However that may be, no doubt can be entertained with regard to the poem Hákonarmál, which deals with the death of King Haakon I at the battle of Fitje in 961 (cf. p. [15]). The author, Eyvindr Skaldaspillir, was himself present at the battle. The poem relates how Göndul and Skögul were sent by Othin to select a prince of Yngvi's line, who should go and dwell with him in Valhöll. Then, after a short account of the battle, we are told that "the princes sat with their swords drawn, with scarred shields and mail-coats pierced; in no cheerful mood was the host which had to make its way to Valhöll. Then said Göndul, as she leaned upon her spear: 'Now will the forces of the gods be increased, since they have summoned Haakon to their abodes with a great host.' The prince heard what the noble Valkyries were saying. Thoughtful was their mien, as they sat on their steeds, with helmets upon their heads and holding their shields before them. 'Why hast thou thus decided the battle, Skögul? Surely we have deserved success from the gods.' 'We have brought it about that thou hast won the day and that thy foes have fled. Now,' said the mighty Skögul, 'we must ride to the green homes of the gods, to tell Othin that a monarch is coming to enter his presence.'" Then the scene changes to Valhöll; and Othin sends Hermóðr and Bragi out to meet the king and bid him welcome[391].
Such poems as Hákonarmál and Eiríksmál must be regarded as products of vivid poetic imagination. They are clearly in the nature of conscious fiction, though it should not be assumed that the pictures of the gods and their abode which they present were conceptions altogether unreal to the poets' audiences. I suppose that ultimately this type of composition is derived from visions or dreams, such as the story of Glúmr given above. For, though the latter in its present form dates from a period at least two centuries later than Hákonarmál—both referring to persons who lived more or less about the same time—it will probably be agreed that the conception there is far more primitive.
Now we have good evidence that visions which took the form of visits to the home of the gods did really obtain credence in the Viking Age. When St Ansgar visited Sweden for the second time, not long after 850, he found that the success of his mission was seriously endangered. A man had come to Birca (Biörkö, on the Mälar), where the king, Olaf, was residing, and stated that he had been present at an assembly of the gods, who had sent him to deliver a message to the king and nation. This was to the effect that the gods had long been gracious to the Swedes and had preserved their land in peace and prosperity. Yet now the Swedes were abandoning their accustomed sacrifices and introducing a strange god. If they wished to retain their favour the sacrifices must be resumed on a larger scale, and the new god must be refused admittance. "But if you desire to have more gods, and we are not sufficient for you, we unanimously enrol in our body Eric who was formerly your king, so that he shall be counted among the gods." This story created a profound impression among the inhabitants. "They founded a temple in honour of the above-mentioned king, who had long been dead, and began to offer prayers and sacrifices to him as a god[392]."
The Life of St Ansgar, from which this story is taken, is practically a contemporary authority. It was written by St Rembert, one of Ansgar's disciples, who succeeded him as Archbishop of Hamburg in 865 and died in 888. In face of such evidence we have no reason for doubting that stories such as that of Glúmr would readily obtain credence. Indeed it seems scarcely impossible that the doings of Thórgerðr Hölgabrúðr at Hiörungavágr may have been believed by persons who were alive at the time. Yet credulity was no special characteristic of the Northern peoples. We learn from inscriptions that Asclepios was in the habit of showing himself to pilgrims in his temple at Epidauros. Still more striking evidence is furnished by Herodotus' story (I 60) that Peisistratos recovered the tyranny at Athens by dressing up a woman to personate Athene and accompanying her in a chariot to the city. Herodotus himself remarks that this took place at a time when the Greek race had long been distinguished from the rest of mankind by its superior sagacity and freedom from silly credulity—and in a state too which was held to be intellectually supreme among the Greeks. Whatever doubt may be entertained as to the truth of the story it is significant enough that Herodotus should record it, apparently without any hesitation, in less than a century after Peisistratos' death. Some four centuries earlier men may well have been ready to hear that the gods took an active part in the battles of their fathers or grandfathers, while the latter themselves may have been quite as ready to attribute their success or failure to the disguised agency of the same powers.
It is clear at all events that the Scandinavian evidence fails to provide any justification for the view that poems which introduce the gods must date from times far removed from the events which they claim to commemorate. In the contemporary Hákonarmál we find two of the most advanced Homeric types. First, we have deities participating without disguise in battle; then a change of scene carries us to the actual home of the gods. The second scene in Hákonarmál—which is likewise the scene of Eiríksmál—may be compared both with the various 'Olympic' episodes and also with the two Nekyiai. For, since Othin is a god of the dead, his abode corresponds in a sense both to Olympos and the home of Hades. On the whole perhaps the nearest affinities of the two Norwegian poems are with the second Nekyia (Od. XXIV 1-204), which is commonly regarded as one of the latest portions of the Odyssey.
Lastly, the Scandinavian evidence gives no support to the belief that the more imaginative types of divine intervention necessarily belong to a later date than the others. In principle of course it may be admitted that they are less primitive. But in Old Norse literature it so happens that they occur in both earlier and more nearly contemporary works. The explanation lies doubtless in the fact that the theological apparatus of Norse poetry was fully developed before the time of our earliest authorities. So far as I can see, there is no good reason for denying that the same remark holds good for the Homeric poems. But if so it is futile to use evidence of this kind as a criterion for determining the date of the various portions.
Monsters and theriomorphic demons are by no means unknown in Greek heroic stories, though in the poems which have come down to us they figure prominently only in episodes dealing with past events. The nearest Homeric analogies to Beowulf's adventures are perhaps to be found in the stories of Bellerophon and Meleagros[393] (Il. VI 178 ff.; IX 538 ff.). It may be that these stories and others, such as that of Perseus, themselves once formed the main themes of heroic poems, and that the backward position which they ultimately came to occupy, as compared with stories of anthropomorphic deities, is due to the growth of poetic art and humanistic tendencies. But on the other hand we have to remember that heroic poetry is always liable to the intrusion of folk-tales, in which adventures with monsters form one of the favourite themes.
The chief store-house of folk-tales in the Homeric poems is the narrative of his adventures given by Odysseus to the Phaeacians (Od. IX-XII). This narrative contains a considerable number of incidents, of which ten may be regarded as more or less distinct: (i) the encounter with the Cicones, (ii) the visit to the land of the Lotus-eaters, (iii) the adventure with Polyphemos, (iv) the two visits to Aiolos, (v) the disaster in the land of the Laistrygones, (vi) the two visits to Circe, (vii) the journey to the home of Hades, (viii) the singing of the Sirens, (ix) the adventure with Scylla and Charybdis, (x) the slaughter of the cattle of Helios.
The first of these incidents bears no obvious traces of derivation or influence from a folk-tale; but it is the only one of the series of which this can be stated with any confidence. The adventures with the Lotus-eaters and the Laistrygones should perhaps be regarded rather as travellers' stories—founded possibly on actual experience of foreign peoples—yet the latter at least contains certain distorted features which may fairly bring it within our category. As to the origin of the adventure with Polyphemos there can be little doubt. It appears to be found with slight variants in many different parts of the world[394].