Wagner Without Fear

by William Berger

  VENUS (soprano or mezzo-soprano) Yes, that Venus. The all-purpose pre-Christian goddess of love. While this role is a brief one in terms of actual time on stage, it’s considered a plum and is always performed by a major star.

  A YOUNG SHEPHERD (soprano) A brief role, but one everybody remembers. The music is agreeable to the voice. This is a “trouser role,” that is, a man or boy in the story performed by a woman. Sopranos who like to be thought of as serious artistes are often found in this part, and it is a definitive debut role with a large company.

  THE OPERA

  Overture

  The Overture opens with the opera’s most famous tune, the celebrated Pilgrims’ Chorus, which we will hear sung at several points later. It is first stated quietly (read “far away”) by the horns, growing in the orchestra until it is thundered out by the trombones to a frenetic string accompaniment. It then fades away.

  Comment: The conductor Herbert von Karajan once explained that one should imagine an old lady stuck in a burning building while the fire trucks rushed to the scene, with the trombones being the sound of the sirens and the strings representing the old lady’s heart palpitations. Whatever. This overture is frequently heard in the concert hall, and even shows up in church sometimes in organ transcriptions by Liszt and others. It is one of Wagner’s “hits.”

  Act I, Scene 1

  Setting: In the Grotto of Venus, the Venusberg.

  The curtain rises on a ballet depicting a bacchanale, or orgy, in full swing. Nymphs and satyrs frolic about in an excess of sexual abandon. The music of the Bacchanale fades as the various nymphs and satyrs exhaust themselves. When there is total silence we notice Venus herself reposing on her couch, with the knight Tannhäuser out of it at her feet.

  Comment: Wagner’s libretto summary of the ballet is extended, detailed—and hilarious. Apparently, a thorough knowledge of classical mythology was considered a prerequisite to attending an orgy in his day. Most modern productions try to go the other way and outdo each other in sheer raunch. In any case, there are many dancers chasing each other around the stage to very frenzied music for ten minutes. Even castanets are heard in the orchestra, which must have signified utter depravity to northern European audiences.

  Tannhäuser awakes as if from a dream. Venus makes the fatal lover’s error of asking what’s on his mind. He has lost track of time in her grotto, where he fled after rejecting the human world at the Wartburg. She is shocked that he should get tired of her charms and be nostalgic for the cold world above, and commands him to sing her praises. Picking up his portable harp, he strums and sings dutifully. (We have heard this tune during the ballet. It is a forthright, upbeat song that sounds more like a call to arms than a paean to the Queen of Love.) Three times he sings her praises, but at the end of each he adds that no mortal could endure such changeless ecstasy, and begs to be released. Venus is not accustomed to such treatment, and becomes increasingly annoyed with Tannhäuser. Go, she tells him, adding that he will never find happiness outside of her cave. It is almost a curse. As a parting shot, he says that he never did find fulfillment with her, and now will seek it from the Virgin Mary. Venus and her grotto disappear at the mention of the holy name.

  Act I, Scene 2

  Setting: A valley. The Wartburg Castle is visible in the background atop a hill. There is a road or path meandering through the scene, with a roadside shrine to the Virgin near the center. Blue skies.

  Tannhäuser hasn’t moved, but the scene has changed around him. Sheep bells are heard, and the young shepherd approaches accompanying himself on his pipes. The Shepherd, a lyric soprano, sings gaily but hauntingly about merry May. From afar, we hear the approaching chorus of pilgrims, gathering for their journey to Rome. They arrive on stage, singing only snippets of their full chorus. As they mention sin and shame, the Shepherd asks them to remember him at their destination, while Tannhäuser wails of his own wretchedness. The pilgrims pass off stage.

  The horns of a hunting party are heard in the distance. The knights of the Wartburg, Hermann, Wolfram, Biterolf, Walther, and Heinrich, arrive to find Tannhäuser prostrate with shame at the Virgin’s statue. “Where have you been?” they ask him. “Don’t ask,” he replies. They entreat him to return to the Wartburg with them, although Biterolf is noticeably less enthusiastic than the others. Tannhäuser begs off. Wolfram insists, reminding him of Elisabeth. At her name, Tannhäuser suddenly comes to life—further evidence of the power of mentioning a woman’s name in this opera. Wolfram adds that she’s been pining away in Tannhäuser’s absence and may even be in love. That’s all Tannhäuser has to hear. “To her!” he cries. The rest of the hunting party arrives on stage in time to blow a fanfare for the finale.

