CHAPTER VII.

THE DEVELOPMENT OF EVIL. LOKE AND HIS OFFSPRING.

SECTION I. LOKE.

We have now made an acquaintance with the lives and exploits or the good and propitious divinities, with the asas and vans. But what of the evil? Whence come they, and how have they been developed? Many a philosopher has puzzled his brain with this vexed question, and the wisest minds are still engaged in deep meditations in regard to it. It is and will remain an unsolved problem. But what did the old Goths, and particularly our Norse forefathers, think about the development of evil? What forms did it assume among them? How did it spring forth in nature, and how did it impress the minds and hearts of the people? These are questions now to be answered.

There are in the Norse mythology two individuals by the name of Loke. The one is _Utgard_-Loke, hideous in his whole being, and his character was sketched in the myth about Thor and Skrymer (see pp. 312-322); he represents physical and moral evil in all its naked loathsomeness. The other is _Asa_-Loke, of whom there also have been accounts given at various times in connection with the propitious gods; and it is of him solely we are now to speak, as the former belongs wholly to the race of giants. Asa-Loke, whom we shall hereafter call by his common name, Loke, is the same evil principle in all its various manifestations; but as he makes his appearance among the gods, he represents evil in the seductive and seemingly beautiful form in which it glides about through the world. We find him flowing in the veins of the human race and call him sin, or passion. In nature he is the corrupting element in air, fire and water. In the bowels of the earth he is the volcanic flame, in the sea he appears as a fierce serpent, and in the lower world we recognize him as pale death. Thus, like Odin, Loke pervades all nature. And in no divinity is it more clear than in this, that the idea proceeding from the visible workings of nature entered the human heart and mind and there found its moral or ethical reflection. Loke symbolises sin, shrewdness, deceitfulness, treachery, malice, etc. Loke is indeed in his development one of the profoundest myths. In the beginning he was intimately connected with Odin, then he became united with the air, and finally he impersonates the destructive fire. And in these changes he keeps growing worse and worse.

In the banquet of Æger he reminds Odin that they in the beginning of time had their blood mixed. Thus the Elder Edda:

LOKE:

Do thou mind, Odin, That we in time’s morning Mixed blood together! Then thou pretendedst That thou never wouldst ask a drink Unless it was offered to both of us.

Sameness of blood symbolizes sameness of mind, and Loke is in the Younger Edda called Odin’s brother, the uncle of the gods. Under the name of Loder, or Lopter, Loke took part in the creation of man; he gave the senses, the sources of evil desires, the passions, the fire of the veins. Thus he is like the fire, which is beneficent and necessary for development, but also dangerous and destructive. With the giantess Angerboda (producing sorrow) he begat the wolf Fenrer, but the most disgusting monster is the woman Hel, who is a daughter of Loke. _Odin_ unites himself with the gigantic force in nature, but he does this to develop, ennoble and elevate it. _Loke_ unites himself with crude matter, but by this union he only still further develops the evil principle, which then expresses itself in all kinds of terrible phenomena: the sea tosses its waves against heaven itself, and rushes out upon the land; the air trembles; then comes snow and howling winds; the rain splashes down upon the earth, etc. Such is also his influence upon the human mind. He is the sly, treacherous father of lies. In appearance he is beautiful and fair, but in his mind he is evil, and in his inclinations he is inconstant. Notwithstanding his being ranked among the gods, he is the slanderer of the gods, the grand contriver of deceit and fraud, the reproach of gods and men. Nobody renders him divine honors. He surpasses all mortals in the arts of perfidy and craft.

There is some dispute about the real meaning of Loke’s name. Some derive it from the Icelandic _lúka_, to end, thus arguing that Loke is the end and consummation of divinity. Another definition is given, taken from the Icelandic _logi_ (Anglo-Saxon _lîg_), according to which the primary meaning would be fire, flame. He is also called Loder, or Lopter (the aërial; compare Norse _luft_, Anglo-Saxon _lyft_, air); and this would seem to corroborate the definition of Loke as fire. Loder (_lodern_, to blaze) would then designate him in the character of the blazing earthly fire, and Lopter as the heated and unsteady air. He is son of the giant Farbaute, that is, the one who strikes the ships, the wind. His mother is Laufey, or Nal, the former meaning leaf-isle, and the latter needle. Oak trees produce leaves and pines produce needles; both Laufey and Nal are therefore combustibles. His brothers are Byleist (dwelling destroyer, raging flame), and Helblinde, the latter being another name for Odin.

In the previous chapters it has frequently been seen how Loke time and again accompanied the gods, they making use of his strength and cunning; but it has also been shown how he acted in concert with the jotuns and exposed the gods to very great perils and then extricated them again by his artifices. By Loke’s advice the gods engage the artificer to build a dwelling so well fortified that they should be perfectly safe from the incursions of the frost-giants. For this the artificer is to receive Freyja, providing he completes his work within a stipulated time; but Loke prevented him from completing his task by the birth of Sleipner. When the dwarfs forge the precious things for the gods, it is he who brings about that the work lacks perfection, and even the handle of Thor’s mallet, Mjolner, becomes too short; for evil is everywhere present and makes the best things defective. He cuts the hair of the goddess Sif, and by this he makes way for the forging of the precious articles; thus evil often in spite of itself produces good results. Examples of this abound in the history of the world. Loke gives Thjasse an opportunity to rob Idun, but brings her back again and thus causes Thjasse’s death. He hungers at Geirrod’s, and causes Thor to undertake his dangerous journey; but he also looks after Thor’s hammer, and accompanies him as maid-servant to get it back. He steals Freyja’s Brisingamen, and quarrels with Heimdal about it. But his worst deed is Balder’s death. For these reasons Loke is in Old Norse poetry called: son of Farbaute, son of Laufey, son of Nal, brother of Byleist, brother of Helblinde, father of the Fenris-wolf, father of the Midgard-serpent, father of Hel, uncle of Odin, visitor and chest-goods of Geirrod, thief of Brisingamen and of Idun’s apples, defender of Sigyn (his wife), Sif’s hair destroyer, adviser of Balder’s bane, etc.

