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The Story of Siegfried

by James Baldwin · English · Gutenberg #6866 · 452,802 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Story of Siegfried

Author: James Baldwin


        
Release date: November 1, 2004 [eBook #6866]
                Most recently updated: October 31, 2016

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/6866

Credits: Produced by J. C. Byers, and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED ***




Produced by J. C. Byers







THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED

By James Baldwin

New York Charles Scribner’s Sons

1899



To My Children,

Winfred, Louis, and Nellie,

This Book Is Affectionately Inscribed.




The Fore Word.


When the world was in its childhood, men looked upon the works of Nature
with a strange kind of awe. They fancied that every thing upon the
earth, in the air, or in the water, had a life like their own, and that
every sight which they saw, and every sound which they heard, was caused
by some intelligent being. All men were poets, so far as their ideas and
their modes of expression were concerned, although it is not likely that
any of them wrote poetry. This was true in regard to the Saxon in his
chilly northern home, as well as to the Greek in the sunny southland.
But, while the balmy air and clear sky of the south tended to refine
men’s thoughts and language, the rugged scenery and bleak storms of
the north made them uncouth, bold, and energetic. Yet both the cultured
Greek and the rude Saxon looked upon Nature with much the same eyes,
and there was a strange resemblance in their manner of thinking and
speaking. They saw, that, in all the phenomena which took place around
them, there was a certain system or regularity, as if these were
controlled by some law or by some superior being; and they sought, in
their simple poetical way, to account for these appearances. They had
not yet learned to measure the distances of the stars, nor to calculate
the motions of the earth. The changing of the seasons was a mystery
which they scarcely sought to penetrate. But they spoke of these
occurrences in a variety of ways, and invented many charming, stories
with reference to them, not so much with a view towards accounting
for the mystery, as towards giving expression to their childlike but
picturesque ideas.

Thus, in the south, when reference was made to the coming of winter and
to the dreariness and discomforts of that season of the year, men did
not know nor care to explain it all, as our teachers now do at school;
but they sometimes told how Hades had stolen Persephone (the summer)
from her mother Demetre (the earth), and had carried her, in a chariot
drawn by four coal black steeds, to the gloomy land of shadows; and how,
in sorrow for her absence, the Earth clothed herself in mourning, and
no leaves grew upon the trees, nor flowers in the gardens, and the very
birds ceased singing, because Persephone was no more. But they added,
that in a few months the fair maiden would return for a time to her
sorrowing mother, and that then the flowers would bloom, and the trees
would bear fruit, and the harvest-fields would again be full of golden
grain.

In the north a different story was told, but the meaning was the same.
Sometimes men told how Odin (the All-Father) had become angry with
Brunhild (the maid of spring), and had wounded her with the thorn
of sleep, and how all the castle in which she slept was wrapped in
deathlike slumber until Sigurd or Siegfried (the sunbeam) rode through
flaming fire, and awakened her with a kiss. Sometimes men told how Loki
(heat) had betrayed Balder (the sunlight), and had induced blind old
Hoder (the winter months) to slay him, and how all things, living and
inanimate, joined in weeping for the bright god, until Hela (death)
should permit him to revisit the earth for a time.

So, too, when the sun arose, and drove away the darkness and the hidden
terrors of the night, our ancestors thought of the story of a noble
young hero slaying a hideous dragon, or taking possession of the golden
treasures of Mist Land. And when the springtime came, and the earth
renewed its youth, and the fields and woods were decked in beauty, and
there was music everywhere, they loved to tell of Idun (the spring)
and her youth-giving apples, and of her wise husband Bragi (Nature’s
musician). When storm-clouds loomed up from the horizon and darkened the
sky, and thunder rolled overhead, and lightning flashed on every
hand, they talked about the mighty Thor riding over the clouds in his
goat-drawn chariot, and battling with the giants of the air. When the
mountain-meadows were green with long grass, and the corn was yellow for
the sickles of the reapers, they spoke of Sif, the golden-haired wife
of Thor, the queen of the pastures and the fields. When the seasons were
mild, and the harvests were plentiful, and peace and gladness prevailed,
they blessed Frey, the giver of good gifts to men.

To them the blue sky-dome which everywhere hung over them like an arched
roof was but the protecting mantle which the All-Father had suspended
above the earth. The rainbow was the shimmering bridge which stretches
from earth to heaven. The sun and the moon were the children of a giant,
whom two wolves chased forever around the earth. The stars were sparks
from the fire-land of the south, set in the heavens by the gods. Night
was a giantess, dark and swarthy, who rode in a car drawn by a steed the
foam from whose bits sometimes covered the earth with dew. And Day was
the son of Night; and the steed which he rode lighted all the sky and
the earth with the beams which glistened from his mane.


It was thus that men in the earlier ages of the world looked upon and
spoke of the workings of Nature; and it was in this manner that many
myths, or poetical fables, were formed. By and by, as the world grew
older, and mankind became less poetical and more practical, the first or
mythical meaning of these stories was forgotten, and they were regarded
no longer as mere poetical fancies, but as historical facts. Perhaps
some real hero had indeed performed daring deeds, and had made the world
around him happier and better. It was easy to liken him to Sigurd, or
to some other mythical slayer of giants; and soon the deeds of both were
ascribed to but one. And thus many myth-stories probably contain some
historical facts blended with the mass of poetical fancies which
mainly compose them; but, in such cases, it is generally impossible to
distinguish what is fact from what is mere fancy.

All nations have had their myth-stories; but, to my mind, the purest and
grandest are those which we have received from our northern ancestors.
They are particularly interesting to us; because they are what
our fathers once believed, and because they are ours by right of
inheritance. And, when we are able to make them still more our own by
removing the blemishes which rude and barbarous ages have added to some
of them, we shall discover in them many things that are beautiful and
true, and well calculated to make us wiser and better.

It is not known when or by whom these myth-stories were first put into
writing, nor when they assumed the shape in which we now have them.
But it is said, that, about the year 1100, an Icelandic scholar called
Saemund the Wise collected a number of songs and poems into a book
which is now known as the “Elder Edda;” and that, about a century later,
Snorre Sturleson, another Icelander, wrote a prose-work of a similar
character, which is called the “Younger Edda.” And it is to these two
books that we owe the preservation of almost all that is now known of
the myths and the strange religion of our Saxon and Norman forefathers.
But, besides these, there are a number of semi-mythological stories of
great interest and beauty,--stories partly mythical, and partly founded
upon remote and forgotten historical facts. One of the oldest and finest
of these is the story of Sigurd, the son of Sigmund. There are many
versions of this story, differing from each other according to the time
in which they were written and the character of the people among whom
they were received. We find the first mention of Sigurd and his strange
daring deeds in the song of Fafnir, in the “Elder Edda.” Then, in the
“Younger Edda,” the story is repeated in the myth of the Niflungs and
the Gjukungs. It is told again in the “Volsunga Saga” of Iceland. It is
repeated and re-repeated in various forms and different languages, and
finally appears in the “Nibelungen Lied,” a grand old German poem, which
may well be compared with the Iliad of the Greeks. In this last version,
Sigurd is called Siegfried; and the story is colored and modified by the
introduction of many notions peculiar to the middle ages, and unknown to
our Pagan fathers of the north. In our own time this myth has been woven
into a variety of forms. William Morris has embodied it in his noble
poem of “Sigurd the Volsung;” Richard Wagner, the famous German
composer, has constructed from it his inimitable drama, the “Nibelungen
Ring;” W. Jordan, another German writer, has given it to the world
in his “Sigfrid’s Saga;” and Emanuel Geibel has derived from it the
materials for his “Tragedy of Brunhild.”


And now I, too, come with the STORY OF SIEGFRIED, still another version
of the time-honored legend. The story as I shall tell it you is not in
all respects a literal rendering of the ancient myth; but I have taken
the liberty to change and recast such portions of it as I have deemed
advisable. Sometimes I have drawn materials from one version of the
story, sometimes from another, and sometimes largely from my own
imagination alone. Nor shall I be accused of impropriety in thus
reshaping a narrative, which, although hallowed by an antiquity of
a thousand years and more, has already appeared in so many different
forms, and been clothed in so many different garbs; for, however much
I may have allowed my fancy or my judgment to retouch and remodel the
immaterial portions of the legend, the essential parts of this immortal
myth remain the same. And, if I succeed in leading you to a clearer
understanding and a wiser appreciation of the thoughts and feelings of
our old northern ancestors, I shall have accomplished the object for
which I have written this Story of Siegfried.



Contents.



     The Fore Word
     I.     Mimer, the Master
     II.    Greyfell
     III.   The Curse of Gold
     IV.    Fafnir, the Dragon
     V.     In AEgir’s Kingdom
     VI.    Brunhild
     VII.   In Nibelungen Land
     VIII.  Siegfried’s Welcome Home
     IX.    The Journey to Burgundy-land
     X.     Kriemhill’s Dream
     XI.    How the Spring Time Came
     XII.   The War with the North-kings
     XIII.  The Story of Balder
     XIV.   How Gunther Outwitted Brunhild
     XV.    In Nibelungen Land Again
     XVI.   How Brunhild Was Welcomed Home
     XVII.  How Siegfried Lived in Nibelungen Land
     XVIII. How the Mischief Began to Brew
     XIX.   How They Hunted in the Odenwald
     XX.    How the Hoard Was Brought to Burgundy
     The After Word
     Notes





Adventure I. Mimer, the Master.



At Santen, in the Lowlands, there once lived a young prince named
Siegfried. His father, Siegmund, was king of the rich country through
which the lazy Rhine winds its way just before reaching the great North
Sea; and he was known, both far and near, for his good deeds and his
prudent thrift. And Siegfried’s mother, the gentle Sigelind, was loved
by all for her goodness of heart and her kindly charity to the poor.
Neither king nor queen left aught undone that might make the young
prince happy, or fit him for life’s usefulness. Wise men were brought
from far-off lands to be his teachers; and every day something was added
to his store of knowledge or his stock of happiness. And very skilful
did he become in warlike games and in manly feats of strength. No other
youth could throw the spear with so great force, or shoot the arrow
with surer aim. No other youth could run more swiftly, or ride with more
becoming ease. His gentle mother took delight in adding to the beauty of
his matchless form, by clothing him in costly garments decked with the
rarest jewels. The old, the young, the rich, the poor, the high, the
low, all praised the fearless Siegfried, and all vied in friendly strife
to win his favor. One would have thought that the life of the young
prince could never be aught but a holiday, and that the birds would
sing, and the flowers would bloom, and the sun would shine forever for
his sake.

But the business of man’s life is not mere pastime; and none knew this
truth better than the wise old king, Siegmund.

“All work is noble,” said he to Siegfried; “and he who yearns to
win fame must not shun toil. Even princes should know how to earn a
livelihood by the labor of their hands.”

And so, while Siegfried was still a young lad, his father sent him to
live with a smith called Mimer, whose smithy was among the hills not far
from the great forest. For in those early times the work of the smith
was looked upon as the most worthy of all trades,--a trade which the
gods themselves were not ashamed to follow. And this smith Mimer was a
wonderful master,--the wisest and most cunning that the world had ever
seen. Men said that he was akin to the dwarf-folk who had ruled the
earth in the early days, and who were learned in every lore, and skilled
in every craft; and they said that he was so exceeding old that no one
could remember the day when he came to dwell in the land of Siegmund’s
fathers. And some said, too, that he was the keeper of a wonderful well,
or flowing spring, the waters of which imparted wisdom and far-seeing
knowledge to all who drank of them.

To Mimer’s school, then, where he would be taught to work skilfully
and to think wisely, Siegfried was sent, to be in all respects like
the other pupils there. A coarse blue blouse, and heavy leggings, and a
leathern apron, took the place of the costly clothing which he had worn
in his father’s dwelling. His feet were incased in awkward wooden shoes,
and his head was covered with a wolf-skin cap. The dainty bed, with its
downy pillows, wherein every night his mother had been wont, with gentle
care, to see him safely covered, was given up for a rude heap of straw
in a corner of the smithy. And the rich food to which he had been
used gave place to the coarsest and humblest fare. But the lad did
not complain. The days which he passed in the smithy were mirthful and
happy; and the sound of his hammer rang cheerfully, and the sparks from
his forge flew briskly, from morning till night.

And a wonderful smith he became. No one could do more work than he, and
none wrought with greater skill. The heaviest chains and the strongest
bolts, for prison or for treasure-house, were but as toys in his stout
hands, so easily and quickly did he beat them into shape. And he was
alike cunning in work of the most delicate and brittle kind. Ornaments
of gold and silver, studded with the rarest jewels, were fashioned
into beautiful forms by his deft fingers. And among all of Mimer’s
apprentices none learned the master’s lore so readily, nor gained the
master’s favor more.[EN#1]

One morning the master, Mimer, came to the smithy with a troubled look
upon his face. It was clear that something had gone amiss; and what it
was the apprentices soon learned from the smith himself. Never, until
lately, had any one questioned Mimer’s right to be called the foremost
smith in all the world; but now a rival had come forward. An unknown
upstart--one Amilias, in Burgundy-land--had made a suit of armor, which,
he boasted, no stroke of sword could dint, and no blow of spear could
scratch; and he had sent a challenge to all other smiths, both in the
Rhine country and elsewhere, to equal that piece of workmanship, or else
acknowledge themselves his underlings and vassals. For many days had
Mimer himself toiled, alone and vainly, trying to forge a sword whose
edge the boasted armor of Amilias could not foil; and now, in despair,
he came to ask the help of his pupils and apprentices.

“Who among you is skilful enough to forge such a sword?” he asked.

One after another, the pupils shook their heads. And Veliant, the
foreman of the apprentices, said, “I have heard much about that
wonderful armor, and its extreme hardness, and I doubt if any skill can
make a sword with edge so sharp and true as to cut into it. The best
that can be done is to try to make another war-coat whose temper shall
equal that of Amilias’s armor.”

