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The Otter’s Ransom—A Norse Tale Of A Dragon And Cursed Gold

 

A certain tale from Norse mythology, which has come to be known as “The Otter’s Ransom,” has had a great deal of influence on writers of the fantasy genre. One such visionary who drew inspiration from the tale was J. R. R. Tolkien, the author of The Lord of the Rings trilogy. “The Otter’s Ransom” was featured in the 13th-century Saga of the Volsungs, a book about the Volsung family, with the most notable sections of the text being about Sigurd the dragon-slayer. Snorri Sturluson (c. 1179-1241), the greatest of the medieval Icelandic scholars, also recorded the tale in his own work, The Prose Edda.

“The Otter’s Ransom” centers around the family of a mysterious magician named Hreidmar. He was skilled in the use of magic and also possessed a powerful helmet, called the Helm of Dread or the Helm of Terror. Anyone whose eyes viewed that magical helm found themselves stunned with uncontrollable fear. Hreidmar had three sons, all of whom were extremely gifted in their own way. One son was named Regin. He was a master craftsman who could make useful items out of any material available and he was also an excellent jeweler with gold and silver. The second son was Otr, a shape shifter of great talent. In keeping with his name, he enjoyed transforming into an otter, a shape in which he excelled at fishing. A dutiful son, Otr would often eat alone while in the shape of an otter, but would always bring fish back for his father. The last son was Fafnir, a man of great stature and even greater strength. This was made even more deadly by his incredibly fierce nature. Hreidmar and his three talented sons lived together in a farmhouse, not far from a waterfall.

The nearby waterfall was called Andvari’s Fall, named after a dwarf that lived in that area. Like Otr, the dwarf, Andvari, was also a shape shifter, and he liked to spend his time transformed into the shape of a pike fish. Andvari’s Fall was Otr’s favorite fishing spot, and although he and the dwarf were competing for the same game, they seemed to coexist well.

One day, while the otter-shaped Otr was eating a freshly caught salmon on the bank of the river, the Norse deities, Odin, Loki and Hoenir wandered up to Andvari’s Fall. Loki was, himself, a masterful shape shifter, so he may have known that all was not as it seemed, yet he could not pass up the chance to obtain a luxurious otter pelt. Therefore, Loki picked up a hefty rock and, with a vicious throw, struck a killing blow across Otr’s head. In The Saga of the Volsungs, Loki immediately skinned the otter. Snorri Sturluson, however, wrote that the gods merely took the dead otter and salmon with them, whole, and continued on their journey.

The gods then wandered to the nearest house, which unfortunately happened to be the home of Hreidmar. The magician and his two remaining sons welcomed the deities into their home, but once they saw the remains of the otter, they flew into a rage. Using Hreidmar’s powerful magic and the skills of his living sons, the family impressively managed to detain the gods. The otter, if it had not been skinned earlier, was now skinned and the pelt was fashioned into a bag. As payment for the wrongful death, Hreidmar demanded that the gods fill the inside of the bag with gold, and, once that was done, to also heap enough gold around the outside of the bag so that no part of the pelt was left visible. The trapped Norse deities agreed to the payment and Odin sent Loki out to acquire the treasure.

Luckily for Loki, he knew where he could find a dwarf, a mythical creature that was known for hoarding treasures. With a net in hand, Loki traveled back to Andvari’s Fall, where he fished out the shape shifting dwarf. The god then offered to release Andvari for all of the dwarf’s wealth. Andvari, understandably, accepted the proposal and handed over an enormous quantity of treasure. Most notably, the dwarf gave Loki Andvaranaut (“Andvari’s Gift”), a remarkable gold ring. Before the god left, Andvari warned Loki that all of the gold was cursed, but the ring, especially, would bring about the death of whoever possessed it.

