THE SENTENCE OF BRUNNHILDE
For a moment Brunnhilde stood there watching with a strange exaltation
the figure of Sieglinde as it grew ever dimmer in the dimness of the
plumed pines, and when it was now quite vanished she turned again, and
stood yet awhile with clenched hands and knitted brow, so that she
might be mistress of herself when the heavy wrath of Wotan fell on her,
and disgrace not her own nature nor the bright company of her fearless
sisters. Little she seemed to care what doom he might mete out to her,
for at the worst he could but deal her swift death, and if the sons
of men could die bravely and blithely, meeting the face of death as
they would meet a friend's face, could she do less, she the first of
the children of Erda? For all that, she was afraid, and with her fear
there cut her like a two-edged sword the pang of remorse that she had
disobeyed him whom her soul loved. Yet in this matter she knew well
that were that choice again before her, she would do again as she had
done, and not otherwise, for pity had enlightened her, and that sweet
mandate was binding on her.
Then lifted she her eyes and saw that the height where her sisters had
watched was already quite hidden by the thunder clouds that had driven
so swiftly from the north, and it was as if black night encompassed
the place. And from the middle of the cloud came the unceasing roar
of thunder and the wild lanterns of the lightning flashed all ways
at once. Then for a moment they ceased, and out of the middle of the
cloud came the voice she loved, and it was more terrible than all the
thunderings. Not very loud was it, but therein lay wrath as deep as
the sea, and unappeasable as the desert's thirst; and it called her by
name. And when Brunnhilde heard that she stood very still.
But the other Valkyries wailed among themselves when they saw that
their father Wotan had even now reached the place, and loudly they
bewailed for their sister Brunnhilde, for by his voice they knew
that Wotan was exceedingly wroth. Then suddenly at the sound of
their wailing, the fountains of fear were altogether loosed within
Brunnhilde, and she felt sick with very terror, and her knees shook
together. And she who had never besought aught for herself, besought
them now.
"Sisters, sisters of mine, help me!" she cried, "for the sickness of
fear has come upon me, and my heart is pierced. Surely his rage will
crush me utterly, if you protect me not. Stand round me, let me hide
among you, that he come not on me alone."
Then were her sisters full of pity for her, for none could "gainsay
or resist her appeal; and in a company they ranged themselves upon a
little rocky height that was there, all eight of them, and Brunnhilde
they set in their midst, and she cowered down among them. Thus it might
be that Wotan would suppose that she had not joined her sisters in fear
of his displeasure, and that thus he might seek her elsewhere. And they
whispered to her to be, of good cheer, and crouch low in the midst
of them, and not answer to his call. This she did; and they grouped
themselves round her on the rocky point, and thus awaited the coming
of Wotan. Yet the bravest of them were afraid at the thought of the
wrath that was coming, for they had seen him alight from his chariot
on the mountain-top close above them, and in the calm of his anger
there was that which was more terrible than the bellowing thunder or
the lightning stroke. Then without haste came he down and stood before
them. In his right hand he held the ashen spear, and his left hung by
his side with fingers clenched, and his glorious face, before which the
earth trembled, was very still and set; only the point of his spear
trembled like an aspen leaf as he held it, and the Valkyries knew the
wrath that shook him. Then he opened his mouth and spake very gently.
"Where is Brunnhilde?" said he, "for after her and her wickedness am I
come. Do you think to hide her from me, or that ye will veil her and
her evil deed from the reward I mete out to it?"
Then one and another replied to him, hoping to turn away his wrath;
and one said that nought that she could do was so terrible as the anger
with which he sought her; and another asked what it was that had so
moved his rage; and yet another spake of the heroes they had slain
that day, thus vainly seeking to cool his anger. But to their replies
he answered not; only the trembling of the head of the ashen spear
grew more violent, and at the last he broke out, no longer being still
and calm in his wrath, but with an outburst of such rage as they had
not dreamed was there. For all that, it was not so terrible as the
stillness of the anger in which he had come to them.
"Is it your purpose to mock me?" he cried. "Indeed I am not good to
mock. O, ye Valkyries, ye wax over-bold, nor does this delay serve to
calm my displeasure, but it spreads further like the rising tide, and
reaches you too. Of what avail then are your idle words? for well I
know that there in your midst ye foolishly seek to guard Brunnhilde.
I bid you all then to stand off from her, for from me and from you
and your company she is for ever an outcast. She has proved herself
worthless. Worthless is she, and the doom of the worthless shall come
upon her at my hands."
Then again once more they besought him, for they trembled for
Brunnhilde who in their midst lay trembling, and they told him how in
panic of fear she had fled before him, beseeching her sisters to shield
and shelter her, for they knew that they could not deceive him, nor was
it of any use to say that she was not with them. So ere they handed her
to him they tried to soften his anger, telling him that already fear,
like some ploughshare, had furrowed her heart, that heart which had
never yet trembled nor turned faint. Then with one voice they besought
him to have pity, remembering her mighty deeds. But their pleading but
more inflamed him, for it was the very darling of his soul who had
disobeyed him, and thus her sin was the more grievous, and to try to
turn his wrath and beseech in this sort seemed to him a womanish deed.
So again he broke out in ever fiercer anger.
"Are ye indeed Valkyries?" he said, "and can it be that I have begotten
a brood so timorous of soul, and so little courageous? Women of faint
heart are ye all! Were these the hearts that I moulded, which should
meet war and the clash of fighting like men, sharp as steel and hard as
tempered steel, that like a pack of women you whimper in this sort when
I, the righteous judge, come to visit one who has failed in truth? Ah!
and ye know not half."
For a moment his anger all died out and left him only very sorry, for
he loved Brunnhilde with a love far deeper than any of her sisters
could ever know, and his voice softened.
"Ye shall hear what she has done," he said, "and judge if it was
not meeter that my tears should flow and that I rather than you should
weep and wail. For to her, to Brunnhilde, my innermost being and the
secrets of my heart were known as to myself, and into her soul, as into
a well of water, I looked and beheld myself, and my will that had been
dark to me grew clear. In her, as in the womb of a woman with child,
my will matured, and from her it came to birth. Never was there love
like this between any man and maid. Was that a bond to lightly loose?
Yet to-day she loosed it, and she who was my will fought against me.
A clear command I laid on her, and in the sight of heaven and earth
she disobeyed it, and the sword of Siegmund, made by me, was directed
against myself by her command. She has done this."
[Illustration: Crouching among her sisters.]
Then he paused a little space, and again he spoke: "No longer I speak
to you Valkyries, I speak to her. Dost thou hear me, Brunnhilde? Thou
whom in every part I fashioned, to whom I gave thy deathless armour,
to whom I gave all the sweetness and joy of life, dost thou hear me?
And hearing me, art thou, thou, Brunnhilde, afraid, that thou hidest
thyself like a coward, thou, Brunnhilde, and would shrink away from the
doom and punishment that I have appointed for thee? So come out, come
out, and of thy own free-will!"
And when Brunnhilde, crouching among her sisters, heard the voice of
her father speaking in such sort to her, him whom she knew best and
loved best of all the world, all fear suddenly died in her heart, for
the love that each had towards the other cast fear out, and she knew
only that he called her, and she must go. And she stood up straight,
and with her hands to right and left she parted the sisters who would
have screened her still, and with firm step and head borne proudly, as
was ever her wont, she came near to where Wotan stood and looked him in
the face and spoke to him.
"Father, I am here," she said. "Make known to me what thou wiliest."
Then answered Wotan: "Not from me, Brunnhilde," he said, "comes thy
fate; it is thou thyself who hast sent it. Was it not by the might of
my will that thy soul first awoke in thee? Yet thou hast warred against
thy own soul. It was the might of my word that made thee mighty in
noble deeds, yet to my word thou hast given the lie. Thou wast ever the
maiden of my will to me, and against my will hast thou gone. Thou wast
the maiden who bore my shield, but against me hast thou stretched the
shield forth. It was thou whom I appointed to choose the lots of life
and death. Where I ordained life thou didst think to give death, where
I appointed death thou didst let live. It was thou whom I appointed to
lift up the hearts of heroes, yea, and thou didst lift them up against
me. I tell thee all that thou wert; but by what name thou shouldest
now be called, thou knowest thyself. No more art thou the maiden of
my will, but maiden only, and as Valkyrie thou hast gone on thy last
errand. From henceforth thou art that which thou hast made thyself;
thou metest out thy own punishment, and it is just."
Then did it seem to Brunnhilde that she could have borne all else but
only this, that she should be thus parted from her father, and her
heart was stricken.
"Dost thou so cast me from thee?" she said. "Canst thou think to do
such a thing?"
"Thou sayest it," said he, "and thou art outcast from me utterly.
Never again from Walhalla shalt thou storm forth at my bidding on thy
joyous errands, nor ever again shall I show to thee the heroes thou
shalt fight and slay, guiding their souls at eventide to my halls,
there to make merry at the joyful feastings of the gods. Nor ever again
when the mirth grows louder, deep into the night, shalt thou hand me
the wine-cup, nor again shall our souls mingle in the sweet caresses
of father and daughter as was our wont. For out of the company of gods
thou art taken, and thy place shall know thee no more, and thou, that
fair flower-bud that grew so strong and sweet on the abiding stem of
my godhead, art nipped off and cast away. For the bond between us is
broken, and for ever art thou banished from before my face, and out of
the light of mine eyes."
Then began the sisters all to weep and to wail, for like Wotan they
loved her, and with words of pity they called on her by name, and
bitterly they lamented themselves. But among them all Brunnhilde stood
dry-eyed and firm. Nought said she to vainly try to turn his mind, she
wished but to learn her uttermost doom.
"Then is all, all that thou hast given me, utterly lost to me?" she
said. "Of all thy gifts dost thou strip me? Is all lost to me?"
"Yea, and it is lost to me," said Wotan, "for from the life and light
of the gods thou passest. Here shalt thou abide, even here, and deep
sleep shall wrap thee round, and thou shalt be alone and without
protector, until the day come that some man, a wayfarer, passing here
shall see a maid lying alone, and shall come to her and wake her, and
she shall be his. Maiden only thou art, not maiden of my will, and to
maid, as is fit, comes man."
But even now when the horror of her full doom was told to Brunnhilde,
still she swooned not nor bewailed herself. But among the sisters again
rose wild tumult and bewilderment of pity, for of all dooms to fall
into the hands of a man was to them the most shameful, and the stain
and disgrace that was decreed to her touched their sisterhood. And with
one consent they entreated their father to have pity, and not put that
uttermost degradation on her, but refrain from cursing her with so
great an infamy. Yet he paid no heed to their wailings, for it was even
as he said, and Brunnhilde was the maiden of his will no more, but a
maiden only, and a man will find the maiden at the last.
Then because they still importuned him till he was vexed with them,
he turned fiercely on them. "Her fate is fixed," he cried, "and ye
have heard it. From you as from me is she for ever separate because
she was faithless; and as I have said, so shall it be. No more shall
her steed whinny to its fellows as ye fly together on the wings of the
winds. And here shall she abide till the man who fares by shall pluck
the full bloom of her sleeping maidenhood, and from maid shall make of
her mother. To man her master shall her heart be bent, and meekly shall
she do all his will. The cares of the house shall be hers, and by the
hearth-side shall she sit and ply the distaff, as befits a wife, and
the mockers among men, it may be, shall make merry at her. Woman shall
she be among the sons of men, and her fate none other than theirs."
Then was the spirit of Brunnhilde broken within her, for the
punishment was harder than she could bear; yet still she said no word.
But her sisters again broke out into lamentations, whereat Wotan was
angry, for what must be, must be, and their bewailings were but a waste
of breath and cowardly withal. Nor was it his will to palaver longer
with them.
"Begone, begone!" he cried, "for but a little more and ye share her
doom. So begone, lest her fate be yours also. For the last time ye look
on her face. And should one of you remain here lingering, in vain hope
of resisting my will or changing my unchangeable mind, Brunnhilde's
doom is hers too. So be wise while there is time. Get ye gone from this
rock, her sleeping-place, and let none again be found here. To horse
with you all, for swiftly shall woe light on the loiterer."
Then the sisters, seeing that the doom was spoken, and though
Walhalla should fall, yet should Wotan's word abide, went very
sorrowfully to their horses, and loosed them from their tetherings, and
each mounted and rode off. Shrill through the woods and the echoing
mountain-side sounded the storm of their going, for the winds awoke to
speed them, and over dale and down glen they sped swiftly, till the
noise of their travel grew faint, and on the mountain-side there abode
only Wotan and Brunnhilde, who still lay crouched at his feet.