SOURCE: “The Essence” and “The Significance” in The Nibelungenlied Today: Its Substance, Essence, and Significance, The University of North Carolina Press, 1962, pp. 59-92.

[In the following excerpt, Mueller explains that the Nibelungenlied's main theme is man himself, particularly how he responds to a dilemma. Mueller also explores the poet's concerns and his relation to his work and contends that the poem, without promoting specific religious values, nevertheless affirms man's need for faith.]

“Die Kunst ist eine Vermittlerin des Unaussprechlichen; darum scheint es eine Torheit, sie wieder durch Worte vermitteln zu wollen. Doch indem wir uns darum bemühen, findet sich für den Verstand so mancher Gewinn, der dem ausübenden Vermögen auch wieder zugute kommt.” goethe

The Nibelungen story fails to represent a dominant idea that can be clearly grasped. As a work of art embracing the reflections of infinity rather than of material limitations, although its subject matter is stark reality, the song defies a verbal statement as to its special message, a schoolbook explanation of its intent that can be catalogued as factual truth, yet in reality prevents the reader from experiencing its full, spiritual validity. The story takes the reader from the court of Worms to Xanten, Isenstein, through Austria and Hungary, covering scores of years characterized by actions and events that cause the death of countless men, the boldest and the noblest under drastic circumstances, while whole tribes are virtually annihilated. Although distant historical events have given substance to the story, passed on as legends or as myths, it is not history we read about. In the absence of the idea of a nation or a country as a moral force and romantically extolled, the work can also not be labeled a national epic, as Virgil's Aeneid constituted for the Romans, and as which it is occasionally proclaimed by modern patriots. Regardless of their nationality or their Teutonic heritage, the people of the song appeal to us chiefly as they are human beings of flesh and blood, of greatness and of folly, psychologically convincing both in their strength and in their failings. Now tasting earthly pleasures and delights, now suffering the opposites, they find themselves involved in struggle and intrigues concerning dubious precepts like honor and prestige, in the pursuit of which they reach grandeur as well as infamy. The greatness of their will and tragic end, their struggle for assertion of their personalities and for self-preservation in a world of human conflicts arising from within and from without, arouse a definite response in us who are beset by similar complexities. Kindness, refinement, lofty thoughts, developing to dubious ideologies or crushed by violence and primitive brutality, have left a greater stain upon our age than witnessed by the Nibelungen. Although the tragic story of their greatness and their failure is narrated with epic objectivity and as the literary theme per se, causing the reader to reflect as he is moved by its inherent truth, the search for tangible ideas imbedded in the song has occupied the critics up to our time.

1

Stirred by the collective doom of friend and foe, of guilty and of innocent, the author of the “Klage” was the first to add elaborate comments to the Nibelungenlied soon after it was circulated.¹ Praising the faithfulness of Kriemhild, who revenged her murdered husband, the author cleanses her from any guilt of which the reader might accuse her, replying in particular to those who claim that she is suffering well deserved torments of hell. As Hagen is declared the villain who caused it all, “der vâlant der ez allez riet” (1250), Kriemhild is said to be in heaven, living in the love of God. The Klage author is convinced that God's eternal order is upheld and that justice prevails in the end, according to his personal concepts of right and wrong, of guilt and punishment, and in accordance to his knowledge of God's will. This moralistic attitude of judging and ascribing guilt and innocence, contrasting Siegfried as the man of light with Hagen as a character of darkness, the former good, the latter evil, has found its followers up to our time. While Josef Weinheber reflects: “Immer entsteht dem lichten / Siegfried ein Tronje im Nu …,” Wilhelm Dilthey speaks of the demonic quality of Hagen, symbolizing the powers of darkness that destroy the one who walks in the light.² Also Gustav Ehrismann considers guilt and punishment leading ideas of the epic; experienced by the heroes as their fate, both categories are particularly applicable to Brunhild and to Kriemhild, each of whom contracts a guilt for which she finds her proper punishment.³ As outcome of such thinking in terms of right and wrong, of black and white, and in accordance to the dubious quality of justice as proclaimed by man, Hagen is now condemned as a ruthless murderer by one, now extolled or considered expiated by another commentator; similarily, Kriemhild is declared guilty and a true vâlandinne or praised as revenger “immaculate.”⁴ Werner Fechter even sees in Hagen both, the envious intriguer who sows evil and finds pleasure in destroying and the very tool of God, assassinating Siegfried, the truly guilty one.⁵ As Siegfried's guilt or innocence is likewise subject to controversial appraisals, Katharina Bollinger finds him implicated not merely by a moral and objective guilt as Fechter states, but also by a Seins-Schuld”, a kind of existential guilt.⁶ Andreas Heusler, on the other hand, speaks of Siegfried's “Kindesunschuld,” a naive and childlike innocence whose victim he becomes,⁷ while Dietrich von Kralik considers him the innocent victim of Brunhild, who is the really guilty person of the song.⁸ These contradictory interpretations of moral guilt in modern days present interesting parallels to man's confusion and dilemma not unlike those which are reflected in the work itself. In the absence of moral absolutes, however, and in consideration of man's ambiguous views on glory, honesty, or honor, on right and wrong, subject to personal evaluation at any age, this moralistic attitude of judging the heroes of our song fails to exert persuasive force and to do justice to the total implications of the work.

Some of the very critics who think in terms of light and dark, of glorious and inglorious deeds, of strong and weak, seem also influenced by patriotic or national concern, seeing in the song an idealization of their German ancestors. For some of them the faithfulness of Kriemhild, a Germanic heroine of exemplary traits, is the essential theme; others dwell upon the heroic attitude that is extolled in the song as its primary merit. The bold acceptance of a higher fate, now with defiance, now with enthusiasm; the unflinching resistance to unconquerable circumstances as man's greatest achievement; the blind obedience to the commands of loyalty and leadership; the readiness to die heroically in the pursuit and in the name of honor—all these are stressed as the leading ideas of the Germanic epic, which were particularly suited to endorse nationalistic ideologies in vogue when these interpretations were popular. These commentators do not write about the great futility of which the story tells; they praise the spirit of the men who rise above their fate by either bravely killing others or by dying in heroic battle without tears, and they presume man's greatness has been proved, his victory affirmed, a catharsis achieved.

Another group of modern interpreters is guided by psychological theories, enabling them to crystalize a variety of themes that seem embedded in the story. Thus Arnold H. Price declares the modern idea that man carries the seed of his destruction as psychological necessity within himself, the possible theme of the epic.⁹ Without assuming that the poet himself was aware of such a theory, Price describes the brilliant insight of the author in respect to his characterizations. Thus the poet deliberately stresses Kriemhild's “violent streak” early in our epic when she voices her intent to stay beautiful and happy and never to suffer man's love. Kriemhild's very horror of marriage significantly exerts a special attraction to Siegfried, indicating a negative tendency in his nature, too. Eventually both are married and very much in love with each other, which “the author does not consider inconsistent with Kriemhild's previous dislike of marriage,” as Price states.¹⁰ But due to the devious depth of Kriemhild's personality she subconsciously maneuvers her husband into an impossible situation when she announces that Brunhild has been his mistress; as further indication of the true violence and fierceness inherent in her character, Kriemhild makes Siegfried's death possible by revealing his vulnerable spot to his enemy. As Price concludes: “The author's attempt to provide the major figures of the epic with an entirely new characterization not only supplies a coherent and realistic motivation, but also the theme for the epic, i.e. that man carries the seed of his destruction in his character.”¹¹ Acceptance of the logic and the power of such psychic drives in man as a dominating force, taking the place of moral principles, as Price seems to imply, would reduce man to the world of instincts, appetites and hidden urges, precluding moral choice; this world is further complicated by man's ability to rationalize and to idealize his destructive drives to which he submits. Not unlike the vague idea of fate, this view fails to give due credit to man's spiritual potentialities, to his moral strength, to his sense of truth, and to his free will. As the creative process of man's artistic inspiration and expression has escaped scientific explanation, also man's spiritual experiences of God and of infinity as well as of himself as free-willed participant in the great stream of life, the basis for his moral consciousness, reflect far greater forces than psychological approaches can identify.

An outgrowth of this modern probing and explaining of human behavior are the speculative theories imposed upon the song that try to state some natural laws involved, upheld or violated, which are declared the causes for its tragic course. Thus Werner Fechter advances the thought that the Nibelungenlied describes the guilt of Siegfried who stepped out of his order when he, the “Sonnenheros mit dem strahlenden Blick,” failed to take Brunhild for his wife, “die ihm Bestimmte, Gleichartige.”¹² Failing to fulfill his superhuman possibilities, Siegfried was faithless to himself, that means to his own character, by marrying “ein blosses Menschenweib,” while he helped Gunther to wed with impudence a superhuman being to whom he had no claim. These violations are Siegfried's guilt; everything else develops in consequence of it, as Fechter concludes, and Siegfried's murder as well as the outcome of the struggle confirm the existence of a higher justice.¹³ Also Bert Nagel considers Siegfried and Brunhild predestined to be mates and sees in their failure to find the way to each other the cause for the ensuing catastropne that makes the tragedy complete.¹⁴ The guilt, however, is less Siegfried's than Gunther's, with whose wooing the tragic complexities begin. The contradictions of Siegfried's and Brunhild's relationship constitute the important psychological background of the story, maintaining a constant condition of tension which is increased by the paradoxical state of life as found in the personality of Siegfried, “des starken Schwachen,” strong in his heroic qualities, yet weak in his desire for Kriemhild's love.¹⁵ Nagel calls the song a tragedy of guilt, ending with catharsis as symbolized by tears rather than by expressions of despair.¹⁶

Next to this motive of Brunhild's love and jealousy of Siegfried, which mostly seems inferred by the critics from the existing or re-constructed, literary sources of the Nibelungenlied, but which appear neglected, if not entirely unused by the poet himself, the theme of power likewise has found a number of new supporters recently. Thus Siegfried Beyschlag analyzes the idea of a realistic struggle for power as the essential topic of the song;¹⁷ since political realities are the foremost concern of the ruling kings, rating higher than personal relationships and loyalties, Siegfried's assassination is necessary due to the threat to the security of the court of Worms which he poses.¹⁸ As even Ruediger is guided by political necessities (!), Gunther and his brothers, too, must decide in favor of the regal power against their kin and friends. Also Kriemhild's revenge is conceived not merely as a retribution for the murder of her husband, but for the restoration of the power which Siegfried represented for her. As political considerations are the dominating forces effective in the story, as Beyschlag maintains, its tragedy is really Siegfried's murder since it constitutes a gross political blunder, whose consequences are pitilessly described.¹⁹ Also W. J. Schroeder sees in the struggle of the Nibelungen chiefly a fight for power that finds its logical conclusion in the murderous battle at the end.²⁰ Declaring the possession of the treasure a symbol of power, which the Nibelungen had to take, as also Friedrich Neuman does, Schroeder characterizes Kriemhild's actions in the second part of the story as chiefly directed to regain the treasure.²¹ There is no antithesis of good and evil in the song, but merely of strength and weakness in the sense of Nietzsche.²² The law of nature that the best, i.e. the strongest, must be the first also prevails in human society. Worldly power not supported by strength must decline.²³ Kriemhild and Gunther do not act from strength, but from fear of lacking power; thus they fight for mere survival and no longer strive to enlarge their power. Weakness, however, is guilt, and death is the price for weakness, for the hybrid claim of power, and for arrogance.²⁴ Hagen realizes his master's weakness and tries to keep an outside appeareance of Gunter's strength alive. The Nibelungen are driven by natural necessities as compelling as Homer's αναγκη; man's acceptance of nature's will as his fate constitutes his wisdom and heroic greatness.²⁵

Dated or absurd as some of these interpretations may seem today, they constitute a serious effort to verbalize the implications, the message, and the idea of this great work of art that exerts such stirring impact upon the reader. Although the moralistic, the patriotic, the psychological, and the philosophic-speculative approaches may illuminate some special aspects of the epic, they fail to realize its complex totality or to reflect its wider scope. Some analytical investigations of the text, however, stand out for sober observations which seem beyond dispute. After his life-long occupation with the Nibelungenlied, Friedrich Panzer comes to the conclusion that its deepest concern have never been events of our material world, but “die geistigen-sittlichen Vorgänge im Innenleben des Menschen” and his “Bewährung in den Konflikten”, man's spiritual and moral sense and his behavior in adversities, a statement which we like.²⁶ Friedrich Neumann sees in the story of the Nibelungen a conglomerate of literary sources as it is “echtes Schicksal in eine … schwer deutbare Handlung des Leides hinüberentwickelt;”²⁷ what once was accepted as genuine fate has changed for the poet of “Der Nibelunge Not” to experiences of suffering and sorrow which he, not in affinity with the Germanic concept of blind fate, found difficult to assimilate. “Leid” as the primary theme of the work is also stressed by Friedrich Maurer, who defines it as the very opposite of honor, namely as the consciousness of insults and dishonor suffered, as “Beleidigung” rather than grief, as which Neumann sees it.²⁸ For Maurer leid and honor are the motivating forces in Kriemhild, Hagen, Ruediger, and Hildebrand. Kriemhild's revenge is not inspired by her faithfulness, but signifies her quest for restoration of her injured honor; Hagen is driven by concern about the honor of his masters, of Brunhild, of the Burgundian realm, and of himself. The treasure thus becomes the symbol of honor rather than of power; who has the treasure also has the honor. Although Maurer considers “das furchtbare Leid, … das schicksalshaft über den Menschen in der Welt kommt,” the essential subject of the song, it does not signify to him its deepest meaning, which, as he likewise realizes, has not been clearly formulated by the artist.²⁹ The silence of the poet as to his intent can be interpreted in several ways, as Maurer believes: it can imply a silent condemnation of man's way who, without reference to God, yields to his human passions and to the ideas of honor and revenge; it also might suggest the poet's “stumme Frage nach dem Sinn solchen Geschehens,” the question of the meaning of the tragic events which he could not truly comprehend, as Neumann suggests, or to which he did not know the answer, as Maurer states.³⁰

2

What constitutes the essence of this elusive work that has no definite idea advanced to which its various critics could agree? What is its central topic with which the poet seems chiefly concerned? The song is not the story of Siegfried and of Brunhild, of Kriemhild and of Hagen, of Ruediger or Giselher, of Ihring, Wolfhart, Gunther, or Dietrich and of Etzel. They all take merely a part in it, they move and act, they are involved in a very complex interrelationship as they are poised partly against each other and partly with each other; all are eventually the victims of events which they themselves collectively were active to beget. Thousands of brave men additionally, good vassals all, share in the fortunes and misfortunes of the leading principals, while thousands more, bereft of husbands, kin and friends, stand mute around the scene, silent and unidentified. Greater than the sum of singular events, of tales of individuals, of groups, or relatives and foes, the epic of the Nibelungen relates man's greatest, universal theme, the story of himself; as it specifically depicts, the Nibelungen's “Not,” it stresses man in his dilemma, without the comfort of his pondering the precarious state in which he finds himself, soliciting our sympathy and leading us to contemplation in regard to ourselves.

At the very beginning of the song a tragic chord is struck, alluring, ominous, of sad grandeur as it develops further on. Yet in dramatic contrast to its notes, foreboding woe and sadness, melodious happy chords abound, enthralling by their beauty. These lusty melodies reflect man's joy of life, as we have seen, his sensitivities and his refinement, his lofty spirit and his honorable bearing; the tragic chords remind us of man's basic vanity and weakness, of his dangerous potentialities that make him stumble in the end, destroying prematurely his happiness, his very joys, his earthly life. Without a special message, the epic gains its greatest actuality from its valid reflection of man's realities as the poet experienced them and passed them on to us in the symbolic story of the Nibelungen, symbolic for the ways of man, both for his strength and for his failures. Two obstacles that man encounters in his life determine his dilemma, his futility, and his tragic end: the one is the duality within himself, a part of his existence; the other is the paradox that he encounters chiefly as experience from without. With both he has to cope, yet both defy his reason and his command, preventing him from finding or maintaining completion, lasting harmony, and final peace. In everything he wills, he values, and pursues, there are the possibilities of either harming or advancing him, with parallel effects, sometimes reversed, upon his fellowmen. There is potential good and evil inherent in his values, in his convictions and emotions which he upholds with various strength at different times. Not any of these forces are ever fully realized or are pursued with single-mindedness, but each concept is colored by some other one and fused to a conglomerate of contradictory ingredients; each might now dominate, now yield, now be abandoned, now again prevail.

Even the Nibelungen's very joy of life, a basic and essential trait for a happy existence, embraces the potentials of happiness and failure. Characterized by noble, generous behavior, by loftiness of aims and fearlessness, it sometimes ends in disregard of ethics. It is the hohe muot, the joyous, spirited acceptance of life, so characteristic of the heroes of our story, which leads to carefreeness, to arrogance and recklessness, even to violence. The “hohe muot” (680) of Siegfried entices him to boisterous deeds such as the stripping of the ring from Brunhild's finger and as the taking of her belt as souvenir and an eventual gift to his own bride, actions that some consider a part of Siegfried's guilt, which means his doom. Kriemhild clearly realizes the danger for her spouse to be carried away by his “‘übermuot’” (896, 3), which she describes to Hagen, this “charming carefreeness,” as K. Bollinger calls it,³¹ which is so typical of Siegfried's disposition and of which he is the victim. Yet this high, excessive spirit can also collapse with equal speed as it arises. Setting out to Worms with unquestioned assurance of winning Kriemhild for his wife, exhibiting to Gunther and his men nothing but “‘starkez ubermüeten’” (117, 4), as Ortwin correctly states, he succumbs to doubt and diffidence when he eventually meets the maiden of his choice. He is ready even to give up his heart's desire, to admit defeat, and to return to Xanten before Giselher persuades him to stay on. The decision to journey to Isenstein is another example of a high-spirited, courageous disposition that inspires the four men who partake in it. But soon this hohe muot leads to deception, which is morally not objectionable on the level of the fairy tale to which this episode belongs, but to which the keen participants agree in their “übermüete” (387, 2); in the spirit of great self-assurance they are unconcerned about the danger of the fraud to which they agree and are completely unaware of the tragic complications which it is to have for them. A similarly reckless disposition characterizes the Burgundians at their arrival at Etzel's court when none of them deigns it advisable to inform the guileless king of Kriemhild's threatening designs:

Swie grimme und wie starke                    si in vîent wære,
het iemen gesaget Etzeln                    diu rehten mære,
er het' wol understanden                    daz doch sît dâ geschach.
durch ir vil starken übermuot                    ir deheiner ims verjach.

(1865)

The following disaster might well have been stalled by Etzel if arrogance and pride would not have prevented the Nibelungen from speaking to the king, as the poet states. But Hagen's short and untrue answer: “‘uns hât niemen niht getân’” (1863, 1), with which he brushes Etzel's worried question aside, sets the tone for all the Nibelungen. Since Kriemhild is present when Hagen lies to Etzel, stating that the Burgundians were accustomed to go around in arms during the first three days of any festivities, which the queen knows not to be true, this statement underscores his reckless spirit as it indicates his obvious unconcern about her hostile disposition, but at the same time conveys to her that the Nibelungen are ready to fight.

Perhaps this tendency of man to be carried from a wholesome disposition of joy and self-assurance to the extremes of pride and recklessness, of arrogance and violence, can be described as lack of self-restraint, i.e. a lack of mâze and self-discipline. The question then would be how far this lack is due to ignorance, to education, to unwillingness, or due to emotions, to folly, to beliefs, or even to ideals of strength and other precepts of behavior which man proclaims as values. The fact remains that man is just one step away from turning what seems sound and great to a provocative, ignoble thing, as the Nibelungen well exemplify. Volker stains the record of his courageous fighting spirit by deliberately killing his opponent in a tournament; in his eagerness to fight he also advocates disobedience to one's leader as he lures Wolfhart into battle against the strict orders of the latter's master:

Dô sprach der videlære:                    “der vorhte ist gar ze vil,
swaz man im verbiutet,                    derz allez lâzen wil.
daz kan ich niht geheizen                    rehten heldes muot”.

(2268, 1-3)

Hagen approves of Volker's bold suggestion not to obey one's master in everything: “diu rede dûhte Hagenen von sînem hergesellen guot” (2268, 4). Wolfhart is ready to attack, heeding Volker's challenge, but he is held back by Hildebrand, who correctly calls his nephew's rashness a mad and foolish anger: “‘ich wæne du woldeste wüeten durch dînen tumben zorn’” (2271, 3). Upon Volker's further taunts, however, the hot-headed, youthful Wolfhart leaps against the videlære, tearing the older Hildebrand and all the Amelungians into the wanton fight that was useless and unpremeditated and brought death to all, Hagen, Gunther and Hildebrand being the sole survivors.

The coexistence of kindness and brutality, of gentleness and violence in man is a further aspect of his duality. Even the kindest and most generous of all, the marcgrave Ruediger, can strike a fellowman to death merely because he casts suspicion on the other's integrity. Ruediger's deed is done in anger, aggravated by his inner disquietude, yet it is not followed by regret as if kindness had never touched his heart. Reversely, a most brutal man like Hagen can be filled with sudden kindness and extend his sympathy and lasting friendship to a man like Ruediger who comes to fight with him. None of the heroes of the song fails to reveal inherent kindness at some time and violence, if not outright brutality, at another time. Volker, whose gentler traits are echoed by his music, by his refined behavior at Bechelaren, and by his warmth of friendship with Hagen, does not only substitute his fiddler's bow, with which he lulls his wearied comrades to their last sleep, by a sword of violent intent and force, used in a noble fight; he also kills quite brutally an unnamed marcgrave who tries to aid a wounded comrade, still living on the pile of seven thousand dead, during a lull in the battle. Incidentally, it is at the advice of Giselher, a hero “getriuwe unde guot” (1099, 4) and “sô rehte tugentlîch gemuot” (2161, 4) that these dead and wounded are tossed from the landing of the stairs into the court before the hall.

