Frithiof's Temptation
Spring is come once more; birds warble in the treetops; freed from their
icy bonds, the streams leap gaily downward to the vales below; the roses
part their delicate sheaths and blossom red as Frigga's cheeks. King
Ring will now go hunting, and forthwith a joyous stir pervades the
court. Bows twang, quivers rattle, fiery coursers paw the ground, the
hooded falcon screams for its victim, and scarce can the huntsmen keep
in leash the eager hounds. Fair as Frigga, dazzling as the battle-maiden
Rota, sits the Queen upon her milk-white steed like a star on a summer
cloud. Her hunting dress is of green, embroidered with gold, and blue
plumes wave from her velvet cap.
Led by the royal pair, the gay train wends its way into the forest, and
soon the sport begins. Loud bay the hounds; up mount the hawks into the
clear sky; horns sound; the frightened game seeks lair and covert; and
the eager huntsmen scatter in pursuit.
King Ring has fallen behind; old and feeble, he can no longer follow the
lengthening chase, while beside him silent and thoughtful, rides his
guest. At last they reached a rocky glen shut in by thick-clustering
trees and thickets, and here the King dismounted from his courser,
saying:
"Full weary am I, stranger; here will I rest me in this pleasant spot."
"Nay, sleep not on the cold hard ground," replied the other; "I had
better lead thee back to thy own halls."
"Sweet slumber comes when least expected; 'tis the way of the gods,"
said Ring. "Surely thou dost not grudge thy host an hour of rest!"
Without further words, the stranger spread his cloak upon the ground and
seated himself on a fallen tree-trunk, while Ring, stretching himself
out upon the mantle, laid his head against the other's knees. His eyes
closed and soon he slept, sweetly as an infant cradled in its mother's
arms. As the stranger gazed gloomily down on the face of the King, he
heard a rustling in the branches above him to the left, and lifting his
eyes he saw a coal-black bird, which began to sing:
Haste thee, Frithiof, slay the dotard, with one sword-stroke grant him
rest!
Take the Queen; she's thine; her sacred kiss of plighted troth she
gave.
Here no human eye can see thee--silent is the deep, dark grave!
Scarce had the sound ceased when from a bough on the right, a snow-white
bird began:
Though no human eye should see thee, Odin would the death-stroke view.
Wouldst thou murder him in slumber? Cowardly thy bright sword stain?
Know, whate'er besides thou winnest, hero-fame thou ne'er shalt gain!
Thus sang the two birds, while contending thoughts struggled within the
listener. Suddenly he seized his sword by the handle and flung it far
from him into the shadow of the forest. Whereupon the black bird, with
heavy flapping of its wings, flew back to the dark halls of Night, the
abode of perjurers and assassins; while, blithely warbling, upward the
white bird took its flight and vanished at last in the blue of heaven.
At that moment the King awoke and rising to his feet, said:
"Sweet indeed hath been my slumber. Well they rest whom valor's sword
doth guard. But where is thy war blade, stranger? Methought the Brother
of Lightning never left thy side. Say, who hath parted you?"
"Little boots it," answered the other; "swords are plenty in the
Northland. The sword is not always a good companion. Its tongue is sharp
and it speaketh few words of peace. In steel there dwells an evil
spirit, sprung from Loke's dark abode, to whom not even sleep is sacred,
nor the silver locks of age."
"Hearken, youth!" began the King. "I slept not. 'Twas but to try thee I
did feign to slumber--a fool is he who trusts a man or a blade untried.
Thou art Frithiof! I knew thee even when thou didst cross my threshold.
But wherefore didst thou creep nameless and in such disguise into my
palace? Wherefore, if not to rob me of my wife? Honor comes not nameless
to the banquet, Frithiof! Ever open-faced she meets men's glances, clear
as sunlight is her shield. The fame of Frithiof's deeds has reached
us,--a terror both of gods and men; careless alike of cloven shield or
burning temple; the mightiest warrior known in all the land. And this
bold hero, this fierce viking, creeps, a beggar, to our hall! Nay, cast
not down thy eyes before me. I, too, have once been young and felt as
thou. Youth, well I know, hath fiery passions. Much have I thought on
thee, O Frithiof. I have pitied and have pardoned thee. Hearken now! I
am growing old and feeble, and soon for me the grave shall open. Then
take unto thyself my kingdom and my wife. Until that time, be thou a son
to me and guard my house as thou hast done before. And now, my son, let
there be no more feud between us!"
"Not as a thief did I enter thy halls, O King," replied Frithiof
proudly. "Had I come to seize thy Queen, who could have withstood me?
'Twas but to behold once again her who before the altar gave me her
betrothal kiss. But ah, what slumbering fires my rashness hath awakened!
Too long already have I tarried. Upon my head the gods have poured their
wrath. Even the gentle Balder, lover of all mankind, spurns my prayers.
'Twas I who burned his temple. 'Wolf in the Sanctuary,' am I called. All
joy ceases when my name is spoken. The child clings trembling to its
father's knees. Once more will I seek the broad, free ocean, whither
earth and man have banished me. Out, out, my dragon! Too long in
idleness thou hast lain. Again to the storm wind shalt thou spread thy
pinions, and bathe thy black breast in the dashing spray! All--all on
earth is lost to me forever; the tempest's roar, the clash of arms shall
whisper comfort to my soul once more! So will I live, so will I fighting
fall; and mounting then to Odin's throne, the gods, appeased, shall
speak my pardon."