--Perceval1, lines 74-81
"And thus his mother equipped him.
It took her roughly three days--
But she couldn't hold him a day
Longer. She spilled out tears
And kisses, weeping as she hugged him,
Saying, 'How sad it makes me,
Dear son, to see you leaving!
You'll go to the king's court
And you'll ask him for armor and weapons.
No one will tell him not to:
He'll give you what you need, I know
He will. But when it comes
To using what you've gotten, what then?
How will you know what to do,
When you've never done it before,
And never seen it done?
You'll manage badly, I know it:
As poorly prepared as you are,
How can you *not* do badly?'"
"He could not wait any longer,
But said farewell. And his mother
Wept, as he sat in his saddle.
wherever he went
He carried three sharp wooden sticks,
And would have taken them with him,
Now, but his mother took away
Two, saying he looked
Too Welsh. She'd infinitely rather
Have taken all three, if she could.
Weeping bitterly, his mother
Kissed him (for she loved him dearly),
And prayed that God would guide him.
'Dear son,' she said, 'may the Lord
Grant you more joy, wherever
You go, than you leave behind you.'"
Text: Perceval, Chrétien de Troyes (translation by Burton Raffel)
Graphic: Parsifal the Fool, Willy Pogàny (1912)
Three of Wands page(s) created July 18, 2002 ; last updated:
August 5, 2004.