Monday, August 28:
The most indefatigable in quartering the world in quest of succour for Anfortas’ wound is the High Messenger of the Grail, Kundry. Who this woman is and where she comes from, no one knows; she must be extremely old for she appeared here in the mountains in Titurel’s day: although she is wild and dreadful to behold, one notices no real signs of age: she has a complexion which is pale one moment, sun-burnt the next; her black hair hangs down long and wild: sometimes she plaits it in strange plaits; she is only ever seen in her dark-red robe which she girds with a curious girdle of snake-skins: often her black eyes shoot from their sockets like burning coals; one moment her gaze is unsteady and wandering, the next — staring again and fixed. The brotherhood of knights treat her more as a strange, magical animal than a human being. Also she always lives apart, how she keeps herself is not known, nor where she seeks shelter: at times she vanishes completely; nothing is then seen or heard of her. Then one chances upon her in a cave, or in dense undergrowth, in a deathlike sleep, lifeless, numb, bloodless, with all limbs rigid. Gurnemans, the old squire, usually takes care of her then: he has known her for so long! — carries her to his home, warms, chafes her and restores her to life; on waking, she believes she has dropped off to sleep for a while, curses herself for letting sleep overcome her, gazes at the sun, heaves a dreadfully deep sigh, darts away, and begins her activity anew. If there is something difficult to be accomplished, something to be done far, far away, a message or order from the Grail for a Knight of the Grail contending in foreign zones, then suddenly one is aware of Kundry eagerly seizing the task which none can perform so speedily and reliably as she; one then sees her racing off in the storm on a tiny horse with a long mane and tail flowing down to the ground, and before one knows it, she is back. Never has one remarked the slightest disloyalty in her; her zeal, her care in the performance of her missions is boundless. Thus she is a true, indispensable servant to the company of knights: all her missions turn out well. Against which, she is greatly missed on the occasions of her mysterious disappearances: then some adversity, some mysterious danger usually befalls the knights, and there is alarm, and, often, the wish for Kundry to come. Because of that, many too are in doubt whether she should be considered good or evil: what is certain is that she must still be a heathen. Never is she seen at any religious act: nor elsewhere either, unless there is some uncommonly difficult service to be performed. Gurnemans, who at other times is not gentle in his behaviour towards the wild woman, takes her half grumpily, half humorously under his protection. One must look to her good works, he says, and be glad if she returns. He supposes her to be a woman accursed and having great sins to atone for in her present life. The services she performs are therefore as much to her credit as to the Knights’, and one need not be afraid to accept them. — For the rest, she shows great indifference, indeed, scorn towards the knights, never accepting their thanks. Even Anfortas is not exempted. Now she is just returning on her panting horse from the wonderland of Arabia where she has found the most precious miracle balm. Hastily she hands it to Gurnemans, refuses thanks and without a word throws herself down in a corner of the forest, whilst Gurnemans hurries to the King and the knights by the holy lake, bearing the hoped-for succour. But even that balm brings no relief: Kundry smiles scornfully. ‘You know who alone can help. Why drive me on the false track?’ Nothing else is to be got out of her. She never gives advice or opinion: but simply shows the swiftest zeal in at once carrying out what is commanded or desired. She is therefore considered completely stupid and senseless, as well as animal. Yet she seems to attach great, indeed passionately great, importance to delivering Anfortas from his suffering: she betrays violent uneasiness over it. But then again she laughs scornfully: one should not wish the end of this distress; who knows whether the clever knights might not in future have to perform their own missions; she too would like peace, etc. While the King is bathing in the sacred lake a wild swan circles above his head: suddenly it falls, wounded by an arrow; shouts from the lake: general indignation, who dares kill an animal in this sacred region? The swan flutters nearer and drops bleeding to the ground. Parzival emerges from the forest, bow in hand: Gurnemans stops him. The young man confesses to the deed. To the violent reproaches of the old man he has no reply. Gurnemans, reproaching him with the wickedness of his act, reminds him of the sanctity of the forest stirring so silently about him, asks whether he has not found all the creatures here tame, gentle and harmless. What had the swan seeking its mate done to him? Was he not sorry for the poor bird that now lay, with bloodstained feathers, dying before him? etc., — Parzival, who has stood riveted to the spot, bursts into tears and stammers, ‘I didn’t know!’ — “Where do you come from?’ — ‘I don’t know!’ — ‘Who is your father?’ — ‘I don’t know!’ etc. Gurnemans’ amazement at this stupidity which hitherto he has encountered only in Kundry, gives way to emotion as he prevails upon Parzival to keep him company for a little and tell him something about himself. All that Gurnemans can elicit from the shy Parzival is that he knows only his mother, Schmerzeleide [Painsorrow]; she has brought him up in great seclusion, and in such a way that he has never learnt anything of arms and knightliness. — “Why”? As Parzival knows no reason, Kundry, recumbent in her corner, who all along has been staring hard at Parziv., quickly throws in ‘His father was killed before his son was born: his mother wanted to protect her son from a similar violent death. — The fool!’ She laughs. Parzival’s memory and understanding of his past are thus awakened. Armed men had passed by their lonely farm: Parzival had followed but lost them. He has had many adventures: made himself the bow: with it, protected himself on his wild wanderings. — Kundry confirms that he has made himself feared through his heroic deeds and incredibly bold strength. ‘Who fears me?’ — ‘The wicked.’ — ‘Were they who barred my way wicked?’ — Gurnemans laughs. “Who is good?’ — Gurnem.: ‘Your mother. You have run away from her; she will be grieving for you; there is no need to treat all straightaway with hostility.’ — ‘Am I hostile?’ — ‘Towards the swan you were, and towards your mother.’ — ‘My mother?’ — Kundry: ‘She is dead!’ — Parzival: ‘Dead? My mother? Who says so?’ Kundry: ‘I saw her die!’ Parziv. leaping up seizes Kundry by the throat. Gurnemans holds him back. ‘Will you again do wrong here? What has the woman done to you? She has surely spoken the truth, for Kundry never lies and knows much!’ Parzi. stands dazed, as if paralysed. At length: ‘I die of thirst.’ He is on the verge of collapsing; Gurnemans holds him. Kundry goes swiftly to the spring and returns with a filled horn: she sprinkles Parz. with the water and gives him to drink. Gurnemans praises Kundry; so that was what was being done here, evil repaid by good. Kundry laughs: she never does good, but she wants peace. As Parz. recovers and is tended in fatherly fashion by Gurnemans, Kundry retires sadly, and as if in growing weariness, to her corner of the forest: ‘Ah, I am weary. Where shall I find peace?’She drags herself off into the forest unnoticed. — Gurnemans sees that the King, together with his attendants, has long since set off back to the castle. The sun is at its highest; it is nearing the time to proceed to the sacred meal. Parz.. supporting himself on the old man, asks where they are, for the forest seems steadily to be disappearing while they seem to be entering stone corridors. It looks as if they are on the right path, and the boy, he realizes, is still innocent, otherwise the way to the castle would not be opening to them both so easily. They climb stairs and again find themselves in vaulted corridors. Parzival, hardly feeling as if he is walking, follows in a daze. He hears wonderful sounds. Trumpet notes, long held and swelling, answered from the far distance by a gentle ringing as of crystal bells. At last they arrive in a mighty hall which, cathedral-like, loses itself in a lofty cupola. Light falls only from above: from the cupola — an increasing ringing of bells. Parzival stands enchanted. Gurnemans: ‘Now hold up: a fool you are, now let me see if you are aware also.’ Muted trumpet-calls draw near. Solemn chanting from bass male voices: tenor voices respond from half way to the roof; from the highest part of the cupola echoes the chanting of boys’ voices. Then, at the rear, to left and right, two great folding doors open. From the right the Knights of the Grail enter in grave and solemn procession; they take their places at the laid tables stretching in three groups from front to rear. From the left come the master-workmen and servants of the King. Anfortas is borne in on a litter: in front of him a knight bears a shrine covered by a purple velvet cloth: (carried upright behind Anfortas is a lance with blood-stained tip). At the rear, beneath a baldachin in the elevated centre, is the couch to which Anfortas is led: before it stands an altar-like table upon which the covered shrine is placed. When all are in their places the singing ceases. Gurnemans takes his seat at a table, staring the whole time at Parzival who stands motionless and speechless with amazement. From a vaulted niche far to the rear is heard the funereal voice of old Titurel: ‘My son Anfortas, are you about your duty?’ Silence — ‘Must I die without welcoming the Saviour?’ Anfortas breaks out in profound complaint: he cannot any longer discharge his duties. He describes his sufferings. The knights complain and mutter. Titurel’s voice: ‘Uncover the Grail!’ The shrine is uncovered, the sacred crystal cup taken from within and solemnly set before Anfortas. — Anfortas covers his eyes. Titurel’s voice: ‘Speak the blessing!’ Anfortas, gazing at last towards the vessel with increasing rapture, expresses his inspired and, at the same time, contrite emotions. The devotion of all is at its height. From the cupola a blinding shaft of light shines into the cup which begins to gleam fiery crimson. All sink to their knees: a ray of hope enters into Anfortas’ soul also. Never, since his fall, has the Grail gleamed with so pure a gleam as today: is it salvation, is the Redeemer here? With both hands he elevates the Grail, allowing it to shine in every direction. From Titurel — a sigh of well being. - From high up, voices sound. Titurel speaks the blessing: twilight descends on all the hall: only the Grail gleams bright. When it becomes light again, the tables are provided with wine and bread; the Grail no longer gleams and is returned to its shrine. During the singing, which celebrates holy brotherly love, the knights eat. Anfortas alone feels worse than before: he has again to be carried off in the litter; his wound has re-opened: the Redeemer has remained silent. The procession forms up in order of arrival. To sad, solemn music, all again depart: high up, the bells grow silent: the light grows fainter. — Parzival has stood motionless with amazement: but during Anfortas’ complaint, has once put his hand hastily to his heart. As last to leave, Gurnemans ill-humouredly steps up to him and shakes him: “Why are you still standing there? You are just a fool! Out you go, do your thinking there!’ He pushes him out of a side gate and bangs it after him, muttering. —