Song and Legend From the Middle Ages

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Remember, she's thy sister, yield her a sister's right,
Guard her with faith and honour, as thou'rt a king and knight.
My father and my followers for me they long must wait.
Comrade ne'er found from comrade so sorrowful a fate."

In his mortal anguish he writh'd him to and fro,
And then said, deadly groaning, "this foul and murderous blow
Deep will ye rue hereafter; this for sure truth retain,
That in slaying Siegfried you yourselves have slain."

With blood were all bedabbled the flowerets of the field.
Some time with death he struggled, as though he scorn'd to yield
E'en to the foe, whose weapon strikes down the loftiest head.
At last prone in the meadow lay mighty Siegfried dead.

They carry the body of Siegfried back to Worms, and lay it at
Kriemhild's door. Here she finding it next morning. She has it
carried to the church and stands by it while the heroes come to
view it, expecting to discover the murderer.

KRIEMHILD'S TEST.
Stanza 1071-1078.

And now the night was over; forth peep'd the morning fair;
Straight had the noble lady thence to the minster bear
The matchless champion Siegfried, her husband lov'd so dear.
All her friends close follow'd with many a sigh and tear.

When they the minster enter'd, how many a bell was rung!
How many a priest on all sides the mournful requiem sung!
Then thither with his meiny came Dancrat's haughty son,
And thither too grim Hagan; it had been better left undone.

Then spoke the king, "dear sister, woe worth this loss of thine!
Alas that such misfortune has happ'd to me and mine!
For sure the death of Siegfried we ever both must rue."
"Nay", said the mournful lady, "so without cause you do,

For if you really rued it, never had it been.
I know, you have your sister forgotten quite and clean,
So I and my beloved were parted as you see.
Good God! would he had granted the stroke had fall'n on me!"

Firmly they made denial; Kriemhild at once replied,
"Whoe'er in this is guiltless, let him this proof abide.
In sight of all the people let him approach the bier,
And so to each beholder shall the plain truth appear."

It is a mighty marvel, which oft e'en now we spy,
That when the blood-stain'd murderer comes to the murder'd nigh,
The wounds break out a-bleeding; then too the same befell,
And thus could each beholder the guilt of Hagan tell.

The wounds at once burst streaming fast as they did before;
Those, who then sorrow'd deeply, now yet lamented more.
Then outspake king Gunther, "I give you here to know,
He was slain by robbers; Hagan struck ne'er a blow."

"Ay! well know I those robbers," his widow'd sister said;
"By the hands of his true comrades may God revenge the dead!
False Gunther, and false Hagan! 't was you, your friend that
slew."
Thereat the knights of Siegfried grip'd to their swords anew.

After the burial of Siegfried, Kriemhild decides to remain at the
court of Gunther, in the care of her brothers. Thither is brought
the enormous treasures of the Niebelungen, which Siegfried had
won, and of which he had been the guardian, and which now fell to
Kriemhild. The crafty Hagen gains possession of this horde, and
conceals it by sinking it in the Rhine, hoping some day to
recover and enjoy it. For thirteen years Kriemhild remains at the
court of her brother, brooding over her wrongs and meditating
revenge. The second part of the poem begins by telling how
Etzel, king of the Huns, proposed for the hand of the widowed
Kriemhild, and how she finally, hoping to use him in her plan of
vengeance, consents to a marriage with him and goes away with
him into his land. Here for many years she lives the beloved
queen of the Huns. But her purpose of vengeance never falters,
and at last she persuades Etzel to invite her brothers to his
court on a visit. Against many forebodings and warnings they
come, Hagen with them. After numerous interesting episodes upon
the journey, they arrive at Etzell's court and are handsomely
welcomed. But the inevitable quarrel soon breaks out and a
desperate fight begins. After a most desperate and bloody
struggle, Gunther, Hagen, and a few followers are shut up in a
hall. To this Kriemhild sets fire.

