Frey had one day placed himself in Hlidskjalf, and looked out upon all

the worlds. He also saw Jotunheim, and perceived a large and stately

mansion which a maid was going to enter, and as she raised the latch of

the door so great a radiancy was thrown from her hand, that the air and

waters and all worlds were illuminated by it. It was Gerd, a daughter of

the giant Gymer and Aurboda, relatives of Thjasse. At this sight Frey,

as a just punishment for his audacity in mounting on that sacred throne,

was struck with sudden sadness, so that on his return home he could

neither speak nor sleep nor drink, nor did any one dare to inquire the

cause of his affliction. Frey’s messenger was named Skirner. Njord sent

for him and requested of him, as did also Skade, that he should ask Frey

why he thus refused to speak to any one.

Thus the Elder Edda, in the lay of Skirner:

SKADE:

Skirner, arise, and swiftly run

Where lonely sits our pensive son;

Bid him to parley, and inquire

’Gainst whom he teems with sullen ire.

SKIRNER:

Ill words I fear my lot will prove,

If I your son attempt to move;

If I bid parley, and inquire

Why teems his soul with savage ire.

Reluctantly Skirner then proceeded to Frey, and thus addressed him:

SKIRNER:

Prince of the gods, and first in fight!

Speak, honored Frey, and tell me right:

Why spends my lord the tedious day

In his lone hall, to grief a prey?

FREY:

Oh, how shall I, fond youth, disclose

To you my bosom’s heavy woes?

The ruddy god shines every day,

But dull to me his cheerful ray.

SKIRNER:

Your sorrows deem not I so great

That you the tale should not relate:

Together sported we in youth,

And well may trust each other’s truth.

FREY:

In Gymer’s court I saw her move,

The maid who fires my breast with love;

Her snow-white arms and bosom fair

Shone lovely, kindling sea and air.

Dear is she to my wishes, more

Than e’er was maid to youth before;

But gods and elves, I wot it well,

Forbid that we together dwell.

SKIRNER:

Give me that horse of wondrous breed

To cross the nightly flame with speed;

And that self-brandished sword to smite

The giant race with strange affright.

FREY:

To you I give this wondrous steed

To pass the watchful fire with speed;

And this, which borne by valiant wight,

Self-brandished will his foemen smite.

Frey, having thus given away his sword, found himself without arms when

he on another occasion fought with Bele, and hence it was that he slew

him with a stag’s antlers. This combat was, however, a trifling affair,

for Frey could have killed him with a blow of his fist, had he felt

inclined; but the time will come when the sons of Muspel will sally

forth to the fight in Ragnarok, and then indeed will Frey truly regret

having parted with his falchion. Having obtained the horse and sword,

Skirner set out on his journey, and thus he addressed his horse:

Dark night is spread; ’t is time, I trow,

To climb the mountains hoar with snow;

Both shall return, or both remain

In durance, by the giant ta’en.

Skirner rode into Jotunheim, to the court of Gymer. Furious dogs were

tied there before the gate of the wooden inclosure which surrounded

Gerd’s bower. He rode toward a shepherd, who was sitting on a mound, and

thus addressed him:

Shepherd, you, that sit on the mound,

And turn your watchful eyes around,

How may I lull these bloodhounds? say;

How speak unharmed with Gymer’s may?

THE SHEPHERD:

Whence and what are you? doomed to die?

Or, dead, revisit you the sky?

For ride by night or ride by day,

You ne’er shall come to Gymer’s may.

SKIRNER:

I grieve not, I, a better part

Fits him who boasts a ready heart:

At hour of birth our lives were shaped;

The doom of fate can ne’er be ’scaped.

But Gerd inside hears the stranger, and thus speaks to her maid-servant:

What sounds unknown my ears invade,

Frightening this mansion’s peaceful shade;

The earth’s foundation rocks withal,

And trembling shakes all Gymer’s hall.

THE MAID-SERVANT:

Dismounted stands warrior sheen;

His courser crops the herbage green.

GERD:

Haste! bid him to my bower with speed,

To quaff unmixed the pleasant mead;

And good betide us; for I fear

My brother’s murderer is near.

Skirner having entered, Gerd thus addresses him:

What are you, elf or asas’ son?

Or from the wiser vanas sprung?

Alone to visit our abode,

O’er bickering flames, why have you rode?

SKIRNER:

Nor elf am I, nor asas’ son;

Nor from the wiser vanas sprung:

Yet o’er the bickering flames I rode

Alone to visit your abode.

Eleven apples here I hold,

Gerd, for you, of purest gold;

Let this fair gift your bosom move

To grant young Frey your precious love.

GERD:

Eleven apples take not I

From man as price of chastity:

While life remains, no tongue shall tell

That Frey and I together dwell.

SKIRNER:

Gerd, for you this wondrous ring,

Burnt on young Balder’s pile, I bring,

On each ninth night shall other eight

Drop from it. all of equal weight.

GERD:

I take not, I, that wondrous ring,

Though it from Balder’s pile you bring:

Gold lack not I, in Gymer’s bower;

Enough for me my father’s dower.

SKIRNER:

Behold this bright and slender wand,

Unsheathed and glittering in my hand!

Refuse not, maiden! lest your head

Be severed by the trenchant blade.

GERD:

Gerd will ne’er by force be led

To grace a conqueror’s hateful bed;

But this I trow, with main and might

Gymer shall meet your boast in fight.

SKIRNER:

Behold this bright and slender wand,

Unsheathed and glittering in my hand!

Slain by its edge your sire shall lie,

That giant old is doomed to die.

As this has no effect upon Gerd’s mind, Skirner heaps blows upon her

with a magic wand, and at the same time he begins his incantations,

scoring runic characters as he sings:

E’en as I list, the magic wand

Shall tame you! Lo, with charmed hand

I touch you, maid! There shall you go

Where never man shall learn your woe.

On some high, pointed rock, forlorn

Like eagle, shall you sit at morn;

Turn from the world’s all-cheering light,

And seek the deep abyss of night.

Food shall to you more loathly show

Than slimy serpent creeping slow,

When forth you come, a hideous sight,

Each wondering eye shall stare with fright;

By all observed, yet sad and lone;

’Mongst shivering giants wider known

Than him who sits unmoved on high,

The guard of heaven with sleepless eye.

’Mid charms and chains and restless woe,

Your tears with double grief shall flow.

Now sit down, maid, while I declare

Your tide of sorrow and despair.

Your bower shall be some giant’s cell,

Where phantoms pale shall with you dwell;

Each day to the frosty giant’s hall,

Comfortless, wretched, shall you crawl;

Instead of joy, and pleasure gay,

Sorrow and tears and sad dismay;

With some three-headed giant wed,

Or pine upon a lonely bed;

From morn to morn love’s secret fire

Shall gnaw your heart with vain desire;

Like barren root of thistle pent

In some high ruined battlement.

O’er shady hill, through greenwood round,

I sought this wand; the wand I found.

Odin is wroth, and mighty Thor;

E’en Frey shall now your name abhor.

But ere o’er your ill-fated head

The last dread curse of heaven be spread,

Giants and Thurses far and near,

Suttung’s sons, and ye asas, hear

How I forbid with fatal ban

This maid the joys, the fruit of man.

Cold Grimner is that giant hight

Who you shall hold in realms of might;

Where slaves in cups of twisted roots

Shall bring foul beverage from the goats;

Nor sweeter draught, nor blither fare

Shall you, sad virgin, ever share.

’Tis done! I wind the mystic charm;

Thus, thus I trace the giant form;

And three fell characters below,

Fury and Lust and restless Woe.

E’en as I wound, I straight unwind

This fatal spell, if you are kind.

GERD:

Now hail, now hail, you warrior bold!

Take, take this cup of crystal cold,

And quaff the pure metheglin old.

Yet deemed I ne’er that love could bind

To vana-youth my hostile mind.

SKIRNER:

I turn not home to bower or hall

Till I have learnt mine errand all;

Where you will yield the night of joy

To brave Njord’s, the gallant boy.

GERD:

Bar-isle is hight, the seat of love;

Nine nights elapsed, in that known grove

Shall brave Njord’s, the gallant boy,

From Gerd take the kiss of joy.

Then Skirner rode home. Frey stood forth and hailed him and asked what

tidings.

FREY:

Speak, Skirner, speak and tell with speed!

Take not the harness from your steed,

Nor stir your foot, till you have said,

How fares my love with Gymer’s maid!

SKIRNER:

Bar-isle is hight, the seat of love;

Nine nights elapsed, in that known grove

To brave Njord’s, the gallant boy,

Will Gerd yield the kiss of joy.

FREY:

Long is one night, and longer twain;

But how for three endure my pain?

A month of rapture sooner flies

Than half one night of wishful sighs.

This poem illustrates how beautifully a myth can be elaborated. Gerd is

the seed; Skirner is the air that comes with the sunshine. Thus the myth

is easily explained: The earth, in which the seed is sown, resists the

embrace of Frey; his messenger Skirner, who brings the seed out into the

light, in vain promises her the golden ears of harvest and the ring, the

symbol of abundance. She has her giant nature, which has not yet been

touched by the divine spirit; she realizes not the glory which she can

attain to by Frey’s love. Skirner must conjure her, he must use

incantations, he must show her how she, if not embraced by Frey, must

forever be the bride of the cold frost, and never experience the joys of

wedded life. She finally surrenders herself to Frey, and they embrace

each other, when the buds burst forth in the grove. This myth then

corresponds to Persephone, the goddess of the grain planted in the

ground. Demeter’s sorrow on account of the naked, forsaken field, from

which the sprout shall shoot forth from the hidden reed, is Frey’s

impatient longing; and Skirner is Mercurius, who brings Proserpina up

from the lower world.

But the myth has also a deeper ethical signification. Our forefathers

were not satisfied with the mere shell; and Frey’s love to Gerd, which

is described so vividly in the Elder Edda, is taken from the nature of

love, with all its longings and hopes, and is not only a symbol of what

takes place in visible nature. As the warmth of the sun develops the

seed, thus love develops the heart; love is the ray of light (Skirner)

sent from heaven, which animates and ennobles the clump of earth. Gerd

is the maid, who is engaged in earthly affairs and does not yet realize

anything nobler than her every-day cares. Then love calls her; in her

breast awakens a new life; wonderful dreams like gentle breezes embrace

her, and when the dreams grow into consciousness her eyes are opened to

a higher sphere of existence. This myth is most perfectly reflected in

the love-story of Fridthjof’s Saga, an old Norse romance moulded into a

most fascinating Epic Poem by Tegner. A good English translation of this

poem appeared a few years ago in London, and was republished in this

country under the auspices of Bayard Taylor. It is also translated into

almost every other European language, and is justly considered one of

the finest poetical productions of this century.

SECTION V. WORSHIP OF FREY.

The Sagas tell us, as has already been stated, that Frey was worshiped

extensively throughout the northern countries.

In Throndhjem there was during the reign of Olaf Tryggvesson a temple in

which Frey was zealously worshiped. When the king, having overthrown the

statue of the god, blamed the bondes for their stupid idolatry, and

asked them wherein Frey had evinced his power, they answered: Frey often

talked with us, foretold us the future, and granted us good seasons and

peace.

The Norse chieftain Ingemund Thorstenson, who in the days of the tyrant

Harald Hairfair emigrated from Norway and settled in Vatnsdal, Iceland,

built near his homestead a temple, which appears to have been specially

dedicated to Frey, who had in a manner pointed out a dwelling-place to

him; for in digging a place for his pillars of the high-seat

(_öndvegis-súlur_, something similar to the Greek Hermes and Roman

Penates), Ingemund found in the earth an image of Frey, which he had

lost in Norway.

The Icelander Thorgrim of Seabol was a zealous worshiper of Frey, and

conducted sacrificial festivals in his honor during the winter nights.

He was killed in his bed by Gisle, and a famous funeral service was

given him; but one thing, says the Saga of Gisle Surson, also happened,

which seemed remarkable. Snow never settled on Thorgrim’s how

(grave-mound) on the south side, nor did it freeze; it was thought that

Frey loved him so much, because he had sacrificed to him, that he did

not want it to grow cold between them.

In the vicinity of the estate Tver-aa, in Eyjafjord in Iceland, there

was a temple dedicated to Frey, and the place became so holy that no

guilty person dared to tarry there, for Frey did not allow it. When the

chieftain Thorkel the Tall was banished from Tver-aa by Glum Eyjolfson,

who is universally known as Vigaglum, he led a full-grown ox to Frey’s

temple before he left, and thus addressed the god: Long have you been to

me a faithful friend, O Frey! Many gifts have you received from me and

rewarded me well for them. Now I give you this ox, in order that Glum

may some day have to leave Tver-aa no less reluctantly than I do. And

now give to me a sign to show whether you accept this offering or not.

At that moment the ox bellowed loudly and fell dead upon the ground.

Thorkel considered this a good omen, and moved away with a lighter

heart. Afterwards (it is related in Vigaglum’s Saga) Glum in his old

days became involved in a dangerous suit for manslaughter, which ended

in his having to relinquish Tver-aa to Ketil, son of Thorvald Krok, whom

he confessed having killed. On the night before he rode to the _thing_

(assembly, court), where his case was to be decided, he dreamed that

there had congregated a number of men at Tver-aa to meet Frey; he saw

many down by the river (_á_ is river in Icelandic), and there sat Frey

on a bench. Glum asked who they were, and they answered: We are your

departed relatives, and have come to pray Frey that you may not be

driven from Tver-aa; but it avails us nothing. Frey answers us short and

angrily and now remembers the ox which Thorkel the Tall gave to him.

Glum awoke, and from that time he said that he was on unfriendly terms

with Frey.

In the temple at Upsala, in Sweden, Frey, together with Odin and Thor,

was especially worshiped; and by the story of the Norseman Gunnar

Helming, who in Sweden gave himself out as Frey, it is attested that the

people in some provinces of Sweden put their highest trust in this god,

and even believed him sometimes to appear in human form.

The horse, it appears, was regarded as a favorite animal of Frey. At his

temple in Throndhjem it is said there were horses belonging to him. It

is related of the Icelander Rafnkel that he loved Frey above all other

gods, and bestowed upon him an equal share in all his best possessions.

He had a brown horse called Frey-fax (compare Col-fax, Fair-fax, etc.),

which he loved so highly that he made a solemn vow to kill the man who

should ride this horse against his will, a vow he also fulfilled.

Another Icelander, Brand, also had a horse called Frey-fax, which he

made so much of that he was said to believe in it as in a divinity.