As the poet narrates how his heroes now pray to God or ask for His advice, now fall victim to the devil's promptings, he reminds us drastically of another, perhaps most fundamental conflict in man's nature. It is the contrast of his knowledge and awareness of God, of man's possibility of pleasing Him and finding peace in his direction toward Him, and of his vain, if not devilish pursuits in life which are in disregard of God. The sorry end of Ruediger, a man bemoaned by all, appears of special sad significance not just because he is so generous and kind, the father of all virtues, but because he is a man, torn and impelled by inner contrasts, victim of his duality. Troubled by both, the inner voice of God and outside appeals in conflict with his conscience, he choses to heed the call of man and to fulfill what one expects of him. Thus he sacrifices a state of harmony with God, trying to preserve his state of worldly honor in the eyes of men.

The tragedy of Kriemhild likewise is her complete surrender of peace and grace in God while yielding to the forces of human passions and desires that lead to her devilish revenge. At the beginning of the song Kriemhild is pictured as a truly gentle woman, restrained, refined, modest in all her “magtlîchen zühten” (615, 1). Her beautiful renown, the beauty of her bearing, of her composure and appearance are corresponding to the beauty of her soul, a soul that knows itself in harmony with God.³² The happy years as Siegfried's wife have altered her but little; they have added more self-assurance to her personality, some worldliness and vanity. The sudden death of Siegfried brings forth passionate grief as well as furious thoughts in her, intensified perhaps by the awareness that she herself has been a factor in the betrayal of her husband, though unsuspecting and unknowing. After four days of frantic grief she enters an existence of seclusion in complete retreat from the realities of life; she takes her lonely residence next to the church where she can pray to God to have mercy on Siegfried's soul, whose grave she visits daily; “si alle zît dar gie” (1103, 2). She has abandoned the common joys of life, even the vanities of special dress, as she has lost all interest in further happiness on earth. But her life of mourning, praying, and remembering in seclusion does not prevail for many years; eventually the world intrudes both form without and from within. She is urged and persuaded to agree to a reconciliation with her brother, the ruling king and secret partner in her husband's murder. Then she is forced to a decision in regard to her wealth, once Siegfried's gold, of which she has been totally oblivious ever since his death more than three years ago. The treasure is taken from the custody of Alberich and brought to Worms, where Kriemhild now begins to use it freely, making new friends by means of it. Hagen, however, soon insists that it is taken away from her in hostile violation of her rights, which not only renews old wounds but also adds to her awareness of the dishonor and the wrongs that she has suffered for so long without any defense. After a further period of sadness and of passive mourning, extending over many years, a second marriage is proposed to her which she is urged by friends and kin to accept although it is entirely against the inclinations of her heart. The promise of new happiness has no appeal to her. Had she not known that love must end in grief and happiness in sorrow? Did she not taste the greatest happiness that can be found as long as she was Siegfried's wife? Now the grief is hers which once she had foreseen would follow married happiness. Also the possibilities of new prestige and wealth have lost their lure for her. The consciousness, however, of being the victim of brutal violence and fraud, of hateful and dishonoring actions, and the latent wish to right and revenge the wrongs which she and Siegfried had to suffer from Hagen's hand especially, have never been entirely extinguished in her troubled mind since that very moment when she first called to God in her despair, asking that He might assist her friends in punishing the murderers of her husband. Thus she agrees to a new marriage merely as it renews the latent hope for possible revenge, a thought that gradually increases to such compelling urge that her entire personality seems totally reversed as it is saturated by that single wish; the mourning, passive widow leaves her solitude of praying to grow into a scheming woman, dishonest, heartless, cruel, eventually a vâlandinne. This latter term suggests no longer a human, God-inspired person, but a fiendish subject of the devil, devoid of love and pity, a creature without a soul, a mockery of God. No greater contrast in one person seems imaginable, dramatically revealing his dual nature and conflicting potentialities, than Kriemhild represents. First the gentle maiden, modest, refined, withdrawn, watching Siegfried from a distance and keeping her love virtuously in her heart; eventually a blushing, tender bride and a devoted wife; later a lonely widow, a recluse in her residence, going to church devoutly to pray for Siegfried's soul, scorning all joys of life. Then Kriemhild, the revenger, kneeling before one of her vassals or pleading for assistance in spite of stern rebukes from those who are obliged to serve her; offering vessels filled with gold to buy and bribe her men for treachery, for murder and for arson; and finally wielding a sword against her hated enemy, defenseless yet relentless as he is, beheading him with her own hands. Kriemhild, the leading person of the song, emerges as the greatest example of man's conflicting potentialities, of either seeking and preserving a state of peace in God, of which man can experience an acute awareness as part of his existence at moments of grace and quiet surrender; or of upholding concepts of vain and dubious substance without contact with God, in the pursuit of which he yields to his anxieties and easily neglects his soul. While Ruediger is briefly conscious of his contrary directions and his predicament in consequence of man's duality, at least for one enlightened moment, Kriemhild fails to realize the tragic contrasts of her being as she slowly descends to be the tool of crude emotions and ambitions that prompt her vile designs, the victim of her dual nature.

Even to Kriemhild's great opponent, wanton and ruthless Hagen, a final state of harmony with God has been attributed. Bodo Mergell, as we have seen, declares him acting in regard to Ruediger in God's behalf, thus rising from the level of trachery and guilt to fulfillment “im Angesicht Gottes,” in a pronounced contrast to Kriemhild's path that ends in darkness and despair.³³ Although this interpretation of Hagen's kindness toward Ruediger goes too far when it suggests redemption in the eyes of God, the sudden rise of true humanity even in a man like him can serve as a further example of man's contrasting inclinations in terms of his direction, toward his spiritual potentialities or toward the appeals of his earthly existence, worsened by atavistic instincts. In Hagen's case, however, the latter influences clearly predominate, exemplified particularly by his un-Christian, unforgiving, and provoking actions toward Kriemhild, for whose sufferings he showed not only complete dicsoncern, but true delight up to the last. Where man seems determined in his actions by one of his divers potentials, he does not necessarily accomplish the extremes. When Ruediger turns deaf to the appeal of God, he does not change into a devilish person; or when Hagen shows kindness instead of grim intent, he still does not attain the status of a pious man. Only the central figure of the song, Kriemhild, embraces the extremes most drastically, winning our affection as child of God, gaining our sympathy in her distress and conflict of emotions, arousing pity and compassion as she descends, distorted in her fall, bereft of any soul, as she appears.

One might add to the list of man's conflicting possibilities his potentials of love and hate as were described above, or of reason and emotion as they appear in conflict with each other. There are also contrasting wishes and beliefs, upheld with various strength at different times, and there are ideologies and values which now appear important, now of no consequence, now even fully contradictory. By whatever terms man's double and unsteady nature is characterized, the Nibelungen dramatically exemplify how man is harboring the opposites within his dual nature, how he is oscillating between his potentialities, how he is likely to succumb, to stumble, and even to destroy himself.

3

Though mostly unaware of their duality, the Nibelungen experience the paradox as a reality which they clearly perceive, accepting it as part of their existence, dumbfounded, yet without reflection or demur. When man in his contrasting drives has concentrated his intent upon a certain aim which he pursues, he frequently accomplishes the very opposite of what he planned. Kriemhild merely hastens Siegfried's death while she is anxious to protect him, giving away the secret of his vulnerable spot and even marking it for the betrayer whose help she anxiously solicits. Ruediger's oath to Kriemhild, rendered without suspicion of any future complications, obliges him eventually to partake in an ignoble deed that is in conflict with his conscience and utterly contrary to the spirit with which the oath was offered. His welcome guests and friends whom Ruediger accompanies as loyal guide to days of joy as he believes, he really leads into a trap to grief and death; he even is compelled to help in their destruction. While Giselher avoids an open clash with Ruediger, whose enemy he paradoxically has become, Gernot accepts the grim reality and slays the marcgrave without further hesitation, using the very sword that Ruediger had given him as a token of good will. The sword that Gernot lifts for honor's sake against the man who merely fights to save his honor; the sword that once belonged to Ruediger's own son; the gift of which the widow of the giver had heartily approved while he was still alive; and most dramatically, the gift that kills the giver—all these round up the paradoxes that mark the final moments of troubled Ruediger. Staying away from the hostilities that turned the planned festivities of Etzel into an ugly farce, he might have pondered his own eagerness with which he once persuaded Kriemhild to accept his master's hand; what he had hoped would bring new happiness to both, also enhancing Etzel's glory, has turned to grief and shame, disgracing the reputation of his noble king.

Also Hagen's endeavors to perpetuate the power and the honor of his masters beget the very opposite of what he intends, involving his king in great dishonesty that causes Gunther's death and the annihilation of his brothers and his loyal subjects. The treasure of Siegfried, too, brought to Worms upon Hagen's initiative, is of no advantage to the Burgundians but merely detrimental. When Kriemhild gains new friends by means of this gold, it is sunk into the Rhine where nobody benefits from it. This stealing of the treasure, however, arouses new resentment in Kriemhild and strengthens her hate and her desire for eventual revenge, whose victims all the Nibelungen eventually become. But Kriemhild, too, accomplishes merely the opposite of what she desperately wants; she neither stills her grief, nor does she restore her honor or prestige by her disgraceful plots, but she only increases her dishonor, her humiliation, and her frustration on earth which are at their highest when she finally kills Hagen who still can sneer at her. Unable even to enjoy the briefest momentary satisfaction, her grief and hate slightly relieved by her impetuous act of killing the cause of all her turmoil, she herself becomes the screaming victim of Hildebrand's violent blows with which he slays her instantly. The fact that Kriemhild is killed by one of her own subjects while her husband king stands idly by, presents perhaps another paradox, unless one is inclined to judge Hildebrand's spontaneous deed an act of mercy rather than of angry retribution, of which he himself, however, is scarcely aware.

While most of these reversals defy man's purpose from without, resulting from realities beyond the individual's perception or control, man also must experience the paradox within himself. Thus Kriemhild's final hate engulfs her favorite brother for whom she longs and whom she loves, making her pitiless to his requests for mercy and causing his death. Also Gunther betrays his sister against his emotional inclinations and brotherly affections when he allows the stealing of the gold; “‘si ist diu swester mîn’” (1131, 3), he weakly argues before he agrees to Hagen's plan. Etzel, too, must have encountered a painful change of heart when he condoned the slaying of his wife whose wishes and desires he called his greatest joy only shortly ago. Hagen's faithfulness to Brunhild and to his masters' court makes him faithless to Kriemhild and to Siegfried regardless of his previous feelings toward them and in spite of the fact that the one is his master's sister, the other his master's best and most faithful friend. Gernot feels compelled to challenge Ruediger, seeing him slay so many of the Nibelungen: “‘daz müet mich âne mâze: ich’n kans niht an gesehen mêr’” (2216, 4), killing his friend and former host as he is killed in turn by him.

