Parzival

by Wolfram von Eschenbach

  One morning he begged leave to go. He left the locality of Graharz. His host rode out with him to the open country, and then there was new heart-ache.

  ‘In you I lose my fourth son,’ said the Prince, a man of a rare depth of feeling. ‘I thought I was recouped for a threefold tale of woe. Till now there had been but three. Yet now, if someone would hack my heart in four and bear each part away I would consider it sheer gain. One part for you who ride away, three others for my noble sons who died most gallantly. For such is chivalry’s reward: as a horse’s tail the crupper, so its latter end bears grief.

  ‘One death lames all my happiness, that of my fair son Schenteflurs. Coming to the aid of Condwiramurs when she had refused to surrender land and person, he lost his life to Clamide and Kingrun, so that now my heart is riddled like a fence with sorrow’s stabs. And now – too soon! – you ride away from me, wretch that I am! Oh, why cannot I the, seeing that neither my pretty girl Liaze nor my lands are to your liking!

  ‘My second son was Count Lascoyt. Ider fil Noyt killed him, competing for a Sparrowhawk: and so I stand bare of joy. My third son was Gurzgri. Lovely Mahaute rode beside him, for her proud brother Ehkunat had given her to him in marriage. He came riding to Schoydelakurt* over against the royal city of Brandigan, and there he had to the. Mabonagrin slew him, and Mahaute lost her radiant looks. His mother died stricken with grief for him.’

  The guest was alive to his host’s suffering, for he had made it all so very plain. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘I have not yet arrived at years of discretion. But if ever I win fame as a knight such as would entitle me to sue for love, I shall ask you to give me Liaze, the pretty girl your daughter. You have told me of grief past bearing. But if, when the time is ripe, I am able to free you from sorrow, I shall not leave you to bear such a load.’

  The young man took his leave of the faithful Prince and all his many retainers. For his sad Three the Prince has now been thrown a tragic Four. It was the fourth time he had proved a loser.

  Chapter 4

  PARZIVAL rode away. He had the marks and bearing of a well-bred knight. But alas, he was pricked by many a harsh pang. His eyes were at the mercy of his heart, so that distance seemed to cramp him, space to pen him in, while all that was green seemed sere and yellow, his red armour dazzling white! Now that he had lost his youthful rawness, Gahmuret’s nature claimed him, giving him no release from thoughts of fair Liaze, the gracious girl who had honoured him with friendship short of love. Whichever way his horse takes now and whether it wishes to gallop or trot he is powerless to curb it, so sad is he.

  His paths through the forest led far from wayside crosses, wattled hedges and ruts cut clean by carts. He rode over much rough country where few plantains were to be seen. Hills and valleys were strange to him. An oft-quoted proverb says that a rider who loses his way will find the maul. If mighty logs have anything to do with it, here were signs of the maul past counting.

  Yet he did not go far astray, for he rode straight ahead from Graharz, passing between mountains both high and wild, till he reached the kingdom of Brobarz while it was still daylight.

  Then as day turned to evening he came to a torrent whose roar could be heard far away as it was thrown from rock to rock. He rode down its course – and there lay the city of Belrepeire. King Tampenteire had bequeathed it to his daughter, with whom many people are sorrowing now.

  The torrent flew like bolts well feathered and trimmed when the tensed crossbow hurls them with throbbing string. It was spanned by a bridge covered with much wattle-work, at the point where it entered the sea. Belrepeire was wellpositioned for defence! You know how children go on swings when they are swung for all they are worth? That is how this bridge went – though it was ropeless! Nor was it youth that made it so gay.

  Sixty knights or more were stationed on the farther side with their helmets laced on and they all shouted ‘Go back! Back!’ Weak though they were, they raised their swords in eagerness for battle. From having seen Clamide they thought this must be he, for this man rode over the meadow towards the bridge with such a kingly air. As a result of their loud bawling at the young man, his charger shied away from the bridge however much he pricked it with the spurs. But the fearless man dismounted and led his mount over the rickety bridge. No coward would have had the spirit to ride against such strength. Moreover he had to take especial care lest his horse tumble over. Meanwhile the bawling on the other side had stopped. The knights withdrew with their helmets, shields and flashing swords and shut their Gates. They feared there were others to follow.

