The Younger Edda; Also called Snorre's Edda, or The Prose Edda

In every respect, therefore, his “Witches” are an echo from the ancient Germanic creed—an echo, moreover, coming to us in the oldest Teutonic verse-form; that is, in the staff-rime.

Karl Blind.

Elves. The elves of later times seem a sort of middle thing between the light and dark elves. They are fair and lively, but also bad and mischievous. In some parts of Norway the peasants describe them as diminutive naked boys with hats on. Traces of their dance are sometimes to be seen on the wet grass, especially on the banks of rivers. Their exhalation is injurious, and is called alfgust or elfblæst, causing a swelling, which is easily contracted by too nearly approaching places where they have spat, etc. They have a predilection for certain spots, but particularly for large trees, which on that account the owners do not venture to meddle with, but look on them as something sacred, on which the weal or woe of the place depends. Certain diseases among their cattle are attributed to the elves, and are, therefore, called elf-fire or elf-shot. The dark elves are often confounded with the dwarfs, with whom they, indeed, seem identical, although they are distinguished in Odin’s Haven’s Song. The Norwegians also make a distinction between dwarfs and elves, believing the former to live solitary and in quiet, while the latter love music and dancing. (Faye, p. 48; quoted by Thorpe.)

The fairies of Scotland are precisely identical with the above. They are described as a diminutive race of beings of a mixed or rather dubious nature, capricious in their dispositions and mischievous in their resentment. They inhabit the interior of green hills, chiefly those of a conical form, in Gaelic termed Sighan, on which they lead their dances by moonlight; impressing upon the surface the marks of circles, which sometimes appear yellow and blasted, sometimes of a deep green hue, and within which it is dangerous to sleep, or to be found after sunset. Cattle which are suddenly seized with the cramp, or some similar disorder, are said to be elf-shot. (Scott’s Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border; quoted by Thorpe.)

Of the Swedish elves, Arndt gives the following sketch: Of giants, of dwarfs, of the alp, of dragons, that keep watch over treasures, they have the usual stories; nor are the kindly elves forgotten. How often has my postillion, when he observed a circular mark in the dewy grass, exclaimed: See! there the elves have been dancing. These elf-dances play a great part in the spinning-room. To those who at midnight happen to enter one of these circles, the elves become visible, and may then play all kinds of pranks with them; though in general they are little, merry, harmless beings, both male and female. They often sit in small stones, that are hollowed out in circular form, and which are called elf-querns or mill-stones. Their voice is said to be soft like the air. If a loud cry is heard in the forest, it is that of the Skogsrå (spirit of the wood), which should be answered only by a He! when it can do no harm. (Reise durch Sweden; quoted by Thorpe.)

The elf-shot was known in England in very remote times, as appears from the Anglo-Saxon incantation, printed by Grimm in his Deutsche Mythologie, and in the appendix to Kemble’s Saxons in England: Gif hit wœre esa gescot oððe hit wœre ylfa gescot; that is, if it were an asa-shot or an elf-shot. On this subject Grimm says: It is a very old belief that dangerous arrows were shot by the elves from the air. The thunder-bolt is also called elf-shot, and in Scotland a hard, sharp, wedge-shaped stone is known by the name of elf-arrow, elf-flint, elf-bolt, which, it is supposed, has been sent by the spirits. (Quoted by Thorpe.)

CHAPTER VII

Our ancestors divided the universe into nine worlds, and these again into three groups:

1. Over the earth. Muspelheim, Ljosalfaheim and Asaheim.

2. On the earth. Jotunheim, Midgard and Vanheim.

3. Below the earth. Svartalfaheim, Niflheim and Niflhel.

The gods had twelve abodes:

1. Thrudheim. The abode of Thor. His realm is Thrudvang, and his palace is Bilskirner.

2. Ydaler. Uller’s abode.

3. Valaskjalf. Odin’s hall.

4. Sokvabek. The abode of Saga.

5. Gladsheim, where there are twelve seats for the gods, besides the throne occupied by Alfather.

6. Thrymheim. Skade’s abode.

7. Breidablik. Balder’s abode.

8. Himminbjorg. Heimdal’s abode.

9. Folkvang. Freyja’s abode.

10. Glitner. Forsete’s abode.

11. Noatun. Njord’s abode.

12. Landvide. Vidar’s abode.

According to the Lay of Grimner, the gods had twelve horses, but the owner of each horse is not given:

(1) Sleipner (Odin’s), (2) Goldtop (Heimdal’s), (3) Glad, (4) Gyller, (5) Gler, (6) Skeidbrimer, (7) Silvertop, (8) Siner, (9) Gisl, (10) Falhofner, (11) Lightfoot, (12) Blodughofdi (Frey’s).

