Seventeenth Adventure: How Siegfried was Bewailed and Buried

Till nightfall there they tarried, and then the Rhine recross'd;
Never yet hunted warriors at such a grievous cost.
Many a fair lady sorrow'd for a hart they slew that day;
The life of many a champion must for that hunting pay.

Of overweening outrage now must tell my strain,
And dire revenge remorseless; the dead, thus foully slain,
As though athirst for horrors, Hagan bade bear away,
And cast before the chamber where unweeting Kriemhild lay.

He bade his followers darkling down lay him at the door,
That she might surely find him, as she stepp'd the threshold o'er.
Going forth to matins ere the dawn of day,
For from a single service she seldom kept away.

The minster bells were ringing at th' early 'custom'd hour.
Upstarted then fair Kriemhild, and wak'd each maid in bower.
For light she call'd and vesture that she might straight be gown'd.
A chamberlain hasten'd thither, and there Sir Siegfried found.

He saw him blood-bespatter'd, with weed all dabbled o'er;
He knew not 'twas his master stretch'd on the reeking floor;
In went he to the chamber; with him the light he took,
By which on such deep horror sad Kriemhild was to look.

As she now with her maidens to church would take her way,
The chamberlain bespoke her; "Lady, a little stay;
A murder'd knight is lying close before the sill."
"O woe!" cried fearful Kriemhild, "what means this tale of ill?"

Ere yet she could see clearly 'twas her lord who lay there lay slain,
The question put by Hagan rush'd to her mind again,
How he could guard her husband; then anguish first she felt.
From his death for ever with lingering grief she dwelt.

To earth down sank she senseless, that not a word she spoke.
There lay the fair, the friendless, beneath that mortal stroke.
Then, from her swoon reviving, up from the ground she sprang,
And shriek'd so shrill and sudden, that all the chamber rang.

Then said her trembling maidens, "What stranger here lies slain?"
From her mouth a bloody torrent burst through heart-quelling pain.
"No, no!" said she, "'tis Siegfried, my love, that there lies low.
'Twas Brunhild gave the counsel, and Hagan struck the blow."

Thither where the corpse was lying, her maids their lady led;
With her lily hand, all trembling, she raised his languish'd head;
Howe'er with blood 'twas dabbled, her lord at once she knew.
There lay the Chief of Netherland, a piteous sight to view.

Then weeping thus and wailing the queen her sorrows pour'd;
"Woe's me, woe's me for ever! sure no fair foeman's sword
Shiver'd thy failing buckler; 'twas murder stopp'd thy breath;
O that I knew who did it! death I'd requite with death."

Then wept and wail'd full shrilly her gentle maidens all
With their beloved mistress; woe were they for the fall
Of their noble master there in his blood embrued.
Hagan the wrath of Brunhild had wreak'd with deadly feud.

Then spake the sorrow-laden, "Go hence with your best speed,
Quick call up Siegfried's liegemen, his warriors good at need;
To Siegmund, too, let tidings of my deep loss be borne,
That he may help his daughter his murder'd son to mourn."

A messenger ran quickly, and came where slept the band
Of Siegfried's chosen champions from the Nibelunger's land.
Their merry cheer his tidings chang'd to sorrow deep.
His tale they would not credit until they saw him weep.

Thence quickly came he running where aged Siegmund lay
From the king's aching eyelids sweet sleep was far away.
His heart, I ween, foreboded the deed that had been done,
And that the childless father no more should see his son.

"Wake, wake! Sir King! Sir Siegmund! Kriemhild, my lady dear,
In haste hath sent me hither; she's plung'd in doleful drear;
Woe, that all woe surpasses, wrings her inmost heart.
Help her to mourn the misery, whereof you own a part."

Then said the king, half-rising, "What has happ'd of woe
To the fair Lady Kriemhild, which here thou com'st to show?"
"Alas!" replied he weeping, "concealment here is vain;
The noble Netherlander, Siegfried, thy son, is slain."

Then said the good King Siegmund, "Leave off such idle sport; For my sake
spread no further this mischievous report.
Were't true indeed that Siegfried my son were made away,
Ne'er could I cease from wailing e'en to my dying day."

"If me you will not credit, but still will doubt my tale,
Hark then yourself to Kriemhild, hear her so wildly wail,
Her and her band of maidens, for noble Siegfried dead."
Then sorely shudder'd Siegmund; deep cause had he for dread.

Straight from his bed up sprang he, and his hundred warriors too;
Their long sharp-edged weapons with hasty hand they drew.
Where they heard the wailing, headlong they thither ran;
Thither too Siegfried's thousand, each a chosen man,

Led by the shrieks of horror, ran with like eager speed.
Some of the household fancied, they came for funeral weed.
Well might they be confounded, and from their senses start.
The sting of deadly sorrow was deep in every heart.

