Richard Wagner His Life and His Dramas / A Biographical Study of the Man and an Explanation of His Work

PARSIFAL

A Sacred Stage Festival Play in Three Acts.

First Performed at Bayreuth, July 26, 1882.

Original Cast.

Parsifal	Winkelmann.
Amfortas	Reichmann.
Titurel	Kindermann.
Klingsor	Hill.
Gurnemanz	Scaria.
Kundry	Materna.

The copyright of this work is still held by the Wagner family, and hence the drama has not yet been performed outside of the Festival Playhouse at Bayreuth.

PARSIFAL

I.—The Original Legends

The last of the great music dramas of Richard Wagner began to occupy his mind as early as 1857. Professor William Tappert says: "Wagner told me (in 1877) that in the fifties, when in Zurich, he took possession of a charming new house, and that, inspired by the beautiful spring weather, he wrote out the sketch that very day of the Good Friday music." A letter to the tenor Tichatschek defines the year as 1857. The poem was completed in 1877, and on May 17 of that year was read to an assembly of Wagner's friends at the house of Mr. Edward Dannreuther, in Orme Square, London. It was read to the delegates of the Wagner Societies at Villa Wahnfried, Bayreuth, on Sept. 16, and was published in December. Wagner was in his sixty-fifth year when he set to work to write out the music. The sketch of the first act was finished in the spring of 1878. The second act was completed on Oct. 11, and the sketch of the third, begun after Christmas, was finished in April, 1879. The instrumentation was begun almost immediately afterwards, and was completed at Palermo, Jan. 13, 1882.

As we have already seen, it was while gathering the materials for "TannhÄuser" and "Lohengrin" that the character and writings of Wolfram von Eschenbach became known to Wagner. His famous epic, "Parzival," is the immediate source of Wagner's drama, but the origin of such a remarkable art-product cannot be dismissed with this simple statement. Wagner's drama opens to us the entire field of Arthurian romance and the whole circle of legends of the Holy Grail. These old tales have played so important a part in the literature of our own time, as well as in that of the Middle Ages, that it seems fitting and proper that we should seize this opportunity for a glance over the whole ground. Wagner, as we shall find, has in this work, as in his others, taken hints from all the sources, and has introduced special and highly significant ideas of his own.

Wolfram's history I must recount but briefly, for little is known of his life. We learn from his name that he was probably born (about 1170) at Eschenbach in Bavaria, and it is certain that he was buried there; for toward the end of the seventeenth century his tomb, with an inscription, could be seen in the Frauen-Kirche of Ober-Eschenbach. He tells us that he was of the knightly order and with some humour refers often to his poverty. It does not appear, however, that he was obliged to roam about, reciting his verse for a living. He was extremely proud of his knighthood, and his entire poem breathes the spirit of chivalry. It was probably written—or dictated, for Wolfram was ignorant of writing—in the early years of the thirteenth century, and it was published in 1477.

According to Wolfram, the source of his work was a story of the Holy Grail by one Kiot of Provence. No such poem is now known. According to Wolfram, Kiot found at Toledo an ancient black-letter manuscript in Arabic, and learned from it that Flagetanis, a heathen, born before Christ and celebrated for his acquaintance with occult arts, had read in the stars that there would at some time appear a thing called the Grail, and that whosoever should be its servitor would be blest among men. Kiot set out to ascertain whether anyone had ever been worthy of this service, and, as the house of Anjou was then in power, he had no difficulty in discovering that one Titurel, a very ancient king of this dynasty, had once been the keeper of the Grail. Of course this story was invented by Kiot to do honour to his sovereign liege. Wolfram declares that Kiot related the tale incorrectly, and at any rate his version, so far as reported by Wolfram, contains nothing about Parsifal. And this brings us to an important point.

How far back the legends of the Grail go, is unknown. No matter how far we trace them, we always find references to a source. But it seems almost certain that in their earliest forms they had no relation to the tale of Perceval, or Peredur, the Parsifal of later versions. The story as it is now known to us is a union of two originally separate legends. There is good ground, according to all the folk-lorists, for believing that in its original form the Celtic, or, more exactly, Kymric, legend of Peredur was independent of the Grail stories. The latter appeared between 1170 and 1220, and constituted a large body of literature, dealing with a talisman not at first distinctly Christian. For half a century poets sang this legend enthusiastically and then suddenly dropped it. A few scattered and worthless Grail romances date from a later period, and, with Mallory's "Morte d'Arthur," written 300 years later,—a noble fragment, indeed,—they came to an end. Mr. David Nutt, in his "Studies on the Legends of the Holy Grail," holds, with apparently excellent reason, that the Grail was originally a Pagan talisman, and that a history of the legend is the history of the development of this talisman into a Christian symbol. He further shows that the legends may be divided into two classes, one dealing entirely with the talisman itself, and being largely influenced by Christian ideas, and the other treating of the quest of the Grail. Somewhere or other in the stories of the adventures of Peredur was found a resemblance to some legend of the search after the Grail, and thus the Kymric folk-hero became the protagonist of the Grail-drama.

