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Parzival Penguin Classics Wolfram Von Eschenbach A T Hatto 9780140443615 Books

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Parzival Penguin Classics Wolfram Von Eschenbach A T Hatto 9780140443615 Books

[Like another reviewer, I’ve had an older review of this book buried by Amazon, and I’m re-posting a revised version of that older review, on a page which shows up when searched, so that the curious reader has some real chance of finding it.]

There seem to be currently available four complete English translations of Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Middle High German “Parzival,” an early, and slightly eccentric, version of the Grail Quest. Wolfram, both a knight (according to most scholars) and a (slightly eccentric) poet from thirteenth-century southern Germany, is the author of this long Arthurian romance, of a long Carolingian epic, “Willehalm,” and of a fragmentary Arthurian romance, “Titurel,” and either eight or nine lyrics (depending on the attribution of some of them). His complaints about rival poets, and their replies to him, have turned out to be clues to relative dating of their works. On this and external evidence, Wolfram’s poetic career has been dated between about 1195 and 1225; with the almost 25,000 lines of “Parzival” being composed between about 1200 and 1210.

The oldest of these translations is Jessie L. Weston’s nineteenth-century verse rendering, “Parzival: A Knightly Epic” (1894, with some later reprintings), although I hesitate to recommend it. Nabu Press (among others) has issued it in paperback, as well as out-of-copyright Middle High German text editions and Modern German translations. Many of these, and others, can be also be found at archive.org (the Library of Congress website, Internet Archive), although the two volumes of Weston’s translation must be searched for as “Parzival,” and not under the translator’s name. (Archive.org also makes available the 1891 fifth edition of Karl Lachmann’s enduring edition of Wolfram’s works; Edwards, Hatto, and Mustard and Passage, the prose translators, mainly used the 1926 revised sixth edition, or later revised printings.)

Jessie L. Weston [Jessie Laidley Weston, 1850-1928] is probably best known as the author of “From Ritual to Romance,” propounding a (now discarded) theory of the origins of the Holy Grail story, but she was also an enthusiastic Wagnerian -- which introduced her, by way of the opera “Parsifal,” to Wolfram’s “Parzival.” (Wagner seems to have both affirmed and denied that Wolfram had a major impact on the opera; curiously, T.S. Eliot did the same regarding the influence of Weston's "From Ritual to Romance" on his poem "The Waste Land.")

She also produced some interesting studies of the larger “Perceval” tradition and of Sir Lancelot (both as found in French), and of Sir Gawain, and a string of translations of Arthurian material “not represented in Malory” (i.e., not in “Le Morte D’Arthur,” the great English compendium of medieval Arthuriana from the end of the Middle Ages).

There are Project Gutenberg editions of a number of Weston’s works, including “Parzival,” some of them available in Kindle format, among other versions. In fact there are three or four Kindle editions of her “Parzival” currently (November 2015) available; some observing the original two-volume hardcover arrangement in its now digital format, for which I can’t see any necessity (as I noted in my reviews).

Weston’s translation suffers, in a present-day perspective, from its basis in nineteenth-century linguistic and historical studies, and for many readers (certainly not all) its rhymed couplets will become tedious before very long. And, of course, Wolfram’s precise meaning is sometimes sacrificed to the demands of English verse.

The most recent translation, in prose, is Cyril Edwards’ “Parzival: With Titurel and the Love Lyrics” (2004). It includes a fragmentary related work, and Wolfram’s contributions to the “Minnesaenger” (love poetry) tradition, which makes it attractive. The price of the original hardcover edition is against starting with it! A more reasonably-priced paperback, aimed at the student market and the ordinary reader, is now (from 2006) available in a shorter format (apparently somewhat revised) as “Parzival and Titurel” in the Oxford World’s Classics series; I have reviewed it separately, based on its Kindle edition. In brief Edwards’ translation may be more faithful to Wolfram’s style, but some readers find it difficult going. (Also, although the OWC edition has some excellent notes, I preferred the fuller version, including a discussion of "Parzival" in medieval art, which I’ve only consulted in a library.)

