Brunhilda and the Magic Sword

On the summit of a rocky mountain peak a beautiful maiden lay sleeping. On every side rose the tall dark pine trees, like huge giants on guard. A circle of magic fire formed a glowing wall around her rocky couch. The sun rose and set, night succeeded day, winter and summer came and went, but the maiden slept on still. From head to foot she was encased in shining armor. On her breast lay a shield, on her head glistened a warrior’s helmet, and at her side a spear. For on a day long past it had been decreed that thus this maiden should sleep, till awakened by the kiss of one who would dare the flames for her sake, and claim her as bride. Many a knight, hearing of the beautiful sleeper, had thought to win his way to her; but no sooner did he see the angry fire darting out on all sides, and feel the scorching heat of the great flames, than the bravest fell back discouraged. Time was when this fair warrior had dwelt with the gods and goddesses in Valhalla, for she was none other than Brunhilda, favorite daughter of Wotan the king. She had eight sisters, each one beautiful as the dawn, and knowing neither fear nor weakness; but among them all Brunhilda was fairest, bravest, and strongest. These nine maidens were known as the Valkyrie, and each was a warrior perfect in the art of war. Chief among their duties was to attend all battles on earth. Riding on their winged horses, they would hover over the battlefield, and, when a hero fell, swoop down and bear his lifeless body to Valhalla, where he would awaken to live among the gods, and be from henceforth one of the chosen bodyguard of Wotan. Now it happened on a day in these times long past that Wotan called to him Brunhilda, and charged her that she should defend Siegmund the Volsung in a deadly combat he was about to engage in with the grim and savage Hunding. Wotan had reasons for wishing to grant Siegmund a special favor. The Father of the Gods had once struck a mighty sword into the heart of an ancient ash tree, decreeing that it should belong to him alone who could pluck it out. Many a valiant knight had tried to win the sword; but all in vain. Buried deep in the ash-stem it remained till Siegmund came and with one powerful wrench drew forth the weapon. Then Wotan rejoiced that a man had been found strong enough to win his sword, and he loved Siegmund the Volsung greatly. But Wotan hated Hunding, for he was a tyrant and a bully. With all his strength and bluster, he had never been able to pluck out the sword, though many a time had he tried, grinding his teeth savagely over his failure. Now the cause of strife between Hunding and Siegmund was this—Hunding had a beautiful wife, Sieglinda by name, whom he had married sorely against her will. With her whole soul she loathed and hated the cruel Hunding, and only longed to escape from him. So it befell one day she fled with Siegmund the Volsung; for the first moment they met, these two loved one another, and Sieglinda said to herself: “It were better far to die with Siegmund than to live with Hunding.” When Hunding discovered their flight, he set forth to pursue the lovers, uttering loud threats of vengeance, which echoed through the forest for miles round. He called on Fricka, Queen of Valhalla, to help him, for he knew this goddess to be most stern in her view of the duties of wives. “O mighty goddess,” cried Hunding, “grant me thine aid! May thy justice and my righteous vengeance speedily overtake the miscreant! Let not the scoundrel Volsung turn the power of Wotan’s sword to his own advantage, for then would all men surely say that the god’s favor rests on faithless wives!” Fricka promised him her warm support, and also that of Wotan, whom she knew she could bend to her all-powerful will, however opposed he might feel. Scarcely had Brunhilda left the presence of her father when the goddess Fricka drove up in a car drawn by two fierce fleet-footed rams. With stern majesty she demanded that Siegmund should be given up to justice, and the magic sword he had won be broken against the spear of Wotan himself. It was for the honor of the gods and Valhalla, cried Fricka, that Hunding’s prayer for vengeance on his faithless wife and her lover be answered. In vain did Wotan plead every excuse he could devise for his favorite Siegmund. Not until he had solemnly sworn on oath to cast off Siegmund, and recall the order given to Brunhilda, did the stern goddess take her leave. Wotan sank on the nearest rock a picture of utter dejection. In this sad state Brunhilda found him shortly after. She listened in dismay, when in gloomy tones he said to her: “Thou shalt fight to-day as Fricka desires, and thou shalt vanquish utterly Siegmund the Volsung! Heed well my words—my former order I now recall.” Brunhilda could scarcely believe she heard aright. “Nay, but thou lovest Siegmund,” she cried in sore perplexity, “and Hunding dost thou hate! Ah,” she continued, as a new thought came to her, “this second decree is not given with thy heart! Rather will I abide by the first!” Brunhilda spoke with good intent, but these were unlucky words. In many respects the mighty Wotan was not unlike a mortal man. “How, froward child! Dost dare dispute my word?” he cried. “Thou who are naught but the blind tool used by my hand! Wake not my wrath, but heed well my command—Siegmund dies in the fight with Hunding. I have spoken—go!” In sorrowful amaze the warrior-maiden took up her weapons and departed. She found the ill-starred lovers resting awhile in their wanderings through the trackless forest. Sieglinda’s strength was utterly spent, and she had fallen into a deep swoon. “Siegmund the Volsung,” spoke Brunhilda in solemn tones, “I come to call thee hence!” “Who art thou, so fair and stern?” he asked. “Only those already doomed to death may look upon my face,” she answered. “I am she who bears the fallen warrior to Valhalla.” “And will this my love come also to Valhalla?” asked Siegmund, gazing tenderly at the pale face of the sleeping Sieglinda. “Nay,” replied Brunhilda, “such is not the will of Wotan; Sieglinda must remain upon the earth. But thou shalt be with heroes, and the daughters of Wotan shall wait upon thee.” “If my love may not be there, I will have none of Valhalla’s delights! I follow thee not!” answered Siegmund fixedly. “Thou hast looked on the face of the Valkyrie—thou hast no choice but to follow her,” said Brunhilda. “By what warrior’s hand must I fall?” asked Siegmund. “Hunding will fell thee in the fight to-day,” answered the Valkyrie. But Siegmund laughed this prophecy to scorn. “Seest thou this sword?” he said, drawing forth the weapon of Wotan. “It was made by one in whose name I am sure of victory.” “He who bestowed that sword now withdraws the charm, and himself dooms thee to death!” cried Brunhilda in terrible ringing tones. “Hush! or thou wilt awaken my love,” said Siegmund, bending tenderly over Sieglinda. “If what thou sayest be true, woe and shame be to him who bestowed such a sword! If I must perish and desert her,” he continued bitterly, “never will I pass to the Valhalla of Wotan.” “What!” cried Brunhilda in horror. “Thou wouldst forego the glory of Valhalla for the sake of this poor feeble woman?” “If thou canst feel no pity, and canst give no help in my sore distress, then leave me at least in peace. Speak not of Valhalla’s empty joys.” How help this heroic lover without disobeying the order of Wotan her father? “Confide thy beloved to my care—I will protect her, noble Siegmund,” she said earnestly. “I thank thee,” replied Siegmund, “but none save I alone can protect my love. And if this sword, which a traitor fashioned, is to prove false in the fight, better it should take our two lives with one fell stroke.” So saying, he drew his sword and held it over Sieglinda. But Brunhilda seized his arm. “Stay thy hand, reckless man! Thou shalt not die, but live. Thou shalt not leave Sieglinda. Sooner will I, Brunhilda, cancel the death-lot. Doubt me not, my promise is spoken. Take up thy sword, it shall prevail, for I will aid thee. Speed now to meet thy foe. Hark to the sound of Hunding’s horn! Farewell, Siegmund!” With these words Brunhilda sprang on her winged horse, and soon vanished through the clouds. Siegmund gazed after her with grateful eyes; then, stooping, kissed Sieglinda, saying softly: “Slumber in peace, my beloved, till the fight is over and peril past.” The horn of Hunding sounded loudly in the distance, and Siegmund hastened away to meet him, leaving Sieglinda still asleep. A terrible thunderstorm now broke over the forest, thunderclouds rolled and clashed together. All was dark as night, no light save from the forked flashes which darted here and there in fiery streaks, like the gleaming swords of an unseen enemy fighting in the clouds. Louder and louder called the hunting-horns of Hunding and his followers. Presently a terrific thunderclap awoke Sieglinda. She started up in wildest terror. Siegmund was no longer by her side, a dense darkness surrounded her, while near at hand rang the voice of Hunding crying in tones of wrath: “Ha, thou scoundrel Volsung! come out and fight, or my hounds shall hunt thee down!” The voices now seemed to come from a rock over Sieglinda’s head. She listened in eager anxiety as they continued to shout to one another. Suddenly a flash of lightning showed them fighting desperately on a ridge of the rock. Sieglinda rushed forward, forgetting all fears for herself in an agony for Siegmund’s safety. Another blinding flash made her stagger backwards, dazed and giddy. For one instant the whole mountain-peak was lit up, and she saw, hovering over Siegmund in the air, a woman on a winged horse, covering him with a shield as he fought. “Now is the moment, Siegmund the Volsung,” cried a dear voice from above. “Slay him with thy magic sword!” But as Siegmund aimed his deadly stroke at the heart of Hunding, a dreadful disaster befell. Wotan, standing unseen at Hunding’s side, put forth his spear and received the thrust of Siegmund’s sword. “Back before my spear! Be splintered, thou sword!” roared the voice of the god in tones of thunder. With a sharp sound like a cry the sword of Siegmund snapped and flew to pieces. Brunhilda fell back in dismay as the gleaming eye of Wotan met her own; and instantly Hunding plunged his sword into the heart of his defenseless foe. Sieglinda fell senseless to the ground. Brunhilda, gathering up the fragments of the sword, hurried to her side, and, lifting her to the saddle, rode off at lightning speed through the clouds. Siegmund’s lifeless body lay at the feet of Wotan. Remorsefully he gazed upon the brave young warrior he would fain have spared. The sight of Hunding was more than he could bear. With a backward wave of his hand Wotan cried fiercely: “Go, knave! Kneel before Fricka and tell her how well Wotan avenged her slight!” And at these words Hunding staggered and fell lifeless to the ground; for no mortal man could stand before the scornful wave of Wotan’s hand, unless he were of the race of Heroes who know not fear. So Hunding died; but there was no Valkyrie to bear him to Valhalla. All his life he had been a tyrant and a bully, and such men, were they the best fighters in the world, could find no favor with the warrior-maidens. “Now for Brunhilda!” cried Wotan, his voice causing the very trees to quake and shiver. “She who has dared to defy and disobey me! Terrible shall be her punishment, though she be my best-loved child.” He sprang on his war-horse and followed where the parted clouds showed Brunhilda’s recent track.