  Thus Parzival crossed over and rode to a field of battle on which many had met their deaths pursuing knightly honour, diere before the Gate by the lofty, splendid Palace. He found a ring-shaped knocker on the Gate and banged it hard. But apart from one young lady of pleasing appearance none paid any attention to his shouts. This charming girl observed the knight through a window as he stood waiting and politely said, ‘If you have come here as an enemy, sir, you are wasting your time. We have suffered enough ill will by land and sea from a fierce and courageous army without your joining in.’

  ‘Madam,’ he replied, ‘here stands a man who will help you if he can. A smile from you on meeting shall be my reward. I am your devoted servant.’

  At this, the thoughtful girl went to the Queen and so helped him to come within the walls. This, as it turned out, relieved them of great hardship.

  Thus Parzival was admitted. The populace stood in a great throng on both sides of the street. Marching in formidable array there were long ranks of slingers and foot receding into the distance and a horde of vile archers. With the same glance he took in numbers of men-at-arms with sharp, long, strong lances as yet unshattered. And, according to my understanding of the tale, many merchants stood there with battle-axes and javelins as the officers of their guilds had commanded.* They all had slack hides.

  The Queen’s Marshal had much ado to conduct Parzival through the crowd to the courtyard, which was well equipped for defence. Of turrets above chambers, barbicans, donjons and angle-towers there were certainly more here than he had ever seen before. From all sides knights came on horseback or on foot to welcome him. This company too were of an ashen or drab clayish complexion. My lord Count of Wertheim would have loathed being a soldier there: on their pay he could not have kept body and soul together!

  Famine had reduced them to starvation. They had no cheese, bread or meat. They had given up using toothpicks and beslabbered no wine with greasy lips when drinking. Their bellies were sunken, their hips gaunt and lean and their skin lay shrivelled and shrunk over their ribs like Hungarian shagreen – famine had chased their flesh away. Very little fat dripped on to their coals. A noble man, the proud King of Brandigan, had brought them to this pass, for they were reaping the results of Clamide’s wooing. No tub or can ever spilt its mead there, no plan sizzled with Trüdinger fritters† – such music had been cut short for them.

  I should be a stupid man if I were to blame them for that. For where I have often dismounted and am called ‘Master’, at home in my own house, no mouse is ever cheered. It would have to steal its food, food which by rights none might hide from me, but of which I find not a scrap above board. All too often do I, Wolfram von Eschenbach, have to make do with such comfort.

  Enough of my complaints. The story must return to the plight of Belrepeire, whose people were mulcted of happiness. Those loyal warriors led a wretched life thanks to their sterling courage. Their distress deserves your pity. I tell you their very lives are at stake if God lifts no hand to free them.

  Now learn more of these wretches so deserving of your compassion. They received their spirited guest shamefacedly. They thought him so estimable in other respects that he should not have asked them for shelter in their plight. Yet he had no inkling of their need.

  They spread a carpet on the grass where a lime had been walled in and trained to offer shade, and then the retainers unarmed him. When he had washed off all the rust in a br
ook his appearance was very unlike theirs – he might almost have dimmed the sun’s bright radiance! They thought him now an estimable guest indeed and at once offered him a cloak to match the robe he had been wearing. Its sable trimming smelt fresh from the hunt.

  ‘Do you wish to see our lady the Queen?’ they asked. The steadfast warrior said he would much like to do so, and they walked towards the Palace to which a long flight of stairs led up.

  The lovely radiance of her face, the sweet lustre of her eyes preceded the Queen in one blaze of light before she ever received him. Kyot of Katelangen and noble Manpfilyot were escorting their niece the Queen. Each was a duke, but they had renounced their swords for the love of God. Noble princes, grey-haired and handsome, they paced and, with great ceremony, conducted the lady to the middle of the stairs. Here the Queen kissed the worthy knight – the mouth of the one as red as the other’s – and then she gave Parzival her hand and led him to their seats.

