Chapter 5 of 7 · 4000 words · ~20 min read

Part 5

It was he, young Svejdal, Was playing at the ball; The ball flew into the maiden’s breast, And her cheeks grew white withal. —Choose thy words well!

The ball flew into the maiden’s bower, And after went the swain, And or ever he left the bower behind She dreed full bitter pain.

“Oh, never shouldst thou venture To throw thy ball to me! There sits a maid in a far-off land A-longing after thee.

“Oh, ne’er shalt thou seek slumber, And never rest shalt know, Until thou hast loosed the lovely maid That long hath lain in woe!”

It was he, young Svejdal, Wrapped him in cloak of vair, And to the hall betook him To seek the captains there.

“Now sit in peace, my captains, And pledge your healths in mead, Whiles I fare forth to the grave-mound To seek my mother’s rede!”

It was he, young Svejdal, That loud did cry and call, Till the marble-stone was rent and riven And the mound was nigh to fall.

“Oh, who is it that wakes me? Who calls with cry so bold? May I not lie and sleep in peace All under darksome mould?”

“It is I, young Svejdal, Only son o’ thine! And all I ask is counsel good From thee, dear mother mine.

“My sister and my stepmother Have made me pale and pine, All for a lovely lady That ne’er I saw with eyne.”

“I will give thee a palfrey Shall serve thy need, I ween! He can go as well o’er the salt sea-swell As over the land so green.

“A sword I will give thee also, Is tempered in dragon’s blood, And it will shine like a burning brand When thou ridest the darksome wood.”

It was he, young Svejdal, That spurred his steed so free; Forth he rode thro’ darksome wood And over the wide sea.

It was he, young Svejdal, That rode ’twixt sea and land; And he was ’ware of a herdsman there That drove his flock to the strand.

“Lithe and list, good herdsman, And speak thou sooth to me! Who is it owns the flock so fair Thou drivest down to the sea?”

“Oh, a maiden there is in this countrie Lies spellbound in dule and pine, All for a swain hight Svejdal That never she saw with eyne.”

“And knowest thou where the maiden dwells, Then hide it not from me! Whenas I am king of all this land A knight I’ll make of thee.”

“Oh, yonder under the linden green There stands my lady’s hold; The towers are all of the marble grey, And the doors are decked with gold!

“The towers are all of the marble grey, And the doors are decked with gold! Full seven years are over and gone Since she did sun behold.

“There stands a bear by my lady’s bower, And a lion so fell to see, But art thou Svejdal in very sooth Thou shalt pass by them free.”

Forth he fared, young Svejdal, And up to the hold he went; All the locks that held it Were riven asunder and rent.

The bear and the lordly lion They followed him from the door; The linden with all its silvery leaves Bowed down to earth before.

The linden bowed adown to earth With every silver leaf: And up she stood, the maiden proud, That long had lain in grief.

Up she waked, the maiden proud, When she heard the spurs a-ringing: “Now thanks be unto God in heaven Who help to me is bringing!”

In he went, Sir Svejdal, That was both young and fair; It was the haughty maiden That hailed his entrance there.

“Welcome to thee, young Svejdal, Thou noble lord of mine! Now praised be God in heaven Hath loosed us from pain and pine!” —Choose thy words well!

THORD OF HAFSGAARD

Here we have the Old Norse Lay of Thrym (þrymskviða) recast and trolled forth by a mediæval minstrel. He has been faithful to the grim jollity of the original poem; but, as his lilting verse has lost the trenchant battle-axe swing of the old alliterative metre, so the tale he tells is shorn of the epic dignity surrounding Valhalla and the gods. On the restoration of the Thunderer’s hammer hangs the fate of the Æsir in their endless warfare with the Frost Giants; its loss is a calamity such as was never known in heaven nor earth. When Freyja is asked to play the Bride, her stamp shakes the celestial floor. When Thor drives to the wedding feast, earth burns under his chariot wheels. Whereas the Thord of the Ballad might, for aught we are told, be a mere bonnet-laird; and it is only by implication that we gather any idea of his hammer’s importance.

The erudite M. Pineau (_Étude sur les Chants Populaires Scandinaves_) is puzzled and pained by these variations and omissions—notably that of the Æsir’s council, and of Thor’s indignation at the idea of assuming bridal attire. “Don’t tell me,” he exclaims indignantly, “that this scene of all others could be forgotten by the popular imagination!” The Eddie Lays, according to him, jealously guarded by the priests, were never known to the people at large; and he goes so far as to declare that the source alike of Lay and Ballad must be sought in some older, and now non-existent, form of the story. M. Pineau, in short, is a Necessitarian, who will not allow free-will to poets. Why should not the minstrel pick and choose his incidents? Why, on M. Pineau’s own showing, should not the Lay have reached him in fragmentary form? The student must decide for himself; suffice it meanwhile to say that the Ballad is a capital one, and the “merry jest” at the end a racy substitute for the ferocious pun which concludes the original, at the expense of the Giant’s mother:

“For pence a pound was what she won.”

