Unless we count his modest contribution, along with four other composers, to Der Stein der Weisen, The Magic Flute was a new type of opera for Mozart, at least in its handling of word-music-drama relationships.¹ It was less new in other ways; its moral content is anticipated in Die Entführung aus dem Serail, where, as again in La clemenza di Tito, the characters’ fate lies in the hands of a benevolent autocrat (here Sarastro). The Introduction, arias, ensembles, and multisection finales followed naturally from Mozart’s recent Viennese comedies, but with significant differences. Spoken dialogue bears much of the weight of action and characterization conveyed in opera buffa by simple recitative. At dramatic high points, Italian opera uses orchestrally accompanied recitative (the voice supported by expressive instrumental gestures), usually leading to an important aria. In The Magic Flute, orchestrated recitative occurs mainly in the finales, which would be unusual in opera buffa.²

The variety of forms and the passages in finales that are neither recitative nor aria look ahead to the more continuous opera of the next century. From a post-Wagnerian standpoint, linking stage action to musical design may seem unremarkable. But closed, fully cadenced forms were the eighteenth-century norm, despite the example of Gluck’s later operas, where recitative, arioso, and aria come closer thanks to his abandonment of simple recitative. The long finales of The Magic Flute are unlike those of the Viennese comedies; they do not follow Lorenzo Da Ponte’s prescription for few if any scene-changes, the music accelerating as characters fill the stage. The finales of The Magic Flute require several scene-changes, and the spectacle assumes greater importance. Another novelty is that two “characters” are multivoiced, but sing as a unit: the Three Ladies attendant on the Queen, and Three Genii or “Knaben” (boys, although the original singers were female). And unlike Viennese opera buffa, the opera makes serious use of a chorus.

Overture and Introduction

Overtures are the composer’s domain, without text and with the stage as yet unseen. Yet, perhaps following Gluck’s precedent, Mozart linked his overtures to the dramatic action, to the point of prequotation (the overtures were written last).³ So, although the dramaturgy of The Magic Flute is remote from that of Gluck’s late operas, the overture shows what must be deliberate connections to what follows. The overture offers a sense of the numinous, of energy, and of intellectual engagement – all elements that play a significant role in the unfolding action – but it is not a symphonic précis of the opera, unlike the overture written shortly before, to La clemenza di Tito, which has been subtly interpreted by Daniel Heartz as a “dramatic argument.”⁴

Schikaneder’s public may have expected comedy, sentiment, and fantasy, but the overture prepares for higher styles. The Adagio “alla breve” (two half-note beats per measure rather than four quarters) is not so slow, and is short but solemn. The opening is rhythmically related to the “threefold chords” (“dreimalige Akkord”). In the Allegro, these are “quoted” from Act 2, dividing the sonata exposition from the development. The rest suggests mystery: strings, their dotted rhythm a hushed reminder of the opening, introduce minor coloring, punctuated by soft trombone chords. In the second finale, trombones present a similar dotted rhythm to introduce the chorale and “learned” (imitative) texture of the scene with two Armored Men. This full orchestration with trombones – which retain their association with religion and the supernatural – is unique in Mozart’s overtures (in Don Giovanni, trombones play in the “statue” scenes, but not when the same music opens the overture; his other Vienna operas use no trombones). Fugue, not a standard component of comic opera (despite the ending of Don Giovanni), is a principal topic of the Allegro, which combines fugue and sonata form – a procedure new to Mozart’s overtures but anticipated in the finale of the String Quartet in G, K. 387.⁵ Unlike that movement, however, the overture has only one well-defined theme, the fugue subject, which is also used for a brilliant tutti, then combined in the secondary key area with graceful woodwind solos (from mm. 57 and 74). The “threefold chords” intrude on the sonata design, bringing the music virtually to a halt (mm. 96–102). The development responds by further resourceful handling of the theme, largely in minor keys, with some strict canonic imitation (basses and violins, from m. 116). The retransition, and Mozart’s compositional resourcefulness in combining the recapitulation with fresh developments (from m. 144), add to the surpassing quality of this overture, which remains a concert favorite despite the oddly intrusive “threefold chords.”

