Myths of the Norsemen - H. A. Guerber (e reader TXT) 📗
- Author: H. A. Guerber
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The king stood crowned amid a circle of priests, some of whom brandished flaming pine-knots, while all grasped a sacrificial flint knife. Suddenly there was a clatter of arms and in burst Frithiof, his brow dark as autumn storms. Helgé’s face went pale as he confronted the angry hero, for he knew what his coming presaged. “Take thy tribute, King,” said Frithiof, and with the words, he took the purse from his girdle and flung it in Helgé’s face with such force that blood gushed from his mouth and he fell swooning at Balder’s feet.
The silver-bearded priests advanced to the scene of violence, but Frithiof motioned them back, and his looks were so threatening that they durst not disobey.
Then his eye fell upon the arm-ring which he had given to Ingeborg and which Helgé had placed upon the arm of Balder, and striding up to the wooden image he said: “Pardon, great Balder, not for thee was the ring wrested from Völund’s tomb!” Then he seized the ring, but strongly as he tugged it would not come apart. At last he put forth all his strength, and with a sudden jerk he recovered the ring, and at the same time the image of the god fell prone across the altar fire. The next moment it was enveloped in flames, and before aught could be done the whole temple was wreathed in fire and smoke.
“All, all’s lost! From half-burned hall
Th’ fire-red cock up-swingeth!—
Sits on the roof, and, with shrilly call
Flutt’ring, his free course wingeth.”
Tegnér’s Frithiof Saga (G. Stephens’s tr.).
Frithiof at the Shrine of Balder
Knut Ekwall
By Permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
Frithiof, horror-stricken at the sacrilege which he had involuntarily occasioned, vainly tried to extinguish the flames and save the costly sanctuary, but finding his efforts unavailing he escaped to his ship and resolved upon the weary life of an outcast and exile.
“Thou may’st not rest thee,
Thou still must haste thee,
Ellida!—out
Th’ wide world about.
Yes! rock on! roaming
Mid froth salt-foaming
My Dragon good!
“Thou billow bold
Befriend me!—Never
I’ll from thee sever!—
My father’s Mound
Dull stands, fast-bound,
And self-same surges
Chaunt changeless dirges;
But blue shall mine
Through foam-flow’rs shine,
’Mid tempests swimming,
And storms thick dimming,
And draw yet mo
Down, down, below.—
My Life-Home given,
Thou shalt, far-driven!
My Barrow be—
Thou free broad Sea!”
Tegnér, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephens’s tr.).
Helgé started in pursuit with ten great dragon-ships, but these had barely got under way when they began to sink, and Björn said with a laugh, “What Ran enfolds I trust she will keep.” Even King Helgé was with difficulty got ashore, and the survivors were forced to stand in helpless inactivity while Ellida’s great sails slowly sank beneath the horizon. It was thus that Frithiof sadly saw his native land vanish from sight; and as it disappeared he breathed a tender farewell to the beloved country which he never expected to see again.
After thus parting from his native land, Frithiof roved the sea as a pirate, or viking. His code was never to settle anywhere, to sleep on his shield, to fight and neither give nor take quarter, to protect the ships which paid him tribute and to plunder the others, and to distribute all the booty to his men, reserving for himself nothing but the glory of the enterprise. Sailing and fighting thus, Frithiof visited many lands, and came at last to the sunny isles of Greece, whither he would fain have carried Ingeborg as his bride; and the sights called up such a flood of sad memories that he was well-nigh overwhelmed with longing for his beloved and for his native land.
Three years had passed away and Frithiof determined to return northward and visit Sigurd Ring’s court. When he announced his purpose to Björn, his faithful companion reproached him for his rashness in thinking to journey alone, but Frithiof would not be turned from his purpose, saying: “I am never alone while Angurvadel hangs at my side.” Steering Ellida up the Vik (the main part of the Christiania Fiord), he entrusted her to Björn’s care, and, enveloped in a bear-hide, which he wore as a disguise, he set out on foot alone for the court of Sigurd Ring, arriving there as the Yuletide festivities were in progress. As if nothing more than an aged beggar, Frithiof sat down upon the bench near the door, where he quickly became the butt of the courtiers’ rough jokes. When one of his tormentors, however, approached too closely, the seeming beggar caught him in a powerful grasp and swung him high above his head.
Frithiof at the Court of Ring
Knut Ekwall
By Permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
Terrified by this exhibition of superhuman strength, the courtiers quickly withdrew from the dangerous vicinity, while Sigurd Ring, whose attention was attracted by the commotion, sternly bade the stranger-guest approach and tell who thus dared to break the peace in his royal hall.
Frithiof answered evasively that he was fostered in penitence, that he inherited want, and that he came from the wolf; as to his name, this did not matter. The king, as was the courteous custom, did not press him further, but invited him to take a seat beside him and the queen, and to share his good cheer. “But first,” said he, “let fall the clumsy covering which veils, if I mistake not, a proper form.”
