THE TWO EDDAS, THE ELDER AND THE YOUNGER, THE POETIC AND THE PROSE.—CONTENTS OF THE FORMER.—DIVISION INTO CLASSES. 1. THE MYSTICAL. 2. THE MYTHIC-DIDACTIC. 3. THE PURELY MYTHOLOGICAL. 4. THE MYTHIC-HISTORICAL.—POEMS OF EACH CLASS.—THE PROSE EDDA.—SNORRO STURLESON.

The religion of the ancient Northmen—which, though it has many points of affinity with other religions, has yet a sufficient number of its own peculiarities to constitute it a distinct system—has been always admitted to be a most interesting and most curious subject of inquiry, not merely in the north of Europe, but in England, in Germany, and in France. Yet until the last few years, the popular notions concerning it were vague and inaccurate; and for the best of all reasons—that, of the two sources from which alone a full knowledge of it could be acquired, the one had been carelessly, the other partially published.

The two works to which we allude are the two Eddas, the Elder and the Younger; the former attributed to Sæmund, the other to Snorro, the son of Sturlo, both Icelanders and both Christians,—the one born in the eleventh, the other in the twelfth century.

Sæmund, who, from his varied knowledge, is styled hin Frode, or the Learned, and by posterity at least was regarded as a wizard, had greater advantages of education than we should have expected in an Icelander of that remote period. He studied, we are told, both in France and Germany, and is supposed to have visited Rome. On his return he settled at Oddé, in the northern part of the island, embraced holy orders, and was entrusted with the cure of souls. Much of his time, however, was devoted to the education of youth, and to literary pursuits. Whether, as Christianity had not long been established in that remote island, he was still in some degree influenced by the lingering spirit of paganism, or whether (a more probable supposition) a taste superior to the age in which he lived led him to preserve, instead of destroying, the remaining monuments of paganism, we are indebted to him for one of the most curious books that has ever occupied the attention of the human mind. This was the Elder Edda, the first part of which was published for the first time in 1787. The second part did not issue from the press until 1818, nor the third until 1828. No writer, therefore, prior to these years, could have any just notice of this venerable collection of pieces, or, consequently, of the religion which they illustrate. To the advantage furnished to the modern student by their publication must be added the vast erudition of Finn Magnusen, editor of the third or last part, whose Mythological Lexicon and Critical Dissertations (especially the one elaborately devoted to “the Edda Doctrine and its Origin”) have not only exhausted the subject, but pointed out many of the affinities between the Scandinavian religion and that of the most celebrated nations both in ancient and modern times.

The Elder, or Poetic Edda, consists of about forty poems,—all anonymous, all, with one exception, pagan compositions, though written at different periods, the most recent of them bearing the impress of considerable antiquity. They have been arranged, perhaps somewhat arbitrarily, into four different classes, according to the nature of the subjects. These are—1. the Mystical; 2. the Mythic-didactic; 3. the purely Mythological; and 4. the Mythic-historical.

1. Of the Mystical class, the most prominent is the Voluspa (Voluspa), the oracle of Vala the prophetess. This contains a rapid, abrupt, and very dark account of the whole system, beginning with the creation, and ending with the destruction of the universe by fire. All things, however, are not to be destroyed: two individuals, a man and a woman, are to be saved, and made the progenitors of a new and fairer world. It should be observed, that in the Scandinavian as in the Greek and Roman superstition, superior sanctity is ascribed to the women. They alone knew the fates; even Odin had to consult them when he wished to look beyond the dark cloud that concealed the future from the gods no less than from mankind.

