‘I will bid my old spouse* kiss your handsome self,’ said Arthur. ‘You have no need to ask a kiss of anyone here, since you have ridden out from Belrepeire where the supreme goal of all kissing resides! Yet there is one thing I should like to beg of you – that if I should ever visit you in your own home you will pay me back this kiss.’
‘I shall do entirely as you wish, there and in other places,’ replied die Waleis. And now the Queen stepped a short way towards Parzival and welcomed him with a kiss.
‘I forgive you in all sincerity for having bereaved me,’ she said. ‘Such sorrow did you give me when you took King Ither’s life.’ From this reconciliation the Queen’s eyes grew moist with tears, since Ither’s death brought pain to women.
King Clamide was seated over towards the bank of the Plimi-zœl, and Jofreit fiz Idœl was sitting beside him. The Waleis was asked to sit between Clamide and Gawan. My source gives me as its assessment that no man suckled at a mother’s breast ever sat in this ring whose noble mien belied him less than Parzival’s; for the Waleis brought the glow of youth and strength with him. When you looked at him closely you had to admit that many a lady has viewed herself in a glass more dim than his mouth. I will tell you of the skin that covered his chin and cheeks. – His complexion would serve as tongs, for it would grip a woman’s constancy so that her innate fickleness could be whittled down to nothing! I refer to women who forsake their lovers and forget the ties that joined them. Parzival’s dazzling looks were thus a bond of feminine constancy! Where he was concerned, their fickleness vanished. Their gaze received him loyally, and he passed through their eyes into their hearts.
Men and women alike wished Parzival well, and he enjoyed their esteem – till sighs and groans put a term to it. For now came a maiden of whom I must speak, one praised for integrity, but whose manners were quite crazy. Her news brought pain to many.
Now hear how this damsel rode. She was mounted on a mule as high as a castilian, a dun, with its nostrils much incised and with marks of the searing-iron such as proclaim the galled steeds of Hungary. Great care had gone into the making of her costly bridle and harness. The beast’s gait was not open to cavil. She herself did not look like a lady. Oh why did she have to come? Whatever the cause, she was there, and there was nothing to be done about it. She brought suffering to Arthur’s Company.
She was so talented that she spoke all languages – Latin, Arabic and French. She was on easy terms with such learned matters as dialectic and geometry, and she had mastered astronomy. Her name was Cundrie, her nickname ‘The Sorceress’. Her mouth suffered from no impediment, for what it said was quite enough. With it she flattened much joy upstanding.
In appearance this learned damsel did not resemble those whom we call fine people. This hail-storm so destructive of happiness had donned a fine fabric of Ghent such as bridal gowns are made of, bluer even than azure and made up into a travelling cloak well cut in the French fashion. On the underside next her body there was good brocade. A hat of peacock-feathers from London, lined with cloth-of-gold – the hat was new, its ribbon not old – hung down over her back.
Her news was a bridge, it carried grief across joy. She snatched away the merriment of that company there.
A plait of her hair fell down over the hat and dangled on her mule – it was long, black, tough, not altogether lovely, about as soft as boar’s bristles. Her nose was like a dog’s, and to the length of several spans a pair of tusks jutted from her jaws. Both eyebrows pushed past her hair-band and drooped down in tresses. In the interests of truth I have erred against propriety in having to speak thus of a lady, yet no other has cause to complain of me.
Cundrie’s ears resembled a bear’s. Her rugged visage was not such as to rouse a lover’s desire. In her hand she held a knout, the lashes of which were of silk, the stock of ruby. This fetching sweetheart had hands the colour of ape-skin. Her finger-nails were none too transparent, for my source tells me that they looked like a lion’s claws. Seldom (or never?) were lances broken for her love.
Thus it was that this fount of sorrow, oppressor of joy, came riding into the ring as she made her way to their lord. Lady Cunneware de Lalant was sharing a platter there with Arthur, while die Queen of Janfuse* was paired with Ginover.
King Arthur was seated there in high state. Cundrie rode on into the Briton’s presence and addressed him in French, and though I am to tell you in German, her announcement does not please me too well.
