The Classic Myths in English Literature and in Art (2nd ed.) (1911)

… And they rode home together, through the woodOf Jarnvid, which to east of Midgard liesBordering the giants, where the trees are iron;There in the wood before a cave they came,Where sate in the cave's mouth a skinny hag,Toothless and old; she gibes the passers-by.Thok is she called, but now Lok wore her shape;She greeted them the first, and laughed and said:"Ye gods, good lack, is it so dull in heavenThat ye come pleasuring to Thok's iron wood?Lovers of change, ye are, fastidious sprites.Look, as in some boor's yard, a sweet-breath'd cow,Whose manger is stuffed full of good fresh hay,Snuffs at it daintily, and stoops her headTo chew the straw, her litter at her feet —So ye grow squeamish, gods, and sniff at heaven!"She spake, but Hermod answered her and said,"Thok, not for gibes we come; we come for tears.Balder is dead, and Hela holds her prey,But will restore, if all things give him tears.Begrudge not thine! to all was Balder dear."Then, with a louder laugh, the hag replied:"Is Balder dead? and do ye come for tears?Thok with dry eyes will weep o'er Balder's pyre.Weep him all other things, if weep they will —I weep him not! let Hela keep her prey."She spake, and to the cavern's depth she fled,Mocking; and Hermod knew their toil was vain.367

So was Balder prevented from returning to Asgard.

279. The Funeral of Balder. The gods took up the dead body and bore it to the seashore, where stood Balder's ship Hringham, which passed for the largest in the world. Balder's dead body was put on the funeral pile, on board the ship; and the body of Nanna was burned on the same pile with her husband's. There was a vast concourse of various kinds of people at Balder's obsequies. First came Odin accompanied by Frigga, the Valkyries, and his ravens; then Freyr in his car drawn by Gullinbursti, the boar; Heimdall rode his horse Gulltopp, and Freya drove in her chariot drawn by cats. There were also a great many Frost giants and giants of the mountain present. Balder's horse was led to the pile fully caparisoned, and was consumed in the same flames with his master.

Fig. 187. Loki and Siguna

From the painting by Gebhardt

But Loki did not escape his merited punishment. When he saw how wroth the gods were, he fled to the mountain and there built himself a hut with four doors, so that he could see every approaching danger. He invented a net to catch the fishes, such as fishermen have used since his time. But Odin found out his hiding place and the gods assembled to take him. He, seeing this, changed himself into a salmon and lay hid among the stones of the brook. But the gods took his net and dragged the brook, and Loki, finding he must be caught, tried to leap over the net; but Thor caught him by the tail, and compressed it so that salmon ever since have had that part remarkably fine and thin. They bound him with chains and suspended a serpent over his head, whose venom falls upon his face drop by drop. His wife, Siguna, sits by his side and catches the drops as they fall, in a cup; but when she carries it away to empty it, the venom falls upon Loki, which makes him howl with horror and writhe so that the whole earth shakes.

280. The Elves. The Edda mentions another class of beings, inferior to the gods, but still possessed of great power; these were the Elves. The white spirits, or Elves of Light, were exceedingly fair, more brilliant than the sun, and clad in garments of a delicate and transparent texture. They loved the light, were kindly disposed to mankind, and generally appeared as fair and lovely children. Their country was called Elfheim, and was the domain of Freyr, in whose sunlight they always sported.

The black elves, ugly, long-nosed dwarfs, of a dirty brown color, appeared only at night. They avoided the sun as their most deadly enemy, because his beams changed them immediately into stones. Their language was the echo of solitudes, and their dwelling places subterranean caves and clefts. They were supposed to have come into existence as maggots produced by the decaying flesh of Ymir's body. They were afterwards endowed by the gods with a human form and great understanding. They were particularly distinguished for a knowledge of the mysterious powers of nature, and for the runes which they carved and explained. They were the most skillful artificers of all created beings, and worked in metals and in wood. Among their most noted works were Thor's hammer, and the ship Skidbladnir, which they gave to Freyr. This vessel was so large that it could contain all the deities with their war and household implements, but so skillfully was it wrought that when folded together it could be put into a side pocket.

