Chapter III: Front Matter (3)

Now follows the story of Richard Wagner’s Parsifal, which I condense with the help of Maurice Kufferath’s version and from the epitomes of von Wolzogen, Albert Heintz, and many others. It is assumed before the curtain rises that the spectator is acquainted with the tale of the foolish lad Parsifal and his roaming in the forest, bow and arrow in hand, in pursuit of the “shining men mounted upon noble steeds.” He loses his way and enters the region of the Grail. At this point the curtains part and we see a deep wood in a mountainous district. The book of the play tells us of the scene of action: “The domains and Castle Montsalvat of the Guardian of the Grail, with scenery characteristic of the northern mountains of Gothic Spain. Later Klingsor’s enchanted castle on a southern slope of the same mountains, looking toward Moorish Spain.” The scene in Act I represents a clearing upon the border of a beautiful lake. It is morning. Stretched in slumber upon the ground are Gurnemanz, a pious, hale old servant of the Grail, and two squires. Brass music awakens them, and after prayer they prepare to attend the King Amfortas, who is at the very moment approaching the lake for his bath—he suffers cruelly from his wound. Two knights appear and inform the others of this suffering. The balsam of Gawain is without effect. Suddenly there appears on the edge of the forest a terrible figure. It is Kundry. Wagner thus indicates her appearance: “in wild garb fastened high with a hanging girdle of snakes’ skins; black hair, flowing in loose tresses; dark brown, reddish complexion, piercing black eyes, at times flaming wildly, but oftener fixed as in death.” She brings from Arabia a balsam to soothe the King’s pain. Enter Amfortas. He seeks the cool of the forest after his night of agony. The lake, too, will give him some surcease to his pain. But Gurnemanz knows better: “But One thing helpeth—One the helper,” he mutters. Amfortas repeats the prophecy that once in letters of fire appeared about the rim of the Grail vase: “Durch Mitleid wissend, der reine Thor, harre sein, den ich erkor;” that is, “By pity waken’d the blameless Fool, him await my chosen tool.” The King longs for death. Kundry offers him the balsam. “Of what use the balm? All is useless; rather a bath in the waters of the lake.” The litter bearing the royal sufferer moves sadly and slowly away, while Kundry crouches down like a hunted wild animal. The squires tease her until Gurnemanz recalls to them that even beasts are sacred within the territory of the Grail. Then follows a long recital by the elder man, who, in reply to questions, relates the story of Amfortas and his sin.

Klingsor, enraged at being denied admission to the Order of the Grail after his mad act of self-mutilation, raised by his infernal arts a magic castle and gardens not far from Montsalvat. This he filled with lovely girls, who tempted the Knights of the Round Table. Amfortas resolved to destroy this Castle of Perdition. Armed with the sacred lance which pierced the Saviour’s side he laid siege to Klingsor’s abode. Unluckily for him a supernaturally beautiful woman, Kundry, was sent by Klingsor,—whose heart was black with envy,—and waylaid by her Amfortas succumbed to her fascinations. As he was clasped in her embrace the spear dropped and was seized by Klingsor, who gave him a fatal thrust in the side. No alleviation was there for this pain. Even the mystic bread which he occasionally dared to dispense to his knights did not bring ease. Klingsor kept the sacred spear, and by its aid hoped some day to capture Montsalvat itself.

When Gurnemanz finishes this harrowing tale the four squires kneel and sing the above prediction, “Durch Mitleid wissend.” Cries are suddenly heard, and knights rush in to inform their horrified hearers that a blasphemer has dared to enter the sacred park and shoot one of the swans. The culprit is dragged in. It is Parsifal, with his bow and arrow. The swan lies in death throes before him. While vainly endeavoring to discover his name, his identity, Gurnemanz reproaches him for having shed innocent blood, and points out to him the heinousness of his offence. Parsifal is overcome with shame—and pity. Here is first indicated the cardinal trait of his character. He relates to Gurnemanz the little he knows of his early life—with which the reader is already acquainted—and tells of his mother Herzeleide. Kundry sneeringly interrupts. His mother is dead from sorrow at her boy’s desertion. Parsifal, raging, throws himself upon the woman, but is dragged away. The truth forcing itself upon him, he grows faint and is revived by water from a spring. At this juncture Kundry grows sleepy. Well she knows—though the others do not—that her master is about to summon her. Filled with despair she staggers into the bushes and is seen no more. Gurnemanz, his heart revived by the pure foolishness of the lad, begins to hope anew, and the King’s litter returning to the palace, he again questions Parsifal. “What is the Grail?” asks in turn the youth. Then the pair appear to move slowly, and the scene changes, to the accompaniment of the sombre “Verwandlungsmusik,” from the forest to rocky galleries, finally to the Byzantine hall of the Holy Grail. All this is accomplished by scenery which moves in grooves. Parsifal questions Gurnemanz as to this phenomenon. “I slowly tread, yet deem myself now far,” he says. “Thou seest, my son, to space time changeth here,” answers Gurnemanz, which is a choice metaphysical morsel for the admirers of Kant and Schopenhauer.

