CHAPTER IV.

[Sidenote: Origin of Poem.] Germany's greatest epic is, without doubt, the ancient poem entitled "Nibelungenlied," or the "Lay," "Fall," or "Calamity of the Nibelungs." Although nothing certain is known concerning the real authorship of this beautiful work, it is supposed to have been put into its present form either by the Austrian minstrel von Kürenberg or by the German poet von Ofterdingen, some time previous to the year 1210, the date inscribed on the oldest manuscript of that poem now extant.

According to the best authorities on ancient German literature, the "Nibelungenlied" is compiled from preëxisting songs and rhapsodies, forming five distinct cycles of myths, but all referring in some way to the great treasure of the Nibelungs. One of these cycles is the northern Volsunga Saga,[1] where Sigurd, Gudrun, Gunnar, Högni, and Atli, the principal characters, correspond to Siegfried, Kriemhild, Gunther, Hagen, and Etzel of the "Nibelungenlied." The story of the German poem, which can be given only in outline, is as follows: [Footnote 1: See Guerber's Myths of Northern Lands, p. 225.]

Dankrat and Ute, King and Queen of Burgundy, were the fortunate parents of four children: three sons, Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher; and one beautiful daughter, Kriemhild. When the king died, his eldest son, Gunther, succeeded him, and reigned wisely and well, residing at Worms on the Rhine, his capital and favorite city.

[Sidenote: Kriemhild's dream.] As was customary in those days, Kriemhild lived a peaceful and secluded life, rarely leaving her mother's palace and protection. But one night her slumbers, which were usually very peaceful, were disturbed by a tormenting dream, which, upon awaking, she hastened to confide to her mother, thinking that, as Ute was skilled in magic and dreams, she might give a favorable interpretation and thus rid her of her haunting fears.

"A dream was dreamt by Kriemhild, the virtuous and the gay, How a wild young falcon she train'd for many a day, Till two fierce eagles tore it." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

Ute declared that the falcon her daughter had seen in her dream must be some noble prince, whom she would love and marry; while the two eagles were base murderers, who would eventually slay her beloved. Instead of reassuring Kriemhild, this interpretation only saddened her the more, and made her loudly protest that she would rather forego all the joys of married estate than have to mourn for a beloved husband.

[Sidenote: Siegfried's home.] In those days there flourished farther down the Rhine the kingdom of the Netherlands, governed by Siegmund and Siegelind. They were very proud of their only son and heir, young Siegfried, who had already reached man's estate. To celebrate his knighthood a great tournament was held at Xanten on the Rhine, and in the jousting the young prince won all the laurels, although great and tried warriors matched their skill against his in the lists.

The festivities continued for seven whole days, and when the guests departed they were all heavily laden with the costly gifts which the king and queen had lavished upon them.

"The gorgeous feast it lasted till the seventh day was o'er. Siegelind, the wealthy, did as they did of yore; She won for valiant Siegfried the hearts of young and old, When for his sake among them she shower'd the ruddy gold.

"You scarce could find one needy in all the minstrel band; Horses and robes were scatter'd with ever-open hand. They gave as though they had not another day to live; None were to take so ready as they inclin'd to give." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

After the departure of all these guests, young Siegfried sought his parents' presence, told them that he had heard rumors of the beauty and attractions of Kriemhild of Burgundy, and declared his wish to journey thither to secure her as his wife.

In vain the fond parents tried to prevail upon him to remain quietly at home; the young hero insisted so strongly that he finally won their consent to his immediate departure. With eleven companions, all decked out in the richest garments that the queen's chests could furnish, the young prince rode down the Rhine, and reached Worms on the seventh day.

[Sidenote: Siegfried's arrival in Burgundy.] The arrival of the gallant little troop was soon noted by Gunther's subjects, who hastened out to meet the strangers and help them dismount. Siegfried immediately requested to be brought into the presence of their king, who, in the mean while, had inquired of his uncle, Hagen, the names and standing of the newcomers. Glancing down from the great hall window, Hagen said that the leader must be Siegfried, the knight who had slain the owners of the Nibelungen hoard and appropriated it for his own use, as well as the magic cloud-cloak, or Tarnkappe, which rendered its wearer invisible to mortal eyes.[1] He added that this same Siegfried was ruler of the Nibelungen land, and the slayer of a terrible dragon, whose blood had made him invulnerable, and he concluded by advising Gunther to receive him most courteously. [Footnote 1: For various legends of this cycle see Guerber's Legends of the Rhine, article Xanten.]

"Yet more I know of Siegfried, that well your ear may hold: A poison-spitting dragon he slew with courage bold, And in the blood then bath'd him; thus turn'd to horn his skin, And now no weapons harm him, as often proved has been.

"Receive then this young hero with all becoming state; 'Twere ill advis'd to merit so fierce a champion's hate. So lovely is his presence, at once all hearts are won, And then his strength and courage such wondrous deeds have done." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

In obedience to this advice, Gunther went to meet Siegfried and politely inquired the cause of his visit. Imagine his dismay, therefore, when Siegfried replied that he had come to test the Burgundian's vaunted strength, and to propose a single combat, in which the victor might claim the lands and allegiance of the vanquished. Gunther recoiled from such a proposal, and as none of his warriors seemed inclined to accept the challenge, he and his brother hastened to disarm Siegfried's haughty mood by their proffers of unbounded hospitality.

Siegfried sojourned for nearly a year at Gunther's court, displaying his skill in all martial exercises; and although he never caught a glimpse of the fair maiden Kriemhild, she often admired his strength and manly beauty from behind the palace lattice.

[Sidenote: War with the Saxons and Danes.] One day the games were interrupted by the arrival of a herald announcing that Ludeger, King of the Saxons, and Ludegast, King of Denmark, were about to invade Burgundy. These tidings filled Gunther's heart with terror, for the enemy were very numerous and their valor was beyond all question. But when Hagen hinted that perhaps Siegfried would lend them a helping hand, the King of Burgundy seized the suggestion with joy.

As soon as Siegfried was made aware of the threatened invasion he declared that if Gunther would only give him one thousand brave men he would repel the foe. This offer was too good to refuse; so Gunther hastily assembled a chosen corps, in which were his brothers Gernot and Giselher, Hagen and his brother Dankwart, Ortwine, Sindolt, and Volker,--all men of remarkable valor.

"'Sir king,' said noble Siegfried, 'here sit at home and play, While I and your vassals are fighting far away; Here frolic with the ladies and many a merry mate, And trust to me for guarding your honor and estate.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

This little force, only one thousand strong, then marched bravely out of Worms, passed through Hesse, and entered Saxony, where it encountered the enemy numbering no less than twenty thousand valiant fighting men. The battle was immediately begun; and while all fought bravely, none did such wonders as Siegfried, who made both kings prisoners, routed their host, and returned triumphant to Worms, with much spoil and many captives.

A messenger had preceded him thither to announce the success of the expedition, and he was secretly summoned and questioned by Kriemhild, who, in her joy at hearing that Siegfried was unharmed and victorious, gave the messenger a large reward.

"Then spake she midst her blushes, 'Well hast thou earn'd thy meed, Well hast thou told thy story, so take thee costliest weed, And straight I'll bid be brought thee ten marks of ruddy gold.' No wonder, to rich ladies glad news are gladly told." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: Celebration of Siegfried's victory.] Kriemhild then hastened to her window, from whence she witnessed her hero's triumphant entrance, and heard the people's acclamations of joy. The wounded were cared for, the captive kings hospitably entertained and duly released, and great festivities were held to celebrate the glorious victory. Among other entertainments the knights tilted in the tournaments, and, by Gernot's advice, Ute, Kriemhild, and all the court ladies were invited to view the prowess of the men at arms. It was thus that Siegfried first beheld Kriemhild, and as soon as he saw her he gladly acknowledged that she was fairer than he could ever have supposed.

"As the moon arising outglitters every star That through the clouds so purely glimmers from afar, E'en so love-breathing Kriemhild dimm'd every beauty nigh. Well might at such a vision many a bold heart beat high." Nibelungenlied {Lettsom's tr.}.

Siegfried's happiness was complete, however, when he was appointed the escort of this peerless maiden; and on the way to and from the tournament and mass he made good use of his opportunity to whisper pretty speeches to Kriemhild, who timidly expressed her gratitude for the service he had rendered her brother, and begged that he would continue to befriend him. These words made Siegfried blush with pride, and then and there he registered a solemn vow to fulfill her request.

"'Ever,' said he, 'your brethren I'll serve as best I may, Nor once, while I have being, will head on pillow lay Till I have done to please them whate'er they bid me do; And this, my Lady Kriemhild, is all for love of you.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

The festivities being ended, Gunther bestowed many gifts on the departing guests; but when Siegfried would also have departed he entreated him to remain at Worms. This the young hero was not at all loath to do, as he had fallen deeply in love with the fair Kriemhild, whom he was now privileged to see every day.

[Sidenote: Brunhild.] The excitement consequent on the festivities had not entirely subsided in Worms when King Gunther declared his desire to win for his wife Brunhild, a princess of Issland, who had vowed to marry none but the man who could surpass her in casting a spear, in throwing a stone, and in jumping.

"Then spake the lord of Rhineland: 'Straight will I hence to sea, And seek the fiery Brunhild, howe'er it go with me. For love of the stern maiden I'll frankly risk my life; Ready am I to lose it, if I win her not to wife.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

In vain Siegfried, who knew all about Brunhild, tried to dissuade him; Gunther insisted upon departing, but proposed to Siegfried to accompany him, promising him as reward for his assistance Kriemhild's hand as soon as the princess of Issland was won. Such an offer was not to be refused, and Siegfried immediately accepted it, advising Gunther to take only Hagen and Dankwart as his attendants.

[Sidenote: The expedition to Issland.] After seeking the aid of Kriemhild for a supply of rich clothing suitable for a prince going a-wooing, Gunther and the three knights embarked on a small vessel, whose sails soon filled, and which rapidly bore them flown the Rhine and over the sea to Issland. When within sight of its shores, Siegfried bade his companions all carefully agree in representing him to the strangers as Gunther's vassal only. Their arrival was seen by some inquisitive damsels peering out of the windows of the castle, and reported to Brunhild, who immediately and joyfully concluded that Siegfried had come to seek her hand in marriage. But when she heard that he held another man's stirrup to enable him to mount, she angrily frowned, wondering why he came as a menial instead of as a king. When the strangers entered her hall she would have greeted Siegfried first had he not modestly drawn aside, declaring that the honor was due to his master, Gunther, King of Burgundy, who had come to Issland to woo her.

Brunhild then haughtily bade her warriors make all the necessary preparations for the coming contest; and Gunther, Hagen, and Dankwart apprehensively watched the movements of four warriors staggering beneath the weight of Brunhild's ponderous shield. Then they saw three others equally overpowered by her spear; and twelve sturdy servants could scarcely roll the stone she was wont to cast.

Hagen and Dankwart, fearing for their master,--who was doomed to die in case of failure,--began to mutter that some treachery was afoot, and openly regretted that they had consented to lay aside their weapons upon entering the castle. These remarks, overheard by Brunhild, called forth her scorn, and she contemptuously bade her servants bring the strangers' arms, since they were afraid.

"Well heard the noble maiden the warrior's words the while, And looking o'er her shoulder, said with a scornful smile, 'As he thinks himself so mighty, I'll not deny a guest; Take they their arms and armor, and do as seems them best.

"'Be they naked and defenseless, or sheath'd in armor sheen, To me it nothing matters,' said the haughty queen. 'Fear'd yet I never mortal, and, spite of yon stern brow And all the strength of Gunther, I fear as little now.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: Siegfried and the Tarnkappe.] While these preliminaries were being settled, Siegfried had gone down to the ship riding at anchor, and all unseen had donned his magic cloud-cloak and returned to the scene of the coming contest, where he now bade Gunther rely upon his aid.

"'I am Siegfried, thy trusty friend and true; Be not in fear a moment for all the queen can do.'

"Said he, 'Off with the buckler, and give it me to bear; Now what I shall advise thee, mark with thy closest care. Be it thine to make the gestures, and mine the work to do.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

In obedience to these directions, Gunther merely made the motions, depending upon the invisible Siegfried to parry and make all the attacks. Brunhild first poised and flung her spear with such force that both heroes staggered and almost fell; but before she could cry out victory, Siegfried had caught the spear, turned it butt end foremost, and flung it back with such violence that the princess fell and was obliged to acknowledge herself outdone.

[Sidenote: Brunhild's defeat.] Nothing daunted, however, by this first defeat, she caught up the massive stone, flung it far from her, and leaping after it, alighted beside it. But even while she was inwardly congratulating herself, and confidently cherishing the belief that the stranger could not surpass her, Siegfried caught up the stone, flung it farther still, and grasping Gunther by his broad girdle, bounded through the air with him and landed far beyond it. Brunhild was outdone in all three feats, and, according to her own promise, belonged to the victor, Gunther, to whom she now bade her people show all due respect and homage.

"Then all aloud fair Brunhild bespake her courtier band, Seeing in the ring at distance unharm'd her wooer stand: 'Hither, my men and kinsmen, low to my better bow. I am no more your mistress; you're Gunther's liegemen now.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Illustration: GUNTHER WINNING HIS BRIDE.--Keller.]

The warriors all hastened to do her bidding, and escorted their new lord to the castle, whither, under pretext of fitly celebrating her marriage, Brunhild summoned all her retainers from far and near. This rally roused the secret terror of Gunther, Hagen, and Dankwart, for they suspected some act of treachery on the part of the dark-browed queen. These fears were also, in a measure, shared by Siegfried; so he stole away, promising to return before long with a force sufficient to overawe Brunhild and quell all attempt at foul play.

Siegfried, having hastily embarked upon the little vessel, swiftly sailed away to the Nibelungen land, where he arrived in an incredibly short space of time, presented himself at the gates of his castle, and forced an entrance by conquering the giant porter, and Alberich, the dwarf guardian of his treasure. Then making himself known to his followers, the Nibelungs, he chose one thousand of them to accompany him back to Issland to support the Burgundian king.

[Sidenote: Marriage of Gunther and Brunhild.] The arrival of this unexpected force greatly surprised Brunhild. She questioned Gunther, and upon receiving the careless reply that they were only a few of his followers, who had come to make merry at his wedding, she gave up all hope of resistance. When the usual festivities had taken place, and the wonted largesses had been distributed, Gunther bade his bride prepare to follow him back to the Rhine with her personal female attendants, who numbered no less than one hundred and sixty-eight.

Brunhild regretfully left her own country, escorted by the thousand Nibelung warriors; and when they had journeyed nine days, Gunther bade Siegfried spur ahead and announce his safe return to his family and subjects. Offended by the tone of command Gunther had assumed, Siegfried at first proudly refused to obey; but when the king begged it as a favor, and mentioned Kriemhild's name, he immediately relented and set out.

"Said he, 'Nay, gentle Siegfried, do but this journey take, Not for my sake only, but for my sister's sake; You'll oblige fair Kriemhild in this as well as me.' When so implored was Siegfried, ready at once was he.

"'Whate'er you will, command me; let naught be left unsaid; I will gladly do it for the lovely maid. How can I refuse her who my heart has won? For her, whate'er your pleasure, tell it, and it is done.'" Nibelunglied (Lettsom's tr.).

Kriemhild received this messenger most graciously, and gave immediate orders for a magnificent reception of the new queen, going down to the river to meet and greet her in the most cordial and affectionate manner.

[Sidenote: Marriage of Siegfried and Kriemhild.] A tournament and banquet ensued; but as they were about to sit down to the latter, the impatient Siegfried ventured to remind Gunther of his promise, and claim the hand of Kriemhild. In spite of a low-spoken remonstrance on Brunhild's part, who said that he would surely never consent to give his only sister in marriage to a menial, Gunther sent for Kriemhild, who blushingly expressed her readiness to marry Siegfried if her brother wished. The marriage was immediately celebrated, and the two bridal couples sat side by side. But while Kriemhild's fair face was radiant with joy, Brunhild's dark brows were drawn close together in an unmistakable and ominous frown.

[Sidenote: Gunther's humiliation.] The banquet over, the newly married couples retired; but when Gunther, for the first time alone with his wife, would fain have embraced her, she seized him, and, in spite of his vigorous resistance, bound him fast with her long girdle, suspended him from a nail in the corner of her apartment, and, notwithstanding his piteous entreaties, let him remain there all night long, releasing him only a few moments before the attendants entered the nuptial chamber in the morning. Of course all seemed greatly surprised to see Gunther's lowering countenance, which contrasted oddly with Siegfried's radiant mien; for the latter had won a loving wife, and, to show his appreciation of her, had given her as wedding gift the great Nibelungen hoard.

In the course of the day Gunther managed to draw Siegfried aside, and secretly confided to him the shameful treatment he had received at his wife's hands. When Siegfried heard this he offered to don his cloud-cloak once more, enter the royal chamber unperceived, and force Brunhild to recognize her husband as her master, and never again make use of her strength against him.

[Sidenote: Brunhild subdued by Siegfried.] In pursuance of this promise Siegfried suddenly left Kriemhild's side at nightfall, stole unseen into the queen's room, and when she and Gunther had closed the door, he blew out the lights and wrestled with Brunhild until she begged for mercy, promising never to bind him again; for as Siegfried had remained invisible throughout the struggle, she thought it was Gunther who had conquered her.

"Said she, 'Right noble ruler, vouchsafe my life to spare; Whatever I've offended, my duty shall repair. I'll meet thy noble passion; my love with thine shall vie. That thou canst tame a woman, none better knows than I.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

Still unperceived, Siegfried now took her girdle and ring, and stole out of the apartment, leaving Gunther alone with his wife; but, true to her promise, Brunhild ever after treated her husband with due respect, and having once for all been conquered, she entirely lost the fabulous strength which had been her proudest boast, and was no more powerful than any other member of her sex.

After fourteen days of rejoicing, Siegfried and Kriemhild (the latter escorted by her faithful steward Eckewart) journeyed off to Xanten on the Rhine, where Siegmund and Siegelind received them joyfully, and even abdicated in their favor.

Ten years passed away very rapidly indeed. Siegfried became the father of a son, whom he named Gunther, in honor of his brother-in-law, who had called his heir Siegfried; and when Siegelind had seen her little grandson she departed from this world. Siegfried, with Kriemhild, his father, and his son, then went to the Nibelungen land, where they tarried two years.

In the mean while Brunhild, still imagining that Siegfried was only her husband's vassal, secretly wondered why he never came to court to do homage for his lands, and finally suggested to Gunther that it would be well to invite his sister and her husband to visit them at Worms. Gunther seized this suggestion gladly, and immediately sent one of his followers, Gary, to deliver the invitation, which Siegfried accepted for himself and his wife, and also for Siegmund, his father.

As they were bidden for midsummer, and as the journey was very long, Kriemhild speedily began her preparations; and when she left home she cheerfully intrusted her little son to the care of the stalwart Nibelung knights, little suspecting that she would never see him again.

On Kriemhild's arrival at Worms, Brunhild greeted her with as much pomp and ceremony as had been used for her own reception; but in spite of the amity which seemed to exist between the two queens, Brunhild was secretly angry at what she deemed Kriemhild's unwarrantable arrogance.

[Sidenote: Brunhild and Kreimhild.] One day, when the two queens were sitting together, Brunhild, weary of hearing Kriemhild's constant praise of her husband, who she declared was without a peer in the world, cuttingly remarked that since he was Gunther's vassal he must necessarily be his inferior. This remark called forth a retort from Kriemhild, and a dispute was soon raging, in the course of which Kriemhild vowed that she would publicly assert her rank by taking the precedence of Brunhild in entering the church. The queens parted in hot anger, but both immediately proceeded to attire themselves with the utmost magnificence, and, escorted by all their maids, met at the church door. Brunhild there bade Kriemhild stand aside and make way for her superior; but this order so angered the Nibelungen queen that the dispute was resumed in public with increased vehemence and bitterness.

In her indignation Kriemhild finally insulted Brunhild grossly by declaring that she was not a faithful wife; and in proof of her assertion she produced the ring and girdle which Siegfried had won in his memorable encounter with her, and which he had imprudently given to his wife, to whom he had also confided the secret of Brunhild's wooing.

