{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/wikisource_The_Mediaeval_Mind_Chapter_24/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/wikisource_The_Mediaeval_Mind_Chapter_24","id":"wikisource_The_Mediaeval_Mind_Chapter_24","license":"Public Domain / CC-BY-SA (see source)","rights_basis":"wikisource_site_inclusion_policy","source":"wikisource","source_url":"https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/The_Mediaeval_Mind/Chapter_24","summary":null,"tags":["Headers_applying_DefaultSort_key","Subpages"],"text":"CHAPTER XXIV\n\nPARZIVAL, THE BRAVE MAN SLOWLY WISE\n\nThe instances of romantic chivalry and courtly love reviewed\nin the last chapter exemplify ideals of conduct in some\nrespects opposed to Christian ethics. But there is still a\nfamous poem of chivalry in which the romantic ideal has\ngained in ethical consideration and achieved a hard-won\nagreement with the teachings of mediaeval Christianity, and\nyet has not become monkish or lost its knightly character.\nThis poem told of a struggle toward wisdom and toward\npeace; and the victory when won rested upon the broadest\nmediaeval thoughts of life, and therefore necessarily included\nthe soul's reconcilement to the saving ways of God. Yet it\nwas knighthood's battle, won on earth by strength of arm,\nby steadfast courage, and by loyalty to whatsoever through\nthe weary years the man's increasing wisdom recognized as\nright. A monk, seeking salvation, casts himself on God;\nthe man that battles in the world is conscious that his own\nendeavour helps, and knows that God is ally to the valiant\nand not to him who lets his hands drop\u2014even in the lap\nof God.\n\nAmong the romances presumably having a remote Breton origin, and somehow connected with the Court of Arthur, was the tale of Parzival, the princely youth reared in foolish ignorance of life, who learned all knighthood's lessons in the end, and became a perfect worshipful knight. This tale was told and retold. The adventures of another knight, Gawain, were interwoven in it. Possibly the French poet, Chr\u00e9tien de Troies, about the year 1170, in his retelling, first brought into the story the conception of that thing, that magic dish, which in the course of its retellings\nbecame the Holy Grail. Chr\u00e9tien did not finish his poem,\nand after him others completed or retold the story. Among\nthem there was one who lacked the smooth facility of\nthe French Trouv\u00e8re, yet surpassed him and all others in\nthoughtfulness and dramatic power. This was the Bavarian,\nWolfram von Eschenbach. He was a knight, and wandered\nfrom castle to castle and from court to court, and saw men.\nHis generous patron was Hermann, Landgraf of Th\u00fcringen,\nwho held court on the Wartburg, near Eisenach. There\nWolfram may have composed his great poem in the opening\nyears of the thirteenth century. He was no clerk, and had\nno clerkly education. Probably he could neither read nor\nwrite. But he lived during the best period of mediaeval\nGerman poetry, and the Wartburg was the centre of gay\nand literary life. Walther von der Vogelweide was one of\nWolfram's familiars in its halls.\n\nWolfram knew and disapproved of Chr\u00e9tien's version of\nthe Perceval; and said the story had been far better told\nby a certain Kyot, a singer of Provence. Nothing is known of the latter beyond Wolfram's praise. Perhaps he was an invention of Wolfram's; not infrequently mediaeval\npoets referred to fictitious sources. At all events, Wolfram's\nsources were French or Proven\u00e7al. In large measure the\nbest German mediaeval poetry was an adaptation of the\nFrench; a fact which did not prevent the German\nadaptations from occasionally surpassing the French works they\nwere drawn from. In the instance of Wolfram's Parzival,\nas in that of Gottfried von Strassburg's Tristan, the German\npoems were the great renderings of these tales.\n\nAs our author was a thoughtful German, his style is\ndifficult and involved. Yet he had imagination, and his poem is great in the climaxes of the story. It is a poem\nof the hero's development, his spiritual progress. Apparently\nit was Wolfram who first realized the profound significance\nof the Parzival legend. Both the choice of subject and the\ncontents of the poem reflect his temperament and opinions.\nWolfram was a knight, and chose a knightly tale; for him\nknightly victories were the natural symbols of a man's\nprogress. He was also one living in the world, prizing its\ngifts, and entertaining merely a perfunctory approval of\nascetic renunciation. The loyal love between man and\nwoman was to him earth's greatest good, and wedlock did\nnot yield to celibacy in righteousness. Let fame and\npower and the glory of this world be striven for and won\nin loyalty and steadfastness and truth, in service of those\nwho need aid, in mercy to the vanquished and in humility\nbefore God, with assurance that He is truth and loyalty and\npower, and never fails those who obey and serve Him.\n\n\"While two wills (Zvifel, Zweifel = doubt) dwell near the heart,\nthe soul is bitter. Shamed and graced the man whose dauntless\nmood is\u2014piebald! In him both heaven and hell have part.\nBlack-coloured the unsteadfast comrade; white the man whose\nthoughts keep troth. False comradeship is fit for hell fire. Likewise let women heed whither they carry their honour, and on whom\nthey bestow their love, that they may not rue their troth. Before\nGod, I counsel good women to observe right measure. Their\nfortress is shame: I cannot wish them better weal. The false one\ngains false reward; her praise vanishes. Wide is the fame of many\na fair; but if her heart be counterfeit, 'tis a false gem set in gold.\nThe woman true to womanhood, be hers the praise\u2014not lessened\nby her outside hue.\n\n\"Shall I now prove and draw a man and woman rightly? Hear\nthen this tale of love joy and anguish too. My story tells of\nfaithfulness, of woman's truth to womanhood, of man's to manhood,\nnever flinching. Steel was he; in strife his conquering hand still\ntook the guerdon; he, brave and slowly wise, this hero whom I\ngreet, sweet in the eyes of women, heart's malady for them as well,\nhimself a very flight from evil deed.\"\n\nSuch is Wolfram's Prologue. The story opens in a\nforest, where Queen Herzeloide had buried herself with her\ninfant son after the death in knightly battle of Prince Gahmuret, her husband. The broken-hearted, foolish mother\nis seeking to keep her boy in ignorance of arms and knights.\nHe has made himself a bow; he shoots a bird\u2014its song\nis hushed. This is the child's first sorrow, and childish\nignorance has been the cause; as afterwards youth's folly\nand then man's lack of wisdom will cause that child, grown\nlarge, more lasting anguish. Now to see a bird makes his\ntears start. His still foolish mother orders her servants to\nkill them. The boy protests, and the mother with a quick\ncaress declares the birds shall have peace, she will no more\ninfringe God's commands. At this unknown name the boy\ncries out, \"O mother! what is God?