Sample Scholarly Writing Kundry Reborn The Jungian Archetypes at Play in Wagner’s Parsifal THE MOST COMMON image that comes to mind when one makes reference to opera in general, is that of Brunhilde, as in ‘it ain’t over’. That Brunhilde is a very powerful character in an equally powerful drama is indisputable, and it is therefore rather puzzling why Wagner has been accused, not only of being a misogynist, but of having created a submissive, masochistic character in Kundry, the linchpin of his music drama1 Parsifal. To read her character as weak is too simplistic a reading, and Wagner cannot be read simply. Taking into perspective his 19th century bourgeoisie historical context, one could guess as to his attitude toward women and their ‘place’, however, Wagner was nothing if not contradictory when it came to his art and his life. Kundry is a perfect illustration of this contradiction; there is a quiet strength to her that permeates the entire work, a work that is entirely held together by her. When viewed through a historical lens, Kundry is thoroughly enigmatic in an appropriately ‘feminine’ manner, though there are aspects to her which, while wondrous, are nevertheless strangely familiar. She is a collection of archetypes, which Wagner—as ingeniously anticipating Jung as he did Freud—bound together to create, arguably, his most complex character ever. In his The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious,2 Jung adds to the contemporary understanding of the psyche—accepted as being comprised of the ego (the conscious mind) and the unconscious (a repository of memories)— by aggregating a theoretical ‘collective unconscious’ that is a sort of inherited trait. Thus one is born with a compilation of all of the experience and knowledge of humankind, though unaware of it on a conscious level. It manifests primarily via emotion, influencing behaviour and acting as a guidebook. The language or expressive means the collective unconscious uses in order to communicate with the other parts of the psyche are known as Archetypes. Jung would have us understand these Archetypes to be primeval or mythological projections or images (he also referred to them as imagos) of common experience. As we grow the Archetypes work on an instinctual level allowing us to comprehend and categorize our surroundings and our experiences. For example, already present in our psyche is the Great Mother Archetype, which allows us to relate to one’s own mother, expecting, even while experiencing the sacrificial love a mother is supposed to provide. Deviation from this established pattern or Archetype—rejection or stoicism—causes trauma that the person must deal with throughout their life. A great admirer of Wagner’s work, Jung made many references to the characters and plots in his writing—granting special attention to the Ring cycle—pointing out how they correspond to particular Archetypes or to archetypical life experiences such as The Quest, Death, etc.3 As to Wagner himself, it is widely believed that his Parsifal was principally inspired by the legend of the Holy Grail as recounted by Chrestien de Troyes, who wrote in the 12th century, and by Wolfram von Eschenbach, who wrote in the 13th century.4 In these works there appear both an elderly crone and a beautiful maiden, and Wagner initially followed this scheme, introducing an elderly wild woman who was to be the messenger of the Grail in Act I and a young seductress under the sway of the sorcerer Klingsor in Act II. Then further inspiration struck as he recounted to Mathilde Wesendonck in one of his letters to her, dated August 1860: “Did I tell you already that the legendary wild messenger of the Grail should be one and the same being as the seductive woman of the second act? Almost everything about this material became clear to me once I realized this.”5 This amalgamation was effected with the intent to push the thus-far underdeveloped 1 Term employed by Wagner to refer to his own works. See Barry Emslie “Woman as Image and Narrative in Wagner’s Parsifal: A Case Study”, Cambridge Opera Journal, 2, (1991): 110. 2 R. F. C. Hull, trans., The Collected Works of Carl G. Jung, Vol. 9: The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1981), 54-72. 3Hull, The Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious, 24, 413, 442, 597. R. F. C. Hull, trans., The Collected Works of Carl G. Jung Vol. 13: Alchemical Studies, (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983), 70. 4 Of Schopenhauer’s influence—principally via his The World as Will and Idea—which is undeniable, only a little will be said here where there is no room. Many, many scholars have handled the topic expertly. 