The Nibelungenlied by Anonymous - ADVENTURE XVI How Siegfried Was Slain.

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The Nibelungenlied

ADVENTURE XVI How Siegfried Was Slain.

Gun­ther and Ha­gen, the pass­ing bold knights, faith­less­ly let cry a-​hunt­ing in the woods, that with sharp spears they would hunt boars and bears and bi­son. What might be braver? With them rode Siegfried in lord­ly guise; many kinds of vict­ual did they take along. At a cool spring he lat­er lost his life, the which Brun­hild, King Gun­ther’s wife, had coun­seled. The bold knight then went to where he found Kriemhild. His cost­ly hunt­ing garb and those of his fel­low­ship were al­ready bound up­on the sumpters, for they would cross the Rhine. Nev­er could Kriemhild have been more sor­row­ful. He kissed his love up­on her mouth. “God let me see thee, la­dy, still in health and grant that thine eyes may see me too. Thou shalt have pas­time with thy lov­ing kins­men. I may not stay at home.”

Then she thought of the tale she had told to Ha­gen, though she durst not say a whit. The no­ble queen be­gan to rue that she was ev­er born. Lord Siegfried’s wife wept out of mea­sure. She spake to the knight: “Let be your hunt­ing. I had an evil dream last night, how two wild boars did chase you across the heath; then flow­ers grew red. I have in truth great cause to weep so sore. I be much adread of sundry plans and whether we have not mis­served some who might bear us hos­tile hate. Tar­ry here, dear my lord, that I coun­sel by my troth.”

He spake: “Dear love, I’ll come back in a few short days. I wot not here of peo­ple who bear me aught of hate. Each and all of thy kins­men be my friends, nor have I de­served it oth­er of the knights.”

“No, no, Sir Siegfried, in truth I fear thy fall. I had last night an evil dream, how two moun­tains fell up­on thee. I saw thee nev­er­more. It doth cut me to the heart, that thou wilt part from me.”

In his arms he clasped his cour­te­ous wife and kissed her ten­der­ly. Then in a short space he took his leave and part­ed hence. Alas, she nev­er saw him in health again.

Then they rode from thence in­to a deep wood for pas­time’s sake. Many bold knights did fol­low Gun­ther and his men, but Ger­not and Gisel­her stayed at home. Many laden sumpters were sent be­fore them across the Rhine, the which bare for the hunt­ing fel­low­ship bread and wine, meat and fish, and great store of oth­er things, which so mighty a king might right­ly have. They bade the proud hunts­men and bold halt be­fore a green wood over against the cours­es of the game, up­on a pass­ing broad glade where they should hunt. The king was told that Siegfried, too, was come. The hunt­ing fel­low­ship now took their stand on ev­ery side. Then the bold knight, the stur­dy Siegfried, asked: “Ye heroes bold and brave, who shall lead us to the game with­in the wood?”

“Let us part,” spake Ha­gen, “ere we be­gin the chase. There­by my lords and I may know who be the best hunter on this wood­land jour­ney. Let us di­vide the folk and hounds and let each turn whith­er­so­ev­er he list. He who doth hunt the best shall have our thanks.” Short time the hunts­men bid­ed by an­oth­er af­ter that.

Then spake Lord Siegfried: “I need no dogs save one brach that hath been trained that he can tell the track of the beasts through the pine woods.” Quoth Kriemhild’s hus­band: “We’ll find the game.”

Then an old hunts­man took a good sleuth-​hound and in a short space brought the lord to where many beasts were found. What­so rose from its lair the com­rades hunt­ed as good hunters still are wont to do. What­ev­er the brach start­ed, bold Siegfried, the hero of Nether­land, slew with his hand. His horse did run so hard that none es­caped him. In the chase he gained the prize above them all. Doughty enow he was in all things. The beast which he slew with his hands was the first, a mighty boar; af­ter which he found full soon a mon­strous li­on. (1) When the brach start­ed this from its lair, he shot it with his bow, in which he had placed a full sharp ar­row. Af­ter the shot the li­on ran the space of but three bounds. The hunt­ing fel­low­ship gave Siegfried thanks. There­after he speed­ily slew a bi­son and an elk, four strong ure-​ox­en, (2) and a sav­age shelk. (3) His horse bare him so swift­ly that naught es­caped him, nor could hart or hind avoid him. Then the sleuth-​hound found a mighty boar; when he be­gan to flee, at once there came the mas­ter oœ the hunt and en­coun­tered him up­on his path. Wrath­ful­ly the boar did run against the valiant hero, but Kriemhild’s hus­band slew him with his sword. An­oth­er hunts­man might not have done this deed so light­ly. When he had felled him, they leashed the sleuth-​hound; his rich booty was soon well known to the Bur­gun­di­an men.

