Chapter IX: Book V: Anfortas

Now he who would hear what befell him who thus for ventures
sought,
Shall hearken many a marvel ere the tale to an end be wrought
Let the son of Gamuret ride forth, and all ye good folk and
true
Wish him well, for bitter sorrow this hero hereafter knew,
Tho' honour and joy should crown him--And sorely his heart
did grieve 5
That the wife he loved so dearly he now for a space must
leave.
For the mouth never read of woman, and never hath tale been
told
Of a fairer wife and truer, and his heart did she captive
hold,
And his spirit so high was troubled by thoughts of his wife
and queen--
Had courage not been his birthright he had lost it ere this,
I ween! 10

O'er rock and marshy moorland, with loosened reins the steed
Dashed free, the rider thought not to guide or check its
speed.
Of a truth the venture telleth, so far did he ride that day
E'en a bird had been outwearied, and its flight were fain to
stay.
An the tale hath not betrayed me, no further the knight did
fare 15
When Ither he slew, or from Graharz rode swift unto Pelrapär.

Now hear ye what chanced unto him; he came at the close of
day
To a water fair, and upon it many boats at anchor lay,
And the fishers were lords of the water; to the shore did
they lie so near
That e'en as they saw him riding his question they well might
hear. 20
And one he saw in a vessel all clad in such royal pride
Scarce richer had been his vesture were he lord of the world
so wide;
Of peacock's plumes his head-gear--Then the knight to the
Fisher spake
And he prayed him for knighthood's bidding, and he prayed him
for God's dear sake,
To help him unto a shelter where he might thro' the night
hours rest. 25
And the Fisher sad he answered in this wise the stranger
guest;

And he quoth, 'Nay, Sir Knight, I know not for full thirty
miles around,
By land alike or water, where dwelling may yet be found
Save one house, I would bid thee seek it, for it lieth in
sooth anear,
Thro' the livelong day wert thou riding none other thou
findest here. 30
Ride there to the high cliff's ending, then turn thee to thy
right hand
Until to the moat thou comest, and thy charger perforce must
stand;
Then bid thou the castle warder to let the drawbridge fall
And open to thee the portals, then ride thou unto the hall.'

Then he did as the Fisher bade him, and leave would he
courteous pray, 35
But he quoth, 'I myself will thine host be, an thou fail not
to find the way,
Be thy thanks then as is our tendance--As thou ridest around
the hill
Have a care lest the wood mislead thee, such mischance would
but please me ill.'

Then Parzival turned his bridle, and gaily he took his way,
Nor missed he the path till before him the moat of the castle
lay; 40
And the drawbridge was raised, and the fortress it lacked not
for strength I trow,
As a turner with skill had wrought them stood the turrets in
goodly row.
But with wings, or on winds of heaven uplifted, might ye have
won
To that Burg, an a foeman stormed it little harm he methinks
had done.
And so strong were the towers and the palace that its folk
they had held the hall 45
And mocked at the foe, if all armies thirty years long beset
the wall.

Then a squire looked forth from the castle, of the knight was
he well aware,
And he asked whence he came? and wherefore he thought to
their Burg to fare?
And Parzival spake, ''Tis the Fisher who hath bidden me ride
to thee,
With all courtesy have I thanked him for the shelter he
proffered free, 50
'Tis his will that the bridge be lowered, and I ride here the
Burg within.'
'Sir Knight thou shalt here be welcome, and thy way to the
Burg shalt win
Since the Fisher so spake--And honour would we shew unto thee
his guest!'
Then the squire he let fall the drawbridge, for so was their
lord's behest.

So the hero came to the fortress, to a courtyard so broad and
wide, 55
By knightly sports untrodden--Nor oft would they Tourneys
ride,
(By short green turf was it covered) and but seldom with
banners bright
As on Abenberg's field did they ride there, as fitting for
gallant knight.
'Twas long since they might disport them in such pastimes of
warlike skill,
For sorrow lay heavy on them, and mirth it beseemed them ill. 60

But little the guest should rue that, for knights both old
and young,
They welcomed him with all honour, and swift to his bridle
sprung.
And pages of noble breeding laid their hands on his bridle
rein,
And others would hold his stirrup as the knight to dismount
was fain.
And the knights they prayed him enter, and they led him where
he might rest, 65
And with ready hands and skilful of his armour they freed the
guest,
And they looked on the beardless hero, and they saw his face
so fair,
And they spake, of a truth Good Fortune and blessing should
be his share.

Then he bade them to bring him water, and the rust-stains he
washed away
From face and hands, and they saw him as the light of a
second day, 70
So he sat in all eyes lovely--Then a mantle rich they brought
Of silk of Araby fashioned, and flaw therein was there
naught;
And he laid it around his shoulder, that hero so fair and
bright,
But the clasp did he leave unfastened, and with one voice
they praised the knight.

'Repanse de Schoie, our lady and queen, did this mantle
bear,' 75
Quoth the chamberlain, 'She hath lent it while fit robes they
for thee prepare.
And I feared not this boon to ask her since it seemeth sure
to me
That a gallant man and faithful, Sir Knight, thou shalt prove
to be!'
'God reward thee who lookest on me with such true and
trusting heart,
Methinks, an thou seest rightly, Good Fortune shall be my
part, 80
Yet I wot well such gifts come only from the power of God on
high.'
Then gladly they pledged the hero, and in honour and loyalty
They who sorrowed with him were joyful; far more had they
there, I ween,
Than at Pelrapär, when his right hand their shelter from
grief had been!
Then sadly he thought, as his harness the squires on one side
would bear, 85
That in knightly joust and Tourney he here might find little
share.
Then one to the host would call him, and fast came his words
and free,
And boldly he spake to the stranger, yea, e'en as in wrath
might be.
With his life had he nigh paid forfeit to Parzival's youthful
pride,
For he laid his hand to his sword-hilt--When he found it not
by his side 90
Then he clenched his fist so tightly that the clasp rung the
blood-drops red
From beneath his nails, and crimson to the sleeve of his robe
they spread.

'Nay, nay,' quoth the knights, 'be not wrathful, for fain
would he make us smile,
He hath licence to jest, and with jesting our sadness would
he beguile.
Show thy courtesy here towards him, nor be wroth for a
foolish word, 95
That the Fisher hath come to the castle, naught else shalt
thou here have heard.
Now do thou to our lord betake thee, here art thou an
honoured guest,
And the load of thy heavy anger be banished from off thy
breast.'

To the palace hall they gat them, where a hundred crowns hung
low
With many a taper laden; round the walls shone the tapers'
glow. 100
And beneath stood a hundred couches, with a hundred cushions
fair,
And each of these goodly couches four knights should between
them share.
And betwixt each twain of the couches an open space was
found,
And before each there lay a carpet of cunning work fashioned
round.
Thereto had he wealth in plenty, King Frimutel's son and
heir: 105
And one thing had they not forgotten, nor their gold did they
think to spare,
For within the hall were builded three hearths of marble
rare,
With skill and wisdom fashioned, and each hearth stood
four-square,
And the wood was Lignum aloe, and so great a fire, I ween,
Ne'er hath burnt on the hearth at Wildberg--Such things have
aye costly been. 110

And the host had bid them lay him on a costly folding bed
'Fore the central hearth; and gladness from before his face
had fled,
And his life was but a dying--Parzival the hero fair
In the hall found kindly welcome from him who had sent him
there.
Then his host bade him stand no longer, but be seated his
couch anear, 115
'Yea, here by my side, didst thou seat thee yet further from
me, I fear
'Twere treating thee as a stranger'--In this wise to his
gallant guest
Spake the host thus rich in sorrow, whose heart was by grief
opprest.

