Hero Tales and Legends of the Rhine Part 7

But the warriors who flit across the lore of Rhineland were not all so unfortunate, and one who fared better was Sir Dietrich of Schwarzenbeck.

Marching by the Rhine on his way to join a band of crusaders, this Dietrich chanced to pa.s.s a few days at the castle of Argenfels, whose owner was the father of two daughters. The younger of the pair, Bertha by name, soon fell in love with the guest, while he, too, was deeply impressed by her charm; but silken dalliance was not for him at present?for was he not under a vow to try to redeem the Holy Sepulchre??and so he resumed his journey to Palestine. Here an arduous campaign awaited him. In the course of a fierce battle he was wounded sorely, and while trying to escape from the field he was taken prisoner.

This was a terrible fate, a far worse fate than death, for the Saracens usually sold their captives as slaves; and Sir Dietrich as he languished in captivity, wondering whether he was destined to spend the rest of his days serving the infidel in some menial capacity, vowed that if he should ever regain his native Germany he would build there a chapel to St. Peter. Nor did his piety go unrewarded, for shortly afterward a body of his compatriots came to his aid, worsted his foes, and set him free.

A joyful day was this for the crusader, but it was not his pious vow that he thought of first; he made for Argenfels, eager to see again the bright eyes of the lady who had enchanted him. Day and night he rode, and as he drew nearer to the castle his pa.s.sion grew stronger within him; but, alas! on reaching his destination his hopes were suddenly dashed to the ground. War had meantime been waged in the neighbourhood of Bertha?s home; her father had been involved, his castle burnt to the ground, and the two daughters had disappeared. Peradventure they had perished, surmised the knight; but he swore he would leave nothing undone which might lead to the restoration of his beloved. Making inquiries far and near throughout the country, he heard at last from an old shepherd that two ladies of gentle birth were sequestering themselves in a disused hermitage near the summit of a mountain called Stromberg. ?Is it indeed they?? thought Sir Dietrich. He clambered up the rocky steep leading to the hermitage and a wistful sound greeted his ears, the sound of maidens? voices offering up vespers. ?Ave Maria, stella maris,? they sang, and in the coolness of the evening the notes vibrated with a new, strange loveliness, for the lover knew that he had not climbed the Stromberg in vain. He returned, bringing Bertha with him, and in due course she became his bride. Yet the fairest rose has its thorns, and the happiness of the pair was not to be wholly undimmed by clouds. For Bertha?s sister, showing a curious perversity, expressed a desire to remain in the abode which had sheltered her of late, and nothing could induce her to alter this decision. Sir Dietrich pleaded with her again and again, and of a sudden, while thus engaged, he thought of the vow he had made while a captive?the vow he had not kept.

Here, possibly?here in this shadow darkening the joy of his bridal?was a message from on high! So straightway he built his chapel, choosing as situation therefor a spot hard by the windswept hermitage, and in this shrine to St. Peter dwelt Bertha?s sister to the end of her days. Was it, mayhap, jealousy and a dart from Cupid?s bow which kept her there; and was she, too, enamoured of Sir Dietrich? Well, the poet who tells the story certainly thought so!

Drinking Songs of the Rhine

It were a lengthy matter to recount the many other poems of Rhineland akin to those mustered above, and enough has been said to indicate their general characteristics; while an ancient Rhine cla.s.sic of yet a different kind, The Mouse Tower, given elsewhere, is so familiar owing to Southey?s English version that it were superfluous to offer any synopsis or criticism of it here. Then a cla.s.s of poems of which the great river?s early literature is naturally replete are those concerned with the growing of the vine and the making of Rhenish, prominent among these being one consecrated to Bacharach, a town which was a famous centre of the wine industry in the Middle Ages. Near Bacharach there is a huge stone in the Rhine which, known as ?the Altar of Bacchus,?

is visible only on rare occasions, when the river chances to be particularly low; and in olden times, whenever this stone was seen, the event was hailed by the townsfolk as an omen that their next grape harvest would be an exceptionally successful one. It is with this ?Altar of Bacchus? that the poem in question deals. But coming to modern times, many of the Rhine drinking songs are also concerned to some extent with patriotism?an element which seems to go hand in hand with the baccha.n.a.l the world over!?and a typical item in this category is the Rheinweinlied of Georg Hervegh, a poet of the first half of the nineteenth century.

A better patriotic song of Rhine-land, however, is one by a slightly earlier poet, Wolfgang Muller, a native of Konigswinter, near Bonn, who sings with pa.s.sionate devotion of the great river, dwelling lovingly on its natural beauties, and exalting it above all other streams. His song appears to have been composed when the writer was undergoing a temporary period of exile from the Vaterland, for a somewhat pathetic and plaintive air pervades each verse, and the poet refers to the Rhine as a memory rather than as something actually before his eyes. But very different is another fine patriotic song of which it behoves to speak, the work of August Kopisch, a contemporary of Muller. This latter song treats of an incident in the Napoleonic wars, and Blucher and his forces are represented as encamped on the Rhine and as debating whether to march forward against their French foes. Nor is it necessary to add, perhaps, that they decide to do so, for otherwise no German singer would have handled the theme!

