You have just read of the downfall of the gods through broken promises, and of a great hero of those early days who fell a victim to fate. And now you may like to hear of another hero who was even greater, for he was superior to every enemy and every temptation to the end. The old order of things had long since passed away. The gods were indeed dead, and men believed instead in one true God and in His beloved Son. A beautiful legend had grown out of the last days of the Christ upon earth; and this legend is the golden thread upon which is hung our present story.You remember that in the Bible account of the Last Supper, Christ took a cup and blessed the wine in it and gave it to His disciples to drink. The legend goes on to relate that Joseph of Arimathea, the man who provided a tomb for Christ, obtained the blessed cup of the sacrament, and that at the crucifixion he caught in it a few drops of blood from Christ's bleeding side.Henceforth the Cup possessed the magical power of healing all wounds and sicknesses. It brought perfect peace to its possessor; and the mere sight of it was esteemed the greatest privilege on earth. But it was rarely seen of men. Spirited away by divine power, the Holy Grail—as it was called—was shown only on rare occasions and to the noblest and most self-sacrificing among its seekers. And so its quest came to be the highest task a man could set himself, for it meant the conquering of his own baser nature first of all, and the putting aside of every selfish interest.You may have read the fine old story of the quest of King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table for this Holy Grail, and how it made them all nobler and better, although the inspiring vision was granted only to two or three. At that time it had no fixed place, and men did not know where or how to seek it. So it is no wonder that so few ever succeeded in the quest.Finally in another land a brave knight, Titurel by name, decided to devote his whole life to seeking the sacred Cup. Taking with him his son, and a small but chosen body of knights, he set forth trusting to the mercy of Heaven to favour his search. Many days he led his little band across deserts, through valleys, and over stony mountain-sides. And as they went they aided every person who crossed their path; they forsook all worldly pride; and they spoke only in kindness and humility of spirit. Night and morning, also, they prayed that they might be led to the Holy Grail.On and on they went, dusty and travel-worn and weary, but with the same brave hearts. Late one evening they stopped for the night in the shelter of a dense forest. They had travelled all day and had eaten little, but after resting a brief while something seemed to urge them forward."Rise, my brave knights," said Titurel standing stiffly upon his feet. "Rise, and let us go still farther into this wood. I feel that it is the divine will."Without murmuring they once more resumed their march, and, wonderful to relate, the farther they went the less tired they grew. A strange feeling of rest and content came over them until in a great wave of joy they all fell upon their knees and gave thanks. They felt that at last they were nearing the Holy Grail!As they knelt a great light, like noonday, shone round about them, and a voice said,"Arise, ye blessed among mankind! For your labours are rewarded and it is given to you to guard the Holy Grail. Near unto you is a mountain which shall be called Mount Salvat, and thereupon must ye build a temple. And ye shall be called the Knights of the Holy Grail."The voice ceased. The knights fell upon their faces in prayer and thanksgiving. When they arose the light had disappeared, but in each face was reflected a lofty purpose born of its glory.The next morning they went their way to Mount Salvat and there built the temple. High were its walls, with lofty arches and beautiful windows, and its fame as the most imposing temple in all the world soon went abroad. And when it was finished and they held the solemn service of dedication, a light came and glowed steadily in the crypt. While all the knights fell upon their knees, Titurel drew near and lifted a veil. There in all its beauty shone the Holy Grail!Then Titurel and the knights were filled with great joy, and they vowed eternal service to the sacred charge. They became, indeed, a sort of priesthood and forsook all other aims or desires. Daily they worshipped in the temple, and were fed from the holy altar. And if any among them became wounded or ill, the mystic fire which glowed about the Cup speedily restored them to health.For many years they kept their charge with zealous faith. Titurel their head became an old man, and Amfortas his son was appointed chief guardian of the Grail in his stead.Meanwhile, as you may suppose, many other knights were desirous of being admitted into the temple; but none save those who led pure and sincere lives were ever accepted. Among those who were rejected because they were unworthy was a powerful magician named Klingsor. When he failed to win entrance in the usual way he tried to bribe the keepers of the gates and to make use of other base methods, but without success.In his rage, Klingsor swore vengeance and devoted all his wicked arts to overthrowing the Temple of the Grail. He made a beautiful garden on the other side of the mountain, which he filled with flowers, fruits, music and dancing girls. By this means he deluded many knights who had come from afar earnestly seeking the Holy Grail, so that, almost at the goal, they forgot their quest and tarried idly in the gardens.Hearing of Klingsor's wicked arts, Amfortas was filled with righteous anger. He determined to go forth and strike down the magician with the sacred Spear, which was his high badge of office. This Spear was second only to the Grail itself in value. It was the same that had pierced the Saviour's side while He was on the cross. It gave to its bearer the power of overcoming all his enemies, so long as he was true to the faith. But Amfortas though zealous was too confident of his own strength. Going over the mountain hastily in search of Klingsor, he grew tired and thirsty; so when he came to a shady grove of fruit-trees by a splashing fountain, he did not recognise this as one of the wiles of the magician, but ate and drank, then threw himself down on the cool grass and fell asleep. The Spear was loosened from his grasp, in his slumber, and he was only awakened by a keen, smarting pain in his side. He found that he had been wounded; and as he sprang to his feet he confronted Klingsor who was waving aloft the Spear in triumph."Go back to your temple!" sneered Klingsor; "and bid the next man be not weary so soon!"In shame and sorrow Amfortas departed, knowing that he had sinned and could do nothing against the Spear now in the hands of the enemy. Earnestly he did penance in the temple and confessed his fault, but the wound in his side never healed. It gave him daily torment, and the sight of the Grail which had once brought healing seemed only to increase the pain.It had been Amfortas' duty to uncover the Grail each day at sacrament, but so dire was his suffering that he came to do it less and less frequently. The knights were very sorrowful because of these things, and they sent far and wide for healing balsams, but all remedies were powerless. Long did Amfortas kneel before the altar praying in his pain, and seeking for a word of hope from above. At length one day an added radiance glowed about the Grail, and he heard a voice saying,"By pity enlightened,My guileless one,—Wait thou for himTill my will is done!"Amfortas could not understand these words, but somehow his heart was lightened, and he thanked God that one day, be it near or far, he should find relief. The other Knights of the Grail also heard with joy of the strange message, for they did not doubt that it meant healing and peace.For many days they waited patiently and prayerfully without receiving any further sign. Amfortas strove to sustain his courage, but it was a bitter test. Daily he tried the baths and also the balms which his knights often went to much peril to obtain for him; yet the wound still showed no signs of healing, and deep gloom settled down over the temple.One day while the aged keeper of the gate was sitting, as was his wont, with his face toward the little lake which nestled in the valley, his eye was attracted by a wild swan which soared peacefully above the lake. Suddenly it turned sidewise with a wild flutter of pinions and began to fall toward the water. The keeper saw that it was wounded by an arrow, and he hastened down to the lake to see who had done the deed; for it was forbidden to harm any creature, great or small, within sight of the temple.Just as he reached the bank, the swan fell at his feet and expired, while at the same moment a youth ran up to claim his prize. He was clothed in motley animal skins, but he was strong and well knit, and with that frank look about the eye which denotes both fearlessness and innocence."Shame, shame upon you, boy, for shooting the swan!" said the old man sternly."Why, what have I done?" answered the youth. "Do not men hunt birds and beasts? Methought it was a fine thing that I struck the bird so high.""But you are now within holy ground, where 'tis sacrilege to harm any creature. And think what sorrow you have brought with your idle deed. This beautiful bird will soar in the clouds no more. It may have a mate, or perhaps little ones awaiting its coming. They will never see it again."The boy stood with downcast eyes and troubled face. "Indeed, I never thought evil," he said. And seized by a sudden impulse he broke his bow across his knee and flung his arrows away."What is your name, boy?" asked the knight."I am Parsifal," he answered simply."Whence come you?""I do not know.""Where go you?""I go to