additions are constantly making to a large number of known versions.
Excepting two broadsides of about 1560, and two copies from recitation
printed in 1778, all these, twenty-six in number, have been obtained
from tradition since 1800.[35] They are as follows: #A a#, 'Gert
Olbert,' 'Die Mörners Sang,' in Low German, as written down by William
Grimm, in the early years of this century, 61 vv, Reifferscheid, p. 161,
II. #A b#, "from the Münster region," communicated to Uhland by the
Baroness Annette von Droste-Hüllshof, 46 vv, Uhland, I, 151, No 74 C;
repeated in Mittler, No 79. #A c#, a fragment from the same source as
the preceding, and written down at the beginning of this century, 35 vv,
Reifferscheid, p. 161, I. #B#, 'Es wollt sich ein Markgraf ausreiten,'
from Bökendorf, Westphalia, as taken down by W. Grimm, in 1813, 41 vv,
Reifferscheid, p. 116. #C a#, 'Die Gerettete,' "from the Lower Rhine,"
twenty-six two-line stanzas, Zuccalmaglio, No 28, p. 66; Mittler, No 85.
#C b#, eleven two-line stanzas, Montanus (==Zuccalmaglio) Die deutschen
Volksfeste, p. 45. #D#, 'Von einem wackern Mägdlein, Odilia geheissen,'
etc., from the Rhine, 34 vv [Longard], No 24, p. 48. #E#, 'Schondilie,'
Menzenberg and Breitbach, 59 vv, Simrock, No 7, p. 19; Mittler, No 86.
#F#, 'Jungfrau Linnich,' communicated by Zuccalmaglio as from the Rhine
region, Berg and Mark, fourteen two-line stanzas, Erlach, IV, 598, and
Kretzschmer (nearly), No 92, p. 164; Mittler, No 87. #G a#, 'Ulinger,'
120 vv, Nuremberg broadside "of about 1555" (Böhme) in Wunderhorn, ed.
1857, IV, 101, Böhme, No 13^a, p. 56. #G b c#, Basel broadsides, "of
about 1570" (Böhme), and of 1605, in Uhland, No 74 A, I, 141; Mittler,
No 77. #H#, 'Adelger,' 120 vv, an Augsburg broadside, "of about 1560"
(Böhme), Uhland, No 74 B, I, 146; Böhme, No 13^b, p. 58; Mittler, No
76. #I#, 'Der Brautmörder,' in the dialect of the Kuhländchen (Northeast
Moravia and Austrian Silesia), 87 vv, Meinert, p. 61; Mittler, No 80.
#J#, 'Annele,' Swabian, from Hirrlingen and Obernau, 80 vv, Meier,
Schwäbische V. L., No 168, p. 298. #K#, another Swabian version, from
Hirrlingen, Immenried, and many other localities, 80 vv, Scherer,
Jungbrunnen, No 5 B, p. 25. #L a#, from the Swabian-Würtemberg border,
81 VV, Birlinger, Schwäbisch-Augsburgisches Wörterbuch, p. 458. #L b#,
[Birlinger], Schwäbische V. L., p. 159, from Immenried, nearly word for
word the same. #M#, 'Der falsche Sänger,' 40 vv, Meier, No 167, p. 296.
#N#, 'Es reitets ein Ritter durch Haber und Klee,' 43 vv, a fifth
Swabian version, from Hirrlingen, Meier, p. 302. #O#, 'Alte Ballade die
in Entlebuch noch gesungen wird,' twenty-three double stanzas, in the
local dialect, Schweizerblätter von Henne und Reithard, 1833, II^R
Jahrgang, 210-12. #P#, 'Das Guggibader-Lied,' twenty-one treble stanzas
(23?), in the Aargau dialect, Rochholz, Schweizersagen aus dem Aargau,
#I# 24. #Q#, 'Es sitzt gut Ritter auf und ritt,' a copy taken down in
1815 by J. Grimm, from the recitation of a lady who had heard it as a
child in German Bohemia, 74 vv, Reifferscheid, p. 162. #R#, 'Bie wrüe
işt auv der ritterşmàn, 'in the dialect of Gottschee, Carniola,
86 vv, Schröer, Sitzungsberichte der Wiener Ak., phil-hist. Cl, LX, 462.
#S#, 'Das Lied von dem falschen Rittersmann,' 60 vv, from Styria,
Rosegger and Heuberger, Volkslieder aus Steiermark, No 19, p. 17. #T#,
'Ulrich und Ännchen,'[36] 49 vv, Herder's Volkslieder, 1778, I, 79;
Mittler, No 78. #U#, 'Schön Ulrich und Roth-Aennchen,' 46 vv, in
Taschenbuch für Dichter und Dichterfreunde, Abth. viii, 126, 1778, from
Upper Lusatia (slightly altered by the contributor, Meissner); Mittler,
No 84. A copy from Kapsdorf, in Hoffmann and Richter's Schlesische V.
L., No 13, p. 27, is the same, differing by only three words. #V#,
'Schön-Aennelein,' 54 vv, from the eastern part of Brandenburg, Erk u.
Irmer, 6th Heft, p. 64, No 56 (stanzas 4-8 from the preceding). #W#,
'Schön Ullerich und Hanselein,' twenty-nine two-line stanzas, from the
neighborhood of Breslau, in Gräter's Idunna und Hermode, No 35, Aug. 29,
1812, following p. 140. The same in Schlesische V. L., No 12, p. 23,
'Schön Ulrich u. Rautendelein,' with a stanza (12) inserted; and
Mittler, No 81. #X#, 'Der Albrecht u. der Hanselein,' 42 vv, from
Natangen, East Prussia, in Neue preussische Provinzial-Blätter, 2d
series, III, 158, No 8. #Y#, 'Ulrich u. Annle,' nineteen two-line
stanzas, a second Kuhländchen version, Meinert, p. 66; Mittler, No 83.
#Z a#, 'Von einem frechen Räuber, Herr Ulrich geheissen,' nineteen
two-line stanzas, from the Rhine [Longard], No 23, p. 46. #Z b#,
'Ulrich,' as sung on the Lower Rhine, the same ballad, with unimportant
verbal differences, and the insertion of one stanza (7, the editor's?),
Zuccalmaglio, No 15, p. 39; Mittler, No 82.
The German ballads, as Grundtvig has pointed out, divide into three
well-marked classes. The first class, embracing the versions #A-F# (6),
and coming nearest to English and Dutch tradition, has been found along
the lower half of the Rhine and in Westphalia, or in Northwest Germany;
the second, including #G-S# (13), is met with in Swabia, Switzerland,
Bohemia, Moravia, Styria, Carniola, or in South Germany; the third,
#T-Z# (7), in East Prussia, the eastern part of Brandenburg and of
Saxony, Silesia, and, again, Moravia, or, roughly speaking, in North and
East Germany; but, besides the Moravian, there is also of this third
class one version, in two copies, from the Rhine.
(I.) #A# runs thus. She that would ride out with Gert Olbert must dress
in silk and gold. When fair Helena had so attired herself, she called
from her window, Gert Olbert, come and fetch the bride. He took her by
her silken gown and swung her on behind him, and they rode three days
and nights. Helena then said, We must eat and drink; but Gert Olbert
said, We must go on further. They rode over the green heath, and Helena
once more tenderly asked for refreshment. Under yon fir [linden], said
Gert Olbert, and kept on till they came to a green spot, where nine
maids were hanging. Then it was, Wilt thou choose the fir-tree, the
running stream, or the naked sword? She chose the sword, but begged him
to take off his silken coat, "for a maid's blood spirts far, and I
should be sorry to spatter it." While he was engaged in drawing off his
coat, she cut off his head. But still the false tongue spoke. It bade
her blow in his horn; then she would have company enough. She was not so
simple as to do this. She rode three days and nights, and blew the horn
when she reached her father's castle. Then all the murderers came
running, like hounds after a hare. Frau Clara [Jutte] called out, Where
is my son? Under the fir-tree, sporting with nine maids; he meant me to
be the tenth, said Helena.
#B# is the same story told of a margrave and Fair Annie, but some
important early stanzas are lost, and the final ones have suffered
injury; for the ballad ends with this conceit, "She put the horn to her
mouth, and blew the margrave quite out of her heart." Here, by a
transference exceedingly common in tradition, it is the man, and not the
maid, that "would ride in velvet and silk and red gold."
#C a# has the names Odilia and Hilsinger, a trooper (reiter). Odilia was
early left an orphan, and as she grew up "she grew into the trooper's
bosom." He offered her seven pounds of gold to be his, and "she thought
seven pounds of gold a good thing." We now fall into the track of #A#.
Odilia dresses herself like a bride, and calls to the trooper to come
and get her. They ride first to a high hill, where she asks to eat and
drink, and then go on to a linden-tree, on which seven maids are
hanging. The choice of three deaths is offered, the sword chosen, he is
entreated to spare his coat, she seizes his sword and hews off his head.
The false tongue suggests blowing the horn. Odilia thinks "much biding
or blowing is not good." She rides away, and presently meets the
trooper's "little foot-page" (bot), who fancies she has Hilsinger's
horse and sword. "He sleeps," she says, "with seven maids, and thought I
was to be the eighth." This copy concludes with a manifestly spurious
stanza. #C b# agrees with #C a# for ten stanzas, as to the matter, and
so far seems to be #C a# improved by Zuccalmaglio, with such
substitutions as a princely castle for "seven pounds of gold." The last
stanza (11),
Und als die Sternlein am Himmel klar,
Ottilia die achte der Todten war,
was, no doubt, suggested by the last of #F#, another of Zuccalmaglio's
versions, and, if genuine, would belong to a ballad of the third class.
#D# has the name Odilia for the maid, but the knight, or trooper, has
become expressly a robber (ritter, reiter, räuber). They ride to a green
heath, where there is a cool spring. Odilia asks for and gets a draught
of water, and is told that at the linden-tree there will be eating and
drinking for them. And when they come to the linden, there hang six,
seven maids! All proceeds as before. The talking head is lost. Odilia
meets the robber's mother, and makes the usual reply.[37]
#E# resembles #C# closely. Odilia becomes Schondilg (Schön Odilie),
Räuber returns to Ritter, or Reiter, and the servant-maid bribe of seven
pounds of gold rises to ten tons.[38] Schondilg's toilet, preparatory to
going off (6-8), is described with a minuteness that we find only in the
Dutch ballad (12-16). After this, there is no important variation. She
meets the trooper's three brothers, and makes the same replies to them
as to the mother in #D#.
#F.# The personages here are Linnich (i.e., Nellie) and a knight from
England. The first twelve stanzas do not diverge from #C#, #D#, #E#. In
stanza 13 we find the knight directing the lady to strip off her silk
gown and gold necklace, as in the English #C#, #D#, #E#; but certainly
this inversion of the procedure which obtains in German #C#, #D#, #E# is
an accident arising from confused recollection. The 14th and last stanza
similarly misunderstands the maid's feigned anxiety about the knight's
fine coat, and brings the ballad to a false close, resembling the
termination of those of the third class, still more those of certain
mixed forms to be spoken of presently.
(II.) The second series, #G-S#, has three or four traits that are not
found in the foregoing ballads. #G#, which, as well as #H#, was in print
more than two hundred years before any other copy is known to have been
taken down, begins, like the Dutch Halewijn, with a knight (Ulinger)
singing so sweetly that a maid (Fridburg) is filled with desire to go
off with him. He promises to teach her his art. This magical song is
wanting only in #R#, of class II, and the promise to teach it only in
#Q#, #R#. She attires herself splendidly; he swings her on to his horse
behind him, and they ride to a wood. When they came to the wood there
was no one there but a white dove on a hazel-bush, that sang, Listen,
Fridburg: Ulinger has hanged eleven[39] maids; the twelfth is in his
clutches. Fridburg asked what the dove was saying. Ulinger replied, It
takes me for another; it lies in its red bill; and rode on till it
suited him to alight. He spread his cloak on the grass, and asked her to
sit down:
Er sprach sie solt ihm lausen,
Sein gelbes Haar zerzausen.[40]
Looking up into her eyes, he saw tears, and asked why she was weeping.
Was it for her sorry husband? Not for her sorry husband, she said. But
here some stanzas, which belong to another ballad,[41] have crept in,
and she is, with no reason, made to ride further on. She comes to a
lofty fir, and eleven maids hanging on it. She wrings her hands and
tears her hair, and implores Ulinger to let her be hanged in her clothes
as she is.
'Ask me not that, Fridburg,' he said;
'Ask me not that, thou good young maid;
Thy scarlet mantle and kirtle black
Will well become my young sister's back.'
Then she begs to be allowed three cries.
'So much I may allow thee well,
Thou art so deep within the dell;
So deep within the dell we lie,
No man can ever hear thy cry.'
She cries, "Help, Jesu!" "Help, Mary!" "Help, dear brother!"
'For if thou come not straight,
For my life 't will be too late!'
Her brother seems to hear his sister's voice "in every sense."
He let his falcon fly,
Rode off with hounds in full cry;
With all the haste he could
He sped to the dusky wood.
'What dost thou here, my Ulinger?
What dost thou here, my master dear?'
'Twisting a withe, and that is all,
To make a halter for my foal.'
'Twisting a withe, and that is all,
To make a halter for thy foal!
I swear by my troth thus shall it be,
Thyself shalt be the foal for me.'
'Then this I beg, my Fridburger,
Then this I beg, my master dear,
That thou wilt let me hang
In my clothes as now I stand.'
'Ask me not that, thou Ulinger,
Ask me not that, false perjurer;
Thy scarlet mantle and jerkin black
Will well become my scullion's back.'
His shield before his breast he slung,
Behind him his fair sister swung,
And so he hied away
Where his father's kingdom lay.
#H#, the nearly contemporaneous Augsburg broadside, differs from #G# in
only one important particular. The "reuter" is Adelger, the lady
unnamed. A stanza is lost between 6 and 7, which should contain the
warning of the dove, and so is Adelger's version of what the bird had
said. The important feature in #H#, not present in #G#, is that the halt
is made near a spring, about which blood is streaming, "der war mit blut
umbrunnenn." This adds a horror to this powerful scene which well suits
with it. When the maid begins to weep, Adelger asks whether her tears
are for her father's land, or because she dislikes him so much. It is
for neither reason, but because on yon fir she sees eleven maids
hanging. He confirms her fears:
'Ah, thou fair young lady fine,
O palsgravine, O empress mine,
Adelger 's killed his eleven before,
Thou 'lt be the twelfth, of that be sure.'[42]
The last two lines seem, by their form, to be the dove's warning that
has dropped out between stanzas 6 and 7. The maid's clothes in #H# are
destined to be the perquisite of Adelger's mother, and the brother says
that Adelger's are to go to his shield-bearer. The unhappy maid cries
but twice, to the Virgin and to her brother. When surprised by the
brother, Adelger feigns to be twisting a withe for his falcon.
#I# begins, like #G#, #H#, with the knight's seductive song. Instead of
the dove directly warning the maid, it upbraids the man: "Whither now,
thou Ollegehr?[43] Eight hast thou murdered already; and now for the
ninth!" The maid asks what the dove means, and is told to ride on, and
not mind the dove, who takes him for another man. There are eight maids
in the fir. The cries are to Jesus, Mary, and her brothers, one of whom
hastens to the rescue. He is struck with the beauty of his sister's
attire,--her velvet dress, her virginal crown, "which you shall wear
many a year yet." So saying, he draws his sword, and whips off his
"brother-in-law's" head, with this epicedium:
'Lie there, thou head, and bleed,
Thou never didst good deed.
'Lie there, thou head, and rot,
No man shall mourn thy lot.
'No one shall ever be sorry for thee
But the small birds on the greenwood tree.'[44]
In #J#, again, the knight comes riding through the reeds, and sings such
a song that Brown Annele, lying under the casement, exclaims, "Could I
but sing like him, I would give my troth and my honor!" There are, by
mistake, two[45] doves in stanza 4, that warn Annele not to be beguiled,
but this error is set right in the next stanza. When she asks what the
dove is cooing, the answer is, "It is cooing about its red foot; it went
barefoot all winter." We have here again, as in #H#, the spring in the
wood, "mit Blute umrunnen," and the lady asks again the meaning of the
bloody spring. The knight replies, in a stanza which seems both
corrupted and out of place, "This is where the eleven pure virgins
perished." Then follow the same incidents as in #G-I#. He says she must
hang with the eleven in the fir, and be queen over all. Her cries are
for her father, for Our Lady, and for her brother, who is a hunter in
the forest. The hunter makes all haste to his sister, twists a withe,
and hangs the knight without a word between them, then takes his sister
by the hand and conducts her home, with the advice never more to trust a
knight: for all which she returns her devout thanks.[46]
#K# and #L# are of the same length and the same tenor as #J#. There are
no names in #L#; in #K# both Annele and Ulrich, but the latter is very
likely to have been inserted by the editor. #K#, #L# have only one dove,
and in neither does the lady ask the meaning of the dove's song. The
knight simply says, "Be still; thou liest in thy throat!" Both have the
bloody spring, but out of place, for it is very improperly spoken of by
the knight as the spot he is making for:
'Wir wollen ein wenig weiter vorwärts faren,
Bis zu einem kühlen Waldbrunnen,
Der ist mit Blut überronnen.'[47]
L 26-28, 17-19.
The three cries are for father, mother, brother. In #K# the brother
fights with "Ulrich" two hours and a half before he can master him, then
despatches him with his two-edged sword, and hangs him in a withe. He
fires his rifle in #L#, to announce his coming, and hears his sister's
laugh; then stabs the knight through the heart. The moral of #J# is
repeated in both: Stay at home, and trust no knight.
#M# smacks decidedly of the bänkelsänger, and has an appropriate moral
at the tail: _animi index cauda!_ The characters are a cavalier and a
girl, both nameless, and a brother. The girl, hearing the knight sing
"ein Liedchen von dreierlei Stimmen," which should seem to signify a
three-part song, says, "Ah, could I sing like him, I would straightway
give him my honor." They ride to the wood, and come upon a hazel-bush
with _three_ doves, one of which informs the maid that she will be
betrayed, the second that she will die that day, and the third that she
will be buried in the wood. The second and third doves, as being false
prophets, and for other reasons, may safely be pronounced intruders. All
is now lost till we come to the cries, which are addressed to father,
mother, and brother. The brother stabs the traitor to the heart.[48]
#N# is as short as #M#, and, like it, has no names, but has all the
principal points: the fascinating song, the dove on the bush, eleven
maids in the fir, the three cries, and the rescue by the
huntsman-brother, who cocks his gun and shoots the knight. The reciter
of this ballad gave the editor to understand that if the robber had
succeeded in his twelfth murder, he would have attained such powers that
nobody after that could harm him.[49]
#O# is a fairly well-preserved ballad, resembling #G-J# as to the course
of the story. Anneli, lying under the casement, hears the knight singing
as he rides through the reeds. The elaborate toilet is omitted, as in
#I#, #J#. The knight makes haste to the dark wood. They come to a cold
spring, "mit Bluot war er überrunnen;" then to a hazel, behind which a
dove coos ominously. Anneli says, Listen. The dove coos you are a false
man, that will not spare my life. No, says the knight, that is not it;
the dove is cooing about its blue foot, for its fate is to freeze in
winter. The cloak is thrown on the grass, the eleven maids in the fir
are descried, and Anneli is told she must hang highest, and be empress
over all. He concedes her as many cries as she likes, for only the
wood-birds will hear. She calls on God, the Virgin, and her brother. The
brother thinks he hears his sister's voice, calls to his groom to
saddle, comes upon the knight while he is twisting a withe for his
horse, as he says, ties him to the end of the withe, and makes him pay
for all he has perpetrated in the wood. He then swings Anneli behind
him, and rides home with her.
#P#, the other Swiss ballad, has been retouched, and more than
retouched in places, by a modern pen. Still the substance of the story,
and, on the whole, the popular tone, is preserved. Fair Anneli, in the
miller's house, hears the knight singing as he rides through the rushes,
and runs down-stairs and calls to him: she would go off with him if she
could sing like that, and her clothes are fit for any young lady. The
knight promises that he will teach her his song if she will go with him,
and bids her put these fine clothes on. They ride to the wood. A dove
calls from the hazel, "He will betray thee." Anneli asks what the dove
is saying, and is answered much as in #J# and #O#, that it is talking
about its frost-bitten feet and claws. The knight tears through the
wood, to the great peril of Anneli's gown and limbs, and when he has
come to the right place, spreads his cloak on the grass, and makes the
usual request. She weeps when she sees eleven maids in the fir-tree, and
receives the customary consolation:
'Weep not too sore, my Anneli,
'Tis true thou art doomed the twelfth to be;
Up to the highest tip must thou go,
And a margravine be to all below;
Must be an empress over the rest,
And hang the highest of all as the best.'
The request to be allowed three cries is lost. The knight tells her to
cry as much as she pleases, he knows no one will come; the wild birds
will not hear, and the doves are hushed. She cries to father, mother,
and brother. The brother, who is sitting over his wine at the inn,
hears, saddles his best horse, rides furiously, and comes first to a
spring filled with locks of maid's hair and red with maid's blood; then
to a bush, where the knight (Rüdeli, Rudolph) is twisting his withe. He
bids his sister be silent, for the withe is not for her; the villain is
twisting it for his own neck, and shall be dragged at the tail of his
horse.
#Q# resembles the Swabian ballads, and presents only these variations
from the regular story. The dove adds to the warning, "Fair maid, be not
beguiled," what we find nowhere else, "Yonder I see a cool spring,
around which blood is running." The knight, to remove the maid's
anxiety, says, "Let it talk; it does not know me; I am no such
murderer." The end is excessively feeble. When the brother, a hunter as
before, reaches his sister, "a robber runs away," and then the brother
takes her by the hand, conducts her to her father's land, and enjoins
her to stay at home and spin silk. There are no names.
There is one feature entirely peculiar to #R#. The knight carries off
the maid, as before, but when they come to the hazel bush there are
eleven doves that sing this "new song:"
'Be not beguiled, maiden,
The knight is beguiling thee:
'We are eleven already,
Thou shalt be the twelfth.'
The eleven doves are of course the spirits of the eleven preceding
victims. The maid's inquiry as to what they mean is lost. The knight's
evasion is not ingenious, but more likely to allay suspicion than simply
saying, "I am no such murderer." He says, "Fear not: the doves are
singing a song that is common in these parts." When they come to the
spring "where blood and water are running," and the maid asks what
strange spring is this, the knight answers in the same way, and perhaps
could not do better: "Fear not: _there is_ in these parts a spring that
runs blood and water." This spring is misplaced, for it occurs before
they enter the wood. The last scene in the ballad is incomplete, and
goes no further than the brother's exclamation when he comes in upon the
knight: "Stop, young knight! Spare my sister's life." The parties in #R#
are nameless.
So again in #S#, which also has neither the knight's enchanting song nor
the bloody spring. There are two doves, as in #J#, stanza 4. The cries
are addressed to mother, father, brother, as in #N#, and, as in #N#,
again, the brother cocks his gun, and shoots the knight down;[50] then
calmly leads his sister home, with the warning against knights.
(III.) #T#, the first of the third series, has marked signs of
deterioration. Ulrich does not enchant Ännchen by his song, and promise
to teach it to her; he offers to teach her "bird-song." They _walk_ out
together, apparently, and come to a hazel, with no dove; neither is
there any spring. Annie sits down on the grass; Ulrich lays his head in
her lap; she weeps, and he asks why. It is for eleven maids in the
fir-tree, as so often before. Ulrich's style has become much tamer:
'Ah, Annie, Annie, dear to me,
How soon shalt thou the twelfth one be!'
She begs for three cries, and calls to her father, to God, to her
youngest brother. The last is sitting over the wine and hears. He
demands of Ulrich where she is, and is told, Upon yon linden, spinning
silk. Then ensues this dialogue: Why are your shoes blood-red? Why not?
I have shot a dove. That dove my mother bare under her breast. Annie is
laid in the grave, and angels sing over her; Ulrich is broken on the
wheel, and round him the ravens cry.