The Arthurian legends are British; the Grail stories are French. Let us see how they came together. Undoubtedly the former went first from France to England, and the latter followed them. To understand this we must bear in mind that France was ancient Gaul, and that a large part of the ancient population was Celtic. The Celts fairly filled all that part of France extending from the Garonne River to the Seine and the Marne. In this land dwelt the Celtae proper, but their speech and their influence spread beyond its confines. For these Celts in France were but a surviving and compressed fragment of the great vanguard of the Aryan race, which, issuing from its forest cradle in Asia Minor, and carrying in its bosom the nursling star of empire, swept westward toward the Atlantic. It peopled most of Europe and the isles of the sea, and it planted among the sunny fields of the Midi and the verdant vales of Britain the seeds of the Arthurian legends, the Nibelung tales, the Norse Sagas, all garnered first from some great parent stem of folk-lore in the Eastern jungles. How it chanced that the Arthurian tales blossomed into full fancy in England first no one knows, but it is equally inexplicable how the Grail legends were first developed in France. For the Grail was originally a vessel in which was offered a draught of wisdom or youth, and its transformation into a sacred cup dates from a period considerably later than the time of Christ.

In Gaelic chants descended from remote times we read of a vase or basin which conferred upon its possessor superhuman power. This basin was always placed by the legends in the hands of some famous warrior by a giant or a dwarf, or both, emerging from the waters. The possession of the vase caused him to be envied, and so arose many fierce combats. Not unlike the hoard of the Nibelungs was this famous basin. It is not difficult to see how, as Christianity spread, the wondrous powers of the vessel were attributed to its connection with the Saviour. Wolfram von Eschenbach does not agree with older writers as to the origin of the Grail. He accepted the version of the mediÆval poem called the "Wartburgkrieg."

According to this, sixty thousand angels, who wished to drive God out of Heaven, made a crown for Lucifer. When the archangel Michael struck it from his head a stone fell to the earth, and this became the Grail. In the latest mediÆval French version the Grail was the cup in which was received the sacred blood from the wounds of the dying Saviour. Indeed, the etymology of the word itself has been a subject of inquiry and dispute. In the Middle Ages it was thought that the name "san-gral" was a corruption of the words "sang real," "blood royal," referring to the office of the cup. Dr. Gustave Oppert has written a long and ingenious argument to prove that "coral" was derived from "cor-alere," and this theory consists well with Wolfram's story of the origin of the Grail as a precious stone. The word, however, is most rationally derived from the ProvenÇal word "grial," a vessel. This derivation accords best with the finest of the early versions of the story, that written by the remarkable French poet, ChrÉtien de Troyes; and the word "grial" in its several forms is still used in Provence to signify a vessel.

Efforts have been made by tracing the derivation of "Perceval" to show that he was connected with the earliest forms of the Grail legends. One writer derives the name from "perchen," a root signifying possession, and "mail," a cup. The latter word by inflection becomes "vail," and we get as a result "Perchen-vail" or "Perchenval,"—whence Perceval,—a cup-holder or Grail-keeper. This derivation is of little value in face of the undeniable fact that in the Mabinogi version of the Peredur story he is not the holder of the Grail. Indeed, the Grail itself appears here only in one of its early forms, that of a charger on which lay a bleeding head. This head was afterward decided to be that of John the Baptist. Peredur becomes a searcher after this, and that is the foundation of his connection with later forms of the legend.

We may now review briefly the manner in which the Grail entered the Arthurian romances, and then take a glance at the principal versions which were of value to Wagner. In 1154, died Geoffrey of Monmouth, a learned Welsh monk, who is celebrated for his work entitled "The History of the Britons." In this we find set forth in full for the first time the account of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Fact and fiction were, of course, curiously mingled in this work, and historical personages were accredited with some of the deeds narrated in the ancient legends. But here, at any rate, we find the Arthurian cycle in its earliest recorded form. The old Welsh collection of romances known as the Mabinogi, which is sometimes said to be the oldest version of these tales, shows too many evidences of influence from the Grail stories. It must be of a later date than the work of Geoffrey, and certainly much later than the fundamental utterance of the Perceval legend.

