THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS
(_Die Götterdämmerung_)
When night-time fell, after the meeting of Brünhilde and Siegfried, the
three Nornir, or Fates, appeared on the Valkyrie's fire-encircled rock,
and crouching amidst the rugged stones, began to sing as they spun
their golden cord of the runes of Destiny.
But although the radiant lovers slumbered sweetly in a neighbouring
cave, and all the world around seemed calm and peaceful, the weird song
of the three dread Sisters was full of gloom and sadness; for they knew
that, owing to the fatal power of the Nibelung's curse, disaster was
about to fall, not only upon these lovers, but also upon the dwellers
in Asgard, whose doom was quickly approaching.
Suddenly, as they sang, their rope of Destiny broke asunder; and with
wild, despairing cries the three Nornir disappeared, knowing now that
the Twilight of the Gods would soon begin.
The night wore on, and when daylight appeared the lovers issued from
the cave: Siegfried, in full armour, with his mighty sword girdled
about him, and Brünhilde leading her horse by its bridle. For the
beautiful Valkyrie would not keep her hero, dearly though she loved
him, from gaining glory and honour in the world; and Siegfried, having
already learned much of her divine wisdom, was now about to set forth
in search of fresh exploits and adventures.
For a parting gift to his love, Siegfried placed his magic Ring upon
Brünhilde's finger as the sign of their troth, as yet knowing naught of
its fatal power; and Brünhilde, in return, bestowed upon him her noble
horse, Grani. The lovers swore to be true to each other, and then,
after a passionate farewell, they parted.
After many wanderings, Siegfried, following the course of the Rhine,
came to the Hall of the Gibichungs, or Burgundian tribe. Here a
powerful king, named Gunther, reigned, and with him lived his beautiful
sister, Gudrun, and their half-brother, Hagen, whose father was none
other than the wretched gnome, Alberic.
Now, Hagen, though so keen-witted as to be the chosen adviser of his
royal half-brother, had also inherited the evil qualities and greed of
his gnome-father; and hearing of the approach of the hero, Siegfried,
whose wonderful exploits were by this time world-renowned, he laid a
cunning plan, by means of which the Gibichungs might win, or at least
share, the fearless one's power and wealth.
Relating the story of the fire-encircled Valkyrie, he pointed out
to Gunther that Brünhilde would make him a radiant bride, and that
if Gudrun could be wedded to Siegfried, they would thus secure the
Nibelung's treasure, which would gain them the mastery of the whole
world. He suggested that in order to carry out this plan they should
give Siegfried, on his arrival, a magic draught they possessed, by
means of which he should forget his love for Brünhilde, and conceive
a passion for Gudrun; and Gunther and his sister, being dazzled at
the prospect of being so nobly mated, gladly agreed to the scheme,
whilst Hagen, cunningly keeping back his knowledge of Brünhilde's and
Siegfried's vows of love, rejoiced, because of the opportunity that
would occur for securing the treasure he coveted.
So when Siegfried arrived in the Gibichungs' land he was met on the
banks of the Rhine by Hagen, and conducted at once to the royal Hall;
and here he received a joyous welcome from King Gunther and his fair
sister.
Siegfried was greatly pleased with his kindly welcome; and when
Gudrun presently offered him a well-filled drinking-horn, in token of
friendship and hospitality, he gladly drank off its contents to the
health of his beloved Brünhilde.
But the magic love-potion had been mingled with the draught, and no
sooner had he set down the horn than the likeness of Brünhilde faded
from his mind, and all memory of his love for her became a blank. It
seemed to him that the fair Gudrun was the first maiden he had ever
beheld, and a passionate desire to possess her suddenly grew up within
him.
Gudrun beheld his ardent glances with great joy, for an answering
love had quickly sprung up in her own heart for the noble hero before
her. Taking her willing hand in his, Siegfried led the maiden, who
now possessed his whole heart, to her royal brother, and eagerly
requested her hand in marriage; and to this Gunther gave his consent
on condition that the Valkyrie, Brünhilde, was secured as a bride for
himself. Siegfried gladly agreed to go through the fire once more, and
woo Brünhilde for his new friend; and when the two had sworn an oath of
brotherhood, they set out together to begin their enterprise at once.
In a royal barque they sailed down the Rhine a certain distance, and
then when the Valkyrie's rock came in sight, Siegfried bade Gunther
remain in the boat, whilst he himself went forward alone to climb the
mountain. By means of his _Tarnhelm_, or wishing-cap, he took on the
form and appearance of Gunther--the two having agreed that the martial
maiden must be wooed and won by Siegfried in the likeness of the
king--and promising to be loyal and faithful to his oath, the young
hero began to climb the rocky height.
Brünhilde had just received a visit from her Valkyrie sister,
Valtrauta, who had come to entreat her to restore the Nibelung's fatal
Ring to the Rhine nymphs once more, as the only remaining hope of
saving the dwellers in Asgard; for Wotan had now gathered the gods
together in Valhalla--around which he had caused to be piled a forest
of faggots from the world's ash-tree, hewn down at his command--and all
were silently and sadly awaiting their approaching doom, the dreaded
Twilight, that meant for them destruction. The only glimpse of hope
now left was for the mighty Ring to be returned to the Rhine, when its
curse upon men and gods would become void; and on learning this from
the beloved All-Father, Valtrauta had mounted her war-horse and flown
at once to her fallen sister, who she knew possessed the Ring.
But Brünhilde, cut off as she was from the joys of Valhalla, would
not part with her love-token, which was more precious to her than all
the dwellers in Asgard; and in spite of the passionate entreaties of
Valtrauta, she utterly refused to give up the Ring.
Finding that her pleading was in vain, the despairing Valkyrie was
compelled to depart; and no sooner had she gone, than Siegfried, in
the form and garb of Gunther, sprang fearlessly through the zone of
fire, and advancing towards Brünhilde, whom he regarded as a stranger,
announced calmly, in a disguised voice, that having braved the flames
he had come to possess her as a bride.
Full of horror at being thus wooed by a stranger during the absence
of her hero-lover, Brünhilde shrank back, and indignantly refused to
yield herself to this bold intruder, receiving strength from her magic
Ring; but upon her talisman being wrested from her by the superior
force of Siegfried, she became powerless, and was compelled to submit
to his will. Siegfried now led her to the cave as their bridal chamber,
but, mindful of his oath and loyalty to Gunther, whose wooing he had so
strangely undertaken, he laid his sword, Needful, between them.
Next day, at dawn, the disguised Siegfried took the bride he had won
for another by the hand, and led her safely through the flames and down
the mountain-side, and on being met at the river-side by Gunther, he
instantly vanished by means of his _Tarnhelm_, and transported himself
to the Gibichungs' Hall. So when the true Gunther took her by the hand,
Brünhilde regarded him as her wooer of the night before, and the pair
entered the barque.
Now, during the absence of Gunther and Siegfried, Hagen had been
visited in a vision by his gnome-father, Alberic, who besought him to
seek quickly an opportunity to kill Siegfried, and so secure from him
the magic Ring by means of which the Nibelung might regain his lost
power; and Hagen gladly agreed to use his craft for this purpose.
When Gunther returned with Brünhilde to the Gibichungs' Hall, great
preparations were made to celebrate the two marriages in splendid
state, and all the vassals and warriors quickly assembled to join in
the revels.
All this time Brünhilde had remained submissive and downcast; but now,
on entering the Hall with Gunther and finding herself confronted by
Siegfried, who led Gudrun by the hand, she started violently and gazed
on him with utter astonishment. Suddenly observing the magic Ring upon
his finger, the true identity of the bold wooer who had intruded upon
her rocky fastness flashed across her mind, and, full of furious anger
at the discovery, she announced to all the company that she had been
betrayed, and that Siegfried, in his wooing of her in disguise, had
dishonoured their King.
Siegfried fearlessly defended himself, declaring that he had been loyal
to his trust; but his explanations were designedly confounded by Hagen,
who, for his own evil purposes, used his cunning wit to persuade all
that the great hero had indeed acted as a base traitor.
Siegfried, however, having a clear conscience, still declared
his innocence; and taking the hand of Gudrun, whom he now loved
passionately owing to the effect of the love-potion, he led her gaily
to join in the revels, followed by most of the company.