Frey’s boar, Gullinburste, has been referred to in connection with the

Jul or Christmas festivities, and there are found many examples of

swine-sacrifice in the old Norse writings. King Hedrek made solemn vows

on the atonement-boar on Jul-eve, and in one of the prose supplements to

the ancient Edda poem of Helge Hjorvardson we find that the

atonement-boar is mentioned as being led out on Jul-eve, in order that

they might lay lands upon it and make solemn vows.

A highly valued wooden statue or image of Frey was found in a temple at

Throndhjem, which king Olaf Tryggvesson hewed in pieces in the presence

of the people. Kjotve the Rich, king of Agder in Norway, one of the

chiefs who fought against Harald Fairhair, had a weight upon which the

god Frey was sculptured in silver. This treasure, which he held in great

veneration, fell after the battle into the hands of King Harald, and he

presented it to his friend, the chieftain Ingemund Thorstenson, who

afterwards carried the image in a purse and held it in very high esteem.

This last-mentioned image was probably borne as an amulet, as was often

the case, no doubt, with the gold braeteates which are found in the

grave-hows and in the earth, having upon them the images of men and

animals, and which are furnished with a clasp for fastening to a

necklace.

SECTION VI. FREYJA.

The goddess of love is Freyja, also called Vanadis or Vanabride. She is

the daughter of Njord and the sister of Frey. She ranks next to Frigg.

She is very fond of love ditties, and all lovers would do well to invoke

her. It is from her name that women of birth and fortune are called in

the Icelandic language _hús freyjur_ (compare Norse _fru_ and German

_frau_). Her abode in heaven is called Folkvang, where she disposes of

the hall-seats. To whatever field of battle she rides she asserts her

right to one half the slain, the other half belonging to Odin. Thus the

Elder Edda, in Grimner’s lay:

Folkvang ’tis called

Where Freyja has right

To dispose of the hall-seats.

Every day of the slain

She chooses the half

And leaves half to Odin.

Her mansion, Sessrymner (having many or large seats), is large and

magnificent; thence she rides out in a car drawn by two cats. She lends

a favorable ear to those who sue for her assistance. She possesses a

necklace called Brisingamen, or Brising. She married a person called

Oder, and their daughter, named Hnos, is so very handsome that whatever

is beautiful and precious is called by her name _hnossir_ (that means,

nice things). It is also said that she had two daughters, Hnos and

Gerseme, the latter name meaning precious. But Oder left his wife in

order to travel into very remote countries. Since that time Freyja

continually weeps, and her tears are drops of pure gold; hence she is

also called the fair-weeping goddess (_it grátfagra goð_). In poetry,

gold is called Freyja’s tears, the rain of Freyja’s brows or cheeks. She

has a great variety of names, for, having gone over many countries in

search of her husband, each people gave her a different name. She is

thus called Mardal, Horn, Gefn, Syr, Skjalf and Thrung. It will also be

remembered, from the chapter about Thor, that Freyja had a falcon-guise,

and how the giant Thrym longed to possess her. In the lay of Hyndla, in

the Elder Edda, Freyja comes to her friend and sister, the giantess

Hyndla, and requests her to ride to Valhal, to ask for success for her

favorite Ottar; promising the giantess to appease Odin and Thor, who of

course were enemies to the giants. Hyndla is inclined to doubt Freyja’s

remarks, especially as she comes to her with Ottar in the night. Who

this Ottar was we do not know, excepting that he was a son of the Norse

hero, Instein, and hence probably a Norseman. He was heir to an estate,

but his right to it was disputed by Angantyr. It was therefore necessary

to make his title good, and to enumerate his ancestors, but for this he

was too ignorant. Meanwhile he had always been a devout worshiper of the

asynjes (goddesses), and had especially worshiped Freyja by making

sacrifices, images, and erecting altars to her. Hence it is that she

wishes to help him in this important case, but finds that she is not

able, and it was for this reason she saddled her golden boar and went to

the wise giantess Hyndla, who was well posted in regard to the

pedigrees, origin and fates of gods, giants and men. Hyndla consents to

giving the information asked for, and so she enumerates first the

immediate ancestors of Ottar on his father’s and mother’s side, then

speaks of the king so famous in olden times, Halfdan Gamle, the original

progenitor of the Skjolds and several other noble families of the North.

And as these royal families were said to be descended from the gods and

the latter again from the giants, Hyndla gives some of their genealogies

also. Thus she gets an opportunity to speak of Heimdal and his giant

mothers, then of Loke and of the monsters descended from him, which

shall play so conspicuous a part in Ragnarok, then of the mighty god of

thunder, and finally of a god yet more mighty, whom she ventures not to

name, and here she ends her tale. She will not prophesy further than to

where Odin is swallowed by the Fenris-wolf and the world by the yawning

abyss. Freyja after this asks her for a drink of remembrance to give to

Ottar, her guest and favorite, in order that he might be able to

remember the whole talk and the pedigree two days afterwards, when the

case between him and Angantyr should be decided by proofs of this kind.

Hyndla refuses to do this, and upbraids her with abusive language. By

this Freyja is excited to wrath and threatens to kindle a fire around

the giantess, from which she would not be able to escape, if she did not

comply with her request. When the threat begins to be carried out (at

the breaking forth of the flaming aurora in the morning) Hyndla gives

the requested drink, but at the same time curses it. Freyja is not

terrified by this, but removes the curse by her blessing and earnest

prayers to all divinities for the success of her beloved Ottar.

We should like to give the lay in full, as it is found in the Elder

Edda, but having quoted several strophes from it before, and it being

quite long, we reluctantly omit it. We advise our readers, however, by

all means to read the ELDER EDDA. There is more profound thought in it

than in any other human work, not even Shakespeare excepted. What a pity

that it is so little known!

Women came after death to Freyja. When Egil Skallagrimson had lost his

young son, and was despairing unto death on this account, his daughter

Thorgerd, who was married to Olaf in Lax-aa-dal, comes to console him;

and when she hears that he will neither eat nor drink, then she also

says that she has not and will not eat or drink before she comes to

Freyja. With _her_, lovers who have been faithful unto death are

gathered; therefore Hagbard sings: Love is renewed in Freyja’s halls.

Freyja is the goddess of love between man and woman. Hence we find in

her nature, beauty, grace, modesty, the longings, joys, and tears of

love, and we find also that burning love in the heart which breaks out

in wild flames. She rules in _Folk_vang, in the human dwellings, where

there are seats enough for all. No one escapes her influence. Odin

shares the slain equally with her, for the hero has _two_ grand objects

in view—to conquer his enemy and to win the heart of the maiden.

Thus the Norse mythology teaches us that the sturdy Norseman was not

insusceptible to impressions from beauty nor unmoved by love. The most

beautiful flowers were named after Freyja’s hair and eye-dew, and even

animate objects, which, like the flowers, were remarkable for their

beauty, were named after this goddess, as for instance the butterfly

(Icel. _Freyjuhœna_—Freyja’s hen).

There is a semi-mythological Saga called Orvarodd’s Saga. Orvarodd

signifies Arrow-odd; and as this same Arrow-odd is implicated in a large

number of love exploits, it has been suggested that he may be Freyja’s

husband, whose name the reader remembers was Oder, the stem of which is

_od_, and hence we have in the North also not only a _goddess_ of love,

but also a god of love (Cupid), with his arrows!

Freyja’s cats symbolize sly fondling and sensual enjoyment. The name of

her husband, Oder, means sense, understanding, but also wild desire. The

various names bestowed upon Freyja when she travels among the different

nations denote the various modes by which love reveals itself in human

life. The goddesses Sjofn, Lofn, and Var, heretofore mentioned, were

regarded as messengers and attendants of Freyja. Friday (_dies Veneris_)

is named after her. (See page 237.)

SECTION VII. A BRIEF REVIEW.

The lives and exploits of the propitious divinities have now been

presented; and in presenting the myths we have not only given the forces

and phenomena of nature symbolized by the myths, but we have also tried

to bring the mythology down from heaven to the earth, and exhibit the

value it had in the minds of our ancestors. We have tried, as Socrates

did with his philosophy, to show what influence the myths have had upon

the life of our forefathers; in other words, we have tried to put a

kernel into the shell. We have tried to present the mythology, not as

the science and laws by which the universe is governed, but as

something—call it science or what you will—by which to illustrate how

the contemplation of the forces and phenomena of nature have influenced

human thought and action. Language is in its origin nothing but

impressions from nature, which having been revolved for a time in the

human mind find their expression in words. Poetry is in its origin

nothing else but expressions of human thought and feeling called forth

by the contemplation of the wonderful works of God. And this is also

true of mythology.

We have found the propitious divinities divided into three classes,

those of heaven, those of earth, and those of the sea. The union or

marriage between heaven and earth has been promoted in various myths.

The king of heaven is but _one_, but he embraces the earth in various

forms, and the earth is, in a new form, wedded to the god of thunder;

nay, the vans, or divinities of the sea, arise and fill the land with

blessings in various ways. The manner in which the gods are combined and

interlinked with each other in one grand system is a feature peculiar to

the Norse mythology. There is not, as in the Greek, a series of separate

groups and separate dwellings, but the gods come in frequent contact

with each other. Odin rules in the heavens, Thor in the clouds, Heimdal

in the rainbow, Balder in the realms of light, Frey with his elves of

light in the earth, but the sun affects them all: it is Odin’s eye, it

is Balder’s countenance, Heimdal needs it for his rainbow, and Frey

governs its rays; and still the sun itself rides as a beaming maid with

her horses from morning until evening. The earth has its various forms,

and the seed planted in the earth has its own god (Frey), surrounded by

the spirits of the groves, the forests and the fountains. And the king

of heaven unites man with nature; he not only provides for his animal

life, but also breathes into him a living soul and inspires him with

enthusiasm. He sits with Saga at the fountain of history; he sends out

his son Brage, the god of poetry and eloquence, and unites him with

Idun, the rejuvenating goddess, whose carefully protected rivers meander

through the grove full of fruit trees bearing golden apples; and he lets

his other son, Balder, the ruler of light, marry the industrious

flower-goddess, Nanna, who with her maids spreads a fragrant carpet over

the earth. And as the god of thunder rules but to protect heaven and

earth, so the naked desert and the impenetrable forest exist only to

remind us of the incorruptible vital force of nature, safe against all

attacks. The imperishableness of nature appears more strikingly in the

stupendous mountains and gigantic forests than in the fertile,

cultivated and protected parts of the earth. Now let us again ask: Is

there nothing here for the poet or artist? Has the Norse mythology

nothing that can be elaborated and clothed with beautiful forms and

colors? Does this mythology not contain germs that art can develop into

fragrant leaves, swelling buds and radiant blossoms? Does not this our

Gothic inheritance deserve a place with the handmaids of literature?

Will not our poets, public speakers, lecturers, essayists, and writers

of elegant literature generally, who make so many quaint allusions to,

and borrow so many elegant and suggestive illustrations from, Greek

mythology; will they not, we say, do their own ancestors the honor to

dip their pen occasionally into the mythology of the Gothic race? It is

bad practice to borrow when we can get along without it, besides the

products of the south thrive not well in our northern Gothic soil and

climate. Ygdrasil grows better here, and that is a tree large enough and

fruitful enough to sustain the Gothic race with enthusiasm and

inspiration for centuries yet to come, and to supply a a whole race of

future bards and poets and artists with a precious and animating elixir.

Our next generation will comprehend this.

Footnote 73:

How Skade came to choose Njord when she was permitted to choose a

husband among the gods, seeing only their feet, was related on page

277.

Footnote 74:

Rocky islands.

CHAPTER VII.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF EVIL. LOKE AND HIS OFFSPRING.

SECTION I. LOKE.

We have now made an acquaintance with the lives and exploits or the good

and propitious divinities, with the asas and vans. But what of the evil?

Whence come they, and how have they been developed? Many a philosopher

has puzzled his brain with this vexed question, and the wisest minds are

still engaged in deep meditations in regard to it. It is and will remain

an unsolved problem. But what did the old Goths, and particularly our

Norse forefathers, think about the development of evil? What forms did

it assume among them? How did it spring forth in nature, and how did it

impress the minds and hearts of the people? These are questions now to

be answered.

There are in the Norse mythology two individuals by the name of Loke.

The one is _Utgard_-Loke, hideous in his whole being, and his character

was sketched in the myth about Thor and Skrymer (see pp. 312-322); he

represents physical and moral evil in all its naked loathsomeness. The

other is _Asa_-Loke, of whom there also have been accounts given at

various times in connection with the propitious gods; and it is of him

solely we are now to speak, as the former belongs wholly to the race of

giants. Asa-Loke, whom we shall hereafter call by his common name, Loke,

is the same evil principle in all its various manifestations; but as he

makes his appearance among the gods, he represents evil in the seductive

and seemingly beautiful form in which it glides about through the world.

We find him flowing in the veins of the human race and call him sin, or

passion. In nature he is the corrupting element in air, fire and water.

In the bowels of the earth he is the volcanic flame, in the sea he

appears as a fierce serpent, and in the lower world we recognize him as

pale death. Thus, like Odin, Loke pervades all nature. And in no

divinity is it more clear than in this, that the idea proceeding from

the visible workings of nature entered the human heart and mind and

there found its moral or ethical reflection. Loke symbolises sin,

shrewdness, deceitfulness, treachery, malice, etc. Loke is indeed in his

development one of the profoundest myths. In the beginning he was

intimately connected with Odin, then he became united with the air, and

finally he impersonates the destructive fire. And in these changes he

keeps growing worse and worse.

In the banquet of Æger he reminds Odin that they in the beginning of

time had their blood mixed. Thus the Elder Edda:

LOKE:

Do thou mind, Odin,

That we in time’s morning

Mixed blood together!

Then thou pretendedst

That thou never wouldst ask a drink

Unless it was offered to both of us.

Sameness of blood symbolizes sameness of mind, and Loke is in the

Younger Edda called Odin’s brother, the uncle of the gods. Under the

name of Loder, or Lopter, Loke took part in the creation of man; he gave

the senses, the sources of evil desires, the passions, the fire of the

veins. Thus he is like the fire, which is beneficent and necessary for

development, but also dangerous and destructive. With the giantess

Angerboda (producing sorrow) he begat the wolf Fenrer, but the most

disgusting monster is the woman Hel, who is a daughter of Loke. _Odin_

unites himself with the gigantic force in nature, but he does this to

develop, ennoble and elevate it. _Loke_ unites himself with crude

matter, but by this union he only still further develops the evil

principle, which then expresses itself in all kinds of terrible

phenomena: the sea tosses its waves against heaven itself, and rushes

out upon the land; the air trembles; then comes snow and howling winds;

the rain splashes down upon the earth, etc. Such is also his influence

upon the human mind. He is the sly, treacherous father of lies. In

appearance he is beautiful and fair, but in his mind he is evil, and in

his inclinations he is inconstant. Notwithstanding his being ranked

among the gods, he is the slanderer of the gods, the grand contriver of

deceit and fraud, the reproach of gods and men. Nobody renders him

divine honors. He surpasses all mortals in the arts of perfidy and

craft.

