Chapter IV: Through Flood and Fire (2)

“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.

_From the painting by K. Dielitz_]

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.

Time went on, and Siegfried grew into a tall strong youth, with fair locks shining in the sun like burnished gold, and fearless blue eyes, which laughed danger in the face. At last the day came when Mimi hoped to be repaid for all his trouble with “the good-for-nothing cub,” as he called the boy. Siegfried had ordered him in a lordly way to make a sword fit for his use—“one that does not snap in two at the first stroke,” he said, and strode off to the forest for his day’s hunt.

Mimi had undertaken the task more than once lately, for he was anxious on his own account that a sword should be fashioned strong and tough enough to slay the dragon. But as yet every weapon he welded had snapped in two at the first trial of its strength by Siegfried.

With mighty effort Mimi hammered and wrought at his anvil all that day. “A stouter sword I never shaped! It would defy a giant,” he said at last, looking on his day’s work. “Yet I sorely fear, when grasped by that fiery youth, it will twist up like a straw!”

Mimi sat down exhausted and despairing. “Ah me! What is to be done?” he sighed. “If only Siegmund’s splintered sword could be welded together again! But no power on earth can do that! Never saw I such mighty steel—all my craft is powerless to melt it—the thing is magic!”

“Oho! Come on, friend Bruin!” cried a voice from without, and Siegfried burst into the cave, driving a great grisly bear, which he held in tow with a rope.

Mimi started up in terror, and hid behind the forge shrieking: “Take away the fearsome brute!”

Siegfried burst into peals of laughter at Mimi’s fear. “Mr. Bruin is a friend of mine. He has come to ask for the sword—is it not finished yet?”

“Yes, it is finished. There it lies yonder. Take away the beast!” panted Mimi.

Siegfried seized the sword eagerly. “Go now, friend Bruin,” he said, loosing the rope, and the bear gladly escaped.

“See how nice and bright is the sword,” said Mimi, creeping out of his hiding-place.

“To what purpose is a sword bright if it is not hard?” asked Siegfried, with scorn. He struck it on the anvil, and the sword instantly flew to pieces. “What silly toy hast thou palmed off on me here?” he cried, flinging it away in disgust. “Dost call that a sword? Why talk to me of battles, and giants, and deeds of daring, if thou canst shape me no better weapon than that? Right well dost thou deserve that I break it on thy crazy old head!”

“Ungrateful boy! Think of all my goodness to thee! When a wretched, troublesome cub, who was it warmed, clothed, and fed thee? Who patiently taught thee all thou knowest? And what is my reward? naught but abuse and hate!” Mimi pretended to wipe away a tear, as though overcome by grief; but he had done this once too often.

“No doubt thou hast taught me much, and told me many lies,” answered Siegfried, who was in no mood for polite speeches. “But there is one thing,” he continued, “thou hast never taught me, and which I am now determined to know—Who and from whence are my father and mother? Long have I felt thou art no kin of mine. I see in the forest all the young resemble their parents; but thou and I are no more like than a toad and a bright shining fish!”

Mimi did not like the comparison. His eyes gleamed with hate.

“Tell me the truth, or I will shake it out of thee!” cried Siegfried, seizing him by the throat.

“Let loose, or thou wilt murder me, wretched boy!” screamed the dwarf in terror. “I will tell thee all!” Then, trembling and quaking, he told Siegfried all he knew of his unhappy parents, with many comments on his own exceeding kindness, to which Siegfried listened impatiently. Finally, in proof of his tale (which, for a wonder, was true), Mimi produced the two pieces of splintered sword, saying dolefully—“Behold, as reward for all my toil and trouble, this had I from thy mother!—a broken sword thy father died while wielding—‘Needful,’ they called it—a foolish name, since it failed in time of need!”