And the host he craved thro' his sickness great fires, and
warm robes would wear
Both wide and long, and with sable were they lined and
garnished fair. 120
And the poorest skin was costly, and black was its hue and
grey;
And a cap of the self-same fashioned he wore on his head that
day,
'Twas within and without of sable, with bands of Arabian gold
Wrought around, and a flashing ruby in the centre might all
behold.

Now many brave knights they sat there, and grief passed their
face before, 125
For a squire sprang swift thro' the doorway, and a lance in
his hand he bore,
(And thus did he wake their weeping) from the point did the
blood run fast
Adown to the hand of the holder till 'twas lost in his sleeve
at last.
And then thro' the lofty palace was weeping and wailing sore,
The folk of thirty kingdoms could scarce have bemoaned them
more. 130
And thus to each of the four walls with the lance in his hand
he drew,
Till he reached once again the doorway, and passed him the
portal thro'.
And stilled was the lamentation, and the grief that this folk
must know
When the squire bare the lance before them, and thus bade
them to think on woe.

(An here ye be not outwearied I gladly would tell the tale, 135
How the feast in this Burg was ordered, for in courtesy
naught did fail.)

At the end of the hall a doorway of steel did they open fair,
And two noble children entered--Now hearken what guise they
bare,
An a knight for love would serve them, with love they his
task might pay,
Two fair and gracious maidens as e'er man might woo were
they. 140
And each wore on her hair loose flowing, a chaplet of
blossoms bound
With silken band, beneath it their tresses sought the ground.
And the hand of each maiden carried a candlestick all of
gold,
And every golden socket did a burning taper hold.
Nor would I forget the raiment these gentle maidens ware, 145
For one was Tenabroc's countess, ruddy-brown was her robe so
fair,
And the self-same garb wore the maiden who beside the
countess paced,
And with girdles rich and costly were they girt round each
slender waist.
And behind them there came a Duchess and her fellow; of ivory
white
Two stools they bare, and glowing their lips e'en as fire is
bright. 150
Then they bowed, the four, and bending, the stools 'fore the
host they laid,
Nor was aught to their service lacking, but fitly their part
they played.
Then they stood all four together, and their faces were fair
to see,
And the vesture of each fair maiden was like to the other
three.

Now see how they followed swiftly, fair maidens twice told
four, 155
And this was I ween their office, four tapers tall they bore;
Nor the others deemed too heavy the weight of a precious
stone,
And by day the sun shone thro' it, and as Jacinth its name is
known.
'Twas long and broad, and for lightness had they fashioned it
fair and meet
To serve at will for a table where a wealthy host might eat. 160
And straight to the host they stepped them, and they bowed
their fair heads low,
And four laid the costly table on the ivory white as snow,
The stools they had placed aforetime--and courteous they
turned aside,
And there by their four companions stood the eight in their
maiden pride.

And green were the robes of these maidens, green as grass in
the month of May, 165
Of Samite in Assagog woven, and long and wide were they.
At the waist were they girt with a girdle, narrow, and long,
and fair,
And each of these gentle maidens ware a wreath on her shining
hair.

Now Iwan, the Count of Nonel, and Jernis, the lord of Reil,
To the Grail were their daughters summoned from many a
distant mile. 170
And they came, these two princesses, in raiment wondrous
fair,
And two keen-edged knives, a marvel, on cloths did those
maidens bear.
Of silver white and shining were they wrought with such
cunning skill,
And so sharp, that methinks their edges e'en steel might they
cut at will.
And maidens four went before them, for this should their
office be 175
To bear lights before the silver; four children from
falsehood free.
Six maidens in all they entered and took thro' the hall their
way,
Now hearken, and I will tell ye the service they did that
day.

They bowed, and the twain who carried the silver they laid it
low
On the Jacinth, and courteous turning to the first twelve in
order go. 180
And now, have I counted rightly, here shall eighteen maidens
stand;
And lo! see six more come hither in vesture from distant
lands,
Half their robes were of silk, gold inwoven, half of silk of
Nineveh bright,
For both they and the six before them, parti-coloured their
robes of light.

And last of those maids a maiden, o'er the others was she the
queen, 185
So fair her face that they thought them 'twas the morning's
dawn, I ween!
And they saw her clad in raiment of Pfellel of Araby,
And she bare aloft on a cushion of verdant Achmardi
Root and blossom of Paradise garden, that thing which men
call 'The Grail,'
The crown of all earthly wishes, fair fulness that ne'er
shall fail! 190
Repanse de Schoie did they call her, in whose hands the Grail
might lie,
By the Grail Itself elected was she to this office high.
And they who would here do service, those maids must be pure
of heart,
And true in life, nor falsehood shall have in their dealings
part.

And lights both rare and costly before the Grail they bore 195
Six glasses tall, transparent--and wondrous balsam's store
Burnt within with a strange sweet perfume; with measured
steps they came,
And the queen bowed low with the maidens who bare the
balsam's flame.
Then this maiden free from falsehood, the Grail on the
Jacinth laid,
And Parzival looked upon her, and thought of the royal maid 200
Elect to such high office, whose mantle he needs must wear.
Then the seven courteous turned them to the eighteen maidens
fair,
And the noblest they placed in the centre, and twelve on
either side
They stood, but the crownèd maiden no beauty with hers had
vied!

And as many knights as were seated around that palace hall, 205
So to each four was there a server, with golden beaker tall,
And a page so fair to look on who bare a napkin white--
Riches enow, I trow me, had ye seen in the hall that night!
And they bare there a hundred tables, at each table four
knights would eat,
And swiftly they spread them over with coverings fair and
meet. 210

The host himself took water, and heavy at heart was he,
And Parzival, too, he washed him, for so should the custom
be.
A silken towel, bright coloured, a count's son would proffer
fair,
Swift to the guest he gat him, and knelt low before him
there.
And wherever there stood a table there four squires were
ready dight 215
To serve the four who sat there, and their service they knew
aright,
For twain would carve, low kneeling, and twain to the knights
would bear
Of food and drink as needful, and thus for their wants would
care.

Now hearken ye greater riches--on wheelèd cars were rolled
To every knight in order, fair vessels of wroughten gold, 220
And four knights set them on the tables, and with each ye a
steward might see
To aid them, and claim the vessels when the feast at an end
should be.

Now hearken another marvel--to a hundred squires they spake,
And they bade them in fair white napkins the bread from the
Grail to take.
And straightway they went, and to each knight at each table
the bread they bare; 225
As I heard so I tell unto ye, and the truth ye, each one,
shall swear,
'Twas the Grail Itself that fed them, and before the Grail
did stand
What of food or drink desiring, each one might stretch forth
his hand.
(Would I here betray another then in sooth ye shall lie with
me)
Food warm or cold, or dishes that known or unknown shall be, 230
Food wild or tame--Such riches ye never on earth shall find,
So many have said, yet I think me that folly doth rule their
mind--
For the Grail was the crown of blessing, the fulness of
earth's delight,
And Its joys I right well may liken to the glories of
Heaven's height!

