Parzival Read Online Free PDF Page A

to ask me to protect you from that?”
    Clamide was so tired that he could fight no longer. He took one final blow to the helmet and fell to the ground, waiting for the stroke that would mean his death.
    Parzival raised his arm once more. This was the man who had cost his wife so much pain. “You will never live to grieve my wife again,” he said.
    “Why should you kill me?” the unlucky Clamide said. “You have won everything—a kingdom, the woman I love, and all my honor.”
    Slowly, Parzival lowered his sword. Do not kill unless you must, Gurnemanz had said. “I will let you go,” he said, “if you will submit yourself to Prince Gurnemanz.”
    “Then kill me now,” Clamide replied, “for I have done that prince a wrong he will not forgive. I have besieged the kingdom of his niece. His own son died in defense of this city. Do not send me to Gurnemanz. If I must die, kill me now with your own sword.”
    “Go, then, to Arthur’s court,” Parzival said. “Greet the king for me and give your service to a lady who has suffered much because of me.” And so Clamide, too, was sent to serve Cunneware. And you may guess that Sir Kay was not happy to see two such warriors sent from Parzival to the service of the woman he had wronged.
    Queen Condwiramurs’s city rejoiced as only those who have known great grief can rejoice, and Parzival and Condwiramurs lived together in great happiness. They were wise and generous rulers, so the life of that place was truly good for all the people.
    Then the day came when Parzival said to his queen, “I must go and see how my mother is. For I have had no word from her these many months—and if by chance I meet adventure along the way, well, that is the calling of a knight, isn’t it?”
    Because she loved him so much, she let him go, but she could not keep from weeping as she watched him ride away, his only companion the great red sorrel.

Three

    Wild Mountain
    THAT day, Parzival’s thoughts as he rode were not on his journey but on the queen whom he had left behind. Thus, he forgot to guide the great sorrel’s way and was led, as though by the hand of God, into a dense forest, which was known in those parts as the Land of Wildness.
    Near evening, he came upon a lake, and there upon the lake were boats. Parzival rode up to the boat closest to the shore. In it, propped up against the stern, was a handsomely dressed man, his hat lined with peacock feathers, who was casting his line into the water.
    This is no ordinary fisherman, thought Parzival to himself. But, remembering Gurnemanz’s teaching, he restrained his curiosity, and greeting the man with quiet courtesy, he asked if there was a place nearby where he might spend the night.
    The fisherman looked up into the young man’s face and then said slowly, as though he were in great pain or sorrow, “There is no place a day’s ride from here except that great castle you have just passed.”
    Parzival was surprised. He remembered no castle, but when he turned, there behind him on a high hill were the towers and turrets of what had to be a mighty fortress.
    “The name of the place you see up there is Wild Mountain, and when you call at the drawbridge,” the man said, “tell them that the Angler has sent you, and they will take you in.”
    Parzival did as he was told, and when he called out that the Angler had sent him, the drawbridge was immediately let down and the huge iron gates swung open. Solemn pages crowded around him to tend his horse. Others led him to a spacious chamber and helped him out of his armor. They bathed the rust from his body with warm water and anointed it with sweet-smelling oils. The lady of the castle had sent a robe of Arabic gold for him to wear. It was no less than the master of the wardrobe himself who helped Parzival put on the robe. Wine was brought and grapes and pomegranates the color of jewels. Still, in all this splendid welcome, there was neither a smile nor a laugh. A strange sorrow hung