‘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,5

What doeth he now my hero? whom Kondrie, to find the Grail

Hath driven, with words sharp-pointed, and sore wept the maidens fair

That 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?10

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 Monsalv?sch, and Anfortas, the mournful king,15

Whose heart was with sorrow laden? Of thy pity swift comfort bring,

And say if his woe be ended—Speak, speak for we tidings pray

Of 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?20

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,25

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,30

And all others paled before it—In many a mighty strife

With 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 spring35

By Karnant, and much fame and honour the blade to its lord did bring!

Who believeth me not, he sinneth, for now doth the venture tell

How 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,40

And a stream flowed swift beneath it, for ’twas built o’er the brooklet’s wave

Then 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,45

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.50

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 braved55

Her wrath, and had given such counsel, as she once to her lady gave.

And today may we look upon women, who never a willing ear

Had 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,60

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,65

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 unwrought

Rode 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.70

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 aside

On the greensward beside the pathway, for he deemed he too near did ride,

And sooner had he dismounted had he known that a maiden dwelt75

Within 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.80

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,85

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.90

And the stone set within the circlet was a garnet, whose slumbering light

Flashed 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,95

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 befall

That 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 drear100

Seemeth 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.’105

A little space she kept silence, then further the maid did speak:

‘An it otherwise were with me as I would, I need little care

For 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?110

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;115

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 wear

Since the day that Duke Orilus slew him—and grief for his sake I bear—’120

‘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 deed

Sought 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,125

Shall be, and if thoughts God counteth as deeds then is woven aright

The 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 God

Of a marriage vow and the tear-drops that bedew it are tears of blood.’130

‘Yea, ’tis I indeed, and none other, and the hero who here doth lie

Is 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 white135

Thro’ 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.140

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,145

For the day when the Burg of Monsalv?sch, 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!150

And I would not too sorely grieve thee—Alas I that thou didst withhold

The word that had brought thee honour, and the tale of his griefs had told

Who 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,155

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 dear

I prithee here give me counsel, since in sooth are we kinsmen near.160

And tell me, how fares it with thee? I would sorrow for this thy woe

Were 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 show

That shall lead thee once more to Monsalv?sch, and thine heart’s bliss afresh shall spring.165

’Tis but short space since Kondrie left me, and I would I could tidings bring

Of 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,170

And, perchance, thou shalt overtake her.’ Then the knight he made no delay

But 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 choose

Thro’ 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,175

And joy and delight fled with It—Yea, had he but found the way,

And reached once again Monsalv?sch, for better than erst of old

Had 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!180

And to Parzival thus quoth he, ‘Sir Knight, I must deem it ill

That 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!

Monsalv?sch 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,185

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 be

His threat, for his blows should enforce it! Now ready for joust was he;190

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 fall

If 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 skill195

I 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 fray

Unscathed had Parzival ridden, and e’en so should it chance to-day.200

(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,205

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 flight

Ere 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,210

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?215

Far better at home in Monsalv?sch 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.220

Of a truth his spear had he shattered, yet more than he lost he won—

Nor L?helein, 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 Monsalv?sch, yet one grief must vex his soul,225

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 Parzival

Had 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 bore230

Yet 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,235

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.240

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,245

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.250

But a sorrow the old man deemed it that one to this Holy Tide

Should 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,255

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 crave260

For 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!265

For to-day all men call Good Friday, and the world it rejoiceth still

O’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!270

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,275

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 strong

And fair shall he be to look on, and the way is both cold and long.280

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,285

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 year

The 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!’290

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.)295

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!300

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 aside

All too fair methinks are these maidens, ’twere unfitting that I should ride

While they by my side walk barefoot—And ’tis better that we should part,305

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,310

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 he315

In 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 anew

Of 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 thought320

‘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 know

His payment for service done Him—if He thinketh His aid they earn

Who 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,325

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.330

Then he spake, ‘Is God’s power so mighty that He guideth upon their way

The steed alike and the rider, then His hand may I praise to-day!

If God sendeth help from heaven, then let Him my charger show

The 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 laid335

Free on the neck of his charger and spurred it adown the glade.

Towards Fontaine-Sauvage the road led, and the chapel where once he sware

The oath that should clear Jeschuté—A holy man dwelt there,

And Trevrezent men called him, and ever on Monday morn

Poor was his fare, and no richer it waxed as the week wore on.340

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—345

And he, who of this hath asked me, and since silence my lips must seal

Was 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 sped

That the hidden should be made open, and the marvel of men be read.350

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 lore

By 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,355

He read the tale, else ’twere hidden; for never, the story saith,

Might heathen skill have shown us the virtue that hidden lies

In 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,360

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 bear

The 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,365

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 Hand

To the light of His truth to turn them? For who may His power withstand!

And the heathen, Flegetanis, could read in the heavens high

How the stars roll on their courses, how they circle the silent sky,370

And the time when their wandering endeth—and the life and the lot of men

He read in the stars, and strange secrets he saw, and he spake again

Low, 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,375

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,380

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 sought

Till at length, in the land of Anjou, the story to light was brought.

There, in true and faithful record, was it written of Mazadan,385

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 wed

And bare him for son the hero whose wanderings ye now have read.390

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 white

On the ground that erst was blooming with flowers of springtide bright.

’Twas before the rocky hillside where his hand must wipe away395

The stain from Jeschuté‘s honour, and her husband’s wrath allay.

Yet still the road led onward, to Fontaine-Sauvage, the name

Of 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.400

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.405

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.’410

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 found

Who 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,415

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.420

A prince of the land of Punturtois, and his sister Kareis’ king

Hath taken to wife—Fairer maidens no mother to earth did bring

Than 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,425

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 bear

Have I feared than I feared a man’s face, in sooth shalt thou be aware

I 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 fly430

For fear, as beseems a maiden! For never my heart did quail

When 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 thought435

With the pure mind within me battled, and ever my way I wrought

To 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 wall

Thy steed shall abide in safety, and we, ere the night shall fall,440

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 old

Should 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,445

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.450

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,455

(Well strewn was the ground with fuel,) then swiftly the gallant knight

Laid 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 way

Nor a roof save the stars of heaven had he known for many a day.460

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;465

And the shrine—Parzival must know it, ’twas the spot where he once did swear

With 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;470

And a spear, with fair colours blazoned, that did here by the altar stand

I 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,475

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.480

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,485

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 be

And men unto God give honour, there no eye hath looked on me,490

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 grow

Till 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 found495

Than 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 pressed

On the honour my hand had won me o’er many a foeman’s crest!500

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 away505

Such 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?510

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 learn515

How 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 be

When we think of the deed, so gracious, once wrought of His love so free!520

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 sworn525

Hatred 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?530

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, Eve535

He 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!540

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, reft545

Maidenhood 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.550

And here will I read the riddle, he who robbed her of maidenhood

Was 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,555

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’en

Of the son of the first Earth-Maiden, since to help us He aye was fain.560

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,565

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.570

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 foretell

Who 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,575

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;580

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,585

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,590

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?595

Tho’ the world count him honour-worthy, his soul s............