Riding the Tree

Yvonne S. Bonnetain

The various journeys of the gods – often towards Jötunheim or Útgarðr, and occasionally also to Hel – form the basis for many myths. At first glance, these travels appear to follow the map of a kind of mythical landscape, resembling a physical landscape, in which the traveller can proceed from one point to the next, on foot or riding on an animal. I should like to show that this interpretation of travelling is only one of many levels of understanding, which I should like to refer to as ‘levels of literary understanding’. On the literary level of understanding, we encounter the myth as an account of the ‘adventures’ of the gods, giants and other figures. On this level, each figure appears as an individual. The scene in which a myth is set is vividly anthropomorphic. This level of understanding is most strongly characterised in the chronological, systematic narration of Snorra-Edda. Besides this level of understanding, others may be defined and lead us to different interpretations of travelling and sometimes also of the travellers as well as the means by which they travel. In this paper, I should like to focus on one of those other levels, which I should like to refer to as the ‘inter- and para-mundane level of understanding’. On the inter- and para-mundane level of understanding, the physical landscape of the journey is supplanted by a paraphysical landscape, the distinctions between the traveller and other figures merge, and the means by which the journeyer travels is no longer an ordinary animal.

The ‘love story’ of Freyr and Gerðr in Skírnismál shall be picked out as one example of this. At first glance, Skírnismál provides a tale about three main characters: Freyr, Skírnir and Gerðr. However, it is striking that the borders between these three characters are blurred throughout the entire lay. In stanza 10, Skírnir, before embarking upon his ride to Jötunheim, speaks of báðir vit ‘we two (báðir vit komomc, / eða ocr báða tecr / sá inn ámátki iotunn (Neckel, 1983, 71) ‘we two arrive at the destination, / or captures the two of us / this omnipotent giant’). The question arises, who these two are, since the only two figures who, on the literary level, are on their way to Jötunheim are Skírnir and the horse. It may be doubted, however, that these are the unit of two meant here, for Skírnir and the horse are not conceived as a unit anywhere else in the song, very much so, however, Skírnir and Freyr, who according to stanza 5 í árdaga (Neckel, 1983, 70) ‘in primeval times’ were together. In addition, báðir vit ‘we two’ in stanza 10 is reflected in Gerðr’s vit bæði in stanza 39. Who Gerðr is referring to here is a matter of some doubt. Vit bæði can mean Gerðr and Skírnir or Gerðr and Freyr. The distinction between ‘servant’ and ‘master’ is blurred, and not only at this point. Skírnir and Freyr appear to be on such familar terms that Skírnir, in stanza 26, speaks of his will (at mínom munom (Neckel, 1983, 74)) to tame Gerðr. In stanza 35 he likewise execrates her according to his own will (at mínom munom (Neckel, 1983, 76)). The distinctions between Skírnir and Freyr, who in stanza 43 of Grímnismál is also described with the adjective skírr, appear within Skírnismál not only blurred but rather beg the question as to whether Skírnir has anything at all to do with an autonomous figure.

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Let us now turn to Skírnir’s preparations for the journey and the journey itself. In stanza 8, Skírnir calls for a horse to carry him through the ‘wavering fire’ (Mar gefðu mér þá, / þann er mic um myrqvan beri, / vísan vafrloga (Neckel, 1983, 71) ‘Give me a horse, / that carries me through the dark, / everywhere known wavering fire.’). For the ride through the vafrlogi, it is obvious that a very special horse is needed. Parallel examples to this are Sigurðr’s horse (Skáldskaparmál 48) and Óðinn’s horse Sleipnir, with which not only Óðinn (Baldr’s draumar 2), but also Hermóðr is able to jump over the boundary fence to Hel (Gylfaginning 49). Thus the question arises as to what kind of world that very Jötunheim represents in Skírnismál when Skírnir needs such a horse in order to get there. In the lay, there are several references to his ride through the fire. In stanza 8, it is the universally known vafrlogi. It can be gleaned from stanzas 17 and 18 that Skírnir comes to Jötunheim eikinn fúr yfir(Neckel, 1983, 73). Eikinn is of complex meaning. The etymology of the word is controversial. In Modern Icelandic eikinn is used in reference to fierce bulls, in Nynorsk, eikjen means ‘belligerent’ (Von See, 1997, 96). Most interpreters understand eikinn as ‘violent, raging, furious, mad’. Though there might also be some connection with eik „Oak’ (Von See, 1997: 96). So this eikinn fúr yfir might mean that Skírnir rides to Jötunheim through a very fierce fire (maybe an oak wood fire). Having arrived there, he also has to get past the hounds of Gymir (stanza 11). One parallel is the hounds that, according to Baldrs draumar (2 f.), Óðinn has to pass on his way to Niflhel. And later, just as in Skírnismál (14), also in Baldrs draumar (3) the earth shakes. The underlying sense of impending threat is further reinforced by the question of the shepherd (stanza 12: ertu feigr, eða ertu framgenginn (Neckel, 1983, 72)), whether Skírnir is fey or risen from the dead. Skírnir answers:

13.

Kostir ro betri,
heldr enn at kløcqva sé,
hveim er fúss er fara;
eino dœgri
mér var aldr um scapaðr
oc alt líf um lagið.
(Neckel,1983, 72)
There are better possibilities,
than lamenting,
for him that is ready to do;
for (half) a day (exactly)
my term of life was destined
and the whole life determined.

The Jötunheim that Skírnir enters at this point seems to be a place on the threshold of death. At this threshold he enters Gymir’s garðar and struggles for Gerðr. The term garðar and the name Gerðr underline the threshold character of this transitional world.1 The distinction between Freyr and his ‘servant’ Skírnir becomes blurred in this process. One cannot escape the impression that Skírnir merely represents another aspect of Freyr, who half a night long (42: hálf hýnótt) is sent out into the transitional world of Jötunheim in order to establish a lasting contact with that transitional world.

The special horse needed for this journey is reminiscent of Sleipnir; the circumstances of the journey into the transitional world to the threshold of death as well as the shaking of the earth recall Óðinn’s journey to Hel. Yet Óðinn does not travel to the other world only on Sleipnir. Another of his journeys, according to Hávamál (138), begins with him clinging to a wind-blown bough. Of the tree from which he is hanging, it is said that no-one knows from which roots it springs.

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There are similar reports about the tree Mímameiðr in Fjölsvinnsmál (20), about which people do not know from which root it grows. Mímameiðr could correspond to Yggdrasill. According to Völuspá (19), the well of Urðarbrunnr is located under Yggdrasill; Gylfaginning (15) adds Mímisbrunnr and Hvergelmir. Though Míma- in Mímameiðr cannot be derived from Mímir – only from Mími – nevertheless there are strong grounds for association with Mímir. Yggdrasill is generally interpreted as ‘Yggs drasill’, i.e. the horse of Yggr (= Óðinn) (Simek, 1984, 467). It is conspicuous, however, that the compound Yggdrasill does not use the genitive form of Yggr, i.e. Yggs. It is therefore doubtful whether Ygg- in Yggdrasill can be derived from Yggr as a term for Óðinn. Thus, Ygg- could simply mean ‘terrible’ and could be a term for a ‘tree of terror / hanging tree’ or gallows (Detter, 1897). At this point reference shall be made to the kennings gálga valdr ‘lord of the gallows’ (Helgi traust) and gálga farmr ‘load of the gallows’ (Eyvindr Finnsson skáldaspillir) for Óðinn – and also to the numerous kennings which refer to the act of hanging, such as Hangi ‘the hanging one’ (Tindr Hallkelsson, drápa on Hákon jarl 1), Hangaguð (Hávarðr halti, Lausavísur 14) and Hangatýr (Víga-Glúmr, Lausavísur 10; Einarr Gilsson, Selkolluvísur 7). Thus, the association with Óðinn/Yggr is so obvious that, in my view, it cannot be excluded from the meaning. An understanding of Yggdrasill as Óðinn’s horse seems to be implied. And yet the association with ‘gallows’ resonates, menacing. At this point reference may also be made to the kenning hábrjóstr hörva Sleipnir (Finnur Jónsson, 1929, 6) for the gallows (Ynglingatal 22). If both Sleipnir and Yggdrasill are understood as horses of Óðinn, it may be safely assumed that the conceptions of both are comparable. Yggdrasill appears as a tree, connecting various worlds. The particular association of Yggdrasill with the world of the dead is reinforced by the term fyr nágrindr neðan (Neckel, 1983, 76, 109) ‘under the corpse’s cage’ (Skírnismál 35 as well as Lokasenna 63) as the position of the roots of Yggdrasill (Hel’s position in Lokasenna). Yggdrasill appears here as the connecting link between the world of the living and the world of the dead. In order to cross this boundary, it is necessary to have – just as in Skírnismál – a particular means of transport – there a particular kind of horse. Skírnir’s journey, as already mentioned, recalls the rides of Óðinn and Hermóðr to Hel (on Sleipnir). Whether Yggdrasill is a tree (as in Völuspá 19) or a horse attached to a tree (as in Völuspá 47 and Grímnismál 35 and 44) is perhaps not so imporant as the fact that both – the tree as well as the horse – appear to be the means necessary for depicting the journey between the world of the living and the world of the dead. That the transition between tree and horse may be seen as fluid here may also be evidenced in a textile fragment discovered among the finds from the Oseberg ship burial. The sacrificial ritual depicted there shows persons hanging from trees, the strongest branches of which terminate in heads which could be construed as the heads of horses.

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Sketch: textile fragment from the Oseberg find (Ingstad, 1992, 242)

Thus Yggdrasill appears as a connecting link between the worlds, whereby the crossing of the boundary into another world is just as fraught with dangers as it is with opportunities. The journey on a tree – depicted by Óðinn’s self-sacrifice – leads to the acquisition of wisdom, to the knowledge of secrets. One example of the acquisition of wisdom through contact with the world of the dead is offered by Óðinn’s comment in Hárbarðsljóð (44) that he has learned from the old people in the forests:

44.

Nam ec at mönnum
þeim inom aldrœnom,
er búa í heimis scógom.
I learned from the people,
from the old ones,
who abide in the forests of the homeland.

45.

Þó gefr þú gott nafn dysiom,
er þú kallar þat heimis scóga.
(Neckel, 1983, 85)
So you give the mounds of stone (over the dead) a good name,
by naming them forests of the homeland.

The forest – just as Yggdrasill – appears as a connecting link to other worlds outside and beyond the world of the living. At this point reference may be made to the technical term búa í skógum ‘to be banished’. The forest (skógr) is not to be perceived as part of the world of the living but rather as being outside of it, opening the gateways into the world of the dead. The other world, the world of the dead, appears to begin at the threshold to the forest. In Hyndluljóð (48) Hyndla, who could be seen as a völva 2, is called forest dweller:

48.

Ec slæ eldi
of íviðio,
svá at þú eigi kemz
á burt heðan.
(Neckel, 1983, 295f.)
I (will) cast fire
over the forest dweller,3
lest she go
from here.

Her vicinity to the world of the dead is also revealed in stanza 46:

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46.

Snúðu braut heðan!
sofa lystir mic,
fær þú fátt af mér
fríða kosta...
(Neckel, 1983, 295f.)
Away with you from here!
I long to sleep,
little will you get from me
of things to delight you...

Likewise, the völva of Völuspá already appears to belong to the other world. Óðinn called her to learn about the fate of the gods. But the end of the questioning is determined by the völva herself: nú mun hon søcqvaz (Neckel, 1983, 15) ‘now she will sink’. Also the sexual component, which becomes evident in Skírnismál in connection with the other world, may be seen reflected in the völur. Völva may be derived from völr ‘staff’ and means the staff bearer. Skáldskaparmál (18) relates that Þórr borrows from the giantess Gríðr the staff Gríðavölr ‘Gríðr’s staff’, with the help of which he crosses a river. It is also possible to understand gandr as a staff, which is attributed with phallic significance. Thus, göndull in Bósa saga (11) is used in the sense of ‘penis’. Accordingly, the term gandreið – by which we have another intersection of means of travel, seiðr and the other world – can also be read with a sexual undertone.4 The most extensive discourse on the connection between völur and seiðr, sexuality and gandir has been conducted by Neil Price (2002), to whose work I may only make reference in the framework of this presentation.

