It is not at all probable that anything so ridiculous as the “Magic Flute” story was ever before written. It might have been the concerted effort of Artemus Ward, Theodore Hook, Bill Nye, and Mark Twain. But an effort at coherence must be made in the putting together of this story, because the opera is, above all things, one that every man, woman, and child should know. Mozart’s lovely music could not be ruined, even by this story.

It has been said that the “Magic Flute” might have had some Masonic significance. That is quite likely, on the ground that it has no other significance whatever.

This opera proves one thing beyond a doubt: That Mozart could have written beautiful music with the New York Directory for a theme.

Rossini summed up Mozart very properly: “Who is the greatest musician in the world?” some one asked him. “Beethoven,” Rossini answered. “But what about Mozart?” “Well, you see, Mozart is the only musician in the world,” he answered, allowing of no comparisons! And he is the only one, yet, to some of us!

That he was a man of the most fascinating temper cannot be doubted, when one reads his memoirs. He was without any financial judgment. He could make money, but he couldn’t keep it. There is a story illustrating the dominance of his heart over his head, told in connection with an offer of patronage from the King of Prussia. At that time Mozart was Emperor Leopold’s musician, and when he went to Leopold to offer his resignation and take advantage of the better arrangement which the Prussian King had offered, Leopold said urgently: “But, Mozart, you surely are not going to forsake me?” “No, of course not,” Mozart answered hastily. “May it please your Majesty, I shall remain.” When his friends asked him if he had not been wise enough to make some demand to his own advantage at such a time, he answered in amazement: “Why, who could do such a thing at such a time?”

His sentiment was charming, his character fascinating. He married Constance Weber, herself a celebrated person. She was never tired of speaking and writing of her husband. It was she who told of his small, beautifully formed hands, and of his favourite amusements playing at bowls and billiards. The latter sport, by the way, has been among the favoured amusements of many famous musicians; Paderewski is a great billiard player.

As a little child, Mozart had a father who “put him through,” so to speak, he being compelled to play, and play and play, from the time he was six years old. At that age he drew the bow across his violin while standing in the custom-house at Vienna, on the way to play at Schoenbrunn for the Emperor, and he charmed the officers so much that the whole Mozart family baggage was passed free of tax. While at the palace he was treated gorgeously, and among the Imperial family at that time was Marie Antoinette, then a young and gay princess. The young princesses treated little Wolfgang Mozart like a brother, and when he stumbled and fell in the drawing room, it happened to be Antoinette who picked him up. “Oh, you are good, I shall marry you!” he assured her. On that occasion the Mozart family received the sum of only forty pounds for his playing, with some additions to the family wardrobe thrown in.

Most composers have had favourite times and seasons for work in bed, with a heap of sausages before them, or while out walking. Beethoven used to pour cold water over his hands till he soaked off the ceiling of the room below; in short, most musicians except Mozart had some surprising idiosyncrasy. He needed even no instrument when composing music. He could enjoy a game of bowls, sitting and making his MS. while the game was in progress, and leaving his work to take his turn. He was not strong, physically, and was often in poor circumstances, but wherever he was there was likely to be much excitement and gaiety. He would serenely write his music on his knee, on his table, wherever and however he chanced to be; and was most at ease when his wife was telling him all the gossip of the day while he worked. After all, that is the true artist. Erraticalness is by no means the thing that makes a man great, though he sometimes becomes great in spite of it, but for the most part it is carefully cultivated through conceit.

Mozart’s burial was probably the most extraordinary commentary on fame and genius ever known. The day he was buried, it was stormy weather and all the mourners, few enough to start with, had dropped off long before the graveyard was reached. He was to be buried third class, and as there had already been two pauper funerals that day, a midwife’s, and another’s, Mozart’s body was to be placed on top. No one was at the grave except the assistant gravedigger and his mother.

“Who is it?” the mother asked.

“A bandmaster,” the hearse driver answered.

“Well, Gott! there isn’t anything to be expected then. So hurry up!” Thus the greatest of musical geniuses was done with this world.

Germany has given us the greatest musicians, but she leaves other people to take care of them, to love them, and to bury them or to leave them go “third-class.”

