An Esoteric Commentary on the Volsung Saga, Part XIV

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(Read the previous installments in this series here.)

It has been several years since I have published an installment in this series. As faithful readers know, I have been concentrating on my series of essays dealing with Heidegger’s history of metaphysics, from Plato to Nietzsche (now numbering some twenty-five installments; simply search my name to find all of them). After a great deal of thought and research, I am returning to the story of Sigurd, Fafnir’s Bane, and will publish further installments on an irregular basis (though hopefully not once every few years).

In Part 13, I began an account of the famous tale of “Otter’s Ransom,” the telling of which precedes Sigurd’s most celebrated adventure, the slaying of the dragon Fafnir. Sigurd is being fostered by Regin the Smith (who may or may not be a dwarf), a relationship which has overtones of initiation. However, Regin has ulterior motives for working with Sigurd. “You’ve too little wealth,” he says to the youth. “But I can tell you where great wealth is likely to be found, and in all probability there’s honor to be had, and fame, too, should you win it.” Regin informs him that the treasure is located at a nearby place called Gnita Heath, and that it is guarded by a dragon called Fafnir.

Sigurd is excited by the prospect of adventure, but he distrusts Regin. “Why are you so keen on this business?” he asks. Regin responds that there’s a story behind it, and he proceeds to tell it to Sigurd. We learn that Regin is the son of Hreithmar who was “important and wealthy.” Regin mentions that he had two brothers, Fafnir and Otter. (Reginsmal in the Poetic Edda also mentions that Hreithmar had two daughters, who we will discuss a little later.) Regin tells us that Fafnir was the biggest of the brothers and also the fiercest. Otter (Otr) was called such because he chose to take the form of an otter.

This is yet another example of shapeshifting in the saga, and there will be more. Fafnir will also change his form later on. (The magical powers of this family give us good reason to assume that they are not human beings.) Regin describes Otter as “a great fisherman,” who, in otter form, spent his days catching fish and bringing some of his catch home to their father. Otter caught most of his fish at a spot called Andvari’s Falls, named for a dwarf called Andvari, who had shifted his shape as well, and lived in the water in the form of a pike.

One day Odin, Loki, and Hoenir came upon Andvari’s Falls. The presence of Loki promises mischief, and he does not disappoint. Just as the Aesir arrived at the falls, Otter had caught a salmon and was eating it. Loki threw a stone at Otter, killing him instantly. Initially, the gods thought this a stroke of luck, and they skinned Otter and turned the skin into a bag. Odin, Hoenir and Loki, carrying their bag of otter skin, continued on their way and presently happened upon the house of Hreithmar. The gods proudly showed him their catch, unaware that he was Otter’s father. Hreithmar and his sons seized the Aesir and threatened to kill them if they would not fill the otter skin with gold and cover it on the outside as well.

Loki immediately sets about trying to capture the dwarf Andvari, for he was aware that Andvari was in possession of a vast hoard of gold. Loki went to Ran, the goddess of the sea, to borrow her net so that he could catch Andvari in his pike form. With little difficulty, Loki then uses the net to capture him, but seems puzzled by the ease with which he managed it. In stanzas the saga quotes from Reginsmal, Loki asks Andvari, “What kind of fish is this . . . that doesn’t know to avoid a net?” But perhaps Loki is unaware that Andvari is really a dwarf and not a fish at all.

“I am named Andvari, son of Oin,” Loki’s captive responds. “I have been in many waterfalls. A cruel Norn shaped my fate at the beginning, cursed me to live in water.”[1] It would seem then that although we were told that Andvari is a dwarf who has taken the shape of a pike fish, he did not do so voluntarily.

Just who is Andvari and what is his significance? First of all we might mention, if it is helpful, that he is the equivalent character to Alberich in the Nibelungenlied (and in Wagner’s Ring), who is also a dwarf and also guards a treasure. Claude Lecouteaux has argued that the name Andvari means “Guardian of the Breath,” where Old Norse andi/önd means “breath, wind, or spirit.” Lecouteaux also helpfully points out that andi/önd was the word regularly used by clerics writing in Old Norse to translate Latin anima.[2]

There is a fairly universal correlation between “breath” and “soul” in the Indo-European context. Latin anima means “breath,” “wind,” and “vital principle.” Greek psyche also referred to the vital principle, and derives from psukho, “I blow.” Greek pneuma also refers to “wind, breath, or spirit” and also derives from a finite verb form meaning “I blow.” Even Sanskrit atman, meaning “self” or “soul,” derives from a verb meaning “to breathe.” (Surprisingly, Modern German atmen, “to breathe,” is related to Sanskrit atman.)