  The ladies and gentlemen standing and sitting there had lost much strength. The Mistress and her Household had taken leave of happy times. But the dazzling beauty of Condwiramurs set her apart from the challenge of those I name now. Her bright lustre quite vanquished that of Jeschute, Enite and Cunneware de Lalant, and of those who in appraisals of feminine charms have been most commended, and even of both Isoldes. There was no denying that Condwiramurs excelled all others: she was possessed beyond all question of le beau corps or as we say ‘a fair person’. They were useful women who gave birth to this pair sitting here together. The men and women there did nothing but gaze at them, as the two sat side by side. Parzival had found well-wishers there.

  I will tell you what the stranger was thinking. ‘Liaze is there, Liaze is here. It pleases God to make my sadness bearable. Liaze is here before my eyes, noble Gurnemanz’s daughter.’ But Liaze’s beauty was as nothing compared with that of the maiden sitting here, in whom God had omitted no perfection. The lady of this land was like a rose still moist, with the sweet dew revealing from the bud its pristine glory of white and red. This gave her guest much ado; but his selfcommand was so entire since Gurnemanz had rid him of his folly and forbidden him to ask questions – sensible ones excepted – that he sat beside the puissant Queen without a word falling from his lips. (I say he sat close, not gingerly a way off.) Many a man more accustomed to feminine company may be tongue-tied even today.

  The Queen soon began thinking ‘I imagine this man looks down on me because my flesh has fallen away. – No! He does so for a reason. He is my guest, I am his hostess, and it is I who should begin the conversation! Since we sat down here he has given me kind looks and shown courtesy towards me. I have held back for too long. Now to end this silence.’

  ‘My lord,’ said the Queen to her guest, ‘a hostess is bound to speak up. I won your salutation with a kiss of welcome, and you yourself sent in offers of service, so one of my young ladies tells me. To my deep sorrow we have not been used to such treatment from strangers. I ask you, sir, to tell me from where you have come.’

  ‘This morning, Ma’am, I rode away from a man of flawless loyalty and left him to his sorrows, a prince named Gurnemanz, derived from Graharz. From there I rode into this country.’

  ‘If any other had told me this,’ replied the noble maiden, ‘I should not have agreed that it was done in a day. For whenever a messenger of mine has ridden it, express, he has not covered the distance in two. Your host’s sister was my mother. If his daughter’s looks were the worse for mourning it would be no wonder. We have wept out many a bitter day with eyes that would not dry, young Liaze and I. If you hold your old host in affection, accept such entertainment tonight as we have been putting up with, both men and women. If you do, you will be partly serving him too. Now I will tell you of our trouble: we are hard put to it by famine.’

  ‘I will send you a dozen loaves, Madam, and three hams and shoulders,’ said her uncle Kyot. ‘There will be eight cheeses to go with them and two kegs of wine. My brother too must help you tonight, there is need.’

  ‘Madam,’ said Manpfilyot, ‘I will send you the same.’

  The girl sitting there was overjoyed. She thanked them most gratefully. They took their leave and rode to their hunting lodge nearby. For these old gentlemen lived in a wild mountain gorge, unarmed, under truce from the besiegers.

  Their messenger soon returned at the trot, and these enfeebled people were revived. These victuals were the grand sum of what the citizens had to nourish them! Many had already died of starvation before this bread arrived. The Queen ordered it to be shared among her debilitated people, and with it the cheeses, meat and wine, at Parzival’s suggestion. As a result, scarcely a slice remained for the two of them, and this they shared without quarrelling.

  These provisions were duly consumed, and the deaths of many spared by famine were averted. Then orders were given to make a bed for their guest, a soft one I can well believe. If these people were hunting-birds it could not be said that they were gorged, and this was confirmed by the dishes. All these people bore the marks of famine, all but young Parzival. He begged leave to go to bed. – You ask if his candles were penny dips? No, they were far superior. Then the handsome youth mounted a bed not designed for poverty but of a magnificence fit for a king. A carpet was spread before it. He did not keep the knights waiting there long before asking them to withdraw. Some pages removed his shoes and hose, and soon he slept -till true sorrow called him, and heart’s rain from bright eyes. These quickly woke the noble warrior.