Then spake his hunts­man: “Sir Siegfried, if might so be, let us leave a deal of the beasts alive. Ye’ll emp­ty both our hill and woods to-​day.”

At this the brave knight and a bold gan smile. Then the calls of men and the bay­ing of hounds were heard on ev­ery side; so great was the noise that both hill and pine woods echoed with the sound. The hunts­men had let loose full four and twen­ty packs. Then pass­ing many beasts must needs lose their lives. Each man weened to bring it to pass that men should give him the prize of the hunt; that might not be, for the stal­wart Siegfried was al­ready stand­ing by the fire. The chase was over, and yet not quite. Those who would to the camp-​fire brought with them thith­er hides of many beasts and game in plen­ty. Ho, how much the king’s meiny bare then to the kitchen!

Then bade the king an­nounce to the hunts­man that he would dis­mount. A horn was blown full loud just once, that all might know that one might find the no­ble prince in camp. Spake then one of Siegfried’s hunts­men: “My lord, I heard by the blast of a horn that we must now hie us to the quar­ters; I’ll now give an­swer.”

Thus by many blasts of horns they asked about the hunters. Then spake Sir Siegfried: “Now let us leave the pine wood!” His steed bare him smooth­ly and with him they hast­ed hence. With their rout they start­ed up a sav­age beast; a wild bear it was. Quoth then the knight to those be­hind: “I’ll give our fel­low­ship a lit­tle pas­time. Let loose the brach. For­sooth I spy a bear which shall jour­ney with us to the camp. Flee he nev­er so fast, he shall not es­cape us,”

The brach was loosed, the bear sprang hence; Kriemhild’s hus­band would fain over­take him. He reached a thick­et, where none could fol­low. The mighty beast weened now to es­cape from the hunter with his life, but the proud knight and a good leaped from his steed and be­gan to chase him. The bear was help­less and could not flee away. At once the hero caught it and bound it quick­ly with not a wound, so that it might nei­ther scratch nor bite the men. The doughty knight then tied it to his sad­dle and horsed him quick­ly. Through his over­ween­ing mood the bold war­rior and a good brought it to the camp-​fire as a pas­time. In what lord­ly wise he rode to the quar­ters! Mick­le was his boar-​spear, strong and broad. A dain­ty sword hung down­ward to his spurs. The lord bare al­so a fair horn of rud­dy gold. Nev­er heard I tale of bet­ter hunt­ing weeds. One saw him wear a coat of black and silky cloth and a hat of sable: rich enow it was. Ho, what cost­ly bands he wore up­on his quiver! A pan­ther’s skin was drawn over it for its sweet fra­grance’ (4) sake. He bare a bow, which any but the hero must needs draw back with a wind­lass, and he would bend it. His ves­ture was be­furred with ot­ter skin (5) from head to toe. From the bright fur shone out on both sides of the bold mas­ter of the hunt many a bar of gold. Bal­mung (6) he al­so bare, a good broad sword, that was so sharp that it nev­er failed when ’twas wield­ed ‘gainst a hel­met; its edge was good. In high spir­its was the lord­ly hunts­man. Sith I must tell you all the tale, his cost­ly quiver was full of good­ly darts, the heads a full hand’s breadth, on gold­en shafts. What he pierced there­with must needs die soon.

Thus the no­ble knight rode hence in hunter’s garb. Gun­ther’s men es­pied him com­ing and ran out to meet him and took his horse in charge. On his sad­dle he car­ried a large bear and a strong. When he had dis­mount­ed, he loosed the bonds from feet and snout. Those of the pack bayed loud­ly, that spied the bear. The beast would to the woods; the serv­ing folk had fear. Dazed by the din, the bear made for the kitchen. Ho, how he drove the scul­lions from the fire! Many a ket­tle was up­set and many a fire­brand scat­tered. Ho, what good vict­ual men found ly­ing in the ash­es! Then the lord­ings and their liege­men sprang from their scats. The bear grew fu­ri­ous and the king bade loose the pack that lay en­leashed. Had all sped well, they would have had a mer­ry day. No longer the doughty men de­layed, but ran for the bear with bows and pikes. There was such press of dogs that none might shoot, but from the peo­ple’s shouts the whole hill rang. The bear be­gan to flee be­fore the dogs; none could fol­low him but Kriemhild’s hus­band, who caught and slew him with his sword. Then they bore the bear again to the fire. Those that saw it, averred he was a mighty man.

