And more than fifty pages with Beau-corps should ride that day, And their faces were fair to look on, Dukes and Counts might they be alway, And kings' sons, too, rode among them--And the greeting was good to see, 705 When from either side the children kissed each other, of true heart free.
And Beau-corps was fair to look on, and the king asked, who might he be? And Bené, she straightway answered. 'The son of King Lot is he, And _Beau-corps_ the name men call him'--Then he thought, 'Of a sooth, my heart, Thou hast found her! For she shall be like him who so knightly doth play his part, 710 For in truth shall she be his sister, she who sent me the headgear rare That of erst was in Sinzester fashioned, and the hawk on mine hand I bear. If she further will show me kindness then all earthly power and pride Would I count as naught, might I win her, tho' the earth were twice as wide. And surely she meaneth truly--For love of her came I here, 715 Hitherto hath she dealt so kindly that methinks I but little fear; She will show unto me such favour that my courage shall wax full high!' Then he clasped the hand of her brother that fair in his hand did lie.
In the meanwhile within his army King Arthur in such wise wrought That the Duchess was fain to grant him the peace that his lips had sought. 720 For rich was her consolation for her love by King Gramoflanz slain, For whose sake she had borne him hatred; and no more might her lips complain, For her anger had sunk to slumber, and she wakened to life anew 'Neath Gawain's embrace so tender, and her wrath, it was smitten thro'.
Then Arthur, the king of the Bretons, took many a lady bright, 725 One hundred, both wife and maiden, who were lovely in all men's sight, In a tent apart he set them--Nor might her lot fairer be, Itonjé, who sat beside them, since her king there she thought to see. And ever her heart was joyful, and yet in her soft eyes' glow Ye might see that the gentle maiden thro' love must sore sorrow know. 730 And many a knight and hero sat there, yet among them all No face was so fair to look on as the fair face of Parzival. To the tent-door up rode the monarch, and Gramoflanz, he ware For garment a robe of wonder, in Gampfassâsch wroughten fair. 'Twas a rick silk, all gold embroidered, and woven with golden thread, 735 And a shimmer of light from his vesture afar round the monarch spread.