“If that be true, then we may sup with him in his gold-lit hall.”
And all this time Bragi slept in the hold, and no one dared awaken him.
Faster and faster the ship was carried round the seething pool. The
flying spray was frozen in the air; and it filled the masts with snow,
and pattered like heavy hail upon the deck. The light of the sun seemed
shut out, and darkness closed around. A dismal chasm yawned deep before
them, and in the gray gloom the ship’s crew saw many wondrous things.
Great sea-monsters swam among the rocks, and seemed not to heed the
uproar above them. Lovely mermaids sat in their green-and-purple caves,
and combed their tresses of golden hair; and thoughtful mermen groped
among the seaweeds, searching hopefully for lost or hidden treasures.
Then Siegfried caught a glimpse of the mighty AEgir, sitting in his
banquet-room; and, as he quaffed his foaming ale, he called aloud to his
daughters to leave their play, and come to their father in his gold-lit
hall. And the white-veiled Waves answered to their names, and came
at his call. First, Raging Sea entered the wide hall, and sat by the
Ocean-king’s side; then Billow, then Surge, then Surf, and Breakers;
then came the Purple-haired, and the Diver; but AEgir’s two youngest
daughters, Laughing Ripple and Smiling Sky-clear, came not at their
father’s beck, but lingered to play among the rocks and in the open sea.
So deeply engaged was Siegfried in watching this scene, that he did not
notice Bragi, who now came upon the deck with his harp in his hand. And
sweet music arose from among the dashing waves, and was heard far down
in the deep sea-caverns, and even in AEgir’s hall. And, when Siegfried
looked up again, the eddying whirlpools, and the threatening waves, and
the flying spray, were no more; but the ship was gliding over the quiet
waters of a deep blue sea, and the sun was shining brightly in the clear
sky above. Then an east wind filled the sails; and, as Bragi’s music
rose sweeter and higher, they glided swiftly away from the coast, and
soon the snow-capped mountain-peaks grew dim in the distance, and then
sank from sight.
Many days they sailed over an unknown sea, and towards an unknown land;
and none but Bragi knew what the end of their voyage would be. And yet
no one doubted or was afraid, for the secrets of the earth and the sea
were known to the sweet singer. After a time, the water became as smooth
as glass: not a ripple moved upon its surface, and not the slightest
breath of air stirred among the idly-hanging sails. Then the sailors
went to their oars; but they seemed overcome with languor and
sleepiness, and only when Bragi played upon his harp did they move their
oars with their wonted strength and quickness. And at last they came in
sight of a long, low coast, and a shelving beach up which the tide was
slowly creeping in drowsy silence. And not half a league from the shore
was a grand old castle, with a tall tower and many turrets, and broad
halls and high battlements; and in the light of the setting sun every
thing was as green as emerald or as the fresh grass of early spring. And
a pale flickering light gleamed on the castle-walls, and the moat seemed
filled with a glowing fire.
The ship glided silently up to the sandy beach, and the sailors moored
it to the shore. But Siegfried heard no sound upon the land, nor could
he see any moving, living thing. Silence brooded everywhere, and the
castle and its inmates seemed to be wrapped in slumber. The sentinels
could be seen upon the ramparts, standing like statues of stone, and
showing no signs of life; while above the barbacan gate the watchman was
at his post, motionless and asleep.
Adventure VI. Brunhild.
Siegfried and the harper sat together in the little ship as it lay
moored to the sandy shore; and their eyes were turned towards the
sea-green castle and its glowing walls, and they looked in vain for
any movement, or any sign of wakeful life. Every thing was still. Not a
breath of air was stirring. The leaves of the trees hung motionless,
as if they, too, were asleep. The great green banner on the tower’s top
clung around the flagstaff as if it had never fluttered to the breeze.
No song of birds, nor hum of insects, came to their ears. There was
neither sound nor motion anywhere.
“Play your harp, good Bragi, and awaken all these sleepers,” said
Siegfried.
Then the harper touched the magic strings, and strains of music, loud
and clear, but sweet as a baby’s breath, rose up in the still air,
and floated over the quiet bay, and across the green meadows which lay
around the castle-walls; and it was borne upward over the battlements,
and among the shining turrets and towers, and was carried far out over
the hills, and among the silent trees of the plain. And Bragi sung of
the beginning of all things, and of whatsoever is beautiful on the land,
or in the sea, or in the sky. And Siegfried looked to see every thing
awakened, and quickened into life, as had oft been done before by
Bragi’s music; but nothing stirred. The sun went down, and the gray
twilight hung over sea and land, and the red glow in the castle-moat
grew redder still; and yet every thing slept. Then Bragi ended his song,
and the strings of his harp were mute.
“Music has no charms to waken from sleep like that,” he said.
And then he told Siegfried what it all meant; and, to make the story
plain, he began by telling of Odin’s bright home at Gladsheim and of the
many great halls that were there.
One of the halls in Gladsheim is called Valhal. This hall is so large
and wide, that all the armies of the earth might move within it.
Outside, it is covered with gold and with sun-bright shields. A fierce
wolf stands guard before it, and a mountain-eagle hovers over it. It has
five hundred and forty doors, each large enough for eight hundred heroes
to march through abreast. Inside, every thing is glittering bright. The
rafters are made of spears, and the ceiling is covered with shields,
and the walls are decked with war-coats. In this hall Odin sets daily
a feast for all the heroes that have been slain in battle. These sit
at the great table, and eat of the food which Odin’s servants have
prepared, and drink of the heavenly mead which the Valkyries, Odin’s
handmaids, bring them.
But the Valkyries have a greater duty. When the battle rages, and swords
clash, and shields ring, and the air is filled with shouts and groans
and all the din of war, then these maidens hover over the field of blood
and death, and carry the slain heroes home to Valhal.[EN#15]
One of Odin’s Valkyries was named Brunhild, and she was the most
beautiful of all the maidens that chose heroes for his war-host. But she
was wilful too, and did not always obey the All-Father’s behests. And
when Odin knew that she had sometimes snatched the doomed from death,
and sometimes helped her chosen friends to victory, he was very angry.
And he drove her away from Gladsheim, and sent her, friendless and poor,
to live among the children of men, and to be in all ways like them. But,
as she wandered weary and alone over the earth, the good old King of
Isenland saw her beauty and her distress, and pity and love moved
his heart; and, as he had no children of his own, he took her for his
daughter, and made her his heir. And not long afterward he died, and the
matchless Brunhild became queen of all the fair lands of Isenland and
the hall of Isenstein. When Odin heard of this, he was more angry still;
and he sent to Isenstein, and caused Brunhild to be stung with the thorn
of Sleep. And he said,--
“She shall sleep until one shall come who is brave enough to ride
through fire to awaken her.”
And all Isenland slept too, because Brunhild, the Maiden of Spring, lay
wounded with the Sleepful thorn.
* * * * *
When Siegfried heard this story, he knew that the land which lay before
them was Isenland, and that the castle was Isenstein, and that Brunhild
was sleeping within that circle of fire.
“My songs have no power to awaken such a sleeper,” said Bragi. “A hero
strong and brave must ride through the flame to arouse her. It is for
this that I have brought you hither; and here I will leave you, while I
sail onwards to brighten other lands with my music.”
Siegfried’s heart leaped up with gladness; for he thought that here,
at last, was a worthy deed for him to do. And he bade his friend Bragi
good-by, and stepped ashore; and Greyfell followed him. And Bragi sat at
the prow of the ship, and played his harp again; and the sailors plied
their oars; and the little vessel moved swiftly out of the bay, and was
seen no more. And Siegfried stood alone on the silent, sandy beach.
As he thus stood, the full moon rose white and dripping from the sea;
and its light fell on the quiet water, and the sloping meadows, and the
green turrets of the castle. And the last notes of Bragi’s harp came
floating to him over the sea.
