IN ENGLAND, FRANCE, AND IRELAND.
EARLY EXPEDITIONS OF THE NORTHMEN TO THE COASTS OF THE ROMAN
PROVINCES.—CAUSES WHICH LED TO THEM:—POVERTY OF THE SOIL, FAMINE,
COURAGE.—DOMESTIC PIRACY.—TRIBES OF PIRATES.—INVASION OF ENGLAND BY
THE SAXONS AND DANES.—AUTHORITY OF SAXO GRAMMATICUS.—DEPREDATIONS IN
ENGLAND PRIOR TO THE REIGN OF ATHELSTANE.—VICTORY OF THAT
MONARCH.—RAVAGES OF THE NORTHMEN IN FRANCE.—HASTINGS.—ROLLO THE
GREATEST OF THE SCANDINAVIAN PIRATES.—HIS CONQUEST OF NORMANDY, OF
WHICH HE WAS THE FIRST DUKE.—THE NORTHMEN IN IRELAND.—EARLY
COMMUNICATION BETWEEN THE IRISH AND THE NORTH OF EUROPE.—FIRST RAVAGES
OF THE NORTHMEN.—THEIR ALARMING PROGRESS IN THAT ISLAND.—VICTORY
OBTAINED OVER THEM BY KING BRIAN.—THEIR SUBSEQUENT DEPREDATIONS AND
DECLINE.
Early Appearance of the Scandinavian 276
Pirates on the Coasts of the Roman
Provinces and in Ireland
Causes which led to the voluntary or 278
compulsory Expatriation of the
Northmen:—Poverty of the Soil,
Insufficiency of Food, Expertness in
the Management of small Vessels
Progress of Piracy in the North 279
Domestic Piracy gives rise to maritime 280
Expeditions into the South
The Roman Provinces the chief Objects of 283
Plunder at a very early Age
Expeditions of the Saxons and Northmen 283
to England
Foundations of the Saxon Kingdoms in 285
England
On the Degree of Reliance to be placed 286
in the Statements of Saxo Grammaticus,
respecting the early Communications
between Denmark and England
Extract from Mr. Turner, on this 287
Subject, and Comments thereupon
794–806 Depredations in Northumbria; Danish 289
Kingdom in that Province; heroic
Behaviour of the Coldingham Nuns
868–876 Graphic Account of the Destruction of 291
Croyland Monastery
870–924 Transactions in Northumbria 294
924–934 Splendid Victory of Brunanburgh 296
400–840 Earliest Depredations of the Northmen in 296
France
840. Hastings, the Veteran Pirate, arrives in 297
France
842–844 Havoc in France and Spain 298
845–859 Ravages in France; Hastings sails to 299
Italy; he surprises the City of Luna
858–863 Numerous piratical Bands in France; 301
Hastings returns, and on the Condition
of renouncing Piracy, is created Count
de Chartres
863–876 Continued Excesses in the different 303
Provinces of France
Early Life of Rollo 304
876–888 His Expedition to France 306
888–896 Faithlessness of the Normans 308
896–909 Great Successes of Rollo 308
910–912 He is created Duke of Normandy 310
Advantage of the Policy of the French 311
Court in this respect
First Appearance of the Northmen in 312
Ireland
795–820 Their early Progress was rapid, and for 314
some Time they met with little
Resistance
820–848 Progress of the Northmen 315
842–879 Various Successes, with alternate 317
Reverses
872–1000 Rapid Decline of the Scandinavian Power 319
in Ireland
1000–1014 Its ultimate Destruction 320
APPENDIX 321
FOOTNOTES 328
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
HISTORY
OF
SCANDINAVIA.
------------------
INTRODUCTION.
UNCERTAINTY ATTENDING THE EARLY HISTORY OF ALL NATIONS.—MONSTROUS
HYPOTHESES RESPECTING THAT OF NORTHERN EUROPE.—FABULOUS, OR AT LEAST
DOUBTFUL, KINGS OF SWEDEN, NORWAY, AND DENMARK.—DISTINCTION OF RACES
IN THE NORTH.—THE ORIGINAL INHABITANTS, THE SWIONES, GOTTONES,
DANKIONES, WERE PROBABLY THE SWEDES, GOTHS, AND DANES.—THE JUTES AND
LAPPS AND FINNS DIFFERENT FROM THE NEW COMERS.—INFORMATION COLLECTED
BY ALFRED RELATIVE TO THE NORTH.—NUMEROUS CHIEFS WITH THE REGAL
TITLE.—KINGS OF DENMARK: DAN—HUMBLE—LOTHER—SKIOLD—GRAM,
ETC.—WONDERFUL ADVENTURE OF HADDING AND OF THE GIANTESS
HARDGRIPE.—FRODE I.—ODIN.—HIS ORIGIN ACCORDING TO SAXO.—ACCORDING TO
THE YNGLINGA SAGA.—HIS SUPERNATURAL POWERS.—REASONS ASSIGNED FOR HIS
EXISTENCE.—HODER AND BALDER.—THE FATAL SISTERS.—DEATH AND FUNERAL OF
BALDER.—JOURNEY TO THE SHADES BELOW IN QUEST OF HIS SOUL.—HERMOD’S
JOURNEY.—ODIN’S.—PROPHECY.—RINDA AND ODIN.—CHARACTER OF
ODIN.—RURIC.—HAMLET PRINCE OF JUTLAND.—HIS REAL OR FABULOUS
ADVENTURES.—FENGO.—DANISH KINGS AFTER RURIC.
INQUIRIES into the origin of nations have never been productive of much
good. Over that of all, with the single exception of the Jews—an
exception which we owe to inspiration—a cloud hangs, that no learning,
no criticism can penetrate. It is easy to be speculative—it is easy to
be ingenious—it is easy to make a considerable parade of learning by
citing the opinions of various writers, and by attempting to show how
little dependence is to be placed on any one of them; but, though the
vanity of an author may be thus gratified, his labour must be useless.
If he has not authority or legitimate inference for what he advances, he
is worse than uselessly, he is perniciously employed: he is wasting his
own time and that of his readers, and he is involving the subject, which
he ought to elucidate, in greater confusion than it was before. Thus
every age and every writer adds to the mass of fable, or at least of
uncertainty, until the truth is for ever hidden beneath it.
These observations especially apply to northern history. Yet, dark and
uncertain as this subject is, and monstrous as are the hypotheses which
native ingenuity has framed respecting it, curiosity will be gratified
with a mere glimpse at them. Thus, in regard to the SWEDES, we shall
find their origin wrapt in an obscurity deep as that which covers the
cradle of most other people. Many are the fables which grave historians,
listening only to tradition, or wresting to a certain purpose the words
of some obscure writer, or confounding the actions of many people, or
misled by a fancied analogy and similarity of names, have perpetuated on
this subject. That sage authority, the archbishop of Upsal, has no doubt
that Noah was king of the whole earth; that he settled in Scythia, which
was inhabited a century before Italy; that his son Japhet, to whom
Europe fell, spread his colonies still farther to the west; that Magog,
the son of Japhet, was the first chief that colonised Sweden and
Finland; that from Sweno, the son of Magog, sprung the Swedes, and from
Gothar or Gog, another son, the Goths; that Thor, German, and Ubbo,
brothers of Sweno, and his great vassals, were successful propagators of
mankind; that Ubbo, who succeeded his brother Gothar, founded the city
of Upsal, the most ancient metropolis of the north; that Siggo,
successor of Ubbo, and the fifth king of the Goths, called Sigtuna into
existence; that Eric, grandson of Gothar, and the sixth king of the
Goths, began to reign about four hundred years after the universal
deluge, and conferred great splendour on those northern regions; that,
after his death, idolatry began in the north, the magnificent temple of
Upsal being erected in honour of Thor, Odin, Frigga, and other
divinities; that the Swiones or Swedes, and the Gothi or Goths, as being
sprung from different roots, were frequently under different sceptres,
though both regarding themselves as kindred, and for many generations
living in harmony with each other; that, after the introduction of
idolatry, this peaceful disposition began to be impaired, and in the
course of a few reigns it wholly disappeared; that the Finns, Jutes,
Gothones, Swiones, and other neighbouring people, became at length so
numerous and so powerful, as to pillage the coasts of Sweden; that, to
oppose them, no less than to procure the necessaries of life, which
long-continued intestine wars had rendered very scarce, a large army was
raised and a powerful fleet equipped, in about nine hundred years after
the deluge; that the expedition, which extended along the southern no
less than the northern shores of the Baltic, from Holstein to the
confines of Lithuania, gave rise to a new kingdom; that at this period
the empire of the Goths, comprising so many people beyond the bounds of
Scandinavia, was one of the most powerful in the world, notwithstanding
the fact that the conquered provinces on the European continent were
subject to their own king (to him who had led the expedition from
Sweden, and to his successors), while Sweden obeyed another king who had
been left at home with the necessary authority; that the new empire, the
seat of which was in Poland or Hungary, sent off its conquering swarms
into Asia and Egypt; that, the regions of the Goths being too extensive
for the government of one man, they at length elected rulers independent
of one another, and thus broke this vast empire into numerous fragments;
that the origin of the Hungarian dynasty, which was purely Gothic, added
to the weakness of the race; that, while these events were passing in
Europe and Asia, the Swedish monarchy subsisted, though weakened by the
emigration of its chief warriors; that this diminution, alike of
population and strength, emboldened the Danes, who had hitherto been
tributary to the more northern kingdom, to assume the offensive, but
being themselves assailed by the Saxons, and unable to resist that
martial people, they eagerly submitted to the Swedes, and chose Dan, a
Swedish prince, the son of Humel, or Humble, the sixteenth native king
of the Goths, to rule over them; that this prince gave his name to the
Danish kingdom, while his brother Angul, the first king of the
_English_, left his name to that people; that Dan was succeeded by
Lother his son, and Lother by Skiold,—while, in Sweden, Humble was
followed by Gothilas and Sigtrug; that Gro, the daughter of Sigtrug,
became the wife of Gram, son of Skiold, king of Denmark, but contrary to
the wishes alike of her father Sigtrug and of the Swedes; that her
abduction by Gram led to a war between the Danes and the Swedes, in
which the latter were vanquished; that Scarin, the successor of Sigtrug,
was slain in battle by Gram; that, on his death, Swibdager, king of
Norway, was elected king of the Goths and the Swedes, who detested their
conqueror and the whole Danish nation,—a detestation which was heartily
returned; that, in revenge for the rape of Gro, a daughter of Gram was
carried away into Norway; that Gram, arming to revenge the injury, was
defeated and slain by Swibdager, who, however, had the generosity to
place Guthrum, son of Gram, over the Danes; that they remained subject
to the Swedes and Goths until Hadding rose against Asmund, the
twenty-first king of the latter, and delivered his country from
subjection. For these more recent events, for all subsequent to Skiold,
the good archbishop has scarcely any other authority than Saxo, the
Danish historian, whose facts, however, he does not scruple to alter
whenever the honour of his country is concerned.[1]
So much for fable,—at least in regard to the greater portion of this
rapid condensation of the archbishop’s history. If we had not already
had enough of this ingenious trifling, the _Atlantica_ of Olaus Rudbeck
would supply us with enough to fill many such volumes as the present.
This writer far outdoes the prelate, whom he exceeds alike in
imagination and knowledge of tradition. To him the reader who may be
fond of the marvellous, who may delight in traditionary lore, and who
may wish to see on how slight a foundation the most gigantic theories
can be erected, may have recourse.[2]
In claims to a remote origin NORWAY is by no means behind the former
kingdom. According to Torfœus, one of the most learned, and, considering
that he lived in recent times, least critical of mankind, the population
of the whole country has been derived from four distinct sources. 1. Of
these the giants were the most ancient. These, this historiographer
contends to have been really what they are called, viz., much superior
in bulk to the rest of mankind; and not that evil spirits, by magical
rites, were permitted to effect such appearances. Though he rejects, as
pure romance, the stories of many giants alleged to have been seen in
comparatively modern times, he is sure that such a race did once inhabit
the north; and he is inclined to derive them from Shem, the son of Noah.
