Sigurd, having at last discovered the net
in which he was trapped, was content to make the best of marriage
and of friendship. Brynhild was not. "The hearts of women are the
hearts of wolves," says the ancient Sanskrit commentary on the Rig
Veda. But the she-wolf's heart broke, like a woman's, when she had
caused Sigurd's slaying. Both man and woman face life, as they
conceive it, with eyes perfectly clear.
The magic and the supernatural wiles are accidental, the human heart
is essential and eternal. There is no scene like this in the epics
of Greece. This is a passion that Homer did not dwell upon. In the
Iliad and Odyssey the repentance of Helen is facile; she takes life
easily. Clytemnestra is not brought on the stage to speak for
herself. In this respect the epic of the North, without the charm
and the delightfulness of the Southern epic, excels it; in this and
in a certain bare veracity, but in nothing else. We cannot put the
Germanic legend on the level of the Greek, for variety, for many-
sided wisdom, for changing beauty of a thousand colours. But in
this one passion of love the "Volsunga Saga" excels the Iliad.
The Greek and the Northern stories are alike in one thing. Fate is
all-powerful over gods and men. Odin cannot save Balder; nor
Thetis, Achilles; nor Zeus, Sarpedon. But in the Sagas fate is more
constantly present to the mind. Much is thought of being "lucky,"
or "unlucky.
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