only repose. Alas! repose for her who is wretched. Ah! horror seizes
me, resistance is vain, the time is come, sleep, sleep I must." And
with a stifled cry, she sinks down behind a bush. Gurnemanz, however,
hoping that this may be the redeemer promised to the king, conducts
Parsifal toward the temple; he will be present at the ceremony, and
should Parsifal be the chosen one, his mission will be revealed to him
by the Grail.
The scene changes; the forest disappears, while the old man and
Parsifal appear to be advancing; the side of a large rock conceals
them, then they reappear in the galleries. Sounds of trumpets gently
swell forth, and bells toll louder and louder. They finally arrive
in a vast hall, whose lofty cupola permits the daylight to penetrate
like a luminous flood. The Knights of the Grail, clad in the white
coat-of-arms, a dove embroidered upon their mantle, advance in two
lines and chant piously: "Each day prepared for love's last repast,
and troubling himself little that it may be perhaps for the last time,
may it strengthen to-day him who can rejoice in his acts, and may the
repast be renewed unto him. Let him approach the holy table and receive
the divine gift." Voices of youths respond from the halls and heights:
"As formerly, with a thousand pains, his blood flowed for sinning
humanity, may my blood be poured out with a joyous heart for the hero
Saviour, and may this body which he has offered for our redemption
live in us by his death." And children's voices answer back from the
cupola's very heights: "Faith lives, the dove soars, sweet messenger
of the Saviour; drink of the wine which flows for you, and eat of the
bread of life."
Shield-bearers and serving-brothers then enter, bearing the litter
upon which Amfortas lies. Children advance, bearing a shrine covered
with a scarlet cloth, which they proceed to place upon a marble altar.
Suddenly from a vaulted niche at the end of the hall behind the altar
a voice makes itself heard. It is that of the aged Titurel. "My son,
Amfortas," he says, "doest thou officiate? Must I behold the Grail yet
again to-day and live? Must I die, no longer sustained by my Saviour?"
"Alas! alas! oh, grievous sorrow!" cries Amfortas. "My father, perform
once more thy holy office. Oh, live, and let me die." And Titurel: "I
live in the tomb by the grace of our Lord, but I am too feeble to
serve him. Expiate thou thy sin in his service. Uncover the Grail."
"No, uncover it not," cries Amfortas, in a passion of despair. "Oh!
can no one measure the torment which the sight that transports you
awakens in me? What is the wound and its agony of pain compared
with the infernal suffering of being damned here to officiate? Oh,
sorrowful heritage which has fallen to me! I must guard the sublimest
of sanctuaries, I, the only sinner among you all! Oh, chastisement,
chastisement without equal, inflicted by the all merciful One whom
I have offended! Alas! to him and to the mercy of his salvation I
ardently aspire from the depths of my soul; by expiatory penitence I
hope to return to him. The hour approaches, a ray of light descends
upon the sacred work, the veil falls, the sacred cup is illumined with
a radiant lustre; overcome by the celestial possession of pain, I
feel the stream of divine blood flowing through my heart, and the
impure wave of my own blood rushes impetuously back in wild terror to
cast itself toward the world of lust; it breaks anew its bonds, and
gushes from the wound, like unto his, made by the lance which of yore
opened in the Redeemer's side this wound which weeps in pity's sacred
ardor tears of blood for the world's iniquity! And from this wound
flows, though I be the keeper of divinest treasures, of the redeeming
balm, the fiery blood, renewed without respite by the fountain of
longing, which, alas! no penitence can extinguish. Mercy, mercy! oh,
all-merciful one. Ah! in pity take from me my heritage, close the wound
that I may die purified, and be born again in holiness unto thee."
As the king sinks down exhausted the knights murmur in a low tone:
"Let a harmless fool only, knowing by compassion, await him--him whom
I have chosen. Such is the revelation; await with hope, and this day
officiate." "Uncover the Grail," exclaims Titurel. The king has raised
himself in silence, he opens the golden shrine, and draws from it the
ancient relic, the crystal cup in which Joseph of Arimathea received
the blood of Christ; it is the miraculous Grail! A twilight dimness has
invaded the hall, a single ray coming from above falls upon the Grail,
and illumines it with a constantly-growing glory. From the cupola's
heights children's voices are heard: "Take my blood in the name of our
love! Take my body in remembrance of me."
