The Nibelungenlied

ADVENTURE XXXVIII How All Sir Dietrich’s Warriors Were...

On ev­ery side one heard a grief so great, that the palace and the tow­ers rang with the wail­ing. Then a liege­man of Di­et­rich heard it, too. how quick­ly he gan haste him with the fear­ful tales! To the lord­ing he spake: “Hear, my lord, Sir Di­et­rich, how­ev­er much I’ve lived to see till now, yet heard I nev­er such a mon­strous wail, as now hath reached mine ears. I ween, King Et­zel him­self hath come to grief. How else might all be so dis­tressed? One of the twain, the king or Kriemhild, hath sore­ly been laid low by the brave strangers in their wrath. Full many a dap­per war­rior weep­eth pass­ing sore.”

Then spake the Knight of Borne: “My faith­ful men, now haste ye not too fast. What­ev­er the home­less war­riors may have done, they be now in mick­le need. Let it prof­it them, that I did of­fer them my peace.”

At this brave Wolfhart spake: “I will hie me hence and ask for tid­ings of what they have done, and will tell you then, my most dear lord, just as I find it, what the wail may be.”

Then spake Sir Di­et­rich: “Where one await­eth wrath, and rude ques­tions then are put, this doth light­ly sad­den the lofty mood of war­riors. In truth, I will not, Wolfhart, that ye ask these ques­tions of them.”

Then he told Hel­frich (1) to has­ten thith­er speed­ily, and bade him find from Et­zel’s men or from the guests them­selves, what there had for­tuned, for men had nev­er seen from folks so great a grief. The mes­sen­ger gan ask: “What hath here been done?”

At this one among them spake: “What­ev­er of joy we had in the Hun­nish land hath passed away. Here li­eth Rudeger, slain by the Bur­gun­di­ans’ hands; and of those who were come with him, not one hatch ’scaped alive.”

Sir Hel­frich could nev­er have had a greater dole. Sore­ly weep­ing, the en­voy went to Di­et­rich. Nev­er was he so loth to tell a tale. “What have ye found for us?” quoth Di­et­rich. “Why weep ye so sore, Knight Hel­frich?”

Then spake the no­ble cham­pi­on: “I have good cause for wail. The Bur­gun­di­ans have slain the good Sir Rudeger.”

At this the hero of Berne made an­swer: “Now God for­bid. That were a fear­ful vengeance, over which the foul fiend would gloat. Where­with hath Rudeger de­served this at their hands? I know full well, for­sooth, he is the strangers’ friend.”

To this Wolfhart an­swered: “And have they done this deed, ’twill cost them all their lives. ‘Twould be our shame, should we let this pass, for of a truth the hand of the good knight Rudeger hath served us much and oft.”

The lord of the Amelungs bade learn it bet­ter. In bit­ter grief he sate him at a win­dow and begged Hilde­brand to hie him to the strangers, that he might find from them what had been done. The storm-​brave war­rior, Mas­ter Hilde­brand, (2) bare nei­ther shield nor weapon in his hand. In court­ly wise he would hie him to the strangers; for this he was chid­ed by his sis­ter’s son. Grim Wolfhart spake: “And ye will go thith­er so bare, ye will nev­er fare with­out up­braid­ing; ye must re­turn with shame. But if ye go there armed, each will guard against that well.”

Then the wise man armed him, through the coun­sel of youth. Or ev­er he was ware, all Di­et­rich’s war­riors had donned their war-​weeds and held in their hands their swords. Loth it was to the hero, and he would have glad­ly turned their mind. He asked whith­er they would go.

“We will hence with you. Per­chance Ha­gen of Troneg then will dare the less to ad­dress him to you with scorn, which full well he knoweth how to use.” When he heard this, the knight vouch­safed them for to go.

