“Does Siegfried the prince come on such a lowly errand? Does he come
to me through the forest, driving a donkey, and riding in a sooty
coal-cart? I have known the day when his kin were the mightiest kings of
earth, and they fared through every land the noblest men of men-folk.”
The taunting word, the jeering tones, made Siegfried’s anger rise.
The blood boiled in his veins; but he checked his tongue, and mildly
answered,--
“It is true that I am a prince, and my father is the wisest of kings;
and it is for this reason that I come thus to you. Mimer is my master,
and my father early taught me that even princes must obey their masters’
behests.”
Then Regin laughed, and asked, “How long art thou to be Mimer’s thrall?
Does no work wait for thee but at his smoky forge?”
“When Mimer gives me leave, and Odin calls me,” answered the lad, “then
I, too, will go faring over the world, like my kin of the earlier
days, to carve me a name and great glory, and a place with the noble of
earth.”
Regin said not a word; but he took his harp, and smote the strings,
and a sad, wild music filled the room. And he sang of the gods and the
dwarf-folk, and of the deeds that had been in the time long past and
gone. And a strange mist swam before Siegfried’s eyes; and so bewitching
were the strains that fell upon his ears, and filled his soul, that he
forgot about his errand, and his master Mimer, and his father Siegmund,
and his lowland home, and thought only of the heart-gladdening sounds.
By and by the music ended, the spell was lifted, and Siegfried turned
his eyes towards the musician. A wonderful change had taken place. The
little old man still stood before him with the harp in his hand; but his
wrinkled face was hidden by a heavy beard, and his thin gray locks were
covered with a long black wig, and he seemed taller and stouter than
before. As Siegfried started with surprise, his host held out his hand,
and said,--
“You need not be alarmed, my boy. It is time for you to know that
Regin and Mimer are the same person, or rather that Mimer is Regin
disguised.[EN#8] The day has come for you to go your way into the world,
and Mimer gives you leave.”
Siegfried was so amazed he could not say a word. He took the master’s
hand, and gazed long into his deep, bright eyes. Then the two sat down
together, and Mimer, or Regin as we shall now call him, told the prince
many tales of the days that had been, and of his bold, wise forefathers.
And the lad’s heart swelled within him; and he longed to be like
them,--to dare and do and suffer, and gloriously win at last. And he
turned to Regin and said,--
“Tell me, wisest of masters, what I shall do to win fame, and to make
myself worthy to rule the fair land which my fathers held.”
“Go forth in your own strength, and with Odin’s help,” answered
Regin,--“go forth to right the wrong, to help the weak, to punish evil,
and come not back to your father’s kingdom until the world shall know
your noble deeds.”
“But whither shall I go?” asked Siegfried.
“I will tell you,” answered Regin. “Put on these garments, which better
befit a prince than those soot-begrimed clothes you have worn so long.
Gird about you this sword, the good Balmung, and go northward. When you
come to the waste lands which border upon the sea, you will find
the ancient Gripir, the last of the kin of the giants. Ask of him a
war-steed, and Odin will tell you the rest.”
So, when the sun had risen high above the trees, Siegfried bade Regin
good-by, and went forth like a man, to take whatsoever fortune should
betide. He went through the great forest, and across the bleak moorland
beyond, and over the huge black mountains that stretched themselves
across his way, and came to a pleasant country all dotted with white
farmhouses, and yellow with waving, corn. But he tarried not here,
though many kind words were spoken to him, and all besought him to stay.
Right onwards he went, until he reached the waste land which borders the
sounding sea. And there high mountains stood, with snow-crowned crags
beetling over the waves; and a great river, all foaming with the summer
floods, went rolling through the valley. And in the deep dales between
the mountains were rich meadows, green with grass, and speckled with
thousands of flowers of every hue, where herds of cattle and deer, and
noble elks, and untamed horses, fed in undisturbed peace. And Siegfried,
when he saw, knew that these were the pastures of Gripir the ancient.
High up among the gray mountain-peaks stood Gripir’s dwelling,--a
mighty house, made of huge bowlders brought by giant hands from the far
north-land. And the wild eagle, built their nests around it, and the
mountain vultures screamed about its doors. But Siegfried was not
afraid. He climbed the steep pathway which the feet of men had never
touched before, and, without pausing, walked straightway into the
high-built hall. The room was so dark that at first he could see nothing
save the white walls, and the glass-green pillars which upheld the roof.
But the light grew stronger soon; and Siegfried saw, beneath a heavy
canopy of stone, the ancient Gripir, seated in a chair made from the
sea-horse’s teeth.[EN#9] And the son of the giants held in his hand an
ivory staff; and a purple mantle was thrown over his shoulders, and his
white beard fell in sweeping waves almost to the sea-green floor. Very
wise he seemed, and he gazed at Siegfried with a kindly smile.
