vessels and rings, with finely wrought weapons and rich necklets and
armlets; and when this was done they carried out the fair body of Balder
the Beautiful, and bearing it reverently upon their shields they laid it
upon the pyre.
Then they tried to launch the good ship, but so heavily laden was she
that they could not stir her an inch.
The Mountain-Giants, from their heights afar, had watched the tragedy
with eyes that were not unpitying, for even they had no ill-will for
Balder and they sent and told of a giantess called Hyrroken, who was so
strong that she could launch any vessel whatever its weight might be.
So the Asas sent to fetch her from Giantland, and she soon came, riding a
wolf for steed and twisted serpents for reins.
When she alighted, Odin ordered four of his mightiest warriors to hold
the wolf, but he was so strong that they could do nothing until the
giantess had thrown him down and bound him fast.
Then with a few enormous strides, Hyrroken reached the great vessel, and
set her shoulder against the prow, sending the ship rolling into the
deep.
The earth shook with the force of the movement as though with an
earthquake, and the Asa folk collided with one another like pine-trees
during a storm. The ship, too, with its precious weight, was well-nigh
lost. At this Thor was wroth and, seizing his hammer, would have slain
the giantess had not the other Asas held him back, bidding him not forget
the last duty to the dead god. So Thor hallowed the pyre with a touch of
his sacred hammer and kindled it with a thorn twig, which is the emblem
of sleep.
Last of all, before the pyre blazed up, All-Father Odin added to the pile
of offerings his magic ring, from which fell eight new rings every ninth
night, and bending he whispered in Balder’s ear.
But none to this day know the words that Odin spake thus in the ear of
his dead son.
Then the flames from the pyre rose high and the great ship drifted out to
sea, and the wind caught the sails and fanned the flames till it seemed
as though sky and sea were wrapped in golden flame.
“And while they gazed, the sun went lurid down
Into the smoke-wrapt sea, and night came on.
But through the dark they watched the burning ship
Still carried o’er the distant waters.…
But fainter, as the stars rose high, it flared;
And as, in a decaying winter fire,
A charr’d log, falling, makes a shower of sparks—
So, with a shower of sparks, the pile fell in,
Reddening the sea around; and all was dark.”
And thus did Balder the Beautiful pass from the peaceful steads of
Asgard, as passes the sun when he paints the evening clouds with the
glory of his setting.
_Note._—Most of the poetical extracts throughout this chapter
are taken from Matthew Arnold’s “Balder Dead.”
THE WONDERFUL QUERN STONES
By Julia Goddard
Once upon a time there was a king of Denmark, or Gotland, as it was then
called, whose name was Frothi. He was a great-grandson of the god Thor,
and a very mighty king, and wherever the Danish language was spoken there
was Frothi’s name honored and respected.
Among his treasures were two quern stones; nothing much to look at,
simply two common millstones in appearance, and no one who did not know
what they could do would think of taking any notice of them. Nevertheless
these quern stones were of more worth than anything that King Frothi
had, for they could produce anything that the grinder of the quern or
hand-mill wished for. They would bring gold, silver, precious stones,
anything and everything; and besides this they could grind love, joy,
peace; therefore it is not too much to say that these stones were worth
more than all the treasures of the king put together.
At least they would have been if he could have made use of them, but they
were so heavy that few could be found to turn the quern, and just at
the time of which I am speaking there was no one at all in the land of
Gotland able to work away at the quern handle.
Now the more King Frothi pondered over his wonderful quern stones, the
greater became his desire to use them, and he sought throughout the
land from north to south, from east to west, if perchance he might find
someone strong enough to help him in his need. But all to no purpose, and
he was utterly in despair when, by good luck he happened to go on a visit
to Fiölnir, King of Sweden, and to hear of two slave-women of great size
and strength. Surely, thought Frothi, these are just the women to grind
at my quern Grotti (for so it was called), and he asked King Fiölnir to
be allowed to see them.
So King Fiölnir ordered the slaves to be brought before Frothi, and when
Frothi saw them his spirits rose, for certainly Menia and Fenia were
strong-looking women. They were eight feet in height, and broader across
the shoulders than any of Frothi’s warriors, and the muscles of their
arms stood out like cords. And they lifted heavy weights, threw heavy
javelins, and did so many feats of strength that Frothi felt quite sure
that they would be able to turn the quern handle.
“I will buy these slaves,” said he, “and take them with me to Gotland.”
