Book IX: Trevrezent

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The snow lay beneath our hero, no weakling was he, I ween,Else the frost and the cold of his harness o'er-much for his strength had been.To a cavern the hermit led him where no breath of wind might blow,And a fire of coals had warmed it, and burned with a ruddy glow.And here might the guest refresh him by the fire and a taper's light,(Well strewn was the ground with fuel,) then swiftly the gallant knightLaid from off him his heavy armour, and warmed his limbs so cold,And his skin in the light glowed ruddy, and his face might the host behold.He might well be of wandering weary, for never a trodden wayNor a roof save the stars of heaven had he known for many a day.In the daylight the wood had he ridden, and his couch, it had been the ground:'Twas well that he here a shelter, and a kindly host had found!

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

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

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

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

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

'Tho' a layman I was yet ever in books might I read and learnHow men, for His help so faithful, should ne'er from His service turn.Since aid He begrudged us never, lest our soul unto Hell should fall,And as God Himself shall be faithful, be thou faithful whate'er befall;For false ways He ever hateth--and thankful we aye should beWhen we think of the deed, so gracious, once wrought of His love so free!For our sake the Lord of Heaven in the likeness of man was made,And Truth is His name, and His nature, nor from Truth shall He e'er have strayed.And this shalt thou know most surely, God breaketh His faith with none.Teach thy thoughts ne'er from Him to waver, since Himself and His ways are One!'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

'They who took no part in the conflict, when Lucifer would fightWith the Three-in-One, those angels were cast forth from Heaven's height.To the earth they came at God's bidding, and that wondrous stone did tend,Nor was It less pure for their service, yet their task found at last an end.I know not if God forgave them, or if they yet deeper fell,This one thing I know of a surety, what God doeth, He doeth well!But ever since then to this service nor maiden nor knight shall fail,For God calleth them all as shall please Him!--and so standeth it with the Grail!'Quoth Parzival, 'So, since knighthood may conquer, with spear and shield,Both the fame of this life, and the blessing which Paradise shall yield,Since my soul ever longed for knighthood, and I fought where'er strife might be,And my right hand hath neared full often the guerdon of victory,If God be the God of battles, if He know how a man should fight,Let Him name me as one of His servants, of the Grail let Him make me knight!They shall own that I fear no danger, nor from strife would I turn aside!'But the hermit made answer gently, 'First must thou beware of pride,For lightly may youth mislead thee; and the grace of humilityMayst thou lose, and the proud God doth punish, as full surely is known to me!'And tears filled his eyes to o'erflowing, and his sad thoughts awhile did turnTo a story of old, and our hero he bade from its lesson learn.

And he quoth, 'Sir Knight, at Monsalväsch a king reigned in days of yore,His name all men know as Anfortas, and I weep for him evermore.Yea, and thou too shalt mourn his sorrow, for bitter the woe, I ween,And the torment of heart and body that his guerdon from pride hath been.For his youth and his worldly riches they led him an evil road,And he sought for Frau Minne's favour in paths where no peace abode.'

'But the Grail all such ways forbiddeth, and both knight alike and squireWho serve the Grail must guard them from the lust of untamed desire.By meekness their pride must be conquered, if they look for a heavenly prize,And the brotherhood holdeth hidden the Grail from all stranger eyes:By their warlike skill and prowess the folk from the lands around,They keep afar, and none knoweth where the Grail and Its Burg are foundSave those whom the Grail shall summon within Monsalväsch' wall--Yet one, uncalled, rode thither and evil did then befall,For foolish he was, and witless, and sin-laden from thence did fare,Since he asked not his host of his sorrow and the woe that he saw him bear.No man would I blame, yet this man, I ween, for his sins must pay,Since he asked not the longed-for question which all sorrow had put away.(Sore laden his host with suffering, earth knoweth no greater pain.)And before him King Lähelein came there, and rode to the Lake Brimbane.Libbèals, the gallant hero, a joust there was fain to ride,And Lähelein lifeless left him, on the grass by the water-side,(Prienlaskors, methinks, was his birthplace) and his slayer then led awayHis charger, so men knew the evil thus wrought by his hand that day.'

