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Title: The Story of Siegfried

Author: James Baldwin

Release Date: November, 2004 [EBook #6866]
[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
[This file was first posted on February 2, 2003]

Edition: 10

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE STORY OF SIEGFRIED ***




Produced by J. C. Byers




                   The Story of Siegfried

                             By
                        James Baldwin

              New York Charles Scribner's Sons
                            1899



                      To My Children,

                 Winfred, Louis, and Nellie,

           This Book Is Affectionately Inscribed.





                       The Fore Word.



  When the world was in its childhood, men looked upon the
  works of Nature with a strange kind of awe. They fancied
  that every thing upon the earth, in the air, or in the
  water, had a life like their own, and that every sight which
  they saw, and every sound which they heard, was caused by
  some intelligent being. All men were poets, so far as their
  ideas and their modes of expression were concerned, although
  it is not likely that any of them wrote poetry. This was
  true in regard to the Saxon in his chilly northern home, as
  well as to the Greek in the sunny southland. But, while the
  balmy air and clear sky of the south tended to refine men's
  thoughts and language, the rugged scenery and bleak storms
  of the north made them uncouth, bold, and energetic. Yet
  both the cultured Greek and the rude Saxon looked upon
  Nature with much the same eyes, and there was a strange
  resemblance in their manner of thinking and speaking. They
  saw, that, in all the phenomena which took place around
  them, there was a certain system or regularity, as if these
  were controlled by some law or by some superior being; and
  they sought, in their simple poetical way, to account for
  these appearances. They had not yet learned to measure the
  distances of the stars, nor to calculate the motions of the
  earth. The changing of the seasons was a mystery which they
  scarcely sought to penetrate. But they spoke of these
  occurrences in a variety of ways, and invented many
  charming, stories with reference to them, not so much with a
  view towards accounting for the mystery, as towards giving
  expression to their childlike but picturesque ideas.

  Thus, in the south, when reference was made to the coming of
  winter and to the dreariness and discomforts of that season
  of the year, men did not know nor care to explain it all, as
  our teachers now do at school; but they sometimes told how
  Hades had stolen Persephone (the summer) from her mother
  Demetre (the earth), and had carried her, in a chariot drawn
  by four coal black steeds, to the gloomy land of shadows;
  and how,  in sorrow for her absence, the Earth clothed
  herself in mourning, and no leaves grew upon the trees, nor
  flowers in the gardens, and the very birds ceased singing,
  because Persephone was no more. But they added, that in a
  few months the fair maiden would return for a time to her
  sorrowing mother, and that then the flowers would bloom, and
  the trees would bear fruit, and the harvest-fields would
  again be full of golden grain.

  In the north a different story was told, but the meaning was
  the same. Sometimes men told how Odin (the All-Father) had
  become angry with Brunhild (the maid of spring), and had
  wounded her with the thorn of sleep, and how all the castle
  in which she slept was wrapped in deathlike slumber until
  Sigurd or Siegfried (the sunbeam) rode through flaming fire,
  and awakened her with a kiss. Sometimes men told how Loki
  (heat) had betrayed Balder (the sunlight), and had induced
  blind old Hoder (the winter months) to slay him, and how all
  things, living and inanimate, joined in weeping for the
  bright god, until Hela (death) should permit him to revisit
  the earth for a time.

  So, too, when the sun arose, and drove away the darkness and
  the hidden terrors of the night, our ancestors thought of
  the story of a noble young hero slaying a hideous dragon, or
  taking possession of the golden treasures of Mist Land. And
  when the springtime came, and the earth renewed its youth,
  and the fields and woods were decked in beauty, and there
  was music everywhere, they loved to tell of Idun (the
  spring) and her youth-giving apples, and of her wise husband
  Bragi (Nature's musician). When storm-clouds loomed up from
  the horizon and darkened the sky, and thunder rolled
  overhead, and lightning flashed on every hand, they talked
  about the mighty Thor riding over the clouds in his goat-
  drawn chariot, and battling with the giants of the air. When
  the mountain-meadows were green with long grass, and the
  corn was yellow for the sickles of the reapers, they spoke
  of Sif, the golden-haired wife of Thor, the queen of the
  pastures and the fields. When the seasons were mild, and the
  harvests were plentiful, and peace and gladness prevailed,
  they blessed Frey, the giver of good gifts to men.

  To them the blue sky-dome which everywhere hung over them
  like an arched roof was but the protecting mantle which the
  All-Father had suspended above the earth. The rainbow was
  the shimmering bridge which  stretches from earth to heaven.
  The sun and the moon were the children of a giant, whom two
  wolves chased forever around the earth. The stars were
  sparks from the fire-land of the south, set in the heavens
  by the gods. Night was a giantess, dark and swarthy, who
  rode in a car drawn by a steed the foam from whose bits
  sometimes covered the earth with dew. And Day was the son of
  Night; and the steed which he rode lighted all the sky and
  the earth with the beams which glistened from his mane.


  It was thus that men in the earlier ages of the world looked
  upon and spoke of the workings of Nature; and it was in this
  manner that many myths, or poetical fables, were formed. By
  and by, as the world grew older, and mankind became less
  poetical and more practical, the first or mythical meaning
  of these stories was forgotten, and they were regarded no
  longer as mere poetical fancies, but as historical facts.
  Perhaps some real hero had indeed performed daring deeds,
  and had made the world around him happier and better. It was
  easy to liken him to Sigurd, or to some other mythical
  slayer of giants; and soon the deeds of both were ascribed
  to but one. And thus many myth-stories probably contain some
  historical facts blended with the mass of poetical fancies
  which mainly compose them; but, in such cases, it is
  generally impossible to distinguish what is fact from what
  is mere fancy.

  All nations have had their myth-stories; but, to my mind,
  the purest and grandest are those which we have received
  from our northern ancestors. They are particularly
  interesting to us; because they are what our fathers once
  believed, and because they are ours by right of inheritance.
  And, when we are able to make them still more our own by
  removing the blemishes which rude and barbarous ages have
  added to some of them, we shall discover in them many things
  that are beautiful and true, and well calculated to make us
  wiser and better.

  It is not known when or by whom these myth-stories were
  first put into writing, nor when they assumed the shape in
  which we now have them. But it is said, that, about the year
  1100, an Icelandic scholar called Saemund the Wise collected
  a number of songs and poems into a book which is now known
  as the "Elder Edda;" and that, about a century later, Snorre
  Sturleson, another Icelander, wrote a prose-work of a
  similar character, which is called the "Younger Edda." And
  it is to these two books that we owe the preservation of
  almost all that is now known of the myths and the strange
  religion of our Saxon and Norman forefathers. But, besides
  these, there are a number of semi-mythological stories of
  great interest and beauty,--stories partly mythical, and
  partly founded upon remote and forgotten historical facts.
  One of the oldest and finest of these is the story of
  Sigurd, the son of Sigmund. There are many versions of this
  story, differing from each other according to the time in
  which they were written and the character of the people
  among whom they were received. We find the first mention of
  Sigurd and his strange daring deeds in the song of Fafnir,
  in the "Elder Edda." Then, in the "Younger Edda," the story
  is repeated in the myth of the Niflungs and the Gjukungs. It
  is told again in the  "Volsunga Saga" of Iceland. It is
  repeated and re-repeated in various forms and different
  languages, and finally appears in the "Nibelungen Lied," a
  grand old German poem, which may well be compared with the
  Iliad of the Greeks. In this last version, Sigurd is called
  Siegfried; and the story is colored and modified by the
  introduction of many notions peculiar to the middle ages,
  and unknown to our Pagan fathers of the north. In our own
  time this myth has been woven into a variety of forms.
  William Morris has embodied it in his noble poem of "Sigurd
  the Volsung;" Richard Wagner, the famous German composer,
  has constructed from it his inimitable drama, the
  "Nibelungen Ring;" W. Jordan, another German writer, has
  given it to the world in his "Sigfrid's Saga;" and Emanuel
  Geibel has derived from it the materials for his "Tragedy of
  Brunhild."


  And now I, too, come with the STORY OF SIEGFRIED, still
  another version of the time-honored legend. The story as I
  shall tell it you is not in all respects a literal rendering
  of the ancient myth; but I have taken the liberty to change
  and recast such portions of it as I have deemed advisable.
  Sometimes I have drawn materials from one version of the
  story, sometimes from another, and sometimes largely from my
  own imagination alone. Nor shall I be accused of impropriety
  in thus reshaping a narrative, which, although hallowed by
  an antiquity of a thousand years and more, has already
  appeared in so many different forms, and been clothed in so
  many different garbs; for, however much I may have allowed
  my fancy or my judgment to retouch and remodel the
  immaterial portions of the  legend, the essential parts of
  this immortal myth remain the same. And, if I succeed in
  leading you to a clearer understanding and a wiser
  appreciation of the thoughts and feelings of our old
  northern ancestors, I shall have accomplished the object for
  which I have written this Story of Siegfried.





                         Contents.



  The Fore Word
  I.     Mimer, the Master
  II.    Greyfell
  III.   The Curse of Gold
  IV.    Fafnir, the Dragon
  V.     In AEgir's Kingdom
  VI.    Brunhild
  VII.   In Nibelungen Land
  VIII.  Siegfried's Welcome Home
  IX.    The Journey to Burgundy-land
  X.     Kriemhill's Dream
  XI.    How the Spring Time Came
  XII.   The War with the North-kings
  XIII.  The Story of Balder
  XIV.   How Gunther Outwitted Brunhild
  XV.    In Nibelungen Land Again
  XVI.   How Brunhild Was Welcomed Home
  XVII.  How Siegfried Lived in Nibelungen Land
  XVIII. How the Mischief Began to Brew
  XIX.   How They Hunted in the Odenwald
  XX.    How the Hoard Was Brought to Burgundy
  The After Word
  Notes





                        Adventure I.
                     Mimer, the Master.



  At Santen, in the Lowlands, there once lived a young prince
  named Siegfried. His father, Siegmund, was king of the rich
  country through which the lazy Rhine winds its way just
  before reaching the great North Sea; and he was known, both
  far and near, for his good deeds and his prudent thrift. And
  Siegfried's mother, the gentle Sigelind, was loved by all
  for her goodness of heart and her kindly charity to the
  poor. Neither king nor queen left aught undone that might
  make the young prince happy, or fit him for life's
  usefulness. Wise men were brought from far-off lands to be
  his teachers; and every day something was added to his store
  of knowledge or his stock of happiness. And very skilful did
  he become in warlike games and in manly feats of strength.
  No other youth could throw the spear with so great force, or
  shoot the arrow with surer aim. No other youth could run
  more swiftly, or ride with more becoming ease. His gentle
  mother took delight in adding to the beauty of his matchless
  form, by clothing him in costly garments decked with the
  rarest jewels. The old, the young, the rich, the poor, the
  high, the low, all praised the fearless Siegfried, and all
  vied in friendly strife to win his favor. One would have
  thought that the life of the young prince could never be
  aught but a holiday, and that the birds would sing, and the
  flowers would bloom, and the sun would shine forever for his
  sake.

  But the business of man's life is not mere pastime; and none
  knew this truth better than the wise old king, Siegmund.

  "All work is noble," said he to Siegfried; "and he who
  yearns to win fame must not shun toil. Even princes should
  know how to earn a livelihood by the labor of their hands."

  And so, while Siegfried was still a young lad, his father
  sent him to live with a smith called Mimer, whose smithy was
  among the hills not far from the great forest. For in those
  early times the work of the smith was looked upon as the
  most worthy of all trades,--a trade which the gods
  themselves were not ashamed to follow. And this smith Mimer
  was a wonderful master,--the wisest and most cunning that
  the world had ever seen. Men said that he was akin to the
  dwarf-folk who had ruled the earth in the early days, and
  who were learned in every lore, and skilled in every craft;
  and they said that he was so exceeding old that no one could
  remember the day when he came to dwell in the land of
  Siegmund's fathers. And some said, too, that he was the
  keeper of a wonderful well, or flowing spring, the waters of
  which imparted wisdom and far-seeing knowledge to all who
  drank of them.

  To Mimer's school, then, where he would be taught to work
  skilfully and to think wisely, Siegfried was sent, to be in
  all respects like the other pupils there. A coarse blue
  blouse, and heavy leggings, and a leathern apron, took the
  place of the costly clothing which he had worn in his
  father's dwelling. His feet were incased in awkward wooden
  shoes, and his head was covered with a wolf-skin cap. The
  dainty bed, with its downy pillows, wherein every night his
  mother had been wont, with gentle care, to see him safely
  covered, was given up for a rude heap of straw in a corner
  of the smithy. And the rich food to which he had been used
  gave place to the coarsest and humblest fare. But the lad
  did not complain. The days which he passed in the smithy
  were mirthful and happy; and the sound of his hammer rang
  cheerfully, and the sparks from his forge flew briskly, from
  morning till night.

  And a wonderful smith he became. No one could do more work
  than he, and none wrought with greater skill. The heaviest
  chains and the strongest bolts, for prison or for
  treasure-house, were but as toys in his stout hands, so
  easily and quickly did he beat them into shape. And he was
  alike cunning in work of the most delicate and brittle kind.
  Ornaments of gold and silver, studded with the rarest
  jewels, were fashioned into beautiful forms by his deft
  fingers. And among all of Mimer's apprentices none learned
  the master's lore so readily, nor gained the master's favor
  more.[EN#1]

  One morning the master, Mimer, came to the smithy with a
  troubled look upon his face. It was clear that something had
  gone amiss; and what it was the apprentices soon learned
  from the smith himself. Never, until lately, had any one
  questioned Mimer's right to be called the foremost smith in
  all the world; but now a rival had come forward. An unknown
  upstart--one Amilias, in Burgundy-land--had made a suit of
  armor, which, he boasted, no stroke of sword could dint, and
  no blow of spear could scratch; and he had sent a challenge
  to all other smiths, both in the Rhine country and
  elsewhere, to equal that piece of workmanship, or else
  acknowledge themselves his underlings and vassals. For many
  days had Mimer himself toiled, alone and vainly, trying to
  forge a sword whose edge the boasted armor of Amilias could
  not foil; and now, in despair, he came to ask the help of
  his pupils and apprentices.

  "Who among you is skilful enough to forge such a sword?" he
  asked.

  One after another, the pupils shook their heads. And
  Veliant, the foreman of the apprentices, said, "I have heard
  much about that wonderful armor, and its extreme hardness,
  and I doubt if any skill can make a sword with edge so sharp
  and true as to cut into it. The best that can be done is to
  try to make another war-coat whose temper shall equal that
  of Amilias's armor."

  Then the lad Siegfried quickly said, "I will make such a
  sword as you want,--a blade that no war-coat can foil. Give
  me but leave to try!"

  The other pupils laughed in scorn, but Mimer checked them.
  "You hear how this boy can talk: we will see what he can do.
  He is the king's son, and we know that he has uncommon
  talent. He shall make the sword; but if, upon trial, it
  fail, I will make him rue the day."

  Then Siegfried went to his task. And for seven days and
  seven nights the sparks never stopped flying from his forge;
  and the ringing of his anvil, and the hissing of the hot
  metal as he tempered it, were heard continuously. On the
  eighth day the sword was fashioned, and Siegfried brought it
  to Mimer.

  The smith felt the razor-edge of the bright weapon, and
  said, "This seems, indeed, a fair fire-edge. Let us make a
  trial of its keenness."

  Then a thread of wool as light as thistle-down was thrown
  upon water, and, as it floated there, Mimer struck it with
  the sword. The glittering blade cleft the slender thread in
  twain, and the pieces floated undisturbed upon the surface
  of the liquid.

  "Well done!" cried the delighted smith. "Never have I seen a
  keener edge. If its temper is as true as its sharpness would
  lead us to believe, it will indeed serve me well."

  But Siegfried took the sword again, and broke it into many
  pieces; and for three days he welded it in a white-hot fire,
  and tempered it with milk and oatmeal. Then, in sight of
  Mimer and the sneering apprentices, he cast a light ball of
  fine-spun wool upon the flowing water of the brook; and it
  was caught in the swift eddies of the stream, and whirled
  about until it met the bared blade of the sword, which was
  held in Mimer's hands. And it was parted as easily and clean
  as the rippling water, and not the smallest thread was moved
  out of its place.

  Then back to the smithy Siegfried went again; and his forge
  glowed with a brighter fire, and his hammer rang upon the
  anvil with a cheerier sound, than ever before. But he
  suffered none to come near, and no one ever knew what
  witchery he used. But some of his fellow-pupils afterwards
  told how, in the dusky twilight, they had seen a one-eyed
  man, long-bearded, and clad in a cloud-gray kirtle, and
  wearing a sky-blue hood, talking with Siegfried at the
  smithy door. And they said that the stranger's face was at
  once pleasant and fearful to look upon, and that his one eye
  shone in the gloaming like the evening star, and that, when
  he had placed in Siegfried's hands bright shards, like
  pieces of a broken sword, he faded suddenly from their
  sight, and was seen no more.

  For seven weeks the lad wrought day and night at his forge;
  and then, pale and haggard, but with a pleased smile upon
  his face, he stood before Mimer, with the gleaming sword in
  his hands. "It is finished," he said. "Behold the glittering
  terror!--the blade Balmung. Let us try its edge, and prove
  its temper once again, that so we may know whether you can
  place your trust in it."

  And Mimer looked long at the ruddy hilts of the weapon, and
  at the mystic runes that were scored upon its sides, and at
  the keen edge, which gleamed like a ray of sunlight in the
  gathering gloom of the evening. But no word came from his
  lips, and his eyes were dim and dazed; and he seemed as one
  lost in thoughts of days long past and gone.

  Siegfried raised the blade high over his head; and the
  gleaming edge flashed hither and thither, like the
  lightning's play when Thor rides over the storm-clouds. Then
  suddenly it fell upon the master's anvil, and the great
  block of iron was cleft in two; but the bright blade was no
  whit dulled by the stroke, and the line of light which
  marked the edge was brighter than before.

  Then to the flowing brook they went; and a great pack of
  wool, the fleeces of ten sheep, was brought, and thrown upon
  the swirling water. As the stream bore the bundle downwards,
  Mimer held the sword in its way. And the whole was divided
  as easily and as clean as the woollen ball or the slender
  woollen thread had been cleft before.

  "Now, indeed," cried Mimer, "I no longer fear to meet that
  upstart, Amilias. If his war-coat can withstand the stroke
  of such a sword as Balmung, then I shall not be ashamed to
  be his underling. But, if this good blade is what it seems
  to be, it will not fail me; and I, Mimer the Old, shall
  still be called the wisest and greatest of smiths."

  And he sent word at once to Amilias, in Burgundy-land, to
  meet him on a day, and settle forever the question as to
  which of the two should be the master, and which the
  underling. And heralds proclaimed it in every town and
  dwelling. When the time which had been set drew near, Mimer,
  bearing the sword Balmung, and followed by all his pupils
  and apprentices, wended his way towards the place of
  meeting. Through the forest they went, and then along the
  banks of the sluggish river, for many a league, to the
  height of land which marked the line between King Siegmund's
  country and the country of the Burgundians. It was in this
  place, midway between the shops of Mimer and Amilias, that
  the great trial of metal and of skill was to be made. And
  here were already gathered great numbers of people from the
  Lowlands and from Burgundy, anxiously waiting for the coming
  of the champions. On the one side were the wise old Siegmund
  and his gentle queen, and their train of knights and
  courtiers and fair ladies. On the other side were the three
  Burgundian kings, Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher, and a
  mighty retinue of warriors, led by grim old Hagen, the uncle
  of the kings, and the wariest chief in all Rhineland.

  When every thing was in readiness for the contest, Amilias,
  clad in his boasted war-coat, went up to the top of the
  hill, and sat upon a great rock, and waited for Mimer's
  coming. As he sat there, he looked, to the people below,
  like some great castle-tower; for he was almost a giant in
  size, and his coat of mail, so skilfully wrought, was so
  huge that twenty men of common mould might have found
  shelter, or hidden themselves, within it. As the smith
  Mimer, so dwarfish in stature, toiled up the steep hillside,
  Amilias smiled to see him; for he felt no fear of the
  slender, gleaming blade that was to try the metal of his
  war-coat. And already a shout of expectant triumph went up
  from the throats of the Burgundian hosts, so sure were they
  of their champion's success.

  But Mimer's friends waited in breathless silence, hoping,
  and yet fearing. Only King Siegmund whispered to his queen,
  and said, "Knowledge is stronger than brute force. The
  smallest dwarf who has drunk from the well of the Knowing
  One may safely meet the stoutest giant in battle."

  When Mimer reached the top of the hill, Amilias folded his
  huge arms, and smiled again; for he felt that this contest
  was mere play for him, and that Mimer was already as good as
  beaten, and his thrall. The smith paused a moment to take
  breath, and as he stood by the side of his foe he looked to
  those below like a mere black speck close beside a
  steel-gray castle-tower.

  "Are you ready?" asked the smith.

  "Ready," answered Amilias. "Strike!"

  Mimer raised the beaming blade in the air, and for a moment
  the lightning seemed to play around his head. The muscles on
  his short, brawny arms, stood out like great ropes; and then
  Balmung, descending, cleft the air from right to left. The
  waiting lookers-on in the plain below thought to hear the
  noise of clashing steel; but they listened in vain, for no
  sound came to their ears, save a sharp hiss like that which
  red-hot iron gives when plunged into a tank of cold water.
  The huge Amilias sat unmoved, with his arms still folded
  upon his breast; but the smile had faded from his face.

  "How do you feel now?" asked Mimer in a half-mocking tone.

  "Rather strangely, as if cold iron had touched me," faintly
  answered the upstart.

  "Shake thyself!" cried Mimer.

  Amilias did so, and, lo! he fell in two halves; for the
  sword had cut sheer through the vaunted war-coat, and cleft
  in twain the great body incased within. Down tumbled the
  giant head and the still folded arms, and they rolled with
  thundering noise to the foot of the hill, and fell with a
  fearful splash into the deep waters of the river; and there,
  fathoms down, they may even now be seen, when the water is
  clear, lying like great gray rocks among the sand and gravel
  below. The rest of the body, with the armor which incased
  it, still sat upright in its place; and to this day
  travellers sailing down the river are shown on moonlit
  evenings the luckless armor of Amilias on the high hill-top.
  In the dim, uncertain light, one easily fancies it to be the
  ivy covered ruins of some old castle of feudal times.

  The master, Mimer, sheathed his sword, and walked slowly
  down the hillside to the plain, where his friends welcomed
  him with glad cheers and shouts of joy. But the Burgundians,
  baffled, and feeling vexed, turned silently homeward, nor
  cast a single look back to the scene of their disappointment
  and their ill-fated champion's defeat.

  And Siegfried went again with the master and his fellows to
  the smoky smithy, to his roaring bellows and ringing anvil,
  and to his coarse fare, and rude, hard bed, and to a life of
  labor. And while all men praised Mimer and his knowing
  skill, and the fiery edge of the sunbeam blade, no one knew
  that it was the boy Siegfried who had wrought that piece of
  workmanship.

  But after a while it was whispered around that not Mimer,
  but one of his pupils, had forged the sword. And, when the
  master was asked what truth there was in this story, his
  eyes twinkled, and the corners of his mouth twitched
  strangely, and he made no answer. But Veliant, the foreman
  of the smithy, and the greatest of boasters said, "It was I
  who forged the fire-edge of the blade Balmung." And,
  although none denied the truth of what he said, but few who
  knew what sort of a man he was believed his story. And this
  is the reason, my children, that, in the ancient songs and
  stories which tell of this wondrous sword, it is said by
  most that Mimer, and by a few that Veliant, forged its
  blade. But I prefer to believe that it was made by
  Siegfried, the hero who afterwards wielded it in so many
  adventures. [EN#3] Be this as it may, however, blind hate
  and jealousy were from this time uppermost in the coarse and
  selfish mind of Veliant; and he sought how he might drive
  the lad away from the smithy in disgrace. "This boy has done
  what no one else could do," said he. "He may yet do greater
  deeds, and set himself up as the master smith of the world,
  and then we shall all have to humble ourselves before him as
  his underlings and thralls."

  And he nursed this thought, and brooded over the hatred
  which he felt towards the blameless boy; but he did not dare
  to harm him, for fear of their master, Mimer. And Siegfried
  busied himself at his forge, where the sparks flew as
  briskly and as merrily as ever before, and his bellows
  roared from early morning till late at evening. Nor did the
  foreman's unkindness trouble him for a moment, for he knew
  that the master's heart was warm towards him.

  Oftentimes, when the day's work was done, Siegfried sat with
  Mimer by the glowing light of the furnace-fire, and listened
  to the sweet tales which the master told of the deeds of the
  early days, when the world was young, and the dwarf-folk and
  the giants had a name and a place upon earth. And one night,
  as they thus sat, the master talked of Odin the All-Father,
  and of the gods who dwell with him in Asgard, and of the
  puny men-folk whom they protect and befriend, until his
  words grew full of bitterness, and his soul of a fierce
  longing for something he dared not name. And the lad's heart
  was stirred with a strange uneasiness, and he said,--

  "Tell me, I pray, dear master, something about my own kin,
  my father's fathers,--those mighty kings, who, I have heard
  said, were the bravest and best of men."

  Then the smith seemed pleased again. And his eyes grew
  brighter, and lost their far-away look; and a smile played
  among the wrinkles of his swarthy face, as he told a tale of
  old King Volsung and of the deeds of the Volsung kings:--

  "Long years ago, before the evil days had dawned, King
  Volsung ruled over all the land which lies between the sea
  and the country of the Goths. The days were golden; and the
  good Frey dropped peace and plenty everywhere, and men went
  in and out and feared no wrong. King Volsung had a dwelling
  in the midst of fertile fields and fruitful gardens. Fairer
  than any dream was that dwelling. The roof was thatched with
  gold, and red turrets and towers rose above. The great
  feast-hall was long and high, and its walls were hung with
  sun-bright shields; and the door-nails were of silver. In
  the middle of the hall stood the pride of the Volsungs,--a
  tree whose blossoms filled the air with fragrance, and whose
  green branches, thrusting themselves through the ceiling,
  covered the roof with fair foliage. It was Odin's tree, and
  King Volsung had planted it there with his own hands.

  "On a day in winter King Volsung held a great feast in his
  hall in honor of Siggeir, the King of the Goths, who was his
  guest. And the fires blazed bright in the broad chimneys,
  and music and mirth went round. But in the midst of the
  merry-making the guests were startled by a sudden peal of
  thunder, which seemed to come from the cloudless sky, and
  which made the shields upon the walls rattle and ring. In
  wonder they looked around. A strange man stood in the
  doorway, and laughed, but said not a word. And they noticed
  that he wore no shoes upon his feet, but that a cloud-gray
  cloak was thrown over his shoulders, and a blue hood was
  drawn down over his head. His face was half-hidden by a
  heavy beard; and he had but one eye, which twinkled and
  glowed like a burning coal. And all the guests sat moveless
  in their seats, so awed were they in the presence of him who
  stood at the door; for they knew that he was none other than
  Odin the All-Father, the king of gods and men. He spoke not
  a word, but straight into the hall he strode, and he paused
  not until he stood beneath the blossoming branches of the
  tree. Then, forth from beneath his cloud-gray cloak, he drew
  a gleaming sword, and struck the blade deep into the
  wood,--so deep that nothing but the hilt was left in sight.
  And, turning to the awe-struck guests, he said, 'A blade of
  mighty worth have I hidden in this tree. Never have the
  earth-folk wrought better steel, nor has any man ever
  wielded a more trusty sword. Whoever there is among you
  brave enough and strong enough to draw it forth from the
  wood, he shall have it as a gift from Odin.' Then slowly to
  the door he strode again, and no one saw him any more.

  "And after he had gone, the Volsungs and their guests sat a
  long time silent, fearing to stir, lest the vision should
  prove a dream. But at last the old king arose, and cried,
  'Come, guests and kinsmen, and set your hands to the ruddy
  hilt! Odin's gift stays, waiting for its fated owner. Let us
  see which one of you is the favored of the All-Father.'
  First Siggeir, the King of the Goths, and his earls, the
  Volsungs' guests, tried their hands. But the blade stuck
  fast; and the stoutest man among them failed to move it.
  Then King Volsung, laughing, seized the hilt, and drew with
  all his strength; but the sword held still in the wood of
  Odin's tree. And one by one the nine sons of Volsung tugged
  and strained in vain; and each was greeted with shouts and
  laughter, as, ashamed and beaten, he wended to his seat
  again. Then, at last, Sigmund, the youngest son, stood up,
  and laid his hand upon the ruddy hilt, scarce thinking to
  try what all had failed to do. When, lo! the blade came out
  of the tree as if therein it had all along lain loose. And
  Sigmund raised it high over his head, and shook it, and the
  bright flame that leaped from its edge lit up the hall like
  the lightning's gleaming; and the Volsungs and their guests
  rent the air with cheers and shouts of gladness. For no one
  among all the men of the mid-world was more worthy of Odin's
  gift than young Sigmund the brave."

  But the rest of Mimer's story would be too long to tell you
  now; for he and his young apprentice sat for hours by the
  dying coals, and talked of Siegfried's kinfolk, --the
  Volsung kings of old. And he told how Siggeir, the Goth
  king, was wedded to Signy the fair, the only daughter of
  Volsung, and the pride of the old king's heart; and how he
  carried her with him to his home in the land of the Goths;
  and how he coveted Sigmund's sword, and plotted to gain it
  by guile; and how, through presence of friendship, he
  invited the Volsung kings to visit him in Gothland, as the
  guests of himself and Signy; and how he betrayed and slew
  them, save Sigmund alone, who escaped, and for long years
  lived an outlaw in the land of his treacherous foe. And then
  he told how Sigmund afterwards came back to his own country
  of the Volsungs; and how his people welcomed him, and he
  became a mighty king, such as the world had never known
  before; and how, when he had grown old, and full of years
  and honors, he went out with his earls and fighting-men to
  battle against the hosts of King Lyngi the Mighty; and how,
  in the midst of the fight, when his sword had hewn down
  numbers of the foe, and the end of the strife and victory
  seemed near, an old man, one eyed and bearded, and wearing a
  cloud-gray cloak, stood up before him in the din, and his
  sword was broken in pieces, and he fell dead on the heap of
  the slain.[EN#4] And, when Mimer had finished his tale, his
  dark face seemed to grow darker, and his twinkling eyes grew
  brighter, as he cried out in a tone of despair and hopeless
  yearning,--

  "Oh, past are those days of old and the worthy deeds of the
  brave! And these are the days of the home-stayers, --of the
  wise, but feeble-hearted. Yet the Norns have spoken; and it
  must be that another hero shall arise of the Volsung blood,
  and he shall restore the name and the fame of his kin of the
  early days. And he shall be my bane; and in him shall the
  race of heroes have an end."[EN#7]

  Siegfried's heart was strangely stirred within him as he
  hearkened to this story of ancient times and to the fateful
  words of the master, and for a long time he sat in silent
  thought; and neither he nor Mimer moved, or spoke again,
  until the darkness of the night had begun to fade, and the
  gray light of morning to steal into the smithy. Then, as if
  moved by a sudden impulse, he turned to the master, and
  said,--

  "You speak of the Norns, dear master, and of their
  foretelling; but your words are vague, and their meaning
  very broad. When shall that hero come? and who shall he be?
  and what deeds shall be his doing?"

  "Alas!" answered Mimer, "I know not, save that he shall be
  of the Volsung race, and that my fate is linked with his."

  "And why do you not know?" returned Siegfried. "Are you not
  that old Mimer, in whom it is said the garnered wisdom of
  the world is stored? Is there not truth in the old story
  that even Odin pawned one of his eyes for a single draught
  from your fountain of knowledge? And is the possessor of so
  much wisdom unable to look into the future with clearness
  and certainty?"

  "Alas!" answered Mimer again, and his words came hard and
  slow, "I am not that Mimer, of whom old stories tell, who
  gave wisdom to the All-Father in exchange for an eye. He is
  one of the giants, and he still watches his fountain in
  far-off Jotunheim.[EN#2] I claim kinship with the dwarfs,
  and am sometimes known as an elf, sometimes as a
  wood-sprite. Men have called me Mimer because of my wisdom
  and skill, and the learning which I impart to my pupils.
  Could I but drink from the fountain of the real Mimer, then
  the wisdom of the world would in truth be mine, and the
  secrets of the future would be no longer hidden. But I must
  wait, as I have long waited, for the day and the deed and
  the doom that the Norns have foretold."

  And the old strange look of longing came again into his
  eyes, and the wrinkles on his swarthy face seemed to deepen
  with agony, as he arose, and left the smithy. And Siegfried
  sat alone before the smouldering fire, and pondered upon
  what he had heard.





                       Adventure II.
                         Greyfell.



  Many were the pleasant days that Siegfried spent in Mimer's
  smoky smithy; and if he ever thought of his father's stately
  dwelling, or of the life of ease which he might have enjoyed
  within its halls, he never by word or deed showed signs of
  discontent. For Mimer taught him all the secrets of his
  craft and all the lore of the wise men. To beat hot iron, to
  shape the fire-edged sword, to smithy war-coats, to fashion
  the slender bracelet of gold and jewels,--all this he had
  already learned. But there were many other things to know,
  and these the wise master showed him. He told him how to
  carve the mystic runes which speak to the knowing ones with
  silent, unseen tongues; he told him of the men of other
  lands, and taught him their strange speech; he showed him
  how to touch the harp-strings, and bring forth bewitching
  music: and the heart of Siegfried waxed very wise, while his
  body grew wondrous strong. And the master loved his pupil
  dearly.

  But the twelve apprentices grew more jealous day by day, and
  when Mimer was away they taunted Siegfried with cruel jests,
  and sought by harsh threats to drive him from the smithy;
  but the lad only smiled, and made the old shop ring again
  with the music from his anvil. On a day when Mimer had gone
  on a journey, Veliant, the foreman, so far forgot himself as
  to strike the boy. For a moment Siegfried gazed at him with
  withering scorn; then he swung his hammer high in air, and
  brought it swiftly down, not upon the head of Veliant, who
  was trembling with expectant fear, but upon the foreman's
  anvil. The great block of iron was shivered by the blow, and
  flew into a thousand pieces. Then, turning again towards the
  thoroughly frightened foreman, Siegfried said, while angry
  lightning-flashes darted from his eyes,--

  "What if I were to strike you thus?"

  Veliant sank upon the ground, and begged for mercy.

  "You are safe," said Siegfried, walking away. "I would scorn
  to harm a being like you!"

  The apprentices were struck dumb with amazement and fear;
  and when Siegfried had returned to his anvil they one by one
  dropped their hammers, and stole away from the smithy. In a
  secret place not far from the shop, they met together, to
  plot some means by which they might rid themselves of him
  whom they both hated and feared.

  The next morning Veliant came to Siegfried's forge, with a
  sham smile upon his face. The boy knew that cowardice and
  base deceit lurked, ill concealed, beneath that smile; yet,
  as he was wont to do, he welcomed the foreman kindly.

  "Siegfried," said Veliant, "let us be friends again. I am
  sorry that I was so foolish and so rash yesterday, and I
  promise that I will never again be so rude and unmanly as to
  become angry at you. Let us be friends, good Siegfried! Give
  me your hand, I pray you, and with it your forgiveness."

  Siegfried grasped the rough palm of the young smith with
  such a gripe, that the smile vanished from Veliant's face,
  and his muscles writhed with pain.

  "I give you my hand, certainly," said the boy, "and I will
  give you my forgiveness when I know that you are worthy of
  it."

  As soon as Veliant's aching hand allowed him speech, he
  said,--

  "Siegfried, you know that we have but little charcoal left
  for our forges, and our master will soon return from his
  journey. It will never do for him to find us idle, and the
  fires cold. Some one must go to-day to the forest-pits, and
  bring home a fresh supply of charcoal. How would you like
  the errand? It is but a pleasant day's journey to the pits;
  and a ride into the greenwood this fine summer day would
  certainly be more agreeable than staying in the smoky shop."

  "I should like the drive very much," answered Siegfried;
  "but I have never been to the coal-pits, and I might lose my
  way in the forest."

  "No danger of that," said Veliant. "Follow the road that
  goes straight into the heart of the forest, and you cannot
  miss your way. It will lead you to the house of Regin, the
  master, the greatest charcoal-man in all Rhineland. He will
  be right glad to see you for Mimer's sake, and you may lodge
  with him for the night. In the morning he will fill your
  cart with the choicest charcoal, and you can drive home at
  your leisure; and, when our master comes again, he will find
  our forges flaming, and our bellows roaring, and our anvils
  ringing, as of yore."

  Siegfried, after some further parley, agreed to undertake
  the errand, although he felt that Veliant, in urging him to
  do so, wished to work him some harm. He harnessed the donkey
  to the smith's best cart, and drove merrily away along the
  road which led towards the forest.[EN#5] The day was bright
  and clear; and as Siegfried rode through the flowery
  meadows, or betwixt the fields of corn, a thousand sights
  and sounds met him, and made him glad. Now and then he would
  stop to watch the reapers in the fields, or to listen to the
  song of some heaven-soaring lark lost to sight in the blue
  sea overhead. Once he met a company of gayly dressed youths
  and maidens, carrying sheaves of golden grain, --for it was
  now the harvest-time,--and singing in praise of Frey, the
  giver of peace and plenty.

  "Whither away, young prince?" they merrily asked.

  "To Regin, the coal-burner, in the deep greenwood," he
  answered.

  "Then may the good Frey have thee in keeping!" they cried.
  "It is a long and lonesome journey." And each one blessed
  him as they passed.

  It was nearly noon when he drove into the forest, and left
  the blooming meadows and the warm sunshine behind him. And
  now he urged the donkey forwards with speed; for he knew
  that he had lost much precious time, and that many miles
  still lay between him and Regin's charcoal-pits. And there
  was nothing here amid the thick shadows of the wood to make
  him wish to linger; for the ground was damp, and the air was
  chilly, and every thing was silent as the grave. And not a
  living creature did Siegfried see, save now and then a gray
  wolf slinking across the road, or a doleful owl sitting low
  down in some tree-top, and blinking at him in the dull but
  garish light. Evening at last drew on, and the shadows in
  the wood grew deeper; and still no sign of charcoal-burner,
  nor of other human being, was seen. Night came, and thick
  darkness settled around; and all the demons of the forest
  came forth, and clamored and chattered, and shrieked and
  howled. But Siegfried was not afraid. The bats and vampires
  came out of their hiding-places, and flapped their clammy
  wings in his face; and he thought that he saw ogres and many
  fearful creatures peeping out from behind every tree and
  shrub. But, when he looked upwards through the overhanging
  tree-tops, he saw the star-decked roof of heaven, the blue
  mantle which the All-Father has hung as a shelter over the
  world; and he went bravely onwards, never doubting but that
  Odin has many good things in store for those who are willing
  to trust him.

  And by and by the great round moon arose in the east, and
  the fearful sounds that had made the forest hideous began to
  die away; and Siegfried saw, far down the path, a red light
  feebly gleaming. And he was glad, for he knew that it must
  come from the charcoal-burners' pits. Soon he came out upon
  a broad, cleared space; and the charcoal-burners' fires
  blazed bright before him; and some workmen, swarthy and
  soot-begrimed, came forwards to meet him.

  "Who are you?" they asked; "and why do you come through the
  forest at this late hour?"

  "I am Siegfried," answered the boy; "and I come from Mimer's
  smithy. I seek Regin, the king of charcoal-burners; for I
  must have coal for my master's smithy."

  "Come with me," said one of the men: "I will lead you to
  Regin."

  Siegfried alighted from his cart, and followed the man to a
  low-roofed hut not far from the burning pits. As they drew
  near, they heard the sound of a harp, and strange, wild
  music within; and Siegfried's heart was stirred with wonder
  as he listened. The man knocked softly at the door, and the
  music ceased.

  "Who comes to break into Regin's rest at such a time as
  this?" said a rough voice within.

  "A youth who calls himself Siegfried," answered the man. "He
  says that he comes from Mimer's smithy, and he would see
  you, my master."

  "Let him come in," said the voice.

  Siegfried passed through the low door, and into the room
  beyond; and so strange was the sight that met him that he
  stood for a while in awe, for never in so lowly a dwelling
  had treasures so rich been seen. Jewels sparkled from the
  ceiling; rare tapestry covered the walls; and on the floor
  were heaps of ruddy gold and silver, still unfashioned. And
  in the midst of all this wealth stood Regin, the king of the
  forest, the greatest of charcoal-men. And a strange old man
  he was, wrinkled and gray and beardless; but out of his eyes
  sharp glances gleamed of a light that was not human, and his
  heavy brow and broad forehead betokened wisdom and shrewd
  cunning. And he welcomed Siegfried kindly for Mimer's sake,
  and set before him a rich repast of venison, and wild honey,
  and fresh white bread, and luscious grapes. And, when the
  meal was finished, the boy would have told his errand, but
  Regin stopped him.

  "Say nothing of your business to-night," said he; "for the
  hour is already late, and you are weary. Better lie down,
  and rest until the morrow; and then we will talk of the
  matter which has brought you hither."

  And Siegfried was shown to a couch of the fragrant leaves of
  the myrtle and hemlock, overspread with soft white linen,
  such as is made in the far-off Emerald Isle; and he was
  lulled to sleep by sweet strains of music from Regin's
  harp,--music which told of the days when the gods were young
  on the earth. And as he slept he dreamed. He dreamed that he
  stood upon the crag of a high mountain, and that the eagles
  flew screaming around him, and the everlasting snows lay at
  his feet, and the world in all its beauty was stretched out
  like a map below him; and he longed to go forth to partake
  of its abundance, and to make for himself a name among men.
  Then came the Norns, who spin the thread, and weave the
  woof, of every man's life; and they held in their hands the
  web of his own destiny. And Urd, the Past, sat on the tops
  of the eastern mountains, where the sun begins to rise at
  dawn; while Verdanda, the Present, stood in the western sea,
  where sky and water meet. And they stretched the web between
  them, and its ends were hidden in the far-away mists. Then
  with all their might the two Norns span the purple and
  golden threads, and wove the fatal woof. But as it began to
  grow in beauty and in strength, and to shadow the earth with
  its gladness and its glory, Skuld, the pitiless Norn of the
  Future, seized it with rude fingers, and tore it into
  shreds, and cast it down at the feet of Hela, the white
  queen of the dead.[EN#6] And the eagles shrieked, and the
  mountain shook, and the crag toppled, and Siegfried awoke.

  The next morning, at earliest break of day, the youth sought
  Regin, and made known his errand.

  "I have come for charcoal for my master Mimer's forges. My
  cart stands ready outside; and I pray you to have it filled
  at once, for the way is long, and I must be back betimes."

  Then a strange smile stole over Regin's wrinkled face, and
  he said,--

  "Does Siegfried the prince come on such a lowly errand? Does
  he come to me through the forest, driving a donkey, and
  riding in a sooty coal-cart? I have known the day when his
  kin were the mightiest kings of earth, and they fared
  through every land the noblest men of men-folk."

  The taunting word, the jeering tones, made Siegfried's anger
  rise. The blood boiled in his veins; but he checked his
  tongue, and mildly answered,--

  "It is true that I am a prince, and my father is the wisest
  of kings; and it is for this reason that I come thus to you.
  Mimer is my master, and my father early taught me that even
  princes must obey their masters' behests."

  Then Regin laughed, and asked, "How long art thou to be
  Mimer's thrall? Does no work wait for thee but at his smoky
  forge?"

  "When Mimer gives me leave, and Odin calls me," answered the
  lad, "then I, too, will go faring over the world, like my
  kin of the earlier days, to carve me a name and great glory,
  and a place with the noble of earth."

  Regin said not a word; but he took his harp, and smote the
  strings, and a sad, wild music filled the room. And he sang
  of the gods and the dwarf-folk, and of the deeds that had
  been in the time long past and gone. And a strange mist swam
  before Siegfried's eyes; and so bewitching were the strains
  that fell upon his ears, and filled his soul, that he forgot
  about his errand, and his master Mimer, and his father
  Siegmund, and his lowland home, and thought only of the
  heart-gladdening sounds. By and by the music ended, the
  spell was lifted, and Siegfried turned his eyes towards the
  musician. A wonderful change had taken place. The little old
  man still stood before him with the harp in his hand; but
  his wrinkled face was hidden by a heavy beard, and his thin
  gray locks were covered with a long black wig, and he seemed
  taller and stouter than before. As Siegfried started with
  surprise, his host held out his hand, and said,--

  "You need not be alarmed, my boy. It is time for you to know
  that Regin and Mimer are the same person, or rather that
  Mimer is Regin disguised.[EN#8] The day has come for you to
  go your way into the world, and Mimer gives you leave."

  Siegfried was so amazed he could not say a word. He took the
  master's hand, and gazed long into his deep, bright eyes.
  Then the two sat down together, and Mimer, or Regin as we
  shall now call him, told the prince many tales of the days
  that had been, and of his bold, wise forefathers. And the
  lad's heart swelled within him; and he longed to be like
  them,--to dare and do and suffer, and gloriously win at
  last. And he turned to Regin and said,--

  "Tell me, wisest of masters, what I shall do to win fame,
  and to make myself worthy to rule the fair land which my
  fathers held."

  "Go forth in your own strength, and with Odin's help,"
  answered Regin,--"go forth to right the wrong, to help the
  weak, to punish evil, and come not back to your father's
  kingdom until the world shall know your noble deeds."

  "But whither shall I go?" asked Siegfried.

  "I will tell you," answered Regin. "Put on these garments,
  which better befit a prince than those soot-begrimed clothes
  you have worn so long. Gird about you this sword, the good
  Balmung, and go northward. When you come to the waste lands
  which border upon the sea, you will find the ancient Gripir,
  the last of the kin of the giants. Ask of him a war-steed,
  and Odin will tell you the rest."

  So, when the sun had risen high above the trees, Siegfried
  bade Regin good-by, and went forth like a man, to take
  whatsoever fortune should betide. He went through the great
  forest, and across the bleak moorland beyond, and over the
  huge black mountains that stretched themselves across his
  way, and came to a pleasant country all dotted with white
  farmhouses, and yellow with waving, corn. But he tarried not
  here, though many kind words were spoken to him, and all
  besought him to stay. Right onwards he went, until he
  reached the waste land which borders the sounding sea. And
  there high mountains stood, with snow-crowned crags beetling
  over the waves; and a great river, all foaming with the
  summer floods, went rolling through the valley. And in the
  deep dales between the mountains were rich meadows, green
  with grass, and speckled with thousands of flowers of every
  hue, where herds of cattle and deer, and noble elks, and
  untamed horses, fed in undisturbed peace. And Siegfried,
  when he saw, knew that these were the pastures of Gripir the
  ancient.

  High up among the gray mountain-peaks stood Gripir's
  dwelling,--a mighty house, made of huge bowlders brought by
  giant hands from the far north-land. And the wild eagle,
  built their nests around it, and the mountain vultures
  screamed about its doors. But Siegfried was not afraid. He
  climbed the steep pathway which the feet of men had never
  touched before, and, without pausing, walked straightway
  into the high-built hall. The room was so dark that at first
  he could see nothing save the white walls, and the
  glass-green pillars which upheld the roof. But the light
  grew stronger soon; and Siegfried saw, beneath a heavy
  canopy of stone, the ancient Gripir, seated in a chair made
  from the sea-horse's teeth.[EN#9] And the son of the giants
  held in his hand an ivory staff; and a purple mantle was
  thrown over his shoulders, and his white beard fell in
  sweeping waves almost to the sea-green floor. Very wise he
  seemed, and he gazed at Siegfried with a kindly smile.

  "Hail, Siegfried!" he cried. "Hail, prince with the gleaming
  eye! I know thee, and I know the woof that the Norns have
  woven for thee. Welcome to my lonely mountain home! Come and
  sit by my side in the high-seat where man has never sat, and
  I will tell thee of things that have been, and of things
  that are yet to be."

  Then Siegfried fearlessly went and sat by the side of the
  ancient wise one. And long hours they talked
  together,--strong youth and hoariest age; and each was glad
  that in the other he had found some source of hope and
  comfort. And they talked of the great midworld, and of the
  starry dome above it, and of the seas which gird it, and of
  the men who live upon it. All night long they talked, and in
  the morning Siegfried arose to go.

  "Thou hast not told me of thy errand," said Gripir; "but I
  know what it is. Come first with me, and see this great
  mid-world for thyself."

  Then Gripir, leaning on his staff, led the way out of the
  great hall, and up to the top of the highest mountain-crag.
  And the wild eagles circled in the clear, cold air above
  them; and far below them the white waves dashed against the
  mountain's feet; and the frosty winds swept around them
  unchecked, bringing to their ears the lone lamenting of the
  north giants, moaning for the days that had been and for the
  glories that were past. Then Siegfried looked to the north,
  and he saw the dark mountain-wall of Norway trending away in
  solemn grandeur towards the frozen sea, but broken here and
  there by sheltering fjords, and pleasant, sunny dales. He
  looked to the east, and saw a great forest stretching away
  and away until it faded to sight in the blue distance. He
  looked to the south, and saw a pleasant land, with farms and
  vineyards, and towns and strong-built castles; and through
  it wound the River Rhine, like a great white serpent,
  reaching from the snow-capped Alps to the northern sea. And
  he saw his father's little kingdom of the Netherlands lying
  like a green speck on the shore of the ocean. Then he looked
  to the west, and nothing met his sight but a wilderness of
  rolling, restless waters, save, in the far distance, a green
  island half hidden by sullen mists and clouds. And Siegfried
  sighed, and said,--

  "The world is so wide, and the life of man so short!"

  "The world is all before thee," answered Gripir. "Take what
  the Norns have allotted thee. Choose from my pastures a
  battle-steed, and ride forth to win for thyself a name and
  fame among the sons of men."

  Then Siegfried ran down the steep side of the mountain to
  the grassy dell where the horses were feeding. But the
  beasts were all so fair and strong, that he knew not which
  to choose. While he paused, uncertain what to do, a strange
  man stood before him. Tall and handsome was the man, with
  one bright eye, and a face beaming like the dawn in summer;
  and upon his head he wore a sky-blue hood bespangled with
  golden stars, and over his shoulder was thrown a cloak of
  ashen gray.

  "Would you choose a horse, Sir Siegfried?" asked the
  stranger.

  "Indeed I would," answered he. "But it is hard to make a
  choice among so many."

  "There is one in the meadow," said the man, "far better than
  all the rest. They say that he came from Odin's pastures on
  the green hill-slopes of Asgard, and that none but the
  noblest shall ride him."

  "Which is he?" asked Siegfried.

  "Drive the herd into the river," was the answer, "and then
  see if you can pick him out."

  And Siegfried and the stranger drove the horses down the
  sloping bank, and into the rolling stream; but the flood was
  too strong for them. Some soon turned back to the shore;
  while others, struggling madly, were swept away, and carried
  out to the sea. Only one swam safely over. He shook the
  dripping water from his mane, tossed his head in the air,
  and then plunged again into the stream. Right bravely he
  stemmed the torrent the second time. He clambered up the
  shelving bank, and stood by Siegfried's side.

  "What need to tell you that this is the horse?" said the
  stranger. "Take him: he is yours. He is Greyfell, the
  shining hope that Odin sends to his chosen heroes."

  And then Siegfried noticed that the horse's mane glimmered
  and flashed like a thousand rays from the sun, and that his
  coat was as white and clear as the fresh-fallen snow on the
  mountains. He turner to speak to the stranger, but he was
  nowhere to be seen and Siegfried bethought him how he had
  talked with Odin unawares. Then he mounted the noble
  Greyfell and rode with a light heart across the flowery
  meadows.

  "Whither ridest thou?" cried Gripir the ancient, from his
  doorway among the crags.

  "I ride into the wide world," said Siegfried; "but I know
  not whither. I would right the wrong, and help the weak, and
  make myself a name on the earth, as did my kinsmen of yore.
  Tell me, I pray you, where I shall go; for you are wise, and
  you know the things which have been, and those which shall
  befall."

  "Ride back to Regin, the master of masters," answered
  Gripir. "He will tell thee of a wrong to be righted."

  And the ancient son of the giants withdrew into his lonely
  abode; and Siegfried, on the shining Greyfell, rode swiftly
  away towards the south.





                       Adventure III.
                     The Curse of Gold.



  Forth then rode Siegfried, upon the beaming Greyfell, out
  into the broad mid-world. And the sun shone bright above
  him, and the air was soft and pure, and the earth seemed
  very lovely, and life a gladsome thing. And his heart was
  big within him as he thought of the days to come, of the
  deeds of love and daring, of the righting of many wrongs, of
  the people's praise, and the glory of a life well lived. And
  he wended his way back again toward the south and the fair
  lands of the Rhine. He left the barren moorlands behind him,
  and the pleasant farms and villages of the fruitful
  countryside, and after many days came once more to Regin's
  woodland dwelling. For he said to himself, "My old master is
  very wise; and he knows of the deeds that were done when yet
  the world was young, and my kin were the mightiest of men. I
  will go to him, and learn what grievous evil it is that he
  has so often vaguely hinted at."

  Regin, when he saw the lad and the beaming Greyfell standing
  like a vision of light at his door, welcomed them most
  gladly, and led Siegfried into the inner room, where they
  sat down together amid the gold, and the gem-stones, and the
  fine-wrought treasures there.

  "Truly," said the master, "the days of my long waiting are
  drawing to a close, and at last the deed shall be done."

  And the old look of longing came again into his eyes, and
  his pinched face seemed darker and more wrinkled than
  before, and his thin lips trembled with emotion as he spoke.

  "What is that deed of which you speak?" asked Siegfried.

  "It is the righting of a grievous wrong," answered Regin,
  "and the winning of treasures untold. Lo, many years have I
  waited for the coming of this day; and now my heart tells me
  that the hero so long hoped for is here, and the wisdom and
  the wealth of the world shall be mine."

  "But what is the wrong to be righted?" asked Siegfried. "And
  what is this treasure that you speak of as your own?"

  "Alas!" answered Regin, "the treasure is indeed mine; and
  yet wrongfully has it been withheld from me. But listen a
  while to a tale of the early days, and thou shalt know what
  the treasure is, and what is the wrong to be righted."

  He took his harp and swept the strings, and played a soft,
  low melody which told of the dim past, and of blighted
  hopes, and of a nameless, never-satisfied yearning for that
  which might have been. And then he told Siegfried this
  story:



  Regin's Story.



  When the earth was still very young, and men were feeble and
  few, and the Dwarfs were many and strong, the Asa-folk were
  wont oft-times to leave their halls in heaven-towering
  Asgard in order to visit the new-formed mid-world, and to
  see what the short-lived sons of men were doing. Sometimes
  they came in their own godlike splendor and might; sometimes
  they came disguised as feeble men-folk, with all man's
  weaknesses and all his passions. Sometimes Odin, as a
  beggar, wandered from one country to another, craving
  charity; sometimes, as a warrior clad in coat of mail, he
  rode forth to battle for the cause of right; or as a
  minstrel he sang from door to door, and played sweet music
  in the halls of the great; or as a huntsman he dashed
  through brakes and fens, and into dark forests, and climbed
  steep mountains in search of game; or as a sailor he
  embarked upon the sea, and sought new scenes in unknown
  lands. And many times did men-folk entertain him unawares.

  Once on a time he came to the mid-world in company with
  Hoenir and Loki; and the three wandered through many lands
  and in many climes, each giving gifts wherever they went.
  Odin gave knowledge and strength, and taught men how to read
  the mystic runes; Hoenir gave gladness and good cheer, and
  lightened many hearts with the glow of his comforting
  presence; but Loki had nought to give but cunning deceit and
  base thoughts, and he left behind him bitter strife and many
  aching breasts. At last, growing tired of the fellowship of
  men, the three Asas sought the solitude of the forest, and
  as huntsmen wandered long among the hills and over the
  wooded heights of Hunaland. Late one afternoon they came to
  a mountain-stream at a place where it poured over a ledge of
  rocks, and fell in clouds of spray into a rocky gorge below.
  As they stood, and with pleased eyes gazed upon the
  waterfall, they saw near the bank an otter lazily making
  ready to eat a salmon which he had caught. And Loki, ever
  bent on doing mischief, hurled a stone at the harmless
  beast, and killed it. And he boasted loudly that he had done
  a worthy deed. And he took both the otter, and the fish
  which it had caught, and carried them with him as trophies
  of the day's success.

  Just at nightfall the three huntsmen came to a lone
  farmhouse in the valley, and asked for food, and for shelter
  during the night.

  "Shelter you shall have," said the farmer, whose name was
  Hreidmar, "for the rising clouds foretell a storm. But food
  I have none to give you. Surely huntsmen of skill should not
  want for food; since the forest teems with game, and the
  streams are full of fish."

  Then Loki threw upon the ground the otter and the fish, and
  said, "We have sought in both forest and stream, and we have
  taken from them at one blow both flesh and fish. Give us but
  the shelter you promise, and we will not trouble you for
  food."

  The farmer gazed with horror upon the lifeless body of the
  otter, and cried out, "This creature which you mistook for
  an otter, and which you have robbed and killed, is my son
  Oddar, who for mere pastime had taken the form of the furry
  beast. You are but thieves and murderers!"

  Then he called loudly for help: and his two sons Fafnir and
  Regin, sturdy and valiant kin of the dwarf-folk, rushed in,
  and seized upon the huntsmen, and bound them hand and foot;
  for the three Asas, having taken upon themselves the forms
  of men, had no more than human strength, and were unable to
  withstand them.

  Then Odin and his fellows bemoaned their ill fate. And Loki
  said, "Wherefore did we foolishly take upon ourselves the
  likenesses of puny men? Had I my own power once more, I
  would never part with it in exchange for man's weaknesses."

  And Hoenir sighed, and said, "Now, indeed, will darkness
  win: and the frosty breath of the Reimthursen giants will
  blast the fair handiwork of the sunlight and the heat; for
  the givers of life and light and warmth are helpless
  prisoners in the hands of these cunning and unforgiving
  jailers."

  "Surely," said Odin, "not even the highest are free from
  obedience to heaven's behests and the laws of right. I, whom
  men call the Preserver of Life, have demeaned myself by
  being found in evil company; and, although I have done no
  other wrong, I suffer rightly for the doings of this
  mischief-maker with whom I have stooped to have fellowship.
  For all are known, not so much by what they are as by what
  they seem to be, and they bear the bad name which their
  comrades bear. Now I am fallen from my high estate. Eternal
  right is higher than I. And in the last Twilight of the gods
  I must needs meet the dread Fenris-wolf, and in the end the
  world will be made new again, and the shining Balder will
  rule in sunlight majesty forever."

  Then the Asas asked Hreidmar, their jailer, what ransom they
  should pay for their freedom; and he, not knowing who they
  were, said, "I must first know what ransom you are able to
  give."

  "We will give any thing you may ask," hastily answered Loki.

  Hreidmar then called his sons, and bade them strip the skin
  from the otter's body. When this was done, they brought the
  furry hide and spread it upon the ground; and Hreidmar said,
  "Bring shining gold and precious stones enough to cover
  every part of this otter-skin. When you have paid so much
  ransom, you shall have your freedom."

  "That we will do," answered Odin. "But one of us must have
  leave to go and fetch it: the other two will stay fast bound
  until the morning dawns. If, by that time, the gold is not
  here, you may do with us as you please."

  Hreidmar and the two young men agreed to Odin's offer; and,
  lots being cast, it fell to Loki to go and fetch the
  treasure. When he had been loosed from the cords which bound
  him, Loki donned his magic shoes, which had carried him over
  land and sea from the farthest bounds of the mid-world, and
  hastened away upon his errand. And he sped with the
  swiftness of light, over the hills and the wooded slopes,
  and the deep dark valleys, and the fields and forests and
  sleeping hamlets, until he came to the place where dwelt the
  swarthy elves and the cunning dwarf Andvari. There the River
  Rhine, no larger than a meadow-brook, breaks forth from
  beneath a mountain of ice, which the Frost giants and blind
  old Hoder, the Winter-king, had built long years before; for
  they had vainly hoped that they might imprison the river at
  its fountain-head. But the baby-brook had eaten its way
  beneath the frozen mass, and had sprung out from its prison,
  and gone on, leaping and smiling, and kissing the sunlight,
  in its ever-widening course towards Burgundy and the sea.

  Loki came to this place, because he knew that here was the
  home of the elves who had laid up the greatest hoard of
  treasures ever known in the mid-world. He scanned with
  careful eyes the mountain-side, and the deep, rocky caverns,
  and the dark gorge through which the little river rushed;
  but in the dim moonlight not a living being could he see,
  save a lazy salmon swimming in the quieter eddies of the
  stream. Any one but Loki would have lost all hope of finding
  treasure there, at least before the dawn of day; but his
  wits were quick, and his eyes were very sharp.

  "One salmon has brought us into this trouble, and another
  shall help us out of it!" he cried.

  Then, swift as thought, he sprang again into the air; and
  the magic shoes carried him with greater speed than before
  down the Rhine valley, and through Burgundy-land, and the
  low meadows, until he came to the shores of the great North
  Sea. He sought the halls of old AEgir, the Ocean-king; but
  he wist not which way to go,--whether across the North Sea
  towards Isenland, or whether along the narrow channel
  between Britain-land and the main. While he paused,
  uncertain where to turn, he saw the pale-haired daughters of
  old AEgir, the white-veiled Waves, playing in the moonlight
  near the shore. Of them he asked the way to AEgir's hall.

  "Seven days' journey westward," said they, "beyond the green
  Isle of Erin, is our father's hall. Seven days' journey
  northward, on the bleak Norwegian shore, is our father's
  hall."

  And they stopped not once in their play, but rippled and
  danced on the shelving beach, or dashed with force against
  the shore.

  "Where is your mother Ran, the Queen of the Ocean?" asked
  Loki.

  And they answered,--

                   "In the deep sea-caves
                   By the sounding shore,
                    In the dashing waves
                 When the wild storms roar,
                  In her cold green bowers
                  In the northern fiords,
                 She lurks and she glowers,
                 She grasps and she hoards,
       And she spreads her strong net for her prey."

  Loki waited to hear no more; but he sprang into the air, and
  the magic shoes carried him onwards over the water in search
  of the Ocean-queen. He had not gone far when his sharp eyes
  espied her, lurking near a rocky shore against which the
  breakers dashed with frightful fury. Half hidden in the deep
  dark water, she lay waiting and watching; and she spread her
  cunning net upon the waves, and reached out with her long
  greedy fingers to seize whatever booty might come near her.

  When the wary queen saw Loki, she hastily drew in her net,
  and tried to hide herself in the shadows of an overhanging
  rock. But Loki called her by name, and said,--

  "Sister Ran, fear not! I am your friend Loki, whom once you
  served as a guest in AEgir's gold-lit halls."

  Then the Ocean-queen came out into the bright moonlight, and
  welcomed Loki to her domain, and asked, "Why does Loki thus
  wander so far from Asgard, and over the trackless waters?"

  And Loki answered, "I have heard of the net which you spread
  upon the waves, and from which no creature once caught in
  its meshes can ever escape. I have found a salmon where the
  Rhine-spring gushes from beneath the mountains, and a very
  cunning salmon he is for no common skill can catch him.
  Come, I pray, with your wondrous net, and cast it into the
  stream where he lies. Do but take the wary fish for me, and
  you shall have more gold than you have taken in a year from
  the wrecks of stranded vessels."

  "I dare not go," cried Ran. "A bound is set, beyond which I
  may not venture. If all the gold of earth were offered me, I
  could not go."

  "Then lend me your net," entreated Loki. "Lend me your net,
  and I will bring it back to-morrow filled with gold."

  "Much I would like your gold," answered Ran; "but I cannot
  lend my net. Should I do so, I might lose the richest prize
  that has ever come into my husband's kingdom. For three
  days, now, a gold-rigged ship, bearing a princely crew with
  rich armor and abundant wealth, has been sailing carelessly
  over these seas. To-morrow I shall send my daughters and the
  bewitching mermaids to decoy the vessel among the rocks. And
  into my net the ship, and the brave warriors, and all their
  armor and gold, shall fall. A rich prize it will be. No: I
  cannot part with my net, even for a single hour."

  But Loki knew the power of flattering words.

  "Beautiful queen," said he, "there is no one on earth, nor
  even in Asgard, who can equal you in wisdom and foresight.
  Yet I promise you, that, if you will but lend me your net
  until the morning dawns, the ship and the crew of which you
  speak shall be yours, and all their golden treasures shall
  deck your azure halls in the deep sea."

  Then Ran carefully folded the net, and gave it to Loki.

  "Remember your promise," was all that she said.

  "An Asa never forgets," he answered.

  And he turned his face again towards Rhineland; and the
  magic shoes bore him aloft, and carried him in a moment back
  to the ice-mountain and the gorge and the infant river,
  which he had so lately left. The salmon still rested in his
  place, and had not moved during Loki's short absence.

  Loki unfolded the net, and cast it into the stream. The
  cunning fish tried hard to avoid being caught in its meshes;
  but, dart which way he would, he met the skilfully woven
  cords, and these drew themselves around him, and held him
  fast. Then Loki pulled the net up out of the water, and
  grasped the helpless fish in his right hand. But, lo! as he
  held the struggling creature high in the air, it was no
  longer a fish, but the cunning dwarf Andvari.

  "Thou King of the Elves," cried Loki, "thy cunning has not
  saved thee. Tell me, on thy life, where thy hidden treasures
  lie!"

  The wise dwarf knew who it was that thus held him as in a
  vise; and he answered frankly, for it was his only hope of
  escape, "Turn over the stone upon which you stand. Beneath
  it you will find the treasure you seek."

  Then Loki put his shoulder to the rock, and pushed with all
  his might. But it seemed as firm as the mountain, and would
  not be moved.

  "Help us, thou cunning dwarf," he cried,--"help us, and thou
  shalt have thy life!"

  The dwarf put his shoulder to the rock, and it turned over
  as if by magic, and underneath was disclosed a wondrous
  chamber, whose walls shone brighter than the sun, and on
  whose floor lay treasures of gold and glittering gem-stones
  such as no man had ever seen. And Loki, in great haste,
  seized upon the hoard, and placed it in the magic net which
  he had borrowed from the Ocean-queen. Then he came out of
  the chamber; and Andvari again put his shoulder to the rock
  which lay at the entrance, and it swung back noiselessly to
  its place.

  "What is that upon thy finger?" suddenly cried Loki.
  "Wouldst keep back a part of the treasure? Give me the ring
  thou hast!"

  But the dwarf shook his head, and made answer, "I have given
  thee all the riches that the elves of the mountain have
  gathered since the world began. This ring I cannot give
  thee, for without its help we shall never be able to gather
  more treasures together."

  And Loki grew angry at these words of the dwarf; and he
  seized the ring, and tore it by force from Andvari's
  fingers. It was a wondrous little piece of mechanism shaped
  like a serpent, coiled, with its tail in its mouth; and its
  scaly sides glittered with many a tiny diamond, and its ruby
  eyes shone with an evil light. When the dwarf knew that Loki
  really meant to rob him of the ring, he cursed it and all
  who should ever possess it, saying,--

  "May the ill-gotten treasure that you have seized tonight be
  your bane, and the bane of all to whom it may come, whether
  by fair means or by foul! And the ring which you have torn
  from my hand, may it entail upon the one who wears it sorrow
  and untold ills, the loss of friends, and a violent death!
  The Norns have spoken, and thus it must be."

  Loki was pleased with these words, and with the dark curses
  which the dwarf pronounced upon the gold; for he loved
  wrong-doing, for wrong-doing's sake, and he knew that no
  curses could ever make his own life more cheerless than it
  always had been. So he thanked Andvari for his curses and
  his treasures; and, throwing the magic net upon his
  shoulder, he sprang again into the air, and was carried
  swiftly back to Hunaland; and, just before the dawn appeared
  in the east, he alighted at the door of the farmhouse where
  Odin and Hoenir still lay bound with thongs, and guarded by
  Fafnir and Regin.

  Then the farmer, Hreidmar, brought the otter's skin, and
  spread it upon the ground; and, lo! it grew, and spread out
  on all sides, until it covered an acre of ground. And he
  cried out, "Fulfil now your promise! Cover every hair of
  this hide with gold or with precious stones. If you fail to
  do this, then your lives, by your own agreement, are
  forfeited, and we shall do with you as we list."

  Odin took the magic net from Loki's shoulder; and opening
  it, he poured the treasures of the mountain elves upon the
  otter-skin. And Loki and Hoenir spread the yellow pieces
  carefully and evenly over every part of the furry hide. But,
  after every piece had been laid in its place; Hreidmar saw
  near the otter's mouth a single hair uncovered; and he
  declared, that unless this hair, too, were covered, the
  bargain would be unfulfilled, and the treasures and lives of
  his prisoners would be forfeited. And the Asas looked at
  each other in dismay; for not another piece of gold, and not
  another precious stone, could they find in the net, although
  they searched with the greatest care. At last Odin took from
  his bosom the ring which Loki had stolen from the dwarf; for
  he had been so highly pleased with its form and workmanship,
  that he had hidden it, hoping that it would not be needed to
  complete the payment of the ransom. And they laid the ring
  upon the uncovered hair. And now no portion of the otter's
  skin could be seen. And Fafnir and Regin, the ransom being
  paid, loosed the shackles of Odin and Hoenir, and bade the
  three huntsmen go on their way.

  Odin and Hoenir at once shook off their human disguises,
  and, taking their own forms again, hastened with all speed
  back to Asgard. But Loki tarried a little while, and said to
  Hreidmar and his sons,--

  "By your greediness and falsehood you have won for
  yourselves the Curse of the Earth, which lies before you. It
  shall be your bane. It shall be the bane of every one who
  holds it. It shall kindle strife between father and son,
  between brother and brother. It shall make you mean,
  selfish, beastly. It shall transform you into monsters. The
  noblest king among men-folk shall feel its curse. Such is
  gold, and such it shall ever be to its worshippers. And the
  ring which you have gotten shall impart to its possessor its
  own nature. Grasping, snaky, cold, unfeeling, shall he live;
  and death through treachery shall be his doom."

  Then he turned away, delighted that he had thus left the
  curse of Andvari with Hreidmar and his sons, and hastened
  northward toward the sea; for he wished to redeem the
  promise that he had made to the Ocean-queen, to bring back
  her magic net, and to decoy the richly laden ship into her
  clutches.

  No sooner were the strange huntsmen well out of sight than
  Fafnir and Regin began to ask their father to divide the
  glittering hoard with them.

  "By our strength and through our advice," said they, "this
  great store has come into your hands. Let us place it in
  three equal heaps, and then let each take his share and go
  his way."

  At this the farmer waxed very angry; and he loudly declared
  that he would keep all the treasure for himself, and that
  his sons should not have any portion of it whatever. So
  Fafnir and Regin, nursing their disappointment, went to the
  fields to watch their sheep; but their father sat down to
  guard his new-gotten treasure. And he took in his hand the
  glittering serpent-ring, and gazed into its cold ruby eyes:
  and, as he gazed, all his thoughts were fixed upon his gold;
  and there was no room in his heart for love toward his
  fellows, nor for deeds of kindness, nor for the worship of
  the All-Father. And behold, as he continued to look at the
  snaky ring, a dreadful change came over him. The warm red
  blood, which until that time had leaped through his veins,
  and given him life and strength and human feelings, became
  purple and cold and sluggish; and selfishness, like
  serpent-poison, took hold of his heart. Then, as he kept on
  gazing at the hoard which lay before him, he began to lose
  his human shape; his body lengthened into many scaly folds,
  and he coiled himself around his loved treasures,--the very
  likeness of the ring upon which he had looked so long.

  When the day drew near its close, Fafnir came back from the
  fields with his herd of sheep, and thought to find his
  father guarding the treasure, as he had left him in the
  morning; but instead he saw a glittering snake, fast asleep,
  encircling the hoard like a huge scaly ring of gold. His
  first thought was that the monster had devoured his father;
  and, hastily drawing his sword, with one blow he severed the
  serpent's head from its body. And, while yet the creature
  writhed in the death-agony, he gathered up the hoard, and
  fled with it beyond the hills of Hunaland, until on the
  seventh day he came to a barren heath far from the homes of
  men. There he placed the treasures in one glittering heap;
  and he clothed himself in a wondrous mail-coat of gold that
  was found among them, and he put on the Helmet of Dread,
  which had once been the terror of the mid-world, and the
  like of which no man had ever seen; and then he gazed with
  greedy eyes upon the fateful ring, until he, too, was
  changed into a cold and slimy reptile,--a monster dragon.
  And he coiled himself about the hoard; and, with his
  restless eyes forever open, he gloated day after day upon
  his loved gold, and watched with ceaseless care that no one
  should come near to despoil him of it. This was ages and
  ages ago; and still he wallows among his treasures on the
  Glittering Heath, and guards as of yore the garnered wealth
  of Andvari.[EN#10]

  When I, Regin, the younger brother, came back in the late
  evening to my father's dwelling, I saw that the treasure had
  been carried away; and, when I beheld the dead serpent lying
  in its place, I knew that a part of Andvari's curse had been
  fulfilled. And a strange fear came over me; and I left every
  thing behind me, and fled from that dwelling, never more to
  return. Then I came to the land of the Volsungs, where your
  father's fathers dwelt, the noblest king-folk that the world
  has ever seen. But a longing for the gold and the treasure,
  a hungry yearning, that would never be satisfied, filled my
  soul. Then for a time I sought to forget this craving. I
  spent my days in the getting of knowledge and in teaching
  men-folk the ancient lore of my kin, the Dwarfs. I taught
  them how to plant and to sow, and to reap the yellow grain.
  I showed them where the precious metals of the earth lie
  hidden, and how to smelt iron from its ores,--how to shape
  the ploughshare and the spade, the spear and the battle-axe.
  I taught them how to tame the wild horses of the meadows,
  and how to train the yoke-beasts to the plough; how to build
  lordly dwellings and mighty strongholds, and how to sail in
  ships across old AEgir's watery kingdom. But they gave me no
  thanks for what I had done; and as the years went by they
  forgot who had been their teacher, and they said that it was
  Frey who had given them this knowledge and skill. And I
  taught the young maidens how to spin and weave, and to
  handle the needle deftly,--to make rich garments, and to
  work in tapestry and embroidery. But they, too, forgot me,
  and said that it was Freyja who had taught them. Then I
  showed men how to read the mystic runes aright, and how to
  make the sweet beverage of poetry, that charms all hearts,
  and enlightens the world. But they say now that they had
  these gifts from Odin. I taught them how to fashion the
  tales of old into rich melodious songs, and with music and
  sweet-mouthed eloquence to move the minds of their
  fellow-men. But they say that Bragi taught them this; and
  they remember me only as Regin, the elfin schoolmaster, or
  at best as Mimer, the master of smiths. At length my heart
  grew bitter because of the neglect and ingratitude of men;
  and the old longing for Andvari's hoard came back to me, and
  I forgot much of my cunning and lore. But I lived on and on,
  and generations of short-lived men arose and passed, and
  still the hoard was not mine; for I was weak, and no man was
  strong enough to help me.

  Then I sought wisdom of the Norns, the weird women who weave
  the woof of every creature's fate.[EN#6] and [EN#7]

  "How long," asked I, "must I hope and wait in weary
  expectation of that day when the wealth of the world and the
  garnered wisdom of the ages shall be mine?"

  And the witches answered, "When a prince of the Volsung race
  shall come who shall excel thee in the smithying craft, and
  to whom the All-Father shall give the Shining Hope as a
  helper, then the days of thy weary watching, shall cease."

  "How long," asked I, "shall I live to enjoy this wealth and
  this wisdom, and to walk as a god among men? Shall I be
  long-lived as the Asa-folk, and dwell on the earth until the
  last Twilight comes?"

  "It is written," answered Skuld, "that a beardless youth
  shall see thy death. But go thou now, and bide thy time."

  Here Regin ended his story, and both he and Siegfried sat
  for a long time silent and thoughtful.

  "I know what you wish," said Siegfried at last. "You think
  that I am the prince of whom the weird sisters spoke; and
  you would have me slay the dragon Fafnir, and win for you
  the hoard of Andvari."

  "It is even so," answered Regin.

  "But the hoard is accursed," said the lad.

  "Let the curse be upon me," was the answer. "Is not the
  wisdom of the ages mine? And think you that I cannot escape
  the curse? Is there aught that can prevail against him who
  has all knowledge and the wealth of the world at his call?"

  "Nothing but the word of the Norns and the will of the
  All-Father," answered Siegfried.

  "But will you help me?" asked Regin, almost wild with
  earnestness. "Will you help me to win that which is
  rightfully mine, and to rid the world of a horrible evil?"

  "Why is the hoard of Andvari more thine than Fafnir's?"

  "He is a monster, and he keeps the treasure but to gloat
  upon its glittering richness. I will use it to make myself a
  name upon the earth. I will not hoard it away. But I am
  weak, and he is strong and terrible. Will you help me?"

  "To-morrow," said Siegfried, "be ready to go with me to the
  Glittering Heath. The treasure shall be thine, and also the
  curse."

  "And also the curse," echoed Regin.





                       Adventure IV.
                    Fafnir, the Dragon.



  Regin took up his harp, and his fingers smote the strings;
  and the music which came forth sounded like the wail of the
  winter's wind through the dead treetops of the forest. And
  the song which he sang was full of grief and wild hopeless
  yearning for the things which were not to be. When he had
  ceased, Siegfried said,--

  "That was indeed a sorrowful song for one to sing who sees
  his hopes so nearly realized. Why are you so sad? Is it
  because you fear the curse which you have taken upon
  yourself? or is it because you know not what you will do
  with so vast a treasure, and its possession begins already
  to trouble you?"

  "Oh, many are the things I will do with that treasure!"
  answered Regin; and his eyes flashed wildly, and his face
  grew red and pale. "I will turn winter into summer; I will
  make the desert-places glad; I will bring back the golden
  age; I will make myself a god: for mine shall be the wisdom
  and the gathered wealth of the world. And yet I fear"--

  "What do you fear?"

  "The ring, the ring--it is accursed! The Norns, too, have
  spoken, and my doom is known. I cannot escape it."

  "The Norns have woven the woof of every man's life,"
  answered Siegfried. "To-morrow we fare to the Glittering
  Heath, and the end shall be as the Norns have spoken."

  And so, early the next morning, Siegfried mounted Greyfell,
  and rode out towards the desert-land that lay beyond the
  forest and the barren mountain-range; and Regin, his eyes
  flashing with desire, and his feet never tiring, trudged by
  his side. For seven days they wended their way through the
  thick greenwood, sleeping at night on the bare ground
  beneath the trees, while the wolves and other wild beasts of
  the forest filled the air with their hideous howlings. But
  no evil creature dared come near them, for fear of the
  shining beams of light which fell from Greyfell's gleaming
  mane. On the eighth day they came to the open country and to
  the hills, where the land was covered with black bowlders
  and broken by yawning chasms. And no living thing was seen
  there, not even an insect, nor a blade of grass; and the
  silence of the grave was over all. And the earth was dry and
  parched, and the sun hung above them like a painted shield
  in a blue-black sky, and there was neither shade nor water
  anywhere. But Siegfried rode onwards in the way which Regin
  pointed out, and faltered not, although he grew faint with
  thirst and with the overpowering heat. Towards the evening
  of the next day they came to a dark mountain-wall which
  stretched far out on either hand, and rose high above them,
  so steep that it seemed to close up the way, and to forbid
  them going farther.

  "This is the wall!" cried Regin. "Beyond this mountain is
  the Glittering Heath, and the goal of all my hopes."

  And the little old man ran forwards, and scaled the rough
  side of the mountain, and reached its summit, while
  Siegfried and Greyfell were yet toiling among the rocks at
  its foot. Slowly and painfully they climbed the steep
  ascent, sometimes following a narrow path which wound along
  the edge of a precipice, sometimes leaping, from rock to
  rock, or over some deep gorge, and sometimes picking their
  way among the crags and cliffs. The sun at last went down,
  and one by one the stars came out; and the moon was rising,
  round and red, when Siegfried stood by Regin's side, and
  gazed from the mountain-top down upon the Glittering Heath
  which lay beyond. And a strange, weird scene it was that met
  his sight. At the foot of the mountain was a river, white
  and cold and still; and beyond it was a smooth and barren
  plain, lying silent and lonely in the pale moonlight. But in
  the distance was seen a circle of flickering flames, ever
  changing,--now growing brighter, now fading away, and now
  shining with a dull, cold light, like the glimmer of the
  glow-worm or the fox-fire. And as Siegfried gazed upon the
  scene, he saw the dim outline of some hideous monster moving
  hither and thither, and seeming all the more terrible in the
  uncertain light.

  "It is he!" whispered Regin, and his lips were ashy pale,
  and his knees trembled beneath him. "It is Fafnir, and he
  wears the Helmet of Terror! Shall we not go back to the
  smithy by the great forest, and to the life of ease and
  safety that may be ours there? Or will you rather dare to go
  forwards, and meet the Terror in its abode?"

  "None but cowards give up an undertaking once begun,"
  answered Siegfried. "Go back to Rhineland yourself, if you
  are afraid; but you must go alone. You have brought me thus
  far to meet the dragon of the heath, to win the hoard of the
  swarthy elves, and to rid the world of a terrible evil.
  Before the setting of another sun, the deed which you have
  urged me to do will be done."

  Then he dashed down the eastern slope of the mountain,
  leaving Greyfell and the trembling Regin behind him. Soon he
  stood on the banks of the white river, which lay between the
  mountain and the heath; but the stream was deep and
  sluggish, and the channel was very wide. He paused a moment,
  wondering how he should cross; and the air seemed heavy with
  deadly vapors, and the water was thick and cold. While he
  thus stood in thought, a boat came silently out of the
  mists, and drew near; and the boatman stood up and called to
  him, and said,--

  "What man are you who dares come into this land of
  loneliness and fear?"

  "I am Siegfried," answered the lad; "and I have come to slay
  Fafnir, the Terror."

  "Sit in my boat," said the boatman, "and I will carry you
  across the river."

  And Siegfried sat by the boatman's side; and without the use
  of an oar, and without a breath of air to drive it forwards,
  the little vessel turned, and moved silently towards the
  farther shore.

  "In what way will you fight the dragon?" asked the boatman.

  "With my trusty sword Balmung I shall slay him," answered
  Siegfried.

  "But he wears the Helmet of Terror, and he breathes deathly
  poisons, and his eyes dart forth lightning, and no man can
  withstand his strength," said the boatman.

  "I will find some way by which to overcome him."

  "Then be wise, and listen to me," said the boatman. "As you
  go up from the river you will find a road, worn deep and
  smooth, starting from the water's edge, and winding over the
  moor. It is the trail of Fafnir, adown which he comes at
  dawn of every day to slake his thirst at the river. Do you
  dig a pit in this roadway,--a pit narrow and deep,--and hide
  yourself within it. In the morning, when Fafnir passes over
  it, let him feel the edge of Balmung."

  As the man ceased speaking, the boat touched the shore, and
  Siegfried leaped out. He looked back to thank his unknown
  friend, but neither boat nor boatman was to be seen. Only a
  thin white mist rose slowly from the cold surface of the
  stream, and floated upwards and away towards the
  mountain-tops. Then the lad remembered that the strange
  boatman had worn a blue hood bespangled with golden stars,
  and that a gray kirtle was thrown over his shoulders, and
  that his one eye glistened and sparkled with a light that
  was more than human. And he knew that he had again talked
  with Odin. Then, with a braver heart than before, he went
  forwards, along the river-bank, until he came to Fafnir's
  trail,--a deep, wide furrow in the earth, beginning at the
  river's bank, and winding far away over the heath, until it
  was lost to sight in the darkness. The bottom of the trail
  was soft and slimy, and its sides had been worn smooth by
  Fafnir's frequent travel through it.

  In this road, at a point not far from the river, Siegfried,
  with his trusty sword Balmung, scooped out a deep and narrow
  pit, as Odin had directed. And when the gray dawn began to
  appear in the east he hid himself within this trench, and
  waited for the coming of the monster. He had not long to
  wait; for no sooner had the sky begun to redden in the light
  of the coming sun than the dragon was heard bestirring
  himself. Siegfried peeped warily from his hiding-place, and
  saw him coming far down the road, hurrying with all speed,
  that he might quench his thirst at the sluggish river, and
  hasten back to his gold; and the sound which he made was
  like the trampling of many feet and the jingling of many
  chains. With bloodshot eyes, and gaping mouth, and flaming
  nostrils, the hideous creature came rushing onwards. His
  sharp, curved claws dug deep into the soft earth; and his
  bat-like wings, half trailing on the ground, half flapping
  in the air, made a sound like that which is heard when Thor
  rides in his goat-drawn chariot over the dark
  thunder-clouds. It was a terrible moment for Siegfried, but
  still he was not afraid. He crouched low down in his
  hiding-place, and the bare blade of the trusty Balmung
  glittered in the morning light. On came the hastening feet
  and the flapping wings: the red gleam from the monster's
  flaming nostrils lighted up the trench where Siegfried lay.
  He heard a roaring and a rushing like the sound of a
  whirlwind in the forest; then a black, inky mass rolled
  above him, and all was dark. Now was Siegfried's
  opportunity. The bright edge of Balmung gleamed in the
  darkness one moment, and then it smote the heart of Fafnir
  as he passed. Some men say that Odin sat in the pit with
  Siegfried, and strengthened his arm and directed his sword,
  or else he could not thus have slain the Terror. But, be
  this as it may, the victory was soon won. The monster
  stopped short, while but half of his long body had glided
  over the pit; for sudden death had overtaken him. His horrid
  head fell lifeless upon the ground; his cold wings flapped
  once, and then lay, quivering and helpless, spread out on
  either side; and streams of thick black blood flowed from
  his heart, through the wound beneath, and filled the trench
  in which Siegfried was hidden, and ran like a
  mountain-torrent down the road towards the river. Siegfried
  was covered from head to foot with the slimy liquid, and,
  had he not quickly leaped from his hiding-place, he would
  have been drowned in the swift-rushing, stream.[EN#11]

  The bright sun rose in the east, and gilded the
  mountain-tops, and fell upon the still waters of the river,
  and lighted up the treeless plains around. The south wind
  played gently against Siegfried's cheeks and in his long
  hair, as he stood gazing on his fallen foe. And the sound of
  singing birds, and rippling waters, and gay insects,--such
  as had not broken the silence of the Glittering Heath for
  ages,--came to his ears. The Terror was dead, and Nature had
  awakened from her sleep of dread. And as the lad leaned upon
  his sword, and thought of the deed he had done, behold! the
  shining Greyfell, with the beaming, hopeful mane, having
  crossed the now bright river, stood by his side. And Regin,
  his face grown wondrous cold, came trudging over the
  meadows; and his heart was full of guile. Then the mountain
  vultures came wheeling downwards to look upon the dead
  dragon; and with them were two ravens, black as midnight.
  And when Siegfried saw these ravens he knew them to be
  Odin's birds,--Hugin, thought, and Munin, memory. And they
  alighted on the ground near by; and the lad listened to hear
  what they would say. Then Hugin flapped his wings, and
  said,--

  "The deed is done. Why tarries the hero?"

  And Munin said,--

  "The world is wide. Fame waits for the hero."

  And Hugin answered,--

  "What if he win the Hoard of the Elves? That is not honor.
  Let him seek fame by nobler deeds."

  Then Munin flew past his ear, and whispered,--

  "Beware of Regin, the master! His heart is poisoned. He
  would be thy bane."

  And the two birds flew away to carry the news to Odin in the
  happy halls of Gladsheim.

  When Regin drew near to look upon the dragon, Siegfried
  kindly accosted him: but he seemed not to hear; and a snaky
  glitter lurked in his eyes, and his mouth was set and dry,
  and he seemed as one walking in a dream.

  "It is mine now," he murmured: "it is all mine, now,--the
  Hoard of the swarthy elf-folk, the garnered wisdom of ages.
  The strength of the world is mine. I will keep, I will save,
  I will heap up; and none shall have part or parcel of the
  treasure which is mine alone."

  Then his eyes fell upon Siegfried; and his cheeks grew dark
  with wrath, and he cried out,--

  "Why are you here in my way? I am the lord of the Glittering
  Heath: I am the master of the Hoard. I am the master, and
  you are my thrall."

  Siegfried wondered at the change which had taken place in
  his old master; but he only smiled at his strange words, and
  made no answer.

  "You have slain my brother!" Regin cried; and his face grew
  fearfully black, and his mouth foamed with rage.

  "It was my deed and yours," calmly answered Siegfried. "I
  have rid the world of a Terror: I have righted a grievous
  wrong."

  "You have slain my brother," said Regin; "and a murderer's
  ransom you shall pay!"

  "Take the Hoard for your ransom, and let us each wend his
  way," said the lad.

  "The Hoard is mine by rights," answered Regin still more
  wrathfully. "I am the master, and you are my thrall. Why
  stand you in my way?"

  Then, blinded with madness, he rushed at Siegfried as if to
  strike him down; but his foot slipped in a puddle of gore,
  and he pitched headlong against the sharp edge of Balmung.
  So sudden was this movement, and so unlooked for, that the
  sword was twitched out of Siegfried's hand, and fell with a
  dull splash into the blood-filled pit before him; while
  Regin, slain by his own rashness, sank dead upon the ground.
  Full of horror, Siegfried turned away, and mounted
  Greyfell.[EN#12]

  "This is a place of blood," said he, "and the way to glory
  leads not through it. Let the Hoard still lie on the
  Glittering Heath: I will go my way from hence; and the world
  shall know me for better deeds than this."

  And he turned his back on the fearful scene, and rode away;
  and so swiftly did Greyfell carry him over the desert land
  and the mountain waste, that, when night came, they stood on
  the shore of the great North Sea, and the white waves broke
  at their feet. And the lad sat for a long time silent upon
  the warm white sand of the beach, and Greyfell waited at his
  side. And he watched the stars as they came out one by one,
  and the moon, as it rose round and pale, and moved like a
  queen across the sky. And the night wore away, and the stars
  grew pale, and the moon sank to rest in the wilderness of
  waters. And at day-dawn Siegfried looked towards the west,
  and midway between sky and sea he thought he saw dark
  mountain-tops hanging above a land of mists that seemed to
  float upon the edge of the sea.

  While he looked, a white ship, with sails all set, came
  speeding over the waters towards him. It came nearer and
  nearer, and the sailors rested upon their oars as it glided
  into the quiet harbor. A minstrel, with long white beard
  floating in the wind, sat at the prow; and the sweet music
  from his harp was wafted like incense to the shore. The
  vessel touched the sands: its white sails were reefed as if
  by magic, and the crew leaped out upon the beach.

  "Hail, Siegfried the Golden!" cried the harper. "Whither do
  you fare this summer day?"

  "I have come from a land of horror and dread," answered the
  lad; "and I would fain fare to a brighter."

  "Then go with me to awaken the earth from its slumber, and
  to robe the fields in their garbs of beauty," said the
  harper. And he touched the strings of his harp, and strains
  of the softest music arose in the still morning air. And
  Siegfried stood entranced, for never before had he heard
  such music.

  "Tell me who you are!" he cried, when the sounds died away.
  "Tell me who you are, and I will go to the ends of the earth
  with you."

  "I am Bragi," answered the harper, smiling. And Siegfried
  noticed then that the ship was laden with flowers of every
  hue, and that thousands of singing birds circled around and
  above it, filling the air with the sound of their glad
  twitterings.

  Now, Bragi was the sweetest musician in all the world. It
  was said by some that his home was with the song-birds, and
  that he had learned his skill from them. But this was only
  part of the truth: for wherever there was loveliness or
  beauty, or things noble and pure, there was Bragi; and his
  wondrous power in music and song was but the outward sign of
  a blameless soul. When he touched the strings of his golden
  harp, all Nature was charmed with the sweet harmony: the
  savage beasts of the wood crept near to listen; the birds
  paused in their flight; the waves of the sea were becalmed,
  and the winds were hushed; the leaping waterfall was still,
  and the rushing torrent tarried in its bed; the elves forgot
  their hidden treasures, and joined in silent dance around
  him; and the strom-karls and the musicians of the wood
  vainly tried to imitate him. And he was as fair of speech as
  he was skilful in song. His words were so persuasive that he
  had been known to call the fishes from the sea, to move
  great lifeless rocks, and, what is harder, the hearts of
  kings. He understood the voice of the birds, and the
  whispering of the breeze, the murmur of the waves, and the
  roar of the waterfalls. He knew the length and breadth of
  the earth, and the secrets of the sea, and the language of
  the stars. And every day he talked with Odin the All-Father,
  and with the wise and good in the sunlit halls of Gladsheim.
  And once every year he went to the North-lands, and woke the
  earth from its long winter's sleep, and scattered music and
  smiles and beauty everywhere.[EN#13]

  Right gladly did Siegfried agree to sail with Bragi over the
  sea; for he wot that the bright Asa-god would be a very
  different guide from the cunning, evil-eyed Regin. So he
  went on board with Bragi, and the gleaming Greyfell followed
  them, and the sailors sat at their oars. And Bragi stood in
  the prow, and touched the strings of his harp. And, as the
  music arose, the white sails leaped up the masts, and a warm
  south breeze began to blow; and the little vessel, wafted by
  sweet sounds and the incense of spring, sped gladly away
  over the sea.





                        Adventure V.
                    In AEgir's Kingdom.



  The vessel in which Siegfried sailed was soon far out at
  sea; for the balmy south wind, and the songs of the birds,
  and the music from Bragi's harp, all urged it cheerily on.
  And Siegfried sat at the helm, and guided it in its course.
  By and by they lost all sight of land, and the sailors wist
  not where they were; but they knew that Bragi, the Wise,
  would bring them safely into some haven whenever it should
  so please him, and they felt no fear. And the fishes leaped
  up out of the water as the white ship sped by on woven
  wings; and the monsters of the deep paused, and listened to
  the sweet music which floated down from above. After a time
  the vessel began to meet great ice-mountains in the
  sea,--mountains which the Reifriesen, and old Hoder, the
  King of the winter months, had sent drifting down from the
  frozen land of the north. But these melted at the sound of
  Bragi's music and at the sight of Siegfried's radiant armor.
  And the cold breath of the Frost-giants, which had driven
  them in their course, turned, and became the ally of the
  south wind.

  At length they came in sight of a dark shore, which
  stretched on either hand, north and south, as far as the eye
  could reach; and as they drew nearer they saw a line of huge
  mountains, rising, as it were, out of the water, and
  stretching their gray heads far above the clouds. And the
  overhanging cliffs seemed to look down, half in anger, half
  in pity, upon the little white winged vessel which had dared
  thus to sail through these unknown waters. But the surface
  of the sea was smooth as glass; and the gentle breeze drove
  the ship slowly forwards through the calm water, and along
  the rock-bound coast, and within the dark shadows of the
  mountain-peaks. Long ago the Frost-giants had piled great
  heaps of snow upon these peaks, and built huge fortresses of
  ice between, and sought, indeed, to clasp in their cold
  embrace the whole of the Norwegian land. But the breezes of
  the South-land that came with Bragi's ship now played among
  the rocky steeps, and swept over the frozen slopes above,
  and melted the snow and ice; and thousands of rivulets of
  half-frozen water ran down the mountain-sides, and tumbled
  into rocky gorges, or plunged into the sea. And the grass
  began to grow on the sunny slopes, and the flowers peeped up
  through the half-melted snow, and the music of spring was
  heard on every side. Now and then the little vessel passed
  by deep, dark inlets enclosed between high mountain-walls,
  and reaching many leagues far into land. But the sailors
  steered clear of these shadowy fjords; for they said that
  Ran, the dread Ocean-queen, lived there, and spread her nets
  in the deep green waters to entangle unwary seafaring men.
  And the sound of Bragi's harp awakened all sleeping things;
  and it was carried from rock to rock, and from
  mountain-height to valley, and was borne on the breeze far
  up the fjords, and all over the land.

  One day, as they were sailing through these quiet waters,
  beneath the overhanging cliffs, Bragi tuned his harp, and
  sang a song of sea. And then he told Siegfried a story of
  AEgir and his gold-lit hall.

  Old AEgir was the Ocean-king. At most times he was rude and
  rough, and his manners were uncouth and boisterous. But when
  Balder, the Shining One, smiled kindly upon him from above,
  or when Bragi played his harp by the seashore, or sailed his
  ship on the waters, the heart of the bluff old king was
  touched with a kindly feeling, and he tried hard to curb his
  ungentle passions, and to cease his blustering ways. He was
  one of the old race of giants; and men believe that he would
  have been a very good and quiet giant, had it not been for
  the evil ways of his wife, the crafty Queen Ran. For,
  however kind at heart the king might be, his good intentions
  were almost always thwarted by the queen. Ran could never be
  trusted; and no one, unless it were Loki, the
  Mischief-maker, could ever say any thing in her praise. She
  was always lurking among hidden rocks, or in the deep sea,
  or along the shores of silent fjords, and reaching out with
  her long lean fingers, seeking to clutch in her greedy grasp
  whatever prey might unwarily come near her. And many
  richly-laden vessels, and many brave seamen and daring
  warriors, had she dragged down to her blue-hung chamber in
  old AEgir's hall.

  And this is the story that Bragi told of



  The Feast in AEgir's Hall.



  It happened long ago, when the good folk at Gladsheim were
  wont to visit the mid-world oftener than now. On a day in
  early autumn Queen Ran, with her older daughters,--Raging
  Sea, Breaker, Billow, Surge, and Surf,--went out to search
  for plunder. But old AEgir staid at home, and with him his
  younger daughters,--fair Purple-hair, gentle Diver, dancing
  Ripple, and smiling Sky-clear. And as they played around
  him, and kissed his old storm-beaten cheeks, the heart of
  the king was softened into gentleness, and he began to think
  kindly of the green earth which bordered his kingdom, and of
  the brave men who lived there; but most of all did he think
  of the great and good Asa-folk, who dwell in Asgard, and
  overlook the affairs of the world. Then he called his
  servants, Funfeng and Elder, and bade them prepare a feast
  in his gold-lit hall. And he sent fleet messengers to invite
  the Asa-folk to come and partake of the good cheer. And his
  four young daughters played upon the beach, and smiled and
  danced in the beaming sunlight. And the hearts of many
  seafaring men were gladdened that day, as they spread their
  sails to the wind; for they saw before them a pleasant
  voyage, and the happy issue of many an undertaking.

