However, Hitler’s advent had another, quite opposite, effect on the world’s view of Wagner, particularly in America. The cream of Germany’s intelligentsia and many of the best artists in Germany fled that country around 1933, most arriving in the United States. Among many others, Mann, Schoenberg, and Theodor Adorno brought with them the debate about Wagner, while Bruno Walter, Otto Klemperer, Lauritz Melchior, Lotte Lehmann, and many others brought the music alive. Toscanini blew invective at the fascists, and stayed in America. American musicians who might have spent more time in Europe stayed home. Wagner’s art reached people in America and Britain in a new way.
Winifred was interrogated by American forces after the war. It would have been lovely to arrest her, but she was in fact able to show that she had helped Jewish and homosexual artists who would have otherwise been killed. This was sufficient, under occupation law, to get her off the hook, but she was given to understand that she should retire and keep her mouth shut. (She did retire, but she didn’t always manage to keep her mouth shut.) Her sons Wieland and Wolfgang worked to resurrect the festival, and New Bayreuth opened in 1951.
The productions of this era, especially those by Wieland, are legends among opera fans and theater connoisseurs. Wieland, needing to disassociate the works of his grandfather from the ideology and trappings of the Third Reich, basically dismantled the operas to their barest components in order to reexamine them, free of baggage. The minimalist stage results, relying heavily on lighting and impression, were cleansed of nationalistic specificity and looked at as universal dramas. There were never any apologies out of Bayreuth during these years, merely an intense desire to forget the past and move on from it.
For the subsequent generation of Germans, forgetting the past and moving on was insufficient. The whole wartime generation has come under closer scrutiny along with all their institutions. Bayreuth has been the focus of impassioned debate, including from members of the Wagner family. Wolfgang Wagner assumed control of the operation after Wieland’s death in 1966, and, for many, Wolfgang is inextricably linked to the Third Reich experience. The operas of Richard Wagner are now examined in Germany for their inherent complicity in the disaster of the Nazi experience. These productions often look strange to non-Germans, but Wieland’s ideal of art disconnected from reality is not good enough for many contemporary Germans.
The phenomenon of Wagner, however, is no longer limited to the pretty streets of Bayreuth or the lecture halls of German academia. The complete Ring was first recorded under the direction of Sir Georg Solti and released between 1958 and 1966. Recordings by Herbert von Karajan and Karl Böhm followed between 1966 and 1970. The famous Chéreau Ring was telecast in several countries in 1983. Meanwhile, opera companies proliferated in America, Britain, France, and elsewhere, and smaller companies experimented with all of Wagner’s operas in a way that would have been unthinkable to earlier generations. Videos became available, and suddenly people who lived away from the major opera centers were able to watch these works at home, if they were so inclined. The Internet is becoming available all over the world, and Wagner is not absent from it.
Wagner’s art can no longer be spoon-fed to the public by ideologues, be they political, literary, musical, or otherwise. It is too readily available to too many people. The debate has passed beyond the polemicists, and has finally arrived where it should have been all along—with the international public.
PART TWO
THE
OPERAS
THE FLYING DUTCHMAN
PREMIERE: DRESDEN, 1843.
THE NAME
What to call it Tradition dictates that certain operas are known by their original-language titles only, while an English equivalent is used for others. We say, for example, The Marriage of Figaro and The Abduction from the Seraglio, but then Così fan tutte. Strange, but it sounds just as affected to translate certain foreign titles into English as it does to quote the original for other titles. Nobody says The Rhine Gold anymore, for example. This must be accepted as a quirk of the opera world, where reason and common sense rarely apply. The Flying Dutchman falls somewhere in the middle. It is usually called by its English name, and even a simple Dutchman will let everybody know what you’re talking about.
What it means The word “Dutchman” refers to the main character, a sea captain from Holland. The word “Flying” has the sense of “rushing,” rather than any airborne quality. “The Flying Dutchman,” confusingly enough, seems to refer to the captain’s ship as well.
