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and the fugued allegro, constructed with a skill that will never cease to be a wonder to the knowing, built up on the following subject:—
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In the chords (which are heard again in the temple scene, at which the hero is admitted as a novice and permitted to begin his probation), the analysts who seek to find as much symbolism as possible in the opera, see an allusion to the signals given by knocking at the door of the lodge-room. Some such purpose may been have in the mind of Mozart when he chose the device, but it was not unique when he applied it. I have found it used in an almost identical manner in the overture to "Günther von Schwarzburg," by Ignaz Holzbauer, a German opera produced in Mannheim fifteen years before "Die Zauberflöte" saw the light of the stage lamps. Mozart knew Holzbauer, who was a really great musician, and admired his music. Connected with the fugue theme there is a more familiar story. In 1781 Clementi, the great pianist and composer, visited Vienna. He made the acquaintance of Haydn, was introduced at court, and Emperor Joseph II brought him and Mozart together in a trial of skill at playing and improvising. Among other things Clementi played his own sonata in B-flat, the first movement of which begins thus:—
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The resemblance between this theme and Mozart's fugal subject is too plain to need pointing out. Such likenesses were more common in Mozart's day than they were a century ago; they were more common in Handel's day than in Mozart's; they are almost as common in our day as they were in Handel's, but now we explain them as being the products of "unconscious cerebration," whereas in the eighteenth century they were frank borrowings in which there was no moral obliquity; for originality then lay as much in treatment as in thematic invention, if not more.
Come we now to a description of the action of the opera. Tamino,— strange to say, a "Japanese" prince,—hunting far, very far, from home, is pursued, after his last arrow has been sped, by a great serpent. He flees, cries for help, and seeing himself already in the clutch of death, falls in a swoon. At the moment of his greatest danger three veiled ladies appear on the scene and melodiously and harmoniously unite in slaying the monster. They are smitten, in unison, with the beauty of the unconscious youth whom they have saved, and quarrel prettily among themselves for the privilege of remaining beside him while information of the incident is bearing to the Queen of Night, who lives hard by in a castle. No two being willing that the third shall stay, all three go to the Queen, who is their mistress. Tamino's consciousness returning, he discovers that the serpent has been slain, and hails Papageno, who comes upon the scene, as his deliverer. Papageno is a bird-catcher by trade and in the service of the Queen of Night—a happy-go-lucky, talkative fellow, whose thoughts do not go beyond creature comforts. He publishes his nature (and incidentally illustrates what has been said above about the naïve character of some of the music of the opera) by trolling a ditty with an opening strain as follows:—
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Papageno has no scruples about accepting credit and gratitude for the deed performed by the ladies, and, though he is the veriest poltroon, he boasts inordinately about the gigantic strength which had enabled him to strangle the serpent. He is punished for his mendacity when the ladies return and place a padlock upon his mouth, closing his lips to the things of which he is most fond—speech and food. To Tamino they give a miniature portrait, which excites him to rapturous song ("Dies Bildniss ist bezaubernd schön," or "Oh! cara immagine," as the case may be). Then he learns that the original of the portrait is Pamina, daughter of the Queen of Night, stolen from her mother by a "wicked demon," Sarastro. In the true spirit of knight-errantry he vows that he will restore the maid to her mother's arms. There is a burst of thunder, and the Queen appears in such apparel and manner as the exchequer at the theatre and the ingenuity of the stage mechanic are able to provide. (When last I saw her her robe was black, bespangled with stars and glittering gems, and she rode upon the crescent moon.) She knows the merits and virtues of the youth, and promises that he shall have Pamina to wife if he succeeds in his adventure. Papageno is commanded to accompany him, and as aids the ladies give to Tamino a magic flute, whose tones shall protect him from every danger, and to Papageno a bell-chime of equal potency. (These talismans have hundreds of prototypes in the folk-lore of all peoples.) Papageno is loath to accompany the prince, because the magician had once threatened to spit and roast him like the bird he resembled if ever he was caught in his domain, but the magical bells give him comfort and assurance. Meanwhile the padlock has been removed from his lips, with admonitions not to lie more. In the quintet which accompanies these sayings and doings, there is exquisite music, which, it is said, Mozart conceived while playing at billiards. Finally the ladies announce that three boys, "young, beautiful, pure, and wise," shall guide the pair to the castle of Sarastro.
We are next in a room of the castle before the would-be rescuers arrive. Pamina has tried to escape, and is put in chains by her keeper, the Moor Monostatos. She weeps because of her misery, and repulses the protestations of love with which her jailer plagues her. Papageno enters the room, and he and the jailer run in opposite directions at sight of each other—Papageno frightened by the complexion of the blackamoor, Monostatos terror-stricken at the sight of a man in feathers. Returning, Papageno convinces himself of the identity of Pamina with the daughter of the Queen of Night, tells her of Tamino, who is coming for her with a heart full of love, and promptly they sing of the divine dignity of the marital state. It is the duet, "Bei Männern weiche Liebe fühlen," or "Là dove prende, amor ricetto," familiar to concert-rooms, and the melody to some hymnals. A story goes that Mozart had to write this duet three or five times before it would pass muster in the censorious eyes of Schikaneder. After the opera had made good its success, the duet as we have it to-day alternated at the performance with a more ornate version—in all likelihood one of the earlier forms in which Mozart cast it.