'And I think me, Sir Knight, thou art Lähelein? For thou gavest unto my careA steed that such token showeth as the steeds of the Grail Knights bear!For the white dove I see on its housing, from Monsalväsch it surely came?Such arms did Anfortas give them while joy yet was his and fame.Their shields bare of old the token, Titurel gave it to his sonFrimutel, and such shield bare that hero when his death in a joust he won.For his wife did he love so dearly no woman was loved so wellBy man, yet in truth and honour,--and the same men of thee shall tellIf thou wakenest anew old customs, and thy wife from thine heart dost love--Hold thou fast to such fair example lest thy steps from the right path rove!And in sooth thou art wondrous like him who once o'er the Grail did reign,Say, what is thy race? whence art thou? and tell me I pray thy name!'

Each gazed for a space on the other, and thus quoth Parzival,'Son am I to a king and hero who through knightly courage fell,In a joust was he slain--Now I pray thee, Sir Hermit, of this thy grace,That thou, in thy prayers henceforward, wilt give to his name a place.Know, Gamuret, did they call him, and he came from fair Anjou--Sir Host I am not Lähelein; if ever such sin I knew'Twas in my days of folly, yet in truth have I done the same,Here I make of my guilt confession, and my sin unto thee I name,For the prince who once fell a victim unto my sinful handWas he whom men called 'the Red Knight,' Prince Ither of Cumberland.On the greensward I lifeless stretched him, and as at my feet he lay,Harness, and horse, and weapons, as my booty I bare away!'

Spake the host as his words were ended, (the tale he ill pleased must hear,)'Ah! world, wherefore deal thus with us? since sorrow and grief and fearFar more than delight dost thou give us! Say, is this thy reward alone?For ever the song that thou singest doth end in a mournful tone!'And he spake, 'O thou son of my sister, what rede may I give to thee?Since the knight thou hast slain in thy folly, thy flesh and thy blood was he!If thou, blood-guiltiness bearing, shalt dare before God to stand,For one blood were ye twain, to God's justice thy life shall repay thine hand.Say, for Ither of Gaheviess fallen, what payment dost think to give?The crown he of knightly honour! God gave him, while he might live.All that decketh man's life; for all evil his true heart did truly mourn,True balsam was he of the faithful, to honour and glory born.And shame fled before his coming, and truth in his heart did dwell,And for love of his lovely body many women shall hate thee well!For well did they love his coming, and to serve them he aye was fain,But their eyes that shone fair for his fairness he ne'er shall rejoice again!Now, may God show His mercy to thee whose hand hath such evil wrought,Herzeleide the queen, thy mother, thou too to her death hast brought--''Nay! Nay! not so, holy father! What sayest thou?' quoth Parzival,'Of what dost thou here accuse me? Were I king o'er the wondrous GrailNot all Its countless riches would repay me if this be sooth,These words that thy lips have spoken! And yet if I, in very truth,Be son unto thy sister, then show that thou mean'st me well,And say, without fear or falsehood, are these things true that thou dost tell?'

Then the hermit he spake in answer, 'Ne'er learnt I to deceive,Thy mother she died of sorrow in the day thou her side didst leave,Such rewarding her love won for her! Thou wast the beast that hungOn her breast, the wingèd dragon that forth from her body sprung,That spread its wings and left her: in a dream was it all foretoldEre yet the sorrowing mother the babe to her breast did hold!'

'And two other sisters had I, Schoisianè she was one;She bare a child--Woe is me, her death thro' this birth she won!Duke Kiot of Katelangen was her husband, and since that dayAll wordly joy and honour he putteth from him away.Siguné, their little daughter, was left to thy mother's care:And sorrow for Schoisianè in my heart do I ever bear!So true was her heart and faithful, an ark 'gainst the flood of sin.A maiden, my other sister, her pure life doth honour win,For the Grail she ever tendeth--Repanse de Schoie, her name,Tho' none from Its place may move It whose heart showeth taint of shame,In her hands is It light as a feather--And brother unto us twainIs Anfortas, by right of heirship he king o'er the Grail doth reign;And he knoweth not joy, but sorrow, yet one hope I ween is his,That his pain shall at last be turnèd to delight and to endless bliss.And wondrous the tale of his sorrow, as, nephew, I'll tell to thee,And if true be thine heart and faithful his grief shall thy sorrow be!'

'When he died, Frimutel, our father, they chose them his eldest sonAs Lord of the Grail and Its knighthood, thus Anfortas his kingdom won,And of riches and crown was he worthy, and we were but children still--When he came to the years of manhood, when love joyeth to work her willOn the heart, and his lips were fringèd with the down of early youth,Frau Minne laid stress upon him who for torment hath little ruth.But if love the Grail King seeketh other than he find writ,'Tis a sin, and in sorrow and sighing full sore shall he pay for it!'

'And my lord and brother chose him a lady for service fair,Noble and true he deemed her, I say not what name she bare;Well he fought in that lady's honour, and cowardice from him fled,And his hand many a shield-rim shattered, by love's fire was he venture led.So high stood his fame that no hero in knightly lands afarCould he brook to be thought his equal, so mighty his deeds of war,And his battle-cry was "Amor," yet it seemeth unto meNot all too well such cry suiteth with a life of humility.'

'One day as the king rode lonely, in search of some venture high(Sore trouble it brought upon us,) with love's payment for victory,For love's burden lay heavy on him, in a joust was he wounded soreWith a poisoned spear, so that healing may be wrought on him nevermore.For thine uncle, the King Anfortas, he was smitten thro' the thighBy a heathen who with him battled, for he jousted right skilfully.He came from the land of Ethnisé, where forth from fair ParadiseFlow the streams of the River Tigris, and he thought him, that heathen wise,He should win the Grail, and should hold It--On his spear had he graven his name,From afar sought he deeds of knighthood, over sea and land he came.The fame of the Grail drew him thither, and evil for us his strife,His hand joy hath driven from us and clouded with grief our life!'

'But thine uncle had battled bravely and men praised his name that day--With the spear-shaft yet fast in his body he wended his homeward way.And weeping arose and wailing as he came once again to his own,And dead on the field lay his foeman, nor did we for his death make moan!'

'When the king came, all pale and bloodless, and feeble of strength and limb,Then a leech stretched his hand to the spear-wound, and the iron he found fast within,With the hilt, wrought of reed, and hollow, and the twain from the wound he drew.Then I fell on my knees, and I vowed me to God, with a heart so true,That henceforward the pride of knighthood, and its fame, would I know no more,If but God would behold my brother and would succour his need so sore.Then flesh, wine, and bread I forswore there, and all food that by blood might live,That lust might no longer move me my life I to God would give,And I tell thee, O son of my sister, that the wailing arose anewWhen my weapons I put from off me and ungirded my sword so true,And they spake, 'Who shall guard our mysteries? who shall watch o'er the wondrous Grail?'And tears fell from the eyes of the maidens, but their weeping might naught avail!

'To the Grail, then, they bare Anfortas, if Its virtue might bring relief;But, alas! when his eyes beheld It yet heavier waxed his griefAs the life sprang afresh within him, and he knew that he might not die;And he liveth, while here I hide me in this life of humility,And the power of the Grail, and Its glory, with their monarch have waxen weak.For the venom, his wound that poisoned, tho' the leeches their books did seekYet found they nor help nor healing--Yea, all that their skill might learn'Gainst the poison of Aspis, Elkontius, of Liseis, and Ecidemon,All spells 'gainst the worm empoisoned, 'gainst Jecis or Meàtris;Or all that a wise man knoweth of roots or of herbs; I wisNaught was there in all might help him; nor rede I a longer taleSince God willeth not his healing what man's skill may aught avail?'

'Then we sent to the mystic waters, in a far-off land they rise,Pison, Gihon, Tigris, Euphrates, the rivers of Paradise,And so near they flow that the perfumes which breathe from its scented airShall yet to their streams be wafted--If their waters perchance might bearSome plant from the wondrous garden that might succour us in our woe,But vain thought, and fruitless labour, fresh sorrow our heart did know!'

'Nor here did we end our labour, for again for the bough we soughtWhich the Sibyl unto Æneas as a shield 'gainst Hell's dangers brought.'Gainst the smoke and the fire of Phlegethon, and the rivers that flow in HellWould it guard, and for long we sought it, for we thought, if such chance befellThat the spear in Hell-fire was welded, and the poison from Hell did springThat thus of our joy had robbed us, then this bough might salvation bring!'

