The Valkyries

Then Wotan clenched his hands together, for this way and that was he torn. On the one side stood Siegmund his son, whom he must needs aid for the sake of the promise he had given with the sword; on the other, Fricka his wife. And in his agony he cried aloud —

"How can I slay him? It was he who found my sword."

"Let it be to him only a sword then," said Fricka, "and not the sword of Wotan, or break it in his hand, so that Hunding has him defenceless. O, Wotan," and as she spoke he knew in his heart her nobility and uprightness, for all that she was cold and hard, "O, Wotan, thou lovest me not, and I know it, yet shield my honour for never have I brought dishonour on thine. I ever upheld the marriage vow, and how would the sons of men laugh, and how would the glory of the gods be diminished, should thy daughter Brunnhilde not uphold it this day. How would lawlessness and unhallowed lust be master among men. By Siegmund's death alone is my honour upheld, for he has sinned against me. So swear to it, Wotan."

Even as she spoke Wotan heard again the joyful war-cry of Brunnhilde, who, supposing that his strife with Fricka was over, was coming nigh to where they stood, and he remembered in his heart how so short time ago he had bade her warn and shelter Siegmund. Yet he could in nought gainsay his wife, and in sorrow find heaviness he cast himself down on the rocky seat where he had sat with his maiden. And his voice came hollow and broken, like an echo buffeted against rocks.

"I give thee mine oath!" said he.

Then having the oath of Wotan which he might not break, Fricka turned at once from him, for she had accomplished her purpose, and went where she had left her chariot drawn by rams. Near by was Brunnhilde standing with her horse, and as she passed her —

"Thy father waits for thee," she said. "Go thee and learn from him that which he has chosen." Then mounting her chariot, she lashed the rams with her golden whip, and they sped down the mountain-side.

CHAPTER VI

SIEGMUND'S LOT IS CAST

But Brunnhilde had heard Fricka laugh as she mounted her chariot, the which boded no good thing to her father Wotan; and as she approached him she saw that he leaned his head on his hand in great heaviness, and was as one utterly cast down.

"Father, father, what is it?" she said. "What sorrow holds thee? Never have I seen thee so."

Then Wotan's arm dropped, and his head sank on his bosom. "I am bound by the fetters I have forged," said he. "All are free but I, the lord of all. O shame, O bitter ill-hap, and worm that dies not. There is no sorrow so heavy as mine!"

Then did Brunnhilde drop her spear and helmet in sudden alarm and forgetfulness, and in the hope to soothe and comfort him, for never had she seen him so. She laid loving hands upon his knees, and sat herself at his feet, and asked him tenderly to tell her what had befallen, for his look frightened and amazed her. So she besought him to tell her all, for she was ever true to him, and ever had he trusted her. Then by slow degrees Wotan aroused himself, and laid a hand on her bright hair, which he caressed lovingly. But when he spoke his voice seemed to come from afar, for his mind had been brooding on that which had been long ago, and on that which time to come should bring out of what had been, for out of the womb of the past is born what shall be. And dim and dark was his voice, even as that on which he thought had been dim and dark, and he spoke slowly and with many pauses, of days long dead, and of days yet far off, the heirs of ages not yet born. But through-out he looked earnestly into Brunnhilde's eyes, for she was his most own, and when he looked there, he saw himself and his own will and purpose.

"In days of old," said he, "when the first heat of youth was passed, I set myself to win the world, and all craft in bargains was mine, and, so that I worked my will, I stooped to any falsehood. Yet never for long could I withhold myself from love, and its sweetness ever allured my senses and my might. But Alberich, that son of night, who inhabits the dark places of the earth, had forsworn all love, and since he never yielded to it, but cursed it, he won for himself the secret treasure of the gold which abode in mid-Rhine, and by its might, for it is the world's wealth, reached his hands about the world. Yet by guile I got it from him, and with it I paid the giants who built me the walls of Walhalla that are a rein and a bridle to the world. Then once again was I safe. Yet Erda gave me words of warning about the ring, and told me that Walhalla itself would fall, yet could tell me nought fully, till with the spell of love upon her she spake. Yet that selfsame spell of love between her and me gave me thyself, Brunnhilde, and thy eight sisters of the storm. With you I thought to make Walhalla safe, and I bade you slay and bring to be its guardians and the protection of its walls heroes and men of might, who should guard it well. Eternal life I breathed into them, and a mighty host uprose."

Then Brunnhilde smiled at him.

"And have we not done thy bidding?" she asked. "What cause for sadness is here? For the defenders of Walhalla are many in multitude: all these we have brought thee, as thou didst bid us."

Then spake Wotan again, his eyes dwelling ever on Brunnhilde.

"Moved by that spell of love, Erda told me where fear was. It is from Alberich the end will come to the gods, their evening, their dusk, if once again he gets the ring. While he has it not, I fear not him nor the hosts of night that he brings with him, for well Walhalla is guarded by heroes. But in pay for the building of Walhalla I gave it to the giant Fafner, who guards it ever and since I gave it him, I may not take it from him, for the bargain I made with him forbids me. Nor must he who shall take it from him owe ought to me; he must be a free man, who for his own need, and without help from me, shall wrest it from Fafner. Ah, where to find him? How direct his course, yet without aiding or protecting him? His might unaided must accomplish my wish. Wherever I work, there see I the fruits of my work, that which my hands have made. But he who shall take the treasure from Fafner must be free, unfettered, no slave or creation of mine."

Then Brunnhilde started up, for she saw what was in Wotan's mind.

"It is he then, Siegmund the Wolsung, who shall do this thing!" she cried. "Ever has he been unblessed and unhallowed of the gods."

But Wotan shook his head.

"So thought I," said he, "and with that thought in my heart, I reared him ever to work against the gods, so that he owed nought to us. Nothing has he but the sword he himself found. Yet, that was mine. It was I who gave him both sword and the need by which he found it. Scornfully Fricka unfolded that to me, piercing my soul to its uttermost. And thus I must serve her will."

Then wild amaze seized hold on Brunnhilde.

"Then dost thou forsake Siegmund?" she cried.

At that a wild tumult of rage and despair seized on the god, for the words of Erda, which she had told him, grew clear to him.

"The curse is fallen on me," he cried; "and though I flee from it, it still follows me. For when I stole the ring of the Rhine-gold from Alberich, he said that what I loved I must needs forsake, and that him whom I trusted I must do to death. Even so it is. Behold the dusk deepens round me, and I hope for one thing only, the end. And on the end thinks Alberich, for the wild words of Erda, which never till now did I fathom, grow clear to me. For she said that when the dark enemy of love begets a son, then too is begotten the fall of the gods. And this too has happened, for Alberich has lovelessly bought a woman's undoing, and already the weeks of her deliverance are numbered, and the child waxes in her womb. Yet I for all my wooing could never beget that which I need, that free man of whom I spake. Oh! my bitterest blessing on thy work, Alberich; already I grow wan with the approaching end; already my godhead is but a tawdry mask. Bare thy fangs then: let thy hate and thy hunger make meat of me!"

The words died on his lips, and despair like a wave overwhelmed him. Then Brunnhilde nestled yet nearer to him, and the child-instinct within her spake, if so be she might comfort him.

"Father, father," she said, "what can thy child do?"

Then Wotan laughed bitterly.

"Fight Fricka's battles," said he, "and range thyself with her marriage vows and plighted troths. Siegmund is not the free man my soul longs for. So range thyself with Fricka's champion, the noble Hunding. Even so: death is decreed for Siegmund; be swift and brave to compass that. Thou wilt need all thy boldness, my child, for he is no coward whom Walse taught in the woods, and swift is his sword. Nor wilt thou find a foeman who fears thee; his eye will flinch not, though he beholds thee in all thy strength and terror."

Scarcely then could Brunnhilde believe what she seemed to hear, for she knew that her father loved Siegmund, and that the Wolsung was dear to his soul. Ever had he taught her to love him, for Siegmund was dauntless of heart, and knew not what fear was.

"It cannot be," she cried, "never can I lift my arm against him!"

Then Wotan rose in wrath, for it was as if his will disobeyed him when Brunnhilde was rebel, for indeed the maid was none other than his will.

"Thou darest? Thou darest?" he cried. "And does fear not look in thine eyes at the thought of disobedience? Am I a mock to thee? Indeed there will be for thee an end of mocking if thou rousest my wrath. For there is woe to any with whom Wotan is wrath, for I walk with the thunder at my call, and my hand holds and steers the lightning. Think thou of that, and gave good heed. Thou knowest my will; see that thou performest it. Siegmund is numbered with the dead, and by Brunnhilde's hand shall that numbering be accomplished."

And he stormed forth in fury, the lightning flickering about his path, and left Brunnhilde there.

Never before had he gone from her in anger, and she sat long where he had left her, wondering what this should mean, and what the day should bring forth. Oftentimes in hour of war had she seen him girt about with fury, but now it was she whom his rage threatened. Then she stooped down, and picked up again her spear and helmet and shield which she had laid on the ground when she spake with Wotan, and very slowly, with the joy of war altogether gone from her heart, she armed herself. For indeed her heart was not in this fight, and she went out to it with no joyful war-cry as was her wont. For the battle was against her friend, whom Wotan had ever taught her to love, and the wild Wolsung Siegmund had all her life been dear to her. Yet must Wotan's best be obeyed.

