The Story of Siegfried

Such was the story that men told to each other when the world was still young, and the heroes were unforgotten.36 And some said, too, that Brunhild, the fair and hapless queen, died then of a broken heart and of a hopeless, yearning sorrow, and that she was burned with Siegfried on that high-built funeral-pile.

“They are gone,—the lovely, the mighty, the hope of the ancient earth: It shall labor and bear the burden as before the day of their birth:… 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.”37

Another and much later story is sometimes told of these last sad days,—how the hero’s body was laid in a coffin, and buried in the quiet earth, amid the sorrowful lamentations of all the Rhineland folk; and how, at Kriemhild’s earnest wish, it was afterwards removed to the place where now stands the little minster of Lorsch. As to which of these stories is the true one, it is not for me to say. Enough it is to know that Siegfried was dead, and that the spring-time had fled, and the summer-season with all its golden glories had faded away from Rhineland, and that the powers of darkness and of cold and of evil had prevailed.

To this day the city where was the dwelling of the Burgundian kings is called Worms, in remembrance of the dragon, or worm, which Siegfried slew; and a figure of that monster was for many years painted upon the city arms, and borne on the banner of the Burgundians. And, until recently, travellers were shown the Reisen-haus,—a stronghold, which, men say, Siegfried built; and in it were many strange and mighty weapons, which, they claim, were wielded by the hero. The lance which was shown there was a great beam nearly eighty feet in length; and the war-coat, wrought with steel and gold, and bespangled with gem-stones, was a wonder to behold. And now, in the Church of St. Cecilia, you may see what purports to be the hero’s grave. And a pleasant meadow, not far from the town, is still called Kriemhild’s Rose-garden; while farther away is the place called Drachenfels, or the dragon’s field, where, they say, Siegfried met Fafnir. But whether it is the same as the Glittering Heath of the ancient legend, I know not.

And what became of the Hoard of Andvari?

The story is briefly told.38 When the days of mourning were past, and the people had gone back sadly to their homes, Queen Kriemhild began to speak of returning to the land of the Nibelungens. But Ute, her aged mother, could not bear to part with her, and besought her to stay, for a while at least, in the now desolate Burgundian castle. And Gernot and Giselher, her true and loving brothers, added their words of entreaty also. And so, though heart-sick, and with many misgivings, she agreed to abide for a season in this cheerless and comfortless place. Many days, even months, dragged by, and still she remained; for she found it still harder and harder to tear herself away from her mother, and all that her heart held dear. Yet never, for three years and more, did she even speak to Gunther, or by any sign show that she remembered him. And, as for Hagen, no words could utter the deep and settled hate she felt towards him. But the dark-browed chief cared nought either for love or hate; and he walked erect, as in the days of yore, and he smiled and frowned alike for both evil and good. And he said, “It was not I: it was the Norns, who wove the woof of his life and mine.”

The years went by on leaden wings, and brought no sunlight to Gunther’s dwelling; for his days were full of sadness, and his nights of fearful dreams. At length he said to chief Hagen, “If there is aught in the mid-world that can drive away this gloom, I pray thee to help me find it; for madness steals upon me.”

“There is one thing,” answered Hagen, “which might brighten our land again, and lift up your drooping spirits, and bring gladness to your halls.”

“What is that?” asked the king.

“It is the Nibelungen Hoard,” said the chief. “It is the wondrous treasure of Andvari, which Siegfried gave as a gift to Kriemhild. If it were ours, we might become the masters of the world.”

“But how can we obtain it?”

“It is Kriemhild’s,” was the answer. “But she does not care for it; neither could she use it if she wished. If you could only gain her favor and forgiveness, I feel sure that she would let you do with it as you wish.”

Then Gunther besought his younger brothers to intercede for him with Kriemhild, that she would so far forgive him as to look upon his face, and speak with him once more. And this the queen at last consented to do. And, when Gunther came into her presence, she was so touched at sight of his haggard face and whitened locks, and his earnest words of sorrow, that she forgave him the great wrong that he had done, and welcomed him again as her brother. And he swore that never would he again wrong her or hers, nor do aught to grieve her. But it was not until a long time after this, that he proposed to her that they should bring the Hoard of Andvari away from the Nibelungen Land.

“For, if it were here, dear sister,” he said, “it might be of great use to you.”