become a knight," answered the boy. "I have always wanted to be a knight.""But do you not know that great things are expected of a knight? They must do other deeds than roaming about shooting harmless swans."The boy flushed, but looked straight at the stern old man. "I know that a man must be brave and true," he said; "and that he must keep his heart pure. My father, who died long ago, was such a knight, and my mother has always taught me to be like him.""But you will have many strong trials before you can become a knight. You may have to wander all over the world and endure many hardships.""I am ready for them," answered the boy sturdily."Truly you are a guileless fellow," said the old keeper; "but I like your spirit. Would you like to witness a service in the temple and hear the choir-boys sing? Perchance you would like to be a choir-boy for awhile?""Nay, but I came to be a knight. Nathless I will hear the singing."The boy said this so calmly, that the knight was half sorry he had given the invitation; for chances to obtain entrance to the service were exceedingly rare. However, the word had been spoken and he would abide by it.They cast the dead swan into the lake and went together up the hill. Service of the sacrament was just being begun in the temple as they entered its doors. High up in the organ loft the rolling waves of music poured forth, filling every arch of the lofty building. Then the sweet voices of boys were heard chanting the refrain to which Amfortas had set music:"By pity enlightened,My guileless one,—Wait thou for himTill my will is done!"Parsifal plucked the old knight's sleeve. "What do they mean by that?" he asked."Hush. I do not know," replied the knight.Parsifal thought it strange that they should sing words no one understood, but he kept silence and looked upon the solemn service with wide-open eyes.The aged Titurel was present at the service. His days were almost numbered now, but he still had his couch conveyed into the presence of the beloved Grail when he felt strong enough. To-day he joined the other knights in urging his son Amfortas to uncover the Cup and serve the sacrament."Let me have the sacrament from out the blessed Cup once more before I die," said Titurel.Amfortas shook his head and groaned aloud."Not yet, my father! I am unworthy to uncover the Grail!"Nevertheless the feeble Titurel urged the point, and all the knights knelt with solemn upturned faces, until at last Amfortas went and unveiled the Cup and poured wine therefrom, so that all might partake. Then he fell to the floor with a shudder of pain. The old wound had broken open afresh. But Titurel and the other knights partook of the sacrament, while the choir-boys chanted responsively and the deep organ pipes thrilled all the lofty arches.The old keeper of the gate went forward and partook with the rest, while the boy Parsifal stood spellbound behind a pillar and could make no meaning of what he saw.At last the keeper came and led him forth again to the open air, and then the lad's tongue was loosed."I pray thee, why did the King fall to the floor as if in pain?" he asked."The wound in his side pained him," answered the keeper."Why doesn't it heal?""That is a long story. But the wound was made by the sacred Spear, and 'tis said that only the touch of that Spear again can make it well.""Then why does he not go and lay hold of the Spear?""It is in a powerful magician's hands.""Can no one take it from him?""No one has yet succeeded in the quest," answered the knight. "But, boy, how did you like the service of the Holy Grail?""I could make nothing of it," said Parsifal, turning as if to go."Could make nothing of it!" exclaimed the old knight. "Truly you would not be much of a choir-boy. But where are you going?""I go to seek the Spear that will heal the King," answered Parsifal.The old knight let him go without further words. He even shook his head in some impatience."Truly a guileless youth," he said to himself. "A little knocking about in the world will not hurt him. He is too foolish to do us any good here. And as to being a knight—pish!"But just then the closing words of the service came echoing through the windows, and caused the old man to start. He had heard again the mystic song,"By pity enlightenedMy guileless one!"Now Klingsor the magician had cast a spell over a poor woman so that she was obliged to obey him in all things. Usually she was old and wrinkled, and passed for a witch in the countryside. But when Klingsor waved his wand over her she became the most beautiful maiden ever seen. Kundry was her name, and she it was who had charge of the groves and flowers and music and dancing girls which had caused so many knights to turn aside before ever they reached the Temple of the Grail. Kundry, indeed, had caused Amfortas himself to sin, on the day he lost the Sacred Spear.But when the spell was removed from poor Kundry she always bitterly repented her misdeeds. She had been very sorry for Amfortas, in her wild way, and had herself brought balsam from distant lands to heal his wound, but without avail.No sooner was Parsifal on his way in search of the sacred Spear, than Klingsor was on the alert. Once more he summoned Kundry and bade her prepare the same kind of a trap for Parsifal as had lured the knights aside. But Kundry hotly protested at this. She had seen the youth and greatly liked his open face and frankness. She rebelled against doing harm to one so harmless as he."Let him pass on his way," she pleaded. "He has done no evil and is too simple to find you unaided, and even if he did, he could not take the Spear from you.""Do as I bid you!" replied the magician, angrily. "It is precisely because he is pure and innocent that I fear him. Such an one's coming has long been foretold."So Kundry had nothing to do but sadly obey.When Parsifal drew near, walking over the crest of the hill, the palace of Klingsor suddenly sank into the earth and vanished, leaving in its stead a lovely flower-garden. Presently Parsifal stopped and listened, for he heard strains of music."How sweet it sounds!" he said; "yet it seems to make the air heavy and uncomfortable. I wonder where it comes from?"Louder grew the music, and with it came the sound of girls' voices. Just then he came to the entrance of the garden, where he paused spellbound. The flowers themselves were singing to him! Each flower was in the lovely tints of a rose, lily, pansy or carnation, and out of the centre of each blossom peeped the bright eyes and laughing face of a bewitching maiden."Come!" they sang to him; "come and rest by the fountains! Come, drink nectar, and let us sing to you while you rest in the shade!""Nay," said Parsifal, simply. "I like you all, and would gladly Listen to your song; but I cannot tarry, for I am on an urgent errand.""Come!" they pleaded; and the flowers seemed to weave in and out in a wonderful dance, nodding to him and beckoning him. "Come! Only a little while! Then you will start forth rested and make better speed."Parsifal shook his head. "I cannot enter," he said, and turned to go, when another voice softer than the rest called his name."Who called me?" he asked, turning about."I called thee, lad," said the sweet voice.He looked whence it came and saw a leafy bower opened wide, and in it sat a maiden fairer than ever heart could dream. It was Kundry, the ugly old witch, transformed by the power of the magician into this glorious vision."How did you know my name?" he asked, bluntly."I knew thy mother, lad, and thy father, too. Wouldst hear of them?""Yes, yes!" he cried eagerly. "Tell me of them!""Then come within the bower and rest awhile. Here thou canst listen to the music and eat and drink and dance with these lovely flowers.""Nay, but tell me now! Why should I pause when I am not faint? No good deed was ever done by stopping on the way.""Thou art a foolish youth," said the maiden. "Why art thou in so great haste?""I seek a magician," he answered, frankly; "a magician who has stolen the sacred Spear.""Ah, I can tell thee of him!" she cried—an evil light lurking in her eyes. "Come, sit by my side, and I will tell not only of him but of thy father and mother."Parsifal turned at this, but entered the garden slowly. He knew no reason why he should not come in, and yet a great force seemed holding him back. "But how can I go on my errand," he thought, "unless I find the way?""I would hear about my mother first," he said, seating himself by the maiden's side. "Is she well?""She is well, but has mourned sadly since thou didst go away. I saw her only a few days ago, and she sent thee her love and a kiss."Here the witch leaned forward suddenly and printed a kiss upon his lips. It was intended to enchant him, but for once it failed of its effect. Parsifal sprang up as if stung by an asp."Amfortas! O Amfortas!" he cried. "I know it now! The spear-wound in your side! Ah, the anguish of it has come upon me also!""Thou art wrong," said the woman softly. "I have harmed thee not. Only stay!""Not another moment!" exclaimed Parsifal. "Your garden is evil and brings death to men's souls."He turned to go, but the witch called aloud to the magician, for she knew her power was gone. And as she called, Parsifal saw a dark, dreadful figure before him that blocked his way."Stay!" commanded Klingsor waving the sacred Spear aloft. "Those who enter my garden cannot leave it so easily!""Stand aside!" cried Parsifal. "I have done no hurt, and I fear you not!""Thou wilt fear me when thou dost feel this spear-point! 