Then a troop of fairies came down to dance upon the sands. It was the
first sign of life that Siegfried had seen. As the little creatures drew
near, he hid himself among the tall reeds which grew close to the shore;
for he wished to see them at their gambols, and to listen to their
songs. At first, as if half afraid of their own tiny shadows, they
danced in silence; but, as the moon rose higher, they grew bolder, and
began to sing. And their music was so sweet and soft, that Siegfried
forgot almost every thing, else for the time: they sang of the pleasant
summer days, and of cooling shades, and still fountains, and silent
birds, and peaceful slumber. And a strange longing for sleep took hold
of Siegfried; and his eyes grew heavy, and the sound of the singing
seemed dim and far away. But just as he was losing all knowledge of
outward things, and his senses seemed moving in a dream, the fairies
stopped dancing, and a little brown elf came up from the sea, and
saluted the queen of the tiny folk.
“What news bring you from the great world beyond the water?” asked the
queen.
“The prince is on his way hither,” answered the elf.
“And what will he do?”
“If he is brave enough, he will awaken the princess, and arouse the
drowsy people of Isenstein; for the Norns have said that such a prince
shall surely come.”
“But he must be the bravest of men ere he can enter the enchanted
castle,” said the queen; “for the wide moat is filled with flames, and
no faint heart will ever dare battle with them.”
“But I will dare!” cried Siegfried; and he sprang from his hiding-place,
forgetful of the little folk, who suddenly flitted away, and left him
alone upon the beach. He glanced across the meadows at the green turrets
glistening in the mellow moonlight, and then at the flickering flames
around the castle walls, and he resolved that on the morrow he would at
all hazards perform the perilous feat.
In the morning, as soon as the gray dawn appeared, he began to make
ready for his difficult undertaking. But, when he looked again at the
red flames, he began to hesitate. He paused, uncertain whether to
wait for a sign and for help from the All-Father, or whether to go
straightway to the castle, and, trusting in his good armor alone, try
to pass through the burning moat. While he thus stood in doubt, his eyes
were dazzled by a sudden flash of light. He looked up. Greyfell came
dashing across the sands; and from his long mane a thousand sunbeams
gleamed and sparkled in the morning light. Siegfried had never seen the
wondrous creature so radiant; and as the steed stood by him in all his
strength and beauty he felt new hope and courage, as if Odin himself had
spoken to him. He hesitated no longer, but mounted the noble horse; and
Greyfell bore him swiftly over the plain, and paused not until he had
reached the brink of the burning moat.
Now, indeed, would Siegfried’s heart have failed him, had he not been
cheered by the sunbeam presence of Greyfell. For filling the wide,
deep ditch, were angry, hissing flames, which, like a thousand
serpent-tongues, reached out, and felt here and there, for what they
might devour; and ever and anon they took new forms, and twisted and
writhed like fiery snakes, and then they swirled in burning coils high
over the castle-walls. Siegfried stopped not a moment. He spoke the
word, and boldly the horse with his rider dashed into the fiery lake;
and the vile flames fled in shame and dismay before the pure sunbeam
flashes from Greyfell’s mane. And, unscorched and unscathed, Siegfried
rode through the moat, and through the wide-open gate, and into the
castle-yard.
The gate-keeper sat fast asleep in his lodge, while the chains and the
heavy key with which, when awake, he was wont to make the great gate
fast, lay rusting at his feet; and neither he, nor the sentinels on the
ramparts above, stirred or awoke at the sound of Greyfell’s clattering
hoofs. As Siegfried passed from one part of the castle to another, many
strange sights met his eyes. In the stables the horses slumbered in
their stalls, and the grooms lay snoring by their sides. The birds sat
sound asleep on their nests beneath the eaves. The watch-dogs, with
fast-closed eyes, lay stretched at full-length before the open doors. In
the garden the fountain no longer played, the half-laden bees had
gone to sleep among the blossoms of the apple-trees, and the flowers
themselves had forgotten to open their petals to the sun. In the
kitchen the cook was dozing over the half-baked meats in front of the
smouldering fire; the butler was snoring in the pantry; the dairy-maid
was quietly napping among the milk-pans; and even the house-flies
had gone to sleep over the crumbs of sugar on the table. In the great
banquet-room a thousand knights, overcome with slumber, sat silent at
the festal board; and their chief, sitting on the dais, slept, with his
half-emptied goblet at his lips.
Siegfried passed hurriedly from room to room and from hall to hall, and
cast but one hasty glance at the strange sights which met him at every
turn; for he knew that none of the drowsy ones in that spacious castle
could be awakened until he had aroused the Princess Brunhild. In the
grandest hall of the palace he found her. The peerless maiden, most
richly dight, reclined upon a couch beneath a gold-hung canopy; and her
attendants, the ladies of the court, sat near and around her. Sleep held
fast her eyelids, and her breathing was so gentle, that, but for the
blush upon her cheeks, Siegfried would have thought her dead. For long,
long years had her head thus lightly rested on that gold-fringed pillow;
and in all that time neither her youth had faded, nor her wondrous
beauty waned.
Siegfried stood beside her. Gently he touched his lips to that matchless
forehead; softly he named her name,--
“Brunhild!”
The charm was broken. Up rose the peerless princess in all her
queen-like beauty; up rose the courtly ladies round her. All over the
castle, from cellar to belfry-tower, from the stable to the banquet
hall, there was a sudden awakening, a noise of hurrying feet and
mingled voices, and sounds which had long been strangers to the halls of
Isenstein. The watchman on the tower, and the sentinels on the ramparts,
yawned, and would not believe they had been asleep; the porter picked
up his keys, and hastened to lock the long-forgotten gates; the horses
neighed in their stalls; the watchdogs barked at the sudden hubbub; the
birds, ashamed at having allowed the sun to find them napping, hastened
to seek their food in the meadows; the servants hurried here and there,
each intent upon his duty; the warriors in the banquet-hall clattered
their knives and plates, and began again their feast; and their chief
dropped his goblet, and rubbed his eyes, and wondered that sleep should
have overtaken him in the midst of such a meal.[EN#16]
And Siegfried, standing at an upper window, looked out over the
castle-walls; and he saw that the flames no longer raged in the moat,
but that it was filled with clear sparkling water from the fountain
which played in the garden. And the south wind blew gently from the sea,
bringing from afar the sweetest strains of music from Bragi’s golden
harp; and the breezes whispered among the trees, and the flowers opened
their petals to the sun, and birds and insects made the air melodious
with their glad voices. Then Brunhild, radiant with smiles, stood by
the hero’s side, and welcomed him kindly to Isenland and to her
green-towered castle of Isenstein.
Adventure VII. In Nibelungen Land.
Every one in the castle of Isenstein, from the princess to the
kitchen-maid, felt grateful to the young hero for what he had done. The
best rooms were fitted up for his use, and a score of serving men and
maidens were set apart to do his bidding, and ordered to be mindful of
his slightest wish. And all the earl-folk and brave men, and all the
fair ladies, and Brunhild, fairest of them all, besought him to make his
home there, nor ever think of going back to Rhineland. Siegfried yielded
to their persuasions, and for six months he tarried in the enchanted
land in one long round of merry-making and gay enjoyment. But his
thoughts were ever turned toward his father’s home in the Lowlands
across the sea, and he longed to behold again his gentle mother
Sigelind. Then he grew tired of his life of idleness and ease, and he
wished that he might go out again into the busy world of manly action
and worthy deeds. And day by day this feeling grew stronger, and filled
him with unrest.
One morning, as he sat alone by the seashore, and watched the lazy tide
come creeping up the sands, two ravens lighted near him. Glad was he to
see them, for he knew them to be Hugin and Munin, the sacred birds of
Odin, and he felt sure that they brought him words of cheer from the
All-Father. Then Hugin flapped his wings, and said, “In idleness the
stings of death lie hidden, but in busy action are the springs of life.
For a hundred years fair Brunhild slept, but why should Siegfried sleep?
The world awaits him, but it waits too long.”
Then Munin flapped his wings also, but he said nothing. And busy memory
carried Siegfried back to his boyhood days; and he called to mind the
wise words of his father Siegmund, and the fond hopes of his gentle
mother, and he thought, too, of the noble deeds of his kinsfolk of the
earlier days. And he rose in haste, and cried, “Life of ease, farewell!
I go where duty leads. To him who wills to do, the great All-Father will
send strength and help.”
