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

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 227 lines and 19153 words, and 5 pages

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?"

Then came a knight leading a guileless boy And said: "This is the one who shot the swan,-- And here more arrows like the cruel shaft That hides itself within the bleeding breast."

But the boy answered: "Yea, it was my shot. I shot the swan in flight when high in air."

Then was the young boy stricken with remorse, And drew his hand across his moistened eyes, As if new pity dawned within his soul; Then quickly snatching up his strong arched bow, He broke it, and his arrows flung away. And clutching at his breast as if in pain He stood a time in conscious agony,-- Deep feeling surging through his stricken heart; And then he turned again to Gurnemanz With the brave words: "I did not understand What evil I was doing with my bow."

"Whence art thou?" Gurnemanz did ask of him; And dazed he answered: "That I do not know." "But who thy father?"--"That I do not know." "Who sent thee here?"--"I do not know e'en that." Then Gurnemanz: "Yet tell me but thy name."

And in a strange and dazed way he replied: "Once I had many. Now, I do not know." And Gurnemanz spake sharply, half in wrath, "Thou knowest nothing. Such a guileless soul,-- So wisely foolish, and so foolish wise,-- A very child in heart, yet strangely strong, Ne'er have I found, except in Kundry here.... Come, brother-knights, lift up the stricken swan And bear it on these branches to the lake; Nor speak of this sad sorrow to the King To further grieve his deep-afflicted heart Stricken the King and wounded to his death, This omen he may dwell on to his hurt."

And back unto the King's bath went the knights, While Gurnemanz spake further to the lad: "Speak out thy heart to me. I am thy friend. Surely thou knowest much that thou canst say."

Then spake the boy and told him of his life: "I have a mother,--Heartsrue is she called. And on the barren moorland is our home. My bow and arrows have I made myself To scare the eagles in the forest wilds."

Then Gurnemanz: "Yea, thou hast told me true, For thou thyself art of the eagle brood. I see a something kingly in thy look. Yet better had thy mother taught thy hands To spear and sword than this unmanly bow."

Whereat the wild witch Kundry raised herself From where she lay along the bosky woods, And hoarsely broke in: "Yea, his noble sire Was Gamuret, in battle slain and lost A month before his child had seen the light. And so to save her son from such a death, The lonely mother reared him in the woods, And taught him nothing of the spear and sword, But kept him ever as a guileless child."

Then spake the lad: "And once I saw a host Of men pass by the borders of the wood, A-glitter in the sun, and riding fast On splendid creatures, prancing as they went. Oh, I would fain have been like these fair men. But, laughing gaily, on they galloped fast And I ran after them to be like them, And join the glittering host and see the world. But though I ran, they faded from my sight Yet have I followed, over hill and dale. Day after day I follow on their track, And here I am as now you see me here. My bow has done me service on the way Against wild beasts and savage-seeming men."

And Kundry added: "Yea, the fiery boy Has sent a terror into many hearts-- The wicked always fear the nobly good." Then asked the boy in sweetest innocence: "And who are wicked, tell me, and who good?"

And Kundry spake: "Thy mother, she was good. She grieved for thee, but now she grieves no more. For as I lately rode along that way Coming with haste from far Arabia, I saw her dying, and she spake to me, And sent her blessing to her darling boy."

At which the boy with sudden childish rage: "My mother dead! and sent a grace by thee,-- Thou liest, woman! Take thy false words back!" And still impetuous and unreasoning, Fighting the facts of life in rebel mood , He seized her, struggling with a furious might To make her unsay what her lips had told. Perhaps he might have harmed her in his wrath, Had not the ag?d Gurnemanz come near, And drawn him back, with the sharp-spoken words: "Impetuous child, restrain thy violence! This woman harms thee not. She speaks the truth! Kundry has seen it, for she never lies."

And at the word, the lad grew calm again, And silent stood with still and stony stare, Until his heart broke out in woe afresh , And he was seized with trembling, and he swooned.

Then Kundry, bearing naught of hate or spite, Ran to a pebbly brook that flowed near by, And brought cold water in an ancient horn, Sprinkled the lad, and gave him some to drink.

And Gurnemanz, with kindly look at her, Spake out: "Thy deed is worthy of the Grail,-- A cup of water fails not of reward; And sin is conquered by the deeds of good."

But Kundry muttered still: "I do no good!" Then in still lower tone to her own self: "I do no good, I only long for rest. O weary me! Would I might never wake! Yet dare I sleep? It means calamity To those whom I in vain have tried to serve. Resist I cannot! Yea, the time has come! I feel the awful spell upon mine eyes,-- Slumber I must! Slave of that evil one Who wields his black art from the mountain height. Sleep, sleep, to sleep! I must! I must! I must!" With this she crept away and laid her down Within a thicket of the forest woods.

Meanwhile the litter of the King came back With all its retinue of gallant knights. And Gurnemanz held up the tottering lad, Still sorrowing at the sad news come to him, And slowly led him toward the castle gate, While softly speaking to him graciously: "See how our King Amfortas from the bath Is carried by his loving servitors. The sun is rising high. The time has come When we shall celebrate our holy Feast. There will I lead thee. If thy heart be pure, The Grail will be to thee as food and drink." Then asked the lad: "What is this thing, the Grail?"

And Gurnemanz: "I may not tell thee that, But if to serve it thou art surely called, Then shalt thou know its meaning to the full. Somehow I feel and hope that thou shalt know, Else what has led thy footsteps to this height. Yet no one sees the glory of the Grail Save those to whom it shall reveal itself."

Then on they moved, and softly spake the lad: "I scarcely move, and yet I seem to run,-- What is the meaning of this strange new thing?"

And Gurnemanz made answer: "Here, my child, There is no space and time, but all is one,-- For here we breathe the atmosphere of God,-- A boundless Here and an eternal Now."

Then on they went, and soon were lost to view Within the gateway of a rocky cliff; Sometimes came glimpses of them as they climbed The sloping passages within the cliff-- A cloistered corridor of carven columns-- And paused a moment at some rocky window To see the grandeur of the mountain heights. The soft notes of a trumpet called them up, And silver bells were chiming melodies.

At length they reached the noble pillared hall Within the castle of the Holy Grail, For here the sacred feast was always kept,-- And here were gathering the bless?d knights. Clothed were they all in tunics of gray-blue,-- The color of the softened light of heaven,-- With mantles of pale scarlet, flowing free,-- The very tincture of the blood they served,-- And on the mantles snow-white soaring doves, The symbol of the Holy Spirit's gift. And with a solemn joy they took their place Along the tables of communing love; The while from the great vaulted dome above Came ever-growing sound of chiming bells.

Then spellbound stood the lad and gazed around, Amazed at all the glory of the hall, And all the solemn splendor of the scene, Till Gurnemanz stooped down and whispered low: "Now give good heed, and if thy heart be pure, And thou art called, then surely thou shalt know."

Then sang the knights this chorus soft and slow; "O holy feast of blessing, Our portion day by day; In thee God's grace possessing, That passeth not away. Who doth the right and true, Here findeth strength anew; This cup his hand may lift, And claim God's holiest gift."

And from the topmost of the glorious dome A chorus of fresh boyish voices came: "The faith doth live! The Lord doth give The Dove, His sacred token! Drink at this board The wine outpoured, And eat the bread here broken!"

And as they sang their sweet antiphonies, A long procession through the splendid hall Wended slow way, and bearing in the King, The suffering Amfortas in his pain, Still lying listless on his royal couch. Before him walked a company of boys Clothed in pale blue, and bearing high aloft A mystic shrine in cloth of deepest crimson, To signify the royal blood beneath. And others followed bearing silver flagons With wine, and baskets of the finest bread. Slowly the King was carried to a couch Within the midst, high-raised and canopied, And just before him, of a pure white stone, Traced with faint figures of the passion-flower, Stood the communion table where was placed The sacred shrine, still covered, of the Grail.

And when the hymns were ended, and the knights Had taken their set places at the board, Then there was silence. And from far away, As if from some deep cavern of a tomb, Behind the couch where King Amfortas lay The muffled voice of ag?d Titurel Spake with long silences between the words: "My son Amfortas, art thou at thy post?... Wilt thou unveil the Grail and bid me live?... Or must I die, denied the saving vision?"

And King Amfortas cried in desperate pain: "O woe is me to bear the burning wound That shames me in the office of the Grail! O father, do thou take the sacred trust And let thy holy hands reveal the Grail Once more, and live! And let me quickly die!"

But answered him the ag?d Titurel: "Nay, nay, too feeble I to serve again. I live entombed with but a breath of life, Saved by the remnant of the grace of God. My strength all gone, but my poor yearning heart Still eager for the vision of the Grail; For this alone can bring me comfort now. Thine is the office. O unveil the Grail! For serving faithfully thou mayst atone For all the grievous sin of thy sad life."