Then the lad Siegfried quickly said, “I will make such a sword as you
want,--a blade that no war-coat can foil. Give me but leave to try!”

The other pupils laughed in scorn, but Mimer checked them. “You hear how
this boy can talk: we will see what he can do. He is the king’s son, and
we know that he has uncommon talent. He shall make the sword; but if,
upon trial, it fail, I will make him rue the day.”

Then Siegfried went to his task. And for seven days and seven nights
the sparks never stopped flying from his forge; and the ringing of his
anvil, and the hissing of the hot metal as he tempered it, were heard
continuously. On the eighth day the sword was fashioned, and Siegfried
brought it to Mimer.

The smith felt the razor-edge of the bright weapon, and said, “This
seems, indeed, a fair fire-edge. Let us make a trial of its keenness.”

Then a thread of wool as light as thistle-down was thrown upon water,
and, as it floated there, Mimer struck it with the sword. The glittering
blade cleft the slender thread in twain, and the pieces floated
undisturbed upon the surface of the liquid.

“Well done!” cried the delighted smith. “Never have I seen a keener
edge. If its temper is as true as its sharpness would lead us to
believe, it will indeed serve me well.”

But Siegfried took the sword again, and broke it into many pieces; and
for three days he welded it in a white-hot fire, and tempered it with
milk and oatmeal. Then, in sight of Mimer and the sneering apprentices,
he cast a light ball of fine-spun wool upon the flowing water of the
brook; and it was caught in the swift eddies of the stream, and whirled
about until it met the bared blade of the sword, which was held in
Mimer’s hands. And it was parted as easily and clean as the rippling
water, and not the smallest thread was moved out of its place.

Then back to the smithy Siegfried went again; and his forge glowed with
a brighter fire, and his hammer rang upon the anvil with a cheerier
sound, than ever before. But he suffered none to come near, and no
one ever knew what witchery he used. But some of his fellow-pupils
afterwards told how, in the dusky twilight, they had seen a one-eyed
man, long-bearded, and clad in a cloud-gray kirtle, and wearing a
sky-blue hood, talking with Siegfried at the smithy door. And they said
that the stranger’s face was at once pleasant and fearful to look upon,
and that his one eye shone in the gloaming like the evening star, and
that, when he had placed in Siegfried’s hands bright shards, like pieces
of a broken sword, he faded suddenly from their sight, and was seen no
more.

For seven weeks the lad wrought day and night at his forge; and then,
pale and haggard, but with a pleased smile upon his face, he stood
before Mimer, with the gleaming sword in his hands. “It is finished,” he
said. “Behold the glittering terror!--the blade Balmung. Let us try its
edge, and prove its temper once again, that so we may know whether you
can place your trust in it.”

And Mimer looked long at the ruddy hilts of the weapon, and at the
mystic runes that were scored upon its sides, and at the keen edge,
which gleamed like a ray of sunlight in the gathering gloom of the
evening. But no word came from his lips, and his eyes were dim and
dazed; and he seemed as one lost in thoughts of days long past and gone.

Siegfried raised the blade high over his head; and the gleaming edge
flashed hither and thither, like the lightning’s play when Thor rides
over the storm-clouds. Then suddenly it fell upon the master’s anvil,
and the great block of iron was cleft in two; but the bright blade was
no whit dulled by the stroke, and the line of light which marked the
edge was brighter than before.

Then to the flowing brook they went; and a great pack of wool, the
fleeces of ten sheep, was brought, and thrown upon the swirling water.
As the stream bore the bundle downwards, Mimer held the sword in its
way. And the whole was divided as easily and as clean as the woollen
ball or the slender woollen thread had been cleft before.

“Now, indeed,” cried Mimer, “I no longer fear to meet that upstart,
Amilias. If his war-coat can withstand the stroke of such a sword as
Balmung, then I shall not be ashamed to be his underling. But, if this
good blade is what it seems to be, it will not fail me; and I, Mimer the
Old, shall still be called the wisest and greatest of smiths.”

And he sent word at once to Amilias, in Burgundy-land, to meet him on
a day, and settle forever the question as to which of the two should be
the master, and which the underling. And heralds proclaimed it in every
town and dwelling. When the time which had been set drew near,
Mimer, bearing the sword Balmung, and followed by all his pupils and
apprentices, wended his way towards the place of meeting. Through the
forest they went, and then along the banks of the sluggish river, for
many a league, to the height of land which marked the line between King
Siegmund’s country and the country of the Burgundians. It was in this
place, midway between the shops of Mimer and Amilias, that the great
trial of metal and of skill was to be made. And here were already
gathered great numbers of people from the Lowlands and from Burgundy,
anxiously waiting for the coming of the champions. On the one side were
the wise old Siegmund and his gentle queen, and their train of knights
and courtiers and fair ladies. On the other side were the three
Burgundian kings, Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher, and a mighty retinue of
warriors, led by grim old Hagen, the uncle of the kings, and the wariest
chief in all Rhineland.

When every thing was in readiness for the contest, Amilias, clad in his
boasted war-coat, went up to the top of the hill, and sat upon a great
rock, and waited for Mimer’s coming. As he sat there, he looked, to the
people below, like some great castle-tower; for he was almost a giant
in size, and his coat of mail, so skilfully wrought, was so huge
that twenty men of common mould might have found shelter, or hidden
themselves, within it. As the smith Mimer, so dwarfish in stature,
toiled up the steep hillside, Amilias smiled to see him; for he felt
no fear of the slender, gleaming blade that was to try the metal of
his war-coat. And already a shout of expectant triumph went up from the
throats of the Burgundian hosts, so sure were they of their champion’s
success.

But Mimer’s friends waited in breathless silence, hoping, and yet
fearing. Only King Siegmund whispered to his queen, and said, “Knowledge
is stronger than brute force. The smallest dwarf who has drunk from the
well of the Knowing One may safely meet the stoutest giant in battle.”

When Mimer reached the top of the hill, Amilias folded his huge arms,
and smiled again; for he felt that this contest was mere play for him,
and that Mimer was already as good as beaten, and his thrall. The smith
paused a moment to take breath, and as he stood by the side of his
foe he looked to those below like a mere black speck close beside a
steel-gray castle-tower.

“Are you ready?” asked the smith.

“Ready,” answered Amilias. “Strike!”

Mimer raised the beaming blade in the air, and for a moment the
lightning seemed to play around his head. The muscles on his short,
brawny arms, stood out like great ropes; and then Balmung, descending,
cleft the air from right to left. The waiting lookers-on in the plain
below thought to hear the noise of clashing steel; but they listened in
vain, for no sound came to their ears, save a sharp hiss like that which
red-hot iron gives when plunged into a tank of cold water. The huge
Amilias sat unmoved, with his arms still folded upon his breast; but the
smile had faded from his face.

“How do you feel now?” asked Mimer in a half-mocking tone.

“Rather strangely, as if cold iron had touched me,” faintly answered the
upstart.

“Shake thyself!” cried Mimer.

Amilias did so, and, lo! he fell in two halves; for the sword had cut
sheer through the vaunted war-coat, and cleft in twain the great body
incased within. Down tumbled the giant head and the still folded arms,
and they rolled with thundering noise to the foot of the hill, and fell
with a fearful splash into the deep waters of the river; and there,
fathoms down, they may even now be seen, when the water is clear, lying
like great gray rocks among the sand and gravel below. The rest of the
body, with the armor which incased it, still sat upright in its place;
and to this day travellers sailing down the river are shown on moonlit
evenings the luckless armor of Amilias on the high hill-top. In the dim,
uncertain light, one easily fancies it to be the ivy covered ruins of
some old castle of feudal times.

The master, Mimer, sheathed his sword, and walked slowly down the
hillside to the plain, where his friends welcomed him with glad cheers
and shouts of joy. But the Burgundians, baffled, and feeling vexed,
turned silently homeward, nor cast a single look back to the scene of
their disappointment and their ill-fated champion’s defeat.

And Siegfried went again with the master and his fellows to the smoky
smithy, to his roaring bellows and ringing anvil, and to his coarse
fare, and rude, hard bed, and to a life of labor. And while all men
praised Mimer and his knowing skill, and the fiery edge of the sunbeam
blade, no one knew that it was the boy Siegfried who had wrought that
piece of workmanship.

But after a while it was whispered around that not Mimer, but one of his
pupils, had forged the sword. And, when the master was asked what truth
there was in this story, his eyes twinkled, and the corners of his mouth
twitched strangely, and he made no answer. But Veliant, the foreman of
the smithy, and the greatest of boasters said, “It was I who forged the
fire-edge of the blade Balmung.” And, although none denied the truth of
what he said, but few who knew what sort of a man he was believed his
story. And this is the reason, my children, that, in the ancient songs
and stories which tell of this wondrous sword, it is said by most that
Mimer, and by a few that Veliant, forged its blade. But I prefer to
believe that it was made by Siegfried, the hero who afterwards wielded
it in so many adventures. [EN#3] Be this as it may, however, blind hate
and jealousy were from this time uppermost in the coarse and selfish
mind of Veliant; and he sought how he might drive the lad away from the
smithy in disgrace. “This boy has done what no one else could do,” said
he. “He may yet do greater deeds, and set himself up as the master smith
of the world, and then we shall all have to humble ourselves before him
as his underlings and thralls.”

And he nursed this thought, and brooded over the hatred which he felt
towards the blameless boy; but he did not dare to harm him, for fear of
their master, Mimer. And Siegfried busied himself at his forge, where
the sparks flew as briskly and as merrily as ever before, and his
bellows roared from early morning till late at evening. Nor did the
foreman’s unkindness trouble him for a moment, for he knew that the
master’s heart was warm towards him.

Oftentimes, when the day’s work was done, Siegfried sat with Mimer by
the glowing light of the furnace-fire, and listened to the sweet tales
which the master told of the deeds of the early days, when the world
was young, and the dwarf-folk and the giants had a name and a place upon
earth. And one night, as they thus sat, the master talked of Odin the
All-Father, and of the gods who dwell with him in Asgard, and of the
puny men-folk whom they protect and befriend, until his words grew full
of bitterness, and his soul of a fierce longing for something he dared
not name. And the lad’s heart was stirred with a strange uneasiness, and
he said,--

“Tell me, I pray, dear master, something about my own kin, my father’s
fathers,--those mighty kings, who, I have heard said, were the bravest
and best of men.”

Then the smith seemed pleased again. And his eyes grew brighter, and
lost their far-away look; and a smile played among the wrinkles of his
swarthy face, as he told a tale of old King Volsung and of the deeds of
the Volsung kings:--

“Long years ago, before the evil days had dawned, King Volsung ruled
over all the land which lies between the sea and the country of the
Goths. The days were golden; and the good Frey dropped peace and plenty
everywhere, and men went in and out and feared no wrong. King Volsung
had a dwelling in the midst of fertile fields and fruitful gardens.
Fairer than any dream was that dwelling. The roof was thatched with
gold, and red turrets and towers rose above. The great feast-hall was
long and high, and its walls were hung with sun-bright shields; and the
door-nails were of silver. In the middle of the hall stood the pride of
the Volsungs,--a tree whose blossoms filled the air with fragrance, and
whose green branches, thrusting themselves through the ceiling, covered
the roof with fair foliage. It was Odin’s tree, and King Volsung had
planted it there with his own hands.

“On a day in winter King Volsung held a great feast in his hall in honor
of Siggeir, the King of the Goths, who was his guest. And the fires
blazed bright in the broad chimneys, and music and mirth went round. But
in the midst of the merry-making the guests were startled by a sudden
peal of thunder, which seemed to come from the cloudless sky, and which
made the shields upon the walls rattle and ring. In wonder they looked
around. A strange man stood in the doorway, and laughed, but said not a
word. And they noticed that he wore no shoes upon his feet, but that
a cloud-gray cloak was thrown over his shoulders, and a blue hood was
drawn down over his head. His face was half-hidden by a heavy beard; and
he had but one eye, which twinkled and glowed like a burning coal. And
all the guests sat moveless in their seats, so awed were they in the
presence of him who stood at the door; for they knew that he was none
other than Odin the All-Father, the king of gods and men. He spoke not
a word, but straight into the hall he strode, and he paused not until
he stood beneath the blossoming branches of the tree. Then, forth from
beneath his cloud-gray cloak, he drew a gleaming sword, and struck the
blade deep into the wood,--so deep that nothing but the hilt was left
in sight. And, turning to the awe-struck guests, he said, ‘A blade
of mighty worth have I hidden in this tree. Never have the earth-folk
wrought better steel, nor has any man ever wielded a more trusty sword.
Whoever there is among you brave enough and strong enough to draw it
forth from the wood, he shall have it as a gift from Odin.’ Then slowly
to the door he strode again, and no one saw him any more.

“And after he had gone, the Volsungs and their guests sat a long time
silent, fearing to stir, lest the vision should prove a dream. But at
last the old king arose, and cried, ‘Come, guests and kinsmen, and set
your hands to the ruddy hilt! Odin’s gift stays, waiting for its fated
owner. Let us see which one of you is the favored of the All-Father.’
First Siggeir, the King of the Goths, and his earls, the Volsungs’
guests, tried their hands. But the blade stuck fast; and the stoutest
man among them failed to move it. Then King Volsung, laughing, seized
the hilt, and drew with all his strength; but the sword held still in
the wood of Odin’s tree. And one by one the nine sons of Volsung tugged
and strained in vain; and each was greeted with shouts and laughter, as,
ashamed and beaten, he wended to his seat again. Then, at last, Sigmund,
the youngest son, stood up, and laid his hand upon the ruddy hilt,
scarce thinking to try what all had failed to do. When, lo! the blade
came out of the tree as if therein it had all along lain loose. And
Sigmund raised it high over his head, and shook it, and the bright flame
that leaped from its edge lit up the hall like the lightning’s gleaming;
and the Volsungs and their guests rent the air with cheers and shouts of
gladness. For no one among all the men of the mid-world was more worthy
of Odin’s gift than young Sigmund the brave.”

But the rest of Mimer’s story would be too long to tell you now; for he
and his young apprentice sat for hours by the dying coals, and talked of
Siegfried’s kinfolk,--the Volsung kings of old. And he told how Siggeir,
the Goth king, was wedded to Signy the fair, the only daughter of
Volsung, and the pride of the old king’s heart; and how he carried
her with him to his home in the land of the Goths; and how he coveted
Sigmund’s sword, and plotted to gain it by guile; and how, through
presence of friendship, he invited the Volsung kings to visit him in
Gothland, as the guests of himself and Signy; and how he betrayed and
slew them, save Sigmund alone, who escaped, and for long years lived an
outlaw in the land of his treacherous foe. And then he told how Sigmund
afterwards came back to his own country of the Volsungs; and how his
people welcomed him, and he became a mighty king, such as the world had
never known before; and how, when he had grown old, and full of years
and honors, he went out with his earls and fighting-men to battle
against the hosts of King Lyngi the Mighty; and how, in the midst of the
fight, when his sword had hewn down numbers of the foe, and the end of
the strife and victory seemed near, an old man, one eyed and bearded,
and wearing a cloud-gray cloak, stood up before him in the din, and
his sword was broken in pieces, and he fell dead on the heap of the
slain.[EN#4] And, when Mimer had finished his tale, his dark face seemed
to grow darker, and his twinkling eyes grew brighter, as he cried out in
a tone of despair and hopeless yearning,--

“Oh, past are those days of old and the worthy deeds of the brave!
And these are the days of the home-stayers,--of the wise, but
feeble-hearted. Yet the Norns have spoken; and it must be that another
hero shall arise of the Volsung blood, and he shall restore the name and
the fame of his kin of the early days. And he shall be my bane; and in
him shall the race of heroes have an end.”[EN#7]

Siegfried’s heart was strangely stirred within him as he hearkened to
this story of ancient times and to the fateful words of the master,
and for a long time he sat in silent thought; and neither he nor Mimer
moved, or spoke again, until the darkness of the night had begun to
fade, and the gray light of morning to steal into the smithy. Then, as
if moved by a sudden impulse, he turned to the master, and said,--

“You speak of the Norns, dear master, and of their foretelling; but
your words are vague, and their meaning very broad. When shall that hero
come? and who shall he be? and what deeds shall be his doing?”

“Alas!” answered Mimer, “I know not, save that he shall be of the
Volsung race, and that my fate is linked with his.”

“And why do you not know?” returned Siegfried. “Are you not that old
Mimer, in whom it is said the garnered wisdom of the world is stored? Is
there not truth in the old story that even Odin pawned one of his
eyes for a single draught from your fountain of knowledge? And is
the possessor of so much wisdom unable to look into the future with
clearness and certainty?”

“Alas!” answered Mimer again, and his words came hard and slow, “I
am not that Mimer, of whom old stories tell, who gave wisdom to the
All-Father in exchange for an eye. He is one of the giants, and he still
watches his fountain in far-off Jotunheim.[EN#2] I claim kinship
with the dwarfs, and am sometimes known as an elf, sometimes as a
wood-sprite. Men have called me Mimer because of my wisdom and skill,
and the learning which I impart to my pupils. Could I but drink from the
fountain of the real Mimer, then the wisdom of the world would in truth
be mine, and the secrets of the future would be no longer hidden. But I
must wait, as I have long waited, for the day and the deed and the doom
that the Norns have foretold.”

And the old strange look of longing came again into his eyes, and the
wrinkles on his swarthy face seemed to deepen with agony, as he arose,
and left the smithy. And Siegfried sat alone before the smouldering
fire, and pondered upon what he had heard.





Adventure II. Greyfell.



Many were the pleasant days that Siegfried spent in Mimer’s smoky
smithy; and if he ever thought of his father’s stately dwelling, or of
the life of ease which he might have enjoyed within its halls, he never
by word or deed showed signs of discontent. For Mimer taught him all the
secrets of his craft and all the lore of the wise men. To beat hot
iron, to shape the fire-edged sword, to smithy war-coats, to fashion the
slender bracelet of gold and jewels,--all this he had already learned.
But there were many other things to know, and these the wise master
showed him. He told him how to carve the mystic runes which speak to
the knowing ones with silent, unseen tongues; he told him of the men of
other lands, and taught him their strange speech; he showed him how to
touch the harp-strings, and bring forth bewitching music: and the heart
of Siegfried waxed very wise, while his body grew wondrous strong. And
the master loved his pupil dearly.

But the twelve apprentices grew more jealous day by day, and when Mimer
was away they taunted Siegfried with cruel jests, and sought by harsh
threats to drive him from the smithy; but the lad only smiled, and made
the old shop ring again with the music from his anvil. On a day when
Mimer had gone on a journey, Veliant, the foreman, so far forgot himself
as to strike the boy. For a moment Siegfried gazed at him with withering
scorn; then he swung his hammer high in air, and brought it swiftly
down, not upon the head of Veliant, who was trembling with expectant
fear, but upon the foreman’s anvil. The great block of iron was shivered
by the blow, and flew into a thousand pieces. Then, turning again
towards the thoroughly frightened foreman, Siegfried said, while angry
lightning-flashes darted from his eyes,--

“What if I were to strike you thus?”

Veliant sank upon the ground, and begged for mercy.

“You are safe,” said Siegfried, walking away. “I would scorn to harm a
being like you!”

The apprentices were struck dumb with amazement and fear; and when
Siegfried had returned to his anvil they one by one dropped their
hammers, and stole away from the smithy. In a secret place not far from
the shop, they met together, to plot some means by which they might rid
themselves of him whom they both hated and feared.

The next morning Veliant came to Siegfried’s forge, with a sham smile
upon his face. The boy knew that cowardice and base deceit lurked, ill
concealed, beneath that smile; yet, as he was wont to do, he welcomed
the foreman kindly.

“Siegfried,” said Veliant, “let us be friends again. I am sorry that I
was so foolish and so rash yesterday, and I promise that I will never
again be so rude and unmanly as to become angry at you. Let us be
friends, good Siegfried! Give me your hand, I pray you, and with it your
forgiveness.”

Siegfried grasped the rough palm of the young smith with such a gripe,
that the smile vanished from Veliant’s face, and his muscles writhed
with pain.

“I give you my hand, certainly,” said the boy, “and I will give you my
forgiveness when I know that you are worthy of it.”

As soon as Veliant’s aching hand allowed him speech, he said,--

“Siegfried, you know that we have but little charcoal left for our
forges, and our master will soon return from his journey. It will never
do for him to find us idle, and the fires cold. Some one must go to-day
to the forest-pits, and bring home a fresh supply of charcoal. How would
you like the errand? It is but a pleasant day’s journey to the pits; and
a ride into the greenwood this fine summer day would certainly be more
agreeable than staying in the smoky shop.”

“I should like the drive very much,” answered Siegfried; “but I have
never been to the coal-pits, and I might lose my way in the forest.”

“No danger of that,” said Veliant. “Follow the road that goes straight
into the heart of the forest, and you cannot miss your way. It will lead
you to the house of Regin, the master, the greatest charcoal-man in all
Rhineland. He will be right glad to see you for Mimer’s sake, and you
may lodge with him for the night. In the morning he will fill your cart
with the choicest charcoal, and you can drive home at your leisure; and,
when our master comes again, he will find our forges flaming, and our
bellows roaring, and our anvils ringing, as of yore.”

Siegfried, after some further parley, agreed to undertake the errand,
although he felt that Veliant, in urging him to do so, wished to work
him some harm. He harnessed the donkey to the smith’s best cart, and
drove merrily away along the road which led towards the forest.[EN#5]
The day was bright and clear; and as Siegfried rode through the flowery
meadows, or betwixt the fields of corn, a thousand sights and sounds met
him, and made him glad. Now and then he would stop to watch the reapers
in the fields, or to listen to the song of some heaven-soaring lark
lost to sight in the blue sea overhead. Once he met a company of gayly
dressed youths and maidens, carrying sheaves of golden grain,--for it
was now the harvest-time,--and singing in praise of Frey, the giver of
peace and plenty.

“Whither away, young prince?” they merrily asked.

“To Regin, the coal-burner, in the deep greenwood,” he answered.

“Then may the good Frey have thee in keeping!” they cried. “It is a long
and lonesome journey.” And each one blessed him as they passed.

It was nearly noon when he drove into the forest, and left the blooming
meadows and the warm sunshine behind him. And now he urged the donkey
forwards with speed; for he knew that he had lost much precious time,
and that many miles still lay between him and Regin’s charcoal-pits. And
there was nothing here amid the thick shadows of the wood to make him
wish to linger; for the ground was damp, and the air was chilly, and
every thing was silent as the grave. And not a living creature did
Siegfried see, save now and then a gray wolf slinking across the road,
or a doleful owl sitting low down in some tree-top, and blinking at him
in the dull but garish light. Evening at last drew on, and the shadows
in the wood grew deeper; and still no sign of charcoal-burner, nor of
other human being, was seen. Night came, and thick darkness settled
around; and all the demons of the forest came forth, and clamored and
chattered, and shrieked and howled. But Siegfried was not afraid. The
bats and vampires came out of their hiding-places, and flapped their
clammy wings in his face; and he thought that he saw ogres and many
fearful creatures peeping out from behind every tree and shrub. But,
when he looked upwards through the overhanging tree-tops, he saw the
star-decked roof of heaven, the blue mantle which the All-Father has
hung as a shelter over the world; and he went bravely onwards, never
doubting but that Odin has many good things in store for those who are
willing to trust him.

And by and by the great round moon arose in the east, and the fearful
sounds that had made the forest hideous began to die away; and Siegfried
saw, far down the path, a red light feebly gleaming. And he was glad,
for he knew that it must come from the charcoal-burners’ pits. Soon he
came out upon a broad, cleared space; and the charcoal-burners’ fires
blazed bright before him; and some workmen, swarthy and soot-begrimed,
came forwards to meet him.

“Who are you?” they asked; “and why do you come through the forest at
this late hour?”

“I am Siegfried,” answered the boy; “and I come from Mimer’s smithy. I
seek Regin, the king of charcoal-burners; for I must have coal for my
master’s smithy.”

“Come with me,” said one of the men: “I will lead you to Regin.”

Siegfried alighted from his cart, and followed the man to a low-roofed
hut not far from the burning pits. As they drew near, they heard the
sound of a harp, and strange, wild music within; and Siegfried’s heart
was stirred with wonder as he listened. The man knocked softly at the
door, and the music ceased.

“Who comes to break into Regin’s rest at such a time as this?” said a
rough voice within.

“A youth who calls himself Siegfried,” answered the man. “He says that
he comes from Mimer’s smithy, and he would see you, my master.”

“Let him come in,” said the voice.

Siegfried passed through the low door, and into the room beyond; and so
strange was the sight that met him that he stood for a while in awe,
for never in so lowly a dwelling had treasures so rich been seen. Jewels
sparkled from the ceiling; rare tapestry covered the walls; and on the
floor were heaps of ruddy gold and silver, still unfashioned. And in
the midst of all this wealth stood Regin, the king of the forest, the
greatest of charcoal-men. And a strange old man he was, wrinkled and
gray and beardless; but out of his eyes sharp glances gleamed of a light
that was not human, and his heavy brow and broad forehead betokened
wisdom and shrewd cunning. And he welcomed Siegfried kindly for Mimer’s
sake, and set before him a rich repast of venison, and wild honey, and
fresh white bread, and luscious grapes. And, when the meal was finished,
the boy would have told his errand, but Regin stopped him.

“Say nothing of your business to-night,” said he; “for the hour is
already late, and you are weary. Better lie down, and rest until the
morrow; and then we will talk of the matter which has brought you
hither.”

And Siegfried was shown to a couch of the fragrant leaves of the myrtle
and hemlock, overspread with soft white linen, such as is made in the
far-off Emerald Isle; and he was lulled to sleep by sweet strains of
music from Regin’s harp,--music which told of the days when the gods
were young on the earth. And as he slept he dreamed. He dreamed that
he stood upon the crag of a high mountain, and that the eagles flew
screaming around him, and the everlasting snows lay at his feet, and the
world in all its beauty was stretched out like a map below him; and he
longed to go forth to partake of its abundance, and to make for himself
a name among men. Then came the Norns, who spin the thread, and weave
the woof, of every man’s life; and they held in their hands the web
of his own destiny. And Urd, the Past, sat on the tops of the eastern
mountains, where the sun begins to rise at dawn; while Verdanda, the
Present, stood in the western sea, where sky and water meet. And they
stretched the web between them, and its ends were hidden in the far-away
mists. Then with all their might the two Norns span the purple and
golden threads, and wove the fatal woof. But as it began to grow in
beauty and in strength, and to shadow the earth with its gladness and
its glory, Skuld, the pitiless Norn of the Future, seized it with rude
fingers, and tore it into shreds, and cast it down at the feet of Hela,
the white queen of the dead.[EN#6] And the eagles shrieked, and the
mountain shook, and the crag toppled, and Siegfried awoke.

The next morning, at earliest break of day, the youth sought Regin, and
made known his errand.

“I have come for charcoal for my master Mimer’s forges. My cart stands
ready outside; and I pray you to have it filled at once, for the way is
long, and I must be back betimes.”

Then a strange smile stole over Regin’s wrinkled face, and he said,--

“Does Siegfried the prince come on such a lowly errand? Does he come
to me through the forest, driving a donkey, and riding in a sooty
coal-cart? I have known the day when his kin were the mightiest kings of
earth, and they fared through every land the noblest men of men-folk.”

The taunting word, the jeering tones, made Siegfried’s anger rise.
The blood boiled in his veins; but he checked his tongue, and mildly
answered,--

“It is true that I am a prince, and my father is the wisest of kings;
and it is for this reason that I come thus to you. Mimer is my master,
and my father early taught me that even princes must obey their masters’
behests.”

Then Regin laughed, and asked, “How long art thou to be Mimer’s thrall?
Does no work wait for thee but at his smoky forge?”

“When Mimer gives me leave, and Odin calls me,” answered the lad, “then
I, too, will go faring over the world, like my kin of the earlier
days, to carve me a name and great glory, and a place with the noble of
earth.”

Regin said not a word; but he took his harp, and smote the strings,
and a sad, wild music filled the room. And he sang of the gods and the
dwarf-folk, and of the deeds that had been in the time long past and
gone. And a strange mist swam before Siegfried’s eyes; and so bewitching
were the strains that fell upon his ears, and filled his soul, that he
forgot about his errand, and his master Mimer, and his father Siegmund,
and his lowland home, and thought only of the heart-gladdening sounds.
By and by the music ended, the spell was lifted, and Siegfried turned
his eyes towards the musician. A wonderful change had taken place. The
little old man still stood before him with the harp in his hand; but his
wrinkled face was hidden by a heavy beard, and his thin gray locks were
covered with a long black wig, and he seemed taller and stouter than
before. As Siegfried started with surprise, his host held out his hand,
and said,--

“You need not be alarmed, my boy. It is time for you to know that
Regin and Mimer are the same person, or rather that Mimer is Regin
disguised.[EN#8] The day has come for you to go your way into the world,
and Mimer gives you leave.”

Siegfried was so amazed he could not say a word. He took the master’s
hand, and gazed long into his deep, bright eyes. Then the two sat down
together, and Mimer, or Regin as we shall now call him, told the prince
many tales of the days that had been, and of his bold, wise forefathers.
And the lad’s heart swelled within him; and he longed to be like
them,--to dare and do and suffer, and gloriously win at last. And he
turned to Regin and said,--

“Tell me, wisest of masters, what I shall do to win fame, and to make
myself worthy to rule the fair land which my fathers held.”

“Go forth in your own strength, and with Odin’s help,” answered
Regin,--“go forth to right the wrong, to help the weak, to punish evil,
and come not back to your father’s kingdom until the world shall know
your noble deeds.”

“But whither shall I go?” asked Siegfried.

“I will tell you,” answered Regin. “Put on these garments, which better
befit a prince than those soot-begrimed clothes you have worn so long.
Gird about you this sword, the good Balmung, and go northward. When you
come to the waste lands which border upon the sea, you will find
the ancient Gripir, the last of the kin of the giants. Ask of him a
war-steed, and Odin will tell you the rest.”

So, when the sun had risen high above the trees, Siegfried bade Regin
good-by, and went forth like a man, to take whatsoever fortune should
betide. He went through the great forest, and across the bleak moorland
beyond, and over the huge black mountains that stretched themselves
across his way, and came to a pleasant country all dotted with white
farmhouses, and yellow with waving, corn. But he tarried not here,
though many kind words were spoken to him, and all besought him to stay.
Right onwards he went, until he reached the waste land which borders the
sounding sea. And there high mountains stood, with snow-crowned crags
beetling over the waves; and a great river, all foaming with the summer
floods, went rolling through the valley. And in the deep dales between
the mountains were rich meadows, green with grass, and speckled with
thousands of flowers of every hue, where herds of cattle and deer, and
noble elks, and untamed horses, fed in undisturbed peace. And Siegfried,
when he saw, knew that these were the pastures of Gripir the ancient.

High up among the gray mountain-peaks stood Gripir’s dwelling,--a
mighty house, made of huge bowlders brought by giant hands from the far
north-land. And the wild eagle, built their nests around it, and the
mountain vultures screamed about its doors. But Siegfried was not
afraid. He climbed the steep pathway which the feet of men had never
touched before, and, without pausing, walked straightway into the
high-built hall. The room was so dark that at first he could see nothing
save the white walls, and the glass-green pillars which upheld the roof.
But the light grew stronger soon; and Siegfried saw, beneath a heavy
canopy of stone, the ancient Gripir, seated in a chair made from the
sea-horse’s teeth.[EN#9] And the son of the giants held in his hand an
ivory staff; and a purple mantle was thrown over his shoulders, and his
white beard fell in sweeping waves almost to the sea-green floor. Very
wise he seemed, and he gazed at Siegfried with a kindly smile.

“Hail, Siegfried!” he cried. “Hail, prince with the gleaming eye! I know
thee, and I know the woof that the Norns have woven for thee. Welcome to
my lonely mountain home! Come and sit by my side in the high-seat where
man has never sat, and I will tell thee of things that have been, and of
things that are yet to be.”

Then Siegfried fearlessly went and sat by the side of the ancient wise
one. And long hours they talked together,--strong youth and hoariest
age; and each was glad that in the other he had found some source of
hope and comfort. And they talked of the great midworld, and of the
starry dome above it, and of the seas which gird it, and of the men who
live upon it. All night long they talked, and in the morning Siegfried
arose to go.

“Thou hast not told me of thy errand,” said Gripir; “but I know what it
is. Come first with me, and see this great mid-world for thyself.”

Then Gripir, leaning on his staff, led the way out of the great hall,
and up to the top of the highest mountain-crag. And the wild eagles
circled in the clear, cold air above them; and far below them the white
waves dashed against the mountain’s feet; and the frosty winds swept
around them unchecked, bringing to their ears the lone lamenting of the
north giants, moaning for the days that had been and for the glories
that were past. Then Siegfried looked to the north, and he saw the dark
mountain-wall of Norway trending away in solemn grandeur towards
the frozen sea, but broken here and there by sheltering fjords, and
pleasant, sunny dales. He looked to the east, and saw a great forest
stretching away and away until it faded to sight in the blue distance.
He looked to the south, and saw a pleasant land, with farms and
vineyards, and towns and strong-built castles; and through it wound the
River Rhine, like a great white serpent, reaching from the snow-capped
Alps to the northern sea. And he saw his father’s little kingdom of the
Netherlands lying like a green speck on the shore of the ocean. Then
he looked to the west, and nothing met his sight but a wilderness of
rolling, restless waters, save, in the far distance, a green island half
hidden by sullen mists and clouds. And Siegfried sighed, and said,--

“The world is so wide, and the life of man so short!”

“The world is all before thee,” answered Gripir. “Take what the Norns
have allotted thee. Choose from my pastures a battle-steed, and ride
forth to win for thyself a name and fame among the sons of men.”

Then Siegfried ran down the steep side of the mountain to the grassy
dell where the horses were feeding. But the beasts were all so fair and
strong, that he knew not which to choose. While he paused, uncertain
what to do, a strange man stood before him. Tall and handsome was the
man, with one bright eye, and a face beaming like the dawn in summer;
and upon his head he wore a sky-blue hood bespangled with golden stars,
and over his shoulder was thrown a cloak of ashen gray.

“Would you choose a horse, Sir Siegfried?” asked the stranger.

“Indeed I would,” answered he. “But it is hard to make a choice among so
many.”

“There is one in the meadow,” said the man, “far better than all
the rest. They say that he came from Odin’s pastures on the green
hill-slopes of Asgard, and that none but the noblest shall ride him.”

“Which is he?” asked Siegfried.

“Drive the herd into the river,” was the answer, “and then see if you
can pick him out.”

And Siegfried and the stranger drove the horses down the sloping bank,
and into the rolling stream; but the flood was too strong for them.
Some soon turned back to the shore; while others, struggling madly, were
swept away, and carried out to the sea. Only one swam safely over. He
shook the dripping water from his mane, tossed his head in the air, and
then plunged again into the stream. Right bravely he stemmed the
torrent the second time. He clambered up the shelving bank, and stood by
Siegfried’s side.

“What need to tell you that this is the horse?” said the stranger. “Take
him: he is yours. He is Greyfell, the shining hope that Odin sends to
his chosen heroes.”

And then Siegfried noticed that the horse’s mane glimmered and flashed
like a thousand rays from the sun, and that his coat was as white and
clear as the fresh-fallen snow on the mountains. He turner to speak to
the stranger, but he was nowhere to be seen and Siegfried bethought him
how he had talked with Odin unawares. Then he mounted the noble Greyfell
and rode with a light heart across the flowery meadows.

“Whither ridest thou?” cried Gripir the ancient, from his doorway among
the crags.

“I ride into the wide world,” said Siegfried; “but I know not whither. I
would right the wrong, and help the weak, and make myself a name on the
earth, as did my kinsmen of yore. Tell me, I pray you, where I shall
go; for you are wise, and you know the things which have been, and those
which shall befall.”

“Ride back to Regin, the master of masters,” answered Gripir. “He will
tell thee of a wrong to be righted.”

And the ancient son of the giants withdrew into his lonely abode; and
Siegfried, on the shining Greyfell, rode swiftly away towards the south.





Adventure III. The Curse of Gold.



Forth then rode Siegfried, upon the beaming Greyfell, out into the broad
mid-world. And the sun shone bright above him, and the air was soft and
pure, and the earth seemed very lovely, and life a gladsome thing. And
his heart was big within him as he thought of the days to come, of
the deeds of love and daring, of the righting of many wrongs, of the
people’s praise, and the glory of a life well lived. And he wended his
way back again toward the south and the fair lands of the Rhine. He left
the barren moorlands behind him, and the pleasant farms and villages of
the fruitful countryside, and after many days came once more to Regin’s
woodland dwelling. For he said to himself, “My old master is very wise;
and he knows of the deeds that were done when yet the world was young,
and my kin were the mightiest of men. I will go to him, and learn what
grievous evil it is that he has so often vaguely hinted at.”

Regin, when he saw the lad and the beaming Greyfell standing like
a vision of light at his door, welcomed them most gladly, and led
Siegfried into the inner room, where they sat down together amid the
gold, and the gem-stones, and the fine-wrought treasures there.

“Truly,” said the master, “the days of my long waiting are drawing to a
close, and at last the deed shall be done.”

And the old look of longing came again into his eyes, and his pinched
face seemed darker and more wrinkled than before, and his thin lips
trembled with emotion as he spoke.

“What is that deed of which you speak?” asked Siegfried.

“It is the righting of a grievous wrong,” answered Regin, “and the
winning of treasures untold. Lo, many years have I waited for the coming
of this day; and now my heart tells me that the hero so long hoped for
is here, and the wisdom and the wealth of the world shall be mine.”

“But what is the wrong to be righted?” asked Siegfried. “And what is
this treasure that you speak of as your own?”

“Alas!” answered Regin, “the treasure is indeed mine; and yet wrongfully
has it been withheld from me. But listen a while to a tale of the early
days, and thou shalt know what the treasure is, and what is the wrong to
be righted.”

He took his harp and swept the strings, and played a soft, low melody
which told of the dim past, and of blighted hopes, and of a nameless,
never-satisfied yearning for that which might have been. And then he
told Siegfried this story:



Regin’s Story.



When the earth was still very young, and men were feeble and few, and
the Dwarfs were many and strong, the Asa-folk were wont oft-times
to leave their halls in heaven-towering Asgard in order to visit the
new-formed mid-world, and to see what the short-lived sons of men were
doing. Sometimes they came in their own godlike splendor and might;
sometimes they came disguised as feeble men-folk, with all man’s
weaknesses and all his passions. Sometimes Odin, as a beggar, wandered
from one country to another, craving charity; sometimes, as a warrior
clad in coat of mail, he rode forth to battle for the cause of right; or
as a minstrel he sang from door to door, and played sweet music in the
halls of the great; or as a huntsman he dashed through brakes and fens,
and into dark forests, and climbed steep mountains in search of game; or
as a sailor he embarked upon the sea, and sought new scenes in unknown
lands. And many times did men-folk entertain him unawares.

Once on a time he came to the mid-world in company with Hoenir and
Loki; and the three wandered through many lands and in many climes, each
giving gifts wherever they went. Odin gave knowledge and strength, and
taught men how to read the mystic runes; Hoenir gave gladness and
good cheer, and lightened many hearts with the glow of his comforting
presence; but Loki had nought to give but cunning deceit and base
thoughts, and he left behind him bitter strife and many aching breasts.
At last, growing tired of the fellowship of men, the three Asas sought
the solitude of the forest, and as huntsmen wandered long among the
hills and over the wooded heights of Hunaland. Late one afternoon they
came to a mountain-stream at a place where it poured over a ledge of
rocks, and fell in clouds of spray into a rocky gorge below. As they
stood, and with pleased eyes gazed upon the waterfall, they saw near the
bank an otter lazily making ready to eat a salmon which he had caught.
And Loki, ever bent on doing mischief, hurled a stone at the harmless
beast, and killed it. And he boasted loudly that he had done a worthy
deed. And he took both the otter, and the fish which it had caught, and
carried them with him as trophies of the day’s success.

Just at nightfall the three huntsmen came to a lone farmhouse in the
valley, and asked for food, and for shelter during the night.

“Shelter you shall have,” said the farmer, whose name was Hreidmar, “for
the rising clouds foretell a storm. But food I have none to give you.
Surely huntsmen of skill should not want for food; since the forest
teems with game, and the streams are full of fish.”

Then Loki threw upon the ground the otter and the fish, and said, “We
have sought in both forest and stream, and we have taken from them at
one blow both flesh and fish. Give us but the shelter you promise, and
we will not trouble you for food.”

The farmer gazed with horror upon the lifeless body of the otter, and
cried out, “This creature which you mistook for an otter, and which you
have robbed and killed, is my son Oddar, who for mere pastime had taken
the form of the furry beast. You are but thieves and murderers!”

