The Nibelungenlied By Unknown
Of Knights and Kings, Love and Woe, Revenge and Death
I meant to read the famous epic poem Nibelungenlied (The Song of the Nibelungs) in the original Middle High German. How hard can it be? Eons ago I read some YA version of the underlying legends and I recall quite a bit from the stories around Siegfried (the dragon slayer who became invulnerable after bathing in the dragon’s blood), Kriemhild (his wife and avenging angel), Hagen (Siegfried’s murderer and treasure plunger) and the Triple-G Burgundian King=brothers (Gunther / Gernot / Giselher) — not to mention a dwarf named Alberich who owned the invisibility cloak (before Siegfried snatched it away in order to add invisibility to his invulnerability). So, knowing about the general plot, I figured I should be able to read the MHG text more or less without problems.
The epic was written around the year 1200 AD. According to the unwritten law of folk myths, the author remains anonymous. There are theories about his possible profession and residence (the area around Passau), but no further details are known. Of the three dozen copies of the manuscript, only three are completely preserved and are marked A, B, and C. They belong to the UNESCO Memory of the World Programme. All three are available online as transcription on the site of the Augsburg university and digitization (links below).
The author of the Nibelungenlied did not invent the stories himself, but interwoven several long-standing legends into a plot and brought them into a courtly form that seemed pleasant to the listeners. It is assumed that some of these legends are based on historical events at the time of the Migration Period, such as the wedding between Attila and the probably Germanic princely daughter Ildico (453 AD) and the destruction of the Burgundy Empire around 463 AD. But as is the case with oral traditions: things mixed together, something is exaggerated or made up, something left out or forgotten, places and times changed, figures renamed. To build one single coherent story was not an easy task. The author was confronted with the problem to weave a single plot and also blend the rather old historical savage tales with some representation of modern (from around 1200 AD) chivalry and a somehow Christian point of view. As a result it can happen that, during a carnage in which sparks spray, blood splashes to the ceiling and heads roll, the opponents suddenly pay each other respect and exchange courtesies before the other one’s skull is smashed. But the listeners of 13th century obviously liked it. The Nibelungenlied was a smash hit, as one can see from the relatively high number of copies.
Parts and motivs of the Nibelung legend also found their way into other traditions, most notably the heroic tales in the Poetic Edda and the Thidreksaga. Those Old Norse legends in turn influenced the likes of J.R.R.Tolkin ( The Legend of Sigurd and Gudrún), Richard Wagner (his opera cycle Der Ring des Nibelungen) and, who knows, possibly George R.R.Martin and J.K.Rowling as well.
Unfortunately, the Nazis also adapted the Nibelungs for propaganda purposes and celebrated the return of Germanic greatness and heroism, loyalty and manly knighthood, and underpinned the idea of German national growth with these “Germanic virtues” — (and conveniently overlooked the fact that the blonde and blue-eyed German Siegfried was shamefully killed and that the Germanic tribes (in this case the Burgundians) were destroyed by the Huns in the Song of the Nibelungs). The Nibelungenlied is considered by many as the “national epic” of the German people. A story of love and suffering, of heroic power and wild battles, of betrayal, cunning and violence, deceitfulness and sacrifice, blood, greed and revenge and the never-ending hatred of man against man and finally the downfall in flames, blood and tears when all have triumphed each other in death. It was meant to be a historical lesson for the people at medieval times and survived the centuries as a national epic. In the present phase, the zeitgeist seems to demand that the concept of “national” be regained with passion. Especially today, when “national identity” is considered to be appropriate or even necessary, it is worth thinking about such terms and the dire consequences and the Nibelungenlied comes in quite handy. Goethe wrote about the Nibelungenlied: “[The poem] increases imagination, stimulates feelings, awakens curiosity, and in order to satisfy it, invites us to judge. Everyone should read it so that they may receive the effect of it according to the measure of their ability.”
Most of the above I learned before I even started. After reading the first few stanzas online, my initial plan of reading the whole thing in MHG got vaporized and I became disillusioned. Some of the words were easy to recognize. They have changed very little over the centuries (considering the sound shift). Other words seem familiar, but they didn’t make much sense to me in the context. That’s because their meaning has changed completely or at least drastically narrowed. Not exactly false friends, but something even more heinous: The MHG noun “arebeit” (NHG: “Arbeit”) didn’t mean “work” or “labour” but “hardship”. The MHG adjective “rîch” (NHG: “reich”) didn’t mean “rich” but “mighty”. The word “degen” appears five times in the second chapter. Today it means some kind of narrow sword, used for fencing (an epee). But those weapons weren’t even invented in the 13th century. I had to look it up in the MHG dictionary and found that it could mean “male child”, “boy”, “warrior”, “hero”, “brave man”, “honorable man” and so on.
From then on it was clear to me that in order to read the whole work, I had to invest far more time than anticipated. I was more interested in the actual story and the way it was told and I figured I had to read a translation into New High German before going back to MHG. There are several translations of the Nibelungenlied into NHG available. The best known one in verse form was made by Karl Simrock in 1827 (link below) but I didn’t like it that much on first glance. There are also an increasing number of translations into prose form which are marked as “re-told”, but that’s not what I wanted at all. I finally found the book at hand. It is a prose translation that is very close, almost sentence by sentence, oriented to the original and written by Uwe Johnson together with his fellow student (and later linguist) Manfred Bierwisch. The book also contains an afterword by Johnson about the Nibeluncs and an epilogue by Bierwisch in which the interesting publication history of their book in the former GDR is told. As further support, I also obtained the 900-page bilingual MHG/NHG edition by Schulze & Grosse (with a 300 pages appendix). With Johnson/Bierwisch as the main read and occasional detours via Schulze/Grosse and Simrock, I finally managed to read the whole work. It’s a bit strange overall. For modern readers there are some oddities. For example, the author doesn’t seem to have cared much about anticipating future events. These are not gloomy forebodings, but real spoilers. On the other hand, it is also interesting to see how a story was told back then. Especially in the last third many battle scenes are described (the last stand of the Burgundians against the Huns). Some of these scenes seemed to me to be in slow motion with conversations of the antagonists in between the fighting. There are also some logical inconsistencies and contradictions. That’s probably due to the interweaving of ancient lore and courtly customs. For example, the Burgundians (which were also called Nibelungs after they got hold of the treasure) once had to cross the Danube and only a small ferry is available. Nevertheless, all seven hundred henchmen and knights fit on it (the usual number that accompanies a king on his travels). Afterwards the boat is destroyed with only a few sword blows. What also makes the story a little dry to read are the so-called “tailor scenes”. Again and again there is a detailed account of which robes the characters wear, where those came from and what material they were made of. This is quite tiring in the long run. Possibly the author himself was a tailor or cloth merchant. What I personally found unfortunate is that the mythological scenes, especially Siegfried’s struggle with the dragon, are hardly mentioned and I wonder why the author didn’t dare to elaborate on these.
In the end I was happy that Johnson/Bierwisch kept so close to the original, because that was what I wanted to know about in the first place. And I haven’t completely given up the plan of reading the MHG version and if possible understand it. Here Manny Rayner’s LARA-project (Learning And Reading Assistant) will serve me well. See his review on the Icelandic version of the Little Prince for details.
Finally here are two stanzas of the Nibelungenlied from the first “Aventiure” (i.e. chapter) in the original and different translations:
Stanza #1 (the one that everyone quotes):
Uns ist in alten mæren · wunders vil geseitSimrock:
von helden lobebæren, · von grôzer arebeit,
von fröuden, hôchgezîten, · von weinen und von klagen,
von küener recken strîten, · muget ir nu wunder hœren sagen.
Viel Wunderdinge melden · die Mären alter ZeitJohnson/Bierwisch:
Von preiswerten Helden · von großer Kühnheit,
Von Freud’ und Festlichkeiten · von Weinen und von Klagen,
Von kühner Recken Streiten · mögt ihr nun Wunder hören sagen.
In alten Berichten wird uns Erstaunliches erzählt von berühmten Helden, von großer Not und Bedrängnis, von Festen und geselligen Freuden, von Weinen und Klagen. Ihr werdet Unerhörtes vernehmen von den Taten kühner Recken.Alice Horton (English verse translation 1898):
To us, in olden legends, · is many a marvel toldDaniel Bussier Shumway (English prose translation 1909):
Of praise-deserving heroes, · of labours manifold,
Of weeping and of wailing, · of joy and festival;
Of bold knights’ battling shall you · now hear a wondrous tale.
Full many a wonder is told us in stories old, of heroes worthy of praise, of hardships dire, of joy and feasting, of the fighting of bold warriors, of weeping and of wailing; now ye may hear wonders told.
Stanza #17 (Kriemhild, after her falcon dream, to her mother Ute. To me a leitmotiv of the whole epic):
»Di rede lât belîben«, · sprach si, »frouwe mînSimrock:
ez ist an manegen wîben · vil dicke worden schîn,
wie liebe mit leide · ze jungest lônen kan.
ich sol si mîden beide, · sône kan mir nimmer missegân«
»Die Rede laßt bleiben« · sprach sie, »Herrin mein.Johnson/Bierwisch:
Es hat an manchen Weiben · gelehrt der Augenschein,
Wie Liebe mit Leide · am Ende gerne lohnt;
Ich will sie meiden beide · so bleib’ ich sicher verschont!«
»Das mag ich nicht hören«, sagte Kriemhild. »Es ist so oft an mancher Frau offenbar geworden, daß die Freude zuletzt im Leid endet. Ich will das eine wie das andere meiden, so kann es mir nie schlecht ergehen.«Horton:
“Ah, let alone such counsel, · my mother dear I pray!Shumway:
By many a woman’s witness · ‘tis proven clear as day,
How heart’s delight too often · with sorrow sore is paid;
Lest such mischance befall me, · I’ll shun them both,” she said.
“I pray you leave this speech,” spake she, “my lady. Full oft hath it been seen in many a wife, how joy may at last end in sorrow. I shall avoid them both, then can it ne’er go ill with me.”
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Links
Manuscript A: Transcript · Digitization
Manuscript B: Transcript · Digitization
Manuscript C: Transcript · Digitization
Simrock translation:
http://gutenberg.spiegel.de/buch/das-...
English verse translation by Alice Horton:
https://archive.org/stream/laynibelun...
English prose translation by Daniel Bussier Shumway:
http://mcllibrary.org/Nibelungenlied/
Audio-Book (in German, ~9 hours) read by Peter Wapnewski (Simrock translation and many comments!)
(no more available) new version: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FRop-...
First stanza spoken in MHG (6.5 minutes)
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JshcT...
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This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. Unknown Warriors! Honor! Love! Blood! Gold! Let's face it: I can't read the original, as I don't understand Middle High German, so the High German translation it is. This epos holds major power until today, as it was (ab-)used in various contexts throughout history to frame political and cultural events: While in today's tales about heroes, they usually don't die, but prevail, they're frequently killed in tales from the Middle Ages - their status is cemented by the fact that they remain unfazed and they don't give up, even when facing their own demise. It's easy to see why this constellation can be used for the good (stick to your moral convictions, even if they don't serve you well) and the bad: At the start of WW I, Kaiser Wilhelm II. declared Nibelungentreue (Nibelung loyalty) to his allies, at the end of the war, the Dolchstoßlegende (legend of the stab in the back) invoked the destiny of Nibelung hero Siegfried who was murdered from behind, a framing that contributed to the start of WW II. Göring framed Stalingrad as a fight comparable to the events in the Nibelungen, thus portraying young men dying in the name fascism as heroes. And of course, Hitler was a huge fanboy of Richard Wagner, who wrote the opera The Ring of the Nibelungs. Tarantino then went ahead and remixed the whole thing cleverly: His Siegfried is a Black slave named Django who, as Dr. Schultz explains, sets out to slay a dragon (the plantation owner) to free his Brunhilde (Django's wife Broomhilda von Shaft; this version is closer to the opera than the text).
Today, Nibelungentreue is used as an expression describing blind loyalty, the cultural climate contributes to the fact that we interpret the events in the original text differently (although Game of Thrones seems to work against that tendency): Siegfried, the hero, is an opportunist, rapist, and murderer; the portrayal of women is, well, not exactly feminist (it's the freakin' Middle Ages, guys). Still, this over-the-top spectacle of blood, sex, dragons, feuds, and conquest remains intriguing, and even more so as it is grounded in true events that happened during the Migration Period, mainly the destiny of the Burgundians. But of course, there are many links to other folk stories and sagen/sagas in there. A short summary with the help of Lego figurines can be found here (in German).
I just checked this out in order to be able to appreciate Die Nibelungen. Ein deutscher Stummfilm, and I really, really hope that the subtitle of Hoppe's novel, A German silent movie, is a hint to Fritz Lang's unbelievable movie version from 1924. I am so excited! Unknown Because we all need some kick-ass medieval literature in our lives. Unknown Das Nibelungenlied
By Anonymus
Translated from Mittelhochdeutsch by Karl Simrock in 1827
Existing historical locations and recordings of living persons at the time, determine the period of creation of this epic poem to between 1202 and 1204.
It is the German counterpart to the Anglo-Saxon sagas of King Arthur and his knights and Chretien of Troie’s Lancelot tales.
The geographical locations of the events stretch from Worms, the country on the river Rhine, to northern Iceland, the castle of Brunehilde and later further south and east to Bavaria, Austria, Vienna and possibly to Bohemia or Hungary to the castle of King Etzel.
Medieval chivalry is the background to the story of love and revenge between Siegfried the white knight in shining armour and Krimhilde the beautiful and faultless princess.
Fairytale features light up the story with Siegrieds battle and slaying of a dragon, covering his body with the dragon's blood, (almost) gaining invulnerability to any future battle wounds.
Nibelungenland is Siegfried's fairytale kingdom, the location of which is hard to guess.
Siegfried holds there an immense treasure of gold and silver, diamonds and jewellery as well as a mysterious invisibility cap which he uses on several occasions and not always to his advantage.
Inevitably the story also tells of the powerful dark villain knight Hagen, who causes endless sorrows, bloodshed and countless deaths with his treacherous intrigues and proceedings.
The author knows and highlights chivalry values such as unfailing courteous behaviour to ladies of their choosing and everlasting faith and mutual protection between friends.
The style of writing is unique. The story told in the German language of the nineteenth century is unusual in vocabulary and rhyme. The beauty of the original can only be guessed.
Chapter after chapter and sometimes between the lines, the author warns the reader of sorrow to come from ongoing actions and dialogues as they happen.
This epic tale is the pride of German literature of the medieval ages.
Its reading can be recommended to all friends with an interest in chivalry literature. Unknown How bad*** do you want your epics to be?
Do you want someone to hit someone else so hard that the plains shake and gouts of red fire shoot from the impact? How about someone throwing a boulder 20 fathoms and then leaping just as far?
And, if you don’t, what’s wrong with you?
This book/epic/lay is amazingly over the top, and at the same time is one of the greatest examples of medieval literature that has not been lost to antiquity. Any one who has read and enjoyed Beowulf, Canterbury Tales, Aelfric’s saga, etc. should not give this a miss. Unknown
Written by an unknown author in the twelfth century, this powerful tale of murder and revenge reaches back to the earliest epochs of German antiquity, transforming centuries-old legend into a masterpiece of chivalric drama. Siegfried, a great prince of the Netherlands, wins the hand of the beautiful princess Kriemhild of Burgundy, by aiding her brother Gunther in his struggle to seduce a powerful Icelandic Queen. But the two women quarrel, and Siegfried is ultimately destroyed by those he trusts the most. Comparable in scope to the Iliad, this skilfully crafted work combines the fragments of half-forgotten myths to create one of the greatest epic poems - the principal version of the heroic legends used by Richard Wagner, in The Ring. The Nibelungenlied
“Uns ist in alten maeren wunders viel geseit
von helden lobebaeren von grôzer arebeit,
von fröuden, hôchgezîten, von weinen und von klagen,
von küener recken strîten muget ir nu wunder hœren sagen.“
Oder, prosaischer:
Wenn eine Party aus dem Ruder läuft
Kaum je dürfte ein hochtrabender Begriff verhängnisvoller gewirkt haben als das von Reichskanzler von Bülow geprägte Wort der Nibelungentreue, mit dem er 1909 in der Bosnischen Annexionskrise die Unterstützung, die das Deutsche Reich Österreich-Ungarn angedeihen ließ, rechtfertigte. Denn eben dieser Begriff wurde wiederaufgegriffen, um in der Julikrise Deutschlands Festhalten an der Bündnistreue gegenüber dem auf dem Balkan in heillose Verstrickungen geratenen Nachbarn zu begründen – und das Ergebnis war, daß hierdurch das Schlittern der europäischen Mächte in den Ersten Weltkrieg mit seinen Millionen von Toten, wenn zwar nicht verursacht, so doch erheblich vereinfacht wurde.
Im Nibelungenlied, dem deutschen Nationalepos des 19. Jahrhunderts, findet sich diese Nibelungentreue in zweierlei Gestalt – einmal in Kriemhilds Racheplänen, nachdem ihr Gatte Siegfried durch Hagens Hand – und mit Billigung zweier ihrer Brüder – gemeuchelt worden war, und zum anderen in der Weigerung der drei burgundischen Könige, Hagen an Kriemhild auszuliefern und statt dessen lieber den Kampf bis auf den Tod auszufechten. In Strophen 2102 und 2103 nach der Handschrift B des Nibelungenlieds spricht an dieser Stelle der mittlere der drei Brüder folgende Worte:
“‘Nune welle got von himele‘, sprach dô Gernôt,
‘ob unser tûsent waeren, wir laegen alle tôt,
der sippen dîner mâge ê wir dir einen man
gaeben hi ze gîsel. es wird et nimmer getân.‘
‘Wir müesen doch ersterben‘, sprach dô Gîselher.
‘uns scheidet niemen von ritterlicher wer.
swer gerne mit uns vehte, wir sîn et aber hie,
wande ich deheinen mînen friunt an den triuwen nie verlie.‘“
Es ist diese Weigerung, die dazu führt, daß am Ende beinahe alle Handelnden des Nibelungenliedes in grausamen Kämpfen den Tod finden, zumal auch die Gefolgsleute des hunnischen Königs Etzel sich durch ihren Treueid gebunden fühlen, den Kampf mit den ihnen eigentlich freundschaftlich verbundenen Burgunden aufzunehmen und in ihm zu fallen.
Das Nibelungenlied, im 12. Jahrhundert auf der Grundlage viel älterer Sagenstoffe zu Papier gebracht, zerfällt in zwei große Teile, deren erster die Geschichte des sagenhaften Drachentöters Siegfried an Gunthers Hof erzählt – wie er für Gunther die isländische Königin Brünhild durch Lug und Trug gewinnt und anschließend mit roher Gewalt gefügig macht, wobei zwischen den Zeilen recht eindeutig auf eine Vergewaltigung zu schließen ist, auch wenn Siegfried Gunther gegenüber eine solche in Abrede stellt. Brünhild jedenfalls argwöhnt, daß Siegfried und Gunther einen Pakt miteinander geschlossen hatten, und so kommt es zu dem fatalen Zerwürfnis zwischen ihr und Kriemhild und der Ermordung Siegfrieds und der Versenkung des Nibelungenhorts im Rhein durch Hagen von Tronje. Im zweiten Teil, ab der zwanzigsten Aventiure, wird dann erzählt, wie die erbitterte Witwe Kriemhild den Hunnenkönig Etzel heiratet und von langer Hand ihre “eisliche[r] rache“ an Hagen und Gunther plant, die dann in ein episches Gemetzel ausartet.
Das Nibelungenlied strotzt nur so von verbaler Kraftmeierei, etwa wenn Siegfried auf einer eigens zu seiner Täuschung ausgerufenen Jagd nicht nur den gesamten Tierbestand im Wald niedermetzelt, sondern auch noch einen Löwen tötet, der schon damals in der Nähe von Worms Seltenheitswert besessen haben dürfte. Ein Recke wie er bindet mit Hunderten von Gegnern an und bezwingt sie allesamt ohne große Mühe, und selbst einem Teufelskerl wie Hagen kann es nur durch List und Tücke gelingen, einen solchen Helden zu besiegen. Auch später zählt man die Opfer eher nach Tausenden denn nach Hunderten. Mit wahrer Lust beschreibt der Erzähler das aus den Wunden hervorquellende Blut [1] und den Funkenschlag, der sich ergibt, wenn Waffen auf Helme und Rüstungen niederschmettern, und von manchem Schlag “erdôz“ ein gesamtes Gebäude. So ist denn schlichtweg alles an diesem Epos Bombast, Großsprecherei und Geprahle, weshalb es nicht wundernimmt, daß diese Geschichte schließlich zum deutschen Nationalepos wurde.
Aber auch etwas anderes an diesem Epos ist in meinen Augen „typisch deutsch“, nämlich die morbide Lust am Untergang mit Donnern und Krachen aufgrund einer fixen Idee – und es ist nachgerade gruselig sich auszumalen, wie ein solches Epos, das man heute vielleicht nicht mehr ganz ohne Verwunderung lesen kann, vor etwas mehr als hundert Jahren von vielen meiner Landsleute sine grano salis verschlungen worden sein muß. Zudem sind die psychologischen Motivationen der Handelnden recht krude. Ein Beispiel gefällig?
Und dennoch vermag diese grausame, archaischen Ehrbegriffen frönende Sage auch heute noch einen Teil ihrer früheren Faszinationskraft auf den Leser auszuüben. Besonders empfehlenswert ist es sicherlich, sie im mittelhochdeutschen Original zu lesen, was so schwierig nicht ist, wenn man sich erst einmal ein wenig mit dieser Sprache vertraut gemacht hat. Auf Youtube gibt es eine ansehnliche Zahl von Clips, in denen erklärt wird, wie man das Mittelhochdeutsche ausspricht, und die mir vorliegende Reclam-Ausgabe bietet die B-Handschrift des Nibelungenliedes zweisprachig, einmal im Original, dann in einer neuhochdeutschen Prosaübersetzung, und zwar übersichtlich doppelseitig, so daß bei Unklarheiten je nach Bedarf auf den neueren Text zurückgegriffen werden kann.
Wer also bereit ist, sich auf die Geisteshaltung und die Sprache einer längst vergangenen Epoche einzulassen, der wird sich der Faszinationskraft des alten Nibelungenlieds trotz der einen oder anderen Durststrecke – wenn mal wieder Kleidung beschrieben wird – nicht wirklich entziehen können.
[1] Bei Siegfrieds Ableben etwa heißt es nicht minder effektvoll wie plastisch: “Die bluomen von bluote wurden naz. dô rang er mit dem tôde.“ Unknown 4✨
Este Cantar me lo mandaron leer para la asignatura de Literatura y Cultura Alemana de mi carrera. Me dio mucha curiosidad leerlo porque es un escrito de muchos años de antigüedad (más de 1000 del manuscrito, pero muchos más estuvo en circulación por la tradición oral).
Estructuralmente, está dividido en dos partes. La primera nos habla de Sigfrido, de sus hazañas, de cómo consigue a su amada Krisolda, de cómo ayuda a otros reinos y las tramas que se forman en su contra. La segunda parte cuenta la venganza de Krisolda: aquí aparece el rey de los hunos, Atila, y reaparecen los personajes anteriores.
Originalmente se escribió en Althochdeutch (alto alemán medio) y en versos separados de cuatro en cuatro. Después vemos capítulos (que reciben el nombre de Cantar, puesto que Nibelungenlied sería La Canción de los Nibelungos aunque la tengamos como El Cantar de los Nibelungos). En esta edición de Cátedra podemos ver estos versos originales en algunos estratos, aunque en su mayoría está traducido a español (sin respetar el verso o la rima pero sí su significado).
Pasando a los personajes, lógicamente (dados los tiempos y el desarrollo literario, como pasa con los demás tipos de artes) no hay mucho desarrollo de la introspección y psicología.
En ocasiones se puede hacer algo lento (sobre todo en los viajes o en las guerras) pero es bastante interesante para ver la realidad de aquella época, su vestimenta y su forma de interactuar.
El final no me gustó nada :(. No puedo hacer spoilers, pero con mi mentalidad del siglo XXI no veo consiguiente el motivo del último asesinato. Es cierto que después la profesora nos comentó las razones que tuvieron entonces para que la historia tuviera un final justo acorde a los valores de la época.
Si os animáis a aventuraros por el Nibelungenlied os recomiendo que vayáis llenos de ánimo y fuerza. Os daréis cuenta de que hay muchos motivos que se cogen para la literatura posterior (HP, Arturo, Tolkien...) y eso siempre es un buen incentivo para seguir leyendo y descubriendo. Unknown Siegfried is murdered.
Oops, did I spoil the whole story for you? Well, too bad, because the poet himself spoils it within the first three pages.
I'm all for classics, what with being a major in English literature and all. I mean, what else am I going to do with my degree than work a job totally unrelated to my field of study whilst crying myself to sleep every night using my now-defunct Norton Anthology as a pillow? Granted, this epic poem is German, but it's certainly part of what one would consider a literary education.
At the risk of sounding unenlightened, I say skip this and just read a good summary (unless, of course, you can read it in German). Not only is my copy translated into English, it's written in prose form, which is particularly irksome. Furthermore, 285 pages of content could have been reduced to 28 pages of actual action. I've rarely read anything so boring, which is weird considering the wee bits of action are actually quite interesting.
If you waste your time reading this poem, all you're going to get is redundant descriptions of people coming and going and sending emissaries to this or that place and accepting invitations to go to this or that festival, all while dressed impeccably wearing jewels that would bankrupt the world.
The poet has a particularly annoying habit of interrupting himself to describe what people are wearing. The back of my copy reads that it is an epic tale of murder and revenge. Right. More like an epic fashion show.
Oh, and no one has that much money. Kings and queens are constantly handing out gold and jewels like their wealth grows on trees, and yet they never grow poor. On the contrary, as the poem goes on, each king later introduced outdoes all kings before mentioned in wealth. Shields full of gems? Dumped on mere messengers? Every time? Bullcrap.
I also take issue with the use of the word knight in this poem. These men aren't knights; they're mercenaries. The only reason anyone does anything is for the promise of reward, which is usually merely alluded to--you know, good manners and all. Can't seem too greedy! But by the end of the poem, Kriemhild is begging anyone to go out and revenge for her, promising anyone shieldsful of red gold (which,I guess, is the best kind), having it brought right to front lines to administer to all and sundry. Even then, many knights won't take it because they're pissing themselves in fear of Hagen, Volker, and the other Burgundians. Bollocks to that--effing cowards! I thought you blokes were supposed to be knights. Guess not. Lame.
The scenes where Siegfried puts on his cloak of invisibility and cheats to help Gunther best Brunhild in feats of strength are great. Even the scene where Siegfried invisibly wrestles Brunhild into sexual submission--though despicable by today's standards--at least doesn't have any unnecessary oohing and aahing at their new clothes! Seigfried's murder, Hagen destroying the ferry after hearing the nixies' prophecy--all these scenes are compelling, but you can get this just from the Cliff's Notes. Again, I don't read German, so the way it's written in translation isn't important to me. Just the story. And there simply isn't enough story to justify wasting your time slogging through this.
Having said that, if you get some kind of bullet-point summary of what's going on, then the last five chapters or so might be worth reading. Everyone slaughters everyone, and the scene where Rudiger gives Hagen his shield is quite touching. The final paragraph of the book is utterly retarded, though. Kriemhild just wants revenge for her murdered husband, and when she finally achieves it by chopping off the murderer's head, her own ally turns on her and hacks her to bits because it's dishonorable to be killed by a woman. ffs. Unknown The Nibelungs, in case you were wondering, are the royal house of the Burgundians – and the Burgundians, whose name lives on in the Burgundy region of east-central France that produces some of the world’s finest wine, were a Germanic tribe that migrated to the Rhine River region around the city of Worms in the early 5th century A.D. All of this information can be helpful for the modern reader who wants to understand the compelling, troubling, and exceedingly violent work that is The Nibelungenlied (The Song of the Nibelungs), a German-language epic poem that is one of the founding documents of German literature.
The Nibelungenlied was composed by an unknown poet, in the area around Passau in modern-day Austria, sometime around the year 1200. The Middle Ages were a rough time in central Europe; Germany was a region, not a country – a place where small German-speaking states were constantly waging war upon one another – and therefore it should be no surprise that this poem that came to be considered characteristically German is a thoroughly medieval tale of blood, death, and revenge.
The anonymous poet who composed The Nibelungenlied drew upon earlier Norse accounts of the legendary hero Sigurd or Sigurðr, whose story is told in medieval Icelandic works like the Völsunga saga and the Poetic Edda; but in turning the Norse Sigurd into the German Siegfried, the poet took the work in some new directions of his own.
As The Nibelungenlied begins, Siegfried, who has already proven himself in battle against the Saxons, travels to Worms because of his love for Kriemhild, princess of Burgundy; the fact that the two have never met seems little more than a technicality. When Siegfried first sees his destined lady-love, Kriemhild “emerged like the dawn from the dark clouds, freeing from much distress him who secretly cherished her and indeed long had done so” (pp. 47-48). The feeling, it turns out, is mutual, as Kriemhild “soon conveyed her liking”, and Siegfried “had reason to bless his good fortune that the young woman whom he cherished in his thoughts was so well-disposed towards him” (pp. 49-50). It’s love at first sight – but sadly, a love that is destined to end unhappily, with even unhappier consequences for many.
You see, Kriemhild’s brother is Gunther, king of the Burgundians, and Gunther won’t let his sister marry Siegfried unless Siegfried helps Gunther win the love of the Icelandic queen Brunhild. And Gunther, it seems, is no Siegfried. When Gunther, with the help of some deception on Siegfried’s part, is able to marry Brunhild, the wedding night doesn’t go well. When Gunther, ardent for his new bride, “tumbled her shift for her…the haughty girl reached for the girdle of stout silk cord that she wore about her waist, and subjected him to great suffering and shame; for in return for being baulked of her sleep, she bound him hand and foot, carried him to a nail, and hung him on a wall. She had put a stop to his love-making!” (p. 88) Well, that’s embarrassing.
Some further deception on Siegfried’s part enables Gunther to consummate his marriage to Brunhild – taking away, in the process, the super-human powers that the queen of Iceland had once possessed – but the path is set for tragedy. Quarrelling between the two queens leads to a rift between Siegfried and Gunther. Hagen of Tronje, a vassal of King Gunther, feels that his king and queen have been dishonoured, and decides that Siegfried must die. King Gunther objects at first, but later consents.
A day of hunting is arranged, and on the fateful day Kriemhild doesn’t want Siegfried to go off on the hunt. “I dreamt last night – and an ill-omened dream it was…that two boars chased you over the heath and the flowers were dyed with blood! How can I help weeping so? I stand in great dread of some attempt against your life. – What if we have offended any men who have the power to vent their malice on us? Stay away, my lord, I urge you” (p. 124). But in spite of Kriemhild’s tearful insistence that “I fear you will come to grief”, Siegfried blithely states that “I know of no people who bear me any hatred” and assures her that “I shall return in a few days’ time, my darling” (p. 125). Spoiler alert: it doesn’t turn out that way.
Hagen knows that Siegfried, who once slew a dragon and bathed in its blood, is, like Achilles, invulnerable everywhere but in one spot – a place on his back that Kriemhild, at Hagen’s request, has obligingly marked with a cross on the back of Siegfried’s tunic. (Really?) What follows should be no surprise:
“[A]s Siegfried bent over the brook and drank, Hagen hurled the spear at the cross, so that the hero’s heart’s blood leapt from the wound and splashed against Hagen’s clothes. No warrior will ever do a darker deed” (p. 130).
The dying Siegfried denounces his murderers: “You vile cowards….What good has my service done now that you have slain me? I was always loyal to you, but now I have paid for it. Alas, you have wronged your kinsmen so that all who are born in days to come will be dishonoured by your deed” (p. 131).
The treasure of the Nibelungs is Kriemhild’s dowry, and therefore should be hers by right. But Hagen, intending to make sure that Kriemhild cannot use that treasure of the Nibelungs to raise an army and take revenge, “took the entire treasure and sank it in the Rhine at Locheim, imagining he would make use of it someday” (p. 149). In response, “Kriemhild could not have borne him greater malice”, and her “heart was burdened with sorrow that was ever fresh for the passing of her lord and the loss of all her treasure” (p. 149).
For the remainder of Kriemhild’s life, the one motivation of this once sweet and optimistic princess is revenge against Hagen – and indeed against all the Burgundian kings, by whom she feels betrayed. And she will get her revenge, but at an exceedingly high cost.
The occasion for Kriemhild’s revenge occurs when she awakens the romantic interest of the Hunnish king Etzel. Please be advised that “Etzel” is the poet’s name for Attila – yes, that Attila: Attila the Hun, who ravaged the Western Roman Empire from 451 to 453 A.D. Etzel’s queen, Helche, has recently died, and Etzel sends to Burgundy for Kriemhild.
Kriemhild travels to Hungary – evidently the Nibelungenlied poet does not realize that the Huns were not Hungarian, but rather were of an entirely different cultural stock. When Kriemhild meets Etzel, the poet records that Kriemhild “received the illustrious monarch kindly with a kiss, to bestow which she pushed back her wimple and revealed her lovely face all radiant amid the gold of her hair, so that many a man declared that Queen Helche had not been lovelier” (p. 172). This dramatic and fateful meeting is today commemorated by a monument in Tulln an der Donau, Austria.
Kriemhild marries Etzel – a Christian marrying a pagan – not out of love, but rather so that she can gain an army and take her revenge. One feels sorry for Attila – he is “as happy as he could possibly be”, especially after Kriemhild bears him a son named Ortlieb; but Kriemhild weeps in secret, mourns for her dead Siegfried, and forever plans her revenge. Etzel is but a pawn in Kriemhild's exceedingly bloody-minded game of thrones.
Eventually, Kriemhild arranges things such that all the high nobles and knights of the Burgundian court will travel to the Hunnish court in Hungary. Acts of violence between individual Huns and Burgundians quickly escalate toward full-scale war, as epitomized when Hagen recalls Kriemhild’s ongoing dedication to vengeance and then “struck Ortlieb so that the blood washed along the sword to his hands and the boy’s head fell into the Queen’s lap, unleashing a vast and savage slaughter among warriors” (p. 243).
In a fight within Etzel’s royal hall, the Burgundians kill 7,000 (!) Huns, and throw their corpses out of the hall. Kriemhild has her own idea for striking back against the Burgundians, telling her Hunnish knights, “I shall pay back Hagen’s arrogance in full. Do not let a man leave the building anywhere, while I have the hall fired at all four corners. Thus shall all my sorrows be utterly revenged!” (p. 261) And thus, amidst vast destruction and loss of life on both sides, the Burgundians move toward a Thermopylae- or Alamo-style denouement.
After the Burgundians have been destroyed, and Hagen and Gunther have been imprisoned, Kriemhild offers to let Hagen live if Hagen will reveal where he hid the treasure. Hagen refuses. What follows is one of the most dramatic scenes in an exceedingly dramatic poem:
“I shall make an end!” cried the noble lady, and she commanded them to take her brother [Gunther]’s life. They struck off his head, and she carried it to Hagen by the hair. Great was the grief it gave him.
When the unhappy warrior saw his brother’s head, he said to Kriemhild: “You have made an end as you desired, and things have run their course as I imagined. The noble King of Burgundy is dead….Now none knows of the treasure but God and I! You she-devil, it shall stay hidden from you forever!” (p. 290)
And after Kriemhild's Cain-style murder of her brother Gunther, there is still more blood to be shed before the poem finally rings down the curtain on, as the poet puts it, “The Nibelungs’ Last Stand” (p. 291).
I read The Nibelungenlied in the context of a visit to Worms, Germany. In that beautiful little city that is said to have been the capital of the 5th-century Burgundian Kingdom, there is a Nibelungen Tower on the Nibelungen Bridge that flows over the Rhine, along with a very fine Nibelungen Museum. The modern city of Worms is a perfect place in which to ponder the power and the influence of this important poem.
And its influence has been wide-ranging. One sees echoes of The Nibelungenlied in Richard Wagner’s four-part musical drama Der Ring des Nibelungen (The Ring of the Nibelungs) (1876), a work that in turn may or may not have influenced the composition of J.R.R. Tolkien's three-part fantasy epic The Lord of the Rings (1954-55).
And, on a more menacing note, it is a matter of record – of sad record – that The Nibelungenlied, in the 19th and early 20th centuries, became associated with the totalitarian strain of German nationalism, from the beginnings of Prussian ascendancy through the end of the Second World War. The Nibelungen Museum in Worms acknowledges these difficult aspects of the poem’s history, including the ways in which the Nazi regime utilized the poem for propaganda purposes.
More than 800 years ago, a German-speaking poet set down a poem that would mean very different things to the people of different future centuries. With the fierce and uncompromising quality of its scenes of violence, the intensity of its emotions, the way in which it shows great love metamorphosing into equally fervid emotions of revenge-minded hate, The Nibelungenlied remains an important epic poem, and a vital – and troubling – glimpse into the German history of its own time, and of later times. Unknown Between pop culture and Wagner it's not at all what I expected. I kept thinking it'd be pagan, and I think what people meant when they used that term was non-Christian (although Wagner throughs in a lot of pagan stuff that's not here). What it is is chivalric. This is operating entirely in the same space as The Song of Roland. I swear I can even see the Frankish history underneath that they're drawing from, in the same way the chansons de geste do: Brunhild and Kremhild are the Merovingian rival queens Brunhild and Fredegund, the Rhine treasure is Charlemagne's Avar hoard, etc etc.
There's a little bit more fantasy (dragon, hoard, invisibility, etc) than a chanson de geste and the court intrigue is a little more intricate, and the fight is in a Germanic castle instead of a Frankish battlefield, but otherwise chanson de geste. Off to watch the Fritz Lang adaptation now. I gotta re-read the Volsung Saga now too because I feel like I'll get more out of it now. Unknown
CHARACTERS ë E-book, or Kindle E-pub ↠ Unknown
