CHAPTER I

THE HOUSE OF HUNDING

Outside the storm was raging, the great pines were bending in the wild gale, the thunder and lightning were in mad commotion.

Inside, rude as the hut was, there were warmth and apparent peace. A large fire burned on the hearth, and sent its fitful glare from time to time flashing about the bare hall; now shining on the sword-hilt in the great oak-tree growing in the centre; now lighting the dark corners with a faint red gleam. A heap of skins was beside the hearth, and upon this Siegmund sank exhausted.

As he lay there the door opened, and Sieglinde came quickly from an inner room. Frightened by the sight of a stranger, she accosted him in trembling tones. Receiving no answer, she came nearer, and, looking down at him, she saw a strong, tall man, with golden hair, and a face as beautiful as the sun. Caught over his shoulder was a great black bear-skin, and his face was like that of a king among men. His eyes were closed as she bent over him; but, after a moment or two, he opened them and gasped faintly, “Water! Water!” only to sink back once more, exhausted, as Sieglinde hastened away to draw him a draught at the spring. She was soon back with what he had asked for, and, giving it, looked down kindly as he drank.

When he had finished, he gazed up at her and saw a beautiful maiden, with the rough, gray skin of some wild animal worn loosely over her long white robe. She had hair of as deep a gold as his own, and a face full of sweetness and a sympathy that he had never known before.

Rising from the hearth, he gently wished her good fortune, and thanked her for her kindness to a friendless man, who must now pass on his way lest the sorrow which followed his footsteps should come to her; and, so saying, was about to leave the house when Sieglinde, who in some way felt that this man was to be her rescuer, sprang forward and begged him to stay, saying that as sorrow had dwelt in the house for many days she did not fear its coming. So he consented to remain until Hunding, who was out hunting, should return.

Going back to the hearth, he stood there quietly looking, in a long silence, towards Sieglinde, and both felt, I think, that it was Fate that he, and none other, should stay and rescue her. So they stood silently waiting for the Robber’s return, and the fire crackled and glowed and flickered about the hall.

Suddenly, Sieglinde started; for the sound of hoofs broke the stillness, and they could hear the Robber leading his horse to the stable. Almost directly afterwards the door opened, and Hunding himself came in. He was not a pleasant-looking creature, for he was very tall and very broad-shouldered, and as wild in appearance as a wolf, and his face was dark and angry. His long hair and beard were black and tangled, his eyes were fierce, and he wore queer, jangling armor and bands of steel on his bare arms.

He stopped short, and sternly pointed to the stranger, glaring at Sieglinde in great anger. Reading a fierce question in his look, she answered, quietly:

“I found this man weary upon the hearth. Need drove him into the house.”

Hunding relented a little; and, after handing her his shield and weapons, said quietly to Siegmund:

“Safe is my hearth! Safe for you is my house!” Then, turning to Sieglinde, he roughly bade her hasten with the supper. She bore away the heavy weapons and rested them against the tree in the centre of the hall; then went about arranging the evening meal. As they sat down on the rough seats around the scantily spread table, Hunding asked his guest his name, and whence he had come on so stormy a night. Sieglinde leaned eagerly forward as the warrior began his tale.

He told them the story of his life, only calling himself Woful the Wolfing instead of Siegmund the Volsung. And when he came to the tale of the maiden and her kinsmen, and of how he had killed one of them, and fought the others until he was disarmed and driven into the forest, Hunding rose in great anger and stood looking at his guest with wrath in his eyes.

“You win every one’s hate,” he declared. “My friends sent for me to help them revenge the shedding of blood. I went to their aid, but it was too late. Now, when I return, I find the enemy himself upon my hearth. They were my friends against whom you fought; and, though to-night custom makes you safe as a guest in my house, to-morrow you shall die, Wolfing! So be prepared!”

So both the Robber and his servant, the maiden Sieglinde, went away, leaving Siegmund alone by the hearth, sad and a little perplexed. For Sieglinde, as she left the hall, had pointed swiftly towards the sword-hilt buried in the tree. The fire leaped up wildly as he stood gazing towards the oak, and the light touched the bright hilt and painted it red for a moment, then died once more. Siegmund dreamily wondered if the light on the steel had been left by the glance Sieglinde had cast towards it. For you see he had fallen in love with this lovely woman, who looked at him so kindly, and whose face was as fair and beautiful as the sun.

The gold and rosy flashes from the fire grew fainter, the shadows deepened, and Siegmund fell asleep.

Now perhaps you wonder why he stayed there instead of going out into the night, where he would be safe. There were three good reasons to keep him.

In the first place, he was too brave a hero to fly from danger; and, in the second place, he did not want to leave the beautiful maiden alone in the Robber’s power; and the third reason was as good a one as either of the others. Hunding had said: “Custom makes you safe as a guest in my house,” which meant that it would be both unfair and wrong if he, Hunding, killed a stranger taking shelter under his roof. This was called the Law of Hospitality, and the law was never taken advantage of by any honorable guest. So, if Siegmund had run away after Hunding had so well observed the Law of Hospitality he would have been dishonorable as well as cowardly, and it was just as though he had given a promise that he would not go away that night.

In the meantime Siegmund lay asleep. From an inner room came the beautiful maiden swiftly to his side. Awaking him, she told him to hurry away while there was yet time. She said that she had sprinkled some sleep spices into Hunding’s wine, and that he would slumber soundly and long; and she begged the guest to go away quietly into the night and save himself.

Finally, she told him of the Wanderer who had come and struck the sword into the oak-tree, and told him, too, how she had waited in vain for some hero who would draw forth the sword and rescue her.

Siegmund said that he would claim the sword for his own, and drag it from the tree, and, as he spoke, the door opened wide. Perhaps the good fairies unlatched it. Without, it was very still; the storm had ceased, and the moon was shining wondrously.

Then Sieglinde, looking in his face, seemed to see there a resemblance to some one she had known long ago, and, gazing into his eyes, she asked him if he were really a Wolfing.

“No, a Volsung!” replied the hero, proudly. And she cried out in joy: “A Volsung! Are you, too, a Volsung—one of my race? It was for you, indeed, that the Wanderer struck the sword into the oak.”

Springing to the tree, Siegmund laid his hand on the hilt and broke into a wild chant, naming the sword which he had come to, when in such pressing need, Nothung (or Needful).

With a mighty wrench he drew it out of the oak’s trunk, and held it above his head.

“I am Siegmund the Volsung!” he shouted, exultantly.

Then he asked her more gently if she would follow him away from the house of the enemy Hunding, telling her that if she would be his wife he would defend her with Nothung, and make her life one long spring-tide.

“As you are Siegmund, I am Sieglinde!” cried she, aloud. “It is right that the Volsungs should become joined as one.”

And into the night they went away together; for the storm had ceased and the brightness of the moonlight was most marvellous.

[Music: Sword Motif]

[Music: Brünnhilde’s Call

“Hoyotoho!”]

[Music: Motif of the Volsung’s heroism]