Part 7 (1/2)
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.