I
The early stages
Twelfth and thirteenth centuries

When does a literature begin? With the first text, one would say, and the answer seems neat and simple. But the literary historian, more often than not, is not satisfied with a first text and asks for more. The first text, he argues, is only the first text that has been preserved, and he is prepared to spend a great deal of time and energy in trying to find out whether there were any texts before this first one, and if so, what these lost texts were like. So he milks the available evidence down to the last drop of information, with results that are often spectacular, but at the same time highly speculative.

In Dutch literature, too, a great deal of speculation has been going on about the question of whether there was a literature in the vernacular before the first texts appear in the twelfth century. It seems beyond doubt now that there was. The comparatively high standard of literary technique of the oldest preserved works suggests this very strongly, and, moreover, we do have some references to works that did exist once. We know the name of Bernlef, a Frisian bard, who is mentioned in Altfridus's biography of Liudger. Bernlef lived in the Carlovingian period (he died in 809), and Altfridus says of him that he sang the heroic deeds of the Frisians and the wars of their kings, accompanying himself on the harp. So the pre-twelfth-century silence was not completely unbroken, but we do not know whether Bernlef was a lone figure or one of many, nor what his work was like. A notorious apodictic statement ‘Frisia non cantat’ - the origin of which has not yet been traced - seems to

suggest that there were not very many Bernlefs, but it is a statement that allows of many interpretations: it may have been an overstatement, a wild generalization, an angry outburst by an embittered poet, or a home-truth. We do know, on the other hand, that in that same period there were Frankish songs, because Charlemagne showed great interest in them and made an effort to have them collected and recorded. Unfortunately, not a single song of this collection has been preserved; they were destroyed, it is said, by order of Charlemagne's son.

The political disintegration of the post-Carlovingian period was on the whole not very conducive to literary production. Western Europe was in constant turmoil, and the internal unrest and uncertainty were aggravated by frequent invasions of the Norsemen. Much of what was written must have been destroyed under these circumstances. The only text we have left of this period is extremely short, little more than one full sentence. It is to be found on the last page of a manuscript in the Bodleian Library at Oxford and was discovered in 1932. On that page someone must have been trying out a new pen by writing ‘probatio pennae si bona sit’ (‘test to see whether the pen is good’, an early version of ‘the quick brown fox’). To this he added a Latin sentence with a version of the same sentence in what the philologists call Old West Lower Frankish, the oldest known stage of Dutch. This sentence reads: hebban olla vogala nestas hagunnan hinase hic enda thu wat unbidan we nu (all birds have begun their nests except me and you; what are we waiting for now). It dates probably from the middle of the eleventh century and stands therefore at the beginning of Dutch literature. Some read it as an expression of home-sickness of a Flemish monk who lived in England, others interpret it as the desire for the spiritual peace of monastic life, but it looks most like a love poem, or at any rate the beginning of one.

The first complete work of literature in Dutch comes from the southern part of the Low Countries. In fact, most medieval Dutch literature originates from the south, that is

from Limburg, Flanders and Brabant. Holland remained a backwater for a long time and did not come out of its cultural isolation until the fourteenth century. The southern regions had the advantage of their geographical position, close to the cultural centres of Western Europe and at the cross-roads of several trade-routes. The county of Flanders, with the port of Bruges, grew rapidly to great prosperity through its wool trade and cloth industry (Ypres, Ghent), establishing in this way a firm basis for cultural development. Moreover, Flanders was a fief of the king of France, so that French culture had easy access and provided a strong stimulus for the development of local cultural life. Limburg, which lay open to the Rhineland, was at first more orientated towards Germany: it belonged to the diocese of Liege, which in its turn was part of the archdiocese of Cologne. In the later Middle Ages, however, Limburg gravitated more towards France, and when the first literary work appeared in Limburg, it showed a closer relationship with French literature than with German. Much the same can be said of Brabant: its original ties with the German Rhineland were gradually resolved in favour of an orientation towards France. In addition to this, the nobility at the courts of Flanders and Brabant was to a large extent gallicized, so that their authority in cultural matters became an instrument for the spreading of French culture rather than for the development of something really Dutch.

It is not surprising then that the first phase of literary life in the Low Countries was dominated by French literature. Most works of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries were translated or adapted from the French. Even the odd original among them, such as Karel ende Elegast , is part and parcel of the French literary tradition. But although medieval Dutch literature is on the whole derivative, there are some notable exceptions, the most outstanding of which is the animal epic Vanden Vos Reinaerde, the first literary product of that typically individualistic culture that was growing up in the Dutch cities and that was to exert such a strong

influence on the shaping of intellectual life in the Low Countries later on.

