The Story of Siegfried Read online

  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 Naturewith a strange kind of awe. They fancied that every thing upon theearth, in the air, or in the water, had a life like their own, and thatevery sight which they saw, and every sound which they heard, was causedby some intelligent being. All men were poets, so far as their ideas andtheir modes of expression were concerned, although it is not likely thatany of them wrote poetry. This was true in regard to the Saxon in hischilly 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 refinemen's thoughts and language, the rugged scenery and bleak storms ofthe north made them uncouth, bold, and energetic. Yet both the culturedGreek and the rude Saxon looked upon Nature with much the same eyes,and there was a strange resemblance in their manner of thinking andspeaking. They saw, that, in all the phenomena which took place aroundthem, there was a certain system or regularity, as if these werecontrolled by some law or by some superior being; and they sought, intheir simple poetical way, to account for these appearances. They hadnot yet learned to measure the distances of the stars, nor to calculatethe motions of the earth. The changing of the seasons was a mysterywhich they scarcely sought to penetrate. But they spoke of theseoccurrences in a variety of ways, and invented many charming, storieswith reference to them, not so much with a view towards accountingfor the mystery, as towards giving expression to their childlike butpicturesque ideas.

  Thus, in the south, when reference was made to the coming of winter andto the dreariness and discomforts of that season of the year, men didnot 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 chariotdrawn by four coal black steeds, to the gloomy land of shadows; and how,in sorrow for her absence, the Earth clothed herself in mourning, andno leaves grew upon the trees, nor flowers in the gardens, and the verybirds ceased singing, because Persephone was no more. But they added,that in a few months the fair maiden would return for a time to hersorrowing mother, and that then the flowers would bloom, and the treeswould bear fruit, and the harvest-fields would again be full of goldengrain.

  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 withBrunhild (the maid of spring), and had wounded her with the thornof sleep, and how all the castle in which she slept was wrapped indeathlike slumber until Sigurd or Siegfried (the sunbeam) rode throughflaming fire, and awakened her with a kiss. Sometimes men told how Loki(heat) had betrayed Balder (the sunlight), and had induced blind oldHoder (the winter months) to slay him, and how all things, living andinanimate, 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 hiddenterrors of the night, our ancestors thought of the story of a nobleyoung hero slaying a hideous dragon, or taking possession of the goldentreasures of Mist Land. And when the springtime came, and the earthrenewed its youth, and the fields and woods were decked in beauty, andthere was music everywhere, they loved to tell of Idun (the spring)and her youth-giving apples, and of her wise husband Bragi (Nature'smusician). When storm-clouds loomed up from the horizon and darkened thesky, and thunder rolled overhead, and lightning flashed on everyhand, they talked about the mighty Thor riding over the clouds in hisgoat-drawn chariot, and battling with the giants of the air. When themountain-meadows were green with long grass, and the corn was yellow forthe sickles of the reapers, they spoke of Sif, the golden-haired wifeof Thor, the queen of the pastures and the fields. When the seasons weremild, 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 archedroof was but the protecting mantle which the All-Father had suspendedabove the earth. The rainbow was the shimmering bridge which stretchesfrom 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 sparksfrom the fire-land of the south, set in the heavens by the gods. Nightwas a giantess, dark and swarthy, who rode in a car drawn by a steed thefoam from whose bits sometimes covered the earth with dew. And Day wasthe son of Night; and the steed which he rode lighted all the sky andthe earth with the beams which glistened from his mane.

  It was thus that men in the earlier ages of the world looked upon andspoke of the workings of Nature; and it was in this manner that manymyths, or poetical fables, were formed. By and by, as the world grewolder, and mankind became less poetical and more practical, the first ormythical meaning of these stories was forgotten, and they were regardedno longer as mere poetical fancies, but as historical facts. Perhapssome real hero had indeed performed daring deeds, and had made the worldaround him happier and better. It was easy to liken him to Sigurd, orto some other mythical slayer of giants; and soon the deeds of both wereascribed to but one. And thus many myth-stories probably contain somehistorical facts blended with the mass of poetical fancies whichmainly compose them; but, in such cases, it is generally impossible todistinguish what is fact from what is mere fancy.

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

  It is not known when or by whom these myth-stories were first put intowriting, nor when they assumed the shape in which we now have them.But it is said, that, about the year 1100, an Icelandic scholar calledSaemund the Wise collected a number of songs and poems into a bookwhich is now known as the "Elder Edda;" and that, about a century later,Snorre Sturleson, another Icelander, wrote a prose-work of a similarcharacter, which is called the "Younger Edda." And it is to these twobooks that we owe the preservation of almost all that is now known ofthe myths and the strange religion of our Saxon and Norman forefathers.But, besides these, there are a number of semi-mythological stories ofgreat interest and beauty,--stories partly mythical, and partly foundedupon remote and forgotten historical facts. One of the oldest and finestof these is the story of Sigurd, the son of Sigmund. There are manyversions of this story, differing from each other according to the timein which they were written and the character of the people among whomthey were received. We find the first mention of Sigurd and his strangedaring 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 andthe Gjukungs. It is told again in the "Volsunga Saga" of Iceland. It isrepeated and re-repeated in various forms and different languages, andfinally appears in the "Nibelungen Lied," a grand old German poem, whichmay 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 theintroduction of many notions peculiar to the middle ages, and unknown toour Pagan fathers of the north. In our own time this myth has been woveninto a variety of forms. William Morris has embodied it in his noblepoem of "Sigurd the Volsung;" Richard Wagner, the famous Germancompos
er, has constructed from it his inimitable drama, the "NibelungenRing;" W. Jordan, another German writer, has given it to the worldin his "Sigfrid's Saga;" and Emanuel Geibel has derived from it thematerials for his "Tragedy of Brunhild."

  And now I, too, come with the STORY OF SIEGFRIED, still another versionof the time-honored legend. The story as I shall tell it you is not inall respects a literal rendering of the ancient myth; but I have takenthe liberty to change and recast such portions of it as I have deemedadvisable. Sometimes I have drawn materials from one version of thestory, sometimes from another, and sometimes largely from my ownimagination alone. Nor shall I be accused of impropriety in thusreshaping a narrative, which, although hallowed by an antiquity ofa thousand years and more, has already appeared in so many differentforms, and been clothed in so many different garbs; for, however muchI may have allowed my fancy or my judgment to retouch and remodel theimmaterial portions of the legend, the essential parts of this immortalmyth remain the same. And, if I succeed in leading you to a clearerunderstanding and a wiser appreciation of the thoughts and feelings ofour old northern ancestors, I shall have accomplished the object forwhich 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 namedSiegfried. His father, Siegmund, was king of the rich country throughwhich the lazy Rhine winds its way just before reaching the great NorthSea; and he was known, both far and near, for his good deeds and hisprudent thrift. And Siegfried's mother, the gentle Sigelind, was lovedby all for her goodness of heart and her kindly charity to the poor.Neither king nor queen left aught undone that might make the youngprince happy, or fit him for life's usefulness. Wise men were broughtfrom far-off lands to be his teachers; and every day something was addedto his store of knowledge or his stock of happiness. And very skilfuldid he become in warlike games and in manly feats of strength. No otheryouth could throw the spear with so great force, or shoot the arrowwith surer aim. No other youth could run more swiftly, or ride with morebecoming ease. His gentle mother took delight in adding to the beauty ofhis matchless form, by clothing him in costly garments decked with therarest jewels. The old, the young, the rich, the poor, the high, thelow, all praised the fearless Siegfried, and all vied in friendly strifeto win his favor. One would have thought that the life of the youngprince could never be aught but a holiday, and that the birds wouldsing, and the flowers would bloom, and the sun would shine forever forhis sake.

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

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

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

  To Mimer's school, then, where he would be taught to work skilfullyand to think wisely, Siegfried was sent, to be in all respects likethe other pupils there. A coarse blue blouse, and heavy leggings, and aleathern apron, took the place of the costly clothing which he had wornin 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 itsdowny pillows, wherein every night his mother had been wont, with gentlecare, to see him safely covered, was given up for a rude heap of strawin a corner of the smithy. And the rich food to which he had beenused gave place to the coarsest and humblest fare. But the lad didnot complain. The days which he passed in the smithy were mirthful andhappy; and the sound of his hammer rang cheerfully, and the sparks fromhis forge flew briskly, from morning till night.

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

  One morning the master, Mimer, came to the smithy with a troubled lookupon his face. It was clear that something had gone amiss; and what itwas the apprentices soon learned from the smith himself. Never, untillately, had any one questioned Mimer's right to be called the foremostsmith in all the world; but now a rival had come forward. An unknownupstart--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 couldscratch; and he had sent a challenge to all other smiths, both in theRhine country and elsewhere, to equal that piece of workmanship, or elseacknowledge themselves his underlings and vassals. For many days hadMimer himself toiled, alone and vainly, trying to forge a sword whoseedge 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, theforeman of the apprentices, said, "I have heard much about thatwonderful armor, and its extreme hardness, and I doubt if any skill canmake a sword with edge so sharp and true as to cut into it. The bestthat can be done is to try to make another war-coat whose temper shallequal that of Amilias's armor."

  Then the lad Siegfried quickly said, "I will make such a sword as youwant,--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 howthis boy can talk: we will see what he can do. He is the king's son, andwe 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 nightsthe sparks never stopped flying from his forge; and the ringing of hisanvil, and the hissing of the hot metal as he tempered it, were heardcontinuously. On the eighth day the sword was fashioned, and Siegfriedbrought it to Mimer.

  The smith felt the razor-edge of the bright weapon, and said, "Thisseems, 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 glitteringblade cleft the slender thread in twain, and the pieces floatedundisturbed upon the surface of the liquid.

  "Well done!" cried the delighted smith. "Never have I seen a keeneredge. If its temper is as true as its shar
pness would lead us tobelieve, it will indeed serve me well."

  But Siegfried took the sword again, and broke it into many pieces; andfor three days he welded it in a white-hot fire, and tempered it withmilk 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 thebrook; and it was caught in the swift eddies of the stream, and whirledabout until it met the bared blade of the sword, which was held inMimer's hands. And it was parted as easily and clean as the ripplingwater, and not the smallest thread was moved out of its place.

  Then back to the smithy Siegfried went again; and his forge glowed witha brighter fire, and his hammer rang upon the anvil with a cheeriersound, than ever before. But he suffered none to come near, and noone ever knew what witchery he used. But some of his fellow-pupilsafterwards told how, in the dusky twilight, they had seen a one-eyedman, long-bearded, and clad in a cloud-gray kirtle, and wearing asky-blue hood, talking with Siegfried at the smithy door. And they saidthat 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, andthat, when he had placed in Siegfried's hands bright shards, like piecesof a broken sword, he faded suddenly from their sight, and was seen nomore.

  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 stoodbefore Mimer, with the gleaming sword in his hands. "It is finished," hesaid. "Behold the glittering terror!--the blade Balmung. Let us try itsedge, and prove its temper once again, that so we may know whether youcan place your trust in it."

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