Der Holle Rache kocht in meinem Herzen
Tod und Verzweiflung flammet um mich her!
Fuhlt nicht durch dich Sarastro Todesschmerzen,
So bist du meine Tochter nimmermehr.
Verstoben sei auf ewig, verlassen sei auf ewig,
Zertrummert sei'n auf ewig alle Bande der Natur,
Wenn nicht durch dich Sarastro wird erblassen!
Hort, Rachegotter! Hort der Mutter Schwur!
(Die Konigin der Nacht, Achter Auftritt des zweiten Aufzugs)
('The vengeance Hell rages in my heart, death and desperation burn all around me! If Sarastro does not through you suffer deaths torments, nevermore be my daughter. Be disowned, forsaken for ever, all nature's bonds be forever shattered, if Sarastro does not through you meet his end! Hear, ye gods of vengeance! Hear a mother's vow!')
Light comedy, pantomime, Masonic mystery or something altogether more intangible, at once comic and profound? Certainly Mozart's Die Zauberflote - The Magic Flute - is a many-faceted opera, with the sharp conrast between its folklike music, normally associated with the roguish birdcatcher Papageno - unique in opera at the time - and the lofty, uplifting arias of Tamino, Pamina, Sarastro and the Queen of the Night. In my view, it is therefore impossible and unfair to dismiss this tour de force as panto with enigmatic touches of an obscure religious message.
What is beyond question is that The Magic Flute contains music of quite inexpressible genius - in abundance. Anyone who doubts this should hear it again: for example, the Overture, Tamino's 'portrait' aria (Dies Bildnis ist bezaubernd schon - 'such loveliness beyond compare'), the majestic bass arias of Sarastro and perhaps most of all the Queen of the Night's astounding 'revenge' aria (quoted above). But then this is only a tiny fraction of equally magical music throughout the opera - some of it I found most striking on early impressions - but which in the end forms only part of the awesome whole. The examples given above indeed do not even mention the wonderful music of Monostatos and Papageno (and Papagena) and hint only at the vast wealth of 'magic music' elsewhere.
There are inherent difficulties in interpreting and staging this opera. The story is a puzzle, not least in the way Sarastro apparently turns from 'baddy' to 'goody' and the Queen of the Night vice versa. Translation complicates our understanding further: when undertaken for the purposes of singing it may entail a departure from the sense of the original in order to accommodate metre and rhyme. Nuances in the original may be lost and new ones created so that an unintended meaning is produced.
This is what happens in Jeremy Sams's undeniably lively version. The effect can be all to the good: Papageno is given a new lease of life, with his dialogue and songs made wonderfully buoyant. When he is about to commit suicide and is appealing to the crowd to stop him, his plaintive cry, 'Is it me that's hard of hearing - or is no one volunteering?' may be loose translation but is rich in theatrical value.
The drawbacks of translation are more apparent in the serious parts of the opera; there is difficulty in conveying lofty German in the same register without being fatuous, or imprecise. For example, 'In vain I fight with this desire' (for Dies Etwas kann ich zwar nicht nennen) in Tamino's 'portrait' aria, is puzzling, as he is not trying to resist 'this desire' and indeed it was the intention of the three ladies - in giving him the portrait - that he should not. A particularly egregious example, though, is contained in Sarastro's aria in which he explains to Pamina the code of the Brotherhood, and how those who falter do not do so for long: '... Fuhrt Liebe ihn zur Pflicht' becomes 'We'll help him on his way', which is a weak attempt to convey 'love leads him back to duty'. Bathos may even enhance the comic part of the opera, but it ruins what is serious. Perhaps it is just as well that it is impossible to hear all the words of the serious arias. Sams's translation underlines the comic aspects of the work, at the expense of the loftier side: Papageno's role is more prominent but it is hard to see the more profound elements of the opera. The quotation at the beginning of this review is partly intended to demonstrate the futility of trying to match the height of linguistic power achieved in Schikaender's German.
Ultimately, though, the music reigns supreme. The orchestra, conducted by Guy Hopkins, was impressive, both individually with its large range of extremely accomplished performers, and collectively. Ben Linton had an extremely demanding role as Tamino, which he performed impressively, using his splendid voice to good effect, even at the high notes. I must admit to some reservations about the authority of his voice particularly on those highest and most passionate phrases, but these were largely swept aside when I returned on the Friday night, and I was impressed by what had not quite convinced me on the Monday night. Secondly, the staging of the English performance gives more emphasis, I believe, to the acting of the comic characters than the serious ones, just as the whole tone becomes more comic in the English version. Ben Linton's acting, aloof as it intentionally was, can hardly be blamed for his being overshadowed theatrically - despite his outstanding musicianship - by the birdcatcher Papageno: the latter was certainly the one who charmed the audience.
Heneage Stevenson gave the role of Papageno all the prominence and comic theatricality the part offered - especially in translation - and more. He simply made the part his own, combining his immediately compelling and immensely popular stage presence with a marvellously authoritative and powerful baritone voice. He brought out perfectly all the human traits of the character with his cowardly bluffing and irrepressible human desires for food, a comfortable life, and of course his beloved Papagena. Papageno has a unique role in the opera - unique, indeed, in any opera up to that time - with his simple and simply wonderful, folk tunes - so catchy that people refused to believe Mozart could have composed them, so like traditional Austrian songs did they sound. Heneage Stevenson made the most of this unique part, his infectious enthusiasm pervading the whole performance and of course winning over the audience completely in a role he was seemingly born to play. His utterly human naivete finally manifests itself in the reunion with Papagena (Sarah Grylls), who gave a convincing impression of an old woman in the first comic scene with Papagena, and was later an ideal foil for him, with a beautiful voice.
