Part 11

Elsa turned to look, and there, sailing swiftly towards them, came the snow-white swan, drawing the small boat in which the shining knight had arrived.

“Oh, my Elsa,” he said, “the Grail has sent for me—I dare not tarry. One year only, and I might have had the joy of seeing thee again united to thy long-lost brother. For he is not dead, and by the might of the Grail he was then to be restored to thee. Now hearken. Should he return, give him these—my sword and horn and ring. The sword will bring him victory in battle, the horn will bring him help in time of need, and the ring he shall wear in memory of me. Farewell, my beloved bride; farewell forever!”

THE WOOING OF THE DAUGHTER OF THE KING OF IRELAND

_From the Gudrun Lay_

When Hettel, the young King of Denmark, but newly crowned, was minded to take him a wife, he sent and gathered together his high vassals and lieges to his palace in Hegelingen to give him counsel.

And Morung of Nifland said to the king: “There is one maiden that for comeliness surpasseth all others in the world: that is Hilda, daughter of wild Hagen, King of Ireland; and she is peerless.”

“That may be so,” answered the king, “but Hagen is waxed so proud that there is no dealing with him by fair words; and many kings and yarls which sought to carry her off by strength of arm now sleep the sword-sleep because of her.”

Then spake the sweet-voiced Horant: “Full well I know the maiden. She is radiant as the soft new snow beneath the dawn. Stern is her father, and cruel as the north wind that tears the clouds and breaks the sea, and shakes the pines in his fists. Wherefore if the king must send a messenger, let him not choose me.” Frute spake also: “Neither am I fain to go upon this errand. But let the king send and summon Yarl Wate of Sturmen; he is more reckless than any man, and heedeth no living thing.”

But when Yarl Wate was come before the king, and understood what was required of him, he was but ill-pleased, and said: “I ween Horant and Frute to have counseled thee in this, and to have done in no friendly wise toward me. Howbeit I am not the man to pick an enterprise that hath no peril in it. I will go. But since Horant and Frute esteem my life so lightly, they shall go likewise.”

Then Yrolt of Ortland and Morung said: “It is well spoken; and inasmuch as it behooveth none to hang back when brave men take their lives in their hands, we also will go with them.”

So the king made ready a great ship of cypress wood, in fashion like a dragon. It was all aglow with golden scales; the anchor was of silver, and the steering paddle overlaid with gold. Within he furnished it abundantly with victual for the voyage, with armor and raiment, and presents of great price.

Then Yarl Wate and Morung, Horant and Frute and Yrolt, entered into the ship with seven hundred of their men. They drew aloft the embroidered sail; a fair wind arose and bore them out of harbor. For many days they tilled the barren sea-fields, until weary of sea toil they saw the welcome land, and steered in for Castle Balian, where Hagen the king kept court.

Being come to shore, Horant and Yrolt took precious jewels in their hands worth many thousand marks, and leaving their men hidden in the ship, came to King Hagen, saying: “Behold we have voyaged from a far country where we have heard of thy fame, and we pray thee take these presents at our hands.” Hagen looked at the jewels and marvelled at their great worth. He said: “What kings are ye, and whence have you come with all this treasure.”

Horant answered, saying: “Banished folk are we. Hast thou not heard of Hattel, who is king in Hegelingen, and of his might and majesty, of the battles he has fought and the riches he has gathered together? He despiseth such as we, and being well befriended careth nothing for his men. Wherefore a few of us, weary of his overbearing ways, have left him seeking service.” Then said Hagen: “Ye shall abide with me”; and he commanded to make ready lodgings for them in the city.

But Horant and Yrolt gave gold away so lavishly to all within the city that the people said, “Of a truth these must be the richest kings of the earth.”

And the fair Hilda hearing of it desired greatly to see these strangers; wherefore her father bade them to a feast.