\" \"Son, I will tell\nthee. Brighter than the day is He\u2014who put on a human\nface. Pray to Him in need; His faithfulness helps men\never. There is another, hell's chief, black and false.\nKeep thy thoughts from him and from doubt's waverings.\"\nAway springs the boy again; and in the forest he learns to\nthrow the hunting-spear and slay the stags. One day he\nhears the sounds of hoofs. He waves his spear: \"May now\nthe devil come in all his rage; I'd stand against him. My\nmother speaks of him in dread; but she is just afraid.\"\nThree knights gallop up in glancing armour. He thinks\neach is a god; falls on his knees before them. \"Help, god,\nsince thou canst help so well!\" \"This fool blocks our\npath,\" cries one. A fourth, their lord, rides up, and the\nboy calls him God.\n\n\"God?\u2014not I; I gladly do His behests. Thou seest\nfour knights.\"\n\n\"Knights? what is that? If thou hast not God's\npower, then tell me, who makes knights?\"\n\n\"Young sir, that does King Arthur; go to him. He'll\nknight you\u2014you seem to knighthood born.\"\n\nThe knights gazed on the boy, in whom God's craft\nshowed clear. The boy touches their armour, their swords.\nThe prince speaks over him: \"Had I thy beauty! God's\ngifts to thee are great\u2014if thou wilt wisely fare. May He\nkeep sorrow from thee! \"The knights rode on, while the\nboy sped to his mother, to tell her what he had seen. She\nwas speechless. The boy would go to Arthur's Court. So\nshe bethought her of a silly plan, to put fool's garb on him, that insult and scoff might drive him back to her. She\nalso gave him counsel, wise and foolish.\n\nSo the youth is launched. He rides away; his mother\ndies of grief. As his path winds on, he finds a lady asleep\nin a pavilion, and following his mother's counsel he kisses\nher, and takes her ring by force; trouble came from this\ndeed of folly. Then he meets with Sigune, mourning a\ndead knight. He stops and promises to avenge her. She\nwas his cousin and, recognizing him, called him by name,\nand spoke to him of his lineage. Then the youth is piloted\nby a fisherman, till, in the neighbourhood of Arthur's Court,\nhe meets a knight, Ither, in red armour, who greets him,\npoints out the way, and sends a challenge to Arthur and\nhis Round Table. Parzival now finds himself at Arthur's\nthronging Court. The young Iwein first speaks to him and\nthe fool-youth returns: \"God keep thee\u2014so my mother\nbade me say. Here I see so many Arthurs; who is it that\nwill make me knight?\" Iwein, laughing, leads him to the\nroyal pavilion, where he says: \"God keep you, gentles,\nespecially the king and his wife\u2014as my mother bade me\ngreet\u2014and all the honoured knights of the Round Table.\nBut I cannot tell which one here is lord. To him a red\nknight sends a challenge; I think he wants to fight. O!\nmight the king's hand grant me the Red Knight's harness!\"\nThey crowd around the glorious youth. \"Thanks, young sir,\nfor your greeting which I shall hope to earn,\" said the king.\n\n\"Would to God!\" cried the young man, quivering with\nimpatience; \"the time seems years before I shall be knight.\nGive me knighthood now.\"\n\n\"Gladly,\" returns the king. \"Might I grant it to you\nworthily. Wait till to-morrow that I may knight you duly\nand with gifts.\"\n\n\"I want no gifts\u2014only that knight's armour. My\nmother can give me gifts; she is a queen.\"\n\nArthur feared to send the raw youth against the noble\nIther, but yielded to the malignant spurring of Sir Kay,\nand Parzival rode out with his unknightly hunting-spear.\nAbruptly he bade Ither give him his horse and armour, and\non the knight's sarcastic answer, grasped his horse's bridle.\nThe angry Ither reversed his lance, and with the butt end struck down Parzival and his sorry nag. Parzival sprang\nto his feet and threw his spear straight through the visor of\nthe other's helmet; and the knight fell from his horse, dead.\nWith brutal stupidity Parzival tried to pull his armour off,\nnot knowing how to unlace it. Iwein came and showed\nhim how to remove and wear the armour, and how to carry\nhis shield and lance. So clad in Ither's armour and\nmounted on the great war-horse, he bids Iwein commend\nhim to King Arthur, and rides off, leaving the other to care\nfor the body of the dead knight.\n\nIn the evening he reached the castle of an aged prince,\nwho saw the marvellous youth come riding, with the fool\ngarments showing out from under his armour. Courteously\nreceived, the youth enjoyed a bath, a repast, and a long\nnight's sleep. Fortunately his mother had bade him follow\nthe counsels of grey hairs; so in the morning he put on the\ngarments which his host had left in his room for him, instead\nof what his mother gave. The host first heard mass with\nhis simple guest, and instructed him as to its significance,\nand how to cross himself and guard against the devil's wiles.\nThen they breakfasted, and the old man, having heard\nParzival's story, advised him to leave off saying \"My mother\nbade me,\" and gave him further counsel: \"Preserve thy\nshame; the shameless man is worthless, and at last, wins\nhell. You seem a mighty lord, mind you take pity on those\nin need; be kind and generous and humble. The worthy\nman in need is shamed to beg; anticipate his wants; this\nbrings God's favour. Yet be prudent, neither lavish nor\nmiserly; right measure be your rule. Sorely you need\ncounsel; avoid harsh conduct, do not ask too many questions,\nnor yet refuse to answer a question fitly asked; observe and\nlisten. Let mercy temper valour. Spare him who yields,\nwhatever wrong he has done you. When you lay off your\narmour, wash your hands and face; make yourself neat;\nwoman's eye will mark it. Be manly and gay. Hold\nwomen in respect and love; this increases a young man's\nhonour. Be constant\u2014that is manhood's part. Short his\npraise who betrays honest love. The night-thief wakes\nmany foes; against treachery true love has its own wisdom\nand resource. Gain its disfavour and your lot is shame.\"\n\nThe guest thanked the host for his counsel. He spoke\nno more of his mother save in his heart. Then his host,\nremarking that he had seen many a shield hang better on a\nwall than Parzival's on him, took him out into a field; and\nthere in the company of other knights he instructed him in\njousting, and found him a ready and resistless pupil. The\nold man looked fondly on him\u2014his daughter Liasse\u2014she\nis fair\u2014would not Parzival think so, and stay as a son in\nthe now sonless house? Fair and chaste was the damsel,\nbut Parzival says: \"My lord, I am not wise. If I gain\nknighthood's praise so that I may look for love\u2014then keep\nLiasse for me. You shall have less weight of grief if I can\nlighten it.\"\n\nParzival's first experience of life and the old man's\ncounsels had changed him. He was no longer the callow\nboy who a few days before in the forest took the knights for\ngods, but a young man conscious of his inexperience and\nlack of wisdom. Perhaps the change seems sudden; but\nthe subtle development of character had not yet found\nliterary expression in the Midde Ages, and Wolfram here is\na great pioneer.\n\nSo the young knight rode away, carrying secret thoughts\nof the maiden, and a little pain, his heart lightly touched\nwith love, and so made ready for a mightier passion. His\nhorse carried him on through woods and savage mountains,\nto the kingdom whose capital, Pelrapeire, was besieged,\nbecause it held its queen, Condwiramurs (coin de voire amors). Within the town were famine and death, without,\na knightly, cruel foe, King Clamide, who fought to win the\nqueen by sack and ruin. Crossing a field and bridge where\nmany a knight had fallen, Parzival reached a gate and\nknocked. A maid called out, and finding that he brought\naid and not enmity, she admitted him. Armed men weak\nwith hunger fill the streets, through which the maid leads\nthe knight on to the palace. His armour is removed, a\nmantle brought him. \"Will he see the queen, our lady?\"\nask the attendants. \"Gladly,\" answers Parzival. They\nenter the great hall\u2014and the queen's fair eyes greet him.\nShe advances surrounded by her ladies. With courtesy she\nkisses the knight, gives him her hand, and leads him to a seat. The faces of her warriors and women are sad and\nworn; but she\u2014had she contended with Enit and both\nIseults fair, and whomsoever else men praise for beauty,\nhers had been the prize.\n\nThe guest mused: \"Liasse was there\u2014Liasse is here; God slacks my grief, here is Liasse.\" He sat silent by the queen, mindful of the old prince's advice not to ask questions. \"Does this man despise me,\" thought she,\n\"because I am no longer lovely? No, he is the guest, the hostess I; it is for me to speak.\" Then aloud: \"Sir, a hostess must speak. Your greeting won a kiss from me; you offered me your service\u2014so said my maid. Rare offer now! Sir, whence come you?\"\n\n\"Lady, I rode this very day from the house of the good,\nwell-remembered host, Prince Gurnemanz.\"\n\n\"Sir, I had hardly believed this from another; the way is so long. His sister was my mother. Many a sad day have I and his Liasse wept together. Since you bear kindness for that prince, I will tell you our grievous plight.\"\n\nThe telling is deferred till some refreshment is obtained,\nand then Parzival is shown to his chamber. He sleeps; but\nthe sound of sobbing breaks his slumber. The hapless\nqueen in her need had sought out her guest in the solitude\nof night; she had cast herself on her knees by his couch;\nher tears fall on him, and he awakes. Touched with love\nand pity at the sight, Parzival sprang up. \"Lady! you\nmock me? You should kneel to God.\" In honour they\nsit by each other, and the queen tells her story, how King\nClamide and his seneschal have wasted her lands, unhappy\norphan, slain her people, even her knightly defender, Liasse's\nbrother\u2014she will die rather than yield herself to him.\n\nLiasse's name stirs Parzival: \"How can I help you?\"\n\n\"Save me from that seneschal, who harries me and mine.\"\n\nParzival promises, and the queen steals away. The day\nis breaking, and Parzival hears the minster bells. Mass is\nsung, and the young knight arms and goes forth\u2014the\nburghers' prayers go with him\u2014against the host led by the\nseneschal. Parzival vanquishes him, grants him his life, and\nsends him to Arthur's Court. The townsmen receive the victor with acclaim, the queen embraces him. Who but he\nshall be her lord? So their nuptials were celebrated,\nalthough Parzival felt the reward to be too great; it were\nenough for him to touch her garment's hem. Soon King\nClamide himself ordered an assault upon the town, only to\nmeet repulse. He challenged Parzival, and, vanquished like\nhis seneschal, was likewise sent to Arthur's Court.\n\nLove was strong between Queen Condwiramurs and\nParzival her husband. One morning Parzival spoke to her\nin the presence of their people: \"Lady, please you, with\nyour permission, I would see how my mother fares and seek\nadventures. If thus I serve and honour you, your love is\nample guerdon.\"\n\nFrom his wife and from all those who called him Lord,\nParzival rode forth alone. He has to learn what pain and\nsorrow are; the first teaching came now, as longing for his\nwife filled his heart with grief. In the evening he reached\nthe shore of a lake, and saw a fisher in a boat, attired like a\nking. The fisher directed him to a castle, promising there\nto be his host. Following his directions, Parzival came to a\nmarvellously great castle, where, on saying that the fisher\nsent him, he was courteously received and his needs attended\nto. Sadness pervaded the great halls. The banquet-room,\nto which he was shown, was lighted by a hundred chandeliers,\nand around the walls were ranged a hundred couches. The\nhost entered and lay down on one of them, made like a\nstretcher; he seemed a stranger to joy. They covered him\nwith furs and mantles, as a sick man. He beckoned Parzival\nto sit by him. As the hall filled with people, a squire\nentered carrying a bleeding lance, whereupon all present\nmade lament. A procession of nobly clad ladies followed,\nbearing precious dishes, and at last among them a queen,\nRepanse de Schoye. She bore, upon a silken cushion, the\nfulness of all good, an object called the Grail. Only a\nmaiden pure and true might carry it. There also came six\nother maids bearing each a flashing goblet; and they set\ntheir burdens before the host. Water for the hands was then\nbrought to the host and to his guest, and to the knights ranged on the couches; and tables were placed before them\nall. A hundred squires came and reverently took from the\nGrail all manner of food and wine, which they set before the\nknights, whatever each might wish. Everything came from\nthe power of the Grail.\n\nParzival wondered, but kept silence, thinking of the old\nprince's counsel not to ask many questions, and hoping to\nbe told what all this might be. A squire brought a sword\nto the host, who gave it to the guest: \"I bore this sword in\nall need, until God wounded me. Take it as amends for\nour sad hospitality. Rely on it in battle.\"\n\nThe gift of the sword was Parzival's opportunity to ask\nhis host what had stricken him. He let it pass. The feast\nwas solemnly removed. \"Your bed is ready, whenever you\nwill rest,\" said the host; and Parzival was shown to a\nbedchamber, where he was left alone. But the knight did not\nsleep uncompanioned. Coming sorrow sent her messengers.\nDreams overhung him, as a tapestry, woven of sword-strokes\nand deadly thrusts of lance. He was fighting dark, endless,\nbattles for his life, till sweating in every limb he woke. Day\nshone through the window. \"Where are the knaves to fetch\nmy clothes?\" He heard no sound. He sprang up. His\narmour lay there, and the two swords\u2014the one which he took\nfrom Ither and the one given him by his host. Thought he:\n\"I have suffered such pain in my sleep, there must be hard\nwork for me to-day. Is mine host in need, I will gladly aid\nhim and her too, Repanse, who gave me this mantle; yet I\nwould not serve her for her love; my own wife is as\nbeautiful.\"\n\nParzival passed through the castle's empty halls, calling\naloud in anger. He saw no one, heard no sound. In the\ncourtyard he found his horse, and flung himself into the\nsaddle. He rode through the open castle-gate, over the\ndraw-bridge, which an unseen hand drew up before his\nhorse's hoofs had fairly cleared it. He looked behind him\nin surprise. A squire cursed him: \"May the sun scorch\nyou! Had you just used your mouth to ask a question of\nyour host! You missed it, goose!\" Parzival called for\nexplanation, but the gates were swung to in his face. His\njoy was gone, his pain begun. By chance throw of the dice he had found and lost the Grail. He sees the ground torn\nas by the hoofs of knights riding hard. \"These,\" thought\nhe, \"fight to-day for my host's honour. Their band would\nnot have been shamed by me. I would not fail them in\ntheir need\u2014so might I earn the bread I ate and this sword\nwhich their lord gave me. I carry it unearned. They\nthink I am a coward.\"\n\nHe followed the hoof tracks; they led him on a way,\nthen scattered and grew faint. The day was young. Under\na linden sat a lady, holding the body of a knight embalmed.\nWhat earthly troth compared with hers? He turned his\nhorse to her: \"Lady, your sorrow grieves my heart. Would\nmy service avail you?\"\n\n\"Whence come you? Many a man has found death in\nthis wood. Flee, as you love your life; but, say, where did\nyou spend the night?\"\n\n\"In a castle not a league from here.\"\n\n\"Do not deceive. You carry stranger shield. There\nis no house in thirty leagues, save one castle high and great.\nThose who seek it, find it not. It is only found unsought.\nMunsalvaesch its name. The ancient Titurel bequeathed it\nto his son Frimutel, a hero; but in the jousts he won his\ndeath from love. Of his children, one is a hermit, Trevrizent;\nanother, Anfortas, is the castle's lord, and can neither ride\nnor walk, nor sit nor lie. But, sir, if you were there, may\nbe that he is healed of his long pain.\"\n\n\"Many marvels saw I there,\" he answered.\n\nShe recognized the voice: \"You are Parzival. Say,\nthen, saw you the Grail and the joyless lord? If his pain\nis stilled through you, then hail! far as the wind blows\nspreads your glory, your dominion too.\"\n\n\"How did you know me?\" said Parzival.\n\n\"I am the maid who once before told you her grief,\nyour kinswoman, who mourns her lover slain.\"\n\n\"Alas! where are thy red lips? Art thou Sigune who\ntold me who I was? Where is fled thy long brown hair,\nthy loveliness and colour?\"\n\nSigune spoke: \"My only consolation were to hear that\nyou have helped the helpless man whose sword you bear.\nKnow you its gifts? The first stroke it strikes well, at the second, breaks; a word is needed that the sword may make\nits bearer peerless. Do you know this word? If so, none\ncan withstand you\u2014have you asked the question?\"\n\n\"I asked nothing.\"\n\n\"Woe is me that mine eyes have seen you! You asked\nno question! You saw such wonders there\u2014the Grail, the\nnoble ladies, the bloody spear. Wretched, accursed man,\nwhat would you have from me? Yours the false wolf-tooth!\nYou should have taken pity on your host, and asked his ail\u2014then\nGod had worked a miracle on him. You live, but\ndead to happiness.\"\n\n\"Dear cousin, speak me fair. I will atone for any ill.\"\n\n\"Atone? nay, leave that! At Munsalvaesch your\nhonour and your knightly praise vanished. You get no\nmore from me.\"\n\nParzival's fault was not accident; it sprang from what\nhe was\u2014unwise. He could atone only through becoming\nwise through the endurance of years of trial. The unhappy\nknight rode on, loosing his helmet to breathe more\nfreely. Soon he chanced to overtake the lady Jesute,\ntravelling on a mean horse in wretched guise, her garments\ntorn, her face disfigured. He offered aid, and she, recognizing\nhim, said with tears that her sorrows all were due to him;\nshe was the lady whose girdle and ring his fool's hand had\ntaken, and now her husband Orilus treated her as a woman\nof shame. Here the proud duke himself came thundering\nup, to see what knight dared aid his cast-off wife. Parzival\nconquered him after a long combat; and the three went to\na hermitage where the victor made oath that it was he who\ntook by force the ring and girdle from the blameless lady.\nReturning the ring to Orilus, he sent him with his lady,\nreconciled and happy, to Arthur's Court. Thus Parzival's\nknighthood made amends for his first foolish act. He\nfound a strong lance in the hermitage, took it, and departed.\n\nWhen Orilus and his lady had been received with honour\nat Arthur's Court, the king with all his knights set forth\ntowards Munsalvaesch to find the mighty man calling\nhimself the Red Knight, who had sent so many conquered\npledges of his prowess; for he wished to make him a knight\nof the Round Table. It was winter. Parzival\u2014the Red Knight\u2014came riding from the opposite direction. As he\ndrew near the encampment of the king, his eye lighted on\nthree drops of blood showing clear red in the fresh-fallen\nsnow; in mid air above, a wild goose had been struck by\na falcon. The knight paused in reverie\u2014red and white\u2014the\ncolours carried his thoughts to his heart's queen,\nCondwiramurs. There he sat, as a statue on his horse,\nwith poised spear; his thoughts had flown to her whose\nimage now closed his eyes to all else. A lad spied the\ngreat knight, and ran breathless to Arthur, to tell of the\nstranger who seemed to challenge all the Round Table.\nSegramors gained Arthur's permission to accost him. Out\nhe rode with ready challenge; Parzival neither saw nor\nheard, till his horse swerved at the knight's approach, so\nthat he saw the drops no longer. Then his mighty lance\nfell in rest, Segramors was hurled to the ground, and took\nhimself back discomfited, while Parzival returned to gaze\non the drops of blood, lost in reverie as before. Now Kay\nthe quarrelsome rode out, and roused the hero with a rude\nblow. The joust is run again, and Kay crawls back with\nbroken leg and arm. Again Parzival loses himself in reverie.\nAnd now courtly Gawain, best of Arthur's knights, rides\nforth, unarmed. Courteously he addresses Parzival, who\nhears nothing, and sits moveless. Gawain bethinks him it\nis love that binds the knight. Seeing that Parzival is\ngazing on three drops of blood, he gently covers them with\na silken cloth. Parzival's wits return; he moans: \"Alas,\nlady wife of mine, what comes between us? A cloud has\nhidden thee.\" Then, astonished, he sees Gawain\u2014a knight\nwithout lance or shield\u2014does he come to mock? With\nnoble courtesy Gawain disclosed himself and led the way to\nArthur's Court, where fair ladies and the king greeted the\nhero whom they had come to seek. A festival was ordained\nin his honour. The fair company of knights and ladies are\nseated about the Round Table; the feast is at its height,\nwhen suddenly upon a gigantic mule, a scourge in her rough\nhand, comes riding the seeress Cundrie, harsh and unlovely.\nStraight she addresses Arthur: \"Son of King Uterpendragon,\nyou have shamed yourself and this high company, receiving\nParzival, whom you call the Red Knight.\" She turns on Parzival: \"Disgrace fall on your proud form and strength!\nSir Parzival, tell me, how came it that you met that joyless\nfisher, and did not help him? He showed you his pain,\nand you, false guest, had no pity for him. Abhorred by all\ngood men, marked for hell by heaven's Highest, you ban\nof happiness and curse of joy! No leech can heal your\nsickened honour. Greater betrayal never shamed a man so\ngoodly. Your host gave you a sword; you saw them bear\nthe Grail, the silver dishes, and the bloody spear, and you,\ndishonoured Parzival, were silent. You failed to win earth's\nchiefest prize; your father had not done so\u2014are you his\nson? Yes, for Herzeloide was as true as he. Woe's me,\nthat Herzeloide's child has so let honour slip!\" Cundrie\nwrung her hands; her tears fell fast; she turned her mule\nand cried: \"Woe, woe to thee Munsalvaesch, mount of\npain; here is no aid for thee!\" And bidding none farewell,\nshe rode away, leaving Parzival to his shame, the knights to\ntheir astonishment, the ladies to their tears.\n\nCundrie was hardly out of sight, before another shame\nwas put on the Round Table. An armed knight rode in,\nand, accusing Gawain of murdering his king and cousin,\nsummoned him to mortal combat within forty days before\nthe King of Askalon. Arthur himself was ready to do\nbattle for Gawain, but that good knight accepted the\nchallenge with all courtesy.\n\nParzival's lineage was first known to the Court from\nCundrie's calling him by name and speaking of his mother.\nNow Clamide, once Condwiramurs's cruel wooer, begged the\nhero to intercede for him with another fair one, the lady\nCunneware. Parzival courteously complied. A heathen\nqueen then saluted him with the news that he had a\ngreat heathen half-brother, Feirefiz, the son of Parzival's\nfather by a heathen queen. Thanking her, Parzival spoke to\nthe company: \"I cannot endure Cundrie's reproach; what\nknight here does not look askance? I will seek no joy until\nI find the Grail, be the quest short or long. The worthy\nGurnemanz bade me refrain from questions. Honoured\nknights, your favour is for me to win again, for I have lost\nit. Me yet unshamed you took into your company; I\nrelease you. Let sorrow be my comrade; for I forsook my happiness on Munsalvaesch. Ah! helpless Anfortas!\nYou had small help from me.\"\n\nKnights and ladies were grieved to see the hero depart\nin such sorrow, and many a knight's service was offered him.\nThe lady Cunneware took his hand; Lord Gawain kissed\nhim and said: \"I know thy way is full of strife; God grant\nto thee good fortune, and to me the chance to serve thee.\"\n\n\"Ah! what is God?\" answered Parzival. \"Were He\nstrong He would not have put such shame on me and you.\nI was His subject from the hour I learned to ask His favour.\nNow I renounce His service. If He hates me, I will bear\nit. Friend, in thine hour of strife let the love of a woman\npure and true strengthen thy hand. I know not when I\nshall see thee again; may my good wishes towards thee be\nfulfilled.\"\n\nThe hero's arms are brought; his horse is saddled; his\ngrievous toil begins.\n\nWhy should long sorrow come to Parzival for not asking\na question, when his omission was caused neither by brutality\nnor ill will? when, on the contrary, he would gladly have\nserved his host? The relation between his conduct and his\nfortune seems lame. Yet in life as well as in literature,\nignorance and error bring punishment. Moreover, to\nmediaeval romance not only is there a background of\nsorcery and magic, but active elements of magic survive in\nthe tales. And nothing is more fraught with magic import\nand result than question and answer. Wolfram did not\ntreat as magical the effect upon his hero's lot of his failure\nto ask the question; but he retained the palpably magic\nimport of the act as affecting the sick Anfortas. It was\nhard that the omission should have brought Parzival to\nsorrow and despair; yet the fault was part of himself, and\nthe man so ignorant and unwise was sure to incur calamity,\nand also gain sorrow's lessons if he was capable of learning.\nSo the sequence becomes ethical: from error, calamity; from\ncalamity, grief; and from grief, wisdom. With Wolfram,\nParzival's fault was Parzival; failure to ask the question was\na symbol of his lack of wisdom. The poet was of his time;\nand mediaeval thought tended to symbolism, and to move, as it were, from symbol to symbol, and from symbolical\nsignificance to related symbolical significance, and indeed\noften to treat a symbol as if it were the fact which was\nsymbolized.\n\n\u00a0\n\nAt this point Wolfram's poem devotes some cantos to\nthe lighter-hearted adventures of Gawain. This valiant,\ncourtly, loyal knight and his adventures are throughout a\nfoil to the heavier lot and character of Parzival. But when\nGawain has had his due, the poet is glad to return to his\nrightful hero. Parzival has ridden through many lands; he\nhas sailed many seas; before his lance no knight has kept\nhis seat; his praise and fame are spread afar. Though he\nhas never been overthrown, the sword given him by Anfortas\nbroke; but with magic water Parzival welded it again. In\na forest one day he rode up to a hut, where Sigune was\nliving as a recluse, feeding her soul with thoughts of her\ndead lover, barring all fancies that might disunite her from\nthe dead whom she still held as her husband. Parzival\nrecognized her, and she him, when he removed his helm:\n\n\"You are Sir Parzival tell me,\u2014how is it with the Grail?\"\n\n\"It has given me sorrow enough; I left a land where\nI was king, a loving wife, fairest of women; I suffer\nanguish for her love, and more because of that high goal of\nMunsalvaesch which is not reached. Cousin Sigune, knowing\nmy sorrow, you do wrong to hate me.\"\n\n\"My wrath is spent. You have lost joy enough since\nthat time you failed to question Anfortas, your host\u2014your\nhappiness as well. Then that question would have blessed\nyou; now joy is denied you; your high mood halts; your\nheart is tamed by sorrow, which had stayed a stranger to it\nhad you asked the question.\"\n\n\"I acted as a luckless man. Dear cousin, counsel me\u2014but,\nsay, how is it with you? I should bemoan your grief\nwere not my own greater than man ever bore.\"\n\n\"Let His hand help you who knows all sorrow. A\npath might bring you yet to Munsalvaesch. Cundrie but\nnow rode hence\u2014follow her track.\"\n\nParzival started to follow the track of Cundrie's mule,\nwhich soon was lost, and with it the Grail was lost again. Without guidance he rode on. He overthrew a Grail\nknight, and took his horse, his own having been wounded\nin the combat. How long he rode I know not, says the\npoet. One frosty morning he met an aged knight\nunhelmeted, and walking barefoot with his wife and daughters.\nThe knight reproved him for riding armed on that holy day.\nParzival answered: \"I do not know the time of year;\nit is long since I kept count of days. Once I served Him\nwho is called God until He graced me with His mockery.\nHe helps, men say. I have not found it so.\"\n\n\"If you mean God who was born of a virgin,\" replied\nthe old knight, \"and believe that He took man's nature,\nyou do wrong to ride in armour; for this is the day when\nHe hung on the Cross for us. Sir, not far from here dwells\na holy man, who will give you counsel; you may repent\nand be absolved from your sins.\"\n\nParzival courteously took his leave. He had regarded\nhis failure to ask that question as a luckless error, had felt\nthat God was unjust to him, and had also doubted His\npower to aid. Now came wavering thoughts: \"What if\nGod might help my pain? If He ever favoured a knight,\nor if sword and shield might win His favour if to-day is\nHis day of help, let Him help me if He can. If God's craft\ncan show the way to man and horse, I'll honour Him. Go\nthen according to God's choosing.\"\n\nHe flung the bridle on his horse's neck, spurring him\nforward; and the horse carried him straight to the hermitage\nof holy Trevrizent, who fasted there to fit himself for\nheaven, his chastity warring with the devil. Parzival\nrecognized the place where he had sworn the oath to\nOrilus, to clear Jesute's honour. The hermit, seeing him,\nexclaimed: \"Alas! sir, that you ride equipped in this holy\nseason. Were you sore pressed? Another garb were fitter,\ndid your pride permit. Come by the fire. If you follow\nlove's adventure, think of that afterward, and this day seek\nthe love which this day gives.\"\n\nDismounting, Parzival stood respectfully before the\nhermit: \"Sir, advise me; I am a man of sin.\"\n\nHis host promised counsel and asked how he came\nthere. Parzival told of meeting the old knight, and inquired whether his host felt no fear at seeing him ride up. \"Believe\nme, no,\" answered the hermit; \"I fear no man. I would\nnot boast, but in my day my heart never quailed in the fight.\nI was a knight as you are, and had many sinful thoughts.\"\n\nHaving placed the horse in shelter beneath a cliff, the\nhermit led the knight into his cell. There was a fire of\ncoals, before which Parzival was glad to warm himself and\nexchange his steel armour for a cloak; he seemed\nforest-weary. A door opened to an inner cell, where stood an\naltar, bearing the very reliquary on which Parzival had laid\nhis hand in making oath. He told his host of this, and of\nthe lance which he had found there and taken. \"A friend\nof mine left it there, and chided with me afterwards. It is\nfour years, six months, and three days since you took that\nspear; I will prove it to you from this Psalter.\"\n\n\"I did not know how long I had journeyed, lost and\nunhappy. I carry sorrow's weight. Sir, I will tell you\nmore: from that time no man has seen me in church or\nminster, where they honour God. I have sought battles\nonly. I also bear a hate for God. He is my trouble's\nsponsor: had He borne aid, my joy had not been buried\nliving! My heart is sore. In reward of my many fights,\nsorrow has set on me a crown\u2014of thorns. I bear a grudge\nagainst that Lord of aid, that me alone He helps not.\"\n\nThe host sighed, and looked at him; then spoke: \"Sir,\nbe wise. You should trust God well. He will help you,\nit is His office; He must help us both. Tell me with sober\nwits, how did your anger against Him arise? Learn from\nme His guiltlessness before you accuse Him. His aid is\nnever withheld. Even I, a layman, can read the meaning\nof those unlying books; man must continue steadfast in\nservice of Him who never wearies in His steady aid to\nsinking souls. Keep troth, for God is troth. Deceit is\nhateful to Him. We should be grateful; in our behalf His\nnobility took on the form of man. God is called, and is,\ntruth. He can turn from no one; teach your thoughts\nnever to turn from Him. You can force nothing from Him\nwith your wrath. Whoever sees you carry hate toward\nHim will deem you sick of wit. Think of Lucifer and all\nhis comrades. Hell was their reward. When Lucifer and his host had taken their hell-journey, a man was made.\nGod made from clay the worthy Adam. From Adam's\nflesh He took Eve, who brought us calamity when she\nlistened not to her Creator, and destroyed our joy. Two\nsons were born to them. One of these in envious anger\ndestroyed his grandmother's maidenhood, by sin.\"\n\n\"Sir, how could that be?\"\n\n\"The earth was Adam's mother, and was a maiden.\nAdam was Cain's father, who slew Abel; and the blood fell\non the pure earth; its maidenhood was sped. Thence arose\nhate among men and still endures. Nothing in the world\nis as pure as an innocent maid; God was himself a maiden's\nchild, and took the image of the first maid's fruit. With\nAdam's seed came sorrow and joy; through him our lineage\nis from God, but through him, too, we carry sin, for which\nGod took man's image, and so suffered, battling with troth\nagainst untroth. Turn to Him if you would not be lost.\nPlato, Sibyl the prophetess, foretold Him. With divine\nlove His mighty hand plucked us from hell. The joyful\nnews they tell of Him the True Lover is this: He is radiant\nlight, and wavers not in His love. Men may have either\nHis love or hate. The unrepentant sinner flees the divine\nfaithfulness; he who does penance wins His clemency. God\npenetrates thought, which is hidden to the sun's rays and\nneeds no castle's ward. Yet God's light passes its dark\nwall, comes stealing in, and noiselessly departs. No thought\nso quick but He discovers it before it leaves the heart. The\npure in heart He chooses. Woe to the man who harbours\nevil. What help is there in human craft for him whose\ndeeds put God to shame? You are lost if you act in His\ndespite, who is prepared for either love or hate. Now\nchange your heart; with goodness earn His thanks.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" says Parzival, \"I am glad to be taught by you of\nHim who does not fail to reward both crime and virtue.\nWith pain and struggle I have so borne my young life to\nthis day that through keeping troth I have got sorrow.\"\n\nParzival still feels his innocence; perhaps the host is\nnot so sure: \"Prithee, be open with me. I would gladly\nhear your troubles and your sins. May be I can advise\nyou.\"\n\n\"The Grail is my chief woe and then my wife\u2014she is beyond compare. For both of these I yearn.\"\n\n\"Sir, you say well. Your grief is righteous if its cause\nis yearning for your wife. If you were cast to hell for other\nsins, but loyal to your wife, God's hand would lift you out.\nAs for the Grail, you foolish man, pursuit will never win it. 'Tis for him only who is named in heaven. I can say; for I have seen it.\"\n\n\"Sir, were you there?\"\n\n\"I was.\"\n\nParzival did not say that he had been there too; but\nasked about the Grail. His host then told him of the\nvaliant Templars who dwelt on Munsalvaesch, and rode\nthence on adventures as penance for their sins. \"They are\nnourished by a Stone of marvellous virtue; no sick man\nseeing it could die that week; it gives youth and strength,\nand is called the Grail. To-day, as on every Good Friday,\na dove flies from heaven and lays a wafer on the Grail,\nfrom which the Grail receives its share of every food and\nevery good the earth or Paradise affords. The name of\nwhosoever is chosen for the Grail, be it boy or girl, appears\ninscribed upon it, suddenly, and when read disappears.