Chapter XVI: The English Warship (5)

With unconcealed chagrin and disappointment, Brunhild advanced to where Gunther stood and pointing to the King declared: "Behold your lord and master, my subjects. Hereafter give to him your loyal service. Brunhild is no longer your queen." Then in stately manner the King with his fair companion returned to the castle.

Great indeed was the joy in Gunther's capital when Siegfried and his attendants, riding in advance of the bridal party, made known the news of the King's victory. Queen Uta, the mother of Gunther and Kriemhild, gave orders that the most splendid preparation be made for receiving Brunhild, and busily did her maidens ply their needles in making garments more beautiful and costly than ever before had adorned fair ladies. And no less industriously did the squires polish the armor of the knights, while their masters tested their trusty blades, that they might fittingly bear themselves in the jousts and tournaments with which Gunther's triumph and home-coming would be celebrated.

Long and loud was the shout of welcome that arose from the crowds gathered along the river bank as the ship bearing Gunther and his bride came into view. Then Queen Uta, followed by a long line of maidens, arrayed in many-colored garments that glittered with the most precious of gems, slowly moved down to the strand, while Kriemhild followed, attended by Siegfried.

As Gunther and his bride stepped from the boat, Kriemhild was first to greet the Queen. "Welcome to Burgundy, sweet Brunhild. May you dwell among us so content that regret for Issland will never trouble you," she cried. Then taking Brunhild's hand she kissed her with gracious good will. Queen Uta likewise made known her gladness in receiving the hard-won bride of Gunther. For days thereafter all the court, with the knights and ladies gathered from every part of that realm, made merry continually, and never was a time more memorable for chivalrous deeds and giving of costly gifts.

On the evening of Gunther's arrival, as the guests were assembling at a feast, Siegfried recalled to the King the terms of their compact: "Brunhild is now yours. Have you forgotten that you promised me the hand of the lady Kriemhild?"

"That have I not, good Siegfried," replied the King, and he at once sent for his sister.

Then in the presence of all the great company, Gunther, taking Kriemhild's hand, said: "Fair sister, many days ago I promised you in marriage to one of the noblest knights that ever served our land of Burgundy. I ask now that you accept his, love and thus fulfill my promise."

"It is my part to obey you in all things, my brother," replied Kriemhild, with downcast eyes. "I shall as gladly do your bidding now as always in the past."

How all the beholders marveled at the gentleness and beauty of the princess, as with blushes she was led to Siegfried's side. Never had a brave and loyal friend been rewarded with a greater measure of joy than was Siegfried's then.

Gunther, however, had won a bride to whom such modest, docile ways were quite unknown. Brunhild's pride had not been conquered, and her cheeks would sometimes flush with anger as she recalled that the fame of her peerless strength was no longer glorious and that she was now subject to another's will. As the days passed on, these thoughts so vexed her that she could not bear the shame of her defeat, and she began to treat the King with scorn.

Thus provoked on one occasion, he would have shown her that he was master in that realm, when Brunhild, leaping upon him, tied his feet and hands together with a girdle that she wore about her waist, and suspended him from a nail projecting from the wall. In vain did Gunther struggle against her strength. He must hang upon the wall until, weak and exhausted, he begged her to release him, promising never again to offend her. However, Gunther could not forget this daring insult to his kingly authority, and he went moodily about the palace for the rest of the day.

Noticing his gloom, Siegfried exclaimed: "What troubles you, King Gunther? Surely your looks ill become this merry season."

"Perhaps if you had a wife who could tie you up and hang you upon the wall until you promised to do her bidding, you would not be so cheerful either," grumbled the King in return.

"Aha," laughed Siegfried, "so that is what the fair lady has been up to, is it? Well, I think that for such waywardness we can try the same remedy that saved us from her power in Issland. Just call upon me the next time that trouble arises and we will subdue the proud Brunhild once for all."

And so it chanced that with the help of the tarnkappe, Siegfried, all unseen, overcame the Queen in a mighty struggle that had been brought on by some show of authority on Gunther's part. At this time he wrested from her the magic ring and girdle that were the source of all her strength, and ever afterward there was peace in Gunther's household.

It was not long before Siegfried with his bride returned to his home in Netherland, and was made king of that realm by his father Siegmund. No less brave and generous was he as a ruler than as a knight, and the years sped on in high prosperity for all the kingdom. But envy was at work, and all too soon was Siegfried's good fortune brought to an end.

