“Woe is me that mine eyes have seen you! You asked no question! You saw such wonders there—the Grail, the noble ladies, the bloody spear. Wretched, accursed man, what would you have from me? Yours the false wolf-tooth! You should have taken pity on your host, and asked his ail—then God had worked a miracle on him. You live, but dead to happiness.”
“Dear cousin, speak me fair. I will atone for any ill.”
“Atone? nay, leave that! At Munsalvaesch your honour and your knightly praise vanished. You get no more from me.”
Parzival’s fault was not accident; it sprang from what he was—unwise. He could atone only through becoming wise through the endurance of years of trial. The unhappy knight rode on, loosing his helmet to breathe more freely. Soon he chanced to overtake the lady Jesute, travelling on a mean horse in wretched guise, her garments torn, her face disfigured. He offered aid, and she, recognizing him, said with tears that her sorrows all were due to him; she was the lady whose girdle and ring his fool’s hand had taken, and now her husband Orilus treated her as a woman of shame. Here the proud duke himself came thundering up, to see what knight dared aid his cast-off wife. Parzival conquered him after a long combat; and the three went to a hermitage where the victor made oath that it was he who took by force the ring and girdle from the blameless lady. Returning the ring to Orilus, he sent him with his lady, reconciled and happy, to Arthur’s Court. Thus Parzival’s knighthood made amends for his first foolish act. He found a strong lance in the hermitage, took it, and departed.
When Orilus and his lady had been received with honour at Arthur’s Court, the king with all his knights set forth towards Munsalvaesch to find the mighty man calling himself the Red Knight, who had sent so many conquered pledges of his prowess; for he wished to make him a knight of the Round Table. It was winter. Parzival—the Red Knight—came riding from the opposite direction. As he drew near the encampment of the king, his eye lighted on three drops of blood showing clear red in the fresh-fallen snow; in mid air above, a wild goose had been struck by a falcon. The knight paused in reverie—red and white—the colours carried his thoughts to his heart’s queen, Condwiramurs. There he sat, as a statue on his horse, with poised spear; his thoughts had flown to her whose image now closed his eyes to all else. A lad spied the great knight, and ran breathless to Arthur, to tell of the stranger who seemed to challenge all the Round Table. Segramors gained Arthur’s permission to accost him. Out he rode with ready challenge; Parzival neither saw nor heard, till his horse swerved at the knight’s approach, so that he saw the drops no longer. Then his mighty lance fell in rest, Segramors was hurled to the ground, and took himself back discomfited, while Parzival returned to gaze on the drops of blood, lost in reverie as before. Now Kay the quarrelsome rode out, and roused the hero with a rude blow. The joust is run again, and Kay crawls back with broken leg and arm. Again Parzival loses himself in reverie. And now courtly Gawain, best of Arthur’s knights, rides forth, unarmed. Courteously he addresses Parzival, who hears nothing, and sits moveless. Gawain bethinks him it is love that binds the knight. Seeing that Parzival is gazing on three drops of blood, he gently covers them with a silken cloth. Parzival’s wits return; he moans: “Alas, lady wife of mine, what comes between us? A cloud has hidden thee.” Then, astonished, he sees Gawain—a knight without lance or shield—does he come to mock? With noble courtesy Gawain disclosed himself and led the way to Arthur’s Court, where fair ladies and the king greeted the hero whom they had come to seek. A festival was ordained in his honour. The fair company of knights and ladies are seated about the Round Table; the feast is at its height, when suddenly upon a gigantic mule, a scourge in her rough hand, comes riding the seeress Cundrie, harsh and unlovely. Straight she addresses Arthur: “Son of King Uterpendragon, you have shamed yourself and this high company, receiving Parzival, whom you call the Red Knight.” She turns on Parzival: “Disgrace fall on your proud form and strength! Sir Parzival, tell me, how came it that you met that joyless fisher, and did not help him? He showed you his pain, and you, false guest, had no pity for him. Abhorred by all good men, marked for hell by heaven’s Highest, you ban of happiness and curse of joy! No leech can heal your sickened honour. Greater betrayal never shamed a man so goodly. Your host gave you a sword; you saw them bear the Grail, the silver dishes, and the bloody spear, and you, dishonoured Parzival, were silent. You failed to win earth’s chiefest prize; your father had not done so—are you his son? Yes, for Herzeloide was as true as he. Woe’s me, that Herzeloide’s child has so let honour slip!” Cundrie wrung her hands; her tears fell fast; she turned her mule and cried: “Woe, woe to thee Munsalvaesch, mount of pain; here is no aid for thee!” And bidding none farewell, she rode away, leaving Parzival to his shame, the knights to their astonishment, the ladies to their tears.
Cundrie was hardly out of sight, before another shame was put on the Round Table. An armed knight rode in, and, accusing Gawain of murdering his king and cousin, summoned him to mortal combat within forty days before the King of Askalon. Arthur himself was ready to do battle for Gawain, but that good knight accepted the challenge with all courtesy.
Parzival’s lineage was first known to the Court from Cundrie’s calling him by name and speaking of his mother. Now Clamide, once Condwiramurs’s cruel wooer, begged the hero to intercede for him with another fair one, the lady Cunneware. Parzival courteously complied. A heathen queen then saluted him with the news that he had a great heathen half-brother, Feirefiz, the son of Parzival’s father by a heathen queen. Thanking her, Parzival spoke to the company: “I cannot endure Cundrie’s reproach;—what knight here does not look askance? I will seek no joy until I find the Grail, be the quest short or long. The worthy Gurnemanz bade me refrain from questions. Honoured knights, your favour is for me to win again, for I have lost it. Me yet unshamed you took into your company; I release you. Let sorrow be my comrade; for I forsook my happiness on Munsalvaesch. Ah! helpless Anfortas! You had small help from me.”
Knights and ladies were grieved to see the hero depart in such sorrow, and many a knight’s service was offered him. The lady Cunneware took his hand; Lord Gawain kissed him and said: “I know thy way is full of strife; God grant to thee good fortune, and to me the chance to serve thee.”
“Ah! what is God?” answered Parzival. “Were He strong He would not have put such shame on me and you. I was His subject from the hour I learned to ask His favour. Now I renounce His service. If He hates me, I will bear it. Friend, in thine hour of strife let the love of a woman pure and true strengthen thy hand. I know not when I shall see thee again; may my good wishes towards thee be fulfilled.”
The hero’s arms are brought; his horse is saddled; his grievous toil begins.