Thirty-Sixth Adventure: How the Queen Gave Orders to Burn Down the Hall

"So now unlace your helmets," undaunted Hagan cried,
"I and my comrade o'er you will watch lest harm betide,
And should the men of Etzel again to fight come on,
Be sure I will not dally, but warn my lords anon."

Then many a prowest champion disarm'd his lofty head;
Down sat they on the corpses, that wide the floor bespread,
And lay in blood before them as by their hands they died;
Close still by Hate and Vengeance the noble guests were spied.

Not yet come on had evening, when the fierce king anew
And vengeance-breathing Kriemhild to fight together drew
The mighty men of Hungary; before him muster'd stood
Better than twenty thousand prepar'd for blows and blood.

Once more 'gainst the Burgundians a fearful strife arose;
Dankwart before the portal among the clustering foes
From his lords undaunted leapt forth with a light bound.
'Twas thought he long had perish'd; out stepp'd he safe and sound.

The deadly struggle lasted till it was stopp'd by night;
The guests themselves defended 'gainst Etzel's men of might,
As well became good warriors, all through a summer's day.
Ah! what redoubted champions dead before them lay!

'Twas e'en on a midsummer befell that murderous fight,
When on her nearest kinsmen and many a noble knight
Dame Kriemhild wreak'd the anguish that long in heart she bore,
Whence inly griev'd King Etzel, nor joy knew ever more.

Yet on such sweeping slaughter at first she had not thought;
She only had for vengeance on one transgressor sought.
She wish'd that but on Hagan the stroke of death might fall;
Twas the foul fiend's contriving, that they should perish all.

And now the day was ended; ill were they then bestead.
They thought, 'twere surely better that they at once were dead,
Than in slow torture lingering unhopeful of release.
Those high and haughty warriors, ah! how they yearn'd for peace!

They begg'd the Huns, King Etzel to bring before the hall;
Themselves then, blood-bedabbled and harness-stain'd withal,
With the three royal brethren from th' house mov'd faint and slow.
To whom to plain, they knew not, in their o'ermastering woe.

So near them both Etzel and Kriemhild drew;
To them belong'd the country; their host thus greater grew.
He thus bespake the strangers, "Now what would you with me?
Hope you for peace and friendship? that sure can hardly be.

"After the deadly mischief that you to me have done,
The slaughter of my kinsmen, the murder of my son,
Cause shall you have to rue it as long as I have life;
So peace and truce expect not, but war and mortal strife."

"Our grievous need compelled us," in answer Gunther said,
"My train before your warriors fell in their quarters dead;
How had I e'er deserved it, or they, that bloody end?
I came in faith to see thee, I ween'd thou wert my friend."

Then spake the bold Burgundian, the youthful Giselher,
"Ye noble knights of Etzel, who yet are living here,
In what have I offended? or how incurred your blame?
In kind and simple friendship into this land I came."

"Ah!" said they, "to our sorrow this castle and realm beside
Are both full of thy kindness; would you had never hied,
Thou and thy bloody brethren, from Worms across the Rhine!
You've fill'd our land with orphans;--so much for thee and thine!"

Thereto in angry accents Sir Gunther made reply,
"If you would turn to friendship, and this wild hate lay by
'Gainst us home-distant warriors, 'twere well for us and you.
Your king will strike the guiltless if otherwise he do."

Then to the guests said Etzel, "No equal loss, I trow,
Have you and I encounter'd; the toil, the pain, the woe,
The shame as well as damage that I have borne to-day--
For this, not one among you shall living hence away."

Then to the king said Gernot, the death-defying knight,
"At least may God work with you in this to do us right.
If you are resolv'd to slay us, to th' open space and free
Let us come down to meet you; 'twill to your honor be.

"Whate'er is to befall us, let it quick be done;
'Gainst such a host of warriors hope can we cherish none.
Scarce can we fight o'erwearied, much less attempt to fly.
How long will you compel us to pant and struggle ere we die?"

Then would the knights of Etzel their wish have granted straight,
And let come out the strangers before the palace gate.
Wroth thereat was Kriemhild; she had heard it soon.
Quickly to the strangers was denied the boon.

"No! no! Hungarian heroes! My counsel take for true,
And grant them not their longing; beware of what you do;
Ne'er let those bloody murderers come out from yonder hall,
Or surely must your kinsmen endure a deadly fall.

"Were none of them yet living but Uta's children there,
My high-descended brothers, if once they got fresh air
To cool their heated harness, you'd one and all be lost;
The world has no such warriors; you'd learn it to your cost."

Then spake the youthful Giselher, "Fairest sister mine,
I little ween'd thy summons call'd me o'er the Rhine,
In this net of treason and mortal strait to lie.
How here of these Hungarians have I deserved to die?

"To thee true was I ever; I never did thee wrong;
Loving and confiding I hither came along,
For thou, I thought, dear sister, didst bear like love to me.
Oh! look on us with kindness! what else should we expect from thee?"

"Talk not to me of kindness! Unkind is all my thought.
Against me he of Trony such grievous wrong has wrought,
Never can I forgive it as long as I have life;
For that you all must suffer," said Etzel's furious wife.

"Yet would you to me Hagan up for a prisoner give,
No longer I'd refuse you, but fain would let you live,
For you're indeed my brethren, all of one mother sprung;
Then of the fit atonement I'd speak these lords among."

"Now God in heaven forbid it!" Sir Gernot proudly said;
"Were there a thousand of us, we'd rather all lie dead,
All thy noble kinsmen, than e'er that only one
Give up to thee a captive; no! that can ne'er be done."

"So we must die," said Giselher, "'scape can we never hence;
Still valiantly and knightly we'll stand on our defence,
Let him then, who would prove us, do now his worst endeavor;
I never friend abandoned, nor will abandon ever."

Then, scorning longer silence, cried Dankwart void of fear,
"Ay! my good brother Hagan stands not lonely here.
They who peace deny us, shall soon their anger rue.
We'll teach you bitter knowledge; take these my words for true."

Then spake the queen, "Brave warriors, this hour to you belongs;
Up! closer to the staircase! take vengeance for my wrongs!
What thrift requites good service, I'll show you well to-day.
The insolence of Hagan I will in full repay.

"Let not a soul forth sally; their courage soon we'll tame;
I'll straight at the four corners bid set the hall on flame,
And thus will I revenge me at once for all my woes."
Quick Etzel's knights made ready, and fell upon her foes.

Who yet without were standing, they instant drove within
By dint of darts and broadsword; deafening rose the din;
Yet naught their valiant followers could from the princes part;
Close link'd they stood together with fix'd and faithful heart.

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

"We all are lost together," each to his neighbor 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 torment'd, take here a draught of blood.
In such a heat, believe me, 'tis better far than wine.
Naught'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 what 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."

'Twas well for the Burgundians that vaulted was the roof;
This was, in all their danger, the more to their behoof.
Only about the windows from fire they suffer'd sore.
Still, as their spirit impell'd them, themselves they bravely bore.

In such extremes of anguish pass'd off the dreary night.
Before the hall yet sleepless stood the gleeman wight,
And leaning on his buckler, with Hagan by his side,
Look'd out, what further mischief might from the Huns betide.

Then thus bespoke he Hagan, "Let's back into the hall;
These Huns will then imagine that we have perish'd all
In the fiery torment they kindled to our ill.
They'll see yet some among us who'll do them battle still."

Then the youthful Giselher, the bold Burgundian, spake,
"Methinks the breeze is fresh'ning, the day begins to break.
Better times may wait us--grant it God in heaven!
To us my sister Kriemhild a fatal feast has given."

With that outspake a warrior, "Ay! now I see the day.
Since we can hope no better in this our hard assay,
Let each don straight the harness, and think upon his life;
For soon will be upon us King Etzel's murderous wife."

The host he little doubted but all the guests were dead,
By toil and fiery torture alike so ill bestead.
But yet within were living six hundred fearless wights;
Crowned king about him ne'er had better knights.

The scouts who watched the strangers, had now the truth descried,
That, spite of all the travail and torment that had tried
The strength of lords and liegemen, they had survived it all,
And safe and sound as ever stalk'd up and down the hall.

'Twas told the queen that many unharm'd were yet to see;
"No! no!" made Kriemhild answer, "Sure it can never be
That such a fiery tempest has spared a single head.
Far sooner will I credit that one and all are dead."

Still long'd both lords and liegemen for mercy and for grace,
If they might look for either from any there in place;
But neither grace nor mercy found they in Hunnish land,
So vengeance for their ruin they took with eager hand.

And now by early morning a deafening hostile din
Greeted the weary warriors; sore peril hemm'd them in.
From all sides round, against them a shower of missiles flew;
The dauntless band full knightly stood on defence anew.

The mighty men of Etzel came on embolden'd more,
For that they hoped from Kriemhild to win her precious store;
And others, too, would frankly their king's command obey;
Thus had full many among them to look on death that day.

Of promises and presents strange marvels might be told.
She bade bring bucklers forward heap'd high with ruddy gold;
She gave to all who'd take it; none empty went away.
Never were spent such treasures to work a foe's decay.

The best part of the champions came on in warlike gear.
Then cried the valiant Folker, "We're still to be found here.
Warriors advance to battle ne'er saw I yet so fain,
As those, who to destroy us, King Etzel's gold have ta'en."

Then from within cried many, "Nearer, ye warriors, still!
What's to be done, do quickly, whether for good or ill.
Here's not a man among us but is resolv'd to die."
Darts straight fill'd all their bucklers, so quick the Huns let fly.

What can I tell you further? twelve hundred men or more
To force the fatal entrance attempted o'er and o'er.
But with sharp wounds the strangers soon cool'd their fiery mood.
None the stern strife could sever; flow might you see the blood

From gashes deep and deadly; full many there were slain,
Comrade there for comrade wept and wail'd in vain,
Till all in death together sank Etzel's valiants low.
Sore mourn'd for them their kinsmen in wild but bootless woe.