Soon brave Folk­er saw the cham­pi­ons of Berne, the liege­men of Di­et­rich, march along, well armed, be­girt with swords, while in their hands they bare their shields. He told it to his lords from out the Bur­gun­di­an land. The fid­dler spake: “Yon­der I see the men of Di­et­rich march along in right hos­tile wise, armed cap-​a-​pie. They would en­counter us; I ween ’twill go full ill with us strangers.”

Mean­while Sir Hilde­brand was come. Be­fore his feet he placed his shield, and gan ask Gun­ther’s men: “Alas, good heroes, what had Rudeger done you? My Lord Di­et­rich hath sent me hith­er to you to say, that if the hand of any among you hath slain the no­ble mar­grave, as we are told, we could nev­er stand such mighty dole.”

Then spake Ha­gen of Troneg: “The tale is true. How glad­ly could I wish, that the mes­sen­ger had told you false, for Rudeger’s sake, and that he still did live, for whom both man and wife may well ev­er weep.”

When they heard aright that he was dead, the war­riors made wail for him, as their feal­ty bade them. Over the beards and chins of Di­et­rich’s cham­pi­ons the tears were seen to run. Great grief had hap­pened to them.

Siegstab, (3) the Duke of Berne, then spake: “Now hath come to an end the cheer, that Rudeger did give us af­ter our days of dole. The joy of all way­far­ing folk li­eth slain by you, sir knights.”

Then spake the Knight Wolfwin (4) of the Amelungs: “And I saw mine own fa­ther dead to-​day, I should not make greater dole, than for his death. Alas, who shall now com­fort the good mar­grave’s wife?”

An­gry of mood Knight Wolfhart spake: “Who shall now lead the war­riors to so many a fight, as the mar­grave so oft hath done? Alas, most no­ble Rudeger, that we should lose thee thus!”

Wolf­brand (5) and Hel­frich and Helm­not, too, with all their men be­wailed his death. For sigh­ing Hilde­brand might no longer ask a whit. He spake: “Sir knights, now do what my lord hath sent you here to do. Give us the corse of Rudeger from out the hall, in whom our joy hath turned to grief, and let us re­pay to him the great feal­ty he hath shown to us and to many an­oth­er man. We, too, be ex­iles, just as Rudeger, the knight. Why do ye let us wait thus? Let us bear him away, that we may yet re­quite the knight in death. More just­ly had we done it, when he was still alive.”

Then spake King Gun­ther: “Nev­er was there so good a ser­vice as that, which a friend doth do to a friend af­ter his death. When any doeth that, I call it faith­ful friend­ship. Ye re­pay him but right­ly, for much love hath he ev­er shown you.”

“How long shall we still be­seech?” spake Knight Wolfhart. “Sith our best hope hath been laid low in death by you, and we may no longer have him with us, let us bear him hence to where the war­rior may be buried.”

To this Folk­er made an­swer: “None will give him to you. Fetch ye him from the hall where the war­rior li­eth, fall­en in the blood, with mor­tal wounds. ‘Twill then be a per­fect ser­vice, which ye ren­der Rudeger.”

Quoth brave Wolfhart: “God wot, sir min­strel, ye have giv­en us great dole and should not rouse our ire. But that I durst not for fear of my lord, ye should all fare ill. We must per­force ab­stain, sith he for­bade us strife.”

Then spake the fid­dler: “He hath a deal too much fear who doth ab­stain from all that one for­bid­deth him. That I call not a re­al hero’s mood.” This speech of his war com­rade thought Ha­gen good.

“Long not for that,” an­swered Wolfhart, “or I’ll play such hav­oc with your fid­dle strings, that ye’ll have cause to tell the tale, when ye ride home­ward to the Rhine. I can­not brook in hon­or your over­ween­ing pride.”

Quoth the fid­dler: “If ye put out of tune my strings, then must the gleam of your hel­met grow dim from this hand of mine, how­ev­er I ride to the Bur­gun­di­an land.”

