Part 7

"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.

"Whom does this casket that you bear in sorrow enclose?" they say, "while we attend the shrine which shields the Grail." "This casket encloses the sainted hero to whom God confided himself; we bear Titurel."

"What has struck down him whom even God protected?"

"It was the heavy burden of age that hastened his end, as he saw the Grail no more."

"Who prevented him from beholding the Grail and its blessings?"

"He whom you attend, the guilty guardian."

"We escort him once more to-day, because for the last time he wills to discharge his priesthood."

"Woe, woe! for the last time be recalled to the duties of thy office!"

But Amfortas, distracted with grief, raises himself upon his couch. "Yes, woe!" he cries, "woe to me! My father! hero thrice blessed, toward whom the angels bent; I who coveted death; it is thy death I have caused. Oh, thou who now beholdest, in divine light, the Redeemer himself, implore him that he may grant me death at last! Death! death! only grace! May the terrible wound and venom cease,--the wasted heat grow cold! I invoke thee, my father, cry to him: Saviour, grant peace to my son."

"Uncover the tabernacle," cry the knights, pressing in disorder about Amfortas; "fulfil thy priestly office; thy father commands thee; thou must, thou must!" But the wretched man, in a frenzy of despair, throws himself into the midst of them, tearing his garments. "No, no! never more! Ah! I already feel the shadow of death upon me, and must I return once again to life? Which of you would force me to live since you can give me nothing but death? Behold, the wound yawns, see the poison and my blood! Steep your swords in my wound even to the hilt! Rise, heroes! Destroy with one blow the sinner and his torment; and the Grail will then shine brightly for you by its own virtue!"

All have drawn back in terror. Parsifal then advances solemnly; stretches forth the divine lance, and with its point touches the side of Amfortas. "One arm only is propitious," he says; "the lance that opened the wound can alone close it. Be healed, redeemed, and saved! May thy suffering, which gave supreme strength to compassion, and the power of the purest wisdom to the timorous brother, be sanctified! I restore to you the sacred lance!" And while Amfortas and Gurnemanz kneel to do him homage, and Kundry, delivered at last, dies at his feet with a look of gratitude, Parsifal ascends toward the altar, and raises for the first time the Grail in all its splendor above the heads of the enraptured knights.