Chapter III: Act 3: , Scene 3, Dyce, VII, 364. The name Diverus is preserved in #C#, (2)

11
'For I brought as much white monie
As gane my men and me,
And I brought a half-fou o gude red goud
Out oer the sea wi me.

12
'Make ready, make ready, my merrymen a',
Our gude ship sails the morn:'
'Now, ever alake! my master dear,
I fear a deadly storm!

13
'I saw the new moon late yestreen,
Wi the auld moon in her arm;
And if we gang to sea, master,
I fear we'll come to harm.'

14
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but barely three,
When the lift grew dark, and the wind blew loud,
And gurly grew the sea.

15
The ankers brak, and the topmasts lap,
It was sic a deadly storm,
And the waves came oer the broken ship,
Till a' her sides were torn.

16
'O where will I get a gude sailor,
To take my helm in hand,
Till I get up to the tall topmast,
To see if I can spy land?'

17
'O here am I, a sailor gude,
To take the helm in hand,
Till you go up to the tall topmast;
But I fear you'll neer spy land.'

18
He hadna gane a step, a step,
A step but barely ane,
When a bout flew out of our goodly ship,
And the salt sea it came in.

19
'Gae fetch a web o the silken claith,
Another o the twine,
And wap them into our ship's side,
And letna the sea come in.'

20
They fetched a web o the silken claith,
Another o the twine,
And they wapped them roun that gude ship's side,
But still the sea came in.

21
O laith, laith were our gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heeld shoon;
But lang or a' the play was playd,
They wat their hats aboon.

22
And mony was the feather-bed
That flattered on the faem,
And mony was the gude lord's son
That never mair cam hame.

23
The ladyes wrang their fingers white,
The maidens tore their hair,
A' for the sake of their true loves,
For them they'll see na mair.

24
O lang, lang may the ladyes sit,
Wi their fans into their hand,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Come sailing to the strand.

25
And lang, lang may the maidens sit,
Wi their goud kaims in their hair,
A' waiting for their ain dear loves,
For them they'll see na mair.

26
O forty miles off Aberdeen
'T is fifty fathoms deep,
And there lies gude Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi the Scots lords at his feet.

I

Buchan's Ballads of the North of Scotland, I, 1;
Motherwell's MS., p. 550.

1
The king sits in Dunfermline town,
A-drinking at the wine;
Says, Where will I get a good skipper,
Will sail the saut seas fine?

2
Out it speaks an eldren knight
Amang the companie:
'Young Patrick Spens is the best skipper
That ever saild the sea.'

3
The king he wrote a braid letter,
And seald it wi his ring;
Says, Ye'll gie that to Patrick Spens,
See if ye can him find.

4
He sent this not wi an auld man,
Nor yet a simple boy,
But the best o nobles in his train
This letter did convoy.

5
When Patrick lookd the letter upon
A light laugh then gae he;
But ere he read it till an end,
The tear blinded his ee.

6
'Ye'll eat and drink, my merry men a',
An see ye be weell thorn;
For blaw it weet, or blaw it wind,
My guid ship sails the morn.'

7
Then out it speaks a guid auld man,
A guid death mat he dee!
'Whatever ye do, my guid master,
Tak God your guide to bee.

8
'For late yestreen I saw the new moon,
The auld moon in her arm:'
'Ohon, alas!' says Patrick Spens,
'That bodes a deadly storm.

9
'But I maun sail the seas the morn,
And likewise sae maun you;
To Noroway, wi our king's daughter,
A chosen queen she's now.

10
'But I wonder who has been sae base
As tauld the king o mee;
Even tho he ware my ae brither,
An ill death mat he dee!'

11
Now Patrick he riggd out his ship,
And sailed ower the faem,
But mony a dreary thought had hee,
While hee was on the main.

12
They hadna saild upon the sea
A day but barely three,
Till they came in sight o Noroway,
It's there where they must bee.

13
They hadna stayed into that place
A month but and a day,
Till he causd the flip in mugs gae roun,
And wine in cans sae gay.

14
The pipe and harp sae sweetly playd,
The trumpets loudly soun;
In every hall where in they stayd,
Wi their mirth did reboun.

15
Then out it speaks an auld skipper,
An inbearing dog was hee:
'Ye've stayd ower lang in Noroway,
Spending your king's monie.'

16
Then out it speaks Sir Patrick Spens:
'O how can a' this bee?
I hae a bow o guid red gowd
Into my ship wi mee.

17
'But betide me well, betide me wae,
This day I'se leave the shore,
And never spend my king's monie
Mong Noroway dogs no more.'

18
Young Patrick hee is on the sea,
And even on the faem,
Wi five-an-fifty Scots lords' sons,
That langd to bee at hame.

19
They hadna saild upon the sea
A day but barely three,
Till loud and boistrous grew the wind,
And stormy grew the sea.

20
'O where will I get a little wee boy
Will tak my helm in hand,
Till I gae up to my tapmast,
And see for some dry land?'

21
He hadna gane to his tapmast
A step but barely three,
Ere thro and thro the bonny ship's side
He saw the green haw sea.

22
'There are five-an-fifty feather beds
Well packed in ae room;
And ye'll get as muckle guid canvas
As wrap the ship a' roun.

23
'Ye'll pict her well, and spare her not,
And mak her hale and soun:'
But ere he had the word well spoke
The bonny ship was down.

24
O laith, laith were our guid lords' sons
To weet their milk-white hands;
But lang ere a' the play was ower,
They wat their gowden bands.

25
O laith, laith were our Scots lords' sons
To weet their coal-black shoon;
But lang ere a' the play was ower,
They wat their hats aboon.

26
It's even ower by Aberdour
It's fifty fathoms deep,
And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens,
And a's men at his feet.

27
It's even ower by Aberdour,
There's mony a craig and fin,
And yonder lies Sir Patrick Spens,
Wi mony a guid lord's son.

28
Lang, lang will the ladyes look,
Into their morning weed,
Before they see young Patrick Spens
Come sailing ower the fleed.

29
Lang, lang will the ladyes look,
Wi their fans in their hand,
Before they see him Patrick Spens
Come sailing to dry land.

J

Miss Harris's MS., fol. 4, from the singing of her mother.

1
Hie sits oor king in Dumfermline,
Sits birlin at the wine;
Says, Whare will I get a bonnie boy
That will sail the saut seas fine?
That will hie owre to Norraway,
To bring my dear dochter hame?

2
Up it spak a bonnie boy,
Sat by the king's ain knie:
'Sir Patrick Spens is as gude a skipper
As ever sailed the sea.'

3
The king has wrote a broad letter,
And signed it wi his hand,
And sent it to Sir Patrick Spens,
To read it gif he can.

4
The firsten line he luikit on,
A licht lauchter gae he;
But ere he read it to the end,
The tear blindit his ee.

5
'O wha is this, or wha is that,
Has tauld oor king o me?
I wad hae gien him twice as muckle thank
To latten that abee!

6
'But eat an drink, my merrie young men,
Eat, an be weel forn;
For blaw it wind, or blaw it weet,
Oor gude ship sails the morn.'

7
Up it spak his youngest son,
Sat by Sir Patrick's knie:
'I beg you bide at hame, father,
An I pray be ruled by me.

8
'For I saw the new mune late yestreen,
Wi the auld mune in her arms;
An ever an alake, my father dear,
It's a token o diedly storms.'

9
'It's eat an drink, my merrie young men,
Eat, an be weel forn;
For blaw it wind, or blaw it weet,
Oor gude ship sails the morn.'

10
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but only three,
When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws
Cam drivin to their knie.

11
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but only five,
When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws
Their gude ship began to rive.

12
They hadna sailed a league, a league,
A league but only nine,
When the whirlin wind an the ugly jaws
Cam drivin to their chin.

13
'O whaur will I get a bonnie boy
Will tak the steer in hand,
Till I mount up to oor tapmast,
To luik oot for dry land?'

14
'O here am I, a bonnie boy,
Will tak the steer in hand,
Till you mount up to oor tapmast,
To luik oot for dry land.'

15
He's gaen up to the tapmast,
To the tapmast sae hie;
He luikit around on every side,
But dry land he couldna see.

16
He luikit on his youngest son,
An the tear blindit his ee;
Says, I wish you had been in your mother's bowr,
But there you'll never be.

17
'Pray for yoursels, my merrie young men,
Pray for yoursels an me,
For the first landen that we will land
Will be in the boddam o the sea.'

18
Then up it raise the mermaiden,
Wi the comb an glass in her hand:
'Here's a health to you, my merrie young men,
For you never will see dry land.'

19
O laith, laith waur oor gude Scots lords
To weet their cork-heeled shoon;
But lang, lang ere the play was played,
Their yellow locks soomed aboun.

20
There was Saturday, an Sabbath day,
An Monnonday at morn,
That feather-beds an silken sheets
Cam floatin to Kinghorn.

21
It's och, och owre to Aberdour,
It's fifty faddoms deep;
An there lie a' oor gude Scots lords,
Wi Sir Patrick Spens at their feet.

22
O lang, lang will his lady sit,
Wi the fan into her hand,
Until she see her ain dear lord
Come sailin to dry land.

23
O lang, lang will his lady sit,
Wi the tear into her ee,
Afore she see her ain dear lord
Come hieing to Dundee.

24
O lang, lang will his lady sit,
Wi the black shoon on her feet,
Afore she see Sir Patrick Spens
Come drivin up the street.

K

Communicated by Mr Murison, as taken down from recitation
in Old Deer by Mrs Murison.

* * * * * * *

1
It's when he read the letter ower
A licht lauch then leuch he;
But lang ere he wan the end o it
The saut tear filled his ee.

2
'O woe be to the man,' he says,
'That's tauld the king o me;
Altho he be my ain brither,
Some ill death mat he dee!

3
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
'For be it weet, or be it win,
My bonnie ship sails the morn.'

* * * * * * *

4
'For late the streen I saw the new meen,
Bit an the auld ane tee,
An it fears me sair, my good maister,
For a tempest in the sea.'

5
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
Till up it rase the win an storm,
An a tempest i the sea.

6
. . . . . . .
. . . . . . .
It's throch an throu the comely cog
There comes the green raw sea.

* * * * * * *

7
'Call upo your men, maister,
An dinna call on me,
For ye drank them weel ere ye tuke the gate,
But O nane gae ye me.

8
'Ye beat my back, an beat my sides,
When I socht hose an sheen;
So call upo your men, maister,
As they lie drunk wi wine.'

9
'Come doon, come doon, my bonnie boy,
An tak my helm in han;
Gin ever we live to gae to lan,
I'll wed ye wi my daughter Ann.'

10
'Ye used me ill, my guid maister,
When we was on the lan,
But nevertheless, my gude maister,
I'll tak your helm in han.'

11
O laith, laith was oor bonny boys
To weet their cork-heeled shoes;
But lang ere a' the play was played,
They wat their yallow broos.

12
O laith, laith was oor bonnie boys
To weet their cork-heeled sheen;
But lang ere a' the play was played,
They wat their hair abeen.

13
'O lang, lang will my lady leuk,
Wi the lantern in her han,
Afore she see my bonnie ship
Come sailin to dry lan.'

14
Atween Leith an Aberdeen
Lies mony a craig an sea,
An there it lies young Patrick Spens,
An mony bonnie boys him wi.

L

Motherwell's Note-Book, p. 6, Motherwell's MS., p. 156,
from Mrs Gentles, Paisley, February 1825.

1
Our ship it was a gudely ship,
Its topmast was of gold,
And at every tack of needlework
There hung a silver bell.

2
Up started the mermaid by our ship,
Wi the glass and the comb in her hand:
'Reek about, reek about, my merrie men,
Ye are not far from land.'

3
'You lie, you lie, you pretty mermaid,
Sae loud as I hear you lie;
For since I have seen your face this nicht,
The land I will never see.'

4
We hadna sailed a league but ane,
A league but barely three,
Till all we and our goodly ship
Was all drowned in the sea.

5
Lang lang may our ladies stand,
Wi their seams into their hand,
Looking for Sir Patrick's ship,
That will never come to land.

M

Buchan's Gleaning, p. 196, "from a very intelligent old
man."

1
There shall no man go to my ship
Till I say mass and dine,
And take my leave of my lady;
Go to my bonny ship syne.

2
When he was up at the top-mast head
Around could naething see,
But terrible storm in the air aboon,
And below the roaring sea.

3
'Come down, come down, my good master,
You see not what I see;
For thro an thro your bonny ship's side
I see the green salt sea.'

4
Lang lang will the ladies look,
Wi their gown-tails owre their crown,
Before they see Sir Patrick Spens
Sailing to Dunferline town.

N

Noted down from a female servant, by Joseph Robertson,
July 15, 1829, Adversaria, p. 67.

1
Ower and ower by Aberdour
There's mony a cloudy stone,
And there is mony a gude lord's son
I fear will never come home.

2
Lang, lang will his lady look,
Wi her baby in her arms,
But she'll never see Earl Patrick Spens
Com walkin up the stran.

3
'I have a table in my room,
It cost me guineas nine;
I wad sink it in the sea
For ae sight o dry lan.

4
'There's a coat o green velvet on my back,
I got it for my fee;
But tho I wad gie ten thousan punds,
Dry land I will never see.'

O

Gibb MS., p. 63.

1
Bonny were the feather beds
Cam sailin ower the faem,
But bonnier was the sixteen lords
Gaed out and neer cam hame.

2
Lang, lang may the nourice sit,
Wi the bonny babe on her knee,
Ere ever she see her good lord come,
To pay to her her fee.

3
An lang, lang will the lady sit,
Wi the gowd fan in her hand,
Ere ever she see her ain gude lord
Come skipping to dry land.

P

Kinloch MSS, I, 281.

1
Fu laith, fu laith was our braw Scots lords
To weet their coal black shoon;
But ere the battle a' was foucht,
Their hats war weet aboun.

2
Out and starts the mermaiden,
Wi a fan into her hand:
'Keep up your hearts, my merry men a',
For ye're near the dry land.'

3
Out and spak Earl Patrick Graham,
Wi the saut tear in his ee:
'Now sin we've seen the mermaiden,
Dry land we'll never see.'

4
Down below Dunbarton castle,
Full fifty fathoms deep,
There lies a' our braw Scots men,
Earl Patrick at their feet.

Q

Finlay's Scottish Ballads, I, xiv, from a recited copy.

1
Then up an cam a mermaid,
Wi a siller cup in her han:
'Sail on, sail on, my gude Scotch lords,
For ye sune will see dry lan.'

2
'Awa, awa, ye wild woman,
An let your fleechin be;
For sen your face we've seen the day,
Dry lan we'll never see.'

R

Communicated by Mr Macmath, from Mr William Traquair, S.
S. C., Edinburgh; obtained originally in Perthshire.

'Twas late, late on a Saturday night,
And early on a Sunday morn,
That robes of silk and feather beds
Came floating to Kean-Gorn.

* * * * *

#A. a.#

1^3. quhar.

5^1. quha.

5^3. zeir.

11^1. have owre, have owr.

#b.#

_In this copy ~Sir Andrew Wood~ replaces ~Sir Patrick
Spens~ throughout._

8^4. They wat thair heads aboone.

_At the end of version #B# Herd says_: The foundation
of the preceding song seems to have been the same story
with that under the title of 'Sir Andrew Wood' in the
former volume [of 1769]. In the Relicks of Antient Poetry
is a copy somewhat different from either. _We cannot
suppose, after this, that Herd took his copy from Percy
and altered it, and yet, excepting the variations noted
above, and ~haff~ for ~have~ in 11^1, the copies are the
same to a letter. If Herd's copy was one of the two used
by Percy, what was the other? Was there, after all, but
one copy again, as in the case of 'King Estmere'?_

#B.#

_~O~ is added, in singing, to every second and fourth
verse. Also in #D#, #E#, #F#, #H#._

#C.#

14^2. I thing.

#F.#

14. _In a smaller hand, and detached from the preceding,
as if added later._

#G.#

_After 4 occurs this stanza, almost verbally repeated in
9, and improperly anticipating matters, according to the
arrangement of the story in this version:_

Be't wind, be't weet, be't snaw, be't sleet,
Our ships maun sail the morn:
Ever alack! my master dear,
For I fear a deadly storm.

#H.#

24^4. _perhaps ~driven~._

#K.#

'Spendin the queen's meat an her fee' _was said by the
reciter to belong to the ballad, though the connection
was not remembered._

13^2. _Var._: An langer will she stan.

#L.#

_1 is 5 and 5 is 1 in the MS._

[19] Scott's Minstrelsy, ed. 1833, I, 295; Notes and Queries, Second Series, X, 237.

[20] Christie, I, 7, makes up a copy from Scott and Buchan, "with some alterations from the way the editor has heard" the ballad "sung." I have not felt called upon always to register Christie's cursory variations, but the fourth stanza may be given as he prints it:

The first word that Sir Patrick read
A licht licht laugh gae he;
But ere he read it to an end
The saut tear blint his ee.

'Sir Patrick Spens,' Aberdeen, printed by John Duffus, 1866, is composed from several versions, as Scott's, Buchan's, Aytoun's.

[21] Sir Patrick Spens, or Spence, #A#, #B#, #C#, #G#, #H#, #J#, #M#; Young Patrick, #E#; Skipper Patrick, #F#; Young Patrick Spens, #I#, #K#; Sir Patrick, #L#; Earl Patrick Spens, #N#; Sir Andrew Wood, #A b#, #D#; Earl Patrick Graham, #P#.

[22] It is so with the Conde Dirlos, when he receives a letter from the emperor:

De las cartas placer hubo,
de las palabras pesar;
que lo que las cartas dicen
á él parece muy mal.

(Wolf y Hofmann, Primavera, II, 129.)

[23] There is a falling off in #C#, #E#, with the wives sewing their silken seams and rocking the cradle, and in #B#, waiting with their babies in their hands, till in #M# the ladies, still so called, are reduced to fishers' wives, "wi their gown-tails owre their crown!"

[24] The reading in #I# 9, "To Noroway, wi our king's daughter," has been treated as if important. This version, says Buchan, was taken down from the recitation of "'a wight of Homer's craft,' who, as a wandering minstrel, blind from his infancy, has been travelling in the North as a mendicant for these last fifty years. He learned it in his youth from a very old person." The mendicant was, no doubt, James Rankin, "the blind beggar whom I kept travelling through Scotland, collecting ballads for me, at a heavy expense" (frontispiece to Buchan's MSS, vol. i.). A large part of Buchan's ballads have the mint-mark of this minstrel beggar and beggarly minstrel, who collected for pay. No confidence can be placed in any of his readings: his personal inspiration was too decided to make him a safe reporter.

[25] For consistency's sake, it has here been dropped from the place where it first occurs, after stanza 4.

[26] Or a pure accident. Wyntoun says that Margaret sailed the 12th of August. Motherwell found, "from a laborious calculation," that the 12th of August, 1282 (a misprint, I suppose, for 1281), was a Monday, the sailing day in #G# 5. The account in #H# is probably taken from #G#.

[27] Fordun, ed. Skene, I, 307.

[28] Scalacronica, ed. Stevenson, p. 110. Fordun mentions Michael of Wemyss and Michael Scot as the envoys, I, 311.

[29] He was not even that, according to #G# 4, which has the silly reading,

For I was never a good seaman,
Nor ever intend to be.

So in a mixed ballad which will be put with 'Young Allan.'

[30] I have not felt called upon to say anything of the attempt of the late Mr Robert Chambers to prove 'Sir Patrick Spens', a piece of literary work of the last century, by arguments which would make Lady Wardlaw author not only of most of the romantic Scottish ballads, but also of a good part of the ballads of Europe. The flimsy plea of Mr Chambers has been effectually disposed of by Mr Norval Clyne, The Romantic Scottish Ballads and the Lady Wardlaw Heresy, Aberdeen, 1859, and by Mr James Hutton Watkins, Early Scottish Ballads, Glasgow, 1867.

59

SIR ALDINGAR

#A.# 'Sir Aldingar,' Percy MS., p. 68; Hales and
Furnivall, I, 166.

#B.# 'Sir Hugh le Blond,' Minstrelsy of the Scottish
Border, III, 51, 1803.

#C.# 'Sir Hugh le Blond,' Dr Joseph Robertson's
Note-Book, January 1, 1830, p. 6.

This ballad, one of the most important of all that the Percy manuscript has saved from oblivion, was first given to the world in the Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, II, 48, ed. 1765, II, 49, ed. 1767, with conjectural emendations by the editor, and the insertion of some stanzas to complete the story. A second version, very much humbled in diction, and otherwise corrupted, but of indubitable antiquity, as Scott remarks, was published in the Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border in 1803, as communicated by Mr Williamson Burnet, of Monboddo, from the recitation of an old woman. The story which this version relates was then, we are informed, universally current in the Mearns, and was supposed to be authenticated by the sword of the hero, preserved nearly down to that time by his reputed descendants.

Tales of the same general description--of a noble lady accused to her husband of infidelity, believed by him to be guilty, and in process of time demonstrated to have been faultless, to his entire conviction--are, as might be expected, extremely often to be met with in ballad, romance, chronicle, or saga; nor is the number small of those which have the special traits that the accusation is made by a trusted officer of the husband, who has attempted to seduce the lady, and has failed, and that the wife is cleared by a judgment of God. Our ballad belongs with a very distinct Scandinavian variety of these last, but has adopted one characteristic trait from another source.

