Read Ebook: Parsifal A Mystical Drama by Richard Wagner Retold in the Spirit of the Bayreuth Interpretation by Huckel Oliver Wagner Richard

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FOREWORD

PART I The Coming of Parsifal

PART II The Tempting of Parsifal

Parsifal in Quest of the Holy Grail

Monsalvat, the Castle of the Grail

The Communion of the Holy Grail

Parsifal healing King Amfortas

Parsifal revealing the Holy Grail

ILLUSTRATED BY FRANZ STASSEN

FOREWORD

The Parsifal of Richard Wagner was not only the last and loftiest work of his genius, but it is also one of the few great dramas of modern times,--a drama which unfolds striking and impressive spiritual teachings. Indeed, Parsifal may be called Richard Wagner's great confession of faith. He takes the legend of the Holy Grail, and uses it to portray wonderfully and thrillingly the Christian truths of the beauty, the glory, and the inspiring power of the Lord's Supper, and the infinite meaning of the redeeming love of the Cross. He reveals in this drama by poetry and music, and with a marvellous breadth and depth of spiritual conception, this theme : "The founder of the Christian religion was not wise: He was divine. To believe in Him is to imitate Him and to seek union with Him.... In consequence of His atoning death, everything which lives and breathes may know itself redeemed.... Only love rooted in sympathy and expressed in action to the point of a complete destruction of self-will, is Christian love."

The criticism has sometimes been made that the basic religious idea of Parsifal is Buddhistic rather than Christian; that it is taken directly from the philosophy of Schopenhauer, who was perhaps as nearly a Buddhist as was possible for an Occidental mind to be; that the dominating idea in Parsifal is compassion as the essence of sanctity, and that Wagner has merely clothed this fundamental Buddhistic idea with the externals of Christian form and symbolism. This criticism is ingenious. It may also suggest that all great religions in their essence have much which is akin. But no one who reads carefully Wagner's own letters during the time that he was brooding over his Parsifal can doubt that he was trying in this drama to express in broadest and deepest way the essentials of Christian truth. Christianity has no need to go to Buddhism to find such a fundamental conception as that of an infinite compassion as a revelation of God.

The legend of the Grail, as Wagner uses it, has in it the usual accompaniments of mediaeval tradition,--something of paganism and magic. But these pagan elements are only contrasts to the purity and splendor of the simple Christian truth portrayed. The drama suggests the early miracle and mystery plays of the Christian Church; but more nearly, perhaps, it reminds one of those great religious dramas, scenic and musical, which were given at night at Eleusis, near Athens, in the temple of the Mysteries, before the initiated ones among the Greeks in the days of Pericles and Plato. Here at Bayreuth the mystic drama is given before its thousands of devout pilgrims and music-lovers who gather to the little town as to a sacred spot from all parts of the world,--from Russia, Italy, France, England, and America,--and who enter into the spirit of this noble drama and feast of music as if it were a religious festival in a temple of divine mysteries.

The mere translations of the words of Parsifal, as given in the English texts of H. and F. Corder and M.H. Glyn, do not adequately represent the full value of the drama. Those versions were under the necessity of a strictly literal translation, which was further hampered in order to make the English words fit the music, and the result was far from satisfactory. The literal translation also unfortunately over-emphasizes certain parts and phrases in the drama which are somewhat harsh, but which at Bayreuth become much modified and refined, and are, therefore, so represented in this version.

It may also be interesting to note that the present version was planned ten years ago on a first visit to Bayreuth. Critical work on the German text and in the literature of the Parsifal legends was done later during two years at the universities of Berlin and Oxford. But the actual work of this translation and interpretation was done in the summer of 1902 at Bayreuth, and in part at Nuremberg and Munich. It may also be stated that this version is issued with the kind permission of Messrs. Schott and Company of London, the owners of the copyright of Wagner's words and music.

