Epics and Romances of the Middle Ages

“Besides that, be comforted, dear wife. What harm can happen to me? I shall be amongst faithful friends and comrades all day long. I shall take Balmung and a sharp spear with me, and I should like to see him who would dare withstand me.”

He kissed her again, and hastened away. She ran to the window, and watched him until he disappeared from sight. The morning passed very pleasantly, and then the warriors sat down to their mid-day meal, which was spread out on the grass. There was food in plenty, but the wine ran short. Hagen explained that he had sent the wine on to another place, thinking it was there they should have dined; but he told his friends of a cool spring under a lime-tree not far off, and offered to run a race there with Siegfried. The latter laughingly accepted the challenge, adding that he would carry his sword and hunting-tackle, while Hagen went empty-handed, that the race might be more equal. The two warriors ran across the meadow ground towards the linden, and, as they ran, the field flowers tried to stop bold Siegfried, the branches of the trees beckoned him to go back, and the birds in the linden sang sadly as though they would say, “Turn back, noble hero, the traitor is behind you.” But Siegfried did not understand the language of the flowers, trees, and birds. He trusted his friend as himself.

“Here we are at last,” he cried to the panting Hagen. “Here is the clear spring; see how the water sparkles. Let us rest under the cool shade of the linden, until the king comes up, for he must have the first draught.”

He laid aside his sword and other weapons, and threw himself on the flowery grass.

“How dull you look,” he continued to Hagen, “and yet it is such a bright and beautiful day, and we have had such good sport this morning. Ah, here are the others. Come, Gunther, we are waiting for you. You must have the first draught.”

Gunther stooped and drank of the fresh, clear water of the spring, then Siegfried followed him, saying with a laugh:

“I intend to have a real good drink. But do not fear, noble friends, I shall leave you plenty. This spring is like mankind: one part goes down into the earth, and another comes up into the light of day, but it never ends.”

“Very true,” said Hagen; “what matters one life more or less?”

The Nibelung hero bent over the well and drank thirstily, and, as he did so, Hagen caught up his spear and plunged it into his back, in the exact spot where Chriemhild had embroidered the silver cross on his jerkin. He did it with such force, that the point of the weapon went through his back and came out at his chest. The wounded man sprang to his feet, and, not finding his sword where he had put it, for it had been removed by one of the conspirators, seized his shield and struck the murderer to the ground. More he could not do. He sank back helplessly amongst the flowers, which were dyed red with his blood. The silver stream was also reddened, and all the sky was crimson with the light of the setting sun. It seemed as if nature were blushing for the evil deed that had just been done.

Once more the hero feebly raised his beautiful head, and said, looking round upon the Burgundians:

“Ye murderous hounds, what harm did I ever do you? Had I known of your treachery, ye had all lain dead at my feet. A devil from hell must have tempted you to do this foul deed. None of you ventured to meet me in open battle, and so you fixed upon Hagen to do the cowardly deed. Your names will be known until the latest times as those of cowardly traitors. And now, King Gunther, dishonoured as you are through this ill-deed, and weak of will, listen to the words of a dying man. Protect my wife, she is your own sister, protect my poor wife from Hagen.”

These were the last words of the royal hero.

The warriors stood silently around him, their hearts filled with sorrow and repentance. Gunther at length said:

“We will tell the people, who all loved the dead man, that he was murdered by robbers. Chriemhild will never then hold us to blame.”

“Nay,” said Hagen, “that may not be. I will not deny what my own cunning and my own hand have done. Our queen has now the expiation that she demanded, and your honour required. Burgundy is safe from all enemies, for no man was ever Siegfried’s equal, or ever will be. What do I care for the complaints of a people or for the tears of a woman? Let us make a bier of branches, that the dead warrior may be borne to Worms thereon. Ha! here is Balmung, his good sword; to-day it shall do its old master a last service, and its new master a first.”

When the bier was made, the hunting party set out for Worms in very different fashion from that in which they had started in the morning. They did not arrive until late at night. It almost seemed as though the dead hero inspired both warriors and serving-men with terror. None of them would carry him up the staircase. Hagen called them cowardly loons, and raising the body on his shoulders, carried it up, and laid it outside Chriemhild’s door. Next morning early the queen got up, and made ready to go to the sanctuary. She called a chamberlain, and he, seeing a dead man, whom he did not recognise in the half-light, lying in the passage, told his mistress. She shrieked aloud:

“It is Siegfried! Hagen has murdered him at Brunhild’s command!”

