FOOTNOTES:
[195] Danmarks Heltedigtning, p. 248 ff. With this subject I have already dealt in The Origin of the English Nation, p. 287 f.
[196] Saxo (p. [11] f.) records several incidents of which we know nothing from other sources. He represents Skiöldr (Scioldus) as a reformer of the laws, but not as the first king.
[197] This is stated only in Ynglinga Saga (cap. 5); but the question to be asked is whether it is likely that such a combination would be invented in late times.
[198] From Deor's Elegy and the picture on the Franks casket in the British Museum it is clear that almost all the main features of the second part of the story were known in England. Reminiscences of the first part occur in the medieval German poem Herzog Friedrich von Schwaben.
[199] It is usually connected with O. Norse vél, 'contrivance,' 'artifice.'
[200] Waldhere, I 2 f.; Thiðreks Saga, cap. 23 etc.
[201] In Thiðreks Saga, cap. 30, Weland flies away in a garment which he has made from feathers collected for him by his brother Egill. It is thought by some that the engraver of the Franks casket had the same story in mind, since a figure catching birds is represented behind the form of Beaduhild.
[202] It is commonly held that this account has been influenced somehow by the story of Weland. If so it is a valuable illustration of the process discussed in p. [119] ff. above. But the view seems to me somewhat far-fetched.
[203] Waldhere is the only English poem which mentions Weland as the father of Widia; but I cannot admit that there is any ground for supposing this poem to have had a different origin from the rest (cf. p. [57] f.). The variant forms Widia—Wudga may be explained by English sound-laws, while Niðhad, whatever its explanation, occurs also in Deor's Elegy.
[204] Saxo (p. [158] ff.) connects the story with the reign of Frotho III (Fróði the Peaceful), and this may be an ancient feature, as Fruote von Tenemarke appears as one of Hetel's chief men in Kûdrûn.
[205] "Ein Bild des unaufhörlichen, allgemeinen, aber nie entschiedenen Kampfes entgegengesetzter Mächte, des Aufgangs und des Niedergangs, des Entstehens und Vergehens, des Seins und Nichtseins" (Müllenhoff, ZfdA. XXX 229). Prof. Sijmons (Grundriss, III 711, where this interpretation is quoted with approval) regards the story as 'tiefsinnig.' I confess the interpretation is too deep for my comprehension. A totally different view is taken in Panzer's Hilde-Gudrun, where the origin of the story is traced to a folk-tale (p. [250] ff.). It seems to me that this theory is open to somewhat the same objection as the other, namely that it is founded too much upon features peculiar to one or other version. At the same time I doubt whether Wate's original connection with the story can be properly inferred from Wids. 21 f. The influence of folk-tales is clear enough in both versions of the story, but I think it is secondary.
[206] From a passage in Lamprecht's Alexander (v. 1321), a work of the twelfth century, it appears that Hagen (Högni) was killed in the earlier German version of the story.
[207] For the endless battle there are a number of parallels; cf. Panzer, op. cit., p. 327 ff. (also Pausanias, I 32. 3, with Mr Frazer's note).
[208] There is also a Polish version which has several peculiarities of its own but shows no special affinity with the form of the story found in Thiðreks Saga.
[209] The early North German version of this story, represented by the Annals of Quedlinburg (cf. p. [37], note), apparently made Eormenric perish in the fight.
[210] It is held by many that this name was originally connected with Wascono lant, an early German name for Aquitaine (Gascony) and that the introduction of the Vosges (Wasgunberg) was later and due to the confusion of two similar names. But, if there has been any such confusion at all, chronological considerations render it far more probable that the transference was in the reverse direction.
[211] Among the exceptions mention may be made especially of an interesting paper by Prof. Mogk in Neue Jahrbücher, I pp. 68-80.
[212] It is stated however that Seyfrid thought that it belonged to the dragon. Hence this story is often connected with the Norse version.