Then he called loudly for help: and his two sons Fafnir and Regin,
sturdy and valiant kin of the dwarf-folk, rushed in, and seized upon the
huntsmen, and bound them hand and foot; for the three Asas, having taken
upon themselves the forms of men, had no more than human strength, and
were unable to withstand them.

Then Odin and his fellows bemoaned their ill fate. And Loki said,
“Wherefore did we foolishly take upon ourselves the likenesses of
puny men? Had I my own power once more, I would never part with it in
exchange for man’s weaknesses.”

And Hoenir sighed, and said, “Now, indeed, will darkness win: and the
frosty breath of the Reimthursen giants will blast the fair handiwork of
the sunlight and the heat; for the givers of life and light and warmth
are helpless prisoners in the hands of these cunning and unforgiving
jailers.”

“Surely,” said Odin, “not even the highest are free from obedience to
heaven’s behests and the laws of right. I, whom men call the Preserver
of Life, have demeaned myself by being found in evil company; and,
although I have done no other wrong, I suffer rightly for the doings of
this mischief-maker with whom I have stooped to have fellowship. For all
are known, not so much by what they are as by what they seem to be, and
they bear the bad name which their comrades bear. Now I am fallen from
my high estate. Eternal right is higher than I. And in the last Twilight
of the gods I must needs meet the dread Fenris-wolf, and in the end
the world will be made new again, and the shining Balder will rule in
sunlight majesty forever.”

Then the Asas asked Hreidmar, their jailer, what ransom they should
pay for their freedom; and he, not knowing who they were, said, “I must
first know what ransom you are able to give.”

“We will give any thing you may ask,” hastily answered Loki.

Hreidmar then called his sons, and bade them strip the skin from the
otter’s body. When this was done, they brought the furry hide and spread
it upon the ground; and Hreidmar said, “Bring shining gold and precious
stones enough to cover every part of this otter-skin. When you have paid
so much ransom, you shall have your freedom.”

“That we will do,” answered Odin. “But one of us must have leave to
go and fetch it: the other two will stay fast bound until the morning
dawns. If, by that time, the gold is not here, you may do with us as you
please.”

Hreidmar and the two young men agreed to Odin’s offer; and, lots being
cast, it fell to Loki to go and fetch the treasure. When he had been
loosed from the cords which bound him, Loki donned his magic shoes,
which had carried him over land and sea from the farthest bounds of
the mid-world, and hastened away upon his errand. And he sped with the
swiftness of light, over the hills and the wooded slopes, and the deep
dark valleys, and the fields and forests and sleeping hamlets, until he
came to the place where dwelt the swarthy elves and the cunning dwarf
Andvari. There the River Rhine, no larger than a meadow-brook, breaks
forth from beneath a mountain of ice, which the Frost giants and blind
old Hoder, the Winter-king, had built long years before; for they had
vainly hoped that they might imprison the river at its fountain-head.
But the baby-brook had eaten its way beneath the frozen mass, and
had sprung out from its prison, and gone on, leaping and smiling, and
kissing the sunlight, in its ever-widening course towards Burgundy and
the sea.

Loki came to this place, because he knew that here was the home of the
elves who had laid up the greatest hoard of treasures ever known in the
mid-world. He scanned with careful eyes the mountain-side, and the deep,
rocky caverns, and the dark gorge through which the little river rushed;
but in the dim moonlight not a living being could he see, save a lazy
salmon swimming in the quieter eddies of the stream. Any one but Loki
would have lost all hope of finding treasure there, at least before the
dawn of day; but his wits were quick, and his eyes were very sharp.

“One salmon has brought us into this trouble, and another shall help us
out of it!” he cried.

Then, swift as thought, he sprang again into the air; and the magic
shoes carried him with greater speed than before down the Rhine valley,
and through Burgundy-land, and the low meadows, until he came to the
shores of the great North Sea. He sought the halls of old AEgir, the
Ocean-king; but he wist not which way to go,--whether across the North
Sea towards Isenland, or whether along the narrow channel between
Britain-land and the main. While he paused, uncertain where to turn,
he saw the pale-haired daughters of old AEgir, the white-veiled Waves,
playing in the moonlight near the shore. Of them he asked the way to
AEgir’s hall.

“Seven days’ journey westward,” said they, “beyond the green Isle of
Erin, is our father’s hall. Seven days’ journey northward, on the bleak
Norwegian shore, is our father’s hall.”

And they stopped not once in their play, but rippled and danced on the
shelving beach, or dashed with force against the shore.

“Where is your mother Ran, the Queen of the Ocean?” asked Loki.

And they answered,--

     “In the deep sea-caves
     By the sounding shore,
     In the dashing waves
     When the wild storms roar,
     In her cold green bowers
     In the northern fiords,
     She lurks and she glowers,
     She grasps and she hoards,
     And she spreads her strong net for her prey.”

Loki waited to hear no more; but he sprang into the air, and the magic
shoes carried him onwards over the water in search of the Ocean-queen.
He had not gone far when his sharp eyes espied her, lurking near a rocky
shore against which the breakers dashed with frightful fury. Half hidden
in the deep dark water, she lay waiting and watching; and she spread her
cunning net upon the waves, and reached out with her long greedy fingers
to seize whatever booty might come near her.

When the wary queen saw Loki, she hastily drew in her net, and tried to
hide herself in the shadows of an overhanging rock. But Loki called her
by name, and said,--

“Sister Ran, fear not! I am your friend Loki, whom once you served as a
guest in AEgir’s gold-lit halls.”

Then the Ocean-queen came out into the bright moonlight, and welcomed
Loki to her domain, and asked, “Why does Loki thus wander so far from
Asgard, and over the trackless waters?”

And Loki answered, “I have heard of the net which you spread upon the
waves, and from which no creature once caught in its meshes can ever
escape. I have found a salmon where the Rhine-spring gushes from beneath
the mountains, and a very cunning salmon he is for no common skill can
catch him. Come, I pray, with your wondrous net, and cast it into the
stream where he lies. Do but take the wary fish for me, and you shall
have more gold than you have taken in a year from the wrecks of stranded
vessels.”

“I dare not go,” cried Ran. “A bound is set, beyond which I may not
venture. If all the gold of earth were offered me, I could not go.”

“Then lend me your net,” entreated Loki. “Lend me your net, and I will
bring it back to-morrow filled with gold.”

“Much I would like your gold,” answered Ran; “but I cannot lend my net.
Should I do so, I might lose the richest prize that has ever come into
my husband’s kingdom. For three days, now, a gold-rigged ship, bearing
a princely crew with rich armor and abundant wealth, has been sailing
carelessly over these seas. To-morrow I shall send my daughters and the
bewitching mermaids to decoy the vessel among the rocks. And into my net
the ship, and the brave warriors, and all their armor and gold, shall
fall. A rich prize it will be. No: I cannot part with my net, even for a
single hour.”

But Loki knew the power of flattering words.

“Beautiful queen,” said he, “there is no one on earth, nor even in
Asgard, who can equal you in wisdom and foresight. Yet I promise you,
that, if you will but lend me your net until the morning dawns, the ship
and the crew of which you speak shall be yours, and all their golden
treasures shall deck your azure halls in the deep sea.”

Then Ran carefully folded the net, and gave it to Loki.

“Remember your promise,” was all that she said.

“An Asa never forgets,” he answered.

And he turned his face again towards Rhineland; and the magic shoes bore
him aloft, and carried him in a moment back to the ice-mountain and
the gorge and the infant river, which he had so lately left. The
salmon still rested in his place, and had not moved during Loki’s short
absence.

Loki unfolded the net, and cast it into the stream. The cunning fish
tried hard to avoid being caught in its meshes; but, dart which way
he would, he met the skilfully woven cords, and these drew themselves
around him, and held him fast. Then Loki pulled the net up out of the
water, and grasped the helpless fish in his right hand. But, lo! as he
held the struggling creature high in the air, it was no longer a fish,
but the cunning dwarf Andvari.

“Thou King of the Elves,” cried Loki, “thy cunning has not saved thee.
Tell me, on thy life, where thy hidden treasures lie!”

The wise dwarf knew who it was that thus held him as in a vise; and he
answered frankly, for it was his only hope of escape, “Turn over the
stone upon which you stand. Beneath it you will find the treasure you
seek.”

Then Loki put his shoulder to the rock, and pushed with all his might.
But it seemed as firm as the mountain, and would not be moved.

“Help us, thou cunning dwarf,” he cried,--“help us, and thou shalt have
thy life!”

The dwarf put his shoulder to the rock, and it turned over as if by
magic, and underneath was disclosed a wondrous chamber, whose walls
shone brighter than the sun, and on whose floor lay treasures of gold
and glittering gem-stones such as no man had ever seen. And Loki, in
great haste, seized upon the hoard, and placed it in the magic net which
he had borrowed from the Ocean-queen. Then he came out of the chamber;
and Andvari again put his shoulder to the rock which lay at the
entrance, and it swung back noiselessly to its place.

“What is that upon thy finger?” suddenly cried Loki. “Wouldst keep back
a part of the treasure? Give me the ring thou hast!”

But the dwarf shook his head, and made answer, “I have given thee all
the riches that the elves of the mountain have gathered since the world
began. This ring I cannot give thee, for without its help we shall never
be able to gather more treasures together.”

And Loki grew angry at these words of the dwarf; and he seized the ring,
and tore it by force from Andvari’s fingers. It was a wondrous little
piece of mechanism shaped like a serpent, coiled, with its tail in its
mouth; and its scaly sides glittered with many a tiny diamond, and its
ruby eyes shone with an evil light. When the dwarf knew that Loki really
meant to rob him of the ring, he cursed it and all who should ever
possess it, saying,--

“May the ill-gotten treasure that you have seized tonight be your bane,
and the bane of all to whom it may come, whether by fair means or by
foul! And the ring which you have torn from my hand, may it entail upon
the one who wears it sorrow and untold ills, the loss of friends, and a
violent death! The Norns have spoken, and thus it must be.”

Loki was pleased with these words, and with the dark curses which
the dwarf pronounced upon the gold; for he loved wrong-doing, for
wrong-doing’s sake, and he knew that no curses could ever make his own
life more cheerless than it always had been. So he thanked Andvari
for his curses and his treasures; and, throwing the magic net upon his
shoulder, he sprang again into the air, and was carried swiftly back to
Hunaland; and, just before the dawn appeared in the east, he alighted
at the door of the farmhouse where Odin and Hoenir still lay bound with
thongs, and guarded by Fafnir and Regin.

Then the farmer, Hreidmar, brought the otter’s skin, and spread it upon
the ground; and, lo! it grew, and spread out on all sides, until it
covered an acre of ground. And he cried out, “Fulfil now your promise!
Cover every hair of this hide with gold or with precious stones. If you
fail to do this, then your lives, by your own agreement, are forfeited,
and we shall do with you as we list.”

Odin took the magic net from Loki’s shoulder; and opening it, he poured
the treasures of the mountain elves upon the otter-skin. And Loki and
Hoenir spread the yellow pieces carefully and evenly over every part
of the furry hide. But, after every piece had been laid in its place;
Hreidmar saw near the otter’s mouth a single hair uncovered; and he
declared, that unless this hair, too, were covered, the bargain would
be unfulfilled, and the treasures and lives of his prisoners would be
forfeited. And the Asas looked at each other in dismay; for not another
piece of gold, and not another precious stone, could they find in the
net, although they searched with the greatest care. At last Odin took
from his bosom the ring which Loki had stolen from the dwarf; for he had
been so highly pleased with its form and workmanship, that he had hidden
it, hoping that it would not be needed to complete the payment of the
ransom. And they laid the ring upon the uncovered hair. And now no
portion of the otter’s skin could be seen. And Fafnir and Regin, the
ransom being paid, loosed the shackles of Odin and Hoenir, and bade the
three huntsmen go on their way.

Odin and Hoenir at once shook off their human disguises, and, taking
their own forms again, hastened with all speed back to Asgard. But Loki
tarried a little while, and said to Hreidmar and his sons,--

“By your greediness and falsehood you have won for yourselves the Curse
of the Earth, which lies before you. It shall be your bane. It shall
be the bane of every one who holds it. It shall kindle strife between
father and son, between brother and brother. It shall make you mean,
selfish, beastly. It shall transform you into monsters. The noblest king
among men-folk shall feel its curse. Such is gold, and such it shall
ever be to its worshippers. And the ring which you have gotten
shall impart to its possessor its own nature. Grasping, snaky, cold,
unfeeling, shall he live; and death through treachery shall be his
doom.”

Then he turned away, delighted that he had thus left the curse of
Andvari with Hreidmar and his sons, and hastened northward toward
the sea; for he wished to redeem the promise that he had made to the
Ocean-queen, to bring back her magic net, and to decoy the richly laden
ship into her clutches.

No sooner were the strange huntsmen well out of sight than Fafnir and
Regin began to ask their father to divide the glittering hoard with
them.

“By our strength and through our advice,” said they, “this great store
has come into your hands. Let us place it in three equal heaps, and then
let each take his share and go his way.”

At this the farmer waxed very angry; and he loudly declared that he
would keep all the treasure for himself, and that his sons should not
have any portion of it whatever. So Fafnir and Regin, nursing their
disappointment, went to the fields to watch their sheep; but their
father sat down to guard his new-gotten treasure. And he took in his
hand the glittering serpent-ring, and gazed into its cold ruby eyes:
and, as he gazed, all his thoughts were fixed upon his gold; and there
was no room in his heart for love toward his fellows, nor for deeds
of kindness, nor for the worship of the All-Father. And behold, as he
continued to look at the snaky ring, a dreadful change came over him.
The warm red blood, which until that time had leaped through his veins,
and given him life and strength and human feelings, became purple and
cold and sluggish; and selfishness, like serpent-poison, took hold of
his heart. Then, as he kept on gazing at the hoard which lay before him,
he began to lose his human shape; his body lengthened into many scaly
folds, and he coiled himself around his loved treasures,--the very
likeness of the ring upon which he had looked so long.