5 Wolfgang Golther, ed., Richard Wagner an Mathilde Wesendonk: Tagebuchblätter und Briefe 1853–1871 (Berlin: Alexander Duncker Verlag, 1910), 207, as quoted in William Kinderman, “Introduction: The Challenge of Wagner’s Parsifal” in A Companion to Wagner’s Parsifal, ed. William Kinderman and Katherine R. Syer, (Suffolk: Camden House, 2005), 14-15. and ineffective Parsifal to the centre of the story,6 but all it served to do was to highlight a more and more fascinating Kundry. Dubbed a hysteric by some authors,7 they point to her quick leitmotiv—which consists of “a loud, accented high note in the violins, and falling away from that abruptly achieved peak in a cascade of anxious (and dissonant) sixteenth notes”8—and the frenzied bodily gestures most directors choose their actors to assume, to support their claim. Matthew Wilson Smith insists that “Kundry’s overall dramatic function, is to serve as the receptacle of all that which the opera must ultimately exclude”—and by this he means the “eternal femme fatale (itself combining deadly seductress and deadly mother) and the eternal Jew in a single hysterical figure”.9 Yet Kundry, unlike most hysterics, retains her very powerful voice throughout Acts I and II, and perversely when she is supposed to be beyond hysterics in Act III, she is virtually silent. Far from being a clinging, dependent creature, and further from being a victim of marginalization, Kundry is the driving force of Parsifal. In combining the ‘good’ Grail messenger with the ‘bad’ and manipulative seductress, she becomes the most enthralling of all characters: an anti-heroine full of confusing, contradictory emotions, readily able to elicit empathy, and a diva that is always centre-stage. Kundry already has a list of deeds and misdeeds to her name by the time the first act of Parsifal begins. She is a familiar figure to the Knights of the Grail, though her origin is unknown to them, and as the first act progresses we learn that she may not be entirely human. She first appears as a wild woman, her clothing bound by snake skin, riding into the midst of a gathering of Knights to deliver a balsam to Amfortas the Grail King. The Knights do not seem to know that it was she who had seduced Amfortas—allowing him to be attacked and wounded by Klingsor, who wielded their relic spear which he then stole—yet Gurnemanz must defend her to the other Knights who are put off by her ragged appearance and accuse her of witchcraft. He asks, “Did she ever harm you?”,10 and then proceeds to describe how she had been found numerous times asleep in the undergrowth of the wood surrounding their castle Monsalvat, evoking connotations both animalistic and supernatural. It is in this moment, in perfect consonance with Wagner’s layering, that we can recognize the Scapegoat, the Wise Old Woman, and the Fool archetypes in Kundry. As is to be expected, the Knights, affected in their own way by Amfortas’ wound, seek the expulsion or sacrifice of a scapegoat which would theoretically bring about the expiation of the sin which is disturbing their entire community.11 Thus is Kundry’s death foreshadowed, however it is not because her use as a narrative character will have been exhausted and therefore “Wagner has done with her.”12 She is to share in the same sort of death experienced by the Redeemer, not via the dimension of sacrifice, but via fate. Yet, she and the Redeemer share more than just a death tinged by destiny; there was forged a special loving bond between them from whence truly comes all her supernatural abilities and knowledge, a bond that she seems to find reflected in her relationship with Parsifal. Towards the latter she assumes the guise of the Wise Old Woman archetype, a receptacle of the knowledge of ages, a guide which can be good or evil—and in Kundry’s case it is both—yet who nevertheless points one in the right direction. Kundry introduces him to the Knights when he could not even give his name, and in recounting to them his history, she criticizes the upbringing he had had at the hands of his rather overprotective mother, Herzeleide. We hear for the first time that large musical drop—in this instance an orchestral one which goes from E-flat to F13—that is Kundry’s derisive laughter. The mood soon turns sombre however, for Kundry also must tell Parsifal of his parent’s death. She even consoles him afterwards, though he had reacted quite violently towards her upon hearing of it. But this seemingly harmless—even compassionate—woman, this wild child, could also be the mirror image of the guileless fool Parsifal himself. Indeed, Gurnemanz draws the parallel saying in an aside: “Such a dullard I never have found before, save Kundry!”14 This then is where we may make reference to the Fool, an ancient archetype symbolizing the human being in its most primitive, child-like manifestation: a complete tabula rasa with all of its potential. Vestiges of this Fool are present in the wise Kundry, and hints as to the reason why she is still, after centuries, able to suffer, for the Fool can only grow wise by sorrowful experience. 