The poem underscores the paradox which man encounters in his will and actions as it dramatically describes the vicissitudes that grace or cloud his daily life. These are the alternating happy chords accompanying his realities, as Volker's gentle melodies insert an element of beauty and of peace into the grimness of the hour; his weary comrades put their premonitions aside and go to sleep although danger is imminent. The luxury with which the visitors are housed, their beds covered with foreign silk and fur as rarely have been offered to kings before, is contradictory to both the melancholy mood that haunts the weary guests, and the hostess' devious designs to have them murdered in their sleep. Siegfried rides through the woods in his most carefree mood, the lustiest of the hunters, a radiant child of nature and a very prince of men, shortly before he is mortally pierced, the greatest quarry of the hunt. The peaceful place where he is slain, the forest with its mysteries, the spring that gives cool water, the grass, the tender flowers now stained by his warm blood, all these present a gripping contrast to the act of murder, a foul, ignoble deed pursued with ruthlessness. The imminence and power of the paradox, shaping the Nibelungen's realities and defying their intent, are thus persuasively intensified as feast and hôchgezît are carefully described as background to the struggles that ensue, and as man's hopes and pleasures are vividly narrated before disaster strikes.

Oblivious or aware of those threatening reversals that foil their will, the Nibelungen accept the resulting reality as part of their existence that cannot be disputed or averted. There are almost no accusations or complaints against a higher power, nor are there any elevating thoughts expressed, praising divine authority when man has been frustrated or dies forlorn. While to the modern reader the adversities encountered present inducement to religious speculations in regard to providence or justice, the Nibelungen fail to engage in such reflections of their realities. Dietrich and Ruediger alone appear spiritually disturbed as they briefly ponder their conflicting situations. They feel forsaken by God rather than victims of reality as they experience their dilemmas; they sadly realize their paradoxical position that they engage in doing what is against their moral conscience, fighting against their friends, upholding worldly concepts that are in contrast to the promptings of their Christian souls. Dietrich enters the fight against the last surviving Nibelungen, with whom he sympathizes, in conflict with his inclinations and his spiritual convictions, adhering to the manners that are expected from a warrior of his reputation, not unlike Ruediger who threw himself into the final battle against his very friends, both of them vaguely haunted by a sense of moral despair.

4

Endowed with the potentials of opposites, foiled in their efforts by the paradox, the Nibelungen fail to achieve a victory that is commensurate with their struggle and their will. Now in compliance with their moral values and traditions, vague and conflicting as they often are, now following expediency or simply driven by emotions, they rarely satisfy more than one momentary urge by their spontaneous decisions in their reactions to reality. Neglecting their spiritual potentialities, they also fail to reach a state of inner peace and harmony that could endure or carry them above adversities. Their aims and values are ambiguous, confused, and contradictory as they initiate aggressive actions or engage in violent hostilities; their course becomes erratic and their intent subject to frequent change as they experience the paradox which distorts their will. Eventually they die as victims of their earthly values and realities not less than of themselves, suffering total defeat.

Being without a reconciliatory turn, the story ends in sadness and in failure as its last major characters are slain. Thousands have lost their lives before, dying in consequence of various aspects of their ethics, their emotions, and their will. Fighters of great renown, Gunther and Hagen do not lose their lives in wild and lusty battle, but are infamously beheaded as prisoners; they are not victims merely of Kriemhild's hatred and frustration, but also of their own convictions, errors, and anxieties; beginning with the murder of Siegfried, for which they were unwilling to make amends or show regret, they pursue a course of action detrimental to themselves. Having initiated the inglorious death of Gunther, first by involving him in Siegfried's death, then by referring to the oath of silence as long as his last king was still alive, Hagen dies as an utter failure. When all his kings are dead and nothing is left for which he still might fight, he dies with unforgiving hatred of his greatest enemy, clinging in proud defiance to the spectre of heroic poise while unconvincingly evoking God:

“Nu ist von Burgonden                    der edel künec tôt,
Gîselher der junge,                    und ouch her Gêrnôt.
den schaz den weiz nu niemen                    wan got unde mîn:
der sol dich, vâlandinne,                    immer wol verholn sîn”.

(2371)

Kriemhild's leid unstilled and her revenge short of its goal unless atonement for the death of Siegfried was her chief aim and moral purpose, she herself is slain partly in consequence of honor which she has violated by her last, desperate deed, partly in revenge of Hagen, who was “‘der aller beste degen, / der ie kom ze sturme oder ie schilt getruoc’” (2374, 2-3), as Etzel says of him. Bemoaning the fact that such a hero had to die from the hand of a woman, and regardless of the mockery, contempt and violence which he suffered from him, the king allows his own wife to be miserably slain by the impetuous old Hildebrand. As all the active members of the strife lie dead, the house of the Burgundians virtually destroyed, no victory gained by anyone, Dietrich and Etzel weep in mourning for the thousands who have died. Countless others far and near join in their tears as sadness spreads. Thus ends the song, the final chapter of the Nibelungen, without offering consoling thoughts, without affirming justice, mercy, grace, a gripping story of man's ways.

As joy has given way to sorrow and only tears remain, as all in which man gloried has found a gloomy end, the reader is aware of man's forlorn and tragic state. The Nibelungen, however, do not consider themselves partakers in a tragedy. Stunned by Siegfried's death as Kriemhild is, steeped in moral conflict or God-forsaken, as Ruediger and Dietrich briefly feel, the Nibelungen experience only a temporary consciousness of tragic circumstances that mark their lives; they neither reflect upon the nature or significance of these, nor do they share a tragic view of life as such. Thus in the absence of pronounced spiritual doubt, of moral qualms, or of a lingering sense of failure, they do not gain the stature of tragic characters, regardless of the greatness of their struggle and of their final fall.

.....

“Das Tragische ist nicht Transzendenz, nicht im Grunde des Seins, sondern in der Erscheinung der Zeit.” karl jaspers

Does the Nibelungen epic suggest the hopelessness of man's existence and of his strife? Is it a eulogy glorifying man's greatness in defying his realities, his “fate,” in living dangerously, with spirit and with courage? Does it present a nihilistic point of view, believing that man's joys and pleasures, his aims and his ideals are mere illusions without worth? The very silence of the poet as well as his creative effort, poetically recording the Nibelungen's “Not,” suggest a twofold answer to the significance of his elusive epic. In order to substantiate a final statement, consideration must be given to the poet in connection with his work, both as an artist and as a man.

1

A work of art as a bare minimum can be the medium of the artist by which he voices an experience, a bit of wisdom, or a truth he found. If he succeeds in expressing his intelligence in a neatly condensed and balanced form, his work will affect others according to the weight, the freshness and validity of his experiences as well as to the beauty it contains. Eventually the artist and his work are linked, a profile of the author is established, his message and intent are analyzed, interpreted, and classified. A work of art as complex in its scope as the Nibelungenlied, however, ceases to be the mouthpiece of its maker, by which he voices individual emotions or experiences as such. No longer is his work the medium of the artist alone, but he himself has now become the subject of impelling forces that reveal unrealized experiences to him, perhaps a pre-existent knowledge of which he only now, and sometimes very fleeting, grows aware. Engrossed in shaping his material, the artist might encounter flashes of sudden insight, suggesting that his hand is guided by an outside intelligence which is greater than he; no longer is his work the total sum of various strands of thoughts, no longer a mere blend of individual emotions. Instead of a personal statement rendered with clarity of purpose and individual force, his work in its complexity reveals an absolute above the artist's insight, perhaps even beyond his comprehension, as a truth emerges independently from his original conception and intent; the artist as the medium of forces greater than himself stands now in the shadow of his own work to which he was inspired. To his audience the poet might become a myth, a legend, or he might be forgotten behind his work, as happened to the writer of the Nibelungenlied. Nevertheless, a valid appraisal of a special work of art must probe the mind of its creator to gain as full a comprehension of its totality as possible. Evaluating certain aspects which the poet stresses or elaborates upon, appraising direct statements or omissions, we might detect his purpose, his true intent, perhaps even a message he wanted to convey. What can we glean about the unknown artist as is reflected in his work, particularly in relation to his subject and to his own concern in reference to it?

The poet's work embraces a complex entity of human strife and passions, of sorrow and of joy, of paradoxes and extremes, an ever changing spectrum of man's varied existence as valid and as actual today as at the author's time. The poet is a shrewd observer of man in his conflicting drives as he presents each individual in his special attempt of life, each life unique as one of countless possibilities. He knows how strength and weakness can be found within one character as in Gunther, morally weak and full of pretense, yet fighting with unflinching courage at the side of his men; or as in Giselher, basically strong and true, yet shrinking from preventing obvious wrongs where moral courage might have helped. The poet knows how man will go to church now with devotion and humility, now with anger and hatred in his heart. He has observed how worship often means adherence mainly to customary form rather than faith and piety, or seeking comfort for a heart that only hears the promptings of its anguish mainly and yields to them with doubled force as soon as mass is over, while God is left behind. The poet is acquainted with the good and happy life of married men and women, devoted to each other and also to their children, as Siegmund and Sieglind, or Ruediger and Gotelind. He knows the feelings of a father toward his son, the premonitions of king Siegmund while Siegfried is slain, the thoughts of dying Siegfried going to his son, the pride of Etzel in regard to Ortlieb, his and Krimehild's child. More than this, however, the poet understands the joys and arrogance of man, his pride and his anxieties, the conflicts of his dual nature; of all he gives a vivid picture that shows him as a man of penetrating observation and sensitivity. As master of characterization he lends reality and freshness to those of his descriptions that deal with universal traits of man rather than with everyday events like feasts, receptions, tournament or battle, which he describes more generally.

The poet's strength of empathy is great, revealing his affinity with all that is human and his own dualistic potentialities that make him truly understand the feelings of his heroes. Except where treachery is involved, from which he recoils, the poet rarely sets himself apart from those whose story he relates. Thus he rides high with them in feasts and tournaments, he cheers them on in contests, he takes part in their lusty fighting as in the Saxon War; likewise he shares their weariness, their agonies, the tears of Kriemhild or the grief of Etzel, whose voice sounds like a wounded lion's when the blood-spattered body of Ruediger is shown to him. At times the poet seems enthralled by the dramatic scenes, which he himself designs, although as artist and a man of faith, as we shall see, his inclination is not merely to satisfy some latent want for spectacles of human passion, for the display of naked instincts, or for blood and violence, but to depict the various aspects of man's life. Emotionally, however, not disengaged nor morally aloof, he presents pitiless reality with such impassioned glow that it attracts, and thrills, and also frightens by its daring imagery: the spear protruding from the back of Siegfried who leaps up from the fountain to seize his shield, his only weapon left, to smash it over his assailant that its jewels scatter from their burst settings; the dangling javelin in Ihring's head that must be broken off before the helmet can be taken from the dying man; the tired warriors, trapped within the burning hall, drinking the blood of their own dead to quench the thirst and to renew their strength; Gunther hanging from a peg during his wedding night, his monstrous bride enjoying the comforts of their bed; perhaps even the wails of Werbel, possibly tragic-comic: “‘wie klenke ich nu die dœne …’” (1964, 4), after Hagen has neatly severed his right hand, brutally unconcerned whether the minstrel ever plucks the strings again.

The artist's own potentials, controlled as they might be, are of such range that he experiences his heroes in their drives and their spontaneous reactions from within themselves, as one might say; he deeply understands these men of whom he actually had only read or learned from various sources and whose mentality, rooted in prehistoric past, is not identical with his. As the ambiguous expression of the heroes, referring to “die veigen,” does not express a categorical belief in fate, as we have seen, also the poet uses a similar pattern of speech in his concluding lines, likewise without convincing force: “Dô was gelegen aller dâ der veigen lîp” (2377, 1). Such a statement could suggest a fatalistic view that fate has moved its victims like puppets to their final destination, a predetermined death, if he restricts this phrase to its original, limited sense which it no longer carried at his time. Not far before this final passage our narrator conveys poetically the dying of scores of knights by conjuring up the image of death looking for his men: “der tôt der suochte sêre dâ sîn gesinde was” (2224, 3), while Giselher complains: “‘Der tôt uns sêre roubet’” (2226, 1), both statements referring to Ruediger's death and to the furious struggle that followed it. It is doubtful that this figure of death as a person is more than a mere metaphor, like death stalking as reaper or as skeleton with scythe, poetical expressions to symbolize his grandeur and his force. The artist's final phrase, “der veigen lîp,” appears to be of similar poetic quality, deliberately chosen for its archaic overtones appropriate to the heroic past of which his story told. While its restricted meaning does not seem compelling to the poet, it faintly echoes Giselher's premonitions when everything looked hopeless, and Hagen's final statement, still ringing in the writer's ear: “‘und ist ouch rehte ergangen als ich mir hête gedâht’” (2370, 4), vaguely implying the idea, perhaps, that fate rather than realistic causes might be the reason for the dire end of the Burgundians. The possibility, however, cannot be denied that the poet, too, may momentarily yield to hidden half-beliefs and to some latent urge to tie man's lot to forces that arrange his destiny as his heroes have done under stress and at certain occasions. As reality and fiction readily fuse in a work of art, its author may well toy in his creative make-believe with the alluring thoughts that dreams really foretell the future, that fate or fortune teller's wisdom are actual facts and forces in man's life, without, however, stating definitely his rational convictions or his true and deepest faith.

The poet obviously does not share a fatalistic, but a tragic view of life which drew him to the story of man's distress, the topic of the Nibelungenlied, ending in man's untimely death. This tragic knowledge means awareness of man's precarious state, of his afflictions and resulting failures, initiating his own sorrows in spite of the potentials of greatness, happiness, and innocence. The poet recognizes the temptations of worldly treasures, large as Siegfried's gold, or small as an armlet, which can bring man to fall, exemplified by the unlucky ferryman; he is acquainted with the transitoriness of power and prestige to which man is subjected; he also is aware that man is likely to destroy himself not less than his fellowmen in the pursuit of honor at any cost; he states that joy will end in sorrow. The ancient sources for his epic story reflected the Germanic concepts of strife, misfortune, death as fate and as man's true realities which he must meet with courage and defiance to triumph over them. The poet of the Nibelungenlied, however, no longer draws his heroes as objects of blind fate or guided by a narrow, traditional behavior code of prehistoric days, but as victims of their anxieties, their inner conflicts, and their own choices and decisions. Failing to gain what they pursue, destroying whom they want to save or whom they love, they act against themselves as they are torn by their conflicting inclinations. The failures of the Nibelungen, resulting from their conflicts, echo the poet's tragic view of life as he considers them common to man, aspects that rob him of a state of peace in spite of his potentials of greatness and of happiness. He leaves no doubt that his story is not a happy one as he states early that the quarrel of two women will cause a miserable end to many a proud knight, worthy of fame and honor: “vil stolziu ritterscaft / mit lobelîchen êren … / si sturben sît jæmerliche von zweier edelen frouwen nît” (6, 2-4); likewise he summarizes after the hostile outbursts of the arguing queens: “von zweier vrouwen bâgen wart vil manic helt verlorn” (876, 4). These summary statements tend to suggest that such quarrel is not merely a singular historical event of which the poet tells, but rather in the nature of man himself: pride, quarrels, envy, jealousy, not more than nît and bâge suffice to unleash human conflicts of such proportions that they will cause the death of all involved. Strengthened by further references to the ensuing grief in consequence of human actions, these introductory remarks clearly indicate the poet's melancholy outlook upon the ways of men, his tragic view of life.

Although some heroes of the song epitomize the concept of heroic death as glory and fulfillment, the poet does not dwell upon the triumph which they voice; instead, we are reminded of the tragic aspects of their death and of the sorrow of their surviving friends and king. The poet does not share in Wolfhart's boast that he has sold his life onehundredfold and dies a glorious death, slain by a king; he draws our thoughts to Hildebrand who never suffered greater grief in all his life than by his nephew's death:

Hildebrant der alte                    Wolfharten vallen sach;
im wæne vor sînem tôde                    sô rehte leide nie geschach;

(2298, 3-4)

the aged Hildebrand embraces Wolfhart's bleeding body and pathetically tries to carry him out of the hall, but finds his weight too heavy and has to leave him behind. Dietrich likewise bemoans the death of this young and noble warrior with desperate emphasis: “‘Owê, lieber Wolfhart, sol ich dich hân verlorn, / sô mac mich balde riuwen daz ich ie wart geborn’” (2322, 1-2)! It is the sadness which the poet stresses rather than the glory which his heroes claim. At the death of Ihring, weinen, klagen, nôt and leit genuoc abound when the dying hero warns his countrymen not to be lured by Kriemhild's gold and not to repeat his vain, useless attack on Hagen, who would slay them, too. Also Hagen's final show of courage and defiance of Dietrich and of Kriemhild in the face of death elicits no comment of awe or admiration from the poet. While Etzel praises Hagen for his quality as a fighter, Hildebrand's impetuous action of leaping at the queen, who screams in deadly panic as she is struck, presents such a tragic and dramatic climax that no exaltation can arise. Indeed, after the death of all who perished in this fight—the severed head of Gunther, likewise the head and corpse of Hagen as well as Kriemhild's mutilated body liyng where they fell before the stunned survivors—, sadness and tears prevail as Dietrich and Etzel freely weep and loudly bewail the death of “mâge unde man” (2377, 4). Thus with the poet's full intent the story ends as tragedy, in “jâmer unde nôt” (2378, 2), in woe and misery.

The frequent references of the writer to the grief and sorrow of his people denote his sympathy with them. In contrast to his epic objectivity which he preserves in his descriptions of their strifes and actions, he writes with warm compassion when their hearts are involved, in friendship or in love, in sadness or in suffering. This human sympathy, coupled with tolerance, is particularly apparent in the character of Dietrich von Berne, a figure of the poet's choice and individual characterization, not necessarily an integrated part of the literary sources for the Nibelungen which he used; like Ruediger, also Dietrich is introduced into this tale as the artist's own creation in connection with the Nibelungen's final stand. Dietrich is delineated as a man of heart and reason, of moral courage equal to his fighting strength, a man of impartiality, of kindness toward friend and foe. Subject to the deepest grief himself, stating in utter desolation: “‘owê daz vor leide niemen sterben nemac’” (2323, 4), when he mourns the death of his own men, he still can feel compassion for the two survivors in the other camp who were responsible for the slaying of Dietrich's men. Thus he addresses Gunther:

“Gedenket an iuch selben                    unde an iuwer leit,
tôt der iuwern vriunde                    und ouch diu arbeit,
ob ez iu guoten recken                    beswæret iht den muot.”

(2331, 1-3)

He speaks of the afflictions suffered by both of them; was not the sacrifice of Ruediger, their common friend, enough? There was no enmity existing that justified a fight. How could Gunther and Hagen have failed to consider the tragic consequences of their wanton fight against his men:

“‘Ez geschach ze dirre werlde                    nie leider manne mêr.
ir gedâhtet übele                    an mîn und iuwer sêr’”.

(2332, 1-2)

Offering a peaceful settlement, as we have seen, and merely asking for atonement which he feels is fair, Dietrich addresses them, the slayers of his men, not as an enemy, but as a friend, aware of their distress not less than of his own. Rejected by Hagen, he continues to plead without any vindictiveness, pledging his honor and his life to lead them safely home. When also this last offer is refused, he accepts the challenge of a fight with them in which he overpowers both, battling with each of them in turn. Although Hagen, wounded by Dietrich's blows, is still a dangerous opponent, armed with Siegfried's famous sword, Dietrich nevertheless drops his protecting shield to capture his opponent with bare arms and thus to spare his life, and does the same with Gunther after Hagen has become his prisoner. Dietrich's thoughts and sentiments: “‘ich hâns lützel êre, soltu tôt vor mir geligen’” (2351, 2), do not reflect honor from the heroic point of view as in regard to the ensuing glory of a victorious fight, nor from the viewpoint which the world might take; it is the Christian concept of kindness and compassion toward one's fellow-man, honoring the dignity in others, even in an enemy, by which Dietrich is guided. When he gives up his shield to make Hagen his prisoner instead of killing him, he does so “mit sorgen” (2351, 4), as he is still in danger of Hagen's formidable strength and wary of Siegfried's sword. When Hagen and Gunther are overcome, Dietrich has to bind them as otherwise they still could bring death to anyone they encounter, as the poet explains. Delivering his prisoners to the triumphant queen, Dietrich pleads in their behalf for mercy and sheds tears of compassion for these heroes whom he did not care to overpower and to humiliate by binding them, whose lifes he spared, and whom he rather would have taken home to Worms than deliver them to Kriemhild. Even though it might be granted that the poet felt compelled to follow his existing sources according to which Hagen had to die from the revenging hand of Kriemhild, whose victim also Gunther had to be, Dietrich's pronounced expressions of genuine compassion and regret clearly echo the poet's sentiments and are deliberately introduced. Regardless of the motives for their fighting-will or of their previous falsehood, the poet sympathizes with his heroes in their tragic state, even with Hagen and with Gunther, the last survivors of the battle that saw the death of all their friends and kin, upholding their conviction of heroic honor to the last.

A ware of human tragedy, a man of sympathy und understanding, the poet is forgiving rather than accusing; as he rarely condemns an action of which he disapproves, he also neither incriminates his fellowmen, nor passes any final judgment on anyone of them. He recognizes human greatness and praises courage, kindness, and loyalty in man. Epithets like bold, keen, good, kind, generous, high-spirited, or faithful greatly outnumber negatives like evil, faithless, false, or murderous in the characterizations of individual actions of his heroes. Only where he speaks of falsehood and of treachery, he momentarily breaks his reserve and voices condemnation of such acts. Although he might have favorites among his characters like Siegfried, Giselher, or Ruediger, who seem to be the victims of special circumstances that lead them to decisions of tragic consequences, he does not state a preference for them, nor a dislike of others. He even refrains from judging Hagen, the ruthless plotter and assassin, and from condemning Kriemhild, the vâlandinne, as which she is pictured in the end. The poet knows that man can be the subject of God and of the devil as he can listen to the voice of each, being exposed to both. Thus he underlines the good and noble features particularly in the characters of those in whom the evil inclinations seem to predominate. Gunther's and Hagen's falsehood is pronounced, yet the poet dwells upon their loyalty and praises their indomitable spirit; the picture of Kriemhild which he draws, first in her gentility and state of grace, then in her role as primitive revenger, is just and balanced, apt to stress the tragedy of her dilemma and to arous our pity with her fall rather than our final condemnation. To the dismay of theorists and moralists, the poet does not think in terms of guilt and innocence, or black and white, although he mentions causes and effects, now merely hinted at, now identified, determining man's morality.

To understand, however, the poet's personal, moral concern in spite of his reluctance of passing judgment on his fellowman, we must again consider Dietrich who speaks most eloquently for the author himself. Aware of Kriemhild's treacherous intent, aroused by her display of anger and aggressive hate when she discovers that her guests are warned, Dietrich calls her a “‘vâlandinne’” (1748, 4), a reprimand and challenge made by a man whose moral courage and integrity cannot be weakened even by a queen with all her worldly power; the poet adds in Kriemhild's favor that she left the scene very much ashamed, her conscience stirred, her hate, however, unabated. The last defiant curse of Hagen, “‘vâlandinne’” (2371, 4), with which he triumphs over Kriemhild, possibly taken by the author from his immediate sources, is here anticipated and put into the mouth of Dietrich with great significance, as we believe. Helmut de Boor considers the early introduction of this term, coming from the lips of Dietrich, a blunder of our poet and a weakening of its weight.³⁴ For sheer drama and effect, Hagen's curse is more impressive in the final scene, spiked with hate and passion, than Dietrich's earlier reprimand. Yet coming from the murderer of Siegfried, the violator and betrayer of her trust and rights, a man who was most instrumental in making Kriemhild what he calls her now, Hagen's violent remark, meant to insult the queen once more, has no moral significance. Dietrich's use of this term, however, reveals his and the poet's great concern about Kriemhild's dishonest attitude which both of them condemn. What Kriemhild has initiated and what she now pursues up to the bitter end, is here deliberately characterized as evil, devilish, and morally unworthy. Dietrich repeats his disapproval of Kriemhild's course when he rejects her pleas for help, stating that it honors her little to betray her kin: “‘diu bete dich lützel êret, vil edeles fürsten wîp’” (1902, 1); also here Dietrich considers honor more in a Christian, moral sense than as a concept of glory and prestige, particularly as he points out to her that her friends and relatives have come in good faith, “‘ûf genâde’” (1902, 3), trusting in her kindness and honesty. This moral reprimand of Kriemhild's schemes, however, does not imply pronouncement of a final judgment by the poet or by Dietrich, nor does it constitute an outright condemnation of the queen with any finality; it is mainly directed at her faithless plans which she pursues, as it also denotes her evil potentialities to which she yields. We must remember that Dietrich later protects the queen, the faithless instigator of Bloedelin's attack, when he leads her safely from the banquet hall to where the fight had spread, although peaceful retreat was granted only to his and Ruediger's men. When Hagen and Gunther are overcome by Dietrich, who was compelled to fight them, he faithfully delivers them to Kriemhild, appealing to her better nature in which he trusts and still believes; and most significantly, his tears after the death of all are also shed over her mutilated body as she lies before him on the ground as the final victim of the tragedy.

Also Hagen's faithlessness is similarly reprimanded not only by the poet's direct condemnation of the murderer's “grôze mussewende” (981, 4) or by Giselher's reference to the latter's deceitfulness, but also by Dietrich. When Hagen flippantly refers to the dead and buried Siegfried who will never come back, the venerable king rebukes him tersely: “‘Die Sîfrides wunden lâzen wir nu stên’” (1726, 1), demanding to leave Siegfried's death undiscussed; Dietrich does not merely voice his acquiescence in a regrettable act of many years ago, but he expresses his moral indignation at Hagen's remark, if not at his murder. Here as well as later in his various talks with Kriemhild or with the leading Nibelungen Dietrich clearly shows his disapproval while he avoids vindictiveness; in the spirit of the poet, he points his finger at a moral wrong and professes where he stands, but he refrains from condemning the other person, leaving the question of guilt undiscussed and undisputed.

The poet's moral concern can also be deduced from his frequent praises. Father of all virtues is the final tribute given to Ruediger whose kindliness and generous hospitality he describes with special emphasis, as he has Eckewart say of Ruediger: “‘sîn herze tugende birt’” (1639, 2), considering the marcgrave's heart and soul the source and basis of his moral virtues. The poet also praises Gunther's generosity as a redeeming feature of his character where it occurs. On greed, however, or on the lust for worldly riches our author frowns, realizing the evil consequences; “diu gir nâch grôzem guote vil bœsez ende gît” (1554, 2), he states. Paying tribute to the hohe muot of his heroes of the past, the poet lauds their courage that seems to him greater than it prevails at his own time. Friedrich Panzer suggests that the heroic age appealed more strongly to the poet than his own, basing his proposition upon the praise given to Etzel who wants to throw himself into the fight, as kings at the poet's time seldom do:

Der künec der was sô küene,                    er wold' erwinden
niht,
daz von sô rîchem fürsten                    selten nu geschiht.
man muose in bî dem vezzel                    ziehen wider dan.(35)

(2022, 1-3)

Panzer also sees a possible preference for the past implied in the author's following comment: “si vâhten alsô grimme daz man ez nimmer mêr getuot” (2212, 4), which, however, seems counteracted by a reference in favor of the present: “sô grôze missewende ein helt nu nimmer mêr begât” (981, 4). It is rather dubious and little born out by the poet's general attitude that he should have shown partiality to the past of which he reports. There is the possibility of deliberate criticism of those who are in power at the writer's age and actively responsible for war, but stay away from battle in contrast to former times; the poet also might merely intend to stress the incomparable fury of the battle in which his noblest hero falls, Ruediger, a warrior par excellence, “vil küene unt ouch vil lobelîch” (2213, 4), a man without any equal. The author's statements, however, clearly confirm his recognition of the moral fibre that is inherent in any strong and gallant fighter. A distinction between moral courage, as is particularly apparent in Dietrich von Berne, and physical courage, as evident in all the heroes, is not specifically made; their defiant attitude at the threat of death, however, upholding the ideal of fearlessness, has ingredients similar to those in moral courage. Where noble spirit changes to haughtiness and where the hohe muot grows into übermüete, the poet is concerned. Thus he modifies the splendid picture of the court of Worms by early references to the arrogance prevailing there, which is likely to cause trouble. It is this reckless spirit that characterizes the actions of the heroes at Isenstein and later at their arrival at Etzel's court when none of them informs the king of Kriemhild's treacherous designs that mean a threat to all of them.

As far as pride and honor are concerned, the glory of his heroes, the poet seems rather skeptical. He understands the proud emotions of his men as he describes the values which they cherish, but he abstains from special praise as he does not attach moral significance to them. As he does not linger on the glories of their victories when their courageous fighting has come to an end, but draws our attention to the victims who paid the price, he likewise does not glory in their aims which they proudly pursue. With barely a comment or praise he relates Sigfried's bold intent to win Kriemhild, relying on his strength alone, and Gunther's decision to challenge Brunhild's superhuman strength, as well as the joyful departure of the Nibelungen on their risky journey to the court of Etzel, defying all the warnings given. As he knows the pitfalls of pride, leading now to envy, now to arrogance, he also recognizes the transitoriness of glory and of honor whose worldly glamour he objectively describes without extolling it. When he commends the honor of the court of Worms where Kriemhild grows up with modesty and poise, protected by her brothers and secure in a realm served by noble knights, he considers moral qualities like generosity and kindness, manly courage, and brotherly affection parts of the renown that constitute this honor and repute. Yet significantly he ends even this description of “lobelîchen êren” (6, 3) of the men at Worms with the somber reminder that all die miserably in the end. He recognizes honor as Ihring's sole motive for his daring attack on Hagen, as he likewise characterizes Ruediger and Gernot in their final, tragic encounter as “die êre gernde man” (2218, 3), men who live for honor, men who die for honor, friends who even slay each other in the name of honor. When finally all joys of life, all pride and courage of the Nibelungen are dissipated in merciless and suicidal fighting, the poet soberly concludes:

“diu vil michel êre                    was dâ gelegen tôt;
diu liute heten alle                    jâmer unde nôt”.

(2378, 1-2)

Of all the honor and magnificence that once prevailed nothing is left; “hie hât daz mære ein ende: daz ist der Nibelunge nôt” (2379, 4). Thus the poet ends in a skeptical and rather melancholy mood; he does not truly condemn the aspects of worldly honor which his heroes cherish nor does he suggest that the honor for which they are willing to die is of immortal quality, or that honor for the sake of honor has any moral value as such. He sees the transitoriness of it, its dangers and temptations, and he is conscious of its worldly limitations.

2

“In der ursprünglichen tragischen Anschauung, wenn sie rein bewahrt wird, liegt schon, was eigentlich Philosophie ist: Bewegung, Frage, Offenheit,—Ergriffenheit, Staunen,—Wahrhaftigkeit, Illusionslosigkeit.” karl jaspers

In recognition of the author's sober attitude and of his moral and compassionate concern, we have to stay with him, the unknown and inspired poet, in our attempt to find an answer to the significance of his great work in which no definite idea seems developed, no thought deliberately pursued, no final message given. Telling a story without a moral, embracing history and legends, yet not concerned with history as such, the poet delineates aspects of man that show his greatness and his failures, his vulnerability and weakness as we have seen. As he specifically relates man's “Nôt,” man's sufferings and dilemma against the background of his honors and his joys, the end of all is grief and tears. With sympathetic objectivity the poet has presented to the reader from his chariot of epic art this special segment of human strife and failure, without attempting to predispose the thinking of his guest. The journey finished now, the chariot driver silent, the reader's heart is stirred as he is left alone, while no judgment has been pronounced, no victory claimed, no worldly or divine order invoked. The weeping and the mourning that filled the final scene precluded any statement by the poet to his guest; a thoughtful melancholy mood persists while no true catharsis has been obtained. What is the reason for the poet's leaving without an answer, without concluding message, without apotheosis?

Not a philosopher, developing a system of reason and conjecture, the poet is a man of contemplative disposition who shares with us his knowledge of human tragedy. He does not want to preach or to reform, to moralize or merely entertain. His work is not an allegory or an example for some theories he holds; no religious dogma is advanced pronouncing truth κατ εξοχήeν. As form of art and symbol, however, his work is truth as such and a reflection of an absolute, yet only of significance if grasped and re-experienced by human minds, if weighted in probing contemplation. This then is the significance of this great work and of the poet's silence in regard to his intent: inviting man to contemplation, specifically to contemplation of himself.

Leaving the thoughtful reader in a suspended state of mind, the poet has not placed him at the brink of grim despair, nor landed him on fields of comfort and of harmonies unmitigated, but he has left him on a rock of sorrow, a place of sad awareness where he can shed consoling tears, reflect the lot of man, and contemplate his ways. It is the very nature of such tragic knowledge, as the poet's, not to seek dogmatic, dialectic confirmation of its existentional necessity, but rather to arouse man's thoughts to questions which possibly defy his reason and a finite answer, to arouse astonishment and awe, a sense of inwardness; leading man closer to the basis of himself, such contemplation might provide redemption and relief to him in his dilemma as it opens the way to faith. As reflection does not aim at reason or at explanations, it seeks a comprehension of man's totality, of his realities and of his potentialities, not to pronounce a truth, but to experience truth.

Having witnessed the struggle of the Nibelungen, the reader is beset by riddles, by uncertainties and by the adversities as they are part of man's existence. Beginning with the most immediate, the reader might reflect: Is man doomed to a tragic state of life, to self-destruction, to violent, untimely death of which our story tells? Are courage and defiance man's only means to keep his self-respect and to maintain his dignity on earth? Are power, riches, worldly honor man's truest comforts and rewards? What are the aspects of this honor, eagerly sought and self-proclaimed, defended with his life sometimes slyly obtained? Are joys that end in sorrow his greatest and his only joys? Is man's collective thinking in terms of earthly values, as our heroes share, a sufficient substitute for loneliness, for individual faith? The Nibelungen die for honor, in loyalty to others, and they prefer the risks of action and adventure to a sheltered and passive life as Rumolt advocates. Does such a dispositon reveal idealistic concepts and possibilities of human greatness, or is it merely linked to honor and prestige, to worldly vanities of little moral significance? What constitutes their victories or their defeat, what their successes and their failures? Does Hagen or Kriemhild come close to victory over the other? Does none of them? Do both? Is Kriemhild ever driven by inevitable necessity, is any of the heroes at any time without a choice, a helpless pawn on a predetermined course? Must one assume, deny, or prove a higher will at work, can one confirm divine intelligence taking an active part?

Does Kriemhild really open up her heart when she addresses God in prayer, asking for His advice? Is Ruediger's decision the only one that he can make? Is it beyond his reach to take the leap to God, as Kierkegaard later advocated, a step which in the marcgrave's age the hermit Trevrizent has taken? The Nibelungen share many aspects ot the Christian culture of the Staufian knights; Giselher and Gernot, young Kriemhild, the families at Xanten and at Bechelaren, Dietrich, and even Etzel show very strongly the ennobling influences of their faith. Yet none of those who die lift up their eyes to heaven as none affirms infinity; while each proves man's tenacity to uphold human ideologies, none dies as witness of his faith, but all as victims of their limited and self-proclaimed ideals.

Does our author present realities of man beyond the segment of his story? Is there a basic difference between the Nibelungen and modern man? Are human conflicts in better balance now as man reflects more thoroughly upon the aspects of his life? Or does collective thinking in questionable terms of human values, of ideologies, or of expediency provide the standard answers for a bewildered individual, establishing the code for his behavior? Does faith prevail? When one looks at the failures of modern man in recent times, considering his sense of guilt, of shame, or of forlornness, the violent story of the Nibelungen, unwilling or inept to contemplate upon themselves, presents perhaps a tame comparison to modern violence and ills. Yet to the stunned contemporary, partaker in events beyond the scope of individual comprehension, the Nibelungenlied attains special significance. As it describes man in his glory and defeat, in kindness and brutality, in suicidal struggle, its actuality appears unparalleled. The contemplative attitude which it demands, the valid questions which it poses, timeless in terms of man, can lead the modern reader to experiences of truth that give him greater understanding of himself, of the conflicting values of his age, and of the state of man on earth.

3

Will the reader formulate a final judgement where the poet stays reserved as he maintains an attitude of sympathetic understanding? Can guilt be ascertained for any of the Nibelungen beyond a moral doubt? The overt acts of murder, certainly, as the assassination of Siegfried, of Ortlieb, of the unnamed Hun who rode in the tournament, and finally Gunther's beheading upon commands of Kriemhild, deliberate, base, and hateful slayings, will be condoned by none and morally condemned by all. Beyond these individual transgressions of moral laws, however, that stain the murderer's character and involve collectively a host of others, the contemplative reader will be reluctant to pronounce a final verdict of guilt upon his fellowman who did what he considered right according to his moral code. As the poet mourns the death of all, as he reflects the grief of the survivors, the sorrows to which the joys of man have changed, and finally the end of all the honor and magnificence which they had shared, there is no exultation, no claim that justice has been wrought according to a higher will, no assertion of faith. Will the reader, on the contrary, leave the scene with the conviction that all is well with man, that right has won a victory and justice is pronounced while punishment is meted out? While Walther Joh. Schroeder presumes that for the poet of the song a transcendental plane, a possible existence beyond his earthly one, had no validity,³⁶ Hugo Kuhn suggests that Kriemhild's death, more than mere penalty for the slaying of Hagen, took place “im Dienste eines höheren Rechtes oder vielleicht Gottes,” accepting divine authority as a likely possibility.³⁷

Shall we then consider the Nibelungenlied a nihilistic statement of man's spiritual and existential forlornness within his earthly limitations as his only reality, or can we declare it a manifest of transcendental faith in spite of the poet's reluctance to verbalize his faith? When Sophocles revealed to man his tragic state, he stressed his helplessness against the whims of various Gods as well as the greatness of suffering humanity; the poet of the Nibelungen, however, does not invoke the will of God as the describes man's misery in spite of his potentials. When kindness, happiness, good will are swept aside by violence and disaster, as friends turn foes, and when eventually the Nibelungen destroy themselves, no God or supernatural forces seem involved. The tragical events develop logically and psychologically convincing, subject to causes and effects, provoked by man himself; no God is named as shaper of events or final judge, revealing His force or will. Nevertheless, the writer of the Nibelungen is a man of faith as is reflected in his work.

Of immaterial substance and not for material satisfaction, art is not bound by earthly limitations or explainable by reason. As it affirms intangible realities, it is of transcendental nature. As such it symbolizes faith as well as truth as pure as man can grasp. Reflecting man spiritually, sub specie aeternitatis, in every aspect of his being and in his widest potentialities, it addresses itself to the soul of man, his only medium to experience the existence of infinity. While the nihilist, blocked by mental doubts and reason, merely derives some intellectual diversion or entertainment from a work of art, the faithful attains a mystic union with the powers of infinitude which art reflects and which imparted inspiration to the artist as it infused his consciousness with unsubstantial and spiritual realities, the core of any faith. Art can be degraded by the esthetic pleasure seeker and become a shallow form as faith can be reviled by dialectic tricksters, for both are paradoxical, art to physical nature and faith to material reality. While the contented man will not reflect upon his life nor feel inclined to look beyond his happy spot, despair and dread will nourish faith and art. A probing of man's ways and potentialities, a yearning for redemption from his troubled state within material limits, as well as genuine compassion will lead man to experience spiritual realms of which he is a living part. Yet only by compassion and surrender, leaving reason behind, by awe and contemplation to which the poet of the Nibelungenlied is beckoning his readers, will man experience art and faith as symbols of infinity, his true realities.

The poet's sympathy with man, sharing the joys and woes of others who were fictitious or historical, but not related to himself, raised him above his own existence. Concerned with man's spiritual values, his failures and his strifes, and expressing his awareness of human tragedy and greatness through the symbolic form of art, he revealed his basic faith. Yet unlike his two great contemporaries, Wolfram von Eschenbach and Hartmann von Aue, the poet of the Nibelungenlied did not suggest solutions of man's duality by religious precepts, “wie man zer werlde solde leben”, trying to serve harmoniously the world of God and man. As his main character is not a pondering individual like Parzival, “‘… ein man der sünde hat’”, or like Gregorius or Erec, but man collectively reflected by the Nibelungen, he does not partake in the religious discussion of his time that centered around the individual and speculated about the nature of his sins, showing the possibilities of penance, mercy, and atonement. In fact, compared to Iwein and to Parzival, the Nibelungenlied resembles an “erratic boulder,” as Hugo Kuhn has phrased it.³⁸ This metaphor, however, might not only be applicable in reference to the unbridled, surging strength which is apparent in the song and makes it look uncouth next to the highly polished, phantastic, and romantic epics of knightly elegance that blossomed at this time; the “erratic boulder” might be man himself as pictured in our work, unique in his discord and adversities, disproportioned in a harmonious universe, inept, misguided, or unwilling to contemplate his attitudes, reluctant to embrace and live his faith. The poet clearly indicates that man is able to communicate with God, that he will pray to Him particularly in distress, and that he can experience His voice within himself; he also confirms that men can be guided by spiritual forces greater than the earthly values which he proclaims. Thus Ruediger gives his shield away, while Hagen and Volker place sympathy and friendship above political and vassal obligations; Giselher avoids a clash with Ruediger in spite of his initial threats; Dietrich, deprived of his mysterious luck, places the principles of mercy and forgiveness above the concept of total revenge, sparing his weary, still defiant, dangerous opponents; also Etzel seems guided by spiritual commands, swallowing his pride when insults are hurled into his face and overlooking Volker's killing in order to preserve the peace and to protect his guests; eventually, Etzel even weeps over the body of his hateful foe, the slayer of his child, honoring what was great in his opponent. Although the poem stresses the weakness of man's faith, it neither indicates a complete absence of faith or a disbelief in it, nor does it prove futility of faith except where it is merely superstitious belief. The validity of trust in magic forces like special strength or luck, a magic sword or treasure, is ostensively disproved as all these powers lose their alleged advantages, deserting their prophets and their owners or being essential causes for their fall.

4

The Nibelungenlied does not constitute a galmorous account of a heroic life which man should emulate. It does not extoll the values of glory and of honor, of strength and of defiance, although it recognizes basic and potential greatness that causes man to turn to them. It does not make a nihilistic statement that man is doomed, a pawn of fate, living a hopeless life; it gains significance, however, by the tragic undertone accompanying the story of man's glamour and man's strife, of his frustrations and his failures. Stressing man's “Not,” the song invites the reader to contemplate, to re-appraise man's values, to probe into himself. As work of art, projecting man into infinity, it symbolizes faith, admitting man's potential of spirituality, yet leaving God, His power and His will subject to individual experience, to individual search. A grandiose statement of man's limitless potentials for better and for worse, for heaven, earth, and hell, the poet's work significantly affirms the possibility of faith—man's need of faith.

Notes

1. Karl Bartsch, Die Klage (Leipzig, 1875).

2. Wilhelm Dilthey, Von Deutscher Dichtung und Musik (Leipzig, 1933), p. 179: “Der unbefangene, vertrauensvolle, heroische Jugendmut Siegfried's auf der Jagd ist begleitet von den düsteren, mächtigen Grundakkorden, die aus der dämonischen Natur Hagens und aus dem dunklen Mordplan stammen. … Die Zerstörung der Lichtgestalt, des lichten Helden durch das Dunkle, Böse, heimlich Zerstörende …” (italics added).

