Loe raamatut: «The Book of the Epic: The World's Great Epics Told in Story», lehekülg 25

When Galahad arrived at Arthur's court, he was fully armed, save that an empty scabbard hung by his side and that he bore no shield. Soon after his arrival, a servant breathlessly announced he had just seen a large block of stone floating down the river, into which a beautiful sword was thrust to the hilt. On hearing this, Arthur and his knights hurried down to the landing place, but, although the stone paused there, neither the king nor any of the nobles at his court were able to draw out the sword. It became evident it was intended for Galahad only, when he easily drew it out of the stone. It was then, according to this version, that the other knights pledged themselves to go in quest of the Holy Grail. Riding off alone, Galahad came to an abbey, where hung a white shield bearing a red cross, which he learned had once belonged to the king of Sarras, who was converted by Joseph's son. The red cross was drawn with blood, and was to remain undimmed for its future bearer, Galahad.

The young champion, thus completely equipped, rode off and next arrived at the enchanted Castle of the Holy Grail. There he saw Titurel, the sleeping king, and Amfortas, the acting king, before whom the Grail passed unseen because he had sinned. Silently Galahad watched the mystic procession of bleeding spear, miraculous dish or cup, and Seven-branched Candlesticks. Like Parzival he hesitated to ask any questions, and failed to achieve the Holy Grail, because, although possessing all other virtues, he could not entirely forget himself for the sake of others and thus lacked true sympathy or altruism. Thrust out of the Castle—like Parzival—he wandered through a blighted country, where he met the Loathley Damsel, who in punishment for her sins was turned loose into the world to work evil to men. She hotly reviled Galahad for not having asked the momentous question, and the youth, learning thus in what way he had been wanting, solemnly vowed to return to the castle and atone for his omission.

But meantime the enchanted Castle had vanished, and Galahad, the Champion of Purity,—whose red color he always wears,—travelled through the world, righting the wrong. He arrived thus at the gate of a castle defended by seven knights,—the Seven Deadly Sins,—with whom he struggled to such good purpose that he defeated them, and was free to enter into the Castle of the Maidens, or place where the Active Virtues have long been kept in durance vile. But, the door still being locked, Galahad was glad to receive the key proffered by an old monk, who, in the legend, personified Righteousness.

Galahad, the emblem of a pure soul, now penetrated into the castle, where the maidens blessed him for setting them free, and where he modestly received their thanks. Among these maidens was Lady Blanchefleur, Galahad's match in purity, to whom he bade farewell as soon as their nuptials were solemnized, for he realized The Quest could be achieved only by a virgin knight.

Once more Galahad rides through the world, and this time he again finds and enters into the castle of the Grail, where he once more beholds the Sacred Mysteries. His heart full of sympathy for the suffering Amfortas, he now overlooks the rules of formal politeness in his desire to help, and propounds the decisive question. Immediately a refulgent light shines forth from the veiled Grail in all its life-giving radiance, and King Amfortas, healed of his sin, and hence able to see the vessel, dies of joy, just as an angel bears the priceless treasure away from the Enchanted Castle, where it is no longer to sojourn.

Longing for the time when he too can see the Grail unveiled, Galahad remounts his milk-white steed and rides through the world, where everybody thanks him for freeing the world of the pall of darkness and sin which has rested upon the land ever since Amfortas, titulary guardian of the Holy Grail, sinned so grievously. Riding thus, Galahad comes at last to the sea, where King Solomon's ship awaits him. This vessel has been miraculously preserved for this purpose, and sent here to convey him safely to Sarras, "the spiritual place." It is the present home of the Holy Grail, which had already sojourned there after the death of Joseph of Arimathea.

The ship in which Galahad embarks is steered by an angel, one of the Guardians of the Holy Grail, and the cup it holds, although closely veiled from profane glances, casts beams of refulgent light upon Galahad and his companions Sir Percival and Sir Bors. They two, however, not being perfectly pure, cannot clearly distinguish the Grail, whose sight fills the soul of Galahad with ineffable rapture. Before long the ship arrives at Sarras, the fabulous city, where Galahad can hang up his sword and shield and take his well-earned rest, for the Quest is at last achieved! The travellers are welcomed by an old man, and, when the king of Sarras dies, the people unanimously elect Galahad their next ruler.

After governing them wisely for a year, Galahad—who prayed in King Solomon's ship that he might pass out of the world whenever he should ask it—begged for the death of the body so he might find the eternal life of the soul.

When he died, the Holy Grail, which had been piously guarded in Sarras, returned to heaven, for Galahad's work was finished on earth, as is indicated by the frescos of the Boston library, where angels guard a Golden Tree of achievement whose branches reach right up into heaven.

EPICS OF THE NETHERLANDS

In searching among Dutch masterpieces of literature we find that their greatest epic is "Joannes Boetgezant," or John the Messenger of Repentance. This epic in six books, on the life of John the Baptist, was written in 1662 by Vondel, and bears many traits of resemblance to Milton's Paradise Lost.

It has been conjectured that the most famous of all the animal epics or beast fables originated in Flanders or Luxembourg, which for a time was included in the Low Countries. This epic, which has been translated into every European language and has even found its way into the Far East, has been frequently remodelled. The oldest extant MS. in Latin dates back to the eleventh or twelfth century. Among modern versions the most clever, finished, and popular is Goethe's "Reinecke Fuchs."³³

In this poem he describes how the animals assemble at Whitsuntide to complain to their king, Noble, the Lion, about the dark deeds of Reynard the Fox. The main grievance is that of Isegrim, the Wolf, who claims Reynard blinded three of his offspring and insulted his wife. Speaking French, the Lapdog Wackerlos next pathetically describes how he was robbed of a sausage, which the Tomcat vehemently declares was his.

Having heard the depositions of the Wolf, the Dog, the Cat, the Panther, and the Hare, Noble is about to sentence the delinquent, when Grimbart, the Badger,—uncle of Reynard—rises to defend the accused. Artfully he turns the tables and winds up his plausible peroration with the statement that Reynard, repenting of all past sins, has turned hermit, and is now spending his time in fasting, alms-giving, and prayer!

Just as Noble is about to dismiss the case as non-proven, Henning the Cock appears, followed by his sons, who bear on a litter the mangled remains of a hen, strangled by Reynard, who slipped into the chicken-yard in the guise of a monk.

The king immediately dispatches Brown the Bear to Malepartus to summon Reynard to appear at court. On arriving at his destination, the Bear, although still resenting the king's recommendations to be wary, allows himself to be led to a half-split tree-trunk, within which Reynard assures him he will find stores of honey to refresh himself. Just as soon as the Bear's nose and forepaws are greedily inserted into the crack, Reynard slyly removes the wedges and decamps, leaving the Bear a prisoner and howling with pain.

His roars soon attract the peasant and his son, who beat the captive until he wrenches himself loose, at the cost of some patches of skin and of a few claws. The Bear, returning to court in this plight, is taxed with stupidity and greed, and Hintze the Cat is sent to summon Reynard to court. The Cat, hungry also, is led to a small opening in a barn which Reynard declares is swarming with mice, but where the poor Tomcat is caught in a trap, whence he escapes only after having received a beating and lost one eye.

His woful report decides the king to send Grimbart the Badger to summon his nephew to court. Reynard receives this emissary most courteously, and, on hearing the king will raze his fortress if he does not obey, sets out for court. On the way Reynard begs Grimbart to act as his confessor, and, having unburdened his conscience, does penance and receives absolution. But scarcely has this ceremony been completed when Reynard, spying some fat hens, begins to chase them, and is only with difficulty recalled to a sense of what is fitting.

On arriving at court, Reynard hypocritically regrets so many people have slandered him to the king, and tries to refute every charge. He is, however, sentenced to the gallows, but even on the road thither devises a plan to escape. Pretending regret for his past, he humbly begs the king's permission to address the spectators, and in a lengthy speech describes how he was led astray in his youth by Isegrim the Wolf. He also declares his only regret is to die before he can reveal to the king the hiding-place of a vast treasure which would enable him to outwit the plots of some rebels who are even now conspiring to kill him. The king, hearing this, immediately orders a reprieve, and, questioning the Fox in secret, learns that the conspirators are Brown the Bear, Isegrim the Wolf, and others. To reward the Fox for saving her husband's life, the queen now obtains his pardon, which Noble grants in exchange for information in regard to the treasure.

Having given these indications, the Fox sets out on a pilgrimage to Rome, escorted by the Ram and the Hare, which latter is slain as soon as they arrive at Malepartus, where Reynard wishes to bid his family farewell. After feasting upon the flesh of this victim, Reynard puts his bones into a wallet and ties it on the Ram's back, bidding him hasten back to court with this present and receive his reward! Although circumstantial evidence is enough to convict the poor Ram of murder, a few days later new complaints are made against Reynard by a Rabbit and a Crow. Noble, roused again, prepares to batter down the walls of Malepartus, and Grimbart, perceiving Reynard's peril, hurries off to give him warning.

He finds Reynard contemplating some young doves, upon which he intends to dine. On hearing what Grimbart has to say, Reynard declares it would be easy to acquit himself could he only gain the king's ear long enough to explain the real state of affairs. Then he again begs Grimbart to act as his father confessor, and, resuming his confession where he left off, makes a clean breast of all his misdeeds. Shortly after this, Reynard meets the Ape, who tells him that should he ever be in a quandary he must call for the aid of this clever ally or of his wife.

At his second appearance at court, the Fox openly regrets there are so many vile people in the world ready to accuse innocent persons, and proceeds to set all his doings in such a plausible light, that the king, instead of sentencing him again to death, allows him to settle his case by fighting a judiciary duel with the Wolf. The preparations for the duel are ludicrous because the Fox, advised by the Ape, is shaven smooth, greased until too slippery to be held, and duly strengthened by advice and potations. Blinded by the sand continually whisked into his eyes by the Fox's tail, unable to hold his all too slippery opponent, the Wolf is beaten and the Fox acquitted by the Judgment of God!

Although Noble now offers to make Reynard his privy counsellor, the Fox returns home, where his admiring wife and children welcome him rapturously.

In some versions of the tale Reynard further avenges himself by suggesting, when the king is taken ill, that he can be cured if he eats the head of a wolf just seven years old, knowing the only wolf of that age is Isegrim, who throughout the epic is fooled by the clever Fox, the hero of endless adventures which have delighted young and old for centuries.

SCANDINAVIAN EPICS

The different Scandinavian dialects formed but one language until about 1000 A.D., when they split up into two great groups, the East Northern including the Danish and Swedish; and the West Northern including the Icelandic, Norwegian, and Faroese. Danish literature boasts of some five hundred chivalric ballads (Kjaempeviser), on partly historical and partly mythical themes, which were composed between the fourteenth and sixteenth centuries. It was the Danish translator of the Bible who introduced his countrymen to Charlemagne and Ogier, whose legends received their finished forms at his hands. In 1555 Reynard the Fox was translated into Danish from the French, in 1663 the Heimskringla from the Icelandic, but it was in 1641 that Arrebo composed the Hexaemeron or first real Danish epic. In the nineteenth century Paludan Müller also wrote epics, which, however, are not very popular outside of his country. The runes of Sweden bear witness to the existence of sundry ancient sagas or epics which perished when Christianity was introduced into the land. In the Middle Ages, a gleeman at the court of Queen Euphemia (1303-12) composed the Euphemiaviser, or romances of chivalry done into Swedish verse. The greatest epic work of Sweden is, however, Tegner's Frithjof's Saga (1846), relating the adventures and courtship of an old Scandinavian hero, a work of which a complete synopsis is given in the author's Legends of the Middle Ages.

The élite of the Norwegians emigrated to Iceland for political reasons during the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. Owing to their geographical isolation and to the long winters, these people were thrown entirely on their own resources for amusement. The hours of darkness were beguiled by tales and songs, so young and old naturally delighted in the recitations of the skalds. This gave birth to an oral literature of great value, and, although many of the works of the skalds have perished, the Icelanders fortunately recovered in 1643,—after centuries of oblivion,—the Elder Edda, an eleventh-century collection of thirty-three poems on mythical and heroic subjects by Saemunt the Wise.

There is also a similar work in prose known as the Younger Edda, by Snorro Sturluson, which contains tales of Scandinavian mythology, and this writer also collected many of the old hero tales in his Heimskringla.

Many of the old sagas have been preserved in more or less perfect forms. They are generally divided into three groups, the first including sagas on historical themes, such as the Egilssaga, the Eyrbyggjasaga, the Njalssaga, the Laxdaelasaga, and the already mentioned Heimskringla.

The second, mythical, or heroic group comprises the Grettis saga and the Volsunga, the finest of all the sagas and one of the main sources of the Nibelungenlied and of Wagner's Trilogy. This epic has been wonderfully rendered in modern English by William Morris.

In the third and last group are massed together the romantic epics, translations or imitations of the Latin, French, and German epics and romances, relating to Alexander, Charlemagne, Parsival, etc. The finest saga in this group is the Gunnlaugssaga.

Norwegian literature goes back to the skald Bragi (c. 800), whose principal poem, Ragnarsdrapa, relates the marvellous adventures of the national hero Ragnar Lodbrog. This poem was incorporated by Snorro Sturluson in what is known as the Snorro Edda. Most of the poems in the Elder Edda are also of Norwegian origin, as well as Hvin's Haustlöng or account of a famous warrior. In the thirteenth century prose sagas were plentiful among the Danes, who took special pleasure in the Thidrekssaga (1250), or life and adventures of Dietrich von Bern; in the Karlamagnussaga, or story of Charlemagne; and in the Barlaamssaga ok Josaphats, or Hebrew tale of Barlaam and Josaphat.

Norway also possesses a rich fund of folk tales, which have been collected by Asbjörnsen, and which, having many of the qualities of prose epics, have delighted many generations.

THE VOLSUNGA SAGA³⁴

The Second Part of the Edda contains the famous Volsunga Saga, or Epic of the Volsungs, which has not only given rise to the Nibelungenlied and to Wagner's famous Trilogy of operas, but also to William Morris' Sigurd the Volsung. The plot of this, the most characteristic and famous of the Scandinavian sagas, is as follows:

Volsung, a lineal descendant from Odin, built his dwelling around the trunk of a mighty oak, the Branstock, whose branches overshadowed his whole dwelling. When Signy, Volsung's only daughter, was married against her will to Siggier, king of the Goths, a one-eyed stranger (Odin) suddenly appeared among the wedding guests, and thrust a priceless sword (Balmung) deep into the bole of the homestead oak. Before departing, as abruptly as he had come, the stranger proclaimed the weapon should belong to the man who pulled it out, and prophesied that it would assure him the victory in every fight.

 
  "Now let the man among you whose heart and hand may shift
  To pluck it from the oak-wood e'en take it for my gift.
  Then ne'er, but his own heart falter, its point and edge shall fail
  Until the night's beginning and the ending of the tale."³⁵
 

Although conscious that Odin had been in their midst, Volsung courteously invited the bridegroom to try his luck first, then himself attempted to draw out the divine sword, before he bade his ten sons exert their strength in turn. Only the youngest, Sigmund, was at last able to perform the required feat, and when Siggier eagerly offered to purchase his trophy from him, he firmly refused to part with it. Full of anger at this refusal, the Goth departed on the morrow, but although Signy loyally warned her kinsmen that her husband was plotting revenge, the Volsungs accepted his invitation to visit them soon.

When Volsung and his ten sons arrived in Gothland, Signy again bade them beware of coming treachery, but all in vain. The brave Volsungs, drawn into an ambush by their wily foe, were seized and bound fast to a fallen tree in a lonely forest, where every night a wild beast devoured one of these helpless men. Closely watched by her cruel husband, Signy could lend no aid to the prisoners, but when none but Sigmund, the youngest, was left, she directed a slave to smear his face with honey. The wild beast, attracted by the sweet odor, licked the face of the last prisoner, who, thus enabled to catch its tongue between his teeth, struggled with the beast until his bonds broke and he was free!

When Siggier sent to investigate as usual the next morning, his messenger reported no prisoners were left bound to the tree and that only a heap of bones was visible. Sure his foes were all dead, Siggier ceased to watch his wife, who, stealing out into the forest to bury the remains of her kin, discovered Sigmund in a thicket, and promised to aid him to obtain his revenge. To redeem this promise she sent to her brother, one after another, two of her sons to be trained as avengers, but, as both of these children proved deficient in courage, she came to the conclusion none but a pure-blooded Volsung would meet their requirements. To secure an offspring of this strain, Signy, disguised as a gypsy, secretly visited her brother's hut, and when their child, Sinfiotli, was older, sent him to Sigmund to foster and train.

With a youthful helper whom nothing could daunt, Sigmund, after achieving sundry adventures, lay in wait in Siggier's cellar, but, warned by two of his young children that murderers were hiding behind his casks, Siggier had them seized and cast into separate cells. There he decreed they should starve to death. But, before their prison was closed, Signy cast into it a bundle of straw, wherein she had concealed Balmung, the magic sword. Thanks to this weapon, Sigmund and Sinfiotli not only hewed their way out of their separate prisons, but slew all the Goths who attempted to escape from Siggier's dwelling, which they set aflame. But, although both proposed to save Signy, she merely stepped out of the house long enough to reveal Sinfiotli's origin and bade them farewell, ere she plunged back into the flames!

 
  And then King Siggier's roof-tree upheaved for its utmost fall,
  And its huge walls clashed together, and its mean and lowly things
  The fire of death confounded with the tokens of the kings.
  A sign for many people on the land of the Goths it lay,
  A lamp of the earth none needed, for the bright sun brought the day.
 

Feeling he had done his duty by avenging his father's and brothers' death, Sigmund now returned home, where in his old age he was slain in battle shortly after his marriage to a young wife. Finding him dying on the battle-field, this wife bore off the fragments of his magic sword as sole inheritance for his child, whom she hoped would prove a boy who could avenge him. One version of the story relates that to escape the pursuit of Sigmund's foes this expectant mother plunged into the woods and sought help and refuge in the smithy of Mimer, a magician as well as a blacksmith. Here she gave birth to Sigurd, who, as she died when he was born, was brought up by Mimer, who marvelled to find the boy absolutely fearless.

Another version claims that, discovered by a Viking, mourning over her dead spouse, the widow was carried off by him, and consented to become his wife on condition he would prove a good foster-father to Sigmund's child. In this home Sigurd was educated by the wisest of men, Regin, who taught him all a hero need know, and directed him how to select his wonderful steed Grane or Greyfell (a descendant of Odin's Sleipnir), from a neighboring stud.

Seeing the youth ready for adventure, Regin now told him how the gods Odin, Hoenir, and Loki, wandering upon earth in the guise of men, once slew an otter, which they carried to a neighboring hut, asking to have its meat served for their dinner. Their host, however, exclaiming they had killed his eldest son who often assumed the form of an otter, seized and bound them fast, vowing they should not be free until they gave as ransom gold enough to cover the huge otter-skin.

The gods, knowing none but a magic treasure would suffice for that, bargained for the release of Loki, who departed in quest of the dwarf Andvari, the collector of an immense hoard of gold by magic means. As the wily Andvari could not easily be found, it required all the astuteness of the god of evil to discover him in the guise of a fish at the source of the Rhine, and to catch him by means of the sea-goddess' infallible net.

Having the dwarf in his power, Loki wrung from him his huge treasure, his Helm of Dread, or cap of invisibility, and even tore from his very finger a magic ring of gold, thus incurring the dwarf's curse.

 
    "For men a curse thou bearest: entangled in my gold,
  Amid my woe abideth another woe untold.
  Two brethren and a father, eight kings my grief shall slay;
  And the hearts of queens shall be broken, and their eyes shall
       loathe the day.
  Lo, how the wilderness blossoms! Lo, how the lonely lands
  Are waving with the harvest that fell from my gathering hands!"
 

Scorning this prediction, Loki hastened to the rescue of his fellow-gods; but, as the otter-skin stretched further and further, it required not only all the treasure, but even the helmet and the serpent ring of gold, to cover it and thus complete the required ransom.

The new owner of the treasure now gloated over his gold until his very nature changed, and he was transformed into a hideous dragon. One of his two remaining sons, Fafnir, entering the hut, slew the dragon before he realized it was his father, and then, fascinated by treasure and ring, bore them off to a lonely heath, where in the guise of a dragon he too mounted guard over them. This appropriation of these treasures was keenly resented by his brother Regin, who, unable to cope with the robber himself, now begged Sigurd to help him. Like Mimer in the other version of the tale, Regin was an experienced blacksmith, but, notwithstanding all his skill, Sigurd broke every blade he forged for this task. Finally the young hero hammered out of the fragments of his dead father's blade a weapon which sheared the anvil in two, and could neatly divide a number of fleeces floating down a stream.

Properly mounted and armed, Sigurd was guided by Regin to the Glittering Heath, the place where Fafnir guarded his gold. A one-eyed ferry-man (Odin) conveyed the youth across the river, advising him to dig a pit in the track the dragon had worn in his frequent trips to the river to drink. Hidden in this pit—the ferry-man explained—the youth could mortally wound the dragon while he crawled over his head.

This advice being too pertinent to be scorned, Sigurd faithfully carried out the plan and slew the dragon, whose fiery blood poured down upon him and made every part of his body invulnerable, save a tiny spot between his shoulders, where a lime-leaf stuck so closely that the dragon blood did not touch the skin.