While he spoke, his eyes were dazzled with a flash of light. He looked;
and the beaming Greyfell, his long mane sparkling like a thousand
sunbeams, dashed up the beach, and stood beside him. As the noble steed
in all his strength and beauty stood before him, the youth felt fresh
courage; for, in the presence of the shining hope which the All-Father
had given him, all hinderances seemed to vanish, and all difficulties to
be already overcome. He looked toward the sea again, and saw in the
blue distance a white-sailed ship drawing swiftly near, its golden
dragon-stem ploughing through the waves like some great bird of the
deep. And as with straining, eager eyes, he watched its coming, he felt
that Odin had sent it, and that the time had come wherein he must be up
and doing. The hour for thriving action comes to us once: if not seized
upon and used, it may never come again.
The ship drew near the shore. The sailors rested on their oars.
Siegfried and the steed Greyfell sprang upon the deck; then the sailors
silently bent again to their rowing. The flapping sails were filled and
tightened by the strong west wind; and the light vessel leaped from wave
to wave like a thing of life, until Isenstein, with its tall towers and
its green marble halls, sank from sight in the distance and the mist.
And Siegfried and his noble steed seemed to be the only living beings
on board; for the sailors who plied the oars were so silent and
phantom-like, that they appeared to be nought but the ghosts of the
summer sea-breezes. As the ship sped swiftly on its way, all the
creatures in the sea paused to behold the sight. The mermen rested from
their weary search for hidden treasures, and the mermaids forgot to comb
their long tresses, as the radiant vessel and its hero-freight glided
past. And even old King AEgir left his brewing-kettle in his great hall,
and bade his daughters, the white-veiled Waves, cease playing until the
vessel should safely reach its haven.
When, at length, the day had passed, and the evening twilight had come,
Siegfried saw that the ship was nearing land; but it was a strange
land.[EN#17] Like a fleecy cloud it appeared to rest above the waves,
midway between the earth and the sky; a dark mist hung upon it, and it
seemed a land of dreams and shadows. The ship drew nearer and nearer
to the mysterious shore, and as it touched the beach the sailors rested
from their rowing. Then Siegfried and the horse Greyfell leaped ashore;
but, when they looked back, the fair vessel that had carried them was
nowhere to be seen. Whether it had suddenly been clutched by the
greedy fingers of the Sea-queen Ran, and dragged down into her deep
sea-caverns, or whether, like the wondrous ship Skidbladner, it had been
folded up, and made invisible to the eyes of men, Siegfried never knew.
The thick mists and the darkness of night closed over and around both
hero and horse; and they dared not stir, but stood long hours in the
silent gloom, waiting for the coming of the dawn.
At length the morning came, but the light was not strong enough to
scatter the fogs and thick vapors that rested upon the land. Then
Siegfried mounted Greyfell; and the sunbeams began to flash from the
horse’s mane and from the hero’s glittering mail-coat; and the hazy
clouds fled upward and away, until they were caught and held fast by
great mist-giants, who stood like sentinels on the mountain-tops. As
the shining pair came up from the sea, and passed through the woods and
valleys of the Nibelungen Land, there streamed over all that region such
a flood of sunlight as had never before been seen.
In every leafy tree, and behind every blade of grass, elves and fairies
were hidden; and under every rock and in every crevice lurked cunning
dwarfs. But Siegfried rode straight forward until he came to the steep
side of a shadowy mountain. There, at the mouth of a cavern, a strange
sight met his eyes. Two young men, dressed in princes’ clothing, sat
upon the ground: their features were all haggard and gaunt, and pinched
with hunger, and their eyes wild with wakefulness and fear; and all
around them were heaps of gold and precious stones,--more than a hundred
wagons could carry away. And neither of the two princes would leave
the shining hoard for food, nor close his eyes in sleep, lest the
other might seize and hide some part of the treasure. And thus they had
watched and hungered through many long days and sleepless nights, each
hoping that the other would die, and that the whole inheritance might be
his own.
When they saw Siegfried riding near, they called out to him, and said,
“Noble stranger, stop a moment! Come and help us divide this treasure.”
“Who are you?” asked Siegfried; “and what treasure is it that lies
there?”
“We are the sons of Niblung, who until lately was king of this Mist
Land. Our names are Schilbung and the young Niblung,” faintly answered
the princes.
“And what are you doing here with this gold and these glittering
stones?”
“This is the great Nibelungen Hoard, which our father not long ago
brought from the South-land. It is not clear just how he obtained
it.[EN#18] Some say that he got it unjustly from his brother, whose
vassals had digged it from the earth. Others say that he found it
lying on the Glittering Heath, where Fafnir the Dragon had guarded it
zealously for ages past, until he was slain by a hero who cared nought
for his gold. But, be this as it may, our father is now dead, and we
have brought the hoard out of the cavern where he had hidden it, in
order that we may share it between us equally. But we cannot agree, and
we pray you to help us divide it.”
Then Siegfried dismounted from the horse Greyfell, and came near the two
princes.
“I will gladly do as you ask,” said he; “but first I must know more
about your father,--who he was, and whether this is really the Hoard of
the Glittering Heath.”
Then Niblung answered, as well as his feeble voice would allow, “Our
father was, from the earliest times, the ruler of this land, and the
lord of the fog and the mist. Many strongholds, and many noble halls,
had he in this land; and ten thousand brave warriors were ever ready to
do his bidding. The trolls, and the swarthy elves of the mountains, and
the giants of the cloudy peaks, were his vassals. But he did more than
rule over the Nibelungen Land. Twice every year he crossed the sea and
rambled through the Rhine valleys, or loitered in the moist Lowlands;
and now and then he brought rich trophies back to his island home. The
last time, he brought this treasure with him; but, as we have said, it
is not clear how he obtained it. We have heard men say that it was the
Hoard of Andvari, and that when Fafnir, the dragon who watched it, was
slain, the hero who slew him left it to be taken again by the swarthy
elves who had gathered it; but because of a curse which Andvari had
placed upon it, no one would touch it, until some man would assume its
ownership, and take upon himself the risk of incurring the curse. This
thing, it is said, our father did. And the dwarf Alberich undertook to
keep it for him; and he, with the help of the ten thousand elves who
live in these caverns, and the twelve giants whom you see standing on
the mountain-peaks around, guarded it faithfully so long as our father
lived. But, when he died, we and our thralls fetched it forth from the
cavern, and spread it here on the ground. And, lo! for many days we have
watched and tried to divide it equally. But we cannot agree.”
“What hire will you give me if I divide it for you?” asked Siegfried.
“Name what you will have,” answered the princes.
“Give me the sword which lies before you on the glittering heap.”
Then Niblung handed him the sword, and said, “Right gladly will we give
it. It is a worthless blade that our father brought from the South-land.
They say that he found it also on the Glittering Heath, in the trench
where Fafnir was slain. And some will have it that it was forged by
Regin, Fafnir’s own brother. But how that is, I do not know. At any
rate, it is of no use to us; for it turns against us whenever we try to
use it.”
Siegfried took the sword. It was his own Balmung, that had been lost so
long.
Forthwith he began the task of dividing the treasure; and the two
brothers, so faint from hunger and want of sleep that they could
scarcely lift their heads, watched him with anxious, greedy eyes. First
he placed a piece of gold by Niblung’s side, and then a piece of like
value he gave to Schilbung. And this he did again and again, until no
more gold was left. Then, in the same manner, he divided the precious
gem-stones until none remained. And the brothers were much pleased; and
they hugged their glittering treasures, and thanked Siegfried for his
kindness, and for the fairness with which he had given to each his
own. But one thing was left which had not fallen to the lot of either
brother. It was a ring of curious workmanship,--a serpent coiled, with
its tail in its mouth, and with ruby eyes glistening and cold.
“What shall I do with this ring?” asked Siegfried.
“Give it to me!” cried Niblung.
“Give it to me!” cried Schilbung.
And both tried to snatch it from Siegfried’s hand.
But the effort was too great for them. Their arms fell helpless at their
sides, their feet slipped beneath them, their limbs failed: they sank
fainting, each upon his pile of treasures.