There is some dispute about the real meaning of Loke’s name. Some derive

it from the Icelandic _lúka_, to end, thus arguing that Loke is the end

and consummation of divinity. Another definition is given, taken from

the Icelandic _logi_ (Anglo-Saxon _lîg_), according to which the primary

meaning would be fire, flame. He is also called Loder, or Lopter (the

aërial; compare Norse _luft_, Anglo-Saxon _lyft_, air); and this would

seem to corroborate the definition of Loke as fire. Loder (_lodern_, to

blaze) would then designate him in the character of the blazing earthly

fire, and Lopter as the heated and unsteady air. He is son of the giant

Farbaute, that is, the one who strikes the ships, the wind. His mother

is Laufey, or Nal, the former meaning leaf-isle, and the latter needle.

Oak trees produce leaves and pines produce needles; both Laufey and Nal

are therefore combustibles. His brothers are Byleist (dwelling

destroyer, raging flame), and Helblinde, the latter being another name

for Odin.

In the previous chapters it has frequently been seen how Loke time and

again accompanied the gods, they making use of his strength and cunning;

but it has also been shown how he acted in concert with the jotuns and

exposed the gods to very great perils and then extricated them again by

his artifices. By Loke’s advice the gods engage the artificer to build a

dwelling so well fortified that they should be perfectly safe from the

incursions of the frost-giants. For this the artificer is to receive

Freyja, providing he completes his work within a stipulated time; but

Loke prevented him from completing his task by the birth of Sleipner.

When the dwarfs forge the precious things for the gods, it is he who

brings about that the work lacks perfection, and even the handle of

Thor’s mallet, Mjolner, becomes too short; for evil is everywhere

present and makes the best things defective. He cuts the hair of the

goddess Sif, and by this he makes way for the forging of the precious

articles; thus evil often in spite of itself produces good results.

Examples of this abound in the history of the world. Loke gives Thjasse

an opportunity to rob Idun, but brings her back again and thus causes

Thjasse’s death. He hungers at Geirrod’s, and causes Thor to undertake

his dangerous journey; but he also looks after Thor’s hammer, and

accompanies him as maid-servant to get it back. He steals Freyja’s

Brisingamen, and quarrels with Heimdal about it. But his worst deed is

Balder’s death. For these reasons Loke is in Old Norse poetry called:

son of Farbaute, son of Laufey, son of Nal, brother of Byleist, brother

of Helblinde, father of the Fenris-wolf, father of the Midgard-serpent,

father of Hel, uncle of Odin, visitor and chest-goods of Geirrod, thief

of Brisingamen and of Idun’s apples, defender of Sigyn (his wife), Sif’s

hair destroyer, adviser of Balder’s bane, etc.

Odin, Hœner and Loke are often together. It is related that they once

set out to explore the whole world. They came to a stream, and followed

it until they came to a force (cascade) where there sat an otter near

the force. It had caught a salmon in the force and sat half sleeping

eating it. Then Loke picked up a stone and threw it at the otter, struck

it in the head and then boasted of his deed, for he had killed or

captured both the otter and salmon with one stone. They then took the

salmon and otter with them and came to a gard (farm), where they entered

the house. The bonde,[75] who lived there, hight Hreidmar, an able

fellow well skilled in necromancy. The gods asked for night lodgings,

but added that they were supplied with provisions whereupon they showed

what they had caught. But when Hreidmar saw the otter he called to him

his sons Fafner and Regin, and told them that their brother Odder

(otter) Wad been slain, and who had done it. Father and sons then attack

the gods, overpower and bind them, and then inform them that the otter

was Hreidmar’s son. The gods offered a ransom for their lives, as large

as Hreidmar himself would determine it; they made a treaty accordingly,

confirming it with oaths. When the otter then had been flayed, Hreidmar

took the skin and demanded that they should fill it with shining gold

and then perfectly cover it with the same. These were the terms of

agreement. Then Odin sent Loke to the home of the swarthy elves

(Svartalf-heim), where he met the dwarf Andvare (wary, cautious spirit),

who lived as a fish, in the water. Loke borrowed Ran’s net and caught

him, and demanded of him, as a ransom for his life, all the gold he had

in the rock, where he dwelt. And when they came into the rock the dwarf

produced all the gold which he possessed, which was a considerable

amount; but Loke observed that the dwarf concealed under his arm a gold

ring, and ordered him to give it up. The dwarf prayed Loke by all means

to let him keep it; for when he kept this ring, he said, he could

produce for himself more of the metal from it. But Loke said that he

should not keep so much as a penny, and took the ring from him, and went

out. Then said the dwarf, that that ring should be the bane of the

person who possessed it. Loke had no objection to this, and said that,

in order that this purpose should be kept, he should bring these words

to the knowledge of him who should possess it. Then Loke returned to

Hreidmar, and showed Odin the gold; but when the latter saw the ring he

thought it was pretty; he therefore, taking it, gave Hreidmar the rest

of the gold. Hreidmar then filled the otter-skin as well as he could,

and set it down when it was full. Then Odin went to cover the bag with

gold, and afterwards bade Hreidmar whether the bag was perfectly

covered; but Hreidmar examined, and looked carefully in every place, and

found an uncovered hair near the mouth, which Odin would have to cover,

or the agreement would be broken. Then Odin produced the ring and

covered the hair with it, and said that they now had paid the

otter-ransom. But when Odin had taken his spear, and Loke his shoes, so

that they had nothing more to fear, Loke said that the curse of the

dwarf Andvare should be fulfilled, and that this gold and this ring

should be the bane of him who possessed it. From this myth it is that

gold is poetically called otter-ransom.

And the curse was fulfilled. This curse of ill-gotten gold became the

root of a series of mortal calamities, which are related in the latter

part of the Elder Edda, in the songs about Sigurd Fafner’s bane, or the

Slayer of Fafner; about Brynhild, about Gudrun’s sorrow, Gudrun’s

revenge, in the song about Atle, etc. The curse on the gold, pronounced

upon it by Andvare, the dwarf, is the grand moral in these wonderful

songs, and never was moral worked out more terribly. Even Shakespeare

has no tragedy equal to it. When Odin and Loke had gone away, Fafner and

Regin demanded from their father, Hreidmar, a share of the ransom in the

name of their brother Odder; but Hreidmar refused, so Fafner pierced his

father with a sword while he slept. Thus Hreidmar died, but Fafner took

all the gold. Then Regin demanded his paternal inheritance, but Fafner

refused to give it, and disappeared. Another prominent character in the

Edda is Sigurd, who frequently visited Regin and told him that Fafner,

having assumed the shape of a monstrous dragon, lay on Gnita Heath, and

had Æger’s helmet, the helmet of terror, before which all living

trembled. Regin made a sword for Sigurd, which was called Gram; it was

so sharp that when it stood in the river and a tuft of wool floated on

the current, the sword would cut the wool as easily as the water. With

this sword Sigurd cut Regin’s anvil in twain. Regin excites Sigurd to

kill Fafner, and accordingly Sigurd and Regin proceeded on their way to

Gnita Heath, and discovered Fafner’s path, whereupon the latter (Fafner)

crept into the water. In the way Sigurd dug a large grave and went down

into it. When Fafner now crept away from the gold he spit poison, but

this flew over Sigurd’s head, and as Fafner passed over the grave Sigurd

pierced him with his sword to the heart. Fafner trembled convulsively,

and fiercely shook his head and tail. Sigurd sprang out of the grave

when they saw each other. Then a conversation takes place between them,

in which Fafner heaps curses upon Sigurd until the former expires. Regin

had gone away while Sigurd killed Fafner, but came back while Sigurd was

wiping the blood off the sword.

REGIN:

Hail to thee now, Sigurd!

Now thou best victory won

And Fafner slain.

Among all men who tread the earth

Most fearless

I proclaim thee to be born.

SIGURD:

Uncertain it is to know,

When we all come together,

Sons of victorious gods,

Who was born most fearless;

Many a man is brave

Who still does not thrust the blade

Into another man’s breast.

REGIN:

Glad art thou now, Sigurd,

Glad of thy victory.

As thou wipest Gram on the grass.

Thou hast my

Brother wounded,

Let myself have some share therein.

SIGURD:

It was thou who caused

That I should ride

Hither over frosty mountains;

His wealth and life

Would the spotted snake still possess,

Hadst thou not excited me to fight.

Then went Regin to Fafner and cut the heart out of him with the sword

called Ridel, and afterwards drank the blood from the wound. He said:

Sit down now, Sigurd!

I will go to sleep:

Hold Fafner’s heart by the fire.

Such a repast

Will I partake of

After this drink of blood.

SIGURD:

Thou didst absent thyself

When I in Fafner’s blood

My sharp blade stained.

I set my strength

Against the power of the dragon

While thou didst lie in the heath

REGIN:

Long wouldst thou

Have let the old

Troll lie in the heath,

Hadst thou not used

The sword which I made,

Thy sharpened blade.

SIGURD:

Courage is better

Than sword-strength

Where angry men must fight;

For the brave man

I always see win

Victory with a dull blade.

It it better for the brave man

Than for the coward

To join in the battle,

It is better for the glad

Than for the sorrowing

In all circumstances.

Sigurd took Fafner’s heart, put it on a spit and roasted it; but when he

thought it must be roasted enough, and when the juice oozed out of the

heart, he felt of it with his fingers to see whether it was well done.

He burned himself, and put his finger into his mouth, but when the blood

of Fafner’s heart touched his tongue he understood the song of birds. He

heard birds singing in the bushes, and seven birds sang a strophe each,

talking about how Regin might avenge his brother, kill Sigurd, and

possess the treasure alone, when Sigurd finally says:

Not so violent

Will fate be, that Regin

Shall announce my death;

For soon shall both

Brothers go

Hence to Hel.

And he cut the head off Regin, ate afterwards Fafner’s heart, and drank

both his and Regin’s blood. Then Sigurd heard the birds sing:

Sigurd! gather

Golden rings;

It is not royal

To be smothered by fear.

I know a maid

Fairer than all

Endowed with gold,

If thou couldst but get her.

To Gjuke lie

Green paths,

Fortune beckons

The wanderers forward;

There a famous king

Has fostered a daughter,—

Her thou, Sigurd, must win.

Sigurd followed the track of the dragon to his nest and found it open.

Its doors and door-frames, and all the beams and posts of the place,

were of iron, but the treasure was buried in the ground. There Sigurd

found a large heap of gold, with which he filled two chests. Then he

took the helmet of terror (Æger’s helmet), a gold cuirass, the sword

Hrotte, and many treasures, which he put on the back of the horse Grane,

but the horse would not proceed before Sigurd mounted it also.

This is but the beginning of this terrible tragedy, but our space does

not allow us here to enter upon all the fatal results of the curse of

Andvare. In the fate, first of Sigurd and Brynhild, and afterwards of

Sigurd and Gudrun, is depicted passion, tenderness and sorrow with a

vivid power which nowhere has a superior. The men are princely warriors

and the women are not only fair, but godlike, in their beauty and vigor.

The noblest sentiments and most heroic actions are crossed by the

foulest crimes and the most terrific tragedies. In this train of events,

produced by the curse of Andvare alone, there is material for a score of

dramas of the most absorbing character. In the story of Sigurd and

Brynhild, as we find it in the latter part of the Elder Edda, there are

themes for tragic and heroic composition that would become as immortal

as Dante’s _Inferno_ or Shakespeare’s _Macbeth_, for they are based on

our profoundest sympathies, and appeal most forcibly to our ideas of the

beautiful and the true.

The ring Andvarenant (Andvare’s gift), as it is called, here as

elsewhere, symbolizes wealth, which increases in the hands of the wary,

careful Andvare (_and-vari_, wary). But for avarice, that never gets

enough, it becomes a destructive curse. It is perfectly in harmony with

Loke’s character to be satisfied and pleased with the curse attached to

the ring.[76]

SECTION II. LOKE’S CHILDREN. THE FENRIS-WOLF.

Loke’s wife was Sigyn; their son was Nare or Narfe, and a brother of him

was Ale (Ole) or Vale.

With the hag, Angerboda, Loke had three children. Angerbode was a

giantess of Jotunheim, and her name means anguish-boding. The children’s

names are Fenrer or Fenris-wolf, the Midgard-serpent called

Jormungander, and Hel. Tho gods were not long ignorant that these

monsters continued to be bred up in Jotunheim, and, having had recourse

to divination, became aware of all the evils they would have to suffer

from them; that they were sprung from such a bad mother was a _bad_

omen, and from such a father, one still worse. Allfather (Odin)

therefore deemed it advisable to send the gods to bring them to him.

When they came, he threw the serpent into that deep ocean by which the

earth is encircled. But the monster has grown to such an enormous size,

that holding his tail in his mouth he engirdles the whole earth. Hel he

cast headlong into Niflheim, and gave her power over nine worlds

(regions), into which she distributes those who are sent to her,—that is

to say, all who die through sickness or old age. Here she possesses a

habitation protested by exceedingly high walls and strongly-barred

gates. Her hall is called Elvidner (place of storm); hunger is her

table; starvation, her knife; delay, her man-servant; slowness, her

maid-servant; precipice, her threshold; care, her bed; and burning

anguish forms the hangings of her apartments. The one half of her body

is livid, the other half the color of human flesh. She may therefore

easily be recognized; the more so as she has a dreadfully stern and grim

countenance.

The wolf Fenrer was bred up among the gods, but Tyr alone had courage

enough to go and feed him. Nevertheless, when the gods perceived that he

every day increased prodigiously in size, and that the oracles warned

then that he would one day become fatal to them, they determined to make

a very strong iron chain for him, which they called Leding. Taking this

fetter to the wolf, they requested him to try his strength on it.

Fenrer, perceiving that the enterprise would not be very difficult for

him, let them do what they pleased, permitted himself to be bound, and

then by great muscular exertion burst the chain and set himself at

liberty. The gods having seen this, made another chain, twice as strong

as the former, and this they called Drome. They prevailed on the wolf to

put it on, assuring him that, by breaking this, he would give an

incontestible proof of his strength; it would be a great honor to him if

so great a chain could not hold him.

