Chapter VIII: Part II: THE WARRIOR GODDESS, or DIE WALKÜRE

[Music: Storm Motif]

PRELUDE

I shall now take a long leap in my story, going on to a time when the gods had been happy in Walhalla for many years. Wotan alone felt dreary forebodings, though, as yet, there were no real signs of any downfall of the gods. So heavy were these presentiments that he began to fill his halls with heroes able to defend Walhalla, if Alberich should ever regain the Ring, and, keeping his word, storm the gates of the gods’ palace. At Wotan’s command, his nine daughters, the Walküres (or Warrior Goddesses) watched over all combats between heroes, carrying those who were killed to Walhalla, where Friea’s smiles brought them to life again.

And this was not the only strange thing that had come to pass since the gods had entered their new palace.

Among Wotan’s descendants were a race of people called the Volsungs, and at the time of which I am writing only two of them were alive, a boy and a girl, who had been brought up from babyhood almost like brother and sister, and who were very much alike, having the golden hair of their ancestor Wotan, and eyes in which there was a curious glitter, as bright as that of the snake’s glance.

Both were as beautiful as the sun, like all the Volsungs; both were strong and warm-hearted and noble, and they loved each other as much as though they had been really brother and sister.

While still very young, they became separated for years; for, while the boy was out hunting, the girl, Sieglinde, was stolen away by a robber named Hunding. She led a dreary life as the Robber’s servant, until she became a woman. But she always felt confident that help would come to her in time, because one night, at a feast given by Hunding, a stranger had entered, robed in the rough garb of a wanderer, but with kingly bearing. One of his eyes was missing. He had struck a sword into the trunk of a great tree which grew up from the centre of Hunding’s house, declaring that whoever could draw it out should have it for his own. And all had tried their best, but the blade would not yield an inch.

Then the Wanderer had laughed and departed. But Sieglinde, thinking of it dreamily, remembered that, while he had frowned on the others, he had looked kindly on her; and, gazing at the sword, she began to feel, after a while, that whoever could pull it forth would be her rescuer. And so the years passed.

She did not know that the Wanderer had been none other than the first father of all the race of Volsungs—Wotan, the king of the gods.

Siegmund, the boy, as he grew to manhood, became a very wolf in wildness, but a great warrior, and a stanch hero. He led a roving life, with few friends, and, alas! many enemies. His generous heart brought him into sad dilemmas sometimes; as, for instance, when, at a maiden’s request, he defended her from her relations, who wished to marry her to some one whom she hated. When, in doing battle for her, he killed one of her kinsmen, she had flung herself upon the dead man and accused her defender of cruelty.

He fought the rude warriors who were pressing up about her until his weapons were torn from him, and he was driven away into the woods through a wild storm which seemed to blow him on with irresistible violence, until he found himself at the door of a house.

Utterly exhausted, he staggered in, filled only with the desire to rest and shelter his tired body from the storm. And the house was that of Hunding, the Robber.

[Music: Hunding Motif]

[Music: Volsung Motif]