The owners of nine of them are not given, and, moreover, it is stated that Thor had no horse, but always either went on foot or drove his goats.

The favorite numbers are three, nine and twelve. Monotheism was recognized in the unknown god, who is from everlasting to everlasting. A number of trinities were established, and the nine worlds were classified into three groups. The week had nine days, and originally there were probably but nine gods, that is, before the vans were united with the asas. The number nine occurs where Heimdal is said to have nine mothers, Menglad is said to have nine maid-servants, Æger had nine daughters, etc. When the vans were united with the asas, the number rose to twelve:

(1) Odin, (2) Thor, (3) Tyr, (4) Balder, (5) Hoder, (6) Heimdal, (7) Hermod, (8) Njord, (9) Frey, (10) Uller, (11) Vidar, (12) Forsete.

If we add to this list Brage, Vale and Loke, we get fifteen; but the Eddas everywhere declare that there are twelve gods, who were entitled to divine worship.

The number of the goddesses is usually given as twenty-six.

CHAPTER VIII

Loke and his offspring are so fully treated in our Norse Mythology, that we content ourselves by referring our readers to that work.

CHAPTER IX

Freyja’s ornament Brising. In the saga of Olaf Tryggvason, there is a rather awkward story of the manner in which Freyja became possessed of her ornament. Freyja, it is told, was a mistress of Odin. Not far from the palace dwelt four dwarfs, whose names were Alfrig, Dvalin, Berling and Grer; they were skillful smiths. Looking one day into their stony dwelling, Freyja saw them at work on a beautiful golden necklace, or collar, which she offered to buy, but which they refused to part with, except on conditions quite incompatible with the fidelity she owed to Odin, but to which she, nevertheless, was tempted to accede. Thus the ornament became hers. By some means this transaction came to the knowledge of Loke, who told it to Odin. Odin commanded him to get possession of the ornament. This was no easy task, for no one could enter Freyja’s bower without her consent. He went away whimpering, but most were glad on seeing him in such tribulation. When he came to the locked bower, he could nowhere find an entrance, and, it being cold weather, he began to shiver. He then transformed himself into a fly and tried every opening, but in vain; there was nowhere air enough to make him to get through [Loke (fire) requires air]. At length he found a hole in the roof, but not bigger than the prick of a needle. Through this he slipt. On his entrance he looked around to see if anyone were awake, but all were buried in sleep. He peeped in at Freyja’s bed, and saw that she had the ornament round her neck, but that the lock was on the side she lay on. He then transformed himself to a flea, placed himself on Freyja’s cheek, and stung her so that she awoke, but only turned herself round and slept again. He then laid aside his assumed form, cautiously took the ornament, unlocked the bower, and took his prize to Odin. In the morning, on waking, Freyja seeing the door open, without having been forced, and that her ornament was gone, instantly understood the whole affair. Having dressed herself, she repaired to Odin’s hall, and upbraided him with having stolen her ornament, and insisted on its restoration, which she finally obtained. (Quoted by Thorpe.)

Mention is also made of the Brósinga-men in the Beowulf (verse 2394). Here it is represented as belonging to Hermanric, but the legend concerning it has never been found.

CHAPTER X

This myth about Frey and Gerd is the subject of one of the most fascinating poems in the Elder Edda, the Journey of Skirner. It is, as Auber Forestier, in Echoes from Mistland, says, the germ of the Niblung story. Frey is Sigurd or Sigfrid, and Gerd is Brynhild. The myth is also found in another poem of the Elder Edda, the Lay of Fjolsvin, in which the god himself—there called Svipday (the hastener of the day)—undertakes the journey to arouse from the winter sleep the cold giant nature of the maiden Menglad (the sun-radiant daughter), who is identical with Freyja (the goddess of spring, promise, or of love between man and woman, and who can easily be compared with Gerd). Before the bonds which enchain the maiden can in either case be broken, Bele (the giant of spring storms, corresponding to the dragon Fafner in the Niblung story,) must be conquered, and Wafurloge (the wall of bickering flames that surrounded the castle) must be penetrated. The fanes symbolize the funeral pyre, for whoever enters the nether world must scorn the fear of death. (Auber Forestier’s Echoes from Mistland; Introduction, xliii, xliv.) We also find this story repeated again and again, in numberless variations, in Teutonic folk-lore; for instance, in The Maiden on the Glass Mountain, where the glass mountain takes the place of the bickering flame.

CHAPTER XI

The tree Lerad (furnishing protection) must be regarded as a branch of Ygdrasil.

CHAPTER XII

In Heimskringla Skidbladner is called Odin’s ship. This is correct. All that belonged to the gods was his also.

CHAPTER XIII

For a thorough analysis of Thor as a spring god, as the god who dwells in the clouds, as the god of thunder and lightning, as the god of agriculture, in short, as the god of culture, we can do no better than to refer our readers to Der Mythus von Thor, nach Nordischen Quellen, von Ludwig Uhland, Stuttgart, 1836; and to Handbuch der Deutschen Mythologie, mit Einschluss der Nordischen, von Karl Simrock, Vierte Auflage, Bonn, 1874.

CHAPTER XIV

The death of Balder is justly regarded as the most beautiful myth in Teutonic mythology. It is connected with the Lay of Vegtam in the Elder Edda. Like so many other myths (Frey and Gerd, The Robbing of Idun, etc.) the myth symbolizes originally the end of summer and return of spring. Thus Balder dies every year and goes to Hel. But in the following spring he returns to the asas, and gladdens all things living and dead with his pure shining light. Gradually, however, the myth was changed from a symbol of the departing and returning summer, and applied to the departing and returning of the world year, and thus the death of Balder prepares the way for Ragnarok and Regeneration. Balder goes to Hel and does not return to this world. Thokk refuses to weep for him. His return is promised after Ragnarok. The next spring does not bring him back, but the rejuvenated earth. Thus the death of Balder becomes the central thought in the drama of the fate of the gods and of the world. It is inseparably connected with the punishment of Loke and the twilight of the gods. The winter following the death of Balder is not an ordinary winter, but the Fimbul-winter, which is followed by no summer, but by the destruction of the world. The central idea in the Odinic religion, the destruction and regeneration of the world, has taken this beautiful sun-myth of Balder into its service. Balder is then no more merely the pure holy light of heaven; he symbolizes at the same time the purity and innocence of the gods; he is changed from a physical to an ethical myth. He impersonated all that was good and holy in the life of the gods; and so it came to pass that when the golden age had ceased, when thirst for gold (Gulveig), when sin and crime had come into the world, he was too good to live in it. As in Genesis fratricide (Cain and Abel) followed upon the eating of the forbidden fruit, and the loss of paradise; so, when the golden age (paradise) had ended among the asas, Loke (the serpent) brought fratricide (Hoder and Balder) among the gods; themselves and our ancestors regarded fratricide as the lowest depth of moral depravity. After the death of Balder

Brothers slay brothers,Sisters’ childrenShed each other’s blood,Hard grows the world,Sensual sin waxes huge.There are sword-ages, ax-ages—Shields are cleft in twain,—Storm-ages, murder-ages,—Till the world falls dead,And men no longer spareOr pity one another.

Upon the whole we may say that a sun-myth first represents the death of the day at sunset, when the sky is radiant as if dyed in blood. In the flushing morn light wins its victory again. Then this same myth becomes transferred to the death and birth of summer. Once more it is lifted into a higher sphere, while still holding on to its physical interpretation, and is applied to the world year. Finally, it is clothed with ethical attributes, becomes thoroughly anthropomorphized, and typifies the good and the evil, the virtues and vices (light and darkness), in the character and life of gods and of men. Thus we get four stages in the development of the myth.