'Tis the same that undid Amfortas.""Ha! say you so? Then I have come to claim it in his name.""Take it!" shouted the magician angrily. And he threw the weapon straight at Parsifal with terrific force.But miracle of miracles! it stopped of itself midway, and floated gently round about Parsifal's head. He grasped it reverently and made the sign of the cross."In this sign, perish!" he exclaimed. "Let all your wicked magic vanish from the face of the earth!"As he uttered these words a tremendous crash was heard, followed by an earthquake. The garden, its flowers and music and running streams, were swallowed up in an instant, with all its inmates. Parsifal alone remained on solid ground.He looked about him, but could see only a trackless forest with close spreading trees that shut out the blue sky and the light of the sun. He did not know which way to turn, or where stood the Temple of the Grail. But the sacred Spear was still in his hand, and its presence seemed to bring comfort. He knelt and prayed for guidance, and as if in answer, the words of the old knight came into his memory,"You may have to wander all over the world and endure many hardships."The young Parsifal wondered at this message. It seemed to come in answer to his prayer, and yet his spirit rose in questioning, "Why should I roam over the world when the King needs me so much, and his wound is not healed?"But no other answer came, and no path led out of the forest. So he made no further questions but went his way, trusting to Heaven to guide him, and the sacred Spear to protect him. When at last he reached the borders of the wood he found himself in a strange country.Thus it was that Parsifal began his pilgrimage. Long and hard it was, yet he did not falter or complain. And always his hand was ready to help the poor or the suffering, while little children came to him gladly knowing they had found a friend.Often his path led over steep, rough mountains; again it lay in burning sands of the desert; and again it was close to treacherous quicksands or yawning pits. But steadily he pressed forward, learning many things as he went, but never parting from any of his early purity or courage.Slowly, also, the great truth of the Holy Grail dawned upon him. He heard men speak of it with reverence and longing as the dearest treasure the earth possessed. Then he realised how lightly he had thrown away his own privilege through ignorance and why the old knight at the gate had turned from him with impatience, as "guileless." With humility and prayer he resolved that he would always try to be worthy of this vision, in the hope that it would again come to him. And in moments like this, when his whole soul was stirred with anguish, he seemed to hear an inner voice saying,"Courage! The Holy Grail is not far away!"Thus years passed by, and at last Parsifal, for true and heroic service, was made a knight. Never was there a comelier. Strong and straight and graceful he stood, while his face was fair and pleasing and seemed continually to glow with an inner light. His eye was the very mirror of truth. He was, indeed, the image of that ancient ideal, a knight without fear and without reproach; and always he sought the deed that was most valorous and the duty that was most severe, hoping that his steps might be directed again to the Temple of the Grail.One night he heard the bleating of a lamb that had lost its way. Parsifal was far from shelter, and the night was stormy, yet he did not hesitate. He turned aside and sought in the darkness until he had found the little wanderer, when he wrapped it in his cloak and carried it to its mother. When he again sought his road he could not find it because of the storm. He wandered on, and presently saw that he was in the midst of a dense forest. Somehow even in the night it seemed familiar to him, and his heart gave a great leap. He felt that the Holy Grail was close at hand!Then a flash of lightning disclosed to him a little cavern, hollowed out of a rock, and he entered it for shelter during the night, with thankfulness.The next morning the sun shone bright and warm, gilding the wet leaves of the forest with radiance. Parsifal followed a shining beam of gold straight through the forest—and there before his feet lay the lake where he had shot the swan so long ago. On the hill near by stood the Temple of the Grail.Parsifal stuck the Spear upright in the soil and knelt in prayer and rejoicing that his long pilgrimage was at an end; then rose and took his steps toward the hill."I wonder if the old knight of the gates is still alive," he said to himself; "I should dearly like to see him again."No sooner had he said this, than he saw an aged man tottering feebly along, and lo! it was the keeper himself. By his side walked a woman whom Parsifal seemed to remember, but could not quite. It was Kundry the former witch of the flower-garden. After this garden was destroyed she had been released from the magician's spell, and she was now carrying water and doing other menial tasks around the temple in the hope of atoning for her past wickednesses.[image]The Castle of the Holy GrailH. ThomaBy permission of F. Bruckmann, MunichWhen the keeper saw the knight in splendid armour standing there motionless, he greeted him courteously and said,"Good-morrow, Sir Knight? Do you come seeking the Temple of the Grail? Then know that you are even now on consecrated ground, where it is forbidden to come bearing arms or with helmet closed."For answer Parsifal once more thrust his Spear into the earth, and laying aside his helmet knelt with his face toward the temple. Then the old knight remembered him."It is the youth of the swan!" he exclaimed to Kundry. "And see what he has brought back with him! The sacred Spear! O happy day on which the Spear comes home!"Then Parsifal rose to his feet, and seeing love and joy in the old man's face he opened his arms and the two embraced right gladly."All hail to thee, good friend!" cried Parsifal. "Long did I fear that I should never see thy face again.""Dost thou remember me?" asked the keeper. "Long years have passed and much grief has bent my back, since the day I let thee go forth as guileless and crack-brained.""As indeed I was," answered Parsifal, "but through failures and hardships and many trials the guileless one has been at last enlightened, even as they sang in that strange sweet song of the temple."But tell me," the young man continued, "is there not something changed about this holy place? Oft have I heard about it in my wanderings. Men told me that Mount Salvat was the abode of delight; that here the birds sang, the knights went hither and thither with joy upon their faces, and the very air was filled with the spring-time of gladness. Is it not so; or is this only an idle dream?""Itwasso," answered the old man sadly, "but dark days have come upon Mount Salvat. For pain of his wound, Amfortas has ceased entirely to serve the sacrament from the sacred Cup, and therefore are all the knights sad in their hearts. They have betaken themselves to cells like monks. The aged Titurel has died because he could no longer behold the Grail; and I am only living on in penance waiting till I can join him.""Nay, but all these things must not be!" said Parsifal. "Dost thou remember telling me, long ago, that the sacred Spear—this Spear!—would heal Amfortas of his wound? I set forth to seek it that very day. Come, let us take it into his presence!""Pray God the oracle may come true!" exclaimed the keeper joyfully. "And thou dost come at a good season, for it is the Good Friday service to-day, and Amfortas has promised to uncover the Holy Grail once again, be the cost what it may. But before we go up, thou must rest and be cleansed at this spring; and I will procure a white robe for thee."So Parsifal laved his face and his hands at the spring, while the old man went in haste for the white robe. And while he sat there, the woman came up timidly and knelt down and unfastened his sandals and washed his feet. Then Parsifal looked down and remembered her."Thou art Kundry," he said; "thou hast come a long hard way, even as I have come." He sprinkled her brow with a few drops of water from the spring. "I baptise thee into a new life," he said; "come with us this day to the temple."The tears rained down glad Kundry's face; and as she knelt there, it was transformed again into the loveliness of the maiden of the flower-garden, but purer, sweeter, and of a radiance not of earth. She was redeemed!Just then the soft chimes of the temple bells rang forth bidding them come to the service. The keeper returned with the garment which he put upon Parsifal and the three went up the path to the gates, Parsifal in the centre, bearing the sacred Spear.They had no sooner entered than the procession of knights filed by, preceded by the choir-boys who sang of the Holy Grail. Last of all came Amfortas, slowly and as if in great pain. He paused before the shrine and made as if to open it, while all the knights gathered about in reverent waiting.Suddenly he paused, clasped his hands to his side and cried out:"No! no! I cannot do it! Death is so near me, only let me die! slay me with your swords and choose another Guardian of the Grail! I cannot bear to unveil the Holy Cup! Kill me, kill me, I pray you!"His brow was wet with agony and he writhed with pain so that the knights drew back from him in terror.Just then Parsifal drew near in his flowing white robe bearing the Spear aloft."Peace, O Amfortas!" he said quietly. "Only one weapon will ease thee of that pain: it is the one that caused it."And with the sacred Spear he touched the wound; and lo! it was healed in an instant, and Amfortas' agony was changed to rapture as he knelt before the altar."Thou art forgiven," Parsifal's voice went on; "forgiven to continue in thy service of the Grail. But nevermore shalt thou be its Guardian. The words of the oracle have come true."'By pity enlightened,My guileless one,—Wait thou for himTill my will is done!'"Then Parsifal went reverently to the shrine and uncovered it, while all the knights fell on their knees and prayed, and the ransomed Kundry fell prostrate and bathed the altar steps with her happy tears. He drew forth the Holy Grail and held it