Myths of the Rhine — Reading Companion

A Collector, Not a Scholar

Saintine repeatedly disavows scholarly pretension. He writes, "I am too great a lover of tales of a tub ever to have claimed the reputation of being a scholar; but at times I like to glean a little where scholars have reaped." This stance is not mere modesty; it shapes the book's structure. The descriptive table of contents reads like a catalog of curiosities—"Microscopic Deities," "A Goddess the Mother of Four Oxen," "The God of Cherries and the God of Bees." The author's voice remains conversational, even when tackling comparative mythology. He compares Odin's emanations to the Hindu god Buddha, and notes that Celts and Scandinavians believed in metempsychosis like Indians. Yet he undercuts any grand theory by calling his work "pilfering." Readers should expect a meandering, anecdotal journey rather than a systematic treatise.

Roman Gods Meet Norse Neighbors

A key tension emerges when Saintine describes the Romans encountering Norse deities. Rather than conflict, the Romans "received him and his retinue of deities as old acquaintances," seeing in Odin a Jupiter and in Thor a "gallant Mars, somewhat sobered by a long residence in northern countries and excessive use of beer." The author mocks ancient historians like Tacitus and Plutarch for giving "currency to such childish stories, ignoring entirely the date of the Scandinavian religion." This passage reveals Saintine's critical eye: he presents the syncretism as a political and poetic convenience, not a historical fact. The Romans, he notes, permitted no human sacrifices, so Odin's priests retreated "far from the beaten track." The excerpt leaves the outcome of this religious collision unresolved, but the pattern of adaptation and concealment is clear.

The Edda as Grandmother's Tale

Saintine anchors his method in the etymology of Edda, which he claims means "grandmother." This framing recurs throughout the excerpts: he wants to tell "once more Grandmamma's Tales." The book's chapters move from primitive times through Druids, Roman gods, and Odin's pantheon, but the author consistently returns to a folklorist's delight in odd details. He notes that the Edda's prophecies of Ragnarok were "far from being near their fulfillment" when Romans arrived, and that Odin "had a long period of omnipotence yet before him." The tone is playful, even when describing the "Twilight of the Gods." Saintine's voice—self-aware, ironic, and fond of digression—makes the work feel like a fireside chat. Readers should approach it as a collection of stories stitched together by a narrator who values curiosity over coherence.

Saintine's Myths of the Rhine rewards readers who enjoy a narrator who winks while he works. The book's value lies not in its scholarly rigor but in its lively procession of deities, rituals, and cultural collisions. Doré's illustrations—though not excerpted here—likely amplify the fantastical register. Treat the table of contents as a menu of marvels, and let the author's digressions carry you along. The work is best read as a cabinet of curiosities, not a definitive mythology.

Some evenings, I return to that Rhine companion with its old engravings and grandmotherly tangents, and I find myself thinking of another volume’s quiet smile. A Digit of the Moon: A Hindoo Love Story — Text and Context holds a similar secret: both feel less like lessons than like warm hands passing along a story, gently, without hurry.