Siegfried rejoiced at learning that he sprang from a noble race. He thought with tenderness of his unfortunate parents, and wished he could have brought some comfort to his poor brave mother. Eagerly he seized the broken pieces of his father’s sword. “To me it shall be well named ‘Needful’,” he cried. “If thou hast any craft, show it now, Mimi. Up and forge me these fragments! My father’s sword I will wield to-day, and with it go forth into the world.” So saying, he went out of the cave, leaving Mimi looking disconsolately at the broken sword.

“No furnace can melt this hard steel. No hammer can bend it. Yet this is the sword which alone can slay Fafnir!”

When Siegfried returned Mimi had still done nothing. He seemed to have just awakened from some bad dream.

“Ho, lazy fellow! Hast finished the sword?” he shouted.

Mimi crept up slowly from behind the anvil, looking round cautiously, lest Siegfried had brought some wild beast with him. “The sword?” he exclaimed in dismal tones. “How can I mend such steel? But, hark ye, boy”; and Mimi came close up, peering into his face; “hast ever known Fear?”

“Whom meanest thou by Fear? Never have I heard of him!” Siegfried answered impatiently.

“Alone in the forest on a dark night, near some gloomy spot, when a sudden rustle or roar startled thee close at hand, hast never felt grisly shudderings, thy heart beating and bursting in thy breast?”

The little dwarf’s description of his unknown feeling interested Siegfried greatly. He even forgot to be angry about the sword. “Right strange and wondrous must that be,” he cried. “My heart is ever firm and steady—how I long to feel sensations so new and curious—this shivering and shaking and beating and bursting! Tell me then, Mimi, how can I learn to know Fear?”

“I will tell thee!” said Mimi, delighted. “There is one I know of who will not fail to teach thee. A monstrous dragon he is, Fafnir by name. I will guide thee to his hole.”

“Where is it? Let us be gone at once. Give me the sword, I will mend it myself. Verily thou art but a bungling smith.” Heaping a mass of wood on the fire, Siegfried blew it up till the flames roared like hungry lions. Then, fixing the sword-splinters in a vice, he proceeded to file them to powder.

Mimi watched in wonder and envy. Now and then he timidly offered his advice, to which Siegfried paid as much heed as though it were the squeaking of a mouse.

Working away with a will, Siegfried performed the mightiest feats of strength with no more exertion than if he were shaping a toy for a child. When the sword was all in powder, he put it in a pot on the forge. Then, blowing up the flames afresh, he sang in a voice strong as a clarion a joyful song of freedom and victory.

The steel sword of his father seemed to understand the song, for it bubbled and spluttered all liquid in the pot, as though it would leap out for very joy.

Mimi listened, too, but he did not enjoy the song. His wily brain was hard at work planning his own ends. That Siegfried should remake the sword was very well, for without it Fafnir could not be slain—but supposing he took the Ring, the gold, and all?—what then would become of poor Mimi? So he prepared a wonderful draught of such powerful poisons, that one drop was enough to make a giant fall senseless to the ground. “When he comes home weary from his fight with the dragon, I will give him this refreshing cup,” said Mimi, with a malicious chuckle.

Meanwhile Siegfried poured the molten steel into a mould, which he forthwith plunged hissing into a tank of cold water. “Ha, ha, Mimi!” he cried. “So you have turned cook, and brew sauces while I brew swords! Methinks,” he added to himself, “I would rather taste of my cooking than his!”

The dwarf’s sharp little eyes glistened with hate as he stirred the potion, and crooned low his song of hope and vengeance. “So the pupil puts the craftsman to shame, does he? Only let him wait till this draught is duly prepared!”

“Now, Needful, come forth, and see what the hammer can do for thee!” cried Siegfried.

He took the sword hard and cold from the water, and thrust it in the red-hot coals till it glowed like a sword of flame. Then with a huge smith’s hammer, he beat it out on the anvil. The sparks flew right and left like fireflies, and Siegfried sang again:

“Ha, Needful! So do I tame thy spirit! At my command thou glowest fiery red—then in the water I cool thine anger till thy sides gleam steely blue! Now with stalwart strokes I beat thee out, Needful, my famous sword—so does my spirit enter thee! Soon thy cold blade shall glow red again with the blood of traitors! Dead didst thou lie, but I, Siegfried, give thee life once more. Needful, come forth!”