But what, asks someone, is really the brightest gem of Rhineland poetry?

while someone else adds that the majority of the writers cited above are but little known, and inquires whether none of the great German authors were ever inspired to song by their beloved river. The name of Heinrich Heine naturally comes to mind in this relation?comes to mind instantly on account of what is surely his masterpiece, Die Lorelei?a poem already dealt with.

But Heine?s version far transcends all others, and pondering on its beauty, we think first of its gentle, andante music, a music which steals through the senses like a subtle perfume:

Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten, Da.s.s ich so traurig bin; Ein Marchen aus alten Zeiten, Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn.

There, surely, is a sound as lovely as the fateful maiden herself ever sang; and here, again, is a verse which is a tour de force in the craft of landscape-painting; for not only are the externals of the scene summoned vividly before the reader?s eyes, but some of the mystery and strangely wistful appeal of nature are likewise found in the lines:

Die Luft ist kuhl und es dunkelt Und ruhig fliesst der Rhein; Der Gipfel des Berges funkelt Im Abendsonneaschein.

CHAPTER III?CLEVES TO THE LoWENBURG

Lohengrin

The tale or myth of the Knight of the Swan who came to the succour of the youthful d.u.c.h.ess of Brabant is based upon motives more or less common in folklore?the enchantment of human beings into swans, and the taboo whereby, as in the case of Cupid and Psyche, the husband forbids the wife to question him as to his ident.i.ty or to look upon him. The myth has been treated by both French and German romancers, but the latter attached it loosely to the Grail legend, thus turning it to mystical use.

As a purely German story it is found at the conclusion of Wolfram von Eschenbach?s Parzival,1 from which the following version is drawn. The name of the hero as written by Wolfram (Loherangrin) may possibly be traced to Garin le Loherin or Garin of Lorraine. Wagner?s version is taken from the same source, but the mighty master of melody altered many of the details for dramatic and other reasons.

[Note 1: See my Dictionary of Medieval Romance, articles ?Grail,?

?Parzival,? ?Perceval,? and ?Garin.?]

The princ.i.p.al French versions of the romance are Le Chevalier au Cygne and Helyas, and there are medieval English forms of these.2

[Note 2: Op. cit.]

The Knight of the Swan

In a dungeon in the castle of Cleves lay Elsa of Brabant, languis.h.i.+ng in captivity. Her father, the Duke of Brabant, had ere he died appointed his most powerful va.s.sal, one Frederick of Telramund, to be her guardian; but he, seeking only the advancement of his own ends, shamefully abused the confidence of his lord. Using his authority as Elsa?s guardian, he sought to compel her to become his wife, and threw her into prison to await the wedding-day, knowing well that none would dare to dispute his action.

An appeal was made on Elsa?s behalf to the Emperor, Henry I, who decreed that she should choose a champion, so that the matter might be settled by combat. But, alas! there was not a knight who would venture to match his skill against that of Frederick, who was a giant in stature and an expert in sword-play. In accordance with the Emperor?s decree Telramund sent out a herald at stated times to proclaim his readiness to do battle with any who would champion the cause of Elsa.

Time pa.s.sed, yet the challenge was not accepted, and at length the day was fixed for the bridal. Behind her prison bars the lady wept ceaselessly, and called upon the Virgin to save her from the threatened fate. In her despair she beat her breast with her chaplet, whereon was hung a tiny silver bell. Now this little bell was possessed of magic properties, for when it was rung the sound, small at first as the tinkling of a fairy lure, grew in volume the further it travelled till it resembled the swelling of a mighty chorus. Rarely was its tone heard, and never save when its owner was in dire straits, as on the present occasion. When Elsa beat her breast with it, therefore, its magical qualities responded to her distress, and its faint, sweet tinkle fell on her ear.

Far away over hill and dale went the sound of the bell, growing ever richer and louder, till at length it reached the temple where Parsifal and his knights guarded the Holy Grail. To them it seemed that the swelling notes contained an appeal for help directed to the Holy Vessel over which they kept vigil. While they debated thereon a loud and mysterious voice was heard bidding Parsifal send his son Lohengrin to the rescue of Elsa of Brabant, whom he must take for his wife, yet without revealing to her his ident.i.ty.

The awed knights recognized the voice as that of the Holy Grail, and Lohengrin at once set out, bound he knew not whither. When he reached the sh.o.r.es of the Rhine he found awaiting him a boat drawn by a stately swan. Taking it as a sign from Heaven, he stepped into the little boat and was carried up the Rhine, to the sound of the most exquisite music.

It was the day on which Elsa was to be wedded to her tyrant. She had spent the night in tears and bitter lamentations, and now, weary and distraught, too hopeless even for tears, she looked out from the bars of her prison with dull, despairing eyes. Suddenly she heard the melodious strains and a moment later saw the approach of a swan-drawn boat, wherein lay a sleeping knight. Hope leapt within her, for she remembered the prophecy of an old nun, long since dead, that a sleeping knight would rescue her from grave peril. Directly he stepped ash.o.r.e the youth made his way to the place of her confinement and, espying her face at the heavily barred window, knelt before her and begged that she would take him for her champion.