Odin, Hœner and Loke are often together. It is related that they once set out to explore the whole world. They came to a stream, and followed it until they came to a force (cascade) where there sat an otter near the force. It had caught a salmon in the force and sat half sleeping eating it. Then Loke picked up a stone and threw it at the otter, struck it in the head and then boasted of his deed, for he had killed or captured both the otter and salmon with one stone. They then took the salmon and otter with them and came to a gard (farm), where they entered the house. The bonde,[75] who lived there, hight Hreidmar, an able fellow well skilled in necromancy. The gods asked for night lodgings, but added that they were supplied with provisions whereupon they showed what they had caught. But when Hreidmar saw the otter he called to him his sons Fafner and Regin, and told them that their brother Odder (otter) Wad been slain, and who had done it. Father and sons then attack the gods, overpower and bind them, and then inform them that the otter was Hreidmar’s son. The gods offered a ransom for their lives, as large as Hreidmar himself would determine it; they made a treaty accordingly, confirming it with oaths. When the otter then had been flayed, Hreidmar took the skin and demanded that they should fill it with shining gold and then perfectly cover it with the same. These were the terms of agreement. Then Odin sent Loke to the home of the swarthy elves (Svartalf-heim), where he met the dwarf Andvare (wary, cautious spirit), who lived as a fish, in the water. Loke borrowed Ran’s net and caught him, and demanded of him, as a ransom for his life, all the gold he had in the rock, where he dwelt. And when they came into the rock the dwarf produced all the gold which he possessed, which was a considerable amount; but Loke observed that the dwarf concealed under his arm a gold ring, and ordered him to give it up. The dwarf prayed Loke by all means to let him keep it; for when he kept this ring, he said, he could produce for himself more of the metal from it. But Loke said that he should not keep so much as a penny, and took the ring from him, and went out. Then said the dwarf, that that ring should be the bane of the person who possessed it. Loke had no objection to this, and said that, in order that this purpose should be kept, he should bring these words to the knowledge of him who should possess it. Then Loke returned to Hreidmar, and showed Odin the gold; but when the latter saw the ring he thought it was pretty; he therefore, taking it, gave Hreidmar the rest of the gold. Hreidmar then filled the otter-skin as well as he could, and set it down when it was full. Then Odin went to cover the bag with gold, and afterwards bade Hreidmar whether the bag was perfectly covered; but Hreidmar examined, and looked carefully in every place, and found an uncovered hair near the mouth, which Odin would have to cover, or the agreement would be broken. Then Odin produced the ring and covered the hair with it, and said that they now had paid the otter-ransom. But when Odin had taken his spear, and Loke his shoes, so that they had nothing more to fear, Loke said that the curse of the dwarf Andvare should be fulfilled, and that this gold and this ring should be the bane of him who possessed it. From this myth it is that gold is poetically called otter-ransom.

And the curse was fulfilled. This curse of ill-gotten gold became the root of a series of mortal calamities, which are related in the latter part of the Elder Edda, in the songs about Sigurd Fafner’s bane, or the Slayer of Fafner; about Brynhild, about Gudrun’s sorrow, Gudrun’s revenge, in the song about Atle, etc. The curse on the gold, pronounced upon it by Andvare, the dwarf, is the grand moral in these wonderful songs, and never was moral worked out more terribly. Even Shakespeare has no tragedy equal to it. When Odin and Loke had gone away, Fafner and Regin demanded from their father, Hreidmar, a share of the ransom in the name of their brother Odder; but Hreidmar refused, so Fafner pierced his father with a sword while he slept. Thus Hreidmar died, but Fafner took all the gold. Then Regin demanded his paternal inheritance, but Fafner refused to give it, and disappeared. Another prominent character in the Edda is Sigurd, who frequently visited Regin and told him that Fafner, having assumed the shape of a monstrous dragon, lay on Gnita Heath, and had Æger’s helmet, the helmet of terror, before which all living trembled. Regin made a sword for Sigurd, which was called Gram; it was so sharp that when it stood in the river and a tuft of wool floated on the current, the sword would cut the wool as easily as the water. With this sword Sigurd cut Regin’s anvil in twain. Regin excites Sigurd to kill Fafner, and accordingly Sigurd and Regin proceeded on their way to Gnita Heath, and discovered Fafner’s path, whereupon the latter (Fafner) crept into the water. In the way Sigurd dug a large grave and went down into it. When Fafner now crept away from the gold he spit poison, but this flew over Sigurd’s head, and as Fafner passed over the grave Sigurd pierced him with his sword to the heart. Fafner trembled convulsively, and fiercely shook his head and tail. Sigurd sprang out of the grave when they saw each other. Then a conversation takes place between them, in which Fafner heaps curses upon Sigurd until the former expires. Regin had gone away while Sigurd killed Fafner, but came back while Sigurd was wiping the blood off the sword.

REGIN:

Hail to thee now, Sigurd! Now thou best victory won And Fafner slain. Among all men who tread the earth Most fearless I proclaim thee to be born.

SIGURD:

Uncertain it is to know, When we all come together, Sons of victorious gods, Who was born most fearless; Many a man is brave Who still does not thrust the blade Into another man’s breast.

REGIN:

Glad art thou now, Sigurd, Glad of thy victory. As thou wipest Gram on the grass. Thou hast my Brother wounded, Let myself have some share therein.

SIGURD:

It was thou who caused That I should ride Hither over frosty mountains; His wealth and life Would the spotted snake still possess, Hadst thou not excited me to fight.

Then went Regin to Fafner and cut the heart out of him with the sword called Ridel, and afterwards drank the blood from the wound. He said:

Sit down now, Sigurd! I will go to sleep: Hold Fafner’s heart by the fire. Such a repast Will I partake of After this drink of blood.

SIGURD:

Thou didst absent thyself When I in Fafner’s blood My sharp blade stained. I set my strength Against the power of the dragon While thou didst lie in the heath

REGIN:

Long wouldst thou Have let the old Troll lie in the heath, Hadst thou not used The sword which I made, Thy sharpened blade.

SIGURD:

Courage is better Than sword-strength Where angry men must fight; For the brave man I always see win Victory with a dull blade. It it better for the brave man Than for the coward To join in the battle, It is better for the glad Than for the sorrowing In all circumstances.

Sigurd took Fafner’s heart, put it on a spit and roasted it; but when he thought it must be roasted enough, and when the juice oozed out of the heart, he felt of it with his fingers to see whether it was well done. He burned himself, and put his finger into his mouth, but when the blood of Fafner’s heart touched his tongue he understood the song of birds. He heard birds singing in the bushes, and seven birds sang a strophe each, talking about how Regin might avenge his brother, kill Sigurd, and possess the treasure alone, when Sigurd finally says:

Not so violent Will fate be, that Regin Shall announce my death; For soon shall both Brothers go Hence to Hel.

And he cut the head off Regin, ate afterwards Fafner’s heart, and drank both his and Regin’s blood. Then Sigurd heard the birds sing:

Sigurd! gather Golden rings; It is not royal To be smothered by fear. I know a maid Fairer than all Endowed with gold, If thou couldst but get her. To Gjuke lie Green paths, Fortune beckons The wanderers forward; There a famous king Has fostered a daughter,— Her thou, Sigurd, must win.

Sigurd followed the track of the dragon to his nest and found it open. Its doors and door-frames, and all the beams and posts of the place, were of iron, but the treasure was buried in the ground. There Sigurd found a large heap of gold, with which he filled two chests. Then he took the helmet of terror (Æger’s helmet), a gold cuirass, the sword Hrotte, and many treasures, which he put on the back of the horse Grane, but the horse would not proceed before Sigurd mounted it also.