Sarastro’s last words (Act 2 finale) assert that as sunrise expels night, so does virtue overcome wickedness. The breakthrough from night into day is the central metaphor for progress toward enlightenment, and is repeatedly reflected in the music: already in the overture (Adagio–Allegro; stormy development–recapitulation), and in No. 1, headed “Introduction” (sic). The scene presents a rugged, hence dangerous, terrain as Tamino runs on, pursued by a monstrous serpent. The key, C minor, is the dark shadow of the overture’s E-flat. Marked rhythms, tremolo, and sweeping scales represent terror, using the topic identified as tempesta.⁶ As Tamino faints, a harmonic interruption (m. 40) brings release; the Ladies slay the monster and their “Triumph!” restores the overture’s E-flat. Such harmonic strokes are a feature of later scenes, marking significant turning points in the plot. The Ladies cannot trust one another, if left alone, not to be too affectionate toward the unconscious prince. Thus the dark (tempesta) turns not to light but to the first passage of comedy, with a mild sexual charge. The keys follow the action: E-flat modulates to closely related G minor (by m. 119), followed by a lively G major in 6/8 and a furious stretta, closing in the tonic C, but in the major, at a faster tempo.⁷ No. 1, therefore, is an introduction to dramatic contrasts – terror; triumph; popular, if slightly misogynist, comedy – and to the opera’s principal tonalities.

A Tonal Overview

After E-flat, C, and G, the principal keys used in The Magic Flute are F and B-flat, neither of which frames a finale; nor does G, but its association, in major and minor modes, with Pamina and Papageno gives it an importance comparable to the framing tonalities.

A word of caution is needed in connection with keys. The subject offers more than the usual temptation to search for key symbolism, but while E-flat, the overall frame, has been associated with Freemasonry partly because it has three flats, it is also used for the servants of the evil Queen (Introduction). Mozart also employed C, major and minor, for “Masonic” works. C minor (also with three flats) reappears in the second finale for the solemn chorale before the trials of initiation, but also for the last entry of the Queen and her minions, intent on violence. C major frames the first finale and reappears in the second for the trials (and so for both “magic flute” solos), but C is also the key of Monostatos’s aria as he prepares to rape Pamina. A composer’s hands cannot be tied by fixed connotations of keys, even within a single work.

Tonality on its own cannot distinguish truth from falsehood, good from evil. Mozart’s choice of keys reflects practical considerations, instrumental (since only a few were then available for natural trumpets) and vocal, reflecting Mozart’s concern to “fit the costume to the figure.”⁸ His chosen keys place notes from the tonic chord, normally the third (mediant) or the fifth (dominant), high but comfortably within his singers’ ranges. These are usually exceeded by no more than one degree, at moments of climax or intense expression.

C and E-flat suited Benedikt Schack (the first Tamino); as Abert remarks, “It is doubtless largely thanks to Schack that the role of Tamino is of such high quality.”⁹ In his aria (No. 3), high G (g′) is the mediant in the tonic chord, E-flat, and the highest notes are all a-flat′. His first-finale solo is in C, using both a-flat′ and a-natural′ above the dominant, g′.¹⁰ The keys of G and F suited the actor-singer (baritone) Schikaneder (the first Papageno); both his arias and his solo in the second finale (also in G) exceed the dominant by one degree, reaching e, d, and in the finale a poignant e-flat′ borrowed from the minor mode as he contemplates suicide. B-flat (the Queen’s first aria, No. 4) and F (within the second, D minor, aria) invited Josepha Hofer’s top note (f′′′), approached by a leap, and probably attained by a vocal harmonic; it is noticeable that in her second aria (No. 14) f′′′ does not reappear in the final section. But B-flat is not the Queen’s personal key; it is used for the stern “threefold chords” and the Act 2 trio (No. 19) for Pamina, Tamino, and Sarastro. The keys of Sarastro’s principal utterances exploit the vocal resources (low notes, wide intervals) of Franz Xaver Gerl. His aria (No. 15) is in E, reaching c-sharp′, one degree above the dominant; his deepest note is F, the keynote of “O Isis und Osiris” (No. 10) and the fifth (dominant) in the trio. Mozart appreciated that Anna Gottlieb (once little Barbarina in Figaro) could now, as Pamina, ascend expressively to high B-flat and pitch wide intervals in her aria (No. 17). In each finale she sings important passages in F. In the first (from m. 395), kneeling, she explains her escape to Sarastro (whose kindly response brings his first low F).¹¹ In the second finale (from m. 277), embracing Tamino, she leaps to the high mediant, a′′. Such instrumental and vocal considerations were more likely to have been at the forefront of Mozart’s choice of keys than symbolism or larger structural questions.