Menia and Fenia stood with their arms folded and their proud heads bowed
down, while Frothi counted out the gold to the seller. They were slaves;
with money had they been bought, with money were they sold again. What
cared Frothi who was their father, or how they had come into the land of
Sweden?
And he took them home with him and bade them grind at the quern. Now he
should be able to test the power of the wonderful stones.
“Grind, grind, Menia and Fenia, let me see whether you have strength for
the work.”
So spake the King Frothi, and the huge women lifted the heavy stones as
though they had been pebbles.
“What shall we grind?” asked the slaves.
“Gold, gold, peace and wealth for Frothi.”
Gold! gold! the land was filled with riches. Treasure in the king’s
palace, treasure in the coffers of his subjects—gold! gold! There were
no poor in the land, no beggars in the streets, no children crying for
bread. All honor to the quern stones!
Peace! peace! no more war in the land. Frothi is at peace with everyone.
And more than that, there was peace in all countries where Frothi’s name
was known, even to the far south; and everyone talked of Frothi’s peace.
Praise be to the quern stones! Wealth! yes, everything went well. Not
one of the counsels of King Frothi failed. There was not a green field
that did not yield a rich crop; not a tree but bent beneath its weight
of fruit; not a stream that ran dry; not a vessel that sailed from the
harbors of Gotland that came not back, after a fair voyage, in safety to
its haven. There was good luck everywhere.
“Grind on, grind on, Menia and Fenia! good fortune is mine,” said King
Frothi.
And the slaves ground on.
“When shall we rest, when may we rest, King Frothi? It is weary work
toiling day and night.”
“No longer than whilst the cuckoo is silent in the spring.”
“Never ceasing is the cry of the cuckoo in the groves; may we not rest
longer?”
“Not longer,” answered King Frothi, “than whilst the verse of a song is
sung.”
“That is but little!” sighed Menia and Fenia, and they toiled on. Their
arms were weary and their eyes heavy; they would fain have slept, but
Frothi would not let them have any sleep. They were but slaves who must
obey their master, so they toiled on, still grinding peace and wealth to
Frothi:
“To Frothi and his queen
Joy and peace—
May plenty in the land
Still increase.
Frothi and his queen
From dangers keep;
May they on beds of down
Sweetly sleep.
No sword be drawn
In Gotland old,
By murderer bold.
No harm befall
The high or low—
To none be woe,
Good luck to all,
Good luck to all.
We grind, we grind,
No rest we find,
For rest we call.”
Thus sang the two giant women; then they begged again: “Give us rest, O
Frothi!”
But still Frothi answered: “Rest whilst the verse of a song is sung, or
as long as the cuckoo is silent in the spring.”
No longer would the king give them.
Yet Frothi was deemed a good king, but gold and good luck were hardening
his heart.
Menia and Fenia went on grinding, and their wrath grew deeper and deeper,
and thus at last they spoke.
First said Fenia: “Thou wert not wise, O Frothi. Thou didst buy us
because like giants we towered above the other slaves, because we were
strong and hardy and could lift heavy burdens.”
And Menia took up the wail: “Are we not of the race of the mountain
giants? Are not our kindred greater than thine, O Frothi? The quern had
never left the gray fell but for the giants’ daughters. Never, never
should we have ground as we have done had it not been that we remembered
from what race we sprang.”
Then answered Menia: “Nine long winters saw us training to feats of
strength, nine long winters of wearisome labor. Deep down in the earth
we toiled and toiled until we could move the high mountain from its
foundations. We are weird women, O Frothi. We can see far into the
future. Our eyes have looked upon the quern before. In the giants’ house
we whirled it until the earth shook, and hoarse thunder resounded through
the caverns. Thou art not wise, O Frothi! O Frothi; thou art not wise!”
But Frothi heard them not; he was sleeping the sweet sleep that the quern
stones had ground for him.
“Strong are we indeed,” laughed Fenia sorrowfully, “strong to contend
with the puny men—we whose pastime in Sweden was to tame the fiercest
bears, so that they ate from our hands; we who fought with mighty
warriors and came off conquerors; we who helped one prince and put down
another. Well we fought, and many were the wounds we received from sharp
spears and flashing swords. Frothi knows not our power or he would
scarce have brought us to his palace to treat us thus. Here no one has
compassion upon us. Cold are the skies above us, and the pitiless wind
beats on our breasts. Cold is the ground on which we stand, and the keen
frost bites our feet. Ah, there are none to pity us. No one cares for
the slaves. We grind forever an enemy’s quern, and he gives us no rest.
Grind, grind; I am weary of grinding; I must have rest.”
