The Icelandic or Old Norse, which was the common language of Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, in the ninth century, was carried into Iceland, where, to the present time, it has wonderfully retained its early characteristics. The written alphabet was called Runic, and the letters, Runes, of which the most ancient specimens are the inscriptions on Rune stones, rings, and wooden tablets.
The Danish and Swedish, may be called the New Norse languages; they began to assume a character distinct from the Old Norse about the beginning of the twelfth century. The Danish language is not confined to Denmark, but is used in the literature, and by the cultivated society of Norway.
The Swedish is the most musical of the Scandinavian dialects, its pronunciation being remarkably soft and agreeable. Its character is more purely Norse than the Danish, which has been greatly affected by its contact with the German.
The Norwegian exists only in the form of dialects spoken by the peasantry. It is distinguished from the other two by a rich vocabulary of words peculiar to itself, and by its own pronunciation and peculiar construction; only literary cultivation is wanted to make it an independent language like the others.
4. ICELANDIC OR OLD NORSE LITERATURE.—In 868 one of the Norwegian vikings or sea rovers, being driven on the coast of Iceland, first made known the existence of the island. Harold, the fair-haired, having soon after subdued or slain the petty kings of Norway, and introduced the feudal system, many of the inhabitants, disdaining to sacrifice their independence, set forth to colonize this dreary and inhospitable region, whose wild and desolate aspect seemed to attract their imaginations. Huge mountains of ice here rose against the northern sky, from which the smoke of volcanoes rolled balefully up; and the large tracts of lava, which had descended from them to the sea, were cleft into fearful abysses, where no bottom could be found. Here were strange, desolate valleys, with beds of pure sulphur, torn and overhanging precipices, gigantic caverns, and fountains of boiling water, which, mingled with flashing fires, soared up into the air, amid the undergroans of earthquakes, and howlings and hissings as of demons in torture. Subterranean fires, in terrific contest with the wintry ocean, seemed to have made sport of rocks, mountains, and rivers, tossing them into the most fantastic and appalling shapes. Yet such was the fondness of the Scandinavian imagination for the wild and desolate, and such their hatred of oppression, that they soon peopled this chaotic island to an extent it has never since reached. In spite of the rigor of the climate, where corn refused to ripen, and where the labors of fishing and agriculture could only be pursued for four months of the year, the people became attached to this wild country. They established a republic which lasted four hundred years, and for ages it was destined to be the sanctuary and preserver of the grand old literature of the North. The people took with them their Scalds and their traditions, and for a century after the peopling of the island, they retained their Pagan belief. Ages rolled away; the religion of Odin had perished from the mainland, and the very hymns and poems in which its doctrines were recorded had perished with it, when, in the middle of the seventeenth century, the Rhythmical Edda of Samund was discovered, followed by the Prose Edda of Snorre Sturleson. These discoveries roused the zeal of the Scandinavian literati, and led to further investigations, which resulted in the discovery of a vast number of chronicles and sagas, and much has since been done by the learned men of Iceland and Denmark to bring to light the remote annals of northern Europe.
These remains fall into the three divisions of Eddaic, Scaldic, and Saga literature. Samund the Wise (1056-1131), a Christian priest of Iceland, was the first to collect and commit to writing the oral traditions of the mythology and poetry of the Scandinavians. His collection has been termed the "Edda," a word by some supposed to signify grandmother, and by others derived, with more probability, from the obsolete word oeda, to teach. The elder or poetic Edda consists of thirty-eight poems, and is divided into two parts. The first, or mythological cycle, contains everything relating to the Scandinavian ideas of the creation of the world, the origin of man, the morals taught by the priests, and stories of the gods; the second, or heroic cycle, contains the original materials of the "Nibelungen Lied" of Germany. The poems consist of strophes of six or eight lines each, with little of the alliteration by which the Scalds were afterwards distinguished. One of the oldest and most interesting is the "Voluspa," or Song of the Prophetess, a kind of sibylline lay, which contains an account of the creation, the origin of man and of evil, and concludes with a prediction of the destruction and renovation of the universe, and a description of the future abodes of happiness and misery. "Vafthrudnir's Song" is in the form of a dialogue between Odin, disguised as a mortal, and the giant Vafthrudnir, in which the same subjects are discussed. "Grimner's Song" contains a description of twelve habitations of the celestial deities, considered as symbolical of the signs of the zodiac. "Rig's Song" explains, allegorically, the origin of the three castes: the thrall, the churl, and the noble, which, at a very early period, appear to have formed the framework of Scandinavian society. "The Havamal," or the High Song of Odin, is the complete code of Scandinavian ethics. The maxims here brought together more resemble the Proverbs of Solomon than anything in human literature, but without the high religious views of the Scripture maxims. It shows a worldly wisdom, experience, and sagacity, to which modern life can add nothing. In the Havamal is included the Rune Song.