While Sigurd was still contemplating the fallen monster, Regin joined him, and, fearing lest he might claim part of the gold, plotted to slay him. First, he bade Sigurd cut out the heart of the dragon and roast it for him, a task which the youth obediently performed, but in the course of which he stuck a burnt finger in his mouth to allay the smart. This taste of Fafnir's heart blood then and there conferred upon Sigurd the power to understand the language of some birds near by, which exclaimed that Regin was coming behind him to slay him with his own sword! Enraged at such ingratitude and treachery, Sigurd now slew Regin, and after piling up most of the treasure in a cave,—where it continued to be guarded by the dragon's corpse,—Sigurd rode away, taking with him his sword, the magic helmet, and the ring.

Still guided by the birds, Sigurd next rode up a mountain, crowned by a baleful light, which he presently discovered emanated from a fire forming a barrier of flame around a fortress. Setting spurs to his divine steed, Sigurd rode right through these flames, which then flickered and died down, and discovered in the centre of the fortress a mound, whereon lay an apparently lifeless warrior. Using his sword to cut the armor fastenings, Sigurd discovered, beneath this armor, the Valkyr or battle-maiden Brynhild, who, on recovering consciousness, hailed her return to life and light with rapture and warmly thanked her deliverer. Then the two, having fallen in love with each other at first sight, explained to each other who they were; and Sigurd, after relating his own origin and adventures, learned that Brynhild, a Valkyr, having defied Odin by saving a man he had doomed to death, had been condemned to mate with any mortal who claimed her hand. Dreading to become the prey of a coward, Brynhild implored Odin to surround her with a barrier of fire which none save a brave man could cross. Although a goddess, she admits she loves her rescuer, and gladly accepts the magic ring he tenders and promises to be his wife.

 
  Then he set the ring on her finger and once, if ne'er again,
  They kissed and clung together, and their hearts were full and fain.
 

The hero, however, doomed to press on in quest of further adventures, soon left Brynhild in the castle where he had found her, still protected by the barrier of flame, and rode off to Burgundy, the land of the Niblungs. Here reigned Guiki, whose fair daughter Gudrun once dreamt that a falcon, after hovering for some time over her house, nestled in her bosom, which she soon beheld dyed red by its life-blood. Disturbed by this ominous dream, Gudrun visited Brynhild and besought her interpretation, only to learn she would marry a king who would in time be slain by his foes.

Shortly after this occurrence, Sigurd reached the land of the Niblungs and challenged Gunnar, brother of Gudrun, to fight. But, rather than cross swords with the slayer of a dragon, Gunnar offered the stranger his hand in friendship and sent for his sister to give him the cup of welcome. While sojourning here with the Niblungs, Sigurd distinguished himself by athletic feats and, when war broke out, by conquering their foes. These proofs of strength and daring captivated the heart of Gudrun, who, seeing Sigurd paid no attention to her, finally prevailed upon her mother to give her a love potion, which she offered to him on his return from one of his adventures.

 
  "He laughed and took the cup: but therein with the blood of the earth
  Earth's hidden might was mingled, and deeds of the cold sea's birth,
  And things that the high gods turn from, and a tangle of strange love,
  Deep guile, and strong compelling, that whoso drank thereof
  Should remember not his longing, should cast his love away,
  Remembering dead desire but as night remembereth day."
 

No sooner has this potion been quaffed than our hero, utterly oblivious of earlier promises to Brynhild, sued for Gudrun's hand, and was promised she should be his bride if he helped Gunnar secure Brynhild.

In behalf of his future brother-in-law—whose form he assumed—Sigurd once more rode through the flames, and, although haunted by vague memories of the past, wrested from Brynhild the magic betrothal ring he had given her, and claimed her as bride. Compelled by fate to wed any man who rode through the flames to claim her, Brynhild reluctantly obeyed Sigurd—whom she did not recognize—and was duly married to Gunnar, king of the Niblungs. But, on perceiving Sigurd at his court, she vainly strove to make him remember her and his vows, and was filled with bitter resentment when she perceived his utter devotion to Gudrun, his present bride.

Meantime, although Gunnar had secured the wife he coveted, he was anything but a happy man, for Brynhild would not allow him to approach her. Sigurd, to whom he finally confided this unsatisfactory state of affairs, finally volunteered to exert his fabulous strength to reduce to obedience the rebellious bride, whom he turned over to his brother-in-law in a submissive mood, after depriving her of her girdle and ring, which he carried off as trophies and gave to Gudrun.