Chapter II: Part 2

Still Klingsor spake: "How ill his fiery zeal Agrees with the weak spirit of these knights. Wounded in arm and limb, they yield, they fly, And carry off a multitude of scars. But what care I, you puny, craven race? Would that the weak knights of the Holy Grail Might rise in wrath and slay each other thus! How proudly stands the youth upon the walls! How red the roses in his cheeks are laughing! And how amazed he is, like some sweet child, To see this wondrous garden at his feet! Ho! Kundry! Hast thou gone? I thought I heard Thy laughter, or a sudden cry of pain. Doubtless already she is hard at work To do my bidding, for she is my slave, And what I tell her, she must surely do. There, there, my gallant lad, so sweet and brave, Thou art too young to understand these things. But thou shalt learn,--my arts will teach thee well, And when thy guileless heart shall be ensnared, Then thou art weak, and lost,--and mine the Grail!"

Then, wondrous sight! the castle disappeared, Save here and there a distant battlement, And through the foliage the palace walls, And windows of Arabian tracery. But everywhere were flowers--wondrous flowers-- Rising in terraces of tropic growth: A splendid garden of luxuriant flowers Created by dread Klingsor's magic art.

And Parsifal, astounded at the scene, Stood silently upon the castle walls, As to his eye the great flowers seemed to wake, And rush in airy garments here and there. They seemed like maidens and they seemed like flowers, So graceful and so beautiful were they. And as they moved they spoke in rhythmic tones:

"Here was the tumult and shoutings! Here was the clashing of weapons!

"Horror! our lovers are wounded! Here in the palace is carnage!

"Who is the foe that assails us? Accurst shall he be by us all!"

But Parsifal leaped gaily to their midst, And smiled upon them with unfeigned delight; And cried: "Thus do I win my way to you,-- The loveliest maidens that mine eyes have seen."

And pacified they ask: "Thou comest here And wilt not harm us, but be kind to us?"

And Parsifal: "Nowhere such maidens live,-- Fair flowers of the garden of delight. I could not treat you ill, you are so fair! Again you bring sweet childhood's days to me, For you are all so lovely and so bright."

And then the maidens welcomed the gay youth And spake to him: "If thou wilt be our friend, Then art thou welcome in our happy garden. We do not play for gold, but only love,-- The rosebud garlands of the joy of life."

Then other maidens came in flowers clad, And danced around him with their laughing grace, And sang in tones of winsome witchery:

"We are thy fragrant flowers,
Blooming alone for thee,
And full of love's own bliss
And life's deep mystery!

"Come, kiss our rosy lips,
For thou our lover art,
And taste the nectar sweet
Of nature's secret heart."

And Parsifal, still with the guileless heart, And seeing all with only childlike eyes, Untouched of evil, nor discerning sin, Asked laughingly: "And are you really flowers? I do not know. You are so beautiful."

Then crowded they around him with their charms, And pleaded with him, "Love us ere we die!" Crowded each other, jealous of his smile, And struggling eagerly to win his love.

But Parsifal repulsed their too fond hearts, And shunned their circle of entwining arms With gentle gesture: "Sweetest sister-flowers, I like ye better in the flowery dance, And when ye give me space to see your charms. Away, sweet sisters, leave me here alone!"

Then did they chide him: "Art afraid of us, Or art thou also cold, as well as coward? Here butterfly is wooed by loving flowers, And does not know enough to sip the sweet."

And Parsifal discerned them then, and cried: "Begone, false flowers, ye cannot snare my heart!"

But as he turned to leave the flowery throng, He heard a sweet voice from a leafy bower Say: "Parsifal! A moment! Parsifal!"

And quick he stopped and murmured, "Parsifal! Who calls me by that gentle mystic name, That once my mother named me in her dreams?"

And the voice spake: "O tarry, Parsifal! For I have joyous things to tell to thee. Ye flowery children, leave him here in peace; He came not here to waste his time in play. Go to the wounded lovers waiting you."

And so they left him, singing as they went:

"Must we leave thee, must we sever,
Oh, the parting pain!
Gladly would we love thee ever
And with thee remain!
Fair one, proud one, now farewell.
Guileless, foolish heart, farewell!"

And gaily laughing at the guileless youth, They rushed into the palace and were gone. And Parsifal spake slowly to himself: "Was all this nothing but a passing dream?"

