[These are three novel-sized volumes from the prolific pen of Mr.
Grattan, whose _Highways and Byeways_ have probably started off
hundreds of scribbling tourists to the Continent, much to the
annoyance of the keepers of old castles and other necromantic
haunts. These Legends, however, have little to do with the Rhine,
which is perhaps fortunate for their success, as most of the
traditionary stories of the romantic river have been dished up in
as many forms and fashions as French cooks are accustomed to serve
up eggs. A few of our Correspondents have tried their taste,
but we hope not the reader's patience, in _Rhin_-onomy; and Mr.
Planché, moreover, has wandered and sailed up and down the
district, picking to new van its mystic stories in every form
common to our literature. We have enjoyed every inch of the stream
and its banks, coloured after nature, in a panorama on paper, to
put into your pocket or portmanteau; and just now Views on the
Rhine are publishing in sixpenny portions, and becoming as little
rare as Views on the Thames; till we may as well say thick as
leaves on the Rhine, as in Vallainbrosa.
Mr. Grattan's Legends are stated to be freely adapted from the
literature of the countries where the scenes are laid. They
consist of some ten or dozen stories of untiring length but too
much for entire extract. For the sake of some delightfully
graphic writing we are induced to quote a portion of one of the
tales--_The Curse of the Black Lady_, a legend of the twelfth
century. The scene lies in the Low Countries, and introduces an
admirably-drawn portrait of a knight of the period.]
The Castle of the Countess of Hainault at Mons was a complete specimen
of the splendid architecture of the twelfth century, or that which
is now called Gothic; pointed windows abounding in coloured glass,
unpolished marble, heavy wooden doors, thickly studded with iron
nails, leading into immense corridors, interminable passages, and
branching staircases.
It was early in a morning of the month of February, that the horn of a
knight was heard beyond the castle wall, and immediately replied to
by the warder; and when the draw-bridge was slowly replaced and the
portcullis heavily withdrawn, a knight followed by a squire, whose
surcoat bore the Flander's lion, entered. The cap of the knight was
of black velvet, and slight bars of steel, bent into the form of a
semicircle, crossed each other at the top of his head and served at
once for defence and for ornament. His boots of thick leather reaching
almost to the knees bespoke him an inhabitant of a maritime country,
having spurs formed of a single point of iron, long and obtuse, and
these being gilt would have announced the wearer's rank in chivalry,
even if his whole equipment and bearing had not proclaimed his right
to the deference with which he was received. As he dismounted from his
horse, he threw off the large mantle, not unlike the military cloaks
of our days, and discovered the knightly armour, which showed to
peculiar advantage his powerful limbs. A straight black tunic without
sleeves descended to his knees. It was fastened by a silver girdle,
from which depended on one side a strong sword, and on the other a
dagger, the richly wrought handle of which seemed to declare it of
Turkish make. His arms and hands were covered with a steel tissue,
sitting close and so flexible that it yielded lightly to every motion.
The squire who followed him was old, and a certain familiarity was
mingled with the respect of his manner, and seemed to declare that he
had been long accustomed to his master. In truth he had served
the father of our knight, and the latter had grown up beneath his
attendance, which had not unfrequently become his protection. His
armour, far from adorning his person, scarcely left a human figure
visible beneath its heavy plates of iron, fastened by nails whose
monstrous heads seemed cast in the same mould with those which
strengthened the heavy oak doors of the palace. His helmet seemed the
section of a water-pipe of cast iron. Visor it had none; but in its
place was a plate or bar of iron descending from the forehead to the
chin, almost touching the nose and mouth, and he had a group of arms
suspended from his saddle. It was Sir Guy de Dampierre and his squire.
The seneschal conducted them with much ceremony to the knight's
apartments in the castle, where a small table placed by the side of an
enormous log-fire in the middle of the room, and plentifully furnished
with cold salted and dried meats, together with the thin wines of
France, and the more potent juice of the German grape, soon made him
forget the cold and thirst he had endured in the forest. The beer he
quaffed with peculiar pleasure, as it invitingly foamed in a silver
tankard, which had been thickly embossed by the abbot of Wansfort, and
presented by him to the Emperor Baldwin previous to his embarkation
for the Holy Land.
Having praised the flavour of the beer and helped himself to some
slices from a well cured wild boar's head, he said to the chamberlain,
"And Baldwin of Avesnes is not yet arrived, you say?"
"No, Count," replied the chamberlain; "we expected he would be with
you."
"Why, my road lay through Namur, and he comes directly from Bruges. I
marvel therefore he be not arrived--and I have news for him," said the
knight.
[The next page includes a passing notice of the _introduction of
chimneys_ into England, referable, though not without dispute, to
this date:--]
The warder's horn was again heard; and after due time the person in
question made his appearance. He looked harassed and fatigued, and
gladly took the seat Count Guy pointed to, close by his own, and
having stirred the logs which burned lazily in the huge hearth, he
observed, "Methinks the wood emits this sulphureous vapour more
strongly than ever. I marvel, Guy, that you have not repaid the
compliment of the English king's invitation to your weavers, by
bringing over workmen to build you some of those long narrow passages
which, beginning just over the fire, project from the top of the house
to carry off the smoke."
"What mean you, Baldwin?"
"Nay, have you not heard that in England they are beginning to build
along the end of the rooms, lodges or troughs to contain the fuel, on
the base of which they raise a brick funnel, through which all the
smoke mounts and so evaporates at the top of the house?" replied
Baldwin.
"Think you then, d'Avesnes, that the whole room can be warmed with the
fire at one end of it, particularly if the smoke be carried out?"
"Indeed they say," replied d'Avesnes, "it casts a strong heat
everywhere."
["The Black Lady" is thus characterised:--"They speak of her as
one entirely destitute of natural sensibility; they hint at some
dark practices, and they designate her so frequently by the
epithet of the 'Black Lady,' that many, both in Hainault and
Flanders, are ignorant that this is not really her title." Here
follows a whole-length portrait of this specimen of black-letter
majesty.]
In the tapestried room into which the brothers were conducted, sat
the Black Lady of Brabant on a throne elevated considerably above
the floor. The dais was covered with the same rich tapestry as the
hangings which covered the walls, for even in this early age Bruges
was celebrated for such manufactures. The draperies of the throne were
of purple velvet fringed with gold, with a canopy and curtains of the
same rich materials, the latter being looped back with a massive cord
and tassels. The constable supported one side of the throne, and
the seneschal the other. Below these were the cup-bearer and grand
huntsman. Six pages were placed about the steps of the throne, and
the same number of ladies in waiting were also there. Yet Marguerite
herself wanted not the surrounding magnificence to mark her superior
dignity of "Countess by the grace of God," then accorded to only one
county besides her own; for there was a sort of fearful majesty about
her towering height, unbowed either by the weight of years (and she
had already passed what the Psalmist has declared to be the age of
man) or luxurious indulgence. Her face was pale and marked by deep
furrows, indicating an unlimited indulgence of the strong passions
which had rendered her life so unquiet. Her eye was black, and
retained all the fire of lively feeling, yet it was sunken. Her
forehead was low, yet there was an inflexibility of resolve in
its deep lines that added much to the majestic character of her
appearance. Her teeth too were perfect, and her thin and colourless
lips left them visible to attract the painful admiration excited by
their contrast with the unlovely expression of her features; her chin
was small. Her hair was all drawn from her face to the crown of her
head and concealed under the black lace veil, which concealing the
upper part of her forehead, fell over each shoulder even to her feet.
Her upper garment was a long mantle of black velvet lined with ermine,
which, opening in front, fell over the arms of her throne, and
discovered a dress of crimson cloth of Bruges of that beautiful sort
called _ecarlate_. The boddice was drawn tightly to her shape by
rich gold cord, the ends of which, finished by heavy tassels, fell
downwards to the edge of her robe. The crimson tunic reached only to
her knees, and discovered an under dress of white Syrian silk, on
which was a border of gold, evidently of oriental workmanship. Her
hard bust was covered by many rows of the finest Asiatic pearls, and
depending from her girdle was a rosary of jet, which sustained a
richly embossed golden cross, probably enshrining a piece of wood of
the true cross from Palestine. The small gold crown which circled
her brows, and the sceptre she held, were evidently made by the same
skilful artist--probably the work of the celebrated Erembert, Abbot
of Wansfort. Her arms, which notwithstanding her towering statue were
disproportionably long, were covered by sleeves of the finest Bruges
linen, which however only appeared at the shoulders and elbows, the
rest of the arm being covered with the crimson cloth which formed the
tunic, and these were laced with gold cord down to the waist, where
the Bruges linen formed a cuff. Her form was harsh and bony, and no
grace of motion relieved its outlines; for she was so fearfully still,
you might have thought the living form had been placed in sight of the
Gorgon's head and so transformed to stone. Her features seemed alike
immovable, all sunk into a dark, fixed, and settled discontent with
life.
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