Frithiof gladly accepted the invitation thus cordially given, and when the hairy hide fell from off his head and shoulders, he stood disclosed in the pride of youth, much to the surprise of the assembled warriors.
But although his appearance marked him as of no common race, none of the courtiers recognised him. It was different, however, with Ingeborg. Had any curious eye been upon her at that moment her changing colour and the quick heaving of her breast would have revealed her deep emotion.
“The astonish’d queen’s pale cheeks, how fast-changing rose-tints dye!—
So purple Northlights, quiv’ring, on snow-hid meadows lie;
Like two white water-lilies on storm-wave wild that rest,
Each moment rising, falling,—so heaves her trembling breast!”
Tegnér, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephens’s tr.).
Frithiof had barely taken his seat at the board when with flourish of trumpets a great boar was brought in and placed before the king. In accordance with the Yule-tide custom of those days the old monarch rose, and touching the head of the animal, he uttered a vow that with the help of Frey, Odin, and Thor, he would conquer the bold champion Frithiof. The next moment Frithiof, too, was upon his feet, and dashing his sword upon the great wooden bench he declared that Frithiof was his kinsman and he also would vow that though all the world withstood, no harm should reach the hero while he had power to wield his sword.
At this unexpected interruption the warriors had risen quickly from the oaken benches, but Sigurd Ring smiled indulgently at the young man’s vehemence and said: “Friend, thy words are overbold, but never yet was guest restrained from uttering his thoughts in this kingly hall.” Then he turned to Ingeborg and bade her fill to the brim with her choicest mead a huge horn, richly decorated, which stood in front of her, and present it to the guest. The queen obeyed with downcast eyes, and the trembling of her hand caused the liquid to overflow. Two ordinary men could hardly have drained the mighty draught, but Frithiof raised it to his lips, and when he removed the horn not one drop of the mead remained.
Ere the banquet was ended Sigurd Ring invited the youthful stranger to remain at his court until the return of spring, and accepting the proffered hospitality, Frithiof became the constant companion of the royal couple, whom he accompanied upon all occasions.
One day Sigurd Ring set out to a banquet with Ingeborg. They travelled in a sleigh, while Frithiof, with steel-shod feet, sped gracefully by their side, cutting many mystic characters in the ice. Their way lay over a dangerous portion of the frozen surface, and Frithiof warned the king that it would be prudent to avoid this. He would not listen to the counsel, however, and suddenly the sleigh sank in a deep fissure, which threatened to engulph it with the king and queen. But like falcon descending upon its quarry, Frithiof was at their side in a moment, and without apparent effort he dragged the steed and its burden on to the firm ice. “In good sooth,” said Ring, “Frithiof himself could not have done better.”
The long winter came to an end, and in the early spring the king and queen arranged a hunting-party in which all the court were to take part. During the progress of the chase the advancing years of Sigurd Ring made it impossible for him to keep up with the eager hunt, and thus it happened that he dropped behind, until at length he was left with Frithiof as his sole companion. They rode slowly together until they reached a pleasant dell which invited the weary king to repose, and he declared that he would lie down for a season to rest.
“Then threw Frithiof down his mantle, and upon the greensward spread,
And the ancient king so trustful laid on Frithiof’s knee his head;
Slept, as calmly as the hero sleepeth after war’s alarms
On his shield, calm as an infant sleepeth in its mother’s arms.”
Tegnér, Frithiof Saga (Longfellow’s tr.).
While the aged king was thus reposing, a bird sang to Frithiof from a tree near by, bidding him take advantage of his host’s powerlessness to slay him, and recover the bride of whom he had been unfairly deprived. But although Frithiof’s hot young heart clamoured for his beloved, he utterly refused to entertain the dastardly suggestion, but, fearing lest he should be overcome by temptation, despite his horror at the thought, he impulsively flung his sword far from him into a neighbouring thicket.
A few moments later Sigurd Ring opened his eyes, and informed Frithiof that he had only feigned sleep; he told him also that having recognised him from the first, he had tested him in many ways, and had found his honour equal to his courage. Old age had now overtaken him and he felt that death was drawing nigh. In but a short time, therefore, Frithiof might hope to realise his dearest hope, and Sigurd Ring told him that he would die happy if he would stay by him until the end.
A revulsion of feeling had, however, overtaken Frithiof, and he told the aged king that he felt that Ingeborg could never be his, because of the wrath of Balder. Too long had he stayed; he would now go once more upon the sea and would seek death in the fray, that so he might appease the offended gods.
Full of his resolve, he quickly made preparations to depart, but when he returned to the court to bid farewell to his royal hosts he found that Sigurd Ring was at the point of death. The old warrior bethought him that “a
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