INTRODUCTION. (continued 2)

51But in the elder or poetical Edda—that of Sæmund the Wise, which in compilation is antecedent a full century to Snorro’s—the journey to the shades is attributed to Odin himself. When it was undertaken, Balder was yet alive, but dreams and portents afflicted him; and, after consulting the fates, Odin mounted his steed, Sleipner, and descended in darkness towards the abode of Hela, where a celebrated prophetess had been long interred. He met the terrible dog which the Greeks preserved in their mythology, and which, with bloody jaws, barked loudly as he passed along. Downwards he went, the earth trembling beneath his steed, until he reached the lofty hall of Hela. From the eastern gate he proceeded to the spot where he knew the tomb of the prophetess was to be found. Turning himself towards the north, he then commenced the fatal incantation, and placed in order the mystic rhymes. Many were the words of might which he uttered, until he forced the unwilling prophetess to raise her head, and to speak in the language of men. “What unknown mortal is he who has thus disturbed my repose? Bleached by the snow, beaten by the winds, drenched by the rains, have I long remained,—long here I have been in the arms of death!”—“Vegtam is my name, the son of Valtam.^[47] Tell me the secrets of hell, and I will tell thee what passes on earth. For whom are these costly benches, for whom these golden couches prepared?”—“This tempered mead, this liquid nectar awaits the arrival of Balder. Sorrowful are the sons of heaven. Unwillingly have I spoken; now my lips shall be closed.”—“Listen, prophetess, for I must know the whole. Whose hand shall deprive Odin’s son of life?”—“That of Hoder: he the bruiser shall be of Odin’s son, the spoiler of Balder’s life! Unwillingly have I spoken; now my lips shall be closed.”—“Listen, prophetess, for I must know the whole. Who shall revenge on Hoder the death of the hero? 52who shall bear the smiter of Balder to the funeral pyre?”—“Rinda, a virgin of the west, shall bear a son by Odin; he, when only one night old, shall slay the murderer. His hands he shall not wash, nor his head shall he comb, until he bears to the funeral pyre the enemy of Balder. Unwillingly have I spoken; now my lips shall be closed.”—“Listen, prophetess, for I must know the whole. Who are these damsels that weep at pleasure and raise their covered heads on high?^[48] Say this only, and thou mayest sleep.”—“Ah! no wandering spoiler art thou, as I have hitherto believed: well do I know thee for Odin, the preserver of nations!”—“And thou art not Vala; no prophetess art thou; but the mother of the three infernal furies!”—“Odin, ride back to thine house, and there command! Never again will I be consulted by the living until Loke shall break loose from his fetters, and the dreaded twilight of the gods arrive!”^[49] Such is the dark poetical legend which the genius of our poet^[50]

53Gray has immortalised. It is among the most imaginative efforts of the Scandinavian muse.^[51]

54According to Saxo, it was not the mystic Vala, but Rostiof, king of the Finns, who foretold that Odin’s son, by Rinda, should avenge the death of Balder. That Odin, who was esteemed chief of the gods, should be less prescient than a Finnish king, may appear strange; but this term god frequently means no more than Goth, and the chief of the gods means only the head of the pontifical college established, first in Asia, and next in Sweden. And we must remember that the Finns were expressly declared to be unrivalled in magic, at least in that dark magic which sought the injury of mankind. Yet Odin was equally malignant. He could not rest until he had discovered the maiden whose offspring was thus predestined to accomplish his purpose. This Rinda was a princess, and, consequently, demanded more attention than one of humbler birth. The disguises which he successively assumed at her father’s court; his frequent repulses 55by her; his numerous stratagems, and his ultimate triumph under the character of a physician; are gravely related by the venerable historian of Denmark. His conduct on these occasions was so unworthy of a god, that his colleagues at Byzantium (or we should rather suppose Asgard) removed him for a time from their society, deprived him of his supernatural powers, degraded him to the level of mortals, and sentenced him to exile,—a doom which he, therefore, suffered a second time, though on the former occasion it had been self-imposed.^[52] All this, in plain English, means that he was expelled from the college of priests. This natural explanation is confirmed by the statement, that in ten years, the gods, pitying his sufferings, or, perhaps, bribed by flattery and costly gifts, restored him to all his former privileges. Lest the public worship should sustain any injury, his place had been supplied by one Oller, a priest so expert in magic that he could cross the seas on a bone; but this usurper was slain by the Swedes, just as Mitothin had been slain. In the mean time Bo, the issue of Odin’s connection with Rinda, grew up, and was intrusted by the father with the sacred task of revenge. Accordingly he advanced against the Danish king. Hoder foresaw his doom; and, in an assembly of chiefs, he prevailed on them to elect his son, Runi, for his successor. In the battle which followed destiny was fulfilled: he fell by the hand of Bo; but the victor also received a mortal wound and died the following day.^[53]

All that we have farther to say respecting Odin, in the present Introduction, may be despatched in a few words. Perceiving his end approach, he marked his body with a sword, probably to denote the advantage of dying by that weapon; and declared that he was going to Godheim or paradise, where he should joyfully receive his people. The Swedes were persuaded that he was returned to Asgard to enjoy eternal life; and in 56this belief his worship was renewed and enlarged. In time of war, and before great battles, he often appeared to them, promising victory to some, inviting others to his hall,—in both respects the harbinger of good. After death he was placed on the funeral pyre, and burnt with exceeding pomp. His followers believed the higher the smoke ascended the higher would be his place among the gods; and that the more abundant the riches consumed with him the richer he would be in the other world.^[54]

From the concurrent testimony of Snorro, Saxo Grammaticus, and the two Eddas, little doubt can be entertained in regard to the true character of Odin. He was evidently a conqueror, a king, a priest, a lawgiver, and an adept in the superstitious practices of his age. Endued with commanding talents and an unmeasured ambition, he was enabled to take advantage of circumstances in a degree seldom attained by mortals. Perceiving the success which attended his views, and the veneration in which his wisdom was held, he did not hesitate to ascribe both to the peculiar favour of the gods, from whom, like most of the Scythian princes, he boasted of his descent. As he was of divine race, why should he not participate in the privileges of divinity? Short, indeed, is the transition from veneration to actual worship; and there can be little doubt that, even in his lifetime, this artful pontiff king had altars smoking in his honour. But it is worthy of remark that he was often regarded as a mortal, not merely in his own age, but in subsequent ages; that the words giants and gods are to be understood of the Jutes and Goths,—the former, the original possessors of the soil, the latter, the victorious strangers from Asia—the dominant caste which arrogated to itself the sacerdotal and regal functions, and thus preserved its empire over the barbarous, enslaved population. It was some time after his death before his 57worship was general in the north; and never would it have been general had he not been esteemed the god of war, the deity above all others dear to the ferocious Northmen. Even as it is, he did not hold the highest rank in the worship of all the Scandinavian nations. The Norwegians held him inferior to Thor. Still he is by far the most remarkable person that ever took advantage of human credulity. Over a considerable portion of Europe his worship was extended; and it was not a transitory worship; for it prevailed, in Germany, far into the ninth century; in Denmark and Sweden, a century later; and in some parts of Norway it was not extinct in the twelfth. Of the religion, however, which he founded, or which he incorporated with the superstition already subsisting on his arrival in the north, we shall speak in a future chapter.

On the death of Hoder, the sceptre of Denmark, or rather of a portion of Denmark, passed into the hands of his son Ruric. The name of this prince is interesting to an Englishman, from the fact that the alleged events on which the tragedy of Hamlet is founded happened in his reign. According to Saxo, Hamlet was not the son of a Danish king. His father was Horwendil, governor of Jutland, a famous pirate and vassal of Ruric; but the authority was not undivided: it was shared by Fengo, brother of Horwendil. Fengo did nothing to merit the favour of Ruric; but Horwendil was so valiant and able, that he was honoured with the hand of Gertrude, daughter of the Danish king. From this marriage sprung Hamlet, whose history is so famous in the traditions of Denmark. Fengo could not, without envy, behold the good fortune of his brother: envy led to hatred, and hatred to fratricide. After this deed he married the widowed Gertrude, and succeeded to the whole government of Jutland. Hamlet was no inattentive observer of these events. As a pagan, his first duty was to revenge his father’s death: a duty, to the force of which his uncle was fully alive, and watchful to frustrate it. Spies being set on all his 58actions, he feigned madness; he painted his face, put on a strange garb, and uttered the most ridiculous things. Frequently was he to be seen on the hearth, seated among the ashes, and making wooden hooks, which he hardened by the heat. His madness, however, had method in it; and some of his replies, ridiculous as they seemed, made the experienced doubt whether he should be classed among the wisest or the most foolish of mankind. “For what purpose are these hooks?” was one day demanded of him. “For the revenge of my father!” was the answer. As nobody could see how they could effect that purpose, he was ridiculed by all but the discerning, who supposed that beneath this ostentatious display of insanity, a profound object was concealed. Among these, was jarl Fengo, who, wishing to prove whether the suspicions were well or ill-founded, had recourse to an expedient. The disposition of the prince was exceedingly amatory; and it was thought that, if a young handsome female were sent to him, he would betray himself. The meeting was to be effected in a wood, and spies were to be placed near him. On the day appointed, he was commanded to ride into a forest. As usual, he mounted with his face to the tail, which he held in lieu of a bridle. There he found the woman; and would have immediately betrayed himself, had not his foster-brother obscurely hinted that he should beware. The way in which this intimation was communicated, like many other parts of Saxo’s narrative, is too gross for translation. Enough to know, that Hamlet was made to understand the danger of his situation. Among his virtues, chastity was not to be reckoned; and though the instances of its violation cannot be recorded in these times, we may observe that, even on the occasion before us, he indulged his propensity, and was cunning enough to conceal it. Fengo, therefore, was disappointed; but by the advice of a friend, he had recourse to another expedient. Under the pretext of a long absence on affairs of moment, he 59left the palace, and provided that Hamlet should be brought into the mother’s presence, while a spy, unknown to both, should be near them, to hear every word that he should utter. If he had any reason left, it was not doubted he would be communicative with one whom he loved, and who he knew would never betray him. At the time appointed, the courtier hastened to the apartment, where mother and son were to meet, and hid himself under a heap of straw that accidentally lay there—a curious illustration of domestic economy in that age. Immediately afterwards, Hamlet and Gertrude arrived; but the former was too much aware of the dangers which involved him to indulge in rational conversation with his mother, until he had examined the locality. Imitating the crowing of a cock—an imitation in which he was singularly successful—and waving his arms as if they were wings, he leaped on the straw, and was immediately sensible that something lay beneath. With his sword he despatched the intruder. After this act, while his mother was bewailing his supposed insanity, he fiercely upbraided her for her incestuous marriage with the murderer of her first husband. This double crime he did not assail exactly in the manner represented in the drama, but in one more conformable with the barbarism of the age, that is, in one of exceeding coarseness.^[55] His remonstrances are said to have kindled the sparks of virtue in her heart; but the sequel ill corresponded with this moral intention, or with the refined character which the dramatist has given him. The man whom he had killed he cut in pieces, boiled the members, and threw them into the sewer to be eaten by the swine. When Fengo returned, great was his surprise to find that his courtier had disappeared—that not the slightest trace of him could be discovered. One day 60Hamlet, who was regarded as no more than a motley fool, and to whom questions were put for amusement only, being asked what had become of his uncle’s friend, replied, “He fell into the common sewer, and being unable to extricate himself, was found, and eaten by the swine!” His reply furnished some amusement to the hearers, who regarded it as a good motley invention. They did not know that on all occasions, whether grave or trivial, Hamlet spoke the truth.^[56]

But if the multitude were thus deluded, Fengo was not. For his own safety he felt that the youth must be removed; but to effect this some management was required. He would not exasperate his wife, still less the sovereign of Denmark, by openly executing the prince. The deed must be secret, and done by other than native hands, namely, by those of the English king, who, we are gravely assured, was a tributary of Denmark. Before Hamlet’s departure, he privately desired his mother, in one year from that time, to celebrate his funeral obsequies; assuring her, however, that he would in one year return. Two creatures of Fengo were his companions. One night, while they were buried in sleep, he examined their baggage, and found, carved on wood, the mandate to the English king. With his usual cunning, he erased a portion of the characters; and so altered the rest, that the foreign king was to put his two companions to death, but to show every possible kindness towards himself, and even to give him the hand of an English princess. On their arrival in England, they presented their wooden mandate, which they were unable to read; and were invited, with much parade of hospitality, to the royal table. But while the two messengers were thus deluded, Hamlet was received with much respect. The more curious reader may consult the venerable authority before us for an account of what passed at the English court,—an account as minute as it is romantic. To be brief: the two messengers were executed; and Hamlet, whose 61wisdom was so much admired, obtained the hand of the monarch’s daughter. He pretended, however, to be much affected by the death of his companions; and to pacify him, the king gave him a considerable quantity of gold, which he melted and inclosed in the hollow of two walking sticks. At the expiration of the year, he obtained leave to revisit his native country; but, of all his riches, he took only the staves which contained the gold. On reaching Jutland, he assumed his own motley garb, and reached the house of his uncle at the very time his funeral rites were performed. At first, his sudden appearance terrified the domestics and guests; but terror yielded to mirth when they saw him resume his motley character. “Where are your two companions?” demanded they. “Here they are!” was his reply, as he produced his two sticks. Soon he joined the cup-bearers; and as his long flowing garments interfered with his activity, he girt his sword round him, but it had no scabbard; and to impress all the guests with a stronger notion of his insanity, he frequently grasped the blade until the blood flowed from his fingers. Little did they suspect his object in thus descending to the meanest occupation: it was to make all of them beastly drunk, and then to exact his revenge. So well did he succeed in the first intention, that most of them, being unable to stagger from the apartment, were compelled to remain all night in the hall of entertainment. At length, all being buried in sleep, he cut off the cords which supported a huge curtain that occupied the whole room: as it fell on the drunken sleepers, by his wooden hooks he fastened it in many places to the ground; and drawing the cords over the curtain, so bound them by knots and hooks as to bid defiance to the efforts of drunken men. Startled by the weight no less than by the sudden difficulty of breathing, they strove to raise the curtain, but in vain; it was too well secured to be moved. In this state they were soon enveloped in flames, which consumed them and the palace. Fengo retired to his 62bedroom, and fell asleep: he was awakened by Hamlet, who, after upbraiding him for his various crimes, put him to death. He then flew to a safe retreat to watch the progress of events. Great was the surprise of the Jutes at this disaster; but, as Fengo was a tyrant, the majority were not displeased. Hamlet, therefore, reappeared; surrounded himself with those whom he knew to be attached to the interests of his family; sought the public assembly; and, by his eloquence, so wrought on the people, that they unanimously declared him the successor of Fengo.^[57]

Into the remaining adventures of Hamlet—all equally wonderful with the preceding—we cannot enter. Whoever may wish to read his subsequent visit to Britain; his marriage with a second wife, the queen of Scotland; his quarrel with the British king, the father of his first wife; his domestic life with both in his hereditary government of Jutland; his war with Wiglet, king of Denmark, the successor of his grandfather, Ruric; his death in battle; and the facility with which the idol of his heart, his second wife, passed into the arms of the victor, must consult the venerable Saxo.^[58]

We have no wish to pursue farther the list of Danish kings, who, according to Saxo, reigned prior to our Saviour’s birth. Some of them, probably, never reigned at all. Others, certainly, reigned after that event. Others, again, ruled at the same time, over different provinces of the kingdom. The reigns of many whom Saxo places before the Christian era are identical with those which the best Danish writers regard as posterior; and the actions attributed to both are substantially the same. All writers admit that Denmark had no monarch before Skiold, the son of Odin; indeed, it had none for some generations afterwards: for there is room to believe that even his authority was more of a sacerdotal than of a temporal character. In 63virtue of this character he might, and probably did, claim a twofold sovereignty over the peninsula and islands; but that sovereignty was never virtually exercised—it was one merely nominal. Several of the islands had their separate governors, whom Saxo calls kings; and Jutland, as we have seen in the sketch of Hamlet’s life, had them also. The men whom personal qualities elevated above the rest, became chiefs; and when one chief had others subject to him, he assumed the regal title. There were kings of various kinds. We read of petty kings (sma-konungur, or fylke-konungur); of sea kings, island kings, and cape kings. The name of the last may require an explanation. They were neither more nor less than the pirate chiefs, who lived in caverns or in huts near the promontories, ready, at any moment, to sally forth and seize the unsuspecting mariner. Thus there were kings enough scattered over the seas, the forests, the mountains, the maritime coasts of the north. Probably all those in the Danish islands might yield a nominal homage, at least, to the one that reigned in Scania in Zealand. But no dependence whatever can be placed on the list of Danish kings prior to what we now call the historic times; that is, to about the eighth century of our era. It is astonishing to see how little judgment has been exercised by the historians of this country in regard to the old northern kings. Thus, the authors of the “Universal History,” not satisfied with giving the names of the sovereigns from Dan to Frode III., have been so far misled by the Latin historians of Denmark, as to fix the precise year before Christ when each began his reign.^[59]

64But later writers have made sad work with this list. They contend that some of the names are altogether fabulous; that Skiold reigned only forty years before Christ; Frode I., thirty-five years after Christ; Wermund, one hundred and fifty; Roe and Helge, in the fifth century of our era. The truth, however, is, that while no dependence is to be placed on the genealogical series of the former, very little is due to the latter. The whole, prior to the eighth century, is one mass of confusion. If the names of many princes are to be found, not merely in the earliest writers of the north, but on Runic inscriptions, no power of criticism can fix the period in which they reigned. All is pure conjecture; and one system is preferable to another, only so far as it is more reconcilable to common sense. Yet, while we thus reject some of the ancient sovereigns whom Saxo and the elder chroniclers have handed down to us, we are not so sceptical as to reject the majority. If, prior to Odin’s arrival, the north had no monarchs, it had kings, or, if the reader pleases, chiefs, whose office was sometimes hereditary, sometimes elective. It would, perhaps, be more accurate to say that, while they succeeded by hereditary right to the domains of their predecessors, as generals and judges, they were elected by the free-born warriors. Of these some were, beyond all doubt, elevated into monarchs by tradition; from tradition they passed into the songs of the Scalds; and from these songs their memory was perpetuated by the old chroniclers. For this reason we have not consigned them to total oblivion. Nothing is more easy than scepticism; but if scepticism be, as it assuredly is, allowable in regard to many details, it is no less blameable 65than credulity, when it rejects the whole substance of history. On the whole, the safest conclusion is, that, while some of Saxo’s kings are imaginary—while many which he places before, doubtless reigned after, our Saviour—while he has confounded the whole order of succession, so as hopelessly to perplex the reader—a few, probably, lived and reigned before the establishment of the Gothic dynasty.^[60]

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