Brandishing the sword, Siegfried brought down a mighty stroke across the anvil. With a crash it split from top to bottom, giving Mimi such a shock he nearly upset his precious pot.

So the sword was remade, and Siegfried forthwith started out, guided by Mimi, to find the dragon. Darkness had fallen, but Siegfried was too impatient for his first lesson in fear to wait till morning. All night they tramped through the forest. At every rustle of the branches, every snapping of a twig, Mimi started as though he were shot. Siegfried watched him with scorn; his mocking laughter re-echoed through the stillness.

And the dwarf’s hatred grew more bitter with every step. Many a time he longed then and there to force down Siegfried’s throat the draught he carried so carefully under his cloak.

On they went, Siegfried scarcely heeding the way, so high bounded his heart with thoughts of adventure. To fight and conquer giants and dragons—to go out into the wide world and be free as air—free from the false, cowardly Mimi—free to choose brave and noble companions whom he could honor and love! What unknown joys might not life he waiting to give him who dared to win them!

Day was dawning when at length they reached some rocky caverns at the foot of a mountainous chain. “This is the spot,” said Mimi in a trembling whisper. “Seest thou yonder dark, yawning hole? Inside lies Fafnir. Day and night he guards his treasure—the gold, the Ring, and the Tarnhelm.”

“So he is the master who will teach me Fear?” cried Siegfried joyfully. “Thou canst leave me now, Mimi—I need thee no more.”

“Ungrateful boy!” sighed the dwarf. “But I will not go far. My heart will be torn with anxiety for thy safety. Fafnir is no common foe—with a single snap he could swallow thee whole!” Siegfried laughed. “I shall be careful not to thrust myself down such a wide throat!”

“Eh, but his very breath is potent poison,” continued Mimi, “and the foam of his mouth, if it but touch thee, will shrivel up both flesh and bones on the spot. While as to his tail, ’tis like a huge snake, which, once thou art in its coils, will grind thy limbs as though they were powdered glass!”

Mimi hastened away, muttering to himself, “Would that the dragon and the boy might slay one another!”

Siegfried threw himself down under the trees to wait for Fafnir. A bird began to sing in the branches overhead. Siegfried listened, and wished he could understand the bird’s language. “Perchance if I but knew it, he sings to me of my mother, and of all I wish to know!”

Siegfried gazed up between the leaves at the bird, which paused for a moment, and fixed on him a pair of little black eyes; then started afresh, gurgling forth his liquid notes and trills.

“The language of the birds may be learned, so I have heard tell!” cried Siegfried, and swinging up, he went down to the stream and cut a reed with his sword. With much trouble he fashioned a pipe, and returning to his friend in the tree, tried to imitate his music. The bird stopped to listen, much surprised. But it was a sorry performance, and though this bird was too polite to laugh, Siegfried distinctly heard a tittering and fluttering from other listeners. Much disheartened, he flung away the reed.

“It is no use!” he cried. “I alone in all the world have no friend, no companion with whom I can speak. Well, at least, I will try if there is anyone will understand _this_ language.” He took the silver horn slung round his neck and blew a ringing challenge. It was answered in a moment by a low roar from the distant cave, followed soon by slow, crashing steps and deep-drawn snorts coming nearer and nearer.

Presently Siegfried beheld an enormous wriggling mass of shining scales advancing toward him. “So my call has awakened this lovely creature,” he laughed, as the hideous monster came full in view.

“What is that?” asked a thick, guttural voice, and the dragon paused to gaze in wonder and contempt at the youth who faced him with such bold laughing eyes.