“Nay,” returned Menia, “talk not of rest until Frothi is content with
what we bring him.”
Then Fenia started: “If he gives us no rest, let us take it ourselves.
Why should we any longer grind good for him who only gives us evil? We
can grind what we please. Let us revenge ourselves.”
Then Menia turned the handle quicker than ever, and in a wild voice she
sang:
“I see a ship comes sailing
With warriors bold aboard,
There’s many a one that in Danish blood
Would be glad to dip his sword.
Say, shall we grind them hither?
Say, shall they land to-night?
Say, shall they set the palace afire?
Say, shall they win the fight?”
Then called Fenia in a voice of thunder through the midnight air:
“Frothi, Frothi, awake, awake! Wilt thou not listen to us? Have mercy
and let us rest our weary limbs.” But all was still, and Frothi gave no
answer to the cry.
“Nay,” answered Menia, “he will not hearken. Little he cares for the
worn-out slaves. Revenge, revenge!”
And Frothi slept, not dreaming of the evil that was coming upon him.
And again Fenia shouted: “Frothi, Frothi, awake! The beacon is blazing.
Danger is nigh. Wilt thou not spare?”
But Frothi gave no answer, and the giant women toiled on.
“O Frothi, Frothi, we cannot bear our weariness.” And still no answer
came.
“Frothi, Frothi, danger is nigh thee. Well-manned ships are gliding over
the sea. It is Mysingr who comes; his white sail flutters in the wind;
his flag is unfurled. Frothi, Frothi, awake, awake; thou shalt be king no
longer.”
And as the giant women ground, the words they spake came to pass—they
were grinding revenge for themselves and brought the enemy nearer and
nearer.
“Ho! hearken to the herald! Frothi, Frothi, the town is on fire. The
palaces will soon be ruined heaps. Grind, Menia, ever more swiftly, until
we grind death to Frothi.”
And Menia and Fenia ground and ground till Mysingr and his followers
landed from the ships. They ground until they had reached the palace.
“To arms, to arms!” shouted the warder, but it was too late. The
Gotlanders armed themselves; but who could stand against the army that
the slave women were grinding against them?
Not long did the struggle last. Frothi and his Gotlanders fought bravely,
but the sea-king and his allies were mightier, for the giantesses were
in giant mood, and turned the handle faster and faster, until down fell
the quern stones. Then sank Frothi pierced with wounds, and the fight was
over. The army that Menia and Fenia had ground to help Mysingr vanished;
and Mysingr and his men alone were left conquerors on the bloody field.
They loaded their ships with treasure, and Mysingr took with him Menia,
Fenia, and the quern stones.
But, alas! Mysingr was no wiser than King Frothi had been.
Gold, however, was not his first thought; he had enough of that, but he
wanted something else that just then was more to him than gold.
There was no salt on board the sea-king’s vessels; so he said: “Grind
salt.”
And Menia and Fenia ground salt for Mysingr.
At midnight they asked if they had ground enough.
And Mysingr bade them grind on.
And so they ground and ground until the ship was so heavy with salt that
it sank, and the sea-king and all his men were drowned.
Where the quern stones went down there is to this day a great whirlpool,
and the waters of the sea have been salt ever since.
[Illustration: THEY WOULD SWOOP DOWN AND BEAR HIS LIFELESS BODY TO
VALHALLA—page 100
_From the painting by K. Dielitz_]
BRUNHILDA AND THE MAGIC SWORD
By Constance Maud
On the summit of a rocky mountain peak a beautiful maiden lay sleeping.
On every side rose the tall dark pine trees, like huge giants on guard. A
circle of magic fire formed a glowing wall around her rocky couch.
The sun rose and set, night succeeded day, winter and summer came and
went, but the maiden slept on still.
From head to foot she was encased in shining armor. On her breast lay
a shield, on her head glistened a warrior’s helmet, and at her side a
spear. For on a day long past it had been decreed that thus this maiden
should sleep, till awakened by the kiss of one who would dare the flames
for her sake, and claim her as bride.
Many a knight, hearing of the beautiful sleeper, had thought to win his
way to her; but no sooner did he see the angry fire darting out on all
sides, and feel the scorching heat of the great flames, than the bravest
fell back discouraged.
Time was when this fair warrior had dwelt with the gods and goddesses in
Valhalla, for she was none other than Brunhilda, favorite daughter of
Wotan the king. She had eight sisters, each one beautiful as the dawn,
and knowing neither fear nor weakness; but among them all Brunhilda
was fairest, bravest, and strongest. These nine maidens were known as
the Valkyrie, and each was a warrior perfect in the art of war. Chief
among their duties was to attend all battles on earth. Riding on their
winged horses, they would hover over the battlefield, and, when a hero
fell, swoop down and bear his lifeless body to Valhalla, where he would
awaken to live among the gods, and be from henceforth one of the chosen
bodyguard of Wotan.
Now it happened on a day in these times long past that Wotan called
to him Brunhilda, and charged her that she should defend Siegmund the
Volsung in a deadly combat he was about to engage in with the grim and
savage Hunding.
Wotan had reasons for wishing to grant Siegmund a special favor. The
Father of the Gods had once struck a mighty sword into the heart of an
ancient ash tree, decreeing that it should belong to him alone who could
pluck it out. Many a valiant knight had tried to win the sword; but all
in vain. Buried deep in the ash-stem it remained till Siegmund came and
with one powerful wrench drew forth the weapon. Then Wotan rejoiced
that a man had been found strong enough to win his sword, and he loved
Siegmund the Volsung greatly.
But Wotan hated Hunding, for he was a tyrant and a bully. With all his
strength and bluster, he had never been able to pluck out the sword,
though many a time had he tried, grinding his teeth savagely over his
failure.
Now the cause of strife between Hunding and Siegmund was this—Hunding had
a beautiful wife, Sieglinda by name, whom he had married sorely against
her will. With her whole soul she loathed and hated the cruel Hunding,
and only longed to escape from him. So it befell one day she fled with
Siegmund the Volsung; for the first moment they met, these two loved one
another, and Sieglinda said to herself: “It were better far to die with
Siegmund than to live with Hunding.”
When Hunding discovered their flight, he set forth to pursue the lovers,
uttering loud threats of vengeance, which echoed through the forest for
miles round.
He called on Fricka, Queen of Valhalla, to help him, for he knew this
goddess to be most stern in her view of the duties of wives.
“O mighty goddess,” cried Hunding, “grant me thine aid! May thy justice
and my righteous vengeance speedily overtake the miscreant! Let not the
scoundrel Volsung turn the power of Wotan’s sword to his own advantage,
for then would all men surely say that the god’s favor rests on faithless
wives!”
Fricka promised him her warm support, and also that of Wotan, whom she
knew she could bend to her all-powerful will, however opposed he might
feel. Scarcely had Brunhilda left the presence of her father when the
goddess Fricka drove up in a car drawn by two fierce fleet-footed rams.
With stern majesty she demanded that Siegmund should be given up to
justice, and the magic sword he had won be broken against the spear of
Wotan himself. It was for the honor of the gods and Valhalla, cried
Fricka, that Hunding’s prayer for vengeance on his faithless wife and
her lover be answered.
In vain did Wotan plead every excuse he could devise for his favorite
Siegmund. Not until he had solemnly sworn on oath to cast off Siegmund,
and recall the order given to Brunhilda, did the stern goddess take her
leave. Wotan sank on the nearest rock a picture of utter dejection. In
this sad state Brunhilda found him shortly after. She listened in dismay,
when in gloomy tones he said to her:
“Thou shalt fight to-day as Fricka desires, and thou shalt vanquish
utterly Siegmund the Volsung! Heed well my words—my former order I now
recall.”
Brunhilda could scarcely believe she heard aright. “Nay, but thou lovest
Siegmund,” she cried in sore perplexity, “and Hunding dost thou hate!
Ah,” she continued, as a new thought came to her, “this second decree is
not given with thy heart! Rather will I abide by the first!”
Brunhilda spoke with good intent, but these were unlucky words. In many
respects the mighty Wotan was not unlike a mortal man.
“How, froward child! Dost dare dispute my word?” he cried. “Thou who
are naught but the blind tool used by my hand! Wake not my wrath, but
heed well my command—Siegmund dies in the fight with Hunding. I have
spoken—go!”
In sorrowful amaze the warrior-maiden took up her weapons and departed.
She found the ill-starred lovers resting awhile in their wanderings
through the trackless forest. Sieglinda’s strength was utterly spent,
and she had fallen into a deep swoon.
“Siegmund the Volsung,” spoke Brunhilda in solemn tones, “I come to call
thee hence!”
“Who art thou, so fair and stern?” he asked.
“Only those already doomed to death may look upon my face,” she answered.
“I am she who bears the fallen warrior to Valhalla.”
“And will this my love come also to Valhalla?” asked Siegmund, gazing
tenderly at the pale face of the sleeping Sieglinda.
“Nay,” replied Brunhilda, “such is not the will of Wotan; Sieglinda must
remain upon the earth. But thou shalt be with heroes, and the daughters
of Wotan shall wait upon thee.”
“If my love may not be there, I will have none of Valhalla’s delights! I
follow thee not!” answered Siegmund fixedly.
“Thou hast looked on the face of the Valkyrie—thou hast no choice but to
follow her,” said Brunhilda.
“By what warrior’s hand must I fall?” asked Siegmund.
“Hunding will fell thee in the fight to-day,” answered the Valkyrie.
But Siegmund laughed this prophecy to scorn. “Seest thou this sword?” he
said, drawing forth the weapon of Wotan. “It was made by one in whose
name I am sure of victory.”
“He who bestowed that sword now withdraws the charm, and himself dooms
thee to death!” cried Brunhilda in terrible ringing tones.
“Hush! or thou wilt awaken my love,” said Siegmund, bending tenderly
over Sieglinda. “If what thou sayest be true, woe and shame be to him who
bestowed such a sword! If I must perish and desert her,” he continued
bitterly, “never will I pass to the Valhalla of Wotan.”
“What!” cried Brunhilda in horror. “Thou wouldst forego the glory of
Valhalla for the sake of this poor feeble woman?”
“If thou canst feel no pity, and canst give no help in my sore distress,
then leave me at least in peace. Speak not of Valhalla’s empty joys.”
How help this heroic lover without disobeying the order of Wotan her
father? “Confide thy beloved to my care—I will protect her, noble
Siegmund,” she said earnestly.
“I thank thee,” replied Siegmund, “but none save I alone can protect my
love. And if this sword, which a traitor fashioned, is to prove false in
the fight, better it should take our two lives with one fell stroke.”
So saying, he drew his sword and held it over Sieglinda. But Brunhilda
seized his arm.
“Stay thy hand, reckless man! Thou shalt not die, but live. Thou shalt
not leave Sieglinda. Sooner will I, Brunhilda, cancel the death-lot.
Doubt me not, my promise is spoken. Take up thy sword, it shall prevail,
for I will aid thee. Speed now to meet thy foe. Hark to the sound of
Hunding’s horn! Farewell, Siegmund!”
With these words Brunhilda sprang on her winged horse, and soon vanished
through the clouds.
Siegmund gazed after her with grateful eyes; then, stooping, kissed
Sieglinda, saying softly: “Slumber in peace, my beloved, till the fight
is over and peril past.” The horn of Hunding sounded loudly in the
distance, and Siegmund hastened away to meet him, leaving Sieglinda still
asleep.
A terrible thunderstorm now broke over the forest, thunderclouds rolled
and clashed together. All was dark as night, no light save from the
forked flashes which darted here and there in fiery streaks, like the
gleaming swords of an unseen enemy fighting in the clouds.
Louder and louder called the hunting-horns of Hunding and his followers.
Presently a terrific thunderclap awoke Sieglinda. She started up in
wildest terror. Siegmund was no longer by her side, a dense darkness
surrounded her, while near at hand rang the voice of Hunding crying in
tones of wrath: “Ha, thou scoundrel Volsung! come out and fight, or my
hounds shall hunt thee down!”
The voices now seemed to come from a rock over Sieglinda’s head. She
listened in eager anxiety as they continued to shout to one another.
Suddenly a flash of lightning showed them fighting desperately on a ridge
of the rock.
Sieglinda rushed forward, forgetting all fears for herself in an agony
for Siegmund’s safety. Another blinding flash made her stagger backwards,
dazed and giddy. For one instant the whole mountain-peak was lit up, and
she saw, hovering over Siegmund in the air, a woman on a winged horse,
covering him with a shield as he fought.
“Now is the moment, Siegmund the Volsung,” cried a dear voice from
above. “Slay him with thy magic sword!”
But as Siegmund aimed his deadly stroke at the heart of Hunding, a
dreadful disaster befell. Wotan, standing unseen at Hunding’s side, put
forth his spear and received the thrust of Siegmund’s sword. “Back before
my spear! Be splintered, thou sword!” roared the voice of the god in
tones of thunder.
With a sharp sound like a cry the sword of Siegmund snapped and flew to
pieces.
Brunhilda fell back in dismay as the gleaming eye of Wotan met her own;
and instantly Hunding plunged his sword into the heart of his defenseless
foe. Sieglinda fell senseless to the ground. Brunhilda, gathering up the
fragments of the sword, hurried to her side, and, lifting her to the
saddle, rode off at lightning speed through the clouds.