“O my dear, dear gold!” murmured Niblung, trying to clasp it all in his
arms,--“my dear, dear gold! Thou art mine, mine only. No one shall
take thee from me. Here thou art, here thou shalt rest. O my dear, dear
gold!” And then, calling up the last spark of life left in his famished
body, he cried out to Siegfried, “Give me the ring!--the ring, I say!”
He hugged his cherished gold nearer to his bosom; he ran his thin
fingers deep down into the shining yellow heap; he pressed his pale lips
to the cold and senseless metal; he whispered faintly, “My dear, dear
gold!” and then he died.
“O precious, precious gem-stones,” faltered Schilbung, “how beautiful
you are! And you are mine, all mine. I will keep you safe. Come, come,
my bright-eyed beauties! No one but me shall touch you. You are mine,
mine, mine!” And he chattered and laughed as only madmen laugh. And he
kissed the hard stones, and sought to hide them in his bosom. But his
hands trembled and failed, dark mists swam before his eyes; he fancied
that he heard the black dwarfs clamoring for his treasure; he sprang up
quickly, he shrieked--and then fell lifeless upon his hoard of sparkling
gems.
A strange, sad sight it was,--boundless wealth, and miserable death;
two piles of yellow gold and sun-bright diamonds, and two thin, starved
corpses stretched upon them. Some stories relate that the brothers were
slain by Siegfried, because their foolish strife and greediness had
angered him.[EN#19] But I like not to think so. It was the gold, and not
Siegfried, that slew them.
“O gold, gold!” cried the hero sorrowfully, “truly thou art the
mid-world’s curse; thou art man’s bane. But when the bright spring-time
of the new world shall come, and Balder shall reign in his glory, then
will the curse be taken from thee, and thy yellow brightness will be the
sign of purity and enduring worth; and then thou wilt be a blessing to
mankind, and the precious plaything of the gods.”
But Siegfried had little time for thought and speech. A strange sound
was heard upon the mountain-side. The twelve great giants who had stood
as watchmen upon the peaks above were rushing down to avenge their
masters, and to drive the intruder out of Nibelungen Land. Siegfried
waited not for their onset; but he mounted the noble horse Greyfell,
and, with the sword Balmung in his hand, he rode forth to meet his foes,
who, with fearful threats and hideous roars, came striding toward him.
The sunbeams flashed from Greyfell’s mane, and dazzled the dull eyes of
the giants, unused as they were to the full light of day. Doubtful,
they paused, and then again came forward. But they mistook every tree in
their way for an enemy, and every rock they thought a foe; and in their
fear they fancied a great host to be before them. Did you ever see the
dark and threatening storm-clouds on a summer’s day scattered and put
to flight by the bright beams of the sun? It was thus that Siegfried’s
giant foes were routed. One and all, they dropped their heavy clubs, and
stood ashamed and trembling, not knowing what to do. And Siegfried made
each one swear to serve him faithfully; and then he sent them back to
the snow-covered mountain-peaks to stand again as watchmen at their
posts.
And now another danger appeared. Alberich the dwarf, the master of the
swarthy elves who guarded the Nibelungen Hoard, had come out from his
cavern, and seen the two princes lying dead beside their treasures, and
he thought that they had been murdered by Siegfried; and, when he beheld
the giants driven back to the mountain-tops, he lifted a little silver
horn to his lips, and blew a shrill bugle-call. And the little brown
elves came trooping forth by thousands: from under every rock, from
the nooks and crannies and crevices in the mountain-side, from the deep
cavern and the narrow gorge, they came at the call of their chief. Then,
at Alberich’s word, they formed in line of battle, and stood in order
around the hoard and the bodies of their late masters. Their little
golden shields and their sharp-pointed spears were thick as the blades
of grass in a Rhine meadow. And Siegfried, when he saw them, was pleased
and surprised; for never before had such a host of pygmy warriors stood
before him.
While he paused and looked, the elves became suddenly silent, and
Siegfried noticed that Alberich stood no longer at their head, but had
strangely vanished from sight.
“Ah, Alberich!” cried the hero. “Thou art indeed cunning. I have heard
of thy tricks. Thou hast donned the Tarnkappe, the cloak of darkness,
which hides thee from sight, and makes thee as strong as twelve common
men. But come on, thou brave dwarf!”
Scarcely had he spoken, when he felt a shock which almost sent him
reeling from his saddle, and made Greyfell plunge about with fright.
Quickly, then, did Siegfried dismount, and, with every sense alert,
he waited for the second onset of the unseen dwarf. It was plain that
Alberich wished to strike him unawares, for many minutes passed in utter
silence. Then a brisk breath of wind passed by Siegfried’s face, and
he felt another blow; but, by a quick downward movement of his hand, he
caught the plucky elf-king, and tore off the magic Tarnkappe, and then,
with firm grasp, he held him, struggling in vain to get free.
“Ah, Alberich!” he cried, “now I know thou art cunning. But the
Tarnkappe I must have for my own. What wilt thou give for thy freedom?”
“Worthy prince,” answered Alberich humbly, “you have fairly overcome
me in fight, and made me your prisoner. I and all mine, as well as
this treasure, rightfully belong to you. We are yours, and you we shall
obey.”
“Swear it!” said Siegfried. “Swear it, and thou shalt live, and be the
keeper of my treasures.”
And Alberich made a sign to his elfin host, and every spear was turned
point downwards, and every tiny shield was thrown to the ground, and
the ten thousand little warriors kneeled, as did also their chief, and
acknowledged Siegfried to be their rightful master, and the lord of the
Nibelungen Land, and the owner of the Hoard of Andvari.
Then, by Alberich’s orders, the elves carried the Hoard back into the
cavern, and there kept faithful watch and ward over it. And they buried
the starved bodies of the two princes on the top of the mist-veiled
mountain; and heralds were sent to all the strongholds in Nibelungen
Land, proclaiming that Siegfried, through his wisdom and might, had
become the true lord and king of the land. Afterwards the prince, riding
on the beaming Greyfell, went from place to place, scattering sunshine
and smiles where shadows and frowns had been before. And the Nibelungen
folk welcomed him everywhere with glad shouts and music and dancing; and
ten thousand warriors, and many noble earl-folk, came to meet him, and
plighted their faith to him. And the pure brightness of his hero-soul,
and the gleaming sunbeams from Greyfell’s mane,--the light of hope and
faith,--lifted the curtain of mists and fogs that had so long darkened
the land, and let in the glorious glad light of day and the genial
warmth of summer.
Adventure VIII. Siegfried’s Welcome Home.
In Santen Castle, one day, there was a strange uproar and confusion.
Everybody was hurrying aimlessly about, and no one seemed to know just
what to do. On every side there were restless whisperings, and hasty
gestures, and loud commands. The knights and warriors were busy donning
their war-coats, and buckling on their swords and helmets. Wise King
Siegmund sat in his council-chamber, and the knowing men of the kingdom
stood around him; and the minds of all seemed troubled with doubt, if
not with fear.
What could have caused so great an uproar in the once quiet old castle?
What could have brought perplexity to the mind of the wisest king in
all Rhineland? It was this: a herald had just come from the seashore,
bringing word that a strange fleet of a hundred white-sailed vessels had
cast anchor off the coast, and that an army of ten thousand fighting men
had landed, and were making ready to march against Santen. Nobody had
ever heard of so large a fleet before; and no one could guess who the
strangers might be, nor whence they had come, nor why they should thus,
without asking leave, land in the country of a peace-loving king.
The news spread quickly over all the land. People from every part came
hastening to the friendly shelter of the castle. The townsmen, with
their goods and cattle, hurried within the walls. The sentinels on the
ramparts paced uneasily to and fro, and scanned with watchful eye every
stranger that came near the walls. The warders stood ready to hoist
the drawbridge, and close the gate, at the first signal given by the
watchman above, who was straining his eyes to their utmost in order to
see the first approach of the foe.
A heavy mist hung over the meadow-lands between Santen and the sea,
and nothing was visible beyond the gates of the town. The ten thousand
strange warriors might be within half a league of the castle, and yet
the sharpest eagle-eye could not see them.
All at once a clatter of horse’s hoofs was heard; the dark mist rose up
from the ground, and began to roll away, like a great cloud, into the
sky; and then strange sunbeam-flashes were seen where the fog had lately
rested.
