BOOK III

GURNEMANZ

Is there ever a singer among you, who singeth a sweeter song Of the favour and love of women, I hold not he does me wrong! Full fain am I still to hearken to aught that may give them joy, But to one alone among women my homage I still deny. Nay, ever the fire of my anger doth kindle and flame anew, 5 And the sorrow her treason wrought me, it grieveth me still I trow! I, whom men have named the singer, I, Wolfram of Eschenbach, The words that against a woman I spake, I may ne'er take back. Nay, I hold fast my wrath for ever, and clasp it closer still, As I think how in soul and body alike hath she wrought me ill! 10 How can I do aught but hate her, till death setteth seal on life? Yet it grieveth me sore that others should mingle in this our strife;

It grieveth me sore that maidens should say, as they name my name, 'Forsooth he hath shamed all women, let it be unto him for shame!' Nay, then, an they reckon for evil the words that in grief I spake, 15 I will speak them no more for ever, though my heart should in silence break! But let them beware in their anger, these warlike maidens fair, How they stir from his eyrie the eagle, rouse the lion from his lair! Full well I know how to defend me, full well know I what beseems The maid of a knight's devotion, the maid of the poet's dreams! 20 Let a maiden be steadfast-hearted, pure and true in word and deed, And her champion true she'll find me, comes there ever an hour of need.

I hold his renown waxeth slowly, and halteth upon the road, Who, for wrong at the hand of one woman, shall slander all womanhood: But if any will look upon me, and hearken to what I sing, 25 Of a sooth I will not deceive them, though my tale over-strange may ring. Born was I unto the bearing of knightly shield and spear, And though sweet be the song of the singer, I hold it not all too dear: I had rather my love should love me for my deeds of high renown, Than because in the hall of the Wartburg they should crown me with music's crown! 30 With the shield and the spear of knighthood will I seek for a knight's reward, Nor charm, with the harp of the singer, what I failèd to win with the sword!

Nor in praise of fair women only runs this tale that I have to tell, Full many strange deeds it holdeth, and marvels that once befell Ere the course of this wondrous venture be tracèd unto its end; 35 Yet he who heareth shall reckon, if he fain would account me friend, That this is no book he readeth, for no maker of books am I! But a singer of strange adventures, and of knightly prowess high: Stripped bare will I be of all honour, naked and reft of fame, Ere I trust my renown unto letters, and give to a book my name! 40

It vexes me, soul and body, that so many should bear the name And speak with the tongue of women, who reck not of woman's fame; That those who have known no falsehood, and those who are swift to fall, Should carry one name in common, be counted as sisters all! A truth that has faltered never, a faith that has aye withstood, 45 Is the only glory of woman, the crown of her womanhood!

Many will say, 'What good thing can come out of poverty?' She who for love endures it, she 'scapeth Hell thereby, And, in the kingdom of Heaven, receiveth a hundredfold For all she has borne for love's sake, new joys for her sorrows old! 50 Not one have I known in my lifetime, I count it a bitter truth, Neither a man nor a maiden, who the joy and the pride of youth, And all earth's riches and honour, will leave as a worthless thing If weighed with the glory of Heaven, and the service of Heaven's King! But Queen Herzeleide only, she left her fair estate, 55 In her youth of all joy bereavèd, with sorrow afar to mate. So holy was she and gentle, so faithful and pure of mind, That no tongue spake a word against her, and no eye a fault could find. Sunlight or shadow, what recked she? the day was to her as night, For her heart was the home of sorrow, and dead was the world's delight. 60 And in sorrow and grief she wandered, till she came to Soltanè's strand, A woodland wild and lonely afar from her native land: Fair flowers might bloom and blossom without, on the sunlit plain, And be woven in rosy chaplets, but for her they would bloom in vain! And there, mid the woodland shadows, she hid with Gamuret's son, 65 For she willed that her life's last treasure be revealed unto none: So she called her folk around her, (who toiled in the upland field With oxen and plough, that the furrows their daily bread might yield,) And she charged them all, by the service which she as their queen might claim, That they hide from the boy his birthright and the fame of his father's name. 70 'For the knightly deeds ye vaunt of, and the glory and pride of war, Have wrought me but heart's affliction, and trouble and anguish sore, So, lest I yet more should suffer, I pray you, my servants dear, That ye speak no word of knighthood, lest my son perchance should hear!'

Then full sore were her people grievèd, for they held it an evil thing, 75 And a training that ill beseemèd the son of a mighty king. But his mother kept him hidden in the woodland valleys wild, Nor thought in her love and sorrow how she wronged the kingly child: No knightly weapon she gave him, save such as in childish play He wrought himself from the bushes that grew on his lonely way, 80 A bow and arrows he made him, and with these, in thoughtless glee, He shot at the birds as they carolled o'erhead in the leafy tree.

But when the feathered songster of the woods at his feet lay dead, In wonder and dumb amazement he bowed down his golden head, And in childish wrath and sorrow tore the locks of his sunny hair; 85 (For I wot well of all earth's children was never a child so fair As this boy, who afar in the desert from the haunts of mankind did dwell, Who bathed in the mountain streamlet, and roamed o'er the rock-strewn fell!) Then he thought him well how the music, which his hand had for ever stilled, Had thrilled his soul with its sweetness, and his heart was with sorrow filled, 90 And the ready tears of childhood flowed forth from their fountains free As he ran to his mother weeping, and bowed him beside her knee. 'What aileth thee child?' quoth the mother, 'but now wast thou gay and glad'-- But, childlike, he gave no answer, scarce wist he what made him sad!

But Queen Herzeleide watched him through the sunny summer days, 95 Till beneath a tree she saw him stand silent, with upturned gaze, And a look of joyful rapture in the radiant childish eyes, As he listed the bird, that, soaring, sang clear thro' the cloudless skies; And the mother's heart was troubled, and her wrath waxed to fever heat, She would brook in his love no rival--not even God's singers sweet! 100 So she sent forth in haste her servants, with many a cunning snare To capture the singers whose music made joyful the woodlands fair. Then, alas! for the birds, who struggled in the cruel snare in vain, Yet some few burst their bonds, and joyful, brake forth into song again!

