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.