The wolf saw well enough that it would not be so easy to break this

fetter, but finding at the same time that his strength had increased

since he broke Leding, and thinking that he could never become famous

without running some risk, he voluntarily submitted to be chained. When

the gods told him that they had finished their task, Fenrer shook

himself violently, stretched his limbs, rolled on the ground, and at

last burst his chains, which flew in pieces all around him. He thus

freed himself from Drome. From that time we have the proverbs, to get

loose out of Leding, or to dash out of Drome, when anything is to be

accomplished by powerful efforts.

After this the gods despaired of ever being able to bind the wolf;

wherefore Odin sent Skirner, the messenger of Frey, down to the abode of

the dark elves (Svartalf-heim), to engage certain dwarfs to make the

chain called Gleipner. It was made out of six things, namely, the noise

made by the footstep of a cat, the beard of a woman, the roots of the

mountains, the sinews of the bear, the breath of the fish, and the

spittle of birds (the enumeration of these things produces alliteration

in Icelandic). And although you, says he who relates this in the Younger

Edda, may not have heard of these things before, you may easily convince

yourself that I have not been telling you lies. You may have observed

that woman has no beard, that cats make no noise when they run, and that

there are no roots under the mountains; but it is a nevertheless none

the less true what I have related, although there may be some things

that you are not able to furnish proof of.

How was this chain smithied? It was perfectly smooth and soft like a

silken string, and yet, as we shall presently see, very firm and strong.

When this fetter was brought to the gods, they were profuse in their

thanks to Skirner for the trouble he had given himself and for having

done his errand so well, and taking the wolf with them they proceeded to

a lake called Amsvartner, to a holm (rocky island) which is called

Lyngve. They showed the string to the wolf, and expressed their wish

that he would try to break it, at the same time assuring him that it was

somewhat stronger than its thinness would warrant a person in supposing

it to be. They took it themselves one after another in their hands, and,

after attempting in vain to break it, said: You alone, Fenrer are able

to accomplish such a feat. Methinks, replied the wolf, that I shall

acquire no fame by breaking such a slender thread, but if any deceit or

artifice has been employed in making it, slender though it seems, it

shall never come on my feet.

The gods assured him that he would easily break a limber silken cord,

since he had already burst asunder iron fetters of the most solid

construction; but if you should not succeed in breaking it, they added,

you will show that you are too weak to cause the gods any fear, and we

will not hesitate to set you at liberty without delay. I fear much,

replied the wolf, that if you once bind me so fast that I shall be

unable to free myself by my own efforts, you will be in no haste to

loose me. Loath am I therefore to have this cord wound around me, but in

order that you may not doubt my courage, I will consent, provided one of

you put his hand into my mouth, as a pledge that you intend me no

deceit. The gods looked wistfully at one another, and thought the

conditions severe, finding that they had only the choice of two evils,

and no one would sacrifice his hand, until Tyr, as has formerly been

related, stepped forward and intrepidly put his hand between the

monster’s jaws. Thereupon the gods having tied up the wolf, he violently

stretched himself as he had formerly done, and used all his might to

disengage himself, but the more efforts he made the tighter became the

cord. Then all the gods burst out in laughter at the sight, excepting

Tyr, who lost his hand.

When the gods saw that the wolf was effectually bound, they took the

chain called Gelgja, which was attached to the cord, and drew it through

the middle of a large rock called Gjol, which they sank deep into the

earth; afterwards, to make it still more secure, they fastened the end

of the cord to another massive stone called Thvite, which they sank

still deeper. The wolf made in vain the most violent efforts to break

loose, and, opening his tremendous jaws, and turning in every possible

direction, endeavored to bite the gods. They, seeing this, thrust a

sword into his mouth within his outstretched jaws, so that the hilt

stood in his lower jaw and the point in the roof of the mouth; and this

is called his palate-spar (_gómsparri_). He howls horribly, and the foam

flows continually from his month in such abundance that it forms the

river called Von; from which the wolf is also sometimes called

Vonargander. There he will remain until Ragnarok, the Twilight of the

gods. But why did not the gods slay the wolf, when they have so much

evil to fear from him? Because they had so much respect for the sanctity

of their peace-steads that they would not stain them with the blood of

the wolf, although prophecies foretold to them that he must one day

become the bane of Odin.

The Fenris-wolf is the earthly fire chained by man, exceedingly

ferocious when let loose, as has been terribly illustrated by our recent

fires in Chicago and her sister city Boston; as a devouring wolf it

attacks and licks up the dwellings of men, as it is said in the lay of

Haakon:

Fearfully fares

The Fenris-wolf

Over the fields of men

When he is loosed.

Once it shall, with its upper jaw reaching to the heavens and with the

lower jaw on the earth, advance with terror and destruction, and destroy

the fire and flame of heaven, Odin (the sun). At present it is fettered

on the island, where a grave is dug and a furnace is built of stone,

with the draft (mouth) partially barred, so that the fire is surrounded

by things which prevent its spreading. It is managed and controlled by

men for their advantage, and it is so useful that no one would think of

entirely destroying it (killing it).

SECTION III. JORMUNDGANDER, OR THE MIDGARD-SERPENT.

The Midgard- or world-serpent we have already become tolerably well

acquainted with, and recognize in him the wild tumultuous sea. Thor

contended with him; he got him on his hook, but did not succeed in

killing him. We also remember how Thor tried to lift him in the form of

a cat. The North abounds in stories about the sea-serpent, which a

nothing but variations of the original myth of the Eddas. Odin cast him

into the sea, where he shall remain until he is conquered by Thor in

Ragnarok.

SECTION IV. HEL.

The goddess, or giantess (it is difficult to decide what to call her),

Hel, is painted with vivid colors. She rules over nine worlds in

Niflheim, where she dwells under one of the roots of Ygdrasil. Her home

is called Helheim. The way thither, Hel-way, is long. Hermod traveled it

in nine days and nine nights. Its course is always downward and

northward. Her dwelling is surrounded by a fence or inclosure with one

or more large gates. Gloomy rivers flow through her world. One of these

streams is called Slid, which rises in the east and flows westward

through valleys of venom, and is full of mud and swords. A dog stands

outside of a cave (Gnipahellir). With blood-stained breast and loud

howling this dog came from Hel to meet Odin, when the latter rode down

to wake the vala, who lay buried in her grave-mound east of the

Hel-gate, and to inquire about the fate of Balder. Horrible is the

coming of Hel, for she binds the dying man with strong chains that

cannot be broken. Anguish gnaws his heart, and every evening Hel’s maids

come and invite him. These maids are also represented as dead women, who

come in the night and invite him who is dying to their benches. And to

the vision of the dying man opens a horrible, gloomy world of fog; he

sees the sun, the genuine star of day, sink and disappear, while he, on

the other hand, hears the gate of Hel harshly grate on its hinges,

opening to receive him. Hel receives all that die of sickness or old

age. But it also seems that others, both good and evil, come there; for

Balder we know came to Hel, after he had been slain by Hoder. And

Sigurd, who we remember slew Fafner, was afterwards assassinated by

Gunnar and went to Hel; and thither went also Brynhild, in her beautiful

car, after she had been burned on her funeral pile. Hel’s company is

large, but she has dwellings enough for all; for her regions extend

widely, and her palaces are terribly high and have large gates. Of

course it is all shadows, but it has the appearance of reality.

For Balder,

The decorated seats

Were strewn with rings;

The lordly couch

Was radiant with gold,

And the pure mead

Was brewed for him.

But there seems to have been a place set aside far down in the deepest

abyss of Hel for the wicked; for it is said that the evil went to Hel,

and thence to Niflhel, that is, down into the ninth world. And it is

here, in this most infernal pit, that the palace is named Anguish; the

table, Famine; the waiters, Slowness and Delay; the threshold,

Precipice, and the bed, Care. It is here Hel is so livid and ghastly

pale that her very looks inspire horror.

Hel’s horse has three feet. Hel-shoes were tied on to the feet of the

dead, even though they went to Valhal.

Our English word _hell_ is connected with the goddess Hel,[77] and to

kill is in Norse _at slaa ihel_ (i-Hel). The faith in this goddess is

not yet perfectly eradicated from the minds of the people. Her dog is

yet heard barking outside of houses as a warning that death is near. She

wanders about from place to place as a messenger of death. In the story

of Olaf Geirstada-alf it is a large ox, that goes from farm to farm, and

at his breath people sink down dead. In the popular mind in Norway this

messenger of death is sometimes thought to be a three-footed goat, and

at other times a white three-footed horse. To see it is a sure sign of

death. When a person has recovered from a dangerous illness, it is said

that he has given Death a bushel of oats, for her wants must be

supplied, and Hel wandering about in the guise of a goat, ox or horse,

may accept oats as a compromise.

It may also be noticed here, that the so-called Black Plague, or Black

Death, that ravaged Norway as well as many other European countries

about the middle of the fourteenth century, assumed in the minds of the

Norsemen the form of an old hag (Thok, Hel, Loke), going through the

realm from parish to parish with a rake and a broom. In some parishes

she used the rake, and there a few were spared; in other parishes she

used the broom, and there all perished, and the parishes were swept

clean.

SECTION V. THE NORSEMEN’S IDEA OF DEATH.[78]

The Norse mythology shows that our ancestors had a deeply-rooted belief

in the immortality of the soul. They believed in a state of retribution

beyond the grave. The dissolution of the body was typified by Balder’s

death, and like the latter it was result of Loke’s malignity, just as

the devil brought death upon Adam and Eve, and through them upon all

mankind.

But while we find the belief in the imperishableness of the soul firmly

established, the ideas regarding the state of existence after death were

somewhat unsettled. We are soon to present the Eddaic doctrines of

future life, but in connection with Hel it seems proper to give some

further explanation of the ideas that our forefathers entertained of

death. Hel’s gate is open, or ajar, said the old Goths, when the shades

of death went out through the darkness of night and terrified all; but

it is also open to receive the child with rosy cheeks as well as the man

with hoary locks and trembling gait.

The future state was regarded as a continuation of our earthly

existence. This is proved by the custom so prevalent among the Norsemen

of supplying the dead with the best part of their property and the first

necessities of life. A coin was put under the dead man’s tongue, that he

might be able to defray his first expenses with it on his way to his

final abode. Of course the dead went either to Odin or to Hel, but the

relation between Valhal and Helheim presented difficulties which the

Norsemen strove in various ways to solve. It was said that they who are

slain in battle go to Odin in Valhal, while those who die of sickness or

old age go to Hel in Helheim. But according to this it would be the kind

of death alone which decided the soul’s future state; only those who

fell by weapons would ascend to the glad abodes of heaven, while all who

die of sickness would have to wander away to the dark world of the

abyss, and there were people in whose eyes nothing except warlike deeds

was praiseworthy. But the Odinic mythology, taken as a whole, presents a

different view, although it must be admitted, as has before repeatedly

been stated, that bravery was a cardinal virtue among our Norse

ancestors.

We remember, from a previous chapter in this book, that the spirit or

soul of man was a gift of Odin, while the body, blood and external

beauty were a gift of Loder, who afterwards separated from the trinity

of Odin, Hœner and Loder and became the mischievous Loke. Thus the soul

belonged to the spirit-world, or Heaven, and the body to the material

world, to the Deep. The two, soul and body, were joined together in this

earthly life, but at its close they were separated, and each returned to

its original source. The soul, with its more refined bodily form in

which it was thought to be enveloped, went to the home of the gods,

while the body, with the grosser material life, which was conceived to

be inseparable from it, went to the abodes of Hel to become the prey of

Loke’s daughter. Thus man’s being was divided between Odin and Hel.

Odin, whose chief characteristic was _god of war_, seems to have claimed

his share chiefly from those who fell in battle; and this probably may

suggest to us some reason why Balder went to Hel. Balder is not a

fighting god, he only shines, conferring numberless blessings on

mankind, and death finally steals upon him. Odin seems not to have much

need of his like. Thus death by arms came to be considered a happy lot,

by the zealous followers of the asa-faith, for it was a proof of Odin’s

favor smiling upon them. He who fell by arms was called by Odin to

himself, before Hel laid claim to her share of his being; he was Odin’s

chosen son, who with longing was awaited in Valhal, that he, in the

ranks of the einherjes, might assist and sustain the gods in their last

battle, in Ragnarok. In accordance with this theory we find in the

ancient song of praise to the fallen king Erik Blood-ax, that Sigmund

asks Odin this question:

Why snatch him then, father,

From fortune and glory?

Why not leave him rather

To fill up his story

On victory’s road?

ODIN:

Because no man knows

When gray wolf[79] so gory

His grisly maw shows

In Asgard’s abode;

Therefore Odin calls

And Erik fain falls

To follow his liege lord

And fight for his god.

By this Odin means to say, we do not know when the Fenris-wolf may come,

and therefore we may need Erik’s assistance. In the same sense the

valkyrie is made by Eyvind Skaldespiller, in Hákonarmál, to say:

Now _are strengthened the host of the gods_,

Since they have Haakon

And his valiant army

Home to themselves brought.

But because the dead who were slain by arms were thought to be called to

Valhal, to unite themselves with the hosts of the einherjes, it was not

supposed that Hel did not get her share in their being; nor was it

supposed, on the other hand, that the soul of every one who died a

natural death was shut out from heaven and forced to follow the body

down into the abodes of Hel. That it was virtue, on the whole, and not

bravery alone, which was to be rewarded in another life, and that it was

wickedness and vice that were to be punished, is distinctly shown in the

first poem of the Elder Edda, where it says of Gimle:

The virtuous there

Shall always dwell,

And evermore

Delights enjoy;

while perjurers, murderers and adulterers shall wade through thick

venom-streams in Naastrand. But it must be remembered that Gimle and

Naastrand had reference to the state of things after Ragnarok, the

Twilight of the gods; while Valhal and Hel have reference to the state

of things between death and Ragnarok,—a time of existence corresponding

somewhat to what is called _purgatory_ by the Catholic church. It may

however be fairly assumed that the ideas which our ancestors had of

reward and punishment concerning the preceding middle state (purgatory)

of the dead, were similar to those which they had concerning the state

after Ragnarok.

It was certainly believed that the soul of the virtuous, even though

death by arms had not released it from the body and raised it up to the

rank of the real einherjes, still found an abode in heaven, either in

Valhal or in Vingolf or in Folkvang. The skald, Thjodolf of Hvin, makes

King Vanlande go to Odin, although Hel tortured him; and Egil

Skallagrimson, lamenting the death of his drowned son, knows that the

son has come to the home of the gods (Gudheimr), while of himself he

says that he fearlessly awaits the coming of Hel.

