Why I Love ‘Parsifal’
Readers of this Blog will know that I am a great fan of the music of Richard Wagner, and the work of his which I have found most stimulating and rewarding is his last, ‘Parsifal’. First performed at Bayreuth, Bavaria, in 1882 at the second Bayreuth Festival, it was for many years banned from production anywhere else in the world, on the composer’s orders, and it was only in 1903, in a production at the Metropolitan Opera, New York, that it was staged outside the Festspielhaus. Wagner did not call it an opera, rather ‘Ein Bühnenweihfestspiel’ (a Festival Play for the Consecration of the Stage), shrouding the whole project with a cloak of mystery and uniqueness which one feels even now.
I first saw ‘Parsifal’ at the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden, in the late 70s, having fallen in love with the piece through recordings purchased from the early 70s. Conducted by Georg Solti, and directed by Terry Hands, the cast was led by Peter Hofmann as Parsifal, Yvonne Minton as Kundry, Kurt Moll (Gurnemanz), Norman Bailey (Amfortas), Franz Mazura (Klingsor) and Gwynne Howell (Titurel). What a cast! Later, I saw Robert Lloyd as Gurnemanz, a majestic performance, again at Covent Garden, and was lucky enough to see the opera at Bayreuth in 1990, where, despite a rather dull production and some average singing (not including Waltraud Meier, who was magnificent as Kundry), I was transfixed by the sound of the orchestra, coming from the famous hidden pit under the stage, designed specifically by Wagner. The opening of the opera was simply stunning, and deeply moving, and I was enormously proud to have been awarded the Wagner Society’s Prize of tickets for three of Wagner’s operas over one overwhelming weekend.
A little later, I was able to watch my good friend, Ian Caley, making his debut as Parsifal in Bern in Switzerland, conducted by the eminent Scottish conductor, Roderick Brydon, and then in 2002 I saw a performance given in the Festival Theatre in Edinburgh, conducted by the fantastic Claudio Abbado, with the Gustav Mahler Jugendorchester, a performance notable more for the radiance of the orchestral sound than the splendour of the singing. We have been lucky in Edinburgh to have seen a good number of concerts given by Abbado, who remains for me one of the great geniuses of my lifetime. His sense of rightness in everything he conducted was phenomenal, the right tempi, the right colours and, above all, his obvious humanity. Like his Dutch contemporary, Bernard Haitinck, there was no show, no apparent ego. Both were servants to the music, a conduit from composer to audience. To hear the luminosity of Wagner’s music in ‘Parsifal’ played to perfection by the young musicians of the Jugendorchester, guided on their way by Abbado, was one of the most wonderful experiences of my life, even if the singing was comparatively lacklustre.
I suppose I was spoiled by that early performance under Solti at Covent Garden, but I have usually been disappointed with much of the singing ever since, with some great exceptions. There are superb recordings from the 50s, 60s and 70s, and I reckon I just caught the end of that golden age of opera, when I was able to attend Covent Garden in the 70s while studying at Guildhall. There are still fabulous singers on the international circuit these days, but I wonder if the constant flying from one country to another has resulted in a sort of corporate weariness among the top singers. It could of course be that I am wallowing in that great, rose-tinted nostalgia of older people, looking back at a time when everything was better!
However, I have no qualms about declaring that the live recordings of ‘Parsifal’ from Bayreuth, from the early 60s, mostly conducted by Hans Knappertsbusch, stand out as beacons of near perfection in the annals of recorded music. The combination of great singers who had grown into their roles, a conductor who somehow found the essence of the opera and the magical quality of sound from the Festspielhaus is a wondrous thing, and I encourage you to find these recordings, and sit back and luxuriate!
