As Amfortas, coming from his bath in the sacred lake, is borne past upon his litter, Gurnemanz and the squires discuss his sad plight and hope for the coming of the blame less fool. Their conversation is interrupted by a sound and a moment later a wild swan hit by an arrow flies unsteadily across the lake and falls dead at their feet. Indignant that a deed of violence should thus desecrate the peaceful vicinity of the Grail, some of the younger knights drag forward the culprit, who is only a forest lad of innocent mien and wholly unconscious of having done anything wrong. When it dawns upon him that he has hurt and killed a harmless creature, he breaks his bow and flings away the arrows. The knights, softened by this act, question him. He dis closes a strange ignorance, which extends even to his origin; but upon this subject Kundry is able to enlighten both him and them.
'Twas fatherless that his mother bore him, For in battle slain was Gamuret; And from a like untimely death Her son to shelter, peacefully, In a desert, the foolish woman reared him. A fool too! As the youth watches her with wide eyes she concludes thus As I rode by I saw her dying And fool, she bade me greet thee.
In a passion of sorrow and indignant at her laughter, he flies at her throat, but is restrained by the knights, and falls fainting on the ground. Kundry now is filled with pity, and revives him with water from the spring. Then suddenly she is overcome by drowsiness, and, struggling against it, she staggers toward the thicket and sinks down on a grassy knoll.
In the heart of Gurnemanz has been growing the hope that this boy may be the pure fool." Led by this hope, he conducts him to the temple where the holy rites of the love-feast are to be performed. Amfortas, the one sinner in that pure brotherhood, pleads not to be asked to perform his duty of uncovering the Holy Grail, which act, since his sin, entails for him untold agony. But his father, Titurel, lying in the tomb between life and death, bids him not shirk, for only the sight of the Grail can restore the waning strength of the old monarch. Amfortas then makes passionate inquiry as to how long this torment must last and is answered by voices which bid him await the coming of the "blameless fool, wise through pity." Parsifal, at one side, watching as the shrine is uncovered, feels a pang of sorrow at Amfortas' suffering, but not being as yet " wise through pity " he does not understand and the vexed Gurnemanz thrusts him forth from the temple exclaiming " Thou art then nothing but a fool I " The second act takes place in Klingsor's enchanted palace. The magician, gazing into his magic mirror, per ceives that a struggle is at hand, that Parsifal, the pure, is coming and that Kundry must be the means of his ensnare ment. He summons her and she appears in a bluish mist,
as if just awakening from sleep. When she knows the use which is to be made of her, she breaks forth into a tempest of remonstrance and grief but Klingsor forces her to do his bidding and mocks her for seeking the knights, who reckon her not even " as a dog." The scene changes to the enchanted garden abloom with tropical flowers and bathed in a strange light. Already Parsifal has gained the ramparts and stands gazing with astonishment upon the scene below. For his further bewil derment there now appear the sirens, who, as flower maidens, flit about in gauzy garments and dance and sing before him. When he draws nearer they surround him, laughing, caress ing him and gently reproaching him for his indifference, which indifference they attempt to dissipate by decking them selves like veritable flowers, and by hovering in fragrant crowds about him, uttering soft cries of Come, gentle lover! Let me be thy flower.
At first he enjoys the novel sight, looking upon them as children and offering to be their playmate. But finally as they press about him quarreling for his favor ; and becoming freer and bolder with their kisses, he repulses them half angrily and is about to escape, when a beautiful voice, issuing from a thicket of flowers, stops him.
" Parsifal, tarry! " It is the name his mother once called him and she who knows it shall have his attention. There comes to his dazzled view, Kundry the enchantress, beautiful as a dream and lying on a couch of roses.
" Didst thou call me, the nameless ? " he inquires, won deringly. Subtly she wins his interest by telling him of his own life and of his dead mother " Heart's sorrow," who loved him so clearly. He is overcome with distress and emotion at this memory and falls at her feet. Kundry attempts to exercise her spell in the guise of pity. She gently draws him to her, puts her arm about his neck and kisses him. With a cry he starts to his feet, his hand pressed to his side, for in this kiss he feels the wound that Amfortas received from the sacred spear when it was yielded by Klingsor. Within him has been born the wisdom which shall enable him to heal Amfortas. He speaks the name of the sufferer with pitying lips, his sympathy springing from the depths of a marvelous new comprehension. He is the fool no longer. He now is " wise through pity." He realizes in himself how Amfortas was tempted, he under stands the frailty of the human heart; he is overwhelmed with compassion for the whole world of sin.