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We now pass to Völuspa, 40 (Hauk’s Codex), where the word Helvegir occurs. One of the signs that Ragnarok and the fall of the world are at hand, is that the mighty ash Ygdrasil trembles, and that a fettered giant-monster thereby gets loose from its chains. Which this monster is, whether it is Garm, bound above the Gnipa cave, or some other, we will not now discuss. The astonishment and confusion caused by these events among all the beings of the world, are described in the poem with but few words, but they are sufficient for the purpose, and well calculated to make a deep impression upon the hearers. Terror is the predominating feeling in those beings which are not chosen to take part in the impending conflict. They, on the other hand, for whom the quaking of Ygdrasil is the signal of battle for life or death, either arm themselves amid a terrible war-cry for the battle (the giants, str. 41), or they assemble to hold the last council (the Asas), and then rush to arms. Two classes of beings are mentioned as seized by terror — the dwarfs, who stood breathless outside of their stone-doors, and those beings which are á Helvegum. Helvegir may mean the paths or ways in Hel: there, are many paths, just as there are many gates and many rivers. Helvegir may also mean the regions, districts in Hel (cp. Austrvegr, Sudrvegr, Norvegr; and Alvism., 10, according to |
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which the Vans call the earth vegir, ways). The author may have used the word in either of these senses or in both, for in this case it amounts to the same. At all events it is stated that the inhabitants in Hel are terrified when Ygdrasil quakes and the unnamed giant-monster gets loose.
Surt’s spirit, or kinsman (savi, sefi may mean either), is, as has also hitherto been supposed, the fire. The final episode in the conflict on Vigrid’s plain is that the Muspel-flames destroy the last remnant of the contending giants. The terror which, when the world-tree quaked and the unnamed giant got loose, took possession of the inhabitants of Hel continues so long as the conflict is undecided. Valfather falls, Frey and Thor likewise; no one can know who is to be victorious. But the terror ceases when on the one hand the liberated giant-monster is destroyed, and on the other hand Vidar and Vale, Mode and Magne, survive the conflict and survive the flames, which do not penetrate to Balder and Hödr amid their protégés in Hel. The word thann (him), which occurs in the seventh line of the strophe (in the last of the translation) can impossibly refer to any other than the giant mentioned in the |
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fourth line (iotunn). There are in the strophe only two masculine words to which the masculine thann can be referred — iotunn and Ygdrasils askur. Iotunn, which stands nearest to thann, thus has the preference; and as we have seen that the world-tree falls by neither fire nor edge (Fjolsv., 20), and as it, in fact, survives the conflagration of Surt, then thann must naturally be referred to the iotunn. Here Völuspa has furnished us with evidence in regard to the position of Hel’s inhabitants towards the contending parties in Ragnarok. They who are frightened when a giant-monster — a most dangerous one, as it hitherto had been chained — gets free from its fetters, and they whose fright is allayed when the monster is destroyed in the conflagration of the world, such beings can impossibly follow this monster and its fellow warriors with their good wishes. Their hearts are on the side of the good powers, which are friendly to mankind. But they do not take an active part in their behalf; they take no part whatever in the conflict. This is manifest from the fact that their fright does not cease before the conflict is ended. Now we know that among the inhabitants in Hel are the ásmegir Lif and Leifthraser and their offspring, and that they are not hertharfir; they are not to be employed in war, since their very destiny forbids their taking an active part in the events of this period of the world (see No. 53). But the text does not permit us to think of them alone when we are to determine who the beings á Helvegum are. For the text says that all, who are á Helvegum, are alarmed until the conflict is happily ended. What the |
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interpreters of this much abused passage have failed to see, the seeress in Völuspa has not forgotten, that, namely, during the lapse of countless thousands of years, innumerable children and women, and men who never wielded the sword, have descended to the kingdom of death and received dwellings in Hel, and that Hel — in the limited local sense which the word hitherto has appeared to have in the songs of the gods — does not contain warlike inhabitants. Those who have fallen on the battle-field come, indeed, as shall be shown later, to Hel, but not to remain there; they continue their journey to Asgard, for Odin chooses one half of those slain on the battlefield for his dwelling, and Freyja the other half (Grimnersmal, 14). The chosen accordingly have Asgard as their place of destination, which they reach in case they are not found guilty by a sentence which neutralises the force and effect of the previous choice (see below), and sends them to die the second death on crossing the boundary to Nifelhel. Warriors who have not fallen on the battlefield are as much entitled to Asgard as those fallen by the sword, provided they as heroes have acquired fame and honour. It might, of course, happen to the greatest general and the most distinguished hero, the conqueror in hundreds of battles, that he might die from sickness or an accident, while, on the other hand, it might be that a man who never wielded a sword in earnest might fall on the field of battle before he had given a blow. That the mythology should make the latter entitled to Asgard, but not the former, is an absurdity as void of support in the records — on the contrary, these give the opposite |
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testimony — as it is of sound sense. The election contained for the chosen ones no exclusive privilege. It did not even imply additional favour to one who, independently of the election, could count on a place among the einherjes. The election made the person going to battle feigr, which was not a favour, nor could it be considered the opposite. It might play a royal crown from the head of the chosen one to that of his enemy, and this could not well be regarded as a kindness. But for the electing powers of Asgard themselves the election implied a privilege. The dispensation of life and death regularly belonged to the norns; but the election partly supplied the gods with an exception to this rule, and partly it left to Odin the right to determine the fortunes and issues of battles. The question of the relation between the power of the gods and that of fate — a question which seemed to the Greeks and Romans dangerous to meddle with and well-nigh impossible to dispose of — was partly solved by the Teutonic mythology by the naive and simple means of dividing the dispensation of life and death between the divinity and fate, which, of course, did not hinder that fate always stood as the dark, inscrutable power in the background of all events. (On election see further, No. 66.) It follows that in Hel’s regions of bliss there remained none that were warriors by profession. Those among them who were not guilty of any of the sins which the Asa-doctrine stamped as sins unto death passed through Hel to Asgard, the others through Hel to Nifelhel. All the inhabitants on Hel’s elysian fields accordingly are the ásmegir, and the women, children, and the agents of the |
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peaceful arts who have died during countless centuries, and who, unused to the sword, have no place in the ranks of the einherjes, and therefore with the anxiety of those waiting abide the issue of the conflict. Such is the background and contents of the Völuspa strophe. This would long since have been understood, had not the doctrine constructed by Gylfaginning in regard to the lower world, with Troy as the starting-point, bewildered the judgment.
In Allvissmal occur the phrases: those i helio and halir. The premise of the poem is that such objects as earth, heaven, moon, sun, night, wind, fire, &c., are expressed in six different ways, and that each one of these ways of expression is, with the exclusion of the others, applicable within one or two of the classes of beings found in the world. For example, Heaven is called —
In this manner thirteen objects are mentioned, each one with its six names. In all of the thirteen cases man has a way of his own of naming the objects. Likewise the giants. No other class of beings has any of the thirteen |
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appellations in common with them. On the other hand, the Asas and Vans have the same name for two objects (moon and sun); elves and dwarfs have names in common for no less than six objects (cloud, wind, fire, tree, seed, mead); the dwarfs and the inhabitants of the lower world for three (heaven, sea, and calm). Nine times it is stated how those in the lower world express themselves. In six of these nine cases Allvismal refers to the inhabitants of the lower world by the general expression “those in Hel”; in three cases the poem lets “those in Hel” be represented by some one of those classes of beings that reside in Hel. These three are upregin (str. 10), ásasynir (str. 16), and halir (str. 28). The name upregin suggests that it refers to beings of a very certain divine rank (the Vans are in Allvismal called ginnregin, str. 20, 30) that have their sphere of activity in the upper world. As they none the less dwell in the lower world, the appellation must have reference to beings which have their homes and abiding places in Hel when they are not occupied with their affairs in the world above. These beings are Nat, Dag, Mane, Sol. Ásasynir has the same signification as ásmegir. As this is the case, and as the ásmegir dwell in the lower world and the ásasynir likewise, then they must be identical, unless we should be credulous enough to assume that there were in the lower world two categories of beings, both called sons of Asas. Halir, when the question is about the lower world, means the souls of the dead (Vafthr., 43; see above). From this we find that Alvismal employs the word |
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Hel in such a manner that it embraces those regions where Nat and Dag, Mane and Sol, the living human inhabitants of Mimer’s grove, and the souls of departed human beings dwell. Among the last-named are included also souls of the damned, which are found in the abodes of torture below Nifelhel, and it is within the limits of possibility that the author of the poem also had them in mind, though there is not much probability that he should conceive them as having a nomenclature in common with gods, ásmegir, and the happy departed. At all events, he has particularly — and probably exclusively — had in his mind the regions of bliss when he used the word Hel, in which case he has conformed in the use of the word to Völuspa, Vafthrudnersmal, Grimnersmal, Skirnersmal, Vegtamskvida, and Thorsdrapa. While a terrible winter is raging, the gods, according to Forspjallsljod,* send messengers, with Heimdal as chief, down to a lower-world goddess (dis), who is * Of the age and genuineness of Forspjallsljod I propose to publish a separate treatise. |
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designated as Gjöll’s (the lower world river’s) Sunna (Sol, sun) and as the distributor of the divine liquids (str. 9, 11) to beseech her to explain to them the mystery of creation, the beginning of heaven, of Hel, and of the world, life and death, if she is able (hlyrnis, heliar, heims ef vissi, ártith, œfi, aldrtila). The messengers get only tears as an answer. The poem divides the universe into three great divisions: heaven, Hel, and the part lying between Hel and heaven, the world inhabited by mortals. Thus Hel is here used in its general sense, and refers to the whole lower world. But here, as wherever Hel has this general signification, it appears that the idea of regions of punishment is not thought of, but is kept in the background by the definite antithesis in which the word Hel, used in its more common and special sense of the subterranean regions of bliss, stands to Nifelhel and the regions subject to it. It must be admitted that what the anxious gods wish to learn from the wise goddess of the lower world must, so far as their desire to know and their fears concern the fate of Hel, refer particularly to the regions where Urd’s and Mimer’s holy wells are situated, for if the latter, which water the world-tree, pass away, it would mean nothing less than the end of the world. That the author should make the gods anxious concerning Loke’s daughter, whom they had hurled into the deep abysses of Nifelhel, and that he should make the wise goddess by Gjöll weep bitter tears over the future of the sister of the Fenris-wolf, is possible in the sense that it cannot be refuted by any definite words of the old records; but we may be permitted to regard it as highly improbable. |
