“On the plain of Vigrid, which is a hundred miles on each side,” came the answer; and at this the frost-giant began to quake with fear, for his boasted wisdom had been fairly met, and at last some one had come to Jötunheim to defeat him.
Now it was Odin’s turn to ask questions; and he drew from this wisest of the giants a knowledge of things that happened long before the gods came to dwell in Asgard. He learned all the secrets that the giants guarded so carefully; and he made Vafthrudner tell him of the dim unknown future, and of the events that would shape the lives of gods and men. So eager was Odin to gain the desired wisdom that he forgot how long he had been sitting at the frost-giant’s side and listening while Vafthrudner told him of the time when no gods were living, and of the time when no gods should be.
The long day waned, and the curious stars peeped out, and Mani—as he drove his horses over the western hills—wondered why Odin lingered so long in dreary Jötunheim. When the All-Father had learned all he desired to know, he rose up and said: “One last question I will put, O Vafthrudner; and by its answer we may judge which is the wiser of us two. What did Odin whisper in the ear of Balder as that shining one lay on the funeral pyre?” When the frost-giant heard this question he knew at last who it was that had been contending with him, and he answered humbly: “Who but thyself, O Odin, can tell the words which thou didst say to thy son? Thou art truly the wisest of all.”
So Odin departed on the long journey back to Asgard, and the gods rejoiced at his return, for hitherto no one had ever been known to strive with Vafthrudner and live.
The Story of the Magic Mead
THERE once lived on the earth a man named Kvasir; and he was much beloved by the gods because they had given him the wonderful gift of poetry. Kvasir was a great traveller, and wherever he went men begged him to tell them, in his singing words, of the life of the gods and of the brave deeds of heroes. So the poet went from cottage to castle sharing his gift with rich and poor alike. Sometimes he told the familiar tales that had grown old on men’s lips; and sometimes he sang of heroes in far-off forgotten lands.
Every one loved Kvasir—every one except the spiteful little dwarfs who grew jealous of him, and longed to do him some evil. So one day when the poet was walking on the seashore, two of the dwarfs named Fialar and Galar came up to him and begged him to visit their cave in the rocks. Now Kvasir never suspected wrong of any one, so he willingly followed the dwarfs into a dark cavern underground. Here the treacherous brothers slew him, and drained his blood into three jars in which they had already placed some honey. Thus of sweetness mingled with a poet’s life-blood they brewed the Magic Mead, which would give to any one who drank of it gentleness and wisdom and the gift of poesy.
When the dwarfs had mixed the mead, they took great care to hide it in a secret cave; and then, proud of their cruel cunning, they set off in search of further adventures. Soon they found the giant Gilling asleep on the seashore; and after pinching him awake, they asked him to row them a little way in his boat. The giant, who was both good-natured and stupid, took the dwarfs into his boat, and began to row vigorously. Then Galar suddenly steered the boat so that it struck on a sharp rock and was overturned. The poor giant, who could not swim, was immediately drowned; while the wicked little dwarfs climbed upon the keel of the boat and finally drifted ashore.
Not content with this cruel act, they went straightway to the giant’s house and called to his wife to come quickly, for Gilling was drowning. The giantess at once hurried to her husband’s aid; and as she came through the doorway, Fialar, who had climbed up above the lintel, suddenly dropped a millstone on her head, killing her instantly.