Everything went on quite smoothly, however, for a long time, Freyja

leading a very gay and beautiful life in the sunshine of her

happiness, and herself a very radiant joy to every one around her.

But one day, one unlucky day, Freyja, this fair and sunshiny young

Vana, went out alone from Asgard to take a walk in Alfheim. She hoped

to meet somewhere thereabouts her dear brother Frey, whom she had not

seen for a long time, and of whom she wanted to ask a very particular

favour. The occasion for it was this;--Heimdall and Ægir were

expected to dine at Valhalla the next day, and Freyja and her husband

were invited to meet them. All the lords and ladies of Asgard were to

be there. Niörd, too, was coming, with his new wife, Skadi, the

daughter of a giant.

"Every one will be beautifully dressed," said Freyja, "and _I_ have

not a single ornament to wear."

"But you are more beautiful than any one, Freyja," said her husband;

"for you were born in the spacious Wind-Home."

"All are not so high-minded as you, Odur," answered his wife; "and if

I go to Valhalla without an ornament of any kind I shall certainly be

looked down upon."

So saying, Freyja set off, as I told you, to Alfheim, determined to

ask of her good-natured brother a garland of flowers at, least. But

somehow or other she could not find Frey anywhere. She tried to keep

in Alfheim--she thought she was there; but all the time she was

thinking of her dress and her ornaments, planning what she should

wear, and her steps went downward, downward, away from Alfheim to the

cavern of four dwarfs.

"Where am I?" said Freyja to herself, as she at last lost the light

of day, and went down, wandering on deeper and deeper between the

high walls, and under the firm roof of rock. "Why, surely this must

be Svartheim; and yet it is not unpleasant, nor quite dark here,

though the sun is not shining."

And in truth it was not dark; for, far on before her, winding in and

out through the cavern's innermost recesses, were groups of little

men, who had each a lantern in his cap and a pickaxe in his hand; and

they were working hard, digging for diamonds, which they piled up the

walls, and hung across the roof in white and rose-coloured coronets,

marvellously glittering.

Four clever little dwarf-chiefs were there directing the labours of

the rest; but, as soon as they caught sight of Freyja, they sat down

in the centre of the cavern, and began to work diligently at

something which they held between them, bending over it with

strange chattering and grimaces. Freyja felt very curious to see what

it was; but her eyes were so dazzled with the blaze of diamonds and

lanterns, that she was obliged to go nearer in order to distinguish

it clearly. Accordingly, she walked on to where the four dwarfs were

sitting, and peeped over their shoulders. Oh! brilliant! exquisitely

worked! bewildering!

[Illustration: FREYJA IN THE DWARFS' CAVE.]

Freyja drew back again with almost blinded eyes; for she had looked

upon the necklace Brisingamen, and at the same moment a passionate

wish burst forth in her heart to have it for her own, to wear it in

Valhalla, to wear it always round her own fair neck. "Life to me,"

said Freyja, "is no longer worth having without Brisingamen." Then

the dwarfs held it out to her, but also looked cunningly at one

another as they did so, and burst into a laugh so loud that it rang

through the vaulted caverns, echoed and echoed back again from side

to side, from dwarf to dwarf, from depth to depth.

Freyja, however, only turned her head a little on one side, stretched

out her hand, grasped the necklace with her small fingers, and then

ran out of the cavern as quickly as ever she could, up again to the

green hill-side. There she sat down and fitted the brilliant ornament

about her neck, after which she looked a little shyly at the

reflection of herself in a still pool that was near, and turned

homewards with an exulting heart. She felt certain that all was well

with her; nevertheless, all was not well, but very miserable indeed.

When Freyja was come back to Asgard again, and to her palace of

Folkvang, she sought her own private apartments, that she might see

Odur alone, and make him admire her necklace Brisingamen. But Odur

was not there. She searched in every room, hither and thither; but

alas! he was not to be found in any room or any hall in all the

palace of Folkvang. Freyja searched for him in every place; she

walked restlessly about, in and out, among the places of the "Roomy

Seated." She peered wistfully, with sad eyes, in the face of every

guest; but the only face she cared to see, she never saw.

Odur was gone, gone back for ever to the home of the Immortals.

Brisingamen and Odur could not live together in the palace of

Folkvang. But Freyja did not know this; she did not know why Odur was

gone, nor where he was gone; she only saw he was not there, and she

wrung her hands sadly, and watered her jewels with salt, warm tears.

As she sat thus and mourned in the entrance of her palace, all the

ladies of Asgard passed by on their way to Valhalla, and looked at

her. Some said one thing, some another; but no one said anything at

all encouraging, or much to the purpose. Frigga passed by last of

all, and she raised her head with a little severe shake, saying

something about beauty, and pride, and punishment, which sank down so

deeply into the heart of the sorrow-stricken young Vana that she got

up with a desperate resolution, and, presenting herself before the

throne of Asa Odin, spoke to him thus: "Father of Æsir, listen to my

weeping, and do not turn away from me with a cruel frown. I have

searched through my palace of Folkvang, and all through the city of

Asgard, but nowhere is Odur the Immortal to be found. Let me go,

Father Odin, I beseech you, and seek him far and near, across the

earth, through the air, over the sea, even to the borders of

Jötunheim."

And Odin answered, "Go, Freyja, and good fortune go with you."

Then Freyja sprang into her swift, softly-rolling chariot, which was

drawn by two cats, waved her hand as she rose over the city, and was

gone.

PART II. LOKI--THE IRON WOOD--A BOUNDLESS WASTE.

The cats champed their bright bits, and skimmed alike over earth and

air with swift, clinging steps, eager and noiseless. The chariot

rolled on, and Freyja was carried away up and down into every part of

the world, weeping golden tears wherever she went; they fell down

from her pale cheeks, and rippled away behind her in little sunshiny

rivers, that carried beauty and weeping to every land. She came to

the greatest city in the world, and drove down its wide streets.

"But none of the houses here are good enough for Odur," said Freyja

to herself; "I will not ask for him at such doors as these."

So she went straight on to the palace of the king.

"Is Odur in this palace?" she asked of the gate-keeper. "Is Odur, the

Immortal, living with the king?"

But the gate-keeper shook his head, and assured her that his master

had never even heard of such a person.

Then Freyja turned away, and knocked at many other stately doors,

asking for Odur; but no one in all that great city so much as knew

her husband's name.

Then Freyja went into the long, narrow lanes and shabby streets,

where the poor people lived, but there it was all the same; every one

said only, "No--not here," and stared at her.

In the night-time Freyja went quite away from the city, and the

lanes, and the cottages, far off to the side of a lake, where she lay

down and looked over into the water.

By-and-bye the moon came and looked there too, and the Queen of Night

saw a calm face in the water, serene and high; but the Queen of

Beauty saw a troubled face, frail and fair.

Brisingamen was reflected in the water too, and its rare colours

flashed from the little waves. Freyja was pleased at the sight of her

favourite ornament, and smiled even in the midst of her tears; but as

for the moon, instead of Brisingamen, the deep sky and the stars were

around her.

At last Freyja slept by the side of the lake, and then a dark shape

crept up the bank on which she was lying, sat down beside her, and

took her fair head between its hands. It was Loki, and he began to

whisper into Freyja's ear as she slept.

"You were quite right, Freyja," he said, "to go out and try to get

something for yourself in Svartheim, instead of staying at home with

your husband. It was very wise of you to care more for your dress and

your beauty than for Odur. You went down into Svartheim, and found

Brisingamen. Then the Immortal went away; but is not Brisingamen

better then he? Why do you cry, Freyja? Why do you start so?"

Freyja turned, moaning, and tried to lift her head from between his

hands; but she could not, and it seemed in her dream as if a terrible

nightmare brooded over her.

"Brisingamen is dragging me down," she cried in her sleep, and laid

her little hand upon the clasp without knowing what she was doing.

Then a great laugh burst forth in Svartheim, and came shuddering up

through the vaulted caverns until it shook the ground upon which she

lay. Loki started up, and was gone before Freyja had time to open her

eyes.

It was morning, and the young Vana prepared to set out on her

journey.

"Brisingamen is fair," she said, as she bade farewell to her image in

the lake. "Brisingamen is fair; but I find it heavy sometimes."

After this, Freyja went to many cities, and towns, and villages,

asking everywhere for Odur; but there was not one in all the world

who could tell her where he was gone, and at last her chariot rolled

eastward and northward to the very borders of Jötunheim. There Freyja

stopped; for before her lay Jarnvid, the Iron Wood, which was one

road from earth to the abode of the giants, and whose tall trees,

black and hard, were trying to pull down the sky with their iron

claws. In the entrance sat an Iron Witch, with her back to the forest

and her face towards the Vana. Jarnvid was full of the sons and

daughters of this Iron Witch; they were wolves, and bears, and foxes,

and many-headed ravenous birds.

"Eastward," croaked a raven as Freyja drew near--

"Eastward in the Iron Wood

The old one sitteth;"

and there she did sit, talking in quarrelsome tones to her wolf-sons

and vulture-daughters, who answered from the wood behind her,

howling, screeching, and screaming all at the same time. There was a

horrible din, and Freyja began to fear that her low voice would never

be heard. She was obliged to get out of her chariot, and walk close

up to the old witch, so that she might whisper in her ear.

"Can you tell me, old mother," she said, "where Odur is? Have you

seen him pass this way?"

