PC Magazine: “Stanza is the best e-book reader for the iPhone, and my favorite.”
21 Cool iPhone Apps - Stanza

The Nibelungenlied by Anonymous - ADVENTURE XVII How Kriemhild Mourned ...

(download Open eBook Format)

The Nibelungenlied

ADVENTURE XVII How Kriemhild Mourned Her Husband And How He...

Then they wait­ed for the night and crossed the Rhine. Nev­er had heroes hunt­ed worse. No­ble maids be­wept the game they slew. For­sooth many good war­riors must needs atone for this in af­ter days. Now ye may hear a tale of great over­ween­ing and dire re­venge. Ha­gen bade car­ry Siegfried of the Ni­belung land, thus dead, be­fore the bow­er where Kriemhild lodged. He bade place him stealthi­ly against the door, that she might find him when she went forth be­fore the break of day to matins, which La­dy Kriemhild full sel­dom missed through sleep.

Men rang the min­ster bells ac­cord­ing to their cus­tom. La­dy Kriemhild, the fair, now waked her many maids and bade them bring a light and her ves­ture, too. Then came a cham­ber­lain and found Siegfried there. He saw him red with blood, his clothes all wet. He wist not it was his lord, but with the light in his hand he hast­ed to the bow­er and through this La­dy Kriemhild learned the bane­ful tale. As she would set out with her ladies for the min­ster, the cham­ber­lain spake: “Pray stay your feet, there doth lie be­fore the cham­ber a knight, slain un­to death.”

Kriemhild gan make pass­ing sore wail, or ev­er she heard aright that it was her hus­band. She be­gan to think of Ha­gen’s ques­tion, of how he might pro­tect him. Then first she suf­fered dole; she re­nounced all plea­sure at his death. To the earth she sank, not a word she spake, and here they found ly­ing the hap­less fair. Pass­ing great grew Kriemhild’s woe. Af­ter her faint, she shrieked, that all the cham­ber rang. Then her meiny said: “Per­chance it is a stranger knight.”

The blood gushed from her mouth, from dole of heart; she spake: “‘Tis Siegfried, mine own dear hus­band. Brun­hild hath coun­seled this and Ha­gen hath done the deed.”

The la­dy bade them lead her to where the hero lay. With her white hand she raised his head, and though it was red with blood, she knew him soon. There lay the hero of the Ni­belung land in piteous guise. The gra­cious queen cried sad­ly: “Oh, woe is me of my sor­row! Thy shield is not carved with swords, thou li­est mur­dered here. Wist I who hath done the deed, I’d ev­er plot his death.”

All her maids made mourn and wailed with their dear la­dy, for they grieved full sore for their no­ble lord whom they had lost. Ha­gen had cru­el­ly avenged the wrath of Brun­hild.

Then spake the grief-​strick­en dame: “Go now and wake with haste all Siegfried’s men. Tell Sieg­mund al­so of my grief, may­hap he’ll help me be­wail brave Siegfried.”

A mes­sen­ger ran quick­ly to where lay Siegfried’s war­riors from the Ni­belung land, and with his bale­ful tid­ings stole their joy. They could scarce be­lieve it, till they heard the weep­ing. Right soon the mes­sen­ger came to where the king did lie. Sieg­mund, the lord, was not asleep. I trow his heart did tell him what had happed. Nev­er again might he see his dear son alive.

“Awake, Sir Sieg­mund; Kriemhild, my la­dy, bade me go to fetch you. A wrong hath been done her that doth cut her to the heart, more than all oth­er ills. Ye must help her mourn, for much it doth con­cern you.”

Sieg­mund sat up; he spake: “What are fair Kriemhild’s ills, of which thou tellest me?”

Weep­ing the mes­sen­ger spake: “I can­not hide them from you; alas, bold Siegfried of Nether­land is slain.”

Quoth Sieg­mund: “For my sake let be this jest­ing and such evil tales, that thou shouldst tell any that he be dead, for I might nev­er be­wail him ful­ly be­fore my death.”

“If ye will be­lieve naught of what ye hear me say, then you may hear your­self Kriemhild and all her maids be­wail­ing Siegfried’s death.”

Sieg­mund then was sore af­fright­ed, as in­deed he had great need, He and a hun­dred of his men sprang from their beds and grasped with their hands their long sharp swords. In sor­row they ran to­ward the sound of wail. Then came a thou­sand men-​at-​arms, bold Siegfried’s men. When they heard the ladies wail so piti­ful­ly, some first grew ware that they should dress them. For­sooth they lost their wits for very sor­row. Great heav­iness was buried in their hearts.

Then King Sieg­mund came to where he found Kriemhild. He spake: “Alas for the jour­ney hith­er to this land! Who hath so foul­ly bereft me of my child and you of your hus­band among such good friends?”

“Oh, if I knew him,” spake the no­ble wife, “nei­ther my heart nor soul would ev­er wish him well. I would plan such ill against him that his kin must ev­er weep be­cause of me.”