But looking whence the other voice had come, He saw the leafy bower had opened wide, And on a flowery couch a maiden lay, More beautiful than heart could ever dream, Clad in some light gown of Arabian stuff. And Parsifal, still standing high aloof, Spake courteously: "Didst thou call to me And name me who am nameless unto all?"

And she replied: "I named thee, guileless lad,-- I named thee by thine own name, Parsifal. For so thy father Gamuret named thee, Before he died in that Arabian land,-- Named thee before thine eyes had seen the light, Named thee with greeting in his dying breath. Here have I waited thee to tell thee all. What drew thee here but the desire to know?"

And Parsifal: "I never saw, nor dreamed, Such wondrous evil things as here to-day. And art thou but another wanton flower That bloomest in this evil garden here?"

But she: "O Parsifal, thou foolish heart! Surely thou seest I am not as these. My home lies far away in distant lands. I did but tarry here to wait for thee And tell thee many things about thyself. I knew thee when thou wert a little babe, Smiling upon thy loving mother's breast. Thy earliest lisp still laugheth in my ear. And thy dear widowed mother, sweet Heartsrue, Although she mourned, smiled also in her joy When thou wert come, a laughing new-born love. Thy cradle was a nest of softest moss, And her caresses lulled thee to thy sleep. She watched thee lovingly through all thy sleep And waked thee in the morning with her tears Of mingled love and pain for him who died. And that thy life should know no strife of men, Nor care nor perils as thy sire had known, Became her only care. So in the woods She went with thee to hide in quiet there. And there she hoped no evil of the world, Nor ways of sinful men would come to thee. Didst thou not hear her sorrowful lament When thou didst roam too far or late from home? Didst thou not hear her laughter in her joy When she would give thee welcome home again,-- When her dear arms were close around thy neck And her sweet kisses on thy loving lips? But thou hast never known what I have known Of those last days of thy dear mother's love. Thou didst not hear the secret sighs and moans, And at the last the tempest of her grief, When after many days thou didst not come, And not a trace of thee could e'er be found. She waited through the weary days and nights, And then her open tears and cries were stilled, And secret grief was eating at her life, Until at last her anguished heart did break, And thy dear mother, gentle Heartsrue, died."

And Parsifal in tenderest grief drew near, And sank in sorrow at the maiden's feet, And cried: "O woe is me! What have I done, O sweetest, dearest, gentlest mother mine, That I thy son shouldst bring thee to thy death? O blind I was, and wretched, and accurst To wander off and leave thy tender love. O faithful, fondest, fairest of all mothers!"

And Parsifal was weak with pain and grief, And gently did the maiden bend to him And wreathe her arms confiding round his neck. And whisper to him: "Since thou knowest grief, Let me be comfort to thy sorrowing heart. And let thy bitter woe find sweet relief In consolations of the tenderest love."

But Parsifal: "Yea, yea, I did forget The mother that hath borne me in her love. And how much else have I forgotten now! What have I yet remembered to my good? A blindness seems to hold me in its thrall."

Then said the maiden: "Thou hast spoken true, But full confession endeth sorrow's pain, And sadness brings its fuller gift of wisdom. Thy heart has learned its lesson of deep grief; Now it should learn its lesson of sweet love, Such love as burned in thine own father's heart Whene'er he held dear Heartsrue to his breast. Thy mother with her flaming heart of love Gave thee her life,--it throbs within thee now,-- And thus she sends her blessing from above, And gives to thee this sweetest kiss of love."

And at the words she held him in her arms, And pressed upon his lips a fervent kiss.

Then there was silence, deep and terrible, As if the destiny of all the world Hung in the balance of that fervent kiss. But still she held him in her clinging arms.... Then Parsifal, as if the kiss had stung His being into horror of new pain, Sprang up with anguish in his pallid face,-- His hands held tight against his throbbing heart, As if to stifle some great agony,-- And at the last he cried with voice of pain: "Amfortas! O Amfortas! O Amfortas! I know it now! The Spear-wound in thy side! It burns my heart! It sears my very soul! O grief and horror in my being's depth! O misery! O anguish beyond words! The wound is bleeding here in mine own side!"