THORD OF HAFSGAARD

It was Thord of Hafsgaard o’er the blowing meads did ride, There he lost his hammer of gold, and sought for it far and wide.

It was Thord of Hafsgaard spake with his brother bold: “Thou must fare to Norrefjeld, and seek my hammer of gold!”

It was little Loki that donned his feather-fell, Forth he flew to Norrefjeld, all over the salt sea-swell.

All in the castle-garth his garment changèd he, Then entered in the stone-built hall, the Giant-King to see.

“Now welcome, little Loki, be thou right welcome here! How fares the country round Hafsgaard, and the land that lies anear?”

“Well fares the country round Hafsgaard, and the land that lies anear, But Thord hath lost his hammer of gold, and therefore am I come here.”

“Never shall Thord have his hammer again, altho’ ye seek and strive! Under the earth ’tis buried deep, full fifty fathom and five!

“Never shall Thord have his hammer again (for ye shall buy it dear), Till ye bring me your sister Fredensborg, with all your goods and gear!”

It was little Loki that donned his feather-fell, Forth he flew on the homeward way, all over the salt sea-swell.

All in the castle-garth his garment changèd he, Then entered in the stone-built hall, his brother dear to see.

“Never shall Thord have his hammer again, altho’ we seek and strive, Under the earth ’tis buried deep full fifty fathom and five!

“Never shall Thord have his hammer again (for we must buy it dear), Till we take him our sister Fredensborg, with all our goods and gear!”

The maiden seated on the bench she up and spake to him: “Oh, give me to a christened man, and not to a goblin grim!”

“Now we will take our father, and comb his locks with care, And lead him up to Norrefjeld, all for a bride so fair!”

Now true is the tale I tell ye, they took that fair young bride, They spared no costly plenishing to deck her out with pride.

They seated her, that beauteous bride, upon the bridal-seat; Forth he came, the Giant-King, full fain the maid to greet.

An ox that lusty bride devoured, and thirty salted swine, And drank, ere she could slake her thirst, twelve tuns of good red wine!

The Giant-King he paced the floor, and wrathful was his mood: “Who e’er beheld a beauteous bride fall thus upon her food?”

Up spake little Loki, beneath his cloak smiled he: “For seven days she ate no meat, so sore she longed for thee!”

Stayed upon a mighty tree by seven champions bold, Up to the knees of the maiden they bore the hammer of gold.

Up she rose, the bride, and took the hammer in her hand; Good sooth, I say, she swung it light as a willow wand!

She slew the King o’ the Giants, that Troll so fierce and grim, And the lesser Trolls that sought the feast, she slew them after him.

It was little Loki that spake a merry jest: “Our father he is a widow now, to lead him home were best!”

XVI

THE AVENGING SWORD

This fine Ballad (admired by Andrew Lang) is unique in its mingling of pagan and Christian sentiment. The hero, who in his Bersark blood-lust spares neither wife, maid, nor suckling—whose brother the sword is possessed by a demon—who has ranged the world in pursuit of revenge—ranges it again as a penitent pilgrim, bound, for the heavier penance, in iron chains. Since, however, the Ballads concern themselves little with ecclesiastical orthodoxy, the penance is depicted as ending, not at any saintly shrine, but at the grave of his enemy.

The belief that the warrior’s favourite weapons were animated by a mysterious personality is familiar to all students of Old Norse literature. One celebrated example occurs in Njàls Saga, 79, when Høgni, stealing out with Skarpheðinn by night to avenge the death of Gunnar, takes down the dead hero’s halberd, and hears it singing aloud. (The O.N. impersonal idiom, “it sang in the halberd,” hints at the indwelling soul.) “Then sprang up Rannveig (Gunnar’s mother) and cried in bitter wrath, ‘Who is taking the halberd, which I forbade all men to touch?’ ‘I would carry it,’ said Høgni, ‘to my father, that he may have it in Valhalla, and bear it at the Weapon Thing.’ ‘Further than that,’ said she, ‘wilt thou bear it, even to thy father’s avenging, for the halberd declares the death of one man or more.’”

That magical forces, once unchained, might end by destroying their liberator—that the naming of the name conferred power over the name’s possessor—are superstitions common to almost all primitive races.

Versions of this Ballad exist in Swedish, Norwegian, and Faroëse.

XVI

THE AVENGING SWORD

Sir Peter rode to the castle door, The King of Danes he stood before. —Forward, hurrah! ride forward.

“Welcome