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 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 MRS. MARY WOLFSOHN^ 
 
 IN MEMORY OF \ 
 
 HENRY WOLFSOHN "F"7|| 
 
-VJlrsKA, 
 
 vxnU) v-cui 
 
 tXAL>b--Q_JJL_^^ 
 
 \\ - v o 
 
Mary Hanford Ford 
 
Copyright, 1904. 
 BY H. M. CALDWEivL Co. 
 
P? 
 
 of 
 
 PARSIFAL has become a part of the daily 
 life of the world, a mystery of holy liv- 
 ing enacted before all eyes, and played 
 upon a stage erected in each heart. Many will 
 not be able to witness the performance of Wag- 
 ner's great drama, or listen to its wonderful 
 music, but all wish to become familiar with its 
 story and meaning, to understand the genesis 
 of its rich harmonies. To such waiting audi- 
 tors this little book flies forth, hoping that it 
 may have treasured and enshrined some portion 
 of that mystic spell which for many ages has 
 lent charm and glory to the name of Parsifal. 
 1 
 
 tf 
 
It may be as well to recall in the beginning 
 the scenes and incidents of Wagner's master- 
 piece, so that the connection may be more 
 closely drawn between its achievement and the 
 legends and poems which have preceded it in an 
 earlier day. 
 
 When the curtain rises upon the three acts 
 of the music-drama, the senses of the spectators 
 have been prepared for the pictured story by 
 the wonderfully intermingled motifs and har- 
 monies of a Vorspiel which precedes each portion 
 of the opera. The first of these lovely preludes 
 ends with the exquisite strains of the Grail 
 music, and the curtain rises upon the peaceful 
 environment of the castle of Monsalvat, where 
 Gurnemanz, the leader of the Grail guardians, 
 is at morning prayer with his followers, while 
 the trumpets sound, and the cortege of Am- 
 fortas, the wounded king, approaches. He is 
 about to bathe in the lake, the waters of which 
 are blessed by the beautiful swans which live 
 
 2 
 
of 
 
 and rest upon its bosom, and by their ministra- 
 tion assuage the suffering of the stricken mon- 
 arch. 
 
 The procession halts while the king may rest, 
 and then Kundry enters the scene, breathless 
 from a journey upon her flying horse to far 
 Arabia, to obtain a balsam which she hopes 
 may bring healing to the king. She is the slave 
 of mighty Klingsor, the magician. Long ago, 
 in the days when Christ taught the lesson of 
 love to mankind, she was that beautiful Herodias 
 who laughed at the Saviour as he was bearing 
 his cross to Calvary. As a punishment for her 
 sin, she must wander for years, until she finds 
 a saviour who will love her with a selfless love, 
 and thus lift the curse from her. 
 
 She has known many sad lives since the period 
 of her sin, and at the opening of the drama she 
 is pathetically awakened to the horror of her 
 slavery, and, though compelled by Klingsor to 
 ensnare good knights, and especially the knights 
 
 3 
 
of the Grail, she snatches every free moment for 
 deeds of mercy and kindness. 
 
 Klingsor has always been the enemy of the 
 Grail. Years before, when it was first entrusted 
 to King Titurel, the father of Amfortas, the 
 magician swore to become its possessor. The 
 sacred lance or spear with which Christ had been 
 wounded on the cross was also given to Titurel. 
 Klingsor established his palace near Monsalvat, 
 and surrounded it with magic gardens, filled 
 with all that can enchant the senses. Kundry 
 fell into the power of the wizard, and by her 
 fascination was able to ensnare Amfortas, in 
 spite of the fact that he was hereditary guardian 
 of the sacred treasure. 
 
 In a contest with Klingsor, the king was 
 overpowered; the magician seized the spear, 
 and with it gave the king the wound from which 
 he had suffered for so many years. He could 
 not be relieved until " the sinless fool," " der 
 reine Thor," should come to the Grail castle, 
 
 4 
 
of 
 
 " enlightened by pity," and touch the bleeding 
 sore with the very weapon which had inflicted 
 the wound. This message, in regard to the 
 restoration of the afflicted one, had appeared in 
 illuminated letters about the sacred cup, and 
 since that moment the king and his companions 
 had looked constantly for the appearance of 
 the destined saviour. 
 
 All these facts are revealed to the listener 
 in the conversation which ensues between Gurne- 
 manz and Kundry, when the cortege of the king 
 has moved onward to the lake. The wise old 
 man comforts the saddened woman, and tells her 
 that evil vanishes when replaced by good 
 " Das Bose bannt, wer's mit Gutem vergilt." 
 
 He has barely finished his story of the long- 
 expected guileless one, the sinless fool, when all 
 are startled by the whizzing of an arrow, and 
 the fall of one of the carefully guarded swans. 
 A moment later Parsifal rushes upon the scene, 
 proudly confessing that he shot the swan upon 
 
 5 
 
the wing. He listens in surprise, and then 
 with deep contrition, to the eloquent reproach 
 of Gurnemanz. Suddenly, as he realizes the 
 shame of killing a beautiful, harmless creature, 
 he breaks his bow, and declares that never again 
 will he destroy innocent life! 
 
 Afterward he talks with Kundry, who tells 
 him he is the son of Gahmuret, and informs 
 him of his mother's death. The boy is angry 
 and distressed, and inveighs against Kundry 
 in youthful heat, until Gurnemanz again re- 
 proves him, and assures him that Kundry always 
 speaks the truth. Parsifal then grows calm, 
 and describes his life in the forest with his 
 mother, and the brilliantly accoutred knights 
 " glanzende Manner " whom he followed 
 eagerly until he stumbled upon the precincts 
 of beautiful Monsalvat. 
 
 Gurnemanz has watched the boy carefully, 
 and suspects that he may be the guileless one 
 for whom all are waiting, so he leads him up- 
 
 6 
 
ward to the Grail castle, and then begins the 
 wonderful music of the bells, which continues 
 all through the holy and uplifting service of 
 the uncovering of the Grail. The great trans- 
 formation scene, which reveals the Grail cham- 
 ber, has been one of the marvels of the perf orm- 
 ance of Bayreuth, and nothing could be more 
 imposing and inspiring than the feast of the 
 Grail as it is portrayed in the melodious drama, 
 with the accompaniment of its ethereal and 
 angelic music. 
 
 There can be no death to those who see the 
 Grail, so Titurel, the aged father of Amfortas, 
 has lived on, supported by the glorious Presence 
 of the uncovered cup, and the refreshing descent 
 of the snowy dove, which brings blessing to all 
 who are privileged to partake of the divine ban- 
 quet. The uncovering of the Grail renders the 
 suffering of Amfortas so poignant that he 
 shrinks from the office which obliges him to 
 lift the sacred vessel himself, while its crystal 
 
 7 
 
outline glows with radiant light as the dove 
 descends. He begs Titurel to perform the 
 service which brings joy to every heart except 
 his own, but the aged monarch insists that it 
 is his son's duty, and so the suffering king 
 reluctantly puts aside his pain, and reveals the 
 holy chalice. The bread and wine are shared 
 as in the sacrament of communion,, and all the 
 guests at the heavenly table are blessed and 
 sustained by the ministration. 
 
 Parsifal is asked to join the others, but he 
 looks on wonderingly and says nothing, so 
 Gurnemanz asks him, sharply : " Did you under- 
 stand what you saw? " and then pushes him 
 from the holy interior, with angry countenance, 
 crying : 
 
 " Away, gander, and find yourself a goose ! " 
 
 The inspiration of faith and hope is recalled 
 
 at the conclusion of the act, however, by the 
 
 thrilling cadence of a single voice singing, 
 
 " The sinless fool through pity enlightened ! " 
 
 8 
 
Of 
 
 This is strengthened by the entire chorus, which 
 bursts forth with " Selig im Glauben ! Selig 
 im Glauben ! " " Blessed in Faith ! " as the cur- 
 tain falls. 
 
 The commencement of the second act, with 
 its Vorspiel, is like a descent from heaven to 
 hell, for it opens with the Klingsor music, and 
 a view of the interior of the magician's palace, 
 revealing his own secret cell with the magic 
 mirror, in which all that happens in the world 
 of interest to the magician is sure to be reflected. 
 Klingsor summons Kundry and commands her, 
 in spite of her heart-broken pleading, to accom- 
 plish the ruin of Parsifal, and thus render it 
 impossible for him to heal the suffering Am- 
 fortas. 
 
 The next scene introduces us to the marvellous 
 garden surrounding Klingsor's palace, where 
 we see Parsifal in his play with the maidens, 
 who are transformed flowers. He has never 
 seen any woman except his mother, previous to 
 
 9 
 
his meeting with Kundry, and his innocence feels 
 no temptation in the interlacing arms of the 
 charming companions whose breath touches his 
 cheek. He begs them to keep farther from 
 him, and exclaims: 
 
 " How sweet they smell ! Are they flowers ? " 
 In the scene with the maidens the music is 
 enchanting, with its interweaving melodies, com- 
 bining the motifs of Parsifal, of Kundry, and 
 the magic spell, with lovely and ethereal tunes 
 and harmonies which seem to unite every sug- 
 gestion of a fragrant garden wilderness. Blos- 
 somy pathways and purest love, maidenly fancy 
 in which passion has no part, describe the charm- 
 ing sentiment of these numbers. They offer 
 the strongest contrast to the passionate, tragic, 
 almost painful passages which are heard immedi- 
 ately afterward, and accompany the stormy and 
 dramatic scene of Parsifal's interview with 
 Kundry, whom he does not recognize at first 
 in her guise of beautiful enchantress. The long 
 
 10 
 
of 
 
 story of his mother's life and suffering is in 
 the beginning the most salient feature of the 
 meeting. Kundry seems to bring before the 
 very eyes of the boy, with the magic of her 
 art, the figure of his mother and the realization 
 of her loss, so that the anguished youth leaps 
 from his place beside her with a bitter cry of: 
 
 " Precious mother ! How could I forget 
 you!" 
 
 Having roused the tenderness of his nature, 
 she describes to him the love his father bore his 
 mother, and concludes with the passionate em- 
 brace which is intended to illustrate the love of 
 his parents for each other, and stir temptation 
 in the soul of the " sinless fool." The result, 
 however, is the awakening of that divine pity 
 which is to save Parsifal first, and then enable 
 him to heal Amfortas. The boy springs to his 
 feet again, with a wild exclamation expressive of 
 the feeling in his heart. 
 
 11 
 
" Oh, miserable one ! Oh, anguished sufferer ! 
 I saw the wounds bleed ! " 
 
 Kundry's curse follows, but Parsifal scarcely 
 hears its condemnation to " wander, wander ! " 
 He sees beside him the figure of the Saviour of 
 men, revealed in a radiant vision, and his entire 
 being is penetrated with the uplift of selfless 
 love. So when Klingsor pauses upon the garden 
 wall, and hurls at him the spear with which 
 Christ was pierced, with which the magician 
 in turn had wounded Amf ortas, the " reine 
 Thor " stands unterrified, seizes the spear, and 
 with the sign of the cross destroys the magic 
 of the wizard's pleasure place, so that it crum- 
 bles into meaningless dust. Parsifal turns away, 
 and the curtain falls, as the thrilling music 
 mingles the motifs of the Grail, the lament of 
 the maidens, the magic of Klingsor, and that 
 heavenly yearning which lifts mankind from the 
 storm of passion to great peace. 
 
 The third act opens after the Vorspiel has 
 
 12 
 
of iJ are if ale 
 
 pictured the wandering of Parsifal for five long 
 years. Then at last he approaches the Grail 
 castle. He rides fully armed, though it is Good 
 Friday, when the Church commands all true 
 knights to lay aside their armour. 
 
 All the opening music of the third act por- 
 tends the coming peace and the cessation of suf- 
 fering. There is a suggestion of Easter glad- 
 ness and spring-like happiness in the flowery 
 passages which combine with the holy sweetness 
 of the Good Friday spell, the Parsifal motif, 
 and that of Kundry's redemption. The promise 
 of the glorious end is already suggested in the 
 rising picture of Kundry's repentance. 
 
 Gurnemanz has discovered Kundry weeping 
 for her sins. Parsifal is immediately and joy- 
 fully recognized by the spear he bears, for it 
 is that which Klingsor hurled at him from the 
 garden wall. Gurnemanz has waited impa- 
 tiently for his reappearance, knowing that he 
 
 13 
 
must return at the appointed time and heal the 
 king. 
 
 Kundry serves him with gladness. She serves 
 all faithfully, hoping to win thereby salvation 
 for her soul. She bathes his feet, and receives 
 baptism from his hand. Gurnemanz anoints 
 him King of the Grail, and then conducts him 
 to the marvellous chamber where the mysterious 
 treasure is preserved, and where at last the 
 suffering monarch shall be healed. 
 
 The Grail is uncovered, and its crystal globe 
 illumined by a shaft of crimson light. The aged 
 Titurel is at peace, for he knows at last that 
 the sin of the Grail keeper is washed out. The 
 white dove descends to bring the blessing of 
 Heaven, Kundry gives up her life upon the 
 altar steps, the entire scene is irradiated by 
 glorious illumination, the chorus breaks into 
 the exquisite paean of salvation: 
 
 " Erlosung dem Erloser ! Erlosung dem 
 Erloser!" "Salvation to the Saviour!" 
 