But Brünhilde and Gunther remained in their places, overcome with
indignation, still believing Siegfried to be false; and seeing them
alone, Hagen joined them, and with cunning words strengthened their
suspicions and persuaded them that it was their duty to avenge
themselves for the ill that had been done them. He at last obtained
their consent to the murder of Siegfried, which he agreed to carry out
himself at a hunting party next day; and having arranged this, they
rejoined the revellers, and the wedding rejoicings went forward once
more.
Next day, a grand royal hunt was organised, and Siegfried, in eager
pursuit of prey, found himself at one time alone on the bank of the
river. As he stood there a moment, gazing into the water, the three
lovely Rhine maidens, Flosshildr, Woglinda, and Wellgunda, swam towards
the shore and gave him glad greeting, knowing that this was the great
hero who now possessed their long-lost treasure; and in coaxing tones
they entreated him to restore the magic Ring to them.
Siegfried, however, refused to listen to their pleadings, even when
the nymphs told him that if he retained it longer, the talisman would
quickly bring death upon him; and as the Rhine maidens swam away
disconsolately, he laughed aloud at their warning.
At that moment, Gunther, Hagen, and the rest of the hunting party
joined him, and sitting down to rest upon the river bank, the huntsmen
began to feast and make merry together. To amuse his new friends,
Siegfried began to tell them the story of his life and adventures; but
just as he was relating how he had scaled the fire-encircled mountain,
Hagen crept softly forward and suddenly stabbed him in the back with
his hunting-spear, announcing to the dismayed onlookers that the deed
was done in retribution for the hero's betrayal of their King.
Siegfried sank to the ground immediately; and the effect of the magic
potion of forgetfulness waning as his life-blood welled forth, all
his old love for the beautiful Valkyrie he had so innocently betrayed
returned to bless his last moments, and with Brünhilde's name upon his
lips, he died.
The dead hero's body was quickly borne back to the royal Hall; and when
the fair Gudrun beheld the lifeless form of her husband of a day, she
fell senseless to the ground, overcome by despair.
Hagen and Gunther now began to quarrel as to which should possess the
magic Ring; and in the furious fight that ensued Gunther was killed.
Loud cries of woe quickly arose, and in the dismay and confusion that
followed, Brünhilde hastened forward. At sight of the dead Siegfried,
she was filled with utmost grief, and learning from the reviving and
sorrowing Gudrun of his innocence, and remembering naught but her
passionate love for him, she firmly resolved to perish with her hero.
In a commanding tone none dared to disobey she silenced the noise and
confusion around her, and bade the warriors instantly to build up a
funeral pyre upon the banks of the Rhine; and when this had been done,
the dead body of Siegfried was laid upon it. She then tenderly placed
his magic Ring upon her finger, and seizing a lighted torch, set the
faggots ablaze.
She now understood that through her alone the sin of the great
All-Father must be atoned for, and that by her sacrifice of Love, the
world should be redeemed. The curse of the Ring would also be removed
by her death, for with her ashes the fatal Gold would be restored to
the Rhine.
Thus nobly resolving to sacrifice herself, she desired two Ravens
hovering near--the messengers of Wotan--to return to the great god so
sadly awaiting his end, and announce to him that his destiny was about
to be fulfilled; and also to bid the god Loki, who still guarded the
rock upon which she had lain in a charmed sleep, to depart with his
fire to Valhalla.
She then mounted her faithful steed, Grani, and as the flames sprang
brightly upwards, leaped high with him into the midst of the burning
pyre, and perished beside the corpse of her hero-lover. As the flames
died away, the river suddenly rose, and overflowing its banks, covered
the remains of the funeral pile; and at the same moment, the three
Rhine nymphs swam up to secure their Gold.
Hagen made a last frantic effort to reach the talisman by plunging into
the flood; but being seized by the nymphs, he was dragged beneath the
waves and drowned.
So the Rhine maidens at last regained their precious treasure, and the
curse of the Ring was removed; but the dwellers in Asgard were doomed,
for Loki had already accomplished his mission.
Suddenly a fiery, crimson glow appeared in the heavens, ever spreading
and increasing to a dazzling brilliancy; and as the warriors and
mourners gazed with awe upon this wondrous sight, they saw that
Valhalla, with all its glorious array of gods and heroes, was already
engulfed in an ocean of leaping flames.
The Twilight of the Gods had come!
PARSIFAL
In the early days of Christianity, when troublous times beset the path
of the true believer, the Holy Grail, or Sacred Cup from which our
Saviour had drank at the Last Supper, and which had afterwards received
the blood that flowed from His pierced side as He lay upon the Cross,
had been brought, together with the spear which had wounded Him, by a
company of angels into the mountainous district of Northern Spain; and
here the holy relics were reverently received with joy and gratitude
by the good King, Titurel, who built for them a Temple-Sanctuary and
castle upon the beautiful mountain of Monsalvat, where they were
constantly guarded by brave knights of stainless purity and integrity.
Great was the reward of their faithful service, for the Holy Grail
possessed miraculous powers, bestowing both bodily as well as spiritual
strength and nourishment upon its guardians, giving them such means
of grace that they were able to perform mighty deeds for the good of
mankind; and with the Sacred Spear, the righteous King Titurel was able
to keep at bay the infidels and all who were opposed to Christianity,
and who struggled vainly to break down his stronghold.
None but the pure and innocent could approach the holy sanctuary, or
hope to derive benefit from its wondrous powers; for the Grail Knights,
by reason of their own spotless purity, could read the hearts of all
comers, and sternly repulsed any who were unworthy.
Thus it came about that when Klingsor, the most wicked of all
magicians, and the ruler of the heathen and infidel races, once sought
the Grail, hoping to be released from his many sins, partly seized
by a temporary fit of remorse, but chiefly for the means of worldly
advancement and power, he was denied entrance to the sacred temple;
for the Guardian of the Grail saw clearly into the deceitful heart of
the sorcerer, and reading there, as in a book, his impious and unholy
thoughts, he drove him back with horror.
Rendered furious by his ignominious defeat, Klingsor determined to be
revenged, and for this purpose he set up an Enchanted Castle on the
southern slopes of the same mountain, surrounding it with luxuriant
gardens in which he placed sirens of dazzling beauty, who with
their seductive charms should ensnare the Knights of the Grail who
wandered that way, and lure them by unholy passions and evil spells to
destruction from which there should be no return.
Many were the knights thus enticed from the paths of purity to a life
of sinful pleasures and soul-destroying voluptuousness.
Thus many years passed away; and, at last, good King Titurel, now
well-stricken in years, felt himself growing too old to perform the
sacred offices of the Holy Grail any longer; so he invested his son,
Amfortas, the handsomest and most glorious of all the knights, with the
royal mantle and made him King in his stead.
The young King Amfortas, impatient of Klingsor's evil influence,
determined to vanquish the wicked Enchanter and put an end to his
dangerous magic; and, armed with the sacred spear, he went fearlessly
forth one day upon his great mission. But Klingsor beheld the royal
knight's approach and summoned to his aid Kundry, a strange being, who,
against her will, had ever been subservient to his power; and bidding
her practice her arts upon his enemy, he had little doubt as to the
issue.
Nor was he mistaken, for Kundry (who could assume any shape)
transformed herself into a woman of such surpassing beauty that
Amfortas felt his senses leave him as he gazed upon her. It was in vain
that the young King struggled to maintain his integrity and to fight
against the evil influence that closed so surely around him; for Kundry
never relaxed her seductions until he was locked in her embrace, in the
snares of guilty passion.
Soon, Klingsor, stealing unawares upon his victim, as he lay thus
entranced, seized the sacred spear and stabbed him in the side with
it; and then, with a triumphant laugh, he rushed back to his Enchanted
Castle, bearing the holy relic with him.
The wounded King was carried back by his faithful knights to the
Sanctuary, full of remorse for his sin and doomed to suffer agonies of
pain for many long, weary years; for the wound inflicted by the evil
sorcerer throbbed and burned unceasingly, and could never be healed
until the holy spear should be reclaimed and brought back to the
Sanctuary, and the unhappy Amfortas remained helpless and agonised in
mind and body, with a wound that would not close.
Once, as the King lay groaning in the Sanctuary, the angels of the
Holy Grail were heard proclaiming that the sacred spear could alone
be regained by "The Blameless Fool," one who, simple and pure,
unacquainted with worldly knowledge, should, from pure, whole-hearted
sympathy with the sufferer's terrible agony, recognise the woes of
suffering humanity, and by such loving pity bring redemption. This,
then, was the one hope held out, and the sublime deed to be performed;
and, after many long years of woe, the deliverer of Amfortas appeared.