But quickly King Amfortas stopped the knights Who went to do his bidding at the shrine: "Nay, leave the Holy Cup still unrevealed! God grant that none of you may ever know The torment that this vision brings to me Which brings to you all rapture and all joy. Here do I stand in office, yet accurst,-- My heart of lust to guard God's holiest gift, And plead in prayer from lips all stained with sin,-- Pleading for you who purer are than I! O direst judgment from the God of grace! My inmost soul doth long for His forgiveness, I yearn for sign of His compassion, Yet cannot bear His mercy in the Grail.... But now the hour is nigh! I seem to see A ray of glory fall upon the Cup! The veil is raised! The sacred stream that flows Within the crystal, gloriously shines With radiance heaven-born. But as it glows, I feel the well-spring of the blood divine Pouring in floods into my anguished heart. And then the full tide of my sinful blood Ebbs out in tumult wild through this deep wound Here in my side. It leaps in bounds of pain, Like torments of the lowest depths of hell,-- Through this deep wound. Like His own wound it is, Thrust through with bitter stroke of that same Spear, And in the self-same place from which His tears Of burning blood wept over man's disgrace In holiest pity and divinest love; And now from me, the highest office holding And charged with holiest trust of God's good grace,-- From me the hot, impassioned blood is surging, Renewed again by that first awful sin. Alas, no deep repentance e'er can save A sinner dyed in sins so scarlet red. Naught can avail, but only one sure thing, The healing touch of that thrice-sacred Spear, Held in the pure hand of the guileless One. Have mercy, O have mercy, pitying God! Take back my birthright in the sacred trust! Take back my life and all I hold most dear! But give me healing, and Thy tender love,-- And let me die, and come to Thee pure-hearted!"

Then softly all the knights cried: "'Tis God's will That thou shouldst wait in suffering, yet hope.... Fulfil thy duty: and reveal the Grail!"

While deep the voice of ag?d Titurel: "Unveil the Grail! Sir knights, unveil the Grail!"

Then they took off the cloth all purple-red, And slowly brought to light the golden shrine, And from it took the antique crystal Cup,-- Forever cherished as the Holy Grail,-- And set it on the table near the King, Who writhed in silent anguish on his couch.

Then ag?d Titurel: "The blessing now!"

And King Amfortas bowed in silent prayer Before the Cup, while an increasing gloom Spread through the room, and from the lofty dome The voices of the boys sang soft and low:

"Take ye, and drink My blood, In vow no death can sever! Take ye, My body eat, In love to live forever! Remember ye My life and love, And raise your hearts to Me above!"

And as the verse was ended, came a ray Of dazzling light upon the crystal Cup, And filled it with a radiant purple glory. And with it came a streaming splendor down That flashed a lustrous beauty all around. And King Amfortas, with a brightening face, Upraised the Holy Grail, and gently waved Its glory to all sides. And all did kneel, And raised their eyes in joyous reverence Toward that bright glory in the darkened room.

And once again the ag?d Titurel's voice: "O rapturous vision of the grace of God!"

Then King Amfortas placed the Cup again Upon the altar-table of the shrine, And it was covered with the crimson cloth. And from the silver flagons of the wine And from the baskets of the sacred bread, New consecrated by the Grail's own light, Each knight received his portion gratefully, And all sat down to eat the feast divine. Then Gurnemanz did beckon to the lad To come and eat. But he was all amazed, And silent stood, nor heeded the kind word.

While from the height, boys' voices came again:

"Wine and bread of consecration, Once the Lord for our salvation Changed for love and pity's sake To the blood which He did shed, To the body which He brake."

And answering them, the younger knights replied In sweet antiphony amid the feast: "Blood and body, gift of blessing, Now He gives for your refreshing, Changes by His spirit true To the wine for you outpoured, To the bread that strengthens you."

And still in answer did the knights respond, One group in joyous answer to the other:

"Take ye the bread, Change it again, Your powers of life inspiring; Do as He said, Quit you like men, To work out the Lord's desiring.

"Take of the wine, Change it anew To life's impetuous torrent; This be the sign, Faithful and true,-- To fight as duty shall warrant!"

Then all the knights, with rapture in their hearts, Rose joyfully and clasped each other's hands And gave each other the blest kiss of peace, And from their lips and from the dome's great height, And from the younger knights the chorus broke: "Bless?d believing! Bless?d the loving! Bless?d the loving! Bless?d believing!"

PARSIFAL. PART II

THE TEMPTING OF PARSIFAL

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."

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet