Chapter LIV: Section IV: Frey and Gerd

Frey had one day placed himself in Hlidskjalf, and looked out upon all the worlds. He also saw Jotunheim, and perceived a large and stately mansion which a maid was going to enter, and as she raised the latch of the door so great a radiancy was thrown from her hand, that the air and waters and all worlds were illuminated by it. It was Gerd, a daughter of the giant Gymer and Aurboda, relatives of Thjasse. At this sight Frey, as a just punishment for his audacity in mounting on that sacred throne, was struck with sudden sadness, so that on his return home he could neither speak nor sleep nor drink, nor did any one dare to inquire the cause of his affliction. Frey’s messenger was named Skirner. Njord sent for him and requested of him, as did also Skade, that he should ask Frey why he thus refused to speak to any one.

Thus the Elder Edda, in the lay of Skirner:

SKADE:

Skirner, arise, and swiftly run
Where lonely sits our pensive son;
Bid him to parley, and inquire
’Gainst whom he teems with sullen ire.

SKIRNER:

Ill words I fear my lot will prove,
If I your son attempt to move;
If I bid parley, and inquire
Why teems his soul with savage ire.

Reluctantly Skirner then proceeded to Frey, and thus addressed him:

SKIRNER:

Prince of the gods, and first in fight!
Speak, honored Frey, and tell me right:
Why spends my lord the tedious day
In his lone hall, to grief a prey?

FREY:

Oh, how shall I, fond youth, disclose
To you my bosom’s heavy woes?
The ruddy god shines every day,
But dull to me his cheerful ray.

SKIRNER:

Your sorrows deem not I so great
That you the tale should not relate:
Together sported we in youth,
And well may trust each other’s truth.

FREY:

In Gymer’s court I saw her move,
The maid who fires my breast with love;
Her snow-white arms and bosom fair
Shone lovely, kindling sea and air.
Dear is she to my wishes, more
Than e’er was maid to youth before;
But gods and elves, I wot it well,
Forbid that we together dwell.

SKIRNER:

Give me that horse of wondrous breed
To cross the nightly flame with speed;
And that self-brandished sword to smite
The giant race with strange affright.

FREY:

To you I give this wondrous steed
To pass the watchful fire with speed;
And this, which borne by valiant wight,
Self-brandished will his foemen smite.

Frey, having thus given away his sword, found himself without arms when he on another occasion fought with Bele, and hence it was that he slew him with a stag’s antlers. This combat was, however, a trifling affair, for Frey could have killed him with a blow of his fist, had he felt inclined; but the time will come when the sons of Muspel will sally forth to the fight in Ragnarok, and then indeed will Frey truly regret having parted with his falchion. Having obtained the horse and sword, Skirner set out on his journey, and thus he addressed his horse:

Dark night is spread; ’t is time, I trow,
To climb the mountains hoar with snow;
Both shall return, or both remain
In durance, by the giant ta’en.

Skirner rode into Jotunheim, to the court of Gymer. Furious dogs were tied there before the gate of the wooden inclosure which surrounded Gerd’s bower. He rode toward a shepherd, who was sitting on a mound, and thus addressed him:

Shepherd, you, that sit on the mound,
And turn your watchful eyes around,
How may I lull these bloodhounds? say;
How speak unharmed with Gymer’s may?

THE SHEPHERD:

Whence and what are you? doomed to die?
Or, dead, revisit you the sky?
For ride by night or ride by day,
You ne’er shall come to Gymer’s may.

SKIRNER:

I grieve not, I, a better part
Fits him who boasts a ready heart:
At hour of birth our lives were shaped;
The doom of fate can ne’er be ’scaped.

But Gerd inside hears the stranger, and thus speaks to her maid-servant:

What sounds unknown my ears invade,
Frightening this mansion’s peaceful shade;
The earth’s foundation rocks withal,
And trembling shakes all Gymer’s hall.

THE MAID-SERVANT:

Dismounted stands warrior sheen;
His courser crops the herbage green.

GERD:

Haste! bid him to my bower with speed,
To quaff unmixed the pleasant mead;
And good betide us; for I fear
My brother’s murderer is near.

Skirner having entered, Gerd thus addresses him:

What are you, elf or asas’ son?
Or from the wiser vanas sprung?
Alone to visit our abode,
O’er bickering flames, why have you rode?

SKIRNER:

Nor elf am I, nor asas’ son;
Nor from the wiser vanas sprung:
Yet o’er the bickering flames I rode
Alone to visit your abode.
Eleven apples here I hold,
Gerd, for you, of purest gold;
Let this fair gift your bosom move
To grant young Frey your precious love.

GERD:

Eleven apples take not I
From man as price of chastity:
While life remains, no tongue shall tell
That Frey and I together dwell.

SKIRNER:

Gerd, for you this wondrous ring,
Burnt on young Balder’s pile, I bring,
On each ninth night shall other eight
Drop from it. all of equal weight.

GERD:

I take not, I, that wondrous ring,
Though it from Balder’s pile you bring:
Gold lack not I, in Gymer’s bower;
Enough for me my father’s dower.

SKIRNER:

Behold this bright and slender wand,
Unsheathed and glittering in my hand!
Refuse not, maiden! lest your head
Be severed by the trenchant blade.

GERD:

Gerd will ne’er by force be led
To grace a conqueror’s hateful bed;
But this I trow, with main and might
Gymer shall meet your boast in fight.

SKIRNER:

Behold this bright and slender wand,
Unsheathed and glittering in my hand!
Slain by its edge your sire shall lie,
That giant old is doomed to die.

As this has no effect upon Gerd’s mind, Skirner heaps blows upon her with a magic wand, and at the same time he begins his incantations, scoring runic characters as he sings:

E’en as I list, the magic wand
Shall tame you! Lo, with charmed hand
I touch you, maid! There shall you go
Where never man shall learn your woe.
On some high, pointed rock, forlorn
Like eagle, shall you sit at morn;
Turn from the world’s all-cheering light,
And seek the deep abyss of night.
Food shall to you more loathly show
Than slimy serpent creeping slow,
When forth you come, a hideous sight,
Each wondering eye shall stare with fright;
By all observed, yet sad and lone;
’Mongst shivering giants wider known
Than him who sits unmoved on high,
The guard of heaven with sleepless eye.
’Mid charms and chains and restless woe,
Your tears with double grief shall flow.
Now sit down, maid, while I declare
Your tide of sorrow and despair.
Your bower shall be some giant’s cell,
Where phantoms pale shall with you dwell;
Each day to the frosty giant’s hall,
Comfortless, wretched, shall you crawl;
Instead of joy, and pleasure gay,
Sorrow and tears and sad dismay;
With some three-headed giant wed,
Or pine upon a lonely bed;
From morn to morn love’s secret fire
Shall gnaw your heart with vain desire;
Like barren root of thistle pent
In some high ruined battlement.
O’er shady hill, through greenwood round,
I sought this wand; the wand I found.
Odin is wroth, and mighty Thor;
E’en Frey shall now your name abhor.
But ere o’er your ill-fated head
The last dread curse of heaven be spread,
Giants and Thurses far and near,
Suttung’s sons, and ye asas, hear
How I forbid with fatal ban
This maid the joys, the fruit of man.
Cold Grimner is that giant hight
Who you shall hold in realms of might;
Where slaves in cups of twisted roots
Shall bring foul beverage from the goats;
Nor sweeter draught, nor blither fare
Shall you, sad virgin, ever share.
’Tis done! I wind the mystic charm;
Thus, thus I trace the giant form;
And three fell characters below,
Fury and Lust and restless Woe.
E’en as I wound, I straight unwind
This fatal spell, if you are kind.

GERD:

Now hail, now hail, you warrior bold!
Take, take this cup of crystal cold,
And quaff the pure metheglin old.
Yet deemed I ne’er that love could bind
To vana-youth my hostile mind.

SKIRNER:

I turn not home to bower or hall
Till I have learnt mine errand all;
Where you will yield the night of joy
To brave Njord’s, the gallant boy.

GERD:

Bar-isle is hight, the seat of love;
Nine nights elapsed, in that known grove
Shall brave Njord’s, the gallant boy,
From Gerd take the kiss of joy.

Then Skirner rode home. Frey stood forth and hailed him and asked what tidings.

FREY:

Speak, Skirner, speak and tell with speed!
Take not the harness from your steed,
Nor stir your foot, till you have said,
How fares my love with Gymer’s maid!

SKIRNER:

Bar-isle is hight, the seat of love;
Nine nights elapsed, in that known grove
To brave Njord’s, the gallant boy,
Will Gerd yield the kiss of joy.

FREY:

Long is one night, and longer twain;
But how for three endure my pain?
A month of rapture sooner flies
Than half one night of wishful sighs.

This poem illustrates how beautifully a myth can be elaborated. Gerd is the seed; Skirner is the air that comes with the sunshine. Thus the myth is easily explained: The earth, in which the seed is sown, resists the embrace of Frey; his messenger Skirner, who brings the seed out into the light, in vain promises her the golden ears of harvest and the ring, the symbol of abundance. She has her giant nature, which has not yet been touched by the divine spirit; she realizes not the glory which she can attain to by Frey’s love. Skirner must conjure her, he must use incantations, he must show her how she, if not embraced by Frey, must forever be the bride of the cold frost, and never experience the joys of wedded life. She finally surrenders herself to Frey, and they embrace each other, when the buds burst forth in the grove. This myth then corresponds to Persephone, the goddess of the grain planted in the ground. Demeter’s sorrow on account of the naked, forsaken field, from which the sprout shall shoot forth from the hidden reed, is Frey’s impatient longing; and Skirner is Mercurius, who brings Proserpina up from the lower world.

But the myth has also a deeper ethical signification. Our forefathers were not satisfied with the mere shell; and Frey’s love to Gerd, which is described so vividly in the Elder Edda, is taken from the nature of love, with all its longings and hopes, and is not only a symbol of what takes place in visible nature. As the warmth of the sun develops the seed, thus love develops the heart; love is the ray of light (Skirner) sent from heaven, which animates and ennobles the clump of earth. Gerd is the maid, who is engaged in earthly affairs and does not yet realize anything nobler than her every-day cares. Then love calls her; in her breast awakens a new life; wonderful dreams like gentle breezes embrace her, and when the dreams grow into consciousness her eyes are opened to a higher sphere of existence. This myth is most perfectly reflected in the love-story of Fridthjof’s Saga, an old Norse romance moulded into a most fascinating Epic Poem by Tegner. A good English translation of this poem appeared a few years ago in London, and was republished in this country under the auspices of Bayard Taylor. It is also translated into almost every other European language, and is justly considered one of the finest poetical productions of this century.