6 Emslie, “Woman as Image and Narrative”, 114. 7 For the most comprehensive argument see Elisabeth Bronfen, “Kundry’s Laughter”, New German Critique, 69, (1996): 147-161. 8 Mary Ann Smart, Mimomania Music and Gesture in Nineteenth Century Opera, (Berkley, Los Angeles: California University Press, 2004), 193. 9 Matthew Wilson Smith, “Laughing at the Redeemer: Kundry and the Paradox of Parsifal”, Modernist Cultures, 3, (2008): 12. 10 Richard Wagner, “Parsifal”, in Overture Opera Guides: Parsifal, Richard Wagner, ed Gary Kahn, (Richmond: Overture, 2011) 117. 11 Erich Neumann, Depth Psychology and a New Ethic, (Boston: Shambhala, 1990) 52. 12 Emslie, “Woman as Image and Narrative”, 124. 13 Smith, “Laughing at the Redeemer”, 14. 14 Wagner, “Parsifal”, 133. The second act opens quite darkly, with the necromancer Klingsor dramatically calling out for his ‘servant’ Kundry to join him. He has a new mission for the “nameless one, primaeval witch, rose of hell!”15 He goes on to mention other appellatives: “You were Herodias, and what else? Gundryggia there, Kundry here!”16 This derision directed at Kundry would lead one to suppose that she is the submissive in the relationship, yet the entire scene is one of disquieting mutual abuse. Though Klingsor would treat her as his slave, willing her to seduce Parsifal, Kundry never submits, on the contrary, she mocks him: KLINGSOR You will, because you must. KUNDRY You... cannot... force me. KLINGSOR But I can hold you. KUNDRY You? KLINGSOR Your master. KUNDRY By what power? KLINGSOR Ha! Since only with me does your power avail you nothing. KUNDRY Ha ha! Are you chaste?17 Warren Darcy notes that “the music associated with Klingsor and Kundry is complex and highly chromatic. It often employs distinctive sets of six, eight, or nine pitches and can thus be regarded as hexatonic/octatonic/enneatonic, remaining for the most part harmonically non-functional.”18 The music is as appropriately as non-functional as Kundry and Klingsor’s relationship, and one could even pity Klingsor his rather clownish ignorance in not realizing that he has got a tiger by the tail. While the deprecatory references he makes to her character she all but ignores, she throws the mistake of his castration in his face, and in the end it seems the decision to seduce Parsifal was her own. Given that Klingsor has advised her that “He who spurns you sets you free”,19 why would the heretofore helpful Kundry do such a thing? The answer is given to us when she fails in her attempt to seduce Parsifal. Crying out “Lachte!” in a dramatic and stirring dropping of almost two entire octaves from high B to low C#,20 Kundry voices her despair at having laughed at the Redeemer on the Cross. This, then, is the reason for her curse, which she previously described as “O yearning...yearning!”21 Though the nature of the curse is never entirely clear, its effects seem to be an inability to weep—she is condemned only to laugh mockingly over and again—long periods of a hibernationtype sleep, a limited sort of immortality, and the ability to step in and out of time and travel through different worlds. The last two could be viewed as great gifts, however, they are instead burdensome to Kundry, whose quest to seek out the Redeemer and be made free from the curse, seems to have become a great obsession. She is in anguish, and one does not wonder why, for who could ever be happy again who had once locked gazes with God and then was lost to Him? Sein Blick. Wagner’s music is essential at this point, describing not a torturous scene of crucifixion, but a romantic one. The presence of the Tristan chord above all ensures that one realizes that the Redeemer’s gaze had not been 15 Wagner, “Parsifal”, 157. 16 Ibid. 17 Wagner, “Parsifal”, 161. 18 Warren Darcy, ““Die Zeit ist da”: Rotational Form and Hexatonic Magic in Act 2, Scene 1 of Parsifal” in A Companion to Wagner’s Parsifal, ed. William Kinderman and Katherine R. Syer, (Suffolk: Camden House, 2005), 218. 19 Wagner, “Parsifal”, 163. 20 Philip Friedheim, “Wagner and the Aesthetics of the Scream”, 19th-Century Music, 1, (1983): 66. 21 Wagner, “Parsifal”, 159. accusatory, but seductive, provocative, and loving.22 There can be no question that she returned this love immediately and realized her mistake. What can she have felt in that moment looking upon Him? Euphoric bliss perhaps. Nevertheless, her laughter died away with Him, and in that moment they both leave flesh and blood behind. They are separated. She is now to mourn and to begin a quest, a Wandering Jewess, roaming times and worlds seeking her love. Poor Kundry, in an endless cycle of deathlike sleep and waking frustration, is constantly denied this reunion. However, this search, her obsession, brings with it its compulsion which—as all compulsions do—promises relief, but in reality provides none. She does not find love, but a mirage, for “love is an action, the