The music of Parsifal has been so often described and analyzed in critical papers that it is not necessary here to speak of it in detail. This word, however, may be in place. The marvellous music at Bayreuth helped in every way in the interpretation of the drama. Every part and phase of the thought and movement were brought forth in the various musical motives, adding emphasis and beauty and intensity of feeling. Now the music would whisper of the wondrous grace of the holy sacrament, or of the sweet beauty of God's world, clothed in the radiance of Good Friday; now it would reveal the sorrows of the gentle Herzeleide, or the awful anguish of Amfortas, or the deep rumblings of Klingsor's black art, or the fascinating music of the flower-maidens. Often came the pure tones that told of the guileless One, or the strong chords of mighty faith, or the ebb and swell of mystic bells, or the glory of the sacred Spear. Now came the regal blasts for Parsifal, and often and through it all, the splendid music of the Grail itself. The music was like a fragrant atmosphere to the drama, softening and refining what was harsh, giving a needed stress here and there, and investing the whole story with a subtle and uplifting charm.

The drama of Parsifal teaches its own great lessons of life. Yet one or two suggestions of interpretation may not be amiss, for it is confessedly one of the most mystical of modern dramas. It may perchance be considered as representing the strife between paganism and Christianity in the early centuries of the Church,--the powers of magic and the hot passions of the human heart contending against the advancing power of Christian truth and the victorious might of Purity as portrayed in the guileless hero. Or it may be considered as representing in a mystic legend the spiritual history of Christ coming in later presence among the sons of men and imaged in the mystic Parsifal. Wagner mentions that this Scripture was often in his mind when writing Parsifal--"Hath not God made foolish the wisdom of this world? The foolishness of God is wiser than men; and the weakness of God is stronger than men." Or this, further, it may represent, in striking and inspiring way,--that the pure in heart shall win the victories in life; that the guileless are the valiant sons of God; that the heart that resists evil passion and is touched by pity for the world's woe is the heart that reincarnates the passionate purity of the Christ and can reveal again the healing power, the Holy Grail of God.

Those who desire to study further the mystical and spiritual meanings will find much helpful suggestion in such books as The Argument and Mystery of Parsifal, by Charles T. Gatty, F.S.A. ; A Study of Parsifal, by Alfred Gurney, M.A. ; Parsifal,--the Finding of Christ through Art, by A.R. Parsons ; or My Musical Memories, by Rev. H.R. Haweis .

It may be some time before the real Parsifal as given at Bayreuth is fully appreciated by the English-speaking public, although shortly the special conditions which have hitherto reserved its production to Bayreuth alone will be released, and the great drama will be heard in other musical centres. This version is intended to be a vivid reminder of the drama to those who have seen it at Bayreuth, and also to give to those who have not seen it a fuller glimpse of the majestic story than has hitherto been possible to find in English. The genius of Wagner as a musician has so far overshadowed all else, that his genius as a poet and as an exquisite reteller of the old legends has not been fully appreciated.

Galahad, as Tennyson portrays him, will always hold the first place with English readers as the ideal knight of the Holy Grail. The matchless diction of Tennyson has given the less perfect form of the legend a supreme charm and beauty. But Wolfram von Eschenbach's Parsifal, as spiritualized and humanized in Wagner's lyric drama, will be seen to be in fuller accord with the whole cycle and development of the Grail legends, and at the same time gives the nobler story. It is a consummate parable of the contending passions and the heavenly aspiration, the ineffable pity and the mystic glory, of the human heart. It portrays an intensely human and heroic life, imaginatively identified with that of the very Christ.

"However mediaeval the language and symbolism of Parsifal may be," says a modern critic, "one cannot but acknowledge the simplicity and power of the story. Its spiritual significance is universal. Whatever more it may mean, we see clearly that the guileless knight is Purity, Kundry is the Wickedness of the world expressed in its most enticing form, and King Amfortas suffering with his open wound is Humanity. One cannot read the drama without a thrill, without a clutching at the heart, at its marvellous meaning, its uplifting and ennobling lessons."

O.H.

Baltimore, Maryland, January 7th, 1903.

