Legends of the Rhine and of the Low Countries

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Preface

"° The following stories were gathered from various sources, and some of them freely adapted from the literature of the countries where the scenes are laid. Brabant and Flan- ' ders, so fertile in subjects of romantic history, and of which the author has availed himself in previous produc- , tions, have furnished materials for some of those included ? in the present publication. The « Bijdragen tot het oude , Strafregt in Belgie," and the " Chroniques et Traditions ] Surnaturelles de la Flandre," works not readily acces- I sible in England, have been freely borrowed from ; and in selecting from the German Legendary Tales the au- I thor's chief object was to pass over such as turned on I magic and enchantment, and to choose those which em- I bodied motives or passions merely mortal. He has ad- ( mitted but one exception to this rule ; and that only ^because human feeling was there predominant over fairy I spells. One of the Rhine Stories had been already made I the subject of a poem, the author's earliest literary at- I tempt, and which he soon suppressed. For one or two others contained in the present voluirie, it might not be easy to give any other authority. But it is hoped tliey will be read with that confiding good faith which prefers taking things for granted to sifting evidence or comx paring proofs. ,

Anecdotes of authorship are perilous subjects tor the

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PREFACE.

writer who would so illustrate his own works, whether they be serious or trifling, great or small. Egotism too often endows such matters with undue importance ; and although personal recollections are generally palatable, if detailed with candour and simplicity, one naturally shrinks from what involves private feeling, which the public may be amused by, but rarely sympathises with, and most frequently disdains.

That consideration restrains the efforts of many a man who could tell true and curious things of the world as it is; and forces him into fiction, as the safest channel for giving vent to his observations on real life. Such has been the case in regard to the present volume, and others which have preceded it from the same pen. Several of the characters have unconsciously sat for sketches which have been placed in old historical frames; and the author is satisfied if no violence appears to have been done to the Human Nature of to-day, by its being transferred to by-gone times.

These stories were written several years ago, and prepared for the press in one of the most secluded spots u the valley of the Neckar, and recently revised for re-publication in this collection on the banks of the lihine alter a long interval of absence in another hemisphere, where rivers, on a scale too vast for comparison, have no pretension to the interest attached to its traditions. The Hudson and the Ohio are perhaps in portions more beautiful, and certainly on the whole more grand. But another age of chivalry and of the picturesque in architecture must come round, and — long after the relics of both are decayed -a new operation exist, before those who draw from this favourite Emporium of European Romance need fear any direct rivalry from writers whose inspirations are due to the noble streams of the New World.

PREFACE.

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If popular authors here valued more highly the fame that passes the ocean, and cared less for the profit to be reaped under a more protective system than exists beyond it, they would be reconciled to the reluctance of America to grant privileges to foreign books, which would restrict those multiplied and cheap editions that are so many tributes to our living literature. For whatever may be thought of existing laws, it is at any rate a consolation to know that millions of eyes between the Atlantic and the Pacific will peruse pages which under other enactments might never find a reprint there ; though the subject of copyright is likely to stand as it does at present, quite as long as some of the old chateaux now introduced to the reader's notice.

And in closing these discursive remarks, and bidding adieu to scenes which fact and imagination, the real and the ideal, have by their combined influence endeared in the author's memory, he might be tempted to moralise on the events which now agitate so large a portion of his former haunts. The reader owes his escape from such an infliction rather to the narrowness of the author's space than to the breadth of his forbearance. He however at present confines himself to the hope that the season which is coming may bring a good and quiet time with it, for both tourists and politicians, and that the struggles of the Rhine districts for the establishment of liberty, may be modified by the example of the Low Countries. For it is assuredly in Flanders, Brabant, and the rest of the kingdom of Belgium, that is to be seen at this moment the freest and happiest people, and the wisest ruler of the Continent.

T. C. G RATTAN.

London, May 20. 1849.