So she turned and would have gone on her joyless errand, when suddenly she was aware that two were approaching up the rocky height; and as they came more nigh she saw they were none other than Siegmund and Sieglinde. Then pity so seized on her that she was but as wax, and, lest her will should fail utterly, she turned again quickly and went to the cavern hard by where she had tethered her horse on the coming of Fricka. Heavily she went to him, for the work before her was bitter and grievous to her.

CHAPTER VII

THE FIGHT OF SIEGMUND

Swiftly came Sieglinde up the rocky path, and Siegmund followed hard after her, bidding her rest and not fare so wildly on; for after that the spell of spring and of love had so wrought within her that she recked nothing of leaving the house and hearth of Hunding, and the transport and sweet madness of her love had been fulfilled, horror and dread had seized the woman's heart, and she was distraught with unspeakable dismay at her wild adventure. Then had she risen up from his side in the middle of the spring night, even while he, filled full of love, was sleeping, to escape from what she had done. But at her stirring he had awoke, and through the hours betwixt that and day had he followed after her, she still flying from him through field and forest. For at first on that evening of yesterday, which in the morning's light seemed to her so long ago, the torrent of her love had carried her unthinking, but now it seemed to her that her deed was altogether unholy. Utterly had she loved the man, and utterly was his love hers, and so great was the might of that and the transport of its power, that in its first outpouring it seemed to her that all else was of no import beside it. But afterwards she had thought on what she had done, and shame and horror burned within her with as fierce a flame. Loveless had her marriage with Hunding been, yet marriage it was, and hallowed by the ordinance of the gods. But this was lawlessness incarnate, and unnatural wedlock. Yet in her woman's heart she blamed Siegmund not at all; the blame in her mind was wholly hers. She had brought shame on herself, but that was a small thing compared to the shame in which she had made him a partaker.

But now for very weariness her limbs could bear her no further, and at the top of the rocky path nigh to where Wotan and Brunnhilde had sat that night, she faltered, and it was his arm that saved her from falling.

"Wait, wait," he whispered. "Speak to me, and let us have done with this dumbness of fear. Thou art safe; my arm encompasseth thee; there is no fear while thou leanest on my breast."

At his touch, again the eternal woman of her nature awoke, and as he led her very gently to the very seat where Wotan had sat with Brunnhilde by his knee, she clung passionately to him, and gazing long into his face, embraced him. Yet even while her lips met his, the horrors of the night rose insurgent within her, and again she flung herself off from him, shame branding her, as a felon is branded.

"Siegmund, Siegmund!" she cried. "What have we done? Shame on me, shame on me!"

"Shame there has been, Sieglinde," said he, "and that when thou didst abide in the house of Hunding. But that shame shall I soon wash away with his blood, and in that crimson stream shall it be cleansed. Ah, fare not on so wildly; wait here, for I am well assured that he will come here in pursuit, and here also shall he meet the fate which has been appointed by him who in my sorest need granted me to find the sword. O sword of my need," cried he, and his fingers tightened on its hilt, "not in vain have I called on the name of vengeance. Surely I will repay."

Then was she a little quieted at his loving touch, and at the fierceness of surety of his hate towards Hunding, but soon she started up and listened.

"Horns, I hear horns!" she cried, "and the shouts of the pursuers. The shouts of the pursuers sound ever nearer, and strike the sky and echo from the hills. Hunding has woke from his night-draught, and is hot of foot on the trail. He calls on his kindred to help him, and loosens the hounds of hunting. They nose thy trail, and thirstily they give voice, and their thirst waits to be assuaged by blood."

Loudly and in panic terror she cried, but at the end her voice failed, and her arm outflung dropped nerveless, and over her weary eyes drooped the shelter of her eyelids.

"Siegmund, where art thou?" she murmured. "Where art thou? I search for thy look; oh, let it light on me again; leave me not, Siegmund, oh, leave me not. Hark, hark! again I hear that deep baying of the hounds of death; they thirst for thy blood, and their fangs white and sharp grow red with the meat of their hunting. They reck not of thy sword, so fling it away. Hide, let us hide where none shall find us. Thy sword is shattered; what toy-thing is this? – thou fallest reeling … Siegmund … Siegmund…"

At that her head drooped and she sank like a thing broken in his arms. It was in vain that he tried to rouse her, and only by the rise and fall of her bosom did he know she lived. So very gently – for, after the labour and travel of the night, it might be that she would sleep – he laid her back on the ground, and made for her a pillow of his knee, to rest her head. But she moved not, nor opened her eyes, yet, for her bosom still rose gently and fell, he comforted himself, and bending over her kissed her on the forehead. Thus they sat, and he grieved over her.