Around the prince Lord Sieg­mund threw his arms. So great grew the sor­row of his kin, that the palace, the hall, and the town of Worms re­sound­ed from the mighty wail and weep­ing. None might now com­fort Siegfried’s wife. They stripped off the clothes from his fair body; they washed his wounds and laid him on the bier. Woe were his peo­ple from their mighty grief. Then spake his war­riors from the Ni­belung land: “Our hands be ev­er ready to avenge him; he liveth in this cas­tle who hath done the deed.”

All of Siegfried’s men hast­ed then to arms. These cho­sen knights came with their shields, eleven hun­dred men-​at-​arms, whom Lord Sieg­mund had in his troop. He would fain avenge the death of his son, as in­deed he had great need. They wist not to whom they should ad­dress their strife, un­less it be to Gun­ther and his men, with whom Lord Siegfried had rid­den to the hunt.

Kriemhild saw them armed, which rued her sore. How­ev­er great her grief and how dire her need, yet she did so might­ily fear the death of the Ni­belungs at the hands of her broth­ers’ liege­men, that she tried to hin­der it. In kind­ly wise she warned them, as kins­men do to lov­ing kin. The grief-​strick­en wom­an spake: “My Lord Sieg­mund, what will ye do? Ye wot naught aright; for­sooth King Gun­ther hath so many valiant men, ye will all be lost, and ye would en­counter these knights.”

With their shields un­cov­ered, the men stood ea­ger for the fight. The no­ble queen both begged and bade that the lusty knights avoid it. When they would not give it over, sore­ly it grieved her. She spake: “Lord Sieg­mund, ye must let it be un­til more fit­ting time, then I’ll avenge my hus­band with you. An’ I re­ceive proof who hath bereft me of him, I’ll do him scathe. There be too many haughty war­riors by the Rhine, where­fore I will not coun­sel you to fight. They have full well thir­ty men to each of ours. Now God speed them, as they de­serve of us. Stay ye here and bear with me my dole. When it be­gin­neth to dawn, help me, ye lusty knights, to cof­fin the dear hus­band of mine.”

Quoth the knights: “That shall be done.”

None might tell you all the mar­vel of knights and ladies, how they were heard to wail, so that even in the town men marked the sound of weep­ing. The no­ble burghers hast­ed hith­er. With the guests they wept, for they, too, were sore ag­grieved. None had told them of any guilt of Siegfried, or for what cause the no­ble war­rior lost his life. The wives of the wor­thy burghers wept with the ladies of the court. Men bade smiths haste to work a cof­fin of sil­ver and of gold, mick­le and strong, and make it firm with strips of good hard steel. Sad of heart were all the folk.

The night was gone, men said the day was dawn­ing. Then the no­ble la­dy bade them bear Lord Siegfried, her loved hus­band, to the min­ster. What­ev­er friends he had there were seen weep­ing as they went. Many bells were ring­ing as they brought him to the church. On ev­ery side one heard the chant of many priests. Then came King Gun­ther with his men and grim Ha­gen al­so to­ward the sound of wail. He spake: “Alas for thy wrongs, clear sis­ter, that we may not be free from this great scathe. We must ev­er lament for Siegfried’s death.”

“That ye do with­out cause,” spake the sor­row-​laden wife. “Were this loth to you, it nev­er would have happed. I may well aver, ye thought not on me, when I thus was part­ed from my dear hus­band. Would to God,” quoth Kriemhild, “that it had happed to me.”

Firm­ly they made de­nial. Kriemhild gan speak: “Whoso de­clareth him guilt­less, let him show that now. He must walk to the bier be­fore all the folk; there­by one may know the truth eft­soon.”

This is a great mar­vel, which oft doth hap; when­ev­er the blood- stained mur­der­er is seen to stand by the dead, the lat­ter’s wounds do bleed, (1) as in­deed happed here, where­by one saw the guilt was Ha­gen’s. The wounds bled sore, as they had done at first. Much greater grew the weep­ing of those who wailed afore.

Then spake King Gun­ther: “I’d have you know that rob­bers slew him; Ha­gen did not do the deed.”

“I know these rob­bers well,” quoth she. “Now may God yet let his friends avenge it. Certes, Gun­ther and Ha­gen, ’twas done by you.”

Siegfried’s knights were now bent on strife. Then Kriemhild spake again: “Now share with me this grief.”

Ger­not, her broth­er, and young Gisel­her, these twain now came to where they found him dead. They mourned him tru­ly with the oth­ers; Kriemhild’s men wept in­ly. Now should mass be sung, so on ev­ery side, men, wives, and chil­dren did hie them to the min­ster. Even those who might light­ly bear his loss, wept then for Siegfried. Ger­not and Gisel­her spake: “Sis­ter mine, now com­fort thee af­ter this death, as needs must be. We’ll try to make it up to thee, the while we live.”

Yet none in the world might give her com­fort. His cof­fin was ready well to­wards mid­day. From the bier where­on he lay they raised him. The la­dy would not have that he be buried, so that all the folk had mick­le trou­ble. In a rich cloth of silk they wound the dead. I ween, men found none there that did not weep. Uta, the no­ble dame, and all her meiny mourned bit­ter­ly the state­ly man. When it was noised abroad that men sang in the min­ster and had en­coffined him, then rose a great press of folk. What of­fer­ings they made for his soul’s sake! He had good friends enow among these foes. Poor Kriemhild spake to her cham­ber­lains: “Ye must now be put to trou­ble for my sake, ye who wished him well and be my friends. For Siegfried’s soul shall ye deal out his gold.”

No child, how­ev­er small, that had its wits, but must go to ser­vice, or ev­er he was buried. Bet­ter than a hun­dred mass­es were sung that day. Great throng was there of Siegfried’s friends.

When that mass was sung, the folk went hence. Then La­dy Kriemhild spake: “Pray let me not hold vig­il over the cho­sen knight this night alone. With him all my joys have come to fall. I will let him lie in state three days and nights, un­til I sate me with my dear lord. What if God doth bid that death should take me too. Then had end­ed well the grief of me, poor Kriemhild.”

The peo­ple of the town re­turned now to their lodge­ings. She begged the priests and monks and all his ret­inue, that served the knight, to stay. They spent full evil nights and toil­some days; many a man re­mained with­out all food and drink. For those who would par­take, it was made known that men would give them to the full. This Sir Sieg­mund pur­veyed. Then were the Ni­belungs made ac­quaint with mick­le toil. Dur­ing the three days, as we hear tell, those who knew how to sing, were made to bear a deal of work. What of­fer­ings men brought them! Those who were very poor, grew rich enow. What­ev­er of poor men there were, the which had naught, these were bid go to mass with gold from Siegfried’s trea­sure cham­ber. Since he might not live, many thou­sand marks of gold were giv­en for his soul. She dealt out well-​tilled lands, wher­ev­er clois­ters and pi­ous folk were found. Enow of gold and sil­ver was giv­en to the poor. By her deeds she showed that she did love him fond­ly.

Up­on the third morn­ing at time of mass, the broad church­yard by the min­ster was full of weep­ing coun­try folk. They served him af­ter death, as one should do to lov­ing kin. In the four days, as hath been told, full thir­ty thou­sand marks or bet­ter still were giv­en to the poor for his soul’s sake. Yet his great beau­ty and his life lay low. When God had been served and the chants were end­ed, much peo­ple fought ‘gainst mon­strous grief. Men bade bear him from the min­ster to the grave. Those were seen to weep and wail who missed him most. With loud laments the peo­ple fol­lowed hence; none was mer­ry, nei­ther wife nor man. They sang and read a ser­vice be­fore they buried him. Ho, what good priests were present at his buri­al! Ere Siegfried’s wife was come to the grave, her faith­ful heart was rung with grief, so that they must needs oft sprin­kle her with wa­ter from the spring. Her pain was pass­ing great; a mick­le won­der it was that she ev­er lived. Many a la­dy helped her in her plaint.

Then spake the queen: “Ye men of Siegfried, by your loy­al­ty must ye prove your love to me. Let me re­ceive this lit­tle fa­vor af­ter all my woe, that I may see once more his come­ly head.”

She begged so long, with griefs strong will, that they must needs break open the lord­ly cas­ket. Then men brought the la­dy to where he lay. With her white hand she raised his fair head and kissed the no­ble knight and good, thus dead. Tears of blood her bright eyes wept from grief. Then there happed a piteous part­ing. Men bare her hence, she could not walk, and soon they found the high- born la­dy ly­ing sense­less. Fain would the love­ly fair have died of grief.

When they had now buried the no­ble lord, those who were come with him from the Ni­belung land were seen to suf­fer from un­mea­sured grief. Men found Sieg­mund full sel­dom mer­ry then. There were those that for three days would nei­ther eat nor drink for pass­ing grief. Yet might they not so waste away their bod­ies, but that they re­cov­ered from their sor­rows, as still hap­peneth oft enow.

END­NOTES: (1) “Bleed”. This was not on­ly a pop­ular su­per­sti­tion, but al­so a le­gal prac­tice in case of a mur­der when the crim­inal had not been dis­cov­ered, or if any one was sus­pect­ed. The sus­pect­ed per­son was re­quest­ed to ap­proach the bier and touch the body, in the be­lief that the blood would flow afresh if the one touch­ing the body were guilty. Our pas­sage is the first in­stance of its men­tion in Ger­man lit­er­ature. A sim­ilar one oc­curs in “Iwein”, 1355-1364. The us­age was al­so known in France and Eng­land. See the in­stances quot­ed by Ja­cob Grimm in his “Recht­salter­tumer”, 930.