The Lay of the Nibelung Men. Anonymous
Rhine were another Germanic tribe, the Burgundians, dwelling in a more mountainous district, of which Worms may have been the middle point. Among these the Niblungs of the original story seem to have been located; and it is curious that in ancient Burgundian records may be found the names of three kings, Gundahar, Godomer and Gislahar, the resemblance of whose names to those in the Lied is sufficiently suggestive. In the year 437 A.D. this Burgundian tribe, with its king, whose name (as latinized by the chronicler) was Gundicarius, was utterly defeated and practically annihilated by an invasion of the Huns in the reign of Attila. This disaster preceded, and perhaps gave the most powerful impulse to, that general break-up of the old Germanic settlements, and the period of stormy wanderings and wars, which lasted through nearly two hundred years, and is known as the Migration of the Peoples. The destruction of the Burgundians by Attila’s host became incorporated with the story as the destruction of the Niblungs by Atli. Its locality was shifted (perhaps for the honour of the race) from a German district invaded by Huns to the capital of Hunland into which the heroes are entrapped by treachery.
The story had reached this stage of development when the northward-wandering tribes carried it to Norway, and in due course to Iceland, where it underwent much less modification than it did among those who remained, or who finally settled down, in central Europe. What changes it underwent during the wanderings of the tribes, by what influences and by what steps a legend originally heathen and tribal was modified by Christianity and feudalism, till after some six hundred years it emerges to view in something approaching its present form—of all this we have no real knowledge, and no subject of literary criticism has been more fruitful of conjecture. We may assume that it was handed down by oral tradition until, with the development of chivalry, with its natural affinity for romance and poetry, there came in the 12th and 13th centuries a great revival of interest in the old heroic literature. Its cultivation became a passion with the nobility, who followed it on two main lines, leading to the production (or revival) of epic poetry of two classes:—(1) the Court Epic, which took for its subject the romance of knight-errantry, and (2) the National Epic, which took the old popular heroic tradition, and gave it permanence in a metrical form peculiar to itself. The Nibelungenlied is essentially, in its subject and spirit, a national epic; but, as it was remodelled by courtier-poets, their treatment of it made it approximate in some respects very closely to the court epic, especially in what we may call the veneer of chivalrous refinement laid over the more elemental characters of the original story. Hence it bears throughout, both in characters and incidents, evidences of the influence of feudalism and chivalry, on the one hand, and of Christianity on the other.
It is curious to note how the poet, having undertaken to shape a credible, intelligible story, the actors of which have a known geographical position, out of a tale of wonders wrought in some misty land the gate to which has been lost, is sometimes confused by the consequent contradictions, and sometimes triumphantly surmounts them. Thus, the Nibelungs are, in the first part of the story, quite distinct from the Burgundians: they seem to be a tribe of warriors dwelling by themselves on some uncharted shore. But, after the Kings have got the Nibelung Hoard into their possession, and have set out with their followers for Hunland, with a contingent of these Nibelungs in their train, we find that the names Nibelung and Burgundian have become interchangeable. For this no reason is given: the possession of the Hoard does not of itself confer its name on the owner, for that title is never applied to Siegfried, nor is it applied to the Burgundians during all the years that it remains in their hands before they set out for Hunland. The real explanation may be, that there were still extant old folk-songs, familiar to all, which gave all the information required to fill gaps in the Nibelungenlied, and which also gave a full account of Siegfried’s early life and exploits[6], so that the poet felt himself emancipated from the necessity of “beginning at the beginning,” which has been a rock steadily avoided by great epic poets from Homer downwards.