Men bade now the proud hunt­ing fel­low­ship seat them at the ta­bles. Up­on a fair mead there sate a good­ly com­pa­ny. Ho, what rich viands they bare there to the no­ble hunts­men! The but­lers who should bring the wine de­layed; else might nev­er heroes have been bet­ter served. Had they not been so false­ly mind­ed, then had the knights been free of ev­ery blame.

Now the Lord Siegfried spake: “Me-​won­dereth, since men do give us such great store from the kitchen, why the but­lers bring us not the wine. Un­less men pur­vey the hunters bet­ter, I’ll be no more your hunt­ing-​fel­low. I have well de­served that they re­gard me, too.”

The king ad­dressed him from his seat with guile: “We fain would do you rem­edy of what we lack. It is Ha­gen’s fault, who is willed to let us die of thirst.”

Then spake Ha­gen: “Dear my lord, I weened that the hunt should be in the Spes­sart (7) wood, there­fore sent I thith­er the wine. Though we may not drink to­day, how well will I avoid this in the fu­ture!”

At this Lord Siegfried spake: “Small thanks ye’ll get for that. One should have brought me hith­er sev­en sumpter loads of mead and mulled wine. (8) If that might not be, then men should have placed our bench­es near­er to the Rhine.”

Then spake Ha­gen of Troneg: “Ye no­ble knights and bold, I wot near by a good cold spring. Let us go thith­er, that ye wax not wroth.”

To the dan­ger of many a knight was this coun­sel giv­en. The pangs of thirst now plagued the war­rior Siegfried. He bade the ta­bles be borne away the soon­er, for he would go to the spring in the moun­tains. With false in­tent the coun­sel was then giv­en by the knights. They bade the game which Siegfried’s hand had slain, be car­ried home on wains. Who­ev­er saw it gave him great laud. Ha­gen of Troneg now foul­ly broke his troth to Siegfried. When they would hence to the broad lin­den, he spake: “It hath oft been told me, that none can keep pace with Kriemhild’s hus­band when he be mind­ed for to race. Ho, if he would on­ly let us see it here!”

Bold Siegfried from Nether­land then an­swered: “Ye can well test that, and ye will run a race with me to the spring. When that is done, we call give the prize to him who win­neth.”

“So let us try it then,” quoth Ha­gen, the knight.

Spake the stur­dy Siegfried: “Then will I lay me down on the green sward at your feet.” (9)

How lief it was to Gun­ther, when he heard these words! Then the bold knight spake again: “I’ll tell you more. I’ll take with me all my trap­pings, my spear and shield and all my hunt­ing garb.” Around him he quick­ly gird­ed his quiver and his sword.

Then they drew the clothes from off their limbs; men saw them stand in two white shifts. Like two wild pan­thers through the clover they ran, but men spied bold Siegfried first at the spring. In all things he bare away the prize from many a man. Quick­ly he un­girt his sword and laid aside his quiver and leaned the stout spear against a lin­den bough. The lord­ly stranger stood now by the flow­ing spring. Pass­ing great was Siegfried’s cour­te­sie. He laid down his shield where the spring gushed forth, but the hero drank not, al­beit he thirst­ed sore un­til the king had drunk, who gave him evil thanks. Cool, clear, and good was the spring. Gun­ther stooped down then to the flow­ing stream, and when he had drunk­en straight­ened up again. Bold Siegfried would fain al­so have done the same, but now he paid for his cour­te­sie. Ha­gen bare quite away from him both bow and sword and bound­ed then to where he found the spear; then he looked for the mark on bold Siegfried’s coat. As Lord Siegfried drank above the spring, he pierced him through the cross, so that his heart’s blood spurt­ed from the wounds al­most on Ha­gen’s clothes. Nev­er­more will hero do so foul a deed. Ha­gen left the spear a-​stick­ing in his heart and fled more mad­ly than he ev­er in the world had run from any man.

When Lord Siegfried felt the mighty wound, up from the spring he start­ed in a rage. From be­twixt his shoul­der blades a long spear-​shaft tow­ered. He weened to find his bow or his sword, and then had Ha­gen been re­paid as he de­served. But when the sore­ly wound­ed hero found no trace of his sword, then had he naught else but his shield. This he snatched from the spring and ran at Ha­gen; nor could King Gun­ther’s man es­cape him. Al­beit he was wound­ed un­to death, yet he smote so might­ily that a plen­ty of pre­cious stones were shak­en from the shield. The shield it­self burst quite apart. Fain would the lord­ly stranger have avenged him. Now was Ha­gen fall­en to the ground at his hands, and from the force of the blow the glade rang loud­ly. Had he had a sword in hand, then had it been Ha­gen’s death, so sore en­raged was the wound­ed man. For­sooth he had good cause there­of. His hue grew pale, he could not stand; his strength of body melt­ed quite away, for in bright col­ors he bore the signs of death. There­after he was be­wailed by fair dames enow.

