Icelander, according to oral traditions and ancient songs, relates
the history of the birth and youth of Siegfried, as follows:[68] King
Sigmund of Tarlungaland, on his return from an expedition, banishes his
wife Sisibe, the daughter of King Nidung of Hispania, who is _accused_
by Count Hartvin, whose advances she has spurned, of having had
_illicit relations with a menial_. The king’s counsellors advise him
to mutilate instead of kill the innocent queen, and Hartvin is ordered
to cut out her tongue in the forest, so as to bring it to the king as
a pledge. His companion, Count Hermann, opposes the execution of the
cruel command, and proposes to present the tongue of a dog to the king.
While the two men are engaged in a violent quarrel, _Sisibe gives birth
to a remarkably beautiful boy; she then took a glass vessel, and after
having wrapped the boy in linens, she placed him in the glass vessel,
which she_ carefully closed again and placed beside her (Rassmann).
Count Hartvin was conquered in the fight, and in falling kicked the
glass vessel, _so that it fell into the river_. When the queen saw this
she swooned, and died soon afterwards. Hermann went home, told the
king everything, and was banished from the country. The _glass vessel
meantime drifted down stream to the sea_, and it was not long before
the tide turned. _Then the vessel floated on to a rocky cliff_, and the
water ran off so that the place where the vessel was perfectly dry. The
boy inside had grown somewhat, and when the vessel struck the rock, it
broke, and the child began to cry. [Rassmann] The boy’s wailing was
heard _by a doe_, which seized him with her lips, and carried him to
her litter, _where she nursed him together with her young_. After the
child had lived twelve months in the den of the doe, he had grown to
the height and strength of other boys four years of age. One day he ran
into the forest, where dwelt the wise and skilfull _smith, Mimir who
had lived for nine years in childless wedlock_. He saw the boy, who
was followed by the faithful doe, took him to his home, _and resolved
to bring him up as his own son_. He gave him the name of Siegfried. In
Mimir’s home, Siegfried soon attained an enormous stature and strength,
but his wilfulness caused Mimir _to get rid of him_. He sent the youth
into the forest, where it had been arranged that the dragon Regin,
Mimir’s brother, was to kill him. But Siegfried conquers the dragon,
and kills Mimir. He then proceeds to Brynhild, who names his parents to
him.
Similarly to the early history of Siegfried, an Austrasiatic saga
tells of the birth and youth of _Wolfdietrich_.[69] His mother is
likewise accused of _unfaithfulness_, and intercourse with the devil,
by a vassal whom she has repulsed, and who speaks evil of her to the
returning king, Hugdietrich of Constantinople.[70]
_The king surrenders the child to the faithful Berchtung, who is to
kill it, but exposes it instead, in the forest, near the water_, in
the hope that it will fall in of its own accord and thus find its
death. But the frolicking child remains unhurt, and even _the wild
animals_, lions, bears, wolves, which come at night to the water, _do
not harm it_. The astonished Berchtung resolves to save the boy, and he
_surrenders him to a game keeper_ who, together with his wife, raises
him and names him Wolfdietrich.[71]
The following later hero epics may still be quoted in this connection.
In the thirteenth century, the saga of _Horn_, the son of Aluf, who
after having been exposed on the sea, finally reaches the court of
King Hunlaf, and after numerous adventures wins the king’s daughter,
Rimhilt, for his wife. Furthermore, a detail suggestive of Siegfried,
from the saga of the skilfull smith _Wieland_, who, after avenging his
foully murdered father, floats down the river Weser, artfully enclosed
in the trunk of a tree, and loaded with the tools and treasures of
his teachers. Finally the _Arthur_ legend contains the commingling of
divine and human paternity, the exposure and the early life with a
lowly man.
LOHENGRIN
The widely distributed group of sagas which have been woven around the
mythic knight with the swan (the old French Chevalier au cigne) can be
traced back to very ancient Keltic traditions. The following is the
version which has been made familiar by Wagner’s dramatisation of this
theme. The story of Lohengrin, the knight with the swan, as transmitted
by the medieval German epic [modernized by Junghaus, Reclam] and
briefly rendered by the Grimm brothers, in their “German Sagas” (Part
II, Berlin, 1818, p. 306) under the title: Lohengrin in Brabant.
The Duke of Brabant and Limburg died, without leaving other heirs than
a young daughter, Els, or Elsam by name; her he recommended on his
death bed to one of his retainers, Friedrich von Telramund. Friedrich,
the intrepid warrior, became emboldened to demand the youthful duchess’
hand and lands, under the false claim that she had promised to marry
him. She steadfastly refused to do so. Friedrich complained to Emperor
Heinrich, surnamed the Vogler, and the verdict was that she must defend
herself against him, through some hero, in a so called divine judgment,
in which God would accord the victory to the innocent, and defeat the
guilty. As none were ready to take her part, the young duchess prayed
ardently to God, to save her; and far away in distant Montsalvatsch,
in the Council of the Grail, the sound of the bell was heard, showing
that there was some one in urgent need of help. The Grail therefore
resolved to despatch as a rescuer, Lohengrin the son of Parsifal. Just
as he was about to place his foot in the stirrup _a swan came floating
down the water drawing a skiff behind him_. As soon as Lohengrin set
eyes upon the swan, he exclaimed: “Take the steed back to the manger, I
shall follow this bird wherever he may lead me.” Having faith in God’s
omnipotence he took no food with him in the skiff. After they had been
afloat on the sea five days, the swan dipped his bill in the water,
caught a fish, ate one half of it, and gave the other half to the
prince to eat. _Thus the knight was fed by the swan._
Meanwhile Elsa had summoned her chieftains and retainers to a meeting
in Antwerp. Precisely on the day of the assembly, a swan was sighted
swimming up stream (river Schelde) and drawing behind him a skiff, in
which Lohengrin lay asleep on his shield. The swan promptly came to
land at the shore, and the prince was joyfully welcomed. Hardly had
his helmet, shield and sword been taken from the skiff, when the swan
at once swam away again. Lohengrin heard of the wrong which had been
done to the duchess, and willingly consented to become her champion.
Elsa then summoned all her relatives and subjects. The place was
prepared in Mayence, where Lohengrin and Friedrich were to fight in
the emperor’s presence. The hero of the Grail defeated Friedrich, who
confessed having lied to the duchess, and was executed with the axe.
Elsa was alloted to Lohengrin, they having long been lovers; but he
secretly _insisted upon her avoiding all questions as to his ancestry,
or whence he had come_, saying that otherwise he would have to leave
her instantaneously and she would never see him again.
For some time, the couple lived in peace and happiness. Lohengrin was
a wise and mighty ruler over his land, and also served his emperor
well in his expeditions against the Huns and the heathen. But it came
to pass that one day in throwing the javelin he unhorsed the Duke
of Cleve, so that the latter broke an arm. The Duchess of Cleve was
angry, and spoke out amongst the women, saying: “Lohengrin may be
brave enough, and he seems to be a good Christian; what a pity that
his nobility is not of much account _for no one knows whence he has
come floating to this land_.” These words pierced the heart of the
Duchess of Brabant, and she changed color with emotion. At night, when
her spouse was holding her in his arms, she wept, and he said “What
is the matter, Elsa, my own?” She made answer, “the Duchess of Cleve
has caused me sore pain.” Lohengrin was silent and asked no more. The
second night, the same came to pass. But in the third night, Elsa
could no longer retain herself, and she spoke: “Lord, do not chide
me! _I wish to know, for our children’s sake, whence you were born_;
for my heart tells me that you are of high rank.” When the day broke,
Lohengrin declared in public whence he had come, that Parsifal was his
father, and God had sent him from the Grail. He then asked for his
two children, which the duchess had borne him, kissed them, told them
to take good care of his horn and sword which he would leave behind,
and said: “Now, I must be gone.” To the duchess he left a little
ring which his mother had given him. Then the swan, his friend, came
swimming swiftly, with the skiff behind him; the prince stepped in and
crossed the water, back to the service of the Grail. Elsa sank down in
a faint. The empress resolved _to keep the younger boy Lohengrin, for
his father’s sake, and to bring him up as her own child_. But the widow
wept and mourned[72] the rest of her life for her beloved spouse, who
never came back to her.
On inverting the Lohengrin saga in such a way that the end is placed
first,—on the basis of the rearrangement, or even transmutation of
motives, not uncommonly found in myths,—we find the type of saga
with which we have now become familiar: The infant Lohengrin, who is
identical with his father of the same name, _floats in a vessel upon
the sea and is carried ashore by a swan. The empress adopts him as her
son, and he becomes a valorous hero._ Having married a noble maiden of
the land, he forbids her to enquire as to his origin. When the command
is broken he is obliged to reveal his miraculous descent and divine
mission, after which the swan carries him back in his skiff to the
Grail.
Other versions of the saga of the Knight with the Swan have retained
this original arrangement of the motives, although they appear
commingled with elements of fairy tales. The saga of the Knight with
the Swan, as related in the Flemish People’s Book (Deutsche Sagen,
I, 29), contains in the beginning the history of the birth of seven
children,[73] borne by Beatrix, the wife of King Oriant of Flanders.
The wicked mother of the absent king, Matabruna, orders that the
children be killed, and the queen be given seven puppy dogs in their
stead. But the servant contents himself with the exposure of the
children, who are found by a hermit, named Helias, and are nourished by
a goat until they are grown. Beatrix is thrown into a dungeon. Later
on Matabruna learns that the children have been saved and her repeated
command to kill them causes the hunter, who has been charged with the
murder, to bring her as a sign of apparent obedience to her behest, the
silver neck chains which the children wore already at the time of their
birth. One of the boys, named Helias, after his foster father, alone
keeps his chain, and is thereby saved from the fate of his brothers,
who are transformed into swans, as soon as their chains are removed.
Matabruna volunteers to prove the relations of the queen with the dog,
and upon her instigation, Beatrix is to be killed, unless a champion
arises to defend her. In her need, she prays to God, who sends her
son Helias as a rescuer. The brothers are also saved by means of the
other chains, except one, whose chain has already been melted down.
King Oriant now transfers the rulership to his son Helias, who causes
the wicked Matabruna to be burned. One day, Helias sees his brother,
the swan, drawing a skiff on the lake surrounding the castle. This
he regards as a heavenly sign, he arms himself and mounts the skiff.
The swan takes him through rivers and lakes to the place where God
has ordained him to go. Next follows the liberation of an innocently
accused duchess, in analogy with the Lohengrin saga; and his marriage
to her daughter Clarissa, who is forbidden to ask for her husband’s
ancestry. In the seventh year of their marriage she disobeys and puts
the question, after which Helias returns home in the swan’s skiff.
Finally, his lost brother swan is likewise released.
The characteristic features of the Lohengrin saga,—that the divine
hero disappears again in the same mysterious fashion in which he has
arrived; also the transference of mythical motives from the life
of the older hero, bearing the same name, to a younger one, a very
universal process in myth-formation, are likewise embodied in the
Anglian-Longobard saga of Scëaf, which is mentioned in the introduction
to the Beowulf-Song, the oldest German epic, preserved in the
Anglo-Saxon tongue (translated by H. v. Wolzogen, Reclam). The father
of old Beowulf received his name, Scild Scéfing (meaning the son of
Scëaf), because as a very young boy, he was cast ashore as a stranger,
asleep in a boat on a sheaf of grain (Anglo-saxon, scéaf). The waves of
the sea carried him to the coast of the country which he was destined
to defend. The inhabitants welcomed him as a miracle, raised him, and
later on made him their king, as an emissary of God. (Compare Grimm,
German Mythology, I, p. 306; III, p. 391, and H. Leo: Beowulf, Halle,
1839.) What is told of the ancestor of the royal house, Scaf,[74] or
Scëaf, appears in the Beowulf song transferred to his son, Scëafing
Scild, according to the unanimous statement of Grimm (see above), and
Leo (p. 24): His dead body is exposed at his behest, surrounded by
kingly splendor, upon a ship without a crew, which is sent out into
the sea. Thus he vanishes in the same mysterious manner in which his
father arrived ashore; this trait being accounted for, in analogy with
the Lohengrin saga, by the mythical identity of father and son.
A cursory review of these variegated hero myths forcibly brings out
a series of uniformly common features, with a typical ground work,
from which a standard saga, as it were, may be constructed. This
schedule corresponds approximately to the ideal human skeleton which is
constantly seen, with minor deviations, on transillumination of figures
which outwardly differ from one another. The individual traits of the
several myths, and especially apparently crude variations from the
prototype, can only be entirely elucidated by the myth-interpretation.
The standard saga itself may be formulated according to the following
scheme:
The hero is the child of most distinguished parents; usually the son
of a king. His origin is preceded by difficulties, such as continence,
or prolonged barrenness, or secret intercourse of the parents, due to
external prohibition or obstacles. During the pregnancy, or antedating
the same, there is a prophecy, in form of a dream or oracle, cautioning
against his birth, and usually threatening danger to the father, or his
representative. As a rule, he is surrendered to the water, in a box. He
is then saved by animals, or by lowly people (shepherds) and is suckled
by a female animal, or by a humble woman. After he has grown up, he
finds his distinguished parents, in a highly versatile fashion; takes
his revenge on his father, on the one hand, is acknowledged on the
other, and finally achieves rank and honors.[75]
The normal relations of the hero towards his father and his mother
regularly appearing impaired in all these myths, as shown by the
schedule, there is reason to assume that something in the nature of
the hero must account for such a disturbance, and motives of this
kind are not very difficult to discover. It is readily understood—and
may be noted in the modern epigones of the heroic age—that for the
hero who is exposed to envy, jealousy and calumny to a much higher
degree than all others, the descent from his parents often becomes
the source of the greatest distress and embarrassment. The old saying
that “A prophet is not without honor save in his own country and in
his father’s house,” has no other meaning but this, that he whose
parents, brothers and sisters, or playmates, are known to us, is not
so readily conceded to be a prophet (Gospel of St. Mark, VI, 4). There
seems to be a certain necessity for the prophet to deny his parents;
also, the well-known opera of Meyerbeer is based upon the avowal that
the prophetic hero is allowed, in favor of his mission, to abandon and
repudiate even his tenderly beloved mother.
A number of difficulties arise, however, as we proceed to a deeper
enquiry into the motives which oblige the hero to sever his
family relations. Numerous investigators have emphasized that the
understanding of myth formation requires our going back to their
ultimate source, namely the individual faculty of imagination.[76] The
fact has also been pointed out that this imaginative faculty is found
in its active and unchecked exuberance only in childhood. Therefore,
the imaginative life of the child should first be studied, in order
to facilitate the understanding of the far more complex and also more
handicapped mythical and artistic imagination in general.
Meanwhile the investigation of the juvenile faculty of imagination
has hardly commenced, instead of being sufficiently advanced to
permit the utilization of the findings for the explanation of the
more complicated psychic activities. The reason for this imperfect
understanding of the psychic life of the child is referable to the lack
of a suitable instrument, as well as of a reliable avenue, leading
into the intricacies of this very delicate and rather inaccessible
domain. These juvenile emotions can by no means be studied in the
normal human adult, and it may actually be charged, in view of certain
psychic disturbances, that the normal psychic integrity of normal
subjects consists precisely in their having overcome and forgotten
their childish vagaries and imaginations: so that the way has become
blocked. In children, on the other hand, empirical observation (which
as a rule must remain merely superficial) fails in the investigation
of psychic processes, because we are not as yet enabled to trace all
manifestations correctly to their motive forces: so that we are lacking
the instrument. There is a certain class of persons, the so-called
psychoneurotics, shown by the teachings of Freud to have remained
children, in a sense, although otherwise appearing grown up. These
psychoneurotics may be said not to have given up their juvenile psychic
life, which on the contrary, in the course of maturity, has become
strengthened and fixed, instead of modified. In psychoneurotics, the
emotions of the child are preserved and exaggerated, thus becoming
capable of pathological effects, in which these humble emotions appear
broadened and enormously magnified. The fancies of neurotics are,
as it were, the uniformly exaggerated reproductions of the childish
imaginings. This would point the way to a solution of the problem.
Unfortunately, however, the access is still much more difficult
to establish in these cases than to the child mind. There is only
one known instrument which makes this road practicable, namely the
psychoanalytic method, which has been developed through the work of
Freud. Constant handling of this instrument will clear the observer’s
vision to such a degree that he will be enabled to discover the
identical motive forces, only in delicately shaded manifestations, also
in the psychic life of those who do not become neurotics later on.
Professor Freud had the amiability to place at the author’s disposal
his highly appreciated experience with the psychology of the neuroses;
and on this material are based the following comments, on the
imaginative faculty of the child as well as the neurotic.