"It is thou," says Amfortas. "Must I again thank thee, indefatigable and unknown maid? So be it; I will yet try this balm, were it only out of gratitude for thy fidelity."
But, agitated, Kundry says: "No thanks! Ha! Ha! Of what good is this balm? No thanks! Away! Go to thy bath!" And while the procession moves away, and Gurnemanz sadly follows the king with a heavy glance, the shield-bearers scoff at Kundry who lies stretched upon the ground like a beast of the forest; but Gurnemanz defends her, and reprimands the youths, recalling the services which she has never ceased to render to them. "And yet she hates us," says one of them. "See how she sneers as she looks at us."
"She is a pagan, a sorceress."
"Yes," says Gurnemanz, "she well may be a damned soul. Perhaps she lives now incarnate to expiate the sins of a former life, sins which are not yet pardoned. If her repentance disposes her to acts profitable to our order, she serves us, and purchases back her own redemption."
"If she be truly faithful and intrepid," says one of the shield-bearers, "send her to reconquer the lost lance."
"That is a work forbidden to all," cries Gurnemanz, in gloom, and adds with emotion: "O source of wounds! O source of miracles! Sacred lance! I see thee brandished by the most sacrilegious hand! Too audacious Amfortas, who could'st have restrained thyself when armed with this lance, thou resolvedst to attack the magician? Already, on the confines of the enemy's castle, the hero is taken from us.... A woman of terrifying beauty has subjugated him. Filled with love he is in her arms. The sacred lance falls from his hand. A cry of death! I fly toward the king! Klingsor disappears with a sneer. He has stolen the divine lance. Fighting, I protect the king's flight. But a wound burns in his side. It is this selfsame wound that will not heal."
The shield-bearers have come and seated themselves in a listening attitude at the old man's feet. "Dear father," they say, "speak again. Tell us thou hast known Klingsor? How is that?" "Listen," says Gurnemanz: "Titurel knew him well. It was at the time when the cunning and strength of savage enemies menaced the kingdom of the pure faith that in a solemn and sacred night our king, the holy hero Titurel, saw bending toward him the blessed messenger of the Redeemer. The chalice from which he drank at the time of the Lord's Supper, this cup of august and sacred election, which later, when he was upon the cross, received his divine blood, together with this selfsame lance which caused his blood to gush forth,—these most precious among the sacred relics, were confided to the safekeeping of our king by the celestial messengers. Then Titurel erected the sanctuary. You, who have attained to his service by paths inaccessible to sinners, know that only pure men are permitted to associate themselves with these brethren, consecrated to the highest works of deliverance, and fortified by the sacred and miraculous virtue of the Grail. This is why he, in regard to whom you question me, Klingsor, remained excluded, notwithstanding all his pains. Beyond the mountains, in the valley, he became a hermit; all around stretched the luxuriant land of the infidels. What sin he had committed yonder, remained hidden from me; but he desired expiation; he aspired even to sanctity. Powerless to destroy his guilty desires, he laid a criminal hand upon himself. That hand, which he stretched out toward the Grail, was repulsed with scorn by its guardians. Rage then taught Klingsor how the horrible crime of his sacrifice could serve him to exercise a fatal charm; he changed his desert into a garden of delight. There, growing like flowers, are seductively beautiful women, who, by their infernal fascinations, endeavor to attract the Knights of the Grail. He who yields to this seduction is made his own, and already, alas! many are lost to us. When Titurel, bowed down by age, confided the kingdom to his son, Amfortas, this latter would take no rest until he had done away with this scourge of hell. You know what happened. The lance is in Klingsor's hands, and as, by its virtue, he can wound even the saints, he imagines that he has already taken the Grail from us."
"Ah! before all else, the lance must be restored to us," cries a shield-bearer.
"Happiness and honor to him who will restore it."
And Gurnemanz resumes: "Amfortas, prostrated in ardent prayer before the deserted shrine, implored a sign of deliverance, when a gentle light emanated from the Grail, and a holy apparition spoke to him distinctly, and he clearly discerned these words: 'Let a harmless fool only, knowing by compassion, await him whom I have chosen.'"