Parzival

by Wolfram von Eschenbach

  Chamberlains with bowls of gold were appointed at the rate of one to every four of the knights sitting there throughout the hall, with one handsome page carrying a white towel. What luxury was displayed there!

  A hundred tables were fetched in at the door, each of which was set up before four noble knights and carefully spread with white table-linen.

  The host – the man crippled in his pride – washed hands, as did Parzival too, which done, a count’s son hastened to offer them a fine silk towel on bended knee.

  At every table there were pages with orders to wait assiduously on those who were seated at them. While one pair knelt and carved, the other carried meat and drink to table and saw to the diners’ other needs.

  Let me tell you more of their high living. Four trolleys had been appointed to carry numerous precious drinking-cups of gold, one for each knight sitting there. They drew the trolleys along the four walls. Knights were seen by fours to stretch out their hands and stand the cups on their tables. Each trolley was dogged by a clerk whose job it was to check the cups on to the trolley again after supper. Yet there is more to come.

  A hundred pages were bidden to receive loaves into white napkins held with due respect before the Gral. They came on all together, then fanned out on arriving at the tables. Now I have been told and I am telling you on the oath of each single one of you – so that if I am deceiving anyone you must all be lying with me – that whatever one stretched out one’s hand for in the presence of the Gral, it was waiting, one found it all ready and to hand – dishes warm, dishes cold, new-fangled dishes and old favourites, the meat of beasts both tame and wild…

  ‘There never was any such thing!’ many will be tempted to say. But they would be misled by their ill temper, for the Gral was the very fruit of bliss, a cornucopia of the sweets of this world and such that it scarcely fell short of what they tell us of the Heavenly Kingdom.

  In tiny vessels of gold they received sauces, peppers, or pickles to suit each dish. The frugal man and the glutton equally had their fill there served to them with great ceremony.

  For whichever liquor a man held out his cup, whatever drink a man could name, be it mulberry wine, wine or ruby, by virtue of the Gral he could see it there in his cup. The noble company partook of the Gral’s hospitality.

  Parzival well observed the magnificence and wonder of it all, yet, true to the dictates of good breeding, he refrained from asking any question.

  ‘Gurnemanz advised me with perfect sincerity against asking many questions,’ he thought. ‘What if I stay here for as long as I stayed with him? I shall then learn unasked how matters stand with this household.’ While he was musing thus a page approached carrying a sword whose sheath was worth a thousand marks and whose hilt was a ruby, whilst its blade could have been a source of marvels.* His lordship bestowed it on his guest.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, ‘I took this into the thick of battle on many a field before God crippled my body. Let it make amends for any lack of hospitality you have suffered here. You will wear it to good effect always. Whenever you put it to the test in battle it will stand you in good stead.’

  Alas that he asked no Question then! Even now I am cast down on his account! For when he was given the sword it was to prompt him to ask a Question! I mourn too for his gentle host, who is dogged by misfortune from on high of which he could be rid by a Question.

  Enough had been dispensed there. Those whose function it was, set to work and removed the tables after the four trolleys had received their loads again. And now in reverse order of entry, each lady performs her service. They again assigned their noblest, the Princess, to the Gral, and she and all the young ladies bowed gracefully to both their lord and Parzival, and so carried back through the door what they had brought in with such ceremony.

  Parzival glanced after them. On a sling-bed in a chamber, before the doors had been shut behind them, Parzival glimpsed the most handsome old man he had ever seen or heard of, whose hair I can assert without exaggeration was more silvery even than hoar-frost.

  As to who that old man was, you shall learn the story later. And I shall also tell you the names of the lord, his castle and lands hereafter, when the time has come to do so, in all detail, authoritatively, and without playing on your curiosity. I shall give you the bowstring, not the bow…

  This ‘bowstring’ is a parable. Now you think a bow is swift: yet what it lets fly is swifter. If I have told you truly, the Bowstring stands for straightforward stories, such as people approve of. But when a storyteller takes you round about he is out to delude you. When you see a strung bow you say the string is straight, except when plucked to an angle to drive an arrow on its flight. But if one were to shoot a tale at people that is bound to weary them – for it finds no lodgement there but follows a broad path, in one ear and out of the other – one would be wasting one’s efforts to assail them with it, one would then be narrating to such effect that a billy-goat or a rotten tree-stump would make a better audience!