The servants brought lights, and they saw that she had spoken truth. She threw herself on her husband’s body, and with her tears washed his face clear of the blood stains that marred it. There he lay before her, pale, cold, and motionless; never, never again should she hear his voice;—never again. The word rhymed in her ears, and seemed to madden her. She would willingly have died with him, and have gone down to the grave; or, as her forefathers believed, have rejoined him in Freya’s halls.

Old Sigmund, on hearing the news, uttered no word, but his heart seemed broken. He kissed his son’s wounds, as though he hoped thereby to recall him to life. Suddenly he started to his feet, and the old spirit awoke in his heart.

“Murder! Vengeance!” he cried. “Up, Nibelungs, up, and avenge your hero.”

He hastened into the court, and the Nibelungs, hearing his words, crowded round him in full armour. The old man received a sword and coat of mail from them, but his trembling hands were too weak to hold them, and next moment he had sank unconscious on the ground. The Burgundians were awaiting the assault with arms in their hands, and grim Hagen was bringing up new forces to help those already there.

The Nibelungs retired, gnashing their teeth.

On the third day after this, the bier was taken to the sanctuary to be blessed by the priest. The populace crowded into the church, that they might give a last look at the dead hero, who had done so much for Burgundy. Chriemhild stood by the uncovered coffin, which was adorned with gold and precious stones. Her eyes were tearless, but all could read her sorrow in her face and bearing. A veiled woman passed close by amongst the crowd. Chriemhild alone recognised her.

“Go, murderess,” she cried, “do not approach him, lest the very dead should bear witness against you.”

The Unknown vanished in the crowd.

The Burgundian warriors now came to view the corpse, as custom demanded. When Hagen came up, the wounds of the dead man opened, and his blood flowed forth in a warm stream, as at the hour of the murder.

“Do not stand there, assassin,” said Chriemhild; “do you not see how the dead bears witness against you?”

The bold warrior remained where he was.

“I do not deny what my hand has done. I only acted as I was bound to act by my fealty to my liege lord and his queen.”

If Chriemhild had had a sword in her hand, and had been possessed of a man’s strength, Hagen had scarcely quitted the sanctuary alive.

Many gifts were made to the poor in honour of the dead hero, who was buried on the fourth day. The grave-chamber was richly decorated, and over it rose a high mound. Chriemhild followed the coffin to its quiet resting-place. There the lid was opened once more at her command. She kissed and wept over the pale face of her husband. Her women at length had to bear her away, for she would have remained there for ever. Hagen was standing without, grim and unmoved as ever, and said with his usual fatalism, “What has happened, must needs have happened. The will of the Norns must be done.” The queen did not hear him. She did not even see how Gunther, Gernot, and many of the other warriors tried to hide their grief and repentance. Her thoughts were all with the dead.

Sigmund and the Nibelungs prepared to return home. They wanted to take Chriemhild with them, to guard her from the false Burgundians, but she would not leave her husband’s grave, and only begged the old king and the Margrave Eckewart to take care of her little son, and bring him up to be like his father. For she said he was an orphan, fatherless, and perhaps motherless. She had only one wish, which she whispered in the old man’s ear—the wish for vengeance. Sigmund took leave of none but the Lady Ute, who mourned for Siegfried as if he had been a son of her own, and of Giselher, the youngest of the brothers. Then he set out for the Netherlands.

Time passed on, and it almost seemed as though Chriemhild had grown content, and had become reconciled to her brother. Grim Hagen alone seemed to fill her with horror, and Brunhild she also avoided. She, one day, told her brother that she wished the Nibelung treasure to be brought up to Worms, as it was her private property. Gunther rejoiced at this proof of her renewed confidence in him, and at once consented to send for it. Alberich delivered the treasure to the messengers without hesitation, and at length it arrived at Worms. The queen made generous gifts to the people, and whenever she found a brave warrior who possessed but few worldly goods, she would provide him with all that was necessary for his calling, and with daily pay besides. So that she gradually became complete mistress of a small army, which grew daily larger, and more powerful.