Now begins the most solemn scene of the music-drama. To the pealing of bells, the intoning of trumpets and trombones, the scene of the Holy Grail is inaugurated. Into the vast hall files the cortége of the sick monarch, and the Grail Knights, wearing white coats of arms, a dove embroidered upon a red mantle, advance in double lines and group themselves about the table. They chant, and boys’ voices from the middle part of the dome reply, while children’s voices in the cupola high above join in a celestial chorus. After a profound silence the voice of Titurel issues from his tomb behind the throne. The dead man is revived by the potency of the Grail. He bids his erring son to perform the sacred office, to uncover the Holy Grail. Then follows a dramatic episode. Conscious of his unworthiness and showing his bleeding side, Amfortas long resists the request of his father. It is a part of his expiation that, sinner as he is, he must officiate at the solemn sacrifice. His protests are not heeded. The children’s voices from the cupola recall the prediction, “Durch Mitleid wissend.” Exhausted, pale, and suffering untold agonies, Amfortas lifts the crystal vase, the Grail. A ray of piercing pure light falls from above on the chalice—the hall is now dark—which becomes luminous and glows with purple splendor. Amfortas sings, “Take this bread, it is my flesh; take this wine, it is my blood which love has given thee.” The singing by the various choirs breaks forth anew, and as daylight returns the holy ceremonies conclude with the kiss of peace by the brethren. The King is carried away, the knights withdraw as the voices from the cupola sing, “Happy in faith, Happy in love.” Parsifal, who has been staring about him all this time, is interrogated by Gurnemanz. The latter has not noticed the convulsive start made by the pure fool when he sees Amfortas fall back upon his couch. Pity has entered his heart, though he is not able to voice this sentiment to Gurnemanz. The latter, angered by such seeming stupidity, thrusts him roughly from the hall, bidding him go seek a goose for his gander. Then, saddened by this fresh disappointment, the old man stands alone in the hall. Like a gleam of hope an alto voice from the mysterious height repeats the prediction, “Durch Mitleid wissend,” and is joined by boys’ voices. To this music the curtains close.

As in the Rheingold, where Nibelheim follows Walhalla, Wagner gains a violent contrast by placing the action of the second act in Klingsor’s dread castle. The scene represents the magician’s laboratory—a sort of Faust-like chamber at the top of a tower. The place is in semi-darkness, a well-like abyss to the left evoking a feeling of anticipation. A narrow staircase ascends to an aperture in the wall, an azure slit of the sky being revealed. The floor is strewn with implements of sorcery, and on the steps Klingsor, an Arabian, and fierce looking man with a black beard, is seated gazing into a wizard’s metallic mirror. By its aid he perceives Parsifal approaching the castle, having already forgotten his experiences in Montsalvat and haled by Klingsor’s spell. With a cry of satisfaction the magician leaves his vantage post, descends, and approaches the chasm. Throwing incense into it he begins his cabalistic spells; “Up, Kundry, ascend from the gulf! Come to me. Thy master calls thee, thou nameless one, primal fiend, rose of hell! Thou who wert Herodias, and what more! Once Gundryggia, now Kundry; up, up, to thy master; obey him who has sole power over thee!”

A lovely woman appears enveloped in a misty veil. It is Kundry. She screams, a blood-curdling scream which modulates into a feeble, whimpering moan. The dialogue which ensues is not a pleasing one. Klingsor berates the woman for serving the knights like a beast of burden, as reparation for her crime against Amfortas. She sneers at his lost powers, and absolutely refuses to seduce the approaching Parsifal. But in vain she resists her master. A sound of battle is heard. Single-handed, Parsifal, without, routs the feeble, enslaved knights of Klingsor. From his window in the battlements the wizard views the strife with satisfaction. He would be pleased to see his weak servitors killed by this robust, handsome youth. Kundry vanishes to prepare for her fell work of destruction. The tower sinks to strange, thunderous noises, and we behold Parsifal in a many-colored tropical garden, dense with flowers of an unearthly hue and splendor. Almost immediately he is surrounded by girls, living flowers who coquet, tease, and lure him to ravishing music. The scene is a gay one. Parsifal repulses one group after another, when suddenly a voice sings, “Parsifal, stay.” He is deeply moved. “Parsifal? Thus once my mother called me.” He remembers his name at last. Thus does Wagner subtly indicate the growing knowledge that passion reveals. A scene of temptation follows that has no parallel in art or literature. Lulling the youth’s chaste suspicions by telling him of his mother Herzeleide, she at last wins him to her side and imprints upon his lips his mother’s kiss, her own magic kiss. Instead of succumbing Parsifal leaps to his feet and presses his heart. He cries in agony, “Amfortas! the wound—the wound! It burns within me, too.” Kundry’s kiss shows him what the entire Grail did not know—that she was the cause of the King’s downfall. He understands all now, and his one thought is to go to the King and relieve his pain. He is the poor fool who pities. Mad and desperate, Kundry detains him. She believes that he can, if he so wills it, release her from Klingsor’s hideous spell. He is to be her saviour; a second one, not the real Jesus at whom she laughed and meeting whose reproachful gaze she forever after wandered. She is the real Woman who laughed. Her laughter shudderingly resounds throughout hell, whenever a sinner yields to her seductions. But Parsifal is different. Perhaps, being a frequenter of the Grail land, and a very Erda for wisdom, Kundry knows of the prediction. She weaves a web of voluptuous beauty; Parsifal escapes its blandishments. Then finding that this fails, she curses him, with furious and hysterical curses. “Renounce desire; to end thy sufferings thou must destroy their source.” Thus Parsifal enjoins her. But Kundry will not be convinced. “My kiss it was that made thee clear-sighted. My embrace would make thee divine.” He asks for the road to Amfortas. She curses him. “Never, never, shall thou find that road again. The Saviour’s curse gives me power. Wander!” She frantically summons Klingsor, who appears upon the terrace with poised spear. The flower girls rush in, and Klingsor hurls the weapon at the audacious intruder. But it whizzes over Parsifal’s head, where floating in the air he seizes it and makes the sign of the cross. A cataclysm ensues. The castle and garden sink into the earth, accompanied by volcanic explosions, the flower girls become withered hags, and all the enchanting vista of flowers is transformed into an arid waste. Kundry falls to the ground prostrated. Parsifal, surveying this desolate ruin from the shattered ramparts, utters to Kundry these prophetic words, “Thou knowest where to find me.” Immediately the curtains veil this effective scene.