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The Story of Siegfried

James Baldwin

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Title: The Story of Siegfried

Author: James Baldwin

Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6866]

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The Story of Siegfried

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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

ads:

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

twelve weeks from that day, to come with a great army, and

lay the country waste, and besiege their city and castle.

All this they had sworn to do unless the Burgundians would

make peace with them upon such terms as Leudiger and

Leudigast should please to grant.

When Gunther and his brothers heard this, they were struck

with dismay. But they ordered the messengers to be well

cared for and handsomely entertained within the palace until

the morrow, at which time they should have the Burgundians'

answer. All the noblest knights and earl-folk were called

together, and the matter was laid before them.

"What answer shall we send to our rude neighbors of the

North?" asked Gunther.

Gernot and the young Giselher declared at once for war. Old

Hagen and other knights, whose prudence was at least equal

to their bravery, said but little. It was known, that, in

the armies of the North-kings, there were at least forty

thousand soldiers; but in Burgundy there were not more than

thirty thousand fighting-men, all told. The North-kings'

forces were already equipped, and ready to march; but the

Burgundians could by no means raise and arm any considerable

body of men in the short space of twelve weeks. It would be

the part of wisdom to delay, and to see what terms could

best be made with their enemies. Such were the prudent

counsels of the older knights, but Gernot and the young

chief Volker would not listen to such words.

"The Burgundians are not cowards," said they. "We have never

been foiled in battle; never have we been the vassals of a

stranger. Why, then, shall we cringe and cower before such

men as Leudiger and Leudigast?"

Then Hagen answered, "Let us ask our friend and guest

Siegfried. Let us learn what he thinks about this business.

Everybody knows that he is as wise in council as he is brave

in the field. We will abide by what he says."

But Gunther and Gernot and the young Giselher were unwilling

to do this; for it was not their custom to annoy their

guests with questions which should be allowed to trouble

themselves alone. And the kings and their counsellors went

out of the council-chamber, each to ponder in silence upon

the troublesome question.

As Gunther, with downcast head and troubled brow, walked

thoughtfully through the great hall, he unexpectedly met

Siegfried.

"What evil tidings have you heard?" asked the prince,

surprised at the strange mien of the king. "What has gone

amiss, that should cause such looks of dark perplexity?"

"That is a matter which I can tell only to friends long

tried and true," answered Gunther.

Siegfried was surprised and hurt by these words; and he

cried out,--

"What more would Gunther ask of me that I might prove my

friendship? Surely I have tried to merit his esteem and

trust. Tell me what troubles you, and I will further show

myself to be your friend both tried and true."

Then Gunther was ashamed of the words he had spoken to his

guest; and he took Siegfried into his own chamber, and told

him all; and he asked him what answer they should send on

the morrow to the overbearing North-kings.

"Tell them we will fight," answered Siegfried. "I myself

will lead your warriors to the fray. Never shall it be said

that my friends have suffered wrong, and I not tried to help

them."

Then he and Gunther talked over the plans which they would

follow. And the clouds fled at once from the brow of the

king, and he was no longer troubled or doubtful; for he

believed in Siegfried.

The next morning the heralds of the North-kings were brought

again before Gunther and his brothers; and they were told to

carry this word to their masters,--

"The Burgundians will fight. They will make no terms with

their enemies, save such as they make of their own

free-will."

Then the heralds were loaded with costly presents, and a

company of knights and warriors went with them to the

border-line of Burgundy; and, filled with wonder at what

they had seen, they hastened back to their liege lords, and

told all that had happened to them. And Leudiger and

Leudigast were very wroth when they heard the answer which

the Burgundians had sent to them; but, when they learned

that the noble Siegfried was at Gunther's castle, they shook

their heads, and seemed to feel more doubtful of success.

Many and busy were the preparations for war, and in a very

few days all things were in readiness for the march

northwards. It was settled that Siegfried with his twelve

Nibelungen chiefs, and a thousand picked men, should go

forth to battle against their boastful enemies. The

dark-browed Hagen, as he had always done, rode at the head

of the company, and by his side was Siegfried on the noble

horse Greyfell. Next came Gernot and the bold chief Volker,

bearing the standard, upon which a golden dragon was

engraved; then followed Dankwart and Ortwin, and the twelve

worthy comrades of Siegfried; and then the thousand

warriors, the bravest in all Rhineland, mounted on impatient

steeds, and clad in bright steel armor, with broad shields,

and plumed helmets, and burnished swords, and sharp-pointed

spears. And all rode proudly out through the great

castle-gate. And Gunther and the young Giselher and all the

fair ladies of the court bade them God-speed.

The little army passed through the forest, and went

northwards, until, on the fifth day, they reached the

boundaries of Saxon Land. And Siegfried gave spur to his

horse Greyfell, and, leaving the little army behind him,

hastened forwards to see where the enemy was encamped. As he

reached the top of a high hill, he saw the armies of the

North-kings resting carelessly in the valley beyond.

Knights, mounted on their horses, rode hither and thither:

the soldiers sauntered lazily among the trees, or slept upon

the grass; arms were thrown about in great disorder, or

stacked in piles near the smoking camp-fires. No one dreamed

of danger; but all supposed that the Burgundians were still

at home, and would never dare to attack a foe so numerous

and so strong.

For it was, indeed, a mighty army which Siegfried saw before

him. Full forty thousand men were there; and they not only

filled the valley, but spread over the hills beyond, and far

to the right and left.

While he stood at the top of the hill, and gazed upon this

sight, a warrior, who had spied him from below, rode up, and

paused before him. Like two black thunder-clouds, with

lightning flashing between, the two knights stood facing

each other, and casting wrathful glances from beneath their

visors. Then each spurred his horse, and charged with fury

upon the other; and the heavy lances of both were broken in

shivers upon the opposing shields. Then, quick as thought,

they turned and drew their swords, and hand to hand they

fought. But soon Siegfried, by an unlooked-for stroke, sent

his enemy's sword flying from him, broken in a dozen pieces,

and by a sudden movement he threw him from his horse. The

heavy shield of the fallen knight was no hinderance to the

quick strokes of Siegfried's sword; and his glittering

armor, soiled by the mud into which he had been thrown, held

him down. He threw up his hands, and begged for mercy.

"I am Leudigast the king!" he cried. "Spare my life. I am

your prisoner."

Siegfried heard the prayer of the discomfited king; and,

lifting him from the ground, he helped him to remount his

charger. But, while he was doing this, thirty warriors, who

had seen the combat from below, came dashing up the hill to

the rescue of their liege-lord. Siegfried faced about with

his horse Greyfell, and quietly waited for their onset. But,

as they drew near, they were so awed by the noble bearing

and grand proportions of the hero, and so astonished at

sight of the sunbeam mane of Greyfell, and the cold glitter

of the blade Balmung, that in sudden fright they stopped,

then turned, and fled in dismay down the sloping hillside,

nor paused until they were safe among their friends.

In the mean while Leudiger, the other king, seeing what was

going on at the top of the hill, had caused an alarm to be

sounded; and all his hosts had hastily arranged themselves

in battle-array. At the same time Hagen and Gernot, and

their little army of heroes, hove in sight, and came quickly

to Siegfried's help, and the dragon-banner was planted upon

the crest of the hill. The captive king, Leudigast, was

taken to the rear, and a guard was placed over him. The

champions of the Rhine formed in line, and faced their foes.

The great army of the North-kings moved boldly up the hill:

and, when they saw how few were the Burgundians, they

laughed and cheered most lustily; for they felt that the

odds was in their favor--and forty to one is no small odds.

Then Siegfried and his twelve comrades, and Hagen and the

thousand Burgundian knights, dashed upon them with the fury

of the whirlwind. The lances flew so thick in the air, that

they hid the sun from sight; swords flashed on every side;

the sound of clashing steel, and horses' hoofs, and

soldiers' shouts, filled earth and sky with a horrid din.

And soon the boastful foes of the Burgundians were

everywhere worsted, and thrown into disorder. Siegfried

dashed hither and thither, from one part of the field to

another, in search of King Leudiger. Thrice he cut his way

through the ranks, and at last he met face to face the one

for whom he sought.

King Leudiger saw the flashing sunbeams that glanced from

Greyfell's mane, he saw the painted crown upon the hero's

broad shield, and then he felt the fearful stroke of the

sword Balmung, as it clashed against his own, and cut it

clean in halves. He dropped his weapons, raised his visor,

and gave himself up as a prisoner.

"Give up the fight, my brave fellows," he cried. "This is

Siegfried the brave, the Prince of the Lowlands, and the

Lord of Nibelungen Land. It were foolishness to fight

against him. Save yourselves as best you can."

This was the signal for a frightful panic. All turned and

fled. Each thought of nothing but his own safety; and

knights and warriors, horsemen and foot-soldiers, in one

confused mass, throwing shields and weapons here and there,

rushed wildly down the hill, and through the valley and

ravines, and sought, as best they could, their way homeward.

The Burgundian heroes were the masters of the field, and on

the morrow they turned their faces joyfully towards

Rhineland. And all joined in saying that to Siegfried was

due the praise for this wonderful victory which they had

gained.

Heralds had been sent on the fleetest horses to carry the

glad news to Burgundy; and when, one morning, they dashed

into the court-yard of the castle, great was the anxiety to

know what tidings they brought. And King Gunther, and the

young Giselher, and the peerless Kriemhild, came out to

welcome them, and eagerly to inquire what had befallen the

heroes. With breathless haste the heralds told the story of

all that had happened.

"And how fares our brother Gernot?" asked Kriemhild.

"There is no happier man on earth," answered the herald. "In

truth, there was not a coward among them all; but the

bravest of the brave was Siegfried. He it was who took the

two kings prisoners; and everywhere in the thickest of the

fight there was Siegfried. And now our little army is on its

homeward march, with a thousand prisoners, and large numbers

of the enemy's wounded. Had it not been for the brave

Siegfried, no such victory could have been won."

In a few days the Rhine champions reached their home. And

gayly were the castle and all the houses in the city decked

in honor of them. And all those who had been left behind

went out to meet them as they came down from the

forest-road, and drew near to the castle. And the young

girls strewed flowers in their path, and hung garlands upon

their horses; and music and song followed the heroes into

the city, and through the castle-gate.

When they reached the palace, the two prisoner kings,

Leudiger and Leudigast, were loosed from their bonds, and

handsomely entertained at Gunther's table. And the

Burgundian kings assured them that they should be treated as

honored guests, and have the freedom of the court and

castle, if they would pledge themselves not to try to escape

from Burgundy until terms of peace should be agreed upon.

This pledge they gladly gave, and rich apartments in the

palace were assigned for their use. Like favors were shown

to all the prisoners, according to their rank; and the

wounded were kindly cared for. And the Burgundians made

ready for a gay high-tide,--a glad festival of rejoicing, to

be held at the next full moon.

When the day drew near which had been set for this

high-tide, the folk from all parts of Rhineland began to

flock towards the city. They came in companies, with music

and laughter, and the glad songs of the spring-time. And all

the knights were mounted on gallant horses caparisoned with

gold-red saddles, from which hung numbers of tinkling silver

bells. As they rode up the sands towards the castle-gate,

with their dazzling shields upon their saddle-bows, and

their gay and many-colored banners floating in the air, King

Gernot and the young Giselher, with the noblest knights of

the fortress, went courteously out to meet them; and the

friendly greetings which were offered by the two young kings

won the hearts of all. Thirty and two princes and more than

five thousand warriors came as bidden guests. The city and

castle were decked in holiday attire, and all the people in

the land gave themselves up to enjoyment. The sick and the

wounded, who until now had thought themselves at death's

door, forgot their ailments and their pains as they heard

the shouts of joy and the peals of music in the streets.

In a green field outside of the city walls, arrangements had

been made for the games, and galleries and high stages had

been built for the lookers-on. Here jousts and tournaments

were held, and the knights and warriors engaged in trials of

strength and skill. When King Gunther saw with what keen

enjoyment both his own people and his guests looked upon

these games, and took part in the gay festivities, he asked

of those around him,--

"What more can we do to heighten the pleasures of the day?"

And one of his counsellors answered,--

"My lord, the ladies of the court, and the little children,

pine in silence in the sunless rooms of the palace, while we

enjoy the free air and light of heaven, the music, and the

gay scenes before us. There is nothing wanting to make this

day's joy complete, save the presence of our dear ones to

share these pleasures with us."

Gunther was delighted to hear these words; and he sent a

herald to the palace, and invited all the ladies of the

court and all the children to come out and view the games,

and join in the general gladness.

When Dame Ute heard the message which the herald brought

from her kingly son, she hastened to make ready rich dresses

and costly jewels wherewith to adorn the dames and damsels

of the court. And, when all were in readiness, the peerless

Kriemhild, with her mother at her side, went forth from the

castle; and a hundred knights, all sword in hand, went with

her as a body-guard, and a great number of noble ladies

dressed in rich attire followed her. As the red dawn peers

forth from behind gray clouds, and drives the mists and

shadows away from earth, so came the lovely one. As the

bright full moon in radiant splendor moves in queen-like

beauty before her train of attendant stars, and outshines

them all, so was Kriemhild the most glorious among all the

noble ladies there. And the thousand knights and warriors

paused in their games, and greeted the peerless princess as

was due to one so noble and fair. Upon the highest platform,

under a rich canopy of cloth-of-gold, seats were made ready

for the maiden and her mother and the fair ladies in their

train; and all the most worthy princes in Rhineland sat

around, and the games were begun again.

For twelve days the gay high-tide lasted, and nought was

left undone whereby the joy might be increased. And of all

the heroes and princes who jousted in the tournament, or

took part in the games, none could equal the unassuming

Siegfried; and his praises were heard on every hand, and all

agreed that he was the most worthy prince that they had ever

seen.

When at last the festal days came to an end, Gunther and his

brothers called their guests and vassals around them, and

loaded them with costly gifts, and bade them God-speed. And

tears stood in the eyes of all at parting.

The captive kings, Leudiger and Leudigast, were not

forgotten.

"What will ye give me for your freedom?" asked King Gunther,

half in jest.

They answered,--

"If you will allow us without further hinderance to go back

to our people, we pledge our lives and our honor that we

will straightway send you gold, as much as half a thousand

horses can carry."

Then Gunther turned to Siegfried, and said,--

"What think you, friend Siegfried, of such princely ransom?"

"Noble lord," said Siegfried, "I think you are in need of no

such ransom. Friendship is worth much more than gold. If

your kingly captives will promise, on their honor, never

more to come towards Burgundy as enemies, let them go. We

have no need of gold."

"'Tis well said," cried Gunther highly pleased.

And Leudiger and Leudigast, with tears of thankfulness,

gladly made the asked-for promise, and on the morrow, with

light hearts and costly gifts, they set out on their journey

homewards.

When all the guests had gone, and the daily routine of idle

palace-life set in again, Siegfried began to talk of going

back to Nibelungen Land. But young Giselher, and the

peerless Kriemhild, and King Gunther, besought him to stay

yet a little longer. And he yielded to their kind wishes.

And autumn passed away with its fruits and its vintage, and

grim old winter came howling down from the north, and

Siegfried was still in Burgundy. And then old Hoder, the

king of the winter months, came blustering through the Rhine

valley; and with him were the Reifriesen,--the thieves that

steal the daylight from the earth and the warmth from the

sun. And they nipped the flowers, and withered the grass,

and stripped the trees, and sealed up the rivers, and

covered the earth with a white mantle of sorrow.

But within King Gunther's wide halls there was joy and good

cheer. And the season of the Yule-feast came, and still

Siegfried tarried in Burgundy-land.

Adventure XIII

The Story of Balder.

There was mirth in King Gunther's dwelling, for the time of

the Yule-feast had come. The broad banquet hall was gayly

decked with cedar and spruce and sprigs of the mistletoe;

and the fires roared in the great chimneys, throwing warmth

and a ruddy glow of light into every corner of the room. The

long table fairly groaned under its weight of good cheer. At

its head sat the kings and the earl-folk; and before them,

on a silver platter of rare workmanship, was the head of a

huge wild boar,--the festal offering to the good Frey, in

honor of whom the Yule-feast was held. For now the sun,

which had been driven by the Frost-giants far away towards

the South-land, had begun to return, and Frey was on his way

once more to scatter peace and plenty over the land.

The harp and the wassail-bowl went round; and each one of

the company sang a song, or told a story, or in some way did

his part to add to the evening's enjoyment. And a young

sea-king who sat at Siegfried's side told most bewitching

tales of other lands which lie beyond Old AEgir's kingdom.

Then, when the harp came to him, he sang the wondrous song

of the shaping of the earth. And all who heard were charmed

with the sweet sound and with the pleasant words. He sang of

the sunlight and the south winds and the summer-time, of the

storms and the snow and the sombre shadows of the

North-land. And he sang of the dead Ymir, the giant whose

flesh had made the solid earth, and whose blood the sea, and

whose bones the mountains, whose teeth the cliffs and crags,

and whose skull the heavens. And he sang of Odin, the

earth's preserver, the Giver of life, the Father of all; and

of the Asa-folk who dwell in Asgard; and of the ghostly

heroes in Valhal. Then he sang of the heaven-tower of the

thunder-god, and of the shimmering Asa-bridge, or rainbow,

all afire; and, lastly, of the four dwarfs who hold the blue

sky-dome above them, and of the elves of the mountains, and

of the wood-sprites and the fairies. Then he laid aside his

harp, and told the old but ever-beautiful story of the death

of Balder the Good.

The Story.

Balder, as you know, was Odin's son; and he was the

brightest and best of all the Asa-folk. Wherever he went,

there were gladness and light-hearted mirth, and blooming

flowers, and singing birds, and murmuring waterfalls.

Balder, too, was a hero, but not one of the blustering kind,

like Thor. He slew no giants; he never went into battle; he

never tried to make for himself a name among the dwellers of

the mid-world; and yet he was a hero of the noblest type. He

dared to do right, and to stand up for the good, the true,

and the beautiful. There are still some such heroes, but the

world does not always hear of them.

Hoder, the blind king of the winter months, was Balder's

brother, and as unlike him as darkness is unlike daylight.

While one rejoiced, and was merry and cheerful, the other

was low-spirited and sad. While one scattered sunshine and

blessings everywhere, the other carried with him a sense of

cheerlessness and gloom. Yet the brothers loved each other

dearly.

One night Balder dreamed a strange dream, and when he awoke

he could not forget it. All day long he was thoughtful and

sad, and he was not his own bright, happy self. His mother,

the Asa-queen, saw that something troubled him; and she

asked,--

"Whence comes that cloud upon your brow? Will you suffer it

to chase away all your sunshine? and will you become, like

your brother Hoder, all frowns and sighs and tears?"

Then Balder told her what he had dreamed; and she, too, was

sorely troubled, for it was a frightful dream, and foreboded

dire disasters. Then both she and Balder went to Odin, and

to him they told the cause of their uneasiness. And the

All-Father also was distressed; for he knew that such

dreams, dreamed by Asa-folk, were the forewarnings of evil.

So he saddled his eight-footed steed Sleipner; and, without

telling any one where he was going, he rode with the speed

of the winds down into the Valley of Death. The dog that

guards the gateway to that dark and doleful land came out to

meet him. Blood was on the fierce beast's breast, and he

barked loudly and angrily at the All-Father and his wondrous

horse. But Odin sang sweet magic songs as he drew near; and

the dog was charmed with the sound, and Sleipner and his

rider went onward in safety. And they passed the dark halls

of the pale-faced queen, and came to the east gate of the

valley. There stood the low hut of a witch who lived in

darkness, and, like the Norns, spun the thread of fate for

gods and men.

Odin stood before the hut, and sang a wondrous song of

witchery and enchantment; and he laid a spell upon the weird

woman, and forced her to come out of her dark dwelling, and

to answer his questions.

"Who is this stranger?" asked the witch. "Who is this

unknown who calls me from my narrow home, and sets an

irksome task for me? Long have I been left alone in my quiet

house; nor recked I that the snow sometimes covered with its

cold white mantle both me and my resting-place, or that the

pattering rain and the gently falling dew often moistened

the roof of my dwelling. Long have I rested quietly, and I

do not wish now to be aroused."

"I am Valtam's son," said Odin; "and I come to learn of

thee. Tell me, I pray, for whom are the soft couches

prepared that I saw in the broad halls of Death? For whom

are the jewels, and the rings, and the rich clothing, and

the shining shield?"

"All are for Balder, Odin's son," she answered. "And the

mead which has been brewed for him is hidden beneath the

shining shield."

Then Odin asked who would be the slayer of Balder, and she

answered that Hoder was the one who would send the shining

Asa to the halls of Death.

"Who will avenge Balder, and bring distress upon his

slayer?" asked Odin.

"A son of Earth but one day old shall be Balder's avenger.

Go thou now home, Odin; for I know thou art not Valtam's

son. Go home; and none shall again awaken me, nor disturb me

at my task, until the new day shall dawn, and Balder shall

rule over the young world in its purity, and there shall be

no more Death."

Then Odin rode sorrowfully homeward; but he told no one of

his journey to the Dark Valley, nor of what the weird witch

had said to him.

Balder's mother, the Asa-queen, could not rest because of

the ill-omened dream that her son had had; and in her

distress she called all the Asa-folk together to consider

what should be done. But they were speechless with sorrow

and alarm; and none could offer advice, nor set her mind at

ease. Then she sought out every living creature, and every

lifeless thing, upon the earth, and asked each one to swear

that it would not on any account hurt Balder, nor touch him

to do him harm. And this oath was willingly made by fire and

water, earth and air, by all beasts and creeping things and

birds and fishes, by the rocks and by the trees and all

metals; for every thing loved Balder the Good.

Then the Asa-folk thought that great honor was shown to

Balder each time any thing refused to hurt him; and to show

their love for him, as well as to amuse themselves, they

often hewed at him with their battle-axes, or struck at him

with their sharp swords, or hurled toward him their heavy

lances. For every weapon turned aside from its course, and

would neither mark nor bruise the shining target at which it

was aimed; and Balder's princely beauty shone as bright and

as pure as ever.

When Loki the Mischief-maker saw how all things loved and

honored Balder, his heart was filled with jealous hate, and

he sought all over the earth for some beast or bird or tree

or lifeless thing, that had not taken the oath. But he could

find not one. Then, disguised as a fair maiden, he went to

Fensal Hall, where dwelt Balder's mother. The fair Asa-queen

was busy at her distaff, with her golden spindles, spinning

flax to be woven into fine linen for the gods. And her

maid-servant, Fulla of the flowing hair, sat on a stool

beside her. When the queen saw Loki, she asked,--

"Whence come you, fair stranger? and what favor would you

ask of Odin's wife?"

"I come," answered the disguised Loki, "from the plains of

Ida, where the gods meet for pleasant pastime, as well as to

talk of the weightier matters of their kingdom."

"And how do they while away their time to-day?" asked the

queen.

"They have a pleasant game which they call Balder's Honor,"

was the answer. "The shining hero stands before them as a

target, and each one tries his skill at hurling some weapon

toward him. First Odin throws at him the spear Gungner,

which never before was known to miss its mark; but it passes

harmlessly over Balder's head. Then Thor takes up a huge

rock, and hurls it full at Balder's breast; but it turns in

its course, and will not smite the sun-bright target. Then

Tyr seizes a battle-axe, and strikes at Balder as though he

would hew him down; but the keen edge refuses to touch him:

and in this way the Asa-folk show honor to the best of their

number."

The Asa-queen smiled in the glad pride of her mother-heart,

and said, "Yes, every thing shows honor to the best of

Odin's sons; for neither metal nor wood nor stone nor fire

nor water will touch Balder to do him harm."

"Is it true, then," asked Loki, "that every thing has made

an oath to you, and promised not to hurt your son?"

And the queen, not thinking what harm an unguarded word

might do, answered, "Every thing has promised, save a little

feeble sprig that men call the mistletoe. So small and weak

it is, that I knew it could never harm any one; and so I

passed it by, and did not ask it to take the oath."

Then Loki went out of Fensal Hall, and left the Asa-queen at

her spinning. And he walked briskly away, and paused not

until he came to the eastern side of Valhal, where, on the

branches of an old oak, the mistletoe grew. Rudely he tore

the plant from its supporting branch, and hid it under his

cloak. Then he walked leisurely back to the place where the

Asa-folk were wont to meet in council.

The next day the Asas went out, as usual, to engage in

pleasant pastimes on the plains of Ida. When they had tired

of leaping and foot-racing and tilting, they placed Balder

before them as a target again; and, as each threw his weapon

toward the shining mark, they laughed to see the missile

turn aside from its course, and refuse to strike the honored

one. But blind Hoder stood sorrowfully away from the others,

and did not join in any of their sports. Loki, seeing this,

went to him and said,--

"Brother of the gloomy brow, why do you not take part with

us in our games?"

"I am blind," answered Hoder. "I can neither leap, nor run,

nor throw the lance."

"But you can shoot arrows from your bow," said Loki.

"Alas!" said Hoder, "that I can do only as some one shall

direct my aim, for I can see no target."

"Do you hear that laughter?" asked Loki. "Thor has hurled

the straight trunk of a pine-tree at your brother; and,

rather than touch such a glorious mark; it has turned aside,

and been shivered to pieces upon the rocks over there. It is

thus that the Asa-folk, and all things living and lifeless,

honor Balder. Hoder is the only one who hangs his head, and

fears to do his part. Come, now, let me fit this little

arrow in your bow, and then, as I point it, do you shoot.