aloft, and instantly a ray of dazzling light fell from above and struck within the Cup, so that it glowed with glory which flooded all the temple. And down from the lofty dome fluttered a pure white dove which hovered lightly over his head. The knights saw and understood the sign; a new Guardian of the Grail was come to them. The temple had awakened to a higher service through the stainless life of Parsifal.Let us leave them there, in that holy service before Easter, while the music rose and swelled triumphant, telling of victory over sin and death!Lohengrin the Swan Knight(Lohengrin)"Hear ye! hear ye! The King has come to Antwerp! Who fights upon the King's side?"The silvery blast of a trumpet rang out, following the clear tones of a herald's voice; and in answer a great shout arose from a multitude of throats, for all the people in this wide stretching plain were eager to follow the standard of their warlike ruler.It was in the days not long after Parsifal had come to the Temple of the Grail. The kingdom of Germany, so long a prey to warring states, had found a strong head in Henry the Fowler who protected the land from foes within and without. In times of peace it was his custom to travel from city to city holding court and listening to the grievance of everyone, great or small. In war time, he levied troops and led them in person. His visit to Antwerp, on this occasion, was for both purposes, as the Hungarians had lately declared war against him and were threatening to invade Germany.Antwerp was capital of the ancient dukedom of Brabant, and one of King Henry's chief cities. On his coming, therefore, he was greatly troubled to find the state rent with quarrels and secret discontent.The King held his court in the open air, under the spreading branches of a stately tree, called the "Oak of Justice," which stood on the bank of the winding river Scheldt. Here all the people gathered to pay him homage, and here—on the bright spring morning when our story opens—he caused the herald in brilliant livery to stand forth and blow upon a trumpet."Hear ye!" cried the herald again. "The King has come! Who fights for the King?"Then all the people answered as with one voice, and came and knelt before the throne in token of allegiance.The King's eye gladdened at the sight. "Verily," he said, "with such stout arms and loving hearts as these, we will drive the enemy into the sea!"After he had greeted many by name, and many others had been presented to him, he saw one noble who had fought with him against the Danes."Come hither, Frederick of Telramund," he commanded. "As an oft-tried friend, I have a question to ask of you. How is it that Brabant has no head, but is rent with inner quarrels?"Frederick of Telramund stepped forward and bowed low. He was a tall man, with beetling brows and deep, piercing eyes."I am thankful, my King," he began in a heavy voice and with ill-concealed excitement, "that you have seen our troubles and will lend ear to the story of them. I will tell you the truth. The former Duke of Brabant was my friend, and when he died he chose me as guardian for his children, Godfrey and Elsa. I brought them up as carefully as though they were my own, and looked forward fondly to the time when Godfrey should be duke; also—shall I confess it?—when I might win Elsa for my wife. But all these hopes were destined to fail. Elsa was a proud girl, and I fear now that she coveted the dukedom for herself, though she pretended to have great love for her brother."One day they went roaming in the woods and by the river's brink, as they often did. When night came, Elsa returned without her brother. She was pale and trembling, and when we asked her where he had gone, she would only reply by wringing her hands and sobbing. That is all the answer we have got from her, from that day to this, and we cannot help fearing that she drowned him, or laid other violent hands upon him."Of course, after this happening, I could no longer choose her hand in marriage. But I chose instead a lady whom I now wish to present to you—Ortrud, daughter of the brave King Radbod. In former times he was king over all this land; and in my wife's name I lay claim to Brabant."As he finished speaking, Frederick took his wife by the hand and led her forward. She was a very handsome woman, though almost of masculine type, and her eye had a watchful look like that of a crouching tigress. She bent her head with the grace of a queen.The King knitted his brow at the story, and looked about as though seeking someone else whom he might question. Seeing his doubt, Frederick resolved upon a bold stroke. Turning he addressed the people in a loud voice, saying,"I accuse Elsa of Brabant of the murder of her brother. If there be any here who can deny my charge, I challenge him to come forth!"No one moved, although there were mutterings here and there and sullen shakings of the head.The King rose suddenly and hung his shield upon a limb of the tree."This is the Oak of Justice!" he said, "and I promise ye that I will not depart from its shade this day, until I have made trial of this charge."This shield no longer shall I wearTill judgment is pronounced, I swear."At a signal, the herald came forward again and announced, "Now shall this cause be tried as ancient law demands!" Then he blew a loud blast upon his trumpet and called upon Elsa of Brabant to come before her King for judgment.The people had received the announcement, that the King would try the cause, with breathless eagerness. Now they parted to right and left and looked intently along the path Elsa was expected to come. They were not disappointed. After a few moments a train of ladies appeared walking slowly, two by two, toward the Oak of Justice. Among them was one dressed in pure white. Her head was uncovered, and her golden hair fell in soft curls about her shoulders. Her blue eyes had a far-away look in them, and her pale face was marked by lines that told of suffering. The lady Ortrud looked balefully at her as she came forward, but the people drew nearer to the maiden with marks of pity that showed their old love for her.The King himself was struck by this fair vision. The set look came out of his eyes, and he leaned forward and gently took her by the hand."Are you Elsa of Brabant?" he asked.The young girl bowed and wrung her hands in silence."You are accused of the murder of your brother," continued the King. "What have you to say?""Oh, my poor brother!" cried Elsa; and not another word would she answer to the charge."Speak!" said the King. "Do you not know that I must adjudge you guilty unless you confide in me?"Elsa looked up at the King and seemed to gain courage. The people gazed on the scene with stillness as of death. Elsa's voice was low but clear, and its tones were distinctly heard."When I have been in deep trouble," she said, "I have prayed to Heaven for help. It has been many times of late—O, many, many times! At last I was answered. I have had a dream, and it is such a beautiful dream that I know it must come true. A knight in glittering armour appeared in a vision and promised to be my champion whenever I should call upon him. O King, I claim him for my champion to-day!Hewill prove my innocence!"Her words answered nothing and proved nothing; yet such was her manner that the people believed in her and shouted aloud that she was guiltless. The King himself seemed to seek a pretext to let her go free; but Frederick of Telramund stepped boldly forward."A likely story this, your Majesty!" he sneered. "Dream knights never yet have done anything; and if the Lady Elsa can but find her champion upon earth, here I stand ready to fight him to decide this cause."The King looked at the maiden anxiously, and her face lit up at once."I agree to these terms," she said.Upon this the King gave orders that lists, or open spaces, should be cleared; and then he announced that, following ancient custom, they would rest the issue of Elsa's guilt or innocence upon single combat between champions. The herald once again came forward and blew a long blast upon his trumpet, and proclaimed,"Let him stand forth by Heaven's rightWho would for Elsa's just cause fight!"There was a painful silence, while Frederick and Ortrud looked in smiling disdain upon the poor girl."O my King!" she cried. "Summon him again! His home is far away and he may not have heard.""Sound once again!" commanded the King, and again the trumpet call rang out.Again there was intense silence. Elsa dropped upon her knees and prayed until it seemed as though her very soul would burst with emotion. Suddenly a man nearest the bank of the river startled the silence with a cry,"A swan! a swan! And in its wake a boat bearing a knight!"Every eye turned and gazed up the winding stream, and there, sure enough, was a beautiful white bird swimming easily and gracefully along and drawing a little boat with a knight in it."A miracle! a miracle!" shouted the people.
You have just read of the downfall of the gods through broken promises, and of a great hero of those early days who fell a victim to fate. And now you may like to hear of another hero who was even greater, for he was superior to every enemy and every temptation to the end. The old order of things had long since passed away. The gods were indeed dead, and men believed instead in one true God and in His beloved Son. A beautiful legend had grown out of the last days of the Christ upon earth; and this legend is the golden thread upon which is hung our present story.
You remember that in the Bible account of the Last Supper, Christ took a cup and blessed the wine in it and gave it to His disciples to drink. The legend goes on to relate that Joseph of Arimathea, the man who provided a tomb for Christ, obtained the blessed cup of the sacrament, and that at the crucifixion he caught in it a few drops of blood from Christ's bleeding side.
