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 By far the most important aspect of the Russian Revolution is as an attempt to realize Communism. I believe that Communism is necessary to the world, and I believe that the heroism of Russia has fired men's hopes in a way which was essential to the realization of Communism in the future. Regarded as a splendid attempt, without which ultimate success would have been very improbable, Bolshevism deserves the gratitude and admiration of all the progressive part of mankind.

But the method by which Moscow aims at establishing Communism is a pioneer method, rough and dangerous, too heroic to count the cost of the opposition it arouses. I do not believe that by this method a stable or desirable form of Communism can be established. Three issues seem to me possible from the present situation. The first is the ultimate defeat of Bolshevism by the forces of capitalism. The second is the victory of the Bolshevists accompanied by a complete loss of their ideals and a régime of Napoleonic imperialism. The third is a prolonged world-war, in which civilization will go under, and all its manifestations (including Communism) will be forgotten.

It is because I do not believe that the methods of the Third International can lead to the desired goal that I have thought it worth while to point out


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 what seem to me undesirable features in the present state of Russia. I think there are lessons to be learnt which must be learnt if the world is ever to achieve what is desired by those in the West who have sympathy with the original aims of the Bolsheviks. I do not think these lessons can be learnt except by facing frankly and fully whatever elements of failure there are in Russia. I think these elements of failure are less attributable to faults of detail than to an impatient philosophy, which aims at creating a new world without sufficient preparation in the opinions and feelings of ordinary men and women.

But although I do not believe that Communism can be realized immediately by the spread of Bolshevism, I do believe that, if Bolshevism falls, it will have contributed a legend and a heroic attempt without which ultimate success might never have come. A fundamental economic reconstruction, bringing with it very far-reaching changes in ways of thinking and feeling, in philosophy and art and private relations, seems absolutely necessary if industrialism is to become the servant of man instead of his master. In all this, I am at one with the Bolsheviks; politically, I criticize them only when their methods seem to involve a departure from their own ideals.

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There is, however, another aspect of Bolshevism from which I differ more fundamentally. Bolshevism is not merely a political doctrine; it is also a religion, with elaborate dogmas and inspired scriptures. When Lenin wishes to prove some proposition, he does so, if possible, by quoting texts from Marx and Engels. A full-fledged Communist is not merely a man who believes that land and capital should be held in common, and their produce distributed as nearly equally as possible. He is a man who entertains a number of elaborate and dogmatic beliefs--such as philosophic materialism, for example--which may be true, but are not, to a scientific temper, capable of being known to be true with any certainty. This habit, of militant certainty about objectively doubtful matters, is one from which, since the Renaissance, the world has been gradually emerging, into that temper of constructive and fruitful scepticism which constitutes the scientific outlook. I believe the scientific outlook to be immeasurably important to the human race. If a more just economic system were only attainable by closing men's minds against free inquiry, and plunging them back into the intellectual prison of the middle ages, I should consider the price too high. It cannot be denied that, over any short period of time, dogmatic belief is a help in fighting. If all Communists become


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 religious fanatics, while supporters of capitalism retain a sceptical temper, it may be assumed that the Communists will win, while in the contrary case the capitalists would win. It seems evident, from the attitude of the capitalist world to Soviet Russia, of the Entente to the Central Empires, and of England to Ireland and India, that there is no depth of cruelty, perfidy or brutality from which the present holders of power will shrink when they feel themselves threatened. If, in order to oust them, nothing short of religious fanaticism will serve, it is they who are the prime sources of the resultant evil. And it is permissible to hope that, when they have been dispossessed, fanaticism will fade, as other fanaticisms have faded in the past.

The present holders of power are evil men, and the present manner of life is doomed. To make the transition with a minimum of bloodshed, with a maximum of preservation of whatever has value in our existing civilization, is a difficult problem. It is this problem which has chiefly occupied my mind in writing the following pages. I wish I could think that its solution would be facilitated by some slight degree of moderation and humane feeling on the part of those who enjoy unjust privileges in the world as it is.

The present work is the outcome of a visit to


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 Russia, supplemented by much reading and discussion both before and after. I have thought it best to record what I saw separately from theoretical considerations, and I have endeavoured to state my impressions without any bias for or against the Bolsheviks. I received at their hands the greatest kindness and courtesy, and I owe them a debt of gratitude for the perfect freedom which they allowed me in my investigations. I am conscious that I was too short a time in Russia to be able to form really reliable judgments; however, I share this drawback with most other westerners who have written on Russia since the October Revolution. I feel that Bolshevism is a matter of such importance that it is necessary, for almost every political question, to define one's attitude in regard to it; and I have hopes that I may help others to define their attitude, even if only by way of opposition to what I have written.

I have received invaluable assistance from my secretary, Miss D.W. Black, who was in Russia shortly after I had left. The chapter on Art and Education is written by her throughout. Neither is responsible for the other's opinions.

BERTRAND RUSSELL

_September, 1920._


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Nyayŭ colleges.—Shivŭ-Nat’hŭ-Vidya-Vachŭspŭtee, has one hundred and twenty-five students.—Ramŭ-Lochŭnŭ-Nyayŭ-Bhõõshŭnŭ, twenty students.—Kashēē-Nat’hŭ-Tŭrkŭ-Chõõramŭnee, thirty ditto.—Ŭbhŭyanŭndŭ-Tŭrkalŭnkarŭ, twenty ditto.—Ramŭ-Shŭrŭnŭ-Nyayŭ-Vagēēshŭ, fifteen ditto.—Bhola-Nat’hŭ-Shiromŭnee, twelve ditto.—Radha-Nat’hŭ-Tŭrkŭ-Pŭnchanŭnŭ, ten ditto.—Ramŭ-Mohŭnŭ-Vidya-Vachŭspŭtee, twenty ditto.—Shrēē-Ramŭ-Tŭrkŭ-Bhõõshŭnŭ, twenty ditto.—Kalēē-Kantŭ-Chõõramŭnee, five ditto.—Krishnŭ-Kantŭ-Vidya-Vagēēshŭ, fifteen ditto.—Tŭrkalŭnkarŭ, fifteen ditto.—Kalēē-Prŭsŭnnŭ, fifteen ditto.—Madhŭvŭ-Tŭrkŭ-Siddhantŭ, twenty-five ditto.—Kŭmŭla-kantŭ-Tŭrkŭ-Chõõramŭnee, twenty-five ditto.—Eeshwŭrŭ-Tŭrkŭ-Bhõõshŭnŭ, twenty do.—Kantŭ-Vidyalŭnkarŭ, forty ditto.

Law colleges.—Ramŭ-Nat’hŭ-Tŭrkŭ-Siddhantŭ, forty students.—Gŭnga-Dhŭrŭ-Shiromŭnee, twenty-five ditto.—Dévēē-Tŭrkalŭnkarŭ, twenty-five ditto.—Mohŭnŭ-Vidya-Vachŭspŭtee, twenty ditto.—Gangolee-Tŭrkalŭnkarŭ, ten ditto.—Krishnŭ-Kantŭ-Tŭrkŭ-Bhõõshŭnŭ, ten ditto.—Pranŭ-Krishnŭ-Tŭrka-Vagēēshŭ, five ditto.—Poorohitŭ, five ditto.—Kashēē-Kantŭ-Tŭrkŭ-Chõõramŭnee, thirty ditto.—Kalēē-Kantŭ-Tarkŭ-Pŭnchanŭnŭ, twenty ditto.—Gŭdadhŭr-Tŭrkŭ-Vagēēshŭ, twenty ditto.

Colleges where the poetical works are read.—Kalēē-Kantŭ-Tŭrkŭ-Chõõramŭnee, fifty students.

Where the astronomical works are read.—Gooroo-Prŭsadŭ-Siddhantŭ-Vagēēshŭ, fifty students.

Where the grammar is read.—Shŭmbhoo-Nat’hŭ-Chõõramŭnee, five students.

The following among other colleges are found in Calcutta; and in these the nyayŭ and smritee shastrŭs are principally taught:— Ŭnŭntŭ-Ramŭ-Vidya-Vagēēshŭ, of Hatee-Baganŭ, fifteen students.—Ramŭ-Koomarŭ-Tŭrkalŭnkarŭ, of ditto, eight students.—Ramŭ-Toshŭnŭ-Vidyalŭnkarŭ, of ditto, eight ditto.—Ramŭ-Doolalŭ-Chõõramŭnee, of ditto, five ditto.—Gourŭ-Mŭnee-Nyayalŭnkarŭ, of ditto, four ditto.—Kashēē-Nat’hŭ-


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 To understand Bolshevism it is not sufficient to know facts; it is necessary also to enter with sympathy or imagination into a new spirit. The chief thing that the Bolsheviks have done is to create a hope, or at any rate to make strong and widespread a hope which was formerly confined to a few. This aspect of the movement is as easy to grasp at a distance as it is in Russia--perhaps even easier, because in Russia present circumstances tend to obscure the view of the distant future. But the actual situation in Russia can only be understood superficially if we forget the hope which is the motive power of the whole. One might as well describe the Thebaid without mentioning that the hermits expected eternal bliss as the reward of their sacrifices here on earth.

I cannot share the hopes of the Bolsheviks any more than those of the Egyptian anchorites; I regard both as tragic delusions, destined to bring


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 upon the world centuries of darkness and futile violence. The principles of the Sermon on the Mount are admirable, but their effect upon average human nature was very different from what was intended. Those who followed Christ did not learn to love their enemies or to turn the other cheek. They learned instead to use the Inquisition and the stake, to subject the human intellect to the yoke of an ignorant and intolerant priesthood, to degrade art and extinguish science for a thousand years. These were the inevitable results, not of the teaching, but of fanatical belief in the teaching. The hopes which inspire Communism are, in the main, as admirable as those instilled by the Sermon on the Mount, but they are held as fanatically, and are likely to do as much harm. Cruelty lurks in our instincts, and fanaticism is a camouflage for cruelty. Fanatics are seldom genuinely humane, and those who sincerely dread cruelty will be slow to adopt a fanatical creed. I do not know whether Bolshevism can be prevented from acquiring universal power. But even if it cannot, I am persuaded that those who stand out against it, not from love of ancient injustice, but in the name of the free spirit of Man, will be the bearers of the seeds of progress, from which, when the world's gestation is accomplished, new life will be born.


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The war has left throughout Europe a mood of disillusionment and despair which calls aloud for a new religion, as the only force capable of giving men the energy to live vigorously. Bolshevism has supplied the new religion. It promises glorious things: an end of the injustice of rich and poor, an end of economic slavery, an end of war. It promises an end of the disunion of classes which poisons political life and threatens our industrial system with destruction. It promises an end to commercialism, that subtle falsehood that leads men to appraise everything by its money value, and to determine money value often merely by the caprices of idle plutocrats. It promises a world where all men and women shall be kept sane by work, and where all work shall be of value to the community, not only to a few wealthy vampires. It is to sweep away listlessness and pessimism and weariness and all the complicated miseries of those whose circumstances allow idleness and whose energies are not sufficient to force activity. In place of palaces and hovels, futile vice and useless misery, there is to be wholesome work, enough but not too much, all of it useful, performed by men and women who have no time for pessimism and no occasion for despair.

The existing capitalist system is doomed. Its


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 injustice is so glaring that only ignorance and tradition could lead wage-earners to tolerate it. As ignorance diminishes, tradition becomes weakened, and the war destroyed the hold upon men's minds of everything merely traditional. It may be that, through the influence of America, the capitalist system will linger for another fifty years; but it will grow continually weaker, and can never recover the position of easy dominance which it held in the nineteenth century. To attempt to bolster it up is a useless diversion of energies which might be expended upon building something new. Whether the new thing will be Bolshevism or something else, I do not know; whether it will be better or worse than capitalism, I do not know. But that a radically new order of society will emerge, I feel no doubt. And I also feel no doubt that the new order will be either some form of Socialism or a reversion to barbarism and petty war such as occurred during the barbarian invasion. If Bolshevism remains the only vigorous and effective competitor of capitalism, I believe that no form of Socialism will be realized, but only chaos and destruction. This belief, for which I shall give reasons later, is one of the grounds upon which I oppose Bolshevism. But to oppose it from the point of view of a supporter of capitalism would be, to my


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 mind, utterly futile and against the movement of history in the present age.

The effect of Bolshevism as a revolutionary hope is greater outside Russia than within the Soviet Republic. Grim realities have done much to kill hope among those who are subject to the dictatorship of Moscow. Yet even within Russia, the Communist party, in whose hands all political power is concentrated, still lives by hope, though the pressure of events has made the hope severe and stern and somewhat remote. It is this hope that leads to concentration upon the rising generation. Russian Communists often avow that there is little hope for those who are already adult, and that happiness can only come to the children who have grown up under the new régime and been moulded from the first to the group-mentality that Communism requires. It is only after the lapse of a generation that they hope to create a Russia that shall realize their vision.

In the Western World, the hope inspired by Bolshevism is more immediate, less shot through with tragedy. Western Socialists who have visited Russia have seen fit to suppress the harsher features of the present régime, and have disseminated a belief among their followers that the millennium would be quickly realized there if there were no


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 war and no blockade. Even those Socialists who are not Bolsheviks for their own country have mostly done very little to help men in appraising the merits or demerits of Bolshevik methods. By this lack of courage they have exposed Western Socialism to the danger of becoming Bolshevik through ignorance of the price that has to be paid and of the uncertainty as to whether the desired goal will be reached in the end. I believe that the West is capable of adopting less painful and more certain methods of reaching Socialism than those that have seemed necessary in Russia. And I believe that while some forms of Socialism are immeasurably better than capitalism, others are even worse. Among those that are worse I reckon the form which is being achieved in Russia, not only in itself, but as a more insuperable barrier to further progress.

In judging of Bolshevism from what is to be seen in Russia at present, it is necessary to disentangle various factors which contribute to a single result. To begin with, Russia is one of the nations that were defeated in the war; this has produced a set of circumstances resembling those found in Germany and Austria. The food problem, for example, appears to be essentially similar in all three countries. In order to arrive at what is specifically Bolshevik,


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 we must first eliminate what is merely characteristic of a country which has suffered military disaster. Next we come to factors which are Russian, which Russian Communists share with other Russians, but not with other Communists. There is, for example, a great deal of disorder and chaos and waste, which shocks Westerners (especially Germans) even when they are in close political sympathy with the Bolsheviks. My own belief is that, although, with the exception of a few very able men, the Russian Government is less efficient in organization than the Germans or the Americans would be in similar circumstances, yet it represents what is most efficient in Russia, and does more to prevent chaos than any possible alternative government would do. Again, the intolerance and lack of liberty which has been inherited from the Tsarist régime is probably to be regarded as Russian rather than Communist. If a Communist Party were to acquire power in England, it would probably be met by a less irresponsible opposition, and would be able to show itself far more tolerant than any government can hope to be in Russia if it is to escape assassination. This, however, is a matter of degree. A great part of the despotism which characterizes the Bolsheviks belongs to the essence of their social philosophy, and would have to be reproduced, even if in


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 a milder form, wherever that philosophy became dominant.

It is customary among the apologists of Bolshevism in the West to excuse its harshness on the ground that it has been produced by the necessity of fighting the Entente and its mercenaries. Undoubtedly it is true that this necessity has produced many of the worst elements in the present state of affairs. Undoubtedly, also, the Entente has incurred a heavy load of guilt by its peevish and futile opposition. But the expectation of such opposition was always part of Bolshevik theory. A general hostility to the first Communist State was both foreseen and provoked by the doctrine of the class war. Those who adopt the Bolshevik standpoint must reckon with the embittered hostility of capitalist States; it is not worth while to adopt Bolshevik methods unless they can lead to good in spite of this hostility. To say that capitalists are wicked and we have no responsibility for their acts is unscientific; it is, in particular, contrary to the Marxian doctrine of economic determinism. The evils produced in Russia by the enmity of the Entente are therefore to be reckoned as essential in the Bolshevik method of transition to Communism, not as specially Russian. I am not sure that we cannot even go a step further.


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 The exhaustion and misery caused by unsuccessful war were necessary to the success of the Bolsheviks; a prosperous population will not embark by such methods upon a fundamental economic reconstruction. One can imagine England becoming Bolshevik after an unsuccessful war involving the loss of India--no improbable contingency in the next few years. But at present the average wage-earner in England will not risk what he has for the doubtful gain of a revolution. A condition of widespread misery may, therefore, be taken as indispensable to the inauguration of Communism, unless, indeed, it were possible to establish Communism more or less peacefully, by methods which would not, even temporarily, destroy the economic life of the country. If the hopes which inspired Communism at the start, and which still inspire its Western advocates, are ever to be realized, the problem of minimizing violence in the transition must be faced. Unfortunately, violence is in itself delightful to most really vigorous revolutionaries, and they feel no interest in the problem of avoiding it as far as possible. Hatred of enemies is easier and more intense than love of friends. But from men who are more anxious to injure opponents than to benefit the world at large no great good is to be expected.


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INTRODUCTION His interest in the fancy points of poultry and pigeons was kept alive for a time by the nature of his work with Darwin; when the scientific interest of variations in shape and plumage had been exhausted they became trifles; and he then devoted himself to the promotion of utility poultry and utility pigeons. The domestic fowl was to be encouraged for the table and as a layer, without regard to external points, save as indicative of breed. The only pigeon in which he preserved his interest was that which had been the hobby of his youthful days, the Homer; but the bird which had been his plaything as a boy was made to reveal valuable uses by Tegetmeier in manhood. He did more than anyone in the kingdom to open the eyes of the public to the value of the services the Homer could be made to give. During the 'seventies he was much before the public as the organiser of great flights of birds from the Crystal Palace. These public displays were regarded by him simply as means to the end he had in view. Knowing what Continental nations were doing with the Homer in connection with military work, his aim was to awaken general interest and to persuade our own military authorities to make similar use of the abundant material that was ready to their hands; and he worked at the business by public demonstration, by writing and by lecture, with his usual tireless energy. xi.


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LIFE OF TEGETMEIER For many years he was my regular companion at the Bishop's Stortford Flower Show, where a toss" of Homers was a feature of the gathering. It was a great day for Tegetmeier when our late King, at my request, graciously allowed a number of the Sandringham birds to be brought to the Flower Show and thence tossed."

His impatience of shams and impostures went far, I think, to gain for him the name of "Teggy the Fighter," by which he was known to his intimates. Nothing roused his ordinarily placid temper like endeavour to misrepresent or deceive. This trait came out very clearly in his attitude towards so-called poultry farming. He may at one time have thought it possible to make the rearing of poultry, as an independent industry, pay; he never condemned enterprise or experiment without full and impartial investigation; but after long and patient examination he collected an amount of evidence disproving the possibility of making fowls pay on land solely devoted to them; and thenceforward he was merciless to those who might try to mislead the public into putting money into such enterprises. It is due very largely to his remorseless exposures that we hear little nowadays or the poultry-farm myth.

Tegetmeier's services to the poultry interestwould be impossible to over-estimate; and they serve, perhaps more than any other branch of


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LIFE OF TEGETMEIER mental alertness and physical activity he pre- served. When far advanced in the 'eighties he was still as keenly interested in matters relating to game and poultry as he had been in his prime, and was capable of physical exertion which might have been envied by men twenty-five years younger.

I recall an incident which serves to illustrate his mental and bodily activity in his eighty-fifth year. Shooting men will remember the unusual mortality among the young pheasants during the summer of 1901. Disease was rife all over the kingdom, and Tegetmeier, at the Field office, was overwhelmed with dead chicks and inquiries concerning cause and remedy. At Elsenham we had enjoyed comparative immunity from disease; there had been the usual mortality but nothing of which to complain, and Tegetmeier, in search of an estate where the birds were healthy, proposed one of his ever-welcome visits; his purpose being to investigate the system pursued by my then head keeper.

He arrived in the evening, sat up late with the rest, and after breakfast next morning set out with the keeper to go round the coverts and rearing grounds, returning to lunch, and spending the afternoon in the same way as in the morning. He must have spent at least seven hours walking and scrambling about the woods, examining the keeper on his methods of management and


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INTRODUCTION Tegetmeier felt himself equipped to deal with his subject, whatever it might be, the proba- bility was there could be little more to learn concerning it.

The popular papers on Natural History topics which he contributed in such numbers to the columns of the Field, invariably displayed that close observation and study which distinguished his more scientific writings. It was natural to the man to investigate and sift: his was the scientific cast of mind which seeks out truth for its own sake, and will never be content with the superficial. It was this thoroughness, this determination to get at facts, which made his co-operation invaluable to his friend Darwin. How much that great man owed to Tegetmeier, readers of his works are aware. There can be no more eloquent tribute to the value of Tegetmeier's minute accuracy of observation, than the absolute reliance placed upon his work by Darwin. Tegetmeier always referred with pride and affection to the close association with which, for a quarter of a century, he worked in colla- boration with the famous naturalist.

Most men as they become advanced in years lose, to a greater or less extent, the interests which have served them during their life-time; but this was not the case with Tegetmeier. His high vitality, and the excellent health he enjoyed, were evidenced in old age by the wonderful


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LIFE OF TEGETMEIER he meant, and meant what he said, whether you liked it or not."

Not less conspicuous were the whole-hearted energy and singleness of purpose with which he applied himself to any matter he might take in hand; and this was the more noteworthy when the variety and breadth of his interests are considered. He was universally regarded as the final dictator in all relating to poultry : to many he was known as the first authority of the day on questions relating to the pheasant; to others he was the man who made the uses of the homing pigeon his speciality; the Fellows of the Zoological Society knew him as the author of thoughtful and informing papers on subjects so diverse as Abnormal Plumage in the Domestic Fowl and the Breeding of Salmon; at one stage of his career he was the man who knew more about becs and bee-culture than anyone else in England; there were those who knew him as an authority on the works of the poet Shelley; and yet again, a very large number to whom he was the best authority on domestic economics and female education.

And the remarkable thing is that all these different groups were right; when he took up any subject he worked at it until he had made himself its master, and felt entitled to speak or write upon it. He held in utter contempt the mere smattering of knowledge and when


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IT is with great pleasure that I respond to the invitation to write an Introduction to the Life and Work of the late W. B. Tegetmeier: a man whom I, like all who were brought in contact with him, held in the warmest affection and respect. I think those who had the good fortune to know him intimately would agree that the salient points in his character were inflexible honesty of purpose and high moral courage; and that it was to these qualities he owed in great measure the place he won in the spheres to which he devoted himself.

Strong, practical good sense dictated all his actions, and when he had made up his mind that the course he proposed to adopt was right, no thought of personal consequence could influence him; he was then utterly indifferent to unpopularity or odium.

He was a man upon whom it was always possible to rely for an honest opinion on any subject; he would not obtrude his views unasked; but when called upon to express an opinion or give advice, it was nothing to him whether what he had to say were acceptable or the reverse : as one who knew him well wrote, "He said what


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INTRODUCTION his work, to show the unflinching courage and honesty of the man. He began his career as a judge of the poultry classes at agricultural shows in the 'fifties, when the moral standard of exhibitors was very different from that prevailing now. Improving" birds, to use the misnomer in vogue, was rife; and these doings were tacitly ignored by the judges of those days. The honest exhibitor who refrained from "improving" on nature, had no chance; and Tegetmeier made it his aim to bring about a better state of affairs.

He had an uphill task before him; dishonest exhibitors were of course his enemies from the outset, and he obtained small assistance, at first, from the officials, who feared empty benches as a result of his methods. But Tegetmeier was never to be moved by discouragement or open hostility; he never shirked a fight, and he carried it on single-handed until he won. He was bound to win, and he knew it as well as his opponents : his principles courted the light of day, whereas their practices shunned it. He made good use of the power his position on the Field gave him in these matters, and helped to make the great reputation of that journal, as well as his own.

His practical good sense and exhaustive knowledge of poultry made him an invaluable colleague when there was work to be done in this department, as I had reason to know when I was engaged in promoting shows of table


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Rh will, but that she will marry no one who has not ridden through the wall of flame. With this answer they proceed to Brynhild’s castle, where Gunnar is unable to pierce the flames, even when seated on Sigurd's steed. Finally Sigurd and Gunnar change forms, and Sigurd, disguised as Gunnar, rides through the wall of fire, announces himself to Brynhild as Gunnar, the son of Giuki, and reminds her of her promise to marry the one who penetrated the fire. Brynhild consents with great reluctance, for she is busy carrying on a war with a neighboring king. Sigurd then passes three nights at her side, placing, however, his sword Gram between them, as a bar of separation. At parting he draws from her finger the ring, with which he had originally pledged his troth to her, and replaces it with another, taken from Fafnir's hoard. Soon after this the marriage of Gunnar and Brynhild is celebrated with great splendor, and all return to Giuki’s court, where they live happily for some time.

One day, however, when the ladies go down to the river to take a bath, Brynhild will not bathe further down stream than Gudrun, that is, in the water which flows from Gudrun to her, giving as the reason, that her father was mightier and her husband braver, since he had ridden through the fire, while Sigurd had been a menial. Stung at this, Gudrun retorts that not Gunnar but Sigurd had penetrated the flames and had taken from her the fateful ring Andvaranaut, which she then shows to her rival in proof of her assertion. Brynhild turns deathly pale, but answers not a word. After a second conversation on the subject had


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xxiv increased the hatred of the queens, Brynhild plans vengeance. Pretending to be ill, she takes to her bed, and when Gunnar inquires what ails her, she asks him if he remembers the circumstances of the wooing and that not he but Sigurd had penetrated the flames. She attempts to take Gunnar's life, as she had pledged her troth to Sigurd, and is thereupon placed in chains by Högni. Seven days she sleeps, and no one dares to wake her. Finally Sigurd succeeds in making her talk, and she tells him how cruelly she has been deceived, that the better man had been destined for her, but that she had received the poorer one. This Sigurd denies, for Giuki’s son had killed the king of the Danes and also Budli’s brother, a great warrior. Moreover, although he, Sigurd, had ridden through the flames, he had not become her husband. He begs her therefore not to harbor a grudge against Gunnar.

Brynhild remains unconvinced, and plans Sigurd’s death, and threatens Gunnar with the loss of dominion and life, if he will not kill Sigurd. After some hesitation, Gunnar consents, and, calling Högni, informs him that he must kill Sigurd, in order to obtain the treasure of the Rhinegold. Högni warns him against breaking his oath to Sigurd, when it occurs to Gunnar, that his brother Gutthorm had sworn no oath and might do the deed. Both now proceed to excite the latter’s greed, and give him wolf’s and snake meat to eat to make him savage. Twice Gutthorm makes the attempt, as Sigurd lies in bed, but is deterred by the latter’s penetrating glance. The third time he finds Sigurd asleep, and pierces him with his sword. Sigurd, awakening at the pain, hurls his own sword after his


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Rh murderer, fairly cutting him in two. He then dies, protesting his innocence and designating Brynhild as the instigator of his murder. Brynhild at first laughs aloud at Gudrun’s frantic grief, but later her joy turns into sorrow, and she determines to share Sigurd’s death. In vain they try to dissuade her; donning her gold corselet, she pierces herself with a sword and begs to be burned on Sigurd’s funeral pyre. In dying she prophesies the future, telling of Gudrun’s marriage to Atli and of the death of the many men which will be caused thereby.