“Do whatever seems best to you,” answered Kriemhild. “Only remember the oath that you have given me.”

Then Gunther, because he was anxious to see the wondrous Hoard, but more because he was urged on by Hagen, made ready to send to the Nibelungen Land to bring away the treasure by Kriemhild’s command. Eight thousand men, with Gernot and Giselher as their leaders, sailed over the sea in stanch vessels, and landed on the Nibelungen shore. And when they told who they were, and whence they came, and showed the queen’s signet-ring, they were welcomed heartily by the fair-haired folk of Mist Land, who gladly acknowledged themselves the faithful liegemen of the loved Kriemhild.

When the Burgundians made known their errand to Alberich the dwarf, who still held watch and ward over the mountain stronghold, he was much amazed, and he grieved to part with his cherished treasure.

“But,” said he to his little followers, who stood around him by thousands, each anxious to fight the intruders,—“but there is Queen Kriemhild’s order and her signet-ring, and we must, perforce, obey. Yet had we again the good Tarnkappe which Siegfried took from us, the Hoard should never leave us.”

Then sadly he gave up the keys, and the Burgundians began to remove the treasure. For four whole days and nights they toiled, carrying the Hoard in huge wagons down to the sea. And on the fifth day they set sail, and without mishap arrived in good time at Worms. And many of Alberich’s people, the swarthy elves of the cave, came with Gernot to Rhineland; for they could not live away from the Hoard. And it is said, that hidden among the gold and the gem-stones was the far-famed Wishing-rod, which would give to its owner the power of becoming the lord of the wide mid-world.

And the vast treasure was stored in the towers and vaults of the castle. And Queen Kriemhild alone held the keys, and lavishly she scattered the gold wherever it was needed most. The hungry were fed, the naked were clothed, the sick were cared for; and everybody near and far blessed the peerless Queen of Nibelungen Land.

Then Hagen, always plotting evil, whispered to King Gunther, and said, “It is dangerous to suffer your sister to hold so vast a treasure. All the people are even now ready to leave you, and follow her. She will yet plot to seize the kingdom, and destroy us.”

And he urged the king to take the keys and to make the Nibelungen Hoard his own.

But Gunther answered, “I have already done too great a wrong. And I have sworn to my sister never to harm her again, or to do aught that will grieve her.”

“Let the guilt, then, rest on me,” said Hagen. And he strode away, and took the keys from Kriemhild by force.

When Gernot and Giselher heard of this last vile act of the evil-eyed chief, they waxed very angry, and vowed that they would help their sister regain that which was her own. But the wary Hagen was not to be foiled; for, while the brothers were away from the burgh, he caused the great Hoard to be carried to the river, at a place called Lochheim, and sunk, fathoms deep, beneath the water. And then, for fear of the vengeance which might be wreaked upon him, he fled from Rhineland, and hid himself for a while among the mountains and the barren hill-country of the South.

And this was the end of the fated Hoard of Andvari.

The After Word

Such is the story of Siegfried (or Sigurd), as we gather it from various German and Scandinavian legends. In this recital I have made no attempt to follow any one of the numerous originals, but have selected here and there such incidents as best suited my purpose in constructing one connected story which would convey to your minds some notion of the beauty and richness of our ancient myths. In doing this, I have drawn, now from the Volsunga Saga, now from the Nibelungen Lied, now from one of the Eddas, and now from some of the minor legends relating to the great hero of the North. These ancient stories, although differing widely in particulars, have a certain general relationship and agreement which proves beyond doubt a common origin. “The primeval myth,” says Thomas Carlyle, “whether it were at first philosophical truth, or historical incident, floats too vaguely on the breath of men: each has the privilege of inventing, and the far wider privilege of borrowing and new modelling from all that preceded him. Thus, though tradition may have but one root, it grows, like a banian, into a whole overarching labyrinth of trees.”

If you would follow the tradition of Siegfried to the end; if you would learn how, after the great Hoard had been buried in the Rhine, the curse of the dwarf Andvari still followed those who had possessed it, and how Kriemhild wreaked a terrible vengeance upon Siegfried’s murderers,—you must read the original story as related in the Volsung Myth or in the Nibelungen Song. Our story ends with Siegfried.

The episodes which I have inserted here and there—the stories of AEgir, and of Balder, and of Idun, and of Thor—do not, as you may know, belong properly to the legend of Siegfried; but I have thrown them in, in order to acquaint you with some of the most beautiful mythical conceptions of our ancestors.

A grand old people were those early kinsmen of ours,—not at all so savage and inhuman as our histories would sometimes make us believe. For however mistaken their notions may have been, and however ignorant they were, according to our ideas of things, they were strong-hearted, brave workers; and, so far as opportunity was afforded them, they acted well their parts. What their notions were of true manhood,—a strong mind in a strong body, good, brave, and handsome,—may be learned from the story of Siegfried.

End of The Story of Siegfried

1

Siegfried’s Boyhood.

“All men agree that Siegfried was a king’s son. He was born, as we here have good reason to know, ‘at Santen in Netherland,’ of Siegmund and the fair Siegelinde; yet by some family misfortune or discord, of which the accounts are very various, he came into singular straits during boyhood, having passed that happy period of life, not under the canopies of costly state, but by the sooty stithy, in one Mimer, a blacksmith’s shop.”—Thomas Carlyle, The Nibelungen Lied.

The older versions of this story represent Siegfried, under the name of Sigurd, as being brought up at the court of the Danish King Hialprek; his own father Sigmund having been slain in battle, as related in this chapter. He was early placed under the tuition of Regin, or Regino, an elf, who instructed his pupil in draughts, runes, languages, and various other accomplishments.—See Preface to Vollmer’s Nibelunge Not, also the Song of Sigurd Fafnisbane, in the Elder Edda, and the Icelandic Volsunga Saga.

2

The Sword.

“By this sword Balmung also hangs a tale. Doubtless it was one of those invaluable weapons sometimes fabricated by the old Northern smiths, compared with which our modern Foxes and Ferraras and Toledos are mere leaden tools. Von der Hagen seems to think it simply the sword Mimung under another name; in which case, Siegfried’s old master, Mimer, had been the maker of it, and called it after himself, as if it had been his son.”—Carlyle, on the Nibelungen Lied, note.

In Scandinavian legends, the story of Mimer and Amilias is given, differing but slightly from the rendering in this chapter.—See Weber and Jamieson’s Illustrations of Northern Antiquities.

In the older versions of the myth, the sword is called Gram, or the Wrath. It was wrought from the shards, or broken pieces, of Sigmund’s sword, the gift of Odin. It was made by Regin for Sigurd’s (Siegfried’s) use, and its temper was tested as here described.

3

Sigmund The Volsung.

Sigmund the Volsung, in the Volsunga Saga, is represented as the father of Sigurd (Siegfried); but there is such a marked contrast between him, and the wise, home-abiding King Siegmund of the later stories, that I have thought proper to speak of them here as two different individuals. The word “Sigmund,” or “Siegmund,” means literally the mouth of victory. The story of the Volsungs, as here supposed to be related by Mimer, is derived mainly from the Volsunga Saga.

4

The Idea of Fatality.

Throughout the story of the Nibelungs and Volsungs, of Sigurd and of Siegfried,—whether we follow the older versions or the mote recent renderings,—there is, as it were, an ever-present but indefinable shadow of coming fate, “a low, inarticulate voice of Doom,” foretelling the inevitable. This is but in consonance with the general ideas of our Northern ancestors regarding the fatality which shapes and controls every man’s life. These ideas are embodied in more than one ancient legend. We find them in the old Anglo-Saxon poem of Beowulf. “To us,” cries Beowulf in his last fight, “to us it shall be as our Weird betides,—that Weird that is every man’s lord!” “Each man of us shall abide the end of his life-work; let him that may work, work his doomed deeds ere death comes!” Similar ideas prevailed among the Greeks. Read, for example, that passage in the Iliad describing the parting of Hector and Andromache, and notice the deeper meaning of Hector’s words.

5

Mimer.

“The Vilkinasaga brings before us yet another smith, Mimer, by whom not only is Velint instructed in his art, but Sigfrit (Siegfried) is brought up,—another smith’s apprentice. He is occasionally mentioned in the later poem of Biterolf, as Mime the Old. The old name of Munster in Westphalia was Mimigardiford; the Westphalian Minden was originally Mimidun; and Memleben on the Unstrut, Mimileba.. .. The elder Norse tradition names him just as often, and in several different connections. In one place, a Mimingus, a wood-satyr, and possessor of a sword and jewels, is interwoven into the myth of Balder and Hoder. The Edda gives a higher position to its Mimer. He has a fountain, in which wisdom and understanding lie hidden: drinking of it every morning, he is the wisest, most intelligent, of men. To Mimer’s fountain came Odin, and desired a drink, but did not receive it till he had given one of his eyes in pledge, and hidden it in the fountain: this accounts for Odin being one-eyed.... Mimer is no Asa, but an exalted being with whom the Asas hold converse, of whom they make use,—the sum total of wisdom, possibly an older Nature-god. Later fables degraded him into a wood-sprite, or clever smith.”—Grimm’s Deutsche Mythologie, I. p. 379.

Concerning the Mimer of the Eddas, Professor Anderson says, “The name Mimer means the knowing. The Giants, being older than the Asas, looked deeper than the latter into the darkness of the past. They had witnessed the birth of the gods and the beginning of the world, and they foresaw their downfall. Concerning both these events, the gods had to go to them for knowledge. It is this wisdom that Mimer keeps in his fountain.”—Norse Mythology, p 209.

In the older versions of the legend, the smith who cared for Siegfried (Sigurd) is called, as we have before noticed, Regin. He is thus described by Morris:—

     “The lore of all men he knew,

     And was deft in every cunning, save the dealings of the     sword.     So sweet was his tongue-speech fashioned, that men     trowed his every word.     His hand with the harp-strings blended was the mingler     of delight     With the latter days of sorrow: all tales he told     aright.     The Master of the Masters in the smithying craft was     he;     And he dealt with the wind and the weather and the     stilling of the sea;     Nor might any learn him leech-craft, for before that     race was made,     And that man-folk’s generation, all their life-days had     he weighed.”     Sigurd the Volsung, Bk. II.

6

Siegfried’s Journey Into The Forest.

“In the shop of Mimer, Siegfried was nowise in his proper element, ever quarrelling with his fellow-apprentices, nay, as some say, breaking the hardest anvils into shivers by his too stout hammering; so that Mimer, otherwise a first-rate smith, could by no means do with him there. He sends him, accordingly, to the neighboring forest to fetch charcoal, well aware that a monstrous dragon, one Regin, the smith’s own brother, would meet him, and devour him. But far otherwise it proved.”—Carlyle, on The Nibelungen Lied.

7

The Norns.

The Norns are the Fates, which watch over man through life. They are Urd the Past, Verdande the Present, and Skuld the Future. They approach every new-born child, and utter his doom. They are represented as spinning the thread of fate, one end of which is hidden by Urd in the far east, the other by Verdande in the far west. Skuld stands ready to rend it in pieces. —See Grimm’s Teutonic Mythology, p. 405, also Anderson’s Norse Mythology, p. 209.

The three weird women in Shakespeare’s Tragedy of Macbeth represent a later conception of the three Norns, now degraded to mere witches.

Compare the Norns with the Fates of the Greek Mythology. These, also, are three in number. They sit clothed in white, and garlanded, singing of destiny. Clotho, the Past, spins; Lachesis, the Present, divides; and Atropos, the Future, stands ready with her shears to cut the thread.

8

Regin.

As we have already observed, the older versions of this myth called Siegfried’s master and teacher Regin, while the more recent versions call him Mimer. We have here endeavored to harmonize the two versions by representing Mimer as being merely Regin in disguise.

9

Gripir.

“A man of few words was Gripir; but he knew of all deeds that had been; And times there came upon him, when the deeds to be were seen: No sword had he held in his hand since his father fell to field, And against the life of the slayer he bore undinted shield: Yet no fear in his heart abided, nor desired he aught at all: But he noted the deeds that had been, and looked for what should befall.” Morris’s Sigurd the Volsung, Bk. II.

10

The Hoard.

This story is found in both the Elder and the Younger Eddas, and is really the basis upon which the entire plot of the legend of Sigurd, or Siegfried, is constructed. See also.

11

The Norns.

The Norns are the Fates, which watch over man through life. They are Urd the Past, Verdande the Present, and Skuld the Future. They approach every new-born child, and utter his doom. They are represented as spinning the thread of fate, one end of which is hidden by Urd in the far east, the other by Verdande in the far west. Skuld stands ready to rend it in pieces. —See Grimm’s Teutonic Mythology, p. 405, also Anderson’s Norse Mythology, p. 209.