Brunhild indignantly summoned Gunther to defend her, and he, in anger, sent for Siegfried, who publicly swore that his wife had not told the truth, and that Gunther's queen had in no way forfeited her good name. Further to propitiate his host, Siegfried declared the quarrel to be disgraceful, and promised to teach his wife better manners for the future, advising Gunther to do the same with his consort.

"'Women must be instructed,' said Siegfried the good knight, 'To leave off idle talking and rule their tongues aright. Keep thy fair wife in order. I'll do by mine the same. Such overweening folly puts me indeed to shame.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

To carry out this good resolution he led Kriemhild home, where, sooth to say, he beat her black and blue,--an heroic measure which Gunther did not dare to imitate.

Brunhild, smarting from the public insult received, continued to weep aloud and complain, until Hagen, inquiring the cause of her extravagant grief, and receiving a highly colored version of the affair, declared that he would see that she was duly avenged.

"He ask'd her what had happen'd--wherefore he saw her weep; She told him all the story; he vow'd to her full deep That reap should Kriemhild's husband as he had dar'd to sow, Or that himself thereafter content should never know." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

To keep this promise, Hagen next tried to stir up the anger of Gunther, Gernot, and Ortwine, and to prevail upon them to murder Siegfried; but Giselher reproved him for these base designs, and openly took Siegfried's part, declaring:

"'Sure 'tis but a trifle to stir an angry wife.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

But although he succeeded in quelling the attempt for the time being, he was no match for the artful Hagen, who continually reminded Gunther of the insult his wife had received, setting it in the worst possible light, and finally so worked upon the king's feelings that he consented to a treacherous assault.

[Sidenote: Hagen's treachery.] Under pretext that his former enemy, Ludeger, was about to attack him again, Gunther asked Siegfried's assistance, and began to prepare as if for war. When Kriemhild heard that her beloved husband was about to rush into danger she was greatly troubled. Hagen artfully pretended to share her alarm, and so won her confidence that she revealed to him that Siegfried was invulnerable except in one spot, between his shoulders, where a lime leaf had rested and the dragon's blood had not touched him.

"'So now I'll tell the secret, dear friend, alone to thee (For thou, I doubt not, cousin, wilt keep thy faith with me), Where sword may pierce my darling, and death sit on the thrust. See, in thy truth and honor how full, how firm, my trust!

"'As from the dragon's death-wounds gush'd out the crimson gore, With the smoking torrent the warrior wash'd him o'er, A leaf then 'twixt his shoulders fell from the linden bough. There only steel can harm him; for that I tremble now.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

Pretending a sympathy he was far from feeling, and disguising his unholy joy, Hagen bade Kriemhild sew a tiny cross on Siegfried's doublet over the vulnerable spot, that he might the better protect him in case of danger, and, after receiving her profuse thanks, returned to report the success of his ruse to the king. When Siegfried joined them on the morrow, wearing the fatal marked doublet, he was surprised to hear that the rebellion had been quelled without a blow; and when invited to join in a hunt in the Odenwald instead of the fray, he gladly signified his consent. After bidding farewell to Kriemhild, whose heart was sorely oppressed by dark forebodings, he joined the hunting party. He scoured the forest, slew several boars, caught a bear alive, and playfully let him loose in camp to furnish sport for the guests while the noonday meal was being prepared. Then he gaily sat down, clamoring for a drink. His exertions had made him very thirsty indeed, and he was sorely disappointed when told that, owing to a mistake, the wine had been carried to another part of the forest. But when Hagen pointed out a fresh spring at a short distance, all his wonted good humor returned, and he merrily proposed a race thither, offering to run in full armor, while the others might lay aside their cumbersome weapons. This challenge was accepted by Hagen and Gunther. Although heavily handicapped, Siegfried reached the spring first; but, wishing to show courtesy to his host, he bade him drink while he disarmed. When Gunther's thirst was quenched, Siegfried took his turn, and while he bent over the water Hagen treacherously removed all his weapons except his shield, and gliding behind him, drove his spear through his body in the exact spot where Kriemhild had embroidered the fatal mark.

[Sidenote: Death of Siegfried.] Mortally wounded, Siegfried made a desperate effort to avenge himself; but finding nothing but his shield within reach, he flung it with such force at his murderer that it knocked him down. This last effort exhausted the remainder of his strength, and the hero fell back upon the grass, cursing the treachery of those whom he had trusted as friends.

"Thus spake the deadly wounded: 'Ay, cowards false as hell! To you I still was faithful; I serv'd you long and well;-- But what boots all?--for guerdon treason and death I've won. By your friends, vile traitors! foully have you done.

"'Whoever shall hereafter from your loins be born, Shall take from such vile fathers a heritage of scorn. On me you have wreak'd malice where gratitude was due; With shame shall you be banish'd by all good knights and true.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

But even in death Siegfried could not forget his beloved wife; and laying aside all his anger, he pathetically recommended her to Gunther's care, bidding him guard her well. Siegfried expired as soon as these words were uttered; and the hunters silently gathered around his corpse, regretfully contemplating the fallen hero, while they took counsel together how they might keep the secret of Hagen's treachery. They finally agreed to carry the body back to Worms and to say that they had found Siegfried dead in the forest, where he had presumably been slain by highwaymen.

"Then many said, repenting, 'This deed will prove our bale; Still let us shroud the secret, and all keep in one tale,-- That the good lord of Kriemhild to hunt alone preferr'd, And so was slain by robbers as through the wood he spurr'd.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

But although his companions were anxious to shield him, Hagen gloried in his dastardly deed, and secretly bade the bearers deposit Siegfried's corpse at Kriemhild's door after nightfall, so that she should be the first to see it there when on her way to early mass. As he fully expected, Kriemhild immediately recognized her husband, and fell senseless upon him; but when she had recovered consciousness she declared, while loudly bewailing her loss, that Siegfried was the victim of an assassination.

"'Woe's me, woe's me forever! sure no fair foeman's sword Shiver'd thy failing buckler; 'twas murder stopp'd thy breath. Oh that I knew who did it! death I'd requite with death!'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

By her orders a messenger was sent to break the mournful tidings to the still sleeping Siegmund and the Nibelungs. They hastily armed and rallied about her, and would have fallen upon the Burgundians, to avenge their master's death, had she not restrained them, bidding them await a suitable occasion, and promising them her support when the right time came.

[Sidenote: Detection of Siegfried's murderer.] The preparations for a sumptuous funeral were immediately begun, and all lent a willing hand, for Siegfried was greatly beloved at Worms. His body was therefore laid in state in the cathedral, where all came to view it and condole with Kriemhild; but when Gunther drew near to express his sorrow, she refused to listen to him until he promised that all those present at the hunt should touch the body, which at the murderer's contact would bleed afresh. All stood the test and were honorably acquitted save Hagen, at whose touch Siegfried's blood began to flow.

"It is a mighty marvel, which oft e'en now we spy, That when the blood-stain'd murderer comes to the murder'd nigh, The wounds break out a-bleeding; then too the same befell, And thus could each beholder the guilt of Hagen tell." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

Once more Kriemhild restrained the angry Nibelung warriors from taking immediate revenge, and, upheld by Gernot and Giselher, who really sympathized with her grief, she went through the remainder of the funeral ceremonies and saw her hero duly laid at rest.

Kriemhild's mourning had only begun. All her days and nights were now spent in bitter weeping. This sorrow was fully shared by Siegmund, who, however, finally roused himself and proposed a return home. Kriemhild was about to accompany him, when her relatives persuaded her to remain in Burgundy. Then the little band which had come in festal array rode silently away in mourning robes, the grim Nibelung knights muttering dark threats against those who had dealt so basely with their beloved master.

"'Into this same country we well may come again To seek and find the traitor who laid our master low. Among the kin of Siegfried they have many a mortal foe.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: The Nibelungen hoard.] Eckewart the steward alone remained with Kriemhild, with a faithfulness which has become proverbial in the German language, and prepared for his mistress a dwelling close by the cathedral, so that she might constantly visit her husband's tomb. Here Kriemhild spent three years in complete seclusion, refusing to see Gunther, or the detested Hagen; but they, remembering that the immense Nibelungen hoard was hers by right, continually wondered how she could be induced to send for it. Owing to Hagen's advice, Gunther, helped by his brothers, finally obtained an interview with, and was reconciled to, his mourning sister, and shortly after persuaded her to send twelve men to claim from Alberich, the dwarf, the fabulous wealth her husband had bestowed upon her as a wedding gift.

"It was made up of nothing but precious stones and gold; Were all the world bought from it, and down the value told, Not a mark the less thereafter were left than erst was scor'd. Good reason sure had Hagen to covet such a hoard.

"And thereamong was lying the wishing rod of gold, Which whoso could discover, might in subjection hold All this wide world as master, with all that dwelt therein. There came to Worms with Gernot full many of Albric's kin." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

But although this wealth is said to have filled nearly one hundred and fifty wagons, Kriemhild would gladly have given it all away could she but have seen her husband by her side once more. Not knowing what else to do with it, she gave away her gold right and left, bidding all the recipients of her bounty pray for Siegfried's soul. Her largesses were so extensive that Hagen, who alone did not profit by her generosity, and who feared the treasure might be exhausted before he could obtain a share, sought out Gunther and told him that Kriemhild was secretly winning to her side many adherents, whom she would some day urge to avenge her husband's murder by slaying her kindred.

[Illustration: SIEGFRIED'S BODY BORNE HOME BY THE HUNTSMEN.--Pixis.]

While Gunther was trying to devise some plan to obtain possession of the hoard, Hagen boldly seized the keys of the tower where it was kept, secretly removed all the gold, and, to prevent its falling into any hands but his own, sank it in the Rhine near Lochheim.

"Ere back the king came thither, impatient of delay, Hagen seized the treasure, and bore it thence away. Into the Rhine at Lochheim the whole at once threw he! Henceforth he thought t'enjoy it, but that was ne'er to be.

"He nevermore could get it for all his vain desire; So fortune oft the traitor cheats of his treason's hire. Alone he hop'd to use it as long as he should live, But neither himself could profit, nor to another give." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

When Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher heard what Hagen had done, they were so angry that he deemed it advisable to withdraw from court for a while. Kriemhild would fain have left Burgundy forever at this fresh wrong, but with much difficulty was prevailed upon to remain and take up her abode at Lorch, whither Siegfried's remains were removed by her order.

[Sidenote: King of Hungary a suitor for Kriemhild.] Thirteen years had passed by since Siegfried's death in the Odenwald when Etzel, King of Hungary, who had lost his beautiful and beloved wife, Helche, bade one of his knights, Rüdiger of Bechlaren, ride to Worms and sue for the hand of Kriemhild in his master's name.

Rüdiger immediately gathered together a suitable train and departed, stopping on the way to visit his wife and daughter at Bechlaren. Passing all through Bavaria, he arrived at last at Worms, where he was warmly welcomed, by Hagen especially, who had formerly known him well.

In reply to Gunther's courteous inquiry concerning the welfare of the King and Queen of the Huns, Rüdiger announced the death of the latter, and declared that he had come to sue for Kriemhild's hand.

"Thereon the highborn envoy his message freely told: 'King, since you have permitted, I'll to your ears unfold Wherefore my royal master me to your court has sent, Plung'd as he is in sorrow and doleful dreariment.

"'It has been told my master, Sir Siegfried now is dead, And Kriemhild left a widow. If thus they both have sped, Would you but permit her, she the crown shall wear Before the knights of Etzel; this bids me my good lord declare.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

Gunther gladly received this message, promised to do all in his power to win Kriemhild's consent, and said that he would give the envoy a definite answer in three days' time. He then consulted his brothers and nobles as to the advisability of the proposed alliance, and found that all were greatly in favor of it save Hagen, who warned them that if Kriemhild were ever Queen of the Huns she would use her power to avenge her wrongs.

[Sidenote: Rüdiger's promise.] This warning was, however, not heeded by the royal brothers, who, seeking Kriemhild's presence, vainly tried to make her accept the Hun's proposal. All she would grant was an audience to Rüdiger, who laid before her his master's proposal, described the power of the Huns, and swore to obey her in all things would she but consent to become his queen.

"In vain they her entreated, in vain to her they pray'd, Till to the queen the margrave this secret promise made,-- He'd 'full amends procure her for past or future ill.' Those words her storm-tost bosom had power in part to still." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: The journey to Hungary.] After receiving this promise, Kriemhild signified her consent, and immediately prepared to accompany Rüdiger to King Etzel's court. Eckewart and all her maidens accompanied her, with five hundred men as a bodyguard; and Gernot and Giselher, with many Burgundian nobles, escorted her to Vergen on the Danube, where they took an affectionate leave of her, and went back to their home in Burgundy.

From Vergen, Kriemhild and her escort journeyed on to Passau, where they were warmly welcomed and hospitably entertained by good Bishop Pilgrim, brother of Queen Ute. He would gladly have detained them, had not Rüdiger declared that his master impatiently awaited the coming of his bride, which had duly been announced to him.

A second pause was made at Bechlaren, Rüdiger's castle, where Kriemhild was entertained by his wife and daughter, Gotelinde and Dietelinde, and where the usual lavish distribution of gifts took place. Then the procession swept on again across the country and down the Danube, until they met King Etzel, whom Kriemhild graciously kissed, and who obtained a similar favor for his brother and a few of his principal nobles.

[Sidenote: The marriage at Vienna.] After witnessing some tilting and other martial games, the king and queen proceeded to Vienna, where a triumphal reception awaited them, and where their marriage was celebrated with all becoming solemnity and great pomp. The wedding festivities lasted seventeen days; but although all vied in their attempts to please Kriemhild, she remained sad and pensive, for she could not forget her beloved Siegfried and the happy years she had spent with him.

The royal couple next journeyed on to Gran, Etzel's capital, where Kriemhild found innumerable handmaidens ready to do her will, and where Etzel was very happy with his new consort. His joy was complete, however, only when she bore him a son, who was baptized in the Christian faith, and called Ortlieb.

Although thirteen years had now elapsed since Kriemhild had left her native land, the recollection of her wrongs was as vivid as ever, her melancholy just as profound, and her thoughts were ever busy planning how best to lure Hagen into her kingdom so as to work her revenge.

"One long and dreary yearning she foster'd hour by hour; She thought, 'I am so wealthy and hold such boundless power, That I with ease a mischief can bring on all my foes, But most on him of Trony, the deadliest far of those.

"'Full oft for its beloved my heart is mourning still; Them could I but meet with, who wrought me so much ill, Revenge should strike at murder, and life atone for life; Wait can I no longer.' So murmur'd Etzel's wife." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: Kriemhild's plot.] Kriemhild finally decided to persuade Etzel to invite all her kinsmen for a midsummer visit, which the king, not dreaming of her evil purpose, immediately hastened to do. Two minstrels, Werbel and Swemmel, were sent with the most cordial invitation. Before they departed Kriemhild instructed them to be sure and tell all her kinsmen that she was blithe and happy, and not melancholy as of yore, and to use every effort to bring not only the kings, but also Hagen, who, having been at Etzel's court as hostage in his youth, could best act as their guide.

The minstrels were warmly received at Worms, where their invitation created great excitement. All were in favor of accepting it except Hagen, who objected that Kriemhild had cause for anger and would surely seek revenge when they were entirely in her power.

"'Trust not, Sir King,' said Hagen, 'how smooth soe'er they be, These messengers from Hungary; if Kriemhild you will see, You put upon the venture your honor and your life. A nurse of ling'ring vengeance is Etzel's moody wife.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

But all his objections were set aside with the remark that he alone had a guilty conscience; and the kings bade the minstrels return to announce their coming, although Ute also tried to keep them at home. Hagen, who was no coward, seeing them determined to go, grimly prepared to accompany them, and prevailed upon them to don their strongest armor for the journey.

Gunther was accompanied by both his brothers, by Hagen, Dankwart, Volker (his minstrel), Gary, and Ortwine, and by one thousand picked men as escort. Before leaving he intrusted his wife, Brunhild, and his son to the care of Rumolt, his squire, and bidding farewell to his people, set out for Hungary, whence he was never to return.

In the mean while the Hungarian minstrels had hastened back to Gran to announce the guests' coming, and, upon being closely questioned by Kriemhild, described Hagen's grim behavior, and repeated his half-muttered prophecy: "This jaunt's a jaunt to death."

The Burgundians, who in this part of the poem are frequently called Nibelungs (because they now held the great hoard), reached the Danube on the twelfth day. As they found neither ford nor ferry, Hagen, after again prophesying all manner of evil, volunteered to go in search of a boat or raft to cross the rapid stream.

[Sidenote: Prophecy of the swan maidens.] He had not gone very far before he heard the sound of voices, and, peeping through the bushes, saw some swan maidens, or "wise women," bathing in a neighboring fountain. Stealing up unperceived, he secured their plumage, which he consented to restore only after they had predicted the result of his journey. To obtain her garments, one of the women, Hadburg, prophesied great good fortune; but when the pilfered robes were restored, another, called Siegelind, foretold much woe.

"'I will warn thee, Hagen, thou son of Aldrian; My aunt has lied unto thee her raiment back to get; If once thou com'st to Hungary, thou'rt taken in the net.

"'Turn while there's time for safety, turn, warriors most and least; For this, and for this only, you're bidden to the feast, That you perforce may perish in Etzel's bloody land. Whoever rideth thither, Death has he close at hand.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

After adding that the chaplain alone would return alive to Worms, she told Hagen that he would find a ferryman on the opposite side of the river, farther down, but that he would not obey his call unless he declared his name to be Amelrich.

Hagen, after leaving the wise women, soon saw the ferryman's boat anchored to the opposite shore, and failing to make him come over for a promised reward, he cried out that his name was Amelrich. The ferryman immediately crossed, but when Hagen sprang into his boat he detected the fraud and began to fight. Although gigantic in size, this ferryman was no match for Hagen, who, after slaying him, took possession of the boat and skillfully ferried his masters and companions across the river.

In hope of giving the lie to the swan maidens, Hagen paused once in the middle of the stream to fling the chaplain overboard, thinking he would surely drown; but to his surprise and dismay the man struggled back to the shore, where he stood alone and unharmed, and whence he slowly wended his way back to Burgundy. Hagen now knew that the swan maidens' prophecy was destined to be fulfilled. Nevertheless he landed on the opposite shore, where he bade the main part of the troop ride on ahead, leaving him and Dankwart to bring up the rear, for he fully expected that Gelfrat, master of the murdered ferryman, would pursue them to avenge the latter's death. These previsions were soon verified, and in the bloody encounter which ensued, Hagen came off victor, with the loss of but four men, while the enemy left more than one hundred dead upon the field.

[Sidenote: The first warning.] Hagen joined the main body of the army once more, passed on with it to Passau, where Bishop Pilgrim was as glad to see his nephews as he had been to welcome his niece, and from thence went on to the frontiers of Bechlaren. There they found Eckewart, who had been sent by Rüdiger to warn them not to advance any farther, as he suspected that some treachery was afoot.

"Sir Eckewart replied: 'Yet much, I own, it grieves me that to the Huns you ride. You took the life of Siegfried; all hate you deadly here; As your true friend I warn you; watch well, and wisely fear.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

As the Burgundians would have deemed themselves forever disgraced were they to withdraw from their purpose, they refused to listen to this warning, and, entering Rüdiger's castle, were warmly received by him and his family. Giselher, seeing the beauty of the maiden Dietelinde, fell deeply in love with her, and prevailed upon the margrave to consent to their immediate marriage, promising, however, to claim and bear away his bride only upon his homeward journey. Once more gifts were lavished with mediaeval profusion, Gunther receiving a coat of mail, Gernot a sword, Hagen a shield, and the minstrel Volker many rings of red gold.

[Sidenote: The second warning.] Rüdiger then escorted the Burgundians until they met the brave Dietrich von Bern (Verona), who also warned them that their visit was fraught with danger, for Kriemhild had by no means forgotten the murder of the husband of her youth.

