Brunhilda’s Sleep Guarded by Loki’s Fiery Arm

On the summit of a lofty mountain the Valkyrie sisters met after the day’s toil, to await their father Wotan, and present him with the heroes they had gathered from the battlefields on earth. One by one they alighted from their winged steeds, shouting the Valkyries’ war-cry greeting to each other, “Hei-a-ha! Hei-a-hei! Hoyoto-ho!” From the north came Helmwiga and Gerhilda well-laden; the fierce Norsemen never failed to supply fresh recruits for Wotan’s bodyguard. From east and west and every quarter came some tribute to Wotan, borne on the Valkyries’ saddle-bows. “Where tarries our sister Brunhilda?” asked several eagerly. “She is late to-night. Ah, see, in the distance, who is that speeding hither like a cloud driven before the storm? Surely not so rides our queenly Brunhilda!” With the fainting Sieglinda in her arms, it was indeed Brunhilda who came in sight at last, flying on the wings of the wind. “Faster! oh, faster, Grani my steed!” she cried to the panting horse. And Grani, his strong head downward bent, with his winged feet cleft the rolling clouds till they hissed like water meeting fire, while his breath came in great snorting gasps, and the foam flew from his mouth in big flakes like snow. Never before in his long service with his noble mistress had Grani been urged to flight, and he knew that dire indeed must be the danger which Brunhilda dare not stand and face. “Well striven, good Grani, faithful steed!” cried Brunhilda, as the horse alighted on the mountain and dropped exhausted to the ground. Lifting Sieglinda, now fully conscious, from the saddle, Brunhilda hastened toward her sisters. “She brings no hero! It is naught but a maiden!” they exclaimed in wonder and disappointment. “Help me, O sisters! Shield me and this poor woman, I beseech you!” implored Brunhilda breathlessly. “Why this furious haste? From whom fliest thou?” asked the Valkyries, crowding round her in amazement. “I fly from our father! In terrible wrath he hunts me down!” “Thou fliest from our father?” cried all the sisters, horror-struck. “What hast thou done that thou shouldst fly from him?” Brunhilda poured out her tale in eager haste. From one to another she looked for pity or sympathy but in vain. Sternly the Valkyries eyed her as she knelt and implored them to shelter her and the unfortunate Sieglinda from the wrath of Wotan. “Woe to thee, most unworthy sister! How durst thou disobey the sacred command of Wotan our father? Naught but disaster can follow!” And now, from the north, raging storm-clouds came sweeping toward them. One of the Valkyries mounted to the topmost peak, and, looking across the sky, called out: “He comes! Wotan the wrathful father! flying furiously in the storm-clouds on his snorting steed!” “Who will lend me a horse? Grani is spent—see, he cannot even stand! Rossvisa, my sister, have pity, lend me thy racer!” Brunhilda implored, turning to a stately Valkyrie whose magnificent steed was at her side. “My racer never yet fled our father in fear, and never shall!” replied Rossvisa coldly. To each one Brunhilda went, beseeching a horse. “We stand by our father!” the Valkyries all answered her. Brunhilda was in despair. Then Sieglinda, who had watched the scene in gloomy silence, came forward and spoke. “Sorrow not for me, noble maiden. Oh, why didst thou not leave me to die with Siegmund? If thou hast indeed pity on me, stretch forth thy sword and pierce me now to the heart.” “Nay, that must not be,” answered Brunhilda. “Thou must live still, Sieglinda, for thou shalt have a son, who will one day be the greatest hero in the world. Heed now what I say. To the eastward there lies a mighty forest; there Wotan will not pursue thee, for he abhors the spot. It is the dwelling of Fafnir the dragon, his mortal foe. Thither haste thee. I will remain here to face the god’s wrath, and hinder him till thou hast escaped far on thy journey.” “Fly, then, Sieglinda!” cried Brunhilda; “speed to the east! Faint not and fear not, whatever betide. Live for thy son, and call him by this name from me—Siegfried the Victor! Give him these shattered pieces of his father’s sword—from the field of death I took them. One day he shall weld them into a mighty weapon. Farewell, Sieglinda!” It was none too soon. Another minute, and with a crash the angry god descended in the midst of the dismayed Valkyries. “Where is Brunhilda, the rebel?” he roared in tones of fury. “Let her come forth! Dare any to shelter her, they shall share the same doom.” The Valkyrie sisters had closed round Brunhilda in the vain hope of hiding her; but at these words she came out from their midst, her face pale and set. “Here am I, my father, to suffer my sentence,” she said firmly. Wotan was not prepared for such calm fearlessness. “I sentence thee not,” he answered. “’Tis thine own misdeed condemns thee!” Then, with gathering wrath, he continued, “I made thee a Valkyrie, highest in honor and favor. Thou hast forsworn thy noble calling, and played traitor to thy father. No longer mayest thou dwell in Valhalla as my child. Never more will I send thee for my dead heroes. Never again shalt thou fill my cup at the feast! Degraded and exiled art thou forever!” Brunhilda stood as though turned to stone. The Valkyries burst into loud lamentations. “Woe! woe! Alas, our unhappy sister!” Then Brunhilda cried aloud in great agony of mind, “O father, disown me not! Take not from me all thy gifts! Leave me not to utter desolation!” But Wotan was not to be appeased, and the worst part of the sentence was yet to come. “Thou thyself hast called down my curse, and here where we now stand it shall strike thee!” he answered. “A deep, dreamless sleep shall overpower thee, and to that man who first awakens thee shalt thou belong from henceforth!” At this grim sentence all the Valkyries lifted their voices in a wail of horror and dismay, crying: “Oh, terrible father, recall the curse! Let not our sister be degraded to such a shameful fate. Each one of us shares in her disgrace.” Brunhilda’s woe was too great for any cry. “I have spoken once—my words abide forever!” retorted Wotan. “Thy treacherous sister,” he continued, “no longer belongs to the glorious troop of Valkyries. Her godhood is forfeit! The doom she has earned is now to wed a mortal man.” At this picture of her future, poor Brunhilda sank with a deep groan to the earth. Wotan turned to the eight sisters, who looked on in deep distress. “If ye desire not a like doom, forbear to pity the outcast. Away now, begone, every one of ye! Haste, lest I hurl the same woe on your heads!” The earth quaked and trembled as Wotan passionately stamped his foot, and fiery gleams shot from his eyes. With a last despairing look at Brunhilda and a wild cry of woe, the Valkyries sprang on their horses and fled in hot haste. They knew if their stern father spared not his favorite Brunhilda, still less would he spare them. The storm had now ceased. Brunhilda lay prostrate on the ground. Wotan stood motionless in silent gloom. His rage seemed spent, like that of the storm. Then Brunhilda rose slowly from the ground, and spoke in deep sorrowful tones. “Was my deed verily so shameful that such shame should fall upon me? Was it so base an act to fulfil thy _first_ command? Speak, O my father, and soften thy wrath toward me.” “Thou didst wilfully disobey my sacred order. The _first_ command I recalled,” replied Wotan bitterly. “But not of thine own will. ’Twas Fricka who made thee false to thy nobler self; and because I held in my heart thy true wish, I dared to slight thy second order.” The mention of Fricka brought an angry flash from the eyes of Wotan. “For that rebellious act the curse now falls on thee,” he answered. “But I knew how well thou lovedst Siegmund,” pleaded Brunhilda; “and when I found him in the forest and told him of thy death decree, he revealed to me a wondrous thing I never before had known. For in his strong courage and his undying devotion to Sieglinda, I learned what love could be. And I resolved, whether victory or death came of it, to serve one so noble. In acting thus, O father, I was faithful to thee, even though disobeying thereby thy command.” Wotan groaned. “Thou knowest naught of what compelled my action. Dark clouds are gathering on every side—the day of doom threatens Valhalla! I dared not follow what my heart desired. But all this woe I kept from thee, that thy life might be happy and free from care. And thou, my favorite, my beloved child, hast turned thy hand against me and proved false to my trust. Never again may I behold thy face! Since love proved thy undoing, follow now that man whom thou perforce must love.” “If indeed I am banished forever, at least,” she pleaded, “grant me one parting boon, O stern father. If I must wed a mortal man, let not thy Valkyrie fall a victim to some worthless poltroon, when fetters of sleep bind her fast. In this one thing, O father, hear my prayer—at thy command let magical fire spring up in a glowing wall around my couch, that the flames may scare and scorch the timid, and none save a hero stout of heart may dare to approach me.” Wotan, stern and unbending though he was, could not refuse this one last petition. “Farewell,” he said, “thou who wert once the light of my eyes. I grant thee this last parting boon—tongues of flame will I set round this place; with their terrible fury shall they scare the faint-hearted. Only one shall awaken the bride, he whose strength and freedom is greater than that of Wotan.” With a cry of grateful joy Brunhilda threw herself into her father’s arm. Tenderly he looked at her, and slowly kissed her on both eyes. A profound slumber instantly fell on Brunhilda, and Wotan, taking her in his arms, laid her on a mossy mound overshadowed by a great fir tree. “Farewell forever, my beloved beautiful child,” he murmured sadly, as he closed her helmet visor and covered her with the long steel shield of the Valkyries. Then, going to a rock near by, he struck it three times with the point of his spear, commanding in a loud voice: “Loki! Fire-spirit, come forth. Spread me thy flames around this fell. Here keep thou guard as I decree. Loki, appear!” And at his word, out sprang from the rock a long tongue of flame, which quickly spread to a mighty river of fire circling round and round the mountain where Brunhilda lay sleeping. Then Wotan, holding aloft his spear, cried in ringing tones: “Only he whose spirit quaileth not before the spear of Wotan shall pass this fiery bar!” With these words he vanished into the clouds, and the night fell. Such was the story of Brunhilda’s long sleep. [Illustration: TENDERLY HE LOOKED AT HER, AND SLOWLY KISSED HER ON BOTH EYES—page 114 _From the painting by K. Dielitz_]