The waves of sound rise from the shadowy gulf sunken between the audience and the footlights. Upon the sound ocean of “wind” the “Take, eat,” or “Love-feast” motive floats. Presently the strings pierce through it, the Spear motive follows, and then, full of heavy pain, “Drink ye all of this,” followed by the famous Grail motive an old chorale also used by Mendelssohn in the Reformation Symphony. Then comes the noble Faith and Love theme.

As I sit in the low light, amid the silent throng, and listen, I need no interpreter I am being placed in possession of the emotional key-notes of the drama. Every subject is first distinctly enunciated, and then all are wondrously blended together. There is the pain of sacrifice the mental agony, the bodily torture; there are the alternate pauses of Sorrow and respite from sorrow long drawn out, the sharp ache of Sin, the glimpses of unhallowed Joy, the strain of upward Endeavor, the serene peace of Faith and Love, crowned by the blessed Vision of the Grail. ’Tis past. The prelude melts into the opening recitative.

The eyes have now to play their part. The curtain rises, the story begins. The morning breaks slowly, the gray streaks redden, a lovely summer landscape lies bathed in primrose light. Under the shadow of a noble tree, the aged knight. Gurnemanz, has been resting with two young attendants. From the neighboring halls of Montsalvat the solemn reveille the Grail motive rings out, and all three sink on their knees in prayer. The sun bursts forth in splendor as the hymn rises to mingle with the voices of universal nature. The waves of sound well up and fill the soul with unspeakable thankfulness and praise.

The talk is of Amfortas, the king, and of his incurable wound. A wild gallop, a rush of sound and a weird woman, with streaming hair, springs toward the startled group. She bears a phial with rare balsam from the Arabian shores. It is for the king’s wound. Who is the wild horsewoman? Kundry strange creation a being doomed to wander, like the Wandering Jew, the wild Huntsman, or Flying Dutchman, always seeking a deliverance she can not find Kundry, who, in ages gone by, met the Savior on the road to Calvary and derided him. Some say she was Herodias’s daughter. Now filled with remorse, yet weighted with sinful longings, she serves by turns the Knights of the Grail, then falls under the spell of Klingsor, the evil knight sorcerer, and, in the guise of an enchantress, is compelled by him to seduce, if possible, the Knights of the Grail.

Eternal symbol of the divided allegiance of a woman’s soul! She it was who, under the sensual spell, as an incarnation of loveliness, overcame Amfortas, and she it is now who, in her ardent quest for salvation, changed and squalid in appearance, serves the Knights of the Grail, and seeks to heal Amfortas’s wound!

No sooner has she delivered her balsam to the faithful Gurnemanz, and thrown herself exhausted upon the grass where she lies gnawing her hair morosely than a change in the sound atmosphere, which never ceases to be generated in the mystic orchestral gulf, presages the approach of Amfortas.

He comes, borne on a litter, to his morning bath in the shining lake hard by. Sharp is the pain of the wound weary and hopeless is the king. Through the Wound-motive comes the sweet woodland music and the breath of the blessed morning, fragrant with flowers and fresh with dew. It is one of those incomparable bursts of woodland notes, full of bird-song and the happy hum of insect life and rustling of netted branches and waving of long tasseled grass. I know of nothing like it save the forest music in Siegfried.

The sick king listens, and remembers words of hope and comfort that fell from a heavenly voice, what time the glory of the Grail passed:

“Durch Mitleid wissend
Der reine Thor,
Harre sein
Den ich erkor.”

[Wait for my chosen one,
Guileless and innocent,
Pity-enlightened.]

They hand him the phial of balsam; and presently, while the lovely forest music again breaks forth, the king is carried on to his bath, and Kundry, Gurnemanz, and the two esquires hold the stage.

As the old knight, who is a complete repertory of facts connected with the Grail tradition, unfolds to the esquires the nature of the king’s wound, the sorceries of Klingsor, the hope of deliverance from some unknown “guileless one,” a sudden cry breaks up the situation.

A white swan, pierced by an arrow, flutters dying to the ground. It is the swan beloved of the Grail brotherhood, bird of fair omen, symbol of spotless purity. The slayer is brought in between two knights a stalwart youth, fearless, unabashed, while the death-music of the swan, the slow distilling and stiffening of its life-blood, is marvelously rendered by the orchestra. Conviction of his fault comes over the youth as he listens to the reproaches of Gurnemanz. He hangs his head ashamed and penitent, and at last, with a sudden passion of remorse, snaps his bow and flings it aside. The swan is borne off, and Parsifal, the “guileless one” (for he it is), with Gurnemanz and Kundry who rouses herself and surveys Parsifal with strange, almost savage curiosity hold the stage.

