The word itself is translated by Luning in the most satisfactory manner as ‘she who works incessantly,’ and by Munch, as ‘she who renovates incessantly.’ Idja is to work, unna, love, so that others make her one who loves work. The word unna, however, though derived from the verb an unna, to love, has come to mean only a woman, and as such is frequently used as a termination, as well as now and then standing alone as a female name, Unna, of whom there are three in the Landnama-bok, and several in the Saga of Burnt Njal.
Una is likewise used in both Ireland and the North; but in the former it is said to mean famine; in the North it is most probably from that word vin, win, or wine, a friend, which we shall often meet with again, and which lies most likely at the root of unna.
The word idja, to work, the first syllable of Iduna’s name, formed deisi, activity, and thence the person who ought to be active, the old German itis, and Anglo-Saxon ides, a woman, in the North, deis or dis. The idea of the active sprite was divided between womankind and certain household spirits, like the Roman genii, only feminine and possibly another name for the Nornir, as each man had his own, and they were sometimes visible as animals suiting with the character of their protégés: powerful chiefs had bears or bulls, crafty ones foxes; and even on the introduction of Christianity, faith in the Disir was not abandoned, though there were no more sacrifices at their Disir salen, or temples. Sometimes a family would have various disir at war with one another, some for the old faith, some for the new. While Iceland was still in suspense between heathenism and Christianity, a young chieftain one night heard three knocks at his door, and despite the warnings of a seer, went forth to see the cause. He beheld nine women in black riding from the North, and nine from the South, the disir of his family, the black for heathendom, the white for Christianity. The black ones, knowing that they must vanish from the land, seized his life as their last tribute, and wounded him so that he returned a dying man to tell his tale. Probably these disir are either the cause or the effect of those strange phantoms which, whether of doves, dogs, heads, children, or women, portend death in certain families. They may likewise account for some of the family bearings in the form of animals.
Disa is a Norwegian and Icelandic name, now nearly disused: it is also a very frequent termination, such as in Thordis, Alfdis, Freydis, &c., and it may be most fitly translated as the sprite giving the idea of the guardian protecting spirit that woman should be. In the German names it appears as the termination itis or idis, as Adelidis, one that appears at first sight like a mere Latinism.[[111]]
Section VIII.—Heimdall.
The porter of Valhall is Heimdall, the son of nine sisters, who watches at the further end of the rainbow-bridge Bifrost to guard the Æsir from the giants. He sleeps more lightly than a bird, can see a hundred leagues by day or night, and can hear the grass growing in the fields, and the wool on the sheep’s backs. He bears in one hand a sword, in the other a trumpet, the sound of which resounds throughout the universe.
When the powers of evil break loose, Heimdall will rouse the gods to their last conflict by a blast of his trumpet, and in the struggle will kill and be killed by Loki.
His name is explained by heim, home, and dallr, powerful. The latter half is in Anglo-Saxon deall, in old High German tello, and in the old Norse dallr, whence Dalla is found as a name in the Landnama-bok.
Heim is in Ulfilas both a field and a village, and the Anglo-Saxons use the word dhăm for an enclosure, and hām for a village; ham in a similar manner, as is still shown in the diminutive, hamlet, for a small village, as well as in the ham that concludes many local names. At the same time, the word, slightly altered, assumed that closer, dearer, warmer sense which is expressed by the terms, heim, hiemme, hjem, hame, and home, in all the faithful-hearted Teutonic race, yet which is so little comprehended by our southern relatives, that they absolutely have no power of expressing such an idea as “It’s hame, and it’s hame, and it’s hame.”
Even in their heathenism “true to the kindred points of heaven and home,” the guardian of the dwelling of the brave spirits of the dead was made by the Northmen no grim Cerberus nor gloomy Charon, but the Home ruler.