German Opera in Courtly and Urban Theaters in Vienna: From the National Singspiel (1778) to Die Zauberflöte (1791)

“Vienna has its share of all the genres: French comedy, Italian comedy, Italian opera, the grand Noverre ballets, German opera, and the like,” writes Johann Pezzl in the first volume of his famous Skizze von Wien (1786).¹ German opera in Mozart’s Vienna interacted with many other theatrical genres in what was widely celebrated as a rich cosmopolitan European center.² This is not to say that the genre did not have its own distinctive musico-dramatic features and theatrical history. Vienna boasts a rich and varied German-language theatrical tradition dating back at least to the late seventeenth century, including Jesuit drama, improvised comedy in folk theaters, often interspersed with song, and musical theater performed by traveling troupes. One of the formative moments for eighteenth-century German opera was Joseph II’s 1776 announcement of the opening of the German National Theater, a spoken theatrical enterprise, which performed in one of the two court theaters, the Burgtheater, renamed the Nationaltheater. Two years later, its operatic counterpart, the German National Singspiel, was inaugurated in the same space with a new work, Die Bergknappen (The Miners), composed by the company’s first music director, Ignaz Umlauf. Featuring accomplished singers such as Caterina Cavalieri (who would later create the role of Konstanze in Mozart’s 1782 opera Die Entführung aus dem Serail [The Abduction from the Seraglio]), this court-operated company produced a number of successful works. Prominent examples include Umlauf’s Die Apotheke (The Apothecary, 1778), Die schöne Schüsterin (The Beautiful Cobbler, 1779), and Das Irrlicht (The Will-o’-the-Wisp, 1782); Franz Aspelmayr’s Die Kinder der Natur (The Children of Nature, 1778); and Salieri’s Der Rauchfangkehrer (The Chimney Sweep, 1781).

Home of the National Singspiel company, the Burgtheater was regarded as one of the finest theatrical spaces in Europe. Contemporary book and art collector Georg Friedrich Brandes, in a description from 1786, distinguishes it from Parisian theaters by its size and lighting:

Lighting was costly and the Burgtheater’s luxury is revealed through its illumination, where candlelight glistened against the gold and white interior. Brandes emphasizes the opulence of the Viennese court, explaining that “the court here pays for everything, and has the income to do so.”⁴ During this initial period of the German National Singspiel, the genre was well supported and composers were provided with sufficient resources to create a distinctive German-language operatic repertory. Crucially, Joseph II was not interested in establishing a Singspiel troupe in the manner of earlier North German traditions – most notably that of Johann Adam Hiller – in which the performers were actors first, singers second. While a simple folk-like style certainly appears in late eighteenth-century Viennese Singspiel, efforts were made to recruit top singers for the National Singspiel enterprise, and a fine orchestra of at least thirty-five players was established, including strings, flutes, oboes, bassoons, horns, and, by 1782, trumpets and a kettledrum player.⁵ As a result, the musical writing for Viennese Singspiel from 1778 onwards does not shy away from featuring virtuosic singing and lavish orchestral timbres to paint particular scenes or situations.

Though initially successful, the German troupe at the Burgtheater proved difficult to sustain. It was disbanded in 1783 and replaced by a company that produced Italian opera buffa, one of the more popular and financially sustainable repertories. When a German company was reinstated in 1785, Emperor Joseph II issued a decree that withdrew performing privileges for all other troupes at the second royal theater, the Kärntnertortheater,⁶ making it the new home for the German company, a practice which lasted until 1788. In 1787 Pezzl offered the following explanation for the reinstatement of the German company: “Since a large part of the public does not understand Italian, and one wishes to also entertain them with Singspiele, a German opera is established at the same time, which performs primarily at the Kärntnertortheater.”⁷ The new troupe included singers such as Caterina Cavalieri and Aloysia Lange, and this period witnessed the production of Singspiele such as Franz Teyber’s Die Dorfdeputierten (1785), Mozart’s Der Schauspieldirektor (1786), Umlauf’s Die glücklichen Jäger (1786), and Dittersdorf’s Doktor und Apotheker (1786), among other works.

German opera in late eighteenth-century Vienna was not limited to the two royal theaters. Alongside the opening of the German National Theater in 1776, Joseph II also declared Spektakelfreiheit, literally meaning “freedom of spectacle,” which allowed new permanent private theaters to operate commercially. Three suburban theaters opened within a decade: the Theater in der Leopoldstadt, which was established in 1781 by Karl Marinelli; the Theater auf der Wieden, which opened in 1787 and was under the direction of Emanuel Schikaneder by 1788; and the Theater in der Josephstadt, which opened in 1788 and was run by Karl Mayer. Even with this Spektakelfreiheit, theater in Vienna was heavily censored at both the court and suburban theaters.⁸ Each suburban theater specialized with respect to repertory. Marinelli’s Theater in der Leopoldstadt was best known for its popular comedy in the Hanswurst tradition – popular entertainment, often improvised comedy, featuring the comic figure of “Hans Sausage.” Though of older origins, this type of entertainment had distinctly Viennese roots, which could be traced back to Hanswurst roles created by Josef Anton Stranitzky earlier in the century.⁹ Undoubtedly the most famous theatrical fixture of this type in Mozart’s day was the comic character Kaspar, who is described here by a contemporary:

The actor playing Kaspar was Johann La Roche, and he appeared in many spoken plays and German operas, perhaps most famously as Pizichi in Wenzel Müller’s Kaspar der Fagottist (1791). Like Mozart’s Die Zauberflöte, this Singspiel finds its roots in August Jacob Liebeskind’s fairytale “Lulu, oder Die Zauberflöte” (1789). Emanuel Schikaneder’s Theater auf der Wieden (renamed the Theater an der Wien after a renovation in 1801) specialized in magic opera (Zauberoper) and machine theater (Maschinentheater). The space was outfitted with state-of-the-art technology and might well have been the only theater that could have accommodated The Magic Flute’s elaborate stage transformations.¹¹ Finally, the Theater in der Josephstadt was perhaps less important for German opera at the time of Mozart but gained importance in the nineteenth century. German opera in Mozart’s Vienna thus traversed various theatrical venues, where it interacted with a wide range of theatrical genres, including French and Italian opera performed in translation, spoken theater, ballet, machine theater, and melodrama. This chapter offers an overview of German opera in Mozart’s Vienna by considering moments in three seminal works: Ignaz Umlauf’s Die Bergknappen (1778), which opened Joseph II’s National Theater; Wranitzky’s Oberon, a magic opera performed at the Theater auf der Wieden in 1789; and, finally, Wenzel Müller’s Kaspar der Fagottist, performed at the Theater in der Leopoldstadt in 1791.

Joseph II’s Sonic Jewel at the Nationaltheater: Ignaz Umlauf’s Die Bergknappen (1778)

Mining featured prominently in Enlightenment scientific, cultural, and political ideals. It served, as Jakob Vogel illustrates, to showcase the economic development of individual states and territories, embodied in “patriotic visions” of mineral collections open to the public.¹² It is no surprise, then, that the Singspiel Paul Weidmann and Ignaz Umlauf created to inaugurate Joseph II’s German National Singspiel was Die Bergknappen (The Miners). Mining was not merely a regional enterprise that would add local color to an operatic work but a matter of patriotic pride. The Hapsburg Empire competed with other European states to expand its royal mineralogical collections and knowledge, and riches particular to geographic regions were fervently excavated and displayed. The premiere of Die Bergknappen on February 17, 1778, put Viennese Singspiel, like its prized geological stones, on the map of cultural activities in Europe. Musically diverging from previous German Singspiele sung by actors in traveling troupes, the royal company invested in star singers and secured a top-quality orchestra to ensure the venture’s success. The libretto lists the four soloists alongside their dramatic roles: Walcher, a mining officer, played by Hr. Fux; Sophie (his ward), played by Mlle Caterina Cavalieri; Fritz, a young miner, played by Hr. Ruprecht; and Zelda, a gypsy, played by Madam Stierle.¹³ The main plot concerns the young lovers, Sophie and Fritz, whose union is initially prevented by the older Walcher, who intends to marry Sophie himself. After the lovers thwart Walcher’s rendezvous with Sophie, he ties her to a tree, where the gypsy Zelda takes her place at night. Walcher is terrified at what he believes is an evil transformation, and Zelda reveals to Walcher that Sophie is his daughter. When the miners return to work the following morning, singing about retrieving gold for the state, Fritz warns Walcher of a dream in which the mineshaft collapses, but is ignored. The earth trembles, and Fritz’s vision comes true. He bravely enters the mineshaft to save Walcher, who is trapped below, and following a safe return, Walcher blesses Fritz and Sophie’s union.

One of the most striking musical forms in Viennese Singspiel is a highly virtuosic coloratura aria sung by the lead female character. In the first years of the National Singspiel, these roles were sung by Caterina Cavalieri and included Sophie in Die Bergknappen, Nannette in Die Apotheke, and, perhaps most famously, Konstanze in Die Entführung aus dem Serail. This aria represents a significant departure from earlier Singspiele, in which virtuous female characters sang simple folk-like tunes to reveal their purity; such arias distinguished these heroines from noble characters singing in a virtuosic style that exemplified the artificiality and excessive luxury of court life. Typically set in a natural realm and often compared to birdsong, this coloratura aria type employs one or two obbligato instruments with which the voice interacts, resembling an instrumental concerto.¹⁴ In a previous scene, Walcher has punished young Sophie by tying her to a tree for the night. An engraving of the scene shows Walcher shining a light on Sophie from a second-story window, enhancing the picturesque effect of the dark scene (Figure 1.1). Sophie’s isolation in the garden at night, captured in the image, contributes to the sheer theatrical effect of two arias sung in the garden. The second of these is the coloratura aria “Wenn mir den Himmel.” It features a lengthy orchestral introduction with oboe solo, effectively halting the plot and drawing all attention to Cavalieri’s agile voice. The oboe opens with what seems at first to be a simple melodic phrase in C major. Yet when the opening figure is repeated, it is transformed into a virtuosic scalar passage, displaying the technical prowess of the performer. Sophie enters with the same melody and her coloratura passages are immediately echoed by the obbligato oboe, fusing into a double display of sonic artistry (Example 1.1a).¹⁵ This bravura passagework draws to a close in the orchestra in the manner of an instrumental concerto, though the aria is not over. The audience is treated to another virtuosic display of dexterity as the second section commences with a repeat of the opening theme. The second installment is even more spectacular than the first, as the voice and oboe intermingle, sometimes passing scalar passages back and forth, and sometimes executing sixteenth-note passages a third apart (Example 1.1b). Sophie sings of the heavens granting her new life, and, in the manner of an instrumental concerto, this second section is brought to a close by a fermata on the dominant, indicating free vocal embellishment, followed by closing material in the tonic by the entire orchestra. Her heartfelt plea seems to have been heard – she is set free and Zelda takes her place tied up against the tree.

Figure 1.1 Scene from Die Bergknappen showing Caterina Cavalieri as Sophie. Ink drawing by Carl Schütz, 1778.

Courtesy of The Albertina.

Example 1.1a Umlauf, Die Bergknappen, Sophie’s aria “Wenn mir den Himmel,” mm. 29–46.

Example 1.1b Umlauf, Die Bergknappen, Sophie’s aria “Wenn mir den Himmel,” mm. 64–78.

Whereas an aria such as Sophie’s emphasizes the importance of star singers in Viennese Singspiel, the scene in which the mine shaft collapses underscores the role of the orchestra. At first glance, one might surmise that Umlauf employs various instruments to paint natural phenomena, thereby creating a sonic play-by-play of the event. Yet a closer examination, coupled with aesthetic documents on musical painting, reveals an alternate approach. Orchestral timbre is used in conjunction with descriptions by Fritz and members of the chorus of miners. This enables the audience to experience the disaster from various human perspectives. In other words, the orchestra does not merely paint nature, it paints how humans experience natural phenomena. This aesthetic is in keeping with contemporary writings such as Johann Jakob Engel’s “On Painting in Music” (1780).¹⁶ The opening of the accompanied recitative “Die Erde bebt” (The earth shakes) features fast repeated notes on the strings, which paint the shaking ground (Example 1.2).

Example 1.2 Umlauf, Die Bergknappen, Fritz and the miners’ recitative “Die Erde bebt,” mm. 6–17.

Once the chorus of miners alerts Fritz (and the audience) that Walcher is trapped, the texture shifts to slower unison writing; Fritz comments on his decision to risk his life to save his rival. As he descends, the orchestral writing features rapid scalar passages culminating in a tremolando effect; here, two chorus members sing, “Consider the danger, how we trembled.” In other words, the audience is being asked to put themselves in the miners’ shoes, and Umlauf’s orchestral writing assists with this process of identification. It is no coincidence that we also hear from Sophie in an accompanied recitative, “Ein klägliches Geschrei klingt in mein Ohr” (Example 1.3). The oboe solo paints her anxiety as she awaits the outcome of her lover’s brave rescue mission. The orchestral writing changes to rapidly repeated thirty-second notes as she describes her shaking limbs. Here, as in the earlier scene with the miners, we are privy to Sophie’s physiological responses, which are painted by the orchestra; there is little sonic rendition of the natural disaster.

Example 1.3 Umlauf, Die Bergknappen, Sophie’s recitative “Ein klägliches Geschrei klingt in mein Ohr,” mm. 1–15.

Joseph II’s decision to secure both highly trained singers and orchestral players for the National Singspiel enabled composers such as Umlauf to produce first-rate operatic works in the German language. While many authors have emphasized the Singspiel’s apparent reliance on genres such as French opéra comique and Italian opera buffa, a closer examination of this little-known German repertory suggests a more complex situation. Viennese Singspiel engaged with other genres while at the same time rapidly striving to forge its own distinct musico-dramatic forms and conventions. The establishment of this institution served an important purpose: it made the production of German opera a matter of national urgency. The ability to hire star singers such as Caterina Cavalieri allowed for the creation of highly virtuosic concerto-like arias, which featured prominently in Viennese Singspiel for several decades. Joseph II’s National Singspiel project may not have lasted very long, but it created an impetus for, and influenced, a German operatic repertory that would flourish in urban theaters across Vienna.

Magic Opera at the Theater auf der Wieden: Wranitzky’s Oberon (1789)

Of the three main suburban commercial theaters in Mozart’s Vienna, Schikaneder’s Theater auf der Wieden exhibited the strongest predilection for theatrical works that incorporated magical themes, often featuring elaborate stage machines.¹⁷ One of the most popular fairytale Singspiele prior to Die Zauberflöte was written by composer Paul Wranitzky and librettist Karl Ludwig Giesecke. Oberon, König der Elfen premiered on November 7, 1789, and the work was quickly disseminated across the German-speaking realm, with performances in Frankfurt am Main in 1790, Mainz in 1791, Berlin and Augsburg in 1792, and Lemberg, Buda, and Pest in 1794; it spread to Linz, Krakow, Prague, Bratislava, Warsaw, and Hamburg during the mid-1790s.¹⁸ Its popular appeal can be attributed not only to its spectacular visual effects but also to various musico-dramatic features, which may be familiar to admirers of Mozart’s last opera.

Hüon, a German knight, is sent by King Charlemagne to rescue the Sultan of Bagdad’s daughter, Amande. Because the reunion of the fairy king and queen depends on the fidelity of Hüon and Amande, Oberon and Titania are keen to assist in the mission. Together with his father’s squire, Scherasmin, Hüon successfully navigates a forest and is guided by Oberon’s two genies in his search for Amande. The lovers escape Bagdad on a ship, but a strong storm renders them unexpectedly shipwrecked in Tunisia, where they become captives of Sultan Alamansor and his wife Alamansaris. Despite attempts by the Tunisian rulers to seduce Hüon and Amande, the two remain faithful even in the face of death. Oberon arrives just in time to save the pair, who have withstood all their trails, and Hüon and Amande are freed.

While it is tempting to focus exclusively on musical forms and devices, it is worth keeping in mind that Singspiel is an operatic genre that intersperses extended spoken dialogue with song. The dialogue between characters is therefore an essential component of generic analysis. And, as we shall see, theories of comedy in German opera are distinct from its Italian and French counterparts, and these differences often come to the foreground when the spoken dialogue is considered. The opening scene features the serendipitous encounter between Hüon and the comic character Scherasmin: the German knight finds himself lost in a forest, while the local has gathered a bundle of wood and is wearing “wild attire.”

(While Scherasmin wants to leave, Hüon holds him back from behind.)

This comic encounter between the young knight and the Rousseauian natural man, soon to become his companion on a mission, is designed to amplify the differences in cultivation, social class, and kinds of knowledge. Scherasmin, for instance, has gained sufficient natural knowledge to survive in this hostile environment, whereas Hüon is very much in need of assistance. The two men also recognize their common humanity, and, implicitly, the scene drives home Enlightenment ideals of human equality and freedom. As the conversation unfolds, Scherasmin (and the audience) learns that Hüon is of noble descent and that he is on an impossible mission to travel to Bagdad, where he is to collect a handful of hair from the Sultan’s beard, retrieve four of his back teeth, and take his daughter as a bride. Hüon discovers that Scherasmin used to serve his (now deceased) father and has been living in a cave in the forest for some fifteen years. Upon learning of the brave knight’s mission, Scherasmin vows to serve him. This outcome alone is a paradigmatic example of typical interactions between working and noble classes in German opera.

Whereas Italian opera buffa revels in servants “uncrowning the King,”²⁰ often through feats of deceit, comedy in late eighteenth-century Singspiel is often generated by bringing together the most unexpected characters from vastly different social classes and backgrounds. These “unexpected encounters,” such as the one between Hüon and Scherasmin (as well as Tamino and Papageno), showcase both noble and lower-class everyday life experiences and perspectives. More often than not, they feature productive collaboration between social classes. Put another way, comic lower-class characters in Singspiel often assist, rather than derail, noble characters in achieving their missions. It is well worth noting that Singspiel performers such as Emanuel Schikaneder were superb actors, whose comic gestures especially for characters such as Scherasmin and Papageno kept audiences returning to theaters.²¹ In effect, the performative and comic dimensions of Singspiel came alive in the spoken dialogue, and they were reinforced by gesture, perhaps signaling the genre’s debt to the heritage of the Hanswurst.

Comic Antics and Folklike Music: Kaspar der Fagottist (1791) at the Theater in der Leopoldstadt

“One is now hungry for spectacular pieces [Specktakelstücken] … and, as such, this Magic Zither was taken up in Vienna and Prague, and was performed numerous times,” an anonymous editor writes in the 1794 preface to librettist Joachim Perinet and composer Wenzel Müller’s Kaspar der Fagottist, oder Die Zauberzither (1791).²² Marinelli’s aforementioned Kaspar figure appears as a comic sidekick named Kaspar Bita, accompanying Prince Armidoro on a mission to rescue Princess Sidi. Daughter of the radiant star-queen Perifirime, the beautiful Sidi is held captive by an evil sorcerer, Bosphoro. Following their initial encounter in an enchanted forest, Perifirime endows Prince Armidoro with a magic ring and zither, and Bita with an enchanted bassoon, to ensure the success of their mission. While the opera certainly features magical sounds and visual spectacle, including a balloon ride toward the end of the opera, the comic character Bita is undoubtedly one of its main attractions. From his comic encounters with Perifirime – when, for example, he asks if he may drown in her wine cellar if he must die – to lighthearted songs celebrating women and wine, Bita’s comic episodes are accentuated by the sound of a bassoon. Like Papageno in The Magic Flute, he needs nothing more than bread, wine, and a woman to love, and is easily scared by the sudden, spectacular transformations prevalent in magic operas. For instance, on one occasion, as he and Prince Armidoro approach Bosphoro’s castle high on a cliff, the prince turns a magic ring, thunder and lightning ensue, and the prince disappears. Terrified, Bita runs for cover, turns motionless, and then runs to the back of the stage, only to dash back out as flames emerge from the earth. As it happens, the prince has transformed himself into a little old grey man, and Bita recognizes him only by his voice.

Once the pair meet Bosphoro, Armidoro demonstrates his musical talents with the magic zither and, eventually, sings “Es hielt in seinem Felsennest,” a Romanze (a well-known song type in German opera), in the presence of Princess Sidi. This strophic song form sums up the moral of the story. While it is self-reflexive – it presents the crux of the tale at hand – it is performed within the diegesis of the opera as though it had nothing to do with the plot and is typically set in the distant past. In this instance, Armidoro sings the ancient tale of a young girl held captive in a castle tower high on a rocky cliff. A young knight passes by, hears her screaming, and promises to return at midnight to free her. That night at twelve o’clock the knight returns, throws up a rope for the girl to descend, and the story ends with a romantic kiss. Musically, the Romanze features a lilting melody in 6/8, typically beginning in the minor mode, with a turn to the major for the middle portion of the song (Example 1.4 shows the opening of the aria in a contemporary vocal score with an altered verse of unknown origin).²³ First appearing in mid-eighteenth-century French comic opera, the Romanze frequently appears in North- and South-German Singspiel, often telling the tale of a young woman being rescued from captivity. The simple, repeatable, songlike quality of this form fueled its popularity, and these tunes were disseminated well beyond theaters as folksongs and circulated in popular piano-vocal scores.²⁴ Armidoro’s performance is followed by Bita teaching Princess Sidi to dance, and naturally in Vienna she would be taught a waltz. Self-reflexive commentary ensues as Bita sings that “a waltz is in keeping with German ways” (“ein Waltz ist so nach deutscher Art”) in his Act 2 song “Ein Walzer erhitzet den Kopf und das Blut,” thereby celebrating German musical and cultural identity.

Example 1.4 Müller, Kaspar der Fagottist, Armidoro’s Romanze “Es hielt in seinem Felsennest,” mm. 1–20 (from a contemporary vocal score with altered text).

The popular folklike quality of Viennese Singspiel was not limited to solo numbers. Choruses, especially men’s choruses, feature prominently in the genre and are often sung by groups of individuals easily recognizable in society. Whereas Umlauf’s Die Bergknappen features a chorus of miners, Die Zauberzither showcases a group of hunters at the opening of the opera. Their presence is announced with hunting horns – a sound typically limited to the nobility in Italian opera – now appropriated by the bourgeoisie to showcase everyday German life. The opening chorus “Hau hau hau, auf Jäger seyd wach,” featuring the echoing sound of working men singing in the forest, presents an idealized image of working-class German citizens contributing to society through manual labor, including mining, forestry, and hunting. Initially populating eighteenth-century Singspiel, these character groups would continue to appear in operas such as Carl Maria von Weber’s Der Freischütz and in nineteenth-century German lieder.

Conclusion

Joseph II’s inauguration of the National Singspiel in 1778 provided an impetus for the production of high-quality German-language opera that would rival its French and Italian counterparts. German opera in the decade leading up to The Magic Flute (1791) was forged in a transnational context and featured a rich array of musico-dramatic forms that we encounter in Mozart’s last opera. Lavish orchestral writing, especially for scenes of heightened emotion, and concert-like virtuosic arias for the female heroine in Umlauf’s Die Bergknappen, set the stage for Mozart’s deployment of the orchestra and the Queen of the Night’s arias. Spoken dialogue inspired by German comedic practices featuring encounters between lower-class comic characters and princes enrich our understanding of Papageno and Tamino’s first exchange. The comic features of Kaspar, along with the memorable, folklike singing style, made Papageno a familiar and beloved figure. These musico-dramatic forms and features, well established in the decade leading up to The Magic Flute, clearly resonated with the public. They likely also contributed to the opera’s enduring success and can bring new insights for our enjoyment of Mozart’s last opera even today.

Most of the operas Mozart produced in Vienna in the last decade of his life, including The Abduction from the Seraglio, The Marriage of Figaro, Don Giovanni, and Così fan tutte, were premiered at the Burgtheater, the imperial court theater in the city center. The Magic Flute, by contrast, was produced at the Wiednertheater (also known as the Theater auf der Wieden), a private and commercial institution in the Viennese suburbs. The author of The Magic Flute’s libretto, Emanuel Schikaneder, was not only the Wiednertheater’s director, but also one of its greatest stars, as epitomized by the role of Papageno, which he created specifically for himself. Schikaneder became the director of the Wiednertheater in 1789, when he was approached by his ex-wife Eleonore Schikaneder after the death of Johann Friedel, her codirector and the Wiednertheater’s founder. Prior to his directorship at the Wiednertheater, Schikaneder led several theater troupes in Southern Germany and Austria, including in Augsburg, Regensburg, and at Vienna’s Kärntnertortheater. The Magic Flute’s libretto, therefore, reflects Schikaneder’s experience both with the German theater repertoire presented by regional theater companies in the 1770s and 1780s and with the conventions of the repertoire presented on Viennese commercial suburban stages around 1790. At the same time, the libretto reveals Mozart’s own sensibilities with respect to German-language theater and his wide-ranging experience with opera at the Vienna court theater.

To what extent Mozart himself may have contributed to the opera’s libretto is not entirely clear. What makes the search for Mozart’s textual contributions particularly problematic is how little is known about the libretto’s inception. In an effort to clarify the enormous richness of subjects and themes in The Magic Flute, many previous studies have explored literary and theatrical works that critics and scholars believe influenced the conception and construction of the libretto. Emphasis has also been placed on Mozart’s and Schikaneder’s personal involvement with Masonry and with the contemporaneous repertoire of the Viennese suburban theaters. A substantial literature attempts to identify the sources from which many specific elements in the libretto derive. At the same time, The Magic Flute appears distinct and original, in ways that emerge from its libretto, when compared to many of the works produced by court and commercial theaters of the period.