“So thou hast the gift of speech, Mr. Dragon? That is well!” remarked Siegfried lightly. “I have come to learn from thee, what is Fear.”

“Overbold art thou,” growled the voice, while from enormous jaws issued a volume of fire and smoke, filling the air with a noisome vapor.

“Bold or overbold, here am I to learn my lesson—so teach me without delay!” answered Siegfried. Fafnir opened his yawning jaws and showed two rows of jagged, pointed teeth, enormous in size.

“Verily thou hast a fine row of grinders, Mr. Dragon!” laughed Siegfried. “A most dainty little mouth!”

“I open not my jaw for senseless gabble, but for food!” growled Fafnir, and gave his tail a sudden switch round, which would certainly have caught Siegfried in its toils, had he not sprung alertly to one side.

“Ho, ho! so that is the game, is it? Come on then, Mr. Dragon!” and Siegfried drew Needful sharply from the scabbard.

“Bah! Come on, thou boasting young cub! I will give the lesson thou cravest!”

Fafnir drew himself together and sent forth from his nostrils a venomous steam. Whatever it touched, whether trees or grass, shrivelled up instantly, as though scorched by fire. But again Siegfried was too quick for him, and Fafnir, who hoped to see a burnt-up body on the ground, was enraged to hear a cheerful voice behind him—“Look out, old growler! the ‘boaster’ is upon thee.”

Then Fafnir set to work in good earnest, and Siegfried found that after all it was no child’s play to fight a dragon. But though blinded and well-nigh choked with the poisonous smoke and steam, Siegfried fought on, nothing daunted. The only vital spot was, he knew, the dragon’s heart, the back and sides of his huge carcass being entirely covered with scaly armor.

Nearer and nearer they closed on one another, till at last Fafnir, with a sudden twist, caught Siegfried in his serpentine tail. But before the coils had time to tighten round him, Siegfried had pierced Needful through a joint of the scaly tail. Fafnir sent up a howl of rage and pain, and for a moment relaxed his grip. With a bound Siegfried leapt on the back of his foe. Fafnir instantly prepared to roll over on one side and so crush Siegfried with his mountainous weight; but in turning, his breast for a brief moment was exposed, and in the twinkling of an eye down swept the sword of Siegfried, burying itself up to the hilt in the dragon’s heart.

With a terrific groan Fafnir rolled over, while Siegfried sprang lightly to one side, crying: “Lie there, old growler, with Needful in thy heart!” In great puffs of smoke and fire, like an overturned steam-engine, came Fafnir’s dying breath. His eyes rolled horribly; fixing them at last on Siegfried, he gasped, “Who art thou, clear-eyed youth?”

“In truth,” replied Siegfried, “I know but little of myself or of my kin.”

“A strange fate is mine!” groaned the dragon. “I, the great giant Fafnir, to die by the hand of a youth unknown even to himself! Young hero, heed well the dying words of him whom thou hast slain. The treasure I guarded is accursed. Death it brought to my brother, and now to me. If thou touch aught of it, the curse rests also on thee. Heed what I say!”

“Oh, tell me more, wise monster!” Siegfried entreated. “Tell me of my parents, and the race from which they sprang. Siegfried is my name!”

Fafnir heaved himself upwards in a last effort to speak. “Siegfried”—he began, gasped for breath and then with a deep groan fell back dead.

As he rolled over on his side, Siegfried drew the sword out of his breast. He felt sorry the giant was dead, and had now quite a kindly feeling for him. Those last words had shown him to be a wise and thoughtful monster. But still, Siegfried was not sure he would take his advice. In drawing out the sword, some of the dragon’s blood chanced to touch Siegfried’s hand. It burnt like a red-hot coal, and he put it quickly to his mouth. As he did so, the song of the bird again fell on his ear. He listened in amazement—for now every note was a word which he understood!

