Rigsthula (“Rig’s List”), another mythological poem not present in the Codex Regius, tells of the sexual adventures of the god Heimdall (here called Rig), and how he fathered the different classes of human beings, a myth that was well-known enough to be cited in the opening lines of Voluspa (where humans are referred to as “all classes of men,/ you greater and lesser/ children of Heimdall”). Heimdall sleeps first between Ai and Edda, whose names mean “great-grandfather” and “great-grandmother,” respectively, and then in succession with Afi and Amma (“grandfather” and “grandmother”), and Father and Mother (the Old Norse words are virtually identical with the English: fathir and mothir). With the first couple he fathers the slaves or peasants, with the second he fathers the commoners, and with the third he fathers the nobility. The first man and woman of each class then have children of their own, many of them with obviously meaningful names, which I have rendered with an English equivalent where the meaning of the Old Norse name is clear. Finally, in the last haunting stanza of the (incomplete?) poem, the youngest child of the noble family, named King, is encouraged by a crow to wage war on his prosperous neighbors. The values that the elites of Norse society attributed to the three classes of society—low, middle, and high—are clear to be seen in this poem, one of the most sociologically transparent artifacts of its time.
Men say in old sagas that one of the Aesir, the god named Heimdall, went on a journey along a certain seashore, and soon he came to a farm, where he gave his name as Rig. This poem is about that story.
IT IS SAID THAT a wise god, Rig, powerful and aged, fierce and strong, walked upon green roads.
In the middle of the road he came walking. He came to a house, the door was open. He went in, a fire burned on the floor, and a gray-haired couple sat before it, named Ai and Edda; they were an aged pair.
Rig knew how to give them good counsel. He sat down between them, with the man and the woman on either side of him.
Then Edda took a swollen loaf of bread, heavy and thick, stuffed with grains, and she put that, and more, in the middle of the table. There was soup in a bowl, and boiled calf-meat was set on the table; that was the best of their delicacies.
Rig rose from his seat and was ready for sleep; he knew how to give them good counsel. He lay down in bed between them, with the man and the woman on either side of him.
He was there three nights in a row, then he went walking in the middle of the road, and nine months soon passed.
Edda had a child. They splashed him with water, wrapped him in dark clothes, and named him Slave.
Slave grew up and did well for himself. His hands had scabby skin, knobby knuckles, and fat fingers. His face was ugly, he had a bad back, and a long pair of heels on his feet.
Soon he got a chance to test his strength. He made rope, he made baskets, all day he carried firewood home.
Then a woman came wandering his way, with scars on her feet, and sunburnt arms. She had a hook nose, and her name was Slavewoman.
She sat down in the middle of the floor. And Slave sat down next to her. They spoke and they whispered, Slave and Slavewoman, they readied a bed after a hard day’s work.
They had children, they taught them and loved them. I think their sons were named Lumpy and Barn-cleaner, Noisy and Horsefly, Sleeper, Stinker, Midget, Fatboy, Slow and Gray-hair, Hunchback and Dangle-leg; they made fences, they planted fields, they raised pigs, they herded goats, they shoveled manure.
Their daughters were Shorty and Fatty, Fat-calf and Beak-nose, Shriek and Slavegirl, Gossip, Skinny-hips, and Bird-legs. All the families of slaves are descended from them.
Rig went on upon his way. He came to a hall, the door was open. He went inside, a fire burned on the floor. A couple sat there, busy with their work.
The man was busy with wood-carving. His beard was trimmed, his hair lay in locks on his forehead, his shirt was tailored, he owned a chest of drawers.
His wife sat and spun her spinning-wheel with her arms, she was weaving. She had a headdress, she wore a blouse, she had a lace choker, and jeweled brooches. Afi and Amma were their names.
Rig knew how to give them good counsel. He rose from the table, ready to sleep. He lay down in bed between them, with the man and the woman on either side of him.
He was there three nights in a row, and nine months soon passed.
Amma had a child. They splashed him with water and named him Freeman. His mother wrapped her red-haired, ruddy child in cloth; his eyes were keen.
He grew up, and did well for himself. He tamed oxen, he made a plow, he built houses and he built barns, he made wagons and drove a plow.
Then they brought him a housewife with her keys in goat-skin clothes, and married her to Freeman. She was named In-law, she wore the bridal veil. That couple lived together, they exchanged rings, they shared their sheets, and made a home.
They had children, they taught them and loved them. Their sons were Manful and Fighter, Brave, Swordsman, and Smith, Stout, Farmer, Trimbeard, Rancher and Husband, Sharp-Beard and Manly.
And they had daughters with these names: Smart, Bride, Swan, Lady, Dame, Girl, Noblewoman, Wife, Shy, and Vivacious. All the families of free farmers are descended from them.
Rig went on upon his way, he came to a hall, with the door facing south and standing open— there was a ring for knocking on the door.
He went in, and found the floor covered with straw. A husband and wife sat there and looked in one another’s eyes. They were named Father and Mother, they held one another’s hands.
The husband sat and strung his bow; he bent its shaft and made arrows for it. His wife inspected the sleeves of her blouse, stroked the wrinkles out, smoothed them out.
She adjusted her headdress, she had a jewel on her chest, a long dress, and a blue-colored blouse. Her face was more beautiful, her breast was more beautiful, her neck was more beautiful than pure snow.
Rig knew how to give them good counsel. He sat down between them, with the man and the woman on either side of him.
Then Mother brought out a fine white ornamental cloth and covered the table. She brought out thin-sliced bread made of white wheat and filled the table.
She set out full plates, and treasures of silverware on the table, loaded with meat and poultry. They drank wine from gemstone beakers, they drank and talked, till the day turned to night.
Rig knew how to give them good counsel. He rose from his seat and prepared the bed. He was there three nights in a row, then he went walking again in the middle of the road, and nine months soon passed.
Mother had a child, she swaddled him in silk, they sprinkled water over him, they named him Lord. His hair was blonde, his cheeks were bright, his eyes were as cruel and clear as vipers’.
They raised Lord there in their home; he learned to hold a shield, to string a bow, to bend a bow, to carve an arrow, to throw a spear, to cast a javelin, to ride a horse, to hunt with dogs, to draw a sword, to swim competitively.
Then Rig came walking to their farm, he taught Lord runes, gave him his own name, called him his son, told him to claim lands, to conquer lands, conquer old villages.
He rode then through the icy mountains of Mirkwood, till he came to a hall and shook his spear, shook his shield, set his horse to a gallop and drew his sword: he started a war, he reddened the fields with blood, he killed many men, he conquered lands.
He became sole owner of eighteen estates, he shared his wealth, he gave his men treasures upon treasures, and good horses. He gave away rings; he did not care to hoard them.
Then messengers came along well-prepared roads, they came to the hall where that chieftain lived. They presented the beautiful, soft-fingered, wise girl, whose name was Eagle.
They offered Lord the girl, took her to his home, married her to him, she wore the bridal veil. Then they lived together and loved one another, they increased their family and enjoyed their days.
Their oldest son was Boy and the next was Kid, then Offspring and Noble, Heir and Scion, Descendant and Successor, Son and Lad, another was Nobility, and the youngest was named King— they played together, they learned to swim, and play chess.
The sons of Lord grew up there, they broke horses, they made shields, they shot arrows, they made war.
But young King learned runes, runes of fate and runes of destiny, he learned spells to save lives and dull blades, to calm storms.
He learned the language of birds; he learned to put out fires, to calm sorrows and induce sleep, and give comfort in sorrow. He had the strength, the passion, of eight men.
Rig shared runes with him, but King tricked him, and learned them better than he, and then he earned the right to call himself by the name of Rig, for his rune-lore.
Young King rode with his arrows; he shot arrows, he killed birds.
Then a crow said to him, a crow sitting on a high branch: “Why do you kill birds, young king? It would be better to mount up on your horse, and kill men.
“I know two chieftains with rich halls, they live nearby, they have bigger inheritances than you have— they know how to steer ships, they know how to sharpen blades, they know how to kill men.”