"Never, never! thou shalt not find him," cries Kundry, transported with rage. "Error, imposition, illusion, bar his war, entangle the paths that his feet may never enter upon the road which he seeks; may all ways be cursed that estrange him from me. Aberration! aberration! I dedicate him to thee, be thou his guide!"
At Kundry's cries the young girls come forth from the palace. Klingsor, armed with the sacred lance, throws himself upon Parsifal, but the divine steel cannot harm him who has remained pure; it rests suspended miraculously above him. The young hero seizes the weapon and traces the sign of the cross in space. At this symbol the magic castle crumbles away and disappears, the garden withers, the young girls, like dying flowers, droop and sink to the earth; nothing is now seen save an arid desert, with mountains and snowy peaks in the distance. Parsifal, striding over the ruins, moves away, uttering a last word of hope to the sinner: "Thou knowest where alone thou wilt see me again."
THIRD ACT.
The third act takes us back to the domain of the Grail. The spring festival gladdens the forest, everything is in flower, the tender verdure of the fields is sown with Easter flowers, the stream forces itself a passage through clusters of lilies of the valley. It is the day sacred to all, upon which humanity was redeemed,—Good Friday. Gurnemanz, now quite aged, comes forth from an humble hut hidden among the trees. He has heard a groan and a lament, the mournful tone of which is not unknown to him. He approaches the thicket, and raises a woman who appears to be dead. He was not deceived. It is indeed the strange heathen, whom he has already roused from this sleep, so like unto death. Yes, it is Kundry; behold her as she arouses herself, casting about a searching glance which is no longer savage. "To serve, to serve," she murmurs, and she goes off to the side of the cabin, to apply herself to the most humble labors. Gurnemanz, surprised, watches her proceedings, but his attention is soon attracted by a stranger, who advances hesitatingly and dreamily in the refreshing calm of the forest. He is clad in black armor, his helmet is closed, and he holds his lance lowered. Slowly he draws near and seats himself by the spring.
"Greeting, my guest," says Gurnemanz: "Dost thou not know what day this is? Quickly lay aside thy arms; offend not the Saviour, who, stripped of all defense, on this day offered his divine blood for the salvation of the world." The sombre knight obeys; he takes off his helmet and loosens his armor. Gurnemanz then recognizes Parsifal, the harmless fool, whom he had sent away so roughly. With deep emotion he imagines that he recognizes also the sacred lance, long before carried away from the sanctuary. The young man, who looks calmly about him, recognizes Gurnemanz, and extends his hand to him. "I am happy to have found thee again," he says.
"What, thou knowest me yet? dost thou remember him, whom grief and distress have bent so low? How earnest thou here, and from what place?"
"I am come in the paths of error and suffering," replies Parsifal. "Can I believe myself delivered, since once again I hear the rustling of this forest, and salute thee again, thou good old man?"
"Tell me, to whom should the path which thou seekest lead?"
"To him whose lament I formerly heard in bewildered surprise, to him for whose salvation I to-day believe myself to be elected. But alas! a horrible curse condemns me never to find the road to salvation, and to wander in unknown paths. When I seemed to have found it, miseries without number, with struggles and conflicts, chased me from the path. Then had I almost despaired of keeping the sacred arm in safety. In the effort to preserve and defend it I received wounds from every side, for I could not make use of it in the combat. Inviolate I kept it by my side. I take it back again, it glitters there, august and radiant, the Grail's holy lance!"
"Oh mercy! supreme blessing! Holy and most august miracle!" exclaims the old man, with enthusiasm; "if it be a malediction that turned thee from the true path, believe me, my lord, it has yielded, for thou art in the domain of the Grail, and its knighthood awaits thee. Ah! it stands in sore need of the salvation which thou bringest! Since the day that thou wert here, mourning and anguish have augmented even to supreme distress. Amfortas, revolting against his wound, in sullen obstinacy, longed for death; neither the supplications nor the grief of his knights could impel him to fulfil his holy office. For a long time the Grail has remained enclosed in its shrine, and its contrite guardian, who could not die, should he contemplate it, hopes thus to enforce his end, and terminate with his life his torment. The sacred nourishment is denied us; also, our heroic strength perishes. Messages and distant calls to holy combats no longer reach us. The knighthood, deprived of chief and courage, wanders miserable and wan. Here in the corner of the forest I have hidden myself in solitude, tranquilly awaiting death, which has already become the lot of my old lord of arms, Titurel; for the sainted hero, being no longer revived by the sight of the Grail, died a man like all others.