THE DEATH OF BALDER
There was one shadow which always fell over Asgard. Sometimes in the
long years the gods almost forgot it, it lay so far off, like a dim
cloud in a clear sky; but Odin saw it deepen and widen as he looked out
into the universe, and he knew that the last great battle would surely
come, when the gods themselves would be destroyed and a long twilight
would rest on all the worlds; and now the day was close at hand.
Misfortunes never come singly to men, and they did not to the gods.
Idun, the beautiful goddess of youth, whose apples were the joy of all
Asgard, made a resting place for herself among the massive branches of
Yggdrasil, and there every evening came Brage, and sang so sweetly that
the birds stopped to listen, and even the Norns, those implacable
sisters at the foot of the tree, were softened by the melody. But poetry
cannot change the purposes of fate, and one evening no song was heard of
Brage or birds, the leaves of the world tree hung withered and lifeless
on the branches, and the fountain from which they had daily been
sprinkled was dry at last. Idun had fallen into the dark valley of
death, and when Brage, Heimdal, and Loki went to question her about the
future she could answer them only with tears. Brage would not leave his
beautiful wife alone amid the dim shades that crowded the dreary
valley, and so youth and genius vanished out of Asgard forever.
Balder was the most godlike of all the gods, because he was the purest
and the best. Wherever he went his coming was like the coming of
sunshine, and all the beauty of summer was but the shining of his face.
When men's hearts were white like the light, and their lives clear as
the day, it was because Balder was looking down upon them with those
soft, clear eyes that were open windows to the soul of God. He had
always lived in such a glow of brightness that no darkness had ever
touched him; but one morning, after Idun and Brage had gone, Balder's
face was sad and troubled. He walked slowly from room to room in his
palace Breidablik, stainless as the sky when April showers have swept
across it because no impure thing had ever crossed the threshold, and
his eyes were heavy with sorrow. In the night terrible dreams had broken
his sleep, and made it a long torture. The air seemed to be full of
awful changes for him and for all the gods. He knew in his soul that the
shadow of the last great day was sweeping on; as he looked out and saw
the worlds lying in light and beauty, the fields yellow with waving
grain, the deep fiords flashing back the sunbeams from their clear
depths, the verdure clothing the loftiest mountains, and knew that over
all this darkness and desolation would come, with silence of reapers and
birds, with fading of leaf and flower, a great sorrow fell on his heart.
Balder could bear the burden no longer. He went out, called all the gods
together, and told them the terrible dreams of the night. Every face was
heavy with care. The death of Balder would be like the going out of the
sun, and after a long, sad council the gods resolved to protect him
from harm by pledging all things to stand between him and any hurt. So
Frigg, his mother, went forth and made everything promise, on a solemn
oath, not to injure her son. Fire, iron, all kinds of metal, every sort
of stone, trees, earth, diseases, birds, beasts, snakes, as the anxious
mother went to them, solemnly pledged themselves that no harm should
come near Balder. Everything promised, and Frigg thought she had driven
away the cloud; but fate was stronger than her love, and one little
shrub had not sworn.
Odin was not satisfied even with these precautions, for whichever way he
looked the shadow of a great sorrow spread over the worlds. He began to
feel as if he were no longer the greatest of the gods, and he could
almost hear the rough shouts of the frost giants crowding the rainbow
bridge on their way into Asgard. When trouble comes to men it is hard to
bear, but to a god who had so many worlds to guide and rule it was a new
and terrible thing. Odin thought and thought until he was weary, but no
gleam of light could he find anywhere; it was thick darkness everywhere.
At last he could bear the suspense no longer, and saddling his horse he
rode sadly out of Asgard to Niflheim, the home of Hel, whose face was as
the face of death itself. As he drew near the gates, a monstrous dog
came out and barked furiously, but Odin rode a little eastward of the
shadowy gates to the grave of a wonderful prophetess. It was a cold,
gloomy place, and the soul of the great god was pierced with a feeling
of hopeless sorrow as he dismounted from Sleipner, and bending over the
grave began to chant weird songs, and weave magical charms over it. When
he had spoken those wonderful words which could waken the dead from
their sleep, there was an awful silence for a moment, and then a faint
ghost-like voice came from the grave.
"Who art thou?" it said. "Who breaketh the silence of death, and calleth
the sleeper out of her long slumbers? Ages ago I was laid at rest here,
snow and rain have fallen upon me through myriad years; why dost thou
disturb me?"
"I am Vegtam," answered Odin, "and I come to ask why the couches of Hel
are hung with gold and the benches strewn with shining rings?"
"It is done for Balder," answered the awful voice; "ask me no more."
Odin's heart sank when he heard these words; but he was determined to
know the worst.
"I will ask thee until I know all. Who shall strike the fatal blow?"
"If I must, I must," moaned the prophetess. "Hoder shall smite his
brother Balder and send him down to the dark home of Hel. The mead is
already brewed for Balder, and the despair draweth near."
Then Odin, looking into the future across the open grave, saw all the
days to come.
"Who is this," he said, seeing that which no mortal could have seen;
"who is this that will not weep for Balder?"
Then the prophetess knew that it was none other than the greatest of the
gods who had called her up.
"Thou art not Vegtam," she exclaimed, "thou art Odin himself, the king
of men."
"And thou," answered Odin angrily, "art no prophetess, but the mother of
three giants."
"Ride home, then, and exult in what thou hast discovered," said the dead
woman. "Never shall my slumbers be broken again until Loki shall burst
his chains and the great battle come."
And Odin rode sadly homeward knowing that already Niflheim was making
itself beautiful against the coming of Balder.
The other gods meanwhile had become merry again; for had not everything
promised to protect their beloved Balder? They even made sport of that
which troubled them, for when they found that nothing could hurt Balder,
and that all things glanced aside from his shining form, they persuaded
him to stand as a target for their weapons; hurling darts, spears,
swords, and battle-axes at him, all of which went singing through the
air and fell harmless at his feet. But Loki, when he saw these sports,
was jealous of Balder, and went about thinking how he could destroy him.
It happened that as Frigg sat spinning in her house Fensal, the soft
wind blowing in at the windows and bringing the merry shouts of the gods
at play, an old woman entered and approached her.
"Do you know," asked the newcomer, "what they are doing in Asgard? They
are throwing all manner of dangerous weapons at Balder. He stands there
like the sun for brightness, and against his glory, spears and
battle-axes fall powerless to the ground. Nothing can harm him."
"No," answered Frigg joyfully; "nothing can bring him any hurt, for I
have made everything in heaven and earth swear to protect him."
"What!" said the old woman, "has everything sworn to guard Balder?"
"Yes," said Frigg, "everything has sworn except one little shrub which
is called Mistletoe, and grows on the eastern side of Valhal. I did not
take an oath from that because I thought it too young and weak."
When the old woman heard this a strange light came into her eyes; she
walked off much faster than she had come in, and no sooner had she
passed beyond Frigg's sight than this same feeble old woman grew
suddenly erect, shook off her woman's garments, and there stood Loki
himself. In a moment he had reached the slope east of Valhal, had
plucked a twig of the unsworn Mistletoe, and was back in the circle of
the gods, who were still at their favourite pastime with Balder. Hoder
was standing silent and alone outside the noisy throng, for he was
blind. Loki touched him.
"Why do you not throw something at Balder?"
"Because I cannot see where Balder stands, and have nothing to throw if
I could," replied Hoder.
"If that is all," said Loki, "come with me. I will give you something to
throw, and direct your aim."
Hoder, thinking no evil, went with Loki and did as he was told.
The little sprig of Mistletoe shot through the air, pierced the heart of
Balder, and in a moment the beautiful god lay dead upon the field. A
shadow rose out of the deep beyond the worlds and spread itself over
heaven and earth, for the light of the universe had gone out.