The English version, as written down about the middle of the seventeenth century, narrates that Sir Aldingar, steward of King Henry, repulsed by the queen whom he has sought to make his paramour, cannot rest till he has revenge. He takes a lazar that happens to come to the king's gates, and lays him in the queen's bed, promising that in two hours the blind and lame shall be whole and sound; he then goes to fetch the king. The king, convinced by his eyes, says he will hang the lazar and burn his wife, and immediately proceeds to tell the queen his discovery. The queen sees the hand of Aldingar in this, and also the meaning of a dream she has had: how a vulture, or griffin, had carried her crown away, and would have taken her to his nest[31] had it not been for a merlin, a little hawk, that came flying from the east and struck the big bird down. She claims the right to maintain her innocence by battle, and the king gives her forty days to provide herself with a champion, which failing she shall be burnt. No man in all the south country will undertake her cause, but a messenger who rides into the east meets what seems to be a child, who interrogates him, and, getting a slow answer, bids the queen by him to remember her dream and be of good cheer, for when bale is highest boot shall be nighest. The days of grace being out, and no champion found, the queen is put into a tun to burn, and looks only for death. At this moment a child is seen riding from the east, who, when he comes to the fire, orders the brands to be withdrawn and Aldingar to be produced. Aldingar, a very large man, would not have minded fifty such. The child claims the first stroke, and if Aldingar can give a second he need not spare him. Aldingar's legs are cut off at the knee with this stroke. Aldingar asks for a priest to shrive him, confesses everything, and begs the queen's forgiveness. The child enjoins King Harry to take back his wife and love her, for she is true as stone; the lazar under the gallows becomes a sound man at the same instant, and is made steward in Aldingar's place.

The Scottish ballad repeats the main part of this story, dropping all that is miraculous save the simple judgment of God. Rodingham, who represents Aldingar, does not cajole the leper with the promise of being restored to health, but intoxicates him with sweet liquors, and lays him asleep in the queen's bed. The king wishes to believe the queen guiltless, and proposes that she shall find a champion. The champion is an ordinary knight; the leper is neither better nor worse for the part he is made to play; and the knight is rewarded with a gift of lands. That the Scottish ballad is the original of the English is a singularly unhappy idea of Sir Walter Scott's, and it is hard to conceive what suggested such a notion, unless it were the allegation that the sword with which Sir Hugh defended the queen's honor was until a late day producible by his posterity, whereas no one pretends to have the other. But Sir Walter could not seriously have credited this tradition, for he himself observes that there is no instance in history in which the honor of a queen of Scotland was committed to the chance of a duel.

Cousin to the English ballad is the Scandinavian 'Ravengaard og Memering,' Grundtvig, No 13, I, 177-213, 426 f, II, 640-45, III, 779-82, IV, 722-31. There are eleven versions in all, besides a #Norwegian# copy, extant at the end of the last century, of which now only the story is at our command. Eight of the eleven texts are #Danish#, #A-C#, #G-L#. #A# is from a manuscript of the middle of the sixteenth century, and so a hundred years older than 'Sir Aldingar.' The other Danish copies are from recent tradition,[32] and so are #Färöe# #D#, #E#. An #Icelandic# version, #F#, is from a seventeenth-century manuscript.

The old Danish ballad affords the following story. Gunild [Gunder] lives at Spire, and many nobles from all quarters of the compass sue for her hand, which Henry, Duke of Brunswick and Schleswig, obtains. Henry, going to the wars, commits to Ravengaard the protection of his land, and especially of his wife. But no sooner is the duke fairly away than Ravengaard goes to "the queen," and demands of her the sword Adelring, which she has in keeping. This being refused, Ravengaard threatens that he will tell false tales of her, but the lady is not intimidated. The duke comes home, and asks Ravengaard how things are. The country remains as it was, but Gunild has been acting ill. The duke will not believe anything wrong of Gunild; but Ravengaard affirms that he has seen the archbishop with her with his own eyes. Henry, after repeating this charge to Gunild, beats her severely, and nobody dares come to the rescue, or to speak for her, save two ladies of the court, who maintain that Ravengaard has lied. Then let her find a man who will fight with him, says the duke. Bare-headed and bare-foot Gunild goes to the hall where the knights are drinking. They all rise; but when she asks, Is there anybody here who will fight for a woman? there is no response except from Memering. He had served her father fifteen years; never had he seen her so wretched, bare-shouldered, bare-foot. Ravengaard had had more of her father's bounty than anybody, and he has been the first to betray her. Memering had always been last when gifts were giving; but he will go into the lists for her if he can have the sword Adelring, and this Gunild promises him. A ring is marked on the ground for the fight. Ravengaard requires Memering to swear that he knows not of the sword Adelring. Memering (who has thrust the blade into the earth) swears that he does not know of more than the hilt being above ground, and exacts in turn that Ravengaard shall swear that he has no knowledge of the sword Sudevind [Saadering], to which Ravengaard makes oath without qualification. With the first blow Ravengaard cuts Memering's sword in two. This shows, says the duke, what deeds you have been doing. Memering strikes, and cuts Ravengaard's sword in two. Ravengaard asks his adversary to wait a moment till he can tie his shoe, stoops, and picks up the sword Sudevind; for which perjury, says Memering, thy foul soul is lost. Ravengaard now cuts a second sword of Memering's in two. Memering asks for time to tie his shoe, stoops down, and produces the sword Adelring; for which perjury, says Ravengaard, thy foul soul is lost. But Memering had been careful to swear with circumstance: he had sworn that he knew of nothing but the hilt being above ground. With one stroke he cuts Sudevind in two, and with a second Ravengaard's neck. And now Gunild may say to the duke, You see Ravengaard lied. Henry begs forgiveness. Memering, who has a broken head and leg, demands nothing more than bread the rest of his days, but Gunild says she will herself be his leech, and he shall have both bread to eat and scarlet to wear.