practice of a human power, which can only be practiced in freedom, and never as the result of compulsion.”23 In seeking to feel that bliss once more, to experience His love once again, Kundry acquiesces to seduce the Knights, for “In darkest hour, I feel His eyes turn on me, and His gaze rest upon me. The accursed laughter assails me once again: a sinner sinks into my arms!”24 In a moment of imperfect love, she can catch a glimpse of the perfect love she had once known. That she is actively seeking this love, but would make do with death, is also quite apparent. “O endless sleep, only release, how can I win you?”25 Kundry is at her most confusing here, craving both life and death—overall a way out—yet seducing the Knights in order to guarantee that she remains as she is. A successful seduction is a condemnation to continue her graceless existence, yet is in keeping with an anti-heroine’s selfdestructive drive. This cycle of sin, and frustration, and death is made bleaker by the surmounting lack of hope that seems to be affecting Kundry. In Act II she seems to be at the brink, inured to her existence, and about to embrace her shadow self. The Shadow archetype is a chaotic one. It is pure instinct, both sexual and survivalist. It is weakness, uncontrolled desire, and the culmination of our repressed emotions and ideas: the ultimate Id. When combined with the Trickster archetype— as is often the case with Kundry—it becomes dangerous. Kundry’s Trickster character is clearly manifested in her unwavering allegiance to herself, or rather, her quest for the Redeemer. This is the essence of the Trickster, not evil yet not good, and faithful to its own interests. Kundry is capable of both extending a helping hand or of wreaking havoc along the way, but her goal—that of a reunion with the Redeemer—remains sacred, and she will do anything and everything to see that goal reached. The balance within her in Act II is struck by the Maiden archetype, a thoroughly good one, representative of purity, kindness, and innocence. It is through the Maiden that she cries out against Klingsor’s plan to seduce Parsifal. It is the Maiden who is so admiring of Parsifal’s resistance and who in utter despair confesses her truth to him. It is also the Maiden who Parsifal leaves behind telling her, “You know where you can find me again.”26 The scene between Kundry and Parsifal in Act II is an extremely powerful one, and is initiated by a sweet farce of a lullaby designed to emotionally confuse. Kundry is the ultimate Trickster with a Shadow’s agenda when she begins her assault on Parsifal. With the double aim of weakening him emotionally, and educating the guileless young man in erotic love, she makes references to his mother, Herzeleide, who seems to be the only other woman Parsifal has had contact with. Taking him from storge to eros in a masterful guilt-trip, Kundry soon has Parsifal in her arms, and she kisses him. The music is powerfully relevant here, as William Kinderman’s very interesting analysis reveals: “Kundry’s motive circles around the dissonant interval of the tritone; its circular motion evokes the image of the Biblical serpent ready to strike. As Kundry embraces Parsifal, the ascending chromatics from her motive reach the semitone e-sharp-f-sharp, which is repeated three times during the Kiss.”27 The psychological manipulation of the scene is also extremely potent, both for the characters of Kundry and Parsifal, and for the audience. Blatantly incestuous, the scene nonetheless becomes somehow acceptable to us. In the same manner, the kiss, poisonous and wrong in so many ways, is somehow exactly what is necessary. Spurred by the supposed mark of affection, Parsifal suddenly casts off his guilelessness, not in losing his sexual innocence, but rather in attaining the capacity for empathy.28 “Amfortas!” he cries, and all the former’s pain is not only remembered, but 22 For more on mystical marriage and the language of romantic love as used to describe the relationship between God and the faithful, see primarily the writings of Teresa de Ávila, Juan de la Cruz, Giovanni Basttista Scaramelli, and Richard of St. Victor. 23 Erich Fromm, The Art of Loving, (London: Thorsons, 2010), 88. 24 Wagner, “Parsifal”, 199. 25 Wagner, “Parsifal”, 163. 26 Wagner, “Parsifal”, 207. 27 William Kinderman, “Wagner’s Parsifal: Musical Form and the Drama of Redemption”, The Journal of Musicology, 4, (1985/1986): 440. 28 Oedipus blinds himself upon learning of his incest; Parsifal, on the other hand, upon rejecting the whole situation, can see things clearly for the first time. experienced by Parsifal. Kinderman describes the corresponding musical action thus: “On the third repetition, this f-sharp becomes g-flat; the direction of the semitone is inverted. As Parsifal grips his heart in anguish, we hear the motive from the third bar of the Communion theme associated with the wound of Amfortas.”29 So in the end—as the presence of the Communion or Love theme attests—Kundry was indeed able to teach Parsifal about love. Though her parting curse—that he may wander and never find the Knights—was anything but loving. There are two other most vital archetypes at play in this scene which must be mentioned: the Animus and the Anima. Regard for feeling and mood, aperture in terms of the spiritual, capacity for loving-kindness, and respect for life and nature are all inspired by the Anima, the image of the female in the male. Parsifal’s hesitancy, his passivity and ingeniousness, are negatives that come about when he ignores these feminine psychological impulses. The youth we met in the first act, disregarding of the solemnity of the wood, aggressive in his unnecessary slaying of the swan, and ignorant of any spiritual connotation during the Communion service, has finally been run to ground by his unconscious upon meeting with Kundry. She serves as a manifestation of Parsifal’s Anima, albeit a rather violent one, but she serves her purpose in causing Parsifal’s—in Jungian terms—individualization. With her kiss he embraces his Anima and becomes whole. Kundry, on the other hand, is suffering from a sort of eschatological individualization, the Redeemer having been the original manifestation of her Animus, the image of the male in the female. She was left behind to reconcile with the thwarted masculine impulses of assertion and of cold logic, but it was something in which she was enjoying little success, and she therefore inevitably moved more and more towards aggression and sexual dysfunction. Parsifal was the medium by which she was able to break the cycle once and for all. Through her failed seduction, she became individualized, and was able to continue on the path of spiritual wholeness unfettered. In Act III, as in Act II, Kundry wakes with “a cry.” Philip Friedheim suggests that “this last cry is most important, since it indicates the moment when the curse breaks, and Kundry becomes free.”30 It is to Gurnemanz—who had again found her sleeping in some undergrowth—that she speaks the only two words she utters in the entire Act: “Dienen...dienen.” To serve, to serve. She shuffles off towards a hut that has caught her attention, leaving Gurnemanz marvelling behind: “How differently she moves from before!” he says, “Has the holy day brought this about? O day of mercy beyond compare! In truth it was for her salvation that I was able to awake that poor soul today from the sleep of death.” This speech seems to support Friedheim’s assessment, and one might conclude that the change Gurnemanz sees in her is due to the breaking of the curse, however, given that she seems to still be rather confused, and her behaviour— seeking reparation for the curse she placed on Parsifal perhaps—consistent with what it was before, we might look for her true liberation later in the scene. The music too seems to suggest an alternative moment for the breaking of the curse. Though Kundry’s quick leitmotiv is absent in Act III—thus indicating some sort of change has taken place—her actions are accompanied by a slow and peaceful anticipation of the Good Friday theme. Anticipation then is what is truly being communicated, an advent of some sort. The wanderer Parsifal accordingly arrives on cue. He is made welcome by Gurnemanz and Kundry, and is guided to a holy spring. Kundry washes his feet and dries them with her hair in a scene reminiscent of the first anointing of Jesus in Luke VII: 37. (Luke does not name the woman who performed the office; we must look to John for that: “Mary was the one who anointed the Lord with perfume and wiped His feet with her hair; her brother Lazarus was ill.”31 Mary of Bethany, sister of Lazarus and Martha, is not the same person as Mary Magdalene,32 though traditionally she has been viewed so. Thus, we may assume, as may do the majority of Wagnerian scholars, that Wagner believed them to be one and the same as well.) Parsifal, now the new Grail King following his anointing by Gurnemanz, performs his first task as such in baptizing Kundry. This may be a more logical place to identify the breaking of the curse, as Kundry—she who previously could not cry—begins to weep. Parsifal exclaims: “Your tears too are a dew of blessing: you weep—and see, the meadow smiles.” In the Communion scene that follows, in which Parsifal both cures Amfortas and takes his place, Kundry has little to do and nothing to say or to sing. This silence is appropriate, and evocative of the absolute quiet which descends upon the congregation—during the Roman rite—when the faithful are preparing to accept the host. Hers is a solemn, religious sort of silence then, as opposed to a hysterical one. And it is here, in the quiet, that one realizes that the multitude of Archetypes have been banished—the Animus already having been integrated—leaving only one: the Self. Jung defined 29 William Kinderman, “Wagner’s Parsifal”, 440. 30 Friedheim, “Wagner and the Aesthetics of the Scream”, 66. 31 John XI:2 (New Revised Standard Version) 32 In the same manner, in the centuries following Christ’s death, Mary of Magdala was slandered as having been a prostitute before her encounter with Jesus, though this is nowhere present in Scripture. the Self as “not only the centre, but also the whole circumference which embraces both conscious and unconscious; it is the centre of this totality, just as the ego is the centre of consciousness.”33 Thus, Kundry is only Kundry once again. Her layers fall away, even as she “slowly sinks lifeless to the ground in front of Parsifal, her eyes uplifted to him.”34 Some have chosen to view Kundry’s death in a negative, masochistic manner, with a few productions going so far as to keep her in the realm of the living,35 as if in dying she were being somehow discarded, minimized in importance, or callously eliminated. James M. McGlathery offers yet another interpretation suggesting Kundry dies of a broken heart upon realizing that Parsifal will never be hers.36 This is a very Schopenhauerian solution: desire/will driving Kundry to a pessimistic end. However, it is perhaps Kinderman’s suggestion that is more in tune with the drama when he suggests that Kundry’s death is just the removal from this visible world to a metaphysical/noumenal one37 where she may be reunited—her goal finally reached—with the Redeemer. Kinderman has this to say with regard to her music: “As Kundry sinks lifeless to earth, the music shifts upward melodically from a-flat to a-natural, heard as part of an A-minor triad that is emphasized by the dynamics and orchestration.”38 It was at this point, with a few more bars of music left to be played, that Wagner directed that the curtains should close. It is appropriate, for with Kundry’s death, the action, if not the music, should necessarily stop. Exploring Wagner’s works via Jung may not be a novel idea, but few instances of a Jungian reading of Parsifal exist, and even fewer instances of an exploration of the character of Kundry. This may be because from a post-modern perspective, if one does not bother to see below the surface, she does seem to be an instrument of the men that dominate the drama. However, Kundry must necessarily be analysed carefully or one risks missing out, and the Archetypes she manifests are quite helpful in doing this. From the outset the Scapegoat-Wise Old Woman-Fool Kundry demonstrates a strong character in maintaining her freedom of choice within her restricted circumstances, even if her choice is at times destructive for her and for those around her. Having been bound to this world by a curse, she chooses to serve the Knights as messenger in the guise of a wild person—which may be a visible manifestation of her frustration—and offset some of the evil that she has brought upon them. The so-called master/slave dynamic that exists between Klingsor and Kundry is, in the end, perhaps only as much smoke-and-mirrors as is Klingsor’s realm, as it is not obeisance to the necromancer that drives the Shadow-Trickster-Maiden Kundry’s seductions. She engages Parsifal willingly, and even when rejected she grasps the audience’s attention all for herself with the fascinating explanation she offers for her state of disgrace. Finally, silently, she ensures the succession of the Order of the Knights of the Grail, and when she is finally granted the peace in love that she yearns for, though we are left with a stage full of characters, we are bereft. In leaving us to be with the Redeemer, Kundry, as Self, ultimately defines what we take away from Parsifal. Therein lies her strength. 33 Hull, Alchemical Studies, 41. 34 Wagner, “Parsifal”, 237. 35 See principally the Parsifal production at the Berlin Opera (2004), and Syberberg’s film Parsifal (1999). 36 James M. McGlathery, “Erotic Love in Chrétien’s Perceval, Wolfram’s Parzival, and Wagner’s Parsifal” in A Companion to Wagner’s Parsifal, ed. William Kinderman and Katherine R. Syer, (Suffolk: Camden House, 2005), 79. 37 Kinderman, “Introduction: The Challenge of Wagner’s Parsifal” 25-26. 38 Kinderman, “Wagner’s Parsifal”, 445. Bibliography Adorno, Theodor W. and Barone, Anthony “On the Score of Parsifal”, Music & Letters, 3, (1995): 384-397. Bronfen, Elisabeth “Kundry’s Laughter”, New German Critique, 69, (1996): 147-161. Connolly, Thomas H. “Introits and Archetypes Some Archaisms of the Old Roman Chant”, Journal of the American Musicological Society, 2, (1972), 157-174. Corder, F. “Parsifal: An Analysis of Wagner’s Festival Drama”, The Musical Times and Singing Class Circular, 472, (1882): 309-311. Dehnert, Edmund J. “Parsifal as Will and Idea”, The Journal of Aesthetics and Art Criticism, 4, (1960): 511-520. 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