The Grougaldor, or the magical song of Groa, is another of this class. It consists of terms and precepts, the use of which is to produce the most astounding supernatural effects. These “words of might” were not peculiar to the Odinic worship. They pervade still more thoroughly that which Zoroaster instituted, between whom and the northern prophet there are more points of resemblance than the learned have yet discerned. Both, for example, pretended to magical powers, because both found the pretension already in existence when they entered on their respective careers; and neither was willing to be thought inferior to the members of the priestly caste which he undertook to subvert. The magic of the Finns and Lets Odin stigmatized as black magic—as inculcated by the powers of darkness for the injury of mankind; but his was the white, the pure magic, the kingly art. He found a school already established in the north; and with all his power he could not wholly extirpate it. There seems, indeed, reason to infer that he connived at the union of many native rites with his own; or, at least, that if he did not, his immediate successors did. Just so it was with the renowned Magian. In contemplating the origin of his religion, we may either smile, or be provoked, at the prodigies which every where meet us. It is a religion of magic; it boasts of supernatural powers; it openly owns not merely the possibility, but the necessity, of miraculous results, when the words of might which it prescribes are duly pronounced. And if miracles and prodigies constitute its peculiar character even at this day, in the comparatively civilised Hindostan, they were doubly necessary when Zoroaster first announced it to the world. To them he boldly appealed for the truth of his mission. The miracles which preceded, those which accompanied, his birth, may be seen in the elaborate account of him prefixed by Anquetil du Perron to his translation of the Zendavesta. Throughout his life, if any faith is to be placed in his biographers, he wrought, or pretended to work, miracles by his magical terms. Yet he exceeded even Odin in the zeal with which he inveighed against the magic of his rivals. Against the magicians his most terrible anathemas were hurled; against them he waged a war of extermination, and justified the hostility by alleging the express command of heaven. But they were the servants of Ahriman, the irreconcilable enemies of Ormuzd—of every thing that is good—of every thing that issues from the benevolent deity. In their hands, magic was sure to become an instrument of evil; but in those of himself and his disciples, it could not fail to be an instrument of happiness. In the former case it must be fatal, in the latter highly useful, to human nature: hence the necessity of destroying in the one case that which should be piously maintained in the other. Such, too, was the conduct of Odin. There was, however, this difference between the two legislators: while the Median regarded women as absolutely impure, and confided the celebration of all his rites, magical or religious, to the men; the Scythian paid peculiar honour to the sex: women were allowed, enjoined, to perform the most solemn, the most awful, ceremonies of the new faith. Yet the men were not excluded from the privilege. There were colleges or fraternities of wizards from the earliest known periods of Scandinavian history, down to the time of Harald Harfager, or even later still. Rognevald, a son of that monarch, was burned to death, with eighty of his associates, on the charge of exercising a magic condemned by Odin, and emanating from the evil powers.

The Solar Liod, or Song of the Sun, is almost wholly the composition of Sæmund. But then he derived his materials from ancient pagan times.

2. Of the mytho-didactic poems, the first place may well be assigned to the Vafthrudnis-mâl. It is, like many of the other Odinic pieces, in the form of a dialogue. Odin expresses his resolution to visit Vafthrudnir, a famous giant or genius, and of contending with him in science. Frigga, his queen, “to whom the future is known,” attempts to dissuade him from the journey, because “no one of the genii is to be compared with Vafthrudnir in wisdom and valour.” If Odin should be vanquished in the contest, he must perish, and with him all the gods who were dependent on him. But he persists, assumes the disguise of a weary traveller, and proceeds to the palace of the sage giant. On this poem, however, we shall not further dilate, as a translation of it may be found in a volume of the present collection.^[16] This contest between the chief of the gods and the giant is derived from the same source as the war of the Titans with Jove.

Grimnis-mâl, or Grimner’s Song, is another of the mytho-didactic class. Grimner is no other than Odin, who has assumed the disguise of an aged minstrel, for a purpose explained by the Icelandic introduction to the poem. King Rodung had two sons, the one eight, the other ten years of age. One day they embarked in a boat to pass some hours in fishing. A storm arising, they were driven into an unknown sea, and cast upon a strange coast. Approaching a hut, they were hospitably received by the master and mistress, who seemed to be a rustic pair, but who in reality were Odin and Frigga. Agner, the elder, was the favourite of the latter, Geirrod, the younger, of the former. In the hut they remained the whole winter; and when spring arrived, they were led to the sea-coast, and embarked in a new vessel which their hosts presented to them. When bidding adieu, the male rustic whispered something into Geirrod’s ear. The purport of this secret may be inferred from the conduct of the prince just as he reached land. As he leaped on shore, he pushed the boat away, exclaiming to his brother Agner, “Go, where the evil genii may seize thee!” Repairing to his father’s court, he found that father no more, and he was immediately proclaimed king of the country. On the other hand, Agner was among the giants or evil genii, and married to a woman of that hated race. Great, therefore, was the contrast between the fortunes of the two; and Odin one day, from the highest heaven, pointed it out in triumph to his goddess-queen. Frigga declared that Geirrod was undeserving of the good fortune; that he was a niggard who starved his dependents and guests. This the god refused to credit; and when she persisted in the charge, he assumed a mortal form to try the experiment. But what man can equal a woman, either god or goddess, in cunning? Frigga sent one of her confidential messengers to Geirrod, telling him to be on his guard against a wise magician then in his dominions, who had resolved to destroy him: that magician was to be known by this token—that no dog would bark at him. The royal command was therefore given that dogs should be set on all who approached the palace, and whomsoever they refused to assail should be brought before him. A man, covered with a blue peltz, was brought before him and questioned; but the stranger would return no other answer than that he was called Grimner. In great wrath, the king placed him between two great fires—an infallible way of discovering a wizard—and commanded that he should receive no food. There he remained eight days and eight nights, suffering from the heat and from thirst, when Agner, the son of Geirrod, a boy of ten years, took pity on him, and presented him with a full horn, observing that his father did wrong thus to punish a guiltless man. Here the piece opens: Odin exclaims that the fire is hot; and prophesies that the royal youth shall, for this service, soon hold the sceptre of the Goths. He then proceeds—somewhat oddly, only immortal beings may be privileged to say or do what they please—to describe in succession the twelve mansions of heaven. (To this description we shall afterwards advert, when we endeavour to explain the cosmogony of the Scandinavians.) He ended by declaring who he was; and that the death of Geirrod was at hand. In great fear, the king arose to release the divine speaker; but stumbling, the point of his sword entered his body, and Agner was immediately proclaimed.