When you hear the gods laugh, you will know that your arrow

has shown honor to the hero by refusing to hit him."

And Hoder, thinking no harm, did as Loki wished. And the

deadly arrow sped from the bow, and pierced the heart of

shining Balder, and he sank lifeless upon the ground. Then

the Asa-folk who saw it were struck speechless with sorrow

and dismay; and, had it not been that the Ida plains where

they then stood were sacred to peace, they would have seized

upon Loki, and put him to death.

Forthwith the world was draped in mourning for Balder the

Good; the birds stopped singing, and flew with drooping

wings to the far South-land; the beasts sought to hide

themselves in their lairs and in the holes of the ground;

the trees shivered and sighed until their leaves fell

withered to the earth; the flowers closed their eyes, and

died; the rivers stopped flowing, and dark and threatening

billows veiled the sea; even the sun shrouded his face, and

withdrew silently towards the south.

When Balder's good mother heard the sad news, she left her

golden spindle in Fensal Hall, and with her maidens hastened

to the Ida-plains, where the body of her son still lay.

Nanna, the faithful wife of Balder, was already there; and

wild was her grief at sight of the lifeless loved one. And

all the Asa-folk--save guilty Loki, who had fled for his

life--stood about them in dumb amazement. But Odin was the

most sorrowful of all; for he knew, that, with Balder, the

world had lost its most gladsome life.

They lifted the body, and carried it down to the sea, where

the great ship "Ringhorn," which Balder himself had built,

lay ready to be launched. And a great company followed, and

stood upon the beach, and bewailed the untimely death of the

hero. First came Odin, with his grief-stricken queen, and

then his troop of handmaidens, the Valkyrien, followed by

his ravens Hugin and Munin. Then came Thor in his goat-drawn

car, and Heimdal on his horse Goldtop; then Frey, in his

wagon, behind the boar Gullinbruste of the golden bristles.

Then Freyja, in her chariot drawn by cats, came weeping

tears of gold. Lastly, poor blind Hoder, overcome with

grief, was carried thither on the back of one of the

Frost-giants. And Old AEgir, the Ocean king, raised his

dripping head above the water, and gazed with dewy eyes upon

the scene; and the waves, as if affrighted, left off their

playing, and were still.

High on the deck they built the funeral-pile; and they

placed the body upon it, and covered it with costly

garments, and with woods of the finest scent; and the noble

horse which had been Balder's they slew, and placed beside

him, that he might not have to walk to the halls of Death.

And Odin took from his finger the ring Draupner, the earth's

enricher, and laid it on the pile. Then Nanna, the faithful

wife, was overcome with grief, and her gentle heart was

broken, and she fell lifeless at the feet of the Asa-queen.

And they carried her upon the ship, and laid her by her

husband's side.

When all things were in readiness to set fire to the pile,

the gods tried to launch the ship; but it was so heavy that

they could not move it. So they sent in haste to Jotunheim

for the stout giantess Hyrroken; and she came with the speed

of the whirlwind, and riding on a wolf, which she guided

with a bridle of writhing snakes.

"What will you have me do?" she asked.

"We would have you launch the great ship 'Ring horn,'"

answered Odin.

"That I will do!" roared the grim giantess. And, giving the

vessel a single push, she sent it sliding with speed into

the deep waters of the bay. Then she gave the word to her

grisly steed, and she flew onwards and away, no one knew

whither.

The "Ringhorn" floated nobly upon the water,--a worthy bier

for the body which it bore. The fire was set to the

funeral-pile, and the red flames shot upwards to the sky;

but their light was but a flickering beam when matched with

the sun-bright beauty of Balder, whose body they consumed.

Then the sorrowing folk turned away, and went back to their

homes: a cheerless gloom rested heavily where light gladness

had ruled before. And, when they reached the high halls of

Asgard, the Asa-queen spoke, and said,--

"Who now, for the love of Balder and his stricken mother,

will undertake an errand? Who will go down into the Valley

of Death, and seek for Balder, and ransom him, and bring him

back to Asgard and the mid-world?"

Then Hermod the Nimble, the brother of Balder, answered, "I

will go. I will find him, and, with Hela's leave, will bring

him back."

And he mounted Sleipner, the eight-footed steed, and

galloped swiftly away. Nine days and nine nights he rode

through strange valleys and mountain gorges, where the sun's

light had never been, and through gloomy darkness and

fearful silence, until he came to the black river, and the

glittering, golden bridge which crosses it. Over the bridge

his strong horse carried him; although it shook and swayed

and threatened to throw him into the raging, inky flood

below. On the other side a maiden keeps the gate, and Hermod

stopped to pay the toll.

"What is thy name?" she asked.

"My name is Hermod, and I am called the Nimble," he

answered.

"What is thy father's name?"

"His name is Odin. Mayhap you have heard of him."

"Why ridest thou with such thunderous speed? Five kingdoms

of dead men passed over this bridge yesterday, and it shook

not with their weight as it did with thee and thy strange

steed. Thou art not of the pale multitude that are wont to

pass this gate. What is thy errand? and why ridest thou to

the domains of the dead?"

"I go to find my brother Balder," answered Hermod. "It is

but a short time since he unwillingly came down into these

shades."

"Three days ago," said the maiden, "Balder passed this way,

and by his side rode the faithful Nanna. So bright was his

presence, even here, that the whole valley was lighted up as

it had never before been lighted. The black river glittered

like a gem; the frowning mountains smiled for once; and Hela

herself, the queen of these regions, slunk far away into her

most distant halls. But Balder went on his way, and even now

he sups with Nanna in the dark castle over yonder."

Then Hermod rode forward till he came to the castle walls.

These were built of black marble; and the iron gate was

barred and bolted, and none who went in had ever yet come

out. Hermod called loudly to the porter to open the gate and

let him in; but no one seemed to hear nor heed him, for the

words of the living are unknown in that place. Then he drew

the saddle-girths more tightly around the horse Sleipner,

and urged him forward. High up, the great horse leaped; and

he sprang clear over the gates, and landed at the open door

of the great hall. Leaving his steed, Hermod went boldly in;

and there he found his brother Balder and the faithful Nanna

seated at the festal board, and honored as the most worthy

of all the guests. With Balder, Hermod staid until the night

had passed; and many were the pleasant words they spoke.

When morning came, Hermod went into the presence of Hela,

and said,--

"O mighty queen! I come to ask a boon of thee. Balder the

Good, whom both gods and men loved, has been sent to dwell

with thee here in thy darksome house; and all the world

weeps for him, and has donned the garb of mourning, and

cannot be consoled until his bright light shall shine upon

them again. And the gods have sent me, his brother, to ask

thee to let Balder ride back with me to Asgard, to his

noble, sorrowing mother, the Asa-queen; for then will hope

live again in the hearts of men, and happiness will return

to the earth."

The Death-queen was silent for a moment; and then she said

in a sad voice, "Hardly can I believe that any being is so

greatly loved by things living and lifeless; for surely

Balder is not more the friend of earth than I am, and yet

men love me not. But go thou back to Asgard; and, if every

thing shall weep for Balder, then I will send him to you.

But, if any thing shall refuse to weep, then I will keep him

in my halls."

So Hermod made ready to return home; and Balder gave him the

ring Draupner to carry to his father as a keepsake; and

Nanna sent to the queen-mother a rich carpet of purest

green. Then the nimble messenger mounted his horse, and rode

swiftly back over the dark river, and through the frowning

valleys, until he at last reached Odin's halls.

When the Asa-folk learned upon what terms they might have

Balder again with them, they sent heralds all over the world

to beseech every thing to mourn for him. And men and beasts,

and creeping things, and birds and fishes, and trees and

stones, and air and water,--all things, living and lifeless,

joined in weeping for the lost Balder.

But, as the heralds were on their way back to Asgard, they

met a giantess named Thok, and they asked her to join in the

universal grief. And she answered, "What good thing did

Balder ever do for Thok? What gladness did he ever bring

her? If she should weep for him, it would be with dry tears.

Let Hela keep him in her halls."[EN#23]

"And yet the day shall come," added the story-teller, "when

the words of the weird woman to Odin shall prove true; and

Balder shall come again to rule over a newborn world in

which there shall be no wrong-doing and no more death."

Adventure XIV

How Gunther Outwitted Brunhild.

While still the festivities were at their height, an old man

of noble mien, and with snow-white beard and hair, came into

the great hall, and sang for the gay company. And some

whispered that this must be Bragi, for surely such rare

music could not be made by any other. But he sang not of

spring, as Bragi does, nor yet of youth nor of beauty, nor

like one whose home is with the song-birds, and who lives

beside the babbling brooks and the leaping waterfalls. His

song was a sorrowful one,--of dying flowers, and falling

leaves, and the wailing winds of autumn, of forgotten joys,

of blasted hopes, of a crushed ambition, of gray hairs, of

uttering footsteps, of old age, of a lonely grave. And, as

he sang, all were moved to tears by the mournful melody and

the sad, sad words.

"Good friend," said Siegfried, "thy music agrees not well

with this time and place; for, where nothing but mirth and

joy are welcome, thou hast brought sorrowful thoughts and

gloomy forebodings. Come, now, and undo the harm thou hast

done, by singing a song which shall tell only of mirth and

gladness."

The old man shook his head, and answered, "Were I Bragi; as

some think I am, or were I even a strolling harper, I might

do as you ask. But I am neither, and I know no gladsome

songs. Men have called me a messenger of ill omen; and such,

indeed, I have sometimes been, although through no wish of

my own. I come as a herald from a far-off land, and I bear a

message to all the kings and the noblest chiefs of

Rhineland. If King Gunther will allow me, I will now make

that message known."

"Let the herald speak on," said Gunther graciously.

"Far over the sea," said the herald, "there lies a dreamy

land called Isenland; and in that land there is a glorious

castle, with six and eighty towers, built of purest marble,

green as grass. In that castle there lives the fairest of

all Earth's daughters, Brunhild, the maiden of the

spring-time. In the early days she was one of Odin's

Valkyrien; and with other heavenly maidens it was her duty

to follow, unseen, in the wake of armies, and when they met

in battle to hover over the field, and with kisses to waken

the dead heroes, and lead their souls away to Odin's glad

banquet-hall. But upon a day she failed to do the

All-Father's bidding, and he, in anger, sent her to live

among men, and like them to be short-lived, and subject to

old age and death. But the childless old king of Isenland

took pity upon the friendless maiden, and called her his

daughter, and made her his heir. Then Odin, still more

angered, sent the thorn of sleep to wound the princess. And

sleep seized upon every creature in Isenland, and silence

reigned in the halls of the marble palace. For Odin said,

'Thus shall they all sleep until the hero comes, who will

ride through fire, and awaken Brunhild with a kiss.'

"At last the hero so long waited for came. He passed the

fiery barrier safe, and awoke the slumbering maiden; and all

the castle sprang suddenly into life again. And Brunhild

became known once more as the most glorious princess in this

mid-world. But the sun-bright hero who freed her from her

prison of sleep vanished from Isenland, and no one knew

where he went; but men say that he rides through the noble

world, the fairest and the best of kings. And Brunhild has

sought for him in many lands; and, although all folk have

heard of his deeds, none know where he dwells. And so, as a

last resort, she has sent heralds into every land to

challenge every king to match his skill with hers in three

games of strength,--in casting the spear, in hurling the

heavy stone, and in leaping. The one who can equal her in

these feats shall be king of Isenland, and share with her

the throne of Isenstein. And by this means she hopes to find

the long-absent hero; for she believes that there is no

other prince on earth whose strength and skill are equal to

her own. Many men have already risked their lives in this

adventure, and all have failed.

"And now, King Gunther," continued the herald, "I have come

by her orders into Rhineland, and I deliver the challenge to

you. If you accept, and are beaten, your life is forfeited.

If you succeed, the fairest kingdom and the most beautiful

queen in the world are yours; for you will have proved that

you are at least the equal of the hero whom she seeks. What

reply shall I carry back to Isenland?"

King Gunther answered hastily, and as one dazed and in a

dream, "Say that I accept the challenge, and that when the

spring-time comes again, and the waters in the river are

unlocked, I shall go to Isenland, and match my skill and

strength with that of the fair and mighty Brunhild."

All who stood around were greatly astonished at Gunther's

reply; for, although his mind was somewhat weak, he was not

given to rash and hazardous undertakings. And Siegfried, who

was at his side, whispered, "Think twice, friend Gunther,

ere you decide. You do not know the strength of this mighty

but lovely warrior-maiden. Were your strength four times

what it is, you could not hope to excel her in those feats.

Give up this hasty plan, I pray you, and recall your answer

to the challenge. Think no more of such an undertaking, for

it surely will cost you your life."

But these warnings, and the words of others who tried to

dissuade him, only made Gunther the more determined; and he

vowed that nothing should hinder him from undertaking the

adventure. Then the dark-browed Hagen said,--

"Our friend Siegfried seems to know much about Isenland and

its maiden-queen. And indeed, if there is any truth in

hearsay, he has had the best of means for learning. Now, if

our good King Gunther has set his mind on going upon this

dangerous enterprise, mayhap Siegfried would be willing to

bear him company."

Gunther was pleased with Hagen's words; and he said to

Siegfried, "My best of friends, go with me to Isenland, and

help me. If we do well in our undertaking, ask of me any

reward you wish, and I will give it you, so far as in my

power lies."

"You know, kind Gunther," answered Siegfried, "that for

myself I have no fear; and yet again I would warn you to

shun the unknown dangers with which this enterprise is

fraught. But if, after all, your heart is set upon it, make

ready to start as soon as the warm winds shall have melted

the ice from the river. I will go with you."

The king grasped Siegfried's hand, and thanked him heartily.

"We must build a fleet," said he. "A thousand fighting-men

shall go with us, and we will land in Isenland with a

retinue such as no other prince has had. A number of stanch

vessels shall be built at once, and in the early spring they

shall be launched upon the Rhine."

Siegfried was amused at Gunther's earnestness, and he

answered, "Do not think of taking such a following. You

would waste twelve months in building and victualling such a

fleet. You would take from Burgundy its only safeguard

against foes from without; and, after you should reach

Isenland, you would find such a large force to be altogether

useless. Take my advice: have one small vessel built and

rigged and victualled for the long and dangerous voyage;

and, when the time shall come, you and I, and your kinsmen

Hagen and Dankwart,--we four only,--will undertake the

voyage and the emprise you have decided upon."

Gunther knew that his friend's judgment in this matter was

better than his own, and he agreed readily to all of

Siegfried's plans.

* * * * *

When, at length, the winter months began to wane, many hands

were busy making ready for the voyage. The peerless

Kriemhild called together thirty of her maidens, the most

skilful seamstresses in Burgundyland, and began the making

of rich clothing for her brother and his friends.[EN#24]

With her own fair hands she cut out garments from the rarest

stuffs,--from the silky skins brought from the sunny lands

of Lybia; from the rich cloth of Zazemang, green as clover;

from the silk that traders bring from Araby, white as the

drifted snow. For seven weeks the clever maidens and their

gentle mistress plied their busy needles, and twelve suits

of wondrous beauty they made for each of the four heroes.

And the princely garments were covered with fine

needle-work, and with curious devices all studded with rare

and costly jewels; and all were wrought with threads of

gold.

Many carpenters and ship-builders were busy with axes and

hammers, and flaming forges, working day and night to make

ready a vessel new and stanch, to carry the adventurers over

the sea. And great stores of food, and of all things needful

to their safety or comfort, were brought together and put on

board.

Neither were the heroes themselves idle; for when not busy

in giving directions to the workmen, or in overseeing the

preparations that were elsewhere going on, they spent the

time in polishing their armor (now long unused), in looking

after their weapons, or in providing for the management of

their business while away. And Siegfried forgot not his

trusty sword Balmung, nor his cloak of darkness the

priceless Tarnkappe, which he had captured from the dwarf

Alberich in the Nibelungen Land.

Then the twelve suits of garments which fair fingers had

wrought were brought. And when the men tried them on, so

faultless was the fit, so rare and perfect was every piece

in richness and beauty, that even the wearers were amazed,

and all declared that such dazzling and kingly raiment had

never before been seen.

At last the spring months had fairly vanquished all the

forces of the cold North-land. The warm breezes had melted

the snow and ice, and unlocked the river; and the time had

come for Gunther and his comrades to embark. The little

ship, well victualled, and made stanch and stout in every

part, had been launched upon the Rhine; and she waited with

flying streamers and impatient sails the coming of her crew.

Down the sands at length they came, riding upon their

steeds; and behind them followed a train of vassals bearing

their kingly garments and their gold-red shields. And on the

banks stood many of the noblest folk of Burgundy,--Gernot

and the young Giselher, and Ute the queen-mother, and

Kriemhild the peerless, and a number of earl-folk, and

warriors, and fair dames, and blushing damsels. And the

heroes bade farewell to their weeping friends, and went upon

the waiting vessel, taking their steeds with them. And

Siegfried seized an oar, and pushed the bark off from the

shore.

"I myself will be the steersman, for I know the way," he

said.

And the sails were unfurled to the brisk south wind, and the

vessel sped swiftly toward the sea; and many fair eyes were

filled tears as they watched it until it could be seen no

more. And with sighs and gloomy forebodings the good people

went back to their homes, and but few hoped ever again to

see their king and his brave comrades.

Driven by favorable winds, the trusty little vessel sailed

gayly down the Rhine, and, ere many days had passed, was out

in the boundless sea. For a long time the heroes sailed and

rowed through Old AEgir's watery kingdom. But they kept good

cheer, and their hearts rose higher and higher; for each day

they drew nearer the end of their voyage and the goal of

their hopes. At length they came in sight of a far-reaching

coast and a lovely land; and not far from the shore they saw

a noble fortress, with a number of tall towers pointing

toward the sky.

"What land is that?" asked the king.[EN#25]

And Siegfried answered that it was Isenland, and that the

fortress which they saw was the Castle of Isenstein and the

green marble hall of the Princess Brunhild. But he warned

his friends to be very wary when they should arrive at the

hall.

"Let all tell this story," said he: "say that Gunther is the

king, and that I am his faithful vassal. The success of our

undertaking depends on this." And his three comrades

promised to do as he advised.

As the vessel neared the shore, the whole castle seemed to

be alive. From every tower and turret-window, from every

door and balcony, lords and ladies, fighting-men and

serving-men, looked out to see what strangers these were who

came thus unheralded to Isenland. The heroes went on shore

with their steeds, leaving the vessel moored to the bank;

and then they rode slowly up the beach, and across the

narrow plain, and came to the drawbridge and the great

gateway, where they paused.

The matchless Brunhild in her chamber had been told of the

coming of the strangers; and she asked the maidens who stood

around,--

"Who, think you, are the unknown warriors who thus come

boldly to Isenstein without asking leave? What is their

bearing? Do they seem to be worthy of our notice? or are

they some straggling beggars who have lost their way?"

And one of the maidens, looking through the casement,

answered, "The first is a king, I know, from his noble mien

and the respect which his fellows pay to him. But the second

bears himself with a prouder grace, and seems the noblest of

them all. He reminds me much of the brave young Siegfried of

former days. Indeed, it must be Siegfried; for he rides a

steed with sunbeam mane, which can be none other than

Greyfell. The third is a dark and gloomy man: he wears a

sullen frown upon his brow, and his eyes seem to shoot quick

glances around. How nervously he grasps his sword-hilt, as

if ever guarding against surprise! I think his temper must

be grim and fiery, and his heart a heart of flint. The

fourth and last of the company is young and fair, and of

gentle port. Little business has he with rude warriors; and

many tears, methinks, would be shed for him at home should

harm overtake him. Never before have I seen so noble a

company of strangers in Isenland. Their garments are of

dazzling lustre; their saddles are covered with gem-stones;

their weapons are of unequalled brightness. Surely they are

worthy of your notice."

When Brunhild heard that Siegfried was one of the company,

she was highly pleased, and she hastened to make ready to

meet them in the great hall. And she sent ten worthy lords

to open the gate, and to welcome the heroes to Isenland.

When Siegfried and his comrades passed through the great

gateway, and came into the castle-yard, their horses were

led away to the stables, and the clanging armor and the

broad shields and swords which they carried were taken from

them, and placed in the castle armory. Little heed was paid

to Hagen's surly complaint at thus having every means of

defence taken away. He was told that such had always been

the rule at Isenstein, and that he, like others, must

submit.

After a short delay the heroes were shown into the great

hall, where the matchless Brunhild already was awaiting

them. Clad in richest raiment, from every fold of which rare

jewels gleamed, and wearing a coronet of pearls and gold,

the warrior-maiden sat on a throne of snow-white ivory. Five

hundred earl-folk and warriors, the bravest in Isenland,

stood around her with drawn swords, and fierce, determined

looks. Surely men of mettle less heroic than that of the

four knights from Rhineland would have quaked with fear in

such a presence.

King Gunther and his comrades went forward to salute the

queen. With a winning smile she kindly greeted them, and

then said to Siegfried, "Gladly do we welcome you back to

our land, friend Siegfried, We have ever remembered you as

our best friend. May we ask what is your will, and who are

these warriors whom you have with you?"

"Most noble queen," answered he, "right thankful am I that

you have not forgotten me, and that you should deign to

notice me while in the presence of this my liege lord," and

he pointed towards King Gunther. "The king of all

Burgundy-land, whose humble vassal I am, has heard the

challenge you have sent into different lands, and he has

come to match his strength with yours."

"Does he know the conditions?" asked Brunhild.

"He does," was the answer. "In case of success, the fairest

of women for his queen: in case of failure, death."

"Yet scores of worthy men have made trial, and all have

failed," said she. "I warn your liege lord to pause, and

weigh well the chances ere he runs so great a risk."

Then Gunther stepped forward and spoke:--

"The chances, fairest queen, have all been weighed, and

nothing can change our mind. Make your own terms, arrange

every thing as pleases you best. We accept your challenge,

and ask to make a trial of our strength."

The warrior-maiden, without more words, bade her servants

help her to make ready at once for the contest. She donned a

rich war-coat, brought long ago from the far-off Lybian

shores,--an armor which, it was said, no sword could dint,

and upon which the heaviest stroke of spear fell harmless.

Her hemlet was edged with golden lace, and sparkled all over

with rich gem-stones. Her lance, of wondrous length, a heavy

weight for three stout men, was brought. Her shield was as

broad and as bright as the sun, and three spans thick with

steel and gold.

While the princess was thus arming herself, the heroes

looked on with amazement and fear. But Siegfried, unnoticed,

hastened quietly out of the hall, and through the open

castle-gate, and sped like the wind to the seashore and to

their little ship. There he arrayed himself in the

Tarnkappe, and then, silent and unseen, he ran back to his

friends in the great hall.

"Be of good cheer," he whispered in the ears of the

trembling Gunther.

But the king could not see who it was that spoke to him, so

well was the hero hidden in the cloak of darkness. Yet he

knew that it must be Siegfried and he felt greatly

encouraged.

Hagen's frowning face grew darker, and the uneasy glances

which shot from beneath his shaggy eyebrows were not those

of fear, but of anger and deep anxiety. Dankwart gave up all

as lost, and loudly bewailed their folly.

"Must we, unarmed, stand still and see our liege lord slain

for a woman's whim?" he cried. "Had we only our good swords,

we might defy this maiden-queen and all her Isenland."

Brunhild overheard his words. Scornfully she called to her

servants, "Bring to these boasters their armor, and let them

have their keen-edged swords. Brunhild has no fear of such

men, whether they be armed or unarmed."

When Hagen and Dankwart felt their limbs again enclosed in

steel, and when they held their trusty swords in hand, their

uneasiness vanished, and hope returned.

In the castle-yard a space was cleared, and Brunhild's five

hundred warriors stood around as umpires. The unseen

Siegfried kept close by Gunther's side.

"Fear not," he said. "Do my bidding, and you are safe. Let

me take your shield. When the time comes, make you the

movements, and trust me to do the work."

Then Brunhild threw her spear at Gunther's shield. The

mighty weapon sped through the air with the swiftness of

lightning; and, when it struck the shield, both Gunther and

the unseen Siegfried fell to the ground, borne down by its

weight and the force with which it was thrown. Blood gushed

from the nostrils of both; and sad would have been their

fate if the friendly Tarnkappe had not hidden Siegfried from

sight, and given him the strength of twelve giants. Quickly

they rose. And Gunther seemed to pick up the heavy shaft,

but it was really Siegfried who raised it from the ground.

For one moment he poised the great beam in the air, and

then, turning the blunt end foremost, he sent it flying back

more swiftly than it had come. It struck the huge shield

which Brunhild held before her, with a sound that echoed to

the farthest cliffs of Isenland. The warrior-maiden was

dashed to the earth; but, rising at once, she cried,--

"That was a noble blow, Sir Gunther. I confess myself fairly

outdone. But there are two chances yet, and you will do well

if you equal me in those. We will now try hurling the stone,

and jumping."

Twelve men came forward, carrying a huge rough stone in

weight a ton or more. And Brunhild raised this mass of rock

in her white arms, and held it high above her head; then she

swung it backwards once, and threw it a dozen fathoms across

the castle-yard. Scarcely had it reached the ground when the

mighty maiden leaped after, and landed just beside it. And

the thousand lookers-on shouted in admiration. But old Hagen

bit his unshorn lip, and cursed the day that had brought

them to Isenland.

Gunther and the unseen Siegfried, not at all disheartened,

picked up the heavy stone, which was half buried in the

ground, and, lifting it with seeming ease, threw it swiftly

forward. Not twelve, but twenty, fathoms it flew; and

Siegfried, snatching up Gunther in his arms, leaped after,

and landed close to the castle-wall. And Brunhild believed

that Gunther alone had done these great feats through his

own strength and skill; and she at once acknowledged herself

beaten in the games, and bade her vassals do homage to

Gunther as their rightful liege lord.

Alas that the noblest of men-folk should gave stooped to

such deed of base deception! The punishment, although long

delayed, came surely at last; for not even the highest are

exempt from obedience to Heaven's behests and the laws of

right.

When the contest was ended, the unseen Siegfried ran quickly

back to the little ship, and hastily doffed the magic

Tarnkappe. Then, in his own form, he returned to the castle,

and leisurely entered the castle-yard. When he met his

pleased comrades and the vanquished maiden-queen, he asked

in careless tones when the games would begin. All who heard

his question laughed; and Brunhild said,--

"Surely, Sir Siegfried, the old sleep-thorn of Isenstein

must have caught you, and held you in your ship. The games

are over, and Gunther, your liege lord, is the winner."

At this news Siegfried seemed much delighted, as indeed he

was. And all went together to the great banquet-hall, where

a rich feast was served to our heroes and to the worthy

earl-folk and warriors of Isenland.

Adventure XV

In Nibelungen Land Again.

When the folk of Isenland learned that their queen had been

outwitted and won by a strange chief from a far-off and

unknown land, great was their sorrow and dismay; for they

loved the fair maiden-queen, and they feared to exchange her

mild reign for that of an untried foreigner. Nor was the

queen herself at all pleased with the issue of the late

contest. She felt no wish to leave her loved people, and her

pleasant home, and the fair island which was her kingdom, to

take up her abode in a strange land, as the queen of one for

whom she could feel no respect. And every one wondered how

it was that a man like Gunther, so commonplace, and so

feeble in his every look and act, could have done such

deeds, and won the wary warrior-maiden.

"If it had only been Siegfried!" whispered the maidens among

themselves.

"If it had only been Siegfried!" murmured the knights and

the fighting-men.

"If it had only been Siegfried!" thought the queen, away

down in the most secret corner of her heart. And she shut

herself up in her room, and gave wild vent to her feelings

of grief and disappointment.

Then heralds mounted the swiftest horses, and hurried to

every village and farm, and to every high-towered castle, in

the land. And they carried word to all of Brunhild's kinsmen

and liegemen, bidding them to come without delay to

Isenstein. And every man arose as with one accord, and

hastened to obey the call of their queen. And the whole land

was filled with the notes of busy preparation for war. And

day by day to the castle the warriors came and went, and the

sound of echoing horse-hoofs, and the rattling of ready

swords, and the ringing of the war-shields, were heard on

every hand.

"What means this treason?" cried Gunther in dismay. "The coy

warrior-maiden would fain break her plighted word; and we,

here in our weakness, shall perish from her wrath."

And even old Hagen, who had never felt a fear when meeting a

host in open battle, was troubled at the thought of the

mischief which was brewing.

"'Tis true, too true," he said, and the dark frown deepened

on his face, "that we have done a foolish thing. For we four

men have come to this cheerless land upon a hopeless errand;

and, if we await the gathering of the storm, our ruin will

be wrought." And he grasped his sword-hilt with such force,

that his knuckles grew white as he paced fiercely up and

down the hall.

Dankwart, too, bewailed the fate that had driven them into

this net, from which he saw no way of escape. And both the

warriors besought King Gunther to take ship at once, and to

sail for Rhineland before it was too late. But Siegfried

said,--

"What account will you give to the folk at home, if you thus

go back beaten, outwitted, and ashamed? Brave warriors,

indeed! we should be called. Wait a few days, and trust all

to me. When Brunhild's warriors shall be outnumbered by our

own, she will no longer hesitate, and our return to

Rhineland shall be a triumphant one; for we shall carry the

glorious warrior-queen home with us."

"Yes," answered Hagen, mocking, "we will wait until her

warriors are outnumbered by our own. But how long shall that

be? Will the lightning carry the word to Burgundy? and will

the storm-clouds bring our brave men from across the sea?

Had you allowed King Gunther's plans to be followed, they

would have been here with us now, and we might have quelled

this treason at the first."

And Dankwart said, "By this time the fields of the

South-land are green with young corn, and the meadows are

full of sweet-smelling flowers, and the summer comes on

apace. Why should we stay longer in this chilly and

fog-ridden land, waiting upon the whims of a fickle

maiden,--as fickle as the winds themselves? Better face the

smiles and the jeers of the folk at home than suffer

shameful shipwreck in this cold Isenland."

But Siegfried would not be moved by the weak and wavering

words of his once valiant comrades.

"Trust me," he said, "and all will yet be well. Wait here

but a few days longer in quietness, while I go aboard ship,

and fare away. Within three days I will bring to Isenstein a

host of warriors such as you have never seen. And then the

fickle fancies of Brunhild will flee, and she will no longer

refuse to sail with us to the now sunny South-land."

Hagen frowned still more deeply; and as he strode away he

muttered, "He only wants to betray us, and leave us to die

in this trap which he himself has doubtless set for us."

But Gunther anxiously grasped the hand of Siegfried, and

said, "Go! I trust you, and believe in you. But be sure not

to linger, for no one knows what a day may bring forth in

this uncertain and variable clime."

Without saying a word in reply, Siegfried turned, and

hastened down to the shore. Without any loss of time he

unmoored the little ship, and stepped aboard. Then he donned

his Tarnkappe, spread the sails, and seized the helm; and

the vessel, like a bird with woven wings, sped swiftly out

of the bay, and Isenstein, with its wide halls and

glass-green towers, was soon lost to the sight of the

invisible helmsman. For four and twenty hours did Siegfried

guide the flying vessel as it leaped from wave to wave, and

sent the white foam dashing to left and right like flakes of

snow. And late on the morrow he came to a rock-bound coast,

where steep cliffs and white mountain-peaks rose up, as it

were, straight out of the blue sea. Having found a safe and

narrow inlet, he moored his little bark; and, keeping the

Tarnkappe well wrapped around him, he stepped ashore.

Briskly he walked along the rough shore, and through a dark

mountain-pass, until he came to a place well known to

him,--a place where, years before, he had seen a cavern's

yawning mouth, and a great heap of shining treasures, and

two princes dying of hunger. But now, upon the selfsame spot

there stood a frowning fortress, dark and gloomy and strong,

which Siegfried himself had built in after-years; and the

iron gates were barred and bolted fast, and no living being

was anywhere to be seen.

Loud and long did Siegfried, wrapped in his cloak of

darkness, knock and call outside. At last a grim old giant,

who sat within, and kept watch and ward of the gate, cried

out,--

"Who knocks there?"

Siegfried, angrily and in threatening tones, answered,--

"Open the gate at once, lazy laggard, and ask no questions.

A stranger, who has lost his way among the mountains, seeks

shelter from the storm which is coming. Open the gate

without delay, or I will break it down upon your dull head."

Then the giant in hot anger seized a heavy iron beam, and

flung the gate wide open, and leaped quickly out to throttle

the insolent stranger. Warily he glanced around on every

side; but Siegfried was clad in the magic Tarnkappe, and the

giant could see no one. Amazed and ashamed, he turned to

shut the gate, and to go again to his place; for he began to

believe that a foolish dream had awakened and deceived him.

Then the unseen Siegfried seized him from behind; and though

he struggled hard, and fought with furious strength, our

hero threw him upon the ground, and bound him with cords of

sevenfold strength.

The unwonted noise at the gate rang through the castle, and

awakened the sleeping inmates. The dwarf Alberich, who kept

the fortress against Siegfried's return, and who watched the

Nibelungen treasure, which was stored in the hollow hill,

arose, and donned his armor, and hurried to the giant's

help. A right stout dwarf was Alberich; and, as we have seen

in a former adventure, he was as bold as stout. Armed in a

war-coat of steel, he ran out to the gate, flourishing a

seven-thonged whip, on each thong of which a heavy golden

ball was hung. Great was his amazement and his wrath when he

saw the giant lying bound and helpless upon the ground; and

with sharp, eager eyes he peered warily around to see if,

perchance, he might espy his hidden foe. But, when he could

find no one, his anger grew hotter than before, and he swung

his golden scourge fiercely about his head. Well was it for

Siegfried then, that the Tarnkappe hid him from sight; for

the dwarf kept pounding about in air so sturdily and strong,

that, even as it was, he split the hero's shield from the

centre to the rim. Then Siegfried rushed quickly upon the

doughty little fellow, and seized him by his long gray

beard, and threw him so roughly upon the ground, that

Alberich shrieked with pain.

"Spare me, I pray you," he cried. "I know that you are no

mean knight; and, if I had not promised to serve my master

Siegfried until death, I fain would acknowledge you as my

lord."

But Siegfried bound the writhing dwarf, and placed him,

struggling and helpless, by the side of the giant.

"Tell me, now, your name, I pray," said the dwarf; "for I

must give an account of this adventure to my master when he

comes."

"Who is your master?"

"His name is Siegfried; and he is king of the Nibelungens,

and lord, by right, of the great Nibelungen Hoard. To me and

to my fellows he long ago intrusted the keeping of this

castle and of the Hoard that lies deep hidden in the hollow

hill; and I have sworn to keep it safe until his return."

Then Siegfried threw off his Tarnkappe, and stood in his own

proper person before the wonder-stricken dwarf.

"Noble Siegfried," cried the delighted Alberich, "right glad

I am that you have come again to claim your own. Spare my

life, and pardon me, I pray, and let me know what is your

will. Your bidding shall be done at once."

"Hasten, then," said Siegfried, loosing him from his

bonds,--"hasten, and arouse my Nibelungen hosts. Tell them

that their chief has come again to Mist Land, and that he

has work for them to do."

Then Alberich, when he had set the giant gatekeeper free,

sent heralds to every town and castle in the land to make

known the words and wishes of Siegfried. And the gallant

Nibelungen warriors, when they heard that their liege lord

had come again, sprang up joyously, and girded on their

armor, and hastened to obey his summons. And soon the

strong-built castle was full of noble men,--of earls, and

the faithful liegemen who had known Siegfried of old. And

joyful and happy were the words of greeting.

In the mean while, Alberich had busied himself in preparing

a great feast for his master and his master's chieftains. In

the long low hall that the dwarfs had hollowed out within

the mountain's heart, the table was spread, and on it was

placed every delicacy that could be wished. There were

fruits and wines from the sunny South-land, and snow-white

loaves made from the wheat of Gothland, and fish from Old

AEgir's kingdom, and venison from the king's wild-wood, and

the flesh of many a fowl most delicately baked, and, near

the head of the board, a huge wild boar roasted whole. And

the hall was lighted by a thousand tapers, each held in the

hands of a swarthy elf; and the guests were served by the

elf-women, who ran hither and thither, obedient to every

call. But Alberich, at Siegfried's desire, sat upon the dais

at his lord's right hand. Merriment ruled the hour, and

happy greetings were heard on every side. And, when the

feast was at its height, a troop of hill-folk came dancing

into the hall; and a hundred little fiddlers, perched in the

niches of the wall, made merry music, and kept time for the

busy, clattering little feet. And when the guests had tired

of music and laughter, and the dancers had gone away, and

the tables no longer groaned under the weight of good cheer

Siegfried and his earls still sat at their places, and

beguiled the hours with pleasant talk and with stories of

the earlier days. And Alberich, as the master of the feast,

told a tale of the dwarf-folk, and how once they were

visited in their hill-home by Loki the Mischief-maker.

Alberich's Story.

My story begins with the Asa-folk, and has as much to do

with the gods as with my kinsmen the dwarfs. It happened

long ago, when the world was young, and the elf-folk had not

yet lost all their ancient glory.

Sif, as you all know, is Thor's young wife, and she is very

fair. It is said, too, that she is as gentle and lovable as

her husband is rude and strong; and that while he rides

noisily through storm and wind, furiously fighting the foes

of the mid-world, she goes quietly about, lifting up the

down-trodden, and healing the broken-hearted. In the summer

season, when the Thunderer has driven the Storm-giants back

to their mist-hidden mountain homes, and the black clouds

have been rolled away, and piled upon each other in the far

east, Sif comes gleefully tripping through the meadows,

raising up the bruised flowers, and with smiles calling the

frightened birds from their hiding-places to frolic and sing

in the fresh sunshine again. The growing fields and the

grassy mountain slopes are hers; and the rustling green

leaves, and the sparkling dewdrops, and the sweet odors of

spring blossoms, and the glad songs of the summer-time,

follow in her footsteps.

Sif, as I have said, is very fair; and, at the time of my

story, there was one thing of which she was a trifle vain.

That was her long silken hair, which fell in glossy waves

almost to her feet. On calm, warm days, she liked to sit by

the side of some still pool, and gaze at her own beauty

pictured in the water below, while, like the sea-maidens of

old AEgir's kingdom, she combed and braided her rich,

flowing tresses. And in all the mid-world nothing has ever

been seen so like the golden sunbeams as was Sif's silken

hair.

At that time the cunning Mischief-maker, Loki, was still

living with the Asa-folk. And, as you well know, this evil

worker was never pleased save when he was plotting trouble

for those who were better than himself. He liked to meddle

with business which was not his own, and was always trying

to mar the pleasures of others. His tricks and jokes were

seldom of the harmless kind, and yet great good sometimes

grew out of them.

When Loki saw how proud Sif was of her long hair, and how

much time she spent in combing and arranging it, he planned

a very cruel piece of mischief. He hid himself in a little

rocky cavern, near the pool where Sif was wont to sit, and

slily watched her all the morning as she braided and

unbraided her flowing silken locks. At last, overcome by the

heat of the mid-day sun, she fell asleep upon the grassy

bank. Then the Mischief-maker quietly crept near, and with

his sharp shears cut off all that wealth of hair, and shaved

her head until it was as smooth as her snow-white hand. Then

he hid himself again in the little cave, and chuckled with

great glee at the wicked thing he had done.

By and by Sif awoke, and looked into the stream; but she

started quickly back with horror and affright at the image

which she saw. She felt of her shorn head; and, when she

learned that those rich waving tresses which had been her

joy and pride were no longer there, she knew not what to do.

Hot, burning tears ran down her cheeks, and with sobs and

shrieks she began to call aloud for Thor. Forthwith there

was a terrible uproar. The lightning flashed, and the

thunder rolled, and an earthquake shook the rocks and trees.

Loki, looking out from his hiding-place, saw that Thor was

coming, and he trembled with fear; for he knew, that, should

the Thunderer catch him, he would have to pay dearly for his

wicked sport. He ran quickly out of the cavern, and leaped

into the river, and changed himself into a salmon, and swam

as swiftly as he could away from the shore.

But Thor was not so easily fooled; for he had long known

Loki, and was acquainted with all his cunning ways. So when

he saw Sif bewailing her stolen hair, and beheld the

frightened salmon hurrying alone towards the deep water, he

was at no loss to know whose work this mischief was.

Straightway he took upon himself the form of a sea-gull, and

soared high up over the water. Then, poising a moment in the

air, he darted, swift as an arrow, down into the river. When

he arose from the water, he held the struggling salmon

tightly grasped in his strong talons.

"Vile Mischief-maker!" cried Thor, as he alighted upon the

top of a neighboring crag: "I know thee who thou art; and I

will make thee bitterly rue the work of this day. Limb from

limb will I tear thee, and thy bones will I grind into

powder."

Loki, when he saw that he could not by any means get away

from the angry Thunderer, changed himself back to his own

form, and humbly said to Thor,--

"What if you do your worst with me? Will that give back a

single hair to Sif's shorn head? What I did was only a

thoughtless joke, and I really meant no harm. Do but spare

my life, and I will more than make good the mischief I have

done."

"How can that be?" asked Thor.

"I will hie me straight to the secret smithies of dwarfs,"

answered Loki; "and those cunning little kinsmen of mine

shall make golden tresses for fair Sif, which will grow upon

her head like other hair, and cause her to be an

hundred-fold more beautiful than before."

Thor knew that Loki was a slippery fellow, and that he did

not always do what he promised, and hence he would not let

him go. He called to Frey, who had just come up, and said,--

"Come, cousin Frey, help me to rid the world of this sly

thief. While I hold fast to his raven hair, and his long

slim arms, do you seize him by the heels, and we will give

his limbs to the fishes, and his body to the birds, for

food."

Loki, now thoroughly frightened, wept, and kissed Frey's

feet, and humbly begged for mercy. And he promised that he

would bring from the dwarf's smithy, not only the golden

hair for Sif, but also a mighty hammer for Thor, and a swift

steed for Frey. So earnest were his words, and so pitiful

was his plea, that Thor at last set the trembling

Mischief-maker free, and bade him hasten away on his errand.

Quickly, then, he went in search of the smithy of the

dwarfs.

He crossed the desert moorlands, and came, after three days,

to the bleak hill-country, and the rugged mountain-land of

the South. There the earthquake had split the mountains

apart, and dug dark and bottomless gorges, and hollowed out

many a low-walled cavern, where the light of day was never

seen. Through deep, winding ways, and along narrow crevices,

Loki crept; and he glided under huge rocks, and downward

through slanting, crooked clefts, until at last he came to a

great underground hall, where his eyes were dazzled by a

light which was stronger and brighter than day; for on every

side were glowing fires, roaring in wonderful little forges,

and blown by wonderful little bellows And the vaulted roof

above was thickly set with diamonds and precious stones,

that sparkled and shone like thousands of bright stars in

the blue sky. And the little dwarfs, with comical brown

faces, and wearing strange leathern aprons, and carrying

heavy hammers, were hurrying here and there, each busy at

his task. Some were smelting pure gold from the coarse rough

rocks; others were making precious gems, and rich rare

jewels, such as the proudest king would be glad to wear.

Here, one was shaping pure, round pearls from dewdrops and

maidens' tears; there, another wrought green emeralds from

the first leaves of spring. So busy were they all, that they

neither stopped nor looked up when Loki came into their

hall, but all kept hammering and blowing and working, as if

their lives depended upon their being always busy.

After Loki had curiously watched their movements for some

time, he spoke to the dwarf whose forge was nearest to him,

and made known his errand. But the little fellow was

fashioning a flashing diamond, which he called the Mountain

of Light; and he scarcely looked up as he answered,--

"I do not work in gold. Go to Ivald's sons: they will make

whatever you wish."

To Ivald's sons, then, in the farthest and brightest corner

of the hall, Loki went. They very readily agreed to make the

golden hair for Sif, and they began the work at once. A lump

of purest gold was brought, and thrown into the glowing

furnace; and it was melted and drawn, and melted and drawn,

seven times. Then it was given to a little brown elf with

merry, twinkling eyes, who carried it with all speed to

another part of the great hall, where the dwarfs' pretty

wives were spinning. One of the little women took the yellow

lump from the elf's hands, and laid it, like flax, upon her

spinning-wheel. Then she sat down and began to spin; and, as

she span, the dwarf-wives sang a strange, sweet song of the

old, old days when the dwarf-folk ruled the world. And the

tiny brown elves danced gleefully around the spinner, and

the thousand little anvils rang out a merry chorus to the

music of the singers. And the yellow gold was twisted into

threads, and the threads ran into hair softer than silk, and

finer than gossamer. And at last the dwarf-woman held in her

hand long golden tresses ten times more beautiful than the

amber locks that Loki had cut from Sif's fair head. When

Ivald's sons, proud of their skill, gave the rare treasure

to the Mischief-maker, Loki smiled as if he were well

pleased; but in his heart he was angry because the dwarfs

had made so fair a piece of workmanship. Then he said,--

"This is, indeed, very handsome, and will be very becoming

to Sif. Oh, what an uproar was made about those flaxen

tresses that she loved so well! And that reminds me that her

husband, the gruff old Giant-killer, wants a hammer. I

promised to get him one; and, if I fail, he will doubtless

be rude with me. I pray you make such a hammer as will be of

most use to him in fighting the Jotuns, and you may win

favor both for yourselves and me."

"Not now," said the elder of Ivald's sons. "We cannot make

it now; for who would dare to send a present to Thor before

he has offered one to Odin, the great All-Father?"

"Make me, then, a gift for Odin," cried Loki; "and he will

shelter me from the Thunderer's wrath."

So the dwarfs put iron into their furnace, and heated it to

a glowing white-heat; and then they drew it out, and rolled

it upon their anvils, and pounded it with heavy hammers,

until they had wrought a wondrous spear, such as no man had

ever seen. Then they inlaid it with priceless jewels, and

plated the point with gold seven times tried.

"This is the spear Gungner," said they. "Take it to the

great All-Father as the best gift of his humble

earth-workers."

"Make me now a present for Frey the gentle," said Loki. "I

owe my life to him; and I have promised to take him a swift

steed that will bear him everywhere."

Then Ivald's sons threw gold into the furnace, and blew with

their bellows until the very roof of the great cave-hall

seemed to tremble, and the smoke rolled up the wide chimney,

and escaped in dense fumes from the mountain-top. When they

left off working, and the fire died away, a fairy ship, with

masts and sails, and two banks of long oars, and a golden

dragon stem, rose out of the glowing coals; and it grew in

size until it filled a great part of the hall, and might

have furnished room for a thousand warriors with their arms

and steeds. Then, at a word from the dwarfs, it began to

shrink, and it became smaller and smaller until it was no

broader than an oak-leaf. And the younger of Ivald's sons

folded it up like a napkin, and gave it to Loki, saying,--

"Take this to Frey the gentle. It is the ship Skidbladner.

When it is wanted for a voyage, it will carry all the

Asa-folk and their weapons and stores; and, no matter where

they wish to go, the wind will always drive it straight to

the desired port. But, when it is not needed, the good Frey

may fold it up, as I have done, and carry it safely in his

pocket."

Loki was much pleased; and, although he felt disappointed

because he had no present for Thor, he heartily thanked the

dwarfs for their kindness; and taking the golden hair, and

the spear Gungner, and the ship Skidbladner, he bade Ivald's

sons good-by, and started for home. But, before he reached

the narrow doorway which led out of the cave, he met two

crooked-backed dwarfs, much smaller and much uglier than any

he had seen before.

"What have you there?" asked one of them, whose name was

Brok.

"Hair for Sif, a spear for Odin, and a ship for Frey,"

answered Loki.

"Let us see them," said Brok.

Loki kindly showed them the strange gifts, and told them,

that, in his belief, no dwarfs in all the world had ever

before wrought such wonderful things.

"Who made them?" inquired Brok.

"Ivald's sons."

"Ah! Ivald's sons sometimes do good work, but there are many

other dwarfs who can do better. For instance, my brother

Sindre, who stands here, can make three other treasures

altogether as good as those you have."

"It cannot be!" cried Loki.

"I tell you the truth," said the dwarf. "And, to show you

that I mean just what I say, I will wager against your head

all the diamonds in the ceiling above us, that he will make

not only as good treasures, but those which the Asas will

esteem much higher."

"Agreed!" cried Loki,--"agreed! I take the wager. Let your

brother try his skill at once."

The three went straightway to Sindre's forge, and the

brothers began their task. When the fire was roaring hot,

and the sparks flew from the chimney like showers of

shooting-stars, Sindre put a pig-skin into the furnace, and

bade Brok blow the bellows with all his might, and never

stop until he should speak the word. The flames leaped up

white and hot, and the furnace glowed with a dazzling light,

while Brok plied the bellows, and Sindre, with unblinking

eyes, watched the slowly changing colors that played around

the melted and shapeless mass within. While the brothers

were thus intent upon their work, Loki changed himself to a

great horse-fly, and settled upon Brok's hand, and bit him

without mercy. But the dwarf kept on blowing the bellows,

and stopped not until his brother cried out,--

"Enough!"

Then Sindre drew out of the flickering blue flames a huge

wild boar with long tusks of ivory, and golden bristles that

glittered and shone like the beams of the sun.

"This is Golden Bristle," said the dwarf. "It is the gift of

Brok and his brother to the gentle Frey. His ship

Skidbladner can carry him only over the sea; but Golden

Bristle shall be a trusty steed that will bear him with the

speed of the wind over the land or through the air."

Next the dwarfs threw gold into the furnace, and Brok plied

the bellows, and Sindre gazed into the flames, as before.

And the great horse-fly buzzed in Brok's face, and darted at

his eyes, and at last settled upon his neck, and stung him

until the pain caused big drops of sweat to roll off of his

forehead. But the dwarf stopped not nor faltered, until his

brother again cried out,--

"Enough!"

This time Sindre drew out a wondrous ring of solid gold,

sparkling all over with the rarest and most costly jewels.

"This is the ring Draupner," said he. "It is well worthy to

be worn on Odin's finger. Every ninth day eight other rings,

equal to it in every way, shall drop from it. It shall

enrich the earth, and make the desert blossom as the rose;

and it shall bring plentiful harvests, and fill the farmers'

barns with grain, and their houses with glad good cheer.

Take it to the All-Father as the best gift of the earth-folk

to him and to mankind."

After this the dwarfs took iron which had been brought from

the mountains of Norse Land; and, after beating it upon

their bellows until it glowed white and hot, Sindre threw it

into the furnace.

"This shall be the gift of gifts," said he to Brok. "Ply the

bellows as before, and do not, for your life, stop or falter

until the work is done."

But as Brok blew the bellows, and his brother gazed into the

glowing fire, the horse-fly came again. This time he settled

between the dwarf's eyes, and stung his eyelids until the

blood filled his eyes, and ran down his cheeks, and blinded

him so that he could not see. At last, in sore distress, and

wild with pain, Brok let go of the bellows, and lifted his

hand to drive the fly away. Then Sindre drew his work out of

the furnace. It was a blue steel hammer, well made in every

way, save that the handle was half an inch too short.