One early dawn, Gurnemanz, one of the oldest of the Grail Knights, was
resting with his Esquires in a glade within the sacred domains, waiting
for the arrival of Amfortas, who was to be carried, in accordance with
his usual daily custom, to bathe in the lake near by, that its soothing
waters might ease his ever-burning wound for a short time; and as the
first rays of the rising sun shone forth, the solemn morning bell of
the Sanctuary was heard calling all to their devotions.
At the sound of the bell, the watchers in the glade knelt reverently to
offer up their morning prayer; and as they rose once more to their feet
they were joined by other knights.
As the newcomers spoke sadly with old Gurnemanz of the perpetual
sufferings of the King, a wild female figure was seen riding furiously
towards them; who, upon approaching the knights, flung herself from the
foaming steed and hastened to them, bearing in her hand a small crystal
vial.
This was none other than Kundry, the witch-maiden, who, when
temporarily freed from the evil influence of the sorcerer, Klingsor,
would serve the Knights of the Grail as message-bearer, and, by the
performance of extraordinary feats of endurance, would seem as though
striving to atone by such penances for the evil deeds she did when
unable to resist her sinful nature and the commands of her unholy
master. She was well-known to the knights, some of whom, however,
regarded her with scorn and suspicion, knowing her to be a sinner; but
Gurnemanz was always kind and gentle with her, and would often reprove
his companions for their hostile attitude, declaring that though she
might be under an evil curse, yet she did penance by serving the Grail,
and that when she was absent for long, some misfortune was sure to
happen to them.
Kundry now appeared as a wild, half-savage creature, clad in a
fantastic robe fastened by a girdle of snake-skins, and with long
flowing locks of black hair and piercing black eyes, sometimes wildly
flashing but more usually fixed and glassy; and having travelled far in
search of a healing balsam for the wounded King, she handed the vial to
Gurnemanz, roughly refusing all thanks.
Amfortas, groaning with pain, now appeared in the glade in a litter
borne by a number of noble knights, and having received Kundry's
balsam from Gurnemanz, he thanked her for her gift, although he knew
it could afford relief but for a few hours. He was then carried
forward to the lake; and soon afterwards--as Gurnemanz remained lost
in his sad thoughts, standing beside the now prostrate Kundry, who had
flung herself exhausted on the ground--loud cries of indignation were
suddenly heard, and as the old knight looked around, he saw a wild swan
slowly sink to the ground and die.
At the same moment, the Esquires dragged forth a handsome youth, whose
beauty and look of perfect innocence and purity made all regard him
with interest and wonder, and yet whose bow and arrows proclaimed him
as the slayer of the fair bird, a species held sacred by the Guardians
of the Grail.
Gurnemanz poured forth indignant reproaches upon the youth, who,
however, appeared unconscious that his deed was wrong; but on seeing
the sorrow he had caused, his own heart was touched, and suddenly,
breaking his bow and arrows, he impetuously flung them away.
Gurnemanz, struck by the noble looks of the young stranger, began to
question him; but the youth declared that he knew not from whence he
had come, nor what his name was, nor who his father had been, though he
recollected that his mother's name was "Heart-in-Sorrow," and that they
had dwelt together in the forest wilds.
Kundry, who, in her weary wanderings over the world, had knowledge of
everything, now approached and declared that the stranger's father had
fallen in battle, and that his mother had brought him up in a desert
place, where he could not learn the use of arms, nor gain any knowledge
of the wicked world; and so the lad had led the pure, innocent life
of nature, and knew not the meaning of evil. Having beheld a party of
knights in glittering armour one day, he had followed them, full of
wonder, forgetful of the mother who so tenderly loved him, and whom
Kundry now declared had died of grief at his loss.
On hearing this, the youth, feeling for the first time in his life for
another than himself, sprang furiously at Kundry's throat, and would
have choked her, had not Gurnemanz dragged him back; and then he sank
down half-fainting, whilst the witch-maiden hurried to bring water to
refresh him.
Gurnemanz, astonished at the utter innocence and primitive simplicity
of the handsome stripling, and recollecting the prophecy that one who
should be a "Blameless Fool," pure and undefiled, would alone be found
worthy to regain the lost spear, regarded the youth with new interest,
feeling that the Holy Grail itself must have guided him thither as the
one who should indeed perform the supreme deed; and gently laying his
hand on the youth's shoulder, he began to tell him about the Holy Grail
and its wonderful powers.
Kundry, meanwhile, had crept away unperceived to a thicket, and,
overcome by a deadly weariness, sank down into a deep slumber; for this
was the means by which Klingsor the sorcerer called her to perform his
evil behests, and struggle as she might, she could not prevail against
this fatal sleep.
Having explained to the wondering youth the mysterious nourishment and
power given by the Holy Grail, the uncovering of which was about to be
performed by the King, who had now left the lake and was being carried
back to the castle, Gurnemanz took him to join in the sacred ceremony;
for he saw plainly that the stranger had noble qualities in him, and
believed that these would be stirred into actual being by the holy
influence of the Sanctuary treasures.
When they reached the magnificent hall of the Temple, the knights
were already assembled, waiting with rapt and reverent attention for
the customary unveiling of the Grail, by which they received physical
and spiritual food and strength. The litter of Amfortas was carried
forward and placed beside the holy shrine; and then, as all stood round
expectantly, the voice of the aged King Titurel was heard from a niche
in the background, where he sat in retirement, calling upon his son to
uncover the Grail, that its wondrous blessing might yet once more be
bestowed upon its guardians.
Amfortas, suffering acutely from the burning and throbbing of his
wound, broke forth into agonised lamentation, because he, the most
unworthy of them all, should thus be the one whose duty it was to
perform this, the holiest office of their order; and in despairing
tones, he besought his father to take back his old authority and leave
him to die. But the aged King declared he was too feeble to perform
the blessed office, and was only kept alive by the daily strength he
received from beholding the Grail; and he again commanded Amfortas to
proceed with the duties of his position, since by continuing to serve
the Grail in spite of his agony, he might atone for his guilt. The
knights also reminded their fallen master of the promised deliverance
from his woe, and Amfortas, somewhat comforted, raised himself
painfully, and, unveiling the Holy Grail, waved it reverently to and
fro, thus consecrating the bread and wine, which was then distributed,
that all might partake of the wondrous Love-Feast.
As the Holy Cup was revealed, a brilliant light fell upon it, which
caused it to glow with a rich wine purple colour, and to shed a soft
heavenly effulgence on all around, and Amfortas, though he took no part
in the meal, remained for some time in a state of rapt exaltation.
Then, as he felt his wound break out afresh, as it ever did when he
performed the sacred office, he uttered a long-drawn cry of agony and
sank back, fainting and exhausted.
All this time, the strange youth had stood apart, taking no part in
the ceremony, but remaining still and dazed, as though entranced; but
when the wounded King gave forth his last cry of anguish, he placed his
hand with a convulsive movement over his heart, as though filled with
an emotion entirely new and strange to him.
But, though pity was thus unconsciously awakened in his breast, he did
not yet understand the agonies of a conscious guilt, which was the
wounded King's chief woe, nor did he comprehend the meaning of what
he had just seen; and Gurnemanz, impatient at such seeming stupidity,
and deeming him a fool indeed, irritably thrust him out through a
side door of the Temple, bidding him depart to his old wild ways once
more, knowing that he must first experience the stabs of passion and
temptation in himself, and conquer the same, ere he could understand
and feel sympathy for the woes and sins of others.
But the pity that had indeed stirred the youth's heart so strangely
for the first time grew apace; and since he had learned from Gurnemanz
the story of the lost spear, he determined to try to regain the sacred
weapon which alone could give relief to the poor sufferer; and with a
fearless spirit and a joyous step, he set off, alone and unafraid, to
storm the Enchanted Castle.
