At the time when the bold hero Vespasian was called away from the siege
of Jerusalem, to be made emperor of Rome, a rich man of Cappadocia,
named Parille, or as the Romans called him, Berillus, followed in his
train. He was brave in war, and wise of counsel in times of peace, so
the emperor gave him large estates in Gaul. His virtues were inherited
by his sons, grandsons, and later descendants. One of these,
Titurisone, married a noble maiden, named Elizabel, but they had no
children. The knight was much distressed at the thought that a noble
and chivalrous race should end in him. Once, when he was quite elderly,
a soothsayer came to the castle, and asked for a night’s lodging, which
was as usual granted. That evening, when he was sitting alone with his
guest, the knight began to discourse of the sorrow of his life, and the
stranger told him that he ought to make a pilgrimage to the church of
the Holy Sepulchre, and lay a crucifix of pure gold on the altar.
Titurisone followed the wise man’s advice, and he and his wife had the
pleasure of having a son born to them. As the boy grew up, he showed
rare gifts of mind, great piety, and unusual strength. He had received
the name of Titurel at his baptism, a name that soon became known
throughout the length and breadth of the land.
When the boy grew to man’s estate, he went with his father to fight
against the heathen. He showed such marvellous prowess, that his father
began to praise him, and prophesy great things for his future; but the
lad modestly said that he had only done his duty like others.
When the victorious army returned home, Titurel was not to be tempted
to remain at court, but hastened away to his native place. Arrived
there, he did not go first in search of his mother, but made his way to
the chapel, dressed in the robes of a penitent. He approached the altar
bare-foot, and presented the booty he had brought from the war. Having
prayed for God’s blessing on all his undertakings, he rose from his
knees, and, going into the castle, hastened to embrace his mother.
Titurel sometimes took part in the crusade against the Saracens. His
gallant deeds were so numerous that they became noised abroad, and his
name was held in honour by Christians and infidels alike.
Many years passed on. Titurisone and his wife both died, leaving a
large inheritance to their only son. The change in his outward fortunes
made no difference in Titurel—he remained as humble in the sight of
God and man as before; he had more to give away to the poor and needy,
that was the only use of wealth in his eyes.
One beautiful spring morning he went out to walk in the wood. Coming to
a soft mossy bank, he seated himself, and looked about him. Flowers
filled the air with their perfume, birds were singing in the trees, and
a gentle breeze whispered among the fresh green leaves. He felt full of
peace and joy; it almost seemed to him as though God were speaking to
him in the songs of the birds, the rustle of the foliage, and the
murmur of the brook. The sky was blue, one soft fleecy cloud alone was
visible. He was surprised to see it coming as if towards him with
extraordinary speed, and yet it was not driven by the wind. At last it
sank to the earth before him, and out of it came an angel, who spoke to
the hero in a deep melodious voice like the sound of the organ in
church.
“Hail, chosen hero of the Most High! The Lord hath called thee to guard
the holy Grail on His mountain, Montsalvatch. Set thy house in order,
and obey the voice of God.”
The angel stepped back, the cloud closed round him like a silver veil,
and he floated away to heaven.
Titurel went home in a state of ecstasy. He divided his wealth among
his servants and those who had most need of it, after which he returned
fully armed to the place where the angel had appeared to him. Once more
he saw the cloud in the sky, and this time it was fringed with the gold
of sunshine. It went before him, showing him the way to the goal of his
pilgrimage. He went on and on through vast solitudes. At length he came
to a deep dark wood, and after that to a mountain, the sides of which
seemed too steep to climb. But the cloud preceded him, and he followed,
dragging himself up precipitous rocks, past great abysses that made him
dizzy to look into, and through thickets of thorn. Often he felt so
weary he could hardly drag one foot after the other, and was tempted to
despair of ever reaching the top. But a voice seemed to speak to him
encouragingly at such moments of weakness, and he found strength to
struggle on. At length he reached the top of the mountain. He saw a
bright light before him, it was the Sangreal borne in the air by
invisible hands. Beneath it knelt a number of knights in shining
armour. Seeing him, they rose to their feet, and cried,—
“Hail to thee, chosen hero, called to be guardian of the holy Grail!”
He did not answer, his eyes were fixed on the sacred vessel, which was
like a cup of emerald-coloured jasper, encircled by a stand of chased
gold. Lost in the wondrous sight, he prayed for strength to guard what
was put under his charge.
And in good truth Titurel was worthy of his high calling. He, with the
help of the other knights under his command, prevented any infidels
from approaching the holy mountain. Many years passed away, and the
vessel never came down to earth. So Titurel determined to build a
castle and temple on the mountain-top worthy to hold and protect the
Sangreal.