It is therefore plausible to infer that Andvari is “Guardian of the Breath” where “breath” refers to “vital spirit.” But why him? Why this dwarf that is “cursed” to take the form of a fish? Lecouteaux notes that the Modern German word for “soul,” Seele, is “a derivative of the Gothic saiwala, ‘small lake,’” which, he says, is a “clear indication that water occupied a central place” in the thought of the ancient Germanic peoples concerning the vital principle.[3]

And there are further “water” associations in the account of the “Ransom of Otter.” “Regin” may be related to Old Norse regn, “rain” (cf. Modern German regnen). The otter is, of course, a semiaquatic animal. We may also point out that Alberich of the Nibelungenlied guards the “Nibelung treasure.” The name Nibelung is formed from nibel-, “mist, cloud, fog” (cf. Modern German Nebel, “cloud”), and nibel– is related to Old Norse nifl, as in Niflheim.[4]

Niflheim is the “world of mist” and it is surrounded by the eleven frozen rivers of Élivágar. Hel, who receives a portion of the dead, is said to be in Niflheim. We thus have interesting connections here between breath, mist, and water – all of which are moist – and the “vital spirit” or soul, and death. Lecouteaux suggests that in all this there is a juxtaposition of the opposites of life, associated with the vital spirit and breath, and death, associated with mist and water.

I am not entirely convinced by this suggestion, however. In our last installment, I discussed how one of the Old Norse kennings for gold was “Aegir’s fire.” Aegir was an etin and the personification of the sea, who lit his hall with gold. Snorri tells the story (also related in Lokasenna) of how Loki killed a servant in Aegir’s hall, fled, then returned to insult each of the gods and goddesses in turn. Snorri remarks:

So this is the story of the origin of gold being called fire or light or brightness of Aegir, Ran, or Aegir’s daughters, and from such kennings the practice has now developed of calling gold fire of the sea and of all terms for it, since Aegir and Ran’s names are also terms for sea, and hence gold is now called fire of lakes or rivers and of all river-names.[5]

We thus have a very interesting juxtaposition between fire and water. Gold is “fire of Aegir” or “fire of the sea.” In the saga, the gold is not explicitly said to be in the water of Andvari’s Falls. However, it is reasonable to infer that it is. Where else would it be located except in the falls, where it would be accessible by Andvari, cursed to assume the shape of a fish? And in the Nibelungenlied, there is a further association between gold and water, in that Hagen sinks the Nibelung treasure in the Rhine at the end of Part One.

What does this association between fire and water, or gold and water mean? To answer this, I will draw upon Julius Evola’s research into alchemy in The Hermetic Tradition. Evola believes that alchemy is a survival of an ancient and universal secret science, hints about which are encoded in world mythology – including the mythology of the Germanic peoples. Here and in the installments to follow, I will argue that Sigurd’s adventures may be understood as, in effect, an account of alchemical transmutation, in just the sense of this term expounded by Evola in The Hermetic Tradition.

Evola argues that the symbolism of “the waters” represents the “chaos principle” or “living chaos in which all possibilities reside.”[6] He also describes this as the “desire principle,” which represents “‘Nature taking pleasure in itself’ and ‘fascinated by its own elements.’”[7] And Evola states, in the same context, that “desire is what has bound life to a body in the sense of having ‘fallen.’”[8] In the alchemical opus, “desire principle” is the “first matter,” which is “the undifferentiated possibility, the origin of all generation.”[9] It is, furthermore, a lunar principle. Standing opposed to the lunar in Hermetic philosophy, is, of course, the solar, with which is associated fire and gold (among other things).

It is out of the waters, out of the “desire principle,” that the alchemical gold is to be wrested – which, for Evola, represents the generation of a higher state of being. The Magnum Opus is the “Royal Art,” and a solar path, to be won by a “solar hero.” We may also note here (in anticipation of matters to come) that in alchemical hermeticism, the waters and the dragon are equivalent symbols, both representing the “first matter” of the opus, over which the operator must triumph.

We can discern a gnostic element in all this: the vital spirit of nature is “fallen”: in unconsciousness, it disports with itself in an eternal self-generation. This force must be conquered and channeled by the solar hero, who uses it to achieve theosis (divinization): the achievement of an “immortal soul” (which, contrary to the claims of the Christians, is decidedly not the possession of everyone, and must be created). Recall that the name Andvari means “guardian of the breath,” in the sense of soul or “vital spirit.” Literally, what Andvari guards or watches over is, of course, his gold. We may thus cautiously infer that the gold represents the state of divinization or immortality that must be “won.”

Of course, this raises many questions. As my readers already know, Andvari will curse the gold. In terms of the hermetic symbolism just discussed, what can this represent? And if Sigurd’s winning of the gold does indeed represent some kind of spiritual-alchemical transmutation, in what, exactly, does it consist? Why does the “gold” not spiritually transform those who acquire it prior to Sigurd?

I will offer answers to these and other questions, but the reader must be patient. I will indeed argue that the winning of the gold by Sigurd represents a spiritual transformation – and the acquisition of special wisdom. However, this is only one episode in a series of “initiations” for Sigurd, though the slaying of the dragon Fafnir and the acquisition of the gold is the most important. Sigurd’s meeting with his uncle Gripir, which precedes the episode with the dragon, is another such initiation. As are Sigurd’s conversation with the dying Fafnir, and his meeting with Brynhild, in which she tutors him in runelore.

To return to our story (some of the details of which we have already telegraphed), Loki took all of Andvari’s gold, save one ring which the dwarf held back. I might remind the reader that this is not the first time we have encountered gold rings in the story. The first time was when Sigmund and Sinfjotli, out robbing, came upon a house where two princes were asleep, wearing golden rings. We are told that these men had “suffered an evil fate.” Wolfskins hung over their beds, which they could remove only every tenth day. Like Andvari, these princes seem also to have been cursed to change their shape. Hjordis, mother of Sigurd, also possesses a magic ring which grows cold just before daybreak.

You can buy Collin Cleary’s Wagner’s Ring & the Germanic Tradition here.

Loki insisted that Andvari hand over the ring and he did so, after which the dwarf hid inside a stone (a typical dwarf move) and cursed the treasure, saying that “to possess the ring, or any of the treasure, meant death.”[10] In Reginsmal the curse is more elaborate: “This gold that Gust used to own, will cause the death of two brothers, and cause grief for eight kings. No one will enjoy my treasure.”[11] We have no idea who Gust was, and he is not mentioned elsewhere. The “two brothers,” as we shall see, refers to Regin and Fafnir.

The Aesir then filled the otter skin with Andvari’s treasure, covered it on the outside as well, and brought it to Hreithmar. He noticed, however, that one otter whisker was still visible, and objected. Odin then took the ring Andvaranaut “from his hand” and covered the whisker with it.[12] Though Hreithmar accepts this, in Reginsmal he objects and says that “you did not give willingly, you did not give with a whole heart,” apparently referring to Odin’s attempt to keep the ring for himself. We thus learn two things in these passages. First, the ring has been given a name, which means “Andvari’s gift.” Second, Odin had taken the ring for himself and put it on his own hand. Why? Presumably for the same reason that Andvari initially tried to hang onto it: it must have some special power. But neither the saga nor Reginsmal explain the ring’s significance.

In Snorri’s Edda, however, Andvari confesses to Loki that with the ring he could “multiply wealth for himself.” So, the ring seems to have the power of producing more gold. Snorri also mentions that when Odin initially saw the ring “he found it beautiful and removed it from the treasure.”[13] It is this detail that inspired Wagner to depict his Wotan as seduced by the ring. However, Wagner adds the detail that the ring could confer absolute power on its wearer – which forms the key plot element, needless to say, in his Ring of the Nibelung.

The obligation of the Aesir to Hreithmar was then fulfilled, but Loki stated his belief that only misfortune would come with possession of the gold. Hreithmar responds, in Reginsmal, that “This gold . . . will be mine as long as I live. I’m not afraid at all of your threats” – thus seeming to indicate, once more, the seductive power of this treasure. In fact, however, Regin tells Sigurd that the dwarf’s prophecy was almost immediately fulfilled: Fafnir killed his own father and took the gold for himself, leaving Regin with none. In Reginsmal, when Fafnir murders Hreithmar, the latter calls out to his two daughters Lyngheith and Lofnheith, who fail to come to his aid. Lyngheith tells him, “Few sisters will take vengeance against a brother, even for their father.” In response, curiously, Hreithmar offers her some advice:

“Have a daughter,” said Hreithmar,
“a wolf-fierce girl,
if you cannot have a son
with a king.
You’ll need to marry
that girl to a man,
and at last her son
will avenge your sorrow.”[14]

Who is this “wolf-fierce girl”? Does Lyngheith eventually have such a child? We have no idea, and the Volsung Saga does not mention Hreithmar’s daughters at all.

Fafnir then becomes positively bewitched by the treasure – as Advari, Odin, and Hreithmar seem to have been. Regin tells Sigurd that he became “evil” as a result and slept outside with the treasure. Soon he transforms into a terrible dragon (orm, literally “worm”), who spends his days sitting on top of the gold. We are not told (either in the saga or in any other source) whether Fafnir chose to transform himself into a dragon, or whether it happens as an effect of the cursed gold.

Both Wagner and Tolkien seemed to think it was the latter. In Wagner’s Ring, Fafnir is a giant (and there may be some reason, as we shall see, for thinking that this is characterization is correct), and his transformation into a dragon is a result of the corruption of the gold. In Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, which was heavily influenced by Germanic mythology, the Hobbit Sméagol is transformed by the ring into the hideous creature Gollum. We may add that in the Saga of Ragnar Lothbrok, the sequel to the Volsung Saga, gold has transformative power and seems to have a symbiotic relationship with a dragon. The beautiful Thora has a pet snake which she places on top of a small quantity of gold. In time, both grow – so that the snake becomes a dragon and the gold becomes a large treasure.

After Regin finishes his story, it seems that Sigurd has taken the bait. He seems to sympathize with the dwarf “You’ve lost a great deal,” Sigurd says, “and your family has been very evil.” He then asks Regin to forge him a great sword, one that would have no equal, with which Sigurd can perform “great deeds,” including killing the dragon Fafnir.

Chapter Fifteen: Regin’s Swordcraft

Regin forges a sword for Sigurd, but the young hero breaks it against Regin’s anvil. The dwarf promises him another – but Sigurd tests the second sword in the same way, and the sword breaks once more. Sigurd then goes to his mother, Hjordis (whose name means “goddess of the sword”), and asks her if it is true that his father, King Sigmund, had entrusted the two pieces of his broken sword to her. For the first time in the Saga, this weapon is referred to as “Gram” (from Old Norse gramr, “wrath”). Hjordis confirms that the story is indeed true and gives him the pieces of the sword.

Sigurd returns to Regin and gives him the broken sword, asking him to forge it anew. The dwarf grudgingly agrees to do so. Regin succeeds in repairing the sword and we are told that when he withdrew it from the forge his apprentice thought that he perceived flames shooting from the blade. When Sigurd tests this sword as he did the others, it cleaves the anvil in twain and is entirely undamaged. Sigurd then takes Gram down to the river. He tosses a tuft of wool against the stream and sticks the blade into the water. When the wool contacts the edge of the sword, it is cut cleanly in half.

Having now provided Sigurd with a very special sword indeed, Regin reminds Sigurd of his promise to kill Fafnir. Sigurd states that he will keep his promise, but that first he will pursue “vengeance for my father.”[15] The chapter ends with the sagaman telling us that as Sigurd matured, he became more and more popular with everyone, and that “every child” loved him. This is a repetition of a statement made earlier, in Chapter Thirteen.

The reforging of the sword Gram is obviously a highly significant event. To remind the reader, this was the sword that Odin plunged into the tree Barnstokk during the wedding feast for Signy and the loathsome Siggeir. It is the sword that only a chosen one could remove from the tree, and Sigmund, brother of Signy, turns out to be that one – thus demonstrating, as I argued in an earlier installment, that Sigmund is his sister’s rightful husband. Their incestuous union advances the development of the Volsung clan.

But Odin himself shatters the sword when he decides to withdraw his favor from Sigmund and to call him to Valhalla. Given that the sword was broken by the god, it is obviously impressive that it could be repaired at all. The fact that Regin succeeds in the task could signal that he has Odin’s blessing – and that Sigurd has Odin’s blessing, and wishes him to possess the refurbished sword. However, we must consider another possibility: that this reforging of the sword is, in fact, contrary to the wishes of the god; that it is, in effect, an act of impiety.

Wagner introduces a brilliant innovation in the scene of the sword’s forging: it is his Siegfried that does the work, not the dwarf. This emphasizes Wagner’s conception of Siegfried as a free man, unfettered by the gods (or so it seems at first), who attempts to forge his own destiny – until fate, and tragedy, intervene. (See my book Wagner’s Ring and the Germanic Tradition.)

In any case, we must keep an open mind about the significance of the re-forging of Gram.

Chapter Sixteen: Sigurd’s Meeting with Gripir

In this chapter, one of the shortest of the saga, Sigurd visits his uncle, Gripir, who “had the gift of second sight and knew in advance what a man’s fate would be.”[16] Sigurd asks Gripir what his future holds. His uncle hesitates a long time, then tells Sigurd in detail of what fate has in store for him – though the saga does not tell us what Gripir says. Then the young hero simply rides away.

Things are considerably more elaborate in Gripisspa (“Gripir’s Prophecies”) in the Poetic Edda. In this poem, it is clear when Sigurd meets Gripir, who is portrayed as a king in his own right, that the two have never encountered each other before. Sigurd implores his uncle to look into the future, and Gripir says

“You will become
the most famous man
beneath the sun,
most honored of all kings,
you will share your gold
and show your courage,
and will be a handsome man,
and a master of words.”[17]

But Sigurd presses his uncle for more information – and he must do so repeatedly, indicating that Gripir is quite hesitant to tell Sigurd his entire fate. In Gripisspa, however – and not, to repeat, in the saga – this is precisely what he does. The poem ranges over Sigurd’s entire career, culminating in his death at the hands of his treacherous in-laws. It is all told in compressed form, though with a fair amount of detail. Gripir’s description of Sigurd’s meeting with Brynhild (which we will cover in detail in a future installment) is particularly interesting:

“She will teach you
useful runes –
everything that people
most desire to know –
she’ll teach you to speak
in every language,
and how to heal the suffering –
live will, king!”[18]

When he is finished telling his nephew the whole truth, including the circumstances of his death, Gripir consoles him with the promise that “A better man will never walk upon the earth beneath the sun than you.”[19] In the saga, we are told that Sigurd then returns to Regin, who reminds him of his promise to kill Fafnir. Sigurd once more affirms that he will keep this promise, but not before avenging his father and the kinsmen who fell with him in battle.

The episode with Gripir is extremely interesting. Ask yourself if you would like to be told your entire fate, including when you are going to die and in what manner. Then ask yourself, if a tragic future were foretold for you, whether you would have difficulty going on with your life. If Sigurd has difficulty, he shows no signs of it. Then again, he is a hero. In Gripisspa, on parting company with his uncle, Sigurd says, “My fate will be what it will.” Sigurd then proceeds with his adventures – all of which turn out exactly as Gripir had prophesied.

Quite obviously, the virtue exemplified here by Sigurd is amor fati, “love of fate.” Nietzsche proposes his “eternal recurrence” as a kind of thought experiment that is a litmus test for the potential overman: suppose everything, including all of the events of your life, has happened before an infinite number of times, in exactly the same way, and will happen again an infinite number of times. Can you still say “yes” to life? Can you embrace this? If the answer (the honest answer) is yes, then congratulations: you may be an overman.

Amor fati is basic to the pagan Germanic spirit. Few men had their entire lives foretold for them, but all believed that the Norns had determined their fate in advance, and that the only manly response to this was to embrace that destiny. Knowing his fate in detail also serves a special purpose for Sigurd: it allows him to achieve detachment. Thanks to his uncle, he is aware in advance of every significant event in his life, including his death, but, again, all he can do is to carry on and act out his fate. And he does so almost as if he is an actor playing a role.

If Sigurd’s subsequent adventures are to be understood as symbolic of spiritual transformation, then, as Evola tells us, such detachment is a necessary first step. In the next installment, we will follow Sigurd as he avenges his kin – and we will recount his most famous deed and try to interpret its symbolic significance: the slaying of the dragon Fafnir.

Notes

[1] The Poetic Edda, trans. Jackson Crawford (Indianapolis: Hackett Publishing, 2015) (henceforth PE), 235.

[2] Claude Lecouteaux, The Hidden History of Elves and Dwarfs, trans. Jon Graham (Rochester, VT: Inner Traditions, 2018), 53.

[3] Lecouteaux, 53.

[4] Lecouteaux, 50.

[5] Snorri Sturluson, Edda, trans. Anthony Faulkes (London: Everyman’s Library, 1995), 95.

[6] Julius Evola, The Hermetic Tradition, trans. E.E. Rehmus (Rochester: Inner Traditions, 1995), 23.

[7] Evola,103.

[8] Evola, 102.

[9] Evola, 30.

[10] Vǫlsunga Saga – The Saga of the Volsungs, trans. R.G. Finch (London: Thomas Nelson, 1965), 26.

[11] Crawford, PE, 235.

[12] Finch incorrectly translates it as “from his arm.”

[13] Faulkes, 100.

[14] Crawford, PE, 237.

[15] Finch, 27.

[16] Finch, 28.

[17] Crawford, PE, 222.

[18] Crawford, PE, 224.

[19] Crawford, PE, 233.