tradition tells, by a sorcerer who, chanting a spell, with every word
broke from the rock a stone, or conjured dust and air to solid blocks,
and moved them into place. And ’tis no more than man himself will do
in days to come; and none will deem the deed a miracle. Hence it is
written in ancient chronicles, _in veterum libris observatum est hoc
fieri_, that the building has ever been haunted, _nymphæis et fatis_,
and by those strange spirits of the elements, whose homes being in the
crimson gold of sun-dyed skies, or deep in earth, where marvellous gems
and metals abound; or in forests; like the _Silvani_ and _Oreades_; or
in streams like the _Naïades_, have by natural affinity a passionate
love for poetry, and all that is rare and beautiful, wild or strange,
be it in what form it may. For as nature is not only lovely and comely
in her very self, becoming more so the deeper we penetrate her veriest
being as _natura naturans_, so is she also in her freer actions often
gaily contradictory, merrily and quaintly discordant; jingling bells to
her sweetest music, and singing sweet _ritournelles_ of violets over
grey and ancient graves. For every one of which freaks, be they as mad
as they may, there is some echo of a goblin, Flibbertigibbet, fairy,
implet, bogle, browny, pixie, urchin, Puck, Robin Goodfellow, ouphe or
oaf, nixey or pixey, duergar or troll, sprite or pigwiggin, sylph or
sea-girl, salamander or fire-maid, Heintzelmann or Waldmeister, Kobold
or Bergmannlein as here called, siren, satyr, or faunus, lemur or
lamia; yea, and thereunto as many more as this outer crust of creation
hath manifestations, which in themselves are ideas and immortal types,
with a life such as science hath not as yet apprehended, though it will
also be clearly known in ages to come. For know, O Prince,’ continued
Flaxius, with an air which had in it something of the poet and the
god, ‘that in due time will dawn upon the world a science, of which
some of the learned now have not the faintest scent or touch, which
after denying and destroying the gods, goblins, and devils, _in toto
corpore_, as now believed in, will end by showing them in matter and
in truth, and that in a thousand times more marvellous form than any
fairy-tale maker ever fashioned or felt. For little as he knows it,
man, instead of leaving the marvellous behind him in remote ages,
began, in truth, utterly without it, and is now advancing towards and
into it, with giant footsteps. Ah, here we are at the gate of the
elfin-castle,
“which men did raise
In the ancient giant and goblin days
When they sat with ghosts on the stormy shore,
And spake in a tongue they speak no more!”
‘Now for a season be a child again.’
As they stood at the gate of the silent pile, they heard, far, far away
over many a hill and dale, the crowing of a cock, and the faint chimes
of midnight from the town, and then the cry of a sentinel owl from
the green-tapestried elfin-tower. To which Flaxius briefly replied
in a strange utterance of some fairy kind, when the gate opened, and
they found themselves in a scene, which would not have appeared quite
unfamiliar to any child who has beheld a gorgeous and exceptionally
tasteful _féerique_ in Paris, or an unusually marvellous Christmas
pantomime in London, combining all the splendours of Aladdin’s palace
with all the goblinries of Mother Goose, save that _this_ was a
thousand times more splendid, more varied, more grotesque, and more
amazing. And having entered, Prince Hamlet stood by the door rapt
in utter admiration at the marvellous art which in ever-changing,
never-resting beauty and quaintness, was displayed before him.
‘The witches have their Sabbat in the Blocksberg,’ said Flaxius; ‘the
fairies and all their kin hold their own grand merry-makings, but much
oftener, being merrier folk, here and elsewhere. Witches and devils
select scenery suited to their taste; fairies conjure up their bright
magnificence and airy shows most gladly. In Germany they revel in
ancient halls of castles such as this, in imitation of the mortals who
preceded them, as is shown by the marvellous legend of the old Count
von Hoya.’
‘And _that_?’ said Hamlet.
