Parsifal At Baireuth - skynet.beusers.skynet.be/johndeere/wlpdf/wlar0031.pdf · About this Title...

"Parsifal" At Baireuth

By M. G. Van Rensselaer

The Wagner Library

Edition 1.0

M. G. Van Rensselaer

2 The Wagner Library

Contents

About this Title .......................................................................................................... 4"Parsifal" At Baireuth ................................................................................................ 5Notes ...................................................................................................................... 29


Articles related to Richard Wagner 3

About this Title

Source

"Parsifal" At BaireuthBy M. G. Van Rensselaer

Harper's New Monthly MagazineVolume 66 Issue 394Pages 540-556Published in 1883

Original Page Images at Cornell University Library(http://cdl.library.cornell.edu/cgi-bin/moa/moa-cgi?notisid=ABK4014-0066-72)

Reading Information

This title contains 9710 words.Estimated reading time between 28 and 49 minutes.

Notes are indicated using parenthesis, like (1).Page numbers of the original source are indicatedusing square-bracketed parentheses, like [62].



http://cdl.library.cornell.edu/cgi-bin/moa/moa-cgi?notisid=ABK4014-0066-72

[540]


by M. G. Van Rensselaer

THIS our nineteenth century is commonly esteemed a prosaic, a material, an unimaginativeage. Compared with foregoing periods, it is called blind to beauty and careless of ideals. Itsamusements are frivolous or sordid, and what mental activity it spares from the making ofmoney it devotes to science and not to art. These strictures—of which Mr. Ruskin has beenthe golden-tongued but somewhat narrow-visioned preacher—have certainly much truth toback them. But leaving out of sight many minor facts which tell in the contrary direction,there is one great opposing fact of such importance that by itself alone it calls for at least apartial reversal of the verdict we pass upon ourselves as children of a non-artistic time. Thisfact is the place that music—most unpractical, most unprosaic, most ideal of the arts—hasheld in nineteenth-century life.

Each epoch of artistic production has its own peculiar form of art, most widely practicedand beloved because best able to express the ideals and the aspirations of the men by whom itworks. Poetry has had more periods of flowering than any other art because it is moreversatile than any. But we can point with decision to the years between Pericles and Attalus asthe greatest epoch of the sculptor's art, and to the fifteenth and its two succeeding centuries as



the greatest age of painting. And in quite the same way—with, if anything, even greaterstrictness of limitation—we can point to our own as the age of music. Before the days ofGluck and Haydn music was in a child-like, though not a childish, state of development. Andit may seem doubtful to-day whether there will come men after Beethoven and Wagner tofurther develop either symphonic or dramatic composition. It is these facts which give to therecent festivals at Baireuth a significance and an interest beyond that which they possess asmere prominent contemporary happenings or mere tributes of admiration to a popular livingartist. It is not a non-artistic world which has seen the [541] full growth from smallbeginnings of both symphonic and dramatic forms in music. It is not a non-artistic generationwhich has gone by thousands to Wagner's isolated stage. Music is the æsthetic language inwhich our time has spoken, and the Baireuth festivals and the dramas there presented will, itis very sure, be looked back upon by future generations as the completest and mostcharacteristic avatars of art our century can show. And this is what must make theminteresting not only to musicians, but to every student of intellectual developments.

The oft-told tale of Wagner's life—that tale of early neglect, of following fierce opposal, ofbitter struggle and still-existing cavil—need not be here repeated. But the battle is practicallyover, in Germany at least. Each year stragglers from the defeated camp come over byhundreds to the worship of the novel art, and each year its echoes are spreading more widelybeyond the borders of its fatherland. But a few years back it was called very scornfully of thefuture. It is a very present thing to-day. Every young musician is to some extent Wagner'sscholar. The people are thrilled by and respond to his music as they do to that of no otherman. It is clearer, more easily comprehended, more germane to the public mind andsentiment, than the far simpler music of his predecessors. Older men have had to study itbefore comprehending and admiring. But the young generation thinks and feels and sees withWagner by instinct and not by effort. And there could be, I think, no surer proof that his art isthe natural, direct, unforced expression of the æsthetic feeling of his time and race—not awillful eccentricity, an abnormal development, attractive by its novelty, but destined tospeedily decline and leave no trace behind.

It was Wagner's outspoken conviction from the very first that his work would never bequite understood till he should have a theatre under his own control, and built according to hisown ideas. The determination to have such a stage was strong in days when the world thoughthim overambitious in hoping even to see his works on the repertories of existing houses. Whatthe achievement of his wish implies is realized only if one knows the opposition of everykind—the rage, the scorn, the laughter, the abuse—with which he then contended. When,after a score of years, his dream seemed likely to be realized, many wondered that he shouldselect a remote, neglected town like Baireuth for a still doubtful enterprise. But Wagner nevershowed his judgment and his artistic instinct with more clearness. Neither a smaller nor alarger, more important place would have done half so well. Baireuth seems as if designed byhistory for his purpose: in a central situation, yet off the great highway of casual travel; largeenough to accommodate his audiences, and stately enough to give his art a fitting]y artisticbackground, yet small enough and dead enough to leave him and his theatre as the paramount,nay, the exclusive, sources of attraction. There is nothing to offend the taste in Baireuth as thehome of a great and splendid art; but there is nothing to compete with that art, to make usforget why we are there, to interfere, as the Master himself would say, with the Stimmungappropriate to our pilgrimage.