Henceforth the Cup possessed the magical power of healing all wounds and sicknesses. It brought perfect peace to its possessor; and the mere sight of it was esteemed the greatest privilege on earth. But it was rarely seen of men. Spirited away by divine power, the Holy Grail—as it was called—was shown only on rare occasions and to the noblest and most self-sacrificing among its seekers. And so its quest came to be the highest task a man could set himself, for it meant the conquering of his own baser nature first of all, and the putting aside of every selfish interest.
You may have read the fine old story of the quest of King Arthur's Knights of the Round Table for this Holy Grail, and how it made them all nobler and better, although the inspiring vision was granted only to two or three. At that time it had no fixed place, and men did not know where or how to seek it. So it is no wonder that so few ever succeeded in the quest.
Finally in another land a brave knight, Titurel by name, decided to devote his whole life to seeking the sacred Cup. Taking with him his son, and a small but chosen body of knights, he set forth trusting to the mercy of Heaven to favour his search. Many days he led his little band across deserts, through valleys, and over stony mountain-sides. And as they went they aided every person who crossed their path; they forsook all worldly pride; and they spoke only in kindness and humility of spirit. Night and morning, also, they prayed that they might be led to the Holy Grail.
On and on they went, dusty and travel-worn and weary, but with the same brave hearts. Late one evening they stopped for the night in the shelter of a dense forest. They had travelled all day and had eaten little, but after resting a brief while something seemed to urge them forward.
"Rise, my brave knights," said Titurel standing stiffly upon his feet. "Rise, and let us go still farther into this wood. I feel that it is the divine will."
Without murmuring they once more resumed their march, and, wonderful to relate, the farther they went the less tired they grew. A strange feeling of rest and content came over them until in a great wave of joy they all fell upon their knees and gave thanks. They felt that at last they were nearing the Holy Grail!
As they knelt a great light, like noonday, shone round about them, and a voice said,
"Arise, ye blessed among mankind! For your labours are rewarded and it is given to you to guard the Holy Grail. Near unto you is a mountain which shall be called Mount Salvat, and thereupon must ye build a temple. And ye shall be called the Knights of the Holy Grail."
The voice ceased. The knights fell upon their faces in prayer and thanksgiving. When they arose the light had disappeared, but in each face was reflected a lofty purpose born of its glory.
The next morning they went their way to Mount Salvat and there built the temple. High were its walls, with lofty arches and beautiful windows, and its fame as the most imposing temple in all the world soon went abroad. And when it was finished and they held the solemn service of dedication, a light came and glowed steadily in the crypt. While all the knights fell upon their knees, Titurel drew near and lifted a veil. There in all its beauty shone the Holy Grail!
Then Titurel and the knights were filled with great joy, and they vowed eternal service to the sacred charge. They became, indeed, a sort of priesthood and forsook all other aims or desires. Daily they worshipped in the temple, and were fed from the holy altar. And if any among them became wounded or ill, the mystic fire which glowed about the Cup speedily restored them to health.
For many years they kept their charge with zealous faith. Titurel their head became an old man, and Amfortas his son was appointed chief guardian of the Grail in his stead.
Meanwhile, as you may suppose, many other knights were desirous of being admitted into the temple; but none save those who led pure and sincere lives were ever accepted. Among those who were rejected because they were unworthy was a powerful magician named Klingsor. When he failed to win entrance in the usual way he tried to bribe the keepers of the gates and to make use of other base methods, but without success.
In his rage, Klingsor swore vengeance and devoted all his wicked arts to overthrowing the Temple of the Grail. He made a beautiful garden on the other side of the mountain, which he filled with flowers, fruits, music and dancing girls. By this means he deluded many knights who had come from afar earnestly seeking the Holy Grail, so that, almost at the goal, they forgot their quest and tarried idly in the gardens.
Hearing of Klingsor's wicked arts, Amfortas was filled with righteous anger. He determined to go forth and strike down the magician with the sacred Spear, which was his high badge of office. This Spear was second only to the Grail itself in value. It was the same that had pierced the Saviour's side while He was on the cross. It gave to its bearer the power of overcoming all his enemies, so long as he was true to the faith. But Amfortas though zealous was too confident of his own strength. Going over the mountain hastily in search of Klingsor, he grew tired and thirsty; so when he came to a shady grove of fruit-trees by a splashing fountain, he did not recognise this as one of the wiles of the magician, but ate and drank, then threw himself down on the cool grass and fell asleep. The Spear was loosened from his grasp, in his slumber, and he was only awakened by a keen, smarting pain in his side. He found that he had been wounded; and as he sprang to his feet he confronted Klingsor who was waving aloft the Spear in triumph.
"Go back to your temple!" sneered Klingsor; "and bid the next man be not weary so soon!"
In shame and sorrow Amfortas departed, knowing that he had sinned and could do nothing against the Spear now in the hands of the enemy. Earnestly he did penance in the temple and confessed his fault, but the wound in his side never healed. It gave him daily torment, and the sight of the Grail which had once brought healing seemed only to increase the pain.
It had been Amfortas' duty to uncover the Grail each day at sacrament, but so dire was his suffering that he came to do it less and less frequently. The knights were very sorrowful because of these things, and they sent far and wide for healing balsams, but all remedies were powerless. Long did Amfortas kneel before the altar praying in his pain, and seeking for a word of hope from above. At length one day an added radiance glowed about the Grail, and he heard a voice saying,
"By pity enlightened,My guileless one,—Wait thou for himTill my will is done!"
"By pity enlightened,My guileless one,—Wait thou for himTill my will is done!"
"By pity enlightened,
My guileless one,—
Wait thou for him
Till my will is done!"
Amfortas could not understand these words, but somehow his heart was lightened, and he thanked God that one day, be it near or far, he should find relief. The other Knights of the Grail also heard with joy of the strange message, for they did not doubt that it meant healing and peace.
For many days they waited patiently and prayerfully without receiving any further sign. Amfortas strove to sustain his courage, but it was a bitter test. Daily he tried the baths and also the balms which his knights often went to much peril to obtain for him; yet the wound still showed no signs of healing, and deep gloom settled down over the temple.
One day while the aged keeper of the gate was sitting, as was his wont, with his face toward the little lake which nestled in the valley, his eye was attracted by a wild swan which soared peacefully above the lake. Suddenly it turned sidewise with a wild flutter of pinions and began to fall toward the water. The keeper saw that it was wounded by an arrow, and he hastened down to the lake to see who had done the deed; for it was forbidden to harm any creature, great or small, within sight of the temple.
Just as he reached the bank, the swan fell at his feet and expired, while at the same moment a youth ran up to claim his prize. He was clothed in motley animal skins, but he was strong and well knit, and with that frank look about the eye which denotes both fearlessness and innocence.
"Shame, shame upon you, boy, for shooting the swan!" said the old man sternly.
"Why, what have I done?" answered the youth. "Do not men hunt birds and beasts? Methought it was a fine thing that I struck the bird so high."
"But you are now within holy ground, where 'tis sacrilege to harm any creature. And think what sorrow you have brought with your idle deed. This beautiful bird will soar in the clouds no more. It may have a mate, or perhaps little ones awaiting its coming. They will never see it again."
The boy stood with downcast eyes and troubled face. "Indeed, I never thought evil," he said. And seized by a sudden impulse he broke his bow across his knee and flung his arrows away.
"What is your name, boy?" asked the knight.
"I am Parsifal," he answered simply.
"Whence come you?"
"I do not know."
"Where go you?"
"I go to become a knight," answered the boy. "I have always wanted to be a knight."
"But do you not know that great things are expected of a knight? They must do other deeds than roaming about shooting harmless swans."
The boy flushed, but looked straight at the stern old man. "I know that a man must be brave and true," he said; "and that he must keep his heart pure. My father, who died long ago, was such a knight, and my mother has always taught me to be like him."
"But you will have many strong trials before you can become a knight. You may have to wander all over the world and endure many hardships."
"I am ready for them," answered the boy sturdily.
"Truly you are a guileless fellow," said the old keeper; "but I like your spirit. Would you like to witness a service in the temple and hear the choir-boys sing? Perchance you would like to be a choir-boy for awhile?"
"Nay, but I came to be a knight. Nathless I will hear the singing."