That they once lived, that their bones are still to be found in several
regions of the world, that they may now live in Patagonia or some other
country, cannot, he thinks, be disputed. We read of giants in Scripture;
who, therefore, can doubt of their existence? As we have already
intimated, he represents, as old women’s fables, all the stories,
however rife in his time, of giants being produced by the prince of evil
spirits; nor will he allow that they are the offspring of men and huge
beasts. If they did not spring from either of these causes, they must,
necessarily, have derived their origin from one of Noah’s sons. Nor can
we be surprised at their appearance in the north of Europe, seeing that
we have so many proofs of their existence in Canaan, Egypt, Greece,
Spain, Britain, and, indeed, all the world over. Their arrival in the
north, however, was no voluntary act; being expelled from Canaan in the
time of Joshua, they were glad to seek other settlements; and while some
spread themselves throughout northern Africa, northern and central
Europe, and, perhaps, found their way to America, others directed their
steps towards Sweden and Norway: yet, before the arrival of these
exiles, others of the same race might, for ages, have been in that
peninsula. 2. After the giants, and, indeed, immediately after them,
came the _Goths_; but the period cannot be fixed. Joannes Magnus and
Rudbeck contend that it was immediately after the flood; but Torfœus
dares not ascend to so high an antiquity, and he is satisfied with
deriving the Goths from the Trojans, and with referring their arrival in
the north to the age in which Troy was taken. 3. After the Goths came
the _Asae_, or _Scythians_, whom he holds to be the third distinct race
of men that helped to people the north. These were the followers of
Odin, whose empire, at once spiritual and temporal, attested _his_
policy and _their_ prowess. 4. Yet it may be doubted whether these were
the sole, or even the original, colonisers of Norway. The people of this
as of every other country must have their indigenous families, or
families, at least, who were here long before any strangers arrived.
Thus, a certain man, Forniot by name, had three sons: Hler, ruler of the
winds; Logi, lord of fire; Karl, sovereign of the sea. Snaer was the
grandsire of this last-named monarch, and a celebrated prince he was. He
had one son, Thor, and three daughters, Faunna, Drifa, and Miollis. Thor
was more powerful than the father, since he reigned over the whole of
the northern part of the Scandinavian peninsula, including Finland; and
divine honours were paid to him by at least one great tribe of his
subjects. Thor had three children, Nor and Gor, who were males, and Goe,
a daughter. This princess being stolen away, her two brothers went in
pursuit of her. Nor went westward, subduing and killing many native
kings, among whom were Hemming and Hunding: in short, he conquered the
whole of Norway, to which he gave his name. The ravisher of Goe was
Rolf, or Rollo, the son of a great prince, who submitted to Thor, and
whose sister, Hodda, had the honour to become that monarch’s bride.
While he was performing these feats, his brother Gor was subduing all
the islands of the Baltic and of the Icy Ocean, which constituted his
dominion. The sons of Nor divided the vast region among themselves;
hence the many separate principalities which were so long the bane of
Norway.[3]
No reader will be at a loss to perceive that this fourth race of men is
a mythologic creation. These rulers of the elements, fire, water,
wind,—_Snaer_, or snow; _Jokul_, or frost; _Faunn_, or frozen snow;
_Snifa_, or sleet,—with many others, sufficiently attest this curious
fact. Whether the Norwegians invented these elemental gods first, and
called their mortal heroes after them; or whether they elevated those
heroes after death to the dignity of local gods, we shall not attempt to
discuss. The probability is, that in this country, the march of the
human mind was the same as in other countries, viz., that men celebrated
for their great qualities were believed to have originally sprung from a
divine source, and after this life to return to that source; to be
invested in another state with a superiority akin to that which they
enjoyed in this. As to a northern inhabitant, the sea and the winds were
the most important elements, so the deities that they obeyed were the
most powerful, the most dreaded, the most worshipped. Every page of the
earliest Norwegian history (or fable, if the reader pleases) bears
evidence to this inference, that long prior to the arrival of the Goths
in that region there was a religion quite distinct from that which
followed it; one of truly primitive character, which admitted of no
refinement, which dealt with sensible objects, which appealed to the
fears and hopes of mankind. The honour in which Thor, the father of Nor,
and the common ancestor of all the Norwegian princes, was held,
sufficiently accounts for his superiority over Odin himself, in the
religious creed of that people. The Danes and Swedes held the former,
the Norwegians the latter, to be the supreme god,—supreme, at least, as
far as the government of this world is concerned. Hence there must, at
some period subsequent to Odin’s arrival, have been an amalgamation of
the two religions. If the successors of Odin in Denmark and Sweden
forced the Norwegians to acknowledge him as a divinity, and to place his
statue with that of Thor, it is manifest that they only paid him a
secondary veneration; Thor sitting in state, surrounded by all the
attributes of majesty, while the warrior god—the foreign Asiatic god—was
made to stand beside him. On this subject, however, more in the proper
place.[4]
DENMARK is, in no respect, behind either Sweden or Norway in its claims
to antiquity. In the valuable collection of Langebek, we find a list of
monarchs in Icelandic[5] as old, at least, as the tenth century,
sufficiently ample for the vanity of any nation. It begins with Noah;
passes down through the intervening generations to Odin, “that king of
the Turks whom the Romans forced towards the north;” and ends with
Hardecanute. Another branch of the same list deduces the regal genealogy
from Odin to Harald Harfagre, the well-known monarch of Norway.[6] In
both cases, the names must be considered as strictly belonging to the
Asiatic potentates, who were never alleged to have set foot in the north
of Europe. During _their_ reigns, fabulous or true, Scandinavia was not
without its petty kings, or, if the reader pleases, hereditary
chieftains, whose authority was similar to the patriarchal. Their names
are given by Saxo Grammaticus and other native writers, who, following
their own traditionary songs, knew little of the Asiatic predecessors of
Odin, and were therefore unable to enumerate them. Thus, too, with the
Swedes, who, as we have seen, had their internal, no less than their
external, kings,—their domestic, no less than their foreign, potentates.
Hence, in all these states, two distinct races of rulers,—the native and
the foreign,—the former indigenous, the latter wholly strangers, to the
regions of northern Europe.[7]
That the Goths were resident in the north of Europe before the times
which we denominate historic,—that they had for ages, perhaps, been
there when the Romans came into contact with them, is very probable.
“Many vestiges,” says Gibbon, “which cannot be ascribed to popular
vanity, attest the residence of the Goths in the countries beyond the
Baltic.” Still no man in the least conversant with antiquity—unless,
indeed, like Joannes Magnus and Rudbeck, he has prejudices which no
information can remove—will contend that they were the _first_ settlers:
it may even be doubted whether they constituted the second immigration
into those regions. The Cimmerians, or Cimbri, were in Jutland, at
least, before them; but whether even these were the first people that
forsook their Asiatic abodes for western Europe is very doubtful:
probably they were preceded by some other swarms whose very name time
has destroyed, just as _they_ were the predecessors of the Celts, a race
sprung from themselves. The Finns and the Lapps, whose manners,
language, and character are so different from those of the other
European nations, are probably tribes of some race which arrived in more
southern regions at a period lost in the depth of antiquity; and which
the hostile incursions of Cimmerians, Celts, Goths, and other
barbarians, exiled into the snows of the north.[8]
Such are the conclusions of reason. They are not opposed to authority.
What ancient history really informs us concerning the people of the
north may be comprised in a few lines. They were split into tribes; and
of these the _Swiones_—the Swiar of the middle ages—were the most
conspicuous. They were a rich and powerful maritime nation; and, if
Tacitus is to be credited, their kings were despotic. Lest they should
turn against one another, or, what was worse, against their rulers,
their arms were taken from them, and kept by the royal slaves. They
were, no doubt, a tribe which inhabited Sweden. In the same region were
the _Guttones_, or Goths, another tribe, probably, of more ancient
arrival. As the lands of the two were conterminous, the Swiones must
have often called on their king for weapons, unless, indeed, their
enemies, too, had been disarmed. But this alleged disarming is pure
fable, and we know not how Tacitus could be so thoughtless as to relate
it. The _Dankiones_—probably the Danskir or Danes—bordered on the
Guttones. Whether they were confined merely to the islands now forming
the Danish monarchy, or were also spread over, at least, part of
Jutland, may be disputed. If, by Cadononia, Tacitus really means the
peninsula, the Teutones were also there. There can be no doubt that all
these tribes were kindred: they all came from Asiatic Scythia, however
different the periods of their arrival. But, in regard to the _Fenni_,
who are manifestly the Finns, he doubts whether he should call them a
Teutonic or a Sarmatian tribe. Ptolemy locates them in western
Lithuania; Tacitus, more to the north; and from the close affinity which
a modern Polish professor has established between the Letts and the
Finns, we may safely infer that they are of the same origin. Probably
the stream of colonisation passed from Livonia across the gulf.[9]
The distinction of tribes inhabiting northern Europe being granted, and
authentic history assuring us that the Scythian Goths were the last
people that reached western Europe,—the Slavi, their hereditary enemies,
scarcely penetrating to the centre,—we naturally inquire, “At what
period did they arrive?” Most antiquaries of the north, as we have
already shown, have not hesitated to affirm that it was immediately
after the deluge, and, consequently, that the Goths were the original
inhabitants. Other writers, however, are satisfied with a more recent
origin, and place this arrival about two thousand years before Christ.
Others, again, are willing to deduct a full millenium from this latter
antiquity; but it may be doubted whether a single tribe of Goths had set
foot in the north five centuries before Odin’s arrival. Few tribes of
them were probably there when he introduced a new faith. The opposition
which his followers encountered in their political, no less than their
religious character,—in their conquests no less than their
preaching,—confirms this supposition; and the fact that nearly all the
kings of the north boasted of their descent from some one of Odin’s
royal sons, almost elevates this hypothesis to the dignity of an
historic fact. As the Goths—both those who accompanied Odin and those
who had preceded him—were the conquering and, therefore, the dominant
caste, the sceptre was generally held by princes of that nation; the
conquerors were comparatively few in number; and the original
inhabitants, though they constituted the bulk of the population, were
constrained to bend in sullen acquiescence before the power of the
strangers. By degrees, the amalgamation of these strangers with the
former race (or, perhaps, races) produced that form of society peculiar
to the north. The more we reflect on this subject the more we incline to
the opinion that prior to the Odinic times the Goths were not very
numerous in Scandinavia. They might have kings four or five centuries
before Christ; probably there were immigrations of Goths from Asia
before even that period; still there is more safety, because more
reason, in the conclusion that, from remote antiquity to the arrival of
Odin, the bulk of the population in those countries were of native, that
is, of Finnish or Jutish stock, and that the sons of the Asiatic
conqueror were the first Gothic _monarchs_ of the north.[10]
That the original inhabitants, whether Finns, or Jutes, or Laplanders,
or a combination of all the three, differed widely from the Gothic
conquerors, in language, manners, religion, and character, is certain.
The earliest poems of the latter—those traditionary relics of a far more
ancient age—are filled with allusions to this distinction. They
represent the Finns and Lapps as magicians, as invested with
uncontrollable authority over the elements; and the Jutes as at once
giants and magicians. But the warriors of Odin arrogated to themselves
no such powers, though their priests might. Legend, indeed, records some
instances in which these powers were communicated to fortunate Gothic
heroes; but the old inhabitants were the teachers, and what knowledge
they imparted—which was always grudgingly imparted—was little in
comparison with that which they retained. In the old Sagas, in the
collection of Snorro Sturleson, in Saxo Grammaticus, and even in later
authorities, we everywhere discover a marked antipathy between the
victors and the vanquished. It originated in a twofold cause,—in the
difference of religion no less than that of race; and it was embittered
in the same degree that it was perpetuated by mutual hostilities. The
Finn, indeed, was unable to cope with the powerful Goth; but this sense
of inferiority sharpened his invention, and made his hostility to be
dreaded in proportion to its secrecy. The blow was struck in darkness;
and the Goth, who had a sovereign contempt for the valour of his foe,
was led to attribute it to supernatural rather than to human agency.[11]
We have already seen the meagre sum of information which Tacitus has
bequeathed to us respecting the state of the north in his time. For many
centuries afterwards, no great additions were made to it. In the fifth
we learn that between the Elbe and the Baltic—no doubt, too, on both
sides of that river, to some extent—were Angles, Jutes, and Saxons. Of
these the first had no other seat. The second were doubtless a bastard
colony from the more northern parts of the peninsula; and the last were
an offset from the great Saxon confederation. The Jutes were the fewest
in number; yet they were the progenitors of the men of Kent and the Isle
of Wight, and of a tribe among the West Saxons. The rest of the
Saxons—West, East, and South — were derived from the Saxon division of
the colonists. The Angles gave their name to the people who bore it (the
East Angles and Middle Angles) and likewise to the Mercians and
Northumbrians. Such, according to that venerable authority the Saxon
Chronicle, was the connection between these people and our island. But,
reverting to the state of northern Europe after the time of Tacitus, yet
before geography made us well acquainted with it, king Alfred, in his
epitome of Orosius, adds some particulars which he had learned from his
own inquiries. These particulars he derived from Otter, a Norwegian, and
Wulfstan, a Danish seaman. The former said that he lived north of all
the Northmen, in Halgoland, opposite to the west sea; that north of him
there was an immense waste land, some parts of it, however, being
visited by the Finns for hunting in summer and fishing in winter; that
he had once sailed round the North Cape to the White Sea, and on the
coast had found a people called Beormas, who spoke a kindred language
with the Finns. “This Otter,” says the king, “was a rich man, according
to the opinion of his own country: he had 600 tame deer, and six decoy
ones, whose value in catching the wild deer was incalculable: hence
these decoy deer were much esteemed by the Finns.” But this Norwegian
captain had not above twenty head of horned cattle, and as many sheep
and swine. The Finns paid rent in skin, feathers, whalebone, and ropes
for shipping. (The proprietors of these lands were evidently Goths, the
conquering tribe.) Otter further said, that the country of the Northmen
(Norway) was long and narrow, cultivated on the sea coast, but to the
east overlooked by wild barren mountains. Yet Finns inhabited them even
in the ninth century,—a proof that they were tributary to these Goths,
especially as we may infer from this Norwegian’s account that they were
the only people that paid rent: the dominant race were freeholders.
