THE RECOGNITION
So Hunding went forth and left the stranger alone with the leaping
flames and shadows from the hearth. Long pondered he on what the day
had brought forth, and what should be the burden of the morrow; but
through all his thoughts there rose like a flame of dancing fire the
thought of the woman Sieglinde, and of his love for her, and how he
could help her to leave this house of hate. Weaponless was he, and her
husband had mocked at him for it. Then his thoughts went backwards to
the old wild days in the forest when he and his father, whom he had
called by the name he was known to men, were the swift terror of their
foes. And at that a sudden hope sprang up within him, for he remembered
how his father had told him that when his need was sorest, a sword
should be near him. Surely now his need was sore enough, yet where was
the sword? At that he cried aloud on his father's name, the secret name
known but to him, and "Walse, father Walse!" he cried, "show me the
sword, for my need is sore."
No voice answered him, but the stillness was broken by the sound of
the logs on the hearth suddenly falling together, and from the embers
went up a sudden flame illuminating the walls, and gleaming on the
sword-hilt Then remembered he that Sieglinde's last look had directed
his eyes there, but from where he sat he could see the gleam only, and
knew not yet that it was a sword. Only he thought to himself that her
last look had fallen there, and something of the gleam of her eyes
still lingered there, making the dark stem bright But the gleam was
very steady, and he wondered at it.
Then the flames from the hearth grew low again, and the shadows
thickened in the hall. But something of the brightness still lingered
within him, and he thought of how the eyes of the woman had shone on
him all the evening when they sat at meat, and it seemed to him as if
his soul, on which long night had settled, had been bathed in the beams
of morning. Light and hope she had brought to his darkened heart; for
one day he had basked in sun-shine, and ere yet his sun had sunk behind
the hills again, one last evening ray had so illumined the ash-stem,
that something of the light had still lingered there. Still lingered
it also in his heart, though she had gone, and though the shadows
of his woes crowded fast upon him, even as upon the walls of the
dwelling-place they gathered in growing battalions, as the flames on
the hearth sank ever lower. Yet still he sat there with open unseeing
eyes. No thought of sleep was his. How could he sleep when Sieglinde
abode within the house of hate? Round him the shadows grew and
thickened, and at length the last sparks on the hearth were quenched,
and through the open chimney only there filtered in a little greyness,
so that though all was dark, yet the density of that blackness was
greater here and less there.
How long he sat there, alert though lost in reverie, he knew not,
but at the end a little noise fell on his ear and the door of the
bed-chamber was opened, and framed in darkness he saw there a white
figure. And his heart so hammered within him, that it seemed to him
that the noise of it must awaken Hunding. Yet he moved not, neither
spoke, and the figure came nearer. Then a voice that he knew fell like
pearly rain on the stillness.
"Sleepest thou?" she whispered.
Then he could stay still no longer, but sprang up noiselessly.
"I?" he stammered, "I sleep, when thou seekest me?"
"Listen," said she. "In Hunding's night-draught I have mixed a sleeping
potion, and thus the whole night is before us to devise a plan for thy
safety."
"Safety?" whispered he. "With thee is my safety, and my----" And then,
because he was Hunding's guest, he paused. Yet he was Hunding's foe at
daybreak.
"But a sword, a sword!" she cried.
"Ah! there is no need to speak low; we shall not waken Hunding, for I
brewed his drink strong. Ah! could I but bring thee the sword, for a
sword waits here for him who is fit to seize it. It is near to thee
now, and truly thine is an hour of sore need."
"What sayest thou? What is it thou hast said?" cried the stranger.
So she told him the story of her marriage feast, of how another
stranger had strode to the board, and flung the sword in the ash-stem.
"There, there," she said, pointing at it, looking where she had
looked before; "and one, only one shall be able to move it. Ah! when
he comes--he who is ordained--then shall my vengeance for the years of
sorrow I have passed in the house of Hunding be sweet to my mouth. For
every tear I have shed here, my mouth shall be full of laughter and
joy; for all the tears that I could not shed out of very bitterness and
drought of soul, joy shall be mine too deep for smile or laughter. My
friend, the friend of my soul, him I wait for, and with him there will
be peace and victory for us both."
Then the stranger, knowing that there could be but one, and that his
father whom he had called "The Wolf," who could cast a sword as the
woman had said, and remembering that he had told him that in the hour
of his sorest need a sword should be near him, knew that this was the
sword of which he spoke, and that it was he who should draw it forth.
