"There was in times of oldwhere Ymir dwelt,nor land nor sea,nor gelid waves;earth existed not,nor heaven above;there was a chaotic chasm,and verdure nowhere."Before Bur's sonsraised up heaven's vault,they who the noblemid-earth shaped,the sun shone from the southon the structure's rocks;then was the earth begrownwith green herbage."The sun from the south,the moon's companion,her right hand castround the heavenly horses:the sun knew notwhere she had a dwelling:the moon knew notwhat power he possessed;the stars knew notwhere they had station."
"There was in times of oldwhere Ymir dwelt,nor land nor sea,nor gelid waves;earth existed not,nor heaven above;there was a chaotic chasm,and verdure nowhere.
"Before Bur's sonsraised up heaven's vault,they who the noblemid-earth shaped,the sun shone from the southon the structure's rocks;then was the earth begrownwith green herbage.
"The sun from the south,the moon's companion,her right hand castround the heavenly horses:the sun knew notwhere she had a dwelling:the moon knew notwhat power he possessed;the stars knew notwhere they had station."
The gods thereupon gave the heavenly bodies names, and ordained the times and seasons. This was the golden age of the young world, before guilt and sin had come into it; a time of joy and beneficent activity. A deed of violence proclaimed its approaching end, and out of the slain giants' blood and bones the dwarfs were created. The gods then made the first man and woman, for whom the Norns established laws and allotted life and destiny. The use of gold was introduced, and with it its attendant evils; the Valkyries come, and the first warfare occurs in the world; the gods' stronghold is broken, and Odin hurls his spear among the people. In rapid succession follow the pictures of the awful ills that happen to gods and men, which finally end in Ragnarök, the twilight of the gods, and the conflagration of the universe. This however is not the end. The Sibyl describes the reappearance of the green earth from the ocean. The gods again come back, and a new golden age begins of peace and happiness which shall endure forever.
Scarcely inferior to the 'Völuspá' for the importance of its material is the ethical poem or rather collection of poems called the 'Hávamál,' the 'Speech of the High One,'—that is, of Odin the supreme god. The poem consists of sententious precepts and epigrammatic sayings, which ultimately have been set together to form a connected, though scarcely systematic, philosophy of life. The whole is naturally attributed to Odin, the source of all wisdom, the father and giver of all things. A part of the poem is the oldest of all the Eddic lays, and the whole of it was at hand early in the tenth century. Although many of its maxims show a primitive state of society, as a whole they are the experience of a people more advanced in culture than we are apt to fancy the Norsemen of the Viking Age, who could nevertheless philosophize at home as sturdily as they fought abroad. The morality of the 'Hávamál' is not always our morality, but many of its maxims are eternally true. Its keynote, again and again repeated, is the perishability of all earthly possessions, and the endurance alone of fairly won fame:—
"Cattle die,kindred die,we ourselves also die;but the fair famenever diesof him who has earned it."
"Cattle die,kindred die,we ourselves also die;but the fair famenever diesof him who has earned it."
The heroic poems of the 'Elder Edda' recount as if belonging to a single legendary cycle what originally belonged to two; the one of Northern origin, the other the common property of the whole Germanic race. They are the Helgi poems on the one hand, and the Völsung poems on the other. Together they tell the "Story of the North," and come nearest to forming its greatest epic; it is the same story which Wagner has set to music as immortal in his 'Ring of the Nibelung,'—although the principal source of his material is the prose 'Völsunga Saga' and not the 'Edda,'—and which in a form much later than the Icelandic versions is also told in the German 'Nibelungenlied.'
The Helgi poems are only loosely connected with the story of Sigurd the Völsung, and originally, but without doubt long before they were committed to writing, had no connection with it at all. As they now stand at the head of the heroic lays they are made to tell the deeds of early members of the Völsung race; namely, of Helgi Hjörvard's son, and Helgi Hundingsbane, who is said to have been named after him. The latter the 'Edda' makes the son of Sigmund the Völsung, and consequently an elder brother of Sigurd, the hero of the subsequent cycle of poems. To these last they are joined by a prose piece ending with a description of Sigurd's parentage and birth, and his own personality, which the poems themselves do not give at length.
The remaining poems, fifteen in all, tell the old Germanic story of Sigurd, the Siegfried of the Nibelungenlied, in the most ancient form in which it has come down to us. As contained in the 'Edda' it is a picture of great deeds, painted in powerful strokes which gain in force by the absence of carefully elaborated detail. In various ways it is unfortunate that the lays composing the cycle are not more closely consecutive; a difficulty that was felt by the earliest editors of the manuscript, who endeavored to bring the poems and fragments of poems then extant into some sort of connection, by the interpolation of prose passages of various lengths wherever it was considered necessary to the intelligibility of the story. As it is however there is even yet, and cannot help but be, on account of the differences in age, authorship, and place of origin of the lays, an inherent lack of correlation. Many of the poems overlap, and parts of the action are told several times and in varying form.
The Sigurd poems belong to a time prior to the introduction of Christianity, as is incontestably proved by the genuine heathen spirit that throughout pervades them. Their action is in the early days, when the gods walked upon earth and mixed themselves in human affairs. The real theme of the epic which the lays form is the mythical golden hoard, and with it the fated ring of the Nibelung, owned originally by the dwarf Andvari, from whom it is wrung by the gods in their extremity. Andvari curses it to its possessors, and it is cursed again by the gods who are forced to deliver it up to Hreidmar as blood-money for his son, whom Loki had slain. Fafnir and Regin, the brothers of the slain Ottur, demand of their father their share of the blood-fine, and when this is refused, Hreidmar is killed while asleep, and Regin is driven away by Fafnir, who then in the guise of a dragon lies upon the golden hoard to guard it. Egged on by Regin, Sigurd slays Fafnir, and Regin also when he learns that he intends treachery.
Sigurd gives the ring of Andvari, taken from the hoard, to the Valkyrie Brynhild, as a pledge of betrothal; and when in the likeness of Gunnar the Nibelung,—having by wiles forgotten his former vows,—he rides to her through the fire, the ring is given back to him by Brynhild, who does not recognize him. The fatal ring is now given by Sigurd to his wife, Gudrun the Nibelung, who in a moment of anger shows it to Brynhild and taunts her with a recital of his history. Brynhild cannot bear to see the happiness of Gudrun, and does not rest until Sigurd is slain; and in slaying him, Guthorm, the youngest of the Nibelungs, is killed, struck down by the sword of the dying Sigurd. Brynhild, who will not outlive Sigurd, perishes on her own sword. Gudrun is subsequently, against her will, wedded to Atli the Hun. Gunnar and Högni, her brothers, the two remaining Nibelungs, are invited to visit Atli, when they are straightway fallen upon, their followers are killed, and they are bound. They are asked to give up the golden hoard, whose hiding-place was known to them alone; but Gunnar first demands the death of his brother Högni, and then triumphantly tells Atli that the treasure is forever hidden in the Rhine,—where, he only knows. He is cast into a serpent pit, and dies. Atli's sons and Gudrun's are slain by their mother, changed by the madness of grief at the slaughter of her brothers into an avenging Fury, and Atli himself and his men are burned in the hall. Carried then by the sea, into which she has hurled herself, Gudrun comes to the land of King Jonakr, who makes her his wife. Swanhild, the daughter of Sigurd and Gudrun, had been married to King Jörmunrek, but coming under unjust suspicion, is trodden to death by horses; and Gudrun dies of a broken heart, with a prayer to Sigurd upon her lips. Last of all, the sons of Gudrun and Jonakr,who, incited by their mother, had been sent out to avenge their sister, are stoned to death; and the curse only ceases to work when there is nothing more left for it to wreak itself upon.
It is a story of great deeds, whose motives are the bitter passions of that early time before the culture of Christianity had softened the hearts of men. The psychological truthfulness of its characters, however, in spite of their distance from to-day, is none the less unmistakable; and we watch the action with bated breath, as they are hurried on by a fate as relentless and inevitable as any that ever pursued an Oedipus. They are not the indistinct and shadowy forms which in many early literatures seem to grope out toward us from the mists of the past, whose clinging heaviness the present is unable wholly to dispel, but are human men and women who live and act; and the principal characters, particularly, in this way become the realities of history, instead of what they actually are, the creations of legend and myth.
Many of the poems of the 'Edda' have been several times translated into English. Notable renderings are those by Dean Herbert, and by William Morris in the translation of the 'Völsunga Saga,' by Magnusson and Morris. The only metrical version of all the lays is that of Benjamin Thorpe (London, 1866). A literal translation of the entire extant old poetry of the North is contained in Vigfusson's monumental work, the 'Corpus Poeticum Boreale.' The 'Snorra Edda' has been translated by G.W. Dasent (Stockholm, 1842); by I.A. Blackwell in 'Northern Antiquities' (London, 1847); and by R. B. Anderson (Chicago, 1880).
William H. Carpenter
One day the god Thor set out, in his car drawn by two he-goats, and accompanied by Loki, on a journey. Night coming on, they put up at a peasant's cottage, when Thor killed his goats, and after flaying them put them in the kettle. When the flesh was sodden, he sat down with, his fellow-traveler to supper, and invited the peasant and his family to partake ofthe repast. The peasant's son was named Thjalfi, and his daughter Röska. Thor bade them throw all the bones into the goats' skins, which were spread out near the fireplace; but young Thjalfi broke one of the shank-bones with his knife, to come at the marrow. Thor having passed the night in the cottage, rose at the dawn of day; and when he was dressed took his mallet Mjölnir, and lifting it up, consecrated the goats' skins, which he had no sooner done than the two goats reassumed their wonted form, only that one of them now limped in one of its hind legs. Thor, perceiving this, said that the peasant or one of his family had handled the shank-bone of this goat too roughly, for he saw clearly that it was broken. It may readily be imagined how frightened the peasant was, when he saw Thor knit his brows, and grasp the handle of his mallet with such force that the joints of his fingers became white from the exertion. Fearing to be struck down by the very looks of the god, the peasant and his family made joint suit for pardon, offering whatever they possessed as an atonement for the offense committed. Thor, seeing their fear, desisted from his wrath and became more placable, and finally contented himself by requiring the peasant's children, Thjalfi and Röska, who became his bond-servants, and have followed him ever since.
Leaving his goats with the peasant, Thor proceeded eastward on the road to Jötunheim, until he came to the shores of a vast and deep sea, which having passed over, he penetrated into a strange country along with his companions, Loki, Thjalfi, and Röska. They had not gone far before they saw before them an immense forest, through which they wandered all day. Thjalfi was of all men the swiftest of foot. He bore Thor's wallet, but the forest was a bad place for finding anything eatable to stow in it. When it became dark, they searched on all sides for a place where they might pass the night, and at last came to a very large hall, with an entrance that took up the whole breadth of one of the ends of the building. Here they chose them a place to sleep in; but towards midnight were alarmed by an earthquake, which shook the whole edifice. Thor, rising up, called on his companions to seek with him a place of safety. On the right they found an adjoining chamber, into which they entered; but while the others, trembling with fear, crept into the furthest corner of this retreat, Thor remained at the doorway with his mallet in his hand, prepared to defend himself whatevermight happen. A terrible groaning was heard during the night, and at dawn of day Thor went out and observed lying near him a man of enormous bulk, who slept and snored pretty loudly. Thor could now account for the noise they had heard over night, and girding on his Belt of Prowess, increased that divine strength which he now stood in need of. The giant, awakening, rose up, and it is said that for once in his life Thor was afraid to make use of his mallet, and contented himself by simply asking the giant his name.
"My name is Skrymir," said the other; "but I need not ask thy name, for I know thou art the god Thor. But what hast thou done with my glove?" And stretching out his hand Skrymir picked up his glove, which Thor then perceived was what they had taken over night for a hall, the chamber where they had sought refuge being the thumb. Skrymir then asked whether they would have his fellowship, and Thor consenting, the giant opened his wallet and began to eat his breakfast. Thor and his companions having also taken their morning repast, though in another place, Skrymir proposed that they should lay their provisions together, which Thor also assented to. The giant then put all the meat into one wallet, which he slung on his back and went before them, taking tremendous strides, the whole day, and at dusk sought out for them a place where they might pass the night, under a large oak-tree. Skrymir then told them that he would lie down to sleep. "But take ye the wallet," he added, "and prepare your supper."
Skrymir soon fell asleep, and began to snore strongly, but incredible though it may appear, it must nevertheless be told that when Thor came to open the wallet he could not untie a single knot, nor render a single string looser than it was before. Seeing that his labor was in vain, Thor became wroth, and grasping his mallet with both hands while he advanced a step forward, launched it at the giant's head. Skrymir, awakening, merely asked whether a leaf had not fallen on his head, and whether they had supped and were ready to go to sleep. Thor answered that they were just going to sleep, and so saying, went and laid himself down under another oak-tree. But sleep came not that night to Thor, and when he remarked that Skrymir snored again so loud that the forest re-echoed with the noise, he arose, and grasping his mallet launched it with such force that it sunk into the giant's skull up to the handle. Skrymir, awakening, cried out:—
"What's the matter? did an acorn fall on my head? How fares it with thee, Thor?"
But Thor went away hastily, saying that he had just then awoke, and that as it was only midnight, there was still time for sleep. He however resolved that if he had an opportunity of striking a third blow, it should settle all matters between them. A little before daybreak he perceived that Skrymir was again fast asleep, and again grasping his mallet, dashed it with such violence that it forced its way into the giant's cheek up to the handle. But Skrymir sat up, and stroking his cheek, said:—
"Are there any birds perched on this tree? Methought when I awoke some moss from the branches fell on my head. What! art thou awake, Thor? Methinks it is time for us to get up and dress ourselves; but you have not now a long way before you to the city called Utgard. I have heard you whispering to one another that I am not a man of small dimensions; but if you come into Utgard you will see there many men much taller than myself. Wherefore I advise you, when you come there, not to make too much of yourselves, for the followers of Utgard-Loki will not brook the boasting of such mannikins as ye are. The best thing you could do would probably be to turn back again; but if you persist in going on, take the road that leads eastward, for mine now lies northward to those rocks which you may see in the distance."
Hereupon he threw his wallet over his shoulders and turned away from them into the forest, and I could never hear that Thor wished to meet with him a second time.
Thor and his companions proceeded on their way, and towards noon descried a city standing in the middle of a plain. It was so lofty that they were obliged to bend their necks quite back on their shoulders, ere they could see to the top of it. On arriving at the walls they found the gateway closed, with a gate of bars strongly locked and bolted. Thor, after trying in vain to open it, crept with his companions through the bars, and thus succeeded in gaining admission into the city. Seeing a large palace before them, with the door wide open, they went in and found a number of men of prodigious stature sitting on benches in the hall. Going further, they came before the King, Utgard-Loki, whom they saluted with great respect. Their salutations were however returned by a contemptuous look from the King, who after regarding them for some time said with a scornful smile:—
"It is tedious to ask for tidings of a long journey, yet if I do not mistake me, that stripling there must be Aku-Thor. Perhaps," he added, addressing himself to Thor, "thou mayest be taller than thou appearest to be. But what are the feats that thou and thy fellows deem yourselves skilled in? for no one is permitted to remain here who does not in some feat or other excel all men."
"The feat I know," replied Loki, "is to eat quicker than any one else; and in this I am ready to give a proof against any one here who may choose to compete with me."
"That will indeed be a feat," said Utgard-Loki, "if thou performest what thou promisest; and it shall be tried forthwith."
He then ordered one of his men, who was sitting at the further end of the bench, and whose name was Logi, to come forward and try his skill with Loki. A trough filled with flesh-meat having been set on the hall floor, Loki placed himself at one end and Logi at the other, and each of them began to eat as fast as he could, until they met in the middle of the trough. But it was soon found that Loki had only eaten the flesh, whereas his adversary had devoured both flesh and bone, and the trough to boot. All the company therefore adjudged that Loki was vanquished.
Utgard-Loki then asked what feat the young man who accompanied Thor could perform. Thjalfi answered that he would run a race with any one who might be matched against him. The King observed that skill in running was something to boast of, but that if the youth would win the match he must display great agility. He then arose and went with all who were present to a plain where there was good ground for running on, and calling a young man named Hugi, bade him run a match with Thjalfi. In the first course, Hugi so much outstripped his competitor that he turned back and met him, not far from the starting-place.
"Thou must ply thy legs better, Thjalfi," said Utgard-Loki, "if thou wilt win the match; though I must needs say that there never came a man here swifter of foot than thou art."
In the second course, Thjalfi was a full bow-shot from the goal when Hugi arrived at it.
"Most bravely dost thou run, Thjalfi," said Utgard-Loki, "though thou wilt not, methinks, win the match. But the third course must decide."
They accordingly ran a third time, but Hugi had already reached the goal before Thjalfi had got half-way. All who were present then cried out that there had been a sufficient trial of skill in this kind of exercise.
Utgard-Loki then asked Thor in what feats he would choose to give proofs of that dexterity for which he was so famous. Thor replied that he would begin a drinking match with any one. Utgard-Loki consented, and entering the palace, bade his cup-bearer bring the large horn which his followers were obliged to drink out of, when they had trespassed in any way against established usage. The cup-bearer having presented it to Thor, Utgard-Loki said:—
"Whoever is a good drinker will empty that horn at a single draught, though some men make two of it; but the most puny drinker of all can do it at three."
Thor looked at the horn, which seemed of no extraordinary size, though somewhat long; however, as he was very thirsty, he set it to his lips, and without drawing breath, pulled as long and as deeply as he could, that he might not be obliged to make a second draught of it; but when he set the horn down and looked in, he could scarcely perceive that the liquor was diminished.
"'Tis well drunken," exclaimed Utgard-Loki, "though nothing much to boast of; and I would not have believed, had it been told me, that Asa-Thor could not take a greater draught; but thou no doubt meanest to make amends at the second pull."
Thor without answering went at it again with all his might; but when he took the horn from his mouth it seemed to him as if he had drunk rather less than before, although the horn could now be carried without spilling.
"How now! Thor," said Utgard-Loki: "Thou must not spare thyself more, in performing a feat, than befits thy skill; but if thou meanest to drain the horn at the third draught thou must pull deeply; and I must needs say that thou wilt not be called so mighty a man here as thou art among the Æsir, if thou showest no greater powers in other feats than methinks will be shown in this."
Thor, full of wrath, again set the horn to his lips and exerted himself to the utmost to empty it entirely; but on looking in, found that the liquor was only a little lower; upon which he resolved to make no further attempt, but gave back the horn to the cup-bearer.
"I now see plainly," said Utgard-Loki, "that thou art not quite so stout as we thought thee; but wilt thou try any other feat?—though methinks thou art not likely to bear any prize away with thee hence."
"I will try another feat," replied Thor; "and I am sure such draughts as I have been drinking would not have been reckoned small among the Æsir; but what new trial hast thou to propose?"
"We have a very trifling game here," answered Utgard-Loki, "in which we exercise none but children. It consists in merely lifting my cat from the ground; nor should I have dared to mention such a feat to Asa-Thor, if I had not already observed that thou art by no means what we took thee for."
As he finished speaking, a large gray cat sprang on the hall floor. Thor, advancing, put his hand under the cat's belly, and did his utmost to raise him from the floor; but the cat, bending his back, had—notwithstanding all Thor's efforts—only one of his feet lifted up; seeing which, Thor made no further attempt.
"This trial has turned out," said Utgard-Loki, "just as I imagined it would; the cat is large, but Thor is little in comparison with our men."
"Little as ye call me," answered Thor, "let me see who amongst you will come hither, now I am in wrath, and wrestle with me."
"I see no one here," said Utgard-Loki, looking at the men sitting on the benches, "who would not think it beneath him to wrestle with thee: let somebody, however, call hither that old crone, my nurse Elli, and let Thor wrestle with her if he will. She has thrown to the ground many a man not less strong and mighty than this Thor is."
A toothless old woman then entered the hall, and was told by Utgard-Loki to take hold of Thor. The tale is shortly told. The more Thor tightened his hold on the crone the firmer she stood. At length, after a very violent struggle, Thor began to lose his footing, and was finally brought down upon one knee. Utgard-Loki then told them to desist, adding that Thor had now no occasion to ask any one else in the hall to wrestle with him, and it was also getting late. He therefore showed Thor and his companions to their seats, and they passed the night there in good cheer.
The next morning, at break of day, Thor and his companions dressed themselves and prepared for their departure. Utgard-Loki then came and ordered a table to be set for them, on which there was no lack of either victuals or drink. After the repast Utgard-Loki led them to the gate of the city, and on parting asked Thor how he thought his journey had turned out, and whether he had met with any men stronger than himself. Thor told him that he could not deny but that he had brought great shame on himself. "And what grieves me most," he added, "is that ye call me a man of little worth."
"Nay," said Utgard-Loki, "it behoves me to tell thee the truth, now thou art out of the city; which so long as I live and have my way thou shalt never re-enter. And by my troth, had I known beforehand that thou hadst so much strength in thee, and wouldst have brought me so near to a great mishap, I would not have suffered thee to enter this time. Know, then, that I have all along deceived thee by my illusions: first in the forest, where I arrived before thee, and there thou wert not able to untie the wallet, because I had bound it with iron wire, in such a manner that thou couldst not discover how the knot ought to be loosened. After this, thou gavest me three blows with thy mallet; the first, though the least, would have ended my days had it fallen on me, but I brought a rocky mountain before me which thou didst not perceive, and in this mountain thou wilt find three glens, one of them remarkably deep. These are the dints made by thy mallet. I have made use of similar illusions in the contests ye have had with my followers. In the first, Loki, like hunger itself, devoured all that was set before him; but Logi was in reality nothing else than ardent fire, and therefore consumed not only the meat but the trough which held it. Hugi, with whom Thjalfi contended in running, was Thought; and it was impossible for Thjalfi to keep pace with that. When thou in thy turn didst try to empty the horn, thou didst perform, by my troth, a deed so marvelous that had I not seen it myself I should never have believed it. For one end of that horn reached the sea, which thou wast not aware of, but when thou comest to the shore thou wilt perceive how much the sea has sunk by thy draughts, which have caused what is now called the ebb. Thou didst perform a feat no less wonderful by lifting up the cat; and to tell thee the truth, when we saw that one of his paws was off the floor, we were all of us terror-stricken; for what thou tookest for a cat was in reality the great Midgard serpent that encompasseth the whole earth, and he was thenbarely long enough to inclose it between his head and tail, so high had thy hand raised him up towards heaven. Thy wrestling with Elli was also a most astonishing feat, for there was never yet a man, nor ever shall be, whom Old Age—for such in fact was Elli—will not sooner or later lay low if he abide her coming. But now, as we are going to part, let me tell thee that it will be better for both of us if thou never come near me again; for shouldst thou do so, I shall again defend myself by other illusions, so that thou wilt never prevail against me."
On hearing these words, Thor in a rage laid hold of his mallet and would have launched it at him; but Utgard-Loki had disappeared, and when Thor would have returned to the city to destroy it, he found nothing around him but a verdant plain. Proceeding therefore on his way, he returned without stopping to Thrúdváng.
Translation of I. A. Blackwell.
Wroth was Vingthor,when he awoke,and his hammer missed;his beard he shook,his forehead struck,the son of earthfelt all around him;And first of allthese words he uttered:—"Hear now, Loki!what I now say,which no one knowsanywhere on earth,nor in heaven above:the As's hammer is stolen!"They went to the fairFreyja's dwelling,and he these wordsfirst of all said:—"Wilt thou me, Freyja,thy feather-garment lend,that perchance my hammerI may find?"FREYJA"That I would give thee,although of gold it were,and trust it to thee,though it were of silver."Flew then Loki—the plumage rattled—until he came beyondthe Æsir's dwellings,and came withinthe Jötun's land.On a mound sat Thrym,the Thursar's lord;for his greyhoundsplaiting gold bands,and his horses'manes smoothing.THRYM"How goes it with the Æsir?How goes it with the Alfar?Why art thou come aloneto Jötunheim?"LOKI"Ill it goes with the Æsir,Ill it goes with the Alfar.Hast thou Hlorridi'shammer hidden?"THRYM"I have Hlorridi'shammer hiddeneight rastsbeneath the earth;it shall no manget again,unless he bring meFreyja to wife."Flew then Loki—the plumage rattled—until he came beyondthe Jötun's dwellings,and came withinthe Æsir's courts;there he met Thor,in the middle court,who these wordsfirst of all uttered:—"Hast thou had success,as well as labor?Tell me from the airthe long tidings.Oft of him who sitsare the tales defective,and he who lies downutters falsehood."LOKI"I have had laborand success:Thrym has thy hammer,the Thursar's lord.It shall no manget again,unless he bring himFreyja to wife."They went the fairFreyja to find;and he those wordsfirst of all said:—"Bind thee, Freyja,in bridal raiment:we two must driveto Jötunheim."Wroth then was Freyja,and with anger chafed;all in Æsir's hallbeneath her trembled;in shivers flew the famedBrisinga necklace:"Know me to beof women lewdest,if with thee I driveto Jötunheim."Straightway went the Æsirall to council,and the Asynjurall to hold converse;and deliberatedthe mighty gods,how they Hlorridi'shammer might get back.Then said Heimdall,of Æsir brightest—he well foresawlike other Vanir—"Let us clothe Thorwith bridal raiment,let him have the famedBrisinga necklace."Let by his sidekeys jingle,and woman's weedsfall round his knees,but on his breastplace precious stones,and a neat coifset on his head."Then said Thor,the mighty As:—"Me the Æsir willcall womanish,if I let myself be cladin bridal raiment."Then spake Loki,Laufey's son:—"Do thou, Thor! refrainfrom such-like words;forthwith the Jötuns willAsgard inhabit,unless thy hammer thougettest back."Then they clad Thorin bridal raiment,and with the nobleBrisinga necklace;let by his sidekeys jingle,and woman's weedsfall round his knees;and on his breastplaced precious stones,and a neat coifset on his head.Then said Loki,Laufey's son:—"I will with theeas a servant go;we two will driveto Jötunheim."Straightway were the goatshomeward driven,hurried to the traces;they had fast to run.The rocks were shivered,the earth was in a blaze;Odin's son droveto Jötunheim.Then said Thrym,the Thursar's lord:—"Rise up, Jötuns!and the benches deck,now they bring meFreyja to wife,Njörd's daughter,from Noatun."Hither to our court let bringgold-horned cows,all-black oxen,for the Jötuns' joy.Treasures I have many,necklaces many;Freyja aloneseemed to me wanting."In the eveningthey early came,and for the Jötunsbeer was brought forth.Thor alone an ox devoured,salmons eight,and all the sweetmeatswomen should have.Sif's consort drankthree salds of mead.Then said Thrym,the Thursar's prince:—"Where hast thou seen brideseat more voraciously?I never saw bridesfeed more amply,nor a maidendrink more mead."Sat the all-craftyserving-maid close by,who words fitting foundagainst the Jötun's speech:—"Freyja has nothing eatenfor eight nights,so eager was shefor Jötunheim."Under her veil he stooped,desirous to salute her,but sprang backalong the hall:—"Why are so piercingFreyja's looks?Methinks that fireburns from her eyes."Sat the all-craftyserving-maid close by,who words fitting foundagainst the Jötun's speech:—"Freyja for eight nightshas not slept,so eager was shefor Jötunheim."In came the Jötun'sluckless sister;for a bride-giftshe dared to ask:—"Give me from thy handsthe ruddy rings,if thou wouldst gainmy love,my loveand favor all."Then said Thrym,the Thursar's lord:—"Bring the hammer in,the bride to consecrate;lay Mjöllniron the maiden's knee;unite us each with otherby the hand of Vör."Laughed Hlorridi'ssoul in his breast,when the fierce-heartedhis hammer recognized.He first slew Thrym,the Thursar's lord,and the Jötun's raceall crushed;He slew the Jötun'saged sister,her who a bride-gifthad demanded;she a blow gotinstead of skillings,a hammer's strokefor many rings.So got Odin's sonhis hammer back.
Wroth was Vingthor,when he awoke,and his hammer missed;his beard he shook,his forehead struck,the son of earthfelt all around him;
And first of allthese words he uttered:—"Hear now, Loki!what I now say,which no one knowsanywhere on earth,nor in heaven above:the As's hammer is stolen!"
They went to the fairFreyja's dwelling,and he these wordsfirst of all said:—"Wilt thou me, Freyja,thy feather-garment lend,that perchance my hammerI may find?"
FREYJA
"That I would give thee,although of gold it were,and trust it to thee,though it were of silver."
Flew then Loki—the plumage rattled—until he came beyondthe Æsir's dwellings,and came withinthe Jötun's land.
On a mound sat Thrym,the Thursar's lord;for his greyhoundsplaiting gold bands,and his horses'manes smoothing.
THRYM
"How goes it with the Æsir?How goes it with the Alfar?Why art thou come aloneto Jötunheim?"
LOKI
"Ill it goes with the Æsir,Ill it goes with the Alfar.Hast thou Hlorridi'shammer hidden?"
THRYM
"I have Hlorridi'shammer hiddeneight rastsbeneath the earth;it shall no manget again,unless he bring meFreyja to wife."
Flew then Loki—the plumage rattled—until he came beyondthe Jötun's dwellings,and came withinthe Æsir's courts;there he met Thor,in the middle court,who these wordsfirst of all uttered:—
"Hast thou had success,as well as labor?Tell me from the airthe long tidings.Oft of him who sitsare the tales defective,and he who lies downutters falsehood."
LOKI
"I have had laborand success:Thrym has thy hammer,the Thursar's lord.It shall no manget again,unless he bring himFreyja to wife."
They went the fairFreyja to find;and he those wordsfirst of all said:—"Bind thee, Freyja,in bridal raiment:we two must driveto Jötunheim."
Wroth then was Freyja,and with anger chafed;all in Æsir's hallbeneath her trembled;in shivers flew the famedBrisinga necklace:"Know me to beof women lewdest,if with thee I driveto Jötunheim."
Straightway went the Æsirall to council,and the Asynjurall to hold converse;and deliberatedthe mighty gods,how they Hlorridi'shammer might get back.
Then said Heimdall,of Æsir brightest—he well foresawlike other Vanir—"Let us clothe Thorwith bridal raiment,let him have the famedBrisinga necklace.
"Let by his sidekeys jingle,and woman's weedsfall round his knees,but on his breastplace precious stones,and a neat coifset on his head."
Then said Thor,the mighty As:—"Me the Æsir willcall womanish,if I let myself be cladin bridal raiment."
Then spake Loki,Laufey's son:—"Do thou, Thor! refrainfrom such-like words;forthwith the Jötuns willAsgard inhabit,unless thy hammer thougettest back."
Then they clad Thorin bridal raiment,and with the nobleBrisinga necklace;let by his sidekeys jingle,and woman's weedsfall round his knees;and on his breastplaced precious stones,and a neat coifset on his head.
Then said Loki,Laufey's son:—"I will with theeas a servant go;we two will driveto Jötunheim."
Straightway were the goatshomeward driven,hurried to the traces;they had fast to run.The rocks were shivered,the earth was in a blaze;Odin's son droveto Jötunheim.
Then said Thrym,the Thursar's lord:—"Rise up, Jötuns!and the benches deck,now they bring meFreyja to wife,Njörd's daughter,from Noatun.
"Hither to our court let bringgold-horned cows,all-black oxen,for the Jötuns' joy.Treasures I have many,necklaces many;Freyja aloneseemed to me wanting."
In the eveningthey early came,and for the Jötunsbeer was brought forth.Thor alone an ox devoured,salmons eight,and all the sweetmeatswomen should have.Sif's consort drankthree salds of mead.
Then said Thrym,the Thursar's prince:—"Where hast thou seen brideseat more voraciously?I never saw bridesfeed more amply,nor a maidendrink more mead."
Sat the all-craftyserving-maid close by,who words fitting foundagainst the Jötun's speech:—"Freyja has nothing eatenfor eight nights,so eager was shefor Jötunheim."
Under her veil he stooped,desirous to salute her,but sprang backalong the hall:—"Why are so piercingFreyja's looks?Methinks that fireburns from her eyes."
Sat the all-craftyserving-maid close by,who words fitting foundagainst the Jötun's speech:—"Freyja for eight nightshas not slept,so eager was shefor Jötunheim."
In came the Jötun'sluckless sister;for a bride-giftshe dared to ask:—"Give me from thy handsthe ruddy rings,if thou wouldst gainmy love,my loveand favor all."
Then said Thrym,the Thursar's lord:—"Bring the hammer in,the bride to consecrate;lay Mjöllniron the maiden's knee;unite us each with otherby the hand of Vör."
Laughed Hlorridi'ssoul in his breast,when the fierce-heartedhis hammer recognized.He first slew Thrym,the Thursar's lord,and the Jötun's raceall crushed;
He slew the Jötun'saged sister,her who a bride-gifthad demanded;she a blow gotinstead of skillings,a hammer's strokefor many rings.So got Odin's sonhis hammer back.
Translation of Benjamin Thorpe in 'The Edda of Sæmund the Learned'
Gudrun of old daysDrew near to dying,As she sat in sorrowOver Sigurd;Yet she sighed notNor smote hand on hand,Nor wailed she aughtAs other women.Then went earls to her,Full of all wisdom,Fain help to dealTo her dreadful heart:Hushed was GudrunOf wail, or greeting,But with heavy woeWas her heart a-breaking.Bright and fairSat the great earls' brides,Gold-arrayedBefore Gudrun;Each told the taleOf her great trouble,The bitterest baleShe erst abode.Then spake Giaflaug,Giuki's sister:—"Lo, upon earthI live most loveless,Who of five matesMust see the ending,Of daughters twainAnd three sisters,Of brethren eight,And abide behind lonely."Naught gat GudrunOf wail or greeting,So heavy was sheFor her dead husband;So dreadful-heartedFor the King laid dead there.Then spake Herborg,Queen of Hunland:—"Crueler taleHave I to tell of,Of my seven sonsDown in the Southlands,And the eighth man, my mate,Felled in the death-mead."Father and mother,And four brothers,On the wide seaThe winds and death played with;The billows beatOn the bulwark boards."Alone must I sing o'er them,Alone must I array them,Alone must my hands deal withTheir departing;And all this wasIn one season's wearing,And none was leftFor love or solace."Then was I boundA prey of the battle,When that same seasonWore to its ending;As a tiring-mayMust I bind the shoonOf the duke's high dame,Every day at dawning."From her jealous hateGat I heavy mocking;Cruel lashesShe laid upon me;Never met IBetter masterOr mistress worserIn all the wide world."Naught gat GudrunOf wail or greeting,So heavy was sheFor her dead husband;So dreadful-heartedFor the King laid dead there.Then spake Gullrond,Giuki's daughter:—"O foster-mother,Wise as thou mayst be,Naught canst thou betterThe young wife's bale."And she bade uncoverThe dead King's corpse.She swept the sheetAway from Sigurd,And turned his cheekToward his wife's knees:—"Look on thy loved one,Lay lips to his lips,E'en as thou wert clingingTo thy King alive yet!"Once looked Gudrun—One look only,And saw her lord's locksLying all bloody,The great man's eyesGlazed and deadly,And his heart's bulwarkBroken by sword-edge.Back then sank Gudrun,Back on the bolster;Loosed was her head-array,Red did her cheeks grow,And the rain-drops ranDown over her knees.Then wept Gudrun,Giuki's daughter,So that the tears flowedThrough the pillow;As the geese withalThat were in the home-field,The fair fowls the may owned,Fell a-screaming.Then spake Gullrond,Giuki's daughter:—"Surely knew INo love like your loveAmong all men,On the mold abiding;Naught wouldst thou joy inWithout or within doors,O my sister,Save beside Sigurd."Then spake Gudrun,Giuki's daughter:—"Such was my SigurdAmong the sons of Giuki,As is the king leekO'er the low grass waxing,Or a bright stoneStrung on band,Or a pearl of priceOn a prince's brow."Once was I countedBy the king's warriorsHigher than anyOf Herjan's mays;Now am I as littleAs the leaf may be,Amid wind-swept wood,Now when dead, he lieth."I miss from my seat,I miss from my bed,My darling of sweet speech.Wrought the sons of Giuki,Wrought the sons of Giuki,This sore sorrow;Yea, for their sisterMost sore sorrow."So may your landsLie waste on all sides,As ye have brokenYour bounden oaths!Ne'er shalt thou, Gunnar,The gold have joy of;The dear-bought ringsShall drag thee to death,Whereon thou swarestOath unto Sigurd."Ah, in the days bygone,Great mirth in the home-field,When my SigurdSet saddle on Grani,And they went their waysFor the wooing of Brynhild!An ill day, an ill woman,And most ill hap!"Then spake Brynhild,Budli's daughter:—"May the woman lackBoth love and children,Who gained greetingFor thee, O Gudrun!Who gave thee this morningMany words!"Then spake Gullrond,Giuki's daughter:—"Hold peace of such words,Thou hated of all folk!The bane of brave menHast thou been ever;All waves of illWash over thy mind;To seven great kingsHast thou been a sore sorrow,And the death of good-willTo wives and women."Then spake Brynhild,Budli's daughter:—"None but AtliBrought bale upon us;My very brother,Born of Budli."When we saw in the hallOf the Hunnish peopleThe gold a-gleamingOn the kingly Giukings;I have paid for that faringOft and fully,And for the sightThat then I saw."By a pillar she stoodAnd strained its wood to her;From the eyes of Brynhild,Budli's daughter,Flashed out fire,And she snorted forth venom,As the sore wounds she gazed onOf the dead-slain Sigurd.
Gudrun of old daysDrew near to dying,As she sat in sorrowOver Sigurd;Yet she sighed notNor smote hand on hand,Nor wailed she aughtAs other women.
Then went earls to her,Full of all wisdom,Fain help to dealTo her dreadful heart:Hushed was GudrunOf wail, or greeting,But with heavy woeWas her heart a-breaking.
Bright and fairSat the great earls' brides,Gold-arrayedBefore Gudrun;Each told the taleOf her great trouble,The bitterest baleShe erst abode.
Then spake Giaflaug,Giuki's sister:—"Lo, upon earthI live most loveless,Who of five matesMust see the ending,Of daughters twainAnd three sisters,Of brethren eight,And abide behind lonely."
Naught gat GudrunOf wail or greeting,So heavy was sheFor her dead husband;So dreadful-heartedFor the King laid dead there.
Then spake Herborg,Queen of Hunland:—"Crueler taleHave I to tell of,Of my seven sonsDown in the Southlands,And the eighth man, my mate,Felled in the death-mead.
"Father and mother,And four brothers,On the wide seaThe winds and death played with;The billows beatOn the bulwark boards.
"Alone must I sing o'er them,Alone must I array them,Alone must my hands deal withTheir departing;And all this wasIn one season's wearing,And none was leftFor love or solace.
"Then was I boundA prey of the battle,When that same seasonWore to its ending;As a tiring-mayMust I bind the shoonOf the duke's high dame,Every day at dawning.
"From her jealous hateGat I heavy mocking;Cruel lashesShe laid upon me;Never met IBetter masterOr mistress worserIn all the wide world."
Naught gat GudrunOf wail or greeting,So heavy was sheFor her dead husband;So dreadful-heartedFor the King laid dead there.
Then spake Gullrond,Giuki's daughter:—"O foster-mother,Wise as thou mayst be,Naught canst thou betterThe young wife's bale."And she bade uncoverThe dead King's corpse.
She swept the sheetAway from Sigurd,And turned his cheekToward his wife's knees:—"Look on thy loved one,Lay lips to his lips,E'en as thou wert clingingTo thy King alive yet!"
Once looked Gudrun—One look only,And saw her lord's locksLying all bloody,The great man's eyesGlazed and deadly,And his heart's bulwarkBroken by sword-edge.
Back then sank Gudrun,Back on the bolster;Loosed was her head-array,Red did her cheeks grow,And the rain-drops ranDown over her knees.
Then wept Gudrun,Giuki's daughter,So that the tears flowedThrough the pillow;As the geese withalThat were in the home-field,The fair fowls the may owned,Fell a-screaming.
Then spake Gullrond,Giuki's daughter:—"Surely knew INo love like your loveAmong all men,On the mold abiding;Naught wouldst thou joy inWithout or within doors,O my sister,Save beside Sigurd."
Then spake Gudrun,Giuki's daughter:—"Such was my SigurdAmong the sons of Giuki,As is the king leekO'er the low grass waxing,Or a bright stoneStrung on band,Or a pearl of priceOn a prince's brow.
"Once was I countedBy the king's warriorsHigher than anyOf Herjan's mays;Now am I as littleAs the leaf may be,Amid wind-swept wood,Now when dead, he lieth.
"I miss from my seat,I miss from my bed,My darling of sweet speech.Wrought the sons of Giuki,Wrought the sons of Giuki,This sore sorrow;Yea, for their sisterMost sore sorrow.
"So may your landsLie waste on all sides,As ye have brokenYour bounden oaths!Ne'er shalt thou, Gunnar,The gold have joy of;The dear-bought ringsShall drag thee to death,Whereon thou swarestOath unto Sigurd.
"Ah, in the days bygone,Great mirth in the home-field,When my SigurdSet saddle on Grani,And they went their waysFor the wooing of Brynhild!An ill day, an ill woman,And most ill hap!"
Then spake Brynhild,Budli's daughter:—"May the woman lackBoth love and children,Who gained greetingFor thee, O Gudrun!Who gave thee this morningMany words!"
Then spake Gullrond,Giuki's daughter:—"Hold peace of such words,Thou hated of all folk!The bane of brave menHast thou been ever;All waves of illWash over thy mind;To seven great kingsHast thou been a sore sorrow,And the death of good-willTo wives and women."
Then spake Brynhild,Budli's daughter:—"None but AtliBrought bale upon us;My very brother,Born of Budli.
"When we saw in the hallOf the Hunnish peopleThe gold a-gleamingOn the kingly Giukings;I have paid for that faringOft and fully,And for the sightThat then I saw."
By a pillar she stoodAnd strained its wood to her;From the eyes of Brynhild,Budli's daughter,Flashed out fire,And she snorted forth venom,As the sore wounds she gazed onOf the dead-slain Sigurd.
William Morris in 'The Story of the Völsungs and Niblungs': translated by Magnusson and Morris, London, 1870