Not caring about the warning, Loki took the treasure and the ring back to Hreidmar’s farmhouse. Odin immediately took a liking to the gold ring and held onto it as the rest of the gold was placed in and around the otter skin. When the gods were done, the otter pelt was thoroughly covered in gold. Yet, when Hreidmar inspected the pile, he protested that a single whisker was still visible, sticking up through the treasure. Unfortunately for Hriedmar’s family, Odin admitted that the agreement had not been met, so he placed the cursed ring, Andvaranaut, over the whisker, covering the pelt completely. That done, Hreidmar recognized that the deal was fulfilled and let the gods go free. From that point on, gold received that nickname, “the otter’s ransom.” As the deities left, Loki mischievously repeated the dwarf’s warning, claiming that the possessor of the gold would meet with a violent end.

It did not take long for the ring’s dark power to take hold. Regin and Fafnir soon demanded that Hriedmar share the treasure. When the father refused his sons’ request, he was quickly murdered. The ring also drove a wedge between the brothers. Fafnir decided to keep all of the wealth for himself. After grabbing his father’s magical Helm of Dread, Fafnir stole the treasure and hid himself in a wilderness lair called Gnita-Heath. There, the cursed treasure transformed Fafnir into a monstrous serpent or dragon.

With no family or wealth, Regin went on to serve as an honored blacksmith to a king in Denmark. One day, the son of the Danish king brought back a widowed, pregnant, woman from the lands of the Volsungs. Not long after she arrived in Denmark, she gave birth to the legendary Sigurd, and Regin took him in as his foster son. After Sigurd had grown into a great warrior, Regin told him about the dragon, Fafnir, and the great hoard of treasure that he was guarding at Gnita-Heath. Using his incredible talents in craftsmanship, Regin forged a blade for Sigurd, called Gram. The sword was made from the shattered pieces of a blade given to the Volsung family long ago by Odin, himself. Regin put the broken pieces back together, and in Sigurd’s hands, the blade was sturdy and sharp enough to cut through an anvil without denting, bending or breaking the weapon.

Armed with his sword, Gram, Sigurd surprised Fafnir and stabbed the serpent through the belly. After the creature died, Sigurd cut out Fafnir’s heart and ate a piece of it, which gave him supernatural wisdom and the ability to understand the chattering of birds. After tasting the blood of Fafnir, Sigurd became suspicious of his foster-father, Regin, who had followed him to Gnita-Heath. Listening to the warnings of the birds, Sigurd slew Regin, killing the last remaining son of Hreidmar.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Sigurd and Fafnir, c. 1906, painted by Hermann Hendrich (–1931), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

  • The Saga of the Volsungs, by an anonymous 13th-century Icelander, translated by Jesse L. Byock. New York: Penguin Classics, 1990, 1999.
  • The Prose Edda, by Snorri Sturluson, translated by Jesse Byock. New York: Penguin Books, 2005.

Cassius Dio

 

Cassius Dio (c. 163-235)

“It is human beings, not wild beasts whom you govern, and you will only make them truly well disposed towards you if you can convince them by every means and on every occasion consistently that you will wrong no man, either deliberately or unwillingly.”

  • From Cassius Dio’s The Roman History (Book 55, chapter 19), translated by Ian Scott-Kilvert (Penguin Classics, 1987).

The Devil Has A Liking For Feathered Hats

 

Many people have a preconceived notion of the devil as a red beast with horns, or a hairy creature with a goat’s head. Some may even believe the devil looks like Voldemort from Harry Potter. While these are all fitting description of the prince of darkness, no description of the devil is as stylish and hip as the devil sighted in Baroque Germany. These depictions of the devil wearing the finest clothes and sporting the sharpest hats were prevalent in the late 16th century and early 17th century.

The devil’s appearance gained him the name “Federle” or “Federlin,” meaning “little feather,” as the lord of the fallen always wore a hat adorned with a feather. The following descriptions of the devil come from interrogations of accused witches documented in Lyndal Roper’s book, Witch Craze. The devil was a smooth talker, promising marriage and loyalty to the women he targeted, then demanding diabolical obedience after they were seduced. Common motifs in the accounts of the devil from this period included impersonation of love interests, the appearance of goat’s feet (after the devil revealed himself), having a cold ‘member,’ and last but not least, flatulence. Yet, the devil’s choice of clothing was the most consistent recurrence among the accounts.

