anvil. With a crash it split from top to bottom, giving Mimi such a shock
he nearly upset his precious pot.
So the sword was remade, and Siegfried forthwith started out, guided
by Mimi, to find the dragon. Darkness had fallen, but Siegfried was
too impatient for his first lesson in fear to wait till morning. All
night they tramped through the forest. At every rustle of the branches,
every snapping of a twig, Mimi started as though he were shot. Siegfried
watched him with scorn; his mocking laughter re-echoed through the
stillness.
And the dwarf’s hatred grew more bitter with every step. Many a time he
longed then and there to force down Siegfried’s throat the draught he
carried so carefully under his cloak.
On they went, Siegfried scarcely heeding the way, so high bounded his
heart with thoughts of adventure. To fight and conquer giants and
dragons—to go out into the wide world and be free as air—free from the
false, cowardly Mimi—free to choose brave and noble companions whom he
could honor and love! What unknown joys might not life he waiting to give
him who dared to win them!
Day was dawning when at length they reached some rocky caverns at the
foot of a mountainous chain. “This is the spot,” said Mimi in a trembling
whisper. “Seest thou yonder dark, yawning hole? Inside lies Fafnir. Day
and night he guards his treasure—the gold, the Ring, and the Tarnhelm.”
“So he is the master who will teach me Fear?” cried Siegfried joyfully.
“Thou canst leave me now, Mimi—I need thee no more.”
“Ungrateful boy!” sighed the dwarf. “But I will not go far. My heart
will be torn with anxiety for thy safety. Fafnir is no common foe—with a
single snap he could swallow thee whole!” Siegfried laughed. “I shall be
careful not to thrust myself down such a wide throat!”
“Eh, but his very breath is potent poison,” continued Mimi, “and the foam
of his mouth, if it but touch thee, will shrivel up both flesh and bones
on the spot. While as to his tail, ’tis like a huge snake, which, once
thou art in its coils, will grind thy limbs as though they were powdered
glass!”
Mimi hastened away, muttering to himself, “Would that the dragon and the
boy might slay one another!”
Siegfried threw himself down under the trees to wait for Fafnir. A bird
began to sing in the branches overhead. Siegfried listened, and wished
he could understand the bird’s language. “Perchance if I but knew it, he
sings to me of my mother, and of all I wish to know!”
Siegfried gazed up between the leaves at the bird, which paused for
a moment, and fixed on him a pair of little black eyes; then started
afresh, gurgling forth his liquid notes and trills.
“The language of the birds may be learned, so I have heard tell!” cried
Siegfried, and swinging up, he went down to the stream and cut a reed
with his sword. With much trouble he fashioned a pipe, and returning to
his friend in the tree, tried to imitate his music. The bird stopped to
listen, much surprised. But it was a sorry performance, and though this
bird was too polite to laugh, Siegfried distinctly heard a tittering and
fluttering from other listeners. Much disheartened, he flung away the
reed.
“It is no use!” he cried. “I alone in all the world have no friend, no
companion with whom I can speak. Well, at least, I will try if there is
anyone will understand _this_ language.” He took the silver horn slung
round his neck and blew a ringing challenge. It was answered in a moment
by a low roar from the distant cave, followed soon by slow, crashing
steps and deep-drawn snorts coming nearer and nearer.
Presently Siegfried beheld an enormous wriggling mass of shining scales
advancing toward him. “So my call has awakened this lovely creature,” he
laughed, as the hideous monster came full in view.
“What is that?” asked a thick, guttural voice, and the dragon paused to
gaze in wonder and contempt at the youth who faced him with such bold
laughing eyes.
“So thou hast the gift of speech, Mr. Dragon? That is well!” remarked
Siegfried lightly. “I have come to learn from thee, what is Fear.”
“Overbold art thou,” growled the voice, while from enormous jaws issued a
volume of fire and smoke, filling the air with a noisome vapor.
“Bold or overbold, here am I to learn my lesson—so teach me without
delay!” answered Siegfried. Fafnir opened his yawning jaws and showed two
rows of jagged, pointed teeth, enormous in size.
“Verily thou hast a fine row of grinders, Mr. Dragon!” laughed Siegfried.
“A most dainty little mouth!”
“I open not my jaw for senseless gabble, but for food!” growled Fafnir,
and gave his tail a sudden switch round, which would certainly have
caught Siegfried in its toils, had he not sprung alertly to one side.
“Ho, ho! so that is the game, is it? Come on then, Mr. Dragon!” and
Siegfried drew Needful sharply from the scabbard.
“Bah! Come on, thou boasting young cub! I will give the lesson thou
cravest!”
