CHAPTER II
THE DAUGHTER OF WOTAN
Up in the mountains near a rocky gorge, where the wind swept and the wild pines grew, stood Wotan, king of the gods, and before him, awaiting his orders, was his favorite daughter, Brünnhilde, the Walküre.
She was very beautiful, more beautiful than any woman who ever breathed. Her hair was golden bright, her figure queenly. When she moved, the motion of a bird was not more fleet and graceful, and her face was what you might suppose the face of a goddess would be. She wore long white robes and glistening armor, and the wings in her bright helmet were like snow. She bore a spear and shield also, for you know she was a goddess of war, and, as her business was to attend the battles of heroes, she arrayed herself accordingly.
She moved restlessly, and seemed anxious to be off, for at the top of a rocky slope was not her horse, Grani, waiting for her to spring on his back and gallop away through the clouds?
Wotan, whom, of course, you remember, stood leaning on his spear. He looked for the moment glad, for he was very fond of his descendants, the Volsungs, and he also believed that Siegmund would one day kill Fafner, the Dragon, with the sword which had been placed in the oak for the purpose, and would return to the Rhine Maidens their treasure. When this should come to pass, the gods would have no more fear of Alberich.
When Wotan thought of all these possibilities, the dusk of the gods’ bright day seemed far off. So it was with a thrill of joy in his voice that he spoke to Brünnhilde, and bade her make ready to attend the fight between Siegmund and Hunding, which, as the Robber was already hunting for his guest with fierce hounds, was sure to occur that day.
“Aid the Volsung, my brave maiden!” said the King God. “Overthrow Hunding! Hasten to the battle!”
“Hoyotoho!” shouted the Walküre, waving her spear as she sprang up the rocks. “Hoyotoho! Hoyotoho!”
On a high pinnacle of boulders she paused, and looked down on Wotan once more. “Look well, father! Here comes Fricka. I leave you to her.”
With a clear burst of laughter she sped on again. Her boisterous “Hoyotoho!” died away among the echoes.
In a golden car, drawn by two rams, came Fricka, the queen of the gods. She seemed in great haste, and, springing to the ground, stood in all her majesty before the King God, with anger in her eyes.
“I ask for right!” she began, drawing her scarlet draperies about her. And she went on to demand vengeance for Hunding; vengeance upon Siegmund, the guest, for having taken advantage of the host who had observed so well the Law of Hospitality; vengeance upon him who, from the house of Hunding, had stolen the Robber’s servant, Sieglinde.
All this made Wotan very unhappy, for he loved Siegmund, and already in his heart had forgiven him for what he had done. Yet he knew that all wrong must bring punishment, and asked Fricka what she wished him to do.
“Call back the Walküre!” said the Queen Goddess, and there was a look of triumph on her face. “Break the Volsung’s sword! Promise me!”
There was a pause.
“I—promise,” said the god, covering his face with his hands.
Triumphant and satisfied, Fricka drove away, and, as she went, Brünnhilde, who had returned while the King and Queen were talking together, and had led her horse into a cave near by, came to her father, asking why he seemed so sorrowful.
Tenderly drawing her to him, he told her the story you know so well, of the stealing of the Gold, the building of Walhalla, and the prophecy of Erda. He told her of the day of which the Earth Witch had spoken, when the world would be in twilight and gloom—the Dusk of the Gods.
He told her, too, the hopes he had had of the great deeds to be done by Siegmund. He let her see how it filled him with the deepest sorrow to overthrow the Volsung. But the Volsung had taken advantage of the Law of Hospitality, and Wotan had promised that he would overthrow him; and the promise must be kept. He bade her vanquish Siegmund in the coming battle and give the victory to Hunding; then, heart-broken, he wended his way among the rocks, and was gone.
Sadly Brünnhilde gazed after him. Her heart, too, was aching, because, though she loved to carry heroes to Walhalla, she loved still more to aid them in battle. She went slowly into the cave.
It was growing darker. Now, from out the gloom that filled the rocky gorge came Siegmund and his beautiful wife, Sieglinde, seeking rest in a sheltered place. Sieglinde was almost exhausted, for the way they had come was long and hard; and, after trying vainly to make her tired limbs carry her farther, she fainted at the young Volsung’s feet. Tenderly he carried her to a rock near by, and, seating himself upon it, gently supported her and stooped down to listen to her breathing.
As he raised his head, satisfied that she still lived, a grave, sweet voice sounded on his ear. He turned his eyes to where stood a beautiful woman in white and steel, one arm on the neck of her horse. It was the Walküre, who, according to her custom, came to warn the man who was shortly to be killed in battle. It grew still darker.
[Illustration: THE WALKÜRE APPEARS]
“Siegmund,” said the Walküre, “look on me! Soon you must follow me!”
Siegmund, wondering, asked who she was.
“Only those who are shortly to die may see my face,” answered Brünnhilde. “I bear them away to Wotan, in Walhalla. There you will find innumerable heroes who have died in battle. They will welcome you.”
Siegmund asked if his father, Volse, were among the heroes.
Brünnhilde answered “Yes.”
Quietly the young warrior asked if his beautiful bride might accompany him.
The Walküre slowly shook her head.
“Lonely upon the earth she remains,” she answered. “Siegmund will see Sieglinde no more.”
“Then greet Walhalla and the heroes for me,” said the Volsung; “for there I will follow you not.”
“You have looked on the face of the Walküre,” said Brünnhilde. “You must die.”
And, by degrees, she made him understand that death was awaiting him, that he was doomed to be killed by Hunding. In despair Siegmund raised Nothung, the sword, and declared that he would kill his wife and himself, so that they might be together in death. But Brünnhilde, who had felt her heart grow more and more tender towards this unhappy pair, started forward, bidding him hope, and declared that she would help him, instead of Hunding, in the combat, and save both himself and his wife.
“I shall be with you in battle,” she promised; and she hurried away, leading her horse.
It grew darker and darker. Storm-clouds were gathering, and the rocky gorge was filled with a dense, black shadow. In the distance came the sound of Hunding’s horn. Waving his sword, Siegmund sprang up the rocks to meet the enemy.
Sieglinde, dreaming softly where her husband had left her, was awakened by a wild burst of thunder and lightning. She started up frantically, trying to see through the darkness. Clouds were all about her, veiling the rocks on every side. Hunding’s deep horn-call sounded nearer and nearer. Finally, from a high rock among the trees on the top of a wooded slope she could hear the voices of the combatants and the clash of weapons. Suddenly, in a vivid glare of lightning, Brünnhilde appeared among the clouds, stooping low over Siegmund, and protecting him with outstretched shield. Clear and strong rang out her voice over the tumult:
“Be firm, Siegmund! Strike quickly.”
But now Sieglinde, staring wildly up through the darkness, paralyzed with fright, saw a fierce crimson light—the light that heralded the approach of the angry King God—and Wotan stood revealed in the clouds above Hunding.
“Away from my spear!” he cried, in a terrible voice. “Let the sword be splintered!” And he stretched out his weapon, made from the World-Ash. Nothung was shivered in pieces upon it, and the Robber Hunding, with one blow killed Siegmund, the Volsung.
With a great cry Sieglinde sank to the ground, but through the cloudy darkness came Brünnhilde. She lifted the poor woman on her horse, and, urging Grani to flight, sped away through the clouds.
Wotan, left alone with the Robber, turned towards him in contemptuous anger. Before his gaze Hunding sank to the earth in death.
Suddenly the King God burst into supreme wrath.
“Brünnhilde, who has disobeyed me, must be punished!” he cried. And, leaping upon his war-horse, he was gone through the clouds.
[Music: Motif of Siegmund and Sieglinde’s Love]
[Music: Motif of the Walküres’ Ride]
[Music: Motif of Brünnhilde’s Pleading]
[Music: Slumber Motif]