"This is the mighty Mjolner," said Sindre to Loki, who had

again taken his proper shape. "The Thunderer may have the

hammer that you promised him; although it is our gift, and

not yours. The stoutest giant will not be able now to cope

with Thor. No shield nor armor, nor mountain-wall, nor,

indeed, any thing on earth, shall be proof against the

lightning-strokes of Mjolner."

And Brok took the three treasures which Sindre had

fashioned, and went with Loki to Asgard, the home of the

Asa-folk. And they chose Odin and Thor and Frey to examine

and judge which was best,--Loki's three gifts, the work of

Ivald's sons; or Brok's three gifts, the work of Sindre.

When the judges were seated, and all were in readiness, Loki

went forward and gave to Odin the spear Gungner, that would

always hit the mark; and to Frey he gave the ship

Skidbladner, that would sail whithersoever he wished. Then

he gave the golden hair to Thor, who placed it upon the head

of fair Sif; and it grew there, and was a thousand-fold more

beautiful than the silken tresses she had worn before.

After the Asas had carefully looked at these treasures, and

talked of their merits, little Brok came humbly forward and

offered his gifts. To Odin he gave the precious ring

Draupner, already dropping richness. To Frey he gave the

boar Golden Bristle, telling him that wherever he chose to

go this steed would serve him well, and would carry him

faster than any horse, while his shining bristles would

light the way on the darkest night or in the gloomiest path.

At last he gave to Thor the hammer Mjolner, and said that

it, like Odin's spear, would never miss the mark, and that

whatever it struck, it would crush in pieces, and

whithersoever it might be hurled, it would come back to his

hand again.

Then the Asas declared at once that Thor's hammer was the

best of all the gifts, and that the dwarf had fairly won the

wager. But, when Brok demanded Loki's head as the price of

the wager, the cunning Mischief-maker said,--

"My head is, by the terms of our agreement, yours; but my

neck is my own, and you shall not on any account touch or

harm it."[EN#26]

So Brok went back to his brother and his smithy without the

head of Loki, but he was loaded with rich and rare presents

from the Asa-folk.

Adventure XVI

How Brunhild Was Welcomed Home.

When the next morning's sun arose, and its light gilded the

mountain peaks, and fell in a flood of splendor down upon

the rich uplands and the broad green fields of Nibelungen

Land, Siegfried, with his earls and mighty men, rode through

the valley, and down to the seashore. There a pleasant sight

met his eyes: for the little bay was white with the sails of

a hundred gold-beaked vessels which lay at anchor; and on

the sandy beach there stood in order three thousand island

warriors,--the bravest and the best of all the

Nibelungens,--clad in armor, and ready to hear and to do

their master's bidding. And Siegfried told them why he had

thus hastily called them together; and he gave to each one

rich gifts of gold and jewels and costly raiment. Then he

chose from among them one thousand of the most trustworthy,

who should follow him back to Isenland; and these went

aboard the waiting vessels, amid the cheers and the

farewells of their comrades who were left behind. And when

every thing was in readiness, the anchors were hoisted and

the sails were set, and the little fleet, wafted by pleasant

winds, sailed out of the bay, and eastward across the calm

blue sea. And Siegfried's vessel, with a golden dragon

banner floating from the masthead, led all the rest.

On the fourth day after Siegfried's departure from Isenland,

Dankwart and grim old Hagen sat in a room of the castle at

Isenstein. Outside and below they heard the fair-haired

warriors of Queen Brunhild pacing to and fro, and ready, at

a word, to seize upon the strangers, and either to put them

to death, or to drive them forever from the land. Old

Hagen's brows were closely knit, and his face was dark as a

thunder-cloud, and his hands played nervously with his

sword-hilt, as he said,--

"Where now is Gunther, the man whom we once called king?"

"He is standing on the balcony above, talking with the queen

and her maidens," answered Dankwart.

"The craven that he is!" cried Hagen hoarsely. "Once he was

a king, and worthy to be obeyed; but now who is the king?

That upstart Siegfried has but to say what shall be done,

and our master Gunther, blindly and like a child, complies.

Four days ago we might have taken ship, and sailed safely

home. Now our vessel is gone, the boasted hero is gone, and

nothing is left for us to do but to fight and die."

"But we are sure of Odin's favor," returned Dankwart; and a

wild light gleamed from his eyes, and he brandished his

sword high over his head. "A place in Valhal is promised to

us; for, him who bravely dies with his blood-stained sword

beside him and his heart unrent with fears, the All-Father's

victory-wafters will gently carry home. Even now, methinks,

I sit in the banqueting-hall of the heroes, and quaff the

flowing mead."

* * * * *

In the mean while Gunther stood with Queen Brunhild at an

upper window, and looked out upon the great sea that spread

forever and away towards the setting sun. And all at once,

as if by magic, the water was covered with white-sailed

ships, which, driven by friendly winds and the helping hands

of AEgir's daughters and the brawny arms of many a stalwart

oarsman, came flying towards the bay.

"What ships are those with the snow-white sails and the

dragon-stems?" asked Brunhild, wondering.

Gunther gazed for a moment towards the swift-coming fleet,

and his eyes were gladdened with the sight of Siegfried's

dragon-banner floating from the vessel in the van. A great

load seemed lifted from his breast, for now he knew that the

hoped-for help was at hand. And, smiling he answered the

queen,--

"Those white-sailed ships are mine. My body-guard--a

thousand of my trustiest fighting-men--are on board, and

every man is ready to die for me."

And as the vessels came into the harbor, and the sailors

furled the sails, and cast the anchors into the sea,

Siegfried was seen standing on the golden prow of his ship,

arrayed in princely raiment, with his earls and chiefs

around him. And their bright armor glittered in the

sunlight, and their burnished shields shone like so many

golden mirrors. A fairer sight had the folk of Isenstein

never seen.

Long and earnestly Queen Brunhild gazed, and then, turning

away, she burst into tears; for she knew that she had been

again outwitted, and that it was vain for her to struggle

against the Norns' decrees. Then, crushing back the grief

and the sore longing that rose in her heart, she spoke again

to Gunther, and her eyes shone stern and strange.

"What now will you have me do?" she asked; "for you have

fairly won me, and my wayward fancies shall no longer vex

you. Shall I greet your friends with kindness, or shall we

send them back again over the sea?"

"I pray you give them welcome to the broad halls of

Isenstein," he answered; "for no truer, nobler men live than

these my liegemen."

So the queen sent word to Siegfried and his Nibelungen

warriors to leave the ships and come ashore. And she

herself, as radiant now as a morning in May, went down to

meet them and welcome them. Then she had a great feast made

in honor of the heroes, and the long, low-raftered

feast-hall rang with the sounds of merriment, instead of

with the clash of arms. The fair-haired, blue-eyed warriors

of the queen sat side by side with the tall strangers from

over the sea. And in the high-seat was Brunhild, her face

exceeding pale, yet beauteous to behold; and by her side sat

Gunther, smiling and glad, and clad in his kingly raiments.

And around them were the earls and chieftains, and many a

fair lady of Isenland, and Hagen, smiling through his

frowns, and Dankwart, now grown fearless, and Siegfried sad

and thoughtful. Mirth and gladness ruled the hour, and not

until the morning star began to fade in the coming sunlight

lid the guests retire to rest.

Only a few days longer did the heroes tarry in Isenland; for

the mild spring days were growing warmer, and all faces were

southward turned, and the queen herself was anxious to haste

to her South-land home. When, at last, the time for

leave-taking came, the folk of Isenland gathered around to

bid their queen Godspeed. Then Brunhild called to Dankwart,

and gave him her golden keys, and bade him unlock her

closets where her gold and jewels were stored, and to

scatter with hands unstinted her treasures among the poor.

And many were the tearful blessings, and many the kind words

said, as the radiant queen went down to the waiting,

white-winged vessel, and stepped aboard with Gunther and the

heroes of the Rhine. But she was not to go alone to the land

of strangers; for with her were to sail a hundred fair young

damsels, and more than fourscore noble dames, and two

thousand blue-eyed warriors, the bravest of her land.

When all had gone on board the waiting fleet, the anchors

were hoisted, and the sails were unfurled to the breeze; and

amid the tearful farewells of friends, and the joyful

shouting of the sailors, the hundred heavy-laden vessels

glided from the bay, and were soon far out at sea. And the

sorrowing folk of Isenland turned away, and went back to

their daily tasks, and to the old life of mingled pain and

pleasure, of shadow and sunshine; and they never saw their

loved warrior-queen again.

The gay white fleet, with its precious cargo of noble men

and fair ladies, sped swiftly onwards through Old AEgir's

kingdom; and it seemed as if Queen Ran had forgotten to

spread her nets, so smooth and quiet was the sea; and the

waves slept on the peaceful bosom of the waters: only Ripple

and Sky-clear danced in the wake of the flying ships, and

added to the general joy. And on shipboard music and song

enlivened the dragging hours; and from morn till eve no

sounds were heard, save those of merriment and sport, and

glad good cheer. Yet, as day after day passed by, and no

sight met their eyes but the calm blue waters beneath, and

the calm blue sky above, all began to wish for a view, once

more, of the solid earth, and the fields, and the wild

greenwood. But the ships sailed steadily onward, and every

hour brought them nearer and nearer to the wished-for haven.

At length, on the ninth day, they came in sight of a long,

flat coast, stretching far away towards the Lowlands, where

Old AEgir and his daughters--sometimes by wasting warfare,

sometimes by stealthy strategy--ever plot and toil to widen

the Sea-king's domains. When the sailors saw the green shore

rising up, as it were, out of the quiet water, and the wild

woodland lying dense and dark beyond, and when they knew

that they were nearing the end of their long sea-voyage,

they rent the air with their joyful shouts. And a brisker

breeze sprang up, and filled the sails, and made the ships

leap forward over the water, like glad living creatures.

It was then that the thought came to King Gunther that he

ought to send fleet heralds to Burgundy-land to make known

the happy issue of his bold emprise, and to tell of his glad

home-coming, with Brunhild, the warrior-maiden, as his

queen. So he called old Hagen to him, and told him of his

thoughts, and asked him if he would be that herald.

"Nay," answered the frowning chief. "No bearer of glad

tidings am I. To every man Odin has given gifts. To some he

has given light hearts, and cheery faces, and glad voices;

and such alone are fitted to carry good news and happy

greetings. To others he has given darker souls, and less

lightsome faces, and more uncouth manners; and these may

bear the brunt of the battle, and rush with Odin's heroes to

the slaughter: but they would be ill at ease standing in the

presence of fair ladies, or telling glad tidings at court.

Let me still linger, I pray, on board this narrow ship, and

send your friend Siegfried as herald to Burgundy-land. He is

well fitted for such a duty."

So Gunther sent at once for Siegfried, to whom, when he had

come, he said,--

"My best of friends, although we are now in sight of land,

our voyage still is a long one; for the river is yet far

away, and, when it is reached, its course is winding, and

the current will be against us, and our progress must needs

be slow. The folk at home have had no tidings from us since

we left them in the early spring; and no doubt their hearts

grow anxious, and they long to hear of our whereabouts, and

whether we prosper or no. Now, as we near the headland which

juts out dark and green before us, we will set you on shore,

with the noble Greyfell, and as many comrades as you wish,

to haste with all speed to Burgundy, to tell the glad news

of our coming to the loved ones waiting there."

Siegfried at first held back, and tried to excuse himself

from undertaking this errand,--not because he felt any fear

of danger, but because he scorned to be any man's thrall, to

go and do at his beck and bidding. Then Gunther spoke again,

and in a different tone.

"Gentle Siegfried," he said, "if you will not do this errand

for my sake, I pray that you will undertake it for the sake

of my sister, the fair Kriemhild, who has so long waited for

our coming."

Then willingly did the prince agree to be the king's herald.

And on the morrow the ship touched land; and Siegfried bade

his companions a short farewell, and went ashore with four

and twenty Nibelungen chiefs, who were to ride with him to

Burgundy. And, when every thing was in readiness, he mounted

the noble Greyfell, as did also each warrior his favorite

steed, and they galloped briskly away; and their glittering

armor and nodding plumes were soon lost to sight among the

green trees of the wood. And the ship which bore Gunther and

his kingly party weighed anchor, and moved slowly along the

shore towards the distant river's mouth.

For many days, and through many strange lands, rode

Siegfried and his Nibelungen chiefs. They galloped through

the woodland, and over a stony waste, and came to a peopled

country rich in farms and meadows, and dotted with pleasant

towns. And the folk of that land wondered greatly at sight

of the radiant Siegfried, and the tall warriors with him,

and their noble steeds, and their sunbright armor. For they

thought that it was a company of the gods riding through the

mid-world, as the gods were wont to do in the golden days of

old. So they greeted them with smiles, and kind, good words,

and scattered flowers and blessings in their way.

They stopped for a day in Vilkina-land, where dwelt one

Eigill, a famous archer, who, it is said, was a brother of

Veliant, Siegfried's fellow-apprentice in the days of his

boyhood. And men told them this story of Eigill. That once

on a time old Nidung, the king of that land, in order to

test his skill with the bow, bade him shoot an apple, or, as

some say, an acorn, from the head of his own little son. And

Eigill did this; but two other arrows, which he had hidden

beneath his coat, dropped to the ground. And when the king

asked him what these were for he answered, "To kill thee,

wretch, had I slain my child."[EN#27]

After this our heroes rode through a rough hill-country,

where the ground was covered with sharp stones, and the

roads were steep and hard. And their horses lost their

shoes, and were so lamed by the travel, that they were

forced to turn aside to seek the house of one Welland, a

famous smith, who re-shod their steeds, and entertained them

most kindly three days and nights. And it is said by some

that Welland is but another name for Veliant, and that this

was the selfsame foreman whom we knew in Siegfried's younger

days. But, be this as it may, he was at this time the master

of all smiths, and no one ever wrought more cunningly. And

men say that his grandfather was Vilkinus, the first king of

that land; and that his grandmother, Wachitu, was a fair

mermaid, who lived in the deep green sea; and that his

father, Wada, had carried him, when a child, upon his

shoulders through water five fathoms deep, to apprentice him

to the cunning dwarfs, from whom he learned his trade. And

if this story is true, he could not have been Veliant. He

was wedded to a beautiful lady, who sometimes took the form

of a swan, and flew away to a pleasant lake near by, where,

with other swan-maidens, she spent the warm summer days

among the reeds and the water-lilies. And many other strange

tales were told of Welland the smith: how he had once made a

boat from the single trunk of a tree, and had sailed in it

all around the mid-world; how, being lame in one foot, he

had forged a wondrous winged garment, and flown like a

falcon through the air; and how he had wrought for Beowulf,

the Anglo-Saxon hero, a gorgeous war-coat that no other

smith could equal.[EN#28] And so pleasantly did Welland

entertain his guests that they were loath to leave him; but

on the fourth day they bade him farewell, and wended again

their way.

Now our heroes rode forward, with greater speed than before,

across many a mile of waste land, and over steep hills, and

through pleasant wooded dales. Then, again, they came to

fair meadows, and broad pasture-lands, and fields green with

growing corn; and every one whom they met blessed them, and

bade them a hearty God-speed. Then they left the farmlands

and the abodes of men far behind them; and they passed by

the shore of a sparkling lake, where they heard the

swan-maidens talking to each other as they swam among the

rushes, or singing in silvery tones of gladness as they

circled in the air above. Then they crossed a dreary moor,

where nothing grew but heather; and they climbed a barren,

stony mountain, where the feet of men had never been, and

came at last to a wild, dark forest, where silence reigned

undisturbed forever.

It was the wood in which dwells Vidar, the silent god, far

from the sound of man's busy voice, in the solemn shade of

century-living oaks and elms. There he sits in quiet but

awful grandeur,--strong almost as Thor, but holding his

mighty strength in check. Hoary and gray, he sits alone in

Nature's temple, and communes with Nature's self, waiting

for the day when Nature's silent but resistless forces shall

be quickened into dread action. His head is crowned with

sear and yellow leaves, and long white moss hangs pendent

from his brows and cheeks, and his garments are rusted with

age. On his feet are iron shoes, with soles made thick with

the scraps of leather gathered through centuries past; and

with these, it is said, he shall, in the last great twilight

of the mid-world, rend the jaws of the Fenris-wolf.[EN#29]

"Who is this Fenris-wolf?" asked one of the Nibelungens as

they rode through the solemn shadows of the wood.

And Siegfried thereupon related how that fierce creature had

been brought up and cared for by the Asa-folk; and how, when

he grew large and strong, they sought to keep him from doing

harm by binding him with an iron chain called Leding. But

the strength of the monster was so great, that he burst the

chain asunder, and escaped. Then the Asas made another chain

twice as strong, which they called Drome. And they called to

the wolf, and besought him to allow them to bind him again,

so that, in bursting the second chain, he might clear up all

doubts in regard to his strength. Flattered by the words of

the Asas, the wolf complied; and they chained him with

Drome, and fastened him to a great rock. But Fenris

stretched his legs, and shook himself, and the great chain

was snapped in pieces. Then the Asas knew that there was no

safety for them so long as a monster so huge and terrible

was unbound; and they besought the swarthy elves to forge

them another and a stronger chain. This the elves did. They

made a most wondrous chain, smooth as silk, and soft as

down, yet firmer than granite, and stronger than steel. They

called it Gleipner; and it was made of the sinews of a bear,

the footsteps of a cat, the beard of a woman, the breath of

a fish, the sweat of a bird, and the roots of a mountain.

When the Asas had obtained this chain, they lured the

Fenris-wolf to the rocky Island of Lyngve, and by flattery

persuaded him to be bound again. But this he would not agree

to do until Tyr placed his hand in his mouth as a pledge of

good faith. Then they tied him as before, and laughingly

bade him break the silken cord. The huge creature stretched

himself as before, and tried with all his might to burst

away; but Gleipner held him fast, and the worst that he

could do was to bite off the hand of unlucky Tyr. And this

is why Tyr is called the one-armed god.

"But it is said," added Siegfried, "that in the last

twilight the Fenris-wolf will break his chain, and that he

will swallow the sun, and slay the great Odin himself, and

that none can subdue him save Vidar the Silent."

It was thus that the heroes conversed with each other as

they rode through the silent ways of the wood.

At length, one afternoon in early summer, the little company

reached the Rhine valley; and looking down from the sloping

hill-tops, green with growing corn, they saw the pleasant

town of the Burgundians and the high gray towers of

Gunther's dwelling. And not long afterwards they rode

through the streets of the old town, and, tired and

travel-stained, halted outside of the castle-gates. Very

soon it became noised about that Siegfried and a company of

strange knights, fair and tall, had come again to Burgundy

and to the home of the Burgundian kings. But when it was

certainly known that neither Gunther the king, nor Hagen of

the evil eye, nor Dankwart his brother, had returned, the

people felt many sad misgivings; for they greatly feared

that some hard mischance had befallen their loved king. Then

Gernot and the young Giselher, having heard of Siegfried's

arrival, came out with glad but anxious faces to greet him.

"Welcome, worthy chief!" they cried. "But why are you alone?

What are your tidings? Where is our brother? and where are

our brave uncles, Hagen and Dankwart? And who are those

strange, fair men who ride with you? And what about

Brunhild, the warrior-maiden? Alas! if our brother has

fallen by her cruel might, then woe to Burgundy! Tell us

quickly all about it!"

"Have patience, friends!" answered Siegfried. "Give me time

to speak, and I will gladden the hearts of all the folk of

Burgundy with my news. Your brother Gunther is alive and

well; and he is the happiest man in the whole mid-world,

because he has won the matchless Brunhild for his bride. And

he is ere now making his way up the river with a mighty

fleet of a hundred vessels and more than two thousand

warriors. Indeed, you may look for him any day. And he has

sent me, with these my Nibelungen earls, to bid you make

ready for his glad home-coming."

Then, even before he had alighted from Greyfell, he went on

to tell of the things that had happened at Isenstein; but he

said nothing of the part which he had taken in the strange

contest. And a crowd of eager listeners stood around, and

heard with unfeigned joy of the happy fortune of their king.

"And now," said Siegfried to Giselher, when he had finished

his story, "carry the glad news to your mother and your

sister; for they, too, must be anxious to learn what fate

has befallen King Gunther."

"Nay," answered the prince, "you yourself are the king's

herald, and you shall be the one to break the tidings to

them. Full glad they'll be to hear the story from your own

lips, for long have they feared that our brother would never

be seen by us again. I will tell them of your coming, but

you must be the first to tell them the news you bring."

"Very well," answered Siegfried. "It shall be as you say."

Then he dismounted from Greyfell, and, with his Nibelungen

earls, was shown into the grand hall, where they were

entertained in a right kingly manner.

When Kriemhild the peerless, and Ute her mother, heard that

Siegfried had come again to Burgundy, and that he brought

news from Gunther the king, they hastened to make ready to

see him. And, when he came before them, he seemed so noble,

so bright, and so glad, that they knew he bore no evil

tidings.

"Most noble prince," said Kriemhild, trembling in his

presence, "right welcome are you to our dwelling! But

wherefore are you come? How fares my brother Gunther? Why

came he not with you back to Burgundy-land? Oh! undone are

we, if, through the cruel might of the warrior-queen, he has

been lost to us."

"Now give me a herald's fees!" cried Siegfried, laughing.

"King Gunther is alive and well. In the games of strength to

which fair Brunhild challenged him, he was the winner. And

now he comes up the Rhine with his bride, and a great

retinue of lords and ladies and fighting-men. Indeed, the

sails of his ships whiten the river for miles. And I am come

by his desire to ask that every thing be made ready for his

glad home-coming and the loving welcome of his peerless

queen."

Great was the joy of Kriemhild and her queenly mother when

they heard this gladsome news; and they thanked the prince

most heartily for all that he had done.

"You have truly earned a herald's fee," said the lovely

maiden, "and gladly would I pay it you in gold; for you have

cheered us with pleasant tidings, and lightened our minds of

a heavy load. But men of your noble rank take neither gifts

nor fees, and hence we have only to offer our deepest and

heartiest thanks."

"Not so," answered Siegfried gayly. "Think not I would scorn

a fee. Had I a kingdom of thirty realms, I should still be

proud of a gift from you."

"Then, you shall have your herald's fee!" cried Kriemhild;

and she sent her maidens to fetch the gift. And with her own

lily hands she gave him twenty golden bracelets, richly

inwrought with every kind of rare and costly gem-stones.

Happy, indeed, was Siegfried to take such priceless gift

from the hand of so peerless a maiden; and his face shone

radiant with sunbeams as he humbly bowed, and thanked her.

But he had no need for the jewels, nor wished he to keep

them long: so he gave them, with gracious wishes, to the

fair young maidens at court.

From this time forward, for many days, there was great

bustle in Gunther's dwelling. On every side was heard the

noise of busy hands, making ready for the glad day when the

king should be welcomed home. The broad halls and the tall

gray towers were decked with flowers, and floating banners,

and many a gay device; the houses and streets of the

pleasant burgh put on their holiday attire; the shady road

which led through Kriemhild's rose-garden down to the

river-banks was dusted and swept with daily care; and the

watchman was cautioned to keep on the lookout every moment

for the coming of the expected fleet. And heralds had been

sent to every burgh and castle, and to every countryside in

Burgundy, announcing the happy home-coming of Gunther and

his bride, and bidding every one, both high and low, to the

glad merry-making.

On the morning of the eleventh day, ere the sun had dried

the dew from the springing grass, the keen-eyed watchman, in

his perch on the topmost tower, cried out in happy accents

to the waiting folk below,--

"They come at last! I see the white-winged ships still far

down the stream. But a breeze springs up from the northward,

and the sailors are at the oars, and swift speed the

hastening vessels, as if borne on the wings of the wind.

Ride forth, O ye brave and fair, to welcome the fair and the

brave!"

Then quickly the king-folk, and the warriors, and fair

ladies, mounted their ready steeds, and gayly through the

gates of the castle they rode out river-wards. And Ute, the

noble queen-mother, went first. And the company moved in

glittering array, with flying banners, and music, and the

noisy flourish of drums, adown the rose-covered pathway

which led to the water's side. And the peerless Kriemhild

followed, with a hundred lovely maidens, all mounted on

snow-white palfreys; and Siegfried, proud and happy, on

Greyfell, rode beside her.

When the party reached the river-bank, a pleasant sight met

their eyes; for the fleet had now drawn near, and the whole

river, as far as the eye could reach, glittered with the

light reflected from the shield-hung rails and the golden

prows of the swift-coming ships. King Gunther's own vessel

led all the rest; and the king himself stood on the deck,

with the glorious Brunhild by his side. Nearer and nearer

the fresh breeze of the summer morning wafted the vessel to

the shore, where stood the waiting multitude. Softly the

golden dragon glided in to the landing-place, and quickly

was it moored to the banks; then Gunther, clad in his kingly

garments, stepped ashore, and with him his lovely queen. And

a mighty shout of welcome, and an answering shout of

gladness, seemed to rend the sky as the waiting hosts beheld

the sight. And the queen-mother Ute, and the peerless

Kriemhild, and her kingly brothers, went forward to greet

the pair. And Kriemhild took Brunhild by the hand, and

kissed her, and said,--

"Welcome, thrice welcome, dear sister! to thy home and thy

kindred and thy people, who hail thee as queen. And may thy

days be full of joyance, and thy years be full of peace!"

