Dear Uncle, what ails you?

In contrast to The Nibelungenlied, Parzival seems to end on a hopeful note. Anfortas is relieved of his suffering, Condwiramurs and Parzival are reunited, and Feirefiz falls in love. When the question is finally revealed, I was thrilled to see that it returned to the concept of compassion, a concept Parzival perhaps mastered in the end.

What seemed particularly compelling and refreshing through the reading of Parzival was the compassion displayed in the “othered” or “monstrous” characters. Of course Cundrie is described in quite animalistic terms (“Her nose was like a dog’s…Cundrie’s ears resembled a bear’s…p. 163) which makes her physically monstrous, but her temperament is nothing like Grendel’s mother or Morgan Le Fey, who have intentions of being destructive. As we’ve discussed in class, Cundrie understands the disposition Parzival must demonstrate in order to find the graal.

Likewise, another character who is physically othered is Feirefiz, with his magpie complexion. In the fight scene between Parzival and Feirefiz we see a form of compassion from Feirefiz when Parzival’s sword breaks; instead of killing Parzival he calls a truce. Perhaps the loophole in the argument of Feirefiz’s compassion would be the reference to “the hand of Him on high. May He avert their dying! (p. 371)” Either way, I am compelled the “infidel was magnanimous” whether it was inspired by God or not (p. 371).

And while it would be difficult to conflate these two characters into a single race (based on physical appearance and background) their physical “otherness” would bring them into a category separate from Parzival himself. However, if otherness translates to a category and perhaps a simple understanding of race, this particular picture painted by Wolfram and translated to our modern views could be hopeful; both Parzival and the “others” share an understanding of compassion. If there is compassion between categories, perhaps we end in hope.

Parzival's Damsels in Distress

Sharon Kinoshita, in an article titled "The Politics of Courtly Love: La Prise d'Orange and the Conversion of the Saracen Queen," argues that possession of the Saracen woman became a surrogate for and a means of possession of the Saracen world. She examines Orable from La Prise d'Orange and argues that Guillaume Fierebrace's conquest of her is really a symbolic conquest of the city. I think this also rings true for the possession of women - both Saracen and not - in Parzival; more often than not, the women are linked to a throne or region that needs governance and the knight who "wins" her almost always "wins" a kingdom in the process.

After Gahmuret and the Queen of Zazamanc unite, the Queen makes clear what the noble knight has won: "I and my lands are subject to this knight," she declares to her people and she later echoes this sentiment via her letter: "Return, and from my hands receive a crown, sceptre and kingdom that have been bequeathed to me" (49). Likewise, Condwiramurs is trying to protect both "land and person" from Clamide's "wooing" and, instead, "bestowed her lands and castles on him [Parzival], for he was the darling of her heart" (110). The woman-land conflation is all over Parzival and seems to suggest that women's bodies do not function merely as their own but also as cultural signifiers.

Kinoshita's above article implies that women's bodies act as signifiers for their culture; that, essentially, the representation of conquest of an entire people can be brought out by the conquest of a single individual. This is problematic because this "site" then becomes a figurative battlefield as opposed to belonging to the individual herself thus raising the question: what would happen if women became agents and knights of their own, pursuing lands and saving others from harm, as opposed to acting as signs for conquest or the conquered?

The Question

The purpose of the Question is not so much for Parzival to know what the Question is, so much as to test whether he's the kind of person who would ask the Question. So why is Parzival still out of luck?

The little courtly training Parzival has had served to curb his natural inquisitiveness. The little Parzival who asked the knight if he was God probably would have asked so many questions during the Gral procession that he would have hit the right one eventually. But the more grown up Parzival - the very same knight who gets welcomed to the Table Round - has other things on his mind. After the Gral comes out, the first we hear of Parzival is only peripherally related to the Gral: "This tale declares that Parzival gazed and wondered on that lady intently who had brought in that Gral, and well he might, since it was her cloak that he was wearing" (125-126). Parzival's thoughts are at least in the right direction, but he is distracted by the gesture he received from the Gral-bearer. Would he have thought of the Question if she had not given him her cloak?

It seems Parzival is put more at a disadvantage by the reception of his hosts than by incapability to ponder. "...they had come to know heartfelt grief. Parzival was not made to know this in any way" (121). Sure, Parzival should notice that the lord of the castle is incredibly ill, but he specifically says that God crippled his body - how was Parzival to know that his compassion could remedy that misery?

If Parzival was supposed to be the kind of person who would as the Question, I am not convinced that not being that person makes him quite the terrible churl that Sigune and Cundrie declare him to be. Parzival was acting in a perfectly rational and polite way given the information that was presented to him, so why should he have to bear such insults because the folks at Wildenberg were disappointed after hardly giving him a chance?

Atonement

It seemed appropriate that just after Parzival is chastised by his cousin for not asking “the question” he bumps into the scanty covered Jeschute who is running from her husband Orilus. Of course many years earlier Parzival caused lady Jeschute much pain and suffering when, in youthful ignorance, he ate her food and stole her jewels.

In the two encounters thus far with Parzival’s cousin, Sigune, she seems to unwittingly direct him toward his future. In their first encounter she informs him of who he is, and points in a direction away from her lover’s killer that just so happens to lead to Arthur’s court. In Parzival’s next encounter with Sigune she seems to send him off in a state of dispair. However this is perhaps his beginning path towards the graal?

If so, it therefore seems appropriate that Parzival bumps into Jeschute; his actions with her seem to be a sort of blemish of his past. It might be unlikely that Parzival could achieve the graal with this sin hanging over his head. Although this situation does not seem to be the highly planned test we saw in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, it does seem to be a chance for atonement for Parzival. And it may be that only because he is able to reconcile Jeschute and Orilus, he can move forward towards his goal.

A Weak Anchor

It is ironic that Gahmuret’s emblem is an anchor. He is always so restless, always seeking adventure, and (to put it in modern psychological terms) has serious commitment issues. He is unstable and flighty, not the characteristics usually associated with an anchor.

He also seems to suffer from lovesickness. Hopelessly smitten by Queen Belacane, he cannot sleep thinking about here. “The hero lost his patience with the night for dragging on so. With thoughts of the dusky Moorish Queen he fell from swoon to swoon, he whipped from side to side like an osier, setting his joints a-cracking” (Wolfram 30). This is the angst typically ascribed to lovesick woman, not a valiant knight. It also shows the disparity between him and his emblem, as an anchor holds firm a ship that is being tossed and buffeted by the waves.

This is not, however, the only scene that feminizes Gahmuret. On page 43, he is said to have “full lips [that] shone like rubies, red as fire”. Rarely are men’s lips mentioned when describing his physical appearance, much less how red they are. Yet the poet points this out as one of his most salient features.

There is another feminized outpouring of grief on page 57, and this time, another character comments on it:
‘Now summon up all your courage,’ said King Hardiz, ‘for if you are a man you must not voice your grief beyond measure.’
But alas, Gahmuret’s anguish was too great. A torrent gushed from his eyes.

Gahmuret’s behavior throughout the poem is vexing because it does not exemplify knightly, Christian, or manly virtue. The emblem of the anchor is even more problematic. Unless Wolfram meant it to be a joke, it doesn’t seem to represent Gahmuret in anyway.