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Title: Icelandic Fairy Tales
Author: Hall, A. W.
Language: English
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*** Start of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Icelandic Fairy Tales" ***
Icelandic
Fairy Tales
Translated and Edited by
Mrs. A. W. Hall
With Original Illustrations by
E. A. Mason
London
Frederick Warne & Co.
And New York
1897
PREFACE
Fairy Tales seem scarcely to require any preface, but in publishing
these quaint Norse legends, a few explanatory remarks may not be out of
place.
In their original form, many of the stories are somewhat crude and
rough for juvenile reading. This it has been the Editor’s endeavour to
ameliorate by eliminating all objectionable matter, while at the same
time preserving the originality and local colouring which most of them
possess.
It will be found that though some bear a similarity to the well-known
standard fairy tales, which have been the delight of countless children
for many generations, yet they all possess an originality peculiarly
their own.
It is remarkable too that, whereas in most southern legends it is
always the prince who delivers the princess and performs the heroic and
valorous deeds, in these tales it is for the most part the young
princess or peasant maiden who undergoes all the hardships and trials,
and after countless dangers rescues the prince who has fallen under the
ban of some wicked witch or giantess.
The story of the five brothers, one of the quaintest, is an exceedingly
effective illustration of the old proverb of the bundle of sticks.
A strong moral tone runs more or less through all the tales, exhibiting
the higher and better qualities of human nature.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
THE LEGEND OF THE KING’S THREE SONS 11
HELGA 35
THORSTEIN
I. How Thorstein lost his Kingdom 46
II. His Arrival at the Giant’s Castle 50
III. The Mystery of the Locked Room 59
IV. How Thorstein’s Kind Actions received their Reward 68
SIGURD
I. Sigurd Finds a Friend in his Stepmother 73
II. He wrestles with the Giant Sisters 79
III. His Meeting with Helga 84
IV. His Escape on the Wonderful Horse Gullfaxi 90
LINEIK AND LAUFEY 95
THE FIVE BROTHERS 116
HERMOD AND HADVÖR 127
INGEBJÖRG 147
HANS
I. Hans Starts on his Travels 157
II. His Wonderful Adventures, and how he returned Good
for Evil 166
THE GIANTESS AND THE GRANITE BOAT 176
GREYBEARD
I. The Strange Adventures of Geir 189
II. How Greybeard outwitted the King and won Princess
Sigrid 196
LITILL, TRITILL, THE BIRDS, AND THE PEASANT LAD 210
LAUGHING INGIBJÖRG
I. Thorwald and Ingibjörg are cruelly treated by their
stepmother, who tries to get rid of them 224
II. How Thorwald and Ingibjörg found themselves at the
Witch’s Island, and what they did 232
III. Their Further Adventures and Escape 236
IV. The King’s Return, and Queen Guda’s Release from the
Witch’s Thrall 242
THE THREE PEASANT MAIDENS
I. How Queen Hertha fell from her High Estate 248
II. What had befallen the Two Little Princes and their
Sister 253
III. Olga’s Courage rescues Her Brothers, Queen Hertha
is restored to her Husband, and the Parents recover
their Children 258
THE FAIR AND THE DARK ISOLDE
I. Death of the Queen. The King remarries, and proceeds
on a Tour through his Kingdom 267
II. What Befalls “Fair Isolde” after her Father has gone 273
III. “Fair Isolde” escapes, and disguises herself 278
IV. Fertram falls under a Spell, and is betrothed to
“Dark Isolde” 281
V. The Spell is broken, and the Wicked Queen’s Designs
are frustrated 285
PRINCE HLINI 291
FERTRAM AND HILDUR 303
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
“The Shield rose up in the Air” Frontispiece
“When Randur appeared before the ‘Thing’” 33
“She saw a Big Three-Headed Giant” 39
“He saw a Young Girl fastened to a Nail in the Wall by her
Long Plaits of Hair” 61
“He then hid himself behind a Projecting Rock” 65
“A Gigantic Woman appeared” 80
“Helga gave a Cry of Terror” 91
“She appeared more like Some Terrible Giantess” 104
“Creeping forth from her Tree, greatly to Laufey’s Surprise”
To face 109
“A Monstrous Hand opened the Lattice” 123
“With One Spring Hadvör was outside the Grave” 137
“There the Rat and Mouse were fighting and biting One Another” 145
“‘Ay, you shall have your Wish, he muttered’” 149
“Hans at once saw that it was a Dragon” 162
“Kurt hoped the Giantess might be asleep” To face 169
“Forth stepped the Beautiful White-Robed Figure” 185
“The Grey Man, hanging apparently Lifeless from the Branch” 200
“They saw a Figure all blazing with Light” 206
“Harald pitied the Old Man” 215
“Queen Guda rolled the Stone into the Sea” 231
“Just let me catch you” To face 240
“Olga went bravely up the Rock” 261
“‘Don’t leave me here,’ cried Fair Isolde” 275
“The Old Cook was sitting on a Stool shelling Peas” 283
“Signy entered very softly” 294
“She was dressed as a Simple Peasant” 314
ICELANDIC FAIRY TALES
THE LEGEND OF THE KING’S THREE SONS
In olden days there once lived a king and a queen; they were wise and
good, and their kingdom was known far and near as the happiest and
best-governed country in the world. They had three sons—Osric, Edric,
and Frithiof,—all handsome and brave and greatly beloved by their
parents; but, having no daughter, the king had adopted his little
orphan niece Isolde. She grew up with his sons, and was their
best-loved playfellow, both the king and queen making no distinction
between her and their own children.
As the princess grew older, she also grew fairer, till when she was
sixteen years old there was no maiden in the land so beautiful and
sweet as Isolde. All three brothers fell in love with her and wanted to
marry her, each in turn asking his father for her hand in marriage.
Now the king was greatly puzzled what to do, for he loved his sons all
equally well, so at length he decided that the princess should choose
for herself, and select the one she liked best. He therefore sent for
her, and told her that she was herself to choose as a husband whichever
of his sons she liked best.
“It is my duty as well as my pleasure to obey you, dear father,” said
Isolde; “but when you tell me to choose one of the princes as my
husband, you give me a very difficult task, for they are all equally
dear to me.”
When the king heard these words, he saw that his troubles were by no
means at an end, so he thought for a long time how he could best find a
way that would satisfy all parties, and at last decided to send all
three sons away for a year. At the end of that time they were to
return, and whoever had succeeded in bringing back the most precious
and valuable thing from his travels should receive the hand of Isolde
as his reward.
The three princes were quite willing to accept these terms, and
arranged among themselves that at the end of the year they would all
meet at their hunting-lodge and thence go together to the king’s palace
with their gifts; so, bidding farewell to their parents and Isolde,
they started off on their different journeys.
Osric, the eldest son, travelled from city to city, and explored
various foreign countries, without finding anything precious enough to
take home. At last, when he had almost given up all hope, he heard
that, not very far from where he then was, there lived a princess who
possessed a wonderful telescope, which was so powerful that one could
see all over the world with it. No country was too distant, and not
only could one see every town, but also every house and tree, and even
people and animals inside the houses.
“Surely,” thought Osric, “no one could find a more precious or valuable
thing than this glass, for nothing is hidden from it.” So, having
arrived at the castle where the princess dwelt, he told her the object
of his journey, and asked whether she would sell him her telescope.
At first the princess said she would not part with it, but when Osric
told her how much depended on his taking back so valuable a gift, she
consented to let him have it for a very large sum of money.
The prince did not mind this; he only thought the gold well spent, and
hastened homewards, full of hope that he would secure the hand of
Isolde.
Prince Edric fared much the same as his elder brother. He also
travelled about in distant countries, seeking in vain for something
rare and precious to bring home. At last, when the year was nearly at
an end, he reached a large and populous town, and in the inn where he
lodged he met a man who told him that in a cave outside the town there
lived a curious little dwarf called Völund, [1] who was famed for his
rare skill in all kinds of metal-work.
“Perhaps,” thought the prince, “he might be able to make me some rare
and costly article worthy to take back.” So he went to the dwarf, but
when he told him what he wanted, the dwarf said he was very sorry, but
he had quite given up working in metals.
“The last thing I made was a shield,” he continued, “but that is many
years ago now. I made it for myself, and am unwilling to part with it,
for not only is it almost the finest bit of work I ever did, but it has
also some very special properties.”
“And what are these special properties?” asked the prince.
“Well,” replied the dwarf, “it is not only a perfect safeguard in
battle, as no ordinary sword or arrow can pierce it, but if you sit on
it, it will carry you all over the world, through the air as well as
across the water. But there are some old runes, or ancient letters,
carved on the shield, which he who guides it must be able to read. But
I will show it you.”
So saying, he went to the back of the cave and brought forth a
beautiful shield, worked in gold, silver, and copper, the runic letters
being all formed of precious stones.
When Edric saw the shield and heard of its wonderful properties, he
thought it would not be possible to find anything more rare or
valuable. He therefore told the dwarf how much depended on his bringing
back so precious a gift, and entreated him to let him purchase it; and
he was so importunate and urged him so strongly that, although loth to
part with it, when the dwarf heard how much depended on his securing so
rare a gift, he agreed to sell it him for a large sum of money. He also
taught him how to read the runes, and Edric, thanking him for
consenting to part with his shield, started on his homeward journey,
filled with hope and confidence that he must win the princess’s hand.
Frithiof, the youngest son, was the last to start. He determined to
travel through his own country first, so he wandered about from place
to place, stopping in this town and that village, and wherever he met a
merchant, or hoped to find anything rare or beautiful, he made most
searching inquiries. All his efforts, however, proved fruitless. The
greater part of the year had already passed, and he was still as far as
ever from his goal, and he almost began to fear that no success would
crown his efforts.
At length he arrived at a large and populous town, where a big market
was being held, and numbers of people from all parts of the world came
thronging in, some to buy and some to sell. So he followed the crowd,
and then went on from stall to stall, and from one merchant to another,
inspecting their wares and chatting and asking for news. But though
there were many beautiful and many curious things, nothing specially
struck his fancy.
At length, tired and thirsty, he sat down beside a large fruit stall.
The merchant, seeing, as he thought, a likely customer, came forward
asking if he would not buy something—offering him grapes, peaches,
pineapples, and melons in turn.
But Frithiof shook his head; none of these tempted him, for on the very
top shelf he saw a magnificent crimson apple, streaked with green and
gold, lying on a bed of soft moss.
“I should like that apple,” said the prince, “and do not mind what I
pay for it. It is the only thing that I fancy, though all your fruit is
splendid.”
The merchant smiled, but shook his head.
“You have a quick eye,” he said to the prince, “for that apple is
indeed the rarest and most valuable thing I have. But it is not for
sale. It was given to one of my ancestors, who was a great doctor, by a
geni, and has the peculiar power, that if it is placed in the right
hand of any one who is sick, no matter how dangerous the illness, they
recover at once—ay, even if they are at the point of death—and many a
life it has saved.”
When the prince heard this, he wished more than ever to possess the
apple. He felt he could not possibly find anything that the princess,
who was so kind-hearted, would value more than the possession of this
apple, which would enable her to do good to others. He therefore
entreated the merchant to let him buy the apple, and when the man had
heard his tale, and all that depended upon his bringing back such a
rare and precious gift, he sold the apple to the prince, who, filled
with hope, now wended his way homewards.
And so it happened that, as they had arranged, the three brothers
arrived at the hunting-lodge, outside the capital, and after they had
related their adventures, Osric, the eldest, said, “Now let us hasten
to the palace, but before starting I should like to see what the
princess is doing.”
He thereupon drew forth his telescope and looked in the direction of
the palace, but no sooner had he done so, than an exclamation of terror
escaped his lips, for there on her couch lay the princess, white and
still as the driven snow, while beside her stood the king and queen and
the chief of the courtiers in a sorrowful group, sadly awaiting the
last breath of the fair Isolde.
When Osric beheld this grievous sight he was overwhelmed with grief,
and when his brothers heard what he had seen, they too were overcome
with sorrow. Gladly would each have given all they possessed to be back
in time, at least to bid her farewell.
Then Prince Edric remembered his magic shield, which would at once
carry them to the king’s palace, and, bringing it forth, the three
brothers seated themselves on it, and the shield rose up in the air and
in a few seconds they had reached the palace, and hastened up to the
princess’s chamber, where they found all the court assembled, sadly
awaiting the end.
Then Frithiof remembered his apple. Now was the time to test its power.
Stepping softly up to the couch, he bent over the still white form of
the princess and gently placed the apple in her right hand. Immediately
a change was visible, it seemed as if a fresh stream of life passed
through her body. The colour returned to her lips and cheeks, she
opened her eyes, and after a few minutes she was able to sit up and
speak.
The general rejoicing at the princess’s wonderful and unexpected
recovery, and at the happy and opportune return of the three princes,
can be better imagined than described.
But as soon as she was quite well, the king, mindful of his promise,
called together a great “Thing,” or national assembly, at which the
brothers were to exhibit the treasures they had brought back, when
judgment would be pronounced.
First came the eldest brother Osric, with his telescope. This was
handed round for the people to see, while he explained its strange and
marvellous properties, stating how by means of this glass he had saved
the princess, for he had been able to see how ill she was. He therefore
considered that he had earned the right to claim the princess’s hand.
Then Edric, the second brother, stepped forth and showed the beautiful
shield he had got from the dwarf, and explained its peculiar power. “Of
what use would have been my brother’s glass,” he asked, “without this
shield, which carried us hither in time to save her life? I claim,
therefore, that it was really due to the power of my shield that the
princess is not dead, and that I ought therefore to possess her hand in
marriage.”
And now it was Frithiof’s turn to come forward with the apple. He said,
“I fear that neither the telescope which first showed us that the
princess was ill, nor the shield which so quickly brought us hither,
would have sufficed to restore the Princess Isolde to life and health,
had it not been for the magic power of my apple. For what good could
our mere presence have done her? Our seeing her thus and unable to help
her, would only have added to our grief and pain. It is due to my apple
that the princess has been restored to us, and I therefore think my
claim to her hand is the greatest.”
Then there arose much questioning and reasoning in the “Thing” as to
which of the three articles were of the greatest value, but as they
could come to no satisfactory agreement, the judges declared that all
three articles were of equal value, for they had all equally
contributed to restore the princess to life and health, for if one had
been missing, the other two would have been valueless. So judgment was
pronounced that, all three gifts being equally valuable, neither of the
brothers could claim the princess’s hand.
Then the king happily hit upon the idea of allowing his sons to shoot
for the prize, and whoever was adjudged the best shot should wed the
princess.
So a target was set up, and Osric, armed with bow and arrow, stepped
forth first.
Taking careful aim, he drew his bow, and the arrow sped forth, but it
fell some distance short of the mark.
Then Edric stepped forth. He too took careful aim, and his arrow fell
nearer the mark.
And now it was Frithiof’s turn. He too took a very careful aim, and all
the people said his arrow went beyond the mark, and that he was the
best shot, but when they came to look for it, behold, it could nowhere
be found. In vain search was made in all directions, no sign of the
arrow could be found. The king therefore decided that Edric had won the
princess’s hand. The wedding forthwith took place amid great splendour
and rejoicing, and the princess and her husband then went to her own
country, where they reigned long and happily. The eldest brother,
Osric, greatly vexed that he had not been successful, started off on a
long journey, and nothing more was heard of him. So only the youngest
brother was left at home. But he was not at all satisfied with the way
matters had turned out, for he had always been considered by far the
best shot. He therefore searched every day in the field where the trial
had taken place, looking for his arrow. At length, after many days, he
found it lodged in an oak tree, far beyond the mark. He brought
witnesses to attest the truth of this, and though there could be no
question that his arrow had gone the furthest, the king said it was now
too late to go into the matter, for the princess was married and gone
away.
Then Frithiof grew very restless. He thought he had been unfairly
treated, and at length decided to go away, so he packed up his
belongings, and, bidding his parents farewell, started off in search of
adventures.
After passing along the wide plains that surrounded the capital, he
climbed a high range of mountains, and from thence descended into a
great forest. Here he wandered about for several days, but whichever
way he turned, he could see nothing but trees all around him. The small
store of food he had taken with him when he started was exhausted, and
tired, hungry, and footsore, he sat down to rest on a large flat grey
stone, unable to proceed any further. He thought the end of his days
had surely come, when suddenly he heard the noise of horses’ feet, and
looking up he saw ten men mounted on horseback coming rapidly towards
him. They were all richly dressed and well armed, the last one leading
a finely caparisoned palfrey.
When they came to the prince, the leader dismounted, and, bowing low
before him, begged him to honour them by mounting the steed they had
brought with them.
Frithiof gratefully accepted this offer, and, mounting the horse, the
party turned back the way they had come, riding rapidly on till they
arrived at a large town. Before entering the gates they dismounted, the
prince alone remaining on horseback, and then led the prince in state
to the palace.
Now, it happened that a most beautiful young queen reigned over this
province. She had been left an orphan at an early age, her father
entrusting his chief ministers with the care and responsibility of
looking after her and finding her a worthy husband. Queen Hildegard
received the prince with much friendliness. She told him that her fairy
godmother had bestowed on her the gift of seeing, whenever she wished,
what happened in other countries.
“A wandering minstrel came here and told us of the wonderful journeys
you and your brothers had made, and also of your sorrow at your failure
in the shooting competition for the Princess Isolde’s hand, though you
were the best shot of the three. Then a great wish seized me to try and
make you happy, so I followed your wanderings after you left your
father’s palace, and when I saw you, sad and tired, resting on the
great stone in my forest, I sent forth some of my knights to meet you
and bring you back, and now, with the consent of my ministers, I invite
you to remain here as my husband. You shall rule over my kingdom, and I
will try, as far as lies in my power, to make you forget all the
trouble and anxiety you have gone through.”
Frithiof was charmed with the beauty and kindness of the maiden, and
gladly consented to share her throne, and very happy days followed for
both of them. The wedding was on the most magnificent scale, and after
they were married, Frithiof, according to the custom of the country,
took the reins of government in his hands, amid the general rejoicing
of the people.
And now we must return to the old king. Soon after his youngest son had
gone away the queen died, and the king, well advanced in years, felt
very lonely and dull. One day, while seated beside the great open
hearth, in the big audience hall, a pedlar woman entered and displayed
her wares before him. She told him her name was Brunhilde—she had
evidently travelled much—and amused the king with tales of where she
had been and what she had seen.
When she was going away, the king told her she might come again, which
she did, day after day, till the king got so interested in her talk,
that he never was happy unless Brunhilde was with him, and at length he
asked her to marry him and be his queen.
In vain the chief ministers and courtiers dissuaded him from taking
this step. The king was determined, and the wedding took place.
No sooner had Brunhilde gained her object, than she showed that she
meant to be a real queen, not merely one in name. She always sat beside
the king in council, and interfered in all State matters. He would do
nothing without consulting her, and no matter how wrong or unfair it
might be, he always did whatever she wished.
One day she said to him, “It seems very strange to me, that you have
never made any attempt to recall your son, who went away. Why, only the
other day we heard that he had become king of a neighbouring country.
You may depend upon it that, as soon as he has got a sufficiently large
army, he will come back and attack you here, in order to revenge
himself for the fancied wrong he imagines was done him, in the trial of
skill for the princess’s hand. Now, take my advice, call out your army,
attack him first, and so ward off the danger that threatens your
country.”
At first the king would not listen to what the queen said; and declared
she was only frightening herself for nothing. But Brunhilde brought
forward fresh arguments each day, till at length the king thought she
must be right, and asked her what he had better do, so that the prince
should not suspect anything.
“You must first send messengers to him with presents,” said the queen,
“and invite him to come and see you, so that you may arrange with him
about his succession to the throne after your death, and also to
strengthen the friendship and neighbourly relations between your two
countries. After that we will consult further.”
The king thought her advice very good, and at once sent messengers
laden with presents to his son.
When they arrived at Prince Frithiof’s court, they told the young king
how anxious his father was to see him, and hoped he would make no long
tarrying in coming to visit him.
Frithiof, greatly pleased with the handsome gifts his father had sent
him, at once agreed to go, and hastened to make all preparations for
his journey. But when Queen Hildegard heard of it she became very
anxious, and entreated her husband not to leave her.
“I feel that some danger threatens you, and that you may even lose your
life,” she said.
But Frithiof laughed at her fears. “Surely you do not think my father
would entreat me to come to him if he meant to deal wrongly with me?
No, no, dear wife; set your heart at rest, and have no fears. I will
make but a short stay;” and so saying he bade her a fond farewell and
started off with the messengers, arriving after a short journey at his
father’s court.
But instead of the warm greeting promised him, to his surprise the king
received him but coldly, and began to reproach him for being so
undutiful as to go away.
“It was most unfilial behaviour,” broke in the queen, “and caused such
grief to your father that he was nearly at death’s door; and had
anything happened to him, your life would have been forfeited,
according to the laws of the land. As, however, you have given yourself
up willingly, and have come here when he sent for you, he will not
condemn you to death, but he gives you three tasks to perform, which
you must accomplish within the year.”
It was in vain that Frithiof declared he never meant to vex his father.
The queen would not let the old king speak, and said the only way
Frithiof could save his life was to carry out the tasks his father had
set him, which were as follows:—
“First, you must bring back a tent large enough to seat a hundred
knights, and yet so fine and thin that you can cover it with one hand;
secondly, you must bring me some of the famous water which cures all
sicknesses; and, thirdly, you must show me a man who is utterly unlike
any other man in the whole world.”
“And in what direction must I go to find these rarities?” asked
Frithiof.
“Nay, that is your affair,” said the king; when Brunhilde, taking his
arm, led him away into his own chamber; and Frithiof, without other
farewell, sorrowfully returned to his own kingdom.
On his arrival, Queen Hildegard hastened down to meet him, and seeing
him looking sad and silent, asked him anxiously how he had fared at his
father’s court.
At first Frithiof, not liking to frighten her, tried to put her off,
and made light of the scant courtesy shown him; but Hildegard, kneeling
down beside him, and taking his hand in hers, entreated him to conceal
nothing from her.
“I know you have had some difficult tasks given you, which will not be
easy to perform. But do not lose heart, dear husband. Tell me all, and
then we will see if some way cannot be found to carry them out. A thing
bravely faced is half accomplished, and it is not at all impossible
that with my kind godmother’s help I may be able to aid you. Tell me,
therefore, what makes you so anxious.”
Then Frithiof, taking heart, told Hildegard of the difficult tasks that
the queen had given him to do. “And if I fail to accomplish them within
the year I must forfeit my life,” he concluded.
“This is surely your stepmother’s doing,” said Hildegard. “She is a
jealous and, I fear also, a wicked woman. Let us hope she is not
planning any further mischief against you. She evidently thought these
tasks she gave you would be more than you could accomplish; but,
fortunately, I can help you in some of them. The tent your father wants
I happen to have; it was given me by my godmother, so that difficulty
is disposed of. Then the magic water which you are to bring is not far
from here. Nevertheless, it is not easy to get, for it is in a deep
well, inside a dark cave, which is guarded by seven lions and three
huge snakes. Several persons have tried to get in and fetch some of the
water, but no one has ever yet come back alive. I might give you some
poison to kill these monsters, but, unfortunately, the water loses all
its healing power if it is taken after the animals are dead. But I
think I may nevertheless be able to help you to get it.”
Queen Hildegard then sent for her cowherd, and he and his two
assistants drove seven oxen and three great boars to the mouth of the
cave. Here the animals were killed, and the carcases thrown down before
the lions and snakes. Then, while the monsters were gorging themselves
with the carcases of the dead animals, the queen told Frithiof to lower
her quickly down the well. She had provided herself with a large
crystal jar; this she immediately filled with the water, and when
Frithiof drew her up again, so exactly had she timed it, that they both
reached the mouth of the cave just as the lions and snakes were
finishing the last morsels of their meal. Thus the second task was
safely accomplished, and Frithiof and Hildegard hastened back to the
palace.
“The two first tasks are happily ended,” said Hildegard; “but the third
and most difficult one still remains to be done, and this you must
carry out by yourself. All I can do is to tell you how best to set to
work about it. You must know that I have a half-brother, called Randur.
He lives on an island not very far from here. He is nine feet high, has
one big eye in the middle of his forehead, and a black beard thirty
yards long, and as hard and stiff as pigs’ bristles. He also has a
dog’s snout instead of a mouth and nose, and a pair of green cat’s
eyes. In truth, it would be impossible to find another creature like
him. When he wants to go from one place to another, he swings himself
along by means of a great pole fifty yards long, and in this way he
almost seems to fly through the air like a bird. The island on which he
lives forms about one-third of my father’s kingdom, and my brother
thought he ought to have had a larger share. Then, also, my father had
a wonderful ring which my brother wished to keep, but this also fell to
my share, and since then my brother has shut himself up in his island.
Now, however, I will write to him, enclosing the ring he always
coveted. Perhaps that may dispose him to be more friendly to us, and we
may get him to go to the king’s court; for I know no one else who could
so well fulfil the third task given you. Now, therefore, you must go to
him, accompanied by a large following of knights and squires, for that
will please him. When you come near his castle, take off your crown,
and approach his throne bareheaded. He will then stretch forth his
hand, and you must bend your knee and kiss it, and then hand him my
letter and the ring. If after reading it he tells you to rise and seat
yourself beside him, we may hope that he will aid us. And now, good
luck attend you!”
Frithiof followed the queen’s instructions exactly. When he arrived at
the three-eyed king’s palace, both he and his attendants were greatly
startled at the frightful ugliness of the three-eyed monarch; but
quickly recovering himself, Frithiof handed him Hildegard’s letter and
the ring. When the giant saw the ring he seemed greatly pleased, and
said—
“I suppose my sister wants my help in some important matter, that she
sends me so valuable a present?”
He then bade Frithiof sit down beside him, and, having read his
sister’s letter, he said he was quite ready to help and carry out her
wishes.
He then stretched out his hand, grasped the long pole that always
rested near him, and in an instant he had swung himself out of sight.
The king feared at first that Randur had gone away altogether and left
them, but a loud shout told them he had only gone in advance. And thus
they went on, the giant waiting for them every now and then, and when
they reached him scolding them well for being so slow and dilatory; in
this way they at last arrived at the queen’s palace, and Randur at once
asked Hildegard what it was she wanted him to do.
The queen then told him what Frithiof’s father had required of her
husband, and begged her brother to accompany Frithiof back to his
father’s court. Randur, greatly pleased at having at last got the ring
he so much coveted, declared himself quite ready to do as she desired.
So they started off at once for the old king’s palace, which they
reached without any further adventures.
Frithiof announced his arrival to his father; but though he informed
him that he had obtained the three things required of him a year ago,
he carefully kept Randur in safe hiding till his presence should be
required, and asked that a “Thing” might be called together, in order
that he might show the people how he had succeeded in carrying out the
tasks assigned him.
So the old king issued a proclamation all through the land, and on the
appointed day so great was the interest and curiosity of every one,
from the king and his courtiers down to the very poorest labourer and
herdboy, that there was hardly standing-room in all the great “Thing”
valley.
Queen Brunhilde was furious at the thought that Frithiof should have
been successful, but she still hoped that, when the things were brought
to light, it would be found that he had failed in something.
The tent was produced first. When it was fairly set up, it was so large
and roomy that a hundred knights and squires easily found room inside,
yet it was so finely wrought, that when closed any one could cover it
with their hand. So all the people declared Prince Frithiof had fully
acquitted himself of his first task.
Then the prince brought forth the crystal jar with the healing water,
and handed it to his father. Queen Brunhilde, who was getting quite
yellow with anger, insisted upon tasting it to see whether it was the
right water and taken at the right time, so as not to lose its healing
qualities. But as she was quite well, no sooner had she tasted the
healing water, than she felt very ill, and had to take a second taste
ere she was well again. So the second task was pronounced to have also
been successfully accomplished.
“Now,” said the king, “there only remains the third and last task, and
that was the most difficult one. See that you have not failed in that”
Then Frithiof sent for the three-eyed giant, whom he had kept in safe
hiding till now.
When Randur appeared before the “Thing,” springing into their midst by
means of his long pole, everyone, but especially the old king, started
back in fear; they could not imagine how he had got there, and thought
he must have flown down from the skies. Never before had they seen so
hideous a creature. But, not taking any notice of the crowd, Randur
walked up to the queen, and placing the point of his long pole against
her chest, he raised her up in the air, and then hurled her to the
ground, when she fell down dead, and was immediately transformed into
the hideous old giantess she really was. Having accomplished this,
Randur made his way out of the “Thing,” and returned to his island.
Frithiof devoted all his efforts to restore and nurse the old king,
who, through anxiety and fright, had nearly been at death’s door. But a
few drops of the healing water sprinkled over him quickly restored him,
and being freed by the queen’s death from all her wicked enchantments,
he speedily recovered his former good sense, and found that all the
faults he had thought his son guilty of, were only the inventions of
wicked Queen Brunhilde.
He therefore called Frithiof to his bedside, and begged him to forgive
him all the injury he had tried to do him.
“I am only anxious now to make up to you, my dear son, for all you have
suffered, and beg you never to leave me again. I will gladly hand over
the kingdom to you, and live beside you in peace and quiet for the rest
of my days.”
So Frithiof was reconciled to his father, and at once sent messengers
to Hildegard, telling her what had happened, and begging her to hasten
to him. Queen Hildegard, when she received her husband’s message,
decided to give up her small kingdom to her brother, as a reward for
all he had done for them; and then, accompanied by some of her
husband’s ablest courtiers and friends, she rejoined Frithiof, and the
old king, happy at having his son again, lived to a good old age,
surrounded by his grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
HELGA
An old man and his wife once lived in a cottage beside the sea, far
away from any other habitations. They had three daughters; the eldest
was called Fredegond, the second Olga, and the youngest Helga.
Now, although the parents were not rich, owning only a few acres of
land, which they tilled themselves, Fredegond and Olga were treated as
if they were princesses. They never did any work, but sat all day
amusing themselves and decking themselves in any finery their father
brought them home from the neighbouring town, whilst Helga, who was far
more beautiful and clever than either of her sisters, was always kept
in the background. She never shared in any pleasures that her elder
sisters often enjoyed; no presents were ever brought home for her; but
all day long, from early morning till late at night, poor Helga had to
work and toil for the whole family, receiving nothing but sour looks,
often accompanied by blows, from the elder sisters.
Now, it happened one day that the fire on their hearth had been allowed
to go out. Helga was busy working in the fields, and as they had to
send a long way to fetch fresh fire, the old man told Fredegond she
must go for it
At first Fredegond grumbled, for she was trying to dress her hair in a
new way; but then she thought a walk through the woods might be
pleasant, so she started.
After she had gone some little distance, she came to a hillock, and
heard a deep voice saying, “Would you rather have me with you or
against you?”
Fredegond, thinking it was some labourer or woodcutter, said she did
not care in the least, and that it was very impertinent of him to
address her, and went on to the cave whence they fetched their fire.
When she got there, to her great surprise she saw a big cauldron,
filled with meat, boiling on the fire, and beside it stood a pan,
filled with dough, waiting to be made into cakes, but not a creature in
sight.
Fredegond, being very hungry after her long walk, stirred up the fire
beneath the cauldron, to make the meat boil quickly, and then began
baking some cakes. But although she made one specially nice for
herself, she let all the others burn, so that they were quite
uneatable. Then as soon as the meat was cooked she took a bowl from a
shelf, filled it with all the best bits, and sat down and made a good
meal, finishing up with the cake.
Just as she had finished, a big black dog ran up to her, and began
wagging his tail and begging for some food. But Fredegond angrily gave
him a slap, and chased him away. Then the dog grew angry, and, jumping
upon her, bit one of her hands.
Screaming with fright and pain, Fredegond jumped up, and, in her hurry
to get away, forgot all about the fire she was to bring, and ran home
to tell her parents what had happened.
They were very sorry, both for her sore hand, which they bathed and
bandaged, and the lack of the fire. It was really very unfortunate, for
that cave was the nearest place where they could procure some fire, as
it was generally used by charcoal-burners. So, though very unwilling to
send Olga, who was their pet and favourite, she had to go, for they all
feared that if Helga were sent, she might run away and never come back
again. And then there would be no one on whom to vent their bad
tempers, or to do the work of the whole household—for did she not wait
on father and mother and both her sisters? So it was decided that Olga
should go.
But, alas! Olga fared even worse than her sister. She was so spoilt,
that she thought she ought always to have the best of everything. So,
when she reached the cave, she too helped herself to all the best bits
of meat, and, making a nice cake for herself, threw the rest of the
dough on the fire.
Then when the dog came up to her and wagged his tail and sat up and
begged for some food, Olga took up some of the boiling broth and threw
it on him. This made the dog so angry that he jumped up and bit off the
point of her nose; and Olga ran home crying and screaming, with only
half a nose and no fire.
This time the parents were quite beside themselves with anger, and
decided that Helga must go and fetch the fire. If she succeeded, well
and good; and if not, why, the dog might eat her, for all they cared.
It would be a good riddance.
So, taking up the big fire-shovel, Helga went on her way to the cave.
As she passed the hillock, she too heard a voice, saying, “Would you
rather I was with you than against you?”
To this question she answered, “A well-known proverb says, ‘There is
nothing so bad that it is not better to have it on your side than
against you;’ so, as I do not know who you are who ask me this
question, I would rather that you were with me than against me.”
And hearing nothing further and seeing no one, Helga continued her way
till she reached the cave. Here she found everything the same as her
sisters had done. The cauldron was on the fire, and the dough was ready
for baking, but, instead of thinking only of herself, Helga looked
after the meat, and saw that it was nicely cooked; then, with great
care, she made up the dough into cakes, and never thought of taking
anything for herself, although she was very hungry, for she had had
nothing for her breakfast but some hard, dry crusts, and a glass of
cold water. Neither would she now help herself to any of the fire
without asking leave from the owner of the cave.
Feeling very tired after her long walk, Helga sat down on a bench to
rest. But she had hardly done so, when she heard a loud rumbling noise;
the ground began to tremble; and Helga, fearful that the cave might
fall in, rose hastily from her seat. But as she turned to run out, she
saw a big, three-headed giant standing at the entrance of the cave,
followed by a large black dog.
Helga was terribly frightened; but being fond of animals, she held out
her hand and patted the dog, and she quite regained courage when the
giant, in a kind voice, said, “You have done the work well, which you
found waiting here. It is only right, therefore, that you should get
your share. Sit down, therefore, on that bench, and share my dinner;
afterwards you can take home some of the fire you have come for.”
The giant then got a bowl from the shelf and helped Helga to some broth
out of the big cauldron, carefully giving her the tenderest bits of
meat. As he did so, the ground again began to shake and tremble, and
fearful noises, like claps of thunder, frightened Helga greatly.
But the giant in a gentle voice bade her sit down beside him, and she
finished her broth.
Then the giant got up and gave her one of the cakes she had baked; but
no sooner had she finished it, than the ground again began to shake and
tremble, the thunder pealed, and flash after flash of lightning lit up
the inside of the cave. Helga got so terrified that she ran up to the
giant for protection, and as she clung to his arm the noises ceased,
and as the darkness passed away Helga saw that the giant had
disappeared, and that she was holding on to the arm of a handsome young
prince.
“Nay, do not be frightened,” he said; “I can never thank you enough,
dear Helga, for you have rescued me from the horrible enchantment the
wicked fairy Gondomar pronounced on me at my birth. I am Torquil, the
son of King Osbert, who reigns in the neighbouring island; but because
my father refused to marry Gondomar, and chose my mother instead, the
wicked fairy condemned me to go through life a three-headed monster,
until some young girl should, despite my frightful appearance, place
full trust and confidence in me.”
As Prince Torquil said these words, he seated himself beside Helga on a
stone, thickly covered with soft green moss. Then Helga told him her
history, and why she came to the cave, and also the fate of her sisters
who had gone to the cave on the same errand, adding that she must
hasten back with the fire, else her father and mother would scold and
beat her.
“You shall not be ill treated any more,” replied Torquil; and he went
to the back of the cave, and presently returned, carrying a casket and
a small bundle in his hands.
“See, this casket contains gold, and pearls, and precious stones,” he
said. “You can give some of these to your sisters; but this,” and he
placed the bundle on a stool, “you must wear under your own dress, when
you get home, and be very careful that no one sees it.”
So saying, he undid the bundle, and unfolded a beautiful dress of cloth
of gold, all worked with silver and precious stones.
Helga could not repress a cry of admiration when she saw the lovely
gown, and warmly thanked the prince for all his beautiful gifts.
Torquil then filled her fire-shovel with burning coals, and carried it
for her some part of the way home; but ere they came in sight of the
cottage he stopped, and, taking her hand, placed a heavy gold ring on
her finger.
“Keep this ring, dear Helga,” he said, “and let no one take it from
you. It will not be long ere I come to claim my bride, but I must first
return to my parents and tell them the joyful news that the wicked
charm is broken at last.” With these words he took a loving farewell of
Helga, and started her on her homeward journey.