'But Hell, it knew naught of the poison! There liveth a wondrous birdWho loveth too well her fledglings--Of the Pelican's love we heard,How she teareth her breast and feedeth her young with the quickening foodOf her own life-blood, and then dieth--So we took of that bird the blood,Since we thought that her love might help us, and we laid it upon the soreAs best we could--Yet, I wot well, no virtue for us it bore!'

'A strange beast, the Unicorn, liveth, and it doth in such honour keepThe heart of a spotless maiden that it oft at her knee will sleep.And the heart of that beast we took us, and we took us the red-fire stoneThat lies 'neath its horn, if the king's wound might its healing virtue own.And we laid on the wound the carbuncle, and we put it the wound within,Yet still was the sore empoisoned nor aid from the stone might win!'

'And sore with the king we sorrowed--Then a magic herb we found,(Men say, from the blood of a dragon it springeth from out the ground,)With the stars, and the wind, and the heaven, close-bound, doth it win its power,Lest perchance, by the flight of the dragon, when the stars bring the circling hour,And the moon draweth near to her changing, (for sorer then grows the pain,)The herb might our grief have aided--Yet its magic we sought in vain!'

'Then the knights of the Grail knelt lowly, and for help to the Grail they prayed,And, behold! the mystic writing, and a promise it brought of aid,For a knight should come to the castle, and so soon as he asked the kingOf the woe that so sorely pained him his question should healing bring.But let them beware, man or maiden, or child, should they warn the knightOf his task, he no healing bringeth, greater waxeth the sorrow's might.And the writing it ran, 'Ye shall mark this, forewarning shall bring but ill,And in the first night of his coming must the healer his task fulfil,Or the question shall lose its virtue; but if at the chosen hourHe shall speak, his shall be the kingdom, and the evil hath lost its power.So the hand of the Highest sendeth to Anfortas the end of woe,Yet King shall he be no longer tho' healing and bliss he know.'

'Thus we read in the Grail that our sorrow should come to an end that dayThat the knight should come who the meaning of the grief that he saw should pray--Then salve of Nard we took us, and Teriak, and the wound we dressed,And we burnt wood of Lignum Aloe for so might the king find rest.Yet ever he suffereth sorely--Then fled I unto this place,And my life little gladness knoweth till my brother hath gotten grace.And the knight, he hath come, and hath left us, and ill for us all that day,(But now did I speak of his coming,) sorrow-laden he rode away,For he saw his host's woe and asked not, 'What aileth thee here, mine host?'Since his folly such words forbade him great bliss shall he there have lost!'

Then awhile did they mourn together till the mid-day hour drew near,And the host spake, 'We must be seeking for food, and thine horse, I fear,As yet shall be lacking fodder; nor know I how we shall feedIf not God in His goodness show us the herbs that shall serve our need,My kitchen but seldom smoketh! Forgive thou the lack to-day,And abide here, so long as shall please thee, if thy journey shall brook delay.Of plants and of herbs would I teach thee much lore, if so be the grassWere not hidden by snow--God grant us that this cold may be soon o'erpast--Now break we yew-boughs for thy charger, far better its fare hath beenErewhile 'neath the roof of Monsalväsch than shall here be its lot I ween!Yet never a host shall ye meet with who rider alike and steedWould as gladly bid share of his substance as I, had I all ye need!'Then the twain they went forth on their errand--Parzival for his steed had care,While the hermit for roots was seeking since no better might be their fare;And the host his rule forgat not, he ate naught, whate'er he found,Till the ninth hour, but ever hung them, as he drew them from out the ground,On the nearest shrub, and there left them; many days he but ill might fareFor God's honour, since oft he lost them, the shrubs which his roots did bear.

Nor grudged they aught of their labour: then they knelt by the streamlet's flow,And the roots and the herbs they washed there, and no laughter their lips might know.Then their hands they washed, and the yew-boughs Parzival together boundAnd bare them unto his charger ere the cavern again he found;Then the twain by the fireside sat them, nor further might food be brought,Nor on roast nor on boiled they fed them, nor found in their kitchen aught.Yet so true was the love and the honour Parzival to the hermit bareThat he deemed he enough had eaten, and no better had been his fareWith Gurnemanz of Graharz, or e'en in Monsalväsch hall,When the maidens passed fair before him and the Grail fed them each and all.

