Epics and Romances of the Middle Ages

by Wilhelm Wägner

I. DIETRICH AND HILDEBRAND.

Dietmar, second son of Hugdieterich, ruled with a strong hand at Bern, and refused to acknowledge his elder brother Ermenrich, or any other king as his suzerain. He was a mighty warrior, and so terrible in battle that few of his enemies dared look him in the face. But at home he was gentle to all, especially to his wife Odilia, daughter of Elsung, or, according to another saga, daughter of a Danish king. His eldest son, Dietrich, was the joy of his heart. At twelve years old the lad had the strength of a mighty warrior. His fair hair fell over his shoulders in heavy curls. His figure was tall and slender, yet strong and well-knit. He had regular features, but when he was angry, he was terrible to look upon. From his earliest childhood any one might see that he would become a lion-hearted hero. It was even said that his breath was like glowing fire when he was angry, and this the people thought an undoubted proof that he was descended from a demon ancestor.

When Dietrich was five years old, a famous hero came to his father’s court. This was Hildebrand, son of Herbrand, and grandson of the faithful Berchtung. As we said before, Herbrand’s fief consisted of the district and castle of Garden. He had brought up his son in the traditional way, so that he grew up to be a perfect warrior, and a wise man. King Dietmar was so pleased with his guest that he appointed him to be his son’s teacher and governor. This was the beginning of a friendship between master and pupil that lasted till death parted them.

The Sword Nagelring.

Now it came to pass that a giant and giantess invaded Dietmar’s land; and slew, burnt, and plundered the people. They were so strong that no one could resist them. The king went against them at the head of an army; but could not find them. He saw everywhere on his borders the desolation they had caused; but none could tell him where they were concealed. At this ill-success young Dietrich and his master were as much distressed as the king himself. They determined to search for the giants till they found them, though the search should cost them years.

They wandered over mountains and valleys seeking the monsters, but seeing nothing of them. One day they set out to hunt with their hawks and hounds, and came to a great forest, in the middle of which was a green meadow, where they thought they should find plenty of game. They uncoupled the hounds, and rode, one to the left and the other to the right of the meadow, holding their weapons in readiness. As Dietrich slowly advanced, keeping a sharp look out, a dwarf crossed his path. Stooping from his horse, he caught up the mannikin and placed him in front of him. The little prisoner made so loud a moan, that Hildebrand heard him, and galloped across the meadow to see what was the matter. Catching sight of the dwarf,—

“Hillo!” he cried. “Hold the rascal tight. He knows all roads, both on, and under the earth. He is Elbegast, the prince of thieves, and is certain to be a friend of the robbers.”

The dwarf shrieked louder than before, and declared that far from being their friend, he had suffered much wrong at the hands of the giant Grim and his sister Hilde, that he had even been obliged to forge for them the good sword Nagelring, and the strong helmet Hildegrim, and had been forced to lead them to their victims by hidden ways known only to himself. He swore to help the warriors if they wished to fight the unholy pair.

The mannikin was therefore set at liberty. He drew a long breath, and said:

“You could not catch me now, if I wished to escape you; but I will serve you faithfully, that I may be freed from the power of the giants. Come back to this place at day-break to-morrow, and I will give you the sword Nagelring, without which you cannot conquer the monster. I shall steal it from him as truly as I am Elbegast, the prince of thieves. Then I will show you his foot-marks in the dewy grass, that you may track him to his hollow mountain, where, if you slay him and his wicked sister, you will find rich booty to reward you.”

The dwarf had no sooner uttered these words than he vanished. The next morning, before daylight, the prince and his companion came to the edge of the green meadow talking of this and that. They agreed that the word of a mountain goblin was not to be trusted, and that thievish Elbegast would probably be false like all his kindred. Their conversation was interrupted by a strange clanking sound, and at the same moment they noticed the rosy dawn overspreading the sky. They started to their feet, and looked about. Elbegast came up to them dragging a huge sword. Dietrich seized it with a cry of joy, unsheathed it and swung it in the air.

“Now,” cried Elbegast, “you have the strength of twelve men, and can fight the monster on equal terms. Look carefully and you will see the marks of his shoes distinctly printed on the dewy grass. I had to make his shoes of iron for he is miserly, and said that leather was too dear. Follow the tracks, and they will lead you to the entrance of his cave. I can go with you no farther.”

He vanished, and the heroes followed the giant’s tracks in obedience to the dwarf’s advice.

At length they reached a great cliff, but there was no opening to be seen large enough to serve as a door. A few cracks might be noticed here and there in the stone, so small that only a dwarf or a lizard could have crept in; certainly not a man in armour, and still less a giant. Hildebrand thought that a bit of the rock might perhaps be fitted into the cliff instead of a door. He tried to shake and loosen any projecting piece of the cliff that he could clutch. His efforts were not in vain. An enormous block of stone stirred and rocked beneath his hands, and just as Dietrich came to his assistance, it fell thundering into the valley below. The sunlight penetrated the darkness of a deep cavern, in the background of which a great fire was burning. Grim was lying on a bed of bear and wolf skins close to the flames. Wakened by the falling rock, he raised himself on his elbow, and perceiving the warriors’ approach, looked about for his sword; not finding it, he snatched up a burning log, and rushed upon Dietrich. His blows sounded like claps of thunder, and fell as thick as hail; it was only the young warrior’s nimbleness that saved his life, which was endangered not only by the force of the blows, but by the smoke and the burning sparks that flew from the log. Hildebrand would have gone to his pupil’s assistance had not the latter forbidden him. And indeed he soon had enough to do to defend himself, for the giantess now appeared, and catching Hildebrand up in her arms, held him tight. It was a deadly embrace. The warrior could not breathe. He struggled in vain to free himself from the sinewy arms that held him. At last the giantess threw him on his back, pressing his hands and arms as though in a vice, and making the blood spirt from under his nails. She looked about for a rope with which to bind and hang him. Hildebrand called to his companion to help him in his need. Dietrich seeing his friend’s danger leaped over the giant’s weapon with a despairing spring, and at the same time seizing his sword in both hands, split the monster’s head from the crown to the collar-bone. Then turning upon the giantess, he slew her after a short but sharp engagement.

Hildebrand now staggered to his feet, and said that from henceforth he would regard his former pupil as his master, because that woman had been harder to deal with than any foe he had ever met before. Dietrich and Hildebrand took the treasure they found hidden away in a side cave, as their meed of victory, and brought it home to Bern.

King Dietmar rejoiced in the glory of his heroic son, whose name had become famous in every land; but he did not live long after these events. He died loved and honoured by all. When Dietrich ascended the throne, he gave his young brother Diether into Hildebrand’s charge, begging his friend to teach the boy to be a hero and a worthy scion of his noble race.

And Hildebrand did his best, with the help of his wife, the good high-souled Ute (Uote), whom he married soon after. Together they taught the boy to love what was good and true, to be brave, and to be not only an admirer but a doer of high deeds.

Sigenot.

Soon after Grim and Hilde had fallen under Dietrich’s sword, their nephew, strong Sigenot, a giant who lived in the Western Mountains, came down into the forest to visit his relations. When he discovered their dead bodies in the cave, he howled with rage and swore to avenge their death. A dwarf for whom he called told him of the fight between his uncle and aunt and the heroes, but Sigenot would not believe the story. He thought that Grim and Hilde had been murdered in their sleep by Dietrich and his comrade for the sake of their hoard.

Years passed on. One evening the heroes were seated together in the great hall of the palace, drinking their wine and talking.

“Master,” said King Dietrich, “I never saw a living wife embrace her husband so passionately as Hilde did you that day in the cave. I think the Lady Ute would be angry if she heard how the giantess hugged you.”

“What a monster she was,” answered Hildebrand with a shudder, “and you freed me from her clutches.”

“Yes,” said the king, laughing, “it showed my generosity. I returned you good for evil that time, for you know I might have remembered how many thrashings and floggings you had given me when a boy. Now, confess, was I not generous?”

“I am quite willing to do so,” replied Hildebrand with a smile, and then added gravely; “but do not pride yourself too much on the past, for the giant Sigenot has long been watching for us in the mountains, that he may fall upon us and avenge his uncle Grim’s death. From what I hear, he is so strong that no mortal man can withstand him, and even an army would fall before him like corn under the sickle.”

“Hey! what new story is this?” cried the king. “So Grim’s avenger is lying in wait in the mountains? Why did no one tell me before? I will start to-morrow in search of him, and free my realm from the monster.”

“What!” cried one of the guests.

“Are you going to attack the giant?” asked another.

“The murderous Sigenot!” added a third.

“Listen to me, Dietrich, my pupil,” said Hildebrand solemnly, “he is not heroic, but foolhardy, who undertakes to do the impossible, and it is impossible to conquer that giant.”

“Listen, dear master,” answered Dietrich; “do you remember how you taught me that he is a hero who undertakes what is apparently impossible, because he trusts in his strength, and in the justice of his cause? He is a hero, whether he gains the crown of victory or meets with death. My cause is just, because I go forth to free my realm and my people from the power of the monster.”

“Sire,” cried Hildebrand, “you are no longer my pupil, but my comrade, and as your comrade I will accompany you to the great battle.”

The king answered after a short pause, “My master used to say, ‘One against one is the way of true warriors; two against one is the way of cowards’—so I must go alone.”

“If you do not return in eight days,” returned the master, “I will follow you, and be your liberator, or your avenger, or your companion in death.”

“Why make so much ado?” cried Wolfhart; “the king will strike old Long-legs dead, or else uncle Hildebrand will do it, and if they both should fail, I will follow them, and I wager my head that I will lead him like a captive bear by a rope to the castle here, and then hang him over the battlements, where he may stay till his gossips in hell come to fetch him home.”

DIETRICH CHASING THE ELK.

Dietrich then set out on his journey. On the evening of the third day he came in sight of the Mountains. He felt so cheery and so strong that he would not have feared to offer battle to all the giants in the world. As he was lying on the grass, sunk in happy reverie, he saw a stately elk, sprang on his horse, and followed it until he came up with it, when drawing his sword he stabbed it in the neck, so that it fell dead. He lighted a fire, roasted a bit of the elk for his supper, and ate it, washing it down with some cups of wine he drew from the skin at his saddle bow.

A cry of agony disturbed him in the midst of his enjoyment. He looked up, and saw a naked giant covered from head to foot with bristly hair, who was holding a dwarf firmly bound to the end of his iron club. The mannikin shrieked to the warrior for help, affirming that the monster was about to eat him alive. Dietrich at once advanced towards the wild man, and offered him a fair exchange. He said he might have the elk instead of the dwarf, and that he would find it a larger and juicier mouthful.

“Get out of the way, you dog,” bellowed the giant. “Get out of the way, or I will roast you at your own fire, and eat you up, armour and all.”

The hero’s anger was stirred at this address, and he drew Nagelring from its sheath, while the giant swept the dwarf from off his club as easily as a snowflake. Then the battle began, and raged until both combatants were so weary that they had to rest awhile. The king again offered to make peace with the monster, because he had come out to fight with the master and not with the servant. A shout of scornful laughter was the answer he received, and then the giant cried in a mighty voice that made the trees tremble to their roots, “Do you think that a little smidget like you could conquer Sigenot? He would bind you to a stake as easily as I should that dwarf, and would leave you to die in agony.”

And now the fray was renewed. The dwarf, who had freed himself from his bonds, kept well behind Dietrich, and advised him what to do.

“Hit him over the ear with the hilt of your sword, the blade is of no use with him.”

Dietrich did as he was advised, and the monster fell with a crash beneath his blow. The sword-hilt had penetrated deep into his skull; a second and a third blow put an end to him.

“Now quick, let us away,” cried the dwarf, “before Sigenot, king of the Mountains, comes down upon us. Should he find us here, we are lost.”

Proud of his victory, Dietrich explained the object of his quest.

“Noble hero,” said the mannikin, “you cannot escape your fate. If by a miracle you are victorious, we poor dwarfs will be freed from an intolerable tyranny, in gratitude for which boon we will be your faithful friends as long as you live. Our father, Alberich, left the rule over thousands of our people in equal portions to me, his eldest son, Waldung, and to Egerich, his younger son. But in spite of our caps of darkness, and all our magic arts, Sigenot has enslaved us, and holds us now in such vile bondage that many die of hardships, and many more are devoured by him.”

“Well,” said Dietrich, “show your gratitude by pointing out the way to Sigenot.”

The dwarf showed the hero the snow-topped mountain where his enemy lived, drew the cap of darkness over his head, and disappeared.

Dietrich set out, and about mid-day arrived at the regions of ice and snow. Long grey moss hung pendant from the branches of the pines, and covered the stems to the root. A thick mist suddenly rose, and hid the mountain. All at once the mist parted like a curtain, and Dietrich saw a beautiful woman in snow-white garments, a diadem of precious stones on her head, and round her throat a necklace that shone like the stars. She raised her finger warningly, and said, “Ride back, hero of Bern, or you are lost. The destroyer is lying in ambush for you.”

She glided past with inaudible steps, and vanished among the glaciers, leaving Dietrich lost in astonishment, and wondering whether it were the goddess Freya, or the elf-queen Virginal that he had seen.

He was startled out of his reverie by a shout, and at the same moment perceived the gigantic warrior hastening to meet him.

“So you have come at last,” he cried, “to give me an opportunity of revenging the murder of Grim and Hilde.”

They began to fight without more ado. As Dietrich tried to make use of what he thought a favourable chance, the blade of his sword Nagelring was caught in an overhanging bough. All his efforts to withdraw it were in vain. At last the steel broke, and at the same moment a blow of the giant’s club stretched the hero senseless on the ground. His helmet was unhurt, but the blow had been so heavy that it left him unconscious. The giant now fell upon him, kneaded his defenceless body both with his hands and his knees, and then dragged him away into his dismal den.

Master Hildebrand waited for eight days with great impatience; then, finding that the king did not return, he took leave of his wife, and set forth in search of him.

In the wood near the snow-capped mountain Hildebrand found the king’s horse, and further on the broken sword. He could no longer doubt what his friend’s fate had been. Vengeance, not deliverance, was now alone what he hoped for, and he rode on unheeding the warning that the little dwarf Waldung called after him.

On perceiving the new comer the giant rushed upon him. The battle between them was long and fierce, and Sigenot disdained no weapon of defence. He tore up bushes and even trees, and threw them at the hero. When Hildebrand at last tried to defend himself by a ruse, the club came down upon his head, and struck him senseless to the ground. “Come on, long beard,” shouted Sigenot, “Hilde and Grim are avenged at last.”

So saying, he bound the fallen warrior hand and foot, and seizing him by the head, flung him over his shoulder, and bore him to his cave, singing loudly the while.

The giant’s dwelling was large and lofty. The roof was supported by stone pillars, and a carbuncle in the centre shed a pleasant light over the foreground, while the back of the cavern was dark and gloomy in the extreme. On entering, the giant threw down his burden with such force that Hildebrand thought every bone in his body was broken. Sigenot then went to a side cave to fetch an iron chain with which to bind his prisoner, saying that he would not be long away.

When a weak man is in sore straits, he at once gives himself up for lost. Not so the hero. He never abandons hope until he has tried every mode of rescue, however poor. It was thus with Hildebrand. Looking round him, he perceived his good sword, which the giant had seized as rightful booty, lying in a distant corner, and he thought that he might yet fight and gain the victory, if he could only cut the cords that bound his wrists. He was fastened to a square pillar with sharp corners. He sawed the cords on his wrists against the pillar, and cut them through. No sooner were his hands free, than he undid the ropes and cords about his feet, and snatching up his sword, hid behind the pillar, which he intended to use as a protection, his shield having been left in the wood.

Sigenot returned with the chains, and looked about in astonishment. His prisoner was gone. Suddenly he caught sight of him behind a pillar, and the battle raged anew. The ground trembled beneath the giant’s tread, and the rocks re-echoed the sound of blows. The combatants were now fighting in the dark background of the cave, led there by the gradual retreat of Hildebrand, when suddenly the hero heard his name called from the depths beyond. He recognised the king’s voice, and the knowledge that his friend yet lived gave added strength to his arm. A few minutes more, and the giant was stretched at his feet.

The victory was won. He cut off the monster’s head, and whilst resting for a moment after his exertion, he heard Dietrich’s voice exclaiming:

“Hildebrand, dear master, help me out of the serpent’s hole. There are still some adders here, alive, though I have slain and eaten many more.”

Finding that the king was confined in a deep hole, Hildebrand looked round for a rope or a ladder, with which to help him out. Whilst engaged in this search, he was joined by the dwarf Waldung, who gave him a ladder of ropes, by means of which the king was restored to the light of day.

“Hildebrand,” said Dietrich, taking a long breath of the fresh pure air, “you are not my comrade, but my master.”

After this, the heroes followed the dwarf into his subterranean kingdom, where he provided them with food and drink, and offered them costly treasures. The noblest gift that Dietrich accepted was his sword Nagelring mended, hardened, and newly adorned with gold and precious stones, so that it was more beautiful as well as stronger than before.

The heroes now returned to Bern, where they were received with great joy.

Queen Virginal.