Klingsor, the sorcerer, saw him approaching, and at once recognised
him as a dangerous foe, since his breastplate was purity, and his
shield foolishness; and quickly he called to his aid the witch-maiden,
Kundry, whom he had just awakened from the deep slumber of destiny by
his magic spells, to work his evil will once more. But though Kundry
could not prevail against the terrible power of Klingsor, she only
obeyed his commands in anger and horror, doing against her will wicked
deeds for which, when removed from her master's influence, she would
tearfully endeavour to atone by her acts of mercy and service. She
longed above all things to die, but could not; for she who had lived
through all the ages, and laughed at everything good and pure, whose
spirit had inspired the savage heart of Herodias, and had mocked the
Saviour of the world, was now doomed to a path of evil for ever,
compelled to lure all into her snares of passion and sin.
On hearing that the simple Fool was to be her victim also, she asked
Klingsor in despair if she was never to be released from his toil,
and to find rest in eternal sleep; and the sorcerer replied that
deliverance for her would only come when someone should be found strong
and pure enough to resist her wiles. Kundry, with a heart-rending
moan, now resigned herself to the terrible part of temptress she was
thus compelled to play, being unable to resist her master's will; and
Klingsor, from his magic tower, watched his approaching victim with
malignant interest.
As the youth approached the Enchanted Castle with a light step and
joyous heart, he found his entry opposed by the fallen knights who
had been lured within its walls by Klingsor's beautiful sirens; but,
fearlessly resisting them, he snatched a sword from the nearest, and
continued boldly to scale the walls, wounding and scattering all who
opposed him. For the degraded knights, once so brave and strong, had
now grown weak and dull through indulgence, sloth, and voluptuous sin;
and the fiery ardour and simple fearlessness of the young invader so
daunted these dullards that they soon fled and left him master of the
situation.
Having thus triumphed over the weak guardians of the Castle, the
handsome stripling gazed proudly around him; and, perceiving the
sorcerer's magic garden close at hand, he entered it, marvelling at its
luxuriance.
Here he was quickly surrounded by Klingsor's sirens, beautiful
flower-maidens, who, clad in gossamer garments, appeared like a throng
of brilliant living flowers; and, bewildered and dazzled by the
voluptuous beauty of these fair inhabitants of the magic garden, the
young man gazed upon them with delight. The sirens, looking upon the
handsome stranger as their lawful prey, instantly began to entice him
into the snares of passion, each one trying to win him for herself; but
the simple youth remained calmly insensible to their soft persuasions,
and at last they left him in anger, deeming him to be a Fool, indeed.
Then, suddenly, Kundry appeared, now wearing the form of a maiden more
bewitchingly beautiful than any he had yet seen, calling to him in
thrilling tones by the name of "Parsifal."
Remembering that this was the name by which his mother had always
called him, the youth approached the dazzling vision before him, filled
with wonder; and Kundry, after explaining to him that his name meant
"Pure-in-Folly," told him again of his mother's love and devotion, and
how she had died of grief at his absence from her.
Overcome at the thought of the woe he had caused by his conduct,
Parsifal sank weeping to the ground; for this was his first grief, and
his first consciousness of his own part in the life of another human
being. Kundry, having thus awakened the youth's emotions, now sought by
her seductive arts to lure him into the toils of passion; and, offering
him the comforts of love, bestowed on him his first lover's kiss.
But at this, Parsifal sprang to his feet, pressing his hand to
his heart, for it seemed to him that the wound of Amfortas burned
there; and the thought of the wounded King's urgent need recalled
his wandering senses to the great mission he had undertaken. In
that critical moment, his nature seemed to change, for, in a flash,
world-knowledge had come to him, and he realised the great truth of
redemption by grace, and understood that he, by conquering temptation,
could become worthy of bringing salvation to the stricken King, whose
sufferings had awakened sweet pity within his heart.
The temptress never ceased her wily arts for a moment, and the youth
felt more and more the pangs of guilty desires and passions burning
within him; but when she again encircled him in her sensuous embrace,
and pressed a second long kiss upon his heated brow, he was awakened
to the full consciousness of his danger, and repulsed her with horror.
Then, having triumphed over the desires of the flesh, Parsifal gazed
upwards towards the heavens with such rapt ecstasy upon his face,
that Kundry was filled with remorse, and looked upon him with awe and
wonder; then, fancying she beheld in him the Saviour of the world, Whom
she had mocked as He lay upon the Cross, she sank at his feet, telling
the whole terrible story of her everlasting sufferings, beseeching him
to be pitiful to her and grant her the joy of being his, if but for
one hour only. But Parsifal sternly replied that he would be condemned
everlastingly with her, if even for one hour he forgot his holy mission.
Finally, as her last effort, the temptress sought to ensnare him by
declaring that her kiss had awakened in him world-wide knowledge
and vision, and that in her love he might reach unto Godhead and
Omnipotence; but this subtle suggestion Parsifal resisted also,
remaining true to his own pure and noble nature, and refusing to
be enticed from the path of duty and mercy which he now so clearly
recognised.
Then Kundry, finding that all arts and lures were in vain, sprang
furiously from his side, cursing him, and calling loudly upon her
wicked master to avenge her wrongs; for never before had any man been
able to resist her offers of love.
The sorcerer immediately appeared on the battlements of the Enchanted
Castle, bearing aloft the holy spear; and, casting this with rage
at the youth, he at the same time set forth his evil spells to work
destruction upon his defier.
But his magic was powerless when brought into contact with purity and
faith; and the holy spear remained hanging in the air over Parsifal's
head, until the noble youth seized it in his hand, and solemnly made
the sign of the Cross with it. Instantly the Enchanted Castle fell to
the ground, shaken by a violent earthquake; the beautiful garden was
changed to a desert once more; and as Kundry sank to the ground with
a cry of woe, Parsifal hastened from the place of his temptation,
triumphantly bearing aloft the sacred spear, with which he was now to
conquer the hostile races of the world.
For many years Parsifal wandered forth alone; and then at last, when
grown to perfect manhood by suffering and sorrow, he returned to the
domains of the Holy Grail. Here he was gladly welcomed one morning by
the knight, Gurnemanz, now grown to be a very old man, who had taken
up his abode in the forest, and become a hermit; and he learned from
the old man that most of the Grail Knights had gradually left the
Sanctuary, because Amfortas, in his agony of body and mind, had refused
to perform the life-preserving office of revealing the Holy Grail,
which had formerly given them such wonderful nourishment and power.
Thus the strength of the noble knights had dwindled and faded; and the
aged King Titurel had already died, for, deprived of the nourishment of
the Grail, he could no longer live.
On hearing this sad news, Parsifal was overcome with sorrow, knowing
that he had been the cause of this long-drawn-out woe, because he had
for so many long years neglected to bring the salvation that lay in
his power. But Gurnemanz comforted him, declaring that the suffering
King should now be restored, since the only cure for his wound was at
last nigh at hand; and he then invited Parsifal to go with him to the
Sanctuary that day, since it was Good Friday, and Amfortas was expected
to reveal the Holy Grail once again at the funeral service of the dead
King Titurel.
Whilst the old and the young knight talked thus together, a female
figure had come forth from the hermit's hut close by, and, drawing
slowly nearer, had stood beside them with bowed head and humble mien.
This was Kundry, who, in her wild witch-maiden form, Gurnemanz had
that morning found in the forest, wrapped in the usual deep slumber,
into which she had sunk upon being released from the influence of the
sorcerer, Klingsor; and, having gently revived her, the good old man
had permitted her to perform for him the menial services she ever did
at such times. Now approaching Parsifal, she humbly and tenderly washed
his feet, anointing them with the contents of a golden vial she drew
from her bosom; seeming as though, by such an act of service she would
atone for the evil she had formerly tried to work to his soul. Old
Gurnemanz then took the vial from her, and poured the remainder of its
contents over the head of Parsifal, saluting him afterwards as King and
Saviour; and the young knight, filling his hand with water from the
sacred spring close by, very gently sprinkled it over the bent head of
Kundry, as she knelt at his feet, thus baptising the poor sinner as his
first act as the bringer of Salvation.
Gurnemanz now brought forth from the hut the rich scarlet mantle of the
Grail Knight, with which he and Kundry proceeded to invest Parsifal
over the shining armour which he wore; and then the three very solemnly
bent their steps towards the holy castle and entered the Sanctuary.
Here the knights who still remained were gathered beside the bier
of the dead King Titurel, waiting for the Holy Grail to be revealed
to them; but Amfortas, whose agony was now even greater than ever,
and who passionately longed for death, again refused to perform his
holy office, and, rising from his litter in a mad frenzy of pain and
despair, tore the covering from his wounded side, and wildly implored
his faithful companions to plunge their swords into his heart, and thus
end his woe.
