How Siegfried Finds Brunhilda

For many a day Siegfried journeyed, keeping the bird always in sight. At night he slept under a tree, and the bird rested in a branch above, but with the first whisper of dawn Siegfried would start up, impatient to be off again. Over mountain and valley, across river and lake, Siegfried followed as though his feet were shod with invisible wings, never flagging, never weary. He came at length one evening to a narrow pass in the mountains. The way seemed to lead upwards, but daylight was fading, and Siegfried could see nothing clearly. All at once the bird circled rapidly over his head, sang a few sweet half-plaintive notes, and then, soaring upwards, vanished out of sight. In the same moment a deep voice spoke close at hand: “Halt! What seekest thou here?” Siegfried went forward, and standing in the narrow way he saw a tall dark form. “I seek for the fire-girt mountain where the beautiful maiden sleeps,” answered Siegfried fearlessly. “Canst thou tell me the way?” “Who told thee of such a maiden?” demanded the stranger sternly. “A singing bird gave me the good news,” said Siegfried. “By tasting the blood of a dragon I learned the language of the birds, and I know my bird spake true.” He was getting impatient at so many questions and anxious to go on his way. “So! thou hast slain old Fafnir. And with what weapon didst strike the death-blow, bold youth?” The stranger was in no hurry, evidently. “With my father’s splintered sword, which I welded together again,” said Siegfried, with pride. “But who first shaped that mighty sword?” asked the stranger. “That I neither know nor care. ’Twas a mighty useless weapon till I took it in hand, that I know,” answered Siegfried. “If thou canst not direct me on the road I seek, hold thy peace and let me pass on my way.” “Softly, young sir! Thou dost not know with whom thou speakest.” “I know that this path leads onwards to my lady, for thither pointed the bird before he left me. So make way and let me pass,” returned Siegfried angrily. “The bird fled to save its life. The way it pointed thou shalt never pass, presumptuous youth.” “Ha, ha! And who art _thou_ to arrest my steps?” laughed Siegfried scornfully. “I am the Guardian of yon mountain, where sleeps the maiden Brunhilda! A wall of flame encircles her, which even to approach would scorch thee to death. Begone then, rash fool, for to win thy way one step farther, thou must first overcome the mountain’s Guardian.” Placing himself in the middle of the road, the stranger loomed above Siegfried gigantic and immovable as the rock itself. But Siegfried remained unawed. “Begone thyself, old boaster!” he cried irreverently. “Think not to scare me with such tales. I love the fire’s blaze! So out of my way, for I haste to where Brunhilda sleeps.” “Thou fearest not the fire?” retorted the stranger, “Then fear this my Spear, for it shall bar thy way—this Spear, which once already has shattered thy father’s sword.” The sky had now become lurid; a terrific tempest was gathering. At the stranger’s words, Siegfried sprang forward, and, drawing Needful from the scabbard, shouted exultingly: “Have I then found my father’s foe? Thanks be to the gods for letting me avenge his death!” Then, falling on the powerful form that barred his way, he hewed with long, swift strokes at the Spear, which, had he hesitated one moment, or made one false step, would have struck him dead. There was a rushing sound of wings in the storm-clouds overhead. Anxious faces peered down on the scene. The warrior maidens, hovering above on their war-horses, trembled and paled as they beheld the Spear which once had been the terror of the world hewn to pieces, while their father, recoiling at last before the fiery youth, cried half triumphantly, in spite of his defeat: “Advance! I cannot bar thy way.” For Wotan’s heart never failed to rejoice in a real hero, even though he fought against him. A terrific clap of thunder followed, and a dark cloud swept over the fighters. When it rolled away, Siegfried looked in vain for his mysterious foe. He had vanished. “Now through the fire to win my bride!” cried Siegfried joyously, and leapt up the mountain side. A ruddy glow soon told him he was nearing the fiery wall, and gusts of hot air swept across his face. Taking his silver horn, Siegfried blew a call which echoed far and near. “To greet my sleeping love!” he cried. And now the fire was all about him, bursting up under his feet, pouring down from the skies, rushing round on every side. “Aha! This is glorious!” shouted Siegfried, plunging eagerly onwards, and laughing. The fierce flames which had scared so many nearly to death did not scorch even a hair of Siegfried’s head. For the magic fire injured only those who retreated—he who dashed fearlessly onward remained unharmed. Higher and higher up the mountain went Siegfried. Emerging at last from the flames, he found himself on the summit of a rocky peak, clad with tall dark pine trees. He looked around him, and rejoiced for very joy to be alive in such a fair world. The stillness was wonderful. Not a sound could be heard, for the wood-bird will not build his home so near the sky, and the fire had kept out all wingless intruders. Presently Siegfried saw, standing motionless under the trees, a stately horse. On going nearer, he was astonished to find that on his feet were wings. His eyes were closed in profound sleep. Siegfried stroked his flowing name. “Awake good steed! The sun has arisen. This is no time for sleeping.” His voice rang out clear as his silver horn, and with a start, Grani awoke. But Siegfried looked around in vain for the bride—Brunhilda. Suddenly the rising sun struck with its glittering light on an object under a distant pine. Siegfried hastened forward, and with wonder beheld a sleeping form clad from head to foot in shining armor. “Here is some warrior, for sure,” cried Siegfried. “This heavy helmet must press sorely on his head; I will loosen it for him.” He stooped, lifted the shield, and then carefully unfastened the helmet. As he removed it, the sleeper’s hair rolled out in long curling locks of burnished gold. Siegfried started. Never had he seen anything so fair as that calm proud young face, framed in the wavy shining curls. So still lay the sleeping warrior, so motionless, Siegfried bent down and listened anxiously for the deep slow breathing. “This coat of mail must weigh heavily on him; I will open it,” he said. But in vain he sought to find a fastening: everywhere the iron rings closed tightly round. To Siegfried, who had never seen a soldier, and knew of no weapon save a sword, this iron garment seemed a terrible inconvenience, almost as cumbersome as old Fafnir’s scales. He determined to free the young warrior, that he might at least sleep in comfort. So, taking out his sword, he carefully cut through the rings of mail down each side, and then lifted off the corselet and greaves. As he did so, great was his astonishment to see lying before him a maiden in soft flowing garments. He started back. His heart beat wildly. This must be none other than the maiden Brunhilda! Then he who had never known fear—who laughed in the face of the terrible dragon—quailed not before Wotan the mighty god, and dashed fearlessly through fire—sank down trembling and afraid before the sleeping maiden. “What is this feeling? Can _this_ be Fear?” he cried. “Awake! awake, O beautiful maid!” he cried, kneeling at her side. Still she did not stir. Bending over Brunhilda, Siegfried pressed his lips to hers. Slowly she opened her eyes. Siegfried started back. She sat up dazed and wondering. Then her eyes rested on him. For a moment neither moved. But the silence between them said more than words, and though only a few brief instants went by, much happened in the time. For Siegfried passed from boyhood to manhood, and Brunhilda passed from the land of dreams and shadows back to the warm living earth. At last she spoke. “Hail, thou sunshine, and light, and lovely daytime! Long has been my sleep!” Then, fixing shining eyes on Siegfried, “And who art _thou_,” she asked, “who hast awakened me out of my sleep?” “I am Siegfried. Through the flames I won my way to thee. My sword it has cut through thy armor, O most glorious maiden!” Brunhilda gazed at him in wonder and delight. “Siegfried! So thou art indeed Siegfried who hast awakened me? Siegfried, of whom in times long past I dreamed! My sun art thou, awakening me out of night and darkness!” These words made Siegfried happier than ever. Never had his highest hopes or wildest dreams pictured one so fair and noble as this goddess-maid. For her sake what would he not do or dare? But Brunhilda was now gazing sadly at her cast-off armor and shield on the ground. Slowly the words of her father’s curse were coming back to her. Never more to ride free through the heavens—to be a mortal woman wedded to a mortal man! Gently and sadly she pushed Siegfried from her side, and tried to turn his thoughts from herself. “See there my faithful steed,” she said, pointing to Grani. “He also has been awakened by Siegfried the sun-god. Once he bore me through the heavens, and shared my life among the gods of Valhalla. With me also he slept. See how joyfully he has come back to life!” “Alas!” cried Brunhilda, growing ever more melancholy. “Siegfried my hero, it is through you I forfeit my glorious estate! Brunhilda the Valkyrie is no more—she is dead indeed.” Siegfried saw that a harder task yet remained to him than dashing through fire or cutting through steel, but he went on undaunted, for he felt his new-found love strong and great enough to carry him through all difficulties. “Thou sleepest still, my beloved. I have but opened thy glorious eyes. Oh, wake, and rejoice that thou livest.” So spake Siegfried, and his passionate pleading turned at last, as a magic key, the locked door of Brunhilda’s proud heart, which to no god or man had yielded before. She turned to him and as Siegfried clasped her to his heart, Brunhilda renounced for ever all she had counted most dear—all longings for the old free Valkyrie life, all dreams of bygone glory with the gods in Valhalla. Now that her heart was won, Brunhilda gave it all, once and for ever; and a great and noble gift it was, worth any hero’s winning, at any cost.