Contents

The Curse of the Black Lady

Heidelberg Castle, and its Legends

The Legend of the Wolf's Brun -

Chapter II

<e Ah, London ! was it well in thee to throw me upon my own unruly temper for support, in a moment of mutual passion, when we were both wrong, both too hot-headed, and too warm-hearted — when a soothing word, or a kind glance from thee had smoothed all, and secured our happiness for ever ! Why did thy pride prevail over thy love ? What disastrous consequences have flowed from one rash step ! and I — what a traitor was I to my own heart ! How did I betray its best interests, for the indulgence of one weak sentiment ! How sacrifice, in one maniac moment, all the blessings of life ! But it is now too late. The die is cast. Instead of joy and love, and all their bright enchantments, I am doomed to the basest drudgery in existence ; cooped in by rules and forms, which I continually revolt against, like some imprisoned bird that flaps with ineffectual wing the bars of its cage ; the current of my better feelings turned aside by the harsh impediments of my fate ; all that was gentle in my nature ruffled, and the evil parts stirred up into boisterous froth and foam, until whirlwind passion is become the only element in which my unquiet spirit can exist! I was not meant for this. Whose doing is it, Loridon, thine or mine own ? No matter now. Reproaches are unavailing, of thee or of myself. My doom is cast in suffering, and I must fulfil it/'

So soliloquised the lady of Corteryke, when she retired to her private chamber, after the undignified bustle was over, and when her mind, recovering from its turgid state, sunk into painful recollections of past times and events, from which she gained fresh cause for disquiet, and scarcely one element of consolation.

The passages of her life had as yet been few, for she was but in her eighteenth year. Her title of dame, her matronly rights, her tone of authority might have given other notions of her age to those who only heard of her as we have hitherto shown her: but even those, when turning back a thought to the levity and almost indecorum we have described, will perhaps make some allowance for a high-spirited girl in a rude age ; her affection balked, her short career chequered by vio-

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lent events, and she left totally to her own control, which few even of more sober years, or in better regulated times, apply very severely against self.

As soon as reason began to regulate the girlish fancies of Yolenta van Melna, she was convinced that she had been right in having bestowed her whole heart, without knowing or caring what reason might think of the measure, on young Loridon van Bart, son of Johan van Bart, lord of Lettelhausen, and consequently nephew of that feudal tyrant's brother, Gerald, Abbot of St. Peter's.

The cession of her affection thus made was without the knowledge of any member of her lover's family or her own. Loridon was as cautious as herself on a point which engenders prudence in minds that on other occasions seem unsusceptible of its influence. They loved as love is best and purest, in utter secrecy ; but they both paid dearly, on one painful and fatal occasion, the tax for that greatest of luxuries, and felt keenly the want of some confidant, whose friendly counsel might regulate the aberrations of youthful passion, stepping in between lovers and the ruin they often hurry to in a paroxysm of delirious affection, or, as in this case, of unreasonable resentment.

Loridon cherished jealousy among the degrading drawbacks which were in those days considered as a part and parcel of love, as though a forced deformity were a natural accessary of the passion ! In the spirit of feudal pride, he on all occasions worked himself up to fits of suspicion, and seemed to take especial pleasure in embittering the pure chalice which nature had filled for his own and his mistress's delight. He seemed haunted by a morbid longing for their mutual misery. It was rare that a meeting, even in the delicious stealth of a twilight grove, or a moon-illumined corridor, in solitude and secrecy — love's own natural atmosphere — did not end in a quarrel on some frivolous pretext, and that the sweet hour was not defaced by frowns and taunts, reproaches and tears.