Once when Dietrich and Hildebrand were hunting in the wild mountains of Tyrol, the king confessed that he had never been able to forget Queen Virginal, who had come out to warn him of Sigenot’s approach.

“You would find it as easy to gain the love of a star as to wile Queen Virginal away from her glaciers and snow mountains,” said Hildebrand.

While the heroes were thus talking together, a tiny little mannikin dressed in full armour suddenly stood before them.

“Noble warriors,” he said, “you must know that I am Bibung, the unconquerable protector of Queen Virginal, ruler of all the dwarfs and giants in these mountains. With my help she chased thievish Elbegast away from her dominions; but the wretch has now invaded her realm with the help of the magician Ortgis, his giants and his lind-worms. He has forced her by his black art to pay him a shameful tribute. He obliges her every full moon to give him one of her beautiful maidens, whom he then imprisons, fattens, and eats for his dinner. So Jeraspunt, her palace, is filled with weeping and mourning. My lady, hearing that you conquered the dread Sigenot, entreats you to come to her aid; therefore hasten to Jeraspunt and rescue our great queen.”

The heroes consented, and asked to be shown the way. The dwarf guided them till they came within sight of a wondrous building shining on the heights in the light of the evening sun. Hildebrand broke the silence that had fallen on them by exclaiming, “Truly if the lady Ute were not my wife, I should be inclined to try my luck with Queen Virginal; but as things are, I will do my best to help you to win her. Well, Bibung!—why, where in the world has the rascal got to?”

“The unconquerable protector of the queen has a wholesome terror of Ortgis,” laughed Dietrich. “But now let us on to the palace.”

“Night is the time for witches to journey, not honest men,” said Hildebrand, “so let us stretch ourselves on the soft moss, and rest until morning.”

The next morning was dull and misty, and a snow storm beat in the faces of the warriors as they climbed the steep mountain on foot, by a road impassable for horses. On and on they went, a weary way. As they stopped to slake their thirst at a spring, they heard a woman’s voice shrieking for help. A girl rushed up to them and entreated their aid against terrible Ortgis, to whom she had been delivered according to the treaty, and who was now hunting her down with his dogs. At the same moment the holloa of the huntsman was heard, and in another the battle of the heroes with Ortgis and his followers had begun. Gigantic as were Ortgis and his train, they soon fell under the swords of the heroes. One man alone escaped, but he was the worst of the whole crew, for he was Janibas, son of Ortgis, and a great magician like his father.

Dietrich and Hildebrand determined to take shelter in the castle of Ortgis which was nigh at hand. When they knocked at the door several armed giants rushed out upon them, but at length they too were conquered. A horseman in black armour had kept behind the rest during the battle. He murmured something in a strange language, and obedient to his voice, new giants arose out of the earth, to take the place of the slain; still the heroes were victorious. The black horseman continued to murmur, and horrible lind-worms crept out of the ground, and with them Dietrich and Hildebrand had to fight all night long. The black horseman disappeared at last, when the first rays of the rising sun lighted up the castle in the valley. At the same moment the heroes saw an enormous old lind-worm crawling away with an armed man in its jaws. It wanted to creep away unnoticed, but the warriors immediately attacked it. The dragon let its victim fall, and hurled itself, hissing, upon Dietrich who stood nearest. With one claw it tore away his shield and ripped up his coat of mail; at the same time it caught up Hildebrand with its tail and flung him to a great distance. But Dietrich thrust his sword right through its jaws, and so deep into a neighbouring tree, that the creature was pinned down, and died a few minutes after, roaring like thunder.

The maiden they had saved from Ortgis had watched the combat from afar. She now approached and bound up Dietrich’s wounds, pouring in a healing balm. Meanwhile, Hildebrand had picked up the man the dragon had let fall, and recognised him as Ruotwin, the son of Helfrich of Tuscany, who was his mother’s brother.

Ruotwin joined the other two, and promised to help them to punish the wizard Janibas. Further help appeared in the person of Helfrich. The whole party now moved on towards the magician’s castle, the gates of which stood open. The court was full of armed men, amongst whom was Janibas in black armour, riding on a coal black steed. He murmured magic words, and lions rushed out on the heroes. These great beasts were slain, and so were the men-at-arms who followed them. Janibas alone escaped.

Dietrich and his followers entered the castle, where they found three of the queen’s maidens cooped up for fattening, and set them free. After which, they burnt the magician’s fortress, that it might not serve as a refuge to Janibas if he returned to that part of the country.

The whole party then started for Aron, the castle of Helfrich, where the heroes were to rest before continuing their journey to the palace of Queen Virginal. A short respite from their toil was the more necessary, as Dietrich’s wounds were very painful; but their hostess’s good nursing had soon the happiest effect in subduing the fever, and healing the wounds. At last the day was fixed for their departure, and Helfrich had settled to go with them, and lead them to Jeraspunt. While they were making their final arrangements, a dwarf galloped up to the door, and throwing himself from his horse, entered the hall, his mantle torn and dusty, and his countenance as pale as death.

“Help, noble heroes, help!” he cried. “Janibas has come against Queen Virginal in battle array. He has ordered her to deliver all her maidens up to him, and also the carbuncle in her coronet. If he gets that into his power, no one can withstand him, for it would give him complete command over all the mountains, and over all the giants, dwarfs and lind-worms that inhabit them. Woe to them, if they fall into his hands.”

Dietrich at once declared his readiness to go alone to the queen’s help, if the others were not prepared to start on the instant.

“What, alone!” cried the dwarf. “If you go alone you are a dead man. Even I, her majesty’s special defender, had to turn my back, and fly before the foe; what then would become of you?”

Nobody could help laughing at the mannikin’s conceit; but there was no time to lose, and all the warriors hastened to arm and start for the palace.

The heroes and their friends had a long and hard pull up the mountain side, over snow fields and glaciers, in the midst of which great crevasses yawned in unexpected places, but they were cheered on their way by catching from every height a glimpse of Jeraspunt. At length they came so near that they heard shrieks and howls, and other sounds of battle. A few minutes later the terrible scene was visible. Some of the palace guard were killed and mangled, others were yet defending themselves. Gigantic dogs, monsters of every sort, and hordes of savage warriors formed the enemy’s ranks. Many had forced their way through the broken gate, and were raging, storming, and howling round the queen’s throne.

The sovereign lady sat there unmoved, surrounded by her trembling maidens; a carbuncle glowed in the diadem that graced her head, and a silver veil was wrapt about her. Her only protection seemed to be a magic circle that her assailants could not pass. Whether the magic lay in her wonderful beauty or in the spiritual love that shone in her face, it were impossible to say. No one had yet dared to approach her. Even the heroes halted for a moment on first seeing her, but then recovering themselves, pressed forward.

They made their way in spite of clouds of snow, and lumps of ice, to say nothing of a frightful hurricane that almost blew them away. The mountains trembled under repeated thunder claps, and a bottomless crevasse divided them from the palace. But at the same moment Dietrich perceived the black horseman reading his magic spells from an iron tablet. He sprang upon him, broke the tablet, and slew the magician. A great clap of thunder rolled over the mountains, avalanches fell, ice fields broke up, and then came a silence as of death. The spell was broken, the yawning gulf closed, and the way to the palace was free. The magician’s followers, eager to avenge their master, attacked the heroes and their men, but their efforts were vain. The monsters, who yet lived, had soon to fly and seek refuge in the solitudes of the snow mountains.

DIETRICH ESPIES QUEEN VIRGINAL.

Dietrich now approached the queen at the head of his followers. He would have knelt before her, but she rose from her throne, and offering him her hand, greeted him with a kiss. Unable to utter a word, he let her lead him to the throne, and seated himself at her side.

“Know, great hero,” she said, “that I have seen your love and your deeds. I give up my rule in Elf-land, and will go home with you, and live amongst mortal men till death parts us.”

The palace was cleansed by invisible hands; the gate, and all the broken posts and pillars were mended during the night, and the marriage of the mortal hero with the elf-queen was solemnized soon after. The husband and wife then started for Bern, where Virginal made his home so delightful that it was long before Dietrich thought of seeking more adventures. Meanwhile there was sorrow in the mountains, and in the heart of every elf that lived there. The queen had left her country and her people for the sake of a mortal. All nature mourned her absence, the sunsets had no longer the prismatic hues of former times, and the fairy palace was invisible to all.

WIELAND, THE SMITH, ARMING HIS SON WITTICH.

II.
DIETRICH’S COMRADES.

Heime.

In all countries and amongst all nations were spread the name and fame of Dietrich of Bern, for he was the favourite hero of many a wandering minstrel, and so it came to pass that numbers of brave warriors used to go and visit him, and take part in the amusements or serious occupations that engrossed the attention of their host during the time of their visit.

Even in the far north his name was famous, not only in the castle of the noble, but in many a wayside inn and solitary grange.

At the time of which we speak, a renowned horse-dealer called Studas lived in the heart of a great forest. He cared little for the singing and fiddling of the wandering minstrels, but his son Heime was different. He often declared that he knew he could wield lance and sword as well as the hero of Bern. His father was weary of his vainglorious talk, and one day, when the young fellow was boasting as usual that he was as good a man as Dietrich, if not better, his father exclaimed in a pet:

“Well, if that be the case, go up to the hollow mountain, and kill the dragon that is doing all this mischief in the neighbourhood.”

The lad looked up at him inquiringly. The father nodded, and Heime, casting a haughty look at him, turned and went out.

“He will not do it,” muttered the old man, “but I think I have cooled his hot blood for him.”

Things were going otherwise than honest Studas dreamed in his philosophy. His bold son armed himself, and mounting one of his father’s best horses, rode off to the mountain. The lind-worm sprang at him with open jaws, but the lad plunged his spear into his mouth with such force that the point came out behind his head. The monster lashed the ground long and furiously with his tail, but at length fell dead. Whereupon Heime cut off his head, and riding home, took it into the grange, and flung the trophy at his father’s feet.

“St. Kilian!” cried Studas. “Boy, have you really killed the dragon? Well——”

“Well,” answered the bold youth, “I shall now go and slay the hero of Bern. Give me the horse that carried me so bravely to-day. He will take me to Bern, and bring me home again without hurt.”

The old man felt his head go round when he heard his son speak in such a way; but he granted the lad’s request, and Heime rode out into the unknown world.

In the royal palace of Bern Queen Virginal was busy filling the goblets of the warriors, who feasted with her husband, and who agreed that great as were the blessings of peace, it was high time they should be up and doing something, lest their swords should rust in their scabbards. In the midst of this conversation the door opened, and a stranger entered in full armour. He was a tall broad-shouldered man, and apparently young.

Hildebrand welcomed him, and invited him to take off his coat-of-mail, telling him that purple and silken garments were more suited to a royal feast than the panoply of war.

“My trade is war,” said the stranger, “I am Heime, son of the horse-dealer Studas, and have come to challenge the famous Dietrich to come out with me into the open field, and try which of us is the better man.”

He spoke so loud that every one heard, and Dietrich at once accepted his challenge, calling upon his guests to come out and watch the fray. The king then put on his armour, mounted his good horse, Falcon, and in another moment was ready for the combat.

They fought for some time on horseback, but at length the shafts of their spears being broken in the mêlée, they sprang to the ground, and continued the combat on foot. Again a little time, and after Heime had performed wonderful feats of valour, his sword broke, and he stood defenceless before the angry king. Dietrich swung his sword above his head preparatory to giving his opponent the death-blow, but he had not the heart to do it. He had compassion on the youth and courage of the bold warrior, who stood so fearless before him. Letting his sword fall to his side, the king offered his hand to Heime in sign of peace. This generosity conquered the lad completely. He took the offered hand, said that he confessed himself overcome, and swore that henceforth he would be a faithful servant and follower of the glorious king. Dietrich was pleased to number a man like Heime among his followers, and presented him with castles and rich lands.

EIGEL SHOOTS THE APPLE OFF HIS SON’S HEAD.

Wittich.

Wittich was the son of Wieland, the smith of Heligoland, by Böswilde (Badhilda). From his earliest childhood his father had taught him the use of the bow, and the greatest praise he ever gave him was to say,—

“You are a bowman like my brother Eigel.”

Young Wittich wanted very much to learn all that he could about his uncle, and Wieland began:

“When your mother’s father—Niduder, Drost of the Niars—made me a prisoner long ago, my brother Eigel came to his castle, and entered his service as bowman of the guard. Every one admired his skill. He could shoot away the head of an eagle that was flying high as the heavens. I have also seen him aim an arrow at the right or left foot of a lynx, and pin it to the bough on which the creature sat. And he did other wonderful things too numerous to relate. But the Drost wanted to see something more wonderful still, so he desired him to shoot an apple off the head of his own child at a hundred paces off, telling him at the same time that if he refused, or if obeying, he missed his mark, he would have the boy hewn in pieces before his eyes. Eigel drew three arrows from his quiver, and fitted one to the bowstring. The boy stood motionless, looking at his father with perfect confidence. Could you have done that, my lad? Eh!”

“No father,” answered Wittich boldly, “I would have fetched your trusty sword Mimung, and have hewn off the head of that wicked old man; and then, if his Niars had tried to avenge him, I would have chased them out of the country.”

“All very fine, young hero,” laughed the father, “but remember this; a true hero only speaks of what he has done, not of what he would have done under such and such circumstances. It would have been better, however, if Eigel had done something of that kind. After he had shot away the apple, he turned to the Drost, and told him, that had he by any accident killed his son, he would have used the two other arrows in shooting him first, and then himself. The Drost took no notice of the speech at the time, but soon afterwards, he exiled the bowman without thanks or payment, and no one knows what has become of him.”

The smith brought up his son on tales like this, which naturally excited the boy’s ardour for adventure, and made him more and more unwilling to work at the forge. One day the lad spoke out, and asked his father to give him a suit of armour, and the good sword Mimung, that he might hie away to Bern, fight with king Dietrich, and win a kingdom like his ancestors. After many refusals the smith at last gave his consent, and furnished his son with all that he needed for the enterprise, explaining to him the special virtues of each weapon. Finally he told him to remember that his great-grandfather, King Wilkinus, a mighty warrior in his day, had married a mermaid, who, when the king was dying, had promised him, by the memory of their love, that she would help any of their descendants who asked for her aid. “Go down to the sea-shore, my son,” continued the smith, “if ever you are in need, and demand the protection of our ancestress.” And then with much sage advice, together with many old stories of things he had seen and known, Wieland took leave of his son.

Wittich rode on for many days before he met with any adventure. At length he came to a broad river, and dismounting, took off his armour, which he laid upon the bank, and began to wade across the water, leading his horse Skemming by the bridle. When half way across, three horsemen in full armour passed by, and seeing him began to taunt him and ask him where he was going. He told them that if they would wait until he had put his armour on, he was ready to try conclusions with them. They agreed, but no sooner did they see him dressed in his coat of mail, and mounted on his good steed, than they bethought them, that as they were in a strange place, it would be better to have a man of such thews and sinews for a comrade than an enemy. So they offered him peace instead of war. He accepted, and after shaking hands, they journeyed on together.

They rode up stream for a long way, and at last they came to a castle. A host of savage-looking men poured out of the gates, and advanced to meet them.

“There are too many for us to conquer,” said the eldest of the strangers, “still I think that our good swords may enable us to hew our way across the bridge.”

“Let me go and offer them a silver piece as toll,” said Wittich, and setting spurs to his horse he rode on.

Arrived at the bridge, he was informed that the only toll demanded or accepted there were the horse, armour, clothes, right hand and right foot of the traveller. He explained that he could not afford to pay so high a price for so small a benefit, and offered them a piece of money. Whereupon they drew their swords and attacked him.

The three warriors meanwhile kept on a neighbouring height, and watched and commented on all that went on below. Seeing that their new friend seemed hard beset, two of them galloped to his assistance, while the third held back in scorn. But before they reached the place of combat, seven of the robbers were slain, and at sight of them the others took flight.

The heroes now rode on to the castle, where they found plenty of food and much booty. While they enjoyed their evening meal, their tongues were unloosed, and each told his name and deeds. Wittich had more to tell about his father than about himself, and then he learnt that the eldest of his new companions was Master Hildebrand, the second strong Heime, and the third Yarl Hornboge, who was also a comrade of Dietrich.

“This is a stroke of good luck for me,” cried the young warrior, “for I am on my way to Bern to try my strength against the glorious king, and I have good hope that I may win the day, for my father has given me his sword Mimung that can cut through steel and stone. Just look at the hilt, is not the workmanship beautiful?”

On hearing this, the three comrades grew more silent, and proposed to go to rest, as they were very tired. Wittich followed their example.

The young hero was soon snoring in company with Heime and Hornboge, but Hildebrand lay awake, a prey to sad forebodings. He knew that Wittich’s sword could cut through his master’s helmet, and he considered what was to be done. He crept noiselessly from his bed, and taking Mimung, compared it with his own sword. The two blades were wonderfully alike, but not the hilts. So with a grim smile of satisfaction, he carefully unscrewed the blades from the hilts, and exchanged them; then returned to his couch, and soon after fell asleep.

They started again on their journey next morning. In the course of a few days, they met with several adventures that proved to Hildebrand and his comrades that Wittich was of the stuff that heroes are made of.

On hearing of the arrival of his old master and the rest, King Dietrich hastened out into the court to meet and welcome them. But his astonishment was great when the young stranger pulled off his silver gauntlet and handed it to him. In another moment Dietrich had snatched it, and flung it in the youth’s face, exclaiming wrathfully:

“Do you think it is part of a king’s duty to make a target of himself for every wandering adventurer to strike at? Here, my men, seize the rascal, and hang him to the highest gallows.”

“The power to do so is on your side,” answered Wittich, “but bethink you, my lord, whether such a deed would not bring dishonour on your fair fame.”

And Hildebrand said, “Sire, this is Wittich, son of Wieland, the celebrated smith. He is no mean man, or secret traitor, but well worthy of a place in the ranks of your comrades.”

“Very well, master,” replied the king, “I will fight him as he desires, but should he be conquered, I will deliver him to the hangman. It is my last word. Now come to the race-course.”

The whole town assembled to witness the duel between the king and the stranger. The combat raged long, but at last Wittich’s sword broke, and he stood defenceless before the king.

“False father, you deceived me,” he cried, “you gave me the wrong sword, and not Mimung.”

“Surrender, vagrant,” cried Dietrich, “and then to the gallows with you.”

The young warrior’s last hour had come, if Hildebrand had not sprung between them.

“Sire,” he said, “spare an unarmed man, and make him one of your comrades. We could not have a more heroic soul in our company.”

“No. He shall go to the gallows. Stand back, master, that he may once more lick the dust before me.”

The master was sick at heart. He thought of how he had wronged the young hero by changing his sword: “Here, brave warrior, is your sword Mimung,” he said, handing Wittich the weapon at his side, “and now, Dietrich, do your best!”

The battle began again, and Mimung showed its mettle now. Bits of the king’s shield and armour fell away, and a home-stroke laid his helmet open. “Surrender, king!” cried the victorious youth; but Dietrich fought on, in spite of terrible wounds.

Then the master sprang forward.

“Wittich,” he cried, “hold your hand, for it is not your own strength, but Wieland’s sword that gives you victory. Be our comrade, and then we shall rule the world, for, next to the king, you are the bravest of all the heroes.”

“Master,” replied Wittich, “you helped me in my need and I will not now deny you.” Then turning to the king:

“Glorious hero of Bern, I am your man henceforward, and will be faithful to you as long as I live.”

The king took his offered hand in his firm grasp, and made him ruler over a large fief.

Wildeber, Ilsan and other Comrades.

Ecke was the eldest son of the once powerful king Mentiger by the mermaid whom he made his queen. He loved Queen Seeburg, who lived at Cologne in the Rhineland. Seeburg had a great desire to see King Dietrich, and Ecke on hearing of it, promised to bring him to her, or die in the attempt. She, on her side, said that she would be his wife if he came home successful. He went, met Dietrich, and after showing prodigies of valour, died at his hands, much to the sorrow of the king, who had learnt to love him during the few hours of their acquaintance.

When Dietrich returned to Bern after slaying Ecke, Heime came out to meet him, and was so outspoken in his joy at seeing him again, that the king, much touched, gave him his good sword Nagelring as a sign of his friendship. The warrior received it with delight, and kissed the trusty blade twice or thrice, as he said:

“I will wear this sword for the glory of my king, and will never part with it as long as I live.”

“You are unworthy of the sword,” cried Wittich, who had come up with the other warriors: “Do you remember how you left your weapon in its sheath when the robbers were attacking me, and that Hildebrand and Hornboge alone helped me?”

“Your self-sufficiency had made me angry, as your spiteful tongue does now. I will cut it out.”

Both men put their hands to their swords, but the king stepped between them, and desired them to keep the peace in the castle. When he learnt all that had happened, Dietrich told Heime that he might go his way, because it was not seemly in a warrior to leave his comrade unaided in danger. But he added, that when he had shown by brave deeds that he was really a hero, he might return to them once more.

“Well, sire, I think I shall win myself greater wealth by Nagelring than I lose in the castles you now take from me.”

Having thus spoken, the bold warrior sprang on his horse, and rode away without taking leave of any one. He rode on, till he reached the Wisara (Weser), where he drew a band of robbers around him, and wrought great mischief. He plundered the defenceless country-people, and even bold warriors had to pay him black mail; and thus, through highway robbery, he became the owner of a great hoard of wealth, which he was never tired of increasing.

Dietrich had to tell his friends of his terrible combat with the hero Ecke, in which he had won the beautiful suit of armour he brought home with him, and the good sword Ecke-sax. One day, when the warriors were discussing this subject, a monk entered the hall, and remained standing humbly near the door. He was tall and broad-shouldered, and his cowl was pulled forward so as to hide his face. The servants began to play him tricks, until at last the monk, growing impatient, seized one of his persecutors by the ear, and held him up shrieking in the air.

When the king asked the reason of the noise, the monk stepped forward, and begged a morsel of bread for a half-starved penitent. Dietrich came forward himself, and commanded food and drink to be placed before the brother; but his astonishment was great when the monk pushed back his cowl, and displayed well rounded cheeks that bore no trace of starvation. He was still more surprised when he saw the quantity of food and wine the reverend brother could dispose of.

“The holy man has the appetite of a wolf,” murmured the bystanders.

“Five long years have I done penance by prayer, fasting and water-drinking,” he said, “and have now license from the venerable prior to go out into the world, and lay penance on other sinners. Now,” he continued, going on with his meal, “ye be all miserable sinners with your continual feasting and drinking, and I call upon you to do penance, and be converted, that your sins be blotted out.”

Then he intoned, in a loud ringing voice, “O Sanctissima.”

FRIAR ILSAN’S CONJURING OF WILDEBER.

Master Hildebrand had joined the group, and now exclaimed:

“Why, it is my own dear brother, Ilsan the Monk.”

“Culpa mea,” cried the monk; “touch me not, unholy brother. Confess, and do penance, that thou go not straight to hell like the others.”

“But,” said the master, “we are all collected here together to convert, by kindness or force, all monsters, giants, and dwarfs; so, my reverend brother, I now beg of you to lay aside your robes, and once more become one of us.”

“Convert, say you? Yea, I have license to convert the heathen, and will therefore join you in your pious work.”

With these words, the monk flung off his robes, and stood before them dressed in full armour.

“Here,” he cried, touching his broadsword, “is my preacher’s staff, and here,” pointing to his coat of mail, “my breviary. St. Kilian pray for me and for all of us, Ora pro nobis.”

He sat down amongst the warriors, who had all known the stout monk Ilsan for many years. He drank and sang, now psalms, now songs, and told merry tales of his life in the monastery.

Evening came on apace. Candles and torches were lighted. Suddenly every one was startled by a strange creature pattering in at the door. It was like a bear to look upon. Its head resembled that of a boar, but its hands and feet were of human form. The monster stood as though rooted to the threshold, and appeared to be considering on whom first to make its spring.

“An evil spirit,” cried Ilsan; “a soul escaped from the purgatorial fire. I will address it. Conjuro te ...” He paused, for the monster had turned its face to him.

“I will drag him back to his purgatory again,” cried bold Wolfhart, springing over the table, and seizing the creature by its fur. But pull and tug as he might, he could not move it by so much as an inch. It quietly gave the warrior such a kick, that he fell head over heels into the middle of the hall.

Hornboge, Wittich, and other warriors tried to push the monster out with their united strength, but in vain.

“Give room, brave comrades,” cried the angry king. “I will see whether the monster is proof against my sword Ecke-sax.”

“Sire,” interrupted Master Hildebrand, catching him by the arm, “look; do you not see a golden bracelet, sparkling with precious stones, on the creature’s wrist? It is a man—perhaps a brave warrior.”

“Well,” said the king, turning to his strange guest, “if you are indeed a hero, doff your disguise. Join us, and be our faithful comrade.”

On hearing these words, the strange guest threw off boar’s head and bear’s skin, and stood before the king and his followers clad in armour.

“I know you now,” said Hildebrand. “You are the brave hero Wildeber, surnamed The Strong. And the gold bracelet is the gift of a swan-maiden, and makes your strength double. But why did you so disguise yourself? Every brave man is a welcome guest to our king.”

Wildeber seated himself by the master’s side, emptied a goblet of sparkling wine, and said:

“Once, after fighting a hard fight with robbers, I lay down to sleep on the bank of a lake. Suddenly I was awakened by a splashing in the water. Turning my eyes in the direction of the noise, I saw a beautiful maiden bathing. I spied her swan-garment lying on the bank, crept up to it softly, took it, and hid it. The maiden sought it everywhere, and when she could not find it, she began to weep aloud. I went to her, and begged that she would follow me home and be my wife. But she wept the more, and said that she must die if she were deprived of her bird’s dress. I was sorry for her, and gave it back, whereupon she gave me this bracelet, which increases my strength immensely; but she told me that to preserve it I must wander about as a bear with a boar’s head, until the most famous king on earth chose me to be one of his comrades. If I did not obey her, she warned me that the virtue of the jewel would depart, and I should soon be slain in battle. Having thus spoken, she flew away. That is why I came to you in such disguise, brave hero,” he continued, addressing Dietrich; “and as you have received me into the ranks of your comrades of your own free will, I hope that the bracelet will retain its magic power as long as I live.”

“Pax vobiscum!” stammered the monk, as he staggered away to bed. The other warriors soon followed his example, and silence reigned in the palace.

Dietleib.

King Dietrich was one day about to mount his horse, and set out to visit his brother monarch, the Emperor Ermenrich, when a warrior rode into the court. The king at once knew him to be Heime. He was not much pleased to see him back at Bern, but when Heime told him that he had been victorious in many battles against giants and robbers, he consented to receive him once more into the ranks of his comrades, and desired him to accompany him and certain of his followers to Romaburg.

At Fritilaburg, where they rested, Dietrich accepted the offered service of a man who called himself Ilmenrik, son of a Danish yeoman Soti; and enrolled him amongst his servants.

When they came to Romaburg, they were received with all honour by the emperor, who gave them both board and lodging. But the emperor forgot one thing in his plans, and that was, to provide food for the servants. Ilmenrik fed them the first night. On the second, his private resources being exhausted, he pawned Heime’s armour and horse for ten gold pieces; on the third, he pawned Wittich’s goods for twenty; and on the fourth, he got thirty for the weapons and horse of the king. On the fifth day, when the king gave orders for their return home, Ilmenrik asked for money to free the articles he had pawned. Dietrich was astonished and angry when he heard how extravagant his servant’s ideas had been. He took him before Ermenrich, who at once said he would pay the sum required, and asked how much it was. The emperor and all his court made merry at Ilmenrik’s expense, especially Walter of Wasgenstein (Vosges), who asked him if he was a were-wolf, and well up in strange knowledge of all kinds. Ilmenrik modestly answered that he had learnt to perform many feats of strength and skill from his father, such as putting the stone and throwing the hammer; and that he would wager his head against the lord of Wasgenstein’s that he could beat him in this. Walter accepted his challenge, and the trial began.

Such skill as Ilmenrik displayed had never been seen before. The heroes all feared for the life of the brave warrior of Wasgenstein. The emperor then called the young victor to him.

“Hearken to me, young sir,” he said; “I will buy the head of my vassal from you at whatever price you list. Gold for blood is the old law.”

“Fear not, sire,” answered Ilmenrik, “the head of the brave hero is in no danger from me. I do not want it. But if you wish to do me a kindness, lend me so much money as I have expended for the keep of the servants, that I may redeem the weapons, garments, and horses that I pawned.”

“Treasurer,” said the emperor, turning to one of his ministers, “weigh out sixty marks of red gold, that the fellow may redeem his pledges, and another sixty marks to fill his purse.”

“Thank you, my lord,” returned the young man, “I do not need your gift, for I am a servant of the rich king of Bern, who will see that I lack nothing; but if you will keep us another day here, I will, with this sixty marks, treat the servants to a better feast than before, and also my master, all his warriors, and you yourself, should you desire to join the party, even if I have to pawn horses and coats of mail again.”

The warriors all laughed at the merry youth, but Heime frowned, and said that if ever he pawned his horse again it should cost him his life.

The feast which the servant prepared them was of royal magnificence. All were pleased except Heime, who secretly feared that his property was again in pawn. The young fellow seated himself at his side, and asked him in a low voice if he knew who had given him that scar on his forehead. Heime answered that it was Dietleib, son of Yarl Biterolf, adding that he would know him again in a moment, and that the scar should be avenged in blood.

Ilmenrik replied:

“Methinks, bold warrior, your memory has gone a-wool-gathering. If you look me in the face, you will see that I am that Dietleib whom you and your robbers attacked as he was riding through a forest with his father. We slew the robber Ingram and his companions, but you escaped with that wound, thanks to the speed of your good horse. If you don’t believe me, I have a witness here that will prove my words in the open field. But if you will trust me, the matter may remain a secret between us.”

Towards the end of the feast, Dietrich told the youth that he should no longer be a servant, but should be received into the ranks of his comrades; and he, thanking him, answered that he was really Dietleib, son of Yarl Biterolf, whose glorious deeds were known far and wide.

All the king’s followers, except Heime, received the young hero into their ranks with pleasure. He returned to Bern with the king, and proved himself his trusty comrade in many an adventure. But he was of a restless mind, and wished to see more of the world; so after a time he took service under Etzel, king of the Huns, at whose court he found his father settled. Father and son together were the doers of many a daring deed. King Etzel, wishing to keep them in his service, offered them the land of Steiermark (Styria) as a fief. Biterolf gave up his share to his son, who was therefore surnamed the Styrian, but who often appears in story by his right name of Dietleib the Dane.

DWARFS BIND THE SLEEPING HEROES.

III.
ADVENTURES. LAURIN. ILSAN

King Laurin and The Little Rose-Garden.

Dietleib once came unexpectedly on a visit to Master Hildebrand at his castle of Garden. He looked sadder than of old, and returned the master’s greeting without an answering smile. Hildebrand inquired the cause of his sadness, and he replied that he had a sweet and wise sister named Künhild, who had kept house for him in Styria. One day, when she was dancing with other maidens in a green meadow, and he looking on, she suddenly vanished from the circle, and no one knew what had become of her.

“Since then,” he continued, “I have learnt from a magician that it was the dwarf king Laurin that hid her under a cap of darkness, and carried her off to his hollow mountain. This mountain is in Tyrol, where the dwarf has also a wonderful Rose-garden. Now, good master, I have come to you for advice. How can I free my sister from the power of the goblin?”

“It is a ticklish matter,” said Hildebrand, “and may cost many a good life. I will go with you to Bern, to see Dietrich and our other comrades, and then we can agree in council what is the best plan to pursue. For the dwarf is powerful, not only because of the extent of his empire, but from his knowledge of magic.”

When the heroes heard what had brought Hildebrand and Dietleib to Bern, Wolfhart spoke first, and said that he would adventure himself alone upon the quest, fetch home the maiden safe and sound, and bring the royal mannikin to Bern bound to his saddle-bow. Dietleib then asked Hildebrand if he knew the way to the Rose-garden. He replied that he did, but that Laurin watched over the garden himself, and exacted the left foot and right hand of any one who was bold enough to venture within its bounds, and spoil the roses.

“He cannot exact this tribute,” said Wittich, “unless he gets the better of the warrior in fair fight.”

“Well then,” added the king, “we will not touch the lovely flowers. All we want is to save our friend’s sister from the hands of the dwarf, and that is a labour beseeming a warrior.”

The heroes all swore to do no hurt to the garden, and then Hildebrand consented to be their guide. The adventurers were Hildebrand, Dietrich, Dietleib, Wittich, and Wolfhart.

Their road led them northward among the wild mountains, and over crevasses, ice, and snow. It was a perilous way they trod, but they recked nothing of fatigue or danger, for their hearts beat high with hope. At length they reached the garden: a lovely place, where spring reigned eternally, making it a flowery oasis in a wintry desert. The heroes feasted their eyes on the beautiful sight, and felt as though they had reached the gates of paradise.

Wolfhart was the first to break the spell: setting spurs to his horse, he called to his comrades to follow, and galloped towards the garden. His mad career was soon checked by an iron door with golden letters inscribed on it. He tried to break open the door, but in vain; his comrades came to his aid, and the door was at last beaten in by the four strong men. The garden was still defended by a golden thread, such as used to surround the palaces of the Ases in the olden time. The warriors trod down the thread, and then, in spite of Hildebrand’s warnings, began to pluck the roses and trample the garden. Dietrich did not join in the work of destruction, but stood apart under a linden tree.

Suddenly Hildebrand called out, “Draw your swords! Here comes the master of the garden.”

They all looked up, and saw something bright advancing rapidly towards them. Soon they were able to distinguish the form of a horseman riding a steed that was swift as the wind. He was small of stature, and habited in a complete suit of armour. His helmet was of specially beautiful workmanship, and was further adorned with a diadem of jewels, in the midst of which a carbuncle blazed like a sun. On beholding the damage that had just been done, he drew rein, and exclaimed angrily:

“What harm have I ever done you, robbers as you are, that you should thus destroy my roses? If you had aught against me, why did you not send me a challenge like honourable men? You must now expiate your crime by each giving me his right hand and left foot.”

“If you are King Laurin,” answered Dietrich, “we do indeed owe you reparation, and will pay you a fine in gold; but we cannot afford to lose our right hands, for we require them to wield our swords; and as to our left feet, we could not well ride were we deprived of them.”

“He would be a coward who talked of paying any fine except in blows,” cried Wolfhart; “and I am determined to dash that hop-o’-my-thumb, together with the cat he is riding, against the cliffs over yonder, and then his bones will break into such tiny pieces that even his grasshopper subjects can never collect them.”

Upon this Laurin answered in words of defiance, and the combat with Wolfhart began, only to end in the latter’s overthrow the moment he felt the touch of the dwarf’s spear. Wittich was not more fortunate than his friend, for he also was thrown from his saddle at the first encounter.

Laurin sprang from his horse, drew out a large knife, and approached the hero, who lay senseless on the ground. Dietrich sprang forward to rescue his comrade.

“Do not venture the spear thrust, but close with him,” said Hildebrand in a low voice. “Laurin has three magic charms of which you must deprive him; and these are, a ring with the stone of victory on his finger, a belt that gives him the strength of twelve men round his waist, and in his pocket a cap of darkness, which makes him invisible when he puts it on.”

After a long and fierce wrestle, Dietrich managed to get possession of the ring, which he at once gave into the master’s charge. Again the combat raged, neither side gaining any advantage. At last Dietrich begged for a short truce, which Laurin granted.

The truce over, the two kings renewed the fight. Dietrich caught Laurin by the belt, and at the same moment the latter clasped him round the knees so tight that he fell backwards. The violence of his fall broke the belt he was holding, and it slipped from his hand. Hildebrand then rushed forward and caught it before the dwarf could pick it up. No sooner was this done than Laurin went out of sight. Dietrich still felt the blows he gave, but could not see him. Filled with a berserkir rage at his own powerlessness, he forgot the pain of his wounds; he flung away both sword and spear, sprang like a tiger in the direction in which he heard the whistling of the invisible sword, and seized his adversary for the third time. He tore away the cap of darkness, and Laurin stood before him praying for peace.

“I shall first cut off your right hand and left foot, and then your head, and after that you may have peace,” cried the angered hero, setting off in pursuit of the dwarf, who now took to his heels.

“Save me, Dietleib, my dear brother-in-law,” cried Laurin, running up to that warrior; “your sister is my queen.”

Dietleib swung the little creature on horseback before him, and galloped away into the wood. There he set him down, and told him to hide himself until the king’s anger was abated.

Coming back to the place of combat, the warrior found Dietrich on horseback, and as furious as before.

“I must have either the dwarf’s head or yours,” cried Dietrich.

In another moment their swords were flashing; a second fight would have begun had not Hildebrand held back the king by main force, while Wittich did the same to Dietleib. After a little they succeeded in making peace between the angry men, and also in gaining grace for the dwarfs. Later still the warriors might have been seen in friendly converse with each other and with Laurin, who was then and there admitted as one of Dietrich’s comrades.

This point settled, the dwarf proposed to show them the wonders of his hollow mountain, saying that Dietleib should then give his sister to him as wife, with the usual ceremonies.

“It is the old law,” answered the hero of Steierland, “that when a maiden has been carried away from her home and is recovered by her friends, she should have free choice given her either to remain with her husband, or return to her people. Are you willing that it should be so in this case?”

“By all means,” said the dwarf. “Now let us go. Do you see that snow-capped mountain? My palace is there—so to horse, that my eyes may no longer be pained by seeing the wreck you have wrought in my garden. The roses will bloom again in May.”

The journey to the snow-capped mountain was much longer than the warriors had imagined. It lasted till noon of the following day. Below the snow, they came to a meadow that was as beautiful as the rose-garden. The air was filled with the perfume of flowers. Birds were singing in the branches, and little dwarfs were to be seen hurrying to and fro. They followed Laurin into the dark entrance of his underground kingdom. The only one of their number who felt the least distrust was Wittich, who had not forgotten the thrust of the dwarf king’s spear.

In King Laurin’s Realm.

A soft twilight reigned in the vast hall of the palace to which they now came. The walls were of polished marble, inlaid with gold and silver. The floor was formed of a single agate, the ceiling of a sapphire, and from it there hung shining carbuncles like stars in the blue sky of night. All at once it became light as day. The queen came in surrounded by her maidens. Her girdle and necklace were jewelled, and in her coronet was a diamond that shone like the sun, bringing the brightness of day wherever it came. But the lady herself was more beautiful than aught else. None could take their eyes off her face. She seated herself beside Laurin, and signed to her brother Dietleib to sit down at the other side of her. She embraced him and asked him many questions about her old home and friends. By this time supper was ready. Laurin was a perfect host, and his guests were soon quite at their ease. Even Wittich forgot to be suspicious. When the meal was over, the dwarf king left the hall, and Dietleib seized the opportunity to ask his sister whether she was willing to remain in that underground paradise as its queen. She answered with tears that she could not forget her home and friends; that she would rather be a peasant girl in the upper world than a queen among the dwarfs, and that though she must admit that Laurin was very good and kind, yet he was not as other men. Dietleib then promised to save her, or lose his life in the attempt.

Laurin now returned, and asked the hero if he would like to retire to his bedchamber. He took him there, and remained talking with him for some time. At last he told him that his comrades were all condemned to death, and that he had only spared him because he was his brother-in-law.

“Traitor, false dwarf!” cried Dietleib. “I live and die with my comrades, but you are in my power!”

He started forward, but the dwarf was gone, and the door was shut and locked on the outside.

Laurin then returned to the hall, filled the goblets of the warriors from a particular jar, and entreated them to drink the wine, which would insure them a good night’s rest. They did so, and immediately their heads sank upon their breasts, and a heavy drugged sleep fell upon them. Then turning to the queen, Laurin desired her to go to her room, for these men must die in punishment for the wreck they had made of his rose-garden; adding that her brother was safely locked up in a distant room, that he might escape the fate of his comrades. Künhild wept aloud, and said that she would die if he carried out his cruel purpose. He gave her no distinct answer, but reiterated his command.

As soon as the queen had retired, he sounded his horn, and immediately five giants and a number of dwarfs hurried into the room. He commanded them to bind the warriors so tight with cords that they could not move when they awoke. After that he had them dragged to a dungeon, where they might remain until he should decide their fate next morning. Having seen his orders carried out, he went to bed, and began to think whether it would be better to let the men off to please the queen, or to punish them for their evil deed. The last seemed to him the wiser plan, and he fell asleep, gloating over the intended slaughter of his helpless victims.

Dietrich awoke soon after midnight; he felt that he was bound hand and foot, and called to his comrades for aid; but they were as powerless as he. Then Dietrich’s wrath was roused to such a pitch, that his fiery breath burnt the cords that bound one hand, and left it free. After that, it was a matter of little difficulty to untie the knots at his wrist and feet, and then to set his comrades at liberty. What was to be done now? They could not break open their dungeon door. They had neither weapon nor coat of mail. They were helpless victims. At this very moment, while they were looking at each other in despair, they were startled by hearing a woman’s voice asking in a low whisper if they were yet alive.

“We thank you, noble queen,” answered Hildebrand, “we are alive and well, but totally unarmed.”

So Künhild opened the door, and appeared on the threshold with her brother. She placed her finger on her lips to enforce silence, and led the way to where the heroes’ armour was piled. As soon as they were ready, the queen gave each of them a ring, by means of which he could see the dwarfs, even when they wore their caps of darkness.

“Hurrah!” cried Wolfhart. “We can make as much noise as we like, now that we have our armour on, and our weapons in our hands.”

Laurin, wakened by Wolfhart’s loud tones, knew that the prisoners were free, and at once summoned his dwarfish army to his assistance. The battle began, and raged for a long time without any advantage being gained by either side. Laurin was pleased in his heart of hearts that matters had turned out as they had, for he was a bold little fellow, and liked open war better than trickery. At length the underground forces were routed with great loss, and Laurin himself was taken prisoner.

Dietrich spared the life of the dwarf king at fair Künhild’s request, but deposed him from royal power, and gave the mountain to Sintram, another dwarf of high rank, for a yearly tribute. When everything was ordered to their liking, the heroes returned to Bern, taking Laurin with them as a prisoner.

There was great joy in Bern at the return of the heroes, who were much praised for their valiant deeds, while the unfortunate Laurin was laughed at by all. There was only one person who showed him any sympathy, and that was Künhild. One day she met him when he was wandering about alone and melancholy. She spoke to him kindly, tried to comfort him, and told him he would soon gain the king’s friendship if he proved himself to be faithful and true.

“Ah,” he laughed bitterly; “they think that they have kicked a dog who will lick their hands; but a trodden snake bites! You may know what I intend to do. I have sent to inform Walberan, my uncle, who rules over the dwarfs and giants from the Caucasus to Sinai, of what has happened, and he is coming at the head of his forces to be my avenger. He cannot fail to win the day, slay strong Dietrich and his comrades, and lay the whole land waste. When that is done, I will take you back to my kingdom, and replant my Rose Garden, that it may be lovelier in May than it ever was before.”

“Laurin,” she answered, “you carried me away from home by trickery and magic spells; but I have not been blind to your love, and feel myself honoured by its greatness. I cannot live in your underground kingdom, but I will love you and be your queen in the Rose Garden, if you will think of love and faithfulness, and not of revenge.”

She left him, and he sat pondering the matter for a long time.

A few days afterwards, Dietrich came to the Dwarf King, and, taking him by the hand, said, that he had been his prisoner long enough, that he must now sit with his comrades, or return to his own home, whichever he liked best.

“And then,” continued the king, “I will go with you to your Rose Garden next spring, and see it in its beauty.”

The dwarf silently followed the king into the hall. He sat at Dietrich’s side at the feast, and thought over the vengeance he would take when his uncle came.

But lovely Künhild appeared and filled his goblet, saying a few kind words the while, and immediately love conquered hatred, and he cried, emptying the goblet to the last drop,—

“Henceforward I am your faithful comrade in life and death.”

Whilst the warriors were still at the feast, a messenger from King Walberan came in, and declared war on Dietrich in the name of his master, unless Laurin were at once restored to his kingdom, and unless the hero of Bern sent Walberan all the money and all the weapons in the country, as well as the right hand and left foot of every warrior who had taken part in the destruction of the Rose Garden.

Dietrich answered proudly, that he intended to keep his money, arms, hands, and feet, and those of his subjects also.

“And tell him,” added Laurin, “that I send him my thanks and greeting for coming to my assistance, but that I am now free, and have entered into a bond of love and friendship with the King of Bern.”

Both sides prepared for battle, but before a blow was struck, Laurin rode into his uncle’s camp, and tried to make peace between Walberan and Dietrich. His uncle told him he was no better than a broken-spirited serf, and refused to listen to his words. So the fight began, and raged furiously for many hours. At length, late in the afternoon, Dietrich and Walberan met, and challenged each other to single combat. It was a terrible struggle—both kings were severely wounded, and it seemed to the onlookers as if both must die. Suddenly Laurin threw himself unarmed between their swords, flung his arms round King Walberan, and entreated him to make peace. Almost at the same moment Hildebrand did the same by the angry Dietrich, and after much expenditure of words, the peacemakers had their way.

So the fighting was changed to feasting, and the kings entered into a friendly alliance at the banquet that evening. The hero of Bern made a long speech in praise of Laurin, who had endangered his life in endeavouring to make peace, and to whom he therefore restored the free and independent rule over his kingdom and Rose Garden. When he had finished, Queen Virginal came forward, leading fair Künhild, and laid the hand of the maiden in that of Laurin, saying that she knew he would regard her reward of his faithfulness as the greatest he had that day received; for Künhild had promised to be his wife if her brother did not object. As no dissentient voice was heard, the marriage was celebrated there and then.

In the May-month of the following year, when the roses were again in bloom, the dwarfs put the finishing touches to a beautiful palace, which they had built in the Rose Garden. Many a herdsman and Alpine hunter has seen it; but to those who go in search of it from mere curiosity, it remains ever invisible.

To this day, Laurin and Künhild show themselves at odd times in the valleys of Tyrol, and there are people yet alive who are reported to have had a distant glimpse of the wonderful Rose Garden.

KING LAURIN’S FEAST.

The Great Rose Garden and Ilsan the Monk.

Dietrich was now a man in the prime of life—a perfect hero, and man of valour. The number of his comrades had much increased, and many doughty deeds had been done.

Once when the king was feasting with many of his comrades, he looked round the table with pride, and said he believed that no ruler on earth had such heroes about him, that no other had prospered so well as he with the help of his chosen comrades, and that none might be compared with them. The warriors shouted their approbation. One alone was silent. The king turned to him, and asked whether in all his journeys he had seen bolder warriors.

“That I have,” cried Herbrand. “I have seen some that have not their match upon earth. It was at the good town of Worms, near the River Rhine, in the land of Burgundy. It is there that the great Rose Garden lies—five miles long by two-and-a-half broad. The queen and her ladies tend it themselves, and twelve great warriors keep watch and ward lest any one enter the garden without the queen’s permission. Whoever does so must fight with the guard, and no one yet, whether giant or warrior, has been able to withstand them.”

“Let us go and pluck the roses that have been watered with the blood of heroes,” cried Dietrich. “I think that my comrades and I will get the better of the guard.”

“If you mean to try your luck,” said Herbrand, “you must know that the victor will receive a kiss and a wreath of roses from lovely women.”

“Ah, well,” said the old master, “for the sake of a rose and a woman’s kiss I would not risk a single hair of my head or beard. He who wishes to pluck roses or kiss women will find enough at Bern; he need not go to the Rhine to find them.”

ILSAN TAKES LEAVE OF THE HOLY BROTHERHOOD.

Trusty Eckehart and a few more of the comrades agreed with him, for well they knew what the Burgundian warriors were like. But Dietrich loudly declared that he was not going to fight for the sake of roses and kisses, but for honour and fame; and that if his comrades did not wish to go with him, he could go alone. Of course, they would not hear of that, and all who were present agreed to go. The names of those who thus adventured their lives were: Dietrich himself, Master Hildebrand, strong Wittich, Henne called the Grim, Wolfhart, the young heroes Siegestab and Amelung (or Omlung), Trusty Eckehart, and Hertnit, Prince of the Reussen; but they only numbered nine in all, and twelve were needed to meet the twelve watchmen of the garden. Hildebrand knew what was to be done. He said,—

“Good Rüdiger of Bechelaren will not refuse to be the tenth; the eleventh must be brave Dietleib of Styria, and the twelfth my pious brother, the monk Ilsan.”

They started forth at once to induce the chosen three to join them. They went first to Bechelaren, in the land of the Danube. Rüdiger received them hospitably, and at once consented to go with them, but said that he must first get leave of absence from Etzel, whose margrave he was. The heroes then went on to Styria to visit Dietleib. They did not find him at home, but his father Biterolf, who was there, earnestly entreated them to give up the journey to the Rhine, because, he said, only a fool would undertake a conflict for life or death with the world’s bravest warriors, for the sake of a rose and a kiss. But when they met the young hero a short time after, they found him ready to go with them. This settled, they went on to Münchenzell, the monastery to which Hildebrand’s brother belonged. As soon as Ilsan heard the object of their journey, he went straight to the abbot, and asked leave to accompany the hero of Bern to the Rose Garden. The abbot told him that such was scarcely a monkish quest, but Ilsan grew so angry, and so loudly affirmed that valiant deeds were in his eyes as seemly for a monk as for any other man, that the abbot quailed before him, and gave him leave to go. So Ilsan donned his armour under his monkish dress, and started with his friends. His heart beat high with joy that he was again bound on one of Dietrich’s adventures, while his brother monks stood by and shook their heads, saying they feared it would not end well, seeing it was no saintly quest, but a worldly.

The heroes went first to Bern, which was to be the general meeting-place. Margrave Rüdiger was the last to arrive, for he had been detained by his visit to Etzel. Rüdiger was now sent on before the others as ambassador to King Gibich at Worms, to inform him of their intended invasion of the Rose Garden. The Margrave was well known in the Rhineland, and was received as an old friend by the king, who rejoiced to hear of his leader’s enterprise.

The garden was entered on the appointed day, and the warriors stood opposite each other ready for battle; twelve against twelve, and yet always one against one. It was a terrible sight, for many a hero fell dying amongst the roses, and watered them with his heart’s blood. When proud Wolfhart had slain his adversary, he contemptuously refused the kiss offered him by a lovely maiden, and contented himself with the garland of roses. The monk, Ilsan, walked into the lists on foot, clad in his grey robes. He jumped about among the roses with such strange agility that his opponent thought he had a madman to deal with. But he soon found that his reverend foe was made of sterner metal than he supposed, for he lay vanquished, a wiser man, though wounded almost to the death. The victor received the wreath of roses on his tonsured head, but when he kissed the lovely maid who gave it him, she shrieked aloud, for his bristly beard had stung her rosy lips. Seeing this, he said with comical disgust,—

“The maidens of Rhineland are fair to see,

But far too tender to pleasure me.”

Many other heroes received the prize of victory, while others were severely wounded. Peace was not concluded until sunset. The brave hero of Bern soon afterwards returned home, pleased with the result of his quest.