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On his way to the Volsung land Sigurd saw a man walking on the
waters, and took him on board, little suspecting that this individual,
who said his name was Feng or Fiöllnir, was Odin or Hnikar, the
wave stiller. He therefore conversed freely with the stranger, who
promised him favorable winds, and learned from him how to
distinguish auspicious from unauspicious omens.
After slaying Lygni and cutting the bloody eagle on his foes,
The fight with Sigurd left his reconquered kingdom and went with
the dragon. Regin to slay Fafnir. A long ride through the
mountains, which rose higher and higher before him,
brought him at last to his goal, where a one-eyed stranger bade him
dig trenches in the middle of the track along which the dragon daily
rolled his slimy length to go down to the river and quench his thirst.
He then bade Sigurd cower in one of those holes, and there wait
until the monster passed over him, when he could drive his trusty
weapon straight into its heart.
SIGURD AND THE DRAGON.—K. Dielitz.
“Then all sank into silence, and the son of Sigmund stood
On the torn and furrowed desert by the pool of Fafnir’s blood,
And the serpent lay before him, dead, chilly, dull, and gray;
And over the Glittering Heath fair shone the sun and the day,
And a light wind followed the sun and breathed o’er the fateful place,
As fresh as it furrows the sea plain, or bows the acres’ face.”
“Then Regin spake to Sigurd: ‘Of this slaying wilt thou be free?
Then gather thou fire together and roast the heart for me,
That I may eat it and live, and be thy master and more;
For therein was might and wisdom, and the grudged and hoarded
lore:—
Or else depart on thy ways afraid from the Glittering Heath.’”
Riding straight up this mountain, he saw the light grow more and
more vivid, and soon a barrier of lurid flames stood before him; but
although the fire crackled and roared, it could not daunt our hero,
who plunged bravely into its very midst.
“Now Sigurd turns in his saddle, and the hilt of the Wrath he shifts,
And draws a girth the tighter; then the gathered reins he lifts,
And crieth aloud to Greyfell, and rides at the wildfire’s heart;
But the white wall wavers before him and the flame-flood rusheth
apart,
And high o’er his head it riseth, and wide and wild its roar
As it beareth the mighty tidings to the very heavenly floor:
But he rideth through its roaring as the warrior rides the rye,
When it bows with the wind of the summer and the hid spears draw
anigh;
The white flame licks his raiment and sweeps through Greyfell’s
mane,
And bathes both hands of Sigurd and the hilt of Fafnir’s bane,
And winds about his war-helm and mingles with his hair,
But naught his raiment dusketh or dims his glittering gear;
Then it fails and fades and darkens till all seems left behind,
And dawn and the blaze is swallowed in mid-mirk stark and blind.”
No sooner had Sigurd thus fearlessly sprung into the very heart
of the flames than the fire flickered and died out, leaving nothing but
a broad circle of white ashes, through which he rode until he came to
a great castle, with shield-hung walls, in which he penetrated
unchallenged, for the gates were wide open and no warders or men
at arms were to be seen. Proceeding cautiously, for he feared some
snare, Sigurd at last came to the center of the inclosure, where he
saw a recumbent form all cased in armor. To remove the helmet was
but a moment’s work, but Sigurd started back in surprise when he
beheld, instead of a warrior, the sleeping face of a most beautiful
woman.
All his efforts to awaken her were quite vain, however, until he
had cut the armor off her body, and she lay before him in pure-white
linen garments, her long golden hair rippling and waving around her.
As the last fastening of her armor gave way, she opened wide her
beautiful eyes, gazed in rapture upon the rising sun, and after
greeting it with enthusiasm she turned to her deliverer, whom she
loved at first sight, as he loved her.
“Then she turned and gazed on Sigurd, and her eyes met the
Volsung’s eyes.
And mighty and measureless now did the tide of his love arise,
For their longing had met and mingled, and he knew of her heart that
she loved,
And she spake unto nothing but him, and her lips with the speech-
flood moved.”
The story of Sigurd and Brunhild did not end on the Hindarfial,
however, for the hero soon went to seek adventures in the great
world, where he had vowed, in true knightly fashion, to right the
wrong and defend the fatherless and oppressed.
In the course of his wanderings, Sigurd finally came to the land
The Niblungs. of the Niblungs, the land of continual mist, where Giuki
and Grimhild were king and queen. The latter was
specially powerful, as she was well versed in magic lore and could
not only weave spells and mutter incantations, but could also
concoct marvelous potions which would steep the drinker in
temporary forgetfulness and make him yield to whatever she wished.
The Niblung king was father of three sons, Gunnar, Högni, and
Guttorm, who were brave young men, and of one daughter, Gudrun,
the gentlest as well as the most beautiful of maidens. Sigurd was
warmly welcomed by Giuki, and invited to tarry awhile. He accepted
the invitation, shared all the pleasures and occupations of the
Niblungs, even accompanying them to war, where he distinguished
himself by his valor, and so won the admiration of Grimhild that she
resolved to secure him as her daughter’s husband at any price. She
therefore brewed one of her magic potions, which she bade Gudrun
give him, and when he had partaken of it, he utterly forgot Brunhild
and his plighted troth, and gazed upon Gudrun with an admiration
which by the queen’s machinations was soon changed to ardent
love.
“But the heart was changed in Sigurd; as though it ne’er had been
His love of Brynhild perished as he gazed on the Niblung Queen:
Brynhild’s beloved body was e’en as a wasted hearth,
No more for bale or blessing, for plenty or for dearth.”
“There they went in one bed together; but the foster-brother laid
’Twixt him and the body of Brynhild his bright blue battle-blade,
And she looked and heeded it nothing; but, e’en as the dead folk lie,
With folded hands she lay there, and let the night go by:
And as still lay that image of Gunnar as the dead of life forlorn,
And hand on hand he folded as he waited for the morn.
So oft in the moonlit minster your fathers may ye see
By the side of the ancient mothers await the day to be.”
Three days passed thus, and when the fourth morning dawned,
Sigurd drew the ring Andvaranaut from Brunhild’s hand, replaced it
by another, and received her solemn promise that in ten days’ time
she would appear at the Niblung court to take up her duties as
queen and be a faithful wife.
GUDRUN GIVING THE MAGIC DRINK TO SIGURD.—Th.
Pixis.
“I thank thee, King, for thy goodwill, and thy pledge of love I take.
Depart with my troth to thy people: but ere full ten days are o’er
I shall come to the Sons of the Niblungs, and then shall we part no
more
Till the day of the change of our life-days, when Odin and Freya shall
call.”
Then Sigurd again passed out of the palace through the ashes
lying white and cold, and joined Gunnar, with whom he hastened to
exchange forms once more, after he had reported the success of his
venture. The warriors rode homeward together, and Sigurd revealed
only to Gudrun the secret of her brother’s wooing, giving her the fatal
ring, which he little suspected would be the cause of many woes.
True to her promise, Brunhild appeared ten days later, solemnly
blessed the house she was about to enter, greeted Gunnar kindly,
and allowed him to conduct her to the great hall, where she saw
Sigurd seated beside Gudrun. He looked up at the selfsame
moment, and as he encountered Brunhild’s reproachful glance
Grimhild’s spell was broken and he was struck by an anguished
recollection of the happy past. It was too late, however: they were
both in honor bound, he to Gudrun and she to Gunnar, whom she
passively followed to the high seat, where she sat beside him
listening to the songs of the bards.
But, although apparently calm, Brunhild’s heart was hot with
anger, and she silently nursed her wrath, often stealing out of her
husband’s palace to wander alone in the forest, where she could
give vent to her grief.
In the mean while, Gunnar, seeing his wife so coldly indifferent to
all his protestations of affection, began to have jealous suspicions
and wondered whether Sigurd had honestly told the whole story of
the wooing, and whether he had not taken advantage of his position
to win Brunhild’s love. Sigurd alone continued the even tenor of his
way, doing good to all, fighting none but tyrants and oppressors, and
cheering all he met by his kindly words and smile.
Quarrel of the One day the queens went down to the Rhine to
queens. bathe, and as they were entering the water Gudrun
claimed precedence by right of her husband’s courage. Brunhild
refused to yield what she deemed her right, and a quarrel ensued, in
the course of which Gudrun accused her sister-in-law of infidelity,
producing the ring Andvaranaut in support of her charge. Crushed by
this revelation, Brunhild hastened homeward, and lay on her bed in
speechless grief day after day, until all thought she would die. In vain
did Gunnar and all the members of the royal family seek her in turn
and implore her to speak; she would not utter a word until Sigurd
came and inquired the cause of her great grief. Like a long-pent-up
stream, her love and anger now burst forth, and she overwhelmed
the hero with reproaches, until his heart swelled with grief for her
sorrow and burst the tight bands of his strong armor.
Sigurd’s infant son was also slain, and poor Gudrun mourned
over her dead in speechless, tearless grief; while Brunhild laughed
aloud, thereby incurring the wrath of Gunnar, who repented now, but
too late, of his share in the dastardly crime.
While the assembled people were erecting a mighty funeral pyre
—which they decorated with precious hangings, fresh flowers, and
glittering arms, as was the custom for the burial of a prince—Gudrun
was surrounded by women, who, seeing her tearless anguish, and
fearing lest her heart would break if her tears did not flow, began to
recount the bitterest sorrows they had known, one even telling of the
loss of all she held dear. But their attempts to make her weep were
utterly vain, until they laid her husband’s head in her lap, bidding her
kiss him as if he were still alive; then her tears began to flow in
torrents.
The reaction soon set in for Brunhild also; her resentment was
all forgotten when she saw Sigurd laid on the pyre in all his martial
array, with the burnished armor, the Helmet of Dread, and the
trappings of his horse, which was to be burned with him, as well as
several of his faithful servants who could not survive his loss. She
withdrew to her apartment, distributed all her wealth among her
handmaidens, donned her richest array, and stretching herself out
upon her bed stabbed herself.
In dying accents she then bade Gunnar lay her beside the hero
she loved, with the glittering, unsheathed sword between them, as it
had lain when he had wooed her by proxy. When she had breathed
her last, these orders were punctually executed, and both bodies
were burned amid the lamentations of all the Niblungs.
“They are gone—the lovely, the mighty, the hope of the ancient Earth:
It shall labor and bear the burden as before that day of their birth:
It shall groan in its blind abiding for the day that Sigurd hath sped,
And the hour that Brynhild hath hastened, and the dawn that waketh
the dead:
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.”
In the mean while, Atli, Brunhild’s brother, who was now King of
the Huns, had sent to Gunnar to demand atonement for his sister’s
Atli, King of death; and to satisfy these claims Gunnar had
the Huns. promised that in due time he would give him Gudrun’s
hand in marriage. Time passed, and when at last Atli clamored for
the fulfillment of his promise, the Niblung brothers, with their mother
Grimhild, went to seek the long-absent Gudrun, and by their
persuasions and the magic potion administered by Grimhild
succeeded in persuading her to leave little Swanhild in Denmark and
become Atli’s wife.
Gudrun dwelt, year after year, in the land of the Huns, secretly
hating her husband, whose avaricious tendencies were extremely
repugnant to her; and she was not even consoled for Sigurd’s death
and Swanhild’s loss by the birth of two sons, Erp and Eitel. As she
lovingly thought of the past she often spoke of it, little suspecting that
her descriptions of the wealth of the Niblungs excited Atli’s greed,
and that he was secretly planning some pretext for getting it into his
power.
Finally he decided to send Knefrud or Wingi, one of his subjects,
to invite all the Niblung princes to visit his court, intending to slay
them when he should have them at his mercy; but Gudrun,
fathoming this design, sent a runic-written warning to her brothers,
together with the ring Andvaranaut, around which she had twined a
wolf’s hair. On the way, however, the messenger partly effaced the
runes, thus changing their meaning; and when he appeared before
the Niblungs, Gunnar accepted the invitation, in spite of Högni’s and
Grimhild’s warnings and the ominous dream of his new wife
Glaumvor.
Before his departure, however, they prevailed upon him to
Burial of the secretly bury the great Niblung hoard in the Rhine,
Niblung where it was sunk in a deep hole, the position of which
treasure. was known to the royal brothers only, and which they
took a solemn oath never to reveal.
“Down then and whirling outward the ruddy Gold fell forth,
As a flame in the dim gray morning flashed out a kingdom’s worth;
Then the waters roared above it, the wan water and the foam