Chapter IV: Through Flood and Fire (1)

At length, Baldur and Bragi returned with the answer of the Norns, couched in mystic words, which Odin alone could understand. It revealed Loki’s treacherous conduct to the Æsir, and declared that Iduna could only be brought back by Loki, who must go in search of her, clothed in Freya’s garments of falcon feathers.

Loki was very unwilling to venture on such a search; but Thor threatened him with instant death if he refused to obey Odin’s commands, or failed to bring back Iduna; and, for his own safety he was obliged to allow Freya to fasten the falcon wings to his shoulders, and set off towards Thiassi’s castle in Jötunheim, where he well knew that Iduna was imprisoned.

It was called a castle; but it was, in reality, a hollow in a dark rock; the sea broke against two sides of it; and, above, the sea-birds clamored day and night.

There the giant had taken Iduna on the night on which she had left her grove; and, fearing lest Odin should spy her from Air Throne, he had shut her up in a gloomy chamber, and strictly forbidden her ever to come out. It was hard to be shut up from the fresh air and sunshine; and yet, perhaps, it was safer for Iduna than if she had been allowed to wander about Jötunheim and see the monstrous sights that would have met her there.

She saw nothing but Thiassi himself and his servants, whom he had commanded to attend upon her; and they, being curious to see a stranger from a distant land, came in and out many times every day.

They were fair, Iduna saw—fair and smiling; and, at first, it relieved her to see such pleasant faces round her, when she had expected something horrible.

“Pity me!” she used to say to them; “pity me! I have been torn away from my home and my husband, and I see no hope of ever getting back.” And she looked earnestly at them; but their pleasant faces never changed, and there was always—however bitterly Iduna might be weeping—the same smile on their lips.

At length Iduna, looking more narrowly at them, saw, when they turned their backs to her, that they were hollow behind; they were, in truth, Ellewomen, who have no hearts, and can never pity any one.

After Iduna saw this she looked no more at their smiling faces, but turned away her head and wept silently. It is very sad to live among Ellewomen when one is in trouble.

Every day the giant came and thundered at Iduna’s door. “Have you made up your mind yet,” he used to say, “to give me the apples? Something dreadful will happen to you if you take much longer to think of it.” Iduna trembled very much every day, but still she had strength to say, “No;” for she knew that the _most_ dreadful thing would be for her to give to a wicked giant the gifts that had been entrusted to her for the use of the Æsir. The giant would have taken the apples by force if he could; but, whenever he put his hand into the casket, the fruit slipped from beneath his fingers, shrivelled into the size of a pea, and hid itself in crevices of the casket where his great fingers could not come—only when Iduna’s little white hand touched it, it swelled again to its own size, and this she would never do while the giant was with her. So the days passed on, and Iduna would have died of grief among the smiling Ellewomen if it had not been for the moaning sound of the sea and the wild cry of the birds; “for, however others may smile, these pity me,” she used to say, and it was like music to her.

One morning when she knew that the giant had gone out, and when the Ellewomen had left her alone, she stood for a long time at her window by the sea, watching the mermaids floating up and down on the waves, and looking at heaven with their sad blue eyes. She knew that they were mourning because they had no souls, and she thought within herself that even in prison it was better to belong to the Æsir than to be a mermaid or an Ellewoman, were they ever so free or happy.

While she was still occupied with these thoughts she heard her name spoken, and a bird with large wings flew in at the window, and, smoothing its feathers, stood upright before her. It was Loki in Freya’s garment of feathers, and he made her understand in a moment that he had come to set her free, and that there was no time to lose. He told her to conceal her casket carefully in her bosom, and then he said a few words over her, and she found herself changed into a sparrow, with the casket fastened among the feathers of her breast.

Then Loki spread his wings once more, and flew out of the window, and Iduna followed him. The sea-wind blew cold and rough, and her little wings fluttered with fear; but she struck them bravely out into the air and flew like an arrow over the water.

“This way lies Asgard,” cried Loki, and the word gave her strength. But they had not gone far when a sound was heard above the sea, and the wind, and the call of the sea-birds. Thiassi had put on his eagle plumage, and was flying after them. For five days and five nights the three flew over the water that divides Jötunheim from Asgard, and, at the end of every day, they were closer together, for the giant was gaining on the other two.

All the five days the dwellers in Asgard stood on the walls of the city watching. On the sixth evening they saw a falcon and a sparrow, closely pursued by an eagle, flying towards Asgard.

“There will not be time,” said Bragi, who had been calculating the speed at which they flew. “The eagle will reach them before they can get into the city.”

But Odin desired a fire to be lighted upon the walls; and Thor and Tyr, with what strength remained to them, tore up the trees from the groves and gardens, and made a rampart of fire all round the city. The light of the fire showed Iduna, her husband and her friends waiting for her. She made one last effort, and, rising high up in the air above the flames and smoke, she passed the walls, and dropped down safely at the foot of Odin’s throne. The giant tried to follow; but, wearied with his long flight, he was unable to raise his enormous bulk sufficiently high in the air. The flames scorched his wings as he flew through them, and he fell among the flaming piles of wood and was burnt to death.

How Iduna feasted the Æsir on her apples, how they grew young and beautiful again, and how spring, and green leaves, and music came back to the grove, I must leave you to imagine, for I have made my story long enough already; and if I say any more you will fancy that it is Bragi who has come among you, and that he has entered on his endless story.

HOW THE FENRIS WOLF WAS CHAINED

By E. M. Wilmot-Buxton

Fair as were the meads of Asgard, we have seen that the Asa folk were fond of wandering far afield in other regions. Most restless of all was Red Loki, that cunning fellow who was always bringing trouble upon himself or upon his kindred. And because he loved evil, he would often betake himself to the gloomy halls of Giantland and mingle with the wicked folk of that region.

Now one day he met a hideous giantess named Angur-Boda. This creature had a heart of ice, and because he loved ugliness and evil she had a great attraction for him, and in the end he married her, and they lived together in a horrible cave in Giantland.

Three children were born to Loki and Angur-Boda in this dread abode, and they were even more terrible in appearance than their mother. The first was an immense wolf called Fenris, with a huge mouth filled with long white teeth, which he was constantly gnashing together.

The second was a wicked-looking serpent with a fiery-red tongue lolling from its mouth.

The third was a hideous giantess, partly blue and partly flesh-color, whose name was Hela.

No sooner were these three terrible children born than all the wise men of the earth began to foretell the misery they would bring upon the Asa folk.

In vain did Loki try to keep them hidden within the cave wherein their mother dwelt. They soon grew so immense in size that no dwelling would contain them, and all the world began to talk of their frightful appearance.

It was not long, of course, before All-Father Odin, from his high seat in Asgard, heard of the children of Loki. So he sent for some of the Asas, and said:

“Much evil will come upon us, O my children, from this giant brood, if we defend not ourselves against them. For their mother will teach them wickedness, and still more quickly will they learn the cunning wiles of their father. Fetch me them here, therefore, that I may deal with them forthwith.”

So, after somewhat of a struggle, the Asas captured the three giant-children and brought them before Odin’s judgment-seat.

Then Odin looked first at Hela, and when he saw her gloomy eyes, full of misery and despair, he was sorry and dealt kindly with her, saying: “Thou art the bringer of Pain to man, and Asgard is no place for such as thou. But I will make thee ruler of the Mist Home, and there shalt thou rule over that unlighted world, the Region of the Dead.”

Forthwith he sent her away over rough roads to the cold, dark region of the North called the Mist Home. And there did Hela rule over a grim crew, for all those who had done wickedness in the world above were imprisoned by her in those gloomy regions. To her came also all those who had died, not on the battlefield, but of old age or disease. And though these were treated kindly enough, theirs was a joyless life in comparison with that of the dead warriors who were feasting and fighting in the halls of Valhalla, under the kindly rule of All-Father Odin.

Having thus disposed of Hela, Odin next turned his attention to the serpent. And when he saw his evil tongue and cunning, wicked eyes, he said:

“Thou art he who bringest Sin into the world of men; therefore the ocean shall be thy home for ever.”

Then he threw that horrid serpent into the deep sea which surrounds all lands, and there the creature grew so fast that when he stretched himself one day he encircled all the earth, and held his own tail fast in his mouth. And sometimes he grew angry to think that he, the son of a god, had thus been cast out; and at those times he would writhe with his huge body and lash his tail till the sea spouted up to the sky. And when that happened the men of the North said that a great tempest was raging. But it was only the Serpent-son of Loki writhing in his wrath.

Then Odin turned to the third child. And behold! the Fenris Wolf was so appalling to look upon that Odin feared to cast him forth, and he decided to endeavor to tame him by kindness so that he should not wish them ill.

But when he bade them carry food to the Fenris Wolf, not one of the Asas would do so, for they feared a snap from his great jaws. Only the brave Tyr had courage enough to feed him, and the wolf ate so much and so fast that the business took him all his time. Meantime, too, the Fenris grew so rapidly, and became so fierce, that the gods were compelled to take counsel and consider how they should get rid of him. They remembered that it would make their peaceful halls unholy if they were to slay him, and so they resolved instead to bind him fast, that he should be unable to do them harm.

So those of the Asa folk who were clever smiths set to work and made a very strong, thick chain; and when it was finished they carried it out to the yard where the wolf dwelt, and said to him, as though in jest:

“Here is a fine proof of thy boasted strength, O Fenris. Let us bind this about thee, that we may see if thou canst break it asunder.”

Then the wolf gave a great grin with his wide jaws, and came and stood still that they might bind the chain about him; for he knew what he could do. And it came to pass that directly they had fastened the chain, and had slipped aside from him, the great beast gave himself a shake, and the chain fell about him in little bits.

At this the Asas were much annoyed, but they tried not to show it, and praised him for his strength.

Then they set to work again upon a chain much stronger than the last, and brought it to the Fenris Wolf, saying:

“Great will be thy renown, O Fenris, if thou canst break this chain as thou didst the last.”

But the wolf looked at them askance, for the chain they brought was very much thicker than the one he had already broken. He reflected, however, that since that time he himself had grown stronger and bigger, and moreover, that one must risk something in order to win renown.

So he let them put the chain upon him, and when the Asas said that all was ready, he gave a good shake and stretched himself a few times, and again the fetters lay in fragments on the ground.

Then the gods began to fear that they would never hold the wolf in bonds; and it was All-Father Odin who persuaded them to make one more attempt.

So they sent a messenger to Dwarfland bidding him ask the Little Men to make a chain which nothing could possibly destroy.

Setting at once to work, the clever little smiths soon fashioned a slender silken rope, and gave it to the messenger, saying that no strength could break it, and that the more it was strained the stronger it would become.

It was made of the most mysterious things—the sound of a cat’s footsteps, the roots of a mountain, the sinews of a bear, the breath of fishes, and other such strange materials, which only the dwarfs knew how to use.

With this chain the messenger hastened back over the Rainbow Bridge to Asgard.

By this time the Fenris Wolf had grown too big for his yard, so he lived on a rocky island in the middle of the lake that lies in the midst of Asgard.

And here the Asas now betook themselves with their chain, and began to play their part with wily words.

“See,” they cried, “O Fenris! Here is a cord so soft and thin that none would think of it binding such strength as thine.”

And they laughed great laughs, and handed it to one another, and tried its strength by pulling at it with all their might, but it did not break.

Then they came nearer and used more wiles, saying:

“_We_ cannot break the cord, though ’tis stronger than it looks, but thou, O mighty one, will be able to snap it in a moment.”

But the wolf tossed his head in scorn, and said:

“Small renown would there be to me, O Asa folk, if I were to break yon slender string. Save, therefore, your breath, and leave me now alone.”

“Aha!” cried the Asas. “Thou fearest the might of the silken cord, thou false one, and that is why thou wilt not let us bind thee!”

“Not I,” said the Fenris Wolf, growing rather suspicious, “but if it is made with craft and guile it shall never come near my feet.”

“But,” said the Asas, “thou wilt surely be able to break this silken cord with ease, since thou hast already broken the great iron fetters.”

To this the wolf made no answer, pretending not to hear.

“Come!” said the Asas again, “why shouldst thou fear? For even if thou couldst not break the cord we would immediately let thee free again. To refuse is a coward’s piece of work.”

Then the wolf gnashed his teeth at them in anger, and said:

“Well I know you Asas! For if you bind me so fast that I cannot get loose you will skulk away, and it will be long before I get any help from you; and therefore am I loath to let this band be laid upon me.”

But still the Asas continued to persuade him and to twit him with cowardice, until at length the Fenris Wolf said, with a sullen growl:

“Have it your own way then. But, as a pledge that this is done without deceit, let one of you lay his hand in my mouth while you are binding me, and afterwards while I try to break the bonds.”

Then the Asa folk looked at one another in dismay, for they knew very well what this would mean.

And while they consulted together the wolf stood gnashing his teeth at them with a horrid grin.

At length Tyr the Brave hesitated no longer. Boldly he stalked up to the wolf and thrust his arm into his enormous mouth, bidding the Asas bind fast the beast. Scarce had they done so when the wolf began to strain and pull, but the more he did so the tighter and stiffer the rope became.

The gods shouted and laughed with glee when they saw how all his efforts were in vain. But Tyr did not join in their mirth, for the wolf in his rage snapped his great teeth together and bit off his hand at the wrist.

Now when the Asas discovered that the animal was fast bound, they took the chain which was fixed to the rope and drew it through a huge rock, and fastened this rock deep down in the earth, so that it could never be moved. And this they fastened to another great rock which was driven still deeper into the ground.

When the Fenris Wolf found that he had been thus secured he opened his mouth terribly wide, and twisted himself right and left, and tried his best to bite the Asa folk. He uttered, moreover, such terrible howls that at length the gods could bear it no longer. So they took a sword and thrust it into his mouth, so that the hilt rested on his lower, and the point against his upper, jaw. And there he was doomed to remain until the End of All Things shall come, when he

“Freed from the Chain
Shall range the Earth.”

THE STORY OF BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL

By E. M. Wilmot-Buxton

Fair beyond all the sons of Odin was Balder the Beautiful, Balder of the snow-white brow and golden locks, and he was well beloved not only by the Asa folk, but also by the men of the earth below.

“Of all the twelve round Odin’s throne,
Balder the Beautiful, alone,
The Sun god, good and pure and bright,
Was loved by all, as all love light.”

Balder had a twin-brother named Hoder, who was born blind. Gloomy and silent was he, but none the less he loved his bright sun-brother best of all in heaven or earth.

The home of Balder was a place with silver roof and pillars of gold, and nothing unclean or impure was allowed to come inside its doors.

Very wise in all magic charms was this radiant young god; and for all others save himself he could read the future; but “to keep his own life safe and see the sun” was not granted to him.

Now there came a time when Balder’s bright face grew sad and downcast; and when his father Odin and his mother Frigga perceived this they implored him to tell them the cause of his grief. Then Balder told them that he had been troubled by strange dreams; and, since in those days men believed that dreams were sent as a warning of what was about to happen, he had gone heavily since these visions had come to him.

First he had dreamt that a dark cloud had arisen which came before the sun and shut out all brightness from the land.

The next night he dreamt again that Asgard lay in darkness, and that her bright flowers and radiant trees were withered and lifeless, and that the Asa folk, dull and withered also, were sorrowing as though from some great calamity.

The third night he dreamt yet again that Asgard was dark and lifeless and that from out of the gloom one sad voice cried:

“Woe! Woe! Woe! For Balder the Beautiful is dead—is dead!”

Odin listened to the recital of this story with heavy heart, and at its conclusion he mounted his coal-black horse and rode over many a hard and toilsome road till he came to the dark abode of Hela. And there he saw to his surprise, that a great banquet was being prepared in the gloomy hall. Dishes of gold were set upon the table and all the couches were covered with the richest silken tapestry, as though some honored guest were expected. But a throne that stood at the head of the table was empty.

Very thoughtfully Odin rode on through those dim halls till he came to one where dwelt an ancient prophetess, whose voice no man had heard for many a long year.

Silent he stood before her, until she asked in a voice that sounded as though it came from far away: “Who art thou, and from whence dost thou come to trouble my long rest?”

Now Odin was fearful that she would not answer him did he give his real name, so he told her that he was the son of Valtam, and asked anxiously for whom the grim goddess of Death was preparing her banquet.

Then, to his great grief, the hollow voice of the prophetess replied that Balder was the expected guest, and that he would shortly be sent thither, slain by the hand of Hoder, the blind god of Darkness.

“Who then,” asked Odin, in sorrowful tones, “shall avenge the death of Balder?”

And she answered that the son of the Earth-goddess, Vali by name, should neither

“Comb his raven hair
Nor wash his visage in the stream,
Nor see the sun’s departing beam,
Till he on Hoder’s corse shall smile
Flaming on the funeral pile.”

And learning thus of the fate of his two favorite sons, All-Father Odin went sadly back to Asgard.

Meantime Mother Frigga had not been idle. Filled with anxiety for her darling son, she decided to send her servants throughout the earth, bidding them exact a promise from all things—not only living creatures, but plants, stones, and metals, fire, water, trees and diseases of all kinds—that they would do harm in no way to Balder the Beautiful.

Theirs was an easy task, for all things loved the bright Sun-god, and readily agreed to give the pledge. Nothing was overlooked save only the mistletoe, growing upon the oak-tree that shaded the entrance to Valhalla. It seemed so insignificant that no one thought it worth while to ask this plant to take the oath.

The servants returned to Frigga with all the vows and compacts that had been made; and the Mother of Gods and Men went back with heart at ease to her spinning-wheel.

The Asa folk, too, were reassured, and, casting aside the burden of care that had fallen upon them, they resumed their favorite game upon the plains of Idavold, where they were wont to contend with one another in the throwing of golden disks.

And when it became known among them that nothing would hurt Balder the Beautiful they invented a new game.

Placing the young Sun-god in their midst, they would throw stones at him, or thrust at him with their knives, or strike with their wooden staves; and the wood or the knife or the stone would glance off from Balder and leave him quite unhurt.

This new game delighted both Balder and the Asa folk, and so loud was their laughter that Loki, who was some distance away pursuing one of his schemes in the disguise of an old woman, shook with rage at the sound. For Loki was jealous of Balder and, as is usual with people who make themselves disliked, nothing gave him such displeasure as to see a group of the Asas on such happy terms with each other.

Presently, in his wanderings, Loki passed by the house of Fensalir, in the doorway of which sat Frigga, at her spinning-wheel. She did not recognize Red Loki, but greeted him kindly and asked:

“Old woman, dost thou know why the gods are so merry this evening?”

And Loki answered: “They are casting stones and throwing sharp knives and great clubs at Balder the Beautiful, who stands smiling in their midst, daring them to hurt him.”

Then Frigga smiled tranquilly and turned again to her wheel, saying:

“Let them play on, for no harm will come to him whom all things in heaven and earth have sworn not to hurt.”

“Art thou sure, good mother, that _all_ things in heaven and earth have taken this vow?”

“Ay, indeed,” replied Frigga, “all save a harmless little plant, the mistletoe, which grows on the oak by Valhalla, and this is far too small and weak to be feared.”

And to this Loki replied in musing voice, nodding his head as he spoke: “Yea, thou art right, great Mother of Gods and Men.”

But the wicked Asa had learnt what he desired to know. The instrument by which he might bring harm to Balder the Beautiful was now awaiting him, and he determined to use it, to the dire sorrow of Asgard.

Hastening to the western gate of Valhalla, he pulled a clump of the mistletoe from the oak, and fashioned therefrom a little wand, or stick, and with this in his hand he returned to the plain of Idavold. He was far too cunning, however, to attempt to carry out his wicked design himself. His malicious heart was too well known to the Asa folk. But he soon found an innocent tool. Leaning against a tree, and taking no part in the game, was Hoder, the blind god, the twin brother of Balder, and to him he began:

“Hark to the Asas—how they laugh! Do you take no share in the game, good Hoder?”

“Not I,” said Hoder gloomily, “for I am blind, and know not where to throw.”

“I could show you that,” said Loki, assuming a pleasant tone; “’tis no hard matter, Hoder, and methinks the Asas will call you proud and haughty if you take no share in the fun.”

“But I have nothing to throw,” said poor blind Hoder.

Then Loki said: “Here, at least, is a small shaft, ’twill serve your purpose,” and leading innocent Hoder into the ring he cunningly guided his aim. Hoder, well pleased to be able to share in a game with his beloved brother, boldly sped the shaft, expecting to hear the usual shout of joyous laughter which greeted all such attempts. There fell instead dead silence on his ear, and immediately on this followed a wail of bitter agony. For Balder the Beautiful had fallen dead without a groan, his heart transfixed by the little dart of mistletoe.

“So on the floor lay Balder dead; and round
Lay thickly strewn swords, axes, darts, and spears,
Which all the Gods in sport had idly thrown
At Balder, whom no weapon pierced or clove;
But in his breast stood fixed the fatal bough
Of mistletoe, which Loki the Accuser gave
To Hoder, and unwitting Hoder threw—
’Gainst that alone had Balder’s life no charm.”

Dreading he knew not what, Hoder stood in doubt for some moments. But soon the meaning of that bitter wail was borne in upon him, piercing the cloud of darkness in which he always moved. He opened wide his arms as though to clasp the beloved form, and then with: “I have slain thee, my brother,” despair seized him and he fell prostrate in utter grief.

Meantime, the Asa folk crowded round the silent form of Balder, weeping and wailing; but, alas! their moans and tears could not bring Balder back. At length, All-Father Odin, whose grief was too deep for lamentations, bade them be silent and prepare to bear the body of the dead Asa to the seashore.

The unhappy Hoder, unable to take part in these last offices, made his way sadly through Asgard, beyond the walls and along the seashore, until he came to the house Fensalir.

Frigga was seated upon her seat of honor before the fire against the inner wall, and standing before her, with bent head and woeful, sightless gaze, Hoder told her of the dread mishap that had befallen.

“Tell me, O mother,” he cried in ending, and his voice sounded like the wail of the wind on stormy nights, “Tell me, is there aught I can do to bring my brother back? Or can I make agreement with the dread mother of the Underworld, giving my life in exchange for his?”

Woe crowded upon woe in the heart of Frigga as she listened to the story. The doom was wrought that she had tried so vainly to avert, and not even her mother’s love had availed to safeguard the son so dearly cherished.

“On Balder Death hath laid her hand, not thee, my son,” she said, “yet though we fail in the end, there is much that may be tried before all hope is lost.”

Then she told Hoder of a road by which the abode of Hela could be reached, one which had been travelled by none living save Odin himself.

“Who goes that way must take no other horse
To ride, but Sleipnir, Odin’s horse, alone.
Nor must he choose that common path of gods
Which every day they come and go in heaven,
O’er the bridge Bifrost, where is Heimdall’s watch.

“But he must tread a dark untravelled road
Which branches from the north of heaven, and ride
Nine days, nine nights, toward the northern ice,
Through valleys deep engulfed, with roaring streams.
And he will reach on the tenth morn a bridge
Which spans with golden arches Giöll’s stream.
Then he will journey through no lighted land,
Nor see the sun arise, nor see it set;

“And he must fare across the dismal ice
Northward, until he meets a stretching wall
Barring his way, and in the wall a grate,
But then he must dismount and on the ice,
Tighten the girths of Sleipnir, Odin’s horse,
And make him leap the grate, and come within.”

There in that cheerless abode dead Balder was enthroned, but, said Frigga, he who braves that dread journey must take no heed of him, nor of the sad ghosts flitting to and fro, like eddying leaves. First he must accost their gloomy queen and entreat her with prayers:

“Telling her all that grief they have in heaven
For Balder, whom she holds by right below.”

A bitter groan of anguish escaped from Hoder when Frigga had finished her recital of the trials which must be undergone:

“Mother, a dreadful way is this thou showest;
No journey for a sightless god to go.”

And she replied:

“… Thyself thou shalt not go, my son;
But he whom first thou meetest when thou com’st
To Asgard and declar’st this hidden way,
Shall go; and I will be his guide unseen.”

Meantime the Asa folk had felled trees and had carried to the seashore outside the walls of Asgard a great pile of fuel, which they laid upon the deck of Balder’s great ship, _Ringhorn_, as it lay stranded high upon the beach.

“Seventy ells and four extended
On the grass the vessel’s keel;
High above it, gilt and splendid,
Rose the figurehead ferocious
With its crest of steel.”

Then they adorned the funeral pyre with garlands of flowers, with golden vessels and rings, with finely wrought weapons and rich necklets and armlets; and when this was done they carried out the fair body of Balder the Beautiful, and bearing it reverently upon their shields they laid it upon the pyre.

Then they tried to launch the good ship, but so heavily laden was she that they could not stir her an inch.

The Mountain-Giants, from their heights afar, had watched the tragedy with eyes that were not unpitying, for even they had no ill-will for Balder and they sent and told of a giantess called Hyrroken, who was so strong that she could launch any vessel whatever its weight might be.

So the Asas sent to fetch her from Giantland, and she soon came, riding a wolf for steed and twisted serpents for reins.

When she alighted, Odin ordered four of his mightiest warriors to hold the wolf, but he was so strong that they could do nothing until the giantess had thrown him down and bound him fast.

Then with a few enormous strides, Hyrroken reached the great vessel, and set her shoulder against the prow, sending the ship rolling into the deep.

The earth shook with the force of the movement as though with an earthquake, and the Asa folk collided with one another like pine-trees during a storm. The ship, too, with its precious weight, was well-nigh lost. At this Thor was wroth and, seizing his hammer, would have slain the giantess had not the other Asas held him back, bidding him not forget the last duty to the dead god. So Thor hallowed the pyre with a touch of his sacred hammer and kindled it with a thorn twig, which is the emblem of sleep.

Last of all, before the pyre blazed up, All-Father Odin added to the pile of offerings his magic ring, from which fell eight new rings every ninth night, and bending he whispered in Balder’s ear.

But none to this day know the words that Odin spake thus in the ear of his dead son.

Then the flames from the pyre rose high and the great ship drifted out to sea, and the wind caught the sails and fanned the flames till it seemed as though sky and sea were wrapped in golden flame.

“And while they gazed, the sun went lurid down
Into the smoke-wrapt sea, and night came on.
But through the dark they watched the burning ship
Still carried o’er the distant waters.…
But fainter, as the stars rose high, it flared;
And as, in a decaying winter fire,
A charr’d log, falling, makes a shower of sparks—
So, with a shower of sparks, the pile fell in,
Reddening the sea around; and all was dark.”

And thus did Balder the Beautiful pass from the peaceful steads of Asgard, as passes the sun when he paints the evening clouds with the glory of his setting.

_Note._—Most of the poetical extracts throughout this chapter
are taken from Matthew Arnold’s “Balder Dead.”

THE WONDERFUL QUERN STONES

By Julia Goddard

Once upon a time there was a king of Denmark, or Gotland, as it was then called, whose name was Frothi. He was a great-grandson of the god Thor, and a very mighty king, and wherever the Danish language was spoken there was Frothi’s name honored and respected.

Among his treasures were two quern stones; nothing much to look at, simply two common millstones in appearance, and no one who did not know what they could do would think of taking any notice of them. Nevertheless these quern stones were of more worth than anything that King Frothi had, for they could produce anything that the grinder of the quern or hand-mill wished for. They would bring gold, silver, precious stones, anything and everything; and besides this they could grind love, joy, peace; therefore it is not too much to say that these stones were worth more than all the treasures of the king put together.

At least they would have been if he could have made use of them, but they were so heavy that few could be found to turn the quern, and just at the time of which I am speaking there was no one at all in the land of Gotland able to work away at the quern handle.

Now the more King Frothi pondered over his wonderful quern stones, the greater became his desire to use them, and he sought throughout the land from north to south, from east to west, if perchance he might find someone strong enough to help him in his need. But all to no purpose, and he was utterly in despair when, by good luck he happened to go on a visit to Fiölnir, King of Sweden, and to hear of two slave-women of great size and strength. Surely, thought Frothi, these are just the women to grind at my quern Grotti (for so it was called), and he asked King Fiölnir to be allowed to see them.

So King Fiölnir ordered the slaves to be brought before Frothi, and when Frothi saw them his spirits rose, for certainly Menia and Fenia were strong-looking women. They were eight feet in height, and broader across the shoulders than any of Frothi’s warriors, and the muscles of their arms stood out like cords. And they lifted heavy weights, threw heavy javelins, and did so many feats of strength that Frothi felt quite sure that they would be able to turn the quern handle.

“I will buy these slaves,” said he, “and take them with me to Gotland.”

Menia and Fenia stood with their arms folded and their proud heads bowed down, while Frothi counted out the gold to the seller. They were slaves; with money had they been bought, with money were they sold again. What cared Frothi who was their father, or how they had come into the land of Sweden?

And he took them home with him and bade them grind at the quern. Now he should be able to test the power of the wonderful stones.

“Grind, grind, Menia and Fenia, let me see whether you have strength for the work.”

So spake the King Frothi, and the huge women lifted the heavy stones as though they had been pebbles.

“What shall we grind?” asked the slaves.

“Gold, gold, peace and wealth for Frothi.”

Gold! gold! the land was filled with riches. Treasure in the king’s palace, treasure in the coffers of his subjects—gold! gold! There were no poor in the land, no beggars in the streets, no children crying for bread. All honor to the quern stones!

Peace! peace! no more war in the land. Frothi is at peace with everyone. And more than that, there was peace in all countries where Frothi’s name was known, even to the far south; and everyone talked of Frothi’s peace. Praise be to the quern stones! Wealth! yes, everything went well. Not one of the counsels of King Frothi failed. There was not a green field that did not yield a rich crop; not a tree but bent beneath its weight of fruit; not a stream that ran dry; not a vessel that sailed from the harbors of Gotland that came not back, after a fair voyage, in safety to its haven. There was good luck everywhere.

“Grind on, grind on, Menia and Fenia! good fortune is mine,” said King Frothi.

And the slaves ground on.

“When shall we rest, when may we rest, King Frothi? It is weary work toiling day and night.”

“No longer than whilst the cuckoo is silent in the spring.”

“Never ceasing is the cry of the cuckoo in the groves; may we not rest longer?”

“Not longer,” answered King Frothi, “than whilst the verse of a song is sung.”

“That is but little!” sighed Menia and Fenia, and they toiled on. Their arms were weary and their eyes heavy; they would fain have slept, but Frothi would not let them have any sleep. They were but slaves who must obey their master, so they toiled on, still grinding peace and wealth to Frothi:

“To Frothi and his queen
Joy and peace—
May plenty in the land
Still increase.
Frothi and his queen
From dangers keep;
May they on beds of down
Sweetly sleep.
No sword be drawn
In Gotland old,
By murderer bold.
No harm befall
The high or low—
To none be woe,
Good luck to all,
Good luck to all.
We grind, we grind,
No rest we find,
For rest we call.”

Thus sang the two giant women; then they begged again: “Give us rest, O Frothi!”

But still Frothi answered: “Rest whilst the verse of a song is sung, or as long as the cuckoo is silent in the spring.”

No longer would the king give them.

Yet Frothi was deemed a good king, but gold and good luck were hardening his heart.

Menia and Fenia went on grinding, and their wrath grew deeper and deeper, and thus at last they spoke.

First said Fenia: “Thou wert not wise, O Frothi. Thou didst buy us because like giants we towered above the other slaves, because we were strong and hardy and could lift heavy burdens.”

And Menia took up the wail: “Are we not of the race of the mountain giants? Are not our kindred greater than thine, O Frothi? The quern had never left the gray fell but for the giants’ daughters. Never, never should we have ground as we have done had it not been that we remembered from what race we sprang.”

Then answered Menia: “Nine long winters saw us training to feats of strength, nine long winters of wearisome labor. Deep down in the earth we toiled and toiled until we could move the high mountain from its foundations. We are weird women, O Frothi. We can see far into the future. Our eyes have looked upon the quern before. In the giants’ house we whirled it until the earth shook, and hoarse thunder resounded through the caverns. Thou art not wise, O Frothi! O Frothi; thou art not wise!”

But Frothi heard them not; he was sleeping the sweet sleep that the quern stones had ground for him.

“Strong are we indeed,” laughed Fenia sorrowfully, “strong to contend with the puny men—we whose pastime in Sweden was to tame the fiercest bears, so that they ate from our hands; we who fought with mighty warriors and came off conquerors; we who helped one prince and put down another. Well we fought, and many were the wounds we received from sharp spears and flashing swords. Frothi knows not our power or he would scarce have brought us to his palace to treat us thus. Here no one has compassion upon us. Cold are the skies above us, and the pitiless wind beats on our breasts. Cold is the ground on which we stand, and the keen frost bites our feet. Ah, there are none to pity us. No one cares for the slaves. We grind forever an enemy’s quern, and he gives us no rest. Grind, grind; I am weary of grinding; I must have rest.”

“Nay,” returned Menia, “talk not of rest until Frothi is content with what we bring him.”

Then Fenia started: “If he gives us no rest, let us take it ourselves. Why should we any longer grind good for him who only gives us evil? We can grind what we please. Let us revenge ourselves.”

Then Menia turned the handle quicker than ever, and in a wild voice she sang:

“I see a ship comes sailing
With warriors bold aboard,
There’s many a one that in Danish blood
Would be glad to dip his sword.
Say, shall we grind them hither?
Say, shall they land to-night?
Say, shall they set the palace afire?
Say, shall they win the fight?”

Then called Fenia in a voice of thunder through the midnight air: “Frothi, Frothi, awake, awake! Wilt thou not listen to us? Have mercy and let us rest our weary limbs.” But all was still, and Frothi gave no answer to the cry.

“Nay,” answered Menia, “he will not hearken. Little he cares for the worn-out slaves. Revenge, revenge!”

And Frothi slept, not dreaming of the evil that was coming upon him.

And again Fenia shouted: “Frothi, Frothi, awake! The beacon is blazing. Danger is nigh. Wilt thou not spare?”

But Frothi gave no answer, and the giant women toiled on.

“O Frothi, Frothi, we cannot bear our weariness.” And still no answer came.

“Frothi, Frothi, danger is nigh thee. Well-manned ships are gliding over the sea. It is Mysingr who comes; his white sail flutters in the wind; his flag is unfurled. Frothi, Frothi, awake, awake; thou shalt be king no longer.”

And as the giant women ground, the words they spake came to pass—they were grinding revenge for themselves and brought the enemy nearer and nearer.

“Ho! hearken to the herald! Frothi, Frothi, the town is on fire. The palaces will soon be ruined heaps. Grind, Menia, ever more swiftly, until we grind death to Frothi.”

And Menia and Fenia ground and ground till Mysingr and his followers landed from the ships. They ground until they had reached the palace.

“To arms, to arms!” shouted the warder, but it was too late. The Gotlanders armed themselves; but who could stand against the army that the slave women were grinding against them?

Not long did the struggle last. Frothi and his Gotlanders fought bravely, but the sea-king and his allies were mightier, for the giantesses were in giant mood, and turned the handle faster and faster, until down fell the quern stones. Then sank Frothi pierced with wounds, and the fight was over. The army that Menia and Fenia had ground to help Mysingr vanished; and Mysingr and his men alone were left conquerors on the bloody field.

They loaded their ships with treasure, and Mysingr took with him Menia, Fenia, and the quern stones.

But, alas! Mysingr was no wiser than King Frothi had been.

Gold, however, was not his first thought; he had enough of that, but he wanted something else that just then was more to him than gold.

There was no salt on board the sea-king’s vessels; so he said: “Grind salt.”

And Menia and Fenia ground salt for Mysingr.

At midnight they asked if they had ground enough.

And Mysingr bade them grind on.

And so they ground and ground until the ship was so heavy with salt that it sank, and the sea-king and all his men were drowned.

Where the quern stones went down there is to this day a great whirlpool, and the waters of the sea have been salt ever since.

_From the painting by K. Dielitz_]

BRUNHILDA AND THE MAGIC SWORD

By Constance Maud

On the summit of a rocky mountain peak a beautiful maiden lay sleeping. On every side rose the tall dark pine trees, like huge giants on guard. A circle of magic fire formed a glowing wall around her rocky couch.

The sun rose and set, night succeeded day, winter and summer came and went, but the maiden slept on still.

From head to foot she was encased in shining armor. On her breast lay a shield, on her head glistened a warrior’s helmet, and at her side a spear. For on a day long past it had been decreed that thus this maiden should sleep, till awakened by the kiss of one who would dare the flames for her sake, and claim her as bride.

Many a knight, hearing of the beautiful sleeper, had thought to win his way to her; but no sooner did he see the angry fire darting out on all sides, and feel the scorching heat of the great flames, than the bravest fell back discouraged.

Time was when this fair warrior had dwelt with the gods and goddesses in Valhalla, for she was none other than Brunhilda, favorite daughter of Wotan the king. She had eight sisters, each one beautiful as the dawn, and knowing neither fear nor weakness; but among them all Brunhilda was fairest, bravest, and strongest. These nine maidens were known as the Valkyrie, and each was a warrior perfect in the art of war. Chief among their duties was to attend all battles on earth. Riding on their winged horses, they would hover over the battlefield, and, when a hero fell, swoop down and bear his lifeless body to Valhalla, where he would awaken to live among the gods, and be from henceforth one of the chosen bodyguard of Wotan.

Now it happened on a day in these times long past that Wotan called to him Brunhilda, and charged her that she should defend Siegmund the Volsung in a deadly combat he was about to engage in with the grim and savage Hunding.

Wotan had reasons for wishing to grant Siegmund a special favor. The Father of the Gods had once struck a mighty sword into the heart of an ancient ash tree, decreeing that it should belong to him alone who could pluck it out. Many a valiant knight had tried to win the sword; but all in vain. Buried deep in the ash-stem it remained till Siegmund came and with one powerful wrench drew forth the weapon. Then Wotan rejoiced that a man had been found strong enough to win his sword, and he loved Siegmund the Volsung greatly.

But Wotan hated Hunding, for he was a tyrant and a bully. With all his strength and bluster, he had never been able to pluck out the sword, though many a time had he tried, grinding his teeth savagely over his failure.

Now the cause of strife between Hunding and Siegmund was this—Hunding had a beautiful wife, Sieglinda by name, whom he had married sorely against her will. With her whole soul she loathed and hated the cruel Hunding, and only longed to escape from him. So it befell one day she fled with Siegmund the Volsung; for the first moment they met, these two loved one another, and Sieglinda said to herself: “It were better far to die with Siegmund than to live with Hunding.”

When Hunding discovered their flight, he set forth to pursue the lovers, uttering loud threats of vengeance, which echoed through the forest for miles round.

He called on Fricka, Queen of Valhalla, to help him, for he knew this goddess to be most stern in her view of the duties of wives.

“O mighty goddess,” cried Hunding, “grant me thine aid! May thy justice and my righteous vengeance speedily overtake the miscreant! Let not the scoundrel Volsung turn the power of Wotan’s sword to his own advantage, for then would all men surely say that the god’s favor rests on faithless wives!”

Fricka promised him her warm support, and also that of Wotan, whom she knew she could bend to her all-powerful will, however opposed he might feel. Scarcely had Brunhilda left the presence of her father when the goddess Fricka drove up in a car drawn by two fierce fleet-footed rams.

With stern majesty she demanded that Siegmund should be given up to justice, and the magic sword he had won be broken against the spear of Wotan himself. It was for the honor of the gods and Valhalla, cried Fricka, that Hunding’s prayer for vengeance on his faithless wife and her lover be answered.

In vain did Wotan plead every excuse he could devise for his favorite Siegmund. Not until he had solemnly sworn on oath to cast off Siegmund, and recall the order given to Brunhilda, did the stern goddess take her leave. Wotan sank on the nearest rock a picture of utter dejection. In this sad state Brunhilda found him shortly after. She listened in dismay, when in gloomy tones he said to her:

“Thou shalt fight to-day as Fricka desires, and thou shalt vanquish utterly Siegmund the Volsung! Heed well my words—my former order I now recall.”

Brunhilda could scarcely believe she heard aright. “Nay, but thou lovest Siegmund,” she cried in sore perplexity, “and Hunding dost thou hate! Ah,” she continued, as a new thought came to her, “this second decree is not given with thy heart! Rather will I abide by the first!”

Brunhilda spoke with good intent, but these were unlucky words. In many respects the mighty Wotan was not unlike a mortal man.

“How, froward child! Dost dare dispute my word?” he cried. “Thou who are naught but the blind tool used by my hand! Wake not my wrath, but heed well my command—Siegmund dies in the fight with Hunding. I have spoken—go!”

In sorrowful amaze the warrior-maiden took up her weapons and departed. She found the ill-starred lovers resting awhile in their wanderings through the trackless forest. Sieglinda’s strength was utterly spent, and she had fallen into a deep swoon.

“Siegmund the Volsung,” spoke Brunhilda in solemn tones, “I come to call thee hence!”