THE BURNING OF THE HALL.
Stanza, 2186-2194.

With that, the wife of Etzel had set the hall on fire.
How sore then were they tortur'd in burning anguish dire!
At once, as the wind freshen'd, the house was in a glow.
Never, I ween, were mortals in such extremes of woe.

"We all are lost together," each to his neighbour cried,
"It had been far better we had in battle died.
Now God have mercy on us! woe for this fiery pain!
Ah! what a monstrous vengeance the bloody queen has ta'en!"

Then faintly said another, "needs must we here fall dead;
What boots us now the greeting, to us by Etzel sped?
Ah me! I'm so tormented by thirst from burning heat,
That in this horrid anguish my life must quickly fleet."

Thereat outspake Sir Hagan, the noble knight and good,
"Let each, by thirst tormented, take here a draught of blood.
In such a heat, believe me, 't is better far than wine.
Nought's for the time so fitting; such counsel, friends, is
mine."

With that straight went a warrior, where a warm corpse he found.
On the dead down knelt he; his helmet he unbound;
Then greedily began he to drink the flowing blood.
However unaccustom'd, it seem'd him passing good.

"Now God requite thee, Hagan," the weary warrior cried,
"For such refreshing beverage by your advice supplied.
It has been my lot but seldom to drink of better wine.
For life am I thy servant for this fair hint of thine."

When th' others heard and witness'd with that delight he quaff'd,
Yet many more among them drank too the bloody draught.
It strung again their sinews, and failing strength renew'd.
This in her lover's person many a fair lady rued.

Into the hall upon them the fire-flakes thickly fell;
These with their shields they warded warily and well.
With smoke and heat together they were tormented sore.
Never, I ween, good warriors such burning anguish bore.

Through smoke and flame cried Hagan, "stand close against the
wall;
Let not the burning ashes on your helm-laces fall.
Into the blood yet deeper tread every fiery flake.
In sooth, this feast of Kriemhild's is ghastly merry-make."

One by one the champions fall, until only Hagen and Gunther,
exhausted with fighting, are left to contend with Dietrich, the
most Valisntof Etzel's vassals. The conclusion of the poem tells
of the fate of Hagen, Gunther, and Kriemhild.

THE FALL OF THE NIEBELUNGEN.
Stanza 2428-2459.

Well knew the noble Dietrich how fierce and fell a knight
Was standing now against him; so warily the fight
'Gainst those tempestuous swordstrokes wag'd the good lord of
Bern.
The strength and skill of Hagan he had not now to learn.

He fear'd too, mighty Balmung as down it swept amain;
Yet at times Sir Dietrich with craft would strike again,
Till that to sink before him he brought his foeman strong;
A fearful wound, he gave him that was both deep and long.

Sir Dietrich then bethought him, "thou'rt faint and ill bestead
I should win little worship, were I to strike thee dead.
I'll make a different trial, if thou can'st now be won
By main force for a pris'ner." With wary heed 't was done.

Down he threw his buckler; wondrous was his might;
He his arms resistless threw round Trony's knight.
So was by his stronger the main of strength subdued.
Thereat the noble Gunther remain'd in mournful mood.

His vanquish'd foe Sir Dietrich bound in a mighty band,
And led him thence to Kriemhild, and gave into her hand
The best and boldest champion that broadsword ever bore.
She after all her anguish felt comfort all the more.

For joy the queen inclin'd her before the welcome guest;
"Sir knight I in mind and body heaven keep thee ever blest!
By thee all my long sorrows are shut up in delight.
Even if death prevent not, thy service I'll requite."

"Fair and noble Kriemhild," thus Sir Dietrich spake,
"Spare this captive warrior, who full amends will make
For all his past transgressions; him here in bonds you see;
Revenge not on the fetter'd th' offences of the free."

With that she had Sir Hagan to durance led away,
Where no one could behold him, where under lock he lay.
Meanwhile the fierce king Gunther shouted loud and strong,
"Whither is gone the Berner? he hath done me grievous wrong."