  I shall nevertheless tell you more about these sorrowful people. Parzival had ridden to a place where you never met the merry sounds of dance or bohort. These people were so wholly given up to mourning that at no time did they ever seek amusement. Wherever one sees people even of humbler station they find relief in pleasure now and again. Here there was abundance in every corner and also at court, where you have just seen them…

  ‘I fancy your bed has been made,’ said the host to his guest. ‘If you are tired, my advice is to go to bed and sleep.’

  Now I should cry ‘Alas!’ at their leave-taking: great harm is to befall them both.

  Well-born Parzival rose from the couch and stepped on to the carpet. His host wished him good-night. The knights leapt to their feet, and some of them crowded in on the young man and quickly led him to a chamber. This was magnificently furnished and was glorified by a bed such that my poverty irks me unendingly, seeing that earth bears blossoms of such opulence. There was no poverty about that bed! A costly silken fabric lay over it with a sheen so bright, it might have been going up in flames! Parzival asked the knights to retire to their rest, since he saw no other beds there. Thus they took their leave and went. And now further kind attentions are afoot.

  His countenance and the clustered lights vied with each other in shedding lustre – how could day itself be brighter? At the foot of his bed there was a couch over which a quilt had been spread, and when he sat down on it a swarm of noble pages rushed up to him and removed boots and hose from legs that gleamed white, while other well-born pages took off other of his clothes. What handsome little fellows they were! Then four dazzling young ladies came in at the door. It was their duty to see, last thing, how well the hero was being cared for and whether his bed was comfortable. Each was preceded by a page carrying a brightly burning light, so this tale informs me. Parzival, dauntless warrior, dived under the coverlet.

  ‘You must stay awake for a while for our sakes,’ said the young ladies. He won a desperate gamble with Haste itself, yet a glimpse of his white body came sweet to their eyes before he welcomed them. Moreover thoughts of his red mouth and of his being so young that not even half a bristle could be detected in his face, caused them many a pang.

  Hear what these modest young ladies were carrying in their white hands. One was carrying mulberry wine, another wine of grapes, and a third clary, while the fourth discreet young lady was carrying, on a napkin dazzling-white, fruit such as grows in Paradise. This last came and knelt before him. When he asked her to be seated ‘Don’t confuse me,’ she replied. ‘If I were to do so you would not have the attention I was asked to show you.’ The gentleman chatted with them very affably. He drank some wine and ate a little, after which they took their leave and went.

  Parzival lay down, and the pages on their side set down his candles on the carpet. Then, seeing him asleep, they darted off.

  Parzival did not lie alone. Grim toil accompanied him till daybreak. Sorrows to come sent him their harbingers where he lay s
leeping, so that the anguish of the handsome youth fully equalled his mother’s in her anxious dream for Gahmuret. Parzival’s dream was quilted through and through at the seam with sword-blows and beyond it with many fine lance-thrusts: for in his sleep he suffered no little distress from charges delivered at full gallop. Waking, he would have suffered death thirty times over rather than this, so ill did my lord Disquiet pay him.

  Oppressed by these grim matters he perforce woke up sweating in every limb. And indeed the sun was shining through the windows.

  ‘Oh, where are the pages, seeing they are not in attendance here?’ he cried. ‘Who is to hand me my clothes?’ With such thoughts the warrior waited for them till he fell asleep again. Nobody spoke or called there: they all remained utterly hidden. Round about mid-morning the young valiant awoke for the second time and at once sat up.

  The doughty warrior saw his armour and two swords lying on the carpet. The one had been given him at his host’s command. The other was of Gaheviez.

