The Nibelungenlied

ADVENTURE XXXV How Iring Was Slain.

Then cried Mar­grave Ir­ing of Den­mark: “I have striv­en for hon­or now long time, and in the storm of bat­tle have been among the best. Now bring me my har­ness, for in sooth I will en­counter me with Ha­gen.”

“I would not coun­sel that,” spake Ha­gen, “but bid the Hun­nish knights stand fur­ther back. If twain of you or three leap in­to the hall, I’ll send them back sore wound­ed down the steps.”

“Not for that will I give it over,” quoth Ir­ing again. “I’ve tried be­fore such dar­ing things; in truth with my good sword I will en­counter thee alone. What availeth all thy boast­ing, which thou hast done in words?”

Then were soon ar­rayed the good Knight Ir­ing and Irn­fried of Thuringia, a dar­ing youth, and the stal­wart Hawart and full a thou­sand men. What­ev­er Ir­ing ven­tured, they would all fain give him aid. Then the fid­dler spied a mighty troop, that strode along well armed with Ir­ing. Up­on their heads they bare good hel­mets. At this bold Folk­er waxed a deal full wroth of mood. “See ye, friend Ha­gen, Ir­ing strid­ing yon­der, who vowed to match you with his sword alone? How doth ly­ing be­seem a hero? Much that mis­liketh me. There walk with him full a thou­sand knights or more, well armed.”

“Say not that I lie,” spake Hawart’s liege­man. “Glad­ly will I per­form what I have vowed, nor will I de­sist there­from through any fear. How­ev­er fright­ful Ha­gen be, I will meet him sin­gle- hand­ed.”

On his knees Ir­ing begged both kins­men and vas­sals to let him match the knight alone. This they did un­will­ing­ly, for well they knew the haughty Ha­gen from the Bur­gun­di­an land. But Ir­ing begged so long that at last it happed. When the fel­low­ship be­held his wish and that he strove for hon­or, they let him go. Then a fierce con­flict rose be­tween the twain. Ir­ing of Den­mark, the peer­less high-​born knight, bare high his spear and cov­ered him with his shield. Swift­ly he rushed on Ha­gen be­fore the hall, while a great shout arose from all the knights around. With might and main they cast the spears with their hands through the stur­dy shields up­on their shin­ing ar­mor, so that the shafts whirled high in air. Then the two brave men and fierce reached for their swords. Bold Ha­gen’s strength was mick­le and great, but Ir­ing smote him, that the whole hall rang. Palace and tow­ers re­sound­ed from their blows, but the knight could not achieve his wish.

Ir­ing now left Ha­gen stand un­harmed, and hied him to the fid­dler. He weened to fell him by his mighty blows, but the state­ly knight wist how to guard bin, well. Then the fid­dler struck a blow, that the plates of mail whirled high above the buck­ler’s rim. An evil man he was, for to en­counter, so Ir­ing let him stand and rushed at Gun­ther of the Bur­gun­di­an land. Here, too, ei­ther was strong enow in strife. The blows that Gun­ther and Ir­ing dealt each oth­er drew no blood from wounds. This the har­ness hin­dered, the which was both strong and good.

He now let Gun­ther be, and ran at Ger­not, and gan hew sparks of fire from his ar­mor rings. Then had stal­wart Ger­not of Bur­gundy nigh done brave Ir­ing un­to death, but that he sprang away from the prince (nim­ble enow he was), and slew eft­soon four no­ble hench­men of the Bur­gun­di­ans from Worms across the Rhine. At this Gisel­her might nev­er have waxed more wroth. “God wot, Sir Ir­ing,” spake Gisel­her, the youth, “ye must pay me weregild (1) for those who have fall­en dead this hour be­fore you.”

Then at him he rushed and smote the Dane, so that he could not stir a step, but sank be­fore his hands down in the blood, so that all did ween the good knight would nev­er deal a blow again in strife. But Ir­ing lay un­wound­ed here be­fore Sir Gisel­her. From the crash­ing of the hel­met and the ring­ing of the sword, his wits had grown so weak that the brave knight no longer thought of life. Stal­wart Gisel­her had done this with his might. When now the ring­ing gan leave his head, the which he had suf­fered from the mighty stroke, he thought: “I am still alive and nowhere wound­ed. Now first wot I of Gisel­her’s mighty strength.” On ei­ther side he heard his foes. Wist they the tale, still more had happed him. Gisel­her, too, he marked hard by; he bethought him, how he might es­cape his foes. How mad­ly he sprang up from the blood! Well might he thank his nim­ble­ness for this. Out of the house he ran to where he again found Ha­gen, whom he dealt a fu­ri­ous blow with his pow­er­ful hand.

Ha­gen thought him: “Thou art doomed. Un­less be that the foul fiend pro­tect thee, thou canst not es­cape alive.”

Yet Ir­ing wound­ed Ha­gen through his crest. This the hero wrought with Was­ka, (2) a pass­ing good­ly sword. When Sir Ha­gen felt the wound, wild­ly he bran­dished his weapon in his hand. Soon Hawart’s liege­man was forced to yield his ground, and Ha­gen gan pur­sue him down the stairs. Brave Ir­ing swung his shield above his head, but had the stair­case been the length of three, Ha­gen would not have let him strike a blow the while. Ho, what red sparks did play above his hel­met!

Ir­ing re­turned scathe­less to his liege­men. Then the tid­ings were brought to Kriemhild, of that which he had wrought in strife with Ha­gen of Troneg. For this the queen gan thank him high­ly. “Now God re­quite thee, Ir­ing, thou peer­less hero and good. Thou hast com­fort­ed well my heart and mind. I see that Ha­gen’s weeds be wot with blood.” For very joy Kriemhild her­self re­lieved him of his shield.