As the knights drew back in alarm at this outburst, Parsifal stepped
forward with noble and calm dignity, and gently touched the suffering
King's open wound with the sacred spear that alone had power to cure
it; and at the touch of the holy weapon, Amfortas felt his pains
vanish, and his wound close, and, knowing that he was now restored and
forgiven, he fell upon his knees in an ecstasy of gratitude and praise.
Parsifal now assumed the office of King, which was henceforth his
right; and, uncovering the long-unrevealed Holy Grail, he waved it
solemnly before the kneeling knights. The Sanctuary was gradually
flooded with the dazzling purple light that glowed from the sacred
vessel, in the midst of which a white dove was seen to slowly descend
from the dome; and as the holy bird hovered over the head of the rapt
Parsifal, the witch-maiden, Kundry, sank dying to the ground, at last
released from the doom of evil by the noble knight who had been strong
enough to resist her wiles.
Thus was the sacred spear restored to the Sanctuary of the Holy Grail,
and salvation brought to its guardians by the "Blameless Fool," the
true and simple one, whose purity and faith had overcome temptation,
and whose awakened pity for the sufferings of others had revealed the
real spirit of brotherly love.
* * * * *
It will be plain to all that the story of "Parsifal" is an allegory,
and that the incidents and characters of the piece are symbolic of
human development, of the conquest of good over evil, and of the
revivified spirit soaring triumphant above the baser instincts that
struggle to draw it back.
Amfortas represents suffering and guilty humanity. The body of
humanity, grievously wounded by the throbbing, burning poison of sin,
can only be healed by the restoration of the Genius of Good, which is
symbolised by the spear, which has obtained mastery over the powerful
spirits of evil. Klingsor represents everything opposed to Goodness and
Loving-kindness, being the mainspring and source of all evil. Kundry,
the instrument subject to the power of the instigator of ill, signifies
the temptations that beset the seeker after Truth--the evil moral law,
which the pilgrim can only resist with the strength which is given by
purity and faith. Finally, Parsifal himself is typical of the Saviour
of the world, the pure and blameless One, the Conqueror of Temptation,
Whose pity and love for wounded, guilty humanity brought salvation to
all, and by redemption threw open the way to eternal Life and Love.
MARITANA
Towards the end of the seventeenth century, when Charles II. was
reigning in Spain, a wandering tribe of gipsies appeared in the
romantic city of Madrid, and every day were to be seen in the streets
and public squares, amusing the light-hearted populace with their merry
songs and dances.
With this tribe there came a beautiful young girl, named Maritana, who
possessed a voice of wonderful charm and sweetness; and in a very short
time the enchanting singing and fair looks of the pretty gipsy-maiden
had won the hearts of all. Every day Maritana sang and danced before
delighted crowds; and even the Queen, as she drove by with her ladies,
would stop her state carriage to listen for a few moments to the pretty
Gitana's thrilling voice.
Now, when the gay young King of Spain, Charles II., beheld Maritana
for the first time he was so struck with her dazzling beauty that he
determined to see her again; and several times he went disguised into
the streets of the city, mingling with the crowds that applauded the
gipsy-maid, in order to gain acquaintance with her.
On one of these occasions he was seen and recognised, in spite of his
disguise, by the Chief Minister of State, Don José de Santarem, and
this wily nobleman, understanding at once that his royal master was
infatuated with the charms of the fair Maritana, quickly decided, in
order to serve his own ends, to do all in his power to aid the King in
his pursuit of the maiden.
For a long while Don José had secretly loved the cold and stately
Queen, whom the pleasure-loving King had already begun to neglect;
but so far, all his efforts to gain her favour had proved in vain,
for the proud, exalted lady refused even to smile upon him. But the
sight of the disguised King paying court to the pretty gipsy gave rise
to a sudden scheme in the busy brain of the unscrupulous Minister.
He would encourage this temporary infatuation, and convert Maritana
to the purposes of the King's unrestrained passion; and then, once
the Queen was persuaded of her husband's faithlessness, might she not
be persuaded to look for a lover herself, as a means of avenging her
wrongs? And that lover should be Don José de Santarem!
Fully determined to carry out this base plan, Don José himself went
up to Maritana and began to make pretty speeches to her, praising her
beauty and lovely voice; and having observed that the disguised King
had slipped gold into her hand, he also gave her a piece of money of
the same value, and begged her to sing him another song. Delighted
at gaining two pieces of gold in one day, Maritana was glad enough
to sing, and when the song came to an end she talked merrily to the
Minister, telling him that she longed to be a great lady and to live
in dazzling halls, drive in a gilded coach, and wear fine clothes and
glittering jewels.
Pleased to find that his intended victim had just such longings and
ambitions as would serve him in his schemes regarding her, Don José
declared that all these things she desired might indeed be hers, since
her own wondrous beauty could easily win them; and he added that if she
would trust her fortunes to him, he would quickly make her a great lady.
Maritana merrily replied that she would gladly accept any such good
fortune he might offer her; and then she ran off to sing and dance in
another street.
No sooner had she gone out of the square than a handsome, but
dissipated-looking roysterer, whose once gay garments and general
appearance showed signs of poverty and riotous living, and yet who
preserved a certain dignity and charm of manner, issued forth from a
tavern close by, declaring to the bystanders that he had just lost his
last coin to gamblers; and Don José, to his surprise, recognised in
this shabby, yet _débonnaire_ stranger, an old friend of his boyhood's
days, Don Cæsar de Bazan, a nobleman of equal rank with himself.
He went up at once and renewed acquaintance with him, and Don Cæsar,
who was of a sunny-hearted, careless disposition, related to his old
friend the reasons for his present poverty, declaring candidly that
gay living and generosity to friends had quickly run through the fine
fortune he had inherited, and that in order to escape from his numerous
creditors, he was compelled to travel about from place to place.
As it was now some years since he had been in Madrid, he asked if there
was any news in the city; and Don José replied "None; except that
the King has issued an edict against duelling, declaring that every
survivor of a duel shall be shot, unless it take place in Holy Week,
when he is to be hanged instead."
Now Don Cæsar was an expert duellist, and celebrated for the number of
his encounters; so on hearing this news, he said with a laugh and shrug
of his shoulders: "Why, then, I must avoid a quarrel, for it is Holy
Week now, and it would be a dire dishonour for the last of my race to
be hanged!"
At this moment there was a loud outcry, and a boatman rushed into the
square, dragging with him a wretched youth whom he had just rescued
from attempting to drown himself; and close upon his heels followed
the Captain of the Guard, into whose hands he was about to deliver the
culprit to be brought up for justice.
But the poor boy, whose name was Lazarillo, begged wildly to be set
free, declaring that a harsh master's ill-treatment had made him long
to destroy himself, but that he would make no more attempts if he could
be saved from punishment; and on hearing his pitiful story and sad
cries, Don Cæsar, who had a tender and generous heart, hastened to his
assistance and freed him from his captor.
The Captain of the Guard angrily commanded this unexpected champion to
instantly deliver the boy up to justice, that he might be punished for
his offence; but Don Cæsar, indignant at being thus addressed by one
whom he deemed his inferior, drew his sword and haughtily declared that
he meant to protect the helpless youth.
A hot quarrel now ensued, and a few minutes later the two were engaged
in a duel, despite Don José's repeated warnings about the King's edict,
and the special penalty of Holy Week. Don Cæsar, with a few skillful
strokes, easily despatched his adversary; but before he had time to
escape to a place of safety he was surrounded and captured by the city
guards, who quickly bore him off to the prison-house. Here he was
thrown into a cell, together with the poor youth whose cause he had
championed so recklessly, and who now refused to leave him; and having
thus flagrantly gone against the King's edict, he was immediately
condemned to death, and sentenced to be hanged next morning at seven
o'clock.
Now Don José de Santarem, instead of being grieved at the terrible
misfortune that had befallen the friend of his boyhood, at first
cared naught about the matter; and then, suddenly seeing in this very
incident a means of helping on his own evil schemes, he determined
to make a strange offer to the doomed man. If only he could wed the
beautiful Gitana to Don Cæsar de Bazan within the next few hours,
all his plans would go well; for as the widow of a Grandee of Spain,
Maritana would be entitled to a high position at Court, and thus be
brought into daily contact with the King, who would then be constantly
under the spell of her fascinating beauty.