Then would he leap at him, but his un­cle Hilde­brand grasped him firm­ly. “I ween, thou wouldst rage in thy sil­ly anger. Then hadst thou lost for­ev­er the fa­vor of my lord.”

“Let go the li­on, mas­ter, he is so fierce of mood,” quoth the good knight Folk­er. “Had he slain the whole world with his one hand, I’ll smite him, and he come with­in my reach, so that he may nev­er sing the an­swer to my song.”

At this the men of Berne waxed pass­ing wroth of mood. Wolfhart, a doughty knight and a good, snatched up his shield. Like a wild li­on he ran to meet him, swift­ly fol­lowed by all his friends. But how­so­ev­er great the strides he took to­wards the hall, yet did old Hilde­brand over­take him at the steps. He would not let him reach the fray be­fore him. At the hands of the home­less knights they lat­er found the strife they sought. Mas­ter Hilde­brand then sprang at Ha­gen. In the hands of both one heard the swords ring out. That both were an­gry, might be plain­ly seen; from the swords of the twain streamed forth a blast of fire-​red sparks. Then they were part­ed in the stress of bat­tle by the men of Berne, as their strength did bid them. At once Hilde­brand turned him away from Ha­gen, but stout Wolfhart ad­dressed him to Folk­er the bold. Such a blow he smote the fid­dler up­on his good hel­met, that the sword’s edge pierced to the very hel­met bands. This the bold glee­man re­paid with might; he smote Wolfhart, so that the sparks flew wide. Enow of fire they struck from the ar­mor rings, for each bare ha­tred to the oth­er. Then Knight Wolfwin of Berne did part them — an’ he be not a hero, nev­er was there one.

With will­ing hand Gun­ther, the cham­pi­on, greet­ed the heroes of the Amelung land. Lord Gisel­her made many a gleam­ing hel­met red and wot with blood. Dankwart, Ha­gen’s broth­er, a fierce man was he; what­ev­er he had done be­fore to Et­zel’s war­riors in strife was as a wind to the fury with which bold Aldri­an’s son now fought. Ritschart (6) and Ger­bart, Hel­frich and Wichart had spared them­selves full sel­dom in many bat­tle storms; this they now made Gun­ther’s liege­men note full well. Wolf­brand, too, was seen in the strife bear­ing him in lord­ly wise. Old Hilde­brand fought as though he raged. At Wolfhart’s hands many good knights, struck by the sword, must needs fall dead down in­to the blood. Thus the bold cham­pi­ons and good avenged Knight Rudeger.

Then Lord Siegstab fought as his prowess bade him. Ho, what good hel­mets of his foes this son of Di­et­rich’s sis­ter clove in the strife! Nor might he ev­er do bet­ter in the fray. When stur­dy Folk­er es­pied that bold Siegstab hewed a bloody stream from the hard ar­mor rings, wroth of mood the hero grew. He sprang to meet him, and Siegstab lost his life full soon at the fid­dler’s hands, for Folk­er gave him such a sam­ple of his art, that he soon lay dead, slain by his sword. This old Hilde­brand avenged, as his might did bid him.

“Alas for my dear lord,” spake Mas­ter Hilde­brand, “who li­eth here dead at Folk­er’s hands. Now shall the fid­dler no longer live.”

How might bold Hilde­brand ev­er be fiercer? Folk­er he smote, so that on all sides the clasps flew to the walls of the hall from hel­met and shield of the doughty glee­man. Thus stout Folk­er was done to death. At this the men of Di­et­rich pressed for­ward to the strife. They smote so that the ar­mor rings whirled far and wide, and high through the air the sword-​points wore seen to fly. From the hel­mets they drew the warm gush­ing stream of blood. When Ha­gen of Troneg saw Folk­er dead, that was the great­est sor­row, that he had gained at the feast­ing in kins­man or in liege­man. Alas, how fierce­ly Ha­gen gan venge the knight! “Now old Hilde­brand shall not prof­it by this deed. My help­mate li­eth slain by the hero’s hand, the best war com­rade that I did ev­er win.” High­er he raised his hel­met, and ran, slash­ing as he went.

