Parzival

by Wolfram von Eschenbach

  ‘He is known to be a scion of royal stock, let my life be pledge for it, ma’am. I will tell your princes to robe themselves and wait on you until he and I ride up. Instruct your ladies. For I shall go down at once and bring you the noble stranger so well-endowed with charming qualities.’

  No sooner said than done. The Marshal went briskly about his mistress’s bidding. Rich robes – I heard they were very costly – were quickly brought for Gahmuret, and these he donned. To meet his wishes they were embellished with heavy Anchors of Arabian gold. Then he, who well knew how to requite a love-gift, mounted a horse which a jouster from Babylon had once ridden against him – he had thrust him off it, to the latter’s chagrin! You ask ‘Did his host bear him company?’ He and all his knights! And indeed they were happy to do so. They rode on together and dismounted before the Palace, where many knights were assembled in splendid robes. Linking hands, his pages preceded him, two and two. Their lord found a bevy of ladies there in exquisite gowns. As they lit on the Angevin the Queen’s eyes did great hurt to her. He looked so very winsome that, irresistibly, he unlocked her heart which until that time her femininity had kept locked fast. She advanced a pace or two towards her guest and bade him kiss her, and then led him to the wall that faced the enemy, and there, under its broad windows, they sat down on a quilt of samite spread on a soft divan. If anything is ‘brighter than the day’ the Queen does not resemble it. She had a woman’s heart and was all that a knight could want in other ways, but not ‘like the dewy rose’ – she was of a swarthy aspect. Her crown was a bright ruby through which her head was visible. The lady of the land told her guest what pleasure his coming gave her.

  ‘My lord, I have heard much of your prowess as a knight. I beg you of your courtesy to forgive me if I complain to you of sorrows that touch my heart.’

  ‘You shall not call on my aid in vain, ma’am. Whatever it is that has vexed or vexes you, if this right hand can ward it off, let it be duly appointed to your service. I am but one man, but if any has wronged you, or wrongs you still, I interpose my shield. But that will scarcely cow the enemy.’

  At this a prince politely interposed, ‘If we had a leader our enemies would not escape so lightly, now that Vridebrant has sailed away. Back at home he is freeing his own country, now that the kinsmen of King Hernant (whom he slew for Herlinde’s sake) are harrying him; for they will not refrain of their own accord. But he has left some stout fighters behind: Duke Hiuteger, who has wrought great havoc on us, and all his company. They fight with skill and vigour. Gaschier of Normandy, too, that grand old campaigner, has many mercenaries here and Kaylet of Hoskurast knights in greater number, a host of warlike strangers. It was Vridebrant, King of Scots, with four allies, who brought them to this country, together with many warriors fighting for their hire. Down by the sea to the west lie Isenhart’s men, their eyes streaming with tears. Never, since their lord was slain in joust, have they been seen anywhere but they were overwhelmed with grief. It rains in their hearts to overflowing.’

  ‘Tell me, if it is your pleasure, why they hem you in so fiercely with their armies,’ the stranger asked his hostess, like the gallant man he was. ‘You have so many brave fighting men. It saddens me to see them borne down by the malice of enemies bent on ruining them.’

  ‘I will tell you, sir, since you wish it. À noble knight once served me. Fine qualities burgeoned on him like blossoms on a spray. This knight was brave and discerning. Loyalty bore fruit in him nourished from deep roots. His breeding excelled all breeding. He was more modest than a woman. He was brave and daring. No hand more liberal ever grew on knight in any land before. (What will happen when we are gone I do not know, let others say.) He was untutored in the ways of perfidy. In hue he was a blackamoor like me. His father was King Tankanis. He too had high renown. My suitor’s name was Isenhart. As a woman I betrayed myself to let him serve me for love without his bringing it to a happy consummation, so that I must forever rue it. People imagine I sent him to his death, but treachery is not in my nature, though his vassals accuse me of it. I loved him more than they and do not lack witnesses to vouch for it, since the gods, both his and mine, know the truth of it. Many were the love-pangs I suffered for him, yet my woman’s shyness made me delay his reward – and the end to my remorse! My virgin state spurred him to win fame in many feats of arms. At last I put him to the test to see if he would prove a lover. Proof was soon forthcoming. He gave away his war-gear for my sake. That Pavilion standing there like a palace was his, Scots brought it to this battlefield. Rid of his equipment he did not spare himself. Life seemed to have lost its charm for him, for he sought many an encounter bare of his armour. At this time a prince of my court named Prothizilas, a fearless man, rode out to try his fortunes, but disaster overtook him. It was no sham death that he took from his joust in the Forest of Azagouc with a brave man who also met his end there – Isenhart my suitor! They each received a spear through shield and body. Wretched woman, I mourn it still, nor shall I ever cease to regret their deaths. The affection I bear them blossoms forth in grief. I was never yet wife to any man.’

  It seemed to Gahmuret that although she was an infidel, a more affectionate spirit of womanliness had never stolen over a woman’s heart. Her modest ways were a pure baptism, as was the rain that fell on her – the flood descending from her eyes down to her sabled breast. Her pleasures in life were devotion to sorrow and grief’s true doctrine.

  ‘The King of Scots invaded me from overseas with all his army,’ she went on. ‘He was Isenhart’s cousin on his mother’s side. It was not in their power to do me greater hurt than I had already sustained in Isenhart, I must say.’ The lady fell to sighing. Through her tears she cast many a shy glance at Gahmuret, as between strangers, and her eyes told her heart he was well made. She was a judge of fair complexions, too, since before this she had seen many a fair-skinned heathen. With this there was born between them a steadfast longing – she gazed at him, and he at her.

  At length she ordered them to pour the farewell drink, though had she dared she would have left it. She was vexed that her command was not ignored, for it has never failed to dismiss gallants who would have dallied with the ladies. Yet her life had become his, and he had inspired her with the feeling that his life too was hers.

  He rose to his feet. ‘I am inconveniencing you, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I have been forgetting myself, sitting here so long. It troubles your humble servant deeply to see you so distressed. I am yours to command, my lady. My vengeance shall be wherever you desire.’

  ‘I well believe it, sir,’ said she.

  His host the Burgrave is not neglectful of his entertainment. He asks him if he would care to ride out and take the air. – ‘And see the battlefield, and the defences at the Gates?’ Gahmuret, worthy knight, replied that he would indeed like to view the scene of combat.

  A merry company of knights rode down with him, both young and old. They conducted him round the sixteen Gates and explained at length how not one had been barred – ‘Day or night since revenge was sought for Isenhart. The fighting between us has hung in the balance, yet all that time not one was closed. Loyal Isenhart’s men have given battle before eight Gates and have inflicted great losses on us. These noble princes and vassals of the King of Azagouc fight fiercely.’

  A gay pennant was flying above the brave troop before each Gate, showing a knight pierced through with a lancethrust in the manner of Isenhart’s death. From this his army had chosen its device.

  ‘To assuage their grief our answer is this: our pennants show a woman with two fingers of one hand raised in oath, proclaiming she had never suffered so much as since that day when Isenhart was slain – his loss was torment to her heart. And so the Lady Queen Belacane’s image was raised aloft in black upon a ground of white samite, as soon as we recognized their emblem, which could only add to the loyal woman’s grief. Ours are planted high above the Gates. Before the other eight we are still hemmed in by proud Vridebrant’s army, Christian folk f
rom over the sea. Each Gate is in the care of a prince who sallies forth to battle with his banner. We have captured one of Gaschier’s counts, and he is offering us a large ransom. He is a son of Kaylet’s sister, so that any damage Kaylet does must be paid for by this other. We rarely have such luck! Between the moat and their encampment there is a stretch of country some thirty courses broad, sand, not turf. Many jousts take place there.’

  Gahmuret’s host had more to tell him. ‘There is a knight who never fails to seek a joust before the walls. If the lady who sent him here were to fail to reward him for such love-service what profit would his thirst for battle bring him then? This man is the proud Hiuteger. I must tell you further that this reckless knight has halted before the Palace Gate, equipped and ready each morning since we were first besieged here. Add to that, we have come back from jousting with the gallant man with his love-tokens thrust through our shields, precious stones valued as of high price when retrieved by the heralds! He has unseated many knights of ours. He likes to show himself, and our ladies too commend him. A man who is praised by the ladies soon acquires a reputation: fame and all his heart’s desire are there at his command.’

  The weary sun had now gathered in his bright glances to himself again, and it was time to make an end of their outing. The stranger rode in with his host and found his supper waiting.

  I must tell you about the viands. They were brought to the board with due form and the company were served as befitted knights. The puissant Queen came to his table in great state. (Here was heron, there was fish.) Accompanied by her young ladies she had come expressly to see for herself that Gahmuret was well cared for. She knelt – despite his protests – and with her own hand carved him a good helping. She was happy in her guest! She presented his cup and saw to all his needs. He for his part took careful note of all she said and did. His minstrels sat at the lower end of his table, his chaplain on the other side.

  He looked at the lady bashfully and said with many blushes: ‘I am not accustomed to such honour as you show me, Ma’am. If I may offer you my opinion, only such hospitality was needed as I deserve. Nor would I have had you ride down here. If I may ask a favour, Ma’am, let me strike a happy mean. You do me too much honour.’

  She insisted on going over to where his pages were seated and told them to fall to, thinking thus to honour her guest. The gratitude these young gentlemen felt for the Queen was boundless. Nor did she omit to go up to the master of the house and his lady the Burgravine. Raising her cup she said: ‘Let me commend our guest to you, since it is you who have the honour. I beg you, bear this well in mind.’ She took leave of them but sought her guest again. His heart was burdened with the love she inspired; and she too had been brought to the same pass by him, as her heart and eyes averred – they had to make common cause with her.

  ‘My lord, command me,’ she said with shy restraint. ‘Whatever you ask I will provide, since you deserve it. Now let me take my leave. If you find everything comfortable here we shall all be very happy.’ Four candles led the way in candlesticks of gold, and she was riding to a place where there were plenty !

  They did not go on with their supper. The knight was sad, yet happy. He was glad at the great honour that was shown him. But he was molested from another quarter, by imperious Love, humbler of soaring spirits.

  The lady of the house withdrew and hurried to her chamber. Gahmuret’s bed was made with care, and host said to guest ‘Sleep sound, and rest yourself tonight, for you will need it.’ Then the host dismissed his retainers.

  The beds of the stranger’s pages lay all round him with their heads turned towards him, for such was his custom. Great candles stood there burning brightly. The hero lost his patience with the night for dragging on so. With thoughts of the dusky Moorish Queen he fell from swoon to swoon, he whipped from side to side like an osier, setting all his joints a-cracking. He was on fire for love and battle. Now pray his wish be granted! His heart pounded till it echoed, it was near to bursting with battle-lust, so that it arched the warrior’s breast as the sinew does the crossbow – so keen was his desire!

  He lay without sleep till he saw the grey of dawn. It had not begun to glow before he told a chaplain to make ready for Mass, which the latter then sang for God and his master. Straightway they brought Gahmuret’s armour, and off he rode to where jousting was to be had.

  He then promptly mounted a war-horse trained to the headlong charge and the swift gallop and that was quick to respond whichever way he wheeled it. You could see his Anchor towering above his helmet as he was led towards the Gate, where men and women alike declared they had never seen so enchanting a warrior – why, their gods must look like him! They carried stout spears along with him. How was he caparisoned? His charger was clad in iron to ward off hack and thrust. Above this lay a second, lighter covering of green samite, which added little to the weight. His tabard and his surcoat were also green, of Achmardi woven in the town of Araby – I lie to none. The thong of his shield – all its gear – was of bright new corded silk adorned with gemstones, its boss was of reddish gold refined in fire. He served for Love’s wages: thoughts of a fierce battle left him unmoved.

  The Queen was reclining in a window with a number of her ladies. Now see where his enemy Hiuteger stands, having halted at the spot where honour had come to him before! When he saw this knight gallop up ‘When and how did this Frenchman arrive in the country,’ he mused, ‘if I took him for a Moor I’d be a fool at best.’ Their mounts that were already leaping forward they spurred from the gallop to full tilt. They showed their knightly mettle, their thrusts were well and truly meant, they were not make-believe. Splinters from brave Hiuteger’s lance flew skywards, but his opponent swept him over the cruppers on to the grass, little though Hiuteger was used to it. Gahmuret rode him down and trampled him, but he refused to own himself beaten and made many efforts to recover himself, yet the other’s lance was pinning him down by the arm and he was demanding his surrender. Hiuteger had found his master.

