Wagner Without Fear

by William Berger

  KUNDRY (soprano or mezzo-soprano) The “wandering Jew” of medieval legend. Kundry is generally cited as Wagner’s most enigmatic, and most interesting, female character. As a young woman, she laughed at Christ suffering on the cross, and was condemned to wander the earth until saved, seeking but never finding rest or death. In Acts I and III, she is a wild unruly penitent performing service to the knights of the Grail, while in Act II she is a beautiful seductress and slave to the evil magician Klingsor. Divas, therefore, love to take on the role of Kundry, since they get to assume three of the best poses in the soprano arsenal: madness, seduction, and piety. She has a foot, so to speak, in each world, and is really the most human character, philosophically speaking, in this drama.

  TITUREL (bass) The original king of the knights, he is burdened by his years and has made his son Amfortas king. Titurel is kept alive only by the annual uncovering of the Grail (a sort of celestial life support), a duty he is too weak to perform himself. He has a grand total of ten lines to sing in Parsifal, and they are sung offstage. In fact, his only stage appearance is as a corpse. The role, however, is important in terms of the story, and his brief vocal appearances must be impressive.

  AMFORTAS (bass-baritone) Titurel’s son, the current king of the knights, languishing because of his sin. He was seduced by Kundry several years before, and, while he lay with her, Klingsor stole the Holy Spear and stabbed Amfortas in the side. The wound bleeds yet. The loss of the Spear and the “wound that won’t heal,” beyond psychological implications, are the signs of decay in the knights’ community and the kingdom of the Grail.

  GURNEMANZ (bass) The “nice guy” of the story, Gurnemanz is the first to see the possibility of a savior in Parsifal. He is something of the mentor figure familiar from coming-of-age literature. This role is demanding in terms of the sheer amount of music to be sung, for Gurnemanz does all the explaining (and there is plenty to be done) in this tale.

  KLINGSOR (bass) The bad guy. Klingsor had once aspired to be a knight of the Grail himself. Titurel refused him, and Klingsor, in desperation to prove his aptness for service to the Grail, castrated himself. This act guaranteed his exclusion from the brotherhood, but also (somehow) gave him power in the arts of black magic. He lives in a magic castle with a garden he has conjured out of the desert on the southern slope of the same mountain range as the Grail Castle at Monsalvat (in other words, he faces Moorish Spain, while the knights face Christendom).

  FLOWER MAIDENS (sopranos and mezzos) These are Klingsor’s most effective weapons, lovely maidens (although the term “maiden” is probably not to be taken literally) who seduce chaste men. Members of the audience usually assume these ladies to be supplied by the chorus, but in fact the six Flower Maidens are soloists with separate billing in the program. Their music is semi-individuated, not unlike some of the music of the townspeople of Nuremberg in Meistersinger, and it is not unusual to find star singers in these roles.

  THE OPERA

  Prelude

  Comment: Wagner described the meaning of the Prelude as “faith—suffering—hope?” The first part portrays faith in simple majestic themes, including a “borrowed” one. Many listeners will recognize the famous “Dresden Amen” from church services, where it remains standard to this day. Wagner must have heard it thousands of times when he was Kapellmeister at Dresden. It was also used by Mendelssohn in his Reformation Symphony. The suffering theme is an expansion of one of the central measures of the faith motif, which is an excellent theological observation (i.e., spiritual suffering is central to faith), made by means of music and therefore appealing more to the subconscious than to the intellect. For “hope?” we are given a brief moment of the strings playing softly in marvelously unresolved ambiguity. The Prelude is often heard on the radio and in the concert hall, where it is moving, yet annoyingly incomplete. All of the themes heard here are fully explored and resolved in the reset of the score. It is, in effect, an “executive summary” for the entire subsequent drama.

  Act I

  Setting: A shady forest in the domain of the Castle of Monsalvat, in northern Spain, in the Middle Ages.