  ‘Alas, what is the meaning of this?’ he quickly asked himself. ‘Clearly, I am meant to arm myself. Such anguish did I suffer in my sleep that I fancy there is toil in store for me today, now that I am awake! If the lord of this domain has been attacked I shall be glad to obey his commands and most faithfully those of the lady who so kindly lent me her new cloak. If only she wished to take a servitor! It would be fitting for me to do so for her sake, though not for her love, since to tell the truth my wife the Queen is as radiantly lovely in appearance or even more so.’

  Parzival did as he should. He armed himself completely from heel to crown so that he might give as good as he got, and he girded on both swords. The noble warrior went out at the door and found his charger tethered at the stair with his shield and lance propped up against it. This was just what he wanted. But before the trusty warrior took the saddle he ran through many a room calling for the denizens, but to his boundless indignation he neither heard nor saw a single person. Roused to fury he now ran to where he had dismounted the evening before on his arrival. Here the bare earth and lawn had been churned by trampling hooves, and the morning dew lay all scattered and marred. Yelling at the top of his voice the young man raced back to his horse and with angry shouts leapt into the saddle. He found the Gate wide open. Through it ran the tracks of many horses. He waited not a moment longer but crossed over the drawbridge at a brisk trot. A page who had remained hidden pulled the cable so sharply that the end all but toppled his horse into the moat. Parzival looked back in hope of learning more.

  ‘Damn you, wherever the sun lights your path!’ shouted the page. ‘You silly goose! Why didn’t you open your gob and ask my lord the Question? You’ve let slip a marvellous prize!’

  The visitor shouted that he wished to know all about it but was left without an answer. However much Parzival called to him, the page behaved as though walking in his sleep and slammed the Gate. At this disastrous juncture the page’s exit is all too sudden for Parzival, who is now mulcted of his happiness -happiness that has vanished from him without trace. When he chanced upon the Gral, his joy and sorrow were staked on one throw, with his eyes,* no hand, and no dice. If trouble is now rousing him to wakefulness he has so far been unused to it, he has not known much sorrow as yet.

  Parzival set out in pursuit hard on the tracks he saw. ‘I imagine the men who have ridden out ahead of me are fighting manfully today in my lord’s cause,’ he thought. ‘If they wished it, their tent-ring would be none the worse for my inclusion. I would not defect on the field but would stand by them in the thick of it and so pay for my supper and this splendid sword which their noble lord has given me, but which I wear undeserved. Perhaps they think me a coward?’

  He who was the negation of all that is perfidious followed the trail of hoof-prints. How his departure from that place saddens me!

  But now the tale outdoes itself. The tracks grew ever fainter. Those riding ahead had scattered so that their trail, once broad, was now narrow. Then, to his vexation, he lost it. The young man was soon to learn news that pained him deeply.

  The spirited young warrior heard the voice of a woman lamenting. The grass was still drenched in dew, and before him, seated in a linden, was a maiden, the wretched victim of her own fidelity. In her arms reclined a dead knight whose body had been embalmed. Any who saw her sitting thus without being moved to pity I should say lacked human kindness.

  Failing to recognize her for all that she was his cousin on his mother’s side, he turned his horse towards her. Compared with the signs of grief she had inflicted on her body all earthly fidelity was as nothing.

  ‘Madam,’ said Parzival after his greeting, ‘I am very sorry to see you so distressed. If you need my help in any way I am at your service.’

  She thanked him mournfully and asked him where he had come from. ‘It is not fitting for anyone to undertake a journey into this wilderness, since great harm may easily befall an unversed stranger here. I have heard, and seen it too, that many have lost their lives here, finding death in armed combat. Turn back, if you value your life! But first tell me where you passed the night.’

  ‘A mile or more back there is a castle more splendid than any I ever saw in all its varied magnificence. I rode out from it but a short while ago.’

