Chapter VI: Introduction (2)

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.