Having carefully laid his plans with great cunning, the wily Minister
repaired to the prison-house at five o'clock next morning; and armed
with all authority as the King's Chief Minister, he made his way to the
Count's cell, and entered. He found Don Cæsar already awake and talking
cheerfully to the young Lazarillo in his usual gay and careless manner,
quite regardless of his quickly-approaching end; and hurrying forward,
he greeted him pleasantly, saying he had come to serve him.
Don Cæsar replied merrily that there was little in which a dying man
could be served, but he added that he should be glad if the Minister
would take the boy, Lazarillo, into his service, as he felt an interest
in his fate. Don José readily agreed to this, and next he cunningly
asked if the Count were satisfied to die the death of a dog by
hanging--the death meted out to outcasts and low-born rogues.
The haughty family pride of Don Cæsar was stung by this subtle taunt,
for it was galling to him beyond measure to thus bring disgrace upon
his ancient name, and he eagerly besought his old friend to entreat the
King to grant him the privilege of being shot instead of hanged, as
befitted a noble of Spain.
Then Don José announced that he could quickly obtain him this favour,
but only on condition that he married before his execution, and that
he asked no questions whatever about his bride, who would be thickly
veiled; and Don Cæsar, glad to secure a soldier's death even upon such
strange terms as these, willingly agreed, and at once retired to a
small inner chamber to dress himself in the handsome wedding garments
the Minister had already ordered to be brought there. He also requested
that his guards and executioners might be permitted to join him in his
last meal; and Don José, delighted at the success of his scheme, at
once gave orders for a fine feast to be served immediately, after which
he hurried away to find Maritana.
Just as he was leaving the prison, a sealed packet was handed to him,
and opening it, he found that it was a free pardon for Don Cæsar from
the King. Knowing that this unexpected circumstance would spoil all his
fine plans, the merciless Minister determined that the pardon should
not arrive at the prison until _after_ the execution, and thrusting the
document within the folds of his tunic, to be forwarded later, he went
on his way.
Although still so early in the morning, he soon found Maritana already
singing gaily amidst the gipsy camp; and drawing her to one side, he
whispered that he had come to offer her a splendid position, a fine
house, and great riches, on condition that she agreed to be married
immediately to a high-born noble of Spain, Don Cæsar de Bazan.
On hearing that such a brilliant marriage, which more than fulfilled
her highest ambitions, was in store for her, Maritana clapped her
hands joyfully; for though she had seen the capture of Don Cæsar the
day before, and had even pleaded for his release, she had not heard
his name spoken, and knew naught of his death-sentence; but when Don
José added that for certain State reasons he could not explain to her
she must go through the ceremony thickly veiled, and not behold her
bridegroom until some days afterwards, she grew suspicious, and said
she did not like such mystery.
Then the cunning Minister, to relieve her fears, said that it was the
express command of the Queen that she should go through this ceremony
and obey all his directions, however strange they might seem; and on
hearing this, Maritana, who was grateful to the Queen for noticing her
singing in the streets, now willingly gave her consent, thinking that
even such an unusual marriage as this must be right if it was the royal
lady's command. So she allowed herself to be dressed in a wedding robe,
and so heavily veiled as to be completely blind-folded; and as soon as
she was ready, Don José took her to the prison-house, together with a
priest.
It was now about six o'clock; and they found Don Cæsar already
carousing merrily with the very soldiers who were to shoot him an
hour later. The doomed man was quite in his usual good spirits,
and determined to enjoy the last minutes of his life; but the boy,
Lazarillo, was sad, and refused to join in the feast. Such a strong
feeling of gratitude and love for his generous, light-hearted protector
had sprung up within the youth's heart that he could not bear to think
of his quickly-approaching death, and he longed to discover some means
of saving him. As he gazed helplessly round the prison chamber, his
eyes fell upon the file of arquebuses leaning against the wall, with
which the fatal volley was presently to be fired; and at the sight of
the dreaded weapons, a sudden thought flashed across his quick brain.
Creeping quietly along to the arquebuses, he dexterously managed to
extract all the bullets, unnoticed by any of the merry feasters; and
then, delighted with his clever trick, he awaited an opportunity to
whisper to the intended victim what he had done.
When the Minister entered the room with the trembling, veiled Maritana,
the revellers received them with gay acclamations, and quickly the
bride and bridegroom were led to the prison chapel to be married.
Neither could behold the other, because of the thick veil that
enveloped Maritana; but Don Cæsar inwardly felt that his mysterious
bride must be charming and fair to look upon, for several long locks
of bright hair managed to escape the folds of her scarf, the hand she
placed in his was small and soft, and her voice was full of music.
And Maritana also was thrilled at the touch and voice of Don Cæsar, and
when after the ceremony she was hurried away by the exultant Don José,
she longed for the time to come when she should see her husband face
to face, for the cunning Minister had told her nothing of Don Cæsar's
doom, but led her to suppose that she would see him very soon.
The hour had now arrived for Don Cæsar's execution, and he went forth
to his mock death with a gay heart, for by this time Lazarillo had told
him of his tampering with the arquebuses, and he knew that all would
be well with him. But he decided to go through the whole performance
just as though the guns were properly charged, knowing that this was
the only means by which he might yet escape; so, though inwardly full
of mirth, he bade a sorrowful farewell to all around him, and when the
volley was fired, fell to the ground at once, feigning death.
The executioners did not approach to examine the supposed corpse, but
returned to the prison immediately; and when they had gone, the bold
Don Cæsar calmly got up and walked away! Having thus escaped with his
life, he determined to find his mysterious bride and hurry from Madrid
before recapture became possible; but as, knowing nothing of the pardon
that had been accorded him, he dared not show himself in daylight, he
kept in hiding until evening, when he issued forth cautiously in search
of Lazarillo, whom he knew would now be in the service of the Minister.
Now Don José had laid all his plans with great skill; and knowing that
a certain dependent of his, the Marquis de Montefiori, upon whom he had
bestowed a remunerative appointment, was holding a grand reception that
evening, he decided that Maritana should be introduced to this assembly
as the Marquis's niece. Accordingly, when evening fell, he repaired
with the gipsy-girl, splendidly attired, to the festive scene, and
taking her into an ante-room off the salon where the guests were being
received, he sent for the Marquis, and informed him that Maritana was
his (the Marquis's) long-lost niece.
"But I _have_ no niece," exclaimed the puzzled Marquis.
"Pardon me, but _I_ say that this lady, the Countess de Bazan, _is_
your long-lost niece!" repeated Don José firmly. "And you must
introduce her to your guests as such!"
On hearing this, the Marquis--a weak, foolish person, completely
the tool of Don José, who made use of him for various unscrupulous
purposes--pretended to suddenly remember his new-found relation, seeing
that the Minister desired him to do so, and after welcoming her with
exaggerated effusiveness, he led the bewildered Maritana to the salon
beyond to be introduced to his wife and the assembly as his long-lost
niece.
Don José was just about to follow, when a stranger, muffled in the robe
of a monk, suddenly entered the ante-room; and to his surprise and
dismay, he quickly recognised the handsome features of Don Cæsar de
Bazan! Alarmed at this unexpected appearance of the man he had hoped
and believed was dead, the Minister tremblingly asked how he came to
be alive; and Don Cæsar gaily related the story of Lazarillo's trick,
and of his own feigned death, adding: "And now I have come to demand my
wife, the Countess de Bazan, who, I have been told, is here!"
For a moment Don José was nonplussed, knowing that if the bold Count
took Maritana away now, his own base schemes with regard to the Queen
would fall to the ground; but quickly thinking out a plan of escape,
he sought the Marchioness de Montefiori, and bringing her into the
ante-room, introduced her with much ceremony to Don Cæsar as the
Countess de Bazan.
Now, the Marchioness was old, ugly, silly, and frivolous, and when Don
Cæsar saw that he had been wedded to such an unattractive person, he
was filled with disappointment and disgust, and gladly agreed to sign a
contract suggested by the quick-witted Minister to relinquish his wife
and quit Madrid for ever in exchange for a yearly sum of money paid in
compensation.
Before the paper was signed, however, Maritana's voice was heard
singing in the salon beyond; and instantly recognising the voice as
that of his mysterious veiled bride, Don Cæsar, knowing now that he had
been cheated, flung the pen away, and angrily declared that he would
have his true wife at all costs.