In the year in which Geoffrey died, Henry II. of Anjou ascended the throne, uniting under his sceptre the sovereignty of England, Normandy, Anjou, and a great part of Southern France. In this reign flourished Walter Map, or Mapes, the great son of Hertfordshire, who, under Richard I., in 1197, became Archdeacon of Oxford. His chief work seems to have been the introduction of the Holy Grail into the legendary romances. He systematised the Arthurian tales by spiritualising them and making them essentially Christian. This he accomplished largely by the employment of the Grail, an element which he undoubtedly obtained from French sources through the unification of the kingdoms under Henry. Map created Sir Galahad, the stainless knight, and it is regarded as probable that he wrote the Latin original of the "Romance of the Saint Grail." It is accepted as certain that he wrote the original of "Lancelot of the Lake," "The Quest of the Grail," and the "Mort Artus."

German scholars accept as the next version of the story the ProvenÇal poem, written by Robert Borron, a trouvÈre, born near Meaux. Borron's labours consisted in introducing into the Breton Epic, as it is called,—namely, the French version of the Arthurian tales,—the active workings of the Holy Grail. His labour seems to have been precisely the same as that of Geoffrey, and he has even been credited with liberally helping himself to the Latin works of the British writer. In his "Joseph of Arimathea" he makes the Grail the vessel in which Joseph received the blood of Christ on the cross. This vessel was none other than the cup used at the Last Supper, and had been given to Joseph by our Lord himself. French savants have pretty thoroughly proved that Borron's work was not written about 1170 or 1180, as the Germans believe, but something like forty-five years later. It gives, in fact, one of the latest French versions of the Grail legend and is valuable for that reason. Gaston Paris, a high authority on French mediÆval literature, has taken the ground that this version belongs to the thirteenth century, and his views have been supported by other French investigators. The French version which lies nearest to the works of Geoffrey is that of ChrÉtien de Troyes, who died about 1195.

Little is known of the life of ChrÉtien, except that he was a native of Champagne and spent most of his time in Courts. About 1160 he wrote his lost "Tristan," which he followed with "Erec," a Breton legend. Then he wrote his "CligÉs," on an Oriental legend dealing with the abduction of a wife of Solomon (with her own assistance). About 1170 he wrote his "Lancelot of the Lake," and soon afterward "Ivain; or, The Chevalier of the Lion." About 1175 he wrote "Perceval the Gaul; or, The Story of the Grail." This he tells us he adapted from a book lent to him by Philip of Alsace, who, in 1172, fought in England against Henry II. It seems altogether probable that this book was either Geoffrey's, or one utilising its materials.

According to ChrÉtien, Perceval is the son of a widow, KamuellÉs, whose husband has been slain in a tournament and who therefore is desirous that her son shall never hear of the allurements of knighthood. She retires with him to a forest and seeks to bring him up in ignorance of all the customs of chivalry. But one day in the depths of the wood Perceval sees five knights, and from them learns what knighthood and the Round Table are. He returns to his mother and tells her what he has learned. Now he will not rest till he may be a knight. The poor mother, knowing that it is useless to oppose him, tells him how to be knightly and sends him forth on his travels. Utterly ignorant, almost foolishly simple in mind, the youth makes many errors, and at the Court of Arthur is ridiculed by the knights. But he engages in combat with one and slays him with a single blow. Equipped with this knight's arms, he sets out again.

He falls in with an aged and wise man, named Gonemans de Gelbert, who for nearly a year instructs him in the use of arms and in other matters. Then Perceval, whose foolish mind is gradually becoming enlightened, begins to feel the emotion of pity for his mother, and he goes forth once more, hoping that he may see her again. His wanderings and adventures are numerous and not especially significant. He fights with the King of Deadly Castle. He meets and consoles Gonemans's niece, the beautiful Blanchefleur, who tells him of her many sorrows and bids him rescue the knights and ladies imprisoned in Gringaron. He does her bidding. He is constantly riding on knightly errands, and his nature is expanding and his wisdom deepening.

At length he comes to the Court of a king who is suffering from an incurable wound. While seated at the bedside of this king, he sees for the first time the Grail and a bleeding spear, but gazes upon them in silent wonder, not asking their meaning. The next morning he is ready to ask, but to his amazement he finds the castle deserted. He departs, but as he crosses the drawbridge it is raised, and his horse has to leap. He turns and asks who raised the bridge, what the Grail is, and why the spear bleeds, but no one answers. After he has travelled some distance he meets a maiden, his cousin, who tells him of the death of his mother, and of his error in not asking about the things he had seen. Now Perceval falls in love, with whom we are not told, and his nature becomes tender and affectionate.

He returns to Arthur's Court, where he is visited by a strange wild woman. She tells him that if he had asked the needed question about the Grail, the sick king would have been healed. She also tells him of knights and ladies imprisoned in Castle Orguellous. Perceval and other knights swear to release them, and Perceval vows that he will never rest till he knows what the Grail is, and finds the bleeding lance. He goes to seek a certain wise hermit, who gives him much advice about seeking for the Grail and the spear. A little further on the story comes to an end unfinished. The tale of Perceval's finding of the Grail was told by others, or it may be that ChrÉtien completed his work and the latter part was lost. ChrÉtien's successors, however, provided the conclusion of the story, no doubt adding many unessential details, but preserving the vital point of the original.

