they　〃stifle　him　under　roses。〃　　It　has　always　seemed　to　me　extremely　curious　this　of　Voltaire。　　Truly；　if　Christianity　be　the　highest　instance　of　Hero…worship；　then　we　may　find　here　in　Voltaireism　one　of　the　lowest！　　He　whose　life　was　that　of　a　kind　of　Antichrist；　does　again　on　this　side　exhibit　a　curious　contrast。　　No　people　ever　were　so　little　prone　to　admire　at　all　as　those　French　of　Voltaire。　_Persiflage_　was　the　character　of　their　whole　mind；　adoration　had　nowhere　a　place　in　it。　　Yet　see！　　The　old　man　of　Ferney　comes　up　to　Paris；　an　old；　tottering；　infirm　man　of　eighty…four　years。　　They　feel　that　he　too　is　a　kind　of　Hero；　that　he　has　spent　his　life　in　opposing　error　and　injustice；　delivering　Calases；　unmasking　hypocrites　in　high　places；in　short　that　_he_　too；　though　in　a　strange　way；　has　fought　like　a　valiant　man。　　They　feel　withal　that；　if　_persiflage_　be　the　great　thing；　there　never　was　such　a　_persifleur_。　　He　is　the　realized　ideal　of　every　one　of　them；　the　thing　they　are　all　wanting　to　be；　of　all　Frenchmen　the　most　French。　　He　is　properly　their　god；such　god　as　they　are　fit　for。　　Accordingly　all　persons；　from　the　Queen　Antoinette　to　the　Douanier　at　the　Porte　St。　Denis；　do　they　not　worship　him？　　People　of　quality　disguise　themselves　as　tavern…waiters。　　The　Maitre　de　Poste；　with　a　broad　oath；　orders　his　Postilion；　〃_Va　bon　train_；　thou　art　driving　M。　de　Voltaire。〃　　At　Paris　his　carriage　is　〃the　nucleus　of　a　comet；　whose　train　fills　whole　streets。〃　　The　ladies　pluck　a　hair　or　two　from　his　fur；　to　keep　it　as　a　sacred　relic。　There　was　nothing　highest；　beautifulest；　noblest　in　all　France；　that　did　not　feel　this　man　to　be　higher；　beautifuler；　nobler。
  Yes；　from　Norse　Odin　to　English　Samuel　Johnson；　from　the　divine　Founder　of　Christianity　to　the　withered　Pontiff　of　Encyclopedism；　in　all　times　and　places；　the　Hero　has　been　worshipped。　　It　will　ever　be　so。　　We　all　love　great　men；　love；　venerate　and　bow　down　submissive　before　great　men：　　nay　can　we　honestly　bow　down　to　anything　else？　　Ah；　does　not　every　true　man　feel　that　he　is　himself　made　higher　by　doing　reverence　to　what　is　really　above　him？　　No　nobler　or　more　blessed　feeling　dwells　in　man's　heart。　　And　to　me　it　is　very　cheering　to　consider　that　no　sceptical　logic；　or　general　triviality；　insincerity　and　aridity　of　any　Time　and　its　influences　can　destroy　this　noble　inborn　loyalty　and　worship　that　is　in　man。　　In　times　of　unbelief；　which　soon　have　to　become　times　of　revolution；　much　down…rushing；　sorrowful　decay　and　ruin　is　visible　to　everybody。　　For　myself　in　these　days；　I　seem　to　see　in　this　indestructibility　of　Hero…worship　the　everlasting　adamant　lower　than　which　the　confused　wreck　of　revolutionary　things　cannot　fall。　　The　confused　wreck　of　things　crumbling　and　even　crashing　and　tumbling　all　round　us　in　these　revolutionary　ages；　will　get　down　so　far；　_no_　farther。　　It　is　an　eternal　corner…stone；　from　which　they　can　begin　to　build　themselves　up　again。　That　man；　in　some　sense　or　other；　worships　Heroes；　that　we　all　of　us　reverence　and　must　ever　reverence　Great　Men：　　this　is；　to　me；　the　living　rock　amid　all　rushings…down　whatsoever；the　one　fixed　point　in　modern　revolutionary　history；　otherwise　as　if　bottomless　and　shoreless。