The Danish knights came at his bidding, arrayed most sumptuously. And the feast being over, and the wine outpoured, the queen and Hilda left the table, desiring that the guests might be brought to them in the inner chamber. First Yarl Wate went in, a huge and burly man, with a great rough beard and brawny hands. But when the queen bade him sit between her and the princess he blushed and stammered, and then blundered shamefaced to the seat. “Thou art strangely ill at ease in company of ladies,” said the queen. “Aye, mistress,” said Yarl Wate, “I am not oversmooth of tongue. I am not skilled to lisp about the weather. What shall I say? This seat is soft enough. I never mind me to have sat so soft before, nor to have wrought so hard in doing it. By my life, good ladies!” he cried upstarting, “a good day’s battle with a brisk enemy never wearied me so much, or made me deem myself so great a fool.” Hilda and her mother laughed pleasantly at his bluff behavior, and sought to put him at his ease; but Wate would have no more; he strode off to the hall among the king and his men, and in an hour or so became himself again. For the king won on him. Hagen’s big voice, his battle knowledge, and his love of fight, opened Yarl Wate’s heart, and the two were soon made friends. But for the women, there was none in their esteem like the sweet-voiced Horant. He was fair to look upon as a woman, yet had no lack of courage in the battle time. His wit was quick; and when he talked his face was in a glow at sight of the strange pictures in his mind, whereby he likened things to one another in curious sort, so that all which heard him wondered and were glad.

Now Hagen spake much with Wate concerning sword play, and the mystery thereof. So presently Yarl Wate besought the king to appoint him a master of fence to teach him a little of it, because fencing after their manner was a thing in which he was little learned. Then King Hagen sent for the best fence master that he had, and set him to teach Yarl Wate the rules of sword play. But quickly losing patience at the long list of early rules which the fence master laid down, Hagen caught the foil from out his hands crying: “Away with you! Why all this stuff? In four strokes I will teach this man to use a sword.”

So the king fell to with Wate, whom, however, he very soon found an exceeding skilful master of fence. Thereat being somewhat angry, he struck in fiercely; and they both carried on the sport till the buttons flew off the foils; yet neither gat the better of the other. Then Hagen throwing down his foil cried: “In sooth, never saw I youth learn so quickly.” And Yrolt said: “There is very little wherein the serving men of our lord’s country are not already learned.”

So as Yarl Wate and his fellows abode continually at the king’s court and feasted with him every day, it befell once on a time, when night was past and the day had begun to dawn, that Horant arose and tuned his voice to a song. The birds, waking in the hedges, had begun to sing, but hearing music sweeter than theirs, they held their peace. Ever higher and sweeter Horant lifted his song till it rang about the palace; and all the sleepers dreamed of Baldur and his home in Ganzblick in the sky.

Soon they woke; nor were they sorry to lose their dreams at hearing Horant’s song. Hagen heard it and rose up from his bed. Hilda and her maidens heard it, and arose. Men and women came thronging to thank the singer; but when they came the song was done. Yet none the more would the birds begin their lays; they had lost their notes from wonder.

Then Hilda besought her father that by any means he should constrain Horant to sing again. And Hagen being no less crazed with the song, recked not for aught else, and he promised the singer a thousand pounds of gold by weight if he would sing again at eve.

At evening Horant sang. The people filled the hall and flocked about the castle for a great space. The sick came thither and remembered their pains no more.

The beasts in the forest and the cattle in the fields left their food; the worms forgat to go in the grass, and the fishes left swimming in the sea. And when the song was done and the folk went their ways, they heard the minster choirs and the chiming of the bells, but took no more pleasure in them.

Hilda sent twelve purses of gold to Horant, entreating him to come and sing to her in her chamber. The singer came and sang the song of Amile, the like whereof no man had ever heard save on the wild flute. No gold was ever so good. The maiden laid her hand within the singer’s and bade him choose whatever he listed for a song-gift. He said: “I pray thee give me but the girdle from thy waist, that I may take it to my master.” She asked: “Who is thy master?” He answered: “No banished men are we, but servants of Hettel, King of Denmark, come to woo thee for his bride.” Then Hilda said: “So thou couldst always sing to me at morn and eve, I would not care whose bride I were.” Horant said: “Lady, within my master’s courts abide twelve minstrels, better far than I; and yet with all the sweetness of their singing my lord sings best of all.” And Hilda said: “If that be so, I fain would follow thee and be King Hettel’s bride. But I know not how. My father will give me to no suitor with his good will. I would go but I durst not.” Horant answered her: “Since thou wouldst, be it ours to dare. We ask no more.”

Then Horant and his comrades got ready their ship for sea, and afterward they came to Hagen, saying: “The time for our departure draweth nigh, and we must sail to other lands. But before we go, we pray you bring the queen and your fair daughter, that they may see the treasures which we have within the ship.” So on the next day, after mass, King Hagen came down to the beach, with his queen, and the fair Hilda and her maids; with them went a thousand good knights of Ireland. The ship was swung to a single cable, the anchor aboard, the sail tackle free. Upon the sands were spread the Danish treasure chests, filled with costly raiment embroidered with gold and jewels. There was a crowding round the chests to see; Yarl Wate was there, and Frute, and Horant; and in the crowding Hilda was parted from her mother. Hagen and his knights saw nothing for the crowd, and the queen forgot her daughter at beholding the glories of the raiment. But suddenly they heard a shout, and looking up beheld Yarl Wate leap on the bulwarks with fair Hilda in his arms; the next moment Horant and Frute sprang on board with two other maidens. Yrolt smote at the cable with his axe; it parted. The sail was hauled aloft, and twenty oars shot out from either side to lift the ship along. Hagen and his knights ran quickly down into the sea; but the rowers rowed hard, and armed men in the ship arose, seven hundred strong, and laid about them. Short was the fight, and soon the vessel reached deep water. Loud laughed the Danes to see on the fading shore the angry crowd, the weeping queen, and Hagen raging like a madman, up to his waist in the sea.

Fast sped the ship and the wind was fair. The Danes made Hegelingen in ten days, and Hettel was wed to Hilda with great joy.

But while they yet sat at the marriage feast Hagen’s war-ship bore down upon their coast. Quickly the Danes rose from the tables, put their armor on, and ran down to the shore. Hagen drave his ship upon the sand, and leaped into the water with his men. A shower of arrows thick as hail was his greeting. Hettel rushed foremost to withstand him. There was fierce fighting between the two for a little space; then Hettel fell, sore wounded; and over his body Hagen and his knights pressed on and hewed their way to land. Fast fell the men, both Danes and Irelanders. Then Yarl Wate encountered Hagen; and the battle anger fell on both the men; they fought like wild beasts of the wood, till, Wate being wounded on the head, Hagen’s war-pike brake at the next blow he struck. Meantime the battle raged furiously. The Irelanders kept their footing, but could not drive back the Danish men; the numbers slain on either hand were equal, man for man. Then Hettel’s wounds being bound up, the Danish king cried out to Hagen: “Of what avail shall it be to you or me to fight this battle out? For every man of mine that falls a man of thine goes down. When it is done there will be an end to Danes and Irelanders alike. But if thou must needs prolong the fight, I will now meet thee, and if Hilda weeps for a dead husband she shall mourn a dead father too.” Then Hagen cast down his sword, and called off his men. And he said to Hettel: “Give me thy hand; for in sooth my child has married a brave man; and had I half a score more daughters they should all come to Hegelingen.” So the kings made peace together. And the marriage feast was all begun again, and kept for twelve days in King Hettel’s palace. Moreover a wise woman brought forth herbs and roots, and healed the warriors of their wounds. And after the feasting, Hagen and his men were loaded with gifts, and they entered into their ship and departed to Ireland.

THE LADY OF KYNAST

By Xavier B. Saintine

The Lady of Kynast owned a large domain, and on this domain a ruined old tower which stood on the summit of a steep, high rock, surrounded on all sides by a deep abyss.

Rich, young and beautiful, eagerly sought for by a number of admirers, The Lady of Kynast did not think, in her desire to keep them from becoming too pressing, of undertaking an endless piece of embroidery, like Penelope. She did not embroider; in fact she looked with contempt, and almost with disgust, upon every kind of work that was done by women. She told her admirers that she was betrothed to Kynast—this was the name of the old tower—and that anyone who thought of winning her good graces would first have to compete with her betrothed. To do this nothing was required but to climb up the rock and the tower, and having reached the battlements, to make a complete round, not on foot, however, or assisted by the hands and knees, but on horseback, without other assistance than the bridle.

The flock of lovers took flight instantly; only two remained, two brothers who had completely lost their heads.

After having cast lots, the first one attempted the task and seemed on the point of being successful. But that was all. He had no sooner reached the crenelated top of the old tower than he was seized with vertigo and instantly fell into the abyss.

The second brother, in his turn, climbed to the top and actually succeeded in riding some distance along the battlements; but soon his horse, feeling the stones slipping from under its hoofs, and the whole tower rocking under the weight, refused to go on. Determined to carry through the undertaking he encouraged his horse with his voice and with his spurs, but the poor animal remained immovable, apparently wedged in between the large stones of the tower. In the morning both horse and rider had disappeared.

For quite a while no other claimants appeared to woo the fair lady, when suddenly one day a third lover presented himself and asked leave to attempt the trial.

She did not know who it was, and this surprised her; for how could he have fallen in love with her? He might possibly have seen her on her balcony, or at some royal feast; perhaps he was only allured by her great reputation. However, there was nothing to lose by accepting the offer.

For some days a thick, heavy fog had shrouded the castle and the old tavern from top to bottom, so as to make the ascent impossible. The simple laws of hospitality required, therefore, that the lady should offer her castle to the newly arrived knight.

He proved to be a handsome man with a fine commanding figure, and the large number of his servants bespoke his high rank and large fortune. During three days he spent almost all his time with the young lady, but as yet he had not dared say a word of his love. On her side, however, the young lady felt herself gradually conquered by a feeling which had, until now, been unknown to her heart.

When the dense veil of mist was at length torn aside and the Kynast shone forth in its full splendor, she was on the point of telling the knight that she would not insist on the trial in his case.

When the moment came the Lady of Kynast felt her heart fail her. She shut herself in, she wept and she cried, and prayed that he might be successful. Loud clamors were heard below, and as she thought the spectators were bewailing the death of her last lover, she fainted away.

Cries of joy and of triumph roused her again; the knight had successfully accomplished the task. Overcome, she rushes to meet him, and in her excitement she forgets that all eyes are upon her, and breathlessly cries out: “My hand is yours.” But he draws himself up to his full height, and haughtily and harshly he replies, with a proud smile:

“Have I ever asked you for your hand? I only came to avenge my two brothers, whom you have killed, and I have done it, for I do not, could not, love you, and yet you love me. Farewell!”

That same evening the wretched lady had herself conducted up to the top of the tower, from whence she wished, she said, to watch the setting sun. She was never seen alive again.

THE GUARDIAN ANGEL

By Xavier B. Saintine

A white figure appeared before the young girl as she awoke. “I am your Guardian Angel!”

“Then you will grant me the wishes which I shall mention?”

“I shall carry them to God’s throne. You may count upon my assistance. What are your wishes?”

“O White Angel, I am tired of continually turning the spindle and my fingers are getting to be so hard by constant work that yesterday, at the dance, my partner might have imagined he was holding a wooden hand.”

“Your partner was that fine-looking gentleman from Hesse? Did he not tell you that he adored blue eyes and fair hair, and that he would make you a baroness, if you would go home with him, if you would wickedly run away?”

“White Angel, make me a baroness!”

The evening of that day a young peasant came and asked Louisa’s mother for her daughter’s hand. The mother said, Yes.

“White Angel, deliver me from this poor man. I want to be a baroness!”

The mother, who was a sensible woman, and a widow, had good sense enough and energy enough for two. The White Angel did not appear again, and Louisa married the peasant—and she kept on turning the spindle.

One day her husband, who was a hard-working man, had over-exerted himself and was taken ill. In the meanwhile Louisa had seen her handsome gentleman again.

“White Angel,” she said, “he loves me still. He has sworn he would marry me if I were a widow.” She dared not say more. The husband recovered from his illness. The White Angel still turned a deaf ear to her wishes. She lost all hope of ever becoming a baroness.