Of the other two prose translations, the older is “Parzival: A Romance of the Middle Ages” (usually cited without the subtitle, in my experience), translated by Helen M. Mustard (1906-1993) and Charles E. Passage (1913-1983), and published in paperback by Vintage Books (Random House) in 1961. Provided as it is with an engaging Introduction, occasional clarifying footnotes, Additional Notes, an Index of Persons, and a Genealogical Table, I found it an attractive entrance to Wolfram-studies, and Middle High German literature beyond the “Nibelungenlied.” There are also two schematic maps showing the disposition of forces in Wolfram’s somewhat confusing descriptions of sieges.

The suggested reading list at the end of the introduction is frustratingly short, but reflects the lack of readily-available introductory materials in English in the 1950s. It does refer the reader to the relevant chapter by Otto Springer in "Arthurian Literature in the Middle Ages," an outstanding compendium of scholarship, edited by Roger Sherman Loomis (Oxford, 1959), where there is considerably more information.

The language of the translation is relatively colloquial, and has been criticized (by another translator) as both inexact in its use of hunting and heraldic terms, and being perhaps too American in language(!). (It was, of course, published by an American firm, mainly for American readers.)

A more valid criticism, in my opinion, pointed out that part of the introduction discusses a largely discarded theory floated by Jessie L. Weston in her translation, concerning the work's relation to the rulers of Anjou, and their descendants in England, the Angevin dynasty. Since Weston’s version was the one most likely to be familiar to Mustard and Passage’s original readers (if they knew anything about Wolfram at all), this made a certain amount of sense, but they might have mentioned more clearly, that her views, while interesting, were no longer taken very seriously as contributing to the interpretation of the poem, or revealing anything new about his sources.

The cover art (designed by Fritz Kredel) is a genuinely medieval “portrait” of the armored Wolfram, faceless under his knightly helmet; the red cloth worn by the knight — and his horse — alludes to the Red Knight and his gear in the text of “Parzival,” but there seems to have been no traditional conception of Wolfram’s appearance, or his coat of arms (assuming he had one).

Almost twenty years later, A.T. Hatto [Arthur Thomas Hatto, 1910-2010] -- on whose sometimes intemperate review of the Vintage translation I have been drawing -- produced his own version, in the Penguin Classics (1980); the cover art, which has changed from time to time, has so far used manuscript illuminations of scenes from the poem.

Like Hatto’s earlier “Nibelungenlied” translation for Penguin, it is in prose, and has, instead of an extended discussion before reading, an appended “Introduction to a Second Reading,” along with a Glossary of Personal Names, and a List of Works in English for Further Reading. The critical discussion is excellent, and postponing it until a reader has a chance to form an opinion is an interesting idea. At least the student won’t be quite so tempted to substitute reading the editorial commentary for a reading of the text, if one has to look for it. On the downside, Hatto is a bit reticent when it comes to distinguishing his (interesting and worthwhile) opinions from the scholarly consensus.

Hatto’s English is a bit obviously British (not that this should matter, *either*); and some of his “corrected” readings (in terms of his objections to Mustard and Passage) are actually more difficult to follow, unless you are already familiar with the technical languages of hunting and blazonry. Otherwise, for example, the Mustard and Passage translation of “a pair” of birds is going to be clearer than Hatto’s “a brace” of them. This was not the case with Hatto’s translation of the “Tristan” of Wolfram’s rival, Gottfried von Strassburg (also from Penguin). The “Tristan” tradition makes a great point of how its hero uses the correct — meaning fashionable — hunting language, and Hatto was there, obviously, correct to reproduce the impression of mastery of an esoteric art.

Either version is enjoyable, although Hatto (obviously) seems a bit more concerned with precision, and Mustard and Passage a little more with immediate appeal to readers. Edwards, with earlier translations offering relatively easy access to the poem, goes in for technical accuracy rather than immediate clarity; Wolfram is notorious for obscure imagery and riddling passages. I enjoy it now, but I have to wonder whether it would have won me over to Wolfram as the Mustard and Passage translation did, years ago. (I’ve bought several copies of their version over the years, as a replacement for a worn-out one, or as gifts.)

Wolfram himself was translating, in his own fashion, Chretien de Troyes’ unfinished “Perceval, or, The Story of the Grail” — although he himself claims to have an additional source, the mysterious “Kyot,” who had a better, truer, version. Since Chretien himself claimed to have been working from a source provided by a patron, this has at times sent scholars searching in many directions. Jessie Weston’s theory, emphasizing Wolfram’s references to Anjou and the Angevins, whose dynasty of Counts had come to rule England (see Henry II), was as plausible as most, and just as much a blind alley (as Mustard and Passage indicate at the very end of their recapitulation).