“Hail, Siegfried!” he cried. “Hail, prince with the gleaming eye! I know
thee, and I know the woof that the Norns have woven for thee. Welcome to
my lonely mountain home! Come and sit by my side in the high-seat where
man has never sat, and I will tell thee of things that have been, and of
things that are yet to be.”
Then Siegfried fearlessly went and sat by the side of the ancient wise
one. And long hours they talked together,--strong youth and hoariest
age; and each was glad that in the other he had found some source of
hope and comfort. And they talked of the great midworld, and of the
starry dome above it, and of the seas which gird it, and of the men who
live upon it. All night long they talked, and in the morning Siegfried
arose to go.
“Thou hast not told me of thy errand,” said Gripir; “but I know what it
is. Come first with me, and see this great mid-world for thyself.”
Then Gripir, leaning on his staff, led the way out of the great hall,
and up to the top of the highest mountain-crag. And the wild eagles
circled in the clear, cold air above them; and far below them the white
waves dashed against the mountain’s feet; and the frosty winds swept
around them unchecked, bringing to their ears the lone lamenting of the
north giants, moaning for the days that had been and for the glories
that were past. Then Siegfried looked to the north, and he saw the dark
mountain-wall of Norway trending away in solemn grandeur towards
the frozen sea, but broken here and there by sheltering fjords, and
pleasant, sunny dales. He looked to the east, and saw a great forest
stretching away and away until it faded to sight in the blue distance.
He looked to the south, and saw a pleasant land, with farms and
vineyards, and towns and strong-built castles; and through it wound the
River Rhine, like a great white serpent, reaching from the snow-capped
Alps to the northern sea. And he saw his father’s little kingdom of the
Netherlands lying like a green speck on the shore of the ocean. Then
he looked to the west, and nothing met his sight but a wilderness of
rolling, restless waters, save, in the far distance, a green island half
hidden by sullen mists and clouds. And Siegfried sighed, and said,--
“The world is so wide, and the life of man so short!”
“The world is all before thee,” answered Gripir. “Take what the Norns
have allotted thee. Choose from my pastures a battle-steed, and ride
forth to win for thyself a name and fame among the sons of men.”
Then Siegfried ran down the steep side of the mountain to the grassy
dell where the horses were feeding. But the beasts were all so fair and
strong, that he knew not which to choose. While he paused, uncertain
what to do, a strange man stood before him. Tall and handsome was the
man, with one bright eye, and a face beaming like the dawn in summer;
and upon his head he wore a sky-blue hood bespangled with golden stars,
and over his shoulder was thrown a cloak of ashen gray.
“Would you choose a horse, Sir Siegfried?” asked the stranger.
“Indeed I would,” answered he. “But it is hard to make a choice among so
many.”
“There is one in the meadow,” said the man, “far better than all
the rest. They say that he came from Odin’s pastures on the green
hill-slopes of Asgard, and that none but the noblest shall ride him.”
“Which is he?” asked Siegfried.
“Drive the herd into the river,” was the answer, “and then see if you
can pick him out.”
And Siegfried and the stranger drove the horses down the sloping bank,
and into the rolling stream; but the flood was too strong for them.
Some soon turned back to the shore; while others, struggling madly, were
swept away, and carried out to the sea. Only one swam safely over. He
shook the dripping water from his mane, tossed his head in the air, and
then plunged again into the stream. Right bravely he stemmed the
torrent the second time. He clambered up the shelving bank, and stood by
Siegfried’s side.
“What need to tell you that this is the horse?” said the stranger. “Take
him: he is yours. He is Greyfell, the shining hope that Odin sends to
his chosen heroes.”
And then Siegfried noticed that the horse’s mane glimmered and flashed
like a thousand rays from the sun, and that his coat was as white and
clear as the fresh-fallen snow on the mountains. He turner to speak to
the stranger, but he was nowhere to be seen and Siegfried bethought him
how he had talked with Odin unawares. Then he mounted the noble Greyfell
and rode with a light heart across the flowery meadows.
“Whither ridest thou?” cried Gripir the ancient, from his doorway among
the crags.
“I ride into the wide world,” said Siegfried; “but I know not whither. I
would right the wrong, and help the weak, and make myself a name on the
earth, as did my kinsmen of yore. Tell me, I pray you, where I shall
go; for you are wise, and you know the things which have been, and those
which shall befall.”
“Ride back to Regin, the master of masters,” answered Gripir. “He will
tell thee of a wrong to be righted.”
And the ancient son of the giants withdrew into his lonely abode; and
Siegfried, on the shining Greyfell, rode swiftly away towards the south.
Adventure III. The Curse of Gold.
