The Dedalus Book of Medieval Literature

by Brian Murdoch

  she saw his burden was the very least

  because he’d been the bridegroom at the feast

  and had less on him than the others there;

  the rest had rather heavy loads to bear.

  His new brother-in-law had to drag in

  three whole raw cow-hides on his shoulders then;

  and this was only legal and correct

  for Gobble-goods, the stupid young Helmbrecht.

  Each had to carry some great weight, and pile

  it up as tribute when they came to trial.

  But defence for them could be prepared.

  If anybody thinks they should be spared,

  then God should cut his life a little short!

  (At least, that’s what I think the Good Lord ought

  to do.) I know the judge thought so, at least,

  and he’d have treated any wild beast

  with greater kindness than this wicked band

  after the crimes committed by their hands.

  The executioner hanged nine of them that night,

  but one he left alive – it was his right

  of tithing – one in ten he could elect

  to save – and that was Gobble-goods Helmbrecht.

  Well, what must be, must be – that’s what they say

  and the Lord God will never look away

  and take no notice of a wicked crime –

  that much is clear from Helmbrecht’s fate this time:

  they now took vengeance for his father, when

  his eyes were put out by the hangman’s men;

  but even that was not redress enough –

  they now avenged his mother, and cut off

  one of his hands and one of his feet, too,

  in vengeance for the insult that he threw

  as greeting to his parents when he came

  to see them – bringing only pain and shame.

  He did not greet with courtesy; instead

  ‘you grubby little peasant’ he had said,

  then called his mother ‘common little wife.’

  Because of these sins, Helmbrecht’s wretched life

  was made a thousand times worse – every breath

  he drew just made him wish for death

  rather than live like this, in all his shame,

  spared by the hangman for a life of pain.

  Helmbrecht the robber, crippled, maimed and blind

  now took leave of his sister Gotelind

  at a crossroads, beneath the gallows-tree

  and he set off in pain and misery.

  Young Helmbrecht the blind thief of course now had

  to walk on crutches, led by a small lad,

  and he came to his father’s farm once more;

  but this time he was driven from their door.

  However pitiful the young man looked today,

  listen to what his father had to say!

  ‘Deu sal, Sir Beggar-man! I well recall

  when I once served in our overlord’s hall

  (albeit it was many years ago)

  that that’s a proper greeting – that I know!

  But on your way, you grubby blind beggar.

  I know that you have everything and more

  than any courtier could ever want or need –

  some foreigner will take you in, indeed,

  so all you’ll get from me is a good-day,

  that’s what blind robbers deserve, anyway.

  Why should I waste any more words on you,

  you blinded robber? What am I to do?

  Make sure you very quickly get away

  – and I’ll not brook even a small delay

  before I set my groom upon you, too,

  and make sure that he beats you black and blue,

  like no blind man was ever hurt before –

  You may be blind, but your hide would be sore!

  In any case, I’d reckon it a waste

  if I should give you any food to taste.

  So clear off out of here and leave my door,

  and never ever come back any more.’

  ‘No, sir, I beg you, let me stay with you,’

  said the blind man, ‘and then I’ll tell you true

  what I am known as here in all the land,

  in God’s name recognise me, who I am!’

  The father said: ‘Well, make it quick, and then

  you can be off and on your way again.

  It’s late, someone may take you in somewhere,

  but from me you’ll get nothing, that I swear.’

  In tones of agony and bitter shame

  the young man gave his father his true name

  and said: ‘Sir, recognise me, I’m your son.’

  ‘Well, did they put the eyes out of the one

  who gave himself the name of Gobble-goods,

  and had no fear that any hangman could

  ever catch him – and if pursued by three

  he’d still escape them very easily?

  Oh yes, you said that iron bars you’d bite

  when you rode off upon a horse that night

  that I’d sold cattle, cloth and corn to buy!

  And now a blinded beggar hobbles by!

  It makes me angry when I think of all

  the good things that I sold to no avail,

  when I have always worked to get my bread.

  So even if you lay there nearly dead

  of hunger, you would never get a crust.

  Now shift yourself – I’m telling you, you must

  clear off, get out, keep moving, do not slack,

  and what’s more, make sure you never come back.’

  The blind man heard all this, and then he said:

  ‘If you won’t have me as your son, instead

  in God’s name and the name of charity

  please look into your heart and pity me

  as any blind beggar, and let me come

  into your house just for a little time

  and give a poor sick man some charity

  out of your Christian love and piety.

  The countrymen all hate me everywhere,

  and now, alas, you also hate me here.

