Kitabı oku: «Epics and Romances of the Middle Ages», sayfa 15

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.”

“I can do without it,” said the queen, “I too am rich; I only thought you might perhaps have desired to restore to me my own again.”

“I find my shield, helmet, sharp sword, and coat of mail a heavy enough weight to carry,” replied the hero, “but I promise to try and bring you the devil. He has much rich treasure.”

“I do not need your gifts,” cried the queen, “nor do I desire them. You have served me ill enough in time past with your murderous and thievish hand. I have not yet requited you for what you have already done for me.”

She turned away in anger, and calling her men-at-arms around her, promised to reward whoever avenged Siegfried’s death.

The queen then asked her brothers to divest themselves of their armour, as it was not customary to appear in the panoply of war before King Etzel. Hagen at once advised them not to do so, warning them of the consequences in plain terms.

Chriemhild exclaimed, that she would give much to know whose advice he was following in this matter; then the Amelung hero came forward, and boldly avowed that it was he who had given this counsel, for he knew well the devilish plots that were being contrived in the palace. The queen only answered him with an angry look, and at once retired to her apartments.

While the kings talked together in the friendliest fashion, the Hunnish warriors looked askance at the Burgundians. Hagen, desirous of showing that he felt no fear, asked one of his comrades to go with him to the inner court to await the coming of the queen. His familiar friend, Volker the minstrel, declared himself ready. They seated themselves on a bench near the queen’s hall. As they sat there—Hagen with his good sword Balmung laid across his knees—Chriemhild came down the steps, and asked him why he had hated her so, and why he had slain the noble Siegfried.

“Well,” he said, “I never denied that I did it. The queen of Burgundy was insulted for his sake, and the royal house dishonoured. The shame had to be washed out with blood, and as the hero was too strong to attack in the open field, he had to be slain by cunning. Any one may blame me, any one may strive to avenge the deed, I am not afraid. I have no cap of darkness, and am easily to be found.”

Then Chriemhild turned to her serving-men, and desired them to slay the slanderer of their queen, and the treacherous murderer of Siegfried. But the two brave men were so terrible to look upon, that none of the Huns dared touch them, although the queen offered them much gold. They then went their way, and the queen returned to her apartments, blushing with shame.

A message now came from King Etzel begging the Burgundians to visit him in his palace. They accepted the invitation, and he greeted them like old friends. After having welcomed the heroes, he said that he should very much like to know who the two warriors were that looked so brave, and stood so close together.

“They are Volker the minstrel, and my uncle Hagen of Tronje,” replied King Gunther.

“What, Hagen!” cried Etzel. “So we have met again at last, old friend, and I can tell you to your face that you have not belied the promise of your youth. But you are much changed in your looks from what you were in the old days when I was proud of your brave deeds in my service, and set you free, to return to Burgundy. You have lost an eye since then, your hair is mixed with grey, and your face has grown so rugged that you might alarm the boldest warrior when you swing your broadsword.”

“Who can tell,” replied the hero, “how soon I may have to do it again?”

“Never in the land of the Huns,” answered the king; “you, like all Burgundians, are a favoured guest.”

The evening passed quietly, and it was nearly midnight before the Burgundians were led to the great hall, where couches were spread for them with down cushions covered with gold embroidery. They agreed with Hagen that it would be well to keep watch during the night for fear of surprise, and that each man should place his weapons where he could get them at a moment’s notice.

Hagen and Volker kept guard. They had been seated for some time in silence, when all at once the minstrel saw helmets and shields glancing in the starlight. He pointed them out to his companion, who knew that they were the queen’s men, and needed no telling to inform him on what errand they were come. The minstrel wanted to spring out upon them, but Hagen prevented him, because some of the enemy might then have slipped into the hall, and perhaps murdered their sleeping friends. So peace was preserved for the time; and at dawn, the Burgundians marched to the sanctuary to keep the solemn Midsummer festival. King Etzel appeared with his train, and asked, in astonishment, why they wore their armour. But they answered that such was their custom, not thinking it well to tell him what had happened during the night.

After the service was over, a great repast was served, which was in turn succeeded by games, dances, music, and other entertainments. In all feats of arms and trials of skill in the lists, the Nibelungs showed themselves better men than the Huns. At length the games appeared to be over, and the warriors desired to rest after their exertions. As they were leaving the scene of contest, a prince of the Huns presented himself in shining armour, and offered to try his skill against the strangers, who, he alleged, had hitherto only measured their strength with the common people, and not with the princes. Bold Volker caught his spear more firmly in his hand, and turned to accept the challenge. His thrust was so shrewd that he wounded the Hun severely, and a cry of “Murder, down with the murderer!” arose on every side. A free fight would have begun in another minute, had not King Etzel thrown himself between the belligerents, and threatened death to any of his people who hurt one of his guests. Peace was then outwardly restored; but the sullen glances each side cast on the other, showed the angry turmoil in every heart.

That evening, Etzel sent for his little son into the hall, that he might present him to his guests. The warriors all admired the handsome, frank-mannered child, and told the father that they did so; but Hagen said he did not think the boy would live to grow up, he looked so delicate.

This speech of Hagen’s increased the bad feeling of the Huns towards the Burgundians tenfold; but no one betrayed his thoughts. A little later, a great noise was heard in the court without—shouts, the clang of armour, howls and cries.

The First Blood. Blödelin and Dankwart

Before the warriors went to the feast that evening, Queen Chriemhild had spoken privately to the hero of Bern. She promised him Etzel’s help in regaining his kingdom, if he would do her one service—if he would avenge Siegfried’s death. But he told her that he could not, for the Burgundian warriors were old friends and comrades of his; besides, he reminded her, that they had come to Etzelburg in all good faith and loyalty. A few minutes after Dietrich had left her sad and hopeless, Blödelin, Etzel’s brother, came in, and told the queen of what had happened that afternoon in the tilting ground. Seeing how hot his anger was, Chriemhild thought she might perhaps succeed in gaining him over to her cause. She therefore told him of the unavenged death of Siegfried, and promised him a rich treasure of silver and gold if he would do her will. But he refused, from fear of Etzel’s anger. Upon which, the wise woman offered him a margravate in addition, with lands and towers, and the hand of a beautiful maiden of her court, whom he had long wooed, and wooed in vain. These promises gained him to her will. He told her that he would cause a quarrel to spring up between the men on either side, and if Hagen came to try and settle matters, he would have him overpowered, and carried to the queen in bonds.

Chriemhild then retired to her chamber, which was pervaded by a soft light, the curtains of Indian silk keeping off the rays of the sun. As she sat there thinking, the words that her mother had once spoken rushed into her memory. “Women often strike deeper wounds and shed more blood with their tongues than men with their swords.” She would have started up, and recalled Blödelin; but at the same moment she saw, as distinctly as if it had really been there, Siegfried’s bier with the dead warrior stretched upon it. She saw him raise himself, and stretch out his arms to her; but when she started forward to meet him, there was nothing but empty air. She determined now to go on to the bitter end. Whether her vengeance brought about the death of her little son, and of King Etzel; whether it brought about the destruction of the kingdom, she did not care. She could die, and die willingly, if only she had the murderer’s life.

Meantime, Blödelin was making his preparations. His men were rejoiced to hear the news he brought them, and followed him joyously to the hall, where Dankwart the Marshal, Hagen’s brother, had charge over the serving-men. The hero rose from his seat to greet the prince, who exclaimed:

“Prepare to die. The queen demands a bloody atonement for the death of the great Siegfried.”

“But why should I have to expiate a murder of which I knew nothing?”

“That cannot be helped,” said the Hun; “my men’s swords cannot return unstained to their sheaths.”

“Then I am sorry that I gave you words of peace. I shall now give you your answer with cold steel.”

With that he drew his sword, and swung it so lustily at the warrior’s neck that his head fell to the ground at one blow.

Wild shrieks and shouts of vengeance arose, and all prepared to take part in the fight that had become inevitable. Dankwart made his way fighting to the hall, his armour bespattered with blood; but the defenceless serving-men were slain to a man.

“Up, brother Hagen!” he cried, “save me from the faithless Huns. Lord Blödelin attacked both me and the servants, in order to avenge Siegfried’s death. I slew him, but the servants are all dead, and I alone am escaped out of the traitorous toils that the Huns have laid for us.”

The Slaughter

The fight recommenced in the banqueting hall, in spite of all King Gunther’s efforts to smooth matters over, and during the struggle the little Prince Ortlieb, the sole hope of Etzel’s house, was killed. At length Hagen, Dankwart, and Volker, succeeded in locking and bolting the doors of the hall.

Etzel and the queen sat full of anxious care during the mêlée. Dietrich and Rüdiger, neither of whom took part in the fight, were also grave and sad. At length the hero of Bern exclaimed:

“Listen to me, Nibelungs. Hearken to my words, ye friends of Burgundy. Grant me a truce that I and my men and Margrave Rüdiger may go away unharmed.”

King Gunther recognised Dietrich’s voice, and said: “If any of my warriors has done harm to you or yours, noble hero of Bern, I shall take your cause into my own hands.”

“No one has done me harm,” replied the warrior; “all that I request is that you should let us go freely.”

“What is the good of so much requesting?” cried hot-headed Wolfhart; “we have sharp keys to unlock the doors with, even if a thousand such as these Nibelungs tried to keep them shut.”

“Hush! hush! foolish comrade,” said Dietrich; “there was but little sense in that speech of yours.”

King Gunther then commanded his people to open the door, and much to the wrath of the Burgundians, Dietrich passed through their ranks with Chriemhild leaning on one arm and King Etzel on the other, and followed by his six hundred warriors. After them came Rüdiger with four hundred men. Giselher said to the Margrave:

“Greet your daughter from me, and say to her that I shall think of her even in death.”