  ‘Who has defeated me?’ he asked the gallant man.

  The victor made swift answer. ‘I am Gahmuret of Anjou!’

  ‘I give you my parole,’ replied the other.

  Gahmuret accepted it and sent him in. This won him much praise from the ladies looking on.

  But Gaschier of Normandý was riding up at speed, a proud and fearless warrior and a jouster of great power. Handsome Gahmuret was ready to receive him in a second clash. His lance-head was broad, the shaft stout: the strangers were immediately engaged. The scales were soon tipped: down went Gaschier, horse and all, under the shock of the joust, and he was forced to surrender willy-nilly.

  ‘Your hand on it, which gave so good an account of itself!’ said doughty Gahmuret. ‘Now ride to the army of the Scots and ask them to refrain from attacking us, if they would be so kind. Then follow me into the town.’

  His order – or request – was duly carried out. The Scots were forced to call off the fight.

  Kaylet was next to ride up. Gahmuret turned aside, since Kaylet was his cousin on his mother’s side. What cause had he to harm him? The Spaniard pursued him with loud cries. Kaylet’s helmet bore an Ostrich-crest. He was arrayed in flowing silk, as I am bound to tell, and the meadow rang with the little bells he wore as he passed through it. Ah, flower of manly beauty! He outshone all but two, of a later generation: Lot’s son Beacurs and Parzival, who were yet to come. These were still unborn: but in later days they were singled out for beauty.

  Gaschier seized Kaylet’s bridle. ‘Your wildness will be tamed, believe me, if you oppose the Angevin, riding there with my surrender. Take my advice, which is also a request, my lord. I have promised Gahmuret that I will turn you all from battle, he has my hand on it. For love of me, press on no more, or he will show you his mettle when it comes to blows.’

  ‘If he is my cousin, Gahmuret fil li roi Gandin,’ replied King Kaylet, ‘I have no quarrel with him! Let go my bridle!’

  ‘I will not let go before I s
ee your head bared! – My own is rocking!’ Kaylet unlaced his helmet and doffed it.

  Gahmuret had more fighting to do. As yet the morning was but half spent and the townsfolk who had seen this joust were glad it was so. They all hurried along to the outermost defences, for he seemed to them like a net: whatever came beneath was trapped! He mounted a fresh horse (so I was told) which flew along barely touching the ground, was equally apt in the left or right wheel, courageous in battle and, for all its pace, was easily checked. Thus mounted, what did he achieve? Deeds such as move me to commend his valour! He rode within sight of the Moors as they lay with their host, westwards down by the sea.

  There was a prince named Razalic, the mightiest man of Azagouc. Day after day he never failed to set out for the town in search of jousting. In this his race did not belie him, he was a scion of royal stock. Yet the warrior of Anjou ended his prowess with a swift check-mate, with the result that a dusky lady who had sent Razalic there was deeply grieved that any should defeat him. Without prompting, a squire had handed his master a spear with a bamboo shaft, and with it Gahmuret had thrust the Moor over his cruppers clean on to the sand. But Gahmuret did not let him lie for long before taking him prisoner.

  With this the war was high and dry, and Gahmuret had covered himself in glory.

  Gahmuret then caught sight of eight pennants floating in the direction of the town. He quickly told his gallant captive to turn them back. He then ordered him to follow him in. Razalic complied, for so necessity decreed.

  Nor had Gaschier failed to appear. It was this that first told the Burgrave that his guest had taken the field. If like an ostrich he did not swallow iron and flint-stones it was because there were none to hand. He was so angry that he roared and bellowed like a lion! Tearing his hair, he said ‘What a fool I am despite my years! The gods have sent me a brave and noble guest, but if he is overwhelmed in the fighting I shall lose my honour beyond recall. What are my shield and sword for? – If anyone tells me I shall take it as an insult!’