It is also notable in this context that this meaning variant of gandr is not reflected in translations of Jörmungandr and Vánargandr. On the contrary, here gandr is frequently translated as ‘monster’, which actually forestalls interpretation. Vánargandr is found only in Skáldskaparmál (23), in which Vánargandr is used as a synonym for Fenrir:

Hvernig skal kenna Loka? Svá, at kalla hann ... föður Vánargands, þat er Fenrisúlfr, ok Jörmungands, þat er Miðgarðsormr... (Guðni Jónsson, 1954, III, 126f.)
‘How shall Loki be called? So, that he may be called… father of Vánargandr, that is the Fenris wolf, and of Jörmungandr, that is the Midgard serpent...’).

Confirmation of the meaning ‘monster’ cannot be inferred from this passage, in which Vánargandr is used parallel to Jörmungandr.

Ursula Dronke (1997: 12ff.) translates gandr in Völuspá as ‘spirit’. With this, she follows the argument already put forward by Cleasby/Vigfússon (1874: 188) and Johan Fritzner (1877, 166-170) based on a well-known passage from the Historia Norvegiae. 5 Maybe such a gandr is also the reason for the switch between the first and third person singular on the part of the völva when referring to herself in the Völuspá (McKinnell, 2001, 394-417). Apart from the interpretation as two seers, one could also assume that there is a third figure in the form of a helpful spirit,6 comparable to the usage of gandr in Fóstbrœðra saga (9):

Víða hefi ek göndum rennt í nótt, ok em ek nú vís orðin þeira hluta, er ek vissa ekki áðr. (Björn Karel Þórólfsson and Guðni Jónsson, 1943, 234)
‘Far did I run with gandir into the night. Now I know things I knew not before.’

Cleasby/Vigfússon (1874: 188), too, had already point to the possibility of interpreting gandr in gandreið as a spirit. Moreover, attention is drawn to the meaning of ‘wolf’.

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Also wolf kenningar like leiknar hestr (Cleasby/Vígfússon, 1874, 382) and kveldriðu stóð (Cleasby/Vígfússon, 1874, 362) refer to the ride on the wolf into the other world. Finally the name Viðólfr ‘Forest Wolf’ – according to Hyndluljóð (33) an ancestor of the völur – provides a further overlapping of tree/copse/forest and horse/wolf/gandr.

Accordingly, the links to the other world may be imagined in quite different forms, as gandr-spirit, wolf, horse or even a tree or part of one in the form of a staff, etc. Here it is not so much the form of the gandr which is decisive, but rather its function as a helping aid on the journey into other worlds 7. In this reading also the interpretation of Cleasby/Vigfússon (1874: 188) of the gandr as an object used by sorcerers makes sense – an interpretation which could be supported by the appellation spá gandir gandir of prophecy’ in Völuspá (29).

The journeys into the other world, or on the threshold of the other world, not only pose a mortal risk for the traveller but also seem to bring with them knowledge and therefore power. Yet, in order to obtain this knowledge, it is necessary to undertake a tortuous ride on the threshold of death, a ride which, as briefly shown by several examples, also comprises a sexual component. Thus, it is not surprising that Skírnismál also evidences sexual components. However, this perspective does not constitute proof for the interpretation of Skírnismál as a ‘love story’, but rather appears as one component of a tale concerning journeys to the other world. Here, perhaps, a distinction can be made between Skírnismál and Hávamál, although there are also overlapping references in regard to the painful character of such connections with the other world (Hávamál 139: nam ec upp rúnar, / œpandi nam... (Neckel, 1983: 40) ‘I learned runes, / learned (them) screaming…’). Also the nine nights, during which according to Hávamál (138), Óðinn was hanging from the branch, are reflected in the nine nights (nætr níu) which lie in store for Freyr before he may join his ‘dearest one’ in the lundr lognfara, the calm and tranquil grove (Skírnismál 41). It should also be mentioned in this context that Skírnismál provides us with no clues as to where Freyr spends these nine nights. It is possible that it takes Freyr nine nights before he reaches the grove of Barri, though it is also possible that he must endure nine nights of torture before he is able to win Gerðr for himself from Gymirs garðar.

Thus, on the para-mundane level of understanding as argued here, Skírnismál does not present a love story but the struggle of the god Freyr for access to the threshold between life and death, to the threshold to the other world. Of course this may not be understood as the ‘actual’ interpretation of Skírnismál. It is merely one of several possible access routes – one of many possible levels of understanding upon which we may approach this lay. I hope that I have succeeded, by means of the perforce far too brief argumentations put forward here, in offering at least some food for thought for further possible interpretations of the journey of the gods and their means of transport, and that I have shown that horse, tree, gandr and perhaps even the wolf and the serpent, which could not be dealt with in this presentation, can be perceived not only as objects but may also be read as symbols of para-mundane journeys.

Moreover, from this point of view, one could also pose the question to what extent Baldr’s death, or more precisely his immolation and mission, could perhaps be interpreted as a journey, which would lead to a discussion of the role of Loki and to a discussion of Haustlöng.

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In my far too ambitious abstract, I promised to discuss all of this, but then, this alone would probably have burst the bounds of the pages allotted for the preprints, which even without Baldr appear to me to be hopelessly overfull. Therefore, for this discussion, I should just like to refer to two of my articles (Bonnetain, 2000 and Bonnetain (at press)) as well as to my soon-to-be-published doctoral thesis (Bonnetain (at press)) and, in addition, I shall be pleased to make myself available for possible subsequent discussions on this subject.

Bibliography

Andrén. Anders: ‘Doors to other worlds: Scandinavian death rituals in Gotlandic perspective’. Journal of European Archaeology 1 (1993), 33-56.
Björn Karel Þórólfsson and Guðni Jónsson: Fóstbrœðra saga. In Íslenzk Fornrit VI (Vestfirðinga sögur). Reykjavík: Hið íslenzka fornritafélag, 1943, 119-276.
Bonnetain, Yvonne S.: ‘En er þetta sá Loki Laufeyjarson, þá líkaði honum illa, er Baldr sakaði ekki’. In International Scandinavian and Medieval Studies in Memory of Gerd Wolfgang Weber – ein runder Knäuel, so rollt’ es uns leicht aus den Händen, ed. Michael Dallapiazza and others. Trieste: Edizioni Parnaso, 2000, 73-85.
Bonnetain, Yvonne S.: Potentialities of Loki. In Old Norse Religion in Long-term Perspective. Lund: University of Lund (at press, but meanwhile downloadable at: http://www.artantara.com/Potentialities_of_Loki.pdf).
Bonnetain, Yvonne S.: Der nordgermanische Gott Loki aus literaturwissenschaftlicher Perspektive. Göppinger Arbeiten zur Germanistik (at press).
Cleasby, Richard and Guðbrandur Vígfússon: Icelandic – English Dictionary. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1874.
Detter, F.: ‘Rezension von E. Magnússon’, Arkiv för nordisk filologi 13 (1897).
Finnur Jónsson: Carmina Scaldica. Udvalg af Norske og Islandske Skjaldekvad. København: G. E. C. Gads Forlag, 1929.
Fraehn, C. M.: Ibn-Foszlan’s und anderer Araber Berichte über die Russen älterer Zeit (1823). Hamburg: Helmut Buske Verlag, 1976.
Fritzner, Johan: ‘Lappernes Hedenskab og Trolddomskunst sammenholdt med andre Folks, især Normændenes, Tro og Overtro’, Historisk Tidsskrift – den norske historiske forening 4 (1877), 135-217.
Guðni Jónsson: Eddukvæði I-IV. Reykjavík: Íslendingasagnaútgáfan, 1954.
Ingstad, Anne Stine: ‘Oseberg-dronningen – hvem var hun?’ In Osebergdronningens grav. Ed. A.E. Christensen, A.S. Ingstad and B. Myhre. Oslo: Chr. Schibsteds Forlag, 1992, 224-256 (drawing by Sofie Krafft on p. 242).
Jochens, Jenny: Old Norse images of women. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1996.
McKinnell, John: ‘On Heiðr’, Saga-Book 25/4 (2001), 394-417.
Neckel, Gustav: Edda. . Die Lieder des Codex Regius nebst verwandten Denkmälern. I. 5. verbesserte Auflage von Hans Kuhn. Heidelberg: Carl Winter, 1983.
Ólína Þorvarðardóttir: Brennuöldin. Galdur og galdratrú í málskjöldum og munnmælum. Reykjavík: Háskólaútgáfan, 2000.
Price, Neil: The Viking Way. Religion and War in Late Iron Age Scandinavia. Uppsala: Department of Archaeology and Ancient History, 2002.
Simek, Rudolf: Lexikon der germanischen Mythologie. Stuttgart: Kröner Verlag, 1984.
Tolley, Clive: ‘Vörðr and Gandr: helping spirits in Norse magic’, Arkiv för nordisk filologi 110 (1995), 57-75.
Von See and others: Kommentar zu den Liedern der Edda. Bd. 2: Götterlieder (Skírnismál, Hárbarðsljóð, Lokasenna, Þrymskviða). Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter, 1997.
Von See and others: Kommentar zu den Liedern der Edda. Bd. 3: Götterlieder (Völundarkviða, Alvíssmál, Baldrs draumar, Rígsþula, Hyndlolióð, Grottasöngr). Heidelberg: Universitätsverlag C. Winter, 2000.

Footnotes

  1. The significance of such a threshold is illustrated, by the way, in a ritual involving a young girl who has been condemned to death, which is described by Ibn Fashlan as follows: ...so führte man das Mädchen zu einem Dinge hin, das sie gemacht hatten, und das dem vorspringenden Gesims einer Thür glich. Sie setzte ihre Füße auf die flachen Hände der Männer, sah auf dieses Gesims hinab und sprach... ‚Sieh! hier seh' ich meinen Vater und meine Mutter', das zweite Mal: ‚Sieh! jetzt seh' ich alle meine verstorbenen Anverwandten (zusammen) sitzen'; das dritte Mal aber: ‚Sieh! dort ist mein Herr, er sitzt im Paradiese. Das Paradies ist so schön, so grün. Bei ihm sind (seine) Männer und Knaben. Er ruft mich; so bringt mich denn zu ihm.' (Fraehn, 1976, 15 & 17). This ritual has a parallel in the 13th stanza in Völsa þáttr. Also Anders Andrén's (1993, 33-56) research on gateways as a symbol of the entrance to other worlds, in particular, those of the dead, must not go without mention at this point.
  2. Hyndla is not explicitly called völva here. The question arises as to what we should understand here by a völva. The term völva in Old Norse literature is not clearly distinguished from terms like spákona or seiðkona. The concepts tend to overlap. It appears hardly possible to find a clear definition which distinguishes this term from others. See also e.g. Ólína Þorvarðardóttir (2000, 231).
  3. Von See (2000, 828) shows that viðja is referred to in the Þulur as a troll woman (= giantess). Von See more freely translates viðja as 'witch'. Compare also this discussion on the use of the dative form íviðju.
  4. Jenny Jochens (1996, 260) interprets vitti hon ganda in Völuspá (22) following Hugo Pipping as 'influencing the penis by magic'.
  5. Historia Norvegiae, 85f., cited and translated according to Neil S. Price (2002, 224): Sunt namque quidam ex ipsis, qui quasi prophetae a stolido vulgo venerantur, quoniam per immundum spiritum, quem gandum vocitant, multis multa praesagia ut eveniunt quandoque percunctati praedicent. 'There are some of these [Sámi sorcerers] who are revered as if they were prophets by the ignorant commoners, because by means of a foul spirit, which they call a gandus, when asked they will predict for many people many future events, and when they will come to pass.'
  6. Neil S. Price (2002: 225), following on from Clive Tolley (1995, 57-75), develops the theory that gandir could frequently be helping spirits in the form of animals. Clive Tolley subdivides gandir into helping spirits in the form of wolves and those in the form of serpents.
  7. Accordingly, it is possible to advance the theory that both Fenrir and the Midgard serpent can be understood as gandir, in the sense of entities that are able to establish (magic) connections between the various worlds. Read in this way, jörmungandr appears not as a 'huge monster', but rather as a gandr, whose positioning in the ocean leads to the stabilisation of the world, or whose disturbance to its destabilisation, respectively. According to the Christian perception, this interpretation would, of course be a sjónhverfing, a contradiction of the fact that the Midgard serpent in no way stabilises the world but rather that, the moment it is disturbed, it destabilises the divine order of the world. This interpretation would involve a degradation of this gandr, which would thus appear as a demon and a monster.