They add: "By compassion and love the Saviour once changed the bread
and wine of the supreme repast into the blood which he has shed, and
the body which he has sacrificed. The blood and flesh of the sacrifice
the Redeemer whom you glorify changes to-day into this wine which flows
for you and this bread which you eat."
Then the knights: "Take the bread, transform it without fear into
strength and valor of body. Faithful even unto death, intrepid in
suffering, accomplish the Saviour's works. Take this wine, transform it
anew into life's burning blood, to fight, united in fraternal fidelity,
with joyous courage." All rise and exchange the kiss of peace. And the
voices from above cry: "Blessed in the faith! Blessed in love! Blessed
in love! Blessed in the faith!"
Parsifal has watched this scene with haggard eyes; but it has only left
his mind in a profound stupor. Gurnemanz, disappointed in his hope,
takes him by the arm and says: "Go, take thy way thither. Thou art but
a harmless fool. But Gurnemanz counsels thee for thy future to leave
the swans in peace. Seek rather after geese, thou gosling." He pushes
Parsifal out, slams the door, and while he follows the knights the
curtain descends.
SECOND ACT.
In the second act we find ourselves in the castle of the magician
Klingsor, situate upon the confines of Spanish Arabia. The scene
represents the empty interior of an embattled tower. Along the walls
narrow steps only project, ascending toward the battlements, or flat
ledges of rocks. Klingsor, the enchanter, is seated upon one of these
before a metallic mirror; he gazes intently into its depths, and in its
magic shadows sees Parsifal advancing, joyous and thoughtless, drawn
by a charm toward the enchanted castle. Klingsor well knows that this
is the redeemer promised to the King of the Grail; if, however, the
magician can succeed in drawing him into the snares of the flesh before
the young madcap will have realized the high mission for which he is
chosen, Amfortas's safety is at an end. Klingsor will employ all his
cunning and the most powerful seductions to ruin the pure and artless
youth. Leaning over the tower's gloomy depths, he burns aromatics,
whose smoke ascends in bluish clouds; then, with mysterious gestures,
he pronounces a formula of incantation: "Come hither! obey thy master,
rouse thyself at his call, thou, the nameless and primeval devil, rose
of hell who wast formerly Herodias; rise, rise toward thy master, obey
him who holds thee in absolute control."
Kundry appears, slowly rising from the shadows. Like a creature
rudely awakened from a profound sleep, she utters a horrible cry of
fear, which little by little becomes extinguished in a feeble moan of
distress. It is she, it is the power of her beauty which should cause
the ingenious youth to fall into the magicians power. Is it not in
her arms that the King of the Grail forgot his holy duties? Is it not
on her account that he now suffers and writhes in the cruel flame of
guilty desire? In vain the temptress struggles and attempts to escape
from the power which holds her in dominion; the impure fires which burn
within her will force her to yield. Good and evil tumultuously dispute
the possession of this soul, already several times incarnate. Like a
feminine Ahasuerus, she formerly insulted Christ, and is condemned to
be born again ceaselessly in sin's suffering. In vain she aspires to
deliverance, she inevitably falls back again into the snares of the
flesh. He who would resist the enchantress might perhaps save her;
but before her beauty all are weak, all damn themselves with her. He,
Klingsor, holds her in his power, and knows how to rouse her from the
lethargic sleep, into which he plunges her at will.
"For me alone, thy seductions are powerless," he says to her.
"Ah! ah!" she cries with a harsh laugh, "would'st thou be chaste?"
"What dost thou ask, cursed woman?" shrieks Klingsor in a rage. "Oh,
cruel torment! It is thus that Satan scoffs me because I formerly
struggled for holiness; cruel torment, torment of unsubdued desire,
hellish urgency of horrible instincts, upon which I have imposed the
silence of death. Does he laugh now, and does he jeer at me by thy
month, thou bride of the devil? Beware, such scorn and raillery one has
expiated already,--he who once cast me from him, proud in the strength
of his sanctity; his race is to-day in my power, and the guardian of
the holy of holies must languish un-redeemed. Soon, I think, I shall
myself watch over the Grail! Ha! ha! he pleased thee, this Amfortas,
the hero whom I assigned to thee for thy joy."
"Oh, woe! woe!" groans Kundry, "he also weak, all are weak, all have
fallen with me by my damnation. Oh, eternal sleep, thou only blessing,
how attain thee?"
"Ah! he who would resist thee would deliver thee; make thy trial upon
the youth who approaches."
Kundry struggles already more feebly. "He is handsome, this youth,"
exclaims Klingsor, who looks from the castle's height; "see, he mounts
toward the castle. Hey, hey! Guardians! Knights! Heralds! About! The
enemy approaches. Ah! how they defend the walls, the egotistical fools,
to protect their gracious devils! That is it. Courage, courage! Ho!
ho! this one has no fear; he has just snatched his lance from the hero
Ferris. He brandishes it intrepidly toward the horde of combatants. How
little their zeal serves them, the dullards! The child breaks the arm
of one, the thigh of another. Ha! ha! they draw back, they take flight,
each carrying away a wound. Thus am I happy! Thus may the entire race
of knights cut one another's throats! Ah! thou tender shoot; although
omens may have forwarned thee, yet art thou fallen into my power, too
young, too innocent,--thy purity once stained, thou art mine." Kundry,
seized as if in spite of herself with a fit of ecstatic laughter, has
disappeared. The tower sinks little by little, and in its place one
sees a marvellous garden filled with a tropical vegetation, beyond
which appear the terraces and porticos of an Arabian palace of the most
sumptuous style. Parsifal advances, stupefied with surprise, in the
midst of all this splendor; ravishing young girls, similar to living
flowers, at first alarmed, but soon becoming reassured, press about
him, completing the measure of his stupefaction by all the charms and
graces which they display for his enchantment and ruin. "If thou art
gracious to us hold not thyself at a distance," they say, "and if thou
wilt not quarrel with us we will recompense thee. We do not play for
gold, our only stake is love. If thou thinkest to console us, surely
thou wilt gain it. Come, come, gentle youth, let us bloom for thee. Our
loving caresses are intended for thee."
"What fragrant perfume you exhale," says Parsifal, with tranquil
gayety; "are you flowers?"
"Beauties of this garden, fragrant spirits, in the springtime the
master gathers us! We grow here in the summer sunlight, and bloom
joyously for thee. Be thou then gracious and friendly to us, accord
to the flowers thy sweet tribute. If thou wilt not love us, we shall
wither and die."
"Take me upon thy breast."
"Let me refresh thy forehead."
"Let me kiss thy mouth."
"No, I ... I am the fairest."
"No, my perfume's the sweetest."
But Parsifal laughingly repulses them: "You, medley of flowers,
gracious and wild," he says, "if you wish me to share in your sports
widen this narrow circle."
"Why dost thou chide?"
"Because you are in conflict."
"We struggle for thy love."
"Do not struggle."
"Go. He wants me."
"No, he desires me."
"Dost thou repel me?"
"Art thou timid in the presence of women?"
"Thou lettest the flowers court the butterfly."
"Leave me, you will not catch me," exclaims the young man, who would
take flight.
Then Kundry appears voluptuously stretched upon a bed of flowers. She
is of supreme beauty, and adorned in the strangest and most superb
manner in the oriental fashion. "Parsifal, stay," she cries. At the
sound of this voice the young girls, frightened, withdraw regretfully,
casting tender glances toward the handsome youth. "All hail to thee,
thou innocent fool!" And they disappear with stifled laughter.
"Parsifal!" ... murmurs the young man, stupefied, "my mother once
called me thus in a dream." Then, with the majesty of a goddess, and
the tenderness of love, the seducer speaks to him of the mother whom
he abandoned, and who died after long tortures of despair. "My mother!
my mother! can I have forgotten her," exclaims Parsifal. "Alas! alas!
what have I ever remembered? A crushing madness alone possesses me!"
And overpowered with grief, he sinks at Kundry's feet. "Confession
and repentance will blot out thy sin," she says, bending toward him;
"they will change folly to reason; learn to understand the love which
enveloped Gamuret when influenced by thy mother's passion. The love
that gave thee form and existence, before which death and madness
must drawback, gives thee to-day, with the supreme greeting of the
maternal benediction, its first kiss." And with a most radiant smile,
the enchantress leans over the young man and presses a long kiss upon
his mouth. At the contact of their lips Parsifal rises quickly, as
if transfigured; the veil which enveloped his mind is suddenly torn
away; he now comprehends the meaning of everything he has seen; he
feels kindling in his own heart the devouring fire with which Amfortas
burns. "The wound! the wound!" he cries, "it burns in my heart. Oh,
lamentation! frightful lamentation! it cries out from the very depths
of my being. Here, here in the heart is the flame, the burning desire,
the terrible and unbidden desire which seizes all my senses and
subjugates them! Oh, torment of love! how the whole framework shudders,
trembles, and thrills with guilty desires!"