It is probably true that one of my major problems with performances of ‘Parsifal’ revolves around the role of Gurnemanz, the wise old monk living in the forest near Montsalvat, who Wagner entrusts with explaining the story of Amfortas, his devastating wound and the redemptive powers of the Grail in Act 1 and the discovery of the return of Parsifal and eventual salvation in Act 3. This is one of the great roles for bass in all the operatic repertoire, involving long explanatory sections in Act 1 and some of the most beautiful and serene vocal music ever written in the first half of the final act. As I have said in A Singer’s Life, Gurnemanz was the role I always wanted to sing, but never did. I felt it suited my voice and my style of singing to perfection, a figure of warmth, humanity and empathy, requiring a nobility of vocal line and a deep understanding of the power of love, duty and compassion. In many ways, it has great similarities to the role of Arkel in ‘Pelléas’, which I have sung several times, and which I always maintained was my signature role. Neither are bombastic or hectoring, nor do they demand a huge range and enormous vocal resources. Stamina is needed, and an interpretive arc from beginning to end, as well as a command of the inflections of the German language. Forgive me for being immodest, but I always felt I could bring something special to this role, and it is a source of frustration to me that I never had the chance. I remember talking about it to one of my agents, who wanted me to learn the role in the hope that someone would offer it to me, while I maintained that I needed to learn it only when someone offered it. This impasse went on too long, and here I am writing about it and not singing it!
The consequence of all this, is that I have almost always been underwhelmed by the singers playing Gurnemanz. Either they spent the evening singing too loudly, or were seriously boring, or both, for it is a role that can be exceedingly tedious in the wrong hands. Neither Kurt Moll nor Robert Lloyd fell into this category, being singers of immense vocal and interpretive quality, and my great mentor, Hans Hotter, was simply the finest Gurnemanz on record. His live Bayreuth performances are a miracle of singing – authoritative, compassionate, profound, backed up by 30 years of singing at the highest level.
The genesis of ‘Parsifal’ in Wagner’s opus is fascinating and reveals the ambivalence at the heart of the composer’s psyche. It was his last opera, first performed in 1882, although it had been fixed in his mind since 1857, and it was only with the conclusion of the immense project, ‘Der Ring des Nibelungen’, which had its premiere at Bayreuth in 1876, that he devoted himself completely to this deeply spiritual work. After a lifetime of revolutionary politics, and an obsession with pre-Christian Nordic mythology, his later thinking, like many others over the centuries, veered towards the reactionary, to Christian spirituality, to a more conventional view of life. The apparent simplicity of the message of ‘Parsifal’, “sex and sensuality Bad, chastity and moral fortitude Good”, also represents a triumph of hope over reality, as Wagner’s personal morality could not in any way be seen as fitting into this pattern. In fact, this viewpoint – do as I say, not as I do – could be said to fit in with his extraordinary statement that if he were not an artist, he would prefer to be a saint! Like most megalomaniacs, Wagner was careful to set himself apart from the commonality of mankind, allowing himself a place in the moral pantheon, despite being a German nationalist, anti-Semitic, immoral adulterer!
The heavy weight of symbolism hangs over ‘Parsifal’, as the composer weaves all sorts of patterns into the basic story, which dates back firstly to Chrétien de Troyes, and crucially, to Wolfram von Eschenbach. In the 12th century, Chrétien had written ‘Perceval, or the story of the Grail’, an unfinished poem in mediaeval French on the subject, based on myths and legends swirling around King Arthur and his fabled court. In the early years of the 13th century, a German Minnesinger (Singer of Love Songs) emerged, Wolfram von Eschenbach, a sort of German troubadour, or wandering minstrel, whose ‘Parzival’ is based on Chrétien’s poem but is greatly elaborated. Wagner was fascinated by the likes of Wolfram, and, in his earlier opera, ‘Tannhäuser’, he introduces the character in the opera, who is portrayed as the friend of the eponymous hero and sings the glorious song to the evening star in Act 3.
Wagner’s characters in ‘Parsifal’ are taken well beyond the mediaeval upholders of courtly love, and the introduction of magic, both good and bad, is all-pervasive. The deepest psychological traits are to be found in Kundry, the only female character of note in the opera, who appears and disappears almost at will throughout. She is caught in the web of the evil magician Klingsor, forced into action as a seductress through the power of his own self-emasculation, and only released from the spell by the heroic chastity of Parsifal. She is a time traveller, and capable of almost any act of seduction, yet hating herself more with each act. She appears at Christ’s cross, and, in a traumatic moment, mocks him, and she carries the curse of that laughter for centuries, until at last, Parsifal, through his own constancy in the face of love and lust, frees her from the curse. Her redemption is Parsifal’s redemption and his redemption carries him back to Montsalvat, to become king, and redeem the world. Part of the difficulty in singing Kundry, apart from whether it is a soprano or mezzo role (the jury is still out), is that she sings very little in Act 1, has a huge role in Act 2, but in Act 3 sings only four notes, “Dienen, dienen” (to serve, only to serve). This means that it is as much an acting as a singing role, and vast amounts of the opera are silent. Yet the singing in Act 2 is big, and it gets higher as the act progresses. Much of the role is low for a soprano but, by the end of act two, it is very high and loud. I have heard several great singers struggle with the role of Kundry, but it must be hugely satisfying to sing. Mind you, having sung a couple of normal operas’ worth in Act Two, it must be terribly frustrating to sing basically nothing at all in the two hours or so of Act 3, particularly if you haven’t felt comfortable in Act 2. You can’t make things better, but you can’t slink off home. In an entirely different way, singing Titurel must be enormously frustrating as well (other than the large cheque at the end!). Three short, usually off stage, phrases at the end of Act 1 are the sum of the role, but if you get a particularly nasty director, you may be asked to appear at the end of Act 3 as a corpse!
It’s all a far cry from the comic operas of Rossini and Mozart, but this variety and richness of content is what makes opera such an appealing art form. Wagner’s all-encompassing psychological complexity, along with music of transcendental power and beauty, are what draws me and the many other Wagner nuts to his altar. That the man himself was so loathsome, only serves to make the music ever more attractive. His personal emotional turmoil, his struggles to prevail, his invention of imaginary enemies, his determination to dominate everyone around him, all these combine to produce music of unbearably strong feeling and depth. In ‘Parsifal’, in my opinion, he occasionally reaches moments of blissful perfection, unparalleled in other music. Wagner’s love of animals, and hatred of cruelty towards animals, reflects the views of the philosopher Schopenhauer, who exerted a strong influence on his thinking in later life, and this deep feeling comes across in Act 1, when Gurnemanz, in response to the naive Parsifal’s killing of a swan, sings a short section, accompanied by music of rare beauty, explaining to the young man what he has done, here in the holy forest, where all creatures are protected and sanctified. In Act 3, when Parsifal realises that it is Good Friday, the awful day when Christ was crucified, and laments his and the world’s fate, Gurnemanz calms him by showing how redemption can come from such a terrible act, and that it is the tears of repentant sinners which will water the fields and meadows, creating the possibility of renewal and growth in the world. The king and his trusty servant, Gurnemanz, are now able to travel to the hall of the Grail, where the holy spear will cleanse Amfortas’ wound, and his symbolic healing will stand for the healing redemption of all mankind, as a new and better society, led by Parsifal, will grow up in the future. In music of utter loveliness, we are transported to another place, where strife is calmed, and harmony and love will be the essential factors in our existence. One comes out of a performance of ‘Parsifal’ on a cloud of contentment, and who knows what further works of genius might have appeared, had not Wagner succumbed to a heart attack the year after the premiere, in Venice in 1883, at the age of 69.
Readers will find a wealth of excellent recordings of ‘Parsifal’ to choose from. My personal recommendations are the Philips live recording from Bayreuth, conducted by Hans Knappertsbusch from 1962 (Thomas, Dalis, Hotter and London), and the 1964 live Bayreuth version, also with Knappertsbusch, also with Hotter, but with Vickers and Stewart as Parsifal and Amfortas. I am still very fond of the Boulez Bayreuth recording from 1970/71, with King, Jones, Crass and Stewart. Possibly the best studio recording is the Karajan from 1980, on DG, with glorious sound and a fine cast, lovingly conducted.
Cover photo: Parsifal au Metropolitan Opéra (Ken Howard)