This essay focuses on The Magic Flute’s links to theatrical aesthetics of the Vienna court theater, as well as debates surrounding late eighteenth-century calls for the establishment of a German national theater tradition, and suggests that Schikaneder’s and Mozart’s experiences with the world of late eighteenth-century German theater traditions shaped The Magic Flute’s libretto significantly. At the end, I will attempt to show that Mozart’s contributions to Schikaneder’s libretto in fact enhance the work’s status as both a culmination of decades-long debates about German national theater and a harbinger of a future course for German national opera.¹

German National Theater Reform

The Magic Flute’s libretto reflects numerous ideas that German theorists had been debating since the 1730s in connection with a reform of the national theater. Among the many contexts for understanding the libretto, this may be one of the most important. Mid-eighteenth-century German aestheticians, such as Johann Christoph Gottsched, wanted to raise German theater to the level of the theatrical traditions of other countries, especially France and Italy. To achieve this end, German playwrights focused on works that were fully written out (as opposed to partially improvised), adhered to the principles of French neoclassical drama (such as the Aristotelian unities), and were both morally upright and didactic. One of the goals of the German reformers was to gain financial backing from German states and principalities in order to make German works more competitive with Italian and French operas and dramas, which represented the main fare at most German court theaters in the early 1700s. Through a repertoire of didactic national works, German intellectuals wanted both to transform German audiences into cultivated and well-behaved subjects and to express emerging notions of German national uniqueness (or moral superiority).²

Schikaneder and Mozart were both well versed in this tradition. Prior to taking over the directorship of the Wiednertheater in the fall of 1789, Schikaneder had directed German theater companies in various cities that produced elevated German dramas, including works by Goethe and Lessing. Schikaneder’s own spoken and musical dramas also subscribed to reformist viewpoints.³ Mozart, too, participated in this cultural movement and famously expressed support for German national opera in his letter of February 5, 1783, to Leopold Mozart: “Every nation has its own opera and why not Germany? Is not German as singable as French and English? Is it not more so than Russian?”⁴ Several of the works that scholars cite as important sources for The Magic Flute’s libretto in fact originated within the tradition of German reform drama. Most prominent among these is Tobias Philipp von Gebler’s play Thamos, König in Ägypten (Thamos, King of Egypt), which premiered at the Vienna court theater (the Burgtheater) in April 1774. Like The Magic Flute, this play involves a conflict between a benevolent high priest/king (Sethos, a deposed Egyptian king) and a power-hungry, manipulative, and cruel priestess (Mirza), who stabs herself when she realizes her evil plan to help her nephew (Pheron) usurp the throne of Egypt has failed. Thamos certainly belongs to the tradition of German reform drama because of its elevated plot and didactic ending (the evil characters die, the virtuous ones are rewarded, and righteous behavior is exalted and commented upon throughout the play).

For Gebler’s play, Mozart wrote three choruses and five instrumental numbers (four interludes and one postlude). Early versions of two of Mozart’s three choruses were performed as part of the first production of Gebler’s play at the Vienna Burgtheater in 1774.⁵ Mozart revised these two choruses, added a third one, and wrote the instrumental music sometime between 1775 and 1780.⁶ Unfortunately, we do not know for certain for which performance this additional incidental music was intended. The similarity between Thamos and The Magic Flute led early twentieth-century Schikaneder biographer Egon Komorzynski to speculate that Mozart revised and expanded the Thamos music for a production by Schikaneder’s itinerant troupe, which performed in Salzburg between September 17, 1780 and February 27, 1781.⁷ Since there is no record of a Schikaneder production of Thamos in Salzburg, however, later scholars connected Mozart’s revision to the documented Salzburg performance of the play with an unspecified composer’s music by Karl Wahr’s company on January 3, 1776.⁸ Whether it was performed by Schikaneder’s or Wahr’s company, Mozart’s Thamos music does illustrate the composer’s exposure to and artistic interactions with German reform drama in the 1770s. We know from a letter to his father of February 15, 1783, that Mozart thought well of this work and was disappointed when the national company in Vienna refused to perform Gebler’s Thamos, and thus his choruses and interludes.⁹

Although Thamos quickly disappeared from German stages, Mozart’s choruses and interludes were eventually repurposed for Karl Martin Plümicke’s Lanassa, another reform German drama. Lanassa was performed throughout the 1780s by the troupe of Johann Böhm, including during Mozart’s visit to Salzburg in September and October 1783.¹⁰ According to a poster dating from September 17, 1790, Böhm’s troupe performed Lanassa with Mozart’s choruses and interludes in Frankfurt, and Mozart may have attended a performance during his visit to the city for the coronation of Leopold II.¹¹ Like many German dramas of the 1770s and 1780s, Lanassa contains elements that clearly prefigure The Magic Flute: The exotic plot takes places in an unspecified Indian port and is filled with depictions of religious rites; the drama’s main theme is the criticism of religious fanaticism and human sacrifice (the main heroine’s much older husband dies and she is supposed to be burnt alive on his funeral pyre). The most prominent connection to The Magic Flute is the claim of the main hero, General Montalban, that he is no conqueror but simply a human (“Kein Überwinder bin ich, ich bin ein Mensch”), which prefigures the Speaker’s and Sarastro’s statements that Tamino is not just a prince but a human (Speaker: “Er ist Prinz.” Sarastro: “Noch mehr – er ist Mensch!”).¹²

In Vienna, the most powerful endorsement of the reformist movement occurred in 1776, when Emperor Joseph II transformed the court theater into a National Theater devoted solely to presenting German spoken plays; the German opera troupe, or National Singspiel, was added in 1778. Shortly after his move to Vienna, Mozart became involved with the National Singspiel, for which he composed The Abduction from the Seraglio, which premiered in 1782. In two famous letters to his father dating from the fall of 1781, Mozart provides numerous details about his working relationship with Viennese playwright Gottlieb Stephanie the Younger on The Abduction’s libretto. For example, Mozart asked Stephanie to reorder the musical numbers and rework the plot, which led to the creation of a new, moralistic finale at the end of the second act.¹³ It is possible (likely, even) that Mozart was similarly involved in the inception and development of The Magic Flute’s libretto. The libretto of The Abduction in many ways prefigures that of The Magic Flute, particularly in its reformist intensity (the opera presents exemplary actions that are explicitly promoted by text and music) and its variety of styles (a libretto that combines simple, strophic songs with more complex arias; a quartet resembling an Italian comic opera finale; and a vaudeville conclusion akin to those in contemporary French opéra comique).¹⁴

After Joseph II decided to replace the National Singspiel with an Italian opera company in 1783, German opera in Vienna moved into the hands of private entrepreneurs. Remnants of the reformist attitude toward opera was at times rekindled at the state-supervised Kärntnertortheater, which was rented out to private theater companies and for a brief period (1785–88) accommodated a variant of the court-supported National Singspiel.¹⁵ At the request of Joseph II, Schikaneder became one of the temporary tenants at the Kärntnertortheater between November 5, 1784 and January 6, 1785, and during his brief stay in Vienna his company featured numerous German operatic works originally introduced by the National Singspiel. He even opened his brief Viennese stagione with The Abduction.¹⁶ Before returning to Vienna in 1789, Schikaneder traveled through various parts of Southern Germany, and his longest director position was in Regensburg (between February 1787 and August 1789), where he featured both The Abduction and Lanassa.¹⁷ German reform drama therefore represents a crucial context for Schikaneder’s and Mozart’s work on the libretto for The Magic Flute.

Fairy-Tale Operas in the Viennese Suburbs

In creating the libretto for The Magic Flute, Schikaneder also drew from a number of magical, fairy-tale operas that were particularly popular with the Viennese public. Such works were already prominent in the repertoire of the National Singspiel and its Kärntnertortheater variant. Among the most popular ones were the Viennese German adaptation of André Grétry’s Zemire et Azor (1778), Ignaz Umlauf’s Das Irrlicht (Will-o’-the-Wisp, 1782), and Joseph Martin Ruprecht’s Das wütende Heer (The Wild Army, 1787). But it was the suburban operatic repertoire that had the most direct influence on The Magic Flute’s libretto. German opera flourished in commercial theaters that began appearing after 1776 in the Viennese suburbs. In the late 1780s and early 1790s, productions of magical operas shifted to the Leopoldstadt Theater and, after Schikaneder’s assumption of the directorship there, also to the Wiednertheater.

A particularly important prototype of Viennese magical, fairy-tale opera is Oberon, König der Elfen, premiered by Schikaneder’s troupe on November 11, 1789, with a libretto by Wiednertheater actor and playwright Karl Ludwig Giesecke and music by Paul Wranitzky. For the Viennese Oberon, Giesecke adapted (or, according to some commentators, plagiarized) the North German text written in 1788 and published in 1789 by the actress Friederike Sophie Seyler, who in turn based her work on Christoph Martin Wieland’s 1780 epic poem Oberon. In his revision, Giesecke executed many changes that closely resemble those found in earlier Viennese librettos that also adapt preexisting texts (such as Stephanie’s libretto for The Abduction). Wranitzky was no doubt closely familiar with these earlier Viennese operas, since in the late 1780s he served as the orchestral director, first at the Kärntnertortheater during the National Singspiel revival, and later at the Burgtheater. Giesecke reduced passages of spoken dialogue and the number of arias, ultimately allowing for fewer but longer musical numbers (with more of a sense of contrast): the first act of Seyler’s original libretto, for example, features two arias for both the Papageno-like servant Scherasmin and the Tamino-like hero Hüon, whereas the corresponding first act of Giesecke’s text features only one aria for each, allowing for greater stylistic distinction.¹⁸ Giesecke also created numerous ensembles, either from Seyler’s solo numbers or from her dialogues. At the very beginning, for example, Giesecke transforms a spoken monologue and an aria for Scherasmin into an introductory multisectional action duet for Scherasmin and Hüon, in which Scherasmin complains about his lonely existence in the woods (where he retired after the death of his master, Hüon’s father), is scared by the approaching Hüon (whom he mistakes for the bringer of death), and then hides and is discovered by Hüon. Also commensurate with Viennese German libretto adaptation is Giesecke’s creation of multisectional finales for the first and second acts. Just as in The Abduction and other Viennese works from the National Singspiel era, Giesecke’s finales alternate musical dialogue with moments of reflection, which are often moralistic.¹⁹ In the first-act finale, for instance, Oberon exhorts Hüon to be brave and virtuous, and Hüon promises to be just that. Oberon then addresses a group of dervishes, whom he had earlier punished for religious hypocrisy, urging them to be true to their religious beliefs. As Oberon flies away, the finale concludes with a section in which Hüon, Scherasmin, and the dervishes celebrate Oberon, thank him for his “teachings,” and promise to devote themselves to virtue. The finales of Oberon and its Viennese predecessors likely served as models for the finales of The Magic Flute, where passages of dialogue alternate with communal, reflective (and often moralistic) moments. Many passages come to mind: the first-act finale opens with the Three Boys preaching virtue to Tamino, and the second-act finale opens with an episode in which the Three Boys prevent Pamina from stabbing herself. Mozart usually introduces striking shifts in tempo, dynamics, and style to emphasize these maxims – in particular, he often employs the pastoral style in connection with moralistic and utopian ideas.²⁰

Following the production of Oberon, Schikaneder’s company produced several magical operas, which recent studies have identified as the closest precursors of, and models for, The Magic Flute libretto. Many of these works were heavily indebted to another work of Wieland’s (written in collaboration with his son-in-law, J. A. Liebeskind): the three volumes of fairy tales titled Dschinnistan, published between 1786 and 1789. Three musical works based on Dschinnistan premiered in Vienna in the seasons leading up to The Magic Flute. The earliest one, Der Stein der Weisen, oder Die Zauberinsel (The Philosopher’s Stone, or The Magic Island), premiered a little over a year after Oberon, on November 11, 1790, with a libretto by Schikaneder. The work became particularly prominent in 1996, after musicologist David Buch found that a manuscript score of Der Stein der Weisen, newly returned to the Hamburg State and University Library from Russia, contained attributions of two segments of the second-act finale to Mozart. (Even before this discovery, the second-act duet “Nun liebes Weibchen” [K. 625] had been generally considered Mozart’s work because of the existence of a partial autograph).²¹ Der wohltätige Derwisch, oder Die Schellenkappe (The Beneficent Dervish, or The Fool’s Cap) was also composed to a text by Schikaneder by a collection of composers. Premiered in early 1791, just a few months before The Magic Flute, its musical numbers are not as extensive as those in Der Stein der Weisen. This is reflected in its genre designation: Whereas surviving printed librettos referred to Der Stein der Weisen as “eine heroisch-komische Oper” (a heroic-comic opera), Der wohltätige Derwisch was designated a “Lust- und Zauberspiel” (comedic and magical play). (The third Dschinnistan opera was Kaspar der Fagottist, oder Die Zauberzither and will be discussed in the section below.)

