The etymology of Gefjun is uncertain. Some explain it as being a combination of the Greek γῆ, and Norse fjón, separation (terræ separatio). Grimm compares it with the Old Saxon geban, Anglo-Saxon, geofon, gifan, the ocean. Grundtvig derives it from Anglo-Saxon gefean, gladness. He says it is the same word as Funen (Fyn), and that the meaning of the myth is that Funen and Jutland with united strength tore Zealand from Sweden. This would then be a historical interpretation.

The derivation from gefa, to give, has also been suggested, and there is no doubt that the plowing Gefjun is the goddess of agriculture. She unites herself with the giants (the barren and unfruitful fields or deserts) and subdues them, thus preparing the land for cultivation. In this sense she is Frigg’s maid-servant. Gefjun, the plowed land, develops into Frigg, the fruit-bearing earth; hence she is a maid, not a woman. The maid is not, but shall become fruitful.

Eir is the goddess of the healing art, and this is about all that we know of her; but that is a great deal. A healer for our frail body and for the sick mind! what a beneficent divinity!

SECTION XII. RIND.

This goddess was mentioned in Section IX. It is the third form of earth in its relation to Odin. Thus the lay of Vegtam, in the Elder Edda:

Odin’s repeated wooing of this maid is expressed in Hávamál, of the Elder Edda, as follows:

This is clearly the same story as is related by Saxo Grammaticus, as follows: Odin loves a maiden, whose name is Rind, and who has a stubborn disposition. Odin tried to revenge the death of his son Balder. Then he was told by Rosthiof that he with Rind, the daughter of the king of the Ruthenians, would beget another son, who would revenge his brother’s death. Odin put on his broad-brimmed hat and went into the service of the king, and won the friendship of the king, for as commander he put a whole army to flight. He revealed his love to the king, but when he asked the maiden for a kiss, she struck his ear. The next year he came as a smith, called himself Rosterus, and offered the maiden a magnificent bracelet and beautiful rings; but she gave his ear another blow. The third time he came as a young warrior, but she thrust him away from her so violently that he fell head first to the ground. Finally he came as a woman, called himself Vecha, and said he was a doctress. As Rind’s servant-maid, he washed her feet in the evening, and when she became sick he promised to cure her, but the remedy was so bitter that she must first be bound. He represented to her father that it, even against her wish, must operate with all its dissolving power, and permeate all her limbs before she could be restored to health. Thus he won the maiden, as some think, with the secret consent of her father. But the gods banished Odin from Byzantium, and accepted in his place a certain Oller, whom they even gave Odin’s name. This Oller had a bone, which he had so charmed by incantations that he could traverse the ocean with it as in a ship. Oller was banished again by the gods, and betook himself to Sweden; but Odin returned in his divine dignity and requested his son Bous, whom Rind bad borne, and who showed a great proclivity for war, to revenge the death of his brother. Saxo Grammaticus relates this as confidently as if it were the most genuine history, not having the faintest suspicion as to its mythical character.

Saxo’s Rosthiof is mentioned in the Elder Edda as Hross-thiofr (horse-thief), of Hrimner’s (the frost’s rime’s) race. Saxo’s Vecha is Odin, who in the Elder Edda is called Vak. The latter portion of the myth is not given in Hávamál, and were it not for faithful Saxo we should scarcely understand that portion of the Elder Edda which was quoted above. But with the light that he sheds upon it there is no longer any doubt. Rind is the earth, not generally speaking, but the earth who after the death of Balder is consigned to the power of winter. Does not the English word rind remind us of the hard-frozen crust of the earth? Defiantly and long she resists the love of Odin; in vain be proffers her the ornaments of summer; in vain he reminds her of his warlike deeds, the Norseman’s most cherished enterprise in the summer-season. By his all-powerful witchcraft he must dissolve and as it were melt her stubborn mind. Finally she gives birth to Vale, the strong warrior.