Then his kindly host quoth, 'Nephew, despise not this food, for knowLightly thou shalt not find one who shall favour and kindness show,Of true heart, without fear of evil, as fain would I show to thee.'And Parzival quoth, 'May God's favour henceforward ne'er light on meIf food ever better pleased me, or I ate with a better willWhat a host ever set before me, such fare doth content me still.'

Their hands they need not wash them for such food as before them lay,'Twas no fish, that their eyes had harmèd as men oft are wont to say.And were I or hawk or falcon I had lent me to the chase,Nor stooped to the lure unwilling, nor fled from my master's face,But an they no better fed me than at noontide they fed, these twain,I had spread my wings right swiftly, nor come to their call again!Why mock at this folk so faithful? 'Twas ever my way of old--Yet ye know why, forsaking riches, they chose to them want and cold,And the lack of all things joyful, such sorrow and grief of heartThey bare of true heart, God-fearing, nor had they in falsehood part;And thus from the hand of the Highest they won payment for grief and woe,And alike should the twain God's favour, as of old, so hereafter know.

Then up stood they again, and they gat them, Parzival and the holy man,To the steed in its rocky stable, and full sadly the host beganAs he spake to the noble charger, 'Woe is me for thy scanty fare,For the sake of the saddle upon thee and the token I see thee bear!'

When their care for the horse was ended, then sorrow sprang forth anew,Quoth Parzival, 'Host and uncle, my folly I needs must rue,And fain would I tell the story if for shame I the word may speak;Forgive me, I pray, of thy kindness, since in thee do I comfort seek,For sorely, I ween, have I sinnèd; if thou canst no comfort findNo peace may be mine, but for ever the chains of remorse shall bind.Of true heart shalt thou mourn my folly--He who to Monsalväsch rode,He who saw Anfortas' sorrow, he who spake not the healing word,'Twas I, child and heir of misfortune, 'twas I, Parzival, alone,Ill have I wrought, and I know not how I may for such ill atone!'

Spake the hermit, 'Alas! my nephew, thou speakest the words of woe,Vanished our joy, and sorrow henceforth must we grasp and know,Since folly of bliss betrayed thee: senses five did God give to thee,And methinks, in the hour of thy testing, their counsel should better be.Why guarded they not thine honour, and thy love as a man to men,In the hour that thou satst by Anfortas? Of a truth hadst thou spoken then!'

'Nor would I deny thee counsel; mourn not for thy fault too sore,Thou shalt, in a fitting measure, bewail thee, and grief give o'er.For strange are the ways, and fitful, of mankind, oft is youth too wiseAnd old age turneth back to folly, and darkened are wisdom's eyes,And the fruit of a life lieth forfeit, while green youth doth wax old and fade--Not in this wise true worth shall be rooted, and payment in praise be paid.Thine youth would I see fresh blooming, and thine heart waxing strong and bold,While thou winnest anew thine honour, nor dost homage from God withhold.For thus might it chance unto thee to win for thyself such fameAs shall make amends for thy sorrow, and God thee, as His knight, shall claim!'

'Thro' my mouth would God teach thee wisdom; now say, didst thou see the spear,In that wondrous Burg of Monsalväsch? As ever the time draws nearWhen Saturn his journey endeth--(that time by the wound we know,And yet by another token, by the fall of the summer snow)Then sorely the frost doth pain him, thy king and uncle dear,And deep in the wound empoisoned once more do they plunge the spear,One woe shall help the other, the spear cure the frost's sharp pain,And crimson it grows with his life-blood ere men draw it forth again!'

'When the stars return in their orbit, then the wailing it waxeth sore,When they stand in opposition, or each to the other draw.And the moon, in its waxing and waning, it causeth him bitter pain--In the time that I erst have told thee then the king little rest may gain;His flesh thro' the frost it groweth colder than e'en the snow,But men know that the spear sharp-pointed doth with fiery venom glow,And upon the wound they lay it, and the frost from his flesh so coldIt draweth, and lo! as crystals of glass to the spear doth hold,And as ice to the iron it clingeth, and none looseth it from the blade.Then Trebuchet the smith bethought him, in his wisdom two knives he made,Of silver fair he wrought them, and sharp was the edge and keen--(A spell on the king's sword written had taught him such skill I ween,)Tho' no flame on earth can kindle Asbestos, as men do tell,And never a fire may harm it, if these crystals upon it fellThen the flame would leap and kindle and burn with a fiery glowTill th' Asbestos lay in ashes, such power doth this poison know!'