  Comment: If you’ll notice, everybody in Act I comes to, or goes away from, Tannhäuser, while he stands more or less still in the center of the stage. The sudden scene change in the middle, when Venus’s world disappears, is a chance for the production team to show their stuff. The music shifts suddenly from erotic frenzy to the calmness of the Shepherd’s pipes and clear voice. The effect is stunning and cleansing, like a good bath after too much sex. The passage of the pilgrims across the stage seems rather random at first, but it gives us a visual reference for later. It is what we would call a “tease.” When they sing offstage in Act II, we, like Tannhäuser, can say, “Oh, there go the pilgrims on their way to Rome!”

  When the hunting party arrives on stage right after the pilgrims’ departure, we must begin to wonder if we are in a pleasant valley or a transit center. Here Wagner, the master of theater, distracts us by making the music and the action quite involved, compared to the previous scene-painting. I have seen productions in which these knights carry their lyres even in this scene, presumably to show their equal comfort with weapons and instruments. It means that every single person in this scene carries a musical instrument, making this valley look like Manhattan’s Upper West Side on rehearsal day. When the knights sing to welcome Tannhäuser back to their company, we have a lush ensemble for male voices. Scholars sniff at this as melodic and traditional compared to the later Wagner, but we who are less concerned with theory can appreciate the sheer beauty of the music. The upbeat ending to the act makes us aware of the possibility of salvation for the hero.

  Act II

  Setting: The Hall of Song in the Wartburg Castle, a big, important room.

  Elisabeth enters alone, greeting the noble hall she has not entered since Tannhäuser’s departure.

  Comment: The act opens with this opera’s great diva moment, Elisabeth’s aria “Dich, teure Halle.” It appears frequently on recital programs, even by many sopranos who shouldn’t be singing it.

  Wolfram leads Tannhäuser in and discreetly withdraws backstage. Elisabeth welcomes her lost knight, pouring her feelings out to him quite indiscreetly. From Wolfram’s asides we learn that he, too, has been chastely in love with Elisabeth. The men leave. The Landgrave Hermann, Elisabeth’s uncle, enters and tells her of the song tournament about to take place in the hall. He suspects her love for Tannhäuser. Horns announce the approach of the guests. The long parade of knights and nobles, each accompanied by ladies and retinues, enter, singing praises to the hall and the Landgrave, while trumpeters blare fanfares. The competing knights, including Tannhäuser, Wolfram, and our other friends, enter with harps, and are ceremoniously seated before the assembly. In excruciating detail, Hermann announces the theme of the contest: the nature of love. Elisabeth herself will preside and award the prize. The pages command Wolfram to begin.

  Wolfram sings a nice song about the purity of true love, embodied by Elisabeth, and prays that he may never “sully that clear fountain with impure thoughts.” Tannhäuser jumps up out of turn and sings that Wolfram’s sort of love is weak, while he himself has known the pleasures of the flesh. The assembly is astonished. Biterolf draws his sword, challenging Tannhäuser, in song, for insulting the honor of women. Tannhäuser retorts that Biterolf knows nothing of sexual love and should shut up. The
crowd rises in agitation. Wolfram prays that the pure thoughts of his song may quiet the situation. Tannhäuser forgets himself completely, and grabs his harp to sing a lusty paean—to Venus! Elisabeth staggers as the other ladies run shrieking from the hall. The men surround Tannhäuser with swords drawn, but Elisabeth quells them. He has sinned, and wounded her heart gravely, but they are not the judges of the world. Tannhäuser must live and seek salvation. It is God’s will. Tannhäuser is contrite again, the men insult him, Elisabeth prays. When the pilgrims are heard off stage, Tannhäuser runs off to join them with the cry “To Rome!”