281. Ragnarok. It was a firm belief of the Northern nations that a time would come when all the visible creation, the gods of Valhalla and Niflheim, the inhabitants of Jötunheim, Elfheim, and Midgard, together with their habitations, would be destroyed. The fearful day of destruction will not however be without warning. First will come a triple winter, during which snow will fall from the four corners of the heavens, the frost be severe, the wind piercing, the weather tempestuous, and the sun impart no gladness. Three such winters will pass without being tempered by a single summer. Three other like winters will follow, during which war and discord will spread over the universe. The earth itself will be afraid and begin to tremble, the sea leave its basin, the heavens tear asunder; men will perish in great numbers, and the eagles of the air feast upon their still quivering bodies. The wolf Fenris will now break his bands, the Midgard serpent rise out of his bed in the sea, and Loki, released from his bonds, will join the enemies of the gods. Amidst the general devastation the sons of Muspelheim will rush forth under their leader Surter, before and behind whom are flames and burning fire. Onward they ride over Bifrost, the rainbow bridge, which breaks under the horses' hoofs. But they, disregarding its fall, direct their course to the battle field called Vigrid. Thither also repair the wolf Fenris, the Midgard serpent, Loki, with all the followers of Hela, and the Frost giants.

Heimdall now stands up and sounds the Giallar horn to assemble the gods and heroes for the contest. The gods advance, led on by Odin, who, engaging the wolf Fenris, falls a victim to the monster. Fenris is, in turn, slain by Vidar, Odin's son. Thor wins great renown by killing the Midgard serpent, but, recoiling, falls dead, suffocated with the venom which the dying monster vomits over him. Loki and Heimdall meet and fight till they both are slain. The gods and their enemies having fallen in battle, Surter, who has killed Freyr, darts fire and flames over the world, and the universe is consumed. The sun grows dim, the earth sinks into the ocean, the stars fall from heaven, and time is no more.

After this Alfadur (not Odin but the Almighty) will cause a new heaven and a new earth to arise out of the sea. The new earth, filled with abundant supplies, will produce its fruits without labor or care. Wickedness and misery will no more be known, but the gods and men will live happily together.

This twilight of the gods is aptly described in a conversation held between Balder and Hermod, after Hermod has a second time ridden to Hel:

And the fleet-footed Hermod made reply:368—"Thou hast then all the solace death allows,Esteem and function; and so far is well.Yet here thou liest, Balder, underground,Rusting for ever; and the years roll on,The generations pass, the ages grow,And bring us nearer to the final dayWhen from the south shall march the fiery bandAnd cross the bridge of heaven, with Lok for guide,And Fenris at his heel with broken chain;While from the east the giant Rymer steersHis ship, and the great serpent makes to land;And all are marshal'd in one flaming squareAgainst the gods, upon the plains of heaven.I mourn thee, that thou canst not help us then."He spake; but Balder answered him, and said: —"Mourn not for me! Mourn, Hermod, for the gods;Mourn for the men on earth, the gods in heaven,Who live, and with their eyes shall see that day!The day will come, when fall shall Asgard's towers,And Odin, and his sons, the seed of Heaven;But what were I, to save them in that hour?If strength might save them, could not Odin save,My father, and his pride, the warrior Thor,Vidar the silent, the impetuous Tyr?I, what were I, when these can nought avail?Yet, doubtless, when the day of battle comes,And the two hosts are marshal'd, and in heavenThe golden-crested cock shall sound alarm,And his black brother-bird from hence reply,And bucklers clash, and spears begin to pour —Longing will stir within my breast, though vain.But not to me so grievous as, I know,To other gods it were, is my enforcedAbsence from fields where I could nothing aid;For I am long since weary of your stormOf carnage, and find, Hermod, in your lifeSomething too much of war and broils, which makeLife one perpetual fight, a bath of blood.Mine eyes are dizzy with the arrowy hail;Mine ears are stunn'd with blows, and sick for calm.Inactive, therefore, let me lie in gloom,Unarm'd, inglorious; I attend the courseOf ages, and my late return to light,In times less alien to a spirit mild,In new-recover'd seats, the happier day."He spake; and the fleet Hermod thus replied: —"Brother, what seats are these, what happier day?Tell me, that I may ponder it when gone."And the ray-crownèd Balder answered him: —"Far to the south, beyond the blue, there spreadsAnother heaven, the boundless – no one yetHath reach'd it; there hereafter shall ariseThe second Asgard, with another name.Thither, when o'er this present earth and heavensThe tempest of the latter days hath swept,And they from sight have disappear'd and sunk,Shall a small remnant of the gods repair;Höder and I shall join them from the grave.There reassembling we shall see emergeFrom the bright ocean at our feet an earthMore fresh, more verdant than the last, with fruitsSelf-springing, and a seed of man preserved,Who then shall live in peace, as now in war.But we in heaven shall find again with joyThe ruin'd palaces of Odin, seatsFamiliar, halls where we have supp'd of old,Reënter them with wonder, never fillOur eyes with gazing, and rebuild with tears.And we shall tread once more the well-known plainOf Ida, and among the grass shall findThe golden dice wherewith we played of yore;And that shall bring to mind the former lifeAnd pastime of the gods – the wise discourseOf Odin, the delights of other days.O Hermod, pray that thou may'st join us then!Such for the future is my hope; meanwhile,I rest the thrall of Hela, and endureDeath, and the gloom which round me even nowThickens, and to inner gulf recalls.Farewell, for longer speech is not allow'd."

CHAPTER XXVIII

MYTHS OF NORSE AND OLD GERMAN HEROES

282. The Saga of the Volsungs. 369 Sigi, son of Odin, was a mighty king of the Huns whom Odin loved and prospered exceedingly. Rerir, also, the son of Sigi, was a man of valor and one who got lordship and land unto himself; but neither Sigi nor Rerir were to compare with Volsung, who ruled over Hunland after his father Rerir went home to Odin.

To Volsung were born ten sons and one daughter, – Signy by name; and of the sons Sigmund was the eldest and the most valiant. And the Volsungs abode in peace till Siggeir, king of Gothland, came wooing Signy, who, though loath to accept him, was, by her father's desire, betrothed to him.

Now on the night of the wedding great fires were made in the hall of the Volsungs, and in the midst stood Branstock, a great oak tree, about which the hall had been built, and the limbs of the tree spread over the roof of the hall; and round about Branstock they sat and feasted, and sang of ancient heroes and heard the music of the harp that went from hand to hand.

But e'en as men's hearts were hearkening some heard the thunder pass370O'er the cloudless noontide heaven; and some men turned aboutAnd deemed that in the doorway they heard a man laugh out.Then into the Volsung dwelling a mighty man there strode,One-eyed and seeming ancient, yet bright his visage glowed;Cloud-blue was the hood upon him, and his kirtle gleaming-grayAs the latter morning sun-dog when the storm is on the way;A bill he bore on his shoulder, whose mighty ashen beamBurnt bright with the flame of the sea, and the blended silver's gleam.And such was the guise of his raiment as the Volsung elders had toldWas borne by their fathers' fathers, and the first that warred in the wold.So strode he to the Branstock, nor greeted any lord,But forth from his cloudy raiment he drew a gleaming sword,And smote it deep in the tree-bole, and the wild hawks overheadLaughed 'neath the naked heaven as at last he spake and said:"Earls of the Goths, and Volsungs, abiders on the earth,Lo there amid the Branstock a blade of plenteous worth!The folk of the war-wand's forgers wrought never better steelSince first the burg of heaven uprose for man-folk's weal.Now let the man among you whose heart and hand may shiftTo pluck it from the oak-wood e'en take it for my gift.Then ne'er, but his own heart falter, its point and edge shall failUntil the night's beginning and the ending of the tale.Be merry, Earls of the Goth-folk, O Volsung Sons be wise,And reap the battle-acre that ripening for you lies:For they told me in the wild wood, I heard on the mountain-sideThat the shining house of heaven is wrought exceeding wide,And that there the Early-comers shall have abundant restWhile Earth grows scant of great ones, and fadeth from its best,And fadeth from its midward, and groweth poor and vile: —All hail to thee, King Volsung! farewell for a little while!"So sweet his speaking sounded, so wise his words did seemThat moveless all men sat there, as in a happy dreamWe stir not lest we waken; but there his speech had endAnd slowly down the hall-floor, and outward did he wend;And none would cast him a question or follow on his ways,For they knew that the gift was Odin's, a sword for the world to praise.

Then all made trial, Siggeir and his earls, and Volsung and his people, to draw forth the sword from Branstock, but with no success, till Sigmund, laying his hand carelessly on the precious hilt, drew forth the naked blade as though it were loose in the oak. Whereupon Siggeir offered money for the sword, but Sigmund scorned the offer.

But in time Siggeir had his vengeance. Inviting King Volsung and his sons to Gothland, he fell upon them, slew the king, and suffered the sons, fastened under a log, to be devoured in succession by a she-wolf – all but Sigmund, who through the wile of his sister Signy was rescued. He, driven to the life of an outlaw, sought means to avenge his father, and Signy, on her part, strove to aid him, – without avail, however, till Sinfiotli, the son of herself and Sigmund, was grown to manhood. This youth bore Sigmund company. For a season, as wolves, they scoured the woods; finally resuming the form of men, they slew the children of Siggeir and burned him in his hall. Signy, having helped to avenge her father, died with her husband.

Sigmund, thereupon, became king, and took to himself a wife. But she, suffering injury at the hands of Sinfiotli, poisoned him with a horn of ale. Then Sigmund sorrowed nigh to death over his son, and drove away that queen, and soon after she died. He then married Hiordis the fair; but before long, doing battle against Lyngi, the son of Hunding, – a chieftain who also had loved the fair Hiordis, – he got his death wound:

For lo, through the hedge of the war-shafts a mighty man there came,One-eyed and seeming ancient, but his visage shone like flame;Gleaming-gray was his kirtle, and his hood was cloudy-blue;And he bore a mighty twibil, as he waded the fight-sheaves through,And stood face to face with Sigmund, and upheaved the bill to smite.Once more round the head of the Volsung fierce glittered the Branstock's light,The sword that came from Odin; and Sigmund's cry once moreRang out to the very heavens above the din of war.Then clashed the meeting edges with Sigmund's latest stroke,And in shivering shards fell earthward that fear of worldly folk.But changed were the eyes of Sigmund, and the war-wrath left his face;For that gray-clad mighty helper was gone, and in his placeDrave on the unbroken spear-wood 'gainst the Volsung's empty hands:And there they smote down Sigmund, the wonder of all lands,On the foemen, on the death-heap his deeds had piled that day.

To Hiordis, after Sigmund's death, was born Sigurd, like whom was never man for comeliness and valor and great-heartedness and might. He was the greatest of the Volsungs. His foster-father was Regin, the son of Rodmar, a blacksmith, who taught him the lore of runes and many tongues; and, by means of a story of ancient wrongs, incited him to the destruction of the dragon Fafnir. For Regin told that while the gods, Odin and Hœnir, were wandering with Loki near Rodmar's house, Loki slew one of Rodmar's sons, Otter. Whereupon Rodmar demanded that the gods should fill the Otter-skin with gold and cover it with gold. Now Loki, being sent to procure the gold, caught Andvari the dwarf, and from him procured by force a hoard of the precious metal and with it a magic ring, whose touch bred gold. But Andvari cursed the ring and the gold and all that might possess either. The gods forthwith filled Otter with the dwarf's gold, and surrendered both gold and ring to Rodmar. Immediately the curse began to work. Fafnir, brother of Regin and Otter, slew Rodmar and seized the treasure and, assuming a dragon's form, brooded upon the hoard. With this tale Regin egged on Sigurd to the undoing of Fafnir. He welded him, too, a resistless sword out of the shards of Sigmund's sword, Gram (the wrath). Then Sigurd swore that he would slay the dragon. But first, riding on his horse, Greyfell, of the blood of Odin's Sleipnir, he avenged upon the sons of Hunding the death of his father. This done, Sigurd rode to Glistenheath and slew Fafnir, the dragon, and eating of his heart, learned the language of the birds; and at their advice he slew Regin also, who plotted against him.

So, setting the ring of Andvari on his finger and bearing the gold before him on his horse, Greyfell, Sigurd comes to the Hill of Hindfell:

And sitteth awhile on Greyfell on the marvelous thing to gaze:For lo, the side of Hindfell inwrapped by the fervent blaze,And naught 'twixt earth and heaven save a world of flickering flame,And a hurrying, shifting tangle, where the dark rents went and came…Now Sigurd turns in his saddle, and the hilt of the Wrath he shifts,And draws a girth the tighter; then the gathered reins he lifts,And crieth aloud to Greyfell, and rides at the wildfire's heart;But the white wall wavers before him and the flame-flood rusheth apart,And high o'er his head it riseth, and wide and wild is its roarAs it beareth the mighty tidings to the very heavenly floor;But he rideth through its roaring as the warrior rides the rye,When it bows with the wind of the summer and the hid spears draw anigh;The white-flame licks his raiment and sweeps through Greyfell's mane,And bathes both hands of Sigurd and the hilts of Fafnir's bane,And winds about his war-helm and mingles with his hair,But naught his raiment dusketh or dims his glittering gear; —Then it falls and fades and darkens till all seems left behind,And dawn and the blaze is swallowed in mid-mirk stark and blind…

Then before him Sigurd sees a shield-hung castle, surmounted by a golden buckler, instead of a banner, which rings against the flagstaff. And he enters and finds the form of one asleep, in armor cap-a-pie.

So he draweth the helm from the head, and, lo, the brow snow-white,And the smooth unfurrowed cheeks, and the wise lips breathing light;And the face of a woman it is, and the fairest that ever was born,Shown forth to the empty heavens and the desert world forlorn:But he looketh, and loveth her sore, and he longeth her spirit to move,And awaken her heart to the world, that she may behold him and love.And he toucheth her breast and her hands, and he loveth her passing sore;And he saith, "Awake! I am Sigurd," but she moveth never the more…

Then with his bright blade Sigurd rends the ring-knit mail that incloses her, "till naught but the rippling linen is wrapping her about," —

Then a flush cometh over her visage and a sigh upheaveth her breast,And her eyelids quiver and open, and she wakeneth into rest;Wide-eyed on the dawning she gazeth, too glad to change or smile,And but little moveth her body, nor speaketh she yet for a while;And yet kneels Sigurd, moveless, her wakening speech to heed,While soft the waves of the daylight o'er the starless heavens speed,And the gleaming vines of the Shield-burg yet bright and brighter grow,And the thin moon hangeth her horns dead-white in the golden glow.Then she turned and gazed on Sigurd, and her eyes met the Volsung's eyes.And mighty and measureless now did the tide of his love arise,For their longing had met and mingled, and he knew of her heart that she loved,As she spake unto nothing but him and her lips with the speech-flood moved.

Brynhild, it was, – the Valkyrie, – who long time had lain in that enchanted sleep that Odin, her father, had poured over her, dooming her to mortal awakening and to mortal love, for the evil she had wrought of old when she espoused the cause in battle of those whom the Norns had predestined to death. Her might none but the fearless awaken; and her had Sigurd awakened; and she loved him, for he was without fear and godlike. And she taught him many wise sayings; and they plighted troth, one to the other, both then and again; and Sigurd gave her the ring of Andvari. But they were not destined to dwell together in wedlock, and Brynhild, foreseeing the future, knew even this.

Sigurd was to wed with another than Brynhild, and it fell in this wise. In the land of the Nibelungs (Niblungs, Nibelungen) dwelt Gudrun, daughter of Giuki, the Nibelung king. And Gudrun dreamed a dream in which a fair hawk feathered with feathers of gold alighted upon her wrist. She went to Brynhild for the interpretation of the dream. "The hawk," said Brynhild, "is Sigurd." And so it came to pass. Sigurd, visiting the court of the Nibelungs, was kindly entreated by King Giuki and his three sons, Gunnar, Hogni, and Guttorm; and he performed deeds of valor such that they honored him. But after many days, Grimhild, the mother of Gudrun, administered to Sigurd a magic potion that removed from him all memory of Brynhild. So Sigurd loved and wedded the fair Gudrun. Indeed he soon joined others in urging his wife's brother Gunnar, a doughty warrior, to sue for the hand of Brynhild herself. But Brynhild would have no one that could not ride through the flames drawn up around her hall. After Gunnar had made two unsuccessful attempts, Sigurd, assuming the form of King Gunnar, mounted Greyfell and rode for the second time through the flames of Hindfell. Then, still wearing the semblance of Gunnar, he gained the consent of Brynhild to the union, and exchanged rings with her, – she giving him none other than the ancient ring of Andvari back again. But even this did not recall to Sigurd's memory his former ride and his former love. Returning to the land of the Nibelungs, he announced the success of his undertaking and told all things to Gudrun, giving her the fatal ring that he had regained from Brynhild.

In ten days came Brynhild by agreement to the Hall of the Nibelungs, and though she knew well the deceit that had been practiced on her, she made no sign; nay, was wedded, according to her promise, to King Gunnar. But as they sat at the wedding-feast, the charm of Grimhild was outworn, – Sigurd looked upon Gunnar's bride and knew the Brynhild of old, the Valkyrie, whom he had loved; "and Brynhild's face drew near him with eyes grown stern and strange."

But, apparently, all went well till the young queens, one day bathing in the Water of the Nibelungs, fell into contention on a matter of privilege. Brynhild claimed precedence in entering the river on the ground that Gunnar was the liege lord of Sigurd. Gudrun, white with wrath, flashed out the true story of the ride through the flames, and thrust in Brynhild's face the Andvari ring. Consumed with jealousy, Brynhild plotted revenge. She loved Sigurd still, and he, since he had regained his memory, could not overcome his love for her. But the insult from Gudrun Brynhild would not brook. By her machinations, Guttorm, the brother of Gudrun, was incited to slay Sigurd. He, accordingly, stabbed the hero while asleep, but Sigurd, throwing Gram at the assassin, cut him in twain before he could escape.