Composed by the same author for the same company and theater, the texts of Der Stein der Weisen and Der wohltätige Derwisch share numerous similarities with The Magic Flute. All three works are infused with aspects of the Dschinnistan tales, including supernatural elements, magical objects, religious ceremonies, exotic settings, princely couples accompanied by comical servant ones, and wise, Sarastro-like figures. Scholars have identified numerous elements of The Magic Flute’s libretto that originated in the tales of Dschinnistan, one of which was in fact titled “Lulu, oder Die Zauberflöte” (Lulu, or The Magic Flute). Other characters and plot devices Schikaneder most likely derived from Dschinnistan include the Three Boys (“Die klugen Knaben” [The Clever Boys], volume III, story 3); the tests of flood and fire and the ancient Egyptian setting (“Der Stein der Weisen,” volume I, story 4); a villainous slave who spies on the heroine and is punished rather than rewarded for it (“Adis und Dahy,” volume I, story 2); and a hero who falls in love with the heroine’s portrait (“Neangir und seine Bruder” [Neangir and his Brothers], volume I, story 3).²² Whereas the German reform drama represents an important general context for the libretto of The Magic Flute, many specific elements of the opera were clearly derived from fairy-tale Singspiele of the Viennese suburban theaters and late eighteenth-century fairy-tale literature.²³

Suburban Subversion and Parody

To fully understand The Magic Flute libretto, we must consider both how it resembles and how it differs from the works that immediately preceded it in the suburban theaters. Der Stein der Weisen and Der wohltätige Derwisch served as models in some respects; however, they do present a slightly different tone from The Magic Flute in that they partially abandon the reformist zeal that characterized the German reform repertoire at the Viennese National Theater. In these pre-Magic Flute works, Schikaneder seems to reference works produced at the Leopoldstadt Theater, his main competitor in Vienna at this time. According to Buch, the Leopoldstadt Theater started producing a lot of magical works after 1784, and this trend continued into the 1790s.²⁴ The aesthetic principles pursued in these works differed substantially, however, from those at the National Theater. The Leopoldstadt Theater to a large extent continued the traditions of earlier Viennese popular theater. Although Leopoldstadt plays were no longer improvised, as was the case throughout the first half of the eighteenth century, they still contained risqué humor, coarse language, and often engaged in parodies of more serious dramas. These elements often centered around the stock character of a comical male servant figure, called Hanswurst in the early part of the eighteenth century and Kaspar (or Kasperl) in the Leopoldstadt productions.²⁵

One Leopoldstadt opera with coarse comedy that scholars have cited as related in content to The Magic Flute is Das Sonnenfest der Braminen (The Brahmins’ Sun Festival), an exotic opera with a plot related to that of The Abduction, which premiered on September 9, 1790. Several scenes of Das Sonnenfest explicitly ridicule elevated situations from reform dramas, such as Lanassa. The plots of both works center on righteous Europe and heroes who rescue heroines in distress from either a harem (Das Sonnenfest) or an inhumane religious ritual (Lanassa). But the Leopoldstadt work upends the virtuous borrowed plot. In Lanassa, the European hero is aided by the long-lost brother of the heroine, who, even before recognizing his relationship to the heroine, decides to save her for humanistic reasons (“Menschenliebe”). In Das Sonnenfest, by contrast, the main hero is nearly seduced by his long-lost sister in a suggestive duet.²⁶

The same irreverent ethos dominates another pre-Mozart Dschinnistan opera, Kaspar der Fagottist, oder Die Zauberzither (Kaspar the Bassoonist, or The Magic Zither), premiered at the Leopoldstadt Theater on June 8, 1791.²⁷ In the nineteenth century, this work became a source of yet another controversy surrounding The Magic Flute’s libretto: in an 1841 article, Friedrich Treitschke suggested that after the premiere of Kaspar der Fagottist Mozart and Schikaneder transformed the initially sympathetic Queen of the Night into a villainess to avoid replicating the plot of this Leopoldstadt opera, which featured a sympathetic fairy queen Perifirime. This theory is generally discredited nowadays.²⁸ The operas do share numerous features, including a prominent use of “magic” instruments. This particular shared feature, however, illustrates the different aesthetics guiding the two works. In The Magic Flute, Tamino’s flute and Papageno’s magic bells tame wild animals, give Tamino and Pamina encouragement and strength at crucial moments, and pacify Monostatos and his crew. The opera’s celebration of music’s ethical powers creates a connection to the Orpheus story, the subject of numerous operas and ballets featured at court theaters in Vienna and elsewhere.²⁹ Gluck’s Orfeo ed Euridice, which premiered in Vienna in 1762, became the most celebrated representative of this elevated type of court opera; it was performed several times at the National Theater in 1782 and 1783. Der Fagottist, by contrast, ridicules rather than emulates the Orpheus myth and opera seria.³⁰ Der Fagottist’s counterpart to the magic flute is a magic zither presented by Perifirime to Tamino-like Prince Armidoro, but it is mainly used in various amorous adventures. Even less like its Magic Flute counterpart is the eponymous magic bassoon. Throughout the opera it is associated with sexual innuendo, such as when Kaspar uses it to impress the servant Palmire or when he complains about his broken “Blasinstrument” (blowing horn) after returning from a tryst with Palmire. Also peculiar is the duet in which Kaspar gives a bassoon lesson to the Monostatos-like character Zumio, in which quite explicit references to oral sex abound.³¹

Elements of similar fairground humor, quite distant from the preferences of German reformists, can also be found in Der Stein der Weisen and other magical operas by Schikaneder and his team. For example, Der Stein der Weisen plays humorously with the topic of marital infidelity when it presents how the evil magician Eutifronte abducts the Papagena-like character Lubanara, who was earlier heard praising infidelity in an aria, and places a pair of gilded antlers (a prominent symbol of cuckoldry) on the head of Lubano, the Papageno-like husband of Lubanara. Schikaneder and his compositional team further ridicule Lubano’s unhappy marriage by bringing in a chorus of hunters, who mistake Lubano for a stag and chase him around.

Reformist Qualities of The Magic Flute’s Libretto

Even though The Magic Flute libretto emerged from, and is closely associated with, the world of Viennese popular suburban theater, it differs from that tradition significantly in that it mainly avoids the parodistic elements featured in the Leopoldstadt operas and Schikaneder’s other Wiednertheater librettos, such as Der Stein der Weisen. In fact, a few scenes in The Magic Flute appear to engage Der Stein der Weisen directly in a moralistic dialogue. For example, the padlock the Three Ladies place on Papageno to punish him for pretending to be the killer of the serpent that threatened Tamino at the beginning of the opera has a parallel in the padlock that Lubano places on the door of his cabin to prevent the unfaithful Lubanara from meeting other men. But such parallels also point to ways in which the librettos of these operas differ significantly. In Der Stein der Weisen, the locking of the door occurs within a duet for Lubano and Lubanara (No. 5, “Tralleralara! Tralleralara!”), and the two characters react to it with a communal utterance of nonsensical syllables: “Mum, mum! Dideldum!” In The Magic Flute, the first-act quintet (No. 5, “Hm! Hm! Hm!”) begins with the unlocking of Papageno’s padlock and then leads to a communal statement, a maxim that explains the moralistic significance of the episode:

Mozart launches the maxim with the musical phrase that introduced the nonsensical reflection in Der Stein der Weisen, as if he wanted to point out the striking difference between the neglect of the padlock’s moralistic potential in the earlier work and the didactic significance of the maxim in the later opera.

The attention to communal, moralizing statements in The Magic Flute exemplifies calls for such statements in German reformist theater criticism of the time. For example, a 1789 essay in the Kritisches Theater-Journal von Wien complains that Karl Friedrich Hensler’s Leopoldstadt play Das Glück ist kugelrund, oder Kasperls Ehrentag (Happiness is Fickle, or Kaspar’s Day of Honor, premiered on February 17, 1789) does not present clear moral truths and should not be performed any longer; according to the critic, only fairy-tale works with clear moral statements are worthy of presentation.³² The Magic Flute’s libretto is governed by ideas similar to those expressed in the critique, as demonstrated by an actual link to the quite popular Das Glück ist kugelrund.³³ In both works, characters attempt to commit suicide by hanging themselves. In Hensler’s play, Kasperl’s suicide attempt leads to magical comedy: first, when the ladder that he climbs to reach a tree branch disappears; and second, when a door with a nail to hold the noose transforms into a cloud from which a fairy appears to tell him she is bringing him happiness.³⁴ In the second-act finale of The Magic Flute, Papageno is prevented from hanging himself by the Three Boys who, unlike Hensler’s fairy, draw a moralistic warning from the situation: “Stop, Papageno! And be smart! / Life is lived only once, let that be sufficient for you.” (“Halt ein, o Papageno! und sey klug. / Man lebt nur einmal, dies sey dir genug.”)

The subtle, yet significant, differences between The Magic Flute and its most immediate predecessors (the fairy-tale operas of Schikaneder and the Leopoldstadt authors) bring us back to the question of Mozart’s involvement in the libretto’s production. The opera’s adherence to the principles of a reformed, didactic German national theater contrasts with most other Schikaneder librettos from the Wiednertheater era, and this in turn suggests that Mozart may have been responsible for the difference. That Schikaneder would be willing to make concessions to Mozart’s suggestions about the overall aesthetic character of the libretto is not surprising, since, compared to the other composers working for the suburban theaters in Vienna, Mozart was an international celebrity. Mozart was also the first composer writing for the Viennese suburban stage who also had experience with both the National Theater and the court theater in Vienna. In the works created with his long-term creative team, Schikaneder seems to be concerned about competing with the parodistic and risqué productions at the Leopoldstadt Theater and heeding the principle, which he himself mentioned in prefaces to his own works, that morals and reformist uprightness are not good for the box office of his commercial institution.³⁵ However, in his collaboration with Mozart, Schikaneder clearly emphasizes elements associated with genres, such as the German reform drama and opera seria, produced predominantly by state- or court-supported institutions. This includes engaging in moralizing statements, especially on the part of Sarastro and the Priests. Some of these statements are reprehensible – among the most straightforwardly racist or sexist utterances in all of eighteenth-century opera – and are usually censored in present-day productions of The Magic Flute, although we can assume that they were widely accepted in the eighteenth century. These statements, however, do contribute to the unique quality of the opera’s libretto and its combination of aesthetic viewpoints associated with suburban, commercial, and popular theatrical traditions on the one hand, and reformist, national, state- and court-sponsored traditions on the other.

The Magic Flute is a notoriously complex work that accommodates a large number of different theatrical and musical styles. The opera’s connection to the ideals of German reform drama is particularly significant, because it illustrates that even within the confines of a private, commercial theater Mozart and Schikaneder aimed at the creation of a high-minded work. In the handwritten list of his compositions, Mozart famously referred to The Magic Flute as a “teutsche Oper” (German opera), an unusual designation since the titles of most other contemporary Viennese operas referred to the works’ dramaturgical features, not their language or national character (e.g., heroisch-komische Oper or lustiges Singspiel). The resonance between The Magic Flute and the moralistic concepts of German national theater suggests that the designation might have had a symbolic meaning – that for Mozart The Magic Flute, with its didacticism, represented a truly German national work.

The Magic Flute was conceived and created specifically for the Theater auf der Wieden and its company of players, under the direction of Emanuel Schikaneder. Despite its status today as a work of genius, Schikaneder and Mozart’s opera was not conceived in a vacuum, so understanding its vibrant theatrical context can help us avoid subscribing to what David Buch has called “the myth of singularity.”¹ Like all works of art, The Magic Flute was a product of its time and place: Schikaneder and other librettists had written magical operas for the Theater auf der Wieden in the years immediately preceding 1791; Mozart and Schikaneder created roles with specific singers and their talents in mind; and other theaters were also presenting operas featuring similar characters and plotlines. Certain features of The Magic Flute adhere to traditions that were already in place at this theater – a plot that includes a serious couple as well as a comic one, for example, or the simple style of Papageno’s entrance aria. And musical aspects of the opera, such as the role of the choruses, bear more resemblance to the works of the theater’s regular or “house” composers than they do to the works of other composers that were also performed there.² The personnel of the Theater auf der Wieden were also influenced by other theaters in the city, particularly by the Theater in der Leopoldstadt, their main competitor. This chapter provides an overview of the Theater auf der Wieden under Schikaneder’s directorship in the years leading up to the premiere of The Magic Flute, in order to situate the opera in its original performance venue.

The Freihaus auf der Wieden and Its Theater

Until 1850, the city of Vienna comprised only the area that is today’s first district. It was encircled by a massive, defensive wall, which, in turn, was surrounded by a flat area called the glacis, which served to expose invading armies to the city’s defenders. Abutting the glacis were the various suburbs or Vorstädte, all of which are today a part of the city of Vienna. In 1781, five years after Joseph II announced his Spektakelfreiheit, which allowed private theaters to put on performances for profit, Karl Marinelli opened his Theater in der Leopoldstadt, the first suburban theater in Vienna. Schikaneder, who in 1786 was employed at the Burgtheater, appealed to Joseph for special permission to open a theater just like Marinelli’s, but on the glacis, in a location where people living in three suburbs would have had easy access to it. Joseph turned down the request, but agreed that Schikaneder could open a theater within a Viennese suburb instead. In the end, it was a German actor and director, Christian Rossbach, who received permission from Joseph in 1787 to build a theater in the suburb of Wieden (which was incorporated as Vienna’s fourth district in 1850).