After Brynhild’s death Gudrun in her sorrow flees to the court of King Half of Denmark, where she remains seven years. Finally Grimhild learns of the place of her daughter’s concealment, and tries to bring about a reconciliation with Gunnar and Högni. They offer her much treasure, if she will marry Atli. At first she refuses and thinks only of revenge, but finally she consents and the marriage is celebrated in Atli’s land. After a time Atli, who is envious of Gunnar’s riches, for the latter had taken possession of Sigurd's hoard, invites him to his court. A man named Vingi, who was sent with the invitation, changes the runes of warning, which Gudrun had given him, so that they, too, read as an invitation. The brothers determine to accept the invitation, and, though warned by many dreams, they set out for Atli’s court, which they reach in due time. Vingi now breaks forth into exultations, that he has lured them into a snare, and is slain by Högni with a battle axe.

As they ride to the king’s hall, Atli and his sons arm themselves for battle, and demand Sigurd’s trea-


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folk who dwell in a lawful land, if any such there be, may, for want of exploration, judge our neighbourhood harshly, unless the whole truth is set before them. In bar of such prejudice, many of us ask leave to explain how and why it was the robbers came to that head in the midst of us. We would rather not have had it so, God knows as well as anybody; but it grew upon us gently, in the following manner. Only let all who read observe that here I enter many things which came to my knowledge in later years.

In or about the year of our Lord 1640, when all the troubles of England were swelling to an outburst, great estates in the north country were suddenly confiscated, through some feud of families and strong influence at Court, and the owners were turned upon the world, and might think themselves lucky to save their necks. These estates were in co-heirship, joint tenancy I think they called it, although I know not the meaning, only so that if either tenant died, the other living,


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xxvi sure, which belongs by right to Gudrun. Gunnar refuses to surrender it, and the fight begins, after some exchange of taunting words. Gudrun tries at first to reconcile the combatants, but, failing, arms herself and fights on the side of her brothers. The battle rages furiously with great loss on both sides, until nearly all of the Nibelungs are killed, when Gunnar and Högni are forced to yield to the power of numbers and are captured and bound. Gunnar is asked, if he will purchase his life with the treasure. He replies that he first wishes to see Högni’s bleeding heart. At first the heart of a slave is cut out and brought to him, but Gunnar recognizes it at once as that of a coward. Then they cut out Högni’s heart, who laughs at the pain. This Gunnar sees is the right one, and is jubilant, for now Atli shall never obtain the treasure, as Gunnar alone knows where it is hid. In a rage Atli orders Gunnar to be thrown to the snakes. Though his hands are bound, Gunnar plays so sweetly with his toes on the harp, which Gudrun has sent him, that all the snakes are lulled to sleep, with the exception of an adder, which stings him to the heart, so that he dies.

Atli now walks triumphantly over the dead bodies, and remarks to Gudrun that she alone is to blame for what has happened. She refuses his offers of peace and reconciliation, and towards evening kills her two sons Erp and Eitil, and serves them at the banquet, which the king gives for his retainers. When Atli asks for his sons, he is told that he had drunk their blood mixed with wine and had eaten their hearts. That night when Atli is asleep, Gudrun takes Högni’s son Hniflung, who desires to avenge his father, and together they


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Rh enter Atli’s room and thrust a sword through his breast. Atli awakes from the pain, only to be told by Gudrun that she is his murderess. When he reproaches her with thus killing her husband, she answers that she cared only for Sigurd. Atli now asks for a fitting burial, and on receiving the promise of this, expires. Gudrun carries out her promise, and burns the castle with Atli and all his dead retainers. Other Edda songs relate the further adventures of Gudrun, but they do not concern us here, as the Nibelungenlied stops with the death of the Nibelungs.

This in brief is the story of Siegfried, as it has been handed down to us in the Skandinavian sources. It is universally acknowledged that this version, though more original than the German tradition, does not represent the simplest and most original form of the tale; but what the original form was, has long been and still is a matter of dispute. Two distinctly opposite views are held, the one seeing in the story the personification of the forces of nature, the other, scouting the possibility of a mythological interpretation, seeks a purely human origin for the tale, namely, a quarrel among relatives for the possession of treasure. The former view is the older, and obtained almost exclusively at one time. The latter has been gaining ground of recent years, and is held by many of the younger students of the legend. According to the mythological view, the maiden slumbering upon the lonely heights is the sun, the wall of flames surrounding her the morning red (Morgenröte). Siegfried is the youthful day who is destined to rouse the sun from her slumber. At the appointed time he ascends, and before his splendor the


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xxviii morning red disappears. He awakens the maiden; radiantly the sun rises from its couch and joyously greets the world of nature. But light and shade are indissolubly connected; day changes of itself into night. When at evening the sun sinks to rest and surrounds herself once more with a wall of flames, the day again approaches, but no longer in the youthful form of the morning to arouse her from her slumber, but in the sombre shape of Gunther, to rest at her side. Day has turned into night; this is the meaning of the change of forms. The wall of flame vanishes, day and sun descend into the realm of darkness. Under this aspect the Siegfried story is a day myth; but under another it is a myth of the year. The dragon is the symbol of winter, the dwarfs of darkness. Siegfried denotes the bright summer, his sword the sunbeams. The youthful year grows up in the dark days of winter. When its time has come, it goes forth triumphantly and destroys the darkness and the cold of winter. Through the symbolization the abstractions gain form and become persons; the saga is thus not a mere allegory, but a personification of nature’s forces. The treasure may have entered the saga through the widespread idea of the dragon as the guardian of treasure, or it may represent the beauty of nature which unfolds when the season has conquered. In the last act of the saga, Siegfried’s death, Wilmanns, the best exponent of this view, sees again a symbolic representation of a process of nature. According to him it signifies the death of the god of the year in winter. In the spring he kills the dragon, in the winter he goes weary to his rest and is foully slain by the hostile powers of darkness. Later, when


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 where, if anywhere, its boundary-line ought to be drawn. It is by no means an easy task to define the novel. It is not a thing premeditated. It is a thing that has grown up into modern life, and taken upon itself uses and produced results that could not have been foreseen by its originators. Few of the important things in the collective life of man started out to be what they are. Consider, for example, all the unexpected æsthetic values, the inspiration and variety of emotional result, which arises out of the cross-shaped plan of the Gothic cathedral, and the undesigned delight and wonder of white marble that has ensued, as I have been told, through the ageing and whitening of the realistically coloured statuary of the Greeks and Romans. Much of the charm of the old furniture and needlework, again, upon which the present time sets so much store, lies in acquired and unpremeditated qualities. And no doubt the novel grew up out of simple story-telling, and the universal desire of children, old and young alike, for a story. It is only slowly that we have developed the distinction of the novel from the romance, as being a story of human beings, absolutely credible and conceivable, as distinguished from human beings frankly endowed with the glamour, the wonder, the brightness, of a less exacting and more vividly eventful world. The novel is a story that demands, or professes to demand, no make-believe. The novelist undertakes to present you people and things as real as any that you can meet in an omnibus. And I suppose it is conceivable that a novel might exist which was just purely a story of that kind and nothing more. It might amuse


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Rh this act was connected with the story of Gunther’s wooing Brunhild, the real meaning was forgotten, and Siegfried’s death was attributed to the grief and jealousy of the insulted queen.

Opposed now to the mythological interpretation is the other view already spoken of, which denies the possibility of mythological features, and does not seek to trace the legend beyond the heroic stage. The best exponent of this view is R. C. Boer, who has made a remarkable attempt to resolve the story into its simplest constituents. According to him the nucleus of the legend is an old story of the murder of relatives (Verwandtenmord"), the original form being perhaps as follows. Attila (i.e., the enemy of Hagen under any name) is married to Hagen’s sister Grimhild or Gudrun. He invites his brother-in-law to his house, attacks him in the hope of obtaining his treasure, and kills him. According to this view Hagen was originally the king, but later sinks to a subordinate position through the subsequent connection of the story with the Burgundians. It is of course useless to hunt for the date of such an episode in history. Such a murder could have frequently occurred, and can be localized anywhere. Very early we find this Hagen story united with the Siegfried legend. If the latter is mythological, then we have a heterogeneous combination, a mythical legend grafted on a purely human one. This Boer thinks unlikely, and presents a number of arguments to disprove the mythical character of the Siegfried story, into which we cannot enter here. He comes, however, to the conclusion, that the Siegfried tale is likewise purely human, and consisted


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Rh originally of the murder of relatives, that is, a repetition of the Hagen title. Siegfried is married to Hagen’s sister, and is killed by his brother-in-law because of his treasure. The kernel of the legend is, therefore, the enmity between relatives, which exists in two forms, the one in which the son-in-law kills his father-in-law, as in the Helgi saga, the other in which Hagen kills his son-in-law and is killed by him, too, as in the Hilde saga. The German tradition tries to combine the two by introducing the new feature, that Kriemhild causes the death of her relatives, in order to avenge her first husband. Boer is of the opinion that both the Norse and the German versions have forgotten the original connection between the two stories, and that this connection was nothing more nor less than the common motive of the treasure. The same treasure, which causes Hagen to murder Siegfried, causes his own death in turn through the greed of Attila. There was originally, according to Boer, no question of revenge, except the revenge of fate, the retribution which overtakes the criminal. This feeling for the irony of fate was lost when the motive, that Hagen kills Siegfried because of his treasure, was replaced by the one that he does it at the request of Brunhild. This leads Boer to the conclusion, that Brunhild did not originally belong to the Siegfried story, but to the well-known fairy tale of Sleeping Beauty (Erlösungsmärchen), which occurs in a variety of forms. The type is that of a hero who rescues a maiden from a magic charm, which may take the form of a deep sleep, as in the case of Sleeping Beauty, or of being sewed into a garment, as in No.