[213] The only German evidence worth consideration is the fact that certain rocks in the Taunus and the Palatinate are called the 'bed' or 'chair of Brynhildr' (lectulus Brunnihilde, Brinholdestul) in medieval documents. But I do not see how these names can prove anything more than the popularity of the story. In all lands it is customary to adopt such names from remarkable characters, whatever their origin may be. We may think of the cave of Frederic Barbarossa at Berchtesgaden or the numerous places called after Robin Hood in England.
[214] Helgakv. Hund. I 48, Atlamál 88. In the former case the name is used quite generally, like Ylfingar in the same poem. In the latter Hniflungr is the name of Högni's son.
[215] There was of course another heroic character of the same name; but this does not meet the objection.
[216] On both these occasions the Nibelungenlied mentions also a girdle.
[217] It seems likely that Mímir was the dwarf's original name and that Saxo has given him a name which properly belonged to his sword; cf. the phrase Hoddmímis holt (Vafðr. 45), etc.
[218] E.g. the name Schilbung and the references to Norway. The story of Sigemund and the dragon also belongs to a maritime region.
[219] Cf. Skaldsk. 42: "Gunnarr and Högni are called Niflungar and Giúkungar."
[220] Cf. Schütte, Oldsagn om Godtjod, pp. 35-38, where it is well pointed out that all the clearest cases of myth in early Teutonic records belong to stories dealing with the origin of nations or dynasties. "Den eneste udtrykkelige Myte, der udenfor specielt religiøse Gøremål har været episk frugtbar i Folkevandringstiden er Ophavsmyten."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE USE OF FICTION IN THE HEROIC POEMS.
The question how far the use of fiction was permitted in heroic poetry is of course one to which we cannot possibly hope to give a definite answer. All poetry which deserves the name claims to do something more than provide a bare record of facts. According to the ancient definition[221] its proper function is to express the universal rather than the particular—what may happen or may have happened rather than what has happened. Some freedom of play for the imagination is therefore essential. These remarks hold good for early Teutonic poetry just as much as for Greek. If we could recover the poems recited in Attila's presence (cf. p. [84]) we should doubtless find that they contained far more than a mere statement of facts. In the works which have come down to us however the degree to which freedom is allowed to the imagination varies very greatly from case to case. Thus in the poem on the battle of Brunanburh it is restricted within comparatively narrow limits, while in the almost contemporaneous Hákonarmál the historical fact on which the poem is based is very largely obscured by a wholly fictitious narrative. We may naturally expect that the authors of heroic poems likewise differed in the treatment of their subjects, though not necessarily to the same degree.
As an instance of a poem which obviously contains a large amount of fiction we can hardly do better than take the Anglo-Saxon Widsith. The greater part of this poem consists, as we have seen, of a speech by a minstrel enumerating the various peoples and princes with whom he was acquainted. Amongst others he states that he had visited the Gothic king Eormenric (who died before 375), the Burgundian king Guthhere (who died about 437) and the Langobardic king Aelfwine (who died about 572). Now it is commonly held that the poem is of composite formation, and there can be little doubt that additions have been made to it from time to time. This will account for statements such as those given above and, though it does not prevent them from being fictitious, it may enable us to form some idea as to how fiction was used. Poets of the seventh century probably possessed no chronological tables, and consequently they may not have been aware that the foreign princes of whom they were speaking belonged to quite different ages. Yet without such knowledge the visits of the minstrel may clearly be placed among the 'things which may have happened.' What these poets certainly did know was that Eormenric was a prominent figure in some traditional stories, Guthhere in others. It did no violence to the story (μῦθος) itself to bring an anonymous character into contact both with Eormenric and Guthhere, although doubtless no one would have done this while either of the two was alive or indeed for some time after their death. But we must not in such cases apply the principle that, since A comes into contact with both B and C, therefore B may come into contact with C—and conclude from it that poets of the seventh century thought it right to bring Eormenric and Guthhere together in the same story. That is a more advanced stage and one for which we have no satisfactory evidence in Anglo-Saxon poetry[222].