  Alas, I cannot live another day

  if from your door you will drive me away.’

  The old man laughed and mocked the beggar too,

  although his heart was breaking – for he knew

  this was his flesh and blood, one of his kin,

  although he stood there blinded before him.

  He said: ‘You rampaged wildly through the land,

  your horse raged onwards and you never reined,

  you galloped and you trampled people down,

  their sufferings never caused you to frown.

  Your robbing and your thieving was so bad

  that you stole every single thing they had

  from many of the farmers’ families.

  Do you remember, though, I once had three

  prophetic dreams? Now of these the first two

  have very clearly both proved to be true.

  But if my third dream (and the worst of all)

  should happen – much worse will befall!

  So get away from here, and rapidly,

  before that dream becomes reality,

  and you must suffer much more than before.

  Groom, go and put the bars on all the doors,

  tonight I want to rest well in my bed.

  I’d rather feed, from now until I’m dead,

  some fellow that I’ve not set eyes upon,

  than give a crust to you! And now, begone.’

  And thus every debt was paid off fully

  on this blind criminal, who seemed to be

  a figure from some nightmare, full of doom.

  ‘Get rid of him,’ he now said to the groom,

  ‘get him out of my sight for evermore.’

  He slapped the lad who led Helmbrecht. ‘Be sure

  that your fine master
would merit the same,

  only to hit a blind man would be shame,

  so I must satisfy myself with you.

  I still have enough breeding that I do

  avoid some things, and my restraint is strong,

  but be warned, that may change before too long.

  So be off, wretched scoundrel, wicked man,

  get out as quickly as you ever can,

  Your very presence fills me with disgust.’

  And yet the mother did give him a crust

  into his hand, as if she’d fed a child.

  The blinded thief who’d been Helmbrecht the wild

  set off across the fields, and everywhere

  he went the farmers shouted to him there:

  ‘Hey, robber Helmbrecht, hear what I’ve to say!

  If on the farm you had chosen to stay,

  working the land and ploughing, same as me,

  a blinded cripple you would not now be!’

  And thus he suffered while one year went past

  till death by hanging brought an end at last.

  Now I shall tell you how this came to be.

  A farmer saw him once by chance when he

  was one day walking through the forest, to collect

  some firewood, and then he spotted Helmbrecht

  (quite early in the morning); and he saw

  the man who’d robbed him of his cow before

  –a valuable one, it had cost him dear.

  So when he saw blind Helmbrecht come so near

  he called his people to him, and he asked

  if they would come and help him in his task.

  ‘Gladly,’ said one of them – ‘I’ll gladly do

  whatever you want, beat him black and blue,

  I’ll happily grind him into the ground,

  if no-one holds me back, now that I’ve found

  the one who robbed me and who robbed my wife,

  who took our goods and ruined us for life,

  who stole the very garments off our back!

  I’ve got the right to get revenge for that.’

  Another who was there said: ‘Wait for me,

  for even if he had the strength of three

  I’d kill him with these two bare hands of mine,

  the filthy wretch, the villain and the swine,

  he broke into my stores and stole the lot,

  robbed us of every single thing we’d got.’

  The next man who had come along there said,

  trembling with inner anger as he did

  so: ‘I shall kill him like a very rat,

  and I too have every right to do that.

  He came along one night a while back

  and took my child, and threw him in a sack,

  when we inside the house were all asleep.

  We woke up when the child began to weep

  and scream and cry to us for help; but no –

  Helmbrecht just laughed, and threw it in the snow.

  My child without doubt would then have died

  if I had not come quickly to his side.’

  A fifth man said: ‘It really pleases me

  that Helmbrecht’s within reach of us, I see,

  so I can take revenge on him as well

  and help to send this wretched man to hell.

  He raped my daughter when to us he came,

  so I don’t care if he is blind or lame,

  I’ll see him hanging from the nearest tree;

  that time he nearly put an end to me,

  and I only just managed to escape.

  If he were twice as tall and twice as great

  I’d get revenge on him, the evil wretch,

  and penetrate the deepest wood to fetch

  him out – let’s go and get him if we can.’

  ‘Get him,’ they all cried out, and to a man

  ran after Helmbrecht, rushing to make sure

  that he did not escape them any more,

  and while they rained blows on him, they all said:

  ‘Helmbrecht, that cape you’ve got upon your head

  is something the hangman forgot to take!’

  He had indeed. But now the famous cape

  was utterly destroyed, torn up and lost,

  no matter what had been its one-time cost.

