his rival, and which increased that rival’s strength in a prodigious manner, he should become the victor. How discover it? But, whatever his fate, it could not be more disastrous than the present; and he again sought Balder in arms. The first day’s fight was indecisive. At night, he lay in his tent; but sleep refusing to visit him, he arose and went towards the enemy’s camp. There he saw three virgins (the purveyors of Balder’s table) leave that prince’s tent. He accosted them; and being asked who he was, replied, “A harper,”—a character always sacred in the north. As he was really expert in the use of the instrument, he was readily believed, and he was allowed to see what the mysterious substance was which had such miraculous effect on the body of his rival: it was the venom of three snakes which the virgins daily or nightly extracted from the mouths of the reptiles, and which they mixed with the more solid food of Balder. One of the maidens wished to give some of the food to Hoder, but the eldest forbade her. All, however, were so pleased with his minstrelsy, that they presented him with a belt, which would ensure him the victory over all his enemies. The prophecy was soon fulfilled. Possessed of this belt, in addition to his other magical treasures, he met his enemy and gave him a mortal wound. Like a true northern hero, Balder being resolved to die on the field of battle, was carried in a litter into the heart of Hoder’s army; but he soon breathed his last sigh. Over his body a huge mound was erected by his troops. That treasures of inestimable value were buried with him, was the unanimous opinion of posterity. In the time of Saxo, some youths one night hastened to the spot, and endeavoured to open it; but their ears being assailed by terrific noises, they desisted, and fled. All this, says the historian, was unreal; it was merely the illusion of magic.[43]
Respecting the death and interment of Balder, we have in the latter Edda many details wholly omitted by Saxo, and more which are entirely dissimilar from his. One night, this Balder had a dream, which was thought to be portentous of his fate. With the consent of the gods his mother, Freya or Frigga, called on fire, water, earth, stones, iron and other metals, trees, animals, birds, reptiles, poison, and all diseases, to renounce all power over him; and they took an oath to that effect. To try the efficacy of the engagement, some of the gods threw darts and stones at him, while some assailed him with other weapons: in vain; no one could injure him. Seeing this, Loke, the genius of evil, assumed the disguise of an old woman, went to the palace of Frigga, and informed her what the gods were doing. “Let them try as long as they please,” was the reply; “all living things have promised to respect my son.” “What!” rejoined Loke, whose purpose is evident enough, “have all substances, without exception, thus promised?” “All,” was the reply, “except one insignificant plant, called mistletoe, which grows on the western side of Valhalla, and from which, such is its feebleness, I exacted no oath.” This was enough for Loke: he went to the place where the mistletoe grew, plucked it up by the roots, and returned to the assembly of the gods, who were still occupied in the same diversion. According to this account, Hoder was present; but he was not a deity, he was merely a blind old man. “Why dost thou not join in the exercise?” demanded Loke. “Because I am blind.” “Take this trifling reed, and throw it; I will guide thine hand; meet it is for us all to honour Balder!” The missile flew, and the hero fell to rise no more. The gods were in sad consternation at this event; the more so as the evil was irreparable. All that the afflicted father could now do was, to pay due honours to his remains. His body was borne to the sea coast; it was placed in the famous ship of the deceased, which was one of the largest in the world; but neither Odin nor all the gods assembled could move the vessel into the waters. In this emergency, they had recourse to a famous sorceress of the giant, namely, of the Jutish race, and she obeyed the call. She arrived on the back of a wild beast, having serpents for reins. So dreadful was this animal, that it required four giants to hold it after she had dismounted. At one push, Gyges sent the ship into the sea; and so great was its velocity, that the earth trembled. The funeral pile was then erected by command of Odin, and the body of Balder’s wife, whom grief brought to the grave, laid on it, close by his. Who was she? The Edda expressly calls her Nanna, but assigns her another father than Gewar. There can, however, be no doubt that the beautiful confusion so prevalent in everything connected with Scandinavian characters and events, is doubly apparent in this case—that the wife of Hoder and Balder is one and the same Nanna, however the tradition in regard to her may have been distorted. Yet, there is no greater confusion respecting this lady than there is respecting Hoder himself in the different relations of Saxo and Snorro, the compiler of the prose Edda. In the one case, as we have seen, he was a vigorous young prince; in the other, a blind, feeble, and apparently old one. This diversity of narrative arises from the diversity of sources consulted by the two historians—the one confining himself to the national songs of Denmark, the other consulting the old Norwegian, or rather Icelandic traditions, which the Scalds had transmitted to posterity. During the middle ages, especially anterior to the fourteenth century, there was a vast body of legendary lore respecting Odin, his family, and his sacerdotal companions—lore from which different Scalds took what they judged most interesting to their hearers. But reverting to the funeral of Balder, Thor furnished the consecrated fire: the horse of the deceased hero was placed on the pyre; and Odin added his golden ring, which had the miraculous virtue of producing eight other rings every ninth night. Thus, in the presence of all the gods, satyrs, nymphs, and cyclops, was the conflagration effected.[44]
According to the same venerable authority, namely, the Edda of Snorro, an attempt was made to recover the soul of Balder from the empire of Hela, or death. Who would undertake the perilous mission? It was Hermod, another son of Odin, that, at the entreaty of his mother, saddled Sleipner, the famous black steed, mounted him, and plunged into the subterraneous paths which led to the abodes of the dead. This Sleipner has a reputation never before enjoyed by quadruped. During the frequent contests between the gods and the giants—that is, between the Goths and the Jutes—the former were not always victorious; nor were they always sure of impunity within their fortress, well guarded as it was. One day an architect appeared before them and proposed to build them such a city that all the power of Jotunheim should fail against it. For this service, however, he must have his reward; and a splendid one it was, the goddess Freya to wife, with the sun and moon as her dowry. They agreed to his terms, provided he did what no doubt they believed impossible, viz., execute the work himself, within the space of a single winter; and they were liberal enough to allow him the use of his horse. In a short time the gods had reason to be alarmed; for the horse not only drew stones of vast magnitude, but did more of the architectural work than the master. Within three days of the completion of winter nothing remained but the hanging of the gates. In great consternation the gods assembled to consult by what means the ruin impending might be averted. As the covenant between them and the architect had been advised by Loke, they menaced him with death unless he discovered some expedient to save them. Loke, who has sometimes been called the Scandinavian devil, was fond of mischief; but he was fonder still of his life: and that very night he caused a mare to issue from a forest and neigh amorously. Sleipner, hearing the sound, left the work to pursue the mare, while the architect followed to recover his horse. Thus the whole night was lost. The architect now perceived that he must trust to himself. He resumed his natural size, and there he stood, a veritable giant—the everlasting enemy of the gods! They did not allow him to finish the work; but, regardless of their oaths, which in their opinion were not binding when made to a giant, they called on Thor to dash out his brains with the awful mallet. In the mean time the mysterious horse remained with the mare, and the issue of the connection was Sleipner with eight feet—the most excellent of all the animals ever possessed by gods or men.[45]
Such was the animal on which Hermod descended to the regions of Hela. The description of his journey is highly poetical. During nine days and as many nights, he travelled down the precipitous way—often abrupt—along the sides of yawning gulfs—through rugged valleys; and everything was involved in so great a darkness that he was obliged to grope, or trust to the instinct of his wondrous beast. At length he reached a river, the bridge of which was kept by a virgin called Modguder. She inquired his name, his race, his family; and expressed her surprise at his weight. “But yesterday,” she observed, “and three legions of dead rode over this bridge; yet all together did not shake it as much as thou alone. But thou hast not the look of one dead. What brings thee here?” He replied, “I am in search of my brother Balder; hast thou seen him pass?”—“I