Opposite to this country of the Northmen, in the south, was _Swevland_,
or Sweden; and to the north, the country opposite was _Cwenaland_, or
that portion of the region between the Gulf of Bothnia and Mount Sevo.
“These Cwenas,” says Otter, “frequently assailed the Northmen, and the
Northmen were no less inclined to pass the mountains against the Cwenas.
From Halgoland, where Otter dwelt, to the north of the land inhabited by
the Northmen, is a great distance,—so great that no one could reach it
by sea in a month.” To be brief, the whole course of the navigation from
the extremity of Norway to the south of Jutland, is so minutely
described, as to render it impossible for any one to mistake the
localities intended, or to refuse credit to the relation of this old
Norwegian navigator.[12]
The distinction, for which we have given some reasons, between the
various tribes of the north, is now acknowledged by all the native
writers, and by all foreigners, who have paid much attention to the
subject. “The followers of the historic Odin,” says a living writer,
“were the Sviar, known unto Tacitus under the name of Suiones; and the
inhabitants whom they found in the country were another tribe of Goths,
who had emigrated thither at a remote period, veiled from the eye of
history. The primitive people by whom it was occupied, were the Jötnar
and Dwarfs; the Feuni of Tacitus; the Skrithfiuni of Procopius, and the
Cwenas and Finnas mentioned by the Norwegian navigator to king Alfred.
They were gradually expelled, and driven further north, towards the
arctic circle, by the Goths and Sviar, with whom they maintained
perpetual war, embittered by religious rancour, often represented, in
the fictions of the northern age, under the allegory of a contest
between the celestial deities and the giants or evil genii.” But of this
subject more hereafter, when we come to the exploits and policy of
Odin.[13]
Of the Scandinavians, prior to the arrival of Odin, and, indeed, for
centuries after that event, little, as far as regards their domestic
history, is known. Rejecting wholly, as fabulous, the boast of native
writers, that they had _monarchs_ centuries before the foundation of
Rome; we may, however, admit that they had kings—or, if the reader
pleases, local judges—in time of peace, and military chieftains in war.
There is reason to think that their chieftains, who assumed the regal
title, were at one period, and, indeed, generally, exceedingly numerous.
“At this time,” says a chronicler, speaking of the age following our
Saviour’s birth, “there were _many_ kings in the north.” Sweden had a
dozen of them; Norway no fewer than eighteen; Jutland had usually two;
and the various islands composing the rest of the Danish monarchy, had
each one. As in the heroic age of Greece, so in that of Scandinavia, the
same condition of society produced the same form of government. Of these
reguli, some were probably hereditary, some elective; some were
certainly principal, others tributary. This distinction was the result,
first, of some fancied superiority in the family of certain princes, but
in a greater degree of their superior success. In Norway, for instance,
the Finnish family of Fornjoter (Forniot) was esteemed the most ancient,
and was that to which all the princes of that country referred their
origin. But let us not forget that little dependence is to be placed on
the alleged progenitors of these reguli, or the names of the reguli
themselves, or their respective order of succession,[14] or on the deeds
attributed to them. All is darkness, uncertainty, contradiction. In the
history of Norway, for instance, we are referred to Swedish kings as
contemporary, whom the history of the latter kingdom places many
generations before or after the alleged period. This is more strikingly
the case in regard to the Danish and Swedish kings. In the history of
the one we are referred to that of the other; yet the latter, in a
majority of cases, have not one syllable on the subject. Names and
events, on which the destinies of each country seems to turn, are
mentioned by one class of historians, and passed over by another as
having had no existence. But if so little reliance is to be placed on
these regal successions, we must not lose sight of the fact, that were
they and the events ascribed to them wholly fabulous (yet wholly
fabulous they are not, since tradition does not so much create as
amplify and distort), they would still demand our attention. Reject
them, and nine tenths of northern history must be rejected with them.
And these traditionary songs, which form the entire history of the
north, deserve our notice in another respect—they supply us with the
best, the only picture of national manners. For this reason, we shall
cast a hasty glance at the more remarkable events which Saxo represents
as prior to the Odinic times, but which, in fact, were subsequent.
Of the Swedish and Norwegian history, during this fabulous or
mythologic, or, at best, doubtful period, we have little information
beyond what is afforded us by the historian of Denmark, and he only
mentions them incidentally. Not so in regard to the Danish themselves,
which, thanks to his romantic bias and untiring industry, are
sufficiently well known to us.
Prior to the reign of _Dan_, the son of Humble, Denmark, like the whole
of the north, was subject to chiefs—whether hereditary or elective we
need not inquire. But such a form of government had its evils. A hundred
tyrants were more galling than one; and Dan, who gave his name to the
nation, was invested with an authority superior to the other chiefs, and
with the regal title. On his death, the sceptre passed by election, and
not by inheritance, into the hands of his son _Humble_; but the people
found that monarchy, too, has its curses, though they are neither so
numerous nor so great as those inseparable from an aristocracy.
_Lother_, the brother of Humble, revolted, was victorious, and enabled
to usurp the regal dignity. As he had been a rebellious subject, so he
made a tyrannical king. The most illustrious of the Danes he deprived of
property or life, until a conspiracy served him as he had served so many
others. _Skiold_, the son of Lother, was raised to the vacant dignity, a
proof (always supposing the traditionary guides of Saxo to be worthy of
credit) that the hereditary principle has great force even in the most
ancient forms of society; indeed, the application of this principle to
the chief magistracy of the state, is the natural and almost inevitable
result of the patriarchal system—a system which we all know to be coëval
with the existence of the world. Skiold was the Hercules of his age; and
at a time when wild beasts disputed with man the empire of the forest,
he was a greater benefactor than if he were merely a warrior. Even in
his youth he was a prodigy; he would seize and fetter the most savage
bear, leaving to his followers the less noble task of despatching the
monster. Yet he frequently struggled with the bravest of his own
species; no wrestler of Scandinavia could withstand him; in a single
combat, he overthrew the duke of the Alemanni or Swabians, his army and
that of his enemy being spectators; reduced that people to the condition
of tributaries, and returned home in triumph, accompanied by the
daughter of the duke, the beautiful Awilda, whom he made the partner of
his throne. Nor was he less distinguished for wisdom than for valour. He
was a legislator: bad laws he abolished, and enacted such as were
required by an improved state of society. He was a great friend to the
poor and the afflicted; the debts of others he often paid from his own
treasury; the spoils taken in battle he uniformly abandoned to his
followers; and it was one of his noble sayings, that, while money was
the reward of the soldier, glory was enough for the general. So much
esteemed, indeed, was this prince, that his posterity were glad to
derive additional distinction from his name; and the Skioldungs, or the
descendants of Skiold, were long dear to Denmark.[15]
_Gram_, the son of Skiold, and the fifth king, was endowed with equal
strength and equal enterprise, and his life was more romantic. His first
consort was the daughter of his tutor or governor, a grim old chief; but
thinking this lady beneath him, or, more probably, anxious to reward his
brother in arms, Bessus, he soon bestowed her upon that hero. The dearer
the gift, the greater the merit of the action; nor are similar instances
of liberality wanting in other pagan heroes of the north. Probably Gram
undervalued a conquest so easy as the wife he thus presented to his
friend; and his ambition was roused by the hope of obtaining a lady whom
nothing short of the highest courage could win. Gro, the daughter of
Sigtrug, king of the Swedes, had been affianced to a giant, viz., a Jute
or a Finn. Indignant at this prostitution of royal blood and virgin
modesty, the Danish monarch, attended by his never-failing companion,
Bessus, passed into Sweden, killed the relatives of Gro, subdued the
country, and brought away the princess in triumph.[16] But, with all his
valour, Gram was inconstant. Leading his army against the king of the
Finns, he was so struck with the beauty of that monarch’s daughter, that
he was speedily converted from an enemy into a suitor; and he obtained a
promise of her hand on the condition of repudiating Gro. Scarcely,
however, had he left the Finnish territory, when a Saxon duke arrived,
courted the lady, and the nuptial day was appointed. But he was not of a
temper to bear this insult. Leaving his troops, he repaired silently and
quickly into Finland, assumed a mean disguise, entered the royal palace,
and took a humble seat. Being asked what brought him there, he replied,
his profession as leech—a character held sacred in all ancient
communities, and sure of access to every house. As he had expected, the
assembled guests were soon steeped in drunkenness. According to the
manner of the times, he sung his own exploits, beheaded the unsuspecting
bridegroom, prostrated many of the attendants to the earth, and bore
away the princess to his vessel, which awaited him on the coast. But his
end was fatal. By Swibdager, king of Norway, he was deprived of empire
and of life; his dominions became the prize of the victor; and his two
infant sons, Guthrum and Hadding, were secretly carried to Sweden, and
confided to the charge of two giants.[17]
Here Saxo is careful to explain what he means by the word _giant_. There
were, he assures us, three species. First, there were the vulgar giants;
those who excelled all mankind in bodily stature. Next, were the wise
men, who were as much inferior to the former in bulk, as they were
superior in knowledge: these penetrated into the secret workings of
nature, and were enemies of the monster giants, whom they subdued. Like
the Persian magi, they struggled for, and obtained, the chief power of
the state wherever they settled, and arrogated to themselves a divine,
no less than a regal, authority; in short, they were expert magicians,
able to delude all mankind by their prestiges. Next, we have the third
class of giants, who were the offspring of the two preceding, and were
inferior to one parent in magnitude of body, to the other in knowledge;
yet, in both respects, they were above the ordinary standard of our
nature, and were thought, by their deluded admirers, to inherit some
portion of divinity. After this sage distinction, the Danish
ecclesiastic observes, that we ought not to be surprised at the
credulity of the northmen, for were not the Romans, though the wisest of
men, equally credulous? Whatever may be thought of that distinction, or
of the personages whom he has drawn from everlasting obscurity, of the
existence of this credulity we have abundant evidence; and it furnishes
one of the best comments on the manners and opinions of the times.[18]
_Swibdager_, the conqueror of Gram, and the sixth king of Denmark, found
the weight of three crowns too much for one brow. At the entreaty,
therefore, of Gro, the divorced queen of Gram, he recalled her son
Guthrum from exile, and placed him, as a vassal, on the throne. This
prince was naturally despised as the slave of a foreign prince. Not so
his brother _Hadding_, who, preferring liberty to a dependent court, and
the hope of avenging his father’s death to the smiles of that father’s
murderer, remained in exile, and with him were the hearts of Denmark. Of
all the ancient heroes of the monarchy, this is, perhaps, the most
celebrated. Wondrous, indeed, were his actions. While a youth, he
inflamed the heart of Hardgrip, the giant daughter of his giant
foster-father, who urged him to make a corresponding return. How could
he love a giantess? Was he—whom she could, almost, inclose in one of her
hands—a fit match for her? The thing was impossible. “By no means,” was
the reply. “We of the superhuman breed can change, at pleasure, our
forms, and even our substances; in short, we can reach the clouds, or
reduce ourselves to your size.” The royal youth consented; and never had
man a more useful or more faithful companion. Her magical knowledge was
of more avail to him than her valour, for in that he could equal her;
but she could furnish him with superior weapons, defend him from unseen
danger, and cure his wounds where human aid would have been useless. At
length, perceiving that he yearned to revisit his native country, she
resolved to accompany him. On their journey, they one night arrived at a
house where a corpse was duly laid out, until the mournful funeral rites
were celebrated. Here was an opportunity of consulting the will of the
gods, and the magic giantess availed herself of it. Producing a piece of
wood on which certain verses of might, in Runic characters, were
inscribed[19], she caused it to be placed under the tongue of the
deceased by Hadding. The effect was instantaneous: the corpse began to
speak, and to utter the direst anathemas on her who had disturbed the
repose of the dead. It predicted her immediate destruction in a
neighbouring wood. No sooner, indeed, had they reached the wood, and
erected their tent for the night, than a huge hand was seen to move
around them. The terrified Hadding called on his companion for help; and
she, dilating her body to a great extent, was able to seize the hand,
and present it for amputation to the prince. From the wound issued more
venom than blood. But the victory was dearly purchased; the gigantic
witch was torn to pieces by the irritated powers of darkness. “Neither
her supernatural condition,” says Saxo, “nor her vast bulk, availed
her.” Hadding, however, did not much suffer by the event: a wise old man
with one eye, pitying his disconsolate situation, provided him with a
brother in arms, a celebrated pirate, and both entered into what was
considered the holiest of compacts in the manner of the times, viz.,
each besmeared the footsteps of the other with his own blood. The two
heroes being conquered by a chief on whom they made war, the same old
man took Hadding on horseback to his own mysterious seat, and both
renovated and prodigiously fortified him by a magic drink. At the same
time a metrical prophecy told him how he was to escape from the
captivity which impended over him. Who was this unknown benefactor? On
his return to the place whence he was taken, he could perceive, through
the folds of his mantle, that he was conveyed over the sea. The horse
which bore him was evidently a demon, obedient to Odin, the god of the
north.[20]
After some great exploits in the east, to which his ardour, no less than
his fear of Swibdager, bore him, Hadding returned to Scandinavia. In a
sea-fight he defeated and slew his enemy, and thus became sovereign of
Denmark, or, we should say, of the Danish islands,—for Jutland and
Scania obeyed different princes. Asmund, the son of Swibdager, he thus
transformed into a foe, and a foe, too, greatly to be dreaded. In a
battle which ensued, finding that the tide of success was against him,
he silently invoked the aid of the wizard giant Wagnoft, the father of
his deceased mistress, Hardgrip. Wagnoft obeyed the spell, and was
immediately by his side. Asmund lost the battle, and fell; but in his
last moments he had the satisfaction of knowing that he had rendered
Hadding lame for life. And he had another kind of joy, dear enough to a
pagan: his wife Gunhilda, disdaining to survive him, slew herself with
his sword, and was laid in the same grave with him. An invasion of his
own country by Uffo, the son of Asmund, prevented Hadding from pursuing
his advantage; but the following spring he again invaded Sweden; but his
ranks were thinned, alike, by famine and disease. His men were obliged
to feed on their horses; next, on their dogs; and, lastly, on each
other. To increase their consternation, a nocturnal voice assured them
of great evils. The following night, even, another unknown voice
threatened the Swedes with destruction. Both armies, therefore, were
alarmed; each had a supernatural enemy, while each was perhaps
unconscious that it had, also, a supernatural friend. That same night
the two armies engaged; when, behold! two aged men, of a form larger
than the human, were seen by the light of the stars in the battle,—one
for the Swedes, the other for the Danes. The latter were subdued, and
their king glad to flee to his own country. But misfortune pursued him.
One day, as he was cooling his limbs in the waters of the sea, he
perceived a fish different from any that he had ever seen; as it was
near the shore, he killed it, and it was taken to his camp. But what was
his consternation when a sea-nymph appeared, and denounced direct
vengeance on his head! He had killed one of the gods under the form of a
fish. Henceforth the elements should be hostile to him; if he ventured
on the deep, his vessel should be wrecked by the fury of the tempest; on
land, the house which received him should, by a tempest, also be
levelled with the ground; his flocks should perish in the fields; every
place which he visited should be cursed for his sake: and this dreadful
doom was to remain in force until he had propitiated the divine wrath by
frequent sacrifices. The mandate was not to be despised; during the
course of a year altars perpetually smoked with oxen immolated to Fro,
the awful deity of the winds.[21]
The life of Hadding was full of portents and marvels. Scarcely had he
rescued the princess Regnilda of Norway from the obligation of marrying
a giant, by killing the monster, and making her his bride, than a most
wonderful adventure befell him. One winter evening, as he was supping
with his bride, a woman like a culler of simples was seen to raise her
head from the ground close by the hearth, and inquired whether the king
did not wish to know where such herbs grew at that season of the year.
He replied, that he should very much wish to know. Hearing this, she
enveloped him in his own mantle, and sank with him into the ground. What
they saw in this subterranean journey bears some resemblance to the
descriptions which have been given us of the Scandinavian world of
spirits. They first entered a dark path, worn out by the feet of many
travellers, and here they perceived some great ones of the earth,—some
in purple and gold,—whose doom appeared to consist in their indefinite
windings. Passing them, they entered a region of some fertility, whence
the woman had derived her simples. Farther still, they reached a river
of precipitate course and black waters, which rolled along the weapons
of many heroes, and over which a bridge conducted them to a different
region. One of the first objects that met their eyes was two armies
engaged in deadly strife. “Who are these?” demanded Hadding. “These,”
replied the sorceress, “are they who fell in battle; and it is their
delight in this world continually to imitate their martial deeds in the
other.” At length they reached a high wall, totally impassable. The
woman, indeed, made no attempt to scale it; but, twisting off the head
of a cock which she had brought with her, she threw it over; when,
behold! the cock began to crow as if nothing had been done to it! Unable
to proceed further, the adventurous travellers returned to the
palace.[22]
The rest of this monarch’s life must be hastily despatched. He triumphed
over Uffo, who fell in battle, and bestowed the vacant throne of Sweden
on Hunding, brother of the deceased monarch. His last days were
embittered by the unnatural conduct of his daughter Ulwilda, who, with
her husband, planned his destruction. Though he escaped all the snares
of his enemies, at length he laid violent hands upon himself, leaving
the throne of Denmark, and the superiority over that of Sweden, to his
eldest son, Frode I.[23]
_Frode I._ was also a great warrior, and he carried his depredations
from Russia to the British islands, on which, unfortunately for the
natives, he made a longer stay than kings, whose sole object was
plunder, were accustomed to make. If there were any truth in the Danish
account of this period, Scotland and South Britain were in frequent
intercourse with the northern kingdom,—sometimes for war and sometimes
for peace. But these accounts are all to be distrusted. Events which
happened at a much later period have been removed to the one before us;
and the basis has been so much overlaid by fable, that no ingenuity can
separate the true from the false.—When Frode commenced his reign, he
found the treasury empty. How replenish it? By an expedient frequently
to be found in Scandinavian legends. On a solitary island, a dragon,
formidable alike for size and venom, brooded over immense riches. The
youthful monarch hastened to the spot, entered the cave, fought and
killed the serpent, and brought away the golden hoard. Whether there be
any meaning in this and similar fables has been much disputed: probably,
however, it had a foundation, and the dragon may have been some terrible
pirate whom Frode destroyed, and whose subterraneous riches he seized.
This unexpected supply, we are told, enabled him to pursue his
expeditions on various coasts of Europe. But we have no inclination to
follow him. We may, however, allude to the way in which he gained
possession of London; because the same expedient is often to be found in
northern writers. Despairing of the reduction of a place so well
defended, he caused a report to be spread that he had suddenly died in
his tent. Permission was asked to bury him in one of the temples of the
city, and was granted. On the day appointed, the pretended corpse was
borne through the gates; a great number of Danes attended to do honour
to their monarch; but, under the garb of mourning, they hid their
weapons of war; and, on a signal being given, they threw off the mockery
of woe, assailed the Britons, and took the city by surprise.[24]
Of the immediate successors of this monarch little is known. _Haldan_,
his son, was a great warrior, who put his own brother to death, and was
hated by the people. _Roe_, the son of Haldan, was a quiet prince, mean
in stature, but with a mind whose care it was to make his subjects
happy. _Helge_[25], his brother and successor, with whom, during his own
life, he had shared the throne, was also a prince of great qualities;
but his vices were still greater. “Whether his lust or his tyranny were
more intolerable,” says the historian, “is very doubtful.” His amours
are too disgusting to be recorded. At length, seeing the execration in
which he was held, he bade adieu to his country; and it proved a final
adieu. According to report, he fell on his own sword. In the reigns of
these princes, we have no mention of the Norwegian sovereigns; but those
of Sweden—let us not forget that it is a Dane who writes—are represented
as still dependent on Denmark.[26] _Rolf_ (or Rollo) succeeded his
father, and was much beloved by his subjects.[27] He fell through the
treachery of a brother-in-law, who was excited to the deed by the sister
of Rolf. Daughters conspiring against fathers, sisters against brothers,
wives against husbands, are among the common events of Scandinavian
history. As this prince died without issue, the Danish states elected
for their monarch _Hoder_, a descendant of the famous Hadding, who had
been educated by Gewar, a king of Norway. As it is in the reign of this
latter monarch that Odin is again introduced on the stage of northern
history,—his first appearance being referred by Saxo to the time of
Hadding,—we can no longer refuse to notice what antiquity records with
respect to him. In this, as in other parts of this introduction, the
reader may admit or reject what he pleases.[28]
According to Saxo, this personage was a mortal, king of the Hellespont,
who laid claim to the honours of divinity, and was actually worshipped
by most of Europe. His profound knowledge of magic procured him the
character. His ordinary residence was Byzantium; but he held Upsal,
which he frequently visited, in much esteem. Anxious to testify their
respect for this new deity, the kings of the north cast a golden statue
in his honour, adorned it with bracelets and other costly ornaments, and
sent it to Byzantium. It was received by Odin with great joy, and placed
in the temple of the gods. But Frigga, the wife of Odin, whom Saxo
judges to be quite worthy of such a husband, stript the statue of its
ornaments to adorn herself. The incensed deity hung the mechanics who
acted by her orders; and, for greater security, placed the image on a
high pedestal, and, by his wonderful art, rendered it vocal to human
touch. But when was female vanity cured? To secure the aid of a domestic
of the temple, Frigga did not hesitate to grant him the last favour;
and, by his aid, the gold being again abstracted, again adorned her
person. This twofold injury was too much for a god to withstand; and
Odin left the country for a season, until the public discourse, like a
nine days’ wonder, had evaporated itself into empty air. During his
absence, several persons—probably priests of his own temple—arrogated to
themselves the attributes of divinity. These, on his return, he forced
not only to lay down their borrowed honours, but to flee from the
country. Among them, one is mentioned whose case affords a curious
illustration of popular superstition. Mitothin was a great magician, and
had long enjoyed the favour of the gods. But they were incensed with his
impiety, while he no longer paid them the slightest homage. On the
return of Odin he fled to Fionia, and was killed by the inhabitants. In
his tomb, however, he was amply revenged: he introduced into the whole
region various kinds of plague; he destroyed multitudes of the
inhabitants; until they, one day, opened his sepulchre, exhumed his
body, cut off his head, and drove a stake through the corpse: then the
mysterious visitation was at an end. He is, probably, the first vampire
on record.[29]
The account of Snorro Sturleson, who followed Norwegian, not Danish
authorities, differs in many respects from the preceding. He informs
us that the seat of Odin’s power, both temporal and spiritual, was
Asgard, a place of extraordinary sanctity east of the Tanais. Over the
temple were twelve pontiffs, whose duty was the twofold one of
sacrificing and administering the laws: they were called _driar_ or
_drottnar_,—lords,—and were held in much veneration. At the head of
this theocratic state was Odin, who was at perpetual war with his
neighbours, and on whose arms success always shone. So great, indeed,
was this success, that he was called the father of victory. When he
sent out his generals on any expedition, he was accustomed to lay his
hands on their heads and predict a fortunate issue to the undertaking.
Hence the peculiar veneration attached to his character. His followers
regarded him as a god; in dangers and perils of any kind—on land, on
deep—whether he were present or absent—they invoked his name, and
ascribed all their prosperity to him. His expeditions, even to remote
countries, were frequent; and during his absence the sovereignty was
administered by his two brothers. The Vanir, who are said to have been
his neighbours, he so harassed, that they sued for peace: the
conditions were framed, and hostages given for their punctual
observance. Niord the Rich, and Freyr his son, were surrendered by the
Vanir; Haenir and Mimir by the Asser. In a short time, however, the
former perceiving that their confidence was abused by the hostages of
Odin, cut off the head of Mimir and sent it to Asgard. By his magic
art, Odin so enchanted the head that it became his oracle: it
conversed with him whenever he pleased, and acquainted him with many
hidden things, both of nature and of fate. Niord and Freyr, he won
over to his own interests by investing them with the dignity of the
priesthood, and, consequently, with some portion of divinity. The same
honours were conferred on Freya, the sister of Freyr who taught the
Asser the magic which she had learned among her countrymen, the
Vanir.—At length, the victorious arms of the Romans approached the
kingdom of Asheim; and Odin, learning from the fates that settlements
were provided for him in the north of Europe, left his two brothers
with the sovereignty of Asheim, and, attended by a great multitude of
followers, advanced into the west. In his progress through Germany he
placed his sons over the states which his arms reduced. He then passed
northward, and fixed his seat at Odensey (Odin’s Island). From thence
he despatched Gefio, one of his prophetesses, to make proselytes in
the neighbouring regions; and she was well received by both Gylfe,
king of Sweden, and by the Jutes. They did not, indeed, embrace her
religious faith; but they gave her lands and revered her as one of the
chief supports of magic. In the sequel she married Skiold, the son of
Odin, who reigned over the Danish islands. Odin, himself, advanced
into Sweden, and forced Gylfe to cede to him the eastern part of that
kingdom. He established his seat at Sigtuna, where he caused temples
to be erected and sacrifices to be offered. Thence his authority and
his worship were diffused throughout Germany and Scandinavia.[30]
The qualities of this extraordinary man are the favourite theme of the
Swedish and Norwegian chroniclers. He was the father, says Snorro, of
all the arts in northern Europe. He could change his looks at pleasure.