His evil prognostications were also of no avail, and he sadly accompanied them until they met Kriemhild, who embraced Giselher only. Then, turning suddenly upon Hagen, she inquired aloud, in the presence of all the people, whether he had brought her back her own, the Nibelung hoard. Nothing daunted by this sudden query, Hagen haughtily answered that the treasure still lay deep in the Rhine, where he fancied it would rest until the judgment day.

"'I' faith, my Lady Kriemhild, 'tis now full many a day Since in my power the treasure of the Nibelungers lay. In the Rhine my lords bade sink it; I did their bidding fain, And in the Rhine, I warrant, till doomsday 'twill remain.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

The queen turned her back contemptuously upon him, and invited her other guests to lay aside their weapons, for none might enter the great hall armed. This Hagen refused to allow them to do, saying that he feared treachery; and the queen, pretending great grief, inquired who could have filled her kinsmen's hearts with such unjust suspicions. Sir Dietrich then boldly stepped forward, defied Kriemhild, and declared that it was he who had bidden the Burgundians be thus on their guard.

"''Twas I that the warning to the noble princes gave, And to their liegeman Hagen, to whom such hate thou bear'st. Now up, she-fiend! be doing, and harm me if thou dar'st!'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: Alliance between Hagen and Volker.] Although the thirst for revenge now made her a "she-fiend," as he termed her, Kriemhild did not dare openly to attack Dietrich, whom all men justly feared; and she quickly concealed her anger, while Etzel advanced in his turn to welcome his guests; and especially singled out Hagen, his friend's son. While many of the Burgundians accompanied the king into the hall, Hagen drew Volker aside, and, sitting down on a stone seat near Kriemhild's door, entered into a life-and-death alliance with him. Kriemhild, looking out of her window, saw him there and bade her followers go out and slay him; but although they numbered four hundred, they hung back, until the queen, thinking that they doubted her assertions, volunteered to descend alone and wring from Hagen a confession of his crimes, while they lingered within earshot inside the building. Volker, seeing the queen approach, proposed to Hagen to rise and show her the customary respect; but the latter, declaring that she would ascribe this token of decorum to fear alone, grimly bade him remain seated, and, when she addressed him, boldly acknowledged that he alone had slain Siegfried.

"Said he, 'Why question further? that were a waste of breath. In a word, I am e'en Hagen, who Siegfried did to death.

* * * * *

"'What I have done, proud princess, I never will deny. The cause of all the mischief, the wrong, the loss, am I. So now, or man or woman, revenge it whoso will; I scorn to speak a falsehood,--I've done you grievous ill.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

But although the warriors had heard every word he said, and the queen again urged them on to attack her foe, they one and all withdrew after meeting one of Hagen's threatening glances. This episode, however, was enough to show the Burgundians very plainly what they could expect, and Hagen and Volker soon joined their companions, keeping ever side by side, according to their agreement.

"Howe'er the rest were coupled, as mov'd to court the train, Folker and Hagen parted ne'er again, Save in one mortal struggle, e'en to their dying hour." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

After banqueting with Etzel the guests were led to their appointed quarters, far remote from those of their squires; and when the Huns began to crowd them, Hagen again frightened them off with one of his black looks. When the hall where they were to sleep was finally reached, the knights all lay down to rest except Hagen and Volker, who mounted guard, the latter beguiling the hours by playing on his fiddle.

Once, in the middle of the night, these self-appointed sentinels saw an armed troop draw near; but when they loudly challenged the foremost men, they beat a hasty retreat. At dawn of day the knights arose to go to mass, wearing their arms by Hagen's advice, keeping well together, and presenting such a threatening aspect that Kriemhild's men dared not attack them.

In spite of all these signs, Etzel remained entirely ignorant of his wife's evil designs, and continued to treat the Burgundians like friends and kinsmen.

"How deep soe'er and deadly the hate she bore her kin, Still, had the truth by any disclos'd to Etzel been, He had at once prevented what afterwards befell. Through proud contemptuous courage they scorn'd their wrongs to tell." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: Beginning of hostilities.] After mass a tournament was held, Dietrich and Rüdiger virtuously abstaining from taking part in it, lest some mishap should occur through their bravery, and fan into flames the smoldering fire of discord. In spite of all these precautions, however, the threatened disruption nearly occurred when Volker accidentally slew a Hun; and it was avoided only by King Etzel's prompt interference.

Kriemhild, hearing of this accident, vainly tried to use it as an excuse to bribe Dietrich, or his man Hildebrand, to slay her foe. She finally won over Blödelin, the king's brother, by promising him a fair bride. To earn this reward the prince went with an armed host to the hall where all the Burgundian squires were feasting under Dankwart's care, and there treacherously slew them all, Dankwart alone escaping to the king's hall to join his brother Hagen.

In the mean while Etzel was entertaining his mailed guests, and had sent for his little son, whom he placed in Gunther's lap, telling him that he would soon send the boy to Burgundy to be educated among his mother's kin.

All admired the graceful child except Hagen, who gruffly remarked that the child appeared more likely to die early than to live to grow up. He had just finished this rude speech, which filled Etzel's heart with dismay, when Dankwart burst into the room, exclaiming that all his companions had been slain, and calling to Hagen for aid.

"'Be stirring, brother Hagen; you're sitting all too long. To you and God in heaven our deadly strait I plain: Yeomen and knights together lie in their quarters slain.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: Ortlieb slain.] The moment Hagen heard these tidings he sprang to his feet, drew his sword, and bade Dankwart guard the door and prevent the ingress or egress of a single Hungarian. Then he struck off the head of the child Ortlieb, which bounded into Kriemhild's lap, cut off the minstrel Werbel's hand, and began hewing right and left among the Hungarians, aided by all his companions, who manfully followed his example.

Dismayed at this sudden turn of affairs, the aged King Etzel "sat in mortal anguish," helplessly watching the massacre, while Kriemhild shrieked aloud to Dietrich to protect her from her foes. Moved to pity by her evident terror, Dietrich blew a resounding blast on his horn, and Gunther paused in his work of destruction to inquire how he might serve the man who had ever shown himself a friend. Dietrich answered by asking for a safe-conduct out of the hall for himself and his followers, which was immediately granted.

"'Let me with your safe-conduct this hall of Etzel's leave, And quit this bloody banquet with those who follow me; And for this grace forever I'll at your service be.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: The massacre.] Dietrich von Bern then passed out of the hall unmolested, leading the king by one hand and the queen by the other, and closely followed by all his retainers. This same privilege was granted to Rüdiger and his five hundred men; but when these had all passed out, the Burgundians renewed the bloody fight, nor paused until all the Huns in the hall were slain, and everything was reeking with blood.

Then the Burgundians gathered up the corpses, which they flung down the staircase, at the foot of which Etzel stood, helplessly wringing his hands, and vainly trying to discover some means of stopping the fight.

Kriemhild, in the mean while, was actively employed in gathering men, promising large rewards to any one who would attack and slay Hagen. Urged on by her, Iring attempted to force an entrance, but was soon driven back; and when he would have made a second assault, Hagen ruthlessly slew him.

Irnfried the Thuringian, and Hawart the Dane, seeing him fall, rushed impetuously upon the Burgundians to avenge him; but both fell under Hagen's and Volker's mighty blows, while their numerous followers were all slain by the other Burgundians.

"A thousand and four together had come into the hall; You might see the broadswords flashing rise and fall; Soon the bold intruders all dead together lay; Of those renown'd Burgundians strange marvels one might say." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

Etzel and the Huns were mourning over their dead; so the weary Burgundians removed their helmets and rested, while Kriemhild continued to muster new troops to attack her kinsmen, who were still strongly intrenched in the great hall.

"'Twas e'en on a midsummer befell that murderous fight, When on her nearest kinsmen and many a noble knight Dame Kriemhild wreak'd the anguish that long in heart she bore, Whence inly griev'd King Etzel, nor joy knew evermore.

"Yet on such sweeping slaughter at first she had not thought; She only had for vengeance on one transgressor sought. She wish'd that but on Hagen the stroke of death might fall; 'Twas the foul fiend's contriving that they should perish all." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

An attempt was now made by the Burgundians to treat with Etzel for a safe-conduct. Obdurate at first, he would have yielded had not Kriemhild advised him to pursue the feud to the bitter end, unless her brothers consented to surrender Hagen to her tender mercies. This, of course, Gunther absolutely refused to do; so Kriemhild gave secret orders that the hall in which the Burgundians were intrenched should be set on fire. Surrounded by bitter foes, blinded by smoke, and overcome by the heat, the Burgundians still held their own, slaking their burning thirst by drinking the blood of the slain, and taking refuge from the flames under the stone arches which supported the ceiling of the hall.

[Sidenote: Rüdiger's oath.] Thus they managed to survive that terrible night; but when morning dawned and the queen heard that they were still alive, she bade Rüdiger go forth and fight them. He refused until she reminded him or the solemn oath he had sworn to her in Worms before she would consent to accompany him to Hungary.

"'Now think upon the homage that once to me you swore, When to the Rhine, good warrior, King Etzel's suit you bore, That you would serve me ever to either's dying day. Ne'er can I need so deeply that you that vow should pay.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

Torn by conflicting feelings and urged by opposite oaths,--for he had also sworn to befriend the Burgundians,--Rüdiger now vainly tried to purchase his release by the sacrifice of all his possessions. At last, goaded to madness, he yielded to the king's and queen's entreaties, armed his warriors, and drew near the hall where his former guests were intrenched. At first they could not believe that Rüdiger had any hostile intentions; but when he pathetically informed them that he must fight, and recommended his wife and daughter to their care in case he fell, they silently allowed him and his followers to enter the hall, and grimly renewed the bloody conflict.

[Sidenote: Death of Rüdiger.] Rüdiger, after slaying many foes, encountered Gernot wielding the sword he had given him; and these two doughty champions finally slew each other. All the followers of Rüdiger also fell; and when Kriemhild, who was anxiously awaiting the result of this new attack in the court below, saw his corpse among the slain, she began to weep and bemoan her loss. The mournful tidings of Rüdiger's death soon spread all over the town, and came finally to the ears of Dietrich von Bern, who bade his man Hildebrand go and claim the corpse from his Burgundian friends.

Hildebrand went thither with an armed force, but some of his men unfortunately began to bandy words with the Burgundians, and this soon brought about an impetuous fight. In the ensuing battle all the Burgundians fell except Gunther and Hagen, while Hildebrand escaped sore wounded to his master, Dietrich von Bern. When this hero heard that his nephew and vassals were all slain, he quickly armed himself, and, after vainly imploring Gunther and Hagen to surrender, fell upon them with an armed force. The two sole remaining Burgundians were now so exhausted that Dietrich soon managed to take them captive. He led them bound to Kriemhild, and implored her to have pity upon them and spare their lives.

"'Fair and noble Kriemhild,' thus Sir Dietrich spake, Spare this captive warrior, who full amends will make For all his past transgressions; him here in bonds you see; Revenge not on the fetter'd th' offenses of the free.'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: Kriemhild's cruelty.] By the queen's orders, Gunther and Hagen were confined in separate cells. There she soon sought the latter, promising him his liberty if he would but reveal the place where her treasure was concealed. But Hagen, mistrusting her, declared that he had solemnly sworn never to reveal the secret as long as one of his masters breathed. Kriemhild, whose cruelty had long passed all bounds, left him only to have her brother Gunther beheaded, and soon returned carrying his head, which she showed to Hagen, commanding him to speak. But he still refused to gratify her, and replied that since he was now the sole depositary of the secret, it would perish with him.

"'So now, where lies the treasure none knows save God and me, And told it shall be never, be sure, she-fiend, to thee!'" Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

[Sidenote: Kriemhild slain.] This defiant answer so exasperated Kriemhild that she seized the sword hanging by his side,--which she recognized as Siegfried's favorite weapon,--and with her own hands cut off his head before Etzel or any of his courtiers could interfere. Hildebrand, seeing this act of treachery, sprang impetuously forward, and, drawing his sword, slew her who had brought untold misery into the land of the Huns.

"The mighty and the noble there lay together dead; For this had all the people dole and drearihead. The feast of royal Etzel was thus shut up in woe, Pain in the steps of Pleasure treads ever here below.

"'Tis more than I can tell you what afterwards befell, Save that there was weeping for friends belov'd so well; Knights and squires, dames and damsels, were seen lamenting all. So end I here my story. This is the Nibelungers' Fall." Nibelungenlied (Lettsom's tr.).

Although the "Nibelungenlied" proper ends here, an appendix, probably by another hand, called the "Lament," continues the story, and relates how Etzel, Dietrich, and Hildebrand, in turn, extolled the high deeds and bewailed the untimely end of each hero. Then this poem, which is as mournful as monotonous throughout, describes the departure of the messengers sent to bear the evil tidings and the weapons of the slain to Worms, and their arrival at Passau, where more tears were shed and where Bishop Pilgrim celebrated a solemn mass for the rest of the heroes' souls.

From thence the funeral procession slowly traveled on to Worms, where the sad news was imparted to the remaining Burgundians, who named the son of Gunther and Brunhild as their king, and who never forgot the fatal ride to Hungary.

CHAPTER V.

Although the following tales of mythical heroes have some slight historical basis, they have been so adorned by the fancy of mediaeval bards, and so frequently remodeled with utter disregard of all chronological sequence, that the kernel of truth is very hard to find, and the stories must rather be considered as depicting customs and times than as describing actual events. They are recorded in the "Heldenbuch," or "Book of Heroes," edited in the fifteenth century by Kaspar von der Rhön from materials which had been touched up by Wolfram von Eschenbach and Heinrich von Ofterdingen in the twelfth century. The poem of "Ortnit," for instance, is known to have existed as early as the ninth century.

[Sidenote: The Langobards and Gepidae.] According to the poets of the middle ages, the Gepidae and the Langobards settled in Pannonia (Hungary and the neighboring provinces), where they were respectively governed by Thurisind and Audoin. The sons of these two kings, having quarreled for a trifle, met in duel soon after, and the Langobardian prince, having slain his companion, took possession of his arms, with which he proudly returned home.

But when, flushed with victory, he would fain have taken his seat at his father's board with the men at arms, Audoin gravely informed him that it was not customary for a youth to claim a place beside tried warriors until some foreign king had distinguished him by the present of a complete suit of armor. Angry at being thus publicly repulsed, Alboin, the prince, strode out of his father's hall, resolved to march into Thurisind's palace and demand of him the required weapons.

When the King of the Gepidae saw his son's murderer boldly enter his palace, his first impulse was to put him to death; but, respecting the rights of hospitality, he forbore to take immediate vengeance, and even bestowed upon him the customary gift of arms as he departed on the morrow, but warned him never to return, lest he should lose his life at the warriors' hands. On leaving the palace, however, Alboin bore away the image of little Rosamund, Thurisind's fair granddaughter, whom he solemnly swore he would claim as wife as soon as she was of marriageable age.

Alboin having thus received his arms from a stranger, the Langobards no longer refused to recognize him as a full-fledged warrior, and gladly hailed him as king when his father died.

[Sidenote: Alboin's cruelty.] Shortly after Alboin's accession to the throne, a quarrel arose between the Gepidae and the Langobards, or Lombards, as they were eventually called; and war having been declared, a decisive battle was fought, in which Thurisind and his son perished, and all their lands fell into the conqueror's hands. With true heathen cruelty, the Lombard king had the skulls of the Gepidae mounted as drinking vessels, which he delighted in using on all state and festive occasions. Then, pushing onwards, Alboin took forcible possession of his new realm and of the tearful young Rosamund, whom he forced to become his wife, although she shrank in horror from the murderer of all her kin and the oppressor of her people.

She followed him home, concealing her fears, and although she never seemed blithe and happy, she obeyed her husband so implicitly that he fancied her a devoted wife. He was so accustomed to Rosamund's ready compliance with his every wish that one day, after winning a great victory over the Ostrogoths, and conquering a province in northern Italy (where he took up his abode, and which bears the name of his race), he bade her fill her father's skull with wine and pledge him by drinking first out of this repulsive cup.

[Sidenote: Rosamund's revolt.] The queen hesitated, but, impelled by Alboin's threatening glances and his mailed hand raised to strike her, she tremblingly filled the cup and raised it to her lips. But then, instead of humbly presenting it to her lord, she haughtily dashed it at his feet, and left the hall, saying that though she had obeyed him, she would never again live with him as his wife,--a declaration which the warriors present secretly applauded, for they all thought that their king had been wantonly cruel toward his beautiful wife.

While Alboin was pondering how he might conciliate her without owning himself in the wrong, Rosamund summoned Helmigis, the king's shield-bearer, and finding that he would not execute her orders and murder his master in his sleep, she secured the services of the giant Perideus. Before the murder of the king became generally known, Rosamund and her adherents--for she had many--secured and concealed the treasures of the Crown; and when the nobles bade her marry a man to succeed their king, who had left no heirs, she declared that she preferred Helmigis.

[Sidenote: Death of Rosamund.] The Langobardian nobles indignantly refused to recognize an armor-bearer as their king, and Rosamund, fearing their resentment, fled by night with her treasures, and took refuge with Longinus, viceroy of the Eastern emperor, who was intrenched in Ravenna. Captivated by the fugitive queen's exquisite beauty, no less than by her numerous treasures, Longinus proposed that she should poison Helmigis, and marry him. Rosamund obediently handed the deadly cup to her faithful adorer; but he drank only half its contents, and then, perceiving that he was poisoned, forced her, at the point of his sword, to drink the remainder, thus making sure that she would not long survive him.

Longinus, thus deprived of a beautiful bride, managed to console himself for her loss by appropriating her treasures, while the Langobardian scepter, after having been wielded by different kings, fell at last into the hands of Rother, the last influential monarch of a kingdom which Charlemagne conquered in 774.

[Sidenote: Rother.] Rother established his capital at Bari, a great seaport in Apulia; but although his wealth was unbounded and his kingdom extensive, he was far from happy, for he had neither wife nor child to share his home. Seeing his loneliness, one of his courtiers, Duke Berchther (Berchtung) of Meran, the father of twelve stalwart sons, advised him to seek a wife; and when Rother declared that he knew of no princess pretty enough to please his fastidious taste, the courtier produced the portrait of Oda, daughter of Constantine, Emperor of the East. Rother fell desperately in love with this princess at first sight. In vain Berchther warned him that the emperor had the unpleasant habit of beheading all his daughter's would-be suitors; Rother declared that he must make an attempt to secure this peerless bride, and was only with great difficulty persuaded to resign the idea of wooing in person.

When Berchther had prevailed upon him to send an imposing embassy of twelve noblemen, richly appareled, and attended by a large suite, Rother asked who would undertake the mission. All the warriors maintained a neutral silence, until seven of Berchther's sons volunteered their services, and then five other noblemen signified their readiness to accompany them.

To speed them on their way, Rother escorted them to the port, and, standing on the pier, composed and sang a marvelous song. He bade them remember the tune, and promised them that whenever they heard it they might be sure their king was very near.

[Sidenote: Embassy to Constantinople.] Arrived at Constantinople, the ambassadors made known their errand, but were immediately cast into prison, in spite of the empress's intercession in their behalf. Here the noblemen languished month after month, in a foul dungeon, while Rother impatiently watched for their return. When a whole year had elapsed without his having heard any tidings, he finally resolved to go in disguise to Constantinople, to ascertain the fate of his men and win the lovely princess Oda for his bride.

Berchther, hearing this decision, vowed that he would accompany him; but although all the noblemen were anxious to escort their beloved king, he took only a few of them with him, among whom was Asprian (Osborn), king of the northern giants, with eleven of his tallest men.

[Sidenote: Rother and Constantine.] Rother embarked with this little train, and sailed for Constantinople over the summer seas; and as he sat on deck, playing on his harp, the mermaids rose from the deep to sport around his ship. According to a prearranged plan, Rother presented himself before Constantine as a fugitive and outlaw, complaining bitterly of the King of the Lombards, who, he declared, had banished him and his companions. Pleased with the appearance of the strangers, Constantine gladly accepted their proffered services, and invited them to a banquet, in the course of which he facetiously described how he had received Rother's ambassadors, who were still languishing in his dampest dungeons. This boastful talk gradually roused the anger of the giant Asprian, who was but little accustomed to hide his feelings; and when the emperor's pet lioness came into the hall and playfully snatched a choice morsel out of his hand, he impetuously sprang to his feet, caught her in his powerful grasp, and hurled her against the wall, thus slaying her with a single blow.