In the incantation of Groa, in the Elder Edda, this is the first song that the mother sings to her son:

What is it that seems so irksome to Rind and Ran, and that both cast from their shoulders in order to become independent? It is the ice. When Rind had thrown it off she requested the sea-goddess Ran to do likewise.

The Greeks have a myth corresponding somewhat to this. The god of the heavens, Zeus, comes down in the rain into Hera’s lap; but when she resisted his entreaties Zeus let fall a shower of rain, while she was sitting on the top of a mountain, and he changed himself to a nightingale (a symbol of spring-time). Then Hera compassionately took the wet and dripping bird into her lap. But look at the difference! Hera soon gives way and pities, but our Norse Rind makes a desperate resistance. It repeatedly looks as if Odin had conquered, but the maid reassumes her stubborn disposition. How true this is of the climate in the northern latitudes! Rind is not inapplicable to our Wisconsin winters.

Such is the physical interpretation of Odin’s relation to Frigg and Rind. Heaven and earth are wedded together; and upon this marriage earth presents itself in two forms: fruitful and blest, unfruitful and imprisoned in the chains of cold and frost. As the king of the year Odin embraces both of them. But Odin is also the spiritual (aand) king, who unites himself with the human earthly mind. He finds it crude and uncultured, but susceptible of impressions. Pure thoughts and noble feelings are developed, which grow into blooming activities. But then comes back again the unfeeling coldness and defiant stubbornness which take possession of the mind, shutting out the influence of truth upon the mind. It is a sad time when doubt and skepticism and despair every night lay their leaden weight upon the poor man’s soul. However to the honest seeker of truth it is only a transitory state of trial. A wise Providence takes him with tender and patient hands again to his bosom. He sends down showers of blessings or misfortunes upon him. With his mild breath he melts the frozen heart, and it at once clothes itself with garlands of divinest hues. With all his charms he touches the wintry rind that encases us, and the mind stands forth unmanacled and free. What to the year is light summer and dark winter is to us bright and gloomy periods of our existence, that succeed each other in their turn, advancing or impeding our spiritual development, which must continue forever. This is also contained in the myth about Odin and Rind, nay, it is the better half.

SECTION XIII. GUNLAD. THE ORIGIN OF POETRY.

Poetry is represented as an inspiring drink. He who partakes of it is skáld, poet. This drink was kept with the giants, where Gunlad protected it. Odin goes down to the giants, conquers all obstacles, wins Gunlad’s affection, and gets permission to partake of the drink. He brings it to the upper world and gives it to men. Thus poetry originated and developed. Thus it is related in the Younger Edda:

Æger having expressed a wish to know how poetry originated, Brage, the god of poetry, informed him that the asas and vans having met to put an end to the war which had long been carried on between them, a treaty of peace was agreed to and ratified by each party spitting into a jar. As a lasting sign of the amity which was thenceforward to subsist between the contending parties, the gods formed out of this spittle a being, to whom they gave the name of Kvaser, and whom they endowed with such a high degree of intelligence that no one could ask him a question that he was unable to answer. Kvaser then traversed the whole world to teach men wisdom, but the dwarfs, Fjalar and Galar, having invited him to a feast, treacherously murdered him. They let his blood run into two cups and a kettle. The name of the kettle is Odrœrer, and the names of the cups are Son and Bodn. By mixing up his blood with honey they composed a drink of such surpassing excellence that whoever partakes of it acquires the gift of song (becomes a poet or man of knowledge, skáld, eða fræðamaðr). When the gods inquired what had become of Kvaser, the dwarfs told them that he had been suffocated with his own wisdom, not being able to find anyone who, by proposing to him a sufficient number of learned questions, might relieve him of its super-abundance.