And as the maiden watched him in her fear, He spake again in fierce and awful strain: "Nay, this is not the Spear-wound in my side! There let the life-blood flow itself to death! For this is fire and flame within my heart That sways my senses in delirium,-- The awful madness of tormenting love! Now do I see how all the world is stirred, Tossed and convulsed, and often lost in shame By the terrific passions of the heart!"

Then growing calmer, Parsifal spake on, As if an echo of the wail of God Over the world's sad suffering and sin: "I seem to see the blessèd Holy Cup And in its depths the Saviour's blood doth glow. The rapture of redemption sweet and mild Trembleth afar through all the universe, Except within a sin-polluted heart. Such is Amfortas whom I must redeem. I heard the suffering Saviour's sad lament Over His sanctuary shamed in sin; I heard His words--'Deliver me from hands That have profaned the holiest with guilt! So rang the words within my very soul. Yet I, forgetting what my Lord had said, Have wandered off in boyish foolishness.... O Lord, behold my sorrow at Thy feet! Have mercy on me, blest Redeemer mine, And show me how my sin can be atoned!"

Then came the maiden near in trembling way, As if her wonder was to pity turned, And spake: "My noble knight, fling off this spell! Look up, and this heart's love shall comfort thee!" But Parsifal with fixed look answered her: "Ah, woman, now I know thee who thou art. Thy voice it was that pleaded with Amfortas; Thine eye that smiled away his peace of heart; Thy lips that tempted him to taste of sin; This same white throat was bending over him; This proudly tossing head; these laughing curls; So these fair arms were winding round his neck; And every feature soft in flattery; When thou didst bring him agony untold, And stole his soul's salvation with thy kiss! Out and away, destroyer of men's souls! Take thy pernicious wiles and get thee gone!"

But Kundry--for 't was she--cried out in grief: "O heart, that feelest for Amfortas' woe, Hast thou no feeling for my dire distress? Thou camest here to save the King from sin, Why not save me and bring me my redemption? Through endless ages I have waited thee,-- For thou dost seem to me a very savior, Like Him whom long ago I did revile. O that thou knewest my story and the curse Which waking, sleeping, joyous, or in woe, Brings me forth sorrow and a deep despair. This is my story. Once I saw the Lord In those sad days of His sad earthly life, For in a previous existence I Was also living in fair Galilee; These eyes did see Him on the dolorous way That led His sorrowing feet to Calvary. And in light scorn, I laughed at Him.... I laughed."

And when she spake these words--"I laughed"-- She stopped in pain and for an awful moment Her deed spake in the silence, horror-stricken. And Parsifal deep shuddered at the word, But she spake on: "I laughed at Him. Whereat He looked at me. Ah! ne'er shall I forget!... And now forever am I seeking Him, From age to age and e'en from world to world, To stand once more before Him in contrition. Sometimes His eye doth seem to glance on me, And then accursèd laughter seizes me, And I am ready for the deeds of Hell. I laugh and laugh, but never can I weep. I wander storming, raving, but no tears. The night of madness holds me, but no tears. O could I weep, I know I would be saved. Be pitiful, and be a savior to me! For thee, like Him, I have derided oft. Now do I come to thee with heart of love; Let me but rest upon thy breast and weep, Take me but to thyself for one short hour, And thou shalt save eternity for me, And in my tears my sin shall be atoned!"

But Parsifal: "Eternity were lost For both of us, if even for an hour I yielded to the sin of loving thee, And in that hour forgot my holy mission. For I am also sent to save thy soul And to deliver thee from curse of lust. The love that burns in thee is only lust. Between that and the pure love of true hearts There yawns abyss like that 'twixt Heaven and Hell; Nor can the foul fount e'er be closed in thee, Until the pure fount shall be opened wide; Nor can thy sinful heart be ever saved By heavy sorrow and much agony; Nor e'en by service rendered unto others; Only one way can save thy guilty soul-- Only by giving all to Christ's dear love. The curse that rests upon the brotherhood Is something different by another's sin. They pine and languish for the Holy Grail, And yet they know the wondrous fount of life. But thou! what wouldst thou do to save thy soul? O misery! O false and daring deed! Thou wouldst see rest and Heaven's holy peace, By way of Hell, and death's eternal night!"

