LANGOBARDIAN CYCLE OF MYTHS.
Although the following tales of mythical heroes have some slight historical
basis, they have been so adorned by the fancy of mediaeval bards, and so
frequently remodeled with utter disregard of all chronological sequence,
that the kernel of truth is very hard to find, and the stories must rather
be considered as depicting customs and times than as describing actual
events. They are recorded in the "Heldenbuch," or "Book of Heroes," edited
in the fifteenth century by Kaspar von der Rhön from materials which had
been touched up by Wolfram von Eschenbach and Heinrich von Ofterdingen in
the twelfth century. The poem of "Ortnit," for instance, is known to have
existed as early as the ninth century.
[Sidenote: The Langobards and Gepidae.] According to the poets of the
middle ages, the Gepidae and the Langobards settled in Pannonia (Hungary
and the neighboring provinces), where they were respectively governed by
Thurisind and Audoin. The sons of these two kings, having quarreled for a
trifle, met in duel soon after, and the Langobardian prince, having slain
his companion, took possession of his arms, with which he proudly returned
home.
But when, flushed with victory, he would fain have taken his seat at his
father's board with the men at arms, Audoin gravely informed him that it
was not customary for a youth to claim a place beside tried warriors until
some foreign king had distinguished him by the present of a complete suit
of armor. Angry at being thus publicly repulsed, Alboin, the prince, strode
out of his father's hall, resolved to march into Thurisind's palace and
demand of him the required weapons.
When the King of the Gepidae saw his son's murderer boldly enter his
palace, his first impulse was to put him to death; but, respecting the
rights of hospitality, he forbore to take immediate vengeance, and even
bestowed upon him the customary gift of arms as he departed on the morrow,
but warned him never to return, lest he should lose his life at the
warriors' hands. On leaving the palace, however, Alboin bore away the image
of little Rosamund, Thurisind's fair granddaughter, whom he solemnly swore
he would claim as wife as soon as she was of marriageable age.
Alboin having thus received his arms from a stranger, the Langobards no
longer refused to recognize him as a full-fledged warrior, and gladly
hailed him as king when his father died.
[Sidenote: Alboin's cruelty.] Shortly after Alboin's accession to the
throne, a quarrel arose between the Gepidae and the Langobards, or
Lombards, as they were eventually called; and war having been declared, a
decisive battle was fought, in which Thurisind and his son perished, and
all their lands fell into the conqueror's hands. With true heathen cruelty,
the Lombard king had the skulls of the Gepidae mounted as drinking vessels,
which he delighted in using on all state and festive occasions. Then,
pushing onwards, Alboin took forcible possession of his new realm and of
the tearful young Rosamund, whom he forced to become his wife, although she
shrank in horror from the murderer of all her kin and the oppressor of her
people.
She followed him home, concealing her fears, and although she never seemed
blithe and happy, she obeyed her husband so implicitly that he fancied her
a devoted wife. He was so accustomed to Rosamund's ready compliance with
his every wish that one day, after winning a great victory over the
Ostrogoths, and conquering a province in northern Italy (where he took up
his abode, and which bears the name of his race), he bade her fill her
father's skull with wine and pledge him by drinking first out of this
repulsive cup.
[Sidenote: Rosamund's revolt.] The queen hesitated, but, impelled by
Alboin's threatening glances and his mailed hand raised to strike her, she
tremblingly filled the cup and raised it to her lips. But then, instead of
humbly presenting it to her lord, she haughtily dashed it at his feet, and
left the hall, saying that though she had obeyed him, she would never again
live with him as his wife,--a declaration which the warriors present
secretly applauded, for they all thought that their king had been wantonly
cruel toward his beautiful wife.
While Alboin was pondering how he might conciliate her without owning
himself in the wrong, Rosamund summoned Helmigis, the king's shield-bearer,
and finding that he would not execute her orders and murder his master in
his sleep, she secured the services of the giant Perideus. Before the
murder of the king became generally known, Rosamund and her adherents--for
she had many--secured and concealed the treasures of the Crown; and when
the nobles bade her marry a man to succeed their king, who had left no
heirs, she declared that she preferred Helmigis.
