. “That is Manon.” And he goes on to tell how he kept the image of that girl in his mind during the entire composition of the score, even though he had never seen her before and never saw her again.
100 Great Operas and Their Stories Page 26