Baireuth is a city of some 20,000 inhabitants, which, though much older of course,received its present shape in the last century. When the sister of Frederick the Great marriedtIme Margrave of Baireuth, the town rose to its greatest importance, and from that period dateits chief features of interest—the long, rather solemn-looking "New Palace," most of thepublic buildings, the once exquisite but now deserted and shabby little rococo theatre, and the



summer chateaux outside the gates—the Eremitage and the Phantasie—which, set in theirbeautiful gardens, are among the most fantastically love]y eighteenth-century creations. ButBaireuth's importance was soon upon the wane, and for many years it had been to all intentsand purposes shelved and forgotten by the world, when Wagner came to make it the mostliving centre of the most living art we have. Naturally he is the patron saint of the modernBaireuther, whose civic pride and national importance and private revenues he has so greatlyhelped. Here is not only the Master's theatre, but his home, built for him by the King ofBavaria, and standing in a pleasant garden almost in the centre of the town. Here he livesduring the summer months, not, it will be believed, in the seclusion of strictly local circles,but constantly surrounded by a host of friends and disciples, and visited by troops of curiouspilgrims. In the winter he goes [542] southward, of late to Sicily or Venice. But hishead-quarters are at Baireuth—Munich, the scene of his first complete success, haying beenalmost entirely abandoned. His house is built in the Renaissance style, square, and with littleornament save a large sgraffito painting by Robert Krausse over the doorway, surmounted inits turn by the name of the villa, Wahnfried. This, being freely translated, means "peace fromillusions" or "aberrations," and typifies the rest which Wagner found when settled at last in hisown home near his own theatre, his battles over and his dreams all realized. The paintingtypifies his art. In the centre is the figure of Wotan, who personifies German Mythology; onone side is Greek Tragedy, and on the other, Music. To this group looks up Siegfried astypical of the "art of the future," which has resulted from a mingling of the old tragic art, ofmusic and of the national mythology. Everything connected with Wagner's life in Baireuthhas been made to suggest his work in a degree which seems odd to people less naïve thanthese artistic Germans more keenly alive to the ridiculous, and less blindly wrapped in theirenthusiasms. His dogs are called Wotan, Freia, and Fricka. His children, even, are named forhis creations, the youngest being Siegfried.



If ever a man is crushed beneath the weight of a doubly suggestive patronymic, it may wellbe young Siegfried Wagner when he shall come to man's estate! In his garden, which stretchesback of the house to the little public park, the Master may be seen taking his morningconstitutional in velvet dressing-gown and cap, and passing up and down before the tomb,lettered with his own name, which he has already built. We are reminded of Schliemann'shome in Athens, with its Homeric frescoes, and the children named from heroes of the Iliad.

Entering the house one finds a large hall running up to the roof, with a painted friezeshowing scenes from the Nibelungen. Out of this hall opens a great square room containingthe piano and many rows of book-shelves, filled for the greater part with works of Easternphilosophy, and with volumes relating to the old German themes that Wagner has adapted tonew purposes. In a bay-window near the piano is the table at which he sits when working.Here during the summer season live Wagner and his strangely constituted family—his wife,who is the daughter of the Abbé Liszt, all her children by her divorced husband Hans vonBülow, and Wagner's own younger brood. Bülow's children seem to adore the Master asmuch as do his own, and to glory in his fame as though [543] they had a legal share therein.His wife—"Cosima," as she is familiarly, even affectionately, called on every hand—is a tall,striking-looking woman of Italian type, with a fine face showing remains of great youthfulbeauty. I have rarely seen a more interesting and impressive looking woman; and while manywho admire Wagner as an artist dislike him as a man, there seems to be but a single feeling ofadmiration for his wife. She is not only extremely clever, extremely well educated, andextremely artistic, but is endowed with social charm and business ability to a degree that has



made her Wagner's right hand since the day of their union. Many believe, indeed, that withouther energy and tact the passionate and rather intractable artist would not so soon have seen therealization of his dreams. Wagner excused himself for his elopement, it is said, by declaringthat he could not do his work without her. And the same reason seems to hold her excused inthe eyes of her acquaintances. Liszt, who still retains his early enthusiasm for the artist andaffection for the man in spite of all domestic vagaries, is a frequent visitor at Wahnfried. He isstill a striking and venerable figure, though his former stately gallantry of manner has got atouch of senile unctuousness with advancing years. His long silvery hair was conspicuous inWagner's loge the night I heard Parsifal, and his appearance was watched for with almost asmuch eagerness as that of the man who was once his protégé, but is now called Master byLiszt as well as others.

Wagner himself, as has been often told, is short and rather angular, though powerful, inbuild, scarcely passing by half a head the shoulder of his stately wife. His head is too large forhis body, and his features are roughly and strongly irregular. About the mouth there is a hintof weakness—the weakness of a sensuous, passionate, artistic temperament. But in the chinwe see all the indomitable strength of will that has fought his long battle and won his greatsuccess. And the splendid brow and massive head are a fitting home for the most versatile andmajestic artistic intellect of our time. Owing to his short stature, and want of grace or reposeof manner and elegance of dress, Wagner may disappoint one at first sight. But his face is, Ithink, in wonderful accord with his character and genius.

Wagner is hospitality itself when the Baireuth season is in progress, when he is restingfrom all labor save that attendant upon the production of his work. Every night his house iscrowded with a motley assemblage of dignitaries, social, political, literary, and musical, andwith strangers of all sorts and conditions from every part of Germany and every country of theworld. There is often music to be heard. There is always lively talk of the most variegatedkind. The absence of formality, the effusive gayety of the Master, and the kindly dignity ofhis wife put the most insignificant at ease. It is never in the least difficult to get an invitation,provided one is an enthusiastic Wagnerite, or even an earnest investigator—and does not themere fact of his presence in Baireuth imply that a visitor is the one thing or the other?