This is but the beginning of this terrible tragedy, but our space does not allow us here to enter upon all the fatal results of the curse of Andvare. In the fate, first of Sigurd and Brynhild, and afterwards of Sigurd and Gudrun, is depicted passion, tenderness and sorrow with a vivid power which nowhere has a superior. The men are princely warriors and the women are not only fair, but godlike, in their beauty and vigor. The noblest sentiments and most heroic actions are crossed by the foulest crimes and the most terrific tragedies. In this train of events, produced by the curse of Andvare alone, there is material for a score of dramas of the most absorbing character. In the story of Sigurd and Brynhild, as we find it in the latter part of the Elder Edda, there are themes for tragic and heroic composition that would become as immortal as Dante’s _Inferno_ or Shakespeare’s _Macbeth_, for they are based on our profoundest sympathies, and appeal most forcibly to our ideas of the beautiful and the true.

The ring Andvarenant (Andvare’s gift), as it is called, here as elsewhere, symbolizes wealth, which increases in the hands of the wary, careful Andvare (_and-vari_, wary). But for avarice, that never gets enough, it becomes a destructive curse. It is perfectly in harmony with Loke’s character to be satisfied and pleased with the curse attached to the ring.[76]

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

Loke’s wife was Sigyn; their son was Nare or Narfe, and a brother of him was Ale (Ole) or Vale.

With the hag, Angerboda, Loke had three children. Angerbode was a giantess of Jotunheim, and her name means anguish-boding. The children’s names are Fenrer or Fenris-wolf, the Midgard-serpent called Jormungander, and Hel. Tho gods were not long ignorant that these monsters continued to be bred up in Jotunheim, and, having had recourse to divination, became aware of all the evils they would have to suffer from them; that they were sprung from such a bad mother was a _bad_ omen, and from such a father, one still worse. Allfather (Odin) therefore deemed it advisable to send the gods to bring them to him. When they came, he threw the serpent into that deep ocean by which the earth is encircled. But the monster has grown to such an enormous size, that holding his tail in his mouth he engirdles the whole earth. Hel he cast headlong into Niflheim, and gave her power over nine worlds (regions), into which she distributes those who are sent to her,—that is to say, all who die through sickness or old age. Here she possesses a habitation protested by exceedingly high walls and strongly-barred gates. Her hall is called Elvidner (place of storm); hunger is her table; starvation, her knife; delay, her man-servant; slowness, her maid-servant; precipice, her threshold; care, her bed; and burning anguish forms the hangings of her apartments. The one half of her body is livid, the other half the color of human flesh. She may therefore easily be recognized; the more so as she has a dreadfully stern and grim countenance.

The wolf Fenrer was bred up among the gods, but Tyr alone had courage enough to go and feed him. Nevertheless, when the gods perceived that he every day increased prodigiously in size, and that the oracles warned then that he would one day become fatal to them, they determined to make a very strong iron chain for him, which they called Leding. Taking this fetter to the wolf, they requested him to try his strength on it. Fenrer, perceiving that the enterprise would not be very difficult for him, let them do what they pleased, permitted himself to be bound, and then by great muscular exertion burst the chain and set himself at liberty. The gods having seen this, made another chain, twice as strong as the former, and this they called Drome. They prevailed on the wolf to put it on, assuring him that, by breaking this, he would give an incontestible proof of his strength; it would be a great honor to him if so great a chain could not hold him.

The wolf saw well enough that it would not be so easy to break this fetter, but finding at the same time that his strength had increased since he broke Leding, and thinking that he could never become famous without running some risk, he voluntarily submitted to be chained. When the gods told him that they had finished their task, Fenrer shook himself violently, stretched his limbs, rolled on the ground, and at last burst his chains, which flew in pieces all around him. He thus freed himself from Drome. From that time we have the proverbs, to get loose out of Leding, or to dash out of Drome, when anything is to be accomplished by powerful efforts.

After this the gods despaired of ever being able to bind the wolf; wherefore Odin sent Skirner, the messenger of Frey, down to the abode of the dark elves (Svartalf-heim), to engage certain dwarfs to make the chain called Gleipner. It was made out of six things, namely, the noise made by the footstep of a cat, the beard of a woman, the roots of the mountains, the sinews of the bear, the breath of the fish, and the spittle of birds (the enumeration of these things produces alliteration in Icelandic). And although you, says he who relates this in the Younger Edda, may not have heard of these things before, you may easily convince yourself that I have not been telling you lies. You may have observed that woman has no beard, that cats make no noise when they run, and that there are no roots under the mountains; but it is a nevertheless none the less true what I have related, although there may be some things that you are not able to furnish proof of.

How was this chain smithied? It was perfectly smooth and soft like a silken string, and yet, as we shall presently see, very firm and strong. When this fetter was brought to the gods, they were profuse in their thanks to Skirner for the trouble he had given himself and for having done his errand so well, and taking the wolf with them they proceeded to a lake called Amsvartner, to a holm (rocky island) which is called Lyngve. They showed the string to the wolf, and expressed their wish that he would try to break it, at the same time assuring him that it was somewhat stronger than its thinness would warrant a person in supposing it to be. They took it themselves one after another in their hands, and, after attempting in vain to break it, said: You alone, Fenrer are able to accomplish such a feat. Methinks, replied the wolf, that I shall acquire no fame by breaking such a slender thread, but if any deceit or artifice has been employed in making it, slender though it seems, it shall never come on my feet.

The gods assured him that he would easily break a limber silken cord, since he had already burst asunder iron fetters of the most solid construction; but if you should not succeed in breaking it, they added, you will show that you are too weak to cause the gods any fear, and we will not hesitate to set you at liberty without delay. I fear much, replied the wolf, that if you once bind me so fast that I shall be unable to free myself by my own efforts, you will be in no haste to loose me. Loath am I therefore to have this cord wound around me, but in order that you may not doubt my courage, I will consent, provided one of you put his hand into my mouth, as a pledge that you intend me no deceit. The gods looked wistfully at one another, and thought the conditions severe, finding that they had only the choice of two evils, and no one would sacrifice his hand, until Tyr, as has formerly been related, stepped forward and intrepidly put his hand between the monster’s jaws. Thereupon the gods having tied up the wolf, he violently stretched himself as he had formerly done, and used all his might to disengage himself, but the more efforts he made the tighter became the cord. Then all the gods burst out in laughter at the sight, excepting Tyr, who lost his hand.

When the gods saw that the wolf was effectually bound, they took the chain called Gelgja, which was attached to the cord, and drew it through the middle of a large rock called Gjol, which they sank deep into the earth; afterwards, to make it still more secure, they fastened the end of the cord to another massive stone called Thvite, which they sank still deeper. The wolf made in vain the most violent efforts to break loose, and, opening his tremendous jaws, and turning in every possible direction, endeavored to bite the gods. They, seeing this, thrust a sword into his mouth within his outstretched jaws, so that the hilt stood in his lower jaw and the point in the roof of the mouth; and this is called his palate-spar (_gómsparri_). He howls horribly, and the foam flows continually from his month in such abundance that it forms the river called Von; from which the wolf is also sometimes called Vonargander. There he will remain until Ragnarok, the Twilight of the gods. But why did not the gods slay the wolf, when they have so much evil to fear from him? Because they had so much respect for the sanctity of their peace-steads that they would not stain them with the blood of the wolf, although prophecies foretold to them that he must one day become the bane of Odin.