The boy said this so calmly, that the knight was half sorry he had given the invitation; for chances to obtain entrance to the service were exceedingly rare. However, the word had been spoken and he would abide by it.
They cast the dead swan into the lake and went together up the hill. Service of the sacrament was just being begun in the temple as they entered its doors. High up in the organ loft the rolling waves of music poured forth, filling every arch of the lofty building. Then the sweet voices of boys were heard chanting the refrain to which Amfortas had set music:
"By pity enlightened,My guileless one,—Wait thou for himTill my will is done!"
"By pity enlightened,My guileless one,—Wait thou for himTill my will is done!"
"By pity enlightened,
My guileless one,—
Wait thou for him
Till my will is done!"
Parsifal plucked the old knight's sleeve. "What do they mean by that?" he asked.
"Hush. I do not know," replied the knight.
Parsifal thought it strange that they should sing words no one understood, but he kept silence and looked upon the solemn service with wide-open eyes.
The aged Titurel was present at the service. His days were almost numbered now, but he still had his couch conveyed into the presence of the beloved Grail when he felt strong enough. To-day he joined the other knights in urging his son Amfortas to uncover the Cup and serve the sacrament.
"Let me have the sacrament from out the blessed Cup once more before I die," said Titurel.
Amfortas shook his head and groaned aloud.
"Not yet, my father! I am unworthy to uncover the Grail!"
Nevertheless the feeble Titurel urged the point, and all the knights knelt with solemn upturned faces, until at last Amfortas went and unveiled the Cup and poured wine therefrom, so that all might partake. Then he fell to the floor with a shudder of pain. The old wound had broken open afresh. But Titurel and the other knights partook of the sacrament, while the choir-boys chanted responsively and the deep organ pipes thrilled all the lofty arches.
The old keeper of the gate went forward and partook with the rest, while the boy Parsifal stood spellbound behind a pillar and could make no meaning of what he saw.
At last the keeper came and led him forth again to the open air, and then the lad's tongue was loosed.
"I pray thee, why did the King fall to the floor as if in pain?" he asked.
"The wound in his side pained him," answered the keeper.
"Why doesn't it heal?"
"That is a long story. But the wound was made by the sacred Spear, and 'tis said that only the touch of that Spear again can make it well."
"Then why does he not go and lay hold of the Spear?"
"It is in a powerful magician's hands."
"Can no one take it from him?"
"No one has yet succeeded in the quest," answered the knight. "But, boy, how did you like the service of the Holy Grail?"
"I could make nothing of it," said Parsifal, turning as if to go.
"Could make nothing of it!" exclaimed the old knight. "Truly you would not be much of a choir-boy. But where are you going?"
"I go to seek the Spear that will heal the King," answered Parsifal.
The old knight let him go without further words. He even shook his head in some impatience.
"Truly a guileless youth," he said to himself. "A little knocking about in the world will not hurt him. He is too foolish to do us any good here. And as to being a knight—pish!"
But just then the closing words of the service came echoing through the windows, and caused the old man to start. He had heard again the mystic song,
"By pity enlightenedMy guileless one!"
"By pity enlightenedMy guileless one!"
"By pity enlightened
My guileless one!"
Now Klingsor the magician had cast a spell over a poor woman so that she was obliged to obey him in all things. Usually she was old and wrinkled, and passed for a witch in the countryside. But when Klingsor waved his wand over her she became the most beautiful maiden ever seen. Kundry was her name, and she it was who had charge of the groves and flowers and music and dancing girls which had caused so many knights to turn aside before ever they reached the Temple of the Grail. Kundry, indeed, had caused Amfortas himself to sin, on the day he lost the Sacred Spear.
But when the spell was removed from poor Kundry she always bitterly repented her misdeeds. She had been very sorry for Amfortas, in her wild way, and had herself brought balsam from distant lands to heal his wound, but without avail.
No sooner was Parsifal on his way in search of the sacred Spear, than Klingsor was on the alert. Once more he summoned Kundry and bade her prepare the same kind of a trap for Parsifal as had lured the knights aside. But Kundry hotly protested at this. She had seen the youth and greatly liked his open face and frankness. She rebelled against doing harm to one so harmless as he.
"Let him pass on his way," she pleaded. "He has done no evil and is too simple to find you unaided, and even if he did, he could not take the Spear from you."
"Do as I bid you!" replied the magician, angrily. "It is precisely because he is pure and innocent that I fear him. Such an one's coming has long been foretold."
So Kundry had nothing to do but sadly obey.
When Parsifal drew near, walking over the crest of the hill, the palace of Klingsor suddenly sank into the earth and vanished, leaving in its stead a lovely flower-garden. Presently Parsifal stopped and listened, for he heard strains of music.
"How sweet it sounds!" he said; "yet it seems to make the air heavy and uncomfortable. I wonder where it comes from?"
Louder grew the music, and with it came the sound of girls' voices. Just then he came to the entrance of the garden, where he paused spellbound. The flowers themselves were singing to him! Each flower was in the lovely tints of a rose, lily, pansy or carnation, and out of the centre of each blossom peeped the bright eyes and laughing face of a bewitching maiden.
"Come!" they sang to him; "come and rest by the fountains! Come, drink nectar, and let us sing to you while you rest in the shade!"
"Nay," said Parsifal, simply. "I like you all, and would gladly Listen to your song; but I cannot tarry, for I am on an urgent errand."
"Come!" they pleaded; and the flowers seemed to weave in and out in a wonderful dance, nodding to him and beckoning him. "Come! Only a little while! Then you will start forth rested and make better speed."
Parsifal shook his head. "I cannot enter," he said, and turned to go, when another voice softer than the rest called his name.
"Who called me?" he asked, turning about.
"I called thee, lad," said the sweet voice.
He looked whence it came and saw a leafy bower opened wide, and in it sat a maiden fairer than ever heart could dream. It was Kundry, the ugly old witch, transformed by the power of the magician into this glorious vision.
"How did you know my name?" he asked, bluntly.
"I knew thy mother, lad, and thy father, too. Wouldst hear of them?"
"Yes, yes!" he cried eagerly. "Tell me of them!"
"Then come within the bower and rest awhile. Here thou canst listen to the music and eat and drink and dance with these lovely flowers."
"Nay, but tell me now! Why should I pause when I am not faint? No good deed was ever done by stopping on the way."
"Thou art a foolish youth," said the maiden. "Why art thou in so great haste?"
"I seek a magician," he answered, frankly; "a magician who has stolen the sacred Spear."
"Ah, I can tell thee of him!" she cried—an evil light lurking in her eyes. "Come, sit by my side, and I will tell not only of him but of thy father and mother."
Parsifal turned at this, but entered the garden slowly. He knew no reason why he should not come in, and yet a great force seemed holding him back. "But how can I go on my errand," he thought, "unless I find the way?"
"I would hear about my mother first," he said, seating himself by the maiden's side. "Is she well?"
"She is well, but has mourned sadly since thou didst go away. I saw her only a few days ago, and she sent thee her love and a kiss."
Here the witch leaned forward suddenly and printed a kiss upon his lips. It was intended to enchant him, but for once it failed of its effect. Parsifal sprang up as if stung by an asp.
"Amfortas! O Amfortas!" he cried. "I know it now! The spear-wound in your side! Ah, the anguish of it has come upon me also!"
"Thou art wrong," said the woman softly. "I have harmed thee not. Only stay!"
"Not another moment!" exclaimed Parsifal. "Your garden is evil and brings death to men's souls."
He turned to go, but the witch called aloud to the magician, for she knew her power was gone. And as she called, Parsifal saw a dark, dreadful figure before him that blocked his way.
"Stay!" commanded Klingsor waving the sacred Spear aloft. "Those who enter my garden cannot leave it so easily!"
"Stand aside!" cried Parsifal. "I have done no hurt, and I fear you not!"
"Thou wilt fear me when thou dost feel this spear-point! 'Tis the same that undid Amfortas."
"Ha! say you so? Then I have come to claim it in his name."
"Take it!" shouted the magician angrily. And he threw the weapon straight at Parsifal with terrific force.
But miracle of miracles! it stopped of itself midway, and floated gently round about Parsifal's head. He grasped it reverently and made the sign of the cross.