The gods could not speak for horror. They stood like statues for a
moment, and then a hopeless wail burst from their lips. Tears fell like
rain from eyes that had never wept before, for Balder, the joy of
Asgard, had gone to Niflheim and left them desolate. But Odin was
saddest of all, because he knew the future, and he knew that peace and
light had fled from Asgard forever, and that the last day and the long
night were hurrying on.
Frigg could not give up her beautiful son, and when her grief had spent
itself a little, she asked who would go to Hel and offer her a rich
ransom if she would permit Balder to return to Asgard.
"I will go," said Hermod; swift at the word of Odin Sleipner was led
forth, and in an instant Hermod was galloping furiously away.
Then the gods began with sorrowful hearts to make ready for Balder's
funeral. When the once beautiful form had been arrayed in grave clothes
they carried it reverently down to the deep sea, which lay, calm as a
summer afternoon, waiting for its precious burden. Close to the water's
edge lay Balder's Ringhorn, the greatest of all the ships that sailed
the seas, but when the gods tried to launch it they could not move it an
inch. The great vessel creaked and groaned, but no one could push it
down to the water. Odin walked about it with a sad face, and the gentle
ripple of the little waves chasing each other over the rocks seemed a
mocking laugh to him.
"Send to Jotunheim for Hyrroken," he said at last; and a messenger was
soon flying for that mighty giantess.
In a little time, Hyrroken came riding swiftly on a wolf so large and
fierce that he made the gods think of Fenrer. When the giantess had
alighted, Odin ordered four Berserkers of mighty strength to hold the
wolf, but he struggled so angrily that they had to throw him on the
ground before they could control him. Then Hyrroken went to the prow of
the ship and with one mighty effort sent it far into the sea, the
rollers underneath bursting into flame, and the whole earth trembling
with the shock. Thor was so angry at the uproar that he would have
killed the giantess on the spot if he had not been held back by the
other gods. The great ship floated on the sea as she had often done
before, when Balder, full of life and beauty, set all her sails and was
borne joyfully across the tossing seas. Slowly and solemnly the dead god
was carried on board, and as Nanna, his faithful wife, saw her husband
borne for the last time from the earth which he had made dear to her and
beautiful to all men, her heart broke with sorrow, and they laid her
beside Balder on the funeral pyre.
Since the world began no one had seen such a funeral. No bells tolled,
no long procession of mourners moved across the hills, but all the
worlds lay under a deep shadow, and from every quarter came those who
had loved or feared Balder. There at the very water's edge stood Odin
himself, the ravens flying about his head, and on his majestic face a
gloom that no sun would ever lighten again; and there was Frigg, the
desolate mother whose son had already gone so far that he would never
come back to her; there was Frey standing sad and stern in his chariot;
there was Freyja, the goddess of love, from whose eyes fell a shining
rain of tears; there, too, was Heimdal on his horse Goldtop; and around
all these glorious ones from Asgard crowded the children of Jotunheim,
grim mountain giants seamed with scars from Thor's hammer, and frost
giants who saw in the death of Balder the coming of that long winter in
which they should reign through all the worlds.
A deep hush fell on all created things, and every eye was fixed on the
great ship riding near the shore, and on the funeral pyre rising from
the deck crowned with the forms of Balder and Nanna. Suddenly a gleam of
light flashed over the water; the pile had been kindled, and the flames,
creeping slowly at first, climbed faster and faster until they met over
the dead and rose skyward.
A lurid light filled the heavens and shone on the sea, and in the
brightness of it the gods looked pale and sad, and the circle of giants
grew darker and more portentous. Thor struck the fast burning pyre with
his consecrating hammer, and Odin cast into it the wonderful ring
Draupner. Higher and higher leaped the flames, more and more desolate
grew the scene; at last they began to sink, the funeral pyre was
consumed. Balder had vanished forever, the summer was ended, and winter
waited at the doors.
