THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 433 CHAPTER IX. THE EARTHLY PARADISE. WHEN Christianity drew a curtain in front of the past creeds of heathen Europe, a veil through which many an old belief was left still faintly visible, she succeeded more than with most things in blotting out the images which in former days had gathered round the idea of a future state. It is as if the new religion were content to leave this world under much the same governance as before, provided only she were secured the undisputed possession of the world beyond the grave. So the heathen gods were not altogether ousted from their seats. The cloak of Odhinn-that blue mantle, the air, of which the sagas tell us-fell upon the shoulders of St. Martin; his sword descended to St. Michael or St. George: Elias or Nicholas drove the chariot of Hêlios or wielded the thunders of Thorr. They changed their names, but not their characters, passing for awhile behind the scene to be refurnished for fresh parts just as when the breath of the new creed blew over the fields, the old familiar plants and flowers died down-Apollo's narcissus, Aphrodite's lilies, Njord's glove, or Freyja's fern-to grow up again as the flowers of Mary, Our Lady's hand, the Virgin's hair. But it was different with the beliefs which passed beyond this life. The whole doctrine of a future state, which for the European races had formerly belonged to the region of languid half-belief,3 now suddenly became a stern reality. 1 Wuttke, Deutsche Volksaberglaube, p. 19, and Grimm, Deut. Myth. pp. 127, 946, and 68 n., 371, 4th ed. Elias, id. p. 144. 2 Cf. Johannis Bauhini, De plantis a divis sanctisve nomina habentibus, Basiliæ, 1521. Cf. also Grimm, D. M. 4th ed. p. 184 (Balders hrår). European races. Among the Indo-European nationali ies the Persians F F This doctrine grew greater while earthly things grew less, until at last it seemed to take a complete hold upon the imagination, and to gather round itself all that was greatest in the poetical conception of the time. Then, from having been so impressive, the idea of eternity became familiar by constant use. At last it took, in the hands of dull unimaginative men, a ghastly prosaic character, whereby we see the infinities of pleasure and pain, of happiness or woe, mapped out and measured in the scales. It is on this account not easy to trace back the belief of Northern and Western Europe on such matters to that state in which it was while yet untouched by the doctrines of Christianity. Beside the dreadful earnestness of the two great pictures of Catholic mythology, the mediaval heaven, and the medieval hell, the less obtrusive notions of earlier days fell into the background. The older idea of a future state was not of a place for rewards or punishments so much as for a quiet resting after the toils of life, as the sun rests at the end of day. If such a creed were to live on at all in the Middle Ages, it must do so in defiance of the dominant religion. It must survive in virtue of the Old Adam of pagan days, not yet rooted out. It must find its home in the breasts of those who had not really been won over to the dominant creed; who resented as something new and intrusive the presence of a restraining moral code, or who would fain believe that the neglected gods were not really dead; that they were, peradventure, asleep, or upon a journey and had not for ever given up their rule. It was through such influences as these that the pagan notions concerning a future state survived in the mediæval pictures of an Earthly Paradise. This was a home of sensuous ease, unblessed perhaps with the keenest enjoyments of life, but untouched also with the fear by which these pleasures are always attended-that they will raised the doctrine of heaven and hell to supreme importance, and in so doing greatly, though indirectly, affected the creed of Christendom. THE EARTHLY PARADISE. 435 soon be snatched away. The saints and confessors might have their heaven and welcome. Their rapturous holy joys were not suited to the heroes of chivalry. There must therefore be, men thought, another home set apart for them, for Arthur and his knights, for Charlemagne and his paladins; where, untroubled by turbulent emotions, they should enjoy the fruit of their labours in a perpetual calm. Catholicism of course made some concession to this spirit. A way for doing this was opened by the Biblical account of the garden of Eden; for though the Mosaic record says that man was turned out of the garden, it says nothing about the destruction of Paradise. And accordingly we find lay and clerical writers alike speculating upon the nature of this place and the road by which it. was to be reached: and presently we find accounts of both real and mythical voyages to the east in search of the desired land. But there still remained a question in dispute between orthodoxy and ancient heathenism. The former naturally insisted upon the fact that Eden was in the east, but heathenism had an obstinate prejudice that its Paradise lay westward; so on this point there was a battle between the two faiths. In truth, we find that, like the needle when a neighbouring magnet has been withdrawn, popular belief on the matter of the Earthly Paradise, when not subject to the influence of ecclesiastical teaching, tends constantly to veer round from the orthodox tradition. And this fact would alone be enough to convince us that the myth which we traced in the story of the voyage of Odysseus has had its echo in other lands. But we are not left to this inferential proof. We have seen how the notion of the earth-girding Sea of Death permeated the beliefs of heathen Germany; and though, because of the gloomy character of that creed, the darker side of the conception seems always to lie uppermost, we have no reason to question that there was another and a brighter side. Whether even in the case of the story of the death of Balder some picture of a paradise did not follow after the scene of death I am much inclined to doubt. We know how universal among the Norse people was the desire for a funeral which should imitate as closely as possible the funeral of Balder; and I cannot but believe that the Norsemen fancied that in this way they went to join the sun god in a far-off happy land. And the vision which succeeds the Vala's account of the destruction of all things at Ragnarök, the vision of a new and better earth arising once more from the sea, and Balder coming again from Helheim to rule there, seems to express the hope in which men went to death.1 But, as we well know, the belief in an earth-encircling Sea of Death was not confined to the Teutons of the North, nor even to the German race. There are visible traces of it among all the nations of Europe; it and the belief in the soul's passage over that sea have been the property of all the Aryas. With some among the races of our stock these myths existed only as parts of a vague and general belief. But among all those who lived near the Western Sea that is, beside the Atlantic or the Mediterraneanthe belief grew to be a precise one. Most of these peoples could have pointed out some spot in their country whence the ghostly cargo set out upon its voyage, and most had some special tradition of the locus of their home for the departed spirits. One among such resting-places for the shades was the little island of Heligoland. This was the belief current among Germans of the north of Continental Germany. To the Germans of the Rhine mouth, the Ripuarians or the Frisians, our own island at one time occupied the same place in popular mythology, and from being Angel-land became Engel-land, wherein no living man dwelt. It was this, too, to still nearer neighbours of . Though the colours of this picture have been much deepened through the influence of Christianity, I doubt not but that the belief was grounded upon heathen tradition, ENGLAND THE HOME OF SOULS. 437 ourselves. Procopius gives us a picture of the belief which by the sixth century had grown up among the peasants of northern Gaul concerning Britain. Britain in his narrative has become changed into a fabulous island, Brittia; one half of which was thought to be habitable by living men, while the other half was set apart to be the home of ghosts. Between the two regions stretched a wall, which none could pass and live; whoever did cross it instantly fell dead upon the other side, so pestilential was the air. But serpents and all venomous things dwelt on that other side, and there the air was dark and spirit-haunted. It was said that the fishermen upon the northern coast of Gaul were made the ferrymen of the dead. To them was assigned the office of carrying the souls across the Channel to the opposite island of Brittia, and on account of this strange duty Procopius declares they were excused from the ordinary incidence of taxation. Their task fell upon them by rotation, and those villagers whose turn had come round were awakened at dead of night by a gentle tap upon the door and a whispering breath calling them to the beach. There lay vessels to all appearance empty and yet weighed down as if by a heavy freight. Pushing off, the fishermen performed in one night the voyage which else they could hardly accomplish, rowing and sailing, in six days and nights. When they had arrived at the strange coast, they heard names called over and voices answering as if by rota, while they felt their vessels gradually growing light; at last, when all the ghosts had landed, they were wafted back to the habitable world.1 Claudian makes allusion to the same myth, referring it to the same locality and connecting it with the journey of Odysseus to Hades. Est locus extremum pandit quâ Gallia littus Sanguine libato populum movisse silentem. Procopius, Bell. Goth. iv. c. 20, pp. 620–5, ed. Paris; ii. p. 559 sqq. ed. Bonn. |