Leaving the town we drive for a mile or more through pleasant suburbs to the lowelevation which is crowned by Wagner's theatre. The slope of the little hill is prettily planted,and a wide drive sweeps up to the doors on either side the building. Across the drive to theright as we approach is a restanrant, well appointed, and eagerly patronized during the longwaits between the acts. The performance of Parsifal began at four in the afternoon and lastedtill a quarter to ten, but with two intermissions of nearly an hour each. During these pauses wewalked about in the garden or in the great portico of the theatre, or renewed our strength inthe restaurant until summoned to our seats by the sound of a couple of trumpets giving thenotes of the "Grail Motive." Thus the strain, both physical and emotional, of the long, intenseperformance is reduced to a minimum, and one is as fresh and appreciative for the third act asfor the first. (1)

[544]

The theatre itself is plainly built both inside and out. It was an experiment, and money wasnone too plenty—so not a penny was expended on mere ornament. Passing through one of themany doors—through which the crowded house can be emptied in less than two minutes—wesee a vast rectangular room with rows of seats rising so steeply toward the back that eachspectator looks well over the heads of those in front. The time-honored amphitheatre hardlysuggests itself, however, for the rows are but slightly curved. The first is just the width of theproscenium, from which it is separated by the hood that conceals the orchestra in its loweredspace. The seats then expand gradually toward the rear of the house, where a long curtainedloge, or balcony, receives the Master and his friends. The triangular space left on either side



between the benches and the wall is filled in with great Corinthian columns rising quite to theplain flat ceiling. These columns are doubled and tripled as the unoccupied space grows widertoward the front, and their pedestals increase in height as the floor declines so that their basesare always on a level. Between these pedestals are the many exits. If one has a side seat theeye is led along a contracting vista of columns until it reaches those which immediately flankthe stage, and thus the effect as of a picture in its frame is never lost or interfered with. Thereare no proscenium boxes, no visible foot-lights or orchestra, no prompter's hood. My readers,accustomed only to the distracting architectural accessories of an ordinary theatre, will hardlyconceive, perhaps, how greatly the effect of any scene is enhanced by its thus being, so tospeak, the only thing in sight. And in a house so built no one can possibly do aught but lookand listen to what is on the boards. It is not a show-place for the audience, but a darkened hallwhither one has come for the drama's sake alone. The concealment of the orchestra is anequally fortunate arrangement. The power of the music is increased by its thus seeming thework of invisible agents instead of fiddling, piping, puffing gentlemen in non-dramatic garb.And the whole volume of sound comes to the ear with far more unity and precision of effect.

When a full rehearsal is in progress, Wagner takes his seat in the front row of theauditorium, just behind and above the Capellmeister, with whom he can communicatethrough an opening in the hood that conceals the players. Around him will be his wife and agroup of musicians noting down, for future use in their various arrangements of the work, allthe criticisms and directions which fall from the Master's lips. Every detail of theperformance, dramatic as well as musical, is followed by his keen eye and directed andcorrected by his sure artistic taste. The greatest singers are his ever-docile pupils, and theirmost highly prized reward is a word of praise from Wagner's lips. And whatever he may bewith other men to his artists Wagner never fails in gratitude or in its public acknowledgment.

Wagner's title to have originated an entirely new development in lyrico-dramatic art doesnot rest upon his music in itself considered. He has been a musical innovator to anextraordinary degree, a creator of novel expressional methods without the aid of which hecould not have put his novel aims in shape. But he has been an innovator, a creator, in a widersense than this. He is the first operatic composer who is above all things a dramatist in thehighest, noblest meaning of the word. His point of departure is not the music, but the kernel ofthe drama properly so called—the main idea he wishes to express. (2) He conceives this withextreme clearness, and elaborates it with perfect singleness of aim by every means ofexpression at his command—words, music, action, and stage settings. No slightest musicalornament or motive, no dramatic situation or accessory, is planned or allowed without strictreference thereto. With a greater variety of expressional means than have ever before beenused by any dramatist, Wagner secures a strength and unity of effect unapproached on themodern stage. And his conceptions, moreover, are of so large and deep a sort as to [545] puthim in the very first rank among poetical creators. It is well known that he writes his owntext-books. But it is not to their verbal structure that I would point to confirm these words. Heconceives as do the greatest dramatic writers. But lie elaborates, as I have said, in a novelfashion of his own not with words only, but with words and music both. Therefore we find inhis printed texts a finely impressive plan, admirably calculated developments and situations,clearly defined personalities, with only just so much dialogue, and dialogue of only just sucha sort, as will give an outline of his intentions. The filling up which other poets do withwords, he does with the plastic, thrilling, marvellously expressive language of sweet tones.



Planning for the musical drama, Wagner plans in the same broad way as did the Greekswhen writing for their equally artificial mode of presentation—for the open-air theatre, thechorus, mask, and buskin. He simplifies and solidifies his story much more than do othermodern dramatists, gives us but a few important figures, and avoids all sub-plots and minorthreads of interest. And he does something still more important and still more Greek than this.Speaking through music chiefly, he must speak to the feelings, and not to the reasoning



powers. So he must speak broadly, strongly, and plainly, and only of things which may beexpressed by emotional appeals without the aid of intellectual definitions and subtle details.Therefore he avoids all even comparatively petty [546] themes, all tales of transient interest orimportance, all characters of local shape or flavor. He falls back upon the fundamentalpassions of humanity; deals with perennial facts and ever-living situations; typifies in hischaracters the main forces and the leading impulses, desires, and fatalities of our race. Such abroadly human theme is the struggle in man's heart between impure love and pure, which hehas painted in Tannhäuser. Such is the lesson that innocence and love make shipwreck ifunsupported by faith and trust, which he has taught in Lohengrin. For certain artistic reasonsconnected with scenery and costume, and with the advisability on the lyric stage of avoidingtoo close a comparison with every-day life, he puts his creations in the distant i)ast, andsometimes outside of the natural world of prose. But not for these reasons only. Dealing withthe realms of fable, legend, and mythology, he has at command the poetic atmosphere, thelarger psychical types, the primitive passions, the variety of circumstance and catastrophe, hisaims demand. He gets outside of conventionalities, of trivialities, of lesser laws—of allbounds and limitations save such as art prescribes. Yet with all this his characters are notunsubstantial myths, or typical abstractions, or puppets of any sort, allegorical or other. Withall their fabulous environment, their superhuman stature, they are men and women likeourselves only painted on a larger, bolder scale, to suit the large, bold nature of his art. Theyare warm with life and passion—not so much types as incarnations of good or evil; men ofold time or of no time, but distinctly individualized kinsmen of our own, governed by thesame impulses and swayed by the same influences that sway and govern us. To thus make awork of art broadly human instead of local or transient in its theme to infuse it with a deepand vital meaning below its palpable story, and yet keep the outer forum living, coherent, andartistically self-sufficient, is the noblest thing in art. And Wagner's power in this respect quitejustifies the introduction of the figure of Greek Tragedy in the fresco above his door.