As many poems on the Edda will hereafter occupy our attention, we shall only observe that the Alvis-mâl, or song concerning the dwarf Alvis; the Hyndlu-liod, or song concerning Hyndla; and the Fiolsvinns-mâl, or story about Fiolsvinr, are of the same class, and equally conversant with mythological subjects. The second of these also mentions the names of some Norwegian jarls who traced their origin to a divine source. The Hava-mâl, or sublime discourse of Odin, concludes this class of poems. It consists partly of moral precepts, some of which are very good; while others are dictated by a mind more cunning than wise; and partly of the wonderful powers attached to certain runes. For the latter we have no taste; of the former, half a dozen specimens may be given.

“Remain not long a guest in the house of another; for he who does so becomes a burden to his host.”

“A secret can be kept by one person only,—by him whom it concerns. If two know it, there is danger; if three know it, it is no longer a secret.”

“Be thou the friend of thy friend’s friend, and in no wise the friend of thine enemy’s friend.”

“If thou hast a true friend, and keepest nothing from him, join thy heart with his, exchange gifts with him, and visit him often. The path untrodden is soon overgrown.”

“If thou hast a friend whom thou canst not trust, but yet wouldst obtain a benefit from him, speak fairly to him, but keep thine own secret: return him falsehood for falsehood.”

“Trust not to a woman’s word: her heart is moveable as the wheel at which she spins, and deceit is cherished in her breast.”

“The child of one’s old age is the most precious.”

“Flocks and herds perish; so do friends and kindred; such will be our own lot. But one thing there is that will never perish,—the good man’s fame.”

3. The poems purely mythological are of a more interesting class. The Hymis-guida, or song concerning Hymir, describes an entertainment given by Ægir, the sea-god, to the deities of the Scandinavian Olympus. Ægir, to his great dismay, has no cauldron large enough to brew mead in for such thirsty guests; and Thor goes to borrow or steal one from the great Hymir. This entertainment gave rise to another poem, the Loka-glespa, or quarrelling of Loka with the assembled guests. It is curious as showing the estimation in which the gods were held by one of their own number. A more imaginative production is the Hamars-heimt, or recovery of Thor’s mallet, which the guests had stolen, and which Thrym, one of the number, had buried eight miles below the surface of the ground. The Rafna-galdur-Odins, or raven song of Odin, describes the lamentations of the gods at their approaching annihilation. The Skirnirs-for, or journey of Skirnir to the region of the giants, in search of a wife for Freyr, one of the gods, is graphic, and strikingly illustrative of northern mythology. The Vegtams-guida, or Song of the Traveller, contains the descent of Odin to consult the charmed prophetess Vala concerning the fate of Baldur. This piece we have already translated.^[17]

That most of the preceding poems were composed at a period lost in the depths of antiquity, and in a region less remote than Scandinavia from the cradle of the human race, is exceedingly probable. Such are the Voluspa, Vafthrudnis-mâl, Grimnis-mâl, Alvis-mâl, Rafna-galdur-Odins, and Vegtams-guida. In regard to Hymis-guida, Hamars-heimt, Skirnirs-for, Hyndlu-liod, &c., they do not bear the impress of so high an antiquity: they are supposed to be the productions of the northern muse. They have their interest; but that interest is much stronger when we read the olden pieces. These have been compared by a living writer^[18] “to the organic remains, the wrecks, of a more ancient world; or to the gigantic ruins of Egypt and Hindostan, speaking a more perfect civilisation, the glories of which have long since departed.” We see, however, no reason for assuming this “more perfect civilisation:” the nation or people who knew such doctrines might have been ignorant enough, while their priests were comparatively learned. The oriental impress which they bear cannot be mistaken; still less can we overlook the extreme antiquity which they may claim. Kindred with the most ancient superstitions of Rome, of Greece, of Persia, they must have been derived from the same common source.

4. Of the mytho-historical poems, there are many. In them magic is so joined with the ordinary knowledge of life, the supernatural with the human, that we are inclined to reject even that which has a real historical foundation. In this respect, however, they are like the poems of all heroic ages, and not more censurable than those of Homer or of Hindostan. A more interesting fact is, that from these lays have sprung most of the great Teutonic fictions which adorn the Nibelungenlied, and many even of those which we denominate the romantic or the chivalric. Probably the incidents are perversions of real facts, which happened in a period approaching that of Attila and his Huns, whose exploits occupy the attention of the northern muse. Some of them, we know, were sung at the court of Olaf Trygveson, the Norwegian king. It would not, however, be difficult to trace others to a higher source than the age of Attila,—to the source whence the heroic classical lore of Greece was derived; and others again bear a marked affinity with the legends of the Arabian Nights.

The prose or younger Edda, usually, but perhaps erroneously, ascribed to Snorro Sturleson, has also many of these chivalric or mytho-historical lays. Of this venerable monument of antiquity the world could form no just notion prior to the year 1818, when that admirable scholar professor Rask published his edition. The edition of Resenius—the only one previously known to Europe—is an imperfect work, derived from corrupted MSS. and the notes of the Scalds are often confounded with the text. It consists of several parts. The Formali, which is the introduction, has many legends and fables respecting the descent of nations, especially of the Scandinavian. They are evidently from both Asiatic and European sources. After the introduction, comes the Gylfa-ginning, or deception of Gylfa. This personage was a king of Swithiof (part of Sweden) and a famous magician,—the head of the native magical college which the Aser were endeavouring to subvert. To account for their superior power, the result of their superior wisdom, he determined to assume a disguise, and proceed at once to the cradle of the Aser in the east. Under the name of Gangler (the traveller), he reaches the celestial city, and finds an oracle capable of resolving all his doubts, of removing all his ignorance. To each of his questions the reply is in full, explaining the mythology of the elder Edda, illustrated by extracts from the Voluspa, the Hava-mâl, and the predictions of the Scalds. This part of the work is, in its design, and partly in its execution, so similar to the Vafthrudnis-mâl in the elder Edda, that it must have been derived from it, or from a source common to both. The second part of the prose Edda, called Braga-raedar, contains the recitation of his best pieces by the divine Braga, at the banquet of the sea-god Ægir. The Eptirmali is a kind of epilogue written by Icelandic poets immediately prior to Snorro, or possibly by Snorro himself. It is an attempt to explain many of the fables in the Edda, by the circumstances of the Trojan war. In addition to all these subjects, we have the Skalda, which is a kind of ars poetica, for the use of poetical students.

While mentioning the prose Edda, we are naturally drawn to its reputed compiler Snorro, the son of Sturle, who was also the compiler of the Heimskringla, our only sure guide for northern history down to the 13th century. This extraordinary man was born in 1178, near the bay of Hoams-fiord, on the domain of his family. He was, consequently, above a century later than Sæmund, whose birth was between 1050 and 1060. His descent was illustrious; it could be traced to the ancient Ynglings and to the jarls of Moria. In his fourth year he was sent to Oddé, which, as we have before related^[19], had been the residence of that remarkable priest; and, strange to say, he was educated under the direction of Sæmund’s grandson, Jon Loptston. Here he remained until his twentieth year, and was instructed in Greek no less than in Roman literature. The MSS. collections made by Sæmund and Ari Frode, were his delight; and to them he was indebted for the ruling bias of his life. In 1197 he left Oddé, and by marrying the daughter of a rich priest, greatly increased his patrimonial inheritance. In every thing fortune smiled upon him; he became in a few years the richest man on the island; and when he appeared at the Al-thing, he was generally escorted by a body of some hundred horsemen. In 1202, he removed his residence from Borg, one of his patrimonial seats, to the estate of Reykholt, which he had also inherited. This place he fortified—a proof that deadly feuds were common—and adorned it with works that evinced alike his genius and his riches. In 1213, he was raised to the dignity of logsogomadr^[20], or chief judge of the island. No man could be better qualified for duties, the nature and origin of which had occupied so much of his time. In 1218 he visited Norway, where he was well received by king and nobles. His fame, indeed, had travelled before him. Among his poetical compositions were some odes in honour of the great; and these, (for flattery has every where the same effect) procured him many valuable presents, not only in Norway, but in Sweden. His sojourn in West and East Gothland doubtless originated in his desire to collect all the information which tradition, and possibly MSS., could furnish him in regard to his ancestors, and the Yngling princes. But his patriotism seems to have been inferior to his genius. That he entered into a conspiracy for the complete subjection of his country to the Norwegian court is certain. In 1220, both enriched and honoured, he returned to Iceland; but we no longer perceive in him the great qualities which had led to his election in 1213. Avaricious, haughty, revengeful, he made enemies on every side, and in 1237 was compelled to seek a refuge from their fury. Again he repaired to Norway, where he found one of his old patrons, Skule, the jarl, plotting for the crown of the realm. That plot he favoured; he even wrote a poem in support of that nobleman’s claims. Yet he also flattered the king, from whom he received the title of jarl. But he had designs deeper than either Skule or the king suspected; and in a short time some of his intrigues were known to that monarch. He was forbidden to sail for Iceland; and when he departed in defiance of that prohibition, secret instructions were sent to his son-in-law, Gissur Thorwaldson, to seize him and send him bound to Norway; or if this should be impossible, to put him to death. The extremities to which feuds in a barbarous age may be carried, are clearly illustrated by the conduct of Gissur. Though so nearly connected with the historian; though formerly the most intimate of his friends; he performed the more atrocious part of the proposal. The great wealth of Snorro, there can be no doubt, was one inducement to the deed of blood; but this must have been inferior to the feeling of vengeance. His measures required caution, for Snorro was powerful; and to be prepared, had only to be warned. His design was penetrated by one of Snorro’s friends, who in a Runic letter acquainted him with his danger. But this letter the poet could not understand;—we are told even that he could not read it; and that all to whom he showed it were equally unable to decipher it. However this be, Thorwaldson, marching at the head of a strong body of men belonging to a clan at deadly feud with his victim, hastened to Reykholt, where he surprised and murdered the noble owner, September 22., 1241.

Snorro, as we have observed, is the reputed collector of the prose Edda, and of the Heimskringla. A collector merely he seems to have been; but he exhibited great judgment in selecting, arranging, and modernising the poetic compositions which he followed. For his history, no less than his mythology, the pagan Scalds were his authorities.

So much for matter purely introductory. From the two Eddas, assisted by the commentaries of the best northern scholars, we proceed to lay before the reader the most striking features of the cosmogony and religion of the Scandinavians; and to accompany them by such reflections as may seem necessary to show their origin and nature.

THE SCANDINAVIAN UNIVERSE, ITS WORLDS, AND THEIR INHABITANTS IN GENERAL, WITH THE PHYSICAL INTERPRETATION.

CREATION OF THE UNIVERSE.—YMER.—THE GIANTS.—THE GODS.—OTHER BEINGS.—THE NINE WORLDS, WITH THEIR POSITION AND PHYSICAL INTERPRETATION.—THE TWELVE HOUSES OF ASGARD.—SWARTALFAHEIM.—INHABITANTS OF THE NINE WORLDS.—THE ASER.—THE VEVER, &c.

