upon the brave young warrior he would fain have spared. The sight of
Hunding was more than he could bear. With a backward wave of his hand
Wotan cried fiercely: “Go, knave! Kneel before Fricka and tell her how
well Wotan avenged her slight!”
And at these words Hunding staggered and fell lifeless to the ground;
for no mortal man could stand before the scornful wave of Wotan’s hand,
unless he were of the race of Heroes who know not fear.
So Hunding died; but there was no Valkyrie to bear him to Valhalla. All
his life he had been a tyrant and a bully, and such men, were they the
best fighters in the world, could find no favor with the warrior-maidens.
“Now for Brunhilda!” cried Wotan, his voice causing the very trees to
quake and shiver. “She who has dared to defy and disobey me! Terrible
shall be her punishment, though she be my best-loved child.”
He sprang on his war-horse and followed where the parted clouds showed
Brunhilda’s recent track.
BRUNHILDA’S SLEEP GUARDED BY LOKI’S FIERY ARM
By Constance Maud
On the summit of a lofty mountain the Valkyrie sisters met after the
day’s toil, to await their father Wotan, and present him with the heroes
they had gathered from the battlefields on earth.
One by one they alighted from their winged steeds, shouting the
Valkyries’ war-cry greeting to each other, “Hei-a-ha! Hei-a-hei!
Hoyoto-ho!”
From the north came Helmwiga and Gerhilda well-laden; the fierce Norsemen
never failed to supply fresh recruits for Wotan’s bodyguard. From east
and west and every quarter came some tribute to Wotan, borne on the
Valkyries’ saddle-bows.
“Where tarries our sister Brunhilda?” asked several eagerly. “She is late
to-night. Ah, see, in the distance, who is that speeding hither like a
cloud driven before the storm? Surely not so rides our queenly Brunhilda!”
With the fainting Sieglinda in her arms, it was indeed Brunhilda who came
in sight at last, flying on the wings of the wind.
“Faster! oh, faster, Grani my steed!” she cried to the panting horse.
And Grani, his strong head downward bent, with his winged feet cleft
the rolling clouds till they hissed like water meeting fire, while his
breath came in great snorting gasps, and the foam flew from his mouth in
big flakes like snow. Never before in his long service with his noble
mistress had Grani been urged to flight, and he knew that dire indeed
must be the danger which Brunhilda dare not stand and face.
“Well striven, good Grani, faithful steed!” cried Brunhilda, as the horse
alighted on the mountain and dropped exhausted to the ground. Lifting
Sieglinda, now fully conscious, from the saddle, Brunhilda hastened
toward her sisters.
“She brings no hero! It is naught but a maiden!” they exclaimed in wonder
and disappointment.
“Help me, O sisters! Shield me and this poor woman, I beseech you!”
implored Brunhilda breathlessly.
“Why this furious haste? From whom fliest thou?” asked the Valkyries,
crowding round her in amazement.
“I fly from our father! In terrible wrath he hunts me down!”
“Thou fliest from our father?” cried all the sisters, horror-struck.
“What hast thou done that thou shouldst fly from him?”
Brunhilda poured out her tale in eager haste. From one to another she
looked for pity or sympathy but in vain. Sternly the Valkyries eyed
her as she knelt and implored them to shelter her and the unfortunate
Sieglinda from the wrath of Wotan.
“Woe to thee, most unworthy sister! How durst thou disobey the sacred
command of Wotan our father? Naught but disaster can follow!”
And now, from the north, raging storm-clouds came sweeping toward them.
One of the Valkyries mounted to the topmost peak, and, looking across the
sky, called out:
“He comes! Wotan the wrathful father! flying furiously in the
storm-clouds on his snorting steed!”
“Who will lend me a horse? Grani is spent—see, he cannot even stand!
Rossvisa, my sister, have pity, lend me thy racer!” Brunhilda implored,
turning to a stately Valkyrie whose magnificent steed was at her side.
“My racer never yet fled our father in fear, and never shall!” replied
Rossvisa coldly. To each one Brunhilda went, beseeching a horse.
“We stand by our father!” the Valkyries all answered her. Brunhilda was
in despair.
Then Sieglinda, who had watched the scene in gloomy silence, came forward
and spoke. “Sorrow not for me, noble maiden. Oh, why didst thou not leave
me to die with Siegmund? If thou hast indeed pity on me, stretch forth
thy sword and pierce me now to the heart.”
“Nay, that must not be,” answered Brunhilda. “Thou must live still,
Sieglinda, for thou shalt have a son, who will one day be the greatest
hero in the world. Heed now what I say. To the eastward there lies a
mighty forest; there Wotan will not pursue thee, for he abhors the spot.
It is the dwelling of Fafnir the dragon, his mortal foe. Thither haste
thee. I will remain here to face the god’s wrath, and hinder him till
thou hast escaped far on thy journey.”
“Fly, then, Sieglinda!” cried Brunhilda; “speed to the east! Faint not
and fear not, whatever betide. Live for thy son, and call him by this
name from me—Siegfried the Victor! Give him these shattered pieces of his
father’s sword—from the field of death I took them. One day he shall weld
them into a mighty weapon. Farewell, Sieglinda!” It was none too soon.
Another minute, and with a crash the angry god descended in the midst of
the dismayed Valkyries.
“Where is Brunhilda, the rebel?” he roared in tones of fury. “Let her
come forth! Dare any to shelter her, they shall share the same doom.”
The Valkyrie sisters had closed round Brunhilda in the vain hope of
hiding her; but at these words she came out from their midst, her face
pale and set. “Here am I, my father, to suffer my sentence,” she said
firmly.
Wotan was not prepared for such calm fearlessness. “I sentence thee
not,” he answered. “’Tis thine own misdeed condemns thee!” Then, with
gathering wrath, he continued, “I made thee a Valkyrie, highest in honor
and favor. Thou hast forsworn thy noble calling, and played traitor to
thy father. No longer mayest thou dwell in Valhalla as my child. Never
more will I send thee for my dead heroes. Never again shalt thou fill my
cup at the feast! Degraded and exiled art thou forever!”
Brunhilda stood as though turned to stone.
The Valkyries burst into loud lamentations. “Woe! woe! Alas, our unhappy
sister!”
Then Brunhilda cried aloud in great agony of mind, “O father, disown me
not! Take not from me all thy gifts! Leave me not to utter desolation!”
But Wotan was not to be appeased, and the worst part of the sentence was
yet to come. “Thou thyself hast called down my curse, and here where we
now stand it shall strike thee!” he answered. “A deep, dreamless sleep
shall overpower thee, and to that man who first awakens thee shalt thou
belong from henceforth!”
At this grim sentence all the Valkyries lifted their voices in a wail of
horror and dismay, crying: “Oh, terrible father, recall the curse! Let
not our sister be degraded to such a shameful fate. Each one of us shares
in her disgrace.”
Brunhilda’s woe was too great for any cry.
“I have spoken once—my words abide forever!” retorted Wotan. “Thy
treacherous sister,” he continued, “no longer belongs to the glorious
troop of Valkyries. Her godhood is forfeit! The doom she has earned is
now to wed a mortal man.”
At this picture of her future, poor Brunhilda sank with a deep groan to
the earth.
Wotan turned to the eight sisters, who looked on in deep distress. “If ye
desire not a like doom, forbear to pity the outcast. Away now, begone,
every one of ye! Haste, lest I hurl the same woe on your heads!” The
earth quaked and trembled as Wotan passionately stamped his foot, and
fiery gleams shot from his eyes.
With a last despairing look at Brunhilda and a wild cry of woe, the
Valkyries sprang on their horses and fled in hot haste. They knew if
their stern father spared not his favorite Brunhilda, still less would he
spare them.
The storm had now ceased. Brunhilda lay prostrate on the ground. Wotan
stood motionless in silent gloom. His rage seemed spent, like that of
the storm. Then Brunhilda rose slowly from the ground, and spoke in deep
sorrowful tones. “Was my deed verily so shameful that such shame should
fall upon me? Was it so base an act to fulfil thy _first_ command? Speak,
O my father, and soften thy wrath toward me.”
“Thou didst wilfully disobey my sacred order. The _first_ command I
recalled,” replied Wotan bitterly.
“But not of thine own will. ’Twas Fricka who made thee false to thy
nobler self; and because I held in my heart thy true wish, I dared to
slight thy second order.”
The mention of Fricka brought an angry flash from the eyes of Wotan. “For
that rebellious act the curse now falls on thee,” he answered.
“But I knew how well thou lovedst Siegmund,” pleaded Brunhilda; “and when
I found him in the forest and told him of thy death decree, he revealed
to me a wondrous thing I never before had known. For in his strong
courage and his undying devotion to Sieglinda, I learned what love could
be. And I resolved, whether victory or death came of it, to serve one
so noble. In acting thus, O father, I was faithful to thee, even though
disobeying thereby thy command.”
Wotan groaned. “Thou knowest naught of what compelled my action. Dark
clouds are gathering on every side—the day of doom threatens Valhalla!
I dared not follow what my heart desired. But all this woe I kept from
thee, that thy life might be happy and free from care. And thou, my
favorite, my beloved child, hast turned thy hand against me and proved
false to my trust. Never again may I behold thy face! Since love proved
thy undoing, follow now that man whom thou perforce must love.”
“If indeed I am banished forever, at least,” she pleaded, “grant me one
parting boon, O stern father. If I must wed a mortal man, let not thy
Valkyrie fall a victim to some worthless poltroon, when fetters of sleep
bind her fast. In this one thing, O father, hear my prayer—at thy command
let magical fire spring up in a glowing wall around my couch, that the
flames may scare and scorch the timid, and none save a hero stout of
heart may dare to approach me.”
Wotan, stern and unbending though he was, could not refuse this one last
petition. “Farewell,” he said, “thou who wert once the light of my eyes.
I grant thee this last parting boon—tongues of flame will I set round
this place; with their terrible fury shall they scare the faint-hearted.
Only one shall awaken the bride, he whose strength and freedom is greater
than that of Wotan.”
With a cry of grateful joy Brunhilda threw herself into her father’s arm.
Tenderly he looked at her, and slowly kissed her on both eyes. A profound
slumber instantly fell on Brunhilda, and Wotan, taking her in his arms,
laid her on a mossy mound overshadowed by a great fir tree.
“Farewell forever, my beloved beautiful child,” he murmured sadly, as he
closed her helmet visor and covered her with the long steel shield of the
Valkyries.
Then, going to a rock near by, he struck it three times with the point of
his spear, commanding in a loud voice: “Loki! Fire-spirit, come forth.
Spread me thy flames around this fell. Here keep thou guard as I decree.
Loki, appear!”
And at his word, out sprang from the rock a long tongue of flame, which
quickly spread to a mighty river of fire circling round and round the
mountain where Brunhilda lay sleeping.
Then Wotan, holding aloft his spear, cried in ringing tones: “Only he
whose spirit quaileth not before the spear of Wotan shall pass this fiery
bar!” With these words he vanished into the clouds, and the night fell.
Such was the story of Brunhilda’s long sleep.
[Illustration: TENDERLY HE LOOKED AT HER, AND SLOWLY KISSED HER ON BOTH
EYES—page 114
_From the painting by K. Dielitz_]
HOW SIEGFRIED KILLED THE DRAGON
By Constance Maud
When Sieglinda fled from the wrath of Wotan, she went eastward, as
Brunhilda directed. For long days and nights she journeyed, and came at
length to the country of the Nibelungs, where dwelt the great dragon
Fafnir.
Now the Nibelungs were a race of ugly dwarfs, who lived underground,
burrowing in the depths of the earth for gold and treasure. They cared
nothing for the free forest life, the sunshine, trees, and flowers, or
pleasures of the chase. Like prisoners in a dungeon, they chose rather to
pass their lives digging and toiling in the dark for gold, and hoarding
it up with anxious care.
A vast heap of this treasure, including a magic Ring, stolen from the
Mermaids of the Rhine, and a Wishing Cap of strange powers called the
Tarnhelm, had fallen into the hands of Fafnir the giant, who, in order
the better to guard these precious possessions, transformed himself into
a huge dragon, the terror of all the country round.
Sieglinda lived a sad, lonely life in the forest. She avoided the caves
where Fafnir dwelt, and as the dwarfs seldom came above ground, she saw
nothing of them.
There was one, however, whom it was fated she should meet. His name was
Mimi, and of all the dwarfs of the Nibelung race he was the ugliest and
the meanest. Notwithstanding this, he was a very skilful blacksmith,
and could also do fine work in gold, silver, and steel. Like all the
Nibelungs, he had a great dislike to fresh air, so he built his forge in
a cave half sunk underground, with a great chimney in the roof.
Mimi was working at his anvil one day, when he heard a deep groan outside
the cave. On going out, he saw a woman with a baby in her arms lying on
the ground. She was dying, and Mimi had only found her in time to hear
her last words.
“Have pity!” cried poor Sieglinda (for it was she). “Thy goodness shall
be rewarded. I am dying. Take this my son and bring him up. Call his name
Siegfried, for one day he will be the greatest hero in the world. Keep
for him this broken sword—it was Siegmund his father’s—‘Needful,’ he
called it!”
Now Mimi was not a kind-hearted person, and nothing would have induced
him to take care of a strange baby out of pity. But when Sieglinda said
that her child was the son of the famous hero Siegmund the Volsung, and
would one day himself be the greatest hero in the world, then a grand
idea struck Mimi. He would bring up the boy as his own son, and when
Siegfried was full-grown, he should be sent forth to kill Fafnir and win
for his foster-father all the dragon’s treasure!
So Mimi answered Sieglinda in a cracked voice, which he tried to make
pleasant:
“Be comforted, poor woman. I will take the child out of the kindness of
my heart, and do my best for him.”
Sieglinda died with a blessing on her lips, and Mimi took the little
Siegfried to dwell with him in his cave.
But the dwarf soon found he had no easy task in bringing up this son of a
hero. Never was such a daring, fearless, mischievous infant. Many a time
would Mimi have turned him adrift, or put an end to him with a blow from
his smith’s hammer, but for the thought that this bold young imp was just
the sort to delight in slaying a dragon, and pay no heed as to who took
the treasure.
As soon as he could walk, the boy would escape into the forest, and there
run wild all day; chasing the bears and foxes, feeling no fear of any
living creature. He grew so fast that in a few years he was bigger and
stronger than Mimi, whom from the first he disliked, perceiving the dwarf
to be false and cowardly in all his actions.
Mimi always told the boy he was his father, and this was a great trouble
to Siegfried. How he would have loved a father who was noble, fearless,
and brave! But Mimi feared everything. He trembled and turned pale did
a wolf but howl, or the thunder roll. He feared not only giants, but
ordinary huntsmen and woodcutters, and always hid when they came in
sight. He feared even Siegfried, so the boy soon became his master, and
led him a sorry life. But creatures too small and weak to excite his fear
Mimi would cruelly oppress and kill; and this, more than anything else,
made Siegfried hate the very sight of him.
Time went on, and Siegfried grew into a tall strong youth, with fair
locks shining in the sun like burnished gold, and fearless blue eyes,
which laughed danger in the face. At last the day came when Mimi hoped
to be repaid for all his trouble with “the good-for-nothing cub,” as he
called the boy. Siegfried had ordered him in a lordly way to make a sword
fit for his use—“one that does not snap in two at the first stroke,” he
said, and strode off to the forest for his day’s hunt.
Mimi had undertaken the task more than once lately, for he was anxious on
his own account that a sword should be fashioned strong and tough enough
to slay the dragon. But as yet every weapon he welded had snapped in two
at the first trial of its strength by Siegfried.
With mighty effort Mimi hammered and wrought at his anvil all that day.
“A stouter sword I never shaped! It would defy a giant,” he said at last,
looking on his day’s work. “Yet I sorely fear, when grasped by that fiery
youth, it will twist up like a straw!”
Mimi sat down exhausted and despairing. “Ah me! What is to be done?” he
sighed. “If only Siegmund’s splintered sword could be welded together
again! But no power on earth can do that! Never saw I such mighty
steel—all my craft is powerless to melt it—the thing is magic!”
“Oho! Come on, friend Bruin!” cried a voice from without, and Siegfried
burst into the cave, driving a great grisly bear, which he held in tow
with a rope.
Mimi started up in terror, and hid behind the forge shrieking: “Take away
the fearsome brute!”
Siegfried burst into peals of laughter at Mimi’s fear. “Mr. Bruin is a
friend of mine. He has come to ask for the sword—is it not finished yet?”
“Yes, it is finished. There it lies yonder. Take away the beast!” panted
Mimi.
Siegfried seized the sword eagerly. “Go now, friend Bruin,” he said,
loosing the rope, and the bear gladly escaped.
“See how nice and bright is the sword,” said Mimi, creeping out of his
hiding-place.
“To what purpose is a sword bright if it is not hard?” asked Siegfried,
with scorn. He struck it on the anvil, and the sword instantly flew to
pieces. “What silly toy hast thou palmed off on me here?” he cried,
flinging it away in disgust. “Dost call that a sword? Why talk to me
of battles, and giants, and deeds of daring, if thou canst shape me no
better weapon than that? Right well dost thou deserve that I break it on
thy crazy old head!”
“Ungrateful boy! Think of all my goodness to thee! When a wretched,
troublesome cub, who was it warmed, clothed, and fed thee? Who patiently
taught thee all thou knowest? And what is my reward? naught but abuse and
hate!” Mimi pretended to wipe away a tear, as though overcome by grief;
but he had done this once too often.
“No doubt thou hast taught me much, and told me many lies,” answered
Siegfried, who was in no mood for polite speeches. “But there is one
thing,” he continued, “thou hast never taught me, and which I am now
determined to know—Who and from whence are my father and mother? Long
have I felt thou art no kin of mine. I see in the forest all the young
resemble their parents; but thou and I are no more like than a toad and
a bright shining fish!”
Mimi did not like the comparison. His eyes gleamed with hate.
“Tell me the truth, or I will shake it out of thee!” cried Siegfried,
seizing him by the throat.
“Let loose, or thou wilt murder me, wretched boy!” screamed the dwarf
in terror. “I will tell thee all!” Then, trembling and quaking, he told
Siegfried all he knew of his unhappy parents, with many comments on his
own exceeding kindness, to which Siegfried listened impatiently. Finally,
in proof of his tale (which, for a wonder, was true), Mimi produced the
two pieces of splintered sword, saying dolefully—“Behold, as reward for
all my toil and trouble, this had I from thy mother!—a broken sword thy
father died while wielding—‘Needful,’ they called it—a foolish name,
since it failed in time of need!”
Siegfried rejoiced at learning that he sprang from a noble race. He
thought with tenderness of his unfortunate parents, and wished he could
have brought some comfort to his poor brave mother. Eagerly he seized
the broken pieces of his father’s sword. “To me it shall be well named
‘Needful’,” he cried. “If thou hast any craft, show it now, Mimi. Up and
forge me these fragments! My father’s sword I will wield to-day, and with
it go forth into the world.” So saying, he went out of the cave, leaving
Mimi looking disconsolately at the broken sword.
“No furnace can melt this hard steel. No hammer can bend it. Yet this is
the sword which alone can slay Fafnir!”
When Siegfried returned Mimi had still done nothing. He seemed to have
just awakened from some bad dream.
“Ho, lazy fellow! Hast finished the sword?” he shouted.
Mimi crept up slowly from behind the anvil, looking round cautiously,
lest Siegfried had brought some wild beast with him. “The sword?” he
exclaimed in dismal tones. “How can I mend such steel? But, hark ye,
boy”; and Mimi came close up, peering into his face; “hast ever known
Fear?”
“Whom meanest thou by Fear? Never have I heard of him!” Siegfried
answered impatiently.
“Alone in the forest on a dark night, near some gloomy spot, when a
sudden rustle or roar startled thee close at hand, hast never felt grisly
shudderings, thy heart beating and bursting in thy breast?”
The little dwarf’s description of his unknown feeling interested
Siegfried greatly. He even forgot to be angry about the sword. “Right
strange and wondrous must that be,” he cried. “My heart is ever firm and
steady—how I long to feel sensations so new and curious—this shivering
and shaking and beating and bursting! Tell me then, Mimi, how can I learn
to know Fear?”
“I will tell thee!” said Mimi, delighted. “There is one I know of who
will not fail to teach thee. A monstrous dragon he is, Fafnir by name. I
will guide thee to his hole.”
“Where is it? Let us be gone at once. Give me the sword, I will mend it
myself. Verily thou art but a bungling smith.” Heaping a mass of wood on
the fire, Siegfried blew it up till the flames roared like hungry lions.
Then, fixing the sword-splinters in a vice, he proceeded to file them to
powder.
Mimi watched in wonder and envy. Now and then he timidly offered his
advice, to which Siegfried paid as much heed as though it were the
squeaking of a mouse.
Working away with a will, Siegfried performed the mightiest feats of
strength with no more exertion than if he were shaping a toy for a child.
When the sword was all in powder, he put it in a pot on the forge. Then,
blowing up the flames afresh, he sang in a voice strong as a clarion a
joyful song of freedom and victory.
The steel sword of his father seemed to understand the song, for it
bubbled and spluttered all liquid in the pot, as though it would leap out
for very joy.
Mimi listened, too, but he did not enjoy the song. His wily brain was
hard at work planning his own ends. That Siegfried should remake the
sword was very well, for without it Fafnir could not be slain—but
supposing he took the Ring, the gold, and all?—what then would become of
poor Mimi? So he prepared a wonderful draught of such powerful poisons,
that one drop was enough to make a giant fall senseless to the ground.
“When he comes home weary from his fight with the dragon, I will give him
this refreshing cup,” said Mimi, with a malicious chuckle.
Meanwhile Siegfried poured the molten steel into a mould, which he
forthwith plunged hissing into a tank of cold water. “Ha, ha, Mimi!” he
cried. “So you have turned cook, and brew sauces while I brew swords!
Methinks,” he added to himself, “I would rather taste of my cooking than
his!”
The dwarf’s sharp little eyes glistened with hate as he stirred the
potion, and crooned low his song of hope and vengeance. “So the pupil
puts the craftsman to shame, does he? Only let him wait till this draught
is duly prepared!”
“Now, Needful, come forth, and see what the hammer can do for thee!”
cried Siegfried.
He took the sword hard and cold from the water, and thrust it in the
red-hot coals till it glowed like a sword of flame. Then with a huge
smith’s hammer, he beat it out on the anvil. The sparks flew right and
left like fireflies, and Siegfried sang again:
“Ha, Needful! So do I tame thy spirit! At my command thou glowest fiery
red—then in the water I cool thine anger till thy sides gleam steely
blue! Now with stalwart strokes I beat thee out, Needful, my famous
sword—so does my spirit enter thee! Soon thy cold blade shall glow red
again with the blood of traitors! Dead didst thou lie, but I, Siegfried,
give thee life once more. Needful, come forth!”