Part 7

When Hunding discovered their flight, he set forth to pursue the lovers, uttering loud threats of vengeance, which echoed through the forest for miles round.

He called on Fricka, Queen of Valhalla, to help him, for he knew this goddess to be most stern in her view of the duties of wives.

“O mighty goddess,” cried Hunding, “grant me thine aid! May thy justice and my righteous vengeance speedily overtake the miscreant! Let not the scoundrel Volsung turn the power of Wotan’s sword to his own advantage, for then would all men surely say that the god’s favor rests on faithless wives!”

Fricka promised him her warm support, and also that of Wotan, whom she knew she could bend to her all-powerful will, however opposed he might feel. Scarcely had Brunhilda left the presence of her father when the goddess Fricka drove up in a car drawn by two fierce fleet-footed rams.

With stern majesty she demanded that Siegmund should be given up to justice, and the magic sword he had won be broken against the spear of Wotan himself. It was for the honor of the gods and Valhalla, cried Fricka, that Hunding’s prayer for vengeance on his faithless wife and her lover be answered.

In vain did Wotan plead every excuse he could devise for his favorite Siegmund. Not until he had solemnly sworn on oath to cast off Siegmund, and recall the order given to Brunhilda, did the stern goddess take her leave. Wotan sank on the nearest rock a picture of utter dejection. In this sad state Brunhilda found him shortly after. She listened in dismay, when in gloomy tones he said to her:

“Thou shalt fight to-day as Fricka desires, and thou shalt vanquish utterly Siegmund the Volsung! Heed well my words—my former order I now recall.”

Brunhilda could scarcely believe she heard aright. “Nay, but thou lovest Siegmund,” she cried in sore perplexity, “and Hunding dost thou hate! Ah,” she continued, as a new thought came to her, “this second decree is not given with thy heart! Rather will I abide by the first!”

Brunhilda spoke with good intent, but these were unlucky words. In many respects the mighty Wotan was not unlike a mortal man.

“How, froward child! Dost dare dispute my word?” he cried. “Thou who are naught but the blind tool used by my hand! Wake not my wrath, but heed well my command—Siegmund dies in the fight with Hunding. I have spoken—go!”

In sorrowful amaze the warrior-maiden took up her weapons and departed. She found the ill-starred lovers resting awhile in their wanderings through the trackless forest. Sieglinda’s strength was utterly spent, and she had fallen into a deep swoon.

“Siegmund the Volsung,” spoke Brunhilda in solemn tones, “I come to call thee hence!”

“Who art thou, so fair and stern?” he asked.

“Only those already doomed to death may look upon my face,” she answered. “I am she who bears the fallen warrior to Valhalla.”

“And will this my love come also to Valhalla?” asked Siegmund, gazing tenderly at the pale face of the sleeping Sieglinda.

“Nay,” replied Brunhilda, “such is not the will of Wotan; Sieglinda must remain upon the earth. But thou shalt be with heroes, and the daughters of Wotan shall wait upon thee.”

“If my love may not be there, I will have none of Valhalla’s delights! I follow thee not!” answered Siegmund fixedly.

“Thou hast looked on the face of the Valkyrie—thou hast no choice but to follow her,” said Brunhilda.

“By what warrior’s hand must I fall?” asked Siegmund.

“Hunding will fell thee in the fight to-day,” answered the Valkyrie.

But Siegmund laughed this prophecy to scorn. “Seest thou this sword?” he said, drawing forth the weapon of Wotan. “It was made by one in whose name I am sure of victory.”

“He who bestowed that sword now withdraws the charm, and himself dooms thee to death!” cried Brunhilda in terrible ringing tones.

“Hush! or thou wilt awaken my love,” said Siegmund, bending tenderly over Sieglinda. “If what thou sayest be true, woe and shame be to him who bestowed such a sword! If I must perish and desert her,” he continued bitterly, “never will I pass to the Valhalla of Wotan.”

“What!” cried Brunhilda in horror. “Thou wouldst forego the glory of Valhalla for the sake of this poor feeble woman?”

“If thou canst feel no pity, and canst give no help in my sore distress, then leave me at least in peace. Speak not of Valhalla’s empty joys.”

How help this heroic lover without disobeying the order of Wotan her father? “Confide thy beloved to my care—I will protect her, noble Siegmund,” she said earnestly.