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Among the passages in which the word Hel occurs in the poetic Edda’s mythological songs we have yet to mention Harbardsljod (str. 27), where the expression drepa i Hel is employed in the same abstract manner as the Swedes use the expression “at slå ihjäl,” which means simply “to kill” (it is Thor who threatens to kill the insulting Harbard); and also Völuspa (str. 42), Fjölsvinnsmal (str. 25), and Grimnersmal (str. 31). Völuspa (str. 43) speaks of Goldcomb, the cock which, with its crowing, wakes those who sleep in Herfather’s abode, and of a sooty-red cock which crows under the earth near Hel’s halls. In Fjöllsvinnsmal (str. 25), Svipdag asks with what weapon one might be able to bring down to Hel’s home (á Heljar sjöt) that golden cock Vidofner, which sits in Mimer’s tree (the world-tree), and doubtless is identical with Goldcomb. That Vidofner has done nothing for which he deserves to be punished in the home of Loke’s daughter may be regarded as probable. Hel is here used to designate the kingdom of death in general, and all that Svipdag seems to mean is that Vidofner, in case such a weapon could be found, might be transferred to his kinsman, the sooty-red cock which crows below the earth. Saxo also speaks of a cock which is found in Hades, and is with the goddess who has the cowbane stalks when she shows Hadding the flower-meadows of the lower world, the Elysian fields of those fallen by the sword, and the citadel within which death does not seem able to enter (see No. 47). Thus there is at least one cock in the lower world’s realm of bliss. That there should be one also in Nifelhel and in the abode |
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of Loke’s daughter is nowhere mentioned, and is hardly credible, since the cock, according to an ancient and wide-spread Aryan belief, is a sacred bird, which is the special foe of demons and the powers of darkness. According to Swedish popular belief, even of the present time, the crowing of the cock puts ghosts and spirits to flight; and a similar idea is found in Avesta (Vendidad, 18), where, in str. 15, Ahuramazda himself translates the morning song of the cock with the following words: “Rise, ye men, and praise the justice which is the most perfect! Behold the demons are put to flight!” Avesta is naively out of patience with thoughtless persons who call this sacred bird (Parodarsch) by the so little respect-inspiring name “Cockadoodledoo” (Kahrkatâs). The idea of the sacredness of the cock and its hostility to demons was also found among the Aryans of South Europe and survived the introduction of Christianity. Aurelius Prudentius wrote a Hymnus ad galli cantum, and the cock has as a token of Christian vigilance received the same place on the church spires as formerly on the world-tree. Nor have the May-poles forgotten him. But in the North the poets and the popular language have made the red cock a symbol of fire. Fire has two characters — it is sacred, purifying, and beneficent, when it is handled carefully and for lawful purposes. In the opposite case it is destructive. With the exception of this special instance, nothing but good is reported of the cocks of mythology and poetry. Grimnersmal (str. 31) is remarkable from two points of view. It contains information — brief and scant, it is |
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true, but nevertheless valuable — in regard to Ygdrasil’s three roots, and it speaks of Hel in an unmistakable, distinctly personal sense. In regard to the roots of the world-tree and their position, our investigation so far, regardless of Grimnersmal (str. 31), has produced the following result: Ygdrasil has a northern root. This stands over the vast reservoir Hvergelmer and spreads over Nifelhel, situated north of Hvergelmer and inhabited by frost-giants. There nine regions of punishment are situated, among them Nastrands. Ygdrasil’s second root is watered by Mimer’s fountain and spreads over the land where Mimer’s fountain and grove are located. In Mimer’s grove dwell those living (not dead) beings called Ásmegir and Ásasynir, Lif and Leifthraser and their offspring, whose destiny it is to people the regenerated earth. Ygdrasil’s third root stands over Urd’s fountain and the subterranean thingstead of the gods. The lower world consists of two chief divisions: Nifelhel (with the regions thereto belonging) and Hel; Nifelhel situated north of the Hvergelmer mountain, and Hel south of it. Accordingly both the land where Mimer’s well and grove are situated and the land where Urd’s fountain is found are within the domain Hel. In regard to the zones or climates, in which the roots are located, they have been conceived as having a southern and northern. We have already shown that the root over Hvergelmer is the northern one. That the root over Urd’s fountain has been conceived as the southern one |
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is manifest from the following circumstances. Eilif Gudrunson, who was converted to Christianity — the same skald who wrote the purely heathen Thorsdrapa — says in one of his poems, written after his conversion, that Christ sits sunnr at Urdarbrunni, in the south near Urd’s fountain, an expression which he could not have used unless his hearers had retained from the faith of their childhood the idea that Urd’s fountain was situated south of the other fountains. Forspjallsljod puts upon Urd’s fountain the task of protecting the world-tree against the devastating cold during the terrible winter which the poem describes. Othhrœrir skyldi Urdar geyma mœttk at veria mestum thorra. — “Urd’s Odreirer (mead-fountain) proved not to retain strength enough to protect against the terrible cold.” This idea shows that the sap which Ygdrasil’s southern root drew from Urd’s fountain was thought to be warmer than the saps of the other wells. As, accordingly, the root over Urd’s well was the southern, and that over Hvergelmer and the frost-giants the northern, it follows that Mimer’s well was conceived as situated between those two. The memory of this fact Gylfaginning has in its fashion preserved, where in chapter 15 it says that Mimer’s fountain is situated where Ginungagap formerly was — that is, between the northern Nifelheim and the southern warmer region (Gylfaginning’s “Muspelheim”). Grimnersmal (str. 31) says:
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The root under which the frost-giants dwell we already know as the root over Hvergelmer and the Nifelhel inhabited by frost-giants. The root under which human beings, living persons, mennskir menn, dwell we also know as the one over Mimer’s well and Mimer’s grove, where the human beings Lif and Leifthraser and their offspring have their abode, where jörd lifanda manna is situated. There remains one root: the one under which the goddess or fate, Urd, has her dwelling. Of this Grimnersmal says that she who dwells there is named Hel. Hence it follows of necessity that the goddess of fate, Urd, is identical with the personal Hel, the queen of the realm of death, particularly of its regions of bliss. We have seen that Hel in its local sense has the general signification, the realm of death, and the special but most frequent signification, the elysium of the kingdom of death. As a person, the meaning of the word Hel must be analogous to its signification as a place. It is the same idea having a personal as well as a local form. The conclusion that Urd is Hel is inevitable, unless we assume that Urd, though queen of her fountain, is not the regent of the land where her fountain is situated. One might then assume Hel to be one of Urd’s sisters, but these have no prominence as compared with herself. One of them, Skuld, who is the more known of the two, is at the same time one of Urd’s maid-servants, a valkyrie, |
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who on the battlefield does her errands, a feminine psycho-messenger who shows the fallen the way to Hel, the realm of her sisters, where they are to report themselves ere they get to their destination. Of Verdandi the records tell us nothing but the name, which seems to preclude the idea that she should be the personal Hel. This result, that Urd is identical with Hel; that she who dispenses life also dispenses death; that she who with her serving sisters is the ruler of the past, the present, and the future, also governs and gathers in her kingdom all generations of the past, present, and future — this result may seem unexpected to those who, on the authority of Gylfaginning, have assumed that the daughter of Loke cast into the abyss of Nifelhel is the queen of the kingdom of death; that she whose threshold is called Precipice (Gylfag., 34) was the one who conducted Balder over the threshold to the subterranean citadel glittering with gold; that she whose table is called Hunger and whose knife is called Famine was the one who ordered the clear, invigorating mead to be placed before him; that the sister of those foes of the gods and of the world, the Midgard-serpent and the Fenris-wolf was entrusted with the care of at least one of Ygdrasil’s roots; and that she whose bed is called Sickness, jointly with Urd and Mimer, has the task of caring for the world-tree and seeing that it is kept green and gets the liquids from their fountains. Colossal as this absurdity is, it has been believed for centuries. And in dealing with an absurdity which is centuries old, we must consider that it is a force which does not yield to objections simply stated, but must be |
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conquered by clear and convincing arguments. Without the necessity of travelling the path by which I have reached the result indicated, scholars would long since have come to the conviction that Urd and the personal Hel are identical, if Gylfaginning and the text-books based thereon had not confounded the judgment, and that for the following reasons: The name Urdr corresponds to the Old English Vurd, Vyrd, Vird, to the Old Low German Wurth, and to the Old High German Wurt. The fact that the word is found in the dialects of several Teutonic branches indicates, or is thought by the linguists to indicate, that it belongs to the most ancient Teutonic times, when it probably had the form Vorthi. There can be no doubt that Urd also among other Teutonic branches than the Scandinavian has bad the meaning of goddess of fate. Expressions handed down from the heathen time and preserved in Old English documents characterise Vyrd as tying the threads or weaving the web of fate (Cod. Ex., 355; Beowulf, 2420), and as the one who writes that which is to happen (Beowulf, 4836). Here the plural form is also employed, Vyrde, the urds, the norns, which demonstrates that she in England, as in the North, was conceived as having sisters or assistants. In the Old Low German poem “Heliand,” Wurth’s personality is equally plain. But at the same time as Vyrd, Wurth, was the goddess of fate, she was also that of death. In Beowulf (4831, 4453) we find the parallel expressions: |
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And in Heliand, 146, 2; 92, 2:
And there are also other expressions, as Thiu Wurth nâhida thus: Urd (death) then approached; Wurth ina benam: Urd (death) took him away (cp. J. Grimm, Deutsche Myth., i. 373). Thus Urd, the goddess of fate, was, among the Teutonic branches in Germany and England, identical with death, conceived as a queen. So also in the North. The norns made laws and chose life and örlög (fate) for the children of time (Völuspa). The word örlög (nom. pl.; the original meaning seems to be urlagarne, that is, the original laws) frequently has a decided leaning to the idea of death (cp. Völuspa: Ek sá Baldri örlög fólgin). Hakon Jarl’s örlög was that Kark cut his throat (Nj., 156). To receive the “judgment of the norns” was identical with being doomed to die (Yng., Heimskringla, ch. 52). Fate and death were in the idea and in usage so closely related, that they were blended into one personality in the mythology. The ruler of death was that one who could resolve death; but the one who could determine the length of life, and so also could resolve death, and the kind of death, was, of course, the goddess of fate. They must blend into one. In the ancient Norse documents we also find the name |
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Urd used to designate death, just as in Heliand and Beowulf, and this, too, in such a manner that Urd’s personal character is not emphasised. Ynglingatal (Heimskr., ch. 44) calls Ingjald’s manner of death his Urdr, and to determine death for anyone was to draga Urdr at him. Far down in the Christian centuries the memory survived that Urd was the goddess of the realm of death and of death. When a bright spot, which was called Urd’s moon, appeared on the wall, it meant the breaking out of an epidemic (Eyrbyggia Saga, 270). Even as late as the year 1237 Urd is supposed to have revealed herself, the night before Christmas, to Snaebjorn to predict a bloody conflict, and she then sang a song in which she said that she went mournfully to the contest to choose a man for death. Saxo translates Urdr or Hel with “Proserpina” (Hist., i. 43). As those beings for whom Urd determines birth, position in life, and death, are countless, so her servants, who perform the tasks commanded by her as queen, must also be innumerable. They belong to two large classes: the one class is active in her service in regard to life, the other in regard to death. |
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Most intimately associated with her are her two sisters. With her they have the authority of judges. Compare Völuspa, 19, 20, and the expressions norna dómr, norna kvidr. And they dwell with her under the world-tree, which stands for ever green over her gold-clad fountain. As maid-servants under Urd there are countless haminges (fylgjes) and giptes (also called gafes, audnes, heilles). The hamingjes are fostered among beings of giant-race (who hardly can be others than the norns and Mimer). Three mighty rivers fall down into the world, in which they have their origin, and they come wise in their hearts, soaring over the waters to our upper world (Vafthr., 48, 49). There every child of man is to have a hamingje as a companion and guardian spirit. The testimony of the Icelandic sagas of the middle ages in this regard are confirmed by phrases and forms of speech which have their root in heathendom. The hamingjes belong to that large circle of feminine beings which are called dises, and they seem to have been especially so styled. What Urd is on a grand scale as the guardian of the mighty Ygdrasil, this the hamingje is on a smaller scale when she protects the separate fruit produced on the world-tree and placed in her care. She does not appear to her favourite excepting perhaps in dreams or shortly before his death (the latter according to Helgakv. Hjörv. the prose; Njal, 62; Hallf, ch. 11; proofs from purely heathen records are wanting). In strophes which occur in Gisle Surson’s saga, and which are attributed (though on doubtful grounds) to this heathen skald, the |
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hero of the saga, but the origin of which (from a time when the details of the myth were still remembered) is fully confirmed by a careful criticism, it is mentioned how he stood between good and evil inspirations, and how the draumkona (dream-woman) of the good inspirations said to him in sleep: “Be not the first cause of a murder! excite not peaceful men against yourself! — promise me this, thou charitable man! Aid the blind, scorn not the lame, and insult not a Tyr robbed of his hand!” These are noble counsels, and that the hamingjes were noble beings was a belief preserved through the Christian centuries in Iceland, where, according to Vigfusson, the word hamingje is still used in the sense of Providence. They did not usually leave their favourite before death. But there are certain phrases preserved in the spoken language which show that they could leave him before death. He who was abandoned by his hamingje and gipte was a lost man. If the favourite became a hideous and bad man, then his hamingje and gipta might even turn her benevolence into wrath, and cause his well-deserved ruin. Uvar ’ro disir, angry at you are the dises! cries Odin to the royal nithing Geirrod, and immediately thereupon the latter stumbles and falls pierced by his own sword. That the invisible hamingje could cause one to stumble and fall is shown in Fornm., iii. The giptes seem to have carried out such of Urd’s resolves, on account of which the favourite received an unexpected, as it were accidental, good fortune. Not only for separate individuals, but also for families and clans, there were guardian spirits (kynfylgjur, œttarfylgjur). |
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Another division of this class of maid-servants under Urd are those who attend the entrance of the child into the world, and who have to weave the threads of the new-born babe into the web of the families and events. Like Urd and her sisters, they too are called norns. If it is a child who is to be a great and famous man, Urd herself and her sisters may be present for the above purpose (see No. 30 in regard to Halfdan’s birth). A few strophes incorporated in Fafnersmal from a heathen didactic poem, now lost (Fafn., 12-13), speak of norns whose task it is to determine and assist the arrival of the child into this world. Nornir, er naudgaunglar ’ro oc kjósa mœdr frá maugum. The expression kjósa mœdr frá maugum, “to choose mothers from descendants,” seems obscure, and can under all circumstances not mean simply “to deliver mothers of children.” The word kjósa is never used in any other sense than to choose, elect, select. Here it must then mean to choose, elect as mothers; and the expression “from descendants” is incomprehensible, if we do not on the one hand conceive a crowd of eventual descendants, who at the threshold of life are waiting for mothers in order to become born into this world, and on the other hand women who are to be mothers, but in reference to whom it has not yet been determined which descendant each one is to call hers among the great waiting crowd, until those norns which we are here discussing resolve on that point, and from the indefinite crowd of waiting megir choose mothers for those children which are especially destined for them. These norns are, according to Fafn., 13, of different |
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birth. Some are Asa-kinswomen, others of elf-race, and again others are daughters of Dvalin. In regard to the last-named it should be remembered that Dvalin, their father, through artists of his circle, decorated the citadel, within which a future generation of men await the regeneration of the world, and that the mythology has associated him intimately with the elf of the morning dawn, Delling, who guards the citadel of the race of regeneration against all that is evil and all that ought not to enter (see No. 53). There are reasons (see No. 95) for assuming that these dises of birth were Hænir’s maid-servants at the same time as they were Urd’s, just as the valkyries are Urd’s and Odin’s maid-servants at the same time (see below). To the other class of Urd’s maid-servants belong those lower-world beings which execute her resolves of death, and conduct the souls of the dead to the lower world. Foremost among the psycho-messengers (psychopomps), the attendants of the dead, we note that group of shield-maids called valkyries. As Odin and Freyja got the right of choosing on the battlefield, the valkyries have received Asgard as their abode. There they bring the mead-horns to the Asas and einherjes, when they do not ride on Valfather’s errands (Völuspa, 31; Grimnersmal, 36; Eiriksm., 1; Ulf Ugges. Skaldsk., 238). But the third of the norns, Skuld, is the chief one in this group (Völuspa, 31), and, as shall be shown below, they for ever remain in the most intimate association with Urd and the lower world. |
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The modern conception of the removal of those fallen by the sword to Asgard is that the valkyries carried them immediately through blue space to the halls above. The heathens did not conceive the matter in this manner. It is true that the mythological horses might carry their riders through the air without pressing a firm foundation with their hoofs. But such a mode of travel was not the rule, even among the gods, and, when it did happen, it attracted attention even among them. Compare Gylfaginning, i. 118, which quotes strophes from a heathen source. The bridge Bifrost would not have been built or established for the daily connection between Asgard and Urd’s subterranean realm if it had been unnecessary in the mythological world of fancy. Mane’s way in space would not have been regarded as a road in the concrete sense, that quakes and rattles when Thor’s thunder-chariot passes over it (Haustl., Skaldsk., ch. 16), had it not been thought that Mane was safer on a firm road than without one of that sort. To every child that grew up in the homes of our heathen fathers the question must have lain near at hand, what such roads and bridges were for, if the gods had no advantage from them. The mythology had to be prepared for such questions, and in this, as in other cases, it had answers wherewith to satisfy that claim on causality and consistency which even |
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the most naive view of the world presents. The answer was: If the Bifrost bridge breaks under its riders, as is to happen in course of time, then their horses would have to swim in the sea of air (Bilraust brotnar, er their á bru fara, oc svima i modo marir — Fafn., 15; compare a strophe of Kormak, Kormak’s Saga, p. 259, where the atmosphere is called the fjord of the gods, Dia fjördr). A horse does not swim as fast and easily as it runs. The different possibilities of travel are associated with different kinds of exertion and swiftness. The one method is more adequate to the purpose than the other. The solid connections which were used by the gods and which the mythology built in space are, accordingly, objects of advantage and convenience. The valkyries, riding at the head of their chosen heroes, as well as the gods, have found solid roads advantageous, and the course they took with their favourites was not the one presented in our mythological text-books. Grimnersmal (str. 21; see No. 93) informs us that the breadth of the atmospheric sea is too great and its currents too strong for those riding on their horses from the battlefield to wade across. In the 45th chapter of Egil Skallagrimson’s saga we read how Egil saved himself from men, whom King Erik Blood-axe sent in pursuit of him to Saud Isle. While they were searching for him there, he had stolen to the vicinity of the place where the boat lay in which those in pursuit had rowed across. Three warriors guarded the boat. Egil succeeded in surprising them, and in giving one of them his death-wound ere the latter was able to defend himself. The second fell in a duel on the |
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strand. The third, who sprang into the boat to make it loose, fell there after an exchange of blows. The saga has preserved a strophe in which Egil mentions this exploit to his brother Thorolf and his friend Arinbjorn, whom he met after his flight from Saud Isle. There he says:
“Three of those who serve the tester of the valkyrie-din (the warlike Erik Blood-axe) will late return; they have gone to the lower world, to Hel’s high hall.” The fallen ones were king’s men and warriors. They were slain by weapons and fell at their posts of duty, one from a sudden, unexpected wound, the others in open conflict. According to the conception of the mythological text-books, these sword-slain men should have been conducted by valkyries through the air to Valhal. But the skald Egil, who as a heathen born about the year 904, and who as a contemporary of the sons of Harald Fairhair must have known the mythological views of his fellow-heathen believers better than the people of our time, assures us positively that these men from King Erik’s body-guard, instead of going immediately to Valhal, went to the lower world and to Hel’s high hall there. He certainly would not have said anything of the sort if those for whom he composed the strophe had not regarded this idea as both possible and correct. The question now is: Does this Egil’s statement stand |
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alone and is it in conflict with those other statements touching the same point which the ancient heathen records have preserved for us? The answer is, that in these ancient records there is not found a single passage in conflict with Egil’s idea, but that they all, on the contrary, fully agree with his words, and that this harmony continues in the reports of the first Christian centuries in regard to this subject. All the dead and also those fallen by the sword come first to Hel. Thence the sword-slain come to Asgard, if they have deserved this destiny. In Gisle Surson’s saga (ch. 24) is mentioned the custom of binding Hel-shoes on the feet of the dead. Warriors in regard to whom there was no doubt that Valhal was their final destiny received Hel-shoes like all others, that er tidska at binda mönnum helskó, sem menn skulo á ganga till Valhallar. It would be impossible to explain this custom if it had not been believed that those who were chosen for the joys of Valhal were obliged, like all others, to travel á Helvegum. Wherever this custom prevailed, Egil’s view in regard to the fate which immediately awaited sword-fallen men was general. When Hermod betook himself to the lower world to find Balder he came, as we know, to the golden bridge across the river Gjöll. Urd’s maid-servant, who watches the bridge, mentioned to him that the day before five fylki of dead men had rode across the same bridge. Consequently all these dead are on horseback and they do not come separately or a few at a time, but in large troops called fylki, an expression which, in the Icelandic literature, |
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denotes larger or smaller divisions of an army — legions, cohorts, maniples or companies in battle array; and with fylki the verb fylkja, to form an army or a division of an army in line of battle, is most intimately connected. This indicates with sufficient clearness that the dead here in question are men who have fallen on the field of battle and are on their way to Hel, each one riding, in company with his fallen brothers in arms, with those who belonged to his own fylki. The account presupposes that men fallen by the sword, whose final destination is Asgard, first have to ride down to the lower world. Else we would not find these fylkes on a Hel-way galloping across a subterranean bridge, into the same realm as had received Balder and Nanna after death. It has already been pointed out that Bifrost is the only connecting link between Asgard and the lower regions of the universe. The air was regarded as an ether sea which the bridge spanned, and although the horses of mythology were able to swim in this sea, the solid connection was of the greatest importance. The gods used the bridge every day (Grimnismal, Gylfaginning). Frost-giants and mountain-giants are anxious to get possession of it, for it is the key to Asgard. It therefore has its special watchman in the keen-eyed and vigilant Heimdal. When in Ragnarok the gods ride to the last conflict they pass over Bifrost (Fafnersmal). The bridge does not lead to Midgard. Its lower ends were not conceived as situated among mortal men. It stood outside and below the edge of the earth’s crust both in the north and in the south. In the south it descended to Urd’s |
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fountain and to the thingstead of the gods in the lower world (see the accompanying drawing, intended to make these facts intelligible). From this mythological topographical arrangement it follows of necessity that the valkyries at the head of the chosen slain must take their course through the lower world, by the way of Urd’s fountain and the thingstead of the gods, if they are to ride on Bifrost bridge to Asgard, and not be obliged to betake themselves thither on swimming horses. 
There are still two poems extant from the heathen time, which describe the reception of sword-fallen kings in Valhal. The one describes the reception of Erik Blood-axe, the other that of Hakon the Good. When King Erik, with five other kings and their attendants of fallen warriors, come riding up thither, the gods hear on their approach a mighty din, as if the foundations of Asgard trembled. All the benches of Valhal quake and tremble. What single probability can we now conceive as to what the skald presupposed? Did he suppose that the chosen heroes came on horses that swim in |
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the air, and that the movements of the horses in this element produced a noise that made Valhal tremble? Or that it is Bifrost which thunders under the hoofs of hundreds of horses, and quakes beneath their weight? There is scarcely need of an answer to this alternative. Meanwhile the skald himself gives the answer. For the skald makes Brage say that from the din and quaking it might be presumed that it was Balder who was returning to the halls of the gods. Balder dwells in the lower world; the connection between Asgard and the lower world is Bifrost: this connection is of such a nature that it quakes and trembles beneath the weight of horses and riders, and it is predicted in regard to Bifrost that in Ragnarok it shall break under the weight of the host of riders. Thus Brage’s words show that it is Bifrost from which the noise is heard when Erik and his men ride up to Valhal. But to get to the southern end of Bifrost, Erik and his riders must have journeyed in Hel, across Gjoll, and past the thingstead of the gods near Urd’s well. Thus it is by this road that the psychopomps of the heroes conduct their favourites to their final destination. In his grand poem “Hákonármal,” Eyvind Skaldaspiler makes Odin send the valkyries Gandul and Skagul “to choose among the kings of Yngve’s race some who are to come to Odin and abide in Valhal.” It is not said by which road the two valkyries betake themselves to Midgard, but when they have arrived there they find that a battle is imminent between the Yngve descendants, Hakon the Good, and the sons of Erik. Hakon is just putting |
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on his coat-of-mail, and immediately thereupon begins the brilliantly-described battle. The sons of Erik are put to flight, but the victor Hakon is wounded by an arrow, and after the end of the battle he sits on the battlefield, surrounded by his heroes, “with shields cut by swords and with byrnies pierced by arrows.” Gandul and Skagul, “maids on horseback, with wisdom in their countenances, with helmets on their heads, and with shields before them,” are near the king. The latter hears that Ganndul, “leaning on her spear,” says to Skagul that the wound is to cause the king’s death, and now a conversation begins between Hakon and Skagul, who confirms what Gandul has said, and does so with the following words:
“We two (Gandul and Skagul) shall now, quoth the mighty Skagul, ride o’er green realms (or worlds) of the gods in order to say to Odin that now a great king is coming to see him.” Here we get definite information in regard to which way the valkyries journey between Asgard and Midgard. The fields through which the road goes, and which are beaten by the hoofs of their horses, are green realms of the gods (worlds, heimar). With these green realms Eyvind has not meant the |
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blue ether. He distinguishes between blue and green. The sea he calls blue (blámœr — see Heimskringla). What he expressly states, and to which we must confine ourselves, is that, according to his cosmological conception and that of his heathen fellow-believers, there were realms clothed in green and inhabited by divinities on the route the valkyries had to take when they from a battlefield in Midgard betook themselves back to Valhal and Asgard. But as valkyries and the elect ride on Bifrost up to Valhal, Bifrost, which goes down to Urd’s well, must be the connecting link between the realms decked with green and Asgard. The grœnar heimar through which the valkyries have to pass are therefore the realms of the lower world. Among the realms or “worlds” which constituted the mythological universe, the realms of bliss in the lower world were those which might particularly be characterised as the green. Their groves and blooming meadows and fields of waving grain were never touched by decay or frost, and as such they were cherished by the popular fancy for centuries after the introduction of Christianity. The Low German language has also rescued the memory thereof in the expression gróni godes wang (Hel., 94, 24). That the green realms of the lower world are called realms of the gods is also proper, for they have contained and do contain many beings of a higher or lower divine rank. There dwells the divine mother Nat, worshipped by the Teutons; there Thor’s mother and her brother and sister Njord and Fulla are fostered; there Balder, Nanna, and Hödr are to dwell until Ragnarok; there Delling, |
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Billing, Rind, Dag, Mane, and Sol, and all the clan of artists gathered around Mimer, they who “smithy” living beings, vegetation, and ornaments, have their halls; there was born Odin’s son Vale. Of the mythological divinities, only a small number were fostered in Asgard. When Gandul and Skagul at the head of sword-fallen men ride “o’er the green worlds of the gods,” this agrees with the statement in the myth about Hermod’s journey to Hel, that “fylki” of dead riders gallop over the subterranean gold-bridge, on the other side of which glorious regions are situated, and with the statement in Vegtamskvida that Odin, when he had left Nifelhel behind him, came to a foldvegr, a way over green plains, by which he reaches the hall that awaits Balder. In the heroic songs of the Elder Edda, and in other poems from the centuries immediately succeeding the introduction of Christianity, the memory survives that the heroes journey to the lower world. Sigurd Fafnersbane comes to Hel. Of one of Atle’s brothers who fell by Gudrun’s sword it is said, i Helju hon thana hafdi (Atlam., 51). In the same poem, strophe 54, one of the Niflungs says of a sword-fallen foe that they had him lamdan til Heljar. The mythic tradition is supported by linguistic usage, which, in such phrases as berja i Hel, drepa i Hel, drepa til Heljar, færa til Heljar, indicated that those fallen by the sword also had to descend to the realm of death. The memory of valkyries, subordinate to the goddess of fate and death, and belonging with her to the class of norns, continued to flourish in Christian times both among |
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Anglo-Saxons and Scandinavians. Among the former, välcyrge, välcyrre (valkyrie) could be used to express the Latin parca, and in Beowulf occur phrases in which Hild and Gud (the valkyries Hildr and Gunnr) perform the tasks of Vyrd. In Atlamal (28), the valkyries are changed into “dead women,” inhabitants of the lower world, who came to choose the hero and invite him to their halls. The basis of the transformation is the recollection that the valkyries were not only in Odin’s service, but also in that of the lower world goddess Urd (compare Atlamal, 16, where they are called norns), and that they as psychopomps conducted the chosen Heroes to Hel on their way to Asgard.
If death on the battlefield, or as the result of wounds received on the field of battle, had been regarded as an inevitable condition for the admittance of the dead into Asgard, and for the honour of sitting at Odin’s table, then the choosing would under all circumstances have been regarded as a favour from Odin. But this was by no means the case, nor could it be so when regarded from a psychological point of view (see above, No. 61). The poems mentioned above, “Eiriksmál” and “Hakonarmal,” give us examples of choosing from a standpoint quite different from that of favour. When one of the einherjes, |
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Sigmund, learns from Odin that Erik Blood-axe has fallen and is expected in Valhal, he asks why Odin robbed Erik of victory and life, although he, Erik, possessed Odin’s friendship. From Odin’s answer to the question we learn that the skald did not wish to make Sigmund express any surprise that a king, whom Odin loves above other kings and heroes, has died in a lost instead of a won battle. What Sigmund emphasises is, that Odin did not rather take unto himself a less loved king than the so highly appreciated Erik, and permit the latter to conquer and live. Odin’s answer is that he is hourly expecting Ragnarok, and that he therefore made haste to secure as soon as possible so valiant a hero as Erik among his einherjes. But Odin does not say that he feared that he might have to relinquish the hero for ever, in case the latter, not being chosen on this battlefield, should be snatched away by some other death than that by the sword. Hakonarmal gives us an example of a king who is chosen in a battle in which he is the victor. As conqueror the wounded Hakon remained on the battlefield; still he looks upon the choosing as a disfavour. When he had learned from Gandul’s words to Skagul that the number of the einherjes is to be increased with him, he blames the valkyries for dispensing to him this fate, and says he had deserved a better lot from the gods (várun thó verdir gagns frá godum). When he enters Valhal he has a keener reproach on his lips to the welcoming Odin: illúdigr mjók thykkir oss Odinn vera, sjám ver hans of hugi. |
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Doubtless it was for our ancestors a glorious prospect to be permitted to come to Odin after death, and a person who saw inevitable death before his eyes might comfort himself with the thought of soon seeing “the benches of Balder’s father decked for the feast” (Ragnar’s death-song). But it is no less certain from all the evidences we have from the heathen time, that honourable life was preferred to honourable death, although between the wars there was a chance of death from sickness. Under these circumstances, the mythical eschatology could not have made death from disease an insurmountable obstacle for warriors and heroes on their way to Valhal. In the ancient records there is not the faintest allusion to such an idea. It is too absurd to have existed. It would have robbed Valhal of many of Midgard’s most brilliant heroes, and it would have demanded from faithful believers that they should prefer death even with defeat to victory and life, since the latter lot was coupled with the possibility of death from disease. With such a view no army goes to battle, and no warlike race endowed with normal instincts has even entertained it and given it expression in their doctrine in regard to future life. The absurdity of the theory is so manifest that the mythologists who have entertained it have found it necessary to find some way of making it less inadmissible than it really is. They have suggested that Odin did not necessarily fail to get those heroes whom sickness and age threatened with a straw-death, nor did they need to relinquish the joys of Valhal, for there remained to them an expedient to which they under such circumustances resorted: |
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they risted (marked, scratched) themselves with the spear-point (marka sik geirs-oddi). If there was such a custom, we may conceive it as springing from a sacredness attending a voluntary death as a sacrifice — a sacredness which in all ages has been more or less alluring to religious minds. But all the descriptions we have from Latin records in regard to Teutonic customs, all our own ancient records from heathen times, all Northern and German heroic songs, are unanimously and stubbornly silent about the existence of the supposed custom of “risting with the spear-point,” although, if it ever existed, it would have been just such a thing as would on the one hand be noticed by strangers, and on the other hand be remembered, at least for a time, by the generations converted to Christianity. But the well-informed persons interviewed by Tacitus, they who presented so many characteristic traits of the Teutons, knew nothing of such a practice; otherwise they certainly would have mentioned it as something very remarkable and peculiar to the Teutons. None of the later classical Latin or middle age Latin records which have made contributions to our knowledge of the Teutons have a single word to say about it; nor the heroic poems. The Scandinavian records, and the more or less historical sagas, tell of many heathen kings, chiefs, and warriors who have died on a bed of straw, but not of a single one who “risted himself with the spear-point.” The fable about this “risting with the spear-point” has its origin in Ynglingasaga, ch. 10, where Odin, changed to a king in Svithiod, is said, when death was approaching, to have |
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let marka sik geirs-oddi. Out of this statement has been constructed a custom among kings and heroes of anticipating a straw-death by “risting with the spear-point,” and this for the purpose of getting admittance to Valhal. Vigfusson (Dictionary) has already pointed out the fact that the author of Ynglingasaga had no other authority for his statemnent than the passage in Havamál, where Odin relates that he wounded with a spear, hungering and thirsting, voluntarily inflicted on himself pain, which moved Beistla’s brother to give him runes and a drink from the fountain of wisdom. The fable about the spear-point risting, and its purpose, is therefore quite unlike the source from which, through ignorance and random writing, it sprang. The psychopomps of those fallen by the sword are, as we have seen, stately dises, sitting high in the saddle, with helmet, shield, and spear. To those not destined to fall by the sword Urd sends other maid-servants, who, like the former, may come on horseback, and who, as it appears, are of very different appearance, varying in accordance with the manner of death of those persons whose departure they attend. She who comes to those who sink beneath the weight of years has been conceived as a very benevolent dis, to judge from the solitary passage |
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where she is characterised, that is in Ynglingasaga, ch. 49, where it is said of the aged and just king Halfdan Whiteleg, that he was taken hence by the woman, who is helpful to those bowed and stooping (hallvarps hlífinauma). The burden which Elli (age), Utgard-Loke’s foster-mother (Gylfag., 47), puts on men, and which gradually gets too heavy for them to bear, is removed by this kind-hearted dis. Other psychopomps are of a terrible kind. The most of them belong to the spirits of disease dwelling in Nifelhel (see No. 60). King Vanlandi is tortured to death by a being whose epithet, vitta vœttr and trollkund, shows that she belongs to the same group as Heidr, the prototype of witches, and who is contrasted with the valkyrie Hild by the appellation ljóna lids bága Grimhildr (Yngl., ch. 16). The same vitta vœttr came to King Adils when his horse fell and he himself struck his head against a stone (Yngl., ch. 33). Two kings, who die on a bed of straw, are mentioned in Ynglingasaga’s Thjodolf-strophes (ch. 20 and 52) as visited by a being called in the one instance Loke’s kinswoman (Loka mœr), and in the other Hvedrung’s kinswoman (Hvedrungs mœr). That this Loke’s kinswoman has no authority to determine life and death, but only carries out the dispensations of the norns, is definitely stated in the Thjodolf-strophe (ch. 52), and also that her activity, as one who brings the invitation to the realm of death, does not imply that the person invited is to be counted among the damned, although she herself, the kinswoman of Loke, the daughter of Loke, surely does not belong to the regions of bliss. |
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As all the dead, whether they are destined for Valhal or for Hel (in the sense of the subterranean realms of bliss), or for Nifelhel, must first report themselves in Hel, their psychopomps, whether they dwell in Valhal, Hel, or Nifelhel, must do the same. This arrangement is necessary also from the point of view that the unhappy who “die from Hel into Nifelhel” (Grimnersmal) must have attendants who conduct them from the realms of bliss to the Na-gates, and thence to the realms of torture. Those dead from disease, who have the subterranean kinswoman of Loke as a guide, may be destined for the realms of bliss — then she delivers them there; or be destined for Nifelhel — then they die under her care and are brought by her through the Na-gates to the worlds of torture in Nifelhel. Far down in Christian times the participle leikinn was used in a manner which points to something mythical as the original reason for its application. In Biskupas. (i. 464) it is said of a man that he was leikinn by some magic being (flagd). Of another person who sought solitude and talked with himself, it is said in Eyrbyggja (270) that he was believed to be leikinn. Ynglingatal gives us the mythical explanation of this word. |
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In its strophe about King Dyggve, who died from disease, this poem says (Yngling., ch. 20) that, as the lower world dis had chosen him, Loke’s kinswoman came and made him leikinn (Allvald Yngva thjodar Loka mœr um leikinn hefir). The person who became leikinn is accordingly visited by Loke’s kinswoman, or, if others have had the same task to perform, by some being who resembled her, and who brought psychical or physical disease. In our mythical records there is mention made of a giantess whose very name, Leikin, Leikn, is immediately connected with that activity which Loke’s kinswoman — and she too is a giantess — exercises when she makes a person leikinn. Of this personal Leikin we get the following information in our old records: 1. She is, as stated, of giant race (Younger Edda, i. 552). 2. She has once fared badly at Thor’s hands. He broke her legs (Leggi brauzt thu Leiknar — Skaldsk., ch. 4, after a song by Vetrlidi). 3. She is kveldrida. The original and mythological meaning of kveldrida is a horsewoman of torture or death (from kvelja, to torture, to kill). The meaning, a horsewoman of the night, is a misunderstanding. Compare Vigfusson’s Dict., sub voce “Kveld.” 4. The horse which this woman of torture and death rides is black, untamed, difficult to manage (styggr), and ugly-grown (ljótvaxinn). It drinks human blood, and is accompanied by other horses belonging to Leikin, black and bloodthirsty like it. (All this is stated by Hallfred |
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Vandradaskald.)* Perhaps these loose horses are intended for those persons whom the horsewoman of torture causes to die from disease, and whom she is to conduct to the lower world. Popular traditions have preserved for our times the remembrance of the “ugly-grown” horse, that is, of a three-legged horse, which on its appearance brings sickness, epidemics, and plagues. The Danish popular belief (Thiele, i. 137, 138) knows this monster, and the word Hel-horse has been preserved in the vocabulary of the Danish language. The diseases brought by the Hel-horse are extremely dangerous, but not always fatal. When they are not fatal, the convalescent is regarded as having ransomed his life with that tribute of loss of strength and of torture which the disease caused him, and in a symbolic sense he has then “given death a bushel of oats” (that is, to its horse). According to popular belief in Slesvik (Arnkiel, i. 55; cp. J. Grimm, Deutsche Myth., 804), Hel rides in the time of a plague on a three-legged horse and kills people. Thus the ugly-grown horse is not forgotten in traditions from the heathen time. Völuspa informs us that in the primal age of man, the sorceress Heid went from house to house and was a welcome guest with evil women, since she seid Leikin (sida means to practise sorcery). Now, as Leikin is the “horsewoman of torture and death,” and rides the Hel-horse, then the expression sida Leikin can mean nothing else
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than by sorcery to send Leikin, the messenger of disease and death, to those persons who are the victims of the evil wishes of “evil women”; or, more abstractly, to bring by sorcery dangerous diseases to men.* From all this follows that Leikin is either a side-figure to the daughter of Loke, and like her in all respects, or she and the Loke-daughter are one and the same person. To determine the question whether they are identical, we must observe (1) the definitely representative manner in which Völuspa, by the use of the name Leikin, makes the possessor of this name a mythic person, who visits men with diseases and death; (2) the manner in which Ynglingatal characterises the activity of Loke’s daughter with a person doomed to die from disease; she makes him leikinn, an expression which, without doubt, is in its sense connected with the feminine name Leikn, and which was preserved in the vernacular far down in Christian times, and there designated a supernatural visitation bringing the symptoms of mental or physical illness; (3)
The letter u is in this manuscript used for both u and y (compare Bugge, Sæmund. Edd., Preface x., xi.), and hence kuni may be read both kuni and kyni. The latter reading makes logical sense. Kyni is dative of kyn, a neuter noun, meaning something sorcerous, supernatural, a monster. Kynjamein and kynjasött mean diseases brought on by sorcery. Seid in both the above lines is past tense of the verb sida, and not in either one of them the noun seidr. There was a sacred sorcery and an unholy one, according to the purpose for which it was practised, and according to the attending ceremonies. The object of the holy sorcery was to bring about something good either for the sorcerer or for others, or to find out the will of the gods and future things. The sorcery practised by Heidr is the unholy one, hated by the gods, and again and again forbidden in the laws, and this kind of sorcery is designated in Völuspa by the term sida kyni. Of a thing practised with improper means it is said that it is not kynja-lauss, kyn-free. The reading in Cod. Hauk., seid hon hvars hon kunni, seid hon hugleikin, evidently has some “emendator” to thank for its existence who did not understand the passage and wished to substitute something easily understood for the obscure lines he thought he had found. |
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the Christian popular tradition in which the deformed and disease-bringing horse, which Leikin rides in the myth, is represented as the steed of “death” or “Hel”; (4) that change of meaning by which the name Hel, which in the mythical poems of the Elder Edda designates the whole heathen realm of death, and especially its regions of bliss, or their queen, got to mean the abode of torture and misery and its ruler — a transmutation by which the name Hel, as in Gylfaginning and in the Slesvik traditions, was transferred from Urd to Loke’s daughter. Finally, it should be observed that it is told of Leikin, as of Loke’s daughter, that she once fared badly at the hands of the gods, who did not, however, take her life. Loke’s daughter is not slain, but is cast into Nifelhel (Gylfaginning, ch. 34). From that time she is gnúpleit — that is to say, she has a stooping form, as if her bones had been broken and were unable to keep her in an upright position. Leikin is not slain, but gets her legs broken. All that we learn of Leikin thus points to the Loke-maid, the Hel, not of the myth, but of Christian tradition.
It has already been demonstrated that all the dead must go to Hel — not only they whose destination is the realm of bliss, but also those who are to dwell in Asgard or in |
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the regions of torture in Nifelheim. Thus the dead tread at the outset the same road. One and the same route is prescribed to them all, and the same Helgate daily opens for hosts of souls destined for different lots. Women and children, men and the aged, they who have practised the arts of peace and they who have stained the weapons with blood, those who have lived in accordance with the sacred commandments of the norns and gods and they who have broken them — all have to journey the same way as Balder went before them, down to the fields of the fountains of the world. They come on foot and on horseback — nay, even in chariots, if we may believe Helreid Brynhildar, a very unreliable source — guided by various psychopomps: the beautifully equipped valkyries, the blue-white daughter of Loke, the sombre spirits of disease, and the gentle maid-servant of old age. Possibly the souls of children had their special psychopomps. Traditions of mythic origin seem to suggest this; but the fragments of the myths themselves preserved to our time give us no information on this subject. The Hel-gate here in question was situated below the eastern horizon of the earth. When Thor threatens to kill Loke he says (Lokas., 59) that he will send him á austrvega. When the author of the Sun-song sees the sun set for the last time, he hears in the opposite direction — that is, in the east — the Hel-gate grating dismally on its hinges (str. 39). The gate has a watchman and a key. The key is called gillingr, gyllingr (Younger Edda, ii. 494); and hence a skald who celebrates his ancestors in his songs, and thus recalls to those living the |
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shades of those in Hades, may say that he brings to the light of day the tribute paid to Gilling (yppa gillings gjöldum. See Eyvind’s strophe, Younger Edda, i. 248. The paraphrase has hitherto been misunderstood, on account of the pseudo-myth in Bragarœdur about the mead.) From this gate the highway of the dead went below the earth in a westerly direction through deep and dark dales (Gylfag., ch. 52), and it required several days — for Hermod nine days and nights — before they came to light regions and to the golden bridge across the river Gjoll, flowing from north to south (see No. 59). On the other side of the river the roads forked. One road went directly north. This led to Balder’s abode (Gylfag., ch. 52); in other words, to Mimer’s realm, to Mimer’s grove, and to the sacred citadel of the ásmegir, where death and decay cannot enter (see No. 53). This northern road was not, therefore, the road common to all the dead. Another road went to the south. As Urd’s realm is situated south of Mimer’s (see Nos. 59, 63), this second road must have led to Urd’s fountain and to the thingstead of the gods there. From the Sun-song we learn that the departed had to continue their journey by that road. The deceased skald of the Sun-song came to the norns, that is to say, to Urd and her sisters, after he had left this road behind him, and he sat for nine days and nights á norna stóli before he was permitted to continue his journey (str. 51). Here, then, is the end of the road common to all, and right here, at Urd’s fountain and at the thingstead of the gods something must happen, on which account the dead are divided into different groups, some |
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destined for Asgard, others for the subterranean regions of bliss, and a third lot for Nifelhel’s regions of torture. We shall now see whether the mythic fragments preserved to our time contain any suggestions as to what occurs in this connection. It must be admitted that this dividing must take place somewhere in the lower world, that it was done on the basis of the laws which in mythological ethics distinguish between right and wrong, innocence and guilt, that which is pardonable and that which is unpardonable, and that the happiness and unhappiness of the dead is determined by this division. The Asas have two thingsteads: the one in Asgard, the other in the lower world. In the former a council is held and resolutions passed in such matters as pertain more particularly to the clan of the Asas and to their relation to other divine clans and other powers. When Balder is visited by ugly dreams, Valfather assembles the gods to hold counsel, and all the Asas assemble á thingi, and all the asynjes á máli (Vegtamskv., 1; Balder’s Dr., 4). In assemblies here the gods resolved to exact an oath from all things for Balder’s safety, and to send a messenger to the lower world to get knowledge partly about Balder, partly about future events. On this thingstead efforts are made of |
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reconciliation between the Asas and the Vans, after Gulveig had been slain in Odin’s hall (Völuspa, 23, 24). Hither (á thing goda) comes Thor with the kettle captured from Hymer, and intended for the feasts of the gods (Hymerskv., 39); and here the Asas hold their last deliberations, when Ragnarok is at hand (Völuspa, 49: Æsir ’ro a thingi). No matters are mentioned as discussed in this thingstead in which any person is interested who does not dwell in Asgard, or which are not of such a nature that they have reference to how the gods themselves are to act under particular circumstances. That the thingstead where such questions are discussed must be situated in Asgard itself is a matter of convenience, and is suggested by the very nature of the case. It follows that the gods assemble in the Asgard thingstead more for the purpose of discussing their own interests than for that of judging in the affairs of others. They also gather there to amuse themselves and to exercise themselves in arms (Gylfaginning, 50). Of the other thingstead of the Asas, of the one in the lower world, it is on the other hand expressly stated that they go thither to sit in judgment, to act as judges; and there is no reason for taking this word dœma, when as here it means activity at a thingstead, in any other than its judicial and common sense. What matters are settled there? We might take this to be the proper place for exercising Odin’s privilege of choosing heroes to be slain by the sword, since this right is co-ordinate with that of the norns to determine life and dispense fate, whence it might seem that the domain of the |
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authority of the gods and that of the norns here approached each other sufficiently to require deliberations and decisions in common. Still it is not on the thingstead at Urd’s fountain that Odin elects persons for death by the sword. It is expressly stated that it is in his own home in Valhal that Odin exercises his right of electing (Grimnersmal, 8), and this right be holds so independently and so absolutely that he does not need to ask for the opinion of the norns. On the other hand, the gods have no authority to determine the life and death of the other mortals. This belongs exclusively to the norns. The norns elect for every other death but that by weapons, and their decision in this domain is never called a decision by the gods, but norna domr, norna kvidr, feigdar ord, Dauda ord. If Asas and norns did have a common voice in deciding certain questions which could be settled in Asgard, then it would not be in accordance with the high rank given to the Asas in mythology to have them go to the norns for the decision of such questions. On the contrary, the norns would have to come to them. Urd and her sisters are beings of high rank, but nevertheless they are of giant descent, like Mimer. The power they have is immense; and on a closer investigation we find how the mythology in more than one way has sought to maintain in the fancy of its believers the independence (at least apparent and well defined, within certain limits) of the gods — an independence united with the high rank which they have. It may have been for this very reason that the youngest of the dises of fate, Skuld, was selected as |
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a valkyrie, and as a maid-servant both of Odin and of her sister Urd. The questions in which the Asas are judges near Urd’s fountain must be such as cannot be settled in Asgard, as the lower world is their proper forum, where both the parties concerned and the witnesses are to be found. The questions are of great importance. This is evident already from the fact that the journey to the thingstead is a troublesome one for the gods, at least for Thor, who, to get thither, must wade across four rivers. Moreover, the questions are of such a character that they occur every day (Grimnersmal, 29, 31). At this point of the investigation the results hitherto gained from the various premises unite themselves in the following manner: The Asas daily go to the thingstead near Urd’s fountain. At the thingstead near Urd’s fountain there daily arrive hosts of the dead. The task of the Asas near Urd’s fountain is to judge in questions of which the lower world is the proper forum. When the dead arrive at Urd’s fountain their final doom is not yet sealed. They have not yet been separated into the groups which are to be divided between Asgard, Hel, and Nifelhel. This question now is, Can we conceive that the daily journey of the Asas to Urd’s fountain and the daily arrival there of the dead have no connection with each other? — That the judgments daily pronounced by the Asas at this thingstead, and that the daily event in accordance with which the dead at this thingstead are divided |
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between the realms of bliss and those of torture have nothing in common? That these mythological facts should have no connection with each other is hard to conceive for anyone who, in doubtful questions, clings to that which is probable rather than to the opposite. The probability becomes a certainty by the following circumstances: Of the kings Vanlandi and Halfdan, Ynglingatal says that after death they met Odin. According to the common view presented in our mythological text-books, this should not have happened to either of them, since both of them died from disease. One of them was visited and fetched by that choking spirit of disease called vitta vœttr, and in this way he was permitted “to meet Odin” (kom a vit Vilja brodur). The other was visited by Hvedrungs mœr, the daughter of Loke, who “called him from this world to Odin’s Thing.”
Thing-bod means a legal summons to appear at a Thing, at the seat of judgment. Bjoda til things is to perform this legal summons. Here it is Hvedrung’s kinswoman who comes with sickness and death and thing-bod to King Halfdan, and summons him to appear before the judgment-seat of Odin. As, according to mythology, all the dead, and as, according to the mythological text-books, at least all those who have died from disease must go to Hel, then certainly King Halfdan, who died from disease, |
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must descend to the lower world; and as there is a Thing at which Odin and the Asas daily sit in judgment, it must have been this to which Halfdan was summoned. Otherwise we would be obliged to assume that Hvedrung’s kinswoman, Loke’s daughter, is a messenger, not from the lower world and Urd, but from Asgard, although the strophe further on expressly states that she comes to Halfdan on account of “the doom of the norns”; and furthermore we would be obliged to assume that the king, who had died from sickness, after arriving in the lower world, did not present himself at Odin’s court there, but continued his journey to Asgard, to appear at some of the accidental deliberations which are held at the thingstead there. The passage proves that at least those who have died from sickness have to appear at the court which is held by Odin in the lower world.
In Sigrdrifumal (str. 12) we read:
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“Speech-runes you must know, if you do not wish that the strong one with consuming woe shall requite you for the injury you have caused. All those runes you must wind, weave, and place together in that Thing where the host of people go into the full judgments.” In order to make the significance of this passage clear, it is necessary to explain the meaning of speech-runes or mal-runes. Several kinds of runes are mentioned in Sigrdrifumal, all of a magic and wonderful kind. Among them are mal-runes (speech-runes). They have their name from the fact that they are able to restore to a tongue mute or silenced in death the power to mœla (speak). Odin employs mal-runes when he rists i runom, so that a corpse from the gallows comes and mœlir with him (Havam., 157). According to Saxo (i. 38), Hadding places a piece of wood risted with runes under the tongue of a dead man. The latter then recovers consciousness and the power of speech, and sings a terrible song. This is a reference to mal-runes. In Gudrunarkvida (i.) it is mentioned how Gudrun, mute and almost lifeless (hon gordiz at deyja), sat near Sigurd’s dead body. One of the kinswomen present lifts the napkin off from Sigurd’s head. By the sight of the features of the loved one Gudrun awakens again to life, bursts into tears, and is able to speak. The evil Brynhild then curses the being (vettr) which “gave mal-runes to Gudrun,” that is to say, freed her tongue, until then sealed as in death. Those who are able to apply these mighty runes are very few. Odin boasts that he knows them. Sigurdrifa, |
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who also is skilled in them, is a dis, not a daughter of man. The runes which Hadding applied were risted by Hardgreip, a giantess who protected him. But within the court here in question men come in great numbers (thjódir), and among them there must be but a small number who have penetrated so deeply into the secret knowledge of runes. For those who have done so it is of importance and advantage. For by them they are able to defend themselves against complaints, the purpose of which is “to requite with consuming woe the harm they have done.” In the court they are able to mœla (speak) in their own defence. Thus it follows that those hosts of people who enter this thing-stead stand there with speechless tongues. They are and remain mute before their judges unless they know the mal-runes which are able to loosen the fetters of their tongues. Of the dead man’s tongue it is said in Solarljod (44) that it is til trés metin ok kolnat alt fyr utan. The sorrow or harm one has caused is requited in this Thing by heiptir, unless the accused is able — thanks to the mal-runes — to speak and give reasons in his defence. In Havamál (151) the word heiptir has the meaning of something supernatural and magical. It has a similar meaning here, as Vigfusson has already pointed out. The magical mal-runes, wound, woven, and placed together, form as it were a garb of protection around the defendant against the magic heiptir. In the Havamál strophe mentioned the skald makes Odin paraphrase, or at least partly explain, the word heiptir with mein, which |
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“eat” their victims. It is in the nature of the myth to regard such forces as personal beings. We have already seen the spirits of disease appear in this manner (see No. 60). The heiptir were also personified. They were the Erinnyes of the Teutonic mythology, armed with scourges of thorns (see below). He who at the Thing particularly dispenses the law of requital is called magni. The word has a double meaning, which appears in the verb magna, which means both to make strong and to operate with supernatural means. From all this it must be sufficiently plain that the Thing here referred to is not the Althing in Iceland or the Gulathing in Norway, or any other Thing held on the surface of the earth. The thingstead here discussed must be situated in one of the mythical realms, between which the earth was established. And it must be superhuman beings of higher or lower rank who there occupy the judgment-seats and requite the sins of men with heiptir. But in Asgard men do not enter with their tongues sealed in death. For the einherjes who are invited to the joys of Valhal there are no heiptir prepared. Inasmuch as the mythology gives us information about only two thingsteads where superhuman beings deliberate and judge — namely, the Thing in Asgard and the Thing near Urd’s fountain — and inasmuch as it is, in fact, only in the latter that the gods act as judges, we are driven by all the evidences to the conclusion that Sigrdrifumal has described to us that very thingstead at which Hvedrung’s kinswoman summoned King Halfdan to appear after death. Sigrdrifumal, using the expression á thví, sharply distinguished |
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this thingstead or court from all others. The poem declares that it means that Thing where hosts of people go into full judgments. “Full” are those judgments against which no formal or real protests can be made — decisions which are irrevocably valid. The only kind of judgments of which the mythology speaks in this manner, that is, characterises as judgments that “never die,” are those “over each one dead.” This brings us to the well-known and frequently-quoted strophes in Havamál:
(76) “Your cattle shall die; your kindred shall die; you yourself shall die; but the fair fame of him who has earned it never dies.” (77) “Your cattle shall die; your kindred shall die; you yourself shall die; one thing I know which never dies: the judgment on each one dead.” Hitherto these passages have been interpreted as if Odin or Havamál’s skald meant to say — What you have of earthly possessions is perishable; your kindred and |
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yourself shall die. But I know one thing that never dies: the reputation you acquired among men, the posthumous fame pronounced on your character and on your deeds: that reputation is immortal, that fame is imperishable. But can this have been the meaning intended to be conveyed by the skald? And could these strophes, which, as it seems, were widely known in the heathendom of the North, have been thus understood by their hearers and readers? Did not Havamál’s author, and the many who listened to and treasured in their memories these words of his, know as well as all other persons who have some age and experience, that in the great majority of cases the fame acquired by a person scarcely survives a generation, and passes away together with the very memory of the deceased? Could it have escaped the attention of the Havamál skald and his hearers that the number of mortals is so large and increases so immensely with the lapse of centuries that the capacity of the survivors to remember them is utterly insufficient? Was it not a well-established fact, especially among the Germans, before they got a written literature, that the skaldic art waged, so to speak, a desperate conflict with the power of oblivion, in order to rescue at least the names of the most distinguished heroes and kings, but that nevertheless thousands of chiefs and warriors were after the lapse of a few generations entirely forgotten? Did not Havamál’s author know that millions of men have, in the course of thousands of years, left this world |
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without leaving so deep footprints in the sands of time that they could last even through one generation? Every person of some age and experience has known this, and Havamál’s author too. The lofty strains above quoted do not seem to be written by a person wholly destitute of worldly experience. The assumption that Havamál with that judgment on each one dead, which is said to be imperishable, had reference to the opinion of the survivors in regard to the deceased attains its climax of absurdity when we consider that the poem expressly states that it means the judgment on every dead person — “domr um daudan hvern.” In the cottage lying far, far in the deep forest dies a child, hardly known by others than by its parents, who, too, are soon to be harvested by death. But the judgment of the survivors in regard to this child’s character and deeds is to be imperishable, and the good fame it acquired during its brief life is to live for ever on the lips of posterity! Perhaps it is the sense of the absurdity to which the current assumption leads on this point that has induced some of the translators to conceal the word hvern (every) and led them to translate the words domr um daudan hvern in an arbitrary manner with “judgment on the dead man.” If we now add that the judgment of posterity on one deceased, particularly if he was a person of great influence, very seldom is so unanimous, reliable, well-considered, and free from prejudice that in these respects it ought to be entitled to permanent validity, then we find that the words of the Havamál strophes attributed to Odin’s lips, when interpreted as hitherto, are not words of |
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wisdom, but the most stupid twaddle ever heard declaimed in a solemn manner. There are two reasons for the misunderstanding — the one is formal, and is found in the word ords-tirr (str. 76); the other reason is that Gylfaginning, which too long has had the reputation of being a reliable and exhaustive codification of the scattered statements of the mythic sources, has nothing to say about a court for the dead. It knows that, according to the doctrine of the heathen fathers, good people come to regions of bliss, the wicked to Nifelhel; but who he or they were who determined how far a dead person was worthy of the one fate or the other, on this point Gylfaginning has not a word to say. From the silence of this authority, the conclusion has been drawn that a court summoning the dead within its forum was not to be found in Teutonic mythology, although other Aryan and non-Aryan mythologies have presented such a judgment-seat, and that the Teutonic fancy, though always much occupied with the affairs of the lower world and with the condition of the dead in the various realms of death, never felt the necessity of conceiving for itself clear and concrete ideas of how and through whom the deceased were determined for bliss or misery. The ecclesiastical conception, which postpones the judgment to the last day of time, and permits the souls of the dead to be transferred, without any special act of judgment, to heaven, to purgatory, or to hell, has to some extent contributed to making us familiar with this idea which was foreign to the heathens. From this it followed that scholars have been blind to the passages in our mythical |
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records which speak of a court in the lower world, and they have either read them without sufficient attention (as, for instance, the above-quoted statements of Ynglingatal, which it is impossible to harmonise with the current conception), or interpreted them in an utterly absurd manner (which is the case with Sigrdrifumal, str. 12), or they have interpolated assumptions, which, on a closer inspection, are reduced to nonsense (as is the case with the Havamál strophes), or given them a possible, but improbable, interpretation (thus Sonatorrek, 19). The compound ordstirr is composed of ord, gen ords, and tirr. The composition is of so loose a character that the two parts are not blended into a new word. The sign of the gen. -s is retained, and shows that ordstirr, like lofstirr, is not in its sense and in its origin a compound, but is written as one word, probably on account of the laws of accentuation. The more original meaning of ordstirr is, therefore, to be found in the sense of ords tirr. Tirr means reputation in a good sense, but still not in a sense so decidedly good but that a qualifying word, which makes the good meaning absolute, is sometimes added. Thus in lofs-tirr, laudatory reputation; gódr tirr, good reputation. In the Havamál strophe 76, above-quoted, the possibility of an ords tirr which is not good is presupposed. See the last line of the strophe. So far as the meaning of ord is concerned, we must leave its relatively more modern and grammatical sense (word) entirely out of the question. Its older signification is an utterance (one which may consist of many “words” in a grammatical sense), a command, a result, a |
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judgment; and these older significations have long had a conscious existence in the language. Compare Fornmanna, ii. 237: “The first word: All shall be Christians; the second word: All heathen temples and idols shall be unholy,” &c. In Völuspa (str. 27) ord is employed in the sense of an established law or judgment among the divine powers, a gengoz eidar, ord oc sœri, where the treaties between the Asas and gods, solemnised by oaths, were broken. When ord occurs in purely mythical sources, it is most frequently connected with judgments pronounced in the lower world, and sent from Urd’s fountain to their destination. Urdar ord is Urd’s judgment, which must come to pass (Fjölsvinnsm., str. 48), no matter whether it concerns life or death. Feigdar ord, a judgment determining death, comes to Fjolnir, and is fulfilled “where Frode dwelt” (Yng.-tal, Heimskr., 14). Dauda ord, the judgment of death, awaited Dag the Wise, when he came to Vorvi (Yng.-tal, Heimskr., 21). To a subterranean judgment refers also the expression bana-ord, which frequently occurs. Vigfusson (Dict., 466) points out the possibility of an etymological connection between ord and Urdr. He compares word (ord) and wurdr (urdr), word and weird (fate, goddess of fate). Doubtless there was, in the most ancient time, a mythical idea-association between them. These circumstances are to be remembered in connection with the interpretation of ordstirr, ords-tirr in Havamál, 76. The real meaning of the phrase proves to be: reputation based on a decision, on an utterance of authority. |
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When ordstirr had blended into a compound word, there arose by the side of its literal meaning another, in which the accent fell so heavily on tirr that ord is superfluous and gives no additional meaning of a judgment on which this tirr is based. Already in Höfudlausn (str. 26) ordstirr is used as a compound, meaning simply honourable reputation, honour. There is mention of a victory which Erik Blood-axe won, and it is said that he thereby gained ordstirr (renown). In interpreting Havamál (76) it would therefore seem that we must choose between the proper and figurative sense of ordstirr. The age of the Havamál strophe is not known. If it was from it Eyvind Skaldaspiller drew his deyr fé, deyja frœndr, which he incorporated in his drapa on Hakon the Good, who died in 960, then the Havamál strophe could not be composed later than the middle of the tenth century. Hofudlausn was composed by Egil Skallagrimson in the year 936 or thereabout. From a chronological point of view there is therefore nothing to hinder our applying the less strict sense, “honourable reputation, honour,” to the passage in question. But there are other hindrances. If the Havamál skald with ords-tirr meant “honourable reputation, honour,” he could not, as he has done, have added the condition which he makes in the last line of the strophe: hveim er ser godan getr, for the idea “good” would then already be contained in ordstirr. If in spite of this we would take the less strict sense, we must subtract from ordstirr the meaning of honourable reputation, honour, and conceive the expression to mean simply reputation in general, a meaning which the word never had. |
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We are therefore forced to the conclusion that the meaning of court-decision, judgment, which ord has not only in Ynglingatal and Fjölsvinnsmal, but also in linguistic usage, was clear to the author of the Havamál strophe, and that he applied ords tirr in its original sense and was speaking of imperishable judgments. It should also have been regarded as a matter of course that the judgment which, according to the Havamál strophe (77), is passed on everyone dead, and which itself never dies, must have been prepared by a court whose decision could not be questioned or set aside, and that the judgment must have been one whose influence is eternal, for the infinity of the judgment itself can only depend on the infinity of its operation. That the more or less vague opinions sooner or later committed to oblivion in regard to a deceased person should be supposed to contain such a judgment, and to have been meant by the immortal doom over the dead, I venture to include among the most extraordinary interpretations ever produced. Both the strophes are, as is evident from the first glance, most intimately connected with each other. Both begin: deyr fœ, deyja frœndr. Ord in the one strophe corresponds to dómur in the other. The latter strophe declares that the judgment on every dead person is imperishable, and thus completes the more limited statement of the foregoing strophe, that the judgment which gives a good renown is everlasting. The former strophe speaks of only one category of men who have been subjected to an ever-valid judgment, namely, of that category to whose honour the eternal judgment is pronounced. The second |
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strophe speaks of both the categories, and assures us that the judgment on the one as on the other category is everlasting. The strophes are by the skald attributed to Odin’s lips. Odin pronounces judgment every day near Urd’s fountain at the court to which King Halfdan was summoned, and where hosts of people with fettered tongues await their final destiny (see above). The assurances in regard to the validity of the judgment on everyone dead are thus given by a being who really may be said to know what he talks about (ec veit, &c.), namely, by the judge himself. In the poem Sonatorrek the old Egil Skallagrimson laments the loss of sons and kindred, and his thoughts are occupied with the fate of his children after death. When he speaks of his son Gunnar, who in his tender years was snatched away by a sickness, he says (str. 19):
“A fatal fire of disease (fever?) snatched from this world a son of mine, of whom I know that he, careful as he was in regard to sinful deeds, took care of himself for námœli.” To understand this strophe correctly, we must know that the skald in the preceding 17th, as in the succeeding 20th, strophe, speaks of Gunnar’s fate in the lower world. |
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The word námœli occurs nowhere else, and its meaning is not known. It is of importance to our subject to find it out. In those compounds of which the first part is ná-, ná may be the abverbial prefix, which means near by, by the side of, or it may be the substantive nár, which means a corpse, dead body, and in a mythical sense one damned, one who dies for the second time and comes to Nifelhel (see No. 60). The question is now, to begin with, whether it is the adverbial prefix or the substantive ná- which we have in námœli. Compounds which have the adverbial ná as the first part of the word are very common. In all of them the prefix ná- implies nearness in space or in kinship, or it has the signification of something correct or exact. (1) In regard to space: nábúd, nábúi, nábýli, nágranna, nágranni, nágrennd, nágrenni, nákommin, nákvœma, nákvœmd, nákvœmr, náleid, nálœgd, nálœgjast, nálœgr, námunda, násessi, náseta, násettr, násœti, návera, náverukona, náverandi, návist, návistarkona, návistarmadr, návistarvitni. (2) In regard to friendship: náborinn, náfrœndi, náfrœndkona, námágr, náskyldr, nástœdr, náongr. (3) In regard to correctness, exactness: nákvœmi, nákvœmlega, nákvœmr. The idea of correctness comes from the combination of ná- and kvœmi, kvœmlega, kvœmr. The exact meaning is — that which comes near to, and which in that sense is precise, exact, to the point. These three cases exhaust the meanings of the adverbial |
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prefix ná-. I should consider it perilous, and as the abandoning of solid ground under the feet, if we, without evidence from the language, tried, as has been done, to give it another hitherto unknown signification. But none of these meanings can be applied to námœli. In analogy with the words under (1) it can indeed mean “An oration held near by”; but this signification produces no sense in the above passage, the only place where it is found. In another group of words the prefix ná- is the noun nár. Here belong nábjargir, nábleikr, nágrindur, nágöll, náreid, nástrandir, and other words. Mæli means a declamation, an oration, an utterance, a reading, or the proclamation of a law. Mœla, mœlandi, formœlandi, formœli, nýmœli, are used in legal language. Formœlandi is a defendant in court. Formœli is his speech or plea. Nymœli is a law read or published for the first time. Mœli can take either a substantive or adjective as prefix. Examples: Gudmæli, fullmæli. Ná from nár can be used as a prefix both to a noun and to an adjective. Examples: nágrindr, nábleikr. Námœli should accordingly be an oration, a declaration, a proclamation, in regard to nár. From the context we find that námœli is something dangerous, something to look out for. Gunnar is dead and is gone to the lower world, which contains not only happiness but also terrors; but his aged father, who in another strophe of the poem gives to understand that he had adhered faithfully to the religious doctrines of his fathers, is convinced that his son |
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has avoided the dangers implied in námœli, as he had no sinful deed to blame himself for. In the following strophe (20) he expressed his confidence that the deceased had been adopted by Gauta spjalli, a friend of Odin in the lower world, and had landed in the realm of happiness. (In regard to Gauta spjalli, see further on. The expression is applicable both to Mimer and Honer.) Námœli must, therefore, mean a declaration (1) that is dangerous; (2) which does not affect a person who has lived a blameless life; (3) which refers to the dead and affects those who have not been vamma varir, on the look-out against blameworthy and criminal deeds. The passage furnishes additional evidence that the dead in the lower world make their appearance in order to be judged, and it enriches our knowledge of the mythological eschatology with a technical term (námœli) for that judgment which sends sinners to travel through the Na-gates to Nifelhel. The opposite of námœli is ords tirr, that judgment which gives the dead fair renown, and both kinds of judgments are embraced in the phrase domr um daudan. Námœli is a proclamation for náir, just as nágrindr are gates, and nástrandr are strands for náir. Those hosts which are conducted by their psychopomps |
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to the Thing near Urd’s fountain proceed noiselessly. It is a silent journey. The bridge over Gjöll scarcely resounds under the feet of the death-horses and of the dead (Gylfaginning). The tongues of the shades are sealed (see No. 70). This thingstead has, like all others, had its judgment-seats. Here are seats (in Völuspa called rökstólar) for the holy powers acting as judges. There is also a rostrum (á thularstóli at Urdar brunni — Havam., 111) and benches or chairs for the dead (compare the phrase falla á Helpalla — Fornald., i. 397, and the sitting of the dead one, á nornastóli — Solarlj., 51). Silent they must receive their doom unless they possess mal-runes (see No. 70). The dead should come well clad and ornamented. Warriors bring their weapons of attack and defence. The women and children bring ornaments that they were fond of in life. Hades-pictures of those things which kinsmen and friends placed in the grave-mounds accompany the dead (Hakonarm., 17; Gylfaginning, 52) as evidence to the judge that they enjoyed the devotion and respect of their survivors. The appearance presented by the shades assembled in the Thing indicates to what extent the survivors heed the law, which commands respect for the dead and care for |