 14 
 
of 
 
 The secret of the Grail is spoken in these 
 words of Wagner's chorus, for they seem to 
 unite the world in the golden circle of love, 
 which includes for ever the unity of God and 
 man. 
 
 No one has treated the Grail theme so elab- 
 orately as Wagner, and no one before his time 
 could have accompanied the words of the poem 
 with music so exquisite in its power to express 
 that strange, unutterable something which it is 
 beyond the compass of words to portray. The 
 varying power of the different motifs naturally 
 appeals in diverse fashion to the senses of listen- 
 ing auditors, but the exquisite thrilling cadence 
 of the Grail melody, the soul-stirring crescendo 
 in the positive cheerful note of the faith motif, 
 the strength of Parsifal's song, can surely never 
 be forgotten by those who are fortunate enough 
 to have become familiar with them. 
 
 As we turn from Wagner's rich and encom- 
 passing Grail drama to the work of his prede- 
 
 15 
 
cessors, we are amazed not only at their 
 number, but at the jewelled and glittering 
 wealth of their production. Ever since the world 
 began there have been singers, for men must 
 sing as well as eat and work, as the economists 
 sometimes forget. The singers, the poets, the 
 prophets have been the light-bringers, and among 
 all the songs that have lifted the burdens from 
 the shoulders of mankind, none has been sung so 
 constantly through the ages as the heavenly 
 song of the Holy Grail. 
 
 Sometimes it is Galahad who seeks the chalice, 
 and brings it from its hiding-place, that men 
 may rejoice once more; sometimes, and most 
 gloriously, it is Parsifal who enters the Grail 
 castle and restores the treasure; but the singer 
 is always gazing into the heavens as he touches 
 his harp, and its golden strings thrill with that 
 joyous pain, that sweet wisdom, which lingers 
 ever in the heart of man, and reminds us that, 
 if he is half -human, he is also half an angel. 
 
 16 
 
of JKurfii ifals 
 
 The critics can never agree as to the origin 
 of the Grail legends; even the strict meaning 
 of Grail, or Graal, is uncertain. Some investi- 
 gators are inclined to believe that it springs 
 originally from a Latin word Gradalis, mean- 
 ing prayer-book, and rose from the fact that 
 the words of the poem were once written in such 
 a volume, but this is not very probable, and we 
 are more interested in the undoubted fact that 
 the beginnings of the legends are lost in the 
 darkness of early Christian days. The first 
 singer has not left us his name, but we can be 
 certain that he was a minstrel who carried his 
 harp through wild pathways and trackless for- 
 ests, to seek admission at last in some lonely 
 castle, where his song ensured him a royal wel- 
 come. There he sat in the great banquet-hall, 
 and touched his harp before an audience of 
 mailed knights and jewelled ladies, while a 
 younger aspirant for fame, who perhaps had 
 borne his precious instrument across the country, 
 
 17 
 
craved the privilege of sitting nearest the in- 
 spired one, who first lifted his voice in the meas- 
 ure of this unwritten song, the wondrous mys- 
 tery of the Holy Grail ! 
 
 We so naturally associate the names of Parsi- 
 fal and Galahad with the history of the Grail 
 that we are surprised to discover how simply 
 the tale was told in the early days. It is not 
 until the twelfth and thirteenth centuries that 
 we find it connected with Arthur's court, and 
 the achievements of his knights. None of our 
 existing manuscripts of Grail poems date earlier 
 than the fourteenth century, but it is easy to 
 detect, in the quaint and primitive form of 
 some of them, the unskilled hand of an early and 
 unlettered singer. Among these the sweet old 
 poem of Joseph of Arimathea is an excellent 
 illustration of the legend in its simpler form. 
 
 It tells us of how Joseph, who was the friend 
 of Jesus, had been present during that wonder- 
 ful hour when he sat at table for the last time 
 
 18 
 
of 
 
 with his disciples, and gave them his farewell. 
 Joseph had left the chamber where the meal was 
 served, but, as his memory lingered over the 
 wise words of his loved Master, he felt that he 
 must have a memorial of that hour so rich in 
 meaning, and he returned to the supper-room, 
 to find the table still standing with the remains 
 of the feast upon it. He took joyfully the 
 silver cup from which all had drunk, and which 
 Jesus had shared with his disciples, and hid it 
 in the folds of his mantle. 
 
 As he stood later in the darkness of Calvary, 
 Joseph still held the cup in his arms, and when 
 the Roman soldier pierced the side of the 
 Master, Joseph lifted the cup, and caught in 
 it the sacred blood shed so willingly by the 
 great Lover of mankind. After it had served 
 so sacred a purpose, the cup could never fall 
 into any ordinary use. Joseph preserved it 
 with its holy contents, and it became his guard- 
 
 19 
 
ian and inspiration, his spiritual comforter, 
 the Holy Grail. 
 
 Joseph lost his possessions, and was thrown 
 into prison, was left to starve in a high tower, 
 but the cup was with him, and no harm could 
 come to him ! Something like forty years he 
 lingered behind stone walls, but when he was 
 liberated, he declared it seemed to him only 
 three days and three nights, because the Grail 
 was with him! He had been condemned to 
 starvation, but the angels spread for him the 
 table of the Grail, and he was fed daily with 
 what he liked best to eat and to drink ! His 
 confinement was to be solitary, but glorious 
 winged visitors floated through the stone walls 
 of his prison, bringing him strong words of 
 heavenly consolation, and the Master whom 
 he had seen hanging upon the cross, sat with 
 him long hours, and taught him wisdom which 
 he could not have learned from any other 
 source! Was it any wonder that his confine- 
 
 20 
 
of 
 
 ment seemed to him only three nights and three 
 days in duration, after he was set free? 
 
 When that glad hour came, the Master said 
 to him, " Son, go thou forth and carry my 
 message to many lands ! " 
 
 Then Joseph was sorrowful, and replied: 
 
 " Master, I have always been slow of speech, 
 and I cannot be a preacher." 
 
 " Son," said the Shining One, with gentle en- 
 couragement, " trouble not as to thy words, 
 but open thy lips and speech shall be given 
 thee!" 
 
 So Joseph left his prison walls, went to the 
 shores of the sea, where a white boat carried 
 him to Britain. Then joy came to that land, 
 the great Abbey of Glastonbury was built to 
 hold the Grail, the hawthorn bloomed at Christ- 
 mas-time because the Grail had come, and the 
 nightingale sang in its branches ! 
 
 As time passed, each singer added his note 
 to the Grail message, so that the great groups 
 
 21 
 
of Grail poems, gathering about the names of 
 Parsifal and Galahad, form a rich symposium, 
 preserving the feeling of the ages in regard 
 to the mystic union of the soul and God. For 
 that is the symbolism of the Grail. Whether 
 the poet figures it as a cup which has held the 
 blood of Christ, or as a marvellous green stone, 
 as does Wolfram von Eschenbach, he sees in 
 the outward semblance that rich and never 
 forgotten moment of ecstasy which Emerson 
 so eloquently pictures in his essay of the Over 
 Soul, when the human spirit finds its union 
 with the Divine One beyond and above us all. 
 So he who has the Grail has all. He can 
 never suffer hunger or thirst, he can never be 
 imprisoned, never experience the anguish of 
 one who knows not love, for he has all wisdom, 
 all love, all the possibilities of human achieve- 
 ment in the sacred and inspiring presence of 
 the wondrous treasure which lifts the human 
 
 22 
 
soul out of its narrow confines, and opens to 
 it the infinite. 
 
 The twelfth and thirteenth centuries bring 
 us the long and more pretentious Grail epics 
 which connect the heroic achievements of Par- 
 sifal and Galahad with the simple devotional 
 legend of an earlier time. These are the great 
 centuries, also, of the Crusades and of the first 
 whisperings of heresy in the Church, so it is 
 not strange that the Grail singers broadened 
 their theme, and deepened their note. The 
 time was one which really marks the modern 
 awakening of the human soul, and it was but 
 natural that the minstrel who first wandered 
 far from the scenes of his birth should find 
 new and richer meanings in the song which he 
 had heard sung by an earlier bard. 
 
 The critics are agreed to-day that the Gala- 
 had cycle of poems, with which American and 
 English readers are most familiar, is of later 
 date, and that the first Grail hero, whose deeds 
 
 23 
 
the poets delighted to celebrate, was the gra- 
 cious and inspiring figure of Parsifal. The 
 long epics of the Great Holy Grail, Launcelot, 
 and the Quest are supposed to have been writ- 
 ten in Latin, by Walter Map, in the twelfth, 
 or the beginning of the thirteenth century. 
 They were early translated into the Northern 
 French of the Trouveres, and their Latin orig- 
 inals have long since disappeared. They formed 
 the foundation of Sir Thomas Malory's noble 
 " Morte d' Arthur," and from that source 
 have become infiltrated through all English lit- 
 erature. 
 
 The Parsifal poems are many, and of vary- 
 ing interest, the most important, aside from 
 the great " Parzival," * by Wolfram von Es- 
 
 1 The spelling of the same proper names is sometimes very 
 different, in old French and German and in modern times. 
 For instance, Wagner's hero, Parsifal, is called Parzival in the 
 old High German of Wolfram von Eschenbach. The same 
 name has the forms of Perchevaus in the old Northern French 
 of Chrestien de Troyes, it is Peredur in Welsh, Percival or 
 
 24 
 
of $) airs if ale 
 
 chenbach, being " Li Contes del Graal," by 
 Chrestien de Troyes, the Portuguese prose ro- 
 mance, by Perceval le Gallois, the German poem, 
 " Die Krone," by Heinrich von dem Turlin, and 
 the Celtic story of Peredur. 
 
 The Parsifal ideals were gathered and cen- 
 tred in the momentous epic of " Parzival," writ- 
 ten by Wolfram von Eschenbach in the begin- 
 ning of the thirteenth century, which so far has 
 remained the greatest Grail poem of the world. 
 Its spirit has penetrated German literature, 
 and has reappeared most eloquently in Wagner's 
 lovely music-drama of Parsifal, demonstrating 
 thus significantly the perennial freshness of the 
 Grail theme. 
 
 A comparatively superficial analysis will 
 usually convince the Grail student that the 
 Galahad poems must have been suggested by 
 
 Percivale in English and French, Perceval in Spanish or Por- 
 tugese. The Kundry of Wagner is Kondrie la Sorciere in 
 Wolfram's epic, Wagner's Klingsor is Klinschor in the older 
 poem. 
 
 25 
 
those of Parsifal, though they may have been 
 written earlier than Wolfram's monumental 
 epic. If one were seeking to define the atmos- 
 phere of the two cycles, that of Galahad would 
 necessarily be described as theological, and that 
 of Parsifal as intensely mystical. As mysticism 
 disappears instantly at the approach of theol- 
 ogy, this would settle the question from the 
 standpoint of a student of ethics, but there are 
 innumerable charming details in the two cycles, 
 which invariably rise in the Galahad stories as 
 the shadows of those more clearly designated 
 in the spacious outlines of the Parsifal events. 
 The Parsifal epos is dominated by a larger 
 and more noble ideal than that which reigns 
 in its attendant cycle. It is from Wolfram 
 that we inherit that brave painting of the Grail 
 castle in Southern Spain, which may have been 
 originally the poetic conception of a crusad- 
 ing minstrel. The gray chateau stands alone, 
 guarded by its band of chosen knights, but 
 
 26 
 
of 
 
 though they are devoted to its service for the 
 time being/ they are not monks, they have not 
 given up the world. They serve the Grail, and 
 thereby gain wisdom and prowess impossible of 
 attainment in any other service. But when a 
 great deed is to be accomplished beyond the 
 powers of ordinary men, when a maiden is to 
 be saved, a kingdom preserved, the Grail to 
 be won, then the cup or the jewel is unveiled, 
 the name of the chosen one is written in fire 
 about the holy surface, and the selected knight 
 goes forth to carry the fragrance of the Grail 
 to mankind in the noble deed he performs for 
 his kin or his race. 
 
 Within the castle the treasure is watched 
 and guarded by maidens who are chastely de- 
 voted to the Grail while they remain in the holy 
 Presence, but when a wife is needed in the world, 
 whose mission is beyond the powers of an ordi- 
 nary woman, when a mother must bear a son 
 who is destined to be a Grail-bearer or seeker, 
 
 27 
 
then once more the chosen one goes forth, that 
 the glory of the Grail may be visible again in 
 the radiance of her beautiful life. 
 
 The seeker of the Grail may ride far and 
 wide in search of the castle, he may stand be- 
 side it, he may touch its massive walls with the 
 sleeve of his doublet, but he will not see it unless 
 it is his hour to do so, unless Heaven draws the 
 veil from his eyes that he may perceive the 
 truth! 
 
 Throughout the great poem of Wolfram the 
 note is one of attainment through service, and 
 of the joy to be found in the life of really 
 loving activity. There is no word of stern duty 
 and ascetic deprivation. It is the voice of the 
 primitive Church we seem to hear, another ver- 
 sion of Saint Francis's beautiful " Canticle of 
 the Sun." 
 
 In the Galahad poems a much stricter theol- 
 ogy is evident. The careful glorification of 
 the Church, and dedication of all service to its 
 
 28 
 
of 
 
 preservation is insisted upon. Galahad is born 
 a consecrated priest, so to speak, dedicated to the 
 achievement of the Grail, for the glory of " Holy 
 Church." He needs no purification or prepara- 
 tion for his great deed, since his birth fitted him 
 for its consummation. He is reared in a nunnery, 
 as his mother died at his birth; his father, 
 Launcelot, did not know of his existence, and 
 he was therefore consigned to the care of the 
 holy women. The hero is ever the celibate 
 priest, and when at last he achieves the Grail 
 in the city of Sarras, his prayer is that he may 
 die at once, since in his visions he has learned 
 that the angels feel such joy as mortals can 
 never know until they mingle with the angelic 
 host! 
 
 It is significant that wherever the Grail is 
 described in the Galahad poems it is presented 
 to the happy devotee with the ceremony of the 
 holy communion of the Catholic Church. It 
 is always accompanied by the consecrated wafer, 
 
 29 
 
and Joseph of Arimathea descends from heaven 
 in the robes of a bishop to preside at the altar 
 upon which the Grail is displayed to the eyes 
 of its worshippers. 
 
 One wearies sometimes of the flawless per- 
 fection of Galahad, who is never even tempted 
 to sin, and has therefore nothing to overcome. 
 But the poet who writes the story is ever more 
 or less of an artist, so the effort toward attain- 
 ment, which is always so necessary in faulty 
 human nature, is represented by the struggle 
 and frequent failure of knightly Launcelot, 
 and by brave Bors and noble Percival, who 
 always accompany Galahad in his quest. 
 
 There is refreshment in the comparative 
 failures of Bors, and the reader never forgets 
 the moment in the narrative when he lies 
 wounded at the bottom of a deep well. He 
 has resisted temptation, he has fought nobly 
 for his ideal, but he is nevertheless alone and 
 deserted, seeing but a single star far above 
 
 30 
 
of 
 
 him in the blue heaven. Suddenly a dove flies 
 down to him, bearing a censer in its bill; a 
 strange and wonderful fragrance fills his nos- 
 trils, he falls asleep with the voices of angels 
 in his ears, and wakens to safety and healing. 
 The Grail has found him in his despair, and 
 has saved him ! 
 
 Launcelot cannot achieve the Grail because 
 of his guilty love for Guinevere, but he strug- 
 gles with his sin, and so again and again is 
 brought almost into the Holy Presence. He 
 hears the chanting of the angels, he detects 
 that wondrous fragrance which invariably ac- 
 companies the appearance of the Grail. Upon 
 one occasion he falls prone across the threshold 
 of the chamber where the mystery is concealed, 
 and though his body cannot enter, all the glory 
 of the experience is revealed to his exalted 
 spirit, so that he complains when his friends 
 awake him from his swoon. We rejoice with 
 
 31 
 
him at last when his soul is purified from all 
 stain, and he is at peace. 
 
 Even the colouring of the Grail picture in 
 its Galahad setting is essentially churchly. The 
 Grail itself, and the vestments of Galahad are 
 always scarlet and white, theologically the 
 colours of the Passion and purification of sin, 
 and of those who are washed white as snow 
 from its stain. 
 
 In the Parsifal cycle the Grail colour is a 
 soft luminous green, which is not only that of 
 the Grail stone itself, but of the velvet robe 
 of Repanse de Schoie, who bears it in the pro- 
 cession, when it is uncovered before the sick 
 king. The selection of this colour was un- 
 doubtedly not an accident, whether it was a 
 tradition to Wolfram von Eschenbach, or orig- 
 inal with him. He has shown himself so steeped 
 in mystical lore, that he would naturally be 
 versed in the mystic significance of colours. 
 From this point of view, green represents har- 
 
 32 
 
of 
 
 mony, life, such renaissance as would only be 
 possible to the soul through the ministry of the 
 Grail. It is rather significant in this connec- 
 tion that with Rossetti, and among our modern 
 impressionist artists, green is regarded as the 
 colour best fitted for the expression of musical 
 ideas. 
 
 The suggestion that the theological bias of 
 the Galahad poems would indicate a later au- 
 thorship than that of Wolfram's " Parzival " is 
 strengthened by the fact that all were written 
 in the moment of the first great struggle of 
 the Church with heresy. The scourging of the 
 Albigensians occurred in the first ten years of 
 the thirteenth century, and the heresy centred 
 in the luxurious and cultured court of Ray- 
 mond of Toulouse. Walter Map, to whom the 
 great Galahad poems are attributed, was a 
 broad-minded churchman, who had taken merely 
 the lower orders. He was called to the infected 
 
 33 
 
provinces to give his advice as to the punish- 
 ment of the heretics. 
 
 At the gay court of Toulouse he came in 
 contact with the finest culture of the day, and 
 must have heard that famous minstrel, Kyot, 
 of whom Wolfram speaks in his great epic. The 
 German singer disclaims all credit for inven- 
 tion in his narrative. He asserts that he sings 
 his song as he remembers to have heard Kyot 
 sing it at the court of Toulouse. 
 
 We know nothing of Kyot beyond his men- 
 tion by Wolfram, and critics usually decide, 
 therefore, that the knightly poet has seen fit 
 to invent his predecessor's performance to ex- 
 cuse his own. But nothing of the sort is indi- 
 cated by Wolfram's words. He says that his 
 contemporary, Chrestien de Troyes, has also 
 borrowed from Kyot, but has not acknowledged I 
 it, and has not preserved the spiritual message ' 
 of his master. The poet adds that he himself 
 is more anxious to express this than anything 
 
 % 34 
 
of $tr*fflc 
 
 else, in which he is undoubtedly sincere. His 
 poem is penetrated by profound religious and 
 mystical feeling, which, however, would hardly 
 have been considered orthodox in its own day. 
 
 On the contrary it bristles with the salient 
 points of the Albigensian heresy, which did 
 not antagonize the Church, but demanded a 
 return to the primitive simplicity and brother- ./ 
 hood of the early times, and taught a mystic 
 asceticism and purity, in strong contrast with 
 the existing customs of the clergy. A little 
 later the real influence of the heresy purified 
 the Church through the beautiful teachings of 
 Saint Francis. When one remembers that the 
 persecution of the Church included the litera- 
 ture of the sect as well as its members, it would 
 not appear singular if the manuscripts of Kyot's 
 work were all burned. One understands then 
 why Chrestien de Troyes failed to transmit the 
 spiritual message of his master, and why Wolf- 
 ram blames him for this significant omission. 
 
 35 
 
In the same way it is evident that if the good 
 churchman, Walter Map, had been charmed with 
 the Grail song of Parzival, penetrated as it was 
 by the fascinating heresy which the Church 
 must extinguish, his first impulse would be to 
 reenforce the lovely story with an orthodoxy 
 which would render it safe for all hearers. 
 
 Among the many points which may be men- 
 tioned as indicating the relationship of the two 
 cycles, and the later authorship of the Galahad 
 poems, are especially the incidents of the Grail 
 castle, the wounded king, and Percival's con- 
 nection with Galahad's adventures. 
 
 In the Galahad cycle the castle is always 
 mentioned as if its location and history were 
 well known, and need not be described. King 
 Pelles is called King of the Grail, and his 
 daughter, who is a Grail maiden, must be the 
 mother of Galahad, as if this fact consecrated 
 her to such a service, but no details are given 
 as to these interesting mysteries. 
 
 36 
 
of 
 
 In the Parzival epic the healing of Amfortas 
 is the central event of the hero's mission. The 
 plot thickens about the spiritual development to 
 which Parzival must attain before he can ask 
 the question, or heal the king, and the interest 
 of the story hinges upon his two visits to the 
 Grail castle. 
 
 Galahad also heals a sick king. In some of 
 the versions even the odd and unexplainable 
 old play upon words in the use of Pescheur, 
 which means both sinner and fisher, is preserved. 
 But Galahad heals the king as a mere incident 
 of his journey to Sarras. There is no signifi- 
 cance in the action, and it would hardly find 
 a place in the new drama, if the author's mind 
 had not retained a similar incident more elo- 
 quently described. If it were dropped from the 
 recital of Galahad's deeds, it would never be 
 missed. 
 
 One wonders also why Galahad cannot achieve 
 the Grail alone, but is always accompanied by 
 
 37 
 
Percival. Bors seems to be added to complete 
 the symbolism of a trinity, but Percival, he 
 is the same as Parsifal, Parzival, the Perche- 
 vaus of Chrestien de Troyes he is the hero 
 of the older cycle ! Surely the singer of 
 Galahad's knightly prowess must first have 
 heard the tale of Parzival's achievement, 
 and could not conscientiously drop him 
 from intimate connection with the Grail 
 mysteries ! 
 
 / One turns with eagerness from all these 
 questionings to the charming old epic of Wolf- 
 ram von Eschenbach, which was the inspiration 
 of Wagner's great music-drama of Parsifal, 
 and which is doubly of interest to us because 
 it is a survival of that wonderful renaissance 
 of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries which 
 has spoken to us in the " Divine Comedy " of 
 Dante, and in the spiritual awakening which 
 Saint Francis brought the world. In this way 
 the epic of Wolfram is distinct from the group 
 
 38 
 
of 
 
 of great poems dedicated to the deeds of chiv- 
 alry, like the Song of Roland, or the Siegfried 
 epics. From beginning to end it is dominated 
 by a spiritual conception of the soul in its rela- 
 tions to life which colours all its chivalric 
 imagery, and frees it to a marked degree from 
 the atmosphere of medievalism. It is evident 
 that the author had pondered deeply many 
 questions relating to ideal living, and had 
 reached some conclusions to which the majority 
 of mankind has not yet attained, though the 
 number of the enlightened is rapidly increas- 
 ing in our own day. 
 
 It was this element in the old poem which 
 rendered it so fascinating to Richard Wagner, 
 for it would be a sad mistake to suppose that 
 the most gifted musical composer of the nine- 
 teenth century was absorbed merely in the dra- 
 matic possibilities of the themes which occupied 
 him. His questionings upon human life always 
 centred in certain social changes, which would 
 
 39 
 
enable the individual to conquer his destiny 
 without that tremendous conflict which he him- 
 self had encountered, and which bade fair to 
 leave him broken and defeated upon the field 
 of battle. 
 
 For years he had felt dimly that the soul 
 must win its way and attain serenity through 
 overcoming. So he busied himself with plans 
 and plots, representing the spiritual victory 
 of Christ and Buddha, in which the victory 
 was ever emphasized, and these he never carried 
 to completion. He could not write the victor 
 drama, or hear the victor music, until he had 
 won at least a certain mastery over his own 
 destiny. When that moment came, he turned 
 again to the epic of Parzival with a fresh and 
 illuminating comprehension of the old minstrel's 
 conception of victory. 
 
 " To conquer through love ! That is the 
 way ! " cries Wolfram, and long before Scho- 
 penhauer lived to paint the exterior world as 
 
 40 
 
of JJarsifale 
 
 merely Will and Idea, the knightly singer had 
 taught his hearers that to conquer for others 
 is the only victory which brings real happiness 
 to the inhabitants of this whirling planet of 
 earth ! 
 
 Meanwhile, it would be exceedingly unjust 
 to imagine for a moment that Wolfram von 
 Eschenbach was morbid and pessimistic. He 
 was, on the contrary, sane, and heartily in sym- 
 pathy with all the life of his day, but he be- 
 lieved in immortality, and looked upon life 
 from the point of view of eternal existence, 
 not that of the limited span visible to our 
 mortal eyes. He was also a thinker who re- 
 mained an earnest and spiritual Christian, but 
 had freed himself quite positively from the 
 jurisdiction of the Church and we must re- 
 member that in Wolfram's day there was but 
 one Church. 
 
 It is evident that to him, winning the Grail 
 meant bringing God into life, and the victory 
 
 41 
 
of Parzival could only be attained through a 
 process of evolution intensely human. In other 
 words, the problem of Wolfram's epic is iden- 
 tical with that of Goethe's "Faust," but the / 
 older poet has approached his undertaking 
 with a simple faith and a belief in love as the 
 most powerful solvent of earthly difficulties, 
 which renders his pages for ever interesting, 
 and brings them always within the comprehen- 
 sion of the mind that cannot attain the heights 
 of philosophy. 
 
 Wolfram was at heart a sincere democrat, 
 and, though he gave his hero a royal father, he 
 did not allow him to be reared at court. Gah- 
 muhret was married first to a Saracen princess 
 named Belakane, and later was united to Herze- 
 leide, the mother of Parzival, who had served in 
 the Grail castle, and was called forth to become 
 the mother of the one whose destiny it was to 
 heal Amfortas, and restore the sweet and perfect 
 atmosphere of the Grail environment. 
 
 42 
 
When the child was born, his father had been 
 slain in battle, and the wise mother, who knew 
 the destiny of her son, felt that a simple wood- 
 land life would prepare him better for his future 
 career than the etiquette of a courtly circle. 
 There was another motive stirring in her heart 
 also. She had lost all she loved best in this 
 world, and she would have preferred to keep 
 her child in her own loving arms, rather than 
 resign him to the most glorious career, which 
 would separate him from her. So she placed 
 him where only the will of God could call him 
 to fame and great deeds. 
 
 She left the court, and sought a forest retreat, 
 with only a few devoted followers. She forbade 
 her people to mention to the boy his father's 
 name or his own royal lineage. He was never 
 to hear the words knighthood, chivalry, Arthur's 
 court, and thus nothing less positive than the 
 law of destiny could bring him the career 
 of glory and peril which his birth seemed to 
 
 43 
 
necessitate, from which the tender heart of even 
 this wise mother must shrink. 
 
 So the child grew up in the forest, learning 
 lessons from the birds, making friends of all 
 the wild things about him, and listening to the 
 wise words of his mother. One of the most 
 beautiful incidents of the forest life, which 
 Wagner has transformed very dramatically 
 into Parsifal's adventure with the swans, is that 
 of shooting the bird. The little boy had made 
 himself a bow and arrows, and had become 
 quite expert in their use. He loved the sing- 
 ing of the birds, and knew nothing of death. 
 One day he took aim at a pretty songster, and 
 to his horror it fell helpless at his feet, and 
 could no longer sing. He lifted it, examined 
 it with anguish in his childish heart, but alas! 
 he could not restore it to music and movement. 
 The little creature lay limp and silent in his 
 hand, and he learned the pathos and mystery 
 of death. 
 
 44 
 
of Da raff ale 
 
 After that he spent many hours under the 
 shadowy branches of the trees, listening to the 
 chorus of the birds, until his little heart swelled 
 almost to bursting with that deep poet's pain 
 which always means the tragedy of human life 
 to him who feels it, because it touches the in- 
 expressible. So he wept with this strange suf- 
 fering, as children often do, adds the old 
 poet wisely, and ran to his mother for com- 
 fort. She forgot her divine wisdom in the pity 
 of motherhood, and thought only of consoling 
 her child, so she said: 
 
 " I will snare the birds and kill them if they 
 make you weep." 
 
 She gave orders for a crusade against the 
 birds by her woodland helpers, and many were 
 slain. But some escaped and continued to sing 
 in the tree-tops. The little boy suffered over 
 the slaughter of his friends, and said to his 
 mother : 
 
 45 
 
" Why do you kill the pretty birds when 
 they have done no harm? " 
 
 Then Herzeleide was recalled to her nobler 
 self, and exclaimed: 
 
 " Alas, how have I forgotten the commands 
 of God, the great and supreme God ! " 
 
 The boy looked at her earnestly. " Mother," 
 he asked, " what is that? What is God? " 
 
 His words showed the mother that he was 
 ready to understand some of the mysteries of 
 life, and that she could reveal to him a little 
 of the wisdom she had learned in the Grail 
 castle during her long service there. So she 
 began to teach him of God. 
 
 " My son," she said, " God is everything 
 that is bright and beautiful. Seek him in the 
 sunshine, and in all that is radiant, lovely, and 
 full of light. But avoid the darkness, for that 
 is evil. That is like hatred and vice, but God 
 is like love." 
 
 The child pondered deeply over this wonder- 
 
 46 
 
of 
 
 ful message, and, with the eager fancy of child- 
 hood, dreamed constantly of its realization. 
 One day, as he was in the forest, he saw coming 
 toward him, down the broad aisles of woodland 
 pathways, a group of knights, brilliant in all 
 the panoply of golden armour and waving 
 plume. The boy stood transfixed before them, 
 so that they were obliged to pause in their on- 
 ward passage, as they did not wish to ride him 
 down, though they were irritated at his inter- 
 ruption of their quest. 
 
 " Oh, help me, God ; you are so rich in help ! " 
 cried the boy. 
 
 The leader of the group, the most brilliantly 
 accoutred among them, answered the boy, but 
 he would not listen. 
 
 " Tell me who you are ! " he insisted, kneeling. 
 " You are God ; I know you are God ! " 
 
 " I am not God," responded the knight, rev- 
 erently, " but I try to obey his commands. I 
 am a knight, and, if you would use your eyes," 
 
 47 
 
he added, " you would see that there are four 
 of us!" 
 
 " Knights ! Knights ! " cried the boy, eagerly. 
 "What does that mean?" 
 
 Then the gentleman explained to the hand- 
 some youth before him, who seemed to be so 
 simple, the glories of knighthood, chivalry, and 
 Arthur's court. The boy wondered at his ar- 
 mour, with its innumerable rings, and, drawing 
 out his sword from its scabbard, the cavalier 
 displayed its flashing surface, and illustrated its 
 use. 
 
 Then, in conclusion, he frankly admired the 
 beauty of the boy, and said: 
 
 " Why do you not go to Arthur's court ? 
 You could win knighthood and honour there. 
 I wish I had your fine figure and your handsome 
 face!" 
 
 The youth had never heard such words as 
 this, and his eyes flashed. His father and all 
 his uncles had fallen in the chivalrous combats 
 
 48 
 
of the noble king, and the words roused echoes 
 in his brain that could not be stilled. He turned 
 hastily and sought his mother. 
 
 " Give me arms and a horse ! " he cried. " I 
 also will ride to Arthur's court and win knight- 
 hood!" 
 
 Then the poor mother knew as other moth- 
 ers have known that her hour had come, that 
 God's plan for her child must be fulfilled in 
 spite of her heart-break. Ah, if she could but 
 have rejoiced in the plan, her heart need not 
 have broken ! 
 
 Just here it may be proper to say a word 
 of the curious and charming symbolism which 
 pervades Wolfram's poem, and adds constantly 
 to its suggestion. The events which form the 
 web and woof of the story are natural and life- 
 like to an unusual degree, but frequently they 
 serve the double purpose of carrying on the 
 plot, and increasing its spiritual meaning. 
 
 The name of Parzival's mother Herzeleide 
 
 49 
 
means Sorrow of the Heart, and, as the 
 hero is a type who stands for mankind in its 
 progress, we are reminded that this same mother, 
 Sorrow of the Heart, has borne the saviours, 
 prophets, and poets of the world from time im- 
 memorial. We are wrong in shrinking from 
 Sorrow, for she frequently brings us our most 
 divine moments. 
 
 During all his life in the forest, Parzival 
 does not know his name. He is, moreover, fre- 
 quently spoken of as a " fool," and, if the poet 
 were to explain his meaning in this, he would 
 doubtless tell us that such a fool as Parzival 
 is one who is enlightened by the spirit and not 
 the intellect, who has been deprived of the ordi- 
 nary mental culture, which we term education. 
 But such a fool is frequently the wisest of men, 
 and obeys the monition of the inner voice far 
 more perfectly than those who have been granted 
 broader intellectual advantages. Parzival is 
 never painted as lacking in mental strength, 
 
 50 
 
of 
 
 but as having been left without worldly advan- 
 tages through which he might have acquired 
 conventional learning. 
 
 From the moment when he met the knights 
 in the forest, every incident in the boy's life 
 became significant and suggestive. His mother 
 prepared his outfit so that there might be still 
 another necessity that the will of God should 
 manifest itself in the shaping of his future. 
 She knew well that the world is prone to judge 
 its saviour and prophet by his dress and bearing 
 rather than his spiritual gifts, and she deter- 
 mined to render Parzival's recognition as difficult 
 as possible. So she fashioned him a doublet 
 from a meal-sack, in which she cut three holes, 
 one for his head and two for his arms. His leg- 
 gings were formed from the skin of a freshly 
 killed calf, and he bestrode a steed, furnished 
 by his mother's stables, the like of which was 
 never known till Don Quixote later rode to con- 
 quest on the famous Rosinante, The boy's only 
 
 51 
 
weapon was a javelin, which he had learned to 
 hurl with unfailing aim in his woodland prac- 
 tice. He was so eager to set forth that he could 
 hardly wait for his mother's final instructions, 
 and he forgot to kiss her good-bye. 
 
 She warned him, however, that he must always 
 treat with respect those whom he saw with white 
 hair, and she told him also that, if he saw a 
 pretty woman, he must kiss her and take away 
 her rings and jewels. This last enigmatic man- 
 date she no doubt felt would preserve her son 
 ', from the temptations of wily women, and it 
 surely was the charm of a seeress for the un- 
 schooled boy. 
 
 His mother died as he left her, but he was 
 so eager for the new life that he did not look 
 back, and was not aware that she had fallen. 
 His first encounter was with Jeschute, a young 
 and beautiful woman, his meeting with whom 
 no doubt gave Wagner a hint for his wonderful 
 Kundry scene in the second act of the drama. 
 
 52 
 
of 
 
 Parzival followed his mother's instructions to 
 the letter, however, and came away scatheless. 
 Then he met his cousin, Sigune, and it may be 
 said here that Sigune represents in the poem the 
 awakened conscience or intelligence within our- 
 selves, which takes note of our mistakes and 
 illuminates our progress. 
 
 She met the boy after the excitement of his 
 first adventure, and immediately asked his name. 
 
 " I don't know my name," he replied. " In 
 the forest they always called me darling and 
 dear boy. Have I another name?" 
 
 " You have the most beautiful name in the 
 world ! " replied Sigune. " And you must never 
 forget it. Your name is Parzival, perce 
 vallee, that means to pierce the valley, and 
 that means that love pierces to truth as surely 
 as it ploughs furrows in your mother's cheek ! " 
 
 Then she told him of his lineage, of his 
 father's honour and his mother's station. She 
 explained that she was his cousin, and told him 
 
 53 
 
enough of her sorrows to elicit his warm sym- 
 pathy. After this he went on to meet Ither 
 the Red Knight, and bear his challenge to 
 Arthur's court. 
 
 It is interesting to recall the manner in which 
 Galahad entered the court of the chivalric king, 
 at the time of his introduction to the Round 
 Table, in comparison with the rude and almost 
 shocking entrance of Parzival. 
 
 Galahad crossed the threshold of the great 
 banquet-hall guided by Merlin, who is sometimes 
 represented as invisible; the old enchanter is 
 always the guardian of the young knight. 
 
 There was one seat at the round table called 
 the " siege perilous," and on the preceding day 
 it had been observed that a new writing was visi- 
 ble about its margin, which indicated that the 
 time had arrived when the greatest knight of the 
 world should occupy this chair. Launcelot 
 threw a silken cover over it, and all waited for 
 the coming event. It was believed that any one 
 
 54 
 
of 
 
 bold enough to sit in this sacred place would 
 pay the penalty of death for his temerity. 
 
 When Galahad entered the hall, he was robed 
 in scarlet velvet and princely ermine. He 
 walked to the fatal chair, removed the cover, 
 and seated himself, while all wondered with 
 suspended breath to see what would happen. 
 But Galahad sat in safety because he was born 
 for this gilded throne-like support, and the 
 recognition of the moment, so the assembled 
 knights gazed at him with astonishment and 
 reverence. 
 
 Parzival, on the contrary, rode into the hall 
 upon his sorry steed, and flung the Red Knight's 
 gauntlet at Arthur's feet. The youth was cer- 
 tainly noble of face and figure, but so strangely 
 costumed that the company of knights and ladies 
 broke into half -suppressed laughter at his ap- 
 pearance. He delivered the challenge he had 
 brought, and then kneeling before the king, 
 offered his prayer for the honour of knighthood. 
 
 55 
 
Arthur was touched by the beauty of the 
 youth, and his princely manner, and, though 
 he knew nothing of him, he would have granted 
 his request. But there was an ominous titter- 
 ing among the courtiers, and Kay, the sene- 
 schal, was evidently displeased. So the king 
 hesitated, and at last consented to the wishes of 
 the strange youth if he would wait until " to- 
 morrow." 
 
 The fiery boy sprang to his feet, feeling the 
 insult of the insolent laughter about him. De- 
 claring he would take horse and armour from 
 the bold warrior whose challenge he had brought, 
 he rode haughtily away. The crowd pressed to 
 the windows to watch his departure, bidding 
 Iwanet, the page, hasten after him and bring 
 news of his defeat. They did not restrain their 
 scorn because Kunneware laughed, though it 
 had been prophesied that she should never smile 
 till her eyes rested on him who should become 
 the greatest knight of the world, and her 
 
 56 
 
of Dar0ffale 
 
 brother Antanor spoke, though the same proph- 
 ecy pronounced him dumb until the moment 
 when his sister could smile. 
 
 Parzival rode away absorbed in the vision 
 of a conquest which should render him worthy 
 of the honour he craved, and, strange to say, 
 Ither the Red Knight fell before the spear- 
 thrust of an unknown and unarmed boy. And 
 it was not Parzival's destiny that overcame him, 
 but the eager courage of insulted and irritated 
 youth. The feeling of the Grail winner was 
 not that of a saint when he overcame Ither, and 
 we love him better because we are made to real- 
 ize that he must purify the fierce spirit within 
 himself before he could bear the sorrows of the 
 world, or gain its victories. 
 
 Iwanet followed the footsteps of the hero, 
 with the intention of witnessing his discomfi- 
 ture, but he reached the scene of conflict just 
 in time to save the rich armour of Ither from 
 destruction. The inexperienced boy who had 
 
 57 
 
conquered the bold knight had never unfastened 
 greaves or cuirass, and he was recklessly tearing 
 them from the body of his fallen adversary 
 when Iwanet reached him. The page was duly 
 shocked at his ignorance, but willing to lend 
 his skill, so presently he prepared to enclose the 
 lithe limbs of the youth before him in knightly 
 gear. He was naturally disgusted with Parzi- 
 val's primitive attire, however, and, as he en- 
 deavoured to fit the greaves over the coarse 
 calfskin leggings the conqueror wore, he mut- 
 tered disdainfully: 
 
 " It is impossible to adjust armour upon such 
 garments ! The gentlemen I have been accus- 
 tomed to arming wear silken hose beneath their 
 greaves." 
 
 Whereupon the rustic Parzival gave courtly 
 bred Iwanet a lesson in true courtesy which he 
 probably did not soon forget. 
 