Now, if we turn to the Old Norse poems, which date of course from a much later period, we certainly find this stage reached. Here Guðrún, the sister of Gunnarr (Guthhere), is represented as the mother of Svanhildr, the wife of Iörmunrekr (Eormenric), as well as of Hamðir and Sörli who attacked that king. It is to be observed that there is no hint of a connection between this story and that of the Burgundian family except in Norse literature. Even here Guðrún is the sole connecting link between the two stories, and there can be little doubt that the confusion is due to a mistaken identification of two different women. In the account of Iörmunrekr given by Saxo, who apparently knows nothing of the Norse version of the story of Sigurðr, Guðrún is the name given not indeed to the mother of Hamðir and Sörli but to a sorceress consulted by them. If the wife of Sigurðr had originally the same name the difficulty would be capable of explanation; and it is to be remembered that the evidence for believing that she was originally called Grímhildr (Kriemhilt) is by no means of a conclusive character. For the identification of persons bearing the same name we may compare the confusion which pervades Scandinavian tradition in regard to the various kings called Fróði[223].
In other cases where we find two stories which seem to be wholly irreconcilable with one another, the difficulty can be traced to the misinterpretation of an epithet. Thus the relationships and adventures of the Swedish kings mentioned in Beowulf differ a good deal from what is recorded of the same persons in Norse literature. In Beowulf the Swedish king Ongentheow has two sons Onela and Ohthere, the former of whom is married to a sister of the Danish kings Hrothgar and Halga[224]. Strife breaks out between Onela and his two nephews, Eanmund and Eadgils, the sons of Ohthere (who is perhaps dead); Eanmund is slain, but Eadgils with the help of Beowulf succeeds in defeating and killing his uncle and gaining for himself the throne. In Norse tradition Aðils (Eadgils) is the son and successor of Óttarr (Ohthere), but the grandfather is called Egill and there is no mention of Eanmund. Aðils again is married to Yrsa, who is both the wife and daughter of Helgi (Halga)—which is hardly compatible with the account given in Beowulf. He engages in war with a king Áli (Onela) whom he defeats and kills with the help of Biarki (Beowulf) and other warriors sent to him by his stepson Hrólfr Kraki. But Áli is said to be a Norwegian, and there is no hint of any relationship on his part to either the Swedish or the Danish royal family.
In this story it seems clear that the Norse tradition has been led astray by a misinterpretation of the expression hinn Upplenzki ('the man of the Uplands'), which is applied to Áli. There was a district called Upplönd in Norway, but it was also the name of the Swedish province in which the capital (Upsala) was situated. Since, according to Beowulf, Onela was the actual king of the Swedes, there can be no doubt that it was the latter to which the title originally referred. The erroneous identification with the Norwegian district—natural enough in Norse tradition—led to the idea that Áli was an invader, and hence to further dislocations in the story.
In the group of stories which cluster round Dietrich von Bern we find a number of unhistorical situations, which may largely be due to similar mistakes rather than to deliberate invention. Thus when Dietrich appears at Etzel's court, as in all German authorities, including Thiðreks Saga af Bern, it is probable that the hero has been confused with his father (Theodemir), who, as we know from Jordanes, was really subject to Attila. This situation cannot be traced in Anglo-Saxon poetry, while in Old Norse literature (apart from Thiðreks Saga) it is limited to Guðrúnarkviða III[225] and the prose introduction to Guðrúnarkviða II, which is believed to be derived from the other poem. The association of Dietrich with Siegfried occurs only in Thiðreks Saga and some of the later German poems, which seem to invent combinations quite freely[226].
