The story here turns to Gawain. In the tale of his adventures there comes a glimpse of Parzival. A proud lady, for whose love Gawain is doing perilous deeds, tells him, she has never met a man she could not bend to her will and love, save only one. That one came and overthrew her knights. She offered him her land and her fair self; his answer put her to shame: “The glorious Queen of Pelrapeire is my wife, and I am Parzival. I will have none of your love. The Grail gives me other care.”
Gawain won this lady, and conducted her to Arthur’s Court, whither his rival the haughty King Gramoflanz was summoned to do battle with him. On the morning set for the combat Gawain rode out a little to the bank of a river, to prove his horse and armour. There at the river rode a knight; Gawain deemed it was Gramoflanz. They rush together; man and horse go down in the joust. The knights spring to their feet and fight on with their swords. Meanwhile Gramoflanz, with a splendid company, has arrived at Arthur’s Court. The lists are ready; Gramoflanz stands armed. But where is Gawain? He was not wont to tarry. Squires hurry out in search, to find him just falling before the blows of the stranger. They call, Gawain! and the unknown knight throws away his sword with a great cry: “Wretched and worthless! Accursed is my dishonoured hand. Be mine the shame. My luckless arms ever—and now again—strike down my happiness. That I should raise my hand against noble Gawain! It is myself that I have overthrown.”
Gawain heard him: “Alas, sir, who are you that speak such love towards me? Would you had spoken sooner, before my strength and praise had left me.”
“Cousin, I am your cousin, ready to serve you, Parzival.”
“Then you said true! This fool’s fight of two hearts that love! Your hand has overthrown us both.”
Gawain could no longer stand. Fainting they laid him on the grass. Gramoflanz rides up, and is grieved to find his rival in no condition to fight. Parzival offers to take Gawain’s place; but Gramoflanz declines, and the combat is postponed till the morrow. Parzival is then escorted to Arthur’s Court, where Gawain would have him meet fair ladies; he holds back, thinking of the shame once put on him there by Cundrie. Gawain insists, and ladies greet the knight. Arthur again makes Parzival one of the Round Table. Early the next morning, Parzival, changing his arms, meets Gramoflanz in the lists, before Gawain has arrived; and vanquishes him. Then comes Gawain and offers to postpone the combat as Gramoflanz had done. So the combat is again set for the next day. In the meanwhile, however, various matters come to light and explanations are had; Arthur succeeds in reconciling the rival knights and adjusting their relations to the ladies. So the Court becomes gay with wedding festivals, and all is joy.
Except with Parzival. His heart is torn with pain and yearning for his wife. He muses: “Since I could love, how has love dealt with me! I was born from love; why have I lost love? I must seek the Grail; yet how I yearn for the sweet arms of her from whom I parted—so long ago! It is not fit that I should look on this joyful festival with anguish in my heart.” There lay his armour: “Since I have no part in this joy, and God wills none for me; and the love of Condwiramurs banishes all wish for other happiness—now God grant happiness to all this company. I will go forth.” He put his armour on, saddled his horse, took spear and shield, and fled from the joyous Court, as the day was dawning.
And now he meets a heathen knight, approaching with a splendid following. They rode a great joust; and the heathen wondered to find a knight abide his lance. They fought with swords together, till their horses were blown; they sprang on the ground, and there fought on. Then the heathen thought of his queen; the love-thought brought him strength, and he struck Parzival a blow that brought him to his knee. Now rouse thee, Parzival; why dost thou not think on thy wife? Suddenly he thought of her, and how he won her love, vanquishing Clamide before Pelrapeire. Straight her aid came to him across four kingdoms, and he struck the heathen down; but his sword—once Ither’s—broke.
The foolish evil deed of Parzival in slaying Ither seems atoned for in the breaking of this sword. Had it not broken, great evil had been done. The great-hearted heathen sprang up. “Hero, you would have conquered had that sword not broken. Be peace between us while we rest.”
They sat together on the grass. “Tell me your name,” said the heathen; “I have never met as great a knight.”