The trick of reserving a peculiarly formidable sword is a commonplace in northern sagas,[33] and we are not obliged to suppose that it belonged to the ballad from the beginning. No trace of it is found in the other Scandinavian versions.

The Danish versions from recent oral tradition, #B#, #C#, #G-L#, relate that Henry, going off on an expedition, commits Gunild to the care of Ravnlil, who forthwith demands that she shall do his will, otherwise he will tell a great lie about her. She trusts in the triumph of honesty, and defies him. Henry comes back, and inquires of Ravnlil about his wife, and Ravnlil tells his great lie: Gunild spares neither monk nor priest; he has seen the archbishop with her, #C#. Henry seizes Gunild by the hair, throws her to the ground and beats her; thus shall she be served till she find a kemp that will fight for her. Gunild goes to the kemp-house, and asks if there is any man that will fight for a woman. None who will fight for a whore, #H#, #K#. Memering jumps over the table, #B#, #G#, #I#, and offers to be her champion. At the first shock in the lists Memering's horse is brought to his knees; in the second encounter Memering takes off Ravnlil's head. Henry offers tons of gold to redeem Gunild. Shame befall him that sells her, says Memering, and rides off with Gunild, leaving Henry wringing his hands.

#K#, like #A#, represents that Gunild was wooed from all quarters before she was won by Henry. Memering, who sits lowest at the board, says to Gunild, as in #A# 20-23, that he had served her father eleven years, and never seen her with bare feet. In #C# Memering finds Gunild weeping, and, learning the reason, asks the loan of her father's horse, receives horse and armor of proof, goes where the kemps are drinking, and challenges the slanderer. The burly villain says he will take him in his left hand and chuck him out of the country, crush all his limbs with his little finger. After the fight, Memering presents Gunild with "the head that has belied her," and she carries it to Henry, who asks in wonder, Who in all my land has hewn down a man so big? Memering, the least of men, she says. Henry offers him his Sudselille, his Strudselille, his Spire, but will have Gunild for his own. Memering bids him keep his gifts; he will not resign Gunild, whom he has won. The diminutive size of Memering is noted also in #B#, #H#, #I#, #K#, and the hugeness of Ravnlil in #B#, #G#, #I#. In #H# Memering knocks off his opponent's hat in the first bout, and the head follows in the second. Now we will ride off, says Memering to Gunild; but Gunild will not budge till she has had vengeance on Henry.

The Norwegian story has lost the beginning, but agrees well with the Danish so far as it goes. Gunild goes into the kemps' hall, and asks if any man dare fight for a woman against huge Ronnegaar. All are silent but Mimmer, smallest of Christian men, who offers himself. Gunild holds him cheap for his low stature, and says he had better stay at home and keep his sheep; but he, not rebuffed, mounts his horse, seeks out Ronnegaar, and, after a three days' fight, vanquishes him and cuts off his head, which he ties to his saddle-bow and brings back in triumph.

The Icelandic ballad is in accord with the Danish until we come to the judicium dei, and then an ordeal by hot iron takes the place of the combat. So with the two Färöe copies, which, however, mix both forms, and inconsistently bring in Memering, with nothing for him to do. King Diderik replaces Henry in all three, but Spire remains the place of the action. When the returning king asks after Gunild, he is told that the archbishop has been seen lying with her, or the bishop's brother, and others besides. He seizes her by the hair and drags her from her bed, #F#, beats her for two days, #E#, #F#, and a third, and no one dares interfere. At last two of his children beg him to stop, #D#, #E#; ask what their mother has done, #F#. She has been untrue. Then let her carry iron and walk on steel. Nine times she carries iron and ten times she walks on steel, #F#. The conclusion is very much injured in all these copies. In the Icelandic, #F#, "all her iron bands fall off;" her accuser goes to infernal punishment, and she to heaven. In #D#, #E#, after the children have asked for the ordeal by fire, Gunild goes to the strand, or along the street, and meets Mimmering, smallest of Christian men, #E#, who says he has served her father eight years, and never saw her in such wretched plight. She then goes to another land, #D#; Mimmering takes her from heathen land (which at least makes him of some use), #E#; when she enters a church her iron bands burst. She is making gifts of a Yule day, and gives her traducer a red ring, meaning a rope round his neck.

The names of the four actors in the Scandinavian versions are: Henry, as in English, in all the Danish copies,[34] replaced by King Diderik in Färöe #D#, #E#, Icelandic #F#; Gunild, or Gunder, Gunni, Gunde, in all copies, including the Norwegian; Memering, Mimmering, in all but the Norwegian and Danish #H#, which have the slight modifications Mimmer, Nimmering, these last, as also Färöe #D#, #E#, adding the suffix Tand. There is considerable variety, always with some likeness, in the fourth name: Raffuengaard, Danish #A#; Röngård, #H#; Ronnegaar, the Norwegian; Ravnlil, #B#, #G#, #K#, #L#, Ravnhild, #I#; Rundkrud Hagensgaard, #C#; Roysningur, Färöe #D#, #E#; Rögnvaldr, Icelandic #F#. Ravengaard, Röngård, Ronnegaar, with the Anglo-Latin Rodingar, presently to be mentioned, are evidently the forerunners of the English Aldingar (Sir Raldingar) and Rodingham.[35] The English Eleanor is probably a later substitution for Gunild, become unfamiliar. Eleanor may have been meant or understood for Henry Second's queen (less likely for Henry Third's, though she went into a monastery), but considering how freely the name is dealt with in English ballads, the question is hardly worth raising, and assuredly it never was raised except by editors.[36]

Memering is of diminutive size in #B-E#, #H-K#, the smallest of Christian men in #E#, and also in the Norwegian copy.[37] The large size of his antagonist is noted in #B#, #C#, #G#, #I#, and the Norwegian copy. His representative in English #A# seems no more in a man's likeness than a child of four years old. Aldingar would not have recked had there been half a hundred such; and Aldingar is as big as a fooder, "a tun of man," like Falstaff, though not so unwieldy.

Gunhild, daughter of Cnut the Great and Emma, was married in 1036 to King Henry, afterwards the Emperor Henry III, and died of the plague at Ravenna two years later, never having had any trouble with her husband. William of Malmesbury, who died only a little more than a hundred years after Gunhild, 1142 or 1143, writes of her as follows: She was a girl of extraordinary beauty, and had been sighed for in vain by many suitors before her hand was bestowed upon Henry. She was attended to the ship which was to take her to her husband by a procession so splendid that it was still in William's day the theme of popular song. After many years of married life she was denounced for adultery, and offered as her champion against her accuser (who was a man of gigantic bulk), others refusing, a mere boy that she had brought with her from England, who by miracle hamstrung her defamer. Gunhild then could not be induced by threats or blandishments to live longer with her husband, but took the veil, and passed the remainder of a long life in the service of God.[38]

It will be recognized that we have in this narrative many points of the English and Danish ballad: the beauty of the queen, English #A# 2; her numerous suitors, Danish #A#, #K#; the youth or under size of the queen's champion, who had previously been in the service of her family, and the huge dimensions of the other party; the triumph of weakness and innocence, and Gunhild's separating herself from Henry, Danish #B#, #C#, #G-L#. Nor can we well doubt that William of Malmesbury was citing a ballad, for the queen's wonderful deliverance in so desperate an extremity would be even more likely to be celebrated in popular song than her magnificent wedding, and a ballad is known to have been made upon a similar and equally fabulous adventure which is alleged in chronicle to have occurred to Gunhild's mother.

Malmesbury does not mention the names of the combatants, though he may very well have known them. These names are supplied by a French metrical life of Edward the Confessor, "translatée du Latin," of which the manuscript must have been written before 1272, and may, perhaps, be dated as early as 1245. In this poem we are told that Gunhild, having been calumniated to her husband, the Emperor Henry, was obliged by the custom of the empire to purge herself by battle, and with difficulty could find a champion, because her accuser was of gigantic size. But a dwarf, whom she had brought up, by name Mimecan,[39] undertook to fight for her, hamstrung the giant at the first blow, and at the second cut off his feet, "as the history says." The lady, thus acquitted, declined to have the emperor for her lord. The other name is given in verses describing a picture of the combat, one of many illustrations which adorn the manuscript: How the dwarf Mimecan, to redeem the honor of his mistress, fights with the huge old Rodegan, and cuts off his feet; where Rodegan is, perhaps, an adaptation of Rodingar, for rhyme's sake;[40] but we have Rodyngham in English #B#.

In The Chronica Majora of Matthew Paris, I, 515, ed. Luard, manuscript of the beginning of the fourteenth century, the passage in Malmesbury is repeated, with additions from other sources. The name of Gunhild's champion is given as Mimecan, and the dwarf is further said to have cut off the giant's head, as in the Norwegian version of the ballad and Danish #C#, and to have presented it to his mistress, as in Danish #C#. Brompton's Chronicle, of the second half of the fourteenth century, reiterates the story of the duel, giving the names of both combatants, Mimecan (misprinted or misread Municon) and Roddyngar.[41]

It is highly probable that this story became connected with Gunhild, wife of Henry III, in consequence of her bearing the name Cunigund after her marriage, owing to which circumstance she might become confused with the consort of the Emperor St Henry II, St Cunigund, in whose legendary history there is a passage essentially similar. St Cunigund's married life extended from 1002 to 1024. After Henry's death she retired to a nunnery, and she died "in the service of God," 1033, which corresponds with what Malmesbury says of Gunhild. Notwithstanding the mutual asceticism of the imperial pair, reports obtained, instigated by the devil, that Cunigund had doubly broken her vows, nor did these fail to make an impression on her husband's mind. To justify herself, Cunigund offered to walk barefoot over red-hot ploughshares, or, according to another account, to carry red-hot iron in her hands, and she went through the test without injury.[42] This form of ordeal is of the nature of what is suggested in the Färöe and the Icelandic ballad, and executed in the latter, where Gunild both walks over hot steel and carries hot iron in her hands.

Emma, Gunhild's mother, had the misfortune to be subjected to the same aspersions as her daughter and the Empress Cunigund, and was favored with the like glorious vindication. Accused of having a bishop for her lover, she asked to be submitted to the ordeal of hot iron, and walked over nine glowing ploughshares, in the church of St Swithin, Winchester, not only without injury, but even without the consciousness of what she had done.[43] We are expressly informed that a ballad on the subject was sung by a minstrel in the hall of the prior of St Swithin on the occasion of a visit of the Bishop of Winchester in 1338, in conjunction with another about the giant Colbrand.[44]

Earlier instances of a miraculous exoneration, under similar circumstances, are those of Richarda, or Richardis, wife of the Emperor Charles III, 887, and of Gundeberg, wife of the Lombard king Arioald, c. 630.

Richarda, accused of adultery with a bishop, protests, like Cunigund, not only her innocence of crime, but her intact virginity after a marriage of ten or twelve years, and offers herself to the judgment of God, either by duel or hot ploughshares; or actually proves her integrity by some form of ordeal, divino [aquino] judicio, or by passing through fire in a waxed shift, or donning a wax shift, which is set on fire at her hands and feet. Disculpated thus, she goes, like Cunigund, into a monastery for the rest of her days.[45]

Gundeberg happening to praise a certain nobleman's figure, he solicited her in shameless style, and was most contemptuously rejected. Upon this he tells the king that Gundeberg means to poison her husband and take another man, and the queen is put under confinement. Remonstrance is made by the king of the Franks, to which race Gundberg belongs, and Arioald consents to allow her to clear herself by a champion. One Pitto (otherwise Carellus) fights with the accuser and kills him.[46] If Pitto, as Bugge has suggested, and as seems more than plausible, be Little (old Italian pitetto, etc.), then the root of the Scandinavian-English story is found in the early part of the seventh century. The name Carellus may also be a significant diminutive.

Henry, in the Scandinavian ballad, accepts the testimony of the man in whose charge he had left Gunild, without asking for proof. Circumstantial evidence is offered in the English ballad; the false steward shows the king a leper lying in the queen's bed. Aldingar induces the leper to conform to his orders by promising that he shall be a sound man in two hours. Rodyngham gives the leper a drink, and lays him in the bed asleep. The queen, to the advantage of good taste, but to the detriment of the proof, is not there in either case.

We have here a link with the story of Oliva, or Sibilla, in the Charlemagne cycle of fictions. We may begin with the second section of the Karlamagnus saga, because we know that it was translated from an English copy brought home by a Norseman resident in Scotland in 1287.

Olif is here sister to Charles, and married to King Hugo. Going to the chase, Hugo leaves his wife in the care of his steward, Milon, who had long had a passion for her, and takes advantage of this occasion to declare it. The queen threatens to have him hanged. Milon goes home, puts a potion in a mazer, returns to the queen, and, pretending that what he had said was only a jest and meant to try her virtue, asks her, in token of reconciliation, to drink the cup with him. He feigns to begin; the queen follows in earnest, and falls into a dead sleep. He lays her in her bed, administers the same drink to a black beggar, and, when it has had its effect, lays him by the queen, putting the arms of each about the other's neck. When the king comes back he wonders that his wife does not come to meet him, and asks where she is. The steward answers, as in #A# 8, that the queen has taken a new love, and conducts the king to his chamber. Hugo cuts off the black man's head. Every drop of his blood turns to a burning candle, which makes the king think that he has killed a holy man. But the steward says, Not so; rather she is a witch, that can make stones float and feathers sink, and urges the king, now that his sword is out, to take off the queen's head, too. The king refuses. Olif wakes, and is astounded at what her eyes behold. What means this black man in her bed! God wot, says Milon, he has long been your leman. The queen demands an ordeal, according to the law of the land; and successively proposes that she shall be put naked into a copper over a hot fire, or be thrown from a high tower on sword and spear points, or be taken in a boat out of sight of land and thrown into the water. The king is each time disposed to let her have her way, but is always dissuaded by Milon, who tells him that no such trial would signify anything with a witch of her powers. Hereupon a knight leaps up and knocks Milon down for a liar, and offers to fight him on these terms: Milon to be fully armed and on his best horse, and the challenger to have no armor, a mule for a steed, and a wooden wand for a weapon. Milon is immediately thrown, but the king is still induced to think this to be more of his wife's magic, calls his best men to council, and bids them determine what death she shall die. There is no further resemblance to our ballad. Karlamagnus Saga, Af Fru Olif ok Landres, Unger, p. 51.

A Färöe ballad, 'Óluvu kvæði,' Hammershaimb, in Antiquarisk Tidsskrift, 1846-48, p. 281, repeats this story with variations, and as we are informed by Grundtvig, I, 201, so do Icelandic rimes, 'Landres rímur,' as yet unprinted. In the Färöe ballad, after Óluva's champion (who had come with her from home, like Memering) has unhorsed her accuser, she passes the ordeal of water and fire triumphantly, and still another.

In the Spanish prose romance of Oliva (printed in 1498) and the French chanson de geste of Doon l'Alemanz (fifteenth-century manuscript), the heroine, who is now Pepin's sister, becomes the victim of slander, not in consequence of her having rebuffed an overweening lover, but because the father or uncle of the arch-traitor Ganelon had been thwarted in his plan to match his daughter or sister with the nobleman upon whom Pepin has bestowed Oliva. It is an ordinary young lad who is put into the lady's bed, and no loathsome leper or beggar. The injured woman asks for the ordeal of fire or of water, and, in the Spanish romance, when these are refused her, to be thrown from a tower. After much difficulty this right is conceded in the latter, and, like Richardis,[47] she walks through a blazing fire, in simple shift, without singeing hair or thread. But all this helps her not. F. Wolf, Ueber die neuesten Leistungen der Franzosen, u. s. w., p. 98 ff; C. Sachs Beiträge, u. s. w., p. 2 ff.