And knowing that, he gave no more thought to it, for the woman had said
that he who should draw it forth was the friend of her heart, and that
knowledge for the moment drowned all else, and covered his soul with
a huge, soft billow of joy, so he gave no heed to the sword, but only
to her who stood by him. And in the exultation of his love he laughed
aloud, and passionately drew her to him.
"And that is I, that is I!" he cried, "O crown and flower of
womanhood! All my hopes in thee are fulfilled, and all my failures in
thee are mended. Hard and long has been the way that led us each to the
other. Lo! I heal the wounds which wrong has made, and thy hand soothes
and banishes all my woe. Shame has been thy portion in the house of
hate. Hunding thy husband! No mumbling vow hallows that unnatural
union. Thou hast called for vengeance, and vengeance is at thy side,
and the arm of vengeance thus wound round thee makes thee strong. But
dearer and nearer I approach to thee than that. My hand bears vengeance
for thee, but my heart bears love. Sieglinde! Sieglinde!"
Even as they stood thus, in the first transport of the knowledge that
they loved, the great door of the hall swung open noiselessly, for
maybe Hunding had not closed it when he returned home, and Sieglinde
started in sudden alarm.
"What is that?" she cried. "Who went? Who has come?"
Slowly the door swung wide, and a great flood of moonlight poured
in upon the pair, bathing them in its beams. High rose the moon in
a cloudless heaven, and the warm breeze of spring whispered through
the bushes and filled the hall. At length and at last the winter had
ceased, and spring, that moment of all the year when the sap stirs
in the trees, and the birds are mated, and lion seeks lioness in the
Libyan hills, and man turns to woman and woman to man, spring was upon
them in its overpowering fulness and sweetness. None may resist its
compulsion, nor did they resist. Gently he drew her to him, and whether
he spoke or sang she knew not, or whether it was only the echo of her
thoughts she heard. But it seemed to her that his voice spoke.
"None went, but one has come," said he. "Look you, this house is the
house of hate no longer, but the place of spring. For May has awoke,
and the storms are hushed, and winter is over, and the glory of spring
spreads round us. He wakes the warm winds, and as he wakes them they
waft him on, and at his coming the wayside blossoms with its yearly
miracle. Hedge and heath, field and forest are redolent with flowers,
and as he moves across the world, laughter hails him on all sides. O!
the time of the singing birds is come, and the breath of the earth is
warm and sweet. Spring lies among the bushes, and where his warm body
is pressed the flowers spring, and the young shoots of the trees, when
they see his bosom rise and fall to the beat of his heart, put out
their amorous branches to touch his fair form. Along the world strike
his smiles, and with them, his sole weapons, he makes the whole world
mad. The flash of his eye slays the winter, and at his glance the
storms are hushed. All doors fly open to meet his coming, even as the
door of the house of hate opened just now of its own accord, and spring
is here.
"And who walks with him? Love his sister. In our hearts she slept, and
when he came the doors of our hearts were opened also, and she laughs
when she sees the light. The walls that held us are crumbled, and she
is free. Spring the brother meets love the sister, and they meet here
on the threshold of our hearts. They have found each other, and we have
found each other."
And whether she replied to him he knew not, or whether it was only the
echo of his thoughts he heard, but it seemed to him that her voice
spake.
"Spring," she said. "O spring, my brother, how have I sorrowed for
thee and sought thee. Long has winter held us both, but when first I
saw thee, how with love and I knew not what dread my heart was drawn to
thee. Friendless was I, and he who was nearest to me was nearest also
in hate. At length, at length thou earnest, and at the first glance, I
knew that thou wast mine, and all the secret treasure of my heart, all
that I am, was poured out for thee. Friendless was I, and frost-bound
of heart and utterly lonely. Then, O my friend, thou earnest!"
And wonder and awe at the greatness and might of the gift that the
spring had brought to both fell on them, and for a long while they
stood thus content, if so be that lovers are ever content, in gazing
at each other. Then the full love surged strong within them, so that
speech could not be withheld, and Sieglinde wound her arms round his
neck yet more closely.
"Let me gaze on thee," she whispered, "for my senses reel with longing
for thee, and reel in that they are satisfied when they behold thee. I
am on fire."
"Yea, the moon makes thee on fire," said he, "and like living fire thy
hair burns round thee. I gaze and I gaze, and still I am unfilled."
Then Sieglinde with her hand swept back the hair from his forehead, and
with her finger, smiling like a child, she traced the path of the blood
in his temple.
"See how thy life spreads like the boughs of a tree, and puts forth
shoots in thy temples," said she. "I am faint and sick with content,
yet even now sounds warning in my ears. Though never before have I seen
thy face, yet long before have I known it."