Then they brought in small golden vessels that which every
man should need 235
Of sauces, or salt, or pepper--would one sparely or fully
feed,
Yet each found enough--and courteous they bare to each noble
guest;
And red wine and sweet drinks luscious, each one as he liked
him best
Might speak the word, and proffer the cup, and behold! 'twas
filled
By the power of the Grail--Thus the hunger of that gallant
host was stilled, 240
And the Grail Itself sustained them, and Parzival wondering
saw
The riches and mighty marvels, yet to question his host
forbore.

And he thought, 'Gurnemanz he bade me, in truth, without
thought of guile,
To withhold my lips from question--If here I abide awhile
Methinks it will then befall me as aforetime in Graharz land, 245
They will tell me, without my question, how here with this
folk it stands.'
Then e'en as he sat thus musing came a squire who a sword did
bear,
And its sheath was a thousand marks' worth, and its hilt was
a ruby rare,
And the blade, it might well work wonders--Then the host gave
it to the knight,
And he spake, 'I full oft have borne it in many a deadly
fight 250
Ere God's Hand thus sorely smote me; now with this shalt thou
be repaid
If aught hath in care been lacking--Henceforth shalt thou
bear this blade
Whatever chance befall thee, and when thou its power hast
tried
Thou wilt know thou art fully armèd, whatever strife betide.'

Ah! woe to the guest that asked not, I am sorrowful for his
sake, 255
When his hand clasped the sword 'twas a token that his
silence he well might break.
For the host too my heart is heavy, thus tortured by nameless
woe,
And a question therefrom had freed him, yet to question his
guest was slow.

But now the feast was ended, who the vessels hither bore
Again to their task they turn them, and they bear them forth
once more. 260
The cars again they circle; each maid to her task was fain
From last to first; the noblest she turned to the Grail
again,
To host and guest all-courteous the queen and her maidens
bend,
What they brought they once more would bear forth thro' the
door at the high hall's end.

And Parzival he gazed after, and lo! thro' the open door 265
Within an outer chamber, on a folding couch he saw
The fairest of old men ancient whom ever his eyes had seen,
Grey was he as mists of morning--Nor o'er rash is the tale, I
ween,
Who he was shalt thou know hereafter, when a fitting time
shall be,
The host, his Burg, and his kingdom, yea, all will I name to
ye, 270
And all shall be clear and in order, no halting my tale shall
know;
Methinks that I then shall show ye the bowstring without the
bow.

'Tis a symbol good, the bowstring, for swift as ye deem the
bow,
Yet the shaft that the bowstring speedeth findeth swifter its
aim, I trow!
And not without thought I said it, for the string, it seemeth
me, 275
Is like to the simple story wherewith men well-pleased shall
be;
For it goeth straight to its ending, while he who aside shall
stray,
Tho' his goal at last he reacheth findeth all too long his
way.
When unbent the bow thou sawest, then straight was, I ween,
the string,
From the straight line thou erst must draw it, ere the shaft
to its goal may wing. 280
But he who his story aimeth at the ear of a fool shall find
His shaft go astray, for no dwelling it findeth within his
mind.
Too wide is the road, I think me, and that which he chance to
hear
Ere yet he may know the meaning flies out at the other ear.
Far rather at home I 'ld bide me than in such ears my story
tell, 285
A beast, or a stock, I think me, as a hearer would serve as
well.

But further I fain would tell ye of this people so full of
woe
To whom he had come, our hero, glad song might they seldom
know,
Or sound of dance or of Tourney; so heavy were they at heart
That never a thought of gladness might find in their life a
part, 290
And oft shall the folk be fewer yet of joy shall have fuller
share,
But here every nook was crowded, nor space in the court to
spare.

The host to his guest spake kindly, 'Methinks they thy couch
have spread,
Art thou weary? then list my counsel, and get thee, my guest,
to bed.'
(Now here might I raise my war-cry at the parting betwixt the
twain, 295
For I wot well that bitter sorrow each must from the venture
gain.)

To the side of his host he stepped him, Parzival the fair of
face,
And the Fisher a fair night wished him--Then the knights
stepped each from his place,
And a part drew near towards him, and they led the stranger
guest
Straightway to a sleeping chamber, and goodly should be his
rest. 300
'Twas richly decked for his honour, and the couch it was
spread so fair
That my poverty sorely grieves me since the earth doth such
riches bear.

And that bed knew, I ween, no lacking, and a rich silk above
it lay,
Bright-coloured its hue, and glowing as tho' fire-light did
on it play;
Then Parzival prayed the heroes to get them again to rest, 305
For he saw there but one couch only, and they passed hence at
his behest.

But he lacked not for other service--His fair face and tapers
light
Gave challenge unto each other--What day e'er might shine so
bright?
And before his couch was another, thereon would he take his
seat
While pages drew them nearer, and proffered him service meet. 310
And they bared his white feet comely, and they laid his robes
aside,
And of noble birth were these children, and fair in their
youthful pride.
Then there passed thro' the open doorway four maidens fair
and bright,
They would know if they well had served him, and if soft lay
the stranger knight.
And so the venture telleth, a squire a taper bare 315
Before each gentle maiden--Parzival, that hero fair,
Sprang swift to his couch; then the maidens with gentle voice
they spake,
'Sir Knight, we fain would pray thee for our sake awhile to
wake'--
Yet as children sport with each other had he hidden him from
their sight
Ere yet they might hear his greeting, yet their eyes had
found swift delight, 320
And their heart's desire was quickened at the sight of his
red lips' glow
That for youth were as yet unhidden, for no hair did upon
them grow.

Now hear what they bare, these maidens, three in their hands
so white
Brought syrups sweet, and red wine, and the fourth, that
maiden bright,
Bare fruit that e'erwhile had ripened in the garden of
Paradise 325
On a cloth fair and white, and she knelt low before him that
maiden wise,
And he bade her sit, but she answered, 'Nay, Sir Knight, so
is it best
For else were I sure unworthy to serve such a gallant guest.'
Then he drank and would eat a little, and he spake to them
soft and sweet,
And he laid him adown, and the maidens craved leave of him as
was meet. 330
Then down on the costly carpet the squires set the tapers
bright
When they saw that he slept, and swiftly they gat from the
gallant knight.

Yet Parzival lay not lonely, for until the dawn of day
Heart-sorrow would lie beside him, nor passed with the dawn
away.
And every coming anguish its heralds before would speed, 335
E'en so that the fair youth's vision out-weighed e'en his
mother's need
When she dreamed ere the death of her husband. As a carpet
unrolled his dream,
The centre of fair jousts woven, while the edge was with
swords agleam.
And in slumber his foemen pressed him, and would swiftly upon
him ride;
So fearful his dream that, wakened, thirty times had he
rather died. 340
Thus fear and unrest awoke him, and the sweat streamed from
every limb;
The daylight shone fair thro' the windows, yet no voice had
called on him.
Then he spake, 'Where are now the pages, who stood before me
of late?
Who shall hand unto me my garments?' Then awhile would he
patient wait
Till slumber again o'ercame him; none spake, none aloud would
cry, 345
Vanished the folk--When he wakened the noon-tide sun was
high.

