The Mead of Poetry

Long ago there lived a man named Kvasir. He was so wise that nobody could ask him a question he could not answer, and he spoke so beautifully that his words flowed from his lips like music from a harp. Kvasir was the very first poet, the first of the wise song-makers whom the people of the North called skalds.

Kvasir came by his gifts in a wonderful way. He was made by the two great races of gods, the Æsir and the Vanir, when they agreed to stop fighting, as a sign of the peace that would always be between them.

Kvasir travelled up and down the world, sharing his wisdom with people. Wherever he went he brought smiles, happiness and comfort, because his wisdom helped him find out what was troubling folk, and his songs helped heal their troubles. Brown presents poetry as a source of comfort. In the myth’s language, every skald has a drop of Kvasir’s blood in him, and this is the story of how Kvasir’s gift came to stay in the world.

There were two wicked dwarfs called Fjalar and Galar. They were jealous of Kvasir and the power his words had over people’s hearts, and they plotted to get rid of him. One day they invited him to dinner. While he was there, they begged him to step aside with them, because they had a very secret question that only he could answer. Kvasir never refused to help anyone with his wisdom, so he went along with them, suspecting nothing.

The sly pair led him into a lonely corner, and there they killed him. Their cunning told them that his blood must be precious, so they caught it in three huge kettles and mixed it with honey to make a magic mead. And magic it truly was. Anyone who tasted it was filled with Kvasir’s spirit at once, so that wisdom came into his heart and the sweetest poetry poured from his lips. That is how the wicked dwarfs came to own a marvellous treasure.

When the gods no longer heard Kvasir’s silvery voice ringing up from the world below, they were worried, for they loved him dearly. They asked what had become of him, and in the end the crafty dwarfs told them that the good poet had choked on his own wisdom, because nobody was clever enough to ask him all the questions he could answer. But Father Odin, who had drunk from Mimir’s well of wisdom, knew this was a lie, and he kept a watchful eye on the dark doings of Fjalar and Galar.

Not long afterward, the dwarfs did another wicked thing. They invited the giant Gilling to row out to sea with them. When they were far from the shore, they tipped the boat over, and the giant, who could not swim, was drowned. The dwarfs rowed back to land and told the giant’s wife about the “accident.”

The poor giantess was heartbroken. She howled and wailed so loudly that it nearly deafened the world, for her grief was as big as she was. Her sobbing annoyed the hard-hearted dwarfs. So Fjalar pretended to be sorry for her and offered to show her the place where her husband had been seen for the last time. As she went out through the gateway, the other dwarf, at a sign from his brother, dropped a great millstone on her. So the poor giantess’s sorrow, which had troubled the dwarfs so much, was silenced for good. Their actions showed how little they cared for the suffering they caused.

But they were going to be punished. Suttung, the huge son of Gilling, found out what had happened to his parents. In a terrible rage he came roaring to the dwarfs’ home, grabbed one of them in each enormous fist, and waded far out to sea. There he set the miserable little fellows down on a rock that would be covered by water when the tide came in.

“Stay there,” he shouted, “and drown the way my father drowned!”

The dwarfs screamed for mercy so loudly that he had to listen.

“Just let us go, Suttung,” they begged, “and you shall have the precious mead made from Kvasir’s blood!”

Suttung wanted that mead very much, so in the end he agreed. He carried them back to land, and they handed over the kettles where they had brewed the magic drink. Suttung took them away to his cave deep inside a mountain and put his lovely daughter Gunnlod in charge of them. Day and night she sat beside the precious kettles to make sure nobody came to steal or taste the mead, for Suttung thought of it as his greatest treasure, and no wonder.

From his high seat above the heavens, Father Odin had seen all of this happen, and his eye had followed the wonderful mead wherever it went, because he longed to taste it. Odin had wisdom, for he had drunk from the bottom of Mimir’s magic well, but he did not have the gift of beautiful speech that comes from drinking Kvasir’s blood. He wanted the mead for himself and for his children in Asgard, and he regarded the giants as enemies and wanted to take the treasure from them. So he decided to see whether he could win it by some clever trick.

One day Odin put on his favorite disguise, that of a wandering old man, and set off for the land of the giants, where Suttung lived. After a while he came to a field where nine workmen were cutting hay. Odin knew that they were the servants of Baugi, Suttung’s brother. He walked up and watched them for a little while.

“Ho!” he called out at last. “Your scythes are blunt. Shall I sharpen them for you?”

The men were glad to accept, so Odin took a whetstone out of his pocket and sharpened every scythe until it was wonderfully keen. Then each of the men wanted to buy the stone for himself, and they began to argue over it. To make things more exciting, Odin tossed the whetstone into the middle of them.

“Whoever catches it can keep it!” he said.

Then there was real trouble. The men fought over the stone, swinging their sharp scythes this way and that, and when the fight was over not one of them was left standing. Odin hurried away and went up to Baugi’s house. Soon Baugi came home, complaining bitterly that his quarrelsome workmen were all gone, and now he had nobody to do his work.

“What am I going to do?” he cried. “It’s haymaking time, and I don’t have a single man to help me in the fields!”

Then Odin spoke up. “I’ll help you,” he said. “I’m a strong fellow, and I can do the work of nine men, if you pay me the price I ask.”

“And what price is that?” asked Baugi eagerly. He could see that this stranger was a mighty man, and he thought he might really be able to do what he boasted.

“I ask that you get me a drink of Suttung’s mead,” Odin answered.

Baugi gave him a sharp look. “You must be one of the gods,” he said, “or you wouldn’t know about the precious mead. So I know you can do my work, the work of nine men. I can’t give you the mead myself. It belongs to my brother, and he guards it jealously, because he wants it all for himself. But if you work for me all summer, then when winter comes I’ll go with you to Suttung’s home and see what I can do to get you a drink.”

So they made the bargain, and all summer long Father Odin worked in Baugi’s fields, doing the work of nine men. When winter came, he asked for his pay. So the two of them set off for Suttung’s home, a cave deep down inside a mountain, which seems a good place to hide one’s treasures.

First Baugi went to his brother. He told Suttung about his bargain with the stranger and begged for a little of the magic mead to pay the strong worker who had done the work of nine. But Suttung would not spare even a taste.

“This worker of yours is one of the gods, our enemies,” he said. “I certainly won’t give him any of the precious mead. Whatever are you thinking of, brother?” And he talked to Baugi until the giant was ready to forget his promise and wished only to be rid of the stranger who had helped him.

Baugi went back to Odin and told him that Suttung would not give the mead willingly.

“Then we must get it without his permission,” said Odin. “We must use our wits and take it right from under his nose. You must help me, Baugi, for you promised.”

Baugi agreed. But secretly he meant to lead Odin into a trap. Odin took a long drill out of his pocket, the kind used for boring holes.

“Look,” he said. “You can drill a hole through the roof of Suttung’s cave, and when it is big enough, I will crawl through and get the mead.”

“Very well,” said Baugi with a nod, and he began to drill into the mountain with all his strength. After a while he cried, “There, it’s done! The mountain is drilled right through!”

But when Odin blew into the hole to see whether it really reached the cave, the dust from the drilling blew back into his face. So he knew that Baugi was trying to trick him, and from then on he was on his guard, which was lucky for him.

“Try a second time,” said Odin sternly. “Drill a little deeper, friend Baugi.”

So Baugi set to work one more time. This time, when he said the hole was finished, he was telling the truth, for when Odin blew into it, the dust blew through and vanished into the cave. Now Odin was ready for the plan he had been making.

Odin’s wisdom had taught him many tricks, and one of them was how to change himself into any creature he liked. He turned himself into a long, thin, wriggly worm, just small enough to fit into the hole Baugi had made. In a flash he poked his head into the opening and was wriggling out of sight before Baugi had even guessed what he was up to. Baugi lunged forward and jabbed at him with the sharp drill, but he was too late. The worm’s striped tail flicked into the hole and disappeared, and Baugi’s wicked plan came to nothing.

When Odin had crept all the way through, he found himself in a dark, damp cavern where at first he could see nothing at all. He changed back into his own noble shape and began to search for the kettles of magic mead. Soon he came to a little room hidden in a secret corner of the secret cave. Its door was locked, barred and bolted on the inside, so that no one could get in that way. Suttung had never imagined that a stranger might come in through a hole in the roof!

At the back of the tiny room, three kettles stood on the floor. Beside them sat a beautiful maiden, fast asleep, with her head resting on her arm. It was Gunnlod, Suttung’s daughter, who guarded the mead. Odin tiptoed over to her and gently kissed her forehead.

Gunnlod woke with a start. At first she was horrified to find a stranger in a cave where no stranger could possibly get in. But when she saw Odin’s handsome face and the kindness in his eye, she was no longer afraid. In fact, she was glad he had come, for she was often lonely in that gloomy underground home, where her father kept her shut up day and night to watch over the three kettles.

“Dear maiden,” said Odin, “I have travelled a long, long way to see you. Won’t you let me stay a little while?”

Gunnlod looked at him kindly. “Who are you,” she asked, “and where have you come from, so far away, to see me?”