3. Gustav Ehrismann, Geschichte der Deutschen Literatur bis zum Ausgang des Mittelalters, 2. Teil, Mittelhochdeutsche Literatur, Schlussband (Munich, 1935), p. 35: “Folgerichtig und schicksalsgemäss entwickeln sich die Taten und Ereignisse … Das Schicksal als führende Idee des Gedichtes tritt deutlich in Gestalt von Schuld und Sühne hervor; die Schuld der Burgunder liegt im Mord Sigfrids, die Sühne in ihrem Untergang, die Schuld Kriemhilds in der Vernichtung des eigenen Geschlechtes und ihre Sühne in ihrem Tod.”

4. Friedrich Ranke, Deutsche Literaturgeschichte in Grundzügen, ed. B. Boesch (Bern, 1946), p. 53: “… nur noch ihr [Kriemhild's] eigener Tod lässt die Grässlichkeit der Szene ertragen; und doch steht das Bild der Rächerin Kriemhild dem Hörer unbefleckt in der Erinnerung: eine Vorzeitheldin, die, anstatt in Witwentrauer zu versinken, mit hartem, zuletzt fast versteinertem Willen das Schicksal zu dem von ihr gewollten Ziele zwingt.” (Italics added). Cf. Ehrismann, op. cit., p. 136: “Hagen vollbringt den Mord aus Treue zu seiner beleidigten Königin, und durch seine … Mannentreue tritt er uns auch menschlich näher … In anderer Form tritt die Treue bei Kriemhild als Treubund und damit als ethisches Grundmotiv des ganzen Liedes auf.”—J. Schwietering, Deutsche Dichtung des Mittelalters (Munich, 1938), p. 204: “Der Schmerz um Siegfried hat durchaus die Oberhand … Kriemhilds Treue lässt sich erst … an ihrem Leid voll ermessen.” Max Mell, Der Nibelunge Not (Salzburg, 1951, pp. 144-145, has Kriemhild say:

   “Denn nicht Hagen allein hat Siegfried gemordet.
   Es muss heissen: Hagen und Kriemhild habens getan.
   Sein letzter Gedanke konnte sein:
   Mein Weib hat mich verraten …”

5. Werner Fechter, Siegfrieds Schuld und das Weltbild des Nibelungenliedes (Hamburg, 1948), p. 43: “Hagen bleibt der schwarze Neider, … der niederträchtige Intrigant, der Böses sät, Zwietracht sucht und seine Lust am Verderben hat. Aber er ist, indem er Siegfried mordet, zugleich der Arm des strafenden Richters” (italics added). “Ebenso bleibt Siegfried der leuchtende Held …, aber zugleich ist er der Verneiner der Ordnung, der sich seiner Bestimmung widersetzt, der die Grenze seiner Art frevelhaft überschreitet und der so wenig Achtung vor der gleichartigen Genossin hat, dass er, nur an sich selbst denkend, ihr Leben zerstört und sie als Tauschgut behandelt.”

6. Katharina Bollinger, Das Tragische im höfischen Epos (Würzburg, 1939) pp. 4-6, 10, 12 et al.

7. Andreas Heusler, Germanistische Abhandlungen, Festschrift für Hermann Paul (1902), p. 93.

8. Dietrich Kralik, Das Nibelungenlied, trans. Karl Simrock (Stuttgart, 1954), p. xxx (introduction): “Die ganze Schuld an den späteren tragischen Konsequenzen wird so der Brünhild aufgebürdet, die ja überhaupt als ein ihre Freier … mordendes fürchterliches Kraftweib in ein recht ungünstiges Licht gerückt erscheint … Brünhild ist die Schuldige, Sigfried ist ihr unschuldiges Opfer.”

9. Arnold H. Price, “Characterization in the Nibelungenlied,” Monatshefte, LI (December 1959), 341-350.

10. Price, p. 344.

11. Price, p. 349.

12. Fechter, p. 35; see also p. 40: “Wer nicht in Treue sein will, der er ist, kann überhaupt nicht sein. Die Ordnung hat das Bestreben, sich zu erhalten. Wer sie stört, vernichtet sie. So vollzieht sich auch in Siegfrieds Tod ein Naturgesetz.”

13. Fechter, p. 35: “Darüber hinaus überschreitet er in der Ehe mit Kriemhild die Grenze seiner Art und ermöglicht Gunther den Frevel, sich ein übermenschliches Wesen zu gatten. Hier liegt Siegfrieds Schuld;. Alles andere fliesst aus dieser Quelle” (italics added). p. 45: “… über allem lebt der starke Glaube, dass nicht ein blindes Schicksal den Lauf der Welt bestimmt sondern die Gerechtigkeit …”

14. Bert Nagel, “Die Künstlerische Eigenleistung des Nibelungendichters,” Wolfram Jahrbuch, ed. Wolfg. Stammler, (1953), 23-47.

15. Nagel, p. 43.

16. Nagel, p. 40: [the poet super-imposes upon the] “Verhängnistragik, dass zwei zur Partnerschaft prädestinierte Menschen sich nicht … ergreifen; … eine die Katastrophe auslösende Schuldtragik, der Siegfried und Kriemhild … auch Brünhild und … alle Personen der Handlung zum Opfer fallen.” (italics added).—Nagel ends his observations with the following statement, p. 47: “Am Ende steht nicht die Verzweiflung vor dem Nichts, sondern nur die lindernde Träne, nicht die auswegslose Verhärtung, sondern die Lösung ins Menschliche. Über das Chaos der Zerstörung erheben sich, als Neues und Zukunftweisendes, die heiligen Kräfte des Mitfühlens und Mitleidens.”

17. Siegfried Beyschlag, “Das Motiv der Macht bei Siegfrieds Tod,” German.-Roman. Monatsschrift, XXXIII (1952).

18. Beyschlag, p. 99: “… es geht nicht um eine Vergeltung für den Freiertrug …, sondern ausschliesslich um die Beseitigung des Mannes, der … einen bedrohlichen Anspruch auf Vorrang, Land und Reich erhoben hat.” p. 105: “Das oberste Gesetz des Handelns für die Brüder ebenso wie für den regierenden König: die Wahrung und Einheit und Unversehrtheit des Reiches …” p. 106: “Auch Gunther und seine Brüder … entscheiden … wie Rüdiger: für die staatliche Notwendigkeit, wie sie sie sehen. Selbst bei Kriemhilds Rache liegt Gleiches vor” (italics added).

19. Beyschlag, p. 107: “… gemäss der Darstellung des Dichters, Siegfried ist nie eine Bedrohung für Gunther, die Beseitigung … ein Fehlschluss, ein beklagenswertes, tragisches Verhängnis, dem Motto der Dichtung vom leit als … Ende der liebe … ein-und untergeordnet.”

20. Walther Joh. Schröder, Das Nibelungenlied, Sonderdruck (Halle, 1954), p. 38: “Man versteht dies mörderische Wüten nur, wenn man den ganzen Kampf als Machtkampf auffasst, der hier in seiner letzten nackten Brutalität ausgespielt wird” (italics added).

21. Schröder, p. 35: “Im Hort wird die Macht konkret. In ihm lebt Siegfried weiter. Wer den Hort hat, hat auch die Macht in Worms.” p. 36: “Als Hagen … schweigt, enthauptet sie [Kriemhild] ihn selbst. Alles, was sie tut, tut sie nur, um den Hort zu gewinnen.”

22. Schröder, p. 63.

23. Schröder, p. 40: “Mit Hilfe des eigentümlichen Motivs der Doppelheirat und Aufweisung ihrer Folgen bringt der Dichter den Leitgedanken seines Werkes heraus, den man in kürzester Form folgendermassen formulieren könnte: eine Herrschaft, die nicht auf Stärke gegründet ist, muss zerfallen. Natur und Gesellschaft stehen nur dann im Einklang miteinander, wenn der Beste auch der Erste ist. Allgemeiner: Die Rangordnung einer echten Gesellschaft muss Naturordnung sein.”

24. Schröder, p. 63: “Der Tod ist der Schwäche Sold; … Hochmut rächt sich, da der Hochmütige alle … Auswege verschmäht, ja, nicht einmal erwägt.”

25. Schröder, p. 64: “Das Heroische liegt in der Einheit von Wollen und Müssen, und die Weisheit des Menschen ist das Wissen um das Notwendige.”

26. Friedrich Panzer, Das Nibelungenlied (Stuttgart, 1955), p. 455.

27. Friedrich Neumann, “Nibelungenlied und Klage,” Die Deutsche Literatur des Mittelalters, ed. Wolfg. Stammler (Berlin, 1940), p. 558.

28. Friedrich Maurer, Leid (Bern & Munich, 1951).

29. Maurer, p. 37.

30. Maurer, p. 38.

31. Bollinger, p. 6: Siegfried's “liebenswürdige Verantwortungslosigkeit.”

32. Dürrenmatt, pp. 181-221, pays tribute to Kriemhilds' potentialities of attaining the highest forms of womanhood possible at her time; but destructive forces prevented her from complete fulfillment. Her boast and the ensuing quarrel came from her finest characteristic: her love of Siegfried; thus a special tragic note is introduced, suggesting “dass die Tugenden eines Menschen seine grösste Gefahr … bedeuten” (p. 193).

33. Mergell, p. 318: “… nicht nur das menschliche Mitgefühl, auch das religiöse Empfinden des Hörers und Lesers auf Seiten Hagens und der im Tod vollendeten Burgunder; Hagen ist es, der sterbend den Gedanken auf Gott richten, den Namen Gottes nennen darf, während Kriemhild umgekehrt vor Gott und Menschen als Verdammte erscheint.” cf. above nn. 8, 9, 16.

34. de Boor, Nibelungenlied, p. 276, n. 1748, 4: “Teufelin … ist (2371, 4) das letzte Trutzwort Hagens gegen Kriemhild. So früh und im Munde Dietrichs verliert es sein Gewicht und ist, gleich der ganzen Zeile, ein Stilfehler des jüngsten Dichters” (italics added).

35. Panzer, p. 210.

36. Schröder, p. 87: “Die Wendung zum Höheren, die Erhebung der Basis menschlicher Existenz auf eine neue, geistige, transzendente Ebene war dem Heldenepos nicht möglich. Es gibt für den Verfasser des Nibelungenliedes keine Existenz jenseits unserer. … Zwar weiss er um die Möglichkeit; aber sie wird ihm nicht zur Wirklichkeit.”

37. Hugo Kuhn, “Brunhilds und Kriemhilds Tod,” Zeitschrift für das deutsche Altertum, 82, (1950), 191-199.

38. Hugo Kuhn, “Das Rittertum in der Stauferzeit,” Annalen der deutschen Literatur (1952), 152-157.