  We started with the cape – let’s end with it;

  there wasn’t left a single little bit

  that was more than a centimetre wide –

  the parrots and the larks, and all beside,

  the hawks and turtle-doves so very fine

  that had embellished Helmbrecht’s hood – this time

  they all were scattered, thrown upon the ground,

  and little scraps of it lay all around,

  not only hood, but also Helmbrecht’s hair!

  I’ve told the story and I’ve told it fair,

  so now you must believe me when I say

  what happened to the hood that dreadful day,

  and how they ripped it into bits so small

  and tore his hair out so that he was bald,

  without a single lock upon his head

  of that long flaxen hair. But now instead

  he was shorn of it, all his joy and pride

  lay scattered all around on the roadside.

  But there was worse to come for Helmbrecht there:

  they grabbed the blind thief, made him say his prayers,

  and when he’d done, they took a clump of earth,

  and gave it to the sinner; all its worth

  was as a token that might serve him well

  when he set out upon the road to hell.

  And then they hanged him on the highest tree.

  His father’s dream – the last one of the three –

  was thus proved true when he was hanged that way.

  And of Helmbrecht, that’s all there is to say.

  Youth can be arrogant, and find absurd

  their mother’s and their father’s warning words,

  so let such youth be warned by me today

  not to behave like Helmbrecht anyway.

  For if they do, I know that I can state

  they will be caught, and they’ll share Helmbrecht’s fate.

  Helmbrecht had made the streets unsafe for men;

  he died, and now they are safe once again,

  with Helmbrecht safely hanging from a tree.

  So listen, youth, and listen carefully:

  Think very hard indeed – that is my rule

  before dismissing me as just a fool;

  fools and wise men can both give you wise words.

  So what if Helmbrecht, whose tale we have heard,

  should spawn some imitators, copy-cats?

  They would be little Helmbrechts, and for that

  the world would have no peace till it could see

  them make the same way to the gallows-tree.

  If you should read this story, pray for me

  that God upon my soul should have mercy,

  and smile upon a poet, poor in fame:

  Wernher der Gartenaere is my name.

  The Wandering Scholars

  The best-known of the medieval wandering scholars, the secular Latin poet known just as the ‘Archpoet’ died in about 1165, and seems to have been a German attached to the retinue of Reinald, chancellor to Frederick Barbarossa. These wandering poets tended to stick to wine, women, song and gambling as their themes, alternating with requests to their patrons for funds. The Archpoet’s Confession is very well-known, but rather long, so this is an extract. The last strophe here has been called ‘the greatest drinking song ever.’

  The Archpoet

  The Confession

  There’s a burning in my guts,

  with rage the fires play;

  now from my inner bitterness

  hear what I’ve got to say.

  I’m made of insubstantial stuff

  and less than nothing weigh,

  I’m no more than
a fallen leaf

  the winds can blow away.

  Now, this is what wise men are like:

  their natural property

  is to be anchored to a rock,

  and settled solidly.

  I, therefore, have to be a fool,

  a flowing stream, that’s me!

  Never beneath the same sky twice

  and always floating free.

  I’m drifting on the sea of life,

  a ship without a crew,

  just like the free birds of the air,

  high-flying in the blue.

  No chains can ever bind me down,

  no locks hold me – it’s true!

  I go and find a few like minds,

  debauchers through and through.

  To me a solemn attitude

  is just an imposition;

  I find a life of jollity

  a sweeter proposition;

  pursuing the delights of love

  is my preferred condition,

  and Venus never works on men

  of pompous disposition.

  I’m off along the broadest path

  while I’m still young and vernal;

  I’ll get involved with lots of vice

  and the virtues I’ll spurn all.

  I’m hungrier for earthly lusts

  than for the life eternal,

  and since the spirit’s a dead loss,

  I’ll focus on the carnal.

  I’m sure that you will be discreet

  and hope you will be fair;

  however – what a way to die!

  Such sweet poison I’ll dare.

  You see, I’m pierced right to the heart

  by beauty rich and rare,

  and even though I may not touch,

  my mind is right in there!

  It’s hard to keep your urges down,

  restrain your manly vigour.

  No man can keep his thoughts all pure

  faced with a shapely figure!

  We’re far too young to be confined

  by morals and their rigour;

  our bodies want to take control,

  the pressures just get bigger.

  …

  The second thing they throw at me

  is that I like a flutter.

  Well, now and then I’ve lost my shirt,

  and frozen in some gutter.

  But who cares if the body’s cold,

  the mind loses its clutter,

  it gives an edge to all the songs

  and verses that I utter.

  My drinking is another thing

  that they’re always decrying.

  I’ve never scorned the habit yet,