Then the boy spake,'Now sweet my mother, why trouble the birds so sore? 105 Forsooth they can ne'er have harmed thee, ah, leave them in peace once more!' And his mother kissed him gently, 'Perchance I have wrought a wrong, Of a truth, the dear God who made them, He gave unto them their song, And I would not that one of his creatures should sorrow because of me.' But the boy looked up in wonder, 'God, Mother? Who may God be?' 110 'My son, He is light beyond all light, brighter than summer's day, And He bare a Man's Face, that we men might look on His Face alway! Art thou ever in need of succour? call on Him in thine hour of ill, And be sure He will fail thee never, but will hear thee, and help thee still. Yet one there is dwelleth in darkness, and I wot men may fear him well, 115 For his home is the house of falsehood, and his kingdom the realm of Hell! Turn thy mind away from him ever, nor waver betwixt the twain, For he who doubteth, his labour shall ever be wrought in vain.'

Thus his mother read him the riddle, the myst'ry of day and night, The dread and the doom of darkness, and the glory and grace of light! 120 Then javelin in hand he hastened thro' the forest pathways wild, And the deer sprang up from their thickets, and fled from the dauntless child; But clear-eyed and eager-footed he hastened upon their track, And full oft with a hornèd trophy, at even he hied him back. Little cared he for rain or sunshine, summer's storm or winter's snow, 125 And daily in strength and beauty all men might behold him grow; Till at length no beast so mighty thro' the forest wild did roam, If it fell 'neath his shaft, unaided, on his shoulder he bore it home!

It chanced thro' a woodland thicket one morn as he took his way, And brake from o'erhanging bushes full many a leafy spray, 130 That a pathway steep and winding rose sharply his track anear, And the distant beat of horse-hoofs fell strange on his wondering ear. Then the boy grasped his javelin firmly and thought what the sound might be; 'Perchance 'tis the devil cometh! Well, I care not if it be he! Methinks I can still withstand him, be he never so fierce and grim, 135 Of a truth my lady mother she is o'er-much afraid of _him_!

As he stood there for combat ready, behold, in the morning light, Three knights rode into the clearing, in glittering armour bright; From head to foot were they armèd, each one on his gallant steed, And the lad as he saw their glory thought each one a god indeed! 140 No longer he stood defiant, but knelt low upon his knee, And cried, 'God, Who helpest all men, I pray Thee have thought for me!'

Then wroth was the foremost rider as the lad barred his further way, And he spake out, 'This stupid _Waleis_ will hinder our work to-day!' (Now here would I give to the Waleis the fame we Bavarians hold; 145 They are duller than e'en our people, yet manly in strife and bold. And in sooth were one born in both countries such marvel of strength and skill Would he hide in himself that I think me their fame he might well fulfil!)

Then there rode swift with hanging bridle, in costly harness dight, With plumed and jewelled helmet another gallant knight; 150 Swiftly he came as thirsting to challenge in mortal fight The foe who sped far before him, who had done him a sore despite; For two knights from out his kingdom a maiden had borne away, And he held it a deed most shameful and one he must needs repay; For the maiden's sorrow grieved him, and fain would he ease her pain: 155 (And the three knights who rode before him were part of his warlike train.) He rode a Spanish war-horse, and his shield had fierce conflict seen, And Karnachkarnanz did they call him (he was Ulterleg's count I ween). Then he cried to his knights, 'Why loiter? who barreth our onward way?' And straight on the lad did he ride there, who deemed him a god alway, 160 For ne'er had he seen such glory; his harness shone fair with dew, And on either foot the stirrups with golden bells rang true. And their length was e'en as fitting, and with bells did each strong arm ring, As he stirred himself, or his sword-blade in battle aloft would swing. And the hero was swift in seeking the guerdon of knightly prize, 165 So he rode here, the prince, and had decked him in a fair and wondrous wise.

Then spake this flower of all knighthood, 'Say, boy, did they pass thy way? Two knights who have shamed their knighthood, nay, _robbers_ I ween are they, For they bear a maiden with them, and she rideth against her will!' Yet the boy, tho' he spake with a man's tongue, as a god must account him still; 170 For he thought how Queen Herzeleide had told him that God was Light And dwelleth in Light for ever; and so to his dazzled sight This knight, in his shining armour in the glow of the summer's day, Was the God of his mother's lesson, and he knelt him again to pray.

But the prince he spake full gently, 'Fain am I to do God's will, 175 And yet for no God I hold me, but a sinful mortal still. Nay, wert thou more clear of vision, thou wouldst see, an thou sawest aright, No Lord of the host of Heaven, but only a humble knight!'

'Knight?' quoth the boy in answer, 'Nay! I wot not what that may be, Is thy strength not of God, but of knighthood, then I would such were given to me!' 180 'Then wend thy way to King Arthur, an thou camest unto his court, A noble knight he would make thee, ashamed and afeared for naught, For sure, now I look upon thee, thou com'st of a noble strain.' Then his knights they turned their bridles, and gazed at the boy again. Full well might they look and wonder, at the work that God's Hand had wrought, 185 For they say, who tell this story, that never could human thought Have dreamed of aught so goodly, since ever the world began, For of all men beloved by women, was there never so fair a man! Loud they laughed as the boy spake further, 'Good knight, what may these be? These rings that so close around thee, above and below I see.' 190 Then he handled, with curious finger, the armour the knight did bear, His coat of mail close-linkèd as behovèd a knight to wear; And he spake as he looked on the harness, 'My mother's maidens string On their chains, and around their fingers, full many a shining ring, But they cling not so close to each other as these rings that here I see, 195 I cannot force them asunder, what good are they then to thee?'

Then the prince drew forth from its scabbard his shining blade so keen, 'Now see, he who fights against me, must withstand my sword I ween, And lest he, on his part, should slay me, it is fit that with mail and shield, I ward me against his spear-thrusts, and the blows that his arm may wield.' 200 Swiftly the lad made answer, 'Little good would it do the deer An their coats were e'en such as thine is, they would fall still beneath my spear.'