The dwarfs invited a giant, by name Gilling, and his wife. They proposed to the giant to take a boat-ride with them out on the sea, but they rowed on to a rock and capsized. Gilling could not swim, and perished, but the dwarfs rowed ashore, and told his wife of his death, which made her burst forth in a flood of tears. Then Fjalar asked her whether it would not be some consolation to her to look out upon the water, where her husband had perished; and when she consented to this, Fjalar said to his brother Galar that he should get up above the door, and, as she passed out through it, he should let fall a mill-stone upon her head, for he was sick and disgusted with her crying. The brother did so, and thus she perished also. A son of Gilling, a giant by name Suttung, avenged these treacherous deeds. He took the dwarfs out to sea and placed them on a shoal, which was flooded at high water. In this critical position they implored Suttung to spare their lives, and accept the verse-inspiring beverage, which they possessed, as an atonement for their having killed his parents. Suttung, having agreed to these conditions, released the dwarfs, and, carrying the mead home with him, committed it to the care of his daughter Gunlad. Hence poetry is indifferently called Kvaser’s blood, Suttung’s mead, the dwarfs’ ransom, etc.

How did the gods get possession of this valuable mead of Suttung? Odin being fully determined to acquire it, set out for Jotunheim, and after journeying for some time he came to a meadow, in which nine thralls were mowing. Entering into conversation with them, Odin offered to whet their scythes, an offer which they gladly accepted. He took a whetstone from his belt and whetted their scythes, and finding that it had given their scythes an extraordinarily keen edge the thralls asked him whether he was willing to dispose of it; but Odin threw the whetstone up into the air, and as all the thralls attempted to catch it as it fell, each brought his scythe to bear on the neck of one of his comrades, so that they were all killed in the scramble. Odin took up his night’s lodging at the house of Suttung’s brother Bauge, who told him he was sadly at a loss for laborers, his nine thralls having slain each other. Odin who here called himself Bolverk (one who can perform the most difficult work), said that for a draught of Suttung’s mead he would do the work of nine men for him. Bauge answered that he had no control over it. Suttung wanted it alone, but he would go with Bolverk and try to get it. These terms were agreed on and Odin worked for Bauge the whole summer, doing the work of nine men; but when winter set in he wanted his reward. Bauge and Odin set out together, and Bauge explained to Suttung the agreement between him and Bolverk, but Suttung was deaf to his brother’s entreaties and would not part with a drop of the precious drink, which was carefully preserved in a cavern under his daughter’s custody. Into this cavern Odin was resolved to penetrate. We must invent some stratagem, said he to Bauge. He then gave Bauge the augur, which is called Rate, and said to him that he should bore a hole through the rock, if the edge of the augur was sharp enough. Bauge did so, and said that he now had bored through. But Odin, or Bolverk as he is here called, blew into the augur-hole and the chips flew into his face. He then perceived that Bauge intended to deceive him and commanded him to bore clear through. Bauge bored again, and, when Bolverk blew a second time, the chips flew the other way. Then Odin transformed himself into a worm, crept through the hole, and resuming his natural shape won the heart of Gunlad. Bauge put the augur down after him, but missed him. After having passed three nights with the fair maiden, he had no great difficulty in inducing her to let him take a draught out of each of the three jars called Odrœrer, Bodn, and Son, in which the mead was kept. But wishing to make the most of his advantage, he drank so deep that not a drop was left in the vessels. Transforming himself into an eagle, he then flew off as fast as his wings could carry him, but Suttung becoming aware of the stratagem, also took upon himself an eagle’s guise and flew after him. The gods, on seeing him approach Asgard, set out in the yard all the jars they could lay their hands on, which Odin filled by disgorging through his beak the wonder-working liquor he had drunk. He was however so near being caught by Suttung, that he sent some of the mead after him backwards, and as no care was taken of this it fell to the share of poetasters. It is called the drink of silly poets. But the mead discharged into the jars was kept for the gods and for those men who have sufficient wit to make a right use of it. Hence poetry is called Odin’s booty, Odin’s gift, the beverage of the gods, etc.

But let us look at this myth in its older and purer form. Thus the Elder Edda, in Hávamál:

This passage then refers to the effects of the strong drink of poetry, and Odin recommends us to use it with moderation. Would it not be well for some of our poets to heed the advice?

Thus Hávamál again:

It is a beautiful idea that Odin creeps into Suttung’s hall as a serpent, but when he has drunk the mead of poetry, when he has become inspired, he soars away on eagles’ pinions.

