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The Nibelungenlied by Anonymous - ADVENTURE XXV How The Lords All Journ...

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The Nibelungenlied

ADVENTURE XXV How The Lords All Journeyed To The Huns.

Now let us leave the tale of how they lived at Et­zel’s court. More high-​met­tled war­riors nev­er rode in such lord­ly wise to the land of any king; they had what­ev­er they list­ed, both of weapons and of weeds. The ruler of the Rhineland clad his men, a thou­sand and six­ty knights, (1) as I have heard, and nine thou­sand foot­men, for the court­ly feast. Those they left at home be­wailed it in af­ter time. The trap­pings were now borne across the court at Worms; then spake an aged bish­op from Spey­er to fair Uta: “Our friends would jour­ney to the feast­ing. May God pre­serve their hon­or there.”

The no­ble La­dy Uta then spake to her sons: “Pray tar­ry here, good knights. Me-​dreamed last night of direst woe, how all the fowls in this land lay dead.”

“Who reck­eth aught of dreams,” quoth Ha­gen, “he wot­teth not how to say the prop­er words, when ‘twould bring him great store of hon­ors. I wish that my lord go to court to take his leave. We must glad­ly ride to Et­zel’s land. The arms of doughty heroes may serve kings there full well, where we shall be­hold Kriemhild’s feast.”

Ha­gen coun­seled the jour­ney, but lat­er it rued him sore. He would have ad­vised against it, but that Ger­not en­coun­tered him with such rude words. Of Siegfried, La­dy Kriemhild’s hus­band, he mind­ed him; he spake: “Be­cause of him Ha­gen will not make the jour­ney to the court.”

At this Ha­gen of Troneg spake: “I do it not from fear. Heroes, when it please you, be­gin the work. Certes I will glad­ly ride with you to Et­zel’s land.” Lat­er he carved to pieces many a helm and shield.

The skiffs were now made ready; many a knight stood there. Thith­er men bare what­ev­er clothes they had. Busy they were un­til the even tide, then full mer­ri­ly they set forth from home. Tents and pavil­ions were raised up­on the green be­yond the Rhine. When this had happed, the king bade his fair wife tar­ry with him. That night she still em­braced her state­ly knight. Trum­pet­ing and flut­ing rose ear­ly on the morn, as sign that they should ride. Then to the work they went. Whoso held in his arms his love ca­ressed the fair. Lat­er King Et­zel’s wife part­ed them with woe.

Fair Uta’s sons, they had a liege­man, brave and true. When they would hence, he spake to the king in se­cret wise his mind. Quoth he: “I must be­wail that ye make this jour­ney to the court.” He was hight Ru­molt and was a hero of his hands. He spake: “To whom will ye leave your folk and lands? O that none can turn you war­riors from your mind! These tid­ings from Kriemhild have nev­er thought me good.”

“Be the land and my lit­tle child, too, com­mend­ed to thy care; serve well the ladies, that is my wish. Com­fort any thou dost see in tears. Certes King Et­zel’s bride will nev­er do us harm.”

The steeds were now ready for the kings and their men. Many a one who lived there high of spir­it, part­ed thence with lov­ing kiss­es. This many a state­ly dame must lat­er needs be­wail. When the doughty knights were seen go to­ward the steeds, men spied full many ladies stand­ing sad­ly there. Their hearts did tell them that this long part­ing bod­ed them great harm. This doth nev­er ease the heart.

The doughty Bur­gun­di­ans start­ed on their way. Then in the land a mighty tur­moil rose; on ei­ther side of the moun­tains there wept both men and wives. But how­ev­er the folk might bear them, the knights jogged mer­ri­ly along. With them rode the men of Ni­belung, a thou­sand hauberks strong, who had left many come­ly dames at home whom they nev­er saw again. Siegfried’s wounds gave Kriemhild pain.

Gun­ther’s liege­men now wend­ed their way to­wards the riv­er Main, up through East­ern Fran­kland. (2) Thith­er Ha­gen led them, for well he wot the way. Dankwart was their mar­shal, the hero from Bur­gun­di­an land. As they rode away from the East­ern Fran­kland to­wards Swan­field, (3) men could tell the princes and their kin, the wor­ship­ful knights, by their lord­ly bear­ing. On the twelfth morn­ing the king came to the Danube. Ha­gen of Troneg rode fore­most of them all, giv­ing to the Ni­belungs help­ful cheer. On the sandy shore the bold knight dis­mount­ed and bound his steed full soon to a tree. The riv­er was swollen, the skiffs hid­den away. Great fear the Ni­belungs had, as to how they might come across, for the stream was much too broad. Full many a lusty knight alight­ed on the ground.

“Ill may it light­ly hap with thee here,” quoth Ha­gen, “O ruler of the Rhine. Now mayst thou thy­self see the riv­er is swollen, its flood is mighty. Certes, I ween, we shall lose here many a wor­thy knight to-​day.”

“Why dost thou re­buke me, Ha­gen?” spake the lord­ly king. “For thine own prowess’ sake dis­com­fit me no more, but seek us the ford across to the oth­er bank, that we may take hence both steeds and trap­pings.”

“For­sooth,” quoth Ha­gen, “I be not so weary of life, that I would drown me in these broad waves. Soon­er shall men die by my hands in Et­zel’s lands. That will I well. Stay by the wa­ter’s side, ye proud knights and good, and I will seek the fer­ry­man my­self along the stream, who shall fer­ry us across to Gel­frat’s (4) land.”

Then the stal­wart Ha­gen seized his good shield. Well was he armed. The shield he bare along, his hel­met bound up­on his head, bright enow it was. Above his breast­plate he bare a sword so broad that most fierce­ly it cut on ei­ther edge. To and fro he sought the fer­ry­man. He heard the splash of wa­ter and be­gan to lis­ten. In a fair spring wise wom­en (5) were bathing for to cool them off. Now Ha­gen spied them and crept to­ward them stealthi­ly. When they grew ware of this, they hur­ried fast to es­cape him; glad enow they were of this. The hero took their clothes, but did them naught else of harm.

Then spake one of the mer­maids (Had­burg she was called): “Sir Knight Ha­gen, we’ll do you here to wit, an’ ye give us our weeds again, bold knight, how ye will fare up­on this jour­ney to the Hun­nish court.”

Like birds they float­ed be­fore him on the flood. There­fore him- thought their sens­es strong and good; he be­lieved the more what they would tell him. Well they an­swered what he craved of them. Had­burg spake again: “Ye may safe­ly ride to Et­zel’s land. I’ll stake my troth at once as pledge, that heroes nev­er rode bet­ter to any realm for such great hon­ors. Now be­lieve that in truth.”

In his heart Ha­gen was joy­ous at this rede. He gave them back their clothes and no longer tar­ried. As they donned their strange at­tire, they told him right­ly of the jour­ney to Et­zel’s land. The oth­er mer­maid spake (Siegelind she hight): “I will warn thee, Ha­gen, son of Aldri­an. (6) For the sake of her weeds mine aunt hath lied to thee. An’ thou comest to the Huns, thou wilt be sore de­ceived. Time is, that thou shouldst turn again, for ye heroes be bid­den, that ye may die in Et­zel’s land. Whose rideth hith­er, hath tak­en death by the hand.”

An­swered Ha­gen: “Ye de­ceive us need­less­ly. how might it come to pass that we should all die there, through any­body’s hate?”

Then gan they tell him the tale still more know­ing­ly. The same one spake again: “It must needs be that none of you shall live, save the king’s chap­lain; this we know full well. He will come again safe and sound to Gun­ther’s land.”

Then spake bold Ha­gen, fierce of mood: “It were not well to tell my lords that we should all lose our lives among the Huns. Now show us over the stream, thou wis­est of all wives.”

She an­swered: “Sith ye will not turn you from the jour­ney, up yon­der where an inn doth stand, by the wa­ter­side, there is a fer­ry­man and else­where none.”

At once he ceased to ask for fur­ther tid­ings. Af­ter the an­gry war­rior she called: “Pray bide a time, Sir Ha­gen! For­sooth ye are too much in haste. List fur­ther to the tale of how ye may cross to the oth­er bank. The lord of these march­es beareth the name of Else. (7) His broth­er is hight Knight Gel­frat, a lord in the Bavar­ian land. ‘Twill go hard with you, an’ ye will cross his land. Ye must guard you well and deal full wise­ly with the fer­ry­man. So grim of mood is he that he’ll not let you live, un­less be that ye have your wits about you with the knight. An’ ye will that he guide you, then give him his meed. He guardeth this land and is liege­man un­to Gel­frat. And cometh he not be­times, so call across the flood and say, ye hight Amel­rich. (8) He was a doughty here that; be­cause of a feud did void this land. The fer­ry­man will come when he heareth this name.”

Haughty Ha­gen bowed then to the dames; he spake no more, but held his peace. Then by the riv­er he hied him high­er up up­on the sandy shore, to where he found an inn up­on the oth­er bank. Loud­ly he be­gan to call across the flood: “Now come and fetch me, fer­ry­man,” quoth the good knight, “and I will give thee as meed an arm ring of rud­dy gold. Know, that of this pas­sage I have great need in truth.”

So no­ble was the fer­ry­man that it be­hooved him not to serve, there­fore he full sel­dom took wage of any wight. His squires, too, were full lofty of mood. All this time Ha­gen still stood alone, this side of the flood. He called with might and main, that all the wa­ter rang, for mick­le and great was the hero’s strength. “Now fetch me. I am Amel­rich, Else’s liege­man, that be­cause of a great feud did void these lands.”

High up­on his spear (9) he of­fered him an arm band, bright and fair it was, of rud­dy gold, that one should fer­ry him over to Gel­frat’s land. The haughty fer­ry­man, the which was new­ly wed him­self, did take the oar in hand. As he would earn Ha­gen’s gold so red, there­fore he died the sword-​grim death at the hands of the knight. The greed for great goods (10) doth give an evil end. Speed­ily the boat­man rowed across to the sandy bank. When he found no trace of him whose name he heard, wroth he grew in earnest. When he spied Ha­gen, with fierce rage he spake to the hero: “Ye may per­chance hight Amel­rich, but ye are not like him whom I weened here. By fa­ther and by moth­er he was my broth­er. Sith ye have be­wrayed me, ye may stay on this hith­er shore.”

“No, by the mighty God,” spake then Ha­gen, “I am a stranger knight and have war­riors in my care. Now take ye kind­ly my meed to-​day and fer­ry me over. I am in truth your friend.”

The fer­ry­man replied: “This may not be. My dear lords have foes, where­fore I nev­er fer­ry strangers to this land. If ye love your life, step out quick­ly on the sand.”

“Now do it not,” spake Ha­gen; “sad is my mind. Take this good gold from me as a to­ken of my love and fer­ry us across: a thou­sand horse and just as many men.”

The grim boat­man an­swered: “‘Twill ne’er be done.” He raised a mighty rud­der oar, mick­le and broad, and struck at Ha­gen (full wroth he grew at this), so that he fell up­on his knees in the boat. The lord of Troneg had nev­er met so fierce a fer­ry­man. Still more the boat­man would vex the haughty stranger. He smote with an oar, so that it quite to-​broke (11) over Ha­gen’s head (a man of might was he); from this the fer­ry­man of Else took great harm. Ha­gen, fierce of mood, seized straight­way his sheath, where­in he found his sword. His head he struck off and cast it on the ground. Eft­soon these tid­ings were made known to the proud Bur­gun­di­ans. At the very mo­ment that he slew the boat­man, the skiff gan drift­ing down the stream. Enow that irked him. Weary he grew be­fore he brought it back. King Gun­ther’s liege­man pulled with might and main. With pass­ing swift strokes the stranger turned it, un­til the stur­dy oar snapped in his hand. He would hence to the knights out up­on the shore. None oth­er oar he had. Ho, how quick­ly he bound it with a shield strap, a nar­row band! To­wards a wood he float­ed down the stream, where he found his sovran stand­ing by the shore.

Many a state­ly man went down to meet him. The doughty knights and good re­ceived him with a kind­ly greet­ing. When they be­held in the skiff the blood reek­ing from a gap­ing wound which he had dealt the fer­ry­man, Ha­gen was plied enow with ques­tions by the knights. When that King Gun­ther spied the hot blood swirling in the skiff, how quick­ly he spake: “Where­fore tell ye me not, Ha­gen, whith­er the fer­ry­man be come? I ween your prowess hath bereft him of his life.”

At this he an­swered crafti­ly: “When I found the skiff hard by a wil­low tree, I loosed it with my hand. I have seen no fer­ry­man here to-​day, nor hath harm happed to any one through fault of mine.”

Then spake Sir Ger­not of Bur­gundy: “I must needs fear the death of dear friends to-​day. Sith we have no boat­men here at hand, how shall we come over? There­fore I must per­force stand sad.”

Loud­ly then called Ha­gen: “Ye foot­men, lay the trap­pings down up­on the grass. I be­think me that once I was the very best of boat­men that one might find along the Rhine. I trow to bring you all safe across to Gel­frat’s land.”

They struck the hors­es, that these might the soon­er come across the flood; pass­ing well they swam, for the mighty waves bereft them of not a one. Some few drift­ed far ad­own the stream, as did be­fit their weari­ness. Then the knights bare to the skiff their gold and weeds, sith there was no help for the cross­ing. Ha­gen played the steers­man, and so he fer­ried full many mighty war­riors over to the sandy shore, in­to the un­known land. First he took across a thou­sand no­ble knights, then his own men-​at-​arms. Still there were more to come. Nine thou­sand foot­men he fer­ried over to the land. Aught but idle was Ha­gen’s hand that day. When he had car­ried them all safe across the flood, the doughty knight and good bethought him of the strange tales which the wild mer­maids had told him afore. For this cause the king’s chap­lain near lost his life. He found the priest close by the chapel lug­gage, lean­ing with his hand up­on the relics. Lit­tle might that boot him. When Ha­gen spied him, ill fared it with the hap­less priest; he threw him from the skiff in haste. Enow of them called out: “Hold on, Sir Ha­gen, hold!”

Gisel­her, the youth, gan rage, but Ha­gen let none come be­tween. Then spake Sir Ger­not of Bur­gundy: “What availeth you now, Ha­gen, the chap­lain’s death? Had an­oth­er done the deed, ‘twould have irked you sore. For what cause have ye sworn en­mi­ty to the priest?”

The clerk (12) now tried to swim with might and main, for he would fain save his life, if per­chance any there would help him. That might not be, for the stal­wart Ha­gen was wroth of mood. He thrust him to the bot­tom, the which thought no one good. When the poor priest saw naught of help, he turned him back again. Sore was he dis­com­fit­ed, but though he could not swim, yet did God’s hand help him, so that he came safe and sound to the: land again. There the poor clerk stood and shook his robe. Ha­gen marked there­by that naught might avail against the tid­ings which the wild mer­maids told him. Him-​thought: “These knights must lose their lives.”

When the liege­men of the three kings un­load­ed the skiff and had borne all away which they had up­on it, Ha­gen brake it to pieces and threw it in the flood, at which the bold knights and good did mar­vel much.

“Where­fore do ye that, broth­er,” quoth Dankwart, “how shall we come over, when we ride home­ward from the Huns, back to the Rhine?”

Lat­er Ha­gen told him that might not be. The hero of Troneg spake: “I do it in the hope that if we have a cow­ard on this jour­ney, who through faint-​heart­ed­ness would run away, that in this stream he may die a shame­ful death.”

They had with them from Bur­gundy land a hero of his hands, the which was named Folk­er. Wise­ly he spake all his mind. What­ev­er Ha­gen did, it thought the fid­dler good. Their steeds were now ready, the sumpters laden well. On the jour­ney they had tak­en no harm that irked them, save the king’s chap­lain alone. He must needs wan­der back on foot to the Rhine again.

END­NOTES: (1) “a thou­sand and six­ty”. This does not agree with the ac­count in Ad­ven­ture XXIV, witere we read of a thou­sand of Ha­gen’s men, eighty of Dankwart’s, and thir­ty of Folk­er’s. The nine thou­sand foot sol­diers men­tioned here are a lat­er in­ter­po­la­tion, as the “Thidrek­saga” speaks of on­ly a thou­sand all told. (2) “East­ern Fran­kland”, or East Fran­co­nia, is the an­cient province of “Fran­co­nia Ori­en­tal­is”, the re­gion to the east of the Spes­sart for­est, in­clud­ing the towns of Ful­da, Wurzburg and Barn­berg. In “Biterolf” Di­etlich jour­neys through East­ern Fran­kland to the Danube. (3) “Swan­field” (M.H.G. “Swan­evelde”) is the an­cient province of “Su­alafeld” be­tween the Rezat and the Danube. (4) “Gel­frat” is a Bavar­ian lord and the broth­er of “Else”, men­tioned be­low. Their fa­ther’s name was al­so Else. (5) “Wise wom­en”, a gener­ic name for all su­per­nat­ural wom­en of Ger­man mythol­ogy. While it is not specif­ical­ly men­tioned, it is prob­able that the wise wom­en, or mer­maids, as they are al­so called here, were ’swan maid­ens’, which play an im­por­tant role in many leg­ends and are en­dowed with the gift of prophe­cy. They ap­pear in the form of swans, and the strange at­tire of the wise wom­en men­tioned here refers to the so-​called swan clothes which they wore and which en­abled Ha­gen to rec­og­nize them as su­per­nat­ural be­ings. On bathing they lay aside this gar­ment, and he who ob­tains pos­ses­sion of it has them in his pow­er. This ex­plains their ea­ger­ness to give Ha­gen in­for­ma­tion, if he will re­turn their gar­ments to them. For an ac­count of them see Grimm’s “Mytholo­gie”, 355. (6) “Aldri­an” is not an his­tor­ical per­son­age; the name is mere­ly a deriva­tive of “aldiro”, ‘the el­der’, and sig­ni­fies ‘an­ces­tor’, just as Uta means ‘an­ces­tress’. In the “Thidrek­saga” Aldri­an is the king of the Ni­belung land and the fa­ther of Gun­ther, Gisel­her, and Ger­not, where­as Ha­gen is the son of an elf by the same moth­er. (7) Else ap­pears al­so in “Biterolf”; in the “Thidrek­saga” he is called “El­sung”, the younger, as his fa­ther bore the same name. See Ad­ven­ture XXV, note 4. (8) “Amel­rich” is the fer­ry­man’s broth­er. (9) “Spear”. It was the cus­tom to of­fer presents on a spear point, per­haps to pre­vent the re­cip­ient from treach­er­ous­ly us­ing his sword. Com­pare the sim­ilar de­scrip­tion in the “Hilde­brand­slied”, 37, where we are told that gifts should be re­ceived with the spear. (10) “Goods”. In the “Thidrek­saga” the fer­ry­man de­sires the ring for his young wife, which ex­plains bet­ter the al­lu­sion to mar­riage and the de­sire for wealth. (11) “To-​broke”, see Ad­ven­ture II, note 9. (12) “Clerk”, ‘priest’.