Tale XXIV: How Their Coming Was Made Known to Gudrun

Of them we speak no longer; / we now will let you hear
Yet more about the maidens: / how hope their lot did cheer
Who on a far-off seashore / must wearily toil at washing:
Gu-drun and Hildeburg / must wash all day on the sands where waves were dashing.

’Twas the time of spring-tide fasting, / and at the noon of day.
To them a swan came floating; / thereat Gu-drun ’gan say:
“O bird so fair and lovely, / such pain for me thou art feeling,
That now thou hither speedest / from a far-off land, across the water sailing.”

Then to her in answer / spake the friendly swan,
Although a God-sent angel, / in speech most like a man:
“Words from God I bring you; / if you for this be seeking,
Tidings I give of your kindred; / of these, most high-born maid, would I be speaking.”

When the lovely maiden / his speech so wondrous heard,
Scarce could she believe it, / that thus an untamed bird,
Now, within her hearing, / in tones like these had spoken.
While to him she listened, / it seemed that his words from the mouth of a man had broken.

Then said the bird-like angel: / “Hopeful you now may be,
Homeless, sorrowing maiden; / gladness shall come to thee.
If you would hear of your birth-land, / listen while I tell you;
From there I bring you tidings, / for God hath sent me, of your woes to heal you.”

At this, Gu-drun, the fair one, / upon the sands down fell;
Crossing her arms, the maiden / her lowly prayers did tell.
Then she said to Hildeburg: / “God hath us in his keeping,
And help to us has granted; / we now no more shall sorrow know, nor weeping.”

To the bird then said the maiden: / “Christ has sent thee here
To us, poor homeless maidens, / our heavy hearts to cheer;
Good and trusted harbinger, / tidings tell yet other:
Is now Queen Hilda living? / Of poor Gu-drun is she the much-loved mother.”

The Heaven-sent bird thus answered: / “This can I say to thee;
Hilda, thy queenly mother, / in health did I lately see.
To search for thee already / her warriors she has banded;
Such throngs no kin or widow, / seeking for friends, on foeman’s shore e’er landed.”

Then spake the high-born maiden: / “Good tidings thou dost bear:
Be thou with me not weary, / still more I fain would hear.
Lives yet my brother Ortwin, / as king in Ortland dwelling,
And Herwic, my betrothéd? / ’Twould gladden me could’st thou this news be telling.”

The bird-like angel answered: / “That can I gladly tell;
Herwic and young King Ortwin / are both alive and well.
Upon the swelling billows, / that rose and sank unending,
I saw those knightly sailors; / each with even stroke to his oar was bending.”

She said: “This tell me also, / if ’tis known to thee,
Whether Morunc and Irold / are now upon the sea,
And hither come to seek me; / the truth I fain would gather.
Gladly I would see them, / for they are kin to Hettel, who was my father.”

To her the bird thus answered: / “That can I tell you, too;
Morunc, and with him Irold, / I saw, in search of you.
They to this land are coming; / their help will soon be given
To fight for you, fair lady, / and many a helmet will by them be riven.”

Then spake the winged angel: / “I bid you now farewell,
And leave you in God’s keeping, / for work awaits me still.
I overstay my errand / to linger here, yet speaking.”
Then from their sight he faded, / and left the maidens’ hearts well-nigh to breaking.

Then said Hilda’s daughter: / “My sorrows none can know;
Much that I wished to ask thee, / now must I forego.
For the sake of Christ, I beg thee, / ere thou alone dost leave me,
Poor and wretched maiden, / that freedom from my woes thou yet wilt give me.”

Before her eyes he floated, / and once again he spake:
“Ere yet we two are parted, / and hence my way I take,
If I in aught can help you, / of that I will not weary,
And, since through Christ you ask it, / to tell you of your kin will longer tarry.”

She said: “I fain were hearing, / if thou the truth hast learned,
If Horant, lord of Denmark, / his way has hither turned,
And with him leads his kinsmen? / They leave me here forsaken.
Knowing him brave and daring, / I would my lonely lot his care might waken.”

“From Denmark sailing hither, / Horant, your kinsman, comes;
He to war is leading / his followers from their homes.
The banner of Queen Hilda / aloft in his hand he is bearing;
’Tis thus the Hegeling warriors / now the Norman Hartmut’s land are nearing.”

Gu-drun then asked him further: / “This would I also hear:
Lives Wâ-te still of Sturmland? / If so, no more I fear.
We all might then be happy, / if thou could’st this be telling,—
That under the flag of my mother / he and the aged Fru-te are hither sailing.”

To her the angel answered: / “Hither comes in haste
Wâ-te the old from Sturmland. / He in his hand holds fast
The strong and guiding rudder, / and Fru-te’s ship is steering.
Truer friends or better / you ne’er need wish their swords for you were bearing.”

Once more the bird was ready / upon his way to go;
Then said the wretched maiden: / “I still am full of woe;
And now to know am longing— / if life such bliss can lend me—
When I, poor homeless maiden, / shall see my mother’s knights, whom she doth send me.”

The angel answered quickly: / “Your happiness is near;
To-morrow morning early, / will two brave knights be here.
Both are true and upright, / and falsehood ne’er will tell you;
Whatever news they bring you / you well may trust, and never will it fail you.”

At last the heavenly angel / hence in truth must go:
From him the homeless maidens / sought no more to know.
In mind they ever wavered, / ’twixt hope and fear still tossing;
Where their helpers lingered / they could not know, yet trust were never losing.

Lazily and slowly / they washed the livelong day;
Of knights sent there by Hilda, / who now were on their way
From over the Hegeling border, / busily they chatted:
Gu-drun’s good, faithful kinsmen / were by the long-lost maids uneasily awaited.

Each day must have its ending; / to the castle now must go
The weary, homesick maidens. / They there must harshness know
From evil-minded Gerlind, / who their lives still harrowed;
A day went by but seldom / that she scolded them not, nor still their bondage narrowed.

Thus she spoke to the maidens: / “Who gave the word to you
That you might wash so slowly / my clothes and linen, too?
All the things I gave you / must be quickly whitened;
’Twere best that you be careful, / you else shall weep, and for your lives be frightened.”

Then answered her young Hildeburg: / “Our work we ever mind;
Truly you ought, fair lady, / to be to us more kind.
We oft are almost freezing, / with water o’er us splashing;
If only the winds were warmer, / we might for you far better then be washing.”

Grimly answered Gerlind, / and roughly them did twit:
“Whatever be the weather, / my work you may not slight.
Early must you be washing, / nor rest till night be knowing;
To-morrow morn, at daybreak, / you from my room must down to the beach be going.

“I ween you know already / that Holytide is near;
Palm-Sunday soon is coming, / and guests will then be here:
If to ill-washed clothing / my knights shall then be treated,
Never in kingly castle / to those who washed have woes like yours been meted.”

Then the maidens left her; / they laid aside, all wet,
The clothing they were wearing— / they better care should get.
All they had known of kindness / for them no longer lasted,
And soon for this they sorrowed, / for bread and water now was all they tasted.

Now the downcast maidens / for sleep had sought their bed;
But this was not the softest, / and each one, in her need,
A dirty shirt was wearing. / Thus was Gerlind showing
Her care and kindness for them, / on benches hard a pillow ne’er bestowing.

Never Gu-drun, poor maiden, / on a harder bed had lain;
All were tired with watching / till day should dawn again.
They had but broken slumber; / I ween, they oft bethought them
How soon the knights were coming, / of whom the angel-bird the news had brought them.

Soon as the morning lightened, / Hildeburg the good,
Erst from Galicia stolen, / at the window gazing stood;
All night she slept but little, / but on her bed lay tossing.
She saw that snow had fallen, / and hope the heart-sick maid was wellnigh losing.

Then spake the hapless maiden: / “To wash we now must go.
Should God not change the weather, / and we, in storm and snow,
To-day must stand a-washing, / before the evening cometh
We, all chilled and barefoot, / shall dead be found, while us the cold benumbeth.”

By hope they yet were gladdened, / e’en as they well might be,
That those sent out by Hilda / they ere night should see.
When the lovely maidens / upon this thought were dwelling,
It made them now more happy, / and lighter was the pain their hearts were feeling.

Then said Hilda’s daughter: / “My friend, you should beseech
The stern, ill-minded Gerlind, / that on the pebbly beach
Shoes she will allow us; / she may herself be learning
That if we go there barefoot / we soon shall freeze, and there our death be earning.”

The maidens then went seeking / King Ludwig and his queen.
He, in sleep held fondly, / in Gerlind’s arms was seen;
Both were sunk in slumber, / and the maids, their anger fearing,
Dared not them to waken: / erelong Gu-drun yet greater woe was bearing.

The weeping of the maidens / by the sleeping queen was heard,
Who quick began to chide / them with many a surly word:
“Why, you heedless maidens, / are you not to the seashore going,
There to wash my clothing, / and rinse them with clean water o’er them flowing?”

Then said Gu-drun, in sorrow: / “I know not where to go,
For in the night has fallen / a deep and heavy snow.
That we by death be stricken / unless you now are willing,
Do not send us washing; / to stand without our shoes will us be killing.”

To her the she-wolf answered; / “That I do not fear;
Now to the shore betake you, / or weal or woe to bear.
If you be slow in washing, / my wrath may you be dreading;
E’en if you die, what care I?” / At this the hopeless maids more tears were shedding.

Taking then the clothing, / they went to the water’s brink:
“Of this,” said Gu-drun, / “God willing, I will make you think.”
Then, in the cold, barefooted, / through the snow they waded;
The very high-born maidens, / forsaken in their woe, were worn and faded.

Down to the beach they plodded, / as was their wont before,
Bearing the clothing with them / to the bleak and sandy shore.
They once more were standing, / over the washing stooping;
Ever they were thinking / of their sorry plight, and sadly were they hoping.

Often now, and earnestly, / over the watery waste,
While they toiled and sorrowed, / longing looks they cast;
Still of those now dreaming / sent by the queen to free them,
Who o’er the sea were sailing. / The high-born maidens hoped erelong to see them.