To his grasp of deep tragic motives Wagner adds a wonderfully dramatic instinct forsituation, an instinct unparalleled, it has often been said with truth, since [547] Shakspeare'sday. Much more is left to be explained and emphasized by action than is usual on thecontemporary stage, whether lyrical or not. Of course his demands upon his singers areproportionately great. Some of the finest pieces of acting I have ever seen have been inWagner's dramas, though they differed from other acting as his text differs from the text ofothers. Lyric acting must be defined with larger, stronger toucbes, must rise and fall with thebroad, deep waves of musical emotion—not be subtly modulated and delicately expressed asin the spoken drama to suit the delicate, crowding suggestions of a poet's words. The art ofBernhardt or of Got would be as out of place on Wagner's stage as the art of Niemann orMaterna at the Théâtre Français. But each style is right in its own place, and this newlyrico-dramatic style, heroic in mood, with its large methods of interpretation, was almostunknown before Wagner's day. It is a creation of his own, or, rather, a complementary artwhich has sprung up in response to the demands of his.

Parsifal is of especial importance among Wagner's dramas, because while the latest intime, it is also the deepest in theme and the completest in execution, showing his musicalmethods in their highest development and his intellectual force in its greatest strength. In it wehave a play typical not only of some of the most fundamental passions of humanity, but ofsome of the deadliest and divinest. Its music is more complicated yet more consistent, itssymbolism more important and more clearly shown. In it Wagner approaches as near toallegory as is possible in work which is to keep its artistic balance and perfection.

For the crude material of the play he went, as so often before, to the old German epics, thusgetting his wide scope and his supernatural machinery, while keeping his ideas andpersonages akin to the natures and the feelings of his countrymen of to-day. The legend of theHoly Grail (3) —the vessel in which Joseph of Arimathea received the blood of Christ, andwhich was afterward put by heavenly messengers under the guard of a knightly company,who drew from it supernatural strength with which to subdue the enemies of right—was aproperty common to all Christendom long before the time of Eschenbach. But though it wasthus common property, and though the scene of the story is still laid, indeed, in Spain and notin Germany, it was the version of Wolfram von Esehenbach, written in the thirteenth century,which gave it permanent shape and life, imbuing it at the same time with truly Teutonicfeeling, and incorporating it with the hereditary treasures of German poetry. Of courseWagner has greatly altered the story to suit his dramatic ends. As ever, he has simplified it,changed and deepened its meaning, and divested it of all temporary or local sources ofinterest. It is no longer a mediæval romance—it is a purely ideal drama. It is no longer alegend of the fight of the Christian against the Turk, but a symbol of the ever-renewingconflict between purity and evil. The story as Wagner makes it is as follows: (4)

The sanctuary of the Grail and the home of its knights is at Monsalvat, in Spain. Their oldking, Titurel, worn out with age and battles, has given over his headship to his son Amfortas,but still exists, kept alive by the supernatural strength conferred whenever the Grail issolemnly unveiled. On the hill opposite Monsalvat stands the castle of the enchanter Klingsor,who, having once sought admittance to the holy brotherhood, and having been rejected for hiswickedness is now vowed to its destruction. His garden is filled with sirens (theflower-maidens of the play), but his chief dependence is upon Kundry, whose extraordinarycharacter will be explained a little further on. Amfortas had, before the drama opens, heenseduced by her wiles, and losing his innocence, had lost to Klingsor the invincible holyspear—the spear which had pierced the side of Christ, and which, togetherwith [548] the Grailitself, was the source of the brotherhood's supernatural power. Amfortas was wounded in theside by the spear, and his wound can be healed only by a touch from the same weapon; but theweapon can only be recovered, according to a holy oracle, by a "spotless fool, wise through



sympathy"—that is, by some one who knows not of Amfortas's sin and need, but whoperceives them when himself tempted in the same way, and resisting the temptation. Parsifalis the destined savior, and the play begins when his advent is at hand.





