Parzival

by Wolfram von Eschenbach

  ‘I did not ask it,’ said he.

  ‘Alas, that I have you in my vision,’ said the sorrowful maid, ‘since you failed so abjectly to ask! You witnessed such great marvels! – To think that you could not be bothered to ask in the very presence of the Gral! And you saw all those blameless ladies, noble Garschiloye and Repanse de Schoye, the keen-edged silver and the Bloody Lance! O what prompted you to come to me here? You dishonourable person, man accurst! You showed your venomous wolf-fangs when the canker took root in your integrity and grew apace! You should have had compassion on your host, in whom God had worked a terrible sign, and inquired about his suffering. You live, yet as far as Heaven’s favour goes you are dead!’

  ‘My dear Cousin,’ he replied, ‘do be a little kinder. If I have done amiss in any way I shall make amends.’

  ‘You are exempt from having to make amends,’ answered the maiden, ‘since I am well aware that knightly honour and esteem vanished with you at Munsalvœsche! This is the last word you shall have from me.’ Thus did Parzival go apart from her.

  It was a cause of great remorse to the warrior that he had been so slow to ask the Question as he sat beside the sorrowing king. Thanks to his self-reproaches and the heat of the day, he was soon bathed in perspiration. He unlaced his helmet and carried it in his hand for the sake of the fresh air. He also untied his ventail, and his skin shone bright through rust and grime.

  He now came upon a fresh trail, for ahead of him a well-shod charger had gone and a shoeless palfrey. The latter had to carry a lady along whose tracks he chanced to be riding, and now he saw her. The lady’s mount had been given up to misery: you could have counted every rib through its hide. Its coat was white as ermine. It had a halter of bast attached to it and its mane swept down to its hooves. Its eyes were deep-set in large sockets. This lady’s nag was altogether jaded and neglected and was often made sleepless by hunger. It was as dry as tinder. It was a marvel the beast could move at all, since it was ridden by a lady unused to grooming horses. On it was a saddle with harness, extremely narrow, from which all the bells had been torn, and with the saddle-bow broken down, and from which much else was missing. This sad, scarcely glad lady’s girth was a mere rope, for which, to tell the truth, she was too well-born. Moreover, thorny branches had tattered her shift. Wherever it had been torn apart, Parzival saw numerous knotted strings, but beneath it all something gleaming – her skin whiter than swan! It was no more than a net of rags that she was wearing. Where this served as cover for her body, dazzling whiteness met Parzi-val’s gaze. Elsewhere she had suffered from the sun. Wherever she had it from, her lips were red, their colour was such that you could have struck fire from them. From whichever quarter you might have had at her it would have been on the open side I* It would have been wrong to call her an overdressed villager,† since she had little on. Believe me, gentle people, the ill will she endured was undeserved, for she was ever-mindful of womanly virtue. I have told you a long tale of poverty. But why? This is acceptable as it is. I would rather take a person like her despite her scanty covering than some well-dressed women I know of.

  When Parzival uttered his greeting a look of recognition came into her eyes. He was the handsomest man in all the lands about, and this was why she knew him at once.

  ‘I have seen you before, to my sorrow. May God nevertheless give you more happiness and honour than you deserved of me! As a result of that meeting my clothes are poorer now than when you saw them last. If you had not approached me then, my good name would never have been questioned.’

  ‘Reconsider, madam, whom you may be upbraiding,’ he replied. ‘Ever since I took shield and came to know knightly ways neither you nor any other woman has been put to shame by me – I would have dishonoured myself! Your troubles otherwise have my sympathy.’

  The lady wept as she rode, so that her breasts smooth as though turned on a lathe were all bedewed. They stood high, white and round: no turner was ever so adroit that he could have made them shapelier. Lovely though she looked as she sat there, he could not help feeling pity for her. She covered herself with hands and arms from the gaze of doughty Parzival.

  ‘Put my surcoat over you in God’s name, my lady,’ he said. ‘I offer it with sincere respect.’

  ‘If my entire happiness depended upon it beyond all question, I would not dare to touch it. If you wish to ensure that we are not killed, ride at some distance from me. Yet I should not be very sorry to the myself, my only fear is that it could go hard with you.’

  ‘Who should take our lives, madam? Almighty God has given us them, and if a whole army were to come and seek them I should be ready to fight for us.’

  ‘A noble warrior will be seeking our lives,’ she answered. ‘He is so full of fight that six of you would have your hands full. Your riding here beside me is not to my liking. Once upon a time I was that knight’s wife; but now all neglected as I am I may not even be his serving-maid. – This is how he vents his anger on me.’

  ‘Who else is here with your husband?’ he asked the lady. ‘I am sure that if I did as you say and ran away now you would not approve. I shall gladly the on that day when I learn what it is to run away!’

  ‘He has nobody here but me,’ answered the scantily clad duchess, ‘but that brings little consolation that you will defeat him.’ Only the knotted tangle and the gathering of the lady’s smock remained whole. Yet in her humility she wore the glorious garland of womanly purity. – True goodness without taint was hers!

  Parzival fastened his ventail across. He was set on taking his helmet into battle and moved it by its laces till his vision was right. When his charger lowered its head towards her palfrey and let out a whinny, the man who was riding ahead of Parzival and the exposed lady heard it and wanted to see who was accompanying his wife. Angrily throwing his horse clear off the path, Duke Orilus was poised for battle and stood thus ready to joust with truly manly spirit. He was grasping a lance of Gahe-viez, richly painted with the colours of his blazon. The warrior’s helmet was by Trebuchet, his shield had been made in Toledo in Kaylet’s land, with a stout rim and boss. At Alexandria in the heathen lands a costly brocade had been woven of which this haughty prince wore a surcoat and tabard. His horse’s bard of hard chain-mail had been forged at Tenebroc, and he was moved by his pride to have a precious brocade as housing over this iron covering. His jambs, hauberk and coif were magnificent though not heavy, and the fearless man was further armed in knee-pieces from Bealzenan, the capital city of Anjou. The half-naked lady who rode after him so dejectedly wore clothes that ill-matched his, she lacked the means for better. His breastplate was forged at Soissons. His warhorse had been won in a joust by his brother King Lâhelin: it was from Brumbane de Salvæche al muntane.

  Parzival too was ready. He rode his horse at the gallop at Orilus de Lalander, on whose shield he descried a life-like Dragon. On Orilus’s laced-on helmet another Dragon reared itself. At the same time there were numerous tiny golden Dragons on his housings and on his surcoat, they had been embellished with precious stones galore – their eyes were set with rubies!

  These two intrepid heroes took wide sweeps for their charges. On neither side was challenge given: they were not bound by any treaty. Showers of new splinters flew high into the air from their lances. Had I seen such a joust as this tale tells of I should feel inclined to boast, for ridden at full tilt such a joust was joined that Lady Jeschute admitted to herself that she had never seen a finer! She stood there wringing her hands. Wretched lady, she wished neither hero harm. Ridden thus, both mounts were bathed in sweat. Both men desired renown. The flashes from their swords as they valiantly swung them and the fire that leapt from their helmets cast a lambency over the scene. They were superlative fighting-men who had clashed here, whatever the verdict was to be for the bold and far-famed warriors. And although the steeds they had bestridden responded, they did not forbear to use their spurs, nor did they rest their bright-patterned swords. Parzival is winning commendation here for defending hi
mself from some hundred dragons and a man. The Dragon on Orilus’s helmet took a wound, and wound was added to wound. Many gems were struck from it so translucent that the sun shone straight through them. This was enacted on horseback not on foot. Lady Jeschute’s favour was being fought for there with a play of swords wielded by dauntless warriors. Time and time again did they fly at one another, colliding with such shock that mail-rings left their knees in clouds even though they were of iron. If you agree, they showed their mettle.

  I will tell you why one of them was angry. It was because his well-born spouse had suffered violence some time past. After all, he was her lawful guardian, so that she looked to him for protection. He imagined that her wifely feelings for him had undergone a change and that she had brought dishonour on her chaste living and her good name by taking another lover. And he made this scandal his concern. Indeed, he passed such dire judgment on her that no woman ever endured harsher treatment, short of death, and this without fault on her part. He could withhold his favour from her at any time he pleased, no one will prevent that, with wives under their husbands’ jurisdiction. But Parzival, bold knight, was now demanding Orilus’s favour for Jeschute with his sword. Until now I have heard people sue for favour with kind words, but here there was no question of cajolery. As I see it, both were right. May He that created the crooked and the straight avert a fatal outcome if He can resolve it. As matters stand they are harming one another.

  The battle had risen to a sharp intensity, with each guarding his glory from the other. Duke Orilus de Lalander fought with all his practised skill – I doubt if any man had fought so often. He was possessed of both strength and expertise, which had brought him victory on many a field, however matters were going here. Relying on this, he clasped his arms round sturdy young Parzival, who for his part promptly took a grip, jerked him out of the saddle, swung him firmly under his arm as if he were a sheaf of oats, leapt down from his horse and rammed him over a fallen tree-trunk. Then this man, who was quite unused to such calamity, had to learn to live with defeat.

  ‘You shall pay for having made this lady languish under your displeasure. Unless you take her back to favour you are lost!’

  ‘That will not happen so quickly!’ retorted the Duke Orilus. ‘I have not yet been forced so far!’

  Parzival, noble knight, gave him such a hug that a rain of blood spurted through his vizor. With this, that prince was under constraint for anything desired of him. He acted like one who does not wish to die.

  ‘Alas, bold, strong man,’ he said to Parzival, ‘how have I ever deserved this extremity that I am to lie dead at your feet?’

  ‘I shall be happy to let you live if you will return this lady to favour,’ replied Parzival.

  ‘That I shall not! – She has wronged me too grievously. She was once rich in noble qualities, but she has since diminished them and plunged me into disaster. I am otherwise willing to do whatever you wish, if you will give me life. God gave it me in the first place, but now your sword-hand is his Angel, so that I shall owe it to your glory!’ Such were the words of this prince grown wise. ‘I shall buy back my life right royally – my puissant brother wears a crown with mighty sway over two lands. Take whichever you like rather than cut me down. He loves me well and will ransom me in the terms I agree with you. Further-more I will hold my duchy in fee from you. Thus your glorious reputation has gained merit from me. But, brave warrior, exempt me from being reconciled with this woman, and command me to do whatever else may bring you honour. Whatever other fate is in store for me I cannot make it up with this dishonoured duchess.’

  ‘People, lands and possessions cannot avail you,’ answered proud Parzival, ‘unless you pledge me your word that you will ride straightway to Britain. There you will find a maiden who was thrashed by a man on whom I shall not forego vengeance unless she herself ask it. You are to surrender yourself to her and assure her of my humble regard – or stay here and be slain! And give Arthur and his Queen my dutiful compliments and ask them to reward my services and make amends to the young lady for her blows. Over and beyond this I intend to see this lady here reconciled and restored to your favour in all sincerity. Failing that, if you choose to cross me, you will ride away from this place as a corpse on a bier. Mark my words, and see that you turn them into deeds! Let me have your word on it, here and now!’

  ‘If it cannot be bought with gifts,’ said Duke Orilus to King Parzival, ‘then I shall do as you say, since I wish to go on living.’

  Meanwhile the lovely Lady Jeschute had not dared to intervene for fear of her husband. She was sorry for her ‘enemy’s’ plight. Since he had promised to be reconciled with Lady Jeschute, Parzival let him get up.

  ‘Madam,’ said the vanquished prince, ‘since my utter defeat in battle was brought to pass for your sake, come here and be kissed. My renown has suffered great loss because of you. -What of it? It is forgiven.’

  With great speed the scantily dressed lady leapt from her palfrey on to the grass, and although the blood from his nose had dyed his mouth red, she kissed him, such being his command.

  Without more ado the two knights rode with the lady to a hermit’s cell in the rock-face. There Parzival saw a reliquary with a painted lance propped nearby. The name of the hermit was Trevrizent.

