Parzival

by Wolfram von Eschenbach

  Now hear what Obie’s father said on coming face to face with Gawan, and how he welcomed him to his domain.

  ‘My lord,’ he began, ‘your coming is auspicious. I have travelled widely, but my eyes have never been so charmed by what they saw. This day of your advent shall console us in our predicament, since it has power to console!’ He invited Gawan to join in the fighting. ‘If you are not fully equipped let us supply what is missing. If you wish, my lord, join my detachment.’

  ‘I should be willing to do so,’ answered noble Gawan, ‘since I have weapons and stout limbs, only there is a truce on my fighting till an agreed term. Were the odds for or against you I would gladly make common cause with you. But, sir, I must forego it till a duel that concerns me has been fought. My honour has been staked in it at such a price that if I am to be accepted in noble society I must redeem my pledge in combat or die in the attempt – that is why you see me on the road.’

  To Lyppaut this was grievous news. ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I beg you of your nobility and gracious breeding to hear my innocence. I have two daughters whom, since they are mine, I love. Whatever God has given me in them I will live with it in contentment. Lucky me, ever to have known the sorrow they bring me! But one daughter bears sorrow in common with me, though in unequal shares: for my lord hurts her with love and me with want of love. As I see it, my lord intends to do violence to me because I have no son. Well, then, I am more attached to daughters, so what of it, if I have to suffer for it? I count such pain among my blessings. As to warfare, although a daughter may not wield a sword she is just as effective, provided her father choose with her, for with her modest ways she can catch him a spirited son – that is what I’m setting my hopes on!’

  ‘May God grant you your desire!’ said Gawan.

  Lyppaut renewed his entreaties.

  ‘In God’s name, my lord, do not pursue it,’ answered King Lot’s son. ‘As you are a man of breeding do not ask me to break my word. Yet there is one thing I will do for you: before evening is out I will tell you what I have resolved.’

  Lyppaut thanked him and left immediately. In the courtyard he met Obilot and the Burgrave’s little daughter flicking rings.*

  ‘Where have you come from, daughter?’ he asked.

  ‘I am on my way down, father. I’m sure he’ll do as I ask – I’m going to ask the stranger to be my Knight-servitor!’

  ‘I am sorry to be telling you, daughter, that he has said neither yes nor no. Pursue it to a successful conclusion!’ Off she sped to find the stranger.

  As Obilot entered his room Gawan leapt to his feet and after welcoming the sweet child sat down beside her and thanked her for championing him when he was being maligned.

  ‘If ever a knight suffered pangs for such a little lady I am in the throes because of you!’ said he.

  ‘Heaven knows, sir,’ prattled the lovely child, ‘you are the first man with whom I ever had a tête-à-tête. If I may do so without hurt to modesty and decorum, I shall be pleased. For my governess told me “Speech is the outer garment of the mind.’ My lord, prompted by direst pain I have a request for you and me, and by your leave will name it. And even if you think any the worse of me, I shall have kept within proper bounds, since in asking you I ask myself. For truly, you and I are one, though the terms “maid” and “man” are two. Now I have asked both you and me; so if you send me away, shamefaced, with a refusal, sir, your good name will have to answer to your courtesy, since I am a damsel seeking refuge in your mercy. If it be your pleasure, my lord, I offer you love with all my heart. If yours are manly ways, I am sure you will not fail to serve me who am so worthy to be served. Though on his side my father is asking kinsmen and other friends to aid him, do not let that be a reason for not rendering service to us both for my reward alone.’

  ‘Madam,’ he replied, ‘the music of your lips will part me from my honour. You should be no friend to perfidy. My honour has been put most grievously to pawn. Unless it be redeemed I am dead. Yet, granted I were to devote my thoughts and attentions to winning your love, you would have to be five years older before you could bestow it, only then would you be ripe for love.’ And he remembered how Parzival had placed greater trust in women than in God. Parzival’s advice spoke into Gawan’s heart as though it were her angel, and he promised the little lady that he would bear arms for her. ‘Let my sword be in your hand,’ he went on, ‘and if anyone wishes to joust with me, you must ride to the attack and fight there in my stead. People will see me doing battle there, but it is you who must be fighting for me.’