THE MAGIC FLUTE

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Queen of the Night.
Pamina (Queen’s daughter).
Papagena.
Three ladies of the Queen’s Court.
Three Genii of the Temple.
Tamino, an Egyptian Prince.
Monostatos, a Moor in the service of Sarastro.
Sarastro, High Priest of the Temple.
Papageno, Tamina’s servant.
Speaker of the Temple.
Two priests.
Two armed men.

Chorus of priests of the Temple, slaves, and attendants.

The scene is near the Temple of Isis, in Egypt.

Composer: Mozart.

ACT I

Once upon a time an adventurous Egyptian youth found himself near to the Temple of Isis. He had wandered far, had clothed himself in another habit than that worn by his people, and by the time he reached the temple he had spent his arrows, and had nothing but his useless bow left. In this predicament, he saw a monstrous serpent who made after him, and he fled. He had nothing to fight with, and was about to be caught in the serpent’s fearful coils when the doors of the temple opened and three ladies ran out, each armed with a fine silver spear.

They had heard the youth’s cries of distress, and had rushed out to assist him. Immediately they attacked the monster and killed it, while Tamino lay panting upon the ground. When they went to him they found him unconscious. He seemed to be a very noble and beautiful youth, whose appearance was both heroic and gentle, and they were inspired with confidence in him.

“May not this youth be able, in return for our services to him, to help us in our own troubles?” they inquired of each other; for they belonged to the court of the Queen of the Night, and that sovereign was in great sorrow. Her beautiful daughter, Pamina, had been carried away, and none had been able to discover where she was hidden. There was no one in the court who was adventurous enough to search in certain forbidden and perilous places for her.

As Tamino lay exhausted upon the ground, one of the women who had rescued him declared that she would remain to guard him seeing he had no arrows while the others should go and tell the Queen that they had found a valiant stranger who might help them.

At this suggestion the other two set up a great cry.

“You stay to guard the youth! Nay, I shall stay myself. Go thou and tell Her Majesty.” Thereupon they all fell to quarrelling as to who should remain beside the handsome youth and who should go. Each declared openly that she could gaze upon him forever, because he was such a beauty, which would doubtless have embarrassed Tamino dreadfully if he had not been quite too tired to attend to what they said.

The upshot of it was that all three went, rather than leave any one of them to watch with him. When they had disappeared into the temple once more, Tamino half roused himself and saw the serpent lying dead beside him.

“I wonder where I can be?” he mused. “I was saved in the nick of time: I was too exhausted to run farther,” and at that moment he heard a beautiful strain of music, played upon a flute:

He raised himself to listen attentively, and soon he saw a man descending from among the rocks behind the temple. Still fearful of new adventures while he was unarmed and worn, Tamino rose and hid himself in the trees. The man’s name was Papageno, and he carried a great cage filled with birds upon his back; in both hands he held a pipe, which was like the pipe of Pan, and it was upon this that he was making music. He also sang:

For wealth my lot I’d not resign,
For every bird that flies is mine.

I am a fowler, bold and free,
A man of mirth and minstrelsy;
My name is ever in demand,
With old and young throughout the land.
But nets to set for pretty maids:
That were the most divine of trades.

I’d keep them safe ’neath lock and key,
And all I caught should be for me.

So that exceedingly jolly fellow sang as he passed Tamino. He was about to enter the temple when Tamino, seeing he had nothing to fear, stopped him.

“Hello, friend! Who are you?”

“I ask the same,” the fowler answered, staring at Tamino.

“That is easily answered. I am a prince and a wanderer. My father reigns over many lands and tribes.”

“Ah, ha! Perhaps in that land of thine I might do a little trade in birds,” the fowler said, jovially.

“Is that how you make your living?” Tamino asked him.

“Surely! I catch birds and sell them to the Queen of the Night and her ladies.”

“What does the Queen look like?” Tamino asked, somewhat curious.

“How do I know? Pray, who ever saw the Queen of the Night?”

“You say so? Then she must be the great Queen of whom my father has often spoken.”

“I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Well, let me thank you for killing that great serpent. He nearly did for me,” Tamino replied, taking it for granted that the man before him had been the one to rescue him, since he had fallen unconscious before he had seen the ladies. The fowler looked about at the dead serpent.