Forth then rode Siegfried, upon the beaming Greyfell, out into the broad
mid-world. And the sun shone bright above him, and the air was soft and
pure, and the earth seemed very lovely, and life a gladsome thing. And
his heart was big within him as he thought of the days to come, of
the deeds of love and daring, of the righting of many wrongs, of the
people’s praise, and the glory of a life well lived. And he wended his
way back again toward the south and the fair lands of the Rhine. He left
the barren moorlands behind him, and the pleasant farms and villages of
the fruitful countryside, and after many days came once more to Regin’s
woodland dwelling. For he said to himself, “My old master is very wise;
and he knows of the deeds that were done when yet the world was young,
and my kin were the mightiest of men. I will go to him, and learn what
grievous evil it is that he has so often vaguely hinted at.”
Regin, when he saw the lad and the beaming Greyfell standing like
a vision of light at his door, welcomed them most gladly, and led
Siegfried into the inner room, where they sat down together amid the
gold, and the gem-stones, and the fine-wrought treasures there.
“Truly,” said the master, “the days of my long waiting are drawing to a
close, and at last the deed shall be done.”
And the old look of longing came again into his eyes, and his pinched
face seemed darker and more wrinkled than before, and his thin lips
trembled with emotion as he spoke.
“What is that deed of which you speak?” asked Siegfried.
“It is the righting of a grievous wrong,” answered Regin, “and the
winning of treasures untold. Lo, many years have I waited for the coming
of this day; and now my heart tells me that the hero so long hoped for
is here, and the wisdom and the wealth of the world shall be mine.”
“But what is the wrong to be righted?” asked Siegfried. “And what is
this treasure that you speak of as your own?”
“Alas!” answered Regin, “the treasure is indeed mine; and yet wrongfully
has it been withheld from me. But listen a while to a tale of the early
days, and thou shalt know what the treasure is, and what is the wrong to
be righted.”
He took his harp and swept the strings, and played a soft, low melody
which told of the dim past, and of blighted hopes, and of a nameless,
never-satisfied yearning for that which might have been. And then he
told Siegfried this story:
Regin’s Story.
When the earth was still very young, and men were feeble and few, and
the Dwarfs were many and strong, the Asa-folk were wont oft-times
to leave their halls in heaven-towering Asgard in order to visit the
new-formed mid-world, and to see what the short-lived sons of men were
doing. Sometimes they came in their own godlike splendor and might;
sometimes they came disguised as feeble men-folk, with all man’s
weaknesses and all his passions. Sometimes Odin, as a beggar, wandered
from one country to another, craving charity; sometimes, as a warrior
clad in coat of mail, he rode forth to battle for the cause of right; or
as a minstrel he sang from door to door, and played sweet music in the
halls of the great; or as a huntsman he dashed through brakes and fens,
and into dark forests, and climbed steep mountains in search of game; or
as a sailor he embarked upon the sea, and sought new scenes in unknown
lands. And many times did men-folk entertain him unawares.
Once on a time he came to the mid-world in company with Hoenir and
Loki; and the three wandered through many lands and in many climes, each
giving gifts wherever they went. Odin gave knowledge and strength, and
taught men how to read the mystic runes; Hoenir gave gladness and
good cheer, and lightened many hearts with the glow of his comforting
presence; but Loki had nought to give but cunning deceit and base
thoughts, and he left behind him bitter strife and many aching breasts.
At last, growing tired of the fellowship of men, the three Asas sought
the solitude of the forest, and as huntsmen wandered long among the
hills and over the wooded heights of Hunaland. Late one afternoon they
came to a mountain-stream at a place where it poured over a ledge of
rocks, and fell in clouds of spray into a rocky gorge below. As they
stood, and with pleased eyes gazed upon the waterfall, they saw near the
bank an otter lazily making ready to eat a salmon which he had caught.
And Loki, ever bent on doing mischief, hurled a stone at the harmless
beast, and killed it. And he boasted loudly that he had done a worthy
deed. And he took both the otter, and the fish which it had caught, and
carried them with him as trophies of the day’s success.
Just at nightfall the three huntsmen came to a lone farmhouse in the
valley, and asked for food, and for shelter during the night.
“Shelter you shall have,” said the farmer, whose name was Hreidmar, “for
the rising clouds foretell a storm. But food I have none to give you.
Surely huntsmen of skill should not want for food; since the forest
teems with game, and the streams are full of fish.”
Then Loki threw upon the ground the otter and the fish, and said, “We
have sought in both forest and stream, and we have taken from them at
one blow both flesh and fish. Give us but the shelter you promise, and
we will not trouble you for food.”