How to pronounce it The English title is no problem, but you may have to attempt the German, Der fliegende Holländer, at some point. “Dare FLEE-gen-duh HOLE-end-dare” is close enough.
WHAT IS THE FLYING DUTCHMAN?
This is the earliest of Wagner’s operas to remain in the repertory, an opera prized for its uninhibited passion, eerie atmosphere, and brevity. The supernatural plays a central role in all of Wagner’s subsequent operas, and nowhere is it depicted with such gusto as in Dutchman. The title role is a man condemned to roam the seas forever unless he can find a woman whose love will relieve his curse.
The sea itself plays a large role in this opera, inspiring Wagner to some of the most stirringly descriptive music he ever wrote. His own adventures on his hair-raising North Sea voyage in 1839 gave him the opportunity to apply his own experience to his music. The role of the redeeming woman also struck a deep chord with him, as it would in all his subsequent works. Although the legend of the Flying Dutchman existed in many written forms, several of which Wagner was familiar with, in this opera we see Wagner beginning to abandon external models and reaching into himself as an artist.
Dutchman enjoyed only a moderate success at its premiere and for the following several years. In the early twentieth century, it steadily grew in popularity, largely due to compelling characterizations of the two lead roles by great artists. The role of the Dutchman, in particular, is a career goal of bass-baritones, who revel in this rare opportunity to be the star and portray a multifaceted, riveting character. Audiences have taken to Dutchman ever since, perhaps more than experts and scholars, who have a tendency to speak of this opera in patronizing terms. They are always pointing to “youthful errors” and “operatic conventions” in the score, and look at the music as little more than the promising seed from which Wagner’s later, revolutionary music dramas would spring. They are not entirely wrong—Dutchman has more in common with the other Romantic operas one sees than with any of the other of Wagner’s later works, including recitatives, duets, trios, love arias, and so on. No matter how innovative it sounded in 1843, most of the score was written in accordance with the rules of the time, with evenly measured lines and stresses and climaxes falling in all the “right” places. However, scholars will never understand that opera audiences don’t care a damn about music theories. People go to see the Ring or Parsifal for the same reason they enjoy Dutchman or, for that matter, any other so-called conventional opera: because it speaks to them on an emotional level. Dutchman, therefore, is best looked at on its own considerable merits rather than as a blueprint for later Wagnerian music theory. If Wagner had stopped composing after this opera, we would still be able to be thrilled by it.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
THE DUTCHMAN (bass-baritone) The quintessential loner who fought with hell and lost, for now. In several of the source legends, he is named Vanderdencken, but he is never called anything but the Dutchman in this opera. This is one of the all-time plum roles for the rare voice type known as bass-baritone, which ideally encompasses anything a bass or a baritone can sing.
SENTA (soprano) Woman as Redeemer, through the power of love, constancy, and self-sacrifice. Wagner’s original sketch named this character Minna (after his wife), but he later invented the name Senta for her. In Norway, household maids were called “Tjenta,” and Wagner may have heard this word when his storm-tossed ship took refuge in a coastal village there. In any case, this role is prized by divas for its otherworldly character and it
s ample opportunities for gripping vocalism.
DALAND (bass) Senta’s father, the captain of a smaller sailing craft. Daland is a basically agreeable man who is perhaps a bit too impressed by money. His music ranges from lyrical and inoffensive to rather bouncy, and lies fairly low in the voice.
ERIK (tenor) Senta’s unofficial fiancé, a hunter. His occupation tells us that he is manly in a traditional way, and entirely earthy, contrasting with the Dutchman. He sings lovely solo music of the lyric Italian style, but must be able to hold his own in a fierce duet and trio.
MARY (mezzo-soprano) One of the standard mezzo mother figures who infest operatic stages, fussing around and saying things like “Upon my word!” and “What will the neighbors say?” The true purpose of these pestiferous types is to provide a low female voice against which the heroine’s soaring notes may be favorably compared.
