THE ISLE OF THE MAELSTROM.
What have we here? a Man or a Fish?—Legged like a Man, and his fins
like arms. SHAKESPEARE.
“EVERY sweet 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 the Maelstrom 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 successes; 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 attended by 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 anything like human inhabitants might
have been 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 bowl of 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 the
Maelstrom 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 I expect 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 to Frotho’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 be eaten. 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 the horse; “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 cleaveth
The trembling sky—
When the mad ocean heaveth
His wild waves on high—
When the coiling snake waketh
From the heaving earth curled
And upreareth and shaketh
An agonised world—
When his coil thrice he foldeth
Around the night-born,
Till the gazer beholdeth
Red blood fill her horn—
When Valkyries scatter
The clouds which they tear,
And their steed hoof’s loud clatter
Is heard in the air—
When on oak tops the trampling
Of their hoofs echo loud,
While their snorting and champing
Is lost in the cloud—
When wizards are breaking
The sleep of the dead,
And the shadows are waking
From each gory bed—
When the dog of hell howleth,
As the sheeted dead glide
Where the queen of death scowleth,
Grim Fenris beside—
When Surter assembleth
The 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 given
The immortals will claim;
And Rinda in heaven
Stamps 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 beautiful being, 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 around her 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 to resign 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 place where 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 singularly changed 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 towards him, 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 grief, 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 his noble self-denial,—and,
rising hastily from her seat, she requested, entreated,—nay, commanded
him to continue his visits. Brandomann was but too happy 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 his powers 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
composition 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.