PARSIFAL. PART I

THE COMING OF PARSIFAL

Within a noble stretch of mountain woods, Primeval forest, deep and dark and grand, There rose a glorious castle towering high,-- And at its foot a smiling, shimmering lake Lay in the still lap of a verdant glade. 'T was daybreak, and the arrows of the dawn Were shot in golden glory through the trees, And from the castle came a trumpet blast To waken life in all the slumbering host,-- Warriors and yeomen in the castle halls.

And at the trumpet Gurnemanz rose up,-- Ancient and faithful servant of the Grail,-- Who sleeping lay under a spreading oak, And called aloud to two youths sleeping yet: "Hey! ho! ye foresters, loving the woods, Loving your sleep as well. Wake with the day! Hear ye the trumpet! Come, let us thank God That we have power to hear the call of life, And power to answer as the duty calls!" And up they started, knelt in prayer with him, And offered unto God their morning praise.

Then Gurnemanz: "Up now, my gallant youths, Prepare the royal bath, and wait the King!... Behold, his litter now is coming forth, I see the heralds coming on before.... Hail, royal heralds! Hail and welcome both! How fares my Lord Amfortas' health to-day? I hope his early coming to the bath Doth presage nothing worse. I fain had thought The healing herb that Sir Gawain had found With wisest skill and bravest deed might bring Some quick and sure relief unto the King."

To whom the herald-knight did make reply: "Thou knowest all of this dread secret wound,-- The shame, the sorrow, and the depth of it, Its evil cause and the dark curse upon it,-- And yet forsooth thou seemest still to hope?... The healing herb no soothing brought, nor peace. All night the sleepless King has tossed in pain, Longing for morning and the cooling bath."

Then Gurnemanz, downcast and saddened, said: "Yea, it is useless, hoping thus to ease The pain unless we use the one sure cure,-- Naught else avails although we search the world. Only one healer and one healing thing Can staunch the gaping wound and save the King."

And eagerly the herald asked: "What cure is this, And who the healer that can save the King?"

But Gurnemanz quick answered: "See the bath Is needing thee, for here doth come the King!"

But as he spake, e'er yet the King appeared, Another herald, looking far away, Beheld a woman coming, riding wild, And quick exclaimed: "See there, a flying witch! Ha! how the devil's mare is racing fast With madly flying mane! Nearer she comes!... 'Tis Kundry, wretched Kundry, mad old Kundry-- Perhaps she brings us urgent news? Who knows? The mare is staggering with weariness,-- No wonder, for its flight was through the air,-- But now it nears the ground, and seems to brush The moss with sweeping mane. And now, look ye! The wild witch flings herself from off the mare And rushes toward us!"

And Kundry came, Her dark eyes flashing wildly, piercing bright; Her black hair loose; her rude garb looser still, Yet partly bound with glittering skins of snakes; And panting, staggering ran to Gurnemanz, And thrust into his hands a crystal flask With the scant whisper, "Balsam--for the King!" And on his asking, "Whence this healing balm?" She answered: "Farther than thy thought can guess. For if this balsam fail, then Araby Hath nothing further for the King's relief. Ask me no further. I am weak and worn."

And now the litter of the King drew near, Attended by a retinue of knights. High on the couch the King Amfortas lay, His pale face lined with suffering and care; And looking toward the King, then Gurnemanz Spake with his own sad heart: "He comes, my King,-- A helpless burden to his servitors. Alas, alas! That these mine eyes should see The sovereign of a strong and noble race, Now in the very flower and prime of life, Brought low, and made a bounden slave Unto a shameful and a stubborn sickness!... Ye servitors, be careful of this couch! Careful! Set down the litter tenderly! I hear the King, our Master, groan in pain."

Then they set down the couch, and soon the King, Raising himself a little, spake to them: "My loving thanks, sir knights. Rest here awhile. How sweet this morning and these fragrant woods To one who tossed the weary night in pain. And this pure lake with all its freshening waves Will lighten pain and brighten my dark woe. Where is my dear Gawain?"

