The Story of Siegmund
THE king whose protection Regin sought was named Alf, and when he learned of the great skill that belonged to this stranger in his realm, he gave Regin a place of honour among the sword-makers, and soon promoted him to be master-smith. Before many years passed the fame of Regin’s smithy had spread far and wide; for here men gathered not only to learn the master’s craft, but to share in that wisdom which he seemed to have gathered from all the ages. Even the noted wise men of the kingdom came to him, wondering at his great knowledge; and the king sought his counsel in all the difficult affairs of state.
At the court of King Alf lived his foster-son Siegfried,[39] who was much beloved by the king, although he was not of his own blood. The youth was tall and strong, of fearless bearing, and with so keen an eye that men often quailed before his glance. His hair was golden red, and fell down in long locks over his shoulders; and his body was of a strength that matched the beauty of his face. Men said of him that “never did he lose heart, and of naught was he afraid.” When Siegfried grew to manhood, King Alf sent him to Regin’s smithy that he might not only profit by the wisdom of this wisest of teachers, but also be taught to fashion a sword that could be worthily borne by one of his name and race, for Siegfried was the last of the Volsungs—a race of warriors whose fame was still fresh in the minds of men.
[39] In the Volsunga Saga his name is Sigurd. [Back]
At first Siegfried did not like to wear the woollen coat and rough leather apron of a smith, for he was a prince’s son and he thought the work menial; but he soon learned to respect his great teacher so much that the place took on a new dignity in his eyes and he no longer chafed at the hard work or the simple fare he shared with Regin. Early in the morning the sound of Siegfried’s hammer could be heard as he worked blithely at his trade, and he almost forgot that he had ever known any other life than this one by Regin’s side. When the long day was over and he sat with his master by the glowing light of the forge, Regin would tell him wonderful tales of gods and heroes and especially of the warrior race from which Siegfried sprang. Many times they sat until the last bit of fire in the forge sank into lifeless embers, and still the youth listened eagerly to the stories of brave deeds wrought by the long-dead Volsungs. The story which he never tired of hearing was that of his own birth, and in this wise did Regin always begin the tale:—
There was once a mighty king named Volsung,[40] who built a lordly palace such as men never saw before nor will ever see again; for its walls glistened with thousands of shields taken from his enemies in battle, and in the centre of the palace was a large courtyard in which grew a wonderful tree. This tree was so high that it towered above the castle walls, and its branches grew so thick that they spread like a roof over the whole palace. The king called this tree Branstock, and about its mighty trunk the Volsungs gathered to feast and sing songs in praise of their king and their race.
[40] Volsung was the son of Rerir, who was the son of Sigi, the son of Odin. [Back]
Ten sons and one daughter were born to King Volsung, and of these the great ruler was rightly proud, for the youths bid fair to excel their kinsmen in strength and courage, while the daughter, Signy, was so famed for her beauty that suitors came from many distant lands. Now there was a certain king named Siggeir, ruler of the Goths, who wooed the fair Signy with many rich gifts, all of which the maiden coldly disdained, for she distrusted his dark, evil-looking face. King Volsung, however, was much taken with the wealth of Siggeir and his seeming generosity, and he urged his daughter to accept this giver of rich gifts. For a long time Signy refused to listen to her father’s words, but at length she yielded and was betrothed to her hated suitor. Then a great feast was proclaimed throughout the kingdom, and Siggeir gave freely of his gold. The wedding banquet was served in the courtyard beneath the spreading boughs of the mighty Branstock, and the guests were so many in number that they well-nigh filled the halls to overflowing.
When the feasting and merriment were at their highest, there suddenly appeared in the midst of the revellers a tall old man. He had a blue cloak thrown over his shoulders, and his beard was long and white. Only a few of the guests caught a glimpse of his face, but those who did affirmed that he had only one eye. Stepping quickly up to King Volsung’s wonderful tree, he drew from beneath his cloak a gleaming sword and drove it with great force into the tree trunk, up to the very hilt. Then turning to the astonished company, he said, “Whoso draweth this sword from the tree shall have it as a gift from me; and he shall find that he never bore in his hand a better sword than this.” So saying, the old man went forth from the hall, and none knew who he was nor whither he went; but some whispered that it was Odin himself who had been among them.