Then he sprang up, and lo! before him on the carpet his
harness lay,
And two swords, his host's gift, and the other from Prince
Ither he bare away.
Then he spake to himself, 'Now wherefore was this done? I
these arms will take,
In sleep I such anguish suffered, methinks that I surely wake 350
To-day to some task of knighthood--If mine host doth some
foeman fear
Then his will will I do right gladly, and faithful her prayer
will hear
Who of true heart this mantle lent me--If my service she
think to take
Then I were for such service joyful; yet not for her sweet
love's sake,
For my wife hath a face as lovely as ever this castle's
queen, 355
Nay more, an the truth be spoken she is fairer far I ween!'

Then he did e'en as seemed him fitting, and he armed himself
for fight
From foot to head, and beside him he girded those swords of
might.
Then forth went the gallant hero, and his steed to the palace
stair
Was bound, shield and spear stood by it, and he joyed as he
found them there. 360

Then ere Parzival, the hero, his charger would mount again,
He sought thro' many a chamber, and he called on the folk
amain,
But none might he see or hearken, and it vexed the knight
full sore,
And wrathful he grew--Yet seeking, the hero he came once more
To where he at eve dismounted when first he the castle found, 365
And the earth and grass were trampled, and the dew brushed
from off the ground.

Then, shouting, he turned, the young knight, once more to his
charger good,
And with bitter words he mounted--Wide open the gateway
stood,
And the track led across the threshold; nor longer he thought
to stay
But he turned his rein, and swiftly to the drawbridge he made
his way, 370
But a hidden hand drew the rope taut, and the forepart it
rose on high
And well-nigh had his charger fallen, then he turned him
right speedily
For fain would he ask the meaning, but the squire cried aloud
in scorn,
'Goose that thou art, ride onward, to the sun's hate hast
thou been born!
Thy mouth hadst thou thought to open, of these wonders hadst
asked thine host, 375
Great fame had been thine--But I tell thee now hast thou this
fair chance lost!'

Then the guest cried aloud for his meaning, but answer he
ne'er might win,
For the squire made as if he slumbered, and the portal he
barred within.
Too early for peace his parting, and the hour it hath brought
him woe,
And he payeth in joy the tribute, nor longer may gladness
know; 380
And doubled the throw of sorrow since here he had found the
Grail,
With his eyes, not his hand, had he cast it, and dice to the
throw should fail.
If by grief he be now awakened such was never his wont of
yore,
For naught had he known but gladness, nor sorrow of heart he
bore.

On the track that he saw before him would Parzival ride
apace, 385
And he thought, 'They who go before me to-day will a foeman
face
And fight for their master's honour; an they knew it, their
ring of might
Methinks would be little weakened if I in their ranks should
fight!
I would waver not, but would aid them whate'er be their need
to-day,
Thus my bread would I earn, and this fair sword, the gift of
my host, repay, 390
Undeserved as yet do I bear it--Sure they hold me for coward
knight!'
Then he turned him, the free from falsehood, where the
hoof-tracks still met his sight,
(And sorely I rue his parting--Now the venture doth grow
apace,)
They had parted who rode before him, and their track he might
scarcely trace,
What aforetime was broad waxed narrow till he lost it nor
found it more 395
And tidings he heard, the hero, that wrought to him sorrow
sore.

For the young knight, rich in courage, heard a woman's voice
make moan.
(On the grass lay the dew of morning.) On a linden there sat
alone
A maiden, whose truth wrought her sorrow, for between her
arms so white
Embalmed did she lifeless hold him who living had been her
knight. 400
Were there one who saw her sorrow and mourned not for her
bitter woe
Then false of heart must I hold him, one who true love might
never know!
Then he turned his steed towards her, tho' as yet unknown was
she,
(Tho' the child of his mother's sister)--As the wind that
fleeteth free
Is all earthly faith to her true love--Then Parzival greeting
spake, 405
'Lady, methinks that sorrow I must bear for thy sorrow's
sake,
An thou needst in aught my service, would it free thee from
further ill,
Then look thou on me as thy servant, thy grief were I fain to
still!'

Then sadly her thanks she bade him, and asked him, 'Whence
camest thou here?
He were ill-advised who his journey should take thro' this
woodland drear. 410
To them who know not its pathways great evil might here
betide.
Yea, oft have I seen and hearkened how men in this wood have
died,
For death was in strife their portion--Turn hence then, thou
gallant knight,
An thou lovest life--Yet tell me in what shelter didst pass
the night?'
'But a mile from here stands a castle, there I thro' the
night abode, 415
And naught have I seen like its riches, from thence in short
space I rode.'
Then the maiden she looked upon him, and she spake, 'Now,
methinks, 'twere ill
With falsehood to thus betray them who trust thee with right
goodwill.
From thy shield art thou here a stranger, and canst naught
but woods have found,
An here thou hast ta'en thy journey from planted and builded
ground, 420
For thirty miles round have they never, for a dwelling, hewn
wood or stone,
Save but for one Burg, in this region that Burg it doth stand
alone.
'Tis rich in all earthly riches, yet he who that castle fair
Would seek, he may never find it, tho' many that quest shall
dare.
Unawares must they chance upon it, for I wot in no other wise 425
Shall that Burg and all that it holdeth be looked on by
mortal eyes.
Sir Knight, _thou_ hast never seen it; Monsalväsch I ween its
name,
Terre de Salväsch the kingdom where its lord the crown may
claim,
And Titurel once bequeathed it to his son King Frimutel,
So they called him, the dauntless hero; much fame to his
portion fell, 430
In a joust was he slain at Love's bidding, and four children
fair he left,
And three, they have store of riches, yet are they of joy
bereft.
And poor is the fourth, for penance hath he chosen this lot I
trow,
Trevrezent is his name--Anfortas, his brother, hath grief
enow,
He can neither stand, nor be seated, nor walk, but must aye
recline, 435
At Monsalväsch he hath his dwelling, the head of that noble
line.'
Then she spake, 'If indeed thou camest to that folk who so
sore doth mourn
Then perchance is their king releasèd from the burden he long
hath borne?'
Out spake the Waleis, 'I saw truly great marvels, and many a
maid
Of beauty rare'--she knew him by his voice ere the words were
said. 440

And she quoth, 'Now indeed I know thee, for in sooth art thou
Parzival!
Didst thou see the mournful monarch? Didst thou see the
wondrous Grail?
Ah! tell me the joyful tidings, may his woe at last be
stilled?
Well is thee that the blessèd journey thou hast ta'en, now
shall earth be filled,
As far as the winds of heaven may blow, with thy fair renown; 445
Naught on earth but shall do thee service, fulfilment each
wish shall crown!'

Then Parzival spake in wonder, 'Say, Lady, whence knowest
thou me?'
And she answered, 'I am that maiden who erewhile made her
plaint to thee,
I am she who thy name first told thee, near of kin to that
gracious queen
Thy mother, of all earth's blossoms the fairest flower, I
ween, 450
Tho' a flower that the dew ne'er nourished! May God reward
thee well
Who didst truly mourn my hero who in knightly combat fell.
See, here in my arms I hold him, now think thou upon the woe
God hath laid for his sake upon me who too short a life must
know;
Rich was he in all manly virtues, his death it has wrought me
pain, 455
And day by day as it dawneth reneweth my plaint again!

'Alas! is it thou, Siguné? Say, where are thy lips so red
That gave me to wit so truly who I was? From thy youthful
head
Have thy locks so brown and waving been shorn since I saw
thee last;
Then wert thou still fair to look on, tho' sorrow might hold
thee fast, 460
Now pale art thou waxed and feeble, such friendship, methinks
with woe
Had vexed me too much, hear my counsel, and bury this dead
knight low!'