The consequence of these habitual broils was at length an actual belief, on his part, that he had reason for his ungenerous, and, in truth, his unmanly conduct. He justified it, too, by the feeling that he made himself as unhappy as her ; more so perhaps, for remorse added a sting by which she was never assailed. But she became by degrees irritable, and at times

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intemperate. She was ashamed of the yoke which she hugged so closely, and angry with herself as with him. She at length learned to give herself relief by retorting his reproaches, and anticipating them now and then. Her ardent mind thus opened under the influence of a tempest, for it was such, and not the soft gales of feminine affection, that Loridon had raised in her bosom. Thus the infatuated pair went on. Quarrel grew on quarrel. The deeper they loved, the more profound was their misery. They, on a dozen occasions, saw each other a for the last time," and met again and again in more torment than before, to lament the past, swear forgiveness and forgetfulness, and break away once more in a wonted fit of phrensy — for such conduct, whether in the fourteenth century or the nineteenth, is nothing short of that calamity.

At length, on one occasion of more than common absurdity and violence, Loridon swore he would set out for France, as a volunteer in the war then waging with the English invaders of that country, and never more see Yolenta. This was a new form of a usual threat ; and she met it by declaring, for the first time, that if he so abandoned her, she would instantly accept the offers of marriage (his pretext for all their quarrels) almost weekly made to her by Humbert of Gorteryke, who was not only repugnant to her taste, but the sworn and hated enemy of her lover's family.

Their common proud feeling was now up in arms against their own happiness. The false point of honour was raised, as the standard under which they were to perish sooner than yield. Loridon persisted in his threat — Yolenta completed hers. Within a week after their utterance, the former was riding in the ranks of the Constable de Richemont, as a gentleman aspirant for chivalric honours, and the latter was led in triumph to the altar by the grim and grizzly lord of Corteryke, more than double the age of her lover, and in every other respect immeasurably his inferior.

The haughty energy which had enabled Yolenta to force herself to this sacrifice was evident in her look and bearing as she moved towards its consummation. She had the air of a self-immolating victim for a false principle, not of a suffering martyr to a good one. She could not rob herself of her personal beauty, but she had deprived herself of that without which beauty has no charm. The exquisite expression of female grace was not displayed in her resolute glance and proud step, nor in the contemptuous defiance with which she silently hurried towards the fate she volunteered. Her parents and friends, long time the advocates of Humbert von Corteryke, and to whom her sudden resolution had given astonishment as well as pleasure, seemed awed by the desperation of her manner; while the fierce bridegroom himself, amidst all the pomp and pageantry of the ceremony, looked ill at ease, as though he augured nothing good from the accomplishment of his suit. And well might he have his misgivings, if indeed fate, according to the belief of the age, gave warning to its doomed victims, sometimes however too late for their safety.

The procession advanced up the aisle of St. Peter's church m Ghent, the priest stood at the altar steps, the music pealed, and the throng of spectators gazed with painful admiration on the young bride and her mate, whom a universal murmur pronounced to be an ill-assorted pair. The ceremony went on, and no one, not even the bridegroom, wore a smile of joy! The lookers-on exchanged glances and shrugs of significant meaning. " Such a marriage bodes no good/" seemed to be spoken by a hundred tongues; though not a murmur was heard, and it was only the responsive looks of each that appeared to acknowledge that sentiment in his neighbour. The priest's voice ceased, the book was closed, — the nuptial anthem was just going to be pealed from the choristers' gallery, and the organ sent forth a few lively notes, when a loud voice exclaimed close beside the new-married pair, " Let a death-dirge be sung, not an epithalamium ! " While those around turned their eyes in the direction of the words a rapier was plunged deep in the body of Von Corteryke • and as he fell dying to the ground, the white robe of Yolenta was stained, as she herself said to De Roden, « with the bloody stamp of widowhood."

As is usual on the perpetration of such startling crimes, all eyes were turned on the victim, attracted by the mixed groan and scream of death, the voice of which is a summons wherelrom none may turn aside. Humanity and curiosity are among the strongest principles of man ; and when combined on such an appalling occasion as this, no one had a look to turn from the bleeding bridegroom and the stupified figure of ner who stood transfixed in speechless horror by his side.