Musical Styles

The variety of musical styles in The Magic Flute, and the separation of musical numbers by lengthy dialogues, gave rise to a study whose title queries whether it is more muddle than masterpiece.¹² The Magic Flute overture prepares us for grand ideas, and for storm and stress, but not for the sufferings of the characters; the Introduction (No. 1) combines terror and high comedy. Papageno’s entry introduces a new stylistic element, for “Der Vogelfänger bin ich ja” (No. 2) is headed “Aria” but is essentially a popular song.

Seeing the dead serpent, Papageno flinches, but (in speech) he is soon lying glibly to Tamino. This first passage of spoken dialogue introduces elements – comedy, deceit, friendship – that recur throughout the opera, in speech and in musical numbers. The strophic song form used by Papageno (twice) reappears in arias for Monostatos and Sarastro; Mozart also found strophic forms useful in arias that are not popular in character. The central plot is launched when, in the first true aria (No. 3, “Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön”), Tamino contemplates Pamina’s portrait. Like most arias in The Magic Flute, it is in one tempo throughout. Although Mozart composed several important arias in two or more tempi (e.g., those for Fiordiligi in Così fan tutte), only two in The Magic Flute change speed: the Queen’s first, grandly operatic in style, and Papageno’s second, popular in style. This usage corresponds to Der Stein der Weisen (written for – and, indeed, partly by – some of the same singers).

Mozart’s aria forms, like their keys, were selected to suit the strengths of the singers. But, in turn, these choices may affect our understanding of character. In a strophic song or a single-tempo aria the dramatic situation remains essentially unchanged; rather than advancing the action, the music explores the singing personality. Correspondences with characters in other works by Mozart, not necessarily of the same voice type, also contribute to the context in which we listen today: Heartz revealingly juxtaposes passages from The Magic Flute and La clemenza di Tito.¹³ When Tamino rises in his first phrase to g′ (the mediant), and develops it with its upper neighbor, the resulting gentle tension suggests comparisons to Mozart’s song “Das Traumbild” and the Countess’s E-flat aria (“Porgi amor”) in Figaro.¹⁴

The arias in Act 2 richly develop the varied characters: Monostatos intent on rape (No. 13), the Queen chastising her daughter (No. 14), Sarastro comforting Pamina (No. 15), her despair at Tamino’s obdurate silence (No. 17, “Ach ich fühl’s”), and Papageno’s second strophic song (No. 20, the stanzas progressively elaborated by the “magic bells”). Each form suits characters whose feelings at this stage are concentrated on one thing only. This makes the two-tempo aria for the Queen in Act 1 (No. 4) a significant exception. We hear her approach before we see her; the libretto mentions a “hideous chord with music” (“erschütternde Akkord mit Musik”), for which Mozart provided no notation. Her arrival should be spectacular, and her appearance visibly alarms Tamino, for her first words, in recitative, are “Do not tremble” (“O zittre nicht”). McClelland identifies her entry music as tempesta, pointing to its “veiled” reappearance in the brilliant B-flat major Allegro that concludes the aria.¹⁵ The first, slow section of the aria is a plaint in G minor, the key Mozart favored for women in distress.¹⁶ The voice rises with almost overdone sincerity to a semitone above the keynote (a-flat′′), foreign to the G minor scale, and the harmonized cadential descent (mm. 59–60) employs all twelve pitches of the chromatic set.