When she reached the cottage, and her parents saw that she had
succeeded in bringing back the fire, Helga, for once in her life,
received a kind word of welcome; but when she showed them the casket
and was about to give her sisters some of the jewels, they seized upon
it, and dividing the contents among themselves, returned Helga the
empty casket. They might also have taken away her beautiful dress, but,
after Torquil left her, she had taken the precaution to slip it on
under her old gown, so no one knew anything about it.
And thus some days passed on. Matters relapsed into their former way.
Fredegond and Olga did nothing all day but deck themselves with the
jewels out of the casket, quarrelling and fighting over them and Helga,
as before, had to do the work for the whole family, when one day the
mother, who had been to the higher meadow for some herbs she wanted,
came back and said that she had seen a beautiful big ship lying at
anchor on the shore below their cottage.
The old man hastened down to the strand to find out who the owner of
the fine vessel might be, and seeing a boat pulling off from it, he
waited till the stranger, who was a handsome young man, had landed, and
then entered into conversation with him. But though he plied him with
many questions, he could not find out his name.
Then the young man in his turn began to question him, and asked him how
many children he had.
“Only two daughters,” replied the old man, “and such good and beautiful
girls they are too,” he added.
“I should much like to see them,” said the stranger.
The old man, greatly delighted, led the way back to his cottage, where
his two eldest daughters had hurried on their best frocks and decked
themselves with all the jewels out of Helga’s casket.
The stranger expressed himself as being very pleased with the girls.
“But,” he asked, “why has one of your daughters got her hand tied up
with a cloth, and the other one a handkerchief fastened across her
nose?”
At first the father said they had met with an accident, and slipped
down the cliffs; but when the stranger pressed for further particulars,
the story of the dogs and the cave had to be told.
“But surely you have another daughter?” said the stranger; “one who, I
know, is always kind to all animals.”
At first the old man and his wife both declared they only had those two
daughters; but when the stranger kept on urging him, he at last
admitted that he had another girl. “But she is so ugly, lazy, and
wicked,” he added, “that she is more like some wild animal than a human
being.”
But the stranger said he did not mind that at all, and that he must see
her. So the old man was obliged at last to call Helga.
The poor girl came out from the kitchen dressed just as she was, in her
shabby old dress, when the young man went up to her; and as he took her
hand the ragged old gown slipped from her shoulders, and there, to the
astonishment and rage of her sisters, stood Helga, arrayed in the
beautiful garment the prince had given her.
Prince Torquil rated the old man and the two wicked sisters soundly for
all their unkindness to Helga. He also made the sisters give up all the
jewels they had taken from her. But Helga begged that they might be
allowed to keep a few; and the prince consenting, she gave each of them
two chains, two brooches, two bracelets, and two pairs of ear-rings.
Then Torquil led Helga down to the shore and took her on board his
beautiful ship, where his sister gave her a kindly welcome; and when
they reached his own country, King Osbert and his queen prepared a
great wedding-feast, and Torquil and Helga were married, and lived long
and happily together.
THORSTEIN
CHAPTER I.
HOW THORSTEIN LOST HIS KINGDOM.
There once reigned a king and queen, a long, long time ago, who had an
only child, a son called Thorstein.
The lad was brave, strong, and handsome, and was greatly beloved by
every one on account of his kind-heartedness and open-handed
generosity.
But as years passed and he attained to man’s estate, his
indiscriminating kindness was often taken advantage of. His father and
mother tried to check him, pointing out that heedless generosity often
did more harm than good; but Thorstein could not be brought to believe
that kindness could ever be wrong or do harm, and continued to give to
every one who asked him, as long as he had anything he could part with.
At length the king and queen died. On their death-bed they again
endeavoured to impress upon their son that a good and wise king must
not only reign with kindness, but also with justice; but though
Thorstein, who loved his parents dearly, and was terribly grieved at
the idea of losing them, promised he would do his best and bear their
wise counsel in mind, no sooner were the burial ceremonies concluded
and he was crowned king, than all his good resolves to be firm and
discriminating were scattered to the winds.
He kept open house for all who choose to come, gave gifts to all who
asked, so that all the riches and treasure his wise father had so
carefully collected began very speedily to disappear, without any one
being really the better or happier for them.
So quickly indeed did all he had inherited vanish, that ere many months
had passed he had nothing left but the kingdom itself; and then
realizing the truth, that a penniless king has but small authority or
power, he decided to part with his throne, and thus have some money
wherewith to make a fresh start in life.
There was no difficulty in finding a purchaser, and Thorstein, in
exchange for a horse and a sack filled with gold and silver, parted
with his inheritance.
But when he had once sold his kingdom, his so-called friends, who had
been so numerous before, now speedily began to drop off, and as the
sack got emptier, so did his companions grow fewer in number.
“There will soon be nothing more to be got out of him,” they said. “A
fool and his money is soon parted.” So they gradually deserted him.
Then, when it was too late, Thorstein began to realize the sad plight
he had brought himself to, and determined to quit the country, and
leave his false friends behind him. He therefore put together the few
things he had left, placed them on the horse he had bought, and
mounting his own fine chestnut, which he could never bring himself to
part with, he started off on his travels.
For a long time Thorstein wandered on over desolate moors and through
dark sombre forests, not knowing or caring where he went or what became
of him. He had no friends, not a single creature to care for, or who
loved him, so he allowed the horses to roam where they listed, letting
them graze whenever they came to any fresh grass, but beyond this never
resting or pausing anywhere.
Once, when they had stopped to graze near a tiny stream on the banks of
which the grass looked specially fresh, he got off his horse, and
throwing himself down on the ground almost made up his mind to go no
further. Why not rest there till death overtook him? But even as this
thought flashed through him, he raised his eyes towards the west, where
the sun was just setting in a bed of crimson and gold, flushing all the
distant peaks of the great snow-capped mountains with magic rainbow
hues.
Whilst still lost in wondering admiration at the gorgeous spectacle,
the rosy clouds suddenly parted, and a star of exquisite brilliancy
shot down a ray of light that seemed to touch Thorstein’s face, and he
heard a voice saying: “Fear not, Thorstein, but go forth on thy travels
with a brave heart. Learn from the mistakes of thy youth, that
indiscriminate open-handedness is neither just nor kind, but only does
harm, and that a true sovereign must also be a father to his people.”
And even as the voice died away, the rosy light gradually faded from
sky and mountain, and the pale golden moon rose and shed its soft
silvery radiance over earth and sky.
Thorstein started to his feet. He felt the warm blood coursing quickly
through his veins; and whistling to his horses, who came obedient to
his call, he mounted his noble chestnut with a light heart, fully
determined to seek his fortune.
CHAPTER II.
HIS ARRIVAL AT THE GIANT’S CASTLE.
For some time he followed the rough track across the open plain, but
presently he arrived at a small farm. Knocking at the door, he asked
the old man who opened it if he might rest the night there.
“Oh yes,” replied the man; “if you don’t mind taking things as you find
them, you are very welcome.”
Thorstein thanked him kindly, and after stabling his horses in the shed
at the back, threw himself down on the rushes that were lying in one
corner of the room, the farm servants occupying the opposite corner,
and the old man sleeping in a third corner, the remaining one being
filled by the huge stove.
Thorstein, tired out with his long day’s journey, slept soundly all
night, but when he woke next morning he was surprised to find the
farmer and his men had already gone out.
Fearing lest some treachery might be meditated, he sprang up from his
bed and rushed out of the house.
There, to his surprise, he saw the farmer and all his men busily at
work with their pitchforks, digging and raking up the earth from a
large tumulus, or grave, at some little distance from the farm.
Thorstein hurried up to the farmer, and asked him what he was doing,
and why he was disturbing the grave.
“I have very good reason for doing so,” replied the man; “the man who
lies buried there owes me two hundred dollars!”
“But,” said Thorstein, “no amount of digging will give you back the
money he owed you! On the contrary, you are losing your own time as
well as that of your men, and you will probably, in addition, get fined
for disturbing the grave.”
But the farmer was obstinate. He said he did not care. Only he was
quite determined that the dead man should not rest peacefully in his
grave, while he owed him all that money, and that he and his men would
continue to dig and stir up the ground day after day.
Then Thorstein asked him if he would be satisfied and let the man rest
in his grave if some one else paid the dead man’s debt.
“Oh yes!” answered the farmer; “but I don’t see where that man is
likely to come from, as he had no sons.”
Then Thorstein drew forth his purse, which contained the last of his
money, and gave it to the farmer in payment of the debt. The farmer
thanked him warmly, and promised not to disturb the grave any more.
So Thorstein bade his host farewell; but ere he left he asked him which
road he should take, so as to reach a populous neighbourhood, where he
might chance to get some work to do.
“You must continue along this same road,” replied the farmer, “until
you come to four cross-roads. Then don’t take the road that goes east,
but take the one that goes west.”
Thorstein thanked him, and rode away. After some time he arrived at the
cross-roads, and took the rode to the west, as the farmer had advised
him. But he had not gone very far when he thought he would rather like
to know why the man had said he should not go the other way.
“Perhaps there are giants or some other dangers one may meet,” thought
Thorstein; so he promptly turned back till he arrived at the
cross-roads, when he proceeded along the road leading east.
For some time he saw nothing new or strange. The road wound among many
small fields and brushwood, with here and there some groups of tall,
dark pine-trees; but after passing through a narrow defile, he suddenly
came to a large, deep valley, in the centre of which rose a fine big
house, standing quite by itself on a steep, rocky mound. At first he
could see no way of getting up to it, but presently he noticed a narrow
path, almost hidden by trees and thicket; so, fastening his horses to a
stake, he made his way up to the house.
As he approached he saw the door was wide open and no one anywhere
about. Thorstein therefore went in and came into a big hall, in which
stood two huge beds, one on each side, covered with rich silken
hangings, while down the middle ran a table, ready laid with two
plates, two knives and forks, two great goblets of rarely chased
silver, and two large golden flagons of wine. But no one was visible
here either.
After waiting a short time, to see if the owners would appear,
Thorstein went down the hill again to look after his horses, for he
thought he might as well stay the night in the house, even if there
were a little danger in so doing. So he lifted the saddles off the
horses, tethered them with sufficient length of rope that they could
both graze and lie down comfortably, and then took all he needed out of
his saddlebags, with his sword, which, after his favourite chestnut,
was his most precious possession. Then, giving a last look to the
horses to see they were all right, he returned to the house, and going
to the kitchen, he brought thence some bread and the meat which was
roasting before the fire.
Cutting this up carefully, he placed a good portion in each plate,
together with a large slice of bread; he then went to the beds, shook
up the pillows, and made them all ready for the night. After this,
feeling rather tired, he thought he would lie down and rest. He did
not, however, venture to occupy either of the beds, but threw himself
down on some mats that lay in a corner, carefully pulling one over him.
After lying awake for some time, Thorstein was just dropping off to
sleep when he heard loud underground rumblings. Presently the door was
thrown open, and he heard heavy steps crossing the floor.
Then a loud, gruff voice exclaimed: “Some one has been here! but
whoever it is, we shall soon put an end to him.”
“No,” answered another voice, “that you shall not do! I take him,
whoever it may be, under my protection; I have the right to do this,
for it is my turn, and can dispose of him as I like. He came here of
his own free will, and has shown himself both able and willing to be
useful. He has made our beds, prepared our food, and all has been well
done. Let him now show himself and no harm shall befall him.”
When Thorstein heard these words, he once again began to breathe
freely, and throwing back the rug he had drawn over him, stood up
before them.
The young men were regular giants, both in size and strength,
especially the elder, who had taken his part, and who was quite a head
taller than his brother.
Thorstein then went to fetch another plate and cup, and shared in the
giants’ meal, after which the two brothers retired to their beds,
Thorstein again taking possession of his rugs, where he soon fell
soundly asleep, never waking till long after the sun had risen.
Then, while they were at breakfast, the elder giant, whose name was
Osric, asked Thorstein whether he would stay on with them; that all he
would have to do would be to get their meals ready for them and make
their beds. He might also keep his horses in their stables; and as to
food and wine, Thorstein would only have to tell them what was needed,
and they would always keep the larder and cellar filled, so that
Thorstein need never leave the hill.
Thorstein said he would try it for a week. At the end of that time the
giants were so well pleased with him, that they urged him to remain
with them, for a year, at any rate; and though Thorstein found the life
rather dull and stupid, he agreed to stop, Osric, the elder giant,
promising him a rich reward at the end of his term. He then handed him
the keys of all the rooms in the house, except one key, and this the
giant always wore fastened to a string round his neck, only taking it
off at night when he went to bed.
When the two brothers had gone off on their daily expeditions,
Thorstein made a regular round of the house, looking into the
storerooms, cellars, and every room except the one of which Osric kept
the key. In vain he tried all the keys on his bunch, hoping one of them
might open the lock; but in vain. He then tried to force open the door
by throwing himself against it with all his might; but in this also he
failed.
Later on, Thorstein noticed that Osric always went into this room every
night and morning, while Bifrou, the younger giant, waited for him
outside. So one day he asked Osric why, when handing him the keys of
all the other rooms, he had kept back this one.
“Surely,” he continued, “if you have found me faithful in all you have
entrusted me with, you might also trust me with what is in that room.”
But Osric said there was really nothing particular in the room.
Thorstein might be quite sure of that, for, having found him so
faithful and honest respecting everything placed under his care, they
would certainly also have trusted him if there had been anything
valuable in that room.
But although Thorstein pretended that he was quite satisfied with the
giant’s answer, he made up his mind to solve the mystery in some way.
At length the end of the year arrived, and the two giant brothers, well
pleased to have secured so careful a servant, gave him as his wages two
great sacks filled with gold. They had never been made so comfortable
before, and again begged Thorstein to remain another year.
To this Thorstein would not agree, but said he would remain six months,
as he was more than ever determined to find out the mystery of the
locked room.
He therefore carefully watched every opportunity, hoping Osric might
perhaps by chance leave the key behind him. But the giant was much too
careful to do so.
One morning, when Thorstein had risen particularly early, in order to
bake the bread, the thought of the locked chamber came constantly
before him, and while kneading the dough he kept puzzling his head as
to how he could circumvent the giant. Suddenly a bright idea struck
him. Creeping softly to the back door, which led into the stable yard,
he gave a loud knock, and then ran back as quickly as he could to the
room where the giants were sleeping, and asked them, with a scared face
(holding the dough he had been kneading in his hands), whether they had
not heard some one knocking.
“Oh yes,” they both replied; “we did hear something, but we thought it
was you knocking down a chair while you were sweeping.”
Thorstein declared he had not knocked down anything, and added that he
was afraid to open the door, for he was quite positive some one had
knocked there.
The giants said he was quite right not to open it, for it might be some
unfriendly giant; so they got up themselves, and ran to the door to see
who had disturbed them at that early hour in the morning.
No sooner had they left the room than Thorstein drew forth the key of
the mysterious chamber, which the biggest giant always kept under his
pillow at night, and quickly taking an impression of it in the dough he
had in his hand, replaced the key in its former place.
When the brothers came back they were not a little put out, for of
course they found no one at the door, and declared that Thorstein had
only said it in order to make fun of them.
But this Thorstein denied stoutly, and maintained that he had heard
some one knocking, and supposed, whoever it was, must have run away.
CHAPTER III.
THE MYSTERY OF THE LOCKED ROOM.
As soon as the giants had gone forth that day to seek for treasure, as
usual, Thorstein tried to make a key at the giants’ forge from the
impression he had taken in the dough; but many and fruitless were the
trials ere he succeeded. Then, watching his opportunity, when the
brothers had gone on a long expedition, he unlocked the forbidden door,
and entered the mysterious chamber.
At first he could see nothing, for it was almost dark, the single
window being heavily barred and shuttered. But having struck a light,
he glanced eagerly round. There, to his amazement and horror, he saw a
young girl fastened to a nail in the wall by her long plaits of hair.
Mounting on a chair, he hastened to release her, and begged her to tell
him who she was, and how and why she had come there.
At first the poor girl could scarcely believe that she had at last
found a friend; but Thorstein looked so good and kind, that her fears
quickly vanished.
“Alas!” she said, “I am a most unhappy maiden! My name is Thekla, and
my father is King Alfhelm. One day, as I was playing in a field near
the palace with my maidens, a great giant suddenly rushed in among us
from the neighbouring wood, and snatching me up in his arms, despite
all my cries and struggles, carried me down to the shore, where his
boat was waiting. Ere any help could reach us, we were well out of
sight, till at length we arrived at this place. He then asked me to
marry him, which I indignantly refused to do; and though he comes every
day to try and persuade me to consent, I will never give in; no, not
though they starve or kill me!” And she burst again into bitter sobs.
Thorstein tried to comfort her as best he could. He told her that,
having now made a key, he would be able to come and see her every day
while the giants were away. He then brought her some food, for the poor
girl was half starved (as the giant only gave her just enough to keep
her alive), and then, as evening drew near, Thorstein again fastened
Thekla’s hair to the nail, ere he closed the door before the giants’
return.
From that day forward Thorstein visited the poor girl regularly every
day, always bringing her some food, and then putting all straight again
ere the brothers returned, so that they had no idea of what took place
during their absence.
When the end of the six months drew near, Thorstein told the giants
that he wished to leave. But they had got so used to him, and he waited
on them so carefully, that they did not want to part with him, and
begged him to remain another year.
At first Thorstein refused, but after much persuasion, the brothers
giving him again two more sacks of gold as wages, Thorstein said he
would remain another six months, if at the end of that time they would
give him as wages whatever was in the locked room—no matter whether it
was valuable or not.
When Osric heard this he grew very angry, and told Thorstein not to be
a fool; that what he was asking for was utterly worthless; and that he
had much better accept the good wages they were quite willing to give
him.
Thorstein, however, would not give in. He said he did not care whether
the contents of the room were valuable or not. He had set his heart
upon that, and nothing else, and would remain with them on no other
condition.
Osric grew furious, and they argued and fought over this, till at last
Bifrou, seeing that Thorstein was quite determined, advised his brother
to give in, for they could keep him in no other way. So the big giant
at last agreed to his terms.
During the six months that followed, Thorstein did his utmost to
lighten Thekla’s imprisonment. Many a long and pleasant chat they had
together, planning their future life, while Thekla described her former
home, and how delighted her father would be to see her safely back
again.
At length the weary six months came to an end; and though the giant
brothers again tried to persuade Thorstein to remain with them, he was
firm, and would listen to no further promises of future wealth and
greatness with which they tried to bribe him.
So, seeing that neither persuasions nor threats would prevail, Osric at
last opened the door and brought out Thekla; very much surprised he was
to see her looking so well when he saw her in the daylight, and half
repented him of his promise.
But Thorstein led forth his two horses, which he had all this time
carefully groomed and tended. Placing two sacks of gold on each, he
lifted Thekla on one horse, and buckling on his sword, as well as a
sharp dagger, mounted the other horse.
As he did so, Thekla noticed the giants whispering together, and heard
the younger one mutter, with a laugh, “Yes, as soon as they get to the
ravine.”
“Oh, Thorstein,” she said, when they had ridden on a short distance, “I
know they mean to attack us. I heard them say so.”
“Never fear,” replied Thorstein. “My good sword has never failed me
yet! But you ride on in front.”
As soon as they were out of sight, he placed the other sacks of gold on
Thekla’s horse, and bidding her ride on ahead, he drew his sword and
kept a keen look-out.
They rode on thus for some little distance. The country was open, and
though the road was rough, they were soon out of sight of the castle.
At length they arrived at the narrow ravine which led down to the
shore. They had not long entered it when they heard the clatter of
horses’ hoofs behind them. Thorstein bade Thekla ride on. He then hid
himself behind a projecting rock, and as Bifrou, who was in front, rode
past, Thorstein rushed at him, and with one blow of his sword, severed
his head from his body. Osric, seeing what had befallen his brother and
fearing the same fate, rode back to the castle for more help.
Thorstein then joined Thekla, who had anxiously watched the combat, and
they rode on, hoping that all danger of pursuit was now over. But just
as they emerged from the ravine, Thorstein, looking back, saw Osric,
accompanied by a still bigger and fiercer-looking giant, hurrying after
them.
Again sending Thekla on in front, he turned and faced his enemies. A
terrible combat now ensued. They attacked Thorstein, one on each side,
but he swung his great broadsword round his head and with one blow cut
off Osric’s head. Then the big giant, seeing his friend fall to the
ground, grew furious. He threw away his sword, and grasping Thorstein
round the waist, flung him to the ground. But in an instant Thorstein
was on his feet again, and now a desperate conflict ensued. They
wrestled together fiercely; sometimes one, sometimes the other was
uppermost, but at length the giant’s weight and size began to tell, and
Thekla was horrified to see Thorstein grow pale and stagger.
Without a moment’s thought or hesitation she sprang from her horse,
and, snatching up the dagger that had fallen from Thorstein’s girdle
during the struggle, she thrust it through the heart of the giant, who
rolled over on his side without a groan.
Both the giant brothers and their friend being now dead, Thorstein said
they had better return to their house and take possession of all the
treasure they could find. This they did, and by making several journeys
backwards and forwards, they had quite a large store of boxes on the
shore, filled with gold and precious stones.
Then, to their joy, they one day saw a vessel nearing the land, which,
as it came closer, proved to be a ship belonging to Thekla’s father,
the captain, called Randur, being one of his chief ministers.
The latter was delighted when he saw Thekla, for her father had been so
greatly distressed at her disappearance that he had fitted out several
ships to go in search of her, promising that he would bestow her as a
bride on whoever was fortunate enough to find her.
Randur therefore at once offered to take them home, and sent some of
his men ashore to help and carry Thorstein’s treasure down to the ship.
When everything was put on board, the sails were set, and the good
vessel sped gallantly on her homeward way.
CHAPTER IV.
HOW THORSTEIN’S KIND ACTIONS RECEIVED THEIR REWARD.
Thekla and Thorstein now thought all their trials were surely over, and
gave themselves up to the enjoyment of each other’s society. But Randur
had no intention of letting the latter reach Thekla’s home. So he
watched his opportunity, and one night, when they were well out at sea,
he had one of the boats lowered. In this he placed Thorstein, who was
fast asleep in the after-part of the ship, and, casting loose the boat,
let it drift away. He then made the men take a solemn oath never to
mention what had been done, but that if any one asked about Thorstein,
they were to say they knew nothing about him.
Next morning, when Thekla, surprised at not seeing Thorstein, asked
where he was, Randur pretended to be greatly surprised at his
non-appearance, and instituted a search all over the vessel for him.
Thekla was very unhappy to think that Thorstein should have disappeared
so unaccountably; then, suddenly missing one of the boats, she said
that perhaps he had gone fishing, and insisted upon the vessel being
put about to search for him.
But though Randur pretended to obey her orders, shifting the sails and
issuing various commands, he was in reality hurrying home as fast as he
could, rejoicing at having so successfully rid himself of his rival.
The boat, meanwhile, in which Thorstein lay fast asleep, had drifted a
long distance from the ship ere he awoke, and on first opening his eyes
he could not imagine where he was. But when he once realized his
position, he decided that Randur’s jealousy must have played him this
trick, and he set himself to think what he had better do.
When Randur had sent him adrift, he had put neither food nor water in
the boat, and as the sun rose higher and higher in the heavens, the
heat grew intense. In vain he steeped his clothes in the water, hoping
thus, at least, to assuage his thirst, which was causing him much
suffering. He gradually grew more faint and weary, and a feeling of
hopelessness was stealing over him, when suddenly he heard a voice
saying, “Do not lose heart, Thorstein, though your plight is sad,
drifting thus hopelessly about on the ocean. But as you once spent your
all to give me rest, so now I will also aid you.”
And immediately the boat flew rapidly over the water, propelled by an
unseen force. Thorstein’s thirst and weariness vanished, and he reached
the island where Thekla’s father lived at the same time as the ship in
which she was returning, though he landed at a different point.
As Thorstein stepped on shore, he again heard the strange voice,
saying, “I am only repaying what I owe you, for had you not given up
all you possessed to the farmer to whom I was in debt, he would never
have allowed my bones to rest in peace in the grave. And now I will
help you further. This is King Alfhelm’s country. Go to the palace, and
there offer to look after the king’s chestnut horses, of which he is
very proud. His late groom was very careless, and has been dismissed,
so he will engage you. But, remember, whatever is found beneath the
horses’ mangers belongs to you, and you can keep it.”
So saying, the spirit of the dead man departed, and Thorstein, having
thanked him gratefully, at once started off for the king’s palace.
King Alfhelm, who had been rather at a loss as to whom to entrust with
his fine chestnut horses, of which he was very proud, was greatly
pleased with Thorstein’s appearance, and at once put him in charge of
the stable, where Thorstein, to his surprise, saw his own chestnut
among the other horses—for Randur, on landing, had given it as a
present to the king. But the horse would allow no strange hand to come
near it; the moment it saw Thorstein, however, it became gentle as a
lamb.
The king, meanwhile, was greatly rejoiced at his daughter’s safe
return, for he had almost given up all hope of ever seeing her again.
So he ordered a great feast to be prepared to celebrate her arrival,
and believing Randur’s tale, that he had rescued the princess from the
giants, promised to give him his daughter in marriage.
To this, however, Thekla objected.
“Rather than wed Randur, I will remain single all my life,” she said.
This threat so frightened the king, for, having no son, he looked
forward to seeing Thekla’s children growing up, that he did not urge
her any further.
Thekla then begged her father to summon the new groom to the great hall
that evening, for she had been told that he had travelled a great deal,
and it would amuse them all to hear his adventures.
So the king, willing to please his daughter, and anxious himself to
hear the tale of his adventures, summoned Thorstein to the big hall,
where the whole court was assembled.
And then the whole truth came to light; and when King Alfhelm heard the
wickedness and treachery of his minister, he grew so angry that he
ordered Randur to be torn to pieces by wild horses.
But Thekla and Thorstein both interceded for him, so he was only
banished for life from the kingdom.
Very soon after, the marriage of Thorstein and the fair princess was
celebrated, amid general rejoicings. In addition to the treasure they
had brought back from the giant’s house, Thorstein, on looking under
the horses’ mangers, found an immense pile of old golden coins, rare
ornaments, and precious stones, which had been hidden there in ancient
war times by some previous kings.
After King Alfhelm’s death, who lived long enough to see three little
grandchildren running beside him, Thorstein and Thekla succeeded to the
throne.
They were both greatly beloved by their people, whose lives they ever
studied to make happy, so much so, that to this day that period is
always spoken of as “the reign of the good king and queen.”
SIGURD
CHAPTER I.
SIGURD FINDS A FRIEND IN HIS STEPMOTHER.
In olden times there lived a king and queen who had an only son called
Sigurd. All went happily until the boy was about ten years old, and
then the queen became very ill and died. According to the custom of
that land, her body was embalmed and placed on a funeral pile, and
there it was watched by the king, who sat day after day beside it in
inconsolable grief.
Time went on, but he refused to leave the funeral pile, and all the
business of the kingdom came to a standstill, for the sovereign gave no
heed to what went on around him, and the courtiers had one and all
failed to influence him.
At last one day he raised his eyes from the ground and looked towards
the great pine forest that stretched away as far as you could see round
the palace, and there, under the trees, coming towards him, he saw a
most beautiful woman, her tall figure clothed in costly black robes.
“Who are you?” he asked, as she drew near.
“My name is Injibjörg,” she answered, in a low, sweet voice. “Why are
you sitting here alone?”
“Because the queen is dead, and my heart is filled with sorrow.”
“Alas! I can sympathize with you in your grief,” she replied. “I, too,
lost my husband only yesterday, and now I am alone in the world.”
The king for the first time began to be interested in something. Here
was a person as sad as himself. They soon began talking like old
friends, and in the end decided that, as they were both so lonely, it
would be a wise thing for them to marry. The king invited her to return
with him to the palace, and in a few days the wedding took place, amid
the rejoicings of the people at the return of their sovereign once more
to everyday life and work.
Under the wise influence of Injibjörg the king soon regained his usual
health and spirits. He began to take up the neglected affairs of the
kingdom, and rode out constantly hunting and fishing, attended by his
court. And Sigurd? In his stepmother the boy found a true friend, who
cared for him with a real mother’s love, and made his life full of
sunshine. They were inseparable companions, and people would stop and
watch them as they passed along the roads, or played together in the
palace gardens, saying, “Ah, the good stepmother! See how she loves the
poor motherless boy.” They were a pretty picture—the fair-haired,
handsome little prince, and the beautiful tall woman, with her gracious
manners and winning smile.
And thus their lives went happily on until Sigurd was almost a youth
and as tall as his stepmother.
One evening Sigurd and Injibjörg were returning to the palace from a
long stroll. The sun was lighting up the stems of the pine trees as
they walked along beneath them. He had noticed for some days that his
mother, as he loved to call her, appeared sad and out of spirits, but
to-day the deepest depression seemed to possess her. As they drew near
home, she laid her hand lovingly on the boy’s arm.
“My son, your father goes hunting to-morrow. It is my wish that you go
with him and leave me alone for a day.”
“But, mother, why? You are sad, I see; my place is surely with you. I
love hunting, as you know, but I cannot leave you thus.”
And all her persuasions were in vain.
Next morning the king set out, but the young prince remained with his
stepmother, in spite of all she could say.
“Alas! alas!” she said, when they were left alone, “why did you disobey
my wishes? I fear me that you will repent it sorely.”
Then she led Sigurd to her own room, and told him to hide under her bed
until she called him forth. Directly he was safely hidden, the ground
began to tremble, there was a terrific noise like thunder, and out of a
great fissure appeared a huge giantess. Her feet were buried in the
earth up to her ankles, for she was too tall to stand upright in the
room. Through a small aperture in the hangings of the great bed, Sigurd
watched to see what would happen.
“A pleasant greeting to you, Sister Injibjörg!” he heard the giantess
say. “Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”
“No,” replied Injibjörg. “He has gone hunting with his father.”
Then the queen spread the table for her terrible giant sister, with
rich and dainty dishes. When the meal was at an end, the giantess said,
“I thank you for the nicest food and the best drink of mead that I have
yet tasted. Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”
Again Injibjörg said no. So the giantess took leave of her and
departed; the floor closed up, and all was quiet once more. Then the
queen called Sigurd, embraced him with the greatest affection, and,
after a short time, regained her usual cheerfulness.
When the king returned in the evening from the chase, neither the queen
nor Sigurd told him what had happened during his absence.
The next morning he declared his intention of going out hunting in a
still further part of the kingdom, and once more Injibjörg tried to
persuade the boy to go with his father. Her persuasions were useless.
He was more than ever determined to stay with her, hoping, in some
unforeseen way, that he might be of use; for that there was some
dreadful mystery about the giantess, he was sure.
This time, directly the king left, Injibjörg put the prince into a
large press, and as she turned away, he saw tears in her eyes, and
guessed that she feared some terrible new visitor. And he was right.
Hardly had she closed the door when the noises of yesterday were
renewed; the ground quaked, and a still greater giantess appeared, her
feet buried in the floor up to her knees to allow of her entering the
room.
“A pleasant greeting to you, Sister Injibjörg,” she cried. “Is Sigurd,
the king’s son, at home?”
“No,” said Injibjörg. “How should he be, when the king, his father, is
hunting far from the palace?”
And, as yesterday, she immediately began to spread the table with
delicacies. When the meal was over, the giantess took her leave,
saying, “I thank thee for the best food and most refreshing draught of
ale that I have yet tasted. Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”
Again Injibjörg said no, and in a few moments she was alone, and all
was quiet.
Then Sigurd came out of the press, and once more his mother clasped him
in her arms, and he heard her say to herself, “My son, my son! if I can
but save him once more, all may yet be well.”
With tears she entreated him, for her sake, to go away with his father
the next day.
“Twice I have hidden you successfully, but my third sister comes
to-morrow, and she is sharper and fiercer than either of the others. If
I can save you this time, they will never come again. My son, leave me
this once. Even if they do me harm I shall know that you are safe.”
“Mother,” Sigurd answered, “I am no longer a little child. If you are
in danger at all, my place is with you. And I am sure that your sister
cannot do me any real harm.”
CHAPTER II.
HE WRESTLES WITH THE GIANT SISTERS.
All that evening she tried her utmost to alter his decision, and also
the next morning, for now the day had come, and brought with it a
presage of evil. But nothing would move Sigurd.
Directly the king had ridden forth, Injibjörg concealed the prince
behind some thick hangings on the wall. The earth quaked, terrible
noises were heard, and a gigantic woman appeared, fiercer and stronger
than either of the others, and so huge that only half her body rose out
of the floor.
“A pleasant greeting to you, Sister Injibjörg,” she cried, in a harsh,
terrible voice. “Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”
“No,” replied Injibjörg, in a faltering voice. “He is hunting with his
father in the woods.”
“I see you lie!” roared the giantess. “The boy is here;” and she seized
the queen, and began to shake her violently. But, as Injibjörg
continued to protest that the prince was not at home, she relaxed her
hold, and the table was spread as usual with beautiful dishes. When the
meal was ended, the giantess rose. “I thank you for the best meal I
have ever tasted,” she said. “Is Sigurd, the king’s son, at home?”
“No,” replied Injibjörg. “Have I not already answered you?”
“Aha!” cried the giantess, her wicked, malicious laugh making the
rafters ring. “Then if he be so far away, my words can do him no harm.
But should he be within hearing, I decree that half of his body shall
wither up, and he shall never recover until he has sought and found me.
And you, my sister, be thankful if a worse fate does not overtake you.”
And, with another peal of mocking laughter, she disappeared.
Trembling from head to foot, the queen went to find her son; but, alas!
when she led him forth from his hiding-place, the curse had fallen upon
him, and his left side was shrunk and withered.
“Sigurd, Sigurd,” she cried, holding him close, and weeping bitterly.
“See what has happened because you would not leave me. Better far that
I should have suffered than that this should have fallen upon you.
Alas! alas! what shall we do?”
“Mother,” he answered bravely, “there is but one thing—I must seek your
sister, as she said, and perhaps, in doing that, I may chance to free
you also from their dread visits for ever. Tell me what I must do to
find her, and let me depart at once, before my father returns, lest he
see me like this, and be angry with you. I grieve to leave you; but it
is best, I know. Watch for my return day by day, dear mother, and give
me your blessing before I go. Your love will make me strong to bear all
that may lie before me.”
Then Injibjörg took a large ball of wool out of a chest and gave it to
her son, with three golden rings.
“As soon as you let this ball fall to the ground,” she said, “it will
go on rolling till it reaches some rocks. Follow it till it stops, and
one of the giantesses will come forth. Do not lose heart. Do whatever
she wishes you to. She will draw you up on to the rock where she
stands, and you must salute her, and present her with the smallest
ring. When she sees the gold she will be delighted, and will challenge
you to wrestle with her. When you get exhausted she will offer you a
drink out of a horn; and I have prayed that the strength of that magic
draught will make you the victor in the wrestling match, so that she
will allow you to depart next day. My other two sisters will behave in
the same manner; but be brave and fearless, and remember what I tell
you. One thing, dear son, keep ever in your mind, as you love me. If at
any time my dog comes suddenly to you, puts his paws on your knees, and
looks up at you, while tears run down his face, hasten home, let
nothing stay you, for my life will be in danger. Do not forget your
step-mother Injibjörg.”
Many times Sigurd embraced the queen before he at length left her on
his dangerous journey. And as he looked back for a last farewell, he
saw her tall, graceful figure still standing watching him at the
entrance of the palace. He knew she was wondering if she should ever
see her beloved son again. And his heart was very heavy at leaving her
in such grief.
Directly he was out of sight of the palace, he threw the ball on the
ground, and eagerly followed its winding course.
Towards sunset he found himself in a wild and rocky region, and at
length the ball led him to the foot of a precipitous rock, on the
summit of which sat the first giantess.
“Aha!” she cried, “this is splendid! Here is Sigurd, the king’s son. He
shall be my meal to-night. Come up, comrade! Come hither! Thou art not
afraid of a woman, I feel sure.”
With these mocking words she reached down a long boat-hook, and drew
him up beside her. Sigurd greeted her bravely, and presented her with
the smallest of the golden rings. When she saw the gold, the giantess
was delighted. “Ah! now thou shalt wrestle with me,” she cried.
And they began. Sigurd fought bravely, and when she saw him getting
tired she gave him a draught of mead, which made him so strong that he
came off victor in the end, and she let him go.
The next day, bidding her farewell, he again followed the ball till it
reached another high rock. There sat the second giantess.
She greeted the youth in the same fashion as her sister, pulled him up
beside her, and was so delighted at the gift of the ring, that she,
too, offered to wrestle with Sigurd for the victory before making her
meal off him.
Again, as he got exhausted, he was offered a drink of mead from a huge
horn, and was able to throw his opponent to the ground with one hand.
On the third day Sigurd rose with a lighter heart—only one more foe to
meet, and then the victory would be won: his mother freed from the
hateful dominion of her sisters, and he himself restored to his usual
appearance. As he looked at his withered arm and leg, he vowed to use
every effort to become victor.
CHAPTER III.
HIS MEETING WITH HELGA.
It was early morning when Sigurd left the home of the second giantess,
but night had nearly fallen before his ball stopped at the foot of the
highest rock he had yet come to. On the summit stood the huge figure he
had last seen on that fatal day at the palace; her head seemed to touch
the clouds, and a terrible smile played on her lips as she looked down
at the prince.
“Aha! So you have followed me, as I said. Up, comrade, up! You shall
have your wish, and see how you like a contest with me in person.”
But Sigurd’s heart did not fail him. “Draw me up,” he said; “I have a
message for you from my stepmother, Queen Injibjörg.”
Then the giantess drew him up, as her sisters had done, and he
presented the last and largest of the golden rings. This pleased her
immensely, and she proposed that they should at once wrestle for the
victory, without waiting any longer. Sigurd exerted his utmost
strength, feeling that on this combat all his future happiness
depended; and just when he thought he could hold out no longer, the
giantess reached him a horn of mead, which, as before, gave him
supernatural strength, and he forced her to her knees.
In a moment he felt that his withered side was healed. The glow of
perfect health came over him, and he could have sung aloud and danced
for joy.
“Thou hast conquered, Sigurd, the king’s son,” the giantess
said—“conquered in fair fight. I am no longer thine enemy; my power
over thee is gone for ever. Now, go forth. Not far from here is a lake.
There thou wilt see a maiden rocking herself in a boat. Give her this
small ring, and it will be of use to thee. Thou art a brave youth, and
I have done that for thee which I would not do for any one else. Thy
strength is now fully restored to thee, and thou shalt succeed in all
thine undertakings.”
With grateful thanks, Sigurd bade her farewell, and took his way to the
lake she had told him of. All through the night he went on, and when
the morning sun arose he saw the glitter of its rays on the water. As
he reached the shore he beheld a lovely girl in a tiny green-and-gold
boat, gently rocking herself to and fro on the waves, close to the edge
of the water.
Sigurd approached, doffed his cap, and ventured to ask her name.
“My name is Helga,” she said, “and I live yonder with my
father,”—pointing to a castle in the distance.
Then Sigurd showed her the ring he had received from the giantess.
“I have come all this way to give it to you,” he said; “fate has
decreed that we are to be great friends. Will you accept it, and wear
it always?”
“I have no friends,” Helga answered. “I will gladly have you for one,
and wear your ring.”
So he placed it on her finger, and they rowed in the little boat, and
wandered about the woods on the shores of the lake, until the sun began
to sink behind the hills.
“Alas!” cried Helga, as she saw the slanting rays, “it is getting late;
I must away home.”
“I will come too,” Sigurd answered.
“No, no,” she cried, in a terrified voice. “My father allows no
stranger to enter our home. He would certainly kill you if he found
you. No, you must not come.” And she set off running.
Sigurd ran too, and came up with her just as they reached the door.
Helga put out her hand, the one which bore the ring he had given her,
to stop him. In a moment, the young prince had disappeared, and where
he had stood there was now only a huge bundle of wool. Helga then
realized that the ring he had given her was a magic one, which she must
use for his protection. She at once lifted up the bundle of wool in her
arms, carried it into the castle hall, and threw it up on a high shelf.
At that instant her father came striding in—he was a giant of great
size. Taking no notice of his daughter, he began searching in all the
corners, and finding nothing, cried out in an angry voice: “Where has
he gone? What was that I saw you carrying, child?”
“Only a bundle of wool, father,” Helga answered, as fearlessly as she
could.
“Ah, it must have been that; but I thought I saw some one with you,” he
muttered, and soon after retired to his room. The next morning, when
Helga went out as usual, she carried the bundle of wool with her, and
when she reached the boat, she touched it with her ring, and Sigurd
regained his natural form. They rowed to a more distant part of the
lake, and spent another happy day together.
Sigurd told Helga all about his stepmother, and his love for her.
“I owe everything to her kindness,” he said, “and I shall never be
really happy till I have finished this journey and returned to her.
Even when I am with you I dread lest evil may have overtaken her in my
absence. But the giantess sent me here for some end, which I must wait
to perform. My mother is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,
except you.”
Helga, in her turn, told him of her lonely life with her fierce old
father, and of how she had always longed to have some one of her own
age as a companion.
“But what shall I do when I am left alone again?” she asked, with tears
in her eyes.
“Be comforted,” Sigurd said, as he took her hand in his. “I must return
to my stepmother, but I will come again, and take you away with me to
my own home.”
As they returned, Helga said: “To-morrow we shall have more freedom,
for my father goes to a great gathering of giants, and I will show you
over the castle in his absence.” When they reached the house, Helga
touched him with her ring, and once again Sigurd became a bundle of
wool, and passed the night on a shelf in the hall.
Next morning, almost at break of day, Helga’s father departed, and
Sigurd was enabled to resume his natural form at once. They walked and
talked for some time, and then Sigurd reminded Helga of her promise to
show him over the castle. She produced a huge bunch of keys, and
together they passed through room after room, each one more beautiful
than the last.
“And what is that key for?” asked the prince, pointing to a very
strange one, which Helga had not yet used.
“That is my father’s secret room. The key is of a different pattern to
all the others.”
“It is, indeed. But surely you will not refuse to let me see that room
also?” And as he spoke, they passed to a door strongly studded with
great iron nails. He entreated Helga not to refuse his request. “This,
I am sure, is the door.”
“Yes, you are right. But if I open the door you must only just peep in,
for I myself am terrified to go inside.”
“Nothing can hurt you while you are with me,” Sigurd said, placing his
arm round her; and, with trembling fingers, Helga fitted the key into
the massive lock, and opened the door a couple of inches. But Sigurd
pushed it wide open and boldly stood in the doorway. There he saw a
magnificent horse, richly caparisoned, eating golden hay, while,
suspended to the rafters above its head, hung a sword sheathed in gold,
with these words engraved on the hilt—
Whoever mounts this horse, and is armed with
this sword, good luck will ride with him.
Sigurd entreated Helga to let him ride the horse once round the castle,
and to carry the sword in his hand. At first Helga would not hear of
it. Something terrible would happen, she felt sure. But the young
prince pleaded so irresistibly, that at last he won her reluctant
consent. The horse, she told him, was called Gullfaxi, “the golden
mane;” the sword, Gunnfjöden, “fighting blade.”
CHAPTER IV.
HIS ESCAPE ON THE WONDERFUL HORSE GULLFAXI.
Sigurd led the beautiful steed outside the castle, took down the sword,
and had just mounted, when Helga came running to him with something in
her hand.
“Here, I give you a green branch, a stone, and a stick,” she said,
“else I fear that you may get into trouble. Listen carefully to what I
tell you. If, when you are mounted on the horse, an enemy should follow
you and threaten to take your life, you have only to throw down the
green branch as you ride along, and immediately a dense forest will
grow up behind you. Should the enemy still attempt to follow, you have
only to strike the stick on the white stone, and a terrible hailstorm
will kill all who come after you.”
As she finished speaking, and Sigurd gathered up the reins to start
off, Helga gave a cry of terror. Striding over the brow of the hill,
she saw the huge form of her father.
“Fly! fly!” she said. “Use the steed for your own protection; it is
your only chance of life. Save yourself, for my sake.”
Raising his cap in farewell to his young hostess, Sigurd set spurs to
Gullfaxi, and as the noble animal put forth his full speed, the prince
turned in the saddle and shook his fist at the angry giant.
Without staying to question his daughter, the giant strode after his
horse, breathing out threats of vengeance. At first he could only just
keep them in sight; but, with his gigantic strides, he soon began to
gain upon them when the ground grew rocky and hilly. Then Sigurd threw
down Helga’s green branch, and immediately a thick forest rose between
him and his enemy.
But the giant seized his axe, and began with mighty strokes to hew his
way through the wood. Crash went trees and bushes; crash, crash, to
right and to left, and when Sigurd looked back a second time, the giant
was through the forest, and close behind him. Then Sigurd touched the
white stone with his stick, and immediately such a terrible hailstorm
broke loose behind him that the giant was killed on the spot, while
Sigurd rode on in bright sunshine.
The giant dead, Sigurd thought he would return and fetch Helga; but
while he was debating which road to take, he saw his stepmother’s dog
running towards him. The dog was dusty and footsore, and whined
piteously as he drew near. Sigurd dismounted, and went to meet him; the
dog put his paws upon the prince’s knee, and looked up at him with
tears running down his face. Then Sigurd’s heart was very heavy, for he
knew misfortune was threatening his beloved stepmother. He leapt on to
his horse, and rode at full speed, taking no rest, either by day or
night, till at length he came out of the thick pinewoods, and saw the
palace before him. In the courtyard a great crowd was assembled, and
there, fastened to a stake, and surrounded by huge faggots, he saw the
graceful figure of his stepmother.
“Here is Sigurd—Sigurd, the king’s lost son,” he heard voices say, as
if in a dream, as he galloped furiously on.
He, however, saw nothing but the beautiful pale face of the queen as he
leaped from his horse, and pushed his way through the crowd, sword in
hand. He cut the bands with which Injibjörg was fastened, scattered the
guards, and carried her into the palace, to his father’s room.
There he found the king lying on his couch, sick unto death for grief
at the loss of his son.
“My father,” Sigurd cried, as he stood before him with his arm round
his stepmother, “what is this that has been done? Why has my mother
been treated thus in my absence?”
“My son,” his father cried, hardly believing that he saw him alive and
well before him, “where hast thou been? The people declared the queen
had taken thy life, and she was therefore condemned to death, while I
was too ill to save her from their vengeance. Forgive me, Sigurd, and
beg the queen also to pardon me;” and he embraced them both with the
utmost affection.
Then Sigurd related all his adventures, and how he had freed Injibjörg
for ever from the hateful power of her sisters. His love for his
stepmother was greater than ever, as he heard of all that she had
suffered in his absence. He was not happy now when she was out of his
sight, and he tried in every way to make up to her for what had passed.
He told her, too, of Helga in the castle by the lake; and when she was
quite restored to health, he set out, with her blessing and that of his
father, to fetch the maiden to his home, as he had promised.
Helga was rejoiced to see Sigurd again, for she had watched for him day
by day. They brought away all the treasures of the castle, and in a
short time there was a magnificent wedding between Helga and Sigurd,
the marriage feast lasting a whole month.
When the king died, Sigurd and Helga came to the throne, and, guided by
the wise counsels of Injibjörg, the kingdom became renowned far and
near for its good rule and the happiness of its people.
LINEIK AND LAUFEY
In olden days, there once lived a king called Ring, and his queen
Gytha, who reigned over a mighty kingdom. They had two children, a son
and a daughter, who were both almost grown up when my story begins. The
boy was called Siegfrid, and the daughter Lineik. They were both as
beautiful in person as they were gifted in mind. No one in the whole
kingdom was their equal; and they loved each other so dearly that the
one was never happy when the other one was away. Their father,
therefore, had a beautiful palace built for them, where they had as
many servants as they wanted, and everything they could possibly wish
for.
Here the brother and sister lived together very happily until the queen
fell ill, and feeling her end was drawing near, she called the king to
her bedside.
“Dear husband,” she said, “we have lived very happily together; but now
my end is drawing near, and, before I die, I hope you will grant two
requests I wish to make—first, if ever you marry again, do not choose
your wife from any small village or lonely island, but bring your bride
from one of the large cities in the neighbouring kingdoms. If you do
this, good fortune will attend you. Secondly, never let any one or
anything come between you and our dear children; they will bring you
good luck and happiness if you always let them stand first in your love
and affection.”
When the queen had spoken these words, she lay back and died. The king
was very grieved at her death. He sorrowed so greatly that he never
left his room and would not see any one, and all the affairs of the
kingdom came to a standstill.
Then one day the prime minister came to him, and told him that there
would be a rebellion, and that the country would go to ruin if he
continued to shut himself up instead of attending to the affairs of his
kingdom.
“It is far more kingly,” he concluded, “to pull yourself together, and
try and overcome your grief for the sake of your people, than to sit
alone and lament! Besides, why should you not look around for another
queen, who will be worthy to succeed your late consort?”
“Alas! that will be no easy task,” said the king, sighing deeply. “I
will not, however, gainsay your words. As, however, such is your
advice, it is best that the responsibility of the choice should also be
yours. I therefore empower you to find me a bride worthy to share my
throne, and be a successor to my late wife. I only make one
stipulation: you must not seek her in any small village or lonely
island, but from some large neighbouring state.”
The minister, delighted that he had at last roused the king, and filled
with the importance of his mission, promised to bear in mind the king’s
instructions, and set about preparing for the journey. The king
provided him with a magnificent outfit, and a large and imposing
following, and started him on his journey.
When they had sailed for about three days on their way to the
neighbouring kingdom, suddenly a thick white fog arose; they could no
longer see where they were going, and for a whole month they sailed
about first in one direction then in another, for they had lost all
reckoning. Whichever way they steered their vessels, no land was in
sight, and they were beginning to lose all heart, when at length one
day they saw a faint grey line on the horizon; gradually, as they came
nearer, they could distinguish hills and trees, and finding a nice
gently shelving beach in a sheltered nook, they ran their boats ashore,
and landing, pitched their tents on the strand. But not a single human
being was in sight, all was perfectly still, and they thought they must
have landed on a desert island.
While the men, tired with their exertions, were resting, the minister
decided to go on a little way inland and explore; and as the sun was
now very hot, for it was about mid-day, he bent his steps towards a
forest he saw some little way ahead. He had not gone very long in that
direction, when he suddenly heard a harp being played; following the
sound, he came to an open glade, and there, sitting on a fallen tree,
he saw a beautiful woman, so grand, so stately, he thought he had never
before seen any one so enchanting. Her playing on the harp was so
perfect, that it was happiness only to listen to her, while at her feet
sat the loveliest maiden he had ever seen, whose sweet voice
accompanied the harpist.
The prime minister doffed his hat and bowed courteously to the lady,
who, on seeing him approach, rose and returned his greeting with much
friendliness, asking him where he was going and what was the object of
his journey.
The minister, quite charmed with her kindness, told her the purpose of
his coming.
“How strange!” said the lady, “for almost the same thing has happened
to me. I, too, have lost my husband. He was one of the great kings who
reigned on this continent; but, alas! one sad day the Vikings came,
they overran the whole land, killed my husband, and took possession of
this country. It was only with great difficulty, and not without much
danger, that I managed to escape with this maiden, who is my daughter.”
When the girl heard this, she said softly—
“Is that the truth you are speaking?”
A sharp slap on the ear, while the minister was looking at the harp,
rewarded the girl’s speech.
“Don’t forget what I told you,” muttered the lady.
The prime minister, who had not noticed anything, now asked the lady
what her name was, and whether he could do anything for her.
“I am called Blauvör,” she replied, “and my daughter’s name is Laufey.”
Then the minister sat down beside her and began to talk to her; finding
her very clever and well-informed, and fearing that if he went further
he might fare worse, he thought he could not do better than secure so
wise and beautiful a wife for the king; so he made proposals for her
hand in his master’s name. His embassy seemed very welcome to Blauvör,
who said she would be quite willing to accompany him, and that there
need be no delay, “for I have all my treasures here with me, and shall
not require any attendants beyond my daughter Laufey.”
And so, without loss of time, the minister conducted Blauvör and Laufey
to the shore. The tents were struck, and the whole party having got on
board again, the sails were set and the ships turned homeward.
The dense fog which had accompanied them was now quite dispersed, and
they saw that they had landed on a small rocky island; but all were too
delighted at the thoughts of the homeward journey to take any notice of
this.
A fine fresh wind drove the vessels merrily along, and after six days’
delightful sailing, they came in sight of land, and soon recognized the
great high towers of the king’s castle. Then the anchors were dropped,
and they speedily began to disembark, the minister at once sending a
message to King Ring, to announce their arrival.
The king was delighted to hear that his minister had been so
successful. He at once put on his grandest robes of state, and,
accompanied by his chief ministers and all the principal courtiers,
equally richly attired, he proceeded down to the shore to receive and
welcome his bride.
He had only gone half way when he met his prime minister, leading two
beautiful women by the hand. Both were richly dressed in
gold-embroidered robes, and decked with rare jewels. When King Ring saw
all this richness and beauty, he was delighted beyond measure, and when
he was told that the elder and the most beautiful of the two was his
destined bride, he thought himself the most fortunate of kings.
He thanked the minister warmly for what he had done, and in his joyful
greeting of mother and daughter, he quite forgot to ask whence his
bride and her daughter had come, but led them with great pomp into the
city, and lodged them in the most magnificent rooms in the palace.
A grand wedding-feast was speedily arranged, and all the great people
in the kingdom were invited, only Siegfrid and Lineik were not asked.
The king was so engrossed with his beautiful bride, sitting beside her
and talking to her, that he had completely forgotten them.
The wedding was one of the grandest that had ever been seen, and after
this feast, all the guests received rich gifts ere they departed, and
then at the end of the week the king began again to look after the
affairs of his kingdom.
Thus some time passed quietly, the queen was always present when the
king received his ministers, and though she never said much, whispers
soon went abroad that matters were not as they should be. The queen
wished everything to be done her way, and insisted on hearing all that
was being arranged, so that King Ring began to think that his marriage
was not, after all, such a great piece of luck as he had at first
imagined.
As for Siegfrid and Lineik, the queen never asked about them, nor did
she see them. They never came to the palace, but kept to their own
house and grounds.
Then, after a time, some of the people about the court began to
disappear. No one could find out where they had gone, or what had
become of them, and it was always those who had opposed the queen in
the council. The king, thinking they had gone away because they would
not agree to the queen’s wishes, at first took no notice of these
strange disappearances, but appointed other ministers in their place;
and so things went on for some time.
Then one day the queen came to the king and said she thought it was
time for him to make his journey through the country to collect the
revenue.
“I have helped you so much in all your business that I can easily carry
on the government while you are away, so you need not hurry home, but
take your time and enjoy yourself,” she added.
The king did not much care to go away. He was getting old, and thought
his prime minister might well have gone in his stead, but he was
falling each day more under the queen’s rule. She was the one who
settled and decided everything, and if any one ventured to oppose her
they were made to rue it.
The king therefore fitted out his ships for the journey, but he was
very sorrowful and sad at heart. When everything was ready for him to
start, he went to the house of his two children, where of late he had
seldom been. A warm greeting welcomed him, and both Siegfrid and Lineik
could not make enough of their father.
When the time for bidding them farewell drew near, the king grew very
sad again, and sighing deeply, said—
“I cannot tell you, my children, what a sad foreboding haunts me that
some evil threatens you. If I should not return from this journey, I
fear it will not be safe for you to remain here. Take my advice
therefore, and go away secretly, as soon as you are sure that there is
no hope of my return. When you start, remember you must go towards the
East—you will then soon arrive at a high, steep rock; when you have
climbed this rock you will come to a long, narrow valley. Follow this
valley till you come to two beautiful trees, the one has bright, glossy
green leaves, the other dark bronze ones. They are hollow, and so
arranged that they can be securely fastened from the inside, the
opening being invisible from the outside. You must each get into one of
these trees, and as long as you remain in them, nothing can touch you.”
Then the king took a tender farewell of his children, and getting on
board his ship, the sails were unfurled, and he started off on his
journey. They had not, however, been long at sea, before a frightful
storm arose. Peals of thunder rent the air, the lightning flashed
incessantly, and the wind and rain lashed the sea till the waves rose
mountains high and engulfed the ships, so that the king and all on
board the ships were drowned.
That same night of the storm, Prince Siegfrid had a strange dream. He
saw his father standing beside his bed, his clothes streaming with
water. Bending over his son, he took the crown off his head and placed
it beside Siegfrid on the pillow, and then passed silently away.
When Siegfrid awoke next morning, he told Lineik his dream, and they
both agreed that this could only be a warning from their father,
telling them of his death at sea.
They therefore quickly gathered together all their clothes and jewels,
and ere the sun had fully risen, they were well on their way on the
road their father had told them of.
When they reached the foot of the hill they looked back, and there they
beheld their step-mother in the distance, following them. She looked so
fierce and angry, and so big, that she appeared more like some terrible
giantess than an ordinary woman. Fortunately they had passed the wood
at the foot of the hill, so they set fire to this, and the flames rose
so quickly and brightly that their step-mother was unable to pass it,
and had to go round. This gave Siegfrid and his sister time to get up
the hill, but it was a long and weary climb, and once or twice Lineik
was fain to sit down, but Siegfrid took her up in his arms and carried
her till she was again able to walk. At last they reached the narrow
valley in which stood the two trees their father had told them of.
Lineik chose the one with the bronze-coloured leaves, and Siegfrid,
having seen her safely fastened in, got into the other tree, drawing
the opening to after him. But though no one could look into the trees,
the rough, thick bark grew in such cunning twists and turns, that those
inside could see everything that happened outside, and the brother and
sister were thus able to talk to one another.
About this time, there reigned a great and powerful king in Greece,
called Menelaus. He had two children, a son called Tellus, and a
daughter called Hebe. They were beautiful, clever, and good, and it
would have been difficult to find their equals in all the land.
When Tellus grew to man’s estate, he distinguished himself by many
brave and noble deeds during his numerous warlike expeditions, which
often carried him far away into foreign lands, and while thus
travelling in search of adventures, he had more than once heard of
Princess Lineik, who, it was said, surpassed all other women in beauty,
wit, and goodness; so he determined to try and win her for his bride.
When he neared the island of King Ring, the wicked queen, who by her
enchantments was aware of his coming and also his reasons for so doing,
prepared to receive him with all honour. Dressing herself in her most
magnificent garments, she ordered Laufey to do the same, and then went
down to the shore with her maidens to receive him.
The prince, on landing, greeted her with great respect, and asked after
King Ring, whereupon the queen, drawing forth her handkerchief,
pretended to wipe away her tears, and told him that the king and all
his attendants had perished at sea in a frightful gale, and declared
she could never get over her great loss.
“And where is Princess Lineik?” asked Tellus.
“This is my dear step-daughter,” replied the queen, drawing Laufey
forward, who, ashamed and angry, had kept in the background.
The prince seemed much surprised, for though Laufey was very pretty,
yet from the fame of Lineik’s beauty he had pictured the latter as much
handsomer.
But the queen, seeing his disappointment, said he must not be surprised
that the dear child looked pale and sad, having lost both father and
brother at one blow.
Prince Tellus thought this was but natural, so he formally demanded the
princess’s hand in marriage. As may well be imagined, he did not meet
with any opposition from the queen, who said she would hurry on the
preparations, but Prince Tellus said he had promised his father that
the marriage should take place in Greece, with all due splendour, and
that the princess must therefore return with him.
The queen offered to accompany them, but this the prince would not
consent to. So Laufey and her maidens were escorted to the prince’s
ship, and they set sail for Greece, leaving Brunhild behind, greatly to
her chagrin.
They had not sailed far, when a dense white mist overtook them. The
steersman lost his reckoning, and when at length the fog lifted, they
found they had sailed up a beautiful fiord. The mountains with their
snowy tops rose steeply on each side at the entrance, but as they got
further in, the fiord widened, and grassy slopes shelved down to the
golden sands.
The prince ordered a boat to be lowered, and getting in, they rowed on
till they came to the entrance of a narrow valley in which stood two
beautiful trees.
The prince landed to look at them. He had never seen anything like them
before, and nothing would satisfy him but to have them cut down and
carried on board his ship to take back to Greece.
No sooner were they brought on board than the fog lifted. The sails
were immediately unfurled, and the homeward journey was speedily
effected.
On his arrival, Prince Tellus at once led Laufey to the palace, where
she was received with all honour. He gave her up his own magnificent
rooms, which looked on the court where the great fountains played and
the beautiful doves circled amid the fruit and flower-laden trees and
shrubs. Here Laufey was to spend her days, while at night she retired
to the women’s apartments under the care of the queen.
The two beautiful trees, however, Prince Tellus declared he could not
part from; so he had them placed in his room, one at the head and the
other at the foot of his couch.
Meanwhile the preparations for the wedding went on apace.
The prince, according to the custom of the country, then brought Laufey
(believing she was Lineik) three pieces of rich silk, to make him three
tunics; one was blue, the other was red, and the third one was green.
She was to make up the blue one first, then the red one, and last of
all the green one, which was to surpass both the others in richness and
beauty of design. “For,” added the prince, “the green one is the one I
shall wear on our wedding-day.”
Laufey took the three bits of stuff, and the prince departed. But no
sooner had he closed the door than, sitting down on the couch between
the two trees, she burst into tears.
Oh! what was she to do? Brunhild had never taught Laufey anything, but
just let her grow up as she would, so how could she, who had never had
a needle in her hand, make up or embroider these beautiful stuffs? And
if the prince discovered how ignorant she was, would he not send her
away with scorn and laughter, or perhaps even have her put to death for
her deception?
And the poor girl sobbed and cried as if her heart would break.
Now, as has already been mentioned, Siegfrid and Lineik were inside the
two beautiful trees. They could therefore see all that passed in the
prince’s chamber, and when they heard poor Laufey’s lamentations,
Siegfrid was so touched at sight of the girl’s tears that he said to
his sister—
“Sister Lineik,
Laufey weeps;
Oh, have pity on her,
And assist her with her task.”
Then Lineik replied—
“Hast thou forgotten, oh brother,
All Brunhild’s wicked deeds,
And how she endeavoured
To kill both you and me?”
But after a while Lineik consented, and creeping forth from her tree,
greatly to Laufey’s surprise, she told her who she was and how she came
there. Then sitting down beside her, helped her so effectually with her
skilful fingers that the tunic was soon completed, greatly to Laufey’s
delight. Lineik crept back into her tree, and when Prince Tellus
appeared, she showed him the garment.
“I have never seen so prettily worked a tunic,” he said, greatly
pleased. “Now take the piece of red silk and let that be as much more
finely embroidered as the stuff itself is richer.”
But when Laufey found herself confronted with this fresh piece of work,
all her courage fled. How could she carry out the prince’s wishes? And
she began to cry.
Then Siegfrid again called to his sister—
“Sister Lineik,
Laufey weeps;
Oh, have pity on her,
And assist her with her task.”
And again Lineik answered—
“Hast thou forgotten, oh brother,
Brunhild’s wicked deeds,
And how she used all endeavours
To kill both you and me?”
Nevertheless, after a while she again consented to help Laufey, and
leaving her tree she sat down beside her, cut out and made up the red
tunic, devoting even more care and skill than on the first one. All the
seams were embroidered in gold thread, and precious stones bordered the
neck and skirt.
When it was ready she gave it to Laufey, while she herself slipped back
into her tree.
Prince Tellus was greatly pleased when he saw the second tunic.
“Why, this is more beautifully worked than the first tunic! I can
hardly imagine how you have done it without any one to help you. Now
you must make the third and last tunic. I will give you three days to
finish it; and remember that this tunic must surpass both the others in
beauty of design and richness of embroidery, for I shall wear it on our
wedding-day.”
After the prince had gone, Laufey sat down on the couch, and felt very
sad. How could she hope that Lineik would again help her? She had done
so twice, notwithstanding all the ill the queen had intended against
her and Siegfrid, and it was too much to expect her to aid her again,
and, thinking thus sadly, the tears streamed down her cheeks.
But Prince Siegfrid was so touched by the poor girl’s grief that he
again said to his sister—
“Lineik, sister,
Laufey weeps!
Oh, have pity on her,
And assist her with her task!”
And again Lineik replied—
“Hast thou forgotten, oh brother,
All Brunhild’s wicked deeds,
And how she used all her arts
To kill both you and me?”
Nevertheless, after a while, she again consented to help Laufey, and
leaving her tree, she sat down beside her, and with her deft, clever
fingers the work made rapid progress, and seemed to grow under her
hands. This time she spent even more care and skill on the garment, and
when, on the third day, it was finished, there was hardly any portion
of the original stuff visible, so thickly was it covered with rich gold
and silver scrolls and flowers, starred with rare and precious stones.
Lineik and Laufey were so occupied admiring their work, as they sat
together on the couch, that they did not hear the lifting of the
curtain behind them, as Prince Tellus suddenly entered the room.
Lineik, with a cry, started up hastily, and was about to slip back into
her tree; but the prince sprang after her, and taking hold of both her
hands, led her back to the couch, where Laufey sat in fear and
trembling.
“I have long had my suspicions that some mystery was at work here,” he
then said; and, seating himself between the two girls, he continued,
“Nay, do not fear me, but”—turning to Lineik—“tell me your name, and
who you are, and how you came here.”
So Lineik told him who she was, and all about her home, and how she and
her brother Siegfrid had come in his ship. And as he sat and listened
to her, Prince Tellus thought he had never seen any one so beautiful
and clever as Lineik; she was just like what he had always pictured her
to himself. Then, casting an angry glance at Laufey, he told her she
deserved to be put to death for her deception of him.
Then Laufey threw herself on her knees before him, and prayed for
forgiveness, in which Lineik joined most heartily.
“I only deceived you about the work of the tunics,” continued Laufey;
“for Lineik forbade me to say who had really worked them. You may
remember that I never said I was Princess Lineik. It was Queen
Brunhild—my mother, as she called herself—who thus deceived you.”
And while they were thus talking, Prince Siegfrid came forth from his
tree, whereupon there were fresh explanations and much rejoicing that
the mystery was explained; and Prince Tellus lost no time in claiming
the hand of the rightful Princess Lineik. But Lineik said she could not
promise to marry any one till her wicked stepmother, who had wrought
such ill to every one, was driven forth from the kingdom she had
usurped.
And now Laufey had a wondrous tale to tell. Brunhild was no queen, but
a wicked ogress, who reigned over the lonely island, where the Prime
Minister had found her. There she had lived in a huge cave, together
with other giants and ogres.
“I also am a king’s daughter,” continued Laufey. “But Brunhild, with
great skill and cunning, stole me away one day when I was playing in
the fields with my little companions. She threatened to kill me if I
did not obey her in everything, and called me her daughter, for she
thought people would then imagine she also came of a kingly race. It
was she who killed your father,” continued Laufey, turning to Siegfrid,
“and all those people at your court who disappeared so mysteriously
were eaten by her at night; for all ogres love human flesh. Her object
was to get rid of all your chief people, and then bring over her
friends the giants from the stony island, so that they might all live
in your rich and fruitful kingdom.”
When they had heard this tale, Siegfrid said he must at once return
home and save his country from the giants. Prince Tellus declared he
would accompany him, for it was an adventure quite after his own heart.
So they got together a large force, and setting sail, a favourable wind
speedily brought them to the island, where they landed, and surrounded
the castle before Brunhild had even heard of their arrival; for very
few people were about, the greater portion having been killed by
Brunhild, and the rest having fled and hidden themselves to escape from
the wicked queen.
So there was but little attempt at defence, and Brunhild was taken
prisoner. When she saw that her wicked plans had been discovered, and
that there was no hope of escape, she screamed and raved like a
madwoman. But her wicked deeds deserved no pardon. She was condemned to
death, and her head cut off, after which her body was burnt on a huge
funeral pile in the yard of the castle.
Then the two princes returned to Greece, and a very gay and splendid
double wedding took place, at which all the greatest nobles of the
kingdom took part; for on his return, Siegfrid, who during the test of
the tunics had lost his heart to Laufey, now proposed for her hand.
After the festivities were over, he and his fair bride returned to his
island, and great were the rejoicings that the kingdom was again under
the rule of a just and kind sovereign. He and Laufey reigned long and
happily, and visits were often interchanged between them and Prince
Tellus and his bride Lineik, who in time became known as the wisest and
best among all the rulers of Greece.
THE FIVE BROTHERS
Once upon a time, long years ago, when giants still lived upon the
earth, there dwelt an old man and his wife in a small wooden hut,
sheltered from the rough winter winds by the tall mountains and rocks
that surrounded it. The world would have said they were very poor; but
they thought themselves rich, for they had five handsome, healthy boys,
who were the delight of their eyes. There was only a year’s difference
in age between the lads, and they were always together.
One day, the old couple went to cut grass on a slope some distance off,
leaving the boys alone at home. It was a bright, warm morning, and,
tired of playing indoors, the children went out into the little garden,
and soon their merry shouts were heard echoing from the hills.
Presently, up the path towards them came an old woman, feeble and lame.
“May an old woman beg for a draught of water?” she said, in a weak
voice.
Stopping their games at once, the eldest boy ran to the well, while the
others made her sit down by the door and rest. In a moment he was back
with a pitcher of cool, sparkling water.
“There, grannie,” he said, “that will refresh you. I let the bucket run
down ever so far, to make the water nice and cold.”
The old dame thanked him heartily, and, having quenched her thirst,
asked what their names were. The boys laughed merrily.
“We have no names,” they said. “We are all so near in age that we do
everything together; and when father or mother want anything they just
call out ‘Boys!’ and there we are, always at hand.”
“You have kind hearts,” the old woman said; “you are good to the aged
and feeble. I was nearly dying of thirst, and could not have gone
further without your help. Would that I could reward you as I should
like! Alas! I have not the power. But one thing I can do for you. You
shall no longer be nameless. I am going to bestow a name on each. You,
my young cup-bearer,” turning to the eldest boy, “shall be called
‘Watchwell;’ your brothers, ‘Holdwell,’ ‘Hitwell,’ ‘Spywell,’ and
‘Climbwell.’ May these names in the future bring you good fortune, as a
reward for your kindness to a poor old woman.”
Then she bade them good-bye, reminded them once more of their names,
told them to act up to them, and turned away down the path.
In the evening, when their parents returned, the boys related what had
occurred, and repeated the strange names they had been given. The old
people were much astonished, and asked where the stranger had come
from, and all particulars about her. But the boys could only tell what
had happened, and the whole thing would soon have been forgotten, had
it not been for the names. These they did not forget, and, strange to
say, the more they were used the more the owner of each name seemed to
develop the special quality that his name denoted, Watchwell, in
addition, constituting himself the general guardian of the five. Was
there a burden to carry, Holdwell’s strong arms were ready. Did the
parents require faggots for the winter, Hitwell would cut a pile, up in
the dark pine woods on the mountains, that gladdened their hearts. Not
a rabbit or bird could escape the keen eyes of Spywell, and by constant
practice little Climbwell could scale the steepest cliffs along the
fiord.
Years rolled on; the bright boys had grown up into tall, handsome young
men, and all this time they had never crossed the high rocky hills that
walled in their valley, never seen the great world that lay outside.
But, now that they were men, a great wish was rising in their hearts to
go forth from the old home and play their part among other men. The old
people gave them their blessing, and bade them continue to stand by one
another as they had ever done, for, if they only did that, there was
nothing they could not achieve.
And so the young men departed, following the steep track over the high
mountains at first, and then gradually leaving the hill country behind
them as they went ever onwards. Sometimes they rested at a farmhouse,
sometimes in a village, but nowhere did they find any permanent work.
Many a farmer would gladly have engaged Watchwell and Spywell to guard
his flocks, but he had no employment for Holdwell and Climbwell, and
when the two last could have joined the village lads in fishing or
seabird hunting, there was, again, no post for the other three. Still,
they would not be discouraged. They had stout hearts and strong limbs,
and the good fortune they sought must be found elsewhere. So on they
went, climbing high mountains and fording swift rivers, till at last
they entered an interminable dark pine wood with a tangled undergrowth
of brambles and tall ferns. Hitwell cleared a path before them, and at
length they emerged on a vast plain.
The sun was setting, and pouring a flood of crimson, gold, and purple
over the scene before them. The rays lit up the tall spires and high
grey walls of a large city, and turned the broad, flowing river that
encircled it into molten gold.
The brothers stood still entranced.
“It must be the city of the king,” cried Watchwell, at length.
“Yes,” said Spywell; “look, there is the royal flag flying on the tower
of the palace.”
They soon traversed the plain, and as darkness began to fall, they
arrived at the great drawbridge over the river, and were directed to
the palace by the warder. The king received them, and listened to their
request for employment in his service. The brothers were such fine,
handsome fellows that he was much taken with them as they stood before
him. They were very tall, and had bright blue eyes, and fair curling
hair. He told them that he could give employment to all five, if they
would remain throughout the winter at his court, and watch and guard
his daughters at the coming Christmas Eve.
“Do not, however, pledge yourselves to stay, until you learn the nature
of the task that lies before you,” he said. “For I have made a vow that
the life of the next man who fails in this duty shall be forfeited.