In this scene Kundry tells the youth more than he cares to hear about himself: how his father, Gamuret, was a great knight killed in battle; how his mother, Herzeleide (Heart’s Affliction), fearing a like fate for her son, brought him up in the lonely forest; how he left her to follow a troop of knights that he met one day winding through the forest glade, and being led on and on in pursuit of them, never overtook them and never returned to his mother, Heart’s Affliction, who died of grief. At this point the frantic youth seizes Kundry by the throat in an agony of rage and grief, but is held back by Gurnemanz, till, worn out by the violence of his emotion, he faints away, and is gradually revived by Kundry and Gurnemanz.

Suddenly, Kundry rises with a wild look, like one under a spell. Her mood of service is over. She staggers across the stage she can hardly keep awake. “Sleep,” she mutters, “I must sleep sleep!” and falls down in one of those long trances which apparently last for months, or years, and form the transition periods between her mood of Grail service and the Klingsor slavery into which she must next relapse in spite of herself.

And is this the guileless one? This wild youth who slays the fair swan who knows not his own name nor whence he comes, nor whither he goes, nor what are his destinies? The old knight eyes him curiously he will put him to the test. This youth had seen the king pass once he had marked his pain. Was he “enlightened by pity”? Is he the appointed deliverer? The old knight now invites him to the shrine of the Grail. “What is the Grail?” asks the youth. Truly a guileless, innocent one! yet a brave and pure knight, since he has known no evil, and so readily repents of a fault committed in ignorance.

Gurnemanz is strangely drawn to him. He shall see the Grail, and in the Holy Palace, what time the mystic light streams forth and the assembled knights bow themselves in prayer, the voice which comforted Amfortas shall speak to his deliverer and bid him arise and heal the king.

Gurnemanz and Parsifal have ceased to speak. They stand in the glowing light of the summer-land. The tide of music rolls on continuously, but sounds more strange and dreamy.

Is it a cloud passing over the sky? There seems to be a shuddering in the branches the light fades upon yonder sunny woodlands the foreground darkens apace. The whole scene is moving, but so slowly that it seems to change like a dissolving view. I see the two figures of Gurnemanz and Parsifal moving through the trees they are lost behind yonder rock. They emerge farther off higher up. The air grows very dim; the orchestra peals louder and louder. I lose the two in the deepening twilight. The forest is changing, the land is wild and mountainous. Huge galleries and arcades, rock-hewn, loom through the dim forest; but all is growing dark. I listen to the murmurs of the “Grail,” the “Spear,” the “Pain,” the “Love and Faith” motives hollow murmurs, confused, floating out of the depths of lonely caves. Then I have a feeling of void and darkness, and there comes a sighing as of a soul swooning away in a trance, and a vision of waste places and wild caverns; and then through the confused dream I hear the solemn boom of mighty bells, only muffled. They keep time as to some ghastly march. I strain my eyes into the thick gloom before me. Is it a rock, or forest, or palace?

As the light returns slowly, a hall of more than Alhambralike splendor opens before me. My eyes are riveted on the shining pillars of variegated marble, the tessellated pavements, the vaulted roof glowing with gold and color; beyond, arcades of agate columns, bathed in a misty moonlight air, and lost in a bewildering perspective of halls and corridors.

I hear the falling of distant water in marble fonts; the large bells of Montsalvat peal louder and louder, and to music of unimaginable stateliness the knights, clad in the blue and red robes of the Grail, enter in solemn procession, and take their seats at two semicircular tables which start like arms to the right and left of the holy shrine. Beneath it lies Titurel entranced, and upon it is presently deposited the sacred treasure of the Grail itself.

As the wounded King Amfortas is borne in, the assembled knights, each standing in his place, a golden cup before him, intone the Grail motive, which is taken up by the entering choruses of servitors and esquires bearing the holy relics.

Gurnemanz is seated among knights; Parsifal stands aside and looks on in mute astonishment, “a guileless one.”

As the Holy Grail is set down on the altar before the wounded king, a burst of heavenly music streams from the high dome voices of angels intone the celestial phrases, “Take, eat” and “This is my blood!” and blend them with the “faith and love” motives. As the choruses die away, the voice of the entranced Titurel is heard from beneath the altar calling upon Amfortas, his son, to uncover the Grail, that he may find refreshment and life in the blessed vision.