[Illustration: ASPRIAN SLAYING THE LION.--Keller.]

Constantine was somewhat dismayed when he saw the strength, and especially the violence, of the new servants he had secured; but he wisely took no notice of the affair, and, when the banquet was ended, dismissed Rother and his followers to the apartments assigned them. The Lombard king now freely distributed the immense treasures he had brought with him, and thus secured many adherents at court. They sang his praises so loudly that at last the princess Oda became very anxious to see this noted outlaw.

[Sidenote: Rother and Oda.] Bribing Herlind, one of her handmaidens, to serve her secretly, Oda sent her to Rother to invite him to visit her. The maiden acquitted herself adroitly of this commission; but the Langobardian monarch, pretending exaggerated respect, declared that he would never dare present himself before her beautiful mistress, to whom, however, he sent many rich gifts, among which were a gold and a silver shoe. Herlind returned to her mistress with the gifts; but when Oda would fain have put on the shoes, she discovered that they were both for the same foot. She then feigned a resentment she was far from feeling, and bade the handmaiden order her father's new servant to appear before her without delay, bringing a shoe for her other foot, unless he wished to incur her lasting displeasure. Overjoyed at this result of his ruse, which he had foreseen, Rother entered the princess's apartments unnoticed, proffered his most humble apologies, fitted a pair of golden shoes on her tiny feet, and, taking advantage of his position as he bent on one knee before her, declared his love and rank, and won from Oda a solemn promise that she would be his wife.

The lovers spent some very happy hours together in intimate conversation, and ere Rother left the apartment he prevailed upon the princess to use her influence in behalf of his imprisoned subjects. She therefore told her father that her peaceful rest had been disturbed by dreams, in which heavenly voices announced that she should suffer all manner of evil unless Rother's ambassadors were taken from prison and hospitably entertained. Oda then wrung from Constantine a promise that the men should be temporarily released, and feasted at his own board that selfsame evening. This promise was duly redeemed, and the twelve ambassadors, freed from their chains, and refreshed by warm baths and clean garments, were sumptuously entertained at the emperor's table. While they sat there feasting, Rother entered the hall, and, hiding behind the tapestry hangings near the door, played the tune they had heard on the day of their departure. The hearts of the captives bounded for joy when they heard these strains, for they knew that their king was near and would soon effect their release.

[Sidenote: War with Imelot.] A few days later, when the young ambassadors had fully recovered their health and strength, Constantine was dismayed to learn that Imelot, King of Desert Babylonia, was about to make war against him, and wondered how he could successfully encounter such a universally dreaded opponent. Rother, seeing his perplexity, immediately volunteered his services, adding that if Constantine liberated the ambassadors, who were mighty men of valor, and allowed them to fight, there would be no doubt of his coming off conqueror in the war. The Eastern emperor gladly followed this advice, and soon set out with Rother and all his companions. The two armies met one evening and encamped opposite each other, intending to begin the fight at sunrise on the morrow. During the night, however, Rother and his companions stole into the enemy's camp, slew Imelot's guards, and having bound and gagged him, Asprian carried him bodily out of his tent and camp, while his companions routed all the mighty Babylonian host.

A few hours later they returned to the camp of Constantine, where they lay down to rest. The emperor, entering their tent on the morrow to chide them for their laziness, saw the captive Imelot, and heard the story of the night's work. He was so delighted with the prowess of his allies that he gladly consented to their return to Constantinople to announce the victory, while he and his army remained to take possession of Desert Babylonia and of all of Imelot's vast treasures.

Rother and his companions returned in haste to Constantinople and rushed into the palace; but instead of announcing a victory they told the empress and Oda that Constantine had been defeated, that Imelot was on the way to seize the city, and that the emperor had sent them on ahead to convey his wife and daughter to a place of safety, with their most valuable treasures.

[Sidenote: Kidnaping of Oda.] The empress and Oda, crediting every word of this tale, made immediate preparations for departure, and soon joined Rother on the pier, where his fast sailing vessel was ready to start. All the Langobardians had already embarked, and Rother escorted the princess on board, bidding the empress wait on the quay until he returned for her. But as soon as he and his fair charge set foot upon deck, the vessel was pushed off, and Rother called out to the distressed empress that he had deceived her in order to carry away her daughter, who was now to become the Langobardian queen.

Constantine, on his return, was of course very angry at having been so cleverly duped, and vainly tried to devise some plan for recovering the daughter whom he loved so well. When a magician came, therefore, and promised to execute his wishes, he gladly provided him with vessel and crew to sail to Bari. The magician, disguised as a peaceful merchant, spread out his wares as soon as he was anchored in port, and by a series of artful questions soon ascertained that Rother was absent, and that Oda was at home, carefully guarded by the principal nobles of the realm. When he also learned that one of these noblemen had a crippled child, the magician informed the people who visited his vessel to inspect his wares, that the most precious treasure in his possession was a magic stone, which, in a queen's hands, had the power of restoring cripples.

The rumor of this miraculous stone reached the court, and the nobleman persuaded the kind-hearted queen to go down to the vessel to try the efficacy of the stone. As soon as Oda was on board, the vessel set sail, bearing her away from her husband and back to her father's home, where she was welcomed with great demonstrations of joy.

Rother, coming back from the war shortly after her disappearance, immediately prepared a vessel to go in pursuit of her, selecting his giants and bravest noblemen to accompany him. Once more they landed at a short distance from Constantinople, and Rother bade his men hide in a thicket, while he went into the city, disguised as a pilgrim, and carrying under his robe a hunting horn, which he promised to sound should he at any time find himself in danger.

He no sooner entered the city than he noticed with surprise that all the inhabitants seemed greatly depressed. He questioned them concerning their evident sadness, and learned that Imelot, having effected his escape from captivity, had invaded the kingdom, and vowed that he would not retreat unless Oda married his ugly and hunchbacked son that very day.

[Sidenote: Imelot again defeated.] These tidings made Rother press on to the palace, where, thanks to his disguise, he effected an easy entrance. Slipping unnoticed to his wife's side, he dropped into the cup beside her a ring upon which his name was engraved. Quick as a flash Oda recognized and tried to hide it; but her hunchbacked suitor, sitting beside her, also caught sight of it. He pointed out the intruder, cried that he was Rother in disguise, and bade his guards seize him and hang him. Rother, seeing that he was discovered, boldly stepped forward, declared that he had come to claim his wife, and challenged the cowardly hunchback, who, however, merely repeated his orders, and accompanied his guards to a grove outside the city to see his captive executed. Just as they were about to fasten the fatal noose around his neck, Rother blew a resounding blast upon his horn, in answer to which call his followers sprang out of their ambush, slew guards, Imelot, and hunchback, routed the imperial forces, recovered possession of Oda, and sailed home in triumph to Lombardy. Here Oda bore her husband a lovely little daughter called Helche (Herka), who eventually married Etzel (Attila), King of the Huns.

* * * * *

[Sidenote: Ortnit.] Another renowned Lombardian king is Ortnit (Otnit), whose realm included not only all Italy, from the Alps to the sea, but also the island of Sicily. He had won this province by his fabulous strength, which, we are told, was equivalent to that of twelve vigorous men.

In spite of all outward prosperity, Ortnit was lonely and unhappy. One day, while he was strolling along the seashore at sunset, he saw a misty castle rise slowly out of the waves. On its topmost tower he beheld a fair maiden, with whom he fell deeply in love at first sight. As he was gazing spellbound at the lady's beauty, castle and maiden suddenly vanished; and when Ortnit asked his uncle, Ylyas (Elias), Prince of the Reussen, what this fantastic vision might mean, he learned that the castle was the exact reproduction of the stronghold of Muntabure, and the maiden a phantom of Princess Sidrat, daughter of the ruler of Syria, which the Fata Morgana, or Morgana the fay, had permitted him to behold.

"As the weary traveler sees, In desert or prairie vast, Blue lakes, overhung with trees, That a pleasant shadow cast;

"Fair towns with turrets high, And shining roofs of gold, That vanish as he draws nigh, Like mists together rolled." LONGFELLOW, Fata Morgana.

Of course Ortnit vowed that he would go and ask the maiden's hand in marriage; and although his uncle warned him that Machorell, the girl's father, beheaded all his daughter's suitors, to use their heads as decorations for his fortifications, the young king persisted in this resolve.

[Sidenote: Ortnit and the magic ring.] Forced to go by sea in order to reach Syria, Ortnit had to delay his departure until suitable preparations had been made. During that time his mother vainly tried to dissuade him from the undertaking. Finally, seeing that nothing could deter him from going in search of the lovely maiden he had seen, she slipped a ring on his hand, and bade him ride out of town in a certain direction, and dismount under a lime tree, where he would see something marvelous.

"'If thou wilt seek the adventure, don thy armor strong; Far to the left thou ride the towering rocks along. But bide thee, champion, and await, where grows a linden tree; There, flowing from the rock, a well thine eyes will see.

"'Far around the meadow spread the branches green; Five hundred armed knights may stand beneath the shade, I ween. Below the linden tree await, and thou wilt meet full soon The marvelous adventure; there must the deed be done.'" Heldenbuch (Weber's tr.).

Ortnit obeyed these instructions, dismounted in a spot which seemed strangely familiar, and, gazing inquisitively around him, became aware of the presence of a lovely sleeping infant. But when he attempted to take it in his arms he found himself sprawling on the ground, knocked over by a single blow from the child's tiny fist. Furious at his overthrow, Ortnit began wrestling with his small assailant; but in spite of his vaunted strength he succeeded in pinioning him only after a long struggle.

[Sidenote: Alberich.] Unable to free himself from Ortnit's powerful grasp, the child now confessed that he was Alberich, king of the dwarfs, and promised Ortnit a marvelous suit of armor and the sword Rosen--which had been tempered in dragons' blood, and was therefore considered invulnerable--if he would only let him go.

"'Save me, noble Otnit, for thy chivalry! A hauberk will I give thee, strong, and of wondrous might; Better armor never bore champion in the fight.

"'Not eighty thousand marks would buy the hauberk bright. A sword of mound I'll give thee, Otnit, thou royal knight; Through armor, both of gold and steel, cuts the weapon keen; The helmet could its edge withstand ne'er in this world was seen.'" Heldenbuch (Weber's tr.).

The king consented, but the moment he set the dwarf free he felt him snatch the ring his mother had given him off his hand, and saw him mysteriously and suddenly disappear, his voice sounding tauntingly now on one side, now on the other. Some parley ensued before the dwarf would restore the ring, which was no sooner replaced on the hero's hand than he once more found himself able to see his antagonist.

Alberich now gravely informed Ortnit that in spite of his infantile stature he was very old indeed, having lived more than five hundred years. He then went on to tell him that the king, whom Ortnit had until then considered his father, had no claim to the title of parent, for he had secretly divorced his wife, and given her in marriage to Alberich. Thus the dwarf was Ortnit's true father, and declared himself ready now to acknowledge their relationship and to protect his son.

[Sidenote: Ortnit in Tyre.] After giving Ortnit the promised armor and sword, and directing him to turn the magic ring if ever he needed a father's aid, Alberich vanished. Ortnit, returning to town, informed his mother that he had seen his father; and as soon as the weather permitted he set sail for Suders (Tyre). Ortnit entered the harbor as a merchant, and exhibited his wares to the curious people, while Alberich, at his request, bore a challenge to Machorell, threatening to take Tyre and the castle of Muntabure unless he were willing to accept Ortnit as son-in-law.

The dwarf acquitted himself nobly of his task, and when Machorell scornfully dismissed him, he hastened back to Tyre, bidding Ortnit lose no time in surprising and taking possession of the city. This advice was so well carried out that Ortnit soon found himself master of the city, and marching on to Muntabure, he laid siege to the castle, restoring all his men as soon as they were wounded by a mere touch of his magic ring. Alberich, whom none but he could see, was allowed to lead the van and bear the banner, which seemed to flutter aloft in a fantastic way. The dwarf took advantage of this invisibility to scale the walls of the fortress unseen, and hurled down the ponderous machines used to throw stones, arrows, boiling pitch, and oil. Thus he greatly helped Ortnit, who, in the mean while, was performing unheard-of deeds of valor, which excited the admiration of Princess Sidrat, watching him from her tower.

[Sidenote: Ortnit and Liebgart.] Alberich next glided to this maiden's side, and bade her hasten to the postern gate early on the morrow, if she would see the king. As Ortnit had been told that he would find her there, he went thither in the early dawn, and pleaded his cause so eloquently that Sidrat eloped with him to Lombardy. There she became his beloved queen, was baptized in the Christian faith, and received the name of Liebgart, by which she was ever afterward known.

[Sidenote: The magic eggs.] The happiness of Ortnit and Liebgart was very great, but the young queen did not feel that it was quite complete until a giant and his wife came from her father's court bringing conciliatory messages, and a promise that Machorell would visit his daughter in the early spring. They also brought countless valuable presents, among which were two huge eggs, which the giants said were priceless, as from them could be hatched magic toads with lodestones in their foreheads. Of course Liebgart's curiosity was greatly excited by this gift, and learning that the giant couple would see to the hatching of the eggs and the bringing up of the toads if a suitable place were only provided for them, she sent them into a mountain gorge near Trient, where the climate was hot and damp enough for the proper hatching of the toads.

Time passed by, and the giantess Ruotze hatched dragons or lind-worms from the huge eggs. These animals grew with alarming rapidity, and soon the governor of the province sent word to the king that he could no longer provide food enough for the monsters, which had become the terror of the whole countryside. They finally proved too much even for the giants, who were obliged to flee. When Ortnit learned that ordinary weapons had no effect upon these dragons, he donned his magic armor and seized his sword Rosen. He then bade Liebgart a tender farewell, telling her that if he did not return she must marry none but the man who wore his ring, and sallied forth to deliver his people from the ravenous monsters whom he had thoughtlessly allowed to be bred in their midst.

Ortnit soon dispatched the giant and giantess, who would fain have hindered his entrance into the fatal gorge. Then he encountered the dwarf Alberich, and was warned that he would fall victim to the pestilent dragons, which had bred a number of young ones, destined, in time, to infest all Europe.

In spite of these warnings, Ortnit declared that he must do his best for the sake of his people; and having given the magic ring back to Alberich, he continued on his way. All day long he vainly sought the monsters in the trackless forest, until, sinking down exhausted at the foot of a tree, he soon fell asleep.

[Sidenote: Death of Ortnit.] This slumber was so profound that it was like a lethargy, and the wild barking of his dog failed to waken him so that he could prepare for the stealthy approach of the great dragon. The monster caught the sleeping knight in his powerful claws, and dashed him against the rocks until every bone in his body was broken into bits, although the magic armor remained quite whole.

Then the dragon conveyed the corpse to his den, where the little dragons vainly tried to get at the knight to eat his flesh, being daunted by the impenetrable armor, which would not give way.

In the mean while Liebgart was anxiously awaiting the return of her beloved husband; but when she saw his dog steal into the palace in evident grief, she knew that Ortnit was dead, and mourned for him with many a tear. As he had left no heir to succeed him, the nobles soon crowded around Liebgart, imploring her to marry one of them and make him king of Lombardy; but she constantly refused to listen to their wooing.

[Sidenote: Liebgart dethroned.] Angry at her resistance, the noblemen then took possession of treasure, palace, and kingdom, and left poor Liebgart so utterly destitute that she was forced to support herself by spinning and weaving. She carried on these occupations for a long time, while patiently waiting for the coming of a knight who would avenge Ortnit's death, wear his ring, claim her hand in marriage, and restore her to her former exalted position as queen of Lombardy.

CHAPTER VI.

[Sidenote: Hugdietrich.] While Ortnit's ancestors were ruling over Lombardy, Anzius was Emperor of Constantinople. When about to die, this monarch confided his infant son, Hugdietrich, to the care of Berchther of Meran, the same who had accompanied Rother on his journey to Constantinople.

When Hugdietrich attained marriageable age, his tutor felt it incumbent upon him to select a suitable wife for him. One princess only, Hildburg, daughter of Walgund of Thessalonica, seemed to unite all the required advantages of birth, beauty, and wealth; but unfortunately this princess's father was averse to her marrying, and, to prevent her from having any lovers, had locked her up in an isolated tower, where none but women were ever admitted.

Berchther having informed his ward of his plan, and of the difficulties concerning its fulfillment, Hugdietrich immediately made up his mind to bring it about, even if he had to resort to stratagem in order to win his bride. After much cogitation he let his hair grow, learned all about woman's work and ways, donned female garments, and journeyed off to Thessalonica, where he presented himself before the king as a princess in distress, and claimed his chivalrous protection. Walgund welcomed the pretended princess warmly, and accepted her gifts of gold and embroidery. As soon as he had shown the latter to his wife and daughter, they expressed a lively desire to see the stranger and have her teach them to embroider also.

[Sidenote: Marriage of Hugdietrich and Hildburg.] Hugdietrich, having thus effected an entrance into the princess's tower as embroidery teacher, soon managed to quiet Hildburg's alarm when she discovered that the pretended princess was a suitor in disguise, and wooed her so successfully that she not only allowed him to take up his abode in the tower, but also consented to a secret union. All went on very well for some time, but finally Hugdietrich felt it his duty to return to his kingdom; and parting from his young wife, he solemnly promised to return ere long to claim her openly.

[Sidenote: Birth of Wolfdietrich.] On reaching home, however, he found himself unexpectedly detained by a war which had just broken out; and while he was fighting, Hildburg anxiously watched for his return. Month after month passed by without any news of him, till Hildburg, in her lonely tower, gave birth to a little son, whose advent was kept secret by the ingenuity and devotion of the princess's nurse.

When the queen presented herself at the door unexpectedly one day, this servant hastily carried the child out of the building, and set him down on the grass in the moat, intending to come and get him in a few moments. She could not do so, however, as the queen kept her constantly beside her, and prolonged her visit to the next day.

"In the moat the new-born babe meanwhile in silence lay, Sleeping on the verdant grass, gently, all the day. From the swathing and the bath the child had stinted weeping; No one saw, or heard its voice, in the meadow sleeping." Heldenbuch (Weber's tr.).

When the faithful nurse, released at last, rushed out to find her charge, who could creep about, she could discover no trace of him; and not daring to confide the truth to Hildburg, she informed her that she had sent the child out to nurse.

A few days later, Berchther of Meran arrived at Thessalonica, saying that Hugdietrich had fallen in love with Hildburg on hearing a description of her charms from the exiled princess, his sister, and openly suing in his name for her hand. Instead of giving an immediate answer to this proposal, Walgund invited the ambassador to hunt with him in a neighboring forest on the morrow.

[Sidenote: Rescue of Wolfdietrich.] Accidentally separated from their respective suites, Walgund and Berchther came to a thicket near the princess's tower, and peering through the underbrush to discover the meaning of some strange sounds, they saw a beautiful little boy sitting on the grass, playfully handling some young wolf cubs, whose struggles he seemed not to mind in the least. While the two men were gazing spellbound at this strange sight, they saw the mother wolf draw near, ready to spring upon the innocent child and tear him limb from limb. As Berchther skillfully flung his spear past the child and slew the wolf, Walgund sprang forward and caught the babe in his arms, exclaiming that if he were only sure his grandchildren would be as handsome and fearless as this little boy, he would soon consent to his daughter's marriage.

As the child was so small that it still required a woman's tender care, Walgund next proposed to carry it to the tower, where his daughter and her attendants could watch over it until it was claimed; and as Berchther indorsed this proposal, it was immediately carried out. Hildburg received the charge with joy, revealed by her emotion that the child was her very own, and told her father all about her secret marriage with Hugdietrich, whom Walgund now graciously accepted as son-in-law.

In memory of this adventure the baby rescued from the beast of prey was called Wolfdietrich, and he and his mother, accompanied by a nobleman named Sabene, were escorted in state to Constantinople, where Hugdietrich welcomed them with joy. Here they dwelt in peace for several years, at the end of which, a war having again broken out, Hugdietrich departed, confiding his wife and son to the care of Sabene, who now cast aside all his pretended virtue. After insulting the queen most grossly, he began to spread lying reports about the birth of the young heir, until the people, doubting whether he might not be considered a mere foundling, showed some unwillingness to recognize him as their future prince.