Great tears bedewed her garments, for ne'er to that maiden
fair
Had any given such counsel as Lunete to her lady bare.
(This rede did she give to her lady, 'Let him live who thy
lord hath slain, 465
Thou shalt in his love hereafter amends for thy sorrow
gain.')
Not such was the will of Siguné, as maidens of wavering mind,
(On their names I had best keep silence) here the tale of
true love ye'll find.
Then she spake, 'If joy e'er befall me that shall be when I
know relief
Is his, who so long hath suffered, when is lightened his load
of grief. 470
If thro' _thee_ he hath found this succour then in truth
shall all praise be thine;
Methinketh e'en now at thy girdle do I see his sword to
shine--
If its magic spell thou knowest then to strife mayest thou
fearless fare,
For its edge is keen--Its maker a noble name doth bear,
Trebuchet's hand hath wrought it; by Karnant there flows a
spring, 475
And '_Lac_' from the name of that streamlet methinks is he
named, the king.
The sword will withstand the first blow, at the next it will
break in twain,
An thou to these waters bring it from their flow 'twill be
whole again.
Yet where at its source the streamlet flows forth from its
rocky bed,
Shalt thou seek those healing waters ere the sun stand high
overhead. 480
_Lac_ is the name of that fountain--If unsplintered shall be
the blade
Then press thou its halves together, from the waters shall it
be made,
Not whole alone, but stronger the blade and the edge shall
grow,
Nor their brightness and fair adorning be dimmed by the
water's flow.
Yet a spell thou first must master, ere thou draw that sword
of might, 485
Thou hast left it behind, I fear me! Hast thou learnt its
words aright,
Then in truth all earthly blessings shall blossom and bear
for thee--
Believe me, dear my cousin, what of marvels thou there
couldst see,
To thine hand shall they all do service; the crown of
blessings fair
Uplifted o'er all earth's noblest henceforward thine head
shall bear. 490
And thine is desire's fulfilment, and none with thy wealth
and might
May measure himself, if the question hath won at thy lips its
right!'

Then he quoth, 'Nay, I asked no question!' 'Alas I' cried the
mournful maid,
'That ever mine eyes have seen thee, who to question wast
sore afraid!
Such marvels they there have shown thee, yet no word might
they win from thee, 495
When thou sawest the Grail, and those maidens who serve It,
from falsehood free,
Fair Garschiloie, and yet fairer Repanse de Schoie the queen.
Thou hast seen the knives of silver, thou the bleeding spear
hast seen--
Alas! wherefore hast thou sought me? Dishonoured, accurst art
thou
Who bearest wolf's fang empoisoned! And deep in thine heart I
trow 500
Is it rooted, the plant of falsehood, and afresh doth it ever
spring!
Thou shouldst have had pity on him, Anfortas, their host and
king,
And have asked of his bitter sorrow, on whom God hath a
wonder sped,
Now thou livest, and yet I tell thee to bliss art thou
henceforth dead!'

Then he spake, 'Nay, gentle cousin, show kindness to me I
pray, 505
If in aught I have sinned, repentance my sin sure shall put
away!'
'Little good may repentance do thee,' quoth the maiden, 'for
well I know
That thy knightly fame and honour at Monsalväsch were laid
alow.
And never a further answer or word shalt thou win from me.'
Then Parzival turned his bridle and left her right
mournfully. 510

That his lips were so slow to question when he sat by the
mournful king,
To the heart of the gallant hero must sorrow and rueing
bring;
And thus thro' his heavy trouble, and the heat of the
summer's day,
Great sweat-drops stood on his forehead as he rode on his
lonely way.
For the sake of the air he loosened his helmet and visor
band, 515
And his face shone fair thro' the iron-rust as he carried
them in his hand.

Then he saw a fresh track, and before him short space did two
horses fare,
A war-horse was one, well harnessed, but unshod was, I ween,
the mare,
And it bare on its back a woman--Behind her he took his way,
And he looked on her steed, to hunger o'er-long had it been a
prey; 520
Thro' its skin might its ribs be counted, a halter of hemp
its rein,
Its colour was white as an ermine, to the hoofs hung the
untrimmed mane;
The eyeballs were sunk in the sockets, the hollows were deep
and wide,
And I ween that this lady's palfrey by famine had oft been
tried.
'Twas lean and dry as touchwood, 'twas a marvel it yet could
go, 525
For little should she who rode it of the care of a charger
know.

Narrow and poor the trappings that lay on that charger's
back,
The saddle and bells were shattered, and much did the harness
lack;
And the lady was sad, not joyful, and her girth was a hempen
cord,
Yet, I ween, was her birth too noble in such guise to ride
abroad. 530
By twigs and thorny branches tattered her shift and torn,
And the rags had she knit together where'er it had been
out-worn,
But beneath her skin gleamed spotless, white as the swan's
white wing;
And naught but rags was her clothing--where they might some
shelter bring
There her skin was fair to look on, but elsewhere 'twas by
sunburn dyed. 535
Yet her lips were red, tho' sorrow and want she must long
abide,
And so glowing and bright their colour a fire had ye kindled
there,
And where-e'er one would ride beside her on that side had ye
found her bare.
Yet of base degree to hold her were to do her a wrong, I
ween,
Tho' little had she upon her, yet guiltless she aye had
been-- 540
(Of your courtesy shall ye heed me, she forgot not her
womanhood)
Of her poverty have I told ye, yet wherefore? If ye deem good
Then this will I say, that ragged and bare I this dame would
take
O'er many a well-clad maiden, were it fitting my choice to
make.

As Parzival bade her greeting, she saw him, and red she grew, 545
Of all men was he the fairest, small marvel his face she
knew.
Then she quoth, 'Once before have I seen thee, great grief
have I won thro' thee:
God grant to thee greater honour than thou hast deserved from
me!
Far other hath been my raiment when thou sawest me last, I
wot,
Hadst thou ne'er in that hour come near me then honour were
still my lot!' 550

Then he spake, 'Now bethink thee, Lady, who thus should thy
hatred claim,
For never my hand, I think me, hath brought to a woman shame,
(So had I _myself_ dishonoured) since ever I bare a shield,
Or thought upon deeds of knighthood, or hath striven in
battle-field;
Yet else am I sad for thy sorrow!' Then forth brake the
tear-drops bright, 555
And ran fast adown her bosom, and over her breasts so white,
So fair, and so softly moulded, that never might turner's
skill,
Tho' swiftly he wrought and rounded, his task in such wise
fulfil.
And so lovely was she in her sorrow his heart was to pity
fain,
And with hands and arms a cover from his glance did she
strive to gain. 560

Then Parzival spake, 'Now, Lady, of true service from mocking
free,
In God's Name take thou here my surcoat, a covering 'twill be
for thee.'
'Nay, Sir Knight, I may never take it, e'en tho' bliss I
thereby should gain,
Ride swift on thy way, I pray thee, an thou wouldst not we
both were slain;
Tho' my death it would little grieve me, if I fear me, 'tis
for thy sake!' 565
'Say, Lady, who thus would wrong us? Who thinketh our life to
take?
'Twas God's hand that gave it to us--Nay, were they an armèd
host
Who here for our life were thirsting, I would face them nor
fear the cost!'