  Gurnemanz, an elderly but vigorous knight of the Grail, and two young squires are awakened by trombones from the offstage castle. They pray silently. Gurnemanz tells the squires to prepare for the king’s bath in the nearby lake. Two knights enter. Gurnemanz asks if the latest potion found by the knights has eased the king’s pain. A knight responds that the pain has returned, and is worse. Gurnemanz says mysteriously that only one man can help the king, but when they ask him the name of the man, he gruffly orders them off to prepare the bath.

  The knights and squires see Kundry racing madly on a horse toward them. She rushes in, dressed wildly, hair everywhere, eyes alternately flashing and staring lifelessly. She hands Gurnemanz a potion for the king, saying merely, “If this doesn’t help, there’s not a potion left in Arabia to help him. Ask no more! I am weary!” She throws herself on the ground. Amfortas is brought on, in pain. He forbids the knights to seek out more potions for him, since the only help he can expect will come from an “innocent fool,” as he was once told. Gurnemanz persuades him to try one last remedy, the potion that Kundry has brought from Arabia. When Amfortas thanks her, she snaps back, “Don’t thank me! It won’t help! Go to your bath!”

  Amfortas is carried to the lake. The knights and squires harass Kundry, still lying on the ground, but Gurnemanz rebukes them. She may be strange, but she has never harmed the knights. In fact, she has given much service to the brotherhood. Who knows what sin she may be expiating in service to the knights? Prompted by more questions from the squires, Gurnemanz tells them what he knows. Klingsor, rejected for knighthood by Titurel, had built a magic castle and garden to corrupt the knights, and their king Amfortas had been ensnared by a seductress. Never guessing that the wild Kundry lying on the ground could have been the same woman in a different state of being, he asks her why she didn’t help the knights on that fateful day. “I never help!” she growls back at him.

  Gurnemanz then repeats the details of the story to the squires: how Titurel had received the Grail and the Spear from angels, how he built the Castle of Monsalvat and formed the brotherhood of knights, how Klingsor’s garden had seduced many other knights to their damnation even before Amfortas, and how Titurel had grown old and relinquished the crown to his son, whose fate the squires already know. The squires remark that the one who retrieves the Spear will win lasting honor, but Gurnemanz explains that Amfortas, praying in atonement after the incident, was told in a revelation that he must wait for “an innocent fool, enlightened through compassion” to retrieve the Spear and heal the wound. The squires repeat “an innocent fool …,” as if in prayer. There is silence.

  Comment: The whole first part of Act I is slow, stately, expository, and a bit glum. The curtain rises on three sleeping bodies, which sets the tone. Even the passing back and forth of Amfortas is pained. Kundry’s entrance provides a little flurry of musical activity, but it quickly fades as she falls asleep on stage. Gurnemanz’s long (fifteen minutes) narrative gives us important information for what follows, and includes many seeds of subsequent themes that, if followed closely, will reveal subtle beauties. The problem is that it’s rather dull. Newman assures us that this narrative is superior to others in opera: “It is not a hoary operatic device dragged in willy-nilly, as in Il Trovatore, to tell the audience what it needs to know under the pretext of one character telling another on stage.” Actually, it is exactly that, all “psychological justifications” notwithstanding. George Martin is much more direct. “This is the spot to snooze,” recommends his Opera Companion. While there may be wisdom in both these opposing points of view, they both miss the point. Wagner, who was a genius of the theater above everything else, knew he had to lower the audience’s collective blood pressure, so to speak, to put us in a receptive frame of mind for what was to follow. He did this by giving the know-it-alls some arcane leitmotivic titillations for their amusements,
and putting the remainder of the audience fast asleep.

  A commotion is heard among the knights—a swan has been wounded in flight by an arrow! The swan flies overhead, and dies onstage. A boy is dragged in carrying a bow. “Did you do this?” asks Gurnemanz. “Yes!” replies the boy, proud of his shooting skill. The knights and squires call for punishment. Gurnemanz explains that wildlife and humans live together in this holy forest. The swan was seeking its mate to circle over the lake and consecrate the king’s bath, and now look at him! The boy breaks his bow in shame. How could he commit such a crime? “I didn’t know,” replies the boy. Where are you from? asks Gurnemanz. Who is your father? Who sent you here? The boy replies that he doesn’t know to each question. What is your name? “I once had many, but I don’t know them anymore.” Gurnemanz mutters that this is the dumbest person he’s ever met, besides Kundry.