At this moment a party of guests, with Maritana in their midst, entered
from the salon; and knowing that all would be lost should the husband
and wife meet face to face, Don José gave orders for the storming Count
to be instantly arrested by the guards on duty, who dragged him off in
triumph. At the same time, Maritana was seized and borne away also,
that she might not behold the clamorous stranger; and seeing that she
was now growing suspicious of her surroundings and treatment, Don José
had her carried to a villa belonging to the King, close to the royal
palace.
Here the young Gitana pined in lonely state for several days, guarded
by the youth, Lazarillo; for although gorgeous attire and every luxury
she could desire was heaped upon her, she felt that all was not well,
and that her position was a false one.
"You have made me a countess, and given me wealth and a costly palace,
but where is my husband?" she exclaimed anxiously to Don José, when
after a lapse of several days he at last visited her; and the Minister
replied with a triumphant wave of the hand towards the door: "He is
here!"
At the same moment, the King of Spain entered the room; for Don
José had kept his royal master fully acquainted with his movements
regarding Maritana, and had now brought him to this gilded prison to
amuse himself with the beautiful captive, whose fascinations had so
completely enthralled him.
Having thus ensured, as he hoped, the accomplishment of the poor girl's
dishonour, Don José went off to seek an interview with the neglected
Queen, whom he now expected to convince of her husband's infidelity;
but before departing, he gave strict orders to Lazarillo to permit no
one to enter the villa, and to fire upon any intruder.
When the King entered her room, Maritana recognised him at once as the
stranger who had admired her in the streets, and the knowledge of his
true identity suddenly flashing upon her at the same time, she drew
back in surprise and alarm; but Charles advanced eagerly, and taking
her hand, began to pour forth passionate protestations of devotion,
offering her dazzling prospects of wealth and luxury if only she would
accept his love. But Maritana was pure, and seeing now into what danger
she had been snared, she utterly disregarded the King's protestations,
and endeavoured to restrain his advances; and presently she was greatly
relieved at a sudden interruption--a shot that sounded from the
entrance to the villa.
The King quickly hurried her into the next chamber, and on returning to
the salon, found himself face to face with the intruder, who had now
made his entry through the window.
This was none other than Don Cæsar de Bazan, who, having gained his
freedom (the Chief Minister having no power to detain him owing to the
King's pardon), had come to demand his wife once more, having learnt
that she was shut up within this very villa; but on finding a stranger
in the salon, he was greatly surprised and alarmed, especially when
Lazarillo (who had followed him into the room, and recognised him with
delight) in a whisper informed him that this stranger was the King
of Spain. However, in spite of the difficulties he foresaw, the bold
Count determined to rescue his unknown bride from the false position in
which she had been placed, and to save his own name from dishonour; and
addressing the King as a stranger, he serenely demanded his name.
Charles, having no idea of the true identity of his questioner, and
thinking only of shielding himself from scandal, answered in a haughty
tone: "I am Don Cæsar de Bazan! And pray, who are you?"
Instantly Don Cæsar, whose keen wit and happy resourcefulness never
deserted him for a moment, replied promptly: "Oh Signor, if _you_ are
Don Cæsar de Bazan, why, then, _I_ am Charles, King of Spain!"
The King was so much amused at the quick-witted boldness of the
intruder (whom he soon gathered to be the real Don Cæsar), that for a
short time he kept up the farce; but on seeing that he was known in
spite of the name he had taken, he was just about to order Don Cæsar's
arrest, when Lazarillo appeared again, saying that a messenger had
arrived from the palace, where His Majesty's presence was immediately
required.
Full of impatience at this second interruption to his love-making, the
King hurried from the room; and no sooner had he gone than Maritana
entered, drawing back at the sight of another stranger. But Don Cæsar,
knowing that he was at last face to face with his bride, and full of
joy on beholding her wonderful beauty and charm, hurried forward with
outstretched arms, and explaining rapidly that he was her own true
husband, he declared that they should never more be parted.
And when Maritana heard the rich voice of Don Cæsar she instantly
recognised it as that of the unseen bridegroom with whom she had knelt
at the altar; and since their love was mutual, the husband and wife
embraced with great joy.
Maritana now begged her husband to seek an interview with the Queen,
whom she had observed walking in the palace gardens close by, and to
induce her to intercede on their behalf; and when he had gone, she
knelt at the window to pray for his success.
A short time after, the King returned to the salon, having despatched
his business at the palace; and he was immediately followed by Don
Cæsar, who looked greatly disturbed, and began to tell a strange story
in excited tones.
He declared that he had entered the palace gardens to seek an
interview with the Queen, when on approaching some thick bushes he had
heard the sound of voices from the other side, and on drawing nearer,
had observed Don José de Santarem in close conversation with the Queen.
"Your Majesty is being deceived," the Chief Minister was saying, "for
the King meets his new charmer in yonder villa to-night!"
He next had declared his own passion to the Queen, and had begged her
to accept him as a lover in order to avenge herself on the faithless
King; but the royal lady had indignantly refused to listen to him,
scorning the love he offered. Furious at this proof of the baseness and
treachery of the trusted Minister, Don Cæsar had then sprung forward
and challenged him to fight, and in a few moments Don José had fallen,
to rise no more.
Now when the young King thus learnt how nobly his honour had been
upheld by the very man whose own good name he was seeking to destroy,
he felt heartily ashamed of the unworthy part he had just played; and
immediately relinquishing all pursuit of Maritana, he appointed Don
Cæsar to the Governorship of the wealthy province of Valentia, as a
mark of his gratitude and regard.
So the base designs of the unscrupulous Minister were at last brought
to naught; and Don Cæsar de Bazan, restored to favour and a high
position, retired with honour to Valentia to live in great happiness
with his beautiful bride, Maritana.
LURLINE
Beneath the billows of the great Rhine River dwelt the King of the
Water Spirits, Rhineberg the Powerful, for whom the gnomes of the
under-world and the sea had gathered together wonderful treasures of
gold and jewels, such as were not even dreamed of by mortals; and here
in his palace of crystal and pearl he held a mighty sway.
It was a merry court he held; for his beautiful daughter, Lurline, the
fairest of all the river nymphs, loved to dance upon the sparkling
floors with her attendant nymphs, and to sing to the music of the
flowing waves.
But at last there came a change, and Lurline was merry no longer.
One evening, as the fair nymph rested upon the Lurlei-berg, a rock
that jutted over a whirlpool, playing upon her harp and singing the
thrilling song of enchantment with which she lured her mortal victims
to destruction at the bidding of her powerful spirit father, a handsome
young nobleman named Rudolph sailed by in an airy skiff; and as Lurline
gazed upon the exquisite beauty of this youth, a passionate love for
him grew up in her heart, and, dropping her harp just as her song had
begun to enthral him, she could no longer bear to lure him to his doom.
After this she grew sad, and sighed for the Count Rudolph with every
breath; and when the Rhine King knew that his daughter loved a mortal,
he was filled with dismay and anger. Finding, however, that in spite
of his reproaches Lurline could not forget the beautiful youth she had
seen, he gave her permission to seek him out in his own home, hoping
that she would quickly discover mortal love to be but a frail, unworthy
thing, and would then renounce it; and the water maiden gladly availed
herself of her father's permission, and went forth to seek her earthly
lover.
Meanwhile, the young Count Rudolph was passing through a time of
difficulty and trouble; for, having spent his wealth on the gay
pleasures of youth, he had no longer the necessary means to keep up
proper state in his ancient castle home. Thinking to mend his fortunes
by making a wealthy marriage, he began to pay his addresses to Lady
Ghiva, the daughter of an old Baron, whom he believed to be very rich,
but who was in reality quite as poor as himself; and his court was
acceptable to the haughty Ghiva, who had long cherished admiration and
affection for the handsome youth, believing him also to be rich enough
to satisfy all her wants.
When, however, at a festive ball given by the Baron in his honour,
Rudolph laid his heart at her feet, but declared that he had no great
wealth to offer her, the disappointed lady refused him with disdain,
and Rudolph returned to his castle in chagrin. His merry companions,
however, sought to cheer his drooping spirits with lively songs and
revelry; but Rudolph found comfort from another source.
There suddenly came into his thoughts the memory of that evening,
when, as he rowed himself in his skiff upon the Rhine, he had heard
the thrilling, enticing voice of a water nymph; and as the words of
her sweet song now came back to him, he began to sing them to his
companions, who listened to him in delight.