Wolfram mostly used his imagination quite freely, but it looks to me as if he had some sort of additional material, even if he freely embroidered his "explanation" of what it was. There is an odd resemblance to “Moriaen,” an interpolation in the medieval Dutch metrical translation of the French Lancelot-Grail romances, for example. This story of Sir Perceval's "Moorish" kinsman was also translated by Jessie Weston, this time in prose, under the title "Morien" (there are several Kindle editions of this, as well as hard-copy reprints; and a Project Gutenberg rendition).

Turning back to "Parzival" itself, we find an entire opening section, unique to Wolfram, with the hero’s father, Gahmuret the Anschevin (i.e, Angevin), having adventures in a vaguely-conceived Near East and North Africa, where he leaves behind a “pagan” wife and son, the latter, the multi-colored Feirefiz, crossing paths with Wolfram’s main hero years later. (It is worth noting that, although Wolfram is a snob, and is fascinated by physical differences between human beings, he is in no sense a racist; color is no bar to aristocracy.)

This chivalric adventuring is followed by Gahmuret’s second marriage, return to war in the East, and death, and, following Chretien at last, the birth and upbringing in forest isolation of Parzival himself, his fateful encounter with Arthur’s knights, Parzival's ignorant blunders as he seeks to become one of them, and the splitting of the story to include the exploits of Sir Gawain (recognizable under German renderings, variously handled by translators over the years), and Parzival’s first adventure at the Grail Castle. As usual, the ridiculously naive Parzival misinterprets the wise advice he has been given, again with serious results.

This much is derived from Chretien’s account of Perceval and Gauvain, all retold in Wolfram’s quirky style. Then Wolfram returns to what seems to be new material, writing his own conclusion to both sets of adventures. (Eric Rohmer’s film version of “Perceval” is a splendid visualization of Chretien’s version, and works almost equally well for the relevant parts of Wolfram’s retelling, too.)

As in other versions, Chretien’s very mysterious “graal” (a kind of serving dish) is drawn into a Christian conception of the universe. But Wolfram explains the "Grâl" as a sort of magic stone that fell to earth during the War in Heaven, not a relic of the Last Supper, and certainly not the familiar drinking vessel. That more explicitly Christianized version seems to belong to the Old French cycle of “Joseph of Arimathea,” “Merlin” and “Perceval,” attributed to Robert de Boron, and was later picked up and amplified in the “Vulgate Cycle” of Arthurian romances (centering on Lancelot, and introducing Galahad as the Quest hero, alongside Perceval), the version known in English through Malory, and, so far as the Chalice interpretation, also used by Wagner.

Wagner plundered Wolfram for names and a certain “German” quality for his Grail opera, “Parsifal,” besides using another version of a story Wolfram alludes to in “Lohengrin,’ and the poet’s name for a character in “Tannhauser.” Personally, I suggest tossing aside all Wagnerian preconceptions, if any, and allowing Wolfram’s real personality to have a chance. Sarcastic (especially about competitors), sentimental (especially about wives and children), full of pride in the knightly caste (a new phenomenon, which its members wanted to be very old), arrogantly announcing that he is completely illiterate in the company of poets who boasted they could read anything ever written, he is both annoying and lovable. A living personality, in fact, appearing in a time more used to anonymous authors.

For those who find “Parzival” a pleasure, or who would like to try a more military, rather than chivalric, work, there are also translations of his “Willehalm,” based on the Old French *chanson de geste* of William Curt-Nose, or Guillaume l’Orange, one of the heroes of the legends of Charlemagne and his descendants. I am familiar with two, both into prose. One, by Marion E. Gibbs and Sidney M. Johnson, was published by Penguin Classics in 1984, and is currently in print, as “Wolfram von Eschenbach: Willehalm.” Charles E. Passage, one of the co-translators of “Parzival,” had earlier translated it as “The Middle High German Poem of Willehalm by Wolfram von Eschenbach,” published by Frederick Ungar in 1977. Although it is out of print, used copies of the trade paperback edition seem to be available. Mustard also translated the fragments of “Titurel” for Ungar (not seen).

Curiously, the supposedly illiterate Wolfram seems unusually aware of the idea (if not the facts) of history. The “Pagan” Saracens of his French source are connected by him with the Romans (as descended from the followers of Pompey, rather than of Caesar, and heirs of an old feud), and also with the extra-European characters he had already invented for “Parzival.” He rather neatly brings into the correct sequence his versions of Arthurian and Carolingian Europe.


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Parzival Penguin Classics Wolfram Von Eschenbach A T Hatto 9780140443615 Books Reviews

Unique in style, Von Eschenback delivers the Arthurian legends with gripping interest
Ancient X-Files series -accessible on NETFLIX at the moment.
season 1 episode 1 "The Holy Grail" & te labyrinth --2 shoes in each episode
BTW season 1 episode 2 has The Blood of Christ--there is a small amount of blood on the face cloth--which they test with modern technology--there is only the DNA of the mother. AB.
The book is not about the Holy Grail (cup) but the Fisher King. Oddly, the book has clues about the Monastery where the Valencia Chalice was kept in Spain in 3rd century. --the story takes you to that monastery-it has a slightly different translation of the name, and they are allowed to down to the basement where the grail was kept, and where "living water" flowed down one of the walls for a baptism.
The steps where the book describes a passageway from the basement to the main hall --that was bricked off but still there.
Of course, the Chalice is no longer there but in Valencia--behindi bullet proof glass )
I just find it fascinating.. ) Oh and on the internet you can find excellent summaries of each chapter, so you can flip through to any part of the story you would like. I have my favorites. Of course Le Morte de Arthur has The Questing Beast which I loved. It gave the Quester something to live for, and the Quester gave the Beast a reason for living.
Great story about hope.
Hatto gives his usual accurate, precise and elegant English prose rendering of this classic German epic poem of the early 13th century.

Wolfram's Parzival is a more coherent and well-structured narrative than the Niebelungenlied, and is more courtly and refined than the Icelandic sagas of the same era. It is a lively, colorful insight into 13th century European culture. This, along with its place in the evolution of the Arthurian and Grail legends, is its main source of interest to modern readers.

Wolfram is particularly knowledgeable about military affairs and you can learn a lot from this story about what it was like (or supposed to be like) to be a knight at the time.

The Grail of this story is a stone. In Chretien's earlier story, on which Wolfram's is based, the Grail was a bowl. In other stories, it doubles as the cup used by Jesus at the Last Supper and the vessel used to catch the dripping blood at the crucifixion. In our own time it has served as a boon to conspiracy theorists and an excuse to cast Sean Connery in an Indiana Jones movie. Next...well, who knows what's next?

Parzival combines folk traditions - the Grail's power of providing unlimited food and drink is a favorite folk motif, most famously with the magic porridge pot - with knightly adventure, and adds a dash of mysticism. It is no more than a dash, and I think subsequent commentators have read too much into this aspect. Certainly it is a coming-of-age story and a tale of redemption, but the spiritual edifice that has since been built around it seems to me a bit of a stretch. At the time of writing this review, youth counselors in Britain are using Parzival as an allegory to teach the true meaning of manhood. Good luck to them.

Although Parzival does not have the continuity errors of the Niebelungenlied, individual sentences are sometimes mangled beyond comprehension. Presumably they sounded more acceptable when recited as poetry. Hatto wisely avoids the temptation to tidy these passages up and translates them warts and all.

History books can only take us so far in an understanding of a previous age. To get beneath the skin, to understand the anxieties, hopes, prejudices and beliefs of the people who lived then, we must share the stories that they told. In Parzival, we see how medieval man related to his own masculinity, his fellow man, his womenfolk and his god.
I do not know if it is the translator or Eschenbach himself, but the amount of ten dollar words used is ridiculous. I am going to guess that since Eschenbach only had a rudimentary education - translator talks about this in the introduction - it was the translator that did this. Really wish that Walter Kauffman would have been able to get to this beautiful epic poem.
[Like another reviewer, I’ve had an older review of this book buried by , and I’m re-posting a revised version of that older review, on a page which shows up when searched, so that the curious reader has some real chance of finding it.]

There seem to be currently available four complete English translations of Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Middle High German “Parzival,” an early, and slightly eccentric, version of the Grail Quest. Wolfram, both a knight (according to most scholars) and a (slightly eccentric) poet from thirteenth-century southern Germany, is the author of this long Arthurian romance, of a long Carolingian epic, “Willehalm,” and of a fragmentary Arthurian romance, “Titurel,” and either eight or nine lyrics (depending on the attribution of some of them). His complaints about rival poets, and their replies to him, have turned out to be clues to relative dating of their works. On this and external evidence, Wolfram’s poetic career has been dated between about 1195 and 1225; with the almost 25,000 lines of “Parzival” being composed between about 1200 and 1210.

The oldest of these translations is Jessie L. Weston’s nineteenth-century verse rendering, “Parzival A Knightly Epic” (1894, with some later reprintings), although I hesitate to recommend it. Nabu Press (among others) has issued it in paperback, as well as out-of-copyright Middle High German text editions and Modern German translations. Many of these, and others, can be also be found at archive.org (the Library of Congress website, Internet Archive), although the two volumes of Weston’s translation must be searched for as “Parzival,” and not under the translator’s name. (Archive.org also makes available the 1891 fifth edition of Karl Lachmann’s enduring edition of Wolfram’s works; Edwards, Hatto, and Mustard and Passage, the prose translators, mainly used the 1926 revised sixth edition, or later revised printings.)

Jessie L. Weston [Jessie Laidley Weston, 1850-1928] is probably best known as the author of “From Ritual to Romance,” propounding a (now discarded) theory of the origins of the Holy Grail story, but she was also an enthusiastic Wagnerian -- which introduced her, by way of the opera “Parsifal,” to Wolfram’s “Parzival.” (Wagner seems to have both affirmed and denied that Wolfram had a major impact on the opera; curiously, T.S. Eliot did the same regarding the influence of Weston's "From Ritual to Romance" on his poem "The Waste Land.")

She also produced some interesting studies of the larger “Perceval” tradition and of Sir Lancelot (both as found in French), and of Sir Gawain, and a string of translations of Arthurian material “not represented in Malory” (i.e., not in “Le Morte D’Arthur,” the great English compendium of medieval Arthuriana from the end of the Middle Ages).

There are Project Gutenberg editions of a number of Weston’s works, including “Parzival,” some of them available in format, among other versions. In fact there are three or four editions of her “Parzival” currently (November 2015) available; some observing the original two-volume hardcover arrangement in its now digital format, for which I can’t see any necessity (as I noted in my reviews).

Weston’s translation suffers, in a present-day perspective, from its basis in nineteenth-century linguistic and historical studies, and for many readers (certainly not all) its rhymed couplets will become tedious before very long. And, of course, Wolfram’s precise meaning is sometimes sacrificed to the demands of English verse.

The most recent translation, in prose, is Cyril Edwards’ “Parzival With Titurel and the Love Lyrics” (2004). It includes a fragmentary related work, and Wolfram’s contributions to the “Minnesaenger” (love poetry) tradition, which makes it attractive. The price of the original hardcover edition is against starting with it! A more reasonably-priced paperback, aimed at the student market and the ordinary reader, is now (from 2006) available in a shorter format (apparently somewhat revised) as “Parzival and Titurel” in the Oxford World’s Classics series; I have reviewed it separately, based on its edition. In brief Edwards’ translation may be more faithful to Wolfram’s style, but some readers find it difficult going. (Also, although the OWC edition has some excellent notes, I preferred the fuller version, including a discussion of "Parzival" in medieval art, which I’ve only consulted in a library.)

Of the other two prose translations, the older is “Parzival A Romance of the Middle Ages” (usually cited without the subtitle, in my experience), translated by Helen M. Mustard (1906-1993) and Charles E. Passage (1913-1983), and published in paperback by Vintage Books (Random House) in 1961. Provided as it is with an engaging Introduction, occasional clarifying footnotes, Additional Notes, an Index of Persons, and a Genealogical Table, I found it an attractive entrance to Wolfram-studies, and Middle High German literature beyond the “Nibelungenlied.” There are also two schematic maps showing the disposition of forces in Wolfram’s somewhat confusing descriptions of sieges.

The suggested reading list at the end of the introduction is frustratingly short, but reflects the lack of readily-available introductory materials in English in the 1950s. It does refer the reader to the relevant chapter by Otto Springer in "Arthurian Literature in the Middle Ages," an outstanding compendium of scholarship, edited by Roger Sherman Loomis (Oxford, 1959), where there is considerably more information.

The language of the translation is relatively colloquial, and has been criticized (by another translator) as both inexact in its use of hunting and heraldic terms, and being perhaps too American in language(!). (It was, of course, published by an American firm, mainly for American readers.)

A more valid criticism, in my opinion, pointed out that part of the introduction discusses a largely discarded theory floated by Jessie L. Weston in her translation, concerning the work's relation to the rulers of Anjou, and their descendants in England, the Angevin dynasty. Since Weston’s version was the one most likely to be familiar to Mustard and Passage’s original readers (if they knew anything about Wolfram at all), this made a certain amount of sense, but they might have mentioned more clearly, that her views, while interesting, were no longer taken very seriously as contributing to the interpretation of the poem, or revealing anything new about his sources.

The cover art (designed by Fritz Kredel) is a genuinely medieval “portrait” of the armored Wolfram, faceless under his knightly helmet; the red cloth worn by the knight — and his horse — alludes to the Red Knight and his gear in the text of “Parzival,” but there seems to have been no traditional conception of Wolfram’s appearance, or his coat of arms (assuming he had one).

Almost twenty years later, A.T. Hatto [Arthur Thomas Hatto, 1910-2010] -- on whose sometimes intemperate review of the Vintage translation I have been drawing -- produced his own version, in the Penguin Classics (1980); the cover art, which has changed from time to time, has so far used manuscript illuminations of scenes from the poem.

Like Hatto’s earlier “Nibelungenlied” translation for Penguin, it is in prose, and has, instead of an extended discussion before reading, an appended “Introduction to a Second Reading,” along with a Glossary of Personal Names, and a List of Works in English for Further Reading. The critical discussion is excellent, and postponing it until a reader has a chance to form an opinion is an interesting idea. At least the student won’t be quite so tempted to substitute reading the editorial commentary for a reading of the text, if one has to look for it. On the downside, Hatto is a bit reticent when it comes to distinguishing his (interesting and worthwhile) opinions from the scholarly consensus.

Hatto’s English is a bit obviously British (not that this should matter, *either*); and some of his “corrected” readings (in terms of his objections to Mustard and Passage) are actually more difficult to follow, unless you are already familiar with the technical languages of hunting and blazonry. Otherwise, for example, the Mustard and Passage translation of “a pair” of birds is going to be clearer than Hatto’s “a brace” of them. This was not the case with Hatto’s translation of the “Tristan” of Wolfram’s rival, Gottfried von Strassburg (also from Penguin). The “Tristan” tradition makes a great point of how its hero uses the correct — meaning fashionable — hunting language, and Hatto was there, obviously, correct to reproduce the impression of mastery of an esoteric art.

Either version is enjoyable, although Hatto (obviously) seems a bit more concerned with precision, and Mustard and Passage a little more with immediate appeal to readers. Edwards, with earlier translations offering relatively easy access to the poem, goes in for technical accuracy rather than immediate clarity; Wolfram is notorious for obscure imagery and riddling passages. I enjoy it now, but I have to wonder whether it would have won me over to Wolfram as the Mustard and Passage translation did, years ago. (I’ve bought several copies of their version over the years, as a replacement for a worn-out one, or as gifts.)

Wolfram himself was translating, in his own fashion, Chretien de Troyes’ unfinished “Perceval, or, The Story of the Grail” — although he himself claims to have an additional source, the mysterious “Kyot,” who had a better, truer, version. Since Chretien himself claimed to have been working from a source provided by a patron, this has at times sent scholars searching in many directions. Jessie Weston’s theory, emphasizing Wolfram’s references to Anjou and the Angevins, whose dynasty of Counts had come to rule England (see Henry II), was as plausible as most, and just as much a blind alley (as Mustard and Passage indicate at the very end of their recapitulation).

Wolfram mostly used his imagination quite freely, but it looks to me as if he had some sort of additional material, even if he freely embroidered his "explanation" of what it was. There is an odd resemblance to “Moriaen,” an interpolation in the medieval Dutch metrical translation of the French Lancelot-Grail romances, for example. This story of Sir Perceval's "Moorish" kinsman was also translated by Jessie Weston, this time in prose, under the title "Morien" (there are several editions of this, as well as hard-copy reprints; and a Project Gutenberg rendition).

Turning back to "Parzival" itself, we find an entire opening section, unique to Wolfram, with the hero’s father, Gahmuret the Anschevin (i.e, Angevin), having adventures in a vaguely-conceived Near East and North Africa, where he leaves behind a “pagan” wife and son, the latter, the multi-colored Feirefiz, crossing paths with Wolfram’s main hero years later. (It is worth noting that, although Wolfram is a snob, and is fascinated by physical differences between human beings, he is in no sense a racist; color is no bar to aristocracy.)

This chivalric adventuring is followed by Gahmuret’s second marriage, return to war in the East, and death, and, following Chretien at last, the birth and upbringing in forest isolation of Parzival himself, his fateful encounter with Arthur’s knights, Parzival's ignorant blunders as he seeks to become one of them, and the splitting of the story to include the exploits of Sir Gawain (recognizable under German renderings, variously handled by translators over the years), and Parzival’s first adventure at the Grail Castle. As usual, the ridiculously naive Parzival misinterprets the wise advice he has been given, again with serious results.

This much is derived from Chretien’s account of Perceval and Gauvain, all retold in Wolfram’s quirky style. Then Wolfram returns to what seems to be new material, writing his own conclusion to both sets of adventures. (Eric Rohmer’s film version of “Perceval” is a splendid visualization of Chretien’s version, and works almost equally well for the relevant parts of Wolfram’s retelling, too.)

As in other versions, Chretien’s very mysterious “graal” (a kind of serving dish) is drawn into a Christian conception of the universe. But Wolfram explains the "Grâl" as a sort of magic stone that fell to earth during the War in Heaven, not a relic of the Last Supper, and certainly not the familiar drinking vessel. That more explicitly Christianized version seems to belong to the Old French cycle of “Joseph of Arimathea,” “Merlin” and “Perceval,” attributed to Robert de Boron, and was later picked up and amplified in the “Vulgate Cycle” of Arthurian romances (centering on Lancelot, and introducing Galahad as the Quest hero, alongside Perceval), the version known in English through Malory, and, so far as the Chalice interpretation, also used by Wagner.

Wagner plundered Wolfram for names and a certain “German” quality for his Grail opera, “Parsifal,” besides using another version of a story Wolfram alludes to in “Lohengrin,’ and the poet’s name for a character in “Tannhauser.” Personally, I suggest tossing aside all Wagnerian preconceptions, if any, and allowing Wolfram’s real personality to have a chance. Sarcastic (especially about competitors), sentimental (especially about wives and children), full of pride in the knightly caste (a new phenomenon, which its members wanted to be very old), arrogantly announcing that he is completely illiterate in the company of poets who boasted they could read anything ever written, he is both annoying and lovable. A living personality, in fact, appearing in a time more used to anonymous authors.

For those who find “Parzival” a pleasure, or who would like to try a more military, rather than chivalric, work, there are also translations of his “Willehalm,” based on the Old French *chanson de geste* of William Curt-Nose, or Guillaume l’Orange, one of the heroes of the legends of Charlemagne and his descendants. I am familiar with two, both into prose. One, by Marion E. Gibbs and Sidney M. Johnson, was published by Penguin Classics in 1984, and is currently in print, as “Wolfram von Eschenbach Willehalm.” Charles E. Passage, one of the co-translators of “Parzival,” had earlier translated it as “The Middle High German Poem of Willehalm by Wolfram von Eschenbach,” published by Frederick Ungar in 1977. Although it is out of print, used copies of the trade paperback edition seem to be available. Mustard also translated the fragments of “Titurel” for Ungar (not seen).

Curiously, the supposedly illiterate Wolfram seems unusually aware of the idea (if not the facts) of history. The “Pagan” Saracens of his French source are connected by him with the Romans (as descended from the followers of Pompey, rather than of Caesar, and heirs of an old feud), and also with the extra-European characters he had already invented for “Parzival.” He rather neatly brings into the correct sequence his versions of Arthurian and Carolingian Europe.