“What followed, I need not tell thee; the son of Hugh was restored, and Eustace consigned to a dungeon. The attempts of the people to force from me my secret, you know how I resisted; calmly and even proudly I went to my prison and prepared myself to die. I had humbled myself to De Broke, for to him I had done deep and particular injury; but to these men I owed no other reparation than what my life would pay: what right had they then to demand further humiliation of me, or attempt to rend from my bosom the mystery of its secret purpose? I would die unaccusing, save myself; I would die, shrouded in gloomy dignity,—a man to be wondered at and feared, rather than pitied and scorned. I will willingly furnish their greedy eyes with the awful feast of death, but not their vulgar souls with the struggles and humiliations of mine; my body is the law’s—is theirs; my spirit is beyond their judgment. John de la Pole shall sleep on, embalmed in good opinions; I will not raise up his pall to shew them what corruption festers beneath it; I would not tell them what hewas, though it should even lessen intheir thought the horror of what Iam. Grand and silent death—majestic in thy obscurity—I wait to bid thee welcome!
“Thus far had I written, and thought that my story in the book of life had come to its close, but other events have crowded upon me; and before my death, (which will be on the morrow,) I would tell thee the incidents of the last few days. Thou knowest how calmly I beheld thee depart from my prison, and how little emotion I manifested at my fate; but when thou wert gone, when I was alone, in chains, degraded, the enthusiasm of the moment past, and my spirit inactive, I wept bitter tears at the waywardness of my early fate; yet I relaxed not in my determination; I came hither to die, and nothing was left me but to finish my purpose nobly. It is my will to doom a murderer, and I am he so doomed. I wept, yet persisted; cursed the cruelty which had destroyed me, and yet prayed to my brother for pardon. Of the future I had as yet scarcely thought; hitherto I had been solely employed about the method of quitting this world, without much considering the terms of my admission to another; now I pondered long, with anxiety, but not with fear. Creeds puzzled me—I made not my own heart—I cannot be answerable for itsopinions. I have committed a deadly sin—I am about to expiate it with my blood—I cannot do more; and is not this sacrifice greater than the cant of sorrow and the whinings of prayer from one who never prayed before? The one is from myself, the child of my resolution—the other the offspring of fear—But I was distracted still, and bewildered. It was in this disturbed state that I was startled by a light sound in my prison—I listened—a soft voice, for the second time, pronounced in kindly accents, ‘My brother!’ I started up and gazed around me; on the opposite side of my dungeon stood the form of John de la Pole, but not as I had seen him last, pale, menacing, and bloody, but with that mild aspect and gentle look that had distinguished his early brotherhood, ere Agatha’s fatal beauty cut asunder the knot that bound our souls together. ‘Thou hast done well,’ said the gentle spirit, ‘thus to render up thy life for thy crime; thy severe justice hath merited and obtained thy pardon; my sufferings, too, the punishment for unrepented sin, thy firmness hath terminated; and the days of Agatha shall henceforth flow more peaceful. Soon shalt thou be with me, O brother! and the kiss of immortality shall be given to thee by my lips: weep not—doubt not—but bear all things steadfastly;in thine hour of agony I will stand by thy side.’
“A tender grief overpowered my spirit as he spoke, and tears fell from my eyes. I extended my arms as if I would have embraced him, but the barrier between the living and the dead could not as yet be passed, and the shadow receded from my touch. But this visitation had brought joy to my heart and tranquillity to my spirit, and the arrival of Agatha at the prison still further reconciled me to my doom. ‘Thy sacrifice is hallowed,’ she said; ‘thou wilt die, but I must live to expiate my crime, as the slave of thy ghastly son, till Heaven shall call him to itself.Hestood by my couch last night; smilingly he looked upon me, as in the days of his early love, and bade me live and hope: in this world I shall behold him no more! but thou, my beloved! thou art for the distant land, and the abode whither he is gone before thee. Oh that I might share thy doom, as I have already partaken thy guilt!’
“We parted—let me not dwell upon that—we parted for ever; for me there remained a mighty duty to fulfil, and from which I did not shrink—no, not even when those who had been my friends sought to wring my secret from myheart by the infliction of the torture: I pitiedthem, but not myself.
“The day of torture came; thou wert by my side, and didst urge a voluntary death to rescue me from agony and the stare of burning eyes eagerly watching my pangs. I rejected thy counsel; yet didst thou not forsake me, but marched to the scene of my infamy by my side. All around, as I went thither, did I look for the promised appearance of my brother, and trembled lest I should not behold him. ‘Surely this is mine hour of agony,’ I said, as I ascended the steps of the scaffold; ‘wherefore is he not by my side?’ And the guest from the other world,—he beneath whose scowl my heart had for months been withering,—was desired with more impatience than ever I had felt for the presence of earthly friends. I had not long to fear or to doubt—he was there before me; on reaching the scaffold, I beheld him standing by the block, and calmly and silently smiling a welcome to his brother. Thou didst behold my firmness, and the multitude saw my composure with wonder; but they beheld not the cause; they saw not thathewas looking on, and that I drew in resolution from his smile, and firmness from his awful brow.
“The ineffectual agony was past—curiosity was silenced—and I was condemned to die; and to-morrow Ishalldie,—from all that I have loved, hated, or valued, I shall be torn to-morrow. The last sunset is falling upon my paper, is gilding my pen as I write; to-morrow it will sparkle upon the edge of the axe, and illuminate a brow from which the inward light will have departed for ever; to-morrow will be the scene of my last humiliation; buthewill be there to witness it; and convert it by his presence into a triumph: and, when all shall be over, when the last mortal throb shall be past, what then shall be my destiny? ‘Thou art pardoned,’ he said; ‘and an immortality is before thee!’ Oh, then, let me hope for an immortality of peace! Now, then, I will go sleep—exhausted nature must be recruited for her great labour to-morrow—for these broken limbs, these strained sinews, and this bruised flesh, must needs want repose, ere they can encounter the task of fresh exertion. Serve me well, ye mangled limbs, but to-morrow, and I shall require your service no more.—Courtenay, good night.”
Such was the tale of the fratricide, and of him who was his victim: of her who survived the deaths of both, no more was heard; for upon Courtenay’s going to the cottage at the periodshe had appointed to receive her last commands, he learned she had quitted it two days previous, but had left a small parcel to be given to him; it contained a few remembrances of herself and Eustace, and the following letter:—
“Courtenay—“In giving thee the papers containing our story, I have obeyed the last wish of him whose lightest word was a law to me; but I cannot look on thee again after this communication. Grieve not for me, for my lot will not be wretched; the death of my child has released me from the world, and I hasten to withdraw myself from it: I had arranged all things for the purpose before I sent to request thy presence. Endeavour not to discover me; such search would be fruitless and vain. I retire from the kingdom; and in a convent of Clairs, beneath the habits and rules of the order, and under another name, conceal for ever, from the eyes of the world, the person, the crime, and the sorrow of“Agatha de la Pole.”
“Courtenay—
“In giving thee the papers containing our story, I have obeyed the last wish of him whose lightest word was a law to me; but I cannot look on thee again after this communication. Grieve not for me, for my lot will not be wretched; the death of my child has released me from the world, and I hasten to withdraw myself from it: I had arranged all things for the purpose before I sent to request thy presence. Endeavour not to discover me; such search would be fruitless and vain. I retire from the kingdom; and in a convent of Clairs, beneath the habits and rules of the order, and under another name, conceal for ever, from the eyes of the world, the person, the crime, and the sorrow of
“Agatha de la Pole.”
—Hell is empty,And all the Devils are here.Shakspeare.
—Hell is empty,And all the Devils are here.
Shakspeare.
Somewhereabout the year 112, in winter or summer—we are not exactly prepared to say which—died Olave the Second, one of the early kings of Denmark; he was a “fellow of no reckoning,” for he took no account of any thing that occurred during his reign, except the making of strong drink, and the number of butts in his cellar. Hismajesty, it must be avowed, was in the presumptuous habit of forestalling the joys of heaven, (we mean Odin’s,) that is to say, he impiously got drunk every day of his life, before the regular allowance of fighting, the customary number of enemies’ broken heads, and his own orderly death upon the field of battle, bore testimony that he was properly qualified for such supreme enjoyment. Olave in his life was a happy fellow; for, never having been sober during one hour of it, he had not the misfortune to hear all the ill-natured things that his courtiers and subjects said of his enormities, behind his back, or when he was asleep. It must, however, be acknowledged that, even among the unscrupulous Danes, who were not at that period remarkable for their practice of sobriety, Olave was a filthy fellow: to this hour he is held up as a monument of brutality and stupidity, and the memory of Jeroboam, the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin, was not more devoted to execration among the Jews, than that of king Olave the Second among the Danes. On his death-bed, however, when he could no longer swallow his usual enlivening potations, blue devils beset his nights, and conscience twitted him with his ill-spent days. He had never broken a head in his life, except by proxy; and how could he makehis appearance in Valhalla without a skull to drink out of?—to knock at the gates of Valasciolf without a goblet in his hand?—The thing was impossible; it was clear he would be kicked through Asgard, and sent to fret in Nifthiem, where the burning claws of Lok would set fire to the good liquor incorporated with his being, and reduce him to the condition of an eternal, thinking cinder!—Miserable anticipations! he tried to weep; but water, which he had hitherto scorned, now scorned him, and absolutely refused to come at his desire: he shed tears of mead, which he caught in his mouth as fast as they fell, partly from fear lest Odin should remark them, and partly because he could not endure to see good liquor wasted.
But all things have an end—in this world at least—and so it was with the life and repentance of king Olave the Second; he died without the drinking-cup he had regretted so deeply, and before he had time to frame a decent apology to Odin for venturing into Valhalla without one. There was a world of business now to be done at the palace of Sandaal: a dead king to be buried, and two living kings to be crowned; for such was the will of the lamented Olave, that both his sons should succeed him. They were princes of verydifferent characters, yet their father, it should seem, loved them equally, as he divided his dominions very fairly between them, to the no small disgust of the elder prince, Frotho, who, like the imperial Octavius, some years before, could not bear a divided throne. This worthy in character resembled, in no slight degree, his excellent father, of dozy memory, for he loved to drink much and fight little,—more especially as his younger brother Harold had a decided vocation for the latter employment, and none at all for the former: to him, therefore, he left the charge of the glory of the Danish crown, while he, for the present, contented himself with drinking to his successes. This good understanding, however, between the princes could not last for ever. Frotho was, after all, only half a drunkard, and therefore extremely sulky in his cups—more especially when his queen Helga seated herself at his elbow to twit his courage with the heroic deeds of his brother. Queen consorts should not meddle with politics, they never do any thing but mischief—and so it proved in this instance; for Frotho grew absolutely delirious, kept himself entirely sober for three whole days, buckled on his wooden target, put himself at the head of his troops, and, swearing to be revenged upon hisbrother, marched on an expedition to Jutland. The expedition neither answered his intentions nor expectations; the men of Jutland were too many for king Frotho, for, headed by Feggo, (the murderous uncle of the philosophic Hamlet, whose father was prince only of this part of Denmark,) they drove Frotho “home without boots, and in foul weather too,” as Glendwr did, long afterwards, king Harry Bolingbroke. Frotho could not stomach this affront—the beating was hard of digestion: his subjects made mouths at him too, and mimicked a race whenever he appeared in public. So he sent his brother, king Harold, who was a fighter to the back-bone, to chastise the Jutlanders, which when he had done most effectually, Frotho grew more angry still; he detested his brother, dreaded his popularity, feared his wisdom, and quivered at his anger,—so he began to consider seriously how he might cleverly and quietly put him out of the way.
King Frotho had two counsellors, neither of whom ever agreed with the other in the advice they gave his majesty: the reason was tolerably obvious, for the one was an honest man, the other a rogue, and, like the Topaz and Ebene of Voltaire, they bewildered the unhappy monarch with the diversity of their opinions and advice. Onthis occasion, however, king Frotho troubled only the rogue for his, which he was pretty certain beforehand would not differ very widely from his own. Eric Swen was an unprincipled ragamuffin, who hated Harold, because he had discovered that Harold hated his vices; and, as that prince had two sons who were rising into manhood, he shuddered at the prospect of two or three strict warrior reigns, which would certainly bring virtue into fashion: the prince had refused him, too, the hand of his sister, which, to make the refusal more bitter, he had bestowed upon his rival in the council and camp, Frotho’s general, Haquin. All these offences were carefully summoned up, to inflame his ire against Harold, by the devil, in the shape of Frotho, who promised him—Heaven knows what—both on earth and in Valhalla, if he would only push king Harold from his share of the stool, and leave both halves of it to Frotho.
Notwithstanding all the provocations on both sides, the confederates were two or three whole years before they could “screw their courage to the sticking place,” that is, to the pitch necessary for the murder of king Harold. They had sent fifty inconsiderable nobles, whom they had found troublesome, to Asgard, without ceremony; but Harold was a king and a warrior, and required agood deal. “If we could but pour poison into his ear,” said Eric; “Or into his cup,” replied Frotho; “Or stab him in his sleep,” said Eric; “Or coax him out hunting with us,” replied the brother, “and give it to him quietly in the forest.” But none of these safe plans would answer;—so Frotho, accompanied by his sole and trusty counsellor, rode off for the forest, to find the cave where, tradition said, had resided, from the days of the “Avater” of Odin, his enemy Biorno, the descendant of Lok, grand nephew of Surter, and first cousin to the Wolf Fenris and Serpent Midgard. Frotho, however well disposed to beg the aid and advice of the sorcerer, by no means felt quite at ease when he considered the family to which he belonged: the wolf and the eternal earth-circling snake were known to bear no very great partiality to the race of Odin,—and Frotho, they knew, if they knew any thing, was a true son of their enemy. Still the Danish monarch trotted on with his squire till they reached the centre of the forest.
“After all, Eric,” said his majesty, as they trotted on cosily together; “after all”—but, as an historian, I must make one observation here: you are aware, dear reader, that the Scandinavians of the year 112, and some timeafter, did not use the same simple, plain, common-place sort of style which they have adopted to express their meaning now-a-days. If we may believe their own writers, they were always in alt, gave their commands in a kind of heroic prose, and carried on dialogues in a sort of rambling blank verse. It must therefore be obvious to you, dear reader, that I spare you their language, and only give you their sentiments, which, to the best of my humble ability, I will translate for you into decent colloquial English, the better to carry your patience through the long-winded history which I am preparing as a trial for it. But to return to Frotho the Fifth of Denmark. “After all, Eric,” said he, “I have perhaps no great reason to fear these ugly immortals: as I am going to consult their kinsman, and am withal very well disposed to put an end to the race of Odin, (that part of it at least most devoted to him,) I think they may be civil to me. My own son Sevald is the only member of the family I wish to preserve, and I may soon mould him to my own opinions. If the sorcerer will only dispose of Harold for me, or tell me how I may safely dispose of him, I shall not haggle on the terms of assistance; I will do any thing to serve him or his, which may not interfere with my own safety, or rob me of the diadem Iam so anxious to wear alone.” Eric was about to reply to his magnanimous master, but paused, half afraid, as he discovered they were really in the sorcerer’s neighbourhood, for the yawning mouth of the cave was actually staring them in the face. Frotho, as became him, now took the lead, and marched dauntlessly forward, though not without a glance backward now and then to see if Eric was close behind him, and as any sound struck upon his ear that bore any resemblance to a hiss or a howl. At length, after many turnings and windings, he found himself in a cavern of large dimensions, broadly lighted by a huge iron lamp, suspended from the upper part of it. He turned round to make some remark to his patient tail-piece, but was petrified to observe that he had fallen to the earth stiff and insensible to every thing around him. The Danish monarch’s cheeks waxed pale, and his knees began to smite each other; nevertheless he grasped the hilt of his falchion, as a slight noise on the opposite side withdrew his attention from the insensible Eric Swen; there stood an old man of reverend aspect, mildly but steadily gazing upon the king: “Art thou he whom I have been so long taught to expect?” said the sorcerer; “art thou the king of the race of Odin, alone chosen by his invinciblefoe to render a service to the son of Lok, and deserve the everlasting gratitude of his children?[242]If indeed thou art the appointed, I bid thee highest welcome, for the task decreed to thee hath been denied to the immortals, above whom the grateful Lok will raise thee.”
Frotho recovered his spirits at this address; half his business was already done, for his wishes were anticipated. He had been so little accustomed to receive compliments from his subjects, that his opinion of his own endowments had not been particularly high; but now he began to think he had mistaken himself, and was really a much greater man than he had suspected. He readily promised obedience to the sorcerer, upon certain terms, and assured him of his assistance when and wherever it might be demanded. The magician then proceeded to inform him that he was himself a descendant of Lok, and an ally of the spirits of fire, those daring beings who had for so many thousand years waged war with various success against Odin and his warriors, and which warfare would not cease till the end of the world; when, during a night which was to last a year, there would be a general battle, in which Earth, Niftheim, and Asgard, would go to wreck, and the conquering party be elevated to anewer and more beautiful heaven in Gimle,—while Nastrande, a still gloomier hell, would be made out of the fragments of the old one, for the accommodation of the party conquered. “Balder!” exclaimed Frotho, starting at this part of the story,—for he never liked to hear any thing of the old hell, which he thought quite bad enough without the spirits troubling themselves about the creation of another; “but I thought, sir sorcerer, that the wicked alone would be punished in Nastrande, after the long night and battle of the gods; I thought”—“Exactly so, my son,” interrupted the sorcerer; “the wicked certainly; for the conqueredwillbe the wicked—that is beyond dispute; butwhowill conquer is not so certain; perhaps Lok, perhaps Odin—each, as far as I see, have an equal chance; take part then with us, and share our danger and glories in the next world, and our certain assistance in this.” To this world, then, (as king Frotho had at present more business in it,) he limited his wishes, and gave Biorno his steady attention as he proceeded in his narrative, “Odin,” the magician continued to observe, “though utterly unable to chain entirely the powers of Lok, had just now decidedly the advantage; for he had a few hundred years before seized upon his eldest son,the unwary Surter, whom he had caught out of his own territories, and wedged him, in the shape of a raven, into an iron cage, there to remain till one of his own race, a kingly son of his blood, should release him:”—a condition from Odin probably implying an eternal punishment,—as that divinity, who does not appear to have been as omniscient as he ought, never imagined any member of his house would have been found silly enough to fulfil it. “Now then,” continued the magician, “I have consulted the eternal powers, and find that thou, Frotho of Denmark, art the king destined to this wondrous deed, and its following union with the immortals.” Frotho gave his assent to all and any thing proposed; and the sorcerer immediately began his operations; he raised his ebon wand above his head, with many magical flourishes—turned himself rapidly round—then more slowly, pausing at each of the cardinal points, and calling north, south, east, and west, upon the tremendous name of Lok. At that sound, so terrible even to the ears of spirits, the thunder began to rumble and the fires of Niftheim flash through the gloomy cavern; something like music was heard, and, though the concert was hardly better than those performed by king Frotho’s own band during his drinkingorgies, yet as the voices (and they were many) solely employed their powers in singing his praises, and the approaching deliverance of the god by his means, his majesty was pleased to think nothing in heaven could be half so fine. Presently the earth shook, and the sides of the cavern rocked; Biorno pointed to the bottom of the cave,—and Frotho beheld it, after a few violent convulsions, suddenly open, and disclose to his view an enormous raven, in a gigantic iron cage. “Behold,” said the magician to him, “the prison of the immortal prince of fire!—in that shape he must remain a hundred thousand years, unless a kingly hand of the line of Odin shall restore him (by breaking the bars of his iron cage) to power and to liberty. Monarch of Denmark! go,—and success attend thee.” Frotho obeyed immediately; he made a desperate attack upon the iron cage, but failed in his intention of rending away its bars; he made many earnest efforts, but all in vain,—the bars remained unbroken. The Dane paused in vexation—he was frightened and mortified—and, by the howls and groans which resounded on all sides of the cavern, it was evident the anxious spirits of Niftheim sympathised in his distress: Biorno too, afflicted beyond measure at the ill success of the enterprise, threwhimself upon the earth, tore off his magical cap, plucked up his hair by the roots, and howled as loudly as the noisiest of them. This dismal sight drove Frotho desperate; he collected all his energies for one mighty pull, rushed upon the cage, grappled with the bars, and, in an instant, threw them at the sorcerer’s feet, who sprung up like an elk to receive them. Frotho stood majestically silent, while an uproar, such as no human ear has ever heard since, began its diversions in the cavern; a thick black mist quickly filled its whole space, so that Frotho could but indistinctly distinguish the figures who made up the ball; millions of shadows were flitting about, and millions of voices were laughing, singing, shouting, groaning, and cursing. Midgard raised his glittering snaky head above the darkness and the shadows, and greeted the monarch with a cordial and complimentary hiss; wolf Fenris tried hard for a good-natured howl; and the grim Hela, their sister, the queen of death, tortured her ghastly face into a smile, as she capered nimbly backwards and forwards in the festival, animated by the thought of the many meals Frotho would furnish for her famished maw. But, at length, the immortals grew weary of their own noises—the infernal jollificationcame to an end—the mist cleared off—the fires went out—the uproar died away,—and Frotho’s courage returned to its half-bewildered master, who took heart once again to look about him. He was alone (to his great joy) with Biorno, except that, in place of the raven and his cage, there sat, reposing upon a light cloud, his beautiful brow diademed with his native element, the triumphant prince of fire, in all the pride of beauty and victory. “Frotho, son of Olave,” said the sweet voice of the spirit; “bravest among the brave, and wisest of the sons of Odin,—what is thy will with me? Tax my gratitude, preserver; ask, and obtain thy wishes.” Frotho waited for no further encouragement, but directly stated his wishes to reign alone in Denmark, and sweep off all the collaterals of his house, who were such bars to his glory. “Thy brother’s life I give thee,” said the spirit; “destroy him when thou wilt, but be cautious to keep it secret: his elder son shall in vain endeavour to oppose thee—I will baffle his claim, and proclaim thee sole monarch in Denmark; but touch not the life of Haldane; he has offended Lok, and the god demands the victim, whom he will receive from no mortal hand: for Harold the younger, do with him as thou wilt, but, if thou spare his life, heshall have no power to harm thee; go—reign—prosper;—nothing shall do thee wrong till thyself shall fulfil a decree which is gone forth respecting thee; thou shall prosper till thy hand shall unite thy own blood to that of thy deadliest foe: beware of this, and triumph.” “Prince of the powers of Niftheim,” said Frotho, “surely Harold, my brother, is my deadliest foe, and he has no daughter to whom I can give my son; but I will be mindful of thy words, and remember thy warning.” The spirit then desired him, should any event disturb his tranquillity, to come to the cavern and strike thrice upon the side where stood the iron cage: “Biorno shall meet thee,” continued he, “and yield thee, in my name, such help as thou mayest require;” then, slowly and silently encircling himself in the clouds which surrounded him, he gradually disappeared from the sight of Frotho, leaving the cavern illuminated only by the light of the iron lamp which hung from its centre. Biorno, too, had vanished, leaving him alone with Eric Swen, who, now easily awakened from his trance, prepared to follow his master home, who simply informed his confidant that he had consulted the magician, who had advised the murder of Harold, and promised him success in its performance. This wasreadily undertaken by the profligate Eric, who, watching, with a lynx-like assiduity, his opportunity, plunged his sword in the heart of the unhappy Harold with such right good will and judgment, that the prince died before he knew he was wounded: nor was Frotho behind his confederate in the good management of a difficult affair, and skill in getting out of a dilemma; and this was especially proved, when the body of Eric Swen, transfixed by a well-aimed javelin, was found stark and stiff by the side of king Harold, and Frotho ordered every body to believe that these enemies had fallen in single combat with each other.
There was one Dane in the court of king Frotho who took the liberty of believing contrarily to the royal orders; this was the brave Haquin, the brother-in-law of the two kings, and their favourite general and minister: he knew Frotho, and he suspected foul play. He secured the persons of his murdered master’s two sons, and, giving out that Haldane should challenge his father’s crown against Frotho, in an assembly of the states, retired from the court to his own towers, till the nobles should be pleased to appoint a day for hearing the claim of his ward. In the mean time, Haldane himself had not been idle;he employed a good number of his vacant hours in making tender love to his beautiful cousin, the young Ildegarda, and laying at her feet the crown which hewasto have, and which Ildegarda accepted, as a thing of course; for she already considered herself the queen of Denmark. Haldane was tenderly beloved, and they each looked forward to the day on which he was to claim his father’s crown from the ambitious Frotho, as that which was to seal their love and their happiness.
That day at length arrived; the states, the nobles, the warriors, and a great part of the troops, were assembled in an open plain, where Frotho, on his throne, awaited the arrival of his kinsman. His majesty had arrayed himself with peculiar splendour for this solemn occasion; his long hair, now slightly tinged with grey, floated down his back, while all his face was clean shaven, except his upper lip, which exhibited a most magnanimous mustache; his breast, arms, and legs were painted in the brightest blue, and the most fashionable pattern in Denmark; a short petticoat of lynx skin, fastened round his waist by the paws of the animal, descended to his knees; and from his shoulders to his heels, secured round his neck by claws of gold, fell the robe of royal magnificence, the mantle made of the skins ofmany ermines; his feet were defended by shoes of the sable of the black fox; his neck was ornamented by a chain of gold, and the regal circle of the same precious metal shone through his locks around his temples; on his left arm was a target of leather, studded with brass nails of unusual brightness and immense value; in his right hand he held the sceptre; he sat upon a throne covered with the hides of wolves, and over his head floated, in proud sublimity, the standard of Denmark, the raven.
People may talk as long as they please about innate dignity and the majesty of mind, but the majesty of fine clothes has a much greater influence upon popular opinion,—else wherefore that elderly proverb which sayeth that “fine feathers make fine birds?” Every body knows that king Herod’s silver petticoat made the stupid mob of Judea mistake him for a god; and on this day, so important to Haldane, Frotho’s amazing magnificence madehispeople mistake him for a hero. So strong ran the tide of popular opinion, that when Haldane, simply habited, mounted on his snow-white steed, and only attended by Haquin and a few of his father’s friends, rode up the area, they scarcely deigned (though he was rich in all the pride of youth and graceful beauty) to considerhim worth looking at: all eyes were turned to Frotho’s painted waistcoat and superb ermine cloak; and Haldane also beheld, with extreme disgust, that all his own friends, and the warriors favourable to his claims, who had fought by his side under his father’s banner, had been carefully excluded from the council, which he beheld supplied by the creatures of his uncle; he saw that his cause was lost before he could say a word: he was not daunted nevertheless; he demanded his right from Frotho, who, refusing to admit his claim, was challenged by the youth to decide the quarrel on the spot. “The states and the troops are present,” said the prince; “let them be witnesses of this combat, which thy ungenerous ambition must render mortal: if thou desirest a double crown, shew that thou knowest how to defend it; descend from thy throne, meet me fairly, and let Denmark be the reward of the conqueror.” Slowly, very slowly, king Frotho rose from his throne, for he saw that something was expected of him: although not precisely a coward, he had no mind to encounter his nephew, whose feats of arms he well knew; and earnestly and anxiously he put up a prayer to Surter to remember his promise, and baffle his kinsman in this trying emergency. Surter was not deaf; forscarcely had the monarch put forth one leg for the purpose of descending from his throne, ere a wonder attracted the attention of the whole assembly; the sound of rushing wings was heard from a distance, and slowly, sailing steadily through the clear air towards his point, appeared a gigantic raven: black as the shining locks of Odin was the magnificent and stately bird, who, tranquilly passing over the multitude, suspended himself in air over the head of Frotho, and, hovering steadily above him, clapped his enormous pinions in triumph. Haldane suspected a trick—Haquin was startled—but the multitude beheld a miracle, and the will of Odin clearly expressed by his own particular messenger: the bird hovered in the air a few moments, to witness the general acknowledgment of Frotho, then, amidst the deafening shouts of the people, ascended slowly upwards, cleaved through the clouds, and vanished.
Haldane stood apart, during the scene, in proud contempt of the ingratitude of his people; and the multitude were making too terrific an uproar to allow his few friends one word in his favour. Frotho, pleased by the timely aid of Surter, was grateful for the first time in his life; and, remembering the commands of the spirit, abstained from taking what he yet scarcely knewhow to spare, the hated life of Haldane. Assuming an air of paternal interest and kindness, he bade the young prince retire from his presence and kingdom, without fear of molestation. “Son of my brother,” said he, “seek another kingdom for thy rule, this the gods have given to Frotho; retire peaceably, and take with thee what part of my treasure thou wilt.” “The crown, then,” boldly replied the prince; “for what is there, traitor! in thy power to bestow, that is not already mine by right? No! mean-souled coward! I scorn thy courtesy, and I defy thy anger.” But this gallant resistance availed nothing in a lost cause; his own party counselled him, for the present, to get out of the reach of Frotho’s javelin; and, too wise to disdain advice alike given by friends and enemies, he obeyed their wishes, and, after taking a tender leave of his betrothed Ildegarda, and promising to claim her as a king, withdrew to Sweden to solicit aid from its warlike monarch in defence of his title,—aid which he did not receive; for king Frotho soon after received notice that he had been murdered on that inhospitable coast soon after his landing, and, as it could never be ascertained by whom, Frotho silently congratulated himself upon the sure and ready vengeance of his ally and divinity, Surter. Haquin,alarmed by this circumstance, and more than ever suspecting the honesty of king Frotho, withdrew from court with the young Harold, now the sole surviving son of his murdered master, and, proclaiming him lawful king of Denmark, set up his standard in the heart of the country. Many powerful nobles, disgusted by the cruel brutality of his uncle, immediately joined him; and Frotho, frightened by danger into valour, and relying upon the promises of Surter, put himself at the head of his troops, and prepared for a civil war.
Many skirmishes took place between the hostile powers, though nothing very decisive occurred; but the troops of Frotho had generally the advantage, and always when the king commanded in person. Joy of this discovery nearly upset his majesty; he began to think himself a great general as well as a gallant warrior: he got exceedingly drunk with some of his old cronies who had made the discovery, and, during the deep sleep which followed this little extravagance, Haquin attacked his camp, beat his generals, carried off his son Sevald a prisoner, and nearly seized upon his sacred majesty himself, who knew nothing at all of the matter. Poor Sevald was marched off for the camp of the enemy, in a transport of sorrow and despair.
“Be not offended, prince,” said the good Haquin to him when he was brought before him in his tent,—“be not offended that the chance of war has placed thy person in my custody for a season; it is no dishonour to be the prisoner of Haquin. Our war is with thy father, not with thee; and should Harold succeed, even to the slaying of his uncle, he will never wrong thee, but yield thee thy just right, a second throne in Denmark: be not disturbed therefore at the slight accident of this war.” This was kindly meant, but it entirely failed in its purpose, and Sevald would have still continued to grieve if he had not discovered, that fair princesses are better comforters than old soldiers. He learned that his lovely cousin Ildegarda was in the camp of her father, and he concluded that things were not quite so bad as they might have been. Sevald admired his fair kinswoman extremely, and, as Haldane’s death had set her free, he worked out the prettiest little romantic scheme possible for putting an end to the horrors of civil war and restoring peace to Denmark: he determined to entreat his father to give him Ildegarda for his bride, to adopt Harold as his partner, and thus to reconcile all parties to his ascendancy; but, unhappily for poor Sevald’s delightful scheme, allthe persons concerned in it were, though for different reasons, materially against it. Ildegarda, true to the memory of Haldane, would listen to no second love,—Haquin, faithful to the cause he had adopted, would rather have consigned his daughter to the grave than to the arms of a son of Frotho,—and the Danish monarch would entirely have lost the little wit he possessed, at the bare possibility of such a destructive union as that of his own blood with that of his deadliest foe, for such now had the father of Ildegarda become to him. When he did hear it, he grew absolutely wild with terror and rage; he imprecated the most deadly curses upon his son, should he venture to espouse his cousin; and flew off like a madman to the cave of Biorno in the forest, to consult him in this most desperate emergency. He found the sorcerer at home, and willing to assist him, which he civilly did by the best advice in his power; he desired him to return to his camp and attack the troops of Haquin, promising to commit that leader, his daughter, and prince Sevald, safely into his custody; at the same time hinting that, as Surter had done as much for his friend as could decently be expected, he need not call upon him for further assistance, which, unless from his own imprudence, he would not need,and Lok had prohibited them from supplying. Frotho thanked him for past favours and present services, and, promising to demand nothing more for the future, they parted good friends, though not to meet again in this world at least, whatever might happen in the other. Frotho had no sooner reached his camp, than he hastened to profit by his friend’s advice, and instantly experienced its salutary effects; he defeated his antagonists in a pitched battle, recovered his son Sevald, and, to his infinite joy, possessed himself of the persons of Haquin and his daughter, though Harold escaped in the battle, and hid himself securely from the pursuit of his enemy. Had Frotho followed the suggestions of his own cruel heart, he would have decided Haquin’s destiny at once by taking off his head; but, fearful of his nobles, who held the chief in high esteem, and having likewise no hope of discovering Harold, except through his friend, he resolved to spare his existence, but to keep him in close imprisonment with his daughter, whose influence over Sevald he still dreaded, and whom, as the daughter of his sister, he dared not injure farther. The poor prince wept bitterly over his ruined hopes, and Frotho rejoiced at the delightful consummation of his: he enjoyed himselfin his own way, killing and drinking by turns,—till, in a fit of madness and extravagance, he impiously declared that he had a Valhalla of his own, which he would not change for Odin’s, upon any terms that divinity could offer. Every thing was happiness in the palace, and Frotho was the most mischievous and merry of kings.
What have we here? a Man or a Fish?—Legged like a Man, and his fins like arms.Shakspeare.
What have we here? a Man or a Fish?—Legged like a Man, and his fins like arms.
Shakspeare.
“Everysweet hath its sour,” saith a very respectable old ballad,—and truly there is wisdom in the saying. King Frotho’s sanctity, as a crowned prince of the holy race of Odin, became at this period, for the first time, somewhat of an inconvenience to him. In the midst of his festivities, howls and cries penetrated to his palace, and reached his ears, though surrounded by buzzing flatterers, and rendered dizzy by strong potations. His people of Norway were unhappy, and they called upon their common father to relieve their misery. A pest had arisen among them which no one could conquer, for no one knew how to attack: the frightful whirlpool of theMaelstrom had a guest, and the desolate island of Moskoe an inhabitant; it was neither man, beast, bird, nor fish, that had taken up his residence in this part of his Danish majesty’s dominions, but a most extraordinary compound monster, possessing all the faculties of each of these several creations. As he had his little island entirely to himself, the want of society suggested to him an expedient by way of amusement, and also of remedying this evil—he employed his leisure in making descents upon the Norwegian coast, and carrying off the grown inhabitants, four or five at a time, and the little children by dozens, whom he devoured with as little remorse as he would young rabbits or dried herrings. The people were terrified, and the nobles began to bestir themselves; they sent out armed men in well-built boats, headed by an able leader, and desired them to bring in the monster prisoner; but the lord of the Maelstrom, so far from being brought to consent to this arrangement, exactly reversed the orders of the Norwegian ministry, for he sunk all their boats, and carried their crews prisoners to his island. Frotho heard this pitiful tale with much indifference, till they besought him to go in person against their enemy, well knowing that no magic or infernal power could succeed against the race of Odin;—then he sprung up in alarm, and declining, in his own person, all pretensions to superior sanctity, sent one of his best generals with a band of his own chosen troops, in two gallant vessels, to seize or destroy the monster. All Norway assembled on the coast to witness their success; they saw the ships sail gallantly on, and, on the opposite coast, the giant monster rush into the waves to meet them. With a strength against which they could not contend, he seized the luckless vessels, drew them coolly and steadily on to the frightful gulf of the Maelstrom, and then, swimming back to his island, left the noble ships to be sucked into the frightful bosom of the gulf. The waves swept over them, and the tale of their deeds was told.
Frotho was frightened into sobriety when this news reached him; Denmark became as clamorous as Norway in the matter, and he was compelled to promise that he would exert his sanctity, and go in person to the attack of the monster: but he delayed as long as he possibly could, and, under pretence of making preparations, gave the fiend of the Maelstrom time to eat half the children in Norway. At length “delays became dangerous” even to Frotho himself; he was obliged to depart, and, well armed, well guarded, and well attendedby a resolute band of the bravest of his nobles and chiefs, set sail, on a fine sunny day, for the desolate isle of the Maelstrom. His magnanimous majesty could not, however, help shivering at the first glance of the island; but he took courage, on remarking that the beast did not come out to meet him, nor advance to the attack as in the former instance; so he landed in good spirits on the island, promising himself immortal glory in his conquest. A sufficient band was left in charge of the vessels, and Frotho, with his chiefs, went boldly forward into the island.
In the first few miles there was nothing to astonish them; rugged rocks, a roaring sea, and desolate naked heaths, were all that greeted the travellers: they had expected nothing else, for the Moskoe was well known to most of the party, and had never been suspected of sheltering a paradise in its bosom. Such, however, to their boundless astonishment, the heroes now found to be the case. A beautiful country arose amidst the desolate isle; and, after the first five miles, hills, dales, fertile valleys, richly wooded groves, and sparkling rivers, said a thousand smiling good-morrows to the travellers. The scene was too charming to terrify, else the total absence of any thing like human inhabitants might havebeen sufficient to startle king Frotho, and make him doubt whether all was as it should be in this particular part of his dominion. There was a total silence around them, unbroken, save by the sweet warblings of birds, or now and then the light foot of the flying deer, as, scared by the clatter of their arms, they fled from them into the forests. Thus they proceeded till they arrived before the gates of a majestic palace of black marble, whose open portals courteously invited them to enter. Frotho paused—so did his nobles; it was finer than any thing in Denmark; infinitely larger, grander, bolder, blacker, than the palace of Sandaal, the royal residence of king Frotho himself,—so that it was clear no human hands had reared it: but whose hands had?—a puzzling question, which king Frotho would not take upon himself to answer.
But the portals stood invitingly wide open, and king Frotho was waxing weary; so, without any further debate or permission demanded, they marched into a stately hall, where invisible cooks had made successful preparation for a magnificent supper; Frotho looked and longed. There was venison, noble venison of the flesh of the elk, roasted wild boar, and a cistern of excellent fish delicately stewed in whale fat; there was a bowlof hydromel, in which king Frotho might have been drowned, and another of milk, that might have served him for a bath:—in short, the temptation was too great for the tempted; and though king Frotho well knew the danger incurred, even by a son of Odin, in tasting enchanted food, yet he could not resist the whale fat and the hydromel. “The monster certainly expected me,” said he to his attendants. “He is willing to make his peace with you,” said they to the king. “It would be uncivil not to taste his good cheer,” said the master. “Let us shew that we accept his submission,” replied the servants. So they all sat down with one accord to the feast, and ate, and drank, and were merry.
The bowl of hydromel was empty—Frotho was looking into it disconsolately with one eye (for the other was asleep), and growing angry with his nobles, who had assisted him too heartily, and been over-zealous in obeying his commands to pledge him to the health of their entertainer. After grumbling and growling for some time over the huge and now dismal-looking bowl, his majesty took it into his head to be displeased with the inattention of his host, who had failed to remark and replenish, as he ought to have done, the empty bowl of departed hydromel.“Lord beast of the island,” said his majesty, at length, having thought till his thirst grew intolerable; “lord beast of the island, I will permit thee to be viceroy in Moskoe, but thou must not spare thy hydromel when thy master deigns to visit thee. For thy good cheer, I thank thee; thy meat is of the best, and abundant, but, by the burning wheel on Balder’s breast, thy drink was scanty; and I command thee hither to supply me with more.” A rumbling of thunder and a long terrific howl was the answer to the speech of the monarch. Frotho shivered with affright, for he thought he recognised, amid the uproar, the voices of his old acquaintances the illustrious snake and wolf, cousins of his sorcerer friend Biorno; and, as he was a little diffident of their conduct, notwithstanding his services to Surter, he did not altogether relish the meeting, under present circumstances; so, ensconcing himself in the centre of his gallant little band of valiant warriors, he patiently awaited what was to be the second part of his entertainment. This was settled in an instant; neither Fenris nor Midgard broke upon the supper party of the monarch, but a being more horrible than either, and infinitely more hideous than his or any imagination had already conceived of the monster of theMaelstrom gulf. A stern gigantic shape entered the hall, and stood steadily face to face with king Frotho and his nobles: his features were frightfully flat, and two sunken fiery eyes shot terrific glances from a visage almost entirely covered with dark and grisly hair; long black elf locks hung down upon his shoulders, huge teeth grinned through his grisly beard, and his fingers and feet were furnished with claws which were worthy of Nebuchadnezzar himself; his enormous body was covered with black bear-skins, so disposed as to serve him for a whole suit; and his huge hand grasped a monstrous club, which seemed very desirous of a nearer acquaintance with his majesty of Denmark’s brains. The monster contemplated the group for a moment in silence; he suffered them even to draw their swords and advance exactly one step towards him, when he suddenly lifted his terrible club, and, without striking a single blow, laid them all prostrate at his feet. He then approached king Frotho; the son of Olave shrunk from the uplifted club, and bellowed out, in terror and haste, that he was the king of Denmark. “And thy errand?” said the monster. King Frotho was silent. “I know it,” observed the spectre; “and for its presumption, but for one thing which Iexpect of thee, would bind thy trembling feet for ever to the spot where thou standest staring at me. Hark thee! thou fool of Surter’s making! who hopest to overcome the invincible by human arms,—hear, and obey what I shall command thee. I do not hate thee, and would not harm thee, for thou art the friend of Lok; but my wrath against the kingdoms must be appeased, and my divinity acknowledged. I demand thy daughter. A spotless virgin of royal blood must come voluntarily hither to be sacrificed on this island, and thou must conduct her: do this, and henceforth I too am thy friend; neglect it, and my thunders shall shake thy palace of Sandaal, and this club dash out thy brains and scatter them over thy sovereign throne.”
King Frotho looked aghast—not at the condition of his safety, but his utter inability to fulfil it—there was no cheating such an enemy as this—so he told him the plain truth, that he had no daughter, and humbly apologised for the want of one. The monster yelled at him, and again lifted up his club. Frotho, in agony, besought him to have pity, and then suddenly recollected that he had a niece who was his prisoner, and whom he very readily offered to his disposal. The monster hesitated;—at length, in reply toFrotho’s earnest entreaties, he consented to spare his life, upon condition that, in the space of twenty days, he should land the princess on the island, and deliver her safely into his hands, to be sacrificed by his own high priest in his palace; and promising, should Frotho fail in his engagement, on the very next day, to shake Sandaal about his ears, and dish up his carcass as a meal for Midgard. Frotho sealed his promise with a solemn oath, and the monster dismissed him with a kick on the throne-honouring part of his person, which sent him not only through the palace gates, but one mile forward in his journey to the coast, which long before he had gained, his panting train overtook him, being driven out by the lord beast, to wait upon and console their disgraced and afflicted master.
King Frotho had no intention, rogue as he was, to cozen the Moskoe monster; on the contrary, he was desirous to obtain his friendship and forbearance towards his subjects and the little Norwegian children for whom he had evinced such cannibal prepossessions. He was not sorry, either, so effectually to dispose of Ildegarda, whose union with his son he had such good reason to fear. The difficulty would be to persuade the princess to go voluntarily to beeaten. He was ingenious however—naturally fertile in expedients—and he soon hit upon a method of persuasion which he deemed infallible: he told the poor princess that the monster demanded her or her father as prisoners; that he allowed her to choose, and if she thought proper to decline, he should ship off old Haquin immediately, to be stewed in whale fat, and served up for supper with milk sauce, according to the pleasure of the monster, in the marble palace of Moskoe: for his own part, in relation to herself, he pretended he did not clearly understand to what the lord of the island had destined her, but he hoped nothing so terrible as a roast or a hash. Ildegarda wept, but came into the scheme quicker than Frotho had anticipated. Haldane was dead, and her father’s life in danger; by the sacrifice of her own, which was now really become indifferent to her, she could at least preserve the last of these beloved beings, and therefore she did not hesitate. Making Frotho swear a tremendous oath (which she knew no Dane dared break), to release her father on his return from Moskoe, she prepared to accompany the king, and, in less than twenty days, Frotho and his beautiful victim landed on the island, and prepared to march to the black palace alone.
They had not proceeded far on their journey, when their progress was arrested by the appearance of a singular cavalcade coming to meet them; this consisted of a magnificently painted chariot, drawn by four snow-white rein-deer, each of whom, to the astonishment of Ildegarda, had feet of pure gold: behind it came the monster-man himself, mounted upon a coal-black steed of extraordinary size and beauty, who pawed the earth impatiently, and, snorting and foaming as he reared, threw his magnificent mane from side to side, as if weary of the slight restraint which his rider appeared to impose upon him;—the latter had now a bear-skin cap upon his head, on the top of which sat a monstrous raven, decorating it by way of crest; and another on his wrist, with infinite grace and gravity, seemed ready to serve him in quality of falcon extraordinary. The cavalcade paused on remarking the strangers; and the grim monster, advancing to Frotho, sternly demanded, “Comes the maid willingly?” “She does,” replied Frotho; “and”—But the monster no longer gave him any attention: he did not even look at Ildegarda, but, bending his head down towards his horse’s ears, gravely and mildly asked, “Steed of heaven, art thou weary?” “No,” replied thehorse; “but I have to-day been so long upon the earth, that its gross air is beginning to affect me—the sod is heavy to my feet, and somewhat checks my swiftness: let me relieve my legs, I pray thee.” The strange monster nodded his grisly head in reply, and Frotho beheld the courser slowly and deliberately draw up his four black legs, and let down three white ones in their places. The king began now to guess his company; “It is the wondrous steed of Odin,” said he in a whisper to Ildegarda; “the immortal eight-legged Sleipner: but what is he who rides him?” The princess had no time to answer this question, even had she been able, for the monster seemed determined to have all the conversation to himself. He spoke to the raven on his head: “Hugo,” said he, “take the reins, guide my rein-deer smoothly, and conduct the lady to the palace: and you, Mumin,” added he to the bird on his wrist, “hasten homewards, and see that all be prepared for the victim.” At these terrible words, the tears of Ildegarda began to flow, and Frotho prepared himself to make a speech. The monster heeded neither the one nor the other, but nodded to Ildegarda to ascend the chariot, which when she had done, he turned round to Frotho, lifted up his terrible club, and exclaimed,in a voice of thunder, “Go!” It was but one word, but the tone and the action weighed more than five hundred with Frotho, who, fearing to hear it repeated, darted from the party, and set sail for Denmark without once looking behind him.
In the mean time, Ildegarda was conducted by her ill-looking escort to the marble palace, and left by him in the same hall in which Frotho had rested on his first arrival: here, too, she found a supper prepared for her, though in a somewhat different taste from the former; but the princess had no inclination to eat—indeed she felt determined not to be fattened before killing, and threw herself upon the earth in a paroxysm of grief and despair. Suddenly, soft and sweet music broke upon her ear, and the beautiful voice of some holy unseen thing thus sung soothingly to her sorrow:—
When the thunder-bolt cleavethThe trembling sky—When the mad ocean heavethHis wild waves on high—When the coiling snake wakethFrom the heaving earth curled,And upreareth and shakethAn agonised world—
When his coil thrice he foldethAround the night-born,Till the gazer beholdethRed blood fill her horn—When Valkyries scatterThe clouds which they tear,And their steed hoof’s loud clatterIs heard in the air—
When on oak tops the trampingOf their hoofs echo loud,While their snorting and champingIs lost in the cloud—When wizards are breakingThe sleep of the dead,And the shadows are wakingFrom each gory bed—
When the dog of hell howleth,As the sheeted dead glideWhere the queen of death scowleth,Grim Fenris beside—When Surter assemblethThe lost round his throne—Then the murderer trembleth,And the murderer alone.
But then, guiltless beauty,What hast thou to fear?All owe thee their duty,All homage thee here;The life thou hast givenThe immortals will claim;And Rinda in heavenStamps thy star-written name.
The princess listened in breathless astonishment, and, when the sweet sounds died away, spoke in cheerful tones to the friendly singer. “Thanks, gentle magician,” said she aloud; “I submit to the pleasure of Odin, and will not be ungrateful for thy anxiety; see, I will partake of thy hospitality, and then retire to rest confident in thy gracious protection.” Ildegarda then ate something of the repast, and the moment she had concluded, the dishes and bowls retired of themselves from the table, without any assistance, through the doors and windows of the palace. While she was lost in astonishment at this singular attendance, the doors on the opposite side of the hall opened of themselves, and she, supposing it a summons for her attention, immediately passed through them, and heard them close behind her. She traversed several stately rooms, till at length she stood in one more magnificent than the rest, and which, from the circumstance of the doors closing when she entered it, she concluded was designed by her host for her chamber. Grateful for his indulgence,she determined to accept his courtesy, and threw herself down upon her couch to sleep: satisfied, she reviewed the events of the day, and found she had little reason to complain. “I could even be happy,” said Ildegarda, “if I were assured of the safety of my father.” The wish was instantly gratified; a large curtain on the opposite side was suddenly withdrawn, and, represented on a magic mirror, the princess beheld her father in his own palace, conversing earnestly with his attendants. The vision lasted but a few moments—the curtain fell again before the mirror, and Ildegarda, in a transport of gratitude, thanked aloud the courteous monster, who thus sought, as he had promised, to offer her the homage most pleasing to her feelings.
Ildegarda now tried to compose her spirits to sleep,—the pale moon had risen over the island, and was pouring a flood of calm cold light into each apartment of the palace,—suddenly, her beams were eclipsed by a light so glorious that the senses of the princess ached as she contemplated the wonder; she looked up to discover the cause, but mortality drooped under its excess of glory, and she bent downwards towards the earth; a soft voice called upon her name, but the princess could not reply; then the beautifulbeing, who was resting upon the light, beheld the embarrassment of her beloved, and, dismissing part of the effulgence by which she was surrounded, stood visible to the mortal sight, and Ildegarda beheld her beloved goddess, the guardian of her youth, the divine object of her innocent worship, the radiant Rinda, the daughter of the sun, the beloved of Odin and Freya.
Ildegarda bent her brow still lower to the earth, and kissed the fringe of the mantle of her goddess; then the most lovely of those lovely beings, who float on their ether thrones round the domes of Valasciolf, spoke tenderly to the fairest of her worshippers. “Thou hast done well and wisely,” said the daughter of heaven to the child of earth, “in thus offering thy life for thy father and thy country, and thou hast not disappointed my hope; I carried up the perfume of the holy deed to the foot of the throne of Odin; pleased, he took it from my hand, clothed it in light, and placing it on a branch of Hydrasil, the tree of heaven, bade it blow and expand into an immortal flower, to commemorate thy virtue, and remind him of thy deserving. Child of my love—hope all—fear nothing—endure with patience—and thy reward shall be most glorious.” The goddess then recalled aroundher the extended beams of light, and, concentrating their brightness round her person, again became insupportably effulgent to human vision; in the next instant she was gone, and the glory she had left died away when unfed by her presence.
How sweet was the sleep of Ildegarda that night, and how blessed was her awakening on the morrow! Morning, the gay bride of Balder, beheld her descend joyfully to the hall, after adorning her lovely person with an elegant dress, selected from many, which the unseen hands of her watchful attendants had placed in her apartment for that purpose. Arrived in the hall, she expressed a wish to breakfast; and instantly the courteous dishes glided in from doors and windows to the table, attended by a grave-looking bowl of milk, which steadily sailed on till it placed itself in the centre, where it remained till the princess, by rising from table, dismissed its services for the present. She then roamed through the vast gardens of this beautiful place, and talked to the birds and the deer, fondly hoping and expecting that they were enchanted princes and princesses, and, like the black horse whom she beheld on her arrival, endowed with the faculty of speech; but, after much conversation on her own part, she was compelled toresign this pleasing illusion, and believe that they were merely real birds and real deer, who could only sing and leap. She then returned to the palace, wandered over its spacious apartments, and amused herself by counting the passages and doors. Still the day went off heavily, even with the aid of these time-killing pastimes; and when the hour of supper arrived, the princess welcomed it as sincerely as if hunger had been the instigator of the pleasure her countenance expressed; she seated herself at the table, and was earnestly and anxiously employed in coaxing the birds to partake of it,—when a loud clap of thunder shook the palace to its foundation, and terrified all appetite from the poor princess. She had hardly time to think of its cause, ere it became apparent, for the monster-man himself entered the hall, and, clad in his customary dress, stood still in the middle of the apartment. Although his appearance was as usual, yet his manner was entirely different, for his step was slow and irresolute, and his voice mild and timid; he scarcely ventured to look up as he asked, in a humble and supplicating manner, if the princess would permit him to pay his duty while she supped. Ildegarda, somewhat re-assured by his gentleness, requested him to use his pleasure in a placewhere unquestionably all things were at his disposal. “Not so, gracious lady,” replied the courteous monster; “I will not stay in your presence, but with your express permission: my power I cede to your beauty and virtue, and am content myself to be the first subject of so lovely a sovereign.” This gallant speech was made with so much humility and respect, that Ildegarda was not alarmed by its tenderness; and the monster, to shew (after she had granted permission) how highly he valued this trifling favour, and how little he was disposed to encroachment, declined the seat which, after a struggle, she offered him, and seated himself upon the ground, at a considerable distance from her. Touched by this humble homage and generous delicacy of a being so powerful, and at whose mercy she so entirely was, the princess so far conquered her abhorrence, as to present him with food and drink; the former he declined, but he took the again-summoned bowl of milk from her snowy hand, and, with a gesture of respectful gratitude, tasted the balmy liquor, as if to indulge her wish. At length, after a long silence, he asked her if she could be happy in the island? “I hope so,” replied the princess; “but will you tell me, sir sorcerer, what has thus singularlychanged my destiny? I came hither to die—yet I live,—and anxiety is even manifested by my enemy for my happiness. How am I to understand these contradictions?” “Call me not your enemy, beautiful Ildegarda,” replied the monster, “for that I have not been; destiny had decreed you to be a victim, though not of death; I am but its instrument to work out its intentions; the sacrifice of your liberty only was demanded, and your generous resignation of life itself has impelled me to love your worth, and lighten, as far as my power will, the burthen of your sorrows. I cannot release you from this rock, but I can surround you with pleasures, and render your bondage supportable.” Ildegarda was pleased with this explanation, and, after thanking her host for his generous intentions, withdrew to her chamber, though not till she had accorded to Brandomann (for that he had told her was his name) permission to attend her on the next evening to supper: this was an honour she would gladly have declined,—but she felt it would be ungracious, and that he had some right to calculate upon her complaisance. The next night came, and Brandomann was punctual—conducting himself in the same timid manner—though, observing the dislike of Ildegarda towardshim, he put an end to the interview earlier than usual, and quitted her presence in sorrow. The princess was sad that she had inflicted pain, yet she could not but hope that the hideous being would not again seek her society. In this she was disappointed;—he came at night, as before, and seated himself silent and sorrowfully at her feet; he spoke not, and scarcely ventured to look at her, till she, affected by his griefs offered him the bowl and bade him drink; he took it with a smile—the poor monster intended it so, but the frightful grin which distorted his features was so odious, that Ildegarda sickened with affright, and heartily repented her condescension. Brandomann understood her disgust. “Ildegarda,” he said, mournfully, “I too well know how justly I must be an object of abhorrence to the eye of beauty; I will not give you pain therefore—though it will destroy the only happiness I have ever enjoyed, I will intrude no more into your presence,—I will not destroy the little felicity which fate has left you.” He arose to retire; but the generosity of the princess overcame her reluctance,—she was not proof against this noble self-denial,—and, rising hastily from her seat, she requested, entreated,—nay, commanded him to continue his visits. Brandomann was but toohappy to obey; and he retired comforted from her presence. The next night Brandomann was not so silent—he exerted himself to amuse and interest his lovely prisoner; and he succeeded admirably when he spoke of the present state of Denmark—the disorders of the king—the disappearance of both the princes, sons of Harold—and the courage and integrity of her noble father; upon this theme he discoursed till tears of pleasure filled the eyes of the princess, whom he repeatedly assured of Haquin’s safety. “Should you wish a confirmation of the intelligence which I give you,” continued Brandomann, “on the first day of every month examine the magic mirror in your chamber; it will satisfy your curiosity, by representing your father and his employments; but only at that time must you consult it.” Still Brandomann continued to talk, and Ildegarda to listen, till she forgot to wish for the hour of separation, and even suffered the monster to retire first; the next day she grew weary ere evening, and waited with something like impatience for the supper hour: it came at last, and Brandomann with it, who perceived, by the reception she gave him, that he was no longer so unwelcome a guest as formerly. Animated by this belief, he again exerted all hispowers to interest the princess; he related to her the early history of her country, and the exploits of the greatest heroes, her ancestors of the race of Odin; he then went on to discourse of the Scaldres, their singular union, their mystic occupations, and their magnificent poems; he himself, he remarked to her, was of this privileged order, and, without wearying her attention, recited some of his own compositions and those of his noble brethren. Ildegarda was charmed by his discourses. Balder had touched his lips with eloquence, and Brage had rendered his voice melodious, and many words flowed over his lips, sweet, yet powerful, as a torrent of silvery waters. The princess was pleased while she only listened,—when she looked, the spell was broken.