But a much larger number of authorities, including the Annals of Quedlinburg, bring Dietrich into connection with Ermanrich and the early Gothic hero Wittich; and this combination is believed to be of much greater antiquity, as the names Theodric and Widia are associated also in the Anglo-Saxon poem Waldhere. Here we are confronted with a question of great difficulty. The association of Theodric and Eormenric is unknown to all the early Scandinavian authorities, and even in Germany it cannot be traced back beyond the end of the tenth century; in the old Hildebrandslied Dietrich's enemy is called Otachar, i.e. Odoacer. Further, apart from the passage in Waldhere, there is little or no decisive evidence for a knowledge of the story of Dietrich von Bern in England[227]; for the statement in Deor that Theodric possessed the Maeringa burg for thirty years may just as probably be applied to the exile of Wolfdietrich with Berchtung of Meran[228]. Now Dietrich and Wolfdietrich must be confused to some extent in German tradition, since they are both credited with an exile of thirty years. Perhaps this confusion goes deeper than is generally recognised. The true explanation may be that a considerable portion of Wolfdietrich's story has been transferred to his namesake. I cannot admit that the identification of Wolfdietrich with the Frankish king Theodberht is anything more than a very doubtful hypothesis; he may really have been an early Gothic prince[229]. Certainly the name was extremely common in that nation, for we meet with four Gothic kings called Theodric within half a century of one another.
So far we have been dealing with stories which have been distorted—apparently in quite late times—either by mistaken identifications or by an erroneous interpretation of some title or incident. The lapse of time in itself will account for some of these changes, especially if we bear in mind the influence of Stage III (cf. p. [94] ff.), through which the stories have passed both in Germany and in the North. Fiction of a type however, especially the tendency towards combination, is certainly not wanting. In the medieval German poems indeed it is widely used and on a scale far more ambitious than what we have observed in Widsith. Here however we have to take into account the influence of romantic poetry. The nature of the use of fiction in the North is not so clear. If it could be proved that such stories as those of Oddrún and the ordeal of Guðrún originated in the North we should certainly have to grant that it was of a fairly advanced type.
Now we must consider certain cases which seem to have originated in much earlier times. As an instance we may take the Norse story that Atli was murdered by Guðrún. Now this story conflicts with what appear to be the true facts in two distinct points: (i) that Attila was murdered at all; (ii) that the person who was present with him when he died was anyone whom we can identify with Guðrún. The story that Attila was murdered by a woman is, as we have seen, one of great antiquity; but there is nothing to show that this woman was Guðrún. It is true that Norse and German tradition agree in stating that Attila married a sister of Guthhere. This is a statement which cannot be proved, though there is nothing intrinsically improbable in such a marriage. But both traditions represent Attila and his Burgundian wife as married for a number of years, and both speak of their children. Yet there can be little doubt that according to the original story Attila was murdered by his bride (Ildico) on the night of the wedding. Hence we must surely trace the origin of the Norse story to a combination between two much earlier traditions: (1) that Attila married a sister of Guthhere; (2) that Attila was murdered by his wife. In view of the story of Guthhere's death—which is common to both traditions and undoubtedly ancient—it required but little poetic imagination to identify the two women and to represent the murder as an act of vengeance. I see no ground for supposing that this combination took place before the Viking Age. The other story is of course much older; but the evidence seems to me to point to an origin in common report rather than in poetic fiction.
The story of Hamðir and Sörli is a somewhat different case. Here again, as we have already seen, Guthhere's sister was drawn into the story only in the Norse version and probably quite late. But even before this time it contained features which cannot be regarded as historical. In the Danish (Saxo's) version also Svanhildr appears as the wife of Iörmunrekr; but there is no satisfactory evidence for this except in the North, and it is clearly contrary to Jordanes' account. Again, the North German form of the story[230] agreed with the Northern versions in stating that the king lost both his hands and both his feet in the encounter. Consequently this feature may be regarded as at least comparatively ancient; but it seems not to be known to Jordanes. As in the last case, therefore, we can trace the gradual development of the story more or less clearly. In its earliest known form, as given by Jordanes, Svanhildr is said to have been the wife of a man (apparently the prince of a dependent tribe) who deserted Eormenric (perhaps by joining the Huns). To punish his disloyalty the king had her tied to wild horses and thus torn to pieces. In an attempt to avenge this outrage her brothers gave him a serious wound, which was partly the cause of his death[231]. In the last point Jordanes may have been trying to combine the tradition with another account of Eormenric's death which he knew from historical sources. Otherwise the story contains nothing incredible[232]. Yet the element of fiction was probably present from the beginning. In the earlier stages its influence may be detected at least in the elaboration of the incident and in exaggeration of its effects, whereas in later times it shows itself in the invention of relationships and in false combinations.