  ‘That does not scare me at all,’ she answered. ‘I shall be your shield and your defence, your heart and your firm faith, now that you have freed me from doubt. When misfortune threatens, I shall be your guide and friend, the roof sheltering you from the hail-storm, affording you sweet repose. My love shall fence you about with peace, and bring you luck when you are faced with danger so that your courage will surely defend you “down to the chatelain” as they say. But I am your chatelain and chatelaine and shall be at your side in battle. If you only put your faith in that, neither fortune nor courage will forsake you.’

  ‘Madam,’ replied Gawan, ‘since I live at your command I will have your love and the benefit of your encouragement.’ Meanwhile her little hand reposed between his hands.

  ‘And now, my lord, let me go,’ she said, ‘for I must not be found wanting. How would you fare without my guerdon? I am far too fond of you to let that happen. I must go and busy myself about a love-token. When you wear it no man’s fame will overtower yours.’

  After many protestations of their devotion, the girl and her playmate went away, while Gawan, their guest, acknowledged their complaisance with bow upon bow. ‘When you grow up,’ he said, ‘were the forest to bear as many lances as it now bears trees, it would be a meagre harvest for you two. If, young though you are, you hold such sway over a man and keep your charm till you come of age, desire for your love in days to come will teach knights’ hands to shatter shields indeed!’ And off the two girls went as happy as could be.

  ‘Tell me, my lady,’ said the Burgrave’s little daughter, ‘what are you thinking of giving him? Seeing we have nothing but dolls, if mine are any prettier than yours, let him have them, I shan’t mind, we shan’t quarrel about that.’

  Duke Lyppaut had ridden half-way up the castle-hill when he saw Obilot and Clauditte walking up ahead of him. He asked them to stop.

  ‘Father,’ cried young Obilot, ‘I never needed your help so much as now! Tell me what to do about it – the knight has granted my request!’

  ‘You shall have whatever you want if I have it, daughter. O happy we, that our loves bore such fruit! The day you were born was an auspicious one!’

  ‘Then I’ll whisper what is troubling me, and then please tell me what to do.’

  Lyppaut asked to have her lifted in front of him on to the saddle.

  ‘What is to become of my playmate?’ she asked.

  The Duke had a number of knights in attendance, and these vied with one another as to who was to take Clauditte. It would have been to the liking of each one of them, for Clauditte was a pretty child, too. In the end she had to be given to someone.

  As they rode up, the father said to his daughter ‘Obilot, tell me about your troubles.’

  ‘I have promised the foreign knight some love-tokens. I must have been out of my mind. What is the use of living if I have nothing to give him, now that he has offered to be my Servitor? If I have no gift for him I shall blush for shame. – No young woman ever so doted on a man!’

  ‘Rely on me, daughter,’ answered Lyppaut. ‘I shall provide you with the wherewithal. Since you wish to have him serve you I will give you something to bestow on him, if your mother should fail to help you. Heaven grant I reap some advantage from it! Proud nobleman that he is, what hopes I set on him! Though as yet I had exchanged no word with him, I saw him last night in my dreams!’

  Lyppaut and his daughter Obilot went in to the
Duchess.

  ‘My lady,’ said he, ‘provide us with what we need. – My whole being shouted for joy that God had given me this child to save me from vexation!’

  ‘What do you wish to have from my effects?’ asked the mother Duchess.

  ‘Granted you wish to let us have them, madam, Obilot needs a finer set of clothes. With so illustrious a man aspiring to her love and so well disposed to serve her and asking for her love-token, she feels fully entitled to have them.’

  ‘That charming, excellent man?’ asked the girl’s mother, ‘You mean the stranger on a visit here, whose glance is dazzling as May sunshine?’ And being not unversed in such matters she ordered samite of Ethnise to be fetched. With it they also brought uncut rolls of brocade of Tabronit from the land of Tribalibot. The infidel weave many such intricate tissues with red gold of Caucasus on pure silk.

  Lyppaut promptly ordered a gown to be cut for his daughter. Whatever the quality of the material, the poorest or the finest, he would have let it go without regret. As it was, they cut a brocade stiff with gold on the little lady’s body, leaving one arm bare. – The sleeve was removed, since it was destined for Gawan!

  Such was Obilot’s ceremonial gift: brocade of Nourient imported from distant heathendom. It had touched her right arm but had not been sewn to her gown, not a thread had been twisted for it. This sleeve Clauditte took to handsome Gawan, and at the sight of it his cares vanished away! Choosing one of his three shields he nailed it on at once. No longer did he despond. Nor did he fail to express his gratitude, but bowing profusely blessed the path taken by the young lady who had welcomed him so kindly and in such charming fashion made him so happy.