“Perfectly right! A single grasp of mine would kill a bigger monster than that,” the fowler boasted, taking to himself the credit for the deed; but by this time the three ladies had again come from the temple and were listening to this boastful gentleman with the birds upon his back.

“Tell me, are the ladies of the court beautiful?” Tamino persisted.

“I should fancy not since they go about with their faces covered. Beauties are not likely to hide their faces,” he laughed boisterously. At that the ladies came toward him. Tamino beheld them with pleasure.

“Now give us thy birds,” they said to the fowler, who became suddenly very much quieter and less boastful. He gave them the birds and received, instead of the wine he expected, according to custom, a bottle of water.

“Here, for the first time, her Majesty sends you water,” said she who had handed him the bottle; and another, holding out something to him, said:

“And instead of bread she sends you a stone.”

“And,” said the other, “she wishes that ready mouth of yours to be decorated with this instead of the figs she generally sends,” and at that she put upon his lips a golden padlock, which settled his boasting for a time. “Now indicate to this youth who killed that serpent,” she continued. But the fowler could only show by his actions that he had no idea who did it.

“Very well; then, dear youth, let me tell you that you owe your life to us.” Tamino was ready to throw himself at the feet of such beautiful champions, but one of them interrupted his raptures by giving him a miniature set in jewels.

“Look well at this: our gracious Queen has sent it to you.”

Tamino gazed long at the portrait and was beside himself with joy, because he found the face very beautiful indeed.

“Is this the face of your great Queen?” he cried. They shook their heads. “Then tell me where I may find this enchanting creature!”

“This is our message: If the face is beautiful to thee and thou would’st make it thine, thou must be valiant. It is the face of our Queen’s daughter, who has been carried away by a fierce demon, and none have dared seek for her.”

“For that beautiful maiden?” Tamino cried in amazement. “I dare seek for her! Only tell me which way to go, and I will rescue her from all the demons of the inferno. I shall find her and make her my bride.” He spoke with so much energy and passion that the ladies were quite satisfied that they had found a knight to be trusted.

“Dear youth, she is hidden in our own mountains, but ” At that moment a peal of thunder startled everybody.

“Heaven! What may that be?” Tamino cried, and even as he spoke, the rocks parted and the Queen of the Night stood before them.

“Be not afraid, noble youth. A clear conscience need have no fear. Thou shalt find my daughter, and when she is restored to my arms, she shall be thine.” With this promise the Queen of the Night disappeared as suddenly as she had come. Then the poor boastful fowler began to say “hm, hm, hm, hm,” and motion to his locked mouth.

“I cannot help thee, poor wretch,” Tamino declared. “Thou knowest that lock was put upon thee to teach thee discretion.” But one of the women went to him and told him that by the Queen’s commands she now would set him free.

“And this, dear youth,” she said, going to Tamino and giving him a golden flute, “is for thee. Take it, and its magic will guard thee from all harm. Wherever thou shalt wander in search of the Queen’s daughter, this enchanted flute will protect thee. Only play upon it. It will calm anger and soothe the sorrowing.”

“Thou, Papageno,” said another, “art to go with the Prince, by the Queen’s command, to Sarastro’s castle, and serve him faithfully.” At that the fowler was frightened half to death.

No indeed! that I decline.
From yourselves have I not heard
That he’s fiercer than the pard?
If by him I were accosted
He would have me plucked and roasted.

“Have no fear, but do as you are bid. The Prince and his flute shall keep thee safe from Sarastro.”

I wish the Prince at all the devils;
For death nowise I search;
What if, to crown my many evils,
He should leave me in the lurch?

He did not feel half as brave as he had seemed when he told Tamino how he had killed the serpent.

Then another of the ladies of the court gave to Papageno a chime of bells, hidden in a casket.

“Are these for me?” he asked.

“Aye, and none but thou canst play upon them. With a golden chime and a golden flute, thou art both safe. The music of these things shall charm the wicked heart and soothe the savage breast. So, fare ye well, both.” And away went the two strange adventurers, Papageno and Tamino, one a prince, the other a bird-catcher.