Straight, at the call, to meet him Sir Dietrich swiftly went.
Huge was the strength of Gunther, and deadly his intent.
There he no longer dallied; from th' hall he forward ran;
Sword clash'd with sword together, as man confronted man.

Howe'er renown'd was Dietrich, and train'd in combat well,
Yet Gunther fought against him so furious and so fell,
And bore him hate so deadly, now friendless left and lone,
It seemed past all conceiving, how Dietrich held his own.

Both were of mighty puissance, and neither yielded ground;
Palace and airy turret rung with their strokes around,
As their swift swords descending their temper'd helmets hew'd
Well there the proud king Gunther display'd his manly mood.

Yet him subdued the Berner, as Hagan erst befell;
Seen was the blood of the warrior forth through his mail to well
Beneath the fatal weapon that Dietrich bore in fright.
Tir'd as he was, still Gunther had kept him like a knight.

So now at length the champion was bound by Dietrich there,
How ill soe'er it fitteth a king such bonds to bear.
Gunther and his fierce liegeman if he had left unbound,
He ween'd they'd deal destruction on all, whome'er they found.

Then by the hand Sir Dietrich took the champion good.
And in his bonds thence led him to where fair Kriemhild stood.
She cried, "thou'rt welcome, Gunther, hero of Burgundy."
"Now God requite you, Kriemhild, if you speak lovingly."

Said he, "I much should thank you, and justly, sister dear,
If true affection prompted the greeting which I hear;
But, knowing your fierce temper, proud queen, too well I see,
Such greeting is a mocking of Hagan and of me."

Then said the noble Berner, "high-descended dame,
Ne'er have been brought to bondage knights of such peerless fame,
As those, whom you, fair lady, now from your servant take.
Grant these forlorn and friendless fair treatment for my sake."

She said she fain would do so; then from the captive pair
With weeping eyes Sir Dietrich retir'd and left them there.
Straight a bloody vengeance wreak'd Etzell's furious wife
On those redoubted champions, and both bereft of life.

In dark and dismal durance them kept apart the queen,
So that from that hour neither was by the other seen,
Till that at last to Hagan her brother's head she bore.
On both she took with vengeance as tongue ne'er told before.

To the cell of Hagan eagerly she went;
Thus the knight bespake she, ah! with what fell intent!
"Wilt thou but return me what thou from me hast ta'en,
Back thou may'st go living to Burgundy again."

Then spake grim-visag'd Hagan, "you throw away your prayer,
High-descended lady; I took an oath whilere,
That, while my lords were living, or of them only one,
I'd ne'er point out the treasure; thus 't will be given to none."

Well knew the subtle Hagan, she ne'er would let him 'scape.
Ah! when did ever falsehood assume so foul a shape?
He fear'd, that, soon as ever the queen his life had ta'en,
She then would send her brother to Rhineland back again.

"I'll make an end, and quickly," Kriemhild fiercely spake.
Her brother's life straight had she in his dungeon take.
Off his head was smitten; she bore it by the hair
To the lord of Trony; such sight he well could spare.

A while in gloomy sorrow he view'd his master's head;
Then to remorseless Kriemhild thus the warrior said;
"E'en to thy wish this business thou to an end hast brought,
To such an end, moreover, as Hagan ever thought.

Now the brave king Gunther of Burgundy is dead
Young Giselher and eke Gernot alike with him are sped;
So now, where lies the treasure, none knows save God and me,
And told shall it be never, be sure, she-fiend! to thee."

Said she, "ill hast thou quitted a debt so deadly scor'd;
At least in my possession I'll keep my Siegfried's sword.
My lord and lover bore it, when last I saw him go.
For him woe wring my bosom, that pass'd all other woe."

Forth from the sheath she drew it; that could not be prevent;
At once to slay the champion was Kriemhild's stern intent.
High with both hands she heav'd it, and off his head did smite.
That was seen of king Etzel; he shudder'd at the sight.