Kriemhild’s hus­band fell now among the flow­ers. Fast from his wounds his blood was seen to gush. He be­gan to rail, as in­deed he had great cause, at those who had planned this treach­er­ous death. The dead­ly wound­ed spake: “For­sooth, ye evil cow­ards, what avail my ser­vices now that ye have slain me? This is my re­ward that I was al­ways faith­ful to you. Alas, ye have act­ed ill against your kins­men. Those of them who are born in af­ter days will be dis­graced. Ye have avenged your wrath too sore up­on me. With shame shall ye be part­ed from all good war­riors.”

The knights all ran to where he lay slain. For enow of them it was a hap­less day. He was be­wailed by those who had aught of loy­al­ty, and this the brave and lusty knight had well de­served. The king of the Bur­gun­di­ans be­moaned his death. Quoth the dead­ly wound­ed: “There is no need that he should weep who hath done the dam­age; he doth mer­it mick­le blame. It had been bet­ter left un­done.”

Then spake the fierce Ha­gen: “For­sooth I wot not what ye now be­wail. All our fear and all our woe have now an end. We shall find scant few who dare with­stand us now. Well is me, that to his rule I have put an end.”

“Ye may light­ly boast you,” Siegfried then replied. “Had I wist your mur­der­ous bent, I had well guard­ed my life against you. None doth rue me so sore as La­dy Kriemhild, my wife. Now may God have pity that I ev­er had a son to whom the re­proach will be made in af­ter days, that his kin­dred have slain a man with mur­der­ous in­tent. If I might,” so spake Siegfried, “I should right­ly make com­plaint of this.” Piteous­ly the dead­ly wound­ed spake again: “No­ble king, if ye will keep your troth to any in the world, then let my dear love be com­mend­ed to your grace and let it avail her that she be your sis­ter. For the sake of your prince­ly cour­te­sie pro­tect her faith­ful­ly. My fa­ther and my men must wait long time for me. Nev­er was wom­an sor­er wound­ed in a lov­ing friend.”

The flow­ers on ev­ery side were wot with blood. With death he strug­gled, but not for long, sith the sword of death had cut him all too sore­ly. Then the lusty war­rior and a brave could speak no more.

When the lordlings saw that the knight was dead, they laid him on a shield of rud­dy gold and took coun­sel how they might con­ceal that Ha­gen had done the deed. Enow of them spake: “Ill hath it gone with us. Ye must all hide it and aver alike that rob­bers slew Kriemhild’s hus­band as he rode alone a-​hunt­ing through the pine wood.”

Then Ha­gen of Troneg spake: “I’ll bring him home; I care not if it be known to her, for she hath sad­dened Brun­hild’s heart. Lit­tle doth it trou­ble me how­ev­er much she weep.”

END­NOTES: (1) “Li­on.” It is hard­ly nec­es­sary to state that li­ons did not roam at large in the forests of Ger­many. They were, how­ev­er, fre­quent­ly ex­hib­it­ed in the Mid­dle Ages, and the po­et in­tro­duced one here to en­hance Siegfried’s fame as a hunter. (2) “Ure-​ox­en”, the aue­rochs, or Eu­ro­pean bi­son, now prac­ti­cal­ly ex­tinct. (3) “Shelk” (M.H.G. “schelch”), prob­ably a species of gi­ant deer. (4) “Fra­grance”. It was be­lieved that the odor of the pan­ther at­tract­ed the game. Com­pare the de­scrip­tion of the pan­ther in the old­er “Phys­io­lo­gus”, where the odor is said to sur­pass that of all oint­ments. (5) “Ot­ter” trans­lates here M.H.G. “lu­dem”, whose ex­act con­no­ta­tion is not known. Some in­ter­pret it to meau the fish ot­ter, oth­ers the “Wald­schrat”, a kind of faun. (6) “Bal­mung”, see Ad­ven­ture III, note 7. (7) “Spes­sart wood” lies forty to fifty miles east of Worms and is there­fore too dis­tant for a day’s hunt, but such tri­fles did not dis­turb the po­et. (8) “Mulled wine”, see Ad­ven­ture VI­II, note 5. (9) “Feet”. This was prob­ably done as a hand­icap. The time con­sumed in ris­ing to his feet would give his op­po­nent quite a start.