raculous preservative influence of the Holy Grail,
Titurel seemed but forty when he was in reality more than four hundred
years old. His every thought had been so engrossed by the care of the
precious vessel that he was somewhat surprised when he read upon its rim a
luminous command to marry, so that his race might not become extinct. When
the knights of the temple had been summoned, and had all perused the divine
command, they began to consider where a suitable helpmate could be found
for their beloved king. They soon advised him to woe Richoude, the daughter
of a Spaniard. An imposing embassy was sent to the maiden, who, being
piously inclined, immediately consented to the marriage.

Richoude was a faithful wife for twenty years, and when she died she left
two children,--a son, Frimoutel, and a daughter, Richoude,--to comfort the
sorrowing Titurel for her loss. These children both married in their turn,
and Frimoutel had two sons, Amfortas and Trevrezent, and three daughters,
Herzeloide, Josiane, and Repanse de Joie. As these children grew up,
Titurel became too old to bear the weight of his armor, and spent all his
days in the temple, where he finally read on the Holy Grail a command to
anoint Frimoutel king. Joyfully the old man obeyed, for he had long felt
that the defense of the Holy Grail should be intrusted to a younger man
than he.

[Sidenote: Birth of Parzival.] Although he renounced the throne in favor of
his son, Titurel lived on, witnessed the marriage of Josiane, and mourned
for her when she died in giving birth to a little daughter, called Sigune.
This child, being thus deprived of a mother's care, was intrusted to
Herzeloide, who brought her up with Tchionatulander, the orphaned son of a
friend. Herzeloide married a prince named Gamuret, and became the happy
mother of Parzival, who, however, soon lost his father in a terrible
battle.

Fearful lest her son, when grown up, should want to follow his father's
example, and make war against even the most formidable foes, Herzeloide
carried him off into the forest of Soltane (which some authors locate in
Brittany), and there brought him up in complete solitude and ignorance.

"The child her falling tears bedew;
No wife was ever found more true.
She teemed with joy and uttered sighs;
And tears midst laughter filled her eyes
Her heart delighted in his birth;
In sorrow deep was drowned her mirth."
WOLFRAM VON ESCHEN