[Sidenote: Death of Rosamund.] The Langobardian nobles indignantly refused
to recognize an armor-bearer as their king, and Rosamund, fearing their
resentment, fled by night with her treasures, and took refuge with
Longinus, viceroy of the Eastern emperor, who was intrenched in Ravenna.
Captivated by the fugitive queen's exquisite beauty, no less than by her
numerous treasures, Longinus proposed that she should poison Helmigis, and
marry him. Rosamund obediently handed the deadly cup to her faithful
adorer; but he drank only half its contents, and then, perceiving that he
was poisoned, forced her, at the point of his sword, to drink the
remainder, thus making sure that she would not long survive him.
Longinus, thus deprived of a beautiful bride, managed to console himself
for her loss by appropriating her treasures, while the Langobardian
scepter, after having been wielded by different kings, fell at last into
the hands of Rother, the last influential monarch of a kingdom which
Charlemagne conquered in 774.
[Sidenote: Rother.] Rother established his capital at Bari, a great seaport
in Apulia; but although his wealth was unbounded and his kingdom extensive,
he was far from happy, for he had neither wife nor child to share his home.
Seeing his loneliness, one of his courtiers, Duke Berchther (Berchtung) of
Meran, the father of twelve stalwart sons, advised him to seek a wife; and
when Rother declared that he knew of no princess pretty enough to please
his fastidious taste, the courtier produced the portrait of Oda, daughter
of Constantine, Emperor of the East. Rother fell desperately in love with
this princess at first sight. In vain Berchther warned him that the emperor
had the unpleasant habit of beheading all his daughter's would-be suitors;
Rother declared that he must make an attempt to secure this peerless bride,
and was only with great difficulty persuaded to resign the idea of wooing
in person.
When Berchther had prevailed upon him to send an imposing embassy of twelve
noblemen, richly appareled, and attended by a large suite, Rother asked who
would undertake the mission. All the warriors maintained a neutral silence,
until seven of Berchther's sons volunteered their services, and then five
other noblemen signified their readiness to accompany them.
To speed them on their way, Rother escorted them to the port, and, standing
on the pier, composed and sang a marvelous song. He bade them remember the
tune, and promised them that whenever they heard it they might be sure
their king was very near.
[Sidenote: Embassy to Constantinople.] Arrived at Constantinople, the
ambassadors made known their errand, but were immediately cast into prison,
in spite of the empress's intercession in their behalf. Here the noblemen
languished month after month, in a foul dungeon, while Rother impatiently
watched for their return. When a whole year had elapsed without his having
heard any tidings, he finally resolved to go in disguise to Constantinople,
to ascertain the fate of his men and win the lovely princess Oda for his
bride.
Berchther, hearing this decision, vowed that he would accompany him; but
although all the noblemen were anxious to escort their beloved king, he
took only a few of them with him, among whom was Asprian (Osborn), king of
the northern giants, with eleven of his tallest men.
[Sidenote: Rother and Constantine.] Rother embarked with this little train,
and sailed for Constantinople over the summer seas; and as he sat on deck,
playing on his harp, the mermaids rose from the deep to sport around his
ship. According to a prearranged plan, Rother presented himself before
Constantine as a fugitive and outlaw, complaining bitterly of the King of
the Lombards, who, he declared, had banished him and his companions.
Pleased with the appearance of the strangers, Constantine gladly accepted
their proffered services, and invited them to a banquet, in the course of
which he facetiously described how he had received Rother's ambassadors,
who were still languishing in his dampest dungeons. This boastful talk
gradually roused the anger of the giant Asprian, who was but little
accustomed to hide his feelings; and when the emperor's pet lioness came
into the hall and playfully snatched a choice morsel out of his hand, he
impetuously sprang to his feet, caught her in his powerful grasp, and
hurled her against the wall, thus slaying her with a single blow.
[Illustration: ASPRIAN SLAYING THE LION.--Keller.]