At that moment the blast of a trumpet was heard, followed by the voice of the herald as, for the last time, he challenged any knight to take up arms on behalf of Elsa of Brabant. Lohengrin boldly accepted the challenge, and Telramund, when the news reached him of the unexpected opposition, on the very day he had appointed for his wedding, was surprised and enraged beyond measure, yet he dared not refuse to do battle with the stranger knight, because of the Emperor?s decree. So it was arranged that the combat should take place immediately. News of it reached the people of Cleves, and a great concourse gathered to witness the spectacle, all of them secretly in sympathy with the persecuted maiden, though these feelings were carefully concealed from the ruthless Telramund.

Fierce indeed was the combat, for Lohengrin, though less powerfully built than his gigantic opponent, was nevertheless tall and strong, and well versed in the arts of war. At length he laid his enemy in the dust with a well-aimed sword-stroke, and the crowd broke into cheers. The combat was over, and Elsa was free!

Heeding not the acclamations of the people, Lohengrin strode toward Elsa and again knelt at her feet. The blus.h.i.+ng maiden bade him name his reward, whereupon the knight begged her hand in marriage, confessing, however, that he might only remain with her so long as she did not question him with regard to his ident.i.ty. It seemed a small condition to Elsa, who willingly promised to restrain any curiosity she might feel concerning his name and place of abode. The cheers of the populace were redoubled when they learned that Elsa was to bestow her hand on the Swan Knight.

In a few weeks the couple were married, and henceforth for a good many years they lived together very happily. Three sons were born to them, who grew in time to be handsome and chivalrous lads, of n.o.ble bearing and knightly disposition. Then it was that Elsa, who had hitherto faithfully kept her promise to her husband, began to fancy that she and her sons had a grievance in that the latter were not permitted to bear their father?s name.

For a time she brooded in silence over her grievance, but at length it was fanned into open rebellion by a breath of outside suspicion. Some of the people looked askance at the knight whose name no one knew. So Elsa openly reproached her husband with his secrecy, and begged that for the benefit of their sons he would reveal his name and station. Even the children of humble parents, the children of the peasants, of their own retainers, had a right to their father?s name, and why not her sons also?

Lohengrin paled at her foolish words, for to him they were the sign that he must leave his wife and family and betake himself once more to the temple of the Holy Grail.

?Oh, Elsa,? he said sorrowfully, ?thou knowest not what thou hast done.

Thy promise is broken, and to-day I must leave thee for ever.? And with that he blew a blast on his silver horn.

Elsa had already repented her rash words, and right earnestly she besought him to remain by her side. But, alas! her tears and pleadings were in vain, for, even as her entreaties were uttered, she heard the exquisite strains of music which had first heralded her lover?s approach, while from the window of the castle she espied the swan-boat rapidly drawing toward the sh.o.r.e.

With grave tenderness Lohengrin bade farewell to his wife and family, first, however, revealing to them his ident.i.ty, and commending them to the care of some of his trusty followers.

Tradition tells that Elsa did not long survive the loss of her beloved husband, but her sons became brave knights, well worthy of the proud name they bore.

A Legend of Liege

A legend of Liege! and is not Liege itself now almost legendary? Its venerable church, its world-famous library replete with the priceless treasures of the past, ?with records stored of deeds long since forgot,?

where are they??but crumbling cl.u.s.ters of ruins fired by the barbarian torch whose glow, we were told, was to enlighten an ignorant and uncultured Europe! But one gem remains: the wonderful Hotel de Ville, type of the Renaissance spirit in Flanders. Liege may be laid in ruins, but the memory of what it was can never die:

Athens in death is n.o.bler far Than breathing cities of the West;

and the same may be said of those splendours in stone, those wonders of medieval architecture, even the blackened walls of which possess a dignity and beauty which will ever a.s.sist the imagination to re-create the picture of what has been.

Liege is a city of the Middle Ages. Time was when the place boasted but a single forge; and though bucklers were heaped beside the anvil, and swords and spears lay waiting for repair, the blacksmith leant against his door-post, gazing idly up the hill-side. Gradually he was aware of a figure, which seemed to have grown into shape from a furze-bush, or to have risen from behind a stone; and as it descended the slope he eyed curiously the grimy face, long beard, and squat form of what he was half unwilling to recognize as a human being. Hobbling awkwardly, and shrugging his shoulders as though cold, the man came in time to the smithy door.

?What! Jacques Perron?idle when work is to be done? Idle smith! idle smith! The horse lacks the bit, and the rider the spur.

?Ill fares the hide when the buckler wants mending; Ill fares the plough when the coulter wants tending.?

Idle smith! idle smith!?

?Idle enough,? quoth Jacques. ?I?m as idle as you are ugly; but I can?t get charcoal any more than you can get beauty, so I must stand still, and you be content with your face, though I?d fain earn a loaf and a cup full enough for both of us this winter morning.?