 " Those leggings," he responded, sternly, 
 
 58 
 
of 
 
 " were my mother's gift, and I shall wear them 
 till they drop off." 
 
 It would be most interesting to follow Parzi- 
 val through all the adventures which roused 
 within him at last that spirit of love which alone 
 can save the soul of man. He made mistakes, 
 but he always profited by them, and he learned 
 love through loving. 
 
 He spent many days with old Gurnemanz, 
 familiarizing himself with the courtly etiquette 
 of which he had known nothing in his forest life. 
 Gurnemanz admired the youth, and would have 
 liked to marry him to his daughter, but Parzi- 
 val knew that she was not the one he loved, and 
 so said farewell to the good old man. He 
 learned many excellent truths from Gurnemanz, 
 but he unfortunately retained one lesson which 
 he should have forgotten. Gurnemanz said to 
 him: 
 
 " Parzival, remember that you are but a fool, 
 an uncultured boy, unaccustomed to the ways 
 
 59 
 
of the world and of polite society. So be care- 
 ful at least not to betray your ignorance. Don't 
 ask foolish questions." 
 
 For the exigencies of the drama, Wagner has 
 combined the personality of Gurnemanz, the old 
 courtier, with that of Trevrezent, the wise and 
 saintly hermit, whom Parzival met later on in 
 his career, and who taught him a divine wisdom 
 quite beyond the compass of good old Gurne- 
 manz, for Trevrezent was as learned in heavenly 
 customs as Gurnemanz in those of earthly courts. 
 So Parzival acquired his courtesy, as we all 
 must do, from those familiar with widely dif- 
 ferent royalties. 
 
 The young knight rode from Gurnemanz' 
 castle at last, because it was time for him to 
 meet his destined love, Kondwiramur, whom he 
 must win by overcoming the enemies who assailed 
 her. We cannot linger over this tale of knightly 
 prowess, but we like to remember that Parzival 
 experienced all the sweetness of manly lovo and 
 
 60 
 
of 
 
 was tested in constancy before he could be so 
 purified as to learn the meaning of heavenly love. 
 The legend of his truth and fealty to his wife 
 has penetrated all literatures, and we find every- 
 where the pretty story of how the knight fell 
 into profound contemplation, from which his 
 comrades could not rouse him, at sight of the 
 drop of blood in the snow, which reminded him 
 instantly of the red and white in the face of his 
 beloved. The legend varies in details, but it is 
 originally the story of Parzival's love. Her fair 
 image never left his knightly heart. 
 
 He rode from her, however, because great 
 deeds must be accomplished, and the Grail castle 
 loomed before him with its question to be asked 
 and answered. He had ridden far, and was 
 anxious as to a shelter for the night. He came 
 to the shores of a wide sea, and saw some men 
 in a boat. One of them wore a cap made of 
 peacpck's feathers, and was as richly dressed 
 as a king would be. 
 
 61 
 
Parzival called aloud, and was carefully 
 directed to a castle not far distant, which, how- 
 ever, he had not seen, and his informant warned 
 him that if he were not careful he might miss 
 his way, for many false paths would lead him 
 from the castle. He added that if he reached 
 it in safety, he himself would be his host. 
 
 The story of Amfortas, as Wolfram tells it, 
 is not so dramatically conceived as it appears 
 in the music-drama, yet the fundamental idea 
 is the same in both, and it is always interesting 
 to discover how curiously, in almost all cases, 
 the later poet has found the germ of even his 
 dramatic placing in the primitive poem. Thus 
 the wound of Amfortas is a spear-thrust which 
 was given him by a heathen knight in the service 
 of Orgeluse, the same fair lady who some years 
 afterward bewitched Gawain so successfully. 
 Orgeluse had ensnared Amfortas, though he was 
 Grail king, and vowed to purity and holiness. 
 She was also under the spell of Klinschor, and 
 
 62 
 
of 
 
 played much the same double game as that 
 which is given to Kundry in the drama. 
 
 The wound of Amfortas was inflicted by a 
 poisoned spear, and would not heal. It, of 
 course, symbolizes the sin of passion, as is more 
 powerfully expressed in Wagner's drama. The 
 suffering of the conscience-stricken monarch, as 
 well as that of the entire Grail circle on his 
 account, is most tenderly recited in the old poem. 
 Every means is sought for his relief in vain, 
 and at last the luminous letters appear about 
 the sacred stone, which reveal the strange fact 
 that, when the appointed time arrives, a knight 
 will enter the castle who will ask what makes 
 the king suffer, and immediately he will be 
 healed. But no one must suggest to the stranger 
 that the question should be asked. 
 
 It was not strange, after such tragic experi- 
 ences and long years of waiting, that Parzival, 
 like many other strangers, should have been 
 courteously received at the Grail castle. Nor 
 
 63 
 
was it strange that all eyes gazed earnestly upon 
 him, and Repanse de Schoie, the Grail bearer, 
 sent him her own velvet mantle to show him 
 honour. It seemed as if this noble and earnest- 
 eyed traveller might really be the one destined 
 to ask the question, and bring peace and healing 
 to the suffering king. 
 
 Wagner is largely indebted to Wolfram von 
 Eschenbach for the dramatic and picturesque 
 scene of the Grail chamber, where the banquet 
 is served, for no portion of the great epic is 
 more charming and suggestive than this. The 
 details are so numerous that the scene seems 
 to live before our eyes, while its atmosphere is 
 so mystically poetic that its meaning can hardly 
 escape even the careless reader. 
 
 The procession of maidens comes in twos and 
 fours, in sixes and eights, and seven, winding, 
 separating, and uniting in a fashion which dis- 
 plays the old poet's perfect familiarity with the 
 cabalistic symbolism of numbers, so that their 
 
 64 
 
of 
 
 graceful convolutions preach a sermon on the 
 realization and interpenetration of the divine 
 and human. They bear lights and perfumed 
 torches; they bring silver plates and cups for 
 the banquet, which always accompanies the pres- 
 entation of the Grail. Four knights eat and 
 drink from the same cup and plate, but each 
 partakes of the food and wine which his wish 
 demands, for the power of the Grail in this, 
 as in all cases, satisfies every need of the earnest 
 seeker. 
 
 The lights, the perfumes, the rich dresses, and 
 fair, sweet faces complete a most charming pic- 
 ture, and the joy of the moment is in all coun- 
 tenances. Yet the guests are silent. No one 
 laughs aloud, no one voices that strange rapture 
 which the lovely presence of the Grail rouses in 
 the human soul. 
 
 Parzival looks about in wonder at the mag- 
 nificent scene. He observes that the king alone 
 is sorrowful, that he seems to be suffering 
 
 65 
 
deeply. What can it all mean? He is about 
 to ask, when suddenly he remembers the warning 
 of Gurnemanz : " Don't betray your ignorance 
 by asking foolish questions." 
 
 Ah, he has bethought himself in time ! He 
 is but slightly acquainted with courts, with cul- 
 tured society. How does he know but such a 
 ceremonial as this may be of comparatively 
 common occurrence among people of high posi- 
 tion? And what would they think of his igno- 
 rance if they perceived his unsophisticated sim- 
 plicity? Certainly the epic moment is a vivid 
 one. 
 
 So he gazed at the wonderful picture spread 
 before him ; he absorbed the wondrous odours 
 of the Grail; he felt the strange and inexpres- 
 sible delight of its presence, and behaved, he 
 was assured, like a polished gentleman. He was 
 presented with a wonderful sword, such as he 
 had never seen, and, as he noticed the' coun- 
 tenance of Amfortas contract with pain, the 
 
 66 
 
of 
 
 question again trembled on his lips What ails / 
 you? 
 
 But he repressed it once more, said good night 
 to his courteous host, and was conducted to his 
 chamber. There everything was prepared for 
 him with the utmost luxury, and he sank into 
 oblivion upon his couch, quite unaware of the 
 rich opportunity which had escaped him. 
 
 When he rose in the morning, however, all 
 was changed. His sleep had been troubled and 
 tormented by terrible dreams, so that in spite of 
 his luxurious couch and stately attendance, he 
 was rejoiced to see the morning light. No one 
 answered his call, however, and at last, as he 
 perceived his armour and swords lying upon 
 the carpet near by, he rose, attired himself, and 
 prepared for departure. 
 
 He found no one in all the great castle, which 
 answered with lonely and empty echo the clash 
 of his spurred heels against the stone floor. His 
 horse was ready saddled in the stable; he 
 
 67 
 
mounted and rode across the drawbridge. As he 
 passed out, he glanced up to see an impish face 
 in the window of the tower, and a voice called 
 to him, reproachfully : " You goose ! Why did 
 you not ask the question?" Ah, what sombre 
 shadows enveloped Parzival as the words fell 
 upon his ear! 
 
 Those who have seen Wagner's great music- 
 drama will remember how dramatically the heal- 
 ing of Amfortas is conceived. Parsifal touches 
 him with the bleeding spear which had once 
 pierced the side of the Saviour, and which 
 Klingsor had hurled at Amfortas himself, as 
 Wagner tells the story, when the sinning king 
 wandered into his forbidden garden of delight. 
 In comparison with this, the simple healing by 
 the asking of a mere question seems far less 
 effective. 
 
 Yet the dramatic idea of the presence of the 
 bleeding spear was not neglected by the old 
 poet. In the beginning of the great Grail scene 
 
 68 
 
of 
 
 in the banquet-hall, when the king is seated, 
 but before the maidens have entered with the 
 joy and fragrance which herald the Grail, a 
 boy suddenly runs through the chamber with 
 terrible cries, bearing in his hands a bleeding 
 spear. The thrill of horror which rises at his 
 irruption renders the succeeding ecstasy even 
 doubly appreciable, and reminds one strangely 
 of the mystical and tragic background in the 
 pervading glory. 
 
 Wagner was always alive to dramatic neces- 
 sities, and he wisely made use of the suggestion 
 of the spear to add to the stage effect of the 
 king's healing. But it is not well to lose sight 
 of the beautiful spiritual thought in the older 
 poet's mind in connection with the question, 
 and this is suggested in Parzival's conversation 
 with Sigune. 
 
 As he rides away from the castle, wrapped 
 in the sadness which had been forced upon him 
 by the dreams of the night, he meets his cousin, 
 
 69 
 
whom he does not recognize at first because of 
 her melancholy and forlorn appearance. She 
 knows him, however, and questions him eagerly. 
 When she learns that he must have been in the 
 Grail castle, in the blessed interior of Mon- 
 salvat, she takes it for granted that he has 
 asked the question and healed the suffering 
 king. He learns then that he was destined for 
 that noble service, and that his own conventional 
 and self-conscious fear has prevented its per- 
 formance. 
 
 When at last he interrupts the flood of her 
 eloquence, and tells her that he has lost his 
 opportunity and failed in his duty, Sigune can- 
 not restrain her indignation, and her eager re- 
 proach in which she hurls at him the threat that 
 for years the wolf's tooth shall gnaw his heart 
 is naturally the suggestion for that marvellous 
 cursing scene in Wagner's drama, where it 
 seems as if all the powers of evil combine against 
 the hapless boy, whom nevertheless they cannot 
 
 70 
 
of 
 
 overthrow. It is of course Kundry who curses/ 
 Parsifal in the drama, for Sigune is not intro- 
 duced into the scene of the modern play. 
 
 The initial moment in the old epic is exceed- 
 ingly fine, and in it we find what is really the 
 key-note to the feeling of the entire poem, and 
 the spiritual source from which the healing of 
 Amfortas springs. Weary of invective, Sigune 
 turns to Parzival with the words: 
 
 " I should think your heart would have been 
 so full of pity that you could not have helped 
 asking the question." 
 
 It was love that alone could heal the suffer- ) 
 ing monarch, and, if the love was not already 
 springing in Parzival's soul, the necessary words 
 might tremble upon his tongue, but they could 
 not fall from his hesitating lips. So he must 
 wander for many years, gnawed by the wolf's 
 tooth of her scorn and his own profound regret, 
 before the moment came when he could regain 
 his lost opportunity. 
 
 71 
 
"It is likely," she cried, "that it wiU be 
 granted you! You were born to achieve the 
 richest prize of chivalry, and you failed at 
 Monsalvat ! " 
 
 In all the Arthurian romances, the Knight 
 Gawain fills a peculiar place. He is always de- 
 scribed as a brave and fearless cavalier; he is 
 frequently painted as noble and worthy of his 
 high lineage, but he is as often represented quite 
 devoid of honourable character and motives. 
 He is drawn as a treacherous and recreant 
 knight. 
 
 In Wolfram's " Parzival," however, his per- 
 sonality is well defined, and he is used constantly 
 as the foil for Parzival's honour and fine feel- 
 ing. Parzival can never forget Sigune's curse 
 and his own wretched failure, which doomed the 
 unfortunate king to longer years of suffering, 
 but Gawain, though he has started upon the 
 Grail quest, falls in love with that very Orge- 
 luse who has been the king's destruction, and 
 
 72 
 
of 
 
 invariably drops every high aim for the light J 
 and passing pleasure of the moment. He breaks 
 the charm of the magic bed in the Wonder 
 Castle, and frees the imprisoned maidens, but 
 he does all as if by accident, and shows neither 
 purpose nor ideal. 
 