[Sidenote: Wolfdietrich in Meran.] Hugdietrich, returning home and hearing these remarks, also began to cherish some suspicions, and, instead of keeping Wolfdietrich at court, sent him to Meran, where Berchther brought him up with his twelve stalwart sons, every one of whom the young prince outshone in beauty, courage, and skill in all manly exercises.

In the mean while Hildburg had borne two other sons, Bogen and Waxmuth, to Hugdietrich; but seeing that Sabene was still trying to poison people's minds against the absent Wolfdietrich, and deprive him of his rights, she finally sought her husband, revealed the baseness of Sabene's conduct, and had him exiled. Hugdietrich's life was unfortunately cut short a few months after this, and when he felt that he was about to die, he disposed of all his property, leaving the sovereignty of Constantinople to Wolfdietrich, and making his younger sons kings of lands which he had conquered in the south.

[Sidenote: Hildburg banished by Sabene.] As soon as he had breathed his last, however, the nobles of the land, who had all been won over by Sabene's artful insinuations, declared that they would never recognize Wolfdietrich as their ruler, but would recall Sabene watch over the two younger kings, and exercise the royal power in their name. These measures having been carried out, Sabene avenged himself by banishing Hildburg, who, turned out of the imperial palace at night, was forced to make her way alone and on foot to Meran, where her son Wolfdietrich received her gladly and promised to protect her with his strong right arm.

At the head of a small troop composed of Berchther and his sons, Wolfdietrich marched to Constantinople to oust Sabene; but, in spite of all his valor, he soon found himself defeated, and forced to retreat to the castle of Lilienporte. Here he intrenched himself, rejoicing at the sight of the strong battlements, and especially at the provisions stored within its inclosure, which would suffice for all the wants of the garrison for more than seven years.

[Sidenote: Siege of Lilienporte.] In vain Sabene besieged this castle; in vain he constructed huge engines of war; the fortress held out month after month. At the end of the third year, Wolfdietrich, seeing that their provisions would not hold out forever, resolved to make his escape alone, and go in search of allies to save his trusty friends. He soon obtained the consent of Berchther and of his mother for the execution of this scheme.

While a skirmish was going on one day, Wolfdietrich escaped through the postern gate, and, riding into the forest, rapidly disappeared in the direction of Lombardy, where he intended to ask the aid of Ortnit. Riding through the deserts of Roumelia, where his guardian had bidden him beware of the enchantments of the witch Rauch-Else, he shared his last piece of bread with his faithful steed, and, faint with hunger and almost perishing with thirst, plodded painfully on.

[Sidenote: Rauch-Else.] Finally horse and rider could go no farther, and as the latter lay in a half swoon upon the barren soil, he was suddenly roused by the appearance of a hideous, bearlike female, who gruffly inquired how he dared venture upon her territory. The unhappy Wolfdietrich recognized Rauch-Else by the description his guardian, Berchther, had given of her, and would have fled, had strength remained him to do so; but, fainting with hunger, he could only implore her to give him something to eat.

At this appeal Rauch-Else immediately produced a peculiar-looking root, of which he had no sooner tasted than he felt as strong and rested as ever before. By the witch's advice he gave the remainder of the root to his horse, upon whom it produced the same magic effect; but when he would fain have expressed his gratitude and ridden away, Rauch-Else told him that he belonged to her by decree of fate, and asked him to marry her.

Not daring to refuse this proposal, which, however, was very distasteful indeed, Wolfdietrich reluctantly assented, expressing a wish that she were not quite so repulsive. No sooner were the words fairly out of his mouth than he saw her suddenly transformed into a beautiful woman, and heard her declare that his "yes" had released her from an evil spell, and allowed her to resume her wonted form and name, which was Sigeminne, Queen of Old Troy.

[Sidenote: Wolfdietrich and Sigeminne.] Slowly proceeding to the seashore, the young couple embarked in a waiting galley and sailed directly to Sigeminne's kingdom, where they lived happily together, Wolfdietrich having entirely forgotten his mother, tutor, and companions, who were vainly awaiting his return with an army to deliver them.

"By the hand she led Wolfdietrich unto the forest's end; To the sea she guided him; a ship lay on the strand. To a spacious realm she brought him, hight the land of Troy." Heldenbuch (Weber's tr.).

Wolfdietrich's happiness, however, was not to endure long; for while he was pursuing a stag which his wife bade him secure for her, a magician named Drusian suddenly presented himself before Sigeminne and spirited her away.

Wolfdietrich, finding his wife gone, resolved to go in search of her, and not to rest until he had found her. Then, knowing that nothing but cunning could prevail against the magician's art, he donned a magic silken vest which his wife had woven for him, which could not be penetrated by weapon or dragon, and covering it with a pilgrim's garb, he traveled on until he came within sight of the castle of Drusian.

Worn out by his long journey, he sat down for a moment to rest ere he began the ascent of the steep mountain upon which the castle stood; and having fallen asleep, he was roughly awakened by a giant, who bore him off prisoner to the fortress, where he saw Sigeminne.

"He led the weary pilgrim into the castle hall, Where brightly burned the fire, and many a taper tall. On a seat he sat him down, and made him right good cheer. His eyes around the hall cast the hero without fear." Heldenbuch (Weber's tr.).

[Sidenote: Death of Sigeminne.] Wolfdietrich concealed his face in the depths of his cowl, and remained quietly seated by the fire until evening came. Then the giant turned to the mourning queen, declaring that he had been patient long enough, and that she must now consent to marry him and forget her husband. Hardly had these words been spoken when Wolfdietrich, the pretended pilgrim, fell upon him, and refused to let him go until he had accepted his challenge for a fair fight and had produced suitable arms. The young hero selected an iron armor, in preference to the gold and silver mail offered him, and boldly attacked the giant, who finally succumbed beneath his mighty blows. Sigeminne, thus restored to her husband's arms, then returned with him to Old Troy, where they ruled happily together until she died of a mortal illness.

When she breathed her last, Wolfdietrich, delivered from the spell she had cast upon him by making him partake of the magic root, suddenly remembered his mother, Berchther, and his faithful companions, and, filled with compunction, hastened off to help them. On his way he passed through many lands, and finally came to a fortified town, whose walls were adorned with human heads set up on spikes. He asked a passer-by what this singular decoration might mean, and learned that the city belonged to a heathen king, Belligan, who made it a practice to slay every Christian who entered his precincts.

[Sidenote: Belligan slain by Wolfdietrich.] Wolfdietrich immediately resolved to rid the earth of this monster, and riding boldly into the city, he cried that he was ready to meet the king in his favorite game of dagger throwing. This challenge was promptly accepted, the preparations all made, and although the heathen king was protected by his daughter's magic spells, he could not withstand the Christian knight, who pierced him through and through, and left him dead.

"Speedily Wolfdietrich the third knife heaved on high. Trembling stood Sir Belligan, for he felt his death was nigh. The pagan's heart asunder with cunning skill he cleft; Down upon the grass he fell, of life bereft." Heldenbuch (Weber's tr.).

But as Wolfdietrich attempted to leave the castle, waves suddenly surrounded him on all sides, threatening to drown him, until, suspecting that this phenomenon was produced by the princess's magic arts, he seized her and held her head under water until she died. Then the waves immediately subsided and permitted him to escape unharmed.

Wolfdietrich next came to some mountains, where he encountered a giantess, who told him the story of Ortnit's death, and so roused his compassion for the unfortunate Liebgart that he vowed to slay the dragon and avenge all her wrongs. To enable him to reach his destination sooner the giantess bore him and his horse over the mountains, fifty miles in one day, and set him down near Garden (Guarda), where he saw Liebgart and her sole remaining attendant sadly walking up and down.

Struck by Liebgart's resemblance to the dead Sigeminne, Wolfdietrich stood quietly in the shade long enough to overhear her sigh and say that she wished the brave Wolfdietrich would come along that way and avenge her husband's death.

[Sidenote: Wolfdietrich and Liebgart.] In answer to these words the hero presented himself impetuously before her, swore he would do all in his power to fulfill her wishes, and having received from her fair hand a ring, which she declared would bring the wearer good luck, he hastened off to the mountain gorge to encounter the dragons. On the way thither, Wolfdietrich met Alberich, who cautioned him not to yield to the desire for slumber if he would overcome the foe; so pressing on in spite of almost overpowering lassitude, he met the dragon.

Notwithstanding all his efforts Wolfdietrich soon found himself carried off to the monster's cave, where he was flung down to serve as pasture for the young lind-worms. They would surely have devoured him had he not been protected by Sigeminne's magic shirt, which they could not pierce.

[Sidenote: Ortnit's sword and ring.] Looking about him for some weapon to defend himself with, Wolfdietrich suddenly saw Ortnit's ring and his sword Rosen, which he seized, and wielded the latter to such good purpose that he soon slew all the dragons. He then cut out their tongues, which he packed in a bag the dwarfs brought him, and triumphantly rode off to find Liebgart and tell her of his success. But, as he lost his way in the forest, it was several days before he reached the town where she dwelt, and as he rode through the gates he was indignant to hear that Liebgart was about to marry a knight by the name of Gerhart, who had slain the dragon, brought home its head, and claimed the fulfillment of an old promise she had made to marry her husband's avenger. Wolfdietrich spurred onward, entered the castle, denounced the impostor Gerhart, and proved the truth of his assertions by producing the dragons' tongues. Then, turning to the queen, Wolfdietrich stretched out his hand to her, humbly asking whether she would marry him. At that moment Liebgart saw Ortnit's ring glittering on his finger, and, remembering her husband's last words, immediately signified her consent.

The happy couple spent a whole year together in restoring order, peace, and prosperity to the Lombards, before Wolfdietrich left his wife to go and succor the companions whom he had neglected so long. Landing with his army near Constantinople, Wolfdietrich, disguised as a peasant, made his way into the city, and learned that Berchther and his sons had been put in prison. There the former had died, but the latter were still languishing in captivity. Wolfdietrich bribed the jailer to bear them a cheering message and strengthening food, and led his army against Sabene, whom he utterly routed.

After recovering possession of Constantinople, granting full forgiveness to his erring brothers, executing Sabene, and liberating his companions, to whom he intrusted the sovereignty of the empire, Wolfdietrich returned to Lombardy, and from thence proceeded with Liebgart to Romaburg (Rome), where he was duly crowned emperor.

To reward Herbrand, Berchther's eldest son, for his faithfulness, Wolfdietrich gave him the city of Garden and all its territories, a realm which subsequently was inherited by his son Hildebrand, a hero whom we shall have further occasion to describe.

Hache, another of Berchther's sons, received as his share all the Rhine land, which he left to his son, the trusty Eckhardt (Eckewart) who ever and anon appears in northern literature to win mortals back to virtue and point out the road to honor. Wolfdietrich and Liebgart were the happy parents of a son called Hugdietrich, like his grandfather; and this king's second son, Dietmar, was the father of the famous Dietrich von Bern, the hero of the next chapter of this volume.

CHAPTER VII.

DIETRICH VON BERN, whose name is spelled in eighty-five different ways in the various ballads and chronicles written about him, has been identified with the historical Theodoric of Verona, whose "name was chosen by the poets of the early middle ages as the string upon which the pearls of their fantastic imagination were to be strung."

This hero is one of the principal characters in the ancient German "Book of Heroes," and his adventures, which are recorded in many ancient manuscripts, and more especially in the Wilkina saga, are about as follows:

[Sidenote: Parentage of Deitrich.] Dietmar, the second son of Hugdietrich, or of Samson according to other authorities, became the independent ruler of Bern (Verona), and refused to recognize his elder brother, Ermenrich, Emperor of the West, as his liege lord. The young prince had married Odilia, the heiress of the conquered Duke of Verona, who bore him a son called Dietrich. Gentle and generous when all went according to his wishes, this child was uncontrollable when his anger was roused, and his breath then came from his lips in a fiery torrent, scorching his opponent, and consuming all inflammable articles.

When Dietrich was but five years of age his training was intrusted to Hildebrand, son of Herbrand, one of the Volsung race; and so well did the tutor acquit himself of this task that he soon made his pupil as accomplished a warrior as himself. Their tastes were, moreover, so similar that they soon became inseparable friends, and their attachment has become as proverbial among northern nations as that of David and Jonathan, Damon and Pythias, or Orestes and Pylades.

Hearing that a giant, Grim, and a giantess, Hilde, were committing great depredations in a remote part of his father's territories, and that no one had been able to rout or slay them, young Dietrich set out with Master Hildebrand to attack them. They had not ridden long in the forest before they became aware of the presence of a tiny dwarf, Alberich (Alferich, Alpris, or Elbegast), and pouncing upon him, they held him fast, vowing that he should recover his liberty only upon condition of pointing out the giants' lurking place.

[Sidenote: The sword Nagelring.] The dwarf not only promised the desired information, but gave Dietrich the magic sword Nagelring, which alone could pierce the giants' skin. Then he led both heroes to the cave, where Grim and Hilde were gloating over a magic helmet they had made and called Hildegrim. Peering through a fissure of the rock, Hildebrand was the first to gaze upon them, and in his eagerness to get at them he braced his shoulder against the huge mass of stone, forced it apart, and thus made a passage for himself and for his impetuous young pupil.

As Nagelring, the magic sword, had been stolen from him, Grim attacked Dietrich with a blazing brand snatched from the fire, while Hildebrand and Hilde wrestled together. The encounter was short and fierce between the young hero and his gigantic opponent, who soon succumbed beneath Nagelring's sharp blows. Then Dietrich, turning, came just in time to save his master from Hilde's treacherous blade. But, although one stroke of Nagelring cut her in two, the heroes were dismayed to see the severed parts of her body knit together in a trice, and permit Hilde, whole once more, to renew the attack.

To prevent a repetition of this magical performance, Dietrich, after again cutting her in two, placed his sword between the severed parts, and, knowing that steel annuls magic, left it there until all power to unite was gone and Hilde was really dead. The two heroes then returned home in triumph with Nagelring and Hildegrim, the two famous trophies, which Dietrich took as his share of the spoil, leaving to Hildebrand an immense treasure of gold which made him the richest man of his day. This wealth enabled Hildebrand to marry the noble Ute (Uote or Uta), who helped him to bring up Dietrich's young brother, then but a babe.

Although the young prince of Bern imagined that he had exterminated all the giants in his land, he was soon undeceived; for Sigenot, Grim's brother, coming down from the Alps to visit him, and finding him slain, vowed to avenge his death. The brave young prince, hearing that Sigenot was terrorizing all the neighborhood, immediately set out to attack him, followed at a distance by Hildebrand and the latter's nephew, Wolfhart, who was always ready to undertake any journey, provided there was some prospect of a fight at the end.

Dietrich soon came to a forest, where, feeling hungry, he slew an elk and proceeded to roast some of its flesh upon a spit. While he was thus engaged he heard shrill cries, and looking up, he saw a giant holding a dwarf and about to devour him. Ever ready to succor the feeble and oppressed, Dietrich caught up his sword and attacked the giant, who made a brave but fruitless defense. The dwarf, seeing his tormentor dead, then advised Dietrich to fly in haste, lest Sigenot, the most terrible of all the mountain giants, should come to avenge his companion's murder. But, instead of following this advice, Dietrich persuaded the dwarf to show him the way to the giant's retreat.

[Sidenote: Capture of Dietrich by giant Sigenot.] Following his tiny guide, Dietrich climbed up the snow-clad mountains, where, in the midst of the icebergs, the ice queen, Virginal, suddenly appeared to him, advising him to retreat, as his venture was perilous in the extreme. Equally undeterred by this second warning, Dietrich pressed on; but when he came at last to the giant's abode he was so exhausted by the ascent that, in spite of all his courage, he was defeated, put in chains, and dragged into the giant's den.

[Illustration: FALKE KILLS THE GIANT.--Keller.]

Hildebrand, in the mean while, following his pupil, awaited his return at the foot of the mountains for eight days, and then, seeing that he did not appear, he strode up the mountain side. The giant encountered him, stunned him with a great blow, and dragged him into the den, where, thinking him senseless, he leisurely began to select chains with which to bind him fast. Hildebrand, however, sprang noiselessly to his feet, seized a weapon lying near, and stealing behind a pillar, which served him as a shield, he attacked Sigenot, and stretched him lifeless at his feet.

[Sidenote: Dietrich rescued by Hildebrand.] A moment later he heard Dietrich calling him from the depths of the cave. To spring forward and free his pupil from his chains was the work of a moment, and then, following the dwarf, who openly rejoiced at the death of his foe, the two heroes visited the underground kingdom. There they were hospitably entertained, their wounds were healed, and the king of the dwarfs gave them the finest weapons that they had ever seen.

While hunting in the Tyrolean mountains shortly after this encounter, Dietrich confided to Hildebrand that he had fallen in love with the ice fairy, Virginal, and longed to see her again. This confidence was suddenly interrupted by the appearance of a dwarf, who presented himself as Bibung, the unconquerable protector of Queen Virginal, but who in the same breath confessed that she had fallen into the hands of the magician Ortgis. The latter kept her imprisoned in one of her own castles, and at every new moon he forced her to surrender one of the snow maidens, her lovely attendants, whom he intended, to devour as soon as they were properly fattened.

Dietrich's eyes flashed with anger when he heard of his lady-love's distress, and bidding the dwarf show him the way, he forthwith set out to rescue her. They had not gone very far before they beheld the ice queen's palace glittering far above their heads; and as they eagerly climbed upward to reach it, they heard cries of terror, and saw a beautiful girl rush down the pathway, closely pursued by the magician and his mounted train.

[Sidenote: Magician Ortgis slain.] Dietrich allowed the maiden to pass him, and then stepped boldly into the middle of the path, where he and Hildebrand soon succeeded in slaying the magician and all his men. Jambas, the son of Ortgis, alone effected his escape; but Dietrich and his master closely pursued him, took forcible possession of his castle, set the captive snow maidens free, and fearlessly slew all the monsters which Jambas conjured up to destroy them. Then, resuming their interrupted journey, Dietrich and Hildebrand soon came face to face with the self-styled unconquerable guardian of the ice queen. He had been hiding during the fray, and now implored them to hasten forward, as his mistress was besieged by Jambas. The magician's son was anxious to secure Virginal and all her maidens, but his principal aim was to appropriate the great carbuncle shining in the queen's crown, as it gave the possessor full power over the elements, the mountains, and all who ventured within reach of them.

Thus urged to greater speed, the heroes toiled upward faster and faster, and soon came near the glittering castle of Jeraspunt, and the besiegers. The latter were on the point of overpowering the garrison and gaining possession of the queen. When Dietrich saw her on the battlement, wringing her hands in despair, he rushed impetuously forward, crying that he had come to save her. He struck right and left, and did such good execution with his sword that the mountains shook, the icebergs cracked, and great avalanches, rolling down into the abysses, carried with them the bodies of the slain which he hurled down from the drawbridge.

[Sidenote: Rescue of the ice queen.] In a very short time the enemy was completely routed, and Dietrich was joyfully welcomed by Virginal, who, touched by his devotion, consented to forsake her glittering castle, relinquish her sway over the mountains, and to follow him down into the green valley. Their wedding was celebrated in Jeraspunt, which was all hung in bridal white; and the ice queen and her maidens wore misty veils and crowns of glittering diamonds, which sparkled and flashed and lit up the whole scene with fairylike splendor. Some versions of the story tell, however, that the queen soon grew homesick down in the green valley, and, deserting her hero husband, returned to her palace on the mountain top, where she still rules supreme.

Dietrich's numerous adventures soon became the theme of the wandering bards and minstrels, and thus the rumor of his courage came to the ears of Heime, the son of the northern stud keeper Studas. After distinguishing himself at home by slaying a dragon, this youth obtained from his father the steed Rispa and the sword Blutgang, with which he set out to test Dietrich's courage, vowing that he would serve him forever if conquered by him.

"King Tidrick sits intill Bern; He rooses [boasts] him of his might; Sae mony has he in battle cow'd, Baith kemp [rough] and doughty knight." The Ettin Langshanks (Jamieson's tr.).

