The Story of Siegfried — Background and Themes

The Foreword’s Comparative Frame

Baldwin’s foreword does more than introduce the story; it sets up a deliberate contrast between Greek and Norse mythmaking. He writes that while the Greek told of Persephone’s abduction by Hades, the North told of Odin wounding Brunhild with the ‘thorn of sleep.’ Both explain winter, but the northern version is more violent and direct. The narrator’s language—‘uncouth, bold, and energetic’—is itself a clue to the tone of the Siegfried story that follows. This comparative frame is not merely academic; it primes the reader to expect a narrative that is less polished than Greek myth, more driven by raw forces and stark choices.

Oaths, Sleep, and Vulnerability

The excerpt concerning Balder illustrates a world governed by oaths and their loopholes. Balder’s mother extracts a promise from every creature and thing not to harm him, yet Loki exploits the one exception. The scene is built on a pattern: the queen ‘sought out every living creature, and every lifeless thing,’ and each swore willingly. But the narrative emphasizes that Loki ‘could find not one’ exception until he tricked the queen into revealing the mistletoe. Sleep also plays a key role: the witch in the Dark Valley says she has ‘rested quietly’ and does not wish to be aroused, and Odin’s journey is framed as an intrusion. These details—oaths, sleep, and the hidden vulnerability of even the most beloved figure—recur throughout the Siegfried material.

The Witch’s Prophecy and Narrative Economy

The exchange between Odin and the witch is a model of narrative economy. In a few lines, the witch reveals that Balder will be slain by Hoder, avenged by a ‘son of Earth but one day old,’ and that she will not awaken until ‘Balder shall rule over the young world in its purity.’ The prophecy is delivered in a flat, unadorned tone—‘All are for Balder, Odin’s son’—that contrasts with the ornate description of the halls of Death. This compression is typical of the northern style Baldwin praises: the story moves quickly from question to answer, with little embellishment. The witch’s final command, ‘Go home,’ underscores the idea that some knowledge is not meant to be pursued.

Readers approaching Baldwin’s Siegfried should attend to the way the narrator weaves together multiple Norse tales—Balder’s story appears early, as a kind of prelude—and to the recurring motifs of sleep, oaths, and hidden weakness. The foreword’s comparative lens invites us to see these elements as characteristic of a northern sensibility, one that values boldness and energy over refinement. The excerpts offer only a fragment of the full narrative, but they establish a world where even the gods are subject to prophecy and where the most carefully secured protection can be undone by a single overlooked detail.

I keep thinking about how Baldwin’s Siegfried rests on oaths that bind even the brave, and how sleep becomes a kind of mercy. That same quiet weight—mythic, tender, and a little sorrowful—lingered with me in The Book of Wonder — Themes and Context. It’s less a grand epic, more a private ache you carry home without meaning to.