"I don't understand one word of what you are saying," answered the

iron woman; "and if I did, I have no time to waste in answering

foolish questions."

Now, the witch's words struck like daggers into Freyja's heart, and

she was not strong enough to pull them out again; so she stood there

a long time, not knowing what she should do.

"You had better go," said the crone to her at last; "there's no use

in standing there crying." For this was the grandmother of

strong-minded women, and she hated tears.

Then Freyja got into her chariot again, and went westward a long way

to the wide, boundless land where impenetrable forests were growing,

and undying nature reigned in silence. She knew that the silent Vidar

was living there; for, not finding any pleasure in the gay society of

Asgard, he had obtained permission from Father Odin to retire to this

place. "He is one of the Æsir, and perhaps _he_ will be able to help

me," said the sad-hearted young Vana, as her chariot rolled on

through empty moor-lands and forests, always in twilight Her ear

heard no sound, her eye saw no living shape; but still she went on

with a trembling hope till she came to the spot

"Begrown with branches

And high grass,

Which was Vidar's dwelling."

Vidar was sitting there firm as an oak, and as silent as night. Long

grass grew up through his long hair, and the branches of trees

crossed each other over his eyes; his ears were covered with moss,

and dewdrops glistened upon his beard.

"It is almost impossible to get to him," sighed Freyja, "through all

these wet leaves, and I am afraid his moss-covered ears are very

deaf." But she threw herself down on the ground before him, and said,

"Tell me, Vidar, does Odur hide among thick trees? or is he wandering

over the broad west lands?"

Vidar did not answer her--only a pale gleam shot over his face, as if

reflected from that of Freyja, like sunshine breaking through a wood.

"He does not hear me," said Freyja to herself, and she crushed

nearer to him through the branches. "Only tell me, Vidar," she said,

"is Odur here?" But Vidar said nothing, for he had no voice.

Then Freyja hid her face in her lap, and wept bitterly for a long

time. "An Asa," she said, at last, looking up, "is no better to one

than an Iron Witch when one is really in trouble;" and then she

gathered her disordered dress about her, threw back her long bright

hair, and, springing into her chariot, once again went wearily on her

way.

PART III. THE KING OF THE SEA AND HIS DAUGHTERS.

At last she came to the wide sea-coast, and there everything was

gloriously beautiful. It was evening, and the western sky looked like

a broad crimson flower. No wind stirred the ocean, but the small

waves rippled in rose-coloured froth on the shore, like the smiles of

a giant at play.

Ægir, the old sea-king, supported himself on the sand, whilst the

cool waters were laving his breast, and his ears drank their sweet

murmur; for nine waves were his beautiful daughters, and they and

their father were talking together. Now, though Ægir looked so stormy

and old, he was really as gentle as a child, and no mischief would

ever have happened in his kingdom if he had been left to himself. But

he had a cruel wife, called Ran, who was the daughter of a giant, and

so eagerly fond of fishing that, whenever any of the rough winds came

to call upon her husband, she used to steal out of the deep sea-caves

where she lived, and follow ships for miles under the water, dragging

her net after her, so that she might catch any one who fell

overboard.

Freyja wandered along the shore towards the place where the Sea King

was lying, and as she went she heard him speaking to his daughters.

"What is the history of Freyja?" he asked.

And the first wave answered,--

"Freyja is a fair young Vana, who once was happy in Asgard."

Then the second wave said,--

"But she left her fair palace there, and Odur, her Immortal Love."

Third wave,--

"She went down to the cavern of dwarfs."

Fourth wave,--

"She found Brisingamen there, and carried it away with her."

Fifth wave,--

"But when she got back to Folkvang she found that Odur was gone."

Sixth wave,--

"Because the Vana had loved herself more than Immortal Love."

Seventh wave,--

"Freyja will never be happy again, for Odur will never come back."

Eighth wave,--

"Odur will never come back as long as the world shall last."

Ninth wave,--

"Odur will never return, nor Freyja forget to weep."

Freyja stood still, spell-bound, listening, and when she heard the

last words, that Odur would never come back, she wrung her hands, and

cried,--

"O, Father Ægir! trouble comes, comes surging up from a wide sea,

wave over wave, into my soul." And in truth it seemed as if her

words had power to change the whole surface of the ocean--wave over

wave rose higher and spoke louder--Ran was seen dragging her net in

the distance--old Ægir shouted, and dashed into the deep--sea and sky

mixed in confusion, and night fell upon the storm. Then Freyja sank

down exhausted on the sand, where she lay until her kind daughter,

the sleepy little Siofna, came and carried her home again in her

arms. After this the beautiful Vana lived in her palace of Folkvang,

with friends and sisters, Æsir and Asyniur, but Odur did not return,

nor Freyja forget to weep.

* * * * *

Freyja, as she appears in the Edda, was the goddess of the beautiful

year and of all sorts of love. The story of her marriage with Odur is

extremely obscure; it is even thought that Odur is only a form of

Odin, and, in like manner, that Freyja and Frigga are very intimately

connected.

Frigga was the patroness of married love, of the happiness and duties

of the home (originally, she and Freyja and all the great goddesses

were probably personifications of the earth); but Freyja, as goddess

of love, is less developed in idea than Frigga, she has more of the

nature goddess, less of the woman in her. She was said to divide the

spoil with Odin in battle, taking half the slain for herself and

leaving him the other half, which points to her having been at one

time his wife and sharing all with him. Supposing her to have been

the beautiful year, or rather the earth during the beautiful part of

the year, Odur leaving her would imply the beginning of the

shortening of the days at midsummer. The source of summer flies,

Summer seeks him weeping golden tears. Do these mean Autumn's golden

leaves and falling fruits? or that the Sun's beautiful gifts must

ever follow him.

This myth of Summer's source, the Sun, declining from the year has,

it is supposed, been given to Odur because it was not important

enough to belong to the greatest of the gods, although it was really

wrapped up in his nature, and the names Odur and Odin are identical

in German. Simrock says, "Every mythology tells us of the death of

the beautiful part of the year like the flight of a god, who is

mourned by his wife or his beloved." Looked at from this point of

view, we see the summerly earth vaunting and decking herself with her

richest jewels in the deepest pride of her delight at the very moment

when the spirit of her existence is stealing away from her. The

summer-decked earth, without the sun of her life, is soulless, has

become mortal. But it must be confessed that the _Edda_ is very

obscure about Brisingamen, and does not mention the necklace in

connection with Odur's departure. The Iron Witch was the mother of

two wolves who devoured the sun and the moon at Ragnarök, she is not

mentioned in the myth of Freyja, but in another lay. It has been

suggested that Freyja's tears may be dew, and she in the character of

Aurora when she sheds them, weeping for some star god of the night.

* * * * *

We shall now hear the story of Idūna--a dwarf's daughter, the wife of

Bragi and goddess of Spring, the renewing of life.

CHAPTER V.

IDŪNA'S APPLES.

PART I. REFLECTIONS IN THE WATER

Of all the groves and gardens round the city of Asgard--and they were

many and beautiful--there was none so beautiful as the one where

Idūna, the wife of Bragi, lived. It stood on the south side of the

hill, not far from Gladsheim, and it was called "Always Young,"

because nothing that grew there could ever decay, or become the least

bit older than it was on the day when Idūna entered it. The trees

wore always a tender, light green colour, as the hedges do in spring.

The flowers were mostly half-opened, and every blade of grass bore

always a trembling, glittering drop of early dew. Brisk little winds

wandered about the grove, making the leaves dance from morning till

night and swaying backwards and forwards the heads of the flowers.

"Blow away!" said the leaves to the wind, "for we shall never be

tired."

"And you will never be old," said the winds in answer. And then the

birds took up the chorus and sang,--

"Never tired and never old."

Idūna, the mistress of the grove, was fit to live among young birds,

and tender leaves, and spring flowers. She was so fair that when she

bent over the river to entice her swans to come to her, even the

stupid fish stood still in the water, afraid to destroy so beautiful

an image by swimming over it; and when she held out her hand with

bread for the swans to eat, you would not have known it from a

water-lily--it was so wonderfully white.

Idūna never left her grove even to pay a visit to her nearest

neighbour, and yet she did not lead by any means a dull life; for,

besides having the company of her husband, Bragi, who must have been

an entertaining person to live with; for he is said to have known a

story which never came to an end, and yet which never grew wearisome.

All the heroes of Asgard made a point of coming to call upon her

every day. It was natural enough that they should like to visit so

beautiful a grove and so fair a lady; and yet, to confess the truth,

it was not quite to see either the grove or Idūna that they came.

Idūna herself was well aware of this, and when her visitors had

chatted a short time with her, she never failed to bring out from the

innermost recess of her bower a certain golden casket, and to

request, as a favour, that her guests would not think of going away

till they had tasted her apples, which, she flattered herself, had a

better flavour than any other fruit in the world.

It would have been quite unlike a hero of Asgard to have refused such

courtesy; and, besides, Idūna was not as far wrong about her apples

as hostesses generally are, when they boast of the good things on

their tables.

There is no doubt her apples _had_ a peculiar flavour; and if any one

of the heroes happened to be a little tired, or a little out of

spirits, or a little cross, when he came into the bower, it always

followed that, as soon as he had eaten one apple, he found himself as

fresh, and vigorous, and happy as he had ever been in his life.

So fond were the heroes of these apples, and so necessary did they

think them to their daily comfort, that they never went on a journey

without requesting Idūna to give them one or two, to fortify them

against the fatigues of the way.

