However, this situation changed quickly, as our romance might reflect dramatically, because the poet basically appealed to the emperor to regret his ethical and religious shortcomings and to repent them the same way as the literary figure of Emperor Otto did. The example of the Good Gerhart, hence, would have served as a literary reminder of how easily a political individual could transgress his ethical standards and become victim of political hubris.22
Otto (1175–1218) was rival king from 1198, sole king from 1208, and Holy Roman Emperor from 1209, until he was forced to abdicate in 1215. He was the third son of Henry the Lion, Duke of Bavaria and Saxony, and Matilda of England, where he grew up, speaking fluent French (Anglo-Norman) and German. Otto entered the political limelight truly only after the death of Emperor Henry VII (1165–1197) when the majority of the princes of the Empire, mostly situated in the South, elected Henry’s brother, Philip, Duke of Swabia (1177–1208), as king in March 1198, after receiving money and promises from Philip in exchange for their support. Those opposed to him went for a member of the Bavarian house of the Welfs. Since Otto’s brother was on a crusade at that time, the choice fell on him, so he was designated as king in Cologne on June 9, 1198. Archbishop Adolf of Cologne crowned him king on June 12, 1198, but he employed fake regalia, since the authentic ones were in Philip’s hands. While the English kings supported Otto, the French King Philipp II supported the Hohenstaufen Philip. In the meantime, Pope Innocent III, long opposed to the Hohenstaufen, recognized Otto as the legitimate king of Germany, which allowed him to drive an edge between Sicily and Tuscany on the one hand (then under control of the house of Hohenstaufen) and the Holy Roman Empire on the other, and thus to strengthen his own geo-political power in Italy.23
Although Otto enjoyed the additional support of Ottokar I, the king of Bohemia, and of the Danish king, Valdemar II, he lost militarily considerably on the ground against Philipp, who was crowned king again in 1204, this time even by the Archbishop of Cologne. The condition for Otto grew worse after the decisive battle near Wassenberg on July 27, 1206, where he lost badly and was personally wounded, which forced him to withdraw to his personal estates in Brunswick in Northern Germany. Now, even the pope switched sides, giving the Hohenstaufen dynasty the preponderance for pragmatic reasons. Philipp tried hard to reach out to his opponent, making him highly attractive offers, but this Hohenstaufen was suddenly assassinated on June 21, 1208.
Now, surprisingly, Otto had free reign, married the latter’s daughter Beatrix, and gained the support of the electoral princes and the pope, who crowned him, after all, on October 21, 1209. These two, however, soon disagreed, and Otto broke all of his promises, reclaiming the imperial rights and lands in Italy. He even tried to fight against the Hohenstaufen Frederick II in Sicily while the situation in Northern Germany grew worse with the Danish king having conquered large stretches of land. At the instigation of King Philip Augustus II of France and with the consent of the pope, the German princes elected Frederick as King of the Romans at the Diet of Nuremberg in 1211. Otto then lost virtually all support and had to stand by helplessly when on December 5, 1212, Frederick was elected king for a second time by a majority of the princes. Otto tried to manipulate the conflict between England and France for his own purposes, but in the Battle of Bouvines on July 27, 1214, the troops supporting the French side were defeated after their leader Otto’s injury and fall, forcing him to do a hasty retreat. He had to abdicate the imperial throne in 1215, and he died three years later from a disease.24
Despite all that, however, the poet at first explicitly refers to the much earlier Emperor Otto I who wanted to demonstrate his political power after the successful Battle of Lechfeld in 955 against the nomadic Magyars and ordered the construction of the cathedral of Magdeburg even before his coronation as emperor on February 2, 962. This is the rather confusing historical framework, though the negative characterization of the emperor directly aims at Otto IV and not at Otto I. After all, the implied criticism of the emperor because of his pompous insistence on having earned God’s praise already here on earth rather targets Emperor Otto IV, who enjoyed a dubious reputation throughout his career and amongst various political circles. In other words, the poet Rudolf plays with the same name of two different emperors, relying on his audience’s awareness to know and perhaps also appreciate the differences between them.