Of Nanna we read that she went with her husband, Balder, to Hel; but the

souls of noble women were believed to go to heaven after death. There

they found an abode with Freyja, and the spirits of maidens with Gefjun.

When it is said that Freyja shares the slain with Odin, it may be

supposed to mean that the slain, who in life had loved wives, were

united to them again with Freyja.

On the other hand, it was as certainly believed that blasphemy and

baseness might shut out even the bravest from Valhal. In the Saga of

Burnt Njal, Hakon Jarl says of the bold but wicked Hrap, who had seduced

his benefactor’s daughter and burned a temple: The man who did this

shall be banished from Valhal and never come thither.

The reader may think that the statements here presented show some

inconsistency in the theory and plan of salvation according to the

doctrines of the Norse mythology. We admit that there _seems_ to be some

inconsistency, but let us ask, is not this charge also frequently made

against the Scriptures? Is not the church, on this very question of the

plan of salvation, divided into two great parties, the one insisting on

faith and the other on works? The one party quoting and requoting Paul,

in his epistle to the Romans (iii, 28), where he says, that man is

justified by _faith_ without the deeds of the law; and the other

appealing to James’ epistle (ii, 24), where he says, that by works a man

is justified, and not by faith only. And as the most eminent divines

have found harmony in the principles of the Mosaic-Christian religion as

laid down in the Scriptures, so we venture to assert that a profound

study of the Odinic mythology will enable the student to elicit a

sublime harmony in its doctrines and principles.

The strict construction of the asa-doctrine appears to be this, that

although man in the intermediate state, between death and Ragnarok, was

divided between Odin and Hel, yet each one’s share of his being, after

death, was greater or less according to the life he had lived. The

spirit of the virtuous and the brave had the power to bear up to heaven

with it after death the better part of its corporeal being, and Hel

obtained only the dust. But he whose spirit, by wickedness and base,

sensual lust was drawn away from heaven, became in all his being the

prey of Hel. His soul was not strong enough to mount freely up to the

celestial abodes of the gods, but was drawn down into the abyss by the

dust with which it had ever been clogged. Perhaps the representation of

Hel as being half white and half pale-blue had its origin in this

thought, that to the good, death appeared as a bright (white) goddess of

deliverance, but to the wicked, as a dark and punishing deity.

When the drowned came to the halls of Ran, the sea-goddess took the part

of Hel; that is, Ran claimed the body as her part, while the spirit

ascended to heaven.

Bondsmen came to Thor after death. This seems to express the idea, that

their spirits had not the power to mount up with free-born heroes to the

higher celestial abodes, but were obliged to linger midway, as it were,

among the low floating clouds under the stern dominion of Thor;—a

thought painful to the feelings of humanity, but nevertheless not

inconsistent with the views of our ancestors in ancient times. But when

the bondsmen, as was the custom in the most ancient Gothic times,

followed their master on the funeral pile, the motive must have been

that they would continue to serve him in the future life, or their

throwing themselves on their master’s funeral pile could have no meaning

whatever.

The old Norsemen had many beautiful ideas in connection with death. Thus

in the lay of Atle it is said of him who dies that he goes to the other

light. That the dead in the mounds were a state of consciousness is

illustrated by the following passages from Fridthiof’s Saga:

Now, children, lay us in two lofty graves

Down by the sea-shore, near the deep-blue waves:

Their sounds shall to our souls be music sweet,

Singing our dirge as on the strand they beat.

When round the hills the pale moonlight is thrown

And midnight dews fall on the Bautn-stone,

We’ll sit, O Thorsten, in one rounded graves

And speak together o’er the gentle waves.

Finally, it is a beautiful thought that there was a sympathetic union

between the dead and the living. As the Persians believed that the

rivers of the lower world grew by the tears of the living and interfered

with the happiness of the departed, so the Norse peasant still believes

that when a daughter weeps for the death of her father she must take

care that no tear falls on his corpse, for thereby the peace of the

deceased would be disturbed. We find this same thought expressed in the

Elder Edda, where Helge says to Sigrun:

Thou alone causest, Sigrun

From Sevafjeld,

That Helge is bathed

In sorrow’s dew.

Thou weepest, gold-adorned,

Sunbright woman!

Cruel tears,

Before thou goest to sleep.

Every bloody tear

Fell on the king’s breast,

Ice-cold and swelling

With sorrow.

Thus also in the old song of Aage and Else:

Whenever thou grievest,

My coffin is within

As livid blood:

Whenever thou rejoicest,

My coffin is within

Filled with fragrant roses.

SECTION VI. LOKE’S PUNISHMENT.

Loke and Balder struggled for the government of the world. Loke

gradually grew victorious in his terrible children, while Balder,

defenseless and innocent, had nothing but his shining purity with which

to oppose Loke’s baseness. Loke’s wickedness reached its culminating

point in the death of Balder and in the hag Thok, who with arid tears

would wail Balder from Hel.

According to the Younger Edda it would seem that Loke was punished

immediately after the death of Balder, but according to the Elder Edda

the banquet of Æger seems to have taken place after the death of Balder,

and there Loke was present to pour out in words his enmity to the

defeated gods. When Æger had received the large kettle, that Thor had

brought him from the giant Hymer, he brewed ale for the gods and invited

them to a banquet. The gods and elves were gathered there, but Thor was

not present. Æger’s servants were praised for their attentiveness and

agility. This Loke could not bear to hear, and he killed one of them by

name Funfeng. The gods drove him into the woods, but when they had

seated themselves at the table and had begun to drink he came back

again, and asked Elder, the other servant of Æger, what the gods talked

about at the banquet. They talk about their weapons and about their

bravery, replied Elder, but neither the gods nor the elves speak well of

you. Then, said Loke, I must go into Æger’s hall, to look at the

banquet: scolding and evil words bring I to the sons of the gods and mix

evil in their ale. Then Loke went into the hall; but when they who were

there saw who had entered, they were all silent. Then said Loke to the

gods:

Thirsty I hither

To the hall came—

Long way I journeyed—

The gods to ask

Whether one would grant me

A drink of the precious mead.

Why are ye silent, gods!

And sit so stubborn?

Have ye lost your tongues?

Give me a seat

And place at the banquet,

Or turn me away.

BRAGE:

The gods will never

Give you a seat

And place at the banquet:

Well know the gods

To whom they will give

Pleasure at the banquet.

Then Loke begins to abuse the gods, and reminds Odin how they once mixed

blood together,—and Vidar must yield him his seat. But before Loke drank

he greeted all the gods and goddesses excepting Brage, who occupied the

innermost bench. And now Loke pours out his abuse upon all the gods and

goddesses, much of which has been given heretofore. His last quarrel is

with Sif, the wife of Thor. But then Beyla hears the mountains quake and

tremble. It is Thor that is coming; and when he enters the hall he

threatens to crush every bone in Loke’s body; and to him Loke finally

yields, for he knows that Thor carries out his threats. On going out he

heaps curses upon Æger, and hopes that he (Æger) may never more make

banquets for the gods, but that flames may play upon his realm and burn

him too.

Loke now fled and hid himself in the mountains. There he built him a

dwelling with four doors, so that he could see everything that passed

around him. Often in the daytime he assumed the likeness of a salmon and

concealed himself under the waters of a cascade called Fraananger Force,

where he employed himself in divining and circumventing whatever

stratagems the gods might have recourse to in order to catch him. One

day as he sat in his dwelling he took flax and yarn and worked them into

meshes, in the manner that nets have since been made by fishermen. Odin

had however, sitting in Hlidskjalf, discovered Loke’s retreat; and the

latter, becoming aware that the gods were approaching, threw his net

into the fire and ran to conceal himself in the river. When the gods

entered Loke’s house, Kvaser, who as the most distinguished among them

all for his quickness and penetration, traced out in the hot embers the

vestiges of the net which had been burnt, and told Odin that it must be

an invention to catch fish. Whereupon they set to work and wove a net

after the model they saw imprinted in the ashes. This net, when

finished, they threw into the river in which Loke had hid himself. Thor

held one end of the net and all the other gods laid hold of the other

end, thus jointly drawing it along the stream. Notwithstanding all their

precautions the net passed over Loke, who had crept between two stones,

and the gods only perceived that some living thing had touched the

meshes. They therefore cast their net a second time, hanging so great a

weight to it that it everywhere raked the bed of the river. But Loke,

perceiving that he had but a short distance to the sea, swam onward and

leapt over the net into the force. Tho gods instantly followed him and

divided themselves into two bands. Thor, wading along in mid-stream,

followed the net, whilst the others dragged it along toward the sea.

Loke then perceived that he had only two chances of escape,—either to

swim out to the sea, or to leap again over the net. He chose the latter,

but as he took a tremendous leap Thor caught him in his hand. Being

however extremely slippery, he would have escaped had not Thor held him

fast by the tail; and this is the reason why salmon have had their tails

ever since so fine and slim.

The gods having thus captured Loke, they dragged him without

commiseration into a cavern, wherein they placed three sharp-pointed

rocks, boring a hole through each of them. Having also seized Loke’s

children, Vale and Nare, or Narfe, they changed the former into a wolf,

and in this likeness he tore his brother to pieces and devoured him. The

gods then made cords of his intestines, with which they bound Loke on

the points of the rocks, one cord passing under his shoulders, another

under his loins, and a third under his hams, and afterwards transformed

these cords to fetters of iron. Then the giantess Skade took a serpent

and suspended it over him in such a manner that the venom should fall

into his face, drop by drop. But Sigyn, Loke’s wife, stands by him and

receives the drops, as they fall, in a cup, which she empties as often

as it is filled. But while she is doing this, venom falls upon Loke,

which makes him shriek with horror and twist his body about so violently

that the whole earth shakes; and this produces what men call

earthquakes. There will Loke lie until Ragnarok.

Here we have Loke in the form of a salmon. Slippery as a salmon, is as

common an adage in Norseland as our American: slippery as an eel. Lobe

himself makes the net by which he is caught and ruined. This is very

proper; sin and crime always bring about their own ruin. The chaining of

Loke is one of the grandest myths in the whole mythology. That Loke

represents fire in its various forms, becomes clearer with every new

fact, every new event in his life. Skade is the cold mountain stream,

that pours its venom upon Loke. Sigyn takes much of it away, but some of

it will, in spite of her, come in contact with the subterranean fire,

and the earth quakes and the geysers spout their scalding water. But who

cannot see human life represented in this grand picture? All great

convulsions in the history of man are brought about in the same manner,

and beside the great forces of revolution stand the pious, gentle and

womanly minds who with the cup of religion or with the eloquence of the

pure spirit prevent the most violent outbreaks of storm among the

nations, and pour their quieting oils upon the disturbed waters. And who

does not remember cases at the shrine of the family, where the

inevitable consequences of man’s folly and crime produce convulsive

crises, misfortunes and misery, which the wife shares, prevents and

moderates with her soft hand, gentle tears, and soothing words,—always

cheerful and never growing weary. It is woman’s divine work in life, in

a quiet manner to bring consolation and comfort, and never to despair.

As the earth and sea in their various manifestations are represented by

various divinities, so the fire also presents various forms. It is

celestial, united with Odin; it is earthly in the Fenris-wolf, and it is

subterranean in the chained Loke. That Loke symbolizes fire, is also

illustrated by the fact that the common people in Norway, when they hear

the fire crackling, say that Loke is whipping his children. In a wider

sense Loke is in one word the evil one, the devil. The common people

also know Loke as a divinity of the atmosphere. When the sun draws

water, they say that Loke is drinking water. When vapors arise from the

earth and float about in the atmosphere, this phenomenon is also

ascribed to Loke. When he sows his oats among the grain, he produces a

peculiar aërial phenomenon, of which the novelist Blicher speaks in one

of his romances, saying that this trembling motion of the air, which the

people call Loke’s oats, confuses and blinds the eyes. Nay, truly it

confuses and blinds, for we need not take this only in a literal sense.

It is that motion which shocks the nerves of man when the soul conceives

evil thoughts; it is that nervous concussion which shocks the whole

system of the criminal when he goes to commit his foul misdeed.

Having now given a description of Loke,—having painted with words the

character of this wily, mischievous, sly and deceitful divinity,—we ask,

with Petersen, where is the painter who will present him in living

colors on canvas? We want a personal representation of him. We want his

limbs, his body and his head. Where is the painter who can give his chin

the proper form, his mouth the right shape, paint his dimples with those

deep and fine wrinkles when he smiles, and do justice to his nose and

upper lip? Who will paint those delicate elevations and depressions of

his cheeks, that terrible brilliancy of his eyes, his subtle and crafty

forehead, and his hair at once stiff and wavy? Who will paint this

immortal youth who yet everywhere reveals his old age, or this old man

whose face mocks at everything like a reckless youth? Here is a theme

without a model, a theme for a master of the art.

SECTION VII. THE IRON POST.

The following story from the south of Germany illustrates how stories

can be remodeled and changed as to their external adornment and still

preserve their fundamental feature. The reader will not fail to discover

Loke in the following tradition, entitled _Der Stock im Eisen_, a story

which in its most original form must date back to the time when Loke was

known in Germany.

Opposite St. Stephen’s Tower in Vienna there is found, it is said, one

of the old landmarks of this city, the so-called _Stock im Eisen_ (the

iron post). It is a post that has in the course of time become blackened

and charred, and into which nail after nail has been driven so close

together that there is not room for a single one more, and the post is

literally inclosed in an iron casing. This covering of iron keeps the

dry post in an upright position, and near the ground it is fastened by

an iron ring with unusually wonderful lock. In olden times this post was

a landmark, for to it extended the great Wienerwald. In connection with

it the following tale is told by H. Meinert:

A young good-looking locksmith apprentice, by name Reinbert, had

secretly won the heart and become engaged to his master’s daughter

Dorothea; but there was not much hope that she would ever become his

wife. One evening the two lovers agreed to meet outside the city:

they forget themselves in their conversation, in their doubts and

their hopes, and hear not the clock that strikes the hour when the

gate of the city is to be closed; and the lover has forgotten to

take money along to get it opened. But what a misfortune if they

should be shut out, what a disgrace to his beloved, if it should

become known that she has spent the night outside the city, outside

of her father’s house, in company with a man! Suddenly there arises

as it were from the ground a pale man, with the contour of his face

sharply marked, with wonderful flashing eyes, wearing a black cloak

and black hat, and in the latter waves a cock-feather. Reinbert

involuntarily shudders as he sees him, but still he does not forget

his misfortune in being shut out of the city; he therefore explains

his distress to the stranger, and asks him to lend him enough to pay

the gate-watch. Like for like! whispers the stranger into Reinbert’s

ear; if I am to help you and your beloved out of your distress, then

you must promise me upon the salvation of your soul never any Sunday

to neglect the holy mass. Reinbert hesitates; but it is in fact a

pious promise, and necessity knows no laws. He promises, and the

gate opens as it were spontaneously.