But soon their delight was changed into dismay; for as the young Count
sang the words of this strange sweet song, Lurline herself suddenly
appeared in the banqueting hall, as though in answer to his call.
The lovely water nymph at once approached Rudolph, and began to
weave a spell of enchantment over him; and having placed a magic ring
upon his finger as a talisman against all danger, she disappeared as
suddenly as she had come.
But her thrilling voice, singing to the accompaniment of a magic harp,
could be heard calling from the river; and Rudolph, on recovering from
the stupor into which he had been thrown, now became so violently
enamoured of the beautiful nymph that he sprang from his seat and
rushed down to the shore, following the sound of her luring song with
ecstasy.
His friends, fearing that he was being enticed to destruction,
endeavoured to check his impetuous course, and to hold him back from
danger; but Rudolph, reckless of what lay before him, and intoxicated
with the charm of the water maiden's irresistible song, flung all
detaining hands from him, and plunged eagerly into the river. The waves
of the Lurlei-berg whirlpool flowed over him, but were powerless to
harm him, because of the magic ring he wore; and Lurline, full of joy,
conveyed him to her own palace of corals, where they spent together a
period of delirious happiness.
But one day Rudolph heard the voices of his old companions mourning his
loss, as they sadly rowed overhead in their skiffs; and, longing to
greet them once again, he begged the lovely Lurline to permit him to
leave her for a few days, promising to return to her.
Lurline, though fearful of being parted from the mortal lover she
adored, yet could not bear to cause him pain by refusing his request;
so she gave her consent, declaring that she would await his return at
the end of three days on the Lurlei-berg.
Rudolph now desired to take back with him some of the lavish wealth he
saw around him; and Lurline, having been given the keys of her father's
treasure-chambers during his temporary absence, took him therein to
take his fill.
As it happened, Rhineberg returned at that moment, and was enraged on
discovering what the lovers were about; but when Lurline pleaded for
pardon he could not resist her sweet charm, and ended by giving Rudolph
vast treasures to take back with him to his castle.
The young Count then departed; and on his arrival at his home the news
of his altered fortunes quickly spread. The Baron and his daughter
Ghiva were now very anxious to encourage the suitor they had formerly
rejected; and to them Rudolph revealed the secret of his newly-acquired
wealth, showing them the magic ring he had received from Lurline, and
singing the praises of the lovely water nymph so rapturously that
the Baron's daughter was quickly died with a consuming jealousy, and
snatching the ring from his finger, furiously flung it into the midst
of the river.
With the loss of the magic ring the spell of Lurline departed also;
and Rudolph, forgetful of his love for the fair nymph, began to find
pleasure in the advances made by the cunning Ghiva, and to engage in
revellings and feastings once more.
In the meantime, fair Lurline sat upon the Lurlei-berg rock, singing
her sweet love-songs as she patiently awaited the return of the mortal
she adored; but when one day a slave-gnome of her father's brought to
her the magic ring which she had given to Rudolph, and which had been
now found in the river, she could not help but believe her lover to be
faithless.
Filled with woe, and yet enraged that her love should have been
slighted by a mortal, she resolved to seek out Rudolph once more, and
to reproach him for his faithlessness.
Accordingly, she appeared at a splendid festival which was being held
on the banks of the Rhine, in honour of the young Count's birthday;
and, quickly approaching Rudolph, she began to pour bitter reproaches
upon him for deserting her loving arms for the sake of his mortal
companions, some of whom, she informed him, were even now plotting his
assassination that they might seize his treasures.
Her wrath, however, vanished when Rudolph explained how his magic ring
had been taken from him by force, and declared that he still loved her
with his whole heart; for the magic charm of her sweet presence had
once more enveloped the young Count, and he felt that her love alone
could satisfy the longings of his heart.
Meanwhile, his false companions, as he had been warned by Lurline, were
even now hatching a plot to murder him and seize his wealth; and their
plans were overheard by the Lady Ghiva and her father, who quickly
informed Rudolph of his danger, and besought him to save his life by
instant flight.
But the young Count declared that he would rather die by the side of
his beloved Lurline than fly as a coward; and, boldly drawing his
sword, he met his enemies undaunted.
Then Lurline, knowing that her lover's life was in utmost danger, took
up her harp, and sang a wild song of invocation to the Spirits of the
Rhine, so that the noble river suddenly rose in a mighty flood, and
immersed the would-be murderers.
When the waters had once more returned to their accustomed bounds,
Rhineberg, the River King, appeared; and, to the great joy of the
lovers, he now gave his gracious consent to their union.
Thus did Lurline, the lovely Daughter of the Rhine, secure her heart's
desire; and as she gazed into the eyes of her mortal lover, she knew
that she had not lived in vain, since she had gained the greatest of
all treasures--the jewel of Love.
COLONEL CHABERT
(_Oberst Chabert_)
It was summer-time in Paris; and late one night during the year 1817,
lights still burned in the office of Derville, the famous lawyer,
betokening that work was still proceeding in one spot of the gay city,
in spite of the fact that thousands of pleasure-seekers paced the
streets and filled the theatres, and that no reasonable person could
possibly have the desire to be cooped up in a close room until midnight
when the soft warm air of a June evening was to be enjoyed outside.
But Derville, the lawyer, was the fashion; and he had so many clients
and so many interesting cases to conduct that his offices were often
open until a late hour. Not that Derville himself was to be found there
of an evening; for he was a young man, who, though clever and shrewd in
his profession, yet desired to enjoy the good things of life and sought
pleasure whilst he might. But his two clerks toiled on unceasingly,
preparing deeds and documents against the return of their master at
midnight, when they might retire to rest and Derville himself would
take his turn, remaining up until early dawn to con the papers they had
left for him.
Old Boucard, the elder clerk, would grumble now and again because of
the late hours he was compelled to keep; but Godeschal, his companion,
never complained, for he was an old soldier and afraid of no hardships.
He was glad of the work to occupy his mind, after the troubles and
vicissitudes he had been through as a sergeant in Napoleon's army.
Napoleon was now in exile at St Helena; but though peaceful days were
at present his lot, Godeschal oft looked back with regret to the
stirring past and sighed for the days when he had fought side by side
with Chabert, his beloved Colonel. How he had loved Chabert; and how
grief-stricken he had been when the brave Colonel had fallen at the
battle of Eylau!
Nor was he alone in his grief--for when the news of Colonel Chabert's
death was brought to Paris, there was general grief for the loss of so
gallant a man; and his fair young wife, Rosine, became the chief object
of sympathy in Parisian society, and, later on, its petted favourite.
In a very short time, however, Chabert was forgotten, and Rosine became
the wife of the fascinating young Comte Ferraud, a peer of France. The
pair had a deep love for one another; and when two children were born
to them as the years went by, their happiness was complete.
And now, on this hot night in June, ten years after the battle of
Eylau, their happiness was about to be shattered.
For Chabert was not dead, as had been believed; and he was even now
entering Derville's office, with the object of proving his identity and
claiming his wife. He had been struck down at Eylau, fearfully wounded,
and after the battle his unconscious body had been taken up for dead
and cast into a huge grave or charnel pit with the other slain; but
later, on recovering consciousness and realising his awful position,
he had managed by almost superhuman efforts to free himself. Then, as
he lay on the top of the ground, he had been found by a poor peasant
woman, who gave him shelter in her hut until his wounds were healed.
Better for him would it have been had he never effected so miraculous
an escape from burial alive, for when at length, after many weary
months, he went forth to tell his tale and seek assistance to return to
his wife and home, no one would believe his story, and all laughed to
scorn the idea that the gaunt, disfigured and ragged beggar before them
could be the gallant Chabert, whom they knew to have been slain and
buried at Eylau.
Stunned by the helplessness of his position, Chabert lost his senses
for a time, and was locked up in a mad-house for declaring himself to
be the dead Colonel; and then, finally securing his release by giving
up his claim and calling himself instead Hyacinth the Beggar, he began
to wander on foot through many towns and country wilds, frequently
writing letters to his wife imploring her aid on his behalf, to none of
which he received any reply.
Many further disasters fell upon him, for he was often imprisoned as a
vagabond, since no one would believe his tale or give him help; but, at
last, after ten years' weary wanderings, he earned sufficient money to
enable him to make his way back to Paris--there to learn the despairing
news that his beloved Rosine was now the happy wife of another man.