The Theater auf der Wieden, as it came to be called because of its location in the eponymous suburb and its proximity to the Wieden river, was a two-story rectangular theater that could seat about 800 people and operated from 1787 to 1801. It was sometimes referred to as the Wiednertheater or the Schikanedertheater, but should not be confused with the Theater an der Wien, which replaced it in 1801 and still exists today. Although the Theater auf der Wieden was a free-standing building, it was situated within the perimeter of an enormous apartment complex in greater Vienna called the Starhembergisches Freihaus, after the Starhemberg family, which had owned the land as a fief since 1643. Four years later, upon payment of a thousand gulden to the court, the family was released from owing property taxes in perpetuity, hence the name “Freihaus.”³ After several fires and much subsequent rebuilding, it became, by the end of the eighteenth century, the largest privately owned apartment complex in Vienna. The Freihaus encompassed 25,000 square meters (269,098 square feet), with 402 buildings of various sizes, and housed around 10,000 people. The floorplan of the building gives a sense of how large the Freihaus was, particularly if we note how the 800-seat theater, located below the third courtyard (Hof), comprises a small fraction of the total space (see Figure 3.1.). We know that by the mid-nineteenth century the complex boasted a concert hall, a library, a dance school, a sports center, and the businesses of countless artisans. With excellent drinking water to be had from its many wells, the Freihaus was essentially a self-contained city within the city. Tailors and shoemakers provided their services, and small shops sold everything from textiles, needles, and nails, to socks, pens, ink, and even violin strings.⁴ By adding a theater to the Freihaus, Rossbach, the first director, was probably hoping to take advantage of the patronage of a built-in audience.⁵

Figure 3.1 Plan of the ground floor of the Hochfürstlich Starhembergischen Freihaus auf der Wieden in Mozart’s day. The Freihaus Theater can be seen above the garden. Andreas Zach, landscape architect, 1789. Pen, ink, and watercolor.

Courtesy of the Niederösterreichisches Landesarchiv/St. Pölten, Nö. Regierung (vor 1850), E 1 Zl. 22924 bei 19798 ex 1789.

The theater building commissioned by Rossbach (in which The Magic Flute would eventually premiere) was built by Andreas Zach, who was also responsible for renovations of the entire Freihaus. According to Michael Lorenz, the original plans for the theater show that its walls were of masonry, but the interior was made of wood, in keeping with the conventions of such buildings at the time. While it was not physically connected to the surrounding, far larger Freihaus building (it stood in the middle of a field), its tiled roof was taller than the apex of the Freihaus’s roof.⁶ The plans for the theater also show a wooden passageway – one of six in the Freihaus – which was likely intended to allow audience members to cross the courtyard and arrive at the theater without muddying their feet.⁷ The theater’s dimensions were thirty by fifteen meters, with almost half of that space occupied by the twelve-meter-deep stage area, presumably to allow for elaborate sets.⁸ Surviving engravings from some productions as well as descriptions of sets in contemporary press reports attest to their grandeur. Tall buildings and realistic trees flank singers as they descend into the ground on a moving platform in Der Stein der Weisen (The Philosopher’s Stone), and a review of Babylons Pyramiden (The Pyramids of Babylon) refers to the theater’s technical capability to surprise the audience with a rustic, hut-like exterior that gives way to show a large, impressive temple, or an enormous haystack that opens up to reveal many beautifully rendered rooms.⁹ As to the appearance of the interior of the theater, it was painted simply and included a proscenium arch flanked by life-size statues of a knight with a dagger and an elegantly masked lady, but it is unclear whether it looked this way from its early days. Entrance to the theater cost seventeen kreutzer to the parterre and seven to the upper floor.¹⁰

Lorenz’s extensive research on the history of the theater building shows that there were several attempts to expand its capacity of 800 seats by building either a new wing or an entirely separate building in a different courtyard of the Freihaus. A map of the planned expansion that Lorenz discovered shows what the actual second floor of the theater looked like, including private boxes and a spiral staircase.¹¹ These more ambitious plans, which date from around 1790, were probably curtailed due to financial problems, when the main backer of the theater, Joseph von Bauernfeld, faced financial ruin in 1793.¹² Schikaneder, the director at the time, had to pay off the creditors, and the owner of the theater, Anton von Bauernfeld, Joseph’s brother, gave the building to his wife as part of a divorce settlement in 1794. The list of items from the theater that were transferred to Antonia von Bauernfeld includes everything from the walls and the number of private boxes to the locations of the various benches and whether or not they were upholstered.¹³

Early Directors of the Theater auf der Wieden

Rossbach was already running performances of plays, ballets, and some operas in a temporary, wooden structure in the city center, when, on September 29, 1787, he announced in the Wienerzeitung that his new theater would be opening on October 7 and that, hoping to please all theater friends and benefactors, he would spare no expense and present a play with songs, a related opera buffa, and a plot-appropriate ballet of national character.¹⁴ Such mixtures of pieces were common for traveling troupes and catered to the taste of the Viennese public.¹⁵ We do not know the exact repertoire Rossbach presented on his stage, but there could not have been much of it since his directorship lasted a mere six months.

The next director, Johann Friedel, a writer and the leader of his own traveling acting troupe, took over, together with Eleonore Schikaneder (a member of the troupe and the estranged wife of Emanuel), in 1788. A number of oft-quoted reports claim a romantic relationship between these two, but since there are no primary sources to confirm it, this may be a result of theater gossip handed down through the generations.¹⁶ We do know that Emanuel and Eleonore were apart during this time, because he was in Augsburg with his troupe of opera singers. Friedel was better known and more successful as a writer, and his tenure as director was largely unsuccessful. His preference for Lessing and Schiller over more standard comic fare did not endear him to contemporary audiences, although it coincided with Emperor Joseph II’s intention to elevate and promote German-language spectacles as part of his larger plan to unify German-speaking nations.

In a speech given on March 24, 1788, at the premiere performance of his directorship, Friedel begged the audience to be patient with him and not to expect too much.¹⁷ Reviewers criticized Friedel as inexperienced because of various directorial missteps; these included offering too many different shows in a row, with the result that the actors were underprepared, and scrambling to find enough performers to cover each type (Fach) of role – even assigning women to play male roles, as one outraged report notes.¹⁸ One writer acknowledged that these lapses might have been due to Friedel’s ill health, but added that this was no excuse for subjecting audiences to ill-prepared actors reading rather than performing their parts from memory or for reducing the role of reviewers to commenting on whether these parts were read poorly or relatively well.¹⁹

Thus far, Friedel’s troupe had performed only plays, but in January of 1789 he made plans to introduce German-language opera. A German opera troupe was engaged to begin after Easter; the goal was to offer a wider variety of entertainment.²⁰ Even prior to Easter, Friedel brought opera, mainly in the form of a few German translations of Italian comic works, to the Theater auf der Wieden for the first time. The press deemed this move a financial calculation, comparing it to Schikaneder’s earlier engagement with the state theaters and writing that although Schikaneder’s previous performances in a Viennese theater had been mediocre at best, they nevertheless filled the house with a charmed Viennese public, always eager for more German-language opera.²¹ German opera, in other words, was immensely popular but panned by the critics. As the Kritisches Theater Journal von Wien damningly put it, “The theater was full, but the actors were empty.”²² Friedel ran the theater for just a year and died after an extended illness on March 31, 1789, at the age of thirty-eight. Since she was female, the codirector, Eleonore Schikaneder, may have thought it unrealistic to run the theater by herself, so she sought the assistance of her husband, Emanuel. The years of his directorship represented a golden age, the most important period in the story of the Theater auf der Wieden and the one that produced The Magic Flute.

Characters and Repertory

The first work to premiere under Schikaneder’s directorship of the theater was his own Der dumme Gärtner im Gebürge, oder die zween Anton (The Stupid Gardner in the Mountains, or The Two Antons), with music by Johann Baptist Henneberg and Benedikt Schack. Schikaneder himself played Anton, a character intended as competition for the popular Kasperl, a comic figure who reigned at the rival Theater in der Leopoldstadt. Anton never achieved Kasperl’s level of acclaim in Vienna, but both characters represent a tradition in Viennese comedy that originates in the much older Hanswurst figure, popularized by Josef Anton Stranitzky in the first half of the eighteenth century. With roots in the Italian commedia dell’arte, this largely improvised comic type allowed Stranitzky and later performers the freedom to create a witty lower-class or servant character, who could outmaneuver his aristocratic or bourgeois masters while improvising lines that were relevant to, or even critical of, contemporary society. Much of the appeal of such comedy lay in making the upper classes look ridiculous. It was for this reason that Empress Maria Theresia had attempted to control improvised comedy in 1752, finally banning it in 1770, at which time a protocol for censoring theatrical works was established.²³ Nevertheless, improvised comedy continued in full force through the reign of Joseph II. Even a theater reviewer was shocked by what Kasperl was able to get away with on the stage of the Theater in der Leopoldstadt in 1789 as he offended morals and religion, to say nothing of good taste.²⁴

Papageno is the most famous of these lower-class characters, whose lineage continued into the nineteenth century. Having inherited their main features, he is generally bumbling, good-hearted, cowardly, and ruled by his appetites, but he deviates from them in that he says nothing in The Magic Flute that is particularly subversive. Characters such as Leporello in Don Giovanni, also share Hanswurstian features. Whereas in Mozart’s time such figures were associated more with silliness and coarse humor, the nineteenth-century successors of Hanswurst returned to criticizing authority, not only through improvised lines they might have sneaked into the written text but also in the development of a type of metalanguage that was an unexpected by-product of the censorship process – a censor struck an offensive word from a libretto and replaced it with an innocent one – and the performer, through nuance, could convey the original offensive meaning, presumably much to the delight of the audience.²⁵

On a visit in 1768, Leopold Mozart was unamused by the undying popularity of Hanswurst and characters of his ilk among the Viennese and called their antics “foolish stuff.”²⁶ But the elitist opinion of Mozart, senior, was in the minority. The Viennese loved their Hanswursts, Antons, and Kasperls.²⁷ Wanting to capitalize on the popularity of Der dumme Gärtner, Schikaneder created six sequels featuring Anton over the next six years. In 1791 Mozart wrote his Variations K. 613 on “Ein Weib ist das herrlichste Ding auf der Welt” (A woman is the most wonderful thing in the world), a popular aria from the second Anton opera, Die verdeckten Sachen (The Obscured Things).²⁸

On November 7, 1789, Schikaneder presented Paul Wranitzky and Karl Ludwig Gieseke’s opera, Oberon, König der Elfen (Oberon, King of the Elves), initiating a new era in Viennese popular theater that culminated in Die Zauberflöte.²⁹ Oberon was enormously successful, and Schikaneder’s rival Karl Marinelli, director of the Theater in der Leopoldstadt, took notice and began presenting competing magical operas in his theater. Oberon was novel, not only because it was a magically themed and newly written German-language opera, but also because magical aspects were a central rather than an incidental part of the misadventures of an Anton or Kasperl figure.³⁰ There had been magical operas in Vienna before this time, of course, but the subject of the supernatural was treated differently then. During the reign of Maria Theresia (1740–80), magic on the stage had been frowned upon because it was thought to encourage superstition and to detract from religious teachings.³¹ But under her son Joseph, censorship around magic on the stage was loosened, and later operas such as Oberon and The Magic Flute employed aspects of the supernatural to transmit Enlightenment morals. For example, Sarastro’s powers of good are related to the sun, the Queen of the Night’s evil powers are connected to the moon, and the rites undergone by Pamina and Tamino emphasize fortitude and wisdom. The religious-seeming ceremonies and even quasi-religious figures like Sarastro would not have made it past the censor prior to 1780. Joseph’s successors (Leopold II and Francis II) tightened censorship laws again, but with more emphasis on eradicating political and sexual content than magical or anti-religious material.³²

The centrality of magic was not the only similarity between Oberon and The Magic Flute. Both operas include a couple subjected to various difficult trials, a magical instrument (in Oberon it is a horn), music that compels villains to dance, and the use of coloratura to indicate supernatural power. Oberon is a trouser role, written for soprano and premiered by one of the central figures of Schikaneder’s troupe, Josepha Hofer, who, in addition to being Mozart’s sister-in-law, was also the first Queen of the Night.³³ Other than The Magic Flute, Oberon was perhaps the best-known magical opera of its time, and it was performed widely outside Vienna, for example in Frankfurt and Hamburg.³⁴ One reason so many other Viennese magical operas, both those contemporary with and especially later than The Magic Flute, never captured the imagination of audiences outside the city could be their connection to the so-called Lokalstück (local farce). This tradition of popular comic pieces included numerous references to either Viennese landmarks or local incidents that someone in Vienna would have understood, but that made them less accessible to people living elsewhere.³⁵

Since theaters and their offerings were a major source of entertainment for the public, people frequently attended the same show multiple times. In Mozart’s day, even the upper echelons of society attended the Theater auf der Wieden and its rival houses. Leopold II and his wife, Maria Luisa, for example, brought the visiting Sicilian court to a performance of Der Stein der Weisen (1790), having also attended a performance of the same opera nine days earlier. The nobility often rented boxes for an entire season, sometimes in more than one theater, which gave them (or their friends) the opportunity to attend all performances of all the works in any given season. The theater provided a place of entertainment, and repeated attendance could bring great familiarity with the repertoire, but it was also a useful venue for conducting business deals and pursuing romances – eighteenth-century opera audiences were hardly as quiet and polite as twenty-first-century ones.

Schikaneder’s Troupe

The Theater auf der Wieden’s performing troupe easily numbered fifty people without counting the supporting staff, which included subdirectors (dance master and prompter, for example), composers, orchestral players, administrative staff, set builders, and painters.³⁶ Life in the theater was very much a family affair: there were many married couples within the troupe, and children often began participating at a young age. Schikaneder, in addition to his work as director and librettist, continued as performer, most famously playing Papageno in The Magic Flute and, true to this type, other rustic, comic characters, notably the lead role in Der Tiroler Wastel (Wastel from Tyrol), which became another one of the theater’s most popular offerings.³⁷ Schikaneder’s older brother, Urban, was also a member of the troupe and originated the role of the First Priest in The Magic Flute; Urban’s daughter, Anna, may have played the role of the First Boy, although that is not indicated on surviving playbills.

In 1796, the theater’s performing personnel could be divided into three separate troupes, consisting of eight male and eight female singers (including Emanuel Schikaneder), ten male and five female actors (including Eleonore Schikaneder), and five male and three female dancers, as well as two grotesque dancers and twelve Figuranten or extras. Grotesque dancers, or grotteschi, combined French ballet techniques with pantomime and more daring, acrobatic movements that came from Italy.³⁸ There could be overlap between these three groups, as perhaps one actor was also an accomplished dancer, and some actors may also have filled out the chorus, which is listed as having only five members between 1793 and 1794.³⁹ A performer could, for example, have played kindly older men and funny servants but might also have sung tenor roles in opera. The listings of personnel from closer to Mozart’s time seem to mainly divide the performers by gender rather than métier, which implies that over time there was less overlap and more specialization, perhaps as the theater became more successful and could hire more personnel.

Not much is known about the men responsible for how the sets looked: on the playbill for the premiere of Die Zauberflöte, Joseph Gail is listed as the set painter and someone named Nesslthaler as the designer. Contemporary reviews of this and other shows at the theater frequently indicate that sets and decorations were magnificent, but offer few details. Reviewers tended to comment if something was particularly unusual, such as when, in 1797, actual cannons were rolled onto the stage during the second part of Schikaneder’s Der Tiroler Wastel to honor Archduke Karl’s military achievements. The librettos of most of the operas from the Theater auf der Wieden describe the scenery in some detail, and the Allmanach für Theaterfreunde from 1789 to 1790 includes twelve engravings by Ignaz Albrecht of scenes from operas or plays that confirm the variety of sets used in this theater. All of the scenes show that great attention was paid to perspective and giving the illusion of depth: they show details, for example, of the interior of a house, depicting its row of decorative plates above the door, or of an outdoor scene with a realistic-looking mill wheel; and two illustrations from Der Stein der Weisen show the use of a platform on which performers could stand if they needed to sink into or rise from the depths. Albrecht’s engravings are also important because they provide the only known images of some of the main performers at the theater.⁴⁰

Suburban Theaters in Contemporary Reviews

With the exception of The Magic Flute, much of the music in works performed at the Theater auf der Wieden earned a reputation for being third-rate. That may be partly due to confusion about chronology and which works were being reviewed. Reviews from the years around 1791, the year of The Magic Flute, were frequently positive, and some writers were even impressed by the quality of the music. In the earlier period (for instance, under Friedel), shows at the theater had generally earned less favorable reviews, in which critics objected to the quality of the performances rather than to the music itself. And later, in the nineteenth century, as the repertoire tended toward lighter fare, in which music played a more ancillary role, there was a marked increase in negative reviews that commented on the banality of the plots and the simplicity of the music. But Mozart’s Viennese decade (1781–91), which corresponds roughly to the reign of Joseph II, was a unique and particularly creative time in the city. Since censorship was loosened during this time, there were more creative possibilities to explore, particularly in operas and plays, the texts of which were generally more heavily censored than those in books.

Schikaneder’s decision to hire two singers who could also compose – Schack and Gerl – as well as the influx of highly qualified court musicians, who came to the theater due to the closure of one of the court theaters, resulted in musical performances of particularly high quality. The overlap of métiers, as troupe members frequently took on duties other than their official or major ones, was important in creating the special environment that was the Theater auf der Wieden. David Buch has pointed out that people like Schack and Gerl helped set this theater apart from the other suburban houses.⁴¹ Certainly, the collaborative approach to composition that produced Der Stein der Weisen seems more pronounced at the Theater auf der Wieden than elsewhere in Vienna. But we should not overstate the success of the theater simply because of The Magic Flute.

Other suburban houses, and most especially the Theater in der Leopoldstadt under the direction of Karl Marinelli, easily enjoyed as much acclaim for their shows as did the Theater auf der Wieden. Of course, we might do well to consider acclaim and quality separately, and the wide-ranging tastes of Viennese audiences are important to consider: one reviewer, after noting the success of the premier of The Magic Flute and the magnificence of its decorations and costumes, commented in his subsequent sentence on the success of the competing play that same night at the Theater in der Leopoldstadt, which featured an actor dressed as an orangutan as its main character.⁴² More serious examples of well-crafted works at the Theater in der Leopoldstadt are Wenzel Müller’s Das Sonnenfest der Braminen (The Brahmins’ Sun Festival, 1790) and Das Donauweibchen (The Nymph of the Danube, 1798), with music by Ferdinand Kauer. At least one prominent scholar holds that, apart from The Magic Flute, the quality of the pieces at the Theater in der Leopoldstadt was higher than those at the Theater auf der Wieden.⁴³ It seems that throughout this period Schikaneder paid close attention to the Theater in der Leopoldstadt and frequently modeled aspects of his works on those of its best-known writers, Joachim Perinet and Karl Friedrich Hensler.

Recipes for Success

Suburban theaters were important entertainment venues for the Viennese public, and their personnel were expected to continually produce new works. As such, it is unsurprising that Schikaneder wrote sequels or reused plot structures that he knew would be successful; The Magic Flute and some of Schikaneder’s other important magical operas derive source material from Christoph Martin Wieland’s collection of fairy tales entitled Dschinnistan. One of these, Der Stein der Weisen, was a particularly important model for The Magic Flute. Much of the plot of The Magic Flute rests on the twist that the Queen of the Night is not the wronged mother she at first appears to be, but a vengeful, power-hungry sorceress, and that Sarastro is not a throne-usurping child abductor, but a unifying ruler governed by reason. Similarly, Der Stein der Weisen presents two powerful magician brothers, one of whom (Eutifronte) convinces the hero (Nadir) that he must kill the other brother (Astromonte) to save his beloved Nadine. Eventually, Nadir realizes that Astromonte is actually the good brother.⁴⁴ In both operas, it is an initially wronged party who turns out to be evil: since he was the second-born son, Eutifronte was denied the philosopher’s stone by his father, and it is presumably because she is a woman that the Queen of the Night was denied her husband’s throne, which was given instead to Sarastro. The similar, often rhyming names of the couples, as well as the pairing of an upper-class couple with a lower-class one, are common features of fairytales; Pamina and Tamino are equivalent to Nadir and Nadine, while Papageno and Papagena are equivalent to Lubano and Lubanara.⁴⁵ In scenes involving Eutifronte, Lubanara, and Lubano, Eutifronte’s evil (in this case he kidnaps Lubanara) is augmented by his blackness, just as Monostatos was considered more threatening to Pamina because of his dark skin.

Further evidence of a type of house efficiency is the composition of the music by more than one composer. The first of the Anton series is one example, but the best known of the theater’s collaboratively written Singspiele is Der Stein der Weisen. The most obvious composer for this work is Henneberg, who, as the official composer and Kapellmeister of the theater, would have been expected to write the music for any new pieces to be performed and to conduct the orchestra, but Gerl (the first Sarastro) and Schack (the first Tamino) also composed parts of the opera. There is evidence that Mozart composed a duet and two sections of the finale for it.⁴⁶ This collaborative approach speaks to the speed and efficiency with which new works needed to be written, so that they could be rehearsed quickly and then performed. A contemporary Viennese author likened the process of composing at the theater to building a house, where each person contributes a different part to create a whole. Composition and performance were intimately intertwined in a manner quite foreign to present-day notions of opera – most often understood as the creative product of one person brought to life by interpreters. As the Viennese author noted, this older process was certainly the fastest way to bring a work to the stage.⁴⁷

Schikaneder’s method of creating new works for his theater can be understood as a template that included similar sets of characters and then allowed for the adjustment of plot and setting and the addition of new music. This was a profitable way to run the business because performers could be placed into roles that were written to emphasize their individual strengths, thereby appealing to the audience. The focus, musically speaking, was always on writing for the appropriate voice types available within the troupe, but it was also important to keep the type of character (e.g., comic, old, lower-class) and audience expectations in mind.

Operas presented at rival theaters, particularly at the Theater in der Leopoldstadt, clearly influenced The Magic Flute, although it is difficult to determine with certainty whether the source of influence was a plot feature, a type of stock character, or a particular example of that feature or character in a single work. Das Sonnenfest der Braminen, set to Müller’s music with a libretto by Karl Friedrich Hensler, was first performed on September 9, 1790, at the Theater in der Leopoldstadt, and is an excellent case in point. The preface to the libretto emphasizes that the work was intended to honor the upcoming double wedding of Archduke Francis, the future emperor, and his younger brother, Archduke Ferdinand. Although the plot is different from that of The Magic Flute and rather like other operas of the period – long-lost family members are rediscovered and cross-dressing leads to an amusing mix-up – several of its other features remind us of Schikaneder and Mozart’s work. Worship of nature, including the sun, is central, and there are many solemn, priestly choruses with prayers directed at two deities, Brama and Wistnu. Importance is placed on the relative unworthiness of those who do not belong to this priestly caste and on a belief that people can only truly be trusted once they have been initiated. There are two main lower-class characters in Das Sonnenfest der Braminen, one a gardener and the other a comic servant, who resemble Monostatos and Papageno, respectively. There is confusion at their initial meeting, and their subsequent conversation concerns Black Hottentots stealing their master’s beloved; the gardener mentions stealing kisses and that his urges keep leading him to the hut of two female characters. The Papageno figure discusses girls and wine – the good things in life – and is particularly cowardly when faced with anything serious or life-threatening. He also makes light of the priestly traditions and sings an aria, “Adieu! du schnöde, böse Welt!” (Farewell! you disdainful, wicked world!), when he thinks he is going to die. There are other similarities as well: the male lead character’s first sung words are “zu Hülfe” (prefiguring Tamino’s “Zu Hilfe”); one main female character begs the highest figure of authority for her freedom (as when Pamina asks Sarastro for hers); and the other leading female sings about whether the feeling she is experiencing is love and decides “Ja ja, nein nein, die Liebe muß es seyn” (very much as Tamino sings in “Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schön”).

How should we understand this partial list of similarities between Das Sonnenfest der Braminen and Die Zauberflöte? We could look to stock characters and situations to explain them (servant characters are always ruled by their base instincts), or we could assume that some similarities are more specific than general (in 1790 and 1791, sun-worshipping priests might have been just the right enticement to bring audiences to the theater). Either way, this example of Das Sonnenfest der Braminen invites us to consider just how cognizant of each other’s productions Schikaneder and his rivals were. Character types, plot lines, and literal lines from operas were easily absorbed and transferred to others. In this brief overview of the Theater auf der Wieden, I have tried to set The Magic Flute in the immediate context of the stage on which it premiered. It may not be possible to recover or entirely recreate this theatrical culture, but knowing more about the Theater auf der Wieden, its company of singers and actors, and other operas produced on its stage and in rival theaters can help us to understand The Magic Flute not merely as a work of “singularity” but as part of a repertory. It should be clear that the messy collection of works being performed around The Magic Flute both at the Theater auf der Wieden and at rival theaters can be considered an important source for understanding Mozart and Schikaneder’s opera.

Vienna, October 1 (from private letters):

Thus reported the Münchner Zeitung on October 7, 1791. This excerpt – placing the success of Mozart’s Singspiel alongside that of a spoken play featuring an orangutan – is the earliest known account following the premiere of The Magic Flute. To be sure, the opera, which is referred to by the alternative title Die egyptischen Geheimniße (The Egyptian Mysteries), was first given on September 30, 1791, in a performance that was well received according to this correspondent.²

Yet, despite the “unanimous acclaim” – not to mention the popularity and canonic status that The Magic Flute would achieve in the decades that followed – little can be said with certainty about its first performance. Not much is known about the opera’s commission, preparation, and production as the correspondent of the Münchner Zeitung would have experienced it. Although the sources available simply do not provide a full picture of the premiere, this chapter draws on existing documentary evidence to consider how audiences may have experienced The Magic Flute in 1791. More than that, however, this chapter attempts to contextualize the conception and earliest performance(s) by approaching the work not as Mozart’s final opera informed by over two hundred years of reception history, but rather as the product of a specific historical moment.

Toward the German Theater: Mozart in 1791

Understanding Mozart’s circumstances in the period leading up to the premiere of The Magic Flute is key to understanding the work itself. To be sure, the Mozart of 1791 was not the Mozart listeners know today. K. M. Knittel’s distinction between Beethoven and “Beethoven’’ is equally applicable here: Mozart was not yet “Mozart” when The Magic Flute first appeared, meaning that his romantic hagiography only emerged posthumously.³ Understanding his circumstances in the years before the premiere helps explain why Mozart might have taken on the project – one quite unlike any other he had previously undertaken – in the first place.

In the decade between his relocation to Vienna in 1781 and the appearance of The Magic Flute, Mozart had composed four operas specifically for the city’s theatergoers: Die Entführung aus dem Serail (1782), Der Schauspieldirektor and Le nozze di Figaro (1786), and Così fan tutte (1790).⁴ Granted, Don Giovanni also appeared on the Viennese stage (1788), but Mozart had composed this opera for audiences in Prague (1787). Despite what the disproportionate attention on Mozart in secondary literature might suggest, data from Vienna indicates that he was less successful than some of his contemporaries, when measured by the number of performances his operas received.⁵ If it is true that “the more popular an opera was, the more it was repeated,” then Mozart’s works were not as well received as those of his peers, at least by the standards of the theatergoers for whom they were intended.⁶ For example, Die Entführung, Mozart’s most successful work for the German stage prior to The Magic Flute, was given twelve times in the Kärntnertortheater and Burgtheater (the Viennese court theaters) the year it was premiered, whereas another popular contemporary German opera, Der Apotheker und der Doktor (1786) by Carl Ditters von Dittersdorf (1739–99), was given twenty times in these theaters in the year of its premiere. In total, during Mozart’s lifetime Die Entführung would go on to be staged in the court theaters on only about ten more occasions than Der Apotheker, despite having had a four-year head start.⁷ So far as Italian operas for the Viennese court theaters are concerned, between the premiere of Figaro in 1786 and Mozart’s death in 1791, works by Vicente Martín y Soler (1754–1806), Antonio Salieri (1750–1825), and others were performed significantly more often than Mozart’s “Da Ponte” operas.⁸ Performance data from this period are clear on this point and provide an important sense of the operatic world in the years before The Magic Flute.

These figures are supported by contemporary opinion. When Johann Pezzl (1756–1823) listed Vienna’s most beloved operas in 1787, he named works by Dittersdorf, Martín, Paisiello, Salieri, and Giuseppe Sarti.⁹ Mozart and his music are conspicuously absent. What is more, Mozart was the second choice of composer for Così and La clemenza di Tito (1791), both having been offered first to Salieri.¹⁰ In short, Mozart’s contemporary status and fortunes as a composer were anything but certain in 1791.

The period immediately prior to The Magic Flute’s premiere had been particularly difficult for the composer for other reasons as well. From 1788 until at least mid-1791, Mozart had borrowed significant sums of money from friends to pay pressing debts and make ends meet.¹¹ Hoping to turn around his precarious fortunes, he invested significant amounts in two performance tours: one to Dresden, Leipzig, and Berlin between April and June 1789 and another to Frankfurt am Main, Mainz, and Mannheim from September to October 1790.¹² His financial situation was no secret. In a letter dated April 7, 1791, the Mannheim actor Heinrich Beck (1760–1803) – whose wife Josepha Beck (unknown–1827) played the role of the Countess in a performance of Die Hochzeit des Figaro during Mozart’s 1790 visit – wrote to the dramatist Friedrich Wilhelm Gotter (1746–97) in Gotha.¹³ Even though Beck was well aware that “Mozart … is in very limited circumstances,” he recommended Dittersdorf – known for his works for the German stage – as a potential composer for Gotter’s latest text.¹⁴

Uncertain professional success, financial instability, and missed opportunities may have led Mozart to begin exploring the possibilities that the German theater had to offer. After all, the vast majority of audiences throughout the Holy Roman Empire and wider Kulturkreis encountered operas set in Italian as German-language adaptations for their local stages. As was the case in Mannheim, far more Central European theatergoers experienced Le nozze di Figaro in German adaptation as Die Hochzeit des Figaro and Don Giovanni as Don Juan, for instance. And, specifically in Vienna, the court theater was not attracting theatergoers as it once had.¹⁵ It is little surprise, then, that Schikaneder and Mozart began to collaborate professionally in 1790 and 1791. When Mozart agreed to compose The Magic Flute, he acknowledged the German stage as a source of both potential recognition and income and decided to try his luck there.

Toward The Magic Flute: The Schikaneder Company and Viennese Theater in the Reign of Leopold II

Of the hundreds of German-language theater companies active in the last quarter of the eighteenth century, Schikaneder’s was one of a few that operated continuously throughout the period. The troupe was experienced, for it had visited roughly ten cities and towns within the southern half of the empire by the time it reached Vienna.¹⁶ Like many other companies, Schikaneder’s actors staged both spoken and musical theater. Among the troupe’s musico-theatric repertoire in this period were such works as Dittersdorf’s Der Apotheker und der Doktor, Salieri’s Die Höhle des Trofonius (La grotta di Trofonio, 1785), Martín’s Lilla (Una cosa rara, 1786), and Johann Ernst Hartmann’s Balders Tod (1788), to name but a few.¹⁷

Schikaneder and Mozart had first met when his company visited Salzburg in 1780, and within a year of his troupe’s relocation to Vienna, in 1789, they were working together. The first evidence of collaboration was Der Stein der Weisen (1790). This Singspiel was written by Schikaneder and set to music by the Wiednertheater Kapellmeister Johann Baptist Henneberg (1768–1822), company actor-singers Franz Xaver Gerl (1764–1827) and Benedikt Schack (1758–1826), Schikaneder, and Mozart, who probably set the duet “Nun liebes Weibchen” (K625) and assisted with the second-act finale.¹⁸ Building on the success of earlier works, including Oberon, König der Elfen (1789) by Paul Wranitzky (1756–1808), Der Stein der Weisen was the latest of Schikaneder’s so-called magic operas (Zauberopern) and machine comedies – terms used to denote pieces that drew heavily on stage machinery and effects to enhance the spectacle. The vogue for such Zauberopern resulted in steady competition between the Wiednertheater and the nearby Theater in der Leopoldstadt. When the latter theater premiered the incredibly successful Kaspar der Fagottist by Joachim Perinet (1763–1816) and Wenzel Müller (1767–1835) in June 1791, Schikaneder’s Wiednertheater was already preparing its response: The Magic Flute.¹⁹

One of the reasons very few documents survive concerning the commission and early composition of The Magic Flute is almost certainly because Mozart and his collaborators were together in Vienna, so they had no need to correspond. Writing in the early 1990s, Peter Branscombe suggested that “it is unlikely that the details of Mozart’s contract with Schikaneder (if there was one) will ever be known, or when he began to write the score.”²⁰ His prediction remains true thus far. The earliest known reference to The Magic Flute is found in one of Mozart’s letters to Constanze (1762–1842), his wife, thought to have been written on June 11, 1791. Mozart expresses here his anxiety about finances and mentions having “composed an aria from the opera.”²¹ Given what is known about Mozart’s compositional practices, he was most likely hard at work on The Magic Flute by this point, as he typically set ensembles first and composed arias only later.²² Subsequent references to the Singspiel appear in the postscript of a letter written sometime around late June or early July and in yet another dated July 2. These missives confirm that Mozart’s work on the opera was advanced, as he asked Constanze to ensure that Franz Xaver Süßmayr (1766–1803) was making progress with the short score, so that he could begin orchestrating numbers from the first act.²³ Meanwhile, evidence found in correspondence dated between July 3 and 12 indicates that Mozart was also well into the second act by this point.²⁴ All but a few numbers of The Magic Flute were complete when Mozart departed for Prague, at which time he shifted most of his attention to La clemenza di Tito, an opera designed to celebrate the coronation of Emperor Leopold II as king of Bohemia.

While Mozart was in Prague, it is assumed that Henneberg took over rehearsals for The Magic Flute.²⁵ Exactly how Henneberg and the troupe’s other actor-musicians – Gerl, Schack, and Schikaneder – may have shaped its music remains uncertain. But given that Mozart had collaborated with them before, set three of The Magic Flute’s leading roles for them, and was later feverishly occupied with Tito, it is possible that they made contributions that shaped the work throughout its creation. To be sure, collaboration may help to explain the fact that Henneberg’s song “Das Veilchen und der Dornstrauch,” printed in the Liedersammlung für Kinder und Kinderfreunde am Clavier (1791), included music that would later appear in the final section of the Act 1 quintet “Hm! Hm! Hm!”²⁶

In mid-September, Mozart departed from Prague and returned to Vienna, where he resumed work on the The Magic Flute, just in time for the premiere. He entered the March of the Priests (Act 2, scene 1, no. 9) and the overture in his thematic catalogue on September 28. Such late additions – his last documentable work on the opera – were common for the period. As Mozart’s frenzied labor composing The Magic Flute and La clemenza di Tito in the summer and autumn of 1791 suggests, composers often continued working on pieces right up to the opening night.

The Premiere of The Magic Flute

The Magic Flute was first brought to the stage in the Theater auf der Wieden at 7:00 p.m. on Friday, September 30, 1791. The principal roles were created for and by veteran actors of Schikaneder’s company. Many of these singers had been active on other German-language stages across Central Europe before joining the troupe and each filled one of the era’s stock character types. As was standard for the period, the playbill advertising this performance lists the cast on the opening night (see Figure 4.1). Heading the bill was Franz Xaver Gerl, the first Sarastro, particularly known for comic roles and a former student of Leopold Mozart (1719–87) in Salzburg before joining the companies of Ludwig Schmidt (unknown–1799) in Franconia and Gustav Friedrich Wilhelm Großmann (1746–96) in the Rhineland. A former Kapellmeister to the prince of Schönaich-Carolath, Benedikt Schack became a member of Schikaneder’s troupe in 1786. Schack was the leading tenor by the time Schikaneder took over the Theater auf der Wieden, and it was for him that Schikaneder and Mozart created the part of Tamino. Josepha Hofer (1758–1819), Mozart’s sister-in-law and first Queen of the Night, performed in Graz before joining the troupe at the Theater auf der Wieden in 1789, for which she sang many leading parts, including Titania in Wranitzky’s Oberon, König der Elfen. The first Pamina, Anna Gottlieb (1774–1856), was a native of Vienna, where she grew up in a family of actors. Gottlieb was young, but experienced. Active on the stage from the age of five, she had also created the role of Barbarina in Mozart’s Le nozze di Figaro when she was only twelve years old. Schikaneder, in writing the text, created the part of Papageno for himself. Barbara Gerl (1770–1806) specialized in leading female parts and created the role of Papagena. These actor-singers were supported by other actors as well as the company’s orchestra, comprising about thirty-five musicians.

Figure 4.1 Playbill for the premiere of The Magic Flute.

Courtesy of the KHM-Museumsverband, Theatermuseum Vienna. Die Zauberflöte, Uraufführung, Faksimile des Theaterzettel (ÖTM PA_RaraG286).

It is clear that the opera featured novel costumes and sets. This was a common practice employed by theater companies to draw audiences: investing in bespoke decorations and clothing to supplement more common and universal sets – like gardens, palaces, chambers, and temples – that could be reused from earlier productions.²⁷ Sources differ on exactly how much these items cost, though it is clear that Schikaneder’s company spent a significant amount on The Magic Flute. In early October, a Hamburg newspaper printed a report from Vienna written a week before the premiere claiming the costumes and scenery cost 5,000 florins.²⁸ An account in the Münchner Zeitung reported an even higher estimate on October 8:

It is significant that this correspondent attributes the opera’s “universal acclaim” equally to its scenery and its music. Production value, including costumes, scenery, and spectacle, were apparently vital to its success.

The original libretto, which was available for purchase, provides important descriptions about how characters in the first performances may have appeared. Tamino sported “splendid Japanese hunting clothes,” for example, while the Three Ladies were veiled and carried spears.³⁰ Papagena was “dressed exactly as Papageno” when she removed her disguise at the conclusion of Act 2, scene 23; the two men who lead Tamino to his trials appeared in black armor with fire blazing from their helmets; and Tamino and Pamina were dressed in priestly clothes at the conclusion of the second act.³¹ The libretto also included two engravings, one of which depicted a costume as it allegedly appeared in the premiere. Specifically mentioned in the playbill, it shows “Schikaneder in the role of Papageno according to [his] true costume,” covered in feathers and with a birdcage on his back (see Figure 4.2).³² This image of Papageno and another included in the Allgemeines europäisches Journal in 1794 (based on the costume that appeared in “Mannheim and on other large, nonlocal stages”) are nearly identical: both are covered in feathers, with a feather headdress, panpipes, and birdcage.³³ Both costumes also include a feather tail, which, according to a description in the journal, could be made to swing by pulling on a string.³⁴ The same journal included only one other engraving of a single character’s costume from the Singspiel. It shows the Queen of the Night during her famous Act 2 aria, dagger in hand and arm raised in vengeful anger, wearing a dress bedecked with stars and an elaborate star-covered veil.³⁵

Figure 4.2 Emanuel Schikaneder as Papageno in an engraving by Ignaz Alberti, opposite page 4 of the original libretto as printed by Alberti (Vienna, 1791).

Descriptions of the scenery included in the original libretto are more detailed and more prevalent than those of the costumes, providing valuable clues regarding what audiences may have seen in 1791. Many examples come to mind: mountains that separate to reveal the starry throne room of the Queen of the Night (Act 1, scene 6); the later change of scene to a grove revealing the Temples of Wisdom, Reason, and Nature (Act 1, scene 15); Sarastro’s entrance in a chariot drawn by six lions (Act 1, scene 18); and the palm grove, where silvery trees are covered with golden leaves and seats await eighteen priests, that opens the second act. Indeed, as was often the case with Zauberopern, The Magic Flute’s action included many expensive scene changes and was accompanied by stage effects to heighten the spectacle. Some involved stage machinery, such as lifts and cloud carts for seemingly magical appearances and exits (e.g., Act 2, scene 16). Other scenes sought to intensify the dramatic effect by replicating tumultuous weather, such as that caused by a combination of wind, thunder, and lightning (e.g., Act 2, scene 5). Others still included spewing fire, as did the trials by fire and water in Act 2, scene 28.

In some cases, contemporary iconography confirms exactly the descriptions in the text. The backdrop for Papageno’s entrance (Act 1, scene 2), for instance, is described as “a rocky area, here and there overgrown with trees, on both sides are accessible hills; there is also a round temple.” This idealized scenery appears in the engraving of Schikaneder in his Papageno costume found in the libretto (Figure 4.2). The rocks, trees, and a round temple are present, but represented more closely, as they might have appeared on stage in another engraving from the early 1790s. This image (Figure 4.3) captures the moment when the Three Ladies return to punish Papageno for claiming that he saved Tamino from the serpent (Act 1, scene 3). It thus provides an idea of how Tamino’s hunting attire and the costumes of the veiled Three Ladies (albeit without their spears) might have appeared on stage.

Figure 4.3 Act 1, scene 3. Papageno: “Here, my beauties, here are my birds.” Engraving by Joseph Schaffer, ca. 1794.

Courtesy of Wien Museum.

This image and others created sometime around 1794 deserve special consideration as the most detailed early depictions of scenes from the opera yet known. At least six engravings – three scenes from each act – were created by Joseph Schaffer, and some scholars believe they may preserve some details of the original production – an oft-repeated assertion that is made without much discussion.³⁶ The reasoning behind this, and even the date of their creation, are unclear. What is certain is that they were later revised slightly and included in the Brno monthly Allgemeines eurpäisches Journal as hand-colored foldouts between the months of January and July 1795. Given the similarities of costumes in Vienna, Mannheim, and elsewhere discussed above, as well as descriptions of the sets found on playbills advertising the Augsburg and Innsbruck premieres (1793) that are remarkably similar to those in Schikaneder’s text, it seems that early stagings resembled one another closely. Even though it cannot be determined to what degree these images reflect scenes from the opera as it may have appeared on any particular stage on any particular night, their value as contemporaneous iconographic evidence is beyond doubt. For this reason, all six scenes are included in this chapter (Figures 4.3, 4.4, 4.5, 4.6, 4.7, and 4.8); and they are available in full color in the Resources Tab for this volume.³⁷

Figure 4.4 Act 1, scene 15. Tamino: “Dear flute, through your playing even wild animals [wilde Thiere] feel joy.” Engraving by Joseph Schaffer, ca. 1794.

Courtesy of Wien Museum.

Figure 4.5 Act 1, scene 18. [Chorus:] “Long live Sarastro!” Engraving by Joseph Schaffer, ca. 1794.

Courtesy of Wien Museum.

Figure 4.6 Act 2, scene 18. Pamina: “You here! – Benevolent Gods.” Engraving by Joseph Schaffer, ca. 1794.

Courtesy of Wien Museum.

Figure 4.7 Act 2, scene 25. Speaker: “Away with you, young woman, he is not yet worthy of you.” Engraving by Joseph Schaffer, ca. 1794.

Courtesy of Wien Museum.

Figure 4.8 Act 2, scene 28. Tamino: “Here are the terrifying gates.” Engraving by Joseph Schaffer, ca. 1794.

Courtesy of Wien Museum.

It is worth comparing the frontispiece in the original libretto to a related scene depicted in one of the Schaffer engravings. Ignaz Alberti’s engraving reveals a large vaulted hall in the background; in the foreground sits an obelisk with pseudo-hieroglyphics across from a large urn (Figure 4.9).³⁸ A shovel and pick are propped up in the bottom right, as if they had just been abandoned after being used to uncover this long-forgotten location. Not serving any obvious function in the opera, these tools may have been added by the artist as a means of inviting the audience into this distant realm, for the engraving appears just before the title page (Alberti was also the printer and a Mason). Schaffer’s depiction of Act 2, scene 25, which shows the Speaker leading Papagena away from the not yet worthy Papageno, reproduced a more stage-friendly version of this scene (compare Figures 4.7 and 4.9). Many of the features included in the text’s engraving are also visible here: a marked obelisk on the left, a large urn surrounded by ruins or rocks, and a star dangling from the two central arches.

Figure 4.9 Engraving by Ignaz Alberti showing hieroglyphics, ruined columns, and the “vault of pyramids” associated with scenery in Act 2, frontispiece of the original libretto as printed by Alberti (Vienna, 1791).

Sources related to early performances indicate that individuals closest to the original production made alterations very early on. A copy of the printed libretto annotated by Karl Ludwig Giesecke (1761–1833), stage manager and actor in this run, still provides fresh insight into stage directions, lighting, scenery, and props.³⁹ It reveals, for instance, that the second act duet “Bewahret euch vor Weibertücken” may have been replaced by other music or omitted altogether.⁴⁰ Performance parts from the archive of the Theater auf der Wieden presumed to have been based on the theater’s copy of Mozart’s autograph support this possibility. Most of these early instrumental parts indicate that the duet was indeed omitted.⁴¹ They also include music not present in the autograph. Such is the case in the opening bars of the duet “Bei Männern, welche Liebe fühlen.”⁴² The parts also reveal that the wind chords immediately preceding Pamina’s entrance were in most cases four eighth notes rather than the dotted rhythm most commonly heard today and notated in the Neue Mozart-Ausgabe.⁴³ Considering that Mozart left this music blank in the autograph, these parts may reveal an alteration that he or a collaborator made during rehearsals or very early in its run.⁴⁴

Schaffer’s depiction of Act 2, scene 18 (Figure 4.6) may also shed new light on early performances. In the original libretto, this scene, where Pamina discovers Tamino and Papageno during the trial of silence, takes place in “a hall in which the Boys’ flying machine can operate.” Just why this engraving appears to depict a moonlit garden as opposed to the hall as described in the libretto – at the beginning of scene 13 – is uncertain. It could be a simple mistake on the part of the engraver, but this seems unlikely given that other details in the image are accurate and that all of the other engravings in this series are remarkably faithful to the depictions in Schikaneder’s text. It is possible that early performances of this scene did indeed take place in a moonlit garden, a possibility that Giesecke’s annotations may support.⁴⁵ As Branscombe notes, Giesecke includes the heading “Mondtheater” (moon theater) at this point in his copy of the libretto. Parts of Schikaneder’s original stage direction are then crossed out, though it is uncertain whether Giesecke made the deletion or what exactly it meant.⁴⁶ The details of Branscombe’s speculation aside, discrepancies such as these are significant, because they indicate that alterations were made during some of the earliest performances of The Magic Flute.

Even though there are some contemporary sources concerning the composition and first performances of The Magic Flute, they are not enough to reconstruct the opera as audiences might have experienced it in 1791. In any event, the nature of eighteenth-century opera renders such an effort moot. The concept of an “ideal” opera – that is, one that represents definitively a creator’s intentions – was foreign to the eighteenth century. This was not only because such works were collaborative, but also because almost all pieces were at some point altered to suit local circumstances.⁴⁷ Then, as now, musicians and dramatists often emended works in response to the first few performances and for subsequent productions with different casts. The Magic Flute was no different. Sources closest to the original production indicate variety in early performances, including possible changes that involved the composer, performers, and theater management. It is the contemporary moment – that is, the context, not so much the opera itself – that helps to make sense of how music for the stage was performed and received in its moment.

Initial Reception

Early reactions to The Magic Flute provide some clues about its initial reception. In a letter to Constanze dated October 7, for example, Mozart reports:

In a letter dated October 8 and 9, Mozart once again speaks of the work’s enthusiastic reception, as well as of his disappointment with an acquaintance who “laughed at everything.”⁴⁹ In his last surviving letter, he told Constanze how Salieri and the soprano Caterina Cavalieri (1755–1801) showered his opera with praise after seeing it together on the evening of October 13.⁵⁰

Mozart might have claimed audiences praised the music, but contemporary reception was not entirely favorable. On November 6, 1791, the avid music enthusiast and diarist Count Karl von Zinzendorf (1739–1813) claimed that “the music and the sets are pretty, the rest an incredible farce. An immense audience.”⁵¹ Another early report published in the Berlin-based Musikalisches Wochenblatt that December, but dated October 9, is more critical:

Three newspaper reports published outside of Vienna and recently uncovered by Dexter Edge offer valuable information about the early reception. The first is that which opens this chapter. Published in the Münchner Zeitung and dated October 1, this earliest known report following the premiere referred to The Magic Flute by the alternative title “Die egyptischen Geheimniße” and stated that it earned unanimous acclaim and that Schikaneder spared no expense on the costumes and scenery.⁵³ The second of these new sources, found in the Bayreuther Zeitung, transmits the words of a Viennese correspondent dated October 5. Its anonymous author states that the weather had turned unexpectedly cold, causing more people to attend the suburban theaters than either the court theaters or outdoor entertainments such as those hosted in the Prater.⁵⁴ Referring to the work by the more familiar title Die Zauberflöte, this source further noted that the opera depicted an ancient initiation as depicted in Sethos (1731) by Jean Terrasson (1670–1750) and that it had been given three times to full houses. The report also states that Mozart “directed it himself, for which he was granted the third [night’s] receipts by Herr Schikaneder.”⁵⁵ This is currently the only evidence of Mozart’s compensation for his work on the Singspiel. Edge has calculated that this sum may have been around 400 florins, a not insignificant amount, which may have been on top of a flat fee Mozart received from Schikaneder.⁵⁶ The final, recently uncovered, newspaper source – mentioned earlier but worth repeating here – is the claim found in the Münchner Zeitung dated October 8 that the opera’s scenery cost 7,000 florins. This correspondent confirms once again that The Magic Flute was a hit with Viennese audiences, specifically attributing its success to Mozart’s music as well as the scenery: “On account of the latter two circumstances,” the correspondent writes, “the piece is also receiving universal acclaim.” Schikaneder’s decision to invest a significant sum in new sets paid off in the end, as they helped to attract theatergoers to his machine comedy.

Within weeks of the premiere, audiences could also encounter The Magic Flute outside of the theater. Arrangements of operas for smaller performing forces provide an invaluable source of gauging contemporary reception. Musicians hurried to adapt the most popular works for the lucrative market of domestic and public music-making. As early as November 1791, arrangements of unidentified numbers from the Singspiel for keyboard and voice were advertised in the Wiener Zeitung within a collection that also included arias from Wenzel Müller’s Kaspar der Fagottist.⁵⁷ The printing house Artaria advertised Papageno and Pamina’s “Bei Männern, welche Liebe fühlen” and Sarastro’s “In diesen heil’gen Hallen” – alongside “12 new variations on the duet: Bei Männern welche Liebe fühlen from the new opera Die Zauberflöte” by Anton Eberl (1765–1807) – in keyboard arrangements on November 23.⁵⁸ Versions of the trio “Seid uns zum zweitenmal willkommen” were listed on December 3.⁵⁹ That these works were so quickly made available suggests that they were among the opera’s earliest hits. To be sure, “Bei Männern, welche Liebe fühlen” and “Seid uns zum zweitenmal willkommen” were among the numbers that Mozart claimed were usually encored in his letter of October 7. By early December, Artaria had twelve numbers from the opera on offer.⁶⁰

Arrangements for larger ensembles soon followed. Roughly a month after announcing that Kaspar was available in arrangement for wind ensemble (Harmonie), the Wiener Zeitung likewise advertised Die Zauberflöte for eight- or six-part Harmonie.⁶¹ Although transcriptions for piano were important in propagating the opera’s music during the critical weeks following its first appearance, the nature of the instrument confined these arrangements to the homes of those wealthy enough to own one. Even though the creation of Harmonie transcriptions was more time-consuming and expensive than those for keyboard, these ensembles held a special place in the musical life of the late eighteenth century: Harmonien performed in every space that audiences could expect to encounter music, including the church, court, home, inn, theater, and pleasure garden, among others. Through such versatile and mobile ensembles, The Magic Flute was able to escape the boundaries of the theater, allowing its music to be heard by all strata of society across the city and eventually beyond.⁶²

The popular success of The Magic Flute was due to many factors, including such arrangements. When the Singspiel first appeared on the Viennese stage in the autumn of 1791, no one could have foreseen just how enduring a work it would become. Alongside performances of its music in private homes and pleasure gardens, it was produced on German-language stages across Central Europe countless times within the next decade. Sequels soon followed, though none came close to replicating the success of the original.⁶³ Few contemporaries could have predicted how the appearance of this work at a critical juncture in music history contributed to its subsequent triumph: the ca. 1800 moment marks the rise of the public as a musical force, the emergence of the Romantic image of the composer, and the nascent foundations of a musical canon. All of these factors helped to ensure performances of The Magic Flute beyond 1791 and well into the future.