Rodmar’s remaining sons, Fafnir and Regin, killed their father and fought for the treasure. Fafnir obtained it, and, turning himself into a monster-worm, went to Glistenheath (sometimes called Glittering Hearth) to guard his wealth. Regin called upon Sigurd, a young hero, to aid him, and, being a master-smith, forged for him a sharp sword named Gram. Some versions give the forging of the sword to Sigurd, but there are many sides to the story. The sword was sometimes called Gram, and oftener Baldung, until Wagner gave it the more expressive name of Nothung, or Needful. Prompted by Regin, Sigurd slew the Dragon at Glistenheath, and, after tasting the blood by accident, was able to understand the language of birds, and was told by two of Odin’s ravens that Regin was treacherous. After slaying Regin, Sigurd rode away with two bundles of the treasures slung across his horse’s back. He found and awakened Brynhildr, a beautiful woman asleep in a house on a hill. (She is known in the different tales in which she has figured as Brynhildr, Brunhild, Brunehault, and Brünnhilde.) The next part of the tale is most clearly set forth in the “Nibelungenlied,” an epic poem in Middle High German dialect, containing a story—or, more correctly, a series of stories—which originally belonged to the entire Teutonic people. These have been found in multitudinous poems and sagas, from those written by the ancient Norsemen, and most primitive in form, to the modern books, essays, and poems of writers who have been impressed with the interesting and picturesque aspects of the strange, complicated old story. The “Nibelungenlied” itself deals rather with the period of Christianity—with the knights and ladies of the time of chivalry—than with the primeval gods and heroes of the Golden Age. The substance of its contents may be found in the “Edda” and in the “Thidrekssaga” (thirteenth century), and the original manuscripts of the “Nibelungenlied” itself date from the thirteenth to the sixteenth century.
The story contained in this poem is, briefly told, as follows:
Siegfried, son of Siegmund and Sieglind, woos Kreimhild, the sister of King Gunther, of Burgundy, promising, in return for her hand, to aid Gunther in winning Brunhild, Queen of Issland (Iceland). Siegfried, with the help of his cloud-cloak, conquers Brunhild for Gunther—first in three athletic games, which she makes a test for all suitors; and later when, after the marriage, she proves stormy and untamed. He takes her Ring and girdle, and gives them to his wife, Kreimhild. They possess magic properties, and Brunhild, when deprived of them, loses her great power and becomes like any ordinary woman. She sees her Ring on Kreimhild’s hand one day, and, realizing that it is Siegfried, and not her husband Gunther, who has conquered her great strength and stolen her magic circlets, she tells her wrongs to Hagan, who promises revenge. Hagan is the Knight of Trony, and he and his brother Dankwort are Gunther’s vassals. Hagan entices Kreimhild to reveal to him the secret of her husband’s safety in battle, and she tells him that Siegfried once slew a dragon and bathed in the blood, which made him invulnerable, save in one place, between his shoulders, where a leaf fell, protecting the skin from the blood. Kreimhild is entirely deceived by Hagan, and, not suspecting his treachery, she sews a circle of silk upon her husband’s vesture over the vulnerable spot, that Hagan may better know how to protect the hero’s one weakness when they are in battle. It is there, where the circle of silk is sewn, that Hagan stabs him.
There is much more in the “Nibelungenlied,” and a character famous in poesy and sagas is introduced later in the poem—Atli, or Attila, King of the Huns; but he has nothing to do with our story, though some one has drawn a resemblance between his character and that of Hunding. The “Nibelungenlied,” after Siegfried’s death, contains very little connected in any way with Wagner’s four operas.
There are other versions of this tale, as there are of all ancient stories. There are many tales of the killing of the Dragon and the awakening of Brunhild, and the personality and history of the latter have passed under diverse alterations in color and development. One story says that Brynhildr, the Valkyrie, was made to slumber by her father Odin, who pricked her in the temple with a sleep-thorn. Many writers tell of a fire-circle which surrounded the sleeper and guarded her slumbers. She is known as a great queen, a woman gifted with magic powers, and a disobedient Walküre in different tales; and her character changes as constantly as her history in the various legends where we read of her. Sigurd, Siegfried, and Sinfiotli are, in many respects, so similar that they might safely be termed identical, though sometimes, as in William Morris’s “Sigurd, the Volsung,” they appear as distinct characters.
Out of this confused and complicated sea of myths, legends, and old Norse stories Wagner has drawn the material for his wonderful cycle.
His gods and goddesses are taken, with very few changes, directly from their original place—the Teutonic mythology. His giants and dwarfs are also unaltered as complete races. In his usage of them he differs in some respects from the older stories.
Fafnir, the son of Rodmar, becomes the giant Fafner, and his brother Fasolt is added. Regin is transformed into Mime, the master-smith. Instead of Otter, who must be covered by gems, we have the love goddess Friea, and instead of the hair which the Ring must cover in the old legend, it is in Wagner’s adaptation one of Friea’s beautiful eyes. Fafner hides in Hate Hole instead of upon Glistenheath, and is killed by Siegfried instead of Sigurd. The lonely Walküres’ Rock takes the place of the house on the hill, and instead of being made invulnerable by the Dragon’s blood, Siegfried is protected by Brünnhilde’s spells—a fancy which seems more poetic and beautiful, but which originates, I believe, entirely with Wagner. Gutrune takes the place of Kreimhild, and Hagan is not Gunther’s vassal, but his half-brother. These are, after all, apparently slight changes, yet to Wagner’s cycle a new poetry seems to have come. The barbaric aspects of the tale have faded, and all the simple beauty of those wild, noble gods and demi-gods has gleamed forth as gloriously as the wonderful Rhinegold, which the master has made next in importance to the gods and the dusk of their splendor.
Before going further, perhaps it might be well to say a few words of explanation as to the motifs which form the key-notes of Wagner’s great musical dramas.
When he set his poem of the Nibelungen Ring to music, he was not satisfied with merely beautiful airs and harmonies linked together with no purpose save the lovely sounds. He wished, above all, to have his music fit his words; and for every character and thought and incident, and indeed for almost everything in his operas, he wrote a melody, and these descriptive musical phrases are called motifs. Each one has its meaning, and when it is played it brings the thought of what it describes and represents, and it makes a double language—what the characters on the stage are saying and what the music is saying, as well. Through the motifs we understand many things which we could not possibly comprehend otherwise.