Full wroth were the knights and scornful that their lord thus long had talked With this lad with the face of an angel, and the speech as of one distraught; Then the prince he spake full gently, 'God keep thee in His good grace, 205 I would that my shield's bright mirror might show me as fair a face! Nay, an the Giver of all gifts but gave thee wit enow To match with a mien so goodly, full rich wert thou then I trow! May He keep all sorrow from thee, and thy life be a summer's day--' And with that he turned his bridle, and wended once more his way. 210 Then adown the woodland pathway they rode, till they came full soon Where the carles of Queen Herzeleide toiled hard thro' the sultry noon: The fields must they plough and harrow, if a harvest they hoped to reap, So they goaded the patient oxen to their toil on the hillside steep.

Then the prince he gave them 'Good-morrow,' and asked if there passed that way 215 A maiden in need and sorrow? and they dared not to say him nay; But they answered him e'en as he prayed them, and they spake 'Yea, at early morn Two knights and a maiden passed here, and the maiden, she wept forlorn, And the knights as they rode beside her, spurred ever her flying steed.' Then the prince knew his foe, Meljakanz, and his wrath waxed hot indeed, 220 On his tracks he followed swiftly, and they who this venture tell, Say he won back in fight the maiden ere the shadows of evening fell.

But sore were the queen's folk troubled that the heroes had chanced that way, And they spake, 'God forbid that our queen's son fall in with these knights to-day! An he chances to light upon them in the pride of their warlike gear, 225 It will anger full sore our mistress if by hap she the tale should hear: And ill-luck will it bring upon us that, ere ever the dawn of day, With us while his mother slumbered, to the woods he stole away!' Little recked the boy of their trouble as he chased the flying deer, And shouted in youthful gladness, as they fell before his spear 230 Then homeward he sped to his mother, but ere he his tale might tell She was smitten with deadly terror, and low at his feet she fell.

Then soon as Queen Herzeleide found hearing and speech once more Her boy was she fain to question tho' her heart it misgave her sore; 'Who spake to thee, son, of knighthood? What knowest thou of such-like rede?' 235 'I met in the woods, sweet mother, four men I deemed gods indeed, So light were they all and shining, God Himself ne'er could brighter be, And of knighthood they spake and King Arthur, who might well make a knight of me!' Then her sorrow of old-time wakened, and the queen in her heart she sought For some cunning wile of woman, that her boy from his will be brought. 240

When the simple lad and gallant would crave from her hand a steed, Tho' heavy her heart, she bethought her in naught to gainsay his need, 'Yet not as he asks will I give him, no mother's gifts be mine, But ever the worst and the meanest that my skill may aye divine.' And she thought her, Queen Herzeleide, 'Many folk thro' the world shall fare 245 Who love mocking--On his fair body my son shall a Fool's dress wear, Then sure when the mockers see him, and to scoff at his garb are fain, An he at their hands be smitten, then he cometh to me again!' Alas! for a woman's cunning, and the cruelty of mother's love, She chose from her stores a sackcloth, the coarsest that might be wove, 250 And a garment of this she made him that should reach e'en unto his knee; For his sunny hair such covering as on fools men are wont to see; And instead of hose she bound him on his limbs so strong and fair Leggings of undressed calf-skin--And all wept who beheld him there.

Then his mother with forethought bade him to tarry till morning light, 255 'Nor from hence would I have thee journey till my rede thou hast heard aright-- _'Keep thou ever from paths untrodden and ford not the darkling stream, Where the waters flow clear and limpid, there safe is the ford I ween. And be ever fair and courteous, greet all men who pass thy way. If a wise man old and grey-headed would teach thee, as well he may,_ 260 _All courteous ways and fitting, as his word so shall be thy deed, Nor wax wroth if by whiles he chide thee, but give to my words good heed. And one thing, my son, would I tell thee, canst thou win from a maid her ring And her greeting fair, thou shalt take them, and sorrow hath lost her sting! If a kiss from her lips she will give thee, and thine arms shall the maid enfold,_ 265 _Be she pure and true thou art blessèd, and thy strength shall wax high and bold!'_

'And hearken my son, a proud knight, Lähelein, do men call his name, From thy princes two lands hath wrested, else from them couldst thou tribute claim. And Waleis they are and Norgals--and one of thy princes brave, Turkentals, hath he slain, and thy people he hath smitten and doth enslave.' 270 'For such wrong will I vengeance, mother, if vengeance be here God's will, Be he never so strong with my javelin I think me to wound him still.'

Then e'en at the daylight's dawning the boy would no longer stay, For the thought of King Arthur's glory yet heavy upon him lay. Then Queen Herzeleide kissed him, and she sped swift his steed behind, 275 And the sorrow of sorrows smote her when her boy she no more might find. (Hence he rode and what heart rejoiceth?) Then the queen from all falsehood free, Fell low on the earth, and grief tare her till death must her portion be! Yet I wot that her death so faithful it hath saved her from pains of Hell, And to be of such son the mother, it repayeth all anguish well! 280 Thus she, the root of all goodness whence humility's flower might blow, Herself on a pilgrimage wended that a goodly goal should know. Woe worth us! that none of their children should live still, to hand us down In these days when we look on falsehood their honour and fair renown. And therefore shall faithful women wish well to this lad so bold, 285 Who rideth fair ventures seeking, whose journey ye now behold!

Then the gallant lad rode onward on his way toward Briziljan's wood, And he came to a rippling streamlet, and a cock well might wade that flood! And flowers in the grass were blooming, yet so darkling ran the wave That the lad he thought not to ford it; but as wit the counsel gave, 290 So he followed its course thro' the daylight, and he passed as he could the night, Till he saw once more the morning, and he came to a fair ford bright. On the further side was a meadow, and a tent decked the grass so green, And tall was the tent wide-spreading, and riches thereon were seen; 'Twas of samite of threefold colours, on the seams lay fair ribbons wide, 295 And a leathern covering hung there, 'gainst the rain-cloud to guard its pride.

('Twas Duke Orilus of Lalande, whose wife he beneath it found-- She lay there in peaceful slumber with riches happed fair around, A Duchess she was, well worthy the love of a gallant knight, And the venture it tells that Jeschuté was the name of that lady bright) 300

Softly the princess slumbered,--yet weapons of love she bore; A mouth so red and glowing, that a knight's heart had wounded sore, And e'en as she slept they parted asunder, her lips so bright, That the fire of love had kindled, (fit venture for gallant knight) And even as ivory snow-white, and little, and close the row 305 Of the teeth that gleamed white betwixt them--methinks that a man were slow To use himself to such kisses from a mouth that all men might praise-- I wot that so fair a guerdon but seldom hath crowned my days!

A covering of richest sable over foot and knee was thrown, (For the heat she aside hath cast it, whom her lord had thus left alone) 310 And her form it was fairly fashioned, and wrought by a skilful hand, Since 'twas God Himself in His wisdom who so fair a work had planned. And long was her arm and rounded: on her snow-white hand a ring Gleamed golden, and when he saw it the lad to her side did spring; For had not his mother told him such jewels were the guerdon fair 315 That a knight well might crave? and he thought him he fain would such token bear!

Then the lady awoke in terror as his clasp on her white arm fell, And gazed in startled wonder and wrath as beseemed her well; 'Who is it, who thus would shame me? Nay, sir, thou art all too free! Go, choose thee some fairer maiden, my favours are not for thee!' 320

In vain might she weep and bewail her; he asked not her yea, or nay, But took from her lips unwilling the kiss she would fain gainsay; And the ring of gold from her finger with ungentle hand he'ld take, And the clasp that her shift had fastened from the garment he roughly brake: In vain were her tears and struggles, she was but a woman still, 325 And his strength was to hers as an army, perforce must she do his will. Then the lad spake aloud, he hungered, from his hand was the lady free, And she quoth, 'Of a truth 'twere better thou shouldst not make meal of me! If thou wert but a little wiser thou wouldst choose thee some other meat, There stand bread and wine, and two game-birds, of them mayst thou freely eat, 330 Methinks when my maiden brought them, 'twas scarcely of thee she thought!' Then he asked not where sat the hostess, but he ate e'en as hunger taught, And he drank his fill; and the lady she deemed all too long his stay, For she thought him bereft of his senses, and she wished he were well away, And for fear and shame the sweat-drops stood thickly upon her brow-- 335 And she spake, 'Thou my ring shalt give me, and the clasp thou didst take but now, And get thee away, if he cometh, my husband, then shalt thou bear The weight of his wrath, and I think me thou wouldst then wish thyself elsewhere!'

Quoth the noble youth, 'What care I how fierce thy lord's wrath may be? If my presence doth shame thine honour, then from hence will I swiftly flee.' 340 And he stepped to the bedside boldly, and kissed her as there she lay, Tho' little it pleased the Duchess, and without leave he rode away; And he spake a word of parting as he vaulted upon his steed, 'God have thee in His safe keeping, so my mother she gave me rede.'

Then the lad he was glad of his booty, and thus did he ride a while-- 345 Methinks there was little lacking that from hence he had gone a mile, Ere he came of whom I would tell you: on the dew he the tracks might see Of one who had sought his lady--The tent-ropes displaced should be Where the lad thro' the grass had ridden; then the gallant Duke and proud Found his lady within in sorrow, and Orilus spake aloud, 350 'Alas! for the service done thee--for smitten and put to shame Is the crown of my knightly honour, since another thy love can claim!' Then little, alas! might it profit that with streaming eyes she swore No lover had she save her husband,--he would hearken her tale no more.

Then she spake in her fear and anguish, 'Twas a _fool_, he who came to me, 355 And yet tho' a fool, of all men I wot he may fairest be! My ring and my clasp gold-gleaming, he took them against my will!' 'Nay, I doubt not so well he pleased thee, thou didst grant him more favours still,' 'Now, God forbid! for his fool's garb and his javelin were e'en too near, It shameth us both, my husband, such words from thy lips to hear! 360 Are _queens_ wont to love thus lowly, that thou speakest such words of me? Thou wrongest our royal breeding, when thou deemest such things may be!'

Then the Duke spake, 'This shame, O lady! alone hast thou won from me, Thou dost call thyself _Queen_ no longer; tho' thy title shall _Duchess_ be Little good hath that bargain brought me--So bold shall my manhood be, 365 That thy brother, King Lac's son Erec, for that cause beareth hate to thee: He is wise, and right well he knoweth that my fame so high shall stand That nothing shall stain mine honour, save at Prurein when his right hand In knightly joust once felled me, but that have I paid right well, In a joust at Karnant I smote him, and behind his steed he fell, 370 And his pledge did he yield unto me,--thro' his shield I thy token bare, I thought not, my wife Jeschuté, with _another_ thy love to share!' 'Thou mayst also well assure thee that the son of King Gandein, Proud Galoes, once lay lifeless before this arm of mine; And thou thyself wast witness when the Knight Plihopleheri 375 Rode swift in a joust against me, nor his strife it hath passed me by, My spear from the saddle thrust him that his charger he sat no more; Yea, great was the fame that I won me by my prowess in days of yore, Many knights have I borne from their chargers,--yet it profiteth not I ween, Nor outweigheth the bitter shaming that thro' thee hath my portion been!' 380

And with reason good do they hate me, those knights of the Table Round, Since eight of their bravest champions have I borne unto the ground, And many fair maidens saw it, when at Kanedig fierce we fought For the hawk; there was I the victor, and my hand fame to thee hath brought And that didst thou see with King Arthur--At his court doth she dwell to-day, 385 My sister, sweet Kunnewaaré, and grave is her mien alway, For her lips may not move to laughter till the day that her eyes shall light On him who of all shall be reckoned the fairest and bravest knight. Would he come unto me, that hero! Ah! then should a strife be seen As to-day in the early morning already my lot hath been. 390 I have fought, and a prince hath suffered, for joust he toward me sped, But my spear-point so sorely smote him that he lay there before me, dead!'

'Well I know that in righteous anger for a lesser sin than thine Full many had slain the sinner, but I would not such deed were mine! For the service of knightly honour that to thee I had offered fair, 395 Henceforth shalt thou know but lacking; nor thy need do I think to spare-- No more with thy white arms circled in love and in peace I'll lie, Those golden days of love's glory have faded and passed us by, But pale be thy mouth so rosy, and tear-dimmed thy shining eyes, For joy shall be put far from thee, and thy heart's songs be turned to sighs!' 400

Then sadly she looked upon him, that princess so fair and true, 'May it be for the honour of knighthood what seemeth thee best to do, Wise art thou indeed and loyal, and I in thy power may be, And I know well that heavy sorrow and pain thou canst bring on me: To the ordeal, I prithee, put me, and do this for all women's sake, 405 Thereafter, an I be guilty, for my sin do thou vengeance take! If another's hand shall slay me, (for _thee_ were such deed un-meet) Then gladly I'll die--Dost thou scorn me? then welcome is death, and sweet!'

Then he broke out in bitter anger, 'If thy pride be still so great, It is meet I should meekness teach thee, tho' the lesson be all too late-- 410 No more shall we be companions, together no more we'll eat; Be our marriage couch forgotten and the hours of communion sweet. This garment in which I found thee thy only robe shall be, And instead of jewelled bridle hempen twist will I give to thee; Thy steed be the guest of hunger, and thy saddle once decked so fair 415 Shall be robbed of its goodly trappings!' and with hasty hand he tare The samite adown, and he brake it, the saddle she rode erewhile, (Nor her gentle ways and seemly might his angry wrath beguile) With a hempen cord he bound it--Too soon had she won his hate! As he did this he spake, 'Now Lady, 'tis best we no longer wait, 420 Could I reach him who shared thy favours, then fulfilled were my heart's desire, The venture I'ld face, though as dragon he were breathing forth flames and fire!' Then with weeping instead of laughter she passed from out the tent That lady so rich in sorrow, and sadly her way she went; Yet more than she mourned her shaming she wept her lord's grief, I ween, 425 His sorrow so sorely moved her, e'en death would have lighter been. Now of true heart shall ye bemoan her who thus did sore anguish know, And tho' hatred I won from all women, still I'ld mourn for Jeschuté's woe!

So rode they upon the traces of the lad who before them fled, And, dauntless, he little thought him how a foeman behind him sped, 430 But whoever his eyes might light on, as his pathway they drew anear, He gave to him kindly greeting, 'Thus bade me my mother dear!'

Thus rode he, our lad so foolish, adown a mountain side, When a woman's voice before him from amid the rocks loud cried; 'Twas a cry of heartfelt sorrow, for her joy was in ruins laid-- 435 Then swift rode the lad towards her,--Now hear what she did, this maid: She tore, the maid Siguné, her plaits of long brown hair From out her head thro' sorrow; and the lad he beheld her there, And he saw Schionatulander, the prince, on her knee lie dead, And the maiden she wailed above him, and her joy had for ever fled. 440

('If sad be their mien or joyful, my mother she bade me still Greet all men, whoe'er might meet me) God keep thee from greater ill, For in sooth a sorry treasure have I found on thy knee to-day! Who hath wounded this knight?' (For an answer the lad he would press alway) 'Did one with a javelin slay him? For Lady, he sure is dead; 445 Wilt thou tell me naught? Who hath slain him? If he none too far hath fled Methinks I might overtake him, for gladly with him I'ld fight!' Then the lad he laid hold on his quiver wherein lay the javelins bright, And still in his hand tight claspèd, the tokens twain he bore Which he in his thoughtless folly erewhile from Jeschuté tore. 450 Had he known the courtly customs with his father's life in-bound, His shield were better smitten when the duchess alone he found Who thro' him must suffer sorrow--for more than a whole year long, Her husband withheld his favour, tho' in sooth did he do her wrong.

Now list to this maid Siguné who her grief would bemoan as meet, 455 She spake to the lad, 'Thou art courteous, all hail! to thy youth so sweet, And thy face so fair; yea blessèd thy lot shall hereafter be! No javelin pierced this hero, but slain in a joust was he-- From truth wast thou born who truly for another's woe can grieve!' Then his name she was fain to hearken, ere the lad her side might leave, 460 And she spake, God with skill had wrought him--But his answer was naught but this, 'At home all who know me call me '_Bon fils, Cher fils, Beau fils!_'

Ere ever the word was spoken, the maiden she knew his name-- Now hearken aright his title, that hereafter ye own his fame Who is hero of this my venture, who now standeth the maid beside-- 465 And her red lips they spake unfaltering, 'Thou art _Parzival_,' she cried, And thy name it shall mean '_to pierce thro_',' for thy mother's faithful heart With furrow of grief was riven when she from her lord must part: And I speak not that those shouldst vaunt thee; thy mother my aunt shall be, And in truth, with no guile of falsehood, thy race will I tell to thee!' 470

'An Angevin was thy father, thy mother of fair Waleis, And I know for a truth thy birthplace was the city of Kanvoleis; And thou art the King of Norgals, and there in the citadel As king shalt thou bear the sceptre and crown as beseems thee well. For thy sake was he slain, this hero, who thy kingdom for thee would guard, 475 His truth it hath faltered never, tho' in death did he find reward. Two brothers have wrought thee evil, two kingdoms from thee have reft, And Orilus this thy kinsman in a joust hath lifeless left. And me too hath he left in sorrow--He served me nor thought it shame, This prince of thy land, where my childhood did thy mother's tending claim. 480 Now fair and sweet my cousin wouldst thou hear how he met his end? 'Twas the fair wove leash of a brachet that brought sorrow unto my friend-- He hath served us twain, in our service hath he won him but death alone, And I, I have won but sorrow, and henceforth for his death make moan, For scant of wit was I surely, that I gave not my love afore-- 485 So God hath my gladness shattered, and the dead I love evermore!'

Then he spake, 'I must mourn, O cousin, thy grief, and my bitter wrong, Of a truth till I may avenge them the time seemeth over-long!' Then straight would he ride to battle, but the way did she falsely show, For she feared were he slain then henceforward yet sorer should wax her woe. 490 But a road he found that led him straightway to the Breton's land, And smooth and wide was that highway--An there met him on either hand Afoot or ahorse a merchant or knight, he would greet them still, For so was his mother's counsel; and she spake with no thought of ill.

But great weariness o'ertook him, as darkened the eventide, 495 And a house that was none too stately the youth in his folly spied. 'Twas a churl he who sat within it, discourteous by birth and low, (A fisherman he, little kindness might one at his hand e'er know) Then the lad drew rein for he hungered, and craved of him drink and meat. But the host quoth, 'Nay, not a half-loaf shalt thou have at mine hand to eat 500 In thirty years; he who waiteth, in the gifts of mine hand to share, O'er-long shall delay his journey--For none but myself I care, Thereafter perchance for my children--Thou comest not here to-day, Hadst thou money or pledge 'twere other, then thine host would I be straightway!' 505

Then Jeschuté's clasp all golden the lad he would bid him take, And soon as the peasant saw it, with smiling mouth he spake, 'Wilt thou stay here, sweet lad? then due honour be thy portion from all within--' 'Wilt thou feed me to-night and to-morrow wilt help me the way to win To King Arthur (for well I love him) then thyself mayst keep the gold!' 510 'Yea, that will I do,' quoth the peasant, 'for ne'er might mine eyes behold A face and form so comely--I will thee, as a marvel, bring To the court, and the good Round Table, and the face of the noble king!'

So the lad thro' the night abode there, and ere ever the dawn of day He roused himself full eager to get on his onward way, 515 And the fisher, he made him ready, and before the lad he ran, And the boy he rode behind him, and swift were both steed and man.

(Herr Hartmann von Aue, and thy lady, the queenly Guinevere, And thy gallant lord, King Arthur, a guest do I bring ye here; No tool is he for your mocking, nay, never a harp or lute, 520 Ye shall choose ye some other plaything, such as courtesy well doth suit; Else will I thy lady Enid, and her mother Karnafite Pass under the mill, and their honour with bitter scorn I'll smite-- Tho' I tune my song to mocking, and thy lips with mockery seal, Yet here will I guard my hero lest thy scorn he perchance should feel!) 525

When the lad with his guide so humble to the city walls drew near, And Nantes might be well discernèd in the morning light so clear, 'God keep thee, boy,' said the fisher, 'thou seest where thou must ride.' Quoth the lad yet scant in knowledge, 'Yet nearer must thou be guide!' 'Nay, nay, so proud as these court-folk, such folly be far from me, 530 An' a peasant came nigh unto them, his welcome would sorry be!'

So alone the lad rode onward o'er a plain that was none too wide, And the flowers stood fair around him and blossomed on every side, No Kurwenal was his teacher and of courtesy knew he naught-- They know it not, the untravelled, till the world hath wisdom taught-- 535 Of hempen twist his bridle, and feeble and faint his steed, And oft it fell, as stumbling it went o'er the flowery mead. And nowhere upon his saddle fair leather and new was seen; And of samite fair and ermine full great his lack had been. No mantle clasp he needed, nor knightly garb he wore, 540 Of blazoned coat or surcoat; his javelin alone he bore. He whose deeds were praised of all men, his father so brave and wise, Was robed in far other fashion on the carpet 'fore Kanvoleis!

He who ne'er felt the sweat of terror, to him did a knight draw near; Then he greeted him, 'May God keep thee! thus bade me my mother dear.' 545 'God reward thee, lad, and thy mother,' swift answer the knight would bring, (Uther Pendragon reared him, he was cousin unto the king, And unto the land of Bretagne did the self-same knight lay claim) He was Ither of Gaheviess, 'The Red Knight' they called his name.

All dazzling red was his armour, the eye from its glow gleamed red; 550 Red was his horse swift-footed, and the plumes that should deck its head, Of samite red its covering; redder than flame his shield; Fair-fashioned and red his surcoat; and the spear that his hand would wield Was red, yea, the shaft and the iron; and red at the knight's desire Was his sword, yet the blade's fair keenness was not dimmed by the raging fire. 555 And the King of Cumberland, stately, in his mailèd hand did hold A goblet, with skill engraven, and wrought of the good red gold-- From the Table Round had he reft it--All red was his shining hair Yet white was his skin, and kindly his speech to the lad and fair.

'Now hail to thy fair young body, that in sooth a true woman bare, 560 Yea, blessèd is she thy mother! Ne'er saw I a face so fair, And the light of thine eyes, I think me, is kindled by love alone, And Love shall in thee be victor, as by thee Love is overthrown! And in thee is the joy of woman, whose bliss finds in thee its goal, And for thee shall the load of sorrow weigh heavy upon the soul-- 565 Now do me this grace I pray thee, an thou wend thee unto the town Bear greeting from me to King Arthur, and his heroes of high renown, And say that no fleeting vision am I who now speak with thee, But here I abide, and await him who thinketh to joust with me!'

'And never a man will wonder: to the Table Round I came 570 And there, in the heroes' presence to my kingdom would I lay claim, And with hasty hand I raised it, this cup, and the wine out-poured The robes of the queen besprinkled, as she sat there beside her lord. This I did as the custom olden of one who would claim his right For better I thought the wine-cup, than the straw-wisp all alight, 575 For its smoke perchance had soiled me, thus I chose it not' spake the king, 'Nor for robbery rode I hither, my crown doth forbid such thing-- Say thou to the queen that the wine-drops, they fell on her 'gainst my will Where those heroes sit, nor remember, nor their knighthood as meet fulfil. Whether kings they shall be or princes o'er-long doth he thirst their king! 580 This cup, why delay to fetch it? Their fame it hath taken wing!'

Then the lad spake, 'I'll bear thy message, yea, e'en as thou biddest me.' And then unto Nantes fair city he gat him right speedily, And many a youth they followed to the court of the palace fair, And 'twas filled with a motley gathering, and they thronged him and pressed him there. 585 Then Iwanet sprang from out them, and this youth from falsehood free He gave him a kindly greeting, and he proffered him company. And the lad he quoth, 'God keep thee, (so my mother she bade me speak Ere yet from home I wended) King Arthur I fain would seek But here see I full many an Arthur! Who of all these shall make me knight?' 590 Then Iwanet laughed loud 'I will show thee, not yet hast thou seen the right!'

To the Table Round he led him where sat the heroes all And as best he could for the tumult cried the lad thro' the lofty hall, 'God keep ye all ye heroes! I greet ye both queen and king, For thus did my mother bid me fair greeting to ye to bring. 595 And all who have won by their valour at the Table Round a seat Ye gallant knights and heroes, ye too did she bid me greet! But in one thing my skill doth fail me, who is host here I may not know; To him do I bear a message from a knight who all red doth glow, He waiteth without the portal (methinks he is fain to fight) 600 That he spilt o'er the queen the wine-cup that sorely doth grieve the knight-- Ah! if I his gear so goodly from the king's hand as gift might take, In sooth were I rich in gladness--so knightly and fair its make!'

Thus spake the youth gay and careless, and the courtiers they thronged around And hither and thither pressed him till scarce might he stand his ground: 605 And well did they look upon him, for each for himself might see That never in man or maiden might the fruit of love fairer be. And in truth it was no ill working that in Parzival God had wrought, In whom never a sight of terror had wakened of fear a thought.

Thus they brought him before King Arthur, he whom God for a wonder chose, 610 And no man might bear him hatred--Then the queen from her seat arose And she gazed for a space upon him ere she passed from out the hall Where the wine from the golden goblet perforce on her robes must fall. Then Arthur he looked upon him--To the simple youth he spake, 'Now lad to thy kindly greeting a kindly answer take, 615 For this would I do thee service, yea with body alike and land; This I speak of a true heart truly, so my will doth toward thee stand!'

'Would to God that were true! Now I think me it well-nigh a year shall be That I fain would be knight, lacking knighthood all else seemeth ill to me! Now make thou no more delaying, be knighthood my lot straightway.' 620 Quoth the king, 'I were fain to do so if worth fail me not alway, So noble art thou to look on; and goodly gifts and rare Would I give thee; to do thee service I'll naught of my treasure spare. Yea, loath had I been to refuse thee, wait but for to-morrow's light, And I myself will dower thee with all that befits a knight.' 625

The lad like a bird new cagèd, he shook himself to and fro, And he quoth, 'For naught do I ask thee! But that knight who as fire doth glow If thou givest me not his armour no gift will I take from thee, My _mother_ will not withhold it--For a queen shall she surely be.'

Then Arthur he quoth, 'That armour so gallant a knight doth wear 630 That to give thee a gift so goodly methinks I may hardly dare. And guiltless I live in sorrow since his homage I must forego, Ither he is of Gaheviess; thro' my joy hath he wrought me woe.'

'Now my King sure it were ungracious to say to his pleading nay, Thou shalt give him what he desireth, nor think it too great,' quoth Kay, 635 'Let him forth to the plain; bid him bring thee the cup if it be thy will! Here hast thou the whip, there the top is, let the child have of sport his fill. The women, forsooth, will praise him, and it seemeth good to me He should learn to take blows an he gives them, many such will his portion be. For the life of the twain what care I? Each of us needs must have his day, 640 If thy dogs for the spoil shall hunger, thou must e'en give thy dogs their way.' 'I were loath to refuse his pleading, yet I feared lest he here be slain, And to knighthood I fain had helped him.' Thus Arthur he spake again.

Thus the lad won the gift he craved for, which many perforce must rue, And young and old they followed, as forth from the hall he flew. 645 By the hand would Iwanet lead him, 'fore a bower that was none too high, And backward and forward turning the lad gazed with eager eye. And the bower was so low that within it the lad he both heard and saw, And therefrom did he win a sorrow that vexed him with torment sore.

The queen from her bower window to look on the sight was fain, 650 And her knights and maidens round her they gazed and they gazed again. And the maiden Kunnewaaré she sat there, the fair and proud, And never, that man might wot of, had she laughed or low or loud. For never she vowed, an she died first, would she laugh ere her eyes might see That knight, who of knights the bravest or was, or henceforth should be. 655 As the lad rode beneath the window she brake into laughter sweet, And her back was sore from the guerdon--reward for a maid unmeet! For Kay the Seneschal seized her, the maiden of fair Lalande, By her waving hair, and the tresses he wound fast around his hand, Without a band he bound her--Tho' never an oath she sware 660 His staff he laid unknightly on her maiden shoulders fair, And ere ever the sound of the smiting on the ear had died away Thro' white skin and royal raiment had he wounded the maid that day.

And thus did he speak in his folly, 'Now hast thou thine own fair fame Cast aside, and I wot thou hast done it to thine own mending shame! 665 Now see, e'en in flight have I caught it, and I bring it to thee once more In such wise thou mayst well remember, and be e'en in the memory sore: For I wot well unto King Arthur, to his court and his palace hall Many gallant men have ridden, yet hast thou despised them all, And ne'er hast thou smiled upon them--And now doth thy laughter ring 670 For one knowing naught of knighthood! Unseemly I deem this thing!'

Now whate'er might be done in anger I wot well no king's decree Had bid him thus smite the maiden; and her friends mourned her bitterly. (Might she bear knightly shield and armour it had helped not this sore disgrace, Discourteous the blows were smitten.) She came of a royal race, 675 Had her gallant brothers seen it, Lähelein and Orilus Far fewer blows had fallen; she ne'er had been smitten thus.

Now Sir Antanor the Silent, who thro' silence a fool was thought, (His speech and the maiden's laughter on a self-same thread were wrought) For never a word would he utter till she laughed whom Kay thus did smite, 680 As clear rang the maiden's laughter, aloud spake the silent knight, 'Now here before God I tell thee, Kunnewaaré of fair Lalande Thou hast wronged for that lad, and thy guerdon awaiteth thee at his hand, Nor so weak shall he be, nor so foolish, but he turneth thy bliss to bale!' 'And thy speech thou hast found but to threaten for joy shall it naught avail.' 685 His food would he make full bitter.--Kay smote him upon the ear With his fist till naught but a singing and a whispering might he hear. And Parzival saw the sorrow of the maiden and Antanor, And his heart was hot for their shaming, and grief for their sake he bore, And he grasped his javelin tightly, but the throng pressed so close around 690 That perforce the dart must he lower, lest some other aim it found.

Thus alone from the court of King Arthur rode the son of Gamuret, And he came to the plain where the Red Knight his foeman awaited yet; And he bare unto him the tidings how in Nantes was there never a knight Whose heart yet yearned for jousting, or who lusted with him to fight. 695 'But a gift King Arthur gave me--I spake as thou saidst before, That without thy will had it chanced thee the wine o'er the queen to pour, Thy discourtesy sorely vexed thee--They think not to fight with thee. Now give me the steed thou ridest, and thine harness give thou to me, They were given me in the palace, therein shall I be a knight, 700 Wouldst withhold them, I will not greet thee--Yield thou what is mine of right!'

Then the King of Cumberland answered, 'If Arthur hath given to thee Mine armour, my _life_ he gave thee, if that life thou canst take from me, So well doth he love his kinsmen! Hath he known thee before to-day, That so swiftly the service done him with such guerdon he would repay?' 705

'I may win what I will I trow me, of a sooth had he given me more; Now leave thou thy claim on his kingdom--'Tis time I a knight's shield bore For _squire_ will I be no longer!' He laid on the rein his hand 'Thou art Lähelein, so I think me, who hath taken from me my land!'

Then the knight he turned his spear-shaft, and he struck with so true a blow 710 That the lad and his sorry charger on the meadow he laid them low, And the hero was swift in his anger, and he smote with a will so good That there where the spear-shaft struck him there sprang forth bright drops of blood. Then Parzival sprang up swiftly and stood wrathful upon his feet And he grasped his javelin firmly--Where the helm and the visor meet 715 And betwixt the twain is an opening, there the javelin swiftly sped And thro' eye and neck it struck him, and the knight on the plain lay dead. Fierce foe had he been to falsehood; women's sighs, true hearts wounded sore, Were the fruit of his death, and with tear-drops must many an eye run o'er. And they whom his love made joyful their gladness asunder brake, 720 And their joy to the goal of sorrow o'er a rough road its way must take.

Then Parzival in his folly turned the dead knight o'er and o'er, For fain would he loose his armour, yet was lacking the needful lore. He fingered both helm and corslet with his bare white hands alone, Yet the fastening he failed to loosen, nor with force might they be undone 725 Tho' oft and again he tried them, who in wisdom was all untaught. Then the horses they neighed so loudly that the sound on the breeze was brought To Iwanet's ear, and he heard them, by the city moat he stood, (To Queen Guinevere was he kinsman, and he did to her service good) He heard the cry of the horses, but naught of the riders saw, 730 As his true heart would give him counsel, Parzival did he seek once more.

And Ither lay dead; and his slayer by his folly was vexed amain-- Then swiftly he sprang to aid him, and Parzival thanks must gain For the honour he here had won him o'er the hero of Cumberland: 'God reward thee, but give me counsel for skill here doth fail mine hand, 735 How best may I loose this armour which myself I were fain to wear?' 'Such lore I right well may teach thee,' quoth Iwanet the proud and fair, So the armour was reft from the dead man, 'fore Nantes on the grassy plain, And they did it upon the living, o'er whose dealings did folly reign.

Quoth Iwanet, 'These leather leggings fit not with the mailèd gear, 740 As a _knight_ shalt thou now be clothèd,' and the lad deemed it ill to hear; Quoth Parzival, 'What my mother aforetime hath given me That cometh not from my body, or for good or for ill it be!' And much did Iwanet marvel, for clever was he i' troth, Yet he followed perforce his bidding, nor waxed at his folly wroth. 745 And he drew above the leggings the hosen of shining mail, Nor the spurs with red gold in-wroughten should unto the harness fail, And of silk and gold the laces, nor leather might there be found. Ere he gave unto him the corslet he bound him with greaves around, And tho' o'er-long Parzival deemed it yet the time was swiftly sped, 750 Ere in knightly armour shining he clad him from foot to head. Then the lad would have ta'en his quiver, but Iwanet he spake out free, 'Nay, no javelin will I give thee, unknightly such arms shall be!' Then he girt the sharp sword around him, and he showed how to draw the blade, And he bade him ne'er fly in battle, nor in conflict to be dismayed. 755 Then nearer he led unto him the charger the dead knight rode, And 'twas tall and strong, yet the saddle the youth with one spring bestrode, He recked not the weight of his armour, and of stirrups had little need-- E'en to-day do men speak of his swiftness, and the fame of his mighty deeds.

Nor o'er-much did Iwanet think it to teach him with fitting skill 760 To hold his shield and to guard him, while he wrought to his foeman ill; And a spear in his hand he gave him--But Parzival turned aside, 'Nay, nay, what good may that do me?' 'If a joust one with thee would ride Thou shalt on thy foeman break it, perchance drive it thro' his shield, If thou doest that oft, 'fore the maidens will they praise thee for well-fought field.' 765

And this hath the venture told me,--Not in Maestricht, or e'en Cologne Might a painter so fair a picture as this lad and his steed have shown. Then straightway he spake to Iwanet, 'My friend and companion dear, The boon that I asked have I won me, of that art thou witness here. My service bear thou to the city, to Arthur the noble king, 770 And mourn unto him my shaming--This cup thou again shalt bring, And tell him a knight hath wronged me, since he smote that maiden fair Who looked, and who laughed upon me, and grief for her grief I bear. Nor hath it but lightly touched me, it hath pierced to my inmost heart This maid's woe all undeservèd--Now do thou in her shame have