Hagen warned the kings of this; he told them that the Lady Chriemhild meditated vengeance. He did not care for his own life, he said, but the fair land of Burgundy must not fall into her hands. The only way that he could see of preventing this consummation would be for the kings to take the Nibelung treasure under their own care. The brothers would not consent. Gernot said that enough harm had been done to their sister already without heaping small indignities on her. Once, when his liege lords were absent, Hagen, who had always considered that prevention was better than cure, called his men together, and fell upon the warders who had charge of the Nibelung treasure. He carried off all that remained of it, and sank it in the deep waters of the Rhine. It was of little use that the kings heard of his ill-deed on their return; it was of little use that Chriemhild made indignant complaint: the deed was done, and could not be undone.

“If you were not our uncle,” said Gunther and Gernot, “this should have cost you your life.”

A short time afterwards, Hagen showed his nephews the place in the Rhine where he had hidden the treasure, and made them swear that none of them would betray its hiding-place as long as one of them was alive. Chriemhild was sad and sorrowful as before; she always sat with her mother, and embroidered tapestry in which she depicted the scene of Baldur’s death, and showed how he was cruelly slain by his brother Höder, and how Nanna died of a broken heart, and shared her husband’s bier. But in Baldur every one recognised the features of her hero, and in Nanna her own; while Höder had the features, garments, and murderous weapon of grim Hagen. She often held the needle suspended in her fingers, and sat watching the picture thoughtfully. When the Lady Ute asked her, on such occasions, “What are you thinking of, my child?” she would answer, “I was thinking of Hagen.”

THE NIBELUNGS’ WOE

I

KING ETZEL’S WOOING

Some welcome guests arrived at Worms. Margrave Rüdiger of Bechelaren, surnamed “the Good,” came with some of his warriors to the Burgundian court. Gunther, Gernot, and Hagen were old acquaintances of his, and he had often held young Giselher on his knees as a child. Now that he came to the house of mourning, his gentle, noble spirit had such an effect on Chriemhild that she would sometimes accompany her mother to the hall, and listen to the Margrave with a gentle smile, such as had not been seen on her face since her hero’s death. But if Brunhild or Hagen entered, she would go away at once.

Days and weeks passed on, and at last Gunther said to his guest that he fancied the Margrave had not come merely for the pleasure of renewing an old acquaintance, but had something on his mind. Then Rüdiger answered:

“Well, King Gunther, I will tell you what brings me here. You know that good Queen Helche, the faithful helpmeet of my liege lord King Etzel, died some years ago, and that her sons were slain in battle by Wittich. The king of the Huns has long sat lonely in the wide halls of Etzelburg, but he has now made up his mind to marry again. He consulted me on the subject, and I advised him to try and win the hand of the noble Lady Chriemhild, your sister and the widow of heroic Siegfried. If you will give your consent to the match, I am empowered to say that she shall be queen of the Huns.”

“She is no longer under my charge,” was the answer; “she is queen of the Nibelungs, and of the Netherlands, and I fear that she will not be willing to marry again.”

“I will take her the good news,” said Giselher, “and mother Ute will advise her to do as we wish.”

The young warrior immediately rose, and went to the women’s apartment. He found his sister busied as usual with her embroidery. He told her that it was time she should give up grieving so much for her dead husband, and reminded her that she was still young, and might yet be happy. Then he told her what Rüdiger had related of Etzel’s court, its greatness and its glory, and finally told her of Etzel’s wooing. But Chriemhild answered with solemn firmness, that she would not leave the grave-mound in which all she loved was buried.

Then mother Ute spoke. “If you will be Etzel’s queen, my child, you will be the most powerful of women.”

“Most powerful of women,” repeated the daughter thoughtfully. “Look, Giselher,” she went on, pointing to her embroidery, “you know whom that hero is intended to represent?”

He shook his head, and she added, “It is Wali, the Avenger, of whom our fathers said that he revenged Baldur, and sent dark Höder to his own place.”

“These are old wives’ stories that are forgotten now,” answered Giselher. “Let us speak of him in whose name good Rüdiger is come to woo you.”

“Yes—but what if it were to be fulfilled?” she said, “perhaps—Ask the Margrave to come to me, that I may hear his wooing myself.”

Giselher left the room, and the Lady Ute went out also, leaving Chriemhild alone, as she requested.

“Siegfried,” said the young queen, “it is for your sake that I leave your resting-place, from whence you have so often come to me, in waking and in sleep, and pointed to your wounds—those gaping, bleeding wounds, that will never close until it is granted me to send grim Höder down to dark Hella.”

Rüdiger appeared, and in courteous fashion wooed the queen in his master’s name; but not till he had promised, in the name of the god Irmin, that she should have men to fight her battles when she needed them, did she consent to go to the land of the wild Huns, and to become Etzel’s wife.

The Burgundians all rejoiced when Rüdiger told them the good news,—the three royal brothers especially, for now, they thought, their sister would again be happy. But Hagen came to them, and said,—

“What are you thinking of, that you thus call the lightning down on our heads? Do not give your sister to the king of the Huns. Between the widow of Siegfried and us, such friendship alone can exist as that between fire and water. Either must the one be quenched, or the other fly off in steam. It is a childish action to supply one’s enemy with a sword to cut off one’s head.”

But the brothers refused to listen to his warnings. Preparations now went on apace for the journey to Etzelburg. Ambassadors were sent to the Nibelungs and to the Netherlands to tell them of the queen’s contemplated marriage. They returned with a numerous company of warriors and servants. At length all was ready, the kings went with their sister as far as the Danube, where they took leave of her, and Margrave Rüdiger took their place as leader of the travelling party. At the borders of the land, King Etzel with a large following awaited the queen’s arrival. His face lighted up with pleasure when he saw the pale, beautiful countenance of the Lady Chriemhild. He told her that she should have full power over his treasures and his lands,—that, in short, she should be his queen. She answered that she would be a faithful and obedient wife, but that her love was buried with Siegfried. The king paid no attention to the last words. He made sure of winning her love through kindness and affection. And so they went on together to Etzelburg. The marriage festivities lasted a fortnight, and were celebrated in the usual way.

Chriemhild took little part in the rejoicings. She did all that she had to do, thinking of Siegfried the while. Now, amongst the warriors present, there was one who was famed for his unusual strength, bold Dietrich of Bern. His thoughts were far away in the beautiful land of the Amelungs, which his uncle Ermenrich had taken from him by guile and force. He longed to return to his own people, and win the victory for them; but Etzel would not give him the necessary help. Sometimes, as he sat grave and sad in the great hall, while other men were laughing and talking, the queen would go to him, and tell him of Hagen’s foul deed. He understood that she wished to woo him to vengeance, but he was silent, for he neither could nor would raise his sword against the Burgundian warriors who had been his faithful comrades in the olden time.

Months and years passed on; a little boy was born to the royal pair. He was the image of his mother, and received the name of Ortlieb. The king and country rejoiced equally in the birth of an heir to the throne. For his son’s sake, Etzel loved his wife more than he had ever done before, and would have given her anything she chose to ask; but she cared for nothing; she remained grave, quiet, thoughtful about her duties, but sparing of her words. Even her little boy, carefully as she tended him, did not bring her happiness. She was never seen to smile even on him. The wound that her first husband’s death had dealt her would not heal. The spirit of vengeance, rising out of the abyss, never ceased to whisper in her ears, “Blood for blood, murder for murder,” and her ears were open to its cry.

II

THE BURGUNDIANS VISIT HUNLAND

The Journey

One day when the king was playing with little Ortlieb, and speaking to his mother, he said how much he wished that the child should one day be a hero like Siegfried. She nearly shrieked when she heard the name, but forcing herself to be quiet, begged her husband to invite her brothers and their friends to come on a visit to the land of the Huns. It was the first request that she had ever made, and so King Etzel was overjoyed to hear it. He despatched the minstrels Swemmeling and Wörbeling, with four and twenty noble warriors, to invite the Burgundian kings to the Midsummer festival. And Chriemhild sent a special message to her mother, begging her to come too. In spite of Hagen’s remonstrances, the three kings accepted Etzel’s invitation.

Hagen prepared for the journey as though they were setting out on a campaign, and not to a feast. The Lady Ute would have liked to go, but her age and infirmities hindered her taking so long a journey. Brunhild also remained at home, for she had no desire to see her enemy’s good fortune; besides, she had long given up caring for festivals; she only cared to spend her time near Siegfried’s grave-mound.

“The Nibelungs are going to visit the Huns,” said the common people, as they watched King Etzel’s visitors crossing the Rhine; for, ever since the treasure had come into the country, the kings and their followers had been called Nibelungs, after the unknown land.

The travellers rode for twelve days through the Black Forest and many waste places, till they reached the Danube. At the borders of Bavaria neither inn nor ferryman was to be found. While the rest made preparations to encamp for the night, Hagen went deeper into the inhospitable land, and came to a spring that ran into a small lake. There he saw some women bathing in the clear water, and at once knew that they were swan-maidens. Seeing him, they swam away, but he got possession of their feather garments, which obliged them to speak to him.

“Give us back our garments,” said one of them, “and I will tell you of the future.”

He promised to do as she desired, if she would tell him how their journey should end. She then prophesied pleasant things to him, and the hero gave back all the swan-garments. No sooner had he done this, than another of the maidens informed him that her sister had spoken words of guile, for that, far from the happy ending she had foretold, the priests alone of all that numerous company should ever see the Rhine again; as for the warriors, they should all die by the sword, if they did not at once return home. Hagen answered that he was ready to defend himself and his kings, and then asked how to cross the river. The swan-maidens directed him where he should find a ferryman, and then flew away.

Hagen followed the advice given him, and brought his company down to the ferry. The boatman turned out to be an old enemy, so after a hand-to-hand encounter, he was slain, and Hagen took his place. When they were halfway across the river, Hagen flung the priest, who accompanied them, overboard, that at least one portion of the swan-maiden’s prophecy might come to nought. But he had miscalculated in this instance; the priest’s floating garments upheld him on the turbulent waters, and the current drove him back to the shore.

“The holy man has the devil’s own luck,” said the grim warrior. “I care not, however. What must be, will be, as the Norns used to say.”

The travellers pursued their journey rather more rapidly than before. At length, after meeting with several adventures, they arrived at Margrave Rüdiger’s castle, where they met with a hearty reception from their old friend and his wife. During their visit to Bechelaren, Giselher fell in love with fair Dietelinde, the only daughter of the house, and wooed her through his brother. So, according to old custom, the youth and the maiden were called to appear before the whole company in the great hall of the castle, and say whether they were willing to be man and wife. Giselher did not hesitate for a moment. His “yes” was loud and clear. But fair Dietelinde blushed, and looked down, and her whispered “yes” was only obtained in response to a second demand. Then Giselher clasped her in his arms, and gave her the kiss of betrothal. The bond was therefore sealed for life.

The Burgundians, or Nibelungs as they were generally called, remained at Bechelaren for many days, and when they went away, their host pressed all manner of costly gifts upon them. Hagen refused to receive anything in the way of ornament, and only begged for a strong shield that hung on the wall amongst other pieces of armour.

“It is Nudung’s shield, and he, our only son, was slain by faithless Wittich,” said the Margravine; “take it, noble hero, and may it guard you well.”

The travellers continued their journey, and arrived at the land of the Huns, on the borders of which they were met by Dietrich and many other warriors. Accompanied by these, and by Rüdiger they at length arrived at Etzelburg. The queen came down to meet them in the castle court. She greeted the kings, and kissed young Giselher, but scarcely seemed to see the warriors who accompanied them. Hagen was angry, and said,—

“When one comes as an invited guest, one is accustomed to hear one’s host at least say ‘Welcome.’ This praiseworthy custom does not seem to obtain in the land of the Huns.”

“Lord Hagen of Tronje,” said Chriemhild, “have you done anything to gain such greeting? Have you, perchance, brought me some of the stolen Nibelung treasure?”

“It lies deep sunk in the Rhine,” replied the warrior, “and there it will remain till the end of time. But had I known that you desired a gift, I am rich enough to have brought you one.”