The earliest work of literature in Dutch dates from the years between 1160 and 1170 (which are also the years in which the first works in English appear again after the great silence following the Norman Conquest). It is the biography of a saint, Het leven van Sint Servaes (The Life of St. Servatius), written by Hendrik van Veldeke, a Limburg nobleman. Veldeke has always been a puzzle to literary historians, as the biography of St. Servatius is the only work of his that we have left in Middle Dutch. His other works, the Eneid and his love poems, are only extant in Middle High German. A discussion has long been going on about the question of which is the original language of these works and whether they may have been translated from Middle Dutch into Middle High German. It now seems likely that Veldeke began his Eneid in Dutch. Before he had finished it, however, he lent the manuscript to a friend, the Countess of Cleve, who lost it. It turned up again in Thuringia, where Veldeke completed it and where it was presumably translated into Middle High German. From then onwards Veldeke exercised a strong influence on Middle High German literature and became the man who really established the tradition of the love lyric in Germany. He was regarded as the master by German poets such as Wolfram von Eschenbach and Gottfried von Strassburg, and was mentioned and praised by several of his German successors as an innovater of poetic technique. The strange fact that none of his Dutch contemporaries or successors makes any mention of his technical innovations might perhaps be explained by the view, held by Van Mierlo, that in Dutch literature he was not an innovator at all, but one of a group of poets who were already using the same technique, i.e. lines of more or less equal length and pure rhymes.

Het Leven van Sint Servaes is not an original poem, but an adaptation from a Latin source, Vita et Miracula, a collection of stories about saints and miracles, dating back to

the end of the eleventh century. It is a poem of about 6000 lines, written in rhyming couplets as most Middle Dutch literature was. As a work of art it is not very remarkable and it certainly does not come up to the level of the Eneid. It tells rather drily the life and death of Servatius, a fourth-century bishop of Maastricht, and the miracles performed by him after his death. The most interesting passage is probably the one in which Servatius - with typical medieval lack of historical perspective - comes into contact with King Attila of the Huns (fifth century) and converts him to Christianity, for a short while at any rate.

This hagiographic genre - biographies of saints and accounts of miracles - was an important and much-practised genre in the Middle Ages, but also one which rarely produced literature of any great merit. More interesting from a literary point of view are the romances of chivalry, the first of which appear in the Low Countries in the second half of the twelfth century and which continue right through into the fourteenth century. In Dutch literature they are usually divided into four groups: Frankish, British, Eastern and Classical romances. This division is made only on the basis of their subject-matter; the originals were all written in France and came to the Low Countries from French literature. The vexed question of the genesis and development of the French originals is therefore a problem that strictly speaking does not concern Dutch literary history: the genre originated and developed in France and reached the Low Countries as a finished product. So far as Dutch literature is concerned, their development is pre-history. It is interesting to note, however, that scholars are more and more inclined to accept Germanic epic songs as the basis of the French chansons de geste.

With one exception (Flovent), the Frankish romances deal with the Carlovingians and usually centre on Charles the Great (Charlemagne), his friends and his enemies. Their main theme is the contrast between loyalty and treachery, the main events are the rebellions of the feudal tenants and vassals against their overlords, and in particular against

Charles. It is significant that Charles does not usually appear in these poems as the great strong king, but rather as a weak old man who is all the time pressed hard by his opponents: a theme that does not really surprise when one recalls that the feudal world was in ferment. One finds this clearly shown in one of the best-known Frankish romances, Renout van Montalbaen . There is not much left of the Dutch version, no more than about 2000 lines, but we can fill in the gaps from a fifteenth-century prose adaptation. Judging by what we have left, it must have been a very good poem indeed, written in a concise, terse, matter-of-fact style, a little like a chronicle perhaps, but with an economy of words that is rare in a medieval poet. It describes the rebellion of Haymijn against Charles. Actually, the poem begins with an attempted reconciliation between the two on the occasion of Haymijn's marriage to Charles's sister Aye. Charles, however, refuses to come to the wedding, which infuriates Haymijn to such an extent that he swears to kill all children to be born from his marriage to Aye. In the course of years, Aye bears him four sons, but she manages to conceal the events and to keep the boys away from their father, in which she is greatly helped by Haymijn's always being away waging war at the crucial times. When Charles is growing old and his son Louis about to succeed him, Haymijn is also invited to the coronation. But he refuses from a sense of humiliation because he has no son himself. Aye then triumphantly produces the four sons, the famous ‘Heemskinderen’. Haymijn, elated, gives them the horse Beyaert, which seats four, and they set off for the court. The four sons behave rather brashly, they kill the cook, and defeat Louis in a stone-throwing game and later on also at chess. Louis loses his temper, strikes one of the brothers, is killed by another, and it is war again. Haymijn, his four sons, the invincible horse Beyaert and a guerilla band of knights fight the king for many years. When the two parties finally decide to make peace, the king's first condition is that they kill the horse. Reinout, the brother who had killed Louis, does this and then makes a pilgrimage to the Holy

Land. On his return he helps to build St. Peter's at Cologne, but is killed by the workmen who resent his working so hard.