THE STEERSMAN (tenor) This one sings a pretty song at the beginning, and that’s about it. Watch for up-and-coming tenors to milk this brief role for all it’s worth, and then some.
THE OPERA
Overture
Comment: Almost everyone on the planet knows the main theme of this Overture, whether they realize it or not. You’ve heard it everywhere, including several television commercials. It represents the Dutchman, and will be played throughout the opera any time your attention needs to be drawn to him or his ship. After this theme is repeated, and “echoed” in the French horns, as if off the cliffs of the Norwegian fjords, we hear themes associated with the sea, Senta’s longing, the sea, sailors, redemption, and the sea. There’s no need to study these themes ahead of time since there’s nothing elusive about their meanings. All these representations are depicted in broad musical statements, obvious to every member of the audience.
Redemption is referred to with a theme of its own, and also in the final harp-accompanied chords that resolve the Overture. You don’t really need to know ahead of time that the harps signify salvation; this seems to be a part of the collective unconscious. Hear harp, think salvation.
One early conductor spoke of the “wind that blows out at you wherever you open the score.” Whether he was complaining or praising, you will agree with his observation after one hearing of the Overture.
Act I
Setting: A steep, rocky coastline in Norway. Daland’s ship has just cast anchor, amidst a raging storm.
Daland has just gone ashore, climbing a cliff and looking around to see where he is. The sailors are at work, furling sails and generally cleaning up after their storm-tossed voyage. They sing as they work, and the cliffs echo their calls. Daland perceives that the haven he has moored in is no more than seven miles from his home port. The Steersman shouts from the ship that all is well despite the storm. Daland complains that he had seen his house on the shore and had hoped to be home that night, embracing his daughter Senta. Ah well! To have faith in the wind is to believe in Satan’s mercy! He consoles himself that the storm will not last, and they will all soon be home. He reboards the ship and orders the sailors to sleep below. The Steersman is to keep watch.
Comment: The sailor’s songs are “echoed” off the steep cliffs of the fjords; actually played by the brass. The effect is slightly eerie, suggesting that the very human sailors are surrounded by fearful powers. Daland, an affable old salt, corroborates this, speaking gruffly about the powers of the winds and Satan, whose works he will shortly encounter.
The Steersman yawns and stretches out by the helm as the storm abates. He sings about his loving lass in a vain effort to stay awake. As he is dozing off, the Flying Dutchman’s large ship appears in the distance. It is an ominous vision, with black masts and “blood-red” sails. It approaches Daland’s ship, casting anchor with a loud crash. The Steersman looks up, but somehow does not see the huge ship alongside. He sings another line of his ditty, and falls into a sound sleep. Without any sound, the ghostly crew of the Dutchman’s ship furl their sails. The Dutchman steps ashore.
Comment: Whatever directorial concept you are being tortured with at the performance you attend, one thing is absolutely crucial: the arrival of the Dutchman’s ship must be a moment of drop-dead theatrical terror. It can be accomplished in any number of ways. Lighting, projections, or even moving flats can all work, since the bulk of the burden has been handled by Wagner and his shamelessly theatrical score for this moment.
It’s hard to believe the Steersman doesn’t see the ship alongside. The effect is slightly comical if played at face value, which is fine. There is always room for a touch of comedy in pseudo-Gothic horror. Other productions use the Steersman’s cluelessness as a metaphor for the story. Most of us are too involved in our physical needs to notice evidence of the supernatural, even when it towers over us.