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first steep cornfield under the edge of the red moor lay all rough and warm with stubble in the evening light. The corn sheaves themselves were of a shining gold and leaned together in shocks that made long, low tents and invited the wayfarer to shelter and sleep. We had come over the moor for hours and this field was the beginning of a deep valley that stretched to the sea. Yonder was the sea, ten miles away, with a row of lights running out upon a nose of land far into it. The valley held one village half way towards the sea and several white farmhouses which sent the smoke of supper to explore the neighbouring ash trees.

A stream running straight from the moor gave us water and we ate our supper leaning against a corn shock. Our pipes soon went out, what with fatigue and indulgence in the warmth and the pleasant valley, brimming with summer haze and golden still.

We had been alone when, just as the light was going, two farm boys and a girl came into the field without noticing us. The girl sat at the top of the field and the boys took off their coats and laid them beside her. She arranged their folds and then sat straight up to watch. For down the field ran the boys, striding heavily side by

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Rh 111 of Grimm’s fairy tales. By the union of the two stories, i.e., the Hagen-Siegfried saga with the Sleeping Beauty tale, Siegfried stands in relation to two women; on the one hand his relation to Sigrdrifa-Brynhild, the maiden whom he rescues on the rock, on the other his marriage with Grimhild-Gudrun and his consequent death. This twofold relation had to be disposed of, and since his connection with Grimhild was decisive for his fate, his relation to Brunhild had to be changed. It could not be entirely ignored, for it was too well known, therefore it was given a different interpretation. Siegfried still rescues a maiden from the rock, not for himself, however, but for another. The exchange of forms on the part of Siegfried and Gunther is a reminiscence of the older form. It gives the impression, that Siegfried, and yet not Siegfried, won the bride. This alteration probably took place when the Burgundians were introduced into the legend. With this introduction an unlocalized saga of unknown heroes of ancient times became one of events of world-wide importance; the fall of a mighty race was depicted as the result of Siegfried’s death. To render this plausible, it was necessary on the one hand to idealize the hero, so that his death should appear as a deed of horror demanding fearful vengeance, and on the other, to make the king of the Burgundians an active participator in Siegfried’s death, for otherwise it would not seem natural, that the whole race should be exterminated for a crime committed by the king’s brother or vassal. As the role of Brunhild’s husband had become vacant, and as Gunther had no special rôle, it was natural that it should be given to him.


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 side, each leaping the same shock until they had reached the bottom wall almost at the same time, where they argued and made claims to victory in broken voices. They walked quickly up again to the girl and threw themselves down panting, close to her, arguing together as much as they could without breath.

The girl laughed and said something; then they rose up and raced again, the heavier one this time encouraging himself with groans at each leap over the sheaves, flinging himself over with so much ferocity that he tumbled at the end well in front.

"You can jump, no mistake," said the girl to the winner. "But what's the matter with you?" she asked the other, putting a foxglove between her lips. Both were too much out of breath to speak, but in a few minutes started again. They ran faster than ever; they leapt well over the tops of the shocks, so high as to stumble at each descent. The winner of the last race could only just keep level with the other, and seemed about to collapse at each thundering jump, when his rival, beginning a great leap too early, fell in the middle of the shock and lost the race. They returned, the winner first, and lay sprawling, panting full in the girl's face.

"Well, Luke, you have won, and there's your kiss," she said to the heavier lad.

"And, John, you have been beaten; we did not say what the loser should have, so here's two for you," she went on, this time taking the flower out of her mouth. "And now, lads, race again!"

This time the race was never in doubt. John took each leap as if he aimed at the harvest moon that rose

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 before him. Luke tripped at several sheaves, and, at the bottom, climbed over the stone wall and disappeared. As to John, he came back and began racing and leaping alone, until the girl, feeling cold or in need of some company, went off and left the proud fellow to the moon and the line of shocks.

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xxxii Boer traces very ingeniously the gradual development of this exchange of rôles through the various sources.

Another method of explaining away Siegfried’s relation to two women is to identify them, and this has been done by the Seyfrid ballad. Here the hero rescues Kriemhild from the power of the dragon, marries her, and then is later killed by her brothers through envy and hatred. As Brunhild and Kriemhild are here united in one person, there is no need of a wooing for the king, nor of vengeance on the part of Brunhild, accordingly the old motive of greed (here envy) reappears.

As to the fight with the dragon, Boer believes that it did not originally belong to the saga, for in none of the sources except the popular ballad is the fight with the dragon connected with the release of Brunhild. If the Siegfried-Hagen story is purely human, then the dragon cannot have originally belonged to it, but was later introduced, because of the widespread belief in the dragon as the guardian of treasure, and in order to answer the question as to the provenience of the hoard. This is, however, only one answer to the question. Another, widespread in German legends, is that the treasure comes from the Nibelungs, that is, from the dwarfs. Many identify the dwarfs and the dragon, but this finds no support in the sources, for here the dwarfs and Fafnir are never confused. The Nibelungenlied describes an adventure with each, but the treasure is only connected with the dwarfs. The Thidreksaga knows only the dragon fight but not the dwarfs, as is likewise the case with the Seyfrid ballad. Only in the Norse sources do we find a contamination. The story of Hreithmar and his sons, who quarrel about the treasure, resem-


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Rh bles that of Schilbung and Nibelung in the Nibelungenlied, and probably has the same source. One of the sons, because of his guarding the treasure, is identified with the dragon, and so we read that Fafnir becomes a dragon, after gaining the treasure. Originally, however, he was not a dragon, but a dwarf. These two independent forms can be geographically localized. The dwarf legend is the more southern; it is told in detail in the Nibelungenlied. The dragon legend probably originated in the Cimbrian peninsula, where the Beowulf saga, in which the dragon fight plays such an important part, likewise arose.

There thus stand sharply opposed to each other two theories, one seeing in the Siegfried saga a personification of natural forces, the other tracing it back to a purely human story of murder through greed. It may be, that the true form of the original saga lies half way between these two views. The story of the fall of the Nibelungs, that is, their killing at Etzel’s court, may go back to the tale of the murder of relatives for money. On the other hand it is hard to believe that the Siegfried saga is nothing but a repetition of the Attila motive, for this is too brief a formula to which to reduce the long legend of Siegfried, with its many deeds. Even if we discard the mythological interpretation, it is the tale of a daring hero, who is brought up in the woods by a cunning dwarf. He kills a dragon and takes possession of his hoard, then rescues a maiden, imprisoned upon a mountain, as in the older Norse version and the popular ballad, or in a tower, as in the Thidreksaga, and surrounded either by a wall of fire, as in the Norse, or by a large body of water, as in the Nibelungenlied.


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xxxiv After betrothing himself to the maiden, he sets forth in search of further adventures, and falls into the power of an evil race, who by their magic arts lure him to them, cause his destruction, and then obtain his treasure and the maiden for themselves. By her very name Sigrdrifa belongs to Siegfried, just as Gunther and Gudrun-Grimhild belong together, and it seems hardly possible that she should have entered the story later, as Boer would have us believe. After all, it is largely a matter of belief, for it is impossible to prove positively that mythical elements did or did not exist in the original.

To the combined Siegfried-Nibelung story various historical elements were added during the fifth century. At the beginning of this period the Franks were located on the left bank of the Rhine from Coblenz downward. Further up the river, that is, to the south, the Burgundians had established a kingdom in what is now the Rhenish Palatinate, their capital being Worms and their king Gundahar, or Gundicarius, as the Romans called him. For twenty years the Burgundians lived on good terms with the surrounding nations. Then, growing bolder, they suddenly rose against the Romans in the year 436, but the rebellion was quietly suppressed by the Roman general Aëtius. Though defeated, the Burgundians were not subdued, and the very next year they broke their oaths and again sought to throw off the Roman yoke. This time the Romans called to their aid the hordes of Huns, who had been growing rapidly in power and were already pressing hard upon the German nations from the east. Only too glad for an excuse, the Huns poured into the land in great


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Rh numbers and practically swept the Burgundian people from the face of the earth. According to the Roman historians, twenty thousand Burgundians were slain in this great battle of the Catalaunian Fields. Naturally this catastrophe, in which a whole German nation fell before the hordes of invading barbarians, produced a profound impression upon the Teutonic world. The King Gundahar, the Gunther of the Nibelungenlied, who also fell in the battle, became the central figure of a new legend, namely, the story of the fall of the Burgundians.

Attila is not thought to have taken part in the invasion, still, after his death in 454, his name gradually came to be associated with the slaughter of the Burgundians, for a legend operates mainly with types, and as Attila was a Hun and throughout the Middle Ages was looked upon as the type of a cruel tyrant, greedy for conquest, it was but natural for him to play the rôle assigned to him in the legend. Quite plausible is Boer’s explanation of the entrance of Attila into the legend. The Thidreksaga locates him in Seest in Westphalia. Now this province once bore the haute of Hûnaland, and by a natural confusion, because of the similarity of the names, Hûna and Huns, Attila, who is the chief representative of Hunnish power, was connected with the legend and located at Soest. This would show that the original extension of the legend was slight, as Xanten, the home of Hagen, is but seventy miles from Soest. The original form would then be that Hagen was slain by a king of Hûnaland, then because history relates that the Burgundians were slain by the Huns, the similarity of the names led to the in-


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xxxvi troduction of Attila and the identification of the Nibelungs with the Burgundians. The fact, too, that the Franks rapidly took possession of the district depopulated by the crushing defeat of the Burgundians likewise aided the confusion, and thus the Franks became the natural heirs of the legend concerning the death of Gunther, and so we read of the fall of the Nibelungs, a name that is wholly Frankish in character. This identification led also to Attila’s being considered the avenger of Siegfried’s death. Poetic justice, however, demands that the slaughter of the Burgundians at the hands of Attila be also avenged. The rumor, that Attila’s death was not natural, but that he had been murdered by his wife Ildico (Hildiko), gave the necessary features to round out the story. As Kriemhild was the sister of the Burgundian kings, it was but natural to explain her killing of Attila, as described in the Norse versions, by her desire to avenge her brothers.

In our Nibelungenlied, however, it is no longer Attila, but Kriemhild, who is the central figure of the tragedy. Etzel, as he is called here, has sunk to the insignificant rôle of a stage king, a perfectly passive observer of the fight raging around him. This change was brought about perhaps by the introduction of Dietrich of Berne, the most imposing figure of all Germanic heroic lore. The necessity of providing him with a rôle corresponding to his importance, coupled with a growing repugnance on the part of the proud Franks to acknowledge defeat at the hands of the Huns, caused the person of Attila to dwindle in importance. Gradually, too, the rôle played by Kriemhild was totally changed. Instead of being the avenger of her brothers,


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Rh as depicted in the Norse versions, she herself becomes the cause of their destruction. Etzel is not only innocent of any desire to harm the Nibelungs, but is even ignorant of the revenge planned by his wife. This change in her rôle was probably due to the feeling that it was incumbent upon her to avenge the murder of Siegfried.

Our Nibelungenlied knows but little of the adventures of Siegfried’s youth as depicted in the Norse versions. The theme of the poem is no longer the love of Sigurd, the homeless wanderer, for the majestic Valkyrie Brunhild, but the love idyll of Siegfried, the son of the king of the Netherlands, and the dainty Burgundian princess Kriemhild. The poem has forgotten Siegfried’s connection with Brunhild; it knows nothing of his penetrating the wall of flames to awake and rescue her, nothing of the betrothal of the two. In our poem Siegfried is carefully reared at his father’s court in the Netherlands, and sets out with great pomp for the court of the Burgundians. In the Norse version he naturally remains at Gunther’s court after his marriage, but in our poem he returns to the Netherlands with his bride. This necessitates the introduction of several new scenes to depict his arrival home, the invitation to the feast at Worms, and the reception of the guests on the part of the Burgundians.

In the Nibelungenlied the athletic sports, as an obstacle to the winning of Brunhild, take the place of the wall of flames of the older Norse versions. Siegfried and Gunther no longer change forms, but Siegfried dons the Tarnkappe, which renders him invisible, so that while Gunther makes the motions, Siegfried


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xxxviii really does the work, a thing which is rather difficult to imagine. The quarrel of the two queens is likewise very differently depicted in the Nibelungenlied from what it is in the Norse version. In the latter it takes place while the ladies are bathing in the river, and is brought on by the arrogance of Brunhild, who refuses to stand lower down the stream and bathe in the water flowing from Gudrun to her. In the Thidreksaga it occurs in the seclusion of the ladies' apartments, but in our poem it culminates in front of the cathedral before the assembled court, and requires as its background all the pomp and splendor of medieval chivalry. With a master hand and a wonderful knowledge of female character, the author depicts the gradual progress of the quarrel until it terminates in a magnificent scene of wounded pride and malignant hatred. Kriemhild, as usual, plays the more important part, and, while standing up for her rights, tries in every way to conciliate Brunhild and not to hurt her feelings. At last, however, stung by the taunts of the latter, she in turn loses her patience, bursts out with the whole story of the twofold deception to which Brunhild has been subjected, and then triumphantly sweeps into the church, leaving her rival stunned and humiliated by the news she has heard. In the Norse tradition the scene serves merely to enlighten Brunhild as to the deception played upon her. In the Nibelungenlied it becomes the real cause of Siegfried’s death, for Brunhild plans to kill Siegfried to avenge the public slight done to her. She has no other reason, as Siegfried swears that there had been no deception. Brunhild appeals to us much less in the Nibelungenlied


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Rh than in the Norse version. In the latter she feels herself deeply wronged by Siegfried’s faithlessness, and resolves on his death because she will not be the wife of two men. In our poem she has no reason for wishing his death except her wounded pride. In the Nibelungenlied, too, she disappears from view after Siegfried’s death, whereas in the Norse tradition she ascends his funeral pyre and dies at his side.

The circumstances of Siegfried’s death are likewise totally different in the two versions. In the Norse, as we have seen, he is murdered while asleep in bed, by Gunnar’s younger brother Gutthorm. In our poem he is killed by Hagen, while bending over a spring to drink. This is preceded by a scene in which Hagen treacherously induces Kriemhild to mark the one vulnerable spot on Siegfried’s body, on the plea of protecting him. This deepens the tragedy, and renders Kriemhild’s misery and self-reproaches the greater. After Siegfried’s burial his father, who had also come to Worms with his son, vainly endeavors to persuade Kriemhild to return with him to the Netherlands. Her refusal is unnatural in the extreme, for she had reigned there ten years or more with Siegfried, and had left her little son behind, and yet she relinquishes all this and remains with her brothers, whom she knows to be the murderers of her husband. This is evidently a reminiscence of an earlier form in which Siegfried was a homeless adventurer, as in the Thidreksaga.

The second half of the tale, the destruction of the Nibelungs, is treated of very briefly in the early Norse versions, but the Nibelungenlied, which knows so little of Siegfried’s youth, has developed and en-


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sun looked bright the morning after, to every eye in the village but Le Fever's and his afflicted son's; the hand of death press'd heavy upon his eye-lids—and hardly could the wheel at the cistern turn round its circle,—when my uncle Toby, who had rose up an hour before his wonted time, entered the lieutenant's room, and without preface or apology, sat himself down upon the chair by the bed-side, and independantly of all modes and customs, opened the curtain in the manner an old friend and brother officer would have done it, and asked him how he did,—how he had rested in the night,—what


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 was his complaint,—where was his pain,—and what he could do to help him:—and without giving him time to answer any one of the enquiries, went on and told him of the little plan which he had been concerting with the corporal the night before for him.

—You shall go home directly, Le Fever, said my uncle Toby, to my house,—and we'll send for a doctor to see what's the matter,—and we'll have an apothecary,—and the corporal shall be your nurse;—and I'll be your servant, Le Fever.

There was a frankness in my uncle Toby,—not the effect of familiarity,—but the cause of it,—which let you at once into his soul, and shewed you the goodness of his nature; to this, there was


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 something in his looks, and voice, and manner, superadded, which eternally beckoned to the unfortunate to come and take shelter under him; so that before my uncle Toby had half finished the kind offers he was making to the father, had the son insensibly pressed up close to his knees, and had taken hold of the breast of his coat, and was pulling it towards him.—The blood and spirits of Le Fever, which were waxing cold and slow within him, and were retreating to their last citadel, the heart,—rallied back,—the firm forsook his eyes for a moment,—he looked up wishfully in my uncle Toby's face,—then cast a look upon his boy,—and that ligament, fine as it was,—was never broken.

Nature instantly ebb'd again,—the film returned to its place,—the pulse


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xl larged upon the story, until it overshadows the first part in length and importance and gives the name to the whole poem. The main difference between the two versions is that in the older Norse tradition it is Attila who invites the Nibelungs to his court and attacks them in order to gain possession of the treasure, while Gudrun (Kriemhild) first tries to reconcile the warring parties, and, not succeeding in this, snatches up a sword and fights on the side of her brothers and later kills her husband as an act of revenge. In the Thidreksaga and the Nibelungenlied, however, she is the instigator of the fight and the cause of her brothers’ death, and finally suffers death herself at the hands of Master Hildebrand, who is furious that such noble heroes should fall at a woman’s hand. The second part of the poem is grewsome reading at best, with its weltering corpses and torrents of blood. The horror is relieved only by the grim humor of Hagen and by the charming scene at Rüdeger's court, where the young prince Giselher is betrothed to Rüdeger's daughter. Rüdeger is without doubt the most tragic figure of this part. He is bound on the one hand by his oath of allegiance to Kriemhild and on the other by ties of friendship to the Burgundians. His agony of mind at the dilemma in which Kriemhild’s command to attack the Burgundians places him is pitiful. Divided between love and duty, the conviction that he must fulfill his vow, cost what it may, gradually forces itself upon him and he rushes to his death in combat with his dearest friends.

Towering above all others in its gloomy grandeur stands the figure of Hagen, the real hero of the second


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 fluttered—stopp'd—went on—throb'd—stopp'd again—moved—stopp'd—shall I go on?—No.

Am so impatient to return to my own story, that what remains of young Le Fever's, that is, from this turn of his fortune, to the time my uncle Toby recommended him for my preceptor, shall be told in a very few words, in the next chapter.—All that is necessary to be added to this chapter is as follows.—

That my uncle Toby, with young Le Fever in his hand, attended the poor lieutenant, as chief mourners, to his grave.


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Rh have passed down the enormous length of time that they certainly occupied the country. They probably did not migrate from the north in one horde, but in successive bodies, possibly with a long interval of time between the journeyings of each other, and in such a case the latest arrivals would regard those they found here as an older race. In this way the existence of the Ancient Shellmound Men can be easily accounted for. They were simply driven to the margin of the ocean, and compelled to live mainly upon the produce of the shore, by others of their own race who took possession of their former hunting grounds.

Another evidence, and of much greater weight, is the Bushman language, which possesses a verb of such marvellous power that it must be a very long way removed from primitive speech.

It is even possible that remnants of an earlier race than the Bushmen existed in South Africa until a very recent date.

There is a tradition among the people of a Bantu tribe in the Transvaal province that when their ancestors arrived on the banks of the Limpopo eight generations ago they found some savages there who were unacquainted with the use of fire and were without other weapons than natural stones and sticks.

The traveller and explorer Andrew A. Anderson thus describes some savages whom he saw in 1872 in the Kalahari desert:

“At Narukus, on the Nosop river, I came upon a family of Bushmen, ten in number, of a different type to those I had in my service, evidently a lower caste. They have no forehead; the wool on their heads comes close down to the eyes, and the head falling back like a baboon; projecting


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22 mouth, small nose, a sort of hair or wool all over the chest, arms, and legs; then eyes are small and restless, watching every movement that is going on; the tallest man did not exceed four feet four; their skin was of a reddish brown. A few old skins, broken ostrich eggs, and bows and arrows, seemed all they possessed of worldly goods.

“They would have decamped and hid in the bush, but I sent some of my Bushmen and brought them back. I asked my own boys if they were then brothers, meaning of the same race; they repudiated the idea, and said they were monkeys not men, and told me there were very few ever seen, it was very seldom they ever came upon any; they eat carrion. They are evidently a distinct race from the Masara Bushmen who are largely distributed over the desert. One of the women had a baby not much larger than a half-grown kitten; all of them were destitute of clothing.

“I find there are four types of Bushmen in this desert; the lowest is the one already described with no forehead and half wool and hair on their bodies and legs. The second is the wild Bushmen, who live in the mountains near the Orange river, who war on all men, but they are of good form, without hair. The third is the Masara Bush family, also of good proportions and of gentle dispositions, inoffensive and harmless, ready to help or do anything, and they make good servants. It was this tribe I had with me in my wanderings. The two girls I took in charge made good cooks, washed the clothes, and mended them. The fourth is much taller and well formed, great rascals, who cannot be trusted with anything; they inhabit the eastern portion of the desert and down by Langberg.”

The possession of bows and arrows by the degraded creatures here mentioned would seem to prevent their classification as members of an earlier race than the Bushmen, unless they had adopted these weapons from others.

This I believe is all the evidence to hand as yet for or against a race preceding the Bushmen in South Africa. It leaves the question uncertain, and any conjecture regarding


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 That the governor of Dendermond paid his obsequies all military honours,—and that Yorick, not to be behind hand—paid him all ecclesiastic—for he buried him in his chancel:—And it appears likewise, he preached a funeral sermon over him—I say it appears,—for it was Yorick's custom, which I suppose a general one with those of his profession, on the first leaf of every sermon which he composed, to chronicle down the time, the place, and the occasion of its being preached: to this, he was ever wont to add some short comment or stricture upon the sermon itself, seldom, indeed, much to its credit:—For instance, This sermon upon the jewish dispensation—I don't like it at all;—Though I own there is a world of knowledge in it,—but 'tis all tritical, and


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Rh half of the poem. Fully aware that he is going to his death, he nevertheless scorns to desert his companions-in-arms, and awaits the fate in store for him with a stoicism that would do honor to a Spartan. He calmly accepts the consequences of his crime, and to the last mocks and scoffs at Kriemhild, until her fury knows no bounds. No character shows so little the refining influences of Christianity as does his. In all essential respects he is still the same old gigantic Teuton, who meets us in the earliest forms of the legend.

As to the various minor characters, many of which appear only in the Nibelungenlied, space will not permit of their discussion here, although they will be treated of briefly in the notes. Suffice it to say, that the Nibelungenlied has introduced a number of effective scenes for the purpose of bringing some of them, especially Folker and Dankwart, into prominence. Among the best of these are, first, the night watch, when Folker first plays the Burgundians to sleep with his violin, and then stands guard with Hagen, thus preventing the surprise planned by Kriemhild; further, the visit to the church on the following morning, when the men of both parties clash; and lastly the tournament between the Huns and the Burgundians, which gives the author an excellent chance to show the prowess of the various heroes.

Let us pass now to the consideration of the strophic form of the Nibelungenlied. The two Danish ballads of Grimhild's Revenge (Grimhild's Haevn), which are based upon the first combination of the Low German, i.e., Saxon, and the Rhenish traditions,


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Rh it would be worse than useless, for more than likely it would be incorrect.

Note 1.—Mr. E. J. Dunn, an accomplished geologist, during many years of search in South Africa made a very large collection of stone implements, which he was good enough to allow me to inspect on several occasions. I was unable to detect any difference between the most ancient of these implements and the magnificent exhibits of chipped stones which I saw afterwards in the museums of London and Brussels, but of course I was unable to compare them side by side. Mr. Dunn was convinced that they were all of Bushman manufacture, and that some of them had lain undisturbed since the beginning, or nearly the beginning, of the present geological period, but he had found none in the later tertiary deposits. Most of the tiny perforated stones found by him were irregular in shape, and he could not ascertain to what use they had been put, though an old Bushwoman showed him how they were drilled, as well as how to attach a stone head to an arrow. A very interesting paper on The Stone Implements of South Africa, by Mr. Dunn, is to be found in the Transactions of the Philosophical Society during 1880.

Note 2.—Two short papers entitled Stone Implements in South Africa, with a sheet of illustrations, by Sir Langham Dale, Superintendent General of Education in the Cape Colony, were published in the Cape Monthly Magazine of October and December 1870.

Note 3.—A short paper entitled Notes in connection with Stone Implements from Natal, by John Sanderson, Esqre., of Durban, Natal, is to be found in the Journal of the Anthropological Institute for August 1878.

Note 4.—A lengthy paper on The Stone Age of South Africa was read by W. G. Gooch, Esqre., C.E., M.A.I., before the Anthropological Institute on the 11th of January 1881, and is published in Volume XI of the Journal. It is illustrated with numerous plates.

Note 5.—A very interesting volume on The Stone Implements of South Africa, with 258 illustrations, by J. P. Johnson, crown quarto, fifty-three pages, was published in London in 1907.

Note 6.—In a very interesting diary of a Tour through Bushmanland by the geologist Mr. E. J. Dunn, published in the Cape Monthly Magazine in December 1872, the following paragraph occurs: “July 11th.—Processfontein.—Let us examine the river bank close by. On the top, thickly sprinkled through the loose red sand, are black stone implements. They continue through the underlying clay, through a layer of hard carbonate of lime and sand, through a soft calcareous bed, and below this mixed with gravel formed from shale and resting on the bottom of shale and trap; that is to say, through a total depth of from nine to twelve feet of stratified


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 most tritically put together.This is but a flimsy kind of composition; what was in my head when I made it?

N. B. The excellency of this text is, that it will suit any sermon,—and of this sermon,—that it will suit any text.

''For this sermon I shall be hanged,—for I have stolen the greatest part of it. Doctor Paidagunes found me out. Set a thief to catch a thief''.

On the back of half a dozen I find written, So, so, and no more—and upon a couple Moderato; by which, as far as one may gather from Altieri's Italian dictionary,—but mostly from the authority of a piece of green whipcord, which seemed to have been the unravel-


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xlii prove that the strophe is considerably older than the preserved redactions of our poem, and that it was probably of Saxon origin. The metrical form goes back most probably to the four-accented verse of the poet Otfrid of the ninth century, although some have thought that Latin hymns, others that the French epic verse, may have been of influence. The direct derivation from Otfrid seems, however, the most plausible, as it accounts for the importance of the cæsura, which generally marks a pause in the sense, as well as in the verse, and also for its masculine ending. The Nibelungen strophe consists of four long lines separated by a caesura into two distinct halves. The first half of each line contains four accents, the fourth falling upon the last syllable. This last stress, however, is not, as a rule as strong as the others, the effect being somewhat like that of a feminine ending. On this account some speak of three accents in the first half line, with a feminine ending. The fourth stress is, however, too strong to be thus disregarded, but because of its lighter character is best marked with a grave accent. The second half of each line ends in a masculine rhyme. The first three lines have each three stresses in the second half, while the second half of the fourth line has four accents to mark the end of the strophe. This longer fourth line is one of the most marked characteristics of the Nibelungen strophe. The rhymes are arranged in the order of a, a, b, b, though in a few isolated cases near the end of the poem but one rhyme is used throughout the strophe.

The opening lines of the poem may serve to illustrate the strophic form and scansion, and at the


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 ling of Yorick's whip-lash, with which he has left us the two sermons marked Moderato, and the half dozen of So, so, tied fast together in one bundle by themselves,—one may safely suppose he meant pretty near the same thing.

There is but one difficulty in the way of this conjecture, which is this, that the moderatos are five times better than the so, sos;—shew ten times more knowledge of the human heart;—have seventy times more wit and spirit in them;—(and, to rise properly in my climax)—discover a thousand times more genius;—and to crown all, are infinitely more entertaining than those tied up with them;—for which reason, whene'er Yoricks dramatic sermons are offered to the world, though I shall admit but one out of the whole number of the so, sos, I shall,


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HE tyrant was coming. He was coming like a tyrant—announced by the tribute of thousands. A mile away that tribute might have been heard; a throbbing, reverberant, surging roar that filled the air and quelled all lesser noises.

In the heart of a myrtle thicket in the swamp woods, a big whitetail buck, lying half-asleep on a bed of dry dead leaves, heard the tumult and flicked an ear carelessly. He knew what it was, and he dozed on dreamily, listening, yet scarcely conscious of the distant turmoil.

A female gray fox, trailing a rabbit along a narrow bush-grown peninsula extending far into a wilderness of marsh, halted and crouched close to the ground as that air-shaking hubbub rolled swiftly down upon her. She was directly in its path, and, lover of silence that she was, for an instant the clamor startled and disconcerted her. But her fright was only momentary. Her sensitive ears, accus-

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 tomed to the faint, furtive sounds of the woods, throbbed with the mighty din of the tyrant's vassals; but already her cool, keen, calculating brain was occupied once more with the pressing business of the moment, the stalking of the little brown marsh hare whose scent was strong in her nostrils.

These, however—the whitetail buck and the fox—were exceptions. To them the coming of the tyrant meant nothing, because he was not their ruler and over them he exercised no sovereignty. But they were two among many. Under the white blanket of mist hanging over the watery flats that winter morning huddled a vast multitude of living things—ducks and coots in regiments and legions, mallard and pintail and blue-winged teal and widgeon; and all these were vassals of the tyrant, subject to his will and his power. To all these his coming brought not merely fear but overwhelming panic; and that hollow, drumming thunder, which rolled along the flats and filled the air and seemed to shake the mist blanket spread above the marshes, was the roar of their myriad pinions as, regiment after regiment, they rocketed upward and fled on swiftly whirring wings before the great gray eagle who was their scourge and sovereign.

He came on rather slowly, sailing on set, rigid Pinions just under the opaque stratum of vapor which veiled the marshes from the morning sunlight.

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 Ahead of him the shallow waters of the marsh lagoons were packed and jammed with life. Under him they were empty, for no duck in all those thousands was bold enough to await the tyrant's arrival. Once they were fairly launched in flight they were comparatively safe, for they had learned that this gray eagle, like most others of his kind, seldom undertook a straight-away chase. They had learned also, however, that to delay their start one instant too long might be fatal. Hence that thunder of wings, which was the tribute of the tyrant's subjects to their lord, rolled down the flats well in advance of the eagle as he swept on just under the smooth white sheet of mist; and long before they saw him the hundreds of mallards, pintails and coots, dabbling and feeding in a certain long, marsh-encircled lagoon bordering the river, had warning of his approach.

To all those hundreds that warning brought terror which in nearly all of them was instantly manifest. The squadrons of big, green-headed mallards ceased their busy dabbling for food and, with low, excited quacks and apprehensive upward glances, bunched closer together in preparation for flight. The high-riding, swanlike pintails settled lower in the water and bent their long necks over their backs, searching the air for the enemy. A black fleet of coots, which a moment before had rested

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 almost motionless upon the surface, split suddenly down the middle, half the fleet making for one side of the lagoon and half making for the other. In all the feathered multitude floating on the placid, shallow waters spreading outward from the river only a gaudy shoveller drake, more brilliantly colored than the mallards and more beautiful even than the pintails except for his broad, ungainly looking bill, remained, to all appearances, indifferent to the peril.

The shoveller, an adult male already attired in full nuptial plumage of green and shining white and rich russet, floated near the middle of the lagoon in open water, free from weeds and sedge. A moment before he had been surrounded by the legions of the coots; but now the coot regiments had melted away around him, hastening toward the reedy margins with an awkward bobbing of blue-black heads and a flashing of gleaming white bills. The mallards were massed toward the northern end of the lagoon, the pintails toward the southern end and along the eastern edge. For a space of yards around the shoveller the water was empty. An enemy looking down from the air could not fail to see the lone drake floating quietly and seemingly unconcerned almost in the middle of the lagoon.

It was not indifference that held him there. Instinct wrestled with terror in the shoveller's brain

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 Instinct bade him be still. Terror urged him to flee. It was because instinct prevailed at first that the shoveller for some moments made no move.

A week before, a charge of duck shot had broken his right wing. The shattered bone had not yet knit. He could not fly, and more than once, since the power of flight had thus been taken from him, instinct had saved his life by freezing him into utter immobility in the presence of danger. This same instinct gripped him now, held him motionless as an anchored billet of wood on the glassy surface of the lagoon. But little by little, as the seconds passed, and the surging thunder of wings rolled nearer along the flats, and the panic of the ducks and coots in the pool around him flared higher and higher, the grip of instinct weakened and terror gained the upper hand.

Suddenly terror triumphed. From a marsh pond a quarter of a mile away another great flock of mallards had vaulted into the air. As the throbbing roar of their pinions smote the shoveller's ears, he leaped forward in the water and began swimming desperately toward the margin of the lagoon.

Fifty yards behind him, a squadron of pintail took wing with a sibilant noise as of wind rushing through bare tree-tops. In front of him a regiment of a hundred coots rose and scurried across the water with a mighty clatter of lobed feet pattering on the

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 surface. Next moment, to the right, to the left and ahead, the whole lagoon heaved thunderously upward, as the main body of the pintails and the vast array of the mallards rose in a solid, opaque mass.

For a space of seconds the air glittered and swirled with the flash of their whirring wings, while the water falling from their bodies shimmered in the pale morning light like rain. Then, above and behind him, dark against the mist blanket hanging over the marsh, the crippled shoveller saw the wide-pinioned shape of doom for which, even as he swam, his round, brilliant, golden eyes had been searching.

If the keener eyes of the gray eagle had already picked out the lone duck swimming across the surface of the lagoon ahead of him, and perhaps a hundred feet below him, for some moments he seemed to give no heed to it. Possibly he mistook the shoveller for a coot, many hundreds of which dotted the pools and ponds within range of his vision. Possibly his attention was distracted momentarily by the great twin armies of pintails and mallards which had surged upward from the long lagoon bordering the river and were racing off through the air, the mallards swinging to the right and the pintails to the left. At any rate, some seconds elapsed before the eagle, with a slight motion of his tail, altered his line of flight so that he would

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 pass directly over the center of the lagoon; and not until he was nearly over its center did he show unmistakably that he had found a victim suited to his fancy.

Until that moment he had sailed onward rather indolently, with no appearance of haste, his long, marbled wings fully extended and apparently as rigid as the lifeless wings of a monoplane. Then, all at once, the dark, broad pinions bent slightly upward and curved sharply so that they seemed half-closed, the long, stiff-shafted tail opened like a fan, the burly body of the great bird tilted forward, the strong, yellow feet were thrust forward and downward with widely opened claws. Next moment the cloven air sang the wild, keen song of the royal eagle plunging for his prey.

The shoveller drake, swimming desperately, was now some twenty feet from the lagoon's eastern margin. There a willow-grown bank, bordered with a dense growth of tall reeds springing from the marginal water, extended between the lagoon and the river. The close-growing reeds would provide a respite and perhaps safety if the drake could reach them; but that sanctuary seemed as unattainable now as if it were twenty miles instead of twenty feet away.

The drake had made one serious mistake, a mistake which seemed certain to prove fatal. Minutes

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 before, he should have sought safety beneath the surface where he could cling to some submerged grass root or reed stem until his breath failed or the eagle had passed on. It was too late for this expedient now. His broken pinion hampered him sadly whenever he tried to force his buoyant body under water; and only an infinitesimal moment was left to him. If he tried to dive now those trenchant talons, already yawning for their prey, would sink deep into his back before the water closed over him.

In that final infinitesimal moment a strange chance intervened. The shoveller did not know that, in the densest growth of reeds close to the water's edge, round yellow eyes, set in a long, narrow, snakelike head, had watched, at first with languid interest, this drama of the river flats. He did not know that, at the moment when the gray tyrant half-closed his wings and shot downward through the singing air, sudden fear had flamed in those eyes, and the long javelin-bill in front of the snakelike head had sagged open with fright. Neither the fleeing duck nor the plunging eagle was aware that a great blue heron had been standing motionless in the reeds, until, with a terrified squawk, the tall bird spread its ash-blue wings and, with craning neck and trailing legs, flapped upward.

The heron had been facing the lagoon. Either

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 there was no time to change his position before taking flight, or else the stiff, dense stems, hedging him in on every side, governed the direction of his take-off. At any rate, when he flapped upward above the reed-tops with a hoarse, long-drawn croak of panic, the first hurried strokes of his pinions placed him squarely in the plunging eagle's path.

For a hundredth of a second his ash-blue bulk, the wings spread wide, the long neck stretched to its utmost extent, loomed almost directly over the swimming shoveller and not more than fifteen feet above him. Next moment the eagle, hurtling downward at cannon ball speed, crashed full into the heron.

The great, loosely-knit bird crumpled, collapsed—a broken, shapeless mass of blood-spattered, ashy feathers. Before the gray tyrant, lashing the air furiously, had recovered from the surprise and shock of the collision, the shoveller drake was hidden amid the crowding reed stems.

With the wild things, as a rule, fear is a shadow which comes suddenly and passes quickly. For perhaps ten minutes the shoveller remained in the cover of the reeds, resting quietly in the shallow water lapping amid the smooth, straight stems. Then he turned, paddled back to the open, and head-

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