This Renout van Montalbaen was a very popular poem and was still known as a folk story in certain parts of France, Germany and Italy at the end of the last century. Just as popular, or perhaps even more so, was another Frankish romance, Karel ende Elegast . It was one of the first books printed in the Low Countries, and the fact that no less than six copies of these early prints are extant, is indicative of its high degree of popularity. In comparison with other Frankish romances, it is a very short poem, consisting of only 1414 lines. These are not fragments, as in the case of Renout van Montalbaen, but they constitute the whole poem. It is the only Frankish romance that has been preserved in its entirety. No French original has been found, and as the poem itself gives no indication of being a translation, we may assume it to be an original Dutch poem, though wholly bound up in the tradition of the French epic romance.

The theme of Karel ende Elegast is the usual one: loyalty versus treason, but the approach is rather different. In this poem Charles the Great is neither weak and bungling nor cruel and unforgiving. He is the great Christian king, with a clear ethical code, who is capable of forgiving and who is not above setting right an injustice which he has once committed. Elegast, who is really the central character, is also quite different from the usual heroes of a Frankish romance. His name, meaning King of the Elves, suggests strongly that he is a fairy-tale figure and his actions in the poem also place him in a fairy-tale atmosphere rather than in the grimly realistic world of the Frankish romance: he can put people to sleep with a magic code, he opens locks without a key, and he possesses a herb which, when he puts it in his mouth, makes him understand the language of animals. He is an old friend of Charles, but has fallen into disgrace and is now roaming the forest as a kind of gentleman-thief, robbing the rich and protecting the poor. Charles, who is obeying a heavenly command to go stealing, meets him in the forest at night and

defeats him in a duel. Elegast makes himself known to Charles, but Charles hides his own identity and pretends to be a thief too. Charles proposes to burgle the king's castle, but Elegast rejects this indignantly: though Charles has treated him unjustly, he remains loyal to him. They decide to go to Eggeric van Eggermonde's (a Germanic name, by the way, just like Elegast). On the way, there is an amusing scene when Charles, badly equipped for a robbery, picks up a ploughshare to break in with, thereby neatly demonstrating his amateur status. He gives another demonstration of this when Elegast lets him try out the magic herb and then abstracts it from the mouth of the king without him noticing it. They break into Eggeric's castle and Elegast overhears a conversation between Eggeric and his wife, about a plot that Eggeric is hatching to murder the king. When Charles hears this, his thieving expedition begins to make sense to him. The next day Eggeric and his cronies arrive at Charles's court. They are searched, their weapons found, but they deny everything. Their guilt is proved by a duel between Eggeric and Elegast, and Eggeric is duly killed. As Eggeric's wife had remained loyal to Charles, she is given in marriage to Elegast who is fully rehabilitated.

Karel ende Elegast is undoubtedly the best of the Frankish romances. It is very well written, with a great sense of humour, it wastes no words and contains no dull spots. There is more attempt at characterization than is usually found in this type of literature, and above all it has a very tight dramatic structure which, without getting side-tracked at all, logically leads up to the answer to the puzzling question: why should Charles go out stealing?

The author is unknown and one cannot be absolutely sure about the date of origin either. Some scholars are positive that it was written at the end of the twelfth century, others place it in the thirteenth century. Arguments in favour of the earlier date are the shortness of the poem and the fact that in some instances it still shows the old construction of three-beat lines.

Still in the twelfth century, but outside the tradition of the epic romance, we find a curious poem known as De Reis van Sint Brandaen (The Voyage of St. Brandan). It is a kind of Christian Odyssey and describes the voyage around the world made by Brandaen, a monk of Galway. Brandaen reads a book that deals with the miracles of creation. He refuses to believe what he reads and throws the book angrily into the fire. An angel then tells him that the truth has now been destroyed and that he has to sail around the world for nine years in order to discover again what is true and what is not. Brandaen does this and finds a great deal worth recording: a man on a rock in the middle of the sea who claims to have been king of Pamphilia and Cappadocia and who is now doing penance for having married his sister; a number of people with wolves' teeth, swine's heads and dogs' legs, carrying bow and arrow and being very hostile; an enormous fish that takes its tail in its mouth and in this way encircles the ship for a fortnight; Judas frozen on one side and burning on the other; a particularly small man who sails the sea in a leaf and is busy measuring its water content by letting drops of water run off a stick into a small cup, and so on and so forth. It is a lively poem, quite humorous at times because of Brandaen's laconic comments on all these wonders and horrors. When the erstwhile king of Pamphilia, for example, tells his tale of woe, Brandaen's only reaction is to ask him what he is going to do when it turns cold. The Dutch poem seems to go back to a Middle High German text that has not been preserved and is a combination of Celtic elements from Ireland with fairy tales and Christian motifs. It belongs to the tradition of the Imrama, stories of voyages, which as a genre date from the seventh century. The English Life of Saint Brandan is a much later poem, belonging to the fourteenth century, and translated from the French.