Four weeks later, when Reinbert sat in his workshop, the door opens

and that strange man enters. Reinbert shudders at the sight of him;

but when the stranger does not even care to look at him and only

asks for his master, he regains his peace of mind. When the

apprentices had called the master, the visitor ordered an iron

fastening, with lock and bolt, and the master is willing to

undertake the work. But now began the stranger (cunning as Loke)

with a wonderful knowledge of details to mention all the different

parts of the lock, explained with great eloquence the whole plan of

it, and took special pains to describe the manner in which the

springs must necessarily be bent and united; and although both the

master and the apprentices had to admit that such a lock was not

without the range of possibilities,—nay, that it would indeed be a

masterpiece,—still their heads began to swim when they tried to

think of its wonderful construction and arrange the plan in their

minds, and they had to admit that they did not trust themselves to

do the work. Then the stranger’s mouth assumed a deeply-furrowed,

indescribably scornful smile; and he said with contempt: Call

yourselves master and apprentices, when you do not know how to

undertake a work that the youngest one among you can do in less than

an hour! The youngest one among us, murmured the apprentices; do you

think that Reinbert would be able to do it,—he is the youngest one

among us? O yes, said the stranger, he there can do it, or his look

must deceive me much. With these words he called out the astounded

Reinbert, explained to him once more the plan of the lock, and

added: If you do not save the honor of the smiths, the whole world

shall know their disgrace: but if you can get the lock ready within

two hours, no master will refuse you his daughter, after you have

saved his reputation. Yes indeed, said the master, if you can

perform such an impossibility, Dorothea shall be yours. While the

stranger described the nature of the lock, Reinbert had sunk into

deep reflections; to his soul the narrow workshop widened into a

large plain; he saw a beautiful, happy future blooming before him;

by strange and wonderful voices he heard himself styled the master

of masters; and his beloved he saw approaching him with the bridal

wreath entwined in her locks; and just at that moment he heard his

master’s words: If you can perform such an impossibility, Dorothea

shall be yours. He immediately began his work; it seemed as if he

were working with a hundred arms: each blow of the hammer gave form

to a part of the work; by a peculiar resounding the hammer-blows

seemed to multiply, as if more invisible hands hammered with him,

while the stranger in the red glare of the flame looked like a

pillar of fire (Loke). After the lapse of an hour the work was

finished. Apprentices and master looked at it and examined it,

shaking their heads, and with mouths wide open; but there was no

doubt that Reinbert had accomplished a masterpiece never seen

before, and the master ascribed it to his enthusiasm awakened by his

love. The stranger took the lock and went ahead; the master with

Reinbert and all his apprentices and the members of his family

followed, and all proceeded to the place where the iron post (Stock

im Eisen) now stands. Here the stranger placed an iron chain around

the post and fastened it with Reinbert’s lock. When they returned,

the stranger had disappeared, and with him the key to the marvelous

lock.

We omit a part of the story, taking only that part which has reference

to Loke.

On account of slander, Reinbert had to travel far and wide before he

finally got his beloved Dorothea. A few days after he had returned,

the government issued a proclamation to the effect that whatever

smith could make a key that would open that lock should thereby get

his diploma of mastership. Reinbert announced himself a candidate,

and repaired to his workshop to make the key. But for the first time

his work did not seem to succeed. The iron was stubborn and would

not assume the form required; and it seemed astonishing to him, when

he at last had succeeded in giving the key the proper form, and put

it into the furnace to temper it, it was turned and twisted when he

took it out again. His impatience grew into wrath. But when he at

length, after many unsuccessful attempts, had got the key ready and

put it into the furnace and carefully scrutinized to see what it was

that thus always ruined his work, he saw in the midst of the fire a

claw seize after the key, and terror-stricken he discovered that

disagreeable stranger’s twisted face (Loke) staring at him out of

the burning furnace. He quickly snatched the key away, turned it,

seized it with the tongs at the other end, and put it into the fire

again; and lo and behold! when he took it out the handle was

somewhat twisted, but the head preserved its right shape. (We

remember that it was Loke’s fault that the handle of Thor’s hammer

became rather short.)

Reinbert now announced to the government that the key was ready; and

the day after the government officials and the citizens marched in

procession to the iron post, and Reinbert’s key opened the lock. In

his enthusiasm at his success he threw the key high up in the air,

but to everybody’s surprise it did not come down again. It was

sought for everywhere, but could nowhere be found, and Reinbert had

to promise to make a new one some time. To commemorate the fact that

it had been possible to open the lock he drove a nail into the

woodon post, and since that time every smith has done the same when

he left Vienna; thus this post was formed with its numberless nails.

Reinbert became a master and married his beloved. Up to this time he

had kept his promise and had attended upon the holy mass every

Sunday; he began to drink and gamble, but he conscientiously

continued to keep his promise. Finally it happens that he once

stayed a little too long at the gambling-house, and hastens

terrified in order not too late to church. But the door of St.

Stephen’s church is closed. Outside sits an old woman (Loke assumed

the guise of a woman[80] after Balder’s death), who, in answer to

his question, informs him that mass is out. Filled with deadly

anguish he rushes back to his comrades, who laughed at him and

insisted that, as as began at half-past eleven o’clock, and as it

was only three-quarters past eleven, the mass could not yet be over.

He hastens back again: the church-door is now open, but at the very

moment he enters, the priest leaves the altar—the mass is over. The

old woman rises, seizes him by the arms, and his soul departs from

him.

Thus the myth develops into traditionary story, and one story begets

another; they wander about from the south to the north and from the

north to the south, and change with the times, reminding us of the

various manifestations of life; reminding us how human things circulate

and develop, each inextricably interwoven with all, and always reminding

us, too, that there is a heaven above the earth and an existence beyond

what is allotted to us mortals on earth.

SECTION VIII. A BRIEF REVIEW.

We have now completed the second part of our work, and witnessed the

life and exploits of the gods. It remains now to sum up briefly the main

features of, and the principal lessons taught in, this portion of the

mythology.

We cannot fail to have observed that the life of the gods is, in the

first place, a reflection of the workings of visible nature, and, in the

second place, a reflection and foreshadowing of the life of man,

particularly of life in its various manifestations in the history of the

Gothic race. We have also witnessed how wonderfully the interests and

works of the gods—nay, how absolutely the gods themselves—are

interlinked with each other,—that centralizing thought which, as has

been said before, forms one of the most prominent characteristics of

Norse or Gothic mythology, thought and history.

We have seen how the divinities and demons, after having been created,

enter upon various activities, contend with each other and are

reconciled, and how new beings are developed in this struggle, all

destined to fight on one side or the other in the final conflict.

The myth reflects nature and society, the one inextricably in communion

with the other; and in the development of nature and society we find

three relations: the relation of the asas to the giants, the relation of

the asas to the vans, and the relation of Loke to Odin. The asas and the

giants try to unite, but meet with poor success, their natures are too

opposite. The union of the asas and vans is accomplished with but little

difficulty; while between Odin and Loke there is a tendency to separate

more and more. The beginning of warfare between the gods and the giants

is the beginning of nature’s development; the giants storm the heavens

and are repulsed; this struggle lasts through life, and in it Sleipner

is produced. Later, begins the war between the asas and vans, which ends

in peace, and with this peace begins the development of society; the

asas and vans together forming a series of beautiful myths, that have

reference to war, to the cultivation of the earth, to the civilizing

influences of the water, to the greater development of the mind and

heart,—that is, to knowledge, love, humanity and peace,—the object of

which reconciliation, reached by labor and struggles. But enmity soon

arises among the gods themselves. Odin’s union with Loke is dissolved.

In the midst of the good there is evil. The evil proceeds from the good

by separation, by taking a wrong course. The unity of the spirit is

destroyed when anything tears itself loose from it and assumes an

independent position in opposition to it. Loke separates himself from

Odin and develops himself independently. He acts like Odin; he permeates

all nature and the soul of man; but he does it independently, and the

result is that the powers of evil spread over the earth in the form of

Loke’s children. Everything becomes wild and tumultuous. Fire rages in

its frantic fury in the character of the Fenris-wolf. The

Midgard-serpent represents the furious convulsions of the sea; cowardice

seizes the heart and begets the pale Hel, death without conflict, life

as a mere shadow. Thus it goes on. Knowledge rightly used is a blessing,

but unconstrained by prudence it degenerates into cunning and

deceitfulness; killing is honorable, but unconstrained by justice and

valor it becomes foul murder; to break a promise that can no longer be

kept is proper, but when done recklessly it is perjury. We find,

throughout the life of the gods, light and darkness well defined and

distinctly separated. Loke fluctuates between the two; he gradually

leaves light and unites himself to darkness. The darkness of night

supplants the light of day; the gloomy winter overcomes the shining

summer. The gods learn that they are subject to the infirmities of old

age; the rejuvenating Idun sinks into the abyss. From the depths below,

Odin receives warnings that the light of life may be extinguished. Loke

begins his conflict with Balder; finally his stratagem and cunning gain

a victory, and all the sorrowing of nature is in vain. Loke is chained,

but Balder does not return from Hel. Vale has avenged his brother’s

death, but the end of life is at hand. And now we are prepared for

RAGNAROK, followed by the REGENERATION OF THE EARTH.

Footnote 75:

Peasant, farmer.

Footnote 76:

To anyone who wishes to read this great epic of the North, we would

recommend the _Völsunga Saga_ translated by Eiríkr Magnússon and

William Morris. London, 1872.

Footnote 77:

They are both derived from the Anglo-Saxon _hélan_ or _helian_, to

cover, to conceal; compare the English _to hill_.

Footnote 78:

For a more complete discussion of this subject the reader is referred

to Keyser’s _Religion of the Northmen_ translated by Barclay Pennock.

New York, 1854.

Footnote 79:

The Fenris-wolf.

Footnote 80:

Thok.

PART III.

RAGNAROK AND REGENERATION.

SKULD.

Lítið sjáum aptr,

En ekki fram;

Skyggir Skuld fyrir sjón.

CHAPTER I.

RAGNAROK.

The final destruction of the world, and regeneration of gods and men, is

called Ragnarok; that is, the Twilight of the gods (_Ragna_, from

_regin_, gods, and _rökr_, darkness).

The journey through life has been a long one, and yet we have not

reached the end, for the end is also the beginning. Death is the center,

where the present and future existence meet. When life ends, there is a

change, there comes a new day and a sun without a shadow.

In comparing the Greek mythology with the Norse, it was stated, that the

Norse has a theoktonic myth, while the Greek lacks the final act of the

grand drama. The Greeks knew of no death of the gods; their gods were

immortal. And yet, what were they but an ideal conception of the forms

of life? And this life with all its vanity, pomp and glory, the Greek

loved so dearly, that he thought it must last forever. He imagined an

everlasting series of changes. But what will then the final result be?

Shall the thundering Zeus forever continue to thunder? Shall the

faithless Aphrodite forever be unfaithful? Shall Typhon forever go on

with his desolations? Shall the sinner continue to sin forever, and

shall the world continue without end to foster and nourish evil? These

are questions that find no satisfactory answer in the Greek mythology.

Among the Norsemen, on the other hand, we find in their most ancient

records a clearly expressed faith in the perishableness of all things;

and we find this faith at every step that the Norsemen has taken. The

origin of this faith we seek in vain; it conceals itself beneath the

waters of the primeval fountains of their thoughts and aspirations. They

regarded death as but the middle of a long life. They considered it

cowardice to spare a life that is to return; they thought it folly to

care for a world that must necessarily perish; while they knew that

their spirits would be clothed with increased vigor in the other world.

Happy were they who lived beneath the polar star, for the greatest fear

that man knows, the fear of death, disturbed them not. They rushed

cheerfully upon the sword; they entered the battle boldly, for, like

their gods, who every moment looked forward to the inevitable Ragnarok,

they knew that life could be purchased by a heroic death.

The very fact that the gods in the creation proceeded from the _giant_

Ymer foreshadowed their destruction. The germ of death was in their

nature from the beginning, and this germ would gradually develop as

their strength gradually became wasted and consumed. That which is born

must die, but that which is not born cannot grow old.

The gradual growth of this germ of death, and corresponding waste of the

strength of the gods, is profoundly sketched throughout the mythology.

The gods cannot be conquered, unless they make themselves weak; but such

is the very nature of things, that they must do this. To win the

charming Gerd, Frey must give away his sword, but when the great final

conflict comes he has no weapon. In order that the Fenris-wolf may be

chained, Tyr must risk his right hand, and he loses it. How shall he

then fight in Ragnarok? Balder could not have died, had not the gods

been blind and presumptuous; their thoughtlessness put weapons into the

hands of their enemy. Hoder would never have thrown the fatal mistletoe,

had not their own appointed game been an inducement to him to honor his

brother. When Loke became separated from Odin, the death of the gods was

a foregone conclusion.

The imperfection of nature is also vividly depicted in the Eddas. The

sun was so scorching hot that the gods had to place a shield before it;

the fire was so destructive that the gods had to chain it, in order that

it might not bring ruin upon the whole world. Life, after the natural

death, was not continued only in the shining halls of Valhal, but also

in the subterranean regions among the shades of Hel.

Our old Gothic fathers, in the poetic dawn of our race, investigated the

origin and beginning of nature and time. The divine poetic and

imaginative spark in them lifted them up to the Eternal, to that

wonderful secret fountain which is the source of all things. They looked

about them in profound meditation to find the image and reflection of

that glorious harmony which their soul in its heavenly flight had found,

but in all earthly things they discovered strife and warfare. When the

storms bent the pine trees on the mountain tops, and when the foaming

waves rolled in gigantic fury against the rocky cliffs, the Norseman saw

strife. When the growl of the bear and the howl of the wolf blended with

the moaning of the winds and the roaring of the waters, he heard strife.

