And now to a complete analysis of the work, an analysis, be it said, first made at Bayreuth in August, 1901. That it may prove unpleasant reading for some I do not doubt. I only hope that I shall not be accused of artistic irreverence. The personal equation counts for something in criticism. I cannot admire Parsifal, and I am giving my reasons for this dislike. There is no reason why the criticism that has so royally acclaimed the beauty of Wagner’s other music-dramas should be suspected in the case of Parsifal. Why should Parsifal be hedged as if of “sacred character”? If you tell a Parsifalite that the opera is blasphemous, he proves volubly, ingeniously, that it is pure symbolism, that Saracenic, Buddhistic, any but Christian, ceremonial is employed. But if you turn the tables, and assert that Parsifal is not sacred, that it should be enjoyed and criticised like Tristan and Isolde, the Parsifalite quickly jumps the track and exclaims, “Sir, there is sacred atmosphere in Parsifal, and not in Tristan!” Oh, this sacred atmosphere! It is worse than Nietzsche’s Holy Laughter! The question may be summed up thus: If Parsifal is blasphemous, it should not be tolerated; if it is not a representation of sacred matter, then we have the privilege of criticising it as we do a Verdi or a Meyerbeer opera; and Meyerbeer was an inveterate mocker of religious things—witness Les Huguenots, Robert le Diable, Le Prophète. How about Halévy’s La Juive? Parsifal, so it appears to me, is more morbid than blasphemous. Ready-made admiration is dangerous. It behooves us to study Parsifal for ourselves, and not accept as gospel the uncritical enthusiasms of the Wagnerite who is without a sense of the eternal fitness of things. One ounce of humor, of common sense, puts to flight the sham ethical and the sham æsthetical of the Parsifal worshippers. And level-headed study should prove of profit. The composition is a miracle of polyphonic architecture—and it is also the weakest that its creator ever planned. PARSIFAL Parsifal a vaincu les filles, leur gentil Babil et la luxure amusante et sa pente Vers la chair de garçon vierge que cela tente D’aimer les seins légers et ce gentil babil. Il a vaincu la femme belle au cœur subtil Étalant ces bras frais et sa gorge excitante; Il a vaincu l’enfer, et rentre dans sa tente Avec un lourd trophée à son bras puéril. Avec la lance qui perça le flanc suprême! Il a guéri le roi, le voici roi lui-même Et prêtre du très-saint trésor essentiel; En robe d’or il adore, gloire et symbole, Le vase pur où resplendit le sang réel, —Et, ô ces voix d’enfants chantant dans la coupole. —PAUL VERLAINE. I THE BOOK