'The king, he rideth never, nor yet may he walk, or lie,And he sitteth not, but, reclining, in tears his sad days pass by.And the moon's changes work him evil--To a lake they call BrimbaneThey bear him full oft for fishing that the breezes may soothe his pain.This he calleth his day for hunting, tho' what booty shall be his share,And he vex himself to gain it, for his host 'twould be meagre fare!And from this there sprang the story that he should but a Fisher be,Tho little he recked the fable, no merchant I ween was heOf salmon or aye of lamprey, he had chosen far other gameWere he freed from the load of sorrow and the burden of bitter pain.'

Quoth Parzival, 'So I found him; the king's skiff at anchor lay,And for pastime, e'en as a fisher, the even he wore away;And many a mile had I ridden that day, since from PelrapärWhen the sun stood high in the heaven, at noontide I forth must fare;And at even I much bethought me where my shelter that night might be,Then my uncle did fair entreat me, and my host for a space was he.'

'A perilous way didst thou ride there,' spake the host, 'one that well they guardThose Templars, nor strength nor cunning brings a traveller thro' their ward,For danger full oft besets him, and oft he his life shall lose,Life against life is their penance, all quarter these knights refuse.'

'Yet scatheless I passed that woodland in the day that I found the kingBy the lake,' quoth the knight, 'and at even his palace with grief did ring,And sure, as they mourned, I think me, no folk ever mourned before!In the hall rose the voice of wailing as a squire sprang within the door,And a spear in his hand he carried, and to each of the walls he stept,Red with blood was the spear, as they saw it, the people they mourned and wept.'

Then answered the host, 'Far sorer than before was the monarch's pain,In this wise did he learn the tidings that Saturn drew near again,And the star with a sharp frost cometh, and it helpeth no whit to layThe spear on the sore as aforetime, in the wound must it plunge alway!When that star standeth high in heaven the wound shall its coming knowAfore, tho' the earth shall heed not, nor token of frost shall show.But the cold it came, and the snow-flakes fell thick in the following nightTho' the season was spring, and the winter was vanquished by summer's might.As the frost to the king brought sorrow and pain, so his people trueWere of joy bereft, as the moment of his anguish thus nearer drew.'

And Trevrezent quoth, 'In sorrow that folk hath both lot and part,When the spear thro' the king's wound pierceth, it pierceth each faithful heart.And their love to their lord, and their sorrow, such tears from their eyelids drewThat, methinks, in those bitter waters had they been baptized anew.'

Spake Parzival unto the hermit, 'Five-and-twenty they were, the maidsI saw stand before the monarch, and courteous their part they played.'And the host spake, 'By God's high counsel such maidens alone availFor the care of this wondrous mystery, and do service before the Grail.And the Grail, It chooseth strictly, and Its knights must be chaste and pure,--When the star standeth high in the heaven then grief must that folk endure,And the young they mourn as the aged, and God's wrath it lasts for aýe,And ne'er to their supplication doth He hearken and answer "Yea."'

'And, nephew, this thing would I tell thee, and my word shalt thou well believe,They who to the Grail do service, they take, and again they give.For they take to them tittle children, noble of birth and race--If a land be without a ruler, and its people shall seek God's FaceAnd crave of His Hand a monarch, then He hearkeneth to their prayer,And a knight, from the Grail host chosen, as king to that land doth fare.And well shall he rule that people, and happy shall be that land,For the blessing of God goeth with him and God's wisdom doth guide his hand.'

'God sendeth the men in secret, but the maidens in light of dayAre given unto their husbands; thus none spake to his wooing, Nay,When King Kastis wooed Herzeleide, but joyful our sister gave,Yet ne'er might her love rejoice him for Death dug at his feet a grave.But in life had he given thy mother both Norgals and fair Waleis,Those kingdoms twain and their cities, Kingrivals and Kanvoleis.'Twas a fair gift, and known of all men--Then they rode on their homeward way,But Death met them upon their journey, and he made of the king his prey,And over both Waleis and Norgals Herzeleide, as queen, did reign,Till Gamuret's right hand valiant won the maid, and her kingdoms twain.'

'Thus the Grail Its maidens giveth, in the day, and the sight of men,But It sendeth Its knights in the silence and their children It claims again,--To the host of the Grail are they counted, Grail servants they all shall be,So the will of God standeth written on the Grail for all men to see.'

'He who would to the Grail do service, he shall women's love forswear:A wife shall none have save the Grail king, and his wife a pure heart must bear,And those others whom God's Hand sendeth, as king, to a kingless land--But little I recked such counsel, to love's service I vowed my hand,As the pride of my youth constrained me, and the beauty of woman's eyes,And I rode full oft in her service, and I battled for knighthood's prize.Fain was I for wild adventure, on jousting no more I thought,So fair shone the love-light on me ever fiercer the strife I sought.And thro' far-off lands and distant, in the service of love I fared,And to win sweet love's rewarding right valiant the deeds I dared.If heathen my foe or Christian, what mattered it unto me?The fiercer the strife that beset me, the fairer my prize should be!'

'And thus, for the love of woman, in three parts of the earth I fought,In Europe, and far-off Asia, and in Afric' I honour sought.If for gallant jousting I lusted I fought before Gaurivon;By the mystic Mount of Fay-Morgan I many a joust have run.And I fought by the Mount Agremontin, where are fiery men and fierce,Yet the other side they burn not tho' their spears thro' the shield can pierce.In Rohas I sought for ventures, and Slavs were my foemen then,With lances they came against me and I trow they were gallant men!'

'From Seville I took my journey, and I sailed o'er the tideless seaUnto Sicily, since thro' Friant and Aquilea should my journey be.Alas! alas! woe is me, for I met with thy father there,I found him, and looked upon him, ere I from Seville must fare.For e'en as I came to the city he there for a space abode,And my heart shall be sore for his journey, since thence to Bagdad he rode,And there, as thyself hast spoken, in a knightly joust he fell,And for ever my heart must mourn him, and my tongue of his praises tell!''A rich man shall be my brother, nor silver nor gold would spareWhen in secret I forth from Monsalväsch at his will and his word did fare;For I took me his royal signet, and to Karkobra I came,Where Plimizöl to the wide sea floweth, and the land, Barbigöl, they name.And the Burg-grave he knew the token, ere I rode from the town againOf horses and squires, as failed me, he raised me a gallant train,And we rode thence to wild adventures, and to many a knightly deed,For nothing had he begrudged me of aught that might serve my need.Alone came I unto the city, and there at my journey's endDid I leave those who had fared thence with me, and alone to Monsalväsch wend.'

'Now hearken to me, my nephew, when thy father first saw my faceOf old in Seville's fair city, there did he such likeness traceTo his wife, fair Herzeleide, that he would me as brother claim,Tho' never before had he seen me, and secret I held my name.And in sooth was I fair to look on, as ever a man might be,And my face by no beard was hidden; and sweetly he spake to me,When he sought me within my dwelling--Yet many an oath I sworeAnd many a word of denial, yet ever he pressed me moreTill in secret at last I told him, his kinsman was I in truth,And greatly did he rejoice him when he knew that his words were sooth!'

'A jewel he gave unto me, and I gave to him at his will;Thou sawest my shrine, green shall grass be, yet that shineth greener still,'Twas wrought from the stone he gave me--and a better gift he gave,For his nephew as squire he left me, Prince Ither, the true and brave.His heart such lore had taught him that falsehood his face did flee,The King of Cumberland was he, who, thou sayest, was slain by thee.Then no longer might we delay us, but we parted, alas! for aye.He rode to the land of Baruch, unto Rohas I took my way.

'In Celli three weeks I battled, and I deemed 'twas enough for fame,From Rohas I took my journey and unto Gandein I came,('Twas that town from which first thy grandsire, his name of Gandein did take,)And many a deed did Ither, and men of his prowess spake.And the town lieth near the river, where Graien and Drave they meet,And the waters I ween are golden,--there Ither found guerdon sweet,For thine aunt, Lamire, she loved him, she was queen of that fair land,Gandein of Anjou, her father, he gave it unto her hand.And Lamire was her name, but her country shall be Styria to this day--And many a land must he traverse who seeketh for knightly fray.'