Scene II

After travelling for a week and a day, the two adventurers came to a fine palace. Tamino sent the fowler with his chime of bells up to the great place to spy out what he could, and he was to return and bring the Prince news.

Without knowing it they had already arrived at the palace of Sarastro, and at that very moment Pamina, the Queen’s daughter, was in great peril.

In a beautiful room, furnished with divans, and everything in Egyptian style, sat Monostatos, a Moor, who was in the secrets of Sarastro, who had stolen the Princess. Monostatos had just had the Princess brought before him and had listened malignantly to her pleadings to be set free.

“I do not fear death,” she was saying; “but it is certain that if I do not return home, my mother will die of grief.”

“Well, I have had enough of thy meanings, and I shall teach thee to be more pleasing; so minions,” calling to the guards and servants of the castle, “chain this tearful young woman’s hands, and see if it will not teach her to make herself more agreeable.” As the slaves entered, to place the fetters upon her hands, the Princess fell senseless upon a divan.

“Away, away, all of you!” Monostatos cried, just as Papageno peeped in at the palace window.

“What sort of place is this?” Papageno said to himself, peering in curiously. “I think I will enter and see more of it.” Stepping in, he saw the Princess senseless upon the divan, and the wretched Moor bending over her. At that moment the Moor turned round and saw Papageno. They looked at each other, and each was frightened half to death.

“Oh, Lord!” each cried at the same moment. “This must be the fiend himself.”

“Oh, have mercy!” each shrieked at each other.

“Oh, spare my life,” they yelled in unison, and then, at the same moment each fled from the other, by a different way. At the same instant, Pamina awoke from her swoon, and began to call pitiably for her mother. Papageno heard her and ventured back.

“She’s a handsome damsel, and I’ll take a chance, in order to rescue her,” he determined, feeling half safe because of his chime of bells.

“Why, she is the very image of the Prince’s miniature and so it must be the daughter of the Queen of the Night,” he decided, taking another good look at her.

“Who art thou?” she asked him, plaintively.

“Papageno,” he answered.

“I do not know the name. But I am the daughter of the Queen of the Night.”

“Well, I think you are, but to make sure” He pulled from his pocket the portrait which had been given to him by the Prince and looked at it earnestly for a long time.

“According to this you shouldn’t have any hands or feet,” he announced gravely.

“But it is I,” the Princess declared, looking in turn at the miniature. “Pray, where did you get this?”

“Your mother gave this to a young stranger, who instantly fell in love with you, and started to find you.”

“In love with me?” she cried, joyfully.

“You’d think so if you saw the way he carries on about you,” the fowler volunteered. “And we are to carry you back to your mother even quicker than we came.”

“Then you must be very quick about it, because Sarastro returns from the chase at noon exactly, and if he finds you here, you will never leave alive.”

“Good! That will suit the Prince exactly.”

“But if I should find that, after all, you are an evil spirit,” she hesitated.

“On the contrary, you will find in me the best spirits in the world, so come along.”

“You seem to have a good heart.”

“So good that I ought to have a Papagena to share it,” he answered, plaintively, whereupon Pamina sang affectingly:

It is a very queer and incoherent opera, and not much sense to any of it, but, oh! it is beautiful music, and this duet between the fowler and Pamina is not the least of its beauties. At the end of it they rushed off together Pamina to meet the Prince and be conducted back to her mother.

Scene III

In the meantime, Tamino, instead of looking for Pamina himself, had been invoking wisdom and help from a number of Genii he had come across. There were three temples, connected by colonnades, and above the portal of one of these was written, Temple of Wisdom; over another, Temple of Reason; the third, Temple of Nature. These temples were situated in a beautiful grove, which Tamino entered with three Genii who each bore a silver palm branch.

“Now, pray tell me, ye wise ones, is it to be my lot to loosen Pamina’s bonds?” he asked anxiously.

“It is not for us to tell thee this, but we say to thee, ’Go, be a man,’ be steadfast and true and thou wilt conquer.” They departed, leaving Tamino alone. Then he saw the temples.

