Example in this ebook In presenting, for the first time, to English readers the greatest work of Germany's greatest mediæval poet, a few words of introduction, alike for poem and writer, may not be out of place. The lapse of nearly seven hundred years, and the changes which the centuries have worked, alike in language and in thought, would have naturally operated to render any work unfamiliar, still more so when that work was composed in a foreign tongue; but, indeed, it is only within the present century that the original text of the Parzival has been collated from the MSS. and made accessible, even in its own land, to the general reader. But the interest which is now felt by many in the Arthurian romances, quickened into life doubtless by the genius of the late Poet Laureate, and the fact that the greatest composer of our time, Richard Wagner, has selected this poem as the groundwork of that wonderful drama, which a growing consensus of opinion has hailed as the grandest artistic achievement of this century, seem to indicate that the time has come when the work of Wolfram von Eschenbach may hope to receive, from a wider public than that of his own day, the recognition which it so well deserves. Of the poet himself we know but little, save from the personal allusions scattered throughout his works; the dates of his birth and death are alike unrecorded, but the frequent notices of contemporary events to be found in his poems enable us to fix with tolerable certainty the period of his literary activity, and to judge approximately the outline of his life. Wolfram's greatest work, the Parzival, was apparently written within the early years of the thirteenth century; he makes constant allusions to events happening, and to works produced, within the first decade of that period; and as his latest work, the Willehalm, left unfinished, mentions as recent the death of the Landgrave Herman of Thuringia, which occurred in 1216, the probability seems to be that the Parzival was written within the first fifteen years of the thirteenth century. Inasmuch, too, as this work bears no traces of immaturity in thought or style, it is probable that the date of the poet's birth cannot be placed much later than 1170. The name, Wolfram von Eschenbach, points to Eschenbach in Bavaria as in all probability the place of his birth, as it certainly was of his burial. So late as the end of the seventeenth century his tomb, with inscription, was to be seen in the Frauen-kirche of Ober-Eschenbach, and the fact that within a short distance of the town are to be found localities mentioned in his poems, such as Wildberg, Abenberg, Trühending, Wertheim, etc., seems to show that there, too, the life of the poet-knight was spent. By birth, as Wolfram himself tells us, he belonged to the knightly order (Zum Schildesamt bin Ich geboren), though whether his family was noble or not is a disputed point, in any case Wolfram was a poor man, as the humorous allusions which he makes to his poverty abundantly testify. Yet he does not seem to have led the life of a wandering singer, as did his famous contemporary, Walther von der Vogelweide; if Wolfram journeyed, as he probably did, it was rather in search of knightly adventures, he tells us: 'Durchstreifen muss Der Lande viel, Wer Schildesamt verwalten will,' and though fully conscious of his gift of song, yet he systematically exalts his office of knight above that of poet. The period when Wolfram lived and sang, we cannot say wrote, for by his own confession he could neither read nor write ('I'ne kan decheinen buochstap,' he says in Parzival; and in Willehalm, 'Waz an den buochen steht geschrieben, Des bin Ich kunstelos geblieben'), and his poems must, therefore, have been orally dictated, was one peculiarly fitted to develop his special genius. To be continue in this ebook

In presenting, for the first time, to English readers the greatest work of Germany's greatest mediæval poet, a few words of introduction, alike for poem and writer, may not be out of place. The lapse of nearly seven hundred years, and the changes which the centuries have worked, alike in language and in thought, would have naturally operated to render any work unfamiliar, still more so when that work was composed in a foreign tongue; but, indeed, it is only within the present century that the original text of the Parzivalhas been collated from the MSS. and made accessible, even in its own land, to the general reader. But the interest which is now felt by many in the Arthurian romances, quickened into life doubtless by the genius of the late Poet Laureate, and the fact that the greatest composer of our time, Richard Wagner, has selected this poem as the groundwork of that wonderful drama, which a growing consensus of opinion has hailed as the grandest artistic achievement of this century, seem to indicate that the time has come when the work of Wolfram von Eschenbach may hope to receive, from a wider public than that of his own day, the recognition which it so well deserves. Of the poet himself we know but little, save from the personal allusions scattered throughout his works; the dates of his birth and death are alike unrecorded, but the frequent notices of contemporary events to be found in his poems enable us to fix with tolerable certainty the period of his literary activity, and to judge approximately the outline of his life. Wolfram's greatest work, the Parzival, was apparently written within the early years of the thirteenth century; he makes constant allusions to events happening, and to works produced, within the first decade of that period; and as his latest work, the Willehalm, left unfinished, mentions as recent the death of the Landgrave Herman of Thuringia, which occurred in 1216, the probability seems to be that the Parzival was written within the first fifteen years of the thirteenth century. Inasmuch, too, as this work bears no traces of immaturity in thought or style, it is probable that the date of the poet's birth cannot be placed much later than 1170.

Example in this ebook BOOK X ORGELUSE Now tell we of strange adventures thro' which joy shall be waxen low, And yet pride shall grow the greater, of the twain doth this story show. Now the year of truce was ended, when the strife must needs be fought Which the Landgrave unto King Arthur at Plimizöl had brought. At Schamfanzon he challenged Gawain to meet him at Barbigöl, Yet still unavenged was Kingrisein at the hand of Kingrimursel— In sooth, Vergulacht, he rode there, and thither had come Gawain, And the whole world was 'ware of their kinship nor might strife be betwixt the twain; For the murder, Count Eckunât did it, and Gawain must they guiltless hold, At rest did they lay their quarrel and friends were those heroes bold. Then they parted for both would ride thence, Vergulacht and the knight Gawain, Tho' both for the Grail were seeking yet apart would they ride, those twain. And many a joust must they ride now, for he who the Grail would see Sword in hand must he draw anigh it, and swift must his seeking be! Now all that befell to Gawain, the lot of that blameless knight Since he rode forth from fair Schamfanzon, if he oft on his way must fight, Ye shall ask of those who there saw him, since naught may I tell ye here, Yet hearken, and heed the story and the venture that draweth near. One morning Gawain rode gaily o'er a grassy plain and green, When a shield, in the sun fair shining, with lance-thrust pierced thro' was seen, And a charger stood beside it that bare women's riding-gear, And the bridle and aye the housing were of costly stuff and dear— And the charger and shield beside it were bound to a linden tree. Then he thought, 'Who shall be this woman? for valiant I ween is she, Since she beareth a shield so knightly—If she thinketh with me to fight, How, then, may I best withstand her? Were it better to here alight? If too long she wrestle with me perchance I were overthrown, If hatred or love I shall win here I will fight her on foot alone; Yea, e'en an she were Kamilla, who before Laurentium fought— Did she live still to battle with me, as awhile she for honour sought, I would face her, nor fear her prowess, if here she my foe would be, Tho' ne'er with a maid have I foughten and the chance seemeth ill to me!' Battle-hewn was the shield and dinted, as Gawain right well espied The nearer he rode unto it, and pierced with a lance-thrust wide. Such token by joust is painted, little payment his skill should know Whose hand erst the shield had fashioned an he thought him to paint it so! By the trunk of the mighty linden sat a maid on the grass so green, And sore did she weep and bewail her, and joyless, I wot, her mien. Then around the tree rode Gawain, and lo! on her knee she bore A knight, and she wept above him, and grieved with a sorrow sore. To be continue in this ebook