Fil li roy Utepandragun, what you have done here has put you and many Britons to shame! The pick from every land would be sitting here in high honour had not some canker spoilt the vintage of their fame! – Now that Perfidy has joined it the Table Round has been destroyed! King Arthur, you once stood high above your peers for glory, but your ascendant fame now plunges down! Your prestige, which used to go by leaps and bounds, hobbles at the rear! Your praises are declining from their zenith! Your high name stands revealed as counterfeit!
‘The mighty reputation of the Table Round has been maimed by the presence at it of Lord Parzival, who moreover wears the insignia of knighthood. You call him “The Red Knight” after the man slain at Nantes. Their two lives were not alike – lips never told of any knight so perfect in his qualities as Ither.’
Leaving the King, Cundrie now rode to the Waleis. ‘In causing me to deny my salutation to Arthur and his Retinue,’ said she, ‘you have divorced me from my custom. A curse on your fair looks and manly limbs! Were peace and conciliation mine to bestow, you would go begging for them! You think me monstrous, yet I am less monstrous, far, than you! Now explain to me, Lord Parzival, how it came about that when the Sorrowful Angler was sitting there, joyless and despondent, you failed to free him from his sighs! He made the load of grief he bore apparent to your eyes. O heartless guest! You ought to have had compassion on his sufferings. May your mouth be as empty – I mean of your tongue – as your heart is void of feeling! In Heaven, before the seat of the Most High, you are assigned to Hell as you will be assigned here on earth, if noble people come to their senses. You ban on salvation, curse on felicity, you disdainer of flawless fame! For where manly honour counts, you are timid, and as to noble esteem you are so far gone that no physician can cure you. If someone will administer the oath, I will swear on your head that no man of your looks was ever more perfidious. You feathered hook,* you viper’s fang ! Did not your host present you with a sword you never deserved? By your silence you acquired great sin. You are the sport of Hell’s guardians. You man devoid of honour, Lord Parzival ! Moreover, you saw the Gral carried into your presence, the keen knives of silver and the Bloody Lance! You ender of joy, donor of sorrow ! Had you thought of asking there at Mun-salvaesche, your Question would have brought you more than Tabronit, city of fabled wealth in heathendom, could give. Feirefiz Angevin, whose manly courage never failed him – that same courage possessed by him that was father to you both – won the queen of that country with fierce deeds of arms! -Your brother has a quite marvellous peculiarity, for believe it or not, this son of the Queen of Zazamanc is mottled black and white! – And with that my thoughts return to Gahmuret from whose heart the tares of perfidy had been weeded out. Your father took his name from Anjou and left you qualities that ill accord with your deeds, for you are dead to honour. Had your mother ever misbehaved I should easily be persuaded you are not his son. But no, her constancy proved a cause of suffering to her. You must believe good things of her, and that your father was versed in manly loyalty and was indeed a gaping trap of high renown! His was a rollicking nature. The heart within his breast was great, his spleen was small. He was a creel, no, an entire rapacious fish-weir, the dauntless man was adept in catching famel But your renown has now proved false. Alas, that it was ever made known by me that Herzeloyde’s child has strayed thus from the path of fame!’
Cundrie abandoned herself to grief. She wrung her hands and wept, with the tears falling fast on each other as great sorrow pressed them from her lids. It was goodness of heart th
at taught this damsel how to lament her woe. And now she turned to their lord again and announced new matters.
‘Is there some worthy knight here whose manly heart yearns for renown and for exalted love as well? I know of four queens and four hundred young ladies, a delight to see. They reside at Schastel marveile. Compared with what one could achieve there, with its noble prize of lofty love, all other adventures are vain! Though the journey will give me much discomfort I intend to be there tonight.’
Without asking leave to go, the unhappy damsel rode from the circle. Many a backward look did she cast through her tears. Now hear the last words she spoke.
‘Acme of sorrow, ah Munsalvæsche! Alas, that none will console you !’
Cundrie the Sorceress, sour yet proud, has mortified die Waleis. How could the promptings of a brave heart and truly manly breeding help him now? Nevertheless, he has a further resource, a sense of shame that reigns supreme over all his ways. His deeds were free of all that deserves the name of falseness, since a sense of shame is rewarded in the end by esteem and, when all is said and done, is the soul’s crowning glory and a virtue to be practised above all others.
The first to weep because that odd creature Cundrie the Sorceress had denounced the brave knight Parzival was Cunne-ware. And heartfelt grief brought tears to the eyes of many a noble lady you could then see weeping there.
Cundrie, source of their laments, had ridden away. But now a high-spirited knight comes riding up. His armour from feet to head-guard they rated as of the finest quality – his crest and other adornments were magnificent, and his charger and his person were armed as befits a knight. He found them here in the ring all desponding, men, women and maidens. He rode towards them, hear in what terms.
His heart was proud, yet fraught with sorrow. I will explain this double state. His pride sprang from manly courage, his sorrow from mortal wrong. He rode to the confines of the ring. Did they form a jostling crowd round him? A throng of pages darted towards him to welcome the noble man, but both he and his escutcheon were unknown to them. He did not remove his helmet, and, unhappy man, carried his sword in his hands, covered in its sheath.* He asked after two men – ‘Where are Arthur and Gawan?’ – and the boys pointed them out to him.
And so in his costly surcoat adorned with gleaming brocade he went through the broad ring. He halted before the lord of the Round Assembly, and these were his words.
‘God preserve King Arthur, and his vassals and the ladies! I offer my humble greetings to all I see here. Only to one do I deny my good will, and he shall never have it. For I wish to live in his enmity. Whatever enmity he can muster, blow for blow, this enemy shall requite his enmity! Let me name the man I mean. Alas, poor me, that he left such a gash in my heart! The sorrow I have from him is too great! I mean Lord Gawan here, who has done many glorious deeds and won himself high renown. Yet he was in die grip of infamy when his ambition took him to the lengths of slaying my lord in the act of greeting! It was Judas’s kiss that inspired him with that thought! It pains a myriad hearts that my lord suffered bitter death by murder! If Lord Gawan denies this charge let him make answer in single combat on the fortieth day from now in the presence of the King of Ascalun in the capital city of Schanpfanzun. I summon him to appear there armed and ready to do battle with me. Unless he defect from the Office of the Shield I would remind him further of what he owes his helmet and the whole code of chivalry. Chivalry is endowed with two rich revenues: a true sense of shame, and noble loyalty. These bring renown, now as in the past. If Lord Gawan desires to share the company of those of the Table Round over there, he must not behave in shameless fashion. For were a traitor to sit at it, it would breach its constitution. But I am not here to rail. Believe me, since you have heard it, I demand not abuse but battle, whose price is nothing short of death or life with honour, if fortune so decide.’
The King sat mute and ill at ease. He then answered the charge in these terms.
‘Sir, he is my nephew on my sister’s side. Were Gawan dead I would myself fight the duel rather than leave his bones un-cleansed of the charge of treachery. But if fortune pleases, Gawan’s own hand shall make it plain to you in battle that his conduct is honest and true, and that, he has never been guilty of treachery. If perhaps some other man has wronged you, do not bruit Gawan’s shame abroad in this fashion without cause. For if he becomes reconciled with you by establishing his innocence, you will have slandered him enough in this short space to have harmed your own good name in the eyes of the discerning.’
Dashing Beacurs, Lord Gawan’s brother, leapt to his feet. ‘Sire,’ said he impetuously, ‘it is mine to stand as surety at whatever place of combat is appointed for Gawan! It rouses me mightily that he should be called a traitor! If you persist in accusing him, address yourself to me – I am his surety and will fight the duel in his stead. When high repute, such as beyond all cavil Gawan enjoys, is brought low, it cannot be settled with words! ‘
Beacurs then went to where his brother was sitting and, falling on his knees, pleaded with him as you shall hear.
‘Remember, brother, that you have always helped me to attain honour. To spare you all the trouble, let me be your hostage and champion. If I survive the ordeal, you will have undying glory of it.’ And he continued to entreat him for the sake of his brother’s renown.
‘I have enough sense, brother, not to grant your brotherly request,’ replied Gawan. ‘I. do not know why I must fight, nor do I much care for duelling, so I should be loth to deny you were it not that I should be dishonoured.’ Beacurs begged and implored him.