Stout Hel­frich slew Dankwart. Loth enow it was to Gun­ther and Gisel­her, when they saw him fall in cru­el need, but with his own hands he him­self had well avenged his death. Mean­while Wolfhart raged back and forth, hew­ing al­way King Gun­ther’s men. For the third time he was come through the hall, and many a war­rior fell, struck by his hands.

Then Lord Gisel­her cried out to Wolfhart: “Alas, that I have ev­er gained so grim a foe! No­ble knight and brave, now ad­dress you un­to me. I’ll help to make an end; this may be no longer.”

At this Wolfhart turned him in strife to Gisel­her, and each smote oth­er many a gap­ing wound. He pressed so might­ily to­ward the king, that the blood be­neath his feet spurt­ed high above his head. With grim and fear­ful blows the son of fair Uta then greet­ed the brave knight Wolfhart. How­ev­er strong the war­rior, he might not save his life. Nev­er could so young a king have been more brave; Wolfhart he smote through his stout hauberk, that his blood streamed down from the wound. Un­to death he wound­ed Di­et­rich’s liege­man. None save a cham­pi­on had done such deed. When brave Wolfhart felt the wound, he let fall his shield and lift­ed high­er in his hand his mighty sword (sharp enow it was); through both hel­met and ar­mor rings the hero smote Gisel­her. Thus each did oth­er fierce­ly un­to death.

Now was none left of Di­et­rich’s men. Old Hilde­brand saw Wolfhart fall; nev­er be­fore his death, I ween, did such dole hap­pen to him. The men of Gun­ther all lay dead, and those of Di­et­rich, too. Hilde­brand hied him to where Wolfhart had fall­en in the gore, and clasped in his arms the brave knight and good. He would fain bear him from the hall, but he was a deal too heavy, and so he must needs let him lie. Then the dy­ing war­rior looked up­ward from the blood in which he lay; well he saw, that his un­cle would fain help him hence. Though wound­ed un­to death, he spake: “Dear un­cle mine, ye may not aid me now. ‘Tis well, me­thinks, that ye should guard you against Ha­gen. A fierce mood he beareth in his heart. And if per­chance my kins­men would mourn me af­ter I am dead; pray tell the near­est and the best, that they weep not for me; there is no need of that. At the hands of a king I have met a glo­ri­ous death and have al­so avenged me, so that the wives of the good knights may well be­wail it. If any ask you of this, ye may bold­ly say, that full a hun­dred lie slain by my hand alone.”

Then Ha­gen, too, bethought him of the glee­man, whom bold Hilde­brand had robbed of life. To the knight he spake: “Ye’ll re­quite me now my sor­rows. Through your ha­tred ye have bereft us of many a lusty knight.”

He dealt Hilde­brand such a blow, that men heard Bal­mung ring, the which bold Ha­gen had tak­en from Siegfried, when he slew the knight. Then the old man ward­ed him; in sooth he was brave enow. Di­et­rich’s cham­pi­on struck with a broad sword, that cut full sore, at the hero of Troneg, but could not wound King Gun­ther’s liege­man. Ha­gen, how­ev­er, smote him through his well-​wrought hauberk. When old Hilde­brand felt the wound, he feared more scathe at Ha­gen’s hand; his shield he slung across his back and thus Sir Di­et­rich’s man es­caped from Ha­gen, though sore­ly wound­ed.

Now of all the knights none was alive save the twain, Gun­ther and Ha­gen alone. Drip­ping with blood old Hilde­brand went to where he found Di­et­rich, and told him the bale­ful tale. He saw him sit­ting sad­ly, but much more of dole the prince now gained. He spied Hilde­brand in his blood-​red hauberk, and asked him tid­ings, as his fears did prompt him.

