‘Why are they angry with the little birds?’ the boy asked the Queen. He begged an immediate truce for them. His mother kissed him on his lips. ‘Oh why do I forget and thwart the will of Him Who is God on high?’ she asked. ‘Are the birds to leave their happiness for me?’
But the boy was quick to ask ‘Oh mother, what is God?’
‘My son, I shall tell you, just as it is. He Who took on a shape in the likeness of Man is brighter than the sun. My child, take this wise saying to heart: pray to Him when in need. His steadfast love never yet failed the world. Then there is one called Lord of Hell. He is black, perfidy cleaves to him. Turn your thoughts away from him and treacherous despair.’
His mother told him about Light and Darkness and how different they are. This done, the nimble boy dashed off and far away.
He learned how to swing his javelin, and with it he shot many deer of which mother and household had the benefit. In snow or after thaw, his shooting did deadly work on the game. Now listen to this strange thing! When he had brought down a beast so heavy that it would have burdened a mule he carried it home unquartered as it was!
One day he was hunting down a long slope. He had just broken off a twig for a decoy-call when he heard the echo of hoof-beats on the path nearby. He began to balance his javelin. ‘What was that I heard?’ said he. ‘If only the Devil would come in all his terrible fierceness I would stand up to him for sure. My mother tells me dreadful tales about him. I suppose she has lost her courage.’ Thus he stood there ready for the fray.
But look! Here come three knights at the gallop as fine as you could wish and armed from heel to crown! The boy thought each a god for sure. Nor did he remain standing any longer, but fell to his knees on the path. ‘Help, God!’ he cried at the top of his voice. ‘Thou hast the power to help!’
The foremost lost his temper at the sight of this boy lying in mid-path. ‘This stupid Waleis is slowing us down.’ (The Waleis, I must tell you, share the same distinction as we Bavarians, but are even denser than Bavarian folk, though stout men with their weapons. Whoever is born in either land will blossom into a prodigy of tact and courtesy!)
At this moment a knight rode up, giving his horse free rein. He was beautifully turned out. He was riding armed in hot pursuit of others who were well away. For a pair of knights had carried off a lady from his country. This warrior considered it a great disgrace and was angry at the wrong that was being done to the poor young lady riding some way ahead. The other three here were his vassals. He was mounted on a fine castilian. His shield was badly battered. His name was Karnah-karnanz leh cuns Ulterlec. ‘Who is blocking our way?’ he asked and immediately came upon the boy.
To the boy he seemed like some god, never had he seen a thing so bright. The knight’s tabard lightly brushed the dew, his well-adjusted stirrups rang with the music of tiny golden bells to the fore on either leg. His right arm too jingled with bells wherever he thrust or swung it. This was to give music to his sword-play, for he was hot in pursuit of fame! Such was the style the great prince rode in, magnificently caparisoned.
‘Have you seen two knights, my boy?’ Karnahkarnanz asked him, the very coronal of manly beauty. ‘They are backsliders from chivalry, ravishers devoid of honour who have carried off a girl by force.’ But whatever he was saying, the boy thought he was God, of whom Herzeloyde had spoken when explaining the Light. ‘Now help me, most helpful God!’ was his earnest cry. Fil li roy Gahmuret fell to his knees in urgent prayer.
‘I am not God,’ replied the prince, ‘though I gladly do His will. If you had eyes in your head you would see four knights before you.’
‘You said “knights”! – What are they? If you lack godlike power, then tell me, who gives knighthood?’
‘King Arthur does so. Were you to come under his roof, young sir, you need never blush for the knight he would make of you. I should think you are of noble stock.’
The knights looked him up and down, and indeed he bore the marks of God’s own handiwork. I have it from my source, which told me the truth of the matter, that from Adam’s day till then none turned out better for looks than he, so that women praised him far and wide.
The boy said another thing that made them laugh. ‘Oh Sir God, what can you be? There are so many little rings tied on you, up here and down there!’ And the lad’s hand was tugging at all the iron he could find on the prince. ‘My mother’s young ladies carry their rings on ribbons,’ he said, examining the knight’s armour, ‘but theirs do not lie so tight together. – And what is it for, this thing that makes you look so trim?’ his whim prompted him to ask the prince. ‘I can’t pick any of it off.’