  Comment: The famous Entrance of the Guests is Wagner in the tradition of grand opera: nine minutes of lush orchestra, horn fanfares onstage, offstage, and in the pit, and a procession that amounts to a medieval fashion show. While the contest itself is dull in comparison, Tannhäuser and his dirty ditties waste little time in spicing things up. The final ensemble is more elaborate and detailed than the one that ended Act I. It becomes a rich juxtaposition of human and divine justice, with Elisabeth’s soaring voice (on a good night) providing the lattice around which the male voices intertwine.

  Act III

  An orchestral introduction describes Tannhäuser’s pilgrimage to Rome. We hear themes associated with the pilgrims, Elisabeth’s prayers, Venus’s delights, and the jubilee at Rome. We then hear a good deal of angst. The curtain opens.

  Setting: The valley, as in Act I, Scene 2, but in somber colors of autumn. It is dusk.

  Elisabeth is at prayer before the statue of the Virgin. Wolfram appears and sings in admiration. The pilgrims come on stage slowly and a few at a time, singing of their absolutions received in Rome. Elisabeth combs the crowd for Tannhäuser, but he is not among them. They depart, she despairs. Quietly, she prays to the Virgin for death, so that her heavenly intercessions for her knight may be more effective than earthly ones had been. She leaves and Wolfram, who fears the worst, sings a song to the Evening Star, commending it to guard her in her journey, wherever it may lead.

  Comment: Elisabeth’s prayerful aria opening Act III uses all the colors left unexplored in Act II to express solemnity and pious resignation. Wolfram’s subsequent aria is the famous “Evening Star” (“O du mein holde Abendstern”), which has grown as hackneyed as anything else in Wagner. In the hands of an artist, it can be quite beautiful in a very sedate and haunting way. It is, in effect, the “eleven o’clock ballad.”

  Tannhäuser staggers on stage. He’s a mess. He tells Wolfram he’s seeking the Grotto of Venus again since there’s nowhere else for him to go. Wolfram presses him for information about his pilgrimage to Rome. Tannhäuser begins what is known as the “Rome Narrative.” He walked penitently to Rome, refusing all comfort. Once there, thousands were granted pardons, but not him. When he told the pope of his stay at the Venusberg, the pope answered that he could forget about being saved until the wooden staff in the pope’s hand blossomed forth in greenery (“until hell freezes over,” we might say).

  Comment: Musicians like to praise the “Rome Narrative” to the skies; if you want to impress the experts, rave about it. The symphonic interweaving of themes foreshadows later Wagner, sometimes eclipsing the tenor. Various themes are laid out in the sequence of the music. It is quite possible to follow the story of Tannhäuser’s pilgrimage to Rome without paying attention to a word and merely listening to the orchestra. Trudging lower strings moan out a theme we have heard in the introduction to Act III, a theme one might call “Tannhäuser’s misery.” When he gets to Rome, he hears bells and choirs from “on high,” depicted in silvery tones by flutes and woodwinds. As he approaches the pope, these tones are repeated more menacingly by the brass. The pope’s pronouncement of damnation (quoted by Tannhäuser, of course) is masterly. The first two and a half lines are on one note, in the style of a medieval chant. On the word “Venusberg” he starts to sing in minor intervals; that is, “off key.” The quoted pontiff continues to chant, but quite diabolically. He is as evil as Tannhäuser’s sin. (This whole episode, as indeed the entire opera, is a less-than-subtle dig at the papacy by Wagner, who was as anti-Catholic as he was anti-everything else.) When Tannhäuser revives and hears the bells and choirs again (more flutes), he claims that they sickened him, and our ears agree that they sound a bit finicky after what we have heard. It is almost a relief when he calls on Frau Venus, and the orchestra instantly breaks into frenzied figures from the Venusberg scene.

  Following the musical developments of the “Rome Narrative” is not only interesting for its own sake, but excellent practice of the theme identification skills you’ll want for performances of the Ring.

