The Norse Myths Page 7

  For the moment though, the gods have come out on top. The walls of Ásgarðr are not the only goods which the giants can provide and which the gods covet. The culturally central myth of the mead of poetry tells of another such treasure. Once again, the divine substance is produced through violence and transformation, and it passes through different parts of the mythic universe before coming into the possession of gods and men. At the time of the hostage exchange between the Æsir and the Vanir (Chapter 2), both parties spat into a cauldron and from the spittle was made a being named Kvasir. He was the wisest of beings and travelled around the world, teaching wisdom, until he was murdered by two nasty dwarfs. They fermented his blood with honey and made a powerful mead. When questioned by the gods about his disappearance, the cheeky dwarfs claimed that their cleverest member had suffocated on his own wisdom because no one was smart enough to be able to ask him questions.

  Next, the murderous dwarfs invite a giant called Gillingr to go fishing with them, upturning the boat and drowning him. They also murder his widow, because they’ve had enough of her wailing for her husband, and it’s left to Gillingr’s brother Suttungr to get vengeance: rowing the dwarfs out to a skerry and threatening to maroon them there to drown in their turn. The dwarfs buy their lives with the blood-mead; Suttungr takes the precious liquid home, stores it in three huge vats and sets his daughter Gunnlöð to guard it. Óðinn evolves an elaborate plot to steal the mead; he comes to the home of Baugi, another of Suttungr’s brothers, where his labourers are cutting the hay. He sharpens their scythes with a magic whetstone and, when they all express the desire to possess it, he hurls it up in the air. In the rush to seize it, they all cut off one another’s heads. This allows the disguised Óðinn to take over their tasks, on condition that Baugi assist him in getting a drink of his brother’s mead. At the end of his labours, Baugi comes with Óðinn to Suttungr’s, but the reward is refused. With Baugi’s grudging help, Óðinn bores a passage with an augur into the mountain Hnitbjörg (Clashing-rocks) where Gunnlöð and the mead are to be found, and changes himself into a serpent in order to wriggle inside. There he seduces Gunnlöð and sleeps three nights with her, after which he is permitted three drinks of the precious mead.

  Óðinn drains each of the three vats to the dregs with each drink, changes himself into eagle form and flies away. Suttungr, perceiving himself robbed, pursues him also in eagle form. The Æsir prepare vats to catch the mead which Óðinn regurgitates once he is safely within the walls of Ásgarðr, but he excretes some of the mead backwards into Suttungr’s face in order to delay him. That mead falls outside the halls of the gods, and anyone can consume it; it is now said to be the inspiration of bad poets everywhere. Through his habitual trickery and readiness to break oaths while holding others to their promises, Óðinn gains a great boon for gods and men. This version is the only complete account of the winning of the mead of poetry, but a large number of kennings refer to poetry as the ‘drink of dwarfs’, the ‘sea of Óðrerir’ (the name of one of Suttungr’s vats), or the ‘booty of Óðinn’, confirming the details of the myth.

  Baugi and Óðinn drilling into the mountain with Rati, the augur, to reach Gunnlöð and the mead of poetry. From an eighteenth-century Icelandic manuscript.

  The gods have the edge over the other denizens of the universe in this tale; the viciousness of the serial-killer dwarfs, the stupidity of Baugi’s labourers and the gullibility of poor seduced Gunnlöð all validate the gods’ appropriation of the mead. Better that poets should make use of it rather than its being hoarded in Suttungr’s halls deep in the rocks. ‘Use it or lose it’ is a good watchword for cultural treasures; the poets who tell the mead-of-poetry tale are united in their belief that the inspirational draught is better off shared among them.

  Gunnlöð is wooed by Óðinn, for a drink of the mead of poetry. Lorenz Frølich (1895).

  Óðinn in eagle-form excretes some mead backwards at the pursuing Suttungr. From an eighteenth-century Icelandic manuscript.

  Óðinn’s Betrayal of Gunnlöð

  In the poem Sayings of the High One, Óðinn boasts of this adventure. Using the augur to bore his way into Suttungr’s halls, risking his life, he talks Gunnlöð into letting him drink the precious mead: ‘a poor reward I let her have in return / for her open-heartedness / for her sorrowful spirit’, he admits ruefully. Gunnlöð’s beauty was cheaply bought; she was seduced by the god, who may have promised to betroth himself to her. The day after the theft, the frost-giants came to Óðinn’s hall to ask about what had happened; having ‘sworn a sacred ring-oath / how can his pledge be trusted?’ Óðinn reckons that the lying and Gunnlöð’s heartbreak were all worth it, in order to bring the mead of poetry back into the light. Gunnlöð doubtless feels differently.

  Another tale tells of the gods’ acquisition of a mighty brewing cauldron from the giants. The gods order Ægir, ruler of the sea, to provide a great feast for them, behaviour which echoes the aristocratic and royal practices of Scandinavia. For kings and great lords would travel with their retinues to the homes of those who held land from them and expect to be feasted. This shared the burden of supporting the king’s retinue among his nobles, using up their resources rather than his, and it also allowed the king to keep an eye on what the lords were up to: whether they were enforcing the law, properly collecting and passing on taxes, or whether they were plotting rebellion. So too the gods impose on Ægir the obligation to provide hospitality. To his objection that he has no cauldron sufficiently large to brew beer for them all, Týr ripostes that his father, the giant Hymir, possesses an enormous cauldron, and he and Þórr set off to the Giantlands to fetch it.

  Týr and his giant-killing companion arrive at Hymir’s home where Týr’s mother, a beautiful woman ‘all gold-decked … with shining brows’, welcomes them warmly, but expresses anxiety about her husband’s reaction to his guests. Týr’s grandmother (presumably on the paternal side), by contrast, has 900 heads. Once Hymir returns home, he declares that he’ll lend the cauldron if either of his visitors can carry it away. This is a cue for various tests of strength. Týr’s mother has warned the two gods to sit behind a pillar in the hall so that when her husband’s shattering gaze is turned on them, it’s the pillar and not they who are destroyed. After Þórr has eaten two whole oxen, Hymir takes him fishing to get further provisions; the story of the fishing-trip is related on page 105. Þórr’s success provokes the giant to set up a further challenge: the god can take the cauldron if he can smash the giant’s goblet. Bashing it against the stone pillars in the hall results only in further damage to the building until Týr’s mother reveals that Hymir’s head is the hardest of all substances and the goblet is successfully destroyed. Þórr is allowed to carry off the cauldron, borne upside-down on his head so that the rings on its rim jingle at his heels. The two gods do not get far before they realize that Hymir and his cohorts are hurrying in pursuit. Turning to face them, Þórr destroys them all, and brings the cauldron home. The poem concludes in a triumphant tone: ‘and the gods will drink in delight / ale at Ægir’s every winter’. For the last feast hosted by Ægir, see Chapter 6.

  Figure of Þórr from Eyrarland, Iceland.

  The story of Hymir’s cauldron fits the traditional pattern of the gods taking the objects that they need from the giants, for, from an Æsir perspective, they simply put the giant’s cauldron to better use. There’s a certain wistfulness about the giant’s realization of his successive losses: his goblet is smashed over his own head, his cauldron is confiscated, and his wife connives with her son and his notorious giant-slaying companion to seize or destroy her husband’s treasured possessions. How Týr’s mother comes to be married to a giant – why he, the god associated with law and justice, should have giant paternity – is unknown. It has been suggested that perhaps Loki once occupied Týr’s role in this story; if so, it wouldn’t be the only adventure in which Loki and Þórr team up, and Loki seems to be of mixed Æsir–giant blood. Striking in this poem is the frostine
ss of Hymir, who personifies the forces of winter. Icicles tinkle in his beard when he comes in from hunting, and his chilly gaze shatters what lies in front of it. Only his wife’s insistence on the laws of kinship and hospitality recall Hymir to observing the social norms as far as his son and guest are concerned, and there’s a fair amount of comedy in the giant’s horror at the way Þórr’s prodigious appetite depletes their food-stocks.

  Þórr fishing for the Miðgarðs-serpent. Johann Heinrich Füssli (1788).

  Þórr’s Fishing Expedition

  After Þórr has eaten his host out of house and home, Hymir decides that they will go fishing to replenish the food supplies. Provocatively, Þórr wrenches off the head of one of Hymir’s bulls to use as bait. God and giant row out into the ocean, beyond the normal fishing-limits and, although he catches two whales, Hymir expresses his nervousness about fishing so far out. But Þórr has laid out his line and no less impressive a sea-creature than the Miðgarðs-serpent swallows his ox-head bait. The mighty monster is hauled out of the sea; god and serpent stare at one another in a cosmic stand-off. In some early poems, Þórr kills the Miðgarðs-serpent there and then, but other traditions demand that the creature survive to battle against the god at ragnarök. Picture-stones show how, in the titanic battle between the two, Þórr sometimes puts his foot right through the bottom of the boat as he grips the line where the monster is thrashing. Hymir is terrified by Þórr’s bold fishing behaviour and, drawing a knife, cuts the line, so that the Miðgarðs-serpent sinks back into the depths. In Snorri’s version of the story, Þórr boxes Hymir’s ears so that he falls overboard and is drowned; the serpent meanwhile bides its time until ragnarök.

  Þórr in his turn delights in provoking his host; the same hospitality laws that constrain Hymir restrain him from killing the giant in his own home, but once the giant reneges on the agreement to give the cauldron to the one who can lift it, he’s fair game for Mjöllnir. He and the other ‘lava-whales’ (his fellow giants) are speedily dispatched by Þórr.

  Þjazi, in eagle form, prevents the gods’ dinner from cooking. From an eighteenth-century Icelandic manuscript.

  RECOVERING STOLEN TREASURES

  We saw above how the master-builder was thwarted in the nick of time from taking possession of the sun, moon and Freyja, almost plunging the world of gods and men into endless darkness. This is not the only counter-move in the battle for vital treasures that the gods and giants wage. On another occasion, Loki is taken captive by the giant Þjazi, Skaði’s father. Three gods, Loki, Óðinn and the mysterious Hœnir, were away on a journey and they killed and began to cook an ox. But the meat would not cook, and after a while the baffled and hungry gods realized that up in the oak tree beneath which they were cooking sat an enormous eagle. He declared himself responsible for inhibiting the cooking process. Loki seized a great pole and struck at the eagle with it; the eagle flew off, but the pole, and Loki with it, stuck to the bird. Loki was borne away, his shoulders in severe danger of dislocation as he desperately clung on. To save his life Loki agreed to the eagle’s demand (for he was the giant Þjazi in disguise): he would entice Iðunn out of Ásgarðr and into the giant’s power. By telling Iðunn that he had found some apples which looked very much like hers out in the forest, and persuading her to bring the apples with her for the purpose of comparison, Loki tricked Iðunn into leaving Ásgarðr with him. Þjazi swooped down on her and flew away with her, apples and all.

  Loki ushers the unsuspecting Iðunn towards the forest where Þjazi waits to abduct her. John Bauer (1911).

  Once again, having got the gods into trouble, Loki is charged with sorting out the situation. For with Iðunn’s loss, the gods no longer have access to the apples of eternal youth and they begin to age. A council-meeting reveals that Iðunn was last seen in Loki’s company; his complicity in her disappearance is proven. Wearing Freyja’s falcon-feather-cloak, Loki flies to Þjazi’s hall where he takes advantage of the giant’s absence out fishing to turn Iðunn into a nut. He makes off with her and her vital apples. When Þjazi discovers his loss, he pursues Loki in eagle form; the Æsir make a great pile of wood-shavings within the precincts of Ásgarðr and, while the exhausted Loki drops down with his burden just within the wall, the eagle is unable to stop and overflies his prey. The gods set fire to the wood-shavings and the eagle’s feathers are soon ablaze. When he abandons his avian form, the gods swiftly kill him. Þjazi’s death brings Skaði to Ásgarðr seeking compensation, with the consequences that we saw in Chapter 1. The gods resume their usual fruit diet and soon they are restored to their full vigour.

  Four queens from the Lewis chessmen. The pieces were made in the late twelfth century, probably in Scandinavia.

  The Sleeping Army

  The novelist Francesca Simon, author of the Horrid Henry stories, has written a novel, The Sleeping Army (2012), about a little girl called Freya who blows a Viking-Age horn lying next to the Lewis Chessmen in the British Museum. This precipitates her into the world of the gods. Freya has to assist Thor’s two human helpers (here called Alfie and Roskva), and a smelly berserker warrior called Snot (Wise One) to rescue Iðunn and her apples of youth from the giants. Freya learns much about her capacities and does a fair bit of growing up in her race not only to save the gods from ageing, but also to prevent herself and her companions from turning into chessmen themselves, and joining other failed questers in the museum case – the Sleeping Army of the title.

  DRAGGING ÞÓRR UP

  This mythic pattern, in which the giants seize hold of something crucial to the gods’ wellbeing, is burlesqued in Þrymskviða (Þrymr’s Poem). Þórr awakens one morning to find that his hammer Mjöllnir is missing; his beard bristles in alarm and he calls for Loki. For once, Loki is not behind the theft and he willingly borrows Freyja’s feather-cloak and heads to the Giantlands. Here he encounters the giant Þrymr who is sitting on a grave-mound, plaiting leashes for his elegant hunting dogs and neatly trimming his horses’ manes: this is clearly a giant with aristocratic pretensions. Þrymr readily admits that he has the hammer and states that he will return it only if he is given Freyja as his bride. Loki speeds home with the news and he and Þórr go to see Freyja. With a typical lack of subtlety they baldly announce to the goddess that she is to put on a bridal head-dress and get ready to drive to the Giantlands to be wed. Freyja does not take this news well:

  Furious then was Freyja and snorted in rage,

  the whole hall of the Æsir trembled at that;

  the great neck-ring of the Brisings fell from her.

  ‘You’ll know me to be the most man-mad of women

  if I drive with you to the land of the giants.’

  ÞRYMR’S POEM, V. 13

  Part of the joke, of course, is that Freyja is the ‘most man-mad of women’, but even she draws the line at marrying a giant. What to do? The gods meet in council, and Heimdallr comes up with the wonderful idea of dressing Þórr as a woman and sending him in Freyja’s place. Þórr’s strenuous objections go unheeded for, as Loki points out, unless the hammer is restored, the giants will soon be moving into Ásgarðr. And so Þórr is attired in women’s clothes, complete with bridal head-dress, and a bunch of keys (symbolic of female authority within the home) hanging from his girdle. Freyja lends her neck-ring, the Brisinga men, as a final authentic touch. Loki too dons female dress and the pair set off in Þórr’s goat-drawn chariot.

  Þórr being dressed in women’s clothes, in order to pose as Freyja for the ‘wedding’ to Þrymr. Elmer Boyd Smith (1902).

  How Þórr Gained his Servants

  Þórr’s goats, Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr (Tooth-grinder; Tooth-gnasher) are very useful animals. Not only do they draw the god’s chariot, but when he is travelling, he can kill and eat them, and then, by laying their bones on their skins, revive them the next morning, ready for the onward journey. Once Þórr was staying with a poor man called Egill, who had no meat for supper. Þórr slaughtered the goats and shared the meat with the family, wa
rning that no one should split the bones to get at the juicy marrow within. When the goats were reconstituted next morning, one was visibly limping, and Þórr furiously demanded who had disobeyed him. The son of the family, Þjálfi, owned up and the terrified father offered his two children to the god in recompense. Thus Þórr gained his two human servants, Þjálfi and his sister Röskva; Þjálfi appears in various adventures, but Röskva is little mentioned.

  Meanwhile, in the Giantlands, Þrymr is quivering with excitement, ordering preparations to be made for the wedding-feast and bragging about his possessions:

  Gold-horned cows walk here in the yard,

  jet-black oxen to the giant’s delight;

  heaps I have of treasures, heaps I have of luxuries;

  only Freyja seemed to be missing.

  ÞRYMR’S POEM, V. 23

  A heavily veiled Freyja sits down to the feast and astonishes her bridegroom by consuming ‘one whole ox, eight salmon / all the dainties meant for the women / … [and] three casks of mead’. Loki, as bridesmaid, hastily explains that her mistress has not eaten for eight nights, so madly keen was she to come to the Giantlands. Þrymr thinks to steal a kiss from his bride, but when he peeps under the veil he is alarmed by the lady’s fiery red eyes. Quick-thinking Loki explains that this is caused by sleeplessness in anticipation of the wedding. The giant’s sister demands gifts from the bride, then the hammer is finally produced in order to sanctify the marriage – perhaps a reference to actual wedding rituals. As soon as Þórr has his hammer in his hand, he smashes the wheedling sister-in-law, and slaughters all the rest of the wedding guests before he and Loki set off home. Ásgarðr is safe once more and the hammer back with its rightful owner.