Heime soon reached Bern, boldly challenged Dietrich, and when defeated entered his service, after procuring for his master's exclusive use the matchless steed Falke, which could carry even such a gigantic man as Dietrich without showing any signs of fatigue, and which served him faithfully for many a year.

[Sidenote: Wittich.] The rumor of Dietrich's courage also came to Heligoland, where Wieland (Wayland, or Völund), the smith, dwelt with his son Wittich (Witig). The latter, determined to cross swords with the hero of Bern, persuaded his father to give him the celebrated sword Mimung, by the help of which he hoped to overcome every foe. Wieland also fashioned a complete suit of armor for his son, gave him much good advice, and parted from him, bidding him to prove himself worthy of his ancestors, and to call upon his grandmother, the mermaid Wachilde, if he were ever in great distress.

Thus instructed Wittich departed, and on the way to Bern fell in with Hildebrand, Heime, and Hornbogi, another of Dietrich's noted warriors. They concealed their names, encouraged the stranger to talk, and soon learned where he was going and on what errand. Master Hildebrand, hearing of the magic sword, and anxious to preserve his pupil from its blows, allowed Wittich to fight single-handed against twelve robbers in a mountain pass. As the youth disposed of them all without receiving a scratch, Hildebrand substituted his own sword blade for that which Wittich bore, one night while the latter was peacefully sleeping at an inn. This exchange remained unnoticed until Wittich arrived in Bern. There, while fighting with Dietrich, the blade suddenly snapped in two.

Loudly reproaching his father, Wieland, for having provided him with such an unreliable weapon, Wittich was about to announce himself conquered, when Hildebrand, realizing that he had not acted honorably, gave him back his own blade. Dietrich, to his surprise and dismay, found himself conquered in this second encounter, and was forced to acknowledge that he owed his life only to Wittich's magnanimity. But the northern hero soon confessed in his turn that had it not been for his magic sword he would have been obliged to yield to Dietrich, and voluntarily offered his services to him, thus becoming one of his train.

"Sae gladly rode they back to Bern; But Tidrick maist was glad; And Vidrich o' his menyie a' The foremost place aye had." The Ettin Langskanks (Jamieson's tr.).

Dietrich's next adventure, which is recorded in the "Eckenlied," was with the giant Ecke, who held Bolfriana, the widowed Lady of Drachenfels, and her nine daughters, in his power. The hero of Bern encountered the giant by night, and, in spite of his aversion to fighting at such a time, was compelled to defend himself against the giant's blows. He was about to succumb when his steed Falke, scenting his danger, broke loose from the tree to which it had been tied, and stamped Ecke to death.

Dietrich now rode on to Drachenfels, where he encountered Fasolt, Ecke's brother, and, after defeating him also, and delivering the captive ladies, went back to Bern, where Fasolt joined his chosen warriors. Dietrich, moreover, delivered the knight Sintram from the jaws of a dragon, and made him one of his followers. Then, having appropriated Ecke's sword, the great Eckesax, Dietrich was about to give Nagelring to Heime; but hearing that the latter had stood idly by while Wittich fought single-handed against twelve robbers, he banished him from his presence, bidding him never return until he had atoned for his dishonorable conduct by some generous deed.

Heime, incensed at this dismissal, sulkily withdrew to the Falster wood on the banks of the Wisara (Weser), where he became chief of a body of brigands, ruthlessly spoiled travelers, and daily increased the hoard he was piling up in one of his strongholds.

But, although Dietrich thus lost one of his bravest warriors, his band was soon reënforced by Hildebrand's brother Ilsan, who, although a monk, was totally unfitted for a religious life, and greatly preferred fighting to praying. There also came to Bern Wildeber (Wild Boar), a man noted for his great strength. He owed this strength to a golden bracelet given him by a mermaid in order to recover her swan plumage, which he had secured.

[Sidenote: Dietlieb the Dane.] As Dietrich was once on his way to Romaburg (Rome), whither his uncle Ermenrich had invited him, he accepted the proffered service and escort of Dietlieb the Dane. This warrior, seeing that the emperor had forgotten to provide for the entertainment of Dietrich's suite, pledged not only his own steed and weapons, but also his master's and Hildebrand's, leading a jolly life upon the proceeds.

When the time of departure came, and Dietrich called for his steed, Dietlieb was forced to confess what he had done. The story came to Ermenrich's ears, and he felt called upon to pay the required sum to release his guest's weapons and steeds, but contemptuously inquired whether Dietlieb were good at anything besides eating and drinking, wherein he evidently excelled. Enraged by this taunt, Dietlieb challenged Ermenrich's champion warrior, Walther von Wasgenstein (Vosges), and beat him at spear and stone throwing. He next performed feats hitherto unheard of, and won such applause that Ermenrich not only paid all his debts, but also gave him a large sum of money, which this promising young spendthrift immediately expended in feasting all the men at arms.

Dietlieb's jests and jollity so amused Isung, the imperial minstrel, that he left court to follow him to the land of the Huns, where the fickle youth next offered his services to Etzel (Attila). The King of the Huns, afraid to keep such a mercurial person near him, gave him the province of Steiermark (Styria), bidding him work off all surplus energy by defending it against the numerous enemies always trying to enter his realm.

[Sidenote: The dwarf Laurin.] Some time after this, Dietlieb returned to his old master in sorrow, for his only sister, Kunhild (Similde, or Similt), had been carried away by Laurin (Alberich), king of the dwarfs, and was now detained prisoner in the Tyrolean mountains, not far from the vaunted Rose Garden. This place was surrounded by a silken thread, and guarded most jealously by Laurin himself, who exacted the left foot and right hand of any knight venturing to enter his garden or break off a single flower from its stem.

As soon as Dietrich heard this, he promised to set out and rescue the fair Kunhild. He was accompanied by Dietlieb, Hildebrand, Wittich, and Wolfhart; and as they came to the Rose Garden, all the heroes except Dietrich and Hildebrand began to trample the dainty blossoms, and tried to break the silken cord.

"Wittich, the mighty champion, trod the roses to the ground, Broke down the gates, and ravaged the garden far renowned; Gone was the portals' splendor, by the heroes bold destroyed; The fragrance of the flowers was past, and all the garden's pride." Heldenbuch (Weber's tr.).

While they were thus employed, the dwarf Laurin donned his glittering girdle of power, which gave him the strength of twelve men, brandished a sword which had been tempered in dragons' blood and could therefore cut through iron and stone, and put on his ring of victory and the magic cap of darkness, Tarnkappe (Helkappe).

Dietrich, carefully instructed by Hildebrand, struck off this cap, and appropriated it, as well as the girdles of strength and the ring of victory. He was so angry against Laurin for resisting him that the dwarf king soon fled to Dietlieb for protection, promising to restore Kunhild, unless she preferred to remain with him as his wife.

This amicable agreement having been made, Laurin led the knights down into his subterranean palace, which was illuminated by carbuncles, diamonds, and other precious stones. Here Kunhild and her attendant maidens, attired with the utmost magnificence, welcomed them hospitably and presided at the banquet.

"Similt into the palace came, with her little maidens all; Garments they wore which glittered brightly in the hall, Of fur and costly ciclatoun, and brooches of the gold; No richer guise in royal courts might mortal man behold." Heldentuch (Weber's tr.).

The wines, however, were drugged, so the brave knights soon sank into a stupor; and Laurin, taking a base advantage of their helplessness, deprived them of their weapons, bound them fast, and had them conveyed into a large prison. Dietlieb was placed in a chamber apart, where, as soon as he recovered his senses, Laurin told him that he and his companions were doomed to die on the morrow.

At midnight Dietrich awoke. Feeling himself bound, his wrath burned hot within him, and his breath grew so fiery that it consumed the ropes with which he was pinioned. He then released his captive companions, and, while they were bewailing their lack of weapons, Kunhild stealthily opened the door. Noiselessly she conducted them into the great hall, bade them resume possession of their arms, and gave each a golden ring, of dwarf manufacture, to enable them to see their tiny foes, who were else invisible to all of mortal birth.

Joined by Dietlieb, who had also been liberated by Kunhild, the knights now roused Laurin and his host of giants and dwarfs, and, after an encounter such as mediaeval poets love to describe at great length, routed them completely. Laurin was made prisoner and carried in chains to Bern, where Kunhild, now full of compassion for him, prevailed upon Dietrich to set him free, provided he would forswear all his malicious propensities and spend the remainder of his life in doing good.

When this promise had been given, Laurin was set free; and after marrying Kunhild, he went to live with her in the beautiful Rose Garden and the underground palace, which peasants and simple-hearted Alpine hunters have often seen, but which the worldly wise and skeptical have always sought in vain.

[Sidenote: Rose Garden at Worms.] The mere fact of his having come off victor in one Rose Garden affair made Dietrich hail with joy the tidings brought by a wandering minstrel, that at Worms, on the Rhine, Kriemhild (Grimhild, Gutrun, etc.), the Burgundian princess, had a similar garden. This was guarded by twelve brave knights, ever ready to try their skill against an equal number of warriors, the prize of the victor being a rose garland and kisses from the owner of this charming retreat.

Eager to accept this challenge, Dietrich selected Hildebrand, Wittich, Wolfhart, and five other brave men; but as he could think of no others worthy to share in the adventure, Hildebrand suggested that Rüdiger of Bechlaren, Dietlieb of Steiermark, and his own brother, the monk Ilsan, would be only too glad to help them. This little band soon rode into Worms, where Dietrich and his men covered themselves with glory by defeating all Kriemhild's champions, and winning the rose garlands as well as the kisses.

The knights, if we are to believe the ancient poem, appreciated the latter reward highly, with the exception of the rude monk Ilsan, who, we are told, scrubbed the princess's delicate cheek with his rough beard until the blood flowed.

[Illustration: THE VICTORIOUS HUNS.--Checa.]

"And when Chrimhild, the queen, gave him kisses fifty-two, With his rough and grisly beard full sore he made her rue, That from her lovely cheek 'gan flow the rosy blood: The queen was full of sorrow, but the monk it thought him good." Heldenbuch (Weber's tr.).

Then Ilsan carried his garlands back to the monastery, where he jammed them down upon the monks' bald pates, laughing aloud when he saw them wince as the sharp thorns pierced them.

On his way home Dietrich visited Etzel, King of the Huns, and further increased his train by accepting the services of Amalung, Hornbogi's son, and of Herbrand the wide-traveled. On his arrival at Bern, he found that his father, Dietmar, was dead, and thus Dietrich became King of the Amaling land (Italy).

[Sidenote: Campaign against the Wilkina land.] Shortly after his accession to the throne, he went to help Etzel, who was warring against Osantrix, King of the Wilkina land (Norway and Sweden). With none but his own followers, Dietrich invaded the Wilkina land, and throughout that glorious campaign old Hildebrand rode ever ahead, bearing aloft his master's standard, and dealing many memorable blows.

In one encounter, Wittich was thrown from his horse and stunned. Heime, who had joined the army, seeing him apparently lifeless, snatched the sword Mimung out of his nerveless grasp and bore it triumphantly away. Wittich, however, was not dead, but was soon after made prisoner by Hertnit, Earl of Greece, Osantrix's brother, who carried him back to the capital, where he put him in prison.

When the campaign against the Wilkina men was ended, Dietrich and his army returned to Bern, leaving Wildeber in Hungary to ascertain whether Wittich were really dead, or whether he still required his companions' aid.

Wishing to penetrate unrecognized into the enemy's camp, Wildeber slew and flayed a bear, donned its skin over his armor, and, imitating the uncouth antics of the animal he personated, bade the minstrel Isung lead him thus disguised to Hertnit's court.

[Sidenote: Wittich rescued by Wildeber.] This plan was carried out, and the minstrel and dancing bear were hailed with joy. But Isung was greatly dismayed when Hertnit insisted upon baiting his hunting hounds against the bear; who, however, strangled them all, one after another, without seeming to feel their sharp teeth. Hertnit was furious at the loss of all his pack, and sprang down into the pit with drawn sword; but all his blows glanced aside on the armor concealed beneath the rough pelt. Suddenly the pretended bear stood up, caught the weapon which the king had dropped, and struck off his head. Then, joining Isung, he rushed through the palace and delivered the captive Wittich; whereupon, seizing swords and steeds on their way, they all three rode out of the city before they could be stopped.

When they arrived in Bern they were warmly welcomed by Dietrich, who forced Heime to give the stolen Mimung back to its rightful owner. The brave warriors were not long allowed to remain inactive, however, for they were soon asked to help Ermenrich against his revolted vassal, Rimstein. They besieged the recalcitrant knight in his stronghold of Gerimsburg, which was given to Walther von Wasgenstein, while Wittich was rewarded for his services by the hand of Bolfriana, the Lady of Drachenfels, and thus became the vassal of Ermenrich.

[Sidenote: Sibich.] The estates of Ermenrich were so extensive and so difficult to govern that he was very glad indeed to secure as prime minister a capable nobleman by the name of Sibich. Unfortunately, this Sibich had a remarkably beautiful wife, whom the emperor once insulted during her husband's absence. As soon as Sibich returned from his journey his wife told him all that had occurred, and the emperor's conduct so enraged the minister that he vowed that he would take a terrible revenge.

The better to accomplish his purpose, Sibich concealed his resentment, and so artfully poisoned Ermenrich's mind that the latter ordered his eldest son to be slain. To get rid of the second prince, Sibich induced him to enter a leaky vessel, which sank as soon as he was out at sea. Then, when the prime minister saw the third son, Randwer, paying innocent attentions to his fair young stepmother, Swanhild, daughter of Siegfried and Kriemhild, he so maliciously distorted the affair that Ermenrich ordered this son to be hung, and his young wife to be trampled to death under the hoofs of wild horses.

Sibich, the traitor, having thus deprived the emperor of wife and children, next resolved to rob him of all his kin, so that he might eventually murder him and take undisputed possession of the empire. With this purpose in view, he forged letters which incited the emperor to war against his nephews, the Harlungs. These two young men, who were orphans, dwelt at Breisach, under the guardianship of their tutor, the faithful Eckhardt. They were both cruelly slain, and the disconsolate tutor fled to the court of Dietrich, little thinking that Ermenrich would soon turn upon this his last male relative, also.

[Sidenote: Herbart and Hilde.] Dietrich, forsaken by Virginal, and anxious to marry again, had, in the mean while, sent his nephew Herbart to Arthur's court in the Bertanga land (Britain), to sue for the hand of Hilde, his fair young daughter. But Arthur, averse to sending his child so far away, would not at first permit the young ambassador to catch a glimpse of her face, and sent her to church guarded by ten warriors, ten monks, and ten duennas.

In spite of all these safeguards, Herbart succeeded in seeing the princess, and after ascertaining that she was very beautiful, he secured a private interview, and told her of his master's wish to call her wife. Hilde, wishing to know what kind of a man her suitor was, begged Herbart to draw his portrait; but finding him unprepossessing, she encouraged Herbart to declare his own love, and soon eloped with him.

[Sidenote: Dietrich in exile.] Dietrich had no time to mourn for the loss of this expected bride, however, for the imperial army suddenly marched into the Amaling land, and invested the cities of Garden, Milan, Raben (Ravenna), and Mantua. Of course these successes were owing to treachery, and not to valor, and Dietrich, to obtain the release of Hildebrand and a few other faithful followers, who had fallen into the enemy's hands, was forced to surrender Bern and go off into exile.

As he had thus sacrificed his kingdom to obtain their freedom, it is no wonder that these men proudly accompanied him into banishment. They went to Susat, where they were warmly welcomed by Etzel and Helche (Herka), his wife, who promised to care for Diether, Dietrich's brother, and have him brought up with her own sons.

There were in those days many foreigners at Etzel's court, for he had secured as hostages Hagen of Tronje, from the Burgundians; the Princess Hildegunde, from the Franks; and Walther von Wasgenstein from the Duke of Aquitaine.

[Sidenote: Walther of Aquitaine and Hildegunde.] During the twenty years which Dietrich now spent in the land of the Huns fighting for Etzel, peace was concluded with Burgundy and Hagen was allowed to return home. Walther of Aquitaine (or von Wasgenstein), whose adventures are related in a Latin poem of the eighth or ninth century, had fallen in love with Hildegunde. Seeing that Etzel, in spite of his promises to set them both free, had no real intention of doing so, he and his ladylove cleverly effected their escape, and fled to the Wasgenstein (Vosges), where they paused in a cave to recruit their exhausted strength. Gunther, King of Burgundy, and Hagen of Tronje, his ally, hearing that Walther and Hildegunde were in the neighborhood, and desirous of obtaining the large sum of gold which they had carried away from Etzel's court, set out to attack them, with a force of twelve picked men. But Hildegunde was watching while Walther slept, and, seeing them draw near, warned her lover. He, inspired by her presence, slew all except Gunther and Hagen, who beat a hasty retreat.

They did not return to Worms, however, but lay in ambush beside the road, and when Walther and Hildegunde passed by they attacked the former with great fury. In spite of the odds against him, the poem relates that Walther triumphantly defeated them both, putting out one of Hagen's eyes and cutting off one of Gunther's hands and one of his feet.

The conflict ended, Hildegunde bound up the wounds of all three of the combatants, who then sat down to share a meal together, indulged in much jocularity about their wounds, and, parting amicably, sought their respective homes. Walther and Hildegunde were next joyously welcomed by their relatives, duly married, and reigned together over Aquitaine for many a long year.

In the mean while Dietrich had been engaged in warring against Waldemar, King of Reussen (Russia and Poland), in behalf of Etzel, who, however, forsook him in a cowardly way, and left him in a besieged fortress, in the midst of the enemy's land, with only a handful of men. In spite of all his courage, Dietrich would have been forced to surrender had not Rüdiger of Bechlaren come to his rescue. By their combined efforts, Waldemar was slain, and his son was brought captive to Susat.

[Sidenote: Dietrich and Queen Helche.] Dietrich and his noble prisoner were both seriously wounded; but while Queen Helche herself tenderly cared for the young prince of Reussen, who was her kinsman, Dietrich lay neglected and alone in a remote part of the palace. The young prince was no sooner cured, however, than he took advantage of Etzel's absence to escape, although Helche implored him not to do so, and assured him that she would have to pay for his absence with her life.

In her distress Helche now thought of Dietrich, who, weak and wounded, rose from his couch, pursued the fugitive, overtook and slew him, and brought his head back to her. The Queen of the Huns never forgot that she owed her life to Dietrich, and ever after showed herself his faithful friend.

Twenty years had passed since Dietrich left his native land ere he asked to return. Helche promised him the aid of her sons, Erp and Ortwine, whom she armed herself, and furnished one thousand men. Etzel, seeing this, also offered his aid, and Dietrich marched back to the Amaling land with all his companions, and with an army commanded by the two Hun princes and Rüdiger's only son, Nudung.

The van of the army took Garden and Padauwe (Padua), and with Dietrich at its head made a triumphant entrance into Bern. But, hearing that Ermenrich was coming against him, Dietrich now went to meet him, and fought a terrible battle near Raben in 493. The hero of Bern distinguished himself, as usual, in this fray, until, hearing that Nudung, the two Hun princes, and his young brother, Diether, had all been slain, he became almost insane with grief.

In his fury he wildly pursued Wittich, his former servant and Diether's murderer, and would have slain him had the latter not saved himself by plunging into the sea. Here his ancestress, the swan maiden Wachilde, took charge of him, and conveyed him to a place of safety. Then, although victorious, Dietrich discovered that he had no longer enough men left to maintain himself in his reconquered kingdom, and mournfully returned to Susat with the bodies of the slain.

[Sidenote: Marriage of Dietrich and Herrat.] It was during his second sojourn at the court of the Huns that Dietrich married Herrat (Herand), Princess of Transylvania, a relative of Helche. The latter died soon after their union. Three years later Etzel married Kriemhild, Siegfried's widow; and now occurred the fall of the brave Nibelung knights, recorded in the "Nibelungenlied." Dietrich, as we have seen, took an active part in the closing act of this tragedy, and joined in the final lament over the bodies of the slain.

