The Nibelungenlied

TRANSLATED BY WILLIAM NANSON LETTSOM

WITH A SPECIAL INTRODUCTION BY WILLIAM H. CARPENTER, Ph.D. PROFESSOR OF GERMANIC PHILOLOGY IN COLUMBIA UNIVERSITY

REVISED EDITION

NEW YORK P.F. COLLIER & SON

Copyright, 1901 By THE COLONIAL PRESS

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SPECIAL INTRODUCTION

The "Nibelungenlied," as the great national epic of Germany, is not only one of the most important literary monuments that the German mind has produced in all periods of its history, but, in reality beyond this, it is also in its matter and its manner one of the world's great classics. It is this inherently because of the universal intelligibility of its story, for the broad human sympathy which must be felt with its characters and their motives of action, and for the sustained poetic treatment of the whole in the long poem. In all these respects the "Nibelungenlied," although German in its spirit and its environment, rises inevitably above the confines of nationality, and becomes, like other works that are in a true sense great, by virtue of its universality an integral part of that cosmopolitan body that we call the literature of the world.

Like the "Iliad," or any other popular epic whatever, the "Nibelungenlied" is, however, first and foremost a picture of the national life and the national soul. Its characters in this way are, consequently, both fundamentally and of necessity a part of their own special environment into which each, according to his individuality, fits; and the manners and customs, the religion and ethics, are first of all essentially German in order to embody them and to motive their actions to the public for which the poem was originally intended. What we are given in the "Nibelungenlied" is primarily then, at least in its exterior, a picture of German life in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. The customs are those of the courts and castles of the place and time, the men and women are the knights and ladies who inhabit them; and if the real mainsprings of motive and action sometimes go back beyond theiv poet's own day and generation for reasons that shall presently be told, the thoughts and feelings of the characters under his hand betray on the surface no trace of it.

To an English reader there is astonishingly little in the "Nibelungenlied" in motive that is unintelligible or hopelessly remote. It is not that its manners of thought are our manners of thought, or its ethics our ethics. Its deeds, since the real story is an ancient inheritance, are tragic with battle, murder, and sudden death; but, in spite of all this, there is in us an innate appreciation of it and of its spirit that it is utterly impossible to feel in much literature that is not our own. This of course arises from the fact that it is, in a sense, our own, as, in part, at the beginning in very truth it was. The difference in its whole environment from us is still, in reality, not great, and we realize, consciously or unconsciously, that it is in many ways our own ancient past that is chronicled in the German poem.

For all these reasons it comes readily about that, in the light of the poet's master touch, the characters of the "Nibelungenlied" that he has left in such actuality in his verses are to us neither vague nor shadowy, but are real persons who live and act before us. This is in fact truer of the "Nibelungenlied" than of almost any other great poem of the kind, whatever its time and place of origin. Siegfried and Kriemhild, Hagen and Rudeger are not the mere creations and impersonations of a poet's imagination; they are to us real men and women who lived their lives and died their deaths as the poet has described them. That he has told his tale with wonderful literary skill as a whole and at times with marvellous appreciation of the value of the moment, is also to be stated. Because no doubt in part from the way in which the poem has come down to us, there is at times superfluous material that had better been left away, but in this fact, too, the poem differs but little from other popular epics.

As a whole, the "Nibelungenlied" is characterized by a literary unity of treatment by no means inconsiderable, and greater, in point of fact, than its origin would ordinarily promise. Its unity, however, is dramatic, rather than epic in the ordinary sense. This character it never loses throughout the whole long action. Deed follows deed, stroke upon stroke,v until the final catastrophe is inevitably reached and the story is ended.

That this story in its origin is not narrowly German, but is Germanic property, should be borne in mind by its reader, since many of its episodes acquire thereby a broader significance, and the whole poem assumes a wider interest.