 The two knights are powerfully contrasted 
 in the scene at the round table, where both are 
 unexpectedly accused of unknightly conduct 
 in the presence of the king and his followers. 
 Kondrie appears and tells the pathetic story of 
 Parzival's failure to ask the question at the 
 Grail castle, accusing him of cowardice and 
 stupidity unworthy of a noble knight. Scarcely 
 has she taken her departure when Kingrimursel 
 presents himself, accuses Gawain of treachery 
 and of " Judas " conduct, on account of which 
 he challenges him to mortal combat. 
 
 Parzival stands dismayed and broken-hearted 
 after Kondrie's cruel accusation. He feels as 
 if the sacrifice of his entire life would not offer 
 
 73 
 
sufficient reparation for the fault he has com- 
 mitted. Gawain, on the contrary, is scarcely 
 disturbed. He is anxious about his armour, 
 that is all, and is careful to select shield and 
 breastplate that can withstand heavy blows. 
 
 In his love for the false Orgeluse, also, Gawain 
 is compared with true-hearted Parzival. Ga- 
 wain yields himself completely to her wiles and 
 the charm of her beauty, and she tells him of 
 the one knight, a red knight all in red armour 
 for Parzival always wore the gear he had 
 won from Ither in his first combat who re- 
 fused her love, and refused it though she offered 
 him her land as well. 
 
 " I have a more beautiful wife than you," 
 he declared, " who is dearer to me than you 
 could ever be. Besides, your love is noth- 
 ing to me, for the Grail lies heavy on my 
 heart." 
 
 " So he spoke," concluded Orgeluse, as she 
 told the story to Gawain. " Now be my judge. 
 
 74 
 
of 
 
 Was I slighted by his scorn, or was he un- 
 worthy of the love I offered him so frankly? " 
 
 In spite of Gawain's lightness, he loved the 
 noble character of Parzival, so he answered, 
 with much seriousness, " Lady, the knight 
 whom you fancied is so noble a man, that if' 
 he had loved you, even you would have been 
 honoured by his preference." 
 
 It is deeply interesting to study the old poem 
 of Wolfram, and realize how fully Wagner 
 must have been penetrated by its richness and 
 charm, to transform it as he has into the jewelled 
 and brilliant texture of his great drama. For 
 there is scarcely a clever dramatic point in 
 Wagner's work, which is not suggested in dif- 
 ferent form in the elder masterpiece. For in- 
 stance, the Kundry of the drama has been 
 spoken of as practically the original creation 
 of the later poet. Yet the entire character and 
 conduct of Wagners Kundry are fully de- 
 lineated in Wolfram's Orgeluse. As has been 
 
 75 
 
shown, she has no influence upon Wolfram's 
 Parzival, but she has been the ruin of Am- 
 fortas, and plays constantly into the hands of 
 Klinschor by the ensnaring of noble cavaliers. ; 
 Wagner's dramatic instinct led him to drop J 
 both Gawain and Orgeluse from his list of 
 characters. He gives the role of Orgeluse to 
 his own Kundry, and in her endeavour to en- 
 snare Parsifal, and its result, he depicts all the 
 struggle and development of the hero's soul. 
 
 Meanwhile, the hint which led him to invent 
 the character of his own Kundry, or rather 
 transform and repaint the Kondrie-Orgeluse 
 of the epic, is found in the old poem itself. 
 Kondrie seems to be a sort of Grail messenger 
 in Wolfram's hands. She seeks Parzival, as 
 has been shown, at the round table, and insults 
 him, apparently for the good of his soul, and 
 later leads him once more to the holy place. 
 But she goes also to the Wonder Castle of 
 Klinschor, and Queen Arnive tells Gawain, 
 
 76 
 
of 
 
 while she is dressing his wounds, how Kondrie 
 la Sorciere has taught her wondrous things in 
 the healing of wounds, for Kondrie is very 
 wise., 
 
 We can see also, in the vivid and half -humour- 
 ous description Wolfram gives of the inde- 
 scribably horrible plainness of Kondrie, and 
 her curiously rich attire, how Wagner gained 
 from it the hint he needed to create his own 
 strange and fascinating Kundry, who, during 
 half her time, must be a beautiful, clever, and 
 irresistible witch whom no man can resist, and 
 for the remainder becomes a sorrowing woman 
 who would save the poor souls her spell has 
 bewildered ! 
 
 It must not be supposed for a moment that 
 Wagner's appropriation of the earlier epic 
 was in the least open to criticism. He used it 
 frankly as a portion of that rich, mythic 
 treasure gathered in the development of the 
 human race, to which all men have added, and 
 
 77 
 
from which all are free to take in their turn. 
 It was his profound sympathy with everything 
 the older poem contained which enabled him 
 to transmute its contents with such remark- 
 able effect. 
 
 Thus he would probably have thought of 
 using the spear as a means of healing more 
 dramatic than the simple question, even if / 
 Chrestien de Troyes had not done so in his 
 poem of " Perchevaus," for the spear plays a 
 very significant part in the epic, as well as 
 in Wagner's drama. 
 
 When Parzival's wanderings bring him finally 
 to the woodland cell of Trevrezent, where at 
 last his soul shall find peace, he remembers 
 that he has been there before, and recognizes 
 the spear he sees as that of Duke Orilus, the 
 husband of Jeschute, from whom he had torn 
 the ring in his first adventure after leaving 
 the forest. 
 
 One of the significant points in Parzival's 
 
 78 
 
of 
 
 development, as Wolfram describes it, is that 
 he must always repent practically of his sins, 
 that is, must make reparation for his wrong- 
 doings, not to the Church, but to those he has 
 injured. When he left Jeschute in tears and 
 terror, he was by no means free from her. He 
 meets her later, after he has been to Monsalvat, 
 and wakened to a consciousness of his erring 
 state, and finds, to his dismay, that since his 
 encounter with her that fateful day, her hus- 
 band has believed her untrue to him, and has 
 treated her with cruelty. Parzival encounters 
 Duke Orilus, conquers him, and makes him 
 swear that hereafter he will deal gently with 
 Jeschute. Then he goes with him to a forest 
 retreat, where they find a holy reliquary, upon 
 which Parzival swears a solemn oath that 
 Jeschute is as innocent as the sunshine, and 
 that when he took her jewels, and kissed her 
 lips, he was " not yet a man," only a heedless 
 fool. So Orilus is at last convinced. He wipes 
 79 
 
the blood from his combat-smitten lips, and 
 kisses her warmly, not from compulsion. He 
 also covers her with his warrior's mantle, 
 slashed with many a hero's sword cut. Strange 
 ornament for a fair lady! adds the old chron- 
 icler, but it was many a day since Jeschute had 
 been honoured with the touch of its knightly 
 folds. 
 
 Parzival left the happy pair in the hermit's 
 cell, and went on to establish peace elsewhere 
 upon the earth. Two years and a half later, 
 he pauses in his wanderings at the door of the 
 same cell, but he does not remember it until 
 he suddenly recognizes the reliquary upon 
 which he had sworn Jeschute's innocence, and 
 the spear which Orilus must have left behind 
 him. 
 
 " How long has that been here ? " he asks 
 the good hermit, and Trevrezent, referring to 
 his prayer-book, where the event had been noted, 
 gives him the months and days. 
 
 80 
 
of 
 
 Then Parzival realizes the weariness of the 
 time he has wandered, separated from the wife 
 he loves so dearly, unable to find the gray walls 
 of Monsalvat, to see the blessed Grail once 
 more, and heal the suffering king. But at least 
 he has found some one to whom he can reveal 
 all the burden of his sorrows, and understand 
 in every detail the wonderful history of the 
 Grail castle, and the wounded king. 
 
 We know how Parzival's heart contracted, 
 and how fully he forgot his own sorrows as he 
 was told of the poisoned spear which had in- 
 flicted the burning wound, and how the metal 
 was so deadly cold that only when it was placed 
 upon his fevered flesh was the king's pain for 
 a moment assuaged! And he could have ended 
 it for ever ! Had he but forgotten his own foolish 
 dignity, Amfortas would have spent the last 
 five years in j oy and happiness ! 
 
 Then he was told of the comfort of the waters 
 of the wide sea, by which the castle stood. The 
 
 81 
 
sufferer lay often in his boat, rocking upon 
 the soft embrace of the waves, and the gentle 
 breezes brought relief to his anguish. Ah, 
 Parzival! And you could have given him sweet 
 sleep for many years ! 
 
 So the story goes on, until we seem to see 
 how love has taken complete possession of the 
 hero's soul, and he has even ceased to remember 
 his own sorrows. He has lost them in the con- 
 sciousness of another's deeper anguish. It is 
 at such a moment that the elixir of the Grail / 
 enters the soul, and wise Trevrezent knew well 
 what he was doing as he dwelt upon the details 
 of the wonderful story in which his hearer was 
 so intensely interested. 
 
 We see also how curiously Wagner has inter- 
 woven even the outer incidents of the epic into 
 the scenic structure of his masterpiece. The 
 spear which wounded Amfortas was not that 
 of Calvary, and the spear preserved in Trevre- 
 zent's cell was not that which had wounded the 
 
 82 
 
The 
 
 & 
 of 
 
 king, yet each has reappeared transformed in 
 the dramatic part the spear plays in the musi- 
 cian's hands, and the spear of Wagner was 
 fashioned in the poetic fires of the older poet's 
 laboratory. 
 
 In the drama the spear is always that with 
 which Christ was wounded on Calvary. It 
 wounds Amfortas in turn as a punishment for 
 his passionate sin, then Klingsor hurls it at 
 young Parsifal, when he dares resist the fas- 
 cination of Kundry, and Parsifal, unterrified, 
 catches it in its dangerous flight, makes with 
 it the sign of the cross in the air, and with 
 that holy symbol of love, breaks the spell of 
 Klingsor's magic so that the beauties of his 
 garden crumble into dust ! 
 
 Then, when the Parsifal of Wagner, in his 
 turn, reaches the term of his wanderings, his 
 pain and purification, he finds Gurnemanz, as 
 the elder Parzival found Trevrezent, and the 
 hero is recognized by his spear. Gurnemanz 
 
 83 
 
has watched for his return, bearing it in his 
 hand, because he knows that one day it will 
 heal the king. 
 
 There are several specially beautiful situa- 
 tions in the three acts of Wagner's drama, 
 into which he has compressed the wide compass 
 of the rich old epic. Among these, the shoot- 
 ing of the swan naturally comes first, for in it 
 we feel all the sweet forest rearing of the boy, 
 and the peculiar innocence of his undeveloped 
 state. The strange and mysterious charm of 
 the castle of Monsalvat, its quiet waters, its 
 peace, and the mystic suffering of its king, 
 are all powerfully mirrored in this great initial 
 scene of the drama. The boy's soul stirs and 
 wakens at the death of the swan, as did that 
 of Parzival at the death of the song-bird, and 
 we know that, whatever mistakes he may regret 
 hereafter, he will not turn an unlistening ear 
 to the divine voice. 
 
 In the second act, the scene with Kundry is 
 
 84 
 
of })ar0ffale 
 
 of the same comprehensive sort. Kundry 
 knows the innocent heart of the boy whom she 
 would ensnare in spite of herself, and she en- 
 deavours to rouse in him an ignoble love, by 
 recalling to him the caressing fondness of his 
 mother. So he is startled suddenly by his 
 mother's voice calling him " Par-si-f al ! Par- 
 si-f al ! " The lingering syllables, quivering 
 with his mother's love, envelop him in a flood 
 of tenderness. But such tenderness! It is the 
 caress of the stars and the breezes of morning. 
 It is an elixir so powerful that the poison of 
 Kundry's kiss is incorporated in its current, 
 and illuminates him suddenly with a knowledge 
 of what Amfortas suffers. Ah! it was this 
 which caused his pain ! It was the bitter sting 
 of passion. And he might have healed him ! He, 
 a foolish, inexperienced boy, might have saved 
 the king! Parsifal springs to his feet in the 
 anguish of the moment; the wiles of Kundry 
 are as nothing, the magic of Klingsor is broken 
 85 
 
before the endless pity which beats and surges 
 in the heart of the loving youth. 
 
 In the last act, the memory loves to dwell 
 upon the baptism of Kundry, and the healing 
 of Amfortas, for in these two scenes the sym- 
 bolism of the poem finds its consummation, and 
 the music naturally rises to its greatest power. 
 In the healing of the suffering monarch, where 
 the dove descends, and the king is touched with 
 the wonderful spear, with which the imagina- 
 tion of the observer has become familiarized as 
 an object of strange significance and potency, 
 feeling is so intensified as to be almost unbear- 
 able, and the ethereal grace and benediction of 
 the music express what can never be given form 
 in words. 
 
 The descent of the dove is one of the beauti- 
 ful touches which Wolfram had conceived, for 
 Trevrezent describes to Parzival the wonderful 
 uplift which all souls experience when the 
 snowy dove flies from heaven, and leaves upon 
 
 86 
 
of 
 
 the marvellous stone its offering. From that 
 gift arises the strange nourishing power of the 
 Grail, he assures his reverent listener, so that 
 until the dove again descends, all shall be fed 
 upon ambrosia. 
 
 In Kundry, Wagner has combined the figures 
 of Kondrie and Orgeluse, as has been said. In 
 the treatment of the love theme in his drama, he 
 has been accused on the one side of marked senti- 
 mentalism, and on the other of extreme artifi- 
 ciality, but neither is true. It would have been 
 impossible for him to study the old poem with 
 the sympathy he felt for its theme, and not 
 become to a certain extent a symbolist. But 
 he was a symbolist from temperament, as was 
 Wolfram before him, so that we cannot under- 
 stand anything he did, if we refuse to recog- 
 nize his symbolism. 
 