Odin’s name, Bolverk, may mean the one working evil, which might be said of him in relation to the giants, or the one who accomplishes difficult things, which then would impersonate the difficulty in mastering the art of poetry. Without a severe struggle no one can gain a victory in the art of poetry, and least of all in the Old Norse language. Gunlad (from gunnr, struggle, and laða, to invite) invites Odin to this struggle. She sits well fortified in the abode of the giant. She is surrounded by stone walls. The cup in which was the mead is called Odrœrer (od-rœrer, that which moves the spirit); that is, the cup of inspiration; and the myth is as clear as these names. Kvaser is the fruit of which the juice is pressed and mixed with honey; it produces the inspiring drink. It is also pertinently said that Kvaser perishes in his own wisdom. Does not the fruit burst from its superabundance of juice? But do not take only the outside skin of this myth; press the ethical juice out of it.

It should be noticed here that Kvaser (the spit, the ripe fruit) is produced by a union of asas and vans, an intimate union of the solid and liquid elements.

This myth also illustrates the wide difference between the Elder and the Younger Edda. How much purer and poetic in the former than in the latter! Ex ipso fonte dulcius bibuntur aquæ. In the Elder Edda is water in which it is worth our while to fish.

SECTION XIV. SAGA.

Odin is not only the inventor of poetry, he also favors and protects history, Saga. The Elder Edda:

The charming influence of history could not be more beautifully described.

Sokvabek is the brook of the deep. From the deep arise the thoughts and roll as cool refreshing waves through golden words. Saga can tell, Odin can think, about it. Thus they sit together day after day and night after night and refresh their minds from the fountain of history. Saga is the second of the goddesses. She dwells at Sokvabek, a very large and stately abode. The stream of history is large, it is broad and deep. Saga is from the word meaning to say. In Greece Klio was one of the muses, but in Norseland Saga is alone, united with Odin, the father of heroic deeds. Her favor is the hope of the youth and the delight of the old man.

The original meaning of the word rune is secret, and it was used to signify a mysterious song, mysterious doctrine, mysterious speech, and mysterious writing. Our ancestors had an alphabet called runes, before they learned the so-called Roman characters. The runic stave-row was a futhore (f, u, th, o, r, k), not an alphabet (A, B) as in Greek or Latin. But what does it mean mythologically, that Odin is the inventor of the runes? Odin himself says in his famous Rune-song in the Elder Edda:

Odin’s sister or wife is, as we have seen, Frigg, the earth, and there is much between heaven and earth of which the wisest men do not even dream, much that the profoundest philosophy is unable to unravel, and this is what Odin never teaches to maid or wife of man.

The runes of Odin were risted on the shield which stands before the shining god, on the ear of Aarvak (the ever-wakeful), and on the hoof of Alsvin; on the wheels that roll under Rogner’s chariot, on Sleipner’s reins, on the paw of the bear and on the tongue of Brage; on the claws of the wolf, on the beak of the eagle, on bloody wings and on the end of the bridge (the rainbow); on glass, on gold, on wine and on herb; on Vile’s heart, on the point of Gungner (Odin’s spear), on Grane’s breast, on the nails of the norn and on the beak of the owl. All, that were carved, were afterwards scraped off, mixed with the holy mead and sent out into all parts of the world. Some are with the asas, some with the elves, and some with the sons of men.

All this and even more that is omitted we find in the Elder Edda. What are Odin’s runes? What but a new expression of his being? Odin’s runes represent the might and wisdom with which he rules all nature, even its most secret phenomena. Odin, as master of runes, is the spirit that subdues and controls physical nature. He governs inanimate nature, the wind, the sea, the fire, and the mind of man, the hate of the enemy and the love of woman. Everything submits to his mighty sway, and thus the runes were risted on all possible things in heaven and on earth. He is the spirit of the world, that pervades everything, the almighty creator of heaven and earth, or, to use more mythological expression, the father of gods and men.

Odin hung nine days on the tree (Ygdrasil) and sacrificed himself to himself, and wounded himself with his own spear. This has been interpreted to mean the nine months in which the child is developed in its mother’s womb. Turn back and read the first strophes carefully, and it will be found that there is some sense in this interpretation; but, kind reader, did you ever try to subdue and penetrate into the secrets of matter with your mind? Do you know that knowledge cannot be acquired without labor, without struggle, without sacrifice, without solemn consecration of one’s self to an idea? Do you remember that Odin gave his eye in pawn for a drink from Mimer’s fountain? The spear with which he now wounds himself shows how solemnly he consecrates himself. For the sake of this struggle to acquire knowledge, the spirit offers itself to itself. It knows what hardships and sufferings must be encountered on the road to knowledge, but it bravely faces these obstacles, it wants to wrestle with them; that is its greatness, its glory, its power. Nine nights Odin hangs on the tree. Rome was not built in a day. Tantæ molis erat Romanas condere gentes! Neither is knowledge acquired in a day. The mind is developed by a slow process. He neither eats nor drinks, he fasts. You must also curb your bodily appetites, and, like Odin, look down into the depths and penetrate the mysteries of nature with your mind. Then will you learn all those wonderful songs that Odin learned crying before he fell from the tree.

Odin is the author of the runic incantations that played so conspicuous a part in the social and religious life of the Norseman. The belief in sorcery (galdr and seiðr) was universal among the heathen Norsemen, and it had its origin in the mythology, which represents the magic arts as an invention of Odin.

SECTION XVI. VALHAL.

Thus the Elder Edda, in the lay of Grimner:

Odin was preëminently the god of war. He who fell in battle came after death to Odin in Valhal. There he began the battle anew, fell and arose again. Glorious was the life in Valhal.

The hall was called Valhal, that is, the hall of the slain; Odin was called Valfather (father of the slain), and the maids he sent out to choose the fallen heroes on the field of battle were called valkyries. Valhal must not, as before stated, be confused with the silver-roofed valaskjalf.

The heroes who came to Valhal were called einherjes, from ein and herja, which together mean the excellent warrior, and we find that Odin was also called Herja-father (father of heroes).

Valhal is situated in Gladsheim. It is large and resplendent with gold; spears support its ceiling, it is roofed with shields, and coats of mail adorn its benches. Swords serve the purpose of fire, and of its immense size we can form some idea when we read in the Elder Edda that

Outside of Valhal stands the shining grove Glaser. All its leaves are red gold, whence gold is frequently called Glaser’s leaves.

What does Odin give all his guests to eat? If all the men who have fallen in fight since the beginning of the world are gone to Odin in Valhal, there must be a great crowd there. Yes, the crowd there is indeed great, but great though it be, it will still be thought too little when the wolf comes (the end of the world). But however great the band of men in Valhal may be, the flesh of the boar Sæhrimner will more than suffice for their sustenance. This boar is cooked every morning, but becomes whole again every night. The cook is called Andhrimner and the kettle Eldhrimner. Thus the Elder Edda:

What do the guests of Odin drink? Do you imagine that Allfather would invite kings and jarls and other great men and give them nothing but water to drink? In that case many of those, who had endured the greatest hardships and received deadly wounds in order to obtain access to Valhal, would find that they had paid too great a price for their water drink, and would indeed have reason to complain were they there to meet with no better entertainment. But we shall see that the case is quite otherwise; for the she-goat Heidrun (the clear stream) stands above Valhal and feeds on the leaves of a very famous tree. This tree is called Lerad (affording protection), and from the teats of the she-goat flows mead in such great abundance that every day a bowl, large enough to hold more than would suffice for all the heroes, is filled with it. And still more wonderful is what is told of the stag, Eikthyrner (the oak-thorned, having knotty horns), which also stands over Valhal and feeds upon the leaves of the same tree, and while he is feeding so many drops fall from his antlers down into Hvergelmer that they furnish sufficient water for the thirty-six rivers that issuing thence flow twelve to the abodes of the gods, twelve to the abodes of men, and twelve to Niflheim.

Ah! our ancestors were uncultivated barbarians, and that is proved by the life in Valhal, where the heroes ate pork and drank mead! But what are we, then, who do the same thing? Let us look a little more carefully at the words they used. Food they called flesh, and drink, mead,—expressions taken from life; but they connected an infinitely higher idea with the heavenly nourishment. Although but few know what the einherjes eat, we ought to know it. When we hear the word ambrosia, we think of a very fine nourishment, although we do not know what it was. In the Iliad (14, 170), it is used of pure water. The words used in the Norse mythology in reference to the food and drink of the gods are very simple, And-hrimner, Eld-hrimner, and Sæ-hrimner. Hrim (rime) is the first and most delicate transition from a liquid to a solid; hrimner is the one producing this transition. The food was formed, as the words clearly show, by air (and, önd, aande, breath), by fire (eld), and by water (sæ, sea). We have here the most delicate formation of the most delicate elements. There is nothing earthly in it. The fundamental element is water boiled by the fire, which is nourished by the air; and the drink is the clear stream, which flows from the highest abodes of heaven, the pure ethereal current, which comes from the distant regions where the winds are silent. Nay, we cannot even call it a drink, but it is the purest and most delicate breath of the air, that fills the lungs of the immortal heroes in Valhal.

A mighty band of men there is in Valhal, and Odin must indeed be a great chieftain to command such a numerous host; but how do the heroes pass their time when they are not drinking? Answer: Every day, as soon as they have dressed themselves, they ride out into the court, and there fight until they cut each other into pieces. This is their pastime. But when meal-time approaches, they remount their steeds and return to drink mead from the skulls of their enemies^[53] in Valhal. Thus the Elder Edda:

SECTION XVII. THE VALKYRIES (VALKYRJUR).

As the god of war, Odin sends out his maids to choose the fallen heroes (kjósa val). They are called valkyries and valmaids (valmeyar). The valkyries serve in Valhal, where they bear in the drink, take care of the drinking-horns, and wait upon the table. Odin sends them to every field of battle, to make choice of those who are to be slain and to sway the victory. The youngest of the norns, Skuld, also rides forth to choose the slain and turn the combat. More than a dozen valkyries are named in the Elder Edda, and all these have reference to the activities of war.

This myth about Odin as the god of war, about Valhal and the valkyries, exercised a great influence upon the mind and character of our ancestors. The dying hero knows that the valkyries have been sent after him to invite him home to Odin’s hall, and he receives their message with joy and gladness. That the brave were to be taken after death to Valhal was one of the fundamental points, if not the soul, of the Norse religion.^[54] The Norsemen felt in their hearts that it was absolutely necessary to be brave. Odin would not care for them, but despise and thrust them away from him, if they were not brave. And is there not some truth in this doctrine? Is it not still a preëminent duty to be brave? Is it not the first duty of man to subdue fear? What can we accomplish until we have got rid of fear? A man is a slave, a coward, his very thoughts are false, until he has got fear under his feet. Thus we find that the Odinic doctrine, if we disentangle the real kernel and essence of it, is true even in our times. A man must be valiant—he must march forward and acquit himself like a man. How much of a man he is will be determined in most cases by the completeness of his victory over fear. Their views of Odin, Valhal and the valkyries made the Norsemen think it a shame and misery not to die in battle; and if natural death seemed to be coming on, they would cut wounds in their flesh, that Odin might receive them as warriors slain. Old kings, about to die, had their bodies laid in a ship; the ship was sent forth with sails set, and a slow fire burning it, so that once out at sea it might blaze up in flame, and in such manner bury worthily the hero both in the sky and in the ocean. The Norse viking fought with an indomitable, rugged energy. He stood in the prow of his ship, silent, with closed lips, defying the wild ocean with its monsters, and all men and things. No Homer sang of these Norse warriors and sea-kings, but their heroic deeds and wild deaths are the ever-recurring theme of the skalds.

The death of the Norse viking is beautifully described in the following strophe from Professor Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen’s poem, entitled Odin’s Ravens: