A ‘Gottesurteil’ (Tristan) and a ‘Holy Grail’ (Parzival)
(from Teaching Framework, p.8f)

If you check ‘Gottesurteil’ in Collins’ German-English dictionary, you will find it rendered as ‘trial by ordeal’. That rendering is of course historically correct, but, compared with the German, it feels like a euphemism: literally ‘God’s Judgment’. – There is a famous ‘Gottesurteil’ in Tristan (Gottfried von Straßburg’s version has been well translated by A.T.Hatto, published by Penguin).

After many years, the enemies of Tristan and Isolde finally succeed in persuading King Marke that the couple are conducting a love-affair under his nose, and that if he ignores the evidence this time his reputation will be destroyed for ever. So he agrees to Isolde being put on trial. The guilty couple now have to think very hard how to escape – yet again! – and they come up with the following ruse: Isolde will swear that she has only ever lain in the arms of two men (perfectly true!) – those of her husband and of the pilgrim/beggar who is to catch her in everyone’s view as she jumps down from the ship on arrival at the place of the trial –and this, too, is perfectly true, because that pilgrim/beggar will be none other than Tristan in disguise. So, since she will be telling the truth (even if not the whole truth), she will escape death. The ruse was clever, and it worked. When Isolde was forced to grasp the red-hot iron, her hand did not burn – thus, in the minds of all witnesses, God had judged her innocent.

One big puzzle about the way ‘the truth’ is flouted here, and ‘God’s justice’ challenged, is to know what Gottfried himself actually thought. He most teasingly comments at the end of this episode: ‘Thus it was made manifest and confirmed to all the world that Christ in his great virtue is as pliant as a windblown sleeve …’ (… daz der tugenhafte krist wintschaffen alse ein ermel ist) – On this central religious issue of ‘God’s Justice’, Gottfried comes over as a disconcertingly unorthodox thinker. He knew as clearly as did the characters themselves that Tristan and Isolde were breaking the sixth commandment (in a society which generally took Church teaching about Sin very seriously), but not only did he not condemn them himself, he also leaves us with the impression that God would not condemn them either.

The tale of Tristan and Isolde is one of the great tragic love-stories in European literature – two gifted, highborn, handsome lovers commit themselves to each other indissolubly when he goes to fetch her, a Princess of Ireland, to become his uncle’s – the King’s – wife. A magic love-potion seals the knot. No matter how long they are separated, how powerful their enemies, how great the difficulties of meeting, they remain steadfast. When Tristan is eventually forced into exile in Brittany, he agrees to marry a princess there. Fatally, her name is also Isolde (‘of the White Hands’), but, still absorbed only in his ‘own’ Isolde, Tristan finds every reason not to consummate the marriage. – Sadly for Tristan and Isolde ‘the Fair’, it had only been during the few weeks when they were hidden away together in the near-mystical ‘cave of lovers’ (Minnegrotte) that they knew any period of unblemished happiness.

If you check ‘Holy Grail’ in Collins’ English dictionary, you will find this explanation: ‘(in medieval legend) the bowl used by Jesus at the Last Supper. It was brought to Britain by Joseph of Arimathea, where it became the quest of many knights.’ (– That ‘bowl’ could, of course, have been a chalice.)

When you come to read the most famous German version of the Grail-legend – Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival (also well translated by Hatto) – you will find that that bowl or chalice is now a Stone: lapsit exillis. And instead of being just a precious religious relic, it now also has strange, magical powers: It has only to be carried into the dining hall of the castle where it is kept, munsalvæsche (The Wild Mountain, the Gral Castle) and it provides everyone present with whatever food and drink their hearts desire. It can also cure illnesses. – Why, we may now wonder, did Wolfram choose to change a legendary religious relic into a sort of magical talisman? (– No answer, I’m afraid.)

Wolfram’s story-telling style is joyous. He tells of Gahmuret, Parzival’s father, and how, after Gahmuret’s death, Parzival was brought up by his mother, Queen Herzeloyde, far away in a forest where she hoped, vainly, that he would never find out about Court life and the warring exploits and amorous adventures of knights. But blood will out! Once Parzival discovers the existence of knights he knows he must join them. And his mother’s final hope – that, by dressing him up as a fool he will be so mocked at Court that he ends up returing to her – is also doomed. Wolfram tells how Parzival finds his way to King Arthur’s Court, slowly learns what is honourable behaviour, becomes a respected knight, then discovers the Gral Castle and its injured Lord by chance – only to fail to ask the vital, redeeming question (waz wirret dir?) and he is forced out again into years of wandering. Only when he has learnt true humility does he re-discover the Gral Castle and fulfill his destiny by effecting the cure of its Lord – who, as it happens, is his own maternal uncle, ‘the Fisher King’.

Amongst all the adventures – those of Gahmuret as well as Parzival and also of Gawain, the paragon of Arthurian knighthood – there is an absorbing thread of spiritual teaching about humility and service and brotherhood. (It is also a splendid love-story – several, actually!)

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