When the day drew near its close, Fafnir came back from the fields with
his herd of sheep, and thought to find his father guarding the treasure,
as he had left him in the morning; but instead he saw a glittering
snake, fast asleep, encircling the hoard like a huge scaly ring of gold.
His first thought was that the monster had devoured his father; and,
hastily drawing his sword, with one blow he severed the serpent’s head
from its body. And, while yet the creature writhed in the death-agony,
he gathered up the hoard, and fled with it beyond the hills of Hunaland,
until on the seventh day he came to a barren heath far from the homes
of men. There he placed the treasures in one glittering heap; and he
clothed himself in a wondrous mail-coat of gold that was found among
them, and he put on the Helmet of Dread, which had once been the terror
of the mid-world, and the like of which no man had ever seen; and then
he gazed with greedy eyes upon the fateful ring, until he, too, was
changed into a cold and slimy reptile,--a monster dragon. And he coiled
himself about the hoard; and, with his restless eyes forever open, he
gloated day after day upon his loved gold, and watched with ceaseless
care that no one should come near to despoil him of it. This was ages
and ages ago; and still he wallows among his treasures on the Glittering
Heath, and guards as of yore the garnered wealth of Andvari.[EN#10]

When I, Regin, the younger brother, came back in the late evening to my
father’s dwelling, I saw that the treasure had been carried away; and,
when I beheld the dead serpent lying in its place, I knew that a part of
Andvari’s curse had been fulfilled. And a strange fear came over me; and
I left every thing behind me, and fled from that dwelling, never more
to return. Then I came to the land of the Volsungs, where your father’s
fathers dwelt, the noblest king-folk that the world has ever seen. But
a longing for the gold and the treasure, a hungry yearning, that would
never be satisfied, filled my soul. Then for a time I sought to forget
this craving. I spent my days in the getting of knowledge and in
teaching men-folk the ancient lore of my kin, the Dwarfs. I taught them
how to plant and to sow, and to reap the yellow grain. I showed them
where the precious metals of the earth lie hidden, and how to smelt iron
from its ores,--how to shape the ploughshare and the spade, the spear
and the battle-axe. I taught them how to tame the wild horses of the
meadows, and how to train the yoke-beasts to the plough; how to build
lordly dwellings and mighty strongholds, and how to sail in ships across
old AEgir’s watery kingdom. But they gave me no thanks for what I had
done; and as the years went by they forgot who had been their teacher,
and they said that it was Frey who had given them this knowledge and
skill. And I taught the young maidens how to spin and weave, and
to handle the needle deftly,--to make rich garments, and to work in
tapestry and embroidery. But they, too, forgot me, and said that it was
Freyja who had taught them. Then I showed men how to read the mystic
runes aright, and how to make the sweet beverage of poetry, that charms
all hearts, and enlightens the world. But they say now that they had
these gifts from Odin. I taught them how to fashion the tales of old
into rich melodious songs, and with music and sweet-mouthed eloquence to
move the minds of their fellow-men. But they say that Bragi taught them
this; and they remember me only as Regin, the elfin schoolmaster, or
at best as Mimer, the master of smiths. At length my heart grew bitter
because of the neglect and ingratitude of men; and the old longing for
Andvari’s hoard came back to me, and I forgot much of my cunning and
lore. But I lived on and on, and generations of short-lived men arose
and passed, and still the hoard was not mine; for I was weak, and no man
was strong enough to help me.

Then I sought wisdom of the Norns, the weird women who weave the woof of
every creature’s fate.[EN#6] and [EN#7]

“How long,” asked I, “must I hope and wait in weary expectation of that
day when the wealth of the world and the garnered wisdom of the ages
shall be mine?”

And the witches answered, “When a prince of the Volsung race shall come
who shall excel thee in the smithying craft, and to whom the All-Father
shall give the Shining Hope as a helper, then the days of thy weary
watching, shall cease.”

“How long,” asked I, “shall I live to enjoy this wealth and this wisdom,
and to walk as a god among men? Shall I be long-lived as the Asa-folk,
and dwell on the earth until the last Twilight comes?”

“It is written,” answered Skuld, “that a beardless youth shall see thy
death. But go thou now, and bide thy time.”

Here Regin ended his story, and both he and Siegfried sat for a long
time silent and thoughtful.

“I know what you wish,” said Siegfried at last. “You think that I am the
prince of whom the weird sisters spoke; and you would have me slay the
dragon Fafnir, and win for you the hoard of Andvari.”

“It is even so,” answered Regin.

“But the hoard is accursed,” said the lad.

“Let the curse be upon me,” was the answer. “Is not the wisdom of the
ages mine? And think you that I cannot escape the curse? Is there aught
that can prevail against him who has all knowledge and the wealth of the
world at his call?”

“Nothing but the word of the Norns and the will of the All-Father,”
 answered Siegfried.

“But will you help me?” asked Regin, almost wild with earnestness. “Will
you help me to win that which is rightfully mine, and to rid the world
of a horrible evil?”

“Why is the hoard of Andvari more thine than Fafnir’s?”

“He is a monster, and he keeps the treasure but to gloat upon its
glittering richness. I will use it to make myself a name upon the earth.
I will not hoard it away. But I am weak, and he is strong and terrible.
Will you help me?”

“To-morrow,” said Siegfried, “be ready to go with me to the Glittering
Heath. The treasure shall be thine, and also the curse.”

“And also the curse,” echoed Regin.





Adventure IV. Fafnir, the Dragon.



Regin took up his harp, and his fingers smote the strings; and the music
which came forth sounded like the wail of the winter’s wind through
the dead treetops of the forest. And the song which he sang was full of
grief and wild hopeless yearning for the things which were not to be.
When he had ceased, Siegfried said,--

“That was indeed a sorrowful song for one to sing who sees his hopes so
nearly realized. Why are you so sad? Is it because you fear the curse
which you have taken upon yourself? or is it because you know not what
you will do with so vast a treasure, and its possession begins already
to trouble you?”

“Oh, many are the things I will do with that treasure!” answered Regin;
and his eyes flashed wildly, and his face grew red and pale. “I will
turn winter into summer; I will make the desert-places glad; I will
bring back the golden age; I will make myself a god: for mine shall be
the wisdom and the gathered wealth of the world. And yet I fear”--

“What do you fear?”

“The ring, the ring--it is accursed! The Norns, too, have spoken, and my
doom is known. I cannot escape it.”

“The Norns have woven the woof of every man’s life,” answered Siegfried.
“To-morrow we fare to the Glittering Heath, and the end shall be as the
Norns have spoken.”

And so, early the next morning, Siegfried mounted Greyfell, and rode
out towards the desert-land that lay beyond the forest and the barren
mountain-range; and Regin, his eyes flashing with desire, and his feet
never tiring, trudged by his side. For seven days they wended their
way through the thick greenwood, sleeping at night on the bare ground
beneath the trees, while the wolves and other wild beasts of the forest
filled the air with their hideous howlings. But no evil creature dared
come near them, for fear of the shining beams of light which fell
from Greyfell’s gleaming mane. On the eighth day they came to the open
country and to the hills, where the land was covered with black bowlders
and broken by yawning chasms. And no living thing was seen there, not
even an insect, nor a blade of grass; and the silence of the grave was
over all. And the earth was dry and parched, and the sun hung above them
like a painted shield in a blue-black sky, and there was neither shade
nor water anywhere. But Siegfried rode onwards in the way which Regin
pointed out, and faltered not, although he grew faint with thirst and
with the overpowering heat. Towards the evening of the next day they
came to a dark mountain-wall which stretched far out on either hand, and
rose high above them, so steep that it seemed to close up the way, and
to forbid them going farther.

“This is the wall!” cried Regin. “Beyond this mountain is the Glittering
Heath, and the goal of all my hopes.”

And the little old man ran forwards, and scaled the rough side of the
mountain, and reached its summit, while Siegfried and Greyfell were yet
toiling among the rocks at its foot. Slowly and painfully they climbed
the steep ascent, sometimes following a narrow path which wound along
the edge of a precipice, sometimes leaping, from rock to rock, or over
some deep gorge, and sometimes picking their way among the crags and
cliffs. The sun at last went down, and one by one the stars came out;
and the moon was rising, round and red, when Siegfried stood by Regin’s
side, and gazed from the mountain-top down upon the Glittering Heath
which lay beyond. And a strange, weird scene it was that met his sight.
At the foot of the mountain was a river, white and cold and still; and
beyond it was a smooth and barren plain, lying silent and lonely in
the pale moonlight. But in the distance was seen a circle of flickering
flames, ever changing,--now growing brighter, now fading away, and now
shining with a dull, cold light, like the glimmer of the glow-worm or
the fox-fire. And as Siegfried gazed upon the scene, he saw the dim
outline of some hideous monster moving hither and thither, and seeming
all the more terrible in the uncertain light.

“It is he!” whispered Regin, and his lips were ashy pale, and his knees
trembled beneath him. “It is Fafnir, and he wears the Helmet of Terror!
Shall we not go back to the smithy by the great forest, and to the life
of ease and safety that may be ours there? Or will you rather dare to go
forwards, and meet the Terror in its abode?”

“None but cowards give up an undertaking once begun,” answered
Siegfried. “Go back to Rhineland yourself, if you are afraid; but you
must go alone. You have brought me thus far to meet the dragon of the
heath, to win the hoard of the swarthy elves, and to rid the world of
a terrible evil. Before the setting of another sun, the deed which you
have urged me to do will be done.”

Then he dashed down the eastern slope of the mountain, leaving Greyfell
and the trembling Regin behind him. Soon he stood on the banks of the
white river, which lay between the mountain and the heath; but the
stream was deep and sluggish, and the channel was very wide. He paused
a moment, wondering how he should cross; and the air seemed heavy with
deadly vapors, and the water was thick and cold. While he thus stood in
thought, a boat came silently out of the mists, and drew near; and the
boatman stood up and called to him, and said,--

“What man are you who dares come into this land of loneliness and fear?”

“I am Siegfried,” answered the lad; “and I have come to slay Fafnir, the
Terror.”

“Sit in my boat,” said the boatman, “and I will carry you across the
river.”

And Siegfried sat by the boatman’s side; and without the use of an oar,
and without a breath of air to drive it forwards, the little vessel
turned, and moved silently towards the farther shore.

“In what way will you fight the dragon?” asked the boatman.

“With my trusty sword Balmung I shall slay him,” answered Siegfried.

“But he wears the Helmet of Terror, and he breathes deathly poisons, and
his eyes dart forth lightning, and no man can withstand his strength,”
 said the boatman.

“I will find some way by which to overcome him.”

“Then be wise, and listen to me,” said the boatman. “As you go up from
the river you will find a road, worn deep and smooth, starting from
the water’s edge, and winding over the moor. It is the trail of Fafnir,
adown which he comes at dawn of every day to slake his thirst at the
river. Do you dig a pit in this roadway,--a pit narrow and deep,--and
hide yourself within it. In the morning, when Fafnir passes over it, let
him feel the edge of Balmung.”

As the man ceased speaking, the boat touched the shore, and Siegfried
leaped out. He looked back to thank his unknown friend, but neither boat
nor boatman was to be seen. Only a thin white mist rose slowly from the
cold surface of the stream, and floated upwards and away towards the
mountain-tops. Then the lad remembered that the strange boatman had worn
a blue hood bespangled with golden stars, and that a gray kirtle was
thrown over his shoulders, and that his one eye glistened and sparkled
with a light that was more than human. And he knew that he had again
talked with Odin. Then, with a braver heart than before, he went
forwards, along the river-bank, until he came to Fafnir’s trail,--a
deep, wide furrow in the earth, beginning at the river’s bank, and
winding far away over the heath, until it was lost to sight in the
darkness. The bottom of the trail was soft and slimy, and its sides had
been worn smooth by Fafnir’s frequent travel through it.

In this road, at a point not far from the river, Siegfried, with his
trusty sword Balmung, scooped out a deep and narrow pit, as Odin had
directed. And when the gray dawn began to appear in the east he hid
himself within this trench, and waited for the coming of the monster. He
had not long to wait; for no sooner had the sky begun to redden in the
light of the coming sun than the dragon was heard bestirring himself.
Siegfried peeped warily from his hiding-place, and saw him coming far
down the road, hurrying with all speed, that he might quench his thirst
at the sluggish river, and hasten back to his gold; and the sound which
he made was like the trampling of many feet and the jingling of many
chains. With bloodshot eyes, and gaping mouth, and flaming nostrils, the
hideous creature came rushing onwards. His sharp, curved claws dug
deep into the soft earth; and his bat-like wings, half trailing on the
ground, half flapping in the air, made a sound like that which is heard
when Thor rides in his goat-drawn chariot over the dark thunder-clouds.
It was a terrible moment for Siegfried, but still he was not afraid. He
crouched low down in his hiding-place, and the bare blade of the trusty
Balmung glittered in the morning light. On came the hastening feet and
the flapping wings: the red gleam from the monster’s flaming nostrils
lighted up the trench where Siegfried lay. He heard a roaring and a
rushing like the sound of a whirlwind in the forest; then a black,
inky mass rolled above him, and all was dark. Now was Siegfried’s
opportunity. The bright edge of Balmung gleamed in the darkness one
moment, and then it smote the heart of Fafnir as he passed. Some men say
that Odin sat in the pit with Siegfried, and strengthened his arm and
directed his sword, or else he could not thus have slain the Terror.
But, be this as it may, the victory was soon won. The monster stopped
short, while but half of his long body had glided over the pit; for
sudden death had overtaken him. His horrid head fell lifeless upon
the ground; his cold wings flapped once, and then lay, quivering and
helpless, spread out on either side; and streams of thick black blood
flowed from his heart, through the wound beneath, and filled the trench
in which Siegfried was hidden, and ran like a mountain-torrent down the
road towards the river. Siegfried was covered from head to foot with the
slimy liquid, and, had he not quickly leaped from his hiding-place, he
would have been drowned in the swift-rushing, stream.[EN#11]

The bright sun rose in the east, and gilded the mountain-tops, and fell
upon the still waters of the river, and lighted up the treeless plains
around. The south wind played gently against Siegfried’s cheeks and in
his long hair, as he stood gazing on his fallen foe. And the sound of
singing birds, and rippling waters, and gay insects,--such as had not
broken the silence of the Glittering Heath for ages,--came to his ears.
The Terror was dead, and Nature had awakened from her sleep of dread.
And as the lad leaned upon his sword, and thought of the deed he had
done, behold! the shining Greyfell, with the beaming, hopeful mane,
having crossed the now bright river, stood by his side. And Regin, his
face grown wondrous cold, came trudging over the meadows; and his heart
was full of guile. Then the mountain vultures came wheeling downwards
to look upon the dead dragon; and with them were two ravens, black as
midnight. And when Siegfried saw these ravens he knew them to be Odin’s
birds,--Hugin, thought, and Munin, memory. And they alighted on the
ground near by; and the lad listened to hear what they would say. Then
Hugin flapped his wings, and said,--

“The deed is done. Why tarries the hero?”