  ‘You should not be so ready to deceive those who trust you,’ she said. ‘After all, your shield is a stranger’s. Riding this way from the ploughlands, though, the forest would have been too much for you. Neither timber nor stone has been hewn to make a dwelling for thirty miles around, except for a solitary castle, rich in all earthly splendours. If any seeks it out of set purpose, alas, he will not find it. Nevertheless, one-sees many who attempt it. Yet when someone is meant to see the castle it must come to pass unwittingly. I presume it is unknown to you, sir. Its name is Munsalvæsche, and the broad realm which subserves the stronghold is Terre de Salvæsche. Ancient Titurel be- queathed it to his son King Frimutel – such was the warrior’s name – and many laurels did he win with his strong right hand, till, impelled by the passion of love, he met his death in joust. He left four noble sons and daughters, of whom three, for all their lofty rank, live in misery. The fourth lives in humble poverty and this he does as penance in God’s name. He is called Trevrizent. His brother Anfortas can only lean – he can neither ride nor walk, nor yet lie down or stand. He is lord of Munsalvæsche and is dogged by misfortune from on high. If you had made your way to that sorrowing company, sir,’ she continued, ‘that lord would have been rid of the suffering he has borne all this long time.’

  ‘I saw great marvels there,’ the Waleis told the maiden, ‘and bevies of comely ladies.’ She knew him by his voice.

  ‘You are Parzival!’ she said. ‘Now tell me, did you see the Gral and his lordship all desolate of joy? Tell me the glad tidings! If an end has been put to his agony, happy you for your Heaven-blest journey! For you shall be high over all that air enfolds, creatures wild and tame shall minister to you! Majesty without confine has been assigned to you!’

  ‘How did you recognize me?’ asked the warrior Parzival.

  ‘I am the maiden who lamented her sorrows to you once before,’ she answered, ‘and who told you who you are. Your mother is my maternal aunt: you have no cause to be ashamed of our relationship. She is a flower of womanly modesty that shines translucent without the dew! May God reward you for having felt such pity for my friend who lay dead to me from a lance-thrust. I hold him here. Now judge of the grief God gave me through him by not letting him live any longer. All manly qualities were his. His dying tormented me then, and ever since. As day has followed day, I have come to know new griefs.’

  ‘Alas, where are your red lips? Can you be Sigune, who told me so frankly who I am? Your head has been bared of its long brown tresses. When I saw you in the Forest of Brizljan you looked very lovely despite the sorrow you bore. But now you have lost both colour and strength. Such harsh company as you have would irk me if it were mine. Come, we must bury this dead man.’
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br />   The tears from her eyes bedewed her clothes. Indeed, such thoughts as Lady Lunete appealed to were alien to her. For Lunete said: ‘Let this man live who slew your husband. He will make ample amends to you.’ Sigune desired no amends – unlike those fickle women one sees, and they are many, of whom I shall say nothing. Radier, hear more about Sigune’s fidelity.*

  ‘If anything can still give me pleasure,’ she said, ‘it would be this one thing: that the man of sorrows be released from living death. If you left after helping him you have earned high praise. You are wearing his sword at your waist. If you know its secret magic you will be able to fight without fear. Its edges run true. It was fashioned by the hand of high-born Trebuchet. Beside Karnant there is a spring from which the King takes his name of ”Lac”. The sword will stay whole for one blow, but at the second it will fall apart. If you will then take it back, it will be made whole again in that same stream, only you must take the water where it leaps from under the rock before the ray of dawn lights on it. The name of that spring is “Lac”. If the fragments of that sword are not scattered beyond recovery and someone pieces them together again, as soon as they are wetted by this water, the weld and the edges will be made one again, and far stronger than ever before, and its pattern will not have lost its sheen.† The sword requires a magic spell, yet I fear you have left it behind. Yet if your lips have learned to utter it, good fortune abounding will grow and bear seed with you forever! Dear Cousin, believe me, all the marvels you ever encountered must be at your command and you can wear a crown of bliss in majesty over all the noble. You will have in plenitude all that one can wish for here on earth. There will be none so well endowed that he could vie with you in splendour! – If you duly asked the Question.’