Parsifal | Page 2

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?
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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 the stream of pilgrims, some in carriages, others on foot. As we approach, a clear blast of trombones and brass from the terrace in front of the grand entrance plays out the Grail "motive." It is the well-known signal--there is no time to be lost. I enter at the prescribed door, and find myself close to my appointed place. Every one--such is the