The farmer gazed with horror upon the lifeless body of the otter, and
cried out, “This creature which you mistook for an otter, and which you
have robbed and killed, is my son Oddar, who for mere pastime had taken
the form of the furry beast. You are but thieves and murderers!”
Then he called loudly for help: and his two sons Fafnir and Regin,
sturdy and valiant kin of the dwarf-folk, rushed in, and seized upon the
huntsmen, and bound them hand and foot; for the three Asas, having taken
upon themselves the forms of men, had no more than human strength, and
were unable to withstand them.
Then Odin and his fellows bemoaned their ill fate. And Loki said,
“Wherefore did we foolishly take upon ourselves the likenesses of
puny men? Had I my own power once more, I would never part with it in
exchange for man’s weaknesses.”
And Hoenir sighed, and said, “Now, indeed, will darkness win: and the
frosty breath of the Reimthursen giants will blast the fair handiwork of
the sunlight and the heat; for the givers of life and light and warmth
are helpless prisoners in the hands of these cunning and unforgiving
jailers.”
“Surely,” said Odin, “not even the highest are free from obedience to
heaven’s behests and the laws of right. I, whom men call the Preserver
of Life, have demeaned myself by being found in evil company; and,
although I have done no other wrong, I suffer rightly for the doings of
this mischief-maker with whom I have stooped to have fellowship. For all
are known, not so much by what they are as by what they seem to be, and
they bear the bad name which their comrades bear. Now I am fallen from
my high estate. Eternal right is higher than I. And in the last Twilight
of the gods I must needs meet the dread Fenris-wolf, and in the end
the world will be made new again, and the shining Balder will rule in
sunlight majesty forever.”
Then the Asas asked Hreidmar, their jailer, what ransom they should
pay for their freedom; and he, not knowing who they were, said, “I must
first know what ransom you are able to give.”
“We will give any thing you may ask,” hastily answered Loki.
Hreidmar then called his sons, and bade them strip the skin from the
otter’s body. When this was done, they brought the furry hide and spread
it upon the ground; and Hreidmar said, “Bring shining gold and precious
stones enough to cover every part of this otter-skin. When you have paid
so much ransom, you shall have your freedom.”
“That we will do,” answered Odin. “But one of us must have leave to
go and fetch it: the other two will stay fast bound until the morning
dawns. If, by that time, the gold is not here, you may do with us as you
please.”
Hreidmar and the two young men agreed to Odin’s offer; and, lots being
cast, it fell to Loki to go and fetch the treasure. When he had been
loosed from the cords which bound him, Loki donned his magic shoes,
which had carried him over land and sea from the farthest bounds of
the mid-world, and hastened away upon his errand. And he sped with the
swiftness of light, over the hills and the wooded slopes, and the deep
dark valleys, and the fields and forests and sleeping hamlets, until he
came to the place where dwelt the swarthy elves and the cunning dwarf
Andvari. There the River Rhine, no larger than a meadow-brook, breaks
forth from beneath a mountain of ice, which the Frost giants and blind
old Hoder, the Winter-king, had built long years before; for they had
vainly hoped that they might imprison the river at its fountain-head.
But the baby-brook had eaten its way beneath the frozen mass, and
had sprung out from its prison, and gone on, leaping and smiling, and
kissing the sunlight, in its ever-widening course towards Burgundy and
the sea.
Loki came to this place, because he knew that here was the home of the
elves who had laid up the greatest hoard of treasures ever known in the
mid-world. He scanned with careful eyes the mountain-side, and the deep,
rocky caverns, and the dark gorge through which the little river rushed;
but in the dim moonlight not a living being could he see, save a lazy
salmon swimming in the quieter eddies of the stream. Any one but Loki
would have lost all hope of finding treasure there, at least before the
dawn of day; but his wits were quick, and his eyes were very sharp.
“One salmon has brought us into this trouble, and another shall help us
out of it!” he cried.
Then, swift as thought, he sprang again into the air; and the magic
shoes carried him with greater speed than before down the Rhine valley,
and through Burgundy-land, and the low meadows, until he came to the
shores of the great North Sea. He sought the halls of old AEgir, the
Ocean-king; but he wist not which way to go,--whether across the North
Sea towards Isenland, or whether along the narrow channel between
Britain-land and the main. While he paused, uncertain where to turn,
he saw the pale-haired daughters of old AEgir, the white-veiled Waves,
playing in the moonlight near the shore. Of them he asked the way to
AEgir’s hall.
“Seven days’ journey westward,” said they, “beyond the green Isle of
Erin, is our father’s hall. Seven days’ journey northward, on the bleak
Norwegian shore, is our father’s hall.”
And they stopped not once in their play, but rippled and danced on the
shelving beach, or dashed with force against the shore.
“Where is your mother Ran, the Queen of the Ocean?” asked Loki.