  I will tell you how it came about. There was no breach of feminine decorum.* This girl of whom I am telling you was chaste and constant. Distress of war and the death of dear supporters had wracked her heart so cruelly that her eyes stayed wide awake. The Queen had not come for such love as rouses what dubs maids women. She was seeking the help of a friend. She wore formidable armour: a white silken shift! What could be more challenging than a woman bearing down on a man in this fashion? The lady had thrown round her a long mantle of samite. Her step betrayed the cares that harassed her.

  She left her young ladies-in-waiting and chamberlains asleep wherever they were and crept softly and noiselessly to the chamber in which those who were responsible had arranged for Parzival to sleep alone. The candles beside his couch made it as bright as day. Her way led to his bed. She knelt down before him on the carpet. So far as lovers’ embraces went, both he and the Queen were dunces. The wooing and doing went thus. The maiden was unhappy and deeply embarrassed. ‘Did he pull her into bed with him at all?’ Alas, he has no experience of that. Yet without experience he does take her in under truce that they do not bring their appeasing limbs together. They gave little thought to that.

  The girl was so utterly wretched that the tears rained down from her eyes upon young Parzival. The sound of her weeping was so loud in his ears that he woke and saw her all at once. This made him sorry – yet glad. The young man sat up and quickly asked the Queen ‘Are you mocking me, Ma’am? You should be kneeling to God. Do sit down here beside me (such was his request) or lie down where I was lying, and I will make do with somewhere else.’

  ‘If you will honour yourself and treat me with such restraint as not to struggle with me, I will lie in there with you,’ she said. He agreed to these terms, and she quickly snuggled into bed.

  It was still so deep in the night that not a cock was crowing. (In any case the roosts were bare: famine had shot them off their perches.) The unhappy lady asked him politely if he would hear her tale of woe? ‘I fear,’ she said, ‘that if I tell you I shall rob you of your sleep, so much will it pain you. King Clamide and his Seneschal have laid waste all my lands and castles except for Belrepeire. My father Tampenteire died leaving me a poor orphan exposed to fearful dangers. I had at my command a large and courageous army, kinsmen, princes, vassals mighty and humble alike. Half or more of them were killed fighting in defence. How should I poor wretch be cheerful? I have now reached the point where I shall kill myself rather than yield my maidenhead and
person to become the wife of Clamide, for it was he who with his own hand slew dear Schenteflurs, whose heart harboured many knightly virtues. Blossoming sprig of manly beauty, Liaze’s brother, curbed all base leanings.’

  At the sound of Liaze’s name, her servitor Parzival was reminded of his longing. His high spirits were dashed for the love he bore Liaze. ‘Could anyone do anything to solace you, Ma’am?’

  ‘Yes, if I were saved from Kingrun the Seneschal, sir. He has thrust down many a knight of mine in regular joust. He will come again tomorrow and has visions of his master soon lying in my arms. You must have seen my Palace? Were it never so high I would pitch headlong into the fosse before Clamide should ravish my maidenhead. That is how I would cheat him of his boast!’

  ‘Whether Kingrun be Frenchman or Briton, Ma’am,’ he said, ‘or from whichever land he may come, you will be defended by this my hand to the utmost of my power!’

  The night drew to an end and day broke. The lady rose and, inclining her head, thanked him most gratefully. She then stole away again, and nobody there was alert enough to notice her departure but fair-skinned Parzival. He did not sleep much longer. The sun was in haste to scale the heights, its bright rays were thrusting through the clouds. Then he heard much ringing of bells. Those whom Clamide had parted from their happiness were making for church and minster.

  The young man got up. The Queen’s chaplain sang Mass to the honour of God and for his lady. Her guest could not help gazing at her till the benediction had been given. He asked for his armour and was well and truly armed in it. And indeed he was to prove his knightly mettle by the valiant way he fought.

  Now Clamide’s army was arriving with many pennants. Kingrun came spurring far in advance of the others on a horse of Iserterre, I am told. Fil li roy Gahmuret too had sallied beyond the Gates, and the prayers of the citizens went with him.