For example, according to Borron, Bron, the brother-in-law of Joseph, received the Grail into his care and became the head of the line of Grail-warders. Bron remained on the Continent, but his son Alan settled in Britain, and was the father of Perceval. This youth was to see the Grail, but only after many trials. He made two journeys. On the first he saw the sacred relics, but asked no question. The second time he did ask, and learned the mysteries of the Grail, of which he became the keeper. Other writers, who followed ChrÉtien, narrated how Perceval found the castle of the sick king again, and asked the vital question, thus restoring the sufferer. Out of these materials Wolfram von Eschenbach made his version of the story, the completest and most beautiful that has come down to us, and the direct basis of Wagner's work.

Wolfram's first two books are introductory to the story of his hero.[46] In the first, however, it may be noted that he devotes some space to the praise of true womanhood as contrasted with merely external beauty. This reminds us of the position taken by Wagner's Wolfram in "TannhÄuser." The main portion of the first two books is taken up with the adventures of Parzifal's father, here called Gamuret. This knight is not slain in a tournament, but is killed through treachery while serving in the army of the Caliph of Bagdad. The widow, Herzeleide, tries to bring up the son, Parzifal, in ignorance of everything pertaining to chivalry, but one day he sees three knights and is entranced. The story now follows closely that of ChrÉtien, and is filled with interesting details well worth reading, indeed, but not germane to the subject-matter of Wagner's drama. It is well to bear in mind, however, that in this version, as in ChrÉtien's, Parzifal is so simple-minded and so ignorant as to be fitly described as a "guileless fool." His mother in Wolfram's tale dresses him in fool's clothes, and in these he appears at Arthur's Court and asks to be made a knight. His immediately subsequent adventures are the same in all the legends. He slays a knight, obtains his armour and equipments, and reaches the castle of an old knight named Gurnemanz, the Gonemans of ChrÉtien. From him he receives much instruction, being particularly warned against asking too many questions.

Setting out again, Parzifal arrives at a city which is besieged. He aids the besieged people, and when they have won their victory, he marries their Queen, the beautiful Conduiramour. After a time he leaves her to seek his mother, of whose death he is ignorant, and to find new adventures. He comes to the bank of a lake where some men are fishing, and asks for shelter for the night. He is taken to a magnificent castle, and shown into a great hall where there are four hundred knights. The master of the castle invites Parzifal to recline beside him on a couch. A squire enters, bearing a bleeding lance, whereupon all burst into loud wailings. Then a steel door opens and there enters a procession of twenty-four beautiful women, splendidly attired, bearing various articles seemingly of import and value. Finally appears "our lady and queen," Repanse de Schoie, bearer of the Holy Grail, for which exalted office we learn she has been designated by the Grail itself. The Grail is placed on a table before Parzifal and the master of the castle, Anfortas, whose face shows that he suffers intense pain, both bodily and spiritual. There is a feast, for which the food is provided by the power of the Grail. Anfortas presents to Parzifal a magnificent sword, his own. Through all the guileless fool, remembering that Gurnemanz had told him not to be too "swift to question," asks nothing, but thinks that if he stays there long enough he will learn without asking. Whereupon Wolfram moralises:

"But he who his story aimeth at the ear of a fool shall find
His shaft go astray, for no dwelling it findeth within his mind."

Parzifal retires to his sleeping apartment, but in the morning he finds no attendants, and the castle is apparently empty. He mounts his horse and departs, but as he goes a squire scolds him for not asking a question, on which depended the recovery of the afflicted Anfortas and his own happiness. Still confused in mind, Parzifal rides away. Again his adventures have no relation to the Wagnerian drama, though they are extremely interesting. Some of the incidents in this part of the story rise to high beauty. One of these is the effect of a bird's blood on the snow, which so forcibly reminds Parzifal of the red lips and fair brow of his wife that he is overcome. Finally, however, he returns to the Court of Arthur, and while a feast is in progress there appears a woman of dreadful appearance, called Kondrie the Sorceress. She fiercely denounces Parzifal for not asking the essential question at Monsalvasch, the castle of the Grail. Parzifal renounces the Round Table, believes himself unworthy, despairs of mercy in the hereafter, and declares that his wife's love is henceforth his only shield.

Parzifal is now for some time relegated to the background of the story, which occupies itself with the adventures of Gawain, another of the Knights of the Round Table. Finally, we learn how Parzifal meets with an aged knight and his wife, walking barefoot through deep snow, on a pilgrimage to the dwelling of an holy hermit. They reproach Parzifal for not remembering the season. The words of Wolfram's poem here are nearly the same as those of ChrÉtien, which are these:

"Knowest thou not the day, sweet youth?
'T is holy Friday, in good sooth,
When all bewail their guilt."

Parzifal arrives at the cell of the hermit, whose name is Trevrezent. The hermit tells Parzifal the story of the Grail and the bleeding spear. Anfortas had yielded to the temptation of lust, and as a punishment he had received in combat a wound from a poisoned lance, and this wound would not heal, while the sight of the Holy Grail kept him from dying. A prophecy finally appeared on the Grail itself, announcing that if a knight came and asked of his own accord the cause of the King's sufferings, they should end, and the inquiring knight should become the Grail king. Parzifal confesses that he once went to the castle, but did not ask the question. Trevrezent now gives him further instruction, absolves him of his sins, and sends him on his way.

We now read of many struggles between the Knights of the Round Table, as representatives of Christianity, and the agents of the evil one. Gawain frees the maidens imprisoned by the magician Klingsor in Chateau Merveil. But Gawain goes no further than this. Parzifal, being the more pious of the two, is permitted after many adventures, including a fight with Gawain, whom he does not recognise, to ride to Monsalvasch, ask the cause of the King's suffering, free him from his agony, and receive the crown. Now his wife arrives with his two sons, one of whom is Lohengrin, and destined to succeed his father as the keeper of the Grail. The story of Lohengrin and Elsa is told, and there are other details, which, fascinating in themselves, have no bearing on the materials used by Wagner.

II.—The Drama of Wagner

Let us now briefly review the story of the drama. According to Wagner, the castle of Monsalvat, as he calls it, stands upon a mountain just above the valley in which is situated the castle of the magician, Klingsor. Monsalvat is the temple of the Holy Grail and the dwelling of its knights. Klingsor's castle is the abode of temptation. The magician represents the powers of evil. He rages against the servants of the Grail, because he for his sinfulness has been refused admission to their number. Therefore he spends his life in trying to corrupt them and for this purpose he has a garden of wonders, the chief of which is a company of fascinating women. Amfortas, the keeper of the Grail, once succumbed to the allurements of one of these, whereby he lost the sacred lance and was wounded by it. This lance is that which was thrust into the side of the Saviour on the cross and was placed in the keeping of the knights of the Grail. The touch of the spear which gave the wound alone can heal it. But the spear is in the hands of Klingsor.

All this we learn from the conversation of Gurnemanz and several esquires in the first scene. Kundry, the strangest and most potent character of the drama, sometimes the repentant servant of the Grail, at others the unwilling and agonised slave of Klingsor, appears with balsam for the King, but it can give him only temporary relief. Gurnemanz tells us that the King will be healed through the instrumentality of a sinless fool, enlightened by pity. This person presently appears in the character of Parsifal. He shoots a wild swan and when he rejoices in the accuracy of his aim Gurnemanz reproaches him. The aged knight asks him whence he came, who is his father, who is his mother, and what is his name, but to all of these questions he can only reply, "I do not know." Gurnemanz, astonished at his ignorance, questions him further, and finds that he remembers his mother and her goodness. He tells how he saw the knights in armour, and followed in the hope of becoming like them. Kundry, who is an interested listener to the conversation, contributes some items of information, and finally informs Parsifal that his mother is dead. He flies into a rage, and attacks Kundry, but is withheld by Gurnemanz. And now Kundry is suddenly overwhelmed by a mysterious sleep. This is the result of a spell which has been cast upon her by the magician Klingsor. When she is herself, she struggles always for good; but when Klingsor's power is operating, she becomes the most seductive of his agents. This is one of Wagner's most striking ideas. It is his own, for although in a way Kundry is a composite of characters found in the old epics, she is, in Wagner's drama, a new creation. But of that I shall speak further.

Gurnemanz surmises that Parsifal may be the pure fool destined to save Amfortas, and therefore escorts him to the castle of Monsalvat. There he sees the ceremony of the unveiling of the Grail. Amfortas, dreading the ordeal, prays most pitifully for release from his sufferings, but the voice of his father Titurel, too weak to sustain the duties of Grail-warder and living a kind of life in death, bids him face his duty. Amfortas unveils the Grail, and the ceremony of the Lord's Supper is performed. Gurnemanz invites Parsifal to partake of it, but he stands dumbfounded and silent. The Grail is borne away again, and when the knights have disappeared, Gurnemanz pushes the still stupefied Parsifal out of the hall, saying:

"Letting in future the swans alone,
Go seek thee, thou gander, a goose."

The rising of the curtain on the second act reveals to us the chamber of Klingsor in a tower of his castle. He is there awaiting the arrival of Parsifal, who he knows has been cast out of Monsalvat and is approaching his domain. He summons Kundry, calling her she-devil, rose of hell, and Herodias, the daughter of Herod. She arises in a cloud of vapour, apparently in the sleep into which we saw her sink in the first act. Klingsor orders her to tempt the pure fool, whose very foolishness makes him dangerous to the powers of evil. Kundry struggles in vain. Her will is mastered by Klingsor, for she is not pure. The scene changes to the magic garden. Parsifal is standing upon the wall lost in amazement. Beautiful maidens, half clad, changing presently to something almost like flowers, allure him with blandishments of the most seductive kind. These are the servants of Klingsor and they do his bidding. But the pure fool does not understand them. Presently from a thicket comes the voice of Kundry, calling, "Parsifal."

It is the first time the name has been uttered, and he remembers it as in a dream. He now sees Kundry, who has changed from the wild, dishevelled, weeping creature of the first scene to a young woman of surpassing beauty. She tells Parsifal the story of his origin, of his mother's woes and death, and, when his heart is touched, bids him learn the mystery of love. She presses her lips upon his in a long kiss. The result is startling; Parsifal springs up in terror and appears to suffer suddenly intense pain. Then he cries: "Amfortas! The wound, the wound!" He has received the needed enlightenment, through the pity for his mother. His own breast is now torn with the anguish of Amfortas, and with the terrible self-accusation of his own failure to save the sufferer. He realises that the seductions aimed at him are those to which Amfortas succumbed, and he bids the accursed sorceress begone. In her rage she discloses to Parsifal that it was Klingsor who wounded Amfortas with the sacred spear. The magician comes to aid Kundry in her struggle with Parsifal. The flower maidens also return. Klingsor, enraged, hurls the spear at Parsifal to slay him, but the sacred weapon remains suspended above his head. He grasps it, and, making with it the sign of the cross, bids the castle disappear. At once the whole is wrecked, and, as the curtain falls, Parsifal, standing on the ruined wall, tells Kundry that she knows where she may find him again.

The third act shows us Gurnemanz, now very old, living as a hermit in a little hut at the edge of a forest. It is Good Friday, and the loveliness of spring is in the land. To Gurnemanz comes Kundry, clothed in the garb of a penitent, and without her early wildness of mien. She begs leave to serve, and goes about it at once. Parsifal, clad in black armour with closed helmet visor, and bearing the holy spear, approaches. He plants the spear in the earth, takes off his helmet, kneels, and prays before the lance. Gurnemanz, amazed, recognises him. Parsifal expresses his gratitude at finding the aged man once more, and we learn from his speech that he has passed through many experiences since he left the garden of Klingsor. Now he has only one thought, to return to the castle of the Grail and release Amfortas from his sufferings. Gurnemanz tells him that Titurel has died and Amfortas has refused longer to perform his office as Grail-warder. No more is the sacred vessel revealed, for thus Amfortas hopes to win release by death. Parsifal is deeply moved by the consciousness that he might have prevented all this. He almost faints, and Kundry eagerly brings water to revive him. She bathes his feet, and at his request Gurnemanz baptises him. Kundry produces a phial of ointment and anoints his feet. Again at his request, Gurnemanz anoints his head. Then Parsifal, with water from the spring, baptises Kundry, bidding her trust in the Redeemer. Kundry weeps. Parsifal is clad in the mantle of a knight of the Grail, and with Gurnemanz and Kundry he goes to the great hall at Monsalvat. The body of Titurel is borne in, followed by Amfortas on his litter. The knights conjure him once more to reveal the Grail, but he, in desperate agony, discloses his terrible, unhealing wound, and beseeches the knights to bury their swords in it.

At this moment Parsifal, accompanied by Gurnemanz and Kundry, advances. Parsifal says solemnly that but one weapon will suffice, the spear which made the wound. With it he touches Amfortas's side, and the wound is healed. Parsifal declares the identity of the spear and holds it aloft, while all gaze upon it in rapture. Parsifal commands the pages to uncover the Grail, which he takes out and swings gently before the kneeling knights. Kundry sinks expiring to the floor. Gurnemanz and Amfortas kneel in homage to Parsifal, while from the dome above voices are heard singing, "O heavenly mercy's marvel, redemption to the redeemer!"