In the thirteenth century we find a much greater variety of genres than in the twelfth century. The tradition of the Frankish epic romances was continued in the large and

sombre poem De Lorreinen (The Lorrains), which deals with a never-ending feud between the lords of Lorraine and their numerous enemies. But after that the Frankish romance disappears and its place is taken by the British romance.

The British romances also originate from France, but instead of dealing with Charlemagne and his entourage, they are concerned with King Arthur and his knights. Just as important as the change of subject-matter is the change of atmosphere of these poems. The Frankish romances were poems of battle, into which women fitted badly. The British romances on the other hand breathe the atmosphere of the court with its refinement, its strict code of honour and its high regard for women. Particularly in the attitude to women the difference between the two kinds of romances is striking. In the Frankish romances women were given short shrift and were supposed to be meek, docile and ever-loving. When they dared to express an opinion which displeased the Frankish hero, no words were wasted and no half-measures taken. When Aye in Renout van Montalbaen very rightly berated her husband for his bad manners, she was silenced by terrible blows, but her only reaction was to go up to him and kiss him; when Eggeric's wife in Karel ende Elegast disapproved of her husband's murder scheme, she was struck hard on the nose and mouth, while later on she was given to Elegast without having any say in the matter whatsoever. In the British romances one does not find anything of this kind. When in Ferguut , for example, Arthur expresses his admiration for the fair Galiene, he says that he would not mind marrying her, but only if she were willing to have him.

The British romances are full of adventures and often contain fairy-tale elements. The adventures are usually set within the framework of a quest, the object of which may be a mysterious veil, a shield with an interesting history, a particularly beautiful horn or a hovering chessboard. On these quests the knights enter enchanted castles, drink from rejuvenating springs, sleep on beds that heal their wounds, walk over bridges as narrow as the edge of a sword, fight

winged and fire-breathing dragons, dwarfs, giants and other abominations.

The best example of a British romance in Dutch is Walewein, which has the additional interest of being an original, although the two authors, Penninc and Vostaert, drew upon several sources for the subject-material of their poem. It was written in the early years of the thirteenth century, probably between 1200 and 1214. The main theme is a quest, or rather a series of quests which Walewein undertakes and which give the poems its characteristic chainlike structure. The various quests are the links of the chain, all firmly connected to one another, but a few links more or less would not have affected the organization of the poem. From a structural point of view Walewein consists of a number of co-ordinating episodes, all of about equal intensity, and leading up to a dénouement rather than to a dramatic climax. In this respect Walewein forms a clear contrast to Karel ende Elegast, with its sub-ordinating structure in which each new element heightens the tension.

The series of quests through which Walewein, one of King Arthur's knights, has to work his way, is as follows. Walewein promises Arthur to find the chessboard that had come floating into the castle but which had disappeared again. He finds it at King Wonder's. The king is willing to give it to Walewein, but on condition that in return Walewein will find the sword with the two rings, which is in the possession of King Amoraen. When King Amoraen is approached, he is willing to part with the sword, but only if Walewein will bring him the beautiful Isabel, more beautiful than Venus, who is being kept prisoner by her father, King Assentijn, in a castle fortified by twelve walls, each with four times twenty towers and deep rivers in between. Walewein manages to enter this castle, he finds Isabel who falls in love with him, he is discovered by Assentijn and locked up, but he succeeds in escaping and sets out with Isabel on his way back to Amoraen (who in this part of the poem is called Amorijs, still retaining amor as the main part of his name).

Isabel does not know that she is to be traded for a sword, but fortunately Amoraen has died and she can stay with Walewein. From Amoraen's castle they move back to King Wonder's, where the sword is exchanged for the chessboard, and then further back to King Arthur who collects the original object of the quest. Whether Walewein married Isabel is uncertain, according to the poet.

In Ferguut, an adaptation of the French Fergus by Guillaume le Clerc, we find the life story of a peasant who wants to become a knight. It is a tale of two worlds: the world of the court and the world of the country, set in sharp contrast. Ferguut does the seemingly impossible and makes the leap from his lowly peasant background into the courtly world of the knights. At the very beginning of the poem it is made clear that Ferguut can only do this because on his mother's side there were some knights in his ancestry: without this he would not have had any chance at all. But his education is long and arduous and he has to put up with a great deal of contempt and scorn. When he first arrives at Arthur's court, he behaves clumsily and is ridiculed by Keye, the man with the sharpest tongue among Arthur's companions. Ferguut has offered to give advice to the knights, and then Keye delivers a cuttingly ironical speech in which he says that Ferguut has come at the right time as they are badly in need of some good advice. Also, he says, he has never seen a better-looking knight, nor any prince who held his lance and shield better. But Ferguut's worst moment comes when he meets Galiene. She falls in love with him, so violently that she has to tell him so. She hesitates, but comforts herself with the thought that her love is so strong that the lowliest peasant would have pity on her. She goes to his bedroom at night and tells him that she has lost her heart. Would he know where it is? Ferguut is unable to deal with the situation in a courtly fashion and laughs at her. He does not have her heart, he has not seen it, and he has no idea where it could be. He asks her to go away as he has more important things to do. His boorishness shames Galiene

and she retires sadly. Later on Ferguut realizes that he has not behaved in the best tradition of a nobleman, and through his remorse and shame and his attempts to win Galiene back, he matures into a real knight. Although several other romances touch upon the distance between the world of the nobleman and that of the common man, no other romance demonstrates it as clearly as Ferguut does.

