The boy appears on the wall overlooking the garden. The Flower Maidens rush in, wondering what was the commotion that caused them to wake up alone, without their lover knights. They see the boy, and are terrified that he has come to harm them. When he speaks, they are soothed by his simplicity and begin to notice how handsome he is. They invite him to stay with them, adding that he’s highly preferable to their usual lovers. He walks among them, telling them how beautiful they are.
Comment: The music of this scene could come from any French romantic opera—even the kitschiest. Still, it is pleasant to hear lively women’s voices after the heavy maleness of the first act, and without this scene the work would be more narrow in its scope and less balanced. Besides the singing Flower Maidens, there is the nonvocal corps of ladies who paw Parsifal. Sometimes they dance a ballet, in other productions they lie about trying to look sultry. Wagner’s first production called for twenty-four ladies in this scene, but many subsequent stagings have greatly increased this number.
Kundry appears on the wall, calling out the name “Parsifal.” He freezes at the sound of his own name, which he had forgotten. It reminds him of his mother. Kundry dismisses the Flower Maidens, who withdraw reluctantly. Kundry says she herself chose the name from the Arabic “Fal Parsi,” meaning “innocent fool.” She tells him how she saw Herzeleide nurse her baby, swearing to protect him from his father’s fate of death in battle. How gently she held him! Did he perhaps fear her kisses? He certainly didn’t consider her sadness when he left her pining, until, in her grief, Herzeleide died.
Parsifal rebukes himself for being so heartless and stupid, but she tells him he can atone through the passion that once engulfed his parents. She herself will give him his mother’s last blessing, a kiss. While she is kissing him in anything but a motherly fashion, Parsifal jumps up and doubles over in pain. “Amfortas! The wound!” he cries. He feels the same wound, the torment of love and longing, bleeding within himself. He falls into a trance, remembering the blood he once saw flowing into the Grail, and Amfortas’s desperate pleas before it, and all he could think to do was walk away and pursue childish things! How, he asks the Redeemer on his knees, can he purge his guilt? Kundry begins caressing him. Yes, he exclaims, “I recognize these caresses, and these lips, that kissed away Amfortas’s soul’s salvation! Corrupter! Away from me forever!” Kundry tells him to have a thought for her in his newfound empathy. He is her redeemer, for whom she has waited eternities. If he only knew the curse upon her! Once she saw him—and laughed! Now she seeks him from world to world, but each time she finds him, there is nothing but cursed laughter, and each time the sinner falls weakly in her arms. She cannot weep, only shout, rage, storm, rave for eternity. If she could unite with Parsifal for one hour, and weep on his breast, she would be redeemed!
But Parsifal understands that they would both be damned if he were to lie with her for one hour. He is, indeed, her redeemer, but in a very different way. She counters that it was her kiss that made him understand the world. Let her love him for an hour, and he will be like a god! Then, godlike, he can redeem her. He tells her that love and redemption are already hers if she shows him the way to Amfortas. “Never will you find him!” she hurls back, furious. And she will call on the same Spear against Parsifal if he insists on finding the king and abandoning her! He casts her away. She calls for help, and invokes the spirit of wandering, whom she knows so well, to descend on Parsifal. At that moment, Klingsor appears on the rampart, and hurls the Spear at Parsifal. It freezes above Parsifal’s head. He seizes it and uses it to make the sign of the cross. The castle and the garden vanish. Kundry collapses, screaming. He mutters to her, “You know where you can find me again,” and hurries off.
Comment: The Kundry-Parsifal scene is usually called the emotional “crux” of the drama, and, indeed, it is practically the only scene in the work containing real human interaction and character development. It is masterly on every level. Kundry certainly knows how to appeal to men; first by mothering, then by promising deification. Her tale of Herzeleide is some of the most lyrical music in the opera, and many in the audience who have overindulged at intermission drift off. Parsifal’s “Amfortas!” cry and subsequent narrative are the tenor’s big moment. Anyone who is still asleep after that is fair game for Kundry. Telling of her plight, Kundry wallows in the lower registers until she hits a high Z on the world “laugh” (memories of Isolde!), which comes out of nowhere and can usually peel the wallpaper. Sometimes it’s done lyrically, more often it’s ghastly, but either way it’s entirely effective.