“They come!” cried one of the sentinels. “I see the glitter of their
shields and lances.”
“Not so,” said the watchman from his place on the tower above. “I see
but one man, and he rides with the speed of the wind, and lightning
flashes from the mane of the horse which carries him.”
The drawbridge was hastily hoisted. The heavy gates were quickly shut,
and fastened with bolts and bars. Every man in the castle was at his
post, ready to defend the fortress with his life. In a short time the
horse and his rider drew near. All who looked out upon them were dazzled
with the golden brightness of the hero’s armor, as well as with
the lightning gleams that flashed from the horse’s mane. And some
whispered,--
“This is no man who thus comes in such kingly splendor. More likely
it is Odin on one of his journeys, or the Shining Balder come again to
earth.”
As the stranger paused on the outer edge of the moat, the sentinels
challenged him,--
“Who are you who come thus, uninvited and unheralded, to Santen?”
“One who has the right to come,” answered the stranger. “I am Siegfried;
and I have come to see my father, the good Siegmund, and my mother, the
gentle Sigelind.”
It was indeed Siegfried; and he had come from his kingdom in the
Nibelungen Land, with his great fleet, and the noblest of his warriors,
to see once more his boyhood’s home, and to cheer for a time the hearts
of his loving parents. For he had done many noble deeds, and had ruled
wisely and well, and he felt that he was now not unworthy to be called
the son of Siegmund, and to claim kinship with the heroes of the earlier
days.
As soon as it was surely known that he who stood before the castle-walls
was the young prince who had been gone so many years, and about whom
they had heard so many wonderful stories, the drawbridge was hastily let
down, and the great gates were thrown wide open. And Siegfried, whose
return had been so long wished for, stood once again in his father’s
halls. And the fear and confusion which had prevailed gave place to
gladness and gayety; and all the folk of Santen greeted the returned
hero with cheers, and joyfully welcomed him home. And in the whole world
there was no one more happy than Siegmund and Sigelind.
On the morrow the ten thousand Nibelungen warriors came to Santen; and
Siegmund made for them a great banquet, and entertained them in a right
kingly way, as the faithful liegemen of his son. And Siegfried, when he
had given them rich gifts, sent them with the fleet back to Nibelungen
Land; for he meant to stay for a time with his father and mother at
Santen.
When the harvest had been gathered, and the fruit was turning purple and
gold, and the moon rode round and full in the clear autumn sky, a gay
high-tide was held for Siegfried’s sake; and everybody in the Lowland
country, whether high or low, rich or poor, was asked to come to
the feast. For seven days, nought but unbridled gayety prevailed in
Siegmund’s halls. On every hand were sounds of music and laughter, and
sickness and poverty and pain were for the time forgotten. A mock-battle
was fought on the grassy plain not far from the town, and the young men
vied with each other in feats of strength and skill. Never before had
so many beautiful ladies nor so many brave men been seen in Santen.
And, when the time of jollity and feasting had drawn to an end, Siegmund
called together all his guests, and gave to each choice gifts,--a festal
garment, and a horse with rich trappings. And Queen Sigelind scattered
gold without stint among the poor, and many were the blessings she
received. Then all the folk went back to their homes with light hearts
and happy faces.[EN#20]
The autumn days passed quickly by, and Siegfried began to grow weary of
the idle, inactive life in his father’s halls; and Greyfell in his stall
pined for the fresh, free air, and his mane lost all its brightness.
When Siegmund saw how full of unrest his son had become, he said to
him,--
“Siegfried, I have grown old and feeble, and have no longer the strength
of my younger days. My kingdom would fare better were a younger ruler
placed over it. Take my crown, I pray you, and let me withdraw from
kingly cares.”
But Siegfried would not listen to such an offer. He had his own kingdom
of the Nibelungens, he said; and, besides, he would never sit on his
father’s throne while yet that father lived. And although he loved the
pleasant companionship of his mother, and was delighted to listen to
the wise counsels of his father, the craving for action, and the unrest
which would not be satisfied, grew greater day by day. At last he
said,--
“I will ride out into the world again. Mayhap I may find some other
wrong to right, or some other kingdom to win. It was thus that my kin,
in the golden age long past, went faring over the land and sea, and met
their doom at last. They were not home-abiders, nor tillers of the soil;
but the world was their abiding-place, and they filled the hearts of
men.”
And, when his father and mother heard this, they tried no longer to
keep him with them; for they knew that it would be more cruel than the
keeping of a caged bird away from the sunlight.
“Only go not into Burgundy,” said his father. “The kings of that country
are not friendly to us, and they may do you harm. Hagen, the kinsman of
the kings, and the chief of their fighting-men, is old and crafty, and
he cannot brook a greater hero than himself.”
Siegfried laughed.
“That is all the better reason why I should go to Burgundy-land,” he
said.
“Then take ten thousand of my warriors,” said his father, “and make
yourself master of the land.”
“No, no!” cried Siegfried. “One kingdom is enough for me. My own
Nibelungen Land is all I want. I will take my twelve Nibelungen knights
that I have with me here, and we will fare forth to see the world and
its beauties, and men’s work; and, when we have tired with riding, we
will sail across the sea to our Nibelungen home.”
Adventure IX. The Journey to Burgundy-Land.
For many days before Siegfried’s departure, the queen, and all the women
of the household, busily plied their needles; and many suits of rich
raiment made they for the prince and his worthy comrades. At length the
time for leave-taking came, and all the inmates of the castle went out
to the gate to bid the heroes God-speed. Siegfried sat upon his noble
horse Greyfell, and his trusty sword Balmung hung at his side. And his
Nibelungen knights were mounted on lordly steeds, with gold-red saddles
and silver trappings chased with gold; and their glittering helmets, and
burnished shields, and war-coats of polished steel, when added to
their noble bearing and manlike forms, made up a picture of beauty and
strength such as no one in Santen had ever seen before, or would ever
see again.
“Only go not into Burgundy-land,” were the parting words of Siegmund.
And all who had come to bid them farewell wept bitterly as the young men
rode out of the city, and were lost to sight in the distance.
“Only go not into Burgundy-land!” These words of his father sounded
still in Siegfried’s ears; and he turned his horse’s head towards the
west and south; and they rode through the level country, and among the
fields, from which the corn had already been gathered; and at night they
slept in the open air, upon the still warm ground. Thus for many days
they travelled. And they left the Lowlands far behind them, and Burgundy
far to the left of them; and by and by they came to a country covered
with high hills, and mountains that seemed to touch the sky. The crags
and peaks were covered with snow, and ice lay all summer in the dales
and in the deep gorges cleft long time ago by giant hands. Here it is
that the rivers take their beginning. And here it is that the purple
grapes and the rare fruits of milder climes are found; for the sun
shines warm in the valleys and upon the plains, and the soil is
exceeding rich. It is said that these mountains are midway between the
cold regions of Jotunheim and the glowing gardens of Muspelheim, and
that, in ages past, they were the scene of many battles between the
giants who would overwhelm the earth,--these with ice, and those
with fire. Here and there were frowning caves dug out of the solid
mountain-side; while higher up were great pits, half-filled with ashes,
where, it is said, the dwarf-folk, when they were mighty on earth, had
their forges.
Siegfried stopped not long in this land. Thoughts of the Nibelungen
Land, and of his faithful liegemen who waited for his return, began to
fill his mind. Then the heroes turned their horses’ heads, and rode back
towards the north, following the course of the River Rhine, as it wound,
here and there, between hills and mountains, and through meadows where
the grass was springing up anew, and by the side of woodlands, now
beginning to be clothed in green again; for the winter was well over,
and spring was hastening on apace. And as they rode down the valley of
the Rhine they came, ere they were aware, into the Burgundian Land,
and the high towers of King Gunther’s castle rose up before them. Then
Siegfried remembered again his father’s words,--
“Only go not into Burgundy-land.”