  Long before the day had begun to wane, the Asa-folk arrived
  in a body at AEgir's hall; for they were glad to answer the
  bidding of the Ocean-king. Odin came, riding Sleipner, his
  eight-footed steed; Thor rode in his iron chariot drawn by
  goats; Frey came with Gullinburste, his golden-bristled
  boar. There, too, was the war-like Tyr, and blind Hoder, and
  the silent Vidar, and the sage Forsete, and the hearkening
  Heimdal, and Niord, the Ruler of the Winds, and Bragi, with
  his harp; and lastly came many elves, the thralls of the
  Asa-folk, and Loki, the cunning Mischief-maker. In his rude
  but hearty way old AEgir welcomed them; and they went down
  into his amber hall, and rested themselves upon the
  sea-green couches that had been spread for them. And a
  thousand fair mermaids stood around them, and breathed sweet
  melodies through sea-shells of rainbow hue, while the gentle
  white-veiled daughters of the Ocean-king danced to the
  bewitching music.

  Hours passed by, and the sun began to slope towards the
  west, and the waiting guests grew hungry and ill at ease;
  and then they began to wonder why the feast was so long in
  getting ready. At last the host himself became impatient;
  and he sent out in haste for his servants, Funfeng and
  Elder. Trembling with fear, they came and stood before him.

  "Master," said they, "we know that you are angry because the
  feast is not yet made ready; but we beg that your anger may
  not fall upon us. The truth is, that some thief has stolen
  your brewing-kettle, and we have no ale for your guests."

  Then old AEgir's brow grew dark, and his breath came quick
  and fast; and, had not Niord held the winds tightly clutched
  in his hand, there would have been a great uproar in the
  hall. Even as it was, the mermaids fled away in great
  fright, and the white-veiled Waves stopped dancing, and a
  strange silence fell upon all the company.

  "Some enemy has done this!" crier AEgir, as soon as he could
  speak. "Some enemy has taken away my brewing-kettle; and,
  unless we can find it, I fear our feast will be but a dry
  one."

  Then Thor said,--

  "If any one knows where this kettle is, let him speak, and I
  will bring it back; and I promise you you shall not wait
  long for the feast."

  But not one in all this company knew aught about the missing
  kettle. At last Tyr stood up and said,--

  "If we cannot find the same vessel that our host has lost,
  mayhap we may find another as good. I know a dogwise giant
  who lives east of the Rivers Elivagar, and who has a strong
  kettle, fully a mile deep, and large enough to brew ale for
  all the world."

  "That is the very kettle we want!" cried Thor. "Think you
  that we can get it?"

  "If we are cunning enough, we may," answered Tyr. "But old
  Hymer will never give it up willingly."

  "Is it Hymer of whom you speak?" asked Thor. "Then I know
  him well; and, willingly or not willingly he must let us
  have his kettle. For what is a feast without the gladsome
  ale?"

  Then Thor and Tyr set out on their journey towards the land
  of Elivagar; and they travelled many a league northwards,
  across snowy mountains and barren plains, until they came to
  the shores of the frozen sea. And there the sun rises and
  sets but once a year, and even in summer the sea is full of
  ice. On the lonely beach, stood Hymer's dwelling,--a dark
  and gloomy abode. Tyr knocked at the door; and it was opened
  by Hymer's wife, a strangely handsome woman, who bade them
  come in. Inside the hall they saw Hymer's old mother,
  sitting in the chimney-corner, and crooning over the
  smouldering fire. She was a horribly ugly old giantess, with
  nine hundred heads; but every head was blind and deaf and
  toothless. Ah, me! what a wretched old age that must have
  been!

  "Is your husband at home?" asked Thor, speaking to the
  pretty woman who had opened the door.

  "He is not," was the answer. "He is catching fish in the
  warm waters of the sheltered bay; or, mayhap, he is tending
  his cows in the open sea, just around the headland."

  For the great icebergs that float down from the frozen sea
  are called old Hymer's cows.

  "We have come a very long journey," said Tyr. "Will you not
  give two tired strangers food and lodging until they shall
  have rested themselves?"

  The woman seemed in nowise loath to do this; and she set
  before the two Asa-folk a plentiful meal of the best that
  she had in the house. When they had eaten, she told them
  that it would be far safer for them to hide themselves under
  the great kettles in the hall; for, she said, her husband
  would soon be home, and he might not be kind to them. So
  Thor and Tyr hid themselves, and listened for Hymer's
  coming. After a time, the great hall-door opened, and they
  heard the heavy steps of the giant.

  "Welcome home!" cried the woman, as Hymer shook the frost
  from his hair and beard, and stamped the snow from his feet.
  "I am so glad that you have come! for there are two
  strangers in the hall, and they have asked for you. One of
  them I know is Thor, the foe of the giants, and the friend
  of man. The other is the one-armed god of war, the brave
  Tyr. What can be their errand at Hymer's hall?"

  "Where are they?" roared Hymer, stamping so furiously, that
  even his deaf old mother seemed to hear, and lifted up her
  heads.

  "They are under the kettles, at the gable-end of the hall,"
  answered the woman.

  Hymer cast a wrathful glance towards the place. The post at
  the end of the hall was shivered in pieces by his very look;
  the beam that upheld the floor of the loft was broken, and
  all the kettles tumbled down with a fearful crash. Thor and
  Tyr crept out from among the rubbish, and stood before old
  Hymer. The giant was not well pleased at the sight of such
  guests come thus unbidden to his hall. But he knew that his
  rude strength would count as nothing if matched with their
  skill and weapons: hence he deemed it wise to treat the two
  Asas as his friends, and to meet them with cunning and
  strategy.

  "Welcome to my hall!" he cried. "Fear no hurt from Hymer,
  for he was never known to harm a guest."

  And Thor and Tyr were given the warmest seats at the
  fireside. And the giant ordered his thralls to kill the
  fatted oxen, and to make ready a great feast in honor of his
  guests. And, while the meal was being got ready, he sat by
  Thor's side, and asked him many questions about what was
  going on in the great South-land. And Thor answered him
  pleasantly, meeting guile with guile. When the feast was in
  readiness, all sat down at the table, which groaned beneath
  its weight of meat and drink; for Hymer's thralls had killed
  three fat oxen, and baked them whole for this meal, and they
  had filled three huge bowls with ale from his great
  brewing-kettle. Hymer ate and drank very fast, and wished to
  make his guests fear him, because he could eat so much. But
  Thor was not to be taken aback in this way; for he at once
  ate two of the oxen, and quaffed a huge bowl of ale which
  the giant had set aside for himself. The giant saw that he
  was outdone, and he arose from the table, saying,--

  "Not all my cows would serve to feed two guests so hungry as
  these. We shall be obliged to live on fish now."

  He strode out of the hall without another word, and began
  getting his boat ready for a sail. But Thor followed him.

  "It is a fine day for fishing," said Thor gayly. "How I
  should like to go out with you!"

  "Such little fellows as you would better stay at home,"
  growled Hymer.

  "But let me go with you," persisted Thor. "I can certainly
  row the boat while you fish."

  "I have no need of help from such a stunted pygmy," muttered
  the giant. "You could not be of the least use to me: you
  would only be in my way. Still, if you are bent on doing so,
  you may go, and you shall take all the risks. If I go as far
  as I do sometimes, and stay as long as I often do, you may
  make up your mind never to see the dry land again; for you
  will certainly catch your death of cold, and be food for the
  fishes--if, indeed, they would deign to eat such a scrawny
  scrap!"

  These taunting words made Thor so angry, that he grasped his
  hammer, and was sorely tempted to crush the giant's skull.
  But he checked himself, and coolly said,--

  "I pray you not to trouble yourself on my account I have set
  my head on going with you, and go I will. Tell me where I
  can find something that I can use for bait, and I will be
  ready in a trice."

  "I have no bait for you," roughly answered Hymer "You must
  look for it yourself."

  Half a dozen oxen, the very finest and fattest of Hymer's
  herd, were grazing on the short grass which grew on the
  sunnier slopes of the hillside; for not all of the giant's
  cattle had yet taken to the water. When Thor saw these great
  beasts, he ran quickly towards them, and seizing the largest
  one, which Hymer called the Heaven-breaker, he twisted off
  his head as easily as he would that of a small fowl, and ran
  back with it to the boat. Hymer looked at him in anger and
  amazement, but said nothing; and the two pushed the boat off
  from the shore. The little vessel sped through the water
  more swiftly than it had ever done before, for Thor plied
  the oars.

  In a moment the long, low beach was out of sight; and Hymer,
  who had never travelled so fast, began to feel frightened.

  "Stop!" he cried. "Here is the place to fish: I have often
  caught great store of flat-fish here. Let us out with our
  lines!"

  "No, no!" answered Thor; and he kept on plying the oars. "We
  are not yet far enough from shore. The best fish are still
  many leagues out."

  And the boat skimmed onwards through the waters, and the
  white spray dashed over the prow; and Hymer, now very much
  frightened, sat still, and looked at his strange
  fellow-fisherman, but said not a word. On and on they went;
  and the shore behind them first grew dim, and then sank out
  of sight; and the high mountain-tops began to fade away in
  the sky, and then were seen no more. And when at last the
  fishermen were so far out at sea that nothing was in sight
  but the rolling waters on every side, Thor stopped his
  rowing.

  "We have come too far!" cried the giant, trembling in every
  limb. "The great Midgard snake lies hereabouts. Let us turn
  back!"

  "Not yet," answered Thor quietly. "We will fish here a
  little while."

  Without loss of time he took from his pocket a strong hook,
  wonderfully made, to which he fastened a long line as strong
  as ten ships' cables twisted together; then he carefully
  baited the hook with the gory head of the Heaven-breaker ox,
  and threw it into the water. As the giant had feared, they
  were now right over the head of the great Midgard snake. The
  huge beast looked upward with his sleepy eyes, and saw the
  tempting bait falling slowly through the water; but he did
  not see the boat, it was so far above him. Thinking of no
  harm, he opened his leathern jaws, and greedily gulped the
  morsel down; but the strong iron hook stuck fast in his
  throat. Maddened by the pain, he began to lash his tail
  against the floor of the sea; and he twisted and writhed
  until the ocean was covered with foam, and the waves ran
  mountain-high. But Thor pulled hard upon the line above, and
  strove to lift the reptile's head out of the water; then the
  snake darted with lightning speed away, pulling the boat
  after him so swiftly, that, had not Thor held on to the
  oar-locks, he would have been thrown into the sea. Quickly
  he tightened his magic girdle of strength around him, and,
  standing up in the boat, he pulled with all his might. The
  snake would not be lifted. But the boat split in two; and
  Thor slid into the water, and stood upon the bottom of the
  sea. He seized the great snake in his hands, and raised his
  head clean above the water. What a scene of frightful
  turmoil was there then! The earth shook; the mountains
  belched forth fire; the lightnings flashed; the caves
  howled; and the sky grew black and red. Nobody knows what
  the end would have been, had not Hymer reached over, and cut
  the strong cord. The slippery snake glided out of Thor's
  hands, and hid himself in the deep sea; and every thing
  became quiet again.

  Silently Thor and Hymer sat in the broken boat, and rowed
  swiftly back towards land. Thor felt really ashamed of
  himself, because he had gained nothing by his venture. And
  the giant was not at all happy.

  When they reached the frozen shore and Hymer's cheerless
  castle again, they found Tyr there, anxiously waiting for
  them. He felt that they were tarrying too long in this
  dreary place; and he wished to be back among his fellows in
  old AEgir's hall. Hymer felt very cross and ugly because his
  boat had been broken; and, when they came into the hall, he
  said to Thor,--

  "You may think that you are very stout,--you who dared
  attack the Midgard snake, and lifted him out of the sea. Yet
  there are many little things that you cannot do. For
  instance, here is the earthen goblet from which I drink my
  ale. Great men, like myself, can crush such goblets between
  their thumbs and fingers; but such puny fellows as you will
  find that they cannot break it by any means."

  "Let me try!" cried Thor.

  He took the great goblet in his hands, and threw it with all
  his strength against a stone post in the middle of the hall.
  The post was shattered into a thousand pieces, but the
  goblet was unharmed.

  "Ha, ha!" laughed the giant. "Try again!"

  Thor did so. This time he threw it against a huge granite
  rock that stood like a mountain near the seashore. The rock
  crumbled in pieces and fell, but the goblet was whole as
  ever.

  "What a very stout fellow you are!" cried Hymer in glee. "Go
  home now, and tell the good Asa-folk that you cannot even
  break a goblet!"

  "Let me try once more," said Thor, amazed, but not
  disheartened.

  "Throw it against Hymer's forehead," whispered some one over
  his shoulder. "It is harder than any rock."

  Thor looked, and saw that it was the giant's handsome wife
  who had given him this kind advice. He took the goblet, and
  hurled it quickly, straight at old Hymer's head. The giant
  had no time to dodge. The vessel struck him squarely between
  the eyes, and was shattered into ten thousand little pieces.
  But the giant's forehead was unhurt.

  "That drink was rather hot!" cried Hymer, trying to joke at
  his ill luck. "But it doesn't take a very great man to break
  a goblet. There is one thing, however, that you cannot do.
  Yonder is my great brewing-kettle, a mile deep. No man has
  ever lifted it. Now, if you will carry it out of the hall,
  where it sits, you may have it for your own."

  "Agreed!" cried Thor. "It is a fair bargain; and, if I fail,
  I will go home and never trouble you again."

  Then he took hold of the edge of the great kettle, and
  lifted it with all his might. The floor of Hymer's hall
  broke under him, and the walls and roof came tumbling down;
  but he turned the kettle over his head, and walked away with
  it, the great rings of the vessel clattering at his heels.
  Tyr went before him, and cleared the way; and Hymer gazed
  after him in utter amazement. The two Asa-folk had fairly
  won the brewing-kettle.

  In due time they reached old AEgir's hall, where the guests
  were still waiting for them. Some said that they had been
  gone three days, but most agreed that it was only three
  hours. Be that as it may, AEgir's thralls, Funfeng and
  Elder, brewed great store of ale in the kettle which Thor
  had brought; and, when the guests were seated at the table,
  the foaming liquor passed itself around to each, and there
  was much merriment and glad good cheer. And old AEgir was so
  happy in the pleasant company of the Asa-folk, that men say
  that he forgot to blow and bluster for a full six months
  thereafter.[EN#14]

  Such was the story which the wise harper told to Siegfried
  as they sailed gayly along the Norwegian shore. And with
  many other pleasant tales did they beguile the hours away.
  And no one ever thought of danger, for the sky was blue and
  cloudless. And, besides this, Bragi himself was on board;
  and he could charm and control the rudest elements.

  One day, however, the sea became unaccountably ruffled.
  There was no wind; but yet the waves rose suddenly, and
  threatened to overwhelm the little ship. Quickly the sailors
  sprang to their oars, and tried by rowing to drive the
  vessel away from the shore and into the quieter waters of
  the open sea. But all their strength was of no avail: the
  swift stream carried the little bark onward in its course,
  as an autumn leaf is borne on the bosom of a mighty river.
  Then the whole surface of the water seemed lashed into fury.
  The waves formed hundreds of currents, each stronger than a
  mountain torrent, and each seeming to follow a course of its
  own. They clashed wildly against each other; they heaved,
  and boiled, and hissed, and threw great clouds of spray high
  into the air; they formed deep whirlpools, which twisted and
  twirled, and broke into a thousand eddies, and then plunged
  deep down into rocky caverns beneath, or laid bare the
  bottom of the sea. The helpless ship was carried round and
  round, swiftly and more swiftly still; and vain were the
  efforts of the crew to steer her out of the seething caldron
  of waters. Then the cheeks of the sailors grew white with
  fear; and they dropped their oars, and clung to the masts
  and ropes, and cried out,--

  "Alas, we are lost! This is old AEgir's brewing-kettle!"

  But Siegfried stood by the helm, and said,--

  "If that be true, then we may sup with him in his gold-lit
  hall."

  And all this time Bragi slept in the hold, and no one dared
  awaken him. Faster and faster the ship was carried round the
  seething pool. The flying spray was frozen in the air; and
  it filled the masts with snow, and pattered like heavy hail
  upon the deck. The light of the sun seemed shut out, and
  darkness closed around. A dismal chasm yawned deep before
  them, and in the gray gloom the ship's crew saw many
  wondrous things. Great sea-monsters swam among the rocks,
  and seemed not to heed the uproar above them. Lovely
  mermaids sat in their green-and-purple caves, and combed
  their tresses of golden hair; and thoughtful mermen groped
  among the seaweeds, searching hopefully for lost or hidden
  treasures. Then Siegfried caught a glimpse of the mighty
  AEgir, sitting in his banquet-room; and, as he quaffed his
  foaming ale, he called aloud to his daughters to leave their
  play, and come to their father in his gold-lit hall. And the
  white-veiled Waves answered to their names, and came at his
  call. First, Raging Sea entered the wide hall, and sat by
  the Ocean-king's side; then Billow, then Surge, then Surf,
  and Breakers; then came the Purple-haired, and the Diver;
  but AEgir's two youngest daughters, Laughing Ripple and
  Smiling Sky-clear, came not at their father's beck, but
  lingered to play among the rocks and in the open sea.

  So deeply engaged was Siegfried in watching this scene, that
  he did not notice Bragi, who now came upon the deck with his
  harp in his hand. And sweet music arose from among the
  dashing waves, and was heard far down in the deep
  sea-caverns, and even in AEgir's hall. And, when Siegfried
  looked up again, the eddying whirlpools, and the threatening
  waves, and the flying spray, were no more; but the ship was
  gliding over the quiet waters of a deep blue sea, and the
  sun was shining brightly in the clear sky above. Then an
  east wind filled the sails; and, as Bragi's music rose
  sweeter and higher, they glided swiftly away from the coast,
  and soon the snow-capped mountain-peaks grew dim in the
  distance, and then sank from sight.

  Many days they sailed over an unknown sea, and towards an
  unknown land; and none but Bragi knew what the end of their
  voyage would be. And yet no one doubted or was afraid, for
  the secrets of the earth and the sea were known to the sweet
  singer. After a time, the water became as smooth as glass:
  not a ripple moved upon its surface, and not the slightest
  breath of air stirred among the idly-hanging sails. Then the
  sailors went to their oars; but they seemed overcome with
  languor and sleepiness, and only when Bragi played upon his
  harp did they move their oars with their wonted strength and
  quickness. And at last they came in sight of a long, low
  coast, and a shelving beach up which the tide was slowly
  creeping in drowsy silence. And not half a league from the
  shore was a grand old castle, with a tall tower and many
  turrets, and broad halls and high battlements; and in the
  light of the setting sun every thing was as green as emerald
  or as the fresh grass of early spring. And a pale flickering
  light gleamed on the castle-walls, and the moat seemed
  filled with a glowing fire.

  The ship glided silently up to the sandy beach, and the
  sailors moored it to the shore. But Siegfried heard no sound
  upon the land, nor could he see any moving, living thing.
  Silence brooded everywhere, and the castle and its inmates
  seemed to be wrapped in slumber. The sentinels could be seen
  upon the ramparts, standing like statues of stone, and
  showing no signs of life; while above the barbacan gate the
  watchman was at his post, motionless and asleep.





                        Adventure VI
                         Brunhild.



  Siegfried and the harper sat together in the little ship as
  it lay moored to the sandy shore; and their eyes were turned
  towards the sea-green castle and its glowing walls, and they
  looked in vain for any movement, or any sign of wakeful
  life. Every thing was still. Not a breath of air was
  stirring. The leaves of the trees hung motionless, as if
  they, too, were asleep. The great green banner on the
  tower's top clung around the flagstaff as if it had never
  fluttered to the breeze. No song of birds, nor hum of
  insects, came to their ears. There was neither sound nor
  motion anywhere.

  "Play your harp, good Bragi, and awaken all these sleepers,"
  said Siegfried.

  Then the harper touched the magic strings, and strains of
  music, loud and clear, but sweet as a baby's breath, rose up
  in the still air, and floated over the quiet bay, and across
  the green meadows which lay around the castle-walls; and it
  was borne upward over the battlements, and among the shining
  turrets and towers, and was carried far out over the hills,
  and among the silent trees of the plain. And Bragi sung of
  the beginning of all things, and of whatsoever is beautiful
  on the land, or in the sea, or in the sky. And Siegfried
  looked to see every thing awakened, and quickened into life,
  as had oft been done before by Bragi's music; but nothing
  stirred. The sun went down, and the gray twilight hung over
  sea and land, and the red glow in the castle-moat grew
  redder still; and yet every thing slept. Then Bragi ended
  his song, and the strings of his harp were mute.

  "Music has no charms to waken from sleep like that," he
  said.

  And then he told Siegfried what it all meant; and, to make
  the story plain, he began by telling of Odin's bright home
  at Gladsheim and of the many great halls that were there.

  One of the halls in Gladsheim is called Valhal. This hall is
  so large and wide, that all the armies of the earth might
  move within it. Outside, it is covered with gold and with
  sun-bright shields. A fierce wolf stands guard before it,
  and a mountain-eagle hovers over it. It has five hundred and
  forty doors, each large enough for eight hundred heroes to
  march through abreast. Inside, every thing is glittering
  bright. The rafters are made of spears, and the ceiling is
  covered with shields, and the walls are decked with
  war-coats. In this hall Odin sets daily a feast for all the
  heroes that have been slain in battle. These sit at the
  great table, and eat of the food which Odin's servants have
  prepared, and drink of the heavenly mead which the
  Valkyries, Odin's handmaids, bring them.

  But the Valkyries have a greater duty. When the battle
  rages, and swords clash, and shields ring, and the air is
  filled with shouts and groans and all the din of war, then
  these maidens hover over the field of blood and death, and
  carry the slain heroes home to Valhal.[EN#15]

  One of Odin's Valkyries was named Brunhild, and she was the
  most beautiful of all the maidens that chose heroes for his
  war-host. But she was wilful too, and did not always obey
  the All-Father's behests. And when Odin knew that she had
  sometimes snatched the doomed from death, and sometimes
  helped her chosen friends to victory, he was very angry. And
  he drove her away from Gladsheim, and sent her, friendless
  and poor, to live among the children of men, and to be in
  all ways like them. But, as she wandered weary and alone
  over the earth, the good old King of Isenland saw her beauty
  and her distress, and pity and love moved his heart; and, as
  he had no children of his own, he took her for his daughter,
  and made her his heir. And not long afterward he died, and
  the matchless Brunhild became queen of all the fair lands of
  Isenland and the hall of Isenstein. When Odin heard of this,
  he was more angry still; and he sent to Isenstein, and
  caused Brunhild to be stung with the thorn of Sleep. And he
  said,--

  "She shall sleep until one shall come who is brave enough to
  ride through fire to awaken her."

  And all Isenland slept too, because Brunhild, the Maiden of
  Spring, lay wounded with the Sleepful thorn.

                     *    *    *    *    *

  When Siegfried heard this story, he knew that the land which
  lay before them was Isenland, and that the castle was
  Isenstein, and that Brunhild was sleeping within that circle
  of fire.

  "My songs have no power to awaken such a sleeper," said
  Bragi. "A hero strong and brave must ride through the flame
  to arouse her. It is for this that I have brought you
  hither; and here I will leave you, while I sail onwards to
  brighten other lands with my music."

  Siegfried's heart leaped up with gladness; for he thought
  that here, at last, was a worthy deed for him to do. And he
  bade his friend Bragi good-by, and stepped ashore; and
  Greyfell followed him. And Bragi sat at the prow of the
  ship, and played his harp again; and the sailors plied their
  oars; and the little vessel moved swiftly out of the bay,
  and was seen no more. And Siegfried stood alone on the
  silent, sandy beach.

  As he thus stood, the full moon rose white and dripping from
  the sea; and its light fell on the quiet water, and the
  sloping meadows, and the green turrets of the castle. And
  the last notes of Bragi's harp came floating to him over the
  sea.

  Then a troop of fairies came down to dance upon the sands.
  It was the first sign of life that Siegfried had seen. As
  the little creatures drew near, he hid himself among the
  tall reeds which grew close to the shore; for he wished to
  see them at their gambols, and to listen to their songs. At
  first, as if half afraid of their own tiny shadows, they
  danced in silence; but, as the moon rose higher, they grew
  bolder, and began to sing. And their music was so sweet and
  soft, that Siegfried forgot almost every thing, else for the
  time: they sang of the pleasant summer days, and of cooling
  shades, and still fountains, and silent birds, and peaceful
  slumber. And a strange longing for sleep took hold of
  Siegfried; and his eyes grew heavy, and the sound of the
  singing seemed dim and far away. But just as he was losing
  all knowledge of outward things, and his senses seemed
  moving in a dream, the fairies stopped dancing, and a little
  brown elf came up from the sea, and saluted the queen of the
  tiny folk.

  "What news bring you from the great world beyond the water?"
  asked the queen.

  "The prince is on his way hither," answered the elf.

  "And what will he do?"

  "If he is brave enough, he will awaken the princess, and
  arouse the drowsy people of Isenstein; for the Norns have
  said that such a prince shall surely come."

  "But he must be the bravest of men ere he can enter the
  enchanted castle," said the queen; "for the wide moat is
  filled with flames, and no faint heart will ever dare battle
  with them."

  "But I will dare!" cried Siegfried; and he sprang from his
  hiding-place, forgetful of the little folk, who suddenly
  flitted away, and left him alone upon the beach. He glanced
  across the meadows at the green turrets glistening in the
  mellow moonlight, and then at the flickering flames around
  the castle walls, and he resolved that on the morrow he
  would at all hazards perform the perilous feat.

  In the morning, as soon as the gray dawn appeared, he began
  to make ready for his difficult undertaking. But, when he
  looked again at the red flames, he began to hesitate. He
  paused, uncertain whether to wait for a sign and for help
  from the All-Father, or whether to go straightway to the
  castle, and, trusting in his good armor alone, try to pass
  through the burning moat. While he thus stood in doubt, his
  eyes were dazzled by a sudden flash of light. He looked up.
  Greyfell came dashing across the sands; and from his long
  mane a thousand sunbeams gleamed and sparkled in the morning
  light. Siegfried had never seen the wondrous creature so
  radiant; and as the steed stood by him in all his strength
  and beauty he felt new hope and courage, as if Odin himself
  had spoken to him. He hesitated no longer, but mounted the
  noble horse; and Greyfell bore him swiftly over the plain,
  and paused not until he had reached the brink of the burning
  moat.

  Now, indeed, would Siegfried's heart have failed him, had he
  not been cheered by the sunbeam presence of Greyfell. For
  filling the wide, deep ditch, were angry, hissing flames,
  which, like a thousand serpent-tongues, reached out, and
  felt here and there, for what they might devour; and ever
  and anon they took new forms, and twisted and writhed like
  fiery snakes, and then they swirled in burning coils high
  over the castle-walls. Siegfried stopped not a moment. He
  spoke the word, and boldly the horse with his rider dashed
  into the fiery lake; and the vile flames fled in shame and
  dismay before the pure sunbeam flashes from Greyfell's mane.
  And, unscorched and unscathed, Siegfried rode through the
  moat, and through the wide-open gate, and into the
  castle-yard.

  The gate-keeper sat fast asleep in his lodge, while the
  chains and the heavy key with which, when awake, he was wont
  to make the great gate fast, lay rusting at his feet; and
  neither he, nor the sentinels on the ramparts above, stirred
  or awoke at the sound of Greyfell's clattering hoofs. As
  Siegfried passed from one part of the castle to another,
  many strange sights met his eyes. In the stables the horses
  slumbered in their stalls, and the grooms lay snoring by
  their sides. The birds sat sound asleep on their nests
  beneath the eaves. The watch-dogs, with fast-closed eyes,
  lay stretched at full-length before the open doors. In the
  garden the fountain no longer played, the half-laden bees
  had gone to sleep among the blossoms of the apple-trees, and
  the flowers themselves had forgotten to open their petals to
  the sun. In the kitchen the cook was dozing over the
  half-baked meats in front of the smouldering fire; the
  butler was snoring in the pantry; the dairy-maid was quietly
  napping among the milk-pans; and even the house-flies had
  gone to sleep over the crumbs of sugar on the table. In the
  great banquet-room a thousand knights, overcome with
  slumber, sat silent at the festal board; and their chief,
  sitting on the dais, slept, with his half-emptied goblet at
  his lips.

  Siegfried passed hurriedly from room to room and from hall
  to hall, and cast but one hasty glance at the strange sights
  which met him at every turn; for he knew that none of the
  drowsy ones in that spacious castle could be awakened until
  he had aroused the Princess Brunhild. In the grandest hall
  of the palace he found her. The peerless maiden, most richly
  dight, reclined upon a couch beneath a gold-hung canopy; and
  her attendants, the ladies of the court, sat near and around
  her. Sleep held fast her eyelids, and her breathing was so
  gentle, that, but for the blush upon her cheeks, Siegfried
  would have thought her dead. For long, long years had her
  head thus lightly rested on that gold-fringed pillow; and in
  all that time neither her youth had faded, nor her wondrous
  beauty waned.

  Siegfried stood beside her. Gently he touched his lips to
  that matchless forehead; softly he named her name,--

  "Brunhild!"

  The charm was broken. Up rose the peerless princess in all
  her queen-like beauty; up rose the courtly ladies round her.
  All over the castle, from cellar to belfry-tower, from the
  stable to the banquet hall, there was a sudden awakening, a
  noise of hurrying feet and mingled voices, and sounds which
  had long been strangers to the halls of Isenstein. The
  watchman on the tower, and the sentinels on the ramparts,
  yawned, and would not believe they had been asleep; the
  porter picked up his keys, and hastened to lock the
  long-forgotten gates; the horses neighed in their stalls;
  the watchdogs barked at the sudden hubbub; the birds,
  ashamed at having allowed the sun to find them napping,
  hastened to seek their food in the meadows; the servants
  hurried here and there, each intent upon his duty; the
  warriors in the banquet-hall clattered their knives and
  plates, and began again their feast; and their chief dropped
  his goblet, and rubbed his eyes, and wondered that sleep
  should have overtaken him in the midst of such a
  meal.[EN#16]

  And Siegfried, standing at an upper window, looked out over
  the castle-walls; and he saw that the flames no longer raged
  in the moat, but that it was filled with clear sparkling
  water from the fountain which played in the garden. And the
  south wind blew gently from the sea, bringing from afar the
  sweetest strains of music from Bragi's golden harp; and the
  breezes whispered among the trees, and the flowers opened
  their petals to the sun, and birds and insects made the air
  melodious with their glad voices. Then Brunhild, radiant
  with smiles, stood by the hero's side, and welcomed him
  kindly to Isenland and to her green-towered castle of
  Isenstein.






                       Adventure VII
                    In Nibelungen Land.



  Every one in the castle of Isenstein, from the princess to
  the kitchen-maid, felt grateful to the young hero for what
  he had done. The best rooms were fitted up for his use, and
  a score of serving men and maidens were set apart to do his
  bidding, and ordered to be mindful of his slightest wish.
  And all the earl-folk and brave men, and all the fair
  ladies, and Brunhild, fairest of them all, besought him to
  make his home there, nor ever think of going back to
  Rhineland. Siegfried yielded to their persuasions, and for
  six months he tarried in the enchanted land in one long
  round of merry-making and gay enjoyment. But his thoughts
  were ever turned toward his father's home in the Lowlands
  across the sea, and he longed to behold again his gentle
  mother Sigelind. Then he grew tired of his life of idleness
  and ease, and he wished that he might go out again into the
  busy world of manly action and worthy deeds. And day by day
  this feeling grew stronger, and filled him with unrest.

  One morning, as he sat alone by the seashore, and watched
  the lazy tide come creeping up the sands, two ravens lighted
  near him. Glad was he to see them, for he knew them to be
  Hugin and Munin, the sacred birds of Odin, and he felt sure
  that they brought him words of cheer from the All-Father.
  Then Hugin flapped his wings, and said, "In idleness the
  stings of death lie hidden, but in busy action are the
  springs of life. For a hundred years fair Brunhild slept,
  but why should Siegfried sleep? The world awaits him, but it
  waits too long."

  Then Munin flapped his wings also, but he said nothing. And
  busy memory carried Siegfried back to his boyhood days; and
  he called to mind the wise words of his father Siegmund, and
  the fond hopes of his gentle mother, and he thought, too, of
  the noble deeds of his kinsfolk of the earlier days. And he
  rose in haste, and cried, "Life of ease, farewell! I go
  where duty leads. To him who wills to do, the great
  All-Father will send strength and help."

  While he spoke, his eyes were dazzled with a flash of light.
  He looked; and the beaming Greyfell, his long mane sparkling
  like a thousand sunbeams, dashed up the beach, and stood
  beside him. As the noble steed in all his strength and
  beauty stood before him, the youth felt fresh courage; for,
  in the presence of the shining hope which the All-Father had
  given him, all hinderances seemed to vanish, and all
  difficulties to be already overcome. He looked toward the
  sea again, and saw in the blue distance a white-sailed ship
  drawing swiftly near, its golden dragon-stem ploughing
  through the waves like some great bird of the deep. And as
  with straining, eager eyes, he watched its coming, he felt
  that Odin had sent it, and that the time had come wherein he
  must be up and doing. The hour for thriving action comes to
  us once: if not seized upon and used, it may never come
  again.

  The ship drew near the shore. The sailors rested on their
  oars. Siegfried and the steed Greyfell sprang upon the deck;
  then the sailors silently bent again to their rowing. The
  flapping sails were filled and tightened by the strong west
  wind; and the light vessel leaped from wave to wave like a
  thing of life, until Isenstein, with its tall towers and its
  green marble halls, sank from sight in the distance and the
  mist. And Siegfried and his noble steed seemed to be the
  only living beings on board; for the sailors who plied the
  oars were so silent and phantom-like, that they appeared to
  be nought but the ghosts of the summer sea-breezes. As the
  ship sped swiftly on its way, all the creatures in the sea
  paused to behold the sight. The mermen rested from their
  weary search for hidden treasures, and the mermaids forgot
  to comb their long tresses, as the radiant vessel and its
  hero-freight glided past. And even old King AEgir left his
  brewing-kettle in his great hall, and bade his daughters,
  the white-veiled Waves, cease playing until the vessel
  should safely reach its haven.

  When, at length, the day had passed, and the evening
  twilight had come, Siegfried saw that the ship was nearing
  land; but it was a strange land.[EN#17] Like a fleecy cloud
  it appeared to rest above the waves, midway between the
  earth and the sky; a dark mist hung upon it, and it seemed a
  land of dreams and shadows. The ship drew nearer and nearer
  to the mysterious shore, and as it touched the beach the
  sailors rested from their rowing. Then Siegfried and the
  horse Greyfell leaped ashore; but, when they looked back,
  the fair vessel that had carried them was nowhere to be
  seen. Whether it had suddenly been clutched by the greedy
  fingers of the Sea-queen Ran, and dragged down into her deep
  sea-caverns, or whether, like the wondrous ship Skidbladner,
  it had been folded up, and made invisible to the eyes of
  men, Siegfried never knew. The thick mists and the darkness
  of night closed over and around both hero and horse; and
  they dared not stir, but stood long hours in the silent
  gloom, waiting for the coming of the dawn.

  At length the morning came, but the light was not strong
  enough to scatter the fogs and thick vapors that rested upon
  the land. Then Siegfried mounted Greyfell; and the sunbeams
  began to flash from the horse's mane and from the hero's
  glittering mail-coat; and the hazy clouds fled upward and
  away, until they were caught and held fast by great
  mist-giants, who stood like sentinels on the mountain-tops.
  As the shining pair came up from the sea, and passed through
  the woods and valleys of the Nibelungen Land, there streamed
  over all that region such a flood of sunlight as had never
  before been seen.

  In every leafy tree, and behind every blade of grass, elves
  and fairies were hidden; and under every rock and in every
  crevice lurked cunning dwarfs. But Siegfried rode straight
  forward until he came to the steep side of a shadowy
  mountain. There, at the mouth of a cavern, a strange sight
  met his eyes. Two young men, dressed in princes' clothing,
  sat upon the ground: their features were all haggard and
  gaunt, and pinched with hunger, and their eyes wild with
  wakefulness and fear; and all around them were heaps of gold
  and precious stones,--more than a hundred wagons could carry
  away. And neither of the two princes would leave the shining
  hoard for food, nor close his eyes in sleep, lest the other
  might seize and hide some part of the treasure. And thus
  they had watched and hungered through many long days and
  sleepless nights, each hoping that the other would die, and
  that the whole inheritance might be his own.

  When they saw Siegfried riding near, they called out to him,
  and said, "Noble stranger, stop a moment! Come and help us
  divide this treasure."

  "Who are you?" asked Siegfried; "and what treasure is it
  that lies there?"

  "We are the sons of Niblung, who until lately was king of
  this Mist Land. Our names are Schilbung and the young
  Niblung," faintly answered the princes.

  "And what are you doing here with this gold and these
  glittering stones?"

  "This is the great Nibelungen Hoard, which our father not
  long ago brought from the South-land. It is not clear just
  how he obtained it.[EN#18] Some say that he got it unjustly
  from his brother, whose vassals had digged it from the
  earth. Others say that he found it lying on the Glittering
  Heath, where Fafnir the Dragon had guarded it zealously for
  ages past, until he was slain by a hero who cared nought for
  his gold. But, be this as it may, our father is now dead,
  and we have brought the hoard out of the cavern where he had
  hidden it, in order that we may share it between us equally.
  But we cannot agree, and we pray you to help us divide it."

  Then Siegfried dismounted from the horse Greyfell, and came
  near the two princes.

  "I will gladly do as you ask," said he; "but first I must
  know more about your father,--who he was, and whether this
  is really the Hoard of the Glittering Heath."

  Then Niblung answered, as well as his feeble voice would
  allow, "Our father was, from the earliest times, the ruler
  of this land, and the lord of the fog and the mist. Many
  strongholds, and many noble halls, had he in this land; and
  ten thousand brave warriors were ever ready to do his
  bidding. The trolls, and the swarthy elves of the mountains,
  and the giants of the cloudy peaks, were his vassals. But he
  did more than rule over the Nibelungen Land. Twice every
  year he crossed the sea and rambled through the Rhine
  valleys, or loitered in the moist Lowlands; and now and then
  he brought rich trophies back to his island home. The last
  time, he brought this treasure with him; but, as we have
  said, it is not clear how he obtained it. We have heard men
  say that it was the Hoard of Andvari, and that when Fafnir,
  the dragon who watched it, was slain, the hero who slew him
  left it to be taken again by the swarthy elves who had
  gathered it; but because of a curse which Andvari had placed
  upon it, no one would touch it, until some man would assume
  its ownership, and take upon himself the risk of incurring
  the curse. This thing, it is said, our father did. And the
  dwarf Alberich undertook to keep it for him; and he, with
  the help of the ten thousand elves who live in these
  caverns, and the twelve giants whom you see standing on the
  mountain-peaks around, guarded it faithfully so long as our
  father lived. But, when he died, we and our thralls fetched
  it forth from the cavern, and spread it here on the ground.
  And, lo! for many days we have watched and tried to divide
  it equally. But we cannot agree."

  "What hire will you give me if I divide it for you?" asked
  Siegfried.

  "Name what you will have," answered the princes.

  "Give me the sword which lies before you on the glittering
  heap."

  Then Niblung handed him the sword, and said, "Right gladly
  will we give it. It is a worthless blade that our father
  brought from the South-land. They say that he found it also
  on the Glittering Heath, in the trench where Fafnir was
  slain. And some will have it that it was forged by Regin,
  Fafnir's own brother. But how that is, I do not know. At any
  rate, it is of no use to us; for it turns against us
  whenever we try to use it."

  Siegfried took the sword. It was his own Balmung, that had
  been lost so long.

  Forthwith he began the task of dividing the treasure; and
  the two brothers, so faint from hunger and want of sleep
  that they could scarcely lift their heads, watched him with
  anxious, greedy eyes. First he placed a piece of gold by
  Niblung's side, and then a piece of like value he gave to
  Schilbung. And this he did again and again, until no more
  gold was left. Then, in the same manner, he divided the
  precious gem-stones until none remained. And the brothers
  were much pleased; and they hugged their glittering
  treasures, and thanked Siegfried for his kindness, and for
  the fairness with which he had given to each his own. But
  one thing was left which had not fallen to the lot of either
  brother. It was a ring of curious workmanship,--a serpent
  coiled, with its tail in its mouth, and with ruby eyes
  glistening and cold.

  "What shall I do with this ring?" asked Siegfried.

  "Give it to me!" cried Niblung.

  "Give it to me!" cried Schilbung.

  And both tried to snatch it from Siegfried's hand.

  But the effort was too great for them. Their arms fell
  helpless at their sides, their feet slipped beneath them,
  their limbs failed: they sank fainting, each upon his pile
  of treasures.

  "O my dear, dear gold!" murmured Niblung, trying to clasp it
  all in his arms,--"my dear, dear gold! Thou art mine, mine
  only. No one shall take thee from me. Here thou art, here
  thou shalt rest. O my dear, dear gold!" And then, calling up
  the last spark of life left in his famished body, he cried
  out to Siegfried, "Give me the ring!--the ring, I say!"

  He hugged his cherished gold nearer to his bosom; he ran his
  thin fingers deep down into the shining yellow heap; he
  pressed his pale lips to the cold and senseless metal; he
  whispered faintly, "My dear, dear gold!" and then he died.

  "O precious, precious gem-stones," faltered Schilbung, "how
  beautiful you are! And you are mine, all mine. I will keep
  you safe. Come, come, my bright-eyed beauties! No one but me
  shall touch you. You are mine, mine, mine!" And he chattered
  and laughed as only madmen laugh. And he kissed the hard
  stones, and sought to hide them in his bosom. But his hands
  trembled and failed, dark mists swam before his eyes; he
  fancied that he heard the black dwarfs clamoring for his
  treasure; he sprang up quickly, he shrieked--and then fell
  lifeless upon his hoard of sparkling gems.

  A strange, sad sight it was,--boundless wealth, and
  miserable death; two piles of yellow gold and sun-bright
  diamonds, and two thin, starved corpses stretched upon them.
  Some stories relate that the brothers were slain by
  Siegfried, because their foolish strife and greediness had
  angered him.[EN#19] But I like not to think so. It was the
  gold, and not Siegfried, that slew them.

  "O gold, gold!" cried the hero sorrowfully, "truly thou art
  the mid-world's curse; thou art man's bane. But when the
  bright spring-time of the new world shall come, and Balder
  shall reign in his glory, then will the curse be taken from
  thee, and thy yellow brightness will be the sign of purity
  and enduring worth; and then thou wilt be a blessing to
  mankind, and the precious plaything of the gods."

  But Siegfried had little time for thought and speech. A
  strange sound was heard upon the mountain-side. The twelve
  great giants who had stood as watchmen upon the peaks above
  were rushing down to avenge their masters, and to drive the
  intruder out of Nibelungen Land. Siegfried waited not for
  their onset; but he mounted the noble horse Greyfell, and,
  with the sword Balmung in his hand, he rode forth to meet
  his foes, who, with fearful threats and hideous roars, came
  striding toward him. The sunbeams flashed from Greyfell's
  mane, and dazzled the dull eyes of the giants, unused as
  they were to the full light of day. Doubtful, they paused,
  and then again came forward. But they mistook every tree in
  their way for an enemy, and every rock they thought a foe;
  and in their fear they fancied a great host to be before
  them. Did you ever see the dark and threatening storm-clouds
  on a summer's day scattered and put to flight by the bright
  beams of the sun? It was thus that Siegfried's giant foes
  were routed. One and all, they dropped their heavy clubs,
  and stood ashamed and trembling, not knowing what to do. And
  Siegfried made each one swear to serve him faithfully; and
  then he sent them back to the snow-covered mountain-peaks to
  stand again as watchmen at their posts.

  And now another danger appeared. Alberich the dwarf, the
  master of the swarthy elves who guarded the Nibelungen
  Hoard, had come out from his cavern, and seen the two
  princes lying dead beside their treasures, and he thought
  that they had been murdered by Siegfried; and, when he
  beheld the giants driven back to the mountain-tops, he
  lifted a little silver horn to his lips, and blew a shrill
  bugle-call. And the little brown elves came trooping forth
  by thousands: from under every rock, from the nooks and
  crannies and crevices in the mountain-side, from the deep
  cavern and the narrow gorge, they came at the call of their
  chief. Then, at Alberich's word, they formed in line of
  battle, and stood in order around the hoard and the bodies
  of their late masters. Their little golden shields and their
  sharp-pointed spears were thick as the blades of grass in a
  Rhine meadow. And Siegfried, when he saw them, was pleased
  and surprised; for never before had such a host of pygmy
  warriors stood before him.

  While he paused and looked, the elves became suddenly
  silent, and Siegfried noticed that Alberich stood no longer
  at their head, but had strangely vanished from sight.

  "Ah, Alberich!" cried the hero. "Thou art indeed cunning. I
  have heard of thy tricks. Thou hast donned the Tarnkappe,
  the cloak of darkness, which hides thee from sight, and
  makes thee as strong as twelve common men. But come on, thou
  brave dwarf!"

  Scarcely had he spoken, when he felt a shock which almost
  sent him reeling from his saddle, and made Greyfell plunge
  about with fright. Quickly, then, did Siegfried dismount,
  and, with every sense alert, he waited for the second onset
  of the unseen dwarf. It was plain that Alberich wished to
  strike him unawares, for many minutes passed in utter
  silence. Then a brisk breath of wind passed by Siegfried's
  face, and he felt another blow; but, by a quick downward
  movement of his hand, he caught the plucky elf-king, and
  tore off the magic Tarnkappe, and then, with firm grasp, he
  held him, struggling in vain to get free.

  "Ah, Alberich!" he cried, "now I know thou art cunning. But
  the Tarnkappe I must have for my own. What wilt thou give
  for thy freedom?"

  "Worthy prince," answered Alberich humbly, "you have fairly
  overcome me in fight, and made me your prisoner. I and all
  mine, as well as this treasure, rightfully belong to you. We
  are yours, and you we shall obey."

  "Swear it!" said Siegfried. "Swear it, and thou shalt live,
  and be the keeper of my treasures."

  And Alberich made a sign to his elfin host, and every spear
  was turned point downwards, and every tiny shield was thrown
  to the ground, and the ten thousand little warriors kneeled,
  as did also their chief, and acknowledged Siegfried to be
  their rightful master, and the lord of the Nibelungen Land,
  and the owner of the Hoard of Andvari.

  Then, by Alberich's orders, the elves carried the Hoard back
  into the cavern, and there kept faithful watch and ward over
  it. And they buried the starved bodies of the two princes on
  the top of the mist-veiled mountain; and heralds were sent
  to all the strongholds in Nibelungen Land, proclaiming that
  Siegfried, through his wisdom and might, had become the true
  lord and king of the land. Afterwards the prince, riding on
  the beaming Greyfell, went from place to place, scattering
  sunshine and smiles where shadows and frowns had been
  before. And the Nibelungen folk welcomed him everywhere with
  glad shouts and music and dancing; and ten thousand
  warriors, and many noble earl-folk, came to meet him, and
  plighted their faith to him. And the pure brightness of his
  hero-soul, and the gleaming sunbeams from Greyfell's
  mane,--the light of hope and faith,--lifted the curtain of
  mists and fogs that had so long darkened the land, and let
  in the glorious glad light of day and the genial warmth of
  summer.





                    Adventure VIII.
                 Siegfried's Welcome Home.



  In Santen Castle, one day, there was a strange uproar and
  confusion. Everybody was hurrying aimlessly about, and no
  one seemed to know just what to do. On every side there were
  restless whisperings, and hasty gestures, and loud commands.
  The knights and warriors were busy donning their war-coats,
  and buckling on their swords and helmets. Wise King Siegmund
  sat in his council-chamber, and the knowing men of the
  kingdom stood around him; and the minds of all seemed
  troubled with doubt, if not with fear.

  What could have caused so great an uproar in the once quiet
  old castle? What could have brought perplexity to the mind
  of the wisest king in all Rhineland? It was this: a herald
  had just come from the seashore, bringing word that a
  strange fleet of a hundred white-sailed vessels had cast
  anchor off the coast, and that an army of ten thousand
  fighting men had landed, and were making ready to march
  against Santen. Nobody had ever heard of so large a fleet
  before; and no one could guess who the strangers might be,
  nor whence they had come, nor why they should thus, without
  asking leave, land in the country of a peace-loving king.

  The news spread quickly over all the land. People from every
  part came hastening to the friendly shelter of the castle.
  The townsmen, with their goods and cattle, hurried within
  the walls. The sentinels on the ramparts paced uneasily to
  and fro, and scanned with watchful eye every stranger that
  came near the walls. The warders stood ready to hoist the
  drawbridge, and close the gate, at the first signal given by
  the watchman above, who was straining his eyes to their
  utmost in order to see the first approach of the foe.

  A heavy mist hung over the meadow-lands between Santen and
  the sea, and nothing was visible beyond the gates of the
  town. The ten thousand strange warriors might be within half
  a league of the castle, and yet the sharpest eagle-eye could
  not see them.

  All at once a clatter of horse's hoofs was heard; the dark
  mist rose up from the ground, and began to roll away, like a
  great cloud, into the sky; and then strange sunbeam-flashes
  were seen where the fog had lately rested.

  "They come!" cried one of the sentinels. "I see the glitter
  of their shields and lances."

  "Not so," said the watchman from his place on the tower
  above. "I see but one man, and he rides with the speed of
  the wind, and lightning flashes from the mane of the horse
  which carries him."

  The drawbridge was hastily hoisted. The heavy gates were
  quickly shut, and fastened with bolts and bars. Every man in
  the castle was at his post, ready to defend the fortress
  with his life. In a short time the horse and his rider drew
  near. All who looked out upon them were dazzled with the
  golden brightness of the hero's armor, as well as with the
  lightning gleams that flashed from the horse's mane. And
  some whispered,--

  "This is no man who thus comes in such kingly splendor. More
  likely it is Odin on one of his journeys, or the Shining
  Balder come again to earth."

  As the stranger paused on the outer edge of the moat, the
  sentinels challenged him,--

  "Who are you who come thus, uninvited and unheralded, to
  Santen?"

  "One who has the right to come," answered the stranger. "I
  am Siegfried; and I have come to see my father, the good
  Siegmund, and my mother, the gentle Sigelind."

  It was indeed Siegfried; and he had come from his kingdom in
  the Nibelungen Land, with his great fleet, and the noblest
  of his warriors, to see once more his boyhood's home, and to
  cheer for a time the hearts of his loving parents. For he
  had done many noble deeds, and had ruled wisely and well,
  and he felt that he was now not unworthy to be called the
  son of Siegmund, and to claim kinship with the heroes of the
  earlier days.

  As soon as it was surely known that he who stood before the
  castle-walls was the young prince who had been gone so many
  years, and about whom they had heard so many wonderful
  stories, the drawbridge was hastily let down, and the great
  gates were thrown wide open. And Siegfried, whose return had
  been so long wished for, stood once again in his father's
  halls. And the fear and confusion which had prevailed gave
  place to gladness and gayety; and all the folk of Santen
  greeted the returned hero with cheers, and joyfully welcomed
  him home. And in the whole world there was no one more happy
  than Siegmund and Sigelind.

  On the morrow the ten thousand Nibelungen warriors came to
  Santen; and Siegmund made for them a great banquet, and
  entertained them in a right kingly way, as the faithful
  liegemen of his son. And Siegfried, when he had given them
  rich gifts, sent them with the fleet back to Nibelungen
  Land; for he meant to stay for a time with his father and
  mother at Santen.

  When the harvest had been gathered, and the fruit was
  turning purple and gold, and the moon rode round and full in
  the clear autumn sky, a gay high-tide was held for
  Siegfried's sake; and everybody in the Lowland country,
  whether high or low, rich or poor, was asked to come to the
  feast. For seven days, nought but unbridled gayety prevailed
  in Siegmund's halls. On every hand were sounds of music and
  laughter, and sickness and poverty and pain were for the
  time forgotten. A mock-battle was fought on the grassy plain
  not far from the town, and the young men vied with each
  other in feats of strength and skill. Never before had so
  many beautiful ladies nor so many brave men been seen in
  Santen. And, when the time of jollity and feasting had drawn
  to an end, Siegmund called together all his guests, and gave
  to each choice gifts,--a festal garment, and a horse with
  rich trappings. And Queen Sigelind scattered gold without
  stint among the poor, and many were the blessings she
  received. Then all the folk went back to their homes with
  light hearts and happy faces.[EN#20]

  The autumn days passed quickly by, and Siegfried began to
  grow weary of the idle, inactive life in his father's halls;
  and Greyfell in his stall pined for the fresh, free air, and
  his mane lost all its brightness. When Siegmund saw how full
  of unrest his son had become, he said to him,--

  "Siegfried, I have grown old and feeble, and have no longer
  the strength of my younger days. My kingdom would fare
  better were a younger ruler placed over it. Take my crown, I
  pray you, and let me withdraw from kingly cares."

  But Siegfried would not listen to such an offer. He had his
  own kingdom of the Nibelungens, he said; and, besides, he
  would never sit on his father's throne while yet that father
  lived. And although he loved the pleasant companionship of
  his mother, and was delighted to listen to the wise counsels
  of his father, the craving for action, and the unrest which
  would not be satisfied, grew greater day by day. At last he
  said,--

  "I will ride out into the world again. Mayhap I may find
  some other wrong to right, or some other kingdom to win. It
  was thus that my kin, in the golden age long past, went
  faring over the land and sea, and met their doom at last.
  They were not home-abiders, nor tillers of the soil; but the
  world was their abiding-place, and they filled the hearts of
  men."

  And, when his father and mother heard this, they tried no
  longer to keep him with them; for they knew that it would be
  more cruel than the keeping of a caged bird away from the
  sunlight.

  "Only go not into Burgundy," said his father. "The kings of
  that country are not friendly to us, and they may do you
  harm. Hagen, the kinsman of the kings, and the chief of
  their fighting-men, is old and crafty, and he cannot brook a
  greater hero than himself."

  Siegfried laughed.

  "That is all the better reason why I should go to
  Burgundy-land," he said.

  "Then take ten thousand of my warriors," said his father,
  "and make yourself master of the land."

  "No, no!" cried Siegfried. "One kingdom is enough for me. My
  own Nibelungen Land is all I want. I will take my twelve
  Nibelungen knights that I have with me here, and we will
  fare forth to see the world and its beauties, and men's
  work; and, when we have tired with riding, we will sail
  across the sea to our Nibelungen home."





                        Adventure IX
               The Journey to Burgundy-Land.



  For many days before Siegfried's departure, the queen, and
  all the women of the household, busily plied their needles;
  and many suits of rich raiment made they for the prince and
  his worthy comrades. At length the time for leave-taking
  came, and all the inmates of the castle went out to the gate
  to bid the heroes God-speed. Siegfried sat upon his noble
  horse Greyfell, and his trusty sword Balmung hung at his
  side. And his Nibelungen knights were mounted on lordly
  steeds, with gold-red saddles and silver trappings chased
  with gold; and their glittering helmets, and burnished
  shields, and war-coats of polished steel, when added to
  their noble bearing and manlike forms, made up a picture of
  beauty and strength such as no one in Santen had ever seen
  before, or would ever see again.

  "Only go not into Burgundy-land," were the parting words of
  Siegmund.

  And all who had come to bid them farewell wept bitterly as
  the young men rode out of the city, and were lost to sight
  in the distance.

  "Only go not into Burgundy-land!" These words of his father
  sounded still in Siegfried's ears; and he turned his horse's
  head towards the west and south; and they rode through the
  level country, and among the fields, from which the corn had
  already been gathered; and at night they slept in the open
  air, upon the still warm ground. Thus for many days they
  travelled. And they left the Lowlands far behind them, and
  Burgundy far to the left of them; and by and by they came to
  a country covered with high hills, and mountains that seemed
  to touch the sky. The crags and peaks were covered with
  snow, and ice lay all summer in the dales and in the deep
  gorges cleft long time ago by giant hands. Here it is that
  the rivers take their beginning. And here it is that the
  purple grapes and the rare fruits of milder climes are
  found; for the sun shines warm in the valleys and upon the
  plains, and the soil is exceeding rich. It is said that
  these mountains are midway between the cold regions of
  Jotunheim and the glowing gardens of Muspelheim, and that,
  in ages past, they were the scene of many battles between
  the giants who would overwhelm the earth,--these with ice,
  and those with fire. Here and there were frowning caves dug
  out of the solid mountain-side; while higher up were great
  pits, half-filled with ashes, where, it is said, the
  dwarf-folk, when they were mighty on earth, had their
  forges.

  Siegfried stopped not long in this land. Thoughts of the
  Nibelungen Land, and of his faithful liegemen who waited for
  his return, began to fill his mind. Then the heroes turned
  their horses' heads, and rode back towards the north,
  following the course of the River Rhine, as it wound, here
  and there, between hills and mountains, and through meadows
  where the grass was springing up anew, and by the side of
  woodlands, now beginning to be clothed in green again; for
  the winter was well over, and spring was hastening on apace.
  And as they rode down the valley of the Rhine they came, ere
  they were aware, into the Burgundian Land, and the high
  towers of King Gunther's castle rose up before them. Then
  Siegfried remembered again his father's words,--

  "Only go not into Burgundy-land."

  But it was now too late to go back, and they determined to
  stop for a few days with the Burgundian kings. They rode
  onwards through the meadows and the pleasant farming-lands
  which lay around the city; and they passed a wonderful
  garden of roses, said to belong to Kriemhild, the peerless
  princess of the Rhine country; and at last they halted
  before the castle-gate. So lordly was their bearing, that a
  company of knights came out to meet them, and offered, as
  the custom was, to take charge of their horses and their
  shields. But Siegfried asked that they be led at once to
  King Gunther and his brothers; and, as their stay would not
  be long, they said they would have no need to part with
  horses or with shields. Then they followed their guides, and
  rode through the great gateway, and into the open court, and
  halted beneath the palace windows.

  And the three kings--Gunther, Gernot, and Giselher--and
  their young sister, the matchless Kriemhild, looked down
  upon them from above, and hazarded many guesses as to who
  the lordly strangers might be. And all the inmates of the
  castle stood at the doors and windows, or gathered in
  curious groups in the courtyard, and gazed with open-mouthed
  wonder upon the rich armor and noble bearing of the thirteen
  heroes. But all eyes were turned most towards Siegfried and
  the wondrous steed Greyfell. Some of the knights whispered
  that this was Odin, and some that it was Thor, the
  thunderer, making a tour through Rhineland. But others said
  that Thor was never known to ride on horseback, and that the
  youth who sat on the milk-white steed was little like the
  ancient Odin. And the ladies who looked down upon the heroes
  from the palace windows said that this man could be no other
  than the Sunbright Balder, come from his home in Breidablik,
  to breathe gladness and sunshine into the hearts and lives
  of men.

  Only one among all the folk in the castle knew who the hero
  was who had ridden thus boldly into the heart of
  Burgundy-land. That one was Hagen, the uncle of the three
  kings, and the doughtiest warrior in all Rhineland. With a
  dark frown and a sullen scowl he looked out upon the little
  party, and already plotted in his mind how he might outwit,
  and bring to grief, the youth whose name and fame were known
  the whole world over. For his evil mind loved deeds of
  darkness, and hated the pure and good. By his side, at an
  upper window, stood Kriemhild, the peerless maiden of the
  Rhine; but her thoughts were as far from his thoughts as the
  heaven-smile on her face was unlike the sullen scowl on his
  grim visage. As the moon in her calm beauty is sometimes
  seen in the sky, riding gloriously by the side of a dark
  thunder-cloud,--the one more lovely, the other more
  dreadful, by their very nearness,--so seemed Kriemhild
  standing there by the side of Hagen.

  "Think you not, dear uncle," she said, "that this is the
  Shining Balder come to earth again?"

  "The gods have forgotten the earth," answered Hagen in surly
  tones. "But if, indeed, this should be Balder, we shall,
  without doubt, find another blind archer, who, with another
  sprig of mistletoe, will send him back again to Hela."

  "What do you mean?" asked Kriemhild earnestly.

  But old Hagen said not a word in answer. He quietly withdrew
  from the room, and left the maiden and her mother, the good
  dame Ute, alone.

  "What does uncle Hagen mean by his strange words? and why
  does he look so sullen and angry?" asked Kriemhild.

  "Indeed, I know not," answered the queen-mother. "His ways
  are dark, and he is cunning. I fear that evil will yet come
  to our house through him."

  Meanwhile the three kings and their chiefs had gone into the
  courtyard to greet their unknown guests. Very kindly did
  Gunther welcome the strangers to his home; and then he
  courteously asked them whence they came, and what the favors
  they wished.

  "I have heard," answered Siegfried, "that many knights and
  heroes live in this land, and that they are the bravest and
  the proudest in the world. I, too, am a knight; and some
  time, if I am worthy, I shall be a king. But first I would
  make good my right to rule over land and folk; and for this
  reason I have come hither. If, indeed, you are as brave as
  all the world says you are, ride now to the meadows with us,
  and let us fight man to man; and he who wins shall rule over
  the lands of both. We will wager our kingdom and our heads
  against yours."

  King Gunther and his brothers were amazed at this
  unlooked-for speech.

  "Such is not the way to try where true worth lies!" they
  cried. "We have no cause of quarrel with you, neither have
  you any cause of quarrel with us. Why, then, should we spill
  each other's blood?"

  Again Siegfried urged them to fight with him; but they
  flatly refused. And Gernot said,--

  "The Burgundian kings have never wished to rule over folk
  that are not their own. Much less would they gain new lands
  at the cost of their best heroes' blood. And they have never
  taken part in needless quarrels. Good men in Burgundy are
  worth more than the broadest lands, and we will not hazard
  the one for the sake of gaining the other. No, we will not
  fight. But we greet you most heartily as our friends and
  guests."

  All the others joined in urging Siegfried and his comrades
  to dismount from their steeds, and partake of the cheer with
  which it was their use to entertain strangers. And at last
  he yielded to their kind wishes, and alighted from Greyfell,
  and, grasping King Gunther's hand, he made himself known.
  And there was great rejoicing in the castle and throughout
  all the land; and the most sumptuous rooms were set apart
  for the use of Siegfried and his Nibelungen knights; and a
  banquet was at once made ready; and no pains were spared in
  giving the strangers a right hearty welcome to the kingly
  halls of Burgundy. But Hagen, dark-browed and evil-eyed,
  stood silent and alone in his chamber and waited his time.





                        Adventure X
                     Kriemhild's Dream.



  Early on the morrow morning, ere the sun had risen high, the
  peerless Kriemhild walked alone amid the sweet-scented
  bowers of her rose-garden. The dewdrops still hung thick on
  flower and thorn, and the wild birds carolled their songs of
  merry welcome to the new-born day. Every thing seemed to
  have put on its handsomest colors, and to be using its
  sweetest voice, on purpose to gladden the heart of the
  maiden. But Kriemhild was not happy. There was a shadow on
  her face and a sadness in her eye that the beauty and the
  music of that morning could not drive away.

  "What ails thee, my child?" asked her mother, Queen Ute, who
  met her. "Why so sad, as if thy heart were heavy with care?
  Has any one spoken unkindly, or has aught grievous happened
  to thee?"

  "Oh, no, dearest mother!" said Kriemhild. "It is nothing
  that saddens me,--nothing but a foolish dream. I cannot
  forget it."

  "Tell me the dream," said her mother: "mayhap it betokens
  something that the Norns have written for thee."

  Then Kriemhild answered, "I dreamed that I sat at my window,
  high up in the eastern tower; and the sun shone bright in
  the heavens, and the air was mild and warm, and I thought of
  nought but the beauty and the gladness of the hour. Then in
  the far north I saw a falcon flying. At first he seemed but
  a black speck in the sky; but swiftly he drew nearer and
  nearer, until at last he flew in at the open window, and I
  caught him in my arms. Oh, how strong and beautiful he was!
  His wings were purple and gold, and his eyes were as bright
  as the sun. Oh, a glorious prize I thought him! and I held
  him on my wrist, and spoke kind words to him. Then suddenly,
  from out of the sky above, two eagles dashed in at the
  window, and snatched my darling from me, and they tore him
  in pieces before my eyes, and laughed at my distress."

  "Thy dream," said Queen Ute, "is easy to explain. A king
  shall come from the north-land, and a mighty king shall he
  be. And he shall seek thee, and love thee, and wed thee, and
  thy heart shall overflow with bliss. The two eagles are the
  foes who shall slay him; but who they may be, or whence they
  may come, is known only to the Norns."

  "But I slept, and I dreamed again," said Kriemhild. "This
  time I sat in the meadow, and three women came to me. And
  they span, and they wove a woof more fair than any I have
  ever seen. And methought that another woof was woven, which
  crossed the first, and yet it was no whit less beautiful.
  Then the women who wove the woofs cried out, 'Enough!' And a
  fair white arm reached out and seized the rare fabrics, and
  tore them into shreds. And then the sky was overcast, and
  the thunder began to roll and the lightning to flash, and
  red fires gleamed, and fierce wolves howled around me, and I
  awoke."

  "This dream," said Queen Ute, "is more than I can
  understand. Only this I can see and explain, that in the dim
  future the woof of another's fate shall cross thy own. But
  trouble not thyself because of that which shall be. While
  yet the sun shines for thee, and the birds sing, and the
  flowers shed their sweet perfume, it is for thee to rejoice
  and be light-hearted. What the Norns have woven is woven,
  and it cannot be undone."[EN#21]





                        Adventure XI
                 How the Spring-time Came.



  Siegfried, when he came to Gunther's castle, thought of
  staying there but a few days only. But the king and his
  brothers made every thing so pleasant for their honored
  guest, that weeks slipped by unnoticed, and still the hero
  remained in Burgundy.

  Spring had fairly come, and the weeping April clouds had
  given place to the balmy skies of May. The young men and
  maidens, as was their wont, made ready for the May-day
  games; and Siegfried and his knights were asked to take part
  in the sport.

  On the smooth greensward, which they called Nanna's carpet,
  beneath the shade of ash-trees and elms, he who played Old
  Winter's part lingered with his few attendants. These were
  clad in the dull gray garb which becomes the sober season of
  the year, and were decked with yellow straw, and dead, brown
  leaves. Out of the wood came the May-king and his followers,
  clad in the gayest raiment, and decked with evergreens and
  flowers. With staves and willow-withes they fell upon Old
  Winter's champions, and tried to drive them from the sward.
  In friendly fray they fought, and many mishaps fell to both
  parties. But at length the May-king won; and grave Winter,
  battered and bruised, was made prisoner, and his followers
  were driven from the field. Then, in merry sport, sentence
  was passed on the luckless wight, for he was found guilty of
  killing the flowers, and of covering the earth with
  hoar-frost; and he was doomed to a long banishment from
  music and the sunlight. The laughing party then set up a
  wooden likeness of the worsted winter-king, and pelted it
  with stones and turf; and when they were tired they threw it
  down, and put out its eyes, and cast it into the river. And
  then a pole, decked with wild-flowers and fresh green
  leaves, was planted in the midst of the sward, and all
  joined in merry dance around it. And they chose the most
  beautiful of all the maidens to be the Queen of May, and
  they crowned her with a wreath of violets and yellow
  buttercups; and for a whole day all yielded fealty to her,
  and did her bidding.

  It was thus that May Day came in Burgundy. And in the
  evening, when the party were seated in King Gunther's hall,
  Siegfried, at the command of the May-queen,--who was none
  other than Kriemhild the peerless,--amused them by telling
  the story of



  Idun and Her Apples.



  It is a story that Bragi told while at the feast in AEgir's
  hall. Idun is Bragi's wife. Very handsome is she; but the
  beauty of her face is by no means greater than the goodness
  of her heart. Right attentive is she to every duty, and her
  words and thoughts are always worthy and wise. A long time
  ago the good Asa-folk who dwell in heaven-towering Asgard,
  knowing how trustworthy Idun was, gave into her keeping a
  treasure which they would not have placed in the hands of
  any other person. This treasure was a box of apples, and
  Idun kept the golden key safely fastened to her girdle. You
  ask me why the gods should prize a box of apples so highly?
  I will tell you.

  Old age, you know, spares none, not even Odin and his
  Asa-folk. They all grow old and gray; and, if there were no
  cure for age, they would become feeble and toothless and
  blind, deaf, tottering, and weak minded. The apples which
  Idun guarded so carefully were the priceless boon of youth.
  Whenever the gods felt old age coming on, they went to her,
  and she gave them of her fruit; and, when they had tasted,
  they grew young and strong and handsome again. Once,
  however, they came near losing the apples,--or losing rather
  Idun and her golden key, without which no one could ever
  open the box.

  In those early days Odin delighted to come down now and then
  from his high home above the clouds, and to wander,
  disguised, among the woods and mountains, and by the
  seashore, and in wild desert places. For nothing pleases him
  more than to commune with Nature as she is found in the
  loneliness of vast solitudes, or in the boisterous uproar of
  the elements. Once on a time he took with him his friends
  Hoenir and Loki; and they rambled many days among the icy
  cliffs, and along the barren shores, of the great frozen
  sea. In that country there was no game, and no fish was
  found in the cold waters; and the three wanderers, as they
  had brought no food with them, became very hungry. Late in
  the afternoon of the seventh day, they reached some
  pasture-lands belonging to the giant Hymer, and saw a herd
  of the giant's cattle browsing upon the short grass which
  grew in the sheltered nooks among the hills.

  "Ah!" cried Loki: "after fasting for a week, we shall now
  have food in abundance. Let us kill and eat."

  So saying, he hurled a sharp stone at the fattest of Hymer's
  cows, and killed her; and the three quickly dressed the
  choicest pieces of flesh for their supper. Then Loki
  gathered twigs and dry grass, and kindled a blazing fire;
  Hoenir filled the pot with water from melted ice; and Odin
  threw into it the bits of tender meat. But, make the fire as
  hot as they would, the water would not boil, and the flesh
  would not cook.

  All night long the supperless three sat hungry around the
  fire; and, every time they peeped into the kettle, the meat
  was as raw and gustless as before. Morning came, but no
  breakfast. And all day Loki kept stirring the fire, and Odin
  and Hoenir waited hopefully but impatiently. When the sun
  again went down, the flesh was still uncooked, and their
  supper seemed no nearer ready than it was the night before.
  As they were about yielding to despair, they heard a noise
  overhead, and, looking up, they saw a huge gray eagle
  sitting on the dead branch of an oak.

  "Ha, ha!" cried the bird. "You are pretty fellows indeed! To
  sit hungry by the fire a night and a day, rather than eat
  raw flesh, becomes you well. Do but give me my share of it
  as it is, and I warrant you the rest shall boil, and you
  shall have a fat supper."

  "Agreed," answered Loki eagerly. "Come down and get your
  share."

  The eagle waited for no second asking. Down he swooped right
  over the blazing fire, and snatched not only the eagle's
  share, but also what the Lybians call the lion's share; that
  is, he grasped in his strong talons the kettle, with all the
  meat in it, and, flapping his huge wings, slowly rose into
  the air, carrying his booty with him. The three gods were
  astonished. Loki was filled with anger. He seized a long
  pole, upon the end of which a sharp hook was fixed, and
  struck at the treacherous bird. The hook stuck fast in the
  eagle's back, and Loki could not loose his hold of the other
  end of the pole. The great bird soared high above the
  tree-tops, and over the hills, and carried the astonished
  mischief-maker with him.

  But it was no eagle. It was no bird that had thus outwitted
  the hungry gods: it was the giant Old Winter, clothed in his
  eagle-plumage. Over the lonely woods, and the snow-crowned
  mountains, and the frozen sea, he flew, dragging the
  helpless Loki through tree-tops, and over jagged rocks,
  scratching and bruising his body, and almost tearing his
  arms from his shoulders. At last he alighted on the craggy
  top of an iceberg, where the storm-winds shrieked, and the
  air was filled with driving snow. As soon as Loki could
  speak, he begged the giant to carry him back to his
  comrades,--Odin and Hoenir.

  "On one condition only will I carry you back," answered Old
  Winter. "Swear to me that you will betray into my hands dame
  Idun and her golden key."

  Loki asked no questions, but gladly gave the oath; and the
  giant flew back with him across the sea, and dropped him,
  torn and bleeding and lame, by the side of the fire, where
  Odin and Hoenir still lingered. And the three made all haste
  to leave that cheerless place, and returned to Odin's glad
  home in Asgard.

  Some weeks after this, Loki, the Prince of Mischief-makers,
  went to Bragi's house to see Idun. He found her busied with
  her household cares, not thinking of a visit from any of the
  gods.

  "I have come, good dame," said he, "to taste your apples
  again; for I feel old age coming on apace."

  Idun was astonished.

  "You are not looking old," she answered. "There is not a
  single gray hair upon your head, and not a wrinkle on your
  brow. If it were not for that scar upon your cheek, and the
  arm which you carry in a sling you would look as stout and
  as well as I have ever seen you. Besides, I remember that it
  was only a year ago when you last tasted of my fruit. Is it
  possible that a single winter should make you old?"

  "A single winter has made me very lame and feeble, at
  least," said Loki. "I have been scarcely able to walk about
  since my return from the North. Another winter without a
  taste of your apples will be the death of me."

  Then the kind-hearted Idun, when she saw that Loki was
  really lame, went to the box, and opened it with her golden
  key, and gave him one of the precious apples to taste. He
  took the fruit in his hand, bit it, and gave it back to the
  good dame. She put it in its place again, closed the lid,
  and locked it with her usual care.

  "Your apples are not so good as they used to be," said Loki,
  making a very wry face. "Why don't you fill your box with
  fresh fruit?"

  Idun was amazed. Her apples were supposed to be always
  fresh,--fresher by far than any that grow nowadays. None of
  the gods had ever before complained about them; and she told
  Loki so.

  "Very well," said he. "I see you do not believe me, and that
  you mean to feed us on your sour, withered apples, when we
  might as well have golden fruit. If you were not so bent on
  having your own way, I could tell you where you might fill
  your box with the choicest of apples, such as Odin loves. I
  saw them in the forest over yonder, hanging ripe on the
  trees. But women will always have their own way; and you
  must have yours, even though you do feed the gods on
  withered apples."

  So saying, and without waiting to hear an answer, he limped
  out at the door, and was soon gone from sight.

  Idun thought long and anxiously upon the words which Loki
  had spoken; and, the more she thought, the more she felt
  troubled. If her husband, the wise Bragi, had been at home,
  what would she not have given? He would have understood the
  mischief-maker's cunning. But he had gone on a long journey
  to the South, singing in Nature's choir, and painting
  Nature's landscapes, and she would not see him again until
  the return of spring. At length she opened the box, and
  looked at the fruit. The apples were certainly fair and
  round: she could not see a wrinkle or a blemish on any of
  them; their color was the same golden-red,--like the sky at
  dawn of a summer's day; yet she thought there must be
  something wrong about them. She took up one of the apples,
  and tasted it. She fancied that it really was sour, and she
  hastily put it back, and locked the box again.

  "He said that he had seen better apples than these growing
  in the woods," said she to herself. "I half believe that he
  told the truth, although everybody knows that he is not
  always trustworthy. I think I shall go to the forest and see
  for myself, at any rate."

  So she donned her cloak and hood, and, with a basket on her
  arm, left the house, and walked rapidly away, along the road
  which led to the forest. It was much farther than she had
  thought, and the sun was almost down when she reached the
  edge of the wood. But no apple-trees were there. Tall oaks
  stretched their bare arms up towards the sky, as if praying
  for help. There were thorn-trees and brambles everywhere;
  but there was no fruit, neither were there any flowers, nor
  even green leaves. The Frost-giants had been there.

  Idun was about to turn her footsteps homewards, when she
  heard a wild shriek in the tree-tops over her head; and,
  before she could look up, she felt herself seized in the
  eagle-talons of Old Winter. Struggle as she would, she could
  not free herself. High up, over wood and stream, the giant
  carried her; and then he flew swiftly away with her, towards
  his home in the chill North-land; and, when morning came,
  poor Idun found herself in an ice-walled castle in the
  cheerless country of the giants. But she was glad to know
  that the precious box was safely locked at home, and that
  the golden key was still at her girdle.

  Time passed; and I fear that Idun would have been forgotten
  by all, save her husband Bragi, had not the gods begun to
  feel the need of her apples. Day after day they came to
  Idun's house, hoping to find the good dame and her golden
  key at home; and each day they went away some hours older
  than when they had come. Bragi was beside himself with
  grief, and his golden harp was unstrung and forgotten. No
  one had seen the missing Idun since the day when Loki had
  visited her, and none could guess what had become of her.
  The heads of all the folk grew white with age; deep furrows
  were ploughed in their faces; their eyes grew dim, and their
  hearing failed; their hands trembled; their limbs became
  palsied; their feet tottered; and all feared that Old Age
  would bring Death in his train.

  Then Bragi and Thor questioned Loki very sharply; and when
  he felt that he, too, was growing odd and feeble, he
  regretted the mischief he had done, and told them how he had
  decoyed Idun into Old Winter's clutches. The gods were very
  angry; and Thor threatened to crush Loki with his hammer, if
  he did not at once bring Idun safe home again.

  So Loki borrowed the falcon-plumage of Freyja, the goddess
  of love, and with it flew to the country of the giants. When
  he reached Old Winter's castle, he found the good dame Idun
  shut up in the prison-tower, and bound with fetters of ice;
  but the giant himself was on the frozen sea, herding old
  Hymer's cows. And Loki quickly broke the bonds that held
  Idun, and led her out of her prison-house; and then he shut
  her up in a magic nut-shell which he held between his claws,
  and flew with the speed of the wind back towards the
  South-land and the home of the gods. But Old Winter coming
  home, and learning what had been done, donned his
  eagle-plumage and followed swiftly in pursuit.

  Bragi and Thor, anxiously gazing into the sky, saw Loki, in
  Freyja's falcon-plumage, speeding homewards, with the
  nut-shell in his talons, and Old Winter, in his
  eagle-plumage, dashing after in sharp pursuit. Quickly they
  gathered chips and slender twigs, and placed them high upon
  the castle-wall; and, when Loki with his precious burden had
  flown past, they touched fire to the dry heap, and the
  flames blazed up to the sky, and caught Old Winter's
  plumage, as, close behind the falcon, he blindly pressed.
  And his wings were scorched in the flames; and he fell
  helpless to the ground, and was slain within the
  castle-gates. Loki slackened his speed; and, when he reached
  Bragi's house, he dropped the nut-shell softly before the
  door. As it touched the ground, it gently opened, and Idun,
  radiant with smiles, and clothed in gay attire, stepped
  forth, and greeted her husband and the waiting gods. And the
  heavenly music of Bragi's long-silent harp welcomed her
  home; and she took the golden key from her girdle, and
  unlocked the box, and gave of her apples to the aged
  company; and, when they had tasted, their youth was
  renewed.[EN#22]

  It is thus with the seasons and their varied changes. The
  gifts of Spring are youth and jollity, and renewed strength;
  and the music of air and water and all things, living and
  lifeless, follow in her train. The desolating Winter plots
  to steal her from the earth, and the Summer-heat deserts and
  betrays her. Then the music of Nature is hushed, and all
  creatures pine in sorrow for her absence, and the world
  seems dying of white Old Age. But at length the Summer-heat
  repents, and frees her from her prison-house; and the icy
  fetters with which Old Winter bound her are melted in the
  beams of the returning sun, and the earth is young again.





                       Adventure XII
               The War with the North-kings.



  So swiftly and so pleasantly the days went by, that weeks
  lengthened into months, and the spring-time passed, and the
  summer came, and still Siegfried lingered in Burgundy with
  his kind friends. The time was spent in all manner of
  joyance,--in hunting the deer in the deep oak-woods, in
  riding over the daisied meadows or among the fields of corn,
  in manly games and sports, in music and dancing, in feasting
  and in pleasant talk. And of all the noble folk who had ever
  sat at Gunther's table, or hunted in the Burgundian woods,
  none were so worthy or so fair as the proud young lord of
  the Nibelungens.

  One day in early autumn a party of strange knights rode up
  to the castle, and asked to speak with the Burgundian kings.
  They were led straightway into the great hall; and Gunther
  and his brothers welcomed them, as was their wont, right
  heartily, and asked them from what country they had come,
  and what was their errand.

  "We come," they answered, "from the North country; and we
  bring word from our lords and kings, Leudiger and
  Leudigast."

  "And what would our kingly neighbors say to us?" asked
  Gunther.

  Then the strangers said that their lords had become very
  angry with the Burgundian kings, and that they meant, within
  twelve weeks from that day, to come with a great army, and
  lay the country waste, and besiege their city and castle.
  All this they had sworn to do unless the Burgundians would
  make peace with them upon such terms as Leudiger and
  Leudigast should please to grant.

  When Gunther and his brothers heard this, they were struck
  with dismay. But they ordered the messengers to be well
  cared for and handsomely entertained within the palace until
  the morrow, at which time they should have the Burgundians'
  answer. All the noblest knights and earl-folk were called
  together, and the matter was laid before them.

  "What answer shall we send to our rude neighbors of the
  North?" asked Gunther.

  Gernot and the young Giselher declared at once for war. Old
  Hagen and other knights, whose prudence was at least equal
  to their bravery, said but little. It was known, that, in
  the armies of the North-kings, there were at least forty
  thousand soldiers; but in Burgundy there were not more than
  thirty thousand fighting-men, all told. The North-kings'
  forces were already equipped, and ready to march; but the
  Burgundians could by no means raise and arm any considerable
  body of men in the short space of twelve weeks. It would be
  the part of wisdom to delay, and to see what terms could
  best be made with their enemies. Such were the prudent
  counsels of the older knights, but Gernot and the young
  chief Volker would not listen to such words.

  "The Burgundians are not cowards," said they. "We have never
  been foiled in battle; never have we been the vassals of a
  stranger. Why, then, shall we cringe and cower before such
  men as Leudiger and Leudigast?"

  Then Hagen answered, "Let us ask our friend and guest
  Siegfried. Let us learn what he thinks about this business.
  Everybody knows that he is as wise in council as he is brave
  in the field. We will abide by what he says."

  But Gunther and Gernot and the young Giselher were unwilling
  to do this; for it was not their custom to annoy their
  guests with questions which should be allowed to trouble
  themselves alone. And the kings and their counsellors went
  out of the council-chamber, each to ponder in silence upon
  the troublesome question.

  As Gunther, with downcast head and troubled brow, walked
  thoughtfully through the great hall, he unexpectedly met
  Siegfried.

  "What evil tidings have you heard?" asked the prince,
  surprised at the strange mien of the king. "What has gone
  amiss, that should cause such looks of dark perplexity?"

  "That is a matter which I can tell only to friends long
  tried and true," answered Gunther.

  Siegfried was surprised and hurt by these words; and he
  cried out,--

  "What more would Gunther ask of me that I might prove my
  friendship? Surely I have tried to merit his esteem and
  trust. Tell me what troubles you, and I will further show
  myself to be your friend both tried and true."

  Then Gunther was ashamed of the words he had spoken to his
  guest; and he took Siegfried into his own chamber, and told
  him all; and he asked him what answer they should send on
  the morrow to the overbearing North-kings.

  "Tell them we will fight," answered Siegfried. "I myself
  will lead your warriors to the fray. Never shall it be said
  that my friends have suffered wrong, and I not tried to help
  them."

  Then he and Gunther talked over the plans which they would
  follow. And the clouds fled at once from the brow of the
  king, and he was no longer troubled or doubtful; for he
  believed in Siegfried.

  The next morning the heralds of the North-kings were brought
  again before Gunther and his brothers; and they were told to
  carry this word to their masters,--

  "The Burgundians will fight. They will make no terms with
  their enemies, save such as they make of their own
  free-will."

  Then the heralds were loaded with costly presents, and a
  company of knights and warriors went with them to the
  border-line of Burgundy; and, filled with wonder at what
  they had seen, they hastened back to their liege lords, and
  told all that had happened to them. And Leudiger and
  Leudigast were very wroth when they heard the answer which
  the Burgundians had sent to them; but, when they learned
  that the noble Siegfried was at Gunther's castle, they shook
  their heads, and seemed to feel more doubtful of success.

  Many and busy were the preparations for war, and in a very
  few days all things were in readiness for the march
  northwards. It was settled that Siegfried with his twelve
  Nibelungen chiefs, and a thousand picked men, should go
  forth to battle against their boastful enemies. The
  dark-browed Hagen, as he had always done, rode at the head
  of the company, and by his side was Siegfried on the noble
  horse Greyfell. Next came Gernot and the bold chief Volker,
  bearing the standard, upon which a golden dragon was
  engraved; then followed Dankwart and Ortwin, and the twelve
  worthy comrades of Siegfried; and then the thousand
  warriors, the bravest in all Rhineland, mounted on impatient
  steeds, and clad in bright steel armor, with broad shields,
  and plumed helmets, and burnished swords, and sharp-pointed
  spears. And all rode proudly out through the great
  castle-gate. And Gunther and the young Giselher and all the
  fair ladies of the court bade them God-speed.

  The little army passed through the forest, and went
  northwards, until, on the fifth day, they reached the
  boundaries of Saxon Land. And Siegfried gave spur to his
  horse Greyfell, and, leaving the little army behind him,
  hastened forwards to see where the enemy was encamped. As he
  reached the top of a high hill, he saw the armies of the
  North-kings resting carelessly in the valley beyond.
  Knights, mounted on their horses, rode hither and thither:
  the soldiers sauntered lazily among the trees, or slept upon
  the grass; arms were thrown about in great disorder, or
  stacked in piles near the smoking camp-fires. No one dreamed
  of danger; but all supposed that the Burgundians were still
  at home, and would never dare to attack a foe so numerous
  and so strong.

  For it was, indeed, a mighty army which Siegfried saw before
  him. Full forty thousand men were there; and they not only
  filled the valley, but spread over the hills beyond, and far
  to the right and left.

  While he stood at the top of the hill, and gazed upon this
  sight, a warrior, who had spied him from below, rode up, and
  paused before him. Like two black thunder-clouds, with
  lightning flashing between, the two knights stood facing
  each other, and casting wrathful glances from beneath their
  visors. Then each spurred his horse, and charged with fury
  upon the other; and the heavy lances of both were broken in
  shivers upon the opposing shields. Then, quick as thought,
  they turned and drew their swords, and hand to hand they
  fought. But soon Siegfried, by an unlooked-for stroke, sent
  his enemy's sword flying from him, broken in a dozen pieces,
  and by a sudden movement he threw him from his horse. The
  heavy shield of the fallen knight was no hinderance to the
  quick strokes of Siegfried's sword; and his glittering
  armor, soiled by the mud into which he had been thrown, held
  him down. He threw up his hands, and begged for mercy.

  "I am Leudigast the king!" he cried. "Spare my life. I am
  your prisoner."

  Siegfried heard the prayer of the discomfited king; and,
  lifting him from the ground, he helped him to remount his
  charger. But, while he was doing this, thirty warriors, who
  had seen the combat from below, came dashing up the hill to
  the rescue of their liege-lord. Siegfried faced about with
  his horse Greyfell, and quietly waited for their onset. But,
  as they drew near, they were so awed by the noble bearing
  and grand proportions of the hero, and so astonished at
  sight of the sunbeam mane of Greyfell, and the cold glitter
  of the blade Balmung, that in sudden fright they stopped,
  then turned, and fled in dismay down the sloping hillside,
  nor paused until they were safe among their friends.

  In the mean while Leudiger, the other king, seeing what was
  going on at the top of the hill, had caused an alarm to be
  sounded; and all his hosts had hastily arranged themselves
  in battle-array. At the same time Hagen and Gernot, and
  their little army of heroes, hove in sight, and came quickly
  to Siegfried's help, and the dragon-banner was planted upon
  the crest of the hill. The captive king, Leudigast, was
  taken to the rear, and a guard was placed over him. The
  champions of the Rhine formed in line, and faced their foes.
  The great army of the North-kings moved boldly up the hill:
  and, when they saw how few were the Burgundians, they
  laughed and cheered most lustily; for they felt that the
  odds was in their favor--and forty to one is no small odds.

  Then Siegfried and his twelve comrades, and Hagen and the
  thousand Burgundian knights, dashed upon them with the fury
  of the whirlwind. The lances flew so thick in the air, that
  they hid the sun from sight; swords flashed on every side;
  the sound of clashing steel, and horses' hoofs, and
  soldiers' shouts, filled earth and sky with a horrid din.
  And soon the boastful foes of the Burgundians were
  everywhere worsted, and thrown into disorder. Siegfried
  dashed hither and thither, from one part of the field to
  another, in search of King Leudiger. Thrice he cut his way
  through the ranks, and at last he met face to face the one
  for whom he sought.

  King Leudiger saw the flashing sunbeams that glanced from
  Greyfell's mane, he saw the painted crown upon the hero's
  broad shield, and then he felt the fearful stroke of the
  sword Balmung, as it clashed against his own, and cut it
  clean in halves. He dropped his weapons, raised his visor,
  and gave himself up as a prisoner.

  "Give up the fight, my brave fellows," he cried. "This is
  Siegfried the brave, the Prince of the Lowlands, and the
  Lord of Nibelungen Land. It were foolishness to fight
  against him. Save yourselves as best you can."

  This was the signal for a frightful panic. All turned and
  fled. Each thought of nothing but his own safety; and
  knights and warriors, horsemen and foot-soldiers, in one
  confused mass, throwing shields and weapons here and there,
  rushed wildly down the hill, and through the valley and
  ravines, and sought, as best they could, their way homeward.
  The Burgundian heroes were the masters of the field, and on
  the morrow they turned their faces joyfully towards
  Rhineland. And all joined in saying that to Siegfried was
  due the praise for this wonderful victory which they had
  gained.

  Heralds had been sent on the fleetest horses to carry the
  glad news to Burgundy; and when, one morning, they dashed
  into the court-yard of the castle, great was the anxiety to
  know what tidings they brought. And King Gunther, and the
  young Giselher, and the peerless Kriemhild, came out to
  welcome them, and eagerly to inquire what had befallen the
  heroes. With breathless haste the heralds told the story of
  all that had happened.

  "And how fares our brother Gernot?" asked Kriemhild.

  "There is no happier man on earth," answered the herald. "In
  truth, there was not a coward among them all; but the
  bravest of the brave was Siegfried. He it was who took the
  two kings prisoners; and everywhere in the thickest of the
  fight there was Siegfried. And now our little army is on its
  homeward march, with a thousand prisoners, and large numbers
  of the enemy's wounded. Had it not been for the brave
  Siegfried, no such victory could have been won."

  In a few days the Rhine champions reached their home. And
  gayly were the castle and all the houses in the city decked
  in honor of them. And all those who had been left behind
  went out to meet them as they came down from the
  forest-road, and drew near to the castle. And the young
  girls strewed flowers in their path, and hung garlands upon
  their horses; and music and song followed the heroes into
  the city, and through the castle-gate.

  When they reached the palace, the two prisoner kings,
  Leudiger and Leudigast, were loosed from their bonds, and
  handsomely entertained at Gunther's table. And the
  Burgundian kings assured them that they should be treated as
  honored guests, and have the freedom of the court and
  castle, if they would pledge themselves not to try to escape
  from Burgundy until terms of peace should be agreed upon.
  This pledge they gladly gave, and rich apartments in the
  palace were assigned for their use. Like favors were shown
  to all the prisoners, according to their rank; and the
  wounded were kindly cared for. And the Burgundians made
  ready for a gay high-tide,--a glad festival of rejoicing, to
  be held at the next full moon.

  When the day drew near which had been set for this
  high-tide, the folk from all parts of Rhineland began to
  flock towards the city. They came in companies, with music
  and laughter, and the glad songs of the spring-time. And all
  the knights were mounted on gallant horses caparisoned with
  gold-red saddles, from which hung numbers of tinkling silver
  bells. As they rode up the sands towards the castle-gate,
  with their dazzling shields upon their saddle-bows, and
  their gay and many-colored banners floating in the air, King
  Gernot and the young Giselher, with the noblest knights of
  the fortress, went courteously out to meet them; and the
  friendly greetings which were offered by the two young kings
  won the hearts of all. Thirty and two princes and more than
  five thousand warriors came as bidden guests. The city and
  castle were decked in holiday attire, and all the people in
  the land gave themselves up to enjoyment. The sick and the
  wounded, who until now had thought themselves at death's
  door, forgot their ailments and their pains as they heard
  the shouts of joy and the peals of music in the streets.

  In a green field outside of the city walls, arrangements had
  been made for the games, and galleries and high stages had
  been built for the lookers-on. Here jousts and tournaments
  were held, and the knights and warriors engaged in trials of
  strength and skill. When King Gunther saw with what keen
  enjoyment both his own people and his guests looked upon
  these games, and took part in the gay festivities, he asked
  of those around him,--

  "What more can we do to heighten the pleasures of the day?"

  And one of his counsellors answered,--

  "My lord, the ladies of the court, and the little children,
  pine in silence in the sunless rooms of the palace, while we
  enjoy the free air and light of heaven, the music, and the
  gay scenes before us. There is nothing wanting to make this
  day's joy complete, save the presence of our dear ones to
  share these pleasures with us."

  Gunther was delighted to hear these words; and he sent a
  herald to the palace, and invited all the ladies of the
  court and all the children to come out and view the games,
  and join in the general gladness.

  When Dame Ute heard the message which the herald brought
  from her kingly son, she hastened to make ready rich dresses
  and costly jewels wherewith to adorn the dames and damsels
  of the court. And, when all were in readiness, the peerless
  Kriemhild, with her mother at her side, went forth from the
  castle; and a hundred knights, all sword in hand, went with
  her as a body-guard, and a great number of noble ladies
  dressed in rich attire followed her. As the red dawn peers
  forth from behind gray clouds, and drives the mists and
  shadows away from earth, so came the lovely one. As the
  bright full moon in radiant splendor moves in queen-like
  beauty before her train of attendant stars, and outshines
  them all, so was Kriemhild the most glorious among all the
  noble ladies there. And the thousand knights and warriors
  paused in their games, and greeted the peerless princess as
  was due to one so noble and fair. Upon the highest platform,
  under a rich canopy of cloth-of-gold, seats were made ready
  for the maiden and her mother and the fair ladies in their
  train; and all the most worthy princes in Rhineland sat
  around, and the games were begun again.

  For twelve days the gay high-tide lasted, and nought was
  left undone whereby the joy might be increased. And of all
  the heroes and princes who jousted in the tournament, or
  took part in the games, none could equal the unassuming
  Siegfried; and his praises were heard on every hand, and all
  agreed that he was the most worthy prince that they had ever
  seen.

  When at last the festal days came to an end, Gunther and his
  brothers called their guests and vassals around them, and
  loaded them with costly gifts, and bade them God-speed. And
  tears stood in the eyes of all at parting.

  The captive kings, Leudiger and Leudigast, were not
  forgotten.

  "What will ye give me for your freedom?" asked King Gunther,
  half in jest.

  They answered,--

  "If you will allow us without further hinderance to go back
  to our people, we pledge our lives and our honor that we
  will straightway send you gold, as much as half a thousand
  horses can carry."

  Then Gunther turned to Siegfried, and said,--

  "What think you, friend Siegfried, of such princely ransom?"

  "Noble lord," said Siegfried, "I think you are in need of no
  such ransom. Friendship is worth much more than gold. If
  your kingly captives will promise, on their honor, never
  more to come towards Burgundy as enemies, let them go. We
  have no need of gold."

  "'Tis well said," cried Gunther highly pleased.

  And Leudiger and Leudigast, with tears of thankfulness,
  gladly made the asked-for promise, and on the morrow, with
  light hearts and costly gifts, they set out on their journey
  homewards.

  When all the guests had gone, and the daily routine of idle
  palace-life set in again, Siegfried began to talk of going
  back to Nibelungen Land. But young Giselher, and the
  peerless Kriemhild, and King Gunther, besought him to stay
  yet a little longer. And he yielded to their kind wishes.
  And autumn passed away with its fruits and its vintage, and
  grim old winter came howling down from the north, and
  Siegfried was still in Burgundy. And then old Hoder, the
  king of the winter months, came blustering through the Rhine
  valley; and with him were the Reifriesen,--the thieves that
  steal the daylight from the earth and the warmth from the
  sun. And they nipped the flowers, and withered the grass,
  and stripped the trees, and sealed up the rivers, and
  covered the earth with a white mantle of sorrow.

  But within King Gunther's wide halls there was joy and good
  cheer. And the season of the Yule-feast came, and still
  Siegfried tarried in Burgundy-land.





                       Adventure XIII
                    The Story of Balder.



  There was mirth in King Gunther's dwelling, for the time of
  the Yule-feast had come. The broad banquet hall was gayly
  decked with cedar and spruce and sprigs of the mistletoe;
  and the fires roared in the great chimneys, throwing warmth
  and a ruddy glow of light into every corner of the room. The
  long table fairly groaned under its weight of good cheer. At
  its head sat the kings and the earl-folk; and before them,
  on a silver platter of rare workmanship, was the head of a
  huge wild boar,--the festal offering to the good Frey, in
  honor of whom the Yule-feast was held. For now the sun,
  which had been driven by the Frost-giants far away towards
  the South-land, had begun to return, and Frey was on his way
  once more to scatter peace and plenty over the land.

  The harp and the wassail-bowl went round; and each one of
  the company sang a song, or told a story, or in some way did
  his part to add to the evening's enjoyment. And a young
  sea-king who sat at Siegfried's side told most bewitching
  tales of other lands which lie beyond Old AEgir's kingdom.
  Then, when the harp came to him, he sang the wondrous song
  of the shaping of the earth. And all who heard were charmed
  with the sweet sound and with the pleasant words. He sang of
  the sunlight and the south winds and the summer-time, of the
  storms and the snow and the sombre shadows of the
  North-land. And he sang of the dead Ymir, the giant whose
  flesh had made the solid earth, and whose blood the sea, and
  whose bones the mountains, whose teeth the cliffs and crags,
  and whose skull the heavens. And he sang of Odin, the
  earth's preserver, the Giver of life, the Father of all; and
  of the Asa-folk who dwell in Asgard; and of the ghostly
  heroes in Valhal. Then he sang of the heaven-tower of the
  thunder-god, and of the shimmering Asa-bridge, or rainbow,
  all afire; and, lastly, of the four dwarfs who hold the blue
  sky-dome above them, and of the elves of the mountains, and
  of the wood-sprites and the fairies. Then he laid aside his
  harp, and told the old but ever-beautiful story of the death
  of Balder the Good.



  The Story.



  Balder, as you know, was Odin's son; and he was the
  brightest and best of all the Asa-folk. Wherever he went,
  there were gladness and light-hearted mirth, and blooming
  flowers, and singing birds, and murmuring waterfalls.
  Balder, too, was a hero, but not one of the blustering kind,
  like Thor. He slew no giants; he never went into battle; he
  never tried to make for himself a name among the dwellers of
  the mid-world; and yet he was a hero of the noblest type. He
  dared to do right, and to stand up for the good, the true,
  and the beautiful. There are still some such heroes, but the
  world does not always hear of them.

  Hoder, the blind king of the winter months, was Balder's
  brother, and as unlike him as darkness is unlike daylight.
  While one rejoiced, and was merry and cheerful, the other
  was low-spirited and sad. While one scattered sunshine and
  blessings everywhere, the other carried with him a sense of
  cheerlessness and gloom. Yet the brothers loved each other
  dearly.

  One night Balder dreamed a strange dream, and when he awoke
  he could not forget it. All day long he was thoughtful and
  sad, and he was not his own bright, happy self. His mother,
  the Asa-queen, saw that something troubled him; and she
  asked,--

  "Whence comes that cloud upon your brow? Will you suffer it
  to chase away all your sunshine? and will you become, like
  your brother Hoder, all frowns and sighs and tears?"

  Then Balder told her what he had dreamed; and she, too, was
  sorely troubled, for it was a frightful dream, and foreboded
  dire disasters. Then both she and Balder went to Odin, and
  to him they told the cause of their uneasiness. And the
  All-Father also was distressed; for he knew that such
  dreams, dreamed by Asa-folk, were the forewarnings of evil.
  So he saddled his eight-footed steed Sleipner; and, without
  telling any one where he was going, he rode with the speed
  of the winds down into the Valley of Death. The dog that
  guards the gateway to that dark and doleful land came out to
  meet him. Blood was on the fierce beast's breast, and he
  barked loudly and angrily at the All-Father and his wondrous
  horse. But Odin sang sweet magic songs as he drew near; and
  the dog was charmed with the sound, and Sleipner and his
  rider went onward in safety. And they passed the dark halls
  of the pale-faced queen, and came to the east gate of the
  valley. There stood the low hut of a witch who lived in
  darkness, and, like the Norns, spun the thread of fate for
  gods and men.

  Odin stood before the hut, and sang a wondrous song of
  witchery and enchantment; and he laid a spell upon the weird
  woman, and forced her to come out of her dark dwelling, and
  to answer his questions.

  "Who is this stranger?" asked the witch. "Who is this
  unknown who calls me from my narrow home, and sets an
  irksome task for me? Long have I been left alone in my quiet
  house; nor recked I that the snow sometimes covered with its
  cold white mantle both me and my resting-place, or that the
  pattering rain and the gently falling dew often moistened
  the roof of my dwelling. Long have I rested quietly, and I
  do not wish now to be aroused."

  "I am Valtam's son," said Odin; "and I come to learn of
  thee. Tell me, I pray, for whom are the soft couches
  prepared that I saw in the broad halls of Death? For whom
  are the jewels, and the rings, and the rich clothing, and
  the shining shield?"

  "All are for Balder, Odin's son," she answered. "And the
  mead which has been brewed for him is hidden beneath the
  shining shield."

  Then Odin asked who would be the slayer of Balder, and she
  answered that Hoder was the one who would send the shining
  Asa to the halls of Death.

  "Who will avenge Balder, and bring distress upon his
  slayer?" asked Odin.

  "A son of Earth but one day old shall be Balder's avenger.
  Go thou now home, Odin; for I know thou art not Valtam's
  son. Go home; and none shall again awaken me, nor disturb me
  at my task, until the new day shall dawn, and Balder shall
  rule over the young world in its purity, and there shall be
  no more Death."

  Then Odin rode sorrowfully homeward; but he told no one of
  his journey to the Dark Valley, nor of what the weird witch
  had said to him.

  Balder's mother, the Asa-queen, could not rest because of
  the ill-omened dream that her son had had; and in her
  distress she called all the Asa-folk together to consider
  what should be done. But they were speechless with sorrow
  and alarm; and none could offer advice, nor set her mind at
  ease. Then she sought out every living creature, and every
  lifeless thing, upon the earth, and asked each one to swear
  that it would not on any account hurt Balder, nor touch him
  to do him harm. And this oath was willingly made by fire and
  water, earth and air, by all beasts and creeping things and
  birds and fishes, by the rocks and by the trees and all
  metals; for every thing loved Balder the Good.

  Then the Asa-folk thought that great honor was shown to
  Balder each time any thing refused to hurt him; and to show
  their love for him, as well as to amuse themselves, they
  often hewed at him with their battle-axes, or struck at him
  with their sharp swords, or hurled toward him their heavy
  lances. For every weapon turned aside from its course, and
  would neither mark nor bruise the shining target at which it
  was aimed; and Balder's princely beauty shone as bright and
  as pure as ever.

  When Loki the Mischief-maker saw how all things loved and
  honored Balder, his heart was filled with jealous hate, and
  he sought all over the earth for some beast or bird or tree
  or lifeless thing, that had not taken the oath. But he could
  find not one. Then, disguised as a fair maiden, he went to
  Fensal Hall, where dwelt Balder's mother. The fair Asa-queen
  was busy at her distaff, with her golden spindles, spinning
  flax to be woven into fine linen for the gods. And her
  maid-servant, Fulla of the flowing hair, sat on a stool
  beside her. When the queen saw Loki, she asked,--

  "Whence come you, fair stranger? and what favor would you
  ask of Odin's wife?"

  "I come," answered the disguised Loki, "from the plains of
  Ida, where the gods meet for pleasant pastime, as well as to
  talk of the weightier matters of their kingdom."

  "And how do they while away their time to-day?" asked the
  queen.

  "They have a pleasant game which they call Balder's Honor,"
  was the answer. "The shining hero stands before them as a
  target, and each one tries his skill at hurling some weapon
  toward him. First Odin throws at him the spear Gungner,
  which never before was known to miss its mark; but it passes
  harmlessly over Balder's head. Then Thor takes up a huge
  rock, and hurls it full at Balder's breast; but it turns in
  its course, and will not smite the sun-bright target. Then
  Tyr seizes a battle-axe, and strikes at Balder as though he
  would hew him down; but the keen edge refuses to touch him:
  and in this way the Asa-folk show honor to the best of their
  number."

  The Asa-queen smiled in the glad pride of her mother-heart,
  and said, "Yes, every thing shows honor to the best of
  Odin's sons; for neither metal nor wood nor stone nor fire
  nor water will touch Balder to do him harm."

  "Is it true, then," asked Loki, "that every thing has made
  an oath to you, and promised not to hurt your son?"

  And the queen, not thinking what harm an unguarded word
  might do, answered, "Every thing has promised, save a little
  feeble sprig that men call the mistletoe. So small and weak
  it is, that I knew it could never harm any one; and so I
  passed it by, and did not ask it to take the oath."

  Then Loki went out of Fensal Hall, and left the Asa-queen at
  her spinning. And he walked briskly away, and paused not
  until he came to the eastern side of Valhal, where, on the
  branches of an old oak, the mistletoe grew. Rudely he tore
  the plant from its supporting branch, and hid it under his
  cloak. Then he walked leisurely back to the place where the
  Asa-folk were wont to meet in council.

  The next day the Asas went out, as usual, to engage in
  pleasant pastimes on the plains of Ida. When they had tired
  of leaping and foot-racing and tilting, they placed Balder
  before them as a target again; and, as each threw his weapon
  toward the shining mark, they laughed to see the missile
  turn aside from its course, and refuse to strike the honored
  one. But blind Hoder stood sorrowfully away from the others,
  and did not join in any of their sports. Loki, seeing this,
  went to him and said,--

  "Brother of the gloomy brow, why do you not take part with
  us in our games?"

  "I am blind," answered Hoder. "I can neither leap, nor run,
  nor throw the lance."

  "But you can shoot arrows from your bow," said Loki.

  "Alas!" said Hoder, "that I can do only as some one shall
  direct my aim, for I can see no target."

  "Do you hear that laughter?" asked Loki. "Thor has hurled
  the straight trunk of a pine-tree at your brother; and,
  rather than touch such a glorious mark; it has turned aside,
  and been shivered to pieces upon the rocks over there. It is
  thus that the Asa-folk, and all things living and lifeless,
  honor Balder. Hoder is the only one who hangs his head, and
  fears to do his part. Come, now, let me fit this little
  arrow in your bow, and then, as I point it, do you shoot.
  When you hear the gods laugh, you will know that your arrow
  has shown honor to the hero by refusing to hit him."

  And Hoder, thinking no harm, did as Loki wished. And the
  deadly arrow sped from the bow, and pierced the heart of
  shining Balder, and he sank lifeless upon the ground. Then
  the Asa-folk who saw it were struck speechless with sorrow
  and dismay; and, had it not been that the Ida plains where
  they then stood were sacred to peace, they would have seized
  upon Loki, and put him to death.

  Forthwith the world was draped in mourning for Balder the
  Good; the birds stopped singing, and flew with drooping
  wings to the far South-land; the beasts sought to hide
  themselves in their lairs and in the holes of the ground;
  the trees shivered and sighed until their leaves fell
  withered to the earth; the flowers closed their eyes, and
  died; the rivers stopped flowing, and dark and threatening
  billows veiled the sea; even the sun shrouded his face, and
  withdrew silently towards the south.

  When Balder's good mother heard the sad news, she left her
  golden spindle in Fensal Hall, and with her maidens hastened
  to the Ida-plains, where the body of her son still lay.
  Nanna, the faithful wife of Balder, was already there; and
  wild was her grief at sight of the lifeless loved one. And
  all the Asa-folk--save guilty Loki, who had fled for his
  life--stood about them in dumb amazement. But Odin was the
  most sorrowful of all; for he knew, that, with Balder, the
  world had lost its most gladsome life.

  They lifted the body, and carried it down to the sea, where
  the great ship "Ringhorn," which Balder himself had built,
  lay ready to be launched. And a great company followed, and
  stood upon the beach, and bewailed the untimely death of the
  hero. First came Odin, with his grief-stricken queen, and
  then his troop of handmaidens, the Valkyrien, followed by
  his ravens Hugin and Munin. Then came Thor in his goat-drawn
  car, and Heimdal on his horse Goldtop; then Frey, in his
  wagon, behind the boar Gullinbruste of the golden bristles.
  Then Freyja, in her chariot drawn by cats, came weeping
  tears of gold. Lastly, poor blind Hoder, overcome with
  grief, was carried thither on the back of one of the
  Frost-giants. And Old AEgir, the Ocean king, raised his
  dripping head above the water, and gazed with dewy eyes upon
  the scene; and the waves, as if affrighted, left off their
  playing, and were still.

  High on the deck they built the funeral-pile; and they
  placed the body upon it, and covered it with costly
  garments, and with woods of the finest scent; and the noble
  horse which had been Balder's they slew, and placed beside
  him, that he might not have to walk to the halls of Death.
  And Odin took from his finger the ring Draupner, the earth's
  enricher, and laid it on the pile. Then Nanna, the faithful
  wife, was overcome with grief, and her gentle heart was
  broken, and she fell lifeless at the feet of the Asa-queen.
  And they carried her upon the ship, and laid her by her
  husband's side.

  When all things were in readiness to set fire to the pile,
  the gods tried to launch the ship; but it was so heavy that
  they could not move it. So they sent in haste to Jotunheim
  for the stout giantess Hyrroken; and she came with the speed
  of the whirlwind, and riding on a wolf, which she guided
  with a bridle of writhing snakes.

  "What will you have me do?" she asked.

  "We would have you launch the great ship 'Ring horn,'"
  answered Odin.

  "That I will do!" roared the grim giantess. And, giving the
  vessel a single push, she sent it sliding with speed into
  the deep waters of the bay. Then she gave the word to her
  grisly steed, and she flew onwards and away, no one knew
  whither.

  The "Ringhorn" floated nobly upon the water,--a worthy bier
  for the body which it bore. The fire was set to the
  funeral-pile, and the red flames shot upwards to the sky;
  but their light was but a flickering beam when matched with
  the sun-bright beauty of Balder, whose body they consumed.

  Then the sorrowing folk turned away, and went back to their
  homes: a cheerless gloom rested heavily where light gladness
  had ruled before. And, when they reached the high halls of
  Asgard, the Asa-queen spoke, and said,--

  "Who now, for the love of Balder and his stricken mother,
  will undertake an errand? Who will go down into the Valley
  of Death, and seek for Balder, and ransom him, and bring him
  back to Asgard and the mid-world?"

  Then Hermod the Nimble, the brother of Balder, answered, "I
  will go. I will find him, and, with Hela's leave, will bring
  him back."

  And he mounted Sleipner, the eight-footed steed, and
  galloped swiftly away. Nine days and nine nights he rode
  through strange valleys and mountain gorges, where the sun's
  light had never been, and through gloomy darkness and
  fearful silence, until he came to the black river, and the
  glittering, golden bridge which crosses it. Over the bridge
  his strong horse carried him; although it shook and swayed
  and threatened to throw him into the raging, inky flood
  below. On the other side a maiden keeps the gate, and Hermod
  stopped to pay the toll.

  "What is thy name?" she asked.

  "My name is Hermod, and I am called the Nimble," he
  answered.

  "What is thy father's name?"

  "His name is Odin. Mayhap you have heard of him."

  "Why ridest thou with such thunderous speed? Five kingdoms
  of dead men passed over this bridge yesterday, and it shook
  not with their weight as it did with thee and thy strange
  steed. Thou art not of the pale multitude that are wont to
  pass this gate. What is thy errand? and why ridest thou to
  the domains of the dead?"

  "I go to find my brother Balder," answered Hermod. "It is
  but a short time since he unwillingly came down into these
  shades."

  "Three days ago," said the maiden, "Balder passed this way,
  and by his side rode the faithful Nanna. So bright was his
  presence, even here, that the whole valley was lighted up as
  it had never before been lighted. The black river glittered
  like a gem; the frowning mountains smiled for once; and Hela
  herself, the queen of these regions, slunk far away into her
  most distant halls. But Balder went on his way, and even now
  he sups with Nanna in the dark castle over yonder."

  Then Hermod rode forward till he came to the castle walls.
  These were built of black marble; and the iron gate was
  barred and bolted, and none who went in had ever yet come
  out. Hermod called loudly to the porter to open the gate and
  let him in; but no one seemed to hear nor heed him, for the
  words of the living are unknown in that place. Then he drew
  the saddle-girths more tightly around the horse Sleipner,
  and urged him forward. High up, the great horse leaped; and
  he sprang clear over the gates, and landed at the open door
  of the great hall. Leaving his steed, Hermod went boldly in;
  and there he found his brother Balder and the faithful Nanna
  seated at the festal board, and honored as the most worthy
  of all the guests. With Balder, Hermod staid until the night
  had passed; and many were the pleasant words they spoke.
  When morning came, Hermod went into the presence of Hela,
  and said,--

  "O mighty queen! I come to ask a boon of thee. Balder the
  Good, whom both gods and men loved, has been sent to dwell
  with thee here in thy darksome house; and all the world
  weeps for him, and has donned the garb of mourning, and
  cannot be consoled until his bright light shall shine upon
  them again. And the gods have sent me, his brother, to ask
  thee to let Balder ride back with me to Asgard, to his
  noble, sorrowing mother, the Asa-queen; for then will hope
  live again in the hearts of men, and happiness will return
  to the earth."

  The Death-queen was silent for a moment; and then she said
  in a sad voice, "Hardly can I believe that any being is so
  greatly loved by things living and lifeless; for surely
  Balder is not more the friend of earth than I am, and yet
  men love me not. But go thou back to Asgard; and, if every
  thing shall weep for Balder, then I will send him to you.
  But, if any thing shall refuse to weep, then I will keep him
  in my halls."

  So Hermod made ready to return home; and Balder gave him the
  ring Draupner to carry to his father as a keepsake; and
  Nanna sent to the queen-mother a rich carpet of purest
  green. Then the nimble messenger mounted his horse, and rode
  swiftly back over the dark river, and through the frowning
  valleys, until he at last reached Odin's halls.

  When the Asa-folk learned upon what terms they might have
  Balder again with them, they sent heralds all over the world
  to beseech every thing to mourn for him. And men and beasts,
  and creeping things, and birds and fishes, and trees and
  stones, and air and water,--all things, living and lifeless,
  joined in weeping for the lost Balder.

  But, as the heralds were on their way back to Asgard, they
  met a giantess named Thok, and they asked her to join in the
  universal grief. And she answered, "What good thing did
  Balder ever do for Thok? What gladness did he ever bring
  her? If she should weep for him, it would be with dry tears.
  Let Hela keep him in her halls."[EN#23]

  "And yet the day shall come," added the story-teller, "when
  the words of the weird woman to Odin shall prove true; and
  Balder shall come again to rule over a newborn world in
  which there shall be no wrong-doing and no more death."





                       Adventure XIV
              How Gunther Outwitted Brunhild.



  While still the festivities were at their height, an old man
  of noble mien, and with snow-white beard and hair, came into
  the great hall, and sang for the gay company. And some
  whispered that this must be Bragi, for surely such rare
  music could not be made by any other. But he sang not of
  spring, as Bragi does, nor yet of youth nor of beauty, nor
  like one whose home is with the song-birds, and who lives
  beside the babbling brooks and the leaping waterfalls. His
  song was a sorrowful one,--of dying flowers, and falling
  leaves, and the wailing winds of autumn, of forgotten joys,
  of blasted hopes, of a crushed ambition, of gray hairs, of
  uttering footsteps, of old age, of a lonely grave. And, as
  he sang, all were moved to tears by the mournful melody and
  the sad, sad words.

  "Good friend," said Siegfried, "thy music agrees not well
  with this time and place; for, where nothing but mirth and
  joy are welcome, thou hast brought sorrowful thoughts and
  gloomy forebodings. Come, now, and undo the harm thou hast
  done, by singing a song which shall tell only of mirth and
  gladness."

  The old man shook his head, and answered, "Were I Bragi; as
  some think I am, or were I even a strolling harper, I might
  do as you ask. But I am neither, and I know no gladsome
  songs. Men have called me a messenger of ill omen; and such,
  indeed, I have sometimes been, although through no wish of
  my own. I come as a herald from a far-off land, and I bear a
  message to all the kings and the noblest chiefs of
  Rhineland. If King Gunther will allow me, I will now make
  that message known."

  "Let the herald speak on," said Gunther graciously.

  "Far over the sea," said the herald, "there lies a dreamy
  land called Isenland; and in that land there is a glorious
  castle, with six and eighty towers, built of purest marble,
  green as grass. In that castle there lives the fairest of
  all Earth's daughters, Brunhild, the maiden of the
  spring-time. In the early days she was one of Odin's
  Valkyrien; and with other heavenly maidens it was her duty
  to follow, unseen, in the wake of armies, and when they met
  in battle to hover over the field, and with kisses to waken
  the dead heroes, and lead their souls away to Odin's glad
  banquet-hall. But upon a day she failed to do the
  All-Father's bidding, and he, in anger, sent her to live
  among men, and like them to be short-lived, and subject to
  old age and death. But the childless old king of Isenland
  took pity upon the friendless maiden, and called her his
  daughter, and made her his heir. Then Odin, still more
  angered, sent the thorn of sleep to wound the princess. And
  sleep seized upon every creature in Isenland, and silence
  reigned in the halls of the marble palace. For Odin said,
  'Thus shall they all sleep until the hero comes, who will
  ride through fire, and awaken Brunhild with a kiss.'

  "At last the hero so long waited for came. He passed the
  fiery barrier safe, and awoke the slumbering maiden; and all
  the castle sprang suddenly into life again. And Brunhild
  became known once more as the most glorious princess in this
  mid-world. But the sun-bright hero who freed her from her
  prison of sleep vanished from Isenland, and no one knew
  where he went; but men say that he rides through the noble
  world, the fairest and the best of kings. And Brunhild has
  sought for him in many lands; and, although all folk have
  heard of his deeds, none know where he dwells. And so, as a
  last resort, she has sent heralds into every land to
  challenge every king to match his skill with hers in three
  games of strength,--in casting the spear, in hurling the
  heavy stone, and in leaping. The one who can equal her in
  these feats shall be king of Isenland, and share with her
  the throne of Isenstein. And by this means she hopes to find
  the long-absent hero; for she believes that there is no
  other prince on earth whose strength and skill are equal to
  her own. Many men have already risked their lives in this
  adventure, and all have failed.

  "And now, King Gunther," continued the herald, "I have come
  by her orders into Rhineland, and I deliver the challenge to
  you. If you accept, and are beaten, your life is forfeited.
  If you succeed, the fairest kingdom and the most beautiful
  queen in the world are yours; for you will have proved that
  you are at least the equal of the hero whom she seeks. What
  reply shall I carry back to Isenland?"

  King Gunther answered hastily, and as one dazed and in a
  dream, "Say that I accept the challenge, and that when the
  spring-time comes again, and the waters in the river are
  unlocked, I shall go to Isenland, and match my skill and
  strength with that of the fair and mighty Brunhild."

  All who stood around were greatly astonished at Gunther's
  reply; for, although his mind was somewhat weak, he was not
  given to rash and hazardous undertakings. And Siegfried, who
  was at his side, whispered, "Think twice, friend Gunther,
  ere you decide. You do not know the strength of this mighty
  but lovely warrior-maiden. Were your strength four times
  what it is, you could not hope to excel her in those feats.
  Give up this hasty plan, I pray you, and recall your answer
  to the challenge. Think no more of such an undertaking, for
  it surely will cost you your life."

  But these warnings, and the words of others who tried to
  dissuade him, only made Gunther the more determined; and he
  vowed that nothing should hinder him from undertaking the
  adventure. Then the dark-browed Hagen said,--

  "Our friend Siegfried seems to know much about Isenland and
  its maiden-queen. And indeed, if there is any truth in
  hearsay, he has had the best of means for learning. Now, if
  our good King Gunther has set his mind on going upon this
  dangerous enterprise, mayhap Siegfried would be willing to
  bear him company."

  Gunther was pleased with Hagen's words; and he said to
  Siegfried, "My best of friends, go with me to Isenland, and
  help me. If we do well in our undertaking, ask of me any
  reward you wish, and I will give it you, so far as in my
  power lies."

  "You know, kind Gunther," answered Siegfried, "that for
  myself I have no fear; and yet again I would warn you to
  shun the unknown dangers with which this enterprise is
  fraught. But if, after all, your heart is set upon it, make
  ready to start as soon as the warm winds shall have melted
  the ice from the river. I will go with you."

  The king grasped Siegfried's hand, and thanked him heartily.

  "We must build a fleet," said he. "A thousand fighting-men
  shall go with us, and we will land in Isenland with a
  retinue such as no other prince has had. A number of stanch
  vessels shall be built at once, and in the early spring they
  shall be launched upon the Rhine."

  Siegfried was amused at Gunther's earnestness, and he
  answered, "Do not think of taking such a following. You
  would waste twelve months in building and victualling such a
  fleet. You would take from Burgundy its only safeguard
  against foes from without; and, after you should reach
  Isenland, you would find such a large force to be altogether
  useless. Take my advice: have one small vessel built and
  rigged and victualled for the long and dangerous voyage;
  and, when the time shall come, you and I, and your kinsmen
  Hagen and Dankwart,--we four only,--will undertake the
  voyage and the emprise you have decided upon."

  Gunther knew that his friend's judgment in this matter was
  better than his own, and he agreed readily to all of
  Siegfried's plans.

                     *    *    *    *    *

  When, at length, the winter months began to wane, many hands
  were busy making ready for the voyage. The peerless
  Kriemhild called together thirty of her maidens, the most
  skilful seamstresses in Burgundyland, and began the making
  of rich clothing for her brother and his friends.[EN#24]
  With her own fair hands she cut out garments from the rarest
  stuffs,--from the silky skins brought from the sunny lands
  of Lybia; from the rich cloth of Zazemang, green as clover;
  from the silk that traders bring from Araby, white as the
  drifted snow. For seven weeks the clever maidens and their
  gentle mistress plied their busy needles, and twelve suits
  of wondrous beauty they made for each of the four heroes.
  And the princely garments were covered with fine
  needle-work, and with curious devices all studded with rare
  and costly jewels; and all were wrought with threads of
  gold.

  Many carpenters and ship-builders were busy with axes and
  hammers, and flaming forges, working day and night to make
  ready a vessel new and stanch, to carry the adventurers over
  the sea. And great stores of food, and of all things needful
  to their safety or comfort, were brought together and put on
  board.

  Neither were the heroes themselves idle; for when not busy
  in giving directions to the workmen, or in overseeing the
  preparations that were elsewhere going on, they spent the
  time in polishing their armor (now long unused), in looking
  after their weapons, or in providing for the management of
  their business while away. And Siegfried forgot not his
  trusty sword Balmung, nor his cloak of darkness the
  priceless Tarnkappe, which he had captured from the dwarf
  Alberich in the Nibelungen Land.

  Then the twelve suits of garments which fair fingers had
  wrought were brought. And when the men tried them on, so
  faultless was the fit, so rare and perfect was every piece
  in richness and beauty, that even the wearers were amazed,
  and all declared that such dazzling and kingly raiment had
  never before been seen.

  At last the spring months had fairly vanquished all the
  forces of the cold North-land. The warm breezes had melted
  the snow and ice, and unlocked the river; and the time had
  come for Gunther and his comrades to embark. The little
  ship, well victualled, and made stanch and stout in every
  part, had been launched upon the Rhine; and she waited with
  flying streamers and impatient sails the coming of her crew.
  Down the sands at length they came, riding upon their
  steeds; and behind them followed a train of vassals bearing
  their kingly garments and their gold-red shields. And on the
  banks stood many of the noblest folk of Burgundy,--Gernot
  and the young Giselher, and Ute the queen-mother, and
  Kriemhild the peerless, and a number of earl-folk, and
  warriors, and fair dames, and blushing damsels. And the
  heroes bade farewell to their weeping friends, and went upon
  the waiting vessel, taking their steeds with them. And
  Siegfried seized an oar, and pushed the bark off from the
  shore.

  "I myself will be the steersman, for I know the way," he
  said.

  And the sails were unfurled to the brisk south wind, and the
  vessel sped swiftly toward the sea; and many fair eyes were
  filled tears as they watched it until it could be seen no
  more. And with sighs and gloomy forebodings the good people
  went back to their homes, and but few hoped ever again to
  see their king and his brave comrades.

  Driven by favorable winds, the trusty little vessel sailed
  gayly down the Rhine, and, ere many days had passed, was out
  in the boundless sea. For a long time the heroes sailed and
  rowed through Old AEgir's watery kingdom. But they kept good
  cheer, and their hearts rose higher and higher; for each day
  they drew nearer the end of their voyage and the goal of
  their hopes. At length they came in sight of a far-reaching
  coast and a lovely land; and not far from the shore they saw
  a noble fortress, with a number of tall towers pointing
  toward the sky.

  "What land is that?" asked the king.[EN#25]

  And Siegfried answered that it was Isenland, and that the
  fortress which they saw was the Castle of Isenstein and the
  green marble hall of the Princess Brunhild. But he warned
  his friends to be very wary when they should arrive at the
  hall.

  "Let all tell this story," said he: "say that Gunther is the
  king, and that I am his faithful vassal. The success of our
  undertaking depends on this." And his three comrades
  promised to do as he advised.

  As the vessel neared the shore, the whole castle seemed to
  be alive. From every tower and turret-window, from every
  door and balcony, lords and ladies, fighting-men and
  serving-men, looked out to see what strangers these were who
  came thus unheralded to Isenland. The heroes went on shore
  with their steeds, leaving the vessel moored to the bank;
  and then they rode slowly up the beach, and across the
  narrow plain, and came to the drawbridge and the great
  gateway, where they paused.

  The matchless Brunhild in her chamber had been told of the
  coming of the strangers; and she asked the maidens who stood
  around,--

  "Who, think you, are the unknown warriors who thus come
  boldly to Isenstein without asking leave? What is their
  bearing? Do they seem to be worthy of our notice? or are
  they some straggling beggars who have lost their way?"

  And one of the maidens, looking through the casement,
  answered, "The first is a king, I know, from his noble mien
  and the respect which his fellows pay to him. But the second
  bears himself with a prouder grace, and seems the noblest of
  them all. He reminds me much of the brave young Siegfried of
  former days. Indeed, it must be Siegfried; for he rides a
  steed with sunbeam mane, which can be none other than
  Greyfell. The third is a dark and gloomy man: he wears a
  sullen frown upon his brow, and his eyes seem to shoot quick
  glances around. How nervously he grasps his sword-hilt, as
  if ever guarding against surprise! I think his temper must
  be grim and fiery, and his heart a heart of flint. The
  fourth and last of the company is young and fair, and of
  gentle port. Little business has he with rude warriors; and
  many tears, methinks, would be shed for him at home should
  harm overtake him. Never before have I seen so noble a
  company of strangers in Isenland. Their garments are of
  dazzling lustre; their saddles are covered with gem-stones;
  their weapons are of unequalled brightness. Surely they are
  worthy of your notice."

  When Brunhild heard that Siegfried was one of the company,
  she was highly pleased, and she hastened to make ready to
  meet them in the great hall. And she sent ten worthy lords
  to open the gate, and to welcome the heroes to Isenland.

  When Siegfried and his comrades passed through the great
  gateway, and came into the castle-yard, their horses were
  led away to the stables, and the clanging armor and the
  broad shields and swords which they carried were taken from
  them, and placed in the castle armory. Little heed was paid
  to Hagen's surly complaint at thus having every means of
  defence taken away. He was told that such had always been
  the rule at Isenstein, and that he, like others, must
  submit.

  After a short delay the heroes were shown into the great
  hall, where the matchless Brunhild already was awaiting
  them. Clad in richest raiment, from every fold of which rare
  jewels gleamed, and wearing a coronet of pearls and gold,
  the warrior-maiden sat on a throne of snow-white ivory. Five
  hundred earl-folk and warriors, the bravest in Isenland,
  stood around her with drawn swords, and fierce, determined
  looks. Surely men of mettle less heroic than that of the
  four knights from Rhineland would have quaked with fear in
  such a presence.

  King Gunther and his comrades went forward to salute the
  queen. With a winning smile she kindly greeted them, and
  then said to Siegfried, "Gladly do we welcome you back to
  our land, friend Siegfried, We have ever remembered you as
  our best friend. May we ask what is your will, and who are
  these warriors whom you have with you?"

  "Most noble queen," answered he, "right thankful am I that
  you have not forgotten me, and that you should deign to
  notice me while in the presence of this my liege lord," and
  he pointed towards King Gunther. "The king of all
  Burgundy-land, whose humble vassal I am, has heard the
  challenge you have sent into different lands, and he has
  come to match his strength with yours."

  "Does he know the conditions?" asked Brunhild.

  "He does," was the answer. "In case of success, the fairest
  of women for his queen: in case of failure, death."

  "Yet scores of worthy men have made trial, and all have
  failed," said she. "I warn your liege lord to pause, and
  weigh well the chances ere he runs so great a risk."

  Then Gunther stepped forward and spoke:--

  "The chances, fairest queen, have all been weighed, and
  nothing can change our mind. Make your own terms, arrange
  every thing as pleases you best. We accept your challenge,
  and ask to make a trial of our strength."

  The warrior-maiden, without more words, bade her servants
  help her to make ready at once for the contest. She donned a
  rich war-coat, brought long ago from the far-off Lybian
  shores,--an armor which, it was said, no sword could dint,
  and upon which the heaviest stroke of spear fell harmless.
  Her hemlet was edged with golden lace, and sparkled all over
  with rich gem-stones. Her lance, of wondrous length, a heavy
  weight for three stout men, was brought. Her shield was as
  broad and as bright as the sun, and three spans thick with
  steel and gold.

  While the princess was thus arming herself, the heroes
  looked on with amazement and fear. But Siegfried, unnoticed,
  hastened quietly out of the hall, and through the open
  castle-gate, and sped like the wind to the seashore and to
  their little ship. There he arrayed himself in the
  Tarnkappe, and then, silent and unseen, he ran back to his
  friends in the great hall.

  "Be of good cheer," he whispered in the ears of the
  trembling Gunther.

  But the king could not see who it was that spoke to him, so
  well was the hero hidden in the cloak of darkness. Yet he
  knew that it must be Siegfried and he felt greatly
  encouraged.

  Hagen's frowning face grew darker, and the uneasy glances
  which shot from beneath his shaggy eyebrows were not those
  of fear, but of anger and deep anxiety. Dankwart gave up all
  as lost, and loudly bewailed their folly.

  "Must we, unarmed, stand still and see our liege lord slain
  for a woman's whim?" he cried. "Had we only our good swords,
  we might defy this maiden-queen and all her Isenland."

  Brunhild overheard his words. Scornfully she called to her
  servants, "Bring to these boasters their armor, and let them
  have their keen-edged swords. Brunhild has no fear of such
  men, whether they be armed or unarmed."

  When Hagen and Dankwart felt their limbs again enclosed in
  steel, and when they held their trusty swords in hand, their
  uneasiness vanished, and hope returned.

  In the castle-yard a space was cleared, and Brunhild's five
  hundred warriors stood around as umpires. The unseen
  Siegfried kept close by Gunther's side.

  "Fear not," he said. "Do my bidding, and you are safe. Let
  me take your shield. When the time comes, make you the
  movements, and trust me to do the work."

  Then Brunhild threw her spear at Gunther's shield. The
  mighty weapon sped through the air with the swiftness of
  lightning; and, when it struck the shield, both Gunther and
  the unseen Siegfried fell to the ground, borne down by its
  weight and the force with which it was thrown. Blood gushed
  from the nostrils of both; and sad would have been their
  fate if the friendly Tarnkappe had not hidden Siegfried from
  sight, and given him the strength of twelve giants. Quickly
  they rose. And Gunther seemed to pick up the heavy shaft,
  but it was really Siegfried who raised it from the ground.
  For one moment he poised the great beam in the air, and
  then, turning the blunt end foremost, he sent it flying back
  more swiftly than it had come. It struck the huge shield
  which Brunhild held before her, with a sound that echoed to
  the farthest cliffs of Isenland. The warrior-maiden was
  dashed to the earth; but, rising at once, she cried,--

  "That was a noble blow, Sir Gunther. I confess myself fairly
  outdone. But there are two chances yet, and you will do well
  if you equal me in those. We will now try hurling the stone,
  and jumping."

  Twelve men came forward, carrying a huge rough stone in
  weight a ton or more. And Brunhild raised this mass of rock
  in her white arms, and held it high above her head; then she
  swung it backwards once, and threw it a dozen fathoms across
  the castle-yard. Scarcely had it reached the ground when the
  mighty maiden leaped after, and landed just beside it. And
  the thousand lookers-on shouted in admiration. But old Hagen
  bit his unshorn lip, and cursed the day that had brought
  them to Isenland.

  Gunther and the unseen Siegfried, not at all disheartened,
  picked up the heavy stone, which was half buried in the
  ground, and, lifting it with seeming ease, threw it swiftly
  forward. Not twelve, but twenty, fathoms it flew; and
  Siegfried, snatching up Gunther in his arms, leaped after,
  and landed close to the castle-wall. And Brunhild believed
  that Gunther alone had done these great feats through his
  own strength and skill; and she at once acknowledged herself
  beaten in the games, and bade her vassals do homage to
  Gunther as their rightful liege lord.

  Alas that the noblest of men-folk should gave stooped to
  such deed of base deception! The punishment, although long
  delayed, came surely at last; for not even the highest are
  exempt from obedience to Heaven's behests and the laws of
  right.

  When the contest was ended, the unseen Siegfried ran quickly
  back to the little ship, and hastily doffed the magic
  Tarnkappe. Then, in his own form, he returned to the castle,
  and leisurely entered the castle-yard. When he met his
  pleased comrades and the vanquished maiden-queen, he asked
  in careless tones when the games would begin. All who heard
  his question laughed; and Brunhild said,--

  "Surely, Sir Siegfried, the old sleep-thorn of Isenstein
  must have caught you, and held you in your ship. The games
  are over, and Gunther, your liege lord, is the winner."

  At this news Siegfried seemed much delighted, as indeed he
  was. And all went together to the great banquet-hall, where
  a rich feast was served to our heroes and to the worthy
  earl-folk and warriors of Isenland.





                        Adventure XV
                 In Nibelungen Land Again.



  When the folk of Isenland learned that their queen had been
  outwitted and won by a strange chief from a far-off and
  unknown land, great was their sorrow and dismay; for they
  loved the fair maiden-queen, and they feared to exchange her
  mild reign for that of an untried foreigner. Nor was the
  queen herself at all pleased with the issue of the late
  contest. She felt no wish to leave her loved people, and her
  pleasant home, and the fair island which was her kingdom, to
  take up her abode in a strange land, as the queen of one for
  whom she could feel no respect. And every one wondered how
  it was that a man like Gunther, so commonplace, and so
  feeble in his every look and act, could have done such
  deeds, and won the wary warrior-maiden.

  "If it had only been Siegfried!" whispered the maidens among
  themselves.

  "If it had only been Siegfried!" murmured the knights and
  the fighting-men.

  "If it had only been Siegfried!" thought the queen, away
  down in the most secret corner of her heart. And she shut
  herself up in her room, and gave wild vent to her feelings
  of grief and disappointment.

  Then heralds mounted the swiftest horses, and hurried to
  every village and farm, and to every high-towered castle, in
  the land. And they carried word to all of Brunhild's kinsmen
  and liegemen, bidding them to come without delay to
  Isenstein. And every man arose as with one accord, and
  hastened to obey the call of their queen. And the whole land
  was filled with the notes of busy preparation for war. And
  day by day to the castle the warriors came and went, and the
  sound of echoing horse-hoofs, and the rattling of ready
  swords, and the ringing of the war-shields, were heard on
  every hand.

  "What means this treason?" cried Gunther in dismay. "The coy
  warrior-maiden would fain break her plighted word; and we,
  here in our weakness, shall perish from her wrath."

  And even old Hagen, who had never felt a fear when meeting a
  host in open battle, was troubled at the thought of the
  mischief which was brewing.

  "'Tis true, too true," he said, and the dark frown deepened
  on his face, "that we have done a foolish thing. For we four
  men have come to this cheerless land upon a hopeless errand;
  and, if we await the gathering of the storm, our ruin will
  be wrought." And he grasped his sword-hilt with such force,
  that his knuckles grew white as he paced fiercely up and
  down the hall.

  Dankwart, too, bewailed the fate that had driven them into
  this net, from which he saw no way of escape. And both the
  warriors besought King Gunther to take ship at once, and to
  sail for Rhineland before it was too late. But Siegfried
  said,--

  "What account will you give to the folk at home, if you thus
  go back beaten, outwitted, and ashamed? Brave warriors,
  indeed! we should be called. Wait a few days, and trust all
  to me. When Brunhild's warriors shall be outnumbered by our
  own, she will no longer hesitate, and our return to
  Rhineland shall be a triumphant one; for we shall carry the
  glorious warrior-queen home with us."

  "Yes," answered Hagen, mocking, "we will wait until her
  warriors are outnumbered by our own. But how long shall that
  be? Will the lightning carry the word to Burgundy? and will
  the storm-clouds bring our brave men from across the sea?
  Had you allowed King Gunther's plans to be followed, they
  would have been here with us now, and we might have quelled
  this treason at the first."

  And Dankwart said, "By this time the fields of the
  South-land are green with young corn, and the meadows are
  full of sweet-smelling flowers, and the summer comes on
  apace. Why should we stay longer in this chilly and
  fog-ridden land, waiting upon the whims of a fickle
  maiden,--as fickle as the winds themselves? Better face the
  smiles and the jeers of the folk at home than suffer
  shameful shipwreck in this cold Isenland."

  But Siegfried would not be moved by the weak and wavering
  words of his once valiant comrades.

  "Trust me," he said, "and all will yet be well. Wait here
  but a few days longer in quietness, while I go aboard ship,
  and fare away. Within three days I will bring to Isenstein a
  host of warriors such as you have never seen. And then the
  fickle fancies of Brunhild will flee, and she will no longer
  refuse to sail with us to the now sunny South-land."

  Hagen frowned still more deeply; and as he strode away he
  muttered, "He only wants to betray us, and leave us to die
  in this trap which he himself has doubtless set for us."

  But Gunther anxiously grasped the hand of Siegfried, and
  said, "Go! I trust you, and believe in you. But be sure not
  to linger, for no one knows what a day may bring forth in
  this uncertain and variable clime."

  Without saying a word in reply, Siegfried turned, and
  hastened down to the shore. Without any loss of time he
  unmoored the little ship, and stepped aboard. Then he donned
  his Tarnkappe, spread the sails, and seized the helm; and
  the vessel, like a bird with woven wings, sped swiftly out
  of the bay, and Isenstein, with its wide halls and
  glass-green towers, was soon lost to the sight of the
  invisible helmsman. For four and twenty hours did Siegfried
  guide the flying vessel as it leaped from wave to wave, and
  sent the white foam dashing to left and right like flakes of
  snow. And late on the morrow he came to a rock-bound coast,
  where steep cliffs and white mountain-peaks rose up, as it
  were, straight out of the blue sea. Having found a safe and
  narrow inlet, he moored his little bark; and, keeping the
  Tarnkappe well wrapped around him, he stepped ashore.
  Briskly he walked along the rough shore, and through a dark
  mountain-pass, until he came to a place well known to
  him,--a place where, years before, he had seen a cavern's
  yawning mouth, and a great heap of shining treasures, and
  two princes dying of hunger. But now, upon the selfsame spot
  there stood a frowning fortress, dark and gloomy and strong,
  which Siegfried himself had built in after-years; and the
  iron gates were barred and bolted fast, and no living being
  was anywhere to be seen.

  Loud and long did Siegfried, wrapped in his cloak of
  darkness, knock and call outside. At last a grim old giant,
  who sat within, and kept watch and ward of the gate, cried
  out,--

  "Who knocks there?"

  Siegfried, angrily and in threatening tones, answered,--

  "Open the gate at once, lazy laggard, and ask no questions.
  A stranger, who has lost his way among the mountains, seeks
  shelter from the storm which is coming. Open the gate
  without delay, or I will break it down upon your dull head."

  Then the giant in hot anger seized a heavy iron beam, and
  flung the gate wide open, and leaped quickly out to throttle
  the insolent stranger. Warily he glanced around on every
  side; but Siegfried was clad in the magic Tarnkappe, and the
  giant could see no one. Amazed and ashamed, he turned to
  shut the gate, and to go again to his place; for he began to
  believe that a foolish dream had awakened and deceived him.
  Then the unseen Siegfried seized him from behind; and though
  he struggled hard, and fought with furious strength, our
  hero threw him upon the ground, and bound him with cords of
  sevenfold strength.

  The unwonted noise at the gate rang through the castle, and
  awakened the sleeping inmates. The dwarf Alberich, who kept
  the fortress against Siegfried's return, and who watched the
  Nibelungen treasure, which was stored in the hollow hill,
  arose, and donned his armor, and hurried to the giant's
  help. A right stout dwarf was Alberich; and, as we have seen
  in a former adventure, he was as bold as stout. Armed in a
  war-coat of steel, he ran out to the gate, flourishing a
  seven-thonged whip, on each thong of which a heavy golden
  ball was hung. Great was his amazement and his wrath when he
  saw the giant lying bound and helpless upon the ground; and
  with sharp, eager eyes he peered warily around to see if,
  perchance, he might espy his hidden foe. But, when he could
  find no one, his anger grew hotter than before, and he swung
  his golden scourge fiercely about his head. Well was it for
  Siegfried then, that the Tarnkappe hid him from sight; for
  the dwarf kept pounding about in air so sturdily and strong,
  that, even as it was, he split the hero's shield from the
  centre to the rim. Then Siegfried rushed quickly upon the
  doughty little fellow, and seized him by his long gray
  beard, and threw him so roughly upon the ground, that
  Alberich shrieked with pain.

  "Spare me, I pray you," he cried. "I know that you are no
  mean knight; and, if I had not promised to serve my master
  Siegfried until death, I fain would acknowledge you as my
  lord."

  But Siegfried bound the writhing dwarf, and placed him,
  struggling and helpless, by the side of the giant.

  "Tell me, now, your name, I pray," said the dwarf; "for I
  must give an account of this adventure to my master when he
  comes."

  "Who is your master?"

  "His name is Siegfried; and he is king of the Nibelungens,
  and lord, by right, of the great Nibelungen Hoard. To me and
  to my fellows he long ago intrusted the keeping of this
  castle and of the Hoard that lies deep hidden in the hollow
  hill; and I have sworn to keep it safe until his return."

  Then Siegfried threw off his Tarnkappe, and stood in his own
  proper person before the wonder-stricken dwarf.

  "Noble Siegfried," cried the delighted Alberich, "right glad
  I am that you have come again to claim your own. Spare my
  life, and pardon me, I pray, and let me know what is your
  will. Your bidding shall be done at once."

  "Hasten, then," said Siegfried, loosing him from his
  bonds,--"hasten, and arouse my Nibelungen hosts. Tell them
  that their chief has come again to Mist Land, and that he
  has work for them to do."

  Then Alberich, when he had set the giant gatekeeper free,
  sent heralds to every town and castle in the land to make
  known the words and wishes of Siegfried. And the gallant
  Nibelungen warriors, when they heard that their liege lord
  had come again, sprang up joyously, and girded on their
  armor, and hastened to obey his summons. And soon the
  strong-built castle was full of noble men,--of earls, and
  the faithful liegemen who had known Siegfried of old. And
  joyful and happy were the words of greeting.

  In the mean while, Alberich had busied himself in preparing
  a great feast for his master and his master's chieftains. In
  the long low hall that the dwarfs had hollowed out within
  the mountain's heart, the table was spread, and on it was
  placed every delicacy that could be wished. There were
  fruits and wines from the sunny South-land, and snow-white
  loaves made from the wheat of Gothland, and fish from Old
  AEgir's kingdom, and venison from the king's wild-wood, and
  the flesh of many a fowl most delicately baked, and, near
  the head of the board, a huge wild boar roasted whole. And
  the hall was lighted by a thousand tapers, each held in the
  hands of a swarthy elf; and the guests were served by the
  elf-women, who ran hither and thither, obedient to every
  call. But Alberich, at Siegfried's desire, sat upon the dais
  at his lord's right hand. Merriment ruled the hour, and
  happy greetings were heard on every side. And, when the
  feast was at its height, a troop of hill-folk came dancing
  into the hall; and a hundred little fiddlers, perched in the
  niches of the wall, made merry music, and kept time for the
  busy, clattering little feet. And when the guests had tired
  of music and laughter, and the dancers had gone away, and
  the tables no longer groaned under the weight of good cheer
  Siegfried and his earls still sat at their places, and
  beguiled the hours with pleasant talk and with stories of
  the earlier days. And Alberich, as the master of the feast,
  told a tale of the dwarf-folk, and how once they were
  visited in their hill-home by Loki the Mischief-maker.



  Alberich's Story.



  My story begins with the Asa-folk, and has as much to do
  with the gods as with my kinsmen the dwarfs. It happened
  long ago, when the world was young, and the elf-folk had not
  yet lost all their ancient glory.

  Sif, as you all know, is Thor's young wife, and she is very
  fair. It is said, too, that she is as gentle and lovable as
  her husband is rude and strong; and that while he rides
  noisily through storm and wind, furiously fighting the foes
  of the mid-world, she goes quietly about, lifting up the
  down-trodden, and healing the broken-hearted. In the summer
  season, when the Thunderer has driven the Storm-giants back
  to their mist-hidden mountain homes, and the black clouds
  have been rolled away, and piled upon each other in the far
  east, Sif comes gleefully tripping through the meadows,
  raising up the bruised flowers, and with smiles calling the
  frightened birds from their hiding-places to frolic and sing
  in the fresh sunshine again. The growing fields and the
  grassy mountain slopes are hers; and the rustling green
  leaves, and the sparkling dewdrops, and the sweet odors of
  spring blossoms, and the glad songs of the summer-time,
  follow in her footsteps.

  Sif, as I have said, is very fair; and, at the time of my
  story, there was one thing of which she was a trifle vain.
  That was her long silken hair, which fell in glossy waves
  almost to her feet. On calm, warm days, she liked to sit by
  the side of some still pool, and gaze at her own beauty
  pictured in the water below, while, like the sea-maidens of
  old AEgir's kingdom, she combed and braided her rich,
  flowing tresses. And in all the mid-world nothing has ever
  been seen so like the golden sunbeams as was Sif's silken
  hair.

  At that time the cunning Mischief-maker, Loki, was still
  living with the Asa-folk. And, as you well know, this evil
  worker was never pleased save when he was plotting trouble
  for those who were better than himself. He liked to meddle
  with business which was not his own, and was always trying
  to mar the pleasures of others. His tricks and jokes were
  seldom of the harmless kind, and yet great good sometimes
  grew out of them.

  When Loki saw how proud Sif was of her long hair, and how
  much time she spent in combing and arranging it, he planned
  a very cruel piece of mischief. He hid himself in a little
  rocky cavern, near the pool where Sif was wont to sit, and
  slily watched her all the morning as she braided and
  unbraided her flowing silken locks. At last, overcome by the
  heat of the mid-day sun, she fell asleep upon the grassy
  bank. Then the Mischief-maker quietly crept near, and with
  his sharp shears cut off all that wealth of hair, and shaved
  her head until it was as smooth as her snow-white hand. Then
  he hid himself again in the little cave, and chuckled with
  great glee at the wicked thing he had done.

  By and by Sif awoke, and looked into the stream; but she
  started quickly back with horror and affright at the image
  which she saw. She felt of her shorn head; and, when she
  learned that those rich waving tresses which had been her
  joy and pride were no longer there, she knew not what to do.
  Hot, burning tears ran down her cheeks, and with sobs and
  shrieks she began to call aloud for Thor. Forthwith there
  was a terrible uproar. The lightning flashed, and the
  thunder rolled, and an earthquake shook the rocks and trees.
  Loki, looking out from his hiding-place, saw that Thor was
  coming, and he trembled with fear; for he knew, that, should
  the Thunderer catch him, he would have to pay dearly for his
  wicked sport. He ran quickly out of the cavern, and leaped
  into the river, and changed himself into a salmon, and swam
  as swiftly as he could away from the shore.

  But Thor was not so easily fooled; for he had long known
  Loki, and was acquainted with all his cunning ways. So when
  he saw Sif bewailing her stolen hair, and beheld the
  frightened salmon hurrying alone towards the deep water, he
  was at no loss to know whose work this mischief was.
  Straightway he took upon himself the form of a sea-gull, and
  soared high up over the water. Then, poising a moment in the
  air, he darted, swift as an arrow, down into the river. When
  he arose from the water, he held the struggling salmon
  tightly grasped in his strong talons.

  "Vile Mischief-maker!" cried Thor, as he alighted upon the
  top of a neighboring crag: "I know thee who thou art; and I
  will make thee bitterly rue the work of this day. Limb from
  limb will I tear thee, and thy bones will I grind into
  powder."

  Loki, when he saw that he could not by any means get away
  from the angry Thunderer, changed himself back to his own
  form, and humbly said to Thor,--

  "What if you do your worst with me? Will that give back a
  single hair to Sif's shorn head? What I did was only a
  thoughtless joke, and I really meant no harm. Do but spare
  my life, and I will more than make good the mischief I have
  done."

  "How can that be?" asked Thor.

  "I will hie me straight to the secret smithies of dwarfs,"
  answered Loki; "and those cunning little kinsmen of mine
  shall make golden tresses for fair Sif, which will grow upon
  her head like other hair, and cause her to be an
  hundred-fold more beautiful than before."

  Thor knew that Loki was a slippery fellow, and that he did
  not always do what he promised, and hence he would not let
  him go. He called to Frey, who had just come up, and said,--

  "Come, cousin Frey, help me to rid the world of this sly
  thief. While I hold fast to his raven hair, and his long
  slim arms, do you seize him by the heels, and we will give
  his limbs to the fishes, and his body to the birds, for
  food."

  Loki, now thoroughly frightened, wept, and kissed Frey's
  feet, and humbly begged for mercy. And he promised that he
  would bring from the dwarf's smithy, not only the golden
  hair for Sif, but also a mighty hammer for Thor, and a swift
  steed for Frey. So earnest were his words, and so pitiful
  was his plea, that Thor at last set the trembling
  Mischief-maker free, and bade him hasten away on his errand.
  Quickly, then, he went in search of the smithy of the
  dwarfs.

  He crossed the desert moorlands, and came, after three days,
  to the bleak hill-country, and the rugged mountain-land of
  the South. There the earthquake had split the mountains
  apart, and dug dark and bottomless gorges, and hollowed out
  many a low-walled cavern, where the light of day was never
  seen. Through deep, winding ways, and along narrow crevices,
  Loki crept; and he glided under huge rocks, and downward
  through slanting, crooked clefts, until at last he came to a
  great underground hall, where his eyes were dazzled by a
  light which was stronger and brighter than day; for on every
  side were glowing fires, roaring in wonderful little forges,
  and blown by wonderful little bellows And the vaulted roof
  above was thickly set with diamonds and precious stones,
  that sparkled and shone like thousands of bright stars in
  the blue sky. And the little dwarfs, with comical brown
  faces, and wearing strange leathern aprons, and carrying
  heavy hammers, were hurrying here and there, each busy at
  his task. Some were smelting pure gold from the coarse rough
  rocks; others were making precious gems, and rich rare
  jewels, such as the proudest king would be glad to wear.
  Here, one was shaping pure, round pearls from dewdrops and
  maidens' tears; there, another wrought green emeralds from
  the first leaves of spring. So busy were they all, that they
  neither stopped nor looked up when Loki came into their
  hall, but all kept hammering and blowing and working, as if
  their lives depended upon their being always busy.

  After Loki had curiously watched their movements for some
  time, he spoke to the dwarf whose forge was nearest to him,
  and made known his errand. But the little fellow was
  fashioning a flashing diamond, which he called the Mountain
  of Light; and he scarcely looked up as he answered,--

  "I do not work in gold. Go to Ivald's sons: they will make
  whatever you wish."

  To Ivald's sons, then, in the farthest and brightest corner
  of the hall, Loki went. They very readily agreed to make the
  golden hair for Sif, and they began the work at once. A lump
  of purest gold was brought, and thrown into the glowing
  furnace; and it was melted and drawn, and melted and drawn,
  seven times. Then it was given to a little brown elf with
  merry, twinkling eyes, who carried it with all speed to
  another part of the great hall, where the dwarfs' pretty
  wives were spinning. One of the little women took the yellow
  lump from the elf's hands, and laid it, like flax, upon her
  spinning-wheel. Then she sat down and began to spin; and, as
  she span, the dwarf-wives sang a strange, sweet song of the
  old, old days when the dwarf-folk ruled the world. And the
  tiny brown elves danced gleefully around the spinner, and
  the thousand little anvils rang out a merry chorus to the
  music of the singers. And the yellow gold was twisted into
  threads, and the threads ran into hair softer than silk, and
  finer than gossamer. And at last the dwarf-woman held in her
  hand long golden tresses ten times more beautiful than the
  amber locks that Loki had cut from Sif's fair head. When
  Ivald's sons, proud of their skill, gave the rare treasure
  to the Mischief-maker, Loki smiled as if he were well
  pleased; but in his heart he was angry because the dwarfs
  had made so fair a piece of workmanship. Then he said,--

  "This is, indeed, very handsome, and will be very becoming
  to Sif. Oh, what an uproar was made about those flaxen
  tresses that she loved so well! And that reminds me that her
  husband, the gruff old Giant-killer, wants a hammer. I
  promised to get him one; and, if I fail, he will doubtless
  be rude with me. I pray you make such a hammer as will be of
  most use to him in fighting the Jotuns, and you may win
  favor both for yourselves and me."

  "Not now," said the elder of Ivald's sons. "We cannot make
  it now; for who would dare to send a present to Thor before
  he has offered one to Odin, the great All-Father?"

  "Make me, then, a gift for Odin," cried Loki; "and he will
  shelter me from the Thunderer's wrath."

  So the dwarfs put iron into their furnace, and heated it to
  a glowing white-heat; and then they drew it out, and rolled
  it upon their anvils, and pounded it with heavy hammers,
  until they had wrought a wondrous spear, such as no man had
  ever seen. Then they inlaid it with priceless jewels, and
  plated the point with gold seven times tried.

  "This is the spear Gungner," said they. "Take it to the
  great All-Father as the best gift of his humble
  earth-workers."

  "Make me now a present for Frey the gentle," said Loki. "I
  owe my life to him; and I have promised to take him a swift
  steed that will bear him everywhere."

  Then Ivald's sons threw gold into the furnace, and blew with
  their bellows until the very roof of the great cave-hall
  seemed to tremble, and the smoke rolled up the wide chimney,
  and escaped in dense fumes from the mountain-top. When they
  left off working, and the fire died away, a fairy ship, with
  masts and sails, and two banks of long oars, and a golden
  dragon stem, rose out of the glowing coals; and it grew in
  size until it filled a great part of the hall, and might
  have furnished room for a thousand warriors with their arms
  and steeds. Then, at a word from the dwarfs, it began to
  shrink, and it became smaller and smaller until it was no
  broader than an oak-leaf. And the younger of Ivald's sons
  folded it up like a napkin, and gave it to Loki, saying,--

  "Take this to Frey the gentle. It is the ship Skidbladner.
  When it is wanted for a voyage, it will carry all the
  Asa-folk and their weapons and stores; and, no matter where
  they wish to go, the wind will always drive it straight to
  the desired port. But, when it is not needed, the good Frey
  may fold it up, as I have done, and carry it safely in his
  pocket."

  Loki was much pleased; and, although he felt disappointed
  because he had no present for Thor, he heartily thanked the
  dwarfs for their kindness; and taking the golden hair, and
  the spear Gungner, and the ship Skidbladner, he bade Ivald's
  sons good-by, and started for home. But, before he reached
  the narrow doorway which led out of the cave, he met two
  crooked-backed dwarfs, much smaller and much uglier than any
  he had seen before.

  "What have you there?" asked one of them, whose name was
  Brok.

  "Hair for Sif, a spear for Odin, and a ship for Frey,"
  answered Loki.

  "Let us see them," said Brok.

  Loki kindly showed them the strange gifts, and told them,
  that, in his belief, no dwarfs in all the world had ever
  before wrought such wonderful things.

  "Who made them?" inquired Brok.

  "Ivald's sons."

  "Ah! Ivald's sons sometimes do good work, but there are many
  other dwarfs who can do better. For instance, my brother
  Sindre, who stands here, can make three other treasures
  altogether as good as those you have."

  "It cannot be!" cried Loki.

  "I tell you the truth," said the dwarf. "And, to show you
  that I mean just what I say, I will wager against your head
  all the diamonds in the ceiling above us, that he will make
  not only as good treasures, but those which the Asas will
  esteem much higher."

  "Agreed!" cried Loki,--"agreed! I take the wager. Let your
  brother try his skill at once."

  The three went straightway to Sindre's forge, and the
  brothers began their task. When the fire was roaring hot,
  and the sparks flew from the chimney like showers of
  shooting-stars, Sindre put a pig-skin into the furnace, and
  bade Brok blow the bellows with all his might, and never
  stop until he should speak the word. The flames leaped up
  white and hot, and the furnace glowed with a dazzling light,
  while Brok plied the bellows, and Sindre, with unblinking
  eyes, watched the slowly changing colors that played around
  the melted and shapeless mass within. While the brothers
  were thus intent upon their work, Loki changed himself to a
  great horse-fly, and settled upon Brok's hand, and bit him
  without mercy. But the dwarf kept on blowing the bellows,
  and stopped not until his brother cried out,--

  "Enough!"

  Then Sindre drew out of the flickering blue flames a huge
  wild boar with long tusks of ivory, and golden bristles that
  glittered and shone like the beams of the sun.

  "This is Golden Bristle," said the dwarf. "It is the gift of
  Brok and his brother to the gentle Frey. His ship
  Skidbladner can carry him only over the sea; but Golden
  Bristle shall be a trusty steed that will bear him with the
  speed of the wind over the land or through the air."

  Next the dwarfs threw gold into the furnace, and Brok plied
  the bellows, and Sindre gazed into the flames, as before.
  And the great horse-fly buzzed in Brok's face, and darted at
  his eyes, and at last settled upon his neck, and stung him
  until the pain caused big drops of sweat to roll off of his
  forehead. But the dwarf stopped not nor faltered, until his
  brother again cried out,--

  "Enough!"

  This time Sindre drew out a wondrous ring of solid gold,
  sparkling all over with the rarest and most costly jewels.

  "This is the ring Draupner," said he. "It is well worthy to
  be worn on Odin's finger. Every ninth day eight other rings,
  equal to it in every way, shall drop from it. It shall
  enrich the earth, and make the desert blossom as the rose;
  and it shall bring plentiful harvests, and fill the farmers'
  barns with grain, and their houses with glad good cheer.
  Take it to the All-Father as the best gift of the earth-folk
  to him and to mankind."

  After this the dwarfs took iron which had been brought from
  the mountains of Norse Land; and, after beating it upon
  their bellows until it glowed white and hot, Sindre threw it
  into the furnace.

  "This shall be the gift of gifts," said he to Brok. "Ply the
  bellows as before, and do not, for your life, stop or falter
  until the work is done."

  But as Brok blew the bellows, and his brother gazed into the
  glowing fire, the horse-fly came again. This time he settled
  between the dwarf's eyes, and stung his eyelids until the
  blood filled his eyes, and ran down his cheeks, and blinded
  him so that he could not see. At last, in sore distress, and
  wild with pain, Brok let go of the bellows, and lifted his
  hand to drive the fly away. Then Sindre drew his work out of
  the furnace. It was a blue steel hammer, well made in every
  way, save that the handle was half an inch too short.

  "This is the mighty Mjolner," said Sindre to Loki, who had
  again taken his proper shape. "The Thunderer may have the
  hammer that you promised him; although it is our gift, and
  not yours. The stoutest giant will not be able now to cope
  with Thor. No shield nor armor, nor mountain-wall, nor,
  indeed, any thing on earth, shall be proof against the
  lightning-strokes of Mjolner."

  And Brok took the three treasures which Sindre had
  fashioned, and went with Loki to Asgard, the home of the
  Asa-folk. And they chose Odin and Thor and Frey to examine
  and judge which was best,--Loki's three gifts, the work of
  Ivald's sons; or Brok's three gifts, the work of Sindre.
  When the judges were seated, and all were in readiness, Loki
  went forward and gave to Odin the spear Gungner, that would
  always hit the mark; and to Frey he gave the ship
  Skidbladner, that would sail whithersoever he wished. Then
  he gave the golden hair to Thor, who placed it upon the head
  of fair Sif; and it grew there, and was a thousand-fold more
  beautiful than the silken tresses she had worn before.

  After the Asas had carefully looked at these treasures, and
  talked of their merits, little Brok came humbly forward and
  offered his gifts. To Odin he gave the precious ring
  Draupner, already dropping richness. To Frey he gave the
  boar Golden Bristle, telling him that wherever he chose to
  go this steed would serve him well, and would carry him
  faster than any horse, while his shining bristles would
  light the way on the darkest night or in the gloomiest path.
  At last he gave to Thor the hammer Mjolner, and said that
  it, like Odin's spear, would never miss the mark, and that
  whatever it struck, it would crush in pieces, and
  whithersoever it might be hurled, it would come back to his
  hand again.

  Then the Asas declared at once that Thor's hammer was the
  best of all the gifts, and that the dwarf had fairly won the
  wager. But, when Brok demanded Loki's head as the price of
  the wager, the cunning Mischief-maker said,--

  "My head is, by the terms of our agreement, yours; but my
  neck is my own, and you shall not on any account touch or
  harm it."[EN#26]

  So Brok went back to his brother and his smithy without the
  head of Loki, but he was loaded with rich and rare presents
  from the Asa-folk.





                       Adventure XVI
              How Brunhild Was Welcomed Home.



  When the next morning's sun arose, and its light gilded the
  mountain peaks, and fell in a flood of splendor down upon
  the rich uplands and the broad green fields of Nibelungen
  Land, Siegfried, with his earls and mighty men, rode through
  the valley, and down to the seashore. There a pleasant sight
  met his eyes: for the little bay was white with the sails of
  a hundred gold-beaked vessels which lay at anchor; and on
  the sandy beach there stood in order three thousand island
  warriors,--the bravest and the best of all the
  Nibelungens,--clad in armor, and ready to hear and to do
  their master's bidding. And Siegfried told them why he had
  thus hastily called them together; and he gave to each one
  rich gifts of gold and jewels and costly raiment. Then he
  chose from among them one thousand of the most trustworthy,
  who should follow him back to Isenland; and these went
  aboard the waiting vessels, amid the cheers and the
  farewells of their comrades who were left behind. And when
  every thing was in readiness, the anchors were hoisted and
  the sails were set, and the little fleet, wafted by pleasant
  winds, sailed out of the bay, and eastward across the calm
  blue sea. And Siegfried's vessel, with a golden dragon
  banner floating from the masthead, led all the rest.

  On the fourth day after Siegfried's departure from Isenland,
  Dankwart and grim old Hagen sat in a room of the castle at
  Isenstein. Outside and below they heard the fair-haired
  warriors of Queen Brunhild pacing to and fro, and ready, at
  a word, to seize upon the strangers, and either to put them
  to death, or to drive them forever from the land. Old
  Hagen's brows were closely knit, and his face was dark as a
  thunder-cloud, and his hands played nervously with his
  sword-hilt, as he said,--

  "Where now is Gunther, the man whom we once called king?"

  "He is standing on the balcony above, talking with the queen
  and her maidens," answered Dankwart.

  "The craven that he is!" cried Hagen hoarsely. "Once he was
  a king, and worthy to be obeyed; but now who is the king?
  That upstart Siegfried has but to say what shall be done,
  and our master Gunther, blindly and like a child, complies.
  Four days ago we might have taken ship, and sailed safely
  home. Now our vessel is gone, the boasted hero is gone, and
  nothing is left for us to do but to fight and die."

  "But we are sure of Odin's favor," returned Dankwart; and a
  wild light gleamed from his eyes, and he brandished his
  sword high over his head. "A place in Valhal is promised to
  us; for, him who bravely dies with his blood-stained sword
  beside him and his heart unrent with fears, the All-Father's
  victory-wafters will gently carry home. Even now, methinks,
  I sit in the banqueting-hall of the heroes, and quaff the
  flowing mead."

                     *    *    *    *    *

  In the mean while Gunther stood with Queen Brunhild at an
  upper window, and looked out upon the great sea that spread
  forever and away towards the setting sun. And all at once,
  as if by magic, the water was covered with white-sailed
  ships, which, driven by friendly winds and the helping hands
  of AEgir's daughters and the brawny arms of many a stalwart
  oarsman, came flying towards the bay.

  "What ships are those with the snow-white sails and the
  dragon-stems?" asked Brunhild, wondering.

  Gunther gazed for a moment towards the swift-coming fleet,
  and his eyes were gladdened with the sight of Siegfried's
  dragon-banner floating from the vessel in the van. A great
  load seemed lifted from his breast, for now he knew that the
  hoped-for help was at hand. And, smiling he answered the
  queen,--

  "Those white-sailed ships are mine. My body-guard--a
  thousand of my trustiest fighting-men--are on board, and
  every man is ready to die for me."

  And as the vessels came into the harbor, and the sailors
  furled the sails, and cast the anchors into the sea,
  Siegfried was seen standing on the golden prow of his ship,
  arrayed in princely raiment, with his earls and chiefs
  around him. And their bright armor glittered in the
  sunlight, and their burnished shields shone like so many
  golden mirrors. A fairer sight had the folk of Isenstein
  never seen.

  Long and earnestly Queen Brunhild gazed, and then, turning
  away, she burst into tears; for she knew that she had been
  again outwitted, and that it was vain for her to struggle
  against the Norns' decrees. Then, crushing back the grief
  and the sore longing that rose in her heart, she spoke again
  to Gunther, and her eyes shone stern and strange.

  "What now will you have me do?" she asked; "for you have
  fairly won me, and my wayward fancies shall no longer vex
  you. Shall I greet your friends with kindness, or shall we
  send them back again over the sea?"

  "I pray you give them welcome to the broad halls of
  Isenstein," he answered; "for no truer, nobler men live than
  these my liegemen."

  So the queen sent word to Siegfried and his Nibelungen
  warriors to leave the ships and come ashore. And she
  herself, as radiant now as a morning in May, went down to
  meet them and welcome them. Then she had a great feast made
  in honor of the heroes, and the long, low-raftered
  feast-hall rang with the sounds of merriment, instead of
  with the clash of arms. The fair-haired, blue-eyed warriors
  of the queen sat side by side with the tall strangers from
  over the sea. And in the high-seat was Brunhild, her face
  exceeding pale, yet beauteous to behold; and by her side sat
  Gunther, smiling and glad, and clad in his kingly raiments.
  And around them were the earls and chieftains, and many a
  fair lady of Isenland, and Hagen, smiling through his
  frowns, and Dankwart, now grown fearless, and Siegfried sad
  and thoughtful. Mirth and gladness ruled the hour, and not
  until the morning star began to fade in the coming sunlight
  lid the guests retire to rest.

  Only a few days longer did the heroes tarry in Isenland; for
  the mild spring days were growing warmer, and all faces were
  southward turned, and the queen herself was anxious to haste
  to her South-land home. When, at last, the time for
  leave-taking came, the folk of Isenland gathered around to
  bid their queen Godspeed. Then Brunhild called to Dankwart,
  and gave him her golden keys, and bade him unlock her
  closets where her gold and jewels were stored, and to
  scatter with hands unstinted her treasures among the poor.
  And many were the tearful blessings, and many the kind words
  said, as the radiant queen went down to the waiting,
  white-winged vessel, and stepped aboard with Gunther and the
  heroes of the Rhine. But she was not to go alone to the land
  of strangers; for with her were to sail a hundred fair young
  damsels, and more than fourscore noble dames, and two
  thousand blue-eyed warriors, the bravest of her land.

  When all had gone on board the waiting fleet, the anchors
  were hoisted, and the sails were unfurled to the breeze; and
  amid the tearful farewells of friends, and the joyful
  shouting of the sailors, the hundred heavy-laden vessels
  glided from the bay, and were soon far out at sea. And the
  sorrowing folk of Isenland turned away, and went back to
  their daily tasks, and to the old life of mingled pain and
  pleasure, of shadow and sunshine; and they never saw their
  loved warrior-queen again.

  The gay white fleet, with its precious cargo of noble men
  and fair ladies, sped swiftly onwards through Old AEgir's
  kingdom; and it seemed as if Queen Ran had forgotten to
  spread her nets, so smooth and quiet was the sea; and the
  waves slept on the peaceful bosom of the waters: only Ripple
  and Sky-clear danced in the wake of the flying ships, and
  added to the general joy. And on shipboard music and song
  enlivened the dragging hours; and from morn till eve no
  sounds were heard, save those of merriment and sport, and
  glad good cheer. Yet, as day after day passed by, and no
  sight met their eyes but the calm blue waters beneath, and
  the calm blue sky above, all began to wish for a view, once
  more, of the solid earth, and the fields, and the wild
  greenwood. But the ships sailed steadily onward, and every
  hour brought them nearer and nearer to the wished-for haven.

  At length, on the ninth day, they came in sight of a long,
  flat coast, stretching far away towards the Lowlands, where
  Old AEgir and his daughters--sometimes by wasting warfare,
  sometimes by stealthy strategy--ever plot and toil to widen
  the Sea-king's domains. When the sailors saw the green shore
  rising up, as it were, out of the quiet water, and the wild
  woodland lying dense and dark beyond, and when they knew
  that they were nearing the end of their long sea-voyage,
  they rent the air with their joyful shouts. And a brisker
  breeze sprang up, and filled the sails, and made the ships
  leap forward over the water, like glad living creatures.

  It was then that the thought came to King Gunther that he
  ought to send fleet heralds to Burgundy-land to make known
  the happy issue of his bold emprise, and to tell of his glad
  home-coming, with Brunhild, the warrior-maiden, as his
  queen. So he called old Hagen to him, and told him of his
  thoughts, and asked him if he would be that herald.

  "Nay," answered the frowning chief. "No bearer of glad
  tidings am I. To every man Odin has given gifts. To some he
  has given light hearts, and cheery faces, and glad voices;
  and such alone are fitted to carry good news and happy
  greetings. To others he has given darker souls, and less
  lightsome faces, and more uncouth manners; and these may
  bear the brunt of the battle, and rush with Odin's heroes to
  the slaughter: but they would be ill at ease standing in the
  presence of fair ladies, or telling glad tidings at court.
  Let me still linger, I pray, on board this narrow ship, and
  send your friend Siegfried as herald to Burgundy-land. He is
  well fitted for such a duty."

  So Gunther sent at once for Siegfried, to whom, when he had
  come, he said,--

  "My best of friends, although we are now in sight of land,
  our voyage still is a long one; for the river is yet far
  away, and, when it is reached, its course is winding, and
  the current will be against us, and our progress must needs
  be slow. The folk at home have had no tidings from us since
  we left them in the early spring; and no doubt their hearts
  grow anxious, and they long to hear of our whereabouts, and
  whether we prosper or no. Now, as we near the headland which
  juts out dark and green before us, we will set you on shore,
  with the noble Greyfell, and as many comrades as you wish,
  to haste with all speed to Burgundy, to tell the glad news
  of our coming to the loved ones waiting there."

  Siegfried at first held back, and tried to excuse himself
  from undertaking this errand,--not because he felt any fear
  of danger, but because he scorned to be any man's thrall, to
  go and do at his beck and bidding. Then Gunther spoke again,
  and in a different tone.

  "Gentle Siegfried," he said, "if you will not do this errand
  for my sake, I pray that you will undertake it for the sake
  of my sister, the fair Kriemhild, who has so long waited for
  our coming."

  Then willingly did the prince agree to be the king's herald.
  And on the morrow the ship touched land; and Siegfried bade
  his companions a short farewell, and went ashore with four
  and twenty Nibelungen chiefs, who were to ride with him to
  Burgundy. And, when every thing was in readiness, he mounted
  the noble Greyfell, as did also each warrior his favorite
  steed, and they galloped briskly away; and their glittering
  armor and nodding plumes were soon lost to sight among the
  green trees of the wood. And the ship which bore Gunther and
  his kingly party weighed anchor, and moved slowly along the
  shore towards the distant river's mouth.

  For many days, and through many strange lands, rode
  Siegfried and his Nibelungen chiefs. They galloped through
  the woodland, and over a stony waste, and came to a peopled
  country rich in farms and meadows, and dotted with pleasant
  towns. And the folk of that land wondered greatly at sight
  of the radiant Siegfried, and the tall warriors with him,
  and their noble steeds, and their sunbright armor. For they
  thought that it was a company of the gods riding through the
  mid-world, as the gods were wont to do in the golden days of
  old. So they greeted them with smiles, and kind, good words,
  and scattered flowers and blessings in their way.

  They stopped for a day in Vilkina-land, where dwelt one
  Eigill, a famous archer, who, it is said, was a brother of
  Veliant, Siegfried's fellow-apprentice in the days of his
  boyhood. And men told them this story of Eigill. That once
  on a time old Nidung, the king of that land, in order to
  test his skill with the bow, bade him shoot an apple, or, as
  some say, an acorn, from the head of his own little son. And
  Eigill did this; but two other arrows, which he had hidden
  beneath his coat, dropped to the ground. And when the king
  asked him what these were for he answered, "To kill thee,
  wretch, had I slain my child."[EN#27]

  After this our heroes rode through a rough hill-country,
  where the ground was covered with sharp stones, and the
  roads were steep and hard. And their horses lost their
  shoes, and were so lamed by the travel, that they were
  forced to turn aside to seek the house of one Welland, a
  famous smith, who re-shod their steeds, and entertained them
  most kindly three days and nights. And it is said by some
  that Welland is but another name for Veliant, and that this
  was the selfsame foreman whom we knew in Siegfried's younger
  days. But, be this as it may, he was at this time the master
  of all smiths, and no one ever wrought more cunningly. And
  men say that his grandfather was Vilkinus, the first king of
  that land; and that his grandmother, Wachitu, was a fair
  mermaid, who lived in the deep green sea; and that his
  father, Wada, had carried him, when a child, upon his
  shoulders through water five fathoms deep, to apprentice him
  to the cunning dwarfs, from whom he learned his trade. And
  if this story is true, he could not have been Veliant. He
  was wedded to a beautiful lady, who sometimes took the form
  of a swan, and flew away to a pleasant lake near by, where,
  with other swan-maidens, she spent the warm summer days
  among the reeds and the water-lilies. And many other strange
  tales were told of Welland the smith: how he had once made a
  boat from the single trunk of a tree, and had sailed in it
  all around the mid-world; how, being lame in one foot, he
  had forged a wondrous winged garment, and flown like a
  falcon through the air; and how he had wrought for Beowulf,
  the Anglo-Saxon hero, a gorgeous war-coat that no other
  smith could equal.[EN#28] And so pleasantly did Welland
  entertain his guests that they were loath to leave him; but
  on the fourth day they bade him farewell, and wended again
  their way.

  Now our heroes rode forward, with greater speed than before,
  across many a mile of waste land, and over steep hills, and
  through pleasant wooded dales. Then, again, they came to
  fair meadows, and broad pasture-lands, and fields green with
  growing corn; and every one whom they met blessed them, and
  bade them a hearty God-speed. Then they left the farmlands
  and the abodes of men far behind them; and they passed by
  the shore of a sparkling lake, where they heard the
  swan-maidens talking to each other as they swam among the
  rushes, or singing in silvery tones of gladness as they
  circled in the air above. Then they crossed a dreary moor,
  where nothing grew but heather; and they climbed a barren,
  stony mountain, where the feet of men had never been, and
  came at last to a wild, dark forest, where silence reigned
  undisturbed forever.

  It was the wood in which dwells Vidar, the silent god, far
  from the sound of man's busy voice, in the solemn shade of
  century-living oaks and elms. There he sits in quiet but
  awful grandeur,--strong almost as Thor, but holding his
  mighty strength in check. Hoary and gray, he sits alone in
  Nature's temple, and communes with Nature's self, waiting
  for the day when Nature's silent but resistless forces shall
  be quickened into dread action. His head is crowned with
  sear and yellow leaves, and long white moss hangs pendent
  from his brows and cheeks, and his garments are rusted with
  age. On his feet are iron shoes, with soles made thick with
  the scraps of leather gathered through centuries past; and
  with these, it is said, he shall, in the last great twilight
  of the mid-world, rend the jaws of the Fenris-wolf.[EN#29]

  "Who is this Fenris-wolf?" asked one of the Nibelungens as
  they rode through the solemn shadows of the wood.

  And Siegfried thereupon related how that fierce creature had
  been brought up and cared for by the Asa-folk; and how, when
  he grew large and strong, they sought to keep him from doing
  harm by binding him with an iron chain called Leding. But
  the strength of the monster was so great, that he burst the
  chain asunder, and escaped. Then the Asas made another chain
  twice as strong, which they called Drome. And they called to
  the wolf, and besought him to allow them to bind him again,
  so that, in bursting the second chain, he might clear up all
  doubts in regard to his strength. Flattered by the words of
  the Asas, the wolf complied; and they chained him with
  Drome, and fastened him to a great rock. But Fenris
  stretched his legs, and shook himself, and the great chain
  was snapped in pieces. Then the Asas knew that there was no
  safety for them so long as a monster so huge and terrible
  was unbound; and they besought the swarthy elves to forge
  them another and a stronger chain. This the elves did. They
  made a most wondrous chain, smooth as silk, and soft as
  down, yet firmer than granite, and stronger than steel. They
  called it Gleipner; and it was made of the sinews of a bear,
  the footsteps of a cat, the beard of a woman, the breath of
  a fish, the sweat of a bird, and the roots of a mountain.
  When the Asas had obtained this chain, they lured the
  Fenris-wolf to the rocky Island of Lyngve, and by flattery
  persuaded him to be bound again. But this he would not agree
  to do until Tyr placed his hand in his mouth as a pledge of
  good faith. Then they tied him as before, and laughingly
  bade him break the silken cord. The huge creature stretched
  himself as before, and tried with all his might to burst
  away; but Gleipner held him fast, and the worst that he
  could do was to bite off the hand of unlucky Tyr. And this
  is why Tyr is called the one-armed god.

  "But it is said," added Siegfried, "that in the last
  twilight the Fenris-wolf will break his chain, and that he
  will swallow the sun, and slay the great Odin himself, and
  that none can subdue him save Vidar the Silent."

  It was thus that the heroes conversed with each other as
  they rode through the silent ways of the wood.

  At length, one afternoon in early summer, the little company
  reached the Rhine valley; and looking down from the sloping
  hill-tops, green with growing corn, they saw the pleasant
  town of the Burgundians and the high gray towers of
  Gunther's dwelling. And not long afterwards they rode
  through the streets of the old town, and, tired and
  travel-stained, halted outside of the castle-gates. Very
  soon it became noised about that Siegfried and a company of
  strange knights, fair and tall, had come again to Burgundy
  and to the home of the Burgundian kings. But when it was
  certainly known that neither Gunther the king, nor Hagen of
  the evil eye, nor Dankwart his brother, had returned, the
  people felt many sad misgivings; for they greatly feared
  that some hard mischance had befallen their loved king. Then
  Gernot and the young Giselher, having heard of Siegfried's
  arrival, came out with glad but anxious faces to greet him.

  "Welcome, worthy chief!" they cried. "But why are you alone?
  What are your tidings? Where is our brother? and where are
  our brave uncles, Hagen and Dankwart? And who are those
  strange, fair men who ride with you? And what about
  Brunhild, the warrior-maiden? Alas! if our brother has
  fallen by her cruel might, then woe to Burgundy! Tell us
  quickly all about it!"

  "Have patience, friends!" answered Siegfried. "Give me time
  to speak, and I will gladden the hearts of all the folk of
  Burgundy with my news. Your brother Gunther is alive and
  well; and he is the happiest man in the whole mid-world,
  because he has won the matchless Brunhild for his bride. And
  he is ere now making his way up the river with a mighty
  fleet of a hundred vessels and more than two thousand
  warriors. Indeed, you may look for him any day. And he has
  sent me, with these my Nibelungen earls, to bid you make
  ready for his glad home-coming."

  Then, even before he had alighted from Greyfell, he went on
  to tell of the things that had happened at Isenstein; but he
  said nothing of the part which he had taken in the strange
  contest. And a crowd of eager listeners stood around, and
  heard with unfeigned joy of the happy fortune of their king.

  "And now," said Siegfried to Giselher, when he had finished
  his story, "carry the glad news to your mother and your
  sister; for they, too, must be anxious to learn what fate
  has befallen King Gunther."

  "Nay," answered the prince, "you yourself are the king's
  herald, and you shall be the one to break the tidings to
  them. Full glad they'll be to hear the story from your own
  lips, for long have they feared that our brother would never
  be seen by us again. I will tell them of your coming, but
  you must be the first to tell them the news you bring."

  "Very well," answered Siegfried. "It shall be as you say."

  Then he dismounted from Greyfell, and, with his Nibelungen
  earls, was shown into the grand hall, where they were
  entertained in a right kingly manner.

  When Kriemhild the peerless, and Ute her mother, heard that
  Siegfried had come again to Burgundy, and that he brought
  news from Gunther the king, they hastened to make ready to
  see him. And, when he came before them, he seemed so noble,
  so bright, and so glad, that they knew he bore no evil
  tidings.

  "Most noble prince," said Kriemhild, trembling in his
  presence, "right welcome are you to our dwelling! But
  wherefore are you come? How fares my brother Gunther? Why
  came he not with you back to Burgundy-land? Oh! undone are
  we, if, through the cruel might of the warrior-queen, he has
  been lost to us."

  "Now give me a herald's fees!" cried Siegfried, laughing.
  "King Gunther is alive and well. In the games of strength to
  which fair Brunhild challenged him, he was the winner. And
  now he comes up the Rhine with his bride, and a great
  retinue of lords and ladies and fighting-men. Indeed, the
  sails of his ships whiten the river for miles. And I am come
  by his desire to ask that every thing be made ready for his
  glad home-coming and the loving welcome of his peerless
  queen."

  Great was the joy of Kriemhild and her queenly mother when
  they heard this gladsome news; and they thanked the prince
  most heartily for all that he had done.

  "You have truly earned a herald's fee," said the lovely
  maiden, "and gladly would I pay it you in gold; for you have
  cheered us with pleasant tidings, and lightened our minds of
  a heavy load. But men of your noble rank take neither gifts
  nor fees, and hence we have only to offer our deepest and
  heartiest thanks."

  "Not so," answered Siegfried gayly. "Think not I would scorn
  a fee. Had I a kingdom of thirty realms, I should still be
  proud of a gift from you."

  "Then, you shall have your herald's fee!" cried Kriemhild;
  and she sent her maidens to fetch the gift. And with her own
  lily hands she gave him twenty golden bracelets, richly
  inwrought with every kind of rare and costly gem-stones.
  Happy, indeed, was Siegfried to take such priceless gift
  from the hand of so peerless a maiden; and his face shone
  radiant with sunbeams as he humbly bowed, and thanked her.
  But he had no need for the jewels, nor wished he to keep
  them long: so he gave them, with gracious wishes, to the
  fair young maidens at court.

  From this time forward, for many days, there was great
  bustle in Gunther's dwelling. On every side was heard the
  noise of busy hands, making ready for the glad day when the
  king should be welcomed home. The broad halls and the tall
  gray towers were decked with flowers, and floating banners,
  and many a gay device; the houses and streets of the
  pleasant burgh put on their holiday attire; the shady road
  which led through Kriemhild's rose-garden down to the
  river-banks was dusted and swept with daily care; and the
  watchman was cautioned to keep on the lookout every moment
  for the coming of the expected fleet. And heralds had been
  sent to every burgh and castle, and to every countryside in
  Burgundy, announcing the happy home-coming of Gunther and
  his bride, and bidding every one, both high and low, to the
  glad merry-making.

  On the morning of the eleventh day, ere the sun had dried
  the dew from the springing grass, the keen-eyed watchman, in
  his perch on the topmost tower, cried out in happy accents
  to the waiting folk below,--

  "They come at last! I see the white-winged ships still far
  down the stream. But a breeze springs up from the northward,
  and the sailors are at the oars, and swift speed the
  hastening vessels, as if borne on the wings of the wind.
  Ride forth, O ye brave and fair, to welcome the fair and the
  brave!"

  Then quickly the king-folk, and the warriors, and fair
  ladies, mounted their ready steeds, and gayly through the
  gates of the castle they rode out river-wards. And Ute, the
  noble queen-mother, went first. And the company moved in
  glittering array, with flying banners, and music, and the
  noisy flourish of drums, adown the rose-covered pathway
  which led to the water's side. And the peerless Kriemhild
  followed, with a hundred lovely maidens, all mounted on
  snow-white palfreys; and Siegfried, proud and happy, on
  Greyfell, rode beside her.

  When the party reached the river-bank, a pleasant sight met
  their eyes; for the fleet had now drawn near, and the whole
  river, as far as the eye could reach, glittered with the
  light reflected from the shield-hung rails and the golden
  prows of the swift-coming ships. King Gunther's own vessel
  led all the rest; and the king himself stood on the deck,
  with the glorious Brunhild by his side. Nearer and nearer
  the fresh breeze of the summer morning wafted the vessel to
  the shore, where stood the waiting multitude. Softly the
  golden dragon glided in to the landing-place, and quickly
  was it moored to the banks; then Gunther, clad in his kingly
  garments, stepped ashore, and with him his lovely queen. And
  a mighty shout of welcome, and an answering shout of
  gladness, seemed to rend the sky as the waiting hosts beheld
  the sight. And the queen-mother Ute, and the peerless
  Kriemhild, and her kingly brothers, went forward to greet
  the pair. And Kriemhild took Brunhild by the hand, and
  kissed her, and said,--

  "Welcome, thrice welcome, dear sister! to thy home and thy
  kindred and thy people, who hail thee as queen. And may thy
  days be full of joyance, and thy years be full of peace!"

  Then all the folk cried out their goodly greetings; and the
  sound of their glad voices rang out sweet and clear in the
  morning air, and rose up from the riverside, and was echoed
  among the hill-slopes, and carried over the meadows and
  vineyards, to the farthest bounds of Burgundy-land. And the
  matchless Brunhild, smiling, returned the happy greeting;
  and her voice was soft and sweet, as she said,--

  "O kin of the fair Rhineland, and folk of my new-found home!
  may your days be summer sunshine, and your lives lack grief
  and pain; and may this hour of glad rejoicing be the type of
  all hours to come!"

  Then the lovely queen was seated in a golden wain which
  stood in waiting for her; and Gunther mounted his own
  war-steed; and the whole company made ready to ride to the
  castle. Never before had so pleasant a sight been seen in
  Rhineland, as that glorious array of king-folk and lords and
  ladies wending from river to fortress along the rose-strewn
  roadway. Foremost went the king, and by his side was
  Siegfried on the radiant Greyfell. Then came the queen's
  golden wain, drawn by two snow-white oxen, which were led
  with silken cords by sweet-faced maidens; and in it, on an
  ivory throne deep-carved with mystic runes, sat glorious
  Brunhild. Behind rode the queen-mother and her kingly sons,
  and frowning Hagen, and Dankwart, and Volker, and all the
  earl-folk and mighty warriors of Burgundy and of Nibelungen
  Land. And lastly came Kriemhild and her hundred damsels,
  sitting on their snow-white steeds. And they rode past the
  blooming gardens, and through the glad streets of the burgh,
  and then, like a radiant vision, they entered the
  castle-halls; and the lovely pageant was seen no more.

  For twelve days after this, a joyful high-tide was held at
  the castle; and the broad halls rang with merriment and
  music and festive mirth. And games and tournaments were held
  in honor of the king's return. Brave horsemen dashed here
  and there at break-neck speed, or contended manfully in the
  lists; lances flew thick in the air; shouts and glad cries
  were heard on every hand; and for a time the most boisterous
  tumult reigned. But gladness and good-feeling ruled the
  hour, and no one thought of aught but merry-making and
  careless joy. At length, when the days of feasting were
  past, the guests bade Gunther and his queen farewell; and
  each betook himself to his own home, and to whatsoever his
  duty called him. And one would have thought that none but
  happy days were henceforth in store for the kingly folk of
  Burgundy. But alas! too soon the cruel frost and the cold
  north winds nipped the buds and blossoms of the short
  summer, and the days of gladness gave place to nights of
  gloom.





                       Adventure XVII
          How Siegfried Lived in Nibelungen Land.



  When the twelve-days' high-tide at King Gunther's
  home-coming had been brought to an end, and the guests had
  all gone to their homes, Siegfried, too, prepared to bid
  farewell to the Rhineland kings, and to wend to his own
  country. But he was not to go alone; for Kriemhild, the
  peerless princess, was to go with him as his bride. They had
  been wedded during the merry festivities which had just
  closed, and that event had added greatly to the general joy;
  for never was there a fairer or a nobler pair than Siegfried
  the fearless, and Kriemhild the peerless.

  "It grieves my heart to part with you," said Gunther,
  wringing Siegfried's hand. "It will fare but ill with us, I
  fear, when we no longer see your radiant face, or hear your
  cheery voice."

  "Say not so, my brother," answered Siegfried; "for the gods
  have many good things in store for you. And, if ever you
  need the help of my arm, you have but to say the word, and I
  will hasten to your aid."

  Then the Burgundian kings besought the hero to take the
  fourth part of their kingdom as his own and Kriemhild's, and
  to think no more of leaving them. But Siegfried would not
  agree to this. His heart yearned to see his father and
  mother once again, and then to return to his own loved
  Nibelungen Land. So he thanked the kings for their kind
  offer, and hastened to make ready for his intended journey.

  Early on Midsummer Day the hero and his bride rode out of
  Gunther's dwelling, and turned their faces northward. And
  with them was a noble retinue of warriors,--five hundred
  brave Burgundians, with Eckewart as their chief,--who had
  sworn to be Queen Kriemhild's vassals in her new,
  far-distant home. Thirty and two fair maidens, too, went
  with her. And with Siegfried were his Nibelungen earls.

  As the company rode down the sands, and filed gayly along
  the river-road, it seemed a lovely although a sad sight to
  their kinsmen who gazed after them from the castle-towers.
  Fair and young were all the folk; and the world, to most,
  was still untried. And they rode, in the morning sunlight,
  away from their native land, nor recked that never again
  would they return. Each warrior sat upon a charger, richly
  geared with gilt-red saddle, and gorgeous bridle, and
  trappings of every hue; and their war-coats were bright and
  dazzling; and their spears glanced in the sun; and their
  golden shields threw rays of resplendent light around them.
  The maidens, too, were richly dight in broidered cloaks of
  blue, and rare stuffs brought from far-off Araby; and each
  sat on a snow-white palfrey geared with silken housings, and
  trappings of bright blue.

  For some days the company followed the course of the river,
  passing through many a rich meadow, and between lovely
  vineyards, and fields of yellow corn. Then they rode over a
  dreary, barren waste, and through a wild greenwood, and
  reached, at last, the hills which marked the beginning of
  King Siegmund's domains. Then Siegfried sent fleet heralds
  before them to carry to his father the tidings of his coming
  with his bride, fair Kriemhild. Glad, indeed, were old King
  Siegmund and Siegfried's gentle mother when they heard this
  news.

  "Oh, happy is the day!" cried the king. "Thrice happy be the
  day that shall see fair Kriemhild a crowned queen, and
  Siegfried a king in the throne of his fathers!"

  And they showered upon the heralds who had brought the happy
  news rich fees of gold and silver, and gave them garments of
  silken velvet. And on the morrow they set out, with a train
  of earl-folk and lovely ladies, to meet their son and his
  bride. For one whole day they journeyed to the old fortress
  of Santen, where in former days the king's dwelling had
  been. There they met the happy bridal-party, and fond and
  loving were the hearty greetings they bestowed upon
  Kriemhild and the radiant Siegfried. Then, without delay,
  they returned to Siegmund's kingly hall; and for twelve days
  a high tide, more happy and more splendid than that which
  had been held in Burgundy, was made in honor of Siegfried's
  marriage-day. And, in the midst of those days of sport and
  joyance, the old king gave his crown and sceptre to his son;
  and all the people hailed Siegfried, king of the broad
  Lowlands, and Kriemhild his lovely queen.

  Old stories tell how Siegfried reigned in peace and glad
  contentment in his fatherland; and how the joyous sunshine
  shone wherever he went, and poured a flood of light and
  warmth and happiness into every nook and corner of his
  kingdom; and how, at length, after the gentle Sigelind had
  died, he moved his court to that other country of his,--the
  far-off Nibelungen Land. And it is in that strange,
  dream-haunted land, in a strong-built mountain fortress,
  that we shall next find him.

  Glad were the Nibelungen folk when their own king and his
  lovely wife came to dwell among them; and the mists once
  more were lifted, and the skies grew bright and clear, and
  men said that the night had departed, and the better days
  were near. Golden, indeed, and most glorious, was that
  summer-time; and long to be remembered was Siegfried's too
  brief reign in Nibelungen Land. And, ages afterward, folk
  loved to sing of his care for his people's welfare, of his
  wisdom and boundless lore, of his deeds in the time of
  warring, and the victories gained in peace. And strong and
  brave were the men-folk, and wise and fair were the women,
  and broad and rich were the acres, in Siegfried's well-ruled
  land. The farm-lands were yellow with the abundant harvests,
  fruitful orchards grew in the pleasant dales, and fair
  vineyards crowned the hills. Fine cities sprang up along the
  seacoast, and strong fortresses were built on every height.
  Great ships were made, which sailed to every land, and
  brought home rich goods from every clime,--coffee and spices
  from India, rich silks from Zazemang, fine fruits from the
  Iberian shore, and soft furs, and ivory tusks of the
  sea-beast, from the frozen coasts of the north. Never before
  was country so richly blessed; for Siegfried taught his
  people how to till the soil best, and how to delve far down
  into the earth for hidden treasures, and how to work
  skilfully in iron and bronze and all other metals, and how
  to make the winds and the waters, and even the thunderbolt,
  their thralls and helpful servants. And he was as great in
  war as in peace; for no other people dared harm, or in any
  way impose upon, the Nibelungen folk, or any of his faithful
  liegemen.

  It is told how, once on a time, he warred against the
  Hundings, who had done his people an injury, and how he
  sailed against them in a long dragon-ship of a hundred oars.
  When he was far out in the mid-sea, and no land was anywhere
  in sight, a dreadful storm arose. The lightnings flashed,
  and the winds roared, and threatened to carry the ship to
  destruction. Quickly the fearful sailors began to reef the
  sails, but Siegfried bade them stop.

  "Why be afraid?" he cried. "The Norns have woven the woof of
  every man's life, and no man can escape his destiny. If the
  gods will that we should drown, it is folly for us to strive
  against fate. We are bound to the shore of the Hundings'
  land, and thither must our good ship carry us. Hoist the
  sails high on the masts, even though the wind should tear
  them into shreds, and split the masts into splinters!"

  The sailors did as they were bidden; and the hurricane
  caught the ship in its mighty arms, and hurried it over the
  rolling waves with the speed of lightning. And Siegfried
  stood calmly at the helm, and guided the flying vessel.
  Presently they saw a rocky point rising up out of the waters
  before them; and on it stood an old man, his gray cloak
  streaming in the wind, and his blue hood tied tightly down
  over his head.

  "Whose ship is that which comes riding on the storm?" cried
  the man.

  "King Siegfried's ship," answered the man at the prow.
  "There lives no braver man on earth than he."

  "Thou sayest truly," came back from the rock. "Lay by your
  oars, reef the sails, and take me on board!"

  "What is your name?" asked the sailor, as the ship swept
  past him.

  "When the raven croaks gladly over his battle-feast, men
  call me Hnikar. But call me now Karl from the mountain,
  Fengr, or Fjolner. Reef, quick, your sails, and take me in!"

  The men, at Siegfried's command, obeyed. And at once the
  wind ceased blowing, and the sea was calm, and the warm sun
  shone through the rifted clouds, and the coast of Hundings
  Land lay close before them. But when they looked for
  Fjolner, as he called himself, they could not find him.

  One day Siegfried sat in his sun-lit hall in Nibelungen
  Land; and Kriemhild, lovely as a morning in June, sat beside
  him. And they talked of the early days when alone he fared
  through the mid-world, and alone did deeds of wondrous
  daring. And Siegfried bethought him then of the glittering
  Hoard of Andvari, and the cave and the mountain fortress,
  where the faithful dwarf Alberich still guarded the
  measureless treasure.

  "How I should like to see that mountain fastness and that
  glittering hoard!" cried Kriemhild.

  "You shall see," answered the king.

  And at once horses were saddled, and preparations were made
  for a morning's jaunt into the mountains. And, ere an hour
  had passed, Siegfried and his queen, and a small number of
  knights and ladies, were riding through the passes. About
  noon they came to Alberich's dwelling,--a frowning fortress
  of granite built in the mountain-side. The gate was opened
  by the sleepy giant who always sat within, and the party
  rode into the narrow court-yard. There they were met by
  Alberich, seeming smaller and grayer, and more pinched and
  wan, than ever before.

  "Hail, noble master!" cried he, bowing low before Siegfried.
  "How can Alberich serve you to-day?"

  "Lead us to the treasure-vaults," answered the king. "My
  queen would fain feast her eyes upon the yellow, sparkling
  hoard."

  The dwarf obeyed. Through a narrow door they were ushered
  into a long, low cavern, so frowning and gloomy, that the
  queen started back in affright. But, re-assured by
  Siegfried's smiling face, she went forward again. The
  entrance-way was lighted by little torches held in the hands
  of tiny elves, who bowed in humble politeness to the kingly
  party. But, when once beyond the entrance-hall, no torches
  were needed to show the way; for the huge pile of glittering
  gold and sparkling jewels, which lay heaped up to the
  cavern's roof, lighted all the space around with a glory
  brighter than day.

  "There is the dwarf's treasure!" cried Siegfried. "Behold
  the Hoard of Andvari, the gathered wealth of the ages!
  Henceforth, fair Kriemhild, it is yours--all yours, save
  this serpent-ring."

  "And why not that too?" asked the queen; for she admired its
  glittering golden scales, and its staring ruby eyes.

  "Alas!" answered he, "a curse rests upon it,--the curse
  which Andvari the ancient laid upon it when Loki tore it
  from his hand. A miser's heart--selfish, cold, snaky--is
  bred in its owner's being; and he thenceforth lives a very
  serpent's life. Or, should he resist its influence, then
  death through the guile of pretended friends is sure to be
  his fate."

  "Then why," asked the queen,--"why do you keep it yourself?
  Why do you risk its bane? Why not give it to your sworn foe,
  or cast it into the sea, or melt it in the fire, and thus
  escape the curse?"

  Siegfried answered by telling how, when in the heyday of his
  youth, he had slain Fafnir, the keeper of this hoard, upon
  the Glittering Heath; and how, while still in the narrow
  trench which he had dug, the blood of the horrid beast had
  flown in upon him, and covered him up.

  "And this I have been told by Odin's birds," he went on to
  say, "that every part of my body that was touched by the
  slimy flood was made forever proof against sword and spear,
  and sharp weapons of every kind. Hence I have no cause to
  fear the stroke, either of open foes or of traitorous false
  friends."

  "But was all of your body covered with the dragon's blood?
  Was there no small spot untouched?" asked the queen, more
  anxious now than she had ever seemed to be before she had
  known aught of her husband's strange security from wounds.

  "Only one very little spot between the shoulders was left
  untouched," answered Siegfried. "I afterwards found a
  lime-leaf sticking there, and I know that the slimy blood
  touched not that spot. But then who fears a thrust in the
  back? None save cowards are wounded there."

  "Ah!" said the queen, toying tremulously with the fatal
  ring, "that little lime-leaf may yet bring us unutterable
  woe."

  But Siegfried laughed at her fears; and he took the
  serpent-ring, and slipped it upon his forefinger, and said
  that he would wear it there, bane or no bane, so long as
  Odin would let him live.

  Then, after another long look at the heaps of glittering
  gold and priceless gem-stones, the company turned, and
  followed Alberich back, through the gloomy entranceway and
  the narrow door, to the open air again. And mounting their
  steeds, which stood ready, they started homewards. But, at
  the outer gate, Siegfried paused, and said to the dwarf at
  parting,--

  "Hearken, Alberich! The Hoard of Andvari is no longer mine.
  I have made a present of it to my queen. Hold it and guard
  it, therefore, as hers and hers alone; and, whatever her
  bidding may be regarding it, that do."

  "Your word is law, and shall be obeyed," said the dwarf,
  bowing low.

  Then the drowsy gate-keeper swung the heavy gate to its
  place, and the kingly party rode gayly away.

  On their way home the company went, by another route,
  through the narrow mountain pass which led towards the sea,
  and thence through a rocky gorge between two smoking
  mountains. And on one side of this road a great cavern
  yawned, so dark and deep that no man had ever dared to step
  inside of it. And as they paused before it, and listened,
  they heard, away down in its dismal depths, horrid groans,
  sad moanings, and faint wild shrieks, so far away that it
  seemed as if they had come from the very centre of the
  earth. And, while they still listened, the ground around
  them trembled and shook, and the smoking mountain on the
  other side of the gorge smoked blacker than before.

  "Loki is uneasy to-day," said Siegfried, as they all put
  spurs to their horses, and galloped swiftly home.

  It was the Cavern of the Mischief-maker which the party had
  visited; and that evening, as they again sat in Siegfried's
  pleasant hall, they amused themselves by telling many
  strange old tales of the mid-world's childhood, when the
  gods, and the giants, and the dwarf-folk, had their dwelling
  on the earth. But they talked most of Loki, the flame, the
  restless, the evil-doer. And this, my children, is the story
  that was told of the Doom of the Mischief-maker.[EN#30]



  The Story.



  You have heard of the feast that old AEgir once made for the
  Asa-folk in his gold-lit dwelling in the deep sea; and how
  the feast was hindered, through the loss of his great
  brewing-kettle, until Thor had obtained a still larger
  vessel from Hymer the giant. It is very likely that the
  thief who stole King AEgir's kettle was none other than Loki
  the Mischief-maker; but, if this was so, he was not long
  unpunished for his meanness.

  There was great joy in the Ocean-king's hall, when at last
  the banquet was ready, and the foaming ale began to pass
  itself around to the guests. But Thor, who had done so much
  to help matters along, could not stay to the merry-making:
  for he had heard that the Storm-giants were marshalling
  their forces for a raid upon some unguarded corner of the
  mid-world; and so, grasping his hammer Mjolner, he bade his
  kind host good-by, and leaped into his iron car.

  "Business always before pleasure!" he cried, as he gave the
  word to his swift, strong goats, and rattled away at a
  wonderful rate through the air.

  In old AEgir's hall glad music resounded on every side; and
  the gleeful Waves danced merrily as the Asa-folk sat around
  the festal-board, and partook of the Ocean-king's good fare.
  AEgir's two thralls, the faithful Funfeng and the trusty
  Elder, waited upon the guests, and carefully supplied their
  wants. Never in all the world had two more thoughtful
  servants been seen; and every one spoke in praise of their
  quickness, and their skill, and their ready obedience.

  Then Loki, unable to keep his hands from mischief, waxed
  very angry, because every one seemed happy and free from
  trouble, and no one noticed or cared for him. So, while good
  Funfeng was serving him to meat, he struck the faithful
  thrall with a carving-knife, and killed him. Then arose a
  great uproar in the Ocean-king's feast-hall. The Asa-folk
  rose up from the table, and drove the Mischief-maker out
  from among them; and in their wrath they chased him across
  the waters, and forced him to hide in the thick greenwood.
  After this they went back to AEgir's hall, and sat down
  again to the feast. But they had scarcely begun to eat, when
  Loki came quietly out of his hiding-place, and stole slyly
  around to AEgir's kitchen, where he found Elder, the other
  thrall, grieving sadly because of his brother's death.

  "I hear a great chattering and clattering over there in the
  feast-hall," said Loki. "The greedy, silly Asa-folk seem to
  be very busy indeed, both with their teeth and their
  tongues. Tell me, now, good Elder, what they talk about
  while they sit over their meat and ale."

  "They talk of noble deeds," answered Elder. "They speak of
  gallant heroes, and brave men, and fair women, and strong
  hearts, and willing hands, and gentle manners, and kind
  friends. And for all these they have words of praise, and
  songs of beauty; but none of them speak well of Loki, the
  thief and the vile traitor."

  "Ah!" said Loki wrathfully, twisting himself into a dozen
  different shapes, "no one could ask so great a kindness from
  such folk. I must go into the feast-hall, and take a look at
  this fine company, and listen to their noisy merry-making. I
  have a fine scolding laid up for those good fellows; and,
  unless they are careful with their tongues, they will find
  many hard words mixed with their ale."

  Then he went boldly into the great hall, and stood up before
  the wonder-stricken guests at the table. When the Asa-folk
  saw who it was that had darkened the doorway, and was now in
  their midst, a painful silence fell upon them, and all their
  merriment was at an end. And Loki stretched himself up to
  his full height, and said to them,--

  "Hungry and thirsty come I to AEgir's gold lit hall. Long
  and rough was the road I trod, and wearisome was the way.
  Will no one bid me welcome? Will none give me a seat at the
  feast? Will none offer me a drink of the precious mead? Why
  are you all so dumb? Why so sulky and stiff-necked, when
  your best friend stands before you? Give me a seat among
  you,--yes, one of the high-seats,--or else drive me from
  your hall! In either case, the world will never forget me. I
  am Loki."

  Then one among the Asa-folk spoke up, and said, "Let him sit
  with us. He is mad; and when be slew Funfeng, he was not in
  his right mind. He is not answerable for his rash act."

  But Bragi the Wise, who sat on the innermost seat, arose,
  and said, "Nay, we will not give him a seat among us.
  Nevermore shall he feast or sup with us, or share our
  good-fellowship. Thieves and murderers we know, and will
  shun."

  This speech enraged Loki all the more; and he spared not
  vile words, but heaped abuse without stint upon all the folk
  before him. And by main force he seized hold of the silent
  Vidar, who had come from the forest solitudes to be present
  at the feast, and dragged him away from the table, and
  seated himself in his place. Then, as he quaffed the foaming
  ale, he flung out taunts and jeers and hard words to all who
  sat around, but chiefly to Bragi the Wise. Then he turned to
  Sif, the beautiful wife of Thor, and began to twit her about
  her golden hair.

  "Oh, how handsome you were, when you looked at your bald
  head in the mirror that day! Oh, what music you made when
  your hands touched your smooth pate! And now whose hair do
  you wear?"

  And the wretch laughed wickedly, as he saw the tears welling
  up in poor Sif's eyes.

  Then suddenly a great tumult was heard outside. The
  mountains shook and trembled; and the bottom of the sea
  seemed moved; and the waves, affrighted and angry, rushed
  hither and thither in confusion. All the guests looked up in
  eager expectation, and some of them fled in alarm from the
  hall. Then the mighty Thor strode through the door, and up
  to the table, swinging his hammer, and casting wrathful
  glances at the Mischief-maker. Loki trembled, and dropped
  his goblet, and sank down upon his knees before the terrible
  Asa.

  "I yield me!" he cried. "Spare my life, I pray you, and I
  will be your thrall forever!"

  "I want no such thrall," answered Thor. "And I spare your
  life on one condition only,--that you go at once from hence,
  and nevermore presume to come into the company of Asa-folk."

  "I promise all that you ask," said Loki, trembling more than
  ever. "Let me go."

  Thor stepped aside; and the frightened culprit fled from the
  hall, and was soon out of sight. The feast was broken up.
  The folk bade AEgir a kind farewell, and all embarked on
  Frey's good ship Skidbladner; and fair winds wafted them
  swiftly home to Asgard.

  Loki fled to the dark mountain gorges of Mist Land, and
  sought for a while to hide himself from the sight of both
  gods and men. In a deep ravine by the side of a roaring
  torrent, he built himself a house of iron and stone, and
  placed a door on each of its four sides, so that he could
  see whatever passed around him. There, for many winters, he
  lived in lonely solitude, planning with himself how he might
  baffle the gods, and regain his old place in Asgard. And now
  and then he slipped slyly away from his hiding-place, and
  wrought much mischief for a time among the abodes of men.
  But when Thor heard of his evil-doings, and sought to catch
  him, and punish him for his evil deeds, he was nowhere to be
  found. And at last the Asa-folk determined, that, if he
  could ever be captured, the safety of the world required
  that he should be bound hand and foot, and kept forever in
  prison.

  Loki often amused himself in his mountain home by taking
  upon him his favorite form of a salmon, and lying
  listlessly, beneath the waters of the great Fanander
  Cataract, which fell from the shelving rocks a thousand feet
  above him. One day while thus lying, he bethought himself of
  former days, when he walked the glad young earth in company
  with the All-Father. And among other things he remembered
  how he had once borrowed the magic net of Ran, the
  Ocean-queen, and had caught with it the dwarf Andvari,
  disguised, as he himself now was, in the form of a slippery
  salmon.

  "I will make me such a net!" he cried. "I will make it
  strong and good; and I, too, will fish for men."

  So he took again his proper shape, and went back to his
  cheerless home in the ravine. And he gathered flax and wool
  and long hemp, and spun yarn and strong cords, and wove them
  into meshes, after the pattern of Queen Ran's magic net; for
  men had not, at that time, learned how to make or use nets
  for fishing. And the first fisherman who caught fish in that
  way is said to have taken Loki's net as a model.

  Odin sat, on the morrow, in his high hall of Hlidskialf, and
  looked out over all the world, and saw, even to the
  uttermost corners, what men-folk were everywhere doing. When
  his eye rested upon the dark line which marked the
  mountain-land of the Mist Country, he started up in quick
  surprise, and cried out,

  "Who is that who sits by the Fanander Force, and ties strong
  cords together?"

  But none of those who stood around could tell, for their
  eyes were not strong enough and clear enough to see so far.

  "Bring Heimdal!" then cried Odin.

  Now, Heimdal the White dwells among the blue mountains of
  sunny Himminbjorg, where the rainbow, the shimmering
  Asa-bridge, spans the space betwixt heaven and earth. He is
  the son of Odin, golden-toothed, pure-faced, and
  clean-hearted; and he ever keeps watch and ward over the
  mid-world and the homes of frail men-folk, lest the giants
  shall break in, and destroy and slay. He rides upon a
  shining steed named Goldtop; and he holds in his hand a horn
  called Gjallar-horn, with which, in the last great twilight,
  he shall summon the world to battle with the Fenris-wolf and
  the sons of Loki. This watchful guardian of the mid-world is
  as wakeful as the birds. And his hearing is so keen, that no
  sound on earth escapes him,--not even that of the rippling
  waves upon the seashore, nor of the quiet sprouting of the
  grass in the meadows, nor even of the growth of the soft
  wool on the backs of sheep. And his eyesight, too, is
  wondrous clear and sharp; for he can see by night as well as
  by day, and the smallest thing, although a hundred leagues
  away, cannot be hidden from him.

  To Heimdal, then, the heralds hastened, bearing the words
  which Odin had spoken. And the watchful warder of the
  mid-world came at once to the call of the All-Father.

  "Turn your eyes to the sombre mountains that guard the
  shadowy Mist-land from the sea," said Odin, "Now look far
  down into the rocky gorge in which the Fanander Cataract
  pours, and tell me what you see."

  Heimdal did as he was bidden.

  "I see a shape," said he, "sitting by the torrent's side. It
  is Loki's shape, and he seems strangely busy with strong
  strings and cords."

  "Call all our folk together!" commanded Odin. "The wily
  Mischief-maker plots our hurt. He must be driven from his
  hiding-place, and put where he can do no further harm."

  Great stir was there then in Asgard. Every one hastened to
  answer Odin's call, and to join in the quest for the
  Mischief-maker. Thor came on foot, with his hammer tightly
  grasped in his hands, and lightning flashing from beneath
  his red brows. Tyr, the one-handed, came with his sword.
  Then followed Bragi the Wise, with his harp and his sage
  counsels; then Hermod the Nimble, with his quick wit and
  ready hands; and, lastly, a great company of elves and
  wood-sprites and trolls. Then a whirlwind caught them up in
  its swirling arms, and carried them through the air, over
  the hill-tops and the country-side, and the meadows and the
  mountains, and set them down in the gorge of the Fanander
  Force.

  But Loki was not caught napping. His wakeful ears had heard
  the tumult in the air, and he guessed who it was that was
  coming. He threw the net, which he had just finished, into
  the fire, and jumped quickly into the swift torrent, where,
  changing himself into a salmon, he lay hidden beneath the
  foaming waters.

  When the eager Asa-folk reached Loki's dwelling, they found
  that he whom they sought had fled; and although they
  searched high and low, among the rocks and the caves and the
  snowy crags, they could see no signs of the cunning
  fugitive. Then they went back to his house again to consult
  what next to do. And, while standing by the hearth, Kwaser,
  a sharp-sighted elf, whose eyes were quicker than the
  sunbeam, saw the white ashes of the burned net lying
  undisturbed in the still hot embers, the woven meshes
  unbroken and whole.

  "See what the cunning fellow has been making!" cried the
  elf. "It must have been a trap for catching fish."

  "Or rather for catching men," said Bragi; "for it is
  strangely like the Sea-queen's net."

  "In that case," said Hermod the Nimble, "he has made a trap
  for himself; for, no doubt, he has changed himself, as is
  his wont, to a slippery salmon, and lies at this moment
  hidden beneath the Fanander torrent. Here are plenty of
  cords of flax and hemp and wool, with which he intended to
  make other nets. Let us take them, and weave one like the
  pattern which lies there in the embers; and then, if I
  mistake not, we shall catch the too cunning fellow."

  All saw the wisdom of these words, and all set quickly to
  work. In a short time they had made a net strong and large,
  and full of fine meshes, like the model among the coals.
  Then they threw it into the roaring stream, Thor holding to
  one end, and all the other folk pulling at the other. With
  great toil, they dragged it forwards, against the current,
  even to the foot of the waterfall. But the cunning Loki
  crept close down between two sharp stones, and lay there
  quietly while the net passed harmlessly over him.

  "Let us try again!" cried Thor. "I am sure that something
  besides dead rocks lies at the bottom of the stream."

  So they hung heavy weights to the net, and began to drag it
  a second time, this time going down stream. Loki looked out
  from his hiding-place, and saw that he would not be able to
  escape again by lying between the rocks, and that his only
  chance for safety was either to leap over the net, and hide
  himself behind the rushing cataract itself, or to swim with
  the current out to the sea. But the way to the sea was long,
  and there were many shallow places; and Loki had doubts as
  to how old AEgir would receive him in his kingdom. He feared
  greatly to undertake so dangerous and uncertain a course.
  So, turning upon his foes, and calling up all his strength,
  he made a tremendous leap high into the air, and clean over
  the net. But Thor was too quick for him. As he fell towards
  the water, the Thunderer quickly threw out his hand, and
  caught the slippery salmon, holding him firmly by the tail.

  When Loki found that he was surely caught, and could not by
  any means escape, he took again his proper shape. Fiercely
  did he struggle with mighty Thor, and bitter were the curses
  which he poured down upon his enemies. But he could not get
  free. Into the deep, dark cavern, beneath the smoking
  mountain, where daylight never comes, nor the warmth of the
  sun, nor the sound of Nature's music, the fallen
  Mischief-maker was carried. And they bound him firmly to the
  sharp rocks, with his face turned upwards toward the
  dripping roof; for they said that nevermore, until the last
  dread twilight, should he be free to vex the world with his
  wickedness. And Skade, the giant wife of Niord and the
  daughter of grim Old Winter, took a hideous poison snake,
  and hung it up above Loki, so that its venom would drop into
  his upturned face. But Sigyn, the loving wife of the
  suffering wretch, left her home in the pleasant halls of
  Asgard, and came to his horrible prison-house to soothe and
  comfort him; and evermore she holds a basin above his head,
  and catches in it the poisonous drops as they fall. When the
  basin is filled, and she turns to empty it in the tar-black
  river that flows through that home of horrors, the terrible
  venom falls upon his unprotected face, and Loki writhes and
  shrieks in fearful agony, until the earth around him shakes
  and trembles, and the mountains spit forth fire, and fumes
  of sulphur-smoke.

  And there the Mischief-maker, the spirit of evil, shall lie
  in torment until the last great day and the dread twilight
  of all mid-world things. How strange and how sad, that,
  while Loki lies thus bound and harmless, evil still walks
  the earth, and that so much mischief and such dire disasters
  were prepared for Siegfried and the folk of Nibelungen Land!





                      Adventure XVIII
              How the Mischief Began to Brew.



  One day a party of strangers came to Siegfried's Nibelungen
  dwelling, and asked to speak with the king.

  "Who are you? and what is your errand?" asked the porter at
  the gate.

  "Our errand is to the king, and he will know who we are when
  he sees us," was the answer.

  When Siegfried was told of the strange men who waited below,
  and of the strange way in which they had answered the
  porter's question, he asked,--

  "From what country seem they to have come? For surely their
  dress and manners will betray something of that matter to
  you. Are they South-land folk, or East-land folk? Are they
  from the mountains, or from the sea?"

  "They belong to none of the neighbor-lands," answered the
  earl who had brought the word to the king. "No such men live
  upon our borders. They seem to have come from a far-off
  land; for they are travel-worn, and their sea-stained
  clothing betokens a people from the south. They are tall and
  dark, and their hair is black, and they look much like those
  Rhineland warriors who came hither with our lady the queen.
  And they carry a blood-red banner with a golden dragon
  painted upon it."

  "Oh, they must be from Burgundy!" cried the queen, who had
  overheard these words. And she went at once to the window to
  see the strangers, who were waiting in the courtyard below.

  There, indeed, she saw thirty tall Burgundians, clad in the
  gay costume of Rhineland, now faded and worn with long
  travel. But all save one were young, and strangers to
  Kriemhild. That one was their leader,--an old man with a
  kind face, and a right noble bearing.

  "See!" said the queen to Siegfried: "there is our brave
  captain Gere, who, ever since my childhood, has been the
  trustiest man in my brother Gunther's household. Those men
  are from the fatherland, and they bring tidings from the
  dear old Burgundian home."

  "Welcome are they to our Nibelungen Land!" cried the
  delighted king.

  And he ordered that the strangers should be brought into the
  castle, and that the most sumptuous rooms should be allotted
  to them, and a plenteous meal prepared, and every thing done
  to entertain them in a style befitting messengers from
  Kriemhild's fatherland. Then Gere, the trusty captain, was
  led into the presence of the king and queen. Right gladly
  did they welcome him, and many were the questions they asked
  about their kin-folk, and the old Rhineland home.

  "Tell us, good Gere," said Siegfried, "what is thy message
  from our friends; for we are anxious to know whether they
  are well and happy, or whether some ill luck has overtaken
  them. If any harm threatens them, they have but to speak,
  and I, with my sword and my treasures, will hasten to their
  help."

  "They are all well," answered the captain. "No ill has
  befallen them, and no harm threatens them. Peace rules all
  the land; and fair weather and sunshine have filled the
  people's barns, and made their hearts glad. And thus it has
  been ever since Gunther brought to his dwelling the
  warrior-maiden Brunhild to be his queen. And this is my
  errand and the message that I bring: King Gunther, blessed
  with happiness, intends to hold a grand high-tide of joy and
  thanksgiving at the time of the harvest-moon. And nothing is
  wanting to complete the gladness of that time, but the sight
  of you and the peerless Kriemhild in your old places at the
  feast. And it is to invite you to this festival of rejoicing
  that I have come, at the king's command, to Nibelungen
  Land."

  Siegfried sat a moment in silence, and then thoughtfully
  answered,--

  "It is a long, long journey from this land to Burgundy, and
  many dangers beset the road; and my own people would sadly
  miss me while away, and I know not what mishaps might
  befall."

  Then Gere spoke of the queen-mother Ute, now grown old and
  feeble, who wished once more, ere death called her hence, to
  see her daughter Kriemhild. And he told how all the people,
  both high and low, yearned for another sight of the radiant
  hero who in former days had blessed their land with his
  presence and his noble deeds. And his persuasive words had
  much weight with Siegfried, who said at length,--

  "Tarry a few days yet for my answer. I will talk with my
  friends and the Nibelungen earls; and what they think best,
  that will I do."

  For nine days, then, waited Gere at Siegfried's hall; but
  still the king put off his answer.

  "Wait until to-morrow," he said each day, for his heart
  whispered dim forebodings.

  At length, as midsummer was fast drawing near, the impatient
  captain could stay no longer; and he bade his followers make
  ready to go back forthwith to Burgundy. When the queen saw
  that they were ready to take their leave, and that Gere
  could wait no longer upon the king's pleasure, she urged her
  husband to say to Gunther that they would come to his
  harvest festival. And the lords and noble earl-folk added
  their persuasions to hers.

  "Send word back to the Burgundian king," said they, "that
  you will go, as he desires. We will see to it that no harm
  comes to your kingdom while you are away."

  So Siegfried called Gere and his comrades into the ball, and
  loaded them with costly gifts such as they had never before
  seen, and bade them say to their master that he gladly
  accepted the kind invitation he had sent, and that, ere the
  harvest high-tide began, he and Kriemhild would be with him
  in Burgundy.

  And the messengers went back with all speed, and told what
  wondrous things they had seen in Nibelungen Land, and in
  what great splendor Siegfried lived. And, when they showed
  the rare presents which had been given them, all joined in
  praising the goodness and greatness of the hero-king. But
  old chief Hagen frowned darkly as he said,--

  "It is little wonder that he can do such things, for the
  Shining Hoard of Andvari is his. If we had such a treasure,
  we, too, might live in more than kingly grandeur."

  Early in the month of roses, Siegfried and his peerless
  queen, with a retinue of more than a thousand warriors and
  many fair ladies, started on their long and toilsome journey
  to the South-land. And the folk who went with them to the
  city gates bade them mane tearful farewells, and returned to
  their homes, feeling that the sunshine had gone forever from
  the Nibelungen Land. But the sky was blue and cloudless, and
  the breezes warm and mild, and glad was the song of the
  reapers as adown the seaward highway the kingly company
  rode. Two days they rode through Mist Land, to the shore of
  the peaceful sea. Ten days they sailed on the waters. And
  the winds were soft and gentle; and the waves slept in the
  sunlight, or merrily danced in their wake. But each day, far
  behind them, there followed a storm-cloud, dark as night,
  and the pleasant shores of Mist Land were hidden forever
  behind it. Five days they rode through the Lowlands, and
  glad were the Lowland folk with sight of their hero-king.
  Two days through the silent greenwood, and one o'er the
  barren moor, and three amid vineyards and fields, and
  between orchards fruitful and fair, they rode. And on the
  four and twentieth day they came in sight of the quiet town,
  and the tall gray towers, where dwelt the Burgundian kings.
  And a great company on horseback, with flashing shields and
  fine-wrought garments and nodding plumes, came out to meet
  them. It was King Gernot and a thousand of the best men and
  fairest women in Burgundy; and they welcomed Siegfried and
  Kriemhild and their Nibelungen-folk to the fair land of the
  Rhine. And then they turned, and rode back with them to the
  castle. And, as the company passed through the pleasant
  streets of the town, the people stood by the wayside,
  anxious to catch sight of the radiant Siegfried on his
  sunbright steed, and of the peerless Kriemhild, riding on a
  palfrey by his side. And young girls strewed roses in their
  pathway, and hung garlands upon their horses; and every one
  shouted, "Hail to the conquering hero! Hail to the matchless
  queen!"

  When they reached the castle, King Gunther and Giselher met
  them, and ushered them into the old familiar halls, where a
  right hearty welcome greeted them from all the kingly
  household. And none seemed more glad in this happy hour than
  Brunhild the warrior-queen, now more gloriously beautiful
  than even in the days of yore.

  When the harvest-moon began to shine full and bright,
  lighting up the whole world from evening till morn with its
  soft radiance, the gay festival so long looked forward to
  began. And care and anxiety, and the fatigues of the long
  journey, were forgotten amid the endless round of pleasure
  which for twelve days enlivened the whole of Burgundy. And
  the chiefest honors were everywhere paid to Siegfried the
  hero-king, and to Kriemhild the peerless queen of beauty.

  Then Queen Brunhild called to mind, how, on a time, it had
  been told her in Isenland that Siegfried was but the
  liegeman and vassal of King Gunther; and she wondered why
  such honor should be paid to an underling, and why the king
  himself should treat him with so much respect. And as she
  thought of this, and of the high praises with which every
  one spoke of Kriemhild, her mind became filled with jealous
  broodings. And soon her bitter jealousy was turned to deadly
  hate; for she remembered then, how, in the days long past, a
  noble youth, more beautiful and more glorious than the world
  would ever see again, had awakened her from the deep sleep
  that Odin's thorn had given; and she remembered how Gunther
  had won her by deeds of strength and skill which he never
  afterwards could even imitate; and she thought how grand
  indeed was Kriemhild's husband compared with her own weak
  and wavering and commonplace lord. And her soul was filled
  with sorrow and bitterness and deepest misery, when, putting
  these thoughts together, she believed that she had in some
  way been duped and cheated into becoming Gunther's wife.

  When at last the gay feast was ended, and most of the guests
  had gone to their homes, she sought her husband, and thus
  broached the matter to him.

  "Often have I asked you," said she, "why your sister
  Kriemhild was given in marriage to a vassal, and as often
  have you put me off with vague excuses. Often, too, have I
  wondered why your vassal, Siegfried, has never paid you
  tribute for the lands which he holds from you, and why he
  has never come to render you homage. Now he is here in your
  castle; but he sets himself up, not as your vassal, but as
  your peer. I pray you, tell me what such strange things
  mean. Was an underling and a vassal ever known before to put
  himself upon a level with his liege lord?"

  Gunther was greatly troubled, and he knew not what to say;
  for he feared to tell the queen how they had deceived her
  when he had won the games at Isenstein, and how the truth
  had ever since been kept hidden from her.

  "Ask me not to explain this matter further than I have
  already done," he answered. "It is enough that Siegfried is
  the greatest of all my vassals, and that his lands are
  broader even than my own. He has helped me out of many
  straits, and has added much to the greatness and strength of
  my kingdom: for this reason he has never been asked to pay
  us tribute, and for this reason we grant him highest
  honors."

  But this answer failed to satisfy the queen.

  "Is it not the first duty of a vassal," she asked, "to help
  his liege lord in every undertaking? If so, Siegfried has
  but done his duty, and you owe him nothing. But you have not
  told me all. You have deceived me, and you would fain
  deceive me again. You have a secret, and I will find it
  out."

  The king made no answer, but walked silently and
  thoughtfully away.

  It happened one evening, not long thereafter, that the two
  queens sat together at an upper window, and looked down upon
  a company of men in the courtyard below. Among them were the
  noblest earl-folk of Burgundy, and Gunther the king, and
  Siegfried. But Siegfried towered above all the rest; and he
  moved like a god among men.

  "See my noble Siegfried!" cried Kriemhild in her pride. "How
  grandly he stands there! What a type of manly beauty and
  strength! No one cares to look at other men when he is
  near."

  "He maybe handsome," answered Brunhild sadly; "and, for
  aught I know, he may be noble. But what is all that by the
  side of kingly power? Were he but the peer of your brother
  Gunther, then you might well boast."

  "He is the peer of Gunther," returned Kriemhild. "And not
  only his peer, but more; for he stands as high above him in
  kingly power and worth as in bodily stature."

  "How can that be?" asked Brunhild, growing angry. "For, when
  Gunther so gallantly won me at Isenstein, he told me that
  Siegfried was his vassal; and often since that time I have
  heard the same. And even your husband told me that Gunther
  was his liege lord."

  Queen Kriemhild laughed at these words, and answered, "I
  tell you again that Siegfried is a king far nobler and
  richer and higher than any other king on earth. Think you
  that my brothers would have given me to a mere vassal to be
  his wife?"

  Then Brunhild, full of wrath, replied, "Your husband is
  Gunther's vassal and my own, and he shall do homage to us as
  the humblest and meanest of our underlings. He shall not go
  from this place until he has paid all the tribute that has
  so long been due from him. Then we shall see who is the
  vassal, and who is the lord."

  "Nay," answered Kriemhild. "It shall not be. No tribute was
  ever due; and, if homage is to be paid, it is rather Gunther
  who must pay it."

  "It shall be settled once for all!" cried Brunhild, now
  boiling over with rage. "I will know the truth. If Siegfried
  is not our vassal, then I have been duped; and I will have
  revenge."

  "It is well," was the mild answer. "Let it be settled, once
  for all; and then, mayhap, we shall know who it was who
  really won the games at Isenstein, and you for Gunther's
  wife."

  And the two queens parted in wrath.[EN#31]

  Kriemhild's anger was as fleeting as an April cloud, which
  does but threaten, and then passes away in tears and
  sunshine. But Brunhild's was like the dread winter storm
  that sweeps down from Niflheim, and brings ruin and death in
  its wake. She felt that she had been cruelly wronged in some
  way, and that her life had been wrecked, and she rested not
  until she had learned the truth.

  It was Hagen who at last told her the story of the cruel
  deceit that had made her Gunther's wife; and then her wrath
  and her shame knew no bounds.

  "Woe betide the day!" she cried,--"woe betide the day that
  brought me to Rhineland, and made me the wife of a weakling
  and coward, and the jest of him who might have done nobler
  things!"

  Hagen smiled. He had long waited for this day.

  "It was Siegfried, and Siegfried alone, who plotted to
  deceive you," he said. "Had it not been for him, you might
  still have been the happy maiden-queen of Isenland. And now
  he laughs at you, and urges his queen, Kriemhild, to scorn
  you as she would an underling."

  "I know it, I know it," returned the queen in distress. "And
  yet how grandly noble is the man! How he rushed through the
  flames to awaken me, when no one else could save! How brave,
  how handsome,--and yet he has been my bane. I can have no
  peace while he lives."

  Hagen smiled again, and a strange light gleamed from his
  dark eye. Then he said, "Truly handsome and brave is he, but
  a viler traitor was never born. He even now plots to seize
  this kingdom, and to add it to his domain. Why else should
  he bring so great a retinue of Nibelungen warriors to
  Burgundy? I will see King Gunther at once, and we will put
  an end to his wicked projects."

  "Do even so, good Hagen," said Brunhild. "Take him from my
  path, and bring low the haughty pride of his wife, and I
  shall be content."

  "That I will do!" cried Hagen. "That I will do! Gunther is
  and shall be the king without a peer; and no one shall dare
  dispute the worth and the queenly beauty of his wife."

  Then the wily chief sought Gunther, and with cunning words
  poisoned his weak mind. The feeble old king was easily made
  to believe that Siegfried was plotting against his life, and
  seeking to wrest the kingdom from him. And he forgot the
  many kind favors he had received at the hero's hand. He no
  longer remembered how Siegfried had slain the terror of the
  Glittering Heath, and freed the Burgundians from many a
  fear; and how he had routed the warlike hosts of the
  North-land, and made prisoners of their kings; and how he
  had brought his voyage to Isenland to a happy and successful
  ending. He forgot, also, that Siegfried was his sister's
  husband. He had ears and mind only for Hagen's wily words.

  "While this man lives," said the dark-browed chief, "none of
  us are safe. See how the people follow him! Hear how they
  shout at his coming! They look upon him as a god, and upon
  Gunther as a nobody. If we are wise, we shall rid ourselves
  of so dangerous a man."

  "It is but a week until he takes his leave of us, and goes
  back to his own home in Nibelungen Land. Watch him carefully
  until that time, but do him no harm. When he is once gone,
  he shall never come back again," said the king. But he spoke
  thus, not because of any kind feelings towards Siegfried,
  but rather because he feared the Nibelungen hero.

  "He has no thought of going at that time," answered Hagen.
  "He speaks of it, only to hide his wicked and traitorous
  plots. Instead of going home, his plans will then be ready
  for action, and it will be too late for us to save
  ourselves. Still, if you will not believe me, take your own
  course. You have been warned."

  The cunning chief arose to leave the room; but Gunther, now
  thoroughly frightened, stopped him.

  "Hagen," he said, "you have always been my friend, and the
  words which you say are wise. Save us and our kingdom now,
  in whatsoever way you may deem best. I know not what to do."

  Then the weak king and the warrior-chief talked long
  together in low, hoarse whispers. And, when they parted,
  shame and guilt were stamped in plain lines on Gunther's
  face, from which they were nevermore erased; and he dared
  not lift his gaze from the floor, fearing that his eyes
  would betray him, if seen by any more pure-hearted than he.
  But a smile of triumph played under the lurking gleams of
  Hagen's eye; and he walked erect and bold, as if he had done
  a praiseworthy deed.

  That night a storm came sweeping down from the North, and
  the cold rain fell in torrents; and great hailstones
  pattered on the roofs and towers of the castle, and cruelly
  pelted the cattle in the fields, and the birds in the
  friendly shelter of the trees. And old Thor fought bravely
  with the Storm-giants; and all night long the rattle of his
  chariot-wheels, and the heavy strokes of his dread hammer,
  were heard resounding through the heavens. In his lonely
  chamber Hagen sat and rubbed his hands together, and grimly
  smiled.

  "The time so long waited for has come at last," he said.

  But the guilty king, unable to sleep, walked restlessly to
  and fro, and trembled with fear at every sound of the
  storm-gust without.

  When day dawned at last, a sad scene met the eyes of all
  beholders. The earth was covered with the broken branches of
  leafy trees; the flowers and shrubs were beaten pitilessly
  to the ground; and here and there lay the dead bodies of
  little feathered songsters, who, the day before, had made
  the woods glad with their music.

  The sun had scarcely risen above this sorrowful scene,
  gilding the gray towers and turrets and the drooping trees
  with the promise of better things, than a strange confusion
  was noticed outside of the castle-gates. Thirty and two
  horsemen wearing the livery of the North-lands stood there,
  and asked to be led to the Burgundian kings.

  "Who are you? and what is your errand?" asked the
  gate-keeper.

  "We come as heralds and messengers from Leudiger and
  Leudigast, the mighty kings of the North," they answered.
  "But our errand we can tell to no man save to Gunther your
  king, or to his brothers Gernot and Giselher."

  Then they were led by the king's command into the
  council-hall, where sat Gunther, Gernot, and the noble
  Giselher; and behind them stood their uncle and chief, brave
  old Hagen.

  "What message bring you from our old friends Leudiger and
  Leudigast?" asked Gunther of the strangers.

  "Call them not your friends," answered the chief of the
  company. "We bring you this message from our liege lords,
  whom you may well count as enemies. Many years ago they were
  sorely beaten in battle, and suffered much hurt at your
  hands. And they vowed then to avenge the injury, and to wipe
  out the disgrace you had caused them, just so soon as they
  were strong enough to do so. Now they are ready, with fifty
  thousand men, to march into your country. And they swear to
  lay waste your lands, and to burn your towns and villages
  and all your castles, unless you at once acknowledge
  yourselves their vassals, and agree to pay them tribute.
  This is the kings' message. And we were further ordered not
  to wait for an answer, but to carry back to them without
  delay your reply, whether you will agree to their terms or
  no."

  King Gunther, as was his wont, turned to Hagen for advice.

  "Send for Siegfried," whispered the chief.

  It was done. And soon the hero came into the hall. His
  kingly grace and warlike bearing were such that Gunther
  dared not raise his guilty eyes from the ground; and Hagen's
  furtive glances were, for the moment, freighted with fear
  and shame. The message of the heralds was repeated to
  Siegfried; and Gunther said,--

  "Most noble friend, you hear what word these traitorous
  kings dare send us. Now, we remember, that, long years ago,
  you led us against them, and gave us a glorious victory. We
  remember, too, how, by your counsel, their lives were
  spared, and they were sent home with costly gifts. It is
  thus they repay our kindness. What answer shall we send
  them?"

  "Say that we will fight," answered Siegfried at once. "I
  will lead my brave Nibelungens against them, and they shall
  learn how serious a thing it is to break an oath, or to
  return treason for kindness."

  The news soon spread through all the town and through the
  country-side, that Leudiger and Leudigast, with fifty
  thousand men, were marching into Burgundy, and destroying
  every thing in their way. And great flight and confusion
  prevailed. Men and women hurried hither and thither in
  dismay. Soldiers busily sharpened their weapons, and
  burnished their armor, ready for the fray. Little children
  were seen cowering at every sound, and anxious faces were
  found everywhere.

  When Queen Kriemhild saw the busy tumult, and heard the
  shouts and cries in the street and the courtyard, and
  learned the cause of it all, she was greatly troubled, and
  went at once to seek Siegfried. When she found him, she drew
  him aside, and besought him not to take part in the war
  which threatened, but to hasten with all speed back to their
  own loved Nibelungen Land.

  "And why would my noble queen wish me thus to play the part
  of a coward, and to leave my friends when they most need my
  help?" asked Siegfried in surprise.

  "I would not have you play the coward," answered Kriemhild,
  and hot tears stood in her eyes. "But some unseen danger
  overhangs. There are other traitors than Leudiger and
  Leudigast, and men to be more feared than they. Last night I
  dreamed a fearful dream, and it follows me still. I dreamed
  that you hunted in the forest, and that two wild boars
  attacked you. The grass and the flowers were stained with
  your gore, and the cruel tusks of the beasts tore you in
  pieces, and no one came to your help. And I cried out in my
  distress, and awoke; and the storm-clouds roared and
  threatened, and the hail pattered on the roof, and the wind
  and rain beat against the windowpanes. Then I slept again,
  and another dream, as fearful as the first, came to me. I
  dreamed that you rode in the forest, and that music sprang
  up in your footsteps, and all things living called you
  blessed, but that suddenly two mountains rose up from the
  ground, and their high granite crags toppled over, and fell
  upon you, and buried you from my sight forever. Then I awoke
  again, and my heart has ever since been heavy with fearful
  forebodings. I know that some dread evil threatens us; yet,
  what it is, I cannot tell. But go not out against the
  North-kings. Our Nibelungen-folk wait too long for your
  coming."

  Siegfried gayly laughed at his queen's fears, and said, "The
  woof of every man's fate has been woven by the Norns, and
  neither he nor his foes can change it. When his hour comes,
  then he must go to meet his destiny."

  Then he led her gently back to her room in the castle, and
  bade her a loving farewell, saying, "When the foes of our
  Burgundian hosts are put to flight, and there is no longer
  need for us here, then will we hasten back to Nibelungen
  Land. Have patience and hope for a few days only, and all
  will yet be well. Forget your foolish dreams, and think only
  of my glad return."

  It was arranged, that, in the march against the North-kings,
  Siegfried with his Nibelungens should take the lead; while
  Hagen, with a picked company of fighting-men, should bring
  up the rear. Every one was eager to join in the undertaking;
  and no one, save King Gunther and his cunning counsellor,
  and Ortwin and Dankwart, knew that the pretended heralds
  from the North-kings were not heralds at all, but merely the
  false tools of wicked Hagen. For the whole was but a
  well-planned plot, as we shall see, to entrap unwary,
  trusting Siegfried.

  Soon all things were in readiness for the march; but, as the
  day was now well spent, it was agreed, that, at early dawn
  of the morrow, the little army should set out. And every one
  went home to put his affairs in order, and to rest for the
  night.

  Late that evening old Hagen went to bid Siegfried's queen
  good-by. Kriemhild had tried hard to drown her gloomy fears,
  and to forget her sad, foreboding dreams; but it was all in
  vain, for deep anxiety still rested heavily upon her mind.
  Yet she welcomed her dark-browed uncle with the kindest
  words.

  "How glad I am," she said, "that my husband is here to help
  my kinsfolk in this their time of need! I know right well,
  that, with him to lead, you shall win. But, dear uncle,
  remember, when you are in the battle, that we have always
  loved you, and that Siegfried has done many kindnesses to
  the Burgundians; and, if any danger threaten him, turn it
  aside, I pray you, for Kriemhild's sake. I know that I merit
  Queen Brunhild's anger, because of the sharp words I lately
  spoke to her; but let not my husband suffer blame for that
  which is my fault alone."

  "Kriemhild," answered Hagen, "no one shall suffer
  blame,--neither Siegfried nor yourself. We are all
  forgetful, and sometimes speak hasty words; but that which
  we say in angry thoughtlessness should not be cherished up
  against us. There is no one who thinks more highly of
  Siegfried than I, and there is nothing I would not do to
  serve him."

  "I should not fear for him," said she, "if he were not so
  bold and reckless. When he is in the battle, he never thinks
  of his own safety. And I tremble lest at some time he may
  dare too much, and meet his death. If you knew every thing,
  as I do, you would fear for him too."

  "What is it?" asked Hagen, trying to hide his
  eagerness,--"what is it that gives you cause for fear? Tell
  me all about it, and then I will know the better how to
  shield him from danger. I will lay down my life for his
  sake."

  Then Kriemhild, trusting in her uncle's word, and forgetful
  of every caution, told him the secret of the dragon's blood,
  and of Siegfried's strange bath, and of the mischief-working
  lime-leaf.

  "And now," she added, "since I know that there is one spot
  which a deadly weapon might reach, I am in constant fear
  that the spear of an enemy may, perchance, strike him there.
  Is there not some way of shielding that spot?"

  "There is," answered Hagen. "Make some mark, or put some
  sign, upon his coat, that I may know where that spot is.
  And, when the battle rages, I will ride close behind him,
  and ward off every threatened stroke."

  And Kriemhild joyfully promised that she would at once
  embroider a silken lime-leaf on the hero's coat, just over
  the fatal spot. And Hagen, well pleased, bade her farewell,
  and went away.

  Without delay the chief sought the weak-minded Gunther, and
  to him he related all that the trustful Kriemhild had told
  him. And, until the midnight hour, the two plotters sat in
  the king's bed-chamber, and laid their cunning plans. Both
  thought it best, now they had learned the fatal secret, to
  give up the sham march against the North-kings, and to seek
  by other and easier means to lure Siegfried to his death.

  "The chiefs will be much displeased," said Gunther. "For all
  will come, ready to march at the rising of the sun. What
  shall we do to please them, and make them more ready to
  change their plans?"

  Hagen thought a moment, and then the grim smile that was
  wont to break the dark lines of his face when he was pleased
  spread over his features.

  "We will have a grand hunt in the Odenwald to-morrow," he
  hoarsely whispered.





                       Adventure XIX
              How They Hunted in the Odenwald.



  Next morning, at earliest daybreak, while yet the stars were
  bright, and the trees hung heavy with dew-drops, and the
  clouds were light and high, King Siegfried stood with his
  warriors before the castle-gate. They waited but for the
  sunrise, and a word from Gunther the king, to ride forth
  over dale and woodland, and through forest and brake and
  field, to meet, as they believed, the hosts of the
  North-land kings. And Siegfried moved among them, calm-faced
  and bright as a war-god, upon the radiant Greyfell. And men
  said, long years afterward, that never had the shining hero
  seemed so glorious to their sight. Within the spacious
  courtyard a thousand Burgundian braves stood waiting, too,
  for the signal, and the king's word of command. And at their
  head stood Hagen, dark as a cloud in summer, guilefully
  hiding his vile plots, and giving out orders for the
  marching. There, too, were honest Gernot, fearless and
  upright, and Giselher, true as gold; and neither of them
  dreamed of evil, or of the dark deed that day was doomed to
  see. Close by the gate was Ortwin, bearing aloft the
  blood-red dragon-banner, which the Burgundians were wont to
  carry in honor of Siegfried's famous fight with Fafnir. And
  there was Dankwart, also, ever ready to boast when no danger
  threatened, and ever willing to do chief Hagen's bidding.
  And next came Volker the Fiddler good, with the famed sword
  Fiddle-bow by him, on which, it is said, he could make the
  sweetest music while fighting his foes in battle.

  At length the sun began to peep over the eastern hills, and
  his beams fell upon the castle-walls, and shot away through
  the trees, and over the meadows, and made the dewdrops
  glisten like myriads of diamonds among the dripping leaves
  and blossoms. And a glad shout went up from the throats of
  the waiting heroes; for they thought that the looked-for
  moment had come, and the march would soon begin. And the
  shout was echoed from walls to turrets, and from turrets to
  trees, and from trees to hills, and from the hills to the
  vaulted sky above. And nothing was wanting now but King
  Gunther's word of command.

  Suddenly, far down the street, the sound of a bugle was
  heard, and then of the swift clattering of horses' hoofs
  coming up the hill towards the castle.

  "Who are they who come thus to join us at the last moment?"
  asked Hagen of the watchman above the gate.

  "They are strangers," answered the watchman; "and they carry
  a peace-flag."

  In a few moments the strange horsemen dashed up, and halted
  some distance from the castle-gate, where Siegfried and his
  heroes stood.

  "Who are you? and what is your errand?" cried Hagen, in the
  king's name.

  They answered that they were heralds from the North-land
  kings, sent quickly to correct the message of the day
  before; for their liege lords, Leudiger and Leudigast, they
  said, had given up warring against Burgundy, and had gone
  back to their homes. And they had sent humbly to ask the
  Rhineland kings to forget the rash threats which they had
  made, and to allow them to swear fealty to Gunther, and
  henceforth to be his humble vassals, if only they might be
  forgiven.

  "Right cheerfully do we forgive them!" cried Gunther, not
  waiting to consult with his wise men. "And our forgiveness
  shall be so full, that we shall ask neither fealty nor
  tribute from them."

  Then he turned to Siegfried, and said, "You hear, friend
  Siegfried, how this troublesome matter has been happily
  ended. Accept our thanks, we pray you, for your proffered
  help; for, without it, it might have gone but roughly with
  us in a second war with the Northland kings. But now you are
  free to do what pleases you. If, as you said yesterday, you
  would fain return to Nibelungen Land, you may send your
  warriors on the way to-day, for they are already equipped
  for the journey. But abide you with us another day, and
  to-morrow we will bid you God-speed, and you may easily
  overtake your Nibelungen friends ere they have reached our
  own boundaries."

  Siegfried was not well pleased to give up an undertaking
  scarce begun, and still less could he understand why the
  king should be so ready to forgive the affront which the
  North-land kings had offered him. And he was not slow in
  reading the look of shame and guilt that lurked in Gunther's
  face, or the smile of jealous hate that Hagen could no
  longer hide. Yet no word of displeasure spoke he, nor seemed
  he to understand that any mischief was brewing; for he
  feared neither force nor guile. So he bade his Nibelungens
  to begin their homeward march, saying that he and Kriemhild,
  and the ladies of her train, would follow swiftly on the
  morrow.

  "Since it is your last day with us," said Gunther, grown
  cunning through Hagen's teaching, "what say you, dear
  Siegfried, to a hunt in Odin's Wood?"

  "Right glad will I be to join you in such sport," answered
  Siegfried. "I will change my war-coat for a hunting-suit,
  and be ready within an hour."

  Then Siegfried went to his apartments, and doffed his
  steel-clad armor, and searched in vain through his wardrobe
  for his favorite hunting-suit. But it was nowhere to be
  found; and he was fain to put on the rich embroidered coat
  which he sometimes wore in battle, instead of a
  coat-of-mail. And he did not see the white lime-leaf that
  Kriemhild with anxious care had worked in silk upon it. Then
  he sought the queen, and told her of the unlooked-for change
  of plans, and how, on the morrow, they would ride towards
  Nibelungen Land; but to-day he said he had promised Gunther
  to hunt with him in the Odenwald.

  But Kriemhild, to his great surprise, begged him not to
  leave her, even to hunt in the Odenwald. For she had begun
  to fear that she had made a great mistake in telling Hagen
  the story of the lime-leaf; and yet she could not explain to
  Siegfried the true cause of her uneasiness.

  "Oh, do not join in the hunt!" she cried. "Something tells
  me that danger lurks hidden in the wood. Stay in the castle
  with me, and help me put things in readiness for our journey
  homewards to-morrow. Last night I had another dream. I
  thought that Odin's birds, Hugin and Munin, sat on a tree
  before me. And Hugin flapped his wings, and said, 'What more
  vile than a false friend? What more to be feared than a
  secret foe? Harder than stone is his unfeeling heart;
  sharper than the adder's poison-fangs are his words; a snake
  in the grass is he!' Then Munin flapped his wings too, but
  said nothing. And I awoke, and thought at once of the
  sunbright Balder, slain through Loki's vile deceit. And, as
  I thought upon his sad death, a withered leaf came
  fluttering through the casement, and fell upon my couch. Sad
  signs and tokens are these, my husband; and much grief, I
  fear, they foretell."

  But Siegfried was deaf to her words of warning, and he
  laughed at the foolish dream. Then he bade her farewell till
  even-tide, and hastened to join the party of huntsmen who
  waited for him impatiently at the gate.

  When the party reached the Odenwald, they separated; each
  man taking his own course, and following his own game.
  Siegfried, with but one trusty huntsman and his own
  fleet-footed hound, sought at once the wildest and thickest
  part of the wood. And great was the slaughter he made among
  the fierce beasts of the forest; for nothing that was worthy
  of notice could hide from his sight, or escape him. From his
  lair in a thorny thicket, a huge wild boar sprang up; and
  with glaring red eyes, and mouth foaming, and tusks gnashing
  with rage, he charged fiercely upon the hero. But, with one
  skilful stroke from his great spear, Siegfried laid the
  beast dead on the heather. Next he met a tawny lion, couched
  ready to spring upon him; but, drawing quickly his heavy
  bow, he sent a quivering arrow through the animal's heart.
  Then, one after another, he slew a buffalo, four bisons, a
  mighty elk with branching horns, and many deers and stags
  and savage beasts.

  At one time the hound drove from its hiding-place another
  wild boar, much greater than the first, and far more fierce.
  Quickly Siegfried dismounted from his horse, and met the
  grizzly creature as it rushed with raving fury towards him.
  The sword of the hero cleft the beast in twain, and its
  bloody parts lay lifeless on the ground. Then Siegfried's
  huntsman, in gay mood, said, "My lord, would it not be
  better to rest a while! If you keep on slaughtering at this
  rate, there will soon be no game left in Odenwald."

  Siegfried laughed heartily at the merry words, and at once
  called in his hound, saying, "You are right! We will hunt no
  more until our good friends have joined us."

  Soon afterward the call of a bugle was heard; and Gunther
  and Hagen and Dankwart and Ortwin, with their huntsmen and
  hounds, came riding up.

  "What luck have you had, my friends?" asked Siegfried.

  Then Hagen told what game they had taken,--a deer, a young
  bear, and two small wild boars. But, when they learned what
  Siegfried had done, the old chief's face grew dark, and he
  knit his eyebrows, and bit his lips in jealous hate: for
  four knights, ten huntsmen, and four and twenty hounds, had
  beaten every bush, and followed every trail; and yet the
  Nibelungen king, with but one follower and one hound, had
  slain ten times as much game as they.

  While they stood talking over the successes of the day, the
  sound of a horn was heard, calling the sportsmen together
  for the mid-day meal; and knights and huntsmen turned their
  steeds, and rode slowly towards the trysting-place. Suddenly
  a huge bear, roused by the noise of baying hounds and
  tramping feet, crossed their pathway.

  "Ah!" cried Siegfried, "there goes our friend Bruin, just in
  time to give us a bit of fun, and some needed sport at
  dinner. He shall go with us, and be our guest!"

  With these words he loosed his hound, and dashed swiftly
  forwards after the beast. Through thick underbrush and
  tangled briers, and over fallen trees, the frightened
  creature ran, until at last it reached a steep hillside.
  There, in a rocky cleft, it stood at bay, and fought
  fiercely for its life. When Siegfried came up, and saw that
  his hound dared not take hold of the furious beast, he
  sprang from his horse, and seized the bear in his own strong
  arms, and bound him safely with a stout cord. Then he
  fastened an end of the cord to his saddle-bows, and
  remounted his steed. And thus he rode through the forest to
  the place where the dinner waited, dragging the unwilling
  bear behind him, while the dog bounded gayly along by his
  side.

  No nobler sight had ever been seen in that forest than that
  which Gunther's people saw that day. The Nibelungen king was
  dressed as well became so great a hero. His suit was of the
  speckled lynx's hide and rich black silk, upon which were
  embroidered many strange devices, with threads of gold.
  (But, alas! between the shoulders was the silken lime-leaf
  that Queen Kriemhild's busy fingers had wrought.) His cap
  was of the blackest fur, brought from the frozen Siberian
  land. Over his shoulder was thrown his well-filled quiver,
  made of lion's skin; and in his hands he carried his bow of
  mulberry,--a very beam in size, and so strong that no man
  save himself could bend it. A golden hunting-horn was at his
  side, and his sunbright shield lay on his saddle-bow; while
  his mighty sword, the fire-edged Balmung, in its sheath
  glittering with gemstones, hung from his jewelled belt.

  The men who stood around chief Hagen, and who saw the hero
  coming thus god-like through the greenwood, admired and
  trembled; and Dankwart whispered a word of caution to his
  dark-browed brother. But the old chief's face grew gloomier
  than before; and he scowled fiercely upon the faint-hearted
  Dankwart, as he hoarsely whispered in return,--

  "What though he be Odin himself, still will I dare! It is
  not I: it is the Norns, who shape every man's fate."

  When Siegfried reached the camp with his prize, the huntsmen
  shouted with delight; and the hounds howled loudly, and
  shook their chains, and tried hard to get at the shaggy
  beast. The king leaped to the ground, and unloosed the cords
  which bound him; and at the same time the hounds were
  unleashed, and set upon the angry, frightened creature.
  Hemmed in on every side, the bear rushed blindly forwards,
  and leaped over the fires, where the cooks were busy with
  the dinner. Pots and kettles were knocked about in great
  confusion, and the scared cooks thrown sprawling upon the
  ground; and many a dainty dish and savory mess was spoiled.
  The bear fled fast down the forest road, followed by the
  baying hounds and the fleet-footed warriors. But none dared
  shoot an arrow at him for fear of killing the dogs; and it
  seemed as if he would surely escape, so fast he ran away.
  Then Siegfried bounded forwards, swifter than a deer,
  overtook the bear, and with one stroke of the sword gave him
  his death-blow. And all who saw this feat of strength and
  quickness wondered greatly, and felt that such a hero must
  indeed be without a peer.

  When Gunther's cooks had made the dinner ready, the company
  sat down on the grass, and all partook of a merry meal; for
  the bracing air and the morning's sport had made sharp
  appetites. But, when they had eaten, they were surprised to
  find that there was nothing to drink. Indeed, there was
  neither wine nor water in the camp.

  "How glad I am," said Siegfried gayly, "that I am not a
  huntsman by trade, if it is a huntsman's way to go thus dry!
  Oh for a glass of wine, or even a cup of cold spring-water,
  to quench my thirst!"

  "We will make up for this oversight when we go back home,"
  said Gunther; and his heart was black with falsehood. "The
  blame in this matter should rest on Hagen, for it was he who
  was to look after the drinkables."

  "My lord," said Hagen, "I fell into a mistake by thinking
  that we would dine, not here, but at the Spessart Springs;
  and thither I sent the wine."

  "And is there no water near?" asked Siegfried.

  "Yes," answered Hagen. "There is a cool, shady spring not
  far from here, where the water gushes in a clear, cold
  stream from beneath a linden-tree. Do but forgive me for the
  lack of wine, and I will lead you to it. It is a rare
  spring, and the water is almost as good as wine."

  "Better than wine for me!" cried Siegfried. And he asked to
  be shown to the spring at once.

  Hagen arose, and pointed to a tree not far away, beneath
  whose spreading branches Siegfried could see the water
  sparkling in the sunlight.

  "Men have told me," said the chief, "that the Nibelungen
  king is very fleet of foot, and that no one has ever
  outstripped him in the race. Time was, when King Gunther and
  myself were spoken of as very swift runners; and, though we
  are now growing old, I fancy that many young men would, even
  now, fail to keep pace with us. Suppose we try a race to the
  spring, and see which of the three can win."

  "Agreed!" cried Siegfried. "We will run; and, if I am
  beaten, I will kneel down in the grass to him who wins. I
  will give the odds in your favor too; for I will carry with
  me my spear, and my shield, and my helmet and sword, and all
  the trappings of the chase, while you may doff from your
  shoulders whatever might hinder your speed."

  So Gunther and Hagen laid aside all their arms, and put off
  their heavy clothing; but Siegfried took up his bow and
  quiver, and his heavy shield, and his beamlike spear. Then
  the word was given, and all three ran with wondrous speed.
  Gunther and his chief flew over the grass as light-footed as
  two wild panthers: but Siegfried sped swift as an arrow shot
  from the hand of a skilful bowman. He reached the spring
  when yet the others were not half way to it. He laid his
  spear and sword, and bow and quiver of arrows, upon the
  ground, and leaned his heavy shield against the linden-tree;
  and then he waited courteously for King Gunther to come up,
  for his knightly honor would not allow him to drink until
  his host had quenched his thirst.

  Gunther, when he reached the spring, stooped over, and drank
  heartily of the cool, refreshing water; and, after he had
  risen, Siegfried knelt upon the grass at the edge of the
  pool to quaff from the same gushing fountain. Stealthily
  then, and with quickness, did chief Hagen hide his huge bow
  and his quiver, and his good sword Balmung, and, seizing the
  hero's spear, he lifted it in air, and with too steady aim
  struck the silken lime-leaf that the loving Kriemhild had
  embroidered. Never in all the wide mid-world was known a
  deed more cowardly, never a baser act. The hero was pierced
  with his own weapon by one he had deemed his friend. His
  blood gushed forth in torrents, and dyed the green grass
  red, and discolored the sparkling water, and even filled the
  face and eyes of vile Hagen.

  Yet, in the hour of death, King Siegfried showed how noble
  was his soul, how great his strength of will. Up he rose
  from his bended knees, and fiercely glanced around. Then,
  had not the evil-eyed chief, who never before had shunned a
  foe, fled with fleet-footed fear, quick vengeance would have
  overtaken him. In vain did the dying king look for his bow
  and his trusty sword: too safely had they been hidden. Then,
  though death was fast dimming his eyes, he seized his heavy
  shield, and sprang after the flying Hagen. Swift as the wind
  he followed him, quickly he overtook him. With his last
  strength he felled the vile wretch to the ground, and beat
  him with the shield, until the heavy plates of brass and
  steel were broken, and the jewels which adorned it were
  scattered among the grass. The sound of the heavy blows was
  heard far through the forest; and, had the hero's strength
  held out, Hagen would have had his reward.[EN#32] But
  Siegfried, weak and pale from the loss of blood, now
  staggered, and fell among the trampled flowers of the wood.

  Then with his last breath he thus upbraided his false
  friends:--

  "Cowards and traitors, ye! A curse shall fall upon you. My
  every care has been to serve and please you, and thus I am
  requited. Bitterly shall you rue this deed. The brand of
  traitor is set upon your foreheads, and it shall be a mark
  of loathing and shame to you forever."

  Then the weak old Gunther began to wring his hands, and to
  bewail the death of Siegfried. But the hero bade him hush,
  and asked him of what use it was to regret an act which
  could have been done only by his leave and sanction.

  "Better to have thought of tears and groans before," said
  he. "I have always known that you were a man of weak mind,
  but never did I dream that you could lend yourself to so
  base a deed. And now, if there is left aught of manliness in
  your bosom, I charge you to have a care for Kriemhild your
  sister. Long shall my loved Nibelungen-folk await my coming
  home."

  The glorious hero struggled in the last agony. The grass and
  flowers were covered with his blood; the trees shivered, as
  if in sympathy with him, and dropped their leaves upon the
  ground; the birds stopped singing, and sorrowfully flew
  away; and a solemn silence fell upon the earth, as if the
  very heart of Nature had been crushed.

  And the men who stood around--all save the four guilty
  ones--bowed their heads upon their hands, and gave way to
  one wild burst of grief. Then tenderly they took up
  Siegfried, and laid him upon a shield, with his mighty
  weapons by him. And, when the sorrowing Night had spread her
  black mantle over the mid-world, they carried him silently
  out of the forest, and across the river, and brought him, by
  Gunther's orders, to the old castle, which now nevermore
  would resound with mirth and gladness. And they laid him at
  Kriemhild's door, and stole sadly away to their own places,
  and each one thought bitterly of the morrow.[EN#33]





                        Adventure XX
           How the Hoard Was Brought to Burgundy.



  And what was done on the morrow?

  Too sad is the tale of Kriemhild's woe and her grief for the
  mighty dead. Let us pass it by in tearful, pitying silence,
  nor wish to awaken the echoes of that morning of hopeless
  anguish which dawned on the cold and cheerless dwelling of
  the kings. For peace had fled from Burgundy, nevermore to
  return.

  Siegfried was dead. Faded, now, was the glory of the
  Nibelungen Land, and gone was the mid-world's hope.

  It is told in ancient story, how men built a funeral-pile
  far out on the grassy meadows, where the quiet river flows;
  and how, in busy silence, they laid the sun-dried beams of
  ash and elm together, and made ready the hero's couch; and
  how the pile was dight with many a sun-bright shield, with
  war-coats and glittering helms, and silks and rich dyed
  cloths from the South-land, and furs, and fine-wrought
  ivory, and gem-stones priceless and rare; and how, over all,
  they scattered sweet spices from Araby, and the pleasantest
  of all perfumes. Then they brought the golden Siegfried, and
  laid him on his couch; and beside him were his battered
  shield, and Balmung with its fire-edge bare. And, as the sun
  rose high in heaven, the noblest earl-folk who had loved
  Siegfried best touched fire to the funeral-pile. And a
  pleasant breeze from the Southland fanned the fire to a
  flame, and the white blaze leaped on high, and all the folk
  cried out in mighty agony to the gods.

  Such was the story that men told to each other when the
  world was still young, and the heroes were
  unforgotten.[EN#34] And some said, too, that Brunhild, the
  fair and hapless queen, died then of a broken heart and of a
  hopeless, yearning sorrow, and that she was burned with
  Siegfried on that high-built funeral-pile.

  "They are gone,--the lovely, the mighty, the hope of the
  ancient earth:
  It shall labor and bear the burden as before the day of
  their birth: . . .
  It shall yearn, and be oft-times holpen, and forget their
  deeds no more,
  Till the new sun beams on Balder and the happy sealess
  shore."[EN#35]

  Another and much later story is sometimes told of these last
  sad days,--how the hero's body was laid in a coffin, and
  buried in the quiet earth, amid the sorrowful lamentations
  of all the Rhineland folk; and how, at Kriemhild's earnest
  wish, it was afterwards removed to the place where now
  stands the little minster of Lorsch. As to which of these
  stories is the true one, it is not for me to say. Enough it
  is to know that Siegfried was dead, and that the spring-time
  had fled, and the summer-season with all its golden glories
  had faded away from Rhineland, and that the powers of
  darkness and of cold and of evil had prevailed.

  To this day the city where was the dwelling of the
  Burgundian kings is called Worms, in remembrance of the
  dragon, or worm, which Siegfried slew; and a figure of that
  monster was for many years painted upon the city arms, and
  borne on the banner of the Burgundians. And, until recently,
  travellers were shown the Reisen-haus,--a stronghold, which,
  men say, Siegfried built; and in it were many strange and
  mighty weapons, which, they claim, were wielded by the hero.
  The lance which was shown there was a great beam nearly
  eighty feet in length; and the war-coat, wrought with steel
  and gold, and bespangled with gem-stones, was a wonder to
  behold. And now, in the Church of St. Cecilia, you may see
  what purports to be the hero's grave. And a pleasant meadow,
  not far from the town, is still called Kriemhild's
  Rose-garden; while farther away is the place called
  Drachenfels, or the dragon's field, where, they say,
  Siegfried met Fafnir. But whether it is the same as the
  Glittering Heath of the ancient legend, I know not.

  And what became of the Hoard of Andvari?

  The story is briefly told.[EN#36] When the days of mourning
  were past, and the people had gone back sadly to their
  homes, Queen Kriemhild began to speak of returning to the
  land of the Nibelungens. But Ute, her aged mother, could not
  bear to part with her, and besought her to stay, for a while
  at least, in the now desolate Burgundian castle. And Gernot
  and Giselher, her true and loving brothers, added their
  words of entreaty also. And so, though heart-sick, and with
  many misgivings, she agreed to abide for a season in this
  cheerless and comfortless place. Many days, even months,
  dragged by, and still she remained; for she found it still
  harder and harder to tear herself away from her mother, and
  all that her heart held dear. Yet never, for three years and
  more, did she even speak to Gunther, or by any sign show
  that she remembered him. And, as for Hagen, no words could
  utter the deep and settled hate she felt towards him. But
  the dark-browed chief cared nought either for love or hate;
  and he walked erect, as in the days of yore, and he smiled
  and frowned alike for both evil and good. And he said, "It
  was not I: it was the Norns, who wove the woof of his life
  and mine."

  The years went by on leaden wings, and brought no sunlight
  to Gunther's dwelling; for his days were full of sadness,
  and his nights of fearful dreams. At length he said to chief
  Hagen, "If there is aught in the mid-world that can drive
  away this gloom, I pray thee to help me find it; for madness
  steals upon me."

  "There is one thing," answered Hagen, "which might brighten
  our land again, and lift up your drooping spirits, and bring
  gladness to your halls."

  "What is that?" asked the king.

  "It is the Nibelungen Hoard," said the chief. "It is the
  wondrous treasure of Andvari, which Siegfried gave as a gift
  to Kriemhild. If it were ours, we might become the masters
  of the world."

  "But how can we obtain it?"

  "It is Kriemhild's," was the answer. "But she does not care
  for it; neither could she use it if she wished. If you could
  only gain her favor and forgiveness, I feel sure that she
  would let you do with it as you wish."

  Then Gunther besought his younger brothers to intercede for
  him with Kriemhild, that she would so far forgive him as to
  look upon his face, and speak with him once more. And this
  the queen at last consented to do. And, when Gunther came
  into her presence, she was so touched at sight of his
  haggard face and whitened locks, and his earnest words of
  sorrow, that she forgave him the great wrong that he had
  done, and welcomed him again as her brother. And he swore
  that never would he again wrong her or hers, nor do aught to
  grieve her. But it was not until a long time after this,
  that he proposed to her that they should bring the Hoard of
  Andvari away from the Nibelungen Land.

  "For, if it were here, dear sister," he said, "it might be
  of great use to you."

  "Do whatever seems best to you," answered Kriemhild. "Only
  remember the oath that you have given me."

  Then Gunther, because he was anxious to see the wondrous
  Hoard, but more because he was urged on by Hagen, made ready
  to send to the Nibelungen Land to bring away the treasure by
  Kriemhild's command. Eight thousand men, with Gernot and
  Giselher as their leaders, sailed over the sea in stanch
  vessels, and landed on the Nibelungen shore. And when they
  told who they were, and whence they came, and showed the
  queen's signet-ring, they were welcomed heartily by the
  fair-haired folk of Mist Land, who gladly acknowledged
  themselves the faithful liegemen of the loved Kriemhild.

  When the Burgundians made known their errand to Alberich the
  dwarf, who still held watch and ward over the mountain
  stronghold, he was much amazed, and he grieved to part with
  his cherished treasure.

  "But," said he to his little followers, who stood around him
  by thousands, each anxious to fight the intruders,--"but
  there is Queen Kriemhild's order and her signet-ring, and we
  must, perforce, obey. Yet had we again the good Tarnkappe
  which Siegfried took from us, the Hoard should never leave
  us."

  Then sadly he gave up the keys, and the Burgundians began to
  remove the treasure. For four whole days and nights they
  toiled, carrying the Hoard in huge wagons down to the sea.
  And on the fifth day they set sail, and without mishap
  arrived in good time at Worms. And many of Alberich's
  people, the swarthy elves of the cave, came with Gernot to
  Rhineland; for they could not live away from the Hoard. And
  it is said, that hidden among the gold and the gem-stones
  was the far-famed Wishing-rod, which would give to its owner
  the power of becoming the lord of the wide mid-world.

  And the vast treasure was stored in the towers and vaults of
  the castle. And Queen Kriemhild alone held the keys, and
  lavishly she scattered the gold wherever it was needed most.
  The hungry were fed, the naked were clothed, the sick were
  cared for; and everybody near and far blessed the peerless
  Queen of Nibelungen Land.

  Then Hagen, always plotting evil, whispered to King Gunther,
  and said, "It is dangerous to suffer your sister to hold so
  vast a treasure. All the people are even now ready to leave
  you, and follow her. She will yet plot to seize the kingdom,
  and destroy us."

  And he urged the king to take the keys and to make the
  Nibelungen Hoard his own.

  But Gunther answered, "I have already done too great a
  wrong. And I have sworn to my sister never to harm her
  again, or to do aught that will grieve her."

  "Let the guilt, then, rest on me," said Hagen. And he strode
  away, and took the keys from Kriemhild by force.

  When Gernot and Giselher heard of this last vile act of the
  evil-eyed chief, they waxed very angry, and vowed that they
  would help their sister regain that which was her own. But
  the wary Hagen was not to be foiled; for, while the brothers
  were away from the burgh, he caused the great Hoard to be
  carried to the river, at a place called Lochheim, and sunk,
  fathoms deep, beneath the water. And then, for fear of the
  vengeance which might be wreaked upon him, he fled from
  Rhineland, and hid himself for a while among the mountains
  and the barren hill-country of the South.

  And this was the end of the fated Hoard of Andvari.





                      The After Word.



  Such is the story of Siegfried (or Sigurd), as we gather it
  from various German and Scandinavian legends. In this
  recital I have made no attempt to follow any one of the
  numerous originals, but have selected here and there such
  incidents as best suited my purpose in constructing one
  connected story which would convey to your minds some notion
  of the beauty and richness of our ancient myths. In doing
  this, I have drawn, now from the Volsunga Saga, now from the
  Nibelungen Lied, now from one of the Eddas, and now from
  some of the minor legends relating to the great hero of the
  North. These ancient stories, although differing widely in
  particulars, have a certain general relationship and
  agreement which proves beyond doubt a common origin. "The
  primeval myth," says Thomas Carlyle, "whether it were at
  first philosophical truth, or historical incident, floats
  too vaguely on the breath of men: each has the privilege of
  inventing, and the far wider privilege of borrowing and new
  modelling from all that preceded him. Thus, though tradition
  may have but one root, it grows, like a banian, into a whole
  overarching labyrinth of trees."

  If you would follow the tradition of Siegfried to the end;
  if you would learn how, after the great Hoard had been
  buried in the Rhine, the curse of the dwarf Andvari still
  followed those who had possessed it, and how Kriemhild
  wreaked a terrible vengeance upon Siegfried's
  murderers,--you must read the original story as related in
  the Volsung Myth or in the Nibelungen Song. Our story ends
  with Siegfried.

  The episodes which I have inserted here and there--the
  stories of AEgir, and of Balder, and of Idun, and of
  Thor--do not, as you may know, belong properly to the legend
  of Siegfried; but I have thrown them in, in order to
  acquaint you with some of the most beautiful mythical
  conceptions of our ancestors.

  A grand old people were those early kinsmen of ours,--not at
  all so savage and inhuman as our histories would sometimes
  make us believe. For however mistaken their notions may have
  been, and however ignorant they were, according to our ideas
  of things, they were strong-hearted, brave workers; and, so
  far as opportunity was afforded them, they acted well their
  parts. What their notions were of true manhood,--a strong
  mind in a strong body, good, brave, and handsome,--may be
  learned from the story of Siegfried.




  End of The Story of Siegfried.






                   The Story of Siegfried
                         Endnotes.



  [EN#1] Siegfried's Boyhood.

  "All men agree that Siegfried was a king's son. He was born,
  as we here have good reason to know, 'at Santen in
  Netherland,' of Siegmund and the fair Siegelinde; yet by
  some family misfortune or discord, of which the accounts are
  very various, he came into singular straits during boyhood,
  having passed that happy period of life, not under the
  canopies of costly state, but by the sooty stithy, in one
  Mimer, a blacksmith's shop."--Thomas Carlyle, The Nibelungen
  Lied.

  The older versions of this story represent Siegfried, under
  the name of Sigurd, as being brought up at the court of the
  Danish King Hialprek; his own father Sigmund having been
  slain in battle, as related in this chapter. He was early
  placed under the tuition of Regin, or Regino, an elf, who
  instructed his pupil in draughts, runes, languages, and
  various other accomplishments.--See Preface to Vollmer's
  Nibelunge Not, also the Song of Sigurd Fafnisbane, in the
  Elder Edda, and the Icelandic Volsunga Saga.



  [EN#2]--Mimer.

   "The Vilkinasaga brings before us yet another smith, Mimer,
  by whom not only is Velint instructed in his art, but
  Sigfrit (Siegfried) is brought up,--another smith's
  apprentice. He is occasionally mentioned in the later poem
  of Biterolf, as Mime the Old. The old name of Munster in
  Westphalia was Mimigardiford; the Westphalian Minden was
  originally Mimidun; and Memleben on the Unstrut, Mimileba. .
  . . The elder Norse tradition names him just as often, and
  in several different connections. In one place, a Mimingus,
  a wood-satyr, and possessor of a sword and jewels, is
  interwoven into the myth of Balder and Hoder. The Edda gives
  a higher position to its Mimer. He has a fountain, in which
  wisdom and understanding lie hidden: drinking of it every
  morning, he is the wisest, most intelligent, of men. To
  Mimer's fountain came Odin, and desired a drink, but did not
  receive it till he had given one of his eyes in pledge, and
  hidden it in the fountain: this accounts for Odin being
  one-eyed. . . . Mimer is no Asa, but an exalted being with
  whom the Asas hold converse, of whom they make use,--the sum
  total of wisdom, possibly an older Nature-god. Later fables
  degraded him into a wood-sprite, or clever smith.--Grimm's
  Deutsche Mythologie, I. p. 379.

  Concerning the Mimer of the Eddas, Professor Anderson says,
  "The name Mimer means the knowing. The Giants, being older
  than the Asas, looked deeper than the latter into the
  darkness of the past. They had witnessed the birth of the
  gods and the beginning of the world, and they foresaw their
  downfall. Concerning both these events, the gods had to go
  to them for knowledge. It is this wisdom that Mimer keeps in
  his fountain."--Norse Mythology, p 209.

  In the older versions of the legend, the smith who cared for
  Siegfried (Sigurd) is called, as we have before noticed,
  Regin. He is thus described by Morris:--

       "The lore of all men he knew,
       And was deft in every cunning, save the dealings of the
  sword.
       So sweet was his tongue-speech fashioned, that men
  trowed his every word.
       His hand with the harp-strings blended was the mingler
  of delight
       With the latter days of sorrow: all tales he told
  aright.
       The Master of the Masters in the smithying craft was
  he;
       And he dealt with the wind and the weather and the
  stilling of the sea;
       Nor might any learn him leech-craft, for before that
  race was made,
       And that man-folk's generation, all their life-days had
  he weighed."
            Sigurd the Volsung, Bk. II.



  [EN#3]--The Sword.

  "By this sword Balmung also hangs a tale. Doubtless it was
  one of those invaluable weapons sometimes fabricated by the
  old Northern smiths, compared with which our modern Foxes
  and Ferraras and Toledos are mere leaden tools. Von der
  Hagen seems to think it simply the sword Mimung under
  another name; in which case, Siegfried's old master, Mimer,
  had been the maker of it, and called it after himself, as if
  it had been his son."--Carlyle, on the Nibelungen Lied,
  note.

  In Scandinavian legends, the story of Mimer and Amilias is
  given, differing but slightly from the rendering in this
  chapter.--See Weber and Jamieson's Illustrations of Northern
  Antiquities.

  In the older versions of the myth, the sword is called Gram,
  or the Wrath. It was wrought from the shards, or broken
  pieces, of Sigmund's sword, the gift of Odin. It was made by
  Regin for Sigurd's (Siegfried's) use, and its temper was
  tested as here described.



  [EN#4]--Sigmund The Volsung.

  Sigmund the Volsung, in the Volsunga Saga, is represented as
  the father of Sigurd (Siegfried); but there is such a marked
  contrast between him, and the wise, home-abiding King
  Siegmund of the later stories, that I have thought proper to
  speak of them here as two different individuals. The word
  "Sigmund," or "Siegmund," means literally the mouth of
  victory. The story of the Volsungs, as here supposed to be
  related by Mimer, is derived mainly from the Volsunga Saga.



  [EN#5]--Siegfried's Journey Into The Forest.



  "In the shop of Mimer, Siegfried was nowise in his proper
  element, ever quarrelling with his fellow-apprentices, nay,
  as some say, breaking the hardest anvils into shivers by his
  too stout hammering; so that Mimer, otherwise a first-rate
  smith, could by no means do with him there. He sends him,
  accordingly, to the neighboring forest to fetch charcoal,
  well aware that a monstrous dragon, one Regin, the smith's
  own brother, would meet him, and devour him. But far
  otherwise it proved."--Carlyle, on The Nibelungen Lied.



  [EN#6]--The Norns.

  The Norns are the Fates, which watch over man through life.
  They are Urd the Past, Verdande the Present, and Skuld the
  Future. They approach every new-born child, and utter his
  doom. They are represented as spinning the thread of fate,
  one end of which is hidden by Urd in the far east, the other
  by Verdande in the far west. Skuld stands ready to rend it
  in pieces. --See Grimm's Teutonic Mythology, p. 405, also
  Anderson's Norse Mythology, p. 209.

  The three weird women in Shakespeare's Tragedy of Macbeth
  represent a later conception of the three Norns, now
  degraded to mere witches.

  Compare the Norns with the Fates of the Greek Mythology.
  These, also, are three in number. They sit clothed in white,
  and garlanded, singing of destiny. Clotho, the Past, spins;
  Lachesis, the Present, divides; and Atropos, the Future,
  stands ready with her shears to cut the thread.



  [EN#7]--The Idea of Fatality.

  Throughout the story of the Nibelungs and Volsungs, of
  Sigurd and of Siegfried,--whether we follow the older
  versions or the mote recent renderings,--there is, as it
  were, an ever-present but indefinable shadow of coming fate,
  "a low, inarticulate voice of Doom," foretelling the
  inevitable. This is but in consonance with the general ideas
  of our Northern ancestors regarding the fatality which
  shapes and controls every man's life. These ideas are
  embodied in more than one ancient legend. We find them in
  the old Anglo-Saxon poem of Beowulf. "To us," cries Beowulf
  in his last fight, "to us it shall be as our Weird
  betides,--that Weird that is every man's lord!" "Each man of
  us shall abide the end of his life-work; let him that may
  work, work his doomed deeds ere death comes!" Similar ideas
  prevailed among the Greeks. Read, for example, that passage
  in the Iliad describing the parting of Hector and
  Andromache, and notice the deeper meaning of Hector's words.



  [EN#8]--Regin.



  As we have already observed (EN#1), the older versions of
  this myth called Siegfried's master and teacher Regin, while
  the more recent versions call him Mimer. We have here
  endeavored to harmonize the two versions by representing
  Mimer as being merely Regin in disguise.



  [EN#9]--Gripir.

  "A man of few words was Gripir; but he knew of all deeds
  that had been; And times there came upon him, when the deeds
  to be were seen: No sword had he held in his hand since his
  father fell to field, And against the life of the slayer he
  bore undinted shield: Yet no fear in his heart abided, nor
  desired he aught at all: But he noted the deeds that had
  been, and looked for what should befall."  Morris's Sigurd
  the Volsung, Bk. II.



  [EN#10]--The Hoard.

  This story is found in both the Elder and the Younger Eddas,
  and is really the basis upon which the entire plot of the
  legend of Sigurd, or Siegfried, is constructed. See also
  EN#18.



  [EN#11]--The Dragon.

  The oldest form of this story is the Song of Sigurd
  Fafnisbane, in the Elder Edda. The English legend of St.
  George and the Dragon was probably derived from the same
  original sources. A similar myth may be found among all
  Aryan peoples. Sometimes it is a treasure, sometimes a
  beautiful maiden, that the monster guards, or attempts to
  destroy. Its first meaning was probably this: The maiden, or
  the treasure, is the earth in its beauty and fertility. "The
  monster is the storm-cloud. The hero who fights it is the
  sun, with his glorious sword, the lightning-flash. By his
  victory the earth is relieved from her peril. The fable has
  been varied to suit the atmospheric peculiarities of
  different climes in which the Aryans found themselves. . . .
  In Northern mythology the serpent is probably the winter
  cloud, which broods over and keeps from mortals the gold of
  the sun's light and heat, till in the spring the bright orb
  overcomes the powers of darkness and tempest, and scatters
  his gold over the face of the earth." This myth appears in a
  great variety of forms among the Scandinavian and German
  nations. In the Eddas, Sigurd (Siegfried) is represented as
  roasting the heart of Fafnir, and touching it to his lips.
  We have ventured to present a less revolting version.--See
  Baring-Gould's Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.

  "The slaying of the dragon Fafnir reminds us of Python, whom
  Apollo overcame; and, as Python guarded the Delphic Oracle,
  the dying Fafnir prophesies."--Jacob Grimm.




  [EN#12.]

  In order to harmonize subsequent passages in the story as
  related in different versions, we here represent Siegfried
  as turning his back upon the Glittering Heath, and leaving
  the Hoard to some other hero or discoverer. In the Younger
  Edda, Siegfried (Sigurd) rides onward until he comes to
  Fafnir's bed, from which "he took out all the gold, packed
  it in two bags, and laid it on Grane's (Greyfell's) back,
  then got on himself and rode away."



  [EN#13]--BRAGI.

  This episode of Bragi and his vessel is no part of the
  original story of Siegfried, but is here introduced in order
  to acquaint you with some of the older myths of our
  ancestors. Bragi was the impersonation of music and
  eloquence, and here represents the music of Nature,--the
  glad songs and sounds of the spring-time. "Above any other
  god," says Grimm, "one would like to see a more general
  veneration of Bragi revived, in whom was vested the gift of
  poetry and eloquence. . . . He appears to have stood in
  pretty close relation to AEgir."



  [EN#14]--AEgir.

  "AEgir was the god presiding over the stormy sea. He
  entertains the gods every harvest, and brews ale for them.
  The name still survives in provincial English for the
  sea-wave on rivers."--Anderson's Norse Mythology. See
  Carlyle's Heroes and Hero-Worship.



  [EN#15]--The Valkyries.

  See Grimm's Teutonic Mythology, p. 417, and Anderson's Norse
  Mythology, p. 265.



  [EN#16]--Brunhild.

  In the Elder Edda, Brunhild's inaccessible hall stands on a
  mountain, where she was doomed to sleep under her shield
  until Sigurd should release her. In the Nibelungen Lied, she
  is represented as ruling in Isenland, an island far over the
  sea. The well-known story of the Sleeping Beauty is derived
  from this myth.



  [EN#17]--Nibelungen Land.

  "Vain were it to inquire where that Nibelungen Land
  specially is. Its very name is Nebel-land, or Nifl-land, the
  land of Darkness, of Invisibility. . . . Far beyond the firm
  horizon, that wonder-bearing region swims on the infinite
  waters, unseen by bodily eye, or, at most, discerned as a
  faint streak hanging in the blue depths, uncertain whether
  island or cloud."--Carlyle, on The Nibelungen Lied.



  [EN#18]--Schilbung and Nibelung.

  "Old King Nibelung, the former lord of the land, had left,
  when he died, a mighty hoard concealed within a
  mountain-cavern. As Siegfried rode past the mountain-side
  alone, he found Schilbung and Nibelung, the king's sons,
  seated at the mouth of the cavern surrounded by more gold
  and precious stones than a hundred wagons could bear away.
  Espying Siegfried, they called upon him to settle their
  dispute, offering him as reward their father's mighty sword
  Balmung."--Auber Forestier's Translation of the Nibelungen
  Lied.

  We have here made some slight variations from the original
  versions. (See also EN#12.)

  An ancient legend relates how King Schilbung had obtained
  the Hoard in the upper Rhine valley, and how he was
  afterwards slain by his brother Niblung. This Niblung
  possessed a magic ring in the shape of a coiled serpent with
  ruby eyes. It had been presented to him by a prince named
  Gunthwurm, who had come to him in the guise of a serpent,
  desiring the hand of his daughter in marriage. This ring,
  according to the Eddas, was the one taken by Loki from the
  dwarf Andvari, and was given by Sigurd (Siegfried) to
  Brunhild in token of betrothal. It was the cause of all the
  disasters that afterwards occurred.--See W. Jordan's
  Sigfridssaga. See also EN#10.



  [EN#19]

       ". . . Siegfried the hero good
       Failed the long task to finish: this stirred their
  angry mood.
       The treasure undivided he needs must let remain,
       When the two kings indignant set on him with their
  train;
       But Siegfried gripped sharp Balmung (so hight their
  father's sword),
       And took from them their country, and the beaming,
  precious hoard."
                 The Nibelungenlied, Lettsom, 96, 97



  [EN#20]--Siegfried's Welcome Home.

  In the Nibelungen Lied this is our first introduction to the
  hero. The "High-tide" held in honor of Siegfried's coming to
  manhood, and which we suppose to have occurred at this time,
  forms the subject of the Second Adventure in that poem.



  [EN#21]--Kriemhild's Dream.

  This forms the subject of the first chapter of the
  Nibelungen Lied. "The eagles of Kriemhild's dream," says
  Auber Forestier, "are winter-giants, whose wont it was to
  transform themselves into eagles; while the pure gods were
  in the habit of assuming the falcon's form."



  [EN#22]--Idun.

  The story of Idun and her Apples is related in the Younger
  Edda. It is there represented as having been told by Bragi
  himself to his friend AEgir. This myth means, that the
  ever-renovating spring (Idun) being taken captive by the
  desolating winter (Thjasse), all Nature (all the Asa-folk)
  languishes until she regains her freedom through the
  intervention of the summer's heat (Loki). --See Anderson's
  Norse Mythology.



  [EN#23]--Balder.

  The story of Balder is, in reality, the most ancient form of
  the Siegfried myth. Both Balder and Siegfried are
  impersonations of the beneficent light of the summer's sun,
  and both are represented as being treacherously slain by the
  powers of winter. The errand of Hermod to the Halls of Death
  (Hela) reminds us of the errand of Hermes to Hades to bring
  back Persephone to her mother Demetre. We perceive also a
  resemblance in this story to the myth of Orpheus, in which
  that hero is described as descending into the lower regions
  to bring away his wife Eurydice.



  [EN#24]

  The making of rich clothing for the heroes is frequently
  referred to in the Nibelungen Lied. Carlyle says, "This is a
  never-failing preparative for all expeditions, and is always
  specified and insisted on with a simple, loving, almost
  female impressiveness."



  [EN#25]--The Winning of Brunhild.

  The story of the outwitting of Brunhild, as related in the
  pages which follow, is essentially the same as that given in
  the Nibelungen Lied. It is quite different from the older
  versions.



  [EN#26]--Sif.

  Sif corresponds to the Ceres of the Southern mythology. (See
  Grimm, p. 309.) The story of Loki and the Dwarfs is derived
  from the Younger Edda. It has been beautifully rendered by
  the German poet Oelenschlager, a translation of whose poem
  on this subject may be found in Longfellow's Poets and
  Poetry of Europe.



  [EN#27]--Eigill.

  Eigill is the original William Tell. The story is related in
  the Saga of Thidrik. For a full history of the Tell myth,
  see Grimm's Teutonic Mythology, p. 380, and Baring-Gould's
  Curious Myths of the Middle Ages, p. 110.



  [EN#28]--Welland the Smith.

  The name of this smith is variously given as Weland,
  Wieland, Welland, Volundr, Velint etc. The story is found in
  the Vilkina Saga, and was one of the most popular of middle
  age myths. (See Grimm's Mythology.) Sir Walter Scott, in his
  novel of Kenilworth, has made use of this legend in
  introducing the episode of Wayland Smith.



  [EN#29]--Vidar[FN#1] the Silent.

  "Vidar is the name of the silent Asa. He has a very thick
  shoe, and he is the strongest next to Thor. From him the
  gods have much help in all hard tasks."--The Younger Edda
  (Anderson's translation).

  [FN#1] The word Vidar means forest.



  [EN#30]--Loki.

  "Loki, in nature, is the corrupting element in air, fire,
  and water. In the bowels of the earth he is the volcanic
  flame, in the sea he appears as a fierce serpent, and in the
  lower world we recognize him as pale death. Like Odin, he
  pervades all nature. He symbolizes sin, shrewdness,
  deceitfulness, treachery, malice etc."--Anderson's
  Mythology, p. 372.

  He corresponds to the Ahriman of the Persians, to the Satan
  of the Christians, and remotely to the Prometheus of the
  Greeks.



  [EN#31]--The Quarrel of the Queens.

  In the ancient versions, the culmination of this quarrel
  occurred while the queens were bathing in the river: in the
  Nibelungen Lied it happened on the steps leading up to the
  door of the church.



  [EN#32]--Hagen.

  Hagen corresponds to the Hoder of the more ancient myth of
  Balder. In the Sigurd Sagas he is called Hogni, and is a
  brother instead of an uncle, of Gunther (Gunnar).



  [EN#33]--The Death of Siegfried.

  This story is related here essentially as found in the
  Nibelungen Lied. It is quite differently told in the older
  versions. Siegfried's invulnerability save in one spot
  reminds us of Achilles, who also was made invulnerable by a
  bath, and who could be wounded only in the heel.



  [EN#34]--The Burial of Siegfried.

  The story of the burning of Siegfried's body upon a
  funeral-pile, as related of Sigurd in the older myths,
  reminds us of the burning of Balder upon the ship
  "Ringhorn." (See p. 162.) The Nibelungen Lied represents him
  as being buried in accordance with the rites of the
  Roman-Catholic Church. This version of the story must, of
  course, have been made after the conversion of the Germans
  to Christianity. "When the Emperor Frederick III. (1440-93)
  visited Worms after his Netherlands campaign," says
  Forestier, "he undertook to have the mighty hero's bones
  disinterred, probably in view of proving the truth of the
  marvellous story then sung throughout Germany; but, although
  he had the ground dug into until water streamed forth, no
  traces of these became manifest."



  [EN#35]--Morris: Sigurd the Volsung, Bk. III.



  [EN#36]--The Hoard.

  The story of bringing the Hoard from Nibelungen Land belongs
  to the later versions of the myth, and fitly closes the
  First Part of the Nibelungen Lied. Lochheim, the place where
  the Hoard was sunk, was not far from Bingen on the Rhine.



  [EN#37]--a Short Vocabulary of the Principal Proper Names
  Mentioned in this Story.

  AEGIR. The god of the sea.
  ALBERICH and ANDVARI. Dwarfs who guard the great Hoard.
  ASA. A name applied to the gods of the Norse mythology.
  ASGARD. The home of the gods.
  BALDER. The god of the summer sunlight.
  BRAGI. The god of eloquence and of poetry.
  DRAUPNER. Odin's ring, which gives fertility to the earth.
  FAFNIR. The dragon whom Siegfried slays.
  FENRIS-WOLF. The monster who in the last twilight slays
  Odin.
  FREYJA. The goddess of love.
  REY. The god of peace and plenty.
  GRIPIR. The giant who gives wise counsel to Siegfried
  (Sigurd).
  GUNTHER. In the older myths called Gunnar.
  HEIMDAL. The heavenly watchman.
  HELA. The goddess of death.
  HERMOD. The quick messenger who is sent to Hela for Balder.
  HODER. The winter-god. He slays Balder.
  HOENIR. One of the three most ancient gods.
  HUGIN. Odin's raven, Thought.
  IDUN. The goddess of spring.
  IVALD. A skilful dwarf.
  JOTUNHEIM. The home of the giants.
  KRIEMHILD. In the older myths called Gudrun.
  LOKI. The mischief-maker. The god of evil.
  MIMER. In the later German mythology a skilful smith. In the
  older mythology a wise giant.
  NORNS. The three Fates,--Urd, Verdande, and Skuld.
  ODIN. The chief of the gods.
  REGIN. The teacher of Sigurd, by whom he is slain.
  SIEGFRIED. In the older myths called Sigurd.
  SIF. Thor's wife.
  SLEIPNER. Odin's eight-footed horse.
  TYR. The god of war.
  THOR. The god of thunder. The foe of the giants.
  VALHAL. The hall of the slain.
  VALKYRIES. The choosers of the slain. Odin's handmaidens.
  VIDAR. The silent god.
  YMIR. The huge giant out of whose body the world was made.





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