At this point, the Queen appears sympathetic, and Tamino is easily persuaded to attempt Pamina’s rescue; but her music – including another unusual feature: aria sections in different keys – may allow us to question her sincerity. The difference from Pamina’s G minor aria is telling. The 6/8 meter of “Ach ich fühl’s” is more lilting than the Queen’s 3/4, but the phrasing is hesitant, the vocal line divided by rests. The Queen’s line is more sustained and controlled (indeed controlling, of Tamino). Pamina’s coloratura (many notes to a syllable) is slower, gentler, and not stratospheric like the Queen’s, and her wide intervals (one and a half octaves: m. 34) are agonized where those of Sarastro seem authoritative, secure. Wide vocal intervals for Fiordiligi are sometimes misinterpreted as satirical, but they were part of every prima donna’s technique.¹⁷

Chromatic saturation does not in itself imply insincerity. In the Queen’s aria, it provides information which, with hindsight, suggests that, if not actually lying, she is operating on Tamino for her own selfish ends. Pamina’s closing phrases use ten of the possible twelve notes (lacking only F and B), but her final cadences are straightforwardly diatonic. She is less complex than her mother, but the distribution of musical elements suggests the genuineness of her love and consequent misery. Pamina’s entry in the second finale adopts C minor and then intensifies tonally to G minor (from m. 80); all twelve pitches are in play at the cadence (mm. 92–93). Yet this cadence is deceptive; the music, like her suicide, is interrupted when the Genii intervene, and G minor is displaced by E-flat, which the Genii adopt for the Allegro. Thus the course of Pamina’s life, like Tamino’s in the first finale, is turned round by a harmonic deception.

Whereas in Mozart’s opera buffa finales, the linked sections consist mostly of ensembles that usually run their course to a cadence, those of The Magic Flute include various kinds of declamation, recitative-like or in tempo, and sections of music that are “open” in form, without a final cadence. This freedom enabled him to include the complex scene of Tamino’s realization that all may not be as it seemed prior to his arrival at the temples. Following solemn, if nonspecific, advice from the Genii, he is left alone to express his puzzlement in recitative. Rejected at two of the temple gates, he is confronted at the third by the “Elderly Priest” (also sometimes called “Sprecher” [Orator]¹⁸) whose entry, which changes Tamino’s life, is signaled by a change of harmonic direction when A-flat follows the descending C minor arpeggio (m. 85, Adagio). Recitative allows Mozart to distinguish orchestrally between Tamino’s impetuosity and the Priest’s grave, if cryptic, responses. When Tamino grows agitated, with tremolo (m. 109, “Sarastro herrschet hier”), the harmony implies resolution into F minor; as if in reproof, the Priest contradicts this expectation with a C minor chord (m. 110), rather than C major, the dominant of F. More sustained harmonies, as if to calm the young man, introduce the Priest’s last words, sung in tempo (m. 137), in A minor, to a distinct melodic shape – a minuscule arioso.

Still more perplexed about what is truth and what deceit, Tamino invokes the night (“O ew’ge Nacht!”), retaining the key of A minor, but with an unmistakable echo of the Queen’s first words (Example 5.1). Can this be coincidence? Perhaps it was intentional; by harmonizing with the voice (the Queen’s a′ and Tamino’s g-sharp: her “nicht” and his “Nacht”), the chords in the upper parts clash with the retained bass note.¹⁹ Other musical cross-references, making connections across the spoken dialogues, suggest that in this opera Mozart, or his unconscious, may have been working that way. The scene is concluded in A minor, when the Priest’s miniature arioso is twice repeated on cellos, accompanying the unseen male chorus.

Example 5.1 The Queen’s “O zittre nicht” (No. 4) and Tamino’s “O ew’ge Nacht” (No. 8).