But it was now too late to go back, and they determined to stop for
a few days with the Burgundian kings. They rode onwards through the
meadows and the pleasant farming-lands which lay around the city; and
they passed a wonderful garden of roses, said to belong to Kriemhild,
the peerless princess of the Rhine country; and at last they halted
before the castle-gate. So lordly was their bearing, that a company of
knights came out to meet them, and offered, as the custom was, to take
charge of their horses and their shields. But Siegfried asked that they
be led at once to King Gunther and his brothers; and, as their stay
would not be long, they said they would have no need to part with horses
or with shields. Then they followed their guides, and rode through the
great gateway, and into the open court, and halted beneath the palace
windows.
And the three kings--Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher--and their young
sister, the matchless Kriemhild, looked down upon them from above, and
hazarded many guesses as to who the lordly strangers might be. And all
the inmates of the castle stood at the doors and windows, or gathered in
curious groups in the courtyard, and gazed with open-mouthed wonder upon
the rich armor and noble bearing of the thirteen heroes. But all eyes
were turned most towards Siegfried and the wondrous steed Greyfell. Some
of the knights whispered that this was Odin, and some that it was Thor,
the thunderer, making a tour through Rhineland. But others said that
Thor was never known to ride on horseback, and that the youth who sat
on the milk-white steed was little like the ancient Odin. And the ladies
who looked down upon the heroes from the palace windows said that this
man could be no other than the Sunbright Balder, come from his home in
Breidablik, to breathe gladness and sunshine into the hearts and lives
of men.
Only one among all the folk in the castle knew who the hero was who had
ridden thus boldly into the heart of Burgundy-land. That one was
Hagen, the uncle of the three kings, and the doughtiest warrior in all
Rhineland. With a dark frown and a sullen scowl he looked out upon the
little party, and already plotted in his mind how he might outwit, and
bring to grief, the youth whose name and fame were known the whole world
over. For his evil mind loved deeds of darkness, and hated the pure and
good. By his side, at an upper window, stood Kriemhild, the peerless
maiden of the Rhine; but her thoughts were as far from his thoughts as
the heaven-smile on her face was unlike the sullen scowl on his grim
visage. As the moon in her calm beauty is sometimes seen in the sky,
riding gloriously by the side of a dark thunder-cloud,--the one more
lovely, the other more dreadful, by their very nearness,--so seemed
Kriemhild standing there by the side of Hagen.
“Think you not, dear uncle,” she said, “that this is the Shining Balder
come to earth again?”
“The gods have forgotten the earth,” answered Hagen in surly tones. “But
if, indeed, this should be Balder, we shall, without doubt, find another
blind archer, who, with another sprig of mistletoe, will send him back
again to Hela.”
“What do you mean?” asked Kriemhild earnestly.
But old Hagen said not a word in answer. He quietly withdrew from the
room, and left the maiden and her mother, the good dame Ute, alone.
“What does uncle Hagen mean by his strange words? and why does he look
so sullen and angry?” asked Kriemhild.
“Indeed, I know not,” answered the queen-mother. “His ways are dark, and
he is cunning. I fear that evil will yet come to our house through him.”
Meanwhile the three kings and their chiefs had gone into the courtyard
to greet their unknown guests. Very kindly did Gunther welcome the
strangers to his home; and then he courteously asked them whence they
came, and what the favors they wished.
“I have heard,” answered Siegfried, “that many knights and heroes live
in this land, and that they are the bravest and the proudest in the
world. I, too, am a knight; and some time, if I am worthy, I shall be a
king. But first I would make good my right to rule over land and folk;
and for this reason I have come hither. If, indeed, you are as brave as
all the world says you are, ride now to the meadows with us, and let us
fight man to man; and he who wins shall rule over the lands of both. We
will wager our kingdom and our heads against yours.”
King Gunther and his brothers were amazed at this unlooked-for speech.
“Such is not the way to try where true worth lies!” they cried. “We have
no cause of quarrel with you, neither have you any cause of quarrel with
us. Why, then, should we spill each other’s blood?”
Again Siegfried urged them to fight with him; but they flatly refused.
And Gernot said,--
“The Burgundian kings have never wished to rule over folk that are not
their own. Much less would they gain new lands at the cost of their best
heroes’ blood. And they have never taken part in needless quarrels. Good
men in Burgundy are worth more than the broadest lands, and we will not
hazard the one for the sake of gaining the other. No, we will not fight.
But we greet you most heartily as our friends and guests.”
All the others joined in urging Siegfried and his comrades to dismount
from their steeds, and partake of the cheer with which it was their use
to entertain strangers. And at last he yielded to their kind wishes,
and alighted from Greyfell, and, grasping King Gunther’s hand, he
made himself known. And there was great rejoicing in the castle and
throughout all the land; and the most sumptuous rooms were set apart for
the use of Siegfried and his Nibelungen knights; and a banquet was at
once made ready; and no pains were spared in giving the strangers
a right hearty welcome to the kingly halls of Burgundy. But Hagen,
dark-browed and evil-eyed, stood silent and alone in his chamber and
waited his time.
Adventure X. Kriemhild’s Dream.
Early on the morrow morning, ere the sun had risen high, the peerless
Kriemhild walked alone amid the sweet-scented bowers of her rose-garden.
The dewdrops still hung thick on flower and thorn, and the wild birds
carolled their songs of merry welcome to the new-born day. Every
thing seemed to have put on its handsomest colors, and to be using
its sweetest voice, on purpose to gladden the heart of the maiden. But
Kriemhild was not happy. There was a shadow on her face and a sadness
in her eye that the beauty and the music of that morning could not drive
away.
“What ails thee, my child?” asked her mother, Queen Ute, who met her.
“Why so sad, as if thy heart were heavy with care? Has any one spoken
unkindly, or has aught grievous happened to thee?”
“Oh, no, dearest mother!” said Kriemhild. “It is nothing that saddens
me,--nothing but a foolish dream. I cannot forget it.”
“Tell me the dream,” said her mother: “mayhap it betokens something that
the Norns have written for thee.”
Then Kriemhild answered, “I dreamed that I sat at my window, high up in
the eastern tower; and the sun shone bright in the heavens, and the
air was mild and warm, and I thought of nought but the beauty and the
gladness of the hour. Then in the far north I saw a falcon flying. At
first he seemed but a black speck in the sky; but swiftly he drew nearer
and nearer, until at last he flew in at the open window, and I caught
him in my arms. Oh, how strong and beautiful he was! His wings were
purple and gold, and his eyes were as bright as the sun. Oh, a glorious
prize I thought him! and I held him on my wrist, and spoke kind words to
him. Then suddenly, from out of the sky above, two eagles dashed in at
the window, and snatched my darling from me, and they tore him in pieces
before my eyes, and laughed at my distress.”
“Thy dream,” said Queen Ute, “is easy to explain. A king shall come from
the north-land, and a mighty king shall he be. And he shall seek thee,
and love thee, and wed thee, and thy heart shall overflow with bliss.
The two eagles are the foes who shall slay him; but who they may be, or
whence they may come, is known only to the Norns.”
“But I slept, and I dreamed again,” said Kriemhild. “This time I sat in
the meadow, and three women came to me. And they span, and they wove
a woof more fair than any I have ever seen. And methought that another
woof was woven, which crossed the first, and yet it was no whit less
beautiful. Then the women who wove the woofs cried out, ‘Enough!’ And
a fair white arm reached out and seized the rare fabrics, and tore them
into shreds. And then the sky was overcast, and the thunder began to
roll and the lightning to flash, and red fires gleamed, and fierce
wolves howled around me, and I awoke.”
“This dream,” said Queen Ute, “is more than I can understand. Only this
I can see and explain, that in the dim future the woof of another’s fate
shall cross thy own. But trouble not thyself because of that which
shall be. While yet the sun shines for thee, and the birds sing, and
the flowers shed their sweet perfume, it is for thee to rejoice and
be light-hearted. What the Norns have woven is woven, and it cannot be
undone.”[EN#21]
Adventure XI. How the Spring-time Came.
Siegfried, when he came to Gunther’s castle, thought of staying there
but a few days only. But the king and his brothers made every thing so
pleasant for their honored guest, that weeks slipped by unnoticed, and
still the hero remained in Burgundy.
Spring had fairly come, and the weeping April clouds had given place to
the balmy skies of May. The young men and maidens, as was their wont,
made ready for the May-day games; and Siegfried and his knights were
asked to take part in the sport.