And Munin said,--

“The world is wide. Fame waits for the hero.”

And Hugin answered,--

“What if he win the Hoard of the Elves? That is not honor. Let him seek
fame by nobler deeds.”

Then Munin flew past his ear, and whispered,--

“Beware of Regin, the master! His heart is poisoned. He would be thy
bane.”

And the two birds flew away to carry the news to Odin in the happy halls
of Gladsheim.

When Regin drew near to look upon the dragon, Siegfried kindly accosted
him: but he seemed not to hear; and a snaky glitter lurked in his eyes,
and his mouth was set and dry, and he seemed as one walking in a dream.

“It is mine now,” he murmured: “it is all mine, now,--the Hoard of the
swarthy elf-folk, the garnered wisdom of ages. The strength of the world
is mine. I will keep, I will save, I will heap up; and none shall have
part or parcel of the treasure which is mine alone.”

Then his eyes fell upon Siegfried; and his cheeks grew dark with wrath,
and he cried out,--

“Why are you here in my way? I am the lord of the Glittering Heath: I am
the master of the Hoard. I am the master, and you are my thrall.”

Siegfried wondered at the change which had taken place in his old
master; but he only smiled at his strange words, and made no answer.

“You have slain my brother!” Regin cried; and his face grew fearfully
black, and his mouth foamed with rage.

“It was my deed and yours,” calmly answered Siegfried. “I have rid the
world of a Terror: I have righted a grievous wrong.”

“You have slain my brother,” said Regin; “and a murderer’s ransom you
shall pay!”

“Take the Hoard for your ransom, and let us each wend his way,” said the
lad.

“The Hoard is mine by rights,” answered Regin still more wrathfully. “I
am the master, and you are my thrall. Why stand you in my way?”

Then, blinded with madness, he rushed at Siegfried as if to strike him
down; but his foot slipped in a puddle of gore, and he pitched headlong
against the sharp edge of Balmung. So sudden was this movement, and so
unlooked for, that the sword was twitched out of Siegfried’s hand, and
fell with a dull splash into the blood-filled pit before him; while
Regin, slain by his own rashness, sank dead upon the ground. Full of
horror, Siegfried turned away, and mounted Greyfell.[EN#12]

“This is a place of blood,” said he, “and the way to glory leads not
through it. Let the Hoard still lie on the Glittering Heath: I will go
my way from hence; and the world shall know me for better deeds than
this.”

And he turned his back on the fearful scene, and rode away; and so
swiftly did Greyfell carry him over the desert land and the mountain
waste, that, when night came, they stood on the shore of the great North
Sea, and the white waves broke at their feet. And the lad sat for a long
time silent upon the warm white sand of the beach, and Greyfell waited
at his side. And he watched the stars as they came out one by one, and
the moon, as it rose round and pale, and moved like a queen across the
sky. And the night wore away, and the stars grew pale, and the moon sank
to rest in the wilderness of waters. And at day-dawn Siegfried looked
towards the west, and midway between sky and sea he thought he saw dark
mountain-tops hanging above a land of mists that seemed to float upon
the edge of the sea.

While he looked, a white ship, with sails all set, came speeding over
the waters towards him. It came nearer and nearer, and the sailors
rested upon their oars as it glided into the quiet harbor. A minstrel,
with long white beard floating in the wind, sat at the prow; and the
sweet music from his harp was wafted like incense to the shore. The
vessel touched the sands: its white sails were reefed as if by magic,
and the crew leaped out upon the beach.

“Hail, Siegfried the Golden!” cried the harper. “Whither do you fare
this summer day?”

“I have come from a land of horror and dread,” answered the lad; “and I
would fain fare to a brighter.”

“Then go with me to awaken the earth from its slumber, and to robe the
fields in their garbs of beauty,” said the harper. And he touched the
strings of his harp, and strains of the softest music arose in the still
morning air. And Siegfried stood entranced, for never before had he
heard such music.

“Tell me who you are!” he cried, when the sounds died away. “Tell me who
you are, and I will go to the ends of the earth with you.”

“I am Bragi,” answered the harper, smiling. And Siegfried noticed then
that the ship was laden with flowers of every hue, and that thousands
of singing birds circled around and above it, filling the air with the
sound of their glad twitterings.

Now, Bragi was the sweetest musician in all the world. It was said by
some that his home was with the song-birds, and that he had learned his
skill from them. But this was only part of the truth: for wherever there
was loveliness or beauty, or things noble and pure, there was Bragi;
and his wondrous power in music and song was but the outward sign of
a blameless soul. When he touched the strings of his golden harp, all
Nature was charmed with the sweet harmony: the savage beasts of the wood
crept near to listen; the birds paused in their flight; the waves of the
sea were becalmed, and the winds were hushed; the leaping waterfall
was still, and the rushing torrent tarried in its bed; the elves forgot
their hidden treasures, and joined in silent dance around him; and the
strom-karls and the musicians of the wood vainly tried to imitate him.
And he was as fair of speech as he was skilful in song. His words were
so persuasive that he had been known to call the fishes from the sea, to
move great lifeless rocks, and, what is harder, the hearts of kings. He
understood the voice of the birds, and the whispering of the breeze, the
murmur of the waves, and the roar of the waterfalls. He knew the length
and breadth of the earth, and the secrets of the sea, and the language
of the stars. And every day he talked with Odin the All-Father, and with
the wise and good in the sunlit halls of Gladsheim. And once every year
he went to the North-lands, and woke the earth from its long winter’s
sleep, and scattered music and smiles and beauty everywhere.[EN#13]

Right gladly did Siegfried agree to sail with Bragi over the sea; for
he wot that the bright Asa-god would be a very different guide from
the cunning, evil-eyed Regin. So he went on board with Bragi, and the
gleaming Greyfell followed them, and the sailors sat at their oars. And
Bragi stood in the prow, and touched the strings of his harp. And, as
the music arose, the white sails leaped up the masts, and a warm south
breeze began to blow; and the little vessel, wafted by sweet sounds and
the incense of spring, sped gladly away over the sea.





Adventure V. In AEgir’s Kingdom.



The vessel in which Siegfried sailed was soon far out at sea; for the
balmy south wind, and the songs of the birds, and the music from Bragi’s
harp, all urged it cheerily on. And Siegfried sat at the helm, and
guided it in its course. By and by they lost all sight of land, and the
sailors wist not where they were; but they knew that Bragi, the Wise,
would bring them safely into some haven whenever it should so please
him, and they felt no fear. And the fishes leaped up out of the water
as the white ship sped by on woven wings; and the monsters of the deep
paused, and listened to the sweet music which floated down from above.
After a time the vessel began to meet great ice-mountains in the
sea,--mountains which the Reifriesen, and old Hoder, the King of the
winter months, had sent drifting down from the frozen land of the north.
But these melted at the sound of Bragi’s music and at the sight of
Siegfried’s radiant armor. And the cold breath of the Frost-giants,
which had driven them in their course, turned, and became the ally of
the south wind.

At length they came in sight of a dark shore, which stretched on either
hand, north and south, as far as the eye could reach; and as they drew
nearer they saw a line of huge mountains, rising, as it were, out of
the water, and stretching their gray heads far above the clouds. And
the overhanging cliffs seemed to look down, half in anger, half in pity,
upon the little white winged vessel which had dared thus to sail through
these unknown waters. But the surface of the sea was smooth as glass;
and the gentle breeze drove the ship slowly forwards through the calm
water, and along the rock-bound coast, and within the dark shadows of
the mountain-peaks. Long ago the Frost-giants had piled great heaps of
snow upon these peaks, and built huge fortresses of ice between,
and sought, indeed, to clasp in their cold embrace the whole of the
Norwegian land. But the breezes of the South-land that came with Bragi’s
ship now played among the rocky steeps, and swept over the frozen
slopes above, and melted the snow and ice; and thousands of rivulets of
half-frozen water ran down the mountain-sides, and tumbled into rocky
gorges, or plunged into the sea. And the grass began to grow on the
sunny slopes, and the flowers peeped up through the half-melted snow,
and the music of spring was heard on every side. Now and then the little
vessel passed by deep, dark inlets enclosed between high mountain-walls,
and reaching many leagues far into land. But the sailors steered clear
of these shadowy fjords; for they said that Ran, the dread Ocean-queen,
lived there, and spread her nets in the deep green waters to entangle
unwary seafaring men. And the sound of Bragi’s harp awakened all
sleeping things; and it was carried from rock to rock, and from
mountain-height to valley, and was borne on the breeze far up the
fjords, and all over the land.

One day, as they were sailing through these quiet waters, beneath the
overhanging cliffs, Bragi tuned his harp, and sang a song of sea. And
then he told Siegfried a story of AEgir and his gold-lit hall.

Old AEgir was the Ocean-king. At most times he was rude and rough, and
his manners were uncouth and boisterous. But when Balder, the Shining
One, smiled kindly upon him from above, or when Bragi played his harp by
the seashore, or sailed his ship on the waters, the heart of the bluff
old king was touched with a kindly feeling, and he tried hard to curb
his ungentle passions, and to cease his blustering ways. He was one of
the old race of giants; and men believe that he would have been a very
good and quiet giant, had it not been for the evil ways of his wife, the
crafty Queen Ran. For, however kind at heart the king might be, his good
intentions were almost always thwarted by the queen. Ran could never be
trusted; and no one, unless it were Loki, the Mischief-maker, could ever
say any thing in her praise. She was always lurking among hidden rocks,
or in the deep sea, or along the shores of silent fjords, and reaching
out with her long lean fingers, seeking to clutch in her greedy grasp
whatever prey might unwarily come near her. And many richly-laden
vessels, and many brave seamen and daring warriors, had she dragged down
to her blue-hung chamber in old AEgir’s hall.

And this is the story that Bragi told of



The Feast in AEgir’s Hall.



It happened long ago, when the good folk at Gladsheim were wont to visit
the mid-world oftener than now. On a day in early autumn Queen Ran,
with her older daughters,--Raging Sea, Breaker, Billow, Surge, and
Surf,--went out to search for plunder. But old AEgir staid at home, and
with him his younger daughters,--fair Purple-hair, gentle Diver, dancing
Ripple, and smiling Sky-clear. And as they played around him, and kissed
his old storm-beaten cheeks, the heart of the king was softened into
gentleness, and he began to think kindly of the green earth which
bordered his kingdom, and of the brave men who lived there; but most of
all did he think of the great and good Asa-folk, who dwell in Asgard,
and overlook the affairs of the world. Then he called his servants,
Funfeng and Elder, and bade them prepare a feast in his gold-lit hall.
And he sent fleet messengers to invite the Asa-folk to come and partake
of the good cheer. And his four young daughters played upon the beach,
and smiled and danced in the beaming sunlight. And the hearts of many
seafaring men were gladdened that day, as they spread their sails to the
wind; for they saw before them a pleasant voyage, and the happy issue of
many an undertaking.

Long before the day had begun to wane, the Asa-folk arrived in a body
at AEgir’s hall; for they were glad to answer the bidding of the
Ocean-king. Odin came, riding Sleipner, his eight-footed steed; Thor
rode in his iron chariot drawn by goats; Frey came with Gullinburste,
his golden-bristled boar. There, too, was the war-like Tyr, and blind
Hoder, and the silent Vidar, and the sage Forsete, and the hearkening
Heimdal, and Niord, the Ruler of the Winds, and Bragi, with his harp;
and lastly came many elves, the thralls of the Asa-folk, and Loki, the
cunning Mischief-maker. In his rude but hearty way old AEgir welcomed
them; and they went down into his amber hall, and rested themselves upon
the sea-green couches that had been spread for them. And a thousand
fair mermaids stood around them, and breathed sweet melodies through
sea-shells of rainbow hue, while the gentle white-veiled daughters of
the Ocean-king danced to the bewitching music.

Hours passed by, and the sun began to slope towards the west, and the
waiting guests grew hungry and ill at ease; and then they began to
wonder why the feast was so long in getting ready. At last the host
himself became impatient; and he sent out in haste for his servants,
Funfeng and Elder. Trembling with fear, they came and stood before him.

“Master,” said they, “we know that you are angry because the feast is
not yet made ready; but we beg that your anger may not fall upon us. The
truth is, that some thief has stolen your brewing-kettle, and we have no
ale for your guests.”

Then old AEgir’s brow grew dark, and his breath came quick and fast;
and, had not Niord held the winds tightly clutched in his hand, there
would have been a great uproar in the hall. Even as it was, the mermaids
fled away in great fright, and the white-veiled Waves stopped dancing,
and a strange silence fell upon all the company.

“Some enemy has done this!” crier AEgir, as soon as he could speak.
“Some enemy has taken away my brewing-kettle; and, unless we can find
it, I fear our feast will be but a dry one.”

Then Thor said,--

“If any one knows where this kettle is, let him speak, and I will bring
it back; and I promise you you shall not wait long for the feast.”

But not one in all this company knew aught about the missing kettle. At
last Tyr stood up and said,--

“If we cannot find the same vessel that our host has lost, mayhap we
may find another as good. I know a dogwise giant who lives east of the
Rivers Elivagar, and who has a strong kettle, fully a mile deep, and
large enough to brew ale for all the world.”

“That is the very kettle we want!” cried Thor. “Think you that we can
get it?”

“If we are cunning enough, we may,” answered Tyr. “But old Hymer will
never give it up willingly.”

“Is it Hymer of whom you speak?” asked Thor. “Then I know him well; and,
willingly or not willingly he must let us have his kettle. For what is a
feast without the gladsome ale?”

Then Thor and Tyr set out on their journey towards the land of Elivagar;
and they travelled many a league northwards, across snowy mountains
and barren plains, until they came to the shores of the frozen sea. And
there the sun rises and sets but once a year, and even in summer the sea
is full of ice. On the lonely beach, stood Hymer’s dwelling,--a dark
and gloomy abode. Tyr knocked at the door; and it was opened by Hymer’s
wife, a strangely handsome woman, who bade them come in. Inside the hall
they saw Hymer’s old mother, sitting in the chimney-corner, and crooning
over the smouldering fire. She was a horribly ugly old giantess, with
nine hundred heads; but every head was blind and deaf and toothless. Ah,
me! what a wretched old age that must have been!

“Is your husband at home?” asked Thor, speaking to the pretty woman who
had opened the door.

“He is not,” was the answer. “He is catching fish in the warm waters of
the sheltered bay; or, mayhap, he is tending his cows in the open sea,
just around the headland.”

For the great icebergs that float down from the frozen sea are called
old Hymer’s cows.

“We have come a very long journey,” said Tyr. “Will you not give
two tired strangers food and lodging until they shall have rested
themselves?”

The woman seemed in nowise loath to do this; and she set before the two
Asa-folk a plentiful meal of the best that she had in the house. When
they had eaten, she told them that it would be far safer for them to
hide themselves under the great kettles in the hall; for, she said, her
husband would soon be home, and he might not be kind to them. So Thor
and Tyr hid themselves, and listened for Hymer’s coming. After a time,
the great hall-door opened, and they heard the heavy steps of the giant.

“Welcome home!” cried the woman, as Hymer shook the frost from his hair
and beard, and stamped the snow from his feet. “I am so glad that you
have come! for there are two strangers in the hall, and they have asked
for you. One of them I know is Thor, the foe of the giants, and the
friend of man. The other is the one-armed god of war, the brave Tyr.
What can be their errand at Hymer’s hall?”

“Where are they?” roared Hymer, stamping so furiously, that even his
deaf old mother seemed to hear, and lifted up her heads.

“They are under the kettles, at the gable-end of the hall,” answered the
woman.

Hymer cast a wrathful glance towards the place. The post at the end of
the hall was shivered in pieces by his very look; the beam that upheld
the floor of the loft was broken, and all the kettles tumbled down with
a fearful crash. Thor and Tyr crept out from among the rubbish, and
stood before old Hymer. The giant was not well pleased at the sight of
such guests come thus unbidden to his hall. But he knew that his rude
strength would count as nothing if matched with their skill and weapons:
hence he deemed it wise to treat the two Asas as his friends, and to
meet them with cunning and strategy.

“Welcome to my hall!” he cried. “Fear no hurt from Hymer, for he was
never known to harm a guest.”

And Thor and Tyr were given the warmest seats at the fireside. And the
giant ordered his thralls to kill the fatted oxen, and to make ready a
great feast in honor of his guests. And, while the meal was being got
ready, he sat by Thor’s side, and asked him many questions about what
was going on in the great South-land. And Thor answered him pleasantly,
meeting guile with guile. When the feast was in readiness, all sat down
at the table, which groaned beneath its weight of meat and drink; for
Hymer’s thralls had killed three fat oxen, and baked them whole for
this meal, and they had filled three huge bowls with ale from his great
brewing-kettle. Hymer ate and drank very fast, and wished to make his
guests fear him, because he could eat so much. But Thor was not to be
taken aback in this way; for he at once ate two of the oxen, and quaffed
a huge bowl of ale which the giant had set aside for himself. The giant
saw that he was outdone, and he arose from the table, saying,--

“Not all my cows would serve to feed two guests so hungry as these. We
shall be obliged to live on fish now.”

He strode out of the hall without another word, and began getting his
boat ready for a sail. But Thor followed him.

“It is a fine day for fishing,” said Thor gayly. “How I should like to
go out with you!”

“Such little fellows as you would better stay at home,” growled Hymer.

“But let me go with you,” persisted Thor. “I can certainly row the boat
while you fish.”

“I have no need of help from such a stunted pygmy,” muttered the giant.
“You could not be of the least use to me: you would only be in my way.
Still, if you are bent on doing so, you may go, and you shall take all
the risks. If I go as far as I do sometimes, and stay as long as I often
do, you may make up your mind never to see the dry land again; for you
will certainly catch your death of cold, and be food for the fishes--if,
indeed, they would deign to eat such a scrawny scrap!”

These taunting words made Thor so angry, that he grasped his hammer, and
was sorely tempted to crush the giant’s skull. But he checked himself,
and coolly said,--

“I pray you not to trouble yourself on my account I have set my head on
going with you, and go I will. Tell me where I can find something that I
can use for bait, and I will be ready in a trice.”

“I have no bait for you,” roughly answered Hymer “You must look for it
yourself.”

Half a dozen oxen, the very finest and fattest of Hymer’s herd, were
grazing on the short grass which grew on the sunnier slopes of the
hillside; for not all of the giant’s cattle had yet taken to the water.
When Thor saw these great beasts, he ran quickly towards them, and
seizing the largest one, which Hymer called the Heaven-breaker, he
twisted off his head as easily as he would that of a small fowl, and ran
back with it to the boat. Hymer looked at him in anger and amazement,
but said nothing; and the two pushed the boat off from the shore. The
little vessel sped through the water more swiftly than it had ever done
before, for Thor plied the oars.

In a moment the long, low beach was out of sight; and Hymer, who had
never travelled so fast, began to feel frightened.

“Stop!” he cried. “Here is the place to fish: I have often caught great
store of flat-fish here. Let us out with our lines!”

“No, no!” answered Thor; and he kept on plying the oars. “We are not yet
far enough from shore. The best fish are still many leagues out.”

And the boat skimmed onwards through the waters, and the white spray
dashed over the prow; and Hymer, now very much frightened, sat still,
and looked at his strange fellow-fisherman, but said not a word. On and
on they went; and the shore behind them first grew dim, and then sank
out of sight; and the high mountain-tops began to fade away in the sky,
and then were seen no more. And when at last the fishermen were so far
out at sea that nothing was in sight but the rolling waters on every
side, Thor stopped his rowing.

“We have come too far!” cried the giant, trembling in every limb. “The
great Midgard snake lies hereabouts. Let us turn back!”

“Not yet,” answered Thor quietly. “We will fish here a little while.”

Without loss of time he took from his pocket a strong hook, wonderfully
made, to which he fastened a long line as strong as ten ships’ cables
twisted together; then he carefully baited the hook with the gory head
of the Heaven-breaker ox, and threw it into the water. As the giant had
feared, they were now right over the head of the great Midgard snake.
The huge beast looked upward with his sleepy eyes, and saw the tempting
bait falling slowly through the water; but he did not see the boat, it
was so far above him. Thinking of no harm, he opened his leathern jaws,
and greedily gulped the morsel down; but the strong iron hook stuck fast
in his throat. Maddened by the pain, he began to lash his tail against
the floor of the sea; and he twisted and writhed until the ocean was
covered with foam, and the waves ran mountain-high. But Thor pulled hard
upon the line above, and strove to lift the reptile’s head out of the
water; then the snake darted with lightning speed away, pulling the boat
after him so swiftly, that, had not Thor held on to the oar-locks, he
would have been thrown into the sea. Quickly he tightened his magic
girdle of strength around him, and, standing up in the boat, he pulled
with all his might. The snake would not be lifted. But the boat split in
two; and Thor slid into the water, and stood upon the bottom of the sea.
He seized the great snake in his hands, and raised his head clean above
the water. What a scene of frightful turmoil was there then! The earth
shook; the mountains belched forth fire; the lightnings flashed; the
caves howled; and the sky grew black and red. Nobody knows what the end
would have been, had not Hymer reached over, and cut the strong cord.
The slippery snake glided out of Thor’s hands, and hid himself in the
deep sea; and every thing became quiet again.

Silently Thor and Hymer sat in the broken boat, and rowed swiftly back
towards land. Thor felt really ashamed of himself, because he had gained
nothing by his venture. And the giant was not at all happy.

When they reached the frozen shore and Hymer’s cheerless castle again,
they found Tyr there, anxiously waiting for them. He felt that they were
tarrying too long in this dreary place; and he wished to be back among
his fellows in old AEgir’s hall. Hymer felt very cross and ugly because
his boat had been broken; and, when they came into the hall, he said to
Thor,--

“You may think that you are very stout,--you who dared attack the
Midgard snake, and lifted him out of the sea. Yet there are many little
things that you cannot do. For instance, here is the earthen goblet from
which I drink my ale. Great men, like myself, can crush such goblets
between their thumbs and fingers; but such puny fellows as you will find
that they cannot break it by any means.”

“Let me try!” cried Thor.

He took the great goblet in his hands, and threw it with all his
strength against a stone post in the middle of the hall. The post was
shattered into a thousand pieces, but the goblet was unharmed.

“Ha, ha!” laughed the giant. “Try again!”

Thor did so. This time he threw it against a huge granite rock that
stood like a mountain near the seashore. The rock crumbled in pieces and
fell, but the goblet was whole as ever.

“What a very stout fellow you are!” cried Hymer in glee. “Go home now,
and tell the good Asa-folk that you cannot even break a goblet!”

“Let me try once more,” said Thor, amazed, but not disheartened.

“Throw it against Hymer’s forehead,” whispered some one over his
shoulder. “It is harder than any rock.”

Thor looked, and saw that it was the giant’s handsome wife who had
given him this kind advice. He took the goblet, and hurled it quickly,
straight at old Hymer’s head. The giant had no time to dodge. The
vessel struck him squarely between the eyes, and was shattered into ten
thousand little pieces. But the giant’s forehead was unhurt.

“That drink was rather hot!” cried Hymer, trying to joke at his ill
luck. “But it doesn’t take a very great man to break a goblet. There
is one thing, however, that you cannot do. Yonder is my great
brewing-kettle, a mile deep. No man has ever lifted it. Now, if you will
carry it out of the hall, where it sits, you may have it for your own.”

“Agreed!” cried Thor. “It is a fair bargain; and, if I fail, I will go
home and never trouble you again.”

Then he took hold of the edge of the great kettle, and lifted it with
all his might. The floor of Hymer’s hall broke under him, and the walls
and roof came tumbling down; but he turned the kettle over his head,
and walked away with it, the great rings of the vessel clattering at his
heels. Tyr went before him, and cleared the way; and Hymer gazed
after him in utter amazement. The two Asa-folk had fairly won the
brewing-kettle.

In due time they reached old AEgir’s hall, where the guests were still
waiting for them. Some said that they had been gone three days, but most
agreed that it was only three hours. Be that as it may, AEgir’s thralls,
Funfeng and Elder, brewed great store of ale in the kettle which Thor
had brought; and, when the guests were seated at the table, the foaming
liquor passed itself around to each, and there was much merriment and
glad good cheer. And old AEgir was so happy in the pleasant company of
the Asa-folk, that men say that he forgot to blow and bluster for a full
six months thereafter.[EN#14]

Such was the story which the wise harper told to Siegfried as they
sailed gayly along the Norwegian shore. And with many other pleasant
tales did they beguile the hours away. And no one ever thought of
danger, for the sky was blue and cloudless. And, besides this, Bragi
himself was on board; and he could charm and control the rudest
elements.

One day, however, the sea became unaccountably ruffled. There was no
wind; but yet the waves rose suddenly, and threatened to overwhelm the
little ship. Quickly the sailors sprang to their oars, and tried by
rowing to drive the vessel away from the shore and into the quieter
waters of the open sea. But all their strength was of no avail: the
swift stream carried the little bark onward in its course, as an autumn
leaf is borne on the bosom of a mighty river. Then the whole surface
of the water seemed lashed into fury. The waves formed hundreds of
currents, each stronger than a mountain torrent, and each seeming to
follow a course of its own. They clashed wildly against each other; they
heaved, and boiled, and hissed, and threw great clouds of spray high
into the air; they formed deep whirlpools, which twisted and twirled,
and broke into a thousand eddies, and then plunged deep down into rocky
caverns beneath, or laid bare the bottom of the sea. The helpless ship
was carried round and round, swiftly and more swiftly still; and vain
were the efforts of the crew to steer her out of the seething caldron
of waters. Then the cheeks of the sailors grew white with fear; and they
dropped their oars, and clung to the masts and ropes, and cried out,--

“Alas, we are lost! This is old AEgir’s brewing-kettle!”

But Siegfried stood by the helm, and said,--

“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 tw

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