Klingsor the dread magician plied his arts
And worked in shame his dastardly black deeds,
Within the inner keep of a great tower,—
The watch-tower of the grim and frowning castle.
Here in a dark and dismal rocky room,
Where Heaven's light could scarcely find a way,
And where around him lay his books and tools
Of hateful magic, littering the floor,
Steadfast he looked upon a metal mirror
That told the fates to him,—then muttered low:
"The time has come! Lo, how my tower entices
The guileless lad, who cometh like a child
With happy heart, and laughter on his lips.
Come, I must work my work by her who sleeps
In heavy slumber underneath my spell;
For in the past she did my deadliest deeds."

And in the gloom he kindled incense rare,
That filled the keep with blue unearthly smoke;
And sitting at the mirror once again,
He called with mystic gestures to the depths
That yawned beneath an opening in the floor:
"Uprise! Come forth! Draw near me at my will!
Thy master calls thee, nameless wanderer,
Rose-bloom of Hell, and ancient devil-queen!
A thousand times the earth has known thy face
In many forms of woman's wiles and sins,—
Herodias wert thou in ancient time,
And once again Gundryggia wert called
In old Norse days; but thou art Kundry now,
Symbol of woman's wile and cruel craft.
Come hither, Kundry, for thy master calls!"

Then in the blue light Kundry slow appeared.
Asleep she seemed, and dreaming in her sleep,
But sudden wakened with a dreadful cry,
A shuddering cry, half laughter, half in pain.

And Klingsor spake again: "Awakest thou?
Again my spell is potent on thy life;
My will again shall use thee for my deeds."

But Kundry cried in bitter agony,
And wailed in fear and anguish at his feet;
While Klingsor asked her in deep thunder tones:
"Where hast thou wandered since I used thee last?
I know. Among the brethren of the Grail,
Who thought thee but a witch and serving-wench.
Do I not treat thee with a better grace,
And use thee for the mightiest of deeds?
Since thou didst lure for me the brave Amfortas—
Chaste guardian (they thought him) of the Grail—
Thou hast deserted my high name and service.
What better hast thou found than me and mine?"

Then Kundry cried in hoarse and broken speech:
"O dismal night and shame and wickedness!
Would I could sleep the deepest sleep of death!"

And Klingsor asked: "What has there come to thee?
Has some one else awaked thee from thy sleep?"
And trembling Kundry answered: "Even so.
And, oh, the longing to redeem my life!"

Then Klingsor: "Yea, with knights so pure in heart,
The evil Kundry would be Heaven-pure."

But Kundry answered all his mockery:
"Yea, I did serve them well and faithfully."

And Klingsor spake with a great voice of scorn:
"Thou wouldst amend the mischief thou hast done?…
They are not worth it! They are fools and weak.
I buy them all for price of one sweet sin.
The strongest was the weakest in thine arms.
And so I ruined him, and won the Spear,
And left him with the ever-burning wound.
But now to-day another must be met,—
Most dangerous because so godlike pure,
For he is shielded by a guileless heart."

And Kundry cried: "Him will I never tempt!
Thou canst not force me to the hateful deed."
But Klingsor answered: "Yea, thou shalt, thou must.
I am thy master and I have the power.
Thy charms and woes are nothing unto me.
Laugh at me, if you will. I have the power!
Yea, I remember all the days of yore,—
That once I sought the holier, happier life,
Within the service of the Holy Grail;
But it was mad ambition, desperate wish,
And thou didst quench it for me, devil's-queen,
And drown it in thy hellish arts of love.
But that is past. Now thou art but my slave.
And Titurel, who scorned me at the gates,
And all his knights with their proud King Amfortas,
Through thy dark wiles I ruined utterly.
And in my hand I hold their sacred Spear
And soon shall have their shining Holy Grail.
Remember now to use thy wiles again
As thou didst love Amfortas to his shame."

But Kundry cried: "O misery and shame!
That e'en their King should be so weak with me,
And all men weak. O hateful, hateful curse
That ruins them and me in sin together!
O for the sleep of death to end all this!"

And Klingsor then: "Perhaps thy wish is near,
For he who can defy thee, sets thee free.
Go tempt the guileless boy, and win thy wish."

But Kundry answered still: "I will not tempt him!"

Then Klingsor: "Yea, thou must! It is my will.
For this I wakened thee. And fair is he.
See, from my window I can watch him come.
He scales the ramparts like a hero born.
This trumpet I will blow and wake the guards.
Ho! warders of the gates and walls! to arms!
A foe is near!… List to the clash of swords!
How my deluded vassals swarm the walls
To guard my castle and the maidens here—
Bewitching creatures fashioned by my art!
Behold! the guileless lad is not afraid!
He fights with bold Sir Ferris, wrests a sword,
And flashes it with fury in their midst."

And as he fought, Kundry laughed loud and long,
And now she groaned in awful agony,
Then with a sudden shriek was lost to sight.

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!