Then Kundry cried in wildest ecstasy: "And hath a single kiss from me conveyed Such boundless knowledge to thine eager soul, And given unto thee a world-wide vision? O let my perfect love embrace thy heart, And it shall quicken thee to godlike power! Deliver sin-lost souls! It is thy work! Stand as a god revealed! It is thy right! Take thou my love, and take this godlike power, And let me perish! Thou art all to me!"

Then Parsifal: "I offer thee deliverance, But not in this way, impious one."

But Kundry: "Let me love thee, my divine one! This the deliverance I ask of thee."

And Parsifal: "Love and deliverance Shall come to thee in truest, noblest way, If thou wilt guide me to Amfortas now."

Then Kundry into maddened fury broke, And cried: "No, never shalt thou find the King. Let the doomed King go to his desperate shame. Ah! hapless wretch whom I derided laughing, He fell at last by his own sacred Spear."

Then Parsifal: "The King was brave and good. Who dared to wound him with the sacred Spear?"

And Kundry answered: "He has wounded him! He who can put my laughter into flight! He who enslaves me to his utter will! His spell is on me and doth give me might. Yea, and the Spear shall also thrust thee through, If thou wilt pity that poor craven's fate! O Parsifal, pray give to me thy pity! Let but one single hour be mine and thine, And then thou shalt be guided as thou wilt!"

And as she spake, she sought to hold him fast, But off he thrust her with the last fierce words: "Unhand me, wretched woman! Be ye gone!"

And Kundry beat her breast and cried in rage: "Hither, ye powers of darkness! Hither, help! Seize on the caitiff who defies my will! Guard ye the ways, and ward the passage there! Ah, Parsifal, if thou shouldst fly from hence And learn the ways through all the weary world, The one Way that thou seekest to the King-- That thou shalt never find! So have I sworn! So do I curse all pathways and all courses That lead thee from me. Wander, then, I say! Wander forever, but the King find never! I give thee up to Klingsor as thy guide,-- Klingsor my royal Lord and magic Master."

And scarce the words had left her cursing lips, Than Klingsor's ugly form was on the wall. In his black hands he swung the sacred Spear And cried: "Halt there, thou cursèd guileless One! Feel thou the keenness of thy Master's Spear!"

With that, he hurled it full at Parsifal; But miracle of miracles! it stopped Above the head of Parsifal, and there It floated in the radiant air, a glory. And Parsifal, with upward look and prayer, Grasped it and wielded with supremest joy, And with it marked upon the air, the cross;

And cried: "This sign of holy cross I make, And ban thy cursèd magic evermore And as it soon shall heal the burning wound, So may it wound thy power to utter wreck!"

And as the words of Parsifal were said, An earthquake shook the castle to the ground, The garden withered into desert waste Strewn with the flowers, faded, desolate,-- And Kundry, crying loud, fell to the earth.

So Parsifal held high the holy Spear And left the garden-waste and broken tower, And all the ruin of the haunts of sin, But stood a moment on the shattered walls And looked at Kundry lying on the ground, And spake: "Thou knowest where we meet again!" And as he went, sad Kundry raised herself A little, and looked after him.

O Kundry! Sinful and yet desiring to be helped, Enthralled of sin, yet seeking after God! Thou art our human nature, after all,-- Strange contradiction, mingled love and hate, Half demon and half angel in thy moods!

PARSIFAL. PART III.

THE CROWNING OF PARSIFAL

Morning was breaking in the pleasant land, Where rising meadows full of fragrant flowers Skirt with their beauty the deep forest wilds, That lead to rocky cliffs among whose peaks Lies Monsalvat, the castle of the Grail.

Forth from a hut that leans against the rock, Close to a woodland spring, came Gurnemanz, The faithful knight and noble counsellor, But now a lonely hermit of the woods, Clad in the sacred tunic of the Grail, Grown very old and bent, and hair snow-white.

He listened for awhile, then spake: "What moans From yonder thicket come? No forest beast Doth utter cry so piteous and sad. This holy morn, the holiest of the year, Doth bring to Nature a deep-thrilling joy. 'T is only humankind that can be sad. Ah! there again the grieving and the moans,-- Methinks I know that sad despairing cry. These brambles I will tear apart and see What their thick undergrowth so well conceals. Ah! Here she is again! The winter's thorn Has been her grave these many weary years. Wake, Kundry, wake! The winter long is past; The spring has come! Awaken with the flowers! How cold she is, and rigid as the dead! I could believe her dead,--and yet I heard Her groaning and her piteous moan erstwhile."

And kneeling down, he chafed her hands and face, Breathed on them to awaken life again; And at the last a tremor thrilled her through. In deep amaze she wakened from her sleep, And opened her sad eyes, with startled cries. Long did she gaze on agèd Gurnemanz; Then she arose, but her whole mien was changed,-- The wildness of her former life was gone; A tender softness shone forth from her eyes; A gentle bearing lent an added grace; And without word of question, or of thanks, Away she moved as if a serving-maid.

Then Gurnemanz: "Hast thou no word for me? Are these my thanks, that from the sleep of death I waked thee?"

Kundry slowly bent her head, And murmured brokenly the words: "To serve,-- O let me serve thee and the Holy Grail."

Then Gurnemanz again: "This were light toil,-- For days of saddest peace have come to us, And deeds of valiant arms no more are done. A dark despair is over Monsalvat; No messengers are sent to distant parts To stir the hearts of fighting warriors; Like every creature of the leafy woods, Each man doth serve himself in daily needs." But Kundry had perceived the hermit-hut, And knew that she could serve in little things; And unto it she went to find some task.

And Gurnemanz deep wondered, and he spoke: "How unlike days of yore her step and way,-- Grace in her step and grace in countenance. Perchance God giveth grace to her sad heart. Perchance this holy morn hath wrought the change. O day of boundless mercy, 'twas for this-- Her soul's salvation and another life-- That I have wakened her from sleep of death! See, with a pitcher comes she from the hut, And fills it at the spring!... But who is this That now I see approaching through the woods And drawing slowly near the holy spring? Yon knight is not a brother of the Grail, With all that war accoutrement of gloom."

And one drew near, a splendid armored knight, His armor shining black as darkest night, His helmet closed, and lowered was his spear. Forward he walked as if he moved in dream, As if a servant of some high emprise, Neither to right nor left he turned his face, But seated him beyond the holy spring.

And Gurnemanz close watched him and his ways And wondered who the splendid knight might be; Then ventured near with courteous salute: "All hail to thee, sir knight, and welcome here! Art thou astray, and may I give thee aid?... No word for me, but bowing of thy head? Perchance my lord is under knightly vow To perfect silence, as my vows bind me To courtesy and service. Therefore hear Where now thou art and what is due this place. This is a holy woods and this a holy spring, Within the domain of the Holy Grail, Where in his armor none hath right to come With helmet closed, and shield and shining spear. Besides, dost thou not know what day this is? Not know the day? From whence then hast thou come? What heathen darkness hath been thine abode That thou rememberest not this holy day,-- The ever-hallowèd Good-Friday morn? Put off thy heavy armor, for the Lord, Bare of defence, on this most holy day, Did freely shed His blood to save the world, And bring the time of kindness and of peace."

And silently, without an answering word, The stranger knight fixed in the ground his spear, And at its foot lay down his shield and sword, Opened his helmet, placed it on the ground, And knelt in silent prayer before the spear.

With wonder and deep feeling, Gurnemanz Had watched the knight, and as he saw him pray And saw the face upturnèd to the light, He knew him, and to Kundry softly spake, Who now drew near: "Thou knowest him. 'T is he Who long ago laid low the snow-white swan,-- He whom in anger I thrust out-of-doors. Where has he wandered since that luckless day? But look! Behold the spear! It is the Spear For which my eager heart has longed and prayed! O holy day, on which the Spear comes home! O happy day to which my soul awakes!"

And when the knight had ended all his prayer, He slowly rose, and looked about and saw The agèd hermit, snowy-crowned with age; And suddenly he knew that kindly form, And rushed to Gurnemanz with eager face, And crying: "Good my friend, all hail to thee! Thank Heaven that I find thee once again!"

And Gurnemanz: "Dost thou remember me, After so many long and weary years, And bent with grief and care as now I am, And covered with the clustering snow of age? But tell me, what has passed since last we met? And how didst thou come here, and whence, and why?"