Perhaps you five brothers acting together can be more careful than
strangers. Now listen. Two years ago,” he went on, “I had five fair
daughters, but, alas! the Christmas before last my golden-haired Elma
disappeared mysteriously in the dead of night. Search was made in all
directions; no trace of her could be found. Last Christmas Eve the
princesses’ apartments were carefully watched and guarded; no strangers
were admitted, only old and faithful servants were near them. But when
morning came, Irene, my second daughter, was nowhere to be found, nor
was there any sign of her captors’ footsteps near the window of the
room where she slept. I have now made a vow, and I shall keep it; but I
also offer a reward. He who defends them faithfully this year shall wed
the next eldest princess who would without his care have disappeared,
and he shall be to me as a son. It will be death or honour. Choose,
young men, now, while you are still quite free.”
“We will stay and guard the princesses,” they cried with one voice. “It
is a task that will call all our qualities into full play. No robber
can escape the eyes of Spywell, Holdwell will act up to his name, till
Climbwell and Hitwell reach him, and I,” and Watchwell drew himself up
proudly, “I will be the one to forfeit my life if we fail.”
So they remained at the court, and became great favourites with the
king, who began to feel almost sorry that he had imposed sentence of
death on the man who should fail to defend his daughters. He,
therefore, determined to do what he could to make them safe, and caused
a great tower to be built on to the palace with thick walls and windows
very high up, and here the princesses were to sleep on Christmas Eve.
And now the time drew near. As usual great festivities were held for
several days. On the last night, when the dancing and merry-making were
all over, the three princesses—Frida, Ida, and Meya—were led to the
tower by the king, attended by their ladies. As they lay down on the
big couch, covered with silken embroideries, he bade them a last good
night, and charged the five brothers to guard them with their lives.
Then he left the tower, double locking the great iron door that led
into the rest of the castle. All was still. The brothers lay down on a
rough bench in the ante-chamber, but the door of the princesses’ room
was wide open, and a lamp was kept burning there.
It had been a long and tiring day, and the younger brothers were soon
fast asleep. But Watchwell never closed an eye. Wrapped in his long
cloak, he leant against the wall and watched.
The night drew on. But what was that? He thought he saw a dark shadow
slowly approach the window of the princesses’ room. As he looked, a
monstrous hand opened the lattice, and stretched out gropingly towards
the couch on which the king’s daughters lay asleep.
Watchwell touched his brothers. In an instant Holdwell had grasped the
mysterious hand so tightly that the owner could not move it; and
Hitwell, with one blow of his sword, severed it from the wrist. A
terrible wild cry of pain and baffled anger filled the air, and,
looking forth, the brothers saw a fearful giant striding rapidly away
from the palace, and shaking his remaining hand threateningly towards
the tower. The noise had aroused the king, who was quickly on the spot,
while Watchwell and his brothers hurried after the monster. Faster and
faster he went, seeing he was pursued, but, though he was speedily out
of sight, Spywell’s keen eye traced his footsteps all the way.
On, on, on, they went, till at last they came to the foot of a high
mountain. Steep and precipitous before them the sides rose up—no
foothold to be seen anywhere. Climbwell, however, never hesitated. He
showed his brothers a strong silken cord that he always carried with
him, then, making a bold spring to a tiny ledge he had noticed, he
commenced to climb, never taking a false step, till he reached the
summit in safety. Then, lowering the silken rope, he drew up his
brothers one after the other.
When they reached the top they found an enormous cavern, and just
inside the entrance sat a huge giantess, on a low stool, crying
bitterly. The brothers asked what ailed her.
“What matters it to you?” she said, and cried more than ever. But at
last she told them that the previous night her husband had lost one of
his hands, and she feared he would die, he was in such terrible pain.
Then they told her that they could heal her husband if she would let
them in, but “no one,” they said, “must be there but ourselves; we must
bind all others lest they should find out the secret of our healing
power.”
The giantess, who was quite as wicked as her husband, and had hoped to
entice these young men, by her pretended grief, into the cavern, so as
to provide a dinner for herself and her husband, did not at all like
the suggestion of being bound. But she thought, perhaps, they might be
able to heal her husband first, so she submitted for the moment,
comforting herself with the hope that she could easily break the rope
and set herself free when the young men had cured her husband.
Holdwell bound her with Climbwell’s strong silken rope, and then they
passed into the inner cavern. The giant was lying on his couch, and
gave a howl of rage when he saw them. But, crippled by the loss of his
hand, he was no match for the young men, who speedily put an end to
him. Then they also killed the wicked giantess, who had quite a heap of
human bones beside her, and proceeded to explore the inner cavern. They
thought it might, perhaps, contain some hidden treasure. But nothing
was to be found, and they were on the point of leaving, when Spywell
descried a small door cunningly let into the rock. Speedily breaking it
open, a subterranean passage was seen, leading to another cavern, and
there they discovered the two lost princesses—Elma, very pale and
emaciated; whilst Irene, who had not been imprisoned so long, was more
rosy and not so thin. The giant had evidently intended securing all
five princesses before eating them.
The king’s daughters were greatly overjoyed when they saw their noble
deliverers, and heard that they were prisoners no longer. They quickly
departed, Spywell and Climbwell having discovered an easier road for
them to return by.
They arrived at the palace as night was falling, and the joy of the
king at having his five daughters united once more can well be
imagined.
A great banquet was hastily prepared, and before the assembled nobles
and guests he related the brave deeds of Watchwell and his brothers,
and announced that he had decided to wed his five daughters to the five
heroes. “It is but right and fitting that men such as these, brave,
noble and true, should reign over this land when I am gone,” he said,
“and to whom could I more worthily entrust my dear daughters than to
those who have saved their lives?”
Never was there so magnificent a wedding-feast. It lasted a whole
month, and the dresses of the five princesses were perfect marvels of
gold and silver embroidery and precious stones. Then to each brother
was appointed a position in the State which would call his special
quality into play. They lived long and happily with their respective
wives, greatly beloved and honoured by all, and when at length the old
king died, Watchwell succeeded to the throne, and his wise and good
reign, together with his beautiful and beloved Queen Elma, is still
spoken of to this day.
HERMOD AND HADVÖR
In the days long ago, there lived a king and queen. They had an only
child, called Hadvör, who was not only the heiress to the crown, but
was also the most beautiful maiden ever seen.
Now, the king and queen, having no son of their own, had adopted the
child of a friend. The boy was called Hermod; he was about the same age
as Hadvör, and equally well-skilled in all knowledge that pertains to a
young prince.
The young people had played together ever since they could remember
anything, and the friendship of their childhood only strengthened as
they grew older, and they promised to continue true to one another, no
matter what might happen.
When they were about eighteen years old, the good queen sickened, and,
feeling that her end was drawing near, she called the king to her
bedside.
“Dear husband,” she said, “I feel I have not long to live. Pray,
therefore, grant me the last request I shall ever make you. I know how
lonely you will be without me, and I hope, therefore, that you will
marry again. But, if you do, let it be the good queen of Hetland, who
has lately lost her husband, and who, having no children, will love our
dear ones as if they were her own.”
The king, overwhelmed with grief, promised to do as she wished; and the
queen died peacefully.
For some time the king could think of nothing but the terrible loss he
had sustained. At length, however, wearying of his lonely life, he
fitted out a ship, and went to sea.
After sailing along for some days under brilliant sunshine, one morning
a thick fog arose. It grew denser and darker, and the sailors could no
longer tell which way they were going, when the mist suddenly lifted,
and they saw land before them.
The king ordered a boat to be lowered, and was rowed ashore. He then
got out alone, telling the men to wait for him.
Going quietly along, he presently came to a wood, and the sun being
very hot and the king very tired, he was glad to sit down and rest
under the shade of a big oak tree. He had not been long there, however,
when he heard music in the distance, and, following the sound, he
presently came to a beautiful open glade, and there he saw three women.
One of them, clad in richly embroidered robes, was seated on a golden
stool. She held a harp in her hand, and had evidently been playing, but
she looked sad and troubled. Beside her, seated on a lower stool, was a
young girl, also handsomely dressed, though not so richly as the elder
women, and behind them stood another girl, also good-looking, but very
plainly dressed, with a green cloak thrown round her. She evidently was
the servant of the other two.
After gazing at the women for a few moments, the king stepped forward
and saluted them respectfully.
The lady seated on the golden stool, having returned his greeting,
asked him who he was and where he was going.
“Alas!” said the king, “I have lost my dear queen, and now, in
accordance with her last wish, I am on my way to Hetland, to ask the
widowed queen of that country to become my wife.”
“Oh, king!” replied the lady. “How wonderful is the hand of fate! I am
the queen you are in search of! Hetland has been overrun by Vikings,
who burned and destroyed everything they did not carry off, and it was
only by a miracle that I managed to escape with my daughter and my
attendant here.”
When the king heard this, he hesitated no longer, but at once offered
to take her back as his bride.
After a slight hesitation, the lady accepted the king’s offer, and,
having rested a little longer, the king led the way back to the boat.
They quickly embarked, and, without any further adventures, arrived at
the king’s country, where a great wedding-feast was immediately
prepared, and the marriage took place, amid great rejoicing.
For some little time matters went very smoothly. Hermod and Hadvör kept
much to themselves, leaving the queen and her daughter to enjoy all the
splendour and gaiety of the court. But, as time went on, Hadvör, who
was always kind to those about her, seeing that Olöf, the queen’s
attendant, was much neglected and snubbed by her mistress, took
compassion on her, and often asked Olöf to come and see her.
After some months a war broke out with one of the neighbouring
countries, and the king had to go forth at the head of his army. No
sooner had he sailed than the queen went to Hermod and told him she
wished him to marry her daughter.
“That I cannot do,” replied Hermod, “for I love Hadvör, and she alone
shall be my wife.”
Then the queen, finding that no persuasion and no threats had any
effect, got very angry.
“If you will not marry my daughter,” she cried angrily, “neither shall
you wed Hadvör. I have not forgotten the magic taught me by my mother,
and, as you will not obey me, I lay my spell on you. You shall live on
a desert island, and all day long you shall roam about in the shape of
a lion; only after sunset shall you return to your human form, and then
you shall think of Hadvör and remember your former life, and thus
suffer doubly in looking back on the past; and you shall not be freed
from this enchantment till Hadvör succeeds in burning your lion’s
skin.”
“I am in your power now,” replied Hermod; “but your punishment will
overtake you ere long, for I also possess some magic gifts; and, though
I am at present powerless, as soon as your wicked spell is broken,
which it assuredly will be, you and your daughter, who is as wicked as
you are, shall be turned into a rat and a mouse, and you will bite and
tear each other till you kill one another.”
So Hermod suddenly disappeared, and no one knew what had become of him.
The queen made a pretence of sending out people to search for him, but
no trace of him was found.
When Olöf next visited Hadvör, she found her in great grief at Hermod’s
disappearance.
“Nay, do not weep,” she said; “the queen, by her wicked enchantments,
has caused him to disappear for a time. Both she and her daughter are
two wicked giantesses, who have only assumed their present form, and,
when Hermod refused to marry her daughter, she put in practice her
magic arts. She has transported him to a desert island, where he will
be a lion during the day, but resume his own form every evening, and
this charm will last until you succeed in burning the lion’s skin. The
queen has also further arranged that you are to marry her brother, a
terrible, three-headed giant, who lives underground. I, too, have
suffered from her arts,” concluded Olöf; “she carried me away from my
parents’ house, forcing me to serve her. Fortunately, however, she is
powerless to hurt me, for the green cloak I always wear over my dress
was a gift from my godmother, and nothing can harm me while I have it
on.”
Poor Hadvör! She felt very hopeless when she heard of all her
stepmother’s wicked plots against her, and entreated Olöf, by the love
they bore each other, to assist her.
This Olöf gladly promised she would do.
“But first, you must keep watch and guard against the queen’s brother,”
she said. “He lives in a cave beneath the castle, and will rise beneath
your chamber some night. You must, therefore, always keep a large pot
of boiling pitch ready, and as soon as you hear a great rumbling noise,
like an earthquake, and see the ground cracking, at once pour the
boiling pitch down the cracks, and this will kill the giant. It is the
only thing that can hurt him.”
About this time, the king returned home from the wars, and was greatly
distressed at Hermod’s disappearance. He made inquiries and sent out
messengers in all directions, but no trace of him could be found, and
the queen had to use all her arts to console the king under the loss of
his adopted son.
Hadvör meanwhile remained quietly in her own house. Following Olöf’s
advice, she kept ready the boiling pitch for the giant, and had not
long to wait. One night, shortly after the king’s return, she was
suddenly awakened by a loud rumbling noise; the ground began to shake
and tremble; but Hadvör, having been fully prepared, was not
frightened, and summoned her maidens to assist her. Then, as the noises
grew louder, and several great cracks appeared in the floor, Hadvör and
the girls poured the boiling pitch down the open seams. Then gradually
the noises ceased, till everything was perfectly quiet again.
The next morning the queen rose up early, and as soon as she was
dressed she hurried to Princess Hadvör’s house. There, lying on the
ground outside, she saw the dead body of her brother the giant.
“Oh,” cried the queen angrily, “that must be Hadvör’s work! But the
minx need not think she shall go unpunished, and upset all my schemes;”
and bending over the body of the uncouth monster, she continued: “By my
magic power, I will that your body shall be transformed into that of a
beautiful prince, and that Hadvör shall be accused of causing your
death.”
With these words she placed her hand on the giant’s body, and
immediately it was changed into the likeness of a handsome prince.
The queen then returned to the palace, and, pretending to weep, she
told the king that she feared his daughter was a very wicked girl,
though she always seemed so good, for that her brother, a brave and
handsome prince, had come to ask Hadvör’s hand in marriage, who without
any rhyme or reason had caused him to be killed, for she, the queen,
had just seen his dead body lying outside the princess’s house.
When the king heard this, he hastened to Hadvör’s house, accompanied by
the queen; and when he saw the dead body lying there, just as the queen
had described, he was very angry. He said he could not have wished for
a handsomer or nobler son-in-law, and that he would gladly have
consented to the marriage.
Then the queen begged that she might be allowed to choose Hadvör’s
punishment, and the king, greatly incensed with his daughter, gave his
consent.
So the queen said it would only be a just punishment that Hadvör, who
had killed her brother, should be buried alive in the same grave with
him; and the king, though sorry for his daughter, having given his
royal word, said the queen’s wishes must be carried out.
Olöf meanwhile, who, unknown to the queen, had overheard all that
passed, hastened away to tell Hadvör. When the princess heard what the
queen intended doing, she was very frightened, but Olöf comforted her
and promised to help her.
“And remember, if you wish to bring Hermod back again, you must not
mind undergoing some pain and suffering for him.”
Olöf then brought her a short cloak, which she told Hadvör she must
wear over her dress when she went into the grave or burial mound. The
giant, she said, would be a spirit after he was buried.
“He will then ask you to cut off and give him one of your hands,”
continued Olöf; “but you must not promise to do this until he has told
you where Hermod is, and how you are to get to him. Then when you want
to get out of the grave, he will let you mount on his shoulder; but
beware how you trust him: he will only help you to put you off your
guard, and will take hold of your cloak and drag you back. See,
therefore, that it is only loosely tied, so that when once you have
your foot on the outer edge the cloak alone will remain in his hands.”
Meanwhile the grave was being prepared, and when all was ready the body
of the supposed prince was laid in it, and Hadvör, who was not allowed
to say a word in her own defence, was lowered in beside him, and the
grave, was walled up and closed.
And then all happened as Olöf had foretold. The supposed prince became
a spirit, but in his former giant form, and asked Hadvör if she would
let him cut off one of her hands and her hair, saying, “Only a maiden’s
hand will open the grave, and a maiden’s hair will Hermod save.” But
Hadvör refused unless he first told her where Hermod was, and how she
could get to him.
Then the giant said that the queen had banished Hermod to a desert
island, and described exactly where it was.
“But you will not be able to reach him unless you cut off your hand,”
said the giant “Then you must cut off your hair and plait it together
and make it into sandals, and with these you will be able to cross both
sea and land.”
Hadvör at once carried out the giant’s instructions. She cut off her
beautiful long golden hair, and plaiting it together, made herself a
pair of sandals. Then, thinking only of Harmod, bravely held out her
hand for the giant to cut off, and declared she was ready to go.
The giant said he would help her, that she must climb upon his shoulder
and touch the roof with the hand he had cut off, when the top of the
grave would open. So she followed his directions; and no sooner was the
grave open than the giant stretched up his hand and caught hold of her
cloak, to pull her back. But with one spring Hadvör was outside the
grave, the cloak slipped from her shoulders, remaining in the giant’s
hands; and, without waiting to look round, she flew along the road he
had told her of.
She ran on for some time without venturing to stop or look round, until
at length she reached the seashore. There, far far away in the
distance, she saw a high rocky island. Her sandals, however, enabled
her to cross the water easily; but when she reached the island the
shore was so steep and rocky, she could find no way of getting into the
interior. This was a terrible disappointment and tired and weary with
all she had gone through, Hadvör sat down on a fallen piece of rock,
and presently fell asleep. Then she dreamt that a big giantess came up
to her and said, “I know that you are Hadvör, the king’s daughter, and
that you are in search of Hermod. He is on this island; but you will
not find it easy to reach him, if left to yourself, for the cliffs are
steep and dangerous, and, though you are brave and ready to face any
danger for him, you will not be able to climb them. But I will help
you. Go round the corner of the next cliff, and there you will find a
stout rope fastened to the rocks. By its help you will be able to climb
up and get into the island. But it is large and has many caves, and you
might be a long time ere you find Hermod. I have, therefore, brought
you this ball of ribbon; take hold of the loose end, and the ball will
roll along and guide you in the right way. I also give you this girdle;
fasten it round your waist, and as long as you wear it you will suffer
neither hunger nor fatigue. But remember to keep silence while Hermod
is still under the spell, and on no account must you speak until after
you have burnt the lion’s skin.”
When Hadvör awoke, feeling quite strong and refreshed, she thought she
had only had a very pleasant dream; but, looking round, she saw a ball
of gaily coloured ribbon and a beautiful silken girdle lying beside
her. Putting the girdle round her waist, she tucked the ball inside of
it, and, going round the next cliff, she saw a stout rope hanging down.
Then she knew that her dream was no ordinary one. She took hold of the
rope, and began climbing the almost perpendicular rock. But it was a
long and difficult task, for the rocks were high and steep, and the
loss of her hand greatly impeded her progress. But whenever she lost
heart, she thought of Hermod, and the knowledge that she was at last
near him gave her fresh strength, till at length she reached the top.
She then placed the ball on the ground and followed its lead, till it
stopped at the entrance to a cave.
Cautiously Hadvör peeped in, but she saw nothing except a miserable
wooden pallet, so she crept under this and hid herself.
The hours seemed very long, as she lay there listening for every sound
that might announce Hermod’s approach; then, just as the sun was
setting, sending a bright crimson gleam into the cave, she heard a loud
roar, accompanied by heavy footsteps, and presently a huge lion entered
the cave.
Hadvör’s heart leapt into her mouth, but she remembered that she must
be silent if she wished to save him.
The lion then went towards the hearth, and giving himself a vigorous
shake, the lion’s skin fell off, and Hadvör saw that it was indeed
Hermod.
He sat down on the bed (little thinking that Hadvör was hid
underneath), and began talking aloud of his love for Hadvör, and his
great grief at their separation, and his utter inability to help
himself. “For, alas!” he concluded, “it is only by Hadvör’s finding and
burning my lion’s skin that I can ever get back my human figure and
power; and how is it possible she should ever find me here?”
Hadvör, when she heard these words, almost jumped out from beneath the
bed, but she remembered in time that she must not speak until she had
burnt the lion’s skin. So, with a strong effort of her will, she kept
perfectly still and silent till Hermod threw himself down on the bed.
As soon as she heard that he was fast asleep, she crept forth quietly,
and, taking an armful of wood and a lighted brand from the hearth, she
made up a big fire outside the cave, and burnt the lion’s skin Hermod
had thrown off. She then returned to the cave and wakened Hermod. What
a glad and joyful meeting that was!
Hadvör told Hermod all that had occurred after his disappearance, and
how, by Olöf’s help, she had been enabled to find him.
“Oh, Hadvör,” cried Hermod, “to think of all you have done and suffered
for my sake! And, alas, that you should have lost your right hand! How
can I ever make up to you for all you have done?” And gently taking the
maimed arm, he pressed his lips to the wrist, when lo, and behold, the
hand was restored, and not even a mark was visible to show where it had
been severed!
Then they began planning how best to return home, and Hadvör told
Hermod of her wonderful dream and the gifts she had already received
from the giantess. “Surely,” she added, “she must live somewhere on
this island, and might help us again.”
Hermod said he believed a giantess did live on the island, and that she
was called Allgood, but he had never seen her, though she was supposed
to watch over people and help them. So they determined to try and find
her, and they sallied forth. After a long search, they came to a huge
cavern, inside of which sat the great giantess, surrounded by her
fifteen children! Then Hermod asked her if she would help them to
return to their home, telling her how they had been driven forth.
“It will not be easy,” replied Allgood, “because the giant who was
buried with Hadvör will try and throw all kinds of obstacles in your
way. He has been changed into a huge whale, and swims all round this
island, and he will certainly try all he can to kill Hadvör ere she
reaches her own country. But I will lend you my ship, for though
Hadvör’s sandals would carry you across the water, they will not
protect you from the giant. He may not know that you are in my ship;
but if you see him swimming towards you, I fear your life may be in
danger. Then call on me, and I will help you.”
Hermod and Hadvör thanked the giantess warmly for her good advice and
kind offer of help, and getting on board her ship, where they found
food and everything they wanted, they left the island, happy and
hopeful. But ere long they saw a huge whale swimming rapidly towards
them. He spouted the water up, yards high, and lashed the sea with his
tail as he came near the ship.
“Oh, Hermod,” cried Hadvör, “that surely must be the wicked giant! Let
us call on Allgood to help us!” And they both called loudly on the
giantess for aid.
Immediately a still bigger whale than the first one appeared, followed
by fifteen smaller ones. They swam swiftly towards the ship, and when
they had completely surrounded it, they turned on the first whale. Then
a terrific battle began. The water shot almost up to the clouds, the
sea was lashed into such great waves, that it seemed as if the vessel
must be swamped, and Hermod and Hadvör watched eagerly for the result.
The fight lasted for some time; but when at length it was over, they
saw that the sea for some distance was red with the blood of the dead
whale. And then the big whale, followed by the fifteen smaller ones,
swam back to the island, and Hermod and Hadvör reached their own land
in safety.
Meanwhile, strange events had happened at the king’s castle. The queen
and her daughter had disappeared, and in their apartments a big rat and
a mouse fought all day and night. In vain the servants tried to drive
them away. Even if they ran off for a short time, they always came back
again and disturbed the whole castle by their cries. Thus some time
passed, and the king was once again plunged into grief, not only at the
disappearance of the queen, but because these horrid animals left
neither him nor his court any peace.
One evening, when they were all assembled in the great hall, very sad
and silent, quick steps were heard approaching, and, to the surprise of
every one, Hermod entered. As soon as the king saw him, he embraced him
warmly, greeting him like one returned from the dead, and anxiously
inquiring all that had happened to him. But before sitting down, Hermod
said he must first go to the queen’s apartment. There the rat and mouse
were fighting and biting one another, uttering frightful cries; but,
drawing his sword, Hermod smote them both, when, to the amazement of
all, there lay two hideous giantesses dead on the ground. The servants
quickly carried them out into the great courtyard, where they were
thrown on a pile of wood and burnt.
Meanwhile, the king and Hermod, accompanied by the whole court,
returned to the hall, and then Hermod related all his wonderful
adventures, greatly to the delight and amazement of the king and his
courtiers. And, while they were exclaiming at the wonders of his tale,
Hadvör came in, accompanied by Olöf.
Then, indeed, there was general rejoicing, and the king at once acceded
to Hermod’s wish to become his son-in-law. There was no long delay over
the wedding, and as the king was now growing old, he handed over the
government of the country to Hermod, whose reign is still known as that
of “the good king.”
Hadvör, in the midst of her own happiness, did not forget Olöf and all
the good services she had rendered her. She married one of the great
nobles of the kingdom, who became King Hermod’s right hand, and Hadvör
and Olöf remained close friends all the days of their life, their
friendship descending to their children and grandchildren.
INGEBJÖRG
There once lived a king and queen who ought to have been as happy as
the day is long, for they had a fine kingdom, a beautiful palace,
plenty of horses and carriages; their treasure-room was filled with
gold, silver, and precious stones, and no matter how much they took out
of it, it always remained full.
Their people were quiet and industrious, and they had no cares or
troubles; yet, notwithstanding all this, they grew daily more sad and
sorrowful, for they had no children to inherit all the riches they
owned.
One day the queen went out into the palace garden. It was a fine bright
winter’s morning. The snow lay hard and firm on the ground, and each
tree and bush sparkled and glistened in the sunshine, just as if the
jewels in the king’s treasury had been scattered over them.
The queen, feeling tired, sat down on a stone bench beneath a huge oak
tree, when suddenly a large white bird flew down from the tree. It
brushed past so close to the queen’s face, that the wing-feathers
scratched her cheek, and a few drops of bright crimson blood fell on
the snowy ground.
“Oh,” cried the queen, “would that I might have a daughter who would be
as beautiful as those crimson drops on the white glistening ground!”
“You shall have your wish,” sang the bird, as it flew away, its white
wings shining in the sun like silver.
The queen had hardly recovered from her surprise than she heard a noise
behind her, and, turning round, she beheld the old man Surtur, who
lived in a little hut near the palace, and who was well known and
dreaded as a wicked magician.
“Ay, you shall have your wish,” he muttered, in a fierce, angry voice;
“but I too intend to have a say in the matter. A daughter shall indeed
be born to you, but she shall cause you more sorrow than happiness,
unless, indeed, she returns you good for evil.” And he laughed
wickedly, and disappeared.
When the queen heard these words she was greatly troubled, for she knew
that Surtur was her enemy, and that he was powerful; but as weeks and
months passed and nothing happened, she forgot all about the old man’s
words, and when at length her little daughter was born, every one
agreed that she was the most beautiful child ever seen. She was
christened Ingebjörg, and grew up as good as she was beautiful.
At first the queen could not do enough for the child, and could hardly
bear her out of her sight; but as she grew older, and when she saw how
fond the king was of Ingebjörg, and how every one praised and admired
her, she began to grow jealous, and all her love seemed to turn to
hatred.
When the king saw this, he thought it would be better to separate
Ingebjörg from her mother, so he built her a separate house, and there
she lived with her own attendants. But this only made the queen still
more angry. At last she fell ill, and sent for her daughter, and when
the girl came to her bedside she whispered something in her ear, and
then sent her back to her own house again. But from that day a change
came over Ingebjörg. She no longer laughed and danced as was her wont,
but walked about the rooms alone, often weeping, and would never leave
her house on any pretext whatsoever.
One day, when Ingebjörg, as usual, sat in her room, her work that she
used to take such pleasure in lying idly on her lap, while the tears
rolled slowly down her cheeks, she heard some one knocking at the door,
and on opening it she saw a funny little old woman with a high peaked
hat, who asked if she might come in and rest.
Ingebjörg listlessly said “Yes;” and then the old woman began telling
her some wonderful stories, and at last Ingebjörg got so interested
that her tears stopped, and she looked quite bright and happy like her
old self.
“And now,” continued the old woman, “I want you to come out into the
wood with me. It is a lovely day, and so beautiful and fresh in the
shade of the trees.”
Though at first Ingebjörg declared she did not care to go, she at last
allowed herself to be persuaded, and soon they were wandering along on
the soft mossy-paths beneath the beautiful great tall-stemmed firs,
graceful beeches, and feathery birch, till gradually the sad look
disappeared from Ingebjörg’s face, and she began to laugh and run like
the happy girl she had once been.
“And now,” said the little old woman, when, tired of walking, they had
seated themselves on a mossy bank, “now tell me, Ingebjörg, why are you
always so sad?”
At first the girl refused to speak, but the little old woman kept on
asking, and she looked so kind and gentle that at length Ingebjörg said
her mother had told her that it had been foretold at her birth that she
was to marry a terrible giant, and that she was to burn her father’s
castle and so cause his death.
“And oh,” cried Ingebjörg, “I love him so dearly! He has always been so
good and kind to me! Oh, let us hasten home. I quite forgot; I ought
never to have left my house, and I never will go out again, and then I
cannot possibly harm him, or marry that horrible giant.” And the poor
girl hurried home, sobbing and crying all the way.
“Nay, nay,” said the little old woman, “comfort yourself, my child. I
am your godmother, and there is no harm done, and I think we can find
some way to avert these evils. It is all that wicked Surtur’s doing. He
wanted to marry your mother, and when she would have nothing to say to
him and married your father, he vowed he would never rest till the king
was dead and she was punished. So he got her maid to give her some
drops made out of the dragon’s tooth, which turned her love for you to
hatred and jealousy. But he can only work so far. It remains for you,
now that you are grown up, to undo the evil he has wrought by returning
good for evil, for love can overcome all things. The king’s palace I
cannot save, for my power only extends over living things; but neither
your father nor mother shall be hurt, and the treasure can also be
saved. Neither need you fear the giant if you will do exactly as I bid
you. Now you must first go and persuade your father to go out riding in
the forest with all his attendants.”
With a heart greatly relieved at her godmother’s cheery words,
Ingebjörg hastened to do her bidding.
“Dear father,” she said, as she entered his presence, “the day is so
fine and the woods are so beautiful, will you not go out for a ride in
the woods and take the courtiers with you?”
And the king, pleased at seeing her look so bright and happy, at once
said he would go, and with all his courtiers in attendance, started off
for a great hunting party in the forest.
As soon as they were well out of sight, Ingebjörg sent the servants
away on different errands, and when the palace was quite empty, the
little old dame helped the princess to carry out all the treasure and
whatever else was of value in the castle, and then, when they stood in
the great empty hall, she told Ingebjörg that she must now take down
the big can of oil from the mantelshelf. In so doing the girl’s foot
slipped, and the oil ran over the hearth and into the fire. In a few
minutes the whole place was in a blaze, the little old dame and
Ingebjörg having just time to escape.
“Thus,” said the old woman, “one part of old Surtur’s enchantment has
been fulfilled, without harm to any one, and the rest you must now
carry out;” so saying, she gave Ingebjörg a little silver ball. “Now go
to the forest, throw down this ball, and follow its windings till it
stops at a woodman’s hut; go in, but keep the door ajar, so that you
can see who comes in, and, whatever you do, remember that you must see
the owner of the hut before he sees you. Remain there till I summon
you; but when in your dreams you hear me calling you, do not lose an
instant, but hasten to the palace, for your mother will need you.
Remember love is the great conqueror, and can overcome all evils.”
Ingebjörg promised to do exactly as the old dame had told her. She
threw down the silver ball and followed its course as it rolled along,
till at last it stopped before a woodman’s hut, and, going in, she hid
behind the half-closed door, peeping curiously between the slit.
Presently she saw a huge giant coming towards the hut, carrying a dead
bear across his shoulders which he had killed out hunting. He pushed
open the door, and, as he threw down his burden, he beheld Ingebjörg;
however, she had seen him first, and felt very frightened.
But though he looked terribly fierce, his voice was very soft and kind
as he told her that she might remain with him, but that she would have
to make the beds, cook the food, and sweep the floor—all which
Ingebjörg promised to do. He then showed her a little inner chamber
where he said she might sleep. “And, whatever noises you hear,” he
added, “don’t come in here unless I call you.”
And thus passed three days. The giant went out early every morning, and
never returned till sunset; while Ingebjörg cooked the food, made the
beds, and kept the little hut clean and tidy. Every night she heard
frightful noises in the outer room, the walls of the hut shook, and the
earth trembled, but as the giant never called her, she lay quietly in
her bed, pulling the clothes over her ears to deaden the terrible
noises. And then, as she fell asleep, each night she dreamed that,
instead of the giant, a handsome young prince stood beside the hearth.
On the third evening, she had hardly fallen asleep when she fancied she
heard some one calling her. Quickly jumping out of bed, she hastily
threw on her clothes, cautiously opened the door, and, seeing the hut
was empty, she ran as quickly as she could to the palace. She knew that
her mother needed her.
There, in front of the chief entrance, she saw a wooden stake had been
driven into the ground, to which the queen was tied, while the servants
were piling fagots of wood round her; for the queen had been condemned
to be burnt to death for having set the palace on fire during the
king’s absence and stolen all the treasure, though she in vain pleaded
her innocence.
Pushing her way through the crowd, Ingebjörg threw herself down on her
knees before her father.
“Oh, stop, stop!” she cried eagerly. “Dear father, my mother is not to
blame. It was I who was forced to burn down the castle, in order to
save your life, which was threatened by the wicked magician, Surtur,
and the treasure also is safe.”
When the king heard this, he at once ordered the queen to be released,
who, freed from the wicked spells that Surtur had thrown over her,
embraced her daughter with many loving words.
Surtur, hearing that his evil deeds were known to the king, tried to
hide himself in the woods; but he was caught and brought back by the
giant, who had also fallen under his enchantments. But Ingebjörg
remembered her silver ball, and, throwing it towards the giant, he
caught it, and as he did so he was immediately changed into the
handsome young prince Ingebjörg had seen each night in her dreams.
But Surtur was not to escape. The king called his servants, who bound
the magician with strong cords. He was condemned to death for all his
wicked deeds, and was led forth into the desert, where he was torn to
pieces by wild horses.
All the queen’s old jealousy now died out for ever. She loved Ingebjörg
more fondly each day, and before long there was a great marriage-feast
between the prince and Ingebjörg. They lived happily together all the
days of their life, and on the death of the king and queen, Ingebjörg
and her husband reigned in their stead, beloved by all their people.
HANS
CHAPTER I.
HANS STARTS ON HIS TRAVELS.
Once upon a time, many, many years ago, there was an old man and his
wife who lived in a little cottage beside a big wood. They had three
sons, called Kurt, Conrad, and Hans.
The father was very proud of his two elder boys, who were great tall
fellows, but he never troubled about Hans, the youngest son, who, poor
boy, often fared rather badly, as he only got whatever his brothers did
not care to keep. He was never allowed to join in their games, or
trials of skill, in which the father trained his elder boys, but had to
stop at home, doing the housework and helping his mother in the
kitchen. She was, indeed, the only one who ever showed him any love or
kindness.
Thus poor Hans was often very sad and lonely, and so, in order to while
away the time and have some kind of companionship, he got a kitten from
a neighbour, teaching it all kinds of tricks, and as the animal grew
older it became so attached to Hans that it followed him about wherever
he went.
So matters went on till all three brothers were grown up. Kurt and
Conrad gave themselves great airs, for, being tall and robust and well
skilled in all games of strength, they laid down the law whenever they
appeared on the village green, and bragged so loudly that most people
were afraid to contradict them, more especially as their father backed
them up in everything. He thought they could do no wrong, whereas Hans
was always wrong and of no use at all; he ought, in fact, to have been
a girl, always pinned to his mother’s apron-string.
And thus ignored by his father, and set aside by his brothers, there
was only his mother to stand up for Hans, but she only loved him all
the more, and he in return was devoted to her.
One day Kurt and Conrad came home from the village, where they had come
off victors in every trial of strength on the green, and so proud were
they of this success, that they begged their father to let them start
on their travels, and go and visit the king whose kingdom lay on the
opposite side of the great arm of the sea near which stood their hut.
At first the father did not like the idea of parting with his sons; but
when he looked at them, and saw what great strong fellows they were, he
felt convinced that they would certainly win riches and renown; so he
agreed to let them go, fully convinced they would return both famous
and wealthy.
Not long after this, the father heard in the village that a big ship
lay in the offing, so he told his wife she must get new shoes for Kurt
and Conrad, as well as money for the journey, for he meant them to go
to the great kingdom across the water, where they would be sure to win
both fame and riches.
The old woman did her best to obey her husband’s behests. She took the
great hanks of flax she had spun during the winter, and having sold
these in the village, she bought new shoes for Kurt and Conrad with
some of the money, keeping the rest for their journey.
But when Hans saw all these preparations going on, he had no rest or
peace, and a great longing came over him to be allowed to go with his
brothers.
Plucking up his courage, he went to his father, and begged and
entreated to be allowed to accompany Kurt and Conrad.
At first the old man was very irate at what he considered Han’s
impertinence, and angrily refused. But when he came to think over it,
he decided that he would rather not have him at home alone, when the
others were away, so he told him he might go, but only on condition
that he did not join his brothers. He must keep quite apart from them,
so that they need not be ashamed before strangers of its being known
that such a small, useless fellow was their brother.
Although this was not a very gracious permission, Hans was only too
pleased to get leave of any sort, so he hastened to his mother and
begged her to try and fit him out also, like his brothers.
Kurt and Conrad, hearing that Hans had likewise got permission to go,
hastened their own preparations and started at once, as they did not
want him to go with them; but he was so anxious to get away and helped
his mother so effectually, that he was ready almost as soon as they
were.