On the smooth greensward, which they called Nanna’s carpet, beneath the
shade of ash-trees and elms, he who played Old Winter’s part lingered
with his few attendants. These were clad in the dull gray garb which
becomes the sober season of the year, and were decked with yellow
straw, and dead, brown leaves. Out of the wood came the May-king and his
followers, clad in the gayest raiment, and decked with evergreens and
flowers. With staves and willow-withes they fell upon Old Winter’s
champions, and tried to drive them from the sward. In friendly fray
they fought, and many mishaps fell to both parties. But at length the
May-king won; and grave Winter, battered and bruised, was made prisoner,
and his followers were driven from the field. Then, in merry sport,
sentence was passed on the luckless wight, for he was found guilty of
killing the flowers, and of covering the earth with hoar-frost; and
he was doomed to a long banishment from music and the sunlight. The
laughing party then set up a wooden likeness of the worsted winter-king,
and pelted it with stones and turf; and when they were tired they threw
it down, and put out its eyes, and cast it into the river. And then a
pole, decked with wild-flowers and fresh green leaves, was planted in
the midst of the sward, and all joined in merry dance around it. And
they chose the most beautiful of all the maidens to be the Queen of May,
and they crowned her with a wreath of violets and yellow buttercups; and
for a whole day all yielded fealty to her, and did her bidding.
It was thus that May Day came in Burgundy. And in the evening, when the
party were seated in King Gunther’s hall, Siegfried, at the command of
the May-queen,--who was none other than Kriemhild the peerless,--amused
them by telling the story of
Idun and Her Apples.
It is a story that Bragi told while at the feast in AEgir’s hall. Idun
is Bragi’s wife. Very handsome is she; but the beauty of her face is by
no means greater than the goodness of her heart. Right attentive is she
to every duty, and her words and thoughts are always worthy and wise.
A long time ago the good Asa-folk who dwell in heaven-towering Asgard,
knowing how trustworthy Idun was, gave into her keeping a treasure
which they would not have placed in the hands of any other person.
This treasure was a box of apples, and Idun kept the golden key safely
fastened to her girdle. You ask me why the gods should prize a box of
apples so highly? I will tell you.
Old age, you know, spares none, not even Odin and his Asa-folk. They all
grow old and gray; and, if there were no cure for age, they would become
feeble and toothless and blind, deaf, tottering, and weak minded. The
apples which Idun guarded so carefully were the priceless boon of youth.
Whenever the gods felt old age coming on, they went to her, and she gave
them of her fruit; and, when they had tasted, they grew young and strong
and handsome again. Once, however, they came near losing the apples,--or
losing rather Idun and her golden key, without which no one could ever
open the box.
In those early days Odin delighted to come down now and then from his
high home above the clouds, and to wander, disguised, among the woods
and mountains, and by the seashore, and in wild desert places. For
nothing pleases him more than to commune with Nature as she is found
in the loneliness of vast solitudes, or in the boisterous uproar of the
elements. Once on a time he took with him his friends Hoenir and Loki;
and they rambled many days among the icy cliffs, and along the barren
shores, of the great frozen sea. In that country there was no game, and
no fish was found in the cold waters; and the three wanderers, as they
had brought no food with them, became very hungry. Late in the afternoon
of the seventh day, they reached some pasture-lands belonging to the
giant Hymer, and saw a herd of the giant’s cattle browsing upon the
short grass which grew in the sheltered nooks among the hills.
“Ah!” cried Loki: “after fasting for a week, we shall now have food in
abundance. Let us kill and eat.”
So saying, he hurled a sharp stone at the fattest of Hymer’s cows, and
killed her; and the three quickly dressed the choicest pieces of flesh
for their supper. Then Loki gathered twigs and dry grass, and kindled a
blazing fire; Hoenir filled the pot with water from melted ice; and Odin
threw into it the bits of tender meat. But, make the fire as hot as they
would, the water would not boil, and the flesh would not cook.
All night long the supperless three sat hungry around the fire; and,
every time they peeped into the kettle, the meat was as raw and gustless
as before. Morning came, but no breakfast. And all day Loki kept
stirring the fire, and Odin and Hoenir waited hopefully but impatiently.
When the sun again went down, the flesh was still uncooked, and their
supper seemed no nearer ready than it was the night before. As they were
about yielding to despair, they heard a noise overhead, and, looking up,
they saw a huge gray eagle sitting on the dead branch of an oak.
“Ha, ha!” cried the bird. “You are pretty fellows indeed! To sit hungry
by the fire a night and a day, rather than eat raw flesh, becomes you
well. Do but give me my share of it as it is, and I warrant you the rest
shall boil, and you shall have a fat supper.”
“Agreed,” answered Loki eagerly. “Come down and get your share.”
The eagle waited for no second asking. Down he swooped right over the
blazing fire, and snatched not only the eagle’s share, but also what the
Lybians call the lion’s share; that is, he grasped in his strong talons
the kettle, with all the meat in it, and, flapping his huge wings,
slowly rose into the air, carrying his booty with him. The three gods
were astonished. Loki was filled with anger. He seized a long pole, upon
the end of which a sharp hook was fixed, and struck at the treacherous
bird. The hook stuck fast in the eagle’s back, and Loki could not loose
his hold of the other end of the pole. The great bird soared high
above the tree-tops, and over the hills, and carried the astonished
mischief-maker with him.
But it was no eagle. It was no bird that had thus outwitted the hungry
gods: it was the giant Old Winter, clothed in his eagle-plumage. Over
the lonely woods, and the snow-crowned mountains, and the frozen sea,
he flew, dragging the helpless Loki through tree-tops, and over jagged
rocks, scratching and bruising his body, and almost tearing his arms
from his shoulders. At last he alighted on the craggy top of an iceberg,
where the storm-winds shrieked, and the air was filled with driving
snow. As soon as Loki could speak, he begged the giant to carry him back
to his comrades,--Odin and Hoenir.
“On one condition only will I carry you back,” answered Old Winter.
“Swear to me that you will betray into my hands dame Idun and her golden
key.”
Loki asked no questions, but gladly gave the oath; and the giant flew
back with him across the sea, and dropped him, torn and bleeding and
lame, by the side of the fire, where Odin and Hoenir still lingered. And
the three made all haste to leave that cheerless place, and returned to
Odin’s glad home in Asgard.
Some weeks after this, Loki, the Prince of Mischief-makers, went to
Bragi’s house to see Idun. He found her busied with her household cares,
not thinking of a visit from any of the gods.
“I have come, good dame,” said he, “to taste your apples again; for I
feel old age coming on apace.”
Idun was astonished.
“You are not looking old,” she answered. “There is not a single gray
hair upon your head, and not a wrinkle on your brow. If it were not for
that scar upon your cheek, and the arm which you carry in a sling you
would look as stout and as well as I have ever seen you. Besides, I
remember that it was only a year ago when you last tasted of my fruit.
Is it possible that a single winter should make you old?”
“A single winter has made me very lame and feeble, at least,” said Loki.
“I have been scarcely able to walk about since my return from the North.
Another winter without a taste of your apples will be the death of me.”
Then the kind-hearted Idun, when she saw that Loki was really lame, went
to the box, and opened it with her golden key, and gave him one of the
precious apples to taste. He took the fruit in his hand, bit it, and
gave it back to the good dame. She put it in its place again, closed the
lid, and locked it with her usual care.
“Your apples are not so good as they used to be,” said Loki, making a
very wry face. “Why don’t you fill your box with fresh fruit?”
Idun was amazed. Her apples were supposed to be always fresh,--fresher
by far than any that grow nowadays. None of the gods had ever before
complained about them; and she told Loki so.
“Very well,” said he. “I see you do not believe me, and that you mean to
feed us on your sour, withered apples, when we might as well have golden
fruit. If you were not so bent on having your own way, I could tell you
where you might fill your box with the choicest of apples, such as Odin
loves. I saw them in the forest over yonder, hanging ripe on the trees.
But women will always have their own way; and you must have yours, even
though you do feed the gods on withered apples.”
So saying, and without waiting to hear an answer, he limped out at the
door, and was soon gone from sight.