The prince showed him his sword. ‘Now, look. If a man attacks me I fight him off with blows, and to defend myself from his I have to put this on. Against arrows and lance-thrusts too I must arm myself like this.’
‘If the deer wore their hides like that,’ the boy replied, ‘my javelin would never wound a single one. Lots fall dead at my feet!’
The knights were angry that their prince stood talking with this fool of a boy. ‘May God protect you!’ said the prince. ‘How I wish I had your looks! If only you had some sense in you, God would have left you nothing to wish for. May the power of God keep harm far from you!’
The prince and his men rode off and galloped to a field in the forest. There the courtly man found Lady Herzeloyde’s plough-hands, and no worse calamity ever befell her people. He saw them busy furrowing. First they sowed, then they harrowed, jerking their goads over sturdy oxen.
The prince gave them good morning and asked if they had seen a young lady in distress? They could not do otherwise than answer his question. ‘Two knights and a young lady rode past this morning, the lady in fear and anguish. Those who led her were spurring hard.’ This was Meljahkanz. Karnahkarnanz was to overtake him and by force of arms win back the lady, who until that moment had been very dejected. She was Imane de Beafontane.
The ploughmen were in despair. ‘How did we come to do this?’ they asked themselves as the knights dashed past. ‘If our young master has seen the war-scarred helmets these knights are wearing we have betrayed our trust. We shall have hard words from the Queen for this, and serve us right, for he ran along with us this morning while she was still asleep.’
True enough, the lad lost interest in shooting deer, great or small. He went to find his mother and told her a tale that sent her reeling. His words had given her such a shock that she lay at his feet in a swoon.
When the Queen regained her senses, although her spirits had failed her before, she now asked ‘My son, who told you of the Order of Chivalry? How did you come to hear of it?’
‘Mother, I saw four knights brighter even than God – they told me about knighthood. Arthur’s kingly power must guide me to knightly honour and the Office of the Shield!’
This gave rise to new grief. The Lady was at her wit’s end to find a means of wooing him from his purpose. The noble, simple lad kept pestering her for a horse. ‘I will not deny him,’ she told herself, though she regretted it in her heart. ‘But it will have to be the wretchedest nag. People are much given to mockery,’ she continued in her thoughts. ‘My child shall wear fool’s clothing over his white skin. Then, if he is roughly handled, he will surely come back to me.’
Ah, the pity of it! The Lady took some sackcloth and cut him a doublet and breeches all of a piece down to the middle of his gleaming white legs – regular fool’s clothes. To crown it there was a cowl. From a fresh raw calf-hide a pair of buskins were cut to the shape of his legs. This was not done without much weeping and wailing.
After thinking matters over she asked him to stay that night. ‘You must not go before I have taught you some sense. When riding across country avoid murky fords. Where they are clear and shallow trot in briskly. Make it your custom to greet all and sundry. If a wise grey-haired man offers to teach you good manners as he would well know how, do as he says with a will, do not fly into a passion. Let me give you this
advice, my son. Wherever you can win a lady’s ring and greeting, take it – it will rid you of the dumps. Waste no time, but kiss and embrace her. It will bring you good fortune and raise your spirits, granted she be chaste and good. You must learn another thing, my son. Arrogant bold Lähelin has wrested two lands, Waleis and Norgals, from your Princes. By rights they should subserve you. Turkentals, one of your Princes, was killed by him, and he killed your people or took them prisoner.’
‘I will avenge this, mother, if God pleases. My javelin shall wound him yet!’
When the sun shone out next morning the boy was quickly resolved – he was impatient to be off in search of Arthur! Queen Herzeloyde kissed him and ran out after him. There then happened a most pitiful thing. When she could no longer see her son – he rode off, and who does not regret it? – the loyal Lady fell to the ground, where sorrow gave her such a cut that Death did not hold off.
Her steadfast death preserved the Lady from Hell’s torments. O happy woman for having been a mother! Thus did a root of virtue, stem of humility, go the way that brings reward. Alas, that we no longer have her kindred with us to the eleventh remove! For lack of them all too many are debased today. But true-hearted women must now ask a blessing on the boy who here sets out and leaves her.
Now the handsome lad was riding towards the Forest of Brizljan when he came to a stream which a cock would have crossed with ease. Though its waters were darkened only by the flowers and grass on its banks, the boy left the ford and knowing no better followed the stream all day. He spent the night as best he could till the bright sun shone out on him. Then all alone he made for a ford that was fine and clear.
On the farther bank the meadow was graced by a pavilion on which a fortune in three-colour samite had been lavished. It was lofty and spacious and its seams were trimmed with fine galloons. It had a leather cover hanging there for drawing across when it looked like rain. Duke Orilus de Lalander! – he it was whose wife the boy found lying there beneath it, the exalted Duchess, a lovely sight and all a knight could wish in a mistress! Her name was Jeschute.
The lady had fallen asleep. She wore Love’s blazon – a mouth of translucent red, torment to the hearts of amorous knights. She slept with parted lips that wore the flames of Love’s hot fire. Thus lay the loveliest challenge to adventure imaginable! Her gleaming close-set teeth lay in neat rows of snow-white ivory. (I fancy none will accustom me to kissing so well praised a mouth! Such things never come my way.) Her sable coverlet barely reached her hips, for on her lord’s departure the heat had caused her to push it down. Her figure was neat and trim: no art was lacking there, since God Himself had fashioned her sweet body. Nor was that all. The adorable woman was slender of arm and white of hand. Here on one of them the boy spied a ring, which drew him to the couch. And there he began to struggle with the Duchess. The handsome lad was thinking of his mother and how she had told him to capture women’s rings – and so he had leapt from the carpet straight upon the couch! Sweet modest woman, she sat up with a start to find the boy in her arms. How could she go on sleeping?
‘Who does me this dishonour?’ the high-bred lady asked in shame and anger. ‘Young gentleman, you make too free. Address yourself elsewhere, if you please.’
The lady wailed loudly. He paid no attention to what she said but forced her mouth to his. Wasting no time, he crushed her breast to his, duchess or no duchess, and also took a ring. On her shift he saw a brooch and roughly tore it off. The lady was armed as women are: but to her his strength was an army’s. Nevertheless there was quite a tussle of it.
But now the boy complained of hunger. ‘Don’t eat me,’ said the dazzling lady. ‘If you had any sense you would choose some other food. There’s some bread over there, and wine, and a brace of partridges served by a maid who scarcely meant them for you.’
Little did he care where his hostess sat – he ate a good bellyful and drank some heavy draughts to follow. The lady thought his stay in the pavilion tedious. She took him for a page who had lost his reason. For sheer embarrassment she was breaking out into a sweat. ‘Young man,’ the Duchess managed to say, ‘I must ask you to leave my ring behind, and my brooch, too. Take yourself off, for if my husband comes you will have to endure such anger as you would gladly have been spared.’
‘Why should I fear your husband’s rage?’ the boy replied. ‘But if it wounds your honour I will gladly go away.’ He then went up to the couch, and another kiss was taken, much to the Duchess’s annoyance. The lad then rode off without asking leave, though he did say ‘God be with you! – That’s what my mother told me.’
The lad was delighted with his spoils. When he had ridden on for some time, for close on a mile, there came a man about whom I wish to tell you. From the traces in the dew he could see that his lady had suffered an intrusion. Some of the guys had been kicked out, and here a boy had trampled the grass. The noble, illustrious prince discovered his wife inside, most wretched.
‘Alas, madam,’ said proud Orilus, ‘is it for this that I have addressed my service to you? My glorious exploits all end here in disgrace! You have another lover!’
With tearful eyes the lady offered her denial, protesting she was innocent. He did not believe a word of it. ‘A mad fool rode this way,’ she ventured timidly. ‘Of all the people I have ever seen I never saw any so handsome. He took my ring and brooch against my will.’
‘Ah, you liked his looks! You made a pair with him!’
‘God forbid!’ she cried. ‘His buskins and his javelin were too near to be overlooked. You ought to be ashamed to say such a thing! To love in such a quarter would lower a princess.’
‘Madam, I have done you no wrong,’ rejoined the prince, ‘unless one thing rankles with you: that for my sake you renounced the title of “Queen” to assume that of “Duchess”. But in that exchange it is I who am the loser. When all is said, my mettle is so keen that your brother Erec fil li roy Lac* has cause to hate you for it. The critics judge my reputation above cavil, except that he unhorsed me before Prurin. Yet, since then, I won glory from him at Karnant, for I thrust him over his crupper with a straight joust to win his surrender – my lance took your favour clean through his shield! Little did I then dream that you would take another lover, my lady Jeschute!
‘I beg you credit this, madam – proud Galoes fil li roy Gandin was slain by a thrust of mine. Nor were you far away when Plihopliheri rode out to break a lance with me and pressed me hard: but my lance swung him over his crupper so that his saddle ceased to irk him! I have won glory on many occasions and brought down many knights. Yet I have failed to reap the fruits, as this deep disgrace informs me. They hate me, one and all, those men of the Table Round, eight of whom I unhorsed at Kanedic in view of a bevy of young ladies when I was competing for the Sparrowhawk. I won the Prize for you, for myself the victory. Watching with you was Arthur, who has my sweet sister Cunneware with him in his palace. Until she sets eyes on the most illustrious man in the world her mouth will never wear a laugh.
‘If only that man would come my way! There would be some fighting here like this morning’s, when I fought a prince who challenged me and did him some mischief! – My lancethrust stretched him out dead!
‘I will not speak of anger and how, often, men have struck their wives for less. If in duty or by favour I owe you anything you will have to shift without it. I shall warm to your white arms no more, where I have lain enamoured many a happy day, now past. I will make your red lips fade and teach their-colour to your eyes. I will rob your happiness of splendour and school your heart in sighs.’
The princess looked up at her husband and said with pitiful mouth, ‘Show by how you treat me that you respect the honour of knighthood. You are true and discerning: you also have me enough in your power to inflict much suffering on me. So listen first to my defence, I beg you in the name of all my sex. Time enough to punish me afterwards. Granted I were killed by someone else, so that your honour were not lowered, however soon death came to me I would think t
hat moment sweet, now that I am the object of your hatred!’
‘You are growing too proud for my liking, madam,’ replied the prince. ‘I will put a check on this so far as you are concerned. – There will be no more eating and drinking together, our sharing one bed is over and done with. You shall have no clothes other than those I found you sitting in. For bridle you shall have a rope of bast. Your palfrey shall go hungry. Your pretty saddle will get the worst of it!’ And he quickly ripped and tore the samite away and then smashed the saddle she used to ride in. Modest, true-hearted woman, she had to suffer his spite. Finally he retied the saddle with strings of bast. His rage was all too sudden for her.
‘Let us ride, madam,’ he said straightaway. ‘If I should light on the man who enjoyed your favours here – how I would relish it! – I would try my fortune against him, though he breathed fire like a raging dragon!’ All thought of laughter gone, and in tears, the wretched lady set out dolefully. Whatever she endured she did not mind it, only that her husband suffered so. His unhappiness so distressed her that she would have found death more kind. Her faithful love deserves your pity, since from now on she is to suffer great tribulation. Though I were hated by the whole sex, the wrong done to Lady Jeschute could not fail to anger me.
Thus they rode off following the trail.
The boy ahead was in a great hurry too. But the resolute lad did not know they were pursuing him. Indeed, the good youth was passing the time of day with all he saw as he approached them, adding ‘That’s what my mother told me’.
Now our simple lad was riding down a slope when he heard a woman’s voice. Below a spur of rock a lady was lamenting from heartfelt grief. Her whole happiness had snapped in two. The boy rode swiftly towards her. Now listen to what the lady was at. Mistress Sigune was sitting there tearing out her long brown tresses by the roots in despair! The boy’s eyes began to range: they lit on Prince Schionatulander, dead, in the maiden’s lap. Her thoughts were of unalleviated sorrow.
Parzival Page 8