In his treatment of the supernatural, which so dominates the action of the old Saga, but which was based wholly upon that faith in the old Gods which the Christian poet not merely rejected, but ignored, he was far more successful. As Carlyle expresses it:
“Yet neither is the Nibelungen without its wonders; for it is poetry and not prose; here too a supernatural world encompasses the natural, and, though at rare intervals and in calm manner, reveals itself there. It is truly wonderful with what skill our simple untaught poet deals with the marvellous, admitting it without reluctance or criticism, yet precisely in the degree and shape that will best avail him. Here, if in no other respect, we should say that he has a decided superiority to Homer himself. The whole story of the Nibelungen is fateful, mysterious, guided on by unseen influences; yet the actual marvels are few, and done in the far distance: those Dwarfs, and Cloaks of Darkness, and charmed Treasure-caves, are heard of rather than beheld; the tidings of them seem to issue from unknown space. Vain were it to inquire where that Nibelungen-land specially is: its very name is Nebel-land or Nifl-land, the land of Darkness, of Invisibility. The Nibelungen Heroes, that muster in thousands and tens of thousands, though they march to the Rhine or Danube, and we see their strong limbs and shining armour, we could almost fancy to be children of the air. Far beyond the firm horizon, that wonder-bearing region swims on the infinite waters, unseen by bodily eye, or at most discerned as a faint streak, hanging in the blue depths, uncertain whether island or cloud. And thus the Nibelungen Song, though based on the bottomless foundations of Spirit, and not unvisited of skyey messengers, is a real, rounded, habitable earth, where we find firm footing, and the wondrous and the common live amicably together. Perhaps it would be difficult to find any poet, of ancient or modern times, who in this trying problem has steered his way with greater delicacy and success.”
As a drama of action and of destiny, the poem rises to real greatness. To quote Carlyle again:
“The Nibelungen has been called the Northern Epos; yet it has, in great part, a dramatic character: those thirty-nine Aventiuren (Adventures) which it consists of, might be so many scenes in a Tragedy. The catastrophe is dimly prophesied from the beginning; and, at every fresh step, rises more and more clearly into view. A shadow of coming Fate, as it were, a low inarticulate voice of Doom falls, from the first, out of that charmed Nibelungen-land: the discord of two women is as a little spark of evil passion, which ere long enlarges itself into a crime: foul murder is done; and now the Sin rolls on like a devouring fire, till the guilty and the innocent are alike encircled with it, and a whole land is ashes and a whole race is swept away.”
It is in the delineation of character that the poet is most embarrassed by the intractable nature of the old material which he must needs work up with the new. He had the same difficulty as Homer had in dealing with Achilles’ revenge on the body of Hector, or with Odysseus’ revenge on the faithless servants; and, if he made the best of a bad case, it must be admitted that in his best there is somewhat jarring. The poem has been called the Northern Iliad, but the all-round nobility of the heroes of Homer, and, indeed, of epics generally (in intention at least), is strangely lacking in the chief Nibelungs. Hagen is a treacherous murderer of his niece’s husband, whom he assassinates in expiation of an offence of which the victim has proved himself innocent; and he is a thief who robs the same helpless woman twice. Gunther is an accomplice and an ingrate. The other champions are fully conscious of the iniquity of those whose cause they support: their merit is that which in those times covered a multitude of sins—unflinching bravery and fidelity to their cause and to each other. Hagen shows a cynical disregard of righteousness and of honesty: he faces the consequences of his sin without a tremor: his callous contempt for the hearts he tramples on is matched by his reckless defiance of the retribution which involves a nation with himself. There is no word of repentance, no hint of remorse; and it is characteristic that none of his companions reproach him amid their ruin, and that even Rüdiger, the flower of chivalry, receives him as his most honoured guest, confers on him the most distinguished tokens of regard, and sympathizes with him to the end. The author shows less consideration for Kriemhild than for him in the final catastrophe; for, while the King and the stainless heroes lament his fall, no hand is raised to stay the vengeance upon Kriemhild that swiftly follows, no word of regret is uttered over her. This recalls to our mind certain characteristics of that period: first, the supreme importance of a great warrior and leader of men, whose life is held of more account, not merely to his party, but to the world, than that of many women. Secondly, we are reminded how thin was