“I am Odin, from Asgard. The road was long, and I am thirsty. May I taste the drink you have there?”

Gunnlod hesitated. “My father told me never to let anyone taste the mead,” she said. “But I feel sorry for you, poor fellow. You look so tired and thirsty. You may have one little sip.”

Odin thanked her, and he stayed and talked with her so pleasantly that before he was ready to leave, she had granted him what he asked for: three drinks of the mead, only three.

Then Odin picked up the first kettle and drained the whole thing in one gulp. He did the same with the second, and with the third, until before she knew it, Gunnlod was guarding three empty kettles. Odin had what he came for, and it was time to go before Suttung came looking for him in the cave. He kissed fair Gunnlod goodbye and sighed to think he had treated her so unfairly. Then he changed himself into an eagle and flew away to carry the precious mead home to Asgard.

Meanwhile, Baugi had told Suttung how Odin, in the shape of a worm, had got into his treasure cave. Suttung was keeping watch, and when he saw a great eagle fly out of the mountain, he guessed at once who it must be. So Suttung put on eagle feathers too, and a tremendous chase began.

Whirr, whirr! The two enormous birds beat their way toward Asgard, with Suttung right on Odin’s tail. As they flew over the mountains, the world grew dark beneath them, as if heavy storm clouds were passing, and the wind from their wings made the trees sway and bend nearly to the ground.

It was a close race, but Odin was the faster of the two. At last he reached Asgard with the mead safe, and the gods were waiting with huge dishes to catch it from his beak. But Suttung was so close behind that he bumped into Odin just as he was filling the last dish, and some of the mead splashed out and scattered far and wide over the world. People came running from near and far to taste those spilled drops. Many of them got just enough to make them dizzy, but not enough to make them wise. They are the poor poets, the makers of bad rhymes, who are still around today, quite happy with their stolen little share of the sacred drink.

The mead Odin had won, he gave to the gods as a wonderful gift, and they treasured it above everything they owned. It was put into the care of old white-bearded Bragi, because his taste of the magic mead had made him wiser and more eloquent than anyone else. He was the sweetest singer among the gods, and every word he spoke was poetry. Every now and then, Bragi gave a drink of Kvasir’s mead to some lucky human being, and that person became a great poet too. But he did it very rarely, perhaps one or two times in an old man’s life, for the mead has to last a very long time, right up until the end of the world. After all, a world without its poets would be too dreadful a place to imagine.

About this story

This myth is retold from In the Days of Giants (1902) by Abbie Farwell Brown, who based her Norse tales on the old Icelandic Eddas. Brown called her chapter “Kvasir’s Blood.” An earlier account appears in Snorri Sturluson’s Prose Edda, where the mead provides language for describing poetry. Brown’s version is a later literary retelling, not a direct translation of that work.

Brown spells the names Fialar and Gunnlöd. In Snorri’s version, Suttung’s mountain is called Hnitbjorg. Some details here are a little different from Brown: the dwarfs’ story about Kvasir choking on his wisdom comes from Snorri, and several of the darker moments, such as the fight among Baugi’s workmen, are told very briefly.

Read the original: Abbie Farwell Brown, In the Days of Giants (Project Gutenberg #44622)

For older readers: includes murder, blood collected for a drink, drowning, a woman crushed by a millstone and workers killing one another.

Each transfer leaves someone behind

Kvasir begins by sharing wisdom freely. After his murder, the mead moves through threats, bargaining and theft. Suttung obtains it after losing his parents; Odin obtains it after provoking the workers’ fatal quarrel and deceiving Gunnlod about the size of his drinks. Calling the mead precious does not make every means of acquiring it admirable.

The final distribution contrasts sharply with Kvasir’s original generosity: Brown’s Bragi gives rare favours to selected people. Her comic distinction between great and poor poets is a mythical explanation of talent, not a judgment of real writers or a reason to dismiss practice.

Draw the ownership chain

Connect Kvasir, the dwarfs, Suttung, Gunnlod and Odin with arrows. Label each arrow with the action that transfers control, and write the cost beneath it. Which characters share willingly, and whose agreement is manipulated?

Talk about it

• Why did the dwarfs want to get rid of Kvasir?
• How did Odin find out that Baugi was trying to trick him?
• Was it fair of Odin to take all the mead from Gunnlod? Why or why not?

Related stories

• Odin’s Quest for Wisdom — how Odin paid for his first drink of wisdom
• The Theft of Thor’s Hammer (Thrymskvida) — another Norse myth where a god tricks the giants in disguise
• Freya’s Necklace: The Brisingamen — a goddess meets some crafty dwarfs