Charlemagne in Medieval German and Dutch Literature 9781843845836, 9781800100565

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Charlemagne in Medieval German and Dutch Literature

Bristol Studies in Medieval Cultures ISSN 1757–2150 Series Editor George Ferzoco Editorial Advisory Board Marianne Ailes Rhiannon Daniels Peter Dent Helen Fulton Tristan Kay Carolyn Muessig Benjamin Pohl Ad Putter Leah Tether Ian Wei Beth Williamson The remit of this peer-reviewed interdisciplinary series is to publish scholarly works on the cultures of the Middle Ages, from late antiquity up to and including the sixteenth century. Queries about the series, or proposals for monographs, editions, or collections of essays, should be sent in the first instance to the Series Editor. email: [email protected]

Previously published titles are listed at the back of this volume

Charlemagne in Medieval German and Dutch Literature

Albrecht Classen

D. S. BREWER

© Albrecht Classen 2021 All rights reserved. Except as permitted under current legislation no part of this work may be photocopied, stored in a retrieval system, published, performed in public, adapted, broadcast, transmitted, recorded or reproduced in any form or by any means, without the prior permission of the copyright owner The right of Albrecht Classen to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 First published 2021 D. S. Brewer, Cambridge ISBN 978 1 84384 583 6 hardback ISBN 978 1 80010 056 5 ePDF D. S. Brewer is an imprint of Boydell & Brewer Ltd PO Box 9, Woodbridge, Suffolk IP12 3DF, UK and of Boydell & Brewer Inc. 668 Mt Hope Avenue, Rochester, NY 14620–2731, USA website: www.boydellandbrewer.com A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Cover image: The Roland sculpture in Bremen. Photo by Albrecht Classen. Cover design: Toni Michelle The publisher has no responsibility for the continued existence or accuracy of URLs for external or third-party internet websites referred to in this book, and does not guarantee that any content on such websites is, or will remain, accurate or appropriate

Contents Acknowledgements vi Note on the Text

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Introduction From the Early Middle Ages to the Late Sixteenth Century

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1 The Kaiserchronik: The Emergence of Charlemagne in Chronicle Literature 19 2 Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied and the Glorification of Charlemagne

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3 The Stricker’s Karl der Große: Adaptation and Innovation of the Myth of Charlemagne in the Thirteenth Century

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4 The Myth of Charlemagne in Fourteenth-century German Literature: The Karl Meinet Compilation

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5 Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’s Königin Sibille: the Double-edged Sword in the German and the Dutch Prose Version

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6 Charlemagne in the Dutch and German Tradition of Malagis

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7 Charlemagne as Saint. The Religious Transmutation of the Early Medieval Myth: the Zürcher Buch vom Heiligen Karl (Fifteenth Century)

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8 Charlemagne in Middle Dutch and Middle Low German Literature

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Afterword 197 Bibliography 203 Index 247

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Acknowledgements

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t is my great pleasure to express my gratitude to Marianne Ailes (University of Bristol) and Philip E. Bennett (University of Edinburgh) for having invited me to participate in their major project Charlemagne: A European Icon (https://www.charlemagne-icon.ac.uk/), assuming the responsibility for writing this book about the presentation of Charlemagne in medieval German and Dutch literature. The manuscript was essentially completed in 2017/2018, and I have tried since then to keep it updated as far as possible, especially through online research. Marianne deserves particular acknowledgment for her great help in the editing process. The final touches to the manuscript were done in July of 2020 during the COVID-19 crisis. I would also like to thank the editorial staff of Boydell & Brewer, particularly George Ferzoco, Caroline Palmer and Emily Champion; it was a real pleasure to work with them. No good scholarship can see the light of the day without such excellent care. I would like to dedicate this book to my wife Carolyn. We just celebrated our thirty-sixth wedding anniversary (2020)!

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Note on the Text

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or consistency, here the name of this famous Frankish ruler is always spelled as ‘Charlemagne’, even if he appears as ‘Charles’ or ‘Karl’ in the sources.

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Introduction From the Early Middle Ages to the Late Sixteenth Century

The Genesis of the Charlemagne Myth

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his study focuses on the myth of the Emperor Charlemagne (d. 814) and its profound impact on medieval and early modern, specifically German and Dutch, literature. Einhard, who composed his highly popular biography of Charlemagne shortly after the latter’s death (the text has survived in approximately 129 manuscripts, of which 108 date from the Middle Ages), and Notker der Stammler (Notker of St Gall), who completed his Gesta Karoli Magni in c. 855 in St Gall, together laid the foundation for a generally positive image of this ruler, supported by many legendary anecdotes about his personal care for and dedication to the well-being of his country. This image has basically survived until today, despite some critical works produced by clerics who viewed Charlemagne more negatively.1 Notker in particular pursued the strategy of compiling anecdotes and exemplary tales about Charlemagne, apparently with deliberate disregard for chronology.2 Naturally, the corpus of relevant research literature, and also of more popular texts, about Charlemagne and his time, art, literature, religion and so on is legion, and has been produced in a variety of languages.3 As Karen Pratt points out: Steinen, Notker der Dichter und seine geistige Welt; Goetz, Strukturen der spätkarolingischen Epoche im Spiegel der Vorstellungen eines zeitgenössischen Mönchs; Hageneier, Jenseits der Topik. On Einhard, see the contributions to Eginardo, Vita Karoli, ed. Chiesa. This volume offers the Latin original, an Italian translation and an extensive commentary. Cf. also Tischler, ‘Tatmensch oder Heidenapostel: Die Bilder Karls des Großen bei Einhart und im Pseudo-Turpin’. 2 Hageneier, Jenseits der Topik; Hartmann, ‘Das Bild Karls des Großen bei Notker’. 3 De erfenis van Karel de Grote, 814–2014, ed. Callebaut and van Cuyck; Antoine, Les Représentations iconographiques de Charlemagne dans les manuels scolaires belges francophones; Karl der Große, Charlemagne: Exhibition Guide, ed. Ayooghi; Karl der Große: 1200 Jahre Mythos und Wirklichkeit, ed. Pinsker, Zeeb and Kaiser; Karlsbilder in Kunst, Literatur und Wissenschaft, ed. Fuchs and Klein; for an entire bibliography with research literature on Charlemagne, though now somewhat dated, see Farrier, The Medieval Charlemagne Legend. 1

1

2

Charlemagne in Medieval German and Dutch Literature Charlemagne studies are flourishing at present […] Since the various stories which circulated about Charlemagne, whilst fictional, were nevertheless presented as ‘truthful’ and were generally received as such by medieval audiences, the legend of Charlemagne analysed in these studies affords us rich insights into the mentalités of the Middle Ages.4

Nineteenth-century research already realized the centrality of this Frankish ruler in the history of medieval European literature, as demonstrated most impressively by Gaston Paris’s comprehensive monograph Histoire poétique de Charlemagne (1865).5 Many other scholars have followed his model. However, the need remains, as ever, for new investigations reflecting innovative theoretical and conceptual models and methods, for we are dealing with a myth based on a historical narrative that has inspired the European imagination throughout the Middle Ages and beyond.6 Myths of historical figures continue to exert their influence on us today, whether we think of Alexander the Great, Julius Caesar,7 or Napoleon Bonaparte, or, much less positively, of Adolf Hitler and Josef Stalin.8 Charlemagne stands at the beginning of medieval European history, having been the founder of an empire and hence, deliberately or not, the creator of a myth, both in Germany and France and in other countries on the continent.9 As the personal reflections and anecdotes in De nugis curialum (1181–94), by the English courtier and intellectual Walter Map (b. early 1130s; d. 1209 or 1210), indicate, it was almost natural 4 Pratt, review, http://scholarworks.iu.edu/journals/index.php/tmr/article/view /16879/22997 (accessed 7 February 2017). Pratt herself had already worked intensively on this topic: see her introduction to Roland and Charlemagne in Europe, ed. Pratt (1996). 5 Paris, Histoire poétique de Charlemagne. 6 Halphen, Études critiques sur l’histoire de Charlemagne; for more recent studies, see Sholod, Charlemagne in Spain; cf. also the contributions to Charlemagne et l’épopée romane, ed. Tyssens and Thiry; Boutet, Charlemagne et Arthur, ou le roi imaginaire; Roland and Charlemagne in Europe, ed. Pratt; Durand-Le Guern and Ribémont, Charlemagne, empereur et mythe d’Occident; Assmann and Assmann, ‘Mythos’, p. 180. Cf. also Blumenberg, Arbeit am Mythos, p. 166. This was translated into English as Work on Myth. On the numerous Roland statues in northern Europe from the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, see Pinkus, ‘The Giant of Bremen’. However, Pinkus associates those Roland sculptures mostly with the tradition of protective giants from ancient and medieval times, and dismisses too readily the older scholarly concept of Roland, as Charlemagne’s representative, being a hero who would offer protection and help to the various newly founded cities where he was deeply admired. 7 Taeger, Charisma. 8 Rees, Hitler’s Charisma. For other charismatic figures in world history (though with the exclusion of Charlemagne), see Virtuosen der Macht, ed. Nippel. 9 Morrissey, Charlemagne & France, trans. Tihanyi.

Introduction

3

for all medieval historiographers and chroniclers to insert references to Charlemagne whenever they commented on the past.10 Since the issue of charismatic leadership continues to be of central importance even today, irrespective of the democratic power structures in Western societies, the medieval ruler with his mythical qualities matters deeply for us as well. Likewise, these qualities mattered for medieval rulers. Emperor Otto III searched for Charlemagne’s grave in the Palatine Chapel at Aix-la-Chapelle, or Aachen, and had it opened on the feast of Pentecost in the year 1000 in order to inspect the body of his predecessor and thus to enhance his own political status through a personal association with the long-deceased emperor.11 According to the biographers Thietmar of Merseburg (975–1018), Otto of Lomello (fl. c. 1020–1030) and Adémar de Chabannes (c. 988–1034), Otto III was divinely directed in finding the right spot (anastasis), which associated him with a by-then saintly figure, the founder of the Carolingian Empire, who was himself associated with the relics of Christ’s Passion.12 If we were to seek all the works that contributed to the dissemination of the myth surrounding Charlemagne we would also have to consult the Pseudo-Turpin Chronicle from c. 1135, the Descriptio qualiter Karolus magnus clavum et Coronam domini a Constantinopoli Aquisgrani detulerit qualiterque Karlus calvus hec ad sanctum Dionysium retulerit (second half of the eleventh century) and the De sanctitate meritorum et gloria miraculorum beati Karoli Magni ad honorem et laudem nominis dei (that is, the Aachen Vita, composed shortly after Charlemagne’s canonization on 29 December 1165).13 It is little wonder that this mythic veneration of Charlemagne in Latin clerical literature also emerged in late medieval legal literature,14 where he was commonly identified as the originator of the earliest and hence the best laws by, for example, 10 Map, De Nugis Curialium, ed. James, pp. 37, 95, 101, 203 and 225. We learn, for instance: ‘Karolus enim magnus, cum terram illam a Sarracenis conquisisset, omnia preter municiones et castella pro Christo dedit archiepiscopis et episcopis, quos per ciuitates conuersas instituit’ (p. 225; ‘For Charlemagne, when he had won that land from the Saracens, gave everything except the castles and forts for Christ’s sake to the archbishops and bishops whom he had established in all the cities he had converted’); translation from Map, De Nugis Curialim, ed. and trans. James, rev. Brooke and Mynors, p. 451. See also Map, Die unterhaltsamen Gespräche am englischen Königshof, ed. and trans. Wilhelm. Wilhelm’s bibliography is comprehensive and up to date. 11 Folz, Le Souvenir et la légende. See also the contributions to Karl der Große und sein Schrein, ed. Müllejans. 12 Nichols, Romanesque Signs, pp. 66–94. 13 Geith, ‘Karl der Große’, pp. 90–1. See also Vones, ‘Heiligsprechung und Tradition’. 14 For the exploitation of the myth of Charlemagne for political and legal purposes in the eleventh and twelfth centuries, see the essays by Matthew Gabriele and Jace Stuckey in The Charlemagne Legend in Medieval Latin Texts, ed. Purkis and Gabriele.

Charlemagne in Medieval German and Dutch Literature

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the authors of the Sachsenspiegel (c. 1235) and the Schwabenspiegel (c. 1275). In the second prologue of the former lawbook we read about the laws given first by the prophets, then by ‘the Christian kings, Constantine and Charlemagne’.15 In Book I we also learn of the differences between the laws established by Charlemagne and those followed by the Saxons (p. 74), but this only underscores how greatly the Carolingian ruler was admired even in the thirteenth century as a major lawmaker. The anonymous author of the Schwabenspiegel similarly refers to Charlemagne as the prime lawgiver, as a leader of his people who knew how to judge fairly according to divine laws. The judicial rules and regulations listed here are said to derive from the Carolingian law.16 The formula, in Low German, clearly spells it out: ‘vnde van Karles rechte her komen sint’ (and which [referring to the laws] have come down from Charlemagne’s laws).17 This reference then prompts the writer to recount what he understood to be historical events surrounding Charlemagne, who brought his law to the Swabians after he had defeated the Romans. The Romans were believed to have attacked Pope Leo, in this legendary account erroneously taken to be Charlemagne’s brother, and to have blinded him in both eyes, whereupon Charlemagne defeated them militarily and assumed the throne in Rome. We also hear of the honour which Charlemagne bestowed upon the Swabians by granting them the privilege of fighting in the front line of any of his campaigns, something we will hear much more about in later chapters.18 The author also claims, trying to come up with an explanation for the structure in place at his time, that Charlemagne had created a political system according to which the German princes (Electors) were entitled to elect the king, who then would sit on the throne in Aachen. Once he was anointed by the pope, he would enjoy the rank of emperor: ‘so hat her des riches gewalt vnde keyserlichen namen’ (138r, p. 117; then he wields the authority over the empire and carries the name of emperor).19 These historical references idealizing the founder of the Carolingian Empire find close parallels even in poetic texts in which legal and historical aspects matter, such as in Konrad von Würzburg’s Schwanritter (late thirteenth century) and the song in the tradition of the Meistersinger, ‘Von keiser Karls recht’ (printed in 1493).20 Each time Charlemagne is identified as the avenger of injustice and violence, especially when committed against defenceless courtly ladies. Konrad in particular describes how the ruler arrives to help the duchess of Brabant, widow of Gottfried, The Saxon Mirror, trans. Dobozy, p. 67. Der Schwabenspiegel, ed. Derschka, Ib, p. 24. Schwabenspiegel: Kurzform, ed. Grosse, 100v, p. 45. Ibid., 109r–109v, p. 63. See also Schwabenspiegel: Kurzform, ed. Eckhardt, 32, pp. 80–1. 19 Not all subsequent copies or adaptations of the Schwabenspiegel include references to Charlemagne; see, for instance, Der Schwabenspiegel aus Kaschau, ed. Meier and Piirainen. 20 Geith, ‘Karl der Große’, pp. 96–7. 15 16 17 18

Introduction

5

the conqueror of Jerusalem (Godfrey), against attacks by her brother-in-law, the duke of Saxony. In doing so, he creates an anachronistic perspective, probably out of ignorance of the correct historical data. The narrator characterizes Charlemagne as a kind of Roman ruler: ‘rœmscher voget’ (43; Roman governor). But the narrator does not address the military operation; rather, he presents Charlemagne as the universal judge who performs his task as every good ruler is supposed to do (49), inviting everyone with a grievance to come to his court in Nijmegen and raise their issues.21 In fact, the duchess identifies him as a model just ruler: ‘sît iu nie keiser wart gelîch / ûf erden an gerehtekeit’ (304–5; since there has never been an emperor here on earth equal to you in terms of justice). I will return to this important issue later in the discussion of major Middle High German contributions to the myth of Charlemagne in literary terms. Emperor Charles IV, who had originally borne the name ‘Wenzel’ or ‘Wenceslas’, associated himself directly with Charlemagne and had his chronicler Johannes von Marignola create a direct dynastic connection to the Carolingians. In fact, Johannes identified Charles IV as the resurrected Charlemagne: ‘in solio romani imperii resurgeret serenissimus Karolus imperator’ (the most worthy Emperor Charles rose to power in the whole Roman Empire).22

Charlemagne in Medieval German Chronicles The focus of the present study is the portrayal of Charlemagne by Dutch and German writers, and hence the further development of the myth surrounding him long after his death. Fictional texts might not be the best medium through which to carry out historical research, but our interest here is not in biographical facts or material aspects relevant to Charlemagne as a historical individual, but rather in people’s perception and general concept of this figure as expressed in heroic epics, courtly romances, ballads and novels, not to mention art works, paintings and other media. Some of those enjoyed considerable popularity, others were less successful, but we can easily recognize that the myth of Charlemagne exerted a strong influence and mattered greatly both in literary imagination and in historiography. Hardly any medieval chronicler or historiographer ignored or neglected to refer to the Frankish king and emperor as the founder of various dynasties, all referring back to him as a mighty source of glory and esteem. The Vita Karoli Magni (c. 1165), which has survived in thirty-four manuscripts, some of which are incomplete, was created for specifically political, or propaganda, purposes to provide a textual background for the canonization of Charlemagne through Frederick I Barbarossa (1152–90).23 Although the author announced that 21 Konrad von Würzburg, Kleinere Dichtungen, ed. Schröder, vol. II; Kokott, Konrad von Würzburg, pp. 17–31. 22 Geith, ‘Karl der Große’, p. 100. 23 Görich, ‘Kanonisation als Mittel der Politik?’ argues that it was not so much the emperor, but rather the canons of the Aachen cathedral and even King Henry II

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he would focus mostly on the emperor’s religious accomplishments, he still added numerous comments on his wars against the Saxons and the Muslims in Spain. Similarly important were the Marbacher Annalen, composed by Prior Frederick of the convent of St Thomas in Strasbourg, who died in 1201. His work obviously served to support the Hohenstaufen cause amid the imperial conflicts of that time. The chronicler Lampert of Hersfeld (d. 1081) commented in his Libellus de institutione Herveldensis ecclesiae that Emperor Henry III had followed his father on the throne like a second Charlemagne. Humbert of Silva Candida (d. 1061) in his Libri III adversus simoniacos praised Charlemagne as a great role model for a Christian ruler. The same opinion was voiced a few decades later in his Libellus contra invasores et symoniacos et reliquos scismaticos by Cardinal Deusdedit, who supported the Gregorian Reform and looked for a historical model to strengthen his argument. The opposing forces in the universal political struggle of the eleventh century – the struggle between religious and secular power – also referred to Charlemagne, who was appropriated by both sides and emerged as a benchmark for almost contradictory positions. The author of a genealogy of the Landgraves of Thuringia, included in the Chronicle of the Reinhardsbrunn Monastery from the 1340s, remarked: Notandum, quod genus Caroli non ex toto finem habuit, ut dicitur, sed tantum a Romanorum regno finem accepit. Nam, ut in cronicis invenitur, omnes reges Francorum et Germanorum, sed et principes, duces, comites, istarum provinciarum, scilicet in Thuringia, in Bavaria, in Franconia, in Pannonia, in Carinthia, in Bohemia, in Moravia, in Suevia, in Saxonia, in Frisia, in Lotharingia, set et omnes nobiles Alamannorum originem duxerunt a genere Carolum. [It needs to be said that Charlemagne’s lineage did not end completely as it is often said, it ended only in the Roman kingdom. For, according to the chronicles, all the kings of the Franks and the Germans, but also the princes, dukes and counts of those provinces, i.e. Thuringia, Bavaria, Franconia, Pannonia, Carinthia, Bohemia, Moravia, Swabia, Saxony, Friesland, Lorraine, but also all the noble Germans, derive their origins from Charlemagne’s lineage.]24 of England who pushed for this canonization for political reasons strengthening their own cause; see also Salvadó, ‘Performing Sacrality’. 24 Quoted from Bláhová, ‘The Genealogy of the Czech Luxembourgs’, pp. 4–5. For the original text see Genealogia principum Reinhardsbrunnensis, ed. Holder-Egger, pp. 656–8. Bláhová observes, however, that the Luxembourg dynasty under Charles IV and then his two sons commonly referred backwards on their maternal side to the ancient Czech dynasty founded by the first duke, Přemysl the Ploughman, as a more convenient ideological strategy for their own territory in the Slavic east. In a variety of visual art works, such as in Karlstein Castle, on the other hand, the paternal line was still clearly pursued back to Charlemagne. See Bláhová, ‘The Genealogy of the Czech Luxembourgs’, pp. 10–11; see also her study ‘Nachleben Karls des Großen in der Propaganda Karls IV.’.

Introduction

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Other chroniclers even included images of the emperor sitting on his throne, as did Ekkehard von Aura in his Chronicon universale from c. 1112–14 (Cambridge, Corpus Christi College, Ms. 373, fol. 24r), which he based on the chronicle by Frutolf von Michelsberg.25 The chronicle by Martin of Opava (or Troppau; d. c. 1278/79), the Chronicon pontificum et imperatorum from c. 1260–70, was mostly intended for use in the school classroom, which explains the large number of manuscripts (more than 400). This basically copied and cemented the traditional image of the legendary emperor, and thus became the foundation for countless subsequent chronicles.26 Undoubtedly, and very consistently, this Frankish ruler assumed the function of a political, military and religious role model because of his ‘herrscherliche Gesamtleistung’ (total achievement as a ruler).27 Both literary and chronicle authors collaborated in many ways to propagate this ideal image, as we can clearly observe in, for instance, the Arolser Weltchronik (late fourteenth/early fifteenth century), which relies heavily on The Stricker’s Karl der Große, or in Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Willehalm in the section on the history of the Carolingian Empire (fol. 267va).28 The chronicler was almost more interested in biographical anecdotes than in historical facts, but he reflected thereby the universal fascination which this mythical figure exerted throughout the Middle Ages. This great interest in Charlemagne continued unabated through the centuries. Some 300 years later, almost at the end of the Middle Ages, the famous Nuremberg physician, author and scholar Hartmann Schedel (1440–1514) also dealt with Charlemagne in his Liber chronicarum, or The Nuremberg Chronicle (1493), which confirms that the myth of the famous emperor did not simply fade away by the late Middle Ages, primarily because he enjoyed such central historical significance.29 In Schedel’s text Charlemagne is identified as the king of France – not as the king of the Franks – who ruled for forty-six years (CLXVIIr). His birthplace was Ingelheim, near Mainz, and after his brother Carolomannus’s death he took over his territory as well. He incorporated Aquitaine by means of military force and was then called to Rome by Pope Desiderius, who needed his help against the Langobards, or Lombards. Next Charlemagne had to fight against the Saxons, a rebellious and militant people, as the author comments, against whom only the Frankish ruler could finally achieve a complete victory, which allowed him to force the Saxons to convert to Christianity. 25 Eccardus de Uraugia, Die Chronik des Ekkehard von Aura, trans. Pflüger; see now Pfeiffer, ‘Ekkehard of Aura’. For a digitized copy of his Chronica see https:// thesaurus.cerl.org/record/cnp00969162; for a good copy of the image showing Charlemagne see https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/0/03/ Karl_der_Große_in_der_Chronik_des_Ekkehard_von_Aura.jpg (accessed 23 April 2018). 26 Brincken, ‘Martin of Opava’. 27 Schütte, ‘Karl der Große in der Geschichtsschreibung des hohen Mittelalters’. 28 Die Arolser Weltchronik, ed. Brinker-von der Heyde and Wolf, p. 155. 29 Schedel, Liber chronicarum.

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Moreover, Charlemagne then conquered all of Spain (‘Hispania’) and defeated the Bavarian Duke Taxilo (Tassilo). Subsequently he attacked the Huns (‘hunos’, not the Avars, as we know today), which led to the greatest slaughter during Charlemagne’s life: ‘Vnd Carolus hat keinen krieg gefueert darinn mer menschen vmbbracht worden sind. dann ein große mechtige meng der hunier vnd schier die alleredelsten warden erschlagen’ (CLXVIIr; And Charlemagne did not wage any other war in which more people were killed, because a vast number of Huns, especially the most noble ones, was slaughtered). A few paragraphs later Schedel’s narrator explains once again what kingdoms and other territories Charlemagne conquered, which led to his being crowned emperor in 800 (CLXVIIIr). After the catastrophic decline of the Roman Empire, Charlemagne is here glorified as the great individual who succeeded in re-establishing the past glory: ‘den namen vnnd wirdigkeit eins kaisers mit willen vnd frolockung des roemischen volcks emphangen’ (CLXVIIIr; he received the name and the honour of an emperor through the volition and jubilation of the Roman people).30 The narrator then does not hesitate to provide a detailed physical description of the emperor, whom he portrays as a most impressive manly person. It might not be too far-fetched to assume that Albrecht Dürer, also a Nuremberg citizen, looked to this description when he created his painting of Charlemagne in 1510. Following a long narrative tradition, Schedel also emphasizes that Charlemagne enjoyed taking baths in warm spas, wherefore he erected the church dedicated to the Virgin Mary in Aachen. Then he remarks: ‘zusambt seiner koeniglichen tugent wz er wolgesprech vnd redper vnd guoter kunst vnderrichtet vil gelert. Er hett bey vil weibern schoene kinder. vnd sunder by Hildegarde seinem gemahel’ (CLXVIIIr; in addition to his royal virtues he demonstrated great eloquence and was well educated in good [important, or useful] arts. He had children with many women, especially with his wife Hildegard). Apparently, for a mythical figure such as Charlemagne, virility demonstrated by the birth of numerous bastards was also highly appreciated, and standard Christian values did not apply. The paragraph concludes with comments on how the emperor finally contracted a fever and passed away – not, however, without first having issued a last will and arranged his line of succession. We could consider many other chronicles, but these few examples suffice to confirm that medieval authors consistently referred to Charlemagne as the founder of the Carolingian Empire, paid him greatest respect and thus contributed to the ongoing growth of the myth of Charlemagne. Schedel’s biographical information does not really differ from that provided by previous chroniclers, but his comments underscore the great importance attributed to Charlemagne even in the late fifteenth century.

30 I have written out all abbreviations in the quotations and translated the superscripta by placing the vowel on the base line.

Introduction

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Recent Scholarship on Charlemagne Naturally, we can draw from and engage with a large body of older scholarship focusing on Charlemagne, his time and culture, and also the history of reception. Famous scholars such as Gaston Paris and Robert Folz have already traced the history of the Charlemagne myth throughout medieval Europe.31 Rudolf Köster made the first significant attempt to trace the history of the myth of Charlemagne in medieval German literature, but he emphasized, above all, the national difference between French and German narratives, trying to favour the latter for political reasons – he published his study in 1939 under the rule of the Nazis.32 The Charlemagne theme in medieval Latin literature is addressed by Paul Lehmann’s monograph, and now by the contributors to a specialized volume dedicated to that issue.33 Heinrich Hoffman focused on Charlemagne as a topic in medieval historiography, but limited himself to the period from the early Middle Ages to c. 1250.34 Gerhart Lohse offered a succinct overview and brief discussions of the major texts in medieval German literature where Charlemagne figures, whether as the central protagonist or as a mere reference.35 More recently, Karl-Ernst Geith has presented a critical analysis of Charlemagne in German literary texts from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, including a study of the sources consulted by the German poets. This narrow approach has made it possible for him to pursue many more specific details than ever before, but at the cost of leaving out the reception of the myth into the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries.36 Thomas Kraus and Klaus Pabst have collected studies on the representation of Charlemagne in the visual arts, historiography and literature which laid the foundation for this universal myth.37 We can also draw from a compact article contributed by Bert Bastert to the volume Karl der Große, edited by Franz-Reiner Erkens (2001).38 Parallel to Geith, Bernd Bastert has edited a volume dedicated to the image of Charlemagne in the European literature of the Middle Ages. Here we find excellent discussions of how Charlemagne was perceived in Old French and 31 Paris, Histoire poétique de Charlemagne; Folz, Le Souvenir et la légende. See also the contributions to Karl der Große und sein Schrein, ed. Müllejans. 32 Köster, Karl der Große als politische Gestalt in der Dichtung des deutschen Mittelalters. 33 Lehmann, Das literarische Bild Karls des Großen vornehmlich im lateinischen Schrifttum des Mittelalters; The Charlemagne Legend in Medieval Latin Texts, ed. Purkis and Gabriele. 34 Hoffmann, Karl der Große im Bilde der Geschichtsschreibung des frühen Mittelalters. 35 Lohse, ‘Das Nachleben Karls des Großen in der deutschen Literatur des Mittelalters’. 36 Geith, Carolus Magnus. 37 Karl der Große und sein Nachleben in Geschichte, Kunst und Literatur, ed. Kraus and Pabst. 38 Bastert, ‘Heros und Heiliger’.

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Old Occitan epic poetry, in Old Iberian and Dutch literature, in Old Norse texts, in Middle English romances and in medieval Hebrew literature.39 Alexander M. Schilling even explores the fairly thin sprinkling of references to Charlemagne in medieval Arabic historiography.40 Bastert raises the question of why the chansons de geste, where the myth of Charlemagne was most fully developed, did not influence German medieval literature much, but he can only speculate about the deeper reasons for this odd phenomenon (198). He also alerts us to the huge number of Old French texts where this emperor figures very prominently, and this in a rather dialectical fashion, being painted both very positively and very negatively (200–1). Charlemagne appears as an individual chosen by God more to rule over his Christian empire than to lead an army into battle (203). Most recently, Franz Fuchs and Dorothea Klein published the volume Karlsbilder in Kunst, Literatur und Wissenschaft (2015),41 in which the broad spectrum of historical, literary, historiographical and artistic responses to the Frankish ruler receives attention. One group of articles engages with the image of Charlemagne in the early Middle Ages; the second highlights the reception process from around 1200; while the third investigates the development of the myth of Charlemagne from the late eighteenth century to the early twenty-first. Johannes Fried, in particular, observes the curious development of the image of Charlemagne, whose real life and achievements increasingly disappear from collective memory while the name itself – that is, the myth – enjoys considerable popularity in labels for such mundane and trivial objects and institutions as sausages, beer, baby socks, types of tea, wood-processing factories, restaurants, comics and other publications, particularly in the New World.42 But would that not be typical of all great figures, events, texts, sculptures, art or music from the past? And, despite the longevity of the Charlemagne myth, time has not left it entirely unaltered. Recognizing this dilemma, Fried grants that historical knowledge today is fading fast, but he also emphasizes that historical perspectives – such as those on Charlemagne and his works, thoughts, ideals and administrative practices – can also help us today to probe the intricacies of human existence.43 We could consider, for instance, Charlemagne’s extraordinary military successes, his 39 See also other volumes in the ‘Charlemagne: A European Icon’ project: Charlemagne and his Legend in Early Spanish Literature and Historiography, ed. Bailey and Giles; The Legend of Charlemagne in Medieval England, ed. Hardman and Ailes; volumes including Scandinavian with Celtic material (ed. Helen Fulton and Sif Rikhardsdottir) and Old French and Occitan (ed. Marianne Ailes and Philip Bennett), as well as a further volume on the Italian tradition (ed. Jane Everson and Claudia Boscolo) are in progress. 40 Karl der Große in den europäischen Literaturen des Mittelalters, ed. Bastert. 41 Karlsbilder in Kunst, Literatur und Wissenschaft, ed. Fuchs and Klein. 42 Fried, ‘Die Aktualität Karls des Großen’. 43 Ibid., pp. 317–19.

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empire building, and thus immediately recognize the contingency of all political structures, both then and now. After all, as Fried underscores, fundamental ideals such as justice, peace, empathy and truth – quite apart from sincere devotion to God – mattered profoundly for this historical figure. Hence, should they not matter for us as well, perhaps even more than ever before? We are, in other words, the avatars of the intellectual elite surrounding and supporting Charlemagne.44 Overall, as Bernd Bastert comments in a more recent article, throughout the Middle Ages Charlemagne emerged as an important but ambivalent figure in medieval French literature, where he was viewed from many different perspectives, whereas the German contemporaries focused much more, though not exclusively, on the saintly emperor and highlighted his direct contact with God, whose instrument he was here on earth.45 But that holds true only if we do not take into consideration the literary examples from the fifteenth century, where the Frankish ruler appears as a rather ridiculous and rancorous figure in some of the German texts. Those fascinating literary works will be discussed at great length in later chapters dedicated to German examples. Finally, we should also mention that Charlemagne appears many times in later narratives, such as in the anonymous Historia von D. Johann Fausten (1587), where the protagonist traverses many parts of Europe and then comments on the city of Aachen, ‘in dieser Statt ist ein gantz Marmelsteiner Tempel / so der groß Keyser Carolus sol gebawt haben / vnd geordnet / as alle seine Nachkommen die Kron darinnen empfangen sollen’ (in this city there is temple all made out of marble, which the great Charlemagne is said to have built who ordered that all his descendants be crowned there).46

Translatio imperii and Charlemagne To illustrate how the myth-making process worked, and to embark on our first investigation, let us reflect on the verse novella Mauritius von Craûn, where we discover a brief but significant reference to Charlemagne as the founder of European knighthood and chivalry. It might not be possible to trace the specific source used by the anonymous poet, since the myth of Charlemagne was already so well known all over Europe in general and in Germany specifically.47 Yet the message contained in this novella proves to be so symptomatic of the universal phenomenon that it will be worth going into some details here for introductory purposes. The narrative has survived in only one manuscript, the Ambraser Heldenbuch (Vienna, Österreichische Nationalbibliothek, Cod. Vind. Ser. nov. 2663, fols 2va– 5vc), which the Bozen (today in Italian: Bolzano) toll officer Hans Ried copied on behalf of Emperor Maximilian I between 1504 and 1515. However, the original text

44 Ibid., p. 318. 45 Bastert, ‘“der Cristenheyt als nücz kein czelffbott”’. 46 Quoted from Müller, ed., Romane des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts, p. 907. 47 Harvey, Moriz von Craûn and the Chivalric World, pp. 71–2, and passim.

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dates to the first half of the thirteenth century. We have no idea why Mauritius has not been copied more often or what happened between the time of its creation by an anonymous poet in the first half of the thirteenth century and the time when Ried included it in his massive compilation.48 The central plot of this narrative has little to do with the prologue, in which we hear about the historical development of knighthood from ancient times to the author’s present. However, there are good reasons to interpret the failed love story of Mauritius in light of the message contained in the prologue, since the poet reflects rather sarcastically on the decline of courtly culture.49 Ultimately, this verse novella proves to be so seminal for our understanding of late medieval courtly values because the author develops an intricate and powerful satire in which neither the knightly protagonist, Mauritius, nor his beloved lady, the countess of Beaumunt, emerges as an ideal character. This casts an ominous light on the overall social conditions at that time. The poet emphasizes right from the start that knighthood had its origin in the ancient Greek world but was then destroyed in its ethical foundation as a result of the Trojan War (vv. 12–48, and passim). Once Hector had fallen, the Trojans (whom the poet idealizes as almost everyone else in the Middle Ages did) missed his leadership sorely. This made the decline of knighthood altogether unavoidable. Cowardice and lack of honour set in, both accelerating the disappearance of the ideal (vv. 77ff.). Subsequently, in world-historical terms, Rome rose in power and revived the principles of knighthood, primarily promoted by Julius Caesar, who welcomed them with open arms (vv. 116ff.). However, history is not necessarily progressive, and every empire at one point seems to collapse again, as happened in Rome once the Emperor Nero had assumed the throne (vv. 133ff.). The poet drastically lambasts Nero, who had, indeed, a very negative reputation throughout the Middle Ages, since he demonstrated, as the poet remarks, signs of perversity, homosexuality and insanity. Once Rome had burned down and countless good people had been killed, knighthood had to leave and look for a new home. It found that home in the Carolingian kingdom or empire, which the narrator does not explain in specific terms. However, even there knighthood struggled until Charlemagne himself surfaced: ‘biz aber Karl sider mit kraft / begunde betwingen diu lant’ (vv. 240–1; until Charles with his power began to conquer the land). The two famous figures Olivier and Roland, well known from the Rolandslied, by Priest Konrad (c. 1170; see below), chose knighthood as their companion (vv. 242–3). Once the other warriors observed how much honour these two gained thereby, they followed their model, which increased their reputation altogether (vv. 247–9). 48 Mauritius von Craûn, ed. Reinitzer; see also Mauritius/Moriz von Craûn, ed. Pretzel and Classen; Mauritius/Mauricius von Craûn, ed. Schröder and Klein. 49 Classen, ‘Mauritius von Craûn and Otto von Freising’s The Two Cities’; Classen, ‘Irony in Medieval and Early Modern German Literature’.

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Finally, the narrator comments that every country greatly improved where the value system of knighthood was adopted: ‘wan diu ir ritterschaft ist guot’ (v. 254; since its knighthood is good). Even though Charlemagne and his accomplishments are not specifically discussed here, he is identified as the ideal figure who understood as much as Julius Caesar did the true value of knighthood, whereas Nero was the very opposite of both of them, being self-centred, narcissistic and perverse. The subsequent events involving Mauritius take place in the Carolingian Empire – or rather, we may assume, based on some historical background, somewhere in north-western France – but the narrative itself uses the reference to Charlemagne and his country as the critical backdrop against which the protagonist’s behaviour and destiny have to be judged. The poet does not return later to his historical references, but the prologue itself sets a clear tone reflecting on the same tradition, idealizing Charlemagne as a glorious ruler of the highest ethical standards. Only when a country is headed by such an ideal leader can there be hope for progress and power, prosperity and happiness. True knighthood, as personified especially by Charlemagne and his paladins, is characterized by extreme generosity, the willingness to risk one’s life for others in need, a drive to pursue the highest ideals in human existence (gloria and honor), and strict respect for women, which also involves the concept of service in love.50 We will subsequently observe how much and how deeply Charlemagne figured generally and specifically in the history of medieval German literature, and hence also in the history of mentality, and German cultural history. When we investigate later verse romances, such as Rudolf von Ems’s Der guote Gêrhart (c. 1220–40), which is loosely based on a historical framework predicated on the time of Emperor Otto I (936–73), we are also told of Charlemagne as a crucial role model.51 Otto’s efforts to be a good Christian are not as well received by God as Gerhard’s were, although he tries as hard as he can to be loved by God and the people, aiming for the highest royal virtues. So he attempts to model his life after the rules and examples set by Charlemagne: ‘begunde minnen sêre / nâch der gerlêrten lêre / die Karlen hôhiu wîsheit / ûf daz gerihte hât geleit’ (vv. 101–4; he strongly endeavoured to follow the learned teachings, which Charles in his deep wisdom had formulated for the court). Of course, the Good Gerhard proves to be a superior individual, as we learn through his life story which he relates to the emperor (that is, to us), but for our purposes here it still matters critically that Otto perceives the model set up by the Frankish ruler to be the ultimate benchmark for the best possible kingship. Although Rudolf did not cover the history of Charlemagne in his world chronicle, in his Guote Gêrhart he indicated at least in passing that he was still very much aware of this mythical character. 50 Fischer, Ritter, Schiff und Dame, pp. 45–51. 51 Rudolf von Ems, Der guote Gêrhart, ed. Asher, p. 56; cf. Ertzdorff, Rudolf von Ems, pp. 160–92. See now Rudolf von Ems, An English Translation of Rudolf von Ems’s ‘Der guote Gêrhart’, trans. Classen, pp. i–xxxiii.

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As late as 1456 the famous Bavarian court physician, translator, scholar and scientist Johann Hartlieb also included some references to Charlemagne in his highly regarded puoch aller verpoten kunst, ungelaubens und der zaubrey.52 In the section dealing with aeromancy, which the author condemns as superstition (the entire treatise is dedicated to listing the major forms of magical art or ritual, the artes magicae, and then condemning them forcefully), he refers to the history of Charlemagne and discusses briefly how the hero dealt with his Saracen opponents in the mountain pass of the Pyrenees, Roncesvalles. He even quotes a passage from an unspecified source: ‘und Carel wider uß zoch, wie sich der wind uff tett und Ruolannden durch die veind halff ’ (84; and when Charlemagne left again, the wind rose up and helped Roland to get through the enemy lines). But Hartlieb rejects the popular interpretation by the adherents of the ‘manticy’ (84; mantics) that magic was at play then, and he insists instead that all those heroes had been good Christians ‘und nit anders begerten dann seiner genaden’ (84; and did not desire anything else but His [Christ’s] grace). Neither Charlemagne nor Roland nor any of the other heroes had believed in magic, and they had always demonstrated their unwavering and strong faith in God. Undoubtedly, the highly learned Hartlieb, who rendered numerous Latin narratives or treatises into German, must have been familiar with either Priest Konrad’s or The Stricker’s version of the Rolandslied, as this passage proves convincingly.

Pilgrimage Writers and Charlemagne Charlemagne was also well known among the wider population throughout the Middle Ages, as the intriguing travelogue, or pilgrimage account, by the Halle Alderman Hans von Waltheym (c. 1422–c. 1479) confirms. He travelled in 1474 from Halle to Provence in order to visit numerous religious sites, especially Saint-Maximin-la-Sainte-Baume with its relics of Mary Magdalene, and returned the following year.53 Waltheym took his time to enjoy visits, baths, social contacts and excursions to various religious sites, but his focus remained, ultimately, on the goal of his pilgrimage. Nevertheless, when he visited the monastery (Abbey) of Reichenau on an island situated in Lake Constance, he was deeply impressed by an extraordinary emerald which the Arab ruler Harun-ar-Rashid (d. 809) had sent as a gift to Charlemagne, who had then deposited it in this monastery. In this context we are told that the Frankish king had brought Christianity to the Saxons and that his nephew was called Roland (60). At a later moment, reflecting on the special relics and holy sites which a pilgrim can find in the city of Zürich in Switzerland, Waltheym repeats the same comments about Charlemagne, but adds a legendary account about a deer that escaped from 52 Hartlieb, Das Buch aller verbotenen Künste; Fürbeth, Johannes Hartlieb; Grubmüller, ‘Ein Arzt als Literat’; Schnell, ‘Neues zur Biographie Johannes Hartliebs’. For an English translation see now Hazards of the Dark Arts, trans. Kieckhefer, pp. 21–92. 53 Ich, Hans von Waltheym, ed. Krüger and Krüger.

Introduction

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hunters and found refuge at a special spot. Once the emperor had prayed to God, it was revealed to him that this was the location where the martyrs St Exuperantius, St Felix and his sister St Regula, all members of the Theban legion under St Maurice, were buried. Charlemagne immediately ordered his people to exhume their bones, and once this was all confirmed, he had a cathedral built, the Grossmünster.54 Paying particular respect to the emperor, Waltheym underscores: Es ist zu mergkin, das keyser Karl alzo vile thüme gestifft hat alzo vile buchstabin yn deme alphabet sint. Und her hüp an dem A an unde stiffte zcum ersten Ache. Und alzo noch allen buchstaben noch eynander, alzo das noch deme Z Zcurch der leczste thüm was’ (216; Note that Emperor Charles founded as many cathedrals as there are letters in the alphabet. He began with the first letter, A, and founded the cathedral of Aachen. Then he followed through with all other letters until the letter Z, so the cathedral in Zürich was the last one).55 Moreover, a local legend about Charlemagne is also mentioned here. Waltheym noted a sculpture showing the sitting emperor, holding a sword on his lap half pulled out of the scabbard. One of the cathedral canons, Dithelm Sturm, informed the traveller/pilgrim that the reason for this curious arrangement was that Charlemagne once had an evil opponent whom he had expelled from the country. After the emperor’s death, the latter returned and stood in front of a wooden sculpture showing the ruler sitting on a chair, holding a sword in each hand. The rogue then said to the figure that he would have to tolerate his presence now after his death. At that moment the sculpture moved and pulled out a sword, which caused the miscreant to flee immediately (216–18). Waltheym thus reflects the great popularity which the emperor continued to enjoy, even at the end of the Middle Ages, since he was regarded as the protector of justice and of the Church. We will discover the very same accounts included in the Zürcher Buch vom Heiligen Karl (before 1471); they must have circulated widely in oral and written form before they entered this lengthy treatment of the Frankish emperor.56

Charlemagne in German and Dutch Medieval Literature Considering the continuous reception and reinvention of Charlemagne as a mythical figure throughout the many centuries after his death, it comes as little surprise that he was also immortalized in countless literary texts, which thus blurred the separation between historical and literary narratives.57 Henceforth our focus will rest on 54 Keller, Reclams Lexikon der Heiligen und der biblischen Gestalten, p. 225; Waltheym confuses the relationship, assuming that Exuperantius and Felix were brothers, when the former was only a servant. 55 Classen, ‘A Slow Paradigm Shift’. 56 Zürcher Buch vom Heiligen Karl, ed. Bachmann and Singer. 57 Grieb, Schlachtenschilderungen, pp. 31–7. This was actually a rather common phenomenon in the Middle Ages, since chroniclers often included fictional elements and poets regularly included historical references, creating a kind of

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the German- and Dutch-language narratives involving or dealing with this famous Frankish ruler, who, soon after his death, became an iconic figure of universal status, variously deeply admired and feared, ridiculed and satirized, hated and loved. His charisma, however, transcended all attempts throughout time to undermine his status.58 Irrespective of how we might view his actual political, economic, military, religious or artistic–literary accomplishments, Charlemagne continues to deserve our greatest attention because he has filled people’s minds throughout time and has thus triggered a flood of works reflecting upon him in both positive and negative terms. Because his life was translated into a myth, there is no doubt that it has exerted a deep influence on our imagination right up to today. Studying the literary manifestations of that myth during the European Middle Ages thus constitutes a significant task that takes us deep into the medieval history of ideology, mentality, religion and literary history, and also sheds light on the profound legacy of the Charlemagne myth in our present time. All those aspects impact us profoundly and alert us to the continuous need to turn to the pre-modern age for a more thorough analysis of modern conditions, concepts, ideals and value systems, as they are grounded in the medieval past. This book will take us from the early twelfth century to the late fifteenth century and will highlight a number of critical manifestations of Charlemagne as a literary and mythical figure. Of course, there is also the historical figure to be studied from a biographical perspective, especially as we can discover, hidden behind the various chronicle accounts, a complex, fascinating, religiously devout, powerful, but then also brutal, deceptive, hypocritical and highly ambitious personality who never hesitated to repress his opponents, even to the point of executing them or waging genocidal war (against the Saxons, for instance) when the opportunity arose or an emergency occurred.59 Our present purpose, however, is to focus on how posterity viewed Charlemagne and transformed the historical figure into an individual of literary myth in German and Dutch literature from the twelfth through the fifteenth century.60 bricolage; see also Classen, ‘Literarische Diskurs-Bricolage als literarische Strategie (Textallianz) in spätmittelalterlicher Chronistik’. 58 For this topic see, more globally, Jaeger, Enchantment; and the contributions to Magnificence and the Sublime in Medieval Aesthetics, ed. Jaeger. As to the global expectations that early medieval rulers would exert terror in order to keep their people under control and thus to maintain peace see now Schmidt, ‘Schreckensherrschaft’, pp. 119–20. 59 Fried, ‘Karl der Große als Mensch’. See also his excellent biography, Karl der Große: Gewalt und Glaube. Cf. further the contributions to Väter Europas: Augustus und Karl der Große, ed. Haag and Plattner. See also the concise and comprehensive contributions to Herrscher, Helden, Heilige, ed. Müller, Wunderlich and Gaebel. Other major figures of a similar calibre were Attila, Hārūn ar-Raschīd, Richard the Lionheart, Ivanhoe, Saladin, Genghis Khan, Frederick II and Eleanor of Aquitaine. Cf. now also Classen, ‘The Ambiguity of Charlemagne in Late Medieval German Literature’. 60 Related scholarship includes Noble, ‘Greatness Contested and Confirmed’;

Introduction

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Charlemagne’s canonization in 1165 illustrates impressively how rapidly this process of mythologizing the Carolingian emperor was adopted for contemporary political purposes, which helps explain the continuing interest in this looming figure throughout medieval literature.61 Of course, in each poetic work we can recognize a different image of Charlemagne. In the later Middle Ages we even encounter rather negative presentations of a somewhat foolish and at times almost vicious and wrathful figure, all depending on the individual writer’s interest and perspective.62 While historians must grapple with the question of how we can achieve truly authentic insights into the world of the past, or into the life of a personality such as Charlemagne, who appears in the historical record always in some performative role,63 literary historians may simply and rightly assume that the data that have come down to us has gone through thick filters, such as poetic manipulation and transformation. How many of the historical annals and chronicles reported only what the emperor wanted posterity to know? As soon as we begin to analyse critically those documents, not much of the legendary figure of Charlemagne remains.64 The critical examination of medieval German and Dutch literature does not allow us to shed any more light on the actual biography of Charlemagne. We know that those poets projected an image of the emperor to please their audience and especially their own patrons, be that image positive or, as happened more often in the late Middle Ages, negative. But those fictional accounts, which often are clearly based on historical facts, inform us exceedingly well about ideological concepts, ideals, dreams and value systems, all somehow attached to the account of Charlemagne and Roland, among many others at his court. Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied (c. 1170), for instance, not only differs considerably from the historical account but Roland and Charlemagne in Europe, ed. Pratt; Gabriele, An Empire of Memory; Romig, ‘Charismatic Art and Biography in the Carolingian World’; and the works cited in note 3, above. The literature on this topic is, of course, legion, and here I have referred only to some of the most recent and most salient studies. 61 See, for instance, Folz, Le Souvenir et la légende; Koch, Auf dem Wege zum Sacrum Imperium; Engels, ‘“Des Reiches heiliger Gründer”’. 62 Karl der Große in den europäischen Literaturen des Mittelalters, ed. Bastert. For a rather negative view of this historical figure see Bergmeier, Karl der Große. However, there is the danger of an anachronistic reading when Bergmeier compares Charlemagne’s accomplishments (or lack thereof) with those of a twelfth-, fifteenth-, or nineteenth-century ruler. Certainly, Charlemagne waged war his entire life and, certainly, he did not promote urban and intellectual life as we might expect from such a ruler today. But he promoted the Church, education, the arts, medicine and many other aspects of human life as much as was possible. 63 Bredekamp, Der schwimmende Souverän. 64 Fried, ‘Karl der Große als Mensch’, pp. 369–71. He even uses such terms as ‘trügerisches Erinnerungskonstrukt’ and ‘Vergangenheitsmanipulation’ (370; deceptive construction of memory; manipulation of the past).

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also sounds a different tune from the Old French Chanson de Roland, transposing the military–political, almost nationalist, theme into a spiritual–religious one (‘Vergeistlichung’) by having Roland fight against the Saracens in order to achieve martyrdom. This again served Konrad’s patron, Duke Henry the Lion, in his own political ambitions for the imperial throne.65 As important as the historical reports about Charlemagne might be, for the historians the literary works provide us with access to the concepts people had about that powerful ruler in the past, and how they wanted him to be presented within the fictional framework. This is, ultimately, the stuff of myth-making, and proves to be just as important as any projections of Charlemagne in historical accounts.

65 Grieb, Schlachtenschilderungen, p. 38; cf. also Hennings, Französische Heldenepik im deutschen Sprachraum, pp. 105–10.

1 The Kaiserchronik: The Emergence of Charlemagne in Chronicle Literature

T

he topic of Charlemagne as seen through the lens of medieval German literature opens interesting interpretative perspectives, in that we are made very aware of how thin the wall between a literary and a historical approach to our subject matter can be. Both poets and chroniclers demonstrated an interest in this Carolingian ruler who has exerted such an influence long after his death, serving as a mythical figure and commonly representing the ideal royal character, a harbinger of justice and peace, the triumphant successor to the Roman world dating back at least to the time of Julius Caesar and Augustine. In fact, the difference between a chronicler and a poet in the Middle Ages was not as strict as we might imagine today, and by the same token the difference between the historical and fictional texts they produced is negligible.1 As is reflected in many works of art and poetry, Charlemagne has been a huge presence in people’s minds both during his lifetime and ever since. He was, almost from the beginning, something of a mythical figure. The question here is not whether he was known or not – we can safely assume that he was, at least by all those who enjoyed at least a modicum of education in the Middle Ages – but rather how Charlemagne was perceived, what expectations a reference to him might have provoked, and how individual writers modified the image of that emperor for their own purposes or for those of their audiences. The Kaiserchronik, a twelfth-century rhymed verse chronicle (possibly from as early as 1130) was composed by an anonymous Regensburg cleric (or possibly two clerics), and first attracted the attention of modern scholars and editors when the publication of one manuscript in the Scriptores rerum Boicarum was announced in 1765, which never happened, however. In 1783 a fragmentary manuscript appeared in print, followed by the publication of other fragments in 1803 and 1807. A first consolidated edition was printed by Joseph Diemer in 1849, and another by Hans 1

Spiegel, Romancing the Past; Knapp, Historie und Fiktion in der mittelalterlichen Gattungspoetik; History as Literature, ed. Dunphy; Dunphy, ‘Chronicles’. See also Dire et penser le temps au Moyen Âge, ed. Baumgartner; Classen, ‘Literarische Diskurs-Bricolage als literarische Strategie (Textallianz) in spätmittelalterlicher Chronistik’; Medieval Narratives between History and Fiction, ed. Agapitos and Mortensen.

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Ferdinand Maßmann in 1854, but continuous research over the following decades was necessary before the full text was finally prepared and presented in 1892 in a critical edition by Edward Schröder.2 Today we know of exactly fifty manuscripts containing this major text – a masterpiece of twelfth-century German literature – many, of course, only in fragmentary form. This huge number clearly underscores the monumental significance of this chronicle, which was obviously more popular than any other Middle High German text from the same period.3 As Alastair Matthews remarks: One reason for the work’s appeal may lie in its scope and the diversity of the material it contains. The historical span of the first redaction stretches from the founding of Rome to the reign of Conrad III, from Italy to the German lands, and from Iberia to the Holy Land and beyond.4

In the near future we can expect a fully critical edition of the twelfth-century Kaiserchronik, as announced by a team of researchers in England and Germany consisting of Mark Chinca and Christopher Young together with Jürgen Wolf and Jürg Fleischer. They intend to edit not only the original, twelfth-century version but also the two major reworkings of it that were made around 1200 and 1250, which reflect the long reception history of this major work that appealed to many generations of medieval readers. The three versions will be printed synoptically – that is, next to each other – and then be accompanied by an English translation, along with an introduction and commentary.5 Historians have tried hard to identify the author or authors, but it is not possible to say much more than that they hailed from a monastery in Regensburg, and not from Trier as some scholars once argued.6 As noted by previous scholars, we can be certain that the author and/or the patron of this work admired and glorified Charlemagne, a common and typical attitude in the twelfth century and well beyond. The Kaiserchronik was begun c. 1126 or sometime later, and might have been completed by 1147 or shortly after. Matthews assumes that the earliest date the work could have been started was around 1146 because the chronicle mentions Conrad III’s agreement to participate in the Second Crusade, but there is no reason to take this as the absolute starting point, since many of the sections in the

2 Die Kaiserchronik, ed. Schröder. See also Die Kaiserchronik, ed. Herweg. Though only a selection of the complete work, it contains the relevant section dealing with Charlemagne. 3 For a complete list of manuscripts, see the Marburger Repertorium, where links to older online editions can be found, at http://www.handschriftencensus.de/ werke/189 (accessed 16 February 2017). 4 Matthews, The Kaiserchronik, p. 1. 5 http://www.mml.cam.ac.uk/german/research/kaiserchronik (accessed 16 February 2017). 6 Die Kaiserchronik, ed. Schröder, pp. 49–50.

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first parts could have been composed considerably earlier.7 Frank Shaw claims that the Kaiserchronik dates from after 1146, but he does not give any particular reasons for this.8 The patron of the work seems to have been one of the dukes of Bavaria, or Bishop Kuno of Regensburg (who died in 1132), which perhaps gives us a date before which the Kaiserchronik is likely to have been started. As is to be expected from a chronicle, the Kaiserchronik offers an extensive survey of world history, focusing on the Roman Empire beginning with Julius Caesar and concluding with the German King Conrad III. The account includes the history of thirty-six Roman and nineteen German emperors, and the author offers an exemplary episode for each one, thus mixing historiography with literature. In contrast to the more or less contemporary Annolied (late eleventh century), which was also composed in early Middle High German and represents a mixture of historiographical account and fictional narrative, ‘the accounts in the Kaiserchronik are full and vivid, with much use of dialogue and other techniques familiar from narrative fiction’.9 Scholars have identified a wide range of sources which the author drew from, underscoring the particular character of this and numerous other medieval chronicles in which factual material is closely intermingled with hagiographical, legendary and even literary sources. The frequent exempla do not serve for simple entertainment, but rather pursue religious and ethical goals, instructing the reader/listener to consider past events as models for contemporary conditions. The author explicitly rejects the lies contained in literary texts (v. 27–41) and highlights the didactic value of his own work. As Marta Maria Helff has noted, the Kaiserchronik contains numerous text passages that allow us today to gain an insight into a wide range of ethical and moral attitudes prevalent in the twelfth century, since the author extensively reflects on social and political structures, mirroring the standards of courtly life and indicating in myriad fashions how people interacted with each other in numerous everyday or unusual situations, including mourning, jousting, lecturing, preaching and ruling. Moreover, we can learn much about gender relationships and the interactions between rulers and their courtiers/knights.10 However, the Kaiserchronik does not pursue a strictly historical perspective, and changes many aspects of Greek and Roman history to emphasize the supreme role of the Christian Church in the foundation of the Roman Empire and, subsequently, of the German Empire. The German people matter centrally here, as Caesar is said to have achieved his position as sole ruler only with the help of German troops.11 Some of the main figures in world history are identified as German (or, rather, as 7 Matthews, The Kaiserchronik, p. 2. 8 Shaw, ‘Kaiserchronik’. 9 Dunphy, ‘Historical Writing in and after the Old High German Period’, p. 215. 10 Helff, Studien zur Kaiserchronik. See also Eilers, Untersuchungen zum frühmittelhochdeutschen Sprachstil am Beispiel der ‘Kaiserchronik’. 11 Rubel, ‘Caesar und Karl der Große in der Kaiserchronik’.

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Germanic), and even Emperor Constantine is said to have been of German origin (from Trier), which facilitated the translatio imperii ad Francos (the transfer of the empire to the Franks; see vv. 14282–95) without major difficulties.12 We would not be really wrong in characterizing the Kaiserchronik as a kind of mirror for princes, providing historical examples to teach the present generation politics, ethics and religion.13 Matthews takes a middle ground in his analysis of the narrative quality of this massive text: It should be clear, then, that the Kaiserchronik, both in terms of the statements in its prologue and the literary scene of which it was part, does not necessarily conform to the notion of a rigid distinction between fiction and history that has tended to shape much modern work on the analysis of narrative texts.14

But it is not enough to confirm or to reflect on this general observation; we also need to study carefully how this Frankish emperor is characterized and portrayed in this chronicle in specific terms, because he already represented a mythical character at that time and was deeply admired far and wide. I am not concerned here with historical veracity and will not try to compare this chronicle with others to observe differences, contradictions, errors and so on. Instead, this is an exploration of a major historical but at times also rather literary account by the narrator, clearly a Regensburg cleric, who describes how a Frankish nobleman was elected as emperor in Rome and how he performed in his public function. He is not only a mighty ruler but also God’s own fighter here on earth, and a role model for all future kings and emperors.15 The starting point, as the narrator emphasizes, is the decision by the people of Rome to select as their ruler a person from another country, so as to avoid internecine strife and other conflicts (14282ff.). At the same time, young princes from many different courts were invited to Rome to receive a proper education before assuming their thrones back home, which thus established an effective political system connecting the different nations to Rome. The author begins with the history of Charlemagne by referring first to his brother Leo, who was appointed pope (14314). Charlemagne stayed at home until a divine voice in his dream ordered him also to travel to Rome. Charlemagne consistently followed God’s wishes, while not necessarily having his brother in mind: ‘er minnete got stille’ (14338; he quietly loved God). Charlemagne is portrayed as a 12 Goez, Translatio imperii; Krämer, Translatio imperii et studii; Wetzstein, ‘La Doctrine de la “translatio imperii” et l’enseignement des canonistes médiévaux’. 13 Nellmann, ‘Kaiserchronik’, cols 949–64. 14 Matthews, The Kaiserchronik, p. 16. For similar issues in another historicizing genre, the heroic epic focused on Dietrich, see Kropik, Reflexionen des Geschichtlichen. 15 Pézsa, Studien zu Erzähltechnik und Figurenzeichnung in der deutschen ‘Kaiserchronik’, pp. 117–21, esp. p. 121; Stock, Kombinationssinn.

The Kaiserchronik

23

deeply religious person: he prayed tearfully to God on many occasions, and he deliberately ignored the people’s wish that he serve as their next ruler (14360), since he had travelled to Rome only to attend church and to pray. But, on Pope Leo’s ardent request, Charlemagne finally accepted the crown. He immediately faced a further request to restore many of the lands that had been stolen by neighbouring princes. However, he refused to get involved, postponing all decisions until St Peter himself in a vision instructed him to do so, as the emperor reports (14407). He returned to his home country, soon followed by Leo, who had in the interim been caught by his enemies and had his eyes gouged out. When the two brothers met again Leo bitterly complained about his suffering as a consequence of the hatred that Charlemagne’s enemies had demonstrated. Even though he appealed to his brother to maintain peace, Charlemagne decided that the time had come to defend the Christian Church: ‘mit dem swerte sol ich di christenhait bescirmen’ (14537; with the sword I am required to protect Christianity). A huge army was quickly assembled and moved towards Rome, but Charlemagne delayed the attack for three days, although his generals voiced strong objections, because he was waiting for God’s specific command, which did then come through early one morning (14589–96). After a week’s siege Rome was conquered, and Charlemagne assembled a court to judge those who had attacked his brother. Even though the perpetrators tried to hide and swore false oaths, with the help of young St Pancratius the truth ultimately came out. But first Charlemagne prayed to God and to St Peter, indirectly forcing them to intervene and to restore Leo’s eyesight, as otherwise Charlemagne would return home; Leo’s sight was indeed restored (14725–6), a fact underscoring Charlemagne’s quasi-divine character as a worldly saviour. Leo publicly acknowledged this phenomenon, saying that a miracle had happened that now justified him in crowning Charlemagne as emperor (14751). The narrator emphasizes that everyone present fully approved of this decision, as they all followed Charlemagne’s ceremonial act of lying down on the floor in the shape of a cross and praying. Both clerics and lay people expressed great joy at this development (14755), underscoring, as the narrator explicitly indicates, that Charlemagne was truly a sanctified ruler and deserving of the imperial crown: ‘want er diu rîche habete / mit michelen êren’ (14766–7; since he ruled over all the kingdoms in great honour). He was, as Ernst Friedrich Ohly noted, graced with a vision from God in which he was instructed about his own future steps, which was considerably more authoritative and hence divine than just a dream (such as was received by the Roman emperor Constantine).16 Charlemagne first of all re-established law and order, stipulating in great detail the power of the princes and of the Church, and then he also determined basic details concerning the ordinary people’s dress code (sumptuary laws for peasants), forbade them to carry swords (forks would be acceptable) and regulated their work schedule throughout the week, after which the narrator feels justified in identifying 16 Ohly, Sage und Legende in der Kaiserchronik, pp. 230–3.

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him as a proper emperor: ‘der gwan den namen scône / daz er der êrste kaiser wart ze Rôme / von Diutisken landen’ (14817–19; he correctly carried the title of being the first emperor in Rome who had originated from the German lands).17 As Christian Gellinek has correctly observed, the author/poet brings to life the past history of Charlemagne and the re-establishment of the empire under the umbrella of the Church not by just recording events but by bringing everything to the narrative stage and himself serving almost as a propagandist for the emperor.18 Charlemagne accomplished the conversion of the Romans to Christianity and thus demonstrated, above all, his leadership role within the Church. At the same time, as the narrator emphasizes, Charlemagne re-established law and order and fought energetically against evil lords in Italy. Nevertheless, his political and military focus lay in the lands north of the Alps, where he subjugated the rebellious Saxons and Frisians, among others (14853ff.). Using missionaries, he also extended his influence to Denmark (14874–5). As was expected and commonly undertaken by medieval rulers, Charlemagne also founded churches, established parishes and created dioceses, such as in Bremen (1483–75). We also hear of Charlemagne’s military triumphs in northern Spain (14877ff.) and of a major siege in southern France (14885ff.), all in the name of God; he is, after all, identified as ‘gotes dienestman’ (14909; God’s servant). As previous scholars have already noted, the poet presents the emperor as the long-awaited and divinely installed new ruler who accomplishes the goal of bringing God’s kingdom here on earth back into order: ‘the prophecy finds its inevitable fulfilment in the God-given structure of the Charlemagne story’.19 Charlemagne serves as God’s representative here on earth and re-establishes a divinely desired order so that peace and harmony can return to the empire, though he has to struggle long and hard to overcome his enemies, who are at the same time God’s enemies – for example, in the war against the Muslims in northern Spain.20 However, the emperor cannot influence specific events as they unfold before his eyes, though he reflects deeply upon them, as shown by his significant dreams about his nephew Roland’s mortal battle in Roncesvalles, which provide a close parallel to the Chanson de Roland.21 In Matthews’s words: ‘His view of events is shaped by the interplay between divine causality (his appeal to God to protect Roland), causal motivation (his supposition about Genelun’s behaviour), and, arguably, final motivation (his dreams).’22 17 Gellinek, Die deutsche Kaiserchronik. 18 Ibid., p. 182. 19 Matthews, The Kaiserchronik, p. 73; see also Neudeck, ‘Karl der Große – der beste aller werltkunige’. 20 The enemy are often qualified as either Saracen or Muslim, but, like other medieval poets, our authors depict a construct of Islam which does not always reflect actual Islamic practice. 21 La Chanson de Roland – The Song of Roland, ed. Duggan. 22 Matthews, The Kaiserchronik, p. 89.

The Kaiserchronik

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Virtually every step in Charlemagne’s actions is directed by God via a messenger angel. After most of his troops have been slain the angel orders Charlemagne to collect a vast army of virgins from his empire, who don men’s armour and terrify the Muslims in Spain so profoundly that they surrender, hand over hostages and convert to Christianity (14980–4). In other words, with God’s help Charlemagne does not even have to fight physically, since his enemies are helpless and so daunted by the sudden appearance of a new army that they do not dare to fight any longer – all material directly drawn from the Pseudo-Turpin Chronicle. And God then works a miracle when all the spears that the young female warriors have placed in the ground while resting on their way home suddenly turn into living trees (15000–4). But the narrator also emphasizes that Charlemagne was not simply a quasi-divine person here on earth. Instead, he also includes an account of his sinfulness, which makes him very human again. The emperor, he says, committed one sin that he could not confess to anyone because of its gravity. Finally, learning of St Aegidius’s (c. 650–710) (or St Giles’s) saintliness, Charlemagne summoned up the courage to turn to him for help.23 However, even here Charlemagne did not reveal the details, but merely submitted piously and devotedly to God’s will. On Aegidius’s prayer and reading of mass, a mysterious letter, sent directly from God, appeared on the altar. Charlemagne read it, but we are not told any details other than that God had granted him forgiveness because he had demonstrated his complete trust in God’s grace and had completely repented his sinfulness, ‘di gevordert im got niemer mêre’ (15067; then God no longer demands anything else from him).24 Subsequently the narrator cuts short his account, because Charlemagne had achieved too many glorious deeds to relate them all: ‘des zîtes ist nû niet’ (15071; there is no time for that now). But he summarizes all the characteristics that made him such a famous person, creating a list of features that became the building blocks for the Charlemagne myth as it evolved throughout the Middle Ages and beyond. He identifies him as a ‘wârer gotes wîgant’ (15074; a true warrior of God) and praises him for his courage, nobility and mercifulness, for being graced by God, for his honour, loyalty, steadfastness, glory, fear-inspiring power and 23 For the history of this saint and his anecdotal relationship with Charlemagne, see Meier, Handbuch der Heiligen, pp. 136–7; cf. also the excellent survey article online at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Giles (accessed 16 February 2017). 24 A very similar account of this event in Charlemagne’s life can be found in Jacobus de Voragine’s Legenda aurea: ‘The following Sunday, while Giles was celebrating mass and praying for the king, an angel of the Lord appeared to him and deposited on the altar a scroll on which it was written that the king’s sin was forgiven due to Giles’s prayer, provided that the king was truly repentant, confessed his sin, and abstained from committing it thereafter.’ Jacobus de Voragine, The Golden Legend, trans. Ryan, p. 148.

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his universal fame: ‘Karl lobete man pillîche / in Rômischen rîchen / vor allen werltkunigen’ (15084–6; Charlemagne was rightfully praised in the entire Roman Empire, above all other secular kings). The account of Charlemagne in the Kaiserchronik then comes to an end, with the final remarks that he ruled for forty-six years and nine months and was buried in Aachen. As brief as the section dealing with this emperor might be, it proves to be the central juncture of the entire chronicle because it clearly separates the historical account about biblical times and Roman antiquity on the one hand from the Middle Ages on the other. The following sections treat the history of Charlemagne’s sons and do not return to the founder of the Carolingian dynasty, but the reader/listener would have been fully trained to refer all future events to those that had taken place during the time of Charlemagne. The glory of and admiration for this emperor is fully cemented in the Kaiserchronik, which subsequently served as the source for countless other vernacular treatments of Charlemagne both in verse and prose. For the myth that emerged around this personality it mattered only that God Himself turned to the young man and declared him to be the natural successor to the Frankish throne (14316–20). After that, as the anonymous chronicler emphasizes, Charlemagne conquered the various countries through his own strength and thus established a veritable empire. The Kaiserkronik clearly operates as any other medieval chronicle, laying out the historical events, discussing the ruler’s major achievements and offering a personal portrait, but then it also projects an ideal image of how a king should operate and what values he should hold. There is no doubt that the origin of the subsequent myth of the German (and Dutch) Charlemagne can be traced to this chronicle, as well as to a variety of other similar sources. In a way, we could rightfully conclude that this account of Charlemagne laid the foundations for a great flood of literary reflections about this mighty Frankish ruler who had not only created his own empire but had also laid the foundation for two kingdoms – France and Germany – that were to form central political entities on the European continent.25

25 Bastert, ‘“der Cristenheyt als nücz kein czelffbott”’, pp. 129–31.

2 Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied and the Glorification of Charlemagne

P

ilgrims have always needed housing and food, protection and spiritual uplifting, a fact as true in the medieval period as it is today. For the endless stream of pilgrims on their way to Santiago de Compostela in north-western Spain, the third-holiest Christian pilgrimage site in the world, the Church in the Middle Ages made much effort to provide material and spiritual support as well as also to gain from them financially.1 Thriving businesses arose on the long pilgrimage routes traversing France towards the Iberian Peninsula, and the cults of the various saints along the way were of supreme importance for local monasteries and churches, with the abbey of Cluny appearing to have dominated the entire southern French and northern Iberian region in this practice.2 Numerous narratives were created that aimed at both religious instruction and entertainment, with perhaps the most impressive example being the Old French Chanson de Roland, the best-known version of which is that of Oxford, Bodleian Library, Ms. Digby 23, associated with a clerk named Turoldus and probably composed c. 1100. This epic describes the battle between the rearguard of Charlemagne’s army, led by Roland, and their pagan (Saracen) attackers. Charlemagne (Charles) had been fighting in Spain and consolidating his control there when urgent matters called him back north, at which point, according to this literary account, the pagans under the rule of Marsilie used this convenient opportunity to avenge their previous defeat at the hand of the Christians by trying to eliminate the rearguard in an ambush. Furthermore, they prepared to kill Roland and his men to liberate 1 Cohen, ‘In the Name of God and of Profit’; Herbers, Der Jakobuskult des 12. Jahrhunderts und der ‘Liber Sancti Jacobi’; Davidson, Pilgrimage in the Middle Ages; see also the contributions to Pilger und Wallfahrtstätten in Mittelalter und Neuzeit, ed. Matheus. For an excellent handbook and reference work on all medieval German travel and pilgrimage accounts, see Deutsches Literatur-Lexikon: Das Mittelalter, ed. Achnitz; unfortunately, there is no table of contents; individual entries are arranged chronologically, while pilgrimage accounts are not grouped together. 2 Sumption, Pilgrimage, pp. 119–21; surprisingly, there is no mention here of the Chanson de Roland or other secular texts indirectly associated with these pilgrimage routes.

27

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themselves from Frankish rule, as the emperor has already left their country and had appointed Roland as governor. In essence, the poet reflects on the universal conflict between the two world religions while illustrating, of course, the ultimate victory of Christianity as the only true religion.3 Marsilie had offered a deal to his opponent, promising to convert to Christianity and to pay a huge ransom in return for the end of the war and the Franks’ return home. The Saracens were, of course, not at all honest in their promise to accept baptism and to enter a vassalic relationship with Charlemagne, so the proposal underscores the Saracens’ military weakness, lack of prowess, untrustworthiness and evil character, in line with the author’s religious intentions. In short, ‘[t]he prevailing interpretation of Turoldus’s poem is that it glorifies the crusading spirit – Christian militancy wedded to feudal imperatives – and that it centres on the debate between Roland and Olivier’.4 From a modern, but perhaps also anachronistic, perspective we could identify this epic poem as a literary expression of Frankish–Christian imperialism and colonialism, because the emperor triumphs after all despite the fact that his rearguard is completely destroyed. Following Roland’s defeat and death, the emperor is forced to return and to take terrible revenge, now utterly defeating the enemy and taking complete control of the land. In the end, God directly intervenes in the battle and even provides Charlemagne with succour when he is wounded and becoming exhausted in fighting against the heathen King Paligân (ll. 8555–6).5 A Middle High German version of the Chanson de Roland, the Rolandslied, was composed c. 1170–72 by Konrad, a Regensburg cleric, probably on behalf of Duke Henry the Lion, the ruler of Saxony and Bavaria. It consists of 9094 verses in rhymed couplets, very similar to contemporary courtly romances. Although neither the Chanson de Roland nor the Rolandslied can be counted as a crusading epic, both conform closely to the ideals conveyed in that genre: either the Christian knights triumph over their Muslim opponents or their souls are allowed immediate access to heaven if they are killed in battle. This and many other similar epics consistently portray Charlemagne as a new imperator following, after a hiatus of several hundred years, the glorious Roman emperors, though now succeeding as a Germanic ruler controlling vast areas of land north of the Alps, in the northern regions of the Iberian Peninsula and in northern Italy. The poet portrays a truly charismatic figure who triumphs not only because of his superior military and logistical skills but also, in what might well be the most important aspect, because he is God’s direct representative here on earth. 3 Ailes, The Song of Roland, especially pp. 74–5. See also Emden, La Chanson de Roland; Mandach, Naissance et développement de la chanson de geste en Europe. See also Paquette, La Chanson de Roland. 4 Brault, The Song of Roland, p. 9. 5 Konrad, Das Rolandslied des Pfaffen Konrad, ed. Kartschoke.

Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied

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Roland is Charlemagne’s nephew and one of Charlemagne’s paladins at court. The attack against him is made possible because Roland’s stepfather Genelun betrays him and his small army to the pagans, and when the fighting breaks out at Roncesvalles in the Pyrenees – today a pilgrimage site on the route to Santiago de Compostela – a massive slaughter follows. The Christians finally succumb to their opponents simply because of their small number, but not before killing scores of their enemies. When Charlemagne finally learns about the catastrophe, he immediately returns and takes his bloody revenge. One of the critical issues raised in the text is Roland’s prolonged refusal to call Charlemagne back to help by blowing his horn. When he finally does do so, after the repeated urging of his companion Olivier and Archbishop Turpin, it is too late, and all the Christian warriors die a heroic death, although the emperor arrives to wrest victory from the Saracens and deal them a devastating blow. Both the Old French Chanson de Roland (Oxford version) and the Middle High German Rolandslied specifically served political purposes.6 As Karl Bertau puts it, the Old French author underscores a number of points as highlights of his literary enterprise and as key components of his ideological strategy: ‘Vasallentreue, Christentum, Francia und das hyperbolische Bewußtsein von der Heiligkeit des Christenritters’ (Vassalic loyalty, Christianity, Francia [France], and hyperbolic awareness of the saintly character of the Christian knight).7 It is useful to consider briefly what the chronicles have to tell us about the actual events, as far as we can trace them today. In the spring of 778 Charlemagne organized a military campaign ‘at the request of the Muslim ruler of Barcelona, Emir Suleiman ibn-al-Arabi, who was attempting to rebel against the emir of Cordoba (Abd-ar Rahman I)’;8 Suleiman ibn-al-Arabi went so far as to seek out Charlemagne in Paderborn, in northern Germany, and promised to deliver the city of Saragossa to him. However, Saragossa, held by Al-Husayn, resisted and forced Charlemagne to lay a siege, which was unsuccessful. Two months later, Charlemagne was compelled to return to France to quell a new uprising by the Saxons and in the process his rearguard, led by Roland, was massacred in an ambush; three commanders were killed, including ‘Hruodlandus Brittannici limitis praefectus’ (Governor of the Breton Marches),9 who was later identified 6 For the text of the Old French poem, see The Oxford Version, ed. Short, in La Chanson de Roland – The Song of Roland, ed. Duggan, vol. I, part I. 7 Bertau, Deutsche Literatur im europäischen Mittelalter, p. 250; see also ‘Chanson de Roland’ und ‘Rolandslied’. The most reliable scholarly survey of Priest Konrad is provided by Nellmann, ‘Pfaffe Konrad’. A concordance of the Rolandslied is also available: Wisbey and Hall, A Complete Concordance to the Rolandslied. 8 Jones, An Introduction to the Chansons de Geste, p. 63. 9 Einhard, The Life of Charlemagne, ed. and trans. Firchow and Zeydel, paragraph 9. For an online version, see https://sourcebooks.fordham.edu/basis/einhard. asp; for the Latin original, see http://www.thelatinlibrary.com/ein.html (both

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with the epic hero Roland. This ambush, which took place on 15 August 778, was, according to some sources, led by Ibn-al-Arabi’s two sons, who wanted to liberate their father, whom Charlemagne had taken as a hostage on the suspicion that he had secretly collaborated with Al-Husayn.10 The Latin annals do not mention the involvement of Arabs in the fighting, referring only to Christian Basques, or Gascons, but Arabic chronicles affirm that this was a battle fought by Arabs for their own goals.11 At any rate, it was a fiasco for Charlemagne, but he could not afford to return and then stay longer in Spain while the Saxons in the north of his kingdom were on the march and were even threatening the Frankish heartland. A poetic rendering of the events might have served as a cover-up for Charlemagne’s failure in this situation, at least in the eyes of posterity.12 According to other sources, the historical events that were later reflected in the Old French and Middle High German epics took place in a valley traversing the Pyrenees, though the attackers were not Muslims, but Gascons who aimed at looting the rearguard and profiting from their spoils, at least as Charlemagne’s biographer Einhard tells us in his Vita Karoli Magni.13 Duke Henry the Lion, the ruler of Saxony and Bavaria for whom the Rolandslied is believed to have been written, made a great effort to compete with the emperor, Frederick I Barbarossa, and apparently attempted to enhance his political status by connecting himself closely with the mythical aura surrounding Charlemagne. Duke Henry used the Rolandslied and a comprehensive building programme for his residence in Brunswick in northern Germany – a programme that included elements consciously focusing on the Romanesque style for the cathedral of St Blaise, among numerous other church buildings and art works – to display and demonstrate his ancient roots in dynastic terms, connecting him directly with Charlemagne, which granted him a stronger claim to the imperial throne than Frederick.14 Here we find a striking example of a ruler’s use of the combination of a literary text with an architectural and artistic concept to create representational works for political purposes. accessed 10 March 2017). 10 La Chanson de Roland, ed. Whitehead, rev. Hemming, pp. xii–xiii. The discussion of the historical background is vast and cannot be summarized here in detail. 11 Pidal, La Chanson de Roland et la tradition épique des France; for an abbreviated summary, see the introduction to The Song of Roland: Translations, trans. Duggan and Rejhon, pp. 13–16. 12 Sholod, Charlemagne in Spain, pp. 39–43; García-Pérez, Carlomagno, Asturias y España, pp. 46–54. 13 Brault, The Song of Roland, pp. 2–3; Konrad, Das Rolandslied des Pfaffen Konrad, ed. Kartschoke, pp. 779–80. 14 Bertau, Deutsche Literatur im europäischen Mittelalter, pp. 462–70, esp. p. 469; Vollmann-Profe, Wiederbeginn volkssprachiger Schriftlichkeit im hohen Mittelalter.

Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied

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However, as Konrad dedicated his poem only to ‘a’ Duke Henry, without concretely specifying who he had in mind, there has been a long debate about who the true patron might have been.15 The options discussed over the decades have included: Henry X, the Proud (Heinrich der Stolze, 1126–39); Henry II, Duke of Austria, called Jasomirgott (Heinrich Jasomirgott, 1141–56); or Henry the Lion (Heinrich der Löwe, 1155–80), mentioned above. According to current consensus, Konrad could have been referring only to the last mentioned, for a number of good reasons that need to be reviewed only briefly in our context. Henry was married to Matilda (1156–89), the eldest daughter of the English king Henry II and his wife, Eleanor of Aquitaine, who was one of the major patrons of twelfth-century literature and courtly culture. Through her parents, Matilda was most probably familiar with the Chanson de Roland and hence could have requested a German translation for the glorification of her husband’s political aspirations. In the epilogue, the narrator refers to the extraordinary rituals of repentance performed by Duke Henry (ll. 9066–7), who went on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land before 1172; this adds further weight to the claim that Henry the Lion had commissioned this text.16 Moreover, the poet emphasizes that Henry’s wife, the daughter of a mighty king (Henry II of England), very much wanted the French text to be translated into German (ll. 9024–5). Henry’s political aspirations coupled with his literary and artistic strategies position him squarely on a European stage, making this Middle High German epic poem of major importance in European medieval literature as a whole, like its source, the Oxford version of the Chanson de Roland.17 It is also thought that Konrad was familiar with the Historia Karoli Magni et Rotholandi) and the Aachen Vita Karoli Magni (c. 1170).18 He was also very familiar with the Kaiserchronik, but he certainly did not contribute to its composition, as older research assumed. There is no doubt that Konrad drew most of his material from the Old French Chanson de Roland (in a version related to that of the Oxford manuscript), but the differences must not be overlooked. Konrad not only expanded the narrative 15 For an English translation, see Priest Konrad’s Song of Roland, ed. and trans. Thomas. See also the very solid and important edition Das Rolandslied des Pfaffen Konrad, ed. Wesle, rev. Wapnewski. 16 For a very brief summary of the current state of research see Kartschoke, ‘Pfaffe Konrad’, pp. 620–1. For more details on the court of Henry the Lion see Kartschoke, ‘Deutsche Literatur am Hof Heinrichs des Löwen?’ For extensive information on the genealogical network see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ Matilda_of_England,_Duchess_of_Saxony (last accessed 16 February 2017). For a biography of Henry the Lion, see Jordan, Henry the Lion, trans. Falla, pp. 200–13; see also Arnold, ‘Henry the Lion and his Time’. 17 Ehlers, Heinrich der Löwe: Europäisches Fürstenhaus im Hochmittelalter; Ehlers, Heinrich der Löwe: Eine Biographie; see also Hiller, Heinrich der Löwe; Jordan, Heinrich der Löwe; Derron, ‘Heinrich der Löwe als reuiger Büßer und Realpolitiker’. 18 Vones, ‘Heiligsprechung und Tradition’; Caumanns, ‘Die Historia Turpini’.

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considerably but also shifted the thematic focus increasingly to that of the crusade epic, whereas the French author arguably places primary emphasis on the ‘national’ aspect, expressed by the common term ‘dulce France’ (sweet France).19 On the one hand we recognize a strong tendency to demonize Roland’s stepfather, who at the end is executed in a terrible fashion by being quartered, using four wild horses, as a punishment for his treason. On the other, we notice how Emperor Charlemagne is glorified through his proximity to God; indeed, he is God’s direct representative here on earth and rules over the new ‘Roman’ empire on God’s behalf. However, Konrad strictly avoids calling him a saint (‘sante’) throughout most of the text, even though Charlemagne had been beatified in 1165. The bitter military tensions between heathens and Christians overshadow the entire epic poem, but there is no mention of the pope or the Church as an institution anywhere in the text, probably because the focus rests so intensively on Roland and Charlemagne.20 There are many possible approaches to the Rolandslied, reflecting its high literary quality, which not surprisingly continues to appeal to modern readers. We can trace, for instance, the relationship between religion and law,21 or we can examine the concepts of time and history.22 As Marianne Ott-Meimberg points out, the poet clearly reflects a general desire among his aristocratic audiences to be assured of their own religious legitimacy despite their subordinate military functions in social reality.23 Some scholars have analysed the relationship between the text and its illustrations,24 while others have examined the manner in which Priest Konrad portrayed individual figures according to the ethical and religious norms of his time.25 Recent research has also alerted us to how the poet presents remarkably powerful female characters who operate at court and influence political and military manoeuvres.26 Other researchers, by comparison, have examined the way in which Konrad designed the role of the ruler in his work, opening numerous perspectives towards a political reading of a text that is almost like a ‘mirror for princes’.27 There is no question that the Rolandslied is shaped by a deeply Christian world view, as the struggle between the Christians and the pagans is determined by profound religious per-

19 Schulz, ‘Wir zetreten si in ir bluote’. 20 Nellmann, ‘Pfaffe Konrad’, cols 115–31. 21 Canisius-Loppnow, Recht und Religion im Rolandslied des Pfaffen Konrad. 22 Hinterkausen, ‘Die Auffassung von Zeit und Geschichte in Konrads Rolandslied’. 23 Ott-Meimberg, Kreuzzugsepos oder Staatsroman? 24 Bertemes, Bild- und Textstruktur. 25 Woelker, Menschengestaltung in vorhöfischen Epen des 12. Jahrhunderts. 26 Jasperse, ‘Women, Courtly Display and Gifts in the Rolandslied and the Chanson de Roland’. 27 Dobozy, Full Circle.

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spectives.28 But it continues to be a secular heroic epic about Charlemagne’s military operations and the tragic destiny of his nephew Roland, and an epic that was obviously greatly enjoyed by a lay audience. The Rolandslied deals with Charlemagne’s Spanish campaign from 778 and, in the literary text, the emperor returns home after seven years of fighting against the Saracens. The king of the heathens, Marsilie, finally seems ready to submit and requests that they engage in negotiations for a truce, offering his own conversion to Christianity and a large amount of treasure. Roland suggests that his stepfather, Genelun, be chosen for that task, as he stands out as the most skilful diplomat and knight, but the latter vehemently protests, contrary to all expectations, because he is afraid of being killed if he travels to treat with the hostile pagans. Not only does Genelun reveal a considerable degree of cowardice, but he also engages in a treacherous plot with the Saracen ruler, facilitating the enemy’s ambush of the Christian rearguard in the Pyrenees and specifically targeting Roland despite the latter’s sincere efforts in giving highest praise to his stepfather and in providing him with a most honourable opportunity.29 Even though Roland and his friends face an overwhelming army, Roland relies arrogantly on their own strength and refuses to call the emperor back in time to help them. They are all killed, Roland being the last to die, having belatedly blown his horn to call Charlemagne back to come to their rescue. Some scholars have argued that his behaviour does not necessarily reflect arrogance and hubris so much as a major mistake which causes all of their deaths; Dieter Kartschoke suggests that Roland is driven by his pious embracing of death on behalf of all Christianity.30 His companion Olivier voices the sole criticism of Roland’s delay in blowing the horn, while his uncle Charlemagne is filled only with deep grief and then mourns the loss of his nephew. Despite the possibility that Roland might have been to some degree culpable, perhaps out of hubris, he dies, like all his men, the death of a martyr, echoing, in a way, Christ’s death and enabling the emperor to carry out the ultimate task of helping Christianity to achieve complete victory.31 Charlemagne arrives and defeats the fleeing heathens. Subsequently, Marsilie appeals for help from Paligân, the head of all heathens in the Eastern world, and a massive battle erupts in which Charlemagne finally triumphs, representing the universal victory of the Christian faith over heathendom. Later, back in Aachen, Genelun is tried, has to face an ordeal and is subsequently brutally executed as a punishment for his treason. 28 Nöther, Die geistlichen Grundgedanken im Rolandslied und in der Kaiserchronik. 29 For a critical, at times even controversial, discussion of this figure, see Stackmann, ‘Karl und Genelun’; Hoffmann, ‘Genelun, the Traitor’. 30 Das Rolandslied des Pfaffen Konrad, ed. Kartschoke, p. 796. 31 Harst, ‘Diskursanalyse’, pp. 24–5.

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In short, the Middle High German narrative broadly follows that of the Old French assonanced text in the Oxford manuscript, often referred to as ‘the’ Chanson de Roland. The Rolandslied itself has survived almost complete in only one manuscript (Heidelberg, Ms. Cpg 112, or cod. pal. Germ. 112, or simply Ms. P), consisting of 123 parchment leaves and thirty-nine sketch drawings; one double leaf of approximately 150 verses after fol. 41 is missing. Six fragments of various lengths are also known from the late twelfth century (Strasburg, Ms. A, burned in 1870; Schwerin, Ms. S; Arnstadt-Sondershausen [in Thuringia], Ms. T; Erfurt, Ms. E; Marburg, Ms. M; Stuttgart, Ms. W, the Kausler Fragment, now lost).32 As we will observe in later chapters, the story of Charlemagne and his paladins was well received in the late Middle Ages. But this does not automatically imply that the Rolandslied itself was widely popular, despite its adoption by The Stricker, an itinerant poet, approximately half a century later. The author of the Rolandslied had, as he claims himself, translated the Chanson de Roland first into Latin and then from that version into Middle High German (ll. 9080–5), and he specifically pursued a primary goal of glorifying Charlemagne, dedicating his work to Duke Henry, whom he likens to the biblical King David (ll. 9040–4).33 The poem begins with a brief biographical sketch of Charlemagne, who is presented in glowing colours as the most worthy ruler of his people and of the many heathens whom he had conquered. In fact, the poet identifies him as the worthiest individual, beloved by God because he carried out all of God’s wishes and served as ‘gotes dienestman’ (l. 31; God’s servant).34 All of his actions are determined by his religious orientation, as he fights against the heathens solely with the intention of rescuing their souls from the devil (ll. 41–6). An angel commands him to turn to Spain and to convert all the heathens there, otherwise they will be condemned to hell (ll. 59–60). As we also learn in the Pseudo-Turpin Chronicle, and as Stefan Tomasek emphasizes, the king is primarily depicted as God’s ally on earth. He does not necessarily fight for the unification of his own large empire; instead, his aim is to conquer those territories where Christianity has not been established and where pagan religions dominate. In other words, here we meet a missionary emperor who is charged by God Himself to take over Spain and convert the people to the true faith, like Joshua in the Old Testament (Joshua 10. 12–14).35 32 For the list of extant manuscripts see http://www.handschriftencensus.de/ werke/202 (accessed 16 February 2017). See also Das Rolandslied des Pfaffen Konrad, ed. Kartschoke, pp. 616–19. 33 Vollmann-Profe, Wiederbeginn volkssprachiger Schriftlichkeit im hohen Mittelalter, pp. 134–7. 34 Dobozy, Full Circle, p. 124: ‘Unique to the monarch are the sacral functions which are entrusted to him by God […] Accordingly, selection as king and the accompanying gift of liute und lant can be interpreted as enfeofment […] Kingship defined in this manner means that the king is more than the overlord, who fills the highest position in the feudal hierarchy.’ 35 Tomasek, ‘Die Figur Karls des Großen’, pp. 140–2.

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After the angel’s visit Charlemagne prays the entire night for further inspiration and the next morning he consults with his twelve paladins, who are equally driven by their religious passion to die as martyrs and thus to gain entry to heaven (ll. 80–2). Here, we clearly recognize concrete reflections of the crusade mentality that had dominated medieval Europe since the end of the eleventh century (dating from the sermon by Pope Urban II in Clermont-Ferrand in December 1095). Priest Konrad, the author, makes an obvious effort to echo Christ’s Passion within the heroic genre, and presents all the warriors who die in battle at Roncesvalles as contemporary martyrs.36 Only after the emperor has heard the opinions of all the paladins does he take action and send out messengers to assemble an army to accompany him on his crusade-like campaign to northern Spain. Many times throughout the Rolandslied we observe how the emperor is also idealized through his willingness to consult his advisors, conforming to the fundamental value system of medieval kingship, as so often reflected in other mirrors for princes.37 In this regard, I disagree with Gisela Vollmann-Profe, who wonders at Charlemagne’s surprising passivity and inability to move into action, going so far as to claim that the emperor ‘in einem erstaunlichen Umfang an seine Barone ausgeliefert [ist]’ (p. 136; is, to a surprising extent, a pawn in the hands of his barons). The opposite is actually the case: the emperor follows the precept of a good medieval king and does not operate as a tyrant, waiting first to hear what his councillors have to say and to consider what God’s opinion might be. He appeals to the crowd of participants who have arrived from all parts of his empire to maintain moral and ethical dignity and to exhibit a devout, religious demeanour (ll. 212–18). The archbishop who speaks after Charlemagne confirms this approach by addressing the warriors as ‘pilgerîme’ (l. 245; pilgrims).38 During the campaign, which the poet covers briefly, the enemies are all roundly defeated and forcefully converted, or must otherwise die, just as all local settlements and towns are destroyed and flattened if they oppose Charlemagne’s might. In fact, both here and particularly later, when he avenges the death of Roland and his entire rearguard, the emperor operates in the same way as Christ might do at the time of the Day of Judgement.39 Doomsday has arrived for the pagans. Charlemagne refers to the hellish punish36 Haug, Literaturtheorie im deutschen Mittelalter, p. 80, claims that the poet projects history as a simple variation of the conflict that has been raging since time immemorial: that is, the conflict between heaven and hell. 37 See now Darling, ‘Mirrors for Princes in Europe and the Middle East’. However, Darling argues that there were considerable differences between the Eastern and the Western tradition. For Western examples, see Fürstenspiegel des frühen und hohen Mittelalters, ed. Anton; cf. also the contributions to Princely Virtues in the Middle Ages, ed. Bejczy and Nederman. 38 Richter, Kommentar zum Rolandslied des Pfaffen Konrad, pp. 91–3. 39 Geppert, ‘Christus und Kaiser Karl im deutschen Rolandslied’; Heisler, ‘Christusähnlicher Karl’.

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ment awaiting the infidels and to his own role in exacting revenge for their evil deeds: ‘got selbe slehet si der nidere’ (l. 7674; God Himself is going to slay them). In this military context Charlemagne is certainly not a loving and forgiving ruler, instead taking a very radical, aggressive position with regard to his enemies. This is also in line with the recommendations made by mirrors for princes. In the early section of the poem, during a court council held by the Saracens, Marsilie is advised by the old and smart Blanscandîz to resort to a deceptive strategy, pretending to submit completely and to convert to Christianity. The emperor would then withdraw beyond the mountains, which would thus give the pagans the desired chance to fight back and to reconquer their lands without fearing further actions by Charlemagne. When the Saracen messengers arrive at the imperial court Charlemagne is described as the supreme ruler of all time, equalled only by King Solomon (ll. 671–4). The narrator projects the emperor as a most beautiful man, characterized by an inner aura of great restraint, with bright eyes that shine forth as brightly as the planet Venus (‘morgensterne’, l. 682 = morning star).40 Significantly, at the moment of this description, Charlemagne is playing chess (l. 682), a board game worthy of kings, serving as a kind of practice for planning, strategizing and good rulership, and much appreciated throughout the Middle Ages, especially among the nobility.41 Only those who knew how to play chess were thought to have mastered the basics of an intellectual and philosophical approach to life, so this board game is of extreme importance for the characterization of Charlemagne as God’s representative on earth.42 Even though the pagan emissaries are his enemies, the narrator clearly indicates how deeply they are impressed by Charlemagne’s appearance (ll. 684–5). This provides the poet with an opportunity to depict the Frankish ruler in a most positive light, presenting him as the ideal representative of all kings: he hated his enemies, he helped those in need and was successful in wars; he showed mercy toward those who were evil; he was honest in his relationship with God; he was a just judge; he taught us the meaning of justice and law, being himself instructed by an angel (ll. 703–4); he knew all legal principles; and, of course, he was a courageous warrior with his sword. In short: ‘aller tugende was er ûzerkorn’ (l. 707; he was the most outstanding and virtuous person). And, finally, he was the most generous lord in the world (l. 708). 40 ‘Morning star’ can refer to either the planet Venus or the Virgin Mary. 41 Das Rolandslied des Pfaffen Konrad, ed. Kartschoke, p. 654. Chess was always regarded as a royal game; see the contributions to Chess and Allegory in the Middle Ages, ed. Ferm and Hohnemann; and to Chess in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age, ed. O’Sullivan. 42 Classen, ‘Chess in Medieval German Literature’. Unfortunately, this particular example does not figure in my own study. However, Charlemagne’s interest in chess specifically confirms the general evaluation of this game in the Middle Ages: that is, as a mirror of political and military operations, which the player can thus practice in a game.

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After the heathen emissary Blascandîz makes him a first offer Charlemagne does not immediately respond; he awaits further details, demonstrating thereby his wisdom as a ruler (ll. 771–2), first listening and thinking about the statement before answering. He considers the offer by the Saracens with caution, and points out how Marsilie’s previous behaviour had greatly incensed him, especially after two of Charlemagne’s own messengers had been decapitated against all laws of international relations in the Middle Ages. Charlemagne forces himself to contain his wrath and to hope for the best, because that way he might be able to help Christianity to triumph (l. 832). Instead of reaching a decision by himself, he then calls in a court council in which the various protagonists speak up, mostly against the offer, as they do not trust the heathens. Charlemagne himself only listens, and even lowers his head in order to avoid people being able to detect his true opinion by looking into his eyes (ll. 1050–3). Again, we observe the poet’s praise of a good ruler who closely listens to his councillors and deliberates with them on major political decisions.43 Both in the French and the German versions the fundamental conflict consists, as Wolfgang van Emden has pointed out, of the universal tension between good and evil, but the poet, of course, has Charlemagne ultimately triumphing over all of his adversaries, which thus guarantees the complete victory of Christianity over paganism.44 In the debates that follow, the emperor allows each of his trusted vassals to speak up, and he listens and deliberates carefully, rejecting individual offers to serve as his messenger to Marsilie to learn about the truth of his offer. These debates quickly reveal a deep rift between Roland and Genelun, who for a long time refuses to accept the task (suggested by Roland) of his carrying out the diplomatic mission, out of fear and open cowardice. But Genelun is also jealous of Roland, whom he distrusts, being himself a traitor. Finally, however, Charlemagne makes a firm decision and forces Genelun to accept the assignment, particularly because the entire council agrees with Roland’s suggestion (ll. 1364–81); however, Charlemagne treats Genelun as a father would treat his unwilling son, encouraging and praising him, trying his best to calm his emotions and anxiety, assuring him that he is charging him with the task not because Roland recommended it, but because it is his own wish and decision (ll. 1424–9). He instructs Genelun specifically in what he ought to tell Marsilie and then kisses him as a sign of the finality of his decision, though Genelun then breaks down in tears and is not able to say a word (ll. 1538–41). Tears shed in public carry many different social meanings, both positive and negative, but medieval poets rarely depict a male crying out of fear for his life. Heroes and knights might cry when they lose a comrade or lament the loss of a beloved person, or they cry when they encounter a deeply moving scene, gesture

43 Sullivan, Counsel in Middle High German Arthurian Romance; Vollmann-Profe, Wiederbeginn volkssprachiger Schriftlichkeit im hohen Mittelalter, p. 136. 44 Cf. Emden, La Chanson de Roland, pp. 90–1.

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or behaviour.45 One of the most dramatic examples of this can be found in the thirteenth-century merchant verse narrative Der guote Gêrhart (c. 1220) by Rudolf von Ems, in which both women and men regularly break into tears, expressing their empathy and sympathy with various victims, or revealing their strong feelings of friendship when the various groups have to depart.46 However, the situation with Genelun, who miserably fails as a man, as a warrior, as Roland’s stepfather and as one of Charlemagne’s closest advisors, is very different. In strong contrast to Genelun, the emperor appears calm and composed, forward-thinking and decisive, and yet also careful, recognizing himself as God’s hand here on earth. This in turn encourages him to believe that divine assistance will be available to him: ‘unde helfe uns alliu himlischiu hêrscapht, / daz wir got dâ gêren / unde die cristenheit gemêren’ (ll. 1531–3; and may the heavenly throngs help us so that we may give honour to God and spread Christianity). From this point on in the narrative, many events intervene that distract us from our main topic: the representation and characterization of Charlemagne. The focus rests first on Genelun and the outcome of his diplomatic mission to Marsilie; later, the focus shifts to the battle between the Christians and the pagans, with a tragic outcome for the former, until the emperor returns to take his revenge. But there are numerous short references to him here and there that allow us to flesh out the image that Priest Konrad tried to convey of him in his poem. For instance, when Genelun negotiates with Marsilie he tells him about the emperor’s invincibility, which is, he says, because God’s grace rests upon him: ‘got wil in selbe bewaren’ (l. 2088; God Himself wants to protect him). But, in practical terms, Charlemagne keeps personal guards around him in four divisions, one for each direction, with a total of 20,000 men (ll. 2289–99). These warriors, moreover, demonstrate their utter loyalty to the emperor, ‘wande si durch neheine wertliche nót / deme keiser entwîchent’ (ll. 2304–5; since they will never leave the emperor alone in whatever emergency it might be). Even though Genelun will later commit terrible treason against Roland, and thus also against Charlemagne, he reflects here his sincere loyalty, being completely filled with admiration for the emperor. In fact, we never encounter any negative opinion, or any criticism, of the emperor, since this would be tantamount to blasphemy, given Charlemagne’s intimate relationship with God. 45 Classen, ‘Crying in Public and in Private’. Like those of the count of Beaumont in the verse novella Mauritius von Craûn, Genelun’s tears are an expression of his personal weakness and inability to carry out the task in a manly fashion. I did not include the Rolandslied in my research for that article, but I can draw now the same conclusions. 46 Rudolf von Ems, Der guote Gêrhart, ed. Asher1962. Although this narrative belongs to a very different literary genre, the positive evaluation of tears features in both texts. See my English translation with a comprehensive discussion of all relevant scholarship, Classen, An English Translation of Rudolf von Ems’s ‘Der guote Gêrhart’.

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Though Genelun is filled with hatred of his stepson, and displays no concern or feelings of guilt in setting a deadly trap for him, he never thinks badly of Charlemagne, despite his initial rejection of the task of serving as Charlemagne’s messenger to Marsilie. After all, for Genelun, it was Roland alone who had planted in the emperor’s head the idea of sending him to the Saracens. In other words, even for Genelun, Charlemagne is beyond reproach. Genelun’s strategy to avenge himself is not directed against his ruler, but against his personal enemy, although the destruction of the entire rearguard would also clearly be a serious setback for the emperor. Nevertheless, we also see that Charlemagne does not understand Genelun’s double play, pretending honourably to serve his ruler while secretly informing the Saracens how to set up an ambush. The king does not fully recognize Genelun’s betrayal until the very end, after disaster has struck Roland and Olivier and their men. He fervently welcomes the apparently ‘good’ news of Genelun’s great success in having secured the Muslims’ peace offering, and greets the seeming hero with extraordinary honour (ll. 2833–46), praying to God and thanking Him for the triumph for all Christians. However, when Genelun suggests that Roland stay behind in Spain and govern the new territories, the emperor has a premonition of the imminent disaster (ll. 2965–84). The poet depicts this in dramatic terms, telling us that Charlemagne turns pale, drops his head, loses his hearing and even his eyesight, and begins to shed tears – certainly reflecting a very different character and value system from those of Genelun. For him, this decision, which the other warriors have already approved, will mean the certain loss of his nephew, whom he identifies as his right hand and his ultimate protector: ‘wie scol ez umbe mîn houbet gestân?’ (l. 2977; literally: what will happen with my head?). Charlemagne clearly loves Roland dearly and cannot stand the idea of possibly losing him in battle. Although he is the emperor, a war-hardened man, the emotional bonds between the two men prove to be surprisingly strong, which sheds a unique light on the older ruler. At night, Charlemagne fervently prays to God and, once he has fallen asleep, he experiences first one nightmare involving Genelun, who breaks one of his lances, then another in which he finds himself back at Aachen confronting a securely chained bear. The animal, however, breaks free and attacks the emperor, mauling his arm (ll. 3030–81), which represents, undoubtedly, his nephew Roland, whom he will lose subsequently in the war with the heathens.47 The emperor later strongly blames Genelun for his evil deed, but at this point he still does not comprehend the true treason and can only imagine that Roland’s stepfather simply hates his stepson. 47 For dreams generally in medieval German literature, see Fischer, The Dream in the Middle High German Epic; Classen, ‘Transpositions of Dreams to Reality in Middle High German Narratives’; Classen, ‘Die narrative Funktion des Traumes in mittelhochdeutscher Literatur’. Haag, Traum und Traumdeutung in mittelhochdeutscher Literatur, pp. 35–6, notes that Charlemagne does not draw any concrete conclusions from his dreams and only bemoans the events that they foretell; see also p. 72, n. 250.

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Charlemagne is helpless in this situation, as he has no evidence against Genelun, but he tells him that his soul will be filled with sorrow, for which he will never forgive him (ll. 3111–12). When Roland prepares for his new task, waiting for the banner from the emperor, the latter begins to shed tears again, but these do not reflect any inner weakness, as was the case with Genelun when he had been ordered to go to Marsilie as Charlemagne’s messenger. In fact, virtually everyone begins to cry when Roland and his men are about to depart, all signalling their deep friendship with each other and their deep sorrow at this forced separation (ll. 3225–40). They all cry, and the sounds of their lamentation echo throughout the valley, as the narrator repeats that ‘sie liezen dâ manigen helt vaigen’ (l. 3240; they left behind many heroes dedicated to death). Even in the world of heroes, crying can appear as a valid and admirable form of behaviour when it underscores manly virtues and ideals, such as friendship, as can also be found, for instance, in the anonymous Nibelungenlied (c. 1200). There, when Rüedeger hands over his mighty shield to Hagen in the final moments of the epic battle at the court of the Huns, the Burgundian heroes are stunned by Rüedeger’s loyal and selfless gesture, which guarantees his own death, so they all begin to cry (stanzas 2194 and 2199), expressing their great respect and sympathy, as well as a sense of tragedy that engulfs them all.48 But at other times in the Nibelungenlied tears from Brünhild or Kriemhild serve primarily political purposes and might even be deceptive (stanzas 840, 847, 849). Thus, crying in itself, as depicted by medieval poets such as Priest Konrad, can be a rather ambivalent demonstration of human feelings. Very soon after Charlemagne leaves and crosses the mountains towards the north, the Saracens arrive and a terrible battle begins. The poet describes it in grizzly terms, highlighting the devastating slaughter, in which the Christians, as expected, perform tremendous heroic deeds although they are vastly outnumbered. At one point, Marsilie is informed about his massive losses, and only now do we hear about Charlemagne again, when the pagan king describes both his great respect for his opponent and his great wrath at his failure to quash the Christians. Listing the many victories the Frankish ruler had already gained, against the ‘black’ Hungarians and Italians but also against the wild Saxons (ll. 5208–15), Marsilie blames himself for having broken his oath and for having launched this treacherous war. But he really identifies Genelun as the true culprit, because it was he who had conceived of the plan out of his envy of Roland (ll. 5216–19). Marsilie goes on to reflect on Charlemagne’s true power and identifies the twelve paladins, including Roland, as the core of his enemy’s strength. In fact, he believes that, if they could separate them from the emperor, Charlemagne would never be able to return to Spain: ‘Karl nekœme niemer an unser erbe’ (l. 5233; Charlemagne will never enter our homeland again). Even though the battle leads to the death of scores of pagan warriors, the Christians also die in large numbers, until 48 Das Nibelungenlied, ed. Schulze and Grosse.

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finally Roland blows his horn to call back the emperor to help them in their misery. As soon as Charlemagne hears the sound, he displays almost the same physical reactions as when Genelun had suggested Roland as the new lord over the Spanish territories. He begins to perspire out of fear for his nephew, and loses his calm, tearing his hair, until Genelun mocks him for it and jokes that Roland was probably only stung by a gadfly (l. 6085). This remark, combined with Roland’s blowing of the horn, finally reveals the treason committed by Genelun to Charlemagne and his warriors, and Genelun is then taken prisoner and beaten badly, while Charlemagne immediately prepares to return and rescue his rearguard (ll. 6130–67). Scholars have suggested that the grouping of twelve paladins around Charlemagne, together with Genelun’s betrayal, could be interpreted as an analogy to Christ and His twelve disciples, one of whom, Judas, also betrayed his lord.49 Genelun as a new Judas is an analogy which certainly has some weight, but which is also lacking in some important details, especially since Charlemagne does not die, whereas Roland and his friends do. Genelun does not commit suicide; instead, he is executed. Still, the religious perspective and crusade ideology clearly permeate the entire narrative. Moreover, although the ‘Theokratismus’ inherited from the early Middle Ages – the idea of the determination of the whole of society by religious ideals – obviously clashed severely with the political reality at the time when the Rolandslied was composed, there is a sense of Christian determinism in the poem:50 Genelun has to commit his treason and Roland has to die the death of a martyr; this forces Charlemagne to rush to his rescue, or rather to the battlefield to take his revenge, which then leads to the final military campaign against the Saracens, who are completely defeated; this in turn fulfils the Christian message and connects with the idea of Charlemagne as the representative of the Saviour.51 For Charlemagne, the battle against Marsilie represents a battle pitting Christianity against the whole pagan world; hence it is a fight in which the truth of God must be revealed. Charlemagne would rather give up his life than see Marsilie triumph over him (ll. 6161–7) and he constantly appeals to the Virgin Mary and all the prophets and saints to help him in defeating the pagan ruler. His prayers under49 Harst, ‘Diskursanalyse’, pp. 27–8. 50 Nusser, Deutsche Literatur, p. 149. Wehrli, Geschichte der deutschen Literatur, p. 200, formulated: ‘Karl der Kaiser, Hort der Macht und Gerechtigkeit, nimmt zwar, vor allem am Verrate leidend, an der Geschichte teil, aber reicht ins Zeitlose; seine Funktion ist von ungeheurer Statik, im Kontrast zu den Untergängen und Aufschwüngen der heroischen Protagonisten.’ (The Emperor Charlemagne, cradle of power and justice, certainly participates in the historical events, suffering from treason, but his role takes him out into the timeless realm; his function is determined by an incredible lack of action, in contrast to the downfall and rise of the heroic protagonists.) These two literary histories neatly summarize research so far. 51 Ott-Meimberg, ‘di matteria di ist scone’, pp. 28–31.

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score once again that the poet considered his work to be a religious instrument of the highest calibre, hence his constant efforts to portray the emperor as God’s right hand. The German version seems to be determined by a much stronger religious theme than the French Chanson de Roland, where the emperor simply receives a word from God through one of his angels: ‘Ride quickly, there is no reason to stay / or to delay. God commands you. / He will give you light and joy in abundance’ (Song of Roland, trans. Duggan and Rejhon, ll. 4373–5). In some manuscripts the emperor also prays to the Virgin Mary, but mostly out of desperation and not with much hope: ‘Saint Mary, how you have forgotten me’ (Song of Roland, Châteauroux-Venice7 version, trans. Duggan and Rejhon, l. 6434). When Bishop Turpin has been fatally wounded and is about to breathe his last breath, he talks to Roland one more time and entrusts both him and his people to God and to Charlemagne (ll. 6632–3); Roland’s followers thus all become divine warriors and are part of God’s universe. Later, when the Frankish army arrives at the battlefield, where only corpses are to be found, Charlemagne sinks to the ground and prays to God to help them all to avenge the slaughter (ll. 6990–9). An angel appears to him and encourages him to take up arms and fight against the enemies of God because he and his men would thus be God’s sons (l. 7010) and could not fail in achieving their goals. In fact, as the angel emphasizes, the pagans will be nothing but a footrest for Charlemagne (l. 7016), and the sun will not set until they have won their victory, as in the Old Testament (ll. 7018–27; Joshua 10). The entire military conflict thus transforms into a universal struggle between good and evil, with God being present in human history and the emperor being his direct servant. Consequently, Charlemagne describes the dead warriors as holy corpses (l. 7036) and then embarks on his divinely ordered campaign to overcome and kill the heathens. Once they have defeated a first group of them and have settled down for the night, Charlemagne falls asleep and receives, once again, a prophetic dream in which God informs him about future events and shows him, through metaphors of wild beasts that threaten him, how he will remain triumphant even in the most dangerous situations (ll. 7082–127). Curiously, the narrator comments that these dreams were strange and inexplicable (l. 7127), but the direct outcome of the universal battle can already be foreseen. The angel wakes Charlemagne and guides him along (ll. 7443–5), and the emperor even finds a cross hanging from his left hand, which the angel has brought him from God (ll. 7475–6). This places him into an even closer vassalic relationship with his divine lord. But, before they set out, they all turn to prayer once again and weep over the fallen warriors. It deserves to be emphasized one more time that crying here carries a definitely positive value because it transforms these warriors into religious fighters and devout and pious individuals. Everyone reflects upon their personal loss and deeply laments the dead men, whose death has robbed them of their beloved relatives and friends. Charlemagne exhorts the entire circle of his men to remember Roland’s heroic efforts and his military successes, which had made it possible for his uncle to conquer so many different countries.

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Pain and anger intermingle, but both are sustained by a strong religious devotion, evidenced when Charlemagne appeals to God to have mercy on the dead warriors’ souls (ll. 7554–7). His listeners respond with ‘amen’ (l. 7558), and yet Charlemagne continues to pray for three more hours, at which point blood begins to flow from his eyes (l. 7564). Eventually his companions beg him to control himself and to reduce his lamentations, since he might otherwise instil too much fear in his soldiers’ hearts.52 After having paid their highest respects to the dead warriors, they bury them, wrapping them in deer hides. Miracles soon happen and prove that the dead warriors belong to the company of saints, just as Charlemagne and his living knights do (ll. 7589–97). When Marsilie’s overlord Paligân sends messengers to challenge Charlemagne, the latter demonstrates, once again, his inner self-composure and self-assurance, combing his beard (l. 7651) and protesting at his opponent’s arrogance. Once he has called together all his princes, he outlines their divine mission of fighting and dying in the name of God and thus gaining the highest religious accolades, whereas the heathens will die the worst of possible deaths (ll. 7681–701). Using language reminiscent of the Apocalypse, the emperor welcomes the great opportunity for them all to overthrow Christ’s enemies once and for all (ll. 7715–33). Once he has finished his address, they all respond with ‘âmen’ again (l. 7734) and thus confirm the religious nature of their military operation, since Charlemagne is speaking to them more like a preacher than their worldly, military ruler. Indeed, he does not outline any specific plans for their marching orders, attack strategies or logistics; instead he examines the theological foundation for their campaign and casts their efforts in eschatological terms (ll. 7697–733). This does not mean that he does not instruct his generals as to the division of the army; on the contrary, Charlemagne identifies each one of his warriors to lead certain divisions of soldiers from various parts of his empire. He himself picks a battalion of 10,000 men who are loyal unto death and would never be separated from their lord (ll. 7871–9). The poet then has him kneel down and pray to God, appealing for help as He has given others in the past, such as Jonah, then the king of Niniveh, St Peter and others (ll. 7904–29). At the same time, Roland’s sacrifice and that of his comrades is memorialized by all of them, so that their war efforts are steeped in religious ideals. Later, in a direct encounter with the heathen ruler Paligân, Charlemagne urges him to abandon his false gods and to accept Christianity, saying that by so doing he would not suffer any material or political loss; on the contrary, he would stand to gain a hundredfold in personal power and influence, as long as he accepts baptism (ll. 8485–90). 52 We find a parallel situation in the anonymous Diu Klage, the follow-up text to the Nibelungenlied, where King Etzel, Dietrich and his liegeman Hildebrand are in danger of being overwhelmed by their lamentations, which is the dominant theme of the entire verse epic/poem. See Diu Klage, ed. Classen.

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Of course, this offer is not accepted, which results, at the end, in the heathens’ utter defeat; this then leads to the final episode in the Rolandslied, a meeting of the entire court, which is, however, not just a time for joy and happiness. Instead, bitterness and sadness prevail because of the heavy loss the Christians have suffered (l. 8684). Moreover, Charlemagne has to organize and oversee Genelun’s trial (ll. 8729–70). This brings into the action Genelun’s dynastic family, who make every effort to free the accused and to defend him. This, however, evokes Charlemagne’s great wrath (ll. 8771–2), and here he reveals his human nature – that is, his deep set of emotions53 – perhaps more than ever before, in contrast to previously, when he had always displayed his religious devotion and presented himself as a humble servant of God. Once Genelun’s trial and ordeal have been completed, Charlemagne pronounces the final judgement. The members of the court now address the emperor as a saint, ‘heiliger kaiser’ (l. 9001; holy emperor) – probably a direct reflection of the historically documented canonization of Charlemagne by the anti-Pope Paschal III in 1165 – and appeal to him to keep his responsibilities as ruler in mind – that is, to defend orphans, to fight against traitors who had brought about their fathers’ deaths and to eliminate them from the face of the earth (ll. 9002–6). When he assembled a court gathering to put Genelun on trial he encountered Roland’s fiancée, Alda, who rhetorically asked for her dead lover, and then identified Charlemagne as ‘gesegenter kaiser, / voget witewen unt waisen’ (ll. 8689–90; blessed emperor, protector of widows and orphans). The poem ends with Genelun’s brutal execution, and the poet concludes with an epilogue in which he addresses his patron and comments briefly about his own efforts as a poet.54 Injustice and treason are thus eliminated, and Charlemagne emerges as a ruler who acts for God here on earth. His devotion and piety prove to be extraordinary and help him to make direct contact with God, who sends His angel as a personal messenger and communicates with him indirectly through dreams. Charlemagne is a most impressive emperor who always consults with his advisors, who displays great Christian faith and who proves to be God’s direct representative. His battle against the Muslims constitutes a fundamental struggle between good and evil, and the Christians’ triumph serves as concrete evidence that God will help His people to achieve all their goals, especially if they strive on His behalf.55 The emperor is not a reserved and unemotional character. Instead, he openly cries in public when he is afraid of losing Roland on account of leaving him behind in Spain; he cries 53 Rosenwein, Generations of Feeling, discusses the historical dimension of emotions from late antiquity to the seventeenth century. There are many other studies dealing with emotions in the Middle Ages, which she summarizes conveniently for us. 54 For a detailed study of Genelun’s treason, though in the Old French epic, see Mickel, Ganelon, Treason, and the ‘Chanson de Roland’. 55 Seidl, ‘Narrative Ungleichheiten’.

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even more when he returns to the battlefield and finds all of his men, including his paladins, dead, killed by the heathens. But he then takes the necessary action, demonstrating exemplary leadership skills and displaying the ideals of a ruler according to the traditional mirrors for princes.56 With this work, Priest Konrad successfully laid the foundation for the lauding and admiration of Charlemagne as one of the greatest Christian rulers, as someone with enormous charisma and a huge role as God’s representative here on earth. Although the basic structure of the conclusion has already been outlined, let us take a closer look at the way Konrad develops the crucial details that shed light on Charlemagne. After the decision in the judgement of Genelun has been reached – death – members of his family step forward and plead for him, and the mighty warrior Binabel demands an ordeal in which he will fight against an opponent defending the other side – that is, ultimately, Roland. Tirrich finally comes forward, although he is smaller and weaker than Binabel. Once more, Charlemagne prays to God, pleading with him to help Tirrich to win the fight (ll. 8881 and 8924); like the biblical David, who defeated the giant Goliath, Tirrich kills his opponent, an outcome that proves that Genelun was indeed a traitor. All the other members of Genelun’s family had pledged their lives as guarantee for Binabel. The crowd appeals to Charlemagne, the holy emperor, to remember the orphans whose fathers had been killed along with Roland, to exact revenge and to eliminate the entire dynasty headed by Genelun. This is exactly what then happens, and Genelun and thirty other men are subsequently executed. The hostages are beheaded, while Genelun is drawn by horses and thus literally torn apart and killed, concluding the Rolandslied. We can only concur with previous scholars that Priest Konrad created a Middle High German version of the religious accounts of Christ’s Passion (‘Heilsgeschichte’), which here is cast in a crusade-like epic poem in which Charlemagne clearly emerges as God’s representative on earth.57 This mythical image of the Frankish ruler and of his paladins, especially Roland, served the contemporary political discourse very well, and the seven surviving manuscripts confirm a solid popularity of the text.58 Konrad, next to the author/s of the Kaiserchronik, thus laid the foundation for a long-term impact of this historical ideology deeply influencing medieval German and Dutch literature far into the sixteenth century.

56 It seems doubtful that there is a serious split in the literary portrait of Charlemagne in the Rolandslied, but for an alternative view see Tomasek, ‘Ambivalenz eines Kaisers’. 57 Bastert, ‘“der Cristenheyt als nücz als kein czelffbott”’, pp. 131–5. See also Ernst, ‘Kollektive Aggression’. 58 http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/202 (accessed 22 August 2020).

3 The Stricker’s Karl der Große: Adaptation and Innovation of the Myth of Charlemagne in the Thirteenth Century

Biographical Background: The Stricker

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f we needed any confirmation that Charlemagne enjoyed increasing popularity in the high and late Middle Ages, we only would have to consider the great romance by The Stricker, Karl der Große. The Striker adopted Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied and adapted it for his own purposes, so this text represents one of the most important points in the history of the myth of the Frankish emperor and its long-term reception. There are forty-two manuscripts containing The Stricker’s epic poem, copied from the thirteenth through the late fifteenth century.1 In fact, this text contributed more than any other to the dissemination of the myth of Charlemagne far into the late German Middle Ages. The Stricker might not be well known among non-Germanophone medievalists, but he created a large and diverse œuvre which considerably appealed to his audience and deserves to be studied carefully. He was successful both as a romance author and as the composer of didactic verse narratives. We do not know much about him, for he hides his identity behind a metonymic name, the Strickære – that is, the knitter, rope maker or weaver. This might be an allusion to his profession as a textile worker, or he might have understood the term as an expression of his artistic activities as a poet, weaving words and sentences together to create text. Contemporary or later poets also mention him, such as Rudolf von Ems in his Alexander (after 1230, vv. 3257–8) and Willehalm von Orlens (after 1240, vv. 2230–3).2 Based on linguistic features, he might have originated from the southern area of Rhine Franconia, or from eastern Franconia, but he was mostly active in Austria, as the many references to local towns and events there indicate. The Stricker flourished between c. 1220 and c. 1250, and he seems to have been a professional poet of modest social status who enjoyed a tremendous success with his works, which are complex and diverse. We assume that he knew some French, based 1 http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/366 (accessed 16 February 2017). See now Weber, Strickers ‘Karl der Große’. 2 Dichter über Dichter in mittelhochdeutscher Literatur, ed. Schweikle, pp. 21, 25.

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on his familiarity with the Chanson de Roland,3 and some Latin, based on his numerous references to the learned literature of his time.4 He also seems to have been familiar with Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Willehalm (c. 1218),5 with the Aegidius legend and with the pilgrimage guide to Compostela.6 The copy of Karl der Große in Codex no. 857 of the Stiftsbibliothek St. Gall, for instance, follows directly on from Wolfram’s Parizval, the anonymous Nibelungenlied and Diu Klage. The Stricker’s work is succeeded by Wolfram’s Willehalm, Friedrich von Sonnenburg’s gnomic verses, Konrad von Fußesbrunnen’s Kindheit Jesu and Konrad von Heimesfurt’s Unser vrouwen hinvart.7 In other words, the copyist and his patron considered Karl der Große just as important as other major contributions to medieval German literature. Apart from his Karl der Große, The Stricker also composed the Arthurian romance Daniel von dem Blühenden Tal, in which the protagonist does not have to prove himself when he arrives at King Arthur’s court, as one might expect from the genre, but rather must learn how to face magical, dark forces from the outside, especially when he has to struggle against mechanical monsters that threaten to destroy Arthur’s kingdom. After many challenges, he succeeds in achieving the ultimate triumph, and the text ends with the elimination of all magical and devilish beings. This allows Arthur to regain his supreme position, with Daniel, however, enjoying the highest respect for his many accomplishments. He is not only a most outstanding knight, but can also defeat opponents of another kind, such as the Old Man from the Mountain, by means of his intelligence, rationality and trickery.8 In a way, we might recognize here the emergence of a modern mind being challenged by such dilemmas as chronological change, conflicts of interest and ethical issues.9 The Stricker had probably the greatest success with his many short verse narratives, mostly didactic and entertaining texts that vary in length between approximately ten and 2,500 verses (there are about 165 pieces altogether). They were so popular that we assume that some of those might have been composed by imitators and followers. In particular, The Stricker is best known for his collection of twelve tales centring around the smart trickster Priest Amîs, who was later to become one

3 Kartschoke, ‘Nachwort’, pp. 440–2. 4 Geith, Ukena-Best and Ziegeler, ‘Der Stricker’, cols 417–49. 5 Delagneau, ‘Rapports entre le Willehalm de Wolfram von Eschenbach et le Karl der Grosse du Stricker’. 6 Geith, Ukena-Best and Ziegeler, ‘Der Stricker’. 7 http://www.handschriftencensus.de/1211 (accessed 16 February 2017). 8 This applies broadly to all the works by The Stricker apart from Karl der Große; see Ragotzky, Gattungserneuerung und Laienunterweisung in Texten des Strickers. Ragotzky does not, however, discuss Karl der Große, apart from some brief remarks, pp. 7, 23–4. 9 Ibid., pp. 1–2, identifies as the core elements in The Stricker’s global reflections the elements of list (trickery, deception, smart decision, strategizing, etc.) and guot (material objects).

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of the sources for the famous Till Eulenspiegel tales (first printed in 1510).10 This priest is threatened for a long time by his envious bishop, but eventually exposes him for his ignorance and evil character. The Stricker also composed the Frauenehre (Women’s Honour; 1,902 verses), fables and religious narratives.11

The Stricker’s Karl der Große Our interest here focuses on The Stricker’s Karl der Große, a poem in rhyming couplets that at first seems to rely heavily on Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied, but which turns out, on closer analysis, to demonstrate a considerable degree of independence in its narrative structure and conceptual orientation, not to mention the ethical and moral approach taken by the narrator.12 The Stricker experienced tremendous success with his composition, as the forty-two surviving manuscripts (full text or fragments) demonstrate.13 In fact, as we have already seen, Karl der Große resonated throughout the late German Middle Ages and reached wide audiences, as is also reflected in the prose version Zürcher Buch vom Heiligen Karl (c. 1470).14 However, like many medieval literary texts, The Stricker’s epic poem did not survive the emergence of the printing press, and was apparently not printed until its rediscovery sometime in the early nineteenth century. Karl Bartsch was the first to edit the text, and he published it in 1857.15 An earlier reference to this text can be found in the Thesaurus Antiquitatum Teutonicarum edited by Johann Schilter (Ulm 1727, 425),16 and Johann Jacob Bodmer had published the introductory passage in his Altenglische und altschwäbische Balladen (1781, 207–9).17 A new critical edition, which was urgently needed to replace the old edition by Bartsch, was recently published by Johannes Singer.18 10 DelDuca, ‘Technique narrative “Délectatio et utilitas” dans les récits brefs et le “Pfaffe Amîs” du Stricker’; DelDuca, ‘Das Motiv der Torheit im “Pfaffen” Amis und in einigen Kurzerzählungen des Strickers’; Wailes, ‘The Tale of the Credulous Provost in der Stricker’s “Der Pfaffe Amîs”’; Ackermann, ‘“How come, he sees it and you do not?”’ 11 Ukena-Best, ‘Der Stricker’. 12 Burg, Strickers Karl der Große als Bearbeitung des Rolandsliedes; Burg, Indizes zu Strickers Karl der Große. 13 Again, see http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/366 (accessed 16 February 2017). Two world chronicles that contain parts of The Stricker’s text are not included in this list. 14 I will discuss this text in a separate chapter below. 15 Karl der Große von dem Stricker, ed. Bartsch. See now also Strickers Karl der Große, ed. Singer, which I could not consult for this study. But see the review by Jeep in Mediaevistik 30 (2017): 433‒5. 16 Joannis Schilteri JCti olim Argentoratensis Thesaurus antiquitatum teutonicarum, ecclesiasticarum, civilium, litterariarum: tomis tribus. 17 Grosse and Rautenberg, Die Rezeption mittelalterlicher deutscher Dichtung, p. 261. 18 Strickers Karl der Große, ed. Singer.

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Of course, in narrative design and thematic structure, the similarities between Karl der Große and the Rolandslied are considerable, so our analysis here has to focus on details of how our poet idiosyncratically characterizes Charlemagne in his role as king and leader of his people and in his connection with God. The work itself is a highly complex and sophisticated epic poem that deserves a more sustained discussion than we can give it here. Instead, we shall concentrate on the way The Stricker engages with the figure of the emperor/king Charlemagne and how he contributed fundamentally to the further development of the myth around that famous figure.19

Global Perspectives Already the prologue reveals the remarkable difference from the Rolandslied, since The Stricker reflects intensively on the value of a person’s inner character and how one’s value system comes to the fore without fail at some point in life. The didactic poet is unmistakably speaking here, a poet who is concerned with the true nature of one’s ‘muot’ (3; mind, attitude or ideals). Those people who support and spread virtues deserve to be praised (39–40). A good person would wear the crown of honour here in this life, and would gain blessedness in the other (46–7). So, at least at first, there is no interest in Charlemagne at all, because the poet wants to convey some general ethical teachings and intends to turn to that mythical figure only later in his account.20 The historical account will later serve as the narrative vehicle by which the ethical messages may be conveyed more easily, and referring to this Carolingian emperor, whom everyone already knew, made it possible for the poet to attract a wider audience. The narrator, however, introduces us to Charlemagne as the one person who achieved the ethical ideal and lived its principles as all people should, but hardly ever do (63–5). Everyone who has any memory of him knows, as the poet tells us, that this Frankish ruler was the best who had ever existed (70–5) – a trope that countless poets repeated throughout time in justifying their contribution to the growth of the myth surrounding Charlemagne. But The Stricker does not simply present himself as a chronicler; instead he responds, as he says, to the demands of the many who would like to learn more about that eminent king, who was obviously a mythical figure even then. Knowledge of Charlemagne would connect the ordinary person with a glorious past when the ruler was a direct representative of God and could share some of the divine glory with his subjects (83–4). In fact, The Stricker emphasizes that the person who models him- or herself on the Frankish king, even so long after his death, would be in the best possible hands and could gain decisive help in finding 19 Geith, ‘Karl der Große’, p. 95. 20 Ragotzky, Gattungserneuerung und Laienunterweisung in Texten des Strickers, p. 15, n. 9.

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the way to God (104–6). Even though Karl der Große is not a mirror for princes in the narrow sense of the word, the didactic teachings it contains certainly conform to the ideals of that genre.21

Charlemagne in The Stricker’s Karl der Große The poet portrays Charlemagne almost as a saint or a similarly graced individual, who could help individuals in gaining God’s grace if they prayed to him humbly enough (113–14). We are reminded that the emperor had punished all those who were identified as evil individuals and had fought against him (107–10), whereupon the very same people had then been graced by God and had been allowed to enter Paradise because they had redeemed their sinful behaviour directed against Charlemagne. Praying in earnest to this worldly saint would ultimately achieve the desired goal (113–14), which signals that Charlemagne was truly regarded as a direct spokesperson for people here on earth who looked for divine grace and needed an intercessor – that is, a saint. Even though The Stricker then provides a genealogical survey of the house of the Carolingians, he subsequently turns to Charlemagne himself and identifies him as God’s immediate servant here on earth (136–7). However, as we learn quickly thereafter, Charlemagne barely escapes from an assassination attempt (173ff.), and one of his supporters, ‘von Troys der grâve Diepoll’ (177), rescues him by taking him as far away as possible, finding safety in heathen land ruled by the King Marsilies, a theme that will be resumed at great length in the Karl Meinet and other late medieval versions. This king, although not a Christian, welcomes them most hospitably and even lovingly (‘minneclîche’, 192), providing them with everything they might need out of respect for their honourable status. The narrator explains that Marsilies holds Spain and other countries (198–9); hence he is the same Muslim ruler whom we have encountered before in Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied, but there as a deceptive, envious and cowardly enemy. Here The Stricker portrays him at least at this moment in the very opposite light and contrasts him very positively with Charlemagne’s brothers Winemann and Rapote (158), who had tried to kill him and whom the narrator characterized as ‘tump’ (160; stupid). Returning to the situation at the Muslim court in Spain, the narrator hastens to add the comment that Charlemagne did not at all change his good Christian faith and did not accept Islam (202–5). He feels the urge to provide this assurance because he had painted Marsilies in such positive colours, though these will change radically once the account moves on to the war between the Franks and the Arabs, more closely following the model provided by Priest Konrad. When Charlemagne has grown up into a worthy knight, Marsilies’s sister, described as a most beautiful woman, falls in love with him and actively woos him 21 Darling, ‘Mirrors for Princes in Europe and the Middle East’.

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(213ff.). This adds an erotic element to the account not yet encountered in the previous narratives. She offers him her own hand in marriage, but also demands that he convert to her faith, which creates such a dilemma for Charlemagne that he decides to reveal the matter to his vassal Diepoll. The latter clearly recognizes the danger looming for them all, so he sends news to the Franks in ‘Kerlingen’ (229) that their true lord, Charlemagne, will be returning home. Even though they had all believed he was dead, they know of the most outstanding knight at Marsilies’s court, in whom Diepoll claims they ought to recognize their own ruler according to the inheritance laws. We are not informed about how Charlemagne then evades the princess’s attempts to bind him to her and how he manages to leave the Spanish lands; instead, we are quickly taken to France, where Charlemagne finally reappears. The Stricker quickly bypasses any possible conflicts in that situation, as he has the people eagerly welcome Charlemagne, and even his brothers, who had originally tried to assassinate him, now submit under him and beg for forgiveness, which they receive (254–7). Charlemagne soon assumes authority, ruling and judging so respectfully and honourably that he easily gains a reputation for being the best possible king (270–1). Soon enough, true to his deeply held Christian faith, Charlemagne turns his attention to the fact that the heathens under Marsilies are not converted yet, so he begs for God’s help in that matter. The narrator makes clear that Charlemagne does not pursue any geopolitical goals, as we would say today, but demonstrates only religious concerns, trying to save the Muslims from eternal damnation in hell (294–6). Charlemagne’s prayers are so fervent and continual that eventually his wish is granted to him. An angel appears to him as God’s messenger, who announces that his prayers have been answered and that he should call together an army in God’s name and embark on a crusade (325ff.). The angel also promises him, on the side, that he will gain many new lands in that process (331), and then lists virtually all the countries in Europe as destined to come under his rule, including Italy, Denmark, Hungary, Poland, Bohemia, Serbia, Armenia, Greece, England, Scotland, Ireland and even Russia (341ff.).22 While those countries would voluntarily accept Charlemagne’s supreme rulership, he would have to engage in warfare in Spain and battle the heathens there, as the text only indirectly implies, because of the bitter conflict between Christianity and Islam. During the military campaign he could be assured that God would punish everyone without mercy who would not convert willingly (359–63).23 22 Whether the Middle Ages truly had a sense or concept of Europe in the way we see it today is still much debated; see Oschema, Bilder von Europa im Mittelalter. We can be certain that the notions of nationhood, nationality, etc. were very different. 23 See the precise overview of the history of religious conflicts in the Middle Ages by Sewell, ‘Religious Conflict’.

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The Stricker thus projects first a universal kingship for Charlemagne, making him the uncontested ruler of all of Europe as it was then known – the poet does not mention some of the northern and south-eastern countries – and then turns his attention to the religious component regarding the south-western flank of Europe, the Iberian Peninsula. This European unity, under the umbrella of the Christian Church, could not tolerate the existence of another monotheistic religion, but even though at the end the last Muslim rulers were pushed out (from Granada in 1492), the Jewish presence always had to be accepted despite numerous attempts to the contrary.24 The angel further informs Charlemagne that he is to take his nephew Roland with him on campaign. Roland is to receive the famous horn Olivant and the legendary sword Durndart from Charlemagne (368), with which he will be able to fight heroically for God and to exhale his soul in crusade. We are told that God Himself named the horn and the sword (371), which contrasts with Him allowing Adam to name the creatures in the Garden of Eden (as recounted in Genesis). This transforms the horn and the sword into divine objects of the highest importance, since they are God’s own tools in the fight against the heathens. Moreover, they carry divine power insofar as the horn will drive enemies mad once it is blown, while all those who are wounded by the sword will certainly die (374–9). All Charlemagne’s friends and advisors shall immediately recognize the divine task which the angel has assigned to Charlemagne (397–9), who thus transforms into an agent of God’s providential plan.25 The poet does not use the word ‘crusade’ as such, but he clearly implies this in his account, especially as these two objects – horn and sword – are handed down directly from God for use in a military operation to gain control over the heathen lands. Political history is thus intimately intertwined with salvific history insofar as Charlemagne is allowed to reach out to God directly, who then communicates with him via the angel. The latter then provides him with very specific instructions as to the next steps regarding his intended campaign in Spain. First, however, Charlemagne is charged with conquering Germany, which he will achieve very easily. Subsequently he is supposed to travel to Rome to be crowned emperor by his brother, Pope Leo, which will allow him to build such a huge army that no enemy will ever achieve anything against him. The angel concludes with the assurance that God Himself wants Charlemagne to pursue that course because it is all part of His divine plan: ‘Got wil dîner verte pflegen’ (426; God wants to direct your campaign). We notice some similarities here with the corresponding account in the Kaiserchronik, but The Stricker certainly structured the entire historical background quite independently and elaborated extensively the particular relationship be24 Borgolte, ‘Die Anfänge des mittelalterlichen Europa’. See also the global discussion by Oschema, Bilder von Europa im Mittelalter. He does not, however, consider The Stricker’s work. 25 Ukena-Best, ‘Du solt ouch hin ze Spanje varn: got wil dich dâ mit êren’.

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tween Charlemagne and Roland, whom the angel explicitly identifies as the most worthy and honourable knight at Charlemagne’s court, who will carry out God’s plans for the emperor. The more he loves Roland, the more lands he will be able to conquer (339–40). The angel finally raises his hand to bless Charlemagne, and then disappears, which ends the vision, since the bright light is quickly replaced by darkness again. The narrator then dramatically shortens a very lengthy account of the emperor’s enormous military victories: he focuses only on Germany, which receives the honour of always having its ruler styled ‘emperor’ because of the critical support Charlemagne received there for his many campaigns (454–61). The translatio imperii is thus concluded and a contract is drawn up to confirm this development (461). The Stricker perceives himself thus as the court historiographer, so to speak, who provides the literary and historical justification for the political situation in Germany versus France, as additionally confirmed by the reference to Charlemagne’s foundation of Aachen as a religious and political centre where all future German kings would be elected and crowned (464–6). Only then does the account turn to the crucial aspect, the crusade against the Muslim heathens, which the pope, Charlemagne’s brother, happily announces, sending out the crosses for all future knights. The emperor subsequently calls together his twelve paladins and asks for their counsel, since he never does anything without their advice (509). He informs them about the divine charge and displays the horn and the sword as evidence of God’s will, which is directed towards their own honour. The paladins immediately demonstrate their readiness because, as the narrator emphasizes, of their unwavering love of God and their equally strong love of Charlemagne (559–61). The narrator projects a male comradeship of the highest order, sustained by divine and human ideals, with Charlemagne being a kind of primus inter pares, although his status as God’s representative here on earth must always set him somewhat apart. This emotional and chivalric bond also extends to the lower-ranking knights whom the paladins call together. They swear their loyalty and readiness to leave all friends and family behind to serve in the name of God, who will, as Roland promises them, guarantee them their ‘sælde’ (584; happiness). Thus, we receive a clear signal that the subsequent events will unfold under a crusade ideology, personally directed by Charlemagne, the highest leader ever to sit on a royal throne, who in turn is sustained by God. Even though Roland offers the knights two options, fighting either for the sake of God or for the sake of wealth that they could gain in the war (593–4), they all pronounce their complete religious devotion, not expecting any material gains (597–9). As soon as the emperor has received word of their complete commitment and loyalty, he sends out preachers all over the land to call for a crusade, as we can now definitely call it: ‘daz allez daz daz kriuze nam’ (618; so that all took the cross). Charlemagne thus emerges as the ultimate crusader, who is inspired to lead his people into this war not because of the pope’s command, as was the case in December of 1095, when Pope Urban II preached the crusade in

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Clermont-Ferrand, but because he has personally received God’s word and knows fully what the Lord expects from him.26 Once the army has been assembled, Charlemagne addresses them all, giving them praise for their loyalty and promising huge rewards from God to compensate them for everything they have left behind (628ff.). He portrays the heathen enemy as monstrous, threatening their lands, burning down churches and castles, taking Christians as prisoners and abusing their bodies as targets for shooting practice (645ff.). He resorts to the same war rhetoric as all other military leaders have done throughout time, projecting the opposing side as barbarous, heathen, brutal and savage, while they themselves (who are actually behaving in virtually the same manner during the war) serve as the saviours of civilization and the Christian faith.27 Subsequently we hear the speech, or rather sermon, by the Archbishop Turpîn, one of the twelve paladins, who adds religious messages, placing the crusade in a more theological context. But then the narrator quickly turns his attention to the ensuing war campaign, which begins with a scorched-earth strategy by the Muslims, who do not want to leave anything behind for the Christians when they themselves have to retreat (734ff.). When they cross the river Garonne they even take down the bridge to make it impossible for Charlemagne to follow them, but they are also confident in their superior numbers and hence do not fear their Christian enemies (743ff.). The narrator specifically focuses on Charlemagne, whom the Muslims foolishly disregard and belittle, although his fame and reputation have already spread far and wide. In the following section we are told many details about the war, in which Roland, of course, proves his superiority in many different ways, and in which the Christians ultimately triumph gloriously. Charlemagne penetrates deep into enemy territory and conquers all castles, small and large, mercilessly killing the soldiers there. He proves to be incorruptible and will not take any kind of bribe to deter him from further progress in his campaign (875ff.). It remains unclear at first why defeated enemies are sometimes allowed to convert to Christianity, and thus to save their lives (843ff.), while after the sieges everyone has to die (885), but the narrator then comments that those who demonstrated a willingness to abandon their old faith were peacefully welcomed and baptized (898–905). In the case of Zaragoza, however, which is described as a most formidable fortress, the challenge proves to be greater than before. Ultimately Charlemagne offers three options to the defenders: to accept Christianity, to leave the city and move away to Muslim territories, or simply to die (931–9). Only at this point do we hear of King Marsilies again, who now surfaces as Charlemagne’s most critical opponent, as we know already in more or less similar ways from Konrad’s Rolandslied. The Muslims call together a crown council and 26 The most important studies on medieval crusades are now conveniently compiled and assessed by Holt, ‘Crusade Studies’. 27 Holt, ‘Crusading against Barbarians’.

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plot the same strategy as in The Stricker’s source, because they know only too well that they do not have a realistic chance against Charlemagne. In particular, Blanschandiez the Old recommends that they gamble on Charlemagne’s great love for his men, especially the paladins. They themselves, the Muslims, will all feign willingness to submit under the Franks by providing huge treasures as a token of their readiness and handing over a band of most valuable hostages, their own sons. Once Charlemagne has departed from Spain, they, the Muslims, will be able to overpower the small troop of men left behind and take them as hostages, whom they will then barter for their own children serving as hostages in Charlemagne’s camp (1135–9). When Marsilies’s twelve messengers – a clear parallel to Charlemagne’s twelve paladins – arrive at the emperor’s camp, trying to carry out the secret plan to rid themselves of the overpowering enemies through cunning, they first observe the huge army of the Christians. This provides the narrator with an opportunity to comment that Charlemagne, indeed, ‘solte ein herre âne wân / über allez ertrichc sin’ (1218–19; should be without doubt the lord of the entire world). The emperor deserves this rank because of his virtues; the only comparable royal figure in all world history is King Solomon (1220–30). Just as in the Rolandslied, Charlemagne is occupied with a chess game when the messengers arrive (1243–4), which is supposed to underscore his character as strategist,28 and we are told what impression he makes on them. They are deeply shocked to realize his manly beauty, emanating an aura imbued with the Holy Spirit (1258–9). In fact, God Himself is identified as the master artist who modelled Charlemagne’s body and established him here on earth as His representative (1260–1). Simply put, as the narrator emphasizes, Charlemagne is already a saint: ‘heilic’ (1262; saintly). This becomes apparent in every aspect of his way of life, supporting the poor (1265), loving God (1267), being a fair judge (1268), respecting all laws and rules (1269) and being a teacher for all people by showing them how to find the right path through life according to God’s precepts (1270). Moreover, he also proves to be a superior fighter (1274), a most generous king (1275) and the most virtuous person here on earth (1276). The catalogue of superlatives is extensive, and we are faced with the image of a truly perfect king, an absolute role model for all his successors throughout the Middle Ages. The Stricker utilizes this early medieval model as a didactic tool for his contemporaries, projecting Charlemagne once again as God’s direct and glorious representative here on earth. 28 The metaphor of chess can be found in many literary and historiographical contexts throughout the Middle Ages. When the Muslims deliberate on how to respond to Charlemagne’s request, and are told by Blanschandiez that they have only to overpower and kill Roland as the head of the rearguard, he uses the term ‘checkmate’ to illustrate the end result (2714–15). See also the contributions to Chess in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age, ed. O’Sullivan.

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The negotiations with the heathen emissaries at the Christian court prove challenging, as the promises by the Muslims sound just too attractive. They allegedly want to accept baptism and submit completely under Charlemagne. However, the latter distrusts those words and demands evidence that they really mean what they say, as he does not believe even their oath (1374–5). But when they offer their own children as hostages Charlemagne is finally persuaded, because he firmly believes in people’s love for their own progeny and cannot imagine that the Muslims might be trying to lie to him or to sacrifice what is most dear to them for their political and military independence (1397–1400). This then leads to Charlemagne’s long monologue about his own religious conviction and his firm belief that his crusade will help the opponents truly to change their mind, to accept Christianity and to seek baptism (1404–11). But he also harbours serious political doubts about Marsilies’s sincerity, as the latter had previously beheaded two of Charlemagne’s messengers, breaking the basic political agreements even among rulers of different religious communities (1419–31). If he were not reminded of Christ’s basic teachings, he would even resort to the same strategy and kill the Muslim messengers. But the Muslim emissaries come bearing palm leaves as a sign of peace, recalling how Christ had entered Jerusalem riding on an ass and carrying a palm leaf, so Charlemagne has to let go of his anger and desire for revenge, and to welcome them peacefully in a true Christian fashion (1434). The narrator then offers a short account of a bloody battle between the Muslims and the Christians, who are victorious, of course, and make such a daunting impression that the former lose all hope of winning the war. The next day Charlemagne calls in a large court council to ask for opinions and advice on how to respond to the peace offer by the enemies (1524ff.), which underscores, once again, how this emperor pays respect to his subordinates and abstains from any dictatorial measure, as John of Salisbury (c. 1118–1180) had strongly recommended in his Policraticus.29 But Charlemagne insists that his only concern is the glory of God, not his personal triumph: ‘râtet die gotes êre’ (1539; give an advice to honour God). All of his paladins recommend that he reject the heathens’ offer and continue with his campaign to achieve the full triumph and to enforce the religious transformation of the entire country. Only Roland’s stepfather, Genilun, desires to return home and insists that they accept the treasure and the hostages (1676). As in the Rolandslied, a deep rift opens between these two men, which has tremendous consequences for the subsequent events, which unfold very much as in the source text. As for Charlemagne, however, we should note that he is deeply irritated by this conflict and demands that they reach a consensus and stop their bickering, which 29 John of Salisbury, Policraticus, ed. and trans. Nederman; Guilfoy, ‘John of Salisbury’. See also the contributions to Princely Virtues in the Middle Ages, ed. Bejczy and Nederman.

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is unworthy of their honour and that of the empire. In fact, he is inclined to step in and make his own decision irrespective of all of their opinions (1730–1), and this contrary to his own ideal of reaching a group agreement. Even though Genilun continues with his argument that they should return home, the council finally agrees to ask Charlemagne to send a messenger to Marsilies to learn whether he is sincere in his offer to convert to Christianity. Many of the paladins quickly offer their service for this task, but the emperor rejects them because he cares too much for them and does not want them to be unnecessarily in harm’s way: ‘der sprach vil minneclîche’ (1954; he spoke with much love). But when Roland finally suggests his stepfather for this mission, and the latter bitterly complains out of fear that he might die at the hands of the Muslims, Charlemagne rejects his comments and encourages Genilun to recognize this as a great opportunity to gain more honour. In fact, he dismisses Genilun’s words as ‘unrede’ (2012; bad speech) and calls upon him to live up to his own reputation. But Genilun accepts this command only grudgingly and curses Roland, whom he suspects of greed and viciousness, and of aiming to seize for himself Genilun’s properties back home. Charlemagne intervenes once again and emphasizes: ‘habe dehein ungemach / mirst liep daz dir wol geschiht’ (2034–5; do not be cross about this, I want to see that you are faring well). Moreover, he makes absolutely clear that Genilun is not being sent on this mission because of Roland, but because of his own, imperial decision (2036–7). In other words, he asserts his authority and does not let the internecine strife create great rifts among his paladins. Repeating the term ‘unrede’ (2038), which tendency Genilun is told to repress, Charlemagne almost implies contempt for this duke’s behaviour, which stands in remarkable contrast to that of all the other knights in the royal council (a point which scholarship has often noted with respect both this poem and to the Rolandslied). Roland also intervenes and assures Genilun that he will support his mother and stepbrother in every possible way if the mission to the heathens should end in his death. If he himself were to give evil advice aimed against Genilun, Roland says, Charlemagne would be fully justified in removing him from the council, a form of disgrace. This is supposed to appease Genilun’s fear, but at this point the emperor interjects again, now angry over this conflict between the two men, since they are wasting his time and tarnishing the honour of the empire (2087–94). Yet he does not reprimand Genilun; instead he makes every effort to encourage him, to give him all his support, and to push him as energetically as possible to carry out the errand to Marsilies: ‘dar umbe soltu nicht verzagen’ (2111; do not despair over this). He entrusts him to God’s grace and addresses him as his friend, which a kiss on his lips then seals (2127–30). Moreover, Genilun receives from the emperor enormous treasures, a most valuable coat, a sword almost equal in quality to the one held by Roland, and other objects, which makes it impossible for him to resist or to refuse any further. He assures Genilun that he will receive more valuable objects than anyone else as a reward for this mission (2166ff.), which finalizes the imperial decision and forces the duke to depart for Marsilies’s court.

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Even though Genilun and many of his men cry openly, fearing almost certain death, and even though he strongly objects to the assignment, he still defends Charlemagne in the strongest possible terms when he explains to the old Muslim prince, Blanschandiez, the emperor’s personal relationship with God and his endless power, against which none of his enemies stand any real chance (2311ff.). Being a saintly ruler, he will certainly lead all who serve him loyally to the salvation of their souls (2312–23). Obviously, Genilun’s hatred is directed only at his stepson, whereas he does not harbour any rancour against the emperor, whom he actually admires to the utmost along with everyone else at court. However, he also misjudges him thoroughly when he remarks to the old heathen duke that Charlemagne would not try to avenge Roland’s death if the latter were to die in Spain (2402–6). At the same time, he is convinced that Charlemagne will listen to his advice and follow his suggestions because of their family relationship (2437–9). Though he is correct in the latter assessment, which actually brings about Roland’s death at the end, he miscalculates the wider situation because Charlemagne does indeed come to Roland’s aid and will later execute Genilun for his treason. Ironically, however, even at the very point of committing treason, Genilun still praises Charlemagne as the greatest and most virtuous ruler in the world, who closely follows God’s advice. Marsilies agrees with this assessment, yet sharply rejects Charlemagne’s claim to power even over the Muslim lands. Genilun defends the emperor and puts all blame on Roland once again (2818). The battle between the Christians and Muslims will continue without an end, and each side will slaughter the other, unless Roland can be killed, whom Genilun identifies as the linchpin at Charlemagne’s court and in his army (2825–30). In a way that recalls Konrad’s Rolandslied, Genilun then brings the false news to Charlemagne, who immediately believes him and offers intense prayers of thanks to God (3353ff.). The narrator only comments that he was unfortunately deceived (3360–1), but the epic poem has to continue and allow the tragic events to happen. Nevertheless, there is no blame put on the emperor, who simply trusts Genilun and accepts his account as accurate and verified because he cannot conceive that the latter could have reached a secret pact with the Muslims against Roland and hence against the entire Carolingian Empire. As The Stricker conveys to his audience, the situation is predicated on trust and loyalty, in which all the paladins participate, except for Genilun, who terribly betrays the trust placed in him by everyone at court. He even undermines the Christian faith by supporting the arch-enemies, the Muslims. All this distances him from Charlemagne and his court, in fact placing him outside of the Christian community because he has allowed the devil, as the narrator points out, to settle in his heart (3380–1). Charlemagne expresses great joy and extends all of his royal love to Genilun because of his seeming triumph, but disaster soon strikes after all because the latter suggests that the court council should appoint Roland as the new governor of Spain, to which everyone agrees. Since there is complete consensus, Charlemagne has to accept their decision (3522–3), although he deeply grieves and immediately fears

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grave danger, which he blames on Genilun (3518). The Stricker, in closely following Konrad’s model, presents a rather ambivalent image of the political conditions at court. As we have already observed, Charlemagne can threaten the council that he will make his own decision without their input when they bicker about an important matter, but now, since they have all agreed, albeit against his own, most personal interest, he submits to their will, much as it hurts him emotionally.

Religious Charlemagne Highlighting the emperor’s deep religious devotion, The Stricker describes how Charlemagne prays at night and begs God to forgive him his sins. The relationship between them is so close that God responds with a personal letter, deposited on the altar and addressed to the emperor (3550–1), informing him that he has been redeemed completely and is free of all sins. Again the narrator stresses that Charlemagne’s behaviour should serve contemporary rulers as a model: they must not strive for worldly glory, but should keep Christ in mind all the time (3564–7) and remember their own mortality. Charlemagne prays earnestly for Roland, sheds many tears and finally goes to bed and falls asleep, only to receive a dream about Genilun and his failure to keep his knightly honour. Disaster is imminent, as his nightmare reveals to him, and so, having woken up, he prays to God again, begging for forgiveness and asking Him to direct His anger only at Charlemagne and not at his men. Thereupon he experiences a second dream, this time placing him at his court in Aachen, where a chained bear is lying before him who suddenly breaks the chains and attacks the emperor. No one in his presence can protect him, and the animal grabs one of his arms and tears off all the flesh down to the bone. Again, Charlemagne wakes up and continues with his prayers, confessing his sins and begging for salvation, knowing only too well that he has been doomed by Genilun’s actions. However, he has no evidence to charge him with anything, and can only assume that something evil has happened that will greatly hurt him. However, in his prayers the emperor blames only himself and his sinfulness. He demonstrates great contrition, but he does not analyse the political situation at all. The poet presents him only as a confessor and thus demonstrates how devoutly Charlemagne performs the Christian rites, humbling himself before God, although he is the mightiest ruler on earth. Subsequently he experiences his third dream (3675ff.), which takes him to Paris where he finds himself bereft of all friends. Suddenly a dog attacks him, but a second one appears and fights on Charlemagne’s behalf, killing the other animal. Having woken up, the emperor realizes again the symbolic meaning of the dream, lies down on the floor in the shape of a cross (3705), now fully aware of imminent pain awaiting him: that is, the loss of Roland and the other men (3707). This time Charlemagne prays to the Virgin Mary first, before he addresses God as well, to whom he submits completely, begging for His help.

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While everyone joyfully prepares for the departure, assuming that the Christians have triumphed, Charlemagne remains deeply troubled because of his prophetic dreams, constantly shedding tears (3786) but helpless to change matters. Instead, he consults with Genilun about how to proceed next, singling him out as having robbed Charlemagne of his core protection, or rather protector, Roland (3790–1). Genilun tries his best to maintain his deception, drawing attention to the protection offered by the other paladins, but the emperor disregards all his words and now directly charges Genilun with treason (3842–52). Nevertheless, he has no power to change the course of events, as Roland then arrives demanding to be enfeoffed with Spain, as decided by the court council (3853ff.). But Charlemagne speaks one more time of how he dreads the separation and is deeply afraid of losing his beloved nephew (3880ff.). He foresees imminent danger – ‘arbeite’ (3891) – and expresses his profound fear that they will not see each other again (3894). Even though Roland demonstrates great pride and expects to gain much glory in imposing the Christian faith on the heathens, he is still aware that things might not go well. He requests that his uncle come to his assistance with the imperial army if necessary. Of course, Charlemagne promises him that support, and from then on the narrative shifts its focus to Roland and his men, but not without a moving good-bye scene, accompanied by embraces and tears (3983ff.). Here we are finally told that the separation takes place in the valley of Runzevâl (4005), and the narrator also notes that this was the last time when Charlemagne saw his nephew alive (4006–7). Before the Muslims arrive and the battle begins, the narrator inserts a long section in which the individual heathen princes appear before Marsilies and pledge their loyalty and commitment to their common cause. They all voice their hatred of and contempt for Roland, but they never neglect to refer to Charlemagne as well, boasting that they would utterly defeat and enslave him, such as happened to King Cernoles (4617ff.). These princes make up a group of twelve, mirroring the twelve paladins, and the subsequent battle description then relies on those parallels to structure the military events as they unfold before our eyes. In the middle of all the fighting, when the Muslims begin to realize their heavy losses, Marsilies refers to Charlemagne again and laments his own foolishness in having dared to oppose him. The emperor had already conquered many different countries, such as Italy, Hungary and Saxony (6279–87), which should have taught Marsilies that the Christian emperor was far beyond his league and could not be opposed, not even by himself. Marsilies calls himself a ‘tump man’ (6289; stupid man) and laments that he broke the peace that they had established. However, he blames Genilun principally as responsible for misleading him (6294). Yet Marsilies does not change his plan and continues with the fight, in which a vast number of men are going to die. This continues the enormous bloodshed that determines this epic poem, just as in the case of Konrad’s Rolandslied. Again as in the Rolandslied, Roland finally blows the horn to call Charlemagne back, though Olivier sharply criticizes him for not having listened to his advice before, and says that his call to Charlemagne will be too late (7037ff.). Certain

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death is waiting for the small band of survivors, but Olivier insists that at least none of the heathens will be able to withstand the emperor once he returns to avenge their death (7085–9). Here we encounter, once again, the complete trust that Charlemagne cannot be resisted by anyone, which means that the death of the rearguard will be but a minor setback and will not help the Muslims at all. When the emperor perceives the sound, he breaks down in tears, tearing his beard, thus demonstrating the same intensely emotional behaviour as on previous occasions when he has been afraid for Roland’s life (7115–22). Even though, as in Konrad’s text, Genilun then tries to ridicule him and to discount Roland’s blowing the horn as a foolish response to some simple disturbance, this does not sway the emperor. In fact, the narrator never indicates any criticism of Charlemagne’s emotional behaviour; instead, it underscores the emperor’s truly outstanding qualities, as he combines physical prowess as a warrior, which he does not need to demonstrate anymore, with the human side of empathy and love for his paladins. Genilun tries to characterize Charlemagne’s reaction as feminine or wimpish (7136), which proves to be the last straw. Charlemagne condemns Roland’s stepfather as a traitor and murderer. The others around Charlemagne feel the same, and the duke of Bavaria, Naymîs, even wants to slay Genilun immediately. The emperor, however, holds him back and tells him that the traitor will be killed in such a terrible and shameful way that his entire family will be dishonoured (7165ff.). Despite his emotional reaction to the terrible news conveyed by Roland’s blowing the horn, he emerges from the crisis as decisive and resolute, yet also wise and judicial. In fact, we constantly recognize Charlemagne as a model figure, both a mighty military leader and a devout Christian whom God rewards with personal messages and commands. Once Charlemagne knows what is at stake he appeals to all of his princes, asking them to keep their honour and God in mind and to rally to the banners, so to speak (7189ff.). Most dramatically, the emperor insists that Roland’s death would mean death to all of them as well, so they must indeed rush to his assistance (7199–200). Put somewhat facetiously, here is a sort of Musketeer mentality, or, more appropriately, a strong sense of the feudal vassalage system where everyone within the narrow circle feels that they belong to a family group. Charlemagne returns to intense prayer to the Virgin Mary and all the saints to help him in this most terrible situation. He would rather die than see Marsilies triumph over the Christians (7225–33). He reminds God that they, the Christians, have the right faith (7237) and that the Holy Trinity ought to assist them (7243–4). After this short interval the narrator resumes his account of the events on the battlefield, where only three of the paladins are still living, fighting to their last breath, but not without keeping Charlemagne in mind, whom they entrust to God, such as when Olivier prays that He protect the emperor, ‘dînen kneht’ (7623; your servant), and provide him with all strength and good fortune so that he may gain the victory (7624–7). Turpîn uses the same expression, revealing his passionate devotion to Charlemagne (7796–9). But the emperor arrives too late, and he witnesses only the entire valley filled with dead bodies of his rearguard,

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which fills him with great pain and sorrow. Faced with Roland’s corpse, he almost collapses (8328–9) and is deeply grieved in his heart (8326). He kisses him and the bodies of the ten other paladins, lamenting loudly about the irreplaceable loss (8350). Roland in his rigor mortis still holds his sword, which no one can remove until the emperor arrives, who easily makes the hand open. All interpret this as a sign that God is with both men (8365). In this situation Charlemagne has lost all his strength and is no longer capable of pursuing his enemies; instead he tells Duke Naymîs to assume that task. However, an angel arrives and reprimands the emperor for mourning too deeply (8385), which is against God’s command. Connecting events at Roncesvalles with those in the Holy Land during the time of the Old Testament, the narrator reports that God made the sun rise again at night so that the Carolingians could pursue the heathens and finish them off (8410ff.): ‘der tac wart zweier lanc’ (8418; the day lasted twice as long). The narrator emphasizes that Charlemagne was most pleased by this sign of grace, which established once again a particularly close link between him and God. But the narrator adds an intriguing twist in this situation, as it is no longer Charlemagne who is fighting for God as his servant, but God Himself who comes to the emperor’s help and strikes the enemies: ‘Dô got den keiser dô gerach, / daz er die vîande sach / vil schantliche ertinken / und in dem wâge versinken …’ (8481–4; When God avenged the emperor so that he saw the enemies drown miserably and disappear in the water …). The next night, Charlemagne experiences another dream, in which he perceives fire coming down from heaven and burning the entire world. Moreover, monstrous animals come forth and even threaten the emperor, who can barely withstand them and defend himself. And then he sees himself back in Kerlingen (France), where God intervenes once again and protects him from a most vicious animal (8535–6). Without telling us, the narrator probably refers here to Genilun, whom a strong dog attacks, which would all refer to the treason and the defence against it. Withholding any interpretation, The Stricker only remarks that, even though Charlemagne survived, it was a rough night for him (8545–6). This particular strategy allows the poet to combine the physical dimension of fighting against the heathens with a psychological one, encouraging his audience to imagine for themselves what inner struggle this constantly challenged ruler had to go through in this global conflict, which is indirectly cast in the imagery of the Apocalypse.30

Charlemagne’s Military Prowess The narrator now switches back to the military action, as Marsilies’s overlord, Pâligân, arrives and threatens Charlemagne, who thus has to fight his own battle after the loss of his mighty warriors, Roland and the other paladins. The opponents 30 See the contributions to The Apocalypse in the Middle Ages ed. Emmerson and McGinn.

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are determined to defeat the emperor and to destroy both of his capital cities, Paris and Aachen (8754–5), which is entirely consistent with the narrator’s presentation of them as arrogant, foolish and conceited. For our purposes, however, we can recognize here once again the true extent of Charlemagne’s empire, which extends from Germany and France to Italy, not to mention northern Spain, where the actual war is taking place (8755–7). The heathens wrongly assume that Roland’s death has severely weakened the emperor and made it impossible for him to keep up with fighting (8797–8). They believe that he is emotionally so demoralized that he does not possess enough manliness to stand up to them, which is, of course, an entirely wrong impression on their part. They go so far as to claim that Charlemagne could be simply caught and fettered, taken prisoner without offering any resistance (8800). But as soon as they get to Marsilies’s camp they learn from his wife, Queen Pregmunda, that Charlemagne has killed two of her sons and taken the third hostage, and that Marsilies has lost both of his arms, and is thus completely useless as a military leader (8824–40). When the scene switches to Charlemagne, we encounter him as a grieving man, but not as a fainthearted one, even though he is still reeling from the messages that he had received in his dream. He does not display any hubris and instead warns his councillors that they will have to face great suffering and sorrow, and this as a result of their own sinfulness according to his Christian faith (8910). This, however, does not weaken his position; on the contrary, he realizes that he must regain God’s grace by way of fighting against the heathens with all his might, in memory of Christ’s Passion (8916–18). Charlemagne then discovers a cross which Christ has sent him as a gift (8931– 40), and he subsequently decides to bury all their own dead warriors, when heathen messengers arrive and inform him about Pâligân’s arrival and his demand that they submit under his rule (8953ff.). This antagonizes the emperor so much that his previous wrath erupts again and readies him for the imminent fighting (8999ff.). Once his army has gathered around him, he addresses them with a kind of sermon, very much in the crusading spirit, reminding them of the heavenly glories that will await them if they set their hearts properly and support him in the war against the next heathen army. Charlemagne reminds them of Christ’s Passion (9024–34), connects all of their existence with the time of King David, who had prophesied the coming of Christ, and then informs them about King Pâligân, whom he identifies as the embodiment of human arrogance and rebellion against God (9045–6). In fact, the war amounts to much more than territorial conquests or other material gains. As Charlemagne underscores, this is a war for the right – the Christian – faith, and all of his soldiers have a precious opportunity to gain God’s grace and secure their souls’ salvation (9076–84). Charlemagne then appoints the two princes, Rapot and Wineman, as substitutes for Roland. He hands over the horn and the sword which God had granted him originally for his nephew, so they can carry on the religious–military efforts on behalf of all Christianity. For Charlemagne, however, revenge for the killing of

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Roland now assumes prime importance (9140) because it caused him the greatest pain. One of the other dukes also receives specific appointments, again in the name of Roland. The Stricker makes many princes from the various provinces appear before him, and he entrusts each one with a special task in the battle. This allows him to outline briefly once again what lands Charlemagne had conquered before, such as Frisia, Saxony, Bavaria, Lorraine and so on. Margrave Otte, for instance, represents the Rhenish Franks (9251). Subsequently we are told of Charlemagne’s deep devotion to God once again, as he gets off his horse, kneels down and prays, thus demonstrating, as the narrator emphasizes, his wisdom (9328). The battle will not be won by their own strength, but through God’s personal involvement (9346). Moreover, he appeals to God to show His grace and to treat them as He had the kings and prophets of the Old Testament and the apostles of the New Testament. Charlemagne does not aim for a military victory as such, but hopes that God will rescue them from their misery (9356) and help them to defeat those who intend to rob them of their right faith (9366–8). The lengthy description of the actual battle does not concern us here, but we must notice at least how much Charlemagne is regularly described as one of the central fighters, always at the very front and slaughtering scores of his enemies. We need to keep this in mind in our evaluation of his character. At times he is presented as a very religious, very emotional person, crying, praying, lamenting, dreaming and talking with God. At other times he serves as a wise ruler, listening to his councillors and making decisions only after he has heard all opinions. And now, we observe him as a mighty warrior who leads his army to victory over the massive Saracen army. But the battle does not bring about a decisive victory for either side, so King Pâligân enters into conversation with Charlemagne, offering him peace, control over Spain and forgiveness for having killed Pâligân’s son and many of his princes and for having devastated the Muslim territories, as long as he submits himself under Pâligân (10168ff.). As tempting as this offer sounds, however, Charlemagne counters it with the demand that Pâligân and all his people convert to Christianity (10191ff.): ‘so geloube an den mit alle, / der uns von Adâmes valle / mit sîner marter hât erkouft’ (10201–3; then believe in Him together with all your people, in Him who has bought us freedom with his Passion from Adam’s fall/sin). The debate proves to be fascinating, because Pâligân’s offer sounds intriguing and would grant Charlemagne everything he had hoped to achieve in Spain, or so the heathen king assumes. But the latter misunderstands his opponent, believing that he can lure the Christian ruler with material gains, whereas Charlemagne only seeks to spread the Christian faith under his rule. In the following exchange of words Pâligân points out that he wears two suits of armour, one on top of the other, which would make it virtually impossible for Charlemagne to wound him. Indeed, in the fierce fighting the latter does not achieve anything, not creating even a scratch (10254), while his opponent manages to hack off his helmet and plate armour, and then even to cut some of his hair, get-

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ting dangerously close to killing him (10262). Their physical strength differs after all, as Charlemagne is tiring and seems close to defeat (10250). At that moment, however, God finally intervenes and talks to Charlemagne, encouraging him that he will win the battle and that he is supposed to kill all of his enemies (10274–82). Explicitly, God tells him to make a great effort and not to spare Pâligân any longer (10278), and Charlemagne instantly feels enormous strength entering his body, so he fights really as God’s warrior here on earth, quickly striking down his opponent and decapitating him, which frightens the entire army and leads to the Christians’ complete victory. The narrator provides a riveting depiction of how the Christians slaughter all their enemies, filling the valley with blood, making it impossible for them to escape: ‘dô sluoc mans alse gar der nider, / daz ir deheiner hin wider / gesagte nie daz mære, / waz in geschehen wære’ (10329–32; they slew so many of them that no one could tell the story of what had happened to them). After their triumphant victory, which yields massive rewards drawn from the heathens’ treasures, Charlemagne takes his army back to Saragossa, which is immediately opened to them, as Marsilies’s wife, Queen Pregmunda, issues an order and welcomes the emperor personally, addressing him as ‘heileger keiser’ (10375; holy emperor) and begging him to baptize her, as she wants to convert to Christianity now that she has realized her spiritual blindness and the workings of the devil against her. Charlemagne personally lifts her out of the baptismal font, demonstrating how pleased he is about her new religious insights (10413–15). She receives a new name, Juliane, and she divests herself of all of her property and uses it to found a new bishopric (10425). When Charlemagne travels back to the battlefield the next morning in order to inter the fallen soldiers she accompanies him and receives religious teachings from him (10438–9). The emperor thus proves himself both as a mighty warrior and as a preacher, as a leader of his people and as a missionary. He is in every possible way God’s servant, but even he is at times in need of instruction. Confronted with the multitude of his dead men, whom they recognize by way of their beards, which distinguish them from the Muslim warriors (10460–2), he breaks out in tears once again, whereupon Juliane reminds him that their souls have entered heaven, which would make his laments unnecessary (10469–78). He and his men are amazed at her spiritual wisdom and stop their lamentations.

Charlemagne and Roland After they have completed their task, however, Charlemagne immediately returns to Roncesvalles in order to give the last rites, so to speak, to Roland and his dead men. Charlemagne is overcome by his emotions, his grief over his killed nephew, whose body he embraces and kisses, almost assuming the position of the pietà, with endless tears dripping on to the corpse (10528–31). The narrator rushes to Charlemagne’s defence in this situation, emphasizing that those tears originated from his heart and were sincere, hence justified because of Roland’s great loyalty in supporting his uncle. Moreover, all the other princes search for their own fallen

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relatives and mourn them in equal fashion – that is, more passionately than anyone has ever seen, as the narrator points out (10539–40). We know of similar scenes in Diu Klage, the follow-up text to the Nibelungenlied, but there the few survivors also criticize each other for allowing their emotions to overpower them.31 Here, by contrast, crying over the loss of all those beloved men is fully justified because the battle is over, the victory has been achieved and now the time has come to mourn those who died fighting for God and the emperor. The focus, however, rests on Charlemagne, who cradles Roland’s dead body in his arms, calling him his ‘herzelieber neve mîn’ (10555; my heart-beloved nephew), recalling the mother–son relationship in the extraordinary intensity of his emotion. He swears to God that he would like to have died together with Roland, that he had hoped for his nephew to be the support of his old age, to help him sustain his own honours and to defend him from enemies (10556ff.). The depth of the eulogy seems almost unparalleled, especially in Charlemagne’s use of the language of courtly love: ‘du wære mîner ougen wünne’ (10565; you had been the delight of my eyes); ‘in gewan nie fröude wan von dir’ (10568; I never gained any joy except through you); and ‘von dir quam al diu sælde mîn’ (10572; all my delight originated from you). He commemorates him as having had the purest heart and body (10579) and bemoans the fact that Roland has been taken away from him much too early (10591). Charlemagne even begins to shed tears of blood (10608) and remarks that with Roland’s death his strongest defender has been taken away from him (10615–17). In fact, he voices great concern that his power in the empire might falter and become unstable because Roland is no longer living. Both in Swabia and in Franconia (France) the foundation of his empire will weaken (10623–4). But then he tenderly entrusts Roland’s soul to God and prays for him, continuously weeping bloody tears (10665). The stone upon which he is sitting is becoming wet, and the narrator emphasizes that this wetness has never since dried (10665–9) – another miracle associated with Charlemagne.

Charlemagne Grieving Finally, however, Lady Juliane reproaches him and urges him to contain his emotional outburst, which seems inappropriate for the leader of his people and would detract from his reputation as a man.32 She is actually worried that Charlemagne might die from his grief, so she urges the princes to carry him off his rock to safe31 Diu Klage, ed. Classen; see also Die Nibelungenklage, ed. Bartsch and Lienert; for the historical–critical edition, see Die ‘Nibelungenklage’: Synoptische Ausgabe aller vier Fassungen, ed. Bumke. I have investigated the aspect of mourning and crying in this epic poem on several occasions: ‘Trauer müssen sie tragen’; ‘Rituale des Trauerns als Sinnstiftung und ethische Transformation des eigenen Daseins im agonalen Raum der höfischen Welt’; ‘Crying in Public and in Private’. 32 This issue is discussed, though without reference to Charlemagne, by the contributors to Religious Men and Masculine Identity in the Middle Ages, ed. Cullum and Lewis.

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guard his life (10705ff.). Then the burial procedures continue, with the majority of the dead placed together in one large grave, while Roland, Olivier and Turpîn receive special treatment. Again, the narrator emphasizes Charlemagne’s suffering at the sight of their dead bodies (10740–1), but he is joined by all his people in mourning the loss of those worthy individuals (10763ff.). In other words, every time there might be the danger that Charlemagne could be viewed as weak and overly emotional, the narrator intervenes and assures us that the extraordinary situation justifies his behaviour, which is openly shared by everyone else and is hence regarded as a worthy and dignified expression of his deep love for his fallen warriors.33 The situation on the battlefield, however, proves to be difficult, as the number of dead bodies lying next to each other makes it hard to differentiate who was a Christian and who was a heathen. Charlemagne hence begs all of his men to pray during the night for God’s help in that matter because the divine grace would be revealed through the bodies (10803–5). This collective praying begins immediately, and the war dead are, significantly, no longer called soldiers or warriors, but ‘pilgerînen’ (10826; pilgrims). Everyone joins this ritual, and this with a pure heart, as the narrator emphasizes (10835), which then results in the miracle that all the Christians are found lying on one side and the heathens on the other. The bodies of the latter have shrunk to the size of six-year-old boys, and rambling briars have grown through them, tying them down to the ground. By contrast, a white flower is growing above the head of each Christian, clearly marking him and setting him apart from his dead enemy (10856ff.). Witnessing this miracle, the entire army, presumably including Charlemagne, sheds its mourning and delights in this new blessing from God (10891). Moreover, all those who had survived the battle with wounds and injuries are all suddenly healed after having been placed on the mass grave, a curious but certainly well-documented medieval practice (109130‒14). For the emperor all these signs soothe his profound pain, knowing as he does that the dead have been welcomed by God and now enjoy their time in heaven. In order to do justice to all these events he announces that the location of the battle, Roncesvalles, constitutes holy ground, and hence that a hospital is to be erected there to give praise to God in eternity (10928ff.). The emperor richly endows this hospital and appoints Juliane as its head (10955–7), and then he also founds a church and monastery in memory of Roland, dedicated to St John (10970–1). We encounter a number of other highly moving scenes when the relatives of the dead warriors learn the truth and break down, suffering deeply. Roland’s fiancée, Alîte, for instance, collapses and dies, as she cannot bear the terrible news (11229). For Charlemagne this means even more pain and sorrow (11231), and he emphasizes that he has indeed lost all his joy and honour through Roland’s death (11265–7). He goes so far as to beg God to let him die as well since life has lost all meaning, 33 Geith, Carolus Magnus, p. 180, briefly mentions this scene and refers to the Pietà [sic], but does not consider Charlemagne’s highly emotional reaction and behaviour.

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‘sît ich der sælden enbir’ (11276; since I am lacking joy/happiness). This does not happen, of course, but it underscores Charlemagne’s emotional attachment to his nephew and the other paladins.

Treason and Judgement The final section of The Stricker’s Karl der Große deals with the fate of the traitor Genilun, and here the narrator presents the emperor as a fair and wise judge who entrusts the case to the princes in Aachen (11648–50), though he still calls in a court meeting and assumes the central position as judge (11670). However, Genilun is not without supporters and has brought with him many of his kin (11672–5). They appeal to Charlemagne to dispel his wrath, to display his grace and mercy and to allow Genilun to do penance, as those who have died at Roncesvalles cannot be brought back to life (11695–9). Most importantly, they acknowledge that Genilun is guilty of the charge against him, but they implore the emperor to control and reduce his anger: ‘mâzet herre iwern zorn’ (11702; bring your wrath down to an ordinary level). They themselves will provide him with all the service and goods he ever might imagine, if only he were to let go of Genilun (11704–6). But Charlemagne does not let this offer of bribery influence him; for him Genilun is a disgrace to Christianity (11714–15), which transposes the personal enmity to a cosmic level, as the emperor is speaking on God’s behalf, serving as His judge and executioner. Then Genilun stands up and tries to turn the charge against him around, claiming that the twelve paladins, under Roland’s leadership, had betrayed him, forcing him to face virtually certain death when he had to take up the embassy to Marsilies. He believes he was entitled to avenge himself: ‘daz ich daz rach, daz tet mir nôt’ (11736; it was necessary for me to avenge myself). However, this proves to be detrimental to him because it amounts to a public admission of his misdeed, as the emperor points out immediately (11740). But the situation at this judicial court is difficult because so many of Genilun’s kin are present. Those who would normally dare to speak out fear that their lives would be in danger if they were to formulate a charge against the traitor (11750–4). The critical issue hence proves to be whether a fair trial can be carried out if it involves such a high-ranking figure as Genilun, who enjoys tremendous political and material support from his kin. This puts Charlemagne into a tricky situation, as his power to exact justice is being questioned and undermined. Worse still, one of Genilun’s relatives, the enormously strong Pinabel, declares that Genilun is innocent because he had opposed Roland publicly three times and yet had been selected as emissary to the Muslims (11794–802), and challenges anyone who would say otherwise to a duel. Embarrassingly, no one has enough courage to stand up until one of Roland’s nephews, Dietrich, steps up and announces that he wants to fight on behalf of his slain uncle and thus to prove that Genilun is guilty. He is aware of the discrepancy between himself and Pinabel, but he trusts that God will perform a similar miracle as He did for young David fighting against Goliath. Pinabel, too, believes that God

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will speak and help him win this ordeal: ‘got liez daz unreht vallen ie, / daz ist ouch iemer sin site’ (11834–5; God has always made injustice fail, and that has always been His custom).34 The councillors then recommend that Genilun’s family be held hostage so that, if Pinabel should lose, the entire kin – evil and rebellious, or rather traitorous, against the emperor – could be eliminated (11860–2). Charlemagne, however, is judicious enough to enforce the same rule for Dietrich’s family, which pits an entire group of people against another, dramatizing the political and legal conflict enormously (11882–4). The emperor requests the inhabitants of ten monasteries and of the city of Aachen to pray for the good outcome, Dietrich’s victory (11887–92), which would finally eliminate injustice. But Charlemagne insists that no one be allowed to enter the circle for the duel, and that transgressors will lose their life immediately (11927–32). This formula is common in such situations, and we will encounter it again in other narratives about Charlemagne, such as Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’s Königin Sibille (1437). The duel ends victoriously for Dietrich, as was to be expected, who finally decapitates his opponent, whereupon Charlemagne sits on his judge’s chair again and asks his councillors for their opinion (12093–6). As in the past, he does not make decisions all by himself, but accepts the opinions of his advisors. Those, addressing him as ‘heileger kaiser’ (12099; holy emperor), remind him of his obligations regarding the widows and orphans – that is, the ultimate victims of Genilun’s state treason (12101) – and refer to their loud complaints: erhœret hiute der armen kint, der veter dâ verrâten sint, und rihtet über den wirsten man, der kristen namen ie gewan, und über die gîsel dar zuo. (12105–9) [listen now to the poor children whose fathers had been betrayed, and judge the worst man, who ever got the name of a Christian, and also the hostages.]

There is no question anymore over whether Genilun and the hostages will be executed or not. Charlemagne has only to decide what kind of execution would be appropriate. The councillors (princes) do not feel real hatred for the hostages, so they are condemned to be simply decapitated and thus can die a fast death (12124). Genilun, by contrast, is quartered with the help of four strong horses, and this on the order of the councillors; Charlemagne does not figure in these deliberations. However, the emperor is mentioned at the end once again, where we learn that he 34 Stackmann, ‘Karl und Genelun’; Neumann, Der gerichtliche Zweikampf, p. 141, n. 729.

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treated the entire kin of Genilun from that time on as an abject family that could never regain his grace (12162–72). Charlemagne, however, remains in the poet’s and his audience’s memory as a true saint, ‘sante Karle’ (12206).

Conclusion Altogether, The Stricker basically retells the famous account by the Priest Konrad, but he embellishes, intensifies, psychologizes and expands it considerably. We encounter here an emperor who is resolute and depressed, powerful and weak, a fighter and a mourner, a judge and a ruler, Roland’s relative and friend, God’s servant and preacher among his people, and so forth. We recognize in him a complex personality motivated by deep devotion, love for his friends and commitment to his people, one completely submitted to God and willing to carry out His commands. He operates both as an ordinary person fighting his enemies, ruling his country, mourning the dead soldiers, and as a recipient of God’s messages in dreams or through direct voices. The Stricker does not really tell us a new story about Charlemagne, but he expands on the historical account and creates a mythical figure of superhuman dimensions. Little wonder that his Karl der Große enjoyed such wide popularity far into the late Middle Ages.

4 The Myth of Charlemagne in Fourteenth-century German Literature: The Karl Meinet Compilation

The Literary–Historical Background

I

n the first half of the fourteenth century an anonymous author in the north-western part of Germany compiled a biography of Charlemagne, calling it dat boich van eme, which is today known, though not quite appropriately, as Karl Meinet, or the Karlmeinet-Kompilation. This huge work consists of about 36,000 verses written in a Ripuarian – that is, a north-western German – dialect. The poet combined numerous older poetic works dedicated to Charlemagne, but he did not attempt to blend them together harmoniously. The text has survived only in one late medieval manuscript from c. 1470, written in Cologne, Ms. A, today kept in the Darmstadt Landesbibliothek und Hochschulbibliothek, HS 2290. Then there are various fragmentary manuscripts, but their filiations remain unclear.1 The first part, Karl und Galie, consists of about 13,500 verses and thus makes up the longest part of the compilation (oldest manuscript in Cologne, cod. 5 P 63, c. 1270‒c. 1280). Here, the young Charles escapes an assassination attempt by the imperial governors Hoderich and Hanffrade by fleeing to Muslim-controlled Spain, where he assumes a fake identity as Meinet and thus finds refuge at the court of the Saracen king/sultan Galaffers of Toledo. During the two years of his exile there, he grows into a formidable knight and wins the love of the king’s daughter Galie. He defeats the wild African King Bremunt and his nephew Kayphas. Subsequently, King Galaffers helps him to regain his original kingdom, so he can finally be crowned as the legitimate ruler of France. Secretly, Charles then returns to Toledo to collect Galie, to whom he has become engaged without her father’s knowledge. On their way, the couple is challenged by the Saracen Prince Otias (or Orias), who wants to claim Galie for himself. When Charlemagne and Galie reach the border fortress Termis, his own troops come to his rescue and defeat the Saracen army that 1 For the current state of manuscript studies regarding this text see http://www. handschriftencensus.de/6769 (accessed 4 May 2015). I quote from the edition Karl Meinet, ed. Keller. This is now available online via Google Play Books (signin required; accessed 16 February 2017).

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had pursued the couple. Charles himself kills Otias. Charles then takes his bride to Saint-Denis, where she is baptized as a Christian, and they marry, thus laying the foundation for the future Christian kingdom.2 Despite the numerous heroic elements integrated into the narrative, we can clearly recognize concerted efforts to adapt the text to the courtly norms of its time, which was probably the case already in the original but French source, since lost. But the formulaic language strongly reminds us of the tradition of pre-courtly or goliardic verse narratives, the Spielmannsepen. Whether a Dutch source, or a version in West-Flemish, might originally have existed remains as uncertain as the dating, which ranges from c. 1215 to 1220, or perhaps earlier. The globally entertaining elements could have appealed to various audiences.3 The much shorter second part of Karl Meinet, Morant und Galie, was copied down by an anonymous scribe from Aachen. It consists of about 5,600 verses (in Ms. A and in the Cologne Ms. C, Historisches Archiv, Hs. W* 3 from c. 1430), but it is closely connected with the first part, written by the same scribe. Here, traitorous courtiers accuse Charles’s herald,4 Morant, of having an adulterous relationship with Galie, which forces King Charles to set up an investigation leading to a duel, or ordeal, in which Morant gloriously gains the victory over the leader of the enemies.5 The text concludes with a huge festival at which Morant marries Galie’s closest friend and advisor, Florette, who had accompanied her when she fled from Toledo to be with her lover, Charles. There are clear indications that Morant und Galie was composed by a separate poet, because it begins with an elaborate prologue and is characterized by an independent stylistic and rhyming framework. The compiler did not make any significant efforts to bridge the differences between the works, and simply added the second poem to the first because of thematic connections. The source again seems to have been a French verse narrative, today lost. Morant und Galie is best dated around the decade 1220–30. The language features point more to the east, hence probably to Cologne, and not to Aachen.6

Charlemagne’s Military Accomplishments The middle part of the Karl Meinet consists of a sequence of episodes that the compiler seems to have created himself based on a variety of Latin sources, such as Vincent of Beauvais’ Speculum Historiale, which in turn was based on the Pseudo-Turpin 2 This information and the subsequent brief summaries are borrowed from Beckers, ‘Karlmeinet-Kompilation’. 3 For more details, see Zandt, Die Sprache von ‘Karl und Galie’. 4 For the history of heralds in the Middle Ages, see Bock, Die Herolde im römischdeutschen Reich. 5 For a critical discussion of medieval ordeals, see Neumann, Der gerichtliche Zweikampf. 6 For the internal structure of this huge work, see Folz, Le Souvenir et la légende.

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Chronicle. This section comprises about 5,400 verses. Here we are informed about Charlemagne’s military operations during his early adult years, fighting against the Saxons, Bavarians, Langobards and Huns, and thus vastly expanding the limits of his Frankish empire. The poet also deals with aspects of Charlemagne’s private life, especially his alleged sinfulness, which then leads to the foundation of Aachen as a means to repent publicly and to make amends. The poet subsequently engages with the liberation of the pope and Charlemagne’s crowning as emperor, and the fight against the Muslims in the Holy Land and in Spain, all serving to highlight his role as a saintly figure. The compiler seems to have drawn also from Einhard’s Vita Karoli Magni, the Saxon World Chronicle and Jacob van Maerlant’s Spieghel Historiael.7 Large sections from the latter text (altogether about 150 verses) are adopted verbatim, which allows us to date this section to the second decade of the fourteenth century. The emphasis on Aachen as the central location for many events in Charlemagne’s life suggests that this section was composed there as well. Another section is identified as Karl und Elegast, comprising about 1,350 verses and based very closely on the Middle Dutch Karel ende Elegast from c. 1250, though we might not want to call it a direct translation.8 God commands Charlemagne to leave the town of Ingelheim – located between Mains to the east and Bingen to the west – in the middle of the night, one day before the imperial diet is about to begin. He is sent to engage in a raiding campaign, which brings about a direct confrontation between a disgraced vassal, Elegast, and Charlemagne’s brother-inlaw, Eckerich. Eckerich tries to assassinate the emperor, but Elegast, who had been expelled from the court years ago, has maintained his loyalty and now comes to Charlemagne’s rescue. The fifth large section (about 9,000 verses) deals with the heroic figure Roland, as we know him from the Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied (c. 1170). The compiler adapted a specifically Low German version from the early thirteenth century, which is lost today as an independent work. In this adaptation process he added an episode describing a meeting between Roland and Oliviers, on the one hand, and the Muslim Ospinel, on the other. The final section offers new narrative material about the events after the battle with Baligant and the discovery of Roland’s corpse. Compared to The Stricker’s Karl der Große, the differences in content prove to be minimal, while the language and verse structure vary more significantly (replacement of the old assonanced form with the use of end-rhyme). The conclusion has nothing in common with Konrad’s text and apparently drew from the French tradition represented by the Roland rime de la Meuse. The compiler also added a new episode, known by the protagonist’s name as ‘Ospinel.’9 7 Oostrom, Maerlants wereld; Janssens and Meuwese, Jacob van Maerlant. 8 For the Dutch text see Karel ende Elegast, ed. Duinhoven; also Karel ende Elegast und Karl und Ellegast, ed. and trans. Bastert, Besamusca and Dauven-van Knippenberg. 9 Zagolla, Der Karlmeinet und seine Fassung vom Rolandslied des Pfaffen Konrad, examines the possibility that the composer used both Priest Konrad’s Middle

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Following the long account of Roland, the compiler reflects on Charlemagne’s end of life and concludes with an eschatological epilogue, both parts consisting of 550 verses, which are based, once again, on the Pseudo-Turpin in the version offered by Vincent’s Speculum Historiale. Most significantly, here we learn of Charlemagne’s last will, according to which the rank of emperor was supposed to stay with the Germans. As to the dating of the Karl Meinet, we need to remember that the compiler relied for part three heavily on Jacob van Maerlant’s Spieghel Historiael. The latter was begun in 1283 and remained a fragment when the author died in 1290. In 1315 Philip Utenbroeke and Lodewijk van Velthem resumed work on this text, completing it in 1315. Logically, it would be most reasonable to assume that the Karl Meinet was not created until c. 1320–40, especially as the compiler obviously used the later copy of the Spieghel – the version put together by Jan van Boendale in his Brabantse Yeesten from c. 1320. We also ought to keep in mind that the compiler did not refer to the legendary motif established by the Ingelheim Charlemagne Convent (Karlsstift) during its foundation in 1354, according to which Charlemagne had received his famous sword Durendart from an angel who guaranteed all of his victories. So we would have a terminus ante quem.10 The anonymous compiler of the main manuscript, Ms. A, was probably a member of the Aachen clergy charged with maintaining and serving at Charlemagne’s grave in the cathedral, reading masses, controlling the pilgrims etc. A cryptogram indicates his name (H- FF - L - P -G, [A1, 17–19), but we have not yet cracked that code. The Karl Meinet might have been created in order to revive the cult of Charlemagne, but this new political interest emerged only c. 1347 under Charles IV (r. 1346–78). The text does not seem to have had any significant impact on late medieval German literature, as there is no direct influence on later poems dealing with Charlemagne. The poet indicates that he had drawn his material from another book or books, but he does not reveal details (A1, 23).

The Portrait of Charlemagne Next let us consider how the emperor is portrayed here and how much this work contributed to the further dissemination of the myth of Charlemagne in both the Low German and the Middle Dutch traditions. Apart from some specialized studies, even Germanist medievalists have not paid much attention to this work, although it contains numerous fascinating features of innovative intercultural experiences associated with Charlemagne and grants us insight into yet another set of elements regarding this mythical figure.11 Overall, the poet projects a much more personal High German Rolandslied and another version based on a French source. See also Rooth, Zur Sprache des Karlmeinet; Holmberg, Karlmeinet-Studien. 10 Hennings, Französische Heldenepik im deutschen Sprachraum, pp. 126–9. 11 One of many examples is the otherwise well-researched and comprehensive literary history by Wehrli, Geschichte der deutschen Literatur, pp. 467–8.

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perspective, allowing us to observe Charlemagne growing up from a young boy to a man, shedding features from his childhood and growing into a formidable knight and leader of his people. It would be futile to discuss the huge Karl Meinet in its entirety and to take into account all the major narrative facets, since the poet pursued the ambitious goal of creating a fictionalized biography of this famous ruler, and there is, as is to be expected, much overlap with other literary works dealing with Charlemagne, such as the Rolandslied and The Stricker’s Karl der Große, particularly in the second half of our text. But in the first half Karl Meinet sheds significant light on Charlemagne as a young person, a teenager, who at first needs good care from his trusted advisors and who then grows up and turns into a splendid young knight quickly gaining many accolades for his superior knightly accomplishments. The poet reveals considerable interest in exploring the life of children, here represented by Charlemagne, in some of their typical emotional conditions, and then illustrates how love enters his life while he is going through puberty, though sexuality is not mentioned in detail.12 Nevertheless, this innovative focus makes possible, or rather necessitates, the merging of several literary genres, combining the courtly and sentimental romance with the heroic epic and the political and military verse narrative in the tradition of the poetic myth of Charlemagne. In other words, the author of the Karl Meinet pursues a strongly fictional–biographical approach. He relates early on how King Pippin assigned Charlemagne as a child to two allegedly worthy and upright burghers, Hanffrade and Hoderich, hoping that they would take care of his education and upbringing because he feels his own death to be imminent (A5, 30–41). Hanffrade and Hoderich, however, are actually peasants living in a village: ‘ackerlude’ (A1, 38; ploughmen). Here we are even told Charlemagne’s specific age, twelve years old (A5, 48), which underscores the suffering which he sustains at the hand of his evil guardians, whom the narrator subsequently identifies as nothing but ‘zwene groue gebure’ (A6, 14; two crude peasants). But, despite their low origin, Hanffrade and Hoderich assume power over the entire country. They tyrannize the people, and anyone who dares to oppose them is immediately hanged (A6, 23–4). As for Charlemagne, they make him work in the kitchen, instead of enjoying his life at court among his equals (A6, 32–7), hoping that he would get used to that social space and thus become disinclined to the noble lifestyle. They assume, which proves to be quite illuminating in terms of the history of mentality, that the court itself would be boring and uninteresting for children (A6, 34–7). But Pippin had also chosen a wise old man, David the Hunter, as Charlemagne’s protector and advisor, who, we are told, loves the child with all his heart: ‘Ich wene, dat nye alt man / Eyn kynt so rechte leue gewan, / Als hey hadde synen junckeren’ (A6, 49–51; I believe that never before 12 For discussion of the child in the pre-modern world see the contributions to Childhood in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance, ed. Classen. The example of Karl Meinet, however, is not considered there.

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had an old man grown so fond of a child as he was of his young lord) – a moving statement of the emotional bond between these two people. Nevertheless, the two new rulers then try to bribe David to murder the young prince, as, being so close to him, he would be the best candidate for that evil deed. Once Charlemagne had been eliminated they would be the uncontested rulers over the entire country (A7, 30–1). David, deeply shocked by this request, quickly conceives of a secret plan: he pretends to agree with them, but says he must first go on a pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela (A7, 59–A8, 1) so as to acquire sufficient grace from God to excuse this evil deed against his young lord. He subsequently entrusts Charlemagne to the royal cupbearer, Dederich, who, after having served under King Pippin for many years, definitely respects and loves the young prince and would do anything for him to protect him out of his deep sense of loyalty. He too is horrified about the assassination plan, and is said to be completely resistant to the new governors’ attempts to get him to hurt Charlemagne in return for money (A 8, 43–4). The issues, hence, prove to be the impact that corruption can have and the lust for political power, profound concerns that have been central motifs of tragedies and heroic epics throughout time, especially in the late Middle Ages, if we think, for instance, of Eleanore von Österreich’s Pontus und Sidonia (c. 1450–1460).13 Within our context, however, the issue becomes even more poignant because the conflict lies between the two peasant parvenus and the members of the old royal house who try to protect the natural heir, the future Charlemagne. David then departs for his pilgrimage, but in reality, he visits all the mighty lords in the entire Frankish kingdom and informs them about the danger Charlemagne faces, yet without revealing that Hanffrade and Hoderich had tried to hire him to commit the murder. Instead, he warns the princes about dangers at large and encourages them to assemble at a court meeting in Paris where they should knight the young man and thus pave the way for him to assume the throne. Everyone fully agrees that Charlemagne is their God-given king and needs to be protected, as one of the princes, Gerfin, confirms (A10, 1–9). He and David then ride to Paris, where David pretends, using shells and other signs, that he just returned from his pilgrimage: ‘Gelicher wys eym pilgerin / Quam hei do zo Parys’ (A10, 45–6; He arrived in Paris in the garb of a pilgrim). The two tyrannical rulers welcome him with great happiness, kissing him and hoping that now David, having been absolved of all of his sins, would murder Charlemagne (A10, 60–2) – an absurd religious concept, but certainly an indica13 For some specific historical analyses, see, for instance, Groebener, Gefährliche Geschenke; Reiter, Lärmende Geschenke. Eleonore von Österreich, Pontus und Sidonia, ed. Hahn, p. 118. Here, the courtier Gendelet, having been bribed by the duke of Burgundy, coaxes the king of Brittany to accept the duke’s offer to marry his daughter. Curiously, however, literary–historical research has not yet discussed the phenomenon of corruption itself more specifically.

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tion of their evil machinations and also of their awareness that killing the natural heir to the throne would require very careful planning and deception. David does not reveal the true identity of one of his friends, Gerfin, and claims that he is a goliard from Galicia (A11, 23–4). In order to convey to the rulers a sense of confidence and to create a relaxed atmosphere, David reports of all the praise about them he had spread abroad. This then makes it possible for him to ask permission to turn to the Frankish lands (A11, 50–4). A festive dinner is soon arranged, at which Gerfin plays music for the public entertainment and impresses everyone exceedingly (A12, 18–21). Later he leaves again, richly rewarded, but the narrator does not explain sufficiently the purpose of the costuming and role play, except that thus Gerfin could observe Charlemagne’s terrible mistreatment in being forced to work in the kitchen. Before Gerfin’s departure, the two evil rulers return to David and request a second time that he kill Charlemagne, who is a threat to their position of power. David resorts to lies and pretends that he will comply with their request. But Gerfin urges the two brothers to honour Charlemagne, that is, to knight him (A15, 45–6). Nevertheless, they make further evil plans, hoping to convince the cooks in the kitchen to finish the young man off, or at least to cause him major injuries and hence to expose him as a foolish and untrustworthy person who has lost his mind (A17, 33–42). The narrator even confirms that Charlemagne is suffering from ignorance and foolishness on account of his youth: ‘He was so iunck ind dump’ (A17, 48; He was so young and naive). At the same time, adding a burlesque feature to the text, the children of the other princes who are attending court join Charlemagne and work happily with the kitchen utensils, turning the spit with the meat in a rather playful manner (A18, 41–53). However, the narrator does not imply that they are all simply foolish; instead, they have collectively acknowledged Charlemagne’s high rank and submitted under him, hoping to be knighted along with him (A18, 51–2). The young protagonist is basically working as a kitchen boy, doing menial jobs, which is supposed to humiliate him and then to disqualify him as a contender for the throne despite his heritage. This proves to be a truly noteworthy allusion to the intriguing figure of Rennewart in Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Willehalm, who is the son of the mighty Muslim ruler Terramer and who is kidnapped and taken as a prisoner to the court of the French king. He is also stuck in the royal kitchen as a punishment for his refusal to convert to Christianity, until Willehalm plucks him from that location and quickly elevates him to being one of his favourite warriors and leader of his army against the Muslim attackers.14 14 Lofmark, Rennewart in Wolfram’s Willehalm; Francke, ‘The Characterization of Rennewart’; Moessner, ‘Rennewart’; see also Hennings, Französische Heldenepik im deutschen Sprachraum, pp. 142–3; Gerhardt, Der ‘Willehalm’-Zyklus; Brüggen and Bumke, ‘Figuren-Lexikon’. On the French Rainouart see Bennett, La Chanson de Guillaume and La Prise d’Orange, pp. 49–58.

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But let us return to Charlemagne. The two brothers’ plan to murder the prince is not mentioned again; instead they lead the other courtiers into the kitchen to witness the humble job performed by the prince, who, they hope, will thus expose himself as an imbecile unworthy to assume the throne (A19, 14–22). However, the company responds only with laughter, since they witness all the young princes involved in the same activity. Nevertheless, as one of the nobles confirms, it is too early to crown Charlemagne, who certainly needs two more years to grow up (A20, 47–50). The comment by Vuel van Pictone deserves to be underscored above all, as it mirrors a remarkable degree of social reality: ‘Id duncket mich verloren arbeit, / Off wir dit kynt nw kronen’ (A19, 31–2; It seems to me a waste of time if we were to crown that child). But the princes agree that there is time for the boy to grow into his expected role and to acquire the attributes necessary for assuming the role of a king (A20, 49–55). Then the warrior Dietrich approaches Charlemagne, whispering into his ear that he should free himself from this humiliating situation and strike hard against the two brothers. Charlemagne agrees that he is really badly treated – ‘Ouch bin ich neit, sprach Karll, so dump, / Ich seyn wael, dat man mir krump, / Ind harde groisse gewalt deit’ (A21, 50–2; And I am not so dumb, said Charlemagne; I see clearly that they treat me badly and cause me violence) – and then dissolves into tears over the terrible injustice done to him through the work in the kitchen (A21, 54–7). The royal seneschal then appears, and he too urges the young man to take courage and to assume his inherited position. Charlemagne does indeed leave the kitchen and approach the court, and the narrator uses the occasion to emphasize that he is the strongest and also the most attractive man in the world, as created by God (A22, 34–51). Encouraged by his advisors, Charlemagne then attacks Hoderich and cuts into him with all his might, which immediately brings Hoderich’s friends to the scene, who want to defend him by killing Charlemagne. On the other side, upon Dietrich’s appeal, the duke of Ingelheim, Milan, takes the young man under his coat, calling upon his own men for their support. Similarly, Duke Gerfin comes to the rescue with his warriors, which then results in a great military melee, with many people dying, until Hoderich himself calls to everyone to hold their weapons and to stop fighting. He refers to Charlemagne and forgives him the terrible strike against him with a reference to his youth (A25, 25–6). But Dietrich and Dederich realize that Charlemagne can no longer stay at court and must be taken to another country for his safety, so the seneschal recommends the Muslim kingdom in Spain, ‘Hispanien lant’ (A26, 25), where the thoroughly worthy and noble Sultan Galaffers rules. Galaffers has a daughter, Galie, who is described as being the most beautiful woman in the world. At that time, however, Galaffers is besieged by the African ruler Bremunt, who wants to force the sultan to grant him Galie’s hand in marriage. This is a common narrative trope in courtly romances, such as in Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival, where the protagonist similarly liberates his future wife, Condwir amúrs, from a besieger who wants to force her into marriage.15 15 Wolfram von Eschenbach, Parzival, ed. Lachmann, Knecht and Schirok, Book IV, sections 179–223.

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Dederich harbours hope that Charlemagne might overcome the African ruler and thus ingratiate himself with Galaffers, which would help the Christian cause considerably (A27, 28–9). The religious motivation is, however, only slightly alluded to; military and political triumphs matter the most in this context. The two knights Morant and Euerhart are assigned to Charlemagne as his companions on his way south, and they along with a whole band of warriors turn to Spain, where they hope to achieve glory and victory over Bremunt. In the meantime, Hoderich and Haenffrait – this is an alternative spelling (A23, 47), just as Haenffraide (A24, 26) – happily assume rule, with the former being appointed as the new king. The ‘refugees’ under the leadership of David reach Toledo, where the sultan, whom the narrator characterizes without any qualms as an ‘edel heide’ (A32, 42; noble heathen), welcomes them amicably, especially because their great reputation has preceded them. David explains that they had been expelled by evil members of the court and that they are under the leadership of the greatest ruler on earth, the young Charlemagne: ‘Hey soulde der hoechster konynck eyn syn, / De vnder des weiden hemels schyn’ (A33, 4–5; He should be the greatest king here under the wide heavenly sky). After the sultan has sworn by his god, Machumete (A33, 34), to accept and to help them as a worthy warrior, David finally has the opportunity to introduce Charlemagne and to outline his family lineage: he was born in the Frankish kingdom as the son of King Pippin, and carries the name of Karle Maynet (A33, 47). This revelation, however, triggers great wrath from the sultan because he had suffered greatly from Pippin in previous wars; but because he has sworn an oath to accept the Christians and to support them he cannot throw them into prison as he would now like. Moreover, which casts him in a most positive light, he lets bygones be bygone, offering them his friendship and grace, as they are prepared to fight on his behalf against the African King Bremunt. Charlemagne soon attracts much attention among the Muslims because of his extraordinary physical beauty, which the narrator describes by employing the adverb ‘mynnenclich’ (A34, 38; courtly beautiful).16 Of course, the sultan’s daughter Galie, although locked by her father in a tower together with twenty-five virgins as her companions in order to protect her better from the African king, gets wind of the Franks and their young prince, Charlemagne. She has an opportunity to observe him soon enough, peering out of her window and immediately feeling the stirring of love, just as Lavinia does in Heinrich von Veldeke’s Eneit when she espies the male protagonist, whom she also finds extremely beautiful.17 Swearing an oath upon Mahmet, she confirms that she has 16 For an excellent overview of what colour, beauty, light and attractiveness meant in the Middle Ages see Oster, Die Farben höfischer Körper. Oster focuses, however, mostly on female beauty, and discusses the concept of ugliness mostly with respect to men (wild men). 17 Eneide, ed. Schieb and Frings; for a critical study of this phenomenon of a woman’s gazing upon an attractive man, see Lindemann Summers, Ogling Ladies, pp. 47–62.

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never seen a man as attractive as Charlemagne; not even angels could be his equal (A35, 49–54). Little wonder that she is struck by a love arrow, which is the beginning of a life-long relationship between them. This emphasis on Charlemagne’s youth, his expulsion from home and this new love interest closely associate Karl Meinet with the genre of the courtly romance, although the heroic element, as we have already observed, is not completely ignored. This generic hybridity might be a typical trademark of this version of the Charlemagne myth, especially because the author combines linguistic registers from various source types and easily switches from the erotic discourse to the subsequent military account about King Bremunt attacking Toledo. Both the Christian and the Muslim troops under King Galaffers prepare themselves for the fight, although they are considerably in the minority compared with the enemy. As is to be expected, the small company of 200 Frankish warriors quickly display wonders of military prowess that encourage the Toledan warriors to follow them into battle and live up to their example, killing scores of African soldiers. Galaffers is also highly praised for his extraordinary accomplishments (A40, 20–5). In order to heighten the narrative tension, however, we are also told of King Bremunt’s deadly force, with which he slays scores of his opponents, including King Galaffers’s brother. However, once Euerhart has caused him a very serious wound, Bremunt turns to flee. He is quickly followed by his entire army, which guarantees Galaffers the victory. Curiously, there is not one word about Charlemagne during the entire description of the fight, and we only hear of him again afterwards, when Galaffers offers rewards to all of his men. The reason for his absence might be his youth, as the narrator indicates: ‘Karlle, wan hei neit ritter was’ (A44, 17; Charlemagne, since he was not a knight), but the sultan provides him with rewards as well, appropriate for his young age. Nevertheless, as soon as all the members of the court turn to sportive events and compare their physical abilities through mock fighting, Charlemagne is mentioned again as one who, having learned all those skills within a year, then outdoes all of them (A44, 46–7). For the narrator, at this point Charlemagne does not need to be placed within a military context, as the crucial aspect is the budding love between him and Galie. In the meantime, King Bremunt has slowly recovered with the expert care of his doctors, and renews his military efforts to defeat his opponent and to win his daughter as a bride. Again we find ourselves in the midst of a deadly military confrontation, which takes place at another side of the city, where the river Tahgen (A47, 44), today known as the Tagus, is located. The narrator thus adds a significant realistic feature, detailing a spatial setting that is otherwise conspicuously undefined.18 18 For the spatial turn in medieval studies, see Gerok-Reiter and Hammer, ‘Spatial Turn/Raumforschung’, the contributions to Spatial Practices: Medieval/Modern, ed. Stock and Vöhringer, and those to Space in the Medieval West, ed. Cohen and Madeline. I have also explored this issue at length in the introduction to Urban Space in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Age, ed. Classen, pp. 1–145.

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This time, Charlemagne is finally involved, but we first learn that he withdraws into a corner and sheds many tears because, as he reveals to David, he has not yet been knighted and thus cannot participate in the fighting, although he is already nineteen years of age (A40, 21): ‘Were ich ritter, so soulde ouch ich / Hude ryden in den wolck wich / Mit mynen leuen ritteren’ (A49, 15–17; If I were a knight, I also should ride into the people’s fight [the war] together with my dear knights [men]). David tries to console him, but Galie, who had overheard his crying and their conversation, promises him that his wish will soon be fulfilled by her father (A49, 59–63). The religious difference in this context apparently does not matter at all. But first the narrator returns to his description of the war, going into many details and painting grim images of mutual slaughter. King Bremunt also tries to coerce or bribe his opponent to hand over his daughter, which would end the war, but Galaffers resolutely rejects this offer and even intimidates the messenger, saying that he would execute him if it were not a sacrosanct custom always to grant messengers a safe retreat (A53, 62–4).19 Following, Galie begs her father to fulfil her wish and to knight Charlemagne, which quickly happens because it pleases the king as well, as shown by the enormous gifts that he then bestows on Charlemagne, granting him a most valuable sword called Galosevele (A54, 20; or Golosebele, A55, 29) and a very precious white horse called Affeleir (A54, 31). Moreover, he provides him with new clothing worthy of a knight and orchestrates the ceremony, initiating Charlemagne into knighthood along with numerous other young men from his own people: ‘So daden ouch de Sarrazene, / Mannych sper zo brachen’ (A55, 58–9; and the Saracens did so as well and broke many spears). Again, the religious or ethnic difference does not receive any mention here, whereas the shared culture and value system of knighthood is collectively celebrated. The shield the king then hands over to Charlemagne is identified as a most valuable object, worthy of the most honourable knight. For the narrator this all makes good sense, because he characterizes the king as ‘gemeyt’ (A56, 31; noble, splendid or glorious). Galaffers even asks his daughter and her maids to join them for the dinner, which adds to the honour which he piles upon Charlemagne. The relationship between the two men is one of great friendliness and mutual respect: ‘Harde suesse was syn rede’ (A59, 21; his words were very kind/sweet). Now Charlemagne can gaze closely at the princess, and he quickly falls in love, whereas she had already felt such emotions for some time, which the narrator notes with astonishment (A59, 42–5). Moreover, he also describes their mutual love pangs, but then drops the topic in order to return to the war, as the armistice that both sides had agreed upon is coming to an end. 19 For the role of the messenger and of letters in the Middle Ages, see the contributions to Gespräche – Boten – Briefe, ed. Wenzel; for specific case studies on messengers in late medieval communicative situations, see Hübner, Im Dienste ihrer Stadt.

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In the night Charlemagne cannot sleep owing to burning love pangs, and we hear him reflecting upon his emotions and longing in the old tradition of all courtly lovers, though he combines this with his desire to win praise and honour in the fighting to follow the next day, which would enhance his status in Galie’s eyes (A61, 52–64). War and love are hence intimately tied together, so the real struggle that takes place here now proves to be the fight between two men, the young attractive Charlemagne and the older, violent and aggressive Bremunt, who both vie for Galie’s love and hand in marriage. Because Charlemagne cannot sleep, vexed by his feelings of love, he gets up, readies his horse and rides out of the city, all of which allows the narrator to provide many details about his luxurious equipment and the horse itself. Significantly, he also refers to him now specifically as ‘Karl van Frankriche’ (A64, 31; Charlemagne from the Frankish kingdom), which considerably enhances his social status within the literary account and paves the way for his adult life as the leader of his people. Outside of the city Charlemagne encounters Kayphas, one of King Bremunt’s leading warriors, whom he kills in a joust, signalling thus that he could also overcome the entire hostile army in their impending clash on the battle field. Curiously, however, the scene then switches to old David, who, having risen very early, notices Charlemagne’s absence, along with his weapons, armour and horse. He immediately fears the worst and believes that the young hero must have found his death, which sends the old man into extreme emotional turmoil (A67, 45–60). It might have been more sensible to go looking for him, as David eventually realizes, but he does not know where to look (A68, 18–20). We know, of course, what has really happened with Charlemagne, but the scene underscores how deeply David and the other companions love their young lord, and that they would do everything in their power to protect him because they expect him later to regain the royal crown and thus to reconstitute the kingdom according to established traditions (A68, 13). The old advisor David then follows Charlemagne, rides out of the city and reaches the river, where he meets his disciple and expresses his frustration and anger that the young man left without informing anyone. This provides some comedy because the hero has already demonstrated his manly superiority over one of the most dangerous enemies, and yet David still thinks of giving him a rough beating in punishment for his negligence and disrespect of him as the authority figure: ‘Vermocht ich id, ich soult zu deser zyt / Vch sere slaen vp vren nacken / Ind ouch an vyre kynbacken’ (A69, 9–11; If I could, I would right now hit you upon your back and also on your cheeks). But this is only wishful thinking, and Charlemagne is truly too independent still to rely entirely on David. The protagonist is no longer a child, although the old man would like to treat him as one. Surprisingly, Charlemagne submits himself under him, at least verbally, promising that he will never again commit such a stupid act (‘dumheit’, A69, 25). He then relates his battle against Kayphas, whose head is, of course, dangling from the side of the horse.

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The comedy then increases through Charlemagne’s humble words – he describes the fight against Kayphas as an accidental joust, as if killing was incidental, hardly worthy of being mentioned. He goes so far as to offer Kayphas’s noble horse as a gift to David to soften his anger (A69, 58–60). This farcical situation makes David laugh because he suddenly knows that his disciple has grown quickly into a mature man who has accomplished a fine and honourable deed, proving himself as one of the greatest knights on earth (A69, 61–6). Consequently, he then approaches him as ‘Edel here van Franckriche!’ (A70, 3; Noble lord of the Frankish kingdom), explicitly acknowledging him now as his lord who no longer needs any supervision having demonstrated his extraordinary knightly prowess as an adult man. Not only do all the Frankish warriors express their joy that their leader has accomplished such a great deed, but also the sultan and his daughter, who continues to watch all events that occur at court by looking out from her window and is extremely pleased that her champion has earned so much honour (A70, 28–32). In fact, the narrative now turns into a ‘classical’ love story because Galie confides in her chambermaid, Florette, admitting her love for Charlemagne, begging her for help and revealing her deeply erotic desires: ‘Och, mocht ich den zo eynre stunt / Kussen, als myn wille were, / So wer vergangen all der swere, / Der mir in der werlt ee geschach’ (A70, 62–A71, 1; Oh, if only I could once kiss him as my heart desires, then all the worries would have disappeared that I have ever suffered in this world). Florette is deeply worried because of the religious difference and warns Galie against giving her heart to a Christian man, but the princess is already so deeply in love that she cannot resist any longer and has already accepted that Charlemagne’s God must be a better one than their own. While she tries to prove this with reference to universal phenomena, the most important consideration is that Charlemagne was able to kill his opponent Kayphas (A71, 57–A72, 6). We are not informed about the origin of Galie’s religious inspiration – that is, whether she has read or heard more details about the Christian faith, or whether her love for Charlemagne drives her in this situation – but it is not an unusual circumstance in medieval literature that a Saracen princess falls in love with a Christian nobleman and later escapes with him in order to receive baptism and then to marry her beloved.20 In contrast to other narratives with this motif, the Christian hero in Karl Meinet has not even had a chance to talk with his beloved, and yet God has already made Galie, and now also Florette, feel love for the Christian faith, which the latter reveals by inexplicably breaking into laughter once she has heard out her mistress, for she is beginning to feel a religious stirring in her heart (A72, 40). 20 Classen, ‘Confrontation with the Foreign World of the East’; Classen, ‘“Die Heidin” – A Late-Medieval Experiment in Cultural Rapprochement between Christians and Saracens’; Kinoshita, ‘The Politics of Courtly Love’; Kinoshita, ‘Fraternizing with the Enemy’; Salama, ‘Die Kolonialisierung des weiblichen Körpers’.

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This satisfies the narrator, who hence shifts the focus back to Charlemagne and his military accomplishment. This allows him to merge two separate genres, the heroic epic and the courtly romance: that is, to complement the erotic with the military. Curiously, we also notice the considerable influence of the sentimental novel: King Bremunt suffers greatly when he hears of his nephew’s death, lamenting deeply when they discover the corpse and even placing it in his lap, which altogether could be a reminiscence of the almost excessively emotional and larmoyant Diu Klage, the continuation of the Nibelungenlied.21 Moreover, Bremunt is deeply troubled as to why his god, Machmut, did not prevent this tragedy. He almost begins to doubt the validity of his faith, but he ultimately decides to dedicate himself entirely to revenge (A73, 30–2) and thus becomes a victim of his own self-deception. Again, however, the narrative switches back to Charlemagne, who, having eating dinner with the sultan and his daughter, retires to his bedroom and falls on to his bed fully clothed because he is thinking too hard of Galie. This makes David break into laughter again (A74, 8), as this appears to be a rather burlesque situation both intradiegetically and extradiegetically. Driven by his love for Galie, Charlemagne gets up and leaves the room, then the palace, and thus comes to the place where she is lingering with her maids, filled with thoughts of Charlemagne. For David all this behaviour seems strange until Charlemagne finally reveals his love for Galie. The situation, however, continues to be humorous because the old man regards all this as foolish and urges the young warrior to return to his room and to go to sleep, leaving all thoughts of love behind: ‘Geit slaeffen! es wurt goet rait’ (A75, 27; Go to sleep, it is high time). Charlemagne seemingly agrees and sends the old man back to prepare their beds for the night, but in reality he hopes to see Galie: ‘Ich komen na dyr harde schere’ (A75, 32; I will quickly follow you). Soon enough a conversation begins between Charlemagne and the two women (Galie and Florette) through a hole in the wall, which may remind us of the much later love relationship between Piramus and Thisbe in Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s Dream from 1595/96 (or even of his Romeo and Juliet from 1597), though the history of this motif certainly dates back to Ovid and maybe even earlier. Here the poet also adds the necessary account of religious conversion in order to legitimate the budding relationship between the two young people. They hold hands through the hole and pledge their love for each other. As a sign of her true feelings, Galie places a most valuable ring on Charlemagne’s finger and hands him a belt of similar worth – very characteristic gifts of love which are mentioned numerous times in medieval literature when a similar situation arises, such as in Marie de France’s lai ‘Eliduc’ (c. 1180‒90). Subsequently she wishes him luck in the fighting the next day, and then asks him to leave so 21 The Lament of the Nibelungen (Div Chlage), ed. and trans. McConnell; Classen, ‘Death Rituals and Manhood’; Classen, ‘Rituale des Trauerns als Sinnstiftung und ethische Transformation des eigenen Daseins im agonalen Raum der höfischen Welt’.

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as to avoid any rumours being spread about them. Later, having returned to his quarters, he does not reveal to David the origin of the two valuable objects, and at last settles to sleep. This erotic lull before the battle reflects the rich hybridity of this text, as the author obviously wanted to combine numerous genres and integrate their characteristic narrative features into a single account, which allowed him to move rapidly from one scene to the next, each time migrating from one set of audience expectations to another. Naturally, the war itself now enters the picture most dramatically, in which Charlemagne performs honourably, as the narrator emphasizes without going too much into detail (A79, 24–8). Thoughts of Galie spur him on, especially because she had asked him to fight with bravery and in a manly fashion (A79, 32). This underscores, once again, the hybridity of this text, where the protagonist operates in the typical heroic fashion and also as a traditional courtly knight in love with his lady. At the same time, the African opponents demonstrate great respect and even admiration for him (A80, 1–4). However, the narrator also emphasizes that Charlemagne often gets into dangerous situations and receives much help from his amazing horse, Affeleir, which fights almost as his companion, biting and kicking the opponents and killing many of them (A80, 19–23). In a fascinating teichoscopic strategy, the narrator has Galie observe the fighting from a distance and describe many of the details to her maids, praising her chosen warrior, until Florette finally warns her not to speak too much about him in order to avoid revealing what she really feels for Charlemagne (A80, 45–7). Immediately after this brief exchange the narrator takes us back to the battlefield and tries to convey a starkly impressionistic scenario: ‘De vegen sach man vallen, / Schryen, kryschen ind schallen. / We da van den rossen quam, / Der was doit offde lam’ (A80, 57–60; One saw the mortally wounded fall down, there was screaming, hollowing and yelling. Whoever fell off the horses was immediately killed). Then the focus turns to King Bremunt, who performs particularly heroic deeds with his sword, which is well known all over the world, especially in Babylonia, Greece, Egypt, Romania, Armenia and Barinia (A81, 19–25), the latter being a fantasy name not to be confused, of course, with the modern name of a region in the mid-north of Australia. Bremunt is so proud of his sword, which allows him to kill scores of his opponents, that he has even given it a name, Durendart. But the Franks then become so enraged over Bremunt’s terrifying slaughter of his enemies that they turn their collective energy against him; however, even their major fighters, Morant and Euert/Everhart, succumb under the king’s blows with his superior sword. The battle description continues for some time until the focus finally returns to Charlemagne, who is informed about the death of those two heroes and deeply grieves, lamenting and crying (A86, 51–A87, 2). The narrator thus also ensures that we can recognize in him not only the stone-hard representative of the heroes from the past, but also an individual with feelings

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and deep emotions. Consequently, he turns against the African king himself, calling up all his Frankish warriors and asking them to come to his assistance to avenge the killing of those two noble knights (A87, 12–18). This sudden assault upon Bremunt scares him deeply, so he flees (A87, 24), which triggers a mass flight of his entire army, but Charlemagne vigorously pursues him as he feels such hatred on account of the loss of his two great warriors. Everyone else soon falls behind because they cannot follow fast enough, and because they are held up defeating the abandoned army, many of whom drown in the river. Charlemagne realizes that he has to take on Bremunt by himself (A88, 24), but he does not lose his courage and instead turns to God and the Virgin Mary, praying for support. This underscores his firm Christian belief, which has hardly been mentioned so far (A88, 62–3). As soon as the two warriors face each other, the African king ridicules Charlemagne, calling him ‘Junckman, dumpman’ (A89, 16; young man, dumb man) and trying to scare him out of his wits. Sarcastically he laughs about his foolish boldness in pursuing him (A90, 55) and requests that he inform him about his background – that is, whether he belongs to Galaffers’s family. This provides Charlemagne with a welcome opportunity to relate his true family, referring to his mother, Berta (Bertrada of Laon; d. 783), and his father, Pippin (Pepin the Short; d. 768). This brings up old political and military strife between the Muslims and the Christian Franks, as Pepin had robbed Bremunt of Zaragoza (A90, 26–32) and had killed many of his sub-kings and his warriors, losses which he now would avenge on Charlemagne. Of course, there is no surprise in the further plot development; despite his youth, Charlemagne defeats his opponent, gains his valuable sword, and kills him, though Bremunt begs him before he expires at least to bury him so that he will not be eaten by dogs (A92, 33–4). There is no comment as to the religious circumstances, and Charlemagne does not even respond; he simply lets Bremunt die. Having recaptured both horses, he lies down in the grass and immediately thinks of Galie again (A93, 62–5), which interconnects the military with the erotic discourse most directly, and almost grotesquely, since Bremunt’s corpse is still positioned next to Charlemagne. With the help of merchants who happen to pass by he places the corpse on the horse, and then he returns to the battlefield, where he is joyously welcomed as the supreme hero and decisive force in defeating the enemies, although he is only sixteen years of age, as we learn subsequently (A95, 10).22 The narrator places great emphasis on the memorial cult that results from the outcome of this battle. Bremunt is, upon Galaffers’s orders, buried at the site of his slaughter with a grave stone that tells the story of how young Charlemagne overcame him. Moreover, connecting the literary account with living history, the narrator emphasizes that still today there are people who 22 This contradicts the text’s earlier observation that Charlemagne is nineteen years old when Galie overhears him weeping because he is not yet a knight (A40, 21).

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have seen the grave and thus can verify the historical authenticity of his own account: ‘Van pylgerein haen ich yd entzauen, / De daer hen synt gegaen’ (A94, 63–4; I have learned it from pilgrims who have gone there). The grave is covered by more than a thousand stones, which all serve to remind the visitors of the fact that ‘Karll Bremunt alda ersloeg’ (A95, 15; Charlemagne slew Bremunt at that location).23 Similarly, Galaffers grants Charlemagne that all of the dead Christian warriors may be buried according to their custom (A95, 57–8), which signals, once again, that religious differences matter very little at this point. Indeed, Galaffers then goes so far as to provide a huge army for Charlemagne to regain his throne in France, but not out of any traditional anti-Christian sentiments; on the contrary, he is deeply grateful to him and hopes that this effort on his part will provide him at least with a chance to reward the young warrior for his enormous contribution to his own kingdom and the happiness of his family (A95, 27–50). By the same token, Charlemagne and his men all kneel down and kiss the sultan’s feet because his generous offer makes them weep for joy (A98, 46–58). Again, there is no concern about any religious or racial differences, and the only aspect that matters is knightly prowess and honour, which directly connect the ruler of Toledo with Charlemagne and his men, while the usurpers back in Paris appear as most evil characters, who have disrupted the normal course of the divine order here on earth. Once all this has been agreed upon, calm returns to the narrative, and the efforts by the two lovers to meet each other regain centre stage. Galie reasserts her strong desire to convert to Christianity (A99, 45–6), and Charlemagne therefore designs a plan to return from Paris to Toledo, once they have achieved their goals back home, to disguise himself as a pilgrim in order to escape recognition, and then to elope with her (A100, 17ff.). Galie agrees, not expressing any concern about her father and his country (as might have been expected of a princess within the feudal system),24 and both voice their determination to collaborate in this secret plan. Thereupon the narrator, as is so often the case, drops this topic and turns to discussion of Charlemagne’s cupbearer and how he is recovering from his wounds. Then we are immediately told about 23 The phenomenon of memorial culture in the Middle Ages has already been closely studied; see Carruthers, The Book of Memory; Tracy, ‘Memory, Recollection, and Forgetting’. See also the contributions to Care for the Here and the Hereafter, ed. Bueren and Leerdam. 24 This is the critical concern expressed by the princess in Marie de France’s lai ‘Les Deus Amanz’ (c. 1180), who refuses to elope with her lover: ‘But if I went away with you, my father would be sad and distressed and his life would be an endless torment. Truly, I love him so much and hold him so dear that I would not wish to grieve him. You must decide upon something else.’ Quoted from The Lais of Marie de France, ed. and trans. Burgess and Busby, p. 83.

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Sultan Galaffers, who now lives up to his promise to Charlemagne, proceeding to put together an army in support of his effort to recover his kingdom. For the narrator, this ruler proves to be ‘der bester heyden eyn, / Den de sunne ee bescheyn’ (A102, 1–2; the best heathen upon whom the sun had ever shone). He is ‘edel ind mylde’ (A102, 3; noble and generous), and receives high praise for his knightly skills (A102, 4–5). Furthermore, the narrator underscores his wisdom and truthfulness – ‘Hey was wys ind warhacht’ (A102, 7) – and emphasizes that he was a man of his word: ‘Wat hey geloffde, id wart vollenbracht’ (A102, 8; whatever he promised, he carried it out).

Outlook We could continue our discussion of Karl Meinet for a long time, as the romance continues for thousands of verses in which many different events in Charlemagne’s life are mentioned and illustrated. Most critically, he regains the royal throne in Paris and the two traitors are hanged at the gallows. Interestingly, after that victory Galaffers is asked whether he would like to convert to Christianity, but he rejects this offer and can return home without having experienced any conflict over this issue. He emphasizes their great friendship but insists on his own religion, which Charlemagne quickly accepts because he has no particular religious mission (A131, 6–11) and had asked only out of a sense of love: ‘Ich ensprechens uch neit durch zoren, / Mer durch leyff ind durch dat beste’ (A131, 14–15; I say these words not out of anger, but rather out of love and for keeping the best for you in mind). No priest is involved, and the two men part peacefully and as good companions between whom different religious orientation does not matter much.25 We could not talk of tolerance here, as Charlemagne certainly believes in his Christian god and deplores the sultan’s religious error and his own failure to convert him, but he does not coerce him further and only sends along his greetings to his daughter, with whom he hopes to elope. This might be regarded somewhat as a double play by the Frankish king, especially as the narrator had praised the sultan for his absolute truthfulness and loyalty. However, Charlemagne assures him that he would come to his aid if he ever needed any, and Galaffers promises to do likewise, so these two men, representative of two world religions, part in good friendship and harmony, both shedding tears when the sultan finally departs (A131, 42–5). 25 Nederman, Worlds of Difference; Classen, ‘Tolerance in the Middle Ages?’ This significant passage in Karl Meinet, however, has not yet been discussed in that light, as far as I can tell. For additional perspectives, see the contributions to Contextualizing the Muslim Other in Medieval Christian Discourse, ed. Frakes. The larger question at stake is discussed by the contributors to East Meets West in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times, ed. Classen. See also Classen, Toleration and Tolerance, pp. 150–2.

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From here the large work moves on and covers many more aspects that I can address only in passing.26 Charlemagne and his confidants David and Dederich travel to Toledo in disguise, which makes it possible for the lovers to meet, to plan their escape and to carry it out. Galie is accompanied only by Florette. On their journey new conflicts arise, as another man wants to win Galie as his wife, which forces Charlemagne to fight and kill him. Then they encounter one of Galie’s relatives, her cousin Orie, and again she is in danger of being forced to marry another man, Orie’s brother. Resorting to a rhetorical strategy, her cousin helps her in this emergency, and eventually they all flee together once again, though a major military confrontation soon erupts once Charlemagne’s troops have arrived. Ultimately, Orie’s overly passionate and dangerous brother Orias is killed by the Frankish ruler, and this entire narrative section concludes with Galie, Orie and Florette receiving baptism, which then allows Charlemagne to marry his beloved and Godin, Gerfin’s nephew, to marry Orie – Gerfin being one of Charlemagne’s loyal supporters. The next large text passage introduces the theme of jealousy, which soon fills Charlemagne’s heart because evil-minded courtiers malign his wife. This causes a lengthy sequence of events that would take too long to cover here. At the end the king realizes that he has been a victim of false rumours and evil schemes to rob him of his happiness, so he begs his wife for forgiveness, which she piously grants him. Later we learn of Charlemagne’s effort to conquer Germany, where he has to struggle hard against the Saxons under Duke Witgin – that is, Widukind – who was, in historical terms, Charlemagne’s most pronounced enemy during the Saxon Wars from 777 to 785. A prolonged war follows, during which Galie, who has remained in Paris, passes away. Tragically for Charlemagne, he cannot attend the funeral because of the war he is involved in. After the unnamed city where the Saxons had held out against him has given in and opened its gates, Charlemagne conquers the rest of the country and forcibly converts all the heathens. Then he marries Hildegart from Swabia, the daughter of the Germanic Count Gerold of Vinzgau and Emma of Alemannia, in c. 771, with whom he has five sons and three daughters. All this increasingly aligns the literary text with the historical account. We are also told of Witgin’s attempt to rise up against Charlemagne one more time, but Charlemagne, armed with his sword Durendart, overcomes him and forces his submission and conversion. Then the Lombard King Desiderius launches a war against Pope Adrian, who calls upon Charlemagne to come to his rescue. Later Charlemagne is also forced to go on a crusade and to liberate the Holy Land. But at this point I break off because the parallels with the chronicle reports grow increasingly close, so we do not need to discuss them here at length (unless we wished to carry out specific 26 A summary is provided by Keller in the commentary section of his edition (Karl Meinet), pp. 834–52.

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comparisons between Karl Meinet and Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied or The Stricker’s Karl der Große). Overall, at least in the second half of this massive work, we are increasingly presented with a more or less biographical representation of the historical Charlemagne, which is certainly significant, but does not need to be explored further in the present context. Instead, what matters for our purposes proves to be the first part of the long poem, because here the poet could give his imagination free rein and project a history of Charlemagne in his youth, being repressed and almost killed by the two usurpers to the throne. Initially we encounter the protagonist as a very young person and, even when he kills the two major opponents, Kayphas and then his uncle King Bremunt, he has only reached the age of sixteen. Nevertheless, he is systematically described as a courtly lover, as an aspiring knight and, soon enough, as the true hero and leader of his people. Furthermore, the poet here presents a very different geopolitical milieu, where Muslims and Catholics appear to cooperate well if their ethical and public ideals and values coincide. The author has included numerous fascinating intercultural components that correspond with thematic issues included in other contemporary narratives, such as the anonymous Reinfried von Braunschweig or Konrad von Würzburg’s Partonopier und Meliur, where we discover an intriguing discussion of toleration.27 From a literary point of view, this version of the Charlemagne myth adds a significant component insofar as we here encounter the protagonist as a young person who is expelled from his country as a result of the actions of evil courtiers, and must find refuge in Muslim Toledo, far away from home. Surprisingly, the local sultan proves to be much more humane than one might have expected in light of traditional medieval opinions about rulers in the Arabic world, and hence as rather similar to Charlemagne in terms of ethical and moral attitudes. The evil characters in Spain and in the Frankish kingdom are of a very similar kind, and both groups are eliminated, though this costs enormous effort, time and resources. Furthermore, the anonymous author of the Karl Meinet consistently endeavours to combine various literary genres, switching freely from the heroic mode to the courtly, pairing without any hesitation the erotic with the military discourse; politics and love are closely intertwined and are directly predicated upon each other. We also observe that the poet was specifically interested in integrating humorous, at times even burlesque and grotesque, scenes, projecting individuals laughing about others or inviting the audience to join the laughter, especially during the protagonist’s bad treatment as a boy, when he was basically pushed away from the court and into the kitchen. Altogether, the thematic range in this verse narrative is extensive, though the life of young Charlemagne, and later his military and personal actions, constitute the central interest. The text includes episodes 27 Classen, ‘Tolerance in the Middle Ages?’ For more structural approaches, see Achnitz, Babylon und Jerusalem.

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dealing with, for example, treason, assassination attempts, expulsion, war and siege, budding love between Charlemagne and Galie, individual jousts, military triumphs and the loss of good friends and others. We can hence recognize in the Karl Meinet poem an important and innovative literary treatment of the mythical figure of Charlemagne, although, or perhaps because, it pursues, particularly in the early parts, quite different biographical perspectives.

5 Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’s Königin Sibille: the Double-edged Sword in the German and the Dutch Prose Version

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he recent publication of critical editions of two of the four prose novels attributed to Countess Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken (b. c. 1395; d. 17 January 1456) – Loher und Maller (2013) and Herzog Herpin (2014) – makes it easier than ever before not only to study these two texts by themselves as major contributions to late medieval German literature but also to gain a much more precise understanding of the literary discourse involving a female author (whose authorship is still somewhat debated)1 and of the cultural life at a fifteenth-century court, Saarbrücken, at the border between the French and the German-speaking lands. Two of her other novels, Hug Schapler and Königin Sibille, have been available in reasonably solid editions for some time, and increasingly Elisabeth emerges as a major author (and translator) in her own right. For our purposes, however, these two new publications, along with the previous editions, will also facilitate a much more in-depth investigation of the Charlemagne myth as it had developed in the late Middle Ages and as it altered in the course of time.2 Moreover, with Elisabeth’s works we find the fascinating situation of a medieval literary tradition that was picked up by early modern printers, who thus gave a remarkable afterlife to some of those texts, except Elisabeth’s Königin Sibille, which seems to have failed to attract interest on the early modern book market – it was never printed and has survived in only one manuscript, Hamburg, Staats- und 1 Even the most recent editions of some of her works have been categorized as anonymous, or at least as of indeterminate authorship; see the following note for examples regarding the edition of her Herzog Herpin and Loher und Maller. 2 [Elisabeth Gräfin zu Nassau-Saarbrücken], Herzog Herpin, ed. Bastert et al.; [Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken], Loher und Maller, ed. von Bloh and Winst; Elisabeth Gräfin zu Nassau-Saarbrücken, Ein lieplichs lesen; Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken, Der Huge Scheppel der Gräfin Elisabeth von Nassau; Elisabeth von Lothringen, Gräfin zu Nassau und Saarbrücken, Sibille; Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken, Der Roman von der Königin Sibille. Recently this novel was re-edited: [Elisabeth Gräfin zu Nassau-Saarbrücken], Königin Sibille, Huge Scheppel, ed. von Bloh and Bastert. Both editors question Elisabeth’s authorship, as in the case of the other novels, but scholarly opinion remains divided.

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Universitätsbibliothek, Cod. 12 in scrin.3 That manuscript also contains Elisabeth’s Hug Schapler (fols 1r–57v; Sibille appears on fols 58r–76v).4 Research has long recognized the remarkable quality of these novels, as the rich scholarly literature indicates,5 and the recent discussions by Bastert and von Bloh in the introductions to their editions (Loher und Maller and Herzog Herpin) shed even more light on the intricacies of the narrative plots; the relationships between the individual texts, which are all related through genealogical ties among the protagonists; the historical background of all four texts, which are grounded in the early medieval history of the Carolingians, and the connection between the narratives and their illustration programmes, wherever they exist.

Elisabeth’s Depiction of Charlemagne Our interest here focuses on how Charlemagne is depicted in each of these four novels, and what ethical and moral parameters the author employed. How does this famous emperor fare in these late medieval texts, and what strands of an old mythical tradition influenced Elisabeth the most? While older research tended to disregard these novels, and criticized the author for projecting mostly passive female characters, rather the opposite is actually the case, as newer interpretations have amply demonstrated.6 We will examine this issue more closely when we discuss the relationship between Charlemagne and his wife, Sibille, for instance, an area that has not yet received full critical attention, which Wolfgang Liepe lamented as long ago as 1920; this has not changed much since then, though there are a few exceptions.7

3 Konczak, Studien zur Druckgeschichte; Gotzkowsky, ‘Volksbücher’, pp. 79–92. The editions by both Bastert (2014) and von Bloh (2013) offer a detailed discussion of the manuscript and print conditions in their respective introductions. For the latest list of manuscripts of Königin Sibille, see http://www.handschriftencensus. de/werke/818 (accessed 16 February 2017). The same kind of information can be found for the other three novels in the same database. 4 Brandis, Die Codices in scrinio der Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek Hamburg, pp. 47–9. 5 Classen, ‘Women in 15th-Century Literature’; Classen, The German Volksbuch, pp. 14, 19, 25 and passim; Classen, ‘Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’; von Bloh, Ausgerenkte Ordnung. 6 Herweg, ‘Weibliches Mäzenatentum zwischen dynastischer Bestimmung, politischem Kalkül und höfischer Memoria’, p. 253. 7 Liepe, Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken, pp. 176–224; see also von Bloh, Ausgerenkte Ordnung, pp. 104–8 and passim. The discussion both here and there continues to focus on external aspects, such as the manuscript situation, the political and historiographical background and so on, or on the way the protagonist fares and copes in her miserable situation. Haug, ‘Der Prosaroman von der Königin Sibille’, argues that the poet thematized, above all, the appearance of evil in this world and how to cope with it constructively.

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A Biographical Outline Most Anglophone readers might not be familiar with Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken. I begin here with a biographical sketch based on the insights established by recent scholarship on this remarkable fifteenth-century female ruler.8 Most interestingly, the role of the countess as a short-term ruler and also as a literary person attracts much attention.9 Elisabeth was the daughter of Frederick of Lorraine, count of Vaudémont and lord of Ruigny, Boves and Aubenton, and his wife Marguerite of Joinville, who was sixteen years his elder and had been married twice before (to John of Burgundy, lord of Montaigu, d. 1373; and to Count Peter of Geneva, d. 1392). Frederick and Marguerite married sometime between 4 June and 19 July 1393, and Elisabeth must have been born around April 1394, or as late as 1397/98, probably in Vézelise in southern Lorraine, the seat of the administrative centre of the county of Vaudémont. We know nothing about Elisabeth’s childhood and youth, but she might have been influenced by the literary interests of her mother, who is said to have translated Loher und Maller from Latin into French in 1405. In the spring of 1412 she became engaged to Philipp, count of Nassau and Saarbrücken, son of Johann von Nassau-Weilburg and Johanna von Saarbrücken-Commercy, one of the most powerful princes in that region, but almost thirty years her senior. He had married Anna, daughter of Count Kraft von Ohenlohe in 1387, who then died in 1410. They had two children, Philipp and Johanna. The marriage of Philipp Senior and Elisabeth was solemnized on 11 August 1412. Elisabeth’s mother died in 1417. Philipp Junior died in 1416, and Johanna married Count Georg von Henneberg on 22 June 1422. Elisabeth delivered her first child, Philipp, on 12 March 1418; he was followed by Johann on 4 April 1423 and Margaretha on 26 April 1426. Her husband died on 2 July 1429 at the age of sixty-one. While his eleven-year-old son, Philipp, assumed the administration of the territories east of the Rhine, Elisabeth was responsible for those in the region of the Saar river and in the French-speaking lands. Being in charge of such a large territory at eleven years of age was highly unusual, but we know that Philipp received the imperial fiefdom in 1430 and the fiefdom of the Electoral Palatinate in 1432, and that he bestowed fiefs himself as early as December 1430. At the same time, Elisabeth quickly arranged matters for her own government and her new status as a widow. 8 Here I have relied heavily on Herrmann, ‘Lebensraum und Wirkungsfeld der Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’. His balanced and meticulous work, based on extensive archival and other research, securely supports his conclusions. For a counter-position see Spieß, ‘Zum Gebrauch von Literatur im spätmittelalterlichen Adel’; Bastert, Helden als Heilige, pp. 109–12; von Bloh, Ausgerenkte Ordnung, pp. 29–36. 9 Herrmann, ‘Lebensraum und Wirkungsfeld der Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’.

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She worked hard to preserve for her children the paternal inheritance, while she herself never married again. She was successful in many different arenas – negotiating, purchasing, administering, governing – but she also had to accept the loss of a number of major properties and castles. She defended herself energetically against the neighbouring counts and dukes, and against the local gentry in her own territories. She had to steer carefully between hostile parties in both France and Germany, but details do not interest us here, except that she made many efforts to prevent the outbreak of military conflict and tried hard to avoid political tensions, wherever possible. This did not mean, however, that she abstained from all military activity, and there were moments when she commissioned troops for the defence of her territory. Elisabeth consistently relied on members of the lower nobility as advisors and councillors, and pursued rather traditional administrative strategies, but she was actively involved in many of the important governmental businesses, which gained her considerable recognition among neighbouring princes. From 1438 onwards Elisabeth increasingly transferred her political power to her sons and, on 27 February 1442, Philipp and Johann signed a contract dividing up the territory, upon the advice and with the support of their mother. Philipp received the county of Nassau and all the properties west of the Rhine; Johann received the county of Saarbrücken, the property of Commercy and most of the lands east of the Rhine. Both agreed to observe the arrangements for their mother already established in 1439. To what extent Elisabeth was skilled in writing cannot yet be determined, although she signed many documents herself and was undoubtedly a highly literate person, as was typical for female aristocrats in the late Middle Ages. Generally, however, there is no information shedding light on the cultural or literary conditions at her court. However, we are told that her younger son, Johann, created a copy of the French chanson de geste, Hugues Capet in 1437, which had been kept in the abbey of Saint-Denis north of Paris (192). Elisabeth translated the same text as a novel under the title Hug Schapler (which also appears as Huge Schepeler and Huge Scheppel), as we learn most specifically in the prologue to the 1537 print edition.10 The final judgement as to Elisabeth’s authorship of the four novels – that is, the translation from French into German – is not yet determined, but there are good arguments in her favour, especially in that the epilogue to Loher and Maller mentions her specifically as the one responsible for that work. This colophon was written around 1455/56, so shortly before Elisabeth’s death. There is as yet no further supporting evidence, but opposite arguments, favoured by von Bloh and Bastert among others, do not seem to have sufficient weight, as they are based mostly on caution regarding the lack of more specific evidence. Elisabeth’s son Johann commissioned the copying of all four texts in richly illuminated manuscripts between 10 Romane des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts, ed. Müller, p. 345. The 1500 print edition only mentions a ‘geschrifft vnd kronich’ (p. 186; written document and chronicle). See Müller’s comments on the two printed versions, pp. 1088–91.

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1455 and 1456 and explicitly referred to his mother as the author. In all four of them we discover specific references to Charlemagne, but they are all rather negative and cast this early medieval ruler in an almost pejorative light.

Königin Sibille – a Novel about the Calumniated Queen This presentation of Charlemagne finds its most vivid expression in Elisabeth’s Königin Sibille. The original story forming the core of this novel dates back to the first half of the thirteenth century, so to a time before the monk Alberich of Trois-Fontaines (Dreibrunnen) in the north-eastern corner of modern-day France included an account about those events in his Chronica.11 There he reports about the destiny of Charlemagne’s first wife, Sibilia, daughter of the Langobardian King Desiderius, who was expelled by her husband, the emperor. Alberich was aware that this account was probably fictitious, but he acknowledged its effect on readers/listeners: ‘quamvis delectent et ad risum moveant audientes vel etiam ad lacrimas’ (these stories delight and move the listeners to laughter, but also to shed tears).12 The anonymous author of the original text must have composed it at the time when the Geste du roi cycle emerged, combining two motifs of universal interest: the first dealing with the expelled wife, as in the narratives of Bertha, Crescentia and Genoveva; the second with the loyal dog who avenges his murdered master. A Franco-Italian version of this verse romance of Queen Sibille, identified by the name of the main culprit, Macaire, and a French poem from the fourteenth century extended this account. A Middle High German poet, Schondoch, created his own version, Diu Königin von Frankrich und der ungetriuwe Marschalk (c. 1400), which experienced considerable popularity throughout the fifteenth century, as demonstrated by its surviving in twenty manuscripts.13 This then led to the creation of three prose novels: one in Spain at the end of the fourteenth or early fifteenth century, Cuento; another in the western part of Germany, Elisabeth’s Königin Sibille from 1431; and a French version from c. 1450 dealing with the character Garin de Monglane.14 11 Morgan, ‘The “Reine Sibille/Macario” Story and the Charlemagne Cycle throughout Europe’. 12 Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken, Der Roman von der Königin Sibille, p. 10. 13 Strippel, Schondochs ‘Königin von Frankreich’; Jefferis, ‘Die neuaufgefundene Heidelberger Handschrift’. Here she also traces the reception history down to 1549, when the Nuremberg cobbler–poet Hans Sachs created his ‘Meisterlied’ on the same topic. See also Jefferis, ‘The Cronica von der Königin von Frankreich’; Jefferis, ‘Das Meisterlied von der Königin von Frankreich’. For the complete list of manuscripts, see http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/935 (accessed 16 February 2015). 14 Köhler, ‘Zur altspanischen Erzählung von Karl dem Großen und seiner Gemahlin Sibille’.

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Parallel to Alberich, the chronicler Jean des Preis dit d’Outremeuse (1338–1400) from Lüttich/Liège included in his Myreur des Histors a synopsis of the suffering that Charlemagne’s queen Sibille had to go through. While the German tradition was never picked up by book printers, the Spanish version appeared in print sometime before 1532 and circulated at least until 1553. On that basis an anonymous poet prepared a Dutch translation, Sibilla, and published it in Antwerp in the early sixteenth century, thereby continuing an old tradition of Charlemagne epics in the Dutch language that seems to have run parallel to the German-language tradition.15 The considerable popularity of the Spanish version might be explained as a result of the Reconquista, particularly the subsequent resettlement of the Duero region, where many individuals enjoyed the new opportunity of transcending traditional class barriers. This, at least, is the explanation offered by Erich Köhler.16 Let us now return to the German tradition. The story of Queen Sibille entered the German-speaking lands several times, especially if we keep Schondoch’s version in mind. It then experienced even further popularity throughout the sixteenth century, for instance in Hans Sachs’s comedy ‘die künigin auß Franckreich mit dem falschen marschalck’, written in five acts and dated 14 September 1549.17 Sachs’s source was fairly popular and was included, for instance, in the famous Weimarer Liederbuch, some parts of which had been compiled sometime in the early, others only in the late, sixteenth century.18 Separately, and perhaps preceding this collection, an earlier version had appeared already in Nuremberg in 1520, printed by Jobst Gutknecht under the title ‘Das lied von der Künigin || von Franckreich/ die der falsch Mar=||schalck gegen dem Kuenig vbergab || do sie nicht wolt seines willen || pflegen. In des Regenbogen langen thon’.19 The latest manuscript containing at least 15 Sibilla: Een zestiende-eeuwse Karelroman in proza, ed. Besamusca, Kuiper and Resoort. See the contributions to Karolus Rex, ed. Besamusca and Tigelaar. For earlier Dutch versions see Berg and Besamusca, ‘Middle Dutch Charlemagne Romances and the Oral Tradition of the “Chanson de geste”’. 16 Köhler, ‘Ritterliche Welt und “villano”’. See also the contributions to Charlemagne and his Legend in Early Spanish Literature and Historiography, ed. Bailey and Giles. 17 The Sibille story also circulated in an anonymous 1520 print from Nuremberg (mentioned in Weller, Annalen der poetischen national-literatur der Deutschen im XVI, vol. 1, p. 201), and in a 1555 edition. These two versions both differ from Elisabeth’s prose novel, and are certainly not directly related to it. See the comprehensive Repertorium der Sangsprüche und Meisterlieder des 12. bis 18. Jahrhunderts, ed. Brunner et al., vol. 10, 20S/3130b, p. 487. See also Fischer, Studien zur deutschen Märendichtung, pp. 168–9. Text quoted from Hans Sachs, ed. Keller, vol. 8, pp. 54–80. Sachs does not identify the king and queen specifically, though he does name some of the courtiers, such as Duke Lewpoldt (Leopold) and knight Florio. 18 Wallensköld, Le Conte de la femme chaste convoitée par son beau-frère; Classen, Deutsche Liederbücher des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts, p. 295, no. 12. 19 This information is taken from the VD 16, available through https://opacplus.

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the core of this narrative dates from 1645, and is today housed in the Österreichische Staatsbibliothek, Vienna, Cod. 10100a.20 The reasons for this considerable literary success might have been very different from those determining the situation in Spain and France, but there are archetypal elements that seem to have attracted readers/listeners throughout time and in different cultures: the brutal and irrational husband, the innocently suffering wife and the long-term struggle to re-establish peace between the couple. Hermann Tiemann observes, however, that Elisabeth, or her writing team, strove hard to reduce the text, cutting all unnecessary embellishments and presenting just the bare bones of the narrative.21 Even though a full literary assessment of this and of the three other prose novels by Elisabeth is still required, we can already be certain that they represent an important stage in the reception of the Old French chansons de geste in Germany, specifically reflecting the interest of female readers, at least within Elisabeth’s family, as her mother had started the process of writing down literary accounts about the history of Charlemagne in French, while her daughter took the next step of translating the French text into German.22 One of the critical reasons for this great interest in this genre, and in genealogy in particular, lies in the obvious possibility of establishing genealogical ties between the house of Saarbrücken and the Carolingian dynasty.23 But we must also keep in mind that this novel contains narrative themes that appealed to readers all over Europe. On the one hand we recognize, of course, the suffering of Queen Sibille and her long-term struggle to regain her husband’s love and trust; on the other we perceive clearly the profound fascination with Charlemagne, once again, though now viewed through a different lens, as the irresolute, irascible, uncontrolled and aggressive husband who does not seem to deserve this extraordinary wife. The narrator announces right from the beginning that the account to be presented was drawn from a chronicle to be found in the library of Saint-Denis near Paris, suggesting that it consists of a ‘true’ story. But we learn immediately that the events that frame the introduction took place in the month of May, ‘da die nachtegal songent / vnd alle ding grünet’ (117; when the nightingale sings and everything bib-bvb.de (accessed 16 February 2017). This text is identified as the one included in the Weimarer Liederbuch (see above). The symbols indicate the page layout in the original printing: = equates to a break within or between words; || indicates a line break. 20 http://www.handschriftencensus.de/6609 (accessed 16 February 2017). This is manuscript twenty-one, which I have not counted above because of its late date. All other manuscripts were written during the fifteenth century. 21 Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken, Der Roman von der Königin Sibille, p. 20. 22 Gaebel, ‘Chansons de geste in Deutschland’; online version http://d-nb. info/963659863 (2002; accessed 16 February 2017). 23 Haubrichs, ‘Die Kraft von franckrichs Wappen’; see also [Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken], Loher und Maller, pp. xiv–xv.

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turns green). This is easily recognizable as a nature trope used throughout European literature since antiquity, as Ernst Robert Curtius had recognized already in 1948.24 King Charlemagne has called together his court and celebrates the feast of Pentecost. He uses this opportunity to enfeoff his lords officially, after his own father’s death twenty-two years ago. At the same time, he considers it necessary to find a wife who will provide him with an heir. Everyone agrees with his plans, and we learn quickly that the ceremony of enfeoffment was carried out, whereupon an embassy under the leadership of Gerhart von Ronßloch is sent to Constantinople to woo the Byzantine princess on Charlemagne’s behalf. The narrator immediately interrupts himself and shortens the account, leaving out the details about their long journey. Instead, he rapidly turns to their arrival at the imperial court, where the princes make their announcements and beg for the young woman’s hand. The emperor has no objections and promises her a large dowry. While these verbal exchanges are kept extremely brief, once the narrator turns to the princess’s appearance he slows down and gives us many details about her splendid dress and her beauty (118). The narrator identifies her as the most attractive woman in the entire country. For our purpose, however, it matters only that the emperor of Constantinople does not display any hesitation in marrying off his daughter to the Frankish king, Charlemagne, apparently because he harbours great respect for his future son-in-law. Of course, he appeals to Christ to protect his daughter in the distant lands, but after he has hugged and kissed her, shedding tears, they part, and then the narrative focus shifts entirely to the situation at the Frankish court (119). The king politely gives his bride a friendly welcome outside the city, and soon a great court festival lasting three weeks is taking place, along with a tournament, in full conformity with the usual aristocratic cultural practice since the high Middle Ages, if not earlier. The narrator does not linger much on it, however, and quickly moves to the time after the wedding when the king is spending time at court with his councillors and advisors. At that moment a black and very ugly dwarf enters, whom the narrator describes as a most hideous person: ‘Man mochte keyn heßlicher mensch erdacht han / Alle die yne an gesahen / die meynten es were der duffel’ (120; One could not have imagined an uglier person. Everyone who caught sight of him thought that he was the devil). Nevertheless, Charlemagne welcomes him in a most courteous manner and invites him to stay with him. He does not seem to be repelled by his terrifying physical features and even places him at the dinner table (120), although the other members of the court feel horrified. They mutter under their breath that this creature could not be called human, and they curse his mother for having delivered such a horrible child (120). The narrator also intervenes and comments that much misery would come from this dwarf, who is called Syweron.25 24 Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, pp. 195–200. 25 For discussion of dwarfs in medieval literature see Classen, ‘Außenseiter der Gesellschaft im späthöfischen Roman, Volksbuch und Volkslied’. Habicht, Der

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One day the king is going on a hunt, so the queen retires to her chamber to rest and sleep. This proves to be the ideal opportunity for the dwarf to pursue his evil intentions, since he is burning with lust and desire for her (120), and he proceeds to act on his desires, approaching her in bed. When Sibille wakes up and realizes the compromising situation, she punches him in the face, making him lose three front teeth (121). She would have liked to hit him harder, but he escapes her just in time. When Charlemagne returns from his hunt, he quickly notices Syweron’s disfigurement and inquires about the cause. However, the latter is aware of his own guilt and pretends that he had fallen down a staircase, which caused him to lose his teeth (121). Even though this is a blatant lie, the king does not realize it and expresses, surprisingly, considerable sympathy and pity for Syweron’s accident (121). He seems to care more for the dwarf than for his own wife, with whom he does not seem to have any conversation after his hunt. Naturally, Syweron then attempts a more serious attack against Queen Sibille, on whom he now wishes to be avenged. His lust has been obviously replaced by utter hatred. At the next opportunity he sneaks into the bedroom and hides behind the curtains, waiting until the early morning when the husband gets up to attend church service in the monastery church (122). Once Syweron has realized that the queen is alone, he crawls into her bed and hides underneath the blanket, where he falls asleep. When Charlemagne then returns a few hours later to enjoy his time with his wife – ‘vff das er sich mit ire ergetzete / als er allewege zu dun plage’ (122; to have a good time with her as he had always the habit of doing) – he discovers, to his horror, the dwarf next to her. He does not wake up his wife; instead, he leaves the room and calls the entire court together so as to have witnesses for this egregious case of adultery, as he believes it to be. Without having investigated the situation further, and simply believing the evidence of his own eyes, he claims: ‘Myn husfrouwe hat mich bracht zu grossen schanden’ (122; My wife has brought great dishonour upon me). We are never clearly told whether he loved her, but he cannot tolerate the possibility of having been cuckolded (122–3), particularly not by such a hideous figure as this dwarf. Whereas the king, obviously personally hurt, reacts most vehemently as an injured person, the courtiers assembled as witnesses simply make the sign of the cross and express great puzzlement. At that moment, the queen wakes up and does not understand why the entire court is in her bedroom, until the king bitterly remarks that she only needs to lie down again with her lover, the evil dwarf. He himself feels deeply hurt both as her husband and as the king (123), and reacts most violently, not being able to control himself, blending his private with his public life: ‘jr hant myn hertze bedrübet / vnd hant myn kron versmehet’ (123; you have caused sorrow to my heart and sullied my crown). A tragic situation now unfolds before our eyes, as the king believes he has hard facts to prove her adultery, whereas she is at first completely ignorant of what has happened during her husband’s absence. But we notice a serious problem in CharZwerg als Träger metafiktionaler Diskurse, pp. 163–73, treats only the version by Schondoch and never mentions the text by Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken.

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lemagne’s thinking, because he jumps to the conclusion that the dwarf ’s presence in the bed means that Sibille must have slept with him (123). Though this is perhaps a reasonable assumption, the text clearly indicates that it is incorrect. Sibille was not aware of Syweron’s treacherous manoeuvre. Only now does she notice him, and she immediately punches him in the face. The latter wakes up, of course, and quickly tries to defend himself, now claiming that she had forced him to get into bed with her. Although he strongly objected, he could not resist her: ‘Aber ich engedorst es ir nit versagen’ (123; I did not dare to deny her this request). Charlemagne expresses deep disgust and threatens him with a terrible punishment for his misdeed, not paying any attention to the dwarf ’s defence. Undeterred, Syweron attacks the queen, accusing her of adulterous inclinations, and then he appeals to the king to observe justice and to abstain from violent treatment of him: ‘jr sollent eyn rechter richter syn’ (123; you ought to be a fair judge). He pleads innocence, saying that the queen had carried him with her own hands to the bed, whereas he himself would never have dared even to approach her. Only now does Sibille intervene. She defends herself energetically, but also desperately, pointing out her pregnancy, which would make the suggestion that she might have slept with this ugly dwarf look rather insane. Appealing to the Virgin Mary as the mother of Christ, she insists on her innocence, and if the king were to find, indeed, any trace of guilt on her part, she would grant him the right to burn her at the stake (123). Charlemagne responds crudely and curtly, but he does not take any of her words into account, insisting that the evidence speaks for itself, since the dwarf had been with her in the bed. This grieves Charlemagne greatly, as he utters, full of desperation: ‘es en wart nye keyn bedrubter man / dann ich nü bin’ (123; there has never been a man as sorrowful as I am now). However, his sorrow immediately turns into hatred, because he intends to have Sibille dragged to the execution site and thrown into the fire. Sibille faints on hearing these words and, when she awakes again, she throws herself at his feet and begs him in the name of Christ to believe her and to accept her innocence (124). She did not know of Syweron’s actions while she was asleep, and she would rather die than allow this ugly dwarf to sleep with her. For the king the evidence of the dwarf having been found in her bed counts for much more than Sibille’s words. But before he goes further he calls in a council to ask for advice. However, a group of evil courtiers gets together (who in the previous novel had plotted to oust Duke Herpin from the court, as I shall discuss below). They continue here to operate against the king, using the convenient occasion to destroy his own happiness, urging him to burn the queen at the stake (124). As those evil men carry out their plot, the other knights and even the urban dwellers, men and women, who had been present break out in tears of pity for the queen, whose innocence is obvious, at least for us as the audience. At the execution site the queen tries once again to appeal to Charlemagne’s pity and begs him at least to protect the unborn child’s life, but all to no avail. She is led to a carpet and stripped down to her underwear in preparation for her fiery death. Many of the observers begin to cry,

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feeling strongly for the innocent queen. Even many of the knights would have liked to intervene, but they do not dare to speak up on her behalf. The king himself expresses great emotional distress, but with a very different cause – he feels deeply betrayed by his wife and does not believe any of her words. He goes so far as to order his servants to prepare the execution. They throw the queen to the floor and tie her hands and arms, whereupon she calls out to Christ and the Virgin Mary, insisting once again on her own innocence and protesting against the injustice which Charlemagne is committing against her: ‘setze mir diesen vnschuldigen doit vor alle myn sünde’ (125; account this innocent death for all my sins). Only now do four of the most senior members of the royal council, Nemo of Bavaria, Ogier of Denmark, Emmerich of Narbonne and Bernhard of Brabant, approach the king and appeal to him to demonstrate mercy, commuting the death by fire into life-long exile from court, as the death of the foetus would burden him with so much sinfulness that he would never be able to redeem himself with God (125). This intervention finally makes the king rethink his previous decision, but at first he admits that he feels very much at a loss, not knowing what to do: ‘jch enweyß nit weß gedencken’ (126; I do not know how to make up my mind). He feels so much pain in his heart that he is completely torn, making it impossible for him to reach a decision. He asks for the dwarf to be brought back to him, whom the traitors now secretly encourage to spread more lies about the queen, for which they promise to reward him richly (126). Syweron carries out their wishes and intensifies his charges against the queen, insisting that his own physical handicap made it impossible for him to seek out the queen actively. On the contrary, as he now claims, she had told him the night before to come to her bedroom once the king had left it. Early in the morning, he had arrived, and then Sibille had lifted him into the bed with her own hands. Syweron even has the audacity to lament that the situation was much against his own morals: ‘Herre das was mir eyn swere ding jn myme hertzen’ (126; My lord, this weighed heavily in my heart). But when he goes so far as to emphasize that ‘ich enkunde mich ir nit erweren’ (126; I could not defend myself against her), the king explodes, loses his self-control and orders his servants to throw the dwarf into the fire. The narrator observes that the devil will certainly take his soul down to hell. The situation thus proves to be highly puzzling in legal terms because Charlemagne does not listen to anything anyone tells him and only reacts emotionally. His attempts to operate as an unbiased judge fail utterly, and it does not really matter what either his wife or the dwarf states in his presence. Since he called the dwarf in a second time, he acknowledged him as a participant in the crime of adultery, but he disregards all of his protestations that he was innocent and has him executed immediately. Even though the narrator has made it abundantly clear that Syweron does not deserve to live, there is no logic in Charlemagne’s behaviour. He simply cannot stand the presence of the dwarf whom he accuses of having committed adultery with his wife. Syweron’s insistence on his innocence means nothing, but Charlemagne does not believe his wife’s words either. Altogether, he has manoeuvred himself into a legal aporia for which there is no resolution. Having killed the

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alleged victim in this affair, he does not know how to handle his wife, whom he still loves dearly, as he now admits publicly. He orders her bonds to be released and that she be given the best clothing. In fact, as he now admits, completely reversing his previous judicial decision, ‘ich dede ir nit eyn leyt / vmb aller der wel[d]e gut’ (126; I would never cause her any hurt for any material worth in this world). Nevertheless, he orders her to leave the court and never to return, embracing the recommendation of his trustworthy councillors. Sibille is thus saved from being burned at the stake, but she bitterly grieves, not knowing where to go or how to cope out there in the world. She begs that a knight, Abrye von Mondidire, be allowed to accompany her, which Charlemagne grants, limiting the range up to which he should accompany her as far as to Rome, where she then could confess her great sins to the pope (127). Charlemagne does not probe the issue further, and remains convinced of her guilt. At the same time he suffers extremely, knowing that he is sending his wife away, and thus destroys his own happiness. The final scene is characterized by extreme emotion, Charlemagne breaking out in tears and shrieking uncontrollably, whereupon she faints numerous times until the princes lift her up to her horse and thus send her away, but not without crying bitterly themselves (127). Tears flow freely on all sides, and there is nothing left of the reputation that Charlemagne had enjoyed before as the great ruler and leader of his people, as the great conqueror and world-renowned king whom even the emperor of Constantinople respected highly.26

Charlemagne as Perceived by Elisabeth Significant political history concerned with Charlemagne and the Frankish empire in the early Middle Ages is here transformed into a highly sentimental narrative in which charges and counter-charges regarding alleged adultery balance each other out, but where neither the accuser nor the accused triumphs because both suffer deeply, him for losing his wife, his own honour and his love, her for losing her reputation, her status and her home, and hence also her beloved husband. Once she has departed, together with the knight Abrye, who is supposed to protect her on the way to Rome, Charlemagne sits down for dinner with his knights, apparently without any care for the well-being of his wife, whom has just expelled and thus exposed to the dangers of the world. At that moment another traitor at court, Markayr, arms himself secretly and follows Sibille because he has long loved her without having had the courage to reveal his feelings. The narrator calls him ‘eynen bösen schalck / vnd verreder’ (128; an evil rogue and traitor) and identifies him as a descendant of the family 26 The semiotics of tears in the Middle Ages has been the topic of several books, such as Crying in the Middle Ages, ed. Gertsman; Lachrymae, ed. Casaretto; Laments for the Lost in Medieval Literature, ed. Tolmie and Toswell. However, this astounding scene in Elisabeth’s Königin Sibille has not yet received attention from scholars of the history of emotions.

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of traitors who had already done considerable damage at Charlemagne’s court by causing the expulsion of Duke Herpin (128) – another reference to Elisabeth’s previous novel. He pursues the queen, murders Abrye, decapitates his horse and would subsequently have raped Sibille had she not escaped by then. Ultimately, Abrye’s dog pursues Markayr when he finds him at court; this arouses suspicion, so the king orders trial by ordeal. The dog wins the fight, which thus means the end of his opponent, who is hanged at the gallows together with one of his relatives, Galleran, who had tried to help him during the fight against the king’s explicit command. This completes the first narrative cycle, with the traitors having been defeated and eliminated, but it is only the beginning of the queen’s long suffering and struggle to regain her previous position and status. The novel really focuses on her and presents her life and fight, whereas her husband cuts a rather poor figure. However, Charlemagne demonstrates at least some resoluteness in setting up the ordeal and enforcing his own rules, and then, once Markayr’s guilt has been revealed, in ordering the execution (143). He is also not oblivious to the clear signs transmitted by Abrye’s dog, who behaves strangely as soon as he espies Markayr. Of course, Charlemagne’s councillor Duke Nemo of Bavaria has to suggest the best course of action, but then the king accepts the advice and follows the dog to the site, where it laments its lord’s death. Charlemagne himself breaks out in tears when he realizes that the corpse is that of Abrye. He even jumps to the conclusion that Markayr must have been the murderer and remarks that he himself faces severe danger at court: ‘Jch versorgen hie sye mit verrederye vmbgangen’ (136; I am concerned that there is treachery at work). Charlemagne now also conceives great concern for his wife, as he does not know her whereabouts (136), and he orders Markayr to be apprehended and imprisoned. Yet he does not make any decision himself, and awaits the outcome of his court council’s deliberations. Nemo convinces the others that the dog will serve as an instrument of God’s justice, and that Markayr should fight against him in an ordeal, which the king then gladly accepts as the best advice in this situation (138). Markayr at first welcomes this outcome because he believes that he will easily overcome the dog, but then he complains about the shamefulness of him, a knight, battling against a dog. Yet Charlemagne remains firm and does not allow Markayr any alternative (139).27 During the ordeal, when the dog is already gaining the upper hand, Markayr’s relative Galleran intervenes, against the king’s explicit order. When the latter realizes this, he almost loses his mind and threatens that he will order everyone who allows Galleran to get away to be hanged, whereas anyone who catches him will earn a huge reward (141). A big and strong peasant then comes forward and clubs Galleran down. Again, Markayr’s relatives try to intervene, but the king now proves to be very firm in his decision. The ordeal continues, concluding with the dog’s triumph, which then allows Charlemagne to have the execution carried out. 27 For the history of the ordeal, see Neumann, Der gerichtliche Zweikampf, pp. 191–204.

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The narrator thus portrays Charlemagne in rather ambiguous terms. He is easily subject to the manipulations of the traitors; he readily believes the external signs more than the words of his own wife, who is pregnant with his child. He wants to have his wife burnt at the stake, but then rescinds this order. He calls the dwarf in for further testimony, but then disregards anything he has to say in his defence and commands him to be thrown into the fire. The traitors at court seem to have great influence, but at the end the good councillors advise Charlemagne properly and help him reach the right decision. The king proves to be a resolute judge during the ordeal, whereas he vacillates between trusting and disbelieving his wife. If he did not have his honourable councillors to advise him he would have fallen victim to sinister forces, here identified as traitors. Charlemagne barely lives up to expectations as husband, king, ruler, judge and leader of his people, especially as he does not even know how to differentiate between friends and foes. He is easily persuaded to accuse his wife of adultery and trusts the superficial evidence – the ugly dwarf sleeping next to his wife – rather than listening to her words. He is quickly moved to tears and does not know what to do in this extreme situation, until his advisors come to his rescue. Queen Sibille thus proves to be the victim, while the political conditions at court are most debilitating. The author does not push the issues to their extreme limits, of course, because she is mostly concerned with the queen’s suffering and her many years of trying to cope in the foreign world under harsh conditions until her husband is finally willing to welcome her again as his beloved wife. Charlemagne proves to be most recalcitrant and obtuse to the very end and refuses to listen to the good advice of his councillors. When Warakir, one of Sibille’s loyal servants, who has been caught stealing from the king, is about to be hanged, Duke Nemo comes to his rescue and takes the rope from around his neck and the blindfold from his face. But the king immediately orders some others of his people to proceed with the hanging, even though Nemo had tried to prevent it. Amazingly, Charlemagne does not even wait for an answer from the duke: ‘da wolde sin der konnig nit horen’ (167; the king did not want to listen to him), and quickly proceeds with the hanging of the poor prisoner. Making use of literary freedom, the narrator makes the thief Grymmyner, one of Sibille’s amazing helpers, enter the narrative. Grymmyner obviously also commands magical skills, as he succeeds in making everyone in Charlemagne’s castle fall asleep, which enables him to liberate Warakir. Then he enters the king’s chamber and comments on his face, which scares him because of its brutal features (169). Then he takes Charlemagne’s sword and later brings it to the latter’s son Ludwig/ Louis (169), which thus constitutes, although in a most unusual fashion, the transition of the power previously held by King Charlemagne. At the very end even Duke Nemo is pleading with the king to accept his wife again and acknowledge, finally, her innocence, but Charlemagne only cries once again and says that he does not know what to do, whether he should reject her or welcome her as an innocent victim (171). Even under these new conditions, with his own son, the pope and the emperor of Constantinople all fighting against him

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on behalf of his expelled wife, Charlemagne still does not know how to react and continues to waver. Only the next morning, once the entire army under Louis’ command, upon the pope’s recommendation, has taken off its armour and weapons and approached Charlemagne’s camp in that fashion, and only once the twelve good councillors have knelt before the king and pleaded with him, does he finally do the right thing and welcome his wife, acknowledging her innocence and embracing her again as his legitimate spouse. She pleads with him specifically: ‘Herre lassent üwern zorn gein mir armes wip / Dann mir ist gewalt vnd vnrecht geschehen’ (172; Lord, let go off your wrath toward me, poor woman, because I have suffered from injustice and injury). Only now, after sustained efforts by all the good forces in this world, is the king willing to admit that his wife was maligned and had not committed adultery: ‘vnd slug den manttel vmb sye / vnd kusete vnd halsete sie dicke und viel’ (172; he wrapped his coat around her, and kissed and hugged her many times). Moreover, only now does Charlemagne finally take the long-awaited initiative and command that the traitors at his court be apprehended and executed. Curiously, however, the king tells Nemo and Ogier to apprehend them without naming anyone and without granting them an official court hearing. The two princes manage to capture ten, whom they know well, while the others escape. According to the narrator, ‘Also wart konnig Karl vnd sin husfrouwe wol gesünet’ (173; thus King Charlemagne and his wife were well avenged). Subsequently we hear of the future family history, which translates into dynastic history. But, even within that framework, more evil deeds will unfold on the political stage, which, as the narrator promises, will be the basis for another novel: ‘als jr hernach werdent horen’ (173; as you will learn later).

Charlemagne within the Political Context Königin Sibille really profiles the life and destiny of Queen Sibille, but it also provides a portrait of her husband, King Charlemagne, who appears as a shadowy figure, unstable, emotional (in the negative sense of the word), indecisive, subject to manipulation by traitors and incapable for a long time of maintaining his authority. Only by means of the dog’s action and curious behaviour at court, which Nemo knows how to interpret properly, can the king understand what had happened to the knight Abrye. Only because Sibille finds help among people of the lowest social status, such as the peasant Warakir, and because her own son and father come to her rescue, is it finally possible to defeat the traitors at Charlemagne’s court and to open his eyes to their terrible strategy of instrumentalizing the queen for their evil intentions. At the end the king steps up to the plate and enforces his royal power against them, but this does not make us forget Sibille’s long suffering. Altogether, Charlemagne emerges as a weak and highly emotional individual who is a far cry from the mythic figure we know of through the many chroniclers and poets of the high Middle Ages.

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Subsequent Adaptations of the Narrative Motif This, then, invites us to examine briefly how Charlemagne is portrayed in the play composed by Hans Sachs (1494–1576), his ‘Ein comedi, mit dreyzehen personen, die königin auß Franckreich mit dem falschen marschalck, hat fünff actus’.28 He essentially drew his inspiration from Schondoch’s version, but there were many other publications containing this narrative, either in the form of plays or as songs, such as ‘Das Lied von der Küni=||gin von Franckreych/ die der falsch || Marschalck gegen dem Kuenig || vbergab/ da sie nit wolt sey=||nes willen pflegen. Jn || des Regenbogen || langen thon’, printed in Nuremberg by Georg Wachter in 1535. There are also prose versions, including an anonymous one from 1579, first printed in Basel by Samuel Apiario and then by Jakob Müller in Heidelberg under the title Ein wunderbar=||liche Geschicht/ Von einer || Koenigin auß Franckreich vnd vn=||getrewen Marschall/ Auch eines alten Rit=||ters getrewen Hunde/ #[et]c. Gantz || erbaermlich zu lesen. Sibylle Jefferis outlines the stemma of the pan-European reception history of the historical material used by poets and chroniclers as follows. The Old French chanson de geste, Macaire (early fourteenth century) was created parallel to the other chanson de geste, Reine Sébile (also early fourteenth century). Both were sources for the very popular Alemannic verse novella ‘Die Königin von Frankreich’ (c. 1400) by Schondoch, and also for Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’s Königin Sibille (1437), available in only one manuscript. Schondoch’s verse novella influenced, in turn, the Cronica, a Silesian prose novel from before 1465, and the mastersong (‘Meisterlied’), printed by Hans Sporer in Erfurt in 1488 and a number of times thereafter (such as 1520; see above). Hans Sachs, finally, drew from that source in 1549 when he composed his comedy.29 I will turn to this text next.

Hans Sachs As is commonly the case with Sachs’s plays, a herald announces at the beginning what the entire play is about. We then learn about the marshal burning with love, or perhaps simply lust, for the queen of France. He reveals his strong feelings to her in the first act, but she rebuffs him immediately, declaring her unwavering love for her husband and charging the marshal with breaking his oath to serve the king honourably (57). But she cannot call him to reason; instead he tells her that he will never abandon his hope for her love, to which she replies with harsh criticism: ‘du ehrendieb, / Du verzweyfelter laster-balck!’ (57, 15–16; you thief of my honour, you desperate bag of sinfulness). She voices her intention to report this to her husband and then leaves the room. The marshal knows only too well that the king would severely punish him if he were to learn the truth, so he turns his strategy around and, instead of aiming for her love, now he wants only to get his revenge (58). In 28 For a recent biography see Brunner, Hans Sachs; for a study of Sachs’s techniques of structuring and developing his plays see Stuplich, Zur Dramentechnik des Hans Sachs. 29 Jefferis, ‘Die neuaufgefundene Heidelberger Handschrift’, p. 227.

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strong contrast to the version by Elisabeth, the dwarf is the queen’s usual companion, and is later misused by the marshal, who carries him to the queen’s bed while he is asleep and then alerts the king to her alleged adultery. We cannot be certain whether this is Charlemagne, as he is identified only as the king of France. But as soon as he has received the terrible news of his pregnant wife’s ‘misdeed’ he is determined to kill the dwarf and the queen (59). We learn that the king smashes the dwarf into a pillar and thus kills him, and though we do not witness that scene we do observe him in the previous one, in a council with his knights, Duke Leopold and the knight Florio, who both strongly recommend letting her live at least until the infant has been born, which will guarantee the continuation of the dynasty (60). The marshal, by contrast, encourages the king to kill his wife, and hence also the unborn child, because the latter would be a bastard anyway – assuming that the dwarf must be the father – and thus would not receive any respect from the people (60). The king fully accepts this suggestion and summons the executioner to carry out the judgement of death at the stake, but then Leopold and Florio speak up on the queen’s behalf and voice concern that she might be the victim of a treacherous plot: ‘Wirdt gschehen sein durch hinderlist’ (62, 21; [it] might have happened through cunning). After one of the queen’s maids has also pleaded with the king, offering herself as a substitute to save her mistress’s life, the king resolutely announces his decision that Florio is to take her away to Leon,30 to await the birth of the child, and then to burn her. Florio carries out this order, but not without taking his strong dog with him, which thus parallels the account by Elisabeth, except that Leopold encourages Florio to take good care of the queen and not to kill her until he has received further instructions (63). The queen laments her destiny and reveals that she does not know the cause of this horrendous change of fortune, apparently not even being aware about the dwarf having been placed in her bed. But she suspects the marshal of being responsible, whom she had not had exposed to her husband, as she had threatened to do before (64). The subsequent events, as we know them from Elisabeth’s novel and her sources, are quickly summarized here, focusing on the dog and its attack against the marshal, whereupon Leopold recommends to the king to have the animal fight against the marshal in a duel. Even though the latter protests against this demeaning treatment, the king does not deviate from his own plan, resolutely pursuing his policy. We are not witnesses to the duel, but Leopold informs the king about the outcome, with the dog having gained the victory. Next the marshal is brought in, who confesses everything, whereupon the king pronounces his sentence: death by quartering (71). Subsequently, again in clear contrast to Elisabeth’s text, the king orders letters to be sent everywhere in the world to search for his lost wife, offering a huge reward for anyone who could bring her back. Moreover, the king bitterly regrets his former credulity in believing the marshal and bewails the loss of his wife: ‘Nun 30 We cannot be certain whether Sachs meant the Spanish town of León, or whether he invented the name for his own purposes.

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muß mich immer ewig rewen, / Das wir so ubel theten an ir’ (72, 26–7; I will have to regret for ever that I acted so terribly toward her). Duke Leopold emphasizes that things would have developed much better if the king had listened to his advice, as he thought from the beginning that the queen had been maligned (72, 29–34). The king agrees, and even speculates that the queen might have been burned on the spot if Leopold had not been present and intervened on her behalf. When the messengers return empty-handed, not knowing where the queen might be, the king laments deeply, fearing that she might have died of grief, whereupon he would want to retire into a hermit’s cell (73, 18–28). Fortunately, a haberdasher woman finds out the truth of the hidden queen and reveals it to the king, who then traces his wife to the forest, where she lives with a charcoal burner, and begs her for forgiveness, which she happily grants (76–7). The king also welcomes his young child and prepares for a large court festival, ordering Leopold to organize it, who also sets aside a large amount of money as a gift to the poor. The play concludes with final comments by the herald, who offers a number of recommendations to the female audience. They ought to abstain from listening to any man who might want to woo them into committing adultery. Then he warns against any kind of disloyalty, deception, or cunning, as they will always be revealed at some point (78, 30–1). Most importantly, however, targeting the king and all other authority figures, the herald admonishes all not to rush to a judgement after a crime has allegedly happened. One ought to consider the circumstances, the conditions, the framework and the motifs before reaching a final conclusion and hence a decision as to the accused, ‘so folget im kein nachrew nach’ (79, 10; then no late regret will follow). Next the herald also advises trying everything in one’s power to achieve the good and to fight evil, which can be achieved, as he emphasizes, by means of patience and trust in God (79). This comedy thus certainly also includes criticism of the king’s rash behaviour, but he is then much more considerate and closely listens to Leopold’s recommendations and suggestions. The king quickly realizes that his wife has been persecuted innocently, and he then goes so far as to have his servants search for her far and wide until he has discovered her again, which quickly leads to renewed happiness for both. In contrast to Elisabeth’s novel and the older French chanson de geste, there is no group of traitors at the king’s court; only the marshal who expresses irrepressible desire for the queen, which subsequently leads to her countless problems and dangers. The conflict is thus focused on an erotic relationship, albeit one most unwelcome to the queen. This makes it possible for Sachs to handle the problem involving the king’s charge against his wife somewhat differently. In Elisabeth’s novel we encounter a large political group trying to obstruct Charlemagne’s position and authority, whereas here the tensions are limited to the marshal’s evil desires for his queen. Harmony and happiness are restored at the end in Sachs’s comedy, which thus mostly complies with the conventions of this genre. As to the king, whose identification with the historical Charlemagne remains rather tenuous, especially because of the use of the name

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of Duke Leopold as his advisor,31 we can draw the conclusion that he commits errors, but operates well with his closest courtiers and later makes every possible effort to remedy the situation, to recover his wife, to reunite with her in marriage and to punish the evil-doer, the lustful and vengeful marshal.32

Elisabeth’s Herzog Herpin In our discussion of Elisabeth’s Königin Sibille we noticed several times that the narrator refers to another novel from her pen, Herzog Herpin. I do not intend to examine this at great length, because that would go far beyond the specific concern of this chapter, but we do need to investigate how the author projected Charlemagne in this text. The focus rests, as the title indicates, on Duke Herpin, but the events begin at the royal court presided over by the king. In contrast to Königin Sibille, this novel experienced considerable success, and it has survived in three fifteenth-century manuscripts: Berlin, Staatsbibliothek, Ms. germ. fol. 464, from 1487; Wolfenbüttel, Herzog August Bibliothek, Cod. Guelf. 46 Novissimi 20, c. 1455; and Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek, Cpg 152, c. 1475. Other late fifteenth-century authors, such as Püterich von Reichertshausen (Ehrenbrief, 1462) and Hermann von Sachsenheim (Des Spiegels Abenteuer, c. 1452), indicated that they were somewhat familiar with this text or had at least heard about it.33 Herzog Herpin was first printed by Johann Grüninger in Straßburg in 1514, and then at least six more times.34 We can be certain that this novel, often entitled Ritter Löw or König Löw, continued to attract readers (or critics), as a comment by the Baroque critic and essayist Johann Michael Moscherosch in his lengthy study Wunderbahre Satyrische gesichte verteutscht durch Philander von Sittewald, printed first in 1640, confirms.35 Indeed, the reception history actually extends to 1754, when 31 Fischer, Studien zur deutschen Märendichtung, pp. 168–9. This Leopold was Duke Leopold III of Austria (1351–86), who died in the battle of Sempach, where he fought against the Swiss trying to uphold the Habsburg rule over their territory. He is not to be confused with St Leopold III, Margrave of Austria (1073–1136). 32 For good comparisons between the Old French chanson de geste and Schondoch’s verse narrative see Habicht, Der Zwerg als Träger metafiktionaler Diskurse, pp. 164–9. 33 In his Ehrenbrief, Püterich reviews the titles in the library of the countess of the Palatinate, Mechthild, and identifies also those which he did not know. This includes ‘graf Herpine, / Lewen vater’ (stanza 99, vv. 6–7). See Püterich, Der Ehrenbrief des Püterich von Reichertshausen. For the original text, as a facsimile, see Püterich, Der Ehrenbrief. CGm 9220. 34 For a detailed description of the three manuscripts see http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/1081 (accessed 16 February 2017); for the early modern prints see Gotzkowsky, ‘Volksbücher’, pp. 79–83. 35 Herzog Herpin, ed. Bastert, p. xxi; , Bobertag, ed., Gesichte Philanders von Sittewald von Hanß Michael Moscherosch, p. 93; the sixth and probably last edition of this work appeared in 1665 (vol. 2) and 1677 (vol. 1); for a digital version see

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an illustrated edition under the title Der weise Ritter, das ist: Eine wahrhaftige Geschicht von Hertzog Herpin von Burges in Franckreich was published, a copy of which is held today in the Herzogin Anna Amalia Bibliothek, Weimar, Scha BS 4 A 00010 (1), but was unfortunately damaged in 2004 when the library caught fire. Curiously, the French source, Lion de Bourges, seems to have fared less well, considering that it has survived only in two manuscripts, one of which, however, is a valuable illustrated copy.36 The author introduces King Charlemagne first and places him in the same narrative framework as the mythical King Arthur, holding court during Pentecost (p. 2). He is identified as a good king with a heart as bold as that of a lion. Charlemagne has called everyone together who holds a rank in his kingdom, irrespective of their wealth or poverty. The king provides everyone according to his needs and wishes, which fills him with great joy and thankfulness. He gives praise to Christ and yet also laments that he is threatened by many heathen people at the border of his empire (p. 4). At the same time, as the narrator indicates, there are traitors at his court, such as Clarien, who is characterized as ‘falsch man’ (4; false man). He launches a sharp attack against the duke of Burgu (in other versions he is called ‘Duke Herpin’) and encourages Charlemagne to send an army to destroy him. At the same time Herpin has already arrived at the court, together with his pregnant wife, to attend the festival, but a guardsman outside immediately warns him about the imminent danger posed by Clarien, whom he identifies as a traitor and liar. By contrast, he still characterizes the king as ‘edell’ (p. 6; noble), although he also indicates that the traitor’s evil words have poisoned the king’s mind and that the king is now determined to destroy Herpin even though there is no evidence of his wrong-doing. Herpin does not allow this to frighten him, and filled with great wrath he enters the court and angrily approaches the king. While he still blesses the king and his people in the name of Christ, he warns about the evil members of the court who withhold the truth and spread falsehood: ‘die keynen nutz dienenn vor manchen bosen cleffern, die keynen nutz bringent’ (p. 8; who do nothing but spread lies that do not provide any profit). Herpin pulls his sword and splits Clarien’s head, thus killing him in one swoop. Everyone is horrified, and Clarien’s numerous friends, a hundred in all, whom the narrator groups together as ‘lecker’ (p. 8; sycophants), rush towards Herpin to avenge the murder. A number of the king’s close advisors, all high-ranking nobles, come to Herpin’s defence, so a wild battle erupts in which much blood is spilled and the feast arrangements are destroyed. King Charlemagne, bitterly enraged, calls out in a loud voice that he wants Herpin to be apprehended because he murdered, right in front of his eyes, his highest-ranking courtier. This is done, and Herpin is then taken to http://daten.digitale-sammlungen.de/bsb00001326/image_6 (accessed 16 February 2017). 36 [Elisabeth Gräfin zu Nassau-Saarbrücken], Herzog Herpin, pp. xviii–xxii.

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a tower as a prisoner, which saves him for the moment from the furious mob supporting the slain Clarien. Charlemagne then stands up and firmly orders everyone to refrain from fighting; troublemakers will incur a severe penalty. But the king is almost out of his mind as a result of Herpin’s deed, as he has killed the man at his court whom he had most esteemed (p. 12). Nothing could stop him from having the murderer executed the next day, and he rages on, not able to control himself: ‘Ich will, das er todt sey’ (p. 12; I want him dead). When Herpin’s pregnant wife is brought in she falls down at Charlemagne’s feet and begs him to kill her as well because she could not live without her husband. Duke Nemo (here: Nymo), however, takes a different position and warns Charlemagne that Herpin is his own nephew and belongs to the highest echelons of the French nobility. Moreover, he goes so far as to warn the king about the dire consequences for him if he carried out the execution: ‘wo ir yne also iemerlich döden, so müsse[nt] ir vs uwerm rich fliegen als eyn bübe. Ich odir syn mag wolten uch vß uwer konnigrich vertrieben’ (p. 14; if you dare to kill him so miserably, you will have to flee out of your kingdom as a criminal. I or his kin will chase you from your kingdom). Charlemagne quickly realizes how much he depends on Nemo and the other grand lords, and he understands that the price he would have to pay for the execution would be too high. Nemo, however, then backs down somewhat, urging the king to send Herpin into exile, which would constitute a good political compromise: ‘Ir sollent sin fründe eren vnd solt yne nit döden’ (p. 16; you ought to honour his friends and not to kill him). Herpin’s wife begs Charlemagne for the same mercy, promising that she and her husband will leave the country never to return if only he lets Herpin live. The king is moved by this demonstration of passion and grants her wish, but we must not forget that he is really under extreme political pressure from Nemo. But Charlemagne also announces that he will repossess all the lands previously under Herpin’s control (p. 18), which happens later, after the duke has departed from his friends and subjects. The narrator quickly comments on the subsequent events that shed a rather bad light on the king, as he appoints an administrator to govern Herpin’s dukedom, but he is a ‘schalck’ (p. 22; rogue) who causes much damage to the people. It is not long until someone murders him, whereupon the king assumes personal control over the land (p. 22). But he too pursues a brutal policy, imposing many new taxes, tolls and other fees, which impoverish the people and threaten to undermine the well-being of the entire country. Duke Herpin explicitly remarks to his wife: ‘Karle von Frankrich, den wir nit sere liep sollen hand’ (p. 28; Charlemagne, king of France, whom we cannot like very much). The subsequent events underscore the misery that these two people, and soon also their newborn son, have to endure, which enhances the reader’s/listener’s strong emotional reaction against King Charlemagne, of whom, however, we hear little more for the rest of the novel. The duchess delivers a boy while they are in the midst of the forest. Herpin tries to find some women to help, but he is too late. She has barely brought the babe into the world when robbers arrive and kidnap her, ignoring the infant. Nevertheless,

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the child survives because a lioness takes it and suckles it, and things then develop much further than we need to consider in the present context – the focus then rests primarily on Lewe, as the child is later called because of the odd circumstances early in his life with the lioness. Only much later, in the middle of the novel, does Charlemagne enter the picture again, when Lewe is encouraged to fight for his inheritance, hence to fight against the king and specifically against Clarien’s brother, Forckere, who is ruling over the dukedom of Berry and repressing the people there (p. 64). Lewe travels through the entire land, visiting Brabant and the Hennegau/Hainaut, stopping at various cities, such as Lüttich/Liège, and then finally reaching Paris, where he encounters King Charlemagne at a distance, without approaching him directly. Because the king has just lost his wife through thievery, he is deeply grieved, which makes it impossible for Lewe to communicate with him. Having returned to Bourges, the capital of the dukedom, he learns in detail how terribly Forckere taxes everything, including doors and windows, extorting money even from poor people. Even though the governor is the culprit, Lewe curses the king: ‘da erbarmete es yme vnd flüchte konnig Karle, der synen vader verdrieben hat’ (p. 566; he felt pity for all that and he cursed Charlemagne, who had expelled his father). Subsequently, however, the ensuing battle involves only Lewe and the mayor Herme and his sons, on the one hand, and Forckere and his people on the other. In this context Herme recounts the original conflict involving Herpin, but changes the historical events, making Herpin the innocent victim of Charlemagne’s political manipulations and wrong-doings: ‘den konnig Karle von Franckriche veriaget vnd enterbet hat, widder got vnd recht, ader wyst ich yn in eynichen landen zu finden, ich vnderstünde yne zü süchen, dan er was eyn biderbe herre. Er schatzete sin arm lude noch nye’ (p. 576; whom King Charlemagne of France expelled and disinherited, against all divine and secular laws. And if I knew how to find him anywhere in the world, I would dare to search for him since he had been a virtuous lord. He never taxed his poor people). Nevertheless, Lewe still acknowledges Charlemagne as the ultimate authority figure. He assures Herme that he is Herpin’s son and will be able to blow a magical horn that only a legitimate heir can sound; if he fails, Herme may take him to the king as a convicted murderer (pp. 576–7). At a later moment, after having blown the mysterious horn, he refers to Charlemagne as emperor (p. 580), but this does not change matters much and reflects simply a certain confusion on the part of the author, especially as we observe a return to the title ‘king’ only a few lines later. More importantly, Lewe reminds everyone of the early history involving his father, who had slain the traitor Clarien in front of Charlemagne, while he himself has slain Forckere, Clarien’s brother, and now, having blown the horn successfully, claims his inheritance as the legitimate ruler of Berry. The entire population immediately swears an oath of loyalty to him, and then they capture all the people who had served under Forckere as toll collectors and administrators and thus had grossly enriched themselves. Lewe orders their faces to be mutilated and one of

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their hands to be cut off. Then they are sent to Paris to appear before Charlemagne in mockery of his miserable kingship: ‘sagen yme ouch damit, ich habe uch das gedan yme zü smacheyt’ (p. 581; tell him that I have ordered this to be done in order to humiliate him). They encounter Charlemagne not too far away and lament their fate, which horrifies the king but secretly pleases the good councillors at his court, Ogier of Denmark and Nemo of Bavaria (pp. 582–3), since they recognize in all this that Lewe is Herpin’s son and hence one of their relatives who deserves their help and support. The king, by contrast, turns red in the face out of bitter wrath, swearing not to return to Paris before he has first killed Lewe as a punishment for his misdeed (p. 583). The word ‘lecker’ in this context is a preferred term for all people who are identified as evil sycophants, traitors or rogues, and it is used by representatives of both sides in this political struggle. Intriguingly, when Ogier of Denmark observes these signs of extreme anger in Charlemagne’s face, he himself gets deeply irritated and lambasts the king for not understanding whom he is actually threatening. He calls his words ‘dörlich’ (p. 583; foolish) because Lewe is born of a higher rank than even Ogier himself. If the king killed him there would not be any castle in the entire country strong enough to protect him from those bent on avenging Lewe’s death. Then Ogier pleads with Charlemagne to remember that Lewe is Duke Herpin’s and Duchess Alheyt’s son. The latter is Duke Nemo’s niece and a sister of the lord of Brie. Altogether, as he subsequently concludes his many genealogical observations, ‘Ich enweyß keynen man so wol geborn in allen crysten lande, er sy ouch also geborn’ (p. 584; I do not know of any other man of such high-ranking birth in all of the Christian countries). These arguments, however, do not sway Charlemagne, and he is now even more determined to besiege the town of Bourges and to capture Lewe, whom he calls a criminal (p. 854). Ogier announces that he will come along, but that he will not do anything to hurt Lewe. The latter, when he learns the news of Charlemagne’s arrival, welcomes this opportunity to avenge his father’s life-long suffering at the king’s hand. He hides in the forest outside the town and there waits for his opponent, who does not prepare himself properly and has to be reminded by Duke Nemo to have his men arm themselves as they reach the vicinity of the town. Surprisingly, very much in contrast to the entire tradition of the Charlemagne myth, the king rejects this advice and haughtily mocks Lewe, whom Charlemagne regards as being too cowardly to fight against him. Charlemagne even emphasizes: ‘ich wolle mich des alwege schamen, das ich mich gheyn eyn buwer wappen sulle’ (p. 586; I would be ashamed for ever if I were to put on armour in defence against a peasant). Nemo only retorts, slightly changing the word, that Lewe is not a ‘bübe’ (586; rogue); instead, he is one of the highest-ranking nobles in the country. The criticism of Charlemagne truly intensifies here, dangerously coupled with threats and severe warnings about his poor decisions. When Charlemagne dismisses those words and does not prepare himself for a possible attack Nemo rides to his people and orders them to do the very opposite.

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As is to be expected, Lewe then launches his assault from behind and yells at Charlemagne: ‘Nü komme her, konnig Karle, du bist böser dan eyn iude’ (p. 587; Now come here, King Charlemagne, you are more evil than a Jew). He evokes the fact that the king had expelled his father from France and now emphasizes that the day of reckoning has come to avenge that injustice. Since the opponents are not armed, Lewe and his men can hack off limbs left and right and chop off heads, creating havoc among their enemies. Charlemagne is the first to flee, loudly admitting how correct Nemo had been, but he still insists that he wants Lewe to be executed (p. 587) and continues to identify him as a ‘bübe’ (p. 588; rogue). Nemo, by contrast, rejects the king’s opinion, stressing that Lewe has proven to be the most courageous fighter in all of France, descending from the most noble family. Consequently, for Nemo, Lewe is acting quite correctly in retaking the land to which he is entitled through inheritance. The situation now deteriorates further because Charlemagne wants to fight against Lewe personally, whereas neither Nemo nor Ogier wants to support him; they even announce that they would take up arms against the king if the latter were to take Lewe prisoner. Despite an altercation between Charlemagne and Nemo, the latter and his men engage in fighting against Lewe, who, together with his supporters, achieves a huge military success, almost defeating the king (p. 589). Lewe kills many of the French knights and then approaches Charlemagne, telling him that he himself is in the right: ‘dan das recht ist mit mir dran, die wyle das ir mich enterben wollent wider got vnd wider recht’ (pp. 589–90; because the right is on my side insofar as you want to disinherit me against God’s wishes and against the law). When the sun sets in the evening both sides retire and Charlemagne pronounces again that he will never forgo his decision to apprehend and execute Lewe, revealing a vicious resolution contrary to all rational and practical considerations, since his opponent is obviously rather superior in his forces. The narrator makes a deliberate attempt to highlight the king’s absolute stubbornness and foolishness, not willing to analyse the situation critically or to listen to his highest-ranking advisors. Finally, in the middle of the night an angel appears to Charlemagne and admonishes him to ask Lewe for forgiveness, as he is truly the legitimate heir of Berry. If he were to resist this order, God would be angry with him: ‘dann got, der wil das also gehabt han’ (p. 592; God wants it to be done that way). Moreover, the angel also emphasizes that Lewe is currently the most pious person in the whole of Christendom, and if he, Charlemagne, continues fighting against him, ‘dir müß ein groß vnglug wider farhen, dann got, der wil das also gehabt han’ (p. 592; you will experience great misfortune because God wants this to happen). Once the angel has disappeared, Charlemagne feels deeply disturbed because he understands the divine command but is also mindful of his own public oath to kill Lewe. The next morning he consults with Nemo, Ogier, Gondebuf of Frisia and others, announcing his change of heart regarding Lewe, which his advisors jubilantly welcome (p. 593). Subsequently, with Ogier’s help, the two enemies reach a mutual understanding because Charlemagne finally accepts Lewe as the legitimate

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heir and gives him Berry as his fiefdom, asking him only to join him on a crusade against the heathens (p. 596), to which Lewe agrees. All the knights welcome this development, and soon all sit down for dinner in Bourges to celebrate their newfound friendship (pp. 596–7). The novel develops further from here, leaving the old conflict between these two men behind. In fact, Lewe helps King Charlemagne to fight against Gombaus, who had kidnapped the king’s wife. The narrative moves on to ever new adventures, deals with new wars, integrates other characters and so builds layer upon layer of dynastic, military, political and religious issues. The focus on Charlemagne fades and gives way to other concerns. For a long time the author portrays King Charlemagne in highly negative terms and provides numerous illustrations of his character flaws, his lack of rationality, his failure as a leader of his people and his inability to see beyond his own emotional perceptions of the world. He does not even listen to his closest advisors, and only when an angel appears at night and conveys to him God’s message does he finally change his mind and let his anger dissipate. Even during the war campaign the king acts rather foolishly and does not order his troops to put on armour, and this out of rash disrespect for Lewe, whose true noble status, military strength and intelligence he does not recognize properly. Altogether, we can only underscore that Elisabeth, like her predecessors in France, portrayed this Frankish king in most negative terms, presenting him as highly irrational, irascible, lacking in self-control, blind to advice even from his most important councillors, easily manipulated, willing to listen to convenient lies rather than uncomfortable truth and altogether hard to handle. It takes God’s intervention to bring him to reason and to restore him to the traditional role of a good king. But, while King Charlemagne appears in Königin Sibille as an irresolute husband, full of fury because of little-understood evidence (the dwarf in his wife’s bed), fearful and indecisive, in Herzog Herpin he is projected as a very unreliable, almost dictatorial ruler who is deaf to all suggestions by others, rash in his actions and unable to distinguish between good and bad advisors. We could almost argue that Elisabeth created a mockery of Charlemagne, deconstructing, in a way, the glorious myth of the mighty and deeply admired ruler from the early Middle Ages.37

Elisabeth’s Hug Schapler When we turn to Elisabeth’s Hug Schapler (Huge Schepeler, Huge Scheppel) we encounter a very different situation vis-à-vis Charlemagne. Hug Schapler was based on the Old French chanson de geste Hugues Capet and was obviously the countess’s last literary work. Here the emperor does not assume a major role and is referred

37 Although there is now considerable research on Elisabeth’s works, highlighting numerous narrative aspects, motifs, interests and themes, the poor figure cut by Charlemagne is seldom mentioned; see, for instance, regarding Herzog Herpin, von Bloh, Ausgerenkte Ordnung, pp. 350–4.

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to only as a historical marker, which does not require the author to engage with any of the criticism we have observed so far. This novel has also survived in only one manuscript, today Hamburg Staats- und Universitätsbibliothek, Cod. 12 in scrin.38 However, the early modern printers, or rather their customers on the book market, apparently enjoyed it, as it was printed five times before 1600 (Straßburg 1500, 1508, 1537, Frankfurt 1536, 1571).39 Here I will draw from the re-edition of the 1500 version.40 The author of the prologue, drawing primarily from the material as related in the Pseudo-Turpin, refers us to the time of Charlemagne, who is identified both as king and as emperor who had ruled for a long time in the best possible manner. The narrator remarks: ‘Als nun der selb Karolus magnus lang vnd wol geregiert het’ (p. 186; After Charlemagne had ruled for a long time and well). The confirmation for this is allegedly to be found in a chronicle this novel is based upon. We are further told that at the end of his life, feeling the approach of death, the king called a huge court council in Paris, bringing everyone in his lands together. There is no word about the town of Aachen, where Charlemagne actually had resided in his final days, but as the author drew from a French version the reference to Paris makes good sense. Charlemagne addresses them all from a moral and religious perspective, asking them whether stands in anyone’s debt, trying to clear his conscience before his imminent death. He wants to die a good death, as the narrator emphasizes: ‘Dar vmb wolt er sich richten wan er gestorben wer / Das er den hymelrichs dest sicherer were’ (p. 186; He wanted to prepare himself so that when he would have died he would be the more sure about getting entrance to heaven). Thereupon he confesses all of his sins, as he believes, when a letter suddenly appears on the altar that reports of another one that he has not yet confessed (p. 187). Charlemagne is deeply grateful to God for helping him to cleanse his soul, the ceremony concludes, and Charlemagne passes away. The Bishop Druopin (Turpin) witnesses many evil spirits standing around the corpse, but they cannot get Charlemagne’s soul, as they admit to him upon his inquiry. According to the chronicle, the bishop was so pleased about this news that he soon died as well (p. 187). These few comments cover all the author has to say here about King Charlemagne, except for the subsequent indication that he was followed by two sons, Ludwig (Louis) and Loher, or Lotharius (p. 187). The latter was earlier maligned by traitors, which had forced his father, Charlemagne, to expel him from France for seven years (the topic of Loher und Maller). Here we learn only that Loher tries to return home after the news of his father’s death has reached him. The pope arranges a division of their inherited lands, with Ludwig receiving France while Loher is appointed as Roman emperor, but soon thereafter Ludwig rejects this decision and 38 http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/817 (accessed 16 February 2017). It appears on fols 1r–57v, and is directly followed by Königin Sibille. 39 Gotzkowsky, ‘Volksbücher’, pp. 84–8. 40 Romane des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts, ed. Müller, pp. 177–339.

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begins to fight against his brother. But this does not concern us here. It deserves notice, however, that all this historical information is left out of the 1537 edition, which sets in immediately with the history of Lotarius (sic), the Roman emperor, and Ludwig, the French king.41

Elisabeth’s Loher und Maller In Loher und Maller the interest in Charlemagne wanes and makes room for the next generation of the Carolingian dynasty. This novel has survived in five manuscripts from the late fifteenth century (at Hamburg, Heidelberg, Křivoklát [Czech Republic], Cologne and Vienna) that can be divided into distinct groups.42 Sixteenth-century printers recognized the great appeal of this novel, which obviously sold well. The first printed version appeared in Straßburg in 1514 ( Johannes Grüninger), the second in Frankfurt in 1558 (Weigand Han) and the third also there in 1567 (Weigand Hans Erben). The popularity of Loher und Maller was not exhausted then, however, as a seventeenth-century print (from around 1613/14) illustrates. After a short hiatus, this novel found new readers when it was printed in Frankfurt in 1805 (Friedrich Willmans) and in Stuttgart in 1868, edited by the famous Karl Simrock (Cotta),43 but scholarship has barely paid any attention to it even today.44 Nevertheless, within our context we can profit from an analysis at least of how Elisabeth here portrayed Charlemagne, who appears briefly at the beginning as the father of the two sons, Ludwig (Louis) and Lloher (Loher), which constitutes a direct connection with Elisabeth’s other novel, Hug Schapler. The critical problem addressed here is a very different one, as we do not hear of traitors at court; instead, as we are told, Loher is womanizing too much and thus angers all the other members of the court, who consequently complain about him to his brother, Ludwig, who immediately promises to assist and to remedy the situation. He in turn visits his father, King Charlemagne, and relates everything to him. There is open communication, a clear channel of command, and scrupulous observation of the political hierarchy, as the narrator comments, giving much praise to the Carolingian dynasty: ‘Daran mag yederman mercken, was ein man dem andern sole getruwen, die wile ein bruder dem andern das dette’ (p. 2; Everyone ought to take note of this regarding how one man should trust the other, when one brother does that to the other). In remarkable contrast to most of the other portraits of King Charlemagne in Elisabeth’s novels, here we encounter a gentle, loving, though also stern and upright king who talks straight to his son, reminding him that he has disobeyed his previ41 A selection of the 1537 edition is contained in ibid., pp. 341–81. 42 http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/816 (accessed 16 February 2017). See also the detailed discussion in [Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken], Loher und Maller, pp. xvi–xx. 43 Konczak, Studien zur Druckgeschichte, pp. 27–39. 44 But see now von Bloh, ‘Keine Konzessionen?’; Winst, ‘Narration im späten Mittelalter’; Classen, ‘Schrecken und Grauen, Mord und Totschlag’.

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ous order to stay away from the other courtiers’ wives, which causes him much distress: ‘Darvmbe byn ich sere betrubet’ (p. 2; I am very grieved because of that). Referring to God, the Virgin Mary, all the saints in heaven, to St Denis, to his own parents, the crown and his own beard, Charlemagne then pronounces his judgement, condemning his son to seven years of exile from France. If Loher were to be found within France during those years, he would be apprehended and thrown into a dark tower, being kept there for seven years in the dungeon. His son reacts with shock and appeals to his father to have mercy and to reconsider his judgement. Charlemagne remains firm, yet he suddenly shows his soft side, telling his son to take as much gold and silver as he might need and to select the best knights to accompany him during his exile. He urges him to fight against the heathen and to gain public honour during that time. Moreover, if he were ever to experience an emergency while abroad, his father would immediately rush to his aid. In general, Charlemagne exhorts him to strive for honour, to push away thieves and traitors, and not to use lies: ‘Ein böse, falsche zunge ist vil schedlicher dann ein sere stechens swert’ (p. 3; An evil, false tongue causes much more damage than a sharply stabbing sword). Charlemagne truly addresses Loher as a father, reminding him of his youth and warning him of the dire consequences if he does not obey. He himself had reached the judgement upon good council (p. 3), which might be an indirect reference to Duke Nemo of Bavaria, who is not mentioned here by name, but who has consistently proven to be Charlemagne’s most trusted and reliable advisor, at least in Elisabeth’s other novels. In addition, he clearly outlines a plan of close cooperation between them, offering him every help that he might need as long as he performs according to his father’s expectations (p. 3). However, he also warns the youth that in the opposite case he would disown him: ‘so wil ich euwer verleügnen’ (p. 3; then I will renounce you). Having laid out the basic conditions, handing out a punishment combined with a stern warning, but coupled with many promises of support and help, hence also of paternal love, the case is closed, and Loher chooses his companions for the exile. Charlemagne rewards him with praise: ‘Da mit erfrauwestü mich gar sere’ (p. 3; With this you please me much). Significantly for the subsequent development of this novel, Loher’s friend Maller emphasizes that those who advised the king to take these measures – who turn out to be evil councillors or courtiers after all – will eventually be punished, which is the same theme as in all the three other novels. But, more importantly, Maller underscores that a young man whose father is still alive – and hence still runs the country as the lord – should go travelling and acquire honour in distant lands (p. 4). We hear of King Charlemagne only one more time, considerably later, when he has called together the last court assembly shortly before his death (p. 79). This is the very same situation as in Hug Schapler, and almost a copy of it. We notice, once again, that for Elisabeth the centre of the Carolingian Empire is in Paris, and not in Aachen, but as she worked primarily as a translator, on the basis of a French text,

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this does not really come as a surprise. After Charlemagne’s death everyone breaks out in great mourning and lamentation, which underscores how dearly the king was loved by all, which stands in strong contrast to the portrait of an irascible, irrational, undisciplined and angry person in Königin Sibille and Herzog Herpin. The narrator then simply closes this chapter, commenting bluntly: ‘Aber es wart nye leit so groß, man mueste sin zu leste vergessen’ (p. 80; No sorrow is so big that you do not have to put it behind you). Charlemagne is succeeded by his son Ludwig (Louis), although he is still too young, which quickly leads to internecine strife, with a great lord trying to take over the kingdom by means of bribery (pp. 80–1), but this is not our concern here.

Schondoch But, before we close this chapter, let us also take a brief look at Schondoch’s Königin von Frankreich in more depth, especially because he created his work only a few decades before Elisabeth translated her Königin Sibille and because the works have many parallels in terms of detail and in their overall structure, at least until the point when the traitor and would-be rapist Markayr is hanged. We can here leave aside the long debate as to whether Schondoch drew from the French tradition or whether he used other sources.45 What matters for us is how he portrayed King Charlemagne, in contrast to the way Elisabeth did. The narrator emphasizes right at the beginning that Charlemagne enjoyed a great reputation, being a steady and reliable person: ‘Der was vor wandel wol behuot’ (p. 4; he was well protected from a volatile manner).46 Moreover, he commands ‘gros hussere’ (p. 5; great honour at home) and is married to an almost perfect woman whom the narrator describes in traditionally courtly terms: ‘ein minnekliches wip’ (p. 7; a lovely wife). Charlemagne’s marshal then woos the queen, but she adamantly and virtuously rejects him completely. In particular, she points out that her husband has granted him castles, cities and much land as a reward for his service (pp. 29–31), so gratitude ought to oblige him to be respectful and to honour his king. When Charlemagne goes hunting early in the morning he does not disturb his wife but rather lets her sleep because she is in need of it due to her young age (pp. 60–1). He gives the order not to lock any doors because his marshal will protect everything (pp. 64–6), another sign of the king’s great trust in that man. However, the latter now seeks to avenge his rejection by the queen and to cover his tracks in order to retain his position, honour and wealth (p. 51). So he carries the sleeping dwarf into the queen’s bed, which sets the long sequence of the queen’s persecutions into motion. While in Elisabeth’s novel the dwarf is described as extremely ugly and preposterous, here we learn only that Charlemagne had raised him at his 45 Heintz, ed., Schondochs Gedichte, p. 43; see also Strippel, ed., Schondochs ‘Königin von Frankreich’, pp. 181–5. 46 All superscripta marking a diphthong are written out here in full.

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court from a very young age (pp. 67–8). Moreover, the marshal is the one who orchestrates the trap, while the dwarf does not even know what is happening with him. In contrast to the version later developed by Hans Sachs (see above), the marshal even places the dwarf right next to the queen’s breast, thus heightening the erotic implications (p. 73). Schondoch describes in greater detail how the marshal then slanders the queen to her husband, how the latter returns home, grabs the sleeping dwarf and smashes him against the wall, thus killing him without any investigation, which the narrator comments upon very negatively: ‘Umb schuld, dar nach es nie gewarb’ (p. 101; for a fault that he never had committed).47 The queen then wakes up and inquires about the reason for Charlemagne’s wrath, worrying about his deep anger (pp. 104–5). He only shouts at her and accuses her of having shamelessly committed adultery, to which she responds by protesting her innocence and appealing to him: ‘Ach herre, halt dine sinne’ (p. 110; Oh lord, be reasonable; or: control yourself). When Duke Leopold of Austria, who had been sleeping nearby, and who is Charlemagne’s nephew, learns of the scandal, he rushes into the bedroom, inquires about the cause of it all, and then immediately voices a serious threat to the king. He reminds Charlemagne that the queen has never demonstrated any fault in her behaviour and manners, and insists that someone must have maligned her (p. 140). When the king, having disregarded his words, pronounces his determination to have his wife burned at the stake irrespective of any consequences, Leopold again intervenes and warns him that he would thus also burn his unborn son, which in turn would mean grave danger for the kingdom: ‘es würd üch leit’ (p. 146; you would regret it). He appeals to the king to act in such a manner as to earn his respect (p. 152) – that is, first to give the queen the necessary time to deliver the child. Moreover, he insists that there is no guilt that could not be forgiven somehow, at least in part: ‘Sy sol ein teil gnedig sin’ (p. 157; have mercy on some part of the guilt). Charlemagne finally agrees and turns his wife over to Leopold, requesting him to remove her from his sight until the time of the birth, after which she will have to die (p. 173). Leopold entrusts the young queen to a worthy knight, whom he tells to take her away to a foreign country, to let her deliver the child and then to bring that child back home with him (pp. 191–2). The marshal, however, follows the pair and murders the knight, but cannot get hold of the queen, who hides in the forest, where she survives for days on leaves, roots and grass (p. 212), until she finds a charcoal burner and lives with him. We learn about the dog and the subsequent ordeal only later (pp. 272ff.), which the king organizes, presenting himself now as resolute, disciplined and decisive (pp. 370ff.). The marshal in the end admits his guilt, including framing the queen to avenge her rejection of his love. This finally opens the king’s eyes to his own guilt, and he expresses great grief and pain, hurting himself as a punishment, crying and pull47 The original refers to the dwarf in the neuter, ‘it’, as if he were not fully human. Here I use the masculine pronoun instead.

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ing out his own hair (pp. 461ff.). Subsequently he delivers a lengthy monologue in which he praises his wife highly and laments her loss and also his own inability to enjoy her erotically: ‘Sol ich noch mins hertzen lüst / Gerueren niemer me dine brust?’ (pp. 475–6; Shall I never again touch your breast to satisfy my heart-felt desire?). He calls out to God to kill him on account of his great misdeed against his wife (pp. 477–80), whom he would love to have returned to him. But the marshal knows only that she had hidden from him successfully. Thereupon the hangman comes in and puts the culprit on the wheel, a very painful death, as the narrator comments with unusual frankness (p. 498). The search for the queen lasts for four and a half years. Charlemagne never abandons hope, and the happy ending is near when a merchant woman recognizes a fabric sold to her as having been made by the queen. The king’s reaction to the news is most emotional: ‘An die fröwe viel er do / Und küste si weinende an den munt’ (pp. 526–7; He fell down before her and kissed her under tears on her lips). His love for his lost wife is very intense, as he calls her his ‘heiles funt’ (p. 528; the foundation of my salvation). Moreover, he appeals to God to release him from the long suffering and sorrow he has endured as a result of his wife no longer being with him (pp. 530–4). The narrator has the charcoal burner reveal to the king that he has come from England (p. 555), which is a new element not found in the works by the other authors. The king now tries to force the man to inform him about the craftswoman’s whereabouts, threatening otherwise to have him killed (pp. 560–2) – again a slight indication of Charlemagne’s lack of self-control and tendency to fly into a rage. Then he learns that his wife has lived with the charcoal burner for four and a half years, has changed her appearance to conform with the model of saintly women, and that she prays regularly for her husband (p. 581). Indeed, the queen demonstrates very religious behaviour and lives like a ‘reglerinne’ (p. 585; canoness). Consequently, the charcoal burner urges the king to take off his splendid clothing and to appear in a humble and ordinary fashion, otherwise his wife will be frightened and might hide so as not to be found, which underscores one more time the new religious devotion determining this part of the narrative: ‘Wer wider gottes willen tuot, / Den schühet si vil sere’ (pp. 614–15; Who acts against God’s will, she avoids strictly). When the entire company arrives at the hut in the forest, the queen tries to run away with her son, but the king follows her and identifies himself as a sinful man who has acted wrongly against her (p. 641). He begs for her forgiveness and sheds tears onto her feet, then hugs her and kisses her (pp. 646–53). Happiness returns to both through this highly emotional reunion, which also includes the child, whom Charlemagne now acknowledges as his own offspring, reprimanding himself for the danger he had put it into. Finally, he thanks God again for His help in this situation (pp. 664–9) and praises Him for his mercy: ‘Du hast mich enbunden / Zuo disen stunden / Von grossen sorgen überlast’ (pp. 677–9; You have freed me at this hour from the overly heavy worries).

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Subsequently Charlemagne takes his wife back home, while he grants much wealth to the charcoal burner, who only now baptizes the little child (pp. 686–7). The narrator concludes his account with a general praise of good wives who know how to avoid vices and who help their husbands to be fortunate and happy all the time: ‘Wem got der eine hat beschert, / Dem mag nit misselingen / Zuo allen guoten dingen’ (pp. 698–700; He whom God has granted such a wife will never fail in all good things). Schondoch thus transforms the old medieval account of Charlemagne, as it had survived in the genre of the chanson de geste, into a highly emotional, religious tale about a virtuous but suffering wife and a rash, irrational and at times brutal husband who at the end learns, however, to appreciate and love his marriage partner as the rock upon which all of his own happiness rests.48 The emotional and religious transformation of the account is remarkable and underscores Schondoch’s unique position within the Charlemagne tradition. Hans Sachs in turn dramatized this literary material and projected quite a different impression of the Frankish king and his wife.

Conclusion In sum, Elisabeth utilized the figure of King Charlemagne numerous times in her works and offered a variety of character types, depending on the narrative context. Occasionally we observe Charlemagne both as an incompetent military leader and as an equally incompetent ruler. At other times, he emerges as a superior king who is in full charge of his kingdom and controls all the members of his court. He upholds the laws and morality so well that he does not even make an exception for his own son. In some instances, the king operates closely with his best advisors and thus achieves all his political and military goals; in others he despises them and tries to go his own way, which leads to numerous problems and almost to total disaster. Elisabeth operated freely within the myth of Charlemagne and significantly reduced this highly admired royal figure to a rather standard, often unimpressive, character within the political arena in Paris. She obviously subscribed to the global idea of the myth, but it no longer held so much mystique for her, as best illustrated in her novel Königin Sibille. Revealingly, this novel/translation was also the one that seems to have appealed the least to her contemporary and succeeding audiences, having survived in only one manuscript and in no incunabulum or early modern print. But we could not claim that consequently the myth of Charlemagne had come to an end. Myths generally do not do that, and the one related to that Frankish ruler is no exception. As we have observed, each author interested in this material moulded it for his or her own purposes. King Charlemagne appears in a variety of personae and

48 The same tenor can be found in much contemporary lyric poetry; Classen, ‘Love and Marriage in Late Medieval Verse’; Classen, ‘Love and Marriage in Late Medieval German Lyric Poetry and Prose Literature’; Classen, ‘Love, Marriage, and Sexual Transgressions in Heinrich Kaufringer’s Verse Narratives (ca. 1400)’.

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mostly cuts a poor figure, especially in Elisabeth’s novel, whereas Schondoch projects a very rueful and emotional royal husband who does everything in his power to amend his failures and faults. And he also added a strongly religious component, which neither Elisabeth nor Sachs pursued. Keeping in mind the three other novels from Elisabeth’s pen as well, we can conclude that the myth of King/Emperor Charlemagne continued to exert tremendous influence far into the sixteenth and even the seventeenth century. He is presented in a variety of roles and in a range of character portraits. This is a far cry from the early depictions of Charlemagne in the Kaiserchronik or in The Stricker’s Karl der Große, but the tradition of this mythical figure simply would not be exhausted and experienced astonishing popularity into the early modern age, albeit viewed through many different lenses.

6 Charlemagne in the Dutch and German Tradition of Malagis

Canonicity, Popularity and the Relevance of Medieval Texts

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odern interest in medieval texts often depends on marketing strategies by publishers, academic reading lists, the work’s canonical (or non-canonical) status and often also on a number of random circumstances that have nothing to do with aesthetic quality, narrative content, genre, themes or motifs. Popularity today either among scholars or among the broader reading public is no firm gauge by which to measure the value and meaningfulness of a medieval narrative, poem or treatise, either in the context of its own time or for modern heuristics. Further pursuing the reception history of the Charlemagne myth in the late Middle Ages, we come across the example of Malagis, a text virtually unknown today despite having been available in a solid and trustworthy critical edition since 2000. This epic poem continues to slumber away in our libraries, still mostly undisturbed by scholars and general readers alike, often hidden from public view. In North American university libraries, for instance, the German Malagis is often indiscriminately identified as part of the larger corpus of medieval French literature, probably because it was based indirectly on a French source, but even that is not so certain, while the Dutch tradition matters much more significantly with respect to the German epic poem.1 The narrator confirms at the beginning that he drew from a French epic poem: ‘Eyn hystorie uß dem welschen’ (57; A story from the French), but at the conclusion of his monumental work (23,004 verses), in the epilogue, he comments: ‘Als ich diß buch in flemsch fant’ (22995; as I found this book in Dutch). Though there are also other references to his allegedly ‘French’ source (22519), there is little doubt today that we have to accept the final note in the epilogue as the only correct one, as we can trace this German translation specifically to the Dutch tradition, which, in turn, importantly, was based on a French source.2 The German poet 1 Der deutsche Malagis, ed. Schieb, Seelbach et al. 2 It was a common tradition in the German late Middle Ages to translate from Middle Dutch into Middle Low German; see Chapter 7, below. See also, for a

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closely rendered the Dutch into his language, including the Dutch composer’s references to his own French source, and those remarks then erroneously entered the German version. Modern library cataloguers, however, seldom pay sufficiently close attention to the actual literary–historical background of some texts from the Middle Ages and the early modern period, and at times make arbitrary, perhaps even erroneous, decisions. Translations by Hartmann von Aue, rendering the Old French romances by Chrétien de Troyes into Middle High German (Erec, Iwein), are certainly placed within the context of medieval German literature. So-called ‘translations’ by late medieval German poets from Italian, French, Dutch or Latin, however, tend to end up in the respective original language area – which certainly reflects double standards and does a grave disservice to our research and teaching needs.3 Unfortunately this is also the case with Malagis, which in some parts of the United States academic library system is placed within the French-literature area, using a call number beginning PQ instead of one beginning with PT, for German literature.4 In an effort to introduce modern readers to this intriguing, and extremely long, verse romance, Nathaniel Busch and Björn Reich have recently included an introductory study on the Malagis in their volume on ‘forgotten texts’ (Vergessene Texte des Mittelalters).5 As they point out, of the 5,000 or 6,000 ‘literary’ works from the German Middle Ages (including many not characterized as ‘fiction’), only about forty to fifty are regularly dealt with in university seminars and lectures.6 Research probably engages with a considerably larger number, but the vast majority of pre-modern texts still continue to escape modern attention, scholarly or otherwise. This applies, unfortunately, also to the Malagis, and its literary quality and relevance within the history of fifteenth-century German literature have yet to be investigated. The present chapter does not intend to probe this issue specifically; instead, I will focus, once again, on the presentation and characterization of Charlemagne. This in turn might later serve as a launching pad for more holistic interpretations of this massive volume.

Malagis and Magic Most importantly, in the first place the anonymous author of this long epic poem incorporates the theme of ‘magic’. This is no longer viewed with suspicion, as it was in the past, when it was commonly associated with the devil; instead, magic emerges here as an ordinary discipline taught and studied at the University of Paris, allowconvenient survey, Dijk, ‘Ende hi was de aldercloecste ende besochste ridder’. 3 Classen, ‘Deutsch-französische Literaturbeziehungen im 15. Jahrhundert’. See now Backes, Fremde Historien. 4 Among the handful of exceptions is the library of the University of California, Berkeley, which has given Malagis the ‘German literature’ call number, PT1375. A35 D4 v.82. 5 Busch and Reich, ‘Derbe Erotik?’ pp. 157–74. 6 Busch and Reich, Introduction to Vergessene Texte, p. 8.

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ing the student interested in it to gain a fully acknowledged and respected degree as a magician and sorcerer. This is an extremely important topic dominating the entire poem in many different episodes, insofar as Malagis, unlike in the Dutch and French source text, actually studies magic in Paris rather than learning it from a teacher who had acquired his knowledge in Toledo/Spain. I cannot pursue this here at length, although Malagis as sorcerer appears very different from the usual, historically verifiable, figures practising these black arts.7 This necromantic power, much to Malagis’s disadvantage, brings about a rather embarrassing situation at the royal court in Paris, involving Emperor Charlemagne, whom the narrator then presents in a most disrespectful manner that contrasts with many other literary versions where this famous founder of Europe figures prominently. As we have seen already, in most Middle High German texts Charlemagne is consistently projected as a worthy, almost divine, figure, a true leader of his people, graced by God and always fighting in defence of Christianity against the heathens. This, however, is no longer the case in Malagis, and is perhaps characteristic of late medieval concepts of the myth of Charlemagne. Similarly, in the Old French Maugis d’Aigremont, closely associated with Renaut de Montauban, the thematic emphasis is mostly on the protagonist’s rebellious wars against the emperor, which leaves almost no room for religious campaigns against Muslim enemies.8 Let us briefly summarize the content, drawing on the plot summary by Busch and Reich and fleshing it out only where necessary. During a tournament organized by Duke Büene of Egermont a group of heathen warriors, Saracens of course, stage an attack against the French. During the battle Büene’s wife, Drüwane, gives birth to twins, who are quickly taken to safety, but are then separated by accident. One of the two boys, Vyvien, is kidnapped by a heathen warrior, King Yvorin, who later raises him at his own court in Monbrant. A chamber maid, Rose, escapes with the other boy into the forest, where she is tragically killed by a leopardess or lioness (the narrator uses two different terms). The leopardess then fights a lion, each killing the other. A fairy – Oriande, duchess of Roseflur – then appears and rescues the child, which she calls Malagis. The name derives from the French word for ‘sorrowfulness’, a play on the sad circumstances in which she finds him (978–99). 7 There is much valuable research literature on magic in the Middle Ages; see, for instance, Kieckhefer, Magic in the Middle Ages; Flint, The Rise of Magic in Early Medieval Europe; Burnett, Magic and Divination in the Middle Ages; Aveni, Behind the Crystal Ball; Bailey, Magic and Superstition in Europe; Zambelli, White Magic, Black Magic in the European Renaissance; Klaassen, The Transformations of Magic. None of these authors, however, seems to be aware of the remarkable presentation of magic and necromancy in Malagis. By contrast, see Magic and Magicians in the Middle Ages and the Early Modern Time, ed. Classen, which includes my study of Malagis as a magician practising white, or natural, magic as the result of his academic studies in Paris (pp. 523–45). See also Kathleen Jarchow's study of the French version, Maugis d'Aigremont (pp. 439-73). 8 Bastert, ‘“der Cristenheyt als nücz als kein czelffbott”’, pp. 144–6.

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Malagis has barely reached adulthood before he enters into a quasi-incestuous relationship with Oriande. Oriande’s brother Baldaris educates the young man further and allows him to use his library, which makes it possible for him to acquire considerable knowledge of necromancy. Malagis is also knighted, and then turns to Paris, where he enters the university and studies magic as one of the seven liberal arts. Soon enough Malagis achieves the highest level of learning and can even defeat his master, Yvert, which earns him the title of Magister. Thereafter he has some experiences at the court of Charlemagne, which I will deal with later. The emperor has grown furious with Malagis (for reasons I shall outline below), and has him imprisoned in order that he might be executed the next day. The protagonist, however, knows how to utilize his magical knowledge and frees himself. In the subsequent course of events, involving numerous attempts by Charlemagne to defeat his opponent, Malagis always gains the upper hand. This convinces the emperor that he needs to resort to a devious strategy, attacking Count Büene although the latter has always demonstrated complete loyalty to his lord. When the conflict with the heathens erupts again, Malagis gains many military triumphs, even against his own brother, Vyvien, who is serving in the opposing army. Finally, forced by a deceptive ploy, the emperor has to abate his anger and accept a truce between himself and Malagis, although they never establish any kind of friendly relationship.9

Research History Despite some efforts by recent scholars to refocus our attention on this sprawling text, which is more than twice as long as the French source, much work still remains to be done, work that certainly deserves to be carried out to do justice to a remarkable, richly developed, unusual and certainly intriguing romance of extraordinary calibre. Significantly, however, there is virtually no literary history (as a genre) that has discussed this romance; if it is mentioned, then it is only in a fleeting reference to the pan-European complex of the Haimonskinder.10 The few studies focused on Malagis can be counted on the fingers of one hand. In recent years Viola Witt-

9 Busch and Reich, ‘Derbe Erotik?’ pp. 159–62. 10 The only example that I could find was in Dichtung des europäischen Mittelalters, ed. Bräuer, p. 93. Wunderlich’s afterword in Johan II. von Simmern, Die Haymonskinder, ed. Wunderlich, pp. 497–505, discusses the manuscript tradition, the possible authorship and the role of the Heidelberg court. He assumes that these three romances, or verse epics, were translated into German for the Heidelberg Prince Elector Philipp I (1448–1508) from Dutch sources supplied by the sister of Frederick the Victorious (1425–76), Mechthild of the Palatinate (1419–82), who had established a cultural centre at her court in Rottenburg am Neckar after the death of her husband, Archduke Albrecht VI of Austria (1418–63). Ertzdorff, Romane und Novellen des 15. und 16. Jahrhunderts in Deutschland, pp. 215, 221, also mentions Malagis only in passing. This also applies to Backes, Fremde Historien, p. 70.

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mann has examined the role of bodily communication in the Malagis;11 Katharina Philipowski, following Bob Duijvestijn (1999), studied the matter of necromancy and magic, which here commonly serves to combat evil and is mostly regarded as positive and useful, especially because Malagis applies it only carefully and in a pragmatic fashion, rather than to cause unwarranted damage to anyone;12 and the obvious humour in the poem has attracted Bart Besamusca’s curiosity.13 Our epic poem can be situated in a broader context. Gilbert A. R. de Smet investigated the genre of late medieval romances translated from Dutch versions and dealing with political and military uprisings against King Charlemagne, such as Malagis, Reinolt von Montelban and Ogier von Dänemark (Ogier of Denmark).14 These all belonged to the personal library of Count Eberhard of Württemberg and were created around 1470–80, probably on behalf of his mother, the literary-minded countess of the Palatinate, Mechthild (1418–1482), who seems to have had in her possession at least two of the original sources. The translations, or recreations in early modern German, might have been intended as gifts for Eberhard on the occasion of his marriage with Barbara Gonzaga in 1474.15 While the protagonists’ rebellions against the emperor in Reinolt and Ogier reflect actual conflicts in twelfth-century France, Malagis represents a mostly literary projection of Charlemagne’s deep anger over the magical tricks that Malagis plays on him. The profound tensions are settled only by means of yet another trick played by the protagonist on the king, who by the end has lost everyone’s respect and become a laughing stock. Moreover, this romance contains numerous entertaining, didactic and religious elements far removed from the narrative material in the two other romances, where warfare and battles dominate the events. The Dutch poet massively expanded the history of young Malagis, his love relationship with the fairy Oriande and his travels to the Orient, though all this is now fully extant only in the German version. As Hartmut Beckers opines, both the Dutch and the German versions are mostly characterized by excessive emotion, love for the literary discussion of war and revenge, and the extreme desire to gain public honour. Generally, then, this text stands far apart from the courtly tradition of the Arthurian world and is lacking, as Beckers comments, in the standard value system of courtly romances from the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.16 11 Wittmann, ‘Funktionale Setzung, dysfunktionale Konsequenz oder’. 12 Philipowski, ‘Zauberei, Magie, Teufelsbeschwörung’. See also Duijvestijn, ‘Er hett gelert und was eyn clerg gut / von nygromancij’. 13 Besamusca, ‘Humor in de Malagis’. 14 Smet, ‘Der frühneuhochdeutsche Malagisroman’. 15 Cermann, ‘Die Bibliothek Herzog Eberhards im Bart von Württemberg (1445– 1496)’, p. 40. See also the detailed description of Cpg 340 by Miller in Die Codices Palatini germanici in der Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg, ed. Miller and Zimmermann, pp. 127–8. 16 Beckers, ‘Malagis’.

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Kurt Ruh laments the absence of the formal style that was regularly employed in Middle High German romances and derides Malagis for being of low literary quality, which would exclude this and Reinolt and Ogier from the so-called ‘Ritterrenaissance’ (Chivalric Renaissance) of the fifteenth century. He goes so far as to express his surprise that Malagis, like the other epic poems from that time, was ever translated into German, and suggests that they deserve our attention only because they were based on Dutch sources.17 We will have to re-examine such negative opinions and probe what this unusual epic narrative might reveal upon closer analysis. Most intriguingly, as Duijvestijn emphasizes, confirming Beckers and Ruh, all three romances go back to medieval Dutch texts that have survived only as fragments. The Reinolt is extant in about 2,000 Middle Dutch verses, in contrast to 15,383 verses in the German text. Of the medieval Dutch Ogier we have a little less than 600 verses, whereas the German text in the Heidelberg manuscript stretches to 32,740. The German Malagis with its 23,004 verses overshadows the Dutch fragments with their c. 3,000 verses.18 Even though the two languages were very close to each other, and still are today, the translator/s still intervened and adapted the text extensively at many different passages, especially when the rhyme words originated from the western part of the Low Countries and were loan words from French. We also observe clear adaptations in the lexicon and grammatical structure. As de Smet suggests, the scribes – it is safe to assume that there were multiple scribes, considering the length of the text – could have been speakers of Low German who tried to express themselves in High German, but occasionally lapsed back into their mother tongue.19 We know of two manuscripts containing the text of the Early Modern German Malagis, both in Heidelberg, Universitätsbibliothek: Cpg 340 (Ms. A) from sometime in the 1460s, consisting of 556 pages; and Cpg 315 (Ms. B) with 349 pages, from c. 1480, a direct copy of Ms. A.20 The Dutch original from which this epic romance was translated has survived in fourteen fragments of ten different manuscripts from the Flemish area, all dating from the fourteenth century.21 That Dutch version in turn had been based on an old French (Picard language) chanson de geste, the Maugis d’Aigremont (early thirteenth century).22 Considering the huge size of both manuscripts, we can be certain that the patron invested a large amount of money in their production, although neither 17 Ruh, ‘Epische Literatur des deutschen Spätmittelalters’, p. 180. This attitude is closely paralleled in some modern scholarship on late medieval English romances. 18 Smet, ‘Der frühneuhochdeutsche Malagisroman’, pp. 274–7. 19 Ibid., p. 289. 20 See the extensive description of the two manuscripts in the introduction to Der deutsche Malagis, ed. Schieb, Seelbach et al., pp. xii–xxvii. 21 Ibid., pp. xxvii–xxxii. 22 Maugis d’Aigremont, ed. Fournier-Lanzoni and Devard.

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manuscript was illustrated. The scribes left large margins, which expanded the volumes further, and underscores that these three epic poems mattered considerably and were apparently appreciated as important contributions to the ducal library.23 However, as we can deduce from the Ehrenbrief (laudatory poem, completed in 1462) by Püterich von Reichertshausen (1400–69) and dedicated to Mechthild of Rottenburg and her extraordinary library, Malagis was not well known by the end of the fifteenth century. Püterich mentions that Mechthild owned ninety-four books (stanza 97, 5), twenty-one of which he lists by title (he claims to include twenty-three, but leaves out two) because he is not familiar with them; the others remain unnamed. Interestingly, the Malagis was one of those texts he had not heard of before, as he comments with astonishment: ‘das was mir wunders genueg’ (stanza 97, 4; this was very surprising to me).24 Apart from Ulrich von Eschenbach’s Wilhelm von Wenden (late thirteenth century), all the texts Püterich lists, such as Flormund, Flordamur, Margarete von Limburg, Hans von Bühel’s Königstochter von Frankreich, the Minneburg, Katharina von Senis (probably Katrin von Senis, i.e., Catherine of Siena – that is, the Geistliche Rosengarten by Bruder Raimundus),25 Tundalus, and the first four Translationen by Niklas von Wyle (1461–78), date from the late fourteenth or the fifteenth century.26 Most 23 To access the digital versions of the manuscripts see https://digi.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/diglit/cpg340/0001 (Cpg 340) and https://digi.ub.uni-heidelberg.de/ diglit/cpg315/0001 (Cpg 315) (accessed 17 February 2017). 24 Backes, Das literarische Leben am kurpfälzischen Hof zu Heidelberg im 15. Jahrhundert, p. 186. The list of titles in the library of the countess of the Palatinate, Mechthild, which Püterich did not know, is contained in the stanzas 97 to 99. See Püterich, Der Ehrenbrief des Püterich von Reichertshausen. For the original text by Püterich, as a facsimile, see Jakob Püterich von Reichertshausen, Der Ehrenbrief. CGm 9220; The Bayerische Staatsbibliothek acquired this manuscript only in 1997; http://bavarikon.de/object/ bav:BSB-HSS-00000BSB00104095?p=677; a transcription of stanzas 94, 100–4, in which Püterich lists his own books, can be found at http://www. uni-tuebingen.de/fakultaeten/philosophische-fakultaet/fachbereiche/neuphilologie/deutsches-seminar/abteilungen/germanistische-mediaevistik/ studium/mediaevistische-lehrinhalte/mediaevistik-lernhilfen/leseproben/ pueterich-von-reichertshausen.html. For a listing of all texts in Cgm 9220, along with a bibliography, see http://www.handschriftencensus.de/8840 (accessed 16 February 2017). Most recently, a copy of the Ehrenbrief was discovered by Klaus Graf in the Trenbach-Chronik in the Niederösterreichisches Landesarchiv St. Pölten (HS StA 0327), dated 1590. This seems to have been the source for the Munich manuscript. See http://mittelalter.hypotheses. org/5283 (accessed 16 Februrary 2017). 25 Brakmann, ‘Ein Geistlicher Rosengarten’. 26 Grubmüller, ‘Püterich Jakob von Reichartshausen’. Some of those titles are no

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of those are still extant in their manuscript version in the Heidelberg University Library today.27 Judging by this list of texts with which he was unfamiliar, we can identify Püterich as a rather conservative friend of literature, focusing on those romances composed in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Mechthild, however, seems to have favoured, or at least also welcomed, contemporary literature written in her own time, such as Thüring von Ringoltingen’s Melusine (1456) and Heinrich Steinhöwel’s Griseldis (1461/62).28 In contrast to the anonymous and very obscure German verse translation of Malagis, the Dutch prose novel, which first appeared in 1556 in Antwerp under the title of Die schoone hystorie van malegijs. Een schoone en nieuwe Historie autentijck. Die dat veruaerlijck paert Ros beyaert wan. En die veel wöderlijcke en auontuerlike dingen bedreef in zijn leue met zijn conste ghelijc dese historie verclaert en is seer ghenoechlijck om lesen van nyeus ghecorrigeert, soon enjoyed considerable popularity. It was reprinted ten times before 1885. Only four of these versions contain the complete text, while the editors of the others have left out numerous chapters.29 Despite the appearance in 2000 of a solid historical–critical edition of the German Malagis, scholarship has so far responded only tentatively, probably because of the negative judgements previously voiced by such authoritative figures as Hartmut Beckers and Kurt Ruh. It cannot be the task of this chapter to enter into a debate on the literary qualities of this massive epic poem and its rank within the history of fifteenth-century German literature, though I suspect that future research will acknowledge the intriguing thematic orientation and hence will respect the Malagis rather more. Instead, I will focus primarily on how the poet/translator presented Charlemagne and thus contributed to the reception history of this mythical figure by way of adding rather facetious and sarcastic elements, by voicing severe criticism of kingship and by fracturing the iconic image of this universal hero. I hope, however, that this critical examination of one particular narrative element longer clearly identifiable or are hard to recognize. Margarete von Limburg, for instance, is known today only in its medieval Dutch version, Heinric en Margriete van Limborch. For a detailed discussion of those titles Püterich did not recognize see Scherer, Die Anfänge des deutschen Prosaromans und Jörg Wickram von Colmar, pp. 16–18. He provides good identifications of which works Püterich meant, some of which are in French, others in German. Scherer’s solid analysis is now available online through Google Books. 27 Strauch, Ein Bild aus der schwäbischen Litteraturgeschichte des 15. Jahrhunderts, pp. 41–2, n. 23. 28 Grubmüller, ‘Püterich Jakob von Reichartshausen’. Scherer, Die Anfänge des deutschen Prosaromans und Jörg Wickram von Colmar, p. 19, correctly emphasizes: ‘Die am 29. Januar 1456 … übersetzte Melusine befand sich 1462 schon in Mechthilds Bibliothek: so rege war der Verkehr unter den gleichgesinnten’ (A copy of the Melusine, which had been translated on 29 January 1456, was in Mechthild’s library already in 1462; the book traffic was truly intensive among the like-minded). 29 ‘Einleitung,’ in Der deutsche Malagis, pp. xxxii–xxxiii.

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will also contribute to a re-evaluation of this long text as an important contribution to fifteenth-century German literature.

The Magician Malagis at Charlemagne’s Court When Malagis has achieved his greatest triumphs as a learned and highly respected magician and sorcerer, and enjoys the new rank as ‘Meyster von der nygromancije’ (3037; Master of Necromancy), he is met by King Charlemagne and his queen, along with the entire court, the purpose being to honour him as the most learned person Paris has ever seen (3050–2). After a festive dinner, the king requests from Malagis a practical demonstration of his necromantic skills. They carry out a friendly and dignified exchange, with Charlemagne acknowledging Malagis’s expertise, while Malagis states his complete willingness to serve the king: ‘Von myner meysterschafft bin ich uch gereyt’ (3059; I am ready to do whatever pleases you in my role as a [learned] master). Charlemagne does not hesitate at all and requests, though he means this in jest (‘schympff ’, 3063), that Malagis make everyone present undress and dance naked at court. The protagonist is rightly worried about this plan, not knowing what to make of it and fearing dire consequences for himself; hence his pleading that the king should not be cross with him if he were to realize his wish and make it come true (3068). Malagis wants to be a good servant and comply with the king’s wishes, but he does not have a clear idea how serious Charlemagne might be or why he even uttered this request. As the subsequent development clearly indicates, one should never make fun of rulers or make them the butt of a joke, as the king, being the first to become a victim of Malagis’s magic, does himself exactly what he had wished to see all members of his court perform. He and his wife take off their clothes and dance around in a most foolish manner, hopping like geese through the hall, completely naked (3076). The narrator refrains from dwelling on their shame and quickly switches the scene, with the king then being freed from the charm and realizing immediately how dishonourable the spectacle had been for himself and his wife (3080–1). The ensuing altercation between the king and the sorcerer illustrates a key problem in all human communication, especially between a superior person and a servant. While Malagis defends himself, insisting that he only carried out the king’s wishes, Charlemagne bitterly complains that the learned man had wilfully misunderstood his joke and had put him into this highly embarrassing situation (3088–9). The accused can only point out that it had been impossible for him to read the king’s mind (3091), and then stops the magic, allowing everyone to put on their clothes again (3097). Whereas before Malagis had enjoyed the greatest respect among his former teachers and the public, including the royal court, for his extraordinary necromantic skills, the king now changes his mind entirely, being deeply enraged and condemning the sorcerer to death by hanging (3104). Charlemagne’s closest advi-

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sors immediately try to intervene, appealing to the king to keep the circumstances in mind, not to exceed his authority and not to punish Malagis for what he himself had ordered him to do. Master Yvert, for instance, Malagis’s uncle, points out that the scene had been set in motion in a playful manner (3117) and that, keeping the entertaining framework in mind, this joke should not be treated like a criminal case (3018–19). Charlemagne, however, proves to be entirely intransigent to all appeals, and he especially disregards Malagis’s protest that he only followed the king’s own order (3126–7). Moreover, Malagis points out that if the royal couple had kept their clothes on, they would have laughed at all the other naked people in front of them (3133). The queen, who also had taken off her clothes, would have had her fun as well, because the other members of the court would have been exposed in their nakedness and would have felt deeply ashamed.30 Then he reminds the king that wise people would know how to understand a joke (3142), but all this to no avail; instead Charlemagne insists that he be taken prisoner, though Malagis emphasizes that he will not stay at court and be abused (3147). The subsequent exchange enrages the king more and more, and he loses his self-control, revealing himself as a vengeful, dictatorial, brutal ruler who wants to see his opponent dead under any circumstances. Malagis, remaining cool and self-contained, informs him that he would never allow anyone to take away his freedom, as his magical skills enable him to free himself even from prison, disregarding even the king’s order and pursuing only what is consistent with his own wishes, ‘Und swürent ir noch also sere’ (3162; and if you were swearing the greatest oaths). Malagis publicly recognizes his teachers and praises them for the arts that they have taught him, which now help him to escape persecution (3163–4). The sorcerer then infuriates the king even further by scoffing at his pledge to refrain from eating until he has seen his opponent hanging from the gallows: ‘Das ist gut, 30 Sociologists working on the theory of civilization, such as Norbert Elias, have suggested that nakedness becomes shameful only late in a society’s development. However, this example from Malagis is one of many that suggests the association comes much earlier. Already in Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Parzival (c. 1205) and in the verse narratives by The Stricker (c. 1220–40) we find clear examples that people felt deep embarrassment when they were observed naked in public or in inappropriate circumstances. See Classen, ‘Naked Men in Medieval German Literature and Art’. In Malagis the same phenomenon appears, with Charlemagne being extremely embarrassed about dancing with his wife in the nude. Curiously, the global veneration of Norbert Elias continues until today, although many of his claims have been deconstructed. See, for instance, Rosenwein, Generations of Feeling, pp. 11–2. Although she is aware of the problematic nature of Elias’s arguments still she gives him high praise as the scholar who best grasped the underlying conditions determining the transition from the medieval world to modernity. In a later email exchange she corrected this impression, explaining that she had already criticized Elias so many times that she did not see the need to reiterate this in her book.

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herre konig, so blibt ir ane / Uwer zijt, als helff mir got’ (3169–70; That is good, lord king, since you will stay hungry all your life, so help me God). If there were any doubt as to the existence of sarcasm as an extreme form of humour in the Middle Ages, this comment would allay it.31 Charlemagne does not realize the indirect but serious threat implied here, directed against his own honour, and he also remains unresponsive to all pleadings by the various courtiers on behalf of Malagis, who has warned that he will badly hurt anyone who dares take him away as a prisoner (3178–80). The king now identifies Malagis as a thief (3197) and threatens that anyone who dares to help him, irrespective of social rank or level of learning, will be expelled from Paris for eternity. Charlemagne basically falls into a rage and loses his self-control, whereas Malagis tries to calm the situation, appealing to everyone to maintain peace (3199). He even promises to enter the prison voluntarily and to stay there until the king gives him permission to leave (3207). Charlemagne, almost out of his mind, then drags Malagis with him, holding on to his clothes, and personally locks him in the prison, putting heavy chains on his feet, heavier than a horse would be able to carry. Nevertheless, irrespective of this horrifying situation, with Charlemagne doing all these terrible things to this innocent sorcerer in person, the latter offers the king two choices, neither of which appeases him: he could let him go immediately and Malagis would be thankful to him for the rest of his life (3219); otherwise Malagis will free himself by his own means, as the king treats him too harshly (3223), and this would expose Charlemagne to public ridicule. Ironically, the king ignores everything he has witnessed already, disregards the extensive necromantic powers that Malagis commands, and thus appears as a foolish and pompous figure who relies on his traditional strength as king, not willing to realize that he would be helpless in face of his opponent’s magical skills. Their brief exchange at this point clearly signals the extreme discrepancy between them. While the king entirely relies on material objects, such as the metal fetters, and on his royal position to control the sorcerer, Malagis knows so much more than other human beings and virtually laughs at Charlemagne for his naïveté in such matters. Explicitly he reminds the king that he himself would be a charlatan if he could not free himself from the irons (3233–4). Indeed, Malagis soon frees himself from the chains and escapes from his cell, although Charlemagne and his knights keep guard outside, which underscores even further how little traditional mechanisms of authority can achieve against the black arts. Then the protagonist assumes the shape of a devil, scaring the king out of his wits, who then publicly promises the terrifying creature that he will let Malagis go, as he wants to avoid the risk for himself that the devil might take him down to hell (3262–3). As much as this scene complies with general religious concepts, 31 For numerous other examples, see Classen, ‘Sarcasm in Medieval German Literature’. This exchange between Malagis and Charlemagne does not class as irony, which I have discussed recently as well in ‘Irony in Medieval and Early Modern German Literature’. It is also not satire, because of the life-threatening situation for Malagis.

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the playful integration of the figure of the devil also draws extensively from popular superstitions regarding the ever-present lord of hell.32 This provides Malagis with the oral confirmation he requires. Identifying himself, he has his masters and uncles Yvert and Baldaris lead him away from the court, and this to the king’s utter shame. Charlemagne can only proclaim that he will banish Malagis from his country for good (3277–8), thus adding injustice to previous injustice. While before he had called his opponent a ‘thief ’, now he resorts to the more pejorative term ‘Arger schalck’ (3276; evil rogue), which indirectly reflects his inability to respond to him rationally and on the same intellectual level.33 The poet uses the entire situation to formulate the worst possible criticism of a bad, tyrannical ruler, exposing the iconic figure of Charlemagne as an utter fool, a completely irrational king who is deaf to any sound advice offered by others and exposes himself as a person with no self-control, lacking good reason and calmness of mind. The poet in a way develops a didactic concept of rulers at large, providing princes in his audience with the most negative example, indirectly admonishing them to refrain from this behaviour and to pursue the opposite path in order to avoid wrongdoing and embarrassment.34 The next day Malagis returns and again opens his treasure trove of magical tricks, fooling the king even further. Charlemagne tries traditional threats – such as preventing any food getting to the magical island the sorcerer has created on the river Seine (3333–4), hoping thus to starve him to death (3335) – not understanding that he thus provides Malagis with even more opportunities to ridicule him. Even though the king had banished him from the land, he cannot banish him from the 32 See, for instance, Baumann, Aberglaube für Laien, vol. 1, pp. 292–3. Disregarding the Malagis, however, resorting to the devil and his power was generally condemned as deeply sinful behaviour; here pp. 315–16. For a discussion of heaven, hell and saints in medieval art see Dinzelbacher, Himmel, Hölle, Heilige; see also Cameron, Enchanted Europe; see also the contributions to The Devil in Society in Premodern Europe, ed. Raiswell and Dendle. The highly unusual example in Malagis, of a courtly protagonist employing the devil for his own purposes without jeopardizing his soul, is not discussed anywhere and certainly deserves further analysis. 33 Williams, Tricksters and Pranksters; she does not, however, consider Malagis either in the original French or in the German adaptation. 34 See the contributions to Princely Virtues in the Middle Ages, ed. Bejczy and Nederman; Bratu, ‘Mirrors for Princes (Western)’; Darling, ‘Mirrors for Princes in Europe and the Middle East’. While courtly romances from the high Middle Ages regularly provide positive examples, in Malagis we are confronted with the utter deconstruction of traditional courtly values represented by the king. The same can already be observed in the prose novels by Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken; see the previous chapter. For the strong emphasis on good counsellors in twelfth- and thirteenth-century romances, see Sullivan, Counsel in Middle High German Arthurian Romance.

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water, which is a common good: ‘Ich behalt mich hie, behalt ir uch da’ (3345; I stay here, and you stay there). Conjuring the devil, Malagis has a wall of marble erected around his artificial island, which then protects him from the arrows and catapult bombardment that Charlemagne had ordered to be launched at him. In the subsequent exchanges between the king and Yvert the former reveals one reason for his great disrespect for Malagis: that is, he does not know his origin and believes that he might be descended from hell (3460). But Yvert and all the others, who are not identified by name yet belong to the close royal council and court society, support Malagis and his case, especially because he knows so well how to employ magic, which is generally evaluated as a worthy member of the liberal arts and as a respectable science. The sorcerer then transforms into the shape of an angel and can thus trick Charlemagne into handing over huge quantities of food because the king believes that a divine apparition has come to him. Full of devotion, Charlemagne has all the food handed over to Malagis, who loads it on the back of the devil Belczebock, who serves him loyally. At the same time Malagis explicitly refers to God, whose messenger he claims to be (3574), but finally reveals his true identity, enraging the king even further. Charlemagne is fooled every time and can never achieve anything against this powerful sorcerer, the master of necromancy. The author has thereby also expressed severe criticism of popular beliefs regarding the appearance of divine creatures and the possibility of communicating directly with God through the angels.35

Charlemagne as a Foolish Person The entire epic poem could almost be classed as a comedy, with Charlemagne portrayed as an imbecilic, naive person who can be deceived easily, flies into an extreme rage, but holds on to his royal power, which allows him to fight on and on against his opponent even though he can never win. The more these two men struggle against each other in this highly uneven battle of wits and might, the more we recognize in Malagis a distant avatar of the Priest Amîs in The Stricker’s eponymous collection of verse narratives focused on this trickster cleric (c. 1240), and a predecessor of the famous fool and rogue Till Eulenspiegel (first printed in 1510).36 But in contrast to these two notorious characters, so well known in premodern German literature, Malagis commands the greatest possible powers here on earth, controlling even the devils and other (evil) spirits, as one of the king’s servants observes: ‘An Malagiß ist nit zu gewynnen’ (3642; no one can win against Malagis). The more Charlemagne tries to get his revenge, the more damage he receives. Nevertheless, true to form, the king proclaims that he will 35 Waters, Angels and Earthly Creatures. 36 Classen, ‘Laughter as the Ultimate Epistemological Vehicle in the Hands of Till Eulenspiegel’. See also Williams, Tricksters and Pranksters; Ackermann, ‘How come, he sees it and you do not?’; Classen, The German Volksbuch, pp. 185–212; Classen, ‘Transgression and Laughter, the Scatological and the Epistemological’.

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never relent and will continue with his siege of the artificial island for the rest of his life (3654) in order to achieve his goal. Impetuousness couples with ignorance, stubbornness and outright foolishness, as his courtier warns him explicitly: ‘Besehent das es uch nit geruwet. / Gefellet das ir üch selber bluwet, / Man wirt es luczel clagen’ (3658–60; watch out that you will not regret it; it might happen that you will make yourself bloody, and then no one will have pity on you).37 When Malagis and his friends finally decide to depart for Oriande’s castle, the devil carries them straight there, while the artificial defensive walls simply crumble and disappear. Once Charlemagne learns about the changed situation, he naively explains that the devil must have got to his opponents and drowned them in the river (3720–4). The narrator thus criticizes the king even further, who apparently has no understanding of necromancy, does not grasp what true powers Malagis commands and operates in utter ignorance and in a violent manner, particularly when he subsequently turns to Montpellier, where he besieges the count’s castle because he is Yvert’s brother and is therefore considered guilty by association (3725–8). The narrative then deals with a variety of adventures for several thousand verses until the hostile protagonists encounter each other again, this time outside Montpellier, where Malagis tries to achieve another triumph over Charlemagne. In this context we hear Charlemagne’s nephew Rolant, so well known to us through the Chanson de Roland or the Rolandslied, comment on the war against the count. He identifies it as a clear case of injustice. Moreover, Rolant also notes that they have not achieved any success in their siege for thirteen years, which indicates their own military ineffectiveness and their embarrassing failure (12966–73). More pointedly, Rolant bitterly complains about Charlemagne’s lack of virtue and his shamefulness, which he and the other knights have to support through their fighting (12977–80). The king’s response consists only of further fury and stubbornness, although the narrator does not remark on it explicitly. In his turn, Malagis laments the terrible situation brought about by the king’s wrong actions, which force him to fight against Charlemagne once again (13010–13) to avenge the shameful political and military situation and to restore justice and good government. Indeed, as soon as Charlemagne has rushed out to the battlefield, seated on Malagis’s own horse, Beyart, the animal throws him off and seriously endangers his life. When Rolant tries to come to his lord’s rescue, Malagis arrives and defeats him again (13089–91), thus dispelling the last vestiges of the traditional aura surround37 The theme of revenge appears many times in medieval and early modern literature; see, for instance, the contributions to Vengeance in the Middle Ages, ed. Throop and Hyams; cf. also the excellent anthology of relevant texts Vengeance in Medieval Europe: A Reader, ed. Smail and Gibson. Malagis is never mentioned, however.

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ing the king and his paladins. But Rolant does not let the shame fall upon him and his companions; instead he directly blames the king as being responsible for their terrible defeat (13146–7). In the subsequent exchange with Rolant and Naymels, who strongly urges the king to accept a truce and abandon the siege, which would be a reflection of ‘wißheit und lijst’ (13204; wisdom and intelligence), Charlemagne explodes once again, rejecting all reasonable advice, insisting on his right to continue with the war or to die (13208). Rolant can only laugh at his foolishness, and ridicules his preposterousness in this military affair. The king does not take this mockery lightly, and would have slain his own nephew if the others had not have intervened and prevented it (13244) – this is a motif also found in the French tradition – e.g. Fierabras and the Entrée en Espagne – where Roland actually flees the court and takes refuge at a Saracen court.38 Rolant then continues with his mockery, demonstrating utter disrespect for the king, until Bishop Turpin intervenes – ‘Ir machent des schumpffs zu vile’ (13256; you make too much fun about it) – and recommends that they send a spy to the enemy side to learn about their strength. But the news does not bode well for them: all the mightiest sorcerers are assembled there, including Malagis, as Naymels von Beyeren remarks, warning Charlemagne in his own terms to guard himself against that supremely learned and powerful man: ‘Ir sollent swerlich daran verliesen’ (13313; you will suffer a bad defeat). None of that, however, matters for the king, who simply continues to seek revenge (13318–20) for his previous humiliation, never taking into account the counter-arguments that he himself was responsible for royal couple’s shameful exposure at the court in Paris (13321). He repeats all the other incidents in which Malagis had defied him, making a fool of him publicly, which thus creates a kind of tale within a tale.39 Normally this technique tends to intensify the emotional experience of suffering or of a dramatic event, as in the epic narrative Diu Klage (c. 1200), where the horrible slaughter of the Burgundians and the Huns is reflected upon over and over, thus finally allowing a kind of coming to terms with the profound pain.40 Here, however, the repetition does not achieve the same effect; in contrast, Charlemagne simply hardens in his unjustified resolve and demonstrates ever more utter recalcitrance and a kind of self-righteousness that borders on the obsessive or demented. The king foolishly utters empty threats against Malagis, whereupon Naymals, who functions as the voice of reason in many parallel epic romances, such as Elis38 I am grateful to Marianne Ailes for this observation. 39 For numerous parallels in high and late medieval German literature see the contributions to Erzählungen in Erzählungen: Phänomene der Narration in Mittelalter und Früher Neuzeit, ed. Haferland and Mecklenburg. Malagis, however, is not mentioned here. 40 There are various modern editions and translations available; see, for instance, Diu Klage, ed. Classen.

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abeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’s Königin Sibille (1437), warns him of the sorcerer’s superior power and skills. Malagis, he says, might well defeat and ridicule them all at the end: ‘Und ir müßent auch im laster bliben’ (13350; and you will have to remain in shamefulness). Rolant chimes in and emphasizes that their opponents enjoy higher social reputation, or nobility (13363), and that God might punish all warriors fighting for the king because of their wrongdoing. However, Charlemagne simply dismisses all that advice, belittles his nephew and urges him to flee if he wants to, claiming that he has enough worthy knights to achieve his military goals against Malagis without him (13380–3). The narrator then shifts the focus to the scene within the besieged castle, but the highly negative impression of the king remains the same. He operates as an autocratic dictator, disregards all of his advisors’ counsel, ridicules and chides them, and continues with his bitter diatribes against Malagis, completely blind to his own responsibilities and his inability to carry out his military goals of capturing and executing his opponent. Charlemagne does not listen to any suggestions; he ignores the political and military reality; he rejects even his closest allies, and needlessly makes everyone his personal enemy. He holds the rank of king, but the narrator does not indicate that he has any shred of respect for the Frankish ruler, who surfaces here as nothing but a selfish, childish, ignorant, biting, aggressive and highly irrational monarch.

Triumph of Malagis In the subsequent battle, Malagis and his twin brother Vyvien demonstrate great knightly prowess and defeat both Charlemagne and his mighty paladins, signalling that the myth surrounding Charlemagne and his court has been destroyed. While the two triumphant men were at first presented as supremely learned in necromancy, thus controlling extraordinary power, here they operate like any other knight in the deadly fighting and prove to be superior simply in physical terms. Curiously, facetiously commenting on the outcome of the military clashes, Rolant inquires whether Charlemagne has indeed captured Malagis and Vyvien and whether he is planning to lead them to the gallows the next day – a deeply ironic query with which he exposes the king’s hypocrisy.41 He also asks whether Charlemagne managed to catch Malagis’s terrifying horse, Beyart, as he would like to receive it as a gift from his uncle (13492). None of that, of course, has happened; Roland has to make these sarcastic remarks because he had warned the king about the dire consequences before. 41 For numerous examples of irony in biblical commentaries, religious narratives, historiographical texts, letters, animal epics, epigraphics and so on, see Althoff and Meier, Ironie im Mittelalter; cf. also Knox, Ironia: Medieval and Renaissance Ideas on Irony; see also the contributions to L’Ironie au moyen âge, ed. Strubel. As is to be expected, Curtius already offered significant insights into this phenomenon in his European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages, pp. 417–35.

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In an astonishing turn-around, all the paladins then declare that they will no longer fight against the opponents, whom the Duke of Bavaria even calls ‘gut cristen lüte’ (13503; good Christian people). Anyone who dares to continue with this wrong operation will only earn shame and be disgraced (13518–19), which leaves Charlemagne all alone in his extreme stubbornness. Rolant observes that under these circumstances the king will have to stay there all by himself for all eternity (13525–6). If it were not night-time, he would leave immediately, departing from the king, and all the others voice their approval. This finally forces Charlemagne to resort to begging, reminding Rolant of all the privileges and gifts he has received from the king (13542–3). Charlemagne is, basically, at the end of his resources, but refuses to accept the reality of his defeat as a result of his disrespect and foolishness. In fact, Rolant goes so far as to expose his uncle as a deceptive and untrustworthy person: ‘Uwer falsch hercz hat das erdacht’ (13547; your false heart has made you think that). If the other courtiers had not intervened, he would have hit the king. In his wrath he warns Charlemagne that he would have taken his life if they had been alone (13556–9). Amazingly, the king responds by trying to ridicule him, which then makes Ogier speak out, criticizing the king further and warning him that they will depart together with Rolant and leave Charlemagne by himself. Calling Rolant a traitor (13578) is an insult to all of them. Moreover, as he then emphasizes, their fighting over the last years had been directed against innocent people and good Christians (13585–6). Speaking for them all, Ogier then raises the critical point: ‘Und es horet der franczoser krone nit, / Unrecht zu thün, doch ist es geschicht’ (13589–90; It is inappropriate for the French crown to commit injustice, but this has happened). Charlemagne desperately tries to evade further criticism by claiming that he never called Rolant a traitor, but Ogier rejects this as a lie and demands that the king declare he never truly meant what he said before (13615–16). To ease tensions, Bishop Turpin intervenes and reminds Ogier that people often say things in their wrath that they do not really mean (13621–4). He also insists on their maintaining their loyalty to the king, whom they have all served for a long time. Rolant seems to accept that, without saying so explicitly, but he repeats that he will depart from the battlefield the next morning, as it is shameful for him to fight against the count of Montpellier. Turpin agrees and announces that he will leave with Rolant (13644), but this inflames Charlemagne’s wrath once again. He curses at them all, commenting that he has very few friends left. In response, Rolant points out that they could gain nothing but disgrace in a continued fight (13652–3), and he expresses his hope that Malagis will offer them peace. Then all go to eat and then to sleep. The entire scene is most remarkable in its psychological dimension, consistently undermining the character of the king, who is a victim of his irrational and malicious hatred of Malagis and is unable to recognize the real conditions. In fact, he seems completely obsessed with getting his revenge, although his

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opponent’s necromantic and knightly powers make this look rather ridiculous and shameful, as the paladins are only too aware. Next, Malagis and his brother Vyvien leave their camp at night and approach the other side. They do not have to worry about anything because Malagis, with the help of his magic, has made everyone fall deeply asleep. His brother is greatly amazed and wonders whether they should take advantage of this situation and slay all of their enemies. But Malagis rejects this outright because he has great respect for the worthy knights: ‘Hie ligent uff der heide / Die blüme franczoser und dutscher beider’ (13711–12; here lies in the meadow the flower of French and German knights). He leaves them unharmed, but he takes King Charlemagne prisoner and has him tied to a pole, without his shoes and clothes on, to prevent his flight (13722–5). They carry all the other knights back with them, while they are still asleep, which makes Vyvien and the others break out into laughter several times (13726, 13734, 13754, 13763, 13796, 13824, 13831, 13858, 13864, 13879, 13898, 13925).42 The entire scene is presented as funny and entertaining. At the same time, all those present admire Malagis’s necromantic art as a most useful skill in handling enemies without hurting them (13890–1). In fact, when Charlemagne and Rolant later wake up in the beds where they have been placed, they are entirely dumbfounded and confused, not knowing what has happened to them. They tell each other of their vivid dreams, until they realize the truth. Charlemagne immediately returns to his previous hatefilled tirades against Malagis (14002–5), but Rolant reminds him that the sorcerer will care nothing for the king’s threats because he is more powerful than any king in the entire world (14013–15). Charlemagne is suffering now for good reason, because he never listened to any advice: ‘Ir woltent getruwen rats folgen nit’ (14018; you were not willing to follow good advice). This reveals another significant dimension of the teachings for princes, as Charlemagne has consistently behaved as an autocrat and has disregarded the important role of his councillors. In an amazing outburst of anger, Rolant says to his royal uncle ‘Ir sint tüm, dorecht und verkalt’ (14027; you are dumb, foolish, and dishonourable), and reminds him that they are imprisoned and powerless to defend themselves against opponents who could easily kill them if they wished. Contrary to all expectations, however, Malagis and Vyvien enter the room, kneel before the king and beg him most respectfully to show mercy, to forgive them their misdeeds and to accept their willingness to repent (14044–9). But Charlemagne does not acknowledge this gesture of self-humiliation, and con42 As to the importance of laughter in the Middle Ages, see the contributions to Komische Gegenwelten, ed. Röcke and Neumann; to Laughter in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times, ed. Classen; cf. also Coxon, Laughter and Narrative in the Later Middle Ages. This example in Malagis, however, has not yet been discussed anywhere, with the exception of Besamusca, ‘Humor in de Malagis’.

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tinues with his diatribe against the two brothers, exposing yet again his own character flaws, his intransigence and his inability to cope with reality. In fact, appealing to God and the Virgin Mary, he hopes that they will ultimately suffer from divine vengeance and that he himself will have the opportunity to hang them at the gallows in Montpellier (14067–8). Malagis tries to calm him down and reminds him that they are not his prisoners and that he is utterly powerless. Poking fun at Charlemagne’s ridiculous words, he compares the king to a dog who barks a lot but cannot bite anyone (14078–9).

The Court against Charlemagne Because nothing will bring the king to reason the entire company of his enemies kneel in front of him and beg him once again to offer them peace; they would honour him and accept him as their lord if he were to stop the fighting (14091–4). They want only to live in peace, to be accepted in their political rights, and would let the king go if he were only to accept their offer. Tragically, however, Charlemagne proves to be extremely recalcitrant, even under these circumstances, continuing to threaten them with execution (14133–4). As far as I can tell, no other medieval poet ever presented a king in such negative light as the anonymous author of Malagis did, who portrays truly a most vicious, immature and irrational character. Malagis’s brother Vyvien severely chastises the king for his continued outbursts, his foolish words and his inability to comprehend the situation that he is in. Malagis could order Charlemagne’s execution at any time, but that does not happen. Moreover, he asks him once again what they might be guilty of, and why he wants to see them hanged although they are completely innocent (14145). This is the central point, indeed, since Malagis has never acted with evil intentions against the king and has only defended himself, along with his brother, when Charlemagne accused him of wrongdoing without having any evidence. Even Rolant then speaks up in support of Vyvien, against whom he has pledged never to fight again, in direct opposition to his uncle’s order (14155–8). Charlemagne interprets this declaration as Rolant’s admission that he really wants to replace the king and assume the throne, although he would not be entitled to that rank (14161–4). His nephew dismisses this charge outright, but then he is accused of being a traitor because he no longer wants to have any fighting between Christian warriors (14170). Charlemagne then blames Rolant for his own imprisonment (14173), which so enrages the latter that he is again tempted to kill his uncle. We are coming to recognize Charlemagne as a paranoid – perhaps even, in modern terms, a schizophrenic – individual, who has lost the ability to distinguish clearly between reality and his crazed imagination, feeling persecuted from all sides (in modern terms, he is suffering from a persecution complex). Charlemagne continues to rant and rage uncontrollably, whereupon Malagis has to inform him that he will

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never be released from this prison unless they can establish peace (14211–12). Charlemagne takes this very badly, whereas Rolant expresses his pleasure that his absurd and by now almost insane uncle has finally met his match. Everyone then leaves the prison, including Rolant, whom Malagis happily accepts as his friend, while Charlemagne remains behind to suffer solitary confinement (14220). In the meantime, the other paladins wonder at the disappearance of the king and Rolant, but they figure out soon enough that Malagis must have captured them by means of sorcery. They not only praise Malagis for his deep wisdom and knowledge – ‘Er ist der wiste der da lept’ (14259; he is the wisest among the living) – but also express joy that the king is imprisoned because it means the end of the bad war (14260–3). Olivier rides into the city to learn the king’s fate, and finds him in Malagis’s prison, where he continues with his vicious condemnation of Malagis as an evil person against whom he will have his revenge (14330). Charlemagne simply has no ability to recognize reality and continues insulting the person who has complete control over him. Whatever happens, and whatever people tell him, he wants the war to continue, although he is losing the support of his paladins and finds himself politically and militarily isolated. Olivier formulates it most drastically: ‘Schande, laster und qwat / Müß er haben, der umb den strijt / Noch lenger uff dem felde lijt’ (14422–4; Dishonour, shamefulness, and disaster will strike the one who stays any longer in the field in order to fight). In fact, he announces that all their oaths of loyalty are void, so they abandon the king altogether (14428). He reports to the others in their army that the king made an extremely bad impression on him: ‘Da sacht ir nye so eynen trurigen mann / Als er was, der konig güt’ (14444–5; You have never seen such a miserable man as the good king was). Although Charlemagne remains a prisoner without any hope of being relieved, he does not change his hateful attitude and makes vicious remarks when Malagis and others visit him to find out whether he has finally relented (15091–134). In fact, Charlemagne, although still accepted as the king of France, no longer has any ally or friend, as all agree that he is mean-spirited, unjust and outright violent, at odds with all customary ideals. Malagis calls him now a ‘falscher konig’ (15128; false king) and warns him that he will remain in prison and could even be executed if Malagis were to decide on that action (15129–34). Time passes, but all attempts to make the king give in and pledge peace and friendship fail utterly (16702–29). Only after Rolant has intervened and argued bitterly with the king does Charlemagne finally agree to accept peace terms, though Malagis voices great contempt for him, insisting on their equality of social rank (16791). Details are not fully given, and it remains unclear how it suddenly becomes possible to establish contracts according to which Malagis is declared free of all guilt (16801–2). But we learn at least that Charlemagne returns to Paris (16806), while Vyvien and Malagis, finally reunited with their father, ride home to Egermont. This finally allows the narrator to turn to other matters not related to the king and his absurd foolishness. Instead, we are informed about numerous events con-

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cerning Malagis and Saracen opponents, love and marriage, magic and courtly customs, warfare, the use of magic to deceive the enemy and so on. Only a long time later do Charlemagne and Malagis encounter each other again, after Vyvien has been killed in battle and is to be buried. The king demonstrates his traditionally noble character during the mourning, but as soon as he catches sight of Malagis, he rejects him, full of hatred (21992). The latter, however, emphasizes that he will love the king or hate him according to how he is received. He also warns the king to restrain himself, as he will otherwise hurt him badly and cause him great shame (21994–22001). Charlemagne allows his old anger to erupt once again, but the other members of the court can at least convince him to grant forty days of peace (22005–10). This number carries great religious symbolism, as Christ fasted for forty days (e.g., Luke 4. 2), but the narrator does not elaborate, and only has the king pronounce that there will be no further chance for peace thereafter (22013–17). Malagis’s friend, the dwarf Spiet, warns the king to control himself and to abstain from any aggressive moves against his opponent. If he does not, he will suffer great shame and be expelled from his kingdom (22020–6). He himself, Spiet, would carry out the operation, which would have dire consequences. Both Rolant and the king ridicule the dwarf, enraged by his presumptuousness considering his small size, but Spiet reminds the king that his own father, Pippin, was a dwarf – a common misconception that had been in circulation ever since Pippin’s death in 768.43 Spiet insists that everyone at court could bear witness to the truth of his claim, proclaiming that dwarfs have always been good people: ‘Von zwergen kam nie nichts gut’ (22052; Never nothing good came of dwarfs; this double negative must be translated as: Something good has always come of dwarfs).44 Charlemagne, his usual negative self, becomes so enraged that he wants to kill Spiet, but the dwarf defends himself so quickly that he subdues the king and threatens him with death (22067), telling him that size does not matter in such affairs (22068). The king realizes that Spiet commands magical skills as well, and begins to hope that he might employ him to get his revenge on Malagis; he does not know of Spiet’s close friendship with the former, whom he would defend with all his might (22084–6). Once again Charlemagne is deeply humiliated and defeated, demonstrating his evil character and lack of trustworthiness. However, whereas before the king had acted irrationally, here he at least realizes his powerlessness. He turns away from the dwarf and urges the others to help him proceed with the funeral of the two lovers, Vyvien and Beaflür. In fact, Charlemagne and Malagis cooperate, especially in consoling the young orphan Haymyn, who wants to jump into his parents’ grave out of desperation (22133–7). 43 Riché, The Carolingians; Tikka, Un ancêtre carolingien; Hammer, From ducatus to regnum; Penfentenyo, Les Fondations de la France; Ubl, Die Karolinger. See also Lasko, The Kingdom of the Franks. 44 For an extensive discussion of dwarfs in medieval literature, see Habicht, Der Zwerg als Träger metafiktionaler Diskurse. She does not, however, include Malagis.

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Charlemagne’s Defeat Subsequently, Malagis’s aunt Ysane and Spiet want to get married, which seems wrong and unworthy to the king because he considers their social difference to be too great an impediment, until she tells him of her great love for the dwarf (22172) and later also of his great skills and powers (22183–4). Surprisingly, Charlemagne then quickly consents and no longer argues against the marriage (22177), finally demonstrating a friendly and cooperative face. Nevertheless, his enmity toward Malagis is not diminished thereby; on the contrary, he voices the same hate-filled opinion about him to Oriande of Roseflur, who, disguised as a goliard (Spielmann), appears at court and presents to them all a marionette play – this is probably the first reference to such a play in the history of German literature45 – about her life with Malagis from his earliest childhood when she had found him in the forest. This leads to a conversation with the king, who is impressed by her and finally has to accept that she had taught Malagis much of his magical skill, which should finally dispel his great objections to any and all magic as the work of the devil. She emphasizes that Malagis is a scholar, a ‘klerck’ (22373), hence not simply a sorcerer bent on destroying people’s lives by taking their souls. Moreover, neither she nor Malagis fears Charlemagne’s threats (22375), and he cannot charge her beloved with any real shortcoming. If he were to continue persecuting Malagis, posterity for a thousand years would mock him and blame him for severe wrongdoing (22392). Ironically, this is precisely what the present study illustrates, confirming Oriande’s prophecy, as if literary fiction and reality oddly merged. Oriande praises Malagis’s magical skills, but at the same time she warns the king that she herself knows even more of necromancy and would come to Malagis’s aid if he were ever in danger (22399–401). Charlemagne can only lament his own existence and his attendance at the funeral (22405). To add insult to insult, he is then forced to listen to Spiet, who advises him to stop making a terrible fool of himself and that he should respect women such as Oriande (22418) – that is, he should return to the traditional courtly value system. During the wedding celebrations Spiet organizes a magical game with hats made out of rose petals. Everyone receives one, but then the hats serve to confirm whether the individual is an honest and worthy lover or not, a type of test we find in numerous high medieval courtly romances.46 Those who keep the hat on their head earn praise; the others, shame and disgrace. Charlemagne quickly becomes a victim and, although he holds the hat with both hands, magical forces take it from him. Deeply embarrassed about this shameful exposure, he turns away, and the entire court laughs at him: ‘Dar umb wart gelachet vil’ (22466).47 But the king tries to defend himself, 45 Busch and Reich, ‘Derbe Erotik?’ pp. 168–9. 46 Kasper, Von miesen Rittern und sündhaften Frauen; she does not know this unique example in Malagis. 47 'They laughed much about it'.

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after all, claiming that he was abused by magical forces exerted by the devil (22477). However, this is to no avail, as Spiet identifies him as an untrustworthy lover: ‘Wann ir sint ein mynner lose’ (22480; since you are a bad lover). Charlemagne continues to complain and accuse the others, until Spiet urges him to keep quiet and to allow the company to enjoy the festival: ‘Lassent es faren in schympff hin / Und haltent frijde in uwerm synn / Und laßent uns in freuden sin’ (22496–8; Let it go, accept this as a joke, keep peace in your mind, and allow us to have fun). Collective laughter breaks out once again (22499), making the king the butt of jokes; certainly a low point in the entire history of the Charlemagne tradition. The court festivities continue with a show of Spiet’s magical tricks, one of which makes Malagis suddenly appear as completely black (22536). Charlemagne delights at this sudden phenomenon, because he believes that his arch opponent has finally met a superior sorcerer and is thus shamed and exposed as an evil thief (22540–3). But he does not understand that this is just part of the friendly competition, as Malagis then shames Spiet even worse through his tricks; the latter then avenges himself again, and everyone laughs at their sparring. For Charlemagne, in his mean spirit, Malagis’s falling victim to Spiet’s necromancy is a long-desired revenge, but the two sorcerers quickly express their love and friendship for each other (22636–7), thus completely negating the king’s vicious comments, since he is merely a disgruntled bystander, not worthy of their attention. The narrator, however, opens a different perspective, giving Charlemagne new credit because he consoles the grieving Haymyn after his parents’ death and offers him great wealth and extensive lands, making him lord of the Dardone. In the future, we are told, Haymyn will marry the king’s sister, Aye von Pierlepont, and have four children with her. But those children then engage in warfare with Charlemagne, which is the basis of another narrative tradition, Die Haymonskinder.48 Nevertheless, at this point Charlemagne displays great friendship for Haymyn (22695–7), and the huge epic poem now quickly comes to its conclusion, although the hatred the king feels for Malagis is unabated. The latter then appears in the garb of a pilgrim and asks the king for his wine cup to drink from as a reward for his long suffering during his wanderings. He has hardly taken a sip when he lets the cup drop to the ground, which angers the king, but Malagis begs him for forgiveness, both for this mishap and for any other misdeeds, which Charlemagne happily grants in front of his entire court. Malagis uses this as a general pardon and forces the king to forgive him personally, although he hates him so much. Charlemagne feels betrayed and deceived, but Rolant and all the others remind the king that he openly and freely swore an oath to grant pardon, which he cannot now withdraw. Moreover, they assure him that they feel no enmity towards Malagis, presenting a united front against the king, who can blame only his own naïveté (22827). He has to let the pardon stand and pronounce that peace reigns between them, even though it had been brought about by deception (22829–30). 48 Johann II. von Simmern, Die Haymonskinder, ed. Wunderlich.

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Conclusion This then concludes Malagis, truly a most unusual late medieval epic poem in which King Charlemagne is portrayed in the most negative colours possible, where magic serves laudable purposes and helps the protagonist to achieve his goals without ever being criticized for practising necromancy, and where the entire royal court is in an uproar over the king’s miserable behaviour, lack of self-control, vicious character and lack of trustworthiness. The considerable difference between Malagis and the Old French Maugis d’Aigremont (within the thirteenth-century ‘Renaud de Montauban cycle’) should also be noted here, underscoring as it does the Dutch and then the German poets’ independent mindset.49 Indeed, as we have observed, there are numerous passages that could convince us that the poet presents in the king a person suffering from paranoia and schizophrenia. While in Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’s Königin Sibille King Charlemagne also appeared as highly emotional, irrational and prone to commit violence, we can at least understand some of his behaviour there as being driven by extreme jealousy and distrust of his wife because of the strange situation with the dwarf. In Malagis, by contrast, no good explanation for the king’s behaviour and actions can be found, and even the members of his royal council strongly disapprove of him, to the point that they abandon him altogether, leaving him behind in Malagis’s prison, sometimes laughing about him, and mostly expressing greatest anger about this pathetic king who is an embarrassment to themselves and their country. The entire conflict with Malagis arose when the king asked him to use his magical skills to play a trick on all the other members of the court, specifically that they be forced to undress and dance naked in front of the king’s eyes (3070–80). In a way, Charlemagne had intended to make fun of them all and cared little about public values, even though he then claims that he had voiced his desire to Malagis only as a joke (3088). He himself then suffered from great ‘schamm’ (3081; shame) but did not want to admit that he had planned to so victimize all the others. Charlemagne proves to be an extremely selfish and self-centred person who can never be trusted and is blind to reality, revengeful and extremely mean-spirited, abusing his royal power for his horrible and subjective goals, endangering the well-being of his country through unjustified warfare against Malagis’s father and unable to assess the political and military situation accurately. Fortunately for the protagonist, Malagis always triumphs over him, but he consistently avoids destroying his honour. He always makes sure that the king has a way out of his dilemma, even when he is imprisoned and helpless in his fight against the mighty sorcerer, if only he would accept his opponent as an innocent 49 Maugis d’Aigremont, ed. Fournier-Lanzoni and Devard; cf. Jarchow, ‘Magic at the Margins’.

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victim of his own vicious persecutions. Malagis never tries to overthrow the king and regularly pays him great respect. He wants only to live in peace and enjoy his own public honour. It might be difficult at this point to proceed with a literary evaluation of this curious text because it stands so much apart, a unique end result of a long tradition of verse narratives focused on Charlemagne. However, from a cultural–historical and mental–historical perspective, there are many fascinating aspects to this voluminous work that shed important light on the intellectual background, particularly with regard to necromancy. It also contains a significant criticism of kingship, which is traditionally represented ideally through the figure of Charlemagne. Even though at the end peace is finally established between Malagis and Charlemagne, it seems rather constructed and precarious, since the king has to be tricked into forgiving the unknown pilgrim for his failure to hold the royal wine cup steady in his hands, which then allows Malagis to claim that this forgiveness applies to him because he was hiding under the garb of the pilgrim. Nevertheless, whatever approach we might pursue, with Malagis we have available a most remarkable literary document of the curious and mixed reception history of the King Charlemagne myth in both the Dutch and the German traditions. The anonymous Low German author, like the anonymous poet of the Old French version, harboured very little if any respect for the French king. The projection of Malagis as learned and highly powerful is novel in that his necromancy does not cast him in any negative light, despite Charlemagne’s constantly lambasting him as the devil’s servant. In a way, while the king pursues the traditional Christian worldview, Malagis emerges as the representative of new sciences, who knows how to use them in order to defend himself against unjust persecution. Even though the devil appears at times upon Malagis’s command, this necromancy actually has little to do with conjuring the devil; instead, it serves as a new and advanced form of science that gives the learned person unforeseen powers that have never before been witnessed on the literary stage in the entire Middle Ages. Even a comparison with the famous Dr Johann Fausten in the so-called Faust book, first printed in Frankfurt in 1587, would not be particularly apt, because the anonymous author of that early modern novel was determined by strongly Christian concepts and deeply feared the workings of the devil.50 In Malagis, by contrast, magic serves the purpose of entertainment both at the beginning and at the end, as well as that of defending the protagonist against the king’s vicious attempts to exact vengeance. As much as historians have so far investigated magic and necromancy in the late Middle Ages, the figure of Malagis seems to have escaped their attention.51 Basically, King Charlemagne deconstructs himself in his fight against Malagis and proves to be everything the ideal king is not. Surprisingly, however, he is not overthrown and does not have to face 50 Classen, The German Volksbuch, pp. 213–46. 51 For relevant research literature on magic see above, n. 7.

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a coup d’état by his paladins. Even his arch enemy does not harbour any such ideas, but rather continues to demonstrate considerable respect for the king. However, the more Malagis, his brother Vyvien and the paladins at Charlemagne’s court display their self-restraint and tolerance, the more the king is exposed as a miserable creature who does not really deserve such positive treatment.52 The many rather weak and ineffectual kings in Shakespeare’s plays would prove to be important avatars of Charlemagne as presented by the anonymous poets of the Malagis (in French, Dutch and German). But our epic poem harks back to the fourteenth century, and continues a pan-European tradition that systematically targets hypocrisy and character weakness at the highest political levels.

52 Weiss, ‘Ineffectual Monarchs’.

7 Charlemagne as Saint. The Religious Transmutation of the Early Medieval Myth: the Zürcher Buch vom Heiligen Karl (Fifteenth Century)

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hile some fifteenth-century authors (e.g., Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken) present a most negative image of Charlemagne, the opposite is the case in the Zürcher Buch vom heiligen Karl (prior to 1471), which to some extent represents, at first, an early modern German prose version of Konrad Fleck’s Flore und Blanscheflur, then combines that with The Stricker’s Karl der Grosse, and concludes with parts drawn from the text by Pseudo-Turpin and poetic versions from the tradition of earlier literary treatments of this mythical figure.1 The text about Saint Charlemagne is contained in three surviving manuscripts, Zürich, Zentralbibliothek, Ms. Cat. C 28, 1r–47v, composed somewhere in southern Germany and first copied in Zürich in 1475, then Schaffhausen, Stadtbibliothek, Cod. Gen. 16, 1ra–69va, from 1483, and Zürich, Zentralbibliothek, Ms. A 121, containing excerpts.2 The scribe identifies himself as Georg Hochmuot.3 Specifically from 1233 onwards the city of Zürich observed a cult of Charlemagne as a saint, who had been regarded from the middle of the twelfth century as the founder of the Großmünster.4 This cathedral’s treasury housed relics, liturgical texts and the Aachen Vita of the Frankish emperor, and in the crypt there is a massive sculpture of the emperor from the fifteenth century.5 The cult that focused on Charlemagne exclusively intensified in the fifteenth century, and the present text was certainly an illustration of this new trend. The account consists of four parts of disparate length. At first, we encounter a compressed prose retelling of Fleck’s Flore und Blancheflure, one of the most famous pan-European romantic couples, who are Herzog, Die beiden Sagenkreise von Flore und Blanscheflur, pp. 82–90. This is a separate printing of the article in Germania 29 (1884): pp. 137–228. 2 For an overview of the three manuscripts and further research literature, see http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/934 (accessed 16 February 2017). 3 Geith, ‘Zürcher Buch vom heiligen Karl’. 4 Grebel, Großmünster Zürich; Gysel, Das Chorherrenstift am Grossmünster. 5 Abegg et al., Die Kunstdenkmäler des Kantons Zürich: Die Stadt Zürich. 1

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allowed finally to marry after many trials and tribulations, even overcoming strong cultural and religious barriers.6 They name their daughter, who will later be Charlemagne’s mother, Berthe. The second part contains a short selection of reports about Charlemagne’s birth and youth and a description of some of his major deeds, which could have been inspired by the text of The Stricker’s verse narrative. This is followed by other narrative elements borrowed from the fourteenth-century account known as Karl Meinet (see my chapter above), with a focus, for instance, on the appearance of an angel and Charlemagne’s crusade to the Holy Land, and the erection of the royal palace in Aachen, the bridge over the Rhine in Mainz and twenty-four churches in the empire.

Charlemagne in Jans Enikel’s World Chronicle Moreover, influenced by the chronicler Jans Enikel’s reports about Charlemagne in his Weltchronik, begun in 1272, taking us from Genesis through the Middle Ages to the death of Emperor Frederick II in 1250,7 we are entertained with stories about the king’s sins and redemption, about him committing incest with his sister and how he subsequently receives forgiveness because of his sincere repentance. Before we proceed with the discussion of the Zürcher Buch vom Heiligen Karl,8 let us quickly review how Jans had dealt with this material. This chronicler deserves particular attention from a literary–historical perspective because he tended to integrate a number of fictional accounts into his chronicle accounts, mostly neglecting to alert the readers to the switch. This is also the case with regard to his comments about Charlemagne.9 While he limited himself mostly to the historical events in Charlemagne’s life, especially the various military campaigns carried out by the emperor and his support effort on behalf of Pope Leon III, Jans has also an angel appear who predicts miracles in Charlemagne’s life, helping him to reach his destination much faster than would have been possible in reality. The naked chronological account is buttressed by the reference to God via the angel who returns at times to provide Charlemagne with more instructions. While in the Kaiserchronik (v. 15015ff.) the narrator mentions only vaguely a sin committed by Charlemagne, Jans Enikel goes into rather unsavoury detail regarding the relationship between Charlemagne and his deceased wife.10 The emperor commits the sin of necrophilia, as he cannot sep6 Putzo, Konrad Fleck, ‘Flore und Blanscheflur’, pp. 141–4. 7 Knapp, Die Literatur des Spätmittelalters in den Ländern Österreich, Steiermark, Kärnten, Salzburg und Tirol von 1273 bis 1439. I. Halbband, pp. 234–41; Dunphy, ‘Jans [der] Enikel’; History as Literature, intro., trans., and notes by Dunphy. 8 Quoted from Deutsche Volksbücher: aus einer Zürcher Handschrift des fünfzehnten Jahrhunderts, ed. Bachmann and Singer. 9 Classen, ‘Literarische Diskurs-Bricolage als literarische Strategie’. 10 For further details and a parallel discussion, see my Introduction to this volume, where I compare Enikel’s account with that provided by Petrarch; see also the contributions to The Charlemagne Legend in Medieval Latin Texts, ed. Purkis and Gabriele.

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arate from his wife and continues sleeping with her long after her death, which is possible only through some magic created by the devil, until God has pity on him and helps him overcome this terrible sin brought about by some magical object placed under her tongue. Via a bird – i.e., a dove – a bishop receives God’s message about this horrifying situation and approaches the king, who finally admits his transgression without being able to desist from his evil habit. But the bishop solves the problem, removing the magic object from the woman’s mouth, whereupon the corpse immediately falls apart, reflecting the biological fact that she has been dead already for four months (26365–67). Charlemagne then realizes his terrible wrong-doing and the grotesqueness of his actions, commenting: ‘si stinket sam ein vûler hunt. / ir bôsheit ist mir worden kunt’ (26373–74; she smells like a dead dog. I have understood the foulness of her body).11 We find the same narrative account in the fifteenth-century prose version, but for details see below. The narrator concludes this section by pointing out that Charlemagne had to repent his sin for the rest of his life, although he continued to be the best ruler in the entire world (26383–84). For an example he emphasizes that Charlemagne offered fair trials to everyone and thus served as a just judge, that he helped the poor people above all and that he was ready any time to listen to their complaints whenever a bell was rung: ‘hât man dem leiden iht getân, / daz riht ich schôn sam mir mîn lîp’ (26404–05; if anyone has caused harm to him, I will give good judgement, by my life). The king makes no difference between the genders, offering justice for both (26406), and orders his four bell-guards to bring the person into his court. One day, however, when the bell rings again, and this three times, they do not find anyone, although they are looking around everywhere and are already threatened by the king that he would kill them if they failed in their duty (26445–46). The four men finally discover a snake wound around the clapper in the bell, which causes it to ring. Charlemagne realizes that this is a divine sign, so he lets the snake come slithering in to address him about an injustice done to her. Having promised to help the snake, the latter returns to her own home in a shed where a toad is sitting on her eggs and is hurting them (26525). Upon Charlemagne’s order, his men hurl a spear through the toad and kill it, thus helping the snake to gain justice. Although this situation is finally handled well, the narrator still comments that even the king cannot avoid injustice, as it occurs in this world (26533–42), wherefore courts and judges are necessary to help those who are suffering innocently. But Jans Enikel also injects a sense of balance, as the king is not perfect either and has to suffer for his own sins. Moreover, as much as he glorifies Charlemagne as the best king throughout history, he also refers to numerous other rulers whose lives were filled with remarkable events that allow the reader to learn more about the basic trials and tribulations of human existence.

11 Jansen Enikels Werke: Weltchronik, Fürstenbuch, ed. Strauch.

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Zürcher Buch vom Heiligen Karl The next part in the Zürcher Buch vom Heiligen Karl represents a prose version of The Stricker’s Karl der Große, closely following the source apart from considerable shortening of the lengthy verse narrative. In the fourth section we find individual chapters translated from the Latin Historia Karoli Magni et Rotholandi by the Pseudo-Turpin. These are enriched with short accounts about the help he received on his campaign in Spain from Saint Servatius, about Charlemagne’s fight against the heathens and about a miracle created by Saint James. Medieval audiences would not have been shocked at the way the narrator characterized the emperor, who struggles hard to convert all the heathens (Muslims) in Spain, not through missionary efforts but simply with military force: ‘Und wel sich nüt woltend lassen touffen, die todt er. Und hat groß not und arbeit dur die er gocz und ze meren des cristnen glouben’ (103; And those who were not willing to be baptized, he killed. Thus he had great worries and much hardship on behalf of God and for the purpose of expanding the scope of the Christian faith). The text concludes with references to Charlemagne’s canonization through Emperor Frederick Barbarossa and to the shipment of his relics and his Historia from Aachen to Zürich in 1233. There is also, at the very end, a report about a miraculous punishment of a sinner at the statute of Charlemagne in Zürich. A closer analysis can demonstrate that there are many more details of considerable significance shedding important light on the way this poet projected Charlemagne in an often rather idiosyncratic way, as I will discuss below. But all elements, historical and literary, hagiographical and heroic, support the projection of the emperor as God’s truly anointed representative here on earth, though he is at times also shown as a sinner and transgressor of the divine law, which makes his repentance and subsequent absolution even more important for the audience of this curious prose rendering of the Charlemagne myth. The author of this prose version was not only working as a translator (Middle High German verse to Early Modern German prose) but also added comments and new interpretations, and he strongly contributed to the transformation of Charlemagne into a saintly figure, despite his own moral and ethical shortcomings, personal failures and political problems. However, just those more personal motif elements, such as his committing incest with his sister, considerably add to the strategy to flesh out the picture of this mythical ruler as a normal person – that is, a man liable to commit sins like everyone else – who is granted by God the opportunity and grace allowing him to rise up to being a sacrosanct emperor leading his Christian empire.

Florus and Pantschiflur For our purposes, this text gains interest particularly at the very end of the first part, the love story of Florus and Pantschiflur, when we are told about the events leading up to the time of Charlemagne, who is identified as the two protagonists’ grandson. As we will observe, the entire narrative framework quickly proves to be hilarious

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and almost a satire on traditional genealogical writings, considering the role switching between the princess and her maid, and Pipinus’s resolute decision during one ominous night to take any woman he can find and produce a son with her. That son would later rise in world renown, which subsequently makes it possible for the right partners to get together after all. Pantschiflur and Florus have a daughter called Berchta, who marries the Carolingian King Pipinus. Once Pantschiflur and Florus have reached the almost biblical age of one hundred years, they both die on the same day, their birthdays, and are praised for their strong Christian faith (15). Pipinus is first married with an unnamed woman, who delivers him two boys, Wineman and Rapporte. After her death, the king marries Berchta of Spain, as he believes, but in reality it is the princess’s chambermaid, because Berchta had become frightened about Pipinus’ body size and strength and had begged the maid to step in for her. The latter delivers a boy called Leo, who later rises to the position of a pope, whom the narrator identifies as ‘gar ein heilig mensch’ (16; a truly holy person). In the meantime Berchta lives with a miller who has only daughters, who do not know much at all about any courtly manners. One day, Pipinus spends time on a hunting outing that takes him too far away from his court. Surprisingly, at that moment his astrologers read the message in the stars that, if he were to sleep with his wife that night, he would produce a son, ‘“von dem die cristenheit groß nucz enpfachen wurd und von dem man wurd singen und sagen, die wil die welt stüend”’ (16; from whom Christianity would receive great profit and about whom people would sing and talk much as long as the world would exist). Pipinus takes this announcement very seriously and asks the nearby miller to send him his daughters because he is too far away from home to get to his wife quickly and to sleep with her. Each of the young women is supposed to carry a loaf of bread, which they all, in a crude, typically peasant fashion, throw into his lap without bowing before him, being ignorant of what would be expected from them in the presence of the king, who is thus dissatisfied with them and searches further for a more appropriate woman as the mother of his future son. Berchta had not accompanied these women, but she is subsequently ordered to appear before the king as well, whom she approaches in an honourable and courteous manner, which pleases him so much that he chooses her as his bed-maid for the night (17). As soon as Berchta finds out that she is pregnant she reveals the truth about herself, which the king can quickly verify when he forces his alleged wife to identify herself properly (17). Instead of losing his temper with her, he respects her as the mother of his son Leo, who later turns into a highly learned person, subsequently qualifying himself as the next pope. Pipinus provides the maid with sufficient money to live by herself, and finally marries the right woman, Berchta, which he regards as the will of God. When she has delivered her son Pipinus calls him ‘Karlus’ (Charlemagne), simply because he had copulated with Berchta while lying on a ‘karren’ (17; cart), which is, of course, nothing but popular (false) etymology; the name in fact goes

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back to Old High German ‘carl’, hence Old English ‘churl’, meaning ‘man’ or even ‘free man’.12 All this matters only insofar as the author of our account includes this hilarious, almost ridiculous onomastic explanation, which might have made his audience smile, even though the narrator does not give any clue as to the comic intentions, which we might perceive as involuntarily implied. Next, Berchta gives birth to a daughter, who is called Gertrut. Soon thereafter, the king dies, which makes the two young half-brothers of Charlemagne worry that Karlus would take complete control of the kingdom and might even want to kill them in order to avoid any competition from his siblings (18). An older member of the court, who had helped in the baptism of the infant Charlemagne, learns about the assassination plot and escapes with the child to Spain, seeking refuge at the Muslim court of Marsilius (18), the very ruler who is the dreadful and deceptive opponent of Emperor Charlemagne in the Rolandslied and in The Stricker’s Karl der Große. But here, just as in Karl Meinet, this sultan is identified as a generous, kind and tolerant ruler who accepts anyone willing to serve him, irrespective of his religion. Indeed, at that Muslim court no one questions any of the nobles about their faith and no one pursues any missionary intentions. But the loyal count raises Charlemagne in the Christian faith, which he happily and obediently accepts, despite the solidly Muslim context. The narrator then jumps to the time when the young man has reached the age of eighteen years, by which he has already achieved so many knightly accomplishments that both the world of the heathens (Muslims) and of the Christians is abuzz with rumours about him (18). Marsilius has a sister who shines with extraordinary beauty and who soon falls in love with the young man, whom she pleads with intensively to let go of his Christian faith and to accept her Muslim religion, which would make it possible for them to marry. Charlemagne quickly realizes that he could not resist this temptation much longer and reveals everything to the count, his tutor, who then sends messages to the nobles in the Frankish kingdom — the narrator here actually identifies that country more specifically, obviously in accordance with the new political realities, as France — that he would deliver to them their true lord, Charlemagne. He also reveals to them the murder plans of Pipinus’s other brothers and urges his compatriots to accept the young knight as their true king. All problems are quickly solved because Charlemagne can leave the Muslim court and escape the erotic temptations that could have endangered his faith; he is openly welcomed and fully accepted in France as their only and rightful ruler; and even his half-brothers recognize him, begging for his forgiveness, which rounds off all previous family conflicts. This allows Charlemagne, indeed, to ascend to the throne and thus to fulfill the prophecy of the astrologers. 12 See also the explanation offered in the Oxford English Dictionary, online at http:// www.oed.com/view/Entry/32843?rskey=9vjIyo&result=1#eid (accessed 16 February 2017).

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Charlemagne as Builder Everyone without any exception openly praises him as their God-given ruler, although he is by then only twenty-five years of age (19). Charlemagne constantly appeals to God to help him against the heathens, but he also fights and conquers many neighbouring countries, thus demonstrating the truth of the prophecy from before his birth. The narrator himself refers to a chronicle that records Charlemagne’s many accomplishments, and lists the countries now under the king’s control: ‘Friessen, Anthonien, Sachssen, Ungren, windesch Slafi und Lamparten und vil ander landen’ (19; Frisia, Aquitania [?],13 Saxony, Hungary, Slovenia, and Lombardia/Italy, and many other countries). The explanation for this vast expansion, however, does not consist of any kind of imperialism or a desire for political and military supremacy. Instead, the narrator points out that the various rulers and kings in those countries had neglected to live up to their own ethical ideals or those a good Christian king should pursue. Because they did not protect widows and children, did not defend the Christian church and displayed arrogance and hubris it behooved Charlemagne to accept this challenge to attack and overthrow them and to step into their place, thus spreading peace and justice in his empire (19). He attacked and defeated the king of Lombardia, Desideriuß, because the latter had badly harassed the Holy Sea for such a long time until the pope finally asked Charlemagne for help, which he then offered promptly. Similarly, he helped the other mighty princes in the country so they decided at the end to suggest the imperial crown for him (20). At the same time the king continued to carry plans to defeat the Muslims in Spain, which is also approved by God who talks to Charlemagne in a nightly vision, though He urges him first to conquer other countries in eastern Europe: ‘so solttu ze erst Pül gewinnen und Behem und Bol und Ungeren, Kriechen und Armenie und nach vil ander landen’ (20; you should first conquer Apulia, Bohemia, Poland, Hungary, Greece, Armenia, and many other countries). The following aspects, with God’s further instructions and the subsequent military operations, are directly borrowed from The Stricker’s version, so we do not need to pursue them here further. However, the didactic and religious components that the anonymous poet included here deserve special attention. Once having been crowned emperor in Rome, Charlemagne returned to Germany and built the church dedicated to the Virgin Mary in Aachen (22). Conjuring the devil, Charlemagne could force the evil force to support him in that effort by transporting marble stones from Rome to Aachen. On the occasion of the dedication of the church the pope attended the festivities personally, along with 365 bishops, and it was then stipulated that each German king should receive his attributes there only. Then the narrator emphasizes that an emperor really has to wear three crowns: the first, made of iron, representing 13 ‘Anthonien’ might be a fantasy name created by the poet; Deutsche Volksbücher, ed. Bachmann and Singer, p. 488, list the name, but do not have a good explanation for what it might represent in modern terms.

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the ruler’s strength and fortitude, was placed on his head by the bishop of Cologne; the second, of silver, representing his justice and honesty (‘luster und grecht’, 22; shining/transparent and just), he would receive from the bishop of Milan; the third, of gold, representing nobility, justice and virtues of the highest order, superseding all other people in its glory, he would receive from the pope in Rome. We are briefly told of Charlemagne’s crusade, resulting in the total liberation of the Holy Land from the Muslims, whereupon he visited Constantinople, where he refused to take any gold from the emperor and asked only for a small part from the crown of thorns that had been placed on Christ’s head during His Passion (22). Again, the author presents an ideal image of this Christian ruler who wields imperial powers and achieves all of his goals wherever he turns his attention, and yet without ever falling victim to hubris. Other significant details provided here refer to Charlemagne’s intensive building programme, which resulted in twenty-four churches, each receiving a metal letter from the alphabet, consisting of hundred pounds of gold. Charlemagne also established four bishoprics, in Trier, Mainz, Cologne and Salzburg, and spent ten years building a bridge over the Rhine in the city of Mainz (23). The story of the snake asking the emperor for justice by clinging to the clapper in the bell, as told by Jans Enikel, is repeated here, but it takes place in Zürich now (23–24). But the narrator adds a sequel to it in which the snake returns to the court and brings a gemstone to the ruler that has a curious property. Whenever Charlemagne holds on to the stone he is suddenly passionate about the very location and no longer wants to leave. His wife soon realizes this, and has the stone placed in a ring with which she then can control her husband’s feelings. But when she is about to die, not knowing what to do with the ring and the stone, she places both under her tongue, and can thus make Charlemagne her slave long after her own death. However, in contrast to Jans’ account, there is no specific reference to necrophilia here, and so it is not God who intervenes, but an ordinary student who easily recognizes what the cause of the emperor’s curious behaviour might be. One day, when Charlemagne is at court giving judgement, the student probes the dead woman’s body all over until he finds the ring and removes it. This then changes the emperor’s attitude, and he has the corpse immediately interred upon his return (25). However, adding another burlesque scene, now the ring is suddenly in the possession of a knight — perhaps an accidental merging of the student with this knight in order to explain the personal connection — whom Charlemagne then loves just as intensively as he had loved his wife. This causes considerable embarrassment for the knight, until he finally throws the ring away, and that then became, as the narrator emphasizes, the location where the emperor later built the church in Aachen. Nevertheless, even this does not free him from his sinful behaviour, since this love for the church and its location is indebted to the ring only (25). In order to help him, the two saintly figures Saint Aegidius and Saint Theodolus intensively pray to God and ask on Charlemagne’s behalf for forgiveness for his sins, which is finally granted after God had sent a letter to Theodolus (26).

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Charlemagne as Sinner The author also added another report about Charlemagne’s sinfulness, obviously a most appropriate topic for a hagiography because it profiles effectively all people’s frailty and shortcomings, which only the truly saintly person at the end can overcome or compensate for. One day, Charlemagne is out for a ride with his sons and many knights and squires. They suddenly come across a widow who raises a hue and cry over one of his sons because he had raped her daughter (26). The king is irritated by this seemingly irrelevant and perhaps frivolous charge and wants to get rid of the woman, telling her flippantly that, while he has to keep travelling for now, later, once he would have returned, the shrub should remind him of this case. When he later comes back to the same spot the shrub indeed hits him in one of his eyes – perhaps with a branch – which indicates to him that this is a sign from God forcing him to grant the widow immediate justice. However, without consulting with any legal advisors, he quickly proceeds and kills his son who was charged with having committed that rape: ‘än alles gricht’ (26; without a legal court). This resolute ad hoc action greatly irritates the members of his court, who had preferred the by now dead son over the other and who had deemed it to be their privilege to judge this case. Moreover, to strike the son dead in one blow seems excessive to them, since a monetary compensation might have been fully adequate as well. However, for Charlemagne the message that he had ‘received’ from the bush appears good enough to reflect God’s will, which he therefore carried out without any delay. Consequently, he does not regard his procedure as evil, sinful or unjust, and he refuses to confess and repent anything, as he regards himself as God’s instrument here on earth. However, the narrator himself intervenes and voices his negative opinion, as Charlemagne did not even once consult with anyone before he slew his own son: ‘es in einer geche nach dem süntlichen fürschucz und beitet nit der bescheidenheit rat” (27; But that was not the case [that he had done a service for God] because he carried it out in a rush with a sinful intention and did not wait for advice based on wisdom). But the emperor is not chided otherwise, and his own people do not protest against him; instead this part of the narrative simply breaks off, and we are presented with his third sin. This sin consists of incest with his sister in ignorance of their blood relationship.14 The circumstances are not related to us, but the narrator focuses on Charlemagne’s attitude and thinking about this situation. Because he had not known of the woman’s true identity he regards his ‘sin’ as moderate, like any other sin resulting from lack of chastity, ‘won er es nit vor gewüst hatt’ (27; since he had been unaware about it beforehand). But he thereby causes God’s wrath, particularly because of his refusal to acknowledge the true depth of his sin. Subsequently 14 Incest as a sin and a sexual crime was discussed many times in the Middle Ages, such as in Hartmann von Aue’s Gregorius (ca. 1190/1200); for a more global discussion, see Archibald, Incest and the Medieval Imagination.

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the narrator indicates that the two saints Aegidius and Theodoluss alerted him to the problem, and thereupon the emperor turned to confession and repentance and thus regained God’s mercy. There is no attempt to explore the ethical, moral or theological issues involved, and, as Charlemagne had admitted and repented his guilt, the case is simply closed. Next, the author follows with a list of his twelve paladins, giving them highest praise for their total dedication to their ruler, being willing to live and die with him without fail (27). When Charlemagne announces his plan to launch a crusade against the heathens in Spain they immediately express their willingness to join him (28), which then leads over to the traditional account about the war against the Muslims and hence the story about the battle of Roncesvalles. But the prose version is highly compressed and covers much ground in very little narrative space. Although details escape us, we are specifically informed that Charlemagne performs numerous miracles during his six years in Spain, which confirm, once again, his status as a saint. Of course, this also entails that he kills anyone who is not willing to convert to Christianity, that he destroys any city or castle that dares to resist him and that he adamantly refuses to take any bribe to spare a person’s life in case of his or her insistence on staying with the Muslim faith (31). By contrast, Charlemagne makes no difference among those who come freely to the Christian church, and he accepts each and all who are ready for conversion and baptism. None of their goods are touched, and they can live freely as before, as long as they join the Christian community.

Charlemagne as an Individual and as a Ruler We clearly recognize the narrative plot, as it is already contained in Konrad’s Rolandslied and in the Stricker’s Karl der Große, and can thus turn to the last passages in the Zürcher Buch vom Heiligen Karl. Here we are told of his personal features, his specific performance as a ruler and his character traits. This allows the author to conclude his work by drawing from the tradition of Mirror for Princes, as he presents this ruler as a protector of widows and orphans and of all Christian churches, and this even beyond his death. For example, we hear of a heathen ruler who conquers Santiago de Compostella and destroys the cathedral that Charlemagne had rebuilt and endowed with many treasures (111–12). Saint James, however, immediately imposes a severe sickness upon him, from which he recovers only once he has repented and promised to the Virgin Mary, Saint Peter, Saint James, Saint Martin ‘und ouch Karlus’ (112; and also Charlemagne) never to commit the same crime. The king is thus placed on the same level as the highest figures within the Christian ‘pantheon’. As this rebellious ruler breaks his own promise once again and destroys the church of Saint Romanus, God punishes him and makes him into a pillar, which pilgrims can observe until today (112). The poet also describes Charlemagne’s personal appearance in surprising detail, as if he had seen him in his lifetime: ‘Der würdig keyser Karlus ist gesin ein

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schon hupsch man und hat gehan schwarczes har und ein wolgeffar antlütt unnd ein wolgestalten lib von allen lidmasen. Syns libs lenge ist VIII schuoch langk’ (112; The worthy Emperor Charlemagne was an attractive man who had black hair and a pleasant face and a well-built body in all of his limbs. He had the height of eight feet).15 Not satisfied with these general comments, the author then describes even such minutiae as his forehead, his eyebrows and his eyes – brilliantly glowing when he was in a positive mood, but flashing aggressively when he faced an enemy. Then the spectator is taken to Charlemagne’s shoulders, arms, hands, beard, stomach, legs, feet and so on. The poet obviously drew from Einhard’s biography or other reports, as he also comments on Charlemagne’s eating and drinking habits, strictly limiting his own consumption of wine. We learn that he usually slept only five hours a night and possessed so much physical strength that he could ‘ein recht wolgewafnet rytter uf eym gutten pferd mit eym streich spielt das houpt und den ganczen lib und das Pferid ouch’ (113; cut off with one stroke the head of a well armored knight sitting on a horse, cutting through the entire body and the body of the horse). The narrator provides another example of his extraordinary bodily prowess and then concludes, which might be the central motto of the entire work: ‘Der almachtig ewig got hatt in begabet mit vil natürlichen gaben und hat in erczeygt vil gotlicher gnaden’ (113; Almighty God had graced him with many natural skills and had displayed on him many divine gifts). It is only logical that the narrator then resorts once again to the epithet ‘keyser Sant Karlus’ (113; Emperor Saint Charlemagne), whose greatness is also underscored by the fact that he had fathered fourteen children with his wives and concubines, whom he all loved with his whole heart. The narrator thus creates a composite biographical image of this ruler as a mighty king, as God’s anointed representative here on earth, as a very strong knight and warrior, as a loving father, as a highly fertile man, as a fair and open-minded judge, as a generous and passionate leader of his people, and as a resolute and awesome defender of the Christian faith who took no prisoners in his crusading mentality, though he welcomed anyone who was willing to change his or her faith. Concomitantly, Charlemagne himself demonstrated a humble and submissive behaviour when he went to church, demurring under the priests while attending mass. Not surprisingly, then, the account concludes with a reference to Charlemagne’s canonization by the Emperor Frederick and Pope Gregory and the decisive remark concerning the establishment of a pilgrimage site in Zürich, where they received Charlemagne’s relics and the account of his life: ‘syns heylthumps hür gen Zürich gesant mit versigelten briefen von dem capittel der kilchen, genant aquensis ecclesia’ (113; his relics were sent, together with sealed letters, from the chapter of the church in Aachen).

15 For the length measurement of ‘Schuh or ‘schuoch’ (foot), see http://vormetrische-laengeneinheiten.de/html/erlauterungen.html; or http://deacademic.com/dic.nsf/dewiki/1257793 (both accessed 23 April 2018).

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Charlemagne as a Legendary Figure At the very end the narrator also included a legendary account that serves to underscore Charlemagne’s sanctity, as God grants permits him to take some action against an evil person even after his death. This account pertains to a knight who has done something bad against the emperor, and the two never can settle the case because the knight does not submit under Charlemagne and the latter does not forgive him his guilt. We do not know for sure what the matter might be, but it is clear that the knight is at fault. After the emperor’s death, when a sculpture of him has been erected in the church of Aachen, the knight appears before it and scoffs at the emperor, laughing that he is now powerless to cause him any harm: ‘Und sach in fast an und spottet syn’ (114; He looked firmly at him and mocked him). But, as the narrator points out, God objected to this behaviour, so He has the stone sculpture move the arm, pull the sword out of the scabbard, and place it in its lap. The knight observes this miracle, realizes that it is a sign from God, is badly scared, falls to the ground and dies soon thereafter. This is, simply put, the stuff of miracle stories usually told about saints, which is fully fitting as a final example to confirm that Charlemagne had turned into a saint. The unique character of the Zürcher Buch vom Heiligen Karl hence consists of a narrative patchwork, combining hagiographical elements with chronicle features and setting as its groundwork the literary account of Floris und Blanscheflur, which provides the segue for the biographical account. Furthermore, the author incorporates burlesque and jest elements predicated on Charlemagne’s own sinfulness and human failures, for which he is criticized but not terribly condemned, as he always regrets, does penance and is then redeemed by God, who acknowledges the sincerity of his repentance.

8 Charlemagne in Middle Dutch and Middle Low German Literature

The Middle Dutch Tradition

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s we have seen, the influence of medieval Dutch literature on the formation of Middle Low and Middle High German Charles narratives was far from negligible, and can be traced well into the sixteenth century and perhaps even beyond.1 But the connections between the Dutch and the German language areas are not well known, even by some experts, although this situation is gradually changing thanks to some invaluable contributions by Dutch scholarship especially.2 Too many linguistic hurdles stand in the way for most Germanists to engage easily or at all with medieval Dutch literature, and perhaps also vice versa. Some major scholars – such as Johannes Franck, Theodor Frings, Kurt Ruh and Hartmut Becker on the German side and Wim Gerritsen, Herman Pleij and Frits van Oostrom on the Dutch – have already opened a path towards philological cooperation, but much work still remains to be done.3 While the early medieval poets in the Dutch-speaking areas tended to orientate themselves towards the east, the German-speaking areas, by the eleventh century or so this changed in favour of the French-speaking area, which from then on had a huge impact on Dutch literature, and also German and Italian.4 In turn, as we will discover, the narratives of Dutch-language writers were eagerly accepted and translated by their German-speaking contemporaries. For our purposes it is necessary to consider which medieval Dutch texts engaged with the Charles myth and what specific perspectives were the determining factors.5 As all over Europe, there was great interest in all materials associated Farrier, The Medieval Charlemagne Legend. See also the contributions to Dialog mit den Nachbarn, ed. Bastert, Tervooren and Willaert. 2 See the contributions to De epische wereld, ed. Berg and Besamusca. 3 See the contributions to Dialog mit den Nachbarn, ed. Bastert, Tervooren and Willaert. 4 Meijer, Literature of the Low Countries, pp. 2–3. 5 Besamusca and Dijk, ‘Middle Dutch Charlemagne Romances in Olifant’. Besamusca, ‘Beerte metten breden voeten’; Spijker, ‘Renout van Montalbaen’; Broers, 1

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with Charlemagne and his descendants, as the rich corpus of relevant texts from the twelfth century onwards indicates. According to Bart Besamusca, scholars of Middle Dutch literature know of about twenty-seven epic poems involving Charlemagne, but only one of them has survived in a complete manuscript; all the others are extant only in fragmentary form.6 Rough estimates lead to the calculation that only 6 per cent of all Middle Dutch Charles epics have survived, which makes the Middle Low German translations particularly important because they allow us to understand better how their source texts might have looked. The heroic and mythical status of Charlemagne exerted a profound influence on the Dutch audiences, probably because some of the main themes centred on loyalty and treachery, on the rebellion of feudal tenants and vassals against their overlord – that is, Charlemagne or one of his sons. As Reinder P. Meijer notes, ‘It is significant that Charles does not usually appear in these poems as the great strong king, but rather as a weak old man who is all the time pressed hard by his opponents.’7 Of the three extant Dutch translations of Old French chansons de geste, Aiol is the oldest one, dating from c. 1200 and surviving in 930 verses. It follows the French source closely, though the translator/poet regularly rendered one line in the French poem as two lines in the Dutch text.8 The other translation is the Roman der Lorreinen, created in the mid-thirteenth century and based on two French texts, Garin le Lorrain and Gerbert de Metz.9 It extends to approximately 1,000 verses, was composed in the Brabant region and deals with the feud between the Loherains and the Bordelais in the reign of King Pepin. The fragmentary Middle Dutch Aspremont, consisting of ninety-seven verses composed around 1300, was based on the Old French Chanson d’Aspremont and relates how Roland gained his sword Durendal, his horse Viellantif and the horn Olifant. ‘Willem van Oringen’; Spijker, ‘Gheraert van Viane’; Lens, ‘Huge van Bordeeus’; Duijvestijn, ‘Madelgijs’; Brandsma, ‘Van den bere Wisselau’; Dijk, ‘Ogier van Denemarken’ (2005); Berg, ‘Developments in the Versification of Middle Dutch Charlemagne Romances’; Have, ‘Roman der Lorreinen’; Have, ‘The Manuscripts of the Middle Dutch Charlemagne Romances’; Dijk, ‘Roelantslied’. For an excellent overview, see Besamusca, ‘Medieval Dutch Charlemagne Romances’. I have drawn much of my information from Besamusca’s article, but compressed, selected and added to it extensively, comparing the Middle Low German with the Middle Dutch texts, for instance. 6 Besamusca, ‘Verstümmelter Überfluss’; this is basically a German translation of his 2011 article in Olifant (‘Medieval Dutch Charlemagne Romances’). 7 Meijer, Literature of the Low Countries, p. 6. Curiously, but perhaps not untypically, Ott-Meimberg, ‘Karl, Roland, Guillaume’, does not even mention any text from the Dutch-speaking areas. 8 Aiol: A Chanson de Geste, ed. and trans. Malicote and Hartman. 9 These two texts are the subject of a study by Ansorge, ‘Des einen Freud, des anderen Leid’. She focuses on the implied warning about the deadly cycle of revenge.

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Then there is the Roelantslied, closely based on the Old French Chanson de Roland, composed sometime in the late twelfth century in the Flemish region and surviving in approximately 2,000 verses, in an early modern print edition under the title Den droefliken strijt van Roncevale (The Grievous Battle of Roncesvalles), published by the Antwerp printers Willem Vorsterman (around 1520) and Jan van Ghelen (in 1576).10 The brief account focuses exclusively on the final battle, with all the Christian warriors, including Roland, dying a glorious death, killed by their Saracen, or Muslim, adversaries.11 Another text is the Willem van Oringen, which is based on the Old French Moniage Guillaume, set in the time of Charlemagne’s son Louis the Pious. The Dutch version may have been composed by one Clays of Haerlem, who was a member of the court of Willem II, count of Holland between 1234 and 1256. It survives in only 429 verses. The story of Sibilla, by contrast, was based not on a French source but probably on a Spanish one, today surviving only in the Hystoria de la reyna Sevilla (c. 1500), which has to be placed parallel to the German rendering of the French source by Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken (1437). Both here and in the German translation we encounter a wrathful, weak, indecisive and distrustful king and husband. Charles proves to be entirely subject to political manipulations that almost succeed in bringing about the death of his wife, Sibilla, which would have meant the end of his dynasty and the victory of his enemies at court. The Dutch account, which shortens the source material throughout, was printed in Antwerp by Willem Vorsterman around 1538. In Flovent, a Middle Dutch poem written by a Flemish author from around 1200 and hence, like the Roelantslied, one of the oldest texts in this tradition, we learn of the eldest son of the Merovingian king Clovis and his companion Richier. In contrast to the situation in Sibilla, here the poet vastly expanded on his Old French source, Floovant, especially with respect to Richier himself. Richier offers to help King Clovis, who is besieged by the Saracens, in return for being knighted together with his sixteen sons. Richier fights with a huge club and achieves many triumphs. 10 The full title is: Den droefliken strijt: Die opten berch van Roncevale in Hispanien gheschiede daer Rolant ende Olivier metten fluer van Kerstenrijc verslagen waren; naar den Antwerpschen druk van Willem Vorsterman uit het begin der XVI. eeuw, ed. Boekenoogen. 11 For a digitized version of the copy held in the Universitätsbibliothek München, with the signature 0014/W 4 P.germ. 165, see https://epub.ub.uni-muenchen. de/17456/ (accessed 16 February 2017). The cover is decorated with a woodcut showing the king sitting on his throne, surrounded by a throng of courtiers. A bishop is standing on his left, while warriors are grouped on his right. A knight, probably Rolant, not wearing a helmet, approaches him on the left from our view. Sprinkled throughout the text are repeated instances of another woodcut, depicting a fighting scene in which knights attack each other with their lances.

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This must be read in parallel to the figure Rennewart in Wolfram von Eschenbach’s Willehalm (completed c. 1218), which in turn drew extensively on the Chanson de Aliscans, which itself belongs to the cycle of Guillaume d’Orange. But, in contrast to Rennewart, Richier belongs to the urban class and demonstrates the considerable fighting skills to be found among burghers; in other words, this text seems to have appealed particularly to audiences in Dutch cities, where the rich and wealthy patriciate aspired to upward social mobility. One of the lords of Viane, Gerard, commissioned the translation (also with considerable expansion) of the Old French Girart de Vienne by Bertrand de Barsur-Aube; the resulting thirteenth-century text is now known as the Gheraert van Viane. Here the protagonist, supported by his nephew and friend Olivier, rebels against Charlemagne because the latter’s wife had humiliated him by making him unwittingly kiss her foot. The text has survived only in two fragmentary manuscripts (altogether 192 lines), but it contains a number of narrative innovations compared with the French source, such as a speech by Gheraert’s nephew Aymerijn (seventy lines). In the first fragment King Charles is besieging the city of Viane and Aymerijn goes to his uncle Gheraert to ask for help. In the second fragment Olivier arrives at Charles’s court and tries to negotiate, but the king is characterized as evil and aggressive, though he begins to listen on the second day. Olivier points out that Gheraert is trying to defend his family against an unjust king.12 Around 1275, or somewhat later, Adenet le Roi composed a translation of the Old French Berte aus grans piés under the title Beerte metten breden voeten for the Flemish court of Gui de Dampierre, and he too expanded his source remarkably. The text has survived only in fragmentary form (about 400 lines), but it offers a fairly rich rendering of the story of Charlemagne’s wife Berte being supplanted by an impostor. Berte has to find refuge with the forester Simon, and it is a considerable time before until the king happens to arrive there and to recognize his true wife. The huge Old French Auberi le Bourgoing (approximately 30,000 verses long) was also translated into Middle Dutch, but the text has survived in only about 350 verses from the middle of the fourteenth century. At the beginning of the fourteenth century a Flemish poet created the translation Huge van Bordeeus, based on the Old French Huon de Bordeaux. It was originally around 15,000 lines long, but only about 10 per cent survives today. Huon/Huge accidentally kills Charlot, Charlemagne’s son, and he is promised forgiveness if he performs miraculous deeds in the Orient, which at the end is possible with the help of the fairy king Auberon and his messenger Malabron.13 A prose edition of the story was printed by the Antwerp printers Willem Vorsterman (around 1540) and Jan van Ghelen (in 1584), both drawing from a common but now lost Middle Dutch verse text. Oral sources also have to be considered in this context, such as in the case of Renout van Montalbaen, in which the four sons of Aymijn or Haymijn (known also 12 Besamusca, Repertorium van de Middelnederlandse Karelepiek. 13 Lens, ‘Huge van Bordeeus’; Lens, Huge van Bordeeus.

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as the four ‘Heemskinderen’) rebel against Charlemagne over a period of many years, assisted by their cousin Malagijs, who has magical powers, and Renout’s tremendously strong horse Beyaert, who can carry all four brothers together on his back.14 This famous pan-European narrative belongs to the so-called genre of ‘frankische ridderromans’ (Frankish romances of knights, or courtly romances), the most famous of which was Karel ende Elegast, which was written sometime between 1100 and 1300, perhaps before 1225.15 The original text is lost, but we can reconstruct it today on the basis of nine fragments from four different manuscripts dating from the late thirteenth, fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Altogether we have extant just over 2,650 verses.16 I will return to Renout van Montalbaen below.

Middle Dutch Karel ende Elegast and Middle Low German Karl und Ellegast The original manuscript containing the epic poem Karel ende Elegast, in which Charles goes on a stealing campaign together with the knight and magician Elegast, is lost, but there are four manuscripts from the thirteenth, fourteenth and fifteenth centuries that contain fragmentary elements. There are two strands in the text tradition, the one based on the Middle Dutch version from the end of the twelfth or the early thirteenth century (Karel ende Elegast), consisting of 1,406 verses; and the other a Ripuarian text tradition, Karlle ind Eligast, from c. 1320–1350, consisting of 1,352 verses, perhaps copied down in Aachen. The rendition into prose seems to have happened in the fifteenth century, as we can tell from just one leaf from an otherwise lost edition published by Govert van Ghemen in Gouda around 1490. Karel ende Elegast appears to have been based on the now lost Old French Chanson de Basin, and we can also recognize clear motif parallels in Renaut de Montauban (c. 1200), Elie de Saint-Gilles (twelfth century) and Restour du Paon (early fourteenth century).17 Here Charlemagne operates in the region of his own castle in (Nieder)Ingelheim, near Mainz, on the south side of the Rhine. Elegast, who has been exiled by Charles for wrongdoing – he had stolen some silver from his treasury – appears to belong to the world of the elves and knows a variety of magical charms, such as putting a specific leaf into his mouth to understand the speech of birds and animals.18 The Middle Dutch version demonstrates extensive poetic freedom as well, especially if we compare the work with the mid-thirteenth-century Karlamagnús saga, where we can recognize the basic elements of Basin, adapted from the Old French, with the young Charlemagne being charged by an angel to go stealing with a thief, 14 Besamusca, ‘Medieval Dutch Charlemagne Romances’, p. 178. 15 Spijker, Aymijns kinderen hoog te paard, esp. ch. 7. 16 Johann II. von Simmern, Die Haymonskinder, ed. Wunderlich, p. 474. 17 Varvaro, ‘Karel ende Elegast et la tradition folklorique’, pp. 262–5. 18 The text is available online at http://cf.hum.uva.nl/dsp/ljc/elegast/ (accessed 15 February 2017).

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which helps him to uncover a plot to assassinate him during the coronation ceremony.19 Another adaptation/translation was the poem Garijn van Montglavie from c. 1325, which might have been based on the Old French texts Garin de Monglane and Gaufrey, although the differences in the plot and the role of the major protagonists are considerable. Garijn van Montglavie is certainly not as close to the reconstructed narrative of Basin as Karel ende Elegast is. This latter narrative relates how, following a vision instructing him to go out in disguise as a thief, Charlemagne meets with Elegast in a forest at night. Not recognized, because of the effective disguise, Charlemagne suggests to Elegast that they steal from his own castle, but the latter proves his loyalty by refusing to steal from the king. They do, however, break into the castle of Charlemagne’s brother-inlaw, Eggeric van Eggermonde, where Elegast overhears Eggeric talking to his wife, planning to kill Charlemagne. When Eggeric arrives at the royal court the next day, Charlemagne has him searched, revealing the weapons he is carrying. There is a judicial combat between Eggeric and Elegast in which the traitor is defeated and killed. Charlemagne’s sister, Eggeric’s widow, is then married to Elegast and the latter is able to return to Charlemagne’s court. The Middle Dutch text has survived in six medieval fragments: 1. Arras, Bibliothèque Municipale (BM) 227/383; 2. Den Haag, Koninklijke Bibliotheek (KB), 131 D 5; 3. Namur, Bibliothèque de la Société de Namur (BSN), 196, B 19; 4. Munich, Bayerische Staatsbibliothek (BSB), Cod. germ. (cgm) 5249, No. 69; 5. Brussels, Stadsarchief, 1645; 6. Gent, Universiteitsbibliotheek (UB) 896a. Since the fifteenth century this curious and entertaining, but also politically powerful, epic poem has been printed at least six times: 1. by Jacob Jacobsz van der Meer or Christiaen Snellaert (Delft, c. 1486–1488); 2. by Govaert Bac (Antwerp, c. 1493–1500);20 3. once again by Govaert Bac (Antwerp, c. 1493–1500); 4. by an anonymous printer (Antwerp, c. 1530); 5. by Jan van Ghelen (Antwerp, c. 1550–1608); and 6–7. by Gerardus Leempt (‘s-Hertogenbosch, 1484–8 and 1496–1500). This enthusiastic reception continues through the early modern time right up to today, which should not surprise us since this narrative is highly lively, entertaining, comic, thoughtful and rich in political, military and social issues.21 It deserves mention that scholarly investi19 Karlamagnús saga, trans. Hieatt, vol. 1, pp. 54–102; Kramarz-Bein, ‘Die altnordische Karlsdichtung’. 20 I could identify at least one definite print from 1500 under the title Een genoechelike hystorie van den edelen Coninck Karel van Vranckerijck en de vanden vromen ridder Elegast. 21 The large number of modern editions, both historical–critical and more pragmatic, is astounding and confirms the enormous popularity of this text even today; see, for instance, Duinhoven, Karel ende Elegast; Karel ende Elegast, ed. Claassens; Karel ende Elegast: Integrale tekst uit 1270. For a detailed list of the surviving manuscripts and their locations today in research libraries, see Schlusemann, Bibliographie der niederländischen Literatur, vol. 1, pp. 375–6.

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gations had already begun to focus on this poem in the eighteenth century, when Henrik van Wyn wrote his doctoral dissertation on it in 1788.22 Since the mid-nineteenth century a flood of editions has appeared on the Dutch book market,23 and the number of modern critical studies on this text is legion.24 The anonymous Ripuarian version, Karlle ind Eligast, has survived in one manuscript, Darmstadt, Universitäts- und Landesbibliothek, Hs. 2290, fols 374r– 394r. This is the fourth part of the Karl Meinet, originating from the Carmelite monastery in Cologne.25 The Middle Low German Karl und Ellegast (or Ellegaste), composed sometime in the fourteenth century, is related to the Middle Dutch version, but perhaps not as a direct copy or translation. It has survived in only one manuscript, Zeitz, Dombibliothek, cod 60 (XXXII), copied in 1455.26 It consists of 1,830 verses, and its regional provenance is unclear, except that it was written in the West Middle German or Rhine-Franconian region. As in the Middle Dutch version, Charles is informed through a divine dream vision the night before a large court meeting that he should leave in secret and turn to stealing in order to avoid being assassinated. In the forest he encounters Duke Elegast, who had been banned from court years ago because he accidentally killed someone. Elegast has been living the life of a robber, and now he and Charles conspire to go on a stealing campaign. In that process Elegast reveals the assassination plot of Charles’s brother-in-law Eckerich, whom he later defeats and kills in a joust. Elegast thereby proves his own loyalty to the king, which resolves, as is so often the case, the conflict between good and evil councillors, clearly identifying those whom Charles can really trust and those whom he has to avoid, remove or execute. This Middle Low German account might have been created in the wake of the establishment of the so-called Charles House of Canons in (Nieder)Ingelheim in 1354, and among its other literary models might have been the Middle High German ‘Spielmannsepen’ (Byzantine goliardic epic poems), such as Orendel or Oswald. The Luxemburg emperor Charles IV (1346–78) had established, following his foundation of the Charles Court in Prague in 1350, that house of canons in Ingelheim that was Charlemagne’s alleged birthplace. Augustinian canons from Prague, who were supposed to speak Czech, assumed their posts there, probably serving Bohemian pilgrims on their way to Aachen by providing housing and especially health care.27 22 ‘Aantekeningen over en excerpten uit De historie van coninc[k] Karel ende van Elegast / 74 B 10.’ 23 For a slightly dated, but still detailed and valuable study, see Duijnestijn, ‘Elegast, Madelgijs en Oberoen’. 24 http://www.dbnl.org/titels/titel.php?id=_kar001kare01 (accessed 15 February 2017). 25 Schlusemann, Bibliographie der niederländischen Literatur, p. 375. 26 http://www.handschriftencensus.de/werke/2656 (accessed 15 February 2017). 27 Schmid, ‘Nieder-Ingelheim – Karlsstift’.

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Scholarship has postulated, with good reason, that the Middle Low German and the Middle Dutch version were created independently, but drew from a common source, a now lost Old French Elegast poem from the Rhine and Meuse area from the late twelfth century. An ancient folkloric, legendary account about a group of assassins living in the Ardennes forest might have been the original source of influence for both text traditions. A very late reflection of this tradition was a Shrovetide play performed in Lübeck in 1450 with the title Wie koning Karl stelen vor mit Ollegast (How King Charles went Stealing with Ollegast/Elegast).28 In contrast to the Middle Low German version, the Dutch version begins with a brief reference to Charles’s court meeting in Ingelheim, whereas the former elaborates much more on the myth of this famous figure. In the German text we are informed once again that he had conquered all of France, having subjugated all princes there, that he had taken over both Spain and Averne, both Peganwe and Francia, and that both England and Lorraine paid him tribute. Other countries under Charlemagne’s control are Flanders and Brabant, Westphalia and Saxony, and also Rome and the Lateran. Altogether, as the narrator underscores, ‘Alle cristenriche waren im underthan’ (20; All Christian territories were subject to him). Another difference from the Dutch version is the German poet’s interest in listing the names of many great courtiers and warriors, including King Pepin and Bishop Turpin (41–2). He also gives more details of the court festivities, which include, among other aspects, the knighting of 500 young squires (62–70). While the Dutch poet begins in media res, recounting how Charles, while asleep, is called upon by an angel to disguise himself as a thief, the German poet elaborates considerably more, fleshing out the narrative with numerous pedestrian elements, such as Charles’s getting ready for bed, sleeping next to his wife, etc. In the Dutch text we hear only briefly how the emperor finally gets up and readies himself for departure, whereas the German text provides specific information about his clothing, shoes and weapons. When Charles is leaving town, in the Dutch version everyone is asleep, as brought about by God, while in the German version Charles engages with the gate keeper, pays him some money, and has a conversation with him, as the keeper does not understand why Charles is riding all by himself. In the Dutch version Charles quickly moves to a forest to embark on a stealing campaign; in the German version he is at a loss and does not know what to do at first. But he longs for help from Elegast, who had, thirty-three years ago (also a narrative addition), slain the emperor’s nephew Ludwig (Louis) while in a rage resulting from a game of dice, and been expelled from court. The expulsion had forced Elegast, deprived of all of his financial resources, to become a thief. Charles realizes now that only the day before he would certainly have executed Elegast for his criminal activities if he had captured him, whereas in the present situation he would have liked him as his companion (240). 28 Beckers, ‘Karl und Elegast’.

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In the Dutch version we find quite a different situation, because Charles at first reflects on Christ’s Passion and begs Him for assistance here in the dark night (187–9). Then we are told of his thoughts about thievery, which he deeply abhors and regards as a terrible crime that he had always punished with death. From now on, he decides, being in a similar situation to other thieves, and especially Elegast, to demonstrate more mercy and never to hang any thief again (214–16). He suddenly perceives Elegast as a miserable person who has suffered for a long time and fully deserves his pity. Charles actually regrets his harsh treatment, which has also thrown many of Elegast’s followers out of the country and has caused hardship for numerous nobles. In contrast to the German version, the emperor then reflects on Elegast’s stealing habits, which make him into a kind of Robin Hood because he only targets rich people, such as bishops, canons, abbots, monks, priors and priests – only clerics! – whereas he spares pilgrims and merchants (247–8).29 The German author does not include this topic; instead we learn that Elegast continues to avenge himself against Charlemagne by stealing from him as much as possible (340–4). Overall, however, both texts are very close to each other, disregarding those minor differences, which do not need to be listed any further, especially as they do not pertain to the characterization of Charlemagne and Elegast, or to that of Eggeric van Eggermonde (Dutch) or Eckerich (German), the would-be assassin. Instead, let us investigate, for a moment, the unique characteristics of Karel ende Elegast, which proves to be a masterpiece of medieval Dutch literature. For our purposes it would be inappropriate to enter a fully fledged discussion of this poem in either version, but since our focus rests on the Dutch contributions to the Charles myth, let us at least grasp some of the thematic highlights in the Dutch text. For Charles the appearance of the angel seems to be very odd and unlikely. He doubts the truth of the apparition, which requires the angel to return and urge him on ever more angrily, frustrated over the emperor’s unwillingness and tardiness. Charles does not understand the injunction to go stealing, as he himself is the richest man in the entire country (56–60). Stealing represents a severe crime and sin to him (75–6), yet he realizes that he has to obey God’s command (99–100), although he would have preferred it, for instance, if God had taken away all of his property as a punishment instead of forcing him to enter into this demeaning and sinful lifestyle. He is even ashamed of riding out of the town, fearing that someone might observe him and realize his intentions. But God helps him and makes everyone fall deeply asleep (145–6), which allows Charles to depart completely unnoticed. Subsequently he encounters Elegast, whom he mistakes for a devil, until they begin to fight. When Elegast’s sword breaks apart, they conclude peace between them again, and soon form a partnership, going 29 Robin Hood: An Anthology of Scholarship and Criticism, ed. Knight; Knight, Robin Hood; Robin Hood: Medieval and Post Medieval, ed. Phillips.

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stealing together. But when they introduce each other Charles pretends to be a ruthless thief who takes property from anyone, irrespective of his/her social status and wealth (576), whereas we know that Elegast makes a clear distinction and spares people of the lower levels of society. When Charles suggests that they steal from his own castle, Elegast vehemently protests because he loves his lord, despite having been exiled by him. This gives Charles much pleasure, for he realizes that he can truly trust the other knight, who actually soon proves to be his saviour by uncovering the assassination plot and fighting on his behalf against the criminal, whom he at the end defeats triumphantly. Elegast glorifies Charles as the only true lord, whom he completely acknowledges and respects; if he were to do otherwise he would be deeply ashamed before God (628). Elegast next suggests stealing from Eggeric, Charlemagne’s brother-in-law, who, although he has received many treasures and gifts from the emperor, in fact plots to kill him (653–64). Not yet responding to this charge, the emperor agrees with Elegast’s plan, especially because he is firmly convinced that if his sister were to catch him she would not have him executed as a thief (670–1). This reflects the emperor’s continued concern about his own criminal activities and his fear of possible consequences at the hand of his own people. The men then proceed, though Elegast does not think highly of Charlemagne as a thief, wherefore he crawls into the castle by himself after they have made a hole in the wall. In fact, Elegast even laughs at Charlemagne when he observes that his new-found friend has only a ploughshare with him to break the wall (723), indicating a certain degree of contempt as he realizes that the stranger does not quite command the required skills for this illegal profession:30 ‘Hi en dochten geen behendich dief ’ (758; He did not think him to be a sophisticated thief). Once Elegast has entered the castle, a comic situation develops insofar as he puts a magical herb into his mouth that allows him to understand animal language (rooster and dogs; 765–8), clearly a case of ‘white magic’.31 Ironically, both animals 30 This is, however, not an evil type of laughter, since it is prompted simply by Elegast’s surprise at Charles’s unusual tool, taken from a peasant. For the larger issue at stake see the contributions to Laughter in the Middle Ages and Early Modern Times, ed. Classen; Seliges Lächeln und höllisches Gelächter, ed. Wilhelmy. 31 This is, of course, a typical fairy-tale motif and can be found universally in world literature; Elegast here emerges as a figure parallel to Malagis, who also practised his magical art in a fully legitimate fashion. See Karel ende Elegast, ed. Claassens, commentary on verse 762. The entire scene is based on the concept of ‘white magic.’ See also Saunders, Magic and the Supernatural in Medieval English Romance; Zambelli, White Magic, Black Magic in the European Renaissance. For a concise discussion of white magic see Miers, Lexikon des Geheimwissens, pp. 396–7. On herbal and animal magic see Kieckhefer, Magic in the Middle Ages, pp. 64–75. For the long history of debates concerning magic and witchcraft throughout the Middle Ages, see Peters, The Magician, the Witch and the Law; cf. also the contributions to Magic and Magicians in the Middle Ages and the Early Modern Time, ed. Classen.

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pronounce that the king (here not emperor) is nearby (771–2), which is certainly true, although Charles subsequently tries his best to deny that by ridiculing Elegast and his magic as useless, pointing out how absurd it would be to believe such lowly animals: ‘Mi denct dat ghi mi saghen telt’ (792; It seems to me that you are telling me nonsense). But this is not all. After their conversation Charles insists that they enter the castle, but he suddenly misses the magical herb. Elegast has already taken it out of his mouth without the emperor noticing it, which allows the other to laugh about him once again because, as he says: ‘Ghi en weet van stelen niet een hare’ (832; You know absolutely nothing about stealing [you know only a hair about it]). Subsequently Elegast employs magic to make everyone within the castle fall asleep, which allows him to carry out the robbery without any disturbance. But in the process Elegast also learns about Eggeric’s murderous intentions. He desperately tries to prevent the killing of his lord, demonstrating in his conversation with Charlemagne the true depth of his loyalty despite himself being an exile. He seriously criticizes the other for lacking respect for the emperor, and can hardly be restrained from returning to the bedroom and murdering Charlemagne’s brother-in-law on the spot. He is barely willing to pay attention to Charlemagne’s alternative plans, but later submits after all, which then leads on to the rest of the dramatic account. At this point we also observe a significant contradiction in the narrative. Whereas before Elegast was said to have suffered exile because he had slain Charlemagne’s nephew Ludwig (Louis) in a rage, now he himself comments that the reason had been his theft of a large amount of money from the royal treasury (1028–34). But the emperor calms him down and urges him to return to his camp, while he himself rides to the court and approaches Charles, convincing him that Elegast should be allowed to return (1039–54). The next morning the assassins are apprehended, and Elegast is indeed summoned because the emperor needs him as a witness (1210–26) and to fight on his behalf against Eggeric. The judicial joust is described in great and grizzly detail, and it concludes as to be expected, not only because of Elegast’s superior knightly skills but also because of his pious and modest behaviour and because of Charlemagne’s prayer to God. Once the fighting has been completed, which resulted in Eggeric’s death, and all his relatives have been hanged at the gallows, Elegast receives Charlemagne’s sister as his wife and is thus fully redeemed. The poet here presents a most positive image of the emperor, but also utilizes a rather comic situation in which Charlemagne has to slip into the figure of a robber, which allows him not only to reunite with his strongest, but exiled, supporter, Elegast, but also to learn the truth about his own brother-in-law, whom he had completely trusted but who had really plotted to murder him. The high literary quality is demonstrated in the well-conceived narrative structure, the consistent and logical development of the events, the constructive limitation to only a few major figures, the extensive degree of humour and the intricate but still clearly understandable motif sequence.

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Renout van Montalbaen To return to Renout van Montalbaen, this was first printed by Jan Seversoen in Leiden in 1508 under the title Dit is de historie van den Vier heemskinderen, followed by the 1619 Antwerp print (Heyliger) and subsequent reprints throughout the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, using as their title Historie van de vier vroome ridders genaemd de vier Hems-Kinderen, Reynout en syne broeders zoônen van Haymo, oft Hemon graeve van Dordoen.32 We also know, however, of a prose version from the late fifteenth century through a one-page testimony printed by Govert van Ghemen in Gouda c. 1490. The major difference from the French source (18,489 alexandrine verses) is the new inclusion of the precursor story of Aymijn, an arch-enemy of Charlemagne and a noble character almost in the vein of Robin Hood.33 In the French version the conflict between Charlemagne and Aymon and his family develops from the conflict between Doon and Beuves. Because this work has had such a huge impact on the contemporary and subsequent audiences, and since it was later translated into early modern German, I will go into more detail here, and later consider the German version at greater length. The narrative begins with a growing conflict between Aymijn and Charlemagne, as the former believes that the king has not shown him gratitude enough when he receives only Dordogne (Dordoen) with the capital of Albi for his help in many of Charlemagne’s wars. Surprisingly, his warrior-friend Hugh (Huon) de Narbonne receives nothing at all, and when the king offers him his weight in gold and his sister Aye in marriage the protagonist is still not satisfied and angrily pronounces after the wedding that he will kill all the children that are born of his marriage in order to hurt their uncle, his liege lord.34 Aye realizes what disaster might await her, so she quickly conceives of a plan to save her future children. She hides the fact of her own pregnancies so skilfully that her husband does not realize. For instance, whenever she is getting close to her date and then delivers the child, Aymijn happens to be away on a war campaign, so he knows nothing of Ritsaert, Writsaert, Adelaert and Reinout, who is the strongest. After years have passed, Charlemagne has grown old and wants to pass the throne on to his son Louis (the Pious), here called Lodewijk. A great coronation 32 Johann II. von Simmern, Die Haymonskinder, ed. Wunderlich, pp. 474–5. 33 Duinhoven, Bijdragen tot reconstructie van de Karel ende Elegast. For a discussion of the Middle High German version, see Wilke, Der mitteldeutsche Karl und Elegast. For an edition, see Karel ende Elegast, ed. Kloeke; and Karel ende Elegast, ed. Claassens. 34 The legend of the Four Sons of Aymon has not yet been the subject of a pan-European study; it was well known in England and Italy as well as through the German and Dutch versions and the Old French. For the tradition in England, see Marianne Ailes’s contribution to the forthcoming Charlemagne in Medieval Francophonia, ed. Ailes and Bennett; for a recent study including the ‘Four Sons’ tradition, see Sunderland, Rebel Barons.

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festival is then organized, to which even the protagonist is invited. He refuses to attend, however, because he assumes that he himself has no sons and he would like to avoid public humiliation. But then Aye has her four sons come forward, which greatly elates their father, who then gives them, as a noble gift, the extremely strong horse Beyaert, which can carry all of the four sons together. Now, with everything seemingly ready for the joyous celebration of Lodewijk’s coronation, the company sets off for the court. The sons, however, behave rather boisterously and arrogantly. They kill the cook, they defeat Lodewijk in a stone-throwing game and even in a chess game (by Adelaert) in which they stake their own lives. This irritates the crown prince so much that he strikes at one of the brothers, Reinout, but he himself is then killed by his opponent. After many years of warfare, the two sides try to establish peace again, but Charlemagne demands that the brothers first kill the horse, which, as he has realized, is their most important life-saving ‘instrument’ or animal. Nevertheless, Reinout finally accepts the decision, kills the horse and then goes on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Having returned home, he helps to build St Peter’s at Cologne, but the other workmen, jealous of the extraordinary strength that allows him to work so quickly, then kill him.35 In comparison with the Old French version, the Flemish translator strongly deviates from the written source and adds considerably more light elements, which altogether seem to indicate that he had only heard an oral version and thus was free to render the text however would make the best sense to him. Obviously, the wild adventures, the demonstration of heroic strength, the experience of innocent suffering in exile and the bitter conflict within the family all strongly appealed to posterity, and the work shared the same enduring success as its French (Quatre fils Aymon) and German (Haymonskinder) parallel versions into the present. We might almost identify this narrative as pan-European, considering its widespread appeal in various languages.36 Below I will examine this work at greater length by studying the German print version from 1535 commissioned by the Elector of the Palatinate, Johann II of Simmern.

Ogier van Denemarken and Ogier von Dänemark Finally, the Middle Dutch Ogier van Denemarken was also only loosely based on the Old French Chevalerie Ogier, and the surviving 630 or so verses, composed independently by two separate poets and later combined in a late fifteenth-century Rhine-Franconian text, confirm that the poet did not feel much bound by any written source. The episodes are presented at times in a different order, and we encounter new characters, such as Willem van Oringen. In the first half of the

35 Meijer, Literature of the Low Countries, pp. 6–7. 36 Spijker, Aymijns kinderen hoog te paard; see also the comments in Karel ende Elegast und Karl und Ellegast, ed. and trans. Bastert, Besamusca and Dauven-van Knippenberg.

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fourteenth century a Flemish poet adapted the Old French text Jourdain de Blaye, where he appears, as Jourdein van Blaves, which has survived in about 440 lines, first published in 1974;37 apart from the protagonist, all other figures have different names, which the poet had obviously borrowed from other French texts. The Dutch text was then also translated into Low German, as Ogier von Dänemark, which has survived in only one manuscript, Heidelberg cpg (Cod. pal. germ.) 363 from 1479, copied by a Ludwig Flügel, of whom we know very little and can only surmise that he was identical with a student carrying that name who matriculated at the University of Heidelberg in 1451 and gave his origin as Straßburg.38 The huge poem was not well received as far as we can tell, as it was never copied again and was first edited in modern times, at least in parts, in 1769, by Friedrich Adelung (1768–1843). Amand Berteloot now argues that the German version was not a translation in the traditional sense of the word, but ‘merely a “German” copy of a Middle Dutch exemplar’.39 This would certainly explain numerous passages in the text that do not come through Middle High or Middle Low German, but are obviously Middle Dutch. We are on fairly firm ground regarding the transmission of the Middle Dutch original into early modern Low German, since the nobleman Wirich VI of Daun zu Oberstein (b. 1415×1420, d. 1501), who originated from the Moselle region, is known to have owned comparable texts and was connected with the court of Mechthild of Rottenburg (1418/19–1482). Circumstantial evidence indicates that Wirich was instrumental in getting the translation of Ogier von Dänemark to Rottenburg, and from Rottenburg the poem ultimately found its way to Heidelberg. Details, however, certainly escape us.40 The manuscript was, to be sure, held in the library of the Elector of the Palatinate in Heidelberg, until the complete collection was sent to Rome in 1622 after General Tilly, fighting for the Catholic League, had conquered the city. The Bavarian Duke Maximilian, his overlord, handed over the entire library as a gift to Pope Gregory XV (1554–1623); and to make the transport to Rome easier most manuscripts lost their heavy wooden bindings, which were later replaced in the Vatican. In 1816 our codex, together with a large number of other German manuscripts (852 in total), was returned to Heidelberg upon the instruction of Pope Pius VII.41 37 Dijk, ‘Ogier van Denemarken’ (1997). 38 Ogier von Dänemark, ed. Weddige, Broers and Dijk. For a detailed description of this manuscript, see also Miller, Die Codices Palatini germanici in der Universitätsbibliothek Heidelberg, ed. Miller and Zimmermann , pp. 240–1. 39 Berteloot, ‘Gewollt und nicht gekonnt?’ He suggests, with good linguistic and philological reason, that this epic poem is not a translation but in reality a Rhine-Frankish (or Ripuarian-Frankish) copy of a Flemish manuscript, which would explain the many obscure Dutch phrases and words. 40 Ogier von Dänemark, ed. Weddige, Broers and Dijk, pp. xiv–xvii. 41 Books have their own history, and they often reflect the larger cultural–historical

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This epic, indeed monumental, poem consists of 23,731 verses, plus a three-line colophon. We cannot possibly discuss it here in all details, especially given the complexity of the content and the large number of figures who operate in this text. At any rate, we are only interested in the characterization of and role played by Charlemagne in this lengthy and highly convoluted narrative complex, although it proves difficult to isolate one clear character profile from the rest of the story. The account begins with a general prologue emphasizing the novelty and excitement of the poem, which has so far been overshadowed by accounts of King Arthur, Parzival, Iwein, Lancelot and others, but should not remain in obscurity (1–7). The story of Ogier also deserves to be listened to. It originated in France and made its way to the German translation via the Dutch, though that is not specified here. The narrator only summarizes quickly that the account deals with a protagonist, Ogier, who was never defeated by any person (15) but whose child Baldewin was killed (executed?) by Charlemagne (17–18). Very much in the tradition of Arthurian romances, Ogier von Dänemark opens in the month of May, when Charlemagne holds court in Sant Omaers. Seven of his messengers return, whom he had sent to King Gottfried of Denmark; all of them have been badly treated, even wounded and maimed. To avenge himself, Charlemagne immediately intends to kill Gottfried’s son Ogier, whom he holds as a hostage. Ogier is ready to suffer for his father’s wrongdoing, but he blames the bad behaviour on his stepmother (103–4). A large number of knights then plead for Ogier, who should not suffer on his father’s behalf, and they offer even to give up their lands and to depart as poor pilgrims if only Charlemagne would spare the young man’s life. This gains nothing, though, and even Charlemagne’s own wife cannot change his mind. He is resolved to have Ogier hanged at the gallows the next day, although the entire court seems to cry over the young man’s sad fate.42 When Duke Naymes of Bavaria is about to plead with Charlemagne one more time, catastrophic news reach the court: the Saracens have overrun all of Italy and threaten the Frankish empire (194–217). This forces the emperor to postpone the execution and, while Ogier languishes in prison, he falls in love with the daughter of the Castellan Guimar, sleeps with her and gets her pregnant. She delivers a boy named Baldewin. Or should we argue that he rapes the young woman? The situation is not clear. She arrives voluntarily at the prison in order to console Ogier and to assure him that he will not be put to death. As soon as he knows that he has been reprieved he context, which is the case with the entire Bibliotheca Palatina; see Mittler and Werner, Mit der Zeit; Berschin, Die Palatina in der Vaticana. 42 This parallels earlier Charlemagne epics, such as Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied, where there are positive and negative comments about crying men. Genelun’s crying, for instance, reflects his cowardice; Charlemagne’s crying reveals his deep love for his nephew Roland. Here, in Ogier von Dänemark, the members of the court also cry because they feel such strong affection for Ogier. See also the very similar situation in Elisabeth von Nassau’s Königin Sibille.

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immediately turns to the virgin, takes her to his bed and sleeps with her. Although we read in the text that his leading her to the bed was ‘fruntlichen’ (286; friendly) and that he played the game of love with her (288–9), and although she does not seem to put up any resistance, the outcome is, after all, her illegitimate pregnancy. Only later do we learn the reasons for the conflict between Charlemagne and Gottfried, as the emperor explains the background of the serious conflict in detail (299–632). The latter has behaved so badly that now Charlemagne has no option but to kill Ogier as punishment for his father’s horrendous deeds of betrayal and violence. People at court display great emotion, deeply saddened by the prospect of the young protagonist being executed. Ritsier and his uncle Gautir in particular demonstrate extraordinary sadness and desperately try to rescue Ogier, which leads to a deadly melee in which Ritsier and Gautir kill a number of knights before Charlemagne, infuriated, enters the fray himself and slays Ritsier (755–6). He almost overcomes Gautir too, but the latter escapes, even crossing a river on his horse despite the grave danger posed by the current. However, Charlemagne pursues him and, once he is on the other side, both start fighting again. Few other literary examples involve the emperor in such a duel, except, of course, those epics where he leads his army against the Muslims (Rolandslied, Karl der Große). Gautir is actually able to hit Charlemagne so hard that he falls to the ground, to his great embarrassment (819–27). As soon as his men have arrived and supplied him with a new horse he pursues Gautir further and wounds him, but he faces a fierce opponent who well knows how to fight back. Eventually Gautir has to run away, with the emperor always in hot pursuit. The chase goes on for the whole day and night. After some delay, because Gautir had chosen a different path and then had fallen asleep at a well, the men face each other in an almost mortal joust. Charlemagne falls to the ground yet again, but he receives help from his men and nearly kills his opponent, who then, however, turns out to be Bovoen’s son, hence the emperor’s own godson. This changes the entire situation, and Charlemagne has to promise him to spare Ogier’s life. The physicians then believe that Gautir cannot survive, which puts Charlemagne in a difficult position because at that point the dukes Naymes, Bovoen and Gindeloen arrive with a large army, and would be rather averse to helping the emperor if he had killed their relative. Consequently he conceals the bad news about Gautir and promises them that he will liberate Ogier. From here on the narrative turns to the war between the Christians and Saracens, in which Ogier accomplishes heroic deeds. Even Gautir returns from his sick-bed, although the doctors do not consider him healed at all, and the Christians remain victorious, as is to be expected. The subsequent accounts become increasingly convoluted, which makes it rather difficult to comprehend the essential events as they occur over thousands of verses. The focus consistently rests on Ogier, but Charlemagne reappears regularly, and at times we learn about new conflicts between them, which then are settled again. The military events go back and forth, and the conflict amounts to a massive slaughter, with the Christian cause remaining triumphant. At the end, Charlemagne returns to

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Paris, accompanied by Ogier and the latter’s son Baldewin. The narrator keeps the emperor in mind until the very end, but the text glorifies Ogier primarily: ‘Ogier half stercken die cristenheid / Biß in sin lestes end, / Das yme gott sinen engel sendt / Zuo siner selen da er verschied’ (23721–4; Ogier helped to strengthen Christianity until the end of his life, when God sent an angel for his soul, when he passed away). It remains to be seen how future scholarship will evaluate this text, but it is quite obvious why this huge poem was not much disseminated after it had been copied down once in Low German. The text is marred by too many different narrative strands, themes, configurations, conflicts and motifs, which make it difficult to follow the course of events. Nevertheless, Ogier von Dänemark confirmed, once again, how important the myth of Charlemagne was even for fifteenth-century courtly audiences. The German translator never acknowledges that he worked from a Dutch source, but instead renders even those comments in his original that reflect on the French text literally, as when he says in the prologue ‘Das da sij ein hystorie von Franckenrich / Die uß dem welsch ist uf gehaben’ (10–11; This is a history from France which has been preserved in French). The same account about the creation of this translation can be found later in the text as well (4159–234). One of the central problems with this verse epic is the contradictory presentation of the emperor. Considering the conditions under which he had taken Ogier as a hostage, and in light of his father’s egregious transgression, Charlemagne would be entirely justified to proceed with the execution of the Danish king’s son. However, as all the courtiers under him agree, Ogier is really innocent; moreover, he quickly proves to be an ideal character, who makes a critical contribution to the Christian victory over the Saracens, as the final section of the text confirms. Naturally, from the beginning, the courtiers are all emotionally attached to Ogier, which attachment pits Charlemagne against his own nobles. Nevertheless, the narrative never portrays the emperor, as we would expect, in a negative light, although we are supposed to abhor his efforts to have Ogier hanged. At a later moment in the narrative, new conflicts erupt that pit Ogier against the emperor because the latter’s son Charloet has murdered Ogier’s son Baldewin out of jealousy because of his superior skills in hunting and playing chess. Ogier, having come back from Denmark, demands Charloet’s life as compensation, but Charlemagne cannot accept that and tries his hardest to find an alternative, even consulting Ogier’s relatives. When the grieving hero does not retract his harsh demand for Charloet’s life, Charlemagne faints and collapses (5589). Then events develop further and fighting breaks out, in which Ogier almost kills the emperor and then escapes. It would be futile here to pursue the actions in detail because both sides receive the narrator’s sympathy. Many conflicts dominate the development, but these do not shed additional light on Charlemagne himself, whereas Ogier’s heroism, bravery, resoluteness and strength of character are emphasized. Personal tensions and violent struggles with the emperor are constantly paired with the global war between the Christians and the Saracens, and we can thus safely conclude that the

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author was mostly interested in creating an action-packed narrative, though the resulting text ultimately proves very difficult to trace and to put into a comprehensible structure.43 Altogether, then, Ogier von Dänemark proves to be another contribution to the French–Dutch–German transmission process, but it allows us to reconstruct the full Dutch version, which has come down us only in fragmentary form. The vast number of motifs borrowed from the tradition of chansons de geste (military conflict between Muslims and Christians, with the latter ultimately triumphing), and from courtly romances and novels determined by treason, jealousy, envy, betrayal and so on, as well as from the tradition of dynastic narratives involving much internecine strife and competition among brothers or other relatives (see Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken’s translations of French romances into German prose novels) makes this massive novel somewhat tiresome and unimaginative. Nevertheless, Ogier von Dänemark confirms that the figure of Charlemagne continued to fascinate audiences both in the Middle Dutch and the Middle Low German tradition.

Other Middle Dutch Narratives The situation with the Middle Dutch Madelgijs appears to be very similar to the Renout van Montalbaen in that the translator did not closely follow his source, Maugis d’Aigremont, as we know from the few surviving fragments and from a complete late fifteenth-century Rhine-Franconian rendition of the text. Another fourteenth-century Flemish poet also worked with this text, Madelgijs, which is extant in fragments and in a printed prose edition published by the Antwerp printer Jan van Ghelen in 1556. The roughly 3,280 surviving lines of verse and the prose version differ considerably from the French source, so we assume once again that the Flemish authors might have heard only the basic story and so created their own versions with many innovative features.44 In other cases, we do not know much of the specific Old French text, though a Middle Dutch translation was created, such as Loyhier ende Malaert from the middle of the thirteenth century, now extent in only 800 verses.45 We know, of course, of the fifteenth-century German Loher und Maller by Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken (c. 1437), which drew from a French source, but it remains unclear how the various textual versions relate to each other. It seems most likely that the Flemish poet also had only heard of this story and created his own version.46 43 Ogier von Dänemark, ed. Weddige, Broers and Dijk, pp. xviii–xxix, offers a concise synopsis of the events, but even this is not easy to follow. 44 Duijvestijn, ‘Madelgijs, zwerftocht van een epische stof ’. See also Duijvestijn, ‘Uss dem flemischen’. 45 Iwema, ‘De Middelnederlandse fragmenten van Loyhier en Malaert’. 46 Besamusca, ‘Verstümmelter Überfluss’, pp. 107–8. For the German text, see Loher und Maller, ed. von Bloh and Winst. The editor questions, in my opinion wrongly, the traditional claim that Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken created

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The Middle Dutch Lorreinen II, which Besamusca assigns to the category ‘indigenous romances’ (182), was written by a Brabant poet from the second half of the thirteenth century, possibly on behalf of the duke of Brabant, and consists of about 10,300 verses. Here the feud between the Loherains and the Bordelais makes up the central material, but King Pepin (Pipinus) is already replaced by Charlemagne, and the narrative gives much more room to the evil deeds of the traitor Gelloen, who is now the new leader of the Bordelais. The twelfth-century poem Van den bere Wisselau seems to be influenced by the Æsopian tradition, as a bear is the protagonist here, fighting Eeric, the champion of Espriaen, king of the giants, as the champion of Charlemagne and his companions. In 720 verses the twelfth-century poet, who originated from the border area between Flanders and Brabant, obviously intended to provide literary entertainment for the court of the count of Brabant.47 A rather grotesque narrative associated with Charlemagne can be found in Pepijn die naen from the early fourteenth century, in which Charlemagne’s bastard son Pepin the Hunchback rebels against his father, conquers the town of Charlemagne’s loyal vassal Florant and allows his men to rape all the women. So far no French source for this account has been found. Gwidekijn van Sassen, also composed by a fourteenth-century Flemish poet, covers Charlemagne’s war against the Saxon King Guitaclin after the battle of Roncesvalles, but here Roland and Olivier are still alive. Although the giant Fledric, who leads the Saxon troops, presents a great danger, the paladins overcome and kill him with the help of a magician. In another fourteenth-century fragment, Fierabras, the protagonist, along with Elegast and Roland’s future father, Mile, encounters three Saracens who bear them an old grudge, so they engage in fighting. The text fragment (372 verses) is too short, however, to trace the full development.48 Overall, then, we can see that the annals of medieval Dutch literature are filled with numerous texts – both translations from the French and/or indigenous works – referring back to Charlemagne or someone in his immediate family or dynasty. It is unclear why most of the texts have survived only as fragments, but even these clearly confirm the great popularity of this genre. In a good handful of those poems we find poetic fictions that directly appealed to an urban audience, but many were also composed or translated on behalf of or for high-ranking patrons, such as dukes and counts. The diversity of narrative material proves to be fairly similar to that of the Charlemagne literature in medieval Germany, partly projecting idealizing images of the Frankish ruler, partly making fun of him. Because of his mythical status, Charlemagne had become available for many different purposes, but even when the audience was invited to laugh at him or his descendants and family members this had little impact on the this German translation. 47 Brandsma, ‘Van den bere Wisselau’. 48 Berg and Besamusca, ‘Middle Dutch Charlemagne Romances’; Besamusca, ‘Unidentifizierte mittelniederländische Karlsepen’; Have, ‘De Middelnederlandse Karelepiek’.

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charisma that all those texts intended to reflect. In this regard, Middle Dutch literary testimonies do not differ significantly from those in the Middle High German or Middle Low German tradition. In fact, the Dutch poets drew heavily from the French sources, and they in turn thus influenced a number of German writers/translators. The evidence available to us confirms that there were two strong strands of literary reception, one written, the other oral. Numerous voices have joined the debate about the claims some of the poets make as to the veracity of their accounts, and more historically orientated writers viewed those texts in which fanciful accounts about Charlemagne or his family were included with considerable scepticism ( Jacob van Maerlant). Even though we can identify an autochthonous Dutch tradition, the influence of French texts was overarching. However, while the French poets normally composed their texts in laisses, which consist of a varying number of verses with the same metre and rhyme scheme, the Middle Dutch texts were composed in rhyming couplets with often varying verse lengths.49 Moreover, although written copies of the Old French chansons de geste appear to have been used in some cases, any comparison between the French and the Dutch texts will always confirm that the latter deviate considerably from the former. There was a strong adaptation process at play all the time. Then, however, as we have already seen above, a good number of Middle Dutch poems differ so much from the Old French original that we can safely assume that the transmission happened through oral channels, as in Ogier van Denemarken, Madelgijs, or Renout van Montalbaen.50 A number of poetic features, such as the use of so-called characterizing epithets, also suggest that the Dutch texts were often the result of oral performances.

Die Haymonskinder by Johann II – First Part This text belongs, as we have already observed, to a pan-European tradition. In order to do justice to it, and to build a bridge to the German context again, I will discuss this work in more detail, referring to the printed edition from 1535. This was produced in the court print shop in Simmern, in the Palatinate west of the Rhine, or west of Bingen, upon the commission of the count of the Palatinate, Johann II. Born in 1492, Johann II had assumed the government after the death of his father, Johann I, in 1509, and retained this position until his death in 1557. He enjoyed the official titles of duke of Bavaria, count of the Palatinate, and count of Sponheim. Johann II gained great respect as a judge, serving as the president of the Imperial Court House from 1539; at the same time he took great interest in the arts and literature, so he transformed his court into a centre of Renaissance culture. He enjoyed good personal and political connections with France, and his mother, Johanna von Nassau-Saarbrücken, was a grand-daughter of Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken, who had translated four French chansons de geste into German (see Chapter 5). The 49 Berg and Besamusca, ‘Middle Dutch Charlemagne Romances’, p. 83. 50 Ibid., p. 89.

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evidence for Johann’s role as author of the Haymonskinder is very strong, both externally and internally. More specifically, he translated this novel from the French source and adapted it for his own purposes. He underscores in the introduction, employing a humility topos, that he considers his abilities as a translator to be limited, and so alerts his audience to the fact that the German version represents not a literal translation but an adaptation according to the content and meaning of the French text.51 Even though the author did not mention his own name, and used an acrostic instead,52 we know his identity; nevertheless, his insistence on anonymity followed an old tradition: Der Autor ist somit nicht Urheber, sondern Beteiligter an einem fortwährenden Überlieferungsprozeß, der die Wahrheit der erzählten Geschichte immer wieder neu bezeugt. In diese Überlieferungstradition und ihr Gattungsverständnis stellt sich auch Johann II., wenn er seine Bücher ohne Nennung seines Autornamens drucken läßt, zugleich aber durch das poetische Versteckspiel entschlüsselbar macht. Der Name des Autors also scheint bei volkssprachlicher Erzählprosa durchaus entbehrlich gewesen zu sein.53 [The author hence is not the originator, but a participant in a continuous process of tradition that always reconfirms the truth of the related story. Johann II places himself as well into this reception process and its genre concept when he has his books printed without the author being named, but when he makes it decipherable through a poetic game of hide-and-seek. The author’s name hence seems to have been unnecessary in vernacular prose narratives.]

Surprisingly, despite his best efforts to avoid excessive literalness or extreme brevity, and despite his strategy of avoiding exorbitant rhetorical phrases, Johann’s work appeared in print only once; it is perhaps likely that he did not intend his work to be sold on the public book market; instead, he wanted to use his copies of the Haymonskinder as gifts for members of his social class. Werner Wunderlich could identify only fourteen copies extant in modern libraries, and it would take until the early nineteenth century for modern Romantic writers and scholars to rediscover this text and make it widely known through their own editions or paraphrased retellings.54

The European Context Before we turn to a closer analysis of the early parts of the Haymonskinder in particular, it deserves mention once again that the original French text experienced tremendous popularity throughout the Middle Ages and ultimately entered the 51 Here I draw from Werner Wunderlich’s study of this text in the extensive epilogue to Johann II. von Simmern, Die Haymonskinder, pp. 515–20. 52 Ibid., p. 527. 53 Ibid., p. 520. 54 Ibid., pp. 540–6 and passim.

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world of printing in its prose version, extending its afterlife well into the sixteenth century. An Anglo-Norman version of this story might have existed as well, because Alexander Neckam mentions the decapitation scene as a consequence of the chess game in his chapter De scaccis included in his De naturis rerum (c. 1200). A full story of this famous account appeared in England only at the end of the Middle Ages, when William Caxton printed The Foure Sonnes of Aymon in 1489 and 1504. He was followed by Copland in 1554, who copied Caxton’s foreword, in which he relates that Sir John, earl of Oxford, had sent the book Les quatre fylz Aymon to him, which he then had translated into English.55 The story of the Haymon children was known in Scandinavia as well, as it is contained in the second book of the prose narrative Karlamagnús saga ok kappa hans (History of Charlemagne and his Wars), preserved in two Icelandic manuscripts from c. 1400.56 The text was a Norwegian translation from the Old French source, produced for King Hâkon IV Hâkonarson of Norway (1217–63) sometime in the late thirteenth century and based on several Old French and Anglo-Norman chansons de geste.57 Here the events are all situated in Saxony, but there are ten different branches reflecting different stages in the lives of Charlemagne and his wider family. An Old Swedish translation of the Karlamagnús saga, which contains only two of the ten episodes in the French (or rather, Norwegian) source and deals with Charlemagne’s journey to Jerusalem and Constantinople and the famous battle at Roncesvalles, appeared at the end of the fourteenth century as Karl Magnus.58 An Old Danish translation appeared as Karl Magnus Krønike in 1480. The Swedish version was apparently very popular, since it is contained in four of the major miscellany manuscripts created in the fifteenth century, none of which is complete, however. Two of those had been in the possession of noble ladies and had probably been copied on their behalf.59 In the Mágussaga, which has survived in more than seventy manuscripts, it is the king himself, Jarl Amundi, who plays chess against his own son Rögnvaldr, loses against him, hits him with the chess board on the head, and hence is killed by Vígvardr, another of his four sons, with his axe. After years of fighting, Mágus, husband of Amundi’s daughter Maktilldr, finally negotiates peace and indemnity for Amundis’s sons, and Rögnvaldr even marries Charlemagne’s mother, Ermenga.60 55 Ibid., p. 476. 56 For this larger topic, previously rather neglected, see Barnes, The Bookish Riddarasögur. 57 Kramarz-Bein, ‘Karl der Große in der skandinavischen Literatur des Mittelalters’. 58 Bampi, ‘In Praise of the Copy’. 59 Karl Magnus enligt Codex Verelianus och Fru Elins bok, ed. Kornhall; Kramarz-Bein, ‘Die altnordische Karlsdichtung’. For a detailed discussion of these manuscripts, see Bampi, ‘In Praise of the Copy’, pp. 15–20. 60 Suchier, ‘Die Quellen der Mágnussaga’; Halvorsen, Karlamagnus Saga and some Religious Texts.

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A Spanish version of our text called Roncesvalles was created at the end of the twelfth century, which basically deals with the funeral service for Roland and his friends who have died in the battle at Roncesvalles. Renaut is one of the war dead: ‘digamos del duc Aymón, padre de don Rinalte’ (v. 84; We are telling you now of Duc Aymón, father of Don Rinalte). In the sixteenth century this text gained tremendous popularity once it was printed in a prose version by Luis Domínguez, Libro d’l noble y esforçado cauall’o Renaldos de montalua (Toledo: Juan de Villaquran, 1523). This was reprinted at least nine times during the sixteenth century and more times in the following period, and was adapted by such famous authors as Lope de Vega with his play Las pobrezas de Reynaldos (before 1604). Miguel de Cervantes Saavredra included a reference to the protagonist Reinaldos de Montalbán in his El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha from 1605. Translations into Italian also enjoyed great success from the fourteenth century, known as Le storie di Rinaldo, or Ogier’s Uggeri il Danese (c. 1455). Then there was the prose version, Innamoramento di Rinaldo da Monte-Albano from 1474, followed by Luigi Pulci’s Morgante in 1482 and his Morgante maggiore in 1483, not to forget Torquato Tasso’s Rinaldo from 1562.61 Then there were Latin prose narratives with a strong religious content: the oldest version, the Legendarium breve (c. 1400); Ulrich Zell’s Legenda aurea, printed by himself in Cologne in 1483; the same work printed by Antonius Liber in Leuven and by Johannes de Westfalia in 1485; then the Legenda de S. Reinoldo from c. 1455; and other versions up to the late sixteenth century. The first German translation of the Legenda aurea, the Passionale, appeared at the end of the thirteenth century in the context of the Teutonic Knights and was followed by the Low German version Aurea legenda dat ys tzo duytsch geheyschen dy gulde legende off dat Passionail (Cologne: Ludwig von Renchen, 1485), which contained the abbreviated version Dye legend van sent Reynolt merteler ind monich zo Coellen. Around 1500 the German translation of the Haymonskinder, entitled Histôrie van sent Reinolt unsen hilgen patroyn, appeared.62 We also know of a Low German rhymed version from the fourteenth century, a translation from the Middle Dutch original, today preserved only in a fragment known as the ‘Günser Fragment’. After 1450 three works focusing on the Charlemagne myth appeared at the court of Heidelberg, one of which was Ogier von Dänemark, then Malagis (see Chapter 6), and Reinolt von Montelban, which consists of 15,388 verses and was written c. 1455, probably on behalf of Heidelberg count elector Philipp der Aufrichtige (1448–1508; Philipp the Honest). We are almost certain that Philipp received copies of this and other narratives from his sister, the countess of the Palatinate, Mechthild von Rottenburg. The north-German printer Johannes Kochelhoff produced a prose version called Die hystorie van den vier heimschen kynderen in Cologne in 1493. The next major publication was the New High German prose novel Ein schöne vnd lüstige 61 Johann II. von Simmern, Die Haymonskinder, ed. Wunderlich, pp. 479–82. 62 Ibid., pp. 493–6. Wunderlich offers more details than we need in our context.

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History von den Vier Heymons Kindern from 1604, which experienced tremendous popularity far into the twentieth century. And we could cite many other versions, translations or adaptations produced throughout early modern Europe, which all confirm that this account truly attracted vast audiences, though we should also mention that the original narrative underwent numerous transformations according to new needs and concerns.63

Die Haymonskinder – Part II: The Low German Analogue to the Middle Dutch Version This now invites us to examine briefly what the prose version by the count of the Palatinate, Johann II, has to tell us, with respect both to the Middle Dutch tradition and to the larger pan-European interest in this literary material. Our specific focus will be how the poet projected Charlemagne and his court, which will allow us to reconstruct how the Middle Dutch version handled this topic. For Johann II, if he was indeed the author, which seems most likely considering the various circumstances, the account to be presented is to be identified as ‘Eyn schoen lustig Geschicht’ (3; A wonderful entertaining story). However, the emphasis rests, above all, on honour, supremely embodied in the protagonist, Reynhardt (4). Even though the protagonist appears as a shining example of knighthood, he is still said to be subject to irrational wrath: ‘dem zoren nachgeben’ (4; giving in to wrath).64 The narrator, however, expresses astonishment at Charlemagne’s questionable behaviour in his interactions with the protagonist, especially because he identifies him as a saint: ‘dem die wunderzeychen zeugnuß seiner heyligkeyt geben / vnd zuo Ach begraben liget’ (5; of whom miraculous signs give testimony of his sanctity and who is lying buried in Aachen). The dualism of Charlemagne’s piety and meditative character on the one hand, and his excessive wrath on the other, puzzles him deeply. There was nothing, the narrator observes, that could overcome and sooth the emperor’s hatred of Reynhardt, whom he pursued mercilessly, without ever accepting any gifts (or bribes) to ease his irrational hatred (5). In order to soften his own criticism, the narrator then admits that no person here on earth has ever been without fault, so the reader is encouraged not to dismiss either Charlemagne or his opponent. Nevertheless, in light of the tragedy that resulted from the emperor’s fury against Reynhardt, he urges his audience to keep in 63 Ibid., pp. 505–12. 64 Globally, see the contributions to Codierungen von Emotionen im Mittelalter, ed. Jaeger and Kasten. Research since then has explored many more aspects of emotions as expressed in medieval literary texts, including wrath, fear, passion, etc. To engage in detail here with the vast new scholarly literature on the history of emotions would be to go too far. The tradition of Charlemagne narratives, and especially late medieval and early modern examples, are not considered here, though they provide excellent illustrations for this phenomenon. See now Rosenwein and Cristiani, What is the History of Emotions?

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mind that rulers ought to observe humility and kindness towards everyone, which will earn them the people’s love and God’s grace (6). Still, despite his considerable shortcomings, Charlemagne deserves to be counted among the Nine Worthies and as a role model for other rulers in this world.65 After all, as evidence, he achieved great triumphs against the Muslims in Spain, although his rearguard with Roland and Bishop Turpin was slaughtered in the battle of Roncesvalles (6). The narrator then explains why he switches from the appellative ‘emperor’ to ‘king’ and back, and also alerts us to the curious historiographical problem, which in fact continues until today, that it is actually incorrect to attribute victory in a battle to the king or prince, when it is really the result of the efforts of the entire army (7). From here he moves to a discussion of Charlemagne’s personal features, especially his extraordinary physical strength (9), which allowed him, for instance, to bend six horseshoes straight all at once, without them having been heated up in a fire (9). This continues the great popularity of the legendary accounts surrounding the emperor. He also underscores Charlemagne’s enormous size, which he finds confirmed by the sculpture of him in the church at Aachen (9). To support his claim regarding Charlemagne’s almost unbelievable strength, Johann refers his readers to the ancient arms in his family’s possession. While the present generation is hardly capable of lifting them with both hands, their predecessors – Charlemagne and his paladins – could wield them with just one (10). From here the author begins with the actual account of Charlemagne and his conflict with the four sons of Duke Aymont von Dordon (12), opening the scene with the great court gathering in Paris, which a woodcut illustrates richly. Although Charlemagne has returned from a victorious campaign in Lombardia, many of his allies and subordinates had failed to assist him, which he now wants to test and avenge, if necessary (13). The problem that immediately becomes apparent, however, is that both his loyal supporters and the other side are closely connected through family bonds (14). Even so, Charlemagne insists that he will persecute the culprits if they do not submit themselves. The subsequent events would require an extensive discussion in a different context, as they address diplomatic, political, feudal and vassalic aspects of the rather problematic relationship between the emperor and the grand lords of his land. We only need to note that the emperor’s son Loher is killed by the vassal Duke Beue von Agrimont, uncle of Reynhardt, who had opposed Charlemagne, which then triggers a long sequence of events. But first Charlemagne, who worries about his son’s whereabouts, not yet knowing of his murder, knights Duke Aymont von Dor65 Jacques de Longuyon (c. 1312) was the first to mention the ‘Nine Worthies’, in his Vœux du paon. The Worthies were a group of three figures from the Old Testament ( Joshua, David and Judas Maccabeus), three figures from antiquity (Hector, Alexander the Great and Cesar), and three figures from the medieval world (Arthur, Charlemagne and Godfrey of Bouillon); see Schroeder, Der Topos der Nine Worthies in Literatur und bildender Kunst; Anrooij, Helden van weleer.

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don’s four sons, who pledge their loyalty to him. Although a major war could break out, by way of negotiations the conflict is settled and peace established between Charlemagne and Beue, whom the emperor at the end even forgives for killing his son (39–40). But then a new murder is committed, Gannelon killing Beue, so the highly complex conflict continues, which allows the narrator to explore at great length military and political events surrounding Emperor Charlemagne and the grand lords of his country. However, deviating from this specific narrative strand, we are then told about a new court meeting convened by Charlemagne, at which, tragically, Reynhardt and his brothers bitterly complain to the emperor that their nephew Beue had been killed (49), for which they have not yet received any satisfaction. Charlemagne bursts into an extreme rage, which the narrator describes most vividly, though the real conflict remains contained. Only the next day, while Reynhardt continues to protest against the murder, he is invited by the emperor’s nephew Bechtoldt to play a round of chess with him (50). This constitutes, as the narrator comments, the beginning of a lengthy war: ‘Darauß entstundt das mancher Edler Ritter / darnach das leben verlore / vnd vil der kinder blieben on Vaetter / als jr hernach hoeren werdent’ (50; From this followed that many noble knights later lost their lives and that many children remained fatherless, as you will hear subsequently). The chess game quickly results in argument, then degenerates into curses, hitting and, finally, into Reynhardt using the chess board to slay Bechtoldt. Not surprisingly, this causes uproar at court, with two sides facing each other as enemies. The four brothers therefore rush to their horses and escape, without Charlemagne being able to capture them, although he and 2,000 knights pursue them (51). Even though the narrator had alerted us at the beginning to Charlemagne’s uncontrollable wrath and his rash decision, the actual development of the events paints a somewhat different picture, as the circumstances prove to be highly volatile, with the various sides demonstrating brash and aggressive behaviour, causing deaths and failing to show the appropriate respect for the emperor and his wider family. It remains difficult to agree with the text’s position that the four brothers are totally innocent, although Reynhardt prays to God, addressing Christ on the cross for His help, as if Charlemagne were the most vile and evil character on the earth (51). We are not fully informed about the cause of the conflict, though we know that Bechtoldt did hit Reynhardt first, who then avenged himself, though with such disproportionate violence that he killed his assailant (50). On their escape the brothers are almost apprehended several times by Charlemagne’s servants and knights, but Reynhardt slays them all. The narrator projects those who try to catch the brothers as haughty and arrogant, as they naively believe that they can simply take them prisoner and hand them over to Charlemagne, who would hang them at the gallows. However, they have not reckoned on Reynhardt’s superior strength and fighting skills, so they die, whereas the brothers get away (52). The entire situation remains rather complicated and is not easy to evaluate because guilt seems to rest on both sides, but the narrator tends to favour the brothers, as

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if they were nothing but victims in this situation. However, once they have arrived at their mother’s court, the duchess, after having hugged them lovingly, expresses great concern, ‘dann dein Vater wirdt veriagt / auch sein landt verwuest vnd verhert werden / wo ewer vatter mein Haußwirdt daruon kompt / soll mit noeten geschehen’ (53; because your father will be chased away [exiled], and his country will be laid waste and will be destroyed, and when your father, my husband, has to leave, suffering will entail). She even warns her sons that their father will stay loyal to the emperor rather than protect them, which necessitates their leaving home and going as far away as possible – that is, into the Ardennes forest (54). The plot thickens when Duke Aymont comes home and explains the situation to his wife, as he tries to excuse and defend his son against her insinuation that Reynhardt had committed murder. His remark proves to be rather curious: ‘wissent das vnser suon Reynhardt / so eyns kecken gemuets was / das seither der menschwerdung vnsers seligmachers nit funden worden ist / so eyn maenlich Ritter als er’ (55; know that our son Reynhardt is of such a bold mind that there could not be found any match for him since God had created man, since he is such a manly knight). Moreover, he points out that Reynhardt had demanded from the emperor revenge for the slaying of his nephew Beue, to which Charlemagne had responded only with mockery. This, then, was the reason for the killing of the emperor’s nephew (55). And finally, he informs his wife about Bechtoldt’s violent behaviour, which Reynhardt could not have tolerated. We thus seem to have reached a legal stalemate between Reynhardt against Emperor Charlemagne, with both in some sense justified in their actions, yet both in the wrong as well. The result is incessant fighting between them for the rest of the prose narrative. Although Charlemagne receives the support of all the princes in France, who are obligated to him as his vassals, the brothers, who have built a strong fortress in the Ardennes, manage to resist for a long time, which fills many pages of this ‘novel’. Before Charlemagne can finally conquer the castle, for instance, the brothers escape again, which extends the narrative even further, including ever new fights, escapes, a battle between the father and his sons, then the erection of a new castle, and so forth. Here we re-encounter the master magician Malagis (here Magis). As in the fifteenth-century verse narrative Malagis, this magical power meets with the author’s full approval, and allows Magis to get away even from the worst situations by placing spells on his opponents and freeing himself from chains and locks. At the same time, Charlemagne suffers badly in all these turbulent events, never achieving his goal, always having to accept that the four brothers are beyond his reach in political and military terms. He also bitterly complains to his paladins about this humiliation, emphasizing that he himself is getting old (‘dieweil ich eralten’, 272), which results in his being disrespected (‘acht man mich nit meher’, 272). Without the help of his paladins he would no longer be acknowledged as emperor, and as they have already abandoned him on several occasions, which led to his public shaming at Reynhardt’s hands, he desires to abdicate his throne: ‘so beger ich nit lenger zu-

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leben / oder ewer Keyser zusein / hie vbergib ich euch mein Cron / setzent sie Reynharten auff / vnd erwelet jnen zum Keyser’ (272; I no longer want to live or to be your emperor; herewith I return my crown to you, place it on Reynhardt’s head and elect him as emperor). This comes as a shock to the paladins, and they feel mortified, until Duke Naymas speaks up, acknowledging their previous failures but explaining their behaviour as resulting from their desire to bring about peace and to end the senseless slaughter of many innocent people (273). They are willing to follow Charlemagne and support him in his persecution of the four brothers, although they disagree with this approach. The king does not believe them and insists that he would rather resign than forgo his goal to capture and execute his arch-enemy Reynhardt and the thief Magis (273). It takes all of Oliuier’s rhetorical skills to convince Charlemagne not to follow through with his plans, and he succeeds only by pledging by his and all of their honour that they will deliver the two enemies into Charlemagne’s hands. Subsequently Magis is handed over to the king, who has him chained to await the next morning. The narrative involves numerous conversations between these two men and a comedic effort by the king to ensure that Magis does not escape him once again. But, as usual, the latter employs his magic, makes everyone fall asleep and frees himself easily. Then he takes away all their swords, the royal crown and jewels, uses another magic to wake up the emperor and then leaves, duping him once again (279–80). All this is very closely modelled on events in the epic poem Malagis. In a way, all this makes Die Haymonskinder in part a rather burlesque work, although many of the political and military events are of great significance on a global level, and although we constantly hear of deadly fights, murder and massive slaughter. Magis and his necromantic skills certainly serve for comic relief, as his actions cast rather ridiculous light on the emperor. He is often very successful in his war campaign against the four brothers, and gains the upper hand when he besieges one of their castles, Montabon, but all this regularly comes at great cost to both sides. Most problematic for the entire prose epic proves to be that those who are persecuted, especially Magis and Reynhardt, often emerge as saviour-like characters and are portrayed as noble and generous in a manner similar to the mythical figure of Robin Hood (a similar situation also presents itself in Karl und Ellegast). Magis, for instance, kills several murderers who had robbed merchants and returns the stolen goods to them (337–9). Similarly, Emperor Charlemagne does try to achieve peace (343–8). At first he fails in his efforts, but later he proves to be willing after all (354–8), welcomes the four brothers in a friendly fashion and eventually even promises to knight Reynhardt’s sons once they have reached the proper age (362). However, Charlemagne then tries to have the famous horse, which had rescued the brothers on numerous occasion, drowned in the river, which all the princes and paladins strongly object to, voicing their protest that the emperor has vented his wrath on an innocent and also very valuable animal, and commenting that he has finally and ultimately proven his lack of virtue and loss of reason, being ‘verkindet’ (363; having turned into a child) again. But the horse manages to free itself from the

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millstone which the emperor had placed personally around its neck, and thus to swim free and escape into the Ardennes. This concludes this massive epic prose novel, as Charlemagne dismisses all his princes, allowing them to return home and to enjoy their private life again (364). The rest of the text concerns Reynhardt’s pilgrimage to the Holy Land and his military actions defending Christianity against the admiral of Persia (366–70; 375–83; 385–7). Subsequently the narrator turns to Reynhardt’s later life, focusing on the knighting of his sons through Charlemagne, whom he now fully recognizes as his overlord and treats with great respect. Finally, Reynhardt departs in the guise of a beggar in order to lead a holy life (415–21), but he is at the end murdered and thus dies a martyr’s death, being buried by the citizens of Cologne as a saint, as many miracles happen with his body and at his grave (421–4).66 The narrative focus certainly rests on Reynhardt and his brothers, but also on Emperor Charlemagne, both as their respected ruler and as their nemesis, which conflict is finally overcome through negotiations that lead to a new peaceful arrangements. This epic novel thus appealed to many different tastes, as it contains numerous episodes dealing with political, military, religious, comic, social, moral and ethical issues. Modern readers can easily identify egregious contradictions and excessive plot developments determined by extreme forms of sentiment. The narrative structure might no longer appeal to a twenty-first-century audience, but the opposite was the case in medieval and early modern Europe, both in the Dutch and the German language areas, and in many others besides. We can conclude, agreeing with Bernd Bastert, Helmut Tervooren and Frank Willaert, that Middle Dutch literature was rich, complex, diverse and challenging, and could easily stand the test of comparison with medieval French or Middle High and Low German literature. Unfortunately, a great many texts have been lost, but we can still gain a glimpse of the glory of Middle Dutch Charlemagne epics through the remaining fragments and through the translations into Middle Low German.67

66 Klamt, ‘Zugehörigkeit und Verrat in den Haymonskindern Johanns II. von Simmern’. 67 Bastert, Tervooren and Willaert, ‘Einleitung’.

Afterword

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amous individuals throughout history have regularly inspired the fantasy and captured the imagination of poets, artists, composers, sculptors and others, prompting admiration or hatred, but certainly not indifference. People have tended to conceive and project dream images of major role models, as they needed iconic figures they could identify with, and hence profit from their charisma.1 Max Weber famously defined charisma in the political or religious realm as follows: These [supernatural, superhuman, or at least specifically exceptional powers or qualities] are not accessible to the ordinary person, but are regarded as of divine origin or as exemplary, and on the basis of them the individual concerned is treated as a leader.2

He continues: Charismatic authority is thus specifically outside the realm of everyday routine and the profane sphere. In this respect, it is sharply opposed both to rational, and particularly bureaucratic, authority, and to traditional authority, whether in its patriarchal, patrimonial, or any other form.3

1 For a broad discussion of this phenomenon, though without any reference to Charlemagne, see Jaeger, Enchantment; see also Potts, A History of Charisma; Eckhardt, The Invisible King and his Kingdom; for parallel cases either in antiquity or outside of Europe, see the contributions to Das Charisma des Herrschers, ed. Boschung. One of the classic studies on the charismatic role of medieval kings is Bloch, Les Rois thaumaturges. As early as the sixteenth century a major treatise on charisma was written by William Tooker, Charisma siue Donum sanationis. The Wikipedia article ‘Charismatic Authority’ provides a useful starting point for further research. 2 Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, trans. Henderson and Parsons, ed. Parsons, pp. 358–9. This was originally published in volume 3 of the Grundriss der Sozialoekonomik, which Weber edited together with Altmann, Albrecht and others. It was published posthumously (Weber died on 14 July 1920) in 1921 and 1922 under the title Die Wirtschaft und die gesellschaftlichen Ordnungen und Mächte. 3 Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organization, p. 361.

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However, for Weber the charismatic leader is usually a revolutionary or a prophet, who specifically breaks with traditional authority. This cannot be said at all for Charlemagne, who nevertheless displayed enormous charisma, especially because his rank as king, and then as emperor, made it possible for him to routinize his charisma – again Weberian terms – and to permeate all of society by means of his personality and constant presence within the military, religious, economic and cultural framework. Weber calls this a ‘patrimonial bureaucracy’, which emerged primarily in the European Middle Ages and in Japan during the Shogun period.4 Charlemagne proves to be an almost perfect example of such a charismatic icon, as he has been admired and glorified, but also maligned, ridiculed and hated, in much medieval German and Dutch literature and, indeed, all over medieval and early modern Europe. He was also very much present in the art and historiography of that time, as I discussed in the Introduction.5 Bringing together what we have learnt through our discussions of individual major texts in which Charlemagne appears, we can consolidate our newly acquired understanding of the myth complementing his historical presence and identify the powerful, long-lasting discourse on this unique figure as perceived by poets and artists. Of course, we do not find a homogeneous, harmonious picture, but this is not untypical of such extraordinary characters. As recent theoretical studies of myths have demonstrated,6 we are in dire need today, maybe more than ever before, of deconstructions of those ancient myths that continue to influence our subconsciousness deeply. A critical approach to the myth of Charlemagne as developed in medieval German and Dutch literature thus promises to be a significant stepping stone in this important process of a critical engagement with our own past and the ideology that shapes our perception. As we have seen, this Frankish emperor quickly entered the rich biographical (Einhard), legendary/anecdotal (Notker the Stammerer) and chronicle literature (Kaiserchronik), and he was a mainstay in virtually all historiographical writing throughout the Middle Ages and beyond, since he founded and established his huge empire in a way that posterity was to admire and dream about for centuries to come. Today, about 1,200 years after his coronation as emperor, the use of Charlemagne’s name for the famous ‘Karlspreis’ awarded by the European Union underscores this unequivocally. Major literary works reflected deeply on this central figure, who grew into a pan-European icon of almost superhuman standing. While this book has focused only on the German and Dutch tradition, the series to which it belongs, edited by Marianne Ailes and Philip E. Bennett, confirms that Charlemagne left a great imprint on poets all over the continent. 4 Ibid., p. 377. 5 See also my extensive discussion of Charlemagne’s status as a mythic figure, ‘The Myth of Charlemagne’; and my comparative analysis of Charlemagne and the Hawai’ian King Kamehameha, ‘Royal Figures as Nation Builders’. 6 Barthes, Mythologies; Segal, Theorizing about Myth.

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While Charlemagne enjoyed tremendous respect well into the fourteenth century, we have observed that this positive image changed rapidly in the fifteenth century, when writers such as Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken and the anonymous author of Malagis painted a rather negative, critical image of this famous emperor, who suddenly emerges as rash, impulsive, biased, aggressive, inconsiderate or plain stupid. Other authors, such as that of Karl und Ellegast, continued with the idealizing strategy and even added entertaining features, transforming Charlemagne into a highly virtuous but ignorant character who at times nearly suffers assassination attempts and has to rely on God’s help and the support of marginal figures. Nevertheless, even when the emperor is portrayed in dark colours, he never loses his stature as the mighty Frankish ruler. Some authors highlight his brutality in the wars against the Saxons; others associate him with the Crusades avant la lettre. He could be regarded as the founder of ‘Europe’, or even as a saint, but whatever the specific take on the multi-faceted Charlemagne legend might have been, he maintained his fame as a central European icon.7 This is the stuff literary myths are made of. There are plenty of historical documents available with which to compose a fairly accurate image of the actual figure of Charlemagne, but that image does not altogether tally with the myth, as he was, after all, a mighty, but also a ruthless and brutal, ruler.8 Both chronicle writings and the famous Kaiserchronik support each other in the development of an idealizing concept of the Frankish ruler. But, beginning with Priest Konrad’s Rolandslied, Charles also quickly entered the world of literature, though the term ‘fiction’ would be inappropriate, at least in this context. In subsequent centuries this mythical figure gained independence from the historical sources, as more and more writers utilized those sources by way of modifying, adopting and adapting Charlemagne for their own purposes in a literary context. At its height the myth of Charlemagne had assumed such dimensions, we might claim, that it became virtually impossible to represent him in concrete form: hence his glaring absence from the famous cenotaph for Emperor Maximilian I in the Court Church of Innsbruck ‒ as far as we can tell, however, they simply ran out of money for the crowning achievement of casting his figure. But this does not imply that the memory of Charlemagne was fading; on the contrary, the mythical image began to diversify, with one branch presenting him as a saintly figure and another seeing him as a rather foolish and incompetent ruler who was easily deceived and duped. Interestingly, specifically a female writer, Elisabeth von Nassau-Saarbrücken, projected Charles as a brutal and dangerous husband against whom his wife, Queen Sibille, has to rally all and any resources available 7 Kerner, Karl der Große, pp. 273–7. See also the contributions to Karl der Große als vielberufener Vorfahr, ed. Saurma-Jeltsch. Cf. also Drews, Die Karolinger und die Abbasiden von Bagdad. 8 Bergmeier, Karl der Große. See also the scholarly catalogue Karl der Große: 1200 Jahre Mythos und Wirklichkeit, ed. Pinsker, Zeeb and Simone Kaiser.

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to defend herself and to regain her previous status. Increasingly, this Frankish ruler was also frequently projected as the victim of much courtly in-fighting, opposition, rancour, jealousy and naked greed. It is only with help from outsiders, even from those on the lowest social level, that Charles can be saved and re-established as king with full authority. Again, this wide range of roles assumed by the emperor indicates a dynamic myth-making process at work throughout the Middle Ages. Not surprisingly, artists such as Albrecht Dürer were charged with creating paintings of this famous figure, for political and even propaganda purposes. And, intriguingly, the modern public continues to respond to this myth, as is indicated by the various celebrations that took place all over Europe to mark a significant date, namely 2014, the twelfth-hundredth anniversary of his death in 814. Clearly, Charlemagne continues to enjoy the status of a medieval ‘superman’. It is time, however, also to recognize the considerable number of negative appraisals, especially in the late Middle Ages. Focusing on medieval Dutch literature and its equivalents in Middle Low German, we see how the myth of Charlemagne energized numerous poets and translators to render literary sources in French first into Dutch, and from there into German. Studying this mythical figure hence allows us also to gain insight into the transmission process in the late Middle Ages, when German poets often drew from their Dutch colleagues, who in turn had already borrowed much material from the world of French literature. The topic of Charlemagne thus illustrates how multilingual medieval Europe really was, and how multicultural too. By the same token, approaching the issue from the opposite direction, we might claim that the commonly shared interest in Charlemagne, even though coming from many different political and literary perspectives, made Western Europe a monocultural entity for the first time since late antiquity because of the myth surrounding him as a so-called founder. Put somewhat differently, the vast number of literary and historiographical works and the plethora of visual depictions of Charlemagne in manuscript illustrations, frescoes and sculptures achieved a critical mass through which a European identity could emerge. Irrespective of his military or political accomplishments, which have often been considered controversial, the emergence of a unified cultural framework (monasteries, schools, libraries, etc.), essentially predicated on the reception of the classical world and on Christianity under Charles’s leadership launched a political movement that justifies our associating Europe and the European Union with Charlemagne even up to today. Ultimately, this represents the key reason for the present study, which sheds light on the deep, complex and varied tradition of German and Dutch literature throughout the Middle Ages focused on this mighty and highly influential Frankish ruler, an understanding that gains added depth when placed in the wider context of the other volumes in the ‘Charlemagne: A European Icon’ series. Many insights on this literary dissemination have already been produced by previous scholars, espe-

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cially Karl-Ernst Geith and Bernd Bastert,9 but our project has tried to encompass both ‘canonical’ and heretofore less studied texts connected to the myth of Charlemagne, and to make the history of the German and Dutch myth of Charlemagne available to an Anglophone audience. Close reading of the many different texts has made it possible to recognize numerous literary strategies pursued by the poets and to identify a wide range of interpretive angles. There is no doubt whatsoever that this mighty ruler was important to all educated audiences throughout the Middle Ages, including in the German- and Dutch-language areas. If we want to gain a broad and deep understanding of medieval and early modern culture we cannot ignore the large shadow cast by the Charlemagne myth, especially in medieval German and Dutch literature. This mythical figure made it possible for politicians, historians, artists and writers to pursue their own agendas, yet always drawing from the same tradition. Curiously, while Charlemagne gradually gained certain negative connotations, both he and his nephew Roland were also increasingly identified as ideal leaders from the early Middle Ages, who could serve as role models for late medieval and early modern urban communities.

9 Geith, Carolus Magnus. See also the contributions to Karl der Große in den europäischen Literaturen des Mittelalters, ed. Bastert; Classen, ‘The Myth of Charlemagne’.

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Index Not included are the names of the major poets dealt with here, and the titles of the major texts discussed in this study. The table of contents is sufficient for that purpose. Names of modern scholars, except for those prior to ca. 1700, are also left out. Aachen Vita, see De sanctitate meritorum Abd-ar Rahman I  29 Adelung, Friedrich  180 Adémar de Chabannes  3 Adenet le Roi  170 Aiol  168 Al-Husayn  29, 30 Alberich of Trois-Fontaines  99 Alexander the Great  2 Ambraser Heldenbuch 11 Anna, daughter of Count Kraft von Ohenlohe 97 Annolied 21 Apiario, Samuel  110 Arolser Weltchronik 7 Aspremont 168 Auberi le Bourgoing 170 Augustine, St.  19 Aurea legenda dat ys tzo duytsch geheyschen dy gulde legende off dat Passionail  189

Charles IV, Emperor  5, 76, 173 chess  36, 56, 192 Chevalerie Ogier  179 Chronicle of the Reinhardsbrunn Monastery 6 Clays of Haerlem  169 Conrad III, Emperor  20, 21

Bac, Govaert  172 Beerte metten breden voeten (see Adenet)  170 Bertrand de Bar-sur-Aube  170 Bodmer, Johann Jacob  49 Boendale, see Jan van Boendale

Dampierre, see Gui de Dampierre De sanctitate meritorum et gloria miraculorum beati Karoli Magni ad honorem et laudem nominis dei 3 Den droefliken strijt van Roncevale  169 Descriptio qualiter Karolus magnus clavum et Coronam domini a Constantinopoli Aquisgrani detulerit qualiterque Karlus calvus hec ad sanctum Dionysium retulerit 3 Desiderius, Pope  7 Deusdedit, Cardinal  6 Dit is de historie van den Vier heemskinderen (see Renout van Montalbaen) Diu Klage  48, 86, 143 Domínguez, Luis  189 Dürer, Albrecht  8, 200 Dye legend van sent Reynolt merteler ind monich zo Coellen 189

Caesar, Julius  2, 12, 13, 19, 21 Caxton, William  188 Cervantes, see Miguel de Cervantes Chanson de Aliscans 170 Chanson de Basin 171 Chanson d’Aspremont 168 Chanson de Roland  24, 27, 28, 29, 31, 34, 42, 48, 142, 169,

Eberhard of Württemberg, Count  133 Ein schöne vnd lüstige History von den Vier Heymons Kindern  189–90 Einhard  1, 30, 75, 165, 198 Ekkehard von Aura  7 Elie de Saint-Gilles 171 Enikel, see Jans Enikel Entrée en Espagne 143 247

248

Index

Fierabras  143, 185 Fleck, Konrad  155, 156 Floovant 169 Floris und Blanscheflur  165 (see also Fleck, Konrad) Flovent 169 Flügel, Ludwig  180 The Foure Sonnes of Aymon 188 Frederick I, Emperor, see Frederick Barbarossa Frederick Barbarossa, Emperor  5, 30, 156 Frederick II, Emperor  156 Frederick of Lorraine, count of Vaudémont 97 Friedrich von Sonnenburg  48 Garijn van Montglavie 172 Garin le Lorrain 168 Georg von Henneberg, Count  97 Gerard, lord of Viane  170 Gerbert de Metz 168 Gheraert van Viane 170 Girart de Vienne 170 Godfrey (conqueror of Jerusalem)  5 Gonzaga, Barbara  133 Govert van Ghemen  171 Gregory XV, Pope  180 Grüninger, Johannes  13, 121 Gui de Dampierre  170 Guillaume d’Orange 170 Gutknecht, Jobst  100 Gwidekijn van Sassen 185 Haimonskinder 132 Hâkon IV Hâkonarson, King of Norway 188 Han, Weigand  121 Hans von Waltheym  14–15 Hartlieb, Johann  14 Hartmann von Aue  130 Harun-ar-Rashid 14 Die Haymonskinder  186, 190–5 Heinrich von Veldeke  81 Heinrich der Löwe, see Henry the Lion Henry the Lion, Duke  18, 28, 30, 31 Henry X, the Proud  31

Henry II, Duke of Austria, called Jasomirgott 31 Henry III, Emperor  6 Henry II, King of England  31 Hermann von Sachsenheim  113 Hildegard, wife of Charlemagne  8 Historia von D. Johann Fausten  11, 152 Historie van de vier vroome ridders genaemd de vier Hems-Kinderen, Reynout en syne broeders zoônen van Haymo, oft Hemon graeve van Dordoen (see Renout van Montalbaen) Histôrie van sent Reinolt unsen hilgen patroyn 189 Hitler, Adolf  2 Hochmuot, Georg  155 Hruodlandus Brittannici  29 Huge van Bordeeus 170 Hugues Capet  98 Humbert of Silva Candida  6 Huon de Bordeaux  170 Hystoria de la reyna Sevilla 169 Innamoramento di Rinaldo da Monte-Albano 189 Jacob van Maerlant  75, 76, 186 Jacob Jacobsz van der Meer  172 Jan van Ghelen  169, 170, 172 Jan van Boendale  76 Jans Enikel  156 Jean des Preis dit d’Outremeuse  100 Johann I von Simmern  186–7 Johann II of Simmern  179, 186, 190 Johann von Nassau-Weilburg, Count 97 Johanna von Nassau-Saarbrücken  186 Johanna, daughter of Elisabeth of Nassau and Saarbrücken  97, 98 Johanna von SaarbrückenCommercy 97 John of Burgundy, lord of Montaigu 97 John of Salisbury  57 Joinville, see Marguerite of Joinville Jourdain de Blaye 178

Index Jourdein van Blaves  180 Juan de Villaquran  189 Karel ende Elegast  170, 171–7 Karl Magnus Krønike 188 Karl Magnus 188 Karlamagnús saga  171, 188 Karlle ind Eligast  171, 172 Karl und Ellegast 173 Kochelhoff, Johannes  189 Konrad von Fußesbrunnen  48 Konrad von Heimesfurt  48 Konrad von Würzburg  4, 92 Konrad, Priest  40, 45, 47, 75, 92 Lampert of Hersfeld  6 Leempt, Gerardus  172 Legenda de S. Reinoldo   189 Legendarium breve 189 Leon III, Pope  156 Liber, Antonius  189 Lion de Bourges 114 Lodewijk van Velthem  76 Lope de Vega  189 Lorreinen II  185 Louis the Pious  169 Loyhier ende Malaert 184 Ludwig von Renchen  189 Macaire  110 Madelgijs  184, 186 Mágussaga 188 Malagis (Dutch)  136 Map, Walter  2 Marbacher Annalen 6 Marguerite of Joinville  97 Marie de France  86 Martin of Opava  7 Matilda, daughter of Henry II  31 Maugis d’Aigremont  134, 152, 184 Mauritius von Craûn  11, 12, 13 Maximilian I, Emperor  11, 199 Maximilian, Duke of Bavaria  180 Mechthild von Rottenburg, Countess  133, 135, 136, 180, 189, Meer, see Jacob Jacobsz van der Meer Miguel de Cervantes Saavredra  189 Mirror for Princes  22, 32, 51, 164

249

Moniage Guillaume 169 Moscherosch, Johann Michael  113 Müller, Jakob  110 Napoleon Bonaparte  2 Neckam, Alexander  188 Nibelungenlied  40, 48, 67, 86 Notker der Stammler (Notker of St Gall)  1, 198 Ogier van Denemarken 179–80 Ogier von Dänemark  133, 179, 180, 181–4, 189 Orendel 173 Oswald 173 Otto I, Emperor  13 Otto III, Emperor  3 Otto of Lomello  3 Paschal III, anti-Pope  44 Passionale 189 Pepijn die naen 185 Peter of Geneva, Count  97 Philipp the Honest  189 Philipp der Aufrichtige, see Philipp the Honest Philipp, count of Nassau and Saarbrücken 97 Philipp Junior, count of Nassau and Saarbrücken  97, 98 pietà 66 Pius VII, Pope  180 Pseudo-Turpin Chronicle  3, 25, 34, 74, 76, 120, 155, 156 Pulci, Luigi  189 Püterich von Reichertshausen  113, 135 Les quatre fylz Aymon 188 Reine Sébile 110 Reinfried von Braunschweig 92 Reinolt von Montelban  133, 189 Renaut de Montauban   171, 184 Renout van Montalbaen  170, 178–9 Ried, Hans  11 Roelantslied   169 Roi, see Adenet le Roi Roman der Lorreinen 168 Roncesvalles 189

250 Rottenburg, see Mechthild von Rottenburg Rudolf von Ems  13, 38, 47 Sachs, Hans 100, 110, 124, 126, 127 Sachsenspiegel 4 Schedel, Hartmann 7, 8 Schilter, Johann 49 Schondoch 99, 100, 110, 123‒7 Schwabenspiegel 4 Scriptores rerum Boicarum 19 Seversoen, Jan 178 Shakespeare, William 86, 154 Sibilla 169 Simrock, Karl 121 Snellaert, Christiaen 172 Spielmannsepen 74, 173 Sporer, Hans 110 Stalin, Josef 2 Steinhöwel, Heinrich 136 Le storie di Rinaldo 189 Suleiman ibn-al-Arabi, Emir 29, 30 Tassilo, Duke of Bavaria 8 Tasso, Torquato 189 Thietmar of Merseburg 3 Thüring von Ringoltingen 136 Till Eulenspiegel 49, 141 Tilly, General 180

Index translatio imperii 11, 22, 54 Uggeri il Danese 189 Ulrich von Eschenbach 135 Urban II, Pope 35, 54 Utenbroeke, Philip 76 Van den bere Wisselau 185 Velthem, see Lodewijk van Velthem Vincent of Beauvais 74 Vita Karoli Magni 5, 30, 31, 75 ‘Von keiser Karls recht’ 4 Vorsterman, Willem 169, 170 Wachter, Georg 110 Waltheym, see Hans von Waltheym Weber, Max 197–8 charisma 2, 3, 16, 28, 45, 186, 197–8 Weimarer Liederbuch 100 Wie koning Karl stelen vor mit Ollegast 174 Willem van Oringen 169 Willem II, count of Holland 169 Willehalm, see Wolfram von Eschenbach Willmans, Friedrich 121 Wirich VI of Daun zu Oberstein 180 Wolfram von Eschenbach 7, 48, 79, 80, 170 Zell, Ulrich 189

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