Ten years after the terrible battle of Raben, Dietrich again resolved to make an attempt to recover his kingdom, and set out with only a very few followers. As Ermenrich had succumbed, either under the swords of Swanhild's brothers, as already related, or by the poison secretly administered by the traitor Sibich, the crown was now offered to Dietrich, who was glad to accept it.

All the lost cities were gradually recovered, and Hildebrand, coming to Garden, encountered his son Hadubrand (Alebrand), who, having grown up during his absence, did not recognize him, and challenged him to fight. Mighty blows were exchanged between father and son, each of whom, in the pauses of the combat, anxiously besought the other to reveal his name. It was only when their strength was exhausted that Hadubrand revealed who he was, and father and son, dropping their bloody swords, embraced with tears.

"So spake Hadubrand, Son of Hildebrand: 'Said unto me Some of our people, Shrewd and old, Gone hence already, That Hildebrand was my father called,-- I am called Hadubrand. Erewhile he eastward went, Escaping from Odoaker, Thither with Theodoric And his many men of battle, Here he left in the land, Lorn and lonely, Bride in bower, Bairn ungrown, Having no heritage.'" Song of Hildebrand (Bayard Taylor's tr.).

Hildebrand then rejoined his wife, Ute, and Dietrich, having slain the traitor Sibich, who had made an attempt to usurp the throne, marched on to Romaburg (Rome), where he was crowned Emperor of the West, under the name of Theodoric. Some time after his accession, Dietrich lost his good wife Herrat, whom, according to some accounts, he mourned as long as he lived. According to others he married again, taking as wife Liebgart, widow of Ortnit.

Etzel, according to this version, having been lured by Aldrian, Hagen's son, into the cave where the Nibelungen hoard was kept, was locked up there, and died of hunger while contemplating the gold he coveted. His estates then became the property of Dietrich, who thus became undisputed ruler of nearly all the southern part of Europe.

[Sidenote: Dietrich and the coal-black steed.] In his old age Dietrich, weary of life and imbittered by its many trials, ceased to take pleasure in anything except the chase. One day, while he was bathing in a limpid stream, his servant came to tell him that there was a fine stag in sight. Dietrich immediately called for his horse, and as it was not instantly forthcoming, he sprang upon a coal-black steed standing near, and was borne rapidly away.

The servant rode after as fast as possible, but could never overtake Dietrich, who, the peasants aver, was spirited away, and now leads the Wild Hunt upon the same sable steed, which he is doomed to ride until the judgment day.

In spite of this fabulous account, however, the tomb of Theodoric is still to be seen near Verona, but history demonstrates the impossibility of the story of Dietrich von Bern, by proving that Theodoric was not born until after the death of Attila, the unmistakeable original of the Etzel in the "Heldenbuch."

[Illustration: THE TOMB OF THEODORIC.]

CHAPTER VIII.

One of the favorite heroes of early mediaeval literature is Charlemagne, whose name is connected with countless romantic legends of more or less antique origin. The son of Pepin and Bertha the "large footed," this monarch took up his abode near the Rhine to repress the invasions of the northern barbarians, awe them into submission, and gradually induce them to accept the teachings of the missionaries he sent to convert them.

[Sidenote: The champion of Christianity.] As Charlemagne destroyed the Irminsul, razed heathen temples and groves, abolished the Odinic and Druidic forms of worship, conquered the Lombards at the request of the Pope, and defeated the Saracens in Spain, he naturally became the champion of Christianity in the chronicles of his day. All the heroic actions of his predecessors (such as Charles Martel) were soon attributed to him, and when these legends were turned into popular epics, in the tenth and eleventh centuries, he became the principal hero of France. The great deeds of his paladins, Roland, Oliver, Ogier the Dane, Renaud de Montauban, and others, also became the favorite theme of the poets, and were soon translated into every European tongue.

The Latin chronicle, falsely attributed to Bishop Turpin, Charlemagne's prime minister, but dating from 1095, is one of the oldest versions of Charlemagne's fabulous adventures now extant. It contains the mythical account of the battle of Roncesvalles (Vale of Thorns), told with infinite repetition and detail so as to give it an appearance of reality.

[Sidenote: Chanson de Roland.] Einhard, the son-in-law and historian of Charlemagne, records a partial defeat in the Pyrenees in 777-778, and adds that Hroudlandus was slain. From this bald statement arose the mediaeval "Chanson de Roland," which was still sung at the battle of Hastings. The probable author of the French metrical version is Turoldus; but the poem, numbering originally four thousand lines, has gradually been lengthened, until now it includes more than forty thousand. There are early French, Latin, German, Italian, English, and Icelandic versions of the adventures of Roland, which in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries were turned into prose, and formed the basis of the "Romans de Chevalerie," which were popular for so many years. Numerous variations can, of course, be noted in these tales, which have been worked over again by the Italian poets Ariosto and Boiardo, and even treated by Buchanan in our day.

It would be impossible to give in this work a complete synopsis of all the chansons de gestes referring to Charlemagne and his paladins, so we will content ourselves with giving an abstract of the most noted ones and telling the legends which are found in them, which have gradually been woven around those famous names and connected with certain localities.

[Sidenote: Charlemagne and the heavenly message.] We are told that Charlemagne, having built a beautiful new palace for his use, overlooking the Rhine, was roused from his sleep during the first night he spent there by the touch of an angelic hand, and, to his utter surprise, thrice heard the heavenly messenger bid him go forth and steal. Not daring to disobey, Charlemagne stole unnoticed out of the palace, saddled his steed, and, armed cap-a-pie, started out to fulfill the angelic command.

He had not gone far when he met an unknown knight, evidently bound on the same errand. To challenge, lay his lance in rest, charge, and unhorse his opponent, was an easy matter for Charlemagne. When he learned that he had disarmed Elbegast (Alberich), the notorious highwayman, he promised to let him go free if he would only help him steal something that night.

Guided by Elbegast, Charlemagne, still incognito, went to the castle of one of his ministers, and, thanks to Elbegast's cunning, penetrated unseen into his bedroom. There, crouching in the dark, Charlemagne overheard him confide to his wife a plot to murder the emperor on the morrow. Patiently biding his time until they were sound asleep, Charlemagne picked up a worthless trifle, and noiselessly made his way out, returning home unseen. On the morrow, profiting by the knowledge thus obtained, he cleverly outwitted the conspirators, whom he restored to favor only after they had solemnly sworn future loyalty. As for Elbegast, he so admired the only man who had ever succeeded in conquering him that he renounced his dishonest profession to enter the emperor's service.

In gratitude for the heavenly vision vouchsafed him, the emperor named his new palace Ingelheim (Home of the Angel), a name which the place has borne ever since. This thieving episode is often alluded to in the later romances of chivalry, where knights, called upon to justify their unlawful appropriation of another's goods, disrespectfully remind the emperor that he too once went about as a thief.

[Sidenote: Frastrada's magic ring.] When Charlemagne's third wife died, he married a beautiful Eastern princess by the name of Frastrada, who, aided by a magic ring, soon won his most devoted affection. The new queen, however, did not long enjoy her power, for a dangerous illness overtook her. When at the point of death, fearful lest her ring should be worn by another while she was buried and forgotten, Frastrada slipped the magic circlet into her mouth just before she breathed her last.

Solemn preparations were made to bury her in the cathedral of Mayence (where a stone bearing her name could still be seen a few years ago), but the emperor refused to part with the beloved body. Neglectful of all matters of state, he remained in the mortuary chamber day after day. His trusty adviser, Turpin, suspecting the presence of some mysterious talisman, slipped into the room while the emperor, exhausted with fasting and weeping, was wrapped in sleep. After carefully searching for the magic jewel, Turpin discovered it, at last, in the dead queen's mouth.

"He searches with care, though with tremulous haste, For the spell that bewitches the king; And under her tongue, for security placed, Its margin with mystical characters traced, At length he discovers a ring." SOUTHEY, King Charlemain.

[Sidenote: Turpin and the magic ring.] To secure this ring and slip it on his finger was but the affair of a moment; but just as Turpin was about to leave the room the emperor awoke. With a shuddering glance at the dead queen, Charlemagne flung himself passionately upon the neck of his prime minister, declaring that he would never be quite inconsolable as long as he was near.

Taking advantage of the power thus secured by the possession of the magic ring, Turpin led Charlemagne away, forced him to eat and drink, and after the funeral induced him to resume the reins of the government. But he soon wearied of his master's constant protestations of undying affection, and ardently longed to get rid of the ring, which, however, he dared neither to hide nor to give away, for fear it should fall into unscrupulous hands.

Although advanced in years, Turpin was now forced to accompany Charlemagne everywhere, even on his hunting expeditions, and to share his tent. One moonlight night the unhappy minister stole noiselessly out of the imperial tent, and wandered alone in the woods, cogitating how to dispose of the unlucky ring. As he walked thus he came to a glade in the forest, and saw a deep pool, on whose mirrorlike surface the moonbeams softly played. Suddenly the thought struck him that the waters would soon close over and conceal the magic ring forever in their depths; and, drawing it from his finger, he threw it into the pond. Turpin then retraced his steps, and soon fell asleep. On the morrow he was delighted to perceive that the spell was broken, and that Charlemagne had returned to the old undemonstrative friendship which had bound them for many a year.

"Overjoy'd, the good prelate remember'd the spell, And far in the lake flung the ring; The waters closed round it; and, wondrous to tell, Released from the cursed enchantment of hell, His reason return'd to the king." SOUTHEY, King Charlemain.

Charlemagne, however, seemed unusually restless, and soon went out to hunt. In the course of the day, having lost sight of his suite in the pursuit of game, he came to the little glade, where, dismounting, he threw himself on the grass beside the pool, declaring that he would fain linger there forever. The spot was so charming that he even gave orders, ere he left it that night, that a palace should be erected there for his use; and this building was the nucleus of his favorite capital, Aix-la-Chapelle (Aachen).

"But he built him a palace there close by the bay, And there did he love to remain; And the traveler who will, may behold at this day A monument still in the ruins at Aix Of the spell that possess'd Charlemain." SOUTHEY, King Charlemain.

According to tradition, Charlemagne had a sister by the name of Bertha, who, against his will, married the brave young knight Milon. Rejected by the emperor, and therefore scorned by all, the young couple lived in obscurity and poverty. They were very happy, however, for they loved each other dearly, and rejoiced in the beauty of their infant son Roland, who even in babyhood showed signs of uncommon courage and vigor.

[Sidenote: Charlemagne and the boy Roland.] One version of the story relates, however, that Milon perished in a flood, and that Bertha was almost dying of hunger while her brother, a short distance away, was entertaining all his courtiers at his board. Little Roland, touched by his mother's condition, walked fearlessly into the banquet hall, boldly advanced to the table, and carried away a dishful of meat. As the emperor seemed amused at the little lad's fearlessness, the servants did not dare to interfere, and Roland bore off the dish in triumph.

A few minutes later he reentered the hall, and with equal coolness laid hands upon the emperor's cup, full of rich wine. Challenged by Charlemagne, the child then boldly declared that he wanted the meat and wine for his mother, a lady of high degree. In answer to the emperor's bantering questions, he declared that he was his mother's cupbearer, her page, and her gallant knight, which answers so amused Charlemagne that he sent for her. He then remorsefully recognized her, treated her with kindness as long as she lived, and took her son into his own service.

Another legend relates that Charlemagne, hearing that the robber knight of the Ardennes had a priceless jewel set in his shield, called all his bravest noblemen together, and bade them sally forth separately, with only a page as escort, in quest of the knight. Once found, they were to challenge him in true knightly fashion, and at the point of the lance win the jewel he wore. A day was appointed when, successful or not, the courtiers were to return, and, beginning with the lowest in rank, were to give a truthful account of their adventures while on the quest.

All the knights departed and scoured the forest of the Ardennes, each hoping to meet the robber knight and win the jewel. Among them was Milon, accompanied by his son Roland, a lad of fifteen, whom he had taken as page and armor-bearer. Milon had spent many days in vain search for the knight, when, exhausted by his long ride, he dismounted, removed his heavy armor, and lay down under a tree to sleep, bidding Roland keep close watch during his slumbers.

[Sidenote: Roland and the jewel.] Roland watched faithfully for a while; then, fired by a desire to distinguish himself, he donned his father's armor, sprang on his steed, and rode into the forest in search of adventures. He had not gone very far when he saw a gigantic horseman coming to meet him, and, by the dazzling glitter of a large stone set in his shield, he recognized in him the invincible knight of the Ardennes. Afraid of nothing, however, the lad laid his lance in rest when challenged to fight, and charged so bravely that he unhorsed the knight. A fearful battle on foot ensued, where many gallant blows were given and received; yet the victory finally remained with Roland. He slew his adversary, and wrenching the jewel from his shield, hid it in his breast. Then, riding rapidly back to his sleeping father, Roland laid aside the armor, and removed all traces of a bloody encounter. When Milon awoke he resumed the quest, and soon came upon the body of the dead knight. When he saw that another had won the jewel, he was disappointed indeed, and sadly rode back to court, to be present on the appointed day.

Charlemagne, seated on his throne, bade the knights appear before him, and relate their adventures. One after another strode up the hall, followed by an armor-bearer holding his shield, and all told of finding the knight slain and the jewel gone, and produced head, hands, feet, or some part of his armor, in token of the truth of their story. Last of all came Milon, with lowering brows, although Roland walked close behind him, proudly holding his shield, in the center of which the jewel shone radiant. Milon related his search, and reported that he too had found the giant knight slain and the jewel gone. A shout of incredulity made him turn his head. But when he saw the jewel blazing on his shield he appeared so amazed that Charlemagne questioned Roland, and soon learned how it had been obtained. In reward for his bravery in this encounter, Roland was knighted and allowed to take his place among his uncle's paladins, of which he soon became the most renowned.

Charlemagne, according to the old chanson de geste entitled "Ogier le Danois," made war against the King of Denmark, defeated him, and received his son Ogier (Olger or Holger Danske) as hostage. The young Danish prince was favored by the fairies from the time of his birth, six of them having appeared to bring him gifts while he was in his cradle. The first five promised him every earthly bliss; while the sixth, Morgana, foretold that he would never die, but would dwell with her in Avalon.

[Sidenote: Ogier king of Denmark.] Ogier the Dane, owing to a violation of the treaty on his father's part, was soon confined in the prison of St. Omer. There he beguiled the weariness of captivity by falling in love with, and secretly marrying, the governor's daughter Bellissande. Charlemagne, being about to depart for war, and wishing for the hero's help, released him from captivity; and when Ogier returned again to France he heard that Bellissande had borne him a son, and that, his father having died, he was now the lawful king of Denmark.

Ogier the Dane then obtained permission to return to his native land, where he spent several years, reigning so wisely that he was adored by all his subjects. Such is the admiration of the Danes for this hero that the common people still declare that he is either in Avalon, or sleeping in the vaults of Elsinore, and that he will awaken, like Frederick Barbarossa, to save his country in the time of its direst need.

"'Thou know'st it, peasant! I am not dead; I come back to thee in my glory. I am thy faithful helper in need, As in Denmark's ancient story.'" INGEMANN, Holder Danske.

After some years spent in Denmark, Ogier returned to France, where his son, now grown up, had a dispute with Prince Chariot [Ogier and Charlemagne.] over a game of chess. The dispute became so bitter that the prince used the chessboard as weapon, and killed his antagonist with it. Ogier, indignant at the murder, and unable to find redress at the hands of Charlemagne, insulted him grossly, and fled to Didier (Desiderius), King of Lombardy, with whom the Franks were then at feud.

Several ancient poems represent Didier on his tower, anxiously watching the approach of the enemy, and questioning his guest as to the personal appearance of Charlemagne. These poems have been imitated by Longfellow in one of his "Tales of a Wayside Inn."

"Olger the Dane, and Desiderio, King of the Lombards, on a lofty tower Stood gazing northward o'er the rolling plains, League after league of harvests, to the foot Of the snow-crested Alps, and saw approach A mighty army, thronging all the roads That led into the city. And the King Said unto Olger, who had passed his youth As hostage at the court of France, and knew The Emperor's form and face, 'Is Charlemagne Among that host?' And Olger answered, 'No.'" LONGFELLOW, Tales of a Wayside Inn.

This poet, who has made this part of the legend familiar to all English readers, then describes the vanguard of the army, the paladins, the clergy, all in full panoply, and the gradually increasing terror of the Lombard king, who, long before the emperor's approach, would fain have hidden himself underground. Finally Charlemagne appears in iron mail, brandishing aloft his invincible sword "Joyeuse," and escorted by the main body of his army, grim fighting men, at the mere sight of whom even Ogier the Dane is struck with fear.

"This at a single glance Olger the Dane Saw from the tower; and, turning to the King, Exclaimed in haste: 'Behold! this is the man You looked for with such eagerness!' and then Fell as one dead at Desiderio's feet." LONGFELLOW, Tales of a Wayside Inn.

Charlemagne soon overpowered the Lombard king, and assumed the iron crown, while Ogier escaped from the castle in which he was besieged. Shortly after, however, when asleep near a fountain, the Danish hero was surprised by Turpin. When led before Charlemagne, he obstinately refused all proffers of reconciliation, and insisted upon Charlot's death, until an angel from heaven forbade his asking the life of Charlemagne's son. Then, foregoing his revenge and fully reinstated in the royal good graces, Ogier, according to a thirteenth-century epic by Adenet, successfully encountered a Saracenic giant, and in reward for his services received the hand of Clarice, Princess of England, and became king of that realm.

[Sidenote: Ogier in the East.] Weary of a peaceful existence, Ogier finally left England, and journeyed to the East, where he successfully besieged Acre, Babylon and Jerusalem. On his way back to France, the ship was attracted by the famous lodestone rock which appears in many mediaeval romances, and, all his companions having perished, Ogier wandered alone ashore. There he came to an adamantine castle, invisible by day, but radiant at night, where he was received by the famous horse Papillon, and sumptuously entertained. On the morrow, while wandering across a flowery meadow, Ogier encountered Morgana the fay, who gave him a magic ring. Although Ogier was then a hundred years old, he no sooner put it on than he became young once more. Then, having donned the golden crown of oblivion, he forgot his home, and joined Arthur, Oberon, Tristan, and Lancelot, with whom he spent two hundred years in unchanged youth, enjoying constant jousting and fighting.

At the end of that time, his crown having accidentally dropped off, Ogier remembered the past, and returned to France, riding on Papillon. He reached the court during the reign of one of the Capetian kings. He was, of course, greatly amazed at the changes which had taken place, but bravely helped to defend Paris against an invasion from the Normans.

[Sidenote: Ogier carried to Avalon.] Shortly after this, his magic ring was playfully drawn from his finger and put upon her own by the Countess of Senlis, who, seeing that it restored her vanished youth, would fain have kept it always. She therefore sent thirty champions to wrest it from Ogier, who, however, defeated them all, and triumphantly retained his ring. The king having died, Ogier next married the widowed queen, and would thus have become King of France had not Morgana the fay, jealous of his affections, spirited him away in the midst of the marriage ceremony and borne him off to the Isle of Avalon, whence he, like Arthur, will return only when his country needs him.

[Sidenote: Roland and Oliver.] Another chanson de geste, a sort of continuation of "Ogier le Danois," is called "Meurvin," and purports to give a faithful account of the adventures of a son of Ogier and Morgana, an ancestor of Godfrey of Bouillon, King of Jerusalem. In "Guerin de Montglave," we find that Charlemagne, having quarreled with the Duke of Genoa, proposed that each should send a champion to fight in his name. Charlemagne selected Roland, while the Duke of Genoa chose Oliver as his defender. The battle, if we are to believe some versions of the legend, took place on an island in the Rhone, and Durandana, Roland's sword, struck many a spark from Altecler (Hautecler), the blade of Oliver. The two champions were so well matched, and the blows were dealt with such equal strength and courage, that "giving a Roland for an Oliver" has become a proverbial expression.

After fighting all day, with intermissions to interchange boasts and taunts, and to indulge in sundry discussions, neither had gained any advantage. They would probably have continued the struggle indefinitely, however, had not an angel of the Lord interfered, and bidden them embrace and become fast friends. It was on this occasion, we are told, that Charlemagne, fearing for Roland when he saw the strength of Oliver, vowed a pilgrimage to Jerusalem should his nephew escape alive.