As the curtain rises on the first act we see a broad woodland glade with a lake beyond. Atthe foot of a great tree in the centre of the scene are two sleeping pages, who, as the "MorningCall" sounds from distant trumpets, are awakened by Gurnemanz, one of the elder knights,and the special friend of the young king. He bids them pray for the king, who is approachingfor his morning bath in the lake. Then follow short colloquies with the boys and with twoknights who precede the king, then, with a burst of wild accompanying music, Kundry comesupon the scene. This figure has been crystallized by Wagner from multitude of varyinglegends which represent her under different forms but always as a sort of female WanderingJew. According to one old tale she is the daughter of Herodias, cursed for having laughedwhen the head of the Baptist lay before her, condemned to roam forever, to forever laughwhen she may most wish to weep, and to be evil always though struggling to be good.Wagner, to insure greater force, makes her a woman who has laughed at Christ upon thecross. Condemned to evil, she is yet not entirely lost. for in her better moods she mourns thepast and struggles blindly for redemption. But whenever she falls asleep she is in Khingsor'spower, and obliged afterward to do as he commands. In her desire to break her bondage shehas entered the service of the Grail as a wild, outcast, almost unacknowledged servant of itsknights, who are far from recognizing in her repulsive form the fair enchantress she becomesin Klingsor's hands, and the corrupter of their king. Now as she enters with a mad rush, it is tobring the king a healing balsam that she and her enchanted horse have sought in far Arabia.Giving it to Gurnemanz, she falls exhausted at the foot of a great rock just as the long train ofknights appear with the litter of Amfortas in their midst. This is set down while Amfortasspeaks with Gurnemanz, who gives him Kundry's offering. Here the scene on the Baireuthstage was one of exceeding beauty. All the many knights and pages, including the picturesquefigure of the suffering, pallid, youthful king himself, were costumed in the same colors—ingrayish-blue gowns and long cloaks of a dull coral red. The grouping was extremely artistic asall clustered around the king, lamenting his sorrow and reciting the prophecy about his savior.Then the cortége moves again, and the king is carried to his bath. Gurnemanz remains behindwith the two pages, to whom, in a long recitative, he pleads toleration for the savage butwell-meaning Kundry; and then, in answer to [549] their questions, recounts the story of thepast and of Amfortas's sin and penitence. As he again repeats the prophecy a wild clamorbreaks in from outside. A wounded swan floats across the stage, and the startled pages drag inthe boyish Parsifal, its slayer. He is reproacbed by Gurnemanz for killing the sacred, innocentbird within these holy precincts. But he knows nothing of what he has done, being a wild lad,nurtured in the forest by his mother, whom he left to follow a passing troop of knights.Gurnemanz's words awake his concience. He hreaks his bow with childish petulance andthrows away his arrows. Then Gurnemanz questions him as to name and origin, but he replies,"I know not," to almost everything, only telling that his mothers name is Herzeleid. Kundryrises from her apparent stupor and tells him his mother is dead. At first the boy attacks herwith childish fury, then falls back, half fainting with emotion while Kundry, her savage spiritstruggling with her desire to "serve" sullenly brings water to restore him. Then, overcomewith fatigue, she sinks unwillingly, as fighting against her fate, into a deep sleep upon theground, and thus subjects herself, as we shall see, once more to Klingsor's power. Now thecortége of the king again approaches, returning from the bath, and crosses the stage on its wayto Monsalvat. Gurnemanz tells the wondering Parsifal that the sacred fast is about to occur,and bids him come, saying, "Thou art pure; to thee too will the Grail give strength." For,seeing the boys innocence, he hopes he may be the promised savior.



Now Gurnemanz and Parsifal with slow- steps appear to advance through the wood, but in



reality it is the scenery which passes by, while they, moving amid its moving forms, are nowin plain sight and now hidden behind rock or tree. It is a bold experiment in scenic art, andone that could not often be repeated. Indeed, Wagner seems to have felt as much; for whenthe same incident occurs again, in the third act, the curtains are kept closed, and only arepetition of the accompanying music reminds us of what we have seen before. But for oncethe innovation was worth making, as by its means we felt the same impressions that aresupposed to have worked on Parsifal himself. The illusion was almost complete, and thescenery both beautiful and capitally imagined to reveal tbe supernatural character ofMonsalvat. First the great green trees were replaced by rougher and more tangled shapes; thenthey assumed almost a rocky form; then came great contorted masses of rock and stone,suggesting columns and foundations; and then the base of the castle itself—all by gradual andnot by sudden alterations. Then unexpectedly the walls burst open, and we saw the interior ofa beautiful great hall, with Gurnemanz and Parsifal standing near the front of the scene. Herethey remain while the long processions enter, the former bidding the boy watch with allattention all that he shall see. This interior of Monsalvat is the most splendid and artistic Ihave ever [550] seen upon the stage.

The Hispano-Moresque architecture is well conceived, and carried out with accuratebeauty of line and color. In the front of the stage is a large vaulted space, and beyond it, in thecentre, is a great circular open colonnade, supporting a galleried dome, which rises far out ofview, and from which falls the light. On either side several long vaulted corridors run back,not in pictured but in actual far perspective. Within the columns and beneath the dome aresemicircular tables prepared for the knights, a wide opening in front giving them admittancethereto, and to the altar of the Grail, which stands in the middle, and behind it the raised seatfor the king. Troops of pages and children cross the scene from either side, and pass out ofsight in different directions to take their places in the dome, whence their choruses shallsound. They too are all clothed in the colors of the Grail. Then the knights enter through thelong passages from tbe back, with solemn tread and chant. Then a band of pages comecarrying Amfortas on his litter, and preceded by others who bear the Grail in its shrine, andthe great urns and baskets with the bread and wine that the glory of the Grail is to endow withsupernatural strength. The king is lifted to his couch, and the Grail placed upon the altar,while the pages group themselves and their burdens on its steps. The singular beauty andimpressiveness of this scene—so finely composed, so richly and harmoniously colored, so



solemnly portrayed, and accompanied by music of such ravishing sweetness and suchholiness of temper—can hardly be imagined by those who only know the ordinary spectaclesof the ordinary stage. It seemed no spectacle at all, but an actual, deeply solemn scene. Thespectator held his breath in awe, as did the bewildered Parsifal, allowed to gaze onmysteriously impressive rites. The knights place themselves at the tables, last of allGurnemanz, after he has vainly motioned to a seat beside him the unheeding boy, who, untilthe whole ceremony is completed, stands quite still in the same spot, as though lost to allconsciousness of self. Then we hear a voice from the invisible Titurel demanding theunveiling of the Grail, which shall renew his life. Amfortas breaks into agonized protests,telling of his sin, his suffering, his remorse, and his unworthiness to touch the sacred vessel.The children's voices from the dome repeat in sweet soprano notes the prophecy whichpromises him release and pardon. The knights call upon him to fulfill the duties of his office.And so at last he gives the signal. The pages take the goblet from its shrine, remove itscoverings, and place it on the altar, while all bow their heads in silent prayer. Suddenly theroom grows dark, and then the goblet flushes with a brilliant ruddy glow. Amfortas rises tohis feet and lifts the shining vessel, while the pages hold the bread and wine within its rays,[551] and the far-off soprano strains and tender orchestral harmonies become triumphant withholy ecstasy. Then the glow dies out; daylight re-appears; and the pages pass the food to thesilent knights, who take it with reverent gestures, while from the vault above comes theinterchange of boys' and children's voices repeating the prophecy, and singing strains of faithand comfort. Then the knights join in the strain; but the king, with a reaction from themomentary strength of his excitement, sinks back upon his litter, and the pages press abouthim to stanch the blood again flowing from his wounded side. Then the processions formonce more, and pass out in the same solemn order, last of all the troops of children from thedome. Gurnemanz remains alone with Parsifal, whom he asks whether he comprehends whathe has seen. But the boy shakes his head, and will not even ask a question, and Gurnemanz,disappointed in his hope, thrusts him from the door.