"I, too," said he, "when dreams of love visited my sleep, have dreamed
of thee and of no other. With what sadness did I behold thee then. And
now, and now----"
"And often," said she, "as I gazed in the black lake, where it is still
and waveless, have I seen thy face as in some magic mirror that showed
me what should be. And now, and now----"
And like a child she laughed for pleasure, and as the wonder of their
love grew and deepened, so the silence of love, more musical than
hearing itself, descended on them. That long draught of silence was
wine to each thirsty soul, and when they had drunk deep of it, again
Sieglinde spake.
"Speak to me, and let me be silent listening," she said, "for thy
voice comes to me out of the early years when I was but a child. Thy
laugh rings to me out of those golden mists before--before----" and she
shuddered at the thought of Hunding.
"Speak thou," said he, "and let me listen."
Again the tide of love filled her full, even as the bitter creeks and
marshes are flushed with the return of the water. Then struck her a
sudden wild thought, and again she gazed earnestly into his eyes.
"Without words when thou came faint with weariness, thy glance looked
so to me, till my despair was mild, and died in the light of the day
that streamed on me. Wehwalt! ah no, such cannot be thy name. What is
there of woe left? Not the shadow of the dream even!"
"No, I am Wehwalt no longer!" cried he, "for thy love has banished woe
from me. That name which I gave myself is gone, for gone is woe. Ah,
woman, woman, give me my name; tell me by what name I shall be called,
and that, thy gift, and none other shall be my name."
Then looked she at him as one half lost in thought.
"And Wolf, was Wolf thy father's true name?" she asked.
"Wolf he was called," said the stranger, "and as Wolf he was feared,
for he was as a wolf among timorous foxes. Yet it was not as Wolf I
knew him. His glance was bright as thine, and as far-reaching, and that
glance was the glance of Walse." Then was that mystery of fate by which
she was led to him, even as Spring the brother met Love the sister on
the threshold of their hearts, made manifest to her, and the knowledge
drove her beside herself.
"So," she said, "Walse was thy father, and thou art a Wolsung. For thy
sake did Walse fling the sword into the ash-stem, for well know I that
it was Walse who flung it there and no other. And on my tongue thy true
name trembles, the name by which I love thee--Siegmund, Siegmund."
Then sprang Siegmund, stranger no longer, to the ash-stem, and in his
right hand seized he the gleaming hilt.
"Thou sayest it!" he cried, "and the sword shall prove I am
Siegmund. For Walse told me that when my need was sorest then should
the sword of deliverance and victory be near me. Has it not come? Has
not my need been sore? For love is the sorest need a man can know, and
that is mine; and deep is the dear wound it has made in my breast. Burn
deeper yet, O wound, stirring me to strife and strenuous deed. Lo! I
name it, the sword of need--Nothung, Nothung. Come forth then, Nothung,
leave thy dark sheath, and bare thy shining blade. I, Siegmund, bid
thee."
[Illustration: At that he wrenched at the sword-hilt.]
And at that he wrenched at the sword-hilt, and that which no power
of the guests of Hunding's marriage feast could stir, moved at his
bidding, and leaped forth to his hand. Bright and lordly shone it in
tile moon of spring, and Sieglinde beheld, and her eyes were dazzled
with its shining, even as her heart was dazzled with love.
Then cried Siegmund again: "Behold me, Siegmund the Wolsung, the son
of Walse. This is my bridal gift to thee, the sword of victory and
of thy deliverance. Wife to me art thou by right, even as the sword
is mine by right Round thee crumbles the house of hate. Come forth,
come forth into the light of love. Lo, the house of hate and of spring
opens its doors wide, so follow, follow! Nothung, thy deliverance, and
Siegmund, whose life is thy love, go with thee."
He seized her with the violent tenderness of love, and drew her to him.
Straight in front of them opened the door into the house of spring, and
it was fair. Yet, since he knew not yet who it was he led out with him,
she spoke, even as he led her forth.
"Siegmund, Siegmund," she said, "O take me, take me. Thy longing has
led thee to me. Is the flash of my eyes like the flash in the eye of
Walse thy father? So be it: for who else should be like him but I? The
burned homestead, the vanished sister, dost thou forget them? By the
sword, even as Walse said, thou winnest her."
And for one moment Siegmund gazed at her in wild amaze. Then, for the
spring was hot in his blood, and it was so written in the Book of Fate,
to which even Wotan bows, whether he lords it in heaven, or as Walse he
strides in the forest, there was no stop or stay for his passion.
"My bride, my sister!" he said, "brother and bridegroom long for you.
For the blood of the Wolsungs will blossom yet."