Then she spake, ''Tis a dauntless hero, so gallant in strife
is he
That heavy would be their labour if _six_ should his foemen
be; 570
(I would thou wert not beside me) I aforetime his wife had
been,
Yet so poor am I now and wretched, for his slave were I all
too mean,
Thus his wrath doth he wreak upon me.' To that lady he spake
again,
'Say, who rideth here with thy husband? For if I to fly were
fain,
As here thou dost give me counsel, thyself sure wouldst deem
it ill, 575
Ere of flight I have learnt the lesson I would die with a
right good will!'

Then out spake the Duchess sadly, 'Alone with my lord I fare,
But yet that may little serve thee, nor shall victory be here
thy share.'
And in rags was all her vesture, and naught but the hem
untorn,
Yet the crown of woman's honour in her poverty had she worn, 580
And her ways were ways of goodness, and falsehood afar had
fled--
Then he bound afresh his visor and the helmet upon his head
As one who to battle rideth--Then his charger aloft would
rear,
It was 'ware of the steed beside it, and its neigh rang out
loud and clear;
And he who a space before them on the woodland way would
ride, 585
He hearkened the sound, and would see him who rode there by
his lady's side.
Then he turned his bridle wrathful by the side of the narrow
way,
And with lance in rest for jousting Duke Orilus rode that
day,
And manly, I ween, his bearing, from Gaheviess came his
spear,
And weapon alike and harness of one colour were blazoned
clear. 590

His helmet, Trebuchet wrought it; the shield in distant Spain
Was welded fair for the hero, King Kailet in that land doth
reign,
And strong were the rim and the centre--In Alexandria's city
fair
Was the costly pfellel woven that for surcoat and coat he
ware.
The covering of his charger at Tenabroc was it made 595
Of rings of steel close welded--And thus he his pride
displayed,
For over the iron cover lay a pfellel so fair to see,
And all men who saw bare witness that costly its worth must
be--
And gorget, and greaves, and headgear, tho' rich, yet their
weight was light,
And many a plate of iron it guarded this gallant knight; 600
In Beàlzenan was it fashioned, chief city of fair Anjou.
(But she who rode bare behind him far other her garb to view,
For in sooth might she find none better) from Soissons his
breastplate came,
But he won his gallant charger from the far-off lake
Brimbane,
In the mountains of Monsalväsch--Lähelein, his brother bold, 605
In a joust o'erthrew the rider, and the steed as his prize
would hold.

And Parzival too was ready--his charger in onward flight
'Gainst Orilus of Lalande bare swiftly the gallant knight;
And he saw on his shield a dragon, yea, e'en as it were
alive,
And another upon the helmet fast bounden did upward strive. 610
And many small golden dragons on surcoat and robe he bare,
Enriched with many a jewel, and with red eyes of ruby fair.
From afar would they make their onslaught, these dauntless
heroes twain,
No need to renounce their friendship, nor thro' kinship from
strife refrain,
Aloft flew the spears in splinters--Methinks I might vaunt me
well 615
If I such a joust had witnessed as here in this wood befell!

Thus they rode at swiftest gallop not one joust alone, I
ween,
And Jeschuté at heart bare witness fairer jousting she ne'er
had seen;
So she stood, and her hands she wrung them, this lady of joy
bereft,
Nor harm did she wish to either, that one should be lifeless
left. 620
In sweat were they bathed, the chargers, and the knights they
strove for fame,
And sparks sprang bright from the sword-blades, and forth
from the helm flashed flame,
And the blows fell fierce and mighty, and far flashed the
light of strife,
None were better than they in battle, and they met here for
death or life,
And tho' willing and swift the chargers that the heroes would
here bestride, 625
They forgot not their spurs, and their sword-blades
bright-glancing they deftly plied.
And Parzival won him honour, for here hath he rightly shown
How before a hundred dragons one man well might hold his own.

And ill did it fare with one dragon, and sore were its wounds
that day,
'Twas the crest that aloft in glory on Orilus' helmet lay, 630
And so clear that the light shone thro' them were the costly
jewels bright
That fell when the helm was smitten by Parzival's sword of
might;
'Twas on horse, not afoot, that they fought thus--The love of
her angry lord
Was won back again for Jeschuté by the play of the glittering
sword.
Then they dashed again on each other so close that they smote
away, 635
With their knees, the rings of iron--So valiant in strife
were they!
I will tell ye why one was wrathful; that his lady of royal
race
Ere this had been shamed; her guardian, from him might she
look for grace;
Yet he deemed that with wandering fancy her heart from her
lord had strayed,
And that she, in the love of another, her honour had lowly
laid. 640
And he would for such wrong have vengeance, and his judgment
on her was done
In such wise, save were _death_ her portion no woman such woe
had won,
And yet she in naught had wronged him--If his favour he would
withhold,
What man e'er might think to hinder? For ever from days of
old
The man hath power o'er the woman, the husband shall rule the
wife. 645
Yet Parzival the hero, he thought him to win with strife
For Jeschuté her husband's favour--Methinks one should pray
such grace
In courteous wise, but flattery it here found but little
place.
And both they were right, I think me--He who ruleth the ways
of life,
Or straight they may be or crooked, 'twas His so to rule
their strife 650
That never to one nor the other the joust death for guerdon
brought,
Harm enow had they done to each other the while they so
fiercely fought.

Now hotter it waxed, the conflict, each hero would fain
defend
His knightly fame 'gainst the other; Duke Orilus of Lalande,
He fought with the skill and cunning his hand had learnt of
yore, 655
For I ween none like him had battled--he had courage and
strength in war,
And therefore had he been victor on many a foughten field,
Tho' other were here the ending--His foe would he force to
yield;
And he threw his arms around him, the hero so proud and bold,
But Parzival, little daunted, on his foeman made good his
hold, 660
And he drew him from off his saddle; as a sheaf from the
field ye reap
So beneath his arm he swung him, and light from his horse did
leap.
O'er a fallen tree he held him, for here was he overthrown
Who never of need or peril such fortune before had known.
'Now do penance for this thine anger that hath wrought to thy
lady woe, 665
An thy favour be yet withholden, then death shalt thou surely
know!'
'Nay, nay, not so swift,' quoth his foeman, Duke Orilus of
Lalande,
'Tho' o'erthrown, I am not so vanquished that I may not thy
will withstand!'

Then Parzival, strong and valiant, his foeman he gripped
amain,
And forth thro' the visor gushing streamed the blood in a
crimson rain, 670
And the prince, I ween, was vanquished, he could win from him
what he would,
To die was he all unwilling, and he spake to the hero good,
'Alas! thou bold knight dauntless, who evil on me hath sped,
Say how have I earned this peril, to lie here before thee,
dead?'

Then Parzival quoth, 'Right gladly, Sir Knight, will I let
thee live, 675
If favour and love to thy lady thou swearest again to give!'
'That I will not! Her sin against me I trow all too great
shall be.
Rich in honour she was; she hath injured herself, and she
plungeth me,
Her lord, in yet deeper sorrow. In all else thy will I'll
heed,
An thou thinkest my life to leave me--'Twas God gave it me
indeed, 680
Now thine hand is become His servant, to give it to me anew,
And I to thy valour owe it'--In this wise spake the hero
true:

'For my life will I give fair ransom, for kingdoms twain, I
trow,
My brother with might hath won him, of riches he hath enow.
Thou shalt ask as it best may please thee: if from death thou
wilt set me free, 685
He loveth me, and will loose me whatever the cost may be.
And my Dukedom again as thy vassal will I take from thy
valiant hand,
Thy fame it shall gain new lustre, since I might not thy
power withstand.
Now release me, thou hero dauntless, from forgiveness of her,
my wife;
Whatever shall be for thine honour, by that will I buy my
life, 690
But with her, my dishonoured Duchess, at peace will I never
be,
Nay, not for all pain or sorrow that shall otherwise fall to
me!'