Constantine was somewhat dismayed when he saw the strength, and especially
the violence, of the new servants he had secured; but he wisely took no
notice of the affair, and, when the banquet was ended, dismissed Rother and
his followers to the apartments assigned them. The Lombard king now freely
distributed the immense treasures he had brought with him, and thus secured
many adherents at court. They sang his praises so loudly that at last the
princess Oda became very anxious to see this noted outlaw.
[Sidenote: Rother and Oda.] Bribing Herlind, one of her handmaidens, to
serve her secretly, Oda sent her to Rother to invite him to visit her. The
maiden acquitted herself adroitly of this commission; but the Langobardian
monarch, pretending exaggerated respect, declared that he would never dare
present himself before her beautiful mistress, to whom, however, he sent
many rich gifts, among which were a gold and a silver shoe. Herlind
returned to her mistress with the gifts; but when Oda would fain have put
on the shoes, she discovered that they were both for the same foot. She
then feigned a resentment she was far from feeling, and bade the handmaiden
order her father's new servant to appear before her without delay, bringing
a shoe for her other foot, unless he wished to incur her lasting
displeasure. Overjoyed at this result of his ruse, which he had foreseen,
Rother entered the princess's apartments unnoticed, proffered his most
humble apologies, fitted a pair of golden shoes on her tiny feet, and,
taking advantage of his position as he bent on one knee before her,
declared his love and rank, and won from Oda a solemn promise that she
would be his wife.
The lovers spent some very happy hours together in intimate conversation,
and ere Rother left the apartment he prevailed upon the princess to use her
influence in behalf of his imprisoned subjects. She therefore told her
father that her peaceful rest had been disturbed by dreams, in which
heavenly voices announced that she should suffer all manner of evil unless
Rother's ambassadors were taken from prison and hospitably entertained. Oda
then wrung from Constantine a promise that the men should be temporarily
released, and feasted at his own board that selfsame evening. This promise
was duly redeemed, and the twelve ambassadors, freed from their chains, and
refreshed by warm baths and clean garments, were sumptuously entertained at
the emperor's table. While they sat there feasting, Rother entered the
hall, and, hiding behind the tapestry hangings near the door, played the
tune they had heard on the day of their departure. The hearts of the
captives bounded for joy when they heard these strains, for they knew that
their king was near and would soon effect their release.
[Sidenote: War with Imelot.] A few days later, when the young ambassadors
had fully recovered their health and strength, Constantine was dismayed to
learn that Imelot, King of Desert Babylonia, was about to make war against
him, and wondered how he could successfully encounter such a universally
dreaded opponent. Rother, seeing his perplexity, immediately volunteered
his services, adding that if Constantine liberated the ambassadors, who
were mighty men of valor, and allowed them to fight, there would be no
doubt of his coming off conqueror in the war. The Eastern emperor gladly
followed this advice, and soon set out with Rother and all his companions.
The two armies met one evening and encamped opposite each other, intending
to begin the fight at sunrise on the morrow. During the night, however,
Rother and his companions stole into the enemy's camp, slew Imelot's
guards, and having bound and gagged him, Asprian carried him bodily out of
his tent and camp, while his companions routed all the mighty Babylonian
host.
A few hours later they returned to the camp of Constantine, where they lay
down to rest. The emperor, entering their tent on the morrow to chide them
for their laziness, saw the captive Imelot, and heard the story of the
night's work. He was so delighted with the prowess of his allies that he
gladly consented to their return to Constantinople to announce the victory,
while he and his army remained to take possession of Desert Babylonia and
of all of Imelot's vast treasures.
Rother and his companions returned in haste to Constantinople and rushed
into the palace; but instead of announcing a victory they told the empress
and Oda that Constantine had been defeated, that Imelot was on the way to
seize the city, and that the emperor had sent them on ahead to convey his
wife and daughter to a place of safety, with their most valuable treasures.
[Sidenote: Kidnaping of Oda.] The empress and Oda, crediting every word of
this tale, made immediate preparations for departure, and soon joined
Rother on the pier, where his fast sailing vessel was ready to start. All
the Langobardians had already embarked, and Rother escorted the princess on
board, bidding the empress wait on the quay until he returned for her. But
as soon as he and his fair charge set foot upon deck, the vessel was pushed
off, and Rother called out to the distressed empress that he had deceived
her in order to carry away her daughter, who was now to become the
Langobardian queen.
Constantine, on his return, was of course very angry at having been so
cleverly duped, and vainly tried to devise some plan for recovering the
daughter whom he loved so well. When a magician came, therefore, and
promised to execute his wishes, he gladly provided him with vessel and crew
to sail to Bari. The magician, disguised as a peaceful merchant, spread out
his wares as soon as he was anchored in port, and by a series of artful
questions soon ascertained that Rother was absent, and that Oda was at
home, carefully guarded by the principal nobles of the realm. When he also
learned that one of these noblemen had a crippled child, the magician
informed the people who visited his vessel to inspect his wares, that the
most precious treasure in his possession was a magic stone, which, in a
queen's hands, had the power of restoring cripples.
The rumor of this miraculous stone reached the court, and the nobleman
persuaded the kind-hearted queen to go down to the vessel to try the
efficacy of the stone. As soon as Oda was on board, the vessel set sail,
bearing her away from her husband and back to her father's home, where she
was welcomed with great demonstrations of joy.
Rother, coming back from the war shortly after her disappearance,
immediately prepared a vessel to go in pursuit of her, selecting his giants
and bravest noblemen to accompany him. Once more they landed at a short
distance from Constantinople, and Rother bade his men hide in a thicket,
while he went into the city, disguised as a pilgrim, and carrying under his
robe a hunting horn, which he promised to sound should he at any time find
himself in danger.
He no sooner entered the city than he noticed with surprise that all the
inhabitants seemed greatly depressed. He questioned them concerning their
evident sadness, and learned that Imelot, having effected his escape from
captivity, had invaded the kingdom, and vowed that he would not retreat
unless Oda married his ugly and hunchbacked son that very day.
[Sidenote: Imelot again defeated.] These tidings made Rother press on to
the palace, where, thanks to his disguise, he effected an easy entrance.
Slipping unnoticed to his wife's side, he dropped into the cup beside her a
ring upon which his name was engraved. Quick as a flash Oda recognized and
tried to hide it; but her hunchbacked suitor, sitting beside her, also
caught sight of it. He pointed out the intruder, cried that he was Rother
in disguise, and bade his guards seize him and hang him. Rother, seeing
that he was discovered, boldly stepped forward, declared that he had come
to claim his wife, and challenged the cowardly hunchback, who, however,
merely repeated his orders, and accompanied his guards to a grove outside
the city to see his captive executed. Just as they were about to fasten the
fatal noose around his neck, Rother blew a resounding blast upon his horn,
in answer to which call his followers sprang out of their ambush, slew
guards, Imelot, and hunchback, routed the imperial forces, recovered
possession of Oda, and sailed home in triumph to Lombardy. Here Oda bore
her husband a lovely little daughter called Helche (Herka), who eventually
married Etzel (Attila), King of the Huns.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Ortnit.] Another renowned Lombardian king is Ortnit (Otnit),
whose realm included not only all Italy, from the Alps to the sea, but also
the island of Sicily. He had won this province by his fabulous strength,
which, we are told, was equivalent to that of twelve vigorous men.
In spite of all outward prosperity, Ortnit was lonely and unhappy. One day,
while he was strolling along the seashore at sunset, he saw a misty castle
rise slowly out of the waves. On its topmost tower he beheld a fair maiden,
with whom he fell deeply in love at first sight. As he was gazing
spellbound at the lady's beauty, castle and maiden suddenly vanished; and
when Ortnit asked his uncle, Ylyas (Elias), Prince of the Reussen, what
this fantastic vision might mean, he learned that the castle was the exact
reproduction of the stronghold of Muntabure, and the maiden a phantom of
Princess Sidrat, daughter of the ruler of Syria, which the Fata Morgana, or
Morgana the fay, had permitted him to behold.
"As the weary traveler sees,
In desert or prairie vast,
Blue lakes, overhung with trees,
That a pleasant shadow cast;
"Fair towns with turrets high,
And shining roofs of gold,
That vanish as he draws nigh,
Like mists together rolled."
LONGFELLOW, _Fata Morgana_.
Of course Ortnit vowed that he would go and ask the maiden's hand in
marriage; and although his uncle warned him that Machorell, the girl's
father, beheaded all his daughter's suitors, to use their heads as
decorations for his fortifications, the young king persisted in this
resolve.
[Sidenote: Ortnit and the magic ring.] Forced to go by sea in order to
reach Syria, Ortnit had to delay his departure until suitable preparations
had been made. During that time his mother vainly tried to dissuade him
from the undertaking. Finally, seeing that nothing could deter him from
going in search of the lovely maiden he had seen, she slipped a ring on his
hand, and bade him ride out of town in a certain direction, and dismount
under a lime tree, where he would see something marvelous.
"'If thou wilt seek the adventure, don thy armor strong;
Far to the left thou ride the towering rocks along.
But bide thee, champion, and await, where grows a linden tree;
There, flowing from the rock, a well thine eyes will see.
"'Far around the meadow spread the branches green;
Five hundred armed knights may stand beneath the shade, I ween.
Below the linden tree await, and thou wilt meet full soon
The marvelous adventure; there must the deed be done.'"
_Heldenbuch_ (Weber's
tr.).
Ortnit obeyed these instructions, dismounted in a spot which seemed
strangely familiar, and, gazing inquisitively around him, became aware of
the presence of a lovely sleeping infant. But when he attempted to take it
in his arms he found himself sprawling on the ground, knocked over by a
single blow from the child's tiny fist. Furious at his overthrow, Ortnit
began wrestling with his small assailant; but in spite of his vaunted
strength he succeeded in pinioning him only after a long struggle.
[Sidenote: Alberich.] Unable to free himself from Ortnit's powerful grasp,
the child now confessed that he was Alberich, king of the dwarfs, and
promised Ortnit a marvelous suit of armor and the sword Rosen--which had
been tempered in dragons' blood, and was therefore considered
invulnerable--if he would only let him go.
"'Save me, noble Otnit, for thy chivalry!
A hauberk will I give thee, strong, and of wondrous might;
Better armor never bore champion in the fight.
"'Not eighty thousand marks would buy the hauberk bright.
A sword of mound I'll give thee, Otnit, thou royal knight;
Through armor, both of gold and steel, cuts the weapon keen;
The helmet could its edge withstand ne'er in this world was seen.'"
_Heldenbuch_ (Weber's
tr.).
The king consented, but the moment he set the dwarf free he felt him snatch
the ring his mother had given him off his hand, and saw him mysteriously
and suddenly disappear, his voice sounding tauntingly now on one side, now
on the other. Some parley ensued before the dwarf would restore the ring,
which was no sooner replaced on the hero's hand than he once more found
himself able to see his antagonist.
Alberich now gravely informed Ortnit that in spite of his infantile stature
he was very old indeed, having lived more than five hundred years. He then
went on to tell him that the king, whom Ortnit had until then considered
his father, had no claim to the title of parent, for he had secretly
divorced his wife, and given her in marriage to Alberich. Thus the dwarf
was Ortnit's true father, and declared himself ready now to acknowledge
their relationship and to protect his son.
[Sidenote: Ortnit in Tyre.] After giving Ortnit the promised armor and
sword, and directing him to turn the magic ring if ever he needed a
father's aid, Alberich vanished. Ortnit, returning to town, informed his
mother that he had seen his father; and as soon as the weather permitted he
set sail for Suders (Tyre). Ortnit entered the harbor as a merchant, and
exhibited his wares to the curious people, while Alberich, at his request,
bore a challenge to Machorell, threatening to take Tyre and the castle of
Muntabure unless he were willing to accept Ortnit as son-in-law.
The dwarf acquitted himself nobly of his task, and when Machorell
scornfully dismissed him, he hastened back to Tyre, bidding Ortnit lose no
time in surprising and taking possession of the city. This advice was so
well carried out that Ortnit soon found himself master of the city, and
marching on to Muntabure, he laid siege to the castle, restoring all his
men as soon as they were wounded by a mere touch of his magic ring.
Alberich, whom none but he could see, was allowed to lead the van and bear
the banner, which seemed to flutter aloft in a fantastic way. The dwarf
took advantage of this invisibility to scale the walls of the fortress
unseen, and hurled down the ponderous machines used to throw stones,
arrows, boiling pitch, and oil. Thus he greatly helped Ortnit, who, in the
mean while, was performing unheard-of deeds of valor, which excited the
admiration of Princess Sidrat, watching him from her tower.
[Sidenote: Ortnit and Liebgart.] Alberich next glided to this maiden's
side, and bade her hasten to the postern gate early on the morrow, if she
would see the king. As Ortnit had been told that he would find her there,
he went thither in the early dawn, and pleaded his cause so eloquently that
Sidrat eloped with him to Lombardy. There she became his beloved queen, was
baptized in the Christian faith, and received the name of Liebgart, by
which she was ever afterward known.
[Sidenote: The magic eggs.] The happiness of Ortnit and Liebgart was very
great, but the young queen did not feel that it was quite complete until a
giant and his wife came from her father's court bringing conciliatory
messages, and a promise that Machorell would visit his daughter in the
early spring. They also brought countless valuable presents, among which
were two huge eggs, which the giants said were priceless, as from them
could be hatched magic toads with lodestones in their foreheads. Of course
Liebgart's curiosity was greatly excited by this gift, and learning that
the giant couple would see to the hatching of the eggs and the bringing up
of the toads if a suitable place were only provided for them, she sent them
into a mountain gorge near Trient, where the climate was hot and damp
enough for the proper hatching of the toads.
Time passed by, and the giantess Ruotze hatched dragons or lind-worms from
the huge eggs. These animals grew with alarming rapidity, and soon the
governor of the province sent word to the king that he could no longer
provide food enough for the monsters, which had become the terror of the
whole countryside. They finally proved too much even for the giants, who
were obliged to flee. When Ortnit learned that ordinary weapons had no
effect upon these dragons, he donned his magic armor and seized his sword
Rosen. He then bade Liebgart a tender farewell, telling her that if he did
not return she must marry none but the man who wore his ring, and sallied
forth to deliver his people from the ravenous monsters whom he had
thoughtlessly allowed to be bred in their midst.
Ortnit soon dispatched the giant and giantess, who would fain have hindered
his entrance into the fatal gorge. Then he encountered the dwarf Alberich,
and was warned that he would fall victim to the pestilent dragons, which
had bred a number of young ones, destined, in time, to infest all Europe.
In spite of these warnings, Ortnit declared that he must do his best for
the sake of his people; and having given the magic ring back to Alberich,
he continued on his way. All day long he vainly sought the monsters in the
trackless forest, until, sinking down exhausted at the foot of a tree, he
soon fell asleep.
[Sidenote: Death of Ortnit.] This slumber was so profound that it was like
a lethargy, and the wild barking of his dog failed to waken him so that he
could prepare for the stealthy approach of the great dragon. The monster
caught the sleeping knight in his powerful claws, and dashed him against
the rocks until every bone in his body was broken into bits, although the
magic armor remained quite whole.
Then the dragon conveyed the corpse to his den, where the little dragons
vainly tried to get at the knight to eat his flesh, being daunted by the
impenetrable armor, which would not give way.
In the mean while Liebgart was anxiously awaiting the return of her beloved
husband; but when she saw his dog steal into the palace in evident grief,
she knew that Ortnit was dead, and mourned for him with many a tear. As he
had left no heir to succeed him, the nobles soon crowded around Liebgart,
imploring her to marry one of them and make him king of Lombardy; but she
constantly refused to listen to their wooing.
[Sidenote: Liebgart dethroned.] Angry at her resistance, the noblemen then
took possession of treasure, palace, and kingdom, and left poor Liebgart so
utterly destitute that she was forced to support herself by spinning and
weaving. She carried on these occupations for a long time, while patiently
waiting for the coming of a knight who would avenge Ortnit's death, wear
his ring, claim her hand in marriage, and restore her to her former exalted
position as queen of Lombardy.