In unceasing conflict with the earth, with the beasts and with each

other, he saw men stand, conquer, and fall. If he lifted his weary eye

toward the skies, he saw the light struggling with darkness and with

itself. When light arose out of darkness, it was greeted with

enthusiasm; when it sank again into darkness, its rays were broken and

it dissolved in glimmering colors; and if he looked down into the heart

of man, into his own breast, he found that all this conflict of opposing

elements in the outward world did but faintly symbolize that terrible

warfare pervading and shattering his whole being. Well might he long for

peace, and can we wonder that this deep longing for rest and peace,

which filled his heart in the midst of all his struggles,—can we wonder,

we say, that his longing for peace found a grand expression in a final

conflict through which imperishableness and harmony were attained?

This final conflict, this dissolution of nature’s and life’s disharmony,

the Edda presents to us in the death of the gods, which is usually, as

stated, called Ragnarok.

There is nothing more sublime in poetry than the description, in the

Eddas, of Ragnarok. It is preceded by ages of crime and terror. The vala

looks down into Niflheim,

There saw she wade

In the heavy streams

Men—foul murderers,

And perjurers,

And them who other’s wives

Seduce to sin.

The growing depravity and strife in the world proclaim the approach of

this great event. First there is a winter called Fimbul-winter, during

which snow will fall from the four corners of the world; the frosts will

be very severe, the winds piercing, the weather tempestuous, and the sun

will impart no gladness. Three such winters shall pass away without

being tempered by a single summer. Three other similar winters follow,

during which war and discord will spread over the whole earth. Brothers

for the sake of mere gain shall kill each other, and no one shall spare

either his parents or his children. Thus the Elder Edda:

Brothers slay brothers;

Sisters’ children

Shed each other’s blood.

Hard is the world;

Sensual sin grows huge.

There are sword-ages, ax-ages;

Shields are cleft in twain;

Storm-ages, murder-ages;

Till the world falls dead,

And men no longer spare

Or pity one another.

Then shall happen such things as may truly be regarded as great

miracles. The Fenris-wolf shall devour the sun, and a severe loss will

that be to mankind. The other wolf[81] will take the moon, and this,

too, will cause great mischief. Then the stars shall be hurled from the

heavens, and the earth shall be shaken so violently that trees will be

torn up by the roots, the tottering mountains will tumble headlong from

their foundations, and all bonds and fetters will be shivered to pieces.

The Fenris-wolf then breaks loose and the sea rushes over the earth on

account of the Midgard-serpent writhing in giant rage and gaining the

land. On the waters floats the ship Naglfar (nail-ship), which is

constructed of the nails of dead men. For this reason great care should

be taken to die with pared nails, for he who dies with his nails unpared

supplies materials for the building of this ship, which both gods and

men wish may be finished as late as possible. But in this flood shall

Naglfar float, and the giant Hrym be its steersman.

The Fenris-wolf advances and opens his enormous mouth; the lower jaw

reaches to the earth and the upper one to heaven, and he would open it

still wider had he room to do so. Fire flashes from his eyes and

nostrils. The Midgard-serpent, placing himself by the side of the

Fenris-wolf, vomits forth floods of poison, which fill the air and the

waters. Amidst this devastation the heavens are rent in twain, and the

sons of Muspel come riding through the opening in brilliant array. Surt

rides first, and before and behind him flames burning fire. His sword

outshines the sun itself. Bifrost (the rainbow), as they ride over it,

breaks to pieces. Then they direct their course to the battle-field

called Vigrid. Thither repair also the Fenris-wolf and the

Midgard-serpent, and Loke with all the followers of Hel, and Hrym with

all the frost-giants. But the sons of Muspel keep their effulgent bands

apart on the battle-field, which is one hundred miles (rasts) on each

side.

Meanwhile Heimdal arises, and with all his strength he blows the

Gjallar-horn to arouse the gods, who assemble without delay. Odin then

rides to Mimer’s fountain and consults Mimer how he and his warriors are

to enter into action. The ash Ygdrasil begins to quiver, nor is there

anything in heaven or on earth that does not fear and tremble in that

terrible hour. The gods and all the einherjes of Valhal arm themselves

with speed and sally forth to the field, led on by Odin with his golden

helmet, resplendent cuirass, and spear called Gungner. Odin places

himself against the Fenris-wolf. Thor stands by his side, but can render

him no assistance, having himself to combat the Midgard-serpent. Frey

encounters Surt, and terrible blows are exchanged ere Frey falls; and he

owes his defeat to his not having that trusty sword which he gave to

Skirner. That day the dog Garm, that had been chained in the Gnipa-cave,

breaks loose. He is the most fearful monster of all, and attacks Tyr,

and they kill each other. Thor gains great renown for killing the

Midgard-serpent, but at the same time, retreating nine paces, he falls

dead upon the spot, suffocated with the floods of venom which the dying

serpent vomits forth upon him. The wolf swallows Odin, but at that

instant Vidar advances, and setting his foot upon the monster’s lower

jaw he seizes the other with his hand, and thus tears and rends him till

he dies. Vidar is able to do this because he wears those shoes which

have before been mentioned, and for which stuff has been gathered in all

ages, namely, the shreds of leather which are cut off to form the toes

and heels of shoes; and it is on this account that those who desire to

render service to the gods should take care to throw such shreds away.

Loke and Heimdal fight and kill each other. Then Surt flings fire and

flame over the world. Smoke wreathes up around the all-nourishing tree

(Ygdrasil), the high flames play against the heavens, and earth consumed

sinks down beneath the sea.

All this is vividly and sublimely presented in the Elder Edda, thus:

East of Midgard in the Ironwood

The old hag[82] sat,

Fenrer’s terrible

Race she fostered.

One[83] of them

Shall at last

In the guise of a troll

Devour the moon.

It feeds on the bodies

Of men, when they die:

The seats of the gods

It stains with red blood:

The sunshine blackens

In the summers thereafter

And the weather grows bad—

Know ye now more or not?

The hag’s watcher,

The glad Edger,

Sat on the hill-top

And played his harp;

Near him crowed

In the bird-wood

A fair-red cock

Which Fjalar hight.

Among the gods crowed

The gold-combed cock,

He who wakes in Valhal

The hosts of heroes;

Beneath the earth

Crows another,

The root-red cock,

In the halls of Hel.

Loud barks Garm

At Gnipa-cave;

The fetters are severed,

The wolf is set free,—

Vale knows the future.

More does she see

Of the victorious gods

Terrible fall.

The wolf referred to in the first strophe is Maanegarm (the

moon-devourer), of whom we have made notice before. The hag in the

Ironwood is Angerboda (anguish-boding), with whom Loke begat children.

Evil is being developed. The gods become through Loke united with the

giants. The wood is of iron, hard and barren; the children are ravenous

wolves. On the hill-top sits Egder (an eagle), a storm-eagle, the

howling wind that rushes through the wood, and howling wind is the music

produced upon his harp. The cock is a symbol of fire, and it is even to

this day a common expression among the Norsemen, when a fire breaks out,

that _the red cock is crowing over the roof of the house_. There are

three cocks, one in the bird-wood, one in heaven, and one in the lower

regions with Hel. The idea then is, that the cock as a symbol of fire

announces the coming of Ragnarok in all the regions of the world. The

vala continues:

Mimer’s sons play;

To battle the gods are called

By the ancient

Gjallar-horn.

Loud blows Heimdal,

His sound is in the air;

Odin talks

With the head of Mimer.

Quivers then Ygdrasil,

The strong-rooted ash;

Rustles the old tree

When the giant gives way.

All things tremble

In the realms of Hel,

Till Surt’s son

Swallows up Odin.

How fare the gods?

How fare the elves?

Jotunheim shrieks.

The gods hold Thing;

The dwarfs shudder

Before their cleft caverns,

Where behind rocky walls they dwell.

Know ye now more or not?

Loud barks Garm[84]

At Gnipa-cave;

The fetters are severed,

The wolf is set free,—

Vala knows the future.

More does she see

Of the victorious gods’

Terrible fall.

From the east drives Hrym,

Bears his child before him;

Jormungander welters

In giant fierceness;

The waves thunder;

The eagle screams,

Rends the corpses with pale beak,

And Naglfar is launched.

A ship from the east nears,

The hosts of Muspel

Come o’er the main,

But Loke is pilot.

All grim and gaunt monsters

Conjoin with the wolf,

And before them all goes

The brother of Byleist.[85]

From the south wends Surt

With seething fire;

The sun of the war-god

Shines in his sword;

Mountains together dash,

And frighten the giant-maids;

Heroes tread the paths to Hel,

And heaven in twain is rent.

Over Hlin[86] then shall come

Another woe,

When Odin goes forth

The wolf to combat,

And he[87] who Bele slew

’Gainst Surt rides;

Then will Frigg’s

Beloved husband[88] fall.

Loud barks Garm

At Gnipa-cave;

The fetters are severed,

The wolf is set free,—

Vala knows the future.

More does she see

Of the victorious gods’

Terrible fall.

Then Vidar, the great son

Of Victory’s father,

Goes forth to fight

With the ferocious beast;

With firm grasp his sword

In the giant-born monster’s heart

Deep he plants,

And avenges his father.

Then the famous son[89]

Of Hlodyn[90] comes;

Odin’s son comes

To fight with the serpent;

Midgard’s ward[91]

In wrath slays the serpent.

Nine paces away

Goes the son of Fjorgyn;

He totters, wounded

By the fierce serpent.

All men

Abandon the earth.

The sun darkens,

The earth sinks into the ocean:

The lucid stars

From heaven vanish;

Fire and vapor

Rage toward heaven;

High flames

Involve the skies.

Loud barks Garm

At Gnipa-cave;

The fetters are severed,

The wolf is set free,—

Vala knows the future.

More does she see

Of the victorious gods’

Terrible fall.

These strophes are taken from Völuspá (the prophecy of the vala); and

besides these we also have a few strophes of the lay of Vafthrudner, in

the Elder Edda, referring to the final conflict:

VAFTHRUDNER:

Tell me, Gagnraad,[92]

Since on the floor thou wilt

Prove thy proficiency,

How that plain is called,

Where in fight shall meet

Surt and the gentle gods?

GAGNRAAD (ODIN):

Vigrid the plain is called,

Where in fight shall meet

Surt and the gentle gods;

A hundred rasts it is

On every side.

That plain is to them decreed.

And in the second part of this same poem, in which Odin asks and

Vafthrudner answers:

GAGNRAAD (ODIN):

What of Odin will

The end of life be,

When the powers perish?

VAFTHRUDNER:

The wolf will

The father of men devour;

Him Vidar will avenge:

He his cold jaws

Will cleave

In conflict with the wolf.

The terrible dog mentioned several times is Hel’s bloody-breasted and

murderous hound. Like the Fenris-wolf and Loke, this dog had been bound

at Gnipa-cave, although the Eddas tell us nothing about when or how this

was done.

When it is said that another woe comes over Hlin, the maid-servant is

placed for Frigg herself; and the former woe implied is the death of

Balder, _the other woe_ meaning the approaching death of Odin.

It is worthy of notice, that as this final conflict is inevitable, the

gods proceed to it, not with despair and trembling, but joyfully and

fearlessly as to a game, for it is the last. Odin rides to the battle

adorned; he knows that he must die, and for this very reason he

decorates himself as does a bride for the wedding, and the gods follow

him; even those who are defenseless voluntarily expose themselves on the

plain of Vigrid. They are determined to die.

Which are the powers that now oppose each other? On the one side we have

those who have ruled and blessed heaven and earth; and fighting against

them we find their eternal enemies, those powers which had sprung into

being before heaven and earth were created, and those which had

developed in the earth and in the sea, and which no asa-might can

conquer. From Muspelheim come the sons of Muspel in shining armor; from

Muspel’s world came originally the sun, moon and stars. It is a

fundamental law in nature that all things destroy themselves, all things

contain an inherent force that finally brings ruin; that is the meaning

of perishableness or corruption. A second host consists of the

frost-giants. From the body of the old giant Ymer was formed the earth,

the sea, the mountains, the trees, etc.; the giants must therefore

assist in the destruction of their own work. The third host is Loke and

his children, born in time and the offspring of that which was created.

They are the destructive elements in that which was created; the ocean

becoming a fierce serpent, mid the fire a devouring wolf. Loke himself

is the volcanic fire which the earth has produced within its bowels; and

then there is all that is cowardly represented by the pale Hel with her

bloodless shadows, the life which has turned into shadowy death. All

these forces oppose each other. Those who fought in life mutually

conquer each other in death. Odin, whose heaven is the source of all

life, is slain by the Fenris-wolf, the earthly fire, which has brought

all kinds of activities into the life of man; but the wolf, after he has

conquered, falls again at the hands of Vidar, the imperishable,

incorruptible force of nature. In this duel heaven and earth are

engaged. The god of the clouds, Thor, contends with the

Midgard-serpent,—many a struggle they have had together; now the clouds

and ocean mutually destroy each other. Since the death of Balder, Frey

is the most pure and shining divinity. His pure and noble purpose and

longing are still within him, but his sword, his power, is gone. Hence

he is stricken down by Surt, the warder of Muspelheim. Heimdal stretched

his brilliant rainbow over the earth, Loke his variegated stream of fire

within the earth; the one proclaiming mercies and blessings, the other

destruction; both perish in Ragnarok. Hel and her pale host also betake

themselves to the final contest, but the Eddas say nothing about their

taking part in the fight. How can they? They are nothing but emptiness,

the mere vanity of the heart, in which there is no substance; they are

but the darkness which enwraps the earth, and are not capable of deeds.

Thus is Ragnarok! The great antagonism pervading the world is removed in

a final struggle, in which the contending powers mutually destroy each

other. Ragnarok is an outbreak of all the chaotic powers, a conflict

between them and the established order of creation. Fire, water,

darkness and death work together to destroy the world. The gods and

their enemies meet in a universal, world-embracing wrestle and duel, and

mutually destroy each other. The flames of Surt, the supreme fire-god,

complete the overthrow, and the last remnant of the consumed earth sinks

into the ocean.

Footnote 81:

Moongarm. See Vocabulary.

Footnote 82:

Angerboda. See p. 179.

Footnote 83:

Moongarm. See p. 180.

Footnote 84:

Hel’s dog.

Footnote 85:

Loke.

Footnote 86:

One of Frigg’s maid-servants.

Footnote 87:

Frey.

Footnote 88:

Odin.

Footnote 89:

Thor.

Footnote 90:

Another name for Frigg.

Footnote 91:

Defender.

Footnote 92:

Odin.

CHAPTER II.

REGENERATION.

But when the heavens and the earth and the whole world have been

consumed in flames, when the gods and all the einherjes and all mankind

have perished,—what then? Is not man immortal? Are not all men to live

in some world or other forever? The vala looks again, and

She sees arise

The second time,

From the sea, the earth

Completely green:

Cascades do fall,

The eagle soars,

From lofty mounts

Pursues its prey.

