THE STRIFE OF WOTAN AND FRICKA
Not far from the house of Hunding, but above the great wood of pines
that with their dark plumes fringed the hillside opposite, there was
a region of wild and bleak rocks, where, if any breeze stirred below,
here it was as a strong wind. And if storm was coming over the earth,
here above all would the clouds gather, and gloom and mix together till
the power of the heavens willed that they should go on their appointed
journeys of wrath or mercy to the thirsty earth. Thus the Valkyries,
the wild maidens of the storm, were often wont to come here, riding on
the wings of the wind, for their joy was in tempest and strife, and
they cared little for peace and content, and their home was with the
thunder, and the lightning was the lantern they loved best. At other
times, when the heavens were clear, and the benediction of the sun
brooded over the earth, here, above the woods and the damp and sorry
lowlands, was its light the most serene and bright. Pure blew the airs
as they blew to the mariner in the shrouds of his ship, and on all
sides carved out to infinite distance lay vales and mountain peaks and
ridges of hills, folded and knit the one into the other as the muscles
of a strong man's arm rise and fall into ridge and furrow where his
strength abides.
Thus it way that Wotan the king of the gods often came here, for
here it was that he would be like to find his daughter Brunnhilde, the
eldest of the Valkyries, and of all living things the dearest to him;
and from here, as from a fortress home, she and her sisters, having
communed with their father, would start on their war-raids, riding on
the storm, and dazzling the souls of men with their beauty and their
terror. And on the selfsame night, that first of spring, when spring
and love awoke together in the hearts of Sieglinde and Siegmund, and
maddened them with their sweetness, Wotan with his daughter Brunnhilde
had sat night-long on that serene mountain-top, and he, communing with
her as he communed with his own soul, had spoken to her of that wild
deed which the brother and sister, his children by the forest maiden,
had committed. And in the deeps of his heart he guessed, though darkly
as in a glass, that from Siegmund the Wolsung should come that man
for whom he waited, one free and owing nothing to the favour of the
gods, who alone should be able to bring back to him the ring of the
Rhine-gold, in whose circlet lay the wealth of the world and unmeasured
might, even as Erda had foretold to him. Nor did the mating of this
strange pair amaze or disquiet him, for they loved with that love
which is the fire of the earth, and without which the earth would grow
cold, and to his eyes that fire, from whatever fuel it was kindled,
was a thing sacred beyond compare; while of the vows of a loveless
marriage, such as Sieglinde's had been, he recked nought, nor scrupled
to scatter it to the winds, even as a man on an autumn day scatters the
thistledown on the breezy uplands, and cares nought where the winds may
take it. For as light as thistledown to him were loveless vows, but
love, even though no vow may hallow it, he held more sacred than his
own oath.
So when the day dawned, he rose from the rock where he had been
sitting, and Brunnhilde rose from her place by his knee.
"Up then to horse, my maid," he cried, "and be strong and swift to aid.
Ere long the clash of arms shall be heard, and Bunding follow hard on
Siegmund's trail. Up then, Brunnhilde, and put might into the heart
of Siegmund the Wolsung, and strength into his arm. I reck nothing of
Bunding, for he is no son of light, but of darkness. So to horse and
away; get thee to Siegmund's side."
Then loud and long Brunnhilde shouted her cry of war, so that the
rocks re-echoed, and far away from the muffled hillside of pines came
the response.
Then ere she went, she climbed quickly to the topmost pinnacle of the
ridge of rocks, and looking down into the ravine behind, she saw one
whom she knew coming quickly up, and with a sweet sort of malice in her
heart she called to her father Wotan.
"Fly, father, fly!" she cried, half laughter, half pity for him. "Let
the king of gods be seen to fly for his safety, for a storm for thyself
sweeps hither swiftly. Fricka thy wife is near on thy trail, driving
her chariot with its harnessed rams. Up the path she comes; canst thou
not hear the strokes of her golden whip, which like a flail she is
plying? Listen to the bleatings of her belaboured steeds, listen to the
rattling of her whirling wheels, while to guide her path to thee, anger
flares like a beacon in her face. Father, dear father, such fights as
these are little to my liking, for Brunnhilde would sooner meet the
armed strength of men than the spirted venom of a woman's tongue and
her war of words. Meet thou this fight as thou best may, for in such
case I love to desert thee, and laughing I desert thee now. Yet I will
wait hard by till Fricka has gone, and once more talk with thee ere I
go to aid Siegmund."
Then once again, turning a look of love and laughter on her father,
Brunnhilde shouted her joyous war-cry so that the distant hills
replied, and sped quickly away until Fricka should have done with
Wotan. With love shining in his eyes for her, he saw her go, and with
anger and misgiving in his heart he saw his wife approach, knowing that
a war of words was before him. For well he knew that she had come on
this selfsame matter of Siegmund and Sieglinde, for so lawless a deed
was an outrage to her. Yet was Wotan's purpose undismayed, and he swore
to himself that she should find him steadfast in his resolve to aid
Siegmund.
Now Fricka, though she was Wotan's wife, was not the companion of his
heart; for she was cold and hard of nature, and nought that was human
beat in her bosom. And by the great human heart of Wotan, in whose
nostrils love was the breath of life, this wife of his was honoured
indeed and much feared, but it was not to her he whispered at dark,
nor told the secret troubles and joys of his soul. And when he saw her
driving down the path, though he marvelled at her beauty, he had no
word of tender welcome for her, and indeed her face was one flame of
anger.
"Here in these heights where thou hidest from me, thy wife," she said,
"I seek and find thee. Give me thy oath that thou wilt help me."
Then said Wotan, "What ails thee, wife?"
"Hunding's cry for vengeance has come to my ears," said she. "And
well it might, for, as thou knowest, I am the goddess of marriage and
marriage vows. Thus I listened in horror and holy indignation to the
tale I heard, and I have sworn that Siegmund and Sieglinde, who have
thus put him to shame so foully and madly, should pay for their sin.
So help me, swear that thou wilt help me, that the two may reap their
right reward. For shameful and impious is the deed that has been done."
Even as she spoke a little red flower blossomed at Wotan's feet,
opening suddenly at the dawn of this sweet spring morning, and above
his head two birds mated in mid-air, and his heart was warm within him
with the instinct of the spring-time. "It is the spell of the spring,"
he thought to himself. "Love and spring drove mad both man and woman,
and if there is blame, the blame is there." Aloud he said--
"O Fricka, it is spring-time!" and almost a tear of tenderness for the
frail race of men he so loved started to his eye.
But Fricka answered him in anger. "The marriage vow has been broken,"
she cried, "and though that is not all, yet that is enough. Hunding's
house is dishonoured, honoured, and I hate those who have dishonoured
it."
"And did love hallow that marriage vow?" cried Wotan. "Was not
Sieglinde carried by force to her marriage feast? Love's hand signed
not the bond, and where love is not, there the most solemn vow turns
impious. But a stranger came, and love stirred at last for him and her.
And where love stirs, there is true marriage, and those stirrings of
love I abet, I approve."
"Be it so," said Fricka; "let us say that the loveless wedlock is
unholy, that it is best honoured when broken. But that is not all,
and thou knowest it. For is it holy that two twins should seek each
other thus? Ah! Wotan, my head reels and my senses are bewildered
when I think of that. Brother and sister? When has it happened that
a man should marry his neighbour in his mother's womb? When has that
happened?"
But Wotan looked at her gently.
"It has happened now," he said. "Wife, is there nought left for us to
learn? Thou knowest, thou knowest well that between the two there burns
the authentic fire of love. It has happened. Siegmund and Sieglinde
have so loved. Therefore, as I do, bless their union and blame it not.
It is spring-time too."
Then was Fricka's wrath so kindled that it seemed as if she had been
calm before and was now angry for the first time, and with storm she
descended on him.
"Then is our godhead perished!" she cried, "since thou didst beget
thy godless Wolsungs. Do you think that I shall follow thee on such a
road? For the stones of it are shame, and shameful is the foot that
treads thereon. Hunding's cry goes up unanswered, and all that was holy
thou tramplest on. All this because the twins that thou begottest, in
unfaithfulness to me thy wife, have dared to do this impious deed.
Vows! what are vows to thee? Thou boldest none sacred. I have ever
been true to thee, and ever thou hast betrayed my truth. There is
no mountain top that has not seen, no vale that has not concealed
some pleasure of thine, pleasure that scorned and dishonoured my
faithfulness. When thou wentest to Erda, and begottest the brood of
Valkyries, Brunnhilde the first, I bore it, for Erda was ever noble,
and such adventure was not altogether base. But now like a common
man thou goest on thy foul adventures, haunting the forest till men
call thee the Wolf, or passing under the name of Walse. There is no
plumb-line to measure the depths of thy shame, so deep is that abyss.
These hast thou begotten of a mere woman, a she-wolf, these twins. And
now thou flingest me at the feet of thy she-wolfs litter. Ah, mete
out the full measure of my shame. Thou hast betrayed me, and now thou
stampest me beneath thy feet and the feet of thy children of shame."
Wotan answered her not at once, for indeed there is no use in
answering an angry woman, and he knew well that there were certain
things that Fricka would never know. For her mind moved not from that
little circle in which it was wont to go round, and all that had not
happened, but which was still among the unfound things of the world,
was outside her understanding. But Wotan knew that all heaven and
earth was waiting for a hero who should come, who should make the old
things new, and repair that which was outworn. He should be one who was
utterly free, not sheltered or befriended by the gods, and not serving
their laws. Nor might the gods help in this work, for their work was
of an earlier day, and he who should come must pass beyond them both
in thought and deed. Yet as Fricka still said nothing, but stood with
heaving bosom, he spoke of him who should come whom he knew, though
darkly, should be of the wild Wolsungs. Yet he knew also she would
understand not. Nor did she understand, but answered him according to
her own sightlessness, saying that since all that was done on earth
was the work of men, whose life lay in the hands of the gods, what was
there a man could do which was forbidden to the gods?
"For who," cried she, "put might into men except thou, or who but thou
put courage into their hearts, and strength into their arms? Thou only.
Yet now thou sayest that one will come of thy Wolsung breed who is
outside and beyond. Dost then think to trick me thus? Surely I know
that he, like all other men, must be subservient to thy will. It is
to shield thy shameful twins that thou sayest this. It is by thy will
alone he walks."
"Not so," said Wotan; "for when Siegmund seized the sword, he did it
of his own might. In nought did I help him there. By the might of that
sword he walks alone, not upheld by my power."
Then Fricka, for in her woman's way she was cunning, saw her path.
"Then shield him no further," she said quietly, "and take back thy
sword, the sword that thou hast given him."
"How can I?" said he. "For Siegmund won it for himself in his need, and
Siegmund's it is."
"But from thee," said she, "came not only the sword, but the need. In
those days, when thou didst fling the sword at the ash-stem, I followed
hard on thee, and saw thy deed, Who flung it there? Thou, Wotan. Who
led Siegmund's hand to the hilt? Who but thou? Thou knewest where the
sword was; in the presence of Sieglinde thou didst place it there. From
thee, through her, the knowledge of it came to him. How canst thou say
then that this Siegmund of thine is the hero that should come, since it
is through thee he works?"
Then was Wotan both wroth and sorry, for he knew that Fricka spoke
truth, yet he would have shielded Siegmund from her wrath. And she,
seeing that she shook his will, spoke freely and calmly.
"Lo, the master does not war with slaves," she said, "nor fight for
them. But thou and I, Wotan, are gods and equal. And I, whose soul and
body are yet at thy bidding, wilt thou shame me and the vows I uphold
before a mere man? Shall I be a laughter to the scornful, and shall men
make merry over my down-fall in their homes? Thou wilt not have it so;
I know thou wilt not. My godhead is more to thee than that."
"What wilt thou then?" said he.
"That thou stand aside from the Wolsung."
Then Wotan was sore distressed and very heavy at heart "Let him go,"
said he, and his voice was low and troubled; "I will not stay him, nor
shalt thou."
"Then shield him not nor shelter him," said she, "when vengeance
follows on him."
Then did Wotan remember that he had bidden Brunnhilde to aid him, and
it was ill to fight against Brunnhilde. Thus perhaps might Siegmund be
safe. So he swore to Fricka that he would not shield nor shelter him.
Yet Fricka was not yet satisfied.
"Look in my face, Wotan," she said. "Thou sayest thou wilt not shield
him, neither shall thine shield him. No aid must he obtain from thy
Valkyrie maidens."
"The Valkyries go where they will," said he, "and I have no power over
them."
"So that was thy thought!" said Fricka. "It shall not be so. Thy will
directs them; let it direct them that they turn not to Siegmund."
Then Wotan clenched his hands together, for this way and that was he
torn. On the one side stood Siegmund his son, whom he must needs aid
for the sake of the promise he had given with the sword; on the other,
Fricka his wife. And in his agony he cried aloud--
"How can I slay him? It was he who found my sword."
"Let it be to him only a sword then," said Fricka, "and not the
sword of Wotan, or break it in his hand, so that Hunding has him
defenceless. O, Wotan," and as she spoke he knew in his heart her
nobility and uprightness, for all that she was cold and hard, "O,
Wotan, thou lovest me not, and I know it, yet shield my honour for
never have I brought dishonour on thine. I ever upheld the marriage
vow, and how would the sons of men laugh, and how would the glory of
the gods be diminished, should thy daughter Brunnhilde not uphold it
this day. How would lawlessness and unhallowed lust be master among
men. By Siegmund's death alone is my honour upheld, for he has sinned
against me. So swear to it, Wotan."
Even as she spoke Wotan heard again the joyful war-cry of Brunnhilde,
who, supposing that his strife with Fricka was over, was coming nigh
to where they stood, and he remembered in his heart how so short time
ago he had bade her warn and shelter Siegmund. Yet he could in nought
gainsay his wife, and in sorrow find heaviness he cast himself down on
the rocky seat where he had sat with his maiden. And his voice came
hollow and broken, like an echo buffeted against rocks.
[Illustration: "I give thee mine oath!" said he.]
"I give thee mine oath!" said he.
Then having the oath of Wotan which he might not break, Fricka turned
at once from him, for she had accomplished her purpose, and went where
she had left her chariot drawn by rams. Near by was Brunnhilde standing
with her horse, and as she passed her--
"Thy father waits for thee," she said. "Go thee and learn from him
that which he has chosen." Then mounting her chariot, she lashed the
rams with her golden whip, and they sped down the mountain-side.