The stranger had not moved from his place. ‘I am being offered battle by a man I never heard of,’ he interposed. ‘I have nothing to seek in that quarter. If he be strong, brave, handsome, loyal and mighty in full measure, he may stand surety all the better: I have no quarrel with him. The man for whose sake I have embarked on this wrangle was my lord and kinsman. Our fathers were brothers who never failed one another. There is no crowned head whom my birth would not fully entitle me to call to account in single combat, and on whom I might not undertake vengeance. I am a Prince of Ascalun, Landgrave of Schanpfanzun - Kingrimursel by name! If Lord Gawan cares for his honour he will have no recourse but to come and fight a duel with me there. I guarantee that none shall molest him throughout the land, bar me alone: outside the duelling-ring I faithfully promise him peace. May God preserve all whom I now leave, save one – he himself well knows why.’
With these words the illustrious man departed from the Vale of Plimizœl.
As soon as Kingrimursel had named himself, upon my soul, was he not recognized! The noble reputation of this seasoned prince was far-flung, and all agreed that Lord Gawan had cause to fear the duel opposite the tested manhood of the great baron now riding away from them. Moreover, sad feelings had prevented many from duly honouring him, since, as you have heard, news had come to court such as might easily cause a stranger to be left without a welcome from his host. From Cundrie, too, they had learned Parzival’s name and lineage: that a queen had given birth to him; and how the Angevin had won her.
‘I well recall,’ said many a man, ‘that he won her below the walls of Kanvoleiz galloping at full tilt in a series of splendid charges, and that he earned the heavenly girl with dauntless courage. The much-fêted Ampflise, too, had tutored Gahmuret so that he became a courteous knight. Now all Britons should rejoice that this hero has come to us where his reputation, like Gahmuret’s before him, is known to be well-founded. True Nobility was ever his yoke-mate! ’
To Arthur’s company that day both joy and lamentation had come, such a chequered existence was the lot of die warriors there. They rose to their feet round die whole ring and gave way to measureless sorrow. Men of high esteem hastened over to where the Waleis and Gawan were standing together and consoled them as best they could.
It seemed to die high-born Clamide that he had lost more than any there and that his pain was much too keen. ‘Even though you visited the Gral,’ he
said to Parzival, ‘I must say in all seriousness that whatever has been narrated about the wealth of Tribalibot in heathendom and the Mountains of Caucasus, too, not to mention the splendour of die Gral itself, all this would not recompense me for the mortal pain I got below Bel-repeire! Ah, wretched, ill-fated man that I am! – And it was you who parted me from my happiness! Now here is Lady Cunneware de Lalant. This noble Princess for her part is set on doing your bidding to the point where she will let no man serve her, rich though her reward might be. She may nevertheless be tired of having me here as her prisoner all this long time. If I am ever to know happiness again you must help me. See to it that she honours herself so that her love makes part-amends to me for what you made me lose when I missed die pinnacle of bliss! But for you, I would surely have attained it. So now help me to this girl.’
‘That I will,’ replied the Waleis, ‘if she courteously grants a request. I should be glad to make amends to you, since the lady who you say is a cause of sorrow to you is mine – I refer to lovely Condwiramurs.’
The infidel lady of Janfuse, Arthur and his Queen, Cunneware de Lalant and Lady Jeschute of Karnant came over to console Clamide. What more was there to do? They gave him Cunneware, for he was suffering torments of love for her. In return he gave her his person, her head a crown.
Having witnessed this, the infidel lady of Janfuse addressed the Waleis. ‘Cundrie named a man to us,’ said she, ‘of whom I fully approve as your brother. His sway reaches out far and wide. The powers of two kingdoms subserve him fearfully on land ways and at sea. The lands of Azagouc and Zazamanc are altogether mighty. Apart from die Baruc’s riches (wherever they are fabled of) and Tribalibot, your brother’s wealth is beyond compare. His skin has a most marvellous sheen, for in outward appearance he is remote from all other men – he shows both black and white! On my way here I passed through one of his lands, and he would gladly have turned me from my journey. He tried but did not succeed. I am the daughter of his mother’s maternal aunt! As to him, he is an august monarch! Let me tell you further marvels of him. Jousting with him no man ever kept his saddle. His renown is of the highest worth. No person ever suckled was so magnanimous as he. His ways are the very negation of all falsity. In exploits done for ladies’ sakes, Feirefiz Angevin became inured to hardship. However strange it was for me here, I came for new experience and to learn about Adventure. Now you bear the marks of heavenly favour to the glory of all Christendom, if helped by noble conduct, seeing one can truthfully ascribe to you handsome looks and manly ways. And strength and youth go with them.’
Parzival Page 18