Once upon a time Odin, Loke, and Hœner started on a journey. They had
often travelled together before on all sorts of errands, for they had a
great many things to look after, and more than once they had fallen into
trouble through the prying, meddlesome, malicious spirit of Loke, who
was never so happy as when he was doing wrong. When the gods went on a
journey, they travelled fast and hard, for they were strong, active,
spirits who loved nothing so much as hard work, hard blows, storm,
peril, and struggle. There were no roads through the country over which
they made their way, only high mountains to be climbed by rocky paths,
deep valleys into which the sun hardly looked during half the year, and
swift-rushing streams, cold as ice, and treacherous to the surest foot
and the strongest arm. Not a bird flew through the air, not an animal
sprang through the trees. It was as still as a desert. The gods walked
on and on, getting more tired and hungry at every step. The sun was
sinking low over the steep, pine-crested mountains, and the travellers
had neither breakfasted nor dined. Even Odin was beginning to feel the
pangs of hunger, like the most ordinary mortal, when suddenly, entering
a little valley, the famished gods came upon a herd of cattle. It was
the work of a minute to kill a great ox and to have the carcass swinging
in a huge pot over a roaring fire.
But never were gods so unlucky before! In spite of their hunger the pot
would not boil. They piled on the wood until the great, flames crackled
and licked the pot with their fiery tongues, but every time the cover
was lifted there was the meat just as raw as when it was put in. It is
easy to imagine that the travellers were not in very good humor. As they
were talking about it, and wondering how it could be, a voice called out
from the branches of the oak overhead, “If you will give me my fill,
I’ll make the pot boil.”
The gods looked first at each other and then into the tree, and there
they discovered a great eagle. They were glad enough to get their supper
on almost any terms, so they told the eagle he might have what he wanted
if he would only get the meat cooked. The bird was as good as his word,
and, in less time than it takes to tell it, supper was ready. Then the
eagle flew down and picked out both shoulders and both legs. This was a
pretty large share, it must be confessed, and Loke, who was always angry
when anybody got more than he, no sooner saw what the eagle had taken
than he seized a great pole and began to beat the rapacious bird
unmercifully. Whereupon a very singular thing happened: the pole stuck
fast in the huge talons of the eagle at one end, and Loke stuck fast at
the other end. Struggle as he might, he could not get loose, and as the
great bird sailed away over the tops of the trees, Loke went pounding
along on the ground, striking against rocks and branches until he was
bruised half to death.
The eagle was not an ordinary bird by any means, as Loke soon found when
he begged for mercy. The giant Thjasse happened to be flying abroad in
his eagle plumage when the hungry travellers came under the oak and
tried to cook the ox. It was into his hands that Loke had fallen, and he
was not to get away until he had promised to pay roundly for his
freedom.
If there was one thing which the gods prized above their other treasures
in Asgard, it was the beautiful fruit of Idun, kept by the goddess in a
golden casket and given to the gods to keep them forever young and fair.
Without these Apples all their power could not have kept them from
getting old like the meanest of mortals. Without the Apples of Idun,
Asgard itself would have lost its charm; for what would heaven be
without youth and beauty forever shining through it?
Thjasse told Loke that he could not go unless he would promise to bring
him the Apples of Idun. Loke was wicked enough for anything; but when it
came to robbing the gods of their immortality, even he hesitated. And
while he hesitated the eagle dashed hither and thither, flinging him
against the sides of the mountains and dragging him through the great
tough boughs of the oaks until his courage gave out entirely, and he
promised to steal the Apples out of Asgard and give them to the giant.
Loke was bruised and sore enough when he got on his feet again to hate
the giant, who handled him so roughly, with all his heart, but he was
not unwilling to keep his promise to steal the Apples, if only for the
sake of tormenting the other gods. But how was it to be done? Idun
guarded the golden fruit of immortality with sleepless watchfulness. No
one ever touched it but herself, and a beautiful sight it was to see her
fair hands spread it forth for the morning feasts in Asgard. The power
which Loke possessed lay not so much in his own strength, although he
had a smooth way of deceiving people, as in the goodness of others who
had no thought of his doing wrong because they never did wrong
themselves.
Not long after all this happened, Loke came carelessly up to Idun as she
was gathering her Apples to put them away in the beautiful carven box
which held them.
“Good morning, goddess,” said he. “How fair and golden your Apples are!”
“Yes,” answered Idun; “the bloom of youth keeps them always beautiful.”
“I never saw anything like them,” continued Loke, slowly, as if he were
talking about a matter of no importance, “until the other day.”
Idun looked up at once with the greatest interest and curiosity in her
face. She was very proud of her Apples, and she knew that no earthly
trees, however large and fair, bore the immortal fruit.
“Where have you seen any Apples like them?” she asked.
“Oh, just outside the gates,” said Loke, indifferently. “If you care to
see them, I’ll take you there. It will keep you but a moment. The tree
is only a little way off.”
Idun was anxious to go at once.
“Better take your Apples with you to compare them with the others,” said
the wily god, as she prepared to go.
Idun gathered up the golden Apples and went out of Asgard, carrying with
her all that made it heaven. No sooner was she beyond the gates than a
mighty rushing sound was heard, like the coming of a tempest, and before
she could think or act, the giant Thjasse, in his eagle plumage, was
bearing her swiftly away through the air to his desolate, icy home in
Thrymheim, where, after vainly trying to persuade her to let him eat the
Apples and be forever young like the gods, he kept her a lonely
prisoner.
Loke, after keeping his promise and delivering Idun into the hands of
the giant, strayed back into Asgard as if nothing had happened. The next
morning, when the gods assembled for their feast, there was no Idun. Day
after day went past, and still the beautiful goddess did not come.
Little by little the light of youth and beauty faded from the home of
the gods, and they themselves became old and haggard. Their strong,
young faces were lined with care and furrowed by age, their raven locks
passed from gray to white, and their flashing eyes became dim and
hollow. Brage, the god of poetry, could make no music while his
beautiful wife was gone he knew not whither.
Morning after morning the faded light broke on paler and ever paler
faces, until even in heaven the eternal light of youth seemed to be
going out forever.
Finally the gods could bear the loss of power and joy no longer. They
made rigorous inquiry. They tracked Loke on that fair morning when he
led Idun beyond the gates; they seized him and brought him into solemn
council, and when he read in their haggard faces the deadly hate which
flamed in all their hearts against his treachery, his courage failed,
and he promised to bring Idun back to Asgard if the goddess Freyja would
lend him her falconguise. No sooner said than done; and with eager gaze
the gods watched him as he flew away, becoming at last only a dark,
moving speck against the sky.
After long and weary flight, Loke came to Thrymheim, and was glad enough
to find Thjasse gone to sea and Idun alone in his dreary house. He
changed her instantly into a nut, and taking her thus disguised in his
talons, flew away as fast as his falcon wings could carry him. And he
had need of all his speed, for Thjasse, coming suddenly home and finding
Idun and her precious fruit gone, guessed what had happened, and,
putting on his eagle plumage, flew forth in a mighty rage, with
vengeance in his heart. Like the rushing wings of a tempest, his mighty
pinions beat the air and bore him swiftly onwards. From mountain peak to
mountain peak he measured his wide course, almost grazing at times the
murmuring pine forests, and then sweeping high in mid-air with nothing
above but the arching sky and nothing beneath but the tossing sea.
At last he sees the falcon far ahead, and now his flight becomes like
the flash of the lightning for swiftness, and like the rushing of clouds
for uproar. The haggard faces of the gods line the walls of Asgard and
watch the race with tremulous eagerness. Youth and immortality are
staked upon the winning of Loke. He is weary enough and frightened
enough too, as the eagle sweeps on close behind him; but he makes
desperate efforts to widen the distance between them. Little by little
the eagle gains on the falcon. The gods grow white with fear; they rush
off and prepare great fires upon the walls. With fainting, drooping wing
the falcon passes over and drops exhausted by the wall. In an instant
the fires have been lighted, and the great flames roar to heaven. The
eagle sweeps across the fiery line a second later, and falls, maimed and
burned, to the ground, where a dozen fierce hands smite the life out of
him, and the great giant Thjasse perishes among his foes.
Idun resumes her natural form as Brage rushes to meet her. The gods
crowd around her. She spreads the feast, the golden Apples gleaming with
unspeakable lustre in the eyes of the gods. They eat; and once more
their faces glow with the beauty of immortal youth, their eyes flash
with the radiance of divine power, and, while Idun stands like a star
for beauty among the throng, the song of Brage is heard once more; for
poetry and immortality are wedded again.--HAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE.
_From “Norse Stories,” by permission of the author and of the
publishers, Dodd, Mead and Company, New York._
* * * * *
He that is not wise will not be taught.