"In this sign, perish!" he exclaimed. "Let all your wicked magic vanish from the face of the earth!"
As he uttered these words a tremendous crash was heard, followed by an earthquake. The garden, its flowers and music and running streams, were swallowed up in an instant, with all its inmates. Parsifal alone remained on solid ground.
He looked about him, but could see only a trackless forest with close spreading trees that shut out the blue sky and the light of the sun. He did not know which way to turn, or where stood the Temple of the Grail. But the sacred Spear was still in his hand, and its presence seemed to bring comfort. He knelt and prayed for guidance, and as if in answer, the words of the old knight came into his memory,
"You may have to wander all over the world and endure many hardships."
The young Parsifal wondered at this message. It seemed to come in answer to his prayer, and yet his spirit rose in questioning, "Why should I roam over the world when the King needs me so much, and his wound is not healed?"
But no other answer came, and no path led out of the forest. So he made no further questions but went his way, trusting to Heaven to guide him, and the sacred Spear to protect him. When at last he reached the borders of the wood he found himself in a strange country.
Thus it was that Parsifal began his pilgrimage. Long and hard it was, yet he did not falter or complain. And always his hand was ready to help the poor or the suffering, while little children came to him gladly knowing they had found a friend.
Often his path led over steep, rough mountains; again it lay in burning sands of the desert; and again it was close to treacherous quicksands or yawning pits. But steadily he pressed forward, learning many things as he went, but never parting from any of his early purity or courage.
Slowly, also, the great truth of the Holy Grail dawned upon him. He heard men speak of it with reverence and longing as the dearest treasure the earth possessed. Then he realised how lightly he had thrown away his own privilege through ignorance and why the old knight at the gate had turned from him with impatience, as "guileless." With humility and prayer he resolved that he would always try to be worthy of this vision, in the hope that it would again come to him. And in moments like this, when his whole soul was stirred with anguish, he seemed to hear an inner voice saying,
"Courage! The Holy Grail is not far away!"
Thus years passed by, and at last Parsifal, for true and heroic service, was made a knight. Never was there a comelier. Strong and straight and graceful he stood, while his face was fair and pleasing and seemed continually to glow with an inner light. His eye was the very mirror of truth. He was, indeed, the image of that ancient ideal, a knight without fear and without reproach; and always he sought the deed that was most valorous and the duty that was most severe, hoping that his steps might be directed again to the Temple of the Grail.
One night he heard the bleating of a lamb that had lost its way. Parsifal was far from shelter, and the night was stormy, yet he did not hesitate. He turned aside and sought in the darkness until he had found the little wanderer, when he wrapped it in his cloak and carried it to its mother. When he again sought his road he could not find it because of the storm. He wandered on, and presently saw that he was in the midst of a dense forest. Somehow even in the night it seemed familiar to him, and his heart gave a great leap. He felt that the Holy Grail was close at hand!
Then a flash of lightning disclosed to him a little cavern, hollowed out of a rock, and he entered it for shelter during the night, with thankfulness.
The next morning the sun shone bright and warm, gilding the wet leaves of the forest with radiance. Parsifal followed a shining beam of gold straight through the forest—and there before his feet lay the lake where he had shot the swan so long ago. On the hill near by stood the Temple of the Grail.
Parsifal stuck the Spear upright in the soil and knelt in prayer and rejoicing that his long pilgrimage was at an end; then rose and took his steps toward the hill.
"I wonder if the old knight of the gates is still alive," he said to himself; "I should dearly like to see him again."
No sooner had he said this, than he saw an aged man tottering feebly along, and lo! it was the keeper himself. By his side walked a woman whom Parsifal seemed to remember, but could not quite. It was Kundry the former witch of the flower-garden. After this garden was destroyed she had been released from the magician's spell, and she was now carrying water and doing other menial tasks around the temple in the hope of atoning for her past wickednesses.
[image]The Castle of the Holy GrailH. ThomaBy permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
[image]
[image]
The Castle of the Holy GrailH. ThomaBy permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
When the keeper saw the knight in splendid armour standing there motionless, he greeted him courteously and said,
"Good-morrow, Sir Knight? Do you come seeking the Temple of the Grail? Then know that you are even now on consecrated ground, where it is forbidden to come bearing arms or with helmet closed."
For answer Parsifal once more thrust his Spear into the earth, and laying aside his helmet knelt with his face toward the temple. Then the old knight remembered him.
"It is the youth of the swan!" he exclaimed to Kundry. "And see what he has brought back with him! The sacred Spear! O happy day on which the Spear comes home!"
Then Parsifal rose to his feet, and seeing love and joy in the old man's face he opened his arms and the two embraced right gladly.
"All hail to thee, good friend!" cried Parsifal. "Long did I fear that I should never see thy face again."
"Dost thou remember me?" asked the keeper. "Long years have passed and much grief has bent my back, since the day I let thee go forth as guileless and crack-brained."
"As indeed I was," answered Parsifal, "but through failures and hardships and many trials the guileless one has been at last enlightened, even as they sang in that strange sweet song of the temple.
"But tell me," the young man continued, "is there not something changed about this holy place? Oft have I heard about it in my wanderings. Men told me that Mount Salvat was the abode of delight; that here the birds sang, the knights went hither and thither with joy upon their faces, and the very air was filled with the spring-time of gladness. Is it not so; or is this only an idle dream?"
"Itwasso," answered the old man sadly, "but dark days have come upon Mount Salvat. For pain of his wound, Amfortas has ceased entirely to serve the sacrament from the sacred Cup, and therefore are all the knights sad in their hearts. They have betaken themselves to cells like monks. The aged Titurel has died because he could no longer behold the Grail; and I am only living on in penance waiting till I can join him."
"Nay, but all these things must not be!" said Parsifal. "Dost thou remember telling me, long ago, that the sacred Spear—this Spear!—would heal Amfortas of his wound? I set forth to seek it that very day. Come, let us take it into his presence!"
"Pray God the oracle may come true!" exclaimed the keeper joyfully. "And thou dost come at a good season, for it is the Good Friday service to-day, and Amfortas has promised to uncover the Holy Grail once again, be the cost what it may. But before we go up, thou must rest and be cleansed at this spring; and I will procure a white robe for thee."
So Parsifal laved his face and his hands at the spring, while the old man went in haste for the white robe. And while he sat there, the woman came up timidly and knelt down and unfastened his sandals and washed his feet. Then Parsifal looked down and remembered her.
"Thou art Kundry," he said; "thou hast come a long hard way, even as I have come." He sprinkled her brow with a few drops of water from the spring. "I baptise thee into a new life," he said; "come with us this day to the temple."
The tears rained down glad Kundry's face; and as she knelt there, it was transformed again into the loveliness of the maiden of the flower-garden, but purer, sweeter, and of a radiance not of earth. She was redeemed!
Just then the soft chimes of the temple bells rang forth bidding them come to the service. The keeper returned with the garment which he put upon Parsifal and the three went up the path to the gates, Parsifal in the centre, bearing the sacred Spear.
They had no sooner entered than the procession of knights filed by, preceded by the choir-boys who sang of the Holy Grail. Last of all came Amfortas, slowly and as if in great pain. He paused before the shrine and made as if to open it, while all the knights gathered about in reverent waiting.
Suddenly he paused, clasped his hands to his side and cried out:
"No! no! I cannot do it! Death is so near me, only let me die! slay me with your swords and choose another Guardian of the Grail! I cannot bear to unveil the Holy Cup! Kill me, kill me, I pray you!"
His brow was wet with agony and he writhed with pain so that the knights drew back from him in terror.
Just then Parsifal drew near in his flowing white robe bearing the Spear aloft.
"Peace, O Amfortas!" he said quietly. "Only one weapon will ease thee of that pain: it is the one that caused it."
And with the sacred Spear he touched the wound; and lo! it was healed in an instant, and Amfortas' agony was changed to rapture as he knelt before the altar.
"Thou art forgiven," Parsifal's voice went on; "forgiven to continue in thy service of the Grail. But nevermore shalt thou be its Guardian. The words of the oracle have come true.
"'By pity enlightened,My guileless one,—Wait thou for himTill my will is done!'"