Quoth Parzival, 'Folk or kingdoms, or riches or jewels rare,
All these they shall nothing profit--Thy pledge thou to me
shalt swear
In naught to delay thy journey, but to haste thee to Brittany 695
Where dwelleth a gentle maiden--One hath smitten her sore for
me,
And I will on that man have vengeance, an his safety she
shall not pray--
Thy pledge and my loyal service bear thou to that maid
straightway,
Or here, without fail, I slay thee--To King Arthur and to his
queen,
To both shalt thou bear my greeting; well paid hath my
service been, 700
If they for that blow ill-smitten the maiden do well entreat.
But first will I see that thou givest to this lady thine
homage meet,
And that without guile--Dost withstand me, and thinkest my
will to dare,
On a bier, and no more on a charger, from hence shalt thou
lifeless fare!
Now mark thou my words, for their doing a pledge shalt thou
straightway give, 705
And thy surety swear unto me, if longer thou fain wouldst
live!'
To King Parzival spake his foeman, Duke Orilus, 'Helpeth
naught
'Gainst this thy will, I will do it, for fain I my life had
bought!'

In the fear for the life of her husband Jeschuté, that lady
fair,
Mourned sore for his woe, yet the foemen to part might she
little dare. 710
Then Parzival bade him rise up, and speak to his lady bright
The words of peace and of pardon; and thus quoth the
vanquished knight,
'Lady, since this my shaming in strife hath been for thy
sake,
So be it, the kiss of forgiveness from my lips shalt thou
herewith take.
Thro' thee have I lost much honour--What boots it? I pardon
sware!' 715
Then swift from her steed on the meadow sprang the lady with
white limbs bare,
Tho' the blood that ran from his nostrils had dyed his mouth
with red,
Yet she kissed him e'en as he bade her, so was Parzival's
bidding sped.

Then the three rode on together till a hermit's cell they saw
In the rocky wall, and our hero his bridle was fain to draw; 720
For he saw there a shrine so holy, and a spear with fair
colours blent
Stood beside the shrine; 'twas the dwelling of the hermit
Trevrezent.

There Parzival dealt with honour--On the relic an oath he
sware,
Himself laid the oath upon him, and he spake and they
hearkened fair;
'If I have worth or valour, as 'seemeth a gallant knight-- 725
If I have it or not let those witness who have looked on my
shield in fight;
Yea, let them approve my knighthood, for knighthood's power
may claim,
As the shield-bearer oft shall tell us, high guerdon of
praise and fame,
And the name of knight is honoured--My body to shame for aye
Will I give, and my fame and honour henceforth shall be put
away; 730
(With these words I my bliss would pledge here in the Hand
that shall highest be,
And that Hand is God's Hand, I think me)--All loss, bitter
mockery,
In this life and the next be my portion from His power, if
this lady fair
E'er did thee wrong when it chanced her that the clasp from
her robe _I_ tare--
(Of a token of gold I robbed her)--A _fool_ and no man was I, 735
Not yet had I waxed to wisdom--And sore did she weep thereby,
And anguish and grief she suffered; yea, guiltless was she
that day--
And forfeit my bliss and mine honour if the words be not
truth I say!
Now see, dost thou hold her guiltless thou shalt give her her
ring again,
From the clasp I in such wise parted that my folly must bear
the blame!' 740

Then the Duke took the ring, and the blood-stains he wiped
from his lips away,
And he kissed her, his heart's best treasure--And a covering
she won straightway;
The ring he placed on her finger, with his surcoat her shame
would hide,
Tho' hewn by the hand of hero, of rich silk was it fashioned
wide.
But seldom in coat emblazoned mine eyes have a woman seen, 745
And this one was marred in combat. No war-cry was hers, I
ween,
That should summon the knights to Tourney, and never a spear
she brake
Whatever her garb--In Tourney far better the part they'ld
take,
Lambekein, methinks, and the good squire, if together they
thought to fight--
But now was the lady pardoned, and her sorrow had taken
flight. 750

Quoth Orilus, 'Now, thou hero, the oath thou didst freely
swear,
Great joy and small grief hath brought me; tho' shaming I
needs must bear,
Yet gladness therefrom I win me--In all honour I will repay
This lady true for her sorrow when I put her in shame away.
And since all alone I left her she was guiltless did aught
betide; 755
Yet so did she speak of thy beauty, methought there was more
beside.
But now may God reward thee, thou hast shown her from
falsehood free,
I have done her a wrong--Thro' the young wood have I ridden
in search of thee
Afar from Briziljan's forest.' Then Parzival took the spear,
Wild Taurian, Dodine's brother, erewhile had he left it here. 760
Now say where the heroes rested, or how they would pass the
night--
Helmet and shield had suffered, they were shattered and hewn
in fight.
Then Parzival to the lady, and her husband, a farewell bade;
The Duke to his hearth would bid him, 'twas in vain howsoe'er
he prayed.

So here, as the venture telleth, they parted, those heroes
twain, 765
And the Prince Orilus he sought him his pavilion and folk
again.
And glad were his faithful people with one mind when at last
they saw
Their lord and his gracious lady dwell in peace and in love
once more.
Nor longer was there delaying, the Duke he aside would lay
His arms, and the rust and blood-stains from his face did he
wash away; 770
By her hand he led the Duchess where atonement he fain would
make,
Weeping she lay beside him for joy, not for sorrow's sake.
For such is the way of women, know ye not the saying well?
'Tearful eyes make sweet lips,' of such lore methinks I yet
more might tell!
For Love knoweth joy as sorrow, and he who the twain would
weigh 775
In a balance shall find them equal an he testeth the scales
alway!

At peace were they now, full surely, forthwith to the bath
they went,
Twelve fair maidens they waited on her, with them had she
shared her tent,
They had tended her since, all guiltless, the wrath of her
love she bare;
(At night might she lie well covered, tho' by day she
ill-clad must fare) 780
And joyful they bathed their lady--But now are ye fain to
hear
How Orilus won him tidings that King Arthur would now draw
near.

For thus spake a knight to his master, 'On a grassy plain I
saw
In fair and knightly order a thousand tents, yea, more,
For Arthur the noble monarch, the King of the Breton's land 785
With a wondrous fair host of maidens his court holdeth nigh
at hand;
Methinks scarce a mile are they distant, nor shout of knights
shall fail,
On either side Plimizöl's waters their camp lies adown the
vale.'

Then the Duke in haste and gladness forth from his bath he
stept--
Would ye know how she fared, Jeschuté? No longer the lady
wept, 790
But she went, the fair and gentle, from her bath to her couch
straightway,
And far fairer, I ween, her garments than she ware for many a
day.
And closely they clung together, the prince and the princess
wise,
And Love came to the aid of gladness, and joy here hath won
the prize.
Then the maidens they clad their lady, but the knights their
lord's armour brought, 795
And much had ye praised the vesture of Jeschuté, 'twas fairly
wrought
And birds caught in snares they brought them, on their couch
did they sit the twain,
And joyful they ate; many kisses from her lord did Jeschuté
gain!

