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 like a veil of mourning over all whom he met.
Solemn-faced knights came to invite him into the great hall. “The Angler is here,” they said. The hall was as large as the hall of Arthur’s court and, if anything, more splendid. Everyone—lord, lady, or servant—was dressed as though for a glorious feast day, but there was no joy of festival in the castle of Wild Mountain.
At the far end of the great hall, propped against rich cushions of silk and velvet and robes of sable and ermine, near to the great fireplace, reclined the Angler King of Wild Mountain. Perhaps this was the reason for the sadness all around him, for the king seemed to be in great pain. In a weak voice, the king bade him come into the hall. “Come sit down by me,” he said.
Parzival did as the king asked, marveling at the strangeness of the scene. Though the fire blazed hot, the king lay shivering in his furs. Suddenly, the door at the far end of the hall was thrown open. A page ran in, carrying in his hand a lance. The page ran to each of the four comers of the hall and as he did so, Parzival could hear the knights and ladies and servants begin to weep. As the page ran past the place where Parzival sat, he saw that blood was dripping from the point of the lance. Then the page ran out and the door was shut behind him.
Before Parzival could wonder more about this peculiar ceremony, the doors were once again thrown open. Through them came four beautiful maidens carrying golden candlesticks. Two noble-women followed, carrying ivory stands. Next, eight young maidens, four bearing more candles and four bearing a great jewel—a garnet that had been cut to form a tabletop. The garnet was put on the ivory stands to make a table for the king to dine upon. Six maidens brought in silver knives, which they laid out on the garnet tabletop.
And then, most wonderful of all, came four more maidens with crystal lamps, followed by a princess who carried in her hands that sacred vessel that few have ever seen, and of which Parzival had never heard. As the Grail approached, Parzival heard the king groan as though he were in mortal pain.
The princess placed the Grail on the king’s table and then she and her ladies stepped back. Servants came and brought tables for all the guests. Gold dishes and goblets were brought for all as well.
A page carried to the king’s table a golden basin and silken towel. The king washed his hands and bade Parzival to wash. All was prepared for a great feast, but where was the food and drink?
Just then, the servant behind Parzival held out a goblet toward the Grail. Immediately it was filled, and the servant set before Parzival a golden vessel filled with rich, red wine. Then he held out the golden dish and set it down before Parzival. It was overflowing with meats and fruits and rich foods of every kind. One by one the servants did this, and so served the king and his guests a banquet so sumptuous that even those in Arthur’s court would have been amazed.
What can this be? What is the meaning of these strange events? Parzival wondered, but he remembered kind Gurnemanz’s advice not to ask questions. Surely, if I am patient, everything will be revealed to me, he thought.
As he was thinking this, a page came toward the king bearing a sword. The sword was sheathed in gold and its hilt was a single ruby. The king motioned that the page was to present the sword to Parzival. “Before God crippled me, I carried this sword in many a great battle. Since I have only been able to offer you the poorest of hospitality, take this sword. I think you will find that it will serve you well. ”
As he took the sword into his hands, Parzival felt all the eyes in the hall on him. And all of them sorrowful, especially those of the king, but he remembered Gurnemanz’s warning and did not ask why.
The feasting was at an end. The servants removed the dishes and goblets and then the tables. The maidens and noble ladies took out the lamps, the candlesticks, the silver knives, the garnet tabletop, the ivory stands, and last of all the Grail.
The king wished Parzival good night, like the courteous host that he was. Knights led Parzival to his bedchamber. Pages undressed him and put him in a canopied bed, where maidens brought him grapes and mulberry wine and bade him rest well.
Though Parzival was very tired, he tossed and turned, churning to troubled dreams of swords cutting his flesh and lances piercing his body.
When he awoke with a start, the sun was shining through his window. He waited for the pages or the knights or the master of the wardrobe to come in and dress him for the day. But the castle was deathly still. He sat up in bed. His underclothing and armor were laid out for him. He realized at once that he was meant to dress himself. He jumped up in alarm. Something dreadful must have happened.
He threw on his underclothing and armed himself as quickly as he could with no one to help. I must find the king and offer him my service, he thought. But he wandered from room to room and could find no one.
He yelled out as loudly as he could, but the sound of his own voice echoed in the empty air.
Finally, he went out the great castle door, and there at the bottom of the steps stood his horse, saddled and bridled. Someone had propped his sword and lance against the sorrel’s flank. By now Parzival was more angry than concerned. He ran out to the courtyard where he had been greeted so courteously the night before. It was as empty as the castle, but he could see that the grass had been trampled, as though many horsemen had mounted there not long before. He raced back to t
he sorrel and leapt into the saddle. The gate was open and the drawbridge down.
He galloped across, but when he got to the end of the drawbridge, someone behind him yanked the cable so abruptly that Parzival was nearly thrown, horse and all, into the moat. Parzival turned back to see who had done this to him.
There, standing in the open gateway, was the page who had pulled the cable, shaking his fist at Parzival. “May God damn the light that falls on your path!” the boy cried. “You fool! You wretched fool! Why didn’t you ask the question?”
“What do you mean?” Parzival shouted back. “What question?”
Without another word, the page turned on his heel and disappeared. At once the iron portcullis crashed down upon the stone pavement. Parzival was alone.
There was nothing for him to do but to go forward, following the tracks of those who had left the yard earlier. Perhaps the king’s men are engaged in a battle, he thought. I can join them and offer the service of this great sword that the king has given me. Maybe they think I am a coward and that is why they despise me.
He followed the tracks, riding hard, but the hoofprints began to split off until at last they disappeared altogether. It was then that he heard the sound of a woman weeping. He followed the sound and found a young woman sitting against a linden tree, cradling in her arms the body of a knight, which had been embalmed.