Parsifal | Page 2

the
divine and the human life. In the old religions, that heightened
consciousness, that intensity of feeling produced by stimulant, was
thought to be the very entering in of the "god"--the union of the divine
and human spirit; and in the Eleusinian mysteries, the "sesame," the
bread of Demeter, the earth mother, and the "kykeon," or wine of
Dionysos, the vine god, were thus sacramental.
The passionate desire to approach and mingle with Deity is the one
mystic bond common to all religions in all lands. It is the "cry of the
human;" it traverses the ages, it exhausts many symbols and transcends
all forms.
To the Christian it is summed up in the "Lord's Supper."
The medieval legend of the Sangrail (real or royal blood) is the most
poetic and pathetic form of transubstantiation; in it the gross
materialism of the Roman Mass almost ceases to be repulsive; it
possesses the true legendary power of attraction and assimilation.
As the Knights of the Table Round, with their holy vows, provided
medieval Chivalry with a center, so did the Lord's table, with its
Sangrail, provide medieval Religion with its central attractive point.
And as all marvelous tales of knightly heroism circled round King
Arthur's table, so did the great legends embodying the Christian
conceptions of sin, punishment, and redemption circle round the
Sangrail and the sacrifice of the "Mass."
In the legends of Parsifal and Lohengrin the knightly and religious
elements are welded together. This is enough. We need approach
Parsifal with no deep knowledge of the various Sagas made use of by

Wagner in his drama. His disciples, while most eager to trace its
various elements to their sources, are most emphatic in declaring that
the Parsifal drama, so intimately true to the spirit of Roman
Catholicism, is nevertheless a new creation.
Joseph of Arimathea received in a crystal cup the blood of Christ as it
flowed from the spear-wound made by the Roman soldier. The cup and
the spear were committed to Titurel, who became a holy knight and
head of a sacred brotherhood of knights. They dwelt in the Visigoth
Mountains of Southern Spain, where, amid impenetrable forests, rose
the legendary palace of Montsalvat. Here they guarded the sacred relics,
issuing forth at times from their palatial fortress, like Lohengrin, to
fight for innocence and right, and always returning to renew their youth
and strength by the celestial contemplation of the Sangrail, and by
occasional participation in the holy feast.
Time and history count for very little in these narratives. It was allowed,
however, that Titurel the Chief had grown extremely aged, but it was
not allowed that he could die in the presence of the Sangrail. He
seemed to have been laid in a kind of trance, resting in an open tomb
beneath the altar of the Grail; and whenever the cup was uncovered his
voice might be heard joining in the celebration. Meanwhile, Amfortas,
his son, reigned in his stead.
Montsalvat, with its pure, contemplative, but active brotherhood, and
its mystic cup, thus stands out as the poetic symbol of all that is highest
and best in medieval Christianity.
The note of the wicked world--Magic for Devotion--Sensuality for
Worship--breaks in upon our vision, as the scene changes from the
Halls of Montsalvat to Klingsor's palace. Klingsor, an impure knight,
who has been refused admittance to the order of the "Sangrail," enters
into a compact with the powers of evil--by magic acquires arts of
diabolical fascination--fills his palace and gardens with enchantments,
and wages bitter war against the holy knights, with a view of corrupting
them, and ultimately, it may be, of acquiring for himself the "Sangrail,"
in which all power is believed to reside. Many knights have already
succumbed to the "insidious arts" of Klingsor; but the tragical

turning-point of the Parsifal is that Amfortas, himself the son of Titurel,
the official guardian of the Grail, in making war upon the magician,
took with him the sacred spear, and lost it to Klingsor.
It came about in this way. A woman of unearthly loveliness won him in
the enchanted bowers adjoining the evil knight's palace, and Klingsor,
seizing the holy spear, thrust it into Amfortas's side, inflicting what
seemed an incurable wound. The brave knight, Gurnemanz, dragged his
master fainting from the garden, his companions of the Sangrail
covering their retreat. But, returned to Montsalvat, the unhappy king
awakes only to bewail his sin, the loss of the sacred spear, and the
ceaseless harrowing smart of an incurable wound. But who is Parsifal?
* * * * *
The smell of pine woods in July! The long avenue outside the city of
Bayreuth, that leads straight up the hill, crowned by the Wagner
Theater, a noble structure--architecturally admirable--severe, simple,
but exactly adapted to its purpose. I join