Jg THE FORFEIT HAND.

But during the general consternation, some of the observers were for a moment attracted by a human form darting like lightning from the main group across the altar steps and into one of the small vestry doors which flanked it at either side. The figure instantly disappeared — the door closed with a violence which startled the agitated group that raised Von Corterykes body, now a breathless corse, from the ground ; but no certainty as to him who struck the blow had ever been obtained. The abbot of St. Peter's replied, to all inquiries, that " the sinner had sought sanctuary, and found it." The relatives of the murdered man had no appeal. His widow obtained possession of his castle and domains as her undoubted right ; and was installed in her new honours, under these circumstances so singularly shocking, which appeared to one so inexperienced more like the fulfilment of a marked and extraordinary doom, than a course of those accidental events which chequer the scenes of life.

It was therefore no wonder if the overboiling temperament of our heroine was in constant ferment, in a state so ill adapted to control it. She was perpetually at war with herself, and very often with those around her ; and when intervals of soft and amiable feelings took place, they were usually filled up by some extravagant freak of girlish vivacity. The abbot of St. Peters was the object of her especial detestation. That he had screened her husband's murderer from justice, was enough to justify it to her own conscience. But independent of that, she felt bound to adopt the bitter hatred of him to whose title and honours she succeeded, against all who bore the name of Van Bart. One exception she no doubt made — but there is no general rule without one. And that which she religiously observed in favour of poor Loridon, was compensated for in the increased proportion of hate which she bestowed on his father, his uncle, and all the rest of the family.

Conjectures were many as to the perpetrator of the murder. Every body, Yolenta included, was convinced that some one of the Van Bart family had done the deed. General elements of vengeance existed on their side, quite enough to fix it on any individual of the name. But he, who of all others had the greatest motive to urge, if not to justify the crime, escaped suspicion. His absence was known to all ; the existence of that motive but to one : and she would as soon have accused

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Heaven's justice or the purity of her patron saint, as have imagined Loridon capable of an act of even trifling dishonour, much less one of coward treachery.

Little more need be said to prove that she loved him with her whole heart. But, in her situation, and with her temper, love was no longer what nature meant it to be ; no longer a balm poured on the mind's asperities, but a subtle poison, corroding the proud heart it could not soften.

Nearly a year had passed over. Yolenta had thrown off the first weeds of widowhood. Her lively spirit required relief under the pressure of her situation, and found it in the indulgence of a love of dress, and in the display of the dignities so strangely acquired and still so uncongenial. Preparations for gay entertainments to her relatives, and expensive additions to her wardrobe, chiefly occupied her now. Every needle and bodkin was put in requisition, every broidery frame was full ; and such scenes with her maidens as that in which we introduced her, were the common occurrences of the day, varied by tricks played upon the abbot of St. Peter's and his littlehonoured fraternity, such as were passingly alluded to by De Roden in his recapitulation of complaints.

Yolenta slept but little on the night of this last adventure. Her pride was urged to its topmost bent, by the audacity of De Roden ; and in her involuntary recurrence to the lover whose rash abandonment had led to such humiliation, she found fresh nourishment for irritation and anger. The dawn of morning found her risen from her uneasy bed, and prepared to meet the threatened visit of the high bailiff in the most determined of imperative moods.

And long ere the sun had travelled his meridian course, Christopher de Roden was seen at the great gate of the castle ; and by the voice of a herald, who was habited in the livery of the proud abbot he served, he demanded entrance for himself, the poursuivants, and other functionaries charged with the delivery of a summons to the dame, and various members of the household, " to appear before the feudal baron of Lettelhausen, lord paramount of the territory of Corteryke, to answer various charges of high misdemeanors and misdeeds acted in and upon the body of a lay-brother of the order of Benedictines," and a long array of technical ambiguities and etceteras wound up the herald's speech, the remainder of c 2

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which we shall leave to any faculty of the mind our readers may please to exercise.