“Perhaps she is within one of these temples,” he cried; “and with the words of those wise Genii in my ears, I’ll surely rescue her if she is there.” So saying, he went up to one of them and was about to enter.

“Stand back!” a mysterious voice called from within.

“What! I am repulsed? Then I will try the next one,” and he went to another of the temples.

“Stand back,” again a voice called.

“Here too?” he cried, not caring to venture far. “There is still another door and I shall betake me to it.” So he went to the third, and, when he knocked, an aged priest met him upon the threshold.

“What seek ye here?” he asked.

“I seek Love and Truth.”

“That is a good deal to seek. Thou art looking for miscreants, thou art looking for revenge? Love, Truth, and Revenge do not belong together,” the old priest answered.

“But the one I would revenge myself upon is a wicked monster.”

“Go thy way. There is none such here,” the priest replied.

“Isn’t your reigning chief Sarastro?”

“He is and his law is supreme.”

“He stole a princess.”

“So he did but he is a holy man, the chief of Truth we cannot explain his motives to thee,” the priest said, as he disappeared within and closed the door.

“Oh, if only she still lives!” Tamino cried, standing outside the temple.

“She lives, she lives!” a chorus within sang, and at that reassurance Tamino was quite wild with happiness. Then he became full of uncertainty and sadness again, for he remembered that he did not know where to find her, and he sat down to play upon his magic flute. As he played, wild animals came out to listen, and they crowded around him. While he was playing, lamenting the loss of Pamina, he was answered by Papageno from a little way off, and he leaped up joyously.

“Perhaps Papageno is coming with the Princess,” he cried. He began to play lustily upon his flute again. “Maybe the sound will lead them here,” he thought, and he hastened away thinking to overtake them. After he had gone, Pamina and Papageno ran in, she having heard the magic flute.

“Oh, what joy! He must be near, for I heard the flute,” she cried, looking about. Suddenly her joy was dispelled by the appearance of Monostatos, who had flown after them as soon as he discovered Pamina’s absence.

“Now I have caught you,” he cried wickedly, but as he called to the slaves who attended him to bind Papageno, the latter thought of his chime of bells.

“Maybe they will save me,” he cried, and at once he began to play. Then all the slaves began to dance, while Monostatos himself was utterly enchanted at the sweet sound. As the bells continued to chime, Monostatos and the slaves began to leave with a measured step, till the pair found themselves alone and once more quite safe. Then the chorus within began to sing “Long life to Sarastro,” and at that the two trembled again.

“Sarastro! Now what is going to happen?” Papageno whispered.

While they stood trembling, Sarastro appeared, borne on a triumphal car, drawn by six lions, and followed by a great train of attendants and priests. The chorus all cried, “Long life to Sarastro! Long life to our guard and master!”

When Sarastro stepped from the car, Pamina knelt at his feet.

“Oh, your greatness!” she cried. “I have sorely offended thee in trying to escape, but the fault was not all mine. The wicked Moor, Monostatos, made the most violent love to me, and it was from him I fled.”

“All is forgiven thee, but I cannot set thee free,” Sarastro replied. “Thy mother is not a fitting guardian for thee, and thou art better here among these holy people. I know that thy heart is given to a youth, Tamino.” As he spoke, the Moor entered, followed by Prince Tamino. For the first time the two lovers met, and they were at once enchanted with each other.

At once Monostatos’s anger became very great, since he, too, loved the Princess. He summoned his slaves to part them. Kneeling in his turn at Sarastro’s feet he protested that he was a good and valiant man, whom Sarastro knew well, and he complained that Pamina had tried to flee.

“Thou art about good enough to have the bastinado,” Sarastro replied, and thereupon ordered the slaves to whip the false Moor, who was immediately led off to punishment. After that, Sarastro ordered the lovers to be veiled and led into the temple to go through certain rites. They were to endure a period of probation, and if they came through the ordeal of waiting for each other properly they were to be united.

ACT II

The priests assembled in a grove of palms, where they listened to the story of Pamina and Tamino, told by Sarastro.

“The Princess was torn from the Queen of the Night, great priests, because that Queen would overthrow our temple, and here Pamina is to remain till purified; if you will accept this noble youth for her companion, after they have both been taught in the ways of wisdom, follow my example,” and immediately Sarastro blew a blast upon a horn. All the priests blew their horns in concurrence.