The earliest versions of the story of the Volsungs and Nibelungs, the Germanic "tale of Troy," that have come down to us are not from German territory, but from the Scandinavian North, although here, too, the scene of the principal action is on the Rhine and in the land of the Huns, which is vaguely conceived to be a part of the German country. Sigmund, the father of Sigurd, is a King in the land of the Franks; Sigurd is slain to the south of the Rhine, and in the Rhine is forever hidden the fateful hoard of the Nibelungs. The story in reality wandered out twice into the North from its original home in Germany: once apparently in the Viking age when the Northmen for the first time came into close contact with the other Germanic people on the continent and in the British Islands, a period long antecedent to the "Nibelungenlied;" and again five hundred years later, after the German poem had arisen, since it can be readily shown that this has been used as a source of a part of the material.

The very first of these Northern versions is that contained in the "Elder Edda," a collection of mythological and legendary poems in the Old Norse language, of unknown authorship, whose time and place of origin are alike matters of varying supposition. The subject was the theme of poets for centuries in the North. The oldest of the poems in the "Edda" that has to do with the story of the "Nibelungenlied," from internal evidence, was made as early as the year 900; the latest is from a time not far from 1200. These poems and fragments of poems, some of them even in prose rescript and most of them interspersed here and there with bits of prose, do not make in any sense a connected story. Their unknown collector arranged them as well as might be in connected sequence, but even then their action is not consecutive; they overlap each other, parts of the story are told and retold and not seldom with an inconsistency of detail. There is, accordingly, in the "Elder Edda" no thought of an epicvi either in matter or manner. There is the material

for an epic in the rough, but without an idea in the mind of any poet of the time of actual epical treatment.

The story as contained in the Old Norse poems is by no means identical with the "Nibelungenlied." First and foremost, it is infinitely older in its whole conception, and much more nearly approaches original conditions as they existed in the mode of thought and in the manner of living of the early Germanic people. It is a story, here, of the days when the world was young; when the gods still walked the earth and mixed themselves in with human affairs in which they had an active interest; when motives were clearer and action was more direct; when human passions burned even fiercer than in the "Nibelungenlied," and love and hate together knew no boundaries until they had worked themselves out in the utter destruction of their object. Of the first of these conditions, the "Nibelungenlied" in its character of an epic of the Middle Ages has not kept a trace. In the Eddic poems it is the ring cursed by the gods to all its possessors that motives the entire action; that leads with the certainty of fate to the death of Sigurd, the Siegfried of the

"Edda," to all the woes that follow, and to the ultimate utter destruction of the entire race of the Nibelungs.

As most critics have pointed out, the fundamental difference in the treatment of the story consists in the fact that the principal epic interest in the Eddic poems is the relation of Sigurd to Brynhild, the Valkyrie, who is here a heroic figure, who rises immeasurably not only above the other women of the tale, but above most of the other characters in importance of personality. In the "Nibelungenlied" it is Kriemhild, Gudrun in the "Edda," and Hagen who are the principal figures in the action. In the Northern version, Gudrun does not avenge herself upon her brothers as does Kriemhild in the "Nibelungenlied," but Atli, her husband after Sigurd, slays them, and Gudrun then takes vengeance upon him. In the "Edda," too, other saga cycles are brought into connection with this, viz., the Northern legend of Helgi, at the beginning, and the Gothic legend of Ermanrich, at the end.

The Eddic poems are not the only versions in Old Norse literature. An epitome of the story based upon the poemsvii is contained in the "Snorra Edda," a work written by the Icelander Snorri Sturluson, who lived from 1178 to 1241, to serve as a handbook for poets and which contains in this way the myths and legends of the North.

Next to the Eddic songs the most important of the Northern versions, however, is the long "Völsunga Saga" from the second half of the thirteenth century, which, again, is based upon the Eddic poems and upon others in addition that have now been lost. Like most of the Old Norse sagas, it is prose with the occasional inclusion of verse cited to justify or to embellish its statements. It gives with extraordinary wealth of detail the whole old story in connected form and desires to be called, as it has been called, a prose epic. William Morris, in his superb translation, has deservedly characterized it as "the most complete and dramatic form of the Great Epic of the North." The story is further contained, in some of its details only, in the strange tale of "Nornagest," which has again made use of the Eddic songs and quotes one of them entire.

