Epics and Romances of the Middle Ages. Wilhelm Wägner
marshy bit of ground, extending far within a cavern at the foot of a precipitous rock. Welle and his wife took up their abode there, and every day the governor sent them a supply of food. Ruotze brooded over the eggs untiringly. Before very long the shells cracked, and two little lind-worms (dragons) crept out. They were pretty creatures, dainty in all their movements and obedient to every command of the giant and his wife. The governor used sometimes to go and see them, and delighted in their agility and funny ways. The worst of it was that they had enormous appetites, and the more they ate the faster they grew, and the more they wanted to eat. They were soon taller than their guardians when they raised themselves in the air, and began to show themselves malicious and bad-tempered. The governor hesitated to supply their wants when he found that they needed more than two oxen a day; the wrath of the creatures at what they considered semi-starvation was so great that Welle and Ruotze grew frightened, and took refuge in another cave. As soon as their guardians deserted them, the monsters crept out of their hole, and began to wander over the whole district, devouring men and cattle, and whatever came in their way. The people deserted their old homes and fled to the mountain fastnesses. All in vain: the lind-worms pursued them, and continued to devour all who fell into their clutches. The governor sent out large detachments of horse and foot against them, but hardly a man returned to tell the tale of defeat and misery. And with every hearty meal the monsters grew larger and stronger. Every one was in despair, for it seemed as if the whole kingdom would be devastated.
One day the Emperor Ortnit went to his wife and asked her to help him to put on his armour, for he had to go out and fight a hard battle. She could hardly pronounce the words “with whom?” she trembled so.
“Well, Liebgart,” he said, “you must know that the dragons which are doing so much harm to the country are the toad-stones your father sent me. I am the guardian of my people; and as they helped me when I went to Syria to win you, I must now help them in my turn by going out against these monsters to slay them,—or myself be slain, I know not which.”
The empress wept and told her fears, but her husband comforted her by reminding her that he still had the good sword Rosen, that could cut through steel and iron, and even dragon’s scales. “Should I not return,” he continued, “an avenger will come. If any one brings you back this ring that you once gave me, you may know that he is my avenger, and give him your hand in marriage.”
He then kissed her and tore himself away. She gazed after him with tearful eyes as long as he was in sight, thinking sadly how many noble warriors had preceded him in his quest, and how none of them had ever returned to home or friends.
Ortnit at length reached the rock where he expected to find the lind-worms. Seeing them nowhere, he dismounted, blew his horn, and loosed the faithful dog that he had taken with him to help him to hunt the monsters down. Suddenly a door in the rock opened, and the giant Welle came out, shouting to him to come on, and calling him opprobrious names; but the king cut his great club in two with one stroke of his sword. The giant sprang back, and in a moment had unsheathed a sword six yards long, whirled it round his head, and struck Ortnit so hard a blow upon the helmet that he fell senseless to the ground.
“Well hit, old moon-calf,” cried Ruotze, putting her head out at the door; “let me go to him now and wring his neck, and throw his body into the dragons’ den.”
At this moment the setter, which had disappeared in the wood, began to bark furiously, and Ruotze rushed away to see what was the matter. Upon this, Ortnit started to his feet, and with a swing of his sword cut off one of the giant’s legs. The monster howled with pain, and defended himself resting against the rock, but his opponent immediately cut off his other leg. Hearing the noise, the giantess returned. Arming herself with an uprooted tree, she hit out at the hero with all her strength; but, blinded by passion, she miscalculated the distance, and brought the tree down so hard on her husband’s head that she split it open. Ortnit then slew the giantess, after which he rested awhile from his labours; ate and drank some of the provisions he had brought with him, and let his steed graze at will on the short sweet grass of the upland meadow. Rested and refreshed, he once more set out on his quest. Riding through a wood, he came up with some charcoal-burners, and asked them where he should find the lind-worms. They tried to persuade him to turn back, but in vain. Then they told him that the monsters had set out to travel west; that one of them, having a nest of young ones, had stayed somewhere on the road hidden in a cave, while the other had gone deeper into the mountains, perhaps even into another land.
Unheeding the warning he had just received, Ortnit rode away towards the west. When evening came, he rested for a short time; but as his food was nearly finished, and he wanted to reach an inhabited spot as soon as possible, he set out again, and rode all night long. Next day he reached a meadow, and there he saw little Alberich seated under a tree. The dwarf looked very sad, and when Ortnit drew rein beside him, said:
“My dear son, you are going to your death. Return to Garden, for I have no power over the diabolical monsters you are seeking. I cannot help you.”
“I need no help,” replied the hero. “Have I not the sword Rosen? It will help me to conquer the powers of hell that are arrayed against my poor people.”
“May you be successful!” said the little creature, and springing into the saddle he kissed his son. “May you be successful! and to that end, watch and slumber not. Remember that it is the last advice I can give you. Now give me back the ring you got from your mother. You shall have it again if you return to Garden safe and sound.”
Scarcely had Ortnit returned the ring when he felt a kiss upon his lips, and the dwarf had disappeared.
The hero rode on unfalteringly over hill and dale, and through many a wild glen. At last he unexpectedly reached the very lime-tree under which he had had his first interview with Alberich. The birds were singing as before. All looked peaceful and still. Both Ortnit and his horse were worn out, so he dismounted, and letting his steed graze, laid himself at full length on the soft grass, his faithful dog at his side. He thought over his project, and was strongly tempted to return home to Garden and sweet Liebgart; but he put the desire from him, “for,” he reasoned within himself, “the prince and people are as one person, of which the people form the body and the prince the head; so the prince, to be worthy of his high calling, must as far as in him lies protect his people from all injury. And I have every right to trust to my strength, my sword and my good cause for victory.” It seemed as though the birds in the linden-tree had read his thoughts, and were singing a pæan of joy and encouragement over him and them. He watched them quietly, but soon fatigue gained the upper hand—his eyelids closed, and he fell asleep.
All at once the birds ceased their song, the branches stopped their soft waving to and fro, and the flowers bent their heads as though a breath of poisoned air were passing over them. Crawling through the thicket, trees and bushes breaking with its weight, came the terrible lind-worm, its jaws wide open, showing its long pointed teeth. The faithful dog, with a howl of mingled fear and anger, pulled at his master, hoping to wake him; but in vain, for Ortnit was as though in a charmed sleep. The dog then sprang upon the dragon, but could not touch it because of the way it slashed about with its tail. At this moment the horrible creature caught sight of Ortnit, flung itself upon him, carried him into the thicket, and then broke all his bones by dashing him again and again upon the ground. But though his bones were broken, his armour remained whole as at the first. Then taking the dead body up in its powerful jaws, the lind-worm bore it home to its nest in the noisome cave, where its young ones fell ravenously upon their favourite food, and devoured as much as they could get at through the steel rings of the coat of mail. The dog, which had followed the dragon home in hopes of saving his master, watched all night by the cave, but finding himself powerless to help, set out early next morning on his way back to Garden.
Meanwhile Liebgart and the old queen were very anxious. They hoped and feared alternately. On the fourth day, as they were sitting together, they heard something scratching at the door. Liebgart opened it, and saw the faithful dog, her husband’s companion on his last journey. Instead of showing his usual joy at seeing her, the dog crept slowly in, and lay down at the old queen’s feet with a low, moaning whine.
“He is dead—murdered by the monsters,”