'It grieveth me sore for my red squire, men honoured me for his sake,And Ither was thy near kinsman tho' of that thou small heed didst take!Yet God He hath not forgotten, and thy deed shall He count for sin,And I wot thou shalt first do penance ere thou to His peace shalt win.And, weeping, this truth I tell thee, two mortal sins shall lieOn thine heart, thou hast slain thy kinsman, and thy mother, thro' thee, must die.And in sooth shalt thou sore bewail her; in the day thou didst leave her side,So great was her love, and faithful, that for grief at thy loss she died.Now do thou as here I rede thee, repent thee and pay sin's cost,That thy conflict on earth well ended thy soul be not ever lost.'

Then the host he quoth full kindly, 'Nephew, now say the word,Whence hast thou yon gallant charger? Not yet I the tale have heard!''In a joust, Sir Host, did I win it, when I rode from Siguné's cellIn a gallop I smote the rider and he from the saddle fell,And the steed was mine, I rode hence,--from Monsalväsch he came, the knight.'Quoth the host, 'Is the man yet living who thus with thee did fight?''Yea, I saw him fly before me, and beside me stood his steed.''Nay, if thou in such wise dost bear thee thou art scant of wit indeed!The Grail-knights dost thou rob, and thinkest their friendship thereby to win?''Nay, my uncle, in strife I won it, and he who shall count it sinLet him ask how the thing hath chanced thus, 'twas a fair fight we fought, we twain,Nor was it for naught that I took it, for first had my steed been slain!'

Quoth Parzival, 'Who was the maiden who the Grail in her hands did bear,Her mantle, that eve, she lent me?'--Quoth the hermit, 'That lady fairIs thine aunt, if her robe she lent thee of the loan shalt thou not be vain,For surely she deemed that hereafter thou shouldst there as monarch reign.And the Grail, and herself, yea and I too, should honour thee as our lord:And a gift didst thou take from thine uncle, for he gave thee, I ween, a sword,And sin hast thou won in the wearing, since thy lips, which to speak are fain,There spake not the mystic question which had loosened his sorrow's chain,And that sin shalt thou count to the other, for 'tis time that we lay us down.Nor couches nor cushions had they, but they laid them upon the ground,And for bedding the rushes served them--too humble, I ween, such bedFor men of a race so noble, yet they deemed they were not ill-sped.

Then twice seven days he abode there, with the hermit his lot did share,And the herb of the ground was his portion--yet he sought not for better fare,Right gladly he bare such hardness that should bring to him food so sweet,For as priest did his host absolve him, and as knight gave him counsel meet!

Quoth Parzival to the hermit, 'Say who shall he be, who layBefore the Grail? grey was he, yet his face it was as the day!'Spake the host, 'Titurel thou sawest, and he shall grandsire beTo thy mother, first king and ruler of the Grail and Its knights was he.But a sickness hath fallen on him, and he lieth, nor findeth cure,Yet his face on the Grail yet looketh, by Its power shall his life endure!Nor his countenance changeth colour, and his counsel shall aye be wise--In his youth he rode far and jousted, and won to him valour's prize.'

'An thou wouldst that thy life be adornèd with true worth as thy crown of fame,Then ne'er mayst thou hate a woman, but shall honour, as knight, her name,For women and priests, thou knowest, unarmèd shall be their hand,Yet the blessing of God watcheth o'er them, and as shield round the priest doth stand;For the priest, he careth for thee, that thine end may be free from ill,So treat thou no priest as a foeman, but serve him with right good will.For naught on the earth thou seest that is like to his office high,For he speaketh that word unto us which our peace and our life did buy;And his hand hath been blest for the holding of the pledge on the altar laid,To assure us of sin's forgiveness, and the price for our pardon paid.And a priest who from sin doth guard him, and who to his Lord shall givePure heart and pure hand for His service, say, what man shall holier live?'

Now this day was their day of parting--Trevrezent to our hero spake,'Leave thou here thy sins behind thee, God shall me for thy surety take,And do thou as I have shown thee, be steadfast and true of heart!'Think ye with what grief and sorrow the twain did asunder part.