LONG, long ago, before the earth was made,—and there was no sea and sky or night and day,—the vast, unending Land of Mist stretched away on one side of a bottomless gulf,[1] on the other side of which lay the Land of Fire. The Land of Mist was called Niflheim, and here eternal winter reigned with fog and snow and darkness that wrapped the dreary land about like a shroud. From the heart of Niflheim there flowed a dark, tumultuous river, and as it rushed down into the chasm at its edge, the waters met the cold blasts that swept up from below, and great mountains of ice were formed on the side of the gulf over which the chill fogs gathered and the bitter winds blew.

The never changing twilight which brooded over the gulf was sometimes illuminated by sparks that were blown over from the Land of Fire that lay just beyond. This place was called Muspelheim, and here the whole land glowed like a living furnace with flames that burned with the heat of a million suns. Sparks of fire flew up in great numbers into the clouds, and these, glowing like balls of fire, were thrown far and wide on the land. Some of the burning sparks floated northward toward the land of snows, and as they fell into the ice-filled gulf, they changed to clouds of steam which were soon congealed into hoar-frost. Then one day this great mass of frost, on which fresh sparks of fire still fell, was suddenly warmed into life, and out of ice and snow and fire and heat the great giant Ymir was made.

Now although Ymir was fashioned out of these strange elements and so never felt the cold, he was soon very hungry in his home of ice and snow, and there was no food to be found anywhere. For a long time the giant wandered over the frost-bound land, and then one day he came upon the gigantic cow Audhumbla, who stood among the ice-hills calmly chewing her cud. From her udders flowed four streams of milk, and this was more than enough to satisfy the giant’s hunger. He never strayed far from the wonderful cow, and one day, as he watched her licking salt from the blocks of ice, he was surprised to see a head suddenly appear through the melting ice. Audhumbla kept on licking with her strong, rough tongue, and soon the whole body of a man emerged. As this strange being stood before the eyes of the astonished Ymir, the giant was filled with fear and hatred, for he knew that from the mighty Iceman[2] would spring a new race that would soon make war upon the giants and destroy them.

This is, indeed, just what did happen later on, for from the children of the Iceman came the gods Odin, Vile and Ve, who began at once to make war upon Ymir and all his kindred. In the terrible battle that took place between the gods and giants, Ymir was killed; and from his body poured forth such a great river of blood that all of the giants were drowned in it except two. These were Bergelemer and his wife, who escaped on a chest that floated away to the edge of the world. From them sprang a new race of frost-giants who continued to make trouble for the gods just as their forefathers had done.

Then Odin[3] took the body of Ymir, and with the help of his brothers he fashioned from it the earth and the sea and the sky. From the great masses of flesh they formed the earth, and all around it they planted Ymir’s eyebrows to make a high fence as a protection against the frost-giants. His immense bones they shaped into hills, and out of his teeth they made the cliffs, while his thick hair they used for trees and bushes and grass. His blood supplied the boundless ocean, and his skull formed the arching sky in which the gods placed some of the sparks that floated out of Muspelheim. These they caught and set in the heavens and called them stars. The sky was held in place by four strong dwarfs who stood east and west and south and north with the great weight resting on their shoulders. All this work seemed good in the eyes of the gods, and they knew that everything as it left their hands would prosper if only the frost-giants would stay in JÖtunheim—their dreary, fog-wrapped country that lay beyond the ocean which now encircled the earth.

To the giantess Night, and her son, Day, the gods gave chariots and swift horses, so that they might drive through the sky every twenty-four hours. Night had a dark chariot drawn by the black horse Hrimfaxe (Frosty-mane), who rushed so swiftly through the heavens that drops fell from his sweating flanks and bit, and these became dew or hoar-frost as they lighted on the earth. Day drove a white horse which was called Skinfaxe (Shining-mane); and when the chariot of his dusky mother sank out of sight behind the hills, he harnessed his shining steed and followed in the same path she had chosen. Beside the chariots which belonged to Night and Day, the gods set two others in the heavens to light the newly made earth. From the flames that leaped forever out of the Land of Fire they made the sun and moon, and placed each one in a golden chariot so that they might be driven through the sky. The horses which drew the sun and moon were beautiful white creatures with shining golden manes. In order that the restive steeds of the sun should not be scorched by its fierce heat, the gods placed a great shield in front of the chariot to protect the animals’ flowing manes. The moon horses did not need anything to stand between them and its mild rays.