“I thank thee,” replied Siegmund, “but none save I alone can protect my love. And if this sword, which a traitor fashioned, is to prove false in the fight, better it should take our two lives with one fell stroke.” So saying, he drew his sword and held it over Sieglinda. But Brunhilda seized his arm.

“Stay thy hand, reckless man! Thou shalt not die, but live. Thou shalt not leave Sieglinda. Sooner will I, Brunhilda, cancel the death-lot. Doubt me not, my promise is spoken. Take up thy sword, it shall prevail, for I will aid thee. Speed now to meet thy foe. Hark to the sound of Hunding’s horn! Farewell, Siegmund!”

With these words Brunhilda sprang on her winged horse, and soon vanished through the clouds.

Siegmund gazed after her with grateful eyes; then, stooping, kissed Sieglinda, saying softly: “Slumber in peace, my beloved, till the fight is over and peril past.” The horn of Hunding sounded loudly in the distance, and Siegmund hastened away to meet him, leaving Sieglinda still asleep.

A terrible thunderstorm now broke over the forest, thunderclouds rolled and clashed together. All was dark as night, no light save from the forked flashes which darted here and there in fiery streaks, like the gleaming swords of an unseen enemy fighting in the clouds.

Louder and louder called the hunting-horns of Hunding and his followers. Presently a terrific thunderclap awoke Sieglinda. She started up in wildest terror. Siegmund was no longer by her side, a dense darkness surrounded her, while near at hand rang the voice of Hunding crying in tones of wrath: “Ha, thou scoundrel Volsung! come out and fight, or my hounds shall hunt thee down!”

The voices now seemed to come from a rock over Sieglinda’s head. She listened in eager anxiety as they continued to shout to one another. Suddenly a flash of lightning showed them fighting desperately on a ridge of the rock.

Sieglinda rushed forward, forgetting all fears for herself in an agony for Siegmund’s safety. Another blinding flash made her stagger backwards, dazed and giddy. For one instant the whole mountain-peak was lit up, and she saw, hovering over Siegmund in the air, a woman on a winged horse, covering him with a shield as he fought.

“Now is the moment, Siegmund the Volsung,” cried a dear voice from above. “Slay him with thy magic sword!”

But as Siegmund aimed his deadly stroke at the heart of Hunding, a dreadful disaster befell. Wotan, standing unseen at Hunding’s side, put forth his spear and received the thrust of Siegmund’s sword. “Back before my spear! Be splintered, thou sword!” roared the voice of the god in tones of thunder.

With a sharp sound like a cry the sword of Siegmund snapped and flew to pieces.

Brunhilda fell back in dismay as the gleaming eye of Wotan met her own; and instantly Hunding plunged his sword into the heart of his defenseless foe. Sieglinda fell senseless to the ground. Brunhilda, gathering up the fragments of the sword, hurried to her side, and, lifting her to the saddle, rode off at lightning speed through the clouds.

Siegmund’s lifeless body lay at the feet of Wotan. Remorsefully he gazed upon the brave young warrior he would fain have spared. The sight of Hunding was more than he could bear. With a backward wave of his hand Wotan cried fiercely: “Go, knave! Kneel before Fricka and tell her how well Wotan avenged her slight!”

And at these words Hunding staggered and fell lifeless to the ground; for no mortal man could stand before the scornful wave of Wotan’s hand, unless he were of the race of Heroes who know not fear.

So Hunding died; but there was no Valkyrie to bear him to Valhalla. All his life he had been a tyrant and a bully, and such men, were they the best fighters in the world, could find no favor with the warrior-maidens.

“Now for Brunhilda!” cried Wotan, his voice causing the very trees to quake and shiver. “She who has dared to defy and disobey me! Terrible shall be her punishment, though she be my best-loved child.”

He sprang on his war-horse and followed where the parted clouds showed Brunhilda’s recent track.

BRUNHILDA’S SLEEP GUARDED BY LOKI’S FIERY ARM

By Constance Maud

On the summit of a lofty mountain the Valkyrie sisters met after the day’s toil, to await their father Wotan, and present him with the heroes they had gathered from the battlefields on earth.

One by one they alighted from their winged steeds, shouting the Valkyries’ war-cry greeting to each other, “Hei-a-ha! Hei-a-hei! Hoyoto-ho!”

From the north came Helmwiga and Gerhilda well-laden; the fierce Norsemen never failed to supply fresh recruits for Wotan’s bodyguard. From east and west and every quarter came some tribute to Wotan, borne on the Valkyries’ saddle-bows.

“Where tarries our sister Brunhilda?” asked several eagerly. “She is late to-night. Ah, see, in the distance, who is that speeding hither like a cloud driven before the storm? Surely not so rides our queenly Brunhilda!”

With the fainting Sieglinda in her arms, it was indeed Brunhilda who came in sight at last, flying on the wings of the wind.

“Faster! oh, faster, Grani my steed!” she cried to the panting horse.

And Grani, his strong head downward bent, with his winged feet cleft the rolling clouds till they hissed like water meeting fire, while his breath came in great snorting gasps, and the foam flew from his mouth in big flakes like snow. Never before in his long service with his noble mistress had Grani been urged to flight, and he knew that dire indeed must be the danger which Brunhilda dare not stand and face.

“Well striven, good Grani, faithful steed!” cried Brunhilda, as the horse alighted on the mountain and dropped exhausted to the ground. Lifting Sieglinda, now fully conscious, from the saddle, Brunhilda hastened toward her sisters.

“She brings no hero! It is naught but a maiden!” they exclaimed in wonder and disappointment.

“Help me, O sisters! Shield me and this poor woman, I beseech you!” implored Brunhilda breathlessly.

“Why this furious haste? From whom fliest thou?” asked the Valkyries, crowding round her in amazement.

“I fly from our father! In terrible wrath he hunts me down!”

“Thou fliest from our father?” cried all the sisters, horror-struck. “What hast thou done that thou shouldst fly from him?”

Brunhilda poured out her tale in eager haste. From one to another she looked for pity or sympathy but in vain. Sternly the Valkyries eyed her as she knelt and implored them to shelter her and the unfortunate Sieglinda from the wrath of Wotan.

“Woe to thee, most unworthy sister! How durst thou disobey the sacred command of Wotan our father? Naught but disaster can follow!”

And now, from the north, raging storm-clouds came sweeping toward them. One of the Valkyries mounted to the topmost peak, and, looking across the sky, called out:

“He comes! Wotan the wrathful father! flying furiously in the storm-clouds on his snorting steed!”

“Who will lend me a horse? Grani is spent—see, he cannot even stand! Rossvisa, my sister, have pity, lend me thy racer!” Brunhilda implored, turning to a stately Valkyrie whose magnificent steed was at her side.

“My racer never yet fled our father in fear, and never shall!” replied Rossvisa coldly. To each one Brunhilda went, beseeching a horse.

“We stand by our father!” the Valkyries all answered her. Brunhilda was in despair.

Then Sieglinda, who had watched the scene in gloomy silence, came forward and spoke. “Sorrow not for me, noble maiden. Oh, why didst thou not leave me to die with Siegmund? If thou hast indeed pity on me, stretch forth thy sword and pierce me now to the heart.”

“Nay, that must not be,” answered Brunhilda. “Thou must live still, Sieglinda, for thou shalt have a son, who will one day be the greatest hero in the world. Heed now what I say. To the eastward there lies a mighty forest; there Wotan will not pursue thee, for he abhors the spot. It is the dwelling of Fafnir the dragon, his mortal foe. Thither haste thee. I will remain here to face the god’s wrath, and hinder him till thou hast escaped far on thy journey.”

“Fly, then, Sieglinda!” cried Brunhilda; “speed to the east! Faint not and fear not, whatever betide. Live for thy son, and call him by this name from me—Siegfried the Victor! Give him these shattered pieces of his father’s sword—from the field of death I took them. One day he shall weld them into a mighty weapon. Farewell, Sieglinda!” It was none too soon. Another minute, and with a crash the angry god descended in the midst of the dismayed Valkyries.

“Where is Brunhilda, the rebel?” he roared in tones of fury. “Let her come forth! Dare any to shelter her, they shall share the same doom.”

The Valkyrie sisters had closed round Brunhilda in the vain hope of hiding her; but at these words she came out from their midst, her face pale and set. “Here am I, my father, to suffer my sentence,” she said firmly.

Wotan was not prepared for such calm fearlessness. “I sentence thee not,” he answered. “’Tis thine own misdeed condemns thee!” Then, with gathering wrath, he continued, “I made thee a Valkyrie, highest in honor and favor. Thou hast forsworn thy noble calling, and played traitor to thy father. No longer mayest thou dwell in Valhalla as my child. Never more will I send thee for my dead heroes. Never again shalt thou fill my cup at the feast! Degraded and exiled art thou forever!”

Brunhilda stood as though turned to stone.

The Valkyries burst into loud lamentations. “Woe! woe! Alas, our unhappy sister!”

Then Brunhilda cried aloud in great agony of mind, “O father, disown me not! Take not from me all thy gifts! Leave me not to utter desolation!”

But Wotan was not to be appeased, and the worst part of the sentence was yet to come. “Thou thyself hast called down my curse, and here where we now stand it shall strike thee!” he answered. “A deep, dreamless sleep shall overpower thee, and to that man who first awakens thee shalt thou belong from henceforth!”

At this grim sentence all the Valkyries lifted their voices in a wail of horror and dismay, crying: “Oh, terrible father, recall the curse! Let not our sister be degraded to such a shameful fate. Each one of us shares in her disgrace.”

Brunhilda’s woe was too great for any cry.

“I have spoken once—my words abide forever!” retorted Wotan. “Thy treacherous sister,” he continued, “no longer belongs to the glorious troop of Valkyries. Her godhood is forfeit! The doom she has earned is now to wed a mortal man.”

At this picture of her future, poor Brunhilda sank with a deep groan to the earth.

Wotan turned to the eight sisters, who looked on in deep distress. “If ye desire not a like doom, forbear to pity the outcast. Away now, begone, every one of ye! Haste, lest I hurl the same woe on your heads!” The earth quaked and trembled as Wotan passionately stamped his foot, and fiery gleams shot from his eyes.

With a last despairing look at Brunhilda and a wild cry of woe, the Valkyries sprang on their horses and fled in hot haste. They knew if their stern father spared not his favorite Brunhilda, still less would he spare them.

The storm had now ceased. Brunhilda lay prostrate on the ground. Wotan stood motionless in silent gloom. His rage seemed spent, like that of the storm. Then Brunhilda rose slowly from the ground, and spoke in deep sorrowful tones. “Was my deed verily so shameful that such shame should fall upon me? Was it so base an act to fulfil thy _first_ command? Speak, O my father, and soften thy wrath toward me.”

“Thou didst wilfully disobey my sacred order. The _first_ command I recalled,” replied Wotan bitterly.

“But not of thine own will. ’Twas Fricka who made thee false to thy nobler self; and because I held in my heart thy true wish, I dared to slight thy second order.”

The mention of Fricka brought an angry flash from the eyes of Wotan. “For that rebellious act the curse now falls on thee,” he answered.

“But I knew how well thou lovedst Siegmund,” pleaded Brunhilda; “and when I found him in the forest and told him of thy death decree, he revealed to me a wondrous thing I never before had known. For in his strong courage and his undying devotion to Sieglinda, I learned what love could be. And I resolved, whether victory or death came of it, to serve one so noble. In acting thus, O father, I was faithful to thee, even though disobeying thereby thy command.”

Wotan groaned. “Thou knowest naught of what compelled my action. Dark clouds are gathering on every side—the day of doom threatens Valhalla! I dared not follow what my heart desired. But all this woe I kept from thee, that thy life might be happy and free from care. And thou, my favorite, my beloved child, hast turned thy hand against me and proved false to my trust. Never again may I behold thy face! Since love proved thy undoing, follow now that man whom thou perforce must love.”

“If indeed I am banished forever, at least,” she pleaded, “grant me one parting boon, O stern father. If I must wed a mortal man, let not thy Valkyrie fall a victim to some worthless poltroon, when fetters of sleep bind her fast. In this one thing, O father, hear my prayer—at thy command let magical fire spring up in a glowing wall around my couch, that the flames may scare and scorch the timid, and none save a hero stout of heart may dare to approach me.”

Wotan, stern and unbending though he was, could not refuse this one last petition. “Farewell,” he said, “thou who wert once the light of my eyes. I grant thee this last parting boon—tongues of flame will I set round this place; with their terrible fury shall they scare the faint-hearted. Only one shall awaken the bride, he whose strength and freedom is greater than that of Wotan.”

With a cry of grateful joy Brunhilda threw herself into her father’s arm. Tenderly he looked at her, and slowly kissed her on both eyes. A profound slumber instantly fell on Brunhilda, and Wotan, taking her in his arms, laid her on a mossy mound overshadowed by a great fir tree.

“Farewell forever, my beloved beautiful child,” he murmured sadly, as he closed her helmet visor and covered her with the long steel shield of the Valkyries.

Then, going to a rock near by, he struck it three times with the point of his spear, commanding in a loud voice: “Loki! Fire-spirit, come forth. Spread me thy flames around this fell. Here keep thou guard as I decree. Loki, appear!”

And at his word, out sprang from the rock a long tongue of flame, which quickly spread to a mighty river of fire circling round and round the mountain where Brunhilda lay sleeping.

Then Wotan, holding aloft his spear, cried in ringing tones: “Only he whose spirit quaileth not before the spear of Wotan shall pass this fiery bar!” With these words he vanished into the clouds, and the night fell.

Such was the story of Brunhilda’s long sleep.

HOW SIEGFRIED KILLED THE DRAGON

By Constance Maud

When Sieglinda fled from the wrath of Wotan, she went eastward, as Brunhilda directed. For long days and nights she journeyed, and came at length to the country of the Nibelungs, where dwelt the great dragon Fafnir.

Now the Nibelungs were a race of ugly dwarfs, who lived underground, burrowing in the depths of the earth for gold and treasure. They cared nothing for the free forest life, the sunshine, trees, and flowers, or pleasures of the chase. Like prisoners in a dungeon, they chose rather to pass their lives digging and toiling in the dark for gold, and hoarding it up with anxious care.

A vast heap of this treasure, including a magic Ring, stolen from the Mermaids of the Rhine, and a Wishing Cap of strange powers called the Tarnhelm, had fallen into the hands of Fafnir the giant, who, in order the better to guard these precious possessions, transformed himself into a huge dragon, the terror of all the country round.

Sieglinda lived a sad, lonely life in the forest. She avoided the caves where Fafnir dwelt, and as the dwarfs seldom came above ground, she saw nothing of them.

There was one, however, whom it was fated she should meet. His name was Mimi, and of all the dwarfs of the Nibelung race he was the ugliest and the meanest. Notwithstanding this, he was a very skilful blacksmith, and could also do fine work in gold, silver, and steel. Like all the Nibelungs, he had a great dislike to fresh air, so he built his forge in a cave half sunk underground, with a great chimney in the roof.

Mimi was working at his anvil one day, when he heard a deep groan outside the cave. On going out, he saw a woman with a baby in her arms lying on the ground. She was dying, and Mimi had only found her in time to hear her last words.

“Have pity!” cried poor Sieglinda (for it was she). “Thy goodness shall be rewarded. I am dying. Take this my son and bring him up. Call his name Siegfried, for one day he will be the greatest hero in the world. Keep for him this broken sword—it was Siegmund his father’s—‘Needful,’ he called it!”

Now Mimi was not a kind-hearted person, and nothing would have induced him to take care of a strange baby out of pity. But when Sieglinda said that her child was the son of the famous hero Siegmund the Volsung, and would one day himself be the greatest hero in the world, then a grand idea struck Mimi. He would bring up the boy as his own son, and when Siegfried was full-grown, he should be sent forth to kill Fafnir and win for his foster-father all the dragon’s treasure!

So Mimi answered Sieglinda in a cracked voice, which he tried to make pleasant:

“Be comforted, poor woman. I will take the child out of the kindness of my heart, and do my best for him.”

Sieglinda died with a blessing on her lips, and Mimi took the little Siegfried to dwell with him in his cave.

But the dwarf soon found he had no easy task in bringing up this son of a hero. Never was such a daring, fearless, mischievous infant. Many a time would Mimi have turned him adrift, or put an end to him with a blow from his smith’s hammer, but for the thought that this bold young imp was just the sort to delight in slaying a dragon, and pay no heed as to who took the treasure.

As soon as he could walk, the boy would escape into the forest, and there run wild all day; chasing the bears and foxes, feeling no fear of any living creature. He grew so fast that in a few years he was bigger and stronger than Mimi, whom from the first he disliked, perceiving the dwarf to be false and cowardly in all his actions.

Mimi always told the boy he was his father, and this was a great trouble to Siegfried. How he would have loved a father who was noble, fearless, and brave! But Mimi feared everything. He trembled and turned pale did a wolf but howl, or the thunder roll. He feared not only giants, but ordinary huntsmen and woodcutters, and always hid when they came in sight. He feared even Siegfried, so the boy soon became his master, and led him a sorry life. But creatures too small and weak to excite his fear Mimi would cruelly oppress and kill; and this, more than anything else, made Siegfried hate the very sight of him.