In the court of Burgundy Brunhild remained ill content. She could not understand why it was that if Siegfried was Gunther's subject, as he had declared himself to be when in Issland, he did not yield the obedience and service of a subject. As Gunther could not well explain Siegfried's deception and make known that the Netherlander was not indeed a vassal, he evaded Brunhild's questions. But the Queen was persistent, for it vexed her that Siegfried and his lady offered no homage at the court of Burgundy. At length one day she entreated the King: "Since you are unwilling to require a vassal's service of the King of Netherland, at least invite him to pay a visit to our court. Many years have passed since I have seen your sister Kriemhild, and I would be most glad to renew my friendship with her."

Thus it came about that Siegfried and Kriemhild were bidden to visit Burgundy and in the course of a few months journeyed thither. The merriest of entertainment was provided, and Gunther and his queen were so lavish of their kindness that never would one have suspected Brunhild's deeply burning resentment. All at once, however, her ill feeling flamed into uncontrollable fury and brought about the sorrowful deed that ever afterward dimmed the fair honor of Burgundy.

Shortly before the vesper service in the cathedral the two queens met one evening, and Kriemhild, having just witnessed some daring feats performed by Siegfried in the courtyard of the castle, exclaimed in admiration: "Oh, surely so bold a knight as my husband is fit to rule this land of Burgundy!"

"But not while Gunther lives," returned Brunhild in wrath. "No vassal indeed can presume to fill the place and take upon him the dignity of his lord and master."

"I am speaking not of a vassal, but of the King of Netherland," retorted Kriemhild.

"Ah, but that same King, as I heard from his own lips when he bore Gunther company in Issland, is my husband's vassal!" exclaimed Brunhild flushing scarlet in her anger.

"How little you know," replied Kriemhild, laughing scornfully, "of the clever trick by which my brother won you! Perhaps you have never heard of Siegfried's tarnkappe. But you shall learn now that it stood my husband in good stead when he and my noble brother were near to death in Issland. Know, O Queen, that it was Siegfried who, all unseen, performed the mighty feats that gained a bride for Gunther, and that it was no other than the same great knight who later brought into subjection the over-proud Queen Brunhild. For proof of this behold the cord and ring taken from you that day. Let us hear no more of vassals and their homage. As token of the honor that befits me, now stand aside and let me enter this cathedral first!"

Slowly the color left Brunhild's cheeks as she stood speechless and helpless, while Kriemhild and her attendants passed into the church. Then bursting into violent weeping she sank to the ground, overcome with shame and anger. Soon the word of the disgraceful quarrel had spread among the Burgundians and their guests, and many an indignant speech was heard and many a revengeful plot was planned.

But it was Hagan, the crafty uncle of Gunther, who soothed the grief of Brunhild with a secret design by which Kriemhild's insult should be most cruelly paid for. After no little persuasion he won Gunther's aid. Then the great lords of the land were assembled, and Hagan addressed them thus: "You know well what dishonor has been done to the power of Burgundy by these haughty Netherlanders. Shall we brook such insult? No! let us either suffer death ourselves or bring to destruction the over-bold King Siegfried."

With such approval did these words meet that the King sat silent, unable to defend one who had so loyally befriended him. Then it was planned that messengers should come to the court pretending to bear threats of war from the king of the Saxons and Danes. Siegfried would thus be deceived into offering Gunther service, and while away from the court should be put to death. So well did this plot work that the brave Netherlander, having proffered his services, was placed at the head of a great army to march against the foe.

At this time Hagan, assuming to be deeply concerned about Siegfried's welfare, was besought by Kriemhild to guard well the life of her husband. "You know," she confessed at length, reluctantly, "Siegfried's body cannot be pierced by any weapon,--except in one place between his shoulders where a linden leaf fell on him while he was bathing in the dragon's blood. Will you not remember that and try to shield him while in battle?"

"Dear Kriemhild, I will remember," replied the treacherous Hagan, "but that I may know just where the place is, will you not sew on his clothing, just above it, a token that will mark the spot?"

"Yes, I will stitch a little cross upon his surcoat," assented Kriemhild.

Then it was that the cruel Hagan, having learned his opponent's secret, had messengers come to the court announcing that the enemy would not wage war with Burgundy but would remain at peace. So disappointed was Siegfried that, apparently to please him, a great hunting party was formed, and all the bold warriors rode away to the forest. Unwillingly did Kriemhild part with her husband, but so eager was he for the sport that nothing could stay him.