  Now Parzival did a charitable deed. He took the relics and swore on them, administering his oath to himself in these terms: ‘If I have any worth – whether I myself possess worth or not, any who see me with the Shield will rank me among the Knighthood, and as the Office of the Shield informs us, the virtue inherent in its Order has often won high renown and indeed its name remains a lofty one today! – may I forever be disgraced in this life and my fame be brought to naught; and that these words are fact let my prosperity stand surety in the eyes of Him Whose hand is highest (God according to my creed); and let me be mocked and damned in this life and the next through His power, if this lady did amiss when I chanced to tear her brooch from her, when I also bore off other gold! I was a young fool – no man – not yet grown to years of discretion. Weeping copiously and bathed in perspiration, she had much to put up with in her wretchedness. I tell you she is an innocent woman. I except nothing from this boath, may my honour and hopes of bliss be pledge for it! By your leave, she shall be innocent I Here, give her back her ring. Thanks to my youthful ignorance her brooch was thrown away.’

  The good knight accepted the gift. Wiping the blood from his lips he kissed the darling of his heart. He also covered her nakedness. Thrusting the ring on to her finger again the illustrious Prince Orilus draped her in his wide surcoat of magnificent brocade, torn as it was by mighty blows. – Never have I seen ladies wear tabards so tattered in battle, nor were tournaments ever cried on, or lances broken by them – anywhere! The Good Squire and Lämbekin would get up a joust more ably.* And so the lady’s sorrows were assuaged.

  Prince Orilus turned to Parzival again. ‘Knight,’ he said, ‘your oath so freely offered gives me much joy and little sorrow. The defeat I have suffered in battle has brought me back my happiness. Now I can make amends to this lady with honour after banishing her from favour. When I left the sweet woman all alone what could she do to prevent anything untoward? Only, since she mentioned your good looks, I fancied there might have been an affair behind it. But now – may God reward you! – she stands cleared of infidelity. It was not as a gentleman that I treated her when I rode out into young timber skirting the Forest of Brizljan.’

  Parzival laid hold of the lance from Troyes there and took it away with him. (It had been forgotten and left there by Dodines’s brother ‘Wild’ Taurian.) Now tell me how and where they can pass the night, these warriors of the tormented shields and helmets, their hacks and gashes plain to see.

  Parzival took leave of the lady and her lover, at which this prince grown wise invited him to join him in camp beside his fire, but it was of no avail, however much he pressed him. So it was here that those knights parted company.

  The story tells me
further that when the illustrious Prince Orilus repaired to his pavilion where some of his people were, they were all overjoyed to see him reconciled with the Duchess, now shedding happiness all round her. No time was lost in unarming Orilus, who then washed the blood and grime from himself. He took the graceful Duchess, led her to the place of reunion and ordered two baths to be prepared for them. Then Lady Jeschute lay beside her lover all in tears: for joy and not for sorrow, as still happens with good women today. And indeed there is the proverb that tear-filled eyes make sweet lips.

  To this I shall add that great affection is marked by both joy and sorrow. If one were minded to set Love’s nature on the scales and weigh it, it would always have these ups and downs.

  And now they celebrated their reunion right royally, believe me! First each went to a bath. You could see twelve comely maidens in attendance on her. These had been taking care of her ever since she had gained her dear husband’s displeasure for no fault at all, so that however scantily clad she had been riding by day, she had always had bed-clothes by night. They bathed her happily.

  Now will you kindly give ear to how Orilus learned of a journey King Arthur was making? A knight was there saying ‘I saw a thousand pavilions, or more, pitched on a broad meadow. The noble, puissant King Arthur, Lord of all the Britons, lies encamped not far from here with a bevy of ravishing beauties! They are a mile away, rough riding. There is also a great uproar of knights there. They have camped all along the Plimi-zœl on both banks.’ Hearing this, Orilus sprang out of his bath, and he and Jeschute busied themselves thus. The sweet gentle lovely woman also quickly stepped from her bath to his bed, and there sorrow found its cure. Her limbs deserved better covering than she had been long wearing. In close embrace, the love of the princess and prince grown wise attained the very summit of joy.