[Illustration: IDUNA GIVING THE MAGIC APPLES.]

Idūna had no difficulty in complying with this request; she had no

fear of her store ever failing, for as surely as she took an apple

from her casket another fell in; but where it came from Idūna could

never discover. She never saw it till it was close to the bottom of

the casket; but she always heard the sweet tinkling sound it made

when it touched the golden rim. It was as good as play to Idūna to

stand by her casket, taking the apples out, and watching the fresh

rosy ones come tumbling in, without knowing who threw them.

One spring morning Idūna was very busy taking apples out of her

casket; for several of the heroes were taking advantage of the fine

weather to journey out into the world. Bragi was going from home for

a time; perhaps he was tired of telling his story only to Idūna,

and perhaps she was beginning to know it by heart; and Odin, Loki,

and Hœnir had agreed to take a little tour in the direction of

Jötunheim, just to see if any entertaining adventure would befall

them. When they had all received their apples, and taken a tender

farewell of Idūna, the grove--green and fair as it was--looked,

perhaps, a little solitary.

Idūna stood by her fountain, watching the bright water as it danced

up into the air and quivered, and turned, and fell back, making a

hundred little flashing circles in the river; and then she grew

tired, for once, of the light and the noise, and wandered down to a

still place, where the river was shaded by low bushes on each side,

and reflected clearly the blue sky overhead.

Idūna sat down and looked into the deep water. Besides her own fair

face there were little, wandering, white clouds to be seen reflected

there. She counted them as they sailed past. At length a strange form

was reflected up to her from the water--large, dark, lowering wings,

pointed claws, a head with fierce eyes--looking at her.

Idūna started and raised her head. It was above as well as below; the

same wings--the same eyes--the same head--looking down from the blue

sky, as well as up from the water. Such a sight had never been seen

near Asgard before; and, while Idūna looked, the thing waved its

wings, and went up, up, up, till it lessened to a dark spot in the

clouds and on the river.

It was no longer terrible to look at; but, as it shook its wings a

number of little black feathers fell from them, and flew down towards

the grove. As they neared the trees, they no longer looked like

feathers--each had two independent wings and a head of its own; they

were, in fact, a swarm of Nervous Apprehensions; troublesome little

insects enough, and well-known elsewhere, but which now, for the

first time, found their way into the grove.

Idūna ran away from them; she shook them off; she fought quite

bravely against them; but they are by no means easy to get rid of;

and when, at last, one crept within the folds of her dress, and

twisted itself down to her heart, a new, strange feeling thrilled

there--a feeling never yet known to any dweller in Asgard. Idūna did

not know what to make of it.

PART II. THE WINGED-GIANT.

In the meantime Odin, Loki, and Hœnir proceeded on their journey.

They were not bound on any particular quest. They strayed hither and

thither that Odin might see that things were going on well in the

world, and his subjects comporting themselves in a becoming manner.

Every now and then they halted while Odin inspected the thatching of

a barn, or stood at the smithy to see how the smith wielded his

hammer, or in a furrow to observe if the ploughman guided his

plough-share evenly through the soil. "Well done," he said if the

workman was working with all his might; and he turned away, leaving

something behind him, a straw in the barn, a piece of old iron at

the forge-door, a grain in the furrow--nothing to look at; but ever

after the barn was always full, the forge-fire never went out, the

field yielded bountifully.

Towards noon the Æsir reached a shady valley, and, feeling tired and

hungry, Odin proposed to sit down under a tree, and while he rested

and studied a book of runes which he had with him, he requested Loki

and Hœnir to prepare some dinner.

"I will undertake the meat and the fire," said Hœnir; "you, Loki,

will like nothing better than foraging about for what good things you

can pick up."

"That is precisely what I mean to do," said Loki. "There is a

farm-house near here, from which I can perceive a savoury smell. It

will be strange, with my cunning, if I do not contrive to have the

best of all the dishes under this tree before your fire is burnt up."

As Loki spoke he turned a stone in his hand, and immediately he

assumed the shape of a large black cat. In this form he stole in at

the kitchen-window of a farm-house, where a busy housewife was

intent on taking pies and cakes from a deep oven, and ranging them on

a dresser under the window. Loki watched his opportunity, and

whenever the mistress's back was turned he whisked a cake or a pie

out of the window.

"One, two, three. Why, there are fewer every time I bring a fresh one

from the oven!" cried the bewildered housewife. "It's that thieving

cat. I see the end of her tail on the window-sill." Out of the window

leant the housewife to throw a stone at the cat, but she could see

nothing but a thin cow trespassing in her garden; and when she ran

out with a stick to drive away the cow, it, too, had vanished, and an

old raven, with six young ones, was flying over the garden-hedge.

The raven was Loki, the little ones were the pies; and when he

reached the valley, and changed himself and them into their proper

shapes, he had a hearty laugh at his own cleverness, and at the old

woman's dismay.

"Well done, Loki, king of thieves," said a chorus of foxes, who

peeped out of their holes to see the only one of the Æsir whose

conduct they could appreciate; but Odin, when he heard of it, was

very far from thinking it well done. He was extremely displeased with

Loki for having disgraced himself by such mean tricks.

"It is true," he said, "that my subjects may well be glad to furnish

me with all I require, but it should be done knowingly. Return to the

farmhouse, and place these three black stones on the table from

whence you stole the provisions."

Loki--unwilling as he was to do anything he believed likely to bring

good to others--was obliged to obey. He made himself into the shape

of a white owl, flew once more through the window, and dropped the

stones out of his beak; they sank deep into the table, and looked

like three black stains on the white deal-board.

From that time the housewife led an easy life; there was no need for

her to grind corn, or mix dough, or prepare meat. Let her enter her

kitchen at what time of day she would, stores of provisions stood

smoking hot on the table. She kept her own counsel about it, and

enjoyed the reputation of being the most economical house-keeper in

the whole country-side; but one thing disturbed her mind, and

prevented her thoroughly enjoying the envy and wonder of the

neighbouring wives. All the rubbing, and brushing, and cleaning in

the world would not remove the three black stains from her kitchen

table, and as she had no cooking to do, she spent the greater part of

her time in looking at them.

"If they were but gone," she said, a hundred times every day, "I

should be content; but how is one to enjoy one's life when one cannot

rub the stains off one's own table?"

Perhaps Loki foresaw how the good wife would use her gift; for he

came back from the farm-house in the best spirits. "We will now, with

Father Odin's permission, sit down to dinner," he said; "for surely,

brother Hœnir, while I have been making so many journeys to and fro,

you have been doing something with that fire which I see blazing so

fiercely, and with that old iron pot smoking over it."

"The meat will be by this time ready, no doubt," said Hœnir. "I

killed a wild ox while you were away, and part of it has been now for

some time stewing in the pot."

The Æsir now seated themselves near the fire, and Hœnir lifted up

the lid of the pot. A thick steam rose up from it; but when he took

out the meat it was as red and uncooked as when he first put it into

the pot.

"Patience," said Hœnir; and Odin again took out his book of Runes.

Another hour passed, and Hœnir again took off the lid, and looked at

the meat; but it was in precisely the same state as before. This

happened several times, and even the cunning Loki was puzzled; when,

suddenly, a strange noise was heard coming from a tree near, and,

looking up, they saw an enormous human-headed eagle seated on one of

the branches, and looking at them with two fierce eyes. While they

looked it spoke.

"Give me my share of the feast," it said, "and the meat shall

presently be done."

"Come down and take it--it lies before you," said Loki, while Odin

looked on with thoughtful eyes; for he saw plainly that it was no

mortal bird who had the boldness to claim a share in the Æsir's

food.

Undaunted by Odin's majestic looks, the eagle flew down, and, seizing

a large piece of meat, was going to fly away with it, when Loki,

thinking he had now got the bird in his power, took up a stick that

lay near, and struck a hard blow on the eagle's back. The stick made

a ringing sound as it fell; but, when Loki tried to draw it back, he

found that it stuck with extraordinary force to the eagle's back;

neither could he withdraw his own hands from the other end.

Something like a laugh came from the creature's half-human,

half-bird-like mouth; and then it spread its dark wings and rose up

into the air, dragging Loki after.

"It is as I thought," said Odin, as he saw the eagle's enormous bulk

brought out against the sky; "it is Thiassi, the strongest giant in

Jötunheim, who has presumed to show himself in our presence. Loki has

only received the reward of his treachery, and it would ill-become us

to interfere in his behalf; but, as the monster is near, it will be

well for us to return to Asgard, lest any misfortune should befall

the city in our absence."

While Odin spoke, the winged creature had risen up so high as to be

invisible even to the eyes of the Æsir; and, during their return to

Asgard, he did not again appear before them; but, as they approached

the gates of the city, they were surprised to see Loki coming to meet

them. He had a crest-fallen and bewildered look; and when they

questioned him as to what had happened to him since they parted in

such a strange way, he declared himself to be quite unable to give

any further account of his adventures than that he had been carried

rapidly through the air by the giant, and, at last, thrown down from

a great height near the place where the Æsir met him.

Odin looked steadfastly at him as he spoke, but he forbore to

question him further: for he knew well that there was no hope of

hearing the truth from Loki, and he kept within his own mind the

conviction he felt that some disastrous result must follow a meeting

between two such evil-doers as Loki and the giant Thiassi.

That evening, when the Æsir were all feasting and telling stories to

each other in the great hall of Valhalla, Loki stole out from

Gladsheim, and went alone to visit Idūna in her grove. It was a

still, bright evening. The leaves of the trees moved softly up and

down, whispering sweet words to each other; the flowers, with

half-shut eyes, nodded sleepily to their own reflections in the

water, and Idūna sat by the fountain, with her head resting in one

hand, thinking of pleasant things.

"It is all very well," thought Loki; "but I am not the happier

because people can here live such pleasant lives. It does not do me

any good, or cure the pain I have had so long in my heart."

Loki's long shadow--for the sun was setting--fell on the water as he

approached, and made Idūna start. She remembered the sight that had

disturbed her so much in the morning; but when she saw only Loki, she

looked up and smiled kindly; for he had often accompanied the other

Æsir in their visits to her grove.

"I am wearied with a long journey," said Loki abruptly, "and I would

eat one of your apples to refresh me after my fatigue." The casket

stood by Idūna's side, and she immediately put in her hand and gave

Loki an apple. To her surprise, instead of thanking her warmly, or

beginning to eat it, he turned it round and round in his hand with a

contemptuous air.

"It is true then," he said, after looking intently at the apple for

some time, "your apples are but small and withered in comparison. I

was unwilling to believe it at first, but now I can doubt no longer."

"Small and withered!" said Idūna, rising hastily. "Nay, Asa Odin

himself, who has traversed the whole world, assures me that he has

never seen any to be compared to them."

"That will never be said again," returned Loki; "for this very

afternoon I have discovered a tree, in a grove not far from Asgard,

on which grow apples so beautiful that no one who has seen them will

ever care again for yours."

"I do not wish to see or hear of them," said Idūna, trying to turn

away with an indifferent air; but Loki followed her, and continued

to speak more and more strongly of the beauty of this new fruit,

hinting that Idūna would be sorry that she had refused to listen when

she found all her guests deserting her for the new grove, and when

even Bragi began to think lightly of her and of her gifts. At this

Idūna sighed, and Loki came up close to her, and whispered in her

ear,--

"It is but a short way from Asgard, and the sun has not yet set. Come

out with me, and, before any one else has seen the apples, you shall

gather them, and put them in your casket, and no woman shall ever

have it in her power to boast that she can feast the Æsir more

sumptuously than Idūna."

Now Idūna had often been cautioned by her husband never to let

anything tempt her to leave the grove, and she had always been so

happy here, that she thought there was no use in his telling her the

same thing so often over; but now her mind was so full of the

wonderfully beautiful fruit, and she felt such a burning wish to get

it for herself, that she quite forgot her husband's commands.

"It is only a little way," she said to herself; "there can be no harm

in going out just this once;" and, as Loki went on urging her, she

took up her casket from the ground hastily, and begged him to show

her the way to this other grove. Loki walked very quickly, and Idūn

had not time to collect her thoughts before she found herself at the

entrance of Always Young. At the gate she would gladly have stopped a

minute to take breath; but Loki took hold of her hand, and forced her

to pass through, though, at the very moment of passing, she half drew

back; for it seemed to her as if all the trees in the grove suddenly

called out in alarm, "Come back, come back, Oh, come back, Idūna!"

She half drew back her hand, but it was too late; the gate fell

behind her, and she and Loki stood together without the grove.

The trees rose up between them and the setting sun, and cast a deep

shadow on the place where they stood; a cold, night air blew on

Idūna's cheek, and made her shiver.

"Let us hasten on," she said to Loki; "let us hasten on, and soon

come back again."

But Loki was not looking on, he was looking up. Idūna raised her eyes

in the direction of his, and her heart died within her; for there,

high up over her head, just as she had seen it in the morning, hung

the lowering, dark wings--the sharp talons--the fierce head, looking

at her. For one moment it stood still above her head, and then lower,

lower, lower, the huge shadow fell; and, before Idūn found breath to

speak, the dark wings were folded round her, and she was borne high

up in the air, northwards, towards the grey mist that hangs over

Jötunheim. Loki watched till she was out of sight, and then returned

to Asgard. The presence of the giant was no wonder to him; for he

had, in truth, purchased his own release by promising to deliver up

Idūna and her casket into his power; but, as he returned alone

through the grove, a foreboding fear pressed on his mind.

"If it should be true," he thought, "that Idūna's apples have the

wonderful power Odin attributes to them! if I among the rest should

suffer from the loss!"

Occupied with these thoughts, he passed quickly among the trees,

keeping his eyes resolutely fixed on the ground. He dare not trust

himself to look around; for once, when he had raised his head, he

fancied that, gliding through the brushwood, he had seen the dark

robes and pale face of his daughter Hela.

PART III. HELA.

When it was known that Idūna had disappeared from her grove, there

were many sorrowful faces in Asgard, and anxious voices were heard

inquiring for her. Loki walked about with as grave a face, and asked

as many questions, as any one else; but he had a secret fear that

became stronger every day, that now, at last, the consequence of his

evil ways would find him out.

Days passed on, and the looks of care, instead of wearing away,

deepened on the faces of the Æsir. They met, and looked at each

other, and turned away sighing; each saw that some strange change was

creeping over all the others, and none liked to be the first to

speak of it. It came on very gradually--a little change every day,

and no day ever passing without the change. The leaves of the trees

in Idūna's grove deepened in colour. They first became a sombre

green, then a glowing red, and, at last, a pale brown; and when the

brisk winds came and blew them about, they moved every day more

languidly.

"Let us alone," they said at length. "We are tired, tired, tired."

The winds, surprised, carried the new sound to Gladsheim, and

whispered it all round the banquet-hall where the Æsir sat, and then

they rushed back again, and blew all through the grove.

"We are tired," said the leaves again; "we are tired, we are old; we

are going to die;" and at the word they broke from the trees one by

one, and fluttered to the ground, glad to rest anywhere; and the

winds, having nothing else to do, went back to Gladsheim with the

last strange word they had learned.

The Æsir were all assembled in Valhalla; but there were no stories

told, and no songs sung. No one spoke much but Loki, and he was that

day in a talking humour. He moved from one to another, whispering an

unwelcome word in every ear.

"Have you noticed your mother Frigga?" he said to Baldur. "Do you see

how white her hair is growing, and what a number of deep lines are

printed on her face?"

Then he turned to Frey. "Look at your sister Freyja and your friend

Baldur," he said, "as they sit opposite to us. What a change has come

over them lately! Who would think that that pale man and that faded

woman were Baldur the beautiful and Freyja the fair?"

"You are tired--you are old--you are going to die,"--moaned the

winds, wandering all round the great halls, and coming in and out of

the hundred doorways, and all the Æsir looked up at the sad sound.

Then they saw, for the first time, that a new guest had seated

herself that day at the table of the Æsir. There could be no question

of her fitness on the score of royalty, for a crown rested on her

brow, and in her hand she held a sceptre; but the fingers that

grasped the sceptre were white and fleshless, and under the crown

looked the threatening face of Hela, half corpse, half queen.

A great fear fell on all the Æsir as they looked, and only Odin found

voice to speak to her. "Dreadful daughter of Loki!" he said, "by what

warrant do you dare to leave the kingdom where I permit you to reign,

and come to take your place among the Æsir, who are no mates for such

as you?"

Then Hela raised her bony finger, and pointed, one by one, to the

guests that sat round. "White hair," she said, "wrinkled faces, weary

limbs, dull eyes--these are the warrants which have summoned me from

the land of shadows to sit among the Æsir. I have come to claim you,

by these signs, as my future guests, and to tell you that I am

preparing a place for you in my kingdom."

At every word she spoke a gust of icy wind came from her mouth and

froze the blood in the listeners' veins. If she had stayed a moment

longer they would have stiffened into stone; but when she had spoken

thus, she rose and left the hall, and the sighing winds went out with

her.

Then, after a long silence, Bragi stood up and spoke. "Æsir," he

said, "We are to blame. It is now many months since Idūn was carried

away from us; we have mourned for her, but we have not yet avenged

her loss. Since she left us a strange weariness and despair have come

over us, and we sit looking on each other as if we had ceased to be

warriors and Æsir. It is plain that, unless Idūn returns, we are

lost. Let two of us journey to the Urda fount, which we have so long

neglected to visit, and enquire of her from the Norns--for they know

all things--and then, when we have learnt where she is, we will fight

for her liberty, if need be, till we die; for that will be an end

more fitting for us than to sit here and wither away under the breath

of Hela."

At these words of Bragi the Æsir felt a revival of their old strength

and courage. Odin approved of Bragi's proposal, and decreed that he

and Baldur should undertake the journey to the dwelling-place of the

Norns. That very evening they set forth; for Hela's visit showed them

that they had no time to lose.

It was a weary time to the dwellers in Asgard while they were absent.

Two new citizens had taken up their abode in the city, Age and Pain.

They walked the streets hand-in-hand, and there was no use in

shutting the doors against them; for however closely the entrance was

barred, the dwellers in the houses felt them as they passed.

PART IV. THROUGH FLOOD AND FIRE.

At length, Baldur and Bragi returned with the answer of the Norns,

couched in mystic words, which Odin alone could understand. It

revealed Loki's treacherous conduct to the Æsir, and declared that

Idūn could only be brought back by Loki, who must go in search of

her, clothed in Freyja's garments of falcon feathers.

Loki was very unwilling to venture on such a search; but Thor

threatened him with instant death if he refused to obey Odin's

commands, or failed to bring back Idūna; and, for his own safety he

was obliged to allow Freyja to fasten the falcon wings to his

shoulders, and to set off towards Thiassi's castle in Jötunheim,

where he well knew that Idūna was imprisoned.

It was called a castle; but it was, in reality, a hollow in a dark

rock; the sea broke against two sides of it; and, above, the

sea-birds clamoured day and night.

There the giant had taken Idūna on the night on which she had left

her grove; and, fearing lest Odin should spy her from Air Throne, he

had shut her up in a gloomy chamber, and strictly forbidden her ever

to come out. It was hard to be shut up from the fresh air and

sunshine; and yet, perhaps, it was safer for Idūn than if she had

been allowed to wander about Jötunheim, and see the monstrous sights

that would have met her there.

She saw nothing but Thiassi himself and his servants, whom he had

commanded to attend upon her; and they, being curious to see a

stranger from a distant land, came in and out many times every day.

They were fair, Idūna saw--fair and smiling; and, at first, it

relieved her to see such pleasant faces round her, when she had

expected something horrible.

"Pity me!" she used to say to them; "pity me! I have been torn away

from my home and my husband, and I see no hope of ever getting back."

And she looked earnestly at them; but their pleasant faces never

changed, and there was always--however bitterly Idūn might be

weeping--the same smile on their lips.

At length Idūna, looking more narrowly at them, saw, when they turned

their backs to her, that they were hollow behind; they were, in

truth, Ellewomen, who have no hearts, and can never pity any one.

After Idūna saw this she looked no more at their smiling faces, but

turned away her head and wept silently. It is very sad to live among

Ellewomen when one is in trouble.

Every day the giant came and thundered at Idūna's door. "Have you

made up your mind yet," he used to say, "to give me the apples?

Something dreadful will happen to you if you take much longer to

think of it." Idūna trembled very much every day, but still she had

strength to say, "No;" for she knew that the _most_ dreadful thing

would be for her to give to a wicked giant the gifts that had been

entrusted to her for the use of the Æsir. The giant would have taken

the apples by force if he could; but, whenever he put his hand into

the casket, the fruit slipped from beneath his fingers, shrivelled

into the size of a pea, and hid itself in crevices of the casket

where his great fingers could not come--only when Idūna's little

white hand touched it, it swelled again to its own size, and this she

would never do while the giant was with her. So the days passed on,

and Idūna would have died of grief among the smiling Ellewomen if it

had not been for the moaning sound of the sea and the wild cry of the

birds; "for, however others may smile, these pity me," she used to

say, and it was like music to her.

One morning when she knew that the giant had gone out, and when the

Ellewomen had left her alone, she stood for a long time at her window

by the sea, watching the mermaids floating up and down on the waves,

and looking at heaven with their sad blue eyes. She knew that they

were mourning because they had no souls, and she thought within

herself that even in prison it was better to belong to the Æsir than

to be a mermaid or an Ellewoman, were they ever so free or happy.

While she was still occupied with these thoughts she heard her name

spoken, and a bird with large wings flew in at the window, and,

smoothing its feathers, stood upright before her. It was Loki in

Freyja's garment of feathers, and he made her understand in a moment

that he had come to set her free, and that there was no time to lose.

He told her to conceal her casket carefully in her bosom, and then he

said a few words over her, and she found herself changed into a

sparrow, with the casket fastened among the feathers of her breast.

Then Loki spread his wings once more, and flew out of the window, and

Idūna followed him. The sea-wind blew cold and rough, and her little

wings fluttered with fear; but she struck them bravely out into the

air and flew like an arrow over the water.

"This way lies Asgard," cried Loki, and the word gave her strength.

But they had not gone far when a sound was heard above the sea, and

the wind, and the call of the sea-birds. Thiassi had put on his eagle

plumage, and was flying after them. For five days and five nights the

three flew over the water that divides Jötunheim from Asgard, and, at

the end of every day, they were closer together, for the giant was

gaining on the other two.

All the five days the dwellers in Asgard stood on the walls of the

city watching. On the sixth evening they saw a falcon and a sparrow,

closely pursued by an eagle, flying towards Asgard.

"There will not be time," said Bragi, who had been calculating the

speed at which they flew. "The eagle will reach them before they can

get into the city."

But Odin desired a fire to be lighted upon the walls; and Thor and

Tyr, with what strength remained to them, tore up the trees from the

groves and gardens, and made a rampart of fire all round the city.

The light of the fire showed Idūna her husband and her friends

waiting for her. She made one last effort, and, rising high up in the

air above the flames and smoke, she passed the walls, and dropped

down safely at the foot of Odin's throne. The giant tried to follow;

but, wearied with his long flight, he was unable to raise his

enormous bulk sufficiently high in the air. The flames scorched his

wings as he flew through them, and he fell among the flaming piles of

wood, and was burnt to death.

How Idūn feasted the Æsir on her apples, how they grew young and

beautiful again, and how spring, and green leaves, and music came

back to the grove, I must leave you to imagine, for I have made my

story long enough already; and if I say any more you will fancy that

it is Bragi who has come among you, and that he has entered on his

endless story.

* * * * *

Idūna has a connection with the underworld, carried away by a giant

and kept captive in his frozen regions, the earth meanwhile becoming

winterly, old; death threatening all things. Her story is curiously

hinted at in the _Elder Edda_, where Idūna is represented as falling

down from Yggdrasil's Ash into the nether world. Odin sends Heimdall

and Bragi to bring her up again, and to ascertain from her if she has

been able to discover anything about the destruction and duration of

the world and heaven. Instead of answering she bursts into tears--the

bright, tearful return of Spring--or may this mean the impossibility

of wringing from Nature answers to the questions and longings that

fill the heart, even the tender year with its messages of hope and

hints of immortality is unable to give the full assurance for which

we yearn.

Idūna is supposed to typify the Spring, and her falling into

captivity for a time to the giant Thiassi corresponds to the falling

of the leaf in Autumn. The union of Poetry with Spring seems very

appropriate, and we must not forget to mention that Bragi's name

calls to mind the old story of the Bragarfull. At feasts, in old

times, it was the custom to drink from cups of mead. One to Odin for

victory, one to Frey and one to Niörd for a good year and peace, and

the fourth to Bragi. It was called the "Cup of Vows," and the drinker

vowed over it to perform some great deed worthy of the song of a

skald.

In connection with the story of Idūna--being, indeed, almost a sequel

to it--we find the myth of Skadi, which is as follows:--

The giant Thiassi had a very tall daughter, called Skadi. When she

found that her father never returned from his pursuit of Idūn, she

put on her armour and set off to Asgard to revenge his death. The

heroes, however, were not inclined to allow her the honour of a

combat. They suggested to her that, perhaps, it would answer her

purpose as well, if, instead of fighting them, she were to content

herself with marrying one of their number, and it appeared to Skadi

that this might possibly be revenge enough. The Æsir, however, could

not make up their minds who should be the victim. It was agreed, at

last, that they should all stand in some place of concealment

where only their feet could be seen, and that Skadi should walk

before them, and, by looking at the feet, choose her husband. Now,

Skadi had privately made up her mind to marry Baldur; so, after

looking carefully at all the feet, she stopped before a pair, which,

from their beautiful shape, she thought could only belong to the

handsome Sun-god. When, however, the figure belonging to the feet

emerged from the hiding-place, it was discovered that she had chosen

the bluff, gusty old Niörd instead of the beautiful young Baldur; and

she was not particularly well pleased with her choice, though she was

obliged to abide by it.

[Illustration: SKADI CHOOSING HER HUSBAND.]

When Skadi and Niörd were married they found, as persons do find who

marry each other for the shape of their feet, and other such wise

reasons, that it was not at all an easy thing to live happily

together. They could not even agree about the place where they should

live. Skadi was never happy out of Thrymheim--the home of noise in

misty Jötunheim, and Niörd could not forget pleasant Nöatun, and the

clear, sunny seas where he had dwelt in his youth. At last they

agreed that they would spend three days in Nöatun, and nine days in

Thrymheim; but one day, when Niörd was returning to Nöatun, he could

not help breaking out into the following song:--

"Of mountains I am weary,

Nine nights long and dreary,

All up the misty hill,

The wolf's long howl I heard.

Methought it sounded strangely--

Methought it sounded ill

To the song of the swan bird."

And Skadi immediately answered:

"Never can I sleep

In my couch by the strand,

For the wild, restless waves

Rolling over the sand,

For the scream of the seagulls,

For the mew as he cries,

These sounds chase for ever

Sweet sleep from mine eyes."

Then, putting on a pair of snow-skates, she set off more swiftly than

the wind, and Niörd never saw more of her. Ever afterwards, with her

bow in her hand, she spent her time in chasing wild animals over the

snow, and she is the queen and patroness of all skaters.

The next story is about Baldur, of whom Har says "that he is the best

of the sons of Odin. So fair and dazzling that rays of light seem to

issue from him, and thou mayest form some idea of the beauty of his

hair when I tell thee that the whitest of all plants is called

'Baldur's brow'" (a plant in Sweden still called Baldur's eyebrow).

Baldur is the mildest, the wisest, and the most eloquent of all the

Æsir.

"Broad glance 'tis called

Where Baldur the Fair

Hath built him a bower

In that land where I know

The least loathliness lieth."

CHAPTER VI.

BALDUR.

PART I. THE DREAM.

Upon a summer's afternoon it happened that Baldur the Bright and

Bold, beloved of men and Æsir, found himself alone in his palace of

Broadblink. Thor was walking low down among the valleys, his brow

heavy with summer heat; Frey and Gerda sported on still waters in

their cloud-leaf ship; Odin, for once, slept on the top of Air

Throne; a noon-day stillness pervaded the whole earth; and Baldur in

Broadblink, the wide-glancing most sunlit of palaces, dreamed a

dream.

Now the dream of Baldur was troubled. He knew not whence nor why; but

when he awoke he found that a most new and weighty care was within

him. It was so heavy that Baldur could scarcely carry it, and yet he

pressed it closely to his heart, and said, "Lie there, and do not

fall on any one but me." Then he rose up, and walked out from the

expanded splendour of his hall, that he might seek his own mother,

Frigga, and tell her what had happened to him. He found her in her

crystal saloon, calm and kind, waiting to listen, and ready to

sympathise; so he walked up to her, his hands pressed closely on his

heart, and lay down at her feet sighing.

"What is the matter, dear Baldur?" asked Frigga, gently.

"I do not know, mother," answered he. "I do not know what the matter

is; but I have a shadow in my heart."

"Take it out, then, my son, and let me look at it," replied Frigg.

"But I fear, mother, that if I do it will cover the whole earth."

Then Frigga laid her hand upon the heart of her son that she might

feel the shadow's shape. Her brow became clouded as she felt it; her

parted lips grew pale, and she cried out, "Oh! Baldur, my beloved

son! the shadow is the shadow of death!"

Then said Baldur, "I will die bravely, my mother."

But Frigga answered, "You shall not die at all; for I will not sleep

to-night until everything on earth has sworn to me that it will

neither kill nor harm you."

So Frigga stood up, and called to her everything on earth that had

power to hurt or slay. First she called all metals to her; and heavy

iron-ore came lumbering up the hill into the crystal hall, brass and

gold, copper, silver, lead, and steel, and stood before the Queen,

who lifted her right-hand high in the air, saying, "Swear to me that

you will not injure Baldur;" and they all swore, and went. Then she

called to her all stones; and huge granite came with crumbling

sand-stone, and white lime, and the round, smooth stones of the

sea-shore, and Frigga raised her arm, saying, "Swear that you will

not injure Baldur;" and they swore, and went. Then Frigga called to

her the trees; and wide-spreading oak-trees, with tall ash and sombre

firs came rushing up the hill, with long branches, from which green

leaves like flags were waving, and Frigga raised her hand, and said,

"Swear that you will not hurt Baldur;" and they said, "We swear," and

went. After this Frigga called to her the diseases, who came blown

thitherward by poisonous winds on wings of pain, and to the sound of

moaning. Frigga said to them, "Swear:" and they sighed, "We swear,"

then flew away. Then Frigga called to her all beasts, birds, and

venomous snakes, who came to her and swore, and disappeared. After

this she stretched out her hand to Baldur, whilst a smile spread over

her face, saying, "And now, my son, you cannot die."

But just then Odin came in, and when he had heard from Frigga the

whole story, he looked even more mournful than she had done; neither

did the cloud pass from his face when he was told of the oaths that

had been taken.

"Why do you still look so grave, my lord?" demanded Frigg, at last.

"Baldur cannot now die."

But Odin asked very gravely, "Is the shadow gone out of our son's

heart, or is it still there?"

"It cannot be there," said Frigg, turning away her head resolutely,

and folding her hands before her.

But Odin looked at Baldur, and saw how it was. The hands pressed to

the heavy heart, the beautiful brow grown dim. Then immediately he

arose, saddled Sleipnir, his eight-footed steed, mounted him, and,

turning to Frigga, said, "I know of a dead Vala,[5] Frigg, who, when

she was alive, could tell what was going to happen; her grave lies on

the east side of Helheim, and I am going there to awake her, and ask

whether any terrible grief is really coming upon us."

[5] Vala--a prophetess.

So saying Odin shook the bridle in his hand, and the Eight-footed,

with a bound, leapt forth, rushed like a whirlwind down the mountain

of Asgard, and then dashed into a narrow defile between rocks.

Sleipnir went on through the defile a long way, until he came to a

place where the earth opened her mouth. There Odin rode in and down a

broad, steep, slanting road which led him to the cavern Gnipa, and

the mouth of the cavern Gnipa yawned upon Niflheim. Then thought Odin

to himself, "My journey is already done." But just as Sleipnir was

about to leap through the jaws of the pit, Garm, the voracious dog

who was chained to the rock, sprang forward, and tried to fasten

himself upon Odin. Three times Odin shook him off, and still Garm, as

fierce as ever, went on with the fight. At last Sleipnir leapt, and

Odin thrust just at the same moment; then horse and rider cleared the

entrance, and turned eastward toward the dead Vala's grave, dripping

blood along the road as they went; while the beaten Garm stood baying

in the cavern's mouth.

When Odin came to the grave he got off his horse, and stood with his

face northwards looking through barred enclosures into the city of

Helheim itself. The servants of Hela were very busy there making

preparations for some new guest--hanging gilded couches with curtains

of anguish and splendid misery upon the walls. Then Odin's heart died

within him and he began to repeat mournful runes in a low tone to

himself.

The dead Vala turned heavily in her grave at the sound of his voice,

and, as he went on, sat bolt upright. "What man is this," she asked,

"who dares disturb my sleep?"

Then Odin, for the first time in his life, said what was not true;

the shadow of Baldur dead fell upon his lips, and he made answer, "My

name is Vegtam, the son of Valtam."

"And what do you want from me?" asked the Vala.

"I want to know," replied Odin, "for whom Hela is making ready that

gilded couch in Helheim?"

"That is for Baldur the Beloved," answered the dead Vala. "Now go

away, and let me sleep again, for my eyes are heavy."

But Odin said, "Only one word more. Is Baldur going to Helheim?"

"Yes, I've told you that he is," answered the Vala.

"Will he never come back to Asgard again?"

"If everything on earth should weep for him," answered she, "he will

go back; if not, he will remain in Helheim."

Then Odin covered his face with his hands, and looked into darkness.

"Do go away," said the Vala, "I'm so sleepy; I cannot keep my eyes

open any longer."

But Odin raised his head, and said again, "Only tell me this one

thing. Just now, as I looked into darkness, it seemed to me as if I

saw one on earth who would not weep for Baldur. Who was it?"

At this the Vala grew very angry and said, "How couldst _thou_ see in

darkness? I know of only one who, by giving away his eye, gained

light. No Vegtam art thou, but Odin, chief of men."

At her angry words Odin became angry too, and called out as loudly as

ever he could, "No Vala art thou, nor wise woman, but rather the

mother of three giants."

"Go, go!" answered the Vala, falling back in her grave; "no man shall

waken me again until Loki have burst his chains and Ragnarök be

come." After this Odin mounted the Eight-footed once more, and rode

thoughtfully towards home.

PART II. THE PEACESTEAD.

When Odin came back to Asgard, Hermod took the bridle from his

father's hand, and told him that the rest of the Æsir were gone to

the Peacestead--a broad, green plain which lay just outside the city.

Now this was, in fact, the playground of the Æsir, where they

practised trials of skill one with another, and held tournaments and

sham fights. These last were always conducted in the gentlest and

most honourable manner; for the strongest law of the Peacestead was,

that no angry blow should be struck, or spiteful word spoken, upon

the sacred field; and for this reason some have thought it might be

well if children also had a Peacestead to play in.

Odin was too much tired by his journey from Helheim to go to the

Peacestead that afternoon; so he turned away, and shut himself up in

his palace of Gladsheim. But when he was gone, Loki came into the

city by another way, and hearing from Hermod where the Æsir were, set

off to join them.

When he got to the Peacestead, Loki found that the Æsir were standing

round in a circle shooting at something, and he peeped between the

shoulders of two of them to find out what it was. To his surprise he

saw Baldur standing in the midst, erect and calm, whilst his friends

and brothers were aiming their weapons at him. Some hewed at him with

their sword--others threw stones at him--some shot arrows pointed

with steel, and Thor continually swung Miölnir at his head. "Well,"

said Loki to himself, "if this is the sport of Asgard, what must that

of Jötunheim be? I wonder what Father Odin and Mother Frigg would say

if they were here?" But as Loki still looked, he became even more

surprised, for the sport went on, and Baldur was not hurt. Arrows

aimed at his very heart glanced back again untinged with blood. The

stones fell down from his broad bright brow, and left no bruises

there. Swords clave, but did not wound him; Miölnir struck him, and

he was not crushed. At this Loki grew perfectly furious with envy and

hatred. "And why is Baldur to be so honoured," said he, "that even

steel and stone shall not hurt him?" Then Loki changed himself into a

little, dark, bent, old woman, with a stick in his hand, and hobbled

away from the Peacestead to Frigga's cool saloon. At the door he

knocked with his stick.

"Come in!" said the kind voice of Frigg, and Loki lifted the latch.

Now when Frigga saw, from the other end of the hall, a little, bent,

crippled, old woman, come hobbling up her crystal floor, she got up

with true queenliness, and met her half way, holding out her hand,

and saying in the kindest manner, "Pray sit down, my poor old friend;

for it seems to me that you have come from a great way off."

"That I have, indeed," answered Loki in a tremulous, squeaking voice.

"And did you happen to see anything of the Æsir," asked Frigg, "as

you came?"

"Just now I passed by the Peacestead, and saw them at play."

"What were they doing?"

"Shooting at Baldur."

Then Frigg bent over her work with a pleased smile on her face. "And

nothing hurt him?" she said.

"Nothing," answered Loki, looking keenly at her.

"No, nothing," murmured Frigg, still looking down and speaking half

musingly to herself; "for all things have sworn to me that they will

not."

"Sworn!" exclaimed Loki, eagerly; "what is that you say? Has

everything sworn then?"

"Everything," answered she, "excepting, indeed, the little shrub

mistletoe, which grows, you know, on the west side of Valhal, and to

which I said nothing, because I thought it was too young to swear."

"Excellent!" thought Loki; and then he got up.

"You're not going yet, are you?" said Frigg, stretching out her hand

and looking up at last into the eyes of the old woman.

"I'm quite rested now, thank you," answered Loki in his squeaky

voice, and then he hobbled out at the door, which clapped after him,

and sent a cold gust into the room. Frigga shuddered, and thought

that a serpent was gliding down the back of her neck.

When Loki had left the presence of Frigg, he changed himself back to

his proper shape, and went straight to the west side of Valhal, where

the mistletoe grew. Then he opened his knife, and cut off a large

branch, saying these words, "Too young for Frigga's oaths, but not

too weak for Loki's work." After which he set off for the Peacestead

once more, the mistletoe in his hand. When he got there he found that

the Æsir were still at their sport, standing round, taking aim, and

talking eagerly, and Baldur did not seem tired.

But there was one who stood alone, leaning against a tree, and who

took no part in what was going on. This was Hödur, Baldur's blind

twin-brother; he stood with his head bent downwards, silent, whilst

the others were speaking, doing nothing when they were most eager;

and Loki thought that there was a discontented expression on his

face, just as if he were saying to himself, "Nobody takes any notice

of me." So Loki went up to him, and put his hand upon his shoulder.

"And why are you standing here all alone, my brave friend?" said he.

"Why don't _you_ throw something at Baldur. Hew at him with a sword,

or show him some attention of that sort."

"I haven't got a sword," answered Hödur, with an impatient gesture;

"and you know as well as I do, Loki, that Father Odin does not

approve of my wearing warlike weapons, or joining in sham fights,

because I am blind."

"Oh! is that it?" said Loki. "Well, I only know _I_ shouldn't like to

be left out of everything. However, I've got a twig of mistletoe here

which I'll lend you if you like; a harmless little twig enough, but I

shall be happy to guide your arm if you would like to throw it, and

Baldur might take it as a compliment from his twin-brother."

"Let me feel it," said Hödur, stretching out his uncertain hands.

"This way, this way, my dear friend," said Loki, giving him the twig.

"Now, as hard as ever you can, to do _him honour_; throw!"

Hödur threw--Baldur fell, and the shadow of death covered the whole

earth.

PART III. BALDUR DEAD.

One after another they turned and left the Peacestead, those friends

and brothers of the slain. One after another they turned and went

towards the city; crushed hearts, heavy footsteps, no word amongst

them, a shadow upon all. The shadow was in Asgard too,--had walked

through Frigga's hall, and seated itself upon the threshold of

Gladsheim. Odin had just come out to look at it, and Frigg stood by

in mute despair as the Æsir came up.

"Loki did it! Loki did it!" they said at last in confused, hoarse

whispers, and they looked from one to another, upon Odin, upon Frigg,

upon the shadow which they saw before them, and which they felt

within. "Loki did it! Loki, Loki!" they went on saying; but it was no

use repeating the name of Loki over and over again when there was

another name they were too sad to utter which yet filled all their

hearts--Baldur. Frigga said it first, and then they all went to look

at him lying down so peacefully on the grass--dead, dead.

"Carry him to the funeral pyre!" said Odin, at length; and four of

the Æsir stooped down, and lifted their dead brother.

With scarcely any sound they carried the body tenderly to the

sea-shore, and laid it upon the deck of that majestic ship called

Ringhorn, which had been _his_. Then they stood round waiting to see

who would come to the funeral. Odin came, and on his shoulders sat

his two ravens, whose croaking drew clouds down over the Asa's face,

for Thought and Memory sang one sad song that day. Frigga

came,--Frey, Gerda, Freyja, Thor, Hœnir, Bragi, and Idūn. Heimdall

came sweeping over the tops of the mountains on Golden Mane, his

swift, bright steed. Ægir the Old groaned from under the deep, and

sent his daughters up to mourn around the dead. Frost-giants and

mountain-giants came crowding round the rimy shores of Jötunheim to

look across the sea upon the funeral of an Asa. Nanna came, Baldur's

fair young wife; but when she saw the dead body of her husband her

own heart broke with grief, and the Æsir laid her beside him on the

stately ship. After this Odin stepped forward, and placed a ring on

the breast of his son, whispering something at the same time in his

ear; but when he and the rest of the Æsir tried to push Ringhorn into

the sea before setting fire to it, they found that their hearts were

so heavy they could lift nothing. So they beckoned to the giantess

Hyrrokin to come over from Jötunheim and help them. She, with a

single push, set the ship floating, and then, whilst Thor stood up

holding Miölnir high in the air, Odin lighted the funeral pile of

Baldur and of Nanna.

So Ringhorn went out floating towards the deep, and the funeral fire

burnt on. Its broad red flame burst forth towards heaven; but when

the smoke would have gone upward too, the winds came sobbing and

carried it away.

PART IV. HELHEIM.

When at last the ship Ringhorn had floated out so far to sea that it

looked like a dull, red lamp on the horizon, Frigga turned round and

said, "Does any one of you, my children, wish to perform a noble

action, and win my love for ever?"

"I do," cried Hermod, before any one else had time to open his lips.

"Go, then, Hermod," answered Frigg, "saddle Sleipnir with all speed,

and ride down to Helheim; there seek out Hela, the stern mistress of

the dead, and entreat her to send our beloved back to us once more."

Hermod was gone in the twinkling of an eye, not in at the mouth of

the earth and through the steep cavern down which Odin went to the

dead Vala's grave; he chose another way, though not a better one;

for, go to Helheim how you will, the best is but a downward road, and

so Hermod found it--downward, slanting, slippery, dark and very cold.

At last he came to the Giallar Bru--that sounding river which flows

between the living and the dead, and the bridge over which is paved

with stones of glittering gold. Hermod was surprised to see gold in

such a place; but as he rode over the bridge, and looked down

carefully at the stones, he saw that they were only tears which had

been shed round the beds of the dying--only tears, and yet they made

the way seem brighter. But when Hermod reached the other end of the

bridge, he found the courageous woman who, for ages and ages, had

been sitting there to watch the dead go by, and she stopped him

saying,--

"What a noise you make. Who are you? Yesterday five troops of dead

men went over the Giallar Bridge, and did not shake it so much as

you have done. Besides," she added, looking more closely at Hermod,

"you are not a dead man at all. Your lips are neither cold nor blue.

Why, then, do you ride on the way to Helheim?"

"I seek Baldur," answered Hermod. "Tell me, have you seen him pass?"

"Baldur," she said, "has ridden over the bridge; but there below,

towards the north, lies the way to the Abodes of Death."

So Hermod went on the way until he came to the barred gates of

Helheim itself. There he alighted, tightened his saddle-girths,

remounted, clapped both spurs to his horse, and cleared the gate by

one tremendous leap. Then Hermod found himself in a place where no

living man had ever been before--the City of the Dead. Perhaps you

think there is a great silence there, but you are mistaken. Hermod

thought he had never in his life heard so much noise; for the echoes

of all words were speaking together--words, some newly uttered and

some ages old; but the dead men did not hear who flitted up and down

the dark streets, for their ears had been stunned and become cold

long since. Hermod rode on through the city until he came to the

palace of Hela, which stood in the midst. Precipice was its

threshold, the entrance-hall, Wide Storm, and yet Hermod was not too

much afraid to seek the innermost rooms; so he went on to the

banqueting-hall, where Hela sat at the head of her table, and served

her newest guests. Baldur, alas! sat at her right-hand, and on her

left his pale young wife. When Hela saw Hermod coming up the hall she

smiled grimly, but beckoned to him at the same time to sit down, and

told him that he might sup that night with her. It was a strange

supper for a living man to sit down to. Hunger was the table;

Starvation, Hela's knife; Delay her man; Slowness, her maid; and

Burning Thirst, her wine. After supper Hela led the way to the

sleeping apartments. "You see," she said, turning to Hermod, "I am

very anxious about the comfort of my guests. Here are beds of unrest

provided for all, hung with curtains of weariness, and look how all

the walls are furnished with despair."

So saying she strode away, leaving Hermod and Baldur together. The

whole night they sat on those unquiet couches and talked. Hermod

could speak of nothing but the past, and as he looked anxiously round

the room his eyes became dim with tears. But Baldur seemed to see a

light far off, and he spoke of what was to come.

The next morning Hermod went to Hela, and entreated her to let Baldur

return to Asgard. He even offered to take his place in Helheim if she

pleased; but Hela only laughed at this, and said, "You talk a great

deal about Baldur, and boast how much every one loves him; I will

prove now if what you have told me be true. Let everything on earth,

living or dead, weep for Baldur and he shall go home again; but if

_one_ thing only refuse to weep, then let Helheim hold its own; he

shall _not_ go."

"Every one will weep willingly," said Hermod, as he mounted Sleipnir,

and rode towards the entrance of the city. Baldur went with him as

far as the gate, and began to send messages to all his friends in

Asgard, but Hermod would not listen to many of them.

"You will so soon come back to us," he said, "there is no use in

sending messages."

So Hermod darted homewards, and Baldur watched him through the bars

of Helheim's gateway as he flew along.

"Not soon, not soon," said the dead Asa; but still he saw the light

far off, and thought of what was to come.

PART V. WEEPING.

"Well, Hermod, what did she say?" asked the Æsir from the top of the

hill, as they saw him coming; "make haste and tell us what she said."

And Hermod came up.

"Oh! is that all?" they cried, as soon as he had delivered his

message. "Nothing can be more easy;" and then they all hurried off to

tell Frigga. She was weeping already, and in five minutes there was

not a tearless eye in Asgard.

"But this is not enough," said Odin; "the whole earth must know of

our grief that it may weep with us."

Then the father of the Æsir called to him his messenger maidens--the

beautiful Valkyrior--and sent them out into all worlds with these

three words on their lips, "Baldur is dead!" But the words were so

dreadful that at first the messenger maidens could only whisper them

in low tones as they went along, "Baldur is dead!" The dull, sad

sounds flowed back on Asgard like a new river of grief, and it seemed

to the Æsir as if they now wept for the first time--"Baldur is dead!"

"What is that the Valkyrior are saying?" asked the men and women in

all the country round, and when they heard rightly, men left their

labour and lay down to weep--women dropped the buckets they were

carrying to the well, and, leaning their faces over them, filled them

with tears. The children crowded upon the doorsteps, or sat down at

the corners of the streets, crying as if their own mothers were dead.

The Valkyrior passed on. "Baldur is dead!" they said to the empty

fields; and straightway the grass and the wild field-flowers shed

tears. "Baldur is dead!" said the messenger maidens to the rocks and

the stones; and the very stones began to weep. "Baldur is dead!" the

Valkyrior cried; and even the old mammoth's bones, which had lain for

centuries under the hills, burst into tears, so that small rivers

gushed forth from every mountain's side. "Baldur is dead!" said the

messenger maidens as they swept over silent sands; and all the shells

wept pearls. "Baldur is dead!" they cried to the sea, and to

Jötunheim across the sea; and when the giants understood it, even

they wept, whilst the sea rained spray to heaven. After this the

Valkyrior stepped from one stone to another until they reached a rock

that stood alone in the middle of the sea; then, all together, they

bent forward over the edge of it, stooped down and peeped over, that

they might tell the monsters of the deep. "Baldur is dead!" they

said; and, the sea monsters and the fish wept. Then the messenger

maidens looked at one another, and said, "Surely our work is done."

So they twined their arms round one another's waists, and set forth

on the downward road to Helheim, there to claim Baldur from among the

dead.

Now after he had sent forth his messenger maidens, Odin had seated

himself on the top of Air Throne that he might see how the earth

received his message. At first he watched the Valkyrior as they

stepped forth north and south, and east and west; but soon the whole

earth's steaming tears rose up like a great cloud, and hid everything

from him. Then he looked down through the cloud, and said, "Are you

all weeping?" The Valkyrior heard the sound of his voice as they went

all together down the slippery road, and they turned round,

stretching out their arms towards Air Throne, their long hair falling

back, whilst, with choked voices and streaming eyes, they answered,

"The world weeps, Father Odin; the world and we."

After this they went on their way until they came to the end of the

cave Gnipa, where Garm was chained, and which yawned over Niflheim.

"The world weeps," they said one to another by way of encouragement,

for here the road was so dreadful; but just as they were about to

pass through the mouth of Gnipa they came upon a haggard witch named

Thaukt, who sat in the entrance with her back to them, and her face

towards the abyss. "Baldur is dead! Weep, weep!" said the messenger

maidens, as they tried to pass her; but Thaukt made answer--

"What she doth hold,

Let Hela keep;

For naught care I,

Though the world weep,

O'er Baldur's bale.

Live he or die

With tearless eye,

Old Thaukt shall wail."

And with these words leaped into Niflheim with a yell of triumph.

"Surely that cry was the cry of Loki," said one of the maidens; but

another pointed towards the city of Helheim, and there they saw the

stern face of Hela looking over the wall.

"One has not wept," said the grim Queen, "and Helheim holds its own."

So saying she motioned the maidens away with her long, cold hand.

Then the Valkyrior turned and fled up the steep way to the foot of

Odin's throne, like a pale snow-drift that flies before the storm.

After this a strong child, called Vali, was born in the city of

Asgard. He was the youngest of Odin's sons--strong and cold as the

icy January blast; but full, also, as it is of the hope of the new

year. When only a day old he slew the blind Hödur by a single blow,

and then spent the rest of his life in trying to lift the shadow of

death from the face of the weeping earth.

* * * * *

The death of Baldur was probably in the first place an expression of

the decline of the Summer sun. At midsummer Freyja's husband forsook

her, at midsummer also the bright god begins to turn his face

Helheim-wards. Midsummer day is observed in the North of Europe under

the name of Beltan, and fires are lighted upon the hills, a custom

which evidently had its origin in a commemoration of Baldur's death.

Some think that Baldur and Hödur typify the two halves of the year.

At the turn of the day in Summer Höd kills Baldur, at the turn of

the day in Winter Vali kills Hödur. Vali was the son of Odin and

Rind, a giantess, whose name means the winterly earth, so that

clearly Vali comes at midwinter. Why the mistletoe should be used to

kill Baldur it is difficult to say. Might its being so weak and small

imply the very small beginning of the day's decline.

But Baldur, from the description given of him in the _Edda_, must

surely be a personification of goodness morally, as well as the sun

of the outward year, and his not returning from Helheim, being

retained there through the machinations of Loki, seems to be a sort

of connecting link between the first sorrow of the gods, the

beginning of evil and their final defeat by the evil powers at

Ragnarök--the giants have already one foot upon the gods.

* * * * *

The hero of the next story is Tyr, mentioned in the first chapter as

the only one of the Æsir who could feed the monster Fenrir.

CHAPTER VII.

THE BINDING OF FENRIR.

PART I. THE MIGHT OF ASGARD.

I hope you have not forgotten what I told you of Fenrir, Loki's

fierce wolf-son, whom Odin brought home with him to Asgard, and of

whose reformation, uncouth and wolfish as he was, All-Father

entertained some hope, thinking that the wholesome, bright air of

Gladsheim, the sight of the fair faces of the Asyniur and the hearing

of the brave words which day by day fell from the lips of heroes,

would, perhaps, have power to change the cruel nature he had

inherited from his father, and make him worthy of his place as a

dweller in the City of Lords.

To Tyr, the brave and strong-handed, Odin assigned the task of

feeding Fenrir, and watching him, lest, in his cruel strength, he

should injure any who were unable to defend themselves. And truly it

was a grand sight, and one that Asa Odin loved, to see the two

together, when, in the evening after the feast was over in Valhalla,

Fenrir came prowling to Tyr's feet to receive his food from the one

hand strong enough to quell him.

Tyr stood up in his calm strength like a tall, sheltering rock in

which the timid sea-birds find a home; and Fenrir roared and howled

round him like the bitter, destroying wave that slowly undermines its

base.

[Illustration: TYR FEEDING FENRIR.]

Time passed on. Tyr had reached the prime of his strength; but Fenrir

went on growing, not so rapidly as to awaken fear, as his brother

Jörmungand had done, but slowly, surely, continually--a little

stronger and a little fiercer every day.

The Æsir and the Asyniur had become accustomed to his presence; the

gentlest lady in Asgard no longer turned away from the sight of

his fierce mouth and fiery eye; they talked to each other about the

smallest things, and every daily event was commented on and wondered

about; but no one said anything of Fenrir, or noticed how gradually

he grew, or how the glad air and the strong food, which gave valour

and strength to an Asa, could only develope with greater rapidity

fierceness and cruelty in a wolf. And they would have gone on living

securely together while the monster grew and grew, if it had not been

that Asa Odin's one eye, enlightened as it was by the upspringing

well of wisdom within, saw more clearly than the eyes of his brothers

and children.

One evening, as he stood in the court of Valhalla watching Tyr as he

gave Fenrir his evening meal, a sudden cloud of care fell on the

placid face of All-Father, and when the wolf, having satisfied his

hunger, crouched back to his lair, he called together a council of

the heads of the Æsir--Thor, Tyr, Bragi, Hœnir, Frey, and Niörd;

and, after pointing out to them the evil which they had allowed to

grow up among them unnoticed, he asked their counsel as to the best

way of overcoming it before it became too strong to withstand.

Thor, always ready, was the first to answer. "One would think," he

said, "to hear the grave way in which you speak, Father Odin, that

there was no such thing as a smithy near Asgard, or that I, Asa Thor,

had no power to forge mighty weapons, and had never made my name

known in Jötunheim as the conqueror and binder of monsters. Set your

mind at rest. Before to-morrow evening at this time I will have

forged a chain with which you shall bind Fenrir; and, once bound in a

chain of my workmanship, there will be nothing further to fear from

him."

The assembled Æsir applauded Thor's speech; but the cloud did not

pass away from Odin's brow.

"You have done many mighty deeds, Son Thor," he said; "but, if I

mistake not, this binding of Fenrir will prove a task too difficult

even for you."