The Influence of Old Norse Literature on English Literature Part 7

The poem does not record the death of Siggeir's and Signy's son, though the saga does. Morris adds a touch when he makes the imprisoned men exult over the sword that Signy drops into their grave, and he also puts into the mouth of Siggeir in the burning hall words that the saga does not contain. The poem says that the women of the Gothfolk were permitted to retire from the burning hall, but the saga has no such statement. The war of foul words between Granmar and Sinfjotli is left in the saga, and the cause of Gudrod's death is changed from rivalry over a woman to anger over a division of war booty. In Sigmund's lament over his childlessness we have another of the poet's additions, and certainly we find no fault with the liberty:

The tree was stalwart, but its boughs are old and worn.

Where now are the children departed, that amidst my life were born?

I know not the men about me, and they know not of my ways: I am nought but a picture of battle, and a song for the people to praise.

I must strive with the deeds of my kingship, and yet when mine hour is come It shall meet me as glad as the goodman when he bringeth the last load home.

(P. 56.)

When the great hero dies, Morris puts into his mouth another of the magnificent speeches that are the glory of this poem. Four lines from it must suffice:

When the G.o.ds for one deed asked me I ever gave them twain; Spendthrift of glory I was, and great was my life-day's gain.

Our wisdom and valour have kissed, and thine eyes shall see the fruit, And the joy for his days that shall be hath pierced my heart to the root.

(P. 62.)

It appears from this study of Book I that _Sigurd the Volsung_ has adapted the saga story to our civilization and our art, holding to the best of the old and supplementing it by new that is ever in keeping with the old. Other instances of this eclectic habit may be seen in the other three books, but we shall quote from these for other purposes.

Book II is ent.i.tled "Regin." "Now this is the first book of the life and death of Sigurd the Volsung, and therein is told of the birth of him, and of his dealings with Regin the Master of Masters, and of his deeds in the waste places of the earth."

Morris was deeply read in Old Norse literature, and out of his stores of knowledge he brought vivifying details for this poem. Such, for instance, is the description of Sigurd's eyes, not found just here in the saga:

In the bed there lieth a man-child, and his eyes look straight on the sun.

Yet they shrank in their rejoicing before the eyes of the child.

In the naming of the child by an ancient name, the meaning of that name is indicated:

O _Sigurd_, Son of the Volsungs, O Victory yet to be!

The festivities over the birth of the child are wonderfully described in the brief lines, and they are a picture out of another book than the saga:

Earls think of marvellous stories, and along the golden strings Flit words of banded brethren and names of war-fain Kings.

Over and over again in this poem Morris records the Icelanders' desire "to leave a tale to tell," and here are Sigurd's words to Regin who has been egging him on to deeds:

Yet I know that the world is wide, and filled with deeds unwrought; And for e'en such work was I fashioned, lest the songcraft come to nought, When the harps of G.o.d-home tinkle, and the G.o.ds are at stretch to hearken: Lest the hosts of the G.o.ds be scanty when their day hath begun to darken.

(P. 82.)

In Book II we have other great speeches that the poet has put into the mouth of his characters with little or no justification in the original saga. Chap. XIV of the saga contains Regin's tale of his brothers, and of the gold called "Andvari's h.o.a.rd," and that tale is severely brief and plain. The account in the poem is expanded greatly, and the conception of Regin materially altered. In the saga he was not the discontented youngest son of his father, p.r.o.ne to talk of his woes and to lament his lot. In the poem he does this in so eloquent a fashion that almost we are persuaded to sympathize with him. Certainly his lines were hard, to have outlived his great deeds, and to hear his many inventions ascribed to the G.o.ds. The speech of the released Odin to Reidmar is modeled on Job's conception of omnipotence, and it is one of the memorable parts of this book. Gripir's prophecy, too, is a majestic work, and its original was three sentences in the saga and the poem _Grip.i.s.spa_ in the heroic songs of the _Edda_. Here Morris rises to the heights of Sigurd's greatness:

Sigurd, Sigurd! O great, O early born!

O hope of the Kings first fashioned! O blossom of the morn!

Short day and long remembrance, fair summer of the North!

One day shall the worn world wonder how first thou wentest forth!

(P. 111.)

Those who have read William Morris know that he is a master of nature description. The "Glittering Heath" offered a fine opportunity for this sort of work, and in this piece we have another departure from the saga, Morris made hundreds of pictures in this poem, but the pages describing the journey to the "Glittering Heath" are packed with them to an extraordinary degree. Here is Iceland in very fact, all dust and ashes to the eye:

More changeless than mid-ocean, as fruitless as its floor.

We confess that there is something in the scene that holds us, all shorn of beauty though it is. We do not want to go the length of Thomas Hardy, however, who, in that wonderful first chapter of _The Return of the Native_ has a similar heath to describe. "The new vale of Tempe," says he, "may be a gaunt waste in Thule: human souls may find themselves in closer and closer harmony with external things wearing a sombreness distasteful to our race when it was young.... The time seems near, if it has not actually arrived, when the mournful sublimity of a moor, a sea, or a mountain, will be all of nature that is absolutely consonant with the moods of the more thinking among mankind. And ultimately, to the commonest tourist, spots like Iceland may become what the vineyards and myrtlegardens of South Europe are to him now." Is it not a suggestive thought that England and the nineteenth century evolved a pessimism which poor Iceland on its ash-heap never could conceive? William Morris was an Icelander, not an Englishman, in his philosophy.

In this same scene, a notable deviation from the saga is the conversation between Regin and Sigurd concerning the relations that shall be between them after the slaying of Fafnir. Here Morris impresses the lesson of Regin's greed, taking the un-Icelandic device of preaching to serve his purpose:

Let it lead thee up to heaven, let it lead thee down to h.e.l.l, The deed shall be done tomorrow: thou shalt have that measureless Gold, And devour the garnered wisdom that blessed thy realm of old, That hath lain unspent and begrudged in the, very heart of hate: With the blood and the might of thy brother thine hunger shalt thou sate: And this deed shall be mine and thine; but take heed for what followeth then!

(P. 119.)

In still another place has Morris departed far from the saga story.

According to the poem, Sigurd meets each warning of Fafnir that the gold will be the curse of its possessor with the a.s.surance that he will cast the gold abroad, and let none of it cling to his fingers. The saga, however, has this very frank confession: "Home would I ride and lose all that wealth, if I deemed that by the losing thereof I should never die; but every brave and true man will fain have his hand on wealth till that last day." Here, again, we see an adaptation of the story of the poem to modern conceptions of n.o.bility. It remains to be said that the ernes move Sigurd to take the gold for the gladdening of the world, and they a.s.sure him that a son of the Volsung had nought to fear from the Curse.

The seven-times-repeated "Bind the red rings, O Sigurd," is an admirable poem, but it does not contain information concerning Brynhild, as do the strophes of _Reginsmal_ which are the model for this lay.

Let us look at the art of Morris as it is shown in telling "How Sigurd awoke Brynhild upon Hindfell." As in the saga, so in the English poem, this incident has a setting most favorable to the display of its remarkable beauties. It is a picture as pure and sweet as it has ever entered into the mind of man to conceive. The conception belongs to the poetic lore of many nations, and children are early introduced to the story of "Sleeping Beauty." There are some features of the Old Norse version that are especially charming, and first among them is the address of the awakened Brynhild to the sun and the earth. We are told that this maiden loved the radiant hero that here awoke her from her age-long sleep, but not for him is her first greeting. A finer thrill moves her than love for a man, and in Morris's poem, this feeling finds singularly beautiful expression:

All hail O Day and thy Sons, and thy kin of the coloured things!

Hail, following Night, and thy Daughter that leadeth thy wavering wings!

Look down with unangry eyes on us today alive, And give us the hearts victorious, and the gain for which we strive!

All hail, ye Lords of G.o.d-home, and ye Queens of the House of Gold!

Hail thou dear Earth that bearest, and thou Wealth of field and fold!

Give us, your n.o.ble children, the glory of wisdom and speech, And the hearts and the hands of healing, and the mouths and hands that teach!

(P. 140.)

In order to see just what the art of Morris has done for this poem, let us compare this address with the rendering of the _Sigrdrifumal_, which tell the same story and which Morris and Magnusson have incorporated into their translation of the _Volsunga Saga_. The verses are not in the original saga:

Hail to the day come back!

Hail, sons of the daylight!

Hail to thee, dark night, and thy daughter!

Look with kind eyes a-down, On us sitting here lonely, And give unto us the gain that we long for.

Hail to the aesir, And the sweet Asyniur!

Hail to the fair earth fulfilled of plenty!

Fair words, wise hearts, Would we win from you, And healing hands while life we hold.

To get the full benefit of the comparison of the old and the new, let us set in conjunction with these versions a severely literal translation of the _Edda_ strophes themselves:

Hail, O Day, Hail, O Sons of the Day, Hail Night and kinswoman!

With unwroth eyes look on us here and give to us sitting ones victory.

Hail, O G.o.ds, Hail, O G.o.ddesses, Hail, O bounteous Earth!

Speech and wisdom give to us, the excellent twain, and healing hands during life.