When the second act begins we are shown the interior of the magicians enchanted castle.Klingsor sees in his magic mirror the approach of Parsifal, whom he recognizes as thepredicted savior, and whom he determines to overcome with Kundry's help. He calls thelatter, and she rises, wrapped from head to foot in ghostly white draperies, through a smokingpit in the background, on the brink of which she remains, shrouded and immovable, throughthe dialogue which follows—a dialogue which consists of imprecations and commands onKlingsor's part, and of fierce, defiant taunts but ultimate submission to her fate on Kundry's.Her resistance to the sorcerer's wish is seen to be even more desperate than usual, as she toohas guessed that Parsifal is the promised helper. But she disappears with a frantic, hopelessburst of her cursed laughter, Klingsor and his room sink out of sight, and we find ourselves inthe garden amid the troop of flower-maidens, who on Parsifal's approach surround him withplayful appeals to be their comrade, and with jealous little quarrels for his favor. But Kundryenters, and the girls flee in simulated rage with the unresponsive boy. Kundry is now in theguise of the most beautiful of women. Making Parsifal sit at her feet, she tells him of hismother's death, and bids him believe that love alone can compensate him for her loss. Subtlyblending the story of his mothers affection with her own, she stoops and kisses his notunwilling lips. But with the kiss a light breaks upon his mind. He starts to his feet in horror,exclaiming that he feels in his side the burning of Amfortas's wound, and sees in Kundry theking's betrayer. All her arts are of no avail to work upon the innocent boy, now"wise throughsympathy." With a fine dramatic inspiration Wagner here weaves together the two contrastingstrands of Kundry's character, making her use, under Klingsor's spell, her real remorse and herreal longing for good as an argument to tempt Parsifal to what she knows must defeat thisvery aspiration. As though possessed by a spell beyond her force to break, she tells with



pathetic accents of her sin, her curse, her unwilling slavery to evil, and she bids him love her,as only through his love can she be freed and

[552] saved. But even this appeal, so genuine in its very falsity, and so dangerous becauseaddressed to his noblest feelings, Parsifal is strong enough to resist. Then her evil nature gainsthe upper hand. She curses him with the curse of "wandering," and calls on Klingsor forassistance. The magician appears, and hurls the spear at Parsifal, but it remains poised overthe head of innocence. Parsifal seizes it, and makes the sign of the cross. The magician andhis enchanted realm disappear forever, and in their place we see a barren, rocky waste,through which Parsifal departs, bearing the spear, and leaving Kundry's unconscious formupon the ground. Thus is Kundry freed from Klingsor's power, but not yet from sin andsuffering.

When the third act opens many years are supposed to have passed, during which Parsifalhas been vainly seeking, hampered by Kundry's curse, the road to Monsalvat, and duringwhich Kundry seems to have sought penance and purification in a pilgrim's life. Gurnemanzhas grown to be a very old man. Worn with years and sorrow, he now leads a hermit's life onthe edge of the Grail's domain, watching almost in despair for the helper's advent. As he sitsin bitter reverie by his hut he recognizes Kundry in a fainting pilgrim who approaches. Takingher in his arms to a sacred spring near by, he brings her back to life, and asks her what sheseeks. Humbly she replies, "To serve—to serve." But Gurnemanz tells her the knights need nohelp of hers. No messenger is wanted, for no labor is attempted by the wretched brotherhood,which has fallen year by year into greater discouragement and impotence since Amfortas, halfmad with suffering and remorse, refuses to unveil the goblet. Titurel has died for want of itssupport, and Amfortas himself prays only for death as his deliverer. Then a man in armorapproaches, carrying a spear, and with his visor closed. The old man chides him for bearingarms on holy ground, and during Good-Friday's solemn hours. He makes no reply, save to layaside his casque and shield, plant his spear in the ground, and kneel before it. Gurnemanz nowrecognizes both Parsifal and the sacred weapon, and hails with joy the delivery so longdelayed. Parsifal laments the long wanderings through which Kundry's curse has led him. ButGurnemanz tells him he is now at last unwittingly within the sacred boundaries. He too isexhausted by long wandering, and Gurnemanz seats him by the holy spring, bidding Kundrylave his feet while he removes his armor. Kundry humbly washes the feet of the man in whomshe sees the savior who resisted her attempts to ruin himself and her, wipes them with herhair, and kneels with her face in the dust before him, while Gurnemanz acknowledges the newking of the Grail, and anoints him with the sacred water. In a strain of ineffable sweetness



Parsifal says the first exercise of his new office must be to release Kundry from her curse. Hebaptizes her, and Gurnemanz leads them to Monsalvat. Now occurs behind closed curtains thetransformation we saw in the first act. When the explanatory music is over and the curtainspart again, we see the great hall once more, and the opening doors, through which againapproach the troops of knights They were in sorrowful mood before, but now they arehopeless and despairing. The children do not ascend the dome, for they have no cheeringprophecies to sing, but kneel in long rows across the front of the stage, their faces to the altar.The tables have been removed, as Amfortas persists in his refusal to unveil the Grail and begfor Heaven's blessing once again One band of bearers bring in the king's litter, and one thebier of Titurel, which they set down before the altar. In passionate, heart-broken wordsAmfortas reproaches himself for his father's death and their common misery. Starting from hiscouch, with trembling tread and agonized body he descends the altar steps, and clings to hisfather's bier, praying in his despair to death as his only helper, and declaring that with hisdestruction a happier day might dawn for his companions. The knights call upon him inalmost angry tones not to forsake his duty on account of his own suffering, but to unveil theGrail once more. He refuses, tears open his gown so his wound may bleed afresh, and bids hisfriends in mercy hasten death. But as they stand about him in horror and dismay, Parsifalenters in his white garment, bearing the spear, and followed by the joyful Gurnemanz, and byKundry, with the light of peace at last upon her face. Parsifal touches the king's side with thespear, which suddenly glows with supernatural light, and declares him healed and pardoned,but deposed from the [553]





[554] headship of the Grail. With solemn step he then draws near the altar, and himself bidsthe goblet be unveiled. He takes it in his hand and falls upon her knees, while all are hushedin prayer. Suddenly the room again is darkened, the Grail again grows vivid with ruddy light.Parsifal rises and holds it aloft, the spear in his other hand, the crimson light falling on hiswhite garments, and a dove descending from heaven and hovering above his head. All breakinto a soft cry of solemn gladness, and Kundry sinks in peaceful death upon the altar steps.

The best musical materials in Germany were at Wagner's side last summer. The orchestrawas that of the Munich Opera, enlarged by the addition of a few players from Meiningen,Weimar, Dessau, and Berlin, and numbered in all one hundred and four performers, under theleadership of Capellmeister Levy of Munich. There were twenty-nine flower-maidens, sixhaving solo parts to sing. The chorus was sixty in number, and there was, besides, the choir offifty boys. Whether or no the chorus singers were paid, I can not say. At least the expenses oftheir long stay in Baireuth were probably made good to them. But the solo singers gave theirhelp for nothing, and were glad to do so, their reward coming in the instruction they receivedand the pleasure in which they shared, and in the universal fame which can in no way be soquickly and completely gained as by Baireuth triumphs. As there were fourteen publicperformances, spreading over a period of four or five weeks, the different parts were intrustedto several singers each, with the exception of the barytone part of Amfortas, which wasassumed throughout by Reichmann of Munich. The tenori who played Parsifal wereWinkelmann of Hamburg, Gudehus of Dresden, and Jäger, formerly of Dresden and Vienna.Kundry, the soprano part, was given to Materna of Vienna, Brandt of Berlin, and Malten ofDresden. Fuchs of Munich, also a barytone, sang Klingsor, alternating with Hill. The minorbasso part of Titurel was given to Kindermann of Munich, while the great basso rôle ofGurnemanz was sung by Scaria of Vienna and by Siehr. For the first performance Wagnerselected Materna, Winkelmann, Scaria, and Hill. Materna was well entitled to the honor, inview of her worldwide reputation. But, as it proved, even her laurels shrank a little beforethose of Malten, a young singer who had never been heard out of Dresden until she wonsuccess in London during the season of last spring. Her art in singing is not quite so perfect asMaterna's, but her voice is fresher, and magnificently powerful, and her acting shows thegreatest dramatic ability. She is beautiful as well, and in the temptation scene must far havesurpassed her rivals. Brandt is an older woman, devoid of beauty, but with great dramatictalent, and is said to have been finest in the first act. Reichmann has a marvellous voice, andhis impersonation of the youthful king—suffering, desperate, and overwrought—wasconsummately artistic. He, with his common human experience, was the true centre ofinterest, even more than the saintly, superhuman Parsifal. Wagner's great reliance upon thedramatic capabilities of his singers was never more clearly shown than in the last act ofParsifal. Kundry is on the stage from beginning to end, yet has but two words to say. Her partis one of pantomime alone, yet of capital importance. Malten, whom I was fortunate enoughto see, filled it so adequately that it was only afterward one realized she had not sung as wellas acted. Great dramatic ability is indeed required to play this rôle, with its constant changeand contrast of mood—the sullen uncouthness of the first act, the frantic defiance of thecolloquy with Klingsor, the temptation scene with Parsifal; and then this last pathetic act, thewhole meaning of which depends upon appropriate action and facial expressiveness. Thatthree women were found to fill it so adequately that its honors were almost equally dividedbetween them proves the vitality and strength of the new dramatic school we owe to Wagner.

Scaria is perhaps the greatest basso of our time, and he, too, is equally good dramaticallyconsidered. His magnificent. voice rolls out like an organ with perfect ease and sureness,giving every word as distinctly as though it had been spoken and not sung. Jäger sang theevening of my visit, and though his voice has lost a trifle of its freshness, his acting wassuperb all through. The saintly dignity of his conception, the solemn ecstasy of his bearing, in



the last act, will not easily be forgotten, nor the beauty of his white-robed figure and nobleattitude as the [555] curtain fell for the last time upon the shining Grail and the floating dove.But the other tenori were said to be as adequate, and Winkelmann's voice is finer. I mighteasily go on to praise, with much of detail, all who took part in a wonderfully perfectrepresentation. Yet the most remarkable thing of all—more admirable than the power of anyindividual singer—was the unity of the whole performance, the way in which thetranscendental mood of the drama was preserved in every detail, the spirit of solemnabsorption in a sacred scene which seemed to animate the least performer. The briefest lapseinto commonplace, even, would have marred the impression. The slightest failure to seize andkeep the exalted tone and temper of the work would have resulted most disastrously to theemotions of the audience. But no such lapse occurred. From Parsifal down to the smallestpage-boy, every movement, every note, every facial expression, was in accord. Words andmusic seemed but to interpret with greater force emotions we saw clearly in each characterupon the boards. But one point in the whole performance could be noted for criticism. Thedecorations in the garden scene were unfortunately gaudy in effect and bad in color, making apoor background both for the flower-maidens in their graceful evolutions, and for Parsifal andKundry in their passionate dialogue.



