Parzival Read Free

you wish.”
    “No,” she said. “Your true name is Parzival, which means Pierced-through-the-heart, because at your birth your noble mother’s heart was truly pierced. I know these things because your mother and mine are sisters. Your father was none other than Gahmuret of Anjou. And through your mother and father, you are heir to three kingdoms. But two brothers, Lahelin and Orilus, have done you wrong. They have stolen your lands and Orilus has slain this knight whom I love.”
    “I will take my javelin and avenge these wrongs!” Parzival cried. “Just point me the way.”
    But his cousin feared that the rash boy would get himself killed, so for love of her aunt, she sent him off in the opposite direction.

Two

    Parzival
    AS hard as Parzival pressed her, his poor nag could not gallop; indeed, she could hardly toddle forward without stumbling. The day grew old and the shadows long, but the boy rode on. “God keep you!” he called out to everyone—knight or peasant—graybeard or child.
    At last the boy felt nearly as spent as his poor beast. He came upon a house where there shone a light at the window and knocked upon the door. A surly face appeared. “God keep you!” the boy said. The man would have slammed the door in his face except that Parzival thrust his javelin in the crack to hold it open. “Kind sir,” he said, “my horse and I are very tired and hungrier yet. Would you give us a meal and lodging?”
    “Give?” the man snarled. “I give nothing. Show me a coin before you dare ask favors.”
    “I have no coins,” the boy answered. “But a good lady gave me this—” and he held out the gold brooch he had taken from the duchess earlier.
    “Ah,” said the host, “come in, gentle sir. We will give you food and bed and send you on your way quite satisfied.” He reached greedily for the brooch, but Parzival held on to it tightly.
    “If you will give me food and fodder for my horse and a place to sleep and then tomorrow lead me to the court of one called Arthur, this brooch shall be yours.”
    “It would please me to take such a handsome boy to the Round Table,” the man said.
    The next morning before daybreak, Parzival roused his host. The boy was so eager to get on his way that he didn’t even wait to take breakfast. They rode together until the great city was in sight. Despite his promise, his host refused to go farther. “Won’t you take me up and introduce me to the king?” Parzival asked.
    “No,” the man answered. “I’m only a poor peasant. Those grand knights will despise me.”
    So, reluctantly, Parzival gave the man the duchess’s brooch and rode alone toward the city. In his sackcloth and rawhide and riding bareback astride his broken-down nag, he made quite a sight on the road. Beggar children followed after, shrieking with laughter. “God keep you!” Parzival called to them.
    Just then a knight approached. The knight was dressed in red armor. He carried a bright red shield and rode a great sorrel horse—as near to red as a horse can be. In his hand he carried a beautiful goblet of burnished gold.
    “God keep you!” Parzival said. “That’s what my mother told me to say.”
    “You are a good lad who does honor to his mother,” the knight answered. “I see you are on your way into the city.”
    “Yes. I am going to Arthur’s court to ask him to make me one of his knights.”
    The Red Knight looked Parzival over, from his sackcloth doublet to his cowhide buskins. He could hardly keep from smiling. “In that case, I would like to ask a favor of you.”
    “Gladly,” the boy said.
    “Do you see this goblet? It is from the king’s own table. I went to the court to claim my ancestral lands, and”—the knight paused—“carelessly snatched up this goblet. In doing so, I spilled wine on the Lady Guenever’s gown. Say this to the king and those in his court—that the Red Knight is sorry to have insulted the queen by his carelessness. And if any man among them