When he came to bid her farewell, she gave him a small purse with her
savings in it, and then handed him her oven crutch. [2]
“Take this also, Hans,” she said; “you will find it very useful, for
you can use it either as a walking-stick or a weapon of defence, if you
are in danger, and you will never lose your way, so long as you have it
in your possession.”
Hans thanked her warmly, bade his father good-bye, and with another
loving farewell to his mother, went forth on his travels, his cat
sitting gravely on his shoulder.
He hurried along as quickly as he could, hoping he would yet be in time
to overtake his brothers, but when he got down to the shore there was
no sign either of them or the ship, which had evidently sailed some
time before.
Unwilling to lose any chance, Hans kept along the shore for some time,
thinking that perhaps the vessel had gone into some of the “fiords”
that surrounded the coast; but, seeing no sign of a sail, he at last
left the beach as the sun was setting, and took a path leading up
towards the hills.
His cat, who had sat on his shoulder all this time, now jumped to the
ground, purring and arching his back as he trotted beside Hans.
Suddenly, a huge bird came flying rapidly towards them. Hans at once
saw that it was a dragon, so he took a firm grasp of his iron crutch,
waited till the creature was within reach, then, throwing it, hit him
so cleverly that he fell to the ground; whereupon the cat, making a
spring, speedily put an end to the monster.
When Hans ran up, he saw that the bird held something white between its
talons, and, stooping down, perceived it was a little girl, who cried
most piteously.
Hans tenderly lifted the little thing in his arms, and tried his best
to quiet her. But it was not till the big cat came up purring and
rubbing itself against the wee creature, that she ceased her sobbing
and was comforted.
Hans was now somewhat at a loss as to what he had best do. Night was
coming on; there was no house in sight, and no food at hand. But just
as he was driven to his wits’ ends, he saw a little old man running
towards him, puffing and panting. As soon as he came up to Hans, he
thanked him warmly for having rescued his child from the dragon.
He was a quaint-looking little man, almost a dwarf, but when he took
the child in his arms and began to soothe and quiet it, his face was so
kind and gentle, that Hans, who had expected to pass the night
out-of-doors, gladly accepted his offer to go home with him and stay
the night.
They walked on a long way, pussy always trotting by her young master’s
side, till at length they came to a big stone or rock.
Here the dwarf paused, and, knocking three times, the stone opened.
Then the dwarf bade Hans enter, and, giving three taps, the stone again
closed.
When Hans looked round, he was surprised to find himself in a fine
large room, fitted up with every comfort; great couches, spread with
soft rugs, ran along two sides; in one corner was the hearth, on which
a bright fire was burning; and on the other side was a table with some
chairs beside it, and covered with various papers and quaint
instruments.
The old man put the child into a pretty little cot, and after he and
Hans had partaken of some food, he invited the latter to rest.
Hans, nothing loath, threw himself on one of the couches, with his cat
beside him, and, thoroughly tired out with all the excitement of his
departure and the long distance he had walked, fell asleep almost as
soon as his head rested on the pillow. But even in his sleep he heard
the dwarf working at his papers during the greater part of the night
Next morning, after they had breakfasted and Hans was ready to start
forth on his travels, the dwarf again thanked him for his timely
rescue.
“I can never be grateful enough to you for saving my child,” he
continued. “And now I am going to give you three things, which I hope
will be useful to you, though nothing can ever cancel my debt to you.”
“Indeed you owe me but small thanks,” replied Hans, laughing; “it was
really my cat who saved your child, by killing the dragon ere I came up
to him.”
But though Hans declared he wanted no payment, the dwarf would take no
denial.
“You see this small stone,” he said; “it possesses the power of making
whoever holds it in his hand invisible. This sword,” he continued,
drawing forth a tiny but exquisitely damascened sword, “is both sharp
and strong, and though small enough to carry in your pocket, you have
but to express the wish when you need to use it, and it will at once
attain its full size and strength. And here,” he added, “is my third
gift. It is, as you see, but a tiny little ship, like a child’s toy, so
small that you can easily carry it also in your pocket, and yet,
whenever you desire, it will become as large as you may need it either
to go on a river or across the sea, and it further possesses the
property of being able to sail, no matter whether there is any wind or
not.”
It was in vain that Hans protested he had in no way earned such
valuable gifts. The dwarf insisted; so Hans was fain to take the
precious treasures, thanking him most warmly for his great kindness. He
then bade him farewell, kissed the pretty child, who clung round his
neck, and, taking up his iron crutch, shouldered his cat and departed.
CHAPTER II.
HIS WONDERFUL ADVENTURES, AND HOW HE RETURNED GOOD FOR EVIL.
When Hans got down to the shore again, he drew forth the little ship
from his pocket, and, putting it in the water, said—
“Ship, ship, grow larger.”
Immediately the tiny boat expanded, and behold a beautiful vessel lay
there at anchor.
Hans got on board, and then, having said where he wished to go, the
vessel sailed merrily along towards the kingdom on the opposite side of
the big sea.
When they were halfway across, a violent thunderstorm came on; but
though he noticed that the other vessels near him were tossed about by
the great waves, his ship sailed straight on towards its destination,
and never lay-to or swerved aside till it was safely anchored in its
destined port.
As soon as Hans landed, he said, “Ship, ship, grow smaller!” and
immediately the great vessel grew smaller and smaller, till it was like
a tiny little model which he could easily put into his pocket.
Making sure that he had both his other treasures safely stowed away,
Hans, with his faithful cat mounted on his shoulder, made his way
inland.
Presently he came to a small wood, and here, sitting down beneath a
fine, big oak tree, near which ran a bright sparkling stream, he
decided to remain for a short time, studying the people and their
habits, ere he went on to the king’s palace.
Thanks to his faithful cat, he never lacked food, for puss went out
night and morning, always returning with a rabbit or a bird for her
master’s dinner and supper.
Meanwhile, Kurt and Conrad on their arrival had gone straight to the
palace, and had asked the king’s permission to remain the winter with
him. Although he did not really require their services, the king,
seeing what fine strong fellows they were, gladly consented. So they
joined the royal household, and were soon known as the merriest among
the party, often boasting of their great feats of strength and the
valiant deeds they had done.
After some weeks, Hans too arrived at the palace. At first he kept
somewhat in the background, where no one noticed him, but whence he was
able to observe everything that went on.
Now, the king had no son, but an only daughter named Gerda, who was
both beautiful and wise. The king, who was getting old, was anxious to
see her happily married; but, although he had received numerous offers
for her hand from neighbouring princes and other strangers who had
heard of the princess’s beauty and wit, she had refused them all, for
Gerda was difficult to please.
At length one day, just at the commencement of winter, and when all the
foreign princes and courtiers were assembled in the big hall of the
palace, the king announced that he had quite made up his mind to give
his daughter, together with the half of his kingdom during his
lifetime, to whosoever would bring him by Christmas Eve, the three most
precious treasures in his kingdom.
These were, a chess-board and men, made of pure gold and silver; a
gold-handled sword, set with precious stones, in a golden scabbard, and
with an unbreakable blade, and which always killed your enemy; and a
wonderful bird with golden plumage, which, when it sang, could be heard
in every part of the kingdom, yet its wondrous melodies were so sweet
and soft, that they were not too loud even when quite near.
These marvellous treasures, said the king, had originally belonged to
his ancestors; but, during a great war with the giants, many years ago,
they had been carried off, and were now in possession of a terrible
ogress, who lived on a rocky and almost inaccessible island, and always
kept these treasures in a cave, on a shelf above her head, and they
could only be taken away while the giantess was asleep.
The courtiers did not pay much attention to the king’s words. They had
heard them before, and they also knew that all those who had ventured
on this quest, had either never been heard of again, or, if they
returned, were maimed both in body and mind.
Some of the foreign princes, however, started off, hoping they might
succeed. But when days elapsed and they did not return, Kurt and Conrad
thought they would like to try. Knowing how big and strong they were,
the task did not seem an impossible one to them, and they were eager to
make the venture.
Kurt, therefore, as the eldest, came first before the king, and said
that if he could have a ship and crew, he would gladly start in search
of the treasures.
The king at once acceded to his request, a vessel was fitted out, and
Kurt sailed away.
After many days, he at length reached the island, but, being still
daylight when they arrived, they kept well out of sight, and did not
attempt to land till it was dusk, when Kurt hoped the giantess might be
asleep.
Then, making his way cautiously to the cave where she lived, he peeped
in, and there, sure enough, lay the great ogress, fast asleep on her
bed.
Creeping cautiously along the floor, Kurt looked up for the shelf, and
there he saw the three golden treasures.
He hardly knew which to take first, so he decided to begin with the
most difficult one, and, cautiously stretching forth his hand, laid
hold of the bird, which sat on its perch with its head tucked under its
wing, thinking to put it in his pocket. But, unfortunately, he grasped
it too roughly, and immediately the bird began to screech so loudly,
that the whole cave shook and trembled.
In an instant the giantess sprang from her bed, caught hold of Kurt,
threw him down on the ground, and tied his hands and feet firmly with
ropes.
“Ha! ha!” she laughed. “Here is another one! What fools they all are,
to think they could outwit me! But this one will do nicely for my
Christmas dinner when I have fed him up a little.” And with these
words, and despite his loud cries and remonstrances, she trundled him
into a small cave at the back. “And you need not fear that I shall
starve you,” she grinned maliciously, “for I want you to get nice and
fat; at present you are so thin, you are not worth eating.” So saying,
she ran out of the cave and hurried down to the shore, hoping to catch
some of the crew, and so fill her larder still further.
But no sooner did the men see the monster running down to the shore,
than they rowed back to the ship with all their might, and, lifting the
anchor, set sail at once, and were soon out of sight
When the men returned home and described the awful ogress who had raced
down to the shore to catch them, the king feared there was but little
hope that Kurt would ever be heard of again. But after a few days,
Conrad began to think that if he had gone, he would have managed more
cleverly than Kurt, so he asked the king if he would fit out a ship for
him and let him try his luck.
The king, anxious to recover his treasures, at once agreed; and full of
hope, feeling quite sure his skill and cleverness would not fail him,
Conrad started on his journey.
But, alas! he was no more lucky than his elder brother. When he got to
the cave, he also found the giantess asleep, and, after considering
which of the three treasures he should take first, he decided for the
sword.
“The bird may make a noise if it sees me,” he thought, “whereas if I
have the sword, should the giantess awake, I will kill her, and then
secure all three treasures.”
So he watched for a few minutes to make quite sure that both the
giantess and the bird were asleep, then stealing cautiously on tiptoe
across the floor of the cave, he reached up to the shelf and stretched
his hand out to take the sword. But, alas! in his eagerness he only
grasped the handle of the weapon, and with a loud crash the scabbard
fell down.
The bird began to scream, and in an instant the giantess sprang from
her bed and had Conrad down on the floor, where she at once tied him up
with ropes, as she had his brother.
“Ha, ha!” she croaked. “Here is another one! Oh, these fools, these
fools! But if they will only come on fast enough, I need not stint
myself, for I shall have a well-stocked larder by Christmas-time!”
And ere he knew what was to happen to him, Conrad found himself inside
the small cave beside his brother Kurt.
“Don’t be afraid that I shall starve you,” laughed the ogress; “you
shall have plenty of food, and you must eat all you can, and get fat as
quickly as possible, and then I shall release you;” and she grinned and
laughed so loudly, that the whole cave shook and trembled as if there
had been an earthquake.
Soon after the second vessel had returned to the court, the men giving
the same account of what had occurred as those in the first vessel,
Hans suddenly disappeared. He had become such a great favourite at
court, that every one was very sorry when he thus suddenly vanished.
But he too was determined to try his luck, and see if he could not
carry off the treasures, and so win the beautiful Princess Gerda, who
had been most kind to him during his stay at her father’s court.
So one evening, just as the sun was setting, he walked quietly down to
the shore, Puss as usual sitting on his shoulder, and, having placed
his little ship in the water, and pronounced the magic words, he
arrived at the giantess’s island about the middle of the day.
Having landed, Hans took his stone out of his pocket, and thus at once
becoming invisible, started off for the ogress’s cave.
Looking in, he saw it was empty, so, although he was invisible, he
thought it better to hide behind a projecting bit of rock, in case she
might knock up against him.
As evening closed in, the giantess returned. But no sooner had she
entered the cave, than she sniffed about in all directions—
“Phew! it smells of humans here!” she muttered. Not seeing any one,
however, she concluded it must be the two men she was fattening up in
the inner cave. So, after a little time, she lay down on her bed. For
some time she could not sleep, and kept on muttering, “Phew! It is very
strange that I should smell those humans so strongly to-night! I could
have sworn there was a fresh human here!”
At last, after tossing about restlessly, she dropped off asleep.
Hans crept forth softly, but the fire on the hearth had died so low, he
could not well see his way, and stumbled over a small stone. In an
instant the golden bird raised its head, but just as it was going to
give a shrill scream, Hans’s big cat pounced on it and silenced it.
Then the giantess started up, and, jumping out of bed, began feeling
all round the walls, swearing angrily.
Hans knew that he must kill her, for, though he was invisible, if she
caught hold of him she would certainly kill him. He therefore drew the
sword which the dwarf had given him, out of his pocket and wished it to
grow bigger. Then, when the giantess came near him, and stretched out
her huge arms to throw him down, Hans, with one blow of his sword, cut
off her head, which rolled away into a corner.
Hans then blew up the fire, and began searching round the cave; in
addition to the king’s three treasures, he found several great chests
filled with gold and precious stones. Then he noticed that there was a
smaller cave at the back, and, lighting a pine knot, he entered and
found his brothers. He immediately loosened their bands, and they were
both so grateful to be freed from the terrible fate in store for them
that they ever after treated him as true brothers should.
They all three then set to work and carried the treasures from the cave
to the ship, and when everything had been taken on board they quickly
returned to the king’s country, where they arrived on Christmas Eve,
greatly to the astonishment of the whole court, who had quite given
them up as lost.
But greater still was the surprise of every one, when Hans presented
the king with the three treasures which had been so long lost, and were
now once again restored to the kingdom.
The king was so delighted at having at last gained his wish, and
recovered the long-lost treasures, that he told Hans he should always
look upon him as a dear son, and that he should certainly marry his
daughter.
So Hans was dressed in royal robes, and very shortly after married the
fair Princess Gerda, who had long secretly admired him. The wedding was
held with all possible magnificence. No expense was spared, and gifts
were given to all the poor in the land.
The king then divided his kingdom in half, putting Hans in charge of
one; whereupon, he sent for his father and mother, and gave them a good
house and sufficient money to live in comfort for the rest of their
days. And the two elder brothers were also provided for.
Hans and Gerda reigned long and happily. Puss always had a place of
honour beside his beloved master, and lived long enough to see Hans’s
children and even grandchildren.
THE GIANTESS AND THE GRANITE BOAT
Once upon a time there lived a king and queen who were greatly beloved
by all their people. They had only one son, named Sigurd, who, even as
a boy, was distinguished for his marvellous skill and dexterity in all
manly sports and pastimes, whilst his strength was only equalled by his
wisdom and his handsome person.
Years passed on. Sigurd had become a man, when one day the king called
him to him.
“My son,” he said, “it is now time for you to choose a fitting bride. I
am getting old, and cannot expect to live much longer. You must take my
place in a few years, and must try to gain men’s respect and esteem by
showing yourself capable of winning a princess worthy to share your
throne. Visit first the country of Hardrada, my friend. His daughter is
indeed, I hear, a marvel of beauty and goodness.”
Sigurd at once prepared to start on his journey. With a few chosen
companions, he set sail in his noble galley, the high prow breasting
the waves, and the stern, all gorgeous with carving and gilding,
glittering in the sun. After sailing for some days over the tossing
waters, the vessel at length reached Hardrada’s country. It was night,
one of those glorious summer nights of the north, when the moon is
almost as brilliant as the sun. The bold shore, with its strange,
grotesque crags and peaks, seemed utterly unapproachable, till suddenly
a large creek or fiord was seen, at the head of which rose the king’s
palace. The windows were all ablaze with light, and the sounds of music
and revelry told the travellers that some banquet was in progress.
Leaving their ship, Sigurd and his companions proceeded towards the
palace, where they received the warmest of welcomes from the king and
his daughter Helga. The princess was indeed all she had been pictured,
tall and beautiful, and so gentle and charming that Sigurd made up his
mind to win her. Next morning he acquainted the king with the object of
his journey, and gained his consent. Hardrada was indeed anxious to
have a son-in-law to share the cares of his kingdom, which, now that he
was an old man, weighed heavily upon him. As a condition of his
remaining with Hardrada, Sigurd only stipulated that he should return
to his own country directly his father sent for him.
So the marriage of Sigurd the brave with Helga the fair took place with
great pomp and rejoicing, Thanes and nobles coming from all parts to
bring presents to the young people.
Sigurd and his wife loved each other very dearly, and their happiness
was completed when, after the lapse of a year, a son was born to them,
inheriting the beauty of the mother, and the strength and handsome form
of the father. Three happy years thus passed away, little Kurt being
two years old, when Sigurd received the news of his father’s death and
a recall to his native land.
It was a sad parting between Helga and her father; but Sigurd dared not
linger, and once more the beautiful Viking ship started on its voyage
through the sun-tipped waves, bearing the young king and his wife and
child.
For several days the wind was favourable; but when within a day’s sail
of Sigurd’s country the vessel ran into an extraordinary calm. Day
after day the sun blazed down fierce and strong; not a breath of air
was to be felt. In the forepart of the vessel, the men had all gone
below. Sigurd’s companions were also asleep, while he and his wife
remained on deck, beneath the awning, talking quietly, with little Kurt
playing at their feet. After a little, a strange drowsiness seemed to
overpower Sigurd himself, and, declaring he could no longer keep awake,
he too went below, and fell asleep like the others.
Helga was now quite alone on deck with her boy. Suddenly, as she was
playing with him, she saw a strange object moving slowly along the
smooth surface of the water. Shading her eyes with her hands, she
watched it, and as it came nearer she made out that it was a boat, with
a curious, ungainly form seated in it rowing.
Nearer and nearer it came, with silent, swift strokes, and as it
touched the vessel with a hard sound the queen saw that it was very
large and cut out of granite. With one spring the terrible giantess who
had been rowing it was on deck. Like one in a dream, the queen could
neither move nor utter a sound to arouse the king or the ship’s crew.
She seemed held by an invisible power. The giantess came up to her,
and, snatching away the child, placed him behind her; then she
proceeded to take off all the young queen’s beautiful embroidered
robes, leaving her only a single linen garment, and as she herself put
on Helga’s clothes, she gradually also assumed her shape and likeness.
Lastly, she seized the queen and placed her in the granite boat, saying
as she did so, in a terrible voice—
“Obey my words and my magic spell. Thou must neither rest nor pause on
the way, till thou reachest my brother in the lower regions.”
The poor queen, half fainting and utterly powerless, sat still and
silent in the boat like a statue. With a strong push the giantess sent
the boat from the vessel’s side, and it was speedily lost to sight.
Then little Kurt began to cry. In vain the giantess tried to soothe
him; the more she attempted it the worse he became, till at length,
losing all patience, she snatched him up and carried him down to the
king.
Waking him roughly, she upbraided him loudly for leaving her alone on
deck with the child.
“It was most careless and negligent of you,” she went on. “Some one
ought to have been left on guard while you were asleep. No one can tell
what may happen when one is thus left alone. As it is, I found it
impossible to quiet the child; I have therefore brought him down here,
which is the proper place for him. It is high time you roused your lazy
crew. A favourable wind has at last sprung up, and we can have a chance
of getting off this wretched ship.”
Sigurd was astonished at being addressed by his queen in such terms. In
all their married life he had never heard her speak like that. He,
however, decided to take no notice of it; she must be overtired with
the heat, he thought, and, answering her very gently, he endeavoured to
quiet the child. The little fellow, however, sobbed and cried as much
as ever.
By this time the crew were aroused, the sails hoisted, and, the wind
freshening splendidly, they reached land the following day. Here the
whole country was still in mourning for the late king. But the people
rejoiced greatly when it became known that Sigurd had returned in
safety. He was crowned amid universal acclamations, and at once took
the reins of government into his hands.
But ever since the strange calm at sea the king’s little son had never
ceased crying and sobbing, especially in the presence of his supposed
mother, while before that time he had been a remarkably happy,
affectionate child. The king, therefore, chose a nurse for him from
among the people at his court, and when he was with her the little
fellow seemed to be once more the bright, happy child he had been.
The king could not, however, understand the change that had come over
the queen ever since their journey. She who formerly had always been so
good and gentle, was now obstinate, cross, and untruthful. And ere long
others began to notice the disagreeable, quarrelsome nature of the
king’s wife.
Now, there were at the court two young men who were so devoted to
playing chess that they would sit for hours over their game, instead of
joining in the outdoor sports of the other young courtiers. As they
were the king’s cousins, their room was in the palace, and it happened
to be next to that of the queen. She had been particularly rude and
disagreeable to them ever since she came, and they would have been glad
to revenge themselves upon her in any way.
One day, hearing her moving about and talking angrily, they looked
through a slit in the door, and distinctly heard her say—
“When I yawn slightly, I grow small and dainty, like a young maiden;
when I give a bigger yawn, I grow into half a giantess; but when I
stretch out my arms and yawn with all my might, I return to my original
size, and become a mighty giantess.”
And as she said these words, she stretched herself, yawned frightfully,
as if her jaws would break, and suddenly grew into a monstrous and
terrible giantess. Then, stamping her foot, the floor opened, and up
came a three-headed giant, bearing a huge trough of raw meat. Greeting
the queen as his sister, he placed the trough before her, and she
devoured the contents, never resting till she had emptied it.
The two young courtiers watched this strange scene, though they could
not hear all that the giantess and her brother said to one another.
They were horrified to see how greedily she devoured the raw meat, and
amazed at the quantity she ate, for at the king’s table she only picked
daintily at the dishes. As soon as she had emptied the trough, the
three-headed giant disappeared in the same manner as he had come, and
the queen, giving a slight yawn, at once assumed her human figure
again. The young princes then returned to their game, discussing the
mystery in undertones.
And what of the king’s little son all this time? One evening, when the
nurse had lighted her lamp, and was playing with the child in her arms,
some of the boards in the centre of the floor opened, and a most lovely
lady, wearing only a single white linen garment, stepped forth. Her
waist was encircled by a heavy iron ring, to which was attached a
chain, which descended right down through the hole in the floor.
With a soft little cry, she ran up to the nurse, took the little boy in
her arms, kissed him and fondled him, and, after lavishing no end of
caresses on him, gently placed him back in his nurse’s arms and
disappeared in the same way as she had come, the floor closing over her
again. All this time she never spoke a single word.
The nurse was greatly amazed at the incident, but, startled though she
was, she did not say a word to any one. The next evening the same thing
occurred. The white-robed lady came up through the floor, took the
child, kissed and caressed him lovingly, and then replaced him in his
nurse’s arms. But this time, when she prepared to descend, she
murmured, in sorrowful tones, “Twice this happiness has been permitted.
Once more, and then all will be over.”
Then she disappeared, and the floor closed over her as before.
The nurse became greatly alarmed when she heard the white lady say
those words. She feared that some danger must threaten the child, and
yet she had been much taken with the stranger, who had caressed the boy
as if he were her own. She therefore thought it best to speak to the
king, tell him what had happened, and beg him to be present at the time
when the white-robed lady was wont to appear. The king listened
attentively to the woman’s story, and, suspecting foul play, promised
he would be there.
The following evening, therefore, found him betimes in the nursery,
seated in a chair, with his sword drawn, close to the spot where the
stranger had always appeared. He had not long to wait. With a faint
grating noise the boards opened, and forth stepped the beautiful
white-robed figure, with the iron ring round her waist, and the long
trailing chain.
In an instant Sigurd recognized in her his own beloved wife, Helga, and
quick as lightning he seized her in his arms, and with one stroke of
his sword cut the chain that fastened her. Immediately the most
terrible groans and rumblings issued from the earth, the whole castle
rocked and trembled, and every one thought that an earthquake was
taking place. But in a short time the unearthly sounds ceased without
any damage having been done.
Then Helga related to her dear lord all that had befallen her—how the
wicked giantess had come to the ship in her granite boat when they were
all asleep, and with her magic power had taken away all her clothes and
put them on herself.
“When she had placed me in the granite boat, it floated on by itself,
until the ship was quite out of sight,” she continued, “and then I
perceived we were going towards a large dark object, which, as we came
near to land, I saw was a huge three-headed giant. He wanted me to
marry him, but I steadfastly refused to be his wife, whereupon he
chained me up in a big lonely cave, telling me I should never be free
unless I consented. Every second day he came, repeating the same
request and the same threats. Then, as time went on and I saw no hope
of help, I began to think how I could escape his hands. At last I told
him that I would be his wife if he would allow me to visit my son on
the earth for three days running. At first he would not consent, but
when I persisted he gave in; but I had to promise that I would not say
who I was. He then placed this iron ring round my waist, to which he
attached a chain, the other end being fastened to himself. I hoped that
perhaps one evening you might be there when I came to see our little
Kurt. How sadly my heart failed me when the second evening passed
without my seeing you! But my prayers never ceased, and now my reward
has come. The terrible groans when you cut the chain must have been the
giant. He would fall when the strain was suddenly taken off the chain,
for he lives right under the castle. He probably broke his neck when he
fell, and the terrible shock must have been his death throes.”
Now the king saw clearly why he could not reconcile the behaviour of
the giantess with that of the gentle Helga, his own dear queen. The
hideous impostor, who had now reverted to her original form, was
summoned before the State Council, and, as additional evidence against
her, the two young princes related what they had heard and seen. She
was condemned to be stoned to death, and her body was put into a sack
and torn to pieces by wild horses.
Then the real queen was invested with all her rightful honours, and
soon won the hearts of her people. And little Kurt’s nurse was not
forgotten. She was married to a great nobleman, the king and queen
giving her a rich dowry. She and her husband remained to the end of
their days the friends of Sigurd and Helga.
GREYBEARD
CHAPTER I.
THE STRANGE ADVENTURES OF GEIR.
Once upon a time, there lived a king and queen in a magnificent palace,
surrounded by lovely gardens. Beyond them there stretched out great
fields and meadows, in which grazed large flocks of sheep and herds of
cattle, all of which belonged to the king, and beyond these again there
was a beautiful big forest. But in addition to all this, they had an
only child called Sigrid, who was known as the fairest princess in all
the land.
Now, the king of one of the neighbouring kingdoms wanted to marry the
princess, and as he was very rich, her father and mother thought they
could not do better than give him their daughter.
But Sigrid much preferred her young cousin Olaf, who, having lost his
parents when a child, had been brought up with her, and who was as
brave and handsome as the king (her suitor) was old and ugly.
When her father and the queen found that the princess would have
nothing to say to the old king, they determined to send Olaf away.
“But we must be careful how we do it, and pretend it is for his good,”
said the queen; “for remember, he has a fairy god-mother.”
So the king sent for Olaf his nephew, and told him he wished him to
travel for a year and see something of the world.
“For it is not a good thing,” said he, “for a young man always to stay
at home. Go, therefore, to all the neighbouring kingdoms, and see what
is done in other lands.”
The parting between Olaf and Sigrid was very sad, for he feared that
the king and queen would force her to marry the rich old king during
his absence, and Sigrid dreaded the dangers that might befall Olaf
during his travels. But they promised to remain true to one another,
and that nothing but death should part them. And then Olaf started on
his journey.
Now, on the borders of the king’s forest there lived an old man and his
wife. The old man was called Geir, and his wife Trude. The old couple
were very, very poor; their little hut contained only the barest
necessaries, but they had one cow, and having no children, the old man
and his wife managed to live on the milk from their cow, and on the
roots they gathered in the king’s forest.
One Sunday, Trude, feeling very tired, said she would stay at home and
rest, while her husband went alone to the village church. The pastor’s
sermon that Sunday was on charity, and Geir returned home greatly
delighted with what he had heard. In the evening, as they were sitting
beside the hearth, his wife asked him what the sermon had been about.
“Oh,” said Geir, “it was the best sermon I have ever heard. The pastor
said that, whoever gave away what he possessed, it would be returned to
him an hundredfold, and I mean to try it.”
“Ah,” said his wife, shaking her head, “I don’t think he can quite have
meant that. You must have misunderstood him.”
But Geir maintained that he was right, and so they went on disputing
for more than an hour without either convincing the other.
The next morning, the old man hastened into the forest, and getting
together a lot of woodcutters, he persuaded them to help him to build a
hundred stalls. His wife grew very angry, and scolded him well for his
folly, as she called it; but he turned a deaf ear to all her
remonstrance, and continued his work. When the stalls were ready, Geir
sat down and began to think who would be the best person to give his
cow to, and so get a hundred cows in return.
“Surely, there is no one so rich as the king,” soliloquized Geir; “he
could easily give me a hundred cows for my one cow.” And thus thinking,
he led forth his cow, despite all the angry protestations of his wife.
When he had gone about halfway, a tremendous storm arose. Heavy black
clouds rolled up from the north, the lightning flashed, and he could
hardly stand up under the drenching showers of rain and hail, whilst
the cow, terrified at the noise and darkness, struggled frantically to
get away.
“Alas,” sighed the old man, “I fear I shall have to let her go, for I
cannot hold on much longer. It is so dark, I cannot see a step before
me, nor do I know in which direction to travel! Alas, alas! it will be
a wonder if I ever reach home alive!”
While he was thus wandering helplessly about in the dark, bewailing
himself, and not knowing which way to turn, he suddenly saw an old
woman standing before him, with a large sack on her shoulders.
“What are you doing out in such weather with your cow?” she asked.
Then Geir told her why he had set forth with his cow, and what a rich
return he hoped to get.
“You will certainly lose your own cow, in place of getting a hundred
new ones, and probably lose your own life too,” said the old woman.
“You had much better give me your cow, which is leading you a fine
dance, and take this sack in exchange. See, you can easily carry it on
your back, and I promise you, you will find it contains good flesh and
bones.”
At first Geir would not hear of the exchange; but finding the animal
grow more and more restive and wild, he at last consented, and no
sooner had the old woman got the cow, than both she and it disappeared.
After some difficulty, the old man managed to lift the sack on to his
shoulders, and, the storm having exhausted itself, made the best of his
way home, groaning and panting under his burden, which seemed to grow
heavier and heavier as he went on.
At length he reached his hut, and told his wife what had happened to
him, making a great to do over the sack he had carried, and all the
good food it contained.
“Oh dear, oh dear!” cried Trude, wringing her hands. “I do think you
grow more stupid every day! It was bad enough to take away our only
cow, and now you come back bringing an old sack!”
But Geir told her not to scold. She had better fill the big pot with
water and put it on the fire, for had not the old woman told him the
sack contained good flesh and bones?
Trude did as she was told, though grumbling the while, and when the pot
began to boil, Geir went to the sack to untie it. But, behold, no
sooner did he touch the string than the sack began to move and twist
and turn about.
“There is something alive inside,” cried Trude, terrified; “open it
quickly.” And when Geir had untied the string, out stepped a little man
dressed from head to foot in grey; even his hair and beard were grey.
“If you want to cook anything for your supper,” he cried laughingly, “I
hope you will try your hand on something else than me.”
Poor Geir was struck dumb with amazement; but his wife made up for his
silence, and jeered and laughed at him for his folly and stupidity.
“First you get rid of our only means of support, and now, when we know
not how or where to get food for ourselves, you bring home another
mouth to feed, and so add to our burden. You surely must have lost the
little wit you ever had!”
And thus the war of words raged till the man in grey said—
“Your wrangling will do none of us any good. Rather let me go out and
see if I cannot bring back some food for supper. We shall certainly not
grow fat on your quarrels.”
So saying, and without awaiting a reply, he opened the door and sallied
forth in the darkness, and ere the old couple could come to any
decision as to who or what he was, good geni or wicked sprite, the grey
man returned, bringing back with him a nice fat sheep ready killed.
“There,” he said, throwing it down, “now you can prepare some food, so
that we may eat.”
Geir scratched his head, and looked at Trude. She returned the glance,
and then they both looked at the grey man. Surely he must have stolen
the sheep! They did not know what to do.
But at length hunger got the better of their scruples, and, following
the directions of Greybeard, as they called him, they cut up the sheep,
cooked a portion of it for their supper, and lived in comfort on the
remainder for several days. When that sheep was finished, Greybeard
brought in another, then a third, then a fourth, and also a fifth.
By this time Greybeard had become a very welcome guest, and the old
people wondered how they could ever have lived without him.
CHAPTER II.
HOW GREYBEARD OUTWITTED THE KING AND WON PRINCESS SIGRID.
And now we must take a peep at the king’s palace.
It was just a year since Prince Olaf had started on his travels, and as
nothing had been heard of him from any of the knights or wandering
minstrels who travelled about from one country to another, the king and
queen told Sigrid that it was no use waiting any longer, and that she
must marry the rich old king.
In vain she protested that she would rather not marry at all if she
could not wed Olaf. But the king said that was all nonsense; princesses
must marry. And so the preparations for the wedding were begun, for
both the king and queen determined that the marriage feast should be on
a most magnificent scale. All the neighbouring kings and queens, and
princes and princesses were invited, and as the feasting was to
continue for a whole week, all the royal cooks and bakers were busy
from morning till night.
Now, the royal shepherd had noticed that, for some time past, one of
the sheep from his flocks disappeared every few days. He puzzled his
head to try and find out the cause, but so far he had not succeeded,
and when the fifth sheep disappeared he went to the king and told him
what had happened.
“There surely must be a thief about the court,” he added. “That is the
only way I can account for the loss of the sheep.”
On hearing this the king got very angry, and immediately made inquiries
if any strangers had been seen in the neighbourhood lately. At first he
could learn nothing; but at last one of the servants said he had heard
there was a little man dressed in grey whom no one knew, and who lived
in the hut of old Geir and his wife.
Then the king sent messengers to the hut, commanding the immediate
presence of the stranger in the great audience hall of the palace.
The old couple were greatly terrified when they heard this message.
They made sure that their kind guest, through whose means they had been
preserved from starvation, would be hanged as a thief. But Greybeard
did not seem the least frightened, and prepared cheerfully to return
with the king’s messenger.
When he entered the great hall, the king asked him if he was the man
who had stolen the five sheep.
“Yes, sire,” replied Greybeard; “I do not deny it.”
“And pray, may I ask why you did it?” demanded the king.
“I did not go very far beyond my rights,” replied Greybeard. “Besides,
the old people who live in the hut yonder, are no longer able to
support themselves,” he continued; “they had no food, while you, oh
king, have plenty, and more than you can possibly use. It seemed only
fair to me, therefore, that they should have as much as they needed, of
that which you did not require, and could not use.”
The king was at first inclined to be angry at this cool rejoinder; but
he then became amused at Greybeard’s coolness—it just reminded him of
what Prince Olaf used to do. So he laughed, and asked him if the art of
thieving was the only thing he had ever learned.
“No, sire,” replied Greybeard, smiling; “I took no more than I had a
fair right to, neither did I take it for myself, nor did I deprive you
of anything you really needed.”
“Well,” said the king, “you certainly are a funny fellow, and always
ready with an answer. But though I won’t hang you for stealing my
sheep, I must give you a lesson. To-morrow I will send my servants into
the forest with my young red bull. If you succeed in stealing him, you
shall be pardoned, but if you fail, you shall be hanged.”
“I do not think I could steal the bull,” replied Greybeard, “for, of
course, you will have him carefully guarded.”
“That is your affair,” answered the king; “see that you do not fail.”
When Greybeard returned to the hut, the old people received him with
great joy, for they feared they should never see him again. He asked
them if they had a stout rope, as he would need it next morning. Trude
searched in her cupboards, and luckily found a nice bit of strong rope.
This she gave Greybeard, and then all three retired to rest.
At break of day, Greybeard got up very quietly, dressed himself, and,
taking the rope, left the hut.
He went to that part of the forest where he knew the king’s servants
must pass with the young bull. Climbing up into a big oak tree that
stood close to the side of the road, he wound the rope round his body,
and, crawling along a thick branch, he dropped gently from it, the rope
under his arms, and his head hanging on his breast.
Presently he heard the king’s servants coming along with the young
bull. As they came near the tree, they looked up, and saw, as they
thought, the grey man, hanging apparently lifeless from the branch.
“Aha!” said one, “no doubt he has been robbing others beside our king,
and so they have hanged him! Serve him right, the rascal; he will not
trouble us again, or try to steal the bull!” So they passed on, quite
satisfied that their enemy was dead.
But no sooner were they out of sight, than Greybeard climbed down, and
taking a short cut through the brushwood, known only to himself, he was
soon well in advance of the men. Quickly climbing up another big oak
that stood near the road by which the king’s servants had to pass, he
again twisted the rope round his body and hung down from the branch.
