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.

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.

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 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.

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 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.

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.