Becky Hewitt as Pamina was ideally suited to the role in terms of her voice, unquestionaby a wonderful one, with impressive phrasing in the arias to boot. But she was clearly a singer who acts rather than vice versa, and I did not feel that on stage she quite captured all the emotion, even despair - as she prepares for suicide - as she did in the singing itself.
I was initially in two minds about Max Grender-Jones's high priest Sarastro: although he carried himself with great authority and demonstrated this in his singing, there was something missing, particularly in the lowest notes, which sounded uncomfortable. These reservations became more muted on the last night, though. Beyond this initial difficulty, I found his performance, with his superbly dignified bearing, awe-inspiring. He has a marvellous timbre to his voice, which will no doubt mature even further, and some very special music indeed to sing, to which, overall, I think he did justice.
Although Heneage Stevenson's Papageno stole the show in the end, Melissa Pearce as Queen of the Night inspired awe in equal measure, for facing, in singing terms, a supremely more demanding task, and triumphing. She not only managed to reach the terrifyingly high notes, but sing them with full phrasing and passion; she delivered her two arias, both with famous coloratura sections, with aplomb - one conveyed in extremely moving terms, expressed by a mother bereft of her daughter, the other delivered in phenomenal fashion, including the brilliant theatricality of seeing the enraged queen stand aloof from and ignore her daughter before she threatens to disown her. She too brought tremendous dignity, authority and maturity to the part - a memorable and outstanding experience for all who saw it.
In the lesser roles, the Three Ladies - Simone Benn, Laura Soar and Joanne Goulbourne, all extremely accomplished singers - were excellent, though I confess there were many words I could not catch. This however was the case with most of the singers bar Papageno and Monostatos, the latter being performed superbly by Nick Clark with a good tenor voice and a suitably villainous stage presence. As an actor who sings, he shone particularly in his wonderful interpretation of the pantomime villain, and got the appropriate volume of boos at the end. It was a sensible director's ploy to have the three 'Genies' - aged at least seventeen - instead of the rather more embarrassing spectacle of three pre-pubescent boys, and Hettie Williams, Anna Bishop and Matthew Butt gave good performances, the latter certainly brave to sing in counter-tenor. The chorus was impressive, and provided a suitable background to Sarastro's bass, containing as it did such accomplished singers as Edwin Cook, Toby Benton and Simon Piesse - who all doubled up in additional roles. Simon Piesse, in particular, displayed an impressive stage presence as well as a magnificent voice.
A special mention must be made of the some of the comic scenes in the opera. Particularly impressive were the scenes when Papageno can only hum because his mouth is padlocked, the magical reunion of Pa-Pa-Pa-Papageno with Pa-Pa-Pa-Papagena, and above all the charming of the animals and then Monostatos and his slaves, which was beautifully orchestrated and carried out - all some of the funniest scenes in opera. The costumes, supplied by the National Theatre,were magnificent, and along with the set helped to create an atmosphere of majesty and grandeur.
I must plead guilty to several things: to the fact that I am very much a fan of this opera and its composer; that I have no musical qualifications for writing this; and that I am prejudiced in favour of the German version. Nonetheless, the comedy and light-heartedness resulting from both the English translation and the direction, for which the credit goes to Philip Needham, need not necessarily weaken the opera, for after all it is difficult to interpret the whole as profound in a coherent sense. Rather, the profundity lies in the music itself, which somehow seems to have infinite depth, even when light on the surface. As Andrew Porter wrote in The Observer 'The opera hit me in boyhood days, and ever thereafter has provided a touchstone for how I must try to live. I can't begin to define why. Mozart's 'message' is a mystery conveyed in music, not translatable into words.'
We are talking about something more intangible than the Masonic images and ideas in the work, which brings us back to the idea of an unspeakable, ineffable brilliance that comes across in the music, which cannot even begin to be described - as Tamino says (of love) Dies Etwas kann ich zwar nicht nennen ('something I can scarcely name'). In The Magic Flute, Mozart achieves the universality which for many is the key to his greatness, and shows that a constantly pessimistic or serious outlook is not necessary to move an audience. It is quite magical, bezaubernd indeed ('bewitching') and the only way I can hope to convey my reaction is to say that during Tamino's 'portrait' aria, the words 'My heart beats faster in my breast' made me aware that the same went for me. Philip Needham, Guy Hopkins (as conductor), Heneage Stevenson, Melissa Pearce and others made this an evening to remember, and whatever technical criticisms could be made of this production by those with more musical judgement than I, it is nothing short of astonishing that a school can find the resources, enthusiasm and expertise to put together a performance such as this. To do justice to such genius - for in this opera is some of the most sublime perfection that the most sublimely perfect composer ever produced - has to be the highest accolade.
Wir wandern durch des Tones Macht,
Froh durch des Todes dustre Nacht.
('With the power of music we can lightly step through the dark night of death.')
Saul Lipetz (College)