  Gurnemanz dismisses the knights and squires, and asks the boy if he knows anything at all. He knows his mother’s name, Herzeleide (“Heart’s Sorrow”). Since you look noble, why didn’t your mother teach you about better arms than bow and arrow? Kundry answers that his father had been slain in battle before he was born, and Herzeleide had reared the boy in seclusion to spare him a similar fate. This triggers some memory from the boy, who remembers leaving his hermitlike home to follow some knights he saw one day. He never could find them, however, and he had to forge his own way in the world with only his handmade bow and arrows. Gurnemanz says that the boy’s deserted mother must grieve, but Kundry answers that she grieves no more. Herzeleide has died of her broken heart—she saw it herself as she rode by. The boy grabs Kundry by the throat at the news, and Gurnemanz rebukes him for his violence. The boy passes out, and Kundry fetches spring water. Gurnemanz commends this act of goodness, but Kundry characteristically says, “I never do good!” She crawls off into the forest, moaning how she wants to sleep forever, without nightmares, just die.

  Comment: Our introduction to the character of Parsifal is a difficult scene to stage. First of all, there is the problem of the swan. Sensible productions treat this moment as allegorical, but it is surprising how many opera companies still insist on having a stuffed swan (whose white feathers become increasingly gray as the production wends through the years) tossed on stage from the rafters. Then there is Parsifal himself. Wagner meant for us to see him as an impetuous twelve-year-old boy at this point in the drama, but there are very few tenors who can pull off the requisite illusion of innocence and latent wisdom (let alone physical youth) in the character. Judging by the ample proportions of Winkelmann, the tenor whom Wagner chose as his first Parsifal, we should probably not waste too much time worrying about the issue.

  Gurnemanz notes that the king has done with the bath, and the time for the love feast of the Grail has arrived. “Who is the Grail?” asks the dumb boy. Gurnemanz replies that he cannot explain, but all will be revealed if the boy is called to its service. The boy notes that he is standing still, but seems to be moving. The old man explains that time and space are one in this holy place. The two disappear, and the scene is transformed to the Great Hall of the Castle of the Grail.

  Comment: Wagner’s directions for his original production called for a painted scene on rollers moving from one side to the other to achieve the visual effect for this Transformation Scene. These days, audiences are generally treated to a sort of impressionistic light show rather than any vaudeville-style moving backdrops. In either case, the music is what matters here. The Transformation Scene is a five-minute-long tone poem of ravishing beauty whose uninhibited emotionality is in marked contrast to the barrenness of the previous scenes. The themes of holiness and suffering are richly and recognizably depicted in the orchestra, while backstage trombones and trumpets, tympani, and reverberating bells create an impression of the Grail Hall as a unique spiritual environment.

  The two reappear, and Gurnemanz tells the boy to watch what is about to happen. The boy moves to the side of the Hall and remains there, silent, until the end of the act. The knights of the Grail enter the Hall in procession, singing of the meal that will renew them. Amfortas is carried in along with a small shrine covering the Grail, which is set on an altarlike table in the center of the Hall. An unseen chorus of youths from halfway up the dome sings of the redeeming blood of the Savior. After them, a boys’ chorus from the summit of the dome sings, urging the assembly to take the bread and wine of life. This is followed by complete silence.

  The voice of Titurel is heard from offstage, as if from a tomb, urging Amfortas to uncover the Grail, that he, Titurel, may live and have divine guidance. Amfortas protests that he is unworthy, as the only sinner among them, to perform the duty. He wails of his lot in life, of his sin, of the pain his wound never ceases to give him, and sinks back, semiconscious. The chorus of boys and youths from above sing of the prophecy of the innocent fool who will end the suffering, and the knights urge Amfortas to uncover the Grail. Heavenly voices urge the taking of body and blood in token of God’s love. In great pain, Amfortas prays before the uncovered chalice. The boys’ choir sings, the Hall darkens. A dazzling ray of light falls from above onto the chalice, turning it blood-red. Amfortas, momentarily strengthened, holds the cup aloft, and blesses the bread and wine on the table with it. The knights kneel. Titurel sings in gratitude at the Lord’s bright greeting. Amfortas puts the Grail back on the table, and the divine glow fades while light returns to the Hall.