There are several other British romances, but they are mostly translations and adaptations from the French. The largest one is the Lancelot compilation, a manuscript of about 90,000 verses, containing the book of Lancelot, a short Perceval, the Graal queeste (Quest of the Grail), Arthurs Dood (Arthur's Death) and some others.

The eastern and classical romances are not very strongly represented in Dutch literature. In the first place one cannot point to any originals. What has been preserved are translations, and even those are few and far between. Apart from some fragments of Parthenopeus van Bloys, the only eastern romance that has been preserved is a version of Floris ende Blancefloer, a story with a Byzantine background which became one of the great medieval lovestories.

The two main classical romances were both written by the same man, Jacob van Maerlant, and they are really more important for the insight they give into the working method of this poet than for their intrinsic value. Alexanders Geesten (The Heroic Deeds of Alexander) seems to have been Maerlant's first poem and it is typical of his approach. Maerlant considered himself a historian, a man in search of facts, and not simply a narrator of interesting and more or less probable stories. He realized that the story of Alexander, in the course of the fifteen centuries that lay between Alexander's time and his own day, had become a tangle of history, myth and legend, and when he wrote his account of Alexander, he tried to scrape off the coat of myth to show only unadorned history. He deliberately chose a Latin source to work from, because he questioned the reliability of the French sources. His intentions, however, were better than his

achievements, for his Latin source - Gauthier de Chastillon's Alexandreis - was not impeccable either. It was also characteristic of Maerlant that he did not translate the text literally or without discrimination, but that he left out some passages and on the other hand extended the poem by putting in a great deal of didactic material such as biblical history and geography. It is, however, ironical that he sometimes drew this material from the very sources that Gauthier rejected as being too fantastic. When Maerlant sensed later on that Gauthier was not as reliable as he had thought him to be, he dissociated himself from his own poem, but he was an economical enough poet to save some of the historical and geographical passages and to use them again in other works, for example in his second classical romance, Historie van Troyen (History of Troy). In this poem he also incorporated the only other classical romance in Dutch, a poem by an older contemporary, Segher Dengotgaf, who had begun to write the story of the Trojan war but had not finished it.

Jacob van Maerlant is the first poet we know a little more about, though it is still not a great deal. He was a West Fleming, who lived in the neighbourhood of Bruges, probably between 1235 and 1291. He is also the first poet whose entire oeuvre has been preserved, or very nearly, for we still lack a few poems. He made his debut with Alexanders Geesten, followed a few years later by Historie van Troyen, the poem with which he made his name. In between these two classical romances he tried his hand at some British romances: Merlijn (Merlin), a book about the great magician, and Torec, a story of the quest for a gold diadem. Torec contains a curious didactic digression about a Room of Wisdom in which for days on end a number of wise men and women are discussing the shocking morals of the higher circles, the predominant position of money and the evils thereof, and love. Maerlant never wrote purely for entertainment as the other poets of romances did; whenever he could he inserted didactic material or launched diatribes

against the deplorable state the world was in.

After these works Maerlant took his leave of the epic romance and switched over to entirely didactic poetry. And when Maerlant turned away from the epic romance, this was also the turning-point for the genre as such. It was still practised in the late thirteenth century and also in the fourteenth century, but it no longer produced works of the calibre of Karel ende Elegast or Walewein . With the changes which took place in society in the thirteenth century giving the burghers a far more prominent position than they had had before, the interest in literature also changed. The glamour of the nobleman faded, and with it faded the genre of the epic romance. The burghers turned towards a literature that was closer to reality and offered more practical knowledge. And that was precisely what Maerlant offered them in his didactic poems. He began with a poem about dreams and one about stones, neither of which has been preserved. They were followed by Der Naturen Bloeme (The Best of Nature), a natural history, Spieghel Historiael (Mirror of History), a world history from creation up to 1250, Hemelechede der Hemelijcheit (Secret of the Mystery), a poem about statecraft, hygiene and morals, and Rijmbijbel (Verse Bible). None of these poems was original, all of them were adaptations of medieval Latin works. They do not contain very great poetry either, they are often dull and clumsy, more important as social phenomena than as works of art. But they were extremely popular, as can be measured by the number of manuscripts extant: of the Rijmbijbel there are no less than seventeen still in existence, of Der Naturen Bloeme eleven; it is thought that of this later work about one hundred copies were made, which is a great many indeed.

Maerlant shows himself a better poet in his Strofische Gedichten (Strophic Poems). They are so called because they were not written in the rhyming couplets of his other work, but in stanzas, each consisting of thirteen lines with two rhymes: 4 x aab and the last line b. Three of these poems were written in dialogue form: the poet and his friend

Martyn dicuss all sorts of problems concerning class, social order, love and theology. They are full of social criticism, very caustic at times, but also strongly coloured by Franciscan humility and by the Franciscan views on wealth and poverty: Maerlant was not for nothing also the translator of Bonaventura's biography of St. Francis. This comes out clearly in the first dialogue Wapene Martyn (Alas, Martin), in which Maerlant states that all the troubles of the world can be reduced to the words ‘mine’ and ‘thine’: if these two words did not exist, there would be peace and freedom everywhere. They are very incisive poems and far more personal than his long didactic works, but in all Maerlant's poetry there remains an inner dryness that is never quite compensated by his emotions, however sincerely he must have felt them and however forcefully he tried to express them. This also applies to his last poems, his most personal perhaps: Der Kercken Claghe (The Complaint of the Church), a courageous and passionate attack on abuses in the Church, and Vanden Lande van Oversee (Of the Overseas Country), an exhortation, with all guns out, to a new crusade. Although Maerlant's popularity was enormous and his influence long-lasting, one must admit that he was only occasionally a real poet. It is not in Maerlant's work then that one finds the masterpieces of Dutch medieval literature. They are to be found, after Karel ende Elegast, in two very different genres: the literature of mysticism and the animal epic.

The first representative of mystic literature was Beatrijs van Nazareth, a nun who lived in the first half of the thirteenth century. She must have written a great deal, but the only work we have left in Dutch is a prose dissertation Seven Manieren van Minnen (Seven Ways of Love). The book describes the seven stages through which love is purified and transformed before it can return to God. Beatrijs, who was the earliest Dutch prose writer we know of, wrote a simple and clear style, quiet and well-balanced, but sometimes seasoned with a vehemence of expression that

foreshadows the later mystics. Her work reads as a kind of introduction to that of Hadewych, the great mystical poet. This may, of course, be an optical illusion, as most of Beatrijs's work has not been preserved, whereas the greater art of Hadewych's has. Moreover, it is not at all certain that Beatrijs was older than Hadewych.

About Hadewych's life we know next to nothing. The only certain facts are that she lived in the southern part of the Low Countries during the first half of the thirteenth century. As she was obviously well acquainted with things concerning nobility, it is not unlikely that she came from a noble family. The lack of information about her personal life is not a tragedy, however, for we have her work from which we get to know her personality very thoroughly.

Her work falls into three categories: poetry in stanzas and rhyming couplets, visions in prose, and letters in prose. In the Brieven (Letters), addressed to one or more friends whom she gave spiritual guidance, she developed her theology. The core of it is similar to Beatrijs's: the soul, created by God after his own image, strives to be re-united with God, through ascetic concentration and complete surrender to divine love. This love (minne is the word she uses), and the desire with which it is sought, take up a central position in her work. Minne escapes sharp definition: sometimes it seems to mean love of God, in other cases God himself, or the Holy Ghost, or even the soul. The fact that minne has so many connotations is not a symptom of unclear thinking, but evidence that to Hadewych these connotations were all aspects of the same thing: the relation between God and man. At the same time Hadewych wrote with the mentality of a knight. The qualities which she praised and aspired to - courage, loyalty, honour, and also cheerfulness, generosity, self-control - fit into the pattern of the courtly chivalric atmosphere. Although they were transplanted by her into a mystic-religious context, they are still recognizable as the old worldly ideals. The description of the effect minne has on her are often couched in remarkably sensual terms. A good

illustration of this is to be found in the seventh of the fourteen prose pieces known as Visioenen (Visions):

At Whitsun something was shown to me at dawn and they were singing matins in the church, and I was there; and my heart and my veins and all my limbs shook and trembled with desire; and I felt as I often did before, so violent and so terrible, that I thought if I could not satisfy my beloved, and my beloved could not satisfy my desire, I would die, and would die insane. Then this covetous love had such a terrible and woeful effect on me that all my limbs, one by one, were breaking, and all my veins, one by one, were labouring. The desire in which I was then was unspeakable, and what I could say about it would be unheard of to all those who never practised love with the works of desire and who were themselves never used by love.

Even if the concept of minne remains vague, the important thing is the intensity and the passion with which she speaks about it, and it is this intensity that makes her work so outstanding in medieval literature. One of the remarkable things in Hadewych's work is also that she tried to restrain herself from a premature surrender to minne by letting herself be guided by reason. Reason must lead the soul on its way to God. This realization brings a strong intellectual and analytical element into her work and makes it stand apart from the work of many other mystics. Her language on the whole is simple, images and metaphors are rare, but every now and then her attempts to put her sensations into words, to speak the unspeakable, lead her to particularly striking images that would make any modern poet envious. In the ninth vision, for example, she describes three young women who walk in front of Queen Reason:

And the other young woman wore a green robe, and she held two palmtrees in her hand; and with those she kept the dust of the day and the night, of the moon and the sun, away from her lady, for she would not be touched by any of these. The third young woman wore a black robe, and in her hand she held something like a lantern full of days, by which her lady examined the depth of the ground and the height of the supreme ascent.

These cosmic images - the dust of the day and night, a lantern full of days - give her work a surprisingly modern flavour. One finds them mainly in the Visioenen, the work in which she let herself go most. Her poetry is more sober and more intellectual. Many of her poems begin with a short scene describing a landscape, a few lines about spring or the weather, which set the topic or the mood and from which the poem is then developed (the Natureingang of the courtly love lyric):

The first three lines stand outside the rhyming pattern (abc defg defg), and in this way are clearly marked as introductory. The word new which occurs six times in this poem, is one of the key words of her poetry and often has the additional meaning of true, real. From a formal point of view, Hadewych's poetry owes much to the Provençal troubadors whose stanza patterns she often uses in her own poetry.

She also has ties with twelfth-century French mysticism and with Hildegard van Bingen, a German mystic whom she mentions in her own work. Conversely, Hadewych may have exercised some influence on the German mystic movement, as abstracts of some of her letters have been found in Bava-

ria, where she was known as Adelwip. She was in every respect a better poet than Maerlant, because she had more to say, because she could express herself more intensely, because of her great sense of form and her economical use of the language, and last but not least, because of her unique imagery. All this combined makes her work a peak in medieval literature, not only of the Low Countries, but of Western Europe as a whole.

Mysticism was not the only aspect of the religious literature of this period. We find in the thirteenth century also some more hagiographies and two biographies of Jesus, the Levens van Jezus , one in verse and one in prose. The latter is of great interest as it goes back to the Latin adaptation of Tatianus's famous Diatesseron which also served as a model for Otfried's Evangelienharmonie and the Low Saxon Heliand . Another facet was added to religious literature by two narrative poems dealing with miracles. Theophilus is the story of a bishop who makes a pact with the devil but in the end obtains mercy from Mary. The other one, Beatrijs, a later poem, dates from the last quarter of the thirteenth century and was possibly written by Diederic van Assenede who was also the translator of the Middle Dutch Floris ende Blancefloer .

Beatrijs is an original poem, not a translation, although the story was a well-known one. Beatrijs is a nun who leaves the convent because of her love for a young man. They live together for seven years, but when poverty overtakes them, he deserts her. Beatrijs then has two children to look after, and not knowing how else to provide for them, she resorts to prostitution. After another seven years, she finds herself near her old convent again, and when she cautiously inquires what has become of a certain nun Beatrijs who used to live in this convent, she learns that she has never left it. During the night a voice urges her to go back to the convent. She obeys and finds that Mary had taken her place after she left and had fulfilled her duties during the years of her absence.

The basic material of Beatrijs can be found in Caesarius

von Heisterbach's Dialogus Miraculorum , a collection of miracle stories of 1223, and also in his Libri octo miraculorum of 1237. It is possible that the subject-matter of the story is originally Dutch and that Caesarius heard it when he travelled through the Low Countries, but we have no certainty about this. So much is certain that it became known in Western Europe through the collections of Caesarius and that there are versions of it in French, German, Spanish, Old Norse and even Arabic. The Dutch version is undoubtedly a very good poem, written in a simple and unadorned style, and it is claimed by Robert Guiette to be superior to any of the other versions. Apart from its intrinsic literary value, the poem is also an important document for the cultural history of the period as a meeting-place of secular courtliness, which places the veneration of woman in a central position, and the worship of Mary, which became such an important part of religious life during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.

In the twentieth century the poem of Beatrijs has attracted the attention of several writers: the poet P.C. Boutens gave a modern adaptation of it in his Beatrijs, Herman Teirlinck made it into a play Ik dien (I Serve), Felix Rutten into an opera libretto (Beatrijs).

The seriousness of Beatrijs contrasts sharply with the cynicism of the poem Vanden Vos Reinaerde (Reynard the Fox), the work in which medieval literature of the Low Countries reached its pinnacle. Of the author we only know the name, Willem, and the fact that he also wrote another poem, Madoc, probably a British romance of chivalry, which has never been traced. Vanden Vos Reinaerde is an animal epic, or a mock-epic, and as such it is the only one of its kind in Dutch. One automatically asks the question: where does it come from, was there nothing of this kind before, were there no predecessors? The answer is that there were no predecessors in the strict sense of the word and that Willem's poem stands by itself. There were building materials of which he made good use but which he arranged in such a

way that we are fully justified in regarding it as an entirely original piece of work.

The line of ancestry of the animal epic is long and goes back to the fable collection of Aesop which became known in Western Europe through the Latin versions of Phaedrus and Avianus, and possibly also through oral transmission. The fables became very popular and were the common property of several generations as they were often used in the schools, probably because of their useful combination of entertainment value and moral purpose. In the tenth century we find an allegorical poem in Latin, Ecbasis cuiusdam captivi (Escape of a Certain Captive), which uses some material contained in the fables and describes under the veil of an animal story the flight of a monk from his monastery and his subsequent return. The rivalry between the fox and the wolf is mentioned more or less in passing in this poem, but it became the main theme of another Latin poem, Isengrimus, attributed to Nivardus of Ghent and dating back to the middle of the twelfth century. The wolf is the principal character here, Reynard is only the instrument through which his destruction is brought about. Isengrimus is also the first poem in which the animals are given proper names instead of being called wolf, fox, bear etc.: they have become individuals rather than the types they were before. Poems such as these, in combination with the fables proper, must have been the sources from which the authors of the French Roman de Renart drew their material. One of the episodes, or branches, of the Roman de Renart, a poem known as Le Plaid (The Court Session), in its turn became the source of the Dutch Vanden Vos Reinaerde. But the Dutch author, the cryptic Willem, used his source so freely and independently, and gave the story such a personal twist and purpose, that it became a completely new poem, and a masterpiece at that.

Vanden Vos Reinaerde describes the attempts of Bruun the bear, Tibeert the tom-cat and Grimbeert the badger to bring Reynard to the court of King Nobel. The efforts of

Bruun and Tibeert are defeated by their own greed, but Grimbeert seems successful. Reynard follows him to the court and is sentenced to be hanged. While the gallows are being erected, he embarks on a long story of treason and conspiracy, introducing a hidden treasure, and accusing bear, cat and wolf of plotting against the king. By speculating on Nobel's cupidity and stupidity, Reynard gets away with it and is set free. Crime pays off handsomely, injustice triumphs, the stupid are left to pay the piper. It is a poem that attacks one and all: royalty, nobility, clergy, peasants, with the sole exception of the burgher, the city-dweller, for whom the poem was probably intended. It is not a wild or emotional attack, it does not seethe with indignation as some of Maerlant's poems do, nor is it written with the quiet earnestness of a man who wants to reform society. It rather has the tone of the light-hearted cynic, who cool and detached, but with a razor-sharp sense of humour and deep psychological insight, laughs at the stupidities of the world. Vanden Vos Reinaerde is an accomplished masterpiece, without any flaws or lapses, and Willem, whoever he was, must be regarded as one of the major poets of the Middle Ages. His sole authorship has not remained undisputed; one of the manuscripts also mentions a certain Aernout as the man who began the poem. Much has been written on the question of double or single authorship. What seems most likely is that Aernout wrote a first version of the Reynard poem, and that Willem rewrote it and incorporated it in a new work of his own. The poem as it stands now certainly shows no traces of a double authorship: in fact, it is so well-balanced, so harmonious, so much a unity, that it is difficult to believe that it could be the work of more than one poet. The date of the poem has also been the subject of much discussion. Some place it in the early years of the thirteenth century, others think that it was written before 1200. In the fourteenth century someone, also unknown, rewrote it, adding a great many details and changing the whole tenor of the poem. This version, known as Reinaert II, is a didactic

and moralizing poem, in every respect inferior to the earlier version. It shows clearly how cleverly Willem had avoided the obvious trap, i.e. to make the animals too anthropomorphic. In Willem's poem the animals behave like humans, but retain at the same time their animal characteristics; in Reinaert II, on the other hand, the animals are simply humans who walk on all fours and sport a tail but in whose behaviour there is nothing left of the animal. This Reinaert II - unfortunately, one might say - became the basis of the Reynard stories in English and German. The prose version of Reinaert II, the so-called Gouda edition, was translated into English by William Caxton and published by him in 1481. The Low German Reinke Vos (1498), adapted into High German by Goethe, also goes back to Reinaert II. In later centuries the Middle Dutch text was often used for modern adaptations. There is a German version by A.F.H. Geyder (1844), a French prose version by O. Delepierre (1837) and an adaptation into French poetry by Charles Potvin (1891). Translations into modern Dutch are numerous: the best known ones are those of Jan Frans Willems, Julius de Geyter, Prudens van Duyse, Stijn Streuvels and Achilles Mussche. The modern Flemish author Louis Paul Boon used Reinaert as a kind of counter-point in his novel De Kapellekensbaan (Little Chapel Road, 1953), and also combined Vanden Vos Reinaerde, the Roman de Renart and Isengrimus into a new novel Wapenbroeders (Brothers in Arms, 1955).