Sarastro sang a hymn to the gods, and then he and his priests disappeared. Tamino and Papageno were next led in to the temple porch. It was entirely dark.

“Art thou still near me, Papageno?” he asked.

“Of course I am, but I don’t feel very well. I think I have a fever. This is a queer sort of adventure.”

“Oh, come, be a man. There is nothing to fear.”

The priests asked Tamino at that moment why he had come to seek entrance in the temple.

“I came to find Friendship and Love,” he replied.

“If you would have that, you must go through every trial; and how about you, Papageno?”

“Well, I do not care as much as I might for wisdom. Give me a nice little wife and a good bird-market, and I shall get on.’”

“But thou canst not have those things, unless thou canst undergo our trials.”

“Oh, well, I’ll stay and face it out but I must be certain of a wife at the end of it. Her name must be Papagena and I’d like to have a look at her before I undertake all this sort of thing,” he persisted.

“Oh, that is quite reasonable but thou must promise not to speak with her.”

“And Pamina?” Tamino suggested.

“Certainly only thou too must not speak.” Thus it was agreed, and the priests went out. Instantly the place was in darkness again.

“I should like to know why, the moment those chaps go out, we find ourselves in the dark?” Papageno demanded.

“That is one of our tests; one of our trials,” Tamino responded. “Take it in good part.” He was interrupted by the appearance of the three ladies of the Queen of the Night’s court.

“Why are you in this place?” they demanded seductively. “It will ruin you.”

“Do not say so,” Tamino returned, stoutly, this being one of the temptations he was to meet: but Papageno was frightened enough. “Stop thy babbling, Papageno,” Tamino cautioned. “Or thou wilt lose thy Papagena.”

In short, the ladies did all that was possible to dishearten the youth and Papageno; but the Prince Tamino stood firm, and would not be frightened nor driven from his vow to the temple; but Papageno found himself in an awful state of mind, and finally fell down almost in a fit. At once the ladies sank through the temple floor.

Then the priests and a spokesman appeared and praised Tamino, threw another veil over him and led him out; but when a priest inquired of Papageno how it was with him, that fine gentlemen was so addled that he couldn’t tell.

“For me I’m in a trance,” he exclaimed.

“Well, come on,” they said, and threw a veil over him also.

“This incessant marching takes away all thought of love,” he complained.

“No matter, it will return”; and at that the priests marched him out, and the scene changed to a garden where Pamina was sleeping.

Scene II

Monostatos was watching the beautiful Pamina sleep, and remarking that, if he dared, he certainly should kiss her. In short, he was a person not to be trusted for a moment. He stole toward her, but in the same instant the thunder rolled and the Queen of the Night appeared from the depths of the earth.

“Away,” she cried, and Pamina awoke.

“Mother, mother,” she screamed with joy, while Monostatos stole away. “Let us fly, dear mother,” Pamina urged.

“Alas, with thy father’s death, I lost all my magic power, my child. He gave his sevenfold Shield of the Sun to Sarastro, and I have been perfectly helpless since.”

“Then I have certainly lost Tamino,” Pamina sobbed somewhat illogically.

“No, take this dagger and slay Sarastro, my love, and take the shield. That will straighten matters out.”

Then the bloody Queen sang that the fires of hell were raging in her bosom. Indeed, she declared that if Pamina should not do as she was bidden and slay the priest, she would disown her. Thus Pamina had met with her temptation, and while she was rent between duty and a sense of decency because she felt it would be very unpleasant to kill Sarastro Monostatos entered and begged her to confide in him, that he of all people in the world was best able to advise her.

“What shall I do, then?” the trusting creature demanded.

“There is but one way in the world to save thyself and thy mother, and that is immediately to love me,” he counselled.

“Good heaven! The remedy is worse than the disease,” she cried.

“Decide in a hurry. There is no time to wait. You are all bound for perdition,” he assured her, cheerfully.

“Perdition then! I won’t do it.” Temptation number two, for Pamina.