  The Grail is covered again. The squires begin distributing bread and wine from the altar. The boys’ choir sings of the Lord’s transformation at the Last Supper. The knights take the bread and wine. The youths sing of the continuing consolation of the bread and wine. Half the knights sing of the bread, then the other half sing of the wine. Finally, there is an expression of blessedness in faith and love, beginning with half the knights, then the other half, then the youths, and lastly, the boys. The knights embrace solemnly. Amfortas, bleeding again, is carried out with the shrine containing the Grail, and the knights follow him out. Gurnemanz, alone with Parsifal on stage, asks the boy if he has any questions about what he just saw, but the boy is too overcome to speak. Assuming him to be dimwitted and uninterested, Gurnemanz shoos the boy out. Alone, he hears a heavenly voice repeat the prophecy of the innocent fool.

  Comment: This is the controversial scene of the work. Reading about it, listening to a recording of it, and experiencing it live are three separate matters. When reading a synopsis, such as this, one is struck by the appropriation of the externals of the Communion sacrament for operatic use. Christians of various denominations, non-Christians, post-Christians, and anti-Christians have all expressed problems with it. There is no doubt that Wagner laid it on thick here. He laboriously depicts a procedure that the Roman Catholic Mass covers in a few sentences. But comparing this scene too directly with the Eucharist does a disservice to both. Here Wagner has embodied the essence of a religious experience without specifically re-creating one. A person of any religious bent, or none at all, can appreciate the spiritual core at the center of the weighty symbology.

  Wagner accomplishes this deconstruction of a spiritual process by musical means. The knights are divided into “choirs” of basses and tenors, while the youths (boy altos) are meant to be “half-way up the dome” and the boys (boy sopranos) are meant to be “at the summit of the dome.” The architecture of the score sends the music up and down, so to speak, throughout the scene, punctuated by Amfortas and Titurel. The “Blessed in faith, blessed in love” exclamation is a single upward figure beginning in the lower basses, carried by the tenors to the altos and finally to the sopranos. In a well-rehearsed production, it is a simple but magnificent effect, a vocal ladder of faith uniting all life. On the extreme ends of this vocal scale are the bass Titurel (singing offstage “as from the grave”) and the heavenly (female) voices. The grave is united to the heavens by vocal intercession.

  Act II

  Scene: A tower in Klingsor’s magic castle. Klingsor is on one side, surrounded b
y a magician’s paraphernalia.

  Klingsor invokes Kundry, using her many names, including Herodias and Rose of Hell. He causes smoke to rise and tells her to obey her master. She rises, screaming, then wailing, and finally croaking, calling for sleep, deep sleep, and death. He torments her for roaming among the knights, who are all weak and venal. But today, she will face her greatest challenge, one who is shielded by his simpleness. She refuses. He insists she obey. She must do Klingsor’s will in any case, since he alone is immune to her powers. She laughs at him, asking if he is “chaste.” He is furious at this reference to his self-castration, throwing scorn at the world and claiming that he will soon own the Grail himself. The boy will be his means to victory—already he is drawing near. Kundry still refuses to seduce the boy. Klingsor blows a horn and summons his knights to defend the castle walls, which the boy is already storming. Kundry laughs hysterically, then wails, and finally vanishes. Klingsor comments on the boy’s defeating each of his knights and mounting the wall to the garden, predicting that the boy will be his slave once he falls from purity. The tower disappears, instantly replaced by a lush garden of great beauty.

  Comment: This scene is a swirl of musical action compared to anything in Act I. Kundry screams, moans, and wails, while Klingsor fulminates at the top of his bass lungs. It’s all rather deliciously sleazy. This, and a brief spear-wielding moment at the end of the act, are Klingsor’s only appearances in this opera, however important he is to the story. Count on him to chew up the scenery while he can.