Again he sees Amfortas before the Grail, and the horror of sacrilege,
the sinner's torture he now understands.
"Superb hero, fly the illusion, be gracious at the approach of grace,"
says the temptress, filled with passionate admiration. And he, still
prostrated at her feet, regards her fixedly while she displays before
him all the charms of her beauty. "Yes," he says, "this voice! it is
thus that she called him, and this glance which smiled upon him, I
recognize it! These lips, yes, it is thus that he saw them quiver, it
is thus that she bent her head, thus raised it proudly. In this manner
flowed her silken curls, thus she enfolded him and gently caressed his
cheek. Allied to all the tortures of suffering, she kissed away from
him his soul's salvation. Ah! such kisses!" Raising himself quickly he
repulses Kundry impetuously.
"Away, corrupter!" he cries, "far from me forever."
The lofty mission which he is destined to accomplish is now regaled
to him; he must defy, like Amfortas, all the pleasures of guilty
temptations, suffer all that he has suffered; but resist where he has
yielded, and triumph where the other has succumbed; this is the price
by which he will save him.
Kundry, in a delirium of furious passion, sets loose in vain all the
seductions of hell against him; in vain she endeavors to soften him:
"Ah cruel one, if thou feelest naught in thy heart but the sufferings
of others, feel also mine. If thou be the Saviour, why not unite
thyself to me for my salvation; during eternities I have awaited thee.
Oh! if thou couldst know the curse which sleeping and waking in torment
and laughter invigorates me endlessly for new suffering. I saw Him,
Him, and I laughed. His glance fell upon me. Since then I seek this
glance from world to world, I shall meet it again yet; in the height
of my distress I seem to see it, I feel it resting upon me. Then the
cursed laughter seizes me again. A sinner falls into my arms, and I
laugh, I laugh; I cannot weep. I can only cry out, carried deliriously
into the night of folly ever renewed, from which penitence itself
scarce arouses me. Him whom I ardently desire in the midst of my agony
I recognize in thee; let me weep upon thy breast and unite myself to
thee for a single hour, and though seemingly rejected by God and the
world, let me be saved and redeemed in thee."
"Thou wouldst be damned with me for all eternity if for one hour I
should forget my mission in the embrace of thy arms."... "It was my
kiss which rendered thy eyes clear? the full gift of my love would give
thee divinity. Save the world if that is thy mission, and if this hour
has made thee a god, let me suffer damnation forever. Only give me
thy love."
"Thee too will I save, sinner; show me but the road which I have lost,
the way which leads to Amfortas."
"Never, never! thou shalt not find him," cries Kundry, transported with
rage. "Error, imposition, illusion, bar his war, entangle the paths
that his feet may never enter upon the road which he seeks; may all
ways be cursed that estrange him from me. Aberration! aberration! I
dedicate him to thee, be thou his guide!"
At Kundry's cries the young girls come forth from the palace. Klingsor,
armed with the sacred lance, throws himself upon Parsifal, but the
divine steel cannot harm him who has remained pure; it rests suspended
miraculously above him. The young hero seizes the weapon and traces the
sign of the cross in space. At this symbol the magic castle crumbles
away and disappears, the garden withers, the young girls, like dying
flowers, droop and sink to the earth; nothing is now seen save an
arid desert, with mountains and snowy peaks in the distance. Parsifal,
striding over the ruins, moves away, uttering a last word of hope to
the sinner: "Thou knowest where alone thou wilt see me again."
THIRD ACT.
The third act takes us back to the domain of the Grail. The spring
festival gladdens the forest, everything is in flower, the tender
verdure of the fields is sown with Easter flowers, the stream forces
itself a passage through clusters of lilies of the valley. It is the
day sacred to all, upon which humanity was redeemed,--Good Friday.
Gurnemanz, now quite aged, comes forth from an humble hut hidden among
the trees. He has heard a groan and a lament, the mournful tone of
which is not unknown to him. He approaches the thicket, and raises a
woman who appears to be dead. He was not deceived. It is indeed the
strange heathen, whom he has already roused from this sleep, so like
unto death. Yes, it is Kundry; behold her as she arouses herself,
casting about a searching glance which is no longer savage. "To serve,
to serve," she murmurs, and she goes off to the side of the cabin, to
apply herself to the most humble labors. Gurnemanz, surprised, watches
her proceedings, but his attention is soon attracted by a stranger,
who advances hesitatingly and dreamily in the refreshing calm of the
forest. He is clad in black armor, his helmet is closed, and he holds
his lance lowered. Slowly he draws near and seats himself by the spring.