No other drama of Wagner shows wider departures from the original material or more condensation of it than this, the last of his works. Here, as in other dramas, he has not rested upon any one foundation, but, using the story of Wolfram as his chief guide, he has selected from other versions of the Grail legend such ideas as were in harmony with his own poetic purpose. Thus he discards Wolfram's conception of the Grail as a stone from the crown of Lucifer and goes back to the ProvenÇal idea of it as the vessel in which Joseph of Arimathea, the rich man who bought the body of Christ from Pilate, received the precious blood from the wounds. From Wolfram he took the idea that the knights who dwell in Monsalvat, and who went forth to aid the needy in distress (as in "Lohengrin"), were fed and strengthened by the Grail itself. The significance of the bleeding spear he obtained from ChrÉtien de Troyes. Wolfram, it will be remembered, made it simply a poisoned lance, with which an unknown pagan, in the strife for the Grail, had wounded Amfortas. ChrÉtien described it as the spear with which Longinus had pierced the side of the crucified Saviour. This idea could not fail to attract Wagner, for it gave him an opportunity to strengthen the ethical basis of his drama. Amfortas, yielding to the seductions of Kundry, the temptress, becomes the prey of the powers of evil, represented by Klingsor, is robbed of the sacred lance, and wounded with it. Such a wound is more than physical; it is a mortal hurt of the soul. The cure comes only through the touch of the spear itself in the hands of one who is pure. The wounded King exists in all the versions of the legend, and is always to be made whole by the expected knight, who is to ask the essential question.

But in Wagner's version the question is not asked. It has no dramatic value. As Wolzogen has well noted, for an audience a visible and symbolic act is far more effective; and so, instead of hearing Parsifal say, as in Wolfram's epic, "What ails thee, uncle?" we see him touch the wound with the spear and bid Amfortas "be whole, forgiven, and absolved." By this simple change of the original story the conclusion of the drama is infinitely improved. But the alteration goes farther than that, for it touches the character of Parsifal. He is, in Wagner's book, the same guileless fool as he is in the original legends, but his enlightenment comes to him in another way. Wagner has subjected his hero to the temptation which in Wolfram's story is undergone by Gawain.

The psychologic plan of the garden scene is subtle, but not at all difficult of comprehension. Parsifal has known but one love; he remembers but one tenderness. The sorest spot in his conscience is that where dwells the memory of the dear mother whom he left. Kundry, acting as the agent of the evil powers, seeks to touch that spot. She awakens in her intended victim the divine spark of pity, akin to love, and then she strives to lead him onward to love itself by the imprint of a passionate kiss. But the influence of pity has enlightened the inexperienced heart of the guileless fool, and the kiss which would draw his soul from him serves but to reveal to him the nature of the sin for which Amfortas suffers. He cries out with the anguish of the very wound itself, and bids the temptress begone. This is a conception of unusual power, and for the purpose of exposition through music it is most admirable, in that it centralises the dramatic action entirely upon the play of emotion. Here we find the Wagnerian theory of the music drama working in its fullest freedom and completeness. Parsifal needs no question. He never hears of one. His awakened soul has already given him the necessary information, and when, after long and weary wanderings, he once more finds the domain of the Grail he is ready to heal the sufferer by the only means capable of performing that merciful act.

Kundry is entirely Wagner's creation. In Wolfram's story Condrie is the messenger who upbraids Parsifal for not healing the sick King, and Orgeluse is the beautiful woman who tempts Gawain. Wagner has united the two, but has created a personality of his own. According to one of the legends, Kundry was Herodias, the daughter of Herod, and had been cursed for having laughed at the head of John the Baptist on a charger. Wagner makes her a woman who had laughed at the suffering Christ and had been condemned by him to endless laughter. Thenceforward she wanders through the world in search of her redeemer. This wandering is common to heroines of the old German legends, and shows us that Kundry had certain traits in common with the Valkyrs of the Northern mythology. One of the names applied to her by Klingsor, Gundryggia, we find also in the Eddas as that of a Valkyr, and we further recognise the Valkyr nature in the union of hostile and helpful traits which was characteristic of the Choosers of the Slain.

Wagner's Kundry seeks to expiate her sin by serving the Grail, but the curse prevents her. Through it she becomes the slave of the powers of evil, represented by Klingsor, and, when under the spell, exercises her entire force in seducing the defenders of the right. Not until one of the righteous resists her can the power of the evil one be overthrown, and not till then can she be released from the burden of her sin. In other words, through resisting her, Parsifal becomes her redeemer, and it is thus natural and proper that he should baptise her, and that in the scene of the baptism the laughter-cursed woman should receive the blessing of tears.