\nThey come as children; glad the mother whose child is\nnamed; for taken to that company, it will be held from sin\nand shame, and be received in heaven when this life is past.\nFurther, all those who took neither side in the war between\nLucifer and the Trinity, were cast out of heaven to earth,\nand here must serve the Grail.\"\n\nParzival spoke: \"If knighthood might with shield and\nspear win earth's prize and Paradise for the soul\u2014why I\nhave fought wherever I found fight; often my hand has\ntouched the prize. If God is wise in conflicts, He should\nname me, that those people there may learn to know me.\nMy hand never drew back.\"\n\n\"First you must guard against pride, and practise\nmodesty.\" The old man paused and then continued:\n\"There was a Grail king named Anfortas. You and I\nshould pity his sad lot which befell him through pride in\nyouth and riches; he loved in the world's light way\u2014that\nalso goes not with the Grail. There came once to the castle one unnamed, a simple man; he went away, his sins upon\nhis head; he never asked the host what ailed him.\nBefore that time a prince, Lahelein, approached and fought\nwith a Grail knight, and slew him and took his horse. Sir,\nare you Lahelein? you rode a Grail steed hither. I know\nhis trappings well, and the dove's crest which Anfortas gave\nhis knights. The old Titurel also wore that crest, and\nafter him his son Frimutel, till he lost his life. Sir, you\nresemble him. Who are you?\"\n\nEach looked on the other. Parzival spoke: \"My father\nwas a knight. He lost his life in combat; sir, include him\nin your prayers. His name was Gamuhret. I am not\nLahelein; yet in my folly once I too robbed the dead. My\nsinful hand slew Ither. I left him dead upon the sward\u2014and\ntook what was to take.\"\n\n\"O world! alas for thee! heart's sorrow is thy pay!\"\nthe hermit cried. \"My nephew, it was your own flesh and\nblood you slew; a deed which with God merits death.\nIther, the pattern of all knights\u2014how can you atone? My\nsister too, your mother Herzeloide, you brought her to her\ndeath.\"\n\n\"Oh no! good sir, how say you that? If I am your\nsister's child, oh tell me all.\"\n\n\"Your mother died when you left her. My other sister\nwas Sigune's mother; our brother is Anfortas, who long\nhas been the Grail's sad lord. We early lost our father,\nFrimutel; from him Anfortas, his first-born, inherited the\nGrail crown, when still a child. As he grew a man, all too\neagerly he followed the service set by love of woman, chose\nhim a mistress and broke many a spear for her. He\ndisobeyed the Grail, which forbids its lords love's service,\nsave as it prescribes. One day, for his lady's favour, he ran\na joust with a heathen knight. He slew him, but the\nheathen spear struck him, and broke, leaving a poisoned\nwound. In anguish he returned. No medicine or charm\ncan heal that wound, and yet he cannot die; that is the\nGrail's power. I renounced knighthood, flesh, and wine, in\nprayer that God would heal him. We knelt before the\nGrail, and on it read that when a knight should come, and,\nunadmonished, ask what ailed him, he should be sound again. That knight should then be the Grail's king, in place\nof Anfortas. Since then a knight did come\u2014I spoke of him\nto you. He might as well have stayed away for all the honour\nthat he won or aid he brought us. He did not ask: My lord,\nwhat brought you to this pass? Stupidity forbade him.\"\n\nThe two made moan together. It was noon. The host\nsaid: \"Let us take food now, and tend your horse.\" They\nwent out; Parzival broke up some branches for his horse,\nwhile the host gathered a repast of herbs. Then they\nreturned to the cell. \"Dear nephew,\" said the hermit, \"do\nnot despise this food. At least, you will not find another\nhost who would more gladly give you better.\"\n\n\"Sir, may God's favour pass me by, if ever a host's care\nwas sweeter to me.\"\n\nWhen they had eaten, they saw to the horse again,\nwhose hungry plight grieved the old man because of the\nsaddle with Anfortas's crest. Then Parzival spoke:\n\n\"Lord and uncle mine, if I dare speak for shame, I\nshould tell you all my unhappiness. My troth takes refuge\nin you. My misdeeds are so sore, that if you cast me off I\nshall go all my days unloosed from my remorse. Take pity\nwith good counsel on a fool. He who rode to Munsalvaesch,\nand saw that pain, and asked no question, that was I,\nmisfortune's child. Thus have I, sir, misdone.\"\n\n\"Nephew! Alas! We both may well lament\u2014where\nwere your five senses? Yet I will not refuse thee counsel.\nYou must not grieve overmuch, but, in lament and laying\ngrief aside, follow right measure. Would that I might\nrefresh and hearten you, so that you would push on, and not\ndespair of God. You might still cure your sorrow. God\nwill not forsake you. I counsel thee from Him.\"\n\nHis host then told Parzival more about Anfortas's pains,\nand about the Grail people, then the story of his own life\nbefore he renounced knighthood, and also about Ither.\n\"Ither was your kin. If your hand forgot this kinship,\nGod will not. You must do penance for this deadly sin, and\nalso for your mother's death. Repent of your misdeeds and\nthink of death, so that your labour here below may bring\npeace to your soul above.\"\n\nThese two deadly sins of Parzival were done unwittingly and unwitting was his neglect to ask the question. His\nguilt was thoughtlessness and stupid ignorance. It is\nimpossible not to think of Oedipus, and compare the Christian\nmediaeval treatment of unwitting crimes with the classical\nGreek consideration of the same dark subject. Oedipus\nsinned as unwittingly as Parzival, and as impulsively. His\nruin was complete. Afterwards\u2014in the Oedipus Coloneus\u2014his character gathers greatness through submission to the\nnecessary consequences of his acts; here was his spiritual\nexpiation. On the other hand, mercy, repentance, hope, the\nuplifting of the unwitting sinner, forgiveness and consolation,\nsoften and glorify the Christian mediaeval story.\n\nParzival stayed some days at the hermitage. At parting\nthe hermit spoke words of comfort to him: \"Leave me your\nsins. I will be your surety with God for your repentance.\nPerform what I have bidden you, and do not waver.\"\n\nThe story here turns to Gawain. In the tale of his\nadventures there comes a glimpse of Parzival. A proud\nlady, for whose love Gawain is doing perilous deeds, tells\nhim, she has never met a man she could not bend to her will\nand love, save only one. That one came and overthrew her\nknights. She offered him her land and her fair self; his\nanswer put her to shame: \"The glorious Queen of Pelrapeire\nis my wife, and I am Parzival. I will have none of your\nlove. The Grail gives me other care.\"\n\nGawain won this lady, and conducted her to Arthur's\nCourt, whither his rival the haughty King Gramoflanz was\nsummoned to do battle with him. On the morning set for\nthe combat Gawain rode out a little to the bank of a river,\nto prove his horse and armour. There at the river rode a\nknight; Gawain deemed it was Gramoflanz. They rush\ntogether; man and horse go down in the joust. The\nknights spring to their feet and fight on with their swords.