Many of the Huns tried to escape with King Etzel, but Volker cut them down as they strove to pass the door.

No sooner were Dietrich and Rüdiger safely gone than the horrible carnage recommenced. The Burgundian swords had no rest, until all the Huns were lying dead or dying on the floor. After that the Nibelungs rested awhile from their labours, but Hagen speedily called them to be up and doing, and fling the corpses out, lest they should be in the way in any renewed attack. He was at once obeyed. The dead and wounded Huns were one and all flung into the court below.

Volker and Hagen now guarded the entrance, lest the enemy should unexpectedly break in.

While Etzel wrung his hands, and moaned over the slaughter of so many good men and true, Chriemhild offered a shield full of gold and jewels to whoever slew her deadly foe, Hagen of Tronje. Of all who heard her, one alone came forward and said that he would try and do her will. And he was Count Iring of Daneland, Haward’s man.

He went forward boldly and performed prodigies of valour, but at length was beaten back, and fell dead under Chriemhild’s window.

Haward and Irnfried of Düringen (Thuringia) determined to avenge bold Iring, so they called out their men and went to the attack. The fight began at the door, where Irnfried fell under the minstrel’s sword, and immediately afterwards Haward was slain by the hero of Tronje. But still the men of Daneland and Düringen fought on unheeding, and Hagen exclaimed,—

“Give place. Let them go through the door, out of which they shall never come back alive. Volker shall play them a slumber-song to which our swords can beat the accompaniment.”

So the Nibelungs opened their ranks, and the men of Daneland and Düringen entered the blood-stained hall. Once more the battle began. Many a brave Burgundian fell to rise no more; but not one of their enemies escaped alive.

The Parley and the Fire

Silence fell on the palace. The Nibelung warriors laid down their shields and heavy armour, that they might the better rest from their labours, while Hagen and Volker kept watch by the door. During this time of quiet, the Burgundians tried to make peace. They reminded King Etzel that they had come to his land at his own invitation, and relying on his good faith, only to meet with treachery from him and his. But Etzel demanded that the Burgundians should acknowledge him their feudal superior. Then Giselher turned to his sister and asked what harm he had ever done her that she should behave in such a way. And even the women, who were weeping for their husbands and sons, bore him witness that all his life had been spent in doing good to others. Chriemhild was touched by his appeal, and told him that he, Gunther, and Gernot should go free with all their warriors and men-at-arms if only they would give up the murderer Hagen, that she might punish him as he deserved. But with one voice the Nibelungs refused terms which were dishonourable in their eyes.

Enraged at the boldness of her foes, the queen called upon the Huns to make one more assault, and drive them out of the house. Again the bitter strife began. Chriemhild knew no more compassion. She commanded her servants to set fire to the upper part of the house, which was built of wood, and soon the flames were seen spreading over the whole roof, which at length fell with a crash. A wild wail of human creatures in their last agony accompanied the fall. After that the queen retired to her own apartments, and standing at the window overlooking the house where her brothers and their friends must have been burnt, thought sadly and half remorsefully over the past. Only half remorsefully, for she felt her heart as full of hatred to Hagen as it ever had been.

Meanwhile the Nibelungs had not perished in the flames, as Chriemhild fondly imagined. The great vaulted hall in which they had entrenched themselves was too strongly built to have suffered much from the fire in the wooden upper storey; though the Burgundians were for a long time as if shut up in an oven, the heat was so terrific; they yet escaped with their lives; and Hagen made them slake their intolerable thirst by drinking the blood of their fallen enemies.

When the Huns at length came to look for their charred bodies, they were not a little surprised to find themselves confronted by six hundred brave and utterly undaunted warriors.

Slaughter Again.—The Lord of Bechelaren

The queen heard with astonishment that the Nibelungs were still alive and armed for a new fight. While she pondered what it were best to do, one of the Hunnish notables told her that she should apply for help, either to the Margrave of Bechelaren, who had received so many benefits from the king, or to Dietrich of Bern, who had enjoyed Etzel’s hospitality so long as a fugitive. Chriemhild thought the advice good, and at once sent off a message to Rüdiger.

The noble Margrave immediately obeyed the queen’s summons. Etzel explained to him the true position of affairs, and reminding him of all the honours that had been heaped upon him, told him the time was come to prove his gratitude. He must punish the Nibelungs for the great scath they had wrought to the royal house and to the land of the Huns.

“My liege,” said the good old hero sadly, “all that you have said is true, and I am ready to do you any service, however dangerous, but do not ask that I should break the faith I swore to them when they stayed with me at Bechelaren, before I led them to Etzelburg at your command. They trusted me utterly, and young Giselher chose my daughter to be his wife, and to share the Burgundian throne. Methinks it were an ill deed to raise my hand against them that trusted me.”