[Sidenote: Charlemagne's pilgrimage to Jerusalem.] The fulfillment of this vow is described in "Galyen Rhetoré." Charlemagne and his peers reached Jerusalem safely in disguise, but their anxiety to secure relics soon betrayed their identity. The King of Jerusalem, Hugues, entertained them sumptuously, and, hoping to hear many praises of his hospitality, concealed himself in their apartment at night. The eavesdropper, however, only heard the vain talk of Charlemagne's peers, who, unable to sleep, beguiled the hours in making extraordinary boasts. Roland declared that he could blow his horn Olivant loud enough to bring down the palace; Ogier, that he could crumble the principal pillar to dust in his grasp; and Oliver, that he could marry the princess in spite of her father.

The king, angry at hearing no praises of his wealth and hospitality, insisted upon his guests fulfilling their boasts on the morrow, under penalty of death. He was satisfied, however, by the success of Oliver's undertaking, and the peers returned to France. Galyen, Oliver's son by Hugues's daughter, followed them thither when he reached manhood, and joined his father in the valley of Roncesvalles, just in time to receive his blessing ere he died. Then, having helped Charlemagne to avenge his peers, Galyen returned to Jerusalem, where he found his grandfather dead and his mother a captive. His first act was, of course, to free his mother, after which he became king of Jerusalem, and his adventures came to an end.

The "Chronicle" of Turpin, whence the materials for many of the poems about Roland were taken, declares that Charlemagne, having conquered nearly the whole of Europe, retired to his palace to seek repose. But one evening, while gazing at the stars, he saw a bright cluster move from the "Friesian sea, by way of Germany and France, into Galicia." This prodigy, twice repeated, greatly excited Charlemagne's wonder, and was explained to him by St. James in a vision. The latter declared that the progress of the stars was emblematic of the advance of the Christian army towards Spain, and twice bade the emperor deliver his land from the hands of the Saracens.

[Sidenote: Charlemagne in Spain.] Thus admonished, Charlemagne set out for Spain with a large army, and invested the city of Pamplona, which showed no signs of surrender at the end of a two months' siege. Recourse to prayer on the Christians' part, however, produced a great miracle, for the walls tottered and fell like those of Jericho. All the Saracens who embraced Christianity were spared, but the remainder were slain before the emperor journeyed to the shrine of St. James at Santiago de Compostela to pay his devotions.

A triumphant march through the country then ensued, and Charlemagne returned to France, thinking the Saracens subdued. He had scarcely crossed the border, however, when Aigolandus, one of the pagan monarchs, revolted, and soon recovered nearly all the territory his people had lost. When Charlemagne heard these tidings, he sent back an army, commanded by Milon, Roland's father, who perished gloriously in this campaign. The emperor speedily followed his brother-in-law with great forces, and again besieged Aigolandus in Pamplona. During the course of the siege the two rulers had an interview, which is described at length, and indulged in sundry religious discussions, which, however, culminated in a resumption of hostilities. Several combats now took place, in which the various heroes greatly distinguished themselves, the preference being generally given to Roland, who, if we are to believe the Italian poet, was as terrible in battle as he was gentle in time of peace.

"On stubborn foes he vengeance wreak'd, And laid about him like a Tartar; But if for mercy once they squeak'd, He was the first to grant them quarter. The battle won, of Roland's soul Each milder virtue took possession; To vanquished foes he o'er a bowl His heart surrender'd at discretion." ARIOSTO, Orlando Furioso (Dr. Burney's tr.).

Aigolandus being slain, and the feud against him thus successfully ended, Charlemagne carried the war into Navarre, where he was challenged by the giant Ferracute (Ferragus) to meet him in single combat. Although the metrical "Romances" describe Charlemagne as twenty feet in height, and declare that he slept in a hall, his bed surrounded by one hundred lighted tapers and one hundred knights with drawn swords, the emperor felt himself no match for the giant, whose personal appearance was as follows:--

"So hard he was to-fond [proved], That no dint of brond No grieved him, I plight. He had twenty men's strength; And forty feet of length Thilke [each] paynim had; And four feet in the face Y-meten [measured] on the place; And fifteen in brede [breadth]. His nose was a foot and more; His brow as bristles wore; (He that saw it said) He looked lothliche [loathly], And was swart [black] as pitch; Of him men might adrede!" Roland and Ferragus.

[Sidenote: Roland and Ferracute.] After convincing himself of the danger of meeting this adversary, Charlemagne sent Ogier the Dane to fight him, and with dismay saw his champion not only unhorsed, but borne away like a parcel under the giant's arm, fuming and kicking with impotent rage. Renaud de Montauban met Ferracute on the next day, with the same fate, as did several other champions. Finally Roland took the field, and although the giant pulled him down from his horse, he continued the battle all day. Seeing that his sword Durandana had no effect upon Ferracute, Roland armed himself with a club on the morrow.

In the pauses of the battle the combatants talked together, and Ferracute, relying upon his adversary's keen sense of honor, even laid his head upon Roland's knee during their noonday rest. While resting thus, he revealed that he was vulnerable in only one point of his body. When called upon by Roland to believe in Christianity, he declared that the doctrine of the Trinity was more than he could accept. Roland, in answer, demonstrated that an almond is but one fruit, although composed of rind, shell, and kernel; that a harp is but one instrument, although it consists of wood, strings, and harmony. He also urged the threefold nature of the sun,--i.e., heat, light, and splendor; and these arguments having satisfied Ferracute concerning the Trinity, he removed his doubts concerning the incarnation by equally forcible reasoning. The giant, however, utterly refused to believe in the resurrection, although Roland, in support of his creed, quoted the mediaeval belief that a lion's cubs are born into the world dead, but come to life on the third day at the sound of their father's roar, or under the warm breath of their mother. As Ferracute would not accept this doctrine, but sprang to his feet proposing a continuation of the fight, the struggle was renewed.

"Quath Ferragus: 'Now ich wot Your Christian law every grot; Now we will fight; Whether law better be, Soon we shall y-see, Long ere it be night.'" Roland and Ferragus.

Roland, weary with his previous efforts, almost succumbed beneath the giant's blows, and in his distress had recourse to prayer. He was immediately strengthened and comforted by an angelic vision and a promise of victory. Thus encouraged, he dealt Ferracute a deadly blow in the vulnerable spot. The giant fell, calling upon Mohammed, while Roland laughed and the Christians triumphed.

The poem of Sir Otuel, in the Auchinleck manuscript, describes how Otuel, a nephew of Ferracute, his equal in size and strength, came to avenge his death, and, after a long battle with Roland, yielded to his theological arguments, and was converted at the sight of a snowy dove alighting on Charlemagne's helmet in answer to prayer. He then became a devoted adherent of Charlemagne, and served him much in war.

Charlemagne, having won Navarre, carried the war to the south of Spain, where the Saracens frightened the horses of his host by beating drums and waving banners. Having suffered a partial defeat on account of this device, Charlemagne had the horses' ears stopped with wax, and their eyes blindfolded, before he resumed the battle. Thanks to this precaution, he succeeded in conquering the Saracen army. The whole country had now been again subdued, and Charlemagne was preparing to return to France, when he remembered that Marsiglio (Marsilius), a Saracen king, was still intrenched at Saragossa.

"Carle, our most noble Emperor and King, Hath tarried now full seven years in Spain, Conqu'ring the highland regions to the sea; No fortress stands before him unsubdued, Nor wall, nor city left, to be destroyed, Save Sarraguce, high on a mountain set. There rules the King Marsile, who loves not God, Apollo worships, and Mohammed serves; Nor can he from his evil doom escape." Chanson de Roland (Rabillon's tr.).

[Sidenote: Battle of Roncesvalles.] The emperor wished to send an embassy to him to arrange the terms of peace, but discarded Roland's offer of service because of his impetuosity. Then, following the advice of Naismes de Bavière, "the Nestor of the Carolingian legends," he selected Ganelon, Roland's stepfather, as ambassador. This man was a traitor, and accepted a bribe from the Saracen king to betray Roland and the rear guard of the French army into his power. Advised by Ganelon, Charlemagne departed from Spain at the head of his army, leaving Roland to bring up the rear. The main part of the army passed through the Pyrenees unmolested, but the rear guard of twenty thousand men, under Roland, was attacked by a superior force of Saracens in ambush, as it was passing through the denies of Roncesvalles. A terrible encounter took place here.

"The Count Rollànd rides through the battlefield And makes, with Durendal's keen blade in hand, A mighty carnage of the Saracens. Ah! had you then beheld the valiant Knight Heap corse on corse; blood drenching all the ground; His own arms, hauberk, all besmeared with gore, And his good steed from neck to shoulder bleed!" Chanson de Roland (Rabillon's tr.).

[Illustration: THE DEATH OF ROLAND.--Keller.]

All the Christians were slain except Roland and a few knights, who succeeded in repulsing the first onslaught of the painims. Roland then bound a Saracen captive to a tree, wrung from him a confession of the dastardly plot, and, discovering where Marsiglio was to be found, rushed into the very midst of the Saracen army and slew him. The Saracens, terrified at the apparition of the hero, beat a hasty retreat, little suspecting that their foe had received a mortal wound, and would shortly breathe his last.

During the first part of the battle, Roland, yielding to Oliver's entreaty, sounded a blast on his horn Olivant, which came even to Charlemagne's ear. Fearing lest his nephew was calling for aid, Charlemagne would fain have gone back had he not been deterred by Ganelon, who assured him that Roland was merely pursuing a stag.

"Rolland raised to his lips the olifant, Drew a deep breath, and blew with all his force. High are the mountains, and from peak to peak The sound reëchoes; thirty leagues away 'Twas heard by Carle and all his brave compeers. Cried the king: 'Our men make battle!' Ganelon Retorts in haste: 'If thus another dared To speak, we should denounce it as a lie.' Aoi" Chanson de Roland (Rabillon's tr.).

[Sidenote: Steed Veillantif slain.] Wounded and faint, Roland now slowly dragged himself to the entrance of the pass of Cisaire,--where the Basque peasants aver they have often seen his ghost, and heard the sound of his horn,--and took leave of his faithful steed Veillantif, which he slew with his own hand, to prevent its falling into the hands of the enemy.

"'Ah, nevermore, and nevermore, shall we to battle ride! Ah, nevermore, and nevermore, shall we sweet comrades be! And Veillintif, had I the heart to die forgetting thee? To leave thy mighty heart to break, in slavery to the foe? I had not rested in the grave, if it had ended so. Ah, never shall we conquering ride, with banners bright unfurl'd, A shining light 'mong lesser lights, a wonder to the world.'" BUCHANAN, Death of Roland.

[Sidenote: Sword Durandana destroyed.] Then the hero gazed upon his sword Durandana, which had served him faithfully for so many years, and to prevent its falling into the hands of the pagans, he tried to dispose of it also. According to varying accounts, he either sank it deep into a poisoned stream, where it is still supposed to lie, or, striking it against the mighty rocks, cleft them in two, without even dinting its bright blade.

"And Roland thought: 'I surely die; but, ere I end, Let me be sure that thou art ended too, my friend! For should a heathen hand grasp thee when I am clay, My ghost would grieve full sore until the judgment day!' Then to the marble steps, under the tall, bare trees, Trailing the mighty sword, he crawl'd on hands and knees, And on the slimy stone he struck the blade with might-- The bright hilt, sounding, shook, the blade flash'd sparks of light; Wildly again he struck, and his sick head went round, Again there sparkled fire, again rang hollow sound; Ten times he struck, and threw strange echoes down the glade, Yet still unbroken, sparkling fire, glitter'd the peerless blade." BUCHANAN, Death of Roland.

Finally, despairing of disposing of it in any other way, the hero, strong in death, broke Durandana in his powerful hands and threw the shards away.

Horse and sword were now disposed of, and the dying hero, summoning his last strength, again put his marvelous horn Olivant to his lips, and blew such a resounding blast that the sound was heard far and near. The effort, however, was such that his temples burst, as he again sank fainting to the ground.

One version of the story (Turpin's) relates that the blast brought, not Charlemagne, but the sole surviving knight, Theodoricus, who, as Roland had been shriven before the battle, merely heard his last prayer and reverently closed his eyes. Then Turpin, while celebrating mass before Charlemagne, was suddenly favored by a vision, in which he beheld a shrieking crew of demons bearing Marsiglio's soul to hell, while an angelic host conveyed Roland's to heaven.

Turpin immediately imparted these revelations to Charlemagne, who, knowing now that his fears were not without foundation, hastened back to Roncesvalles. Here the scriptural miracle was repeated, for the sun stayed its course until the emperor had routed the Saracens and found the body of his nephew. He pronounced a learned funeral discourse or lament over the hero's remains, which were then embalmed and conveyed to Blaive for interment.

Another version relates that Bishop Turpin himself remained with Roland in the rear, and, after hearing a general confession and granting full absolution to all the heroes, fought beside them to the end. It was he who heard the last blast of Roland's horn instead of Theodoricus, and came to close his eyes before he too expired.

The most celebrated of all the poems, however, the French epic "Chanson de Roland," gives a different version and relates that, in stumbling over the battlefield, Roland came across the body of his friend Oliver, over which he uttered a touching lament.

"'Alas for all thy valor, comrade dear! Year after year, day after day, a life Of love we led; ne'er didst thou wrong to me, Nor I to thee. If death takes thee away, My life is but a pain.'" Chanson de Roland (Rabillon's tr.).

[Sidenote: Death of Roland.] Slowly and painfully now--for his death was near--Roland climbed up a slope, laid himself down under a pine tree, and placed his sword and horn beneath him. Then, when he had breathed a last prayer, to commit his soul to God, he held up his glove in token of his surrender.

"His right hand glove he offered up to God; Saint Gabriel took the glove.--With head reclined Upon his arm, with hands devoutly joined, He breathed his last. God sent his Cherubim, Saint Raphael, _Saint Michiel del Peril._ The soul of Count Rolland to Paradise. Aoi." Chanson de Roland (Rabillon's tr.).

It was here, under the pine, that Charlemagne found his nephew ere he started out to punish the Saracens, as already related. Not far off lay the bodies of Ogier, Oliver, and Renaud, who, according to this version, were all among the slain.

"Here endeth Otuel, Roland, and Olyvere, And of the twelve dussypere, That dieden in the batayle of Runcyvale: Jesu lord, heaven king, To his bliss hem and us both bring, To liven withouten bale!" Sir Otuel.

On his return to France Charlemagne suspected Ganelon of treachery, and had him tried by twelve peers, who, unable to decide the question, bade him prove his innocence in single combat with Roland's squire, Thiedric. Ganelon, taking advantage of the usual privilege to have his cause defended by a champion, selected Pinabel, the most famous swordsman of the time. In spite of all his valor, however, this champion was defeated, and the "judgment of God"--the term generally applied to those judicial combats--was in favor of Thiedric. Ganelon, thus convicted of treason, was sentenced to be drawn and quartered, and was executed at Aix-la-Chapelle, in punishment for his sins.

"Ere long for this he lost Both limb and life, judged and condemned at Aix, There to be hanged with thirty of his race Who were not spared the punishment of death. Aoi." Chanson de Roland (Rabillon's tr.).

[Sidenote: Roland and Aude.] Roland, having seen Aude, Oliver's sister, at the siege of Viane, where she even fought against him, if the old epics are to be believed, had been so smitten with her charms that he declared that he would marry none but her. When the siege was over, and lifelong friendship had been sworn between Roland and Oliver after their memorable duel on an island in the Rhone, Roland was publicly betrothed to the charming Aude. Before their nuptials could take place, however, he was forced to leave for Spain, where, as we have seen, he died an heroic death. The sad news of his demise was brought to Paris, where the Lady Aude was awaiting him. When she heard that he would never return, she died of grief, and was buried at his side in the chapel of Blaive.

"In Paris Lady Alda sits, Sir Roland's destined bride. With her three hundred maidens, to tend her, at her side; Alike their robes and sandals all, and the braid that binds their hair, And alike the meal, in their Lady's hall, the whole three hundred share. Around her, in her chair of state, they all their places hold; A hundred weave the web of silk, and a hundred spin the gold, And a hundred touch their gentle lutes to sooth that Lady's pain, As she thinks on him that's far away with the host of Charlemagne. Lulled by the sound, she sleeps, but soon she wakens with a scream; And, as her maidens gather round, she thus recounts her dream: 'I sat upon a desert shore, and from the mountain nigh, Right toward me, I seemed to see a gentle falcon fly; But close behind an eagle swooped, and struck that falcon down, And with talons and beak he rent the bird, as he cowered beneath my gown.' The chief of her maidens smiled, and said; 'To me it doth not seem That the Lady Alda reads aright the boding of her dream. Thou art the falcon, and thy knight is the eagle in his pride, As he comes in triumph from the war, and pounces on his bride.' The maiden laughed, but Alda sighed, and gravely shook her head. 'Full rich,' quoth she, 'shall thy guerdon be, if thou the truth hast said.' 'Tis morn; her letters, stained with blood, the truth too plainly tell, How, in the chase of Ronceval, Sir Roland fought and fell." _Lady Alda's Dreams_ (Sir Edmund Head's tr.).

[Sidenote: Legend of Roland and Hildegarde.] A later legend, which has given rise to sundry poems, connects the name of Roland with one of the most beautiful places on the Rhine. Popular tradition avers that he sought shelter one evening in the castle of Drachenfels, where he fell in love with Hildegarde, the beautiful daughter of the Lord of Drachenfels. The sudden outbreak of the war in Spain forced him to bid farewell to his betrothed, but he promised to return as soon as possible to celebrate their wedding. During the campaign, many stories of his courage came to Hildegarde's ears, and finally, after a long silence, she heard that Roland had perished at Roncesvalles.

Broken-hearted, the fair young mourner spent her days in tears, and at last prevailed upon her father to allow her to enter the convent on the island of Nonnenworth, in the middle of the river, and within view of the gigantic crag where the castle ruins can still be seen.

"The castled crag of Drachenfels Frowns o'er the wide and winding Rhine, Whose breast of water broadly swells Between the banks which bear the vine, And hills all rich with blossomed trees, And fields which promise corn and wine, And scattered cities crowning these, Whose fair white walls along them shine." BYRON, Childe Harold.

With pallid cheeks and tear-dimmed eyes, Hildegarde now spent her life either in her tiny cell or in the convent chapel, praying for the soul of her beloved, and longing that death might soon come to set her free to join him. The legend relates, however, that Roland was not dead, as she supposed, but had merely been sorely wounded at Roncesvalles.

When sufficiently recovered to travel, Roland painfully made his way back to Drachenfels, where he presented himself late one evening, eagerly calling for Hildegarde. A few moments later the joyful light left his eyes forever, for he learned that his beloved had taken irrevocable vows, and was now the bride of Heaven.

That selfsame day Roland left the castle of Drachenfels, and riding to an eminence overlooking the island of Nonnenwörth, he gazed long and tearfully at a little light twinkling in one of the convent windows. As he could not but suppose that it illumined Hildegarde's cell and lonely vigils, he watched it all night, and when morning came he recognized his beloved's form in the long procession of nuns on their way to the chapel.

[Sidenote: Rolandseck.] This view of the lady he loved seemed a slight consolation to the hero, who built a retreat on this rock, which is known as Rolandseck. Here he spent his days in penance and prayer, gazing constantly at the island at his feet, and the swift stream which parted him from Hildegarde.

One wintry day, many years after he had taken up his abode on the rocky height, Roland missed the graceful form he loved, and heard, instead of the usual psalm, a dirge for the dead. Then he noticed that six of the nuns were carrying a coffin, which they lowered into an open tomb.

Roland's nameless fears were confirmed in the evening, when the convent priest visited him, and gently announced that Hildegarde was at rest. Calmly Roland listened to these tidings, begged the priest to hear his confession as usual, and, when he had received absolution, expressed a desire to be buried with his face turned toward the convent where Hildegarde had lived and died.

The priest readily promised to observe this request, and departed. When he came on the morrow, he found Roland dead. They buried him reverently on the very spot which bears his name, with his face turned toward Nonnenwörth, where Hildegarde lay at rest.