The gods convene

On Ida’s plains,

And talk of the powerful

Midgard-serpent:

They call to mind

The Fenris-wolf

And the ancient runes

Of the mighty Odin.

Then again

The wonderful

Golden tablets

Are found in the grass:

In time’s morning

The leader of the gods

And Odin’s race

Possessed them.

The fields unsown

Yield their growth;

All ills cease;

Balder comes.

Hoder and Balder,

Those heavenly gods,

Dwell together in Hropt’s[93] halls.

Conceive ye this or not?

Vidar and Vale survive; neither the flood nor Surt’s flame has harmed

them, and they dwell on the plain of Ida, where Asgard formerly stood.

Thither come the sons of Thor, Mode and Magne, bringing with them their

father’s hammer, Mjolner. Hœner is there also, and comprehends the

future. Balder and Hoder sit and converse together; they call to mind

their former knowledge and the perils they underwent, and the fight with

the wolf Fenrer, and with the Midgard-serpent. The sons of Hoder and

Balder inhabit the wide Wind-home. The sun brings forth a daughter more

lovely than herself, before she is swallowed by Fenrer; and when the

gods have perished, the daughter rides in her mother’s heavenly course.

During the conflagration caused by Surt’s fire, a woman by name Lif

(life) and a man named Lifthraser lie concealed in Hodmimer’s forest.

The dew of the dawn serves then for food, and so great a race shall

spring from them that their descendants shall soon spread over the whole

earth.

Then the vala

Sees a hall called Gimle;

It outshines the sun,

Of gold its roof;

It stands in heaven:

The virtuous there

Shall always dwell,

And evermore

Delights enjoy.

Toward the north on the Nida-mountains stands a large hall of shining

gold, which the race of Sindre, that is the dwarfs, occupy. There is

also another hall called Brimer, which is also in heaven, in the region

Okolner, and there all who delight in quaffing good drink will find

plenty in store for them. Good and virtuous beings inhabit all these

halls.

But there is also a place of punishment. It is called Naastrand (strand

of dead bodies). In Naastrand there is a vast and terrible structure,

with doors that face to the north. It is built entirely of the backs of

serpents, wattled together like wicker-work. But all the serpents’ heads

are turned toward the inside of the hall, and continually vomit forth

floods of venom, in which wade all those who have committed murder,

perjury, or adultery. The vala, in the Elder Edda,

Saw a hall

Far from the sun,

On the strand of dead bodies,

With doors toward the north.

Venom drops

Through the loopholes;

Formed is that hall

Of wreathed serpents.

There saw she wade

Through heavy streams,

Perjurers

And murderers

And adulterers;

There Nidhug sucked

The bodies of the dead

And the wolf tore them to pieces.

Conceive ye this or not?

Then comes the mighty one[94]

To the great judgment;

From heaven he comes,

He who guides all things:

Judgments he utters;

Strifes he appeases,

Laws he ordains

To flourish forever.

Or as it is stated in Hyndla’s lay, after she has described Heimdal, the

sublime protector of the perishable world:

Then comes another

Yet more mighty,

But him dare I not

Venture to name;

Few look further forward

Than to the time

When Odin goes

To meet the wolf.

And when the vale in Völuspá, beginning with the primeval time, has

unveiled, in the most profound sentences, the whole history of the

universe,—when she has gone through every period of its development down

through Ragnarok and the Regeneration, the following is her last vision:

_There_ comes the dark

Dragon[95] flying,

The shining serpent

From the Nida-mountains

In the deep.

Over the plain it flies;

Dead bodies Nidhug

Drags in his whizzing plumage,—

Now must Nidhug sink.

Thus ends the vala’s prophecy (_völuspá_.) She has revealed the decrees

of the Father of Nature; she has described the conflagration and

renovation of the world, and now proclaims the fate of the good and of

the evil.

The world and the things in it perish, but not the forces. Some of the

gods reappear in the regenerated earth, while some do not. They who

reappear are mentioned in pairs, excepting Hœner, who is alone. Balder

and Hoder are together; likewise Vidar and Vale, and Mode and Magne.

Neither Odin nor Thor nor the vans appear. They perished with the world,

for they represented the developing forces of this world; they were

divinities representing that which came into being and had existence in

it. On the other hand, Balder and Hoder came back from Hel. They

represent light and darkness; but they are alike in this respect, that

they are nothing substantial, nothing real, they are only the condition

for something to be, or we might say they are the space, the firmament,

in which something may exist. They are the two brothers whose sons shall

inhabit the wide Wind-home. Thus when heaven and earth have passed away

there is nothing remaining but the wide expanse of space with light and

darkness, who not only rule together in perfect harmony, but also

permeate each other and neutralize each other.

Hœner comes back. He was originally one of the trinity with Odin and

Loder (Loke); but the gods received Njord as a hostage from the vans,

and gave to the vans in return Hœner, as a security of friendship

between them. This union between the asas and vans is now dissolved.

Hœner has nothing more to do among the vans. Their works all perished

with the old earth. He is the developing, creative force that is needed

now in the new world as it was in the old.

Vidar is the imperishable force in original nature, that is, in crude

nature, but at the same time united with the gods. He is the connecting

link between gods and giants. His mother was Grid, a giantess, and his

father was Odin. The strong Vale begotten of Odin and Rind (the

slumbering earth) is the imperishable force of nature which constantly

renews itself in the earth as a habitation of man. Both Vidar and Vale

are avenging gods. Vale avenges the death of Balder, and Vidar the death

of Odin, and thus we have in Vidar and Vale representatives of the

imperishable force of nature in two forms, the one without and the other

within the domain of man, both purified and renewed in the regenerated

earth.

In the atmosphere and in the dense clouds reigned Thor, with his

flashing fire and clattering thunder. Thunder and lightning have passed

away, but the forces that produced them, courage and strength, are

preserved in Thor’s sons, Mode (courage) and Magne (strength). They have

their father’s hammer, Mjolner, and with it they can strike to the right

and to the left, permeating the new heaven and new earth. What a well of

profound thought are the Eddas!

The parents of the new race of men are called Lif and Lifthraser. Life

cannot perish. It lies concealed in Hodmimer’s forest, which the flame

of Surt was not able to destroy. The new race of mankind seem to possess

a far nobler nature than the former, for they subsist on the morning

dew.

Do Mimer and Surt live? They are the fundamental elements of fire and

water. The Eddas are not clear on this point, but an affirmative answer

seems to be suggested in the fact that the better part of every being is

preserved.

The good among men find their reward in Gimle; for he that made man gave

him a soul, which shall live and never perish, though the body shall

have mouldered away or have been burnt to ashes; and all that are

righteous shall dwell with him in the place called Gimle, says the

Younger Edda. The dwarfs have their Sindre, and their golden hall on the

Nida-mountains; and the giant has his shining drinking hall, Brimer, but

it is situated in Okolner (not cool), where there is no more frost.

The Elder Edda seems to point out two places of punishment for men.

Giants and dwarfs are not punished, for they act blindly, they have no

free will. But the wicked of mankind go to Naastrand and wade in streams

of serpent-venom, and thence they appear to be washed down into

Hvergelmer, that horrible old kettle, where their bodies are torn by

Nidhug, the dragon of the uttermost darkness.

There is a day of judgment. The good and bad are separated. The god,

whom the Edda dare not name, is the judge. The Younger Edda once calls

him Allfather, for he is to the new world what Odin was to the old. He

was before the beginning of time, and at the end of time he enters upon

his eternal reign.

The reward is eternal. Is the punishment also eternal? When light and

darkness (Balder and Hoder) can live peaceably together,—when darkness

can resolve itself into light,—cannot then the evil be dissolved in the

good; cannot the eternal streams of goodness wash away the evil? We

think so, and the Edda seems to justify us in this thought; at least the

Elder Edda seems to take this view of the subject. Listen again to the

last vision of the vala:

_There_ comes the dark

Dragon flying,

The shining serpent

From the Nida-mountains

In the deep.

Over the plain it flies;

Dead bodies Nidhug

Drags in his whizzing plumage,—

_Now must Nidhug sink_.[96]

When there is an intermediate state, a transition, a purification, a

purgatory, then this purification must sooner or later be accomplished;

and that is the day of the great judgment, _when Nidhug must sink_, and

nevermore lift his wings loaded with dead bodies. This idea is

beautifully elaborated in _Zendavista_. The Edda has it in a single

line, but the majority of its interpreters have not comprehended it. We

who are permeated by the true Christian spirit, we know how great joy

there is in heaven over a sinner who is converted; we know the God of

mercy, who does not desire the ruin of a single sinner, and the God of

omnipotence, who with his hand is able to press the tears of repentance

from the heart, though it be hard as steel; we comprehend why he lets

Nidhug sink down. All darkness shall be cleared up and be gilded by the

shining light of heaven.

Such was the origin, the development, the destruction and regeneration

of the world. And now, says the Younger Edda, as it closes the deluding

of King Gylfe, if you have any further questions to ask, I know not who

can answer you; for I never heard tell of anyone who could relate what

will happen in the other ages of the world. Make therefore the best use

you can of what has been imparted to you.

Upon this Ganglere heard a terrible noise all around him. He looked, but

could see neither palace nor city anywhere, nor anything save a vast

plain. He therefore set out on his return to his kingdom, where he

related all that he had seen and heard; and ever since that time these

tidings have been handed down from man to man by oral tradition, and we

add, may the stream of story never cease to flow! May the youth, the

vigorous man, and the grandfather with his silvery locks, forever

continue to refresh their minds by looking into and drinking from the

fountain that reflects the ancient history of the great Gothic race!

In closing, we would present this question: Shall we have northern art?

We have southern art (Hercules and Hebe), we have oriental art (Adam and

Eve), and now will some one complete the trilogy by adding Loke and

Sigyn? Ay, let us have another Thorvaldsen, and let him devote himself

to _northern art_. Here is a new and untrodden field for the artist. Ye

Gothic poets and painters and sculptors! why stand ye here idle?

Footnote 93:

Odin’s.

Footnote 94:

The Supreme God.

Footnote 95:

Nidhug.

Footnote 96:

We present this view of the subject from N. M. Petersen, who suggests

that the common reading of this passage _hon_ ought to be _hann_,—that

is _he_, not _she_. In our translation we have supplied the noun

_Nidhug_, while if we had followed the other authorities we would have

used the noun _vala_. Petersen remarks that the word sink (_sökkvask_)

is a natural expression when applied to the dragon, who sinks into the

abyss, but forced and unnatural when applied to the vala. He also

quotes another passage (the last line in Brynhild’s Hel-ride, where

Brynhild says to the hag: Sink thou (_sökkstu!_) of giantkind!) from

the Elder Edda which corroborates his view. As the reader will

observe, we have adopted Petersen’s view entirely.

VOCABULARY OF THE PRINCIPAL PROPER NAMES OCCURRING IN THE NORSE

MYTHOLOGY,

WITH A BRIEF SYNOPSIS OF THE CHARACTER AND EXPLOITS OF

THE GODS, EXPLANATIONS, ETYMOLOGICAL

DEFINITIONS, ETC.

GIVING

THE ORIGINAL ICELANDIC FORM OF THE WORD IN THE VOCABULARY,

AND ADDING, AFTER THE SYNOPSIS,

THE ANGLICIZED FORM USED BY THE AUTHOR

THROUGHOUT THE WORK.

ARRANGED BY THE AUTHOR FROM THE BEST SOURCES.

A

ÆGIR [Anglo-Sax. _eagor_, the sea]. The god presiding over the stormy

sea. He entertains the gods every harvest, and brews ale for them. It

still survives in provincial English for the sea-wave on rivers. Have a

care, there is the _eager_ coming!—(Carlyle’s Heroes and Hero-worship.)

_Æger._

AGNAR. A son of King Hraudung and foster-son of Frigg. _Agnar._

AGNAR. A son of King Geirrod. He gives a drink to Grimner (Odin).

_Agnar._

ÁLFR [Anglo-Sax. _ælf_, _munt-ælfen_, _sæ-elfen_, _wudu-elfen_, etc.;

Eng. _elf_, _elves_; Germ. _alb_ and _elfen_, _Erl-_ in _Erl_könig

(Goethe) is, according to Grimm, a corrupt form from the Danish

_Elle_konge like _Elver_konge; in the west of Iceland the word is also

pronounced _álbr_]. An elf, fairy; a class of beings like the dwarfs,

between gods and men. They were of two kinds: elves of light

(_Ljósálfar_) and elves of darkness (_Dökkálfar_). The abode of the

elves is _Álfheimr_, fairy-land, and their king is the god Frey. _Elf._

ALFÖÐR or ALFAÐIR [Father of all]. The name of Odin as the supreme god.

It also refers to the supreme and unknown god. _Allfather._

ÁLFHEIMR [_álf_, elf, and _heimr_, home]. Elf-land, fairy-land. Frey’s

dwelling, given him as a tooth-gift. _Alfheim._

ALSVIÐR [_sviðr_ (_svinnr_), rapid, wise]. All-wise. One of the horses

of the sun. _Alsvid._

ALVÍSS [All-wise]. The dwarf who answers Thor’s questions in the lay of

Alvis. _Alvis._

AMSVARTNIR. [The etymology is doubtful; perhaps from _ama_, to vex,

annoy, and _svartnir_ (_svartr_), black.] The name of the sea, in which

the island was situated where the wolf Fenrer was chained. _Amsvartner._

ÁNNARR or ÓNARR. Husband of night and father of Jord (_jörð earth_).

_Annar._

ANDRÍMNIR [_önd_, soul, spirit, breath, and _hrímnir_, _hrím_.

Anglo-Sax. _hrím_; Eng. _rime_, hoar-frost; _hrímnir_, the one producing

the hoar-frost]. The cook in Valhal. _Andhrimner._

ANDVARI. The name of a gurnard-shaped dwarf; the owner of the fatal ring

called _Andvaranautr_. _Andvare._

ANDVARAFORS. The force or waterfall in which the dwarf Andvare kept

himself in the form of a gurnard (pike). _Andvare-Force._

ANDVARANAUTR [_önd_, spirit; _varr_, cautious; _nautr_, Germ. ge-_nosse_

(from Icel. _njota_), a donor]. The fatal ring given by Andvare (the

wary spirit). _Andvarenaut._

ANGANTYR. He has a legal dispute with Ottar Heimske, who is favored by

Freyja. _Angantyr._