It is very probable that the doughty De Roden hoped for a refusal to this summons ; for he surely gave symptoms of surprise mingled with alarm, when the huge wooden gates creaked backwards, the drawbridge was lowered, and a formal invitation to enter pronounced by the sturdy old seneschal, the high bailiff's declared antagonist on many an occasion of legal and illegal dispute, not only since Yolenta's accession, but long before her bright black eyes had opened on the world.

*' Come in, fair gentlemen all, bailiff, notary, and poursuivant," said the seneschal — " valiant Christopher de Roden, learned Lyens van Leenward, honourable Martin Sky net, pass the bridge, and enter the court of Corteryke in peace and for the due fulfilment of your bidding."

" Hark ye, Master Roger Oulternyk," replied De Roden, with a doubtful look — "I hope, and so do these worthy gentlemen, my very good friends and associates in this business, that all is fair meant as well as fair spoken. You see that we come unarmed and unharnessed, in due form of law, with civil herald and the banner of peace ; but no trumpet nor feudal men-at-arms, lances or swordsmen, nor the war-standard of our holy abbey, which, albeit, in good cause of quarrel, and against all enemies, I am ready to carry, or to die in good guardianship of the same.'*

" Let not your valiant limbs quake, nor your teeth chatter, bold Christopher — all is as it should be."

" That phrase likes me not, master Roger ! A twisted yarn makes a straight cord ; a polished rind may hide a gnarled knot ; rocks lie deep that cause no ripple ; and many another wise saw of our good country of Flanders tells me to ask the meaning of that * all is as it should be ? ' "

" What a plague ! Does the lion-heart of De Roden con the cowardly proverbs of old wives, and his tongue of thunder condescend to utter them ? — Come on, come on, gallant Christopher "

<c'Tis not for myself I have any qualms, — 'tis for the sake of these peaceable functionaries, d'ye see, for their sake that I, unarmed and unable to protect them, must have my wits about me for want of better weapons."

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"Not for us, not for us, most worshipful bailiff/' exclaimed the notary of the poursuivant, ashamed of becoming avowed sharers in De Roden's fears ; " we are begirt with the armour of civil privilege, — the municipal rights of our noble city of Ghent be our guardianship, — we are not afraid ! "

" Afraid ! who's afraid, gentlemen ? " exclaimed the bailiff, turning sharp on his comrades, who were used to hear and to quail before his bullying tone, for he was the essential spirit of valour when he had to argue with a civilian. " Who's afraid, I say again? If another word so dishonouring is whispered, I shall immediately retire from this business and leave it in less resolute hands ; — and I am very well disposed to do so even now/'

The seneschal could not suppress a laugh ; and the keen ears of De Roden distinguished a shrill echo to it, as though from a woman's throat, in the porch -way beyond the bridge. This operated on him with marvellous effect. It must be a daring coward indeed who can brave the test of female ridicule. The grand bailiff stepped across the bridge in advance of his friends and attendants ; but halting yet another moment, he asked the seneschal "if the watch dogs were all secure, and the working wenches fastened up ? "

" Neither dog nor damsel shall be let loose on you, without the orders of the dame," replied the seneschal. The doubtful answer struck a new chord of alarm in the bailiff's breast. He would have retreated incontinent beyond the bridge, had he not at this moment perceived it to be drawn up. In another, the ponderous gates were fastened behind him, and he saw himself, for the first time, in the court-yard, and in fact, in the custody, of the feudal mistress of Corteryke. Sad misgivings shot through him and made him shudder like the night wind that sweeps the forest and shakes its every branch. But ere he had time to utter another word, or to advance further, the dame herself appeared standing just within the porch of entrance, in front of a formidable array of half a dozen figures drawn up in line, cased in iron, armed cap-a-pie, and looking more awful from their showing no sign of life beyond the tremulous shake of their black plumes, which gave an almost supernatural air to their display.

