The “Titurel” of Wolfram von Eschenbach.
Reading edition
Translated by Julia Goddard.
(Continued from p. 134.)
Conclusion of Part I.—Siguna and Schionatulander.
Argument.—Schionatulander having made his confession of love, Gahmureth, who has been in former times oppressed by love affairs himself, compassionates the youth, and promises to help on his cause with the young Duchess. We may here remark that Gahmureth does not appear to have been constant in his attachments. After having assisted Belakane, Queen of Zassamank, in the Moorish regions, he married her, but deserted her before their son Fierefiss was born. After that he married Herzeliede, whose son, Parzival, was chosen to be King of the Grail. Gahmureth had also been much in love with Anflisa, the French Queen, an episode, to which Schionatulander here alludes; as does Herzeleide in her conversation with Siguna, for she fears the French Queen has not yet forgiven her successful rival, and may make her heart bleed through the youthful lovers.
From the expedition in which Gahmureth was now engaged he never returned, being treacherously killed by Ipomidon, one of the Babylonian brothers. An account of his death, and of the magnificent burial given to him by Baruch, is to be found in “Parzival” (Book ii., Herzeleide).
“WHAT need to beat about the wood, O fond, weak squire? Thou, through thy skill at tilting, may E’en the fair Duchess’ love acquire; For love gives worthier reward To those who arms with valour bear, Than she to weaklings doth award. Yet that thy heart aspires so high Fills me with pride; How has the tree its branches spread Already out so far and wide. Bloom finest flowers on meadow ground? How has my cousin vanquished thee With knowledge sweetest to be found. Her mother, Schoisian, for joy Was rightly named, Since God’s creative power and skill One of such loveliness had framed; Her glance, clear, keen, as sunlight strong, I hear all people soothly say Doth also to her child belong. And Kiot, who in fiercest fight Aye glory won; Before the death of his loved bride Bowed down proud Catalonia’s son. Daughter of both, Siguna sweet! I greet thee, who must victor prove Where maids for victory compete. She o’er thee hath prevailed, and now The task is thine O’er her the victory to gain, And to this end it shall be mine To win her aunt for thee to speak; So through Siguna’s glance once more Shall bloom the colour in thy cheek.” Schionatulander then with joy Began his speech: “So doth thy confidence in me The burden of my sorrow reach, For now with thy consent I may Siguna love, who hath so long Stolen my joy and peace away.” Schionatulander’s hopes rose high At the relief That thus to him was measured out. Yet let us not forget that grief Fair Schoisian’s daughter too must bear (Since she, too, is of joy bereft) Ere happiness fall to her share. For Catalonia’s princess now Was pining sore, Through the deep love within her heart, Whose pain she long in silence bore; The while the Queen, with fears oppressed, Sad wondered what Siguna ailed, And why the maid was so distressed. Red as the heart of blooming rose All steeped in dew, So were the maiden’s tearful eyes, Her face all of a blushing hue; The bashful maid could not conceal The love that for the youthful squire She in her inmost heart did feel. Then from true heart outspake the Queen, With pitying love: “It grieves me Schoisian’s child to see In pain that once my heart did move, When from the Angevin ’twas mine To part; now wounds the thorn anew To see the suffering that is thine. Through country or through people, say, Art thou distressed? Or can the help of kith and kin, Or mine bring comfort to thy breast? Or will our efforts naught avail? Say, whence hath gone thy sunny glance, And wherefore is thy cheek so pale? Now, orphaned child, upon my grief Some pity take; Though crowned with crowns of kingdoms three, I count me poor for thy dear sake Till I can make thy grief depart, Until my searching eyes have found The secret of thy sorrowing heart.” “Then will I now my anxious fears And cares confess; ’Twere sin a silence now to keep Against thy loving tenderness, And ’gainst thy teaching to rebel. Do thou my constant soother be, Dear mother, then will all be well. May God reward thee! never yet Did mother kind Show to her child a greater love Than ’tis my lot with thee to find; With joy my tears might overflow. No more an orphan here am I, Such tender love is thine to show. Thy consolation, and advice, And help I need, One with another, since my heart For my dear absent friend must bleed; My torments all too painful prove, My rambling thoughts upon one chord Are knitted through out-going love. For him, my friend, for whom my looks For ever stray From window to the street, or o’er The heath when light dews pass away. Too seldom do I see his face, And therefore must my weeping eyes Bear of my pining love a trace. From window to the battlements I sadly turn; I look to east, I look to west, Hoping some tidings I may learn Of him to whom my heart is bound. One scarce can count me young in love; Amongst the older I am found. If o’er the wild and heaving flood ’Tis mine to glide, My eyes are roving here and there O’er thirty miles outspreading wide, Hoping some tidings I may gain Of that dear friend, who can alone Release me from my load of pain. Whither is all my joy now gone? Wherefore should fade The courage high that filled my heart? Ah! sorrow doth one’s peace invade! Yet willingly alone would I The sorrow bear, but well I know He longing would to me draw nigh. Alas! too seldom doth he come, Too long delays; And now I shiver as with cold, Now glow as with the fire’s fierce blaze. Schionatulander warms my heart As Salamander feels the glow. That Agremontin doth impart.” “Oh, woe! thy speech is far too wise,” The Queen replied. “Am I to thee betrayed? I fear The Frenchwoman her power hath tried O’er thee, through anger unto me; Anflisa’s words are on thy lips, For they are far too old for thee. Schionatulander is a prince From failings free! But yet his kingdom or his rank By him assumed will never be, Since he, alas! thy love hath sought; If the proud Queen Anflisa’s wrath Hath not on me been fully wrought. For he was given her when he left His mother’s breast Did malice not the counsel give That brings to thee such sore unrest? But joy may round ye both yet play; And if he counts thee truly fair, Let not thy beauty pass away. Through love to him let once again Thy beauty glow; The colour in thy cheeks and eyes Be such as youthful years should show: If lightly thus thy looks can fade, Thou hast had too short time for joy, Too many cares are on thee laid. Still if the youthful Dauphin hath So marred thy joy, He yet can give thee joy again; For love and kindness by the boy Have been inherited, I ween, From mother fair and noble sire, And kinswoman Schoiette the queen. That thou so early cam’st to love, Must I complain; Thou wilt the grief Mahaute bore For Gurzgri brave, live o’er again; Her eyes confessed the secret wound, Whilst victor he in far-off lands Fresh trophies on his helmet bound. To Schionatulander will praise Ascend on high, He comes of race to whom fair fame Shall none e’er grudge or e’er deny, But it shall far and wide increase; Then let him chase thy grief away, And bring instead blest joy and peace. If at his glance sweet happy thoughts Thy heart should yield, I feel no wonder nor surprise. How well he looks with shining shield, Whilst round a firecloud seemed to glow, Of sparks that fly from crested helms, As his sharp sword deals out each blow. Painter can’t paint him as he wields The lance with grace: There ne’er forgotten was before So little in a manly face; That thou should’st love him is to me Not strange; in him thine eyes delight; Thy love I grudge not unto thee.” When thus was youthful love allowed Between the twain, Without a bar their love to cross Their hearts might constant aye remain. “Now cousin mine,” the maiden spake, “For mine own love before the world The heir of Graharz may I take.”