Tamino has recourse to the magic flute, playing solo in a section unlike anything in Mozart’s other finales.²⁰ “Wie stark ist nicht dein Zauberton” is an open form; after a reprise and a darkening to C minor, the flute scale is answered by Papageno’s pipe and the song breaks off. Tamino’s excited response (m. 212, Presto) ascends to f′, then a′, on a pause (m. 216); there follows one measure only of Adagio, then Presto, this time with a cadence in C. He exits to a recitative-style punctuation figure, very much like that with which he had approached the temples. Unfortunately, Pamina and Papageno enter from the other direction, as if to remind us that The Magic Flute is, among other things, a comedy. The last part of the finale, framed by choruses in praise of Sarastro, proceeds swiftly and flexibly through confrontations and the noble couple’s moment of recognition. The key scheme is simple (C major and near relations G and F), without deceptive tonal shifts, for good and evil are now distinct; Sarastro’s speech to Pamina is all benevolence, he punishes Monostatos, and although he parts the lovers before their trials, trumpets and drums in C major proclaim his dignity and strength.

When Mozart went to Munich to work on Idomeneo in the presence of the singers, he engaged in an epistolary battle with the librettist (by way of his father) and exerted further control by composing the final ballet, which could have been left to a local composer. In Vienna Mozart lived near his poets, so there is no comparable record of their collaboration. But given his intimacy with Schikaneder and his troupe, it seems likely that he helped shape elements of the libretto and stage action and was happy with the freedom these offered to select appropriate musical forms without having to bend to the will of the highly paid singers at the court theater. Schikaneder, as impresario, no doubt took a controlling hand in ensuring the variety and brilliance of the spectacle, but it was surely Mozart who decided to set the various trials to strikingly original music that eschews the invitation to melodramatic excess.

Pamina, unlike Tamino and the reluctant Papageno, seems not to know that she is being subjected to trials, which she mostly has to face alone. The men receive specific advice after the solemn hymn (“O Isis und Osiris”), when two Priests interrogate them in dialogue, concluding with a very short duet (No. 11). The words are an invitation to critics of the opera seeking out misogyny. But Mozart does not present this stern advice to beware of the wiles of women in severe, minor key music, nor in the martial style already associated with Sarastro. Instead, the music is fast, light in tone and texture, in a comic vein, the flowing, galant melody incorporating a chromatic innuendo (on the words “er fehlte”). True, the orchestra includes trombones. But even the march-like conclusion (from m. 18) is sung sotto voce, with the orchestra piano and staccato. Mozart seems to imply that although the men must follow the Priests’ injunction, we – the audience – should not take it too seriously.

Tamino is given no music to correspond to the pain he must feel on hearing Pamina’s aria (“Ach ich fühl’s”), and his flute, even if it is heard during the dialogues (as sometimes happens, without notation from Mozart), is of no service here. The use of dialogue, rather than recitative, contributes directly to characterization when the Queen, who does not speak in the first act, confronts Pamina before her tempestuous “Der Hölle Rache” by talking – like an ordinary person. In this justly celebrated aria, requiring her to hit the top note four times (against once in Act 1), Mozart again shows his resourcefulness in handling tonal form, which requires a return to the original key, D minor, and also to the passagework heard in the subsidiary key, F major. So her rage now overflows in running triplets (from m. 69), before the passagework resumes, compensating for its lower pitch (reaching d′′′ rather than f′′′) by a sequential extension (from m. 77). The conclusion is an incisive recitative (“Hört der Mutter Schwur!”), with eleven pitches (missing only C) in the last few measures.

Another trial for Pamina is that she is reintroduced to Tamino (in dialogue), only to be told by Sarastro (speaking) that they are meeting for their “letzte Lebewohl” (final farewell). When the music starts (Trio, No. 19), Sarastro contradicts himself, singing that they will meet again (“Ihr werdet froh euch wiedersehn”). The lovers seem not to hear, even at the end where Sarastro’s deep notes reassure us: “We’ll meet again” (“Wir sehn uns wieder”). Pamina’s deafness to Sarastro’s words leads to further despair and her resolve to die if she must lose Tamino. The trio’s music is serene (Andante moderato in B-flat, with few woodwind instruments but no brass or percussion) and may represent the truth of the situation, but not the whole truth, for it leaves the lovers in uncertainty. In the interests of dramatic suspense, Mozart is careful not to express this too obviously.

