When Gurnemanz finishes this harrowing tale the four squires kneel and sing the above prediction, “Durch Mitleid wissend.” Cries are suddenly heard, and knights rush in to inform their horrified hearers that a blasphemer has dared to enter the sacred park and shoot one of the swans. The culprit is dragged in. It is Parsifal, with his bow and arrow. The swan lies in death throes before him. While vainly endeavoring to discover his name, his identity, Gurnemanz reproaches him for having shed innocent blood, and points out to him the heinousness of his offence. Parsifal is overcome with shame—and pity. Here is first indicated the cardinal trait of his character. He relates to Gurnemanz the little he knows of his early life—with which the reader is already acquainted—and tells of his mother Herzeleide. Kundry sneeringly interrupts. His mother is dead from sorrow at her boy’s desertion. Parsifal, raging, throws himself upon the woman, but is dragged away. The truth forcing itself upon him, he grows faint and is revived by water from a spring. At this juncture Kundry grows sleepy. Well she knows—though the others do not—that her master is about to summon her. Filled with despair she staggers into the bushes and is seen no more. Gurnemanz, his heart revived by the pure foolishness of the lad, begins to hope anew, and the King’s litter returning to the palace, he again questions Parsifal. “What is the Grail?” asks in turn the youth. Then the pair appear to move slowly, and the scene changes, to the accompaniment of the sombre “Verwandlungsmusik,” from the forest to rocky galleries, finally to the Byzantine hall of the Holy Grail. All this is accomplished by scenery which moves in grooves. Parsifal questions Gurnemanz as to this phenomenon. “I slowly tread, yet deem myself now far,” he says. “Thou seest, my son, to space time changeth here,” answers Gurnemanz, which is a choice metaphysical morsel for the admirers of Kant and Schopenhauer.