Number 201: APRIL 2011 - Wagner Society of England

In Act III, as Parsifal says, everything is altered. A huge section has been cut out of
the floor and back wall, leaving a gaping black void from which a railway line, supported at
its rear on girders, extends to the front of the stage on the right-hand side. The tracks and
sleepers are broken at the end and shattered pieces lie about. Monsalvat is, literally as well
as figuratively, at the end of the line, and Kundry, covered in white draperies, lies at its
terminus.
A pit to the left of the stage contains several figures from the Terracotta Army, some
broken, stacked like toy soldiers in a box. One wonders whether they are Knights who have
turned to stone because the Grail was denied to them. Gurnemanz sits watching them like a
guardian of the dead, a huge robe draped over him so that he, too, resembles a statue. When
he first hears Kundry’s groan he does not stir, as though any movement is too much effort
after sitting immobile for so long. When she cries out again he rises, goes to her, and does
his best to revive her, but her position between the tracks makes it awkward for him to reach
her. She lurches to her knees with a shriek. She now wears a crumpled white gown with a
long train and is swathed in layers of white drapery, almost as though she were a mummy.
Her dangerous beauty is gone, and her plain face is serene. She wears a close-fitting cap from
beneath which pure white hair cascades to her waist. Gurnemanz, of course, grumbles at her
lack of thanks for restoring her to life, but does not realise how the need to help her has
brought him back to life too.
Parsifal enters, walking slowly along the railway track, carrying the Spear and
wearing elaborate black armour. He is utterly exhausted, and when he at last removes his
helmet, his pale face is lined with care and his eyes are heavily shadowed. Whatever he has
undergone since leaving Klingsor’s domain, it has marked him irrevocably. Even the
knowledge that he has reached his goal brings him little relief. His relationship with Kundry
is developed most beautifully in this scene, as one senses her bringing him, too, back to life.
She prostrates herself before him when Gurnemanz anoints him as King, is utterly astonished
when he baptises her, and sinks to the ground, sobbing, then rises and comes forward, her
arms spread wide in rapture, her pale face radiant. One feels the sense of release flooding
through her. She sits at the front of the tracks and during Gurnemanz’s Good Friday solo
Parsifal approaches her and takes her tenderly in his arms, resting her head upon his shoulder,
almost as though she were a child. There is a sense of the absolute love and trust between
them.
The bells sound and Gurnemanz leads Parsifal and Kundry away, down into the black
void beneath the railway line. For some time the stage is left empty, then Amfortas stumbles
in along the track. He takes refuge in the pit containing the statues from which he lifts the
tiny, shrivelled form of the dead Titurel. The voices of the chorus sound somewhere in the
void before they begin to emerge from the darkness and struggle up the steps onto the stage.
They are now dressed as soldiers from the First World War, wearing long grey coats which
echo their Act I costumes, with knapsacks, equipment belts and helmets with gas masks. It
is like watching John Singer Sargent’s painting, “Gassed”, coming to life. A seemingly
endless tide of wrecked, shattered humanity pours onto the stage while the music tolls out
remorselessly. Their cries of “Just one last time!” still haunt me. It is shattering.
Through their sufferings, the Knights have become human again, but their selfish
persecution of Amfortas remains unchanged. While he laments over his father they stand, sit
or lie in ragged groups around the stage, their former rigid discipline forgotten, either
ignoring him or watching with increasing impatience until, as before, they turn on him in a
solid mass, pinning him into the centre of the group. Some have their backs towards the
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