"'By pity enlightened,My guileless one,—Wait thou for himTill my will is done!'"
"'By pity enlightened,
My guileless one,—
Wait thou for him
Till my will is done!'"
Then Parsifal went reverently to the shrine and uncovered it, while all the knights fell on their knees and prayed, and the ransomed Kundry fell prostrate and bathed the altar steps with her happy tears. He drew forth the Holy Grail and held it aloft, and instantly a ray of dazzling light fell from above and struck within the Cup, so that it glowed with glory which flooded all the temple. And down from the lofty dome fluttered a pure white dove which hovered lightly over his head. The knights saw and understood the sign; a new Guardian of the Grail was come to them. The temple had awakened to a higher service through the stainless life of Parsifal.
Let us leave them there, in that holy service before Easter, while the music rose and swelled triumphant, telling of victory over sin and death!
Lohengrin the Swan Knight
(Lohengrin)
"Hear ye! hear ye! The King has come to Antwerp! Who fights upon the King's side?"
The silvery blast of a trumpet rang out, following the clear tones of a herald's voice; and in answer a great shout arose from a multitude of throats, for all the people in this wide stretching plain were eager to follow the standard of their warlike ruler.
It was in the days not long after Parsifal had come to the Temple of the Grail. The kingdom of Germany, so long a prey to warring states, had found a strong head in Henry the Fowler who protected the land from foes within and without. In times of peace it was his custom to travel from city to city holding court and listening to the grievance of everyone, great or small. In war time, he levied troops and led them in person. His visit to Antwerp, on this occasion, was for both purposes, as the Hungarians had lately declared war against him and were threatening to invade Germany.
Antwerp was capital of the ancient dukedom of Brabant, and one of King Henry's chief cities. On his coming, therefore, he was greatly troubled to find the state rent with quarrels and secret discontent.
The King held his court in the open air, under the spreading branches of a stately tree, called the "Oak of Justice," which stood on the bank of the winding river Scheldt. Here all the people gathered to pay him homage, and here—on the bright spring morning when our story opens—he caused the herald in brilliant livery to stand forth and blow upon a trumpet.
"Hear ye!" cried the herald again. "The King has come! Who fights for the King?"
Then all the people answered as with one voice, and came and knelt before the throne in token of allegiance.
The King's eye gladdened at the sight. "Verily," he said, "with such stout arms and loving hearts as these, we will drive the enemy into the sea!"
After he had greeted many by name, and many others had been presented to him, he saw one noble who had fought with him against the Danes.
"Come hither, Frederick of Telramund," he commanded. "As an oft-tried friend, I have a question to ask of you. How is it that Brabant has no head, but is rent with inner quarrels?"
Frederick of Telramund stepped forward and bowed low. He was a tall man, with beetling brows and deep, piercing eyes.
"I am thankful, my King," he began in a heavy voice and with ill-concealed excitement, "that you have seen our troubles and will lend ear to the story of them. I will tell you the truth. The former Duke of Brabant was my friend, and when he died he chose me as guardian for his children, Godfrey and Elsa. I brought them up as carefully as though they were my own, and looked forward fondly to the time when Godfrey should be duke; also—shall I confess it?—when I might win Elsa for my wife. But all these hopes were destined to fail. Elsa was a proud girl, and I fear now that she coveted the dukedom for herself, though she pretended to have great love for her brother.
"One day they went roaming in the woods and by the river's brink, as they often did. When night came, Elsa returned without her brother. She was pale and trembling, and when we asked her where he had gone, she would only reply by wringing her hands and sobbing. That is all the answer we have got from her, from that day to this, and we cannot help fearing that she drowned him, or laid other violent hands upon him.
"Of course, after this happening, I could no longer choose her hand in marriage. But I chose instead a lady whom I now wish to present to you—Ortrud, daughter of the brave King Radbod. In former times he was king over all this land; and in my wife's name I lay claim to Brabant."
As he finished speaking, Frederick took his wife by the hand and led her forward. She was a very handsome woman, though almost of masculine type, and her eye had a watchful look like that of a crouching tigress. She bent her head with the grace of a queen.
The King knitted his brow at the story, and looked about as though seeking someone else whom he might question. Seeing his doubt, Frederick resolved upon a bold stroke. Turning he addressed the people in a loud voice, saying,
"I accuse Elsa of Brabant of the murder of her brother. If there be any here who can deny my charge, I challenge him to come forth!"
No one moved, although there were mutterings here and there and sullen shakings of the head.
The King rose suddenly and hung his shield upon a limb of the tree.
"This is the Oak of Justice!" he said, "and I promise ye that I will not depart from its shade this day, until I have made trial of this charge.
"This shield no longer shall I wearTill judgment is pronounced, I swear."
"This shield no longer shall I wearTill judgment is pronounced, I swear."
"This shield no longer shall I wear
Till judgment is pronounced, I swear."
At a signal, the herald came forward again and announced, "Now shall this cause be tried as ancient law demands!" Then he blew a loud blast upon his trumpet and called upon Elsa of Brabant to come before her King for judgment.
The people had received the announcement, that the King would try the cause, with breathless eagerness. Now they parted to right and left and looked intently along the path Elsa was expected to come. They were not disappointed. After a few moments a train of ladies appeared walking slowly, two by two, toward the Oak of Justice. Among them was one dressed in pure white. Her head was uncovered, and her golden hair fell in soft curls about her shoulders. Her blue eyes had a far-away look in them, and her pale face was marked by lines that told of suffering. The lady Ortrud looked balefully at her as she came forward, but the people drew nearer to the maiden with marks of pity that showed their old love for her.
The King himself was struck by this fair vision. The set look came out of his eyes, and he leaned forward and gently took her by the hand.
"Are you Elsa of Brabant?" he asked.
The young girl bowed and wrung her hands in silence.
"You are accused of the murder of your brother," continued the King. "What have you to say?"
"Oh, my poor brother!" cried Elsa; and not another word would she answer to the charge.
"Speak!" said the King. "Do you not know that I must adjudge you guilty unless you confide in me?"
Elsa looked up at the King and seemed to gain courage. The people gazed on the scene with stillness as of death. Elsa's voice was low but clear, and its tones were distinctly heard.
"When I have been in deep trouble," she said, "I have prayed to Heaven for help. It has been many times of late—O, many, many times! At last I was answered. I have had a dream, and it is such a beautiful dream that I know it must come true. A knight in glittering armour appeared in a vision and promised to be my champion whenever I should call upon him. O King, I claim him for my champion to-day!Hewill prove my innocence!"
Her words answered nothing and proved nothing; yet such was her manner that the people believed in her and shouted aloud that she was guiltless. The King himself seemed to seek a pretext to let her go free; but Frederick of Telramund stepped boldly forward.
"A likely story this, your Majesty!" he sneered. "Dream knights never yet have done anything; and if the Lady Elsa can but find her champion upon earth, here I stand ready to fight him to decide this cause."
The King looked at the maiden anxiously, and her face lit up at once.
"I agree to these terms," she said.
Upon this the King gave orders that lists, or open spaces, should be cleared; and then he announced that, following ancient custom, they would rest the issue of Elsa's guilt or innocence upon single combat between champions. The herald once again came forward and blew a long blast upon his trumpet, and proclaimed,
"Let him stand forth by Heaven's rightWho would for Elsa's just cause fight!"
"Let him stand forth by Heaven's rightWho would for Elsa's just cause fight!"
"Let him stand forth by Heaven's right
Who would for Elsa's just cause fight!"
There was a painful silence, while Frederick and Ortrud looked in smiling disdain upon the poor girl.
"O my King!" she cried. "Summon him again! His home is far away and he may not have heard."
"Sound once again!" commanded the King, and again the trumpet call rang out.
Again there was intense silence. Elsa dropped upon her knees and prayed until it seemed as though her very soul would burst with emotion. Suddenly a man nearest the bank of the river startled the silence with a cry,
"A swan! a swan! And in its wake a boat bearing a knight!"
Every eye turned and gazed up the winding stream, and there, sure enough, was a beautiful white bird swimming easily and gracefully along and drawing a little boat with a knight in it.
"A miracle! a miracle!" shouted the people.