SigrdrĂfumál, a reading
Episode Stats
Harmful content
Misogyny
3
sentences flagged
Toxicity
5
sentences flagged
Hate speech
10
sentences flagged
Summary
The Ballad of the Victory-Bringer, also known as the Brynhildarliod, is a collection of stanzas which tells the story of the discovery of Brunhild by Sigurd, the king of the gods.
Transcript
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also known as the Brynhildarliod, Brynhild's Song.
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The so-called Sigdrifumal, which immediately follows the Fafnismal in the Codex the Regius,
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without any indication of a break, and without separate title,
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is unquestionably the most chaotic of all the poems in the Edic collection.
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The end of it has been entirely lost, for the fifth folio of eight sheets is missing from the Regis,
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the gap coming from the first line of stanza 29 of this poem.
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That stanza has been completed, and eight more have been added from much later paper manuscripts,
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but even so the conclusion of the poem is in obscurity.
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Properly speaking, however, the strange conglomeration of stanzas which the compiler of the collection
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has left for us, and which in much of the same general form, seems to have been lain
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before the authors of the Volsunga Saga, in which 18 of its stanzas are quoted, is not
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Even its customary title is an absurd error, the mistake made by the annotator in thinking
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that the epithet Sigdriffa, rightfully applied to Brunnhild as the bringer of victory, was
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a proper name, has already been explained and commented on.
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Even if the collection of stanzas were in any real sense a poem, which is empathetically
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is not, it is certainly not the Ballad of Sigdriffa, which it is commonly called.
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of Brunnhild would be a sufficiently suitable title, and I have here brought the established
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name Sigdrfumal into accord with this by translating the epithet instead of treating
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Even apart from the title, however, the Sigdrfumal has little claim to be regarded as a distinct
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poem, nor is there any indication that the compiler did still regard it.
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Handicapped as we are by the loss of the concluding section, and of the material which followed
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it on those missing pages, we have yet seen that the process which begun with the prose
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Fledrauta Sinsvotla, and which interrupted by the insertion of the Gris Fispa, went on
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through the Regimol and the Fafnismol, continued through as much as the Sigrefumol as is left
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of us. In other words, the compiler told the story of Sigurd in mixed prose and verse,
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using whatever verse he could find without much questioning as to its origin, and filling
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Frodrauta Sinshotla, Regensmal, Faftensmal, and Sigdrfummal are essentially a coherent
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unit, but one of the compilers making only. They represent neither one poem, nor three
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distinct poems, and the divisions and titles which have been almost universally adopted
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The Sigrid Fumal section as we now have it is an extraordinary piece of patchwork. It
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It is most unlikely that the compiler himself brought all these fragments together for the
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Little by little, through a process of accretion, and also unluckily through one of elimination,
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Certainly the basis of it is a poem dealing with the finding of Brunhild by Sigurd, but
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Of this original poem, only five stanzas can be identified with any degree of
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confidence. To these five stanzas should probably, however, be added some, if not all, of the
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passages in which Brunhild teaches Sigrid the magic runes. These stanzas of rune lore
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attracted sundry similar passages from other sources, including Stanza 5, in which a magic
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draught is administered, not necessarily by Brindhild or to Sigurd, that curious rune
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chart in Stanzas 15 through 17, on Stanzas 13 through 14 and 18 through 19.
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Beginning with Stanza 22, and running to the end of the fragment, Stanza 37, is a set of
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numbered councils closely resembling the Lord Fafnismog , which manifestly
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Even in this passage, there are probably interpolations Stanza 25, 27, 30, 34, and 36.
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Finally, and bespeaking the existence at some earlier time of another Sigurd Brynhild poem is stanza 1, sharply distinguished by its materical form from stanzas 2-4 and 20-21.
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Many critics argue that stanzas 6-10 of Herreith Brynhildar belonged originally to the same poem as stanza 1 of the Sigurd Fulmar.
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The SigĂ°r Fumal then must be regarded simply as a collection of fragments, most of them
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originally having no relation to the main subject.