\nMeanwhile Gramoflanz, with a splendid company, has arrived\nat Arthur's Court. The lists are ready; Gramoflanz stands\narmed. But where is Gawain? He was not wont to tarry.\nSquires hurry out in search, to find him just falling before\nthe blows of the stranger. They call, Gawain! and the\nunknown knight throws away his sword with a great cry:\n\"Wretched and worthless! Accursed is my dishonoured hand. Be mine the shame. My luckless arms ever\u2014and now again\u2014strike\ndown my happiness. That I should raise my hand\nagainst noble Gawain! It is myself that I have overthrown.\"\n\nGawain heard him: \"Alas, sir, who are you that speak\nsuch love towards me? Would you had spoken sooner,\nbefore my strength and praise had left me.\"\n\n\"Cousin, I am your cousin, ready to serve you, Parzival.\"\n\n\"Then you said true! This fool's fight of two hearts\nthat love! Your hand has overthrown us both.\"\n\nGawain could no longer stand. Fainting they laid him\non the grass. Gramoflanz rides up, and is grieved to find\nhis rival in no condition to fight. Parzival offers to take\nGawain's place; but Gramoflanz declines, and the combat is\npostponed till the morrow. Parzival is then escorted to\nArthur's Court, where Gawain would have him meet fair\nladies; he holds back, thinking of the shame once put on\nhim there by Cundrie. Gawain insists, and ladies greet the\nknight. Arthur again makes Parzival one of the Round\nTable. Early the next morning, Parzival, changing his arms,\nmeets Gramoflanz in the lists, before Gawain has arrived;\nand vanquishes him. Then comes Gawain and offers to\npostpone the combat as Gramoflanz had done. So the\ncombat is again set for the next day. In the meanwhile,\nhowever, various matters come to light and explanations are\nhad; Arthur succeeds in reconciling the rival knights and\nadjusting their relations to the ladies. So the Court becomes\ngay with wedding festivals, and all is joy.\n\nExcept with Parzival. His heart is torn with pain and\nyearning for his wife. He muses: \"Since I could love, how\nhas love dealt with me! I was born from love; why have\nI lost love? I must seek the Grail; yet how I yearn for\nthe sweet arms of her from whom I parted\u2014so long ago!\nIt is not fit that I should look on this joyful festival with\nanguish in my heart.\" There lay his armour: \"Since I\nhave no part in this joy, and God wills none for me; and\nthe love of Condwiramurs banishes all wish for other\nhappiness\u2014now God grant happiness to all this company.\nI will go forth.\" He put his armour on, saddled his horse,\ntook spear and shield, and fled from the joyous Court, as the\nday was dawning.\n\nAnd now he meets a heathen knight, approaching with\na splendid following. They rode a great joust; and the\nheathen wondered to find a knight abide his lance. They\nfought with swords together, till their horses were blown;\nthey sprang on the ground, and there fought on. Then the\nheathen thought of his queen; the love-thought brought him\nstrength, and he struck Parzival a blow that brought him to\nhis knee. Now rouse thee, Parzival; why dost thou not\nthink on thy wife? Suddenly he thought of her, and how he\nwon her love, vanquishing Clamide before Pelrapeire. Straight\nher aid came to him across four kingdoms, and he struck\nthe heathen down; but his sword\u2014once Ither's\u2014broke.\n\nThe foolish evil deed of Parzival in slaying Ither seems\natoned for in the breaking of this sword. Had it not broken,\ngreat evil had been done. The great-hearted heathen\nsprang up. \"Hero, you would have conquered had that\nsword not broken. Be peace between us while we rest.\"\nThey sat together on the grass. \"Tell me your name,\"\nsaid the heathen; \"I have never met as great a knight.\"\n\n\"Is it through fear, that I should tell my name?\"\n\n\"Nay, I will name myself\u2014Feirefiz of Anjou.\"\n\n\"How of Anjou? that is my heritage. Yet I have\nheard I had a brother. Let me see your face. I will not\nattack you with your helmet off.\"\n\n\"Attack me? it is I that hold the sword; but let neither\nhave the vantage.\" He threw his sword far from them.\nWith joy and tears the brothers recognized each other;\nand long and loving was their speech. Then they rode\nback together to the Court. They entered Gawain's tent.\nArthur came to greet them, and with him many knights. At\nArthur's request each of the great brothers told the long list\nof his knightly victories. The next day Feirefiz was made\na knight of the Round Table, and a grand tournament was\nheld. Then the feast followed\u00a0; and again, as once before,\nto the great company seated at the table, Cundrie came\nriding. She greeted the king; then turned to Parzival, and\nin tears threw herself at his feet and begged a greeting and\nforgiveness. Parzival forgives her. She rises up and cries:\n\"Hail to thee, son of Gahmuret\u2014Herzeloide's child.\nHumble thyself in gladness. The high lot is thine, thou crown of human blessing. Thou shalt be the Grail's lord;\nwith thee thy wife Condwiramurs, and thy sons Lohengrin\nand Kardeiz, whom she bore to thee after thy going. Thy\nmouth shall question Anfortas\u2014unto his joy. Now the\nplanets favour thee; thy grief is spent. The Grail and the\nGrail's power shall let thee have no part in evil. When\nyoung, thou didst get thee sorrow, which betrayed thy joy\nas it came;\u2014thou hast won thy soul's peace, and in sorrow\nthou hast endured unto thy life's joy.\"\n\nTears of love sprang from Parzival's heart and fell from\nhis eyes: \"Lady, if this be true, that God's grace has granted\nme, sinful man, to have my children and my wife, God has\nbeen good to me. Loyally would you make good my losses.\nBefore, had I not done amiss, you would not have been angry.\nAt that time I was yet unblessed. Now tell me, when and\nhow I shall go meet my joy. Oh! let me not be stayed!\"\n\nThere was no more delay. Parzival was permitted to\ntake one comrade; he chose Feirefiz. Cundrie guided them\nto the Grail castle. They entered to find Anfortas calling\non death to free him of his pain. Weeping, and with prayer\nto God, Parzival asked what ailed him, and the king was\nhealed. Then Parzival rode again to Trevrizent. The\nhermit breaks out in wonder at the power of God, which\nman cannot comprehend; let Parzival obey Him and keep\nfrom evil; that any one should win the Grail by striving\nwas unheard of; now this has come to Parzival, let him be\nhumble. The hero yearns for his wife\u2014where is she? He\nis told; there by the meadow where he once saw the drops\nof blood he finds her and his sons, asleep in their tent.\nThey are united; Parzival is made Grail king; and the\nqueen Repanse is given in marriage to Feirefiz, who is\nbaptized and departs with her. Lohengrin is named as\nParzival's successor, while Kardeiz receives the kingdoms\nwhich had been Gahmuret's and Herzeloide's.\n\n\u00a0\n\nEND OF VOL. I\n\n\u00a0\n\nPrinted by R. & K. Clark, Limited, Edinburgh.","title":"The Mediaeval Mind/Chapter 24","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":9983}