This was what the bird sang in his sweet piping voice: “Hey, Siegfried! Siegfried the Victor has slain the dragon! Now to him belongs the gold, the Ring, and the Tarnhelm. With these he can conquer the world if he will.”

“Thanks, little feathered friend, for thy good news—I will go and seek for these treasures!” and nodding to the bird, Siegfried descended into Fafnir’s dark cave.

Mimi, from a safe hiding-place in the trees, had watched the fight between Fafnir and Siegfried. He now crept out, and anxiously peeped after Siegfried as he disappeared into the dragon’s hole. “Grant, O ye gods, that he take only the gold, and leave the Ring and the Cap for me!” prayed Mimi fervently.

Little did he guess how the singing bird had told Siegfried all he desired to keep most secret. He thought, “The bright, glittering gold will be sure to attract the youth more than a plain simple ring and a small cap of wrought chain.” Presently Siegfried came out of the cave. Mimi crawled stealthily back to his hiding-place and peered out through the leaves.

“A curse on him!” he muttered, grinding his teeth with rage. “The Ring is on his finger, and the Cap hangs from his belt!”

Siegfried looked round for his piping friend; perched on the branch of a lime tree the bird awaited him.

“Hey! Siegfried has now both Ring and Cap! Siegfried the Victor! But oh, he must beware of the treacherous dwarf! The dragon’s blood will reveal to him the hidden meaning of all words—both true and false. His _thoughts_ shall Siegfried hear when the dwarf Mimi speaks.”

Carefully carrying his poisonous draught, Mimi now approached.

“Thou art tired after thy mighty conflict. See what I bring to restore thee! Take but a sip, and all I have worked and waited for will be mine—sword, treasure, and all.” Mimi thought he was saying something very pleasant. He smiled and cringed as he offered the drinking-horn. But these were his thoughts as Siegfried heard them, in virtue of his newly gained power.

“So thou wouldst rob me of everything, even of life?” asked Siegfried sternly.

“How falsely dost thou distort my kind words!” replied Mimi in an injured tone. “Yet I give myself much trouble to disguise my true thoughts. Dear heart, thee and thy kin have I ever hated.” (Mimi here looked lovingly at Siegfried.) “All these years I fostered thee, that thou mightest win for me the dragon’s hoard. Come, now, take the draught; thou wert ever easy to fool.”

_From the painting by K. Dielitz_]

Siegfried looked at the little dwarf and smiled ominously. “I should be right glad of a goodly draught,” he said. “Of what didst thou make this?”

“Only drink and see, dear sonny. Trust to my skill. Soon wilt thou be lying in a deathly swoon at my feet. Then, with thine own brave sword, off goes thy head! And Mimi will rest in peace with the hoard.”

“So—I am to be murdered in my sleep?” asked Siegfried.

“What folly dost thou talk! Who spoke of murder? All I thought of doing was just to chop off thy head when thou liest insensible. A small return for the shameful treatment I have so long suffered at thy hands. Come, drink and die, thou hateful Volsung cub;” and Mimi, still smiling and leering, thrust the drinking-horn near Siegfried’s lips.

“Taste thou my sword, false snake!” cried Siegfried. With a sudden movement of disgust and fury he struck at the dwarf with his sword. The next instant Mimi lay dead on the ground. Siegfried threw his body inside the dragon’s cave, crying: “Lie there with the gold thou so lovest. I make thee a parting gift of it. And here is a famous watch-dog to scare away all thieves.” With this Siegfried dragged the body of the dragon to the mouth of the cave, thereby entirely blocking up the entrance.

Then he turned away from the spot with a sigh of relief, and went back to the lime tree, where first the bird had sung to him. Throwing himself down under the shady branches, he called to his little friend: “Come, sing to me, happy bird. Alone am I in all the world. Never have I known a comrade save the hateful dwarf yonder. Tell me, O wise little prophet, where shall I find one I can love?”

All was stillness in the forest. The sun was now at its height. Only the soft, low hum of insect life filled the drowsy air.