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All of the story, the dialogue, and the characterization are embodied in Stanzas 1-4 and 22-21, and
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in the prose notes accompanying the first four stanzas.
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All of the rest must equally well, or better, be transferred to the Havamal where its character
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entitled to place. Yet stanzas 54 are as fine as anything in Old Norse poetry, and it is
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out of the scanty material of these three stanzas that Wagner constructed much of the
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third act of Sigrid. The Sigrid Fumal represents almost exclusively the contributions of the
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the north to the Sigurd tradition, see introductory note to the Grupispa.
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Brunnhild, here distinguished by the annotator as Sigdrifa, appears simply as a battlemaid,
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There is no trace of the daughter of Boothry and the rival of Guthrum.
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There is, however, so little of the poem which can definitively be assigned to the Sigurd
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cycle that it is impossible to trace back any of the underlying narrative substance.
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The nature and condition of the material have made editorial conjectures and imitations
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very numerous, and as most of the guesses are neither conclusive nor particularly important,
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only a few of theirs are mentioned in the notes.
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Sigurdth rode up on Hindorfjol, and turned southward towards the land of the Franks.
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On the mountain he saw great lights, as a fire were burning, and a glow reached up to
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And when he came thither, there stood a tower of shields, and above it was Abana.
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Ruth went into the shield tower and saw that Amon lie there sleeping with all his war weapons.
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First he took the helm from his head, and then he saw that it was a woman.
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The male coat was as fast as if it had grown to the flesh.
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There he cut the male coat from the head opening downward and out to both the armholes.
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Then he took the maricote from her, and she awoke, and sat up and saw Sigurd, and said,
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He answered, Sigmund's son, with Sigurd's sword that late with flesh had fed with ravens.
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She took a horn full of mead and gave him a memory draught.
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Hail day, hail suns of day, And night and her daughters now.
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Look on us here with loving eyes, That waiting we victory win.
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Hail to the gods, ye goddesses hail, Hail and all the earth generous.
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virtuous wisdom and goodly speech and healing hands life long.
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Long did I sleep, my slumber was long, and longer the griefs of life.
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Odin decreed that I could not break the heavy spells of sleep.
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One was called Hjomgyllnar, an old man but a mighty warrior, and Odin had promised him
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the victory, and the other was Ogdan, brother of Altha, none he found who fain would shield
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Sigdrifa slew Hjomgyllnar in the battle, and Odin pricked her with the sleep thorn in
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punishment for this, and said that she would never thereafter win victory in battle, but
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that she should be wedded. And I said to him that I had made a vow in my turn, that I would
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never marry a man who knew the meaning of fear. Sigurd answered and asked her to teach
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him wisdom, if she knew of what took place in all the worlds. Sigurdipha said, Beer I
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I bring thee, tree of battle, mingled of strength and mighty fame.
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Charms it holds in healing signs, spells for good and gladness runes.
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Be here, I bring thee, tree of battle, mingled of strength and mighty fame.
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Charms it holds in healing signs, spells for good and gladness runes.
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Winning, runes, learn, if thou longest to win, And runes on thy sword hilt the right,
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Some on the furrow, and some on the flat, And twice shalt thou call on Tyr.
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El, runes, learn, that with lies the wife Of another betray not thy trust.
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On the horn thou shalt write, And on the backs of thy hands,
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The need shalt mark on thy nails, Thou shalt bless the draught and danger to escape,
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And cast a leak in the cup, For so I know, thou never shalt see thy mead
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Birth runes learn, if help thou wilt lend, The babe from the mother bring,
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On thy palms shalt write them, And round thy joints, and ask the fates to aid.
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Wave runes learn, if thou well wouldst shelter, The sail steeds out on the sea.
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On the stem shalt thou write in the steering blade, And burn them into the oars.
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Thou high be the breakers, and black the waves, Thou shalt safe the harbor seek.
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Branch runes learn, if a healer wouldst be, And cure for wounds wouldst work.
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On the bark shalt thou write, and on trees thou be, With boughs to the eastward bent.
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Speech runes learn, that none may seek, To answer harm with hate.
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Well he wins and weaves them all, And sets them side by side.
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At the judgment place, when justice there, The folk shall fairly win.
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Thought runes learn, if all shall think, Thou art keenest minded of men.
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Them rapt arranged, and them he wrote, And them in thought he made.
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Out of the draught that down had dropt, From the head of Hethropnir,
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On the mountain he stood with Brimir's sword, On his head the helm he bore.
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Then first the head of Mim spoke forth, And words of truth it told.
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He bade right on the shield before the shining goddess, On Arvak's ear and on Arsvith's hoof,
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On the wheel of the card of Rungnir's killer, On Slepnir's teeth and the straps of the sledge,
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On the paws of the bear and on Bragi's tongue, On the wolf's claws barred and the eagle's
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beak, On the bloody wings and the bridge's end,
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On the freeing hands and the helping footprints,
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On the glass, and on gold, and on goodly charms,
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On the nails of Norn's, and the night owl's beak.
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Shaved off were the runes that of old were written,
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that the gods had them, so the elves got them, and some for the wains so wise, and some for
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Beach runes are there, birth runes are there, and all the runes avail.
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And the magic runes of Mait, who knows them rightly, and reads them true, has them himself
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to help, ever they aid, till the gods are gone.
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Wrenhild spake. Now shalt thou choose, for the choice is given. Thou tree of the biting blade, speech or silence, tis thine to say. Our evil is destined all.
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Sigurd spake, I shall not flee, though my fate be near.
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I was born not a coward to be, thy loving word for mine will I win, as long as I shall
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Then first I read thee, that free of guilt, toward kinsmen ever thou art.
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No vengeance have, though they work harm thee, Reward after death thou shalt win.
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Then second I read thee to swear no oath, If true thou knowest it not,
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Better the fate of the breaker of troth, And poor is the wolf of his word.
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And third I read thee, that thou, at a thing, shalt fight not in words with fools.
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For the man unwise a worser word than he thinks doth often utter.
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Ill it is, if silent thou art, a coward-born men call thee, and truth, mayhap, they tell,
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seldom safe is fame, unless wide renown be won.
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On the day thereafter send him to death, Let him pay the price of his lies.
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Then forth I read thee, if thou shalt find A wily witch on the road,
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It is better to go than her guest to be, Though night enfold thee fast.
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Eyes that see need the sons of men Who fight and battle fierce,
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Oft witches evil sit by the way, Who blade and courage blunt.
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Then fifth I read thee, Though maidens fair thou seest on benches sitting,
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Let the silver of kinship now bribe thee of sleep, And the kissing of women beware.
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Then sixth I read thee, If men shall wrangle, And ill talk rise to wrath,
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No words with the drunken warrior have, for wine steals many men's wits.
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Brawls and ale full oft have been, and ill to many a men.
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Death for some, and sorrow for some, fool many the woes of men.
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Then seventh I lead thee, if battle thou seekest, with a foe that is full of might, it is better
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to fight than to burn alive in the hall of the hero rich.
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Then eighth I read thee, that evil thou shun, and beware of lying words.
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Take not a maid, nor the wife of Amon, nor lure them on to lust.
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Then ninth I read thee, burial render, if thou findest a fallen corpse, of sickness
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dead, or dead in the sea, or dead of weapons' wounds.
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A bath shalt thou give them, who corpses be, and hands and heads shalt wash.
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Wipe them in calm, ere they go in the coffin, and pray that they sleep in peace.
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Then tenth I read thee, that never thou trust the words of the race of Wuldus.
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If his brother thou broughtest to death, or his father thou didst fail,
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Often a wolf and a son there is, though gold he gladly takes.
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Battle and hate and harm, methinks, will seldom fall asleep.
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Wits and weapons the warrior needs, if boldest of men he would be.
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On eleventh I read thee, Thou wrath thou shun, And treachery falls with thy friends.
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Not long the leader's life shall be, For great are the foes he faces.