The deeply moral symbolism of Parsifal will now be apprehended. The history of Christ isnever referred to during the drama, for Wagner writes no such inartistic things as "allegories."But it is, of course, suggested—as are certain ceremonies of the Christian religion—byvarious scenes which occur quite naturally in the dramatic evolution of the visible characters.But the work has a still deeper intention than to suggest the facts and beliefs of any one creed.The visible Parsifal, the suggested Christ, are alike types of redeeming love and goodness; thevisible Kundry, the suggested Magdalen, of sin, suffering, and salvation. All are used asmeans of impressing the eternal law—felt through all religions or in spite of none—the lawthat evil brings a curse behind it; that remorse alone will not undo its work; that love and gooddeeds are the only salvation of a sinful world. The lesson is a deep one—deeper than anyWagner had taught before. His thought has never been so profound, his music never so divine,as in this last drama. With a versatility and freshness almost inconceivable in a man ofseventy, he has tuned his music to an entirely new mood. The passionate, exciting, sometimessensuous, sometimes [556] wild, though always magnificent, strains that were appropriate tosuch themes as Tristan and Tannhäuser, the earthlier grace and purity which matched with theideas of Lohengrin, have given way to music which is rapt and religious in spirit from end toend. Even the music of the second act does not disturb the impression, but serves merely as afoil to the more important phases of the work. The songs of the flower-maidens are not—as



has so often been affirmed by those who did not hear them—sensuous in mood, but playful,delicate, and dainty. Even Kundry's temptation music is weird and powerful rather thansensuous in effect. This is not the place even if there were space to spare—in which to give ananalysis of the strictly musical features of this great drama. Be it only said that in itselaboration Wagner has carried out with more perfect skill and fullness than ever before, histheory with regard to Leitmotiven, or "leading motives," which illustrate and explain, by theirrecurrence and their constant variations, the nature of his characters, and the ideas which liebehind their words or find expression in their silent actions. Every line of the score is soinstinct with subtle meaning that many hearings and long study would not reveal them all. Butthe absolute beauty of the music does not depend upon their being completely apprehended. Itbecomes, of course, both more beautiful and more impressive when fully understood in itsleast note and inflection. But it has an outer, quite complete, and radiant charm even for anon-musical hearer, who may not be able to follow a single Leitmotive, or understand a singlesymbolic chord.

If I were asked to cite the most beautiful musical compositions I had ever heard, paying noregard to their meaning as possibly connected with the drama, one of the first would surely bethe great choral scene in the first act of Parsifal. Needless to say, therefore, that in connectionwith its dramatic meaning it becomes one of the grandest of musical creations. From thenature of the subject no parts of the Parsifal music are as striking, as emotionally exciting, assome passages in Wagner's other works. But there is more of pure and delicate beauty in thisthan in any other. From the first notes of the exquisite introduction, through the daintychoruses of the flower-girls, the splendid harmonies of the feast scenes, and the pastoralcharm of the "Good-Friday music" in the third act, to the last rich notes as the curtain closes,there are a hundred passages which might be cited to refute the old accusation of the ignorant,that whatever Wagner may do, he can not write "beautiful music."

Whether or no religious themes are considered suitable for dramatic presentation willdepend upon individual ideas and feelings. The question need not here be entered into, for ithas nothing to do with art in and for itself considered. One thing is, however, certain. Aperformance of this kind, religious throughout in intention, and in execution, must by allminds be held less objectionable than one where religious incidents are interspersed in afabric of alien temper. Wagner himself calls this a "sacred play," and the question is beingdebated whether he means ever to let it be given on an ordinary stage, amid less unique andimpressive surroundings than here at Baireuth.





Notes

Note 1 on page 9

For the encouragement of readers who may possibly wish to visit Baireuth at some futuretime, I will say that the extortions of the Nibelungen season of 1876 were not repeated in1882. The performance lasted but one day instead of four, and was repeated many more times.So there was neither overcrowding nor overcharging. My companion and myself wereassigned a very large room fronting on the market-place in the fine old house of a certainKaufmann Bencker. For this room we paid $2 50 a day. The German breakfast of bread andbutter with coffee, tea, or chocolate was served in our room at any hour we wished, at acharge of twenty-five cents for the two portions. Meals were not dear either at the hotels or atthe smaller eating-houses; and a one-horse carriage to take three people to the theatre andback cost but $1 75. Moreover, trains were run in connection with each performance, so that itwas not a necessity even to stay overnight in the town.

Note 2 on page 10

I do not forget, of course, that Wagner had predecessors in this new path; but they werepredecessors in aim and intention chiefly, not to any vital extent in execution. Gluckannounced, but Wagner has created. It is Gluck's and not Wagner's art which should properlybe called of the future, though in a different sense from the one usually given to the words.

Note 3 on page 14

When the Crusaders took Cæsare, in the year 1101, the Genoese discovered a goblet whichseemed to have been cut out of an immense emerald. They immediately decided it was theGrail, and attributed its lack of wonder-working power to their own unworthiness. Forcenturies it was preserved in Genoa as an undoubted relic. But when it was brought with therest of his imperial loot to Paris by the first Napoleon, it was ruthlessly submitted to scientifictests, and proved to be of green glass only. It is now again in Genoa, revered by none, and theobject of curiosity to very few.

Note 4 on page 14

A clear history of the Parsifal legend, together with an analysis of Wolfram's epic and ofWagner's drama, may be found in a little pamphlet called Parsifal, by O. Eichberg. It is, Ithink, the best among the many similar treatises which appeared in Germany last summer.



Date post:	21-Aug-2018
Category:	Documents
Upload:	nguyenkhanh
View:	218 times
Download:	0 times

Parsifal At Baireuth - skynet.beusers.skynet.be/johndeere/wlpdf/wlar0031.pdf · About this Title...

Documents