Later her husband became more successful, so that his work alone supplied all their wants. Two beautiful children had come to gladden their lives, and now, when Louisa worked at the spindle, it felt quite soft in her fingers.

One evening, when she was only half asleep, the white figure appeared once more, and a gentle voice whispered in her ear this story:

“A little fish was merrily swimming about in the water and looking seriously at a pretty blackcap which first circled around and around in the air, and then alighted on a branch of a willow which grew close to the bank of the river.

“‘Oh,’ said the little fish, ‘how happy that bird is! It can rise up to the heavens and go high up to the sun to warm itself in its rays. Why cannot I do the same?’

“The blackcap, who was looking down at the fish, thought to himself:

“‘Oh! how happy that fish is! The element in which it lives furnishes it at the same time with food; it has nothing to do but to glide along. How I should like to sport in the fresh, transparent water!’”

“At that moment a kite pounced upon the poor little fish, while a scamp of a schoolboy threw a stone at the bird; the blackcap fell into the water—the fresh, transparent water—and for a moment struggled in it before it died, while the little fish, carried aloft, could go up on high to the sun and warm itself in its rays. Their wishes had been granted.”

THE GIANT WHO LAUGHED AT A DWARF

By Xavier B. Saintine

An old duke of Bavaria had at his court a dwarf named Ephesim, and a giant named Grommelund. The giant laughed at the dwarf, and the dwarf threatened to box his ears. Grommelund laughed a big hoarse laugh that seemed to come up from his toes, and dared Ephesim to go ahead. The dwarf accepted the challenge at once, and the duke, having been a witness of the scene, ordered that a field for a single combat should be gotten ready.

Everybody expected to do as the giant had done, and laugh at the pigmy, as the poor little fellow was hardly two feet high and would have had to climb a long way before reaching the giant’s ears.

The dwarf began by walking all around the giant, as if to take his measure. The good-natured giant, standing up immovable, looks down upon him and quietly laughs till his sides shake; but while he is holding his hands to his sides, the dwarf unties his shoestrings and then worries him by kicking and pinching his calves.

Grommelund laughs more loudly than ever, thanks to the tickling; takes a few strides, steps on his loose shoestrings, nearly stumbles, and at last, with thoughtful presence of mind, stoops down to tie the strings.

Ephesim was watching for this. He quickly slapped the giant’s cheek so vigorous and sounding a smack that the duke and all the lords of the court looked up in astonishment.

The poor giant was so shamed and humiliated that he hurriedly shambled off the field and sought refuge in the mountains, where, it is said, he hid himself and refused to come out.

THE LEGEND OF SAINT CHRISTOPHER

By Lillian M. Gask

There was once a man named Offero, so tall and strong that he stood among his fellows as a sturdy oak in a grove of saplings. His eyes were keen and clear as some great eagle’s, his lips spoke nothing but gentle words, and his heart was as pure and tender as a little child’s. His spirit was brave and fearless, and while he was yet in the prime of his strength he resolved to devote it to some good purpose.

“My friends,” he said, when he had called together his companions, “I must leave you now, for something within me whispers that I was born to serve a king so great that fear is unknown to him; a king to whom all men bow.”

Then he strode away into the forest, and was seen by them no more.

For many a day he traversed valley and mountain, inquiring of all he met who was the greatest king. At last he came to a splendid country, where reigned a monarch of high renown. His armies were vast and powerful, and his fleet of warships was like a flock of birds bearing death on their grim brown wings.

When he was told that Offero desired to serve him, he welcomed him gladly, and liked the young man so well that he soon made him his trusted counsellor and friend.

It was Offero’s pride to see how all men trembled at his master’s frown, and he could not believe that there lived a monarch greater than he.

One day, however, when the king was present, a courtier made some remark about “the Evil One;” his Majesty’s august brow grew pale, and Offero could have sworn he saw his stem lips quiver. Pained and surprised, he humbly asked the king why he was troubled.

“I am afraid of the Devil,” said that monarch, “although I fear no mortal man. He is the King of Hades, and more powerful even than I.”