As our author was a thoughtful German, his style is difficult and involved. Yet he had imagination, and his poem is great in the climaxes of the story. It is a poem of the hero’s development, his spiritual progress. Apparently it was Wolfram who first realized the profound significance of the Parzival legend. Both the choice of subject and the contents of the poem reflect his temperament and opinions. Wolfram was a knight, and chose a knightly tale; for him knightly victories were the natural symbols of a man’s progress. He was also one living in the world, prizing its gifts, and entertaining merely a perfunctory approval of ascetic renunciation. The loyal love between man and woman was to him earth’s greatest good, and wedlock did not yield to celibacy in righteousness.[723] Let fame and power and the glory of this world be striven for and won in loyalty and steadfastness and truth, in service of those who need aid, in mercy to the vanquished and in humility before God, with assurance that He is truth and loyalty and power, and never fails those who obey and serve Him.
“While two wills (Zvifel, Zweifel == doubt) dwell near the heart, the soul is bitter. Shamed and graced the man whose dauntless mood is—piebald! In him both heaven and hell have part. Black-coloured the unsteadfast comrade; white the man whose thoughts keep troth. False comradeship is fit for hell fire. Likewise let women heed whither they carry their honour, and on whom they bestow their love, that they may not rue their troth. Before God, I counsel good women to observe right measure. Their fortress is shame: I cannot wish them better weal. The false one gains false reward; her praise vanishes. Wide is the fame of many a fair; but if her heart be counterfeit, ’tis a false gem set in gold. The woman true to womanhood, be hers the praise—not lessened by her outside hue.
“Shall I now prove and draw a man and woman rightly? Hear then this tale of love—joy and anguish too. My story tells of faithfulness, of woman’s truth to womanhood, of man’s to manhood, never flinching. Steel was he; in strife his conquering hand still took the guerdon; he, brave and slowly wise, this hero whom I greet, sweet in the eyes of women, heart’s malady for them as well, himself a very flight from evil deed.”
Such is Wolfram’s Prologue. The story opens in a forest, where Queen Herzeloide had buried herself with her infant son after the death in knightly battle of Prince Gahmuret, her husband. The broken-hearted, foolish mother is seeking to keep her boy in ignorance of arms and knights. He has made himself a bow; he shoots a bird—its song is hushed. This is the child’s first sorrow, and childish ignorance has been the cause; as afterwards youth’s folly and then man’s lack of wisdom will cause that child, grown large, more lasting anguish. Now to see a bird makes his tears start. His still foolish mother orders her servants to kill them. The boy protests, and the mother with a quick caress declares the birds shall have peace, she will no more infringe God’s commands. At this unknown name the boy cries out, “O mother! what is God?” “Son, I will tell thee. Brighter than the day is He—who put on a human face. Pray to Him in need; His faithfulness helps men ever. There is another, hell’s chief, black and false. Keep thy thoughts from him and from doubt’s waverings.” Away springs the boy again; and in the forest he learns to throw the hunting-spear and slay the stags. One day he hears the sounds of hoofs. He waves his spear: “May now the devil come in all his rage; I’d stand against him. My mother speaks of him in dread; but she is just afraid.” Three knights gallop up in glancing armour. He thinks each is a god; falls on his knees before them. “Help, god, since thou canst help so well!” “This fool blocks our path,” cries one. A fourth, their lord, rides up, and the boy calls him God.
“God?—not I; I gladly do His behests. Thou seest four knights.”
“Knights? what is that? If thou hast not God’s power, then tell me, who makes knights?”
“Young sir, that does King Arthur; go to him. He’ll knight you—you seem to knighthood born.”
The knights gazed on the boy, in whom God’s craft showed clear. The boy touches their armour, their swords. The prince speaks over him: “Had I thy beauty! God’s gifts to thee are great—if thou wilt wisely fare. May He keep sorrow from thee!” The knights rode on, while the boy sped to his mother, to tell her what he had seen. She was speechless. The boy would go to Arthur’s Court. So she bethought her of a silly plan, to put fool’s garb on him, that insult and scoff might drive him back to her. She also gave him counsel, wise and foolish.
So the youth is launched. He rides away; his mother dies of grief. As his path winds on, he finds a lady asleep in a pavilion, and following his mother’s counsel he kisses her, and takes her ring by force; trouble came from this deed of folly. Then he meets with Sigune, mourning a dead knight. He stops and promises to avenge her. She was his cousin and, recognizing him, called him by name, and spoke to him of his lineage. Then the youth is piloted by a fisherman, till, in the neighbourhood of Arthur’s Court, he meets a knight, Ither, in red armour, who greets him, points out the way, and sends a challenge to Arthur and his Round Table. Parzival now finds himself at Arthur’s thronging Court. The young Iwein first speaks to him and the fool-youth returns: “God keep thee—so my mother bade me say. Here I see so many Arthurs; who is it that will make me knight?” Iwein, laughing, leads him to the royal pavilion, where he says: “God keep you, gentles, especially the king and his wife—as my mother bade me greet—and all the honoured knights of the Round Table. But I cannot tell which one here is lord. To him a red knight sends a challenge; I think he wants to fight. O! might the king’s hand grant me the Red Knight’s harness!” They crowd around the glorious youth. “Thanks, young sir, for your greeting which I shall hope to earn,” said the king.
“Would to God!” cried the young man, quivering with impatience; “the time seems years before I shall be knight. Give me knighthood now.”