“Be not too lav­ish of your thanks,” spake Ha­gen. “‘Twould well be­fit a knight to try again. A valiant man were he, if he then came back alive. Lit­tle shall the wound prof­it you, which I have at his bands; for that ye have seen the rings wot with blood from my wound doth urge me to the death of many a man. Now first am I en­raged at Hawart’s liege­man. Small scathe hath Knight Ir­ing done me yet.”

Mean­while Ir­ing of Den­mark stood in the breeze; he cooled his har­ness and doffed his casque. All the folk then praised his prowess, at which the mar­grave was in pass­ing lofty mood. Again Sir Ir­ing spake: “My friends, this know; arm me now quick­ly, for I would fain try again, if per­chance I may not con­quer this over­ween­ing man.”

His shield was hewn to pieces, a bet­ter one he gained; full soon the cham­pi­on was armed again. Through hate he seized a pass­ing heavy spear with which he would en­counter Ha­gen yon­der. Mean­time the death-​grim man await­ed him in hos­tile wise. But Knight Ha­gen would not abide his com­ing. Hurl­ing the javelin and bran­dish­ing his sword, he ran to meet him to the very bot­tom of the stairs. For­sooth his rage was great. Lit­tle boot­ed Ir­ing then his strength; through the shields they smote, so that the flames rose high in fiery blasts. Ha­gen sore­ly wound­ed Hawart’s liege­man with his sword through shield and breast­plate. Nev­er waxed he well again. When now Knight Ir­ing felt the wound, high­er above his hel­met bands he raised his shield. Great enow he thought the scathe he here re­ceived, but there­after King Gun­ther’s liege­man did him more of harm. Ha­gen found a spear ly­ing now be­fore his feet. With this he shot Ir­ing, the Dan­ish hero, so that the shaft stood forth from his head. Cham­pi­on Ha­gen had giv­en him a bit­ter end. Ir­ing must needs re­treat to those of Den­mark. Or ev­er they un­bound his hel­met and drew the spear-​shaft from his head, death had al­ready drawn nigh him. At this his kins­men wept, as for­sooth they had great need.

Then the queen came and bent above him. She gan be­wail the stal­wart Ir­ing and be­wept his wounds, in­deed her grief was pass­ing sharp. At this the bold and lusty war­rior spake be­fore his kins­men: “Let be this wail, most roy­al queen. What availeth your weep­ing now? Certes, I must lose my life from these wounds I have re­ceived. Death will no longer let me serve you and Et­zel.” To the men of Thuringia and to those of Den­mark he spake: “None of you must take from the queen her shin­ing rud­dy gold as meed, for if ye en­counter Ha­gen, ye must gaze on death.”

Pale grew his hue; brave Ir­ing bare the mark of death. Dole enow it gave them, for no longer might Hawart’s liege­man live. Then the men of Den­mark must needs re­new the fray. Irn­fried and Hawart with well a thou­sand cham­pi­ons leaped to­ward the hall. On ev­ery side one heard a mon­strous up­roar, mighty and strong. Ho, what stur­dy javelins were cast at the Bur­gun­di­an men! Bold Irn­fried rushed at the min­strel, but gained great dam­age at his hands. Through his stur­dy hel­met the no­ble fid­dler smote the land­grave. Certes, he was grim enow! Then Sir Irn­fried dealt the valiant glee­man such a blow that his coat of mail burst open and his breast­plate was en­veloped with a bright red flame. Yet the land­grave fell dead at the min­strel’s hands. Hawart and Ha­gen, too, had come to­geth­er. Won­ders would he have seen, who be­held the fight. The swords fell thick and fast in the heroes’ hands. Through the knight from the Bur­gun­di­an land Hawart needs must die. When the Thuringians and the Danes es­pied their lord­ings dead, there rose be­fore the hall a fear­ful strife, be­fore they gained the door with mighty hand. Many a helm and shield was hacked and cut there­by.

“Give way,” spake Folk­er, “and let them in, for else what they have in mind will not be end­ed. They must die in here in full short time. With death they’ll gain what the queen would give them.”

When these over­ween­ing men were come in­to the hall, the head of many a one sank down so low that he needs must die from their fu­ri­ous strokes. Well fought the valiant Ger­not, and the same did Gisel­her, the knight . A thou­sand and four were come in­to the hall and many a whizzing stroke of the swords was seen flash forth, but soon all the war­riors lay slain there­in. Mick­le won­ders might one tell of the Bur­gun­di­an men. The hall grew still, as the up­roar died away. On ev­ery side the dead men’s blood poured through the open­ings down to the drain-​pipes. This the men from the Rhine had wrought with their pass­ing strength.

Those from the Bur­gun­di­an land now sate them down to rest and laid aside their swords and shields. But still the valiant min­strel stood guard be­fore the hall. He wait­ed, if any would per­chance draw near again in strife. Sore­ly the king made wail, as did the queen. Maids and ladies were dis­traught with grief. Death, I ween, had con­spired against them, where­fore many of the war­riors per­ished through the guests.

END­NOTES: (1) “Weregild” (O.E. “wer”, ‘a man’, “gild”, ‘pay­ment of mon­ey’), le­gal term for com­pen­sa­tion paid for a man killed. (2) “Was­ka”. In “Biterolf” it is the name of the sword of Walther of Was­gen­stein and is con­nect­ed with the old Ger­man name, “Was­gen­wald”, for the Vos­ges.