Book IV · KONDWIRAMUR, part 3 of 8

¶Then the noble maiden answered, 'Sir Knight, had another told This tale, methinks that scarcely for truth I the words might hold, 170 That thou in one day hadst ridden a journey that scarce in twain My swiftest squire could compass, tho' his charger he spurred amain! Thy host was my mother's brother; his daughter's youthful glow, It hath paled before the sorrow which she, e'en as I, must know. For many sad days and mournful, with sad eyes we've wept our fill 175 I, and the maid Liassé--Wouldst thou show to thy host goodwill? Then thou shalt with us, man and woman, this night-tide our sorrow share, Thou shalt serve him thereby; and I'll tell thee the want we perforce must bear.'

¶Then out spake her uncle Kiot, 'Lady, I send to thee Twelve loaves of bread, and of shoulders and hams do I give thee three, 180 And eight cheeses too are with them, and two casks of wine I trow, And my brother, he too shall aid thee, of such aid hast thou need enow!' And Manfilot spake, 'Yea, Lady, I send thee the self-same fare.' And the maiden she sat in gladness, and of thanks she no word would spare. Then leave they craved from their lady, and forth would the old men ride 185 To their hunting-house that was nigh there--But the cell where they would abide, Was in Alpine wilds so lonely, there unarmed did they dwell afar, And never a foeman vexed them with tumult or strife of war.

¶And the messenger sped full swiftly, and the fainting folk were fed, No Burger within the city but was lacking for other bread, 190 And many were dead of hunger ere food for their need was found. Then the queen she bade them share it to the feeble folk around, With the cheese, the flesh, and the red wine, as Parzival counsel gave, Scarce a morsel was left, yet they shared it, the queen and her guest so brave.

¶And swiftly the store had vanished, tho' to many who yet might live, 195 Nor were slain by cruel hunger this succour fresh life might give. Then they bade them a couch make ready for the guest, and 'twas soft his bed, (Had the Burgers been hawks for the hunting methinks they were not o'er-fed As their scanty board bare witness) yea, the folk there, one and all, Bare the marks of bitter hunger, save the gallant Parzival. 200

¶Then leave he prayed of his hostess, he would lay him down to rest. Do ye think that for tapers straw-wisps must light so brave a guest? Nay, better were they I think me; he betook him, the hero fair, To a bed so rich and stately a king well might slumber there, Nor of poverty bare it token, and a carpet before it lay. 205 Then he prayed the knights to go hence, nor longer there delay, And noble lads un-shod him, and straightway he fell asleep, Till the cry of heart-sorrow woke him, and tears that bright eyes should weep.

¶This chanced e'en as I will tell ye; no woman's law she brake, For pure was she aye, the maiden of whom this venture spake. 210 Long stress of war constrained her, and the death of her champion true, So heavy her heart with sorrow that sleep from her eyelids flew, So she went, this royal lady, (but never such love to claim As urgeth a gentle maiden to crave of a wife the name) But she sought help and friendly counsel, tho' clad in a warlike gear, 215 A silken shift, (strife she wakeneth who doth thus to a man draw near.) And the maiden she wrapped around her a mantle of samite long, And she went as her steps were guided by sorrow and bitter wrong.

¶Her maidens and waiting women who lay there around her bed She left them slumbering softly, and with noiseless footsteps sped 220 To a chamber, there, e'en as she bade them, Parzival all lonely lay, And around his couch the tapers burnt bright as the light of day. To his bed she turned her footsteps, and she knelt low his couch before, But no thought of love unlawful the heart of either bore. Of joy bereft was the maiden, his help she was fain to claim, 225 If awhile they lay there together it brought unto neither shame.

¶So bitter the maiden's sorrow that there fell full many a tear On Parzival, and her weeping thro' his slumbers the knight might hear, And waking, he looked upon her, and sorrow and joy he felt, And he rose up, the youthful hero, as the maiden before him knelt, 230 And he spake to the queen, 'Say, Lady, wilt thou now make a mock of me? To God only, and never to mortal methinks shouldst thou bow the knee. But rise thou and sit beside me, or grant me I pray this grace, Lay thyself down where I was lying, I will seek me some other place!' But she spake, 'Thyself wilt thou honour, and show honour alike to me, 235 And by never a touch wilt shame me, I will e'en lay me down by thee.' Then the knight he spake by his knighthood he would e'en do as he should say, So down on the bed beside him in peace the maiden lay.

¶Tho' well sped were the hours of the night-time no cock did they hear to crow, Empty and bare the perches, for the famine had left them so. 240 Then the maiden, grieving sorely, prayed him courteous her plaint to hear, ''Twill rob thee of sleep an I tell thee, and work to thee ill I fear. My foeman the King Klamidé, and Kingron his seneschal, My castles and lands have wasted, yea, all but this citadel. My father, King Tampentäre, by his death me, poor orphan, left 245 In peril and need so deadly, of all hope am I well-nigh reft. Kinsmen and princes many, and vassals, both rich and poor, Yea, a mighty army served me, but they serve me now no more. One half, nay, far more I think me, in defence of my land are slain, Alas! whence shall I, poor maiden, or gladness or succour gain? 250 In such sore strait do I find me, I am ready myself to kill Ere my maidenhood and this body I yield to Klamidé's will. His wife he is fain to make me, yet his was the hand that slew My Knight Schenteflur, the hero, whose heart was both brave and true, And the flower was he of all manhood, falsehood he ne'er might know, 255 Who was brother unto Liassé, and she too shall share my woe.'