The lovers’ reunion within the finale is in F major, the key of the solemn march that opened Act 2. Now Pamina takes control; after an outburst of joy, she becomes grave on recognizing the magic flute. As in the parallel scene with the Elderly Priest in the first finale, Mozart turns to near-recitative, moving fluidly (m. 317) to G minor, before returning to the local tonic, F, for a quartet in which Pamina soars above Tamino and the two Armored Men. After each trial the lovers’ voices join, their personalities merged as if in matrimony; their silence in the last scene at their moment of glorification marks their absorption into the community, and with it, perhaps, a loss of autonomy.

For the final trials Mozart hit on something extraordinary. Did Schikaneder ask him not to make the music too exciting, in case it distracted from the visual representation of the perils of fire and water? For in this scene the spectacle (as in the French “merveilleux”) should indeed be wonderful. Mozart makes no attempt to parallel what the stage machinery offers; fire and water are alike in the music. Not every late eighteenth-century composer would be so reticent; compare the collapse of the magic palace and gardens in Lully’s Armide (a simple, major key flourish) with the D- minor histrionics to which Gluck set the same libretto (1777). Mozart created a unique sound-world; it sufficed to provide the flute with its second solo, over basic harmony from a brass choir, the phrases softly punctuated by timpani. Taken out of context, this might appear dry, unresponsive, and not a little weird; within the opera it is utterly compelling.

Apotheosis of Papageno

When the chorus proclaims “Triumph!” the opera might have ended, except that the key is still C major, not E-flat, and Papageno’s story is incomplete. He seems to have failed the trials, but he is otherwise worthy and does no harm. He has glimpsed a youthful Papagena, cruelly snatched away. He becomes worthy of her through his willingness to die. The scene is in G major, like his first song, but the musical form is far from simple. He calls her name, with a fanfare shape resembling the choral “Triumph!” of the Act 1 finale, and pipes in vain to summon her. Then comes new melodic material that forms the basis of a sonata rondo of 130 measures, a thoroughly modern (though usually instrumental) form that cannot be called popular. Mozart takes full control by imposing a musical design on a shapeless text. The rondo theme involves stuttering calls and the smoother phrase first heard at measure 418. When this phrase returns at measure 444, the two-note anacrusis will not fit the words, so Mozart uses a three-note anacrusis instead; at measure 468 the original anacrusis is restored (Example 5.2).

Example 5.2 Papageno in the Act 2 finale, comparison of mm. 443–47 and 468–71.

The rondo episodes are Papageno’s only extended minor-mode music, though his tragicomic “O Weh!” ended the first-act quintet in G minor. The first episode uses the relative, E minor, with an agitated running figure inverting his piping motif (Example 5.3); chromatic runs further expand Papageno’s musical lexicon.

Example 5.3 Papageno in the Act 2 finale, motives from the same section, mm. 415–17 and 447–49.

In the second episode, as if in empathy with Pamina, Papageno adopts G minor, relating the episode material to the main keynote. His tonal domain is further enriched by cadences in its relative, B-flat (to m. 493). Papageno is an allegro character, but now he falters, with sensitive chromatic touches (G minor, with “Neapolitan” A-flat, m. 539), in a passage that could almost be inserted into her aria. Again, harmonic interruption signals a change of fortune; a G-minor cadence seems to have been prepared, but is displaced by a dominant seventh on G, pointing to C (m. 543). In a new tempo and meter, the Genii remind Papageno of the magic bells, which ring out again in C major before the scene is rounded tonally by returning to G for the duet with Papagena.