" To you, most noble dame, Yolenta of Corteryke, in all c 3 honour and privilege the seignorial proprietor of this manor, domain, and castle, the right reverend and holy father in God,

Gerald, Abbot of St. Peters, greeting : "

So far had De Roden, summoning up all his courage, proceeded, when the dame cut him short : — ei What mumbling mummer art thou," cried she, " who comest hither with whining tone and set discourse, assuming the name and title of that most pious priest, Abbot Gerald, of St. Peter's? Speak, fellow, to thine own name and quality ; — I know thee not."

" Not know me, noble and amiable dame ? I am Christopher de Roden, in all humility your servant.''

« Thou, fellow, that pride of church service, that pattern of high bailiffs ! — Impostor that thou art ! Did Christopher de Roden ever appear in such a shabby suit of civil garniture ? "

" It is required by my present functions, magnanimous dame."

" Could his voice of thunder ever sink to that squeaking tone ? — His lion-look change to thy sneaking aspect ? Pestiferous wretch, out on thee ! Away this moment from my bounds, or by my saint the ban dogs shall tear thee limb from limb ! "

" Oh, merciful lady ! "

"Speak not a word, foul libeller of the thrice valiant Christopher— Out on thee, I say! Charge, halberdiers! Slae doodt ! slae doodt ! " J

At the utterance of the terrible war-cry, the mail-clad figures, automaton-like, levelled their lances, and advanced without speech, but at a clattering trot, towards the high bailiff. He turned and would have run, had not the solid obstruction of the great gate stopped his way. There he could not stay, inviting, as it were, the hostile lance to pin him to the wood- work ; and to stir now, either right or left, was to rush on their points. Down therefore he fell flat on his face, uttering piteous cries for mercy and pardon for all offences past and present against the dame and every person of her household, whom he almost individually named.

Yolenta advanced close, and with a hazel twig, which stretched invitingly to her hand from a tree close by, she laid several well-planted stripes on the sprawling poltroon. The gate in the mean time was wide opened, and the scene amply

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displayed to his companions beyond the bridge ; and when, on repeated commands from the fair executioner, he arose to withdraw, a loud burst of revelry accompanied the rattling clash of half a dozen suits of mail, which were at once unbuckled and dropped to the ground, by as many of the mirthmaking damsels who had been cased therein, and who now pursued their runaway victim (persecuting him the while with gibes and laughter) to the utmost verge of the bridge, where even his grave companions could not refrain from joining in the laugh.

Once beyond the castle's verge, De Roden recovered in some measure from his fright, on beholding from what species of danger he had escaped. But burning shame took place of frozen fear. The vengeance founded on exposed cowardice is deeper than the well in which truth lies hid. The look, the tone, the gesture it now inspired are not to be told, and scarcely to be imagined.

" Dame Corteryke i " exclaimed de Roden, in halfsmothered accents, — " the soft white hand that struck an officer of Holy Church is forfeit beyond redemption ! Ponder well on that truth, and enjoy your triumph ! "

There was a terrible tone of reality in these words, that spoke conviction to Yolenta and her attendants. Their laughing voices were all at once hushed. The broad smile on each face was turned to a sad and solemn expression. Every limb seemed paralysed ; and each maiden stood motionless, with eyes turned on their menaced mistress. Yolenta betrayed no visible signs of fear. Had the axe been raised over her wrist, she would have scorned to let a nerve or muscle betray the weakness of alarm. But a chill struck her heart ; and her eyes turned involuntarily on old Roger van Oulternyk, as if to inquire into the truth of De Roden's threat.

" It is too true, my gracious dame," said the seneschal, as though he replied to a positive question. " The abbey privilege is notorious — the vengeance of the church implacable — the lord of Lettelhaussen and his brother the abbot will be too glad, alas 1 to seize this frightful occasion for your destruction."