Kundry struggles already more feebly. "He is handsome, this youth," exclaims Klingsor, who looks from the castle's height; "see, he mounts toward the castle. Hey, hey! Guardians! Knights! Heralds! About! The enemy approaches. Ah! how they defend the walls, the egotistical fools, to protect their gracious devils! That is it. Courage, courage! Ho! ho! this one has no fear; he has just snatched his lance from the hero Ferris. He brandishes it intrepidly toward the horde of combatants. How little their zeal serves them, the dullards! The child breaks the arm of one, the thigh of another. Ha! ha! they draw back, they take flight, each carrying away a wound. Thus am I happy! Thus may the entire race of knights cut one another's throats! Ah! thou tender shoot; although omens may have forwarned thee, yet art thou fallen into my power, too young, too innocent,--thy purity once stained, thou art mine." Kundry, seized as if in spite of herself with a fit of ecstatic laughter, has disappeared. The tower sinks little by little, and in its place one sees a marvellous garden filled with a tropical vegetation, beyond which appear the terraces and porticos of an Arabian palace of the most sumptuous style. Parsifal advances, stupefied with surprise, in the midst of all this splendor; ravishing young girls, similar to living flowers, at first alarmed, but soon becoming reassured, press about him, completing the measure of his stupefaction by all the charms and graces which they display for his enchantment and ruin. "If thou art gracious to us hold not thyself at a distance," they say, "and if thou wilt not quarrel with us we will recompense thee. We do not play for gold, our only stake is love. If thou thinkest to console us, surely thou wilt gain it. Come, come, gentle youth, let us bloom for thee. Our loving caresses are intended for thee." "What fragrant perfume you exhale," says Parsifal, with tranquil gayety; "are you flowers?" "Beauties of this garden, fragrant spirits, in the springtime the master gathers us! We grow here in the summer sunlight, and bloom joyously for thee. Be thou then gracious and friendly to us, accord to the flowers thy sweet tribute. If thou wilt not love us, we shall wither and die." "Take me upon thy breast." "Let me refresh thy forehead." "Let me kiss thy mouth." "No, I ... I am the fairest." "No, my perfume's the sweetest." But Parsifal laughingly repulses them: "You, medley of flowers, gracious and wild," he says, "if you wish me to share in your sports widen this narrow circle." "Why dost thou chide?" "Because you are in conflict." "We struggle for thy love." "Do not struggle." "Go. He wants me." "No, he desires me." "Dost thou repel me?" "Art thou timid in the presence of women?" "Thou lettest the flowers court the butterfly." "Leave me, you will not catch me," exclaims the young man, who would take flight.