Then they brought to the lovely lady a palfrey, so strong and
fair,
'Twas bridled, and richly saddled, and a lady right well
might bear, 800
And they lifted her to the saddle, with her brave lord she
hence would ride;
But his charger was armed, as for battle the knight would his
steed bestride,
And the sword he that morn had wielded hung the saddle-bow
before.
Then from foot to head well armèd he came forth to his steed
once more,
And there, where his lady waited, to the saddle he sprung,
the knight, 805
He would ride forth without delaying, with Jeschuté his lady
bright.
But his folk should fare back to Lalande, save one knight who
should show the way
To the camp and the court of King Arthur, so he counselled
his folk that day.

Soon came they anear King Arthur, and his tents they right
well espied,
For the space of a mile they stretched them adown by the
water's side. 810
The knight who had led him hither he bade to his folk repair,
No comrade he'ld have save Jeschuté, his lady so true and
fair.
And Arthur, the brave and humble, he sat where at eve he'ld
eat,
On a plain with his vassals round him, in order due and meet.
Duke Orilus rode to their circle, and none might his blazon
know, 815
So hewn were both shield and helmet--'twas Parzival dealt
such blow!

From his horse sprang the gallant hero, Jeschuté she held his
rein;
Swift sprang the squires to aid them, and thronged close
around the twain,
And they spake, 'We will care for the horses,'--Orilus, on
the grass he laid
His shield so marred and splintered, and he asked of the
gracious maid 820
For whose sake he had ridden thither, and they showed him the
lady's seat,
Kunnewaaré she was of Lalande, and her mien for a maid was
meet.

Then, armed, he drew near unto them--King and queen bade him
welcome fair,
He thanked them, and to his sister his pledge was he fain to
swear,
But the maiden, right well she knew him by the golden
dragon's shine, 825
And she spake, 'Thou art sure my brother, Orilus, or
Lähelein,
And pledge will I take from neither, for both of ye aye were
fain
To render to me such service as I from your hands would gain.
I were dead to all truth and honour if I dealt with thee as a
foe,
My courtesy sure were shamèd by my own hand, and laid alow.' 830

Then the prince knelt before the maiden and he spake, 'Thou
the truth hath said,
I am Orilus thy brother; the Red Knight this oath hath laid
On me that my pledge I yield thee, for so must I buy my life,
Wilt thou take it, then have I done that which I sware after
bitter strife.'
Then his pledge, who had borne the dragon, in her white hand
the maid must take, 835
And she set him free, and he rose up, and thus to his sister
spake:

'Now to sorrow shall faith constrain me, alas! who hath
smitten thee?
The blows perforce must wound me--He who lusted thereto might
see,
If this were the hour for vengeance, that grief I with thee
must share;
And the bravest of men mourneth with me that ever a woman
bare, 840
He calleth himself the Red Knight--O king! he doth bid me
greet
Both thee and the queen thy lady, he doth offer ye service
meet,
As he fain would serve this my sister--His service ye will
repay,
If ye kindly entreat this maiden that her shaming be put
away.
And I, too, had fared far better at the hand of this
dauntless knight, 845
Had he known the maid for my sister, and her blows on my
heart must light.'

Now Kay, he hath earned fresh hatred from all who would there
abide,
Both knights and gentle ladies, by Plimizöl's flowing tide,
From Iofreit the son of Idöl, from Gawain, and the vanquished
king
Klamidé, of whose sore peril I of yore unto ye would sing. 850
And from many another hero whose names I right well had told,
But o'er-long would it be my story--So they thronged round
the hero bold,
And, courteous, he took their service--his wife would they
nearer bring,
She sat as yet on her palfrey, and they welcomed her, queen
and king.

Then the women they kissed each other, and thus spake the
king so true, 855
'Thy father, King Lac of Karnant, for a gallant man I knew,
For his sake I mourned thy sorrow when first men the tale did
bear,
Methinks that thy lord should have spared thee for the sake
of thy face so fair!
For the prize was thine at Kanedig thro' the light of thy
beauty's ray,
And the hawk didst thou win for thy fairness, on thine hand
did it ride away. 860
If Orilus wrong hath done me, yet I wished unto thee no ill,
And never I liked his judgment; and so doth it please me
still
To see thee restored to favour, and clad in these garments
fair,
As fitting thy state, O Lady! since woe thou o'er-long didst
bear.'
And she quoth, 'Now may God reward thee, O Sire! for these
words so true, 865
That thy fame may wax the higher, and may blossom and bloom
anew!'

Then Jeschuté and her husband, the twain, she took by the
hand,
And forth from the circle led them, the maiden of fair
Lalande.
And near to the royal pavilion, where a stream from the
meadow sprung,
Stood her tent on the plain, and above it a wingèd dragon
hung; 870
Half an apple it held in its clutches, and four ropes did it
draw on high,
E'en as if the tent it lifted, and aloft to the clouds would
fly.
And Orilus thereby knew it, for the self-same arms he bare,
And beneath it would they disarm him--Then his sister so true
and fair,
She gave him due care and honour, and the vassals, each one
they spake, 875
How the Red Knight's valour dauntless would Fame for its
comrade take.

As thus aloud men praised him, in Kingron's ear spake Kay,
And he bade him do Orilus service--(Well he might, whom he
thus did pray,
For oft had he done such service for Klamidé in Brandigan.)
And for this Kay would give his office to the hand of another
man, 880
His ill-star had bid him smite her, the prince's sister fair,
So hard with his staff, 'twas fitting from their service he
should forbear.
Nor pardon she found for his trespass, this maiden of royal
race;
But viands he sent, and Kingron, he set them before their
face.

Kunnewaaré, the wise and gentle, with her slender hands and
white, 885
Would cut the food for her brother, at his side sat his lady
bright.
And Jeschuté of Karnant bare her with courteous and comely
mien,
And Arthur the King forgat not, for fain he the twain had
seen,
And he came where they sat together, and ate with right
friendly will,
And he spake, 'Be good service lacking, then for sure it
shall please me ill, 890
For ne'er hath a host received ye, I trow, with a will so
good,
And a heart so free from falsehood!' And he spake in kindly
mood,
'My Lady Kunnewaaré, see thou well to this gallant knight,
And the blessing of God be on ye, and keep ye till morning
light!'
Then Arthur to rest betook him, and a couch for the twain
they spread, 895
And till daylight in peace they slumbered, and sorrow afar
had fled.

BOOK VI

ARTHUR

ARGUMENT

BOOK VI. tells how King Arthur sought for the Red Knight; and how he took an oath of his heroes to refrain from fighting. Of the blood-stained snow, and the love-trance of Parzival; and how, unknowing, he overthrew Segramor, and took vengeance on Kay. How Gawain led Parzival to the court of King Arthur; and how he was made a knight of the Round Table. Of the coming of Kondrie, and Kingrimursel, and the shaming of Parzival and Gawain. Of Parzival's wrath and despair, and how he rode forth to seek the Grail. How the knights went forth to the venture of Château Merveil; and how Gawain rode to Askalon; and of the scattering of this goodly company.