In actuality, Kundry preps with a B-flat below middle C, inhales for two and a half beats, and blasts a high B, followed directly by a C-sharp at middle C. In other words, up one octave, down two octaves. Musicians of the time were startled, since they couldn’t possibly assign this series of notes to any known scale (a common criticism of Wagner). In fact, it still sounds startling. These two measures are among the most insane in all music. Historians credit this moment as a major influence in what would be called the expressionist music of the subsequent century—those pieces by Alban Berg and others that sound to many people like notes flying all over the place. There’s no doubt that Kundry’s music opened many possibilities that would have just sounded “wrong” before Wagner came along. Perhaps even the octave leaps in the Beatles’ “I Wanna Hold Your Hand” and other popular songs owe something to this.
Kundry is often considered the “motivator” of this scene, which is true, but she also reveals much of her own psychology through her words and actions. Her segue from the death of Herzeleide to offering her own body to Parsifal as consolation illustrates her situation perfectly. Her sex instinct is part of her “will to life,” which has kept her trapped in the Karmic cycle of birth/death/rebirth for a millennium. This is in opposition to Parsifal’s offer of freedom through renunciation. Commentators usually understand this in terms of Schopenhauer’s pessimistic denial of the life instinct, and, indeed, Parsifal advises her to “turn away” from her desires. He is offering her Nirvana through the transcendence of desire, a concept she cannot yet understand.
By the way, the Arabic source of the name Parsifal is pure, shall we say, invention on Wagner’s part. Don’t bother looking it up in your Arabic dictionary. It’s just another one of Wagner’s many name games.
The “Spear trick” at the end of the act is a nightmare for directors. Many choose this moment to shift from realism to impressionism, even if they had been super-earthy in the previous Flower Maidens scene. Wagner obliges by a trick of his own in the orchestra. When Klingsor appears, the lower strings are sawing in muddy tones appropriate to the evil magician. When he flings the Spear, there is a run from the harp. Musicians sometimes point to this as an uninspired moment on the part of Wagner the orchestrator, but what they fail to consider is that the effect works on the audience. The jarring intrusion of sweet harp sounds causes the spectators to “blink,” so to speak, thus making them more vulnerable to whatever visual magic the production crew can conjure. This is a good example of an average operagoer being in a better position to judge something than the experts, who are often limited by the needs of their own field of expertise. The Spear trick, if done well, can still make the audience gasp.
Act III
Scene: A beautiful spring meadow in the land of the Grail. There is a spring of water and a small hermit’s hut.
Prelude
Comment: The sad, tired strains of the Prelude are meant to suggest all the wearisome years of Parsifal’s wanderings that have passed since the end of the second act. The Prelude also sets the tone for Kundry, exhausted beyond all human endurance, and Gurnemanz, heavy with age. Even the brotherhood itself, we will find out, is spent. The music is Wagner at his most subtle and masterly.
Act III, Scene 1
A hideous groan is heard. Gurnemanz emerges from his hut to investigate, and finds Kundry half-buried beneath a thicket of winter thorns. He bids her to wake up and greet the spring, but
she is motionless. He drags her out of the thorns, and tenderly chafes her to get some sign of life. At last she revives, gets up, and sets about doing small tasks like a serving woman, though still quite out of it. Gurnemanz asks her if she has nothing to say to him, not even thanks for having brought her back from death. Hoarsely, she croaks, “To serve! To serve!” He comments, more to himself than to her, that there’s not much serving to be done these days. The knights don’t go on glorious crusades anymore, so there are no messages to be carried. Every knight scours the forest for his own herbs and roots. He notes how changed the strange woman is. Perhaps the holiness of the day has brought this about. As she is carrying water from the spring, she silently draws his attention to a wanderer who has appeared, a knight in full armor, his face hidden by a visor.
Comment: This brief scene can be quite touching. The reunion of Gurnemanz and Kundry is that of two very old people who, if they are not exactly friends as we understand the word, have come to understand one another as central to each other’s lives. Kundry’s vocal role consists of two groans, one of her signature screams, and the single line “Dienen! Dienen!” She remains onstage through the entire third act without uttering another sound. It is “Diva as mime” from here to the end.
Gurnemanz asks the knight who he is and, receiving no answer, assumes him to be under a vow of silence. The old man then says that he, too, has vows, and must tell the knight that it is blasphemous to appear in the realm of the Grail fully armed, and most of all on this holiest day. Among what heathens has the knight been living not to know that this is Good Friday? The knight complies, planting his Spear in the ground, removing his helmet, and kneeling in prayer before the Spear. Gurnemanz instantly recognizes the boy he once drove away, while Kundry nods that she, too, remembers Parsifal.
The knight and the old man greet each other gently. Parsifal explains that he has been wandering for years in search of Amfortas, and is probably still lost, since everything here seems so changed to him. He has been through numerous conflicts and battles, and suffered many wounds, but never did he strike back, and now he can truly claim to bring back, unprofaned, the Spear of the Holy Grail. Gurnemanz bursts out in rapture at the return of the undefiled Spear, and tells Parsifal how badly in need of its healing the knights of the Grail are. Amfortas, longing for death, has long since ceased to perform his holy duty of uncovering the Grail. The knights wander around the forest, living on common food, he himself is merely waiting for the end, and Titurel, denied the sight of the Grail, has already died. Parsifal bitterly accuses himself of causing all this distress, and almost faints.
Kundry fetches water, but Gurnemanz says he must be refreshed by the holy spring, and purified from his years of wandering. The armor is removed. Gurnemanz says Parsifal will be led to Amfortas this day, who has promised to uncover the Grail one last time to sanctify Titurel’s funeral and atone for his death. Kundry, meanwhile, washes Parsifal’s feet and anoints them with a phial of oil she has kept in her bosom. She dries his feet with her hair. Gurnemanz anoints Parsifal’s head, greeting him as king. As his first act, Parsifal scoops water out of the spring and baptizes Kundry, who appears to weep. He looks at the meadow, wondering why it seems so uniquely beautiful today. “That,” explains Gurnemanz, “is the magic of Good Friday.” Parsifal asks why it is that every living thing does not weep on this day of utmost grief. “You see that it is not so,” replies Gurnemanz. Rather, all creation rejoices at the Savior’s sign of love, and gives thanks that nature itself regains its innocence on this day. Kundry looks up at Parsifal. He sees that she, too, longs for redemption today, and kisses her on the forehead. Bells peal, and Gurnemanz says it is time to go to the Castle. Parsifal takes up the Spear, and the three slowly walk on as the scene changes.
Comment: By this point in the drama, the character of Parsifal has transformed. He has now achieved wisdom through compassion—not just for Amfortas, but for all. Yet the character remains his usual static self throughout this scene, his one gesture being to baptize Kundry. A tenor who can act, of course, can persuade us through gesture and expression of Parsifal’s growth, but a tenor who can act is only slightly less rare than a flying chicken. (There have been some recent positive developments in this area.) The score, however, leaves no doubts. This scene is imbued with a sense of resignation and acceptance that is hard to resist.
Kundry’s washing of Parsifal’s feet is a direct reference to Jesus. Whether or not we are to see Parsifal as an analogue of Jesus, and there is much debate on this point, it is clear that Kundry sees him as such. This act is her atonement for her ancient sin. Seeing an actual baptism on stage is difficult for people whose feelings about Christianity, pro or con, run to the extreme but most can appreciate its relevance to the drama.
Gurnemanz’s discourse on the meaning of Good Friday dominates this scene. The “Good Friday Spell” music is familiar from the radio and the concert hall, albeit usually in its nonvocal form, which is a great loss. Here Wagner has abandoned himself to an almost voluptuous expression of lyrical beauty.
Act III, Scene 2
The scene transforms again, as in the first act, to the domed Great Hall of the Castle of the Grail. The knights enter the Hall, half of them carrying Amfortas in his chair and the other half carrying the coffin of Titurel. Both are placed in the center of the Hall. The knights demand Amfortas perform his duty and uncover the Grail, for the last time!
Comment: The music for this transformation is reminiscent of the first one, except that everything has gone haywire. There is a loud and repeating descending figure in the orchestra, full of doom. The bells, which were eerie but beautiful in Act I, are now menacing. The music continues unbroken as the double procession of knights enters, their voices seemingly out of tune with each other as their various choral divisions repeat “For the last time!” in a state of near-hysteria. Wagner comes very close to atonality in this scene, and the effect can be deeply terrifying.
Amfortas rejects the pleas, and, in bitter self-recrimination, tears the lid off Titurel’s coffin. The knights turn away with a cry, while Amfortas begs his dead father to intercede with heaven and grant him death. He tears open his garment and displays his bleeding wound, begging the knights, who shrink away, to plunge their swords into him and end his misery.
Parsifal, accompanied by Kundry and Gurnemanz, steps forward and touches Amfortas’s wound with the tip of the Spear. Amfortas is healed instantly. Parsifal steps among the knights, holding the Spear aloft, announcing, “The Holy Spear I bring back to you!” All gaze in rapture. Parsifal commands the Grail be uncovered. The knights kneel as the Hall grows dark, lit only from above, and the Grail itself begins to glow. Quiet voices from the dome sing of the redemption of the Redeemer. Kundry, gazing at Parsifal, falls lifeless to the ground. Parsifal waves the cup in blessing over the knights.
Comment: A summary such as this can only suggest the mystical beauty of this scene. Its effect is heightened by contrast with the preceding scene of almost cosmic terror. All is fulfillment and completion here. The musical themes of the work that are associated with suffering and fear are transformed, while those representing faith are resolved. Shimmering strings accompany delicate harps to create the feeling of a new and sublime spirit descending on the Grail and its servants. (For more ideas about this implications of this scene, see “Lobby Talk for Parsifal,” below.) It must also be remembered that this was Wagner’s final creation. Certainly, after this scene, there could not have been much else to say.
It seems unfair, if typical of Wagner’s stories, to kill Kundry off so gratuitously in the scene. Certainly Amfortas has longed for death as much as she, but the libretto clearly states that she dies while he lives. Many productions take liberties with this detail, either killing off Amfortas or keeping Kundry alive. Indeed, there are many ways to interpret the ending of Parsifal. Some show true insight into the music, others border on the insane (see “Productions,” below).
BASICS: WHEN TO EAT, DRINK, AND V
ISIT THE RESTROOM
Face facts: You’re going to have to shuffle your routine a bit for this one. Tell your office you’re having an emergency (spiritual, if they must know), and leave by four o’clock (assuming it’s a six o’clock curtain, which it usually is). Eat a light but high-protein meal, such as fish. Anything heavier is guaranteed to wipe you out cold for most of Act I. Have your coffee or tea early enough to avoid any unforeseen emergencies during the first act.
Which brings us to an important point. Whatever else you do, make sure you visit a restroom before arriving at the opera house. The line there will be around the corner, especially at the ladies’ room. Even people who don’t really need to go will stop in for form’s sake (“just to be sure”), causing a panic or (in extreme cases) a stampede when the first bells summon the audience to their seats. If you haven’t been to a restroom before you arrive, then you’ll just have to get in line with the rest, even if it looks like the “last train to Marseilles” scene from Casablanca.
The first act of Parsifal is probably the single chunk of Wagner requiring the most attention in this department. It’s true that both Act III of Meistersinger and Act I of Götterdämmerung are longer than this act, but they are different cases. The Meistersinger marathon is at the latter part of the evening, when the body has had a chance to settle down and relax, to put it mildly. For Götterdämmerung and Parsifal, the long stretch is at the beginning, when people have generally just arrived in their seats, out of breath after a dash through rush-hour traffic, and are attempting to sit perfectly still (perhaps for the first time that day) for more than two hours. The body has a way of sneaking its needs up on a person in such circumstances. Parsifal is the harder, though slightly shorter, of the two. Some fidgeting is expected in Act I of Götterdämmerung, with no real loss to the spectator. The Grail scene in Act I of Parsifal, however, is meant to be almost an out-of-body experience. The last thing anyone needs for full appreciation of the moment is the body’s baser instincts reminding them so directly of their carnality.
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