"Ah!" cried the prince impassion'd, "harrow and welaway!
That the hand of a woman the noblest knight should slay,
That e'er struck stroke in battle, or ever buckler bore!
Albeit I was his foeman, needs must I sorrow sore."

Then said the aged Hildebrand, "let not her boast of gain,
In that by her contrivance this noble chief was slain.
Though to sore strait he brought me, let ruin on me light,
But I will take full vengeance for Trony's murdered knight."

Hildebrand the aged fierce on Kriemhild sprung:
To the death he smote her as his sword he swung.
Sudden and remorseless he his wrath did wreak.
What could then avail her her fearful thrilling shriek?

There now the dreary corpses stretch'd all around were seen;
There lay, hewn in pieces, the fair and noble queen.
Sir Dietrich and king Etzel, their tears began to start;
For kinsmen and for vassals each sorrow'd in his heart.

The mighty and the noble there lay together dead;
For this had all the people dole and drearihead.
The feast of royal Etzel was thus shut up in woe.
Pain in the steps of Pleasure treads ever here below.

'Tis more than I can tell you what afterwards befell,
Save that there was weeping for friends belov'd so well;
Knights and squires, dames and damsels, were seen lamenting all,
So here I end my story. This is THE NIBELUNGERS' FALL.

--Tr. by Littsom.

ROMANCES.

As elsewhere in Europe, the twelfth and thirteenth centuries in
Germany produced numberless romances. These may be classed under
(1) Romances of Arthur, (2) Romances of the Holy Graal, (3)
Romances of Antiquity, and (4) Romances of Love and Chivalry. The
chief poets of romances were Hartmann von Aue, Gottfried von
Strassburg, and Wolfram von Eschenbach. A good example of the
romance of love is "Der Arme Heinrich of Hartmann von Aue". "Poor
Henry", to quote Scherer, "is a kind of Job, a man of noble
birth; rich, handsome, and beloved, who is suddenly visited by
God with the terrible affliction of leprosy, and who can be cured
only by the lifeblood of a young maiden who is willing to die for
him. The daughter of a peasant, to whose house he has retired in
his despair, resolves to sacrifice her life for him. Heinrich
accepts her offer, and the knife to kill her is already whetted,
when a better feeling arises in his breast, and he refuses to
take upon himself the guilt of her death, resolving to resign
himself to the will of God. This resignation saves him; he
recovers and marries the maiden." Our extracts are from the first
and last of the poem.

HENRY THE LEPER.
Ll. 1-131.--

Once on a time, rhymeth the rhyme,
In Swabia land once on a time,
There was a nobleman so journeying,
Unto whose nobleness everything
Of virtue and high-hearted excellence
Worthy his line and his high pretense
With plentiful measure was meted out:
The land rejoiced in him round about.
He was like a prince in his governing--
In his wealth he was like a king;
But most of all by the fame far-flown
Of his great knightliness was he known,
North and south, upon land and sea.
By his name he was Henry of the Lea.
All things whereby the truth grew dim
Were held as hateful foes with him:
By solemn oath was he bounden fast
To shun them while his life should last.
In honour all his days went by:
Therefore his soul might look up high
To honorable authority.

A paragon of all graciousness,
A blossoming branch of youthfulness,
A looking-glass to the world around,
A stainless and priceless diamond,
Of gallant 'haviour a beautiful wreath,
A home when the tyrant menaceth,
A buckler to the breast of his friend,
And courteous without measure or end;
Whose deeds of arms 'twere long to tell;
Of precious wisdom a limpid well,
A singer of ladies every one,
And very lordly to look upon
In feature and hearing and countenance:
Say, failed he in anything, perchance,
The summit of all glory to gain.
And the lasting honour of all men.