All this, however, does not fully concern us here and pertains only to the historical background and the narrative framework of our romance. Instead, the question that interests me here pertains to the issue of toleration and perhaps also tolerance in one of Rudolf’s poetic narrative poems. Of course, Rudolf was a devout Christian, as countless references to God, Christ, and the Holy Spirit confirm, and which was basically standard in medieval literature. Nevertheless, particularly because of his historical understanding and perspectives, as reflected both in his world chronicle and in his fictional narratives, we can identify in Rudolf an individual with remarkable, highly noteworthy attitudes about the ‘noble heathen’, creating, thereby, a literary basis for the discourse on toleration, if not tolerance.25
Rudolf’s Der guote Gêrhart did not experience any particular popularity in terms of the manuscript record—with only three manuscript versions, as discussed above—which might not come as a surprise considering the problematic position held by Emperor Otto IV both in Constance and elsewhere. The situation would probably have been very different if Rudolf had targeted Emperor Otto I who enjoyed universal respect and was regarded as a major leader of his time and among his posterity. Both in historical reality and in the literary context, our emperor emerges as a rather ambivalent character whom many people simply did not trust and who proves to be rather selfish and idiosyncratic in the literary context. Indeed, Rudolf’s poem voices harsh criticism against the pompous and extremely self-assured character who wants to force God to reveal to him during his own lifetime what spiritual reward he would receive in the beyond for his worldly deeds supporting the Church here on earth. In fact, he believes that he had been able to purchase God’s favor in ‘hard cash’ (e.g., 256–72).26
Modern scholars (at least until the end of the twentieth century) have responded with considerable interest to this romance because of the unusual framework of having a merchant surface as an ideal figure who becomes centrally instrumental for a Norwegian princess to find her long-lost fiancé again, an English prince, and to marry him.27 Gêrhart manages this by first liberating the princess from her captivity in a Moroccan prison. Later, when he is about to marry her off to his own son because the fiancé seems to be completely lost and dead, the miracle happens, and the elusive prince appears just at the right time before the wedding is about to take place. Gêrhart’s son, though with great regret, submits under his father’s wish and allows the princess to join hands with her original lover.28
Not enough with this fascinating topic, we also need to keep in mind that Gêrhart succeeds in buying the princess’s freedom with the means of all of his merchandise at a high risk for his own business because the Moroccan castellan, certainly a Muslim, has offered him his friendship and is more than happy to let the company of Christian captives go in return for Gêrhart’s goods. In fact, he would be happy to see them gone if he could receive a good price for them, which the Cologne merchant generally accepts as a valid proposition. The entire episode in the Moroccan harbor city, later identified as “Castelgunt” (1897), lends itself surprisingly well for explorations of what transcultural experiences and perhaps even forms of tolerance might have meant for late medieval writers.29
Moreover, the romance also contains a significant social-political dimension pertaining to England, where chaos rules supreme at that time because the old king has passed away and his son, our prince, has disappeared without a trace. Competing noble groups are almost set to engage in a civil war, just at the time when Gêrhart arrives with the freshly married couple. The English nobles immediately recognize Gêrhart as their liberator from Moroccan cap
tivity,30 welcome him jubilantly, and then decide to give him, a complete outsider and a person without the rank of nobility, the crown of England. As flattering as this proves to be for Gêrhart, and as unusual as it would have been to elevate a non-aristocratic person to the throne of an entire country, he quickly rejects this honor and hands the crown over to the young prince who, thus, continues with the dynastic line and can establish peace and prosperity in the country once again. Rudolf refuses to take into consideration a romantic conclusion, with the man from the mercantile class to rise to the highest position in the English monarchy, as much as he plays with this possibility in the literary context.
Here we face, as this chapter will highlight, a most fascinating case of true tolerance, and this already in the pre-modern world. While the phenomenon of ‘toleration’ surfaces quite commonly in medieval literature, it is very rare to come across a case that would entitle us to talk of tolerance even in the modern sense of the word. Of course, Count Stranmûr keeps a large group of Christian nobles as prisoners, hoping to get a good ransom for them. But he heartily welcomes Gêrhart, treats him most honorably, and even sends him off wishing him all the blessing of his own god, and that of his personal gods. In other words, Stranmûr cannot be identified as a Christian, neither by his own declaration nor by his actions. But his interaction with Gêrhart unmistakably indicates that for the poet Rudolf, it was certainly imaginable for two people from two different religions to strike a good friendship and to disregard the religious difference as completely irrelevant for that relationship. Although all this is described from a Christian perspective, reflecting wishful thinking, it certainly documents that the poet embraced the concept that the representatives of both religions could form good partnership, if not even friendship.31 The differences in their religion do not matter at all for either one of them.32 I will examine this phenomenon in much more detail below.
While Wolfram von Eschenbach operated with the phenomena of love (Willehalm) and family bonds (Parzival) in order to examine the issue of toleration/tolerance and to suggest intriguingly that ‘the other’ was really also part of the same humanity, Rudolf explored the theme of friendship to aim for the same goal, and he appears to have developed a more profound notion of how to create bridges between people of different faiths and especially to project this as a desirable or welcome condition. We noticed something similar already in the relationship between Willehalm and Rennewart (Willehalm), but Stranmûr and Gêrhart face each other on a much more equal level and emerge as very comparable figures in terms of their ethical ideals and values.
As Wolfgang Walliczek has already indicated, despite the limited reception history of Rudolf’s Der guote Gêrhart—which was actually not as minimal as assumed—the poet strongly appealed to his audience and endeavored intensively to provide ethical teachings and to outline literary role models for proper public behavior.33 This approach, however, appears to have extended also to the interactions between the representatives of two religions, although there are no explicit indications in the text concerning how Christians should henceforth view Muslims, for instance.34
Let us next turn to the specific developments in Rudolf’s narrative. While journeying home from one of his global mercantile trips, Gêrhart’s ship is driven into an unfamiliar territory in the Western Mediterranean. This is a very common literary strategy and always allowed medieval and early modern poets to create a significant change of pace and scenery, challenging the protagonist in a deeply archetypal manner. The protagonist admits to the emperor how afraid he had been (verses 1246–47) since he did not know where the storm had driven him. They arrived in a harbor below a large mountain, which one of the sailors had to climb to explore what land might be beyond. The report that he delivers afterward provides a glowing prospective since he has seen a wide-open plane below the mountain (verse 1260), which pleased him more than any other land he had ever gazed at before. Its scope is larger than he could measure with his eyes, and at the coast, he notices a very well fortified city (verses 1274–75), which appears to him as comparable to Cologne, the city of Gêrhart’s origin. While the city is surrounded by water on one side, three major roads lead into the city where many merchants transport their goods to the market. The sailor can only affirm that he has never seen a city in his whole life so rich and populated, such a major center of commerce, with three streets coming from the countryside, with a fourth serving as a route for merchandise transported from the ships into the city (1284–87).
For the narrator, this harbor city proves to be an ideal, being well defended and perfectly located, attracting massive merchandise and serving as a major trading center. Without knowing any details, the merchant in Gêrhart feels great delight and attraction, sensing that this city would be a perfect location for his purposes.35 In the anonymous Herzog Ernst (ms. A ca. 1180; ms. B ca. 1220), the protagonist also arrives at a mysterious city after having suffered from a near shipwreck, but it is Grippia, the city of the crane people, that is, monstrous, hybrid creatures, and despite its architectural beauty and Oriental features, Duke Ernst quickly enough experiences a life-threatening conflict and barely survives with only few of his men.36 By contrast, Gêrhart encounters a very livable, friendly, highly civilized city where the castellan quickly proves to be a most sympathetic ruler.37
As the protagonist then reports, the citizens are all “heiden” (1321; heathens), meaning ‘Muslims’, but he characterizes them as most educated and learned because they greet him very friendly and assure him of his peace and security (1322–26). His first concern pertains to where to deposit all of his goods and to find out who would provide him with guarantees for his well-being and protection. At that very moment, Gêrhart observes a highly worthy individual approach him, who shines forth through his manliness, i.e. his virtues and nobility (1336). The stranger is followed by a train of noble knights and many squires, which all appears as a sign of cultural familiarity since the situation appears as parallel to any he would expect within the European context. The narrator uses the following phrase for this leader: “Der edel werde wîgant” (1343; the noble, worthy warrior). Although the term “wîgant” mirrors a certain degree of linguistic archaism, echoing heroic epic poetry, it is used simply for the sake of the rhyme with “zehant” (1344; immediately).
