The first act of Parsifal takes us to Mont Salvat, in the country where the mysterious temple of the Grail rises upon the northern side of the mountains of the Spanish Visigoths. A magnificent forest glade, on the border of a beautiful lake, is just waking in the first gleam of dawn. Two youthful shield-bearers and Gurnemanz, a robust old man, are sleeping, stretched upon the grass at the foot of a tree. From the further side of the temple and castle, which are not seen, is heard the sound of trumpets solemnly pealing forth the early morning summons, and the sleepers, whose mission it is to watch over the sacred forest, start up ashamed of having allowed themselves to be overcome by sleep. Gurnemanz gently reproves the young men; then all three prostrate themselves in silent prayer. The old man is the first to rise. "Up now, youths," he cries, "the hour is come for attending upon the king; already I see messengers coming toward us preceding the bed of pain which supports him." And approaching two knights who descend from the castle he cries: "Greetings to you: how does Amfortas find himself to-day? Truly he descends early toward the waters of the lake; tell me, the healing plant obtained for him by Gawan's skill and audacity has, I presume, brought him relief?" "Thou presumest, thou who knowest all," replies the knight. "His sufferings soon returned more heavy than ever, and deprived of sleep by the violence of the pain, the king eagerly called for his bath." "Fools that we are to hope for relief, where only recovery can heal!" murmurs Gurnemanz, sadly bending his head. "Seek every herb, every philter, wander over the entire earth! For him there is only one help, one saviour!" But the old man returns an evasive answer to the knight who demands this saviour's name. The shield-bearers, who have withdrawn and look toward the valley at the rear of the scene, suddenly perceive a strange, savage woman upon a running horse, which seems to fly over the fields. Soon, bounding from her saddle, she precipitates herself impetuously upon the scene. Her black hair falls half-plaited upon a forehead of bronzen pallor; her shining eyes are sad and fixed; her savage dress is held by a girdle of serpents' skins. "Hold," she says to Gurnemanz, "take this balm; if it heal not, Arabia contains nothing that can help the king. Question me not, I am weary." And she throws herself upon the ground like an exhausted animal. This woman is the savage and mysterious Kundry. No one knows who she is, nor from whence she comes. She has constituted herself messenger to the Knights of the Grail. She accomplishes the most perilous missions with skill and zeal, but never does she accept thanks; her ironic laughter and her sinister glance seem to belie the good she does. A frightful curse seems to weigh upon her. Sometimes she disappears for months, and Gurnemanz has often found her worn out under a bush, plunged in a strange, deathlike sleep.