s, if
only he knew it--and he takes him on the most curious promenade in the
history of mankind--to the Hall of the Grail. The two men do not walk:
it is the scenery that walks. "Here," says Gurnemanz, "time and space
are one."

Arrived there, we are confronted by a scene much more Oriental than
anything we know of mediaeval Christianity: a sort of mosque with a
huge dome, a circular set of Lockhart's Cocoa-rooms tables and
benches; at the back a mysterious catafalque. The pure fool is pushed
aside; Amfortas is carried in; he screams in agony of spirit; and then
the service begins. It is a sheer burlesque of the Lord's Supper. When
the last chords of the mysterious choir in the dome have died away,
Gurnemanz asks Parsifal what he comprehends of it all. "Nothing,"
Parsifal replies, and is immediately turned out of doors.

The origin of the guileless fool has already been indicated: this--as
it seems to us to-day--idiotic notion of the eighteenth century
started Wagner on the notion that if a modern child, with all the
developed brain of a modern child, could suddenly be transplanted into
a state of nature, all would be well with the world. What could
possibly happen? But it is silly to ask the question: the whole
juvenile population of the earth would have to be so transplanted, and
they would have to find a new earth to live on--at least an earth not
frequented by modern men and women.

In the next Act we are taken to Klingsor's magic castle. Klingsor
calls up Kundry and changes his castle into an enchanted garden full
of flower-maidens; Parsifal comes in, and, though curious about the
maidens, does not know what they would be at; he angrily drives them
off; Kundry calls him. She tells him of the death of his mother who
had loved him so dearly; he again weeps and learns the meaning of
compassion; Kundry kisses him, and he learns the meaning of sex and
temptation. In horror he casts her from him; Klingsor throws the spear
at him--the sacred Spear with which Christ's side was wounded, stolen
by Klingsor from Montsalvat--it remains suspended above his head; he
seizes and waves it, and at once garden, flower-maidens and all are
reduced to withered stalks and leaves. Parsifal returns, an
"enlightened" fool, and by touching the wound of Amfortas, cures him,
becoming himself head of the order.

The whole affair is a spectacle which I must say is disgusting to
healthy minds. The insinuations are frightful. Consider, reader