‘Was only this: that the fairies came to the old count and begged him
to lend them his great hall for a ball for a single night, with the
condition that he, the master, might be present, but that no other
mortal eye should behold the revel. So at the midnight hour:
In they came tripping,
Fairy-maids, elfin-men,
Little and beautiful,
Golden, gem-glittering,
Two-fold or triple-fold,
Ten-fold and twenty-fold,
Till the great hall,
Splendidly lighted,
Looked like the crown,
Thickly bejewelled,
Of a great monarch.
So they danced, as you see. And the jolly old Graf danced with them.
Small was the lady
Who was his partner;
Three inches high.
Often he lost her
In the gay multitude,
Seeking her, finding her;
Often he picked her up
Twixt thumb and finger,
By her small wings,
Even as children
In summer catch butterflies.
When all at once there was a dead pause. The music ceased, the dancing
stopped, while from above was heard an awful, scolding, human voice. It
was that of the old Countess von Hoya, who having heard the music, she
sleeping above, lifted a trap-door and looked down at the spectacle.
Truly she was in a great rage to see such a festive scene to which she
was not invited. It all died out like an extinguished taper. Tradition
says that the queen of the fairies gave the count in reward for his
kindness a miraculous sword, ring, and horn, which his family still
preserve; but to punish the countess, laid a ban upon her descendants,
that there should never be at one time more than one heir of the name,
and it has ever been thus as predicted.’
‘So in this life even spirits mimic man. A man confirms all things
unto himself,’ replied Hamlet. ‘This is a brilliant scene, surpassing
dreams,’ he continued, as the elfin guests came pouring in, ‘but I note
that they are not all butterfly-minikins.’
Which was quite true, for they were of all sizes, from that of smaller
humanity or lesser youth, down to the tiniest sprites who hide in
honeysuckles, and wear rose-leaves for cloaks. Among them all Hamlet
and Flaxius towered like giants; nor did they seem out of place, since
in the mien and eyes of both there was the expression of something not
of earth or common life, which is never absent from such men, but which
here, in the mysterious magic light which filled the hall, coming from
no visible source, seemed to proclaim itself with tenfold power.
At the further end of the apartment was a throne of unknown splendour
and material, in which were intertwined thousands of strange
characters, red and black like ruby and sable onyx. It seemed as if it
might be a fairy antique, ancient of the ages, and on it sat, under
exquisite rainbow drapery, a female form, of such ineffable loveliness
that Hamlet murmured to Flaxius that he had found in it a new ideal
for beauty--it so surpassed, yet was so different from all he had ever
dreamed of woman’s charms. Thereupon the queen, for such she was--who
heard and perceived all things--looking at them, smiled, and beckoned
an approach, when all the small folk parted right and left, leaving
a lane by which they went their way unto the throne. And bowing low
before her, Flaxius, holding Hamlet by the hand, said in tones of
marvellous melody, learned of yore in the magic schools of Etruria:
‘To thee, All-Beautiful!
Type of all Loveliness!
Queen of the Elfin world!
Life of all Fairy Land!
I with all reverence
Bring a young mortal, Hamlet of Danamark,
One little witting
What immortality
He may inherit,
Shouldst thou bestow on him
Thy benediction!’
To this the Fairy Queen, gazing on Hamlet as with intense interest, in
which sympathy and deep pity were most perceptible, replied in tones
which might have checked the torrent in its course or called the eagle,
wooing him to hear:
‘Well do I know thee,
Hamlet of Danamark!
Seldom was mortal,
Born to such sorrows
Never did mortal
Grapple more bravely
With a grim destiny
Than thou art fated
To find in the future.’
Hamlet, in the same staff-rhyme, but in Danish skald-tone, which was
his humble best, replied:
‘As to the swimmer,
A sea-wolf before him;
As to the traveller,
Grimmest bear meeting;
Or as the wren,
With the owl over her,
Is the foreboding
Of a great Norna
Unto the fated.
But when the Norna
Is Queen of all Beauty,
Mingling iron destiny
With golden compassion,
Giving the bitter
In honey well-coated;
Gently and tenderly;
Little the fated one
Recks what may happen.
[Mishap and misfortune
Are meted to many,
Few among mortals
Ever escape them.]
If the All-Loveliest
Gives him her pity
He’s to be envied.’
Now as Flaxius was the politest man at heart on the face of the earth,
while the Fairy Queen was incarnate politeness itself, this lyric,
which had such a charming accompaniment of courtesy as went beyond
music, made the most favourable impression. And the Sage having, as
court etiquette then required, uttered his first words in metre, now
expressed himself plainly in prose, saying:
‘Beautiful Spirit of the Strangely Beautiful, who alone givest to
poetry the elfin-charm of _Romance_, well do I ween that this young
Prince of Denmark is so entirely thy subject, and one so noble in
truthfulness, and so true in his devotion to thy charm, that he has
not uttered a word of flattery, in saying that the direst misfortune
of life seems to him to be but a little thing, since he has gazed on
thy face and felt thy sympathy. And truly, unto any on whom the Queen
of Faerie and Romance has once really smiled, this world and all its
woes need seem but a little thing, since it is perfect assurance of an
immortal life beyond. But, I pray thee, make this clearer to him, that
he may leave with a lighter heart and be the better able to endure his
fate!’
The queen, as if deeply reflecting and as deeply moved, replied in
gravely measured, softly modulated voice:
‘Nepenthe soothes the vulgar mind alone; to the higher soul unfading
amaranth brings in time forgetfulness of pain endured, and bestows
keenest enjoyment of the glory to come in the far future. Romance and
poetry in purity and power can bend the decree of fate, and that boon I
bestow on thee, Hamlet, Prince of Denmark! Listen, for I predict that
thy life shall be a poem--and in days to come, long after thy earthly
sufferings shall be to thee as naught, I will create my greatest work
in the Greatest Poet of Romance whom the world will ever know. And he
shall sing thy life in his greatest song, and wherever on earth true
poetry is loved and known thou shalt be known and loved with it.
This can be done and this I swear to do. Thine be the amaranth--I can
no more. In proof whereof I place upon thy arm this golden ring of
amaranthine form.’
And as she spoke, all seemed to fade before his sight. Only to the last
he felt deeply gazing into his soul with infinite love and sympathy the
violet eyes of the Queen of Fairy-land and of Romance.
When he awoke it was early morning. He lay on soft moss amid the
crumbling ruins of the old castle--in sunlight, hearing bird-song all
about him. By his side sat the Sage.
‘He would have thought it all a dream,
Save that upon his arm
Was bound the gift of the Fairy Queen:
Titania’s wondrous charm.’
‘_Tempus est abeundi_,’ quoth Flaxius. ‘’Tis time for us to go! But,
_litera scripta manet_, what is written by fate will come to pass, O
Hamlet, my son, and dear and gracious Prince. Breakfast awaits us, and
I must think over what I am to say in my lecture on the Emperor Titus.’
HOW FLAXIUS MADE THE FORTUNE OF EADWARD THE GRANDSON OF AEOLFRIC
‘It is wise for youth to bow to age’s wisdom.’--_Norse Proverb._
‘For truth is one and right is ever one.’--_Spenser’s Faerie Queene._
IT was in the very old time of merry England. In the days when there
was so much merriment among those who were above the line of safety,
and so much misery for those who were below it as would have appalled
a modern sociologist. When a man who was out of prison, and not
positively starving to death, contrived to be happy. When, according to
the testimony of all writers from Caedmon down very nearly to Chaucer,
there was such suffering from all kinds of oppression among the poor as
to make the heart sick to think of it. Out of which very time there has
come to us such gay and festive song and chording of harps, twanging
of citterns, ringing of goblets, gay hurrahing, archery, dancing round
maypoles and valentining as to make one thrill with joy to think of it.
For the only rule of life then was:
‘Eat, drink, and be merry while ye can,
For to-morrow we’ll perish, be sure, my man;
Make the most of what fate will lend you,
Then go wherever the priest may send you!’
And it was in the north, at a time when Anglo-Saxon and
Danish-Icelandic were beginning to be English, and there was still
much sound old heathenism in men’s hearts, and witches rode over the
midnight sky, while fairies danced in moon-lit rings below--then it
was, I say, that the immortal Flaxius paused one fair day on his
pedestrian path in Northumberland.
‘A tall spreading forest there he found,
With a woodman at work mid oak-trees near,
The strokes of his axe broke the silence round,
Till the traveller called aloud, “Come here!”’
And he that was called came, and Flaxius looked at him steadily ere
he spoke, but with evident approbation and interest. He was a young
and lithe but strong and vigorous man, handsome, almost to beauty, in
face, with a straight nose and a keen, dark eye, in which there was
indeed naught repulsive, but something strange, such as one sees in
the glances of uncanny folk who know things of which they do not speak
to their neighbours. His dress was but little superior to that of the
ordinary peasant, but there was something in the manner in which it was
worn, as well as in the bold mien, and almost graceful bearing of the
youth, which indicated rank or ‘birth.’
‘God be with ye!’ said Flaxius to the woodman. ‘I would fain rest here
a while and chop a few words with thee, so thou be not too busy with
thy chopping of wood.’
‘Nay,’ replied the youth, with a quaint pursing of the mouth, ‘many
strokes fell great oaks, and many words bring merry jokes; while as for
the resting never yet saw I the time when I would not pause to listen
to those who are wiser than I am:
“He who listeneth to eld,
Himself shall be in honour held.”
As my grandfather was wont to teach me with many a brave tale to prove
it.’
‘Thy grandfather,’ replied Flaxius, who had meanwhile studied his face
more attentively, ‘was Aeolfric Adelwit, whom men called the learned
and the traveller.’
‘By Freia!--I mean the Holy Virgin!’--exclaimed the youth astonished
and delighted, ‘thou art either a wizard or one who knew him, and it
may be,’ he added, lowering his voice and looking round suspiciously,
‘perhaps a bit of both, for my grandfather who is now, I trust,
in Valhall among the heroes and sages--I mean in heaven among the
saints--was called a sorcerer by the fools hereabouts.’
Flaxius smiled. Each looked at the other with one eye closed; the
Sage shutting the right, and the youth the left, which is the sign by
which the initiated of all grades recognise one another, and the one
generally used by Mahatmas and others in the Karma business--as it was
by the augurs of yore--when there were true believers present or under
discussion.
‘I was even about to take my noon-day rest,’ said the woodman, ‘and
if it please you to partake my poor meal--thin cider and bread and
bacon--I would it were for your sake wine and a capon!’
‘Knowest thou, O Eadward, grandson of Aeolfric,’ said Flaxius solemnly,
‘that whoever made a wish in that moment past--at that special position
of the planets--but unwittingly--obtained it. Behold!’
And saying this he opened the basket which the youth had taken from
under a thicket, and opening it drew forth a large cold roasted capon,
a manchet of bread, and a mighty flask, with fruit.
‘By the divine banquet of the boar _Sahrimnir_!--I mean the Holy
Supper!’--cried the youth, ‘thou hast come in a lucky hour to get a
snack, O blessed traveller!’
‘Therefore,’ exclaimed Flaxius, producing a great silver goblet from
his pack, which he filled from the flask, ‘therefore, O my son,
_drink_!’ And just then the sunlight catching the stream awoke in it
a wide-spreading, ruddy gleam, and his whole face, yea his very form,
seemed to be bathed and steeped in ruby, ruddy light, as a piece of
red glass in a cathedral window. And so he looked more like a glorious
Bacchus, or merry Jupiter, transfigured and idealised into a gay
glory in a sun-set sky, wherein the early stars were piping merrily a
roundelay for vespers, and the clouds like fauns did cluster round to
hear.
‘I have seen my grandfather, by Saint Eadward!’ said the youth, for
once getting in a Christian swear successfully, ‘draw good ale from
a hole bored in a beech-tree, which was thought to be a wondrous
sorcery--I meant miracle--by the folk hereabout. But he never managed
such a tap as _this_,’ he exclaimed, as he took a pull, which might
have half emptied the Gialahorn, and would have excited the envy of the
_Hornbruderschaft_, or Hard-Drinking Brotherhood, founded by the great
Bishop Johann von Manderscheit in the castle of Hoh-Barr.
‘And by Odin who was fed on wine alone!’ (here he balanced the
religious equation), ‘and like his holy cup, it refills itself!’
‘I bestow it on thee, Eadward, grandson of Aeolfric, for thy
grandsire’s sake,’ said Flaxius; ‘and it shall remain full, I swear,
so long as thou remainest an honest man, a true kind heart, friendly to
those in need, and a good, valiant, joyous drinker and _bon compagnon_.
_Waes hael!_’ he added, taking a draught which was indeed _pari passu_
with that of Eadward’s:
‘Like and like do gladly greet,
Same with joy the same doth meet,
One good turn deserves another,
Therefore drink with me, O brother;
Even as in days of yore,
Commodus, Rome’s Emperor,
Drank his boon companions dumb:
_Exsuperantissimum_!’
‘_Trinc hael!_’ replied Eadward, with a look of deep, steadfast, honest
gratitude. ‘And as I cannot speak my thanks, O my greatest benefactor,
therefore do I drink them!’
Nor was the young Norse-Saxon, as he said this, far unlike a jolly
troll or faun himself, for the glowing golden red of sun- and
wine-light shone over him and glinted in his hair, which was like waves
of topaz, hanging over his eyes and rolling down his shoulders like a
tufted oriole or aureole.
‘When autumn browneth wood on hill,
And the nights are growing chill,
Then upon ye wagon strong,
Ye see caskés borne along,
Black and foul without as sin,
Full of wine and ale within;
Red fire wine and golden ale,
Where from many drinken hale,
With merry song and minstrelsie:
As I do drink, all-heart, to thee!’
And he who had peeped into that shady dell on that summer day and seen
the pair, amid green leaves gay, with the wondrous wizard _aura_ or
rich flood of wine-light all round them, as they caroused and sang,
would have verily believed he saw two joyous pagan sylvan gods who,
hidden well away behind the age, had met to live the gay old times
again.
‘And now tell me, Eadward,’ said Flaxius, ‘to a hair, how it goes with
thee in life?’
‘My grandfather, as thou knowest,’ replied the youth, ‘was learned,
and had travelled in many lands. He went to Norway, whence he never
returned. It was said that when King Olaf Tryggvason assembled all the
wise men in the old heathen religion in a house to which he set fire,
and in which they were burned alive, my grandsire also perished. And it
was a cursed deed, whoever did it. Something of Latin and other lore I
learned from my grandfather, who bade me keep it ever a secret, saying
that “he is a fool who shows his lore to any save to his superiors
therein.” But what land my grandsire left, my father lost, so that
all I have now is a field and a wood and mine own arms. Yet with some
wit, and selling and trading cattle, I keep my home, truly in no great
style.’
Flaxius mused and said, ‘I knew thy grandfather, and though he was not
far advanced as a magian, yet he had fairy blood from distant strain,
and he was, above all things, a good and honest man. And it is among us
a duty to aid the descendants of all such men, when they are deserving.
Now I will help thee to help thyself; but note well, Eadward, never in
thy life didst thou so need every virtue as thou wilt need them now to
succeed. For this is the usual secret of rising to Fortune. Some friend
puts our feet on the first step of the ladder, or guides us to it, but
we must climb the rest ourselves.’
‘Something like this,’ said Eadward, ‘did I once hear from my
grandfather:
‘“Look well round thee with thine eyes,
Where’er thou art, if thou wouldst rise;
It is not by a single flight,
But step by step we gain the height.
So up the tree the emmet goes,
Even as Rolf the Giver rose.”’
‘Well sung,’ quoth Flaxius, ‘and pass the cup! Now take this dried
leaf.’ He gave to the youth a doubled strip of parchment, like a thin
book, in which was indeed a leaf.
‘To-night or to-morrow go, bathed and fasting, to bed. Then eat this
leaf and note what thou shalt dream. Do exactly to a hair what thou
mayst be told to do--nothing more nor less. After that all will depend
on thy own good sense, courage, and kindness. And when one year shall
have passed by thou wilt see me again, to render count of all that thou
hast done.’
So they parted with kind words, the youth to try his fortune, and
Flaxius, like Odin, ever onwards to the North.
* * * * *
A year had passed, and the Immortal Sage sat in a wild and
adventurous-looking place, deep buried amid lonely woods and cliffs,
by a headlong torrent, before the Odin-stone, a strangely shaped rock,
seeming like a Druidic megalith, through which there was a hole of a
foot in diameter. It was a striking object, and Flaxius well knew it
had a tale. For he had been there and then.
He heard the trampling of a horse in the woods. He looked up and saw a
magnificent steed, on which sat a knight in splendid attire. The rider
dismounted; it was Eadward; and the two embraced.
‘Yea, I have the flask, and it has never run dry,’ said the youth,
producing it.
‘That tells a good tale,’ replied Flaxius. So they filled and drank.
‘And now let me hear the details.’
‘Make spede is a good rede,’ replied the knight. ‘This is the story
which I set before ye.
‘As you bade, I ate the leaf, and went to bed. And in a dream there
came to me a white lady or a _Norna_. Such beauty did I never see
before. And she said, “Eadward, grandson of Aeolfric, go to-morrow to
the Odin-stone, even where we now are, and watch for one hour. Then do
as thou wilt.” Word no more spake she, but vanished, and I awoke.
‘So I went with my cross-bow and knife to the stone. And here I watched
for one hour, yet I saw nothing. Then, as I was about to go, I saw a
strange thing. For there came creeping through the hole in the stone
a fox. And such a fox I never saw before, for it was of a beautiful
tawny, soft, golden colour; and on it was a large black cross. And
though I was in awe, something--it seemed like a voice--bade me slay
it. I did so, and skinned it, and wrapped the skin and put it in my
bag, and went my way.
‘Now there is--it may be half a day’s walk from here--a rock on which
Ulf the Dane, in olden time after a great battle, had carved the image
of a wolf, with runic knots and letters, very curious to behold, and
there I paused a while to rest. And, anon, there came to me a man, an
outlander, as I weened; but he pleased me, and we held discourse. He
was not rich of apparel, but he had this horse here, and a better I
never saw; for truly, by Sleipnir!--I mean by the White Steed of Death
seen by Saint John!--there is not its like in all the land.
‘So we talked, and I gave him of my wine. And we spake of elves and
wizards and dreams. And then he said, “I will tell thee a strange tale;
for indeed it was a dream which brought me hither, but, I fear, to
little purpose and no good, as the troll said of the long talk which
ended by his being turned to stone.
‘“And this,” he said, “is sooth and truth.” And he sang:
‘“Unto King Ulfbrand
Thus spake the wise man,
He the deep learned
Servant of Frey:
‘Danger is over thee,
Wild screaming war eagle
On the moss-grown tree,
By the white cataract,
Calleth on death to thee!
And the claw of the bear
Has scratched runes on the beech-tree;
And thy realm will be lost
Unless thou winnest
The skin of a fox
Of colour pale golden,
With a black cross.’
‘“Now the king was sore afraid, and offered his daughter to any of his
nobles who could win him the prize. And I, with small hope, asked a
witch, one whom I had greatly befriended--yea, saved her life and given
her shelter. And she studied her spells seven days and nights with
great pain, and then bid me obey my first dream. And I dreamed that I
should trust in and abide by a wolf for three days. And coming here by
chance I heard this rock called the Wolf; and so at hap-hazard here I
have remained, but nothing has come of it, and I fear me that nothing
will.”
‘Then it came into my mind,’ said Eadward, ‘hearing this, that I myself
should go to King Ulfbrand and win a great reward. And yet again that
this would be foul play to the man before me, and that thou, Flaxius,
didst bid me to be generous and true. So I prayed in my soul to all the
gods.’
(‘And a sweetly-mixed mythology thou hast, my dear boy!’ reflected
Flaxius.)
‘And then said to the man, taking the skin from my bag: “Is not this
what thou seekest? Take it in God’s name, for I believe it should be
thine.”
‘Then he turned white and red for joy and amazement, and said: