them. He is a knight in black armor, with his helmet closed, and
carrying a spear. 'Do you not know,' the old knight asks him, 'what
holy day this is, and that none now should come here bearing arms?' The
black knight only shakes his head. He sets his spear in the ground and
kneels before it, taking off his helmet and gazing up at the point,
from which the blood flows. The old knight looks at him and at the
spear in wonder. Then he sees the blood, and by that he knows what
spear it is. He looks again at the knight, with his helmet off, and now
he knows him too. He is filled with a joy that he has not known these
many years. Yes, the sorrows of the King and of the knights of the
Grail are over now. This is indeed 'the simple Fool, taught by pity,'
this is he whom the Grail has chosen.
"And now there comes the soft sound of the chimes to tell them that it
is time for them to go to the temple to see the Grail uncovered. The
old knight leads the way and the others follow. Through the woods and
along the rocky pathways they walk, the sound of the bells grows
plainer, and so they come to the temple. The hall is filled with the
knights of the Grail. The King is borne in as he was before, and is
brought to the highest place. The Holy Grail is carried before him with
its purple cover. They all look at the King and wait for him. For a
moment he wavers, then he springs from his couch--no, no, he will not
uncover the Grail again; let him die rather; let them kill him, and
then the Grail shall feed them and bless them, and shall torture him no
more.
[Illustration: "THE KING OF THE GRAIL."]
"They all draw back from him in dread at his look and his words--all
but one. For the Fool goes straight to him and touches the wound with
the spear. Instantly the wound is healed. 'You shall uncover the Grail
no more,' he says, 'for I am chosen to be its King instead of you.' He
makes a sign to the boys who have brought it, and they uncover it and
place it in his hand. He holds it above his head and again the red
blood in it glows and throbs. Down from the dome flies a white dove and
rests above it. Before it, and before him who holds it, kneel the old
King, no longer king now, the old knight, and the woman, for her too
this new King has saved, for he has come, the best knight of the world
and one whom she could not tempt. The simple Fool is the King of the
Grail. The sound of the singing voices comes down from the dome, and
from far above them come still the voices of the bells. Surely to any
who could know how to hear it their chiming must say again: 'Taught by
pity--him I have chosen,'"
THE ASHES
After the little girl had gone, I still sat for a long time looking
into the fire. I was seeing pictures for myself, not now of the days so
long gone by, but of days not yet come, pictures with the little girl
in them. There, in the flames where we had seen so much together, I
could see pretty clearly, as I thought, what she would be and all that
she would be some time. But when I tried to see what she would do and
how her lot should fall, the fire would tell me no more. Yet wherever
and however it shall fall, may she not be a little better, a little
wiser, a little happier perhaps, for knowing these old stories that
have helped so many women and so many men before her to live their
lives? Will it not be good for her to remember Brünnhilde's fearless
truth, Senta's sacrifice, Elizabeth's constancy? And if to the thoughts
of these she add Parsifal's lesson of compassion, surely then even a
little of Eva's coquetry can do no harm.
And then I tried to see something of her knight. But the fire had all
died down now, and was only a heap of ashes. I could question as much
as I would, but there was no reply. Would he seek her out and come to
her like Siegfried, through struggles and through fire? Would he find
and help her in her greatest need, like Lohengrin? Would he only love
her and sing a song for her, like Walter? Or would it be for her to
help and to save him, like Vanderdecken?--Surely not like Tannhäuser.
No, no answer. I stirred the ashes. Underneath there was still a
bright, ruddy, friendly glow, but nothing more.
A clock somewhere in the house, with a low, musical note, struck
midnight. But what was this other music that followed it? Was it again
the bells of Monsalvat, this soft chime that came on the still air? No,
no, only church bells far off, ringing in the New Year, Many times I
had heard them and well I knew their sound. And all around those bells,
I knew too, at this moment, there were noise and uproar and confusion,
so much that those who stood nearest to them in the street could not
tell whether they were ringing, just as many other sweet and pleasant
things are made to seem lost among the coarse and the commonplace. But
to me here, away from the vulgar crowd and forgetting it, the music
came, faint indeed, yet clear and pure. I opened the window and the
chime came plainer with the keen winter air, and the bells--I am sure
of it--answered all my questions and rang a promise for the New Year
and for all the years.