CHAPTER XV

Ragnarok. The word is found written in two ways, Ragnarok and ragnarökr. Ragna is genitive plural, from the word regin (god), and means of the gods. Rok means reason, ground, origin, a wonder, sign, marvel. It is allied to the O.H.G. rahha = sentence, judgment. Ragnarök would then mean the history of the gods, and applied to the dissolution of the world, might be translated the last judgment, doomsday, weird of gods and the world. Rokr means twilight, and Ragnarokr, as the Younger Edda has it, thus means the twilight of the gods, and the latter is adopted by nearly all modern writers, although Gudbr. Vigfusson declares that Ragnarok (doomsday) is no doubt the correct form. And this is also to be said in favor of doomsday, that Ragnarok does not involve only the twilight, but the whole night of the gods and the world.

THE NIFLUNGS AND GJUKUNGS

This chapter of Skaldskaparmal contains much valuable material for a correct understanding of the Nibelungen-Lied, especially as to the origin of the Niblung hoard, and the true character of Brynhild. The material given here, and in the Icelandic Volsunga Saga, has been used by Wm. Morris in his Sigurd the Volsung and the Fall of the Niblungs. In the Nibelungen-Lied, as transposed by Auber Forestier, in Echoes from Mist-Land, we have a perfect gem of literature from the middle high German period, but its author had lost sight of the divine and mythical origin of the material that he wove into his poem. It is only by combining the German Nibelungen-Lied with the mythical materials found in Norseland that our national Teutonic epic can be restored to us. Wagner has done this for us in his famous drama; Jordan has done it in his Sigfrid’s saga; Morris has done it in the work mentioned above; but will not Auber Forestier gather up all the scattered fragments relating to Sigurd and Brynhild, and weave them together into a prose narrative, that shall delight the young and the old of this great land?

We are glad to welcome at this time a new book in the field of Niblung literature. We refer to Geibel’s Brunhild, translated, with introduction and notes, by Prof. G. Theo. Dippold, and recently published in Boston.

MENJA AND FENJA

This is usually called the peace of Frode, which corresponds to the golden age in the life of the asas. Avarice is the root of crime, and all other evils. Avarice is at the bottom of all the endless woes of the Niblung story. The myth explaining why the sea is salt is told in a variety of forms in different countries. In Germany there are several folk-lore stories and traditions in regard to it. In Norway, where folk-lore tales are so abundant, we find the myth about Menja and Fenja recurring in the following form:

WHY THE SEA IS SALT

Long, long ago there were two brothers, the one was rich and the other was poor. On Christmas eve the poor one had not a morsel of bread or meat in his house, and so he went to his brother and asked him for mercy’s sake to give him something for Christmas. It was not the first time the brother had had to give him, and he was not very much pleased to see him this time either.

“If you will do what I ask of you, I will give you a whole ham of pork,” said he.

The poor man promised immediately, and was very thankful besides.

“There you have it, now go to hell,” said the rich one, and threw the ham at him.

“What I have promised, I suppose, I must keep,” said the other. He took the ham and started. He walked and walked the whole day, and at twilight he came to a place where everything looked so bright and splendid.

“This must be the place,” thought the man with the ham.

Out in the wood-shed stood an old man with a long white beard, cutting wood for Christmas.

“Good evening,” said the man with the ham.

“Good evening, sir. Where are you going so late?” said the man.

“I am on my way to hell, if I am on the right road,” said the poor man.

“Yes, you have taken the right road; it is here,” said the old man. “Now when you get in, they will all want to buy your ham, for pork is rare food in hell; but you must not sell it, unless you get the hand-mill that stands back of the door for it. When you come out again I will show you how to regulate it. You will find it useful in more than one respect.”

The man with the ham thanked the old man for this valuable information, and rapped at the devil’s door.

When he came in it happened as the old man had said. All the devils, both the large ones and the small ones, crowded around him like ants around a worm, and the one bid higher than the other for the ham.

“It is true my wife and I were to have it for our Christmas dinner, but, seeing that you are so eager for it, I suppose I will have to let you have it,” said the man. “But if I am to sell it, I want that hand-mill that stands behind the door there for it.”

The devil did not like to spare it, and kept dickering and bantering with the man, but he insisted, and so the devil had to give him the hand-mill. When the man came out in the yard he asked the old wood-chopper how he should regulate the mill; and when he had learned how to do it, he said “thank you,” and made for home as fast as he could. But still he did not reach home before twelve o’clock in the night Christmas eve.

“Why, where in the world have you been?” said the woman. “Here I have been sitting hour after hour waiting and waiting, and I haven’t as much as two sticks to put on the fire so as to cook the Christmas porridge.”

