To be invited, as a music analyst, to explore the ensembles and choruses in The Magic Flute is at once both enticing and daunting. The enticement needs little explanation: Who would not rejoice at the chance to spend scholarly time with this work, the music of which is unquestionably as bezaubernd schön as the image of Pamina that launches Tamino’s quest? As for what is daunting – aside from the very challenge to do verbal justice somehow to that Schönheit – part of the answer lies in the fact that the traditional concentration on ensembles, including finales (if not choruses), in analytical accounts of Mozart’s operas has been subjected to harsh criticism, and in high places. Carolyn Abbate and Roger Parker, addressing (again) the opening duet from Le nozze di Figaro, argued more than thirty years ago that “the traditional concentration on ensembles in the Mozart literature may lie simply in professional habits. Writers on musical topics – analysts in particular – tend to turn to a small repertoire of much-analysed pieces whenever they wish to advance a new theory or to demonstrate a new prowess.” And they note that Figaro in particular “has its share of these poor, battered and dismembered exemplars, brutally denied an opportunity to speak out against those who have assailed them.”¹ One can at least reply that the ensembles in The Magic Flute have suffered less battering than those in Figaro, and in the Da Ponte operas more generally.

Abbate and Parker go on to suggest, more seriously, that the concentration on ensembles may be laid at the door of late nineteenth-century Mozart reception, and Wagnerism in particular, with its emphasis on unity of music and dramatic action, on the one hand, and purely musical unity, particularly in the shape of large-scale “symphonic” formal structures, on the other. And although eschewing a “call to arms,” they invite consideration of the possibility that “coherence, symmetry or ‘symphonic’ sense” and “absolute correspondence between the unfolding of music, text and stage-action” may not be the only aesthetic criteria against which the Mozartian operatic ensemble may be fruitfully measured.² They trace the concern with large-scale formal processes, and thus ensembles and finales, back to the work of Alfred Lorenz in the 1920s, as also has James Webster, who notes that what Lorenz initiated was perpetuated in the work of writers such as Joseph Kerman and Charles Rosen.

This brings Webster to the importance given over by Kerman and Rosen to the role of sonata form, “both as a primary constituent of Mozart’s operas and as a criterion of value.”³ Indeed, writing of the chief characteristics of the sonata style in his hugely influential The Classical Style, Rosen could state that “there is no question, however, that Mozart was the first composer to comprehend, in any systematic way, their implications for opera,”⁴ before going on to develop an extended sonata-form analysis of the Act 3 sextet from Figaro that itself quickly became paradigmatic for later commentators. Yet, as Webster noted, only one of the sixteen nonduet ensembles in the Da Ponte operas “is unambiguously in sonata form!”⁵ And already by 1996 Tim Carter could report that sonata-form analyses of Mozart ensembles were “coming under threat,” while going on to remark that “the need for an adequate typology of Mozart’s ensemble sonata (and other) forms has not yet been met by the literature.”⁶ More importantly, perhaps, in comparing Figaro to Così fan tutte, he suggested that Mozart may have become increasingly eager “to explore realistic alternatives to sonata-form organization,” in particular adopting the “looser, more progressive structures” typical of finales to mid-act ensemble movements.⁷

The twenty-first-century ensemble analyst, then, can no longer take easy refuge in cozy formal strategies of earlier critics, which were already creaking at the end of the twentieth.⁸ And even if one were to argue that the ensembles in The Magic Flute, a Singspiel, may not best be approached from the formal paradigm of Italian opera buffa, there remains the fact that the dramatis personae of The Magic Flute include unique groupings that materially affect the musical and dramatic conception of several ensembles. Most telling in this respect are the Three Ladies and the Three Boys, who function not as individuals but rather as what might be termed “ensemble characters.” This point was noted as far back as 1956 by Gerald Abraham, in the context of a discussion of Mozart’s preference for the operatic ensemble as a vehicle for the development of dramatic character. Given this purpose, it is not surprising that the composer tended to favor duets and trios, “the combinations which offer him one character to strike against another or two others. When more characters are introduced, problems begin to arise.”⁹ While in Figaro and Don Giovanni, and excluding finales, the trio texture is exceeded only by one quartet and two sextets, The Magic Flute boasts a quintet in each act, both set for the same characters (namely, Tamino, Papageno, and the Three Ladies). But since the Ladies “amount to only one character, their quintets … are, from the dramatic point of view, essentially trios.”¹⁰

