ON THE BANKS OF THE RHINE
Where the steep rocks led down to the river Rhine, and the low shrubs
grew in green luxuriance, where the wildest part of the wild forest
was mirrored in the water, came the three water-fairies, Woglinde,
Flosshilde, and Wellgunde, to sing in the quiet, golden light of the
late afternoon. They sang sorrowfully and regretfully of their lost
treasure; they circled like wind-ripples upon the surface of the Rhine,
and tossed the bright drops of water about with a soft, splashing
sound as of tiny bells. The river murmured like a harp lightly played
upon by fairy fingers, and the voices of the nymphs were as sweet as
the tones of the wind moving through the rushes.
To this lovely, magic-haunted spot came Siegfried, looking for a bear
which he had wounded during a hunt, and had tracked through the woods.
The nymphs began to talk to him, and as he answered merrily they drew
nearer to the rock where he stood, telling him that they would see that
he found his bear if he would, in payment, give them the Ring that he
wore upon his finger.
Laughingly, he answered that he had slain a dragon before he could
obtain that Ring, and that it would be foolish to give it up now for
the sake of a bear.
After a few more merry words the nymphs became suddenly serious. Rising
together to the surface of the water, they raised their arms towards
him and spoke solemn words of prophecy. They told him that sadness
awaited him; that the Ring would bring him nothing but ill-hap; that it
was made of the stolen Rhinegold, and that a spell had been laid upon
it that brought sorrow and death to whoever possessed it.
“As the monster worm fell,” said the Rhine Maidens, slowly, “so will
you fall—and soon! Give it to us, that we may hide it in the river! For
that alone can break the spell.”
And, as Siegfried laughingly shook his head, they continued to plead
still more earnestly. They bade him avoid the spell, saying that its
history had been woven into the Norns’ great rope; that it must be
shunned and feared. But Siegfried scoffed at the Norns and the rope,
and said that Fafner had warned him of this danger long ago; that he
had no fear of his life, and would freely fling that away.
“Farewell, Siegfried!” said the Rhine Maidens, as they turned to leave
him. “A stately woman will soon possess your circlet. She will better
do our bidding. Let us go to her!”
They swam swiftly away, leaving Siegfried laughing on the shore. For he
thought nothing of their words, believing their prophecies to have been
threats because he would not give them what they wished.
Laughing still, he blew a long call on his horn, which was answered on
all sides by the other hunters, who soon made their appearance, most
of them carrying game of some sort—bear or deer; and Hagen, who was one
of the first to come into the little glen down by the Rhine, made sport
of Siegfried, because he, the best hunter of them all, had no booty to
show for his day’s sport.
Siegfried laughingly told them about the three Rhine Maidens who had
warned him of his approaching death; and Gunther, moving apart from the
others with a curious shadow and sadness on his face, started terribly,
while Hagen merely laughed a harsh, revengeful laugh.
Gunther did not forget his Oath of Brotherhood; and, though he believed
that Siegfried had deceived him, he hated to harm him, or allow him to
be harmed, without better cause. He shuddered and shook his head when
the young hero brought him the horn of wine. The rest of the hunters
flung themselves down under the trees, and drank merrily and rested in
the deepening golden light of the afternoon, but Gunther sat apart from
them, gloomy and silent, like one who dreamed sad dreams, and could not
arouse himself.
At last, Siegfried, noticing his depression, said that he would tell
him the story of his boyhood, if it would amuse and cheer him.
And sitting down on the stump of a great tree, with his shield and
weapons at his feet, and on all sides the warriors listening eagerly
to his words, the young Volsung began his tale, and Hagen stood near,
leaning on his spear, a look of grim expectation on his dark face.
It was of Mime that Siegfried spoke first, Mime and the life in the
cave; the forging of Nothung, and finally the journey to Hate Hole, and
the slaying of the monster worm, Fafner.
He told how the Dragon’s blood had given him power to understand the
language of birds; and, as he spoke, memories of the soft woodland
voices and the rustling of the trees passed tenderly across his mind.
He told of the winning of the Rhinegold Ring and the Tarnhelm, of the
treachery of Mime, and of how he had killed him with Nothung.
Then he paused, for Hagen came up to him with a drinking-horn filled
with wine, which he bade him swallow, saying it would help to clear
his memory. Siegfried raised it to his lips and drank, and Hagen stood
near, leaning on his spear, and smiling grimly. For the wine had in it
something that would, indeed, bring back the young hero’s memory, and
Hagen knew that, when he remembered Brünnhilde, he would be as one
deaf and blind to all else, and would so prove an easy victim.
[Illustration: HAGEN AND SIEGFRIED]
Siegfried put down the drinking-horn, and, after a moment’s silence,
resumed his tale, while the memory of the forest sounds passed softly
and constantly across his brain. He told, in tender tones, how the bird
had sung to him of a glorious bride sleeping amid fire far away; and of
how he had passed through the enchanted flame-circle, and, with a kiss,
awakened her from her long sleep; and he spoke her name with such love
and tenderness that even Hagen’s wicked heart should have been touched
for a moment; but he only stood leaning on his spear and smiling—always
smiling—as one smiles who has knowledge greater than his fellows.
Gunther started up wildly as Siegfried whispered the name of
“Brünnhilde”; for the Rhine Chief understood all now, and realized
in that short time what deep wickedness it must have been that had
parted the noble Volsung and his bride. There had been no deceit, no
treachery, no broken Oath of Brotherhood—none of the wickedness had
been on the young hero’s side. Gunther dropped his head in horror.
But Hagen took a step forward.
“See you those Ravens?” he said, slowly, pointing to two great black
birds flying upward from the Rhine. They were Wotan’s King-Ravens,
which had been sent out to bring tidings back to Walhalla, and which
were returning there with news that the Dusk of the Gods was at hand.
Siegfried turned to gaze after them as they flew. It was growing late.
The yellow afternoon light was deepening to red gold. The sun was
setting. The Ravens flew away, their broad black wings bathed in the
ruddy light, and it was like the light of a great fire.
“They arouse in me revenge!” cried Hagen, and he raised his spear and
stabbed the young Volsung in the back. Siegfried staggered wildly; and
then, raising his shield, tried to crush Hagen with it. But then even
his great strength left him, and he fell back upon the ground, while
the warriors drew near with exclamations of horror and faces on which a
great awe had fallen.
“I have been revenged,” said Hagen, and passed up the rocks and out of
sight amid the growing dusk. The sunset was as red as blood now. There
was an ominous look in its lurid light—yet a strange peace also. It lay
on the head and figure of the young hero like a king’s crown and robe.
[Illustration: AFTER SIEGFRIED’S DEATH]
In the hush that had fallen, Siegfried raised himself upon his arm and
spoke.
He spoke of Brünnhilde, his bride; again he seemed to be on the
Walküres’ rock; again she lay before him asleep; again he awakened her
with a kiss. He seemed to look into her eyes, to hear her voice; she
was his once more.
And with the words “Brünnhilde beckons to me! Greeting!” Siegfried sank
back and died. And the last light from the setting sun went out of the
sky.
It was very dark—very dark and silent. The warriors raised the hero
upon their shoulders and bore him up the rocks. After a while the moon
rose, and the pale light touched the helmets of the men and Siegfried’s
armor as the procession passed up through the shadows. A mist was
rising from the Rhine, and it was very still.
Siegfried was dead, the last of his race—the noble race of Volsungs. He
was the bravest of them all, this son of Siegmund and Sieglinde, who
had so loved each other. He had done many great deeds with his good
sword Nothung. He had been a courageous man and the highest hero in the
world, and he had won the love of Brünnhilde, the noblest woman ever
born. And he was dead—Siegfried, the Volsung.
[Music: Death Motif]
[Music: Motif of the Dusk of the Gods]