While reading The Saga of the Volsungs I was struck by the many instances of shapeshifting in the narrative. These instances of magic occur in contrast to and also as contributions to the grisly family and political dramas that make up the saga. While elements of magic, such as shapeshifting, may not have been atypical in folklore and epics of the time I’m curious about what it they may suggest about new ways of reading nature in The Saga of the Volsungs.
In contemplating the act of shapeshifting in this saga I note two distinctly different modes of shapshifting. There are human to human acts of shapeshifting and human to animal (or arguably animal to human) acts of shapeshifting.
One of the most notable acts of human to human shapeshifting occurs when Signy exchanges forms with a sorceress in order to visit her brother, Sigmund, in disguise, tricking him into a tryst that leaves her pregnant with his heir, Sinfjotli. Signy says decidedly to the sorceress, ‘“I want the two of us to exchange shapes.’ The sorceress answered: ‘It shall be as you wish.’ And she used her craft so that they changed shapes” (43). Another instance of human to human shapeshifting occurs when Sigurd rides through the wavering flames of Brynhild in Gunnar’s shape, in an attempt to secure Brynhild’s promise of marriage to Gunnar. “Sigurd and Gunnar exchanged shapes, as Grimheld had taught them. Then Sigurd rode with Gram in his hand and on his feet he bound golden spurs. When he felt the spurs, Grani leapt forward toward the fire” (80). Brynhild holds to her word and agrees to marry Gunnar, whom she believes has passed through her impossible flames.
These instances of shapeshifting exibit a perhaps typical narrative trope wherein a human resorts to magical means in order to achieve some personal or individual desire. Shapeshifting here is characterized by choice, an intentional act. Transversely, the instances of human to animal shapshifting in the saga introduce a complication to this act of shapeshifting, as humans take on animal shape unwillingly, unintentionally, or at times seemingly uncontrollably.
After Sinfjotli is born to Signy, she sends him to be tested by Sigmund who is still hiding out in his underground dwelling in the woods. Sigmund and Sinfjotli spend summers “travel[ing] widely through the forests, killing men for booty” (44). This bloody, thieving activity leads them into a shapeshifting situation where they become trapped as wolves:
“One time, they went again to the forest to get themselves some riches, and they found a house. Inside it were two sleeping men, with thick gold rings. A spell had been cast upon them: wolfskins hung over them in the house and only every tenth day could they shed the skins. They were the sons of kings. Sigmund and Sinfjotli put the skins on and could not get them off. And the weird power was there as before: they howled like wolves, both understanding the sounds” (44).
Here we see an occurrence of man to wolf shapeshifting that illustrates a lack of control or choice. Sigmund and Sinfjotli become trapped in wolf form for a period of time. They then promptly burn the wolfskins when they return to their original human forms. Another instance of human/animal shapeshifting may be seen in Regin’s account of his family history to Sigurd. Regin tells of Otr who, “had the likeness of an otter during the day and was always in the river bringing up fish in his mouth” (57). Otr here seems to be inherently animalistic, cycling easily from human form to otter form. He is slaughtered by Loki when is in his otter form. This instance of shapeshifting is characterized by cyclical elements, the day spent as an otter, and evenings spent as a man. The wolves mentioned above were also subject to cyclical, temporal constraints; as they were only capable of not being wolves every tenth day. Cycles in the natural world appear in the seasons, the moon, birth/death, etc. If human to animal shapeshifting in the saga is not subject to individual choice, we might assume that nature here is represented as an imposing, powerful, yet cyclical force; one that little heeds the intentions and desires of humans.
The shapeshifting trope is complicated further if we look at Fafnir’s transformation from man to dragon (or snake). Due to the acquisition of the cursed treasure, “Fafnir became so ill-natured that he set out for the wilds and allowed no one to enjoy the treasure but himself. He has since become the most evil serpent and lies now upon this hoard” (59). This is a different type of human to animal shapeshifting, one that lacks the cyclical characteristic that would enable Fafnir to become a man again if only momentarily. In this way, Fafnir is less an animal than the wolves or the otter. He is somehow more human. What do you guys make of this and the other magical elements in the saga? How come choice and intention are excluded from such associations with the natural world and animals?
readingmedievalnature 
I also find it interesting that the transformation into animals is sometimes unwilled, such as that of Fafnir into the serpent, and Sigmund and Sinfjotli into wolves. The barrier between human and animal is thin, and there seems to be a danger of people losing their humanity and becoming animals. Sigmund and Sinfjotli gain power from their wolf experience – it is part of Sinfjotli’s training, and their preparation to take revenge against Siggeir. However they burn the skins, seemingly out of fear. Perhaps they were afraid they would lose their humanity completely if they remained wolves for too long? Like Fafnir, who became a serpent permanently due to his excessive greed.
Thanks for the thoughtful response, Ruben. I’m intrigued by your suggestion that Sigmund and Sinfjotli gain power from their wolf experience. Do you mean that they gained power while they were wolves? As in, when they were these powerful beasts? Or do you mean that they gained power later in their human forms after transforming back? Like somehow Sinfjotli’s training progressed further through this ordeal. How do you see this manifest?
I’m not sure, because the text doesn’t actually say this. What happens in the text is that immediately after the wolf transformation episode, we get a line about how Sigmund determined that Sinfjotli’s training was complete. So it seems like somehow this experience was part of his training
I agree with you and that’s what I was thinking, but I wanted to make sure I knew what you meant. So if the human to animal shapeshifting is a way of gaining power or growth but is a shift laden with danger of losing one’s humanity it’s a more significant form of shapeshifting because there is a higher risk and higher reward, compared to human to human shapeshifting. Because shapeshifting into animal form is more significant it makes sense that such shifts are dependent on cyclical, temporal elements uncontrollable by human hands. I’m seeing more and more of a likeness to the animal-warrior Berserkers that Sarah mentioned in class.
In comparison with Beowulf, our “heroes” in “The Saga of the Volsungs” work from a magical and human presence in the story. In Beowulf, the monsters are the bad guys, and in this saga, it seems that evil works in both the human and magical world. Family honor seems to come with costs. Magic in the story seemed to serve some evil purpose or worked to “achieve” as you noted, “some personal or individual desire.” Where then did morality exist in these stories? There is no question that Grendel’s presence represents evil in Beowulf, but how do we separate good from evil in The Saga of the Volsungs? Shapeshifting, as you noted, works to bring characters on both sides of this fence, where the difference between good and evil becomes unclear. So what tidbit of wisdom (or goodness) do you think readers might gain from these stories?
To me there didn’t seem to be a good/evil binary at work in The Saga of the Volsungs, and maybe this reveals something about the saga genre in comparison to a heroic epic like Beowulf. Where Beowulf (arguably) is the hero fighting evil beasts in a war of good vs. evil, the Volsungs are fighting a different type of battle. They are fighting the forces of entropy or decline, without success. So the saga seems less about good/evil than upholding cultural codes of honor and paying blood debts. It’s about standing steadfast in war, even when you know all is lost, and facing the inevitability of death with gusto, especially if it means repaying what is owed. So to answer your question about how magic plays into morality it seems to be genre specific and doing different things in the heroic epic and the saga. You suggest that magic “serve[s] some evil purpose” in The Saga of the Volsungs but I’m not sure I am able to define what is “evil” in the saga in the same way I might be able to in Beowulf.
The clansmen in the Sagas act like animals even when they aren’t skinned as one. When too timid to kill, they (sometimes willingly) slipped on animal coats to accomplish cruel deeds, seduction and betrayal. When Sigmund thought Sinfjotli was too young to take revenge against King Siggeir (thinking he was the king’s son), they went to the woods to make him a man. Upon finding wolf skins, they wore them, started howling, quarreled and killed. When the evil deeds were done, they seemed afraid they’d lose their humanity as Reuben said, and shed the coats. They were that animal for a short period of time with brutal purpose. When Sigi killed Bredi, he was said to be a wolf – the creature who knows no fear. With all that was expected of these warriors, shapshifting helped them accomplish things larger than the last man. I agree with Will that the difference between good and evil is unclear. Always a clansman wanted what another had; what good is there in that? With power as the constant goal, how could anyone refuse to wear a killer’s coat given the choice?
Very intriguing response, Catherine. Though I’m not sure if I agree with you that Sigmund and Sinfjotli became wolves willingly. It seems to me their own thieving and treachery led them to this transformation, one that they recognized as dangerous and out of control. Once they were able, they burned the wolfskins, lest they become, involuntarily, wolves again. I agree that good/evil is unclear or muddy beyond recognition in the saga. I think what I’m getting at above, and you’re helping me articulate it better, is that because the human to animal shapeshifting is characterized by a lack of choice or human agency, this reveals our powerlessness in the face of entropy and the futility of dynastic impulses beneath the grinding wind of time and the cycles of Nature. I’m still working on it… 🙂