The Valkyries

"Wolf he was called," said the stranger, "and as Wolf he was feared, for he was as a wolf among timorous foxes. Yet it was not as Wolf I knew him. His glance was bright as thine, and as far-reaching, and that glance was the glance of Walse." Then was that mystery of fate by which she was led to him, even as Spring the brother met Love the sister on the threshold of their hearts, made manifest to her, and the knowledge drove her beside herself.

"So," she said, "Walse was thy father, and thou art a Wolsung. For thy sake did Walse fling the sword into the ash-stem, for well know I that it was Walse who flung it there and no other. And on my tongue thy true name trembles, the name by which I love thee – Siegmund, Siegmund."

Then sprang Siegmund, stranger no longer, to the ash-stem, and in his right hand seized he the gleaming hilt.

"Thou sayest it!" he cried, "and the sword shall prove I am Siegmund. For Walse told me that when my need was sorest then should the sword of deliverance and victory be near me. Has it not come? Has not my need been sore? For love is the sorest need a man can know, and that is mine; and deep is the dear wound it has made in my breast. Burn deeper yet, O wound, stirring me to strife and strenuous deed. Lo! I name it, the sword of need – Nothung, Nothung. Come forth then, Nothung, leave thy dark sheath, and bare thy shining blade. I, Siegmund, bid thee."

And at that he wrenched at the sword-hilt, and that which no power of the guests of Hunding's marriage feast could stir, moved at his bidding, and leaped forth to his hand. Bright and lordly shone it in tile moon of spring, and Sieglinde beheld, and her eyes were dazzled with its shining, even as her heart was dazzled with love.

Then cried Siegmund again: "Behold me, Siegmund the Wolsung, the son of Walse. This is my bridal gift to thee, the sword of victory and of thy deliverance. Wife to me art thou by right, even as the sword is mine by right Round thee crumbles the house of hate. Come forth, come forth into the light of love. Lo, the house of hate and of spring opens its doors wide, so follow, follow! Nothung, thy deliverance, and Siegmund, whose life is thy love, go with thee."

He seized her with the violent tenderness of love, and drew her to him. Straight in front of them opened the door into the house of spring, and it was fair. Yet, since he knew not yet who it was he led out with him, she spoke, even as he led her forth.

"Siegmund, Siegmund," she said, "O take me, take me. Thy longing has led thee to me. Is the flash of my eyes like the flash in the eye of Walse thy father? So be it: for who else should be like him but I? The burned homestead, the vanished sister, dost thou forget them? By the sword, even as Walse said, thou winnest her."

And for one moment Siegmund gazed at her in wild amaze. Then, for the spring was hot in his blood, and it was so written in the Book of Fate, to which even Wotan bows, whether he lords it in heaven, or as Walse he strides in the forest, there was no stop or stay for his passion.

"My bride, my sister!" he said, "brother and bridegroom long for you. For the blood of the Wolsungs will blossom yet."

CHAPTER V

THE STRIFE OF WOTAN AND FRICKA

Not far from the house of Hunding, but above the great wood of pines that with their dark plumes fringed the hillside opposite, there was a region of wild and bleak rocks, where, if any breeze stirred below, here it was as a strong wind. And if storm was coming over the earth, here above all would the clouds gather, and gloom and mix together till the power of the heavens willed that they should go on their appointed journeys of wrath or mercy to the thirsty earth. Thus the Valkyries, the wild maidens of the storm, were often wont to come here, riding on the wings of the wind, for their joy was in tempest and strife, and they cared little for peace and content, and their home was with the thunder, and the lightning was the lantern they loved best. At other times, when the heavens were clear, and the benediction of the sun brooded over the earth, here, above the woods and the damp and sorry lowlands, was its light the most serene and bright. Pure blew the airs as they blew to the mariner in the shrouds of his ship, and on all sides carved out to infinite distance lay vales and mountain peaks and ridges of hills, folded and knit the one into the other as the muscles of a strong man's arm rise and fall into ridge and furrow where his strength abides.

Thus it way that Wotan the king of the gods often came here, for here it was that he would be like to find his daughter Brunnhilde, the eldest of the Valkyries, and of all living things the dearest to him; and from here, as from a fortress home, she and her sisters, having communed with their father, would start on their war-raids, riding on the storm, and dazzling the souls of men with their beauty and their terror. And on the selfsame night, that first of spring, when spring and love awoke together in the hearts of Sieglinde and Siegmund, and maddened them with their sweetness, Wotan with his daughter Brunnhilde had sat night-long on that serene mountain-top, and he, communing with her as he communed with his own soul, had spoken to her of that wild deed which the brother and sister, his children by the forest maiden, had committed. And in the deeps of his heart he guessed, though darkly as in a glass, that from Siegmund the Wolsung should come that man for whom he waited, one free and owing nothing to the favour of the gods, who alone should be able to bring back to him the ring of the Rhine-gold, in whose circlet lay the wealth of the world and unmeasured might, even as Erda had foretold to him. Nor did the mating of this strange pair amaze or disquiet him, for they loved with that love which is the fire of the earth, and without which the earth would grow cold, and to his eyes that fire, from whatever fuel it was kindled, was a thing sacred beyond compare; while of the vows of a loveless marriage, such as Sieglinde's had been, he recked nought, nor scrupled to scatter it to the winds, even as a man on an autumn day scatters the thistledown on the breezy uplands, and cares nought where the winds may take it. For as light as thistledown to him were loveless vows, but love, even though no vow may hallow it, he held more sacred than his own oath.

So when the day dawned, he rose from the rock where he had been sitting, and Brunnhilde rose from her place by his knee.

"Up then to horse, my maid," he cried, "and be strong and swift to aid. Ere long the clash of arms shall be heard, and Bunding follow hard on Siegmund's trail. Up then, Brunnhilde, and put might into the heart of Siegmund the Wolsung, and strength into his arm. I reck nothing of Bunding, for he is no son of light, but of darkness. So to horse and away; get thee to Siegmund's side."

Then loud and long Brunnhilde shouted her cry of war, so that the rocks re-echoed, and far away from the muffled hillside of pines came the response.

Then ere she went, she climbed quickly to the topmost pinnacle of the ridge of rocks, and looking down into the ravine behind, she saw one whom she knew coming quickly up, and with a sweet sort of malice in her heart she called to her father Wotan.

"Fly, father, fly!" she cried, half laughter, half pity for him. "Let the king of gods be seen to fly for his safety, for a storm for thyself sweeps hither swiftly. Fricka thy wife is near on thy trail, driving her chariot with its harnessed rams. Up the path she comes; canst thou not hear the strokes of her golden whip, which like a flail she is plying? Listen to the bleatings of her belaboured steeds, listen to the rattling of her whirling wheels, while to guide her path to thee, anger flares like a beacon in her face. Father, dear father, such fights as these are little to my liking, for Brunnhilde would sooner meet the armed strength of men than the spirted venom of a woman's tongue and her war of words. Meet thou this fight as thou best may, for in such case I love to desert thee, and laughing I desert thee now. Yet I will wait hard by till Fricka has gone, and once more talk with thee ere I go to aid Siegmund."

Then once again, turning a look of love and laughter on her father, Brunnhilde shouted her joyous war-cry so that the distant hills replied, and sped quickly away until Fricka should have done with Wotan. With love shining in his eyes for her, he saw her go, and with anger and misgiving in his heart he saw his wife approach, knowing that a war of words was before him. For well he knew that she had come on this selfsame matter of Siegmund and Sieglinde, for so lawless a deed was an outrage to her. Yet was Wotan's purpose undismayed, and he swore to himself that she should find him steadfast in his resolve to aid Siegmund.

Now Fricka, though she was Wotan's wife, was not the companion of his heart; for she was cold and hard of nature, and nought that was human beat in her bosom. And by the great human heart of Wotan, in whose nostrils love was the breath of life, this wife of his was honoured indeed and much feared, but it was not to her he whispered at dark, nor told the secret troubles and joys of his soul. And when he saw her driving down the path, though he marvelled at her beauty, he had no word of tender welcome for her, and indeed her face was one flame of anger.

"Here in these heights where thou hidest from me, thy wife," she said, "I seek and find thee. Give me thy oath that thou wilt help me."

Then said Wotan, "What ails thee, wife?"

"Hunding's cry for vengeance has come to my ears," said she. "And well it might, for, as thou knowest, I am the goddess of marriage and marriage vows. Thus I listened in horror and holy indignation to the tale I heard, and I have sworn that Siegmund and Sieglinde, who have thus put him to shame so foully and madly, should pay for their sin. So help me, swear that thou wilt help me, that the two may reap their right reward. For shameful and impious is the deed that has been done."

Even as she spoke a little red flower blossomed at Wotan's feet, opening suddenly at the dawn of this sweet spring morning, and above his head two birds mated in mid-air, and his heart was warm within him with the instinct of the spring-time. "It is the spell of the spring," he thought to himself. "Love and spring drove mad both man and woman, and if there is blame, the blame is there." Aloud he said —

"O Fricka, it is spring-time!" and almost a tear of tenderness for the frail race of men he so loved started to his eye.

But Fricka answered him in anger. "The marriage vow has been broken," she cried, "and though that is not all, yet that is enough. Hunding's house is dishonoured, honoured, and I hate those who have dishonoured it."

"And did love hallow that marriage vow?" cried Wotan. "Was not Sieglinde carried by force to her marriage feast? Love's hand signed not the bond, and where love is not, there the most solemn vow turns impious. But a stranger came, and love stirred at last for him and her. And where love stirs, there is true marriage, and those stirrings of love I abet, I approve."

"Be it so," said Fricka; "let us say that the loveless wedlock is unholy, that it is best honoured when broken. But that is not all, and thou knowest it. For is it holy that two twins should seek each other thus? Ah! Wotan, my head reels and my senses are bewildered when I think of that. Brother and sister? When has it happened that a man should marry his neighbour in his mother's womb? When has that happened?"

But Wotan looked at her gently.

"It has happened now," he said. "Wife, is there nought left for us to learn? Thou knowest, thou knowest well that between the two there burns the authentic fire of love. It has happened. Siegmund and Sieglinde have so loved. Therefore, as I do, bless their union and blame it not. It is spring-time too."

Then was Fricka's wrath so kindled that it seemed as if she had been calm before and was now angry for the first time, and with storm she descended on him.

"Then is our godhead perished!" she cried, "since thou didst beget thy godless Wolsungs. Do you think that I shall follow thee on such a road? For the stones of it are shame, and shameful is the foot that treads thereon. Hunding's cry goes up unanswered, and all that was holy thou tramplest on. All this because the twins that thou begottest, in unfaithfulness to me thy wife, have dared to do this impious deed. Vows! what are vows to thee? Thou boldest none sacred. I have ever been true to thee, and ever thou hast betrayed my truth. There is no mountain top that has not seen, no vale that has not concealed some pleasure of thine, pleasure that scorned and dishonoured my faithfulness. When thou wentest to Erda, and begottest the brood of Valkyries, Brunnhilde the first, I bore it, for Erda was ever noble, and such adventure was not altogether base. But now like a common man thou goest on thy foul adventures, haunting the forest till men call thee the Wolf, or passing under the name of Walse. There is no plumb-line to measure the depths of thy shame, so deep is that abyss. These hast thou begotten of a mere woman, a she-wolf, these twins. And now thou flingest me at the feet of thy she-wolfs litter. Ah, mete out the full measure of my shame. Thou hast betrayed me, and now thou stampest me beneath thy feet and the feet of thy children of shame."

Wotan answered her not at once, for indeed there is no use in answering an angry woman, and he knew well that there were certain things that Fricka would never know. For her mind moved not from that little circle in which it was wont to go round, and all that had not happened, but which was still among the unfound things of the world, was outside her understanding. But Wotan knew that all heaven and earth was waiting for a hero who should come, who should make the old things new, and repair that which was outworn. He should be one who was utterly free, not sheltered or befriended by the gods, and not serving their laws. Nor might the gods help in this work, for their work was of an earlier day, and he who should come must pass beyond them both in thought and deed. Yet as Fricka still said nothing, but stood with heaving bosom, he spoke of him who should come whom he knew, though darkly, should be of the wild Wolsungs. Yet he knew also she would understand not. Nor did she understand, but answered him according to her own sightlessness, saying that since all that was done on earth was the work of men, whose life lay in the hands of the gods, what was there a man could do which was forbidden to the gods?

"For who," cried she, "put might into men except thou, or who but thou put courage into their hearts, and strength into their arms? Thou only. Yet now thou sayest that one will come of thy Wolsung breed who is outside and beyond. Dost then think to trick me thus? Surely I know that he, like all other men, must be subservient to thy will. It is to shield thy shameful twins that thou sayest this. It is by thy will alone he walks."

"Not so," said Wotan; "for when Siegmund seized the sword, he did it of his own might. In nought did I help him there. By the might of that sword he walks alone, not upheld by my power."

Then Fricka, for in her woman's way she was cunning, saw her path.

"Then shield him no further," she said quietly, "and take back thy sword, the sword that thou hast given him."

"How can I?" said he. "For Siegmund won it for himself in his need, and Siegmund's it is."

"But from thee," said she, "came not only the sword, but the need. In those days, when thou didst fling the sword at the ash-stem, I followed hard on thee, and saw thy deed, Who flung it there? Thou, Wotan. Who led Siegmund's hand to the hilt? Who but thou? Thou knewest where the sword was; in the presence of Sieglinde thou didst place it there. From thee, through her, the knowledge of it came to him. How canst thou say then that this Siegmund of thine is the hero that should come, since it is through thee he works?"

Then was Wotan both wroth and sorry, for he knew that Fricka spoke truth, yet he would have shielded Siegmund from her wrath. And she, seeing that she shook his will, spoke freely and calmly.

"Lo, the master does not war with slaves," she said, "nor fight for them. But thou and I, Wotan, are gods and equal. And I, whose soul and body are yet at thy bidding, wilt thou shame me and the vows I uphold before a mere man? Shall I be a laughter to the scornful, and shall men make merry over my down-fall in their homes? Thou wilt not have it so; I know thou wilt not. My godhead is more to thee than that."

"What wilt thou then?" said he.

"That thou stand aside from the Wolsung."

Then Wotan was sore distressed and very heavy at heart "Let him go," said he, and his voice was low and troubled; "I will not stay him, nor shalt thou."

"Then shield him not nor shelter him," said she, "when vengeance follows on him."

Then did Wotan remember that he had bidden Brunnhilde to aid him, and it was ill to fight against Brunnhilde. Thus perhaps might Siegmund be safe. So he swore to Fricka that he would not shield nor shelter him. Yet Fricka was not yet satisfied.

"Look in my face, Wotan," she said. "Thou sayest thou wilt not shield him, neither shall thine shield him. No aid must he obtain from thy Valkyrie maidens."

"The Valkyries go where they will," said he, "and I have no power over them."

"So that was thy thought!" said Fricka. "It shall not be so. Thy will directs them; let it direct them that they turn not to Siegmund."