And Parsifal--for it was he--replied: "Through error and through sufferings I come, Through many failures and through countless woes. Thus was the guileless One at last enlightened, And taught the depths of pity and of love. And can it be that now the trials are ended And peace has come, and holiness at last? Yet here I am within this holy wood, And here art thou, dear servant of the Grail. But, do I err, this place seems somehow changed From what it was in days of yore? The life, The joy seem to have vanished, and I feel As if a cloud hung over Monsalvat."

Then Gurnemanz: "Too true thine every word, But tell me, pray, for whom thou here dost seek?"

And with a wondrous light within his eyes, Did Parsifal with earnest words reply: "I come to him whose piteous moans of pain I heard long years ago, nor understood.-- The guileless One went forth from thee a boy, Impetuous, fierce, who did not know himself; He comes again a man with tenderest pity, And deep experience and heart enlightened, To be the healer of the stricken King. But long the course by which I learned the way, And bitter all the wanderings, where sin Had laid its snares, and sought to curse my soul. Many the perils and right fierce the strife, Yet clung I to the pathway of the right. And at the last I won the sacred Spear By God's good mercy and His boundless love. But even with the Spear within my hands Oft came a fearful dread upon my heart, Lest I might lose this treasure that He gave Into my keeping, for never durst I use This sacred Spear in battle-blows or strife,-- It was for healing wounds, not making them,-- And so in many a fight I took the wounds From other weapons, but profaned this never. I bring it home virgin and undefiled, And consecrate it to its healing work. Thus does it gleam before thee, even now,-- The wonder-working power, the sacred Spear!"

And Gurnemanz, with joyous heart, replied: "O grace and glory, blessèd gift of God! O miracle of holy healing power That thou hast brought us in the sacred Spear! Sir knight, if it were once a cruel thing That drove thee wandering in the evil world, And if it ever were a curse to strive In subtle snares and temptings manifold, Believe me, now the spell is surely broken. Here thou art now within the Grail's dominion. Here wait for thee an eager band of knights. Ah! how they need the blessing that thou bringest. For since that morning when thou first wert here, The sorrow and the anguish that thou heard'st Have grown until the woe has covered all. And King Amfortas, soul and body wracked, Did crave in desperation only death, And so refused to show the Holy Grail. No prayer, no sorrow of his brother-knights Could move him to fulfil his sacred trust. Close in its shrouded shrine the Cup remained. For King Amfortas hopes that if his eyes Shall see the Grail no more, that he may die, And with his life thus end his bitter pain. The holy Supper also is denied us,-- Our daily portion only common food. Thereby exhausted is our former strength. No more the cry for succor comes to us, Nor call to holy war from distant lands; But pale and wretched wander forth the knights, Hopeless and leaderless in these dark days. Here in the forest I myself have hid, In quiet waiting for the hour of death, Already come unto my warrior-lord, The agèd Titurel. For when no more He could behold the vision of the Grail, Then did his sad heart fail him, and he died."

And Parsifal in sudden sorrow cried: "What have I done to let this curse go on? Why have I wasted all these precious years In wandering, while here was deepest woe? Why did I never see the needed truth That no repentance can assuage the grief, No expiation can atone the wrong, Until another feels the bitter pain, And takes it willingly to his own heart? Here I was chosen to redeem the wrong, And save the anguish of the stricken King, And yet how blind has been my foolish heart! Can blindness mean impurity and sin, And may it be that I am all deceived,-- My way all lost, my hopes forever gone?"

And in the bitter struggle of his soul, And in the self-abasement of his heart, And in the strong reaction that oft comes To spiritual natures, deep and fine, He would have fallen helpless to the ground; But Gurnemanz quick caught him in his arms, And led him sinking to a grassy mound, And Kundry ran with water for his brow.

But Gurnemanz: "Not so. The holy spring Shall now revive our pilgrim's waning strength. My heart sees noble work for him to-day. A sacred mystic duty doth await him. He shall be pure as light, and all the dust Of travel and of error washed away!"

Then from his limbs they took the mighty greaves, And loosed the woven corselet from his side, And bathed his feet and brought him to himself.

And straight he asked: "And shall I see the King?"

And Gurnemanz: "Thou shalt behold the King This very day and speak thy word to him. The death-rites of mine agèd warrior-lord, The noble Titurel, doth call me to the court; And there again the Grail shall be revealed. For King Amfortas hath by solemn vow Promised once more to open up the shrine, Sworn to fulfil the long-neglected office, To sanctify the saintly father's end, And expiate the deep unfilial crime, The added sin, that broke his father's heart."

And as he spoke, the kindly Kundry bathed The feet of Parsifal, who looked at her With gentle wonder and a pitying love, And said: "So humbly hast thou washed my feet, Perchance the good and faithful Gurnemanz May sprinkle my poor head with holy water, And give my soul his gracious benediction."

And Gurnemanz took water from the spring, And sprinkled Parsifal in holy rite, And uttered over him the benediction: "O guileless One, thrice blessèd be and pure, And free forever from all care and sin!"

Then Kundry from her bosom drew a vial, A golden vial, full of perfumed oil, And poured its soothing fragrance on his feet And dried them with her flowing unbound hair.

And Parsifal reached out and took the vial, And gave it unto Gurnemanz and said: "This woman hath anointed these my feet; Let now the faithful servant of the Grail, And minister of sainted Titurel, Anoint my chosen head with holy oil, That I may take the office, as God will, And you to-day may greet me as your King."

So Gurnemanz performed the kingly rite, Anointing Parsifal with holy oil, And laid the hands of blessing on his head, And said: "So came the ancient word to us; So with my blessing do I greet thee now, And hail thee as the God-elected King! Thou art His guileless One, by pity 'lightened, Patient in suffering, and taught by woe. Much hast thou suffered to redeem another; God give thee now the grace for crowning all."

Then Parsifal took water from the spring, And came to Kundry kneeling at his feet, And sprinkled her with solemn mystic rite, And said: "This be the first work of my trust. Kundry, in Christ's dear name I sprinkle thee. Be thou redeemed and holy evermore!"

And in a passion of rejoicing tears She kneeled there and her voice gave praise to God.

And Parsifal looked on the fields and woods, So fair and radiant in the morning light, And uttered forth the rapture of his heart: "How beautiful these morning meadows are! So fresh, so sweet, so radiantly pure! Full many a flower in other days I saw, But full of subtle poison was their breath And they were snares of baneful witchery. But these are God's own blossoms full of grace. These twining vines that burst with purple bloom, These fragrant flowers, so innocent and fair,-- They speak to me of loving childhood's days, And tell me of the boundless love of God."

Then Gurnemanz: "On fair Good-Friday morn, All nature seems a-thrill with new delight."

And Parsifal: "Yet strange that it is so. That darkest day of agony divine Might well have cast a pall of gloom o'er all, And plunged all Nature into deepest woe."

"No, no," the gentle Gurnemanz replied, "The Saviour's work hath wrought a miracle, And now the grateful tears of penitence Are holy dew that falls upon the world, And makes it bloom in fair and lustrous beauty; And all creation knows God's saving work, And praises Him for His redeeming grace. No more the agony of that grim Cross, But now the joy of man redeemed and saved, Freed from the load of sin by conquering faith, And purified by Love's great sacrifice. Each sprouting blade and meadow-flower doth see Something of God's grace in the heart of man; For as the Lord was tender unto man, So man in turn will love God's flowering earth. The whole creation therefore doth rejoice, And every bird and flower is full of praise, And Nature everywhere is full of God, And sweet has dawned this day of innocence."

Then Kundry, with the tears still in her eyes, Looked up at Parsifal, and soft he spake: "I saw the hearts that mocked us fade away, But love shall bloom eternal in God's grace. Blest tears that speak the blessing in thy heart. But weep no more. God's grace is full of joy,-- Smile with all Nature, joyously redeemed!"

And down he bent, and on her pure white brow Printed the kiss of God's redeeming love.

Then chimed the distant bells, and louder yet The gradual growing music of sweet sounds.

And Gurnemanz: "The hour has come, midday. Permit me now to lead thee to the Grail!"

And Parsifal was clothed in holy garb,-- The dove-embroidered mantle of the Grail,-- Which Gurnemanz had brought him from the hut, And grasped the sacred Spear and followed on.

Again they climbed the rocky passages, And reached at last the castle's pillared hall, Crowned with the mighty dome of blazing light. Slowly the knights in mourning garb marched in, Bearing the corpse of saintly Titurel. Slowly the servitors marched sadly in, Bearing the pale Amfortas on his couch. And going on in front the acolytes Bore in the Grail in heavy covered shrine. And as they marched, they sang this solemn hymn:

"Here do we bear the Holy Grail,
Long hidden in this shrine;
No more its wondrous grace is seen,
No more its glories shine!

"Here saintly Titurel we bear,
The faithful knight and king;
When he no more the Grail could see,
He died in sorrowing!

"And here Amfortas now we bear--
God shrive him from the past;
For he has sworn to do his trust
And show the Grail at last!"

And suffering Amfortas turned and groaned, And raised himself a little on his couch, And cried: "O woe is me! O woe is me! My tears are flowing from my very heart. Would I had died before I saw this hour. Yet death is mercy that I cannot hope."

Then solemnly the knights, with sacred awe, Uncovered saintly Titurel, and looked Once more upon that well-belovèd face, And there was sound of weeping everywhere. And sadly did Amfortas speak the words: "My father, blest among God's heroes ever! Thou before whom the angels loved to bow, Forgive me for my most unfilial sin,-- I sought for death, yet struck thee to the heart, By holding back the vision of the Grail. O thou who now in radiance divine Dost see the blest Redeemer face to face, Beseech for me that when I show the Grail It may give life anew to these dear knights-- But death to me--sweet death for which I long. O death, kind mercy of the living God, Stifle this heart and rid me of my pain! Father, I plead with thee to cry to Him: 'Redeemer, give my son release and peace!'"

Thereat the knights came pressing up and cried: "Unveil the Grail and do thine office now! The death-rite of thy father doth demand it!"

But in a mad despair Amfortas rose, And wildly rushed among the startled knights, And cried: "No, no, I cannot do it now! Death is so near me, only let me die! Why should I turn again to dreadful life? Rather I plead with you to slay me here! See, here I stand, the open wound is here! Thus am I poisoned, here flows forth the blood! Draw ye your swords and plunge them to the hilt! Kill both the sinner and his awful pain! Then will the Grail forever shine for you, And blessing come to you for evermore!"

But all shrank back in terror from the King, Who stood in frenzied madness there alone.

Then Parsifal drew near, and slowly spake: "Only one weapon serves to kill that pain. The one that struck can staunch thy wound again!"

And with the sacred Spear he touched the King. And lo! a miracle of healing power!-- The wound was staunched and a deep thrill of love Changed agony to rapture all divine.

And Parsifal spake on: "Thou art forgiven. Body and soul are cleansed by God's free grace Thy life for evermore shall happy be Within the service of the Holy Grail. But never more as King, for I have come To take thy place as God hath so decreed. Thy sorrows shall be blessings unto thee, For thus by pity was the guileless 'lightened, And God's own Son was perfect made by pain. Knights of the Grail, behold the sacred Spear! God gave it me but to restore to you!"

And all with reverent joy beheld the Spear, And thanked the Lord that it had come again To bring the golden days of health and power. And as they looked in rapture and in awe, The Spear-point seemed to glow with holy fire And sparkled, turning red like flowing blood.

And Parsifal spoke on: "O miracle And marvel of the holy power of God. This sacred Spear is flowing with the blood, The very blood of that same wondrous Saviour, That floweth in the crystal of the Grail. The double blessing shall its glory give. Open the shrine! Reveal the Holy Grail!"

And quick the sacred shrine was opened wide And Parsifal long knelt in silent prayer, Absorbed in holy rapture at the sight.

Then suddenly the heavenly splendor fell And flamed and glowed within the sacred Cup, While wondrous glory flooded all the hall And filled each heart with deep and holy joy. And from the lofty dome a dove descended, And hovered lovingly o'er Parsifal.

Thus Parsifal was crowned of God and man, And slowly did he lift the Holy Grail, The red blood glowing with its wondrous light, And waved it in the air before the knights, Who knelt around him, praising God on high. And there had Kundry come with new-found faith And crept within the splendor of the Grail And, with its light upon her, died,--redeemed!

And still did Parsifal hold up the Grail, Seeming a vision of the very Christ, His crimson mantle changed to lustrous whiteness. His lips seemed speaking loving benediction; And marvellous the red glow of the Grail; And beautiful the white dove soaring there. While from the heights the softest voices sang:

"Highest wonder! blest salvation!
Praise the Lord for our redemption!"

THE END