This is the climax of the comic element in The Magic Flute, but with all Papageno has gone through, it is an epiphany he thoroughly deserves, prepared by the relative complexity of his sonata rondo. With the ensembles in which he takes part, this scene confirms that Schikaneder was an accomplished musician as well as a versatile actor and ambitious impresario. This apotheosis of the bird couple is remote from the world of the temple, but the authors’ enlightenment conception seems to have been that simple folk, without ambition and represented mainly in a comic mode, should receive their due as real people who can also suffer. Papageno’s actions are a potent critique of the initiates who have brought him to this pass. Mozart’s music is pitched at a level that makes it possible to interpret it as simultaneously comical and essentially serious. We may laugh at Papageno’s counting one-two-three before accepting his destiny, but it is through tears – unless we withhold those for the sudden incursion of the Genii, whose music throughout is among the most beguiling of the whole opera.

The Genii and the Ending

The Genii (“Knaben”) embody the comical sublime that binds the disparate strands of the opera – not, mercifully, into a “unity” but into a more interesting kind of wholeness. They are purely musical; they are only heard in song. Their first entry (Act 1 finale) is heralded by an imposing slow march, using trombones for the first time since the overture, in marked contrast to their high voices. On their last appearance, they toss Papagena onto the stage in a scene of pure fun. These entries may be made on foot, but for one delicious ensemble (No. 16), they should appear in a flying machine (“Flugwerk”). Their words echo the Priests in commanding the initiates to silence, distinguishing Tamino from Papageno, but the music is the same for each; the dancing A major Allegretto in 6/8 has some of the lightest orchestration even for this opera, so that, as with the Priests’ duet, we are encouraged not to take the next trial too much in earnest. Sounding graver in the second finale, counseling Pamina (from m. 94), the Genii nevertheless sing in a delicately orchestrated galant style. Less individualized than the Queen’s Ladies (the first of whom has a few solo passages and who do speak), the Genii affect the action more and touch the extremes of the opera’s dramatic and musical range.

At the end, a scene heralded by a glorious sunrise, the Genii and the noble lovers are on stage, but silent. The Queen’s futile attempt at a coup is followed by a final transition from darkness to light and to the framing key, E-flat major. The brittle C-minor march of the Queen and her minions and the violence of their overthrow are slowed by whole-measure harmonies in tremolo (Example 5.4). The transition emerges onto F, which, with an added seventh, brings temporary closure in B-flat. The chain of suspensions (mm. 820–21) invites a slight relaxation of the tempo, not indicated by Mozart but an invitation to conductors that is sometimes accepted to good effect.

Example 5.4 Act 2 finale, the Queen and her entourage, mm. 812–22.

As the stage fills with light, orchestral gestures give Sarastro’s short recitative the incisive character of his entry in Act 1. His speech overlaps with a steadily unfolding cadence, in tempo (Andante), settling in E-flat. The chorus enters with more intertextual references. Within the Act 2 finale, the scene of the two Armored Men already recalled the overture by its imitative counterpoint (albeit with a different theme) and the first finale by its solemn introduction. The latter is more literally redeployed to start the final two-section chorus that proceeds from solemn thankfulness to festive joy (Example 5.5).

Example 5.5 Act 2 finale comparison: mm. 190–96 (Adagio of the Armored Men) and 829–34 (in the opera’s last scene).

The glorification of Pamina and Tamino is followed by an Allegro contredanse of the kind often used in symphonic finales, its pointed first theme (m. 847) contrasted with a lyrical phrase (m. 787), which may remind us that this work was intended to entertain as much as, if not more than, edify.

The Magic Flute, in sum, is not a muddle, but an inspired synthesis of stylistic elements. Joseph Kerman endorsed Edward J. Dent’s “appreciation of the impeccable dramatic structure,” in which “the music sums up the dramatic situation and illuminates it” in every number.²¹ In this respect, the music also justifies the dialogues which Dent’s edition curtailed, while resisting any temptation to subvert the work’s nature by substituting recitative.²² Antonio Salieri, no mean composer of opera, serious and comic, and Caterina Cavalieri, the first Konstanze in Die Entführung, rightly called The Magic Flute an “operone” (grand opera).²³ There is no need to apologize for its stylistic mixture which, on the contrary, is an essential part of its strength.