"Greeting, my guest," says Gurnemanz: "Dost thou not know what day this
is? Quickly lay aside thy arms; offend not the Saviour, who, stripped
of all defense, on this day offered his divine blood for the salvation
of the world." The sombre knight obeys; he takes off his helmet and
loosens his armor. Gurnemanz then recognizes Parsifal, the harmless
fool, whom he had sent away so roughly. With deep emotion he imagines
that he recognizes also the sacred lance, long before carried away from
the sanctuary. The young man, who looks calmly about him, recognizes
Gurnemanz, and extends his hand to him. "I am happy to have found thee
again," he says.
"What, thou knowest me yet? dost thou remember him, whom grief and
distress have bent so low? How earnest thou here, and from what place?"
"I am come in the paths of error and suffering," replies Parsifal. "Can
I believe myself delivered, since once again I hear the rustling of
this forest, and salute thee again, thou good old man?"
"Tell me, to whom should the path which thou seekest lead?"
"To him whose lament I formerly heard in bewildered surprise, to him
for whose salvation I to-day believe myself to be elected. But alas!
a horrible curse condemns me never to find the road to salvation, and
to wander in unknown paths. When I seemed to have found it, miseries
without number, with struggles and conflicts, chased me from the path.
Then had I almost despaired of keeping the sacred arm in safety. In the
effort to preserve and defend it I received wounds from every side, for
I could not make use of it in the combat. Inviolate I kept it by my
side. I take it back again, it glitters there, august and radiant, the
Grail's holy lance!"
"Oh mercy! supreme blessing! Holy and most august miracle!" exclaims
the old man, with enthusiasm; "if it be a malediction that turned thee
from the true path, believe me, my lord, it has yielded, for thou art
in the domain of the Grail, and its knighthood awaits thee. Ah! it
stands in sore need of the salvation which thou bringest! Since the
day that thou wert here, mourning and anguish have augmented even to
supreme distress. Amfortas, revolting against his wound, in sullen
obstinacy, longed for death; neither the supplications nor the grief
of his knights could impel him to fulfil his holy office. For a long
time the Grail has remained enclosed in its shrine, and its contrite
guardian, who could not die, should he contemplate it, hopes thus to
enforce his end, and terminate with his life his torment. The sacred
nourishment is denied us; also, our heroic strength perishes. Messages
and distant calls to holy combats no longer reach us. The knighthood,
deprived of chief and courage, wanders miserable and wan. Here in the
corner of the forest I have hidden myself in solitude, tranquilly
awaiting death, which has already become the lot of my old lord of
arms, Titurel; for the sainted hero, being no longer revived by the
sight of the Grail, died a man like all others.
"And it is I who caused all this misery!" cries Parsifal, with a burst
of grief. "Ah! what sin, what a mass of misdeeds must have weighed upon
this fool's head from eternity, inasmuch as, chosen for the redemption,
after having wandered distractedly, I see the last path to salvation
vanish." He sinks swooning upon a grassy hillock. Gurnemanz supports
him, and aided by Kundry endeavors to revive him. Like a new Jordan,
the limpid stream will refresh his brow and efface the sin; it will
wash the dust of long wandering and journeys from his weary feet.
Kundry, like Magdalen, passionately repentant, will shed perfumes
upon these feet, and will wipe them in her silken flowing hair, and
Gurnemanz, understanding that the day of salvation has come at last,
and that the Grail has a new king, will pour the sacred oil upon
Parsifal's head.
"Thus I bless thee, and consecrate thee king, thou innocent,
compassionate martyr, thou doer of holy deeds! Inasmuch as thou hast
suffered all the sufferings of the redeemed, be this last burden taken
from thy brow." And the first act of the new king is to pour the
baptismal water upon the head of the prostrate and weeping sinner,
Kundry.
"Thy tears are become a holy dew," he says to her with divine
tenderness, "thou weepest! See, Nature rejoices!" and he kisses her
upon the forehead.
The swelling sound of bells in the distance announces Titurel's
funeral. As in the first act, the country is gradually transformed,
and soon long files of knights in mourning are seen in the galleries
escorting the remains of Titurel. Finally the temple reappears, and
the knights who carry the Grail and the litter upon which Amfortas is
stretched meet the funeral procession.