Alack! the soul that was up so high
Dropped down into pitiful misery;
The lofty courage was stricken low,
The steady triumph stumbled in woe,
And the world-joy was hidden in the dust,
Even as all such shall be and must.
He whose life in the senses centreth
Is already in the shades of death.
The joys, called great, of this under-state
Burn up the bosom early and late;
And their shining is altogether vain,
For it bringeth anguish and trouble and pain,
The torch that flames for men to see
And wasteth to ashes inwardly
Is verily but an imaging
Of man's own life, the piteous thing.
The whole is brittleness and mishap:
We sit and dally in Fortune's lap
Till tears break in our smiles betwixt,
And the shallow honey-draught be mix'd
With sorrow's wormwood fathom-deep.
Oh! rest not therefore, man, nor sleep:
In the blossoming of thy flower-crown
A sword is raised to smite thee down.

It was thus with Earl Henry, upon whom for his pride God sent a
leprosy, as He did upon Job. But he did not bear his affliction
as did Job.

Its duteousness his heart forgot;
His pride waxed hard, and kept its place,
But the glory departed from his face,
And that which was his strength, grew weak.
The hand that smote him on the cheek
Was all too heavy. It was night,
Now, and his sun withdrew its light.
To the pride of his uplifted thought
Much woe the weary knowledge brought
That the pleasant way his feet did wend
Was all passed o'er and had an end.
The day wherein his years had begun
Went in his mouth with a malison.
As the ill grew stronger and more strong,--
There was but hope bore him along;
Even yet to hope he was full fain
That gold might help him back again
Thither whence God had cast him out.
Ah! weak to strive and little stout
'Gainst Heaven the strength that he possessed.
North and south and east and west,
Far and wide from every side,
Mediciners well proved and tried
Came to him at the voice of his woe;
But, mused and pondered they ever so,
They could but say, for all their care,
That he must be content to bear
The burthen of the anger of God;
For him there was no other road.
Already was his heart nigh down
When yet to him one chance was shown;
For in Salerno dwelt, folk said,
A leach who still might lend him aid,
Albeit unto his body's cure,
All such had been as nought before.

Earl Henry visits the leach in Salerno whom he implores to tell
him the means by which he may be healed.

Quoth the leach, "Then know them what they are;
Yet still all hope must stand afar.
Truly if the cure for your care
Might be gotten anyway anywhere,
Did it hide in the furthest parts of earth,
This-wise I had not sent you forth.
But all my knowledge hath none avail;
There is but one thing would not fail:
An innocent virgin for to find,
Chaste, and modest, and pure in mind,
Who to save you from death might choose
Her own young body's life to lose;
The heart's blood of the excellent maid--
That and nought else can be your aid.
But there is none will be won thereby
For the love of another's life to die.

"'T was then poor Henry knew indeed
That from his ill he might not be freed,
Sith that no woman he might win
Of her own will to act herein.
Thus got he but an ill return
For the journey he made unto Salerne,
And the hope he had upon that day
Was snatched from him and rent away.
Homeward he hied him back: fall fain
With limbs in the dust he would have lain.
Of his substance--lands and riches both--
He rid himself; even as one doth
Who the breath of the last life of his hope
Once and forever hath rendered up.
To his friends he gave and to the poor,
Unto God praying evermore
The spirit that was in him to save,
And make his bed soft in the grave.
What still remained aside he set
For Holy Church's benefit.
Of all that heretofore was his
Nought held he for himself, I wis,
Save one small house with byre and field:
There from the world he lived concealed,--
There lived he, and awaited Death,
Who being awaited, lingereth.
Pity and ruth his troubles found
Alway through all the country round.
Who heard him named, had sorrow deep
And for his piteous sake would weep.

The poor man who tilled Earl Henry's field had a daughter, a
sweet and tender maiden who, out of love for Henry and a heart of
Christ-like pity, at last offers herself to die for him. After a
struggle Henry accepts the sacrifice. But when he knows it is
about to be made his heart rises against it and he refuses to
permit it. At this the maiden is much grieved. She takes it as a
token that she is not pure enough to be offered for him. She
prays for a sign that she may hope to become wholly cleansed. In
answer to this prayer Earl Henry is in one night cleansed of the
leprosy. He then joyfully takes the maiden for his bride and
leads her before his kinsman and nobles for their consent.

"Then," quoth the Earl, "hearken me this.
The damozel who standeth here,--
And whom I embrace, being most dear,--
She it is unto whom I owe
The grace it hath pleased God to bestow.
He saw the simple spirited
Earnestness of the holy maid,
And even in guerdon of her truth
Gave me back the joys of my youth,
Which seemed to be lost beyond all doubt,
And therefore I have chosen her out
To wed with me knowing her free.
I think that God will let this be.
Lo! I enjoin ye, with God's will
That this my longing ye fulfill.
I pray ye all have but one voice
And let your choice go with my choice."

Then the cries ceased, and the counter-cries,
And all the battle of advice,
And every lord, being content
With Henry's choice, granted assent.

Then the priests came to bind as one
Two lives in bridal unison,
Into his hand they folded hers,
Not to be loosed in coming years,
And uttered between man and wife
God's blessing on the road of this life.
Many a bright and pleasant day
The twain pursued their steadfast way,
Till hand in hand, at length they trod
Upward to the kingdom of God.
Even as it was with them, even thus,
And quickly, it must be with us.
To such reward as theirs was then,
God help us in His hour. Amen.

-- Tr. by Rossetti.

THE MINNESINGERS.

In the twelfth century, Germany had a remarkable outburst of
lyric poetry, chiefly songs of love. The influence of the
crusades, the spread of the romances of Arthur and Charlemagne
roused over all Germany the spirit of poetry. The poets of this
new movement are called Minnesingers. It is interesting to notice
that the same poets who wrote these love lyrics, wrote also long
romances of chivalry; the greatest names among them being
Hartmann von Aue, Wolfram von Eschenbach, Heinrich von
Ofterdingen, Gottfried von Strassburg, and Walther von der
Vogelweide. They were of all ranks, but chiefly belonged to the
upper classes--knights, squires, princes, and even kings being
numbered among them. Their extraordinarily large number may be
gathered from the fact that from the twelfth century alone the
names of one hundred and sixty Minnesingers have come down to us.
Their names and their songs have been handed down largely by
tradition, since the mass of them could neither read nor write,
and for a century or more their work was preserved orally.

The subject of these songs was almost always love--generally love
of a sweetheart; sometimes of the simpler aspects of nature,
sometimes the love of the Virgin. Besides this they wrote also
many didactic, religious, and patriotic songs. The rhythmical and
metrical structure of their verse was very complicated and
generally very skillful, sometimes, however, running into
eccentricities and barren technicalities. The Minnesinger
generally composed the music of his song at the same time with
the verse.

The bloom of the Minnesong passed away in the latter half of the
thirteenth century. The songs became theological, didactic,
political, more and more forced and complicated in form, more and
more filled with quaint new figures, far-fetched conceits, and
obscure allusions. Then gradually developed the school of the
Meistersingers, who formed themselves into a guild of poets to
which only those were admitted who passed examination upon the
difficult technical rules that had been built up. The poetry of
the Meistersinigers was, for the most part, tedious and
artificial. The poets were not nobles and soldiers, but burghers
and artisans. They reached their highest development in the
sixteenth century. The most famous of them was Hans Sachs
(1494-1575), who, in the space of fifty-three years, wrote 6181
pieces of verse.

DIETMAR VON AIST. Twelfth Century.

By the heath stood a lady
All lonely and fair;
As she watched for her lover,
A falcon flew near.
"Happy falcon!" she cried
"Who can fly where he list,
And can choose in the forest
The tree he loves best!

"Thus, too, had I chosen
One knight for mine own,
Him my eye had selected,
Him prized I alone:
But other fair ladies
Have envied my joy,
And why? for I sought not
Their bliss to destroy.

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