Idun thought long and anxiously upon the words which Loki had spoken;
and, the more she thought, the more she felt troubled. If her husband,
the wise Bragi, had been at home, what would she not have given? He
would have understood the mischief-maker’s cunning. But he had gone on
a long journey to the South, singing in Nature’s choir, and painting
Nature’s landscapes, and she would not see him again until the return
of spring. At length she opened the box, and looked at the fruit. The
apples were certainly fair and round: she could not see a wrinkle or a
blemish on any of them; their color was the same golden-red,--like the
sky at dawn of a summer’s day; yet she thought there must be something
wrong about them. She took up one of the apples, and tasted it. She
fancied that it really was sour, and she hastily put it back, and locked
the box again.
“He said that he had seen better apples than these growing in the
woods,” said she to herself. “I half believe that he told the truth,
although everybody knows that he is not always trustworthy. I think I
shall go to the forest and see for myself, at any rate.”
So she donned her cloak and hood, and, with a basket on her arm, left
the house, and walked rapidly away, along the road which led to the
forest. It was much farther than she had thought, and the sun was almost
down when she reached the edge of the wood. But no apple-trees were
there. Tall oaks stretched their bare arms up towards the sky, as if
praying for help. There were thorn-trees and brambles everywhere; but
there was no fruit, neither were there any flowers, nor even green
leaves. The Frost-giants had been there.
Idun was about to turn her footsteps homewards, when she heard a wild
shriek in the tree-tops over her head; and, before she could look up,
she felt herself seized in the eagle-talons of Old Winter. Struggle as
she would, she could not free herself. High up, over wood and stream,
the giant carried her; and then he flew swiftly away with her, towards
his home in the chill North-land; and, when morning came, poor Idun
found herself in an ice-walled castle in the cheerless country of the
giants. But she was glad to know that the precious box was safely locked
at home, and that the golden key was still at her girdle.
Time passed; and I fear that Idun would have been forgotten by all,
save her husband Bragi, had not the gods begun to feel the need of her
apples. Day after day they came to Idun’s house, hoping to find the good
dame and her golden key at home; and each day they went away some hours
older than when they had come. Bragi was beside himself with grief, and
his golden harp was unstrung and forgotten. No one had seen the missing
Idun since the day when Loki had visited her, and none could guess what
had become of her. The heads of all the folk grew white with age; deep
furrows were ploughed in their faces; their eyes grew dim, and their
hearing failed; their hands trembled; their limbs became palsied; their
feet tottered; and all feared that Old Age would bring Death in his
train.
Then Bragi and Thor questioned Loki very sharply; and when he felt that
he, too, was growing odd and feeble, he regretted the mischief he had
done, and told them how he had decoyed Idun into Old Winter’s clutches.
The gods were very angry; and Thor threatened to crush Loki with his
hammer, if he did not at once bring Idun safe home again.
So Loki borrowed the falcon-plumage of Freyja, the goddess of love, and
with it flew to the country of the giants. When he reached Old Winter’s
castle, he found the good dame Idun shut up in the prison-tower, and
bound with fetters of ice; but the giant himself was on the frozen sea,
herding old Hymer’s cows. And Loki quickly broke the bonds that held
Idun, and led her out of her prison-house; and then he shut her up in a
magic nut-shell which he held between his claws, and flew with the speed
of the wind back towards the South-land and the home of the gods. But
Old Winter coming home, and learning what had been done, donned his
eagle-plumage and followed swiftly in pursuit.
Bragi and Thor, anxiously gazing into the sky, saw Loki, in Freyja’s
falcon-plumage, speeding homewards, with the nut-shell in his talons,
and Old Winter, in his eagle-plumage, dashing after in sharp pursuit.
Quickly they gathered chips and slender twigs, and placed them high upon
the castle-wall; and, when Loki with his precious burden had flown past,
they touched fire to the dry heap, and the flames blazed up to the sky,
and caught Old Winter’s plumage, as, close behind the falcon, he blindly
pressed. And his wings were scorched in the flames; and he fell helpless
to the ground, and was slain within the castle-gates. Loki slackened
his speed; and, when he reached Bragi’s house, he dropped the nut-shell
softly before the door. As it touched the ground, it gently opened, and
Idun, radiant with smiles, and clothed in gay attire, stepped forth,
and greeted her husband and the waiting gods. And the heavenly music of
Bragi’s long-silent harp welcomed her home; and she took the golden key
from her girdle, and unlocked the box, and gave of her apples to the
aged company; and, when they had tasted, their youth was renewed.[EN#22]
It is thus with the seasons and their varied changes. The gifts of
Spring are youth and jollity, and renewed strength; and the music of air
and water and all things, living and lifeless, follow in her train. The
desolating Winter plots to steal her from the earth, and the Summer-heat
deserts and betrays her. Then the music of Nature is hushed, and all
creatures pine in sorrow for her absence, and the world seems dying of
white Old Age. But at length the Summer-heat repents, and frees her from
her prison-house; and the icy fetters with which Old Winter bound her
are melted in the beams of the returning sun, and the earth is young
again.
Adventure XII. The War with the North-kings.
So swiftly and so pleasantly the days went by, that weeks lengthened
into months, and the spring-time passed, and the summer came, and still
Siegfried lingered in Burgundy with his kind friends. The time was spent
in all manner of joyance,--in hunting the deer in the deep oak-woods,
in riding over the daisied meadows or among the fields of corn, in manly
games and sports, in music and dancing, in feasting and in pleasant
talk. And of all the noble folk who had ever sat at Gunther’s table, or
hunted in the Burgundian woods, none were so worthy or so fair as the
proud young lord of the Nibelungens.
One day in early autumn a party of strange knights rode up to the
castle, and asked to speak with the Burgundian kings. They were led
straightway into the great hall; and Gunther and his brothers welcomed
them, as was their wont, right heartily, and asked them from what
country they had come, and what was their errand.
“We come,” they answered, “from the North country; and we bring word
from our lords and kings, Leudiger and Leudigast.”
“And what would our kingly neighbors say to us?” asked Gunther.
Then the strangers said that their lords had become very angry with the
Burgundian kings, and that they meant, within twelve weeks from that
day, to come with a great army, and lay the country waste, and besiege
their city and castle. All this they had sworn to do unless the
Burgundians would make peace with them upon such terms as Leudiger and
Leudigast should please to grant.
When Gunther and his brothers heard this, they were struck with dismay.
But they ordered the messengers to be well cared for and handsomely
entertained within the palace until the morrow, at which time they
should have the Burgundians’ answer. All the noblest knights and
earl-folk were called together, and the matter was laid before them.
“What answer shall we send to our rude neighbors of the North?” asked
Gunther.
Gernot and the young Giselher declared at once for war. Old Hagen and
other knights, whose prudence was at least equal to their bravery, said
but little. It was known, that, in the armies of the North-kings, there
were at least forty thousand soldiers; but in Burgundy there were not
more than thirty thousand fighting-men, all told. The North-kings’
forces were already equipped, and ready to march; but the Burgundians
could by no means raise and arm any considerable body of men in the
short space of twelve weeks. It would be the part of wisdom to delay,
and to see what terms could best be made with their enemies. Such were
the prudent counsels of the older knights, but Gernot and the young
chief Volker would not listen to such words.
“The Burgundians are not cowards,” said they. “We have never been foiled
in battle; never have we been the vassals of a stranger. Why, then,
shall we cringe and cower before such men as Leudiger and Leudigast?”
Then Hagen answered, “Let us ask our friend and guest Siegfried. Let us
learn what he thinks about this business. Everybody knows that he is as
wise in council as he is brave in the field. We will abide by what he
says.”
But Gunther and Gernot and the young Giselher were unwilling to do this;
for it was not their custom to annoy their guests with questions which
should be allowed to trouble themselves alone. And the kings and their
counsellors went out of the council-chamber, each to ponder in silence
upon the troublesome question.
As Gunther, with downcast head and troubled brow, walked thoughtfully
through the great hall, he unexpectedly met Siegfried.
“What evil tidings have you heard?” asked the prince, surprised at the
strange mien of the king. “What has gone amiss, that should cause such
looks of dark perplexity?”
“That is a matter which I can tell only to friends long tried and true,”
answered Gunther.