Next we will take the story of Beowulf's death, which has the great advantage of being preserved in an early form. This story may be regarded in a sense as pure fiction. Strictly speaking however it consists of at least three distinct elements: (i) Beowulf's encounter with the dragon, (ii) the hero's funeral, (iii) incidental references to the past history of the Geatas. The last element is in part, and probably to a very large extent, founded on fact; so we will confine our attention to the other two. The account of the hero's funeral is a good illustration of Aristotle's dictum as to the true function of poetry—to express the universal rather than the particular. We have no reason for supposing that the poet had any information regarding Beowulf's real funeral. The description which he composed is that of such a funeral as might reasonably be expected for a man of Beowulf's rank and reputation. But the same remark is largely true also of the first element. Grant that the latter part of Beowulf's career was really unknown and that, through confusion with an earlier hero, it had come to be said that he perished in an encounter with a dragon—nearly all the rest[233] can be attributed to the same faculty for elaboration which we find in the funeral scene. More imagination perhaps was required in this case; but it must not be supposed that our author was the first to describe an encounter of this kind. Far more probably he was working upon a theme which in his time was already well worn.
We have now seen that fiction in early times shows itself especially in the way of elaboration, or perhaps we may say in the structure of the story[234]. The subject itself (the μῦθος) may be based upon fact or upon common report or rumour which was clearly false or even totally incredible, as in the last instance. But I know of no story, dealing with historical characters, which can be shown to be the product of deliberate and conscious invention. We have still however to consider the most important question of all. Did the use of fiction include the invention of characters?
It is not safe to assume this. We know that some of the characters are historical in most of the heroic stories. On the other hand it is not obvious that a single one of the characters mentioned in the primary authorities is fictitious[235]. This being so it is unreasonable to take the view that characters should be regarded as fictitious, unless they can be proved to be historical[236]. On the contrary, until the use of fictitious characters is proved there is a decided presumption in favour of believing any given character to be historical—unless of course his name or some other special circumstance gives clear ground for suspicion.
Wiglaf is a character known to us only in connection with the story of Beowulf and the dragon. Consequently he may be regarded with a certain amount of suspicion. But in one passage it is stated that his father, Weoxtan, had served under the Swedish king Onela and slain Eanmund, the brother of Eadgils. Now in the Kalfsvísa (cf. p. [20]) we find a Vésteinn mentioned among those who accompanied Áli (Onela) to the 'ice,' i.e. to the battle on the frozen lake Vener, in which that king lost his life. This can hardly be a different person. But if we grant the identity chronological considerations render it highly improbable that he is a fictitious character.
A somewhat different case is presented by another of the characters which figure in Beowulf, namely Unferth, the Danish king's 'spokesman.' The name does not occur elsewhere in English works, and it is of an unusual, though by no means unknown, type[237]. According to the current explanation name and character are alike fictitious, the former being framed to express the man's malevolent disposition. He is said (vv. 587 f., 1167 f.) to have killed his brothers, and on Beowulf's arrival he soon proceeds to wrangle with him[238]. But against this stands the fact that his father is called Ecglaf, an ordinary unsymbolical name, while his quarrel with Beowulf is afterwards amicably settled. It seems to me therefore that the hypothesis is at best uncertain. We may note that Hrothgar's other retainers (Wulfgar, Aeschere, Yrmenlaf) bear names which betray no special significance.
A somewhat similar interpretation, though on a more ambitious scale, is applied to the story of Hamðir and Sörli[239]. The name Sunilda (for Sōnahildi or Sōnihilds) is supposed to have been chosen for Eormenric's victim in order to express the fact that her death was an 'expiation' (O. High Germ. suona) of the offence committed by her husband, while Hamðir and Sörli themselves have got their names from their armour (O. Norse hamr, A.-S. hama, etc.; Goth. sarwa, A.-S. searu). Now an interpretation of this kind deserves careful consideration when it provides a reasonable and more or less simple explanation of the names involved; but not otherwise. In this case it is held, contrary to all analogies, that the name Hamðir (for Hama-þius[240]) is extended from an earlier Gothic form Hamjis (Jordanes' Ammius). But even then the etymology is hardly rendered any more probable; for ham- by itself can only mean 'dress,' 'covering.' It is only when compounded with words meaning 'war' (as in A.-S. guð-hama) that it can be used in the sense of 'mail-coat.' Again, Sörli is regarded—and this is probably correct—as a diminutive of Sarus, which is held to represent Goth. sarws, though no such word is known (in any Teutonic language) except as a proper name. What is important to notice however is that a Gothic prince of this name was fighting in Italy in the year 405, i.e. little more than thirty years after Eormenric's death. Lastly, we may note that there appears to be no satisfactory evidence for regarding Svan- (in Svanhildr) as a transformation ('Umformung') of Sōn-[241]. Such a change would be intelligible enough if the name had become known through a document written in Latin letters; but that is a hypothesis which we need not discuss. As the evidence stands, considering the extremely corrupt state of the proper names given by Jordanes, it is far more probable that his form has lost an -a-, than that the Northern name has been changed. The conclusion therefore to which we are brought is that, whether the story be fictitious or not, its interpretation must be considered without regard to such etymological speculations as these[242].
I am far from denying of course that the etymological interpretation is applicable in its proper sphere. We have a reasonably safe instance in the name Widsith (cf. p. [44]), as well as in the case of characters derived from folk-tale or myth. In particular we have the eponymous ancestors of families and even nations. But these are not characters invented by the poet himself. Further they are always referred to a more or less distant past, and their occurrence in heroic poetry is not very common.
Next we will take the stories of Waldhere and Sigurðr. Here again the etymological interpretation is often brought forward, especially in connection with the women's names; but on the whole it is of minor importance. Now we have seen that several of the chief characters, Guthhere, Hagena and Attila, are common to both these stories. There is no question of course that Guthhere and Attila are historical persons; but for Hagena this cannot be proved. If he is fictitious, then one of the two stories necessarily presupposes the other. But it is by no means clear to which of them we should assign the priority. There is no valid reason for doubting that both of them go back to the Heroic Age.
The story of Waldhere contains no feature which can be regarded as intrinsically improbable if allowance be made firstly for poetic elaboration, and secondly for the influence of Stage III (cf. p. [94] ff.). To the first we may perhaps assign the account of the single combats; to the second probably the somewhat grotesque conclusion of the last fight, as given by Ekkehard, and certainly the discrepancy which prevails in regard to the hero's origin. Ekkehard[243] says that his father (Alpharius) was king of Aquitaine, while the medieval German poems speak both of Spanie (Spain) and Lengers (Langres) as his home. Now the name Aquitani cannot be taken from an old native poem, and the same remark is probably true of Spanie. Moreover, if we were to suppose that the hero belonged to either of these regions we should have to conclude that he was a Visigoth. As a matter of fact this conclusion is generally accepted; but it involves, obviously enough, many difficulties. Langres however is scarcely open to any such objection, and it further has the advantage of proximity to Chalon-sur-Saône, which according to Ekkehard was the home of Hiltgund. These districts must have been occupied at some time by settlers from the lower Rhine, as appears from the names Pagus Attoariorum and Pagus Amauorum, the former of which lies directly between Chalon and Langres. We have no definite evidence as to when the occupation took place, but probably it was considerably anterior to the time of Clovis[244]. Small Teutonic communities of this kind were doubtless too insignificant to be mentioned in the scanty chronicles of that age; but there is nothing unlikely in the story that children belonging to their princely families were given as hostages to the Huns.
The case of Sigurðr must be considered independently of the hero's youthful adventures, which, as we have seen, are probably to be regarded as later accretions to the story. Hence it is practically only in connection with the Burgundian royal house that the hero is known[245], and as soon as we lose sight of this we drift at once into fruitless speculation. The story represents Sigurðr as wealthy, brave and personally attractive; but it does not credit him with achievements which changed the destiny of nations. Consequently he is not the type of person whom we could reasonably expect to find mentioned in the chronicles of that period. Guðrún (Kriemhild) again is unknown to history; we do not even know that Guthhere had a sister. But we are certainly not justified in assuming either that such a person never existed or that she could not have married a prince from the Netherlands. The same remarks, mutatis mutandis, apply to the case of Brynhildr, the king's wife.
From the analysis given on p. [146] it will be seen that the original story appears to have contained two features which we may more or less safely regard as fictitious. One of course is the disguise; the other is the incident of the ring. In the former case the two versions differ—from which we may perhaps infer that this feature was not very clearly indicated in the original form of the story. The incident of the ring also is introduced in quite different circumstances. But at the same time it is really the central feature of the plot; for the ring is the instrument chosen to bring about the ἀναγνώρισις—the recognition by Brynhildr of the deception which has been played upon her. This is an incident such as we frequently find in modern works of fiction. Yet it cannot by itself be held to prove the fictitious origin either of the characters or of the story as a whole. It may equally well be regarded as a device for explaining the subsequent course of events, in which case we may set it down as an instance of poetic elaboration.
Perhaps the objection may be raised that the sequel—Brynhildr's resentment against Sigurðr—necessarily presupposes the deception practised upon her and that this deception is in both versions of a supernatural character. That is doubtless true; but the explanation is not far to seek. Both versions of the story are really aware of a previous acquaintance between Sigurðr and Brynhildr. In the Völsunga Saga[246] we hear of two distinct meetings, firstly when he awakens her from the enchanted sleep (cap. 20 f.) and again when he woos her on his visit to Heimir (cap. 24). If Brynhildr is really to be identified with the sleeping valkyrie, these two accounts may be regarded as variants of one original story. On the other hand the Grípisspá treats the two events separately, like the saga, though unlike the saga it does not identify Brynhildr with the valkyrie. Both forms of the story however agree that there had been some meeting, through which Brynhildr had been led to expect marriage with Sigurðr. Now the Nibelungenlied says nothing of a relationship of this kind. But at the same time it states more than once—without any explanation—that Siegfried had known Brünhild and her dwelling. There is some ground therefore for suspecting that a portion of the story has been suppressed or lost in the German version. If so, then the explanation of the supernatural disguise becomes clear enough. It is a device, doubtless an ancient device[247], for saving the hero's character. Then also we obtain a much stronger motive for Brynhildr's resentment. It was a case not merely of deception but of faithlessness. There is nothing incredible in that, though in real life the ἀναγνώρισις would probably come about in a different way.