The Fenris-wolf is the earthly fire chained by man, exceedingly ferocious when let loose, as has been terribly illustrated by our recent fires in Chicago and her sister city Boston; as a devouring wolf it attacks and licks up the dwellings of men, as it is said in the lay of Haakon:

Fearfully fares The Fenris-wolf Over the fields of men When he is loosed.

Once it shall, with its upper jaw reaching to the heavens and with the lower jaw on the earth, advance with terror and destruction, and destroy the fire and flame of heaven, Odin (the sun). At present it is fettered on the island, where a grave is dug and a furnace is built of stone, with the draft (mouth) partially barred, so that the fire is surrounded by things which prevent its spreading. It is managed and controlled by men for their advantage, and it is so useful that no one would think of entirely destroying it (killing it).

SECTION III. JORMUNDGANDER, OR THE MIDGARD-SERPENT.

The Midgard- or world-serpent we have already become tolerably well acquainted with, and recognize in him the wild tumultuous sea. Thor contended with him; he got him on his hook, but did not succeed in killing him. We also remember how Thor tried to lift him in the form of a cat. The North abounds in stories about the sea-serpent, which a nothing but variations of the original myth of the Eddas. Odin cast him into the sea, where he shall remain until he is conquered by Thor in Ragnarok.

SECTION IV. HEL.

The goddess, or giantess (it is difficult to decide what to call her), Hel, is painted with vivid colors. She rules over nine worlds in Niflheim, where she dwells under one of the roots of Ygdrasil. Her home is called Helheim. The way thither, Hel-way, is long. Hermod traveled it in nine days and nine nights. Its course is always downward and northward. Her dwelling is surrounded by a fence or inclosure with one or more large gates. Gloomy rivers flow through her world. One of these streams is called Slid, which rises in the east and flows westward through valleys of venom, and is full of mud and swords. A dog stands outside of a cave (Gnipahellir). With blood-stained breast and loud howling this dog came from Hel to meet Odin, when the latter rode down to wake the vala, who lay buried in her grave-mound east of the Hel-gate, and to inquire about the fate of Balder. Horrible is the coming of Hel, for she binds the dying man with strong chains that cannot be broken. Anguish gnaws his heart, and every evening Hel’s maids come and invite him. These maids are also represented as dead women, who come in the night and invite him who is dying to their benches. And to the vision of the dying man opens a horrible, gloomy world of fog; he sees the sun, the genuine star of day, sink and disappear, while he, on the other hand, hears the gate of Hel harshly grate on its hinges, opening to receive him. Hel receives all that die of sickness or old age. But it also seems that others, both good and evil, come there; for Balder we know came to Hel, after he had been slain by Hoder. And Sigurd, who we remember slew Fafner, was afterwards assassinated by Gunnar and went to Hel; and thither went also Brynhild, in her beautiful car, after she had been burned on her funeral pile. Hel’s company is large, but she has dwellings enough for all; for her regions extend widely, and her palaces are terribly high and have large gates. Of course it is all shadows, but it has the appearance of reality.

For Balder,

The decorated seats Were strewn with rings; The lordly couch Was radiant with gold, And the pure mead Was brewed for him.

But there seems to have been a place set aside far down in the deepest abyss of Hel for the wicked; for it is said that the evil went to Hel, and thence to Niflhel, that is, down into the ninth world. And it is here, in this most infernal pit, that the palace is named Anguish; the table, Famine; the waiters, Slowness and Delay; the threshold, Precipice, and the bed, Care. It is here Hel is so livid and ghastly pale that her very looks inspire horror.

Hel’s horse has three feet. Hel-shoes were tied on to the feet of the dead, even though they went to Valhal.

Our English word _hell_ is connected with the goddess Hel,[77] and to kill is in Norse _at slaa ihel_ (i-Hel). The faith in this goddess is not yet perfectly eradicated from the minds of the people. Her dog is yet heard barking outside of houses as a warning that death is near. She wanders about from place to place as a messenger of death. In the story of Olaf Geirstada-alf it is a large ox, that goes from farm to farm, and at his breath people sink down dead. In the popular mind in Norway this messenger of death is sometimes thought to be a three-footed goat, and at other times a white three-footed horse. To see it is a sure sign of death. When a person has recovered from a dangerous illness, it is said that he has given Death a bushel of oats, for her wants must be supplied, and Hel wandering about in the guise of a goat, ox or horse, may accept oats as a compromise.

It may also be noticed here, that the so-called Black Plague, or Black Death, that ravaged Norway as well as many other European countries about the middle of the fourteenth century, assumed in the minds of the Norsemen the form of an old hag (Thok, Hel, Loke), going through the realm from parish to parish with a rake and a broom. In some parishes she used the rake, and there a few were spared; in other parishes she used the broom, and there all perished, and the parishes were swept clean.

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

The Norse mythology shows that our ancestors had a deeply-rooted belief in the immortality of the soul. They believed in a state of retribution beyond the grave. The dissolution of the body was typified by Balder’s death, and like the latter it was result of Loke’s malignity, just as the devil brought death upon Adam and Eve, and through them upon all mankind.

But while we find the belief in the imperishableness of the soul firmly established, the ideas regarding the state of existence after death were somewhat unsettled. We are soon to present the Eddaic doctrines of future life, but in connection with Hel it seems proper to give some further explanation of the ideas that our forefathers entertained of death. Hel’s gate is open, or ajar, said the old Goths, when the shades of death went out through the darkness of night and terrified all; but it is also open to receive the child with rosy cheeks as well as the man with hoary locks and trembling gait.

The future state was regarded as a continuation of our earthly existence. This is proved by the custom so prevalent among the Norsemen of supplying the dead with the best part of their property and the first necessities of life. A coin was put under the dead man’s tongue, that he might be able to defray his first expenses with it on his way to his final abode. Of course the dead went either to Odin or to Hel, but the relation between Valhal and Helheim presented difficulties which the Norsemen strove in various ways to solve. It was said that they who are slain in battle go to Odin in Valhal, while those who die of sickness or old age go to Hel in Helheim. But according to this it would be the kind of death alone which decided the soul’s future state; only those who fell by weapons would ascend to the glad abodes of heaven, while all who die of sickness would have to wander away to the dark world of the abyss, and there were people in whose eyes nothing except warlike deeds was praiseworthy. But the Odinic mythology, taken as a whole, presents a different view, although it must be admitted, as has before repeatedly been stated, that bravery was a cardinal virtue among our Norse ancestors.