Then said the good King Siegmund, when Kriemhild he had seen,
"Woe worth our journey hither! would it had never been!
'Midst such good friends and kinsmen, who has this murder done,
Which thee hath cost thy husband, and me, alas! my son?"

The noble lady answer'd, "Could I the murderer find,
I'd wreak on him such vengeance with all my heart and mind,
That all his friends should sorrow at the woful tale,
While they had eyes for weeping, while they had tongues to wail."

His arms round the dead champion Sir Siegmund trembling threw;
Thereat so loud the sorrow of each beholder grew,
That the proud hall of Gunther and the palace high
And Worms, through all his quarters, rung to the thrilling cry.

But none there could bring comfort to Siegfried's lady true.
Out from his bloodied vesture his comely limbs they drew,
And wash'd his wound wide-gaping, and laid him on the bier.
Woe were his weeping followers through heart-consuming drear.

Out then spake his warriors from the Nibelungers' land;
"Revenge will we our master each with his own good hand
This very house must harbor him who has done the deed."
Then hasten'd Siegfried's meiny to don their warlike weed.

Now did the chosen squadron each with his buckler stand,
Eleven hundred champions; at head of all the band
Was seen the reverend Siegmund; to faith and honor true
Fain would he take vengeance on those who Siegfried slew.

With whom they were to battle they could not yet discern,
Unless it were with Gunther and his Burgundians stern,
For with them did Siegfried to the fatal hunting go.
When Kriemhild saw them weapon'd, 'twas ill on ill, 'twas woe on woe.

However deep her anguish, however great her need,
She fear'd to see her followers the Nibelungers bleed
Beneath her brother's numbers; so, their stout minds to bend,
She gave them gentle counsel, as friend should deal with friend.

Thus said the mournful lady, "Siegmund, my lord, give ear.
What is it you are doing? some rash resolve I fear.
King Gunther has about him full many a man of might;
You and all must perish in such unequal fight."

Each had bound on his buckler; each held his sword in hand;
They yearn'd for blood and vengeance; with prayer and with command
She press'd th' impatient warriors to choose the milder part;
They call'd for instant battle; that cut her to the heart.

She spake, "My good lord Siegmund, lay thoughts of vengeance by
Till some more fitting season; then with you fain will I
Revenge my murder'd husband; could I but come to know
Who has made me thus a widow, woe should be his for woe.

"Many are the haughty warriors here on the banks of Rhine,
So keep peace for the present; such sure advice is mine;
The match is too unequal, thirty at least to one;
God do to them hereafter as they to us have done.

"Stay here, and in my sorrow be pleas'd a part to take,
Mine and my lord's revengers, till day begin to break,
And help me then to coffin my lord who there lies low."
Then all the warriors answer'd, "Dear lady, be it so."

In sooth it was a wonder that none can tell aright,
How wept and loud lamented many a dame and many a knight,
That e'en unto the city the rueful wail was borne;
In haste the noble burghers came when they heard them mourn.

They with the guests lamented, for sore they griev'd as well.
What was the offence of Siegfried, none of them could tell,
For which by stroke so sudden the chief had lost his life.
There with the high-born ladies wept each good burgher's wife.

Joiners and smiths were summon'd to frame a coffin strong,
Beset with gold and silver, massy and broad and long,
And braced with bars of iron to guard the frailer wood.
Then all the crowd about it in dreary sorrow stood.

And now the night was over; forth peep'd the morning fair;
Straight bade 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 Dankrat'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 to 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! 'twas you, your friend that slew."
Thereat the knights of Siegfried gripp'd to their swords anew.

This more distracted Kriemhild; when in her anxious pain
Two friends she saw approaching to seek and mourn the slain,
Gernot her good brother, and Giselher the young.
Their eyes were blind with weeping; true grief their bosoms wrung.

They wept for Kriemhild's husband, and inly sorrowed too.
Mass now all would be singing; the doors they open threw,
And straight into the minster both men and women press'd.
Those, who could well spare Siegfried, mourn'd for him with the rest.

Gernot then and Giselher thus spake, "My sister dear!
For this sad death take comfort, all must have sorrow here.
We'll do our best to help thee as long as we have life."
Yet could not they nor others console the widow'd wife.

His coffin now was ready; it was about midday;
From the bier he was lifted whereon till now he lay.
Yet would not his pale lady have him laid at once in ground.
His friends and faithful followers to further toil were bound.

In richest stuff, deep sighing, they wrapp'd the clay-cold dead.
Not one, I ween, was present, but bitter tears he shed.
Then wail'd the high-born Uta; deep teen in heart she bore;
And all her dames lamented that Siegfried was no more.

Soon as 'twas heard, the murder'd had now been laid in chest,
And that the mass was singing, to church the people press'd.
For his soul what offerings were brought in all men's view!
E'en 'midst foes so deadly, friends had he firm and true.

Then the wretched Kriemhild her chamberlains bespake,
"Now must you toil and trouble suffer for my sake.
To those who honor'd Siegfried, and dear his widow hold,
For the soul of the departed deal out his treasur'd gold."

No child, howe'er so little, just knowing wrong from right,
But brought an offering thither; ere buried was the knight,
At least a hundred masses they sang the whole day long;
Thither all friends of Siegfried's flock'd in, a numerous throng.

When now the chants were over, the crowd would wend away.
Then spake the sobbing Kriemhild, "Ah! leave me not, I pray,
This night alone to sorrow, and watch th' unheeding dead.
With him, my own beloved, all my joys lie withered.

"Three nights, three days, I'll keep him, and gaze upon him still,
Till of the dearly dear one I thus have had my fill.
What if God be willing that me, too, death should seize?
Then well at once were ended poor Kriemhild's miseries."

The people of the city went home as darkness fell;
The priests and monks attendant, and all the train, who well
Had serv'd the champion living, fair Kriemhild begg'd to stay.
Their night was full of sorrow, of dreariment their day.

Many of the woful mourners nor meat nor drink would taste,
But for all such as needed at hand was ready plac'd
Good store of each provision; this Siegmund took in hand.
There mickle toil awaited the Nibelungers' band.

For three whole days together, as we have heard men say,
Whoe'er had skill in singing, on them hard labor lay.
Sore were their hearts afflicted, as for the soul they pray'd
Of that redoubted champion, who there a corpse was laid.

There, too, the poor and needy, who of his own had nought,
In hand, by Kriemhild furnish'd, a golden offering brought
From Siegfried's proper treasure; when his body lifeless lay,
Marks full many a thousand for his soul were given away.

Landed rents and revenues she scatter'd wide around,
Wherever sacred convents and holy men were found,
And to the poor gave silver and clothes in plenteous store.
She proved by all her actions what love to him she bore.

On the third morn when duly the mass was to be sung,
With country folk all weeping (such grief their bosoms wrung)
The churchyard of the minster was fill'd from end to end.
Each wail'd the dead, each sorrow'd as for his dearest friend.

In four days successive were scattered 'mongst the poor
Marks some thirty thousand for Siegfried's soul, or more.
To the good knight such honor his friends desir'd to pay,
When his life was brought to nothing, and his beauty passed away.

The singing now was over, God had been serv'd as due;
Then with o'ermastering sorrow strove that empassion'd crew.
Next to the grave they brought him from out the minster near.
One weeping, one wild wailing was then alone to hear.

Loud shrieking, mov'd the people around the bearers slow;
None there, nor man nor woman, but wore one face of woe.
'Twas sung; 'twas said, as fitted, ere he in ground was laid.
Ah! what good priests to Siegfried the last sad duties paid!

Ere to the grave advancing his own true lady came,
Her sense-o'erpowering sorrow so shook her wasted frame,
That oft was need to sprinkle her from the cool-springing well.
Boundless was her distraction; the like no tongue can tell.

'Twas strange, such utter anguish dislodged not the frail life.
With eager haste to help her flock'd many a wailing wife.
Then spake the queen, "Ye warriors! My murder'd Siegfried's best,
By your love to your master grant me this last request.

"Let me have one small pleasure 'mid pains so manifold;
The stately head of Siegfried I would once more behold."
She begg'd so long, so wailful, that less they could not do
Than force the coffin open, and give the corpse to view.

So thither they led the lady, where lay the clay-cold dead.
With her fine snowy fingers she rais'd his stately head,
And kiss'd him lifeless lying; long bending there she stood;
Her fair eyes for anguish wept o'er him tears of blood.

How woful was their parting! Borne was she thence away,
Walk she could no longer; insensible she lay
Through bitterness of sorrow, so lovely and so still,
As if Death would have smitten, yet wanted heart to kill.

When now the noble champion was duly laid in ground,
O'erwhelm'd with boundless sorrow the valiant chiefs were found,
That from the land of Nibelung had come with him erewhile;
King Siegmund too thereafter was seldom seen to smile.

Many were there among them who made unceasing moan,
Nor ate nor drank for anguish till three whole days were gone.
Then hard constraint compell'ed them to life against their will,
And they from grief recovered, as haps to thousands still.

In deadly swoon unconscious the widow'd Kriemhild lay,
Both day and night unalter'd e'en to the second day,
Nor heard whate'er was spoken, nor mark'd what pass'd around;
In like unheeding sorrow was eke King Siegmund drown'd.

With pain back to his senses return'd the childless chief;
Shrunk were his powers, and weaken'd through the strong dint of grief,
Nor was there ground for wonder. Then said his liegemen near
"My lord, best travel homeward; we must not tarry here."