Then Odin chose Mani and Sol—the son and daughter of a giantess—to drive the chariots of the sun and moon; and the story goes that many, many years later, when there were people on the earth, Mani looked out of his golden chariot one night and saw two little children—a boy and a girl—carrying between them a heavy pail of water. These children were the servants of a cruel giant who made them work all night instead of sleeping; and Mani, feeling very sorry for them, and being rather lonely all by himself, put out a long arm and caught up the children from the earth. Then he set them beside him in the moon; and they have remained there with Mani ever since.

The frost-giants, who loved dreariness and gloom, were very angry when they saw how bright the world was with the light of the sun and moon; so they sent two fierce gray wolves to follow close upon the track of the bright chariots. Sometimes they came so near that their great black shadows dimmed the brightness of the sun, and sometimes they hung so close to the wheels of the moon-car that its light never reached the earth. The wolves never succeeded, however, in eating up the chariots, though their grim shapes often lingered threateningly in the sky.

When the gods had formed the earth—which they called Midgard—they chose the most beautiful spot they could find for their home. In the very centre of the earth rose a lofty mountain, and on the top of it was a broad, lovely meadow where the gods built their shining city of Asgard. In the midst of the city was a spacious hall, made of gold and the purest marble, and here were the thrones where the gods sat when in council.[4] Beyond the hall were the palaces of the gods[5A] and goddesses,[5B] also made of marble and silver or gold, and near by was a huge smithy where the gods forged the weapons needed to defend their city from their enemies the frost-giants.

From Asgard to Midgard the gods stretched a rainbow bridge which they called Bifrost; and over this they passed and repassed on their frequent journeys to the earth. There was no human being on the earth at this time, and the gods felt sorry that no eyes but their own could look upon the fruitful, blossoming land. No one ploughed the fields or built houses, or sailed in ships across the seas. No voices of children rang over the meadows; no sound of the reaper’s scythe broke the stillness of the fields; and no ringing of metal on the smith’s firm anvil was heard throughout the silent earth.

Then the gods took some of the earth-mould and made of it a host of tiny creatures which they called Dwarfs or Gnomes[6]; but when Odin saw how ugly they were, with their misshapen bodies and great heads, he condemned them to live underground and never to come up into the light of day. So the dwarfs spent their time delving into the heart of the earth for gold and silver and precious stones; and they became the cleverest workmen at their tiny forges, making wonderful things of every kind of metal. They were cunning, too, and kept their secrets well, so that neither gods nor men knew the hiding-place of their treasures.

Besides the dwarfs, the gods made the Fairies,—or Elves,—but these were so airily and daintily fashioned that they seemed to belong to the sky instead of the earth. So the gods built the fairy folk a home between Midgard and Asgard—a beautiful place called Elfland, all made of rainbow colours and moonbeams, and gossamer silks and delicate spiders’ webs. The gods also gave these little people gauzy wings so that they could fly down to earth and play with the butterflies, and make caps of harebells, and dance in the moonlight round a fairy ring. They were never wicked and spiteful like the Gnomes, though they sometimes liked to play good-natured tricks on stupid people; and fortunate indeed was the child or man who won a fairy for his friend.

One day Odin and Hoenir and Loki were walking about on the earth; and as they drew near to the seashore they saw two stately trees, an ash and an elm, standing side by side. Then Odin took the trees, and out of them he made two living beings that resembled the gods themselves in form and feature. Hoenir touched their foreheads, that they might have sight and wisdom, and Loki gave them warm blood, with the power to speak and hear and feel. Thus man and woman were created; and the gods called the man Ask, and the woman Embla, from the names of the trees from which they were made.