  The day had drawn to an end and it was night. On both sides there were great forces composed of many excellent valiant knights. Had the Outer Army not been so vast, the Inners would have done a deal of fighting. Yet not being given to faintheartedness they marked out their forward defences by the bright moon. Before daybreak they had constructed a dozen spacious redoubts, walled and ditched against attack, each with three barbicans for mounted sorties.

  Duke Kardefablet’s marshal took over four Gates, and his army was seen there in the morning ready for combat and full of fight. As to the mighty Duke, he went into action like a true knight. Lyppaut’s wife was his sister, and he himself was of stouter heart than most warlike men who continue to fight when the odds are against them, and so was often in trouble on the field. His army had marched into the fortress during the night. He had come a long way, for he was not the man to shun a fierce encounter. He strongly defended four Gates.

  At Lyppaut’s request all the troops on the far side of the bridge marched over into Bearosche before daybreak – Jamor’s men had ridden over ahead of them. By dawn, each Gate was formidably manned: they had been entrusted to such as would assure it! Scherules chose a Gate which, together with Gawan, he did not mean to leave unguarded. The voices of some allies – I fancy it was the pick – could be heard complaining that there had been fighting in their absence and that the vesper-skirmish had passed off without their jousting. Yet such complaints were unfounded, unlimited jousts were to be had by any who cared to ride out and find them.

  The streets were deeply scarred by horse-tracks. Many pennants of men riding in could be glimpsed in the moonlight, and helmets magnificently adorned whose wearers longed to take them into battle, and gaily painted lances innumerable. A Regensburger taffeta would not have been rated highly on the level ground below the walls of Bearosche, for many tabards were seen there of far more gorgeous stuffs.

  Night did as it has always done, and a new day marched in behind it, announced not by the carolling of larks but something altogether more warlike – the clang of jousters colliding! There was such an ear-splitting sound of shattering lances, you would have said the clouds were bursting. Here the youthful army of Liz was clashing with the men of Lirivoyn and with the King of Avendroyn, while the splendid jousts they gave and took popped and crackled like chestnuts thrown on the fire! Oh, how the strangers rode on that meadow and how the Inners took them on!

  For the good of their souls thus at risk and their heavenly salvation, a priest read a mass for Gawan and the Burgrave. He chanted it to the glory of God and themselves. Their honour was soon to be enhanced, for this was the nature of the rite. This done, they rode to their defences. Here, their redoubt was manned by many worthy knights, Scherules’s men, who were giving a good account of themselves.

  What more can I tell? Haughty Poydiconjunz rode up in such strength that, running your eye over his formations, you could not have visualized a forest of spears more dense had each bush of the entire Black Forest been a shaft! He marched up with six pennants, and to meet them battle was joined thus early in the morning. Trumpets rang out with a resounding crack like dreadful thunderclaps, and their blare was accompanied by hard-working drummers. If stalks of grass were trampled down here and there, I was not to blame. Of such ruinous trampling under innumerable horses’ hoof-prints, the vineyard at Erfurt still tells the tale.*

  And now the Duke Astor was attacking those of Jamor. As lance was whetted on lance, many noble men lost their seat and were swept over the cruppers on to the field, so keenly did all contend, to the shouting of many strange war-cries. No few steeds were trotting round empty-saddled with their riders simply standing there – I fancy these had taken a toss.

  Gawan now observed that the field was fully woven, with friends threaded among foes. He, too, measured his course into the attack. It was not easy to keep him in sight – Scherules and his men did not spare their mounts, you know, yet Gawan forced the pace till it hurt! Oh, the knights he thrust down there and the stout lances he shattered! If this man from the Table Round had not had his strength from God, we should be asking glory for Gawan. Amid all that clanging of swords he cared not a rap for either army, not for that of Liz nor for that of Gors, against which he had set his hand. He captured many mounts from both, galloped them to his host’s standard and asked if anyone wanted them. Many answered ‘Yes!’ They were all enriched by his companionship.