Fafnir drew himself together and sent forth from his nostrils a venomous
steam. Whatever it touched, whether trees or grass, shrivelled up
instantly, as though scorched by fire. But again Siegfried was too quick
for him, and Fafnir, who hoped to see a burnt-up body on the ground, was
enraged to hear a cheerful voice behind him—“Look out, old growler! the
‘boaster’ is upon thee.”
Then Fafnir set to work in good earnest, and Siegfried found that after
all it was no child’s play to fight a dragon. But though blinded and
well-nigh choked with the poisonous smoke and steam, Siegfried fought on,
nothing daunted. The only vital spot was, he knew, the dragon’s heart,
the back and sides of his huge carcass being entirely covered with scaly
armor.
Nearer and nearer they closed on one another, till at last Fafnir, with
a sudden twist, caught Siegfried in his serpentine tail. But before
the coils had time to tighten round him, Siegfried had pierced Needful
through a joint of the scaly tail. Fafnir sent up a howl of rage and
pain, and for a moment relaxed his grip. With a bound Siegfried leapt on
the back of his foe. Fafnir instantly prepared to roll over on one side
and so crush Siegfried with his mountainous weight; but in turning, his
breast for a brief moment was exposed, and in the twinkling of an eye
down swept the sword of Siegfried, burying itself up to the hilt in the
dragon’s heart.
With a terrific groan Fafnir rolled over, while Siegfried sprang lightly
to one side, crying: “Lie there, old growler, with Needful in thy heart!”
In great puffs of smoke and fire, like an overturned steam-engine, came
Fafnir’s dying breath. His eyes rolled horribly; fixing them at last on
Siegfried, he gasped, “Who art thou, clear-eyed youth?”
“In truth,” replied Siegfried, “I know but little of myself or of my kin.”
“A strange fate is mine!” groaned the dragon. “I, the great giant Fafnir,
to die by the hand of a youth unknown even to himself! Young hero, heed
well the dying words of him whom thou hast slain. The treasure I guarded
is accursed. Death it brought to my brother, and now to me. If thou touch
aught of it, the curse rests also on thee. Heed what I say!”
“Oh, tell me more, wise monster!” Siegfried entreated. “Tell me of my
parents, and the race from which they sprang. Siegfried is my name!”
Fafnir heaved himself upwards in a last effort to speak. “Siegfried”—he
began, gasped for breath and then with a deep groan fell back dead.
As he rolled over on his side, Siegfried drew the sword out of his
breast. He felt sorry the giant was dead, and had now quite a kindly
feeling for him. Those last words had shown him to be a wise and
thoughtful monster. But still, Siegfried was not sure he would take his
advice. In drawing out the sword, some of the dragon’s blood chanced
to touch Siegfried’s hand. It burnt like a red-hot coal, and he put it
quickly to his mouth. As he did so, the song of the bird again fell on
his ear. He listened in amazement—for now every note was a word which he
understood!
This was what the bird sang in his sweet piping voice: “Hey, Siegfried!
Siegfried the Victor has slain the dragon! Now to him belongs the gold,
the Ring, and the Tarnhelm. With these he can conquer the world if he
will.”
“Thanks, little feathered friend, for thy good news—I will go and seek
for these treasures!” and nodding to the bird, Siegfried descended into
Fafnir’s dark cave.
Mimi, from a safe hiding-place in the trees, had watched the fight
between Fafnir and Siegfried. He now crept out, and anxiously peeped
after Siegfried as he disappeared into the dragon’s hole. “Grant, O ye
gods, that he take only the gold, and leave the Ring and the Cap for me!”
prayed Mimi fervently.
Little did he guess how the singing bird had told Siegfried all he
desired to keep most secret. He thought, “The bright, glittering gold
will be sure to attract the youth more than a plain simple ring and a
small cap of wrought chain.” Presently Siegfried came out of the cave.
Mimi crawled stealthily back to his hiding-place and peered out through
the leaves.
“A curse on him!” he muttered, grinding his teeth with rage. “The Ring
is on his finger, and the Cap hangs from his belt!”
Siegfried looked round for his piping friend; perched on the branch of a
lime tree the bird awaited him.
“Hey! Siegfried has now both Ring and Cap! Siegfried the Victor! But
oh, he must beware of the treacherous dwarf! The dragon’s blood will
reveal to him the hidden meaning of all words—both true and false. His
_thoughts_ shall Siegfried hear when the dwarf Mimi speaks.”
Carefully carrying his poisonous draught, Mimi now approached.
“Thou art tired after thy mighty conflict. See what I bring to restore
thee! Take but a sip, and all I have worked and waited for will be
mine—sword, treasure, and all.” Mimi thought he was saying something very
pleasant. He smiled and cringed as he offered the drinking-horn. But
these were his thoughts as Siegfried heard them, in virtue of his newly
gained power.
“So thou wouldst rob me of everything, even of life?” asked Siegfried
sternly.
“How falsely dost thou distort my kind words!” replied Mimi in an injured
tone. “Yet I give myself much trouble to disguise my true thoughts. Dear
heart, thee and thy kin have I ever hated.” (Mimi here looked lovingly at
Siegfried.) “All these years I fostered thee, that thou mightest win for
me the dragon’s hoard. Come, now, take the draught; thou wert ever easy
to fool.”
[Illustration: SIEGFRIED SLAYS THE DRAGON—page 128
_From the painting by K. Dielitz_]
Siegfried looked at the little dwarf and smiled ominously. “I should be
right glad of a goodly draught,” he said. “Of what didst thou make this?”
“Only drink and see, dear sonny. Trust to my skill. Soon wilt thou be
lying in a deathly swoon at my feet. Then, with thine own brave sword,
off goes thy head! And Mimi will rest in peace with the hoard.”
“So—I am to be murdered in my sleep?” asked Siegfried.
“What folly dost thou talk! Who spoke of murder? All I thought of doing
was just to chop off thy head when thou liest insensible. A small return
for the shameful treatment I have so long suffered at thy hands. Come,
drink and die, thou hateful Volsung cub;” and Mimi, still smiling and
leering, thrust the drinking-horn near Siegfried’s lips.
“Taste thou my sword, false snake!” cried Siegfried. With a sudden
movement of disgust and fury he struck at the dwarf with his sword. The
next instant Mimi lay dead on the ground. Siegfried threw his body inside
the dragon’s cave, crying: “Lie there with the gold thou so lovest. I
make thee a parting gift of it. And here is a famous watch-dog to scare
away all thieves.” With this Siegfried dragged the body of the dragon to
the mouth of the cave, thereby entirely blocking up the entrance.
Then he turned away from the spot with a sigh of relief, and went back
to the lime tree, where first the bird had sung to him. Throwing himself
down under the shady branches, he called to his little friend: “Come,
sing to me, happy bird. Alone am I in all the world. Never have I known
a comrade save the hateful dwarf yonder. Tell me, O wise little prophet,
where shall I find one I can love?”
All was stillness in the forest. The sun was now at its height. Only the
soft, low hum of insect life filled the drowsy air.
Suddenly a flutter of wings overhead, and the clear note of the wood-bird
piped out once more: “Hey, Siegfried the Victor! He has slain the
treacherous dwarf. Now a glorious bride awaits him. But he must go
through the flames to win and to wake her, for Brunhilda sleeps fast,
guarded by Loki’s fiery arm.”
Siegfried started to his feet.
“Oh, sweetest song! How it fills my heart with joy and longing! Say, dear
bird, how shall I find this bride, and break through the fire?”
Then the bird sang again: “Only he who knows not Fear can awaken and win
the sleeping bride.”
At this Siegfried laughed aloud with delight; for had not even Fafnir
failed to teach him fear? “Perchance, from Brunhilda shall I learn to
know what is Fear,” he cried gaily. “Fly on before, sweet bird; point
thou the road; I follow thee!”
The bird fluttered his wings joyfully and flew on ahead, Siegfried
following with bounding step.
HOW SIEGFRIED FINDS BRUNHILDA
By Constance Maud
For many a day Siegfried journeyed, keeping the bird always in sight. At
night he slept under a tree, and the bird rested in a branch above, but
with the first whisper of dawn Siegfried would start up, impatient to be
off again.
Over mountain and valley, across river and lake, Siegfried followed as
though his feet were shod with invisible wings, never flagging, never
weary. He came at length one evening to a narrow pass in the mountains.
The way seemed to lead upwards, but daylight was fading, and Siegfried
could see nothing clearly. All at once the bird circled rapidly over his
head, sang a few sweet half-plaintive notes, and then, soaring upwards,
vanished out of sight.
In the same moment a deep voice spoke close at hand: “Halt! What seekest
thou here?”
Siegfried went forward, and standing in the narrow way he saw a tall
dark form. “I seek for the fire-girt mountain where the beautiful maiden
sleeps,” answered Siegfried fearlessly. “Canst thou tell me the way?”
“Who told thee of such a maiden?” demanded the stranger sternly.
“A singing bird gave me the good news,” said Siegfried. “By tasting the
blood of a dragon I learned the language of the birds, and I know my bird
spake true.” He was getting impatient at so many questions and anxious to
go on his way.
“So! thou hast slain old Fafnir. And with what weapon didst strike the
death-blow, bold youth?” The stranger was in no hurry, evidently.
“With my father’s splintered sword, which I welded together again,” said
Siegfried, with pride.
“But who first shaped that mighty sword?” asked the stranger.
“That I neither know nor care. ’Twas a mighty useless weapon till I took
it in hand, that I know,” answered Siegfried. “If thou canst not direct
me on the road I seek, hold thy peace and let me pass on my way.”
“Softly, young sir! Thou dost not know with whom thou speakest.”
“I know that this path leads onwards to my lady, for thither pointed the
bird before he left me. So make way and let me pass,” returned Siegfried
angrily.
“The bird fled to save its life. The way it pointed thou shalt never
pass, presumptuous youth.”
“Ha, ha! And who art _thou_ to arrest my steps?” laughed Siegfried
scornfully.
“I am the Guardian of yon mountain, where sleeps the maiden Brunhilda! A
wall of flame encircles her, which even to approach would scorch thee to
death. Begone then, rash fool, for to win thy way one step farther, thou
must first overcome the mountain’s Guardian.”
Placing himself in the middle of the road, the stranger loomed above
Siegfried gigantic and immovable as the rock itself.
But Siegfried remained unawed. “Begone thyself, old boaster!” he cried
irreverently. “Think not to scare me with such tales. I love the fire’s
blaze! So out of my way, for I haste to where Brunhilda sleeps.”
“Thou fearest not the fire?” retorted the stranger, “Then fear this
my Spear, for it shall bar thy way—this Spear, which once already has
shattered thy father’s sword.”
The sky had now become lurid; a terrific tempest was gathering. At the
stranger’s words, Siegfried sprang forward, and, drawing Needful from the
scabbard, shouted exultingly: “Have I then found my father’s foe? Thanks
be to the gods for letting me avenge his death!”
Then, falling on the powerful form that barred his way, he hewed with
long, swift strokes at the Spear, which, had he hesitated one moment, or
made one false step, would have struck him dead.
There was a rushing sound of wings in the storm-clouds overhead. Anxious
faces peered down on the scene. The warrior maidens, hovering above on
their war-horses, trembled and paled as they beheld the Spear which once
had been the terror of the world hewn to pieces, while their father,
recoiling at last before the fiery youth, cried half triumphantly, in
spite of his defeat: “Advance! I cannot bar thy way.” For Wotan’s heart
never failed to rejoice in a real hero, even though he fought against him.
A terrific clap of thunder followed, and a dark cloud swept over
the fighters. When it rolled away, Siegfried looked in vain for his
mysterious foe. He had vanished. “Now through the fire to win my bride!”
cried Siegfried joyously, and leapt up the mountain side.
A ruddy glow soon told him he was nearing the fiery wall, and gusts of
hot air swept across his face. Taking his silver horn, Siegfried blew a
call which echoed far and near. “To greet my sleeping love!” he cried.
And now the fire was all about him, bursting up under his feet, pouring
down from the skies, rushing round on every side. “Aha! This is
glorious!” shouted Siegfried, plunging eagerly onwards, and laughing. The
fierce flames which had scared so many nearly to death did not scorch
even a hair of Siegfried’s head. For the magic fire injured only those
who retreated—he who dashed fearlessly onward remained unharmed.
Higher and higher up the mountain went Siegfried. Emerging at last from
the flames, he found himself on the summit of a rocky peak, clad with
tall dark pine trees.
He looked around him, and rejoiced for very joy to be alive in such a
fair world. The stillness was wonderful. Not a sound could be heard, for
the wood-bird will not build his home so near the sky, and the fire had
kept out all wingless intruders.
Presently Siegfried saw, standing motionless under the trees, a stately
horse. On going nearer, he was astonished to find that on his feet were
wings. His eyes were closed in profound sleep. Siegfried stroked his
flowing name. “Awake good steed! The sun has arisen. This is no time for
sleeping.” His voice rang out clear as his silver horn, and with a start,
Grani awoke.
But Siegfried looked around in vain for the bride—Brunhilda. Suddenly the
rising sun struck with its glittering light on an object under a distant
pine. Siegfried hastened forward, and with wonder beheld a sleeping form
clad from head to foot in shining armor. “Here is some warrior, for
sure,” cried Siegfried. “This heavy helmet must press sorely on his head;
I will loosen it for him.”
He stooped, lifted the shield, and then carefully unfastened the helmet.
As he removed it, the sleeper’s hair rolled out in long curling locks of
burnished gold. Siegfried started. Never had he seen anything so fair as
that calm proud young face, framed in the wavy shining curls.
So still lay the sleeping warrior, so motionless, Siegfried bent down
and listened anxiously for the deep slow breathing. “This coat of mail
must weigh heavily on him; I will open it,” he said. But in vain he
sought to find a fastening: everywhere the iron rings closed tightly
round. To Siegfried, who had never seen a soldier, and knew of no weapon
save a sword, this iron garment seemed a terrible inconvenience, almost
as cumbersome as old Fafnir’s scales. He determined to free the young
warrior, that he might at least sleep in comfort.
So, taking out his sword, he carefully cut through the rings of mail
down each side, and then lifted off the corselet and greaves. As he did
so, great was his astonishment to see lying before him a maiden in soft
flowing garments.
He started back. His heart beat wildly. This must be none other than the
maiden Brunhilda! Then he who had never known fear—who laughed in the
face of the terrible dragon—quailed not before Wotan the mighty god, and
dashed fearlessly through fire—sank down trembling and afraid before the
sleeping maiden.
“What is this feeling? Can _this_ be Fear?” he cried.
“Awake! awake, O beautiful maid!” he cried, kneeling at her side.
Still she did not stir.
Bending over Brunhilda, Siegfried pressed his lips to hers.
Slowly she opened her eyes. Siegfried started back. She sat up dazed and
wondering. Then her eyes rested on him. For a moment neither moved. But
the silence between them said more than words, and though only a few
brief instants went by, much happened in the time. For Siegfried passed
from boyhood to manhood, and Brunhilda passed from the land of dreams and
shadows back to the warm living earth.
At last she spoke. “Hail, thou sunshine, and light, and lovely daytime!
Long has been my sleep!” Then, fixing shining eyes on Siegfried, “And who
art _thou_,” she asked, “who hast awakened me out of my sleep?”
“I am Siegfried. Through the flames I won my way to thee. My sword it has
cut through thy armor, O most glorious maiden!”
Brunhilda gazed at him in wonder and delight. “Siegfried! So thou art
indeed Siegfried who hast awakened me? Siegfried, of whom in times long
past I dreamed! My sun art thou, awakening me out of night and darkness!”
These words made Siegfried happier than ever. Never had his highest hopes
or wildest dreams pictured one so fair and noble as this goddess-maid.
For her sake what would he not do or dare?
But Brunhilda was now gazing sadly at her cast-off armor and shield on
the ground. Slowly the words of her father’s curse were coming back to
her. Never more to ride free through the heavens—to be a mortal woman
wedded to a mortal man!
Gently and sadly she pushed Siegfried from her side, and tried to turn
his thoughts from herself. “See there my faithful steed,” she said,
pointing to Grani. “He also has been awakened by Siegfried the sun-god.
Once he bore me through the heavens, and shared my life among the gods
of Valhalla. With me also he slept. See how joyfully he has come back to
life!”
“Alas!” cried Brunhilda, growing ever more melancholy. “Siegfried my
hero, it is through you I forfeit my glorious estate! Brunhilda the
Valkyrie is no more—she is dead indeed.”
Siegfried saw that a harder task yet remained to him than dashing through
fire or cutting through steel, but he went on undaunted, for he felt
his new-found love strong and great enough to carry him through all
difficulties.
“Thou sleepest still, my beloved. I have but opened thy glorious eyes.
Oh, wake, and rejoice that thou livest.”
So spake Siegfried, and his passionate pleading turned at last, as a
magic key, the locked door of Brunhilda’s proud heart, which to no god
or man had yielded before. She turned to him and as Siegfried clasped
her to his heart, Brunhilda renounced for ever all she had counted most
dear—all longings for the old free Valkyrie life, all dreams of bygone
glory with the gods in Valhalla.
Now that her heart was won, Brunhilda gave it all, once and for ever; and
a great and noble gift it was, worth any hero’s winning, at any cost.
THE PLOT AGAINST THE BEAUTIFUL ELSA OF BRABANT
By Constance Maud
Once upon a time there lived, in the ancient city of Antwerp, a beautiful
maiden called Elsa.
She dwelt in a grand old palace: the walls were thick as any fortress,
and the towers looked proudly down on the town.
Elsa’s father was the Duke of Brabant, a noble prince, who for long years
had faithfully served his liege lord, the King of Germany, and had won
much honor to Brabant.
Elsa had an only brother, the young Prince Godfrey; and these two loved
each other more than any other brother and sister in the world.
One day the duke was taken ill, so ill that he could no longer attend to
the affairs of state; and a few days later all Brabant knew that their
beloved duke lay dying.