 The theme of " Parsifal " is spiritual love ; 
 the finding of the Grail is the awakening of the 
 soul to this love, and while the entire life of 
 
 87 
 
the hero paints the evolution of his nature 
 from animal consciousness to spiritual love and 
 wisdom, as it may be attained in each human 
 soul, the figure of Kundry illustrates what one 
 might denominate the struggle of love. Kun-~ 
 dry has been forced, by the magic spell of 
 Klingsor, to rouse the passions of men, and 
 ensnare and ruin them thereby. Her soul is 
 awakened, and she wishes, on the contrary, to 
 save and heal them. Her contact with Parsifal 
 has taught her the meaning of pure love. She 
 begins to understand the love of Heaven by 
 experiencing the pure love of man. It was 
 impossible for the dramatist to paint the entire 
 evolution of Parzival's spirit, so he illustrates 
 in Kundry's love, and its result, what Wolfram 
 shows in his hero's long constancy for Kond- 
 wiramur. 
 
 In the epic, Parzival's visit to Trevrezent 
 marks his entrance upon the path which will 
 lead him again to Monsalvat, and enable him 
 
 88 
 
of })av0ffalc 
 
 to heal the king. He stays two weeks with the 
 old hermit, whom he learns is his uncle, the 
 brother of Amfortas, and also of Herzeleide; 
 for Parzival knows at last that he really be- 
 longs to the Grail family. The simple life of 
 prayer and fasting, the long and loving talks 
 with the saintly hermit, melt the bitterness in 
 Parzival's heart, and he begins to believe that 
 he has not lost God, that in fact he may still 
 make good that sad lack of love, of which he 
 had once been guilty. 
 
 So he said farewell to the hermit with a cheer- 
 ful and comforted soul, and rode away to 
 Arthur's court, to realize, to his surprise, that 
 he was honoured there as the greatest knight 
 in the world. For, while Parzival had been 
 righting his own mistakes, and succouring the 
 unfortunate, he had been altogether too busy 
 to notice that men called him great, and de- 
 clared he was without a peer in the world of 
 chivalry ! 
 
 89 
 
It was just at this time, also, that he found 
 his half-brother Feirifisz, who was the son of 
 that Saracen wife his father had married in 
 his youth. The young man would have been 
 called a heathen, but Parzival took him to his 
 heart without asking if he had been baptized, 
 and one wonders, in reading the story, that 
 Wolfram, who lived in the crusading days of 
 the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, has limned 
 for us the character of Feirifisz with so genial 
 a touch. 
 
 The moment arrived at last when Parzival 
 was again seated at the banquet-table of Arthur, 
 surrounded by the members of that famous 
 band whose names still thrill us with the mem- 
 ory of their prowess and noble deeds. The day 
 was Parzival's, the banquet in his honour, and 
 once more Kondrie rode into the hall. But this 
 time she came not to assail Parzival and fill 
 his soul with gloom, but to bring him honour 
 and joy, to conduct him to Monsalvat. Do 
 
 90 
 
of 
 
 you believe he could hesitate to obey the sum- 
 mons? All the glory of the world was about 
 him, clothed him, its plaudits and titles were 
 thrust upon him, but he pushed them from him 
 eagerly, with joy, to enter the presence of 
 divine and perfect love! But how could he 
 do anything else? There are so few of us who 
 can understand even the first syllable of the 
 meaning of love in this short life of ours, and 
 Parzival knew that now he was to learn it, the 
 entire definition, even to its concluding letter, 
 as far as the human mind could contain its 
 infinite beauty. 
 
 Kondrie told him that he had the privilege 
 of taking one companion with him, and he 
 immediately chose Feirifisz; he was a heathen, 
 but he was a brother, and evidently Parzival 
 was more than ready for the first syllable of 
 love! They rode at a swift pace across the 
 country, and stood soon in the presence of the 
 suffering king. You can be certain that his 
 
 91 
 
greeting was a glad one; but Amfortas begged 
 that the stranger would not remain in the 
 Grail chamber, and we are reminded of the 
 tradition that no one could perceive the Grail 
 who had not been baptized. Surely, we con- 
 fess immediately, one must believe in Gcd, and 
 incline the ear with humility to hear his voice, 
 or it will not be audible. The fragrance of 
 the Grail and its illuminating vision can only 
 be apprehended by the supersensitive conscious- 
 ness of the awakened soul. 
 
 We like to remember that, after Feirifisz was 
 baptized, he married no less a person than 
 Repanse de Schoie herself, who had borne the 
 Grail at Monsalvat so many years that certainly 
 nothing but sweet wisdom could have remained 
 in her beautiful, earthly tabernacle. None but 
 a singularly broad-minded Christian poet of 
 the thirteenth century could have wedded her 
 to one who was born and bred a Saracen. The 
 stranger must have caught the accents of the 
 
 92 
 
of 
 
 Grail in his Arabic tongue to cherish them in 
 his loving and earnest heart! Otherwise he 
 could not have sought his wife in the castle 
 of Monsalvat. 
 
 We realize in this little incident that Wolfram 
 had recognized the widespread influence of the 
 Grail. It speaks in all tongues, whispers in 
 all hearts, is the mystic chain of union for 
 mankind. No race is so lost in savagery as 
 not to be lifted into the radiance of its vision. 
 
 When Feirifisz had left his brother with the 
 king, Parzival did not wait for the great pro- 
 cession, for the opening of the sliding walls, 
 or the performance of any ceremonial. He 
 begged only that he might see the Grail, that 
 he might be granted an assurance of the reality 
 of his mission. But he could scarcely speak to 
 ask the all-important question ; his voice broke 
 in its utterance of the simple words, and the 
 cause of the miracle was evident, for truly 
 Parzival could not help asking the question! 
 
 93 
 
The healing love-spirit, which fills the nar- 
 ration of Wolfram, and renders the simplicity 
 of his description exceedingly eloquent, has 
 coloured and inspired the music of Wagner 
 in this scene, so that it heightens and interprets 
 the effect of the healing, as words could not 
 do. When Parsifal lifts the crystal cup, and 
 it is illuminated by a shaft of crimson light, 
 as the white dove descends, the scene is as per- 
 fect in its varied aspect as could well be 
 imagined. All the avenues to the senses are 
 filled by those delicate and lovely sensations 
 which we associate with experiences of the soul, 
 and the bodily nerves are forced to convey only 
 impressions which we call those of heaven, 
 because they are so far removed from the 
 region of our passion and pain. 
 
 It will be evident to any one who compares 
 the drama with the epic, that Wagner has not 
 given us " a Schopenhauer set to music," as 
 some of the critics have declared. He took his 
 
 94 
 
of 
 
 materials from all sources. The crystal cup, 
 which is so effective as it is illuminated by 
 crimson light, is described in the " Krone," by 
 Heinrich von dem Turlin. The lance, or spear, 
 which is usually the traditional and legendary 
 one of Loginus, outside of Wolfram's hands, 
 played a more prominent part in the mediaeval 
 romances of France and Germany than in those 
 of the great minstrel. The dove, the chalice, 
 the fragrance and miraculous qualities of the 
 Grail appear in all the legends, but only in 
 the minds of Wolfram and his mighty successor 
 are all these heavenly gifts used for the illus- 
 tration of a spiritual truth. 
 
 The extent and manner in which Wagner 
 was influenced by Schopenhauer is not under- 
 stood by many critics. The great idealist 
 philosopher is not necessarily a pessimist, and 
 did not make Wagner one. He realized fully 
 as a philosopher merely that the sensitive 
 thinking side of life represents its only reality, 
 
 95 
 
and offers the only possibility of happiness for 
 mankind of a permanent and positive sort. To 
 this we can only attain by the elimination of 
 selfishness, and it is selfish desire, not love of 
 the beautiful and of one's kind and kin, which 
 his teaching would destroy. The " will to live " 
 which craves physical gratification, sumptuous 
 dinners and great wealth, personal power, must 
 be granted no empire in the aspiring soul, but 
 a " will to live " which demands the salvation 
 of the world, homes for the people, happiness 
 in every heart, that is what allies man to 
 God himself. In this way the idealist teach- 
 ing of Schopenhauer strengthened Wagner's 
 own interest in all questions which touch upon 
 the brotherhood of men, and rendered him 
 doubly sympathetic to the emphasis of Wolfram 
 von Eschenbach in such directions. 
 
 We know almost nothing of the old poet 
 himself. He has told us he was of peasant 
 birth, and intimates that he was so little skilled 
 
 96 
 
of 
 
 in books as to be ignorant of reading and writ- 
 ing. But this can hardly be true. The poem 
 bears every evidence of having been sung and 
 not written, and it was no doubt preserved as 
 the minstrel sang it with the accompaniment of 
 his harp. It is full of charming humourous 
 touches, and descriptive and philosophic addi- 
 tions, which would have been excluded from a 
 " clerkly " manuscript, such as the poet evidently 
 scorned, but rose most naturally as confidences 
 between the improvisator and a sympathetic 
 audience. They express the character of the 
 man better than a biography, and explain the 
 singular charm which the poem retains for all 
 students of its original. 
 
 Wolfram had travelled much. He had visited 
 that fascinating city of Toulouse, which was > 
 the most cultured and liberal centre of the world 
 in his day. He had won knighthood and posi- 
 tion through his achievements in arms and 
 poetry, one can hardly say " letters," and 
 
 97 
 
he speaks throughout his work as a singularly 
 independent and sympathetic observer of life. 
 It is this which has given his production so 
 marked an individuality that the German critics 
 speak of Wolfram as essentially the stylist in 
 the group of poets to which he belongs. 
 
 He married and lived modestly with his wife 
 and one child. He never attained much wealth, 
 and certainly would not have cared to possess 
 it. He was so cheerful a mystic that the lux- 
 uries of life would have troubled him more than 
 they rejoiced him. 
 
 Such a temperament must necessarily have 
 appealed to a poet like Richard Wagner, and 
 he returned again and again to Wolfram's 
 " Parzival," until at last his decision was taken, 
 and he wrote the lines of his own drama in 1876, 
 though it was not published before 1877. The 
 music was more slowly committed to paper, so 
 that it was not ready for the orchestra until 
 1882. This was not because it was in any way 
 
 98 
 
of 
 
 disconnected with the text. Wagner declared 
 once that he always heard his music while he 
 composed his poem, and never forgot it. But 
 in this instance there were many distractions 
 which rendered it difficult for him to get his 
 notes upon paper. He could hardly have written 
 it earlier, since it was expressive of the new 
 peace which had entered his life. 
 
 Wagner was born in 1813, and did not form 
 the connection with King Ludwig of Bavaria 
 until 1864, when he was fifty-one years old. 
 Up to that time he had very nearly completed 
 the work of his life, with practically no evidence 
 of worldly appreciation or recognition. Even at 
 the period of his death, he was not free from 
 financial anxiety, but the patronage and sym- 
 pathetic support of the king relieved him from 
 the distress of actual poverty, and assured him 
 an income. 
 
 The king's friendship also gave him a posi- 
 tion before the world which he could not have 
 
 99 
 
attained otherwise, and brought him the second 
 marriage that surrounded him for the first time 
 in his experience with an atmosphere of sweet 
 comprehension and that intimate companionship 
 which means so much to the artist. His wife 
 and his home henceforth formed a happy centre 
 for his work. 
 
 All this enabled him to realize more fully in 
 feeling the theories he had held, and so he wrote 
 the " victor drama," which was a most appro- 
 priate conclusion to the series he had dedicated 
 to what might be termed the struggle of the 
 ideal in its relations with human life. His cup 
 of bitterness had been pressed very full. He 
 had experienced all Parzival's anguish; he had 
 been at Monsalvat, and had failed to ask the 
 question, and it was but fit that at last he should 
 be permitted to reign for a little while in the 
 Grail castle. 
 
 It could not have been an accident that in the 
 last tempestuous years of the wonderful nine- 
 
 100 
 
of 
 
 teenth century the Grail ideal was given out- 
 ward shape once more, and this time in a form 
 which made it the vehicle of public production 
 before the eyes of men, the illustrator of per- 
 fection in the three great lines of music, art, 
 and the drama. The sweet and heavenly con- 
 ception of the poet of the thirteenth century 
 has been realized again through the brain of 
 a lover of his kind, and has been spoken to us 
 with such eloquence that we cannot forget it. 
 
 We remember that in all ages the fragrance 
 of the Grail has lingered about the senses of 
 man; the poet has felt it; the ecstasy of the 
 prophet has perceived it; men have sought it, 
 have found it, have not despaired even when 
 they lost it. In the wonderful present, with 
 its gigantic contrasts, its lightning progress and 
 unique opportunity, it seems sometimes as if the 
 day of achievement had arrived, and we should 
 throw wide the gates of the Grail castle for all 
 men. The knight of the Grail is among us, we 
 
 101 
 
of 
 
 hear his voice, we see the light of his eye, and 
 the world listens as never before to his mes- 
 sage, knowing for the first time what it means 
 when love enters life. 
 
 VM RA 
 
 Of TMt 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 or 
 
 THE END. 
 