To his friends he was exceedingly beautiful, and their hilarity he was
always desirous to promote. To his enemies, especially in battle, he
seemed a demon: the countenance which before was so exquisitely
attractive, now inspired terror and death. Such was his eloquence that
he captivated all who heard him, and he always spoke in verse: hence he
was called the artificer of song; and from him northern poetry had its
origin. In imitation of him all the magicians of Scandinavia couched
their incantations in metrical numbers: indeed, he had so warranted the
example, that the most potent runes would, in popular opinion, have lost
their efficiency had they been in prose. By these verses Odin could, in
the hour of battle, strike his enemies with blindness, with deafness, or
with panic fear, and render their sharpest weapons blunt as twigs. By
the same means he could render his own men as furious wolves, strong as
bears or bulls, and invulnerable to steel or fire. Often, while his body
lay supine, he would assume another form,—that of fish, serpent, or wild
beast,—and in a moment hasten to the remotest parts. At his mere
command, fire ceased to burn, the wind to blow, and the sea to rage; and
the elements moved in what direction he pleased. He had a wonderful
ship, called Skidbladner, which he could fold up like a handkerchief,
yet which carried him through the most dangerous seas.—According to the
latter Edda, this ship was built by the dwarfs,—probably the Lapps, so
called to distinguish them from the Jutish giants,—who were rather the
allies than the enemies of the gods. Small as this vessel was,—since it
could be easily carried in a pocket or in the palm of the hand,—yet,
when expanded, “all the gods, completely armed, could sit in it.” And it
had another wonderful property: the moment the sails were unfurled, a
favourable wind was sure to rise, and bear the passengers wherever they
wished to go. Then there was the embalmed head of Mimir, which
acquainted him with whatever he wished to know. And he had two ravens
which he endowed with the gift of speech, and which, continually flying
over the earth, brought him intelligence of everything that happened.
Sometimes he summoned the dead from their graves: hence he was called
the Lord of the Tombs. He was profoundly versed in the art called
_seid_,—the art which foretold events, which induced or removed death,
sickness, pain, and all the ills of mankind. He knew all the treasures
concealed in the bowels of the earth, the incantations which could open
them, the laws which governed the fairy inhabitants of the mountains,
the stream, and the rock: their motions were regulated by his mere word.
Hence his wide-spread fame; hence the confidence of his followers, and
the terror of his enemies. Many were the arts which he taught his
pontiffs, by which they were rendered nearly as wise and powerful as
himself. He and his twelve pontiffs were worshipped as gods. The laws
which he introduced were those anciently adopted by the Asser. He
commanded the corpses of the dead to be consumed on the funeral pile,
and with them the most valuable things of the deceased, affirming that
whatever was thus consumed would accompany the hero to Valhalla, and
still administer to his wants. The ashes of men in general were to be
cast into the sea, or buried in the earth: only some of eminent dignity
or merit were to have tombs erected in their honour. The first great
sacrifice he ordered to be solemnised on the approach of winter, as a
thanksgiving for the gifts of the year; the second, in mid-winter, for
another propitious season; the third, in summer, for victory over all
enemies. On every head a tax was laid, and the produce was expended in
the defence of the kingdom, in the sustentation of the temples, and in
public sacrifices.[31]
Whether Odin ever existed,—whether himself and his alleged Asiatics are
not mere creatures of the imagination,—whether they are not purely
mythologic, and referrible to an Asiatic source, at a period lost in the
depths of antiquity, have long exercised the ingenuity of writers. In
matters of pure history it is certainly better to err on the side of
scepticism than of credulity; but in the present instance we cannot
discover sufficient grounds for the former opinion. That he existed, and
at no distant period antecedent to the invasion of England by the
Saxons, is affirmed, alike, by written testimony and tradition.
According to that venerable and most inestimable relic of antiquity, the
“Saxon Chronicle,” all the princes of the nation derived their origin
from the deified hero; and the number of generations between him and the
reigning king are minutely recorded. Thus, from Odin to Cerdic, A.D.
495, are ten generations; from Odin to Ida, A.D. 547, the same number;
from Odin to Ella, A.D. 560, twelve; from Odin to Ceolwulf, A.D. 597,
thirteen; from Odin to Penda, A.D. 626, twelve; from Odin to Offa, A.D.
755, sixteen; from Odin to Ethelwolf, A.D. 854, twenty-three
generations. In all these lists the intervening chain, from the wizard
king to his Saxon descendant, are carefully specified. In the same
manner the series of northern kings, from the sons of Odin, who were
placed by him over the thrones of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, is
progressively detailed. Thus, in Denmark, the generations from Skiold,
the son of Odin, to Ragnar Lodbrok, A.D. 794, are twenty-five. In
Sweden, from Niord (the _adopted_ son, perhaps, of Odin) to Olaf, A.D.
630, are twenty-three generations. In Norway, the succession of kings
from the same Niord, to Harald Harfager, the first _monarch_ of that
country, A.D. 934, are twenty-eight. We think that these genealogical
series, so carefully, so minutely particularised, afford a presumption,
at least, that the pontiff king of the north both lived and reigned at a
period not very far distant from our Saviour’s birth. Not that the
subject is without its difficulties. The events ascribed to Odin’s times
have, by many writers, been deemed inapplicable to any century within
the known history of the world. Hence, some have removed him to the age
immediately following the flood; some, to the seventh century after that
event; some, to the age of Darius Hystaspes; others, to that of Philip,
king of Macedon; others, to less than two centuries before Christ; while
another party contends that he was more recent still, and that
Ariovistus, whom Cæsar conquered, was one of his sons. Where so much
contradiction, so much absurdity abound, our only guide, in the absence
of positive evidence, is reason; and this confirms the generally
received opinion, that this personage is of far less antiquity than was
formerly supposed. Not that many of his rites, many of his notions,
many, perhaps, of his alleged actions, are not more ancient. There is,
indeed, some reason to infer that they were known in Asiatic Scythia, a
thousand years before his time. But this fate is not peculiar to Odin;
it has been that of all celebrated men. Whoever has entered profoundly
into the history of tradition, must be aware that legends which were
formerly applicable to the most ancient characters, were applied to
comparatively modern ones, when the latter had been dead long enough to
permit the imagination to invest them with new attributes. Thus, many
which have been related of Charlemagne’s heroes,—of Charlemagne
himself,—of the crusaders, especially of our Cœur de Lion’s age, were
once the glory of pagans, and were derived from a northern or an
oriental source, before Normans, Franks, or Angles were known.[32]
So much for direct and positive evidence, which is strongly confirmed
by inference. The Goths, like all the Scythians, were accustomed to
deify their deceased heroes. This is expressly affirmed by several
writers, especially by Adam of Bremen; and heroes are mentioned, who,
we find, were deified. Thus, Armin, or Ermin, the courageous supporter
of Germanic independence against the Romans, was worshipped as a god;
and his famous idol, which was called, after his name, Irminsul, drew
multitudes of pagans to the Isle of Rugen: it was, indeed, regarded as
the palladium of Germanic liberty. The facility with which kings and
heroes were deified is still more strikingly illustrated in the life
of St. Anscar, the apostle of the Scandinavians. Alarmed at the
success which attended the preaching of that admirable missionary
(this was about the middle of the ninth century), the priests of the
Odinian worship had recourse to a bold imposture. By their contrivance
a man suddenly appeared in the Swedish capital, who affirmed that he
had just attended a general meeting of the gods, and that he was
bearer of a communication from them to king Olaf and his people. The
substance of it was, that the ancient deities had always been most
indulgent to the Swedes; that, hitherto, they had found no reason to
complain of an ungrateful return from their worshippers; that now,
however, there was a sad decline in the sacrifices and other proofs of
devotion; and that their wrath was especially excited by the
introduction of a new deity,—of one peculiarly hostile to the gods of
the kingdom. “If,” added they, “you Swedes really wish to increase the
number of gods, we will readily admit your departed king, Eric, to the
honours of deification.” That the proposal was accepted—that a temple
was immediately erected to Eric—that his altars perpetually smoked
with sacrifices,—are among the most indubitable facts of history.
Hence, there is nothing unreasonable in the deification of Odin;
indeed, he could not have avoided the honour. One so celebrated as he
was,—a great warrior, a great legislator, the founder of a new empire,
and of a new religion,—assuredly could not fail to be invested with
the same honours as an Armin or an Eric. Indeed, as it was the obvious
policy of the Asiatic followers of Odin to represent the authority of
their pontiff king and his successors as founded on divine, not on
human, sanction,—as that authority was avowedly theocratic,—he must,
of necessity, have been regarded as a god, if not in his lifetime,
immediately after his decease.[33]
The temporal no less than the spiritual government of Odin, and the
social superiority of his immediate followers over the inhabitants he
found in Sweden, drew our attention in the early pages of this
Introduction. Our opinions on this subject are strongly confirmed by a
judicious living writer. “Odin founded the empire of the Sviar, which
was originally confined to a small territory around the Mœlar Sea, in
the present Swedish province of Upland, called the lesser Svíthjód, in
contrast to the greater Svíthjód, or Scythia, whence they migrated, and
Mannaheim, or the Home of Man, in contrast to the celestial abode of
Asgard. By degrees the Sviar, as the leading tribe governed by the
pontiff kings, the immediate descendants of Odin, and having the custody
of the great temple at Sigtun, the principal seat of the new
superstition, acquired an ascendancy over the Goths, who possessed the
more southern tract of country called Gautland, Götland, or Göta-rike.
This precedence of the Sviar over the Goths is established by the
express terms of the ancient fundamental law of their joint empire,
according to which the ‘king was elected by the national assembly of all
the Swedes (_å Ting allra Svia_), at the Mora-Stone, in the plain near
Upsal, and the assembly of all the Goths (_Ting allra Göta_), shall
re-elect or confirm him.’[34] This distinction between the two tribes is
constantly preserved in the traditions and annals of the middle ages,
and the division between the Svia and Göta-rike is strongly marked by a
chain of mountains running between Södermanland and East Gothland. It is
also recognised at this day in the constitution of the supreme judicial
tribunals called the Svea and Götha Hofrät, established during the reign
of Gustavus Adolphus, and to which a third has been recently added for
the provinces of Scania and Bleking.”
“One of the ancient documents which throws the most light upon the
history of the heroic age in the north, is the most recently published
of the Eddaic poems, called _Rigs-mál_. The prince of that name is said
to have been the son of Skjold, and, according to the chronology of
Suhm, reigned in Scania about the end of the second century of the
Christian era.[35] This poem contains a minute classification of the
different orders of society, personified as the children of king Rig,
who is supposed to have divided them into distinct castes, assigning to
each its respective rank in the social scale. As a literary composition,
it resembles the Anglo-Saxon poem of Bjówulf, and all other genuine
traditionary poems or romances of uncivilised nations, in its
unpretending and Homeric simplicity of style and incidents. In this
respect it has been justly called one of the most curious and
interesting ‘manners-painting strains’ that have been preserved and
handed down to posterity.[36] The effects of the original Gothic
migration and conquest in Scandinavia are here distinctly marked in the
features of the slave caste, descended from the aboriginal Finns, and
distinguished from their conquerors by black hair and complexion, as
well as the squalid poverty and misery in which they were compelled to
live. The caste of freemen and freeholders, lords of the soil which they
cultivated, and descended from the Gothic conquerors, with their reddish
hair, fair complexion, and all the traits which peculiarly mark that
famous race,—is in like manner personified in a vivid description of a
single family. Then comes the caste of the illustrious Jarls and the
Herser, earls and barons, who are distinguished from the others by their
still fairer hair and skin, by their noble employments and manners, from
whom descend the kingly race, skilled in Runic science, in manly
exercises, and the military art.”
“We have, here, the early history of the Scandinavians traced in a few
lines; but these are strongly marked, and confirmed by all the
traditions of the ancient north, respecting the different races of men
by which the country was successively occupied.[37] The first Gothic
emigrants subdued the Celto-Finnish tribes, who were the primitive
inhabitants of the country, and reduced them to servitude, or drove
them, first, to the mountains, and then to the desert wilds and
fastnesses of Norrland, Lapland, and Finland. Here the Jötnar, as they
were called by their Gothic invaders, continued to adhere to the
grovelling superstition of their fathers, which was that form of
polytheism which has been called Fetichism, or the adoration of beasts
and birds, of stocks and stones, all the animate and inanimate works of
creation. The antipathy between these two races, so continually alluded
to in the songs and sagas of the mythic and heroic age, is significantly
expressed in the legend of Njördr, who dwelt by the sea-side, and Skade,
a mountain-nymph of the rival race of the Jötnar, whom he had espoused.
She very naturally prefers her native abode on the Alpine heights,
whilst he insists on dwelling where he can hear the roar of the ocean
billows. At last, they compromise this matrimonial dissension by
agreeing to pass nine nights alternately among the mountains, and three
on the sea-shore. But Njördr soon tires of this compact, and vents his
dissatisfaction in a lay to this effect:—‘How do I hate the mountain
wilds! I have only passed nine nights there; but how long and tedious
did they seem! There one hears nothing but the howling of wolves,
instead of the sweet notes of the swan.’ To which Skade extemporises
this response:—‘How can I rest on the sandy sea-shore, where my slumbers
are every morning broken by the hideous screaming of the sea-gulls?’ The
result is, that she deserts her husband, and returns to the mountains,
where her father dwells: there, snatching up her bow, and fastening on
her snow-skates, she bounds over the hills in pursuit of the wild
beasts.”[38]
“The Sviar, who migrated with the historic Odin, achieved no forcible
conquest over their national brethren of the Gothic tribe, by whom they
had been preceded. The ascendancy of Odin and his followers over their
predecessors was acquired and maintained by superstition, and their
supposed superiority in magic and the other arts which win the
confidence or influence the fears of a barbarous nation. The older
worship of the primitive inhabitants, and of their conquerors, was
modified by this new prophet, who, taking advantage of the pre-existing
belief in the doctrine of the transmigration of souls, and the
incarnation of divine spirits, so widely diffused among the ancient
people of the earth, pretended to be the former Odin, who had again
descended among his faithful Goths.[39] His worship thus soon supplanted
that of the more ancient Odin, and the attributes and actions of both
were gradually confounded together in the apprehension of the
Scandinavians. But it did not supplant that of Thor, whom the primitive
people of the north regarded as the elder and most beneficent of the
deities. In him they worshipped the goodly elements of nature,—the
light, the heat, and especially the thunder, shaking and purifying the
atmosphere. This deity was principally revered in Norway; and, after its
discovery and settlement, in Iceland: but he maintained his recognised
equality with the other superior gods even in the great temple of Upsal,
the principal seat of the northern superstition. His votaries formed a
distinct sect, who were often engaged in deadly strife with the peculiar
worshippers of Odin. The next deity in the Scandinavian hierarchy was
Freyer, who represented the prolific powers of Nature, and, with his
sister Freya, the Venus of this mythology, was principally revered in
Sweden, Norway, and Iceland; whilst Odin and his son, Balder, were
adored both at Upsal and Ledra as the peculiar national deities of the
Gothic Danes and Sviar. The religion of the north, as it was at last
modified by this new dispensation, in the conjoint adoration of Thor,
Odin, and Freyer, bore a strong family likeness to the three principles
of Schamanism, or the faith professed by the votaries of the Dalai Lama
in central Asia. This correspondence points most significantly to its
origin; and the filiation of religious creeds and forms of worship thus
combines with that of language to trace the present people of the north
to the remotest regions of the East.”[40]
The temporal government established by Odin was perpetuated through his
sons. Thus Heimdall was placed over Scania, the original seat of the
Danes. Semming had Norway. From another son sprung the Ynglings, who
reigned for many centuries in Sweden and Norway. Skiold, a fourth son,
led a colony into Zealand, which became the seat of a different kingdom;
hence the Skioldungs, or the regal family of Denmark. And as to Balder,
he was the king of the Angles, if any faith is to be placed in the
“Saxon Chronicle.” Thus, according to tradition, as embodied in the
Icelandic and Norwegian sagas, and in other monuments of antiquity, Odin
was the progenitor of all the great dynasties of the north. But in
regard to some parts of Norway, we must not forget the family of
_Nor_,—the mythologic, or rather mythic, Nor, whose fame was so widely
spread, and from whom the whole country derived its name. Doubtless the
native chiefs, those who descended from ancestors long antecedent to
Odin’s arrival, were proud enough of their descent, and too much
attached to their ancient religion—more ancient than Odin’s—to care for
either the Asiatic conqueror or his attendant drottnar. But the kings of
the Asser, or divine race, whose chief deity was this very Odin, boasted
of a spiritual pre-eminence, superior, by far, to their temporal.[41]
But, reverting to the narrative of Saxo, and the alleged succession of
the Danish kings, Hoder, whom (as we have before observed) Gewar, a king
in Norway, had educated, won the heart of Nanna, the daughter of his
benefactor. She had, however, the misfortune to influence a divine
lover, Balder, the son of Odin, who, like David, had seen her in the
bath. As he knew of her attachment to Hoder, he resolved to remove that
person by violence; but the latter had friends powerful as those of his
enemy. One day, while hunting in the mountains, Hoder entered a cloud,
and suddenly beheld a number of virgins, who, though bearing some
resemblance to the maids of Norway, were in reality the fatal sisters.
They accosted him by name, told him that his beloved Nanna had smitten
the heart of Balder, but warned him not to attempt the life of the
demi-god. They informed him that they were present, unseen, in all
battles—that they were the arbiters of good and evil—and that they often
assisted their mortal friends when assistance was most required. Saying
this, they disappeared so quickly, that his eye could not follow them.
On his return, he related to Gewar what he had seen, and besought the
hand of Nanna. The old king had no objection to the match; but he
dreaded the wrath of Balder, on whose charmed body mortal weapon could
have no effect. He added, however,—for he was a great magician,—that
there was a sword kept by Mimring, a satyr of the woods, with virtue
enough to slay the demi-god. The same being had bracelets, of efficacy
so wonderful, as greatly to increase the bodily strength of the
possessor. But how obtain these miraculous gifts? The abode of the satyr
was amidst rocks and snows, and almost inaccessible to man. Hoder was,
however, to take his sledge and rein-deer; to reach the alpine
solitudes; to pitch his tent, so that the shadow of the satyr’s grove
might fall upon it; and to watch day and night, with untiring patience,
for the appearance of the mysterious occupant. The prince did as he was
commanded; he fasted and watched, until one night, feigning to be
asleep, he perceived the satyr attentively observing his tent. In a
moment, he struck the monster, bound it with fetters, and threatened to
kill it if it did not surrender the sword and bracelets. His life was
dearer than those treasures. Hoder gained his object, and returned in
triumph to the court of Gewar. The value of the treasure, indeed, was
too great not to raise up rivals for its possession; and one king
(Gelder, who has left his name to a well-known Dutch province), sailed
with a powerful armament against him; but if it excited envy, it also
aided its owner, and Hoder was victorious.[42]
In the mean time, Balder, terrible in arms, entered the dominions to
obtain the fair Nanna by force, should entreaties be ineffectual. But
she was deaf to the most honied flattery. Without betraying her
attachment for Hoder, which would only place him in greater jeopardy,
she represented in strong colours the inequality of the proposed
marriage. “The chain which bound a god to a mortal,” she observed,
“could not be a lasting chain. When the fervour of passion had subsided,
the superior being, despising his ill-assorted choice, would at once
dissolve it.” Balder had recourse to arms; and he was joined by the army
of the gods, at the head of which were Odin and Thor. Here were fearful
odds; but Hoder was not discouraged. His magic bracelets rendered him
impenetrable to steel; and though the hammer of Thor crushed everything
on which it fell, he had the courage to meet the Scandinavian thunderer.
With his wonderful sword he cut off the handle of the all-destructive
weapon, so as to render it useless; and the gods, deprived of their
great support, took refuge in flight. The victory was complete; the
allies of the gods were destroyed; their bodies cast by the waves on the
shores; and the victor performed the last rites to their manes.
“Strange,” concludes Saxo, “that gods could be thus routed by mortals!”
But he accounts for the circumstance by gravely observing that they were
deities in human estimation only, and not in reality. He evidently
regards them merely as magicians and priests; wise, indeed, far beyond
human wisdom, but still mortal. His religion, his profession, compelled
him thus to regard them; and often, when he employs the term god, he
adds the saving clause which we have just noticed.—To proceed: as the
reward of this victory, Hoder obtained the hand of Nanna, with the
throne of one part of Sweden; but he was shortly afterwards vanquished
by Balder, and he lost the crown of Denmark. He and Balder were dreadful
rivals. Through his love for Nanna, the latter wasted gradually away. To
procure a greater share of the divine favour, he offered human
sacrifices to Fro, and the fatal precedent was but too well imitated by
succeeding ages. In the next battle, he was again the victor, and his
rival compelled to seek an asylum in an obscure village of Jutland.
Here, unattended and discouraged, Hoder felt the more deeply the
contrast of situations. From Jutland, he passed into Sweden, privately
assembled his staunch adherents, and represented to them the
hopelessness of his prospects—that he was alike weary of empire and
life. Compelled, indeed, to consult his safety by wandering from forest
to forest, from one cavern to another, he exhibited a remarkable example
of the instability of fortune, in a region where such vicissitudes were
more frequent than in any other part of the world. In this emergency,
while sojourning amidst woods never trod by man, he one day entered a
cave, in which he found the weird sisters. Being asked what had brought
him to their solitudes, he replied, “Misfortune in war.” He bewailed his
hard fate, and asserted that their predictions had not been verified,
but had been contradicted by the event. They contended, however, that if
he had been twice put to flight, he had inflicted as great an injury on
the enemy as the enemy had inflicted on him. But Balder was on the
throne of Denmark; what consolation, therefore, could he receive? He
was, indeed, told, that if he could only discover and appropriate to
himself a certain species of food, which was every day served to his
rival, and which increased that rival’s strength in a prodigious manner,
he should become the victor. How discover it? But, whatever his fate, it
could not be more disastrous than the present; and he again sought
Balder in arms. The first day’s fight was indecisive. At night, he lay
in his tent; but sleep refusing to visit him, he arose and went towards
the enemy’s camp. There he saw three virgins (the purveyors of Balder’s
table) leave that prince’s tent. He accosted them; and being asked who
he was, replied, “A harper,”—a character always sacred in the north. As
he was really expert in the use of the instrument, he was readily
believed, and he was allowed to see what the mysterious substance was
which had such miraculous effect on the body of his rival: it was the
venom of three snakes which the virgins daily or nightly extracted from
the mouths of the reptiles, and which they mixed with the more solid
food of Balder. One of the maidens wished to give some of the food to
Hoder, but the eldest forbade her. All, however, were so pleased with
his minstrelsy, that they presented him with a belt, which would ensure
him the victory over all his enemies. The prophecy was soon fulfilled.
Possessed of this belt, in addition to his other magical treasures, he
met his enemy and gave him a mortal wound. Like a true northern hero,
Balder being resolved to die on the field of battle, was carried in a
litter into the heart of Hoder’s army; but he soon breathed his last
sigh. Over his body a huge mound was erected by his troops. That
treasures of inestimable value were buried with him, was the unanimous
opinion of posterity. In the time of Saxo, some youths one night
hastened to the spot, and endeavoured to open it; but their ears being
assailed by terrific noises, they desisted, and fled. All this, says the
historian, was unreal; it was merely the illusion of magic.[43]
Respecting the death and interment of Balder, we have in the latter Edda
many details wholly omitted by Saxo, and more which are entirely
dissimilar from his. One night, this Balder had a dream, which was
thought to be portentous of his fate. With the consent of the gods his
mother, Freya or Frigga, called on fire, water, earth, stones, iron and
other metals, trees, animals, birds, reptiles, poison, and all diseases,
to renounce all power over him; and they took an oath to that effect. To
try the efficacy of the engagement, some of the gods threw darts and
stones at him, while some assailed him with other weapons: in vain; no
one could injure him. Seeing this, Loke, the genius of evil, assumed the
disguise of an old woman, went to the palace of Frigga, and informed her
what the gods were doing. “Let them try as long as they please,” was the
reply; “all living things have promised to respect my son.” “What!”
rejoined Loke, whose purpose is evident enough, “have all substances,
without exception, thus promised?” “All,” was the reply, “except one
insignificant plant, called mistletoe, which grows on the western side
of Valhalla, and from which, such is its feebleness, I exacted no oath.”
This was enough for Loke: he went to the place where the mistletoe grew,
plucked it up by the roots, and returned to the assembly of the gods,
who were still occupied in the same diversion. According to this
account, Hoder was present; but he was not a deity, he was merely a
blind old man. “Why dost thou not join in the exercise?” demanded Loke.
“Because I am blind.” “Take this trifling reed, and throw it; I will
guide thine hand; meet it is for us all to honour Balder!” The missile
flew, and the hero fell to rise no more. The gods were in sad
consternation at this event; the more so as the evil was irreparable.
All that the afflicted father could now do was, to pay due honours to
his remains. His body was borne to the sea coast; it was placed in the
famous ship of the deceased, which was one of the largest in the world;
but neither Odin nor all the gods assembled could move the vessel into
the waters. In this emergency, they had recourse to a famous sorceress
of the giant, namely, of the Jutish race, and she obeyed the call. She
arrived on the back of a wild beast, having serpents for reins. So
dreadful was this animal, that it required four giants to hold it after
she had dismounted. At one push, Gyges sent the ship into the sea; and
so great was its velocity, that the earth trembled. The funeral pile was
then erected by command of Odin, and the body of Balder’s wife, whom
grief brought to the grave, laid on it, close by his. Who was she? The
Edda expressly calls her Nanna, but assigns her another father than
Gewar. There can, however, be no doubt that the beautiful confusion so
prevalent in everything connected with Scandinavian characters and
events, is doubly apparent in this case,—that the wife of Hoder and
Balder is one and the same Nanna, however the tradition in regard to her
may have been distorted. Yet, there is no greater confusion respecting
this lady than there is respecting Hoder himself in the different
relations of Saxo and Snorro, the compiler of the prose Edda. In the one
case, as we have seen, he was a vigorous young prince; in the other, a
blind, feeble, and apparently old one. This diversity of narrative
arises from the diversity of sources consulted by the two historians—the
one confining himself to the national songs of Denmark, the other
consulting the old Norwegian, or rather Icelandic traditions, which the
Scalds had transmitted to posterity. During the middle ages, especially
anterior to the fourteenth century, there was a vast body of legendary
lore respecting Odin, his family, and his sacerdotal companions—lore
from which different Scalds took what they judged most interesting to
their hearers. But reverting to the funeral of Balder, Thor furnished
the consecrated fire: the horse of the deceased hero was placed on the
pyre; and Odin added his golden ring, which had the miraculous virtue of
producing eight other rings every ninth night. Thus, in the presence of
all the gods, satyrs, nymphs, and cyclops, was the conflagration
effected.[44]
According to the same venerable authority, namely, the Edda of Snorro,
an attempt was made to recover the soul of Balder from the empire of
Hela, or death. Who would undertake the perilous mission? It was Hermod,
another son of Odin, that, at the entreaty of his mother, saddled
Sleipner, the famous black steed, mounted him, and plunged into the
subterraneous paths which led to the abodes of the dead. This Sleipner
has a reputation never before enjoyed by quadruped. During the frequent
contests between the gods and the giants—that is, between the Goths and
the Jutes—the former were not always victorious; nor were they always
sure of impunity within their fortress, well guarded as it was. One day
an architect appeared before them and proposed to build them such a city
that all the power of Jotunheim should fail against it. For this
service, however, he must have his reward; and a splendid one it was,
the goddess Freya to wife, with the sun and moon as her dowry. They
agreed to his terms, provided he did what no doubt they believed
impossible, viz., execute the work himself, within the space of a single
winter; and they were liberal enough to allow him the use of his horse.
In a short time the gods had reason to be alarmed; for the horse not
only drew stones of vast magnitude, but did more of the architectural
work than the master. Within three days of the completion of winter
nothing remained but the hanging of the gates. In great consternation
the gods assembled to consult by what means the ruin impending might be
averted. As the covenant between them and the architect had been advised
by Loke, they menaced him with death unless he discovered some expedient
to save them. Loke, who has sometimes been called the Scandinavian
devil, was fond of mischief; but he was fonder still of his life: and
that very night he caused a mare to issue from a forest and neigh
amorously. Sleipner, hearing the sound, left the work to pursue the
mare, while the architect followed to recover his horse. Thus the whole
night was lost. The architect now perceived that he must trust to
himself. He resumed his natural size, and there he stood, a veritable
giant—the everlasting enemy of the gods! They did not allow him to
finish the work; but, regardless of their oaths, which in their opinion
were not binding when made to a giant, they called on Thor to dash out
his brains with the awful mallet. In the mean time the mysterious horse
remained with the mare, and the issue of the connection was Sleipner
with eight feet,—the most excellent of all the animals ever possessed by
gods or men.[45]
Such was the animal on which Hermod descended to the regions of Hela.
The description of his journey is highly poetical. During nine days and
as many nights, he travelled down the precipitous way—often abrupt—along
the sides of yawning gulfs—through rugged valleys; and everything was
involved in so great a darkness that he was obliged to grope, or trust
to the instinct of his wondrous beast. At length he reached a river, the
bridge of which was kept by a virgin called Modguder. She inquired his
name, his race, his family; and expressed her surprise at his weight.
“But yesterday,” she observed, “and three legions of dead rode over this
bridge; yet all together did not shake it as much as thou alone. But
thou hast not the look of one dead. What brings thee here?” He replied,
“I am in search of my brother Balder; hast thou seen him pass?”—“I have:
he rode over the bridge: the path to Hecate’s dark abode is still
downwards, towards the north!” On he rode until he came to the gates of
hell, which were closed to all but the dead. But he was not discouraged;
plunging his spurs into his wondrous horse, he cleared the gate, and
proceeded into a hall of vast extent. Here he perceived his brother, who
filled the most honourable place. But far less honourable was it than
the meanest in Valhalla, which Balder could not enter because it had not
been his good fortune to die in battle. It is, however, some consolation
for us, poor mortals, to perceive that hospitality is not forgotten in
the gloomy regions below. Hermod remained the whole night; and the next
morning he acquainted Hela with the anxiety of the gods, of men, of all
nature, for the return of Balder, and besought her to permit it. She
seemed to doubt whether the mourning for the hero was so universal as he
had represented; but, to place the matter beyond dispute, she replied,
that if all objects, inanimate no less than animate, would weep for him,
the request of the gods should be granted. Hermod accordingly rose to
depart. By Nanna he was intrusted with several presents for Frigga, his
mother: from Balder he was the bearer of a ring (no doubt the one which
had been placed in the funeral pile!) to their father Odin. He was then
escorted to the outer gate as if he had been a favoured guest just
leaving the palace of an earthly sovereign. On reaching Asgard, where
Odin then was, he acquainted the gods with the message of Hela. By their
advice agents were sent through all creation, praying everything to weep
for Balder. By everything was the mandate obeyed, except by one old
sorceress, who refused to weep, and said that Hela must keep her
prey.[46]
But in the elder or poetical Edda—that of Sæmund the Wise, which in
compilation is antecedent a full century to Snorro’s—the journey to the
shades is attributed to Odin himself. When it was undertaken, Balder was
yet alive, but dreams and portents afflicted him; and, after consulting
the fates, Odin mounted his steed, Sleipner, and descended in darkness
towards the abode of Hela, where a celebrated prophetess had been long
interred. He met the terrible dog which the Greeks preserved in their
mythology, and which, with bloody jaws, barked loudly as he passed
along. Downwards he went, the earth trembling beneath his steed, until
he reached the lofty hall of Hela. From the eastern gate he proceeded to
the spot where he knew the tomb of the prophetess was to be found.
Turning himself towards the north, he then commenced the fatal
incantation, and placed in order the mystic rhymes. Many were the words
of might which he uttered, until he forced the unwilling prophetess to
raise her head, and to speak in the language of men. “What unknown
mortal is he who has thus disturbed my repose? Bleached by the snow,
beaten by the winds, drenched by the rains, have I long remained,—long
here I have been in the arms of death!”—“Vegtam is my name, the son of
Valtam.[47] Tell me the secrets of hell, and I will tell thee what
passes on earth. For whom are these costly benches, for whom these
golden couches prepared?”—“This tempered mead, this liquid nectar awaits
the arrival of Balder. Sorrowful are the sons of heaven. Unwillingly
have I spoken; now my lips shall be closed.”—“Listen, prophetess, for I
must know the whole. Whose hand shall deprive Odin’s son of life?”—“That
of Hoder: he the bruiser shall be of Odin’s son, the spoiler of Balder’s
life! Unwillingly have I spoken; now my lips shall be closed.”—“Listen,
prophetess, for I must know the whole. Who shall revenge on Hoder the
death of the hero? who shall bear the smiter of Balder to the funeral
pyre?”—“Rinda, a virgin of the west, shall bear a son by Odin; he, when
only one night old, shall slay the murderer. His hands he shall not
wash, nor his head shall he comb, until he bears to the funeral pyre the
enemy of Balder. Unwillingly have I spoken; now my lips shall be
closed.”—“Listen, prophetess, for I must know the whole. Who are these
damsels that weep at pleasure and raise their covered heads on high?[48]
Say this only, and thou mayest sleep.”—“Ah! no wandering spoiler art
thou, as I have hitherto believed: well do I know thee for Odin, the
preserver of nations!”—“And thou art not Vala; no prophetess art thou;
but the mother of the three infernal furies!”—“Odin, ride back to thine
house, and there command! Never again will I be consulted by the living
until Loke shall break loose from his fetters, and the dreaded twilight
of the gods arrive!”[49] Such is the dark poetical legend which the
genius of our poet[50]
Gray has immortalised. It is among the most imaginative efforts of the
Scandinavian muse.[51]
According to Saxo, it was not the mystic Vala, but Rostiof, king of the
Finns, who foretold that Odin’s son, by Rinda, should avenge the death
of Balder. That Odin, who was esteemed chief of the gods, should be less
prescient than a Finnish king, may appear strange; but this term _god_
frequently means no more than Goth, and the chief of the gods means only
the head of the pontifical college established, first in Asia, and next
in Sweden. And we must remember that the Finns were expressly declared
to be unrivalled in magic, at least in that dark magic which sought the
injury of mankind. Yet Odin was equally malignant. He could not rest
until he had discovered the maiden whose offspring was thus predestined
to accomplish his purpose. This Rinda was a princess, and, consequently,
demanded more attention than one of humbler birth. The disguises which
he successively assumed at her father’s court; his frequent repulses by
her; his numerous stratagems, and his ultimate triumph under the
character of a physician; are gravely related by the venerable historian
of Denmark. His conduct on these occasions was so unworthy of a god,
that his colleagues at Byzantium (or we should rather suppose Asgard)
removed him for a time from their society, deprived him of his
supernatural powers, degraded him to the level of mortals, and sentenced
him to exile,—a doom which he, therefore, suffered a second time, though
on the former occasion it had been self-imposed.[52] All this, in plain
English, means that he was expelled from the college of priests. This
natural explanation is confirmed by the statement, that in ten years,
the gods, pitying his sufferings, or, perhaps, bribed by flattery and
costly gifts, restored him to all his former privileges. Lest the public
worship should sustain any injury, his place had been supplied by one
Oller, a priest so expert in magic that he could cross the seas on a
bone; but this usurper was slain by the Swedes, just as Mitothin had
been slain. In the mean time Bo, the issue of Odin’s connection with
Rinda, grew up, and was intrusted by the father with the sacred task of
revenge. Accordingly he advanced against the Danish king. Hoder foresaw
his doom; and, in an assembly of chiefs, he prevailed on them to elect
his son, Runi, for his successor. In the battle which followed destiny
was fulfilled: he fell by the hand of Bo; but the victor also received a
mortal wound and died the following day.[53]
All that we have farther to say respecting Odin, in the present
Introduction, may be despatched in a few words. Perceiving his end
approach, he marked his body with a sword, probably to denote the
advantage of dying by that weapon; and declared that he was going to
Godheim or paradise, where he should joyfully receive his people. The
Swedes were persuaded that he was returned to Asgard to enjoy eternal
life; and in this belief his worship was renewed and enlarged. In time
of war, and before great battles, he often appeared to them, promising
victory to some, inviting others to his hall,—in both respects the
harbinger of good. After death he was placed on the funeral pyre, and
burnt with exceeding pomp. His followers believed the higher the smoke
ascended the higher would be his place among the gods; and that the more
abundant the riches consumed with him the richer he would be in the
other world.[54]
From the concurrent testimony of Snorro, Saxo Grammaticus, and the two
Eddas, little doubt can be entertained in regard to the true character
of Odin. He was evidently a conqueror, a king, a priest, a lawgiver, and
an adept in the superstitious practices of his age. Endued with
commanding talents and an unmeasured ambition, he was enabled to take
advantage of circumstances in a degree seldom attained by mortals.
Perceiving the success which attended his views, and the veneration in
which his wisdom was held, he did not hesitate to ascribe both to the
peculiar favour of the gods, from whom, like most of the Scythian
princes, he boasted of his descent. As he was of divine race, why should
he not participate in the privileges of divinity? Short, indeed, is the
transition from veneration to actual worship; and there can be little
doubt that, even in his lifetime, this artful pontiff king had altars
smoking in his honour. But it is worthy of remark that he was often
regarded as a mortal, not merely in his own age, but in subsequent ages;
that the words giants and gods are to be understood of the Jutes and
Goths,—the former, the original possessors of the soil, the latter, the
victorious strangers from Asia—the dominant caste which arrogated to
itself the sacerdotal and regal functions, and thus preserved its empire
over the barbarous, enslaved population. It was some time after his
death before his worship was general in the north; and never would it
have been general had he not been esteemed the god of war, the deity
above all others dear to the ferocious Northmen. Even as it is, he did
not hold the highest rank in the worship of all the Scandinavian
nations. The Norwegians held him inferior to Thor. Still he is by far
the most remarkable person that ever took advantage of human credulity.
Over a considerable portion of Europe his worship was extended; and it
was not a transitory worship; for it prevailed, in Germany, far into the
ninth century; in Denmark and Sweden, a century later; and in some parts
of Norway it was not extinct in the twelfth. Of the religion, however,
which he founded, or which he incorporated with the superstition already
subsisting on his arrival in the north, we shall speak in a future
chapter.
On the death of Hoder, the sceptre of Denmark, or rather of a portion of
Denmark, passed into the hands of his son _Ruric_. The name of this
prince is interesting to an Englishman, from the fact that the alleged
events on which the tragedy of _Hamlet_ is founded happened in his
reign. According to Saxo, Hamlet was not the son of a Danish king. His
father was Horwendil, governor of Jutland, a famous pirate and vassal of
Ruric; but the authority was not undivided: it was shared by Fengo,
brother of Horwendil. Fengo did nothing to merit the favour of Ruric;
but Horwendil was so valiant and able, that he was honoured with the
hand of Gertrude, daughter of the Danish king. From this marriage sprung
Hamlet, whose history is so famous in the traditions of Denmark. Fengo
could not, without envy, behold the good fortune of his brother: envy
led to hatred, and hatred to fratricide. After this deed he married the
widowed Gertrude, and succeeded to the whole government of Jutland.
Hamlet was no inattentive observer of these events. As a pagan, his
first duty was to revenge his father’s death: a duty, to the force of
which his uncle was fully alive, and watchful to frustrate it. Spies
being set on all his actions, he feigned madness; he painted his face,
put on a strange garb, and uttered the most ridiculous things.
Frequently was he to be seen on the hearth, seated among the ashes, and
making wooden hooks, which he hardened by the heat. His madness,
however, had method in it; and some of his replies, ridiculous as they
seemed, made the experienced doubt whether he should be classed among
the wisest or the most foolish of mankind. “For what purpose are these
hooks?” was one day demanded of him. “For the revenge of my father!” was
the answer. As nobody could see how they could effect that purpose, he
was ridiculed by all but the discerning, who supposed that beneath this
ostentatious display of insanity, a profound object was concealed. Among
these, was jarl Fengo, who, wishing to prove whether the suspicions were
well or ill-founded, had recourse to an expedient. The disposition of
the prince was exceedingly amatory; and it was thought that, if a young
handsome female were sent to him, he would betray himself. The meeting
was to be effected in a wood, and spies were to be placed near him. On
the day appointed, he was commanded to ride into a forest. As usual, he
mounted with his face to the tail, which he held in lieu of a bridle.
There he found the woman; and would have immediately betrayed himself,
had not his foster-brother obscurely hinted that he should beware. The
way in which this intimation was communicated, like many other parts of
Saxo’s narrative, is too gross for translation. Enough to know, that
Hamlet was made to understand the danger of his situation. Among his
virtues, chastity was not to be reckoned; and though the instances of
its violation cannot be recorded in these times, we may observe that,
even on the occasion before us, he indulged his propensity, and was
cunning enough to conceal it. Fengo, therefore, was disappointed; but by
the advice of a friend, he had recourse to another expedient. Under the
pretext of a long absence on affairs of moment, he left the palace, and
provided that Hamlet should be brought into the mother’s presence, while
a spy, unknown to both, should be near them, to hear every word that he
should utter. If he had any reason left, it was not doubted he would be
communicative with one whom he loved, and who he knew would never betray
him. At the time appointed, the courtier hastened to the apartment,
where mother and son were to meet, and hid himself under a heap of straw
that accidentally lay there—a curious illustration of domestic economy
in that age. Immediately afterwards, Hamlet and Gertrude arrived; but
the former was too much aware of the dangers which involved him to
indulge in rational conversation with his mother, until he had examined
the locality. Imitating the crowing of a cock—an imitation in which he
was singularly successful—and waving his arms as if they were wings, he
leaped on the straw, and was immediately sensible that something lay
beneath. With his sword he despatched the intruder. After this act,
while his mother was bewailing his supposed insanity, he fiercely
upbraided her for her incestuous marriage with the murderer of her first
husband. This double crime he did not assail exactly in the manner
represented in the drama, but in one more conformable with the barbarism
of the age, that is, in one of exceeding coarseness.[55] His
remonstrances are said to have kindled the sparks of virtue in her
heart; but the sequel ill corresponded with this moral intention, or
with the refined character which the dramatist has given him. The man
whom he had killed he cut in pieces, boiled the members, and threw them
into the sewer to be eaten by the swine. When Fengo returned, great was
his surprise to find that his courtier had disappeared—that not the
slightest trace of him could be discovered. One day Hamlet, who was
regarded as no more than a motley fool, and to whom questions were put
for amusement only, being asked what had become of his uncle’s friend,
replied, “He fell into the common sewer, and being unable to extricate
himself, was found, and eaten by the swine!” His reply furnished some
amusement to the hearers, who regarded it as a good motley invention.
They did not know that on all occasions, whether grave or trivial,
Hamlet spoke the truth.[56]
But if the multitude were thus deluded, Fengo was not. For his own
safety he felt that the youth must be removed; but to effect this some
management was required. He would not exasperate his wife, still less
the sovereign of Denmark, by openly executing the prince. The deed must
be secret, and done by other than native hands, namely, by those of the
English king, who, we are gravely assured, was a tributary of Denmark.
Before Hamlet’s departure, he privately desired his mother, in one year
from that time, to celebrate his funeral obsequies; assuring her,
however, that he would in one year return. Two creatures of Fengo were
his companions. One night, while they were buried in sleep, he examined
their baggage, and found, carved on wood, the mandate to the English
king. With his usual cunning, he erased a portion of the characters; and
so altered the rest, that the foreign king was to put his two companions
to death, but to show every possible kindness towards _himself_, and
even to give him the hand of an English princess. On their arrival in
England, they presented their wooden mandate, which they were unable to
read; and were invited, with much parade of hospitality, to the royal
table. But while the two messengers were thus deluded, Hamlet was
received with much respect. The more curious reader may consult the
venerable authority before us for an account of what passed at the
English court,—an account as minute as it is romantic. To be brief: the
two messengers were executed; and Hamlet, whose wisdom was so much
admired, obtained the hand of the monarch’s daughter. He pretended,
however, to be much affected by the death of his companions; and to
pacify him, the king gave him a considerable quantity of gold, which he
melted and inclosed in the hollow of two walking sticks. At the
expiration of the year, he obtained leave to revisit his native country;
but, of all his riches, he took only the staves which contained the
gold. On reaching Jutland, he assumed his own motley garb, and reached
the house of his uncle at the very time his funeral rites were
performed. At first, his sudden appearance terrified the domestics and
guests; but terror yielded to mirth when they saw him resume his motley
character. “Where are your two companions?” demanded they. “Here they
are!” was his reply, as he produced his two sticks. Soon he joined the
cup-bearers; and as his long flowing garments interfered with his
activity, he girt his sword round him, but it had no scabbard; and to
impress all the guests with a stronger notion of his insanity, he
frequently grasped the blade until the blood flowed from his fingers.
Little did they suspect his object in thus descending to the meanest
occupation: it was to make all of them beastly drunk, and then to exact
his revenge. So well did he succeed in the first intention, that most of
them, being unable to stagger from the apartment, were compelled to
remain all night in the hall of entertainment. At length, all being
buried in sleep, he cut off the cords which supported a huge curtain
that occupied the whole room: as it fell on the drunken sleepers, by his
wooden hooks he fastened it in many places to the ground; and drawing
the cords over the curtain, so bound them by knots and hooks as to bid
defiance to the efforts of drunken men. Startled by the weight no less
than by the sudden difficulty of breathing, they strove to raise the
curtain, but in vain; it was too well secured to be moved. In this state
they were soon enveloped in flames, which consumed them and the palace.
Fengo retired to his bedroom, and fell asleep: he was awakened by
Hamlet, who, after upbraiding him for his various crimes, put him to
death. He then flew to a safe retreat to watch the progress of events.
Great was the surprise of the Jutes at this disaster; but, as Fengo was
a tyrant, the majority were not displeased. Hamlet, therefore,
reappeared; surrounded himself with those whom he knew to be attached to
the interests of his family; sought the public assembly; and, by his
eloquence, so wrought on the people, that they unanimously declared him
the successor of Fengo.[57]
Into the remaining adventures of Hamlet—all equally wonderful with the
preceding—we cannot enter. Whoever may wish to read his subsequent visit
to Britain; his marriage with a second wife, the queen of Scotland; his
quarrel with the British king, the father of his first wife; his
domestic life with both in his hereditary government of Jutland; his war
with Wiglet, king of Denmark, the successor of his grandfather, Ruric;
his death in battle; and the facility with which the idol of his heart,
his second wife, passed into the arms of the victor, must consult the
venerable Saxo.[58]
We have no wish to pursue farther the list of Danish kings, who,
according to Saxo, reigned prior to our Saviour’s birth. Some of them,
probably, never reigned at all. Others, certainly, reigned _after_ that
event. Others, again, ruled at the same time, over different provinces
of the kingdom. The reigns of many whom Saxo places before the Christian
era are identical with those which the best Danish writers regard as
posterior; and the actions attributed to both are substantially the
same. All writers admit that Denmark had no monarch before Skiold, the
son of Odin; indeed, it had none for some generations afterwards: for
there is room to believe that even his authority was more of a
sacerdotal than of a temporal character. In virtue of this character he
might, and probably did, claim a twofold sovereignty over the peninsula
and islands; but that sovereignty was never virtually exercised—it was
one merely nominal. Several of the islands had their separate governors,
whom Saxo calls kings; and Jutland, as we have seen in the sketch of
Hamlet’s life, had them also. The men whom personal qualities elevated
above the rest, became chiefs; and when one chief had others subject to
him, he assumed the regal title. There were kings of various kinds. We
read of petty kings (sma-konungur, or fylke-konungur); of sea kings,
island kings, and cape kings. The name of the last may require an
explanation. They were neither more nor less than the pirate chiefs, who
lived in caverns or in huts near the promontories, ready, at any moment,
to sally forth and seize the unsuspecting mariner. Thus there were kings
enough scattered over the seas, the forests, the mountains, the maritime
coasts of the north. Probably all those in the Danish islands might
yield a nominal homage, at least, to the one that reigned in Scania in
Zealand. But no dependence whatever can be placed on the list of Danish
kings prior to what we now call the historic times; that is, to about
the eighth century of our era. It is astonishing to see how little
judgment has been exercised by the historians of this country in regard
to the old northern kings. Thus, the authors of the “Universal History,”
not satisfied with giving the names of the sovereigns from Dan to Frode
III., have been so far misled by the Latin historians of Denmark, as to
fix the precise year before Christ when each began his reign.[59]
But later writers have made sad work with this list. They contend that
some of the names are altogether fabulous; that Skiold reigned only
forty years before Christ; Frode I., thirty-five years after Christ;
Wermund, one hundred and fifty; Roe and Helge, in the fifth century of
our era. The truth, however, is, that while no dependence is to be
placed on the genealogical series of the former, very little is due to
the latter. The whole, prior to the eighth century, is one mass of
confusion. If the names of many princes are to be found, not merely in
the earliest writers of the north, but on Runic inscriptions, no power
of criticism can fix the period in which they reigned. All is pure
conjecture; and one system is preferable to another, only so far as it
is more reconcilable to common sense. Yet, while we thus reject some of
the ancient sovereigns whom Saxo and the elder chroniclers have handed
down to us, we are not so sceptical as to reject the majority. If, prior
to Odin’s arrival, the north had no monarchs, it had kings, or, if the
reader pleases, chiefs, whose office was sometimes hereditary, sometimes
elective. It would, perhaps, be more accurate to say that, while they
succeeded by hereditary right to the domains of their predecessors, as
_generals_ and _judges_, they were elected by the free-born warriors. Of
these some were, beyond all doubt, elevated into monarchs by tradition;
from tradition they passed into the songs of the Scalds; and from these
songs their memory was perpetuated by the old chroniclers. For this
reason we have not consigned them to total oblivion. Nothing is more
easy than scepticism; but if scepticism be, as it assuredly is,
allowable in regard to many details, it is no less blameable than
credulity, when it rejects the whole substance of history. On the whole,
the safest conclusion is, that, while some of Saxo’s kings are
imaginary—while many which he places before, doubtless reigned after,
our Saviour—while he has confounded the whole order of succession, so as
hopelessly to perplex the reader—a few, probably, lived and reigned
before the establishment of the Gothic dynasty.[60]
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