In the Voluspa, or Song of the Prophetess, the Vala, who is probably Urda, the Norny of the past, being seated on a high throne, and surrounded by the deities, acquaints them with the wonders of creation, and of the destiny reserved for them all,—destruction. In the Grimnis-mâl^[21], Odin gives a similar account of the origin of all things; and throughout the elder Edda, we have allusion to the same doctrines. From them was derived the relation in the younger or prose Edda, with the merit of being much clearer. According to both, there existed in the beginning, on the site of the world, a vast abyss, Ginnunga-gap, which contained nothing. But to the north of that abyss there was another world, called Nifleheim, the cold and misty. It contained nothing but a spring, Vergelmer, from which flowed eleven great rivers into the abyss. They were called Elivagar (the cold waters), and their streams were poisonous as they were cold. As they flowed on, owing to the cold they became more sluggish in their course; so that when they reached the centre of the abyss, they were converted into ice. Still they flowed, and still the ice increased, until the whole Ginnunga-gap was filled. Out of such materials what could be made? It was necessary to create some other power before the visible universe could be formed. This northern realm, Nifleheim, which contained nothing except the fountain, which had no quality except that of coldness, which was covered with darkness, could, of itself, produce nothing; it could only send the sluggish poisonous waters into the centre of the abyss. That these waters were eternal we may infer; but we cannot infer how long the ice had accumulated when the real events of creation began. The agent of that creation is placed in another region, or rather world, Muspelheim, which lay far to the south of Ginnunga-gap, and which was intolerably hot,—more hot than Nifleheim was cold. The origin of this earth and its inhabitants, therefore, was the work of these two agencies, heat and cold, operating on the poisonous waters which lay between them. (Muspelheim, we suppose, with its numerous fiery inhabitants, and their mighty chief Surtur, the dark, the incomprehensible, the great evil principle, had no beginning; or if it had, the Odinian theologians were unacquainted with it.) What was frozen by the one influence was thawed by the other. It was probably some centuries before the heat from Surtur’s fiery empire dissolved the prodigious mass into a liquid element. From that element sprung the giant Ymer, by a process of generation which the northern sages do not deign to explain; and his vast bulk filled no inconsiderable portion of the abyss, as will soon appear from the use made of his corpse. This giant begat others. How? By a process no less odd than that which brought him into being. While asleep, a male and a female sprung from his left armpit; and he had the felicity too, by rubbing one foot against another, to produce a son. Why there should be three ancestors to the Rimthurser, or frost-giants, when, in our humble notion, two might have sufficed, is another mystery which we shall not attempt to penetrate. How were all nourished, seeing that there was no alimentary substance created? By the Supreme Being, the Great Alfadur, a cow with four teats was created; and from these flowed four rivers of milk. The cow herself was sustained by licking the salt-rocks, on which the hoar frost still lay. But her destiny was not fulfilled by this service; she was to call into existence a new race. When she had licked one day, the hair appeared; when she had licked two, there was a head; when three, there was a complete animal,—a man or giant, named Burè. This Burè, in his turn, became the father (probably by marriage with a descendant of Ymer) of Bur, or Bôrr, or Bore, who was more famous than any of his predecessors. His son married a lady of the giant race, named Bestla, and by her had three gods, Odin, Vilè, and Vè. Before these were long born, they slew the old giant Ymer. His blood was sufficient to drown all of the giant race, except Bergelmer and his wife, who sailed away to the mountains, and became the progenitors of a new race of giants. The corpse was now cast into the Ginnunga-gap; and from it heaven and earth were created. Thus the Grimnis-mâl:—

This heaven, made from the giant’s skull, was supported by four dwarfs, East, West, North, South, and at one of the corners, a living pillar. (What supports the earth, or the dwarfs themselves, we are not informed). The globes of fire which ascended from Muspelheim, and spread through all space, were now placed by the three gods in the firmament, and made sun, moon, and stars, to enlighten heaven and earth.

That these notions are wild and extravagant will be asserted by most readers; but do they not involve physical truths? Were they not invented by the priests of old to cover their learning from the vulgar gaze? Let us hear the interpretation of Finn Magnussen, the most learned, the most acute, though, in too many instances, the most visionary, of northern commentators. The giant Ymer, he observes, represents the chaotic undigested state of the earth, produced by the combined effects of heat and cold upon water. That water was the first existing matter, is evident even from holy scripture. Many nations regarded it as the source of all things. The opinions of the Greek philosopher on this subject are well known; but we may mention the Orphic fragment preserved by Athenagoras. The water produced mud; the mud produced a monster with three heads,—the head of a god, of a lion, of an ox. This monster, which, however, was a deity, laid an egg, the upper half of which formed the heaven, the lower half the earth. From the union of heaven and earth, the offspring were, first the three fates, and then the giants and cyclops who rebelled, and were eventually cast into the Tartarean gulf. The Greeks, like all other people, had seen the mud deposited by water give birth to animals, after receiving for a time the solar heat. The action, therefore, of fire on the slimy particles thus deposited, was received as a generative principle; and assuredly there is nothing more irrational in the system of Scandinavia than in that of Greece. The Egyptian system was conformable with it. An original chaos; the separation of the mud from the waters; the action of the sun, or of heat, on the mud; the fermentation which followed; and the origin of animal existence, are the great features: as a necessary result, the sun, no less than the water, was deified. In the Scandinavian, as in the other systems, some kinds of matter were eternal. Eternal were the mists of Nifleheim, and the well Vergelmer; eternal perhaps the abode of Surtur, Surtur himself, and his fiery spirits. From the beneficent Alfadur nothing evil was to spring; he, therefore, we suppose, could not create Muspelheim, or its inhabitants; nor could he give birth to the giants of the frost, who are emphatically called wicked: hence their origin from the poisonous waters of Nifleheim.

If, in respect to water and fire, the cosmogony of the Scandinavians was kindred with that of other people, the resemblance furnished by the cow was equally great. “We need not be surprised,” observes Magnussen, “that men selected the ox, the most useful and widely-spread animal with which they were acquainted, for a cosmic symbol in its various forms. The cow was probably our first nurse; and the oldest nations, especially the Hindoos and the Egyptians, regarded her with religious veneration, and called her the mother of mankind. When men applied poetry to cosmogony, they elevated a mythic cow to the place of earth’s mother, or nurse. Such is our Audumbla. And if the cow was the mother, well may the bull (as in India) be held the father: he propagated the race, drew the plough, and in both cases might be said to rear or nurse mankind.” Among the Persians, the cow was held in even greater veneration than among the Scandinavians. The Abudad was the earth, which Jemsheed (the sun) pierced with his dagger. The cow was the symbol of creation, the instrument which Ormuzd employed for the production of the first human being. A cow, too, received the soul of Zoroaster, and transmitted it in the form of milk to the father of the prophet; but the notion was common to most people. The Cimbri in Italy had their copper ox, on which they swore, just as the Egyptians swore by Apis. It was the symbol of heaven, just as the cow was that of earth; it was held to be the father, just as the female was the mother, of all. The chariot of Hertha, or mother earth, was, as Tacitus informs us, drawn by cows. The Io of the Greeks was probably derived from the same widely-spread doctrine.

The cow, according to Finn Magnussen, is a purification of the atmosphere in the Scandinavian mythos of the creation. This, however, is not very clear; nor do we perceive more justice in the explanation given of Burè’s origin,—that the licking of the salt-rocks betokens the emersion of the solid earth from the deep waters. In another of his analogies, he is whimsical—that which makes Bôrr, or Bors, to be the Elbors, the Caucasus of the Persians. A correspondence of names is, in most cases, purely accidental, and proves nothing. More rational, perhaps, is our commentator, when he treats of Odin, Vilè, and Vè, which he makes into air, light and fire. The three gods destroyed Ymer, that is, the elements in question destroyed chaos. Whether, however, he is equally successful in the derivation of the three words, may be disputed; but there is much ingenuity, and some plausibility, in all. The Greek ατμός, the Sanscrit atma, the Teutonic athem, all signifying air or breath, are certainly cognate; and they are probably the same with the Othem, or Odin, or Woden, of the Germans. But whether Odin or Woden is derived from the Latin vado, to go through, to pervade, is not so clear. If this etymology were established, we should have no difficulty in conceiving Odin to be the air, the breath, the soul of the world. Still the subject is worthy of consideration; and the reader may adopt or reject it. He will be less inclined to admit the derivation of Vilè, which seems far-fetched. Nor are we quite sure that Vè, akin to Vesta, is to be taken for elemental fire, or metaphorically for life. Yet on a subject so obscure, we are unwilling to pronounce dogmatically.

The destruction of Ymer and his offspring, the wicked giants of the frost, by the divine race, is evidently the same mythos as the defeat of the Titans by Jove; of Ahriman and the evil genii, by Ormuzd and the Amshaspands. Surtur is the Ahriman of Scandinavia. He is the author of evil, viz., of the giants; and is destined one day to assist in the destruction of the universe. We read of the great Alfadur,—another than Odin who is sometimes called eternal. It is pleasing to read such notions of a First Cause, in such an age. To this omnipotent, eternal, and beneficent Being, who is far above all the worlds, inaccessible to any thing created, there are more allusions than one in the Edda of Sæmund. Thus the Hyndlu-mâl, after mentioning the destruction of Odin, with all the gods:—

Such notions may be regarded as traces of a purer religious dispensation—of the patriarchal. As an eminent northern writer elegantly observes^[22]—“Thus sounds the voice of the northern prophetess, the Vala, to us obscure and indistinct, through the darkness of ages. It speaks of other times, other men and ideas; if fettered by the bonds of superstition, it longs after eternal light, and, though imperfectly, expresses that longing. We may also recognise some of those mighty minds of which Pindar speaks, as wandering eternally over earth and sea. In such sounds heaven and earth announce an Eternal Being, and at the same time their own mortality,—truths which no paganism has expressed more strongly than the Scandinavian. However darkly, still it does allude to the Mighty One on high, who is above all the deities of nature,—to one mightier than the mighty, whom it dares not name,—to that unknown God whom the Athenians also worshipped.” We may, however, doubt whether this notion of the One First Cause, dark as it is, was introduced by Odin into the north. In most of the relics which the ancient pagans have left us, we have traces of two religions, distinct from each other,—both from Asia, but not at the same period, or from the same region. The worship of Thor, for example, seems to be much more ancient than that of Odin; and perhaps before either was known—before the light of patriarchal truth was entirely departed from the north—the elementary form of worship, the most ancient and least debasing of all superstitions, prevailed.

The three gods, Odin, Vilè and Vè, were not the only created beings. Besides Bergelmer and his wife, from whom sprung a new giant race, other offspring than the three deities resulted from the union of Bôrr with Bestla—

From these sprung all the good, benevolent beings,—gods, goddesses, elves, Vanir, and spirits of air, of whom more in the proper place. All these were created before man. So also were the Duergar, or dwarfs.

According to the prose Edda, they bred like maggots in Ymer’s dead body; but the Voluspa tells us that they were created by the gods from the blood and bones of that giant:

But the former account is preferable, because it accounts more satisfactorily for the cruel, vindictive, yet often contemptible character of the race,—a race with small deformed bodies, large heads, flat noses, and still more despicable in mind. Probably, as Mr. Magnussen conjectures, these beings, who could not bear the light of day; who, if they accidentally saw it, were changed into rocks; whose life was passed in the bowels of the earth, especially in the bowels of the mountains, were intended to personify the subterraneous powers of nature. Their names, when translated, favour the interpretation. Wind, Blast, Gleam, Light, Fruit-giver, Iceberg, and others equally fantastic, attest their elementary character. Of all beings they were the most skilful, the most expert, the most industrious: they were unrivalled smiths; they manufactured wondrous armour, and other enchanted things, which were highly prized by the gods, who excelled them in power, but were inferior in ingenuity.

The beings next created were mankind. “The sons of Bure,” says the prose Edda, “went to the sea-shore, and found two trees, which they formed into man and woman. Odin gave them breath and life; Vilè, understanding and vigour; Vè, beauty of form, speech, hearing, sight.” But the Valuspa says that it was Haenir who gave understanding, and Loder a fair complexion. These, however, may be only different names for the same beings. Askur was the name of the first man, and Embla of the woman; the former signifying an ash tree, the latter, it is said, an elm. This is evidently a vegetable mythos. It is not peculiar to the Goths. Hesiod informs us that Zeus formed the third race of men from ash trees. The ancient Medians had the same notion; the mythic Kaiamar died without issue because without mate; but from his remains in forty years sprung a tree with fifteen branches; and from it Ormuzd fashioned the first progenitors of mankind.

Midgard, or the middle world, was made for the habitation of man; but before we describe it, we must glance at the other worlds with which it was connected. According to both the poetic and the prose Edda, there were nine.

In the Valuspa, the prophetess says—

The giant Vafthrudnis has the same boast; and Alvis, the dwarf, tells Thor,

These worlds, which were all vertically arranged, except Utgard, which was on the same plane with Midgard, are thus specified by Magnussen:—

1. Gimlè, the residence of the Supreme Being, the eternal Alfadur. Connected with it was Liosalfaheim, the abode of the benevolent light elves (of whom an account in the proper place). This region is to be the everlasting abode of the good after the destruction of the universe.

2. Muspelheim, the world of Surtur and his fiery genii, which lay far below Liosalfaheim. This world was perhaps uncreated and perhaps will not be destroyed.

3. Asgard (Aser-yard), or Godheim, the residence of the Aser, or gods; the starry firmament, which lay far below Muspelheim.

4. Vanaheim, the residence of the Vanir or spirits of air: it was also called Vindheim, the home of the winds. Its position was the atmosphere below Asgard.

5. Midgard (mid-yard), so called because it was the middle world, between Gimlè above, and Nifleheim below. It was also called Manheim, from its being the home of men.

6. Utgard (outer-yard), or Jotunheim, the home of the giants, lay beyond the vast sea which, according to the Scandinavian cosmography, encompasses Midgard. Midgard and Utgard are horizontal with each other.

7. Swartalfaheim, the home of the black elves or dwarfs, the spirits of darkness, is situated in the bowels of the earth.

8. Helheim, the palace of Hela, the goddess of death, lower far than Swartalfaheim, and the abode of all, however good, who die a natural death.

9. Nifleheim, the world of mist, the lowest of all the worlds. It contains the poisonous fountain and rivers in which the bad are to be punished.

Of these worlds six are to perish,—perhaps seven, for there is some doubt as to Muspelheim. The virtuous are to enjoy an eternity of happiness in Gimlè; the wicked an eternity of punishment in Nifleheim.