The Blades of Solingen
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| Geographic Coordinates: 51° 10' 19.00" N, 7° 5' 5.00" E |
The art of forging blades of a quality and excellence which approaches those of the world-famous Damascus steel was not yet known in Solingen in the 16th century. While there was no lack of good weaponsmiths who strived to copy the artful people of the Orient, none of them had succeeded, and many master smiths ruined themselves in futile attempts.
Old Ruthard was also among these. He was a very experienced man who had grayed in the pursuit of his profession. His most fervent desire was to explore the art of fashioning Damascene blades, and he had sacrificed a number of his years to this pursuit — but he had not found success. With sorrow, he saw how his prosperity continually declined because of the constant, expensive, and time-consuming experiments. Once again, a failed test had caused him grief when he left his workshop in an abominable mood and entered his living room. His only daughter Martha did not know the true cause of the grievance which was carved deeply in the forehead of the old man. In vain, she tried to improve his mood. Despite all her friendly words, she did not receive a reply. He did not even look at his favorite dish, which the attentive girl had wanted to surprise him with on this holy Christmas evening.
“You should not have worked at this holy hour, father”, she said, “for this will never bring prosperity and blessings. You hammer and exhaust yourself as if tomorrow’s bread depended on it. And yet I would assume that you had earned enough to take care of yourself in your old age and give you good days aplenty.”
A heavy sigh was all the response that the master smith gave. Then he silently and dejectedly took a few bites, and walked out of the door.
“Father is ill”, said Martha to herself in a low voice, “and now he is probably least inclined to listen to my concern, which weighs on me more every day and nearly crushes my heart. Wilhelm is a hardworking, decent young man, the most diligent and keenest of my father’s journeymen, and dearest and most respected by him above all the others. Should the good boy’s poverty be a sufficient reason to deny myself to him?”
At that moment, Wilhelm stepped into the chamber. But he wasn’t merry as it is usual for the youth, but pale and disturbed. “Martha”, he said, “everything is over for us. I just dared to ask the master for your hand. While I was hesitant because of his dark and brooding mood which he has nursed for some time, I was still counting on his favor and affection, which he has proved to me more than once. What do you think he replied? He pulled a blade of a strange, pale, and marvelously veined appearance out of the shrine. Then he said: “As long as you are not capable of forging such a blade as your masterpiece, your application will be in vain. Only someone able to accomplish this shall become my son-in-law and my heir.” And as he spoke those words, he cut a nail from the wall without making the slightest dent in it, proving the extraordinary strength of this steel. “Go”, he said, while pushing me out of the door in an almost mocking manner “and learn in the distant Orient the arts which I have striven for in vain for many years. Through this alone you can attain the fulfillment of your wishes. And I swear to you that nothing shall change my mind on this.”
This report pushed the loving girl into the utmost distress. She had grown attached to the man whom she had chosen in her heart since her youth, and burst into bright tears. “My happiness is gone forever”, she bemoaned, “for it will never be possible that you could journey to the distant Damascus and then return from the war-torn lands of the infidels. I could not bear to know you in such danger, and would die before my time.”
“And yet”, asked Wilhelm, “what other choice do we have? This journey, no matter how dangerous and long it might be, at least offers us a glimmer of hope. And beholding your tears, Martha, only strengthens my conviction to dare everything, and without delay shall I prepare for this great undertaking. Either you shall see me successful within a year, or you shall never see me again.”
With these words, the young man stormed out, and the next morning he was up and away without saying goodbye. On the tenth day of his journey, he reached the lonely mountains of the Spessart range, and, unfamiliar with its labyrinthine paths, he increasingly lost his way in the high-grown forests. He had already given up home to find shelter for the night when the light of a lonely hut appeared before him late in the evening.
With firm steps, he had soon reached it. He knocked, and an old, ugly woman opened the door for him. “Good evening, gammer”, he said, “can a poor soul who has lost his way stay here for the night? A bit of food and a bed of straw is all I desire, and I shall thank you heartily.” “Step closer, handsome young man”, screeched the old one by distorting her face in a loathsome manner, and she peeked at him disturbingly with her red-rimmed eyes. “I shall grant you hospitality, as long as it does not disturb you that another visitor will enter my home, whom I expect to arrive at this hour. Furthermore, I can only offer you this remote little chamber. There, you may rest in peace until daybreak, and don’t let anything disturb you.”
He had no other choice than to accept the offer. While she prepared milk soup for him, Wilhelm told the purpose of his journey to the woman. After he had temporarily stilled his hunger, he laid down on the straw. But he was unable to attain sleep. The eerie manner of the old woman, her manner of speech, and a loathsomely sounding singsong which she emitted in strange melodies that sounded like the screeching of owls — which was accompanied by her two cats howling back and forth — kept him awake. As did his curiosity, since he would have liked to know what manner of visitor the old woman was expecting at night in this deserted forest.
Midnight had arrived. The Moon began to cast its magical lights on the objects in the room, and, in the imagination of the agitated young man, gave them marvelous, strange shapes. The wind rose up and made the loose panels of the rotten windows jingle in a way that it sounded like the whispering of approaching people. Thick raindrops hitting the thin walls of the hut echoed like the quiet footsteps of a hostile entity that had begun to circle the lonely man.
Suddenly, there was a loud bang which made him jolt up from his bed. At the same moment, he heard a rattling sound as if a heavy object was falling down the chimney. And an exchange of voices convinced him that his hostess was no longer alone. His hair stood on ends. He rose up and, exploring through a gap in the door, the startled journeyman saw the shape of a man who was sitting at the blazing hearth. Something simmered in a large cauldron above the fire, and from time to time blue flames burst out of it. In their light, Wilhelm was able to see the strange guest more clearly. He wore a red buff coat and a hat of the same color. His face was covered by a coarse beard, and his feet were hidden within the ashes beneath the hearth. His flashing, piercing eyes were fixed on the old woman who was standing meekly before him, and his gestures conveyed anger.
The listener could not understand what both of them discussed with each other, for it consisted of secretive, avid whisperings. But Wilhelm became quite startled when the old one suddenly walked straight towards his little chamber. He hurriedly threw himself down on his bed of straws in order to pretend that he was asleep. And he had barely closed his eyes for this purpose when he felt that his arm had been grabbed. “Wake up, my young man!” screeched the witch, “rise up. You shall make the acquaintance of a man from the distant lands of the Orient. He can spare you the journey there, for he is acquainted with all knowledge. Talk to him, and ask him to teach you what you need.”
Wilhelm rose up to follow the old woman. While he dreaded the unknown man, the desire for the secret art and his beloved overcame any concerns. Trembling, he stood before the mysterious stranger, whose lurking eyes resembled the paralyzing gaze of a snake, and which peered at the young man from beneath the wide rim of the hat. The mantle dyed in the color of fire, which the sinister man had wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his half-stretched right hand that seemed to pacify the sizzling and bubbling in the cauldron; finally, the old woman who had retreated to a corner of the hearth so that only her face was visible — all this took on a demonic appearance in the light of the smoldering peat fire, and threw the poor young man wholly out of balance. In his heart, he pleaded to all the saints to protect him so no evil would gain power over him.
For a long time, the mysterious, terrible guest pierced Wilhelm with his eyes. Then he asked him with a deep, hoarse voice that sounded as if it came from a great distance: “What do you want from me?” The young man, who was barely in control of his emotions, told his backstory and the cause of his journey with almost incoherent words. But as soon as he had finished, the fiend broke into a terrible laughter. “I know what you desire to learn”, he said with a changed, almost silent voice as he leaned forward to Wilhelm, “but I do nothing for free. For the means which I shall give you and which contains everything you need, I merely require that you become my own — from the day onwards when you make use of your newly attained skills. Starting with that moment, I shall gift you seven years and seven months in which you can enjoy life and the advantages I grant you. If you agree to my proposal, all the better for you. If not, you will never return from the Orient, and never see your Martha again.”
Wilhelm was too overcome with emotions to think it over. Furthermore, his love overwhelmed his heart. Thus, when he was presented with a piece of parchment, he signed his name on it with a rooster’s feather that had been dunked into the bubbling fluid. In exchange, he received a well-sealed letter. As soon as he had taken it into his possession, the stranger vanished.
The unfortunate man spent the rest of the night in feverish agitation and suffered from frightful dreams. Only at daybreak did he manage to attain restful sleep, and the Sun had risen high when he woke up and left his straw bed. He did not find the old woman in the hut, and nor did he find another living being. Hurriedly, as pursued by the Furies, he left the uncanny dwelling. After he wandered around in stupor for a long time, he found pitying farmers by the time he was half-dead from exhaustion. They helped him recover, and then led him back to the road towards his home.
Master Ruthard was highly astonished when he saw his journeyman, whom he believed to be far away, coming back so soon. He initially thought that the young man had regretted his decision and changed his mind. But he was shocked when Wilhelm told him everything and gave him the secret within the sealed letter, whose triple seal showed a tongue of flame and a sword.
After he had heard everything and spent some time in serious contemplation, the devout master smith said: “May God prevent that your overwhelming love for my daughter pushes you into eternal damnation. This fortune- or misfortune-bringing paper shall never be unfolded by your or my hand. It shall rest in the most hidden corner of my shrine until better days — until my grandchildren, over whom this demonic force has no power, can unseal and use it.”
And so it was done. On the next Christmas Eve, Wilhelm became the husband of his beloved, overjoyed Martha. And Ruthard gave him his workshop and customers, retreating to the peace which the infirmity of age required of him. Hard work and perseverance overcome even the toughest obstacles, and after a few years the prosperity of the house flowered up again so that the old man was able to enjoy it.
Only many years later, when Ruthard had long since gone to his forefathers, and the aged Wilhelm had fallen into eternal slumber, did his son who succeeded him in his trade discover the letter. Within it, he found instructions for the art of forging weapons that equaled the quality of the Damascene blades. And from that time onwards, the blades of Solingen have become so excellent and famous.
Source: Kiefer - Die Sagen des Rheinlandes von Basel bis Rotterdam - Dritte Auflage p. 275ff