And one spake up: "My Lord Gawain has hasted quick away. For when the healing herb that he had brought After such daring toils, did disappoint, Then he set forth upon another quest."

And Gurnemanz: "So thou hast said to us."

Then Gurnemanz to ease the King's sad thoughts Held forth the crystal flask with soothing words: "Nay, nay, my King. Essay once more a cure,-- A balsam brought for thee from Araby."

And the King asked: "Whence came this balsam flask, So strange in form, and who has brought it here?"

And Gurnemanz: "There lies the woman now! The wild-eyed Kundry, weak and weary-worn, As if the journey sapped her very life.... Up, Kundry! Here's his majesty the King!"

But Kundry would not rise, or could not else.

Then spake the King: "O Kundry, restless, strange, Am I again thy debtor for such help? Yet I will try thy balsam for my wound, And for thy service take my grateful thanks."

But Kundry muttered: "Give no thanks to me. What will it help,--or this, or e'en the bath? And yet, away, I say! On to the bath!" Then the King left her, lying on the ground, And off he moved upon the couch of pain, Longing to bathe him in the shining lake, Hoping against all hope to ease his soul, And quiet in his body the fierce pains.

And one spake up: "Why lies that woman there,-- A foul and snarling thing on holy ground? Methinks her healing balm is witching drug To work a further poison in the King.... She hates us! See her now! How hellishly She looks at us with hot and spiteful eyes! She is a heathen witch and sorceress!"

But Gurnemanz, who knew her well, replied: "What harm has ever come to you from her? And oft she serves us in the kindliest ways. For when we want a messenger to send To distant lands where warrior-knights in fight Are serving God, she quick takes up the task; Before you scarcely know is gone and back. A marvel is her wondrous speed of flight. Nor does she ask your help at any time, Nor tire you with her presence, nor her words. But in the hour of danger, she is near,-- Inspiring by her brave and fiery zeal, Nor asking of you all one word of thanks. Methinks a curse may still be on her life,-- She is so wild and strange, so sad her very eyes. But now, whate'er the past, she is with us, And serves us to atone for earlier guilt. Perchance her work may shrive her of her sins. Surely she does full well to serve us well, And in the serving-help herself and us."

Then spake again a knight: "Perchance her guilt It was, that brought calamity on all our land."

But Gurnemanz: "My thought of her goes far In memory to days and years long past. And it was always when she was away And we alone, that sudden mishap fell. This I have seen through many, many years. The ag?d King, our Titurel beloved, He knew her well for many years beyond. 'Twas he who found her sleeping in these woods, All stiff and rigid, pale and seeming dead, When he was building yonder castle-towers. And so did I myself, in recent days, Find her asleep and rigid in the woods,-- 'Twas when calamity on us had come So evil and so shameful from our foe,-- That dread magician of the mountain heights. Say, Kundry, wake and answer me this word? Where hadst thou been in those dark evil days,-- At home, afar, awake or fast asleep,-- When our good King did lose the holy Spear? Why were you not at hand to give us help?"

And Kundry muttered: "Never do I help!" Then said a knight: "O brother Gurnemanz, If she is now so true in serving us, And if she does such strange and wondrous deeds, Then send her for the missing holy Spear For which the King and all the land are fain."

Then the young knights who listened to the tale Upstarted with the cry: "God give us grace To wrest that sacred Spear from impious hands!"

And as the knights repeated these weird words,-- There came wild cries and shouting from the lake: "Shame! shame! alas, the shame to shoot the swan!" And as they looked, a wild swan came in sight; It floated feebly o'er the flurried lake And strove to fly, but wounded fluttered down And sank upon the lake-shore, and was dead. And Gurnemanz cried out: "Who shot the swan? The King had hailed it as a happy sign, Whene'er a swan came near him in its flight For since the earliest ages has this bird Meant hope and health and holiness to men.-- Who dared to do this dastard deed of shame?"

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