When the company reached the woods they separated in all directions, and Siegfried was soon in mad pursuit of a wild boar. When he had killed this and several other savage beasts, he surpassed all former deeds of boldness by capturing single-handed and on foot a great bear and leading it back to the camp. There he mischievously set the animal free, and as it raced away in wild haste, the servants who were getting ready the feast became so frightened, that pans and dishes containing all kinds of food were dropped upon the ground or into the fire, as cooks and maids fled in terror. The warrior huntsmen sped after the bear, but it was Siegfried who brought him to the ground.

When at length all had assembled about the table, merry and loud were the talk and laughter.

"But where is the wine, King Gunther?" cried Siegfried. "Surely it has not been omitted from the feast."

As the King turned with questioning look to Hagan, the latter said: "I supposed the feast was to be held elsewhere and ordered the wine sent to that place. However, there is a clear, cold stream near by that we may drink from. I have heard how fleet of foot you are, friend Siegfried. Let us race to the brook and see who shall be the winner."

Pleased with the idea of such sport Siegfried agreed. At once he set out swiftly, running with Hagan and Gunther, and easily reached the little creek before the others. However, out of courtesy, he let the King drink first, then with eager thirst he bent over the cool, glittering water. Immediately the King and Hagan bore away the weapons that lay by his side, and as the good knight touched his lips to the water, Hagan drove the spear full into the spot marked by the little cross.

In vain did Siegfried leap to his feet to recover his weapons, and combat with those who had given him the base blow. Nothing was left him but his shield, which he flung with such terrible force as to overthrow the fleeing Hagan. Before his looks of wrathful reproach the guilty pair shuddered in strange terror. Then, his anger giving way to a strange calm, he called to his betrayers: "Yours is the sorrow of this day! Not even in death can cowardice and treachery triumph over love and loyalty."

Thus speaking, the good King Siegfried sank upon the flowers of the meadow, and died as bravely as he had lived.

Carlyle translated parts of the Nibelungenlied. He describes the death of Siegfried as follows:

"Then, as to drink, Sir Siegfried down kneeling there be found, He pierced him through the croslet, that sudden from the wound Forth the life-blood spurted, e'en o'er his murderer's weed. Nevermore will warrior dare so foul a deed.

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

NIGHT

By ROBERT SOTUTHEY

How beautiful is night!
A dewy freshness fills the silent air;
No mist obscures, nor cloud, nor speck, nor stain,
Breaks the serene of heaven:
In full-orb'd glory yonder moon divine
Rolls through the dark-blue depths.
Beneath her steady ray
The desert-circle spreads,
Like the round ocean, girdled with the sky.
How beautiful is night!

LOCHINVAR

By SIR WALTER SCOTT

O young Lochinvar is come out of the west, Through all the wide Border his steed was the best; And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none, He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone, He swam the Eske River where ford there was none; But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all. Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), "O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"

"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;-- Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide,-- And now I am come, with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, He quaffed off the wine, and threw down the cup. She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar,-- "Now tread we a measure," said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret, and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume; And the bridemaidens whispered, "'T were better by far To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear, When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near; So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung; "She is won! we are gone; over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran; There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

Let us see how many things we can find out about this poem. The first thing we think of is that it tells a story--just one story, without any outside, disconnected incidents. Then we notice that the style is very simple, that the meter is easy and swinging, and that the last line of every stanza is almost like a refrain. There is one other thing: the author does not show in the poem at all; that is, the poem is strictly a story, without comments by the author or any expressed moral.

This poem of Lochinvar belongs to a class of poems called ballads, all of which possess some, at least, of the characteristics which we have found in Lochinvar. All ballads do not have refrains, but all ballads do contain narratives in simple, often rude style. Most ballad stanzas have only four lines, though Scott uses six for this.

The history of ballad poetry is very interesting. In all nations, it is believed, it has been the earliest form of poetry, and it is thought that the great heroic poems, such as the Cid of the Spaniards and the Nibelungenlied of the Germans, grew out of ballads. These early ballads were not written down; they were sung, or recited, and in thus being handed down by word of mouth, they underwent many changes, so that in time it could very well be said that a popular ballad had no one author--it belonged to all the people.

ROBIN HOOD