  At this point a knight rode up who was not given to sparing lances any more than he. Lysavander of Beauvais and courtly Gawan clashed together with the result, that, taking a fall over his charger’s quarters, the young Burgrave reposed upon the flowers! This I do deplore for the sake of the young squire who had ridden in such courtly style the day before and explained to Gawan what lay behind this action. He now dismounted and bent over his lord. Recognizing him, Gawan returned the horse he had seized and, I am told, the squire thanked him with a bow. But see how Kardefablet himself stands there in the field after a joust by Meljahkanz head on! And now with cries of ‘Jamor!’ and fierce blows from their swords his men snatch him up I Matters grew tight there, with little room for manœuvre, as shock succeeded shock. Helmets rang loud in their wearer’s ears. Taking his company with him, Gawan delivered a mighty charge, and in a trice with his host’s colour-squadron had thrown a ring round his grace of Jamor, spilling knights all over the turf. Believe it if you will, for apart from what my story tells, I have no witnesses.

  Laheduman Count of Muntane now advanced against Gawan, and a fine joust was fought – with the result that mighty Laheduman measured his length on the field in his horse’s tracks and, for all his proud name as a noble warrior, pledged surrender to Gawan with a handshake. Duke Astor was then fighting at the front next the redoubts, and charge followed on charge as they did battle. There were shouts of ‘Nantes!, Nantes!’, King Arthur’s war-cry, since there were many Britons there, unwilling exiles, and mercenaries from Erec’s land of Destrigales, all stubborn fighting-men whose prowess was much in evidence. Their commander was the Duke Lanveranz. These Britons had been captured from King Arthur in a battle on Mount Cluse in the course of a great assault; but they were giving such a good account of themselves that Poydiconjunz should have set them free. Wherever they sought battle they shouted ‘Nantes!’ in their old style, such being their he
reditary war-cry. Already the beards of some were turning grey. On helmet or shield each Briton showed a Dragonlet, a charge derived from the coat of Ilinot, Arthur’s noble son. How could Gawan hold back sighs of heartfelt grief on seeing this device? He recognized this escutcheon clearly, and his eyes filled with tears at the dolorous memory of his cousin’s death. He therefore left these men of Britain to fight on in that meadow and refrained from attacking them, an obligation of friendship still acknowledged today.

  Instead, Gawan made for Meljanz’s army. Here the defenders were acquitting themselves in a way deserving high praise, yet owing to the great odds against them, courage did not suffice them to hold their ground, so that they had retreated towards the moat. One knight, whose armour was red all over, assailed the Inners time and time again. He was styled ‘Sir Nameless’, for nobody knew him there.

  I shall tell you as I was told it. This knight had joined Meljanz three days past, with the outcome that those of the fortress had cause to regret this aid which he had decided to give to Meljanz. Meljanz had supplied him with twelve squires from Semblidac to attend him in jousts and massed charges, yet however many lances they handed up to him he smashed them all! Following up his thrusts, his mount charged the others’ with a mighty clang of armour! Indeed, this knight captured King Schirniel and his brother there, and more, he claimed Duke Marangliez’s surrender! These three were the spear-head. Nevertheless, their people resisted stubbornly.

  King Meljanz himself was fighting there. And all (whether Meljanz had been a friend or done them mortal wrong) had to admit that rarely had so young a man acquitted himself better than he. The firm shields that he clove and the stout lances he shattered into clouds of tiny splinters, as charging squadron interlocked with squadron! His spirit was so great that he had to seek battle, though to his annoyance none could give it him fully till he fronted Gawan.

  From his squires, Gawan took one of the twelve spears of Angram which he had acquired on the Plimizœl. Meljanz’s cry was ‘Barbigœ! I’ from his capital city of Liz. Gawan aimed his thrust with care, and the tough cane shaft from Oraste Gentesin, passing clean through Meljanz’s shield and lodging in his arm, taught him the meaning of pain – a magnificent blow! Gawan sent Meljanz flying with his thrust, while his own rear saddlebow was severed, so that, plainly, the two warriors found their feet behind their horses! Doing as best they could, they fought on with swords. They threshed more than enough to have satisfied two yokels, each carried the other’s sheaf, and these they flailed to pieces. Moreover, Meljanz had to drag a spear that was sticking in his arm, and the sweat and blood were making him hot. Then all of a sudden my lord Gawan plucked him into the Brevigariezian’s barbican and put pressure on him to surrender, which he was willing to do, though had the young man been unwounded none would have learned so soon that he would knuckle under, one would have been forced to spare him that much longer.