  Tannhäuser calls out to Venus, who appears, gloating and singing. Wolfram prays ineffectively, finally crying out, “Elisabeth!” Tannhäuser does another about-face, and Venus vanishes. From the Wartburg a funeral procession approaches. Elisabeth’s body is carried forward. Tannhäuser cries, “Saint Elisabeth, pray for me!” and dies under her bier. From the other side of the stage pilgrims appear singing of a miracle. A priest’s wooden staff has blossomed in greenery. Tannhäuser is saved. The full ensemble sings praise to God while the Pilgrims’ Chorus, the first theme of the opera, fully elaborated through the chorus and orchestra, rings forth.

  Comment: There are basically three musical archetypes around which the score is built: the pilgrims’ music, representing salvation; Elisabeth’s prayers, representing piety; and the Venusberg music, representing fleshly sensuality. These overlap and clash here in Act III, but the music coming from the orchestra is usually matched directly to the action on stage, so there is little chance for confusion, which is not always the case in Wagner’s later works. In fact, it wasn’t always the case in Tannhäuser. In the original Dresden production, Wagner “signified” Venus’s return only in the orchestra. Nobody understood what was happening. When he revised the opera for Paris, he put Venus back on stage and singing to make sure everybody comprehended the conflict of the two female archetypes.

  Elisabeth’s death is a bit “convenient,” dramatically speaking. Indeed, it is astounding how often Wagner’s heroines just seem to expire for no real reason beyond plot resolution or misogyny. Elsa in Lohengrin, Isolde, and Kundry in Parsifal all just sort of drop dead at the end of their respective operas. At least the hero does the same in this opera—the only instance in Wagner’s work where the tenor-hero shares a psychospiritual death with the diva-heroine. Hearing the full Pilgrims’ Chorus at the end wraps things up nicely. Just try not to whistle it on your way out of the opera house.

  BASICS: WHEN TO EAT, DRINK, AND VISIT THE RESTROOM

  Tannhäuser is a fairly short opera by Wagnerian standards, and presents no particular challenges to the average person’s constitution. In most of the editions used, Act I and Act II are each about an hour and a quarter long, while Act III is about an hour. Some drowsiness may occur at the beginning of the third act. There is a long (eight-minute) orchestral introduction, Wolfram sings for a bit, the pilgrims make one of their endless treks across the stage, and we settle down for a long and lovely, but rather sedate, prayer from Elisabeth. This is followed by Wolfram’s very meditative “Evening Star” song, until Tannhäuser returns and all hell (literally) breaks loose again. You may want to avoid eating heavily, having that extra cocktail, or taking cold medicine during the second intermission, or you’ll risk dozing through some of the opera’s nicest moments in the first part of Act III.

  ROUGH SPOTS AND HOW TO GET THROUGH THEM

  The Ballet Most people can enjoy dance, at least for a few minutes. If you detest ballet, or if the production you’re seeing is either too effete or too pornographic for your taste, just close your eyes and listen to the orchestra. While some of the Venusberg music may strike you as obvious, much of it is bizarre and quite radical.

  Act I It’s hard to get too bored in Act I—the scenery changes too often!

  Act II The start of the act will grip you. Elisabeth’s aria “Dich, teure Halle” is a big moment, and h
er duet with Tannhäuser is loaded with nuance. If the Elisabeth is a good actress, watch her carefully in this scene for indications of her complex nature; if she’s not, the orchestra will give you the same information. Her uncle the Landgrave Hermann, however, is a different story. After the musical and visual spectacle of the Entrance of the Guests has caught the attention of even the dullest members of the audience, Wagner capitalizes on the moment to torture everyone to death with a boring speech by Hermann devoid of any interest. Later in his career, Wagner would learn to add very subtle touches to such moments, giving us the illusion that they must be at least deep if not thrilling, but this one is a wash any way you look at it. Take this time (seven minutes) to inspect the lovely medieval costumes of the chorus. If you are at a postmodern production where the chorus is attired in T-shirts and jeans (very unlikely outside of Germany), calculate your taxes or plan your next party.

  The actual Song Contest begins with a less-than-exciting offering by Wolfram. This is deliberate, I think, on the part of Wagner the dramatist. Pure love is less dramatic than the earthy love Tannhäuser sings of directly after. Wolfram’s song is not long. Watch Tannhäuser and see how well he convinces you that he is “dreaming of Venus” while Wolfram is singing about the other end of the love spectrum.