The relation of Kundry and Parsifal as temptress and tempted was one which had long dwelt in Wagner's mind. When in 1852 he revived the idea, conceived in 1849, of writing a drama on incidents in the life of Jesus, he told Mrs. Wille, his Zurich friend, that he thought of showing Christ as beloved by Mary Magdalene and resisting her. Again in "The Victors," the Buddhistic drama, which he only sketched, we find that Ananda, the hero, renounced love and was perfectly pure, while Prakriti, the heroine, after loving him in vain, herself renounced love and was received by him into the true faith. It was with these plans still in his mind that Wagner developed the suggestions of the original sources of his drama into the wonderful scene of the temptation in "Parsifal," and their influence also was potent in the composition of the character of Kundry. Mr. Kufferath, in his interesting study of "Parsifal," says that Kundry was to Wagner's mind simply another incarnation of the eternal woman, of whom Mary and Prakriti were earlier embodiments. And, indeed, the extraordinary capacity of Kundry's nature makes this theory more than merely plausible. Another fact which adds to the value of Mr. Kufferath's idea is that, according to one of the earlier German legends, the real cause of the enmity of Herodias for John the Baptist was his refusal of her love. When the head was presented to her on a charger, she wished to kiss the dead lips, but from them was breathed upon her a blast of breath so fierce that it sent her wandering through the world as the unfortunate Francesca flew through the Inferno forever. This stormy wandering was a peculiarity of the Valkyrs, and thus with the union of so many elements in the history and nature of Kundry, we come easily to a belief that Wagner intended to make her one of the aspects of the "eternal feminine." Beautifully he gives her rest when the same blessing is conferred upon the man whose life she ruined. She has repented, but till her victim is freed from the consequences of the joint sin, she, too, must suffer her punishment.

In the character of Parsifal himself certain traits are accentuated by Wagner. These are the complete innocence and the compassionate nature. With compassion Wagner had a deep sympathy. He was so tender to dumb animals and to animate creatures in general that he felt readily the essence of pity which plays so important a part in the old legends. But the older Parsifals, when on their travels, were warriors; they fought their way through life, felling ruthlessly all who opposed them. Wagner's Parsifal is all tenderness and pity. Here, again, we meet with the powerful influence on Wagner of Schopenhauer. Enlightenment by pity is the ethical principle of Schopenhauer's philosophy. Something, too, must be attributed to Wagner's interest in religion. Liszt, an emotionalist in worship, inspired Wagner with emotionalism in sacred matters, and we may infer that certain rapt states of mind, not uncommon to thinkers of the hysteric sort, worked in the formation of "Parsifal."

For the rest there is little to say. Gurnemanz combines the persons and acts of the Gurnemanz and Trevrezent of the epics. Klingsor follows the outline provided by the earlier stories, but Wagner has added one feature not found in them. This magician, with his soul tainted with some unknown sin, was unable to slay the lust which ever burned in his bosom, and in order that he might win the Grail he mutilated himself. Here we come upon another resemblance between this story and that of the Nibelung hoard. To win the gold Alberich renounced love. We have already seen how the Grail resembles the hoard, and this incident in the life of Klingsor, added by Wagner, brings the two stories even closer together.

In telling the story, Wagner has pushed to the front all the most beautiful elements, and has accentuated the Christianity of the tale. He has preached a sermon on the necessity of personal purity in the service of God, on the beauty of renunciation of sensual delight, on the depth of the curse of self-indulgence, and on the nature of repentance. But let it not be supposed that the influence of "Parsifal" rests wholly on the ethical truths contained in it. Its real power is in Wagner's perception of the emotional force of the action of certain ethical ideas upon human nature. By centralising the action of his drama on these emotions, he has put before us a tremendous play of the inner life of man's soul when struggling with its most formidable problems, its own most irresistible passions. "Parsifal" is a religious drama, but it is one for the same reason that the "Prometheus" of Æschylus was. It is a problem play also, and for the same reason as any modern French social drama is. Its boldness lies in the fact that it readopts the stage as the medium for the publication of tenets of religious belief and for the exhibition of the naked soul besieged by lust and tried by the moral law. That use was common in the time of the Greek tragedians. It is an exemplification of Wagner's theory that the theatre ought to be an artistic expression of the thoughts and the aspirations of a people. Its moving power lies in its grasp on the secret life of every man and woman who goes to witness its performance.

III.—The Musical Plan

The musical plan of "Parsifal" is one of peculiar power and its outward aspects are of great beauty. The first act is almost wholly devoted to an exposition of the fundamental thoughts of the drama. We are introduced to the realm of the Grail, the suffering of Amfortas, the eagerness of Kundry to serve and her enslavement to the will of Klingsor, to the "guileless fool" and his failure to ask the question, and to the solemn ceremony of the Last Supper. The second act is devoted to a presentation of the working of the evil element. Klingsor through his flower-maidens strives to seduce the guileless fool, who is saved largely by his own guilelessness. Here we have all the most sensuous and freely composed music. The first act teems with the fundamental and significant motives of the score. The second is rich in luscious melody, spontaneous, dance-like in form and colour, and asking of the hearer nothing but self-relaxation. The third act again becomes solemn, but in its first scene the solemnity is charged with the deep and quiet joy of Good Friday. With the return to the castle of the Grail, the fundamental motives are once more brought into action and the development of themes reaches its climax.

The prelude to the drama sets forth some of the principal musical ideas and attunes the mind to the key of the first act. It opens with the solemn strains of the theme of the Last Supper.

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