“Very well, it is your time to die!” Monostatos cried, and proceeded to kill her, but Sarastro entered just in time to encourage her.

“Indeed it is not your schedule is wrong, Monostatos,” Sarastro assured him.

“I must look after the mother, then, since the daughter has escaped me,” Monostatos remarked, comforting himself as well as he could.

“Oh don’t chastise my mother,” Pamina cried.

“A little chastising won’t hurt her in the least,” Sarastro assured her. “I know all about how she prowls around here, and if only Tamino resists his temptations, you will be united and your mother sent back to her own domain where she belongs. If he survives the ordeals we have set before him, he will deserve to marry an orphan.” All this was doubtless true, but it annoyed Pamina exceedingly. As soon as Sarastro had sung of the advantages of living in so delightful a place as the temple, he disappeared, not in the usual way, but by walking off, and the scene changed.

Scene III

Tamino and the speaker who accompanied the priests and talked for them were in a large hall, and Papageno was there also.

“You are again to be left here alone; and I caution ye to be silent,” the speaker advised as he went out.

The second priest said:

“Papageno, whoever breaks the silence here, brings down thunder and lightning upon himself.” He, too, went out.

“That’s pleasant,” Papageno remarked.

“You are only to think it is pleasant not to mention it,” Tamino cautioned. Meantime, Papageno, who couldn’t hold his tongue to save his life, grew thirsty. And he no sooner became aware of it, than an old woman entered with a cup of water.

“Is that for me?” he asked.

“Yes, my love,” she replied, and Papageno drank it.

“Well, next time when you wish to quench my thirst you must bring something besides water don’t forget. Sit down here, old lady, it is confoundedly dull,” the irrepressible Papageno said, and the old lady sat. “How old are you, anyway?”

“Just eighteen years and two minutes,” she answered.

“Um it is the two minutes that does it, I suppose,” Papageno reflected, looking at her critically.

“Does anybody love you?” he asked, by way of satisfying his curiosity.

“Certainly his name is Papageno.”

“The deuce you say? Well, well, I never would have thought it of myself. Well, what’s your name, mam?” but just as the old lady was about to answer, the thunder boomed and off she rushed.

“Oh, heaven! I’ll never speak another word,” Papageno cried. He had no sooner taken that excellent resolution than the three Genii entered bearing a table loaded with good things to eat. They also brought the flute and the chime of bells.

“Now, eat, drink, and be merry, and a better time shall follow,” they said, and then they disappeared.

“Well, well, this is something like it,” Papageno said, beginning at once to obey commands, but Tamino began to play upon the flute.

“All right; all right! You be the orchestra and I’ll take care of the table d’hote,” he said, very well satisfied; but at that instant Pamina appeared.

She no sooner began to talk to Tamino than he motioned her away. He was a youth of unheard-of fortitude.

“This is worse than death,” she said. She found herself waved away again. Tamino was thoroughly proof against temptation.

Then Pamina sang for him, and she had a very good voice. Meantime, Papageno was sufficiently occupied to be quiet, but he had to call attention to his virtues. When he asked if he had not been amazingly still, there was a flourish of trumpets. Tamino signed for Papageno to go.

“No, you go first!” Tamino only repeated his gesture.

“Very well, very well, I’ll go first but what’s to be done with us now?” Tamino only pointed to heaven, which was very depressing to one of Papageno’s temperament.

“You think so!” Papageno asked. “If it is to be anything like that, I think it more likely to be a roasting. No matter!” Nothing mattered any longer to Papageno, and so he went out as Tamino desired, and the scene changed.

Scene IV

Sarastro and his priests were in a vault underneath one of the temples. There they sang of Tamino’s wonderful fortitude and then said:

“Let him appear!” And so he did. “Now, Tamino, you have been a brave man till now; but there are two perilous trials awaiting you, and if you go through them well ” They didn’t exactly promise that all should be plain sailing after that, but they led the youth to infer as much, which encouraged him. “Lead in Pamina,” the order then was given, and she was led in.

“Now, Pamina, this youth is to bid thee a last farewell,” Sarastro said.

Pamina was about to throw herself into her lover’s arms, but with amazing self-control Tamino told her once more to “Stand back.” As that had gone so very well, Sarastro assured them they were to meet again.

“I’ll bear whatever the gods put upon me,” the patient youth replied.

Then he said farewell and went out, while Papageno (who if he ever did get to Heaven, would surely do so by hanging on to Tamino’s immaculate coat-tail) ran after him, declaring that he would follow him forever and not talk. But it thundered again, and Papageno shrunk all up.

Then, while the speaker chided him for not being above his station, Papageno said that the only thing he really wanted in this world or the next was a glass of wine: he thought it would encourage him.

“Oh, well, you can have that,” the speaker assured him, and immediately the glass of wine rose through the floor. But he had no sooner drunk that than he cried out that he experienced a most thrilling sensation about his heart. It turned out to be love; just love! So at once, the matter being explained to him, he took his chime of bells, played, and sang of what he felt. The moment he had fully expressed himself, the old water lady came in.

“Here I am, my angel,” she said.

“Good! You are much better than nobody,” Papageno declared.

“Then swear you’ll be forever true,” she urged.

“Certainly since there is no other way out of it.” And it was no sooner said than the old lady became a most entrancing young one, about eighteen years old.

“Well, may I never doubt a woman when she tells me her age again!” Papageno muttered, staring at her. As he was about to embrace her, the speaker shouted:

“Away; he isn’t worthy of you.” This left Papageno in a nice fix, and both he and the girl were led away as the Genii appeared.

The Genii began to sing that Pamina had gone demented, and no wonder. She almost at once proved that this was true, by coming in carrying a dagger; and she made a pass at the whole lot of them. No one could blame her. She thought each of them was Tamino.

“She’s had too much trouble,” the penetrating Genii declared among themselves. “And now we’ll set her right.” They were about to do so when she undertook to stab herself, but they interfered and told her she mustn’t.

“What if Tamino should hear you! It would make him feel very badly,” they remonstrated. At once she became all right again.

“Is he alive? Just let me look at him, and I’ll be encouraged to wait awhile.” So they took her away to see Tamino.

Then two men dressed in armour came in and said:

He who would wander on this path of tears and toiling,
Needs water, fire, and earth for his assoiling,

which means nothing in particular. Although “assoiling” is an excellent old English word.

Then Tamino and Pamina were heard calling to each other. She entreated him not to fly from her, and he didn’t know what he had better do about it, but the matter was arranged by somebody opening some gates and the lovers at once embraced. They were perfectly happy, and there seemed to be a mutual understanding between them that they could wander forth together. They did so, and wandered at once into a mountain of fire, while Tamino played entertainingly upon his flute. Soon they wandered out of the fire, and embraced at leisure. Then they wandered into the water, and Tamino began again to play upon his flute, the water keeping clear of the holes in a wonderful way. After they got out of the woods the water, rather, they embraced as usual, and the gates of the temple were thrown open and they saw a sort of Fourth-of-July going on within. Everything was very bright and high-coloured. This would seem to indicate that their trials were over and they were to have their reward. Then the scene changed.

Scene V

Papageno was playing in a garden, all the while calling to his Papagena. He was really mourning for his lost love, and so he took the rope which he used as a girdle and decided to hang himself. Then the Genii, whose business it seemed to be to drive lovers to suicide and then rescue them just before life was extinct, rushed in and told him he need not go to the length of his rope.

“Just ring your bells,” they advised him; and he instantly tried the same old effect. He had no sooner rung for her than she came the lovely Papagena! They sang a joyous chorus of “pa-pa-pa-pa” for eight pages and then the Queen of the Night and Monostatos, finding that matters were going too well, appeared. They had come to steal the temple.

“If I really get away with that temple, Pamina shall be yours,” she promised Monostatos, which would seem to leave Pamina safe enough, if the circumstances were ordinary. Nevertheless it thundered again. Nobody in the opera could seem to stand that. The Queen had her three ladies with her, but by this time one might almost conclude that they were no ladies at all. The thunder became very bad indeed, and the retinue, Monostatos, and the Queen sank below, and in their stead Sarastro, Pamina, and Tamino appeared with all the priests, and the storm gave way to a fine day.

Immediately after that, nothing at all happened.