 102 
 
Remarque Edition 
 
 OF 
 
 Literary Masterpieces 
 
 This beautiful series is printed on hand- 
 made deckle-edge paper from entire new 
 plates, with an original etching frontispiece 
 by Marcel, appropriate ex libris and title- 
 page, bound in four styles. A specially 
 manufactured cloth embossed in an original 
 manner. Stamped on side and back with 
 gold from a unique design, gilt top, ribbon 
 markers, wrapped. Size, ^% x $% 
 
 Price, $ .40 
 
 Full leather, limp covers, boxed, .75 
 
 Full Hmp chamois, silk lined, 1.25 
 
 Full brocade silk, various colors, 
 
 padded, boxed, 1.50 
 
SONNETS FROM THE PORTUGUESE. By 
 Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 
 
 In the " Sonnets from the Portuguese," a most 
 exquisite series of love poems, we have Mrs. Brown- 
 ing at her best. She has broken away from that 
 stiffness and artificiality which characterizes her 
 earlier poems, and in sentiment and lofty rhyme 
 is at times truly Shakespearian. 
 
 VIRGINIBUS PUERISQUE. By Robert Louis 
 Stevenson. 
 
 Since, unfortunately, most of our juvenile liter- 
 ature nowadays is the work of " hack " writers, 
 it is refreshing to find a work for boys and girls 
 written by a man of genius. " Virginibus Puerisque " 
 stands high among Mr. Stevenson's writings, and is 
 enjoyed by both old and young. 
 
 FRIENDSHIP AND LOVE. By Ralph Waldo 
 Emerson. 
 
 Mr. Emerson is no bookish theorist. He does 
 not draw his conclusions from syllogisms, but from 
 his personal observations of men and things. The 
 essays on Friendship and Love, two of his most 
 human, being subjects akin to each other, are pub- 
 lished together as a single volume. 
 
 HEROISM AND CHARACTER. By Ralph Waldo 
 
 Emerson. 
 
 As Friendship and Love are linked, so Heroism 
 and Character are complementary. In fact, we per- 
 ceive a strong connection between the four subjects. 
 For friendship deepens in love, and from love for 
 one's neighbor, one's family, one's State, comes 
 heroism, and heroism is the essential element of 
 a noble character. 
 
POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC. By Benjamin 
 
 Franklin. 
 
 A selection of the best sayings from the numerous 
 issues of " Poor Richard." Helpful and inspiring; 
 the work of a most practical mind, written for a 
 most practical nation. 
 
 THE SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL. By Sheridan. 
 
 Sheridan's comedies are second only to Shake- 
 speare's. " The School for Scandal," undoubtedly 
 his masterpiece, has had an undiminished popularity 
 from the moment it was published to the present 
 day. 
 
 DESTRUCTION OF POMPEII. By Pliny and 
 
 Bulwer. 
 
 Two interesting descriptions of the Destruction 
 of Pompeii, one by Pliny, the greatest scientist 
 of the ancient world, who wrote as an eye-witness; 
 the other the well-known and thrilling account from 
 Lord Lytton's " Last Days of Pompeii." 
 
 SIR ROGER DE COVERLEY PAPERS. By 
 Addison. 
 
 The famous " Sir Roger de Coverley Papers " are 
 not only treasured by all students of English liter- 
 ature, but by historians as well. For nowhere do 
 we find a finer description of English life in the 
 eighteenth century than in these papers. Further- 
 more, in the character of Sir Roger we find the 
 finest delineation in. English literature of an ideal 
 gentleman. 
 
 MILTON. By Lord Macaulay. 
 
 A profound and masterly essay on the leader of 
 English literature of the seventeenth century by the 
 leading literary critic of the nineteenth century. 
 
 3 
 
THOUGHTS OF MARCUS AURELIUS. Selec- 
 tions. 
 
 Marcus Aurelius was the purest and loftiest of 
 the pagan philosophers. " Plis great work, ' The 
 Thoughts,' " says Lecky, " not only forms one of 
 the most impressive, but also forms one of the 
 truest books in the whole range of religious liter- 
 ature." 
 
 LORD CHESTERFIELD'S LETTERS. Selec- 
 tions. 
 
 These letters of sound counsel and practical advice, 
 addressed to his son Philip, are what Lord Chester- 
 field's reputation rests upon, and it is through these 
 that the name of Chesterfield has become symbolic 
 of culture and refinement 
 
 RUBAIYAT OF OMAR KHAYYAM. 
 
 The " Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam " is one of 
 the greatest contributions that the East has given 
 to literature. The subtle thought, the soft Oriental 
 imagery, and the delicacy of the poetry will appeal 
 to the poetic imagination of all ages. 
 
 ENOCH ARDEN. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
 
 In " Enoch Arden " we have one of the most 
 beautiful and pathetic poems in the English lan- 
 guage. Had Tennyson never written another line, 
 he would have gone down in history as one of the 
 greatest poets of his time. 
 
 RIP VAN WINKLE, and THE LEGEND OF 
 SLEEPY HOLLOW. By Washington Irving. 
 
 These immortal stories of Dutch life in colonial 
 New York are the best pieces of writing that Mr. 
 Irving contributed to literature. The pathos, quaint- 
 ness, and wit are impressed upon the reader in a 
 striking way. 
 
 4 
 
ROCHEFOUCAULD'S MAXIMS. 
 
 These maxims, written by a cavalier of Richelieu's 
 times, one who knew the world as few have an 
 opportunity of knowing it, are witty, subtle, and 
 true. The author has grasped the whole of life, 
 and weakness of human nature, of fashion and con- 
 ventionalities are strongly depicted. 
 
 RAB AND HIS FRIENDS. By Dr. John Brown. 
 
 " Rab and His Friends," a story of a mastiff, full 
 of beauty and pathos, is, in its line, only rivalled by 
 " Black Beauty." In this volume the story of Mar- 
 jorie Fleming, an interesting case of remarkable 
 precociousness, is also published. 
 
 SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER. By Oliver Gold- 
 smith. 
 " She Stoops to Conquer " is a comedy abounding 
 
 in the keenest wit and satire. Human nature is 
 
 depicted by a masterly observer, and the characters 
 
 of the play are true to life. 
 
 OLD CHRISTMAS. By Washington Irving. 
 
 An ideal picture of an old-fashioned Christmas 
 in rural England. The good old customs, and the 
 quaint games handed down from generation to 
 generation, are pictured in a most interesting 
 
 LEAVES OF GRASS. Selections. By Walt 
 Whitman. 
 
 Walt Whitman is looked upon as the one dis- 
 tinctive American poet, the product of our New 
 World democracy. Though perhaps lacking in 
 grace, his poems are inspired by his enthusiasm and 
 humanitarianism, and in every line the reader sees 
 the personality of the poet, noble, generous, and 
 lofty, a great man in the highest sense of the 
 word. 
 
 s 
 
VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL. By James Russell 
 Lowell. 
 
 This great poem is drawn from the famous ro- 
 mance of King Arthur and the Holy Grail, a theme 
 which has furnished inspiration to so many great 
 minds. The " Vision of Sir Launfal " is the best 
 of Lowell's shorter poems. 
 
 ELEGY AND OTHER POEMS. By Thomas Gray. 
 
 The " Elegy in a Country Churchyard " occupies 
 as secure a place among English classics as " Ham- 
 let " or " Paradise Lost," but some readers may not 
 realize that several other poems by Gray are equally 
 perfect and impressive. This collection contains all 
 of Gray's verse which is really worth knowing. 
 
 SWEETNESS AND LIGHT. By Matthew Arnold. 
 
 An epoch-making essay, by one of the most cul- 
 tured, practical, and inspiring minds of our century. 
 Arnold's simplicity and charm of style, no less than 
 his weighty message, have already given him an 
 assured place among classic writers. 
 
 GOLDEN THOUGHTS. By Archbishop Fenelon. 
 
 Judiciously made extracts from the letters of the 
 great archbishop. Fenelon united in his personality 
 the sweetness of the saint with the strength of the 
 reformer, and his personal correspondence contains 
 the very heart and soul of religious devotion. 
 
 WIT AND WISDOM. By Sidney Smith. 
 
 Extracts from Smith's writing and conversations, 
 which flash with repartee, good-tempered satire, and 
 brilliant strokes of wit, and are characterized 
 throughout by shrewd, irresistible common sense. 
 The comments on America and Americans are alone 
 worth the price of the little book. 
 6 
 
A CHRISTMAS CAROL. By Charles Dickens. 
 
 This familiar story possesses perennial interest 
 for young and old, and it never has been presented 
 in more attractive form. Whether regarded as a 
 ghost story, a character study, or a parable, the 
 " Christmas Carol " is one of the most brilliant and 
 absorbing tales in English literature. 
 
 WILL O' THE MILL AND BIOGRAPHICAL 
 
 SKETCH. By R. L. Stevenson. 
 
 This little parable of a life contains a wonderful 
 moral, and is also an irresistibly fascinating story 
 in itself, written in the most exquisite English. Many 
 critics think it Stevenson's masterpiece. It is pref- 
 aced by a careful and adequate biographical sketch. 
 
 NAPOLEON ADDRESSES AND ANECDOTES. 
 
 Napoleon was not only a consummate genius as 
 general and ruler, he was also a man of extraor- 
 dinary personality. So much of his magnetism and 
 personal charm is preserved in these anecdotes and 
 speeches, that we become completely en rapport with 
 the great emperor, and cannot fail to share the 
 enthusiasm of his contemporaries. The selections 
 were made with greatest care especially for this 
 edition. 
 
 SOME FRUITS OF SOLITUDE. REFLEC- 
 TIONS AND MAXIMS. By William Perm. 
 
 " To quote a book like this were impossible; at 
 least one can hand it on, with a wrench, one to 
 another. Some of the ' Fruits ' are sounder, jucier, 
 and grown against a sunnier wall of experience than 
 others, but all are delicate, and the little basket 
 which holds them will be found in all times and 
 places a peaceful and sweet companion." Robert 
 Louis Stevenson. 
 
MEN AND WOMEN. By Robert Browning. 
 
 Browning is known the world over for his deep- 
 veined humanity and rare faculty of dramatic repre- 
 sentation. These poems have as much red blood 
 in them as the dramas of Shakespeare. The present 
 volume contains all the principal favorites which 
 have sung themselves into the memory of every 
 reader who loves vigorous, manly poetry. 
 
 PASSION IN THE DESERT, AND AN EPISODE 
 IN THE REIGN OF TERROR. Selected Prose 
 Works of Honore de Balzac. 
 
 Balzac is thought by many competent authorities 
 to be the greatest novelist of the world. His short 
 stories are quite as remarkable in their way as his 
 longer stories, and the very best of them are to be 
 found in the present collection. 
 
 POEMS OF SENTIMENT. By Byron. 
 
 Probably no poet in the English-speaking world 
 has ever held as high and well recognized a position 
 as a " sentimentalist " as George Gordon, Lord 
 Byron. His master lyrics dealing with the subject 
 of love, consisting principally of his shorter poems, 
 have been selected and edited with the greatest care 
 for this edition. 
 
 LETTERS TO A YOUNG MAN ABOUT TOWN. 
 By William Makepeace Thackeray. 
 
 These charming but comparatively little known 
 essays originally appeared in Punch, and have been 
 reissued in a volume by themselves but once, and 
 then in a privately printed book now extremely rare, 
 until the present edition. In his humorous and satiri- 
 cal manner, Thackeray shows up the follies and 
 life of a young man about town in the middle of the 
 nineteenth century. 
 
 8 
 
GOLDEN WINGS. A Prose Romance and a Poem. 
 By William Morris. 
 
 Two early productions of Morris's with the same 
 title. The Prose Romance, written in 1856 while still 
 a student at Oxford, and the Poem two years later, 
 both of which show the irresistible and quaint charm 
 apparent in all the later writings of this architect, 
 painter, designer, craftsman, socialist and author, 
 who, on the death of Tennyson, was thought by many 
 would be the next Poet Laureate. 
 
 SELECTED POEMS. By John Boyle O'Reilly. 
 
 Through several causes, but not lack of merit, Boyle 
 O'Reilly is fast becoming merely a name to the genera- 
 tion of to-day. Therefore, pains have here been taken 
 to perpetuate the choicest productions of his pen, 
 poems worthy of rank with the masterpieces of Eng- 
 lish literature. The volume is prefaced with an inter- 
 esting personal sketch of O'Reilly, by Mr. William A. 
 Hovey. 
 
 THE DISCOURSES OF EPICTETUS. Selections. 
 
 In Sir John Lubbock's " List of the One Hundred 
 Best Books," the Bible is first, the " Thoughts of Marcus 
 Aurelius " second, and " Epictetus " third. The dis- 
 courses here given have been carefully selected, and in 
 each case the English revised with utmost care. 
 
 EVANGELINE. By Henry Wadsworth Long- 
 fellow. 
 
 The purity, sweetness and refinement with which 
 Longfellow delineates the affections of the heart make 
 his poetry the most welcome of visitants at the domestic 
 fireside, and of all his poems, " Evangeline " is probably 
 the most popular. 
 
 THE HOLY GRAIL. By Alfred, Lord Tennyson. 
 
 This idyl, which must rank as one of the greatest 
 
 9 
 
of Tennyson's poetical achievements, came to him 
 suddenly, " as if by a breath of inspiration." Of it the 
 poet said, "I feared for years to touch the subject of 
 the Holy Grail, and when I began, finished it in a fort- 
 night." 
 
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