If clothing makes the man, the devil was a man of substance. In 1586, Ursula Bayer told of her encounter with the devil wearing “black clothes, with a black satin hat, black feather on it….” Barbara Weis confessed in 1590 that the devil “came in the form of a craftsman, dressed in black clothes, a feather on his hat, and with a cloven foot.” The 1602 account from Barbara Herpolt claims the devil looked “like a servant man, a red face and a red beret, smooth trousers and stockings, a hat with black and white feathers….” In 1617, the devil added more color to his clothing. Margaret Schreyer, in her 1617 testimony, claimed that the devil appeared to her “in red clothes and a black hat.” The Würzburg trials added green to the devil’s wardrobe. The devil was described as “a beautiful young man with a black beard, red clothing, green stockings and black hat, with a red feather upon it.” Barbara Schluchter also claimed to have seen the devil in 1617, “he had a green tunic, a high hat and a feather.” Even men had to be wary of women in feathered hats. Conrad Schreyer, an accused male witch from Marchtal, claimed to have been seduced by the devil in the form of a black-clad woman wearing a hat with feathers. In total, the accounts from Lyndal Roper’s Witch Craze that were perused for this article contained five instances of the devil wearing black clothing, four instances of a black hat, two depictions of green clothing, two accounts of red clothing, and a unique occurrence of a red hat. The feather was always present, though its color and quantity varied.

So, next time you encounter a devilishly good-looking person wearing fine tailored clothing and a hat with a feather, beware, it may be the devil. The colors black, red and green are to be especially suspected.  Beware the Lucifer in Ralph Lauren and the dark prince in Prada.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

This article was originally published on April 7, 2016, but has been edited since that date.

Picture Attribution: (“The Devil as the Witch’s Lover,” woodcut c. 1490, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Source:

  • Lyndal Roper. Witch Craze: Terror and Fantasy in Baroque Germany. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2004.

Miyamoto Musashi

 

Miyamoto Musashi (c. 1584-1645)

“An elevated spirit is weak and a low spirit is weak. Do not let the enemy see your spirit.”

  • From Miyamoto Musashi’s The Book of Five Rings, (Lord Majesty Productions, 2005 edition).

In the Reign of Nero, Romans Rioted In An Attempt To Save The Lives Of Condemned Slaves

 

Between his descriptions of wars and imperial intrigues, the Roman historian, Tacitus (c. 56-117+), enjoyed filling his pages with various crimes that occurred within the Roman Empire. He stated several reasons why he recorded the crimes. For one, the accounts reinforced his idea that Rome had become corrupt and morally degraded in the time period in which he was writing about. On the other hand, he believed that seemingly trivial and insignificant events, such as criminal trials, could influence the direction of history, as a whole, and therefore were worth examining. It must also not be forgotten that Tacitus was one of the most accomplished orators of his day, so he must have known that the scandal and drama of great crime stories would be of great entertainment value to his readers.

While writing about events in the last decade of Emperor Nero’s life, Tacitus took some time to write about an interesting crime that involved murder and slavery. The event in question took place in Rome around the year 61 or 62, not long after Boudicca led her destructive, but ultimately unsuccessful, rebellion in Britain. The incident that occurred that year would ultimately rile up the masses and force Emperor Nero to take a side in a debate between law and morality.

According to Tacitus, a City Prefect named Lucius Pedanius Secundus owned a large household of slaves. This Pedanius, as Tacitus referred to him, somehow inspired the bitterest kind of hate in one of his many slaves. The historian mentioned two theories as to how this occurred. In the first account, Pedanius refused to let one of his slaves buy freedom, even though he had promised to release the slave for a predetermined price, which the slave had obtained. In the alternate version, Pedanius and the unnamed slave were both competing for the very same person’s affection and the slave was infuriated because he was losing the competition of courtship. Whatever the cause of the animosity, the slave eventually murdered Lucius Pedanius Secundus.

According to Roman law, not only the murderer, but also every single slave in Pedanius’ large household, would be held responsible for the crime. Therefore, all of Pedanius’ slaves (young and old, men and women) were condemned to execution. This verdict, sentencing to death many innocents, caused rioting to break out in the streets of Rome. The angry citizens were said to have had enough strength to besiege the senate-house, itself. Faced with the angry mob, the senators quickly began to debate whether the slaves should be shown mercy or if the ancient custom of execution should be upheld. When the senators ultimately decided in favor of upholding the executions, the rioters picked up stones or any other available weapons and put themselves between the slaves and the authorities.

With an armed conflict seemingly imminent in the streets, Emperor Nero sent out his troops to clear the roadways and to ensure that the executions were carried out. Caught up in the bloodlust, some of the more extreme senators also proposed that freed former slaves of Pedanius should also be expelled from Italy. Nero, however, rejected this second proposal.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Sources:

  • The Annals of Imperial Rome (Chapter 10) by Tacitus, translated by Michael Grant. New York: Penguin Classics, 1996.

Benjamin Franklin

 

Benjamin Franklin (c. 1706-1790)

“Laws too gentle are seldom obeyed; too severe, seldom executed.”

  • From Poor Richard’s Almanac by Benjamin Franklin (Seven Treasures Publications, 2008).

 

Seven Strange Character Names From The Ancient Philosopher And Theologian, Chuang Tzu

 

Get to the Point

The ancient Daoist philosopher, Chuang Tzu, was one of the most brilliantly witty thinkers of his day, and his work still is influential. He was one of the most important figures of early Daoism, with only Laozi, the founder that religion, consistently ranked above him. Chuang Tzu’s insight into the world we live in will leave a lasting impression on anyone who reads his work, but some particulars about his writing may cause a stray giggle here and there; the names of the characters in his stories can be very peculiar. This article uses the version of Chuang Tzu’s work translated by Burton Watson. Whether Chuang Tzu’s names are a result of the English translation, or a tool to convey meaning, is unclear, but the latter is the likeliest option. Here are seven of Chuang Tzu’s strangest names, starting with the most tame and ending with the most bizarre.

  1. Crippled Shu

The character, Crippled Shu, was introduced by Chuang Tzu to help explain one of the Daoist themes: the use of the useless. Therefore, Crippled Shu was written to be completely and utterly useless by normal standards. Chuang Tzu wrote: “There’s Crippled Shu—chin stuck down in his navel, shoulders up above his head, pigtail pointing at the sky, his five organs on the top, his two thighs pressing his ribs” (Watson 62). The moral of Shu’s story is that his abundance of deformity is what makes him truly lucky. Chuang Tzu believed that the most important thing a man could do was to live all the years of life that heaven provided. By being crippled, Shu was never drafted into military service and never was expected to contribute to dangerous construction projects. By being himself, Crippled Shu could fulfill his highest duty: survival, for which Chuang Tzu would claim him to be virtuous.

  1. Woman Crookback

Woman Crookback was one of many characters that attempted to explain “The Way” of Daoism. She was able to teach “the Way of the sage” to an acquaintance who had “the talent of a sage.” After learning the Way of the sage, Woman Crookback’s acquaintance, Pu-liang Yi, was able to separate himself from objects, the world, past and present, life and death, and finally contemplate the Dao’s singularity (Watson 79).

  1. Shu-Shan No-Toes

No-Toes was another character that illustrated a path to the Way of Daoism. Commenting on his name, No-toes stated: “I just didn’t understand my duty and was too careless with my body, and so I lost a foot. But I’ve come now because I still have something that is worth more than a foot and I want to try to hold on to it. There is nothing that heaven doesn’t cover, nothing that earth doesn’t bear up” (Watson 67). In the story of Shu-Shan No-Toes, Chuang Tzu reinforced the Daoist idea of the Dao being an all-encompassing singularity. Before he concluded the story, he took a small jab at his rival, Confucius. No-Toes’ friend commented, “Confucius certainly hasn’t reached the stage of a perfect man, has he” (Watson 68).

  1. Uncle Lame-Gait

Chuang Tzu used this character to express his view of the harmony between life and death. During his travels around China, Uncle Lame-Gait made a stop to view the resting place of the Yellow Emperor. All of a sudden, a willow tree began to grow from his elbow. Instead of complaining and mourning over the event, Uncle Lame-Gait simply accepted the situation, realizing when a person has withdrawn all of the years allotted to them by heaven, then death becomes the equal of life.

  1. Uncle Lack-Limb

Uncle Lack-Limb was the traveling companion of Uncle Lame-Gait when the tree-from-elbow event occurred. “Do you resent it,” asked Uncle Lack-Limb, to which Uncle Lame-Gait responded, “Life and death are day and night. You and I came to watch the process of change, and now change has caught up with me. Why would I have anything to resent” (Watson 114).

  1. Mr. Pitcher-Sized-Wen

This character’s story is one of the many examples used by Chuang Tzu to define virtue as the simple act of being yourself. Even if you are shaped like a pitcher, as is Mr. Pitcher-Sized-Wen, the virtue of being yourself to the fullest would garner you enormous respect. Chuang Tzu wrote, “Mr. Pitcher-Sized-Wen talked to Duke Huan of Ch’i, and Duke Huan was so pleased with him that when he looked at normal men, he thought their necks looked too lean and skinny. Therefore, if virtue is preeminent, the body will be forgotten” (Watson 71).

 

  1. Mr. Lame-Hunchback-No-Lips

Mr. Lame-Hunchback-No-Lips was another abnormal-looking man who appeared before Duke Huan of Ch’i. Again, as with Pitcher-Sized Wen, the duke was so impressed by the man that he began to think other people should look more like Lame-Hunchback-No-Lips. The stories of Mr. Lame-Hunchback-No-Lips and Mr. Pitcher-Sized Wen both support Chuang Tzu’s theme that virtue is being yourself. These unfortunately-shaped men can still be perceived as virtuous and be respected by their duke. Chuang Tzu explains why Mr. Lame-Hunchback-No-Lips should feel perfectly at ease with being himself: “The Way gave him a face; Heaven gave him a form. He doesn’t let likes or dislikes get in and do him harm…. Heaven picked out a body for you” (Watson 72).

 

Do Names Matter?

Are these long and hyphenated names the result of translating old Chinese into modern English, or is this style of naming actually what Chuang Tzu intended in his original writings. It is very likely that the names of these characters were meant to trigger a clear mental image of what these people would look like. Chuang Tzu quickly provides the reader with all of the information that is needed to understand the character in one hyphenated name. Perhaps, Chuang Tzu’s rationale behind his peculiar style of naming can be found in this statement from his work: “Words exist because of meaning; once you’ve gotten the meaning, you can forget the words. Where can I find a man who has forgotten words so I can have a word with him” (Watson 140). The names of these characters do not matter, only the teachings their stories convey.

Written by C. Keith Hansley (originally published May 4, 2016, but it has been edited and reformatted since then).

Picture Attribution: (7 sages of the bamboo grove Wittig collection painting 16, c. prior to the 19th century, [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

  • Chuang Tzu. Basic Writings, translated by Burton Watson. New York: Columbia University Press, 1964.

Thucydides

 

Thucydides (c. 460-400 BCE)

“To pay back a just debt by acting unjustly is more disgraceful than not to pay at all.”

  • History of the Peloponnesian War (Book III, chapter 63) by Thucydides, translated by Rex Warner (Penguin Classics, 1972). The quote comes from a speech that Thucydides wrote while in the character of a Theban diplomat.

The Bizarre Tale Of A Goblin That Gave Away Free Drinks In The Reign Of Charlemagne

 

In the 9th century, two major biographies were written about the reign of Charlemagne, who became king in 768 and died in 814. Einhard, an intellectual from Charlemagne’s court, wrote the earliest biography about the great king, completing it sometime during the 820s. For the time in which it was written, Einhard’s text was remarkably secular, focusing on the actions and demeanor of Charlemagne rather than the state of Christendom in Charlemagne’s empire.

Several decades later, in the 880s, a monk named Notker the Stammerer decided to publish his own commentary about the great king’s reign and strove to give the church a more significant position in his account of Charlemagne’s life. In fact, nearly the entire first book of Notker’s Deeds of Charlemagne consisted of compiled odd tales that occurred between the great king and his local bishops. These bizarre stories, told to Notker by a certain cleric named Werinbert, were unfortunately often left devoid of names and dates, so it is difficult to assign any historical validity to Notker’s first book. Nevertheless, the strange tales are immensely entertaining and can give a window of insight into what some 9th-century people believed.

One of Notker’s many stories took place somewhere in France that was suffering from a drought. In that region, there was a greedy bishop (name left anonymous) who used the opportunity to make money. The bishop opened up his warehouse to provide provisions for the hungry and thirsty, but charged unfair prices for his products. The greed of the bishop and the desperation of the townspeople apparently caught the attention of a supernatural being. According to Notker, a goblin or a mischievous demon entered the area to tempt the bishop’s neglected flock.

The goblin made its rounds through the town, breaking into homes and workshops to play with peoples’ belongings. In particular, the creature apparently had a fondness for the shops of the town’s blacksmiths, where it could spend the nights noisily drumming upon the anvils with hammers. As sightings of the goblin became more numerous, word spread around town that the creature could be banished by simply making the sign of the cross. One day, a certain haunted homeowner decided to try this method to banish the goblin from his home, but, before the sign could be completed, the creature made an interesting counter-offer. The goblin promised that, if he was allowed to stay, he would fill whatever container was left to him (no matter the size) with an alcoholic beverage on a nightly basis. The offer was especially tempting because of the drought that was plaguing the town. Therefore, the homeowner agreed to the proposal and handed over to the goblin the largest tankard or flask that he possessed.

As the goblin had promised, each morning the tankard was filled with wine. For several days this went on—while the rest of the town paid outrageous prices to the bishop for supplies, the unnamed homeowner received free wine from the goblin. Nevertheless, all good things must end. After an unknown amount of time, the tankard disappeared and the goblin was nowhere to be seen. That same day, the bishop announced that he had caught a demon in his wine cellar. According to Notker, the bishop had discovered that a barrel of wine from his cellar had been cracked open and spilled on the floor each night. After the thefts kept occurring, the bishop eventually suspected that a foul spirit was the culprit. With this in mind, the bishop made a trap by sprinkling holy water on the floor of the wine cellar. In the end, the unsuspecting goblin somehow found himself trapped in the bishop’s cellar and was apprehended by the local authorities the next morning.

According to Notker, the so-called goblin or demon looked fairly human when it was caught, albeit a bit hairy. Interestingly enough, the supernatural being was apparently flogged for its crime of thievery. In a wholesome scene at the end of the story, when the goblin was being led away for punishment, he expressed sadness and remorse for losing the tankard that was left to him by the homeowner, whom the goblin considered to be a friend.

Written by C. Keith Hansley.

Picture Attribution: (Scene from the legend of St Benedict, painted by Spinello Aretino (1350–1410), [Public Domain] via Creative Commons).

Sources:

  • Two Lives of Charlemagne, by Einhard and Notker the Stammer, translated by David Ganz. New York: Penguin Classics, 2008.

Aristotle

 

Aristotle (384-322 BCE)

“Virtue is a purposive disposition, lying in a mean that is relative to us and determined by a rational principle, and by that which a prudent man would use to determine it. It is a mean between two kinds of vice, one of excess and the other of deficiency.”

  • From The Nicomachean Ethics (Bekker page 1107a) by Aristotle, translated by J. A. K. Thomson (Penguin Classics, 2004).