However, the communication between both men does not develop right away because the local prince speaks in Arabic: “heidensch” (1345; heathen). Gêrhart responded, but only with a bow, since he could not understand the words. The other realized this linguistic problem immediately and switched to French (1352), demonstrating thereby his courtly manners (1351). Henceforth, no further linguistic barriers mar or impede the exchange between the two men who converse with each other in a very ordinary, courtly style. The prince wonders whether he originates from France because of his French speaking abilities, but then he learns that Gêrhart has come from Germany and is looking for a market for his products.
This does not seem to be quite the full truth, since he had already finished his purchases and was driven to that harbor city by ferocious winds, but Gêrhart uses the situation to secure a warm welcome, indicating that he owns much merchandise and would be willing to sell it there. The castellan Stranmûr, who is identified as such later, at first inquires about his religion and responds calmly and respectfully when he learns that the foreign merchant is a Christian. In fact, he immediately volunteers to provide him with all the protection that he might need. Moreover, he offers him the extraordinary privilege of not paying any taxes on any of his sales or purchases (1395–96). The narrator does not explain exactly why the castellan demonstrates such a friendly demeanor, but since the guest has identified himself as a merchant, there would not be any better gift but to offer him this stunning exemption from the ordinary rule. Stranmûr is characterized as a noble heathen, as an individual marked by highest ideals and courtly manners, offering very much the same kind of role model as any outstanding European nobleman. For him, it seems most
pleasant to converse with another person in French, the language of courtliness, so he might recognize in Gêrhart an equal in terms of education. Rudolf, thus, projects unmistakably the topos of the ‘noble heathen’, entirely disregarding religious differences and emphasizing the shared ethical and moral values.38
The castellan happily accepts the merchant’s explanation that he had aimed for the harbor because it offers great opportunities, but he also translates this as a political gesture in honor of his own lord: “ze êren mînen herren” (1387; to honor my lord). In particular, he promises to extend his protection to Gêrhart’s goods in the name of his lord, meaning that he identifies the merchant’s visit as an official meeting of great significance. Moreover, the castellan goes one step further and promises that, from then on, all other Christian merchants would be able to enjoy the same privilege (1404–5). Only now do we learn that Stranmûr’s overlord is the king of Morocco (1413) who had entrusted that border land and the harbor to him and also his descendants (1416–18). The narrator makes Stranmûr comment on his own king: “der edel künic rîche” (1412; the noble and wealthy king), which is never contested and remains a corner stone of the castellan’s own position. For the protagonist, there is no reason to question this characterization, so the narrative is already determined by two high-ranking heathen individuals who are greatly praised and acknowledged as outstanding figures in this North-African kingdom. At no time does the narrator remark on any racial differences; instead, both Gêrhart and Stranmûr and all other figures in the background operate on a friendly, mutually tolerant level and appreciate the other for his culture, education, linguistic abilities, and personal qualities. The castellan goes so far as to promise him the best possible accommodations free of charge (1419–30). After Gêrhart has settled, he inquires about the castellan’s name and then comments: “er was sô wol bescheiden, / swie er doch wær ein heiden, / daz ich im immer sunder spot / wünsche heiles umbe got” (1453–56; he was so knowledgeable, although he was a heathen. To be sure, I wished him well in the name of God). The protagonist clearly perceives the religious difference, but he utterly dismisses it as irrelevant for himself.
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