The three weird women in Shakespeare’s Tragedy of Macbeth represent a later conception of the three Norns, now degraded to mere witches.

Compare the Norns with the Fates of the Greek Mythology. These, also, are three in number. They sit clothed in white, and garlanded, singing of destiny. Clotho, the Past, spins; Lachesis, the Present, divides; and Atropos, the Future, stands ready with her shears to cut the thread.

12

The Idea of Fatality.

Throughout the story of the Nibelungs and Volsungs, of Sigurd and of Siegfried,—whether we follow the older versions or the mote recent renderings,—there is, as it were, an ever-present but indefinable shadow of coming fate, “a low, inarticulate voice of Doom,” foretelling the inevitable. This is but in consonance with the general ideas of our Northern ancestors regarding the fatality which shapes and controls every man’s life. These ideas are embodied in more than one ancient legend. We find them in the old Anglo-Saxon poem of Beowulf. “To us,” cries Beowulf in his last fight, “to us it shall be as our Weird betides,—that Weird that is every man’s lord!” “Each man of us shall abide the end of his life-work; let him that may work, work his doomed deeds ere death comes!” Similar ideas prevailed among the Greeks. Read, for example, that passage in the Iliad describing the parting of Hector and Andromache, and notice the deeper meaning of Hector’s words.

13

The Dragon.

The oldest form of this story is the Song of Sigurd Fafnisbane, in the Elder Edda. The English legend of St. George and the Dragon was probably derived from the same original sources. A similar myth may be found among all Aryan peoples. Sometimes it is a treasure, sometimes a beautiful maiden, that the monster guards, or attempts to destroy. Its first meaning was probably this: The maiden, or the treasure, is the earth in its beauty and fertility. “The monster is the storm-cloud. The hero who fights it is the sun, with his glorious sword, the lightning-flash. By his victory the earth is relieved from her peril. The fable has been varied to suit the atmospheric peculiarities of different climes in which the Aryans found themselves.... In Northern mythology the serpent is probably the winter cloud, which broods over and keeps from mortals the gold of the sun’s light and heat, till in the spring the bright orb overcomes the powers of darkness and tempest, and scatters his gold over the face of the earth.” This myth appears in a great variety of forms among the Scandinavian and German nations. In the Eddas, Sigurd (Siegfried) is represented as roasting the heart of Fafnir, and touching it to his lips. We have ventured to present a less revolting version.—See Baring-Gould’s Curious Myths of the Middle Ages.

“The slaying of the dragon Fafnir reminds us of Python, whom Apollo overcame; and, as Python guarded the Delphic Oracle, the dying Fafnir prophesies.”—Jacob Grimm.

14

In order to harmonize subsequent passages in the story as related in different versions, we here represent Siegfried as turning his back upon the Glittering Heath, and leaving the Hoard to some other hero or discoverer. In the Younger Edda, Siegfried (Sigurd) rides onward until he comes to Fafnir’s bed, from which “he took out all the gold, packed it in two bags, and laid it on Grane’s (Greyfell’s) back, then got on himself and rode away.”

15

Of Siegfried, but is here introduced in order to acquaint you with some of the older myths of our ancestors. Bragi was the impersonation of music and eloquence, and here represents the music of Nature,—the glad songs and sounds of the spring-time. “Above any other god,” says Grimm, “one would like to see a more general veneration of Bragi revived, in whom was vested the gift of poetry and eloquence.... He appears to have stood in pretty close relation to AEgir.”

16

AEgir.

“AEgir was the god presiding over the stormy sea. He entertains the gods every harvest, and brews ale for them. The name still survives in provincial English for the sea-wave on rivers.”—Anderson’s Norse Mythology. See Carlyle’s Heroes and Hero-Worship.

17

The Valkyries.

See Grimm’s Teutonic Mythology, p. 417, and Anderson’s Norse Mythology, p. 265.

18

Brunhild.

In the Elder Edda, Brunhild’s inaccessible hall stands on a mountain, where she was doomed to sleep under her shield until Sigurd should release her. In the Nibelungen Lied, she is represented as ruling in Isenland, an island far over the sea. The well-known story of the Sleeping Beauty is derived from this myth.