We remember, from a previous chapter in this book, that the spirit or soul of man was a gift of Odin, while the body, blood and external beauty were a gift of Loder, who afterwards separated from the trinity of Odin, Hœner and Loder and became the mischievous Loke. Thus the soul belonged to the spirit-world, or Heaven, and the body to the material world, to the Deep. The two, soul and body, were joined together in this earthly life, but at its close they were separated, and each returned to its original source. The soul, with its more refined bodily form in which it was thought to be enveloped, went to the home of the gods, while the body, with the grosser material life, which was conceived to be inseparable from it, went to the abodes of Hel to become the prey of Loke’s daughter. Thus man’s being was divided between Odin and Hel. Odin, whose chief characteristic was _god of war_, seems to have claimed his share chiefly from those who fell in battle; and this probably may suggest to us some reason why Balder went to Hel. Balder is not a fighting god, he only shines, conferring numberless blessings on mankind, and death finally steals upon him. Odin seems not to have much need of his like. Thus death by arms came to be considered a happy lot, by the zealous followers of the asa-faith, for it was a proof of Odin’s favor smiling upon them. He who fell by arms was called by Odin to himself, before Hel laid claim to her share of his being; he was Odin’s chosen son, who with longing was awaited in Valhal, that he, in the ranks of the einherjes, might assist and sustain the gods in their last battle, in Ragnarok. In accordance with this theory we find in the ancient song of praise to the fallen king Erik Blood-ax, that Sigmund asks Odin this question:

Why snatch him then, father, From fortune and glory? Why not leave him rather To fill up his story On victory’s road?

ODIN:

Because no man knows When gray wolf[79] so gory His grisly maw shows In Asgard’s abode; Therefore Odin calls And Erik fain falls To follow his liege lord And fight for his god.

By this Odin means to say, we do not know when the Fenris-wolf may come, and therefore we may need Erik’s assistance. In the same sense the valkyrie is made by Eyvind Skaldespiller, in Hákonarmál, to say:

Now _are strengthened the host of the gods_, Since they have Haakon And his valiant army Home to themselves brought.

But because the dead who were slain by arms were thought to be called to Valhal, to unite themselves with the hosts of the einherjes, it was not supposed that Hel did not get her share in their being; nor was it supposed, on the other hand, that the soul of every one who died a natural death was shut out from heaven and forced to follow the body down into the abodes of Hel. That it was virtue, on the whole, and not bravery alone, which was to be rewarded in another life, and that it was wickedness and vice that were to be punished, is distinctly shown in the first poem of the Elder Edda, where it says of Gimle:

The virtuous there Shall always dwell, And evermore Delights enjoy;

while perjurers, murderers and adulterers shall wade through thick venom-streams in Naastrand. But it must be remembered that Gimle and Naastrand had reference to the state of things after Ragnarok, the Twilight of the gods; while Valhal and Hel have reference to the state of things between death and Ragnarok,—a time of existence corresponding somewhat to what is called _purgatory_ by the Catholic church. It may however be fairly assumed that the ideas which our ancestors had of reward and punishment concerning the preceding middle state (purgatory) of the dead, were similar to those which they had concerning the state after Ragnarok.

It was certainly believed that the soul of the virtuous, even though death by arms had not released it from the body and raised it up to the rank of the real einherjes, still found an abode in heaven, either in Valhal or in Vingolf or in Folkvang. The skald, Thjodolf of Hvin, makes King Vanlande go to Odin, although Hel tortured him; and Egil Skallagrimson, lamenting the death of his drowned son, knows that the son has come to the home of the gods (Gudheimr), while of himself he says that he fearlessly awaits the coming of Hel.

Of Nanna we read that she went with her husband, Balder, to Hel; but the souls of noble women were believed to go to heaven after death. There they found an abode with Freyja, and the spirits of maidens with Gefjun. When it is said that Freyja shares the slain with Odin, it may be supposed to mean that the slain, who in life had loved wives, were united to them again with Freyja.

On the other hand, it was as certainly believed that blasphemy and baseness might shut out even the bravest from Valhal. In the Saga of Burnt Njal, Hakon Jarl says of the bold but wicked Hrap, who had seduced his benefactor’s daughter and burned a temple: The man who did this shall be banished from Valhal and never come thither.

The reader may think that the statements here presented show some inconsistency in the theory and plan of salvation according to the doctrines of the Norse mythology. We admit that there _seems_ to be some inconsistency, but let us ask, is not this charge also frequently made against the Scriptures? Is not the church, on this very question of the plan of salvation, divided into two great parties, the one insisting on faith and the other on works? The one party quoting and requoting Paul, in his epistle to the Romans (iii, 28), where he says, that man is justified by _faith_ without the deeds of the law; and the other appealing to James’ epistle (ii, 24), where he says, that by works a man is justified, and not by faith only. And as the most eminent divines have found harmony in the principles of the Mosaic-Christian religion as laid down in the Scriptures, so we venture to assert that a profound study of the Odinic mythology will enable the student to elicit a sublime harmony in its doctrines and principles.

The strict construction of the asa-doctrine appears to be this, that although man in the intermediate state, between death and Ragnarok, was divided between Odin and Hel, yet each one’s share of his being, after death, was greater or less according to the life he had lived. The spirit of the virtuous and the brave had the power to bear up to heaven with it after death the better part of its corporeal being, and Hel obtained only the dust. But he whose spirit, by wickedness and base, sensual lust was drawn away from heaven, became in all his being the prey of Hel. His soul was not strong enough to mount freely up to the celestial abodes of the gods, but was drawn down into the abyss by the dust with which it had ever been clogged. Perhaps the representation of Hel as being half white and half pale-blue had its origin in this thought, that to the good, death appeared as a bright (white) goddess of deliverance, but to the wicked, as a dark and punishing deity.

When the drowned came to the halls of Ran, the sea-goddess took the part of Hel; that is, Ran claimed the body as her part, while the spirit ascended to heaven.

Bondsmen came to Thor after death. This seems to express the idea, that their spirits had not the power to mount up with free-born heroes to the higher celestial abodes, but were obliged to linger midway, as it were, among the low floating clouds under the stern dominion of Thor;—a thought painful to the feelings of humanity, but nevertheless not inconsistent with the views of our ancestors in ancient times. But when the bondsmen, as was the custom in the most ancient Gothic times, followed their master on the funeral pile, the motive must have been that they would continue to serve him in the future life, or their throwing themselves on their master’s funeral pile could have no meaning whatever.

The old Norsemen had many beautiful ideas in connection with death. Thus in the lay of Atle it is said of him who dies that he goes to the other light. That the dead in the mounds were a state of consciousness is illustrated by the following passages from Fridthiof’s Saga:

Now, children, lay us in two lofty graves Down by the sea-shore, near the deep-blue waves: Their sounds shall to our souls be music sweet, Singing our dirge as on the strand they beat.

When round the hills the pale moonlight is thrown And midnight dews fall on the Bautn-stone, We’ll sit, O Thorsten, in one rounded graves And speak together o’er the gentle waves.

Finally, it is a beautiful thought that there was a sympathetic union between the dead and the living. As the Persians believed that the rivers of the lower world grew by the tears of the living and interfered with the happiness of the departed, so the Norse peasant still believes that when a daughter weeps for the death of her father she must take care that no tear falls on his corpse, for thereby the peace of the deceased would be disturbed. We find this same thought expressed in the Elder Edda, where Helge says to Sigrun:

Thou alone causest, Sigrun From Sevafjeld, That Helge is bathed In sorrow’s dew.

Thou weepest, gold-adorned, Sunbright woman! Cruel tears, Before thou goest to sleep. Every bloody tear Fell on the king’s breast, Ice-cold and swelling With sorrow.

Thus also in the old song of Aage and Else:

Whenever thou grievest, My coffin is within As livid blood: Whenever thou rejoicest, My coffin is within Filled with fragrant roses.

SECTION VI. LOKE’S PUNISHMENT.

Loke and Balder struggled for the government of the world. Loke gradually grew victorious in his terrible children, while Balder, defenseless and innocent, had nothing but his shining purity with which to oppose Loke’s baseness. Loke’s wickedness reached its culminating point in the death of Balder and in the hag Thok, who with arid tears would wail Balder from Hel.

According to the Younger Edda it would seem that Loke was punished immediately after the death of Balder, but according to the Elder Edda the banquet of Æger seems to have taken place after the death of Balder, and there Loke was present to pour out in words his enmity to the defeated gods. When Æger had received the large kettle, that Thor had brought him from the giant Hymer, he brewed ale for the gods and invited them to a banquet. The gods and elves were gathered there, but Thor was not present. Æger’s servants were praised for their attentiveness and agility. This Loke could not bear to hear, and he killed one of them by name Funfeng. The gods drove him into the woods, but when they had seated themselves at the table and had begun to drink he came back again, and asked Elder, the other servant of Æger, what the gods talked about at the banquet. They talk about their weapons and about their bravery, replied Elder, but neither the gods nor the elves speak well of you. Then, said Loke, I must go into Æger’s hall, to look at the banquet: scolding and evil words bring I to the sons of the gods and mix evil in their ale. Then Loke went into the hall; but when they who were there saw who had entered, they were all silent. Then said Loke to the gods:

Thirsty I hither To the hall came— Long way I journeyed— The gods to ask Whether one would grant me A drink of the precious mead.

Why are ye silent, gods! And sit so stubborn? Have ye lost your tongues? Give me a seat And place at the banquet, Or turn me away.

BRAGE:

The gods will never Give you a seat And place at the banquet: Well know the gods To whom they will give Pleasure at the banquet.

Then Loke begins to abuse the gods, and reminds Odin how they once mixed blood together,—and Vidar must yield him his seat. But before Loke drank he greeted all the gods and goddesses excepting Brage, who occupied the innermost bench. And now Loke pours out his abuse upon all the gods and goddesses, much of which has been given heretofore. His last quarrel is with Sif, the wife of Thor. But then Beyla hears the mountains quake and tremble. It is Thor that is coming; and when he enters the hall he threatens to crush every bone in Loke’s body; and to him Loke finally yields, for he knows that Thor carries out his threats. On going out he heaps curses upon Æger, and hopes that he (Æger) may never more make banquets for the gods, but that flames may play upon his realm and burn him too.

Loke now fled and hid himself in the mountains. There he built him a dwelling with four doors, so that he could see everything that passed around him. Often in the daytime he assumed the likeness of a salmon and concealed himself under the waters of a cascade called Fraananger Force, where he employed himself in divining and circumventing whatever stratagems the gods might have recourse to in order to catch him. One day as he sat in his dwelling he took flax and yarn and worked them into meshes, in the manner that nets have since been made by fishermen. Odin had however, sitting in Hlidskjalf, discovered Loke’s retreat; and the latter, becoming aware that the gods were approaching, threw his net into the fire and ran to conceal himself in the river. When the gods entered Loke’s house, Kvaser, who as the most distinguished among them all for his quickness and penetration, traced out in the hot embers the vestiges of the net which had been burnt, and told Odin that it must be an invention to catch fish. Whereupon they set to work and wove a net after the model they saw imprinted in the ashes. This net, when finished, they threw into the river in which Loke had hid himself. Thor held one end of the net and all the other gods laid hold of the other end, thus jointly drawing it along the stream. Notwithstanding all their precautions the net passed over Loke, who had crept between two stones, and the gods only perceived that some living thing had touched the meshes. They therefore cast their net a second time, hanging so great a weight to it that it everywhere raked the bed of the river. But Loke, perceiving that he had but a short distance to the sea, swam onward and leapt over the net into the force. Tho gods instantly followed him and divided themselves into two bands. Thor, wading along in mid-stream, followed the net, whilst the others dragged it along toward the sea. Loke then perceived that he had only two chances of escape,—either to swim out to the sea, or to leap again over the net. He chose the latter, but as he took a tremendous leap Thor caught him in his hand. Being however extremely slippery, he would have escaped had not Thor held him fast by the tail; and this is the reason why salmon have had their tails ever since so fine and slim.

The gods having thus captured Loke, they dragged him without commiseration into a cavern, wherein they placed three sharp-pointed rocks, boring a hole through each of them. Having also seized Loke’s children, Vale and Nare, or Narfe, they changed the former into a wolf, and in this likeness he tore his brother to pieces and devoured him. The gods then made cords of his intestines, with which they bound Loke on the points of the rocks, one cord passing under his shoulders, another under his loins, and a third under his hams, and afterwards transformed these cords to fetters of iron. Then the giantess Skade took a serpent and suspended it over him in such a manner that the venom should fall into his face, drop by drop. But Sigyn, Loke’s wife, stands by him and receives the drops, as they fall, in a cup, which she empties as often as it is filled. But while she is doing this, venom falls upon Loke, which makes him shriek with horror and twist his body about so violently that the whole earth shakes; and this produces what men call earthquakes. There will Loke lie until Ragnarok.

Here we have Loke in the form of a salmon. Slippery as a salmon, is as common an adage in Norseland as our American: slippery as an eel. Lobe himself makes the net by which he is caught and ruined. This is very proper; sin and crime always bring about their own ruin. The chaining of Loke is one of the grandest myths in the whole mythology. That Loke represents fire in its various forms, becomes clearer with every new fact, every new event in his life. Skade is the cold mountain stream, that pours its venom upon Loke. Sigyn takes much of it away, but some of it will, in spite of her, come in contact with the subterranean fire, and the earth quakes and the geysers spout their scalding water. But who cannot see human life represented in this grand picture? All great convulsions in the history of man are brought about in the same manner, and beside the great forces of revolution stand the pious, gentle and womanly minds who with the cup of religion or with the eloquence of the pure spirit prevent the most violent outbreaks of storm among the nations, and pour their quieting oils upon the disturbed waters. And who does not remember cases at the shrine of the family, where the inevitable consequences of man’s folly and crime produce convulsive crises, misfortunes and misery, which the wife shares, prevents and moderates with her soft hand, gentle tears, and soothing words,—always cheerful and never growing weary. It is woman’s divine work in life, in a quiet manner to bring consolation and comfort, and never to despair.

As the earth and sea in their various manifestations are represented by various divinities, so the fire also presents various forms. It is celestial, united with Odin; it is earthly in the Fenris-wolf, and it is subterranean in the chained Loke. That Loke symbolizes fire, is also illustrated by the fact that the common people in Norway, when they hear the fire crackling, say that Loke is whipping his children. In a wider sense Loke is in one word the evil one, the devil. The common people also know Loke as a divinity of the atmosphere. When the sun draws water, they say that Loke is drinking water. When vapors arise from the earth and float about in the atmosphere, this phenomenon is also ascribed to Loke. When he sows his oats among the grain, he produces a peculiar aërial phenomenon, of which the novelist Blicher speaks in one of his romances, saying that this trembling motion of the air, which the people call Loke’s oats, confuses and blinds the eyes. Nay, truly it confuses and blinds, for we need not take this only in a literal sense. It is that motion which shocks the nerves of man when the soul conceives evil thoughts; it is that nervous concussion which shocks the whole system of the criminal when he goes to commit his foul misdeed.

Having now given a description of Loke,—having painted with words the character of this wily, mischievous, sly and deceitful divinity,—we ask, with Petersen, where is the painter who will present him in living colors on canvas? We want a personal representation of him. We want his limbs, his body and his head. Where is the painter who can give his chin the proper form, his mouth the right shape, paint his dimples with those deep and fine wrinkles when he smiles, and do justice to his nose and upper lip? Who will paint those delicate elevations and depressions of his cheeks, that terrible brilliancy of his eyes, his subtle and crafty forehead, and his hair at once stiff and wavy? Who will paint this immortal youth who yet everywhere reveals his old age, or this old man whose face mocks at everything like a reckless youth? Here is a theme without a model, a theme for a master of the art.

SECTION VII. THE IRON POST.

The following story from the south of Germany illustrates how stories can be remodeled and changed as to their external adornment and still preserve their fundamental feature. The reader will not fail to discover Loke in the following tradition, entitled _Der Stock im Eisen_, a story which in its most original form must date back to the time when Loke was known in Germany.

Opposite St. Stephen’s Tower in Vienna there is found, it is said, one of the old landmarks of this city, the so-called _Stock im Eisen_ (the iron post). It is a post that has in the course of time become blackened and charred, and into which nail after nail has been driven so close together that there is not room for a single one more, and the post is literally inclosed in an iron casing. This covering of iron keeps the dry post in an upright position, and near the ground it is fastened by an iron ring with unusually wonderful lock. In olden times this post was a landmark, for to it extended the great Wienerwald. In connection with it the following tale is told by H. Meinert:

A young good-looking locksmith apprentice, by name Reinbert, had secretly won the heart and become engaged to his master’s daughter Dorothea; but there was not much hope that she would ever become his wife. One evening the two lovers agreed to meet outside the city: they forget themselves in their conversation, in their doubts and their hopes, and hear not the clock that strikes the hour when the gate of the city is to be closed; and the lover has forgotten to take money along to get it opened. But what a misfortune if they should be shut out, what a disgrace to his beloved, if it should become known that she has spent the night outside the city, outside of her father’s house, in company with a man! Suddenly there arises as it were from the ground a pale man, with the contour of his face sharply marked, with wonderful flashing eyes, wearing a black cloak and black hat, and in the latter waves a cock-feather. Reinbert involuntarily shudders as he sees him, but still he does not forget his misfortune in being shut out of the city; he therefore explains his distress to the stranger, and asks him to lend him enough to pay the gate-watch. Like for like! whispers the stranger into Reinbert’s ear; if I am to help you and your beloved out of your distress, then you must promise me upon the salvation of your soul never any Sunday to neglect the holy mass. Reinbert hesitates; but it is in fact a pious promise, and necessity knows no laws. He promises, and the gate opens as it were spontaneously.

Four weeks later, when Reinbert sat in his workshop, the door opens and that strange man enters. Reinbert shudders at the sight of him; but when the stranger does not even care to look at him and only asks for his master, he regains his peace of mind. When the apprentices had called the master, the visitor ordered an iron fastening, with lock and bolt, and the master is willing to undertake the work. But now began the stranger (cunning as Loke) with a wonderful knowledge of details to mention all the different parts of the lock, explained with great eloquence the whole plan of it, and took special pains to describe the manner in which the springs must necessarily be bent and united; and although both the master and the apprentices had to admit that such a lock was not without the range of possibilities,—nay, that it would indeed be a masterpiece,—still their heads began to swim when they tried to think of its wonderful construction and arrange the plan in their minds, and they had to admit that they did not trust themselves to do the work. Then the stranger’s mouth assumed a deeply-furrowed, indescribably scornful smile; and he said with contempt: Call yourselves master and apprentices, when you do not know how to undertake a work that the youngest one among you can do in less than an hour! The youngest one among us, murmured the apprentices; do you think that Reinbert would be able to do it,—he is the youngest one among us? O yes, said the stranger, he there can do it, or his look must deceive me much. With these words he called out the astounded Reinbert, explained to him once more the plan of the lock, and added: If you do not save the honor of the smiths, the whole world shall know their disgrace: but if you can get the lock ready within two hours, no master will refuse you his daughter, after you have saved his reputation. Yes indeed, said the master, if you can perform such an impossibility, Dorothea shall be yours. While the stranger described the nature of the lock, Reinbert had sunk into deep reflections; to his soul the narrow workshop widened into a large plain; he saw a beautiful, happy future blooming before him; by strange and wonderful voices he heard himself styled the master of masters; and his beloved he saw approaching him with the bridal wreath entwined in her locks; and just at that moment he heard his master’s words: If you can perform such an impossibility, Dorothea shall be yours. He immediately began his work; it seemed as if he were working with a hundred arms: each blow of the hammer gave form to a part of the work; by a peculiar resounding the hammer-blows seemed to multiply, as if more invisible hands hammered with him, while the stranger in the red glare of the flame looked like a pillar of fire (Loke). After the lapse of an hour the work was finished. Apprentices and master looked at it and examined it, shaking their heads, and with mouths wide open; but there was no doubt that Reinbert had accomplished a masterpiece never seen before, and the master ascribed it to his enthusiasm awakened by his love. The stranger took the lock and went ahead; the master with Reinbert and all his apprentices and the members of his family followed, and all proceeded to the place where the iron post (Stock im Eisen) now stands. Here the stranger placed an iron chain around the post and fastened it with Reinbert’s lock. When they returned, the stranger had disappeared, and with him the key to the marvelous lock.

We omit a part of the story, taking only that part which has reference to Loke.

On account of slander, Reinbert had to travel far and wide before he finally got his beloved Dorothea. A few days after he had returned, the government issued a proclamation to the effect that whatever smith could make a key that would open that lock should thereby get his diploma of mastership. Reinbert announced himself a candidate, and repaired to his workshop to make the key. But for the first time his work did not seem to succeed. The iron was stubborn and would not assume the form required; and it seemed astonishing to him, when he at last had succeeded in giving the key the proper form, and put it into the furnace to temper it, it was turned and twisted when he took it out again. His impatience grew into wrath. But when he at length, after many unsuccessful attempts, had got the key ready and put it into the furnace and carefully scrutinized to see what it was that thus always ruined his work, he saw in the midst of the fire a claw seize after the key, and terror-stricken he discovered that disagreeable stranger’s twisted face (Loke) staring at him out of the burning furnace. He quickly snatched the key away, turned it, seized it with the tongs at the other end, and put it into the fire again; and lo and behold! when he took it out the handle was somewhat twisted, but the head preserved its right shape. (We remember that it was Loke’s fault that the handle of Thor’s hammer became rather short.)

Reinbert now announced to the government that the key was ready; and the day after the government officials and the citizens marched in procession to the iron post, and Reinbert’s key opened the lock. In his enthusiasm at his success he threw the key high up in the air, but to everybody’s surprise it did not come down again. It was sought for everywhere, but could nowhere be found, and Reinbert had to promise to make a new one some time. To commemorate the fact that it had been possible to open the lock he drove a nail into the woodon post, and since that time every smith has done the same when he left Vienna; thus this post was formed with its numberless nails.

Reinbert became a master and married his beloved. Up to this time he had kept his promise and had attended upon the holy mass every Sunday; he began to drink and gamble, but he conscientiously continued to keep his promise. Finally it happens that he once stayed a little too long at the gambling-house, and hastens terrified in order not too late to church. But the door of St. Stephen’s church is closed. Outside sits an old woman (Loke assumed the guise of a woman[80] after Balder’s death), who, in answer to his question, informs him that mass is out. Filled with deadly anguish he rushes back to his comrades, who laughed at him and insisted that, as as began at half-past eleven o’clock, and as it was only three-quarters past eleven, the mass could not yet be over. He hastens back again: the church-door is now open, but at the very moment he enters, the priest leaves the altar—the mass is over. The old woman rises, seizes him by the arms, and his soul departs from him.

Thus the myth develops into traditionary story, and one story begets another; they wander about from the south to the north and from the north to the south, and change with the times, reminding us of the various manifestations of life; reminding us how human things circulate and develop, each inextricably interwoven with all, and always reminding us, too, that there is a heaven above the earth and an existence beyond what is allotted to us mortals on earth.

SECTION VIII. A BRIEF REVIEW.

We have now completed the second part of our work, and witnessed the life and exploits of the gods. It remains now to sum up briefly the main features of, and the principal lessons taught in, this portion of the mythology.

We cannot fail to have observed that the life of the gods is, in the first place, a reflection of the workings of visible nature, and, in the second place, a reflection and foreshadowing of the life of man, particularly of life in its various manifestations in the history of the Gothic race. We have also witnessed how wonderfully the interests and works of the gods—nay, how absolutely the gods themselves—are interlinked with each other,—that centralizing thought which, as has been said before, forms one of the most prominent characteristics of Norse or Gothic mythology, thought and history.

We have seen how the divinities and demons, after having been created, enter upon various activities, contend with each other and are reconciled, and how new beings are developed in this struggle, all destined to fight on one side or the other in the final conflict.

The myth reflects nature and society, the one inextricably in communion with the other; and in the development of nature and society we find three relations: the relation of the asas to the giants, the relation of the asas to the vans, and the relation of Loke to Odin. The asas and the giants try to unite, but meet with poor success, their natures are too opposite. The union of the asas and vans is accomplished with but little difficulty; while between Odin and Loke there is a tendency to separate more and more. The beginning of warfare between the gods and the giants is the beginning of nature’s development; the giants storm the heavens and are repulsed; this struggle lasts through life, and in it Sleipner is produced. Later, begins the war between the asas and vans, which ends in peace, and with this peace begins the development of society; the asas and vans together forming a series of beautiful myths, that have reference to war, to the cultivation of the earth, to the civilizing influences of the water, to the greater development of the mind and heart,—that is, to knowledge, love, humanity and peace,—the object of which reconciliation, reached by labor and struggles. But enmity soon arises among the gods themselves. Odin’s union with Loke is dissolved. In the midst of the good there is evil. The evil proceeds from the good by separation, by taking a wrong course. The unity of the spirit is destroyed when anything tears itself loose from it and assumes an independent position in opposition to it. Loke separates himself from Odin and develops himself independently. He acts like Odin; he permeates all nature and the soul of man; but he does it independently, and the result is that the powers of evil spread over the earth in the form of Loke’s children. Everything becomes wild and tumultuous. Fire rages in its frantic fury in the character of the Fenris-wolf. The Midgard-serpent represents the furious convulsions of the sea; cowardice seizes the heart and begets the pale Hel, death without conflict, life as a mere shadow. Thus it goes on. Knowledge rightly used is a blessing, but unconstrained by prudence it degenerates into cunning and deceitfulness; killing is honorable, but unconstrained by justice and valor it becomes foul murder; to break a promise that can no longer be kept is proper, but when done recklessly it is perjury. We find, throughout the life of the gods, light and darkness well defined and distinctly separated. Loke fluctuates between the two; he gradually leaves light and unites himself to darkness. The darkness of night supplants the light of day; the gloomy winter overcomes the shining summer. The gods learn that they are subject to the infirmities of old age; the rejuvenating Idun sinks into the abyss. From the depths below, Odin receives warnings that the light of life may be extinguished. Loke begins his conflict with Balder; finally his stratagem and cunning gain a victory, and all the sorrowing of nature is in vain. Loke is chained, but Balder does not return from Hel. Vale has avenged his brother’s death, but the end of life is at hand. And now we are prepared for RAGNAROK, followed by the REGENERATION OF THE EARTH.

Footnote 75:

Peasant, farmer.

Footnote 76:

To anyone who wishes to read this great epic of the North, we would recommend the _Völsunga Saga_ translated by Eiríkr Magnússon and William Morris. London, 1872.

Footnote 77:

They are both derived from the Anglo-Saxon _hélan_ or _helian_, to cover, to conceal; compare the English _to hill_.

Footnote 78:

For a more complete discussion of this subject the reader is referred to Keyser’s _Religion of the Northmen_ translated by Barclay Pennock. New York, 1854.

Footnote 79:

The Fenris-wolf.

Footnote 80:

Thok.