Then all the folk cried out their goodly greetings; and the

sound of their glad voices rang out sweet and clear in the

morning air, and rose up from the riverside, and was echoed

among the hill-slopes, and carried over the meadows and

vineyards, to the farthest bounds of Burgundy-land. And the

matchless Brunhild, smiling, returned the happy greeting;

and her voice was soft and sweet, as she said,--

"O kin of the fair Rhineland, and folk of my new-found home!

may your days be summer sunshine, and your lives lack grief

and pain; and may this hour of glad rejoicing be the type of

all hours to come!"

Then the lovely queen was seated in a golden wain which

stood in waiting for her; and Gunther mounted his own

war-steed; and the whole company made ready to ride to the

castle. Never before had so pleasant a sight been seen in

Rhineland, as that glorious array of king-folk and lords and

ladies wending from river to fortress along the rose-strewn

roadway. Foremost went the king, and by his side was

Siegfried on the radiant Greyfell. Then came the queen's

golden wain, drawn by two snow-white oxen, which were led

with silken cords by sweet-faced maidens; and in it, on an

ivory throne deep-carved with mystic runes, sat glorious

Brunhild. Behind rode the queen-mother and her kingly sons,

and frowning Hagen, and Dankwart, and Volker, and all the

earl-folk and mighty warriors of Burgundy and of Nibelungen

Land. And lastly came Kriemhild and her hundred damsels,

sitting on their snow-white steeds. And they rode past the

blooming gardens, and through the glad streets of the burgh,

and then, like a radiant vision, they entered the

castle-halls; and the lovely pageant was seen no more.

For twelve days after this, a joyful high-tide was held at

the castle; and the broad halls rang with merriment and

music and festive mirth. And games and tournaments were held

in honor of the king's return. Brave horsemen dashed here

and there at break-neck speed, or contended manfully in the

lists; lances flew thick in the air; shouts and glad cries

were heard on every hand; and for a time the most boisterous

tumult reigned. But gladness and good-feeling ruled the

hour, and no one thought of aught but merry-making and

careless joy. At length, when the days of feasting were

past, the guests bade Gunther and his queen farewell; and

each betook himself to his own home, and to whatsoever his

duty called him. And one would have thought that none but

happy days were henceforth in store for the kingly folk of

Burgundy. But alas! too soon the cruel frost and the cold

north winds nipped the buds and blossoms of the short

summer, and the days of gladness gave place to nights of

gloom.

Adventure XVII

How Siegfried Lived in Nibelungen Land.

When the twelve-days' high-tide at King Gunther's

home-coming had been brought to an end, and the guests had

all gone to their homes, Siegfried, too, prepared to bid

farewell to the Rhineland kings, and to wend to his own

country. But he was not to go alone; for Kriemhild, the

peerless princess, was to go with him as his bride. They had

been wedded during the merry festivities which had just

closed, and that event had added greatly to the general joy;

for never was there a fairer or a nobler pair than Siegfried

the fearless, and Kriemhild the peerless.

"It grieves my heart to part with you," said Gunther,

wringing Siegfried's hand. "It will fare but ill with us, I

fear, when we no longer see your radiant face, or hear your

cheery voice."

"Say not so, my brother," answered Siegfried; "for the gods

have many good things in store for you. And, if ever you

need the help of my arm, you have but to say the word, and I

will hasten to your aid."

Then the Burgundian kings besought the hero to take the

fourth part of their kingdom as his own and Kriemhild's, and

to think no more of leaving them. But Siegfried would not

agree to this. His heart yearned to see his father and

mother once again, and then to return to his own loved

Nibelungen Land. So he thanked the kings for their kind

offer, and hastened to make ready for his intended journey.

Early on Midsummer Day the hero and his bride rode out of

Gunther's dwelling, and turned their faces northward. And

with them was a noble retinue of warriors,--five hundred

brave Burgundians, with Eckewart as their chief,--who had

sworn to be Queen Kriemhild's vassals in her new,

far-distant home. Thirty and two fair maidens, too, went

with her. And with Siegfried were his Nibelungen earls.

As the company rode down the sands, and filed gayly along

the river-road, it seemed a lovely although a sad sight to

their kinsmen who gazed after them from the castle-towers.

Fair and young were all the folk; and the world, to most,

was still untried. And they rode, in the morning sunlight,

away from their native land, nor recked that never again

would they return. Each warrior sat upon a charger, richly

geared with gilt-red saddle, and gorgeous bridle, and

trappings of every hue; and their war-coats were bright and

dazzling; and their spears glanced in the sun; and their

golden shields threw rays of resplendent light around them.

The maidens, too, were richly dight in broidered cloaks of

blue, and rare stuffs brought from far-off Araby; and each

sat on a snow-white palfrey geared with silken housings, and

trappings of bright blue.

For some days the company followed the course of the river,

passing through many a rich meadow, and between lovely

vineyards, and fields of yellow corn. Then they rode over a

dreary, barren waste, and through a wild greenwood, and

reached, at last, the hills which marked the beginning of

King Siegmund's domains. Then Siegfried sent fleet heralds

before them to carry to his father the tidings of his coming

with his bride, fair Kriemhild. Glad, indeed, were old King

Siegmund and Siegfried's gentle mother when they heard this

news.

"Oh, happy is the day!" cried the king. "Thrice happy be the

day that shall see fair Kriemhild a crowned queen, and

Siegfried a king in the throne of his fathers!"

And they showered upon the heralds who had brought the happy

news rich fees of gold and silver, and gave them garments of

silken velvet. And on the morrow they set out, with a train

of earl-folk and lovely ladies, to meet their son and his

bride. For one whole day they journeyed to the old fortress

of Santen, where in former days the king's dwelling had

been. There they met the happy bridal-party, and fond and

loving were the hearty greetings they bestowed upon

Kriemhild and the radiant Siegfried. Then, without delay,

they returned to Siegmund's kingly hall; and for twelve days

a high tide, more happy and more splendid than that which

had been held in Burgundy, was made in honor of Siegfried's

marriage-day. And, in the midst of those days of sport and

joyance, the old king gave his crown and sceptre to his son;

and all the people hailed Siegfried, king of the broad

Lowlands, and Kriemhild his lovely queen.

Old stories tell how Siegfried reigned in peace and glad

contentment in his fatherland; and how the joyous sunshine

shone wherever he went, and poured a flood of light and

warmth and happiness into every nook and corner of his

kingdom; and how, at length, after the gentle Sigelind had

died, he moved his court to that other country of his,--the

far-off Nibelungen Land. And it is in that strange,

dream-haunted land, in a strong-built mountain fortress,

that we shall next find him.

Glad were the Nibelungen folk when their own king and his

lovely wife came to dwell among them; and the mists once

more were lifted, and the skies grew bright and clear, and

men said that the night had departed, and the better days

were near. Golden, indeed, and most glorious, was that

summer-time; and long to be remembered was Siegfried's too

brief reign in Nibelungen Land. And, ages afterward, folk

loved to sing of his care for his people's welfare, of his

wisdom and boundless lore, of his deeds in the time of

warring, and the victories gained in peace. And strong and

brave were the men-folk, and wise and fair were the women,

and broad and rich were the acres, in Siegfried's well-ruled

land. The farm-lands were yellow with the abundant harvests,

fruitful orchards grew in the pleasant dales, and fair

vineyards crowned the hills. Fine cities sprang up along the

seacoast, and strong fortresses were built on every height.

Great ships were made, which sailed to every land, and

brought home rich goods from every clime,--coffee and spices

from India, rich silks from Zazemang, fine fruits from the

Iberian shore, and soft furs, and ivory tusks of the

sea-beast, from the frozen coasts of the north. Never before

was country so richly blessed; for Siegfried taught his

people how to till the soil best, and how to delve far down

into the earth for hidden treasures, and how to work

skilfully in iron and bronze and all other metals, and how

to make the winds and the waters, and even the thunderbolt,

their thralls and helpful servants. And he was as great in

war as in peace; for no other people dared harm, or in any

way impose upon, the Nibelungen folk, or any of his faithful

liegemen.

It is told how, once on a time, he warred against the

Hundings, who had done his people an injury, and how he

sailed against them in a long dragon-ship of a hundred oars.

When he was far out in the mid-sea, and no land was anywhere

in sight, a dreadful storm arose. The lightnings flashed,

and the winds roared, and threatened to carry the ship to

destruction. Quickly the fearful sailors began to reef the

sails, but Siegfried bade them stop.

"Why be afraid?" he cried. "The Norns have woven the woof of

every man's life, and no man can escape his destiny. If the

gods will that we should drown, it is folly for us to strive

against fate. We are bound to the shore of the Hundings'

land, and thither must our good ship carry us. Hoist the

sails high on the masts, even though the wind should tear

them into shreds, and split the masts into splinters!"

The sailors did as they were bidden; and the hurricane

caught the ship in its mighty arms, and hurried it over the

rolling waves with the speed of lightning. And Siegfried

stood calmly at the helm, and guided the flying vessel.

Presently they saw a rocky point rising up out of the waters

before them; and on it stood an old man, his gray cloak

streaming in the wind, and his blue hood tied tightly down

over his head.

"Whose ship is that which comes riding on the storm?" cried

the man.

"King Siegfried's ship," answered the man at the prow.

"There lives no braver man on earth than he."

"Thou sayest truly," came back from the rock. "Lay by your

oars, reef the sails, and take me on board!"

"What is your name?" asked the sailor, as the ship swept

past him.

"When the raven croaks gladly over his battle-feast, men

call me Hnikar. But call me now Karl from the mountain,

Fengr, or Fjolner. Reef, quick, your sails, and take me in!"

The men, at Siegfried's command, obeyed. And at once the

wind ceased blowing, and the sea was calm, and the warm sun

shone through the rifted clouds, and the coast of Hundings

Land lay close before them. But when they looked for

Fjolner, as he called himself, they could not find him.

One day Siegfried sat in his sun-lit hall in Nibelungen

Land; and Kriemhild, lovely as a morning in June, sat beside

him. And they talked of the early days when alone he fared

through the mid-world, and alone did deeds of wondrous

daring. And Siegfried bethought him then of the glittering

Hoard of Andvari, and the cave and the mountain fortress,

where the faithful dwarf Alberich still guarded the

measureless treasure.

"How I should like to see that mountain fastness and that

glittering hoard!" cried Kriemhild.

"You shall see," answered the king.

And at once horses were saddled, and preparations were made

for a morning's jaunt into the mountains. And, ere an hour

had passed, Siegfried and his queen, and a small number of

knights and ladies, were riding through the passes. About

noon they came to Alberich's dwelling,--a frowning fortress

of granite built in the mountain-side. The gate was opened

by the sleepy giant who always sat within, and the party

rode into the narrow court-yard. There they were met by

Alberich, seeming smaller and grayer, and more pinched and

wan, than ever before.

"Hail, noble master!" cried he, bowing low before Siegfried.

"How can Alberich serve you to-day?"

"Lead us to the treasure-vaults," answered the king. "My

queen would fain feast her eyes upon the yellow, sparkling

hoard."

The dwarf obeyed. Through a narrow door they were ushered

into a long, low cavern, so frowning and gloomy, that the

queen started back in affright. But, re-assured by

Siegfried's smiling face, she went forward again. The

entrance-way was lighted by little torches held in the hands

of tiny elves, who bowed in humble politeness to the kingly

party. But, when once beyond the entrance-hall, no torches

were needed to show the way; for the huge pile of glittering

gold and sparkling jewels, which lay heaped up to the

cavern's roof, lighted all the space around with a glory

brighter than day.

"There is the dwarf's treasure!" cried Siegfried. "Behold

the Hoard of Andvari, the gathered wealth of the ages!

Henceforth, fair Kriemhild, it is yours--all yours, save

this serpent-ring."

"And why not that too?" asked the queen; for she admired its

glittering golden scales, and its staring ruby eyes.

"Alas!" answered he, "a curse rests upon it,--the curse

which Andvari the ancient laid upon it when Loki tore it

from his hand. A miser's heart--selfish, cold, snaky--is

bred in its owner's being; and he thenceforth lives a very

serpent's life. Or, should he resist its influence, then

death through the guile of pretended friends is sure to be

his fate."

"Then why," asked the queen,--"why do you keep it yourself?

Why do you risk its bane? Why not give it to your sworn foe,

or cast it into the sea, or melt it in the fire, and thus

escape the curse?"

Siegfried answered by telling how, when in the heyday of his

youth, he had slain Fafnir, the keeper of this hoard, upon

the Glittering Heath; and how, while still in the narrow

trench which he had dug, the blood of the horrid beast had

flown in upon him, and covered him up.

"And this I have been told by Odin's birds," he went on to

say, "that every part of my body that was touched by the

slimy flood was made forever proof against sword and spear,

and sharp weapons of every kind. Hence I have no cause to

fear the stroke, either of open foes or of traitorous false

friends."

"But was all of your body covered with the dragon's blood?

Was there no small spot untouched?" asked the queen, more

anxious now than she had ever seemed to be before she had

known aught of her husband's strange security from wounds.

"Only one very little spot between the shoulders was left

untouched," answered Siegfried. "I afterwards found a

lime-leaf sticking there, and I know that the slimy blood

touched not that spot. But then who fears a thrust in the

back? None save cowards are wounded there."

"Ah!" said the queen, toying tremulously with the fatal

ring, "that little lime-leaf may yet bring us unutterable

woe."

But Siegfried laughed at her fears; and he took the

serpent-ring, and slipped it upon his forefinger, and said

that he would wear it there, bane or no bane, so long as

Odin would let him live.

Then, after another long look at the heaps of glittering

gold and priceless gem-stones, the company turned, and

followed Alberich back, through the gloomy entranceway and

the narrow door, to the open air again. And mounting their

steeds, which stood ready, they started homewards. But, at

the outer gate, Siegfried paused, and said to the dwarf at

parting,--

"Hearken, Alberich! The Hoard of Andvari is no longer mine.

I have made a present of it to my queen. Hold it and guard

it, therefore, as hers and hers alone; and, whatever her

bidding may be regarding it, that do."

"Your word is law, and shall be obeyed," said the dwarf,

bowing low.

Then the drowsy gate-keeper swung the heavy gate to its

place, and the kingly party rode gayly away.

On their way home the company went, by another route,

through the narrow mountain pass which led towards the sea,

and thence through a rocky gorge between two smoking

mountains. And on one side of this road a great cavern

yawned, so dark and deep that no man had ever dared to step

inside of it. And as they paused before it, and listened,

they heard, away down in its dismal depths, horrid groans,

sad moanings, and faint wild shrieks, so far away that it

seemed as if they had come from the very centre of the

earth. And, while they still listened, the ground around

them trembled and shook, and the smoking mountain on the

other side of the gorge smoked blacker than before.

"Loki is uneasy to-day," said Siegfried, as they all put

spurs to their horses, and galloped swiftly home.

It was the Cavern of the Mischief-maker which the party had

visited; and that evening, as they again sat in Siegfried's

pleasant hall, they amused themselves by telling many

strange old tales of the mid-world's childhood, when the

gods, and the giants, and the dwarf-folk, had their dwelling

on the earth. But they talked most of Loki, the flame, the

restless, the evil-doer. And this, my children, is the story

that was told of the Doom of the Mischief-maker.[EN#30]

The Story.

You have heard of the feast that old AEgir once made for the

Asa-folk in his gold-lit dwelling in the deep sea; and how

the feast was hindered, through the loss of his great

brewing-kettle, until Thor had obtained a still larger

vessel from Hymer the giant. It is very likely that the

thief who stole King AEgir's kettle was none other than Loki

the Mischief-maker; but, if this was so, he was not long

unpunished for his meanness.

There was great joy in the Ocean-king's hall, when at last

the banquet was ready, and the foaming ale began to pass

itself around to the guests. But Thor, who had done so much

to help matters along, could not stay to the merry-making:

for he had heard that the Storm-giants were marshalling

their forces for a raid upon some unguarded corner of the

mid-world; and so, grasping his hammer Mjolner, he bade his

kind host good-by, and leaped into his iron car.

"Business always before pleasure!" he cried, as he gave the

word to his swift, strong goats, and rattled away at a

wonderful rate through the air.

In old AEgir's hall glad music resounded on every side; and

the gleeful Waves danced merrily as the Asa-folk sat around

the festal-board, and partook of the Ocean-king's good fare.

AEgir's two thralls, the faithful Funfeng and the trusty

Elder, waited upon the guests, and carefully supplied their

wants. Never in all the world had two more thoughtful

servants been seen; and every one spoke in praise of their

quickness, and their skill, and their ready obedience.

Then Loki, unable to keep his hands from mischief, waxed

very angry, because every one seemed happy and free from

trouble, and no one noticed or cared for him. So, while good

Funfeng was serving him to meat, he struck the faithful

thrall with a carving-knife, and killed him. Then arose a

great uproar in the Ocean-king's feast-hall. The Asa-folk

rose up from the table, and drove the Mischief-maker out

from among them; and in their wrath they chased him across

the waters, and forced him to hide in the thick greenwood.

After this they went back to AEgir's hall, and sat down

again to the feast. But they had scarcely begun to eat, when

Loki came quietly out of his hiding-place, and stole slyly

around to AEgir's kitchen, where he found Elder, the other

thrall, grieving sadly because of his brother's death.

"I hear a great chattering and clattering over there in the

feast-hall," said Loki. "The greedy, silly Asa-folk seem to

be very busy indeed, both with their teeth and their

tongues. Tell me, now, good Elder, what they talk about

while they sit over their meat and ale."

"They talk of noble deeds," answered Elder. "They speak of

gallant heroes, and brave men, and fair women, and strong

hearts, and willing hands, and gentle manners, and kind

friends. And for all these they have words of praise, and

songs of beauty; but none of them speak well of Loki, the

thief and the vile traitor."

"Ah!" said Loki wrathfully, twisting himself into a dozen

different shapes, "no one could ask so great a kindness from

such folk. I must go into the feast-hall, and take a look at

this fine company, and listen to their noisy merry-making. I

have a fine scolding laid up for those good fellows; and,

unless they are careful with their tongues, they will find

many hard words mixed with their ale."

Then he went boldly into the great hall, and stood up before

the wonder-stricken guests at the table. When the Asa-folk

saw who it was that had darkened the doorway, and was now in

their midst, a painful silence fell upon them, and all their

merriment was at an end. And Loki stretched himself up to

his full height, and said to them,--

"Hungry and thirsty come I to AEgir's gold lit hall. Long

and rough was the road I trod, and wearisome was the way.

Will no one bid me welcome? Will none give me a seat at the

feast? Will none offer me a drink of the precious mead? Why

are you all so dumb? Why so sulky and stiff-necked, when

your best friend stands before you? Give me a seat among

you,--yes, one of the high-seats,--or else drive me from

your hall! In either case, the world will never forget me. I

am Loki."

Then one among the Asa-folk spoke up, and said, "Let him sit

with us. He is mad; and when be slew Funfeng, he was not in

his right mind. He is not answerable for his rash act."

But Bragi the Wise, who sat on the innermost seat, arose,

and said, "Nay, we will not give him a seat among us.

Nevermore shall he feast or sup with us, or share our

good-fellowship. Thieves and murderers we know, and will

shun."

This speech enraged Loki all the more; and he spared not

vile words, but heaped abuse without stint upon all the folk

before him. And by main force he seized hold of the silent

Vidar, who had come from the forest solitudes to be present

at the feast, and dragged him away from the table, and

seated himself in his place. Then, as he quaffed the foaming

ale, he flung out taunts and jeers and hard words to all who

sat around, but chiefly to Bragi the Wise. Then he turned to

Sif, the beautiful wife of Thor, and began to twit her about

her golden hair.

"Oh, how handsome you were, when you looked at your bald

head in the mirror that day! Oh, what music you made when

your hands touched your smooth pate! And now whose hair do

you wear?"

And the wretch laughed wickedly, as he saw the tears welling

up in poor Sif's eyes.

Then suddenly a great tumult was heard outside. The

mountains shook and trembled; and the bottom of the sea

seemed moved; and the waves, affrighted and angry, rushed

hither and thither in confusion. All the guests looked up in

eager expectation, and some of them fled in alarm from the

hall. Then the mighty Thor strode through the door, and up

to the table, swinging his hammer, and casting wrathful

glances at the Mischief-maker. Loki trembled, and dropped

his goblet, and sank down upon his knees before the terrible

Asa.

"I yield me!" he cried. "Spare my life, I pray you, and I

will be your thrall forever!"

"I want no such thrall," answered Thor. "And I spare your

life on one condition only,--that you go at once from hence,

and nevermore presume to come into the company of Asa-folk."

"I promise all that you ask," said Loki, trembling more than

ever. "Let me go."

Thor stepped aside; and the frightened culprit fled from the

hall, and was soon out of sight. The feast was broken up.

The folk bade AEgir a kind farewell, and all embarked on

Frey's good ship Skidbladner; and fair winds wafted them

swiftly home to Asgard.

Loki fled to the dark mountain gorges of Mist Land, and

sought for a while to hide himself from the sight of both

gods and men. In a deep ravine by the side of a roaring

torrent, he built himself a house of iron and stone, and

placed a door on each of its four sides, so that he could

see whatever passed around him. There, for many winters, he

lived in lonely solitude, planning with himself how he might

baffle the gods, and regain his old place in Asgard. And now

and then he slipped slyly away from his hiding-place, and

wrought much mischief for a time among the abodes of men.

But when Thor heard of his evil-doings, and sought to catch

him, and punish him for his evil deeds, he was nowhere to be

found. And at last the Asa-folk determined, that, if he

could ever be captured, the safety of the world required

that he should be bound hand and foot, and kept forever in

prison.

Loki often amused himself in his mountain home by taking

upon him his favorite form of a salmon, and lying

listlessly, beneath the waters of the great Fanander

Cataract, which fell from the shelving rocks a thousand feet

above him. One day while thus lying, he bethought himself of

former days, when he walked the glad young earth in company

with the All-Father. And among other things he remembered

how he had once borrowed the magic net of Ran, the

Ocean-queen, and had caught with it the dwarf Andvari,

disguised, as he himself now was, in the form of a slippery

salmon.

"I will make me such a net!" he cried. "I will make it

strong and good; and I, too, will fish for men."

So he took again his proper shape, and went back to his

cheerless home in the ravine. And he gathered flax and wool

and long hemp, and spun yarn and strong cords, and wove them

into meshes, after the pattern of Queen Ran's magic net; for

men had not, at that time, learned how to make or use nets

for fishing. And the first fisherman who caught fish in that

way is said to have taken Loki's net as a model.

Odin sat, on the morrow, in his high hall of Hlidskialf, and

looked out over all the world, and saw, even to the

uttermost corners, what men-folk were everywhere doing. When

his eye rested upon the dark line which marked the

mountain-land of the Mist Country, he started up in quick

surprise, and cried out,

"Who is that who sits by the Fanander Force, and ties strong

cords together?"

But none of those who stood around could tell, for their

eyes were not strong enough and clear enough to see so far.

"Bring Heimdal!" then cried Odin.

Now, Heimdal the White dwells among the blue mountains of

sunny Himminbjorg, where the rainbow, the shimmering

Asa-bridge, spans the space betwixt heaven and earth. He is

the son of Odin, golden-toothed, pure-faced, and

clean-hearted; and he ever keeps watch and ward over the

mid-world and the homes of frail men-folk, lest the giants

shall break in, and destroy and slay. He rides upon a

shining steed named Goldtop; and he holds in his hand a horn

called Gjallar-horn, with which, in the last great twilight,

he shall summon the world to battle with the Fenris-wolf and

the sons of Loki. This watchful guardian of the mid-world is

as wakeful as the birds. And his hearing is so keen, that no

sound on earth escapes him,--not even that of the rippling

waves upon the seashore, nor of the quiet sprouting of the

grass in the meadows, nor even of the growth of the soft

wool on the backs of sheep. And his eyesight, too, is

wondrous clear and sharp; for he can see by night as well as

by day, and the smallest thing, although a hundred leagues

away, cannot be hidden from him.

To Heimdal, then, the heralds hastened, bearing the words

which Odin had spoken. And the watchful warder of the

mid-world came at once to the call of the All-Father.

"Turn your eyes to the sombre mountains that guard the

shadowy Mist-land from the sea," said Odin, "Now look far

down into the rocky gorge in which the Fanander Cataract

pours, and tell me what you see."

Heimdal did as he was bidden.

"I see a shape," said he, "sitting by the torrent's side. It

is Loki's shape, and he seems strangely busy with strong

strings and cords."

"Call all our folk together!" commanded Odin. "The wily

Mischief-maker plots our hurt. He must be driven from his

hiding-place, and put where he can do no further harm."

Great stir was there then in Asgard. Every one hastened to

answer Odin's call, and to join in the quest for the

Mischief-maker. Thor came on foot, with his hammer tightly

grasped in his hands, and lightning flashing from beneath

his red brows. Tyr, the one-handed, came with his sword.

Then followed Bragi the Wise, with his harp and his sage

counsels; then Hermod the Nimble, with his quick wit and

ready hands; and, lastly, a great company of elves and

wood-sprites and trolls. Then a whirlwind caught them up in

its swirling arms, and carried them through the air, over

the hill-tops and the country-side, and the meadows and the

mountains, and set them down in the gorge of the Fanander

Force.

But Loki was not caught napping. His wakeful ears had heard

the tumult in the air, and he guessed who it was that was

coming. He threw the net, which he had just finished, into

the fire, and jumped quickly into the swift torrent, where,

changing himself into a salmon, he lay hidden beneath the

foaming waters.

When the eager Asa-folk reached Loki's dwelling, they found

that he whom they sought had fled; and although they

searched high and low, among the rocks and the caves and the

snowy crags, they could see no signs of the cunning

fugitive. Then they went back to his house again to consult

what next to do. And, while standing by the hearth, Kwaser,

a sharp-sighted elf, whose eyes were quicker than the

sunbeam, saw the white ashes of the burned net lying

undisturbed in the still hot embers, the woven meshes

unbroken and whole.

"See what the cunning fellow has been making!" cried the

elf. "It must have been a trap for catching fish."

"Or rather for catching men," said Bragi; "for it is

strangely like the Sea-queen's net."

"In that case," said Hermod the Nimble, "he has made a trap

for himself; for, no doubt, he has changed himself, as is

his wont, to a slippery salmon, and lies at this moment

hidden beneath the Fanander torrent. Here are plenty of

cords of flax and hemp and wool, with which he intended to

make other nets. Let us take them, and weave one like the

pattern which lies there in the embers; and then, if I

mistake not, we shall catch the too cunning fellow."

All saw the wisdom of these words, and all set quickly to

work. In a short time they had made a net strong and large,

and full of fine meshes, like the model among the coals.

Then they threw it into the roaring stream, Thor holding to

one end, and all the other folk pulling at the other. With

great toil, they dragged it forwards, against the current,

even to the foot of the waterfall. But the cunning Loki

crept close down between two sharp stones, and lay there

quietly while the net passed harmlessly over him.

"Let us try again!" cried Thor. "I am sure that something

besides dead rocks lies at the bottom of the stream."

So they hung heavy weights to the net, and began to drag it

a second time, this time going down stream. Loki looked out

from his hiding-place, and saw that he would not be able to

escape again by lying between the rocks, and that his only

chance for safety was either to leap over the net, and hide

himself behind the rushing cataract itself, or to swim with

the current out to the sea. But the way to the sea was long,

and there were many shallow places; and Loki had doubts as

to how old AEgir would receive him in his kingdom. He feared

greatly to undertake so dangerous and uncertain a course.

So, turning upon his foes, and calling up all his strength,

he made a tremendous leap high into the air, and clean over

the net. But Thor was too quick for him. As he fell towards

the water, the Thunderer quickly threw out his hand, and

caught the slippery salmon, holding him firmly by the tail.

When Loki found that he was surely caught, and could not by

any means escape, he took again his proper shape. Fiercely

did he struggle with mighty Thor, and bitter were the curses

which he poured down upon his enemies. But he could not get

free. Into the deep, dark cavern, beneath the smoking

mountain, where daylight never comes, nor the warmth of the

sun, nor the sound of Nature's music, the fallen

Mischief-maker was carried. And they bound him firmly to the

sharp rocks, with his face turned upwards toward the

dripping roof; for they said that nevermore, until the last

dread twilight, should he be free to vex the world with his

wickedness. And Skade, the giant wife of Niord and the

daughter of grim Old Winter, took a hideous poison snake,

and hung it up above Loki, so that its venom would drop into

his upturned face. But Sigyn, the loving wife of the

suffering wretch, left her home in the pleasant halls of

Asgard, and came to his horrible prison-house to soothe and

comfort him; and evermore she holds a basin above his head,

and catches in it the poisonous drops as they fall. When the

basin is filled, and she turns to empty it in the tar-black

river that flows through that home of horrors, the terrible

venom falls upon his unprotected face, and Loki writhes and

shrieks in fearful agony, until the earth around him shakes

and trembles, and the mountains spit forth fire, and fumes

of sulphur-smoke.

And there the Mischief-maker, the spirit of evil, shall lie

in torment until the last great day and the dread twilight

of all mid-world things. How strange and how sad, that,

while Loki lies thus bound and harmless, evil still walks

the earth, and that so much mischief and such dire disasters

were prepared for Siegfried and the folk of Nibelungen Land!

Adventure XVIII

How the Mischief Began to Brew.

One day a party of strangers came to Siegfried's Nibelungen

dwelling, and asked to speak with the king.

"Who are you? and what is your errand?" asked the porter at

the gate.

"Our errand is to the king, and he will know who we are when

he sees us," was the answer.

When Siegfried was told of the strange men who waited below,

and of the strange way in which they had answered the

porter's question, he asked,--

"From what country seem they to have come? For surely their

dress and manners will betray something of that matter to

you. Are they South-land folk, or East-land folk? Are they

from the mountains, or from the sea?"

"They belong to none of the neighbor-lands," answered the

earl who had brought the word to the king. "No such men live

upon our borders. They seem to have come from a far-off

land; for they are travel-worn, and their sea-stained

clothing betokens a people from the south. They are tall and

dark, and their hair is black, and they look much like those

Rhineland warriors who came hither with our lady the queen.

And they carry a blood-red banner with a golden dragon

painted upon it."

"Oh, they must be from Burgundy!" cried the queen, who had

overheard these words. And she went at once to the window to

see the strangers, who were waiting in the courtyard below.

There, indeed, she saw thirty tall Burgundians, clad in the

gay costume of Rhineland, now faded and worn with long

travel. But all save one were young, and strangers to

Kriemhild. That one was their leader,--an old man with a

kind face, and a right noble bearing.

"See!" said the queen to Siegfried: "there is our brave

captain Gere, who, ever since my childhood, has been the

trustiest man in my brother Gunther's household. Those men

are from the fatherland, and they bring tidings from the

dear old Burgundian home."

"Welcome are they to our Nibelungen Land!" cried the

delighted king.

And he ordered that the strangers should be brought into the

castle, and that the most sumptuous rooms should be allotted

to them, and a plenteous meal prepared, and every thing done

to entertain them in a style befitting messengers from

Kriemhild's fatherland. Then Gere, the trusty captain, was

led into the presence of the king and queen. Right gladly

did they welcome him, and many were the questions they asked

about their kin-folk, and the old Rhineland home.

"Tell us, good Gere," said Siegfried, "what is thy message

from our friends; for we are anxious to know whether they

are well and happy, or whether some ill luck has overtaken

them. If any harm threatens them, they have but to speak,

and I, with my sword and my treasures, will hasten to their

help."

"They are all well," answered the captain. "No ill has

befallen them, and no harm threatens them. Peace rules all

the land; and fair weather and sunshine have filled the

people's barns, and made their hearts glad. And thus it has

been ever since Gunther brought to his dwelling the

warrior-maiden Brunhild to be his queen. And this is my

errand and the message that I bring: King Gunther, blessed

with happiness, intends to hold a grand high-tide of joy and

thanksgiving at the time of the harvest-moon. And nothing is

wanting to complete the gladness of that time, but the sight

of you and the peerless Kriemhild in your old places at the

feast. And it is to invite you to this festival of rejoicing

that I have come, at the king's command, to Nibelungen

Land."

Siegfried sat a moment in silence, and then thoughtfully

answered,--

"It is a long, long journey from this land to Burgundy, and

many dangers beset the road; and my own people would sadly

miss me while away, and I know not what mishaps might

befall."

Then Gere spoke of the queen-mother Ute, now grown old and

feeble, who wished once more, ere death called her hence, to

see her daughter Kriemhild. And he told how all the people,

both high and low, yearned for another sight of the radiant

hero who in former days had blessed their land with his

presence and his noble deeds. And his persuasive words had

much weight with Siegfried, who said at length,--

"Tarry a few days yet for my answer. I will talk with my

friends and the Nibelungen earls; and what they think best,

that will I do."

For nine days, then, waited Gere at Siegfried's hall; but

still the king put off his answer.

"Wait until to-morrow," he said each day, for his heart

whispered dim forebodings.

At length, as midsummer was fast drawing near, the impatient

captain could stay no longer; and he bade his followers make

ready to go back forthwith to Burgundy. When the queen saw

that they were ready to take their leave, and that Gere

could wait no longer upon the king's pleasure, she urged her

husband to say to Gunther that they would come to his

harvest festival. And the lords and noble earl-folk added

their persuasions to hers.

"Send word back to the Burgundian king," said they, "that

you will go, as he desires. We will see to it that no harm

comes to your kingdom while you are away."

So Siegfried called Gere and his comrades into the ball, and

loaded them with costly gifts such as they had never before

seen, and bade them say to their master that he gladly

accepted the kind invitation he had sent, and that, ere the

harvest high-tide began, he and Kriemhild would be with him

in Burgundy.

And the messengers went back with all speed, and told what

wondrous things they had seen in Nibelungen Land, and in

what great splendor Siegfried lived. And, when they showed

the rare presents which had been given them, all joined in

praising the goodness and greatness of the hero-king. But

old chief Hagen frowned darkly as he said,--

"It is little wonder that he can do such things, for the

Shining Hoard of Andvari is his. If we had such a treasure,

we, too, might live in more than kingly grandeur."

Early in the month of roses, Siegfried and his peerless

queen, with a retinue of more than a thousand warriors and

many fair ladies, started on their long and toilsome journey

to the South-land. And the folk who went with them to the

city gates bade them mane tearful farewells, and returned to

their homes, feeling that the sunshine had gone forever from

the Nibelungen Land. But the sky was blue and cloudless, and

the breezes warm and mild, and glad was the song of the

reapers as adown the seaward highway the kingly company

rode. Two days they rode through Mist Land, to the shore of

the peaceful sea. Ten days they sailed on the waters. And

the winds were soft and gentle; and the waves slept in the

sunlight, or merrily danced in their wake. But each day, far

behind them, there followed a storm-cloud, dark as night,

and the pleasant shores of Mist Land were hidden forever

behind it. Five days they rode through the Lowlands, and

glad were the Lowland folk with sight of their hero-king.

Two days through the silent greenwood, and one o'er the

barren moor, and three amid vineyards and fields, and

between orchards fruitful and fair, they rode. And on the

four and twentieth day they came in sight of the quiet town,

and the tall gray towers, where dwelt the Burgundian kings.

And a great company on horseback, with flashing shields and

fine-wrought garments and nodding plumes, came out to meet

them. It was King Gernot and a thousand of the best men and

fairest women in Burgundy; and they welcomed Siegfried and

Kriemhild and their Nibelungen-folk to the fair land of the

Rhine. And then they turned, and rode back with them to the

castle. And, as the company passed through the pleasant

streets of the town, the people stood by the wayside,

anxious to catch sight of the radiant Siegfried on his

sunbright steed, and of the peerless Kriemhild, riding on a

palfrey by his side. And young girls strewed roses in their

pathway, and hung garlands upon their horses; and every one

shouted, "Hail to the conquering hero! Hail to the matchless

queen!"

When they reached the castle, King Gunther and Giselher met

them, and ushered them into the old familiar halls, where a

right hearty welcome greeted them from all the kingly

household. And none seemed more glad in this happy hour than

Brunhild the warrior-queen, now more gloriously beautiful

than even in the days of yore.

When the harvest-moon began to shine full and bright,

lighting up the whole world from evening till morn with its

soft radiance, the gay festival so long looked forward to

began. And care and anxiety, and the fatigues of the long

journey, were forgotten amid the endless round of pleasure

which for twelve days enlivened the whole of Burgundy. And

the chiefest honors were everywhere paid to Siegfried the

hero-king, and to Kriemhild the peerless queen of beauty.

Then Queen Brunhild called to mind, how, on a time, it had

been told her in Isenland that Siegfried was but the

liegeman and vassal of King Gunther; and she wondered why

such honor should be paid to an underling, and why the king

himself should treat him with so much respect. And as she

thought of this, and of the high praises with which every

one spoke of Kriemhild, her mind became filled with jealous

broodings. And soon her bitter jealousy was turned to deadly

hate; for she remembered then, how, in the days long past, a

noble youth, more beautiful and more glorious than the world

would ever see again, had awakened her from the deep sleep

that Odin's thorn had given; and she remembered how Gunther

had won her by deeds of strength and skill which he never

afterwards could even imitate; and she thought how grand

indeed was Kriemhild's husband compared with her own weak

and wavering and commonplace lord. And her soul was filled

with sorrow and bitterness and deepest misery, when, putting

these thoughts together, she believed that she had in some

way been duped and cheated into becoming Gunther's wife.

When at last the gay feast was ended, and most of the guests

had gone to their homes, she sought her husband, and thus

broached the matter to him.

"Often have I asked you," said she, "why your sister

Kriemhild was given in marriage to a vassal, and as often

have you put me off with vague excuses. Often, too, have I

wondered why your vassal, Siegfried, has never paid you

tribute for the lands which he holds from you, and why he

has never come to render you homage. Now he is here in your

castle; but he sets himself up, not as your vassal, but as

your peer. I pray you, tell me what such strange things

mean. Was an underling and a vassal ever known before to put

himself upon a level with his liege lord?"

Gunther was greatly troubled, and he knew not what to say;

for he feared to tell the queen how they had deceived her

when he had won the games at Isenstein, and how the truth

had ever since been kept hidden from her.

"Ask me not to explain this matter further than I have

already done," he answered. "It is enough that Siegfried is

the greatest of all my vassals, and that his lands are

broader even than my own. He has helped me out of many

straits, and has added much to the greatness and strength of

my kingdom: for this reason he has never been asked to pay

us tribute, and for this reason we grant him highest

honors."

But this answer failed to satisfy the queen.

"Is it not the first duty of a vassal," she asked, "to help

his liege lord in every undertaking? If so, Siegfried has

but done his duty, and you owe him nothing. But you have not

told me all. You have deceived me, and you would fain

deceive me again. You have a secret, and I will find it

out."

The king made no answer, but walked silently and

thoughtfully away.

It happened one evening, not long thereafter, that the two

queens sat together at an upper window, and looked down upon

a company of men in the courtyard below. Among them were the

noblest earl-folk of Burgundy, and Gunther the king, and

Siegfried. But Siegfried towered above all the rest; and he

moved like a god among men.

"See my noble Siegfried!" cried Kriemhild in her pride. "How

grandly he stands there! What a type of manly beauty and

strength! No one cares to look at other men when he is

near."

"He maybe handsome," answered Brunhild sadly; "and, for

aught I know, he may be noble. But what is all that by the

side of kingly power? Were he but the peer of your brother

Gunther, then you might well boast."

"He is the peer of Gunther," returned Kriemhild. "And not

only his peer, but more; for he stands as high above him in

kingly power and worth as in bodily stature."

"How can that be?" asked Brunhild, growing angry. "For, when

Gunther so gallantly won me at Isenstein, he told me that

Siegfried was his vassal; and often since that time I have

heard the same. And even your husband told me that Gunther

was his liege lord."

Queen Kriemhild laughed at these words, and answered, "I

tell you again that Siegfried is a king far nobler and

richer and higher than any other king on earth. Think you

that my brothers would have given me to a mere vassal to be

his wife?"

Then Brunhild, full of wrath, replied, "Your husband is

Gunther's vassal and my own, and he shall do homage to us as

the humblest and meanest of our underlings. He shall not go

from this place until he has paid all the tribute that has

so long been due from him. Then we shall see who is the

vassal, and who is the lord."

"Nay," answered Kriemhild. "It shall not be. No tribute was

ever due; and, if homage is to be paid, it is rather Gunther

who must pay it."

"It shall be settled once for all!" cried Brunhild, now

boiling over with rage. "I will know the truth. If Siegfried

is not our vassal, then I have been duped; and I will have

revenge."

"It is well," was the mild answer. "Let it be settled, once

for all; and then, mayhap, we shall know who it was who

really won the games at Isenstein, and you for Gunther's

wife."

And the two queens parted in wrath.[EN#31]

Kriemhild's anger was as fleeting as an April cloud, which

does but threaten, and then passes away in tears and

sunshine. But Brunhild's was like the dread winter storm

that sweeps down from Niflheim, and brings ruin and death in

its wake. She felt that she had been cruelly wronged in some

way, and that her life had been wrecked, and she rested not

until she had learned the truth.

It was Hagen who at last told her the story of the cruel

deceit that had made her Gunther's wife; and then her wrath

and her shame knew no bounds.

"Woe betide the day!" she cried,--"woe betide the day that

brought me to Rhineland, and made me the wife of a weakling

and coward, and the jest of him who might have done nobler

things!"

Hagen smiled. He had long waited for this day.

"It was Siegfried, and Siegfried alone, who plotted to

deceive you," he said. "Had it not been for him, you might

still have been the happy maiden-queen of Isenland. And now

he laughs at you, and urges his queen, Kriemhild, to scorn

you as she would an underling."

"I know it, I know it," returned the queen in distress. "And

yet how grandly noble is the man! How he rushed through the

flames to awaken me, when no one else could save! How brave,

how handsome,--and yet he has been my bane. I can have no

peace while he lives."

Hagen smiled again, and a strange light gleamed from his

dark eye. Then he said, "Truly handsome and brave is he, but

a viler traitor was never born. He even now plots to seize

this kingdom, and to add it to his domain. Why else should

he bring so great a retinue of Nibelungen warriors to

Burgundy? I will see King Gunther at once, and we will put

an end to his wicked projects."

"Do even so, good Hagen," said Brunhild. "Take him from my

path, and bring low the haughty pride of his wife, and I

shall be content."

"That I will do!" cried Hagen. "That I will do! Gunther is

and shall be the king without a peer; and no one shall dare

dispute the worth and the queenly beauty of his wife."

Then the wily chief sought Gunther, and with cunning words

poisoned his weak mind. The feeble old king was easily made

to believe that Siegfried was plotting against his life, and

seeking to wrest the kingdom from him. And he forgot the

many kind favors he had received at the hero's hand. He no

longer remembered how Siegfried had slain the terror of the

Glittering Heath, and freed the Burgundians from many a

fear; and how he had routed the warlike hosts of the

North-land, and made prisoners of their kings; and how he

had brought his voyage to Isenland to a happy and successful

ending. He forgot, also, that Siegfried was his sister's

husband. He had ears and mind only for Hagen's wily words.

"While this man lives," said the dark-browed chief, "none of

us are safe. See how the people follow him! Hear how they

shout at his coming! They look upon him as a god, and upon

Gunther as a nobody. If we are wise, we shall rid ourselves

of so dangerous a man."

"It is but a week until he takes his leave of us, and goes

back to his own home in Nibelungen Land. Watch him carefully

until that time, but do him no harm. When he is once gone,

he shall never come back again," said the king. But he spoke

thus, not because of any kind feelings towards Siegfried,

but rather because he feared the Nibelungen hero.

"He has no thought of going at that time," answered Hagen.

"He speaks of it, only to hide his wicked and traitorous

plots. Instead of going home, his plans will then be ready

for action, and it will be too late for us to save

ourselves. Still, if you will not believe me, take your own

course. You have been warned."

The cunning chief arose to leave the room; but Gunther, now

thoroughly frightened, stopped him.

"Hagen," he said, "you have always been my friend, and the

words which you say are wise. Save us and our kingdom now,

in whatsoever way you may deem best. I know not what to do."

Then the weak king and the warrior-chief talked long

together in low, hoarse whispers. And, when they parted,

shame and guilt were stamped in plain lines on Gunther's

face, from which they were nevermore erased; and he dared

not lift his gaze from the floor, fearing that his eyes

would betray him, if seen by any more pure-hearted than he.

But a smile of triumph played under the lurking gleams of

Hagen's eye; and he walked erect and bold, as if he had done

a praiseworthy deed.

That night a storm came sweeping down from the North, and

the cold rain fell in torrents; and great hailstones

pattered on the roofs and towers of the castle, and cruelly

pelted the cattle in the fields, and the birds in the

friendly shelter of the trees. And old Thor fought bravely

with the Storm-giants; and all night long the rattle of his

chariot-wheels, and the heavy strokes of his dread hammer,

were heard resounding through the heavens. In his lonely

chamber Hagen sat and rubbed his hands together, and grimly

smiled.

"The time so long waited for has come at last," he said.

But the guilty king, unable to sleep, walked restlessly to

and fro, and trembled with fear at every sound of the

storm-gust without.

When day dawned at last, a sad scene met the eyes of all

beholders. The earth was covered with the broken branches of

leafy trees; the flowers and shrubs were beaten pitilessly

to the ground; and here and there lay the dead bodies of

little feathered songsters, who, the day before, had made

the woods glad with their music.

The sun had scarcely risen above this sorrowful scene,

gilding the gray towers and turrets and the drooping trees

with the promise of better things, than a strange confusion

was noticed outside of the castle-gates. Thirty and two

horsemen wearing the livery of the North-lands stood there,

and asked to be led to the Burgundian kings.

"Who are you? and what is your errand?" asked the

gate-keeper.

"We come as heralds and messengers from Leudiger and

Leudigast, the mighty kings of the North," they answered.

"But our errand we can tell to no man save to Gunther your

king, or to his brothers Gernot and Giselher."

Then they were led by the king's command into the

council-hall, where sat Gunther, Gernot, and the noble

Giselher; and behind them stood their uncle and chief, brave

old Hagen.

"What message bring you from our old friends Leudiger and

Leudigast?" asked Gunther of the strangers.

"Call them not your friends," answered the chief of the

company. "We bring you this message from our liege lords,

whom you may well count as enemies. Many years ago they were

sorely beaten in battle, and suffered much hurt at your

hands. And they vowed then to avenge the injury, and to wipe

out the disgrace you had caused them, just so soon as they

were strong enough to do so. Now they are ready, with fifty

thousand men, to march into your country. And they swear to

lay waste your lands, and to burn your towns and villages

and all your castles, unless you at once acknowledge

yourselves their vassals, and agree to pay them tribute.

This is the kings' message. And we were further ordered not

to wait for an answer, but to carry back to them without

delay your reply, whether you will agree to their terms or

no."

King Gunther, as was his wont, turned to Hagen for advice.

"Send for Siegfried," whispered the chief.

It was done. And soon the hero came into the hall. His

kingly grace and warlike bearing were such that Gunther

dared not raise his guilty eyes from the ground; and Hagen's

furtive glances were, for the moment, freighted with fear

and shame. The message of the heralds was repeated to

Siegfried; and Gunther said,--

"Most noble friend, you hear what word these traitorous

kings dare send us. Now, we remember, that, long years ago,

you led us against them, and gave us a glorious victory. We

remember, too, how, by your counsel, their lives were

spared, and they were sent home with costly gifts. It is

thus they repay our kindness. What answer shall we send

them?"

"Say that we will fight," answered Siegfried at once. "I

will lead my brave Nibelungens against them, and they shall

learn how serious a thing it is to break an oath, or to

return treason for kindness."

The news soon spread through all the town and through the

country-side, that Leudiger and Leudigast, with fifty

thousand men, were marching into Burgundy, and destroying

every thing in their way. And great flight and confusion

prevailed. Men and women hurried hither and thither in

dismay. Soldiers busily sharpened their weapons, and

burnished their armor, ready for the fray. Little children

were seen cowering at every sound, and anxious faces were

found everywhere.

When Queen Kriemhild saw the busy tumult, and heard the

shouts and cries in the street and the courtyard, and

learned the cause of it all, she was greatly troubled, and

went at once to seek Siegfried. When she found him, she drew

him aside, and besought him not to take part in the war

which threatened, but to hasten with all speed back to their

own loved Nibelungen Land.

"And why would my noble queen wish me thus to play the part

of a coward, and to leave my friends when they most need my

help?" asked Siegfried in surprise.

"I would not have you play the coward," answered Kriemhild,

and hot tears stood in her eyes. "But some unseen danger

overhangs. There are other traitors than Leudiger and

Leudigast, and men to be more feared than they. Last night I

dreamed a fearful dream, and it follows me still. I dreamed

that you hunted in the forest, and that two wild boars

attacked you. The grass and the flowers were stained with

your gore, and the cruel tusks of the beasts tore you in

pieces, and no one came to your help. And I cried out in my

distress, and awoke; and the storm-clouds roared and

threatened, and the hail pattered on the roof, and the wind

and rain beat against the windowpanes. Then I slept again,

and another dream, as fearful as the first, came to me. I

dreamed that you rode in the forest, and that music sprang

up in your footsteps, and all things living called you

blessed, but that suddenly two mountains rose up from the

ground, and their high granite crags toppled over, and fell

upon you, and buried you from my sight forever. Then I awoke

again, and my heart has ever since been heavy with fearful

forebodings. I know that some dread evil threatens us; yet,

what it is, I cannot tell. But go not out against the

North-kings. Our Nibelungen-folk wait too long for your

coming."

Siegfried gayly laughed at his queen's fears, and said, "The

woof of every man's fate has been woven by the Norns, and

neither he nor his foes can change it. When his hour comes,

then he must go to meet his destiny."

Then he led her gently back to her room in the castle, and

bade her a loving farewell, saying, "When the foes of our

Burgundian hosts are put to flight, and there is no longer

need for us here, then will we hasten back to Nibelungen

Land. Have patience and hope for a few days only, and all

will yet be well. Forget your foolish dreams, and think only

of my glad return."

It was arranged, that, in the march against the North-kings,

Siegfried with his Nibelungens should take the lead; while

Hagen, with a picked company of fighting-men, should bring

up the rear. Every one was eager to join in the undertaking;

and no one, save King Gunther and his cunning counsellor,

and Ortwin and Dankwart, knew that the pretended heralds

from the North-kings were not heralds at all, but merely the

false tools of wicked Hagen. For the whole was but a

well-planned plot, as we shall see, to entrap unwary,

trusting Siegfried.

Soon all things were in readiness for the march; but, as the

day was now well spent, it was agreed, that, at early dawn

of the morrow, the little army should set out. And every one

went home to put his affairs in order, and to rest for the

night.

Late that evening old Hagen went to bid Siegfried's queen

good-by. Kriemhild had tried hard to drown her gloomy fears,

and to forget her sad, foreboding dreams; but it was all in

vain, for deep anxiety still rested heavily upon her mind.

Yet she welcomed her dark-browed uncle with the kindest

words.

"How glad I am," she said, "that my husband is here to help

my kinsfolk in this their time of need! I know right well,

that, with him to lead, you shall win. But, dear uncle,

remember, when you are in the battle, that we have always

loved you, and that Siegfried has done many kindnesses to

the Burgundians; and, if any danger threaten him, turn it

aside, I pray you, for Kriemhild's sake. I know that I merit

Queen Brunhild's anger, because of the sharp words I lately

spoke to her; but let not my husband suffer blame for that

which is my fault alone."

"Kriemhild," answered Hagen, "no one shall suffer

blame,--neither Siegfried nor yourself. We are all

forgetful, and sometimes speak hasty words; but that which

we say in angry thoughtlessness should not be cherished up

against us. There is no one who thinks more highly of

Siegfried than I, and there is nothing I would not do to

serve him."

"I should not fear for him," said she, "if he were not so

bold and reckless. When he is in the battle, he never thinks

of his own safety. And I tremble lest at some time he may

dare too much, and meet his death. If you knew every thing,

as I do, you would fear for him too."

"What is it?" asked Hagen, trying to hide his

eagerness,--"what is it that gives you cause for fear? Tell

me all about it, and then I will know the better how to

shield him from danger. I will lay down my life for his

sake."

Then Kriemhild, trusting in her uncle's word, and forgetful

of every caution, told him the secret of the dragon's blood,

and of Siegfried's strange bath, and of the mischief-working

lime-leaf.

"And now," she added, "since I know that there is one spot

which a deadly weapon might reach, I am in constant fear

that the spear of an enemy may, perchance, strike him there.

Is there not some way of shielding that spot?"

"There is," answered Hagen. "Make some mark, or put some

sign, upon his coat, that I may know where that spot is.

And, when the battle rages, I will ride close behind him,

and ward off every threatened stroke."

And Kriemhild joyfully promised that she would at once

embroider a silken lime-leaf on the hero's coat, just over

the fatal spot. And Hagen, well pleased, bade her farewell,

and went away.

Without delay the chief sought the weak-minded Gunther, and

to him he related all that the trustful Kriemhild had told

him. And, until the midnight hour, the two plotters sat in

the king's bed-chamber, and laid their cunning plans. Both

thought it best, now they had learned the fatal secret, to

give up the sham march against the North-kings, and to seek

by other and easier means to lure Siegfried to his death.

"The chiefs will be much displeased," said Gunther. "For all

will come, ready to march at the rising of the sun. What

shall we do to please them, and make them more ready to

change their plans?"

Hagen thought a moment, and then the grim smile that was

wont to break the dark lines of his face when he was pleased

spread over his features.

"We will have a grand hunt in the Odenwald to-morrow," he

hoarsely whispered.

Adventure XIX

How They Hunted in the Odenwald.

Next morning, at earliest daybreak, while yet the stars were

bright, and the trees hung heavy with dew-drops, and the

clouds were light and high, King Siegfried stood with his

warriors before the castle-gate. They waited but for the

sunrise, and a word from Gunther the king, to ride forth

over dale and woodland, and through forest and brake and

field, to meet, as they believed, the hosts of the

North-land kings. And Siegfried moved among them, calm-faced

and bright as a war-god, upon the radiant Greyfell. And men

said, long years afterward, that never had the shining hero

seemed so glorious to their sight. Within the spacious

courtyard a thousand Burgundian braves stood waiting, too,

for the signal, and the king's word of command. And at their

head stood Hagen, dark as a cloud in summer, guilefully

hiding his vile plots, and giving out orders for the

marching. There, too, were honest Gernot, fearless and

upright, and Giselher, true as gold; and neither of them

dreamed of evil, or of the dark deed that day was doomed to

see. Close by the gate was Ortwin, bearing aloft the

blood-red dragon-banner, which the Burgundians were wont to

carry in honor of Siegfried's famous fight with Fafnir. And

there was Dankwart, also, ever ready to boast when no danger

threatened, and ever willing to do chief Hagen's bidding.

And next came Volker the Fiddler good, with the famed sword

Fiddle-bow by him, on which, it is said, he could make the

sweetest music while fighting his foes in battle.

At length the sun began to peep over the eastern hills, and

his beams fell upon the castle-walls, and shot away through

the trees, and over the meadows, and made the dewdrops

glisten like myriads of diamonds among the dripping leaves

and blossoms. And a glad shout went up from the throats of

the waiting heroes; for they thought that the looked-for

moment had come, and the march would soon begin. And the

shout was echoed from walls to turrets, and from turrets to

trees, and from trees to hills, and from the hills to the

vaulted sky above. And nothing was wanting now but King

Gunther's word of command.

Suddenly, far down the street, the sound of a bugle was

heard, and then of the swift clattering of horses' hoofs

coming up the hill towards the castle.

"Who are they who come thus to join us at the last moment?"

asked Hagen of the watchman above the gate.

"They are strangers," answered the watchman; "and they carry

a peace-flag."

In a few moments the strange horsemen dashed up, and halted

some distance from the castle-gate, where Siegfried and his

heroes stood.

"Who are you? and what is your errand?" cried Hagen, in the

king's name.

They answered that they were heralds from the North-land

kings, sent quickly to correct the message of the day

before; for their liege lords, Leudiger and Leudigast, they

said, had given up warring against Burgundy, and had gone

back to their homes. And they had sent humbly to ask the

Rhineland kings to forget the rash threats which they had

made, and to allow them to swear fealty to Gunther, and

henceforth to be his humble vassals, if only they might be

forgiven.

"Right cheerfully do we forgive them!" cried Gunther, not

waiting to consult with his wise men. "And our forgiveness

shall be so full, that we shall ask neither fealty nor

tribute from them."

Then he turned to Siegfried, and said, "You hear, friend

Siegfried, how this troublesome matter has been happily

ended. Accept our thanks, we pray you, for your proffered

help; for, without it, it might have gone but roughly with

us in a second war with the Northland kings. But now you are

free to do what pleases you. If, as you said yesterday, you

would fain return to Nibelungen Land, you may send your

warriors on the way to-day, for they are already equipped

for the journey. But abide you with us another day, and

to-morrow we will bid you God-speed, and you may easily

overtake your Nibelungen friends ere they have reached our

own boundaries."

Siegfried was not well pleased to give up an undertaking

scarce begun, and still less could he understand why the

king should be so ready to forgive the affront which the

North-land kings had offered him. And he was not slow in

reading the look of shame and guilt that lurked in Gunther's

face, or the smile of jealous hate that Hagen could no

longer hide. Yet no word of displeasure spoke he, nor seemed

he to understand that any mischief was brewing; for he

feared neither force nor guile. So he bade his Nibelungens

to begin their homeward march, saying that he and Kriemhild,

and the ladies of her train, would follow swiftly on the

morrow.

"Since it is your last day with us," said Gunther, grown

cunning through Hagen's teaching, "what say you, dear

Siegfried, to a hunt in Odin's Wood?"

"Right glad will I be to join you in such sport," answered

Siegfried. "I will change my war-coat for a hunting-suit,

and be ready within an hour."

Then Siegfried went to his apartments, and doffed his

steel-clad armor, and searched in vain through his wardrobe

for his favorite hunting-suit. But it was nowhere to be

found; and he was fain to put on the rich embroidered coat

which he sometimes wore in battle, instead of a

coat-of-mail. And he did not see the white lime-leaf that

Kriemhild with anxious care had worked in silk upon it. Then

he sought the queen, and told her of the unlooked-for change

of plans, and how, on the morrow, they would ride towards

Nibelungen Land; but to-day he said he had promised Gunther

to hunt with him in the Odenwald.

But Kriemhild, to his great surprise, begged him not to

leave her, even to hunt in the Odenwald. For she had begun

to fear that she had made a great mistake in telling Hagen

the story of the lime-leaf; and yet she could not explain to

Siegfried the true cause of her uneasiness.

"Oh, do not join in the hunt!" she cried. "Something tells

me that danger lurks hidden in the wood. Stay in the castle

with me, and help me put things in readiness for our journey

homewards to-morrow. Last night I had another dream. I

thought that Odin's birds, Hugin and Munin, sat on a tree

before me. And Hugin flapped his wings, and said, 'What more

vile than a false friend? What more to be feared than a

secret foe? Harder than stone is his unfeeling heart;

sharper than the adder's poison-fangs are his words; a snake

in the grass is he!' Then Munin flapped his wings too, but

said nothing. And I awoke, and thought at once of the

sunbright Balder, slain through Loki's vile deceit. And, as

I thought upon his sad death, a withered leaf came

fluttering through the casement, and fell upon my couch. Sad

signs and tokens are these, my husband; and much grief, I

fear, they foretell."

But Siegfried was deaf to her words of warning, and he

laughed at the foolish dream. Then he bade her farewell till

even-tide, and hastened to join the party of huntsmen who

waited for him impatiently at the gate.

When the party reached the Odenwald, they separated; each

man taking his own course, and following his own game.

Siegfried, with but one trusty huntsman and his own

fleet-footed hound, sought at once the wildest and thickest

part of the wood. And great was the slaughter he made among

the fierce beasts of the forest; for nothing that was worthy

of notice could hide from his sight, or escape him. From his

lair in a thorny thicket, a huge wild boar sprang up; and

with glaring red eyes, and mouth foaming, and tusks gnashing

with rage, he charged fiercely upon the hero. But, with one

skilful stroke from his great spear, Siegfried laid the

beast dead on the heather. Next he met a tawny lion, couched

ready to spring upon him; but, drawing quickly his heavy

bow, he sent a quivering arrow through the animal's heart.

Then, one after another, he slew a buffalo, four bisons, a

mighty elk with branching horns, and many deers and stags

and savage beasts.

At one time the hound drove from its hiding-place another

wild boar, much greater than the first, and far more fierce.

Quickly Siegfried dismounted from his horse, and met the

grizzly creature as it rushed with raving fury towards him.

The sword of the hero cleft the beast in twain, and its

bloody parts lay lifeless on the ground. Then Siegfried's

huntsman, in gay mood, said, "My lord, would it not be

better to rest a while! If you keep on slaughtering at this

rate, there will soon be no game left in Odenwald."

Siegfried laughed heartily at the merry words, and at once

called in his hound, saying, "You are right! We will hunt no

more until our good friends have joined us."

Soon afterward the call of a bugle was heard; and Gunther

and Hagen and Dankwart and Ortwin, with their huntsmen and

hounds, came riding up.

"What luck have you had, my friends?" asked Siegfried.

Then Hagen told what game they had taken,--a deer, a young

bear, and two small wild boars. But, when they learned what

Siegfried had done, the old chief's face grew dark, and he

knit his eyebrows, and bit his lips in jealous hate: for

four knights, ten huntsmen, and four and twenty hounds, had

beaten every bush, and followed every trail; and yet the

Nibelungen king, with but one follower and one hound, had

slain ten times as much game as they.

While they stood talking over the successes of the day, the

sound of a horn was heard, calling the sportsmen together

for the mid-day meal; and knights and huntsmen turned their

steeds, and rode slowly towards the trysting-place. Suddenly

a huge bear, roused by the noise of baying hounds and

tramping feet, crossed their pathway.

"Ah!" cried Siegfried, "there goes our friend Bruin, just in

time to give us a bit of fun, and some needed sport at

dinner. He shall go with us, and be our guest!"

With these words he loosed his hound, and dashed swiftly

forwards after the beast. Through thick underbrush and

tangled briers, and over fallen trees, the frightened

creature ran, until at last it reached a steep hillside.

There, in a rocky cleft, it stood at bay, and fought

fiercely for its life. When Siegfried came up, and saw that

his hound dared not take hold of the furious beast, he

sprang from his horse, and seized the bear in his own strong

arms, and bound him safely with a stout cord. Then he

fastened an end of the cord to his saddle-bows, and

remounted his steed. And thus he rode through the forest to

the place where the dinner waited, dragging the unwilling

bear behind him, while the dog bounded gayly along by his

side.

No nobler sight had ever been seen in that forest than that

which Gunther's people saw that day. The Nibelungen king was

dressed as well became so great a hero. His suit was of the

speckled lynx's hide and rich black silk, upon which were

embroidered many strange devices, with threads of gold.

(But, alas! between the shoulders was the silken lime-leaf

that Queen Kriemhild's busy fingers had wrought.) His cap

was of the blackest fur, brought from the frozen Siberian

land. Over his shoulder was thrown his well-filled quiver,

made of lion's skin; and in his hands he carried his bow of

mulberry,--a very beam in size, and so strong that no man

save himself could bend it. A golden hunting-horn was at his

side, and his sunbright shield lay on his saddle-bow; while

his mighty sword, the fire-edged Balmung, in its sheath

glittering with gemstones, hung from his jewelled belt.

The men who stood around chief Hagen, and who saw the hero

coming thus god-like through the greenwood, admired and

trembled; and Dankwart whispered a word of caution to his

dark-browed brother. But the old chief's face grew gloomier

than before; and he scowled fiercely upon the faint-hearted

Dankwart, as he hoarsely whispered in return,--

"What though he be Odin himself, still will I dare! It is

not I: it is the Norns, who shape every man's fate."

When Siegfried reached the camp with his prize, the huntsmen

shouted with delight; and the hounds howled loudly, and

shook their chains, and tried hard to get at the shaggy

beast. The king leaped to the ground, and unloosed the cords

which bound him; and at the same time the hounds were

unleashed, and set upon the angry, frightened creature.

Hemmed in on every side, the bear rushed blindly forwards,

and leaped over the fires, where the cooks were busy with

the dinner. Pots and kettles were knocked about in great

confusion, and the scared cooks thrown sprawling upon the

ground; and many a dainty dish and savory mess was spoiled.

The bear fled fast down the forest road, followed by the

baying hounds and the fleet-footed warriors. But none dared

shoot an arrow at him for fear of killing the dogs; and it

seemed as if he would surely escape, so fast he ran away.

Then Siegfried bounded forwards, swifter than a deer,

overtook the bear, and with one stroke of the sword gave him

his death-blow. And all who saw this feat of strength and

quickness wondered greatly, and felt that such a hero must

indeed be without a peer.

When Gunther's cooks had made the dinner ready, the company

sat down on the grass, and all partook of a merry meal; for

the bracing air and the morning's sport had made sharp

appetites. But, when they had eaten, they were surprised to

find that there was nothing to drink. Indeed, there was

neither wine nor water in the camp.

"How glad I am," said Siegfried gayly, "that I am not a

huntsman by trade, if it is a huntsman's way to go thus dry!

Oh for a glass of wine, or even a cup of cold spring-water,

to quench my thirst!"

"We will make up for this oversight when we go back home,"

said Gunther; and his heart was black with falsehood. "The

blame in this matter should rest on Hagen, for it was he who

was to look after the drinkables."

"My lord," said Hagen, "I fell into a mistake by thinking

that we would dine, not here, but at the Spessart Springs;

and thither I sent the wine."

"And is there no water near?" asked Siegfried.

"Yes," answered Hagen. "There is a cool, shady spring not

far from here, where the water gushes in a clear, cold

stream from beneath a linden-tree. Do but forgive me for the

lack of wine, and I will lead you to it. It is a rare

spring, and the water is almost as good as wine."

"Better than wine for me!" cried Siegfried. And he asked to

be shown to the spring at once.

Hagen arose, and pointed to a tree not far away, beneath

whose spreading branches Siegfried could see the water

sparkling in the sunlight.

"Men have told me," said the chief, "that the Nibelungen

king is very fleet of foot, and that no one has ever

outstripped him in the race. Time was, when King Gunther and

myself were spoken of as very swift runners; and, though we

are now growing old, I fancy that many young men would, even

now, fail to keep pace with us. Suppose we try a race to the

spring, and see which of the three can win."

"Agreed!" cried Siegfried. "We will run; and, if I am

beaten, I will kneel down in the grass to him who wins. I

will give the odds in your favor too; for I will carry with

me my spear, and my shield, and my helmet and sword, and all

the trappings of the chase, while you may doff from your

shoulders whatever might hinder your speed."

So Gunther and Hagen laid aside all their arms, and put off

their heavy clothing; but Siegfried took up his bow and

quiver, and his heavy shield, and his beamlike spear. Then

the word was given, and all three ran with wondrous speed.

Gunther and his chief flew over the grass as light-footed as

two wild panthers: but Siegfried sped swift as an arrow shot

from the hand of a skilful bowman. He reached the spring

when yet the others were not half way to it. He laid his

spear and sword, and bow and quiver of arrows, upon the

ground, and leaned his heavy shield against the linden-tree;

and then he waited courteously for King Gunther to come up,

for his knightly honor would not allow him to drink until

his host had quenched his thirst.

Gunther, when he reached the spring, stooped over, and drank

heartily of the cool, refreshing water; and, after he had

risen, Siegfried knelt upon the grass at the edge of the

pool to quaff from the same gushing fountain. Stealthily

then, and with quickness, did chief Hagen hide his huge bow

and his quiver, and his good sword Balmung, and, seizing the

hero's spear, he lifted it in air, and with too steady aim

struck the silken lime-leaf that the loving Kriemhild had

embroidered. Never in all the wide mid-world was known a

deed more cowardly, never a baser act. The hero was pierced

with his own weapon by one he had deemed his friend. His

blood gushed forth in torrents, and dyed the green grass

red, and discolored the sparkling water, and even filled the

face and eyes of vile Hagen.

Yet, in the hour of death, King Siegfried showed how noble

was his soul, how great his strength of will. Up he rose

from his bended knees, and fiercely glanced around. Then,

had not the evil-eyed chief, who never before had shunned a

foe, fled with fleet-footed fear, quick vengeance would have

overtaken him. In vain did the dying king look for his bow

and his trusty sword: too safely had they been hidden. Then,

though death was fast dimming his eyes, he seized his heavy

shield, and sprang after the flying Hagen. Swift as the wind

he followed him, quickly he overtook him. With his last

strength he felled the vile wretch to the ground, and beat

him with the shield, until the heavy plates of brass and

steel were broken, and the jewels which adorned it were

scattered among the grass. The sound of the heavy blows was

heard far through the forest; and, had the hero's strength

held out, Hagen would have had his reward.[EN#32] But

Siegfried, weak and pale from the loss of blood, now

staggered, and fell among the trampled flowers of the wood.

Then with his last breath he thus upbraided his false

friends:--

"Cowards and traitors, ye! A curse shall fall upon you. My

every care has been to serve and please you, and thus I am

requited. Bitterly shall you rue this deed. The brand of

traitor is set upon your foreheads, and it shall be a mark

of loathing and shame to you forever."

Then the weak old Gunther began to wring his hands, and to

bewail the death of Siegfried. But the hero bade him hush,

and asked him of what use it was to regret an act which

could have been done only by his leave and sanction.

"Better to have thought of tears and groans before," said

he. "I have always known that you were a man of weak mind,

but never did I dream that you could lend yourself to so

base a deed. And now, if there is left aught of manliness in

your bosom, I charge you to have a care for Kriemhild your

sister. Long shall my loved Nibelungen-folk await my coming

home."

The glorious hero struggled in the last agony. The grass and

flowers were covered with his blood; the trees shivered, as

if in sympathy with him, and dropped their leaves upon the

ground; the birds stopped singing, and sorrowfully flew

away; and a solemn silence fell upon the earth, as if the

very heart of Nature had been crushed.

And the men who stood around--all save the four guilty

ones--bowed their heads upon their hands, and gave way to

one wild burst of grief. Then tenderly they took up

Siegfried, and laid him upon a shield, with his mighty

weapons by him. And, when the sorrowing Night had spread her

black mantle over the mid-world, they carried him silently

out of the forest, and across the river, and brought him, by

Gunther's orders, to the old castle, which now nevermore

would resound with mirth and gladness. And they laid him at

Kriemhild's door, and stole sadly away to their own places,

and each one thought bitterly of the morrow.[EN#33]

Adventure XX

How the Hoard Was Brought to Burgundy.

And what was done on the morrow?

Too sad is the tale of Kriemhild's woe and her grief for the

mighty dead. Let us pass it by in tearful, pitying silence,

nor wish to awaken the echoes of that morning of hopeless

anguish which dawned on the cold and cheerless dwelling of

the kings. For peace had fled from Burgundy, nevermore to

return.

Siegfried was dead. Faded, now, was the glory of the

Nibelungen Land, and gone was the mid-world's hope.

It is told in ancient story, how men built a funeral-pile

far out on the grassy meadows, where the quiet river flows;

and how, in busy silence, they laid the sun-dried beams of

ash and elm together, and made ready the hero's couch; and

how the pile was dight with many a sun-bright shield, with

war-coats and glittering helms, and silks and rich dyed

cloths from the South-land, and furs, and fine-wrought

ivory, and gem-stones priceless and rare; and how, over all,

they scattered sweet spices from Araby, and the pleasantest

of all perfumes. Then they brought the golden Siegfried, and

laid him on his couch; and beside him were his battered

shield, and Balmung with its fire-edge bare. And, as the sun

rose high in heaven, the noblest earl-folk who had loved

Siegfried best touched fire to the funeral-pile. And a

pleasant breeze from the Southland fanned the fire to a

flame, and the white blaze leaped on high, and all the folk

cried out in mighty agony to the gods.

Such was the story that men told to each other when the

world was still young, and the heroes were

unforgotten.[EN#34] And some said, too, that Brunhild, the

fair and hapless queen, died then of a broken heart and of a

hopeless, yearning sorrow, and that she was burned with

Siegfried on that high-built funeral-pile.

"They are gone,--the lovely, the mighty, the hope of the

ancient earth:

It shall labor and bear the burden as before the day of

their birth: . . .

It shall yearn, and be oft-times holpen, and forget their

deeds no more,

Till the new sun beams on Balder and the happy sealess

shore."[EN#35]

Another and much later story is sometimes told of these last

sad days,--how the hero's body was laid in a coffin, and

buried in the quiet earth, amid the sorrowful lamentations

of all the Rhineland folk; and how, at Kriemhild's earnest

wish, it was afterwards removed to the place where now

stands the little minster of Lorsch. As to which of these

stories is the true one, it is not for me to say. Enough it

is to know that Siegfried was dead, and that the spring-time

had fled, and the summer-season with all its golden glories

had faded away from Rhineland, and that the powers of

darkness and of cold and of evil had prevailed.

To this day the city where was the dwelling of the

Burgundian kings is called Worms, in remembrance of the

dragon, or worm, which Siegfried slew; and a figure of that

monster was for many years painted upon the city arms, and

borne on the banner of the Burgundians. And, until recently,

travellers were shown the Reisen-haus,--a stronghold, which,

men say, Siegfried built; and in it were many strange and

mighty weapons, which, they claim, were wielded by the hero.

The lance which was shown there was a great beam nearly

eighty feet in length; and the war-coat, wrought with steel

and gold, and bespangled with gem-stones, was a wonder to

behold. And now, in the Church of St. Cecilia, you may see

what purports to be the hero's grave. And a pleasant meadow,

not far from the town, is still called Kriemhild's

Rose-garden; while farther away is the place called

Drachenfels, or the dragon's field, where, they say,

Siegfried met Fafnir. But whether it is the same as the

Glittering Heath of the ancient legend, I know not.

And what became of the Hoard of Andvari?

The story is briefly told.[EN#36] When the days of mourning

were past, and the people had gone back sadly to their

homes, Queen Kriemhild began to speak of returning to the

land of the Nibelungens. But Ute, her aged mother, could not

bear to part with her, and besought her to stay, for a while

at least, in the now desolate Burgundian castle. And Gernot

and Giselher, her true and loving brothers, added their

words of entreaty also. And so, though heart-sick, and with

many misgivings, she agreed to abide for a season in this

cheerless and comfortless place. Many days, even months,

dragged by, and still she remained; for she found it still

harder and harder to tear herself away from her mother, and

all that her heart held dear. Yet never, for three years and

more, did she even speak to Gunther, or by any sign show

that she remembered him. And, as for Hagen, no words could

utter the deep and settled hate she felt towards him. But

the dark-browed chief cared nought either for love or hate;

and he walked erect, as in the days of yore, and he smiled

and frowned alike for both evil and good. And he said, "It

was not I: it was the Norns, who wove the woof of his life

and mine."

The years went by on leaden wings, and brought no sunlight

to Gunther's dwelling; for his days were full of sadness,

and his nights of fearful dreams. At length he said to chief

Hagen, "If there is aught in the mid-world that can drive

away this gloom, I pray thee to help me find it; for madness

steals upon me."

"There is one thing," answered Hagen, "which might brighten

our land again, and lift up your drooping spirits, and bring

gladness to your halls."

"What is that?" asked the king.

"It is the Nibelungen Hoard," said the chief. "It is the

wondrous treasure of Andvari, which Siegfried gave as a gift

to Kriemhild. If it were ours, we might become the masters

of the world."

"But how can we obtain it?"

"It is Kriemhild's," was the answer. "But she does not care

for it; neither could she use it if she wished. If you could

only gain her favor and forgiveness, I feel sure that she

would let you do with it as you wish."

Then Gunther besought his younger brothers to intercede for

him with Kriemhild, that she would so far forgive him as to

look upon his face, and speak with him once more. And this

the queen at last consented to do. And, when Gunther came

into her presence, she was so touched at sight of his

haggard face and whitened locks, and his earnest words of

sorrow, that she forgave him the great wrong that he had

done, and welcomed him again as her brother. And he swore

that never would he again wrong her or hers, nor do aught to

grieve her. But it was not until a long time after this,

that he proposed to her that they should bring the Hoard of

Andvari away from the Nibelungen Land.

"For, if it were here, dear sister," he said, "it might be

of great use to you."

"Do whatever seems best to you," answered Kriemhild. "Only

remember the oath that you have given me."

Then Gunther, because he was anxious to see the wondrous

Hoard, but more because he was urged on by Hagen, made ready

to send to the Nibelungen Land to bring away the treasure by

Kriemhild's command. Eight thousand men, with Gernot and

Giselher as their leaders, sailed over the sea in stanch

vessels, and landed on the Nibelungen shore. And when they

told who they were, and whence they came, and showed the

queen's signet-ring, they were welcomed heartily by the

fair-haired folk of Mist Land, who gladly acknowledged

themselves the faithful liegemen of the loved Kriemhild.

When the Burgundians made known their errand to Alberich the

dwarf, who still held watch and ward over the mountain

stronghold, he was much amazed, and he grieved to part with

his cherished treasure.

"But," said he to his little followers, who stood around him

by thousands, each anxious to fight the intruders,--"but

there is Queen Kriemhild's order and her signet-ring, and we

must, perforce, obey. Yet had we again the good Tarnkappe

which Siegfried took from us, the Hoard should never leave

us."

Then sadly he gave up the keys, and the Burgundians began to

remove the treasure. For four whole days and nights they

toiled, carrying the Hoard in huge wagons down to the sea.

And on the fifth day they set sail, and without mishap

arrived in good time at Worms. And many of Alberich's

people, the swarthy elves of the cave, came with Gernot to

Rhineland; for they could not live away from the Hoard. And

it is said, that hidden among the gold and the gem-stones

was the far-famed Wishing-rod, which would give to its owner

the power of becoming the lord of the wide mid-world.

And the vast treasure was stored in the towers and vaults of

the castle. And Queen Kriemhild alone held the keys, and

lavishly she scattered the gold wherever it was needed most.

The hungry were fed, the naked were clothed, the sick were

cared for; and everybody near and far blessed the peerless

Queen of Nibelungen Land.

Then Hagen, always plotting evil, whispered to King Gunther,

and said, "It is dangerous to suffer your sister to hold so

vast a treasure. All the people are even now ready to leave

you, and follow her. She will yet plot to seize the kingdom,

and destroy us."

And he urged the king to take the keys and to make the

Nibelungen Hoard his own.

But Gunther answered, "I have already done too great a

wrong. And I have sworn to my sister never to harm her

again, or to do aught that will grieve her."

"Let the guilt, then, rest on me," said Hagen. And he strode

away, and took the keys from Kriemhild by force.

When Gernot and Giselher heard of this last vile act of the

evil-eyed chief, they waxed very angry, and vowed that they

would help their sister regain that which was her own. But

the wary Hagen was not to be foiled; for, while the brothers

were away from the burgh, he caused the great Hoard to be

carried to the river, at a place called Lochheim, and sunk,

fathoms deep, beneath the water. And then, for fear of the

vengeance which might be wreaked upon him, he fled from

Rhineland, and hid himself for a while among the mountains

and the barren hill-country of the South.

And this was the end of the fated Hoard of Andvari.

The After Word.

Such is the story of Siegfried (or Sigurd), as we gather it

from various German and Scandinavian legends. In this

recital I have made no attempt to follow any one of the

numerous originals, but have selected here and there such

incidents as best suited my purpose in constructing one

connected story which would convey to your minds some notion

of the beauty and richness of our ancient myths. In doing

this, I have drawn, now from the Volsunga Saga, now from the

Nibelungen Lied, now from one of the Eddas, and now from

some of the minor legends relating to the great hero of the

North. These ancient stories, although differing widely in

particulars, have a certain general relationship and

agreement which proves beyond doubt a common origin. "The

primeval myth," says Thomas Carlyle, "whether it were at

first philosophical truth, or historical incident, floats

too vaguely on the breath of men: each has the privilege of

inventing, and the far wider privilege of borrowing and new

modelling from all that preceded him. Thus, though tradition

may have but one root, it grows, like a banian, into a whole

overarching labyrinth of trees."

If you would follow the tradition of Siegfried to the end;

if you would learn how, after the great Hoard had been

buried in the Rhine, the curse of the dwarf Andvari still

followed those who had possessed it, and how Kriemhild

wreaked a terrible vengeance upon Siegfried's

murderers,--you must read the original story as related in

the Volsung Myth or in the Nibelungen Song. Our story ends

with Siegfried.

The episodes which I have inserted here and there--the

stories of AEgir, and of Balder, and of Idun, and of

Thor--do not, as you may know, belong properly to the legend

of Siegfried; but I have thrown them in, in order to

acquaint you with some of the most beautiful mythical

conceptions of our ancestors.

A grand old people were those early kinsmen of ours,--not at

all so savage and inhuman as our histories would sometimes

make us believe. For however mistaken their notions may have

been, and however ignorant they were, according to our ideas

of things, they were strong-hearted, brave workers; and, so

far as opportunity was afforded them, they acted well their

parts. What their notions were of true manhood,--a strong

mind in a strong body, good, brave, and handsome,--may be

learned from the story of Siegfried.

End of The Story of Siegfried.

The Story of Siegfried

Endnotes.

[EN#1] Siegfried's Boyhood.

"All men agree that Siegfried was a king's son. He was born,

as we here have good reason to know, 'at Santen in

Netherland,' of Siegmund and the fair Siegelinde; yet by

some family misfortune or discord, of which the accounts are

very various, he came into singular straits during boyhood,

having passed that happy period of life, not under the

canopies of costly state, but by the sooty stithy, in one

Mimer, a blacksmith's shop."--Thomas Carlyle, The Nibelungen

Lied.

The older versions of this story represent Siegfried, under

the name of Sigurd, as being brought up at the court of the

Danish King Hialprek; his own father Sigmund having been

slain in battle, as related in this chapter. He was early

placed under the tuition of Regin, or Regino, an elf, who

instructed his pupil in draughts, runes, languages, and

various other accomplishments.--See Preface to Vollmer's

Nibelunge Not, also the Song of Sigurd Fafnisbane, in the

Elder Edda, and the Icelandic Volsunga Saga.

[EN#2]--Mimer.

"The Vilkinasaga brings before us yet another smith, Mimer,

by whom not only is Velint instructed in his art, but

Sigfrit (Siegfried) is brought up,--another smith's

apprentice. He is occasionally mentioned in the later poem

of Biterolf, as Mime the Old. The old name of Munster in

Westphalia was Mimigardiford; the Westphalian Minden was

originally Mimidun; and Memleben on the Unstrut, Mimileba. .

. . The elder Norse tradition names him just as often, and

in several different connections. In one place, a Mimingus,

a wood-satyr, and possessor of a sword and jewels, is

interwoven into the myth of Balder and Hoder. The Edda gives

a higher position to its Mimer. He has a fountain, in which

wisdom and understanding lie hidden: drinking of it every

morning, he is the wisest, most intelligent, of men. To

Mimer's fountain came Odin, and desired a drink, but did not

receive it till he had given one of his eyes in pledge, and

hidden it in the fountain: this accounts for Odin being

one-eyed. . . . Mimer is no Asa, but an exalted being with

whom the Asas hold converse, of whom they make use,--the sum

total of wisdom, possibly an older Nature-god. Later fables

degraded him into a wood-sprite, or clever smith.--Grimm's

Deutsche Mythologie, I. p. 379.

Concerning the Mimer of the Eddas, Professor Anderson says,

"The name Mimer means the knowing. The Giants, being older

than the Asas, looked deeper than the latter into the

darkness of the past. They had witnessed the birth of the

gods and the beginning of the world, and they foresaw their

downfall. Concerning both these events, the gods had to go

to them for knowledge. It is this wisdom that Mimer keeps in

his fountain."--Norse Mythology, p 209.

In the older versions of the legend, the smith who cared for

Siegfried (Sigurd) is called, as we have before noticed,

Regin. He is thus described by Morris:--

"The lore of all men he knew,

And was deft in every cunning, save the dealings of the

sword.

So sweet was his tongue-speech fashioned, that men

trowed his every word.

His hand with the harp-strings blended was the mingler

of delight

With the latter days of sorrow: all tales he told

aright.

The Master of the Masters in the smithying craft was

he;

And he dealt with the wind and the weather and the

stilling of the sea;

Nor might any learn him leech-craft, for before that

race was made,

And that man-folk's generation, all their life-days had

he weighed."

Sigurd the Volsung, Bk. II.

[EN#3]--The Sword.

"By this sword Balmung also hangs a tale. Doubtless it was

one of those invaluable weapons sometimes fabricated by the

old Northern smiths, compared with which our modern Foxes

and Ferraras and Toledos are mere leaden tools. Von der

Hagen seems to think it simply the sword Mimung under

another name; in which case, Siegfried's old master, Mimer,

had been the maker of it, and called it after himself, as if

it had been his son."--Carlyle, on the Nibelungen Lied,

note.

In Scandinavian legends, the story of Mimer and Amilias is

given, differing but slightly from the rendering in this

chapter.--See Weber and Jamieson's Illustrations of Northern

Antiquities.

In the older versions of the myth, the sword is called Gram,

or the Wrath. It was wrought from the shards, or broken

pieces, of Sigmund's sword, the gift of Odin. It was made by

Regin for Sigurd's (Siegfried's) use, and its temper was

tested as here described.

[EN#4]--Sigmund The Volsung.

Sigmund the Volsung, in the Volsunga Saga, is represented as

the father of Sigurd (Siegfried); but there is such a marked

contrast between him, and the wise, home-abiding King

Siegmund of the later stories, that I have thought proper to

speak of them here as two different individuals. The word

"Sigmund," or "Siegmund," means literally the mouth of

victory. The story of the Volsungs, as here supposed to be

related by Mimer, is derived mainly from the Volsunga Saga.

[EN#5]--Siegfried's Journey Into The Forest.

"In the shop of Mimer, Siegfried was nowise in his proper

element, ever quarrelling with his fellow-apprentices, nay,

as some say, breaking the hardest anvils into shivers by his

too stout hammering; so that Mimer, otherwise a first-rate

smith, could by no means do with him there. He sends him,

accordingly, to the neighboring forest to fetch charcoal,

well aware that a monstrous dragon, one Regin, the smith's

own brother, would meet him, and devour him. But far

otherwise it proved."--Carlyle, on The Nibelungen Lied.

[EN#6]--The Norns.

The Norns are the Fates, which watch over man through life.

They are Urd the Past, Verdande the Present, and Skuld the

Future. They approach every new-born child, and utter his

doom. They are represented as spinning the thread of fate,

one end of which is hidden by Urd in the far east, the other

by Verdande in the far west. Skuld stands ready to rend it

in pieces. --See Grimm's Teutonic Mythology, p. 405, also

Anderson's Norse Mythology, p. 209.

The three weird women in Shakespeare's Tragedy of Macbeth

represent a later conception of the three Norns, now

degraded to mere witches.

Compare the Norns with the Fates of the Greek Mythology.

These, also, are three in number. They sit clothed in white,

and garlanded, singing of destiny. Clotho, the Past, spins;

Lachesis, the Present, divides; and Atropos, the Future,

stands ready with her shears to cut the thread.

[EN#7]--The Idea of Fatality.

Throughout the story of the Nibelungs and Volsungs, of

Sigurd and of Siegfried,--whether we follow the older

versions or the mote recent renderings,--there is, as it

were, an ever-present but indefinable shadow of coming fate,

"a low, inarticulate voice of Doom," foretelling the

inevitable. This is but in consonance with the general ideas

of our Northern ancestors regarding the fatality which

shapes and controls every man's life. These ideas are

embodied in more than one ancient legend. We find them in

the old Anglo-Saxon poem of Beowulf. "To us," cries Beowulf

in his last fight, "to us it shall be as our Weird

betides,--that Weird that is every man's lord!" "Each man of

us shall abide the end of his life-work; let him that may

work, work his doomed deeds ere death comes!" Similar ideas

prevailed among the Greeks. Read, for example, that passage

in the Iliad describing the parting of Hector and

Andromache, and notice the deeper meaning of Hector's words.

[EN#8]--Regin.

As we have already observed (EN#1), the older versions of

this myth called Siegfried's master and teacher Regin, while

the more recent versions call him Mimer. We have here

endeavored to harmonize the two versions by representing

Mimer as being merely Regin in disguise.

[EN#9]--Gripir.

"A man of few words was Gripir; but he knew of all deeds

that had been; And times there came upon him, when the deeds

to be were seen: No sword had he held in his hand since his

father fell to field, And against the life of the slayer he

bore undinted shield: Yet no fear in his heart abided, nor

desired he aught at all: But he noted the deeds that had

been, and looked for what should befall." Morris's Sigurd

the Volsung, Bk. II.

[EN#10]--The Hoard.

This story is found in both the Elder and the Younger Eddas,

and is really the basis upon which the entire plot of the

legend of Sigurd, or Siegfried, is constructed. See also

EN#18.

[EN#11]--The Dragon.

The oldest form of this story is the Song of Sigurd

Fafnisbane, in the Elder Edda. The English legend of St.

George and the Dragon was probably derived from the same

original sources. A similar myth may be found among all

Aryan peoples. Sometimes it is a treasure, sometimes a

beautiful maiden, that the monster guards, or attempts to

destroy. Its first meaning was probably this: The maiden, or

the treasure, is the earth in its beauty and fertility. "The

monster is the storm-cloud. The hero who fights it is the

sun, with his glorious sword, the lightning-flash. By his

victory the earth is relieved from her peril. The fable has

been varied to suit the atmospheric peculiarities of

different climes in which the Aryans found themselves. . . .

In Northern mythology the serpent is probably the winter

cloud, which broods over and keeps from mortals the gold of

the sun's light and heat, till in the spring the bright orb

overcomes the powers of darkness and tempest, and scatters

his gold over the face of the earth." This myth appears in a

great variety of forms among the Scandinavian and German

nations. In the Eddas, Sigurd (Siegfried) is represented as

roasting the heart of Fafnir, and touching it to his lips.

We have ventured to present a less revolting version.--See

Baring-Gould's Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.

"The slaying of the dragon Fafnir reminds us of Python, whom

Apollo overcame; and, as Python guarded the Delphic Oracle,

the dying Fafnir prophesies."--Jacob Grimm.

[EN#12.]

In order to harmonize subsequent passages in the story as

related in different versions, we here represent Siegfried

as turning his back upon the Glittering Heath, and leaving

the Hoard to some other hero or discoverer. In the Younger

Edda, Siegfried (Sigurd) rides onward until he comes to

Fafnir's bed, from which "he took out all the gold, packed

it in two bags, and laid it on Grane's (Greyfell's) back,

then got on himself and rode away."

[EN#13]--BRAGI.

This episode of Bragi and his vessel is no part of the

original story of Siegfried, but is here introduced in order

to acquaint you with some of the older myths of our

ancestors. Bragi was the impersonation of music and

eloquence, and here represents the music of Nature,--the

glad songs and sounds of the spring-time. "Above any other

god," says Grimm, "one would like to see a more general

veneration of Bragi revived, in whom was vested the gift of

poetry and eloquence. . . . He appears to have stood in

pretty close relation to AEgir."

[EN#14]--AEgir.

"AEgir was the god presiding over the stormy sea. He

entertains the gods every harvest, and brews ale for them.

The name still survives in provincial English for the

sea-wave on rivers."--Anderson's Norse Mythology. See

Carlyle's Heroes and Hero-Worship.

[EN#15]--The Valkyries.

See Grimm's Teutonic Mythology, p. 417, and Anderson's Norse

Mythology, p. 265.

[EN#16]--Brunhild.

In the Elder Edda, Brunhild's inaccessible hall stands on a

mountain, where she was doomed to sleep under her shield

until Sigurd should release her. In the Nibelungen Lied, she

is represented as ruling in Isenland, an island far over the

sea. The well-known story of the Sleeping Beauty is derived

from this myth.

[EN#17]--Nibelungen Land.

"Vain were it to inquire where that Nibelungen Land

specially is. Its very name is Nebel-land, or Nifl-land, the

land of Darkness, of Invisibility. . . . Far beyond the firm

horizon, that wonder-bearing region swims on the infinite

waters, unseen by bodily eye, or, at most, discerned as a

faint streak hanging in the blue depths, uncertain whether

island or cloud."--Carlyle, on The Nibelungen Lied.

[EN#18]--Schilbung and Nibelung.

"Old King Nibelung, the former lord of the land, had left,

when he died, a mighty hoard concealed within a

mountain-cavern. As Siegfried rode past the mountain-side

alone, he found Schilbung and Nibelung, the king's sons,

seated at the mouth of the cavern surrounded by more gold

and precious stones than a hundred wagons could bear away.

Espying Siegfried, they called upon him to settle their

dispute, offering him as reward their father's mighty sword

Balmung."--Auber Forestier's Translation of the Nibelungen

Lied.

We have here made some slight variations from the original

versions. (See also EN#12.)

An ancient legend relates how King Schilbung had obtained

the Hoard in the upper Rhine valley, and how he was

afterwards slain by his brother Niblung. This Niblung

possessed a magic ring in the shape of a coiled serpent with

ruby eyes. It had been presented to him by a prince named

Gunthwurm, who had come to him in the guise of a serpent,

desiring the hand of his daughter in marriage. This ring,

according to the Eddas, was the one taken by Loki from the

dwarf Andvari, and was given by Sigurd (Siegfried) to

Brunhild in token of betrothal. It was the cause of all the

disasters that afterwards occurred.--See W. Jordan's

Sigfridssaga. See also EN#10.

[EN#19]

". . . Siegfried the hero good

Failed the long task to finish: this stirred their

angry mood.

The treasure undivided he needs must let remain,

When the two kings indignant set on him with their

train;

But Siegfried gripped sharp Balmung (so hight their

father's sword),

And took from them their country, and the beaming,

precious hoard."

The Nibelungenlied, Lettsom, 96, 97

[EN#20]--Siegfried's Welcome Home.

In the Nibelungen Lied this is our first introduction to the

hero. The "High-tide" held in honor of Siegfried's coming to

manhood, and which we suppose to have occurred at this time,

forms the subject of the Second Adventure in that poem.

[EN#21]--Kriemhild's Dream.

This forms the subject of the first chapter of the

Nibelungen Lied. "The eagles of Kriemhild's dream," says

Auber Forestier, "are winter-giants, whose wont it was to

transform themselves into eagles; while the pure gods were

in the habit of assuming the falcon's form."

[EN#22]--Idun.

The story of Idun and her Apples is related in the Younger

Edda. It is there represented as having been told by Bragi

himself to his friend AEgir. This myth means, that the

ever-renovating spring (Idun) being taken captive by the

desolating winter (Thjasse), all Nature (all the Asa-folk)

languishes until she regains her freedom through the

intervention of the summer's heat (Loki). --See Anderson's

Norse Mythology.

[EN#23]--Balder.

The story of Balder is, in reality, the most ancient form of

the Siegfried myth. Both Balder and Siegfried are

impersonations of the beneficent light of the summer's sun,

and both are represented as being treacherously slain by the

powers of winter. The errand of Hermod to the Halls of Death

(Hela) reminds us of the errand of Hermes to Hades to bring

back Persephone to her mother Demetre. We perceive also a

resemblance in this story to the myth of Orpheus, in which

that hero is described as descending into the lower regions

to bring away his wife Eurydice.

[EN#24]

The making of rich clothing for the heroes is frequently

referred to in the Nibelungen Lied. Carlyle says, "This is a

never-failing preparative for all expeditions, and is always

specified and insisted on with a simple, loving, almost

female impressiveness."

[EN#25]--The Winning of Brunhild.

The story of the outwitting of Brunhild, as related in the

pages which follow, is essentially the same as that given in

the Nibelungen Lied. It is quite different from the older

versions.

[EN#26]--Sif.

Sif corresponds to the Ceres of the Southern mythology. (See

Grimm, p. 309.) The story of Loki and the Dwarfs is derived

from the Younger Edda. It has been beautifully rendered by

the German poet Oelenschlager, a translation of whose poem

on this subject may be found in Longfellow's Poets and

Poetry of Europe.

[EN#27]--Eigill.

Eigill is the original William Tell. The story is related in

the Saga of Thidrik. For a full history of the Tell myth,

see Grimm's Teutonic Mythology, p. 380, and Baring-Gould's

Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, p. 110.

[EN#28]--Welland the Smith.

The name of this smith is variously given as Weland,

Wieland, Welland, Volundr, Velint etc. The story is found in

the Vilkina Saga, and was one of the most popular of middle

age myths. (See Grimm's Mythology.) Sir Walter Scott, in his

novel of Kenilworth, has made use of this legend in

introducing the episode of Wayland Smith.

[EN#29]--Vidar[FN#1] the Silent.

"Vidar is the name of the silent Asa. He has a very thick

shoe, and he is the strongest next to Thor. From him the

gods have much help in all hard tasks."--The Younger Edda

(Anderson's translation).

[FN#1] The word Vidar means forest.

[EN#30]--Loki.

"Loki, in nature, is the corrupting element in air, fire,

and water. In the bowels of the earth he is the volcanic

flame, in the sea he appears as a fierce serpent, and in the

lower world we recognize him as pale death. Like Odin, he

pervades all nature. He symbolizes sin, shrewdness,

deceitfulness, treachery, malice etc."--Anderson's

Mythology, p. 372.

He corresponds to the Ahriman of the Persians, to the Satan

of the Christians, and remotely to the Prometheus of the

Greeks.

[EN#31]--The Quarrel of the Queens.

In the ancient versions, the culmination of this quarrel

occurred while the queens were bathing in the river: in the

Nibelungen Lied it happened on the steps leading up to the

door of the church.

[EN#32]--Hagen.

Hagen corresponds to the Hoder of the more ancient myth of

Balder. In the Sigurd Sagas he is called Hogni, and is a

brother instead of an uncle, of Gunther (Gunnar).

[EN#33]--The Death of Siegfried.

This story is related here essentially as found in the

Nibelungen Lied. It is quite differently told in the older

versions. Siegfried's invulnerability save in one spot

reminds us of Achilles, who also was made invulnerable by a

bath, and who could be wounded only in the heel.

[EN#34]--The Burial of Siegfried.

The story of the burning of Siegfried's body upon a

funeral-pile, as related of Sigurd in the older myths,

reminds us of the burning of Balder upon the ship

"Ringhorn." (See p. 162.) The Nibelungen Lied represents him

as being buried in accordance with the rites of the

Roman-Catholic Church. This version of the story must, of

course, have been made after the conversion of the Germans

to Christianity. "When the Emperor Frederick III. (1440-93)

visited Worms after his Netherlands campaign," says

Forestier, "he undertook to have the mighty hero's bones

disinterred, probably in view of proving the truth of the

marvellous story then sung throughout Germany; but, although

he had the ground dug into until water streamed forth, no

traces of these became manifest."

[EN#35]--Morris: Sigurd the Volsung, Bk. III.

[EN#36]--The Hoard.

The story of bringing the Hoard from Nibelungen Land belongs

to the later versions of the myth, and fitly closes the

First Part of the Nibelungen Lied. Lochheim, the place where

the Hoard was sunk, was not far from Bingen on the Rhine.

[EN#37]--a Short Vocabulary of the Principal Proper Names

Mentioned in this Story.

AEGIR. The god of the sea.

ALBERICH and ANDVARI. Dwarfs who guard the great Hoard.

ASA. A name applied to the gods of the Norse mythology.

ASGARD. The home of the gods.

BALDER. The god of the summer sunlight.

BRAGI. The god of eloquence and of poetry.

DRAUPNER. Odin's ring, which gives fertility to the earth.

FAFNIR. The dragon whom Siegfried slays.

FENRIS-WOLF. The monster who in the last twilight slays

Odin.

FREYJA. The goddess of love.

REY. The god of peace and plenty.

GRIPIR. The giant who gives wise counsel to Siegfried

(Sigurd).

GUNTHER. In the older myths called Gunnar.

HEIMDAL. The heavenly watchman.

HELA. The goddess of death.

HERMOD. The quick messenger who is sent to Hela for Balder.

HODER. The winter-god. He slays Balder.

HOENIR. One of the three most ancient gods.

HUGIN. Odin's raven, Thought.

IDUN. The goddess of spring.

IVALD. A skilful dwarf.

JOTUNHEIM. The home of the giants.

KRIEMHILD. In the older myths called Gudrun.

LOKI. The mischief-maker. The god of evil.

MIMER. In the later German mythology a skilful smith. In the

older mythology a wise giant.

NORNS. The three Fates,--Urd, Verdande, and Skuld.

ODIN. The chief of the gods.

REGIN. The teacher of Sigurd, by whom he is slain.

SIEGFRIED. In the older myths called Sigurd.

SIF. Thor's wife.

SLEIPNER. Odin's eight-footed horse.

TYR. The god of war.

THOR. The god of thunder. The foe of the giants.

VALHAL. The hall of the slain.

VALKYRIES. The choosers of the slain. Odin's handmaidens.

VIDAR. The silent god.

YMIR. The huge giant out of whose body the world was made.

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