Runes, the primitive rudely-shaped letters of the Gothic race, appear never to have been used to record their literature, which was committed to the Scalds and Sagamen, but they were reserved for inscriptions on rocks or memorial stones, or they were cut in staves of wood, as a rude calendar to assist the memory. Odin was the great master of runes, but all the gods, many of the giants, kings, queens, prophetesses, and poets possessed the secret of their power. In the ballads of the Middle Ages, long after the introduction of Christianity, we find everywhere the boast of Runic knowledge and of its power. Queens and princesses cast the runic spell over their enemies; ladies, by the use of runes, inspire warriors with love; and weird women by their means perform witchcraft and sorcery. Some of their rune songs taught the art of healing; others had power to stop flying spears in battle, and to excite or extinguish hatred and love. There were runes of victory inscribed on swords; storm runes, which gave power over sails, inscribed on rudders of ships, drink runes, which gave power over others, inscribed on drinking horns; and herb runes, cut in the bark of trees which cured sickness and wounds. These awful characters, which struck terror into the hearts of our heathen ancestors, and which appalled and subdued alike kings, warriors, and peasants, were simple letters of the alphabet; but they prove to what a stupenduous extent knowledge was power in the dark ages of the earth. The poet who sings the Rune Song in the Havamal does it with every combination of mystery, calculated to inspire awe and wonder in the hearer.
The two poems, "Odin's Raven Song" and the "Song of the Way-Tamer," are among the most deeply poetical hymns of the Edda. They relate to the same great event—the death of Balder—and are full of mystery and fear. A strange trouble has fallen upon the gods, the oracles are silent, and a dark, woeful foreboding seizes on all things living. Odin mounts his steed, Sleipner, and descends to hell to consult the Vala there in her tomb, and to extort from her, by runic incantations, the fate of his son. This "Descent of Odin" is familiar to the English reader through Gray's Ode. In all mythologies we have glimpses continually of the mere humanity of the gods, we witness their limited powers and their consciousness of a coming doom. In this respect every mythology is kept in infinite subordination to the true faith, in which all is sublime, infinite, and worthy of the Deity—in which God is represented as pure spirit, whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain; and all assumption of divinity by false gods is treated as a base superstition.
The remaining songs of the first part of the Edda relate chiefly to the exploits, wanderings, and love adventures of the gods. The "Sun Song," with which it concludes, is believed to be the production of Samund, the collector of the Edda, In this he retains some of the machinery of the old creed, but introduces the Christian Deity and doctrines.
The second part of the elder Edda contains the heroic cycle of Icelandic poems, the first part of which is the Song of Voland. the renowned northern smith. The story of Voland, or Wayland, the Vulcan of the North, is of unknown antiquity; and his fame, which spread throughout Europe, still lives in the traditions of all northern nations. The poems concerning Sigurd and the Niflunga form a grand epic of the simplest construction. The versification consists of strophes of six or eight lines, without rhyme or alliteration. The sad and absorbing story here narrated was wonderfully popular throughout the ancient Scandinavian and Teutonic world, and it is impossible to say for how many centuries these great tragic ballads had agitated the hearts of the warlike races of the north. It is clear that Sigurd and Byrnhilda, with all their beauty, noble endowment, and sorrowful history, were real personages, who had taken powerful hold on the popular affections in the most ancient times, and had come down from age to age, receiving fresh incarnations and embellishments from the popular Scalds. There is a great and powerful nature living through these poems. They are pictures of men and women of godlike beauty and endowments, and full of the vigor of simple but impetuous natures. Though fragmentary, they stand in all the essentials of poetry far beyond the German Lied, and, in the tragic force of passion which they portray, they are superior to any remains of ancient poetry except that of Greece. Their greatness lies less in their language than their spirit, which is sublime and colossal. Passion, tenderness, and sorrow are here depicted with the most vivid power; and the noblest sentiments and the most heroic actions are crossed by the foulest crimes and the most terrific tragedies. They contain materials for a score of dramas of the most absorbing character.