The Old Norse story is so important for its bearing on the intelligibility of the "Nibelungenlied" that it is absolutely necessary to take it actively into consideration in any discussion of the German poem. The epitome contained in the "Snorra Edda," since it gives the whole story from beginning to end in a form as short as may be, is here given in its entirety:

"Three gods, Odin, Hœnir, and Loki, once went out to explore the whole world. They came to a certain river, and went along the river to a waterfall, and at the waterfall there was an otter that had taken a salmon out of the fall and ate it, half asleep. Then Loki took up a stone and cast it at the otter and struck him in the head. Loki thereupon boasted of his catch that he had got at a blow both the otter and the salmon. They took the salmon and the otter and carried them along with them until they came to a farmstead, where they went in. The head of the household that dwelt there was named Hreidmar; he was a mighty man and much skilled in magic. He invited the gods to lodge there for the night, and they told him that they had with them provisions in plenty and showed him their booty. But when Hreidmar saw theviii otter he called his sons Fafnir and Regin and said that Otter, their brother, had been killed, and told them who had done it. Thereupon, the father and his sons fell upon the gods and took them and bound them, saying that

the otter was the son of Hreidmar. The gods offered as a ransom as much money as Hreidmar himself should determine, and that was agreed upon as a reconciliation and was bound with oaths.

"Then the otter was flayed, and Hreidmar took the otter's skin and said that they should fill it with red gold and should then cover it wholly up with gold, and that should be their atonement. Odin then sent Loki into the land of the black elves and he came to the dwarf who is called Andvari; he was a fish in the water, and Loki took him and laid upon him as a ransom all the gold that he had in his stone. And when they came into the stone where he dwelt, the dwarf brought out all the gold that he owned and that was a very great treasure. Then the dwarf slipped under his hand a little gold ring. That Loki, however, saw and bade him produce the ring. The dwarf begged him not to take the ring from him, and said that he could breed treasure out of it if he kept it. Loki told him that he should not keep back a penny, and took the ring from him and went out. The dwarf said that the ring should be the death of everyone who owned it. Loki replied that that suited him well, and that the condition should be held good, since he would bring it to the ears of

them who might get possession of it. He then went away to Hreidmar's and showed Odin the gold; but when he saw the ring, it seemed to him very beautiful and he took it out of the treasure, but paid over to Hreidmar the gold.

"Then Hreidmar filled the otter's skin as full as he could and set it up on its feet when it was full; Odin then went up to cover the skin with gold and said to Hreidmar that he should see whether the skin were wholly covered. Hreidmar looked at it and considered it carefully and saw a whisker, and bade him cover that, also, or else their atonement were at an end. Then Odin brought out the ring and covered the whisker and said that they now were freed from the otter ransom. When, however, Odin had taken his spear and Loki his shoes, and they needed no longer to fear, then said Loki that what Andvari had spoken, that the ring should be theix death of him who owned it, should hold good, and it did hold good thereafter.

"Hreidmar took the gold as ransom for his son, but Fafnir and Regin demanded some of it as a ransom for their brother. Hreidmar, however, would not grant them a single penny of the gold. That was the ill-advised deed of the brothers that they killed their father for the gold. Then Regin demanded that Fafnir divide the gold in halves between them. Fafnir replied that there was little chance that he would share the gold with his brother when he had killed his father for the sake of it, and bade Regin to begone or he would fare as had Hreidmar. Fafnir had then taken the helmet which Hreidmar had owned, which was called the Helmet of Awe and which all living things feared that saw it, and set it upon his head, and he took the sword which is called Hrotti. Regin had the sword that is called Refil and he fled away; but Fafnir went up upon the Glittering Heath and made him there a lair, and he took upon himself the shape of a serpent and lay upon the gold.

"Regin then went to King Hjalprek, at Thy, in Denmark, and there set up a smithy, and he took to foster Sigurd, the son of Sigmund (the son of Volsung) and of Hjordis, the daughter of Eylimi. Sigurd was the most glorious of all war kings in lineage and strength. Regin told him where Fafnir lay upon the gold, and egged him on to seek it. Then Regin made the sword that is called Gram, which was so sharp that Sigurd thrust it in the water and it cut asunder a lock of wool that drove before the current against the edge of the sword. Afterward, Sigurd clove in two Regin's anvil down to the stock with the sword. After that, Sigurd and Regin went out upon the Glittering Heath. Then Sigurd dug a pit in Fafnir's path and got into it; and when Fafnir crept to the water and came over the pit, then Sigurd thrust the sword up against him and that was his death. Regin then came up and said that Sigurd had killed his brother and offered him as a reconciliation that he should take the heart of Fafnir and roast it at the fire; but Regin himself got down and

drank the blood of Fafnir and then lay down to sleep. And when Sigurd had roasted the heart and thought that it must be done, he touched it with his finger to see how hard it was.x And when the juice ran out of the heart upon his finger, he burnt himself and thrust his finger into his mouth. And when the heart's blood came upon his tongue, then he knew the speech of birds and understood what the nuthatches said that sat in the tree above him.

"Then said one:

"Then said the other:

"Then Sigurd went up to Regin and killed him, and took his horse, which was named Grani, and rode until he came to the lair of Fafnir. There he took the gold and bound it up in packs and laid it on the back of Grani, and then mounted and rode on his way. Sigurd rode until he found a house upon the fell. Within it slept a woman who had on a helmet and a coat of mail. He drew his sword and cut her coat of mail off her. Then she awoke and named herself Hild. She is called Brynhild and was a Valkyrie. Sigurd rode thence and came to the King who is named Gjuki; his wife is named Grimhild; their children were Gunnar, Högni, Gudrun, Gudny; Gotthorm was a step-son of Gjuki. There Sigurd dwelt for a long time; and he took to wife Gudrun, the daughter of Gjuki, and Gunnar and Högni swore with him oaths of brotherhood. Afterward, Sigurd and the sons of Gjuki went to Atli, the son of Budli, to ask as a wife forxi Gunnar Brynhild, his sister. She dwelt upon Hind Fell, and about her hall was a flaming fire, and she had made a vow to have as a husband that man,

only, who dared to ride through the flame.

"Then Sigurd and the Gjukings (who are also called Niflungs) rode up upon the fell, and Gunnar was minded to ride through the flame. He had the horse that was named Goti, but the horse did not dare to leap into the fire. Then Sigurd and Gunnar changed their shapes and also their names, since Grani would not go under any man except Sigurd. Then Sigurd leaped upon Grani and rode through the flaming fire. That night he held a wedding with Brynhild, and when they came to bed he drew the sword Gram out of its scabbard and laid it between them. And in the morning, when he awoke and dressed himself, then he gave Brynhild as a bridal gift the gold ring which he had taken on the Glittering Heath, and Loki had taken from Andvari, and he took from her another ring as a remembrance. Sigurd then leaped upon his horse and rode to his companions; Gunnar and he again changed their shapes and they went back to Gjuki with Brynhild. Sigurd had two children with Gudrun: Sigmund and Swanhild.

"It was once upon a time that Brynhild and Gudrun went to the water to bleach their hair. When they came to the river, Brynhild waded out into the water away from the land and said that she would not have on her head the water that ran out of Gudrun's hair, since she had the more noble husband. Then Gudrun went out into the river after Brynhild and said that she should wash her hair in the river above, because she had the husband who was braver than anyone else in the world, since he slew Fafnir and Regin and gained the inheritance of them both. Then Brynhild replied: 'It was of still greater renown that Gunnar rode the flaming fire and Sigurd dared not.' Then Gudrun laughed and said: 'Do you think that Gunnar rode through the flaming fire? Him I deem to have gone to bed with you, who gave me this gold ring. But the ring that you have on your hand, and that you received as a bridal gift, that is called the Ring of Andvari, and I deem that it was not Gunnar who sought it on the Glittering Heath.' Then Brynhild was silent and went home.xii After that

she egged on Gunnar and Högni to kill Sigurd, but because they had sworn oaths with him they egged on Gotthorm, their brother, to kill him. Gotthorm laid sword on him while he slept, and when he felt the wound he hurled the sword Gram after his slayer so that it cut the man asunder. Then Sigurd fell and his three-year old son, who was named Sigmund, whom they killed. After that, Brynhild turned sword upon herself and she was burned with Sigurd. And Gunnar and Högni took the treasure of Fafnir and the Ring of Andvari and ruled all the land.