Parzival

by Wolfram von Eschenbach

  Now before the council breaks up, hear what advice was given to the King of the land. He had summoned experienced men, and they had come to his council. Certain of them had voiced their opinions to the best of their understanding, then examined it from many angles, and the King, too, bade them listen to what he had to say.

  ‘Not a week past I was involved in a passage of arms,’ he said. ‘I had ridden out into the Forest of Læhtamris in search of adventure when a knight reaped too much honour from me – for without, pausing he thrust me headlong over the crupper! He then made me promise to win the Gral for him. Were I to die over it, I must keep the promise he wrested from me. Advise me on this: there is urgent need. My best shield against death was that I gave him my hand on what I told you of. He is magnificent for courage and spirit! The warrior further commanded me that if I had not won the Gral when a year had passed, I should without shift or subterfuge betake myself to her who wears crown by common acclaim in Belrepeire, to Tampenteire’s daughter, and that as soon as my eye lit on her I should own myself her captive. He sent her the message by me that if he were in her thoughts, his happiness would be the more; and that he it was, time past, who had delivered her from King Clamide.’

  When they had heard of this affair, Liddamus spoke up once more.

  ‘By the good leave of these lords I shall now speak: and for their part let them discuss it. Let Lord Gawan here stand in for what the other man wrung from you, beating his wings as he is over your fowling-stick! Ask him to swear to you in the presence of us all that he will win the Gral for you. Then let him ride away from you free of further molestation and strive to gain it. Were he to be slain under your roof we should all have cause to rue the shame. Now pardon him his misdeeds and win back your sister’s love. He has endured great hardship here and must now choose a path that leads deathwards. For in all the lands girt by the sea there never was a house so well defended as Munsalæsche! Wherever it lies, the way that leads there is roughened by strife. Leave him at his ease this night. Tell him our decision in the morning.’ The councillors all assented, and so Gawan kept his life.

  Overnight, so I am told, the warrior was given the most comfortable of quarters. Then after Mass had been sung and the morning was well advanced, there was a great press of nobles and of commoners in the Palace. The King did as he had been counselled. He summoned Gawan with intent to force him to no other course than as you yourselves have heard.

  Now see where the handsome Princess Antikonie is leading Gawan together with her cousin and no few others of the King’s men! She was conducting him into the royal presence hand in hand. Her head was adorned by a garland, yet her lips robbed the flowers of their splendour, since not one of them was so red! When she graciously bestowed a kiss upon a knight he was fired to shatter forests of lances!

  We should welcome sweet, modest, true-hearted Antikonie with praises, for her conduct was such that her good name was never overrun by calumny. All who ever learned of her high repute would wish that it should stand unclouded by murky slander. Her constancy, lambent as balm,* was clear and far-sighted as a falcon’s eyes urged on by a noble keenness.

  ‘Brother,’ said this sweet, felicitous young lady with all decorum, ‘I bring you the knight whom you yourself asked me to take care of. Treat him well for my sake. Do not let it vex you, but think of a brother’s love, and do it without regret. Manly integrity will become you better than that you should endure universal hatred, and mine – given I could hate. Teach me how to quell it!’

  ‘I shall do so if I can, sister,’ answered the charming, noble young man. ‘Now you yourself advise me. You think that Wrong-doing has swooped between me and Nobility and driven me from Reputation? Were that so, how could I be your brother? For if all crowns subserved me I should renounce them at your bidding. To be hated by you would be my worst affliction. I care nothing for happiness and public esteem except as you instruct me. Lord Gawan, I have a request. You came riding to us in pursuit of renown. Now for the sake of this renown help me win my sister’s forgiveness for my shortcoming. Rather than lose her affection I would overlook the mortal wrong you did me, provided you gave me your word that from now you will put your sincere endeavours to winning the Gral for me!’

  This reconciliation effected, Gawan was sent forthwith to do battle for the Gral. Kingrimursel, too, forgave the King, who had lost his allegiance for breaching his safe-conduct. This was transacted in the presence of the Princes, where the swords of Gawan’s squires were hanging – the squires had been separated from them during the fracas, with the result that not one of them was wounded. A man of influence in the town had begged a truce for them, then taken them and put them into prison. And now, were they Frenchmen or Britons, or from whichever land they hailed, sturdy squires and little pages, they were freed and brought to dauntless Gawan. When the pages saw him there was much embracing. Each of them clung to him in tears – tears of pure affection. Count Liaz fiz Tinas from Cornwall was with him there, and another noble page attended him, Duke Gandiluz fiz Gurzgri – Gurzgri who lost his life because of Schoydelakurt where many ladies knew bereavement.* Thus Liaze was this page’s aunt. His mouth, eyes and nose were Love’s true kernel. All took delight in gazing at him. In addition to these two there were six other little pages. In birth, all eight young gentlemen could not be faulted, they were of high lineage. They loved him for kinship’s sake and served him for his hire – distinction was the reward he gave them, and good treatment otherwise.

  ‘Bless you, my dearest kinsmen!’ said Gawan to his pages. ‘I am persuaded you would have grieved for me had I been slain here!’ And one could well imagine they would have grieved, in such a wretched state were they. ‘I was very anxious on your account,’ he said to them. ‘Where were you when they were attacking me?’ They told him, and all spoke truth. ‘A merlin, a moulted one, escaped while you were sitting with the Princess, so we all ran out after it.’

  Those who were standing or sitting there were taking close stock of Lord Gawan, and they judged him a gallant, well-bred man. He now asked leave to depart, which the King granted, together with the whole company with1 the one exception of the Landgrave. The Princess took these two and Gawan’s young gentlemen and led them to where they were waited on by bevies of young ladies who would not be gainsaid, but politely saw to their needs.

  When Gawan had breakfasted – I am telling you just as Kyot told it – deep attachment found vent in bitter sorrow.

  ‘Madam,’ said Gawan to the Princess, ‘if I have any discernment and God preserve me, I shall be bound to devote my knight-errantry and chivalric aspirations to the service of your womanly virtue always. A happy fate has taught you to vanquish falsity, so that your honour outweighs all other! May fortune grant you her blessings! My lady, I ask leave to depart. Give it me, and let me go. May your breeding preserve your reputation!’

  His departure filled her with sorrow, and many lovely girls wept in sympathy with her. ‘Had I been able to do more for you, my happiness would have risen above my grief,’ said the Princess with sincerity that was not feigned. ‘As it was, no better terms were to be had for your acquittal. But believe this, whenever you are hard-pressed and your knightly calling has cast you among a host of bitter cares, I wish you to know, my lord Gawan, in victory or defeat, my heart will be there with you.’

  The noble Princess kissed Gawan on the mouth. He was sadly out of spirits to be riding away from her so abruptly. If you ask me, it distressed the two of them.

  Gawan’s pages had seen to it that his horses had been brought to the courtyard before the Palace beneath the shade of the Castle Lime. The Landgrave had been joined by his following, so I heard, and rode out with Gawan beyond the town. Gawan courteously asked him to give himself the trouble of conducting his retinue as far as Bearosche. ‘Scherules resides there, and they are to ask him themselves for an escort to Dianazdrun, where some Briton or other living there will take them to my lord, or to Queen Ginover.’

  Kingrimursel pro
mised to do so, and the gallant knight said goodbye. His charger Gringuljete was soon armed, and so was my lord Gawan. He kissed his kinsmen the pages and his noble squires, too. His vow impelled him Gralwards, and alone now as he was he rode to meet perils fantastic.

  Chapter 9

  ‘OPEN!’

  ‘To whom? Who is there?’

  ‘I wish to enter your heart.’

  ‘Then you want too narrow a space.’

  ‘How is that? Can’t I just squeeze in? I promise not to jostle you. I want to tell you marvels.’

  ‘Can it be you, Lady Adventure? How do matters stand with that fine fellow? – I mean with noble Parzival, whom with harsh words Cundrie drove out to seek die Gral, a quest from which there was no deterring him, despite the weeping of many ladies. He left Arthur die Briton then: but how is he faring now? Take up the tale and tell us whether he has renounced all thought of happiness or has covered himself with glory, whether his fame has spread far and wide or has shrivelled and shrunk. Recount his achievements in detail. Has he seen Munsalvæsche again and gentle Anfortas, whose heart was so fraught with sighs? Please tell us – how it would console us I – whether he has been released from suffering? Let us hear whether Parzival has been there, he who is your lord as much as mine. Enlighten me as to the life he has been leading. How has sweet Herzeloyde’s child, Gahmuret’s son, been faring? Tell us whether he has won joy or bitter sorrow in his battles. Does he hold to die pursuit of distant goals? Or has he been lolling in sloth and idleness? Tell me his whole style of living.’

  Now the adventure tells us that Parzival has ranged through many lands on horseback and over the waves in ships. None who measured his charge against him kept his seat, unless he were compatriot or kinsman – in such fashion does he down the scales for his opponents and, whilst making others fall, raise his own renown I He has defended himself from discomfiture in many fierce wars and so far spent himself in battle that any man who wished to lease fame from him had to do so in fear and trembling.

  The sword which Anfortas gave Parzival when he was with the Gral was shattered in a duel. But the virtues of the well near Karnant and known by the name of Lac made it whole again. That sword helped him in winning fame. He sins who does not believe it.*

  The story makes it known to us that Parzival, brave knight, came riding to a forest – I cannot say at what hour – where his eyes fell on a new-built cell through which ran a fast-flowing stream. It was reared with one end above die water. The fearless young knight was riding in search of adventure – and God was graciously disposed towards him! He found an anchoress who for the love of God had dedicated her maidenhood and given up all joy. The seed of woman’s sorrow blossomed from her heart ever-anew, though fed by love that was old. Schionatulander and Sigune! – These two did he find there. The young warrior lay buried inside, while above his tomb she led a life of pain. Duchess Sigune never heard Mass: her life was one long prayer on bended knee. Her full, hot, red lips were withered and blenched now that joy of this world had deserted her. No maiden ever endured such affliction. For her laments she needed solitude.

  For the sake of the love that had died with this prince without his having enjoyed her, she now loved him dead as he was. Had she become his wife, Lady Lunete would have been slow to offer her the rash advice she gave to her own mistress† Even today one can often see a Lady Lunete ride in to give counsel out of season. When a woman shuns amorous ties outside the marriage-bond during her husband’s life-time both for the sake of their partnership and her own decency, he has been blessed with treasure beyond price, as I see it. No restraint becomes her so well, and I am ready to testify, if wanted. If he dies, let her do as her circumstances guide her. Then if she still maintains their honour she would not wear so fair a garland were she to seek pleasure at the dance.

  But why do I speak of pleasure in face of the suffering to which Sigune’s love condemned her? I had better drop the subject.

  Parzival rode up to die window over fallen trees – there was no path – nearer than he would have wished, since he merely wanted to discover his bearings in the forest. He asked for an answer there.

  ‘Is anyone inside?’

  ‘Yes ! ‘ answered Sigune.

  Hearing a woman’s voice he promptly threw his mount round on to the untrodden grass. He reproached himself and felt a stab of shame, not to have dismounted at once. He tethered his horse firmly to the branch of a fallen tree and hung his pierced and battered shield on it, too. Then the bold yet modest man ungirt his sword and laid it aside as courtesy required and went to the window in the wall to ask what he wanted to know.

  That cell was empty of joy, bare of all light-heartedness. Great sorrow was all he found there. He asked her to come to the window. The pallid young lady courteously left her prayers and rose to her feet. And still he had no inkling who she was or might be. Under her grey cloak next her skin she was wearing a hair-shirt. Her lover was Great Sorrow, who laid her Gaiety down and roused many sighs from her heart.

  The maiden came politely to the window and received him with a gentle greeting. She was holding a psalter in her hand, on which the warrior Parzival espied a little ring she had kept, despite her rigours, for true love’s sake. Its gem-stone was a garnet that darted its rays through the window like fiery sparks. Her wimple showed bereavement.*

  ‘There is a bench by the wall outside, sir,’ she said. ‘Pray be seated, if you have leisure and inclination. May God who rewards honest greetings reward you for bestowing yours on me!’

  The knight accepted her suggestion and went and sat down at the window, with the request that she, too, be seated within.

  ‘I have never before sat here in the presence of a man,’ said she.

  The knight began to question her about her régime and sustenance. ‘It is inconceivable to me, madam, how you can lodge here in this wilderness so far from any road, and how you nourish yourself, since there is no cultivation anywhere around you.’

  ‘My nourishment is brought to me from the Gral by Cundrie la surziere punctually every Saturday evening, this is how she has arranged it. Well provided for with food as I am, I have little anxiety on that score – would that I were as content in other ways!’

  Parzival fancied she was lying and might well deceive him further. ‘For whose sake are you wearing your ring?’ he asked banteringly through the window. ‘I have always heard it said that anchoresses and anchorites should refrain from having love-affairs!’

  ‘If your words had power to do so you would make me an imposter. If ever I learn fraud, point it out, if you happen to be there! Please God, I am free of all deceit. It is not in me to thwart truth! I wear this engagement-ring for the sake of a dear man,’ she went on, ‘of whose love I never took possession by any human deed: yet my maiden’s heart impels me to love him. Here inside, I have the man whose jewel I have worn ever since Orilus slew him in joust, and I shall give him love through the joyless days that remain to me. It is true love that I shall bestow on him, for he strove to win it in chivalric style with shield and lance till he died in my service. I am a virgin and unwed: yet before God he is my husband. If thoughts could produce deeds, then I have no hidden reservation mat could impede my marriage. His death wounded my life. And so this ring, token of true wedlock, shall assure my safe passage to God. The torrent welling up from my heart and through my eyes guards my steadfast love.* There are two of us in here. Schionatulander is one, I am the other.’

  Hearing this, Parzival realized she was Sigune and was deeply affected by her sorrow. In haste he bared his head from his coif before addressing her again. The young lady then glimpsed the fair skin gleaming through the rust and recognized the gallant knight.

  ‘You are Parzival! Tell me, how have you fared with regard to the Gral? Have you at last got to know its nature? Or what turn has your quest now taken?’

  ‘I have forfeited much happiness in that endeavour,’ he told the well-born maiden. ‘The Gral gives me no few cares. I left a land
over which I wore a crown, and a most lovable wife, too, than whom no fairer person was ever born of human kind. I long for her modest, courteous ways, and often pine for her love – yet even more for that high goal as to how to see Munsalvæsche and the Gral! For this has not yet come to pass. Cousin Sigune, unacquainted with all my many sorrows as you are, it is very unjust of you to treat me as your enemy.’

  ‘All cause I had to censure you, cousin, shall be forgiven,’ said the girl, ‘for you have indeed forfeited much happiness after neglecting to ask the Question that would have brought you high honour, when gentle Anfortas was your host and your good fortune. A Question would have won you all the heart can wish for: but now perforce your happiness turns tail on you, and your high spirits limp behind. Your heart has made Care its familiar that would have remained a stranger had you asked to be told.’

  ‘I acted as an ill-starred man,’ he said. ‘Dear cousin, give me your advice. Remember that we are blood-relations and tell me for your part how matters stand with you. I should mourn your sorrows, did I not bear a greater load of suffering than ever any man bore. My burden threatens to crush me.’

  ‘May the hand of Him to Whom all suffering is known succour you! – What if you should prove so lucky that a track should lead you to where you can see Munsalvæsche, with which, so you tell me, your whole happiness is bound up! Cundrie la surziere rode away from here quite recently. I am sorry I did not ask her whether she was going to Munsalvæsche or to some other place. When she comes here her mule always stands over there, where the spring gushes from the rock. I advise you to ride after her. Most likely she will not be riding ahead of you so fast that you could not soon catch up with her.’