Suddenly a flutter of wings overhead, and the clear note of the wood-bird piped out once more: “Hey, Siegfried the Victor! He has slain the treacherous dwarf. Now a glorious bride awaits him. But he must go through the flames to win and to wake her, for Brunhilda sleeps fast, guarded by Loki’s fiery arm.”

Siegfried started to his feet.

“Oh, sweetest song! How it fills my heart with joy and longing! Say, dear bird, how shall I find this bride, and break through the fire?”

Then the bird sang again: “Only he who knows not Fear can awaken and win the sleeping bride.”

At this Siegfried laughed aloud with delight; for had not even Fafnir failed to teach him fear? “Perchance, from Brunhilda shall I learn to know what is Fear,” he cried gaily. “Fly on before, sweet bird; point thou the road; I follow thee!”

The bird fluttered his wings joyfully and flew on ahead, Siegfried following with bounding step.

HOW SIEGFRIED FINDS BRUNHILDA

By Constance Maud

For many a day Siegfried journeyed, keeping the bird always in sight. At night he slept under a tree, and the bird rested in a branch above, but with the first whisper of dawn Siegfried would start up, impatient to be off again.

Over mountain and valley, across river and lake, Siegfried followed as though his feet were shod with invisible wings, never flagging, never weary. He came at length one evening to a narrow pass in the mountains. The way seemed to lead upwards, but daylight was fading, and Siegfried could see nothing clearly. All at once the bird circled rapidly over his head, sang a few sweet half-plaintive notes, and then, soaring upwards, vanished out of sight.

In the same moment a deep voice spoke close at hand: “Halt! What seekest thou here?”

Siegfried went forward, and standing in the narrow way he saw a tall dark form. “I seek for the fire-girt mountain where the beautiful maiden sleeps,” answered Siegfried fearlessly. “Canst thou tell me the way?”

“Who told thee of such a maiden?” demanded the stranger sternly.

“A singing bird gave me the good news,” said Siegfried. “By tasting the blood of a dragon I learned the language of the birds, and I know my bird spake true.” He was getting impatient at so many questions and anxious to go on his way.

“So! thou hast slain old Fafnir. And with what weapon didst strike the death-blow, bold youth?” The stranger was in no hurry, evidently.

“With my father’s splintered sword, which I welded together again,” said Siegfried, with pride.

“But who first shaped that mighty sword?” asked the stranger.

“That I neither know nor care. ’Twas a mighty useless weapon till I took it in hand, that I know,” answered Siegfried. “If thou canst not direct me on the road I seek, hold thy peace and let me pass on my way.”

“Softly, young sir! Thou dost not know with whom thou speakest.”

“I know that this path leads onwards to my lady, for thither pointed the bird before he left me. So make way and let me pass,” returned Siegfried angrily.

“The bird fled to save its life. The way it pointed thou shalt never pass, presumptuous youth.”

“Ha, ha! And who art _thou_ to arrest my steps?” laughed Siegfried scornfully.

“I am the Guardian of yon mountain, where sleeps the maiden Brunhilda! A wall of flame encircles her, which even to approach would scorch thee to death. Begone then, rash fool, for to win thy way one step farther, thou must first overcome the mountain’s Guardian.”

Placing himself in the middle of the road, the stranger loomed above Siegfried gigantic and immovable as the rock itself.

But Siegfried remained unawed. “Begone thyself, old boaster!” he cried irreverently. “Think not to scare me with such tales. I love the fire’s blaze! So out of my way, for I haste to where Brunhilda sleeps.”

“Thou fearest not the fire?” retorted the stranger, “Then fear this my Spear, for it shall bar thy way—this Spear, which once already has shattered thy father’s sword.”

The sky had now become lurid; a terrific tempest was gathering. At the stranger’s words, Siegfried sprang forward, and, drawing Needful from the scabbard, shouted exultingly: “Have I then found my father’s foe? Thanks be to the gods for letting me avenge his death!”

Then, falling on the powerful form that barred his way, he hewed with long, swift strokes at the Spear, which, had he hesitated one moment, or made one false step, would have struck him dead.

There was a rushing sound of wings in the storm-clouds overhead. Anxious faces peered down on the scene. The warrior maidens, hovering above on their war-horses, trembled and paled as they beheld the Spear which once had been the terror of the world hewn to pieces, while their father, recoiling at last before the fiery youth, cried half triumphantly, in spite of his defeat: “Advance! I cannot bar thy way.” For Wotan’s heart never failed to rejoice in a real hero, even though he fought against him.

A terrific clap of thunder followed, and a dark cloud swept over the fighters. When it rolled away, Siegfried looked in vain for his mysterious foe. He had vanished. “Now through the fire to win my bride!” cried Siegfried joyously, and leapt up the mountain side.

A ruddy glow soon told him he was nearing the fiery wall, and gusts of hot air swept across his face. Taking his silver horn, Siegfried blew a call which echoed far and near. “To greet my sleeping love!” he cried.

And now the fire was all about him, bursting up under his feet, pouring down from the skies, rushing round on every side. “Aha! This is glorious!” shouted Siegfried, plunging eagerly onwards, and laughing. The fierce flames which had scared so many nearly to death did not scorch even a hair of Siegfried’s head. For the magic fire injured only those who retreated—he who dashed fearlessly onward remained unharmed.

Higher and higher up the mountain went Siegfried. Emerging at last from the flames, he found himself on the summit of a rocky peak, clad with tall dark pine trees.

He looked around him, and rejoiced for very joy to be alive in such a fair world. The stillness was wonderful. Not a sound could be heard, for the wood-bird will not build his home so near the sky, and the fire had kept out all wingless intruders.

Presently Siegfried saw, standing motionless under the trees, a stately horse. On going nearer, he was astonished to find that on his feet were wings. His eyes were closed in profound sleep. Siegfried stroked his flowing name. “Awake good steed! The sun has arisen. This is no time for sleeping.” His voice rang out clear as his silver horn, and with a start, Grani awoke.

But Siegfried looked around in vain for the bride—Brunhilda. Suddenly the rising sun struck with its glittering light on an object under a distant pine. Siegfried hastened forward, and with wonder beheld a sleeping form clad from head to foot in shining armor. “Here is some warrior, for sure,” cried Siegfried. “This heavy helmet must press sorely on his head; I will loosen it for him.”

He stooped, lifted the shield, and then carefully unfastened the helmet. As he removed it, the sleeper’s hair rolled out in long curling locks of burnished gold. Siegfried started. Never had he seen anything so fair as that calm proud young face, framed in the wavy shining curls.

So still lay the sleeping warrior, so motionless, Siegfried bent down and listened anxiously for the deep slow breathing. “This coat of mail must weigh heavily on him; I will open it,” he said. But in vain he sought to find a fastening: everywhere the iron rings closed tightly round. To Siegfried, who had never seen a soldier, and knew of no weapon save a sword, this iron garment seemed a terrible inconvenience, almost as cumbersome as old Fafnir’s scales. He determined to free the young warrior, that he might at least sleep in comfort.

So, taking out his sword, he carefully cut through the rings of mail down each side, and then lifted off the corselet and greaves. As he did so, great was his astonishment to see lying before him a maiden in soft flowing garments.

He started back. His heart beat wildly. This must be none other than the maiden Brunhilda! Then he who had never known fear—who laughed in the face of the terrible dragon—quailed not before Wotan the mighty god, and dashed fearlessly through fire—sank down trembling and afraid before the sleeping maiden.

“What is this feeling? Can _this_ be Fear?” he cried.

“Awake! awake, O beautiful maid!” he cried, kneeling at her side.

Still she did not stir.

Bending over Brunhilda, Siegfried pressed his lips to hers.