Parzival courteously took his leave. He had regarded his failure to ask that question as a luckless error, had felt that God was unjust to him, and had also doubted His power to aid. Now came wavering thoughts: “What if God might help my pain? If He ever favoured a knight, or if sword and shield might win His favour—if to-day is His day of help, let Him help me if He can. If God’s craft can show the way to man and horse, I’ll honour Him. Go then according to God’s choosing.”
He flung the bridle on his horse’s neck, spurring him forward; and the horse carried him straight to the hermitage of holy Trevrizent, who fasted there to fit himself for heaven, his chastity warring with the devil. Parzival recognized the place where he had sworn the oath to Orilus, to clear Jesute’s honour. The hermit, seeing him, exclaimed: “Alas! sir, that you ride equipped in this holy season. Were you sore pressed? Another garb were fitter, did your pride permit. Come by the fire. If you follow love’s adventure, think of that afterward, and this day seek the love which this day gives.”
Dismounting, Parzival stood respectfully before the hermit: “Sir, advise me; I am a man of sin.”
His host promised counsel and asked how he came there. Parzival told of meeting the old knight, and inquired whether his host felt no fear at seeing him ride up. “Believe me, no,” answered the hermit; “I fear no man. I would not boast, but in my day my heart never quailed in the fight. I was a knight as you are, and had many sinful thoughts.”
Having placed the horse in shelter beneath a cliff, the hermit led the knight into his cell. There was a fire of coals, before which Parzival was glad to warm himself and exchange his steel armour for a cloak; he seemed forest-weary. A door opened to an inner cell, where stood an altar, bearing the very reliquary on which Parzival had laid his hand in making oath. He told his host of this, and of the lance which he had found there and taken. “A friend of mine left it there, and chided with me afterwards. It is four years, six months, and three days since you took that spear; I will prove it to you from this Psalter.”
“I did not know how long I had journeyed, lost and unhappy. I carry sorrow’s weight. Sir, I will tell you more: from that time no man has seen me in church or minster, where they honour God. I have sought battles only. I also bear a hate for God. He is my trouble’s sponsor: had He borne aid, my joy had not been buried living! My heart is sore. In reward of my many fights, sorrow has set on me a crown—of thorns. I bear a grudge against that Lord of aid, that me alone He helps not.”
The host sighed, and looked at him; then spoke: “Sir, be wise. You should trust God well. He will help you, it is His office; He must help us both. Tell me with sober wits, how did your anger against Him arise? Learn from me His guiltlessness before you accuse Him. His aid is never withheld. Even I, a layman, can read the meaning of those unlying books; man must continue steadfast in service of Him who never wearies in His steady aid to sinking souls. Keep troth, for God is troth. Deceit is hateful to Him. We should be grateful; in our behalf His nobility took on the form of man. God is called, and is, truth. He can turn from no one; teach your thoughts never to turn from Him. You can force nothing from Him with your wrath. Whoever sees you carry hate toward Him will deem you sick of wit. Think of Lucifer and all his comrades. Hell was their reward. When Lucifer and his host had taken their hell-journey, a man was made. God made from clay the worthy Adam. From Adam’s flesh He took Eve, who brought us calamity when she listened not to her Creator, and destroyed our joy. Two sons were born to them. One of these in envious anger destroyed his grandmother’s maidenhood, by sin.”
“Sir, how could that be?”
“The earth was Adam’s mother, and was a maiden. Adam was Cain’s father, who slew Abel; and the blood fell on the pure earth; its maidenhood was sped. Thence arose hate among men—and still endures. Nothing in the world is as pure as an innocent maid; God was himself a maiden’s child, and took the image of the first maid’s fruit. With Adam’s seed came sorrow and joy; through him our lineage is from God, but through him, too, we carry sin, for which God took man’s image, and so suffered, battling with troth against untroth. Turn to Him if you would not be lost. Plato, Sibyl the prophetess, foretold Him. With divine love His mighty hand plucked us from hell. The joyful news they tell of Him the True Lover is this: He is radiant light, and wavers not in His love. Men may have either His love or hate. The unrepentant sinner flees the divine faithfulness; he who does penance wins His clemency. God penetrates thought, which is hidden to the sun’s rays and needs no castle’s ward. Yet God’s light passes its dark wall, comes stealing in, and noiselessly departs. No thought so quick but He discovers it before it leaves the heart. The pure in heart He chooses. Woe to the man who harbours evil. What help is there in human craft for him whose deeds put God to shame? You are lost if you act in His despite, who is prepared for either love or hate. Now change your heart; with goodness earn His thanks.”
“Sir,” says Parzival, “I am glad to be taught by you of Him who does not fail to reward both crime and virtue. With pain and struggle I have so borne my young life to this day that through keeping troth I have got sorrow.”