Then follows a terrible struggle in the breast of Amfortas. He, sore stricken in sin, yet Guardian of the Grail, guilty among the guiltless, oppressed with pain, bowed down with shame, craving for restoration, overwhelmed with unworthiness, yet chosen to stand and minister before the Lord on behalf of His saints! Pathetic situation, which must in all times repeat itself in the history of the Church. The unworthiness of the minister affects not the validity of his consecrated acts. Yet what agony of mind must many a priest have suffered, himself oppressed with sin and doubt, while dispensing the means of grace, and acting as a minister and steward of the mysteries!

The marvelous piece of self-analysis in which the conscience-stricken king bewails his lot as little admits of description here as the music which embodies his emotion.

At the close of it angel voices seem floating in midair, sighing the mystic words:

“Durch Mitleid wissend
Der reine Thor,
Harre sein
Den ich erkor.”

[Wait for my chosen one,
Guileless and innocent,
Pity-enlightened.]

And immediately afterward the voice of Titurel, like one turning restlessly in his sleep, comes up from his living tomb beneath the altar: “Uncover the Grail!”

With trembling hands the sick king raises himself, and with a great effort staggers toward the shrine the covering is removed he takes the crystal cup he raises it on high the blood is dark the light begins to fade in the hall a mist and dimness come over the scene we seem to be assisting at a shadowy ceremony in a dream the big bells are tolling the heavenly choirs from above the dome, which is now bathed in twilight, are heard: “Drink ye all of this!” Amfortas raises on high the crystal vase the knights fall on their knees in prayer. Suddenly a faint tremor of light quivers in the crystal cup then the blood grows ruby red for a moment. Amfortas waves it to and fro the knights gaze in ecstatic adoration. Titurel’s voice gathers strength in his tomb:

“Celestial rapture:
How streams the light upon the face of God!”

The light fades slowly out of the crystal cup the miracle is accomplished. The blood again grows dark the light of common day returns to the halls of Montsalvat, and the knights resume their seats, to find each one his golden goblet filled with wine.

During the sacred repast which follows, the brotherhood join hands and embrace, singing:

“Blessed are they that believe;
Blessed are they that love!”

and the refrain is heard again far up in the heights, reechoed by the angelic hosts.

I looked round upon the silent audience while these astonishing scenes were passing before me; the whole assembly was motionless all seemed to be awed by the august spectacle seemed almost to share in the devout contemplation and trancelike worship of the holy knights. Every thought of the stage had vanished nothing was further from my own thoughts than play-acting. I was sitting as I should sit at an oratorio, in devout and rapt contemplation. Before my eyes had passed a symbolic vision of prayer and ecstasy, flooding the soul with overpowering thoughts of the divine sacrifice and the mystery of unfathomable love.

The hall of Montsalvat empties. Gurnemanz strides excitedly up to Parsifal, who stands stupefied with what he has seen

“Why standest thou silent?
Knowest thou what thine eyes have seen?”

The “guileless one” shakes his head. “Nothing but a fool!” exclaims Gurnemanz, angrily; and, seizing Parsifal by the shoulder, he pushes him roughly out of the hall, with:

“Be off! look after thy geese,
And henceforth leave our swans in peace.”

The Grail vision had, then, taught the “guileless one” nothing. He could not see his mission he was as yet unawakened to the deeper life of the spirit; tho blameless and unsullied, he was still the “natural man.” Profound truth! that was not first which was spiritual, but that which was natural; before Parsifal wins a spiritual triumph, he must be spiritually tried; his inner life must be deepened and developed, else he can never read aright the message of the Grail.

The life of God in the spirit comes only when the battle for God in the heart has been fought and won.

Fare forth, thou guileless one! thou shalt yet add to the simplicity of the dove the wisdom of the serpent. Thou art innocent because ignorant; but thou shalt be weighed anon in the balance and not be found wanting; and then shalt thou reconquer the holy spear lost in Sin, rewon in Purity and Sacrifice, and be to the frail Amfortas the chosen savior for whom he waits.

The foregoing events occupied about an hour and a quarter. When the curtain fell the vast audience broke up in silence.

The air outside was cool and balmy. In the distance lay the city of Bayreuth, with the tower of the Alte Schloss and the old church standing up gray against the distant Bavarian hills. All around us lay the pine woods, broken by the lawns and avenues that encircle the theater and embower it in a secluded world of its own even as the Palace of the Grail was shut off from the profane world. Here, indeed, is truly the Montsalvat of the modern drama a spot purified and sacred to the highest aims and noblest manifestations of Art.

In about an hour the Spear motive was the signal blown on the wind instruments outside, and I took my seat for the second act.