It is time! Once every seven years, the sea casts the Dutchman ashore, letting him seek, in vain, for love, death, and redemption. How hard he has tried to die at sea, aiming for reefs, daring pirates with his treasure to attack his ship and kill him, all in vain! Even the pirates cross themselves and flee in terror. Nowhere a grave. Such is the terrible sentence of damnation. He addresses an angel of heaven. Was it mockery to tell the Dutchman to seek salvation on land once every seven years? Yet there is no other hope, unless it be to await the Day of Judgment and Doom, when the world will crack asunder and the dead will rise. Then everlasting oblivion may descend on the Dutchman and his crew. His ghostly crew repeat the prayer that everlasting oblivion may descend on them.
Comment: If the ship must make an impression on its entrance, so must the Dutchman himself. Sad figures in the violas and cellos tell us right away that this man is, above all, weary. But what else is he? He is also strong and defiant. After all, he’s in his present predicament because he once took on Satan himself. And of course he is a compelling presence. He has caused a woman to fall in love with him sight unseen, on reputation alone. This is a lot for a bass-baritone to convey. The recitative is stately and expressive, allowing for a great deal of nuance. The subsequent aria, which begins where the Dutchman sings about how hard he has tried to die, is a more bravura piece, showing the stronger sides of his character. The emotional range necessary to play the Dutchman is huge.
Wagner specifically directed that the Dutchman wear “Spanish costume,” and this is often followed in spirit if not to the letter. One commentator assumed this costume to refer to the Dutchman’s origins in the “Spanish Netherlands,” but that seems like a stretch. The fact is a Spanish outfit looks great, with the large black hat and black cloak emphasizing his mysteriousness.
Daland appears on the deck of his ship and is startled by the Dutchman’s ship. He calls to the Steersman, berating him for falling asleep. The Steersman wakes up confused, singing again, then begging forgiveness. He picks up a speaking trumpet and calls out twice to the Dutchman’s ship, receiving nothing in reply but long silences. The third time he asks the ship’s name and nationality. Daland notices the Dutchman, standing motionless on shore with his arms crossed, and calls to him. What is your name and country? Without moving, the Dutchman replies that he sought shelter from the storm. Will he be denied? God forbid! exclaims Daland. But what is your name? “A Dutchman,” is the only reply.
Daland greets the mysterious captain and asks if his ship is damaged. The Dutchman replies that his ship is safe, though it’s been blown by storms for more years than he can count. He has been to too many countries to remember their names, but can never find his homeland. He asks to stay in Daland’s house, saying he is rich and Daland will not regret offering him hospitality. Daland pities the Dutchman’s bad luck and gladly offers him hospitality. He asks, as if it were an afterthought, what sort of cargo the Dutchman carries. The Dutchman makes a sign to two of his crew, who produce a treasure chest full of gems and pearls. Daland gasps. Who is rich enough to offer a price for such treasure? The Dutchman replies that he already quoted the price—hospitality for a single night. This chest is only a fraction of what the ship bears. What need has he for wealth, bein
g without wife or family? But he would gladly trade all his wealth to be a part of Daland’s home. Daland is stunned. What is the Dutchman saying?
The Dutchman bluntly asks Daland if he has a daughter. Indeed yes, a lovely child. “Let her be my wife!” exclaims the Dutchman. Daland expresses joy at this good luck, while the Dutchman urges him to accept the terms. Daland says he has prayed for just such a son-in-law, and would accept no other man, even if the Dutchman were slightly less wealthy. The two men praise this turn of events.
Comment: Daland, of course, is all about money, and commentators must always do a little moral finger-wagging over this. Yet there is a certain gruff humor to the man as well, as seen in his “slightly less wealthy” comment. It is too simpleminded to portray Daland as a mere bad guy. Some productions take this cop-out route, and miss the humor entirely. (Don’t be surprised, if you attend a “conceptual” production, to see Daland done up as a banker or something of that sort, thus making yet another searing criticism of capitalist society.) Daland, eager as he is to sell his daughter to the highest bidder, is also a hard worker, rather than someone who lives off other people’s work. Being a Norwegian sailor is hardly the same as being a venture capitalist.
Wagner Without Fear Page 7