“Oh, I could not come any sooner. I had several errands to do, and I had a long way to go too. But now I will show you,” said the man. He set the mill on the table, and had it first grind light, then a table-cloth, then food and ale and all sorts of good things for Christmas, and as he commanded the mill ground. The woman expressed her great astonishment again and again, and wanted to know where her husband had gotten the mill, but this he would not tell.

“It makes no difference where I have gotten it; you see the mill is a good one, and that the water does not freeze,” said the man.

Then he ground food and drink, and all good things, for the whole Christmas week, and on the third day he invited his friends: he was going to have a party. When the rich brother saw all the nice and good things at the party, he became very wroth, for he could not bear to see his brother have anything.

“Christmas eve he was so needy that he came to me and asked me for mercy’s sake to give him a little food, and now he gives a feast as though he were both count and king,” said he to the others.

“But where in hell have you gotten all your riches from?” said he to his brother.

“Behind the door,” answered he who owned the mill. He did not care to give any definite account, but later in the evening, when he began to get a little tipsy, he could not help himself and brought out the mill.

“There you see the one that has given me all the riches,” said he, and then he let the mill grind both one thing and another. When the brother saw this he was bound to have the mill, and after a long bantering about it, he finally was to have it; but he was to pay three hundred dollars for it, and his brother was to keep it until harvest.

“When I keep it until then, I shall have ground food enough to last many years,” thought he.

Of course the mill got no chance to grow rusty during the next six months, and when harvest-time came, the rich brother got it; but the other man had taken good care not to show him how to regulate it. It was in the evening that the rich man brought the mill home, and in the morning he bade his wife go and spread the hay after the mowers,—he would get dinner ready, he said. Toward dinner he put the mill on the table.

“Grind fish and gruel: Grind both well and fast!” said the man, and the mill began to grind fish and gruel. It first filled all the dishes and tubs full, and after that it covered the whole floor with fish and gruel. The man kept puttering and tinkering, and tried to get the mill to stop; but no matter how he turned it and fingered at it, the mill kept on, and before long the gruel got so deep in the room that the man was on the point of drowning. Then he opened the door to the sitting-room, but before long that room was filled too, and the man had all he could do to get hold of the door-latch down in this flood of gruel. When he got the door open he did not remain long in the room. He ran out as fast as he could, and there was a perfect flood of fish gruel behind, deluging the yard and his fields.

The wife, who was in the meadow making hay, began to think that it took a long time to get dinner ready. “Even if husband does not call us, we will have to go anyway. I suppose he does not know much about making gruel; I will have to go and help him,” said the woman to the mowers.

They went homeward, but on coming up the hill they met the flood of fish and gruel and bread, the one mixed up with the other, and the man came running ahead of the flood.

“Would that each one of you had an hundred stomachs, but have a care that you do not drown in the gruel flood,” cried the husband. He ran by them as though the devil had been after him, and hastened down to his brother. He begged him in the name of everything sacred to come and take the mill away immediately.

“If it grinds another hour the whole settlement will perish in fish and gruel,” said he.

But the brother would not take it unless he got three hundred dollars, and this money had to be paid to him.

Now the poor brother had both money and the mill, and so it did not take long before he got himself a farm, and a much nicer one than his brother’s. With his mill he ground out so much gold that he covered his house all over with sheets of gold. The house stood down by the sea-shore, and it glistened far out upon the sea. All who sailed past had to go ashore and visit the rich man in the golden house, and all wanted to see the wonderful mill, for its fame spread far and wide, and there was none who had not heard speak of it.

After a long time there came a sea-captain who wished to see the mill. He asked whether it could grind salt.

“Yes, it can grind salt,” said he who owned the mill; and when the captain heard this, he was bound to have it, let it cost what it will. For if he had that, thought he, he would not have to sail far off over dangerous waters after cargoes of salt. At first the man did not wish to sell it, but the captain teased and begged and finally the man sold it, and got many thousand dollars for it. When the captain had gotten the mill on his back, he did not stay there long, for he was afraid the man might reconsider the bargain and back out again. He had no time to ask how to regulate it; he went to his ship as fast as he could, and when he had gotten some distance out upon the sea, he got his mill out.