  So　much　of　truth；　only　under　an　ancient　obsolete　vesture；　but　the　spirit　of　it　still　true；　do　I　find　in　the　Paganism　of　old　nations。　　Nature　is　still　divine；　the　revelation　of　the　workings　of　God；　the　Hero　is　still　worshipable：　　this；　under　poor　cramped　incipient　forms；　is　what　all　Pagan　religions　have　struggled；　as　they　could；　to　set　forth。　　I　think　Scandinavian　Paganism；　to　us　here；　is　more　interesting　than　any　other。　　It　is；　for　one　thing；　the　latest；　it　continued　in　these　regions　of　Europe　till　the　eleventh　century：　　eight　hundred　years　ago　the　Norwegians　were　still　worshippers　of　Odin。　　It　is　interesting　also　as　the　creed　of　our　fathers；　the　men　whose　blood　still　runs　in　our　veins；　whom　doubtless　we　still　resemble　in　so　many　ways。　　Strange：　　they　did　believe　that；　while　we　believe　so　differently。　　Let　us　look　a　little　at　this　poor　Norse　creed；　for　many　reasons。　　We　have　tolerable　means　to　do　it；　for　there　is　another　point　of　interest　in　these　Scandinavian　mythologies：　　that　they　have　been　preserved　so　well。
  In　that　strange　island　Iceland；burst　up；　the　geologists　say；　by　fire　from　the　bottom　of　the　sea；　a　wild　land　of　barrenness　and　lava；　swallowed　many　months　of　every　year　in　black　tempests；　yet　with　a　wild　gleaming　beauty　in　summertime；　towering　up　there；　stern　and　grim；　in　the　North　Ocean　with　its　snow　jokuls；　roaring　geysers；　sulphur…pools　and　horrid　volcanic　chasms；　like　the　waste　chaotic　battle…field　of　Frost　and　Fire；where　of　all　places　we　least　looked　for　Literature　or　written　memorials；　the　record　of　these　things　was　written　down。　　On　the　seabord　of　this　wild　land　is　a　rim　of　grassy　country；　where　cattle　can　subsist；　and　men　by　means　of　them　and　of　what　the　sea　yields；　and　it　seems　they　were　poetic　men　these；　men　who　had　deep　thoughts　in　them；　and　uttered　musically　their　thoughts。　　Much　would　be　lost；　had　Iceland　not　been　burst　up　from　the　sea；　not　been　discovered　by　the　Northmen！　　The　old　Norse　Poets　were　many　of　them　natives　of　Iceland。
  Saemund；　one　of　the　early　Christian　Priests　there；　who　perhaps　had　a　lingering　fondness　for　Paganism；　collected　certain　of　their　old　Pagan　songs；　just　about　becoming　obsolete　then；Poems　or　Chants　of　a　mythic；　prophetic；　mostly　all　of　a　religious　character：　　that　is　what　Norse　critics　call　the　_Elder_　or　Poetic　_Edda_。　　_Edda_；　a　word　of　uncertain　etymology；　is　thought　to　signify　_Ancestress_。　　Snorro　Sturleson；　an　Iceland　gentleman；　an　extremely　notable　personage；　educated　by　this　Saemund's　grandson；　took　in　hand　next；　near　a　century　afterwards；　to　put　together；　among　several　other　books　he　wrote；　a　kind　of　Prose　Synopsis　of　the　whole　Mythology；　elucidated　by　new　fragments　of　traditionary　verse。　　A　work　constructed　really　with　great　ingenuity；　native　talent；　what　one　might　call　unconscious　art；　altogether　a　perspicuous　clear　work；　pleasant　reading　still：　　this　is　the　_Younger_　or　Prose　_Edda_。　　By　these　and　the　numerous　other　_Sagas_；　mostly　Icelandic；　with　the　commentaries；　Icelandic　or　not；　which　go　on　zealously　in　the　North　to　this　day；　it　is　possible　to　gain　some　direct　insight　even　yet；　and　see　that　old　Norse　system　of　Belief；　as　it　were；　face　to　face。　　Let　us　forget　that　it　is　erroneous　Religion；　let　us　look　at　it　as　old　Thought；　and　try　if　we　cannot　sympathize　with　it　somewhat。
  The　primary　characteristic　of　this　old　Northland　Mythology　I　find　to　be　Impersonation　of　the　visible　workings　of　Nature。　　Earnest　simple　recognition　of　the　workings　of　Physical　Nature；　as　a　thing　wholly　miraculous；　stupendous　and　divine。　　What　we　now　lecture　of　as　Science；　they　wondered　at；　and　fell　down　in　awe　before；　as　Religion　The　dark　hostile　Powers　of　Nature　they　figure　to　themselves　as　〃_Jotuns_；〃　Giants；　huge　shaggy　beings　of　a　demonic　character。　　Frost；　Fire；　Sea…tempest；　these　are　Jotuns。　　The　friendly　Powers　again；　as　Summer…heat；　the　Sun；　are　Gods。　　The　empire　of　this　Universe　is　divided　between　these　two；　they　dwell　apart；　in　perennial　internecine　feud。　　The　Gods　dwell　above　in　Asgard；　the　Garden　of　the　Asen；　or　Divinities；　Jotunheim；　a　distant　dark　chaotic　land；　is　the　home　of　the　Jotuns。
  Curious　all　this；　and　not　idle　or　inane；　if　we　will　look　at　the　foundation　of　it！　　The　power　of　_Fire_；　or　_Flame_；　for　instance；　which　we　designate　by　some　trivial　chemical　name；　thereby　hiding　from　ourselves　the　essential　character　of　wonder　that　dwells　in　it　as　in　all　things；　is　with　these　old　Northmen；　Loke；　a　most　swift　subtle　_Demon_；　of　the　brood　of　the　Jotuns。　The　savages　of　the　Ladrones　Islands　too　（say　some　Spanish　voyagers）　thought　Fire；　which　they　never　had　seen　before；　was　a　devil　or　god；　that　bit　you　sharply　when　you　touched　it；　and　that　lived　upon　dry　wood。　　From　us　too　no　Chemistry；　if　it　had　not　Stupidity　to　help　it；　would　hide　that　Flame　is　a　wonder。　　What　_is_　Flame？_Frost_　the　old　Norse　Seer　discerns　to　be　a　monstrous　hoary　Jotun；　the　Giant　_Thrym_；　_Hrym_；　or　_Rime_；　the　old　word　now　nearly　obsolete　here；　but　still　used　in　Scotland　to　signify　hoar…frost。　_Rime_　was　not　then　as　now　a　dead　chemical　thing；　but　a　living　Jotun　or　Devil；　the　monstrous　Jotun　_Rime_　drove　home　his　Horses　at　night；　sat　〃combing　their　manes；〃which　Horses　were　_Hail…Clouds_；　or　fleet　_Frost…Winds_。　　His　CowsNo；　not　his；　but　a　kinsman's；　the　Giant　Hymir's　Cows　are　_Icebergs_：　　this　Hymir　〃looks　at　the　rocks〃　with　his　devil…eye；　and　they　_split_　in　the　glance　of　it。
  Thunder　was　not　then　mere　Electricity；　vitreous　or　resinous；　it　was　the　God　Donner　（Thunder）　or　Thor；God　also　of　beneficent　Summer…heat。　　The　thunder　was　his　wrath：　　the　gathering　of　the　black　clouds　is　the　drawing　down　of　Thor's　angry　brows；　the　fire…bolt　bursting　out　of　Heaven　is　the　all…rending　Hammer　flung　from　the　hand　of　Thor：　　he　urges　his　loud　chariot　over　the　mountain…tops；that　is　the　peal；　wrathful　he　〃blows　in　his　red　beard；〃that　is　the　rustling　storm…blast　before　the　thunder　begins。　Balder　again；　the　White　God；　the　beautiful；　the　just　and　benignant　（whom　the　early　Christian　Missionaries　found　to　resemble　Christ）；　is　the　Sun；　beautifullest　of　visible　things；