Siegfried - A Note from Music Director James Conlon

Siegfried has often been compared to the scherzo of a four-movement symphony. There is some justification for this, even though most analogies of this sort break down under the microscope. Though it is by no measure a comedy, it contains more banter, repartee and light moments than any other opera in the Ring. It is only fitting to pay homage to Beethoven, who transformed the minuet into the scherzo ("joke" in Italian). The scenes between Siegfried and Mime are infused with almost manic energy, reminiscent of the symphonies of Wagner's mighty predecessor. One could almost say it is a heroic scherzo or, conversely, a scherzo about a hero.

The third opera of the Ring also draws more heavily on the fairytale form than any of the others. The list of elements common to that genre is long: a dark forest, a gnome, a sword with astounding strength, a witch's broth, a dragon (slain by the hero), serpent's blood (which empowers the hero to read thoughts and understand a forest bird's twittering), an enchanting and enchanted encounter with nature, a magic fire and, finally, a sleeping beauty to be awakened with a kiss.

Siegfried is a peculiar type of hero. If he may be so called, it is because he, like Hercules, performs acts of great bravery and physical strength. He is not at all heroic on an emotional or intellectual level. He does not defend kin or country or ideologies, nor has he an enlightened vision to which he dedicates his great strengths. We discover him in his adolescence, with all the self-involvement and narcissism one would expect. But, in the end, his kinship with his real "father"-Wagner himself-will be evidenced. The composer, wielding the mighty sword he has forged for himself out of broken pieces of Western civilization (his view), will revolutionize music and, with it, the world.

Siegfried knows no fear. In mythology and scriptures, the status of hero is usually conferred on those who experience fear and/or doubt as they confront a defining struggle, which they ultimately win. There is no garden on the Mount of Olives for Siegfried. His "heroic acts" are based on his brawn, not his brains. He forges a sword, kills a dragon and walks through fire in three successive acts. His less-than-exalted goals are few. The first is to annoy and ultimately murder Mime, the Nibelung dwarf who describes himself as both Siegfried's father and mother. His second is to learn the meaning of fear. Though not ignoble, it is hardly a heroic quest. After being prompted by the Woodbird, he decides he can learn fear by walking through a fire to find a beautiful woman. In a Freudian manner, he wields his sword to kill Mime, his surrogate father, and break the spear of his grandfather Wotan. Oedipus unknowingly murders the king (his father) at the crossroads and marries his mother; Siegfried, having symbolically accomplished this same rite of passage, will go on to "marry" his aunt.

Wagner, as he did in Die Walküre, has once again fused two stories into one work. The saga of Wotan, Erda and the curse of the ring intersect with that of Siegfried, whose trajectory from adolescence to manhood has its own dynamics. As he knows next to nothing about human society (which will become woefully apparent in Götterdämmerung), his role in that cosmic drama is accidental and unconscious. The world of Die Walküre is that of the gods: Wotan, Fricka and Brünnhilde. It is juxtaposed with the story of a brother and sister uniting in a love that dies at the hands of an angry husband. The young Siegfried's fairytale-like story is grafted on the remaining threads of the two previous operas. It literally opens a new chapter (Siegfried, the reborn Brünnhilde and the human heroes) and closes another (Wotan, Mime, Fafner and Erda). Only Alberich, the ring and its curse continue onwards.

Just as in the second movement of this mammoth symphony: one opera, two stories. All four works belong to a greater whole, but are thoroughly self-contained. The fairytale ends with the young couple's festive discovery of love. They should live happily ever after.

Except of course, they don't. It was once remarked that Tristan and Isolde had to die, because the idea of a Mr. and Mrs. Tristan, dressed in pajamas in their kitchen, is inconceivable. Siegfried's story goes on, although the fairytale is finished, because the young couple descends the mountain and enters human society. The enlightened Brünnhilde will leave her naïve Siegfried to his own devices and, before long, he is ensnared both by a fractured human society and unresolved remnants of Wotan's legacy.

In fact, the cosmic myth trumps all. Siegfried has been the plaything of the gods after all. Together with Brünnhilde, he should lead us out of the Age of the Gods and into the New Age of the heroic. Intrepid feats of human strength and compassionate love will mend the world. Promises of valiant deeds will transform humanity. Will Götterdämmerung ultimately show this all to be illusory? The heroes can atone for the sins of the father by self-sacrifice and renew the world through compassionate love, but only after the universe has regained its balance with the restitution of the gold to its rightful place in nature.

Siegfried is by far the most joyous and optimistic of the Ring operas. It contains more pure excitement and moments of distilled youthful vigor than most operas. Each act climaxes in exultant primal energy: In Act I, Siegfried's forging of the sword reinvents the wheel, achieving through work ("schaffen") an almost orgasmic excitement similar to his parents erotic union; in Act II, he dashes off with an unquestioning optimism to treat every adventure as his toy; in Act III, he awakens the sleeping beauty and, through her, discovers fear, woman and the beginning of adulthood in joyous, triumphant partnership with the orchestra.

Siegfried is the Ring's second depiction of Wotan's progeny discovering love. The opera finishes with roaring ecstasy. The newly found couple shouts out: "She/He is forever and always for me, inheritance and possession, one and all, shining love, laughing death" ("lachender Tod"). They are granted the fulfillment and consummation of their new love, which was denied Tristan and Isolde. In contrast to Sieglinde and Siegmund (who experience the reunion of a single soul, sharing memories of an unconscious bond), the young heroic couple share a mutual sexual awakening. Wotan's grandiose plans, now dead and gone forever, open the path to create the new human reality: not a world of gods, but of humans. Wotan's daughter and grandson mate, the Wälsung race should continue. Fricka is long gone, and this time cannot contrive to punish them. The New Age has dawned; the Sleeping Beauty has awoken; Turandot's heart has melted; the heroes will save the earth. We identify with their joy, and our own unrealized heroic fantasies. The exultation that we feel with them seems resplendently justified. If we did not know what happens in Götterdämmerung, we would believe that the ring's curse had been defied, true love had triumphed and that they, and we, would live happily ever after.