If the story is fictitious—i.e. if Sigurðr, Brynhildr, Högni, Guðrún (Kriemhild) and all their doings are creations of fancy—one conclusion at all events must, I think, be accepted. Such a story must be the product of the brain of one gifted poet; it cannot be the result of a fortuitous concourse of lays by different authors. The analysis shows that the strength of the story lies chiefly in that element which is common to both versions. Here we have the character-studies of Brynhildr and Högni; for even in the Nibelungenlied, greatly defaced as they are, the original outlines can still be traced. The plot too conforms to the highest standard of tragic art. It has complete unity in itself[248]; all the characters are more or less sympathetic; and the hero's downfall is due not to any villainy (μοχθηρία) on his own part, but to a great error (ἁμαρτία). Lastly, whatever view may be taken as to the fate of Brynhildr—a point in which the versions differ—nothing could be more tragic than the grief of Guðrún (Kriemhild), which is common to both. For the creation of a story possessing all these features—a story too which lived in different parts of Europe for many centuries under somewhat unfavourable conditions—we must surely assume not only a talented poet but also a poem of some considerable length.
I do not of course regard this as a conclusive argument for believing that the story is based on fact. For even in that case its presentation would require epic form, as well as poetic talent. The decision between the two interpretations rests ultimately on the question whether such a story is more likely to have been invented or drawn from life. It seems probable that some of the characters added in the Norse version are products of fiction. But here we have to deal with a period removed by many ages from the times to which the story relates, and with a people who had developed the cultivation of imaginative poetry to a very high standard. The origin of the story however must surely date from a period when Guthhere and the Burgundian kingdom on the Rhine were still remembered. In that period we have no positive evidence for the composition of fiction at all, much less for fiction of this extremely elaborate type. On the other hand we have in Procopius' account of Irmingisl and Radiger (cf. p. [97] ff.), written within six or seven years of the events, practically all the materials for the composition of an epic poem on a very similar subject. Indeed they can hardly be called merely crude materials; for certain incidents are depicted, in poetic fashion, rather than related, and even the supernatural element is not wanting. The evidence of this passage seems to me to tell decidedly in favour of the view that the story of Sigurðr is founded on fact[249].
In the course of this chapter we have examined a number of heroic stories with a view to determining how and to what extent fiction has been employed in their composition. We have seen that in early times its influence was shown chiefly in the imaginative presentation or structure of stories, some of which were founded on fact, others on popular report or rumour which frequently introduced elements from folk-tales, occasionally even from myth. All such cases however may be included among the 'things that may have happened,' if we take into account the spirit of the times. On the other hand for the composition of wholly fictitious narratives—narratives which the author himself knew to be fictitious—and more especially for the deliberate invention of characters there seems to be no conclusive evidence in the stories which we have considered; and I am not aware of any others for which a stronger case could be made out. I am not prepared of course to state dogmatically that such fiction was not known. The case is far too uncertain for such a statement as that; there is no question here of such gross improbabilities as those which beset the hypothesis of 'rationalised myth.' One is certainly entitled to doubt whether all the characters even in early poems, such as Beowulf, are taken from life. But if we grant, as I think we must, the existence of earlier poems dealing with the Danish court, there is nothing incredible in the supposition.
These remarks apply of course only to poems belonging to Stage I and Stage II. The effect of Stage III was to disintegrate the stories and to introduce unhistorical elements of all kinds Hence in poems of Stage IV we meet with numerous situations which are quite incompatible either with history or with the older forms of the traditions. In the same period we find also many fictitious characters, not only in the German poems, where they may be ascribed to romantic influence, but also probably in those of the North.
There is one type of fiction which we have not taken into account in our discussion. Various scholars from time to time have put forward the theory that some of the chief characters of the Heroic Age are really well-known historical persons under fictitious names. Thus Sigurðr has been identified with a number of famous princes from Arminius to Sigebert. It cannot be said that any one of these identifications is of a nature to carry conviction; in no case indeed have they gained wide acceptance. But I cannot help thinking that an error in principle underlies the whole theory. It was scarcely through the greatness of their power, much less through the effects of their achievements on after generations, that the characters of the Heroic Age acquired celebrity; it was far more through the impression made upon their neighbours and contemporaries by their magnificence and generosity, by their personality, and perhaps above all by the adventures and vicissitudes of fortune which fell to their lot. This is a question to which we shall have to return in a later chapter.