at times flaming wildly, but oftener fixed as in death.” She brings from Arabia a balsam to soothe the King’s pain. Enter Amfortas. He seeks the cool of the forest after his night of agony. The lake, too, will give him some surcease to his pain. But Gurnemanz knows better: “But One thing helpeth—One the helper,” he mutters. Amfortas repeats the prophecy that once in letters of fire appeared about the rim of the Grail vase: “Durch Mitleid wissend, der reine Thor, harre sein, den ich erkor;” that is, “By pity waken’d the blameless Fool, him await my chosen tool.” The King longs for death. Kundry offers him the balsam. “Of what use the balm? All is useless; rather a bath in the waters of the lake.” The litter bearing the royal sufferer moves sadly and slowly away, while Kundry crouches down like a hunted wild animal. The squires tease her until Gurnemanz recalls to them that even beasts are sacred within the territory of the Grail. Then follows a long recital by the elder man, who, in reply to questions, relates the story of Amfortas and his sin. Klingsor, enraged at being denied admission to the Order of the Grail after his mad act of self-mutilation, raised by his infernal arts a magic castle and gardens not far from Montsalvat. This he filled with lovely girls, who tempted the Knights of the Round Table. Amfortas resolved to destroy this Castle of Perdition. Armed with the sacred lance which pierced the Saviour’s side he laid siege to Klingsor’s abode. Unluckily for him a supernaturally beautiful woman, Kundry, was sent by Klingsor,—whose heart was black with envy,—and waylaid by her Amfortas succumbed to her fascinations. As he was clasped in her embrace the spear dropped and was seized by Klingsor, who gave him a fatal thrust in the side. No alleviation was there for this pain. Even the mystic bread which he occasionally dared to dispense to his knights did not bring ease. Klingsor kept the sacred spear, and by its aid hoped some day to capture Montsalvat itself.