With angry glances the knights also left the hall, and sad-faced servants conducted Parzival past a sleeping room, where they showed him an old white-haired man who lay in a troubled sleep.  Parzival wondered still more, but did not venture to ask who it might be.  Next the servants took him to an apartment where he could spend the night.  The tapestry hangings of this room were all embroidered with gorgeous pictures.  Among them the young hero noticed one in particular, because it represented his host borne down to the ground by a spear thrust into his bleeding side.  Parzival’s curiosity was even greater than before; but, scorning to ask a servant what he had not ventured to demand of the master, he went quietly to bed, thinking that he would try to secure an explanation on the morrow.

When he awoke he found himself alone.  No servant answered his call.  All the doors were fastened except those which led outside, where he found his steed awaiting him.  When he had passed the drawbridge it rose up slowly behind him, and a voice called out from the tower, “Thou art accursed; for thou hadst been chosen to do a great work, which thou hast left undone!” Then looking upward, Parzival saw a horrible face gazing after him with a fiendish grin, and making a gesture as of malediction.

[Sidenote:  Sigune.] At the end of that day’s journey, Parzival came to a lonely cell in the desert, where he found Sigune weeping over a shrine in which lay Tchionatulander’s embalmed remains.  She too received him with curses, and revealed to him that by one sympathetic question only he might have ended Amfortas’s prolonged pain, broken an evil spell, and won for himself a glorious crown.

Horrified, now that he knew what harm he had done, Parzival rode away, feeling as if he were indeed accursed.  His greatest wish was to return to the mysterious castle and atone for his remissness by asking the question which would release the king from further pain.  But alas! the castle had vanished; and our hero was forced to journey from place to place, seeking diligently, and meeting with many adventures on the way.

At times the longing to give up the quest and return home to his young wife was almost unendurable.  His thoughts were ever with her, and the poem relates that even a drop of blood fallen on the snow reminded, him most vividly of the dazzling complexion of Conduiramour, and of her sorrow when he departed.

“’Conduiramour, thine image is
Here in the snow now dyed with red
And in the blood on snowy bed. 
Conduiramour, to them compare
Thy forms of grace and beauty rare.’”

                            WOLFRAM VON ESCHENBACH, Parzival (Dippold’s tr.).

Although exposed to countless temptations, Parzival remained true to his wife as he rode from place to place, constantly seeking the Holy Grail.  His oft-reiterated questions concerning it caused him to be considered a madman or a fool by all he met.