Chapter XVI: Book IX: Trevrezent (1)

'Ope the portal!' 'To whom? Who art thou?' 'In thine heart
would I find a place!'
'Nay! if such be thy prayer, methinketh, too narrow shall be
the space!'
'What of that? If it do but hold me, none too close shall my
presence be,
Nor shalt thou bewail my coming, such marvels I'll tell to
thee!'
Is it thou, then, O Dame Adventure? Ah! tell me of Parzival, 5
What doeth he now my hero? whom Kondrie, to find the Grail
Hath driven, with words sharp-pointed, and sore wept the
maidens fair
That the path of his far wayfarings the knight from their
side must bear.
So he passed from the court of King Arthur, where shall he
abide to-day?
Ah! hasten the tale to tell us, where now shall his footsteps
stray? 10
Say, if fame to himself he winneth, or be ever of joy bereft,
Shall his honour as fair and spotless as of old so to-day be
left?
His renown is it broad as aforetime, or waxeth it small and
thin?
Ah! tell us, nor stay the story, of the deeds that his hand
shall win.
Hath he seen once again Monsalväsch, and Anfortas, the
mournful king, 15
Whose heart was with sorrow laden? Of thy pity swift comfort
bring,
And say if his woe be ended--Speak, speak for we tidings pray
Of him whom alike we serve here, dwells Parzival there
to-day?
Declare unto me his doings, how fares it with Gamuret's son,
And the child of fair Herzeleide, is the tale of his
wanderings done? 20
Since he rode from the court of King Arthur has joy been his
lot, or woe?
He hath striven, but rides he ever thro' the wide world nor
rest doth know?
Or loveth he now, outwearied, to linger o'er-long at ease?
I were fain to know all his doings, so speak thou, as thou
shalt please!
And this hath the venture told me--He hath ridden many a
land, 25
And hath sailèd many a water; and ever, before his hand,
Were he man of the land or kinsman who would joust with him,
he fell,
Nor abode his mighty onslaught, and all men of his praises
tell.
And ever when in the balance the fame of his foe must lie,
'Twas outweighed by his fame, and his glory uprose to the
stars on high, 30
And all others paled before it--In many a mighty strife
With sword and lance was he victor, and guarded full well his
life.
And they who would fame win from him, for such thinking they
paid full dear--
The sword that Anfortas gave him, as ye once in this tale did
hear,
Sprang asunder onewhile, yet 'twas welded afresh in the
mystic spring 35
By Karnant, and much fame and honour the blade to its lord
did bring!

Who believeth me not, he sinneth, for now doth the venture
tell
How adown a woodland pathway, on his way rode Sir Parzival,
(But the hour of his riding I wot not, if in waxing or waning
light,)
When a hermitage, newly builded, uprose to his wondering
sight, 40
And a stream flowed swift beneath it, for 'twas built o'er
the brooklet's wave
Then in search of some worthy venture to its door rode the
hero brave,
Nor knew that of grace 'twas the portal, and his footsteps of
God were led.
But the dweller therein was a maiden, and the days of her joy
were sped,
For the love of God had she offered her youth, and the joys
of earth, 45
And the root of her old-time sorrow brought ever fresh grief
to birth.

For he found here Schionatulander, and Siguné, his faithful
love,
Dead and buried he lay, the hero, and the maid wept his tomb
above.
Tho' but seldom Siguné the Duchess might hearken the Holy
Mass,
All her life was a prayer, in God's service her nights as her
days she'ld pass. 50
And her lips, erst so red and glowing, had faded as life-joys
fade,
And alone would she mourn such sorrow as never had mourned a
maid.

Thus denial of love's fulfilling made Love, with her love, to
die,
And dead, as she living loved him, did she cherish him
tenderly.
And in sooth had she once his wife been, then ne'er had
Lunete braved 55
Her wrath, and had given such counsel, as she once to her
lady gave.
And today may we look upon women, who never a willing ear
Had turned to Lunete, and such wisdom but little had brooked
to hear.
For this do I know, that a woman who, for love of her lord
alone,
And thro' virtue of gentle breeding, doth never strange
service own, 60
But aye, while her husband liveth, shall be to him wife as
true,
Heaven giveth in her such blessing as bloometh for ever new!
And never shall prayer or fasting robe her with a robe as
fair!
And I, if the time were fitting, this word naught but truth
would swear.
Be he dead, she may do as best please her, but if faithful
she still abide, 65
Then far fairer such faith than the circlet she beareth at
feasting tide!

Shall I joy compare with the sorrow that her faith to Siguné
brought?
Nay, 'twere better I speak not of it--O'er rough stones, and
a road unwrought
Rode Parzival to the window (he deemed well he rode too
near).
He would ask of the woodland pathway, and the goal of its
windings hear. 70
And he thought him, perchance, the hermit might tell of the
unknown way,
'Doth one dwell here?' the voice of a maiden it was that made
answer,'Yea!'
As he knew 'twas the voice of a woman, swift turned he his
steed aside
On the greensward beside the pathway, for he deemed he too
near did ride,
And sooner had he dismounted had he known that a maiden dwelt 75
Within such a lowly dwelling, and shame, as was meet, he
felt.

Then his horse and his shield, all splintered, he bound to a
fallen tree,
And he loosed his sword from beside him, for a courteous
knight was he.
Then he stepped him unto the window, and asked of the place
and road,
And the cell of all joy was empty, and bare, as 'seemed
grief's abode. 80
He spake, would she come to the window? and the maiden from
prayer arose,
She was tall as a virgin lily, and pale as a faded rose,
And he deemed not as yet that he knew her--A shirt woven
rough of hair,
Next her skin, 'neath a flowing garment of grey, did the
maiden wear,
And sorrow was her heart's treasure, and fallen her courage
high, 85
And the guerdon she won for her service must be paid her in
many a sigh!

Then the maiden she stepped to the window and the knight did
she courteous greet,
In her hand did she hold her psalter, and her voice it was
low and sweet.
And Parzival saw on her white hand the gleam of a ring of
gold,
For truly she bare the token she won from true love of old. 90
And the stone set within the circlet was a garnet, whose
slumbering light
Flashed red mid the dusky shadows, as mid ashes the sparks
glow bright.
And the band that her head encircled was black as a mourning
band--
Then she spake, 'Sir Knight, 'neath the window a bench shalt
thou see to stand,
Thou canst sit there, an it so please thee, and thy journey
will brook delay, 95
God reward thee for this thy greeting Who hath led thee to me
this day!'

Then the hero did as she bade him, and he sat 'neath the
window small,
And he prayed her, 'Sit thou within there!' 'Nay! ne'er did
such chance befall
That here by a man I sat me!' Then he asked her, what did she
here?
That, so far from the home of men-folk, thou dost dwell in
this desert drear 100
Seemeth me all too great a wonder, say, Lady, how shalt thou
live,
Since no man abideth by thee who succour or food can give?'

Then she quoth, ''Tis the Grail that doth feed me, and It
feedeth me well I ween,
From Its marvels the sorceress Kondrie, (of her own will the
task hath been,)
Doth bring me each Sabbath vigil what serveth me for the
week.' 105
A little space she kept silence, then further the maid did
speak:
'An it otherwise were with me as I would, I need little care
For the food, since the Grail doth feed me I never too ill
shall fare!'

But he deemed that she lied unto him, and with false words
would speak him
fair, And, mocking, he spake,'Now, who gave thee that ring
which I see thee wear? 110
For ever 'twas told unto me that hermit, or man, or maid,
Must forswear all love!'--'Now I think me, if in truth thou
these words hast said,
For false maiden thou sure dost hold me! Yet if falsehood I
ever learn,
And thou shalt be near to witness, 'twere time _then_ with
wrath to burn!
God knoweth, ill ways I hated, and falsehood I never knew; 115
This troth plight that here thou seest I had from a lover
true,
Tho' never was love's fulfilment our portion while he might
live,
'Twas the heart of maiden bade me the love of a maiden give.
And he lieth in death beside me, and his token I ever wear
Since the day that Duke Orilus slew him--and grief for his
sake I bear--' 120

'And true love will I truly give him, thro' my sorrow-laden
days,
Such love as I sware unto him, when he, whom, all knights
must praise,
With sword, and shield, and helmet, and prowess of knightly
deed
Sought my love, and in true love's service won death for his
glory's meed!
Yet tho' ever a spotless maiden, my husband he, in God's
sight, 125
Shall be, and if thoughts God counteth as deeds then is woven
aright
The bond that shall ever bind us, true husband and wife as
true,
For his death wrought my life such sorrow as waxeth for ever
new.
And this ring shall, I ween, be my witness when I stand in
the sight of God
Of a marriage vow and the tear-drops that bedew it are tears
of blood.' 130

'Yea, 'tis I indeed, and none other, and the hero who here
doth lie
Is my knight, Schionatulander, and the maid of his love am
I!'
Then he knew 'twas the maid Siguné, and her sorrow it wrought
him pain,
And he lifted his helmet's visor ere he spake to the maid
again.
And she saw his head uncovered, and she saw his face gleam
white 135
Thro' the rust of the iron harness, and she spake to the
gallant knight:
'Is it thou, Parzival, my kinsman? Dost thou seek for the
Grail to-day?
Or its mighty power hast thou proven? Say, whither dost wend
thy way?'

Then he spake to the noble maiden, 'Alas! for my joy is fled,
And the Grail hath but wrought me sorrow, and mischance in
fair fortune's stead. 140
For the land that as king had crowned me must I leave, and
yet more, I ween,
The fairest of wives, and the sweetest, that ever a man hath
seen.
For no lovelier form I think me on earth of mankind was born,
And I yearn for her tender greeting, and full sore for her
love I mourn!
And yet know I a deeper sorrow and I strive for a higher
prize, 145
For the day when the Burg of Monsalväsch, and the Grail shall
rejoice my eyes!
Now, Siguné, dear my cousin, thou wast all too wroth with me,
For heavy indeed my sorrow, yet thou fain wouldst my foeman
be!'

And she quoth,'From henceforth, my cousin, mine anger will I
forswear,
For too much of thy joy lieth forfeit since the question thou
didst forbear! 150
And I would not too sorely grieve thee--Alas I that thou
didst withhold
The word that had brought thee honour, and the tale of his
griefs had told
Who sat there as thine host beside thee--nor thine host alone
was he,
Anfortas, for joy and blessing his presence had brought to
thee!
And thy question great bliss had brought thee, and thy
silence had wrought thee woe, 155
And thy spirit shall fail, and heart-sorrow as thy comrade
thou well shalt know.
And yet had it been far from thee, nor, a stranger, had
sought thy side,
Hadst thou asked of that Burg the marvels, and what ill did
its host betide!'

'Yea, I did there as one who wrongeth himself; yet my cousin
dear
I prithee here give me counsel, since in sooth are we kinsmen
near. 160
And tell me, how fares it with thee? I would sorrow for this
thy woe
Were my sorrow not all too heavy! Greater grief man may never
know!'

Then she quoth, 'May His Mercy help thee, Who knoweth of all
men's woe,
Perchance it may yet befall thee that His finger a way shall
show
That shall lead thee once more to Monsalväsch, and thine
heart's bliss afresh shall spring. 165
'Tis but short space since Kondrie left me, and I would I
could tidings bring
Of whither she went, but I asked not if she rode to the Burg
again,
Or passed elsewhere; but when she cometh by that streamlet
she draweth rein,
Where, from cleft in the high rock riven, the waters flow
fresh and clear.
It may be, if thou follow swiftly, that she rideth as yet
anear, 170
And, perchance, thou shalt overtake her.' Then the knight he
made no delay
But farewell did he bid to the maiden; and he followed the
woodland way,
And fresh were the tracks before him, but such pathway the
mule must choose
Thro' the depths of the dusky thicket that its traces he soon
must lose.
As the Grail he had lost of aforetime, so he lost It again
to-day, 175
And joy and delight fled with It--Yea, had he but found the
way,
And reached once again Monsalväsch, for better than erst of
old
Had he known how to ask the question--thus in sooth is the
venture told.

So now let him ride, but whither? Lo, a knight with uncovered
head,
And blazoned coat o'er his shining harness, full swiftly
towards him sped! 180
And to Parzival thus quoth he, 'Sir Knight, I must deem it
ill
That thus thro' the woods of my monarch thou takest thy way
at will!
Begone! or receive such token thou shalt wish thyself far
from here!
Monsalväsch doth never brook it that men ride thus its walls
anear,
And here must thou strive in battle, and win here a victor's
fame, 185
Or such penance be thine, as without there, in the open, men
_Death_ shall name!'
And he bare in his hand a helmet, and its bands were of
silken sheen,
Sharp-pointed his spear, and the spear-shaft was of wood new
and strong I ween!
And wrathful he bound his helmet on his head, not in vain
should be
His threat, for his blows should enforce it! Now ready for
joust was he; 190
But many a spear as goodly had splintered 'fore Parzival,
And he thought, 'Now, it well had chanced me, that death to
my lot should fall
If I rode thro' the corn upstanding--_then_ reason had he for
wrath,
But _now_ hath he none, since I ride here on naught but a
woodland path,
And I tread here but fern and heather! An mine hand shall not
lose its skill 195
I will leave him such pledge for my journey as, I think me,
shall please him ill!'

Then they rode at full speed their chargers, and they urged
them with spur and rein,
As the bolt from the bow of the archer so swift flew those
heroes twain,
And the first joust they rode unwounded; but many a knightly
fray
Unscathed had Parzival ridden, and e'en so should it chance
to-day. 200
(Unto skill and the lust of battle must his father's son be
heir.)
His lance-point upon the fastening of his foeman's helm
struck fair,
And it smote him where men in jousting their shield are wont
to hold,
And down from his gallant charger did he bear him, the
Templar bold.
And the knight of the Grail fell headlong down the side of a
rocky dell, 205
Tho' couch he had found, I think me, he slumbered not over
well.

But the victor's steed sped onward, and in vain would he
check its flight
Ere it fell, and well-nigh in falling had borne to his death
the knight.
A cedar o'erhung the chasm, its bough Parzival gripped fast,
(Nor think ye scorn of my hero, that, as chanceth a thief at
last, 210
He hung, for none spake his judgment, he hung there by his
own hand)
His feet, for a foothold seeking, on the rock found at last
their stand:
Far out of his reach, beneath him, his gallant steed lay
dead,
Up the further side of the valley the Templar for safety
fled.
Think ye that he much might pride him on his token from
Parzival? 215
Far better at home in Monsalväsch had he fared with the
wondrous Grail!
To the plain once more climbed our hero, there the steed of
the Templar stood,
For down to the ground hung the bridle and fettered the
war-horse good.
As the knight in his flight forgat it so it stood where its
master fell,
Swift Parzival sprang to the saddle, such booty might please
him well. 220
Of a truth his spear had he shattered, yet more than he lost
he won--
Nor Lähelein, nor Kingrisein a better joust e'er had run!
Nor King Gramoflanz nor Count Laskoit (the son he of
Gurnemanz).
Onward he rode, yet wandering, nor further befell mischance,
Nor strife, from the knights of Monsalväsch, yet one grief
must vex his soul, 235
He found not the Grail--Ever further he rode, further fled
the goal!

Now he who my song will hearken, he shall hear that which yet
befell,
Tho' the tale of the weeks I know not, that had flown since
Sir Parzival
Had met with the maid, and had ridden on venture as aye
before--
One morning the ground was snow-clad, and tho' thin was the
cloak it bore 230
Yet so thick it was that men, seeing, had deemed it the time
of frost;
As he rode thro' the depths of a woodland by a knight was his
pathway crossed,
And old was the knight, and grey bearded, yet his face it was
bright and fair,
And his lady who walked beside him like mien to her lord did
bear.
And each on their naked body wore a garment of horse-hair
grey, 235
For penance and pilgrimage minded they wended afoot their
way.
And their children, two gentle maidens, such as men's eyes
are fain to see,
In like garments they followed barefoot, e'en as pilgrims are
wont to be.

Then our hero the old knight greeted as he passed on his
lowly way,
And good was the rede, and holy, that he heard from his lips
that day. 240
And a prince of the land he seemed him--By each maiden a
brachet ran,
And with humble mien and reverent paced master alike and man.
For both knight and squire they followed on this holy
pilgrimage,
And some, they were young and beardless, and some were bent
low with age.

But Parzival, our hero, he was clad in far other wise, 245
In fair raiment, rich and costly, he rode in right knightly
guise,
And proudly he ware his harness, and unlike were the twain I
ween,
The old man in his robe of penance and the knight in his
armour's sheen!
Then swiftly he turned his bridle and held by the pathway
side,
For fain would he know of their journey, and friendly the
knight replied. 250
But a sorrow the old man deemed it that one to this Holy Tide
Should have failèd to give due honour, but in warlike gear
should ride.
For better would it befit him unarmèd this day to greet,
Or like them to walk barefooted, and in garb for a sinner
meet!

Quoth Parzival, 'Nay, I know not what the time of the year
may be, 255
Or how men the tale may reckon of the weeks as they swiftly
flee,
How the days shall be named I know not, long have I forgot
such lore!
Of old time I served a master, and _God_ was the name He
bore.
But He bare unto me no favour, and for guerdon He mocking
gave,
Tho' ne'er had my heart turned from Him--Men said, 'If from
God ye crave 260
For succour, He sure will give it;' but I deem well they
spake a lie,
For He who they said would help me, did help unto me deny!'

Quoth the grey-haired knight, 'Dost thou mean Him who was
once of a Maiden born?
Dost believe that a Man for men's sake He died on the cross
this morn,
And this day for His sake we hallow? Then such garb becomes
thee ill! 265
For to-day all men call Good Friday, and the world it
rejoiceth still
O'er the day that her chains were riven; tho' she mourneth
her Saviour's pain.
Speak, knowest thou of faith more faithful than the faith God
hath kept with men,
Since He hung on the cross for men's sake? Such woe as He
bare for thee,
Sir Knight, sure must work thee sorrow, since baptized thou
shalt surely be! 270
For _our_ sin His life was forfeit, or else had mankind been
lost,
And Hell as his prey had held us, and Hell's torments had
paid sin's cost.
Sir Knight, if thou be not heathen, thou shalt honour this
Holy Day--
So do thou as here I counsel, ride thou on this woodland way,
For near here a hermit dwelleth, as thy speech, so his rede
shall be, 275
And if ruth for ill deed thou showest of thy sin will he
speak thee free!'

Then out quoth the old man's daughter, 'Nay, father, but
speak not so,
For too chill and cold is the morning, thou shalt bid him no
further go.
Far better to bid him warm him his steel-clad limbs, for
strong
And fair shall he be to look on, and the way is both cold and
long. 280
Methinks were he thrice as mighty he would freeze ere his
goal he reach,
And here hast thou tent for shelter, and viands for all and
each.
Came King Arthur and all his vassals thou wouldst still have
enough I trow,
So do thou as host so kindly, and good-will to this young
knight show!'
Quoth the grey-haired sire, 'My daughters, Sir Knight, here
give counsel good, 285
Each year, with tent of pilgrim, I wend thro' this lonely
wood.
If warm or cold be the season I care not, as year by year
The time of our dear Lord's Passion draweth once more anear,
He rewardeth His servant's service--Sir Knight, what I, for
His sake,
Brought here, as my guest, right willing, I pray thee from me
to take!' 290

And kindly they spake, the maidens, and they bade the knight
to stay,
And with gracious mien they prayed naught might drive him
from them away.
And tho' cold was the frost and bitter, and it wrought not as
summer's heat,
Yet Parzival saw their lips glow so red, and soft, and sweet.
(Tho' they wept for the death of the Saviour, such sorrow
became them well.) 295
And here, had I cause for vengeance, an such happy chance
befell,
I never would speak them guiltless, but a kiss should their
penance be,
Nor against their will would I take it, of good-will should
they give it me!
For women shall aye be women, and tho' brave be the knight,
and strong,
Yet I ween is he oft the vanquished, nor the strife it
endureth long! 300

With sweet words, and ways so gentle, they ever the knight
would pray,
Children alike and parents, and fain would they have him
stay:
Yet he thought, 'It were best I leave them, for e'en if I
turn aside
All too fair methinks are these maidens, 'twere unfitting
that _I_ should ride
While _they_ by my side walk barefoot--And 'tis better that
we should part, 305
Since ever I bear Him hatred Whom they worship with lowly
heart,
And they look for His aid, Who ever hath turnèd His face from
me,
Nor from sorrow hath He withheld me, but hath wrought with me
heavily!'
'Knight and Lady,' he quoth, 'I think me 'twere better I
leave should pray,
May good fortune be yours, and blessing, and fulness of joy
alway, 310
And may you, ye gentle maidens, find reward in your courtesy,
Since so well ye had thought to serve me, fair leave would I
pray from ye!'
He greeted them, low they bowed them, and greeted the knight
again,
Nor might they withhold their sorrow, for parting aye
bringeth pain!

So the son of Herzeleide rode onward, well taught was he 315
In all manly skill and courage, in mercy and purity;
And his mother had aye bequeathed him her faithful heart and
true--
Yet ever his soul waxed sadder, and there sprang up thoughts
anew
Of the might of the Maker of all things, Who hath made this
earth of naught,
How He dealeth with all creation, and still on His power he
thought 320
'How might it yet be if God sent me that which brought to an
end my woe?
If ever a knight He favoured, if ever a knight might know
His payment for service done Him--if He thinketh His aid they
earn
Who dauntless shall wield their weapons, and ne'er from a
foeman turn,
Let Him aid me, who bear unstainèd shield and sword as befits
a man, 325
If to-day be His Day of Redemption, let Him help me, if help
He _can_.'

Backward he turned his bridle on the road he had ridden
before,
And the knight and his children stood there, and mourned for
the parting sore.
And the maidens, true and gentle, gazed after the passing
knight,
And his heart spake, he fain had seen them once more those
maidens bright. 330

Then he spake, 'Is God's power so mighty that He guideth upon
their way
The steed alike and the rider, then His hand may I praise
to-day!
If God sendeth help from heaven, then let Him my charger show
The goal which shall bless my journey, so shall I the token
know.
Now, go thou as God shall lead thee!' and bridle and bit he
laid 335
Free on the neck of his charger and spurred it adown the
glade.

Towards Fontaine-Sauvage the road led, and the chapel where
once he sware
The oath that should clear Jeschuté--A holy man dwelt there,
And Trevrezent men called him, and ever on Monday morn
Poor was his fare, and no richer it waxed as the week wore
on. 340
Nor wine nor bread he tasted, nor food that with blood was
red,
Fish nor flesh, but his life so holy on the herb of the
ground was fed.
And ever his thoughts, God-guided, were turning to Heaven's
land,
And by fasting the wiles of the Devil he deemed he might best
withstand.

And to Parzival the mystery of the Grail should he now
reveal-- 345
And he, who of this hath asked me, and since silence my lips
must seal
Was wroth with me as his foeman, his anger might naught
avail,
Since I did but as Kiot bade me, for he would I should hide
the tale,
And tell unto none the secret, till the venture so far were
sped
That the hidden should be made open, and the marvel of men be
read. 350

For Kiot of old, the master whom men spake of in days of
yore,
Far off in Toledo's city, found in Arabic writ the lore
By men cast aside and forgotten, the tale of the wondrous
Grail;
But first must he learn the letters, nor black art might
there avail.
By the grace of baptismal waters, by the light of our Holy
Faith, 355
He read the tale, else 'twere hidden; for never, the story
saith,
Might heathen skill have shown us the virtue that hidden lies
In this mighty Grail, or Its marvels have opened to Christian
eyes.

'Twas a heathen, Flegetanis, who had won for his wisdom fame,
And saw many a wondrous vision, (from Israel's race he came, 360
And the blood of the kings of old-time, of Solomon did he
share,)
He wrote in the days long vanished, ere we as a shield might
bear
The cross of our Holy Baptism 'gainst the craft and the wiles
of Hell,
And he was the first of earth's children the lore of the
Grail to tell.
By his father's side a heathen, a calf he for God did hold, 365
How wrought the devil such folly, on a folk so wise, of old?
And the Highest Who knoweth all wonders, why stretched He not
forth His Hand
To the light of His truth to turn them? For who may His power
withstand!

And the heathen, Flegetanis, could read in the heavens high
How the stars roll on their courses, how they circle the
silent sky, 370
And the time when their wandering endeth--and the life and
the lot of men
He read in the stars, and strange secrets he saw, and he
spake again
Low, with bated breath and fearful, of the thing that is
called the Grail,
In a cluster of stars was it written, the name, nor their
lore shall fail.
And he quoth thus, 'A host of angels this marvel to earth
once bore, 375
But too pure for earth's sin and sorrow the heaven they
sought once more,
And the sons of baptized men hold It, and guard It with
humble heart,
And the best of mankind shall those knights be who have in
such service part'

Then Kiot my master read this, the tale Flegetanis told,
And he sought for the name of the people, in Latin books of
old, 380
Who of God were accounted worthy for this wondrous Grail to
care,
Who were true and pure in their dealings and a lowly heart
might bear.
And in Britain, and France, and Ireland thro' the chronicles
he sought
Till at length, in the land of Anjou, the story to light was
brought.
There, in true and faithful record, was it written of
Mazadan, 385
And the heroes, the sons of his body, and further the story
ran,
How Titurel, the grandsire, left his kingdom to Frimutel,
And at length to his son, Anfortas, the Grail and Its heirdom
fell:
That his sister was Herzeleide, and with Gamuret she wed
And bare him for son the hero whose wanderings ye now have
read. 390
For he rideth upon a journey that shall lead him a road
unknown,
Tho' the grey knight but now had wended his way from the
fountain lone.

And he knew again the meadow, tho' now the snow lay white
On the ground that erst was blooming with flowers of
springtide bright.
'Twas before the rocky hillside where his hand must wipe away 395
The stain from Jeschuté's honour, and her husband's wrath
allay.
Yet still the road led onward, to Fontaine-Sauvage, the name
Of the goal that should end his journey and his hermit host
he came.

Then out spake the holy hermit, 'Alas, why doest thou so,
Sir Knight? at this Holy Season 'tis ill thus armed to go. 400
Dost thou bear perchance this harness thro' strife and danger
dared?
Or hast thou unharmèd ridden, and in peace on thy way hast
fared?
Other robe had beseemed thee better! List not to the voice of
pride,
But draw thy rein here beside me, and with me for a space
abide.
Not all too ill shalt thou fare here, thou canst warm thee
beside my fire. 405
Dost thou seek here for knightly venture, and dost guerdon of
love desire,
If the power of true Love constrain thee, then love Him who
Love may claim!
As this day to His Love beareth witness, be His service
to-day thine aim,
And serve for the love of fair women, if it please thee,
another day;
But now get thee from off thy charger, and awhile from thy
wanderings stay.' 410

Then Parzival, e'en as he bade him, sprang lightly unto the
ground;
Humbly he stood before him, as he told how he folk had found
Who had told of the hermit's dwelling, and the counsel he
wisely gave,
And he spake, 'I am one who hath sinnèd, and rede at thy lips
I crave!'
As he spake the hermit answered,'Right gladly I'll counsel
thee, 415
But, say, what folk hast thou met with? Who showed thee thy
way to me?
'In the wood I met with an old man grey-headed, and fair he
spake,
And kindly, I ween, were his people, he bade me this road to
take,
On his track my steed came hither.' Then answered the hermit
old,
''Twas Kahenis, and his praises shall ever by men be told. 420
A prince of the land of Punturtois, and his sister Kareis'
king
Hath taken to wife--Fairer maidens no mother to earth did
bring
Than those maidens twain, his daughters, who met thee upon
thy road,
Of a royal house, yet yearly he seeketh this poor abode!'

