WHEN the last ice age came to an end, the great glaciers that capped Northern Europe melted, uncovering a barren and rugged land. On the heels of the withdrawing ice came reindeer, wolves, bears, and foxes. They were pursued by hunters
These men were forever struggling against Frost Giants, the cold-hearted spirits of the mountains and glaciers. But they found shelter in the valleys, where meadows grew lush and forests grew dense and deep. For thousands of years the beasts and the men who hunted them roamed throughout the north.
Then, from the east, burst a tribe of fierce horsemen. They stormed westward, settling new lands as they went. Led by a hulking, one-eyed chieftain, they spurred their horses on until at long last they were stopped by the crashing waves of the North Sea. They could go no farther, so they settled and made the land theirs.
Life in the north was hard for these new settlers. The Frost Giants sent bitter storms howling down from the mountains. Wild beasts, trolls and evil spirits lurked in the pathless forests, and cruel mermaids wrecked their ships. But the settlers were tough, and they were protected by their own gods, the Aesir, who had come with them from their faraway lands.
First among the Aesir gods was Odin, ruler of gods and men. His realm was made up of nine worlds: the worlds of the dead; of fire; of gnomes; of men; of giants; of elves; of the Vanir gods; of the Aesir gods; and the world with the roof of glittering stars, where all good souls would one day meet.
Through all these nine worlds grew the ash tree, Yggdrasil. Only as long as this tree flourished was the reign of the Aesir fated to last. Like plants, beasts, and men, the Aesir gods, too, one day must die.
A thousand years ago, when Christianity conquered the north, the Aesir gods perished. They met their destiny on the day of Ragnarokk, when they and the monsters of the mountains and glaciers destroyed each other. Soon they were almost forgotten in most of the lands where they had once been worshiped. All that remained of them were fragments in folklore and a few of their names that had been given to the days of the week.
Tuesday is named for Tyr, ancient god of the sword; Wednesday is Odin’s day; Thursday is Thor’s; and Friday is the day of Freya, goddess of love.
Though the Dutch, Germans, Franks, and Saxons forgot these old gods and their battles with ice-age monsters, the Norse did not. Through the long winter nights Norsemen, young and old, would gather around their smoky fires in their long halls to hear the stories and songs of their bards.
To keep the trolls and giants away, they used to paint Thor’s hammer on their barn doors and the dragons’ heads carved on their church portals were there to frighten away the heathen spirits. To this very day, in lonely valleys, the people may tell of meetings with trolls and gnomes and other strange creatures of the past.
On the outlying island of Iceland, where volcanoes and glaciers stand side by side, the memory of the ancient Aesir gods was kept alive longer than anywhere else. Passed on, word by word, from father to son, these stories were at last written down in two books: the Poetic Edda and the Prose Edda.
The Poetic Edda is a collection of old Norse verse, set down in the tenth and eleventh centuries. The Prose Edda, a collection of myths and fanciful tales, was written by Snorri Sturluson about the year 1200.
From these two great Icelandic books, and from scattered folklore and songs, we know today how the ancient Norsemen thought the world of their ancestors was created, how it flourished, and how it came to an end.