Meanwhile Hermod was riding hard and fast on his gloomy errand. Nine
days and nights he rode through valleys so deep and dark that he could
not see his horse. Stillness and blackness and solitude were his only
companions until he came to the golden bridge which crosses the river
Gjol. The good horse Sleipner, who had carried Odin on so many strange
journeys, had never travelled such a road before, and his hoofs rang
drearily as he stopped short at the bridge, for in front of him stood
its porter, the gigantic Modgud.
"Who are you?" she asked, fixing her piercing eyes on Hermod. "What is
your name and parentage? Yesterday five bands of dead men rode across
the bridge, and beneath them all it did not shake as under your single
tread. There is no colour of death in your face. Why ride you hither,
the living among the dead?"
"I come," said Hermod, "to seek for Balder. Have you seen him pass this
way?"
"He has already crossed the bridge and taken his journey northward to
Hel."
Then Hermod rode slowly across the bridge that spans the abyss between
life and death, and found his way at last to the barred gates of Hel's
dreadful home. There he sprang to the ground, tightened the girths,
remounted, drove the spurs deep into the horse, and Sleipner, with a
mighty leap, cleared the wall. Hermod rode straight to the gloomy
palace, dismounted, entered, and in a moment was face to face with the
terrible queen of the kingdom of the dead. Beside her, on a beautiful
throne, sat Balder, pale and wan, crowned with a withered wreath of
flowers, and close at hand was Nanna, pallid as her husband, for whom
she had died. And all night long, while ghostly forms wandered restless
and sleepless through Helheim, Hermod talked with Balder and Nanna.
There is no record of what they said, but the talk was sad enough,
doubtless, and ran like a still stream among the happy days in Asgard
when Balder's smile was morning over the earth and the sight of his face
the summer of the world.
When the morning came, faint and dim, through the dusky palace, Hermod
sought Hel, who received him as cold and stern as fate.
"Your kingdom is full, O Hel!" he said, "and without Balder, Asgard is
empty. Send him back to us once more, for there is sadness in every
heart and tears are in every eye. Through heaven and earth all things
weep for him."
"If that is true," was the slow, icy answer, "if every created thing
weeps for Balder, he shall return to Asgard; but if one eye is dry he
remains henceforth in Helheim."
Then Hermod rode swiftly away, and the decree of Hel was soon told in
Asgard. Through all the worlds the gods sent messengers to say that all
who loved Balder should weep for his return, and everywhere tears fell
like rain. There was weeping in Asgard, and in all the earth there was
nothing that did not weep. Men and women and little children, missing
the light that had once fallen into their hearts and homes, sobbed with
bitter grief; the birds of the air, who had sung carols of joy at the
gates of the morning since time began, were full of sorrow; the beasts
of the fields crouched and moaned in their desolation; the great trees,
that had put on their robes of green at Balder's command, sighed as the
wind wailed through them; and the sweet flowers, that waited for
Balder's footstep and sprang up in all the fields to greet him, hung
their frail blossoms and wept bitterly for the love and the warmth and
the light that had gone out. Throughout the whole earth there was
nothing but weeping, and the sound of it was like the wailing of those
storms in autumn that weep for the dead summer as its withered leaves
drop one by one from the trees.
The messengers of the gods went gladly back to Asgard, for everything
had wept for Balder; but as they journeyed they came upon a giantess,
called Thok, and her eyes were dry.
"Weep for Balder," they said.
"With dry eyes only will I weep for Balder," she answered. "Dead or
alive, he never gave me gladness. Let him stay in Helheim."
When she had spoken these words a terrible laugh broke from her lips,
and the messengers looked at each other with pallid faces, for they knew
it was the voice of Loki.
Balder never came back to Asgard, and the shadows deepened over all
things, for the night of death was fast coming on.