Then Parzival spake to the hermit, 'Now say, when thou saw'st
me here, 425
Didst thou shrink from my warlike coming, didst thou feel no
touch of fear?'
Quoth the hermit,'Sir Knight, believe me, far oftener for
stag or bear
Have I feared than I feared a man's face, in sooth shalt thou
be aware
I fear me for no man living! Both cunning and skill have I,
And tho' I were loath to vaunt me, yet I ne'er to this life
did fly 430
For fear, as beseems a maiden! For never my heart did quail
When I faced as a knight my foeman, and ne'er did my courage
fail,
In the days when such things became me, in the days when I
too might fight,
I was armèd as thou art armèd, like thee did I ride, a
knight!
And I strove for high love's rewarding, and many an evil
thought 435
With the pure mind within me battled, and ever my way I
wrought
To win from a woman favour! All that was in time of yore,
And my body, by fasting wasted, remembereth those days no
more.'

'Now give to mine hand the bridle, for there 'neath the rocky
wall
Thy steed shall abide in safety, and we, ere the night shall
fall, 440
Will gather of bough and herbage, since no better food may
be,
Yet I trust that both thou and thy charger fare not all too
ill with me!'
But Parzival deemed that surely 'twas unfitting a hermit old
Should thus lead his steed, and the bridle he would fain from
his hand withhold,
'Now courtesy sure forbids thee to strive 'gainst thine
host's good-will, 445
Let not haste from the right path lead thee, but follow my
counsel still.'
In this wise spake the old man kindly, as he bade him, so did
the knight,
And the charger he led 'neath the hillside where but seldom
did sun-rays light.
In sooth 'twas a wondrous stable where the hermit the steed
would stall,
And thro' it, from heights o'erhanging, foamed ever a
water-fall. 450

The snow lay beneath our hero, no weakling was he, I ween,
Else the frost and the cold of his harness o'er-much for his
strength had been.
To a cavern the hermit led him where no breath of wind might
blow,
And a fire of coals had warmed it, and burned with a ruddy
glow.
And here might the guest refresh him by the fire and a
taper's light, 455
(Well strewn was the ground with fuel,) then swiftly the
gallant knight
Laid from off him his heavy armour, and warmed his limbs so
cold,
And his skin in the light glowed ruddy, and his face might
the host behold.
He might well be of wandering weary, for never a trodden way
Nor a roof save the stars of heaven had he known for many a
day. 460
In the daylight the wood had he ridden, and his couch, it had
been the ground:
'Twas well that he here a shelter, and a kindly host had
found!

Then his host cast a robe around him, and he took him by his
right hand,
And he led him into a cavern where his Missal did open stand.
And as fitted the Holy Season the Altar was stripped and
bare; 465
And the shrine--Parzival must know it, 'twas the spot where
he once did swear
With true hand, true oath and faithful, that ended Jeschuté's
woe,
And turnèd her tears to laughter, and taught her fresh joy to
know!

Quoth Parzival, 'Well I know it this chapel and shrine! Of
yore,
As hither my wanderings led me, an oath on that shrine I
swore; 470
And a spear, with fair colours blazoned, that did here by the
altar stand
I bare hence, and in sooth, I think me, right well did it
serve my hand!
Men say it much honour brought me, yet I wot not if it be so,
For in thoughts of my wife had I lost me, and naught of the
thing I know.
Yet, unwitting, two jousts had I ridden, and two foemen I
overthrew, 475
In those days all men gave me honour, nor sorrow nor shame I
knew.
Now, alas! is my sorrow greater than ever to man befell!
Say, when did I bear the spear hence? The days of my
wanderings tell!'

'It was Taurian,' quoth the hermit, 'who his spear in my care
did leave,
And much did he mourn its losing, and I with the knight must
grieve. 480
And four years and a half and three days shall have passed
since we lost the spear,
Sir Knight, an my word thou doubtest, behold! it is written
here!'
Then he showed unto him in the Psalter how the time it had
come and gone,
And the weeks and the years he read him that silent and swift
had flown.
And he spake, 'Now first do I learn them, the days that I
aimless stray, 485
And the weeks and the years that have vanished, since my joy
hath been reft away.'
And he spake, 'Now indeed me-seemeth that my bliss it was but
a dream,
For heavy the load of sorrow that so long hath my portion
been!'

'And, Sir Host, I yet more would tell thee, where cloister or
church shall be
And men unto God give honour, there no eye hath looked on me, 490
And naught but strife have I sought me, tho' the time as thou
sayst be long,
For I against God bear hatred, and my wrath ever waxeth
strong.
For my sorrow and shame hath He cherished, and He watched
them greater grow
Till too high they waxed, and my gladness, yet living, He
buried low!
And I think were God fain to help me other anchor my joy had
found 495
Than this, which so deep hath sunk it, and with sorrow hath
closed it round.
A man's heart is mine, and sore wounded, it acheth, and
acheth still,
Yet once was it glad and joyous, and free from all thought of
ill!
Ere sorrow her crown of sorrow, thorn-woven, with stern hand
pressed
On the honour my hand had won me o'er many a foeman's crest! 500
And I do well to lay it on Him, the burden of this my shame,
Who can help if He will, nor withholdeth the aid that men
fain would claim,
But me alone, hath He helped not, whate'er men of Him may
speak,
But ever He turneth from me, and His wrath on my head doth
wreak!'

Then the hermit beheld him sighing, 'Sir Knight, thou shalt
put away 505
Such madness, and trust God better, for His help will He
never stay.
And His aid to us here be given, yea, alike unto me and thee.
But' twere best thou shouldst sit beside me, and tell here
thy tale to me,
And make to me free confession--How first did this woe begin?
What foe shall have worked such folly that God should thine
hatred win? 510
Yet first would I pray thee, courteous, to hearken the word I
say,
For fain would I speak Him guiltless, ere yet thou thy plaint
shall lay
'Gainst Him, Who denieth never unto sinful man His aid,
But ever hath answered truly, who truly to Him hath prayed.'

'Tho' a layman I was yet ever in books might I read and learn 515
How men, for His help so faithful, should ne'er from His
service turn.
Since aid He begrudged us never, lest our soul unto Hell
should fall,
And as God Himself shall be faithful, be _thou_ faithful
whate'er befall;
For false ways He ever hateth--and thankful we aye should be
When we think of the deed, so gracious, once wrought of His
love so free! 520
For _our_ sake the Lord of Heaven in the likeness of man was
made,
And Truth is His name, and His nature, nor from Truth shall
He e'er have strayed.
And this shalt thou know most surely, God breaketh His faith
with _none_.
Teach thy thoughts ne'er from Him to waver, since Himself and
His ways are One!'

'Wouldst thou force thy God with thine anger? He who heareth
that thou hast sworn 525
Hatred against thy Maker, he shall hold thee of wit forlorn!
Of Lucifer now bethink thee, and of those who must share his
fall,
Bethink thee, the angel nature was free from all taint of
gall,
Say, whence sprang that root of evil which spurred them to
endless strife,
And won its reward in Hell's torments, and the death of an
outcast life? 530
Ashtaroth, Belcimon, and Belat, Rhadamant, yea, and many
more!
Pride and anger the host of Heaven with Hell's colours have
painted o'er!'

'When Lucifer and his angels thus sped on their downward way,
To fill their place, a wonder God wrought from the earth and
clay:
The son of His hands was Adam, and from flesh of Adam, Eve 535
He brought, and for Eve's transgression, I ween, all the
world doth grieve.
For she hearkened not her Creator, and she robbed us of our
bliss.
And two sons sprang forth from her body, and the elder he
wrought amiss,
Since envy so worked upon him that from wrath there sprang
disgrace,
And of maidenhood did he rob her who was mother of all his
race! 540
Here many a one doth question, an the tale be to him unknown,
How might such a thing have chancèd? It came but by sin
alone!'

Quoth Parzival, 'Now, I think me that never such thing might
be,
And 'twere better thou shouldst keep silence, than tell such
a tale to me!
For who should have borne the father, whose son, as thou
sayest, reft 545
Maidenhood from his father's mother? Such riddle were better
left!'
But the hermit again made answer, 'Now thy doubt will I put
away,
O'er my falsehood thou canst bemoan thee if the thing be not
truth I say,
For the _Earth_ was Adam's mother, of the _Earth_ was Adam
fed,
And I ween, tho' a man she bare here, yet still was the Earth
a maid. 550
And here will I read the riddle, he who robbed her of
maidenhood
Was Cain the son of Adam, who in wrath shed his brother's
blood:
For as on the Earth, so stainless, the blood of the guiltless
fell,
Her maidenhood fled for ever! And true is the tale I tell.
For wrath of man and envy, thro' Cain did they wake to life, 555
And ever from that day forward thro' his sin there ariseth
strife.'

'Nor on earth shall aught be purer than a maiden undefiled,
Think how pure must be a maiden, since God was a Maiden's
Child!
Two men have been born of maidens, and God hath the likeness
ta'en
Of the son of the first Earth-Maiden, since to help us He aye
was fain. 560
Thus grief alike and gladness from the seed of Adam spring,
Since He willed to be Son of Adam, Whose praises the angels
sing.
And yet have we sin as our birthright, and sin's pain must we
ever bear,
Nor its power may we flee! Yet pity He feeleth for our
despair,
Whose Strength is aye linked with Mercy, and with Mercy goes
hand in hand, 565
And for man, as a Man, He suffered, and did falsehood by
truth withstand.'

'No longer be wroth with thy Maker! If thou wouldst not thy
soul were lost--
And here for thy sin do penance, nor longer thus rashly
boast,
For he who, with words untamèd, is fain to avenge his wrong,
His own mouth shall, I ween, speak his judgment ere ever the
time be long. 570
Learn faith from the men of old-time, whose rede ever waxeth
new,
For Plato alike and the Sibyls in their day spake words so
true,
And long years ere the time had ripened His coming they did
foretell
Who made for our sin's Atonement, and drew us from depths of
Hell.
God's Hand from those torments took us, and God's Love lifted
us on high, 575
But they who His love disdainèd, they yet in Hell's clutches
lie!'

'From the lips of the whole world's Lover came a message of
love and peace,
(For He is a Light all-lightening, and never His faith doth
cease,)
And he to whom love He showeth, findeth aye in that Love his
bliss,
Yet twofold I ween is the message, and His token some read
amiss; 580
For the world may buy, as it pleaseth, God's Wrath or His
Love so great.
Say, which of the twain wilt thou choose here, shall thy
guerdon be Love or Hate?
For the sinner without repentance, he flieth God's faith and
Face,
But he who his sin confesseth, doth find in His presence
grace!'

'From the shrine of his heart, who shall keep Him? Tho'
hidden the thought within, 585
And secret, and thro' its darkness no sunbeam its way may
win,
(For thought is a secret chamber, fast locked, tho' no lock
it bear,)
Yet, tho' against man it be closèd, God's light ever shineth
there.
He pierceth the wall of darkness, and silent and swift His
spring,
As no sound betrayed His coming, as no footstep was heard to
ring, 590
So silent His way He goeth--And swift as our thoughts have
flown,
Ere God passed of our heart the threshold, our thoughts unto
Him were known!
And the pure in heart He chooseth; he who doth an ill deed
begin,
Since God knoweth the thoughts of all men, full sorely shall
rue his sin.
And the man who by deeds God's favour doth forfeit, what
shall he gain? 595
Tho' the world count him honour-worthy, his soul seeketh rest
in vain.
And where wilt thou seek for shelter if _God_ as thy foeman
stand,
Who of wrath or of love giveth payment, as men serve Him,
with equal hand?
Thou art lost if thy God be against thee--If thou wouldst His
favour earn,
Then away from thy wrath and thy folly thy thoughts to His
goodness turn!' 600

Quoth Parzival, 'Here I thank thee, from my heart, that such
faithful rede
Thou hast given of him who withholdeth from no man his
rightful meed,
But evil, as good, requiteth--Yet my youth hath been full of
care,
And my faith hath but brought me sorrow, and ill to this day
I fare!'

Then the hermit he looked on the Waleis, 'If a secret be not
thy grief, 605
Right willing thy woe I'll hearken, I may bring thee
perchance relief;
Of some counsel may I bethink me such as yet to thyself dost
fail!'
Quoth Parzival, 'Of my sorrows the chiefest is for the Grail,
And then for my wife--none fairer e'er hung on a mother's
breast,
For the twain is my heart yet yearning, with desire that
ne'er findeth rest.' 610
Quoth his host, 'Well, Sir Knight, thou speakest, such sorrow
is good to bear;
If thus for the wife of thy bosom thy heart knoweth grief and
care,
And Death find thee a faithful husband, tho' Hell vex thee
with torments dire
Yet thy pains shall be swiftly ended, God will draw thee from
out Hell-fire.
But if for the _Grail_ thou grievest, then much must I mourn
thy woe, 615
O! foolish man, since fruitless thy labours, for thou shalt
know
That none win the Grail save those only whose names are in
Heaven known,
They who to the Grail do service, they are chosen of God
alone;
And mine eyes have surely seen this, and sooth is the word I
say!'
Quoth Parzival, 'Thou hast been there?' 'Sir Knight,' quoth
the hermit, 'Yea!' 620
But never a word spake our hero of the marvels himself had
seen,
But he asked of his host the story, and what men by 'The
Grail' should mean?
Spake the hermit, 'Full well do I know this, that many a
knightly hand
Serveth the Grail at Monsalväsch, and from thence, throughout
all the land,
On many a distant journey these gallant Templars fare, 625
Whether sorrow or joy befall them, for their sins they this
penance bear!'

'And this brotherhood so gallant, dost thou know what to them
shall give
Their life, and their strength and their valour--then know,
by a _stone_ they live,
And that stone is both pure and precious--Its name hast thou
never heard?
Men call it _Lapis Exilis_--by its magic the wondrous bird, 630
The Phoenix, becometh ashes, and yet doth such virtue flow
From the stone, that afresh it riseth renewed from the ashes
glow,
And the plumes that erewhile it moulted spring forth yet more
fair and bright--
And tho' faint be the man and feeble, yet the day that his
failing sight
Beholdeth the stone, he dies not, nor can, till eight days be
gone, 635
Nor his countenance wax less youthful--If one daily behold
that stone,
(If a man it shall be, or a maiden 'tis the same,) for a
hundred years,
If they look on its power, their hair groweth not grey, and
their face appears
The same as when first they saw it, nor their flesh nor their
bone shall fail
But young they abide for ever--And this stone all men call
the Grail.' 640
'And Its holiest power, and the highest shall I ween be
renewed to-day,
For ever upon Good Friday a messenger takes her way.
From the height of the highest Heaven a Dove on her flight
doth wing,
And a Host, so white and holy, she unto the stone doth bring.
And she layeth It down upon It; and white as the Host the
Dove 645
That, her errand done, swift wingeth her way to the Heaven
above.
Thus ever upon Good Friday doth it chance as I tell to thee:
And the stone from the Host receiveth all good that on earth
may be
Of food or of drink, the earth beareth as the fulness of
Paradise.
All wild things in wood or in water, and all that 'neath
Heaven flies, 650
To that brotherhood are they given, a pledge of God's favour
fair,
For His servants He ever feedeth and the Grail for their
needs doth care!'

'Now hearken, the Grail's elect ones, say who doth their
service claim?
On the Grail, in a mystic writing, appeareth each chosen
name,
If a man it shall be, or a maiden, whom God calls to this
journey blest. 655
And the message no man effaceth, till all know the high
behest,
But when all shall the name have read there, as it came, doth
the writing go:
As children the Grail doth call them, 'neath its shadow they
wax and grow.
And blessèd shall be the mother whose child doth the summons
hear,
Rich and poor alike rejoiceth when the messenger draweth
near, 660
And the Grail son or daughter claimeth! They are gathered
from every land,
And ever from shame and sorrow are they sheltered, that holy
band.
In Heaven is their rewarding, if so be that they needs must
die,
Then bliss and desire's fulfilment are waiting them all on
high!'