When the men arrived with the bull, they were greatly surprised to see
another grey man hanging from the tree.
“Could there possibly be two Greybeards?” they asked each other, “or
was there some magic at work?”
“Listen,” said the chief servant, “we will leave the bull here, run
back to the other tree, and find out whether there are two Greybeards,
or whether the same man hangs from both trees.”
So saying, they fastened the bull to the tree with a stout rope, and
ran back the way they had come.
No sooner were they out of sight, than Greybeard quickly dropped to the
ground, untied the bull, and led him away to the hut.
“Here, friends,” he called out to the old people, “here is food in
plenty. Kill the bull; we will have a good roast of beef. You can then
salt down the rest, and make candles out of the fat; but his skin you
must keep for me!”
The delight of the old people at the prospect of such a supply of good
food, can well be imagined.
The king’s servants meanwhile, having gone back to the first oak tree
and finding no one there, had returned to the second tree, but when
they found that both the bull and Greybeard had disappeared, they began
to realize that a trick had been played upon them. So there was nothing
to be done but to return to the palace and tell the king what had
happened.
After hearing their tale, the king at once sent a messenger to
Greybeard, telling him to come with all possible speed to the palace.
The old couple greatly feared, when they heard his message, that some
evil was intended towards Greybeard, and quite expected the king would
hang him.
But Greybeard told them to keep up a good heart and not to weep; and,
whistling cheerfully, he appeared before the king without any sign of
fear or dread.
“Was it you who stole my bull?” asked the king.
“I did not steal it, sire; I had to take it, in order to save my life,”
replied Greybeard.
“Well,” said the king, “I suppose that is true, I will therefore pardon
you again, if you can this night manage to take away the sceptre from
under my pillow without waking either the queen or me.”
“That is beyond the power of any man to do,” replied Greybeard; “for
how can I get at night into your palace, which is always guarded? much
less into your bedchamber!”
“Nay, that is your affair; you must see to that,” replied the king.
“And remember that, if you fail, it means losing your life.” And with
these words he dismissed him.
Then Greybeard returned to the old couple, who welcomed him as if he
had indeed returned to them from the dead. Trude had roasted the finest
joint, gathered a big bowl of whortleberries, and baked some nice crisp
girdle cakes, so they had a great feast, after which Greybeard asked
her to give him one of her nice sleeping-potions which she made for
Geir when his rheumatism was very bad.
“That I will gladly, my son,” said Trude, heartily. She quickly hung
her pot over the glowing embers, putting in henbane and many other
herbs, and when the potion was ready she poured it into a little bottle
and gave it to Greybeard.
The sun had by this time set like a golden ball, tinting the great
brown stems of the tall pines with a rich crimson glow, as Greybeard,
with the bottle carefully placed in his coat pocket, made his way back
to the castle.
Watching his opportunity when the sentry at the little postern gate had
turned his back, he slipped through the gate and hid himself in a dark
corner behind one of the great buttresses. Presently he heard the gates
close for the night, so that there should be no possibility of a thief
getting in.
When Greybeard thought he had allowed a sufficiently long time to pass
to admit of every one, including the king and queen, being soundly
asleep, he stole quietly and cautiously out of his hiding-place and
along the great passages, till he reached the royal bedchamber.
Carefully opening the door, he crept softly up to the big couch on
which reposed the king and queen. Making sure that they were sound
asleep, he drew forth his little bottle, poured some of the contents on
his handkerchief, and dropped it lightly over the faces of the royal
couple.
He waited for a few minutes to see that the sleeping-drops had taken
effect, and then, slipping his hand under the king’s pillow, he slowly
and cautiously drew forth the great golden sceptre, buttoned it safely
inside his coat, and, removing the handkerchief, he hastened back to
his hiding-place behind the buttress, and as soon as the gate was
opened at daybreak, he ran back to old Geir’s hut.
The next morning, when the king and queen awoke, the former put his
hand under the pillow, and behold the sceptre was gone!
“Ah, that rascal has been too clever for us again!” cried the king, and
immediately sent another messenger to Greybeard to summon him to the
castle at once.
This time Geir and Trude made sure the king would hang Greybeard, and
were almost heart-broken as they bade him farewell.
“Did you yourself steal the sceptre from under my pillow last night
while we were asleep?” asked the king.
“Yes, oh king,” replied Greybeard. “I did not steal it, however; but
took it, as you told me. I had to do it to save my life.”
“Well,” said the king, “you certainly are a clever fellow. I will
therefore pardon you all you have done if this night you can carry off
both the queen and me, out of our bed. If, however, you fail to do so,
you shall certainly be hanged without hope of forgiveness.”
“That is not possible for any one to do unassisted,” said Greybeard.
“Oh, that is your affair; see you to that,” answered the king, and
dismissed him.
Greybeard returned to his hut. The old people were greatly rejoiced to
see him, for they quite expected the king would have hung him; but he
was more silent than usual, and after they had finished their evening
meal, and the old people had gone to bed, Greybeard went out and walked
in the moonlight under the tall trees, planning how to carry out the
fresh task given him.
Presently he returned to the hut and took down the old man’s
wide-brimmed felt hat that hung on a nail at the back of the door.
Boring holes in the brim, he stuck in them some of the candles which
Trude had made from the fat of the bull, and also fastened candles in
his belt, and then, taking the great leather sack which Geir had made
out of the bull’s skin, he returned to the palace and stood in front of
the chapel steps which faced the king’s bedroom. Laying down the sack,
he lighted all the candles he had brought, sticking them on his
shoulders and wherever he could fasten them, and then rang the chapel
bell.
This unusual sound in the middle of the night wakened the king and
queen. Jumping hurriedly out of bed, they hastened to the window, and
there, standing outside the chapel door, they saw a figure, all blazing
with light. Greatly startled, they thought it must be a spirit.
“Such a visitor must be received with all honour,” said the queen. “Let
us go out and ask his protection and goodwill.”
So they put on their very grandest clothes and went out to meet the
supposed spirit. Falling on their knees, they begged him to tell them
why he had come, and hoped he would not be too severe with them, or
want them to give away too large a portion of their treasure.
Greybeard, looking very stern beneath the light of the blazing candles,
said he did not want any of their money, but they must both get inside
the sack which he placed on the steps.
“Is that all?” cried the king, quite relieved. “Why, that is very
easily done!” And, helping the queen in first, he crept in after her.
But no sooner were they both inside than Greybeard pulled to the
string. In vain the king kicked and threatened, the queen adding her
cries and tears. Greybeard quietly blew out all the lights, and
dragging the sack rapidly across the yard, said—
“I am no spirit, oh king, but your old friend Greybeard. You see, I
have got you and your queen out of your beds as you commanded me to do,
and now it is for me to make my conditions. I will not let you out of
the sack unless you promise me your forgiveness for what I have done,
and also give me your royal word that you will grant the request I will
presently make you.”
The king was so frightened and helpless, fearing that he might die ere
Greybeard opened the sack, that he willingly gave his royal word to
grant his request, whatever it might be. Whereupon Greybeard untied the
sack, and when the king and queen had crept forth, looking very
crestfallen, Greybeard said that, as next day was the princess’s
wedding-day, he had now to demand the hand of the fair Sigrid in
marriage, as well as the half of the kingdom during the king’s
lifetime; and, further, that old Geir and his wife, who had befriended
him in his poverty, should also live at the palace, and be amply
provided for.
The king, having given his royal word, could not of course retract, so
he and his queen returned to the palace very sad and sorrowful, for
now, instead of having the rich old king for a son-in-law, they had to
accept this terrible stranger and lose the half of their kingdom as
well.
Greybeard meanwhile returned to the cottage, and when he told Geir and
his wife that instead of losing his life he was going to marry the
princess the next morning, and that they also were to be provided for,
they could hardly believe his words.
“And now you must put on these smart clothes I have brought you, and go
back with me,” added Greybeard; and as soon as the old couple were
ready, they returned with him to the palace.
The morning of the wedding rose bright and sunny, and the old king, who
had arrived, was lodged in the palace. Leaving Geir and Trude among the
assembled guests, Greybeard went down into the beautiful gardens, and
there, seated on the stone bench near the fountain, he saw Sigrid,
looking sad and pale. She had heard of the grey stranger and all his
wonderful doings, and though glad that she was not to marry this ugly
old king, she could not forget Olaf.
Hearing a step approaching, she looked up and saw Greybeard coming
towards her.
“Fair princess,” he said, kneeling down before her. “Do not fear me,
but lay your hand in mine and trust me; believe me, I only wish to make
you happy.”
His voice was so soft, and he spoke so gently, that Sigrid, despite his
ugly grey beard, after a moment’s hesitation, placed her hand in his.
No sooner, however, had she done so, than the quaint grey figure
disappeared, behold! Olaf himself stood before her, and with a glad cry
she threw herself into his outstretched arms.
Together they then hastened to the king and queen, and Olaf told them
how, by the aid of his fairy godmother, he had been able to help the
old couple who had fed and sheltered him, and also to claim his
cousin’s hand, when his year of travel was ended.
The king having given his word, there was nothing further to be said,
and the old king had to return to his own country.
The wedding was one of the grandest that had ever been seen, and the
feasting lasted a whole month. Olaf and Sigrid lived long and happily
together, and after the king’s death Olaf succeeded to the kingdom,
which he ruled with such wisdom and goodness, that his reign has ever
since been known as “The reign of King Olaf the Good.”
LITILL, TRITILL, THE BIRDS, AND THE PEASANT LAD
There once reigned a king and a queen, and in the same country there
also lived a poor old man and his wife. The king had an only daughter,
called Enid, who was greatly beloved by both her father and mother.
They spared no expense, and she had the best masters and governesses,
and a number of servants to wait upon her; but notwithstanding that she
was so carefully watched and looked after, she suddenly disappeared.
The head-governess said she had left her in her room only for a few
minutes practising her harp, with two of her maidens in attendance, and
when she came back she found both the girls fast asleep, and the
princess gone. Inquiries were made of every one, but nothing could be
heard of the princess. No one had seen her; she had vanished in the
most mysterious manner. The king, in despair, sent out messengers in
all directions, and spent a great part of his treasure searching for
her; but all in vain. Then, at last, he vowed that he would give the
princess in marriage to whoever should be fortunate enough to find her,
and also give him the half of his kingdom. But though many of the
knights and nobles about the court, eager to secure so great a prize,
went off in search of her, they one and all returned empty-handed.
Now, the poor old man who lived outside the palace grounds had three
sons. Their names were Osmond, Tostig, and Harald. The two eldest boys
were greatly beloved by their parents; but Harald, the youngest and
handsomest, was disliked by his father and mother, and both his elder
brothers ill-treated him and made him do all the work, while they went
out shooting and fishing.
When the boys were grown up, Osmond came to his parents, and said he
would like to start off and see the world, and try to win fame and
riches for himself.
His father and mother were quite willing he should do so, and providing
him with a new pair of boots and a large bag of food, he started off on
his journey.
After he had gone a long, long way, he arrived at a little hillock.
Here he sat down to rest, and unpacked his bag of provisions.
Just as he was beginning to eat, a tiny little man, dressed in grey,
came up to him, begging for a morsel of food. Osmond angrily ordered
him away, threatening to beat him if he did not go quickly.
After he had rested, Osmond went on again a long, long way, till he
came to another hillock. Here he again sat down to rest, and began to
eat. But he had hardly commenced than a still smaller and shabbier
little man, dressed in green, came up to him and asked him for a morsel
of food. Osmond spoke angrily to him, and sent him away with a volley
of abuse.
He then went on again a long, long way, till he reached a large open
glade in the wood. Here he sat down on the soft, mossy grass at the
foot of a big beech tree, and thought he would eat another morsel. But
no sooner had he opened his bag and taken out the food, than a whole
flock of birds flew down beside him; but he angrily chased them away,
and then, having rested himself, went on his way, till he came to a big
cave. Looking in, and seeing no one, only a lot of cattle, he thought
he would go in and wait till the dawn arrived.
Just as the sun was setting, an enormously big giantess walked in.
Osmond was greatly startled, but, taking courage, he went up to her,
and asked whether he might stay the night there.
The giantess said yes, on condition that in the morning he would do the
work she would require of him. This he promised he would do; so she
allowed him to remain the night, she herself retiring into an inner
cave.
The next morning the giantess told him that he must clean out the cave,
and put down fresh bedding for the cattle, and that he must have it all
finished before the evening, else she would take his life. With these
words she went away.
Osmond took up a prong he saw standing in a corner, but no sooner did
he begin to turn up the straw than the prong stuck fast in the bedding.
In vain he pushed and pulled and tried to drag it out, the prong
remained firmly fixed; and when in the evening the giantess came home
and found that the cave had not been cleaned out, she took hold of
Osmond and hung him up to a nail in the cave.
Meanwhile Tostig, the second son, thought he, too, would like to go out
into the world to seek his fortune, for he felt sure his brother by
this time must be quite a rich man. So he told his parents that he did
not care to remain at home now his elder brother was away, and with
only that stupid Harald at home; so having gained their consent, he,
too, started off, provided with a pair of new boots and a big bag of
provisions.
But he was not more fortunate than Osmond had been. He flouted the
little men while he rested on the hillocks, he chased and killed some
of the birds who came flocking round him for crumbs; and when he
reached the cave, he also received leave from the giantess to remain
the night, on condition that he cleaned out the cave next morning. When
he went and took up the prong to throw out the old bedding, it stuck
fast in the straw, and no efforts of his could move it. So the giantess
coming home, and finding that he had failed to accomplish his task,
took him and hanged him beside his brother.
So now there was only the youngest son, Harald, left. But though he was
the only one at home, his parents did not love him any better, and the
poor lad often felt that his presence reminded them of their lost sons,
and that they regretted not having sent him away in their place. So he
also decided to go away.
“I do not suppose I shall win riches and fame. All I hope is that I may
be able to earn enough to support myself, and be no longer a burden to
you.”
Then his parents told him he might go; but instead of nice strong new
boots, they only gave him an old pair of his brother’s, and his sack
contained nothing but some hard, dry crusts.
But Harald started off with a light heart, and as it chanced he, too,
took the same road his brothers had done, and presently he came to the
first hillock. “I think my brothers must have rested here, if they felt
as tired as I do,” he said, “so I will do the same.” And seating
himself on the hillock, he began to eat one of his dry crusts, when,
looking up, he saw a little old man in grey standing beside him.
“Will you share your crust with me? I am very hungry, and have had no
food to-day,” he said.
Harald pitied the old man, who looked so feeble and tired. He begged
him to sit down beside him and share his meal. When they had done, the
old man got up, and, after thanking him, said, “My name is Tritill.
Although I am old and feeble, if ever you are in need of help, call me,
and I will come to you.” So saying, he went round the back of the
hillock and disappeared.
Harald then continued his journey till he came to the second hillock.
“I feel sure my brothers must have rested here,” he said. “It is a long
way from the last hillock. I, too, will rest here awhile.” And he sat
down, and opening his bag, took out another crust. Hardly had he done
so when a tiny, shabby, little old man, dressed in green, came up to
him and asked for a morsel of food. Harald very good-naturedly asked
him to sit down beside him, and shared his crust with him. When they
had finished eating, the little green man got up, and, after thanking
Harald, said—
“Call me, if ever you think I can do you a service. My name is Litill.”
And he, too, went away, and was soon out of sight.
Harald then continued his journey until he came to the large open glade
in the wood.
“I am sure my brothers must have rested here,” he thought. “I will do
the same.” And he sat down and took out another crust. No sooner had he
done so than a great flock of birds came down. They circled round and
round him, and seemed so hungry and fought so eagerly over every crumb
he threw them, that Harald’s heart was filled with pity. “Poor little
things!” he said; “they need it more than I do.” And he broke up the
remaining crusts and threw the crumbs among them.
When they had eaten up every crumb, the biggest bird alighted gently on
Harald’s shoulder and whistled softly—
“If ever you think we can do you a service, call us. We shall hear you
wherever we are, for we are your birds.” And ere he had recovered from
his astonishment, they had all flown away and were out of sight.
Harald then continued his journey, until he, too, came to the big cave.
Looking in, he saw it was full of cattle, and hanging from a beam in
one corner he saw the bodies of his two brothers.
Startled at the sight, Harald’s first impulse was to go away; but he
thought he must first bury his brothers. So he took down the bodies,
and seeing a spade near the entrance, he speedily dug a grave and
buried them in the sand outside the cave. Just as he had finished, the
giantess arrived.
Harald, who was very tired, asked her if he might stay the night there.
“You may do so, if you will promise to do what I tell you in the
morning,” answered the giantess.
This Harald agreed to, and he slept that night in the cave.
Next morning, the giantess, who had slept in an inner cave, told him
that he would have to clean out the cave, and put down clean bedding
for the oxen.
“But remember, if your work is not finished when I come home, I shall
hang you the same as I did your brothers;” and so saying she went away.
Harald took up the prong standing in the corner and began his work. But
no sooner had he pushed the prong into the bedding and tried to lift it
than it stuck fast to the ground. In vain he used all his strength, the
prong remained firmly fixed. In his despair he called out: “Oh, dear
Tritill, come and help me!”
No sooner had the words passed his lips than he saw Tritill standing
beside him, who asked what he could do for him. Harald showed him the
difficulty he was in.
Then Tritill called out: “Prick prong and shovel spade!” and
immediately the prong pricked up the bedding and the spade shovelled it
away, till in a very short time the cave was all cleaned out and fresh
straw put down. Harald thanked him warmly for his help, and Tritill
went away.
When the giantess came home in the evening and saw that the work was
done, she said to Harald—
“Oh, man, man! you have not done this by yourself! But I will let it
pass!” and she retired into the inner cave.
The next morning the giantess told Harald that she had some fresh work
for him to do. He was to carry her own bedding outside the cave, take
out all the feathers, spread them out in the sun to air, and then put
them back again.
“But remember, if when I come back in the evening there is a single
feather missing, I shall hang you as I did your brothers!” And with
these words she went away.
Harald carried out the great featherbed and the big pillows; and as the
sun was shining warm and bright, and there was not a breath of wind, he
ripped open the seams and spread out the feathers in the sun.
No sooner had he done so than a strong wind arose, and in one moment
all the feathers were whirled away, not a single one remaining.
In despair Harald called out: “Dear Tritill, dear Litill, and all my
dear birds—oh, come and help me if you can!” And almost before the
words had passed his lips, Tritill, Litill, and the whole flight of
birds, came bringing the feathers with them; and while Tritill and
Litill helped Harald to fill the bed and the pillows, and sew them up
again, the birds flew round picking up all the stray feathers, so that
none were missing. But out of each pillow they took one feather, and,
tying them together, told Harald that when the giantess missed them and
threatened to kill him, he was to tickle her nose with the feathers.
Thereupon Tritill, Litill, and the birds all disappeared.
When the giantess came home in the evening, she went up to her bed, and
threw herself down on it so heavily that the whole cave shook. Then she
began carefully feeling all over the bed, and when she came to the
pillows she cried out—
“Aha, man! I have caught you—there is a feather missing in each pillow!
Now I shall hang you like your brothers!”
But as she took hold of him, Harold quickly pulled the two feathers out
of his pocket and tickled her nose with them.
In an instant the giantess fell back on her bed looking terribly white
and frightened; but Harald laughingly gave her back her feathers,
telling her he did not want to keep them.
“Ah, man, man!” said the giantess, “I know you did not do this alone;
but I will let it pass this time!”
So this third night Harald also passed in the cave, and in the morning
the giantess said to him—
“I have some fresh work for you to-day. You must kill one of my oxen.
Then you must scrape and clean the skin to make a leather bag; cut up
the animal in joints ready for cooking; clean all the entrails, and
make spoons out of its horns. All must be finished ere I return this
evening. I have fifty oxen, as you see, and it is one of these I want
killed. I shall not, however, tell you which one I have fixed upon;
that you must find out for yourself. If all is done as I wish when I
return, you can depart in the morning and go wherever you like; and in
addition, as a reward, you may choose three things from among such of
my treasures as I value most. If, however, everything is not finished,
or if you kill the wrong animal, then it will cost you your life, and I
shall hang you the same as I did your brothers.” And so saying the
giantess departed.
Harald was sorely puzzled. How could he possibly decide which of the
animals the giantess wished killed? Then he remembered his friends.
“Dear Tritill, dear Litill, come once again to my aid,” he cried.
Hardly had the words passed his lips, than he saw them both coming
towards him, leading a huge ox between them. They at once set to work
and killed him, and while Harald cleaned the entrails and cut up the
joints, Tritill scraped the skin and prepared it for making the bag,
and Litill began fashioning the spoons out of the horns.
So the work sped along quickly and merrily, and all was ready ere the
sun sank to rest.
Harald now told his friends what the giantess had promised him if he
should have finished his task ere she returned.
“Can you advise me what to ask for?” he said.
Then they told him he should first ask for that which was over her bed,
then for the chest which stood beside her bed, and lastly for that
which was behind the wall of her bed.
Harald thanked them warmly for all they had done for him, and said he
would do as they had told him, whereupon the little men disappeared.
When the giantess came home in the evening and found that Harald had
finished all the tasks she had set him, she exclaimed—
“Ah, man, man! you never did all this alone; but you have conquered, so
I must let it pass.” And so saying she retired to rest.
The next morning, the giantess called Harald into the inner cave and
told him he might choose the reward she had promised him, and that then
he might go where he liked.
“Then,” said Harald, “if I may have whatever I like, I choose, first,
that which is above your bed; then the chest which is beside your bed;
and, lastly, that which is behind the wall of your bed.”
“Ah, man, man!” cried the giantess. “You have not chosen these things
by yourself; but I cannot refuse you; you are too strong for me, and
you have conquered, and I must give you the reward you claim.”
So saying, she mounted some steps above her bed cut into the rock, and,
opening a secret door, she led forth a beautiful maiden. This was none
other than the fair Princess Enid, who had disappeared so mysteriously
some time ago.
“Take her back to her father, and he will reward you as you deserve,”
said the giantess as she placed the princess’s hand in that of Harald.
She then opened the lid of the chest beside her bed. This was filled
with gold, pearls, and precious stones; and then moving aside the bed,
she touched a secret spring, and the wall sliding back, they saw the
blue sea, and anchored close to the cave lay a beautiful ship
completely fitted out, her sails all set, and her pennant flying, and
possessing the power of sailing wherever its owner wished, without aid
of either captain or crew.
When the giantess had handed him over these gifts, she told Harald that
he would henceforth be one of the happiest and luckiest of men.
Harald then carried the chest containing the gold and precious stones
on board ship, and then having arranged some soft cushions for the
Princess Enid, in the stern of the vessel, they quickly departed, and
reached her father’s country.
The delight of the king and queen on recovering their long-lost
daughter can be more easily imagined than described. They never tired
hearing of the wonderful adventures through which Harald had gone, and
the king ordered a great feast in honour of the rescuer of his child,
which ended with the wedding of Enid and Harald.
The king then made Harald his prime minister; and so well and so wisely
did he rule the country, that on the king’s death he was chosen to
succeed him, and he and Queen Enid lived long and happily together,
seeing their children and grandchildren growing up around them.
LAUGHING INGIBJÖRG
CHAPTER I.
THORWALD AND INGIBJÖRG ARE CRUELLY TREATED BY THEIR STEPMOTHER, WHO
TRIES TO GET RID OF THEM.
Long ago, when giants and ogres still walked about the earth, in a far
distant country, there once lived a king and queen. They had two
children, called Thorwald and Ingibjörg; but before the children were
grown up, the good queen died.
The king, who was very fond of his wife, was quite inconsolable at her
death. He lost interest in everything, shut himself up in his own
rooms, only coming out to sit and weep beside her grave.
This went on for so long, that at last his ministers came to him, and
told him that everything was going wrong in his kingdom, and that there
was a rumour abroad, that a neighbouring prince, hearing that the king
no longer took any interest in his affairs, meant to cross the water
and take possession of the king’s throne and lands. They therefore
begged him to rouse himself and look out for another wife, and either
go forth and seek her himself, or else send his ambassadors to try and
bring back a suitable princess.
At first the king would not listen to a word they said, but after a
time he saw that his ministers were right, so he agreed to fit out some
ships and send an embassy to several other countries in order to find
some fair princess worthy to share his throne.
Soon after the ambassadors had started and were once fairly on the high
seas, a great storm arose. The sky grew black as night, the thunder
roared and the lightning flashed, and the wind blew so strongly,
driving the ships in all directions, that the sailors quite lost their
reckoning; their rudders were broken, and they drifted about at the
mercy of the winds and waves. At length, after many days, they sighted
land; but when they came near, they saw it was quite an unknown shore.
The chief men of the expedition now disembarked, in order to make some
inquiries, leaving the sailors in charge of the ships.
For some time they could see no sign of any human habitation, and
thought they must have landed on some uninhabited island, but at length
they arrived at a small farm, consisting of a few wretched huts.
Not hearing a sound, and seeing no one about, they at first concluded
the place was deserted; but when they reached the last hovel, an old
woman came forth, who, despite her great age, was both tall and
stately, and at once asked them who they were and whence they had come.
“We have been driven here by the storm,” replied the leader, and he
then proceeded to tell her the object of their search.
“You certainly have been very unfortunate so far,” answered the old
woman, “and I fear there is but little chance of your finding what you
seek here.”
While they were talking, the sun had set, and as the weather showed
signs of again turning stormy, the ambassadors asked the old woman
whether she could give them shelter.
At first she absolutely refused, saying her miserable hut was not
fitted to receive people accustomed to live in royal castles; but, as
the storm increased, they continued to urge her to let them stay, till
at length she consented and bade them enter.
What was their surprise and astonishment to find the inside of this
apparently miserable hut richly fitted up like some kingly apartment
Handsome skins covered the floor, soft couches ran round the walls,
which were ornamented with richly chased shields and arms, and a bright
fire burnt cheerily on the hearth.
As soon as the men were seated, the old woman laid the great oaken
table which stood in the centre, and served the strangers with such
dainty dishes as might well befit a royal table.
“And do you mean to say that you live here all alone?” asked the chief
ambassador, during the meal.
“I might almost say that I do,” replied the woman, “for besides myself
there is no one here but my only child Guda.”
“And, pray, may we not see the maiden?” asked the ambassador; for they
were all wondering what the girl, living alone with her mother in these
strange surroundings, would be like.
Again the old woman demurred; but the more she pretended to hesitate,
the more the ambassadors urged her, till at last she consented, and
said she would bring her daughter.
When at last she entered by her mother’s side, the ambassadors were
almost startled by her marvellous beauty. Tall and fair, like a stately
lily, with a perfect wealth of golden hair, falling in shining masses
to the ground, Guda appeared before them like the goddess Freya.
Surely, they thought, nowhere could they find a lovelier maiden to fill
the vacant seat beside the king’s throne.
So, without further hesitation, they at once solicited her hand in
marriage, in the king’s name.
The old woman pretended to think they were only joking, and laughed at
the idea of the king seeking a wife in a peasant’s cottage, adding that
poor girls like her daughter had better remain at home, for such
grandeur was not for them, and their ignorance of the ways of the world
only brought them to shame instead of honour.
The king’s ambassadors, however, would not be put off, and the more the
old woman declared she could not part with her daughter, the more
determined they were to take her away with them. At last, seeing the
men would take no refusal, she consented to let the girl go, on
condition that they would bring her back again, if, on seeing her, the
king did not wish to marry her.
To this the ambassadors agreed, and then they all retired for the
night.
Next morning the men prepared to return to the ships, and the old woman
said her daughter would be ready to accompany them when she had got her
things together. Then, to their surprise, they found she had so many
packages that it needed all the ships’ crews to carry them to the shore
and put them on board.
The mother and daughter now went down to the beach together, talking
earnestly, but in such low tones that no one could make out what they
were saying; but one man heard the old woman say, “Remember, you must
send me back the big stone; I will manage the rest.”
And then they reached the shore, where the old mother kissed her
daughter, and, bidding her good-bye, wished her all good luck and
prosperity.
Then the anchors were weighed, the sails were hoisted, and the vessels
put out to sea, reaching their destination without any mishaps.
When the king heard that his ambassadors had returned, he went down to
the shore, accompanied by all the chief officers of his court, to bid
the travellers welcome, and when he saw the young girl whom the
ambassadors had chosen for his queen, he was greatly delighted, for she
was more beautiful than any maiden he had ever seen, and seemed as
sweet and good as she was lovely.
He conducted her back to the palace in great state. There a magnificent
banquet had been prepared, and soon after the wedding was celebrated,
amid the rejoicings of the whole island. The feast lasted three days,
and every one who saw the fair Queen Guda in her rich and costly robes,
seated on the throne beside her husband, declared no more beautiful
queen could possibly have been found, and though the king had loved his
first wife, he soon became so completely wrapped up in Guda, that her
word was law in everything.
Some months after the wedding, a war broke out in a neighbouring
kingdom, belonging to a cousin of the king, who had, therefore, to
start off and help him, as his enemies were too strong for him to fight
them alone.
The king, therefore, ordered out his war-galleys, and, as he expected
to be away some time, he, at the queen’s request, handed her his royal
signet ring, begging her to rule the kingdom during his absence, and be
a kind and loving mother to his two children, Thorwald and Ingibjörg.
This Guda promised she would do. So the king took a tender farewell of
his wife and children, and getting on board his ship, followed by his
men, a strong wind rapidly carried the vessels out of sight.
For some little time after the king had left, Queen Guda was very kind
to the children. She had them to dine at her own table, gave them fruit
and sweets and toys, and often took them for drives in her beautiful
chariot, with the cream-coloured horses.
Then one day she asked them to go down to the shore with her and play
some games.
It was a beautiful morning; the sun shone warm and bright, the blue sea
was smooth and glistening like a great sheet of glass, and as the tiny
wavelets receded, the golden sands were strewn with lovely pink and
violet shells and glistening feathery weeds of every hue and shade.
“Oh, Thorwald!” cried Ingibjörg, running up to her brother and laughing
merrily, her arms filled with long trails of crimson and green seaweed.
“Look how beautiful they are! Let us play at being king and queen, and
I will make two lovely crowns.”
“No; come here, children,” said the queen. She had walked some little
distance along the shore, and now stood beside a big square stone.
Then, as Thorwald and Ingibjörg came near her, she muttered, “Open, oh
stone!” And at these words the great square stone parted asunder,
showing a large cavity inside, and before the children knew what had
happened, Queen Guda had pushed them both in; the stone closed with a
snap, and, giving it a strong shove, she rolled the stone into the sea.
She then returned to the castle weeping, telling her attendants that
the children had run away, that she had called them to come back, but
all in vain, they would not obey; so she now sent out messengers in all
directions, pretending terrible grief at their supposed loss.
CHAPTER II.
HOW THORWALD AND INGIBJÖRG FOUND THEMSELVES AT THE WITCH’S ISLAND, AND
WHAT THEY DID.
The two children meanwhile, when they felt the stone closing, tried
their utmost to force it open. But all their efforts proved fruitless;
the stone remained shut, and the children soon felt, by the rapid
motion, that they were fairly out at sea, for, being a magic stone, it
floated on the surface of the water instead of sinking to the bottom.
The waves tossed it about for many hours, but at length the children
felt the motion getting less and less, until at last the stone lay
perfectly still.
“I think we must be near land now,” said Thorwald. “There is no motion
at all.”
“If you think that, why should not you say the same words the queen
did?” replied Ingibjörg.
So Thorwald waited a little longer in order to make sure it was not
merely a temporary lull, and then he called out loudly—
“Open, oh stone!”
And immediately the great stone parted asunder, and Thorwald saw they
were close to the shore.
The two children then slipped out, and paddled through the shallow
water to the land. But though they wandered along the fine dry sand for
some distance, they could see no sign of any habitation. They therefore
determined to try and build a little hut for themselves.
Now, Thorwald, although but a young lad, had always gone out hunting
with his father, who had given him a small gun and hunting-knife. These
and his flute, on which he played wonderfully well, the boy never
parted with, and he therefore had them with him when he and his sister
had gone out with the queen in the morning.
Fashioning a rough wooden spade out of some driftwood for Ingibjörg, he
used his knife to such purpose that a large hole was soon dug in the
dry sand. This he then covered over with branches cut from the
brushwood on the rocks, and leaving his sister to collect dry wood for
a fire, he went in search of some birds for their supper. But although
successful in shooting a couple, there was, alas! no fire to cook them,
and poor Ingibjörg, who was getting very hungry, looked sadly at the
food they could not eat.
“You pluck and prepare the birds,” said Thorwald, “and I will go
further inland and see if I cannot get some fire.”
So saying, he went up a narrow valley instead of, as heretofore,
keeping along the shore, and after he had gone some little distance, he
came to a small miserable-looking farm. He could see no one about, so
he climbed up the steep slanting roof of the centre hut and peeped down
the hole which served as a chimney.
There he saw an old, very ugly, and dirty woman, busily engaged raking
out the ashes from the hearth. But he noticed that half the cinders
tumbled down among her feet, instead of into the ashpan she held in her
left hand. So Thorwald made certain that the old woman must be blind.
He determined, therefore, to enter quietly into the house, and carry
off a few live coals. First slipping down the roof, he crept slowly in
at the low door, and then, watching his opportunity, he crawled along
the wall till he reached the hearth. Then, seeing a small iron cup, he
carefully pushed some glowing coals into it, and seeing no one else
about, he made sure the old woman was alone, and while she was still
busy raking, he crept out of the hut, and, much pleased with his
success, hastened back to his sister.
Ingibjörg was delighted when she saw him arrive, and, the fire being
all ready laid, a bright flame soon shot up; the birds were roasted,
and the two children made a hearty supper, Ingibjörg’s merry laugh
sounding again as gay as ever.
Thorwald, somewhat tired with his day’s work, asked his sister to make
up a good fire ere they went to sleep, so that it might last all night.
But, alas! when they woke next morning the fire was out, so he had to
go again to the old woman’s farm to fetch more coals.
This time he begged Ingibjörg earnestly not to let the fire out; but,
alack! the little princess, though very willing and anxious to please
her brother, had not been accustomed to attend to fires, so, though
doing her best by making up a huge fire ere she went to sleep, it was
out in the morning.
Ingibjörg even tried to wake up very early in order to put on fresh
wood; but, despite all her efforts, each morning the fire was out, and
Thorwald had to go every day to fetch fresh fire.
CHAPTER III.
THEIR FURTHER ADVENTURES AND ESCAPE.
Thus the brother and sister lived for some time on the birds and game
that Thorwald killed; and Ingibjörg having made a net out of the long
tough shore grasses, they also managed to catch some fish and crabs,
and their days passed pleasantly enough, while every morning Thorwald
went up the valley and brought away some live coals, without the old
woman ever finding it out.
Once, after he had taken away the coals, he heard her mutter—
“Ah! those devil’s children! they are a long time in coming, but arrive
here at last they must, for I made Guda promise to send them in the
stone, and she dare not disobey me. Ah! only let me once get hold of
them, and I will very soon put them out of the way.”
Thorwald thought these words must surely refer to himself and his
sister, who had arrived there in such a strange manner. He was,
therefore, very careful whenever he came to the hut for the fire coals,
to make as little noise as possible. He sometimes scarcely dared to
breathe for fear the old woman might discover him.
Meanwhile Ingibjörg, who had been very good about staying alone in
their little hut, at last became very curious about the old woman, and
begged and entreated Thorwald to let her go with him some day.
Thorwald, though willing to please his sister, was afraid to trust her,
for he knew that the sight of the queer old woman would make her laugh;
but he found it very difficult to deny her anything within his power to
grant, and when, therefore, she continued to beg him to take her, he at
last consented on condition that, no matter what she saw or heard, she
must promise him she would not laugh, as, if she did, it might cost
them their lives.
Ingibjörg promised she would keep quite still; so the next day the
brother and sister started off together for the old farm.
When they got there they climbed up the sloping roof, and, with another
warning to keep silent, Thorwald let his sister peep down through the
chimney hole. But, alas! what Thorwald had dreaded actually took place.
The old woman, who stood near the hearth, was raking out the ashes so
vigorously, that not only did she send them all over the floor instead
of into the ashpan, but she made such a cloud of dust that she was soon
completely covered from head to foot with a coating of grey ashes, and
began to cough violently.
When Ingibjörg saw this, she could not repress her laughter, and a
merry peal rang out in the clear air.
No sooner did the old woman hear this, than she chuckled gleefully.
“Ha! ha! ha! So those devil’s children have come at last, have they?
Ho! ho! ho! what a joke! Now I shall have them! Ha! ha! ha!”
And with these words she rushed out of the house. She was so quick,
that she came up to the children just as they were sliding down the
roof, and they might even then have got away, but that Ingibjörg, at
sight of the old woman, could not stop laughing; she thought her still
more comical-looking when she began to run.
