Now, in the city of Asgard dwelt one called Loki, who, though amongst
the Æsir, was not of the Æsir, but utterly unlike to them; for to do
the wrong, and leave the right undone, was, night and day, this
wicked Loki's one unwearied aim. How he came amongst the Æsir no one
knew, nor even whence he came. Once, when Odin questioned him on the
subject, Loki stoutly declared that there had been a time when he was
innocent and noble-purposed like the Æsir themselves; but that, after
many wanderings up and down the earth, it had been his misfortune,
Loki said, to discover the half-burnt heart of a woman; "since when,"
continued he, "I became what you now see me, Odin." As this was too
fearful a story for any one to wish to hear twice over Odin never
questioned him again.
Whilst the Æsir were building their city, Loki, instead of helping
them, had been continually running over to Jötunheim to make friends
amongst the giants and wicked witches of the place. Now, amongst the
witches there was one so fearful to behold in her sin and her
cruelty, that one would have thought it impossible even for such an
one as Loki to find any pleasure in her companionship: nevertheless,
so it was that he married her, and they lived together a long time,
making each other worse and worse out of the abundance of their own
wicked hearts, and bringing up their three children to be the plague,
dread, and misery of mankind. These three children were just what
they might have been expected to be from their parentage and
education. The eldest was Jörmungand, a monstrous serpent; the second
Fenrir, most ferocious of wolves; the third was Hela, half corpse,
half queen. When Loki and his witch-wife looked at their fearful
progeny they thought within themselves, "What would the Æsir say if
they could see?" "But they cannot see," said Loki; "and, lest they
should suspect Witch-wife, I will go back to Asgard for a little
while, and salute old Father Odin bravely, as if I had no secret
here." So saying, Loki wished his wife good-morning, bade her hide
the children securely in-doors, and set forth on the road to Asgard.
But all the time he was travelling Loki's children went on growing,
and long before he had reached the lofty city Jörmungand had become
so large, that his mother was obliged to open the door to let his
tail out. At first it hung only a little way across the road; but he
grew, Oh, how fearfully Jörmungand grew! Whether it was from sudden
exposure to the air, I do not know; but, in a single day he grew from
one end of Jötunheim to the other, and early next morning began to
shoot out in the direction of Asgard. Luckily, however, just at that
moment Odin caught sight of him, when, from the top of Air Throne,
the eyes of this vigilant ruler were taking their morning walk.
"Now," said Odin, "it is quite clear, Frigga, that I must remain in
idleness no longer at Asgard, for monsters are bred up in Jötunheim,
and the earth has need of me." So saying, descending instantly from
Air Throne, Odin went forth of Asgard's golden gates to tread the
earth of common men, fighting to pierce through Jötunheim, and slay
its monstrous sins.
In his journeyings Odin mixed freely with the people of the countries
through which he passed; shared with them toil and pleasure, war and
grief; taught them out of his own large experience, inspired them
with his noble thoughts, and exalted them by his example. Even to the
oldest he could teach much; and in the evening, when the labours of
the day were ended, and the sun cast slanting rays upon the village
green, it was pleasant to see the sturdy village youths grouped round
that noble chief, hanging open mouthed upon his words, as he told
them of his great fight with the giant of long ago, and then pointing
towards Jötunheim, explained to them how that fight was not yet over,
for that giants and monsters grew round them on every side, and they,
too, might do battle bravely, and be heroes and Æsir of the earth.
One evening, after thus drinking in his burning words they all
trooped together to the village smithy, and Odin forged for them all
night arms and armour, instructing them, at the same time, in their
use. In the morning he said, "Farewell, children; I have further to
go than you can come; but do not forget me when I am gone, nor how to
fight as I have taught you. Never cease to be true and brave; never
turn your arms against one another; and never turn them away from the
giant and the oppressor."
Then the villagers returned to their homes and their field-labour,
and Odin pressed on, through trackless uninhabited woods, up silent
mountains, over the lonely ocean, until he reached that strange,
mysterious meeting-place of sea and sky. There, brooding over the
waters like a grey sea fog, sat Mimer, guardian of the well where wit
and wisdom lie hidden.
"Mimer," said Odin, going up to him boldly, "let me drink of the
waters of wisdom."
"Truly, Odin," answered Mimer, "it is a great treasure that you seek,
and one which many have sought before, but who, when they knew the
price of it, turned back."
Then replied Odin, "I would give my right hand for wisdom willingly."
"Nay," rejoined the remorseless Mimer, "it is not your right hand,
but your right eye you must give."
Odin was very sorry when he heard the words of Mimer, and yet he did
not deem the price too great; for plucking out his right eye, and
casting it from him, he received in return a draught of the
fathomless deep. As Odin gave back the horn into Mimer's hand he felt
as if there were a fountain of wisdom springing up within him--an
inward light; for which you may be sure he never grudged having given
his perishable eye. Now, also, he knew what it was necessary for him
to do in order to become a really noble Asa,[1] and that was to push
on to the extreme edge of the earth itself, and peep over into
Niflheim. Odin knew it was precisely that he must do; and precisely
that he did. Onward and northward he went over ice-bound seas,
through twilight, fog, and snow, right onward in the face of winds
that were like swords until he came into the unknown land, where
sobs, and sighs, and sad, unfinished shapes were drifting up and
down. "Then," said Odin, thoughtfully, "I have come to the end of all
creation, and a little further on Niflheim must lie."
[1] Asa--the singular of Æsir.
Accordingly he pushed on further and further until he reached the
earth's extremest edge, where, lying down and leaning over from its
last cold peak, he looked into the gulf below. It was Niflheim. At
first Odin imagined that it was only empty darkness; but, after
hanging there three nights and days, his eye fell on one of
Yggdrasil's mighty stems. Yggdrasil was the old earth-tree, whose
roots sprang far and wide, from Jötunheim, from above, and this, the
oldest of the three, out of Niflheim. Odin looked long upon its
time-worn, knotted fibres, and watched how they were for ever gnawed
by Nidhögg the envious serpent, and his brood of poisonous diseases.
Then he wondered what he should see next; and one by one spectres
arose from Naströnd, the Shore of Corpses--arose and wandered pale,
naked, nameless, and without a home. Then Odin looked down deeper
into the abyss of abysses, and saw all its shapeless, nameless ills;
whilst far below him, deeper than Naströnd, Yggdrasil, and Nidhögg,
roared Hvergelmir, the boiling cauldron of evil. Nine nights and days
this brave wise Asa hung over Niflheim pondering. More brave and more
wise he turned away from it than when he came. It is true that he
sighed often on his road thence to Jötunheim; but is it not always
thus that wisdom and strength come to us weeping.