“Now tell me, Mas­ter Hilde­brand, how be ye so wot with your lifeblood? Pray who hath done you this? I ween, ye have fought with the strangers in the hall. I for­bade it you so sore­ly, that ye should just­ly have avoid­ed it.”

Then said he to his lord: “‘Twas Ha­gen that did it. He dealt me this wound in the hall, when I would fain have turned me from the knight. I scarce es­caped the dev­il with my life.”

Then spake the Lord of Berne: “Right­ly hath it happed you, for that ye have bro­ken the peace, which I had sworn them, sith ye did hear me vow friend­ship to the knights. Were it not mine ev­er­last­ing shame, ye should lose your life.”

“My Lord Di­et­rich, now be ye not so wroth; the dam­age to my friends and me is all too great. Fain would we have car­ried Rudeger’s corse away, but King Gun­ther’s liege­men would not grant it us.”

“Woe is me of these sor­rows! If Rudeger then be dead, ’twill bring me greater dole, than all my woe. No­ble Gotelind is the child of my fa­ther’s sis­ter; alas for the poor or­phans, that be now in Bechelaren.”

Rudeger’s death now mind­ed him of ruth and dole. Might­ily the hero gan weep; in sooth he had good cause. “Alas for this faith­ful com­rade whom I have lost! In truth I shall ev­er mourn for King Et­zel’s liege­man. Can ye tell me, Mas­ter Hilde­brand, true tid­ings, who be the knight, that hath slain him there?”

Quoth he: “That stout Ger­not did, with might and main, but the hero, too, fell dead at Rudeger’s hands.”

Again he spake to Hilde­brand: “Pray say to my men, that they arm them quick­ly, for I will hie me hith­er, and bid them make ready my shin­ing bat­tle weeds. I my­self will ques­tion the heroes of the Bur­gun­di­an land.”

Then spake Mas­ter Hilde­brand: “Who then shall join you? What­so of liv­ing men ye have, ye see stand by you. ‘Tis I alone; the oth­ers, they be dead.”

He start­ed at this tale; for­sooth, he had good cause, for nev­er in his life had he gained so great a grief. He spake: “And are my men all dead, then hath God for­got­ten me, poor Di­et­rich. Once I was a lord­ly king, mighty, high, and rich.” Again Sir Di­et­rich spake: “How could it hap, that all the wor­ship­ful heroes died at the hands of the bat­tle-​weary, who were them­selves hard pressed? Were it not for mine ill-​luck, death were still a stranger to them. Sith then mine evil for­tune would have it so, pray tell me, are any of the strangers still alive?”

Then spake Mas­ter Hilde­brand: “God wet, none oth­er save on­ly Ha­gen and Gun­ther, the high-​born king.”

“Alas, dear Wolfhart, and I have lost thee too, then may it well rue me, that ev­er I was born. Siegstab and Wolfwin and Wolf­brand, too! Who then shall help me to the Amelung land? Bold Hel­frich, hath he, too, been slain, and Ger­bart and Wiehart? How shall I ev­er mourn for them in fit­ting wise? This day doth for­ev­er end my joys. Alas, that none may die for very grief!”

END­NOTES: (1) “Hel­frich” ap­pears al­so in the “Thidrek­saga”, chap. 330, where we are told that he was the bravest and courtli­est of all knights. (2) “Mas­ter Hilde­brand”, see Ad­ven­ture XXVI­II, note 1. (3) “Siegstab” is Di­et­rich’s nephew. He al­so ap­pears in the “Thidrek­saga”, but in a dif­fer­ent role. (4) “Wolfwin” is men­tioned in the “Klage”, 1541, as Di­et­rich’s nephew. (5) “Wolf­brand” and “Helm­not” ap­pear on­ly here. (6) “Ritschart”. With the ex­cep­tion of Hel­frich (see Above note 1), these names do not oc­cur else­where, though one of the sons of Hai­mon was called Wichart.