But the laugh now turned to grief, for the old witch pulled some strong
leather straps out of her pocket, and, fastening them round the brother
and sister, she drove them back into the house. There she shut them up
in a lean-to, and secured them firmly with another strap to two strong
wooden posts.
The children at first were terribly frightened when they found they
could not get away, and Ingibjörg blamed herself greatly for having,
through her foolish laughter, brought about this terrible pass.
But the old woman evidently did not mean to starve them, for presently
she placed a big bowl of bread and milk before each of them, saying—
“Now eat all you can, and don’t waste anything.”
In the evening she again brought them food in plenty; and this went on
for some days.
But, though they were not harshly treated, except that they were never
untied, the children grew very weary and tired; the room was almost
dark, the only light coming through the hole in the roof, which also
served as a chimney. On the third day, the old woman took one of each
of their hands, and mumbling and gently biting their fingers, she
muttered—
“No, no! Not fat enough yet!”
Thorwald, therefore, determined to make every effort in order to free
themselves; but this was no easy matter. At length, after many
attempts, he succeeded in biting through the strap that fastened his
hands. He was thus able to get at his hunting-knife, which he
fortunately always wore beneath his tunic, so the old woman had not
seen it, else she would certainly have taken it away. Then, waiting
till night closed in and the old witch was asleep, he cut through the
rest of the straps that bound him and his sister.
“But the old woman will run after us and catch us if she sees us,”
whispered Ingibjörg.
“I have thought of that too,” replied Thorwald; “we must, therefore,
make sure she is asleep.” And, creeping cautiously along the floor, he
bent over the old hag, who lay snoring in one corner on a great heap of
skins.
“She is sound,” he then whispered, turning to Ingibjörg, having first
carefully placed another thick skin over the old woman. “We must get
away ere she wakens. Come, sister; don’t delay!” And, taking Ingibjörg
by the hand, he hurried her out of the house.
“Now you wait behind that great stone,” said he, “while I cut and widen
this ditch which runs across the road.” Then Thorwald set energetically
to work with his hunting-knife, and ere long had cut a deep wide ditch,
throwing up the loose earth to form a bank, which rose up between them
and the hut.
By this time the old ogress had wakened up, and, not hearing a sound,
began feeling about for the children. When she had tapped all round and
could not find them, she began to scream and swear with rage, and ran
out, calling loudly after them.
As soon as Ingibjörg saw her rushing along, her hair streaming wildly
behind her, she could not help laughing out aloud.
“Ha! so you are there, you bad wicked children!” cried the ogress. “But
only wait, just let me catch you, and I will teach you to run away! You
shall be put into the oven at once, for you are quite fat enough now,
and then I shall have a good meal!” So saying she ran along the path to
where she heard Ingibjörg’s voice, but, unable to see the ditch, she
fell in headlong and broke her neck.
Thorwald did not wait to learn what happened, but as soon as he saw the
ogress run after them and fall into the ditch, he took hold of
Ingibjörg’s hand, and together they raced back to the shore, very
thankful that they were now safe from the old witch’s clutches.
CHAPTER IV.
THE KING’S RETURN, AND QUEEN GUDA’S RELEASE FROM THE WITCH’S THRALL.
Several weeks now passed. Each morning Thorwald first gave a look
across the sea in hopes of seeing a ship or boat, and would then start
off in search of birds and game, while, strangely enough, after the old
witch’s death their fire never went out, and Ingibjörg, by carefully
attending to it, was able to keep it burning both day and night.
Sometimes, when no food was needed, the children having laid in a
sufficient supply of game and fish, Thorwald would take his flute and
play, while his sister plaited mats and baskets out of the long rushes
that grew near the shore.
Thus it happened that one day, while the two children sat on the shore,
they saw several ships sailing slowly past the island.
Thorwald, who had just put down his flute, now took it up again, and
began playing as loud as he could.
The ships came gradually nearer.
“Oh, Thorwald!” cried Ingibjörg, clapping her hands, “see, they are
coming nearer! Oh, play louder, louder!” and she joined her voice to
his flute.
And sure enough, ere long, the largest of the vessels cast anchor close
to the shore, the other ships still keeping out to sea at some
distance.
And then, to the children’s great joy, they saw their father standing
on the deck. A boat was lowered, the king and one of his followers were
quickly rowed to shore, and in a few more moments Thorwald and
Ingibjörg were clasped in their father’s arms.
Great was his surprise to find them on this lonely island, for he had
heard nothing of what had happened in his own country during his
absence, and it was only by chance that he had sailed close to the
island, none of his people caring to come near it, as it was supposed
to be the home of evil spirits; and when they heard the sound of the
flute they thought it must surely be the song of some mermaids, wiling
the king’s fleet to destruction by their soft sweet melodies.
But the king for some reason felt he must find out what it was, so had
ventured near the land, the rest of his fleet keeping out to sea.
The king then asked his children how it was they were there, and when
he heard what had happened during his absence, he grew very wroth.
He at once took the children on board his own ship, and commanded his
people under pain of instant death not to breathe a word to any one of
what had occurred.
The fleet was then ordered to set sail and return home with all
possible speed. Arrived near his own island, the king chose a quiet and
retired part of the shore, and there he landed the children in charge
of his own attendant, telling him to keep them hidden till he sent him
word to appear with them at court.
The fleet then departed and cast anchor at the usual landing-place.
Here the queen, arrayed in her richest garments and attended by all her
maidens, came down to welcome the king, expressing great joy at his
return.
The king appeared well pleased to be at home again.
“But where are the children?” he asked; “and why have they not come to
meet me, as they always do?”
“Alas, alas!” cried the queen, putting her handkerchief to her eyes as
if to hide her tears, but really because she was afraid to look at the
king. “Poor, poor children! Pray do not speak of them! Soon after you
went away, they suddenly got very ill, and though I watched and nursed
them myself, the poor little things both died!” and Guda began to sob
and cry in reality, for she greatly feared what the king might do if he
ever heard the truth.
And no one dared say a word; for during the king’s absence Guda, urged
on by fear of her mother if she did not get rid of her stepchildren,
and also thinking that she could only govern by making herself feared,
had ruled the kingdom with great severity, so no one dared say a word
against her, believing that the king was still devoted to her.
The king, wishing to get at the truth of the strange tale, pretended
great sorrow at the news of the children’s death.
“And where are the poor little things buried?” he asked. “I should like
to see their tomb.”
The queen tried to persuade him not to go. She said she was sure it
would only increase his sorrow, and entreated him to desist.
But the more she urged him not to go, the more determined he was to see
their tomb.
So at length Guda yielded, and herself accompanied him to the wood at
the back of the palace, where, in a pretty open glade, she had caused a
handsome mausoleum to be erected.
He greatly admired the beautiful carving on the stone, but he never
shed a tear, which somewhat surprised the queen. Soon after they both
returned to the palace, where the queen had had a banquet prepared to
welcome home the travellers.
All during the feast the king still remained very silent and
preoccupied, and next morning he again went to the mausoleum, and then
said he meant to have the children’s coffins taken out.
When the queen heard this, she threw herself on her knees before the
king, and begged and entreated him not to thus further increase his
pain and grief. But the king remained firm. The door of the great
mausoleum was thrown back, and two small coffins, handsomely ornamented
with gold and silver, were brought forth. But, behold, when at the
king’s order these were opened, instead of containing the bodies of the
two children, they were filled up with stones!
The queen gave a great cry when she saw her wickedness had come to
light. She fell down at the king’s feet, and, sobbing and praying for
mercy, she confessed what she had done, adding that her mother, the old
witch, had forced her to do it.
But the king was so angry that he would not listen to her words, and
ordered her to be shut up in the castle donjon till the Volkthing
decided what her punishment should be.
Meanwhile Thorwald and Ingibjörg arrived at the palace, the king having
sent a messenger for them, and great was the rejoicing among the people
when they learnt their young prince and princess, whom they thought
dead, were alive and once again among them all.
The children then told their story before the assembled nobles and
vikings, and when Ingibjörg related how Thorwald had killed the old
ogress, who had only been fattening them up in order to eat them, there
was a flash of lightning, and a loud crash of thunder resounded through
the great hall. The door at the lower end opened, and, to the surprise
of every one, the queen, draped in a long glistening white robe, walked
up the hall, and falling down at the king’s feet, she raised her
clasped hands towards him.
“Pardon and forgiveness, oh king!” she cried. “The spell that has
nearly cost me my life, is at length broken! That terrible old ogress
was not my mother, but a wicked fairy who, because she thought my
mother had not treated her as well as the other fairies at my
christening, condemned me as soon as my mother died, to serve her and
obey all her behests as long as she lived. Now that your brave boy has
killed her, I am freed from her wicked spells. And now, oh my king,
punish me for the harm I have so unwillingly done; but, oh, let me live
to prove my gratitude to you and yours!”
Great was the surprise of every one at the queen’s story, and the
ambassadors then recalled to mind how silent and grave the young queen
had been when they first saw her, even while she did all the old witch
ordered her to do.
Thorwald also added his entreaties to those of the queen, and when
Ingibjörg with a merry laugh threw one arm round her father and the
other round the queen, the king relented. And thereupon the interrupted
feast was renewed amid general rejoicing, the queen seated at the
king’s right hand with Thorwald beside her, and Ingibjörg on his left
hand.
There was no happier family in all the land. Queen Guda, having no
children of her own, lavished all her affection on Thorwald and
Ingibjörg, whose entreaties had restored her to her husband, and the
reign of the king and Queen Guda was ever after cited as one of the
longest and happiest ever known.
THE THREE PEASANT MAIDENS
CHAPTER I.
HOW QUEEN HERTHA FELL FROM HER HIGH ESTATE.
In a distant island, long, long ago, there lived a wealthy peasant, who
had three daughters called Alitea, Truda, and Hertha. Alitea and Truda
were both fine handsome girls, but Hertha, the youngest, was by far the
loveliest of the three.
Their house was not far from the king’s palace, and one day, when the
three sisters were out walking, they met the king, attended by his
secretary and his valet.
“Ah,” sighed Alitea, the eldest sister, “how happy I should be if I
could only marry the king’s valet! I should then be able to see all the
grand feasts that are held at the palace!”
“And I should like to marry his secretary,” murmured Truda, the second
sister, “for then I should both hear and see all that was going on.”
“Oh, if I had to marry any one,” cried Hertha, the youngest sister, “I
should like to marry King Leofric himself! See how young and handsome
he is!”
The king, who had noticed the whispers and eager glances of the girls,
said to his attendants—
“I wonder what those pretty maidens want? Let us go to them and find
out what they are talking about; I thought I heard them mention my
name.”
The secretary tried to dissuade the young king from speaking to the
girls, saying he was sure their chatter was not worth listening to, and
that his Majesty had better not attend to them. But King Leofric would
not be put off, and it ended in their all three going up to the young
maidens. Then the king asked them what they had been talking about when
he and his attendants came in sight.
Now when the girls saw the king come up to them, they were rather
frightened, but he spoke so kindly and pleasantly that their fears soon
vanished, and when he insisted on hearing what they had said, they at
last confessed the truth.
King Leofric was mightily amused when he heard their tale. He thought
the girls very handsome, especially the youngest one, and after
chatting with them for some little time, he found them so bright and
clever, that he told them their wishes should be fulfilled.
The sisters were so surprised to think their idle words should speedily
become real facts, that they were speechless with wonder and delight.
So the king and his two attendants escorted the girls back to their
home, where the father’s pride may be imagined when he heard who the
suitors were. Of course he threw no difficulties in the way, and as the
king’s wishes were law, all three maidens were shortly married each to
the man of her choice.
Now, although Alitea and Truda would have been quite satisfied with
their choice had Hertha not become queen, no sooner did they realize
how much grander was her lot than theirs, than they became very jealous
of her, and though she did her best to be friends with them, giving
them handsome presents, and taking them everywhere with her, their envy
only grew stronger, till at last they determined that, no matter at
what cost, she must be brought down from her high estate. So they
plotted and planned for many a long hour, how they could best get her
out of the way.
At the end of a year the queen had a little son. Then her sisters took
away the baby in the night, and arranged that it should be cast into
the deep ditch outside the city walls, where all the rubbish was
thrown. But the old woman who had undertaken to do this, thought she
would give the poor babe a chance for its life; so, instead of throwing
it in the ditch, she placed it on the bank, hoping that some kind
person passing might see it and take it away.
And this actually did happen, for Osric, a poor old woodcutter, on his
way home, seeing the pretty babe lying there crying helplessly, took it
up in his arms.
“This is a strange thing,” he said. “Some one surely must have put it
here purposely. But I cannot leave the poor bairn crying here.”
So saying, he carefully wrapped it in his old coat and took it home,
where he fed it as best he could.
When next morning it was found that the baby had disappeared, the
sisters told the king they were sure that the queen must have put away
or killed the child; but, though King Leofric was greatly grieved at
the loss of his little son, he loved his wife too dearly to blame her
for the child’s disappearance.
The next year the queen again had a baby boy, and the news caused great
rejoicings all through the kingdom. But that same night this child also
disappeared, and the two sisters again told the king that they were
sure the queen had caused it to be killed.
But King Leofric, though startled and grieved at these strange
disappearances of his children, still trusted his wife and would not
hear a word against her.
The following year, greatly to the king’s delight, the queen had a baby
girl.
“Surely,” she thought, “this time nothing shall come between me and my
baby.” So she would not let the little creature out of her arms day or
night.
But she was weak and ill, and the second night, seeing she would not
lay down the child, the wicked sisters gave her a sleeping-draught, and
as soon as her eyelids closed, they again took away the babe and gave
it to the old woman to throw into the ditch.
When next morning the king heard that his little daughter, at whose
birth he had so rejoiced, had also disappeared, his grief and anger
knew no bounds. They quite overcame his former love for his wife. He
would listen to no excuses, and ordered her to be thrown into the den
of the big lion.
When the wicked sisters heard this, they thought they had now got rid
of Queen Hertha. They were quite pleased to think they had at last
succeeded in the wicked plot they had planned, without the king or any
one else ever suspecting the part they had taken in it.
CHAPTER II.
WHAT HAD BEFALLEN THE TWO LITTLE PRINCES AND THEIR SISTER.
But Queen Hertha was not dead; for the lion, so far from hurting her,
laid himself quietly down at her feet, and when his food was brought to
him, he would never touch it till the queen had taken her share.
So, while every one thought she was dead, Queen Hertha lived beside her
powerful friend. At first she had been terribly frightened, but she
speedily grew almost to love the huge beast, who, when the king and her
sisters had been so cruel, had befriended her in her hour of need.
Still it was at best but a dreary existence, and many times and often
she wished she could but know what was happening outside the lion’s
den.
As for the children, the same old man, Osric, who had picked up the
first baby, had fortunately also found the other boy and the baby girl,
and had taken them home to his own little cot, near the woods, where he
brought them up as well as he could. He called the elder boy Wilhelm,
the second one Sigurd, and the little baby girl Olga.
He had tried at first to find out whose children they could possibly
be, but one night he dreamed that a beautiful fairy came to his
bedside, and said—
“Osric, if you love the children, don’t ask any questions about them,
but bring them up as your own—their enemies will else destroy them. Let
them wait till they are grown up.”
So he had kept his own counsel, and did the best he could for them.
Strangely enough, too, he found that his barrel of meal never ran
short, and with his cow and his little patch of garden ground they
always had a sufficiency of food.
So the children grew up strong and healthy, the boys helping the old
man in his forest work, and fetching the wood and water that was
wanted; and as for Olga, she soon became quite an expert little
housekeeper. But, though they wore rough, home-spun garments, they were
good to look at, for they all three inherited the marvellous beauty of
their father and mother.
At last, when the young people were grown up, the old man, feeling his
end draw near, called Olga and her brothers to his bedside. He then
told them how and where he had found them, and also mentioned the
strange vision he had had.
“But now that you are grown up,” he added, “I should advise you to make
all inquiries, and not to rest till you have found out who and what you
are, for I feel sure you are no ordinary children.” Thereupon he gave
them his blessing and died.
Wilhelm, Sigurd, and Olga sorrowed deeply over the death of their kind
foster-father, for they had loved him dearly. When they had buried him
in the forest, they returned sadly to the empty hut and consulted
together as to what they had best do in order to carry out his
instructions.
While they were thus sitting and talking, the door of the hut opened,
and an old man entered. He was dressed entirely in green; his hair was
long and white, so also was his beard, and in his hand he carried a
thick oaken staff.
“Good morrow, father,” said Wilhelm; “you are welcome, though we have
not much to offer you. Pray take a seat and rest, for you look weary.”
“I have come a long way, my son,” answered the old man; “but though I
am still hale and hearty, I shall not be sorry for a short rest. But
you seem in sorrow or trouble,” he added, looking from one to the
other. “Perhaps I might be able to help you, for I have travelled far,
and seen many strange and wonderful things.”
“We shall indeed be glad of some advice,” said Sigurd, while Olga
hastened to place a bowl of new milk and some oatcakes before the
traveller. “Sir, we are sadly perplexed as to what we ought to do.” And
the brothers then proceeded to tell the stranger their story, and the
advice their foster-father had given them.
When he had heard their strange tale, the old man said—
“I fear I cannot help you myself, but I think I know some one who may
be able to advise you. You must know that about three days’ journey
from here, there lies a valley full of strangely shaped stones. In the
middle of this valley there is a rock, on which a large bird sits, who
is very wise, and understands and speaks the human language. Now, I
think you should go and see this bird, though I will not conceal from
you that there is very great danger attending such a visit. Many people
have gone to consult him, but so far no one has ever returned. He is,
however, so wise that he can both foretell the future, and also reveal
the past. Many princes and others have gone for advice to this
wonderful bird, but one and all have failed in carrying out the
conditions, which can alone insure success. You must know that whoever
mounts the rock on which the bird sits, must be so brave, and have such
strength of will, that, no matter what he may see or hear, he must not
turn round or look back; for if he does, even for only a second, he
will at once be turned into stone. So far, no one yet has possessed the
required purpose and unswerving staunchness,” continued the old man;
“but it is not difficult to mount the rock, provided you have the
necessary determination. Then, when you have mounted, you will have the
power to restore to life all those who, through lack of will and
strength of purpose, were turned into stone, for on the summit of the
rock there is a huge jar filled with magic water, and he who safely
reaches the summit may take some of this water, and sprinkle it over
those who have been turned to stone; they will then awake to life, and
regain their form and figure.”
Both brothers thought the task by no means a difficult one, and
declared themselves quite ready and willing to undertake the journey.
They thanked the old man heartily for all his information and advice,
and then sped him on his journey.
Next morning Wilhelm said to Sigurd that he would start forth in search
of the rock. But before he left, he said to his brother—
“If at any time you see three drops of blood on your knife when you are
at dinner, you must get up and follow me, for you will then know that I
have failed, and have been turned to stone, and that you must then try
your best.”
So Wilhelm went forth, followed by the good wishes of Sigurd and Olga.
But after three days, when the brother and sister sat down to dinner,
behold three drops of blood were on the blade of Sigurd’s knife!
Hastily starting up, he told Olga he must be off at once in search of
their brother.
“And remember, Olga, though I hope I may be successful, if at the end
of three days you see three drops of blood, on your knife, you will
know that I too have failed.”
He then bade her a loving farewell; and Olga saw him start on his way,
with many fears and prayers in her heart for his safety.
CHAPTER III.
OLGA’S COURAGE RESCUES HER BROTHERS, QUEEN HERTHA IS RESTORED TO HER
HUSBAND, AND THE PARENTS RECOVER THEIR CHILDREN.
It seemed to Olga as if the time would never pass. Each day seemed
longer than the last, and when the morning of the third day arrived,
she had scarcely courage to look at her knife as she sat down to her
breakfast.
But, oh joy! the blade was bright and clear, and with a light and happy
heart, she went about her daily tasks.
When midday approached, she again glanced anxiously at the table, but,
to her intense relief, the knife beside her plate was undimmed by
either spot or stain, and feeling as if a great weight had been lifted
off her, she sat down to her spinning-wheel, which she had not had the
heart to do before, and hummed one of her favourite ballads, to drive
away the feeling of loneliness that crept over her. And thus the hours
passed; then, as the long, slanting rays of the sun warned her that the
day was nearly over, Olga put away her spinning-wheel, and got ready
her supper. She had placed her plate of porridge on the table, and,
bringing a bowl of milk from the cupboard, had just seated herself,
when, glancing down, she saw three bright crimson drops on the knife
beside her plate!
With a cry of grief and horror, Olga sprang up. There was now no
thought of food or rest. Not a second must be lost if she hoped to save
her brothers!
Hastily putting on her cloak and hood, she hurried out into the forest,
following the path she had seen her brothers take.
Evening was closing in, and the tall trees cast dark and weird shadows
around her. But never for a moment did Olga hesitate or rest. Strange,
uncouth sounds seemed to fill the air, and she could almost fancy that
the clinging brushwood which often crossed her path, seemed like long
arms trying to hold her back. But she had only one thought, one
resolve—the rescue of her brothers; so she kept bravely on, putting
aside every obstacle that obstructed her way.
At length, after a long and weary journey, Olga arrived at the valley
in which stood the great rock. As she came near, she saw that the whole
ground was covered with innumerable stones of quaint and varied forms.
Some looked like people, some like animals, and one tall figure had
several square stones at his feet, like chests or boxes.
But Olga, though her heart almost jumped into her mouth at the wild,
weird scene, walked courageously forward, turning neither to the right
nor left till she reached the rock on which sat the bird, his crest
raised fiercely, while angry flashes of light from his eyes almost
blinded her. No sooner, however, had her foot touched it, than a loud
rumbling noise arose, wild cries and screams filled the air, thunder
pealed, and flash after flash of lightning filled the valley with a
lurid light, strong arms caught hold of her and tried to keep her back,
while entreaties for help sounded on every side. Once, indeed, she
distinctly heard her brothers’ voices, praying her to look round if she
loved them. Steadfastly, however, with a prayer on her lips for
strength and guidance, Olga went bravely up the rock.
No sooner had she reached the summit, than immediately the thunder and
lightning ceased, the weird cries and screams were silent, and, as she
approached the great bird, he lowered his angry crest, and in a soft
voice, praised her for her courage and steadfastness.
“I can now tell you whatever you desire, and will gladly help you in
any way you wish,” he added.
Then Olga asked that she might first of all be allowed to restore to
life all those who had been turned to stone.
This the bird readily granted, and, filling the lid of the stone jar
with some of the life-restoring water, Olga lost no time in sprinkling
all the strangely shaped stones with the magic water.
They all immediately regained their natural forms; the still and silent
valley soon re-echoed with the sound of voices, and as the girl stood
there between her two rescued brothers, all the others came up to thank
the fair and brave maiden whose courage and steadfastness had rescued
them from their stony prison and restored them to life.
“And now,” said Olga, turning again to the wonderful bird, “can you
tell us whose children we are?”
“You are the children of the king of this country,” he replied; and
then proceeded to tell them how the two wicked aunts, through jealousy,
had caused them to be carried away, and had then accused their mother
of destroying them, for which supposed misdeed she had been thrown into
the lion’s den.
“But,” he added, seeing the grief and horror of the young people, “the
lion’s mouth was closed, so that, instead of killing her, he not only
shares his food with her, but has so guarded the cage that no one dares
enter; she is still alive, therefore, though almost at death’s door
through grief and all the anxiety she has endured.”
Then one of the strange figures who had been restored to life, and whom
Olga had especially noticed as being taller and fairer than most of the
others, and also because he was surrounded with several quaintly shaped
chests, now came forward. He was a handsome young fellow, and stated
that he was called Odo, and was the son of a neighbouring king, and
that, having gone forth in search of treasure and adventures, he had
succeeded in amassing a large quantity of gold and precious stones, and
was on his way home, when he heard of the wonderful bird, who could
foretell the future. He had gained the valley and was almost close to
the bird, when he incautiously looked back, hearing wild cries for
help, and in that moment he had been turned to stone, and his were the
quaintly shaped chests Olga had noticed.
The bird, being in a gracious mood, allowed the prince to carry away
his treasure; so, followed by his servants, he accompanied Olga and her
brothers to their home.
As soon as they arrived, they at once went to the lion’s den and
liberated the poor queen—the lion offering no resistance—and took her
back to their hut. Poor Hertha was almost dead with grief and anxiety;
but loving care quickly restored her to health, and the delight of
seeing her dear children, whom she had thought dead, alive and well
before her, did more than anything to restore her and make her strong
and well.
They then procured her some rich and fitting garments, and leaving her
in the hut, they repaired to the king’s court and demanded an audience.
After some little delay, this was granted, for after the loss of his
wife and children the king had grown sad and listless, often blaming
himself for condemning his queen so hurriedly; for, when he had time to
think it all over, he could not, despite her sisters’ repeated
representations, believe that the queen had really killed her children.
When the sister and brothers were ushered into the royal presence, the
king was at once struck by their noble appearance, especially with
Olga, whose likeness to her mother was marvellous.
They then told him who they were and how they had been saved, and also
that they had just freed their mother, who was not dead, as he had been
told.
King Leofric could scarcely believe he heard aright as they related
their wonderful tale, the particulars of which they had received from
the magic bird, and it is impossible to describe his delight and
thankfulness to find that his wife, whom he had loved so dearly, was
not only proved innocent, but was alive and well.
He immediately sent for her two wicked sisters, and when questioned as
to what they had done, they began first to prevaricate, and then each
accused the other of having done the wicked deed. But the truth was
clearly proved against them, they were therefore both thrown into the
lion’s den, where the poor queen had so long lingered; this time,
however, the lion never hesitated, but eat them both up at once.
The king then eagerly went to fetch his queen, who returned to the
palace with all due honours and splendour.
A great feast was immediately prepared to celebrate the happy
restoration of the lost queen and her three children.
This feast lasted many days, for all who chose to come were welcome;
indeed, it seemed as if the king could not do enough to show how
thankful he was.
He remitted the sentences of many state prisoners, and all the poor in
the kingdom received rich gifts.
When at length the feast came to an end, Prince Odo asked the king for
the hand of his daughter, the fair princess Olga.
Thereupon a fresh feast was arranged to celebrate the marriage of the
prince and princess, and this was carried out with still greater
splendour, such as had never been seen before.
Not only was the big hall of the palace prepared for the invited
guests, but endless tables were spread in the great courtyard for all
the poor and homeless, to whom abundant good fare was generously
dispensed, for, Princess Olga said, as they had been poor themselves
they must never forget their less fortunate subjects.
Then, when it was over, Prince Odo returned to his own kingdom with his
wife, where they reigned in peace and happiness for many years.
Wilhelm married a beautiful cousin, and succeeded to the throne at his
father’s death, Sigurd also married a lovely princess in a neighbouring
state, and came to the throne on the death of his father-in-law.
Thus Olga and her brothers, after all their trials, lived long and
happily, their children and children’s children reigning after them for
many generations.
THE FAIR AND THE DARK ISOLDE
CHAPTER I.
DEATH OF THE QUEEN. THE KING REMARRIES, AND PROCEEDS ON A TOUR THROUGH
HIS KINGDOM.
There once reigned a king and queen, and they had one little daughter
called Isolde. She was the loveliest little maiden ever seen; her skin
was white as the driven snow, her cheeks looked as if pink rose-petals
had fallen on them, her lips were the colour of the reddest cherries,
and the deepest blue of the summer sky seemed reflected in her eyes,
while her long fair hair, reaching almost down to the ground, glistened
like gold when touched by the sun’s rays.
Having no son of his own, the king had adopted his nephew Fertram as
his heir to the crown.
The boy was as handsome as the little girl was lovely, and his father
and mother being both dead, he was brought up at his uncle’s court.
He was two years older than Isolde; but the children were devoted to
each other, and the parents often looked forward to the time when they
would be old enough to be betrothed and married.
But the truth of the old saying, “the best-laid plans of mice and men
gang aft agley,” was once again to be verified, for when Isolde and
Fertram were respectively sixteen and eighteen, and there was talk of a
great betrothal feast shortly, the good queen, who had gone out bathing
in the sea on a raw autumn morning, took a severe chill and shortly
after died.
The king was quite inconsolable at her loss, and after her funeral, he
shut himself up in his rooms for many months and would see no one but
Fertram and Isolde. Even when at length he again came forth, he seemed
to take no interest in anything.
Gradually matters grew worse and worse, till at last the chief officers
of the court came to him and advised him to marry again.
For a long time the king would not listen to them; but at length,
wearied out with their importunities, he said they might go and see if
they could find any one worthy to succeed his late queen.
So some ships were fitted out, and the chief officers started forth on
their quest, they sailed on for many days without seeing any land, but
at length they saw some rising ground on the horizon, which, as they
came nearer, proved to be a rocky island surrounded by a low sandy
beach.
Here the men landed, and following a narrow road which led them up a
thickly wooded valley, they presently arrived at the gates of a fine
castle.
They looked to see if the warden was there, for the drawbridge was
down; but no one was on the walls, so they crossed the bridge and blew
the horn which hung near the gateway. Immediately the great doors flew
open, and they entered.
Still there was no one about; so they walked up a wide flight of
stairs, and presently they came out on a broad terrace. Here a
handsome, tall, and stately woman, dressed all in black, came forward
and bade them welcome; she then clapped her hands, and a pretty
dark-haired maiden appeared, bearing a silver tray with flagons of rich
wine and fruit.
The ministers were invited to sit down on one of the big stone benches,
and while they were partaking of the fruit and wine, which was very
welcome after their long walk, the lady told them that her husband had
died in battle, most of his followers having also been killed, and that
she was now living there alone with her daughter.
Then she brought out her lute, and sang to the men while they rested,
and entertained them so well, that they all agreed they need go no
further to seek a lady worthy to fill the late queen’s place; so they
forthwith solicited her hand for their master the king.
At first the queen said she could not think of accepting the offer, for
that she had made up her mind, after her dear husband’s death, to live
and die in his now deserted castle; but the more reluctant she
appeared, the king’s ambassadors only grew the more urgent, until at
length she consented to go with them.
Handing over the castle and all it contained to an old servant, she and
her daughter departed with the king’s people, and, the wind being
favourable, the homeward journey did not take many days to accomplish.
When the king saw the ships in the distance all decorated with flags
and gaily coloured banners, he knew that the ministers must have been
successful in their quest; so he ordered out his golden chariot, and,
accompanied by all his chief courtiers, drove down to the shore, there
to await the travellers.
At length the vessels were beached, and no sooner had the king set eyes
on his bride, than he at once felt a great love for her in his heart.
He placed her beside him in his golden chariot, while her daughter and
the attendants followed in a silver one. And thus they proceeded back
to the palace, where a great feast had been prepared, at which all the
great princes and nobles of the land were present.
The rejoicings continued for a whole week; wine and mead were lavishly
dispensed to all who came, and the tables literally groaned beneath the
great dishes of fish, flesh, and fowl, interspersed with huge pyramids
of delicate cakes and delicious fruits.
At the end of the feast, each guest was presented with valuable gifts
from the king’s treasure-house, so that all those who were poor when
they came, returned home rich and happy, while the queen herself was
invested with all the grandeur and power of her new position.
Strangely enough the new queen’s daughter was called Isolde, like the
king’s daughter; but, though the former was very pretty, every one
declared she could not compare with the latter. So, in order to
distinguish them, the former was always spoken of as “dark Isolde” and
the latter “fair Isolde.”
Now Isolde, the king’s daughter, did not live in the palace, for her
father, on her sixteenth birthday, had built her a separate tower
standing in the midst of a beautiful garden. It was fitted up with
every possible luxury and convenience; rich curtains draped all the
windows, soft couches, covered with dainty silks and cushions of cloth
of gold, lined the walls, and bright carpets were spread on the inlaid,
polished floors.
Here Isolde spent her days very pleasantly with her two favourite
attendants Eya and Meya, spinning and weaving and gathering flowers to
deck her rooms; and here Fertram would often join her, after one of
their long rides in the forest, chatting and laughing and making happy
plans for their future.
Soon after the king’s second wedding, the queen came to him one day,
and, after praising his kind rule over his people, told him she thought
he ought not to remain longer at home with her, but make a tour and
visit all his provinces to see what the governors were doing, and
whether they were getting in the treasure rightly.
The king, who was very happy and comfortable at home, did not at first
agree to this; but the queen at last managed to persuade him, and also
advised him to take Fertram with him, saying that it was only right he
should see something of the world, and of the kingdom over which he was
one day to rule.
So at length the king yielded, and ordered his ships to be got ready,
at the same time telling Fertram that he was to accompany him.
Though pleased at the thought of the journey, Fertram was grieved to
leave fair Isolde, and the parting between them was a very sad one, for
both felt that some misfortune was hanging over them, and yet they
could not tell what.
A few days later the king and Fertram sailed away amid great cheering
of the people, who crowded down to the shore to wish the travellers
good speed on their journey and a quick and happy return.
CHAPTER II.
WHAT BEFALLS “FAIR ISOLDE” AFTER HER FATHER HAS GONE.
Isolde the fair felt terribly sad and lonely after her father’s and
Fertram’s departure; she lost all interest in her work and play, and
would sit for hours at one of the windows facing the sea, ever hoping
to see the welcome sight of the returning ships.
At last, one morning about a fortnight after the king had gone, the
queen came to her, and, greeting her kindly, asked her to come with her
and her daughter dark Isolde and spend the day in the woods.
“I know a lovely spot,” she added, “where we can have a splendid game
of ball, and then, when we are tired, we can sit down and rest and dine
beneath the shade of the trees.”
Fair Isolde at first refused, saying she did not feel as if she cared
to play; but the queen would take no denial, and at last Isolde, who
had been very lonely since Fertram went away, agreed to go, together
with her two maidens Eya and Meya.
It was a fine bright morning as the whole party set forth, and the sun
and the fresh air soon made Isolde feel more like her former self.
Laughing and singing, the whole party wandered merrily through the
woods till they reached a lovely open glade, when they commenced a
merry game.
Here, there, and everywhere flew the bright-coloured balls, tossed and
caught by eager hands.
Isolde the fair was more deft in her play than the others, and never
missed a ball; but further and even further flew the balls sent by the
queen and her daughter, till at length they and fair Isolde were quite
out of sight of their attendants, when the latter, running swiftly
after a bright crimson ball, suddenly paused, for at her feet there
yawned a deep dark pit.
“Oh, stop!” she cried, startled, looking round at the queen and dark
Isolde. “Stop! Don’t come any further, or you will fall into this
dreadful place!” But the words had scarcely passed her lips when she
felt a strong push and fell headlong into the hole.
Then the queen, laughing wickedly, looked down at poor Isolde and said—
“Ha! ha! my pretty bird! How do you like your new house, fair Isolde?
It is not quite so fine as your grand, beautiful tower, is it? But you
won’t need such pretty things now, for you will soon be dead, and then
Fertram on his return will marry my dark Isolde!”
“Oh, help me out! Don’t leave me here!” cried fair Isolde; “and I will
promise, on the word of a princess, never to speak of this to any one!”
“No, no, my young damsel! Promises are easily broken; but the dead tell
no tales!” And, despite her tears and entreaties, the wicked queen and
her daughter placed branches of pine trees across the open pit, and
then covered them thickly with earth and leaves, so that no one, even
if they passed that way, would ever dream there was a grave hidden
beneath.
By this time the sun had set, and it was getting dusk ere they had
finished their task; so the queen and dark Isolde hastened back to the
palace, but ere they entered it, they set fire to fair Isolde’s tower,
which was soon completely burnt to the ground.
The queen’s attendants, meanwhile, together with Eya and Meya, finding
the queen and the two princesses did not return, called out and
searched for them in various directions, but, seeing nothing of them,
concluded they had returned to the palace, and so, as it was now quite
dark, hastened home themselves.
On their arrival there, they found the queen and dark Isolde, who said
fair Isolde had returned with them back to her tower, saying she was
tired, when shortly after, to their horror, they had noticed flames
bursting out of the windows, but ere they could send help, the tower
was burnt down.
Poor Eya and Meya were inconsolable at the loss of their beloved
mistress, and mourned long and sadly for her.
CHAPTER III.
“FAIR ISOLDE” ESCAPES, AND DISGUISES HERSELF.
We must now return to fair Isolde.
When she heard the queen’s words and knew that they did not mean to
help her, but intended leaving her there to die, she wept long and
bitterly; then, as hour after hour passed, and, though she listened
intently, she could hear no one passing by who might have helped her,
she sat down on a heap of leaves lying in one corner, and began to
think how best she could get out. Then she suddenly remembered that she
had fortunately that morning put on the golden girdle which had been a
parting gift of her mother on her death-bed, and to which was attached
a large pair of golden scissors. She had enjoined fair Isolde never to
go outside the house without this girdle, for it had been given her by
a fairy godmother, and had the marvellous power of preserving whoever
wore it both from hunger and fatigue.
Isolde, therefore, after her first burst of grief, felt she was not
quite helpless; the power of the girdle would save her from starvation,
till she could once again procure food. And meanwhile, feeling somewhat
comforted, she took hold of the big golden scissors, and by working
hard, and persevering in spite of fatigue, she managed to dig some deep
holes in the side of the pit, large enough to give her a good foothold,
and thus managed to climb up to the top, and work her way through the
mass of earth and leaves the wicked queen and her daughter had piled up
together.
When she at last got out, she wandered about the forest for some time,
till she got back to the open glade, where they had played ball.
Here she sat down to consider what she had better do.
At first she thought it would be safer to keep hidden away in the
forest, for fear her stepmother might find her and again try to kill
her; but, on second thoughts, she decided it would be better for her to
return to the tower, and so disguise herself that no one could possibly
recognize her.
She first stained her face brown with the juice of some berries, and
then with her deft fingers she made herself a quaint dress and large
cap out of various coloured leaves, and thus disguised, she went back
to her tower, and found it a heap of ashes. Feeling now certain there
was a plot against her, she determined to go on to the palace, went
round to the kitchen door, and begged the cook to give her a morsel of
food, as she was very hungry.
The cook, who was a kind-hearted old woman, told her to sit down on a
bench, and fetched her some bread and meat, in return for which, Isolde
offered to mend her clothes for her, as she probably had no time to do
so herself, saying her name was Näfra Kolla, the sewing girl.
The old cook, who, although good at her own work, was no great hand
with her needle, was delighted when she heard this, and told her she
was welcome to stay as long as she liked, more especially as the king
would soon be back, when there would be plenty of work for every one.
So Näfra Kolla remained, and when it was seen how clever she was with
her needle, she found plenty to do, for the whole king’s household
declared they had never seen such beautiful work as hers.
CHAPTER IV.
FERTRAM FALLS UNDER A SPELL, AND IS BETROTHED TO “DARK ISOLDE.”
At length the king returned from his long tour accompanied by Fertram,
and as soon as the ships were in sight, the queen and her daughter
drove down to the shore to welcome them home.
When they were all four seated in the golden chariot on their way back
to the palace, both the king and Fertram were greatly surprised not to
see fair Isolde, and asked why she had not come down to meet them.
Then the queen, pretending to weep, and putting her handkerchief to her
eyes, said that some time after the king’s departure, the tower in
which Isolde lived had been burned to the ground; no one could find out
how the accident had happened, but they thought the princess must have
carelessly left a light near some of the curtains.
This terrible calamity was a fearful blow to Fertram, so, instead of
joining in the festivities to celebrate the king’s return, he shut
himself up in his own rooms and would see no one for several weeks.
At last the queen herself came to his door, and as she would take no
denial, he was at length obliged to open it. When she entered, he saw
she held a golden goblet in her hand, filled with wine. At first he
would have none of it; but as she continued to press and urge him, if
only just to taste it, hoping by so doing to get rid of her, Fertram
took the cup and drank a little. But no sooner had he swallowed the
first mouthful than he fell into a deep sleep, and lost all
consciousness.
When at last he awakened, all remembrance of his love for fair Isolde
had vanished.
The queen, seeing the satisfactory effect of her magic draught, lost no
time in sounding the praises of her own daughter, until at length,
after much persuasion, Fertram consented to marry her, and a day was
fixed for the wedding.
Ere this could take place, however, the future bride had, according to
the custom of the country, to embroider and make up both her own and
the bridegroom’s wedding garments.
Now, dark Isolde was not good with her needle; she was very lazy, and
much preferred idling about and gossiping in the stables and kennels,
to sewing or spinning indoors.
In her perplexity as to what she had better do, for she wanted to marry
Fertram, she sauntered across the stable yard to the kitchen, where the
old cook was sitting on a stool shelling peas, and asked her what she
would advise her to do.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself to be so helpless,” answered the
cook, crossly, for she had no love for the new queen and her daughter.
“It is all very well for a poor old woman like me not to be able to use
her needle, for I have always had to work hard for my living, and my
hands soon got too rough for sewing much; but for a young princess like
you not to be able to embroider her own wedding-dress! Why, such a
disgrace will be handed down for generations! But there, as you are so
stupid, I suppose I must try and help you. Fortunately there is a young
girl here, called Näfra Kolla, who sews as beautifully as any princess;
you tell her I sent you, and I dare say she will help you.”
When dark Isolde heard this she was greatly pleased, and at once ran up
to her room and brought down the various pieces of silk and twists of
gold and silver thread, and brought them to Näfra Kolla, begging her to
make up the garments. This Näfra Kolla promised to do, and her clever
busy fingers finished both the bridal garments the evening before the
wedding.
CHAPTER V.
THE SPELL IS BROKEN, AND THE WICKED QUEEN’S DESIGNS ARE FRUSTRATED.
The following morning the sun shone out bright and clear, and every one
declared no happier omen could usher in so auspicious a day.
But when the queen went to her daughter’s room to waken her, in place
of dark Isolde, there lay a hideous dwarf in the bed.
“Oh, Isolde!” cried the queen, wringing her hands, “what can we do? How
was it possible that we both forgot that this is the one morning in the
year on which you must resume your own form? Oh, this is terrible! We
must put off the wedding, and say that you are ill!”
“No, no,” croaked the misshapen figure; “if we once let Fertram off, I
know he will never marry me.”
The queen remained lost in thought for a few minutes. Then she
exclaimed—
“I know what we will do! I will get Näfra Kolla, the sewing girl. She
is just your height and size. I will dress her as the bride, and under
the thickly embroidered veil no one will notice the difference. Then,
after the whole party come back from their ride, you will have resumed
your own pretty face and figure. You can then change with Näfra Kolla,
and none will be any the wiser.”
“But will not Näfra Kolla talk about it or object?” asked the dwarf.
“Neither she herself nor any one else will know anything about it,”
replied the queen, “You leave it all to me.”
In a short time the queen went to Näfra Kolla’s room, and brought her a
hot cup of coffee.
“Drink this,” she said; “I am sure you must be wearied out with all the
work you have done, and this will be a tiring day for you.”
Though Näfra Kolla was not thirsty, she did not like to refuse the
queen, thinking she really meant it kindly; but no sooner had she
swallowed the coffee than she seemed to fall into a sort of trance. It
seemed to her as if she were Isolde again, and that this was her own
wedding-day. She was dressed in the bridal garments, and the richly
embroidered veil was thrown over her; then, after the wedding ceremony
was over, the whole bridal party went for a ride through the forest. It
all seemed like a strange dream to the girl.
As they passed the blackened ruins of Isolde’s tower, Näfra Kolla
murmured—
“Once thou wert bright and fair,
Now thou art burnt, oh chamber mine.”
Fertram bent forward on his horse, and asked her what she had said. But
she gave him no answer.
Shortly after they came to a big lime tree, whose sweet blossoms
scented the whole air, and Näfra Kolla murmured—
“Behold this giant linden tree
Beneath whose shade Fertram and Isolde
Plighted their troth for ever and aye.
And he will hold to it yet!”
After riding some little distance further, they came to the deep
trench.
Looking down into it, Näfra Kolla murmured—
“But for my dear mother’s golden gifts,
Here would my life have ended.”
Once again Fertram asked her what she had said; but still she remained
silent.
At last, just as the sun was setting, they returned to the palace.
Näfra Kolla dismounted and went up to her own room; but scarcely had
she sat down, than a sudden giddiness seized her, all grew dark before
her eyes, and she lost consciousness.
Then the queen, who had been waiting for her, came forth from behind a
screen where she had been hidden, and, taking off the bridal garments,
she hastened with them to dark Isolde’s room. The latter had now
regained her fair form, and was quickly robed in the rich garments of
the bride, after which the queen returned to Näfra Kolla and dressed
her in her usual dress.
Presently Fertram came for Isolde, and, sitting down beside her, asked
her what she had said during the ride, when they passed the ruins of
her tower.
“I really cannot remember what I said,” replied Isolde.
“But you must tell me,” said Fertram.
Then Isolde went to her mother and asked her what Näfra Kolla could
have said. So the queen told her, and Isolde returned to Fertram and
repeated the words.
But he felt strangely dissatisfied.
“I should also like to know what it was you said when we passed beneath
the great lime tree, and when we came to that deep trench in the
forest.”
“I really cannot recollect all I said,” replied dark Isolde, crossly.
“I am sure it was nothing of any importance.”
“Nay, but I insist upon knowing,” said Fertram, “you seemed so strange
and not at all like yourself; you must tell me!”
So Isolde once again went to her mother, and the queen said that when
they came to the great linden tree, Näfra Kolla had said—
“Behold the giant linden tree
Beneath whose shade Fertram and Isolde
Plighted their troth for ever and aye.
And he will hold to it yet!”
and that when they arrived at the deep trench, she murmured—
“But for my dear mother’s golden gifts,
Here would my life have ended.”
When dark Isolde returned to Fertram with these answers, she thought,
“Surely now, he must be satisfied.”
But all these replies had just the opposite effect, for the more he
heard, the more strange and startling did it all appear to him.
“Oh, my lost fair Isolde,” he cried, “would that I could learn the
truth of all this!”
Then suddenly it seemed as if a veil were lifted from his memory, he
recollected all his love for his cousin fair Isolde, and how different
she was in every way to the dark maiden beside him.
“Oh, Isolde, my own fair princess,” he cried, “would that I could see
you once again and hold you to my heart! But as you are dead, and this
is not possible, may I also die, and so be with you!”
Scarcely had these words passed his lips, when a soft light suddenly
filled the room, and lo! in the open doorway stood his own fair cousin,
more sweet and beautiful than ever.
Stretching out her arms towards him, she said—“Oh, Fertram, your love
and faithfulness have conquered and overcome the wicked spells of my
stepmother. If you indeed are still true to me, we may yet defeat her,
and all will be well!”
“Isolde, my own Isolde,” cried Fertram, “can it really be you, or is it
only your spirit; and are you not dead, as they solemnly assured me?”
And he drew her lovingly towards him.
At this moment, the queen rushed into the room, speedily followed by
the king.
When she saw that her wicked scheme had fallen through, she gave a
great scream, which shook the whole palace. In an instant she was
changed back into the wicked giantess she had originally been, and her
daughter, who was behind her, became again the ugly little dwarf.
The king, in his anger at the terrible deception that had been
practised on him, wanted then and there to order them to be instantly
killed; but, at fair Isolde’s petition, they were sent back to their
own island, and bound never to quit it on pain of instant death.
Then a fresh, and, this time, a very merry wedding-feast was ordered,
which was much more magnificent than the last one. The tables were
laden
“With peacocks roasted
And peacocks spiced,
With fishes boiled
And fishes fried,
With mimjam and pimjam
And multum salve;
The wine that was drank
Was primat and claret,
As well as the wine of Garganus.”
Then all the guests, ere their departure, were laden with presents from
the king’s treasure-house; and when, after some years, the old king was
gathered to his fathers, Fertram and Isolde reigned jointly, and lived
long and happily, seeing their children and great-great-grandchildren
around them.
PRINCE HLINI
In a far country, there once lived a king and a queen. They had an only
son, called Hlini, who even as a child showed wonderful talents, and
grew up the handsomest, cleverest, and bravest man in all the land.
One day, the prince went out hunting with some of the courtiers. It was
a beautiful morning; the sun shone with unusual brilliancy, birds and
game of all kinds were plentiful; and, well pleased with their good
day’s sport, the whole party turned homewards as the afternoon shadows
began to lengthen, when suddenly a thick fog arose, which soon
completely surrounded them. They lost sight of the prince, and it was
only with great difficulty that they made their way back to the castle.
When the king heard that his son had not returned, he became very
anxious; and the fog having somewhat lifted, he at once sent out
messengers to try and find him. But although they searched in all
directions for three days and nights, they could find no trace of
him,—no one had heard of or seen Prince Hlini.
This sudden disappearance of his son greatly grieved the king; and
when, on the evening of the third day, the messengers returned without
any news of him, the king retired to his room, and, throwing himself on
his bed, gave way to the deepest grief. In vain the queen tried to
cheer him, telling him that Hlini was so brave and clever, he would be
sure to return safely. The king would not be consoled, and said he
would gladly give the half of his kingdom to any one who would bring
him back his son.
Now, not far from the palace, in the middle of a wild moor, covered
with yellow gorse and purple heather, there lived an old man in a
little cottage with his only child, a daughter called Signy, who was
both beautiful and clever. They were very poor, but lived happily and
contented on wild honey and the berries that grew on the moors. When
Signy heard from the shepherds that the prince had disappeared and that
the king had offered the half of his kingdom to whoever should find
him, she begged her father to let her go in search of him. At first he
was very unwilling to part with her, dreading the dangers she might
have to encounter; but Signy said she felt quite sure she would succeed
in her search. All she wanted was a pair of new shoes and some food.
And so, after a little more persuasion, her father gave her his
blessing and started her on her journey.
Signy wandered on for several days, resting in the evenings in some
sheltered nook, and ever going towards the north. It was now
mid-summer, the days were long—in fact, there was scarcely any night;
and on the fourth evening, just as the sun, like a huge red ball, was
setting in a bed of crimson and gold, only to rise again, Signy saw
some rocks in front of her, in one of which was a huge cave. Listening
carefully for a few minutes and hearing no sound, Signy entered very
softly, and there she saw two beds: one was covered with a beautiful
blue silk quilt, embroidered with gold; the other had a crimson velvet
quilt, embroidered with silver. Going cautiously forward, she saw the
prince, lying fast asleep on the bed with the golden quilt.
Signy was delighted with her discovery, and went up to him to waken
him; but though she shook him, at first gently and then more roughly,
she found she could not rouse him. Looking up, she saw some strange
letters, or runes, cut into the wooden headboard of the bed.
Now, though her father, who was a learned old man, had taught Signy to
read runes, she could make nothing of these. She therefore determined
to wait and see who the owner of the cave was, and discovering a narrow
recess near the opening, she crept quietly in.
Hardly had she got safely into her hiding-place, than she heard a
terrible noise, like a peal of thunder. The earth began to quake, and
presently two frightful giantesses entered the cave.
As they came in, the taller and elder of the two cried out angrily,
“Pah! I smell the smell of a human being here!”
“Of course you do,” replied her sister, “seeing that Hlini the king’s
son is asleep here.”
They then went to the bed on which Hlini was lying, and moving the
headboard, on which the runes were carved, to one side, out came two
beautiful silver swans.
“Sing, my beautiful swans, sing, and waken Hlini,” cried the
giantesses.
And as the swans, obeying, sang a lovely sweet song, the prince awoke.
The younger giantess then brought him a silver tray laden with
delicious fruit and wine; but the prince would not touch anything.
“Will you marry me now?” then asked the giantess.
“No, no, and again no!” cried the prince.
“Then sing, sing, my beautiful swans, that Hlini may go to sleep
again,” she called out angrily.
And as the swans raised their voices in a sad, plaintive melody, the
prince fell back on the bed, and was soon in his magic sleep again.
The two sisters then lay down on the other couch with the
silver-embroidered quilt.
In the morning they again wakened Hlini in the same manner, and offered
him food, which, however, he angrily refused; whereupon the younger
giantess again asked him if he would marry her; and when he refused, as
before, the sisters put him to sleep by the song of the swans, and then
left the cave, closing it as they went out.
After waiting a little while to make sure that the wicked sisters were
not coming back again, Signy came out of her hiding-place, and moving
the headboard of the bed, as she had seen the sisters do, she called to
the swans, and as they sang their song, the prince awoke.
He was greatly surprised to see Signy in place of the hideous giant
sisters, and thanked her warmly for her help, asking how she had come
there.
Then Signy told him how much his father sorrowed at his mysterious
disappearance, and that she had determined to try and find him.
Hlini was very grateful, and told Signy that, after he had got
separated from his friends in the fog, he had suddenly encountered the
giant sisters, who, having their swans with them, put him to sleep
before he had time to fight them or get away, and that they had then
forcibly carried him off to their cave; and that the younger sister, as
she had no doubt heard, wanted to marry him. But this he had steadily
refused to do. As long as he remained firm, they could only keep him
there asleep; but, he added, he would rather remain thus for ever than
marry the ogress.
When he had finished his tale, Signy said, “Now the first thing we must
do, is to find out the meaning of the runes on the headboard. When,
therefore, the sisters come in this evening, do not refuse their food
(for you will want all your strength to get away), but be friendly with
them, and then ask them what the letters mean, and also what they do
all day while they are away.”
Hlini said he would certainly follow Signy’s advice. Then, finding a
chessboard and some men on a shelf, they sat down and amused themselves
playing and chatting, till they thought it was drawing near the time
when the giantesses usually returned; then Signy called the swans and
put the prince to sleep, as she had seen the sisters do, after which
she hid herself in her dark corner.
Soon she heard the sisters returning, and presently they entered the
cave.
“I certainly do smell the smell of a human being,” said the elder
sister, sniffing angrily round the cave.
“Nonsense!” replied the younger one, who, having lit the fire, was
anxious to get their supper cooked. “Of course you smell it when Hlini
is here.”
“But this is a different smell,” persisted the elder sister; and Signy,
seeing her peering about, feared she would discover her.
But the younger sister, having plucked and cleaned the birds they had
caught, told her elder sister she must cook them at once, as she was
about to waken Hlini; and, going up to the couch with the
gold-embroidered quilt, on which Hlini was lying asleep, she called
forth the swans, and wakened him.
By this time the birds were cooked; and when she asked him if he would
take any food, instead of refusing, Hlini said he felt hungry, and
would join them at their supper.
The younger giantess was greatly pleased, and after helping him to
fruit and wine, asked him whether he would not now make her his wife.
But Hlini said he must first know more about her and her sister before
he could decide.
“What, for instance, is the meaning of those runes carved on the
bedhead?” he asked.
“Oh,” replied the giantess graciously, “the words are—
“‘Fly, fly, oh bedstead mine,
And carry me whither I will.’
You have only to sit down on the bed and repeat those words, and
immediately you are carried to whatever place you wish to go.”
The prince was delighted when he heard this, as he hoped it would
enable him and Signy to escape.
“And what do you and your sister do all day when you are out?” he
asked.
“Well, we roam about, looking for some man, woman, or child, for our
dinner, for we always prefer them to birds or animals; and then, when
we get tired, we sit down under a tree and play with our ‘life egg.’”
replied the giantess.
“I suppose you have to be very careful when you are playing with your
life egg?” asked the prince.
“Yes, indeed we have to be,” answered the giantess, “for if it were
broken, we should both die. But there is no fear of that,” and she gave
a loud laugh, “we are much too careful; it can only be broken by a
human being; and whenever one of them comes near us, we soon catch him
and eat him.”
The prince now declared that he felt so tired, he really must go to
sleep; and though, before calling the swans, the giantess again asked
him to marry her, he said he could say nothing till the morning, so he
was put to sleep as before.
The next morning, after the sisters had wakened him and given him some
food, they asked him if he would go to the woods with them; but Hlini
said he still felt very tired, and would prefer to rest, so the sisters
put him to sleep again and went away, closing the cave after them.
Waiting a short time, so as to make quite sure that the giantesses
would not return, Signy presently came forth from her hiding-place and
awakened the prince.
“Get up quickly,” she said, “for we will follow the giantesses into the
wood. Take with you your hunting spear which stands beside the bed, and
when they begin to play at ‘throw and catch’ with their life ball, you
must throw your spear at the egg; but keep a clear eye and a firm hand,
for, remember, if you miss, both your life and mine will be forfeited.”
“Never fear,” said Hlini; “there is too much at stake. I will be
careful.” Then they seated themselves on the couch, and both repeated
the rune.
“Fly, fly, oh bedstead mine,
And carry me whither I will.”
And immediately the bed rose up, the wall of the cave opened, and
passing swiftly through the air, it landed them amid the leafy branches
of a huge oak tree.
Peeping cautiously down, they saw the two giantesses sitting at the
foot of the tree; one was holding the golden life egg in her hand,
ready to throw it at her sister, and both were laughing loudly, as the
egg flew backwards and forwards between them.
Watching his opportunity, Hlini threw his spear just as one sister was
poising it in her hand, and as the point of the spear hit the egg, it
broke in half.
At the same instant, both giantesses fell back dead, a stream of
dark-coloured poison poured from their lips, and huge deadly black and
yellow fungi sprang up and speedily covered them completely.
Hlini then seated himself beside Signy on the couch, and immediately
they were carried back to the cave.
Here they found, on searching round, an immense quantity of gold,
silver, and jewels; and having laden both beds with these and the two
silver swans, they each sat down on one, and, repeating the runes, were
speedily transported to the hut of Signy’s father, who was delighted at
his daughter’s safe return, and made Hlini very welcome.
The next morning Signy went to the king’s palace and demanded an
audience, and the king, having admitted her, asked her who she was and
what she wanted.
“I am the daughter of the old man who lives in the little hut on the
moor near your palace,” replied Signy, “and I have come to ask what
reward you would give me if I bring your son back to you safe and
well?”
The king laughed good-naturedly. “I do not think I need trouble to
answer that,” he said. “There is not much chance of your finding him,
when so many others have failed.”
“But if I succeed,” persisted Signy, “will you give me the same reward
as you have promised to others?”
“Certainly,” replied the king; “if you succeed in bringing back my son
safe and well, I will not go back from my word.”
Then Signy returned to the hut, and begged the prince to return with
her to the palace; and together they entered the great audience hall.
When the king beheld his son, whom he had mourned as dead, alive and
well, he was greatly rejoiced, and made him sit down on his right hand
and relate the story of all that had happened to him since the day he
became separated from his friends during the chase.
When Hlini seated himself beside the king, he begged Signy to take the
seat on his other hand, and then began the relation of all his
adventures—telling of his imprisonment in the cave, and how Signy had
freed him, and saved his life by rescuing him from the hands of the
wicked giantesses.
When he had finished, he rose from his seat, and standing before his
father, asked his permission to take Signy as his wife. To this the
king willingly assented, saying that no reward could be too great for
her, who had restored his son to him. So orders were at once issued for
the preparation of a magnificent wedding-feast; all the great nobles of
the kingdom were invited, neither were the poor forgotten. There was
ample provision made for all, and every one praised the king for his
right royal hospitality, for each one received rich gifts ere they
returned home. Signy’s father was made the king’s librarian, and put in
charge of the royal manuscripts; and Hlini and Signy lived long and
happily together, surrounded by their children and grandchildren.
FERTRAM AND HILDUR
Long, long ago, in a distant land, there lived a king and queen, who
were quite happy, save for one thing—they had no children. Some years
passed, and then, to their great joy, a little baby girl arrived, who
was named Hildur. When the christening feast came to an end, the king,
who was devoted to hunting, set out with his courtiers for a long day
in the great forest which surrounded the castle. Nothing unusual
happened until the hunting party began to turn homewards. The king was
riding alone, a little in front of his gaily dressed retinue, when he
suddenly saw an enormous dragon flying swiftly through the air towards
him, holding a small child in his talons. In an instant the king drew
his bow; the arrow, shot by his practised hand, sped to its mark, and
the monster fell to the ground, pierced through the heart. The king
leapt from his horse, and by the time his courtiers reached his side,
he was holding in his arms the rescued child, a beautiful boy of about
a year old, quite unhurt.
There were plenty of willing arms ready to carry the little fellow; but
the King refused.
“I rescued him; and now he shall be a playmate for my little daughter,”
he said. And the whole party went back to the castle.
Years passed on. The children grew up together, and loved each other
dearly. The king and queen had named the little boy Fertram, and they
treated him in all respects like their own child. If one of the little
ones had a present, the other had the same, and at last they were never
happy if they parted even for a day.
Now, Hildur’s grandmother was deeply versed in all kinds of magic arts,
and even when the young princess was still quite a girl, she taught her
many of her secrets. The child was the one being whom she loved. On the
other hand, she had an unreasoning dislike to the boy who had so
strangely become part of the family, and when she saw the affection of
the young people for one another, she determined to poison Fertram.
“Never shall my beloved grandchild wed this foundling boy,” she said to
herself. “The son of one of our rich neighbours is the mate I destine
for her.”
So she waited for an opportunity.
One day Fertram came in very hungry from a long day’s hunting. The
grandmother caused a dainty dish to be set before him, and begged him
to partake of it. But Hildur, who had noticed her grandmother’s dislike
to the young prince, came in at the moment, and, seeing the dish was
poisoned, prevented his eating it.
Another time the grandmother attempted to kill him as he lay asleep in
his bed, but Hildur again divined her intentions. She warned Fertram,
and they placed a log of wood in the bed. When night came, the old
woman entered, and with a dagger pierced the figure in the bed, as she
thought; but, to her surprise, the weapon remained firmly fixed in the
log, whilst her hands were fastened to the handle, and she had to
remain thus until morning broke, when the spell gave way.
Twice had Hildur thus been able to save Fertram, but they both saw that
he was no longer safe. At any moment the old woman might exercise some
magic art, and prevent Hildur saving him again. They decided that they
must take some other course.
One morning early, before even the sleepy guards at the gate were
awake, the young princess and Fertram passed through, and turned their
steps towards the unknown world lying beyond their own grounds. At
first they wandered through fields, and found the way easy.
“It was the only way, Fertram,” said Hildur, when the young man
regretted leaving without a word of thanks or love to those who had
cared for him through the long years since his childhood—“it was the
only way. Nowhere in my father’s castle would you have been safe, and
my grandmother would only have vented her anger upon my parents, if
they had known of our flight.”
At length a small river stopped their way. In an instant Hildur changed
herself and Fertram into trout, and, glittering in the sunlight, they
leaped into the water. Hardly had they got below the surface when they
saw the grandmother walking along the bank of the river. She had
tracked them at once, and now used her spells to try and catch them in
their present form. The day wore on, but her art was useless—nothing
would entrap the wary trout; and at last, filled with rage, she
retraced her steps to the castle.
It was sunset now, and the two young people, having resumed their
natural shape, pursued their way into the forest.
“We must no longer take the form of fish,” Hildur said. “Even now
grandmother will be weaving a magic net, out of which no fish can
possibly escape.”
And up in her tower, the grandmother went on weaving, weaving. At first
the work went smoothly; but soon the netting became entangled, the
knots no longer held together, and her spells showed her that the
fugitives were no longer fish, but had resumed their own forms.
“Go forth immediately,” she said to her servants. “Take every one who
can be spared. Search all through the forest, and kill every living
thing that you see.”
So the servants searched all day in every direction, but not a creature
was to be seen. At last, as night drew on, they met two beautiful dogs;
they were the most magnificent animals they had ever seen. But,
although they were quite friendly with the servants, they did not allow
themselves to be touched. The men therefore returned to the castle and
told what had happened.
The wrath of the grandmother was terrible to see. She knew at once that
the dogs were Fertram and Hildur, and she commanded the servants to be
thrown into the dungeons for not carrying out her orders.
Hildur, by her magic power, knew what had taken place.
“We must not stay here, Fertram,” she said sadly; “my grandmother will
never rest now until she kills us. Even her love for me seems to have
turned to hatred.”
“But what can we do?” Fertram asked. “Better let me go by myself out
into the world, and do you return. Then all will be well.”
But Hildur made no answer. Presently she unfolded a square of green
cloth.
“Sit on this beside me,” she said.
In a moment they were floating high up in the air. The day wore on.
Sometimes they were borne along swiftly by a strong breeze, then a soft
gentle wind would come and seem almost to rock them to sleep, till just
as the sun was setting, and the sky was one blaze of gold and crimson,
Hildur made the cloth descend slowly to the earth again, and they found
themselves in a great flowery plain. Magnificent trees shaded it here
and there. A beautiful river wound its way gently through luxuriant
banks covered with ferns, and in the distance rose the tower of a great
city, surmounted by a magnificent castle, standing out distinctly
against the sky.
“Fertram,” Hildur said, in a low voice, laying her hand on his arm,
“this is your native land. You are the son of the king who once reigned
here. Now he has been dead for some years. When you were only a year
old, your mother carried you into the beautiful orchard which lies at
the foot of the castle, when suddenly a great dragon swooped down, tore
you from her arms, and she saw you no more. Your father grieved even
more for you than your mother; you were his only child, and the loss
preyed upon him, till at length he died of grief. The kingdom will soon
have no ruler, for your mother, who hid her grief for your father’s
sake, is now pining away, and they fear for her life too. Now, Fertram,
you must go to her, tell her your history, and receive the kingdom from
her hands.”
“Hildur, dear Hildur, can it be true? Have I really a mother of my own,
as you have? It is almost too delightful to believe. Come, let us
hasten to her!” cried Fertram.
“No,” Hildur answered; “I must not go with you. You must go alone. But
I will remain quietly in that small hut which is under the great tree
yonder, until you come for me. But, oh, Fertram,” and she clasped his
arm with her two white hands, “remember I am alone in a strange
country; do not forget me.”
“Forget you, when you have been everything to me all these years!
Hildur, how could I? Such a thing could never happen. I love you better
than myself.”
“Yes, I know,” Hildur answered; “but I fear some evil. I know not
what.”
Then, to prevent her grandmother’s spells taking effect, she rubbed
some salve out of a small box she carried, over his hands and face, and
bade him a sorrowful farewell.
Fertram embraced her tenderly, laughed away her fears, and then took
his way towards the town. He looked very handsome, as he turned once
more to wave his cap to her, and the sun’s rays lit up his fair hair.
She watched him till she could see him no longer, and then went on to
the little hut she had destined for her temporary abode.
Fertram only stopped once on his way to the city. Feeling tired with
the long journey, he sat down under an oak tree, on a grassy mound.
While he was resting, a beautiful dog came up, and as he patted and
stroked it, the dog licked his face and hands. Immediately Fertram
forgot all his past life, and that Hildur was waiting for him in the
hut under the trees.
Having rested, he rose up and pursued his way into the town.
“Can I see the queen?” he inquired. “I have news for her, which will
give her joy.”
At first no one paid any heed, but the youth’s noble appearance struck
the courtiers, and at length he was admitted into the palace.
There he was brought before the queen, who was lying, pale and languid,
on a great couch of rich silks and cloth of gold. When he bowed before
her, she rose to a sitting position, startled out of her apathy and
weakness by his likeness to the dead king.
“Who is this youth? Where does he come from?” she asked.
“Madam,” the courtiers answered, “he is a stranger, who craves
admittance as a bearer of good tidings to your majesty.”
Then, in a few words, Fertram told his tale. Before it was done he was
clasped in the loving arms of his mother, who felt it was indeed her
long-lost son. The court was summoned together to hear the glad
tidings, the news was proclaimed in the streets of the city, the queen
gave the government at once into the hands of her son, and the young
king was crowned amid universal rejoicings.
Day after day went by, Fertram was absorbed with the affairs of his
kingdom, and his love for his mother. All thought of Hildur had gone
like a dream.
One day the city was roused to great excitement by the appearance of a
most beautiful maiden. No one knew whence she had come, but all agreed
that her loveliness could not be surpassed, and when the queen saw her,
she sent for her to the palace, treated her like a daughter, and
besought Fertram to marry her. This, however, he steadily refused to
do.
After a time, whispers went abroad that the beautiful girl was not as
good as she was lovely. Her fair face was constantly disfigured by an
ugly frown if things were not arranged as she liked, and the courtiers
began to think that the king was right, after all, in preferring to
seek another wife.
Just then one of the royal swineherds happened to lose his way in the
forest, and he wandered on until he came to a little hut. There he
found an old man and his wife, and with them a fair maiden, whom they
called their daughter. Never had the swineherd seen any one so
beautiful, and he determined to stay the night with these people, and
if possible carry off the maiden. He found that her name was Hildur;
and when the old people had gone up to bed, while Hildur was closing
the windows, and putting things straight before following their
example, he suggested that they should go out and look at the beautiful
moon rising. But Hildur said—
“I must first make up the fire on the hearth.”
The man offered to do it for her; but no sooner had he knelt down, than
his hands became fastened to the hearth. In vain he struggled to get
away, it was all of no avail. Hildur was nowhere to be seen, and it was
not until morning that he felt free once more. Then, rising to his
feet, he fled from the uncanny place without once looking back.
When he reached the castle, his fellow servants soon heard the whole
tale, and the report of the beauty of the woodcutter’s daughter was
circulated from one to the other. The royal huntsman thought he, too,
would like to see her. So, setting off at once, he reached the hut, and
begged for a night’s rest. The old people granted it willingly. The
beautiful girl was still there, and the huntsman in his turn planned to
carry her off that night. He begged Hildur to come for a walk, as it
was such a beautiful night. But she refused.
“My time is too fully occupied for idle wanderings,” she said. “Will
you help me by locking up the door for the night?”
“Willingly,” said the huntsman, intending to put the key in his pocket,
and carry her off later on.
But no sooner had his hands touched the lock, than they remained
fastened to it. A mocking laugh behind him made him look round, and he
saw Hildur disappearing up the stairs to her room.
When the sun was well up in the sky, and the old couple beginning to
stir, the huntsman found he could remove his hands, and he hurried off
shamefaced to his home.
Shortly after this, the king was out hunting in the forest, when
suddenly a thick black fog enveloped everything. He lost his way
completely, and became separated from his people. At length, after some
hours, he arrived at a little hut, knocked joyfully at the door, and on
its being opened by an old man, craved leave to rest. He was at once
invited to enter; and then the old man, recognizing the king, begged
him to excuse the poverty of the place.
The king sat down, wearied with his long wandering, and the old man
waited upon him, bringing food and drink of the best he had. Just as
the meal was ended Hildur came in, and the king thought he had never
seen any one so beautiful before. She was dressed as a simple peasant,
but she looked like a royal princess. The king begged leave to stay the
night, as it was still too foggy for him to find his way, and the old
man acceded, only apologizing for the poorness of the accommodation.
“I will not disturb you,” the king said. “Let me only rest in this room
for the night, as I have been doing now.”
So it was arranged.
After the old couple had gone to bed, the king begged Hildur to stay
and talk with him; but she said she must see to the calves in the
stable.
“That I can do for you,” he answered; and, rising, he went out into the
stable, put the straw and hay right for the calves, and had made
everything tidy, when one of them got out. After great trouble he
caught hold of it by the tail; but, alas! his hands remained fastened
to it, and he was found in this plight by Hildur just before dawn.
She laughed merrily when she saw him.
“It hardly suits a king, my lord,” she said, “to be hanging on to the
tail of a calf!”
But Fertram humbly begged her to release him. As she did so, she looked
up at him.
“Do you not recognize me?” she said.
“No,” replied Fertram, much astonished. “I have never seen you before,
I am certain.”
“Perhaps, then, I remind you of some one?” she asked again. “Of Hildur,
the king’s daughter, who brought you back to your kingdom?”
“No,” he said again, more puzzled still; “I never even remember hearing
the name of Hildur.”
Then Hildur went and fetched the little box of ointment, and directly
she rubbed it on his hands and face, his past life came back to him. He
embraced Hildur again and again, thanking her for all she had done for
him, and asking her to forgive his apparent coldness and forgetfulness.
“You, and you alone, have had my love all this time, at any rate,” he
said; “for I could love no one else. And you alone shall be my queen.”
Sitting down together in the early morning sunshine under one of the
great forest trees, Hildur told him what he did not know; namely, that
the beautiful girl whom his mother had taken into the palace was really
her old grandmother. She had followed them, and transformed herself so
that Fertram should marry her. Then she meant to kill him and his
mother, and seize the kingdom.
“So far I have guarded you from her wicked schemes,” Hildur said,
laying her hand on his; “but, knowing that the past was no longer in
your mind, I have feared each day that she might succeed in winning
you. For had you been unfaithful to me, I could no longer have done
anything for you against her wiles.”
Again and again Fertram thanked her; then he bade her a tender
farewell, and went straight back to the city. The great council of the
kingdom was summoned, and to them the young king disclosed the real
history of the wicked grandmother. But she was too cunning to be caught
and punished. Divining what had happened, she disappeared amid a cloud
of fire and smoke.
Then Fertram, accompanied by a magnificent retinue, with glittering
dresses, splendid horses, and all the nobles of the kingdom, went to
fetch his bride. She was still in her simple peasant’s dress, but her
beauty made all forget what she wore. Mounting the beautiful steed
brought for her, she rode back beside Fertram to the palace; and on the
steps, waiting to receive her, was Fertram’s mother. This was indeed a
joyful day for her. The wish of her heart was granted, in the
loveliness and goodness of her son’s bride.
The wedding was celebrated with the utmost pomp and magnificence, and
Fertram and Hildur lived happily together, surrounded, as years passed
on, by their beautiful children and grandchildren.
THE END.
NOTES
[1] The Norse Vulcan.
[2] This is a small bar of iron, about the size of a walking-stick,
with a cross-piece at one end, still in use in Iceland.
*** End of this LibraryBlog Digital Book "Icelandic Fairy Tales" ***
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