PART II.

THE ISLE OF THE MAELSTROM.

What have we here? a Man or a Fish?—Legged like a Man, and his fins like arms. SHAKESPEARE.

“EVERY sweet hath its sour,” saith a very respectable old ballad,—and truly there is wisdom in the saying. King Frotho’s sanctity, as a crowned prince of the holy race of Odin, became at this period, for the first time, somewhat of an inconvenience to him. In the midst of his festivities, howls and cries penetrated to his palace, and reached his ears, though surrounded by buzzing flatterers, and rendered dizzy by strong potations. His people of Norway were unhappy, and they called upon their common father to relieve their misery. A pest had arisen among them which no one could conquer, for no one knew how to attack: the frightful whirlpool of the Maelstrom had a guest, and the desolate island of Moskoe an inhabitant; it was neither man, beast, bird, nor fish, that had taken up his residence in this part of his Danish majesty’s dominions, but a most extraordinary compound monster, possessing all the faculties of each of these several creations. As he had his little island entirely to himself, the want of society suggested to him an expedient by way of amusement, and also of remedying this evil—he employed his leisure in making descents upon the Norwegian coast, and carrying off the grown inhabitants, four or five at a time, and the little children by dozens, whom he devoured with as little remorse as he would young rabbits or dried herrings. The people were terrified, and the nobles began to bestir themselves; they sent out armed men in well-built boats, headed by an able leader, and desired them to bring in the monster prisoner; but the lord of the Maelstrom, so far from being brought to consent to this arrangement, exactly reversed the orders of the Norwegian ministry, for he sunk all their boats, and carried their crews prisoners to his island. Frotho heard this pitiful tale with much indifference, till they besought him to go in person against their enemy, well knowing that no magic or infernal power could succeed against the race of Odin;—then he sprung up in alarm, and declining, in his own person, all pretensions to superior sanctity, sent one of his best generals with a band of his own chosen troops, in two gallant vessels, to seize or destroy the monster. All Norway assembled on the coast to witness their successes; they saw the ships sail gallantly on, and, on the opposite coast, the giant monster rush into the waves to meet them. With a strength against which they could not contend, he seized the luckless vessels, drew them coolly and steadily on to the frightful gulf of the Maelstrom, and then, swimming back to his island, left the noble ships to be sucked into the frightful bosom of the gulf.—The waves swept over them, and the tale of their deeds was told.

Frotho was frightened into sobriety when this news reached him; Denmark became as clamorous as Norway in the matter, and he was compelled to promise that he would exert his sanctity, and go in person to the attack of the monster: but he delayed as long as he possibly could, and, under pretence of making preparations, gave the fiend of the Maelstrom time to eat half the children in Norway. At length “delays became dangerous” even to Frotho himself; he was obliged to depart, and, well armed, well guarded, and well attended by a resolute band of the bravest of his nobles and chiefs, set sail, on a fine sunny day, for the desolate isle of the Maelstrom. His magnanimous majesty could not, however, help shivering at the first glance of the island; but he took courage, on remarking that the beast did not come out to meet him, nor advance to the attack as in the former instance; so he landed in good spirits on the island, promising himself immortal glory in his conquest. A sufficient band was left in charge of the vessels, and Frotho, with his chiefs, went boldly forward into the island.

In the first few miles there was nothing to astonish them; rugged rocks, a roaring sea, and desolate naked heaths, were all that greeted the travellers: they had expected nothing else, for the Moskoe was well known to most of the party, and had never been suspected of sheltering a paradise in its bosom. Such, however, to their boundless astonishment, the heroes now found to be the case. A beautiful country arose amidst the desolate isle; and, after the first five miles, hills, dales, fertile valleys, richly wooded groves, and sparkling rivers, said a thousand smiling good-morrows to the travellers. The scene was too charming to terrify, else the total absence of anything like human inhabitants might have been sufficient to startle king Frotho, and make him doubt whether all was as it should be in this particular part of his dominion. There was a total silence around them, unbroken, save by the sweet warblings of birds, or now and then the light foot of the flying deer, as, scared by the clatter of their arms, they fled from them into the forests. Thus they proceeded till they arrived before the gates of a majestic palace of black marble, whose open portals courteously invited them to enter. Frotho paused—so did his nobles; it was finer than any thing in Denmark; infinitely larger, grander, bolder, blacker, than the palace of Sandaal, the royal residence of king Frotho himself,—so that it was clear no human hands had reared it: but whose hands had?—a puzzling question, which king Frotho would not take upon himself to answer.

But the portals stood invitingly wide open, and king Frotho was waxing weary; so, without any further debate or permission demanded, they marched into a stately hall, where invisible cooks had made successful preparation for a magnificent supper; Frotho looked and longed. There was venison, noble venison of the flesh of the elk, roasted wild boar, and a cistern of excellent fish delicately stewed in whale fat; there was a bowl of hydromel, in which king Frotho might have been drowned, and another of milk, that might have served him for a bath:—in short, the temptation was too great for the tempted; and though king Frotho well knew the danger incurred, even by a son of Odin, in tasting enchanted food, yet he could not resist the whale fat and the hydromel. “The monster certainly expected me,” said he to his attendants. “He is willing to make his peace with you,” said they to the king. “It would be uncivil not to taste his good cheer,” said the master. “Let us shew that we accept his submission,” replied the servants. So they all sat down with one accord to the feast, and ate, and drank, and were merry.

The bowl of hydromel was empty—Frotho was looking into it disconsolately with one eye (for the other was asleep), and growing angry with his nobles, who had assisted him too heartily, and been over-zealous in obeying his commands to pledge him to the health of their entertainer. After grumbling and growling for some time over the huge and now dismal-looking bowl, his majesty took it into his head to be displeased with the inattention of his host, who had failed to remark and replenish, as he ought to have done, the empty bowl of departed hydromel. “Lord beast of the island,” said his majesty, at length, having thought till his thirst grew intolerable; “lord beast of the island, I will permit thee to be viceroy in Moskoe, but thou must not spare thy hydromel when thy master deigns to visit thee. For thy good cheer, I thank thee; thy meat is of the best, and abundant, but, by the burning wheel on Balder’s breast, thy drink was scanty; and I command thee hither to supply me with more.” A rumbling of thunder and a long terrific howl was the answer to the speech of the monarch. Frotho shivered with affright, for he thought he recognised, amid the uproar, the voices of his old acquaintances the illustrious snake and wolf, cousins of his sorcerer friend Biorno; and, as he was a little diffident of their conduct, notwithstanding his services to Surter, he did not altogether relish the meeting, under present circumstances; so, ensconcing himself in the centre of his gallant little band of valiant warriors, he patiently awaited what was to be the second part of his entertainment. This was settled in an instant; neither Fenris nor Midgard broke upon the supper party of the monarch, but a being more horrible than either, and infinitely more hideous than his or any imagination had already conceived of the monster of the Maelstrom gulf. A stern gigantic shape entered the hall, and stood steadily face to face with king Frotho and his nobles: his features were frightfully flat, and two sunken fiery eyes shot terrific glances from a visage almost entirely covered with dark and grisly hair; long black elf locks hung down upon his shoulders, huge teeth grinned through his grisly beard, and his fingers and feet were furnished with claws which were worthy of Nebuchadnezzar himself; his enormous body was covered with black bear-skins, so disposed as to serve him for a whole suit; and his huge hand grasped a monstrous club, which seemed very desirous of a nearer acquaintance with his majesty of Denmark’s brains. The monster contemplated the group for a moment in silence; he suffered them even to draw their swords and advance exactly one step towards him, when he suddenly lifted his terrible club, and, without striking a single blow, laid them all prostrate at his feet. He then approached king Frotho; the son of Olave shrunk from the uplifted club, and bellowed out, in terror and haste, that he was the king of Denmark. “And thy errand?” said the monster. King Frotho was silent. “I know it,” observed the spectre; “and for its presumption, but for one thing which I expect of thee, would bind thy trembling feet for ever to the spot where thou standest staring at me. Hark thee! thou fool of Surter’s making! who hopest to overcome the invincible by human arms,—hear, and obey what I shall command thee. I do not hate thee, and would not harm thee, for thou art the friend of Lok; but my wrath against the kingdoms must be appeased, and my divinity acknowledged. I demand thy daughter. A spotless virgin of royal blood must come voluntarily hither to be sacrificed on this island, and thou must conduct her: do this, and henceforth I too am thy friend; neglect it, and my thunders shall shake thy palace of Sandaal, and this club dash out thy brains and scatter them over thy sovereign throne.”

King Frotho looked aghast—not at the condition of his safety, but his utter inability to fulfil it—there was no cheating such an enemy as this—so he told him the plain truth, that he had no daughter, and humbly apologised for the want of one. The monster yelled at him, and again lifted up his club. Frotho, in agony, besought him to have pity, and then suddenly recollected that he had a niece who was his prisoner, and whom he very readily offered to his disposal. The monster hesitated;—at length, in reply to Frotho’s earnest entreaties, he consented to spare his life, upon condition that, in the space of twenty days, he should land the princess on the island, and deliver her safely into his hands, to be sacrificed by his own high priest in his palace; and promising, should Frotho fail in his engagement, on the very next day, to shake Sandaal about his ears, and dish up his carcass as a meal for Midgard. Frotho sealed his promise with a solemn oath, and the monster dismissed him with a kick on the throne-honouring part of his person, which sent him not only through the palace gates, but one mile forward in his journey to the coast, which long before he had gained, his panting train overtook him, being driven out by the lord beast, to wait upon and console their disgraced and afflicted master.

King Frotho had no intention, rogue as he was, to cozen the Moskoe monster; on the contrary, he was desirous to obtain his friendship and forbearance towards his subjects and the little Norwegian children for whom he had evinced such cannibal prepossessions. He was not sorry, either, so effectually to dispose of Ildegarda, whose union with his son he had such good reason to fear. The difficulty would be to persuade the princess to go voluntarily to be eaten. He was ingenious however—naturally fertile in expedients—and he soon hit upon a method of persuasion which he deemed infallible: he told the poor princess that the monster demanded her or her father as prisoners; that he allowed her to choose, and if she thought proper to decline, he should ship off old Haquin immediately, to be stewed in whale fat, and served up for supper with milk sauce, according to the pleasure of the monster, in the marble palace of Moskoe: for his own part, in relation to herself, he pretended he did not clearly understand to what the lord of the island had destined her, but he hoped nothing so terrible as a roast or a hash. Ildegarda wept, but came into the scheme quicker than Frotho had anticipated. Haldane was dead, and her father’s life in danger; by the sacrifice of her own, which was now really become indifferent to her, she could at least preserve the last of these beloved beings, and therefore she did not hesitate. Making Frotho swear a tremendous oath (which she knew no Dane dared break), to release her father on his return from Moskoe, she prepared to accompany the king, and, in less than twenty days, Frotho and his beautiful victim landed on the island, and prepared to march to the black palace alone.

They had not proceeded far on their journey, when their progress was arrested by the appearance of a singular cavalcade coming to meet them; this consisted of a magnificently painted chariot, drawn by four snow-white rein-deer, each of whom, to the astonishment of Ildegarda, had feet of pure gold: behind it came the monster-man himself, mounted upon a coal-black steed of extraordinary size and beauty, who pawed the earth impatiently, and, snorting and foaming as he reared, threw his magnificent mane from side to side, as if weary of the slight restraint which his rider appeared to impose upon him;—the latter had now a bear-skin cap upon his head, on the top of which sat a monstrous raven, decorating it by way of crest; and another on his wrist, with infinite grace and gravity, seemed ready to serve him in quality of falcon extraordinary. The cavalcade paused on remarking the strangers; and the grim monster, advancing to Frotho, sternly demanded, “Comes the maid willingly?” “She does,” replied Frotho; “and”—But the monster no longer gave him any attention: he did not even look at Ildegarda, but, bending his head down, towards his horse’s ears, gravely and mildly asked, “Steed of heaven, art thou weary?” “No,” replied the horse; “but I have to-day been so long upon the earth, that its gross air is beginning to affect me—the sod is heavy to my feet, and somewhat checks my swiftness: let me relieve my legs, I pray thee.” The strange monster nodded his grisly head in reply, and Frotho beheld the courser slowly and deliberately draw up his four black legs, and let down three white ones in their places. The king began now to guess his company; “It is the wondrous steed of Odin,” said he in a whisper to Ildegarda; “the immortal eight-legged Sleipner: but what is he who rides him?” The princess had no time to answer this question, even had she been able, for the monster seemed determined to have all the conversation to himself. He spoke to the raven on his head: “Hugo,” said he, “take the reins, guide my rein-deer smoothly, and conduct the lady to the palace: and you, Mumin,” added he to the bird on his wrist, “hasten homewards, and see that all be prepared for the victim.” At these terrible words, the tears of Ildegarda began to flow, and Frotho prepared himself to make a speech. The monster heeded neither the one nor the other, but nodded to Ildegarda to ascend the chariot, which when she had done, he turned round to Frotho, lifted up his terrible club, and exclaimed, in a voice of thunder, “Go!” It was but one word, but the tone and the action weighed more than five hundred with Frotho, who, fearing to hear it repeated, darted from the party, and set sail for Denmark without once looking behind him.

In the mean time, Ildegarda was conducted by her ill-looking escort to the marble palace, and left by him in the same hall in which Frotho had rested on his first arrival: here, too, she found a supper prepared for her, though in a somewhat different taste from the former; but the princess had no inclination to eat—indeed she felt determined not to be fattened before killing, and threw herself upon the earth in a paroxysm of grief and despair. Suddenly, soft and sweet music broke upon her ear, and the beautiful voice of some holy unseen thing thus sung soothingly to her sorrow:—

When the thunder-bolt cleaveth The trembling sky— When the mad ocean heaveth His wild waves on high— When the coiling snake waketh From the heaving earth curled And upreareth and shaketh An agonised world—

When his coil thrice he foldeth Around the night-born, Till the gazer beholdeth Red blood fill her horn— When Valkyries scatter The clouds which they tear, And their steed hoof’s loud clatter Is heard in the air—

When on oak tops the trampling Of their hoofs echo loud, While their snorting and champing Is lost in the cloud— When wizards are breaking The sleep of the dead, And the shadows are waking From each gory bed—

When the dog of hell howleth, As the sheeted dead glide Where the queen of death scowleth, Grim Fenris beside— When Surter assembleth The lost round his throne— Then the murderer trembleth, And the murderer alone.

But then, guiltless beauty, What hast thou to fear? All owe thee their duty, All homage thee here: The life thou hast given The immortals will claim; And Rinda in heaven Stamps thy star-written name.

The princess listened in breathless astonishment, and, when the sweet sounds died away, spoke in cheerful tones to the friendly singer. “Thanks, gentle magician,” said she aloud; “I submit to the pleasure of Odin, and will not be ungrateful for thy anxiety; see, I will partake of thy hospitality, and then retire to rest confident in thy gracious protection.” Ildegarda then ate something of the repast, and the moment she had concluded, the dishes and bowls retired of themselves from the table, without any assistance, through the doors and windows of the palace. While she was lost in astonishment at this singular attendance, the doors on the opposite side of the hall opened of themselves, and she, supposing it a summons for her attention, immediately passed through them, and heard them close behind her. She traversed several stately rooms, till at length she stood in one more magnificent than the rest, and which, from the circumstance of the doors closing when she entered it, she concluded was designed by her host for her chamber. Grateful for his indulgence, she determined to accept his courtesy, and threw herself down upon her couch to sleep: satisfied, she reviewed the events of the day, and found she had little reason to complain. “I could even be happy,” said Ildegarda, “if I were assured of the safety of my father.” The wish was instantly gratified; a large curtain on the opposite side was suddenly withdrawn, and, represented on a magic mirror, the princess beheld her father in his own palace, conversing earnestly with his attendants. The vision lasted but a few moments—the curtain fell again before the mirror, and Ildegarda, in a transport of gratitude, thanked aloud the courteous monster, who thus sought, as he had promised, to offer her the homage most pleasing to her feelings.

Ildegarda now tried to compose her spirits to sleep,—the pale moon had risen over the island, and was pouring a flood of calm cold light into each apartment of the palace,—suddenly, her beams were eclipsed by a light so glorious that the senses of the princess ached as she contemplated the wonder; she looked up to discover the cause, but mortality drooped under its excess of glory, and she bent downwards towards the earth; a soft voice called upon her name, but the princess could not reply; then the beautiful being, who was resting upon the light, beheld the embarrassment of her beloved, and, dismissing part of the effulgence by which she was surrounded, stood visible to the mortal sight, and Ildegarda beheld her beloved goddess, the guardian of her youth, the divine object of her innocent worship, the radiant Rinda, the daughter of the sun, the beloved of Odin and Freya.

Ildegarda bent her brow still lower to the earth, and kissed the fringe of the mantle of her goddess; then the most lovely of those lovely beings, who float on their ether thrones round the domes of Valasciolf, spoke tenderly to the fairest of her worshippers. “Thou hast done well and wisely,” said the daughter of heaven to the child of earth, “in thus offering thy life for thy father and thy country, and thou hast not disappointed my hope; I carried up the perfume of the holy deed to the foot of the throne of Odin; pleased, he took it from my hand, clothed it in light, and placing it on a branch of Hydrasil, the tree of heaven, bade it blow and expand into an immortal flower, to commemorate thy virtue, and remind him of thy deserving. Child of my love—hope all—fear nothing—endure with patience—and thy reward shall be most glorious.” The goddess then recalled around her the extended beams of light, and, concentrating their brightness round her person, again became insupportably effulgent to human vision; in the next instant she was gone, and the glory she had left died away when unfed by her presence.

How sweet was the sleep of Ildegarda that night, and how blessed was her awakening on the morrow! Morning, the gay bride of Balder, beheld her descend joyfully to the hall, after adorning her lovely person with an elegant dress, selected from many, which the unseen hands of her watchful attendants had placed in her apartment for that purpose. Arrived in the hall, she expressed a wish to breakfast; and instantly the courteous dishes glided in from doors and windows to the table, attended by a grave-looking bowl of milk, which steadily sailed on till it placed itself in the centre, where it remained till the princess, by rising from table, dismissed its services for the present. She then roamed through the vast gardens of this beautiful place, and talked to the birds and the deer, fondly hoping and expecting that they were enchanted princes and princesses, and, like the black horse whom she beheld on her arrival, endowed with the faculty of speech; but, after much conversation on her own part, she was compelled to resign this pleasing illusion, and believe that they were merely real birds and real deer, who could only sing and leap. She then returned to the palace, wandered over its spacious apartments, and amused herself by counting the passages and doors. Still the day went off heavily, even with the aid of these time-killing pastimes; and when the hour of supper arrived, the princess welcomed it as sincerely as if hunger had been the instigator of the pleasure her countenance expressed; she seated herself at the table, and was earnestly and anxiously employed in coaxing the birds to partake of it,—when a loud clap of thunder shook the palace to its foundation, and terrified all appetite from the poor princess. She had hardly time to think of its cause, ere it became apparent, for the monster-man himself entered the hall, and clad in his customary dress, stood still in the middle of the apartment. Although his appearance was as usual, yet his manner was entirely different, for his step was slow and irresolute, and his voice mild and timid; he scarcely ventured to look up as he asked, in a humble and supplicating manner, if the princess would permit him to pay his duty while she supped. Ildegarda, somewhat re-assured by his gentleness, requested him to use his pleasure in a place where unquestionably all things were at his disposal. “Not so, gracious lady,” replied the courteous monster; “I will not stay in your presence, but with your express permission: my power I cede to your beauty and virtue, and am content myself to be the first subject of so lovely a sovereign.” This gallant speech was made with so much humility and respect, that Ildegarda was not alarmed by its tenderness; and the monster, to shew (after she had granted permission) how highly he valued this trifling favour, and how little he was disposed to encroachment, declined the seat which, after a struggle, she offered him, and seated himself upon the ground, at a considerable distance from her. Touched by this humble homage and generous delicacy of a being so powerful, and at whose mercy she so entirely was, the princess so far conquered her abhorrence, as to present him with food and drink; the former he declined, but he took the again-summoned bowl of milk from her snowy hand, and, with a gesture of respectful gratitude, tasted the balmy liquor, as if to indulge her wish. At length, after a long silence, he asked her if she could be happy in the island? “I hope so,” replied the princess; “But will you tell me, sir sorcerer, what has thus singularly changed my destiny? I came hither to die—yet I live,—and anxiety is even manifested by my enemy for my happiness. How am I to understand these contradictions?” “Call me not your enemy, beautiful Ildegarda,” replied the monster, “for that I have not been; destiny had decreed you to be a victim, though not of death; I am but its instrument to work out its intentions; the sacrifice of your liberty only was demanded, and your generous resignation of life itself has impelled me to love your worth, and lighten, as far as my power will, the burthen of your sorrows. I cannot release you from this rock, but I can surround you with pleasures, and render your bondage supportable.” Ildegarda was pleased with this explanation, and, after thanking her host for his generous intentions, withdrew to her chamber, though not till she had accorded to Brandomann (for that he had told her was his name) permission to attend her on the next evening to supper: this was an honour she would gladly have declined,—but she felt it would be ungracious, and that he had some right to calculate upon her complaisance. The next night came, and Brandomann was punctual—conducting himself in the same timid manner—though, observing the dislike of Ildegarda towards him, he put an end to the interview earlier than usual, and quitted her presence in sorrow. The princess was sad that she had inflicted pain, yet she could not but hope that the hideous being would not again seek her society. In this she was disappointed;—he came at night, as before, and seated himself silent and sorrowfully at her feet; he spoke not, and scarcely ventured to look at her, till she, affected by his grief, offered him the bowl and bade him drink; he took it with a smile—the poor monster intended it so, but the frightful grin which distorted his features was so odious, that Ildegarda sickened with affright, and heartily repented her condescension. Brandomann understood her disgust. “Ildegarda,” he said mournfully, “I too well know how justly I must be an object of abhorrence to the eye of beauty; I will not give you pain therefore—though it will destroy the only happiness I have ever enjoyed, I will intrude no more into your presence,—I will not destroy the little felicity which fate has left you.” He arose to retire; but the generosity of the princess overcame her reluctance,—she was not proof against his noble self-denial,—and, rising hastily from her seat, she requested, entreated,—nay, commanded him to continue his visits. Brandomann was but too happy to obey; and he retired comforted from her presence. The next night Brandomann was not so silent—he exerted himself to amuse and interest his lovely prisoner; and he succeeded admirably when he spoke of the present state of Denmark—the disorders of the king—the disappearance of both the princes, sons of Harold—and the courage and integrity of her noble father; upon this theme he discoursed till tears of pleasure filled the eyes of the princess, whom he repeatedly assured of Haquin’s safety. “Should you wish a confirmation of the intelligence which I give you,” continued Brandomann, “on the first day of every month examine the magic mirror in your chamber; it will satisfy your curiosity, by representing your father and his employments; but only at that time must you consult it.” Still Brandomann continued to talk, and Ildegarda to listen, till she forgot to wish for the hour of separation, and even suffered the monster to retire first; the next day she grew weary ere evening, and waited with something like impatience for the supper hour: it came at last, and Brandomann with it, who perceived, by the reception she gave him, that he was no longer so unwelcome a guest as formerly. Animated by this belief, he again exerted all his powers to interest the princess; he related to her the early history of her country, and the exploits of the greatest heroes, her ancestors of the race of Odin; he then went on to discourse of the Scaldres, their singular union, their mystic occupations, and their magnificent poems; he himself, he remarked to her, was of this privileged order, and, without wearying her attention, recited some of his own composition and those of his noble brethren. Ildegarda was charmed by his discourses. Balder had touched his lips with eloquence, and Brage had rendered his voice melodious, and many words flowed over his lips, sweet, yet powerful, as a torrent of silvery waters. The princess was pleased while she only listened,—when she looked, the spell was broken.