The lack of individuality of these two sets of characters is emphasized by the layout of some editions of the score (the Eulenburg version, edited from the autograph by Hermann Abert, being a case in point), in which the first two Ladies and two Boys are scored on one stave while the third (often functioning as what Abraham terms a “pseudo-bass”¹¹) is scored separately. This does not reflect Mozart’s practice in the autograph, in which he routinely provided a separate stave for each part.¹² But even in cases such as the Introduction (No. 1), measures 106–19, when the Ladies sing in contrapuntal dialogue with one another, their music, thoughts, and motivation are essentially all one. As for the multisection Introduction as a whole, it might logically be termed a quartet, in that the participating characters are the Three Ladies and Tamino. Even so, the entrance of the Ladies (m. 40) marks the end of Tamino’s vocal contribution: he sings as a soloist and then remains unconscious for the rest of the number, so the four characters never sing together. This is an ensemble – and Introduction – in a quite different sense to that of the action- and character-filled “Introduzione” that opens Don Giovanni.

Tamino’s presence in the Act 1 quintet is similarly compromised. It is notable that following his opening duet with Papageno, lamenting his inability to free Papageno’s padlocked mouth, he is largely silent, except for those passages in which all five parts combine in “moralizing” statements (mm. 54–77, 111–32, 184–203).¹³ Only after the last of these does Tamino make any contribution to plot development, in asking where he and Papageno are to find Sarastro’s castle; remarkably, the Ladies’ earlier gift of the magic flute (mm. 80–87) – a sine qua non of the entire action – brings forth no individual response from him. A good deal of this “quintet” actually operates as a vocal quartet for the Three Ladies and Papageno; or rather, by Abraham’s logic, it functions as a duet. Similarly, the three constituent characters of the succeeding trio (No. 6) never sing as a trio: rather, the number is constituted of two duets, each tonally closed in G, one for Monostatos and Pamina, the other for Monostatos and Papageno. Even the duets (Act 1, No. 7; Act 2, No. 11) are not occasions for “one character to strike against another”; the Two Priests in “Bewahret euch vor Weibertücken” sing as one, like the Ladies and Boys, while Pamina and Papageno, highly differentiated characters in so many respects though they be, inhabit the same musical and emotional world in “Bei Männern, welche Liebe fühlen.” This characteristic merging of characters perhaps reaches its apogee in the celebrated “duet” for the Men in Armor in the Act 2 finale (mm. 206–37), where both sing in unison at the octave, their music not even Mozart’s but rather the chorale melody “Ach Gott, vom Himmel sieh’ darein.” Indeed, given that the chorale melody was substituted for an alternative melodic line initially sketched by Mozart, one can perhaps speak here not so much of the merging of characters but rather of the anonymization or even suppression of “character” itself.¹⁴

The Act 1 and 2 Quintets

The temptation to invoke classical instrumental forms in relation to the ensembles is well illustrated by Erik Smith’s suggestion that the Act 1 quintet “could be described harmonically as a sonata rondo with coda, but not in the normal sense of a recurring melody, for Mozart constantly finds new words and new situations requiring new music.”¹⁵ Inasmuch as one cannot deny the overarching I–V–I–vi/modulatory–I tonal scheme, the formal comparison is at least intelligible; but to try to think of this music in terms of sonata rondo does little for one’s experience of its unfolding. In particular, there is lacking the more dynamic transition between sections, and especially between dominant and tonic, that is so characteristic of the sonata style. Smith himself notes the “perfunctory” nature of the shift to V (mm. 33–35) for the beginning of his second section; and one might say the same of the return to I for the beginning of the third, measures 77–81 – essentially the same formula that links the penultimate and final sections of the Introduction, measures 151–53. Mozart’s musical design is clearly indebted to the structure of the libretto: the move to V at measures 34–35 corresponds to the scene shift introducing the Three Ladies, for example; and the “moralizing” statements directed to be sung by “Alle Fünf” in Schikaneder’s libretto evidently dictated the location of the close to Smith’s second and third sections.

Smith’s suggestion that measures 133–71 form a section “in G minor” in which “Papageno is ordered to accompany Tamino” is also open to question, in that it fails to acknowledge the strong turn toward D minor (iii) that sets in as the Ladies tell Papageno what the Queen of the Night requires of him, including the emphatic V pedals with neighboring augmented-sixth harmonies in measures 150–57. Only after the passage has come to a full cadence in D minor with the Ladies’ closing instruction at measure 163 is there a return to the realm of G minor, where Papageno is speaking “für sich” rather than engaging with those around him.¹⁶ If one were to defend Smith’s G-minor reading, however, one could point to the detail that as he begins this private speech, Papageno reiterates the VI♯6–V/g progression that concluded his attempted leave-taking of the Ladies at measures 138–39. In this sense, then, the D-minor passage, for all its musical and dramatic prominence, might be considered musically subordinate, or parenthetical, to a more overarching tonal continuity. There will be occasion to return to the notion of parenthesis below.

Schikaneder’s “Alle Fünf” directions in the libretto are absorbed into the close of the second and third sections of Smith’s sonata rondo scheme, as already remarked. But the third such direction (“Silberglöckchen, Zauberflöten”) is treated by Smith as the beginning of his sixth section, which would implicitly function as the “recapitulation” in his sonata rondo scheme. Prior to this, he identifies measures 172–83 as a conspicuously “short E flat section in which Papageno is presented with the glockenspiel.” (Only the beginning is “in” E-flat; by its conclusion, this section has returned to V/I.) It is not difficult to recognize that this event parallels the presentation, earlier and in the tonic B-flat, of the magic flute to Tamino. If we allow our analysis to be guided as much by the construction of the libretto and the events on stage as by abstract, tonic-driven tonal and formal schemes, it makes sense to read the arrival at B-flat in measure 184 as an ending rather than a beginning. And an ending it clearly is, as the words of farewell and the stage direction “Alle wollen gehen” make clear.

This returns us to the idea of parenthesis, which may serve to critique the weakest aspect of Smith’s analysis – namely, that “the Andante in B flat forms the coda.” (It is not even dignified with its measure numbering, 214–47, in Smith’s table.) The coda designation is reasonable, in that all five characters had been preparing to leave the stage following their farewells and the strong tonic closure in measures 196–203. On the other hand, the dominant preparation for the Andante (measures 207–13), the last of the four sections in this quintet to open in the tonic, is far more emphatic – and more characteristic of sonata style – than any heard previously, including particularly that (measures 180–83) which sets up the preceding section, presumed to be a conclusion. This, at last, feels like a “willed” arrival of the tonic key rather than a chance re-encounter with it. Registrally, however, and in terms of its (gorgeous) scoring, it does not follow seamlessly from that preparation; only gradually, once Tamino and Papageno begin to repeat what the Ladies have told them about the Three Boys, is the lower register and eventually full scoring retrieved.

To the extent that a coda can be regarded as a tonal and formal afterthought, an appendix to the main action, the label here is singularly inappropriate on both counts. This is a distinct moment, at which musical and dramatic considerations clearly align in some senses but not in others. Tonally speaking, one can argue that this is the goal of the entire design; dramatically, it marks the introduction of the Boys, a new “ensemble character,” but without their being physically present. In his music for the Three Ladies here, Mozart brilliantly evokes the ensemble singing style of these extraterrestrial beings and the role they will later play. Schikaneder directed that Tamino and Papageno repeat only the first two (“Drei Knäbchen … Reise”) of the Ladies’ four lines and that following these all five characters repeat the lines of farewell that had seemed to be bringing the quintet to its end at measure 192. Mozart follows suit: the Ladies repeat the second half of their verse after Tamino and Papageno have sung their lines, following which – counterintuitively, perhaps – the latter begin the words of farewell, but borrow the Ladies’ music referring to the Three Boys, the end of which is then taken up by all, closing at measure 241. The remaining six measures may properly be described as a coda, but they might just as easily have performed the same function in relation to the first farewell close, back at measure 203. It is in this sense that the main body of the Andante may be regarded as parenthetical to a larger continuity. Accordingly, the tonic arrival at its beginning is at once a significant tonal goal, in an immediate sense, and yet an interpolation in a larger scheme. This quintet ends, after all, with an interpolated vision of characters yet to be seen. That is why we might think of the B-flat tonic as in some sense “there” and yet not quite being there at all (see Example 7.1).

Example 7.1 Act 1 quintet (No. 5), formal overview.

If this last claim seems far-fetched to some, as an attempt to suggest that for dramatic and musical reasons the tonal closure of the Act 1 quintet may not be as definite as it appears on the pages of the score, the relative openness of the ending of the Act 2 quintet, which cannot be dealt with at such length here, is much less debatable, closing as it does in the minor mode of its G tonic, a dramatic and sudden shift brought about by the surprise imprecations of the unseen Priests.¹⁷ In fact, the Priests’ entry here (“Entweiht ist die heilige Schwelle”) at first seems to wrench the tonality not toward G minor but rather C minor, itself the parallel minor of their C-major duet (No. 11), which is separated from the quintet by only the briefest passage of spoken dialogue. There is thus a close musical and dramatic continuity between these two numbers: the Priests quit the stage after No. 11, but they may be understood as (initially) silent participants in the quintet; overhearers of the Ladies’ claims of their falsehood and of the unavoidable descent into hell of those who join their brotherhood, the Priests eventually intervene to cast down the Ladies themselves.¹⁸ The universalized moralizing warning against “Weibertücken” in No. 11 finds its specific target here at the end of the quintet. And the closing shift to G minor is cleverly prefigured in Papageno’s unexpected D–E-flat ascent at “unerhört!” in measures 71–72; indeed, the Priests (note also the similar forte unison accompaniments) pick up the very same pitch, though approached now from g a minor sixth below, at their entry in measures 151–52, and Papageno will repeat his original semitonal ascent at the first of his three “O weh!” cries (measures 160–61) before he falls to the ground.¹⁹

Eschewing a detailed comparison, Smith claims that this number “shows a similar construction” to that of the Act 1 quintet, while noting that it differs in setting “a single situation throughout.”²⁰ There are indeed superficial similarities: the opening tonic section is followed by one in the dominant and then a return to the tonic, even (as is not the case in Act 1) with a reprise of the “recurring instrumental phrase” [flute, violin I]) associated by Smith with “the sweet blandishments of the Ladies” and latterly Tamino’s “rather platitudinous refusals” – though the reprise, if not “purely” musical, might as well have been prompted by the similar words of the Ladies, “Tamino, dir ist Tod geschworen!” (mm. 11–13) and “Tamino, hör! Du bist verloren!” (mm. 47–49), which also draw from Mozart a repeat of their earlier music. Compared to the Act 1 quintet, though, what is importantly different here, from the musical point of view, is the greater – more “sonata”-like? – space and energy given to the securing of the dominant key (mm. 21–29; note the extended root dominant pedal, compared to the “perfunctory” first-inversion harmony at mm. 34–35 in the Act 1 quintet) as Tamino enjoins Papageno to silence. And unlike in Act 1, the return to the tonic at measures 41–45 is not aligned with a new thought or action, but rather closes off Tamino’s exasperated question to Papageno.

The ensuing modulatory section, touching on IV and ii, again has its loose parallel in Act 1; but the second return to I at measures 64–65 (equivalent to the tutti “Silberglöckchen,” Smith’s “recapitulation,” at measure 184 in the earlier quintet) is reached merely through sequential repetition of the two preceding measures (g-sharp–e–a/f-sharp–d–g) and is again embedded within the ongoing confrontation between Tamino and the Ladies rather than initiating some new stage in the proceedings, which now lead musically to another extended dominant harmony that will provide the backdrop to Papageno’s intrusive E-flat (the pun on “unerhört!” is delicious) and what it portends. The “recurring instrumental phrase” (“motive” in Example 7.2) appears again to connect this dominant quietly forward to the tonic at measures 76–80; again, and in contrast to the Act 1 quintet (compare the dominant pedal leading to the Andante there), there is no obvious dramatic motive for this tonal return. The final reassertion of the tonic, at measure 112, is motivated by the single passage of the libretto set for “Alle Fünf” – thus, the only piece of genuine quintet writing in the whole number – but it essentially falls within the sway of the earlier arrival at measure 80 (see Example 7.2).

Example 7.2 Act 2 quintet (No. 12), formal overview.

As superficially similar (irrespective of appeals to conventional instrumental forms) as the tonal schemes of these two extended numbers may be considered to be (compare Examples 7.1 and 7.2²¹), what is more important to grasp is their different dynamics or qualities; this has much to do with the treatment of the tonic in each, especially in relation to the libretto and dramatic action. Also different is the more emphatic “staging” of the initial move to V (identified in Example 7.2 as the “structural” V, in contrast to Example 7.1) in the Act 1 quintet, and the second move toward that harmony (mm. 67–71), which has no counterpart in the Act 2 quintet. Most different of all, of course, are the two endings, the one interrupted by an ethereal vision and the other by an all too real peripeteia that has clearly audible musical consequences: the tonic is now unquestionably “there” at the end, but it is no longer the tonic that we have known.

Those Magnificent Boys in Their Flying Machine …

Reference has already been made to the special, and in some respects unique, nature of the ensembles in The Magic Flute. For Christoph Wolff, “compared to all of Mozart’s other operas, any attempt to classify the duets, trios and quintets likewise [as with the arias] reveals an unparalleled variety.”²² That variety is particularly plain to see if one compares the large structures of the quintets with one of the shortest numbers in the opera, the trio “Seid uns zum zweiten Mal willkommen” from Act 2, in which the Boys greet Tamino and Papageno and return their magical instruments to them. Its thirty-six measures parse effortlessly into 9x4-measure phrases; the harmony is stunningly simple, consisting of little more than alternating tonics and dominants. (Wolff’s “variety” can also be gauged in the comparison between this and the succeeding trio, No. 19, for Pamina, Tamino, and Sarastro, which at 78 measures has much more the tonal design of the Act 1 quintet, with which it shares both its key and its closing farewell wish.) The light, high-register accompaniment is not identical to that of the Andante “vision” in the Act 1 quintet, but serves similarly to transport us off ground and into the ether.

For all its manifest simplicity, though, this miniature harbors some fascinating subtleties. Mozart’s 6/8 meter could have accommodated Schikaneder’s iambic tetrameters in the manner of No. 7, the duet “Bei Männern,” also in 6/8 (though to imagine singing the words of one of these numbers to the music of the other is an object lesson in Mozart’s sense for text-music proprieties). As the autograph shows, he completely rebarred “Bei Männern,” shifting the barline by half a measure, which alters the words that take the main musical accent at line ends.²³ The accommodation of the text to the music in No. 16, however, creates sometimes inappropriate stresses at line beginnings (“Seid uns” rather than “Seid uns”; “die Flöte,” rather than “die Flöte,” m. 11).²⁴

Schikaneder’s ten lines of text comprise two quatrains and a closing couplet. At the outset, Mozart’s four-measure phrase accommodates two lines of text (mm. 5–8, 9–12, 13–16, 17–20). But because the setting of lines 5–6 (mm. 13–16) prolongs the dominant harmony reached at measure 12, the musical reprise at measures 17–18 corresponds to the second half of the second quatrain, rather than the first, as was the case at measures 5–6. That is, the musical and textual structure have drawn apart from one another. Furthermore, measures 19–20 do not reprise measures 7–8 but rather repeat measures 17–18, remaining on V at the close. The remaining two lines of the couplet are now each accommodated within a four-measure phrase, which again results in a change – a kind of augmentation – of the hypermetrical correlation between text and music. A further subtlety is that the pitch content of the first measure of these two phrases (measures 21 and 25) is closely related to that of the second measure of the initial four-measure phrase: the violin part in each case spans e2–d3. Finally, the overall metrical regularity of this little number is briefly disturbed, as the setting of the couplet is completed at measure 28. Here, as hitherto in all cases, the final cadence falls on the second beat of the fourth measure of the phrase. But Mozart’s decision to repeat “still, schweige still” in a further four-measure phrase has the effect of shifting the barline back by one beat (the autograph in this case shows no indecision on Mozart’s part, however), so that the tonic arrivals in measures 28 and 30 feel like downbeats. The original, correct metrical scheme is restored by the closing repetition of the very first phrase: as the Boys came, so they go.

All Together, Now!

Outside of the two act finales, examined elsewhere in this volume, the role of the Chorus is limited to two numbers, both in Act 2, and both scored for male voices only: No. 10, Sarastro’s aria with Chorus, and No. 18. That both of them begin with the words “O Isis und Osiris” is an obvious link; and while the libretto identifies the former as “Chorus” and the latter as “Chor,” Mozart’s autograph specifically identifies the characters as the “Chor der Priester” (or “Priestern”) in both instances.²⁵ What is particularly revealing here in the libretto directions is that Schikaneder envisaged No. 10 as a Chorus only; together with the March of the Priests (No. 9), which opens Act 2, and the dramatically and textually related No. 18, these numbers would have formed two imposing choral pillars at either end of the act prior to the finale. It was Mozart’s idea, then, to use Schikaneder’s text as an aria for Sarastro, the role of the chorus eventually being merely to echo the closing words of each of his two stanzas.

The scoring of the two numbers is similar, but not identical. The chorus is in four parts (TTBB) in No. 10, but in only three (TTB) in No. 18, which, together with the addition of flutes, oboes, and trumpets not found in No. 10 (this, however, uses the distinctive timbre of two basset horns along with the trio of trombones), gives this number a brighter, tessiturally higher character, naturally enhanced by the key of D rather than F major (No. 10). The instrumentation of both (including the all-male vocal texture) is crucial to the evocation of an appropriately antique, ecclesiastical tone, as also is the adoption of the hymn topos, which needs little elaboration in words. To compare this music to that of the Boys’ trio, No. 16, is to witness again that “unparalleled variety” in the music of this opera of which Wolff writes. And the comparison to No. 16, in fact, is perhaps even more instructive. All in all, No. 18, in its brevity (42 measures, admittedly at an adagio pace), its transparent binary form, and its three-part chordal texture, stands in close but starkly obverse relation to No. 16; it is, as it were, the “dark” side of that earlier number, from which it is musically divided by Pamina’s aria, No. 17. Equally, the Chorus of Priests extends that welcome return into Sarastro’s realm uttered by the Boys, but importantly preempts, too, the banishing of that “düst’re Nacht,” which will in due course hold no terrors for the finally united Pamina and Tamino; see measures 330–52 of the Act 2 finale, where not only the switch to homophonic writing but also the marked neighboring diminished harmonies in the last five measures invite one to recall the Priests’ earlier hieratic utterances.

“Nacht,” “Osiris,” and “Isis” all reappear in the final four lines of the libretto, at the very end of Act 2 (mm. 830–46). In a curious reversal of the earlier situation, the libretto specifies, for the first and only time, that these lines are sung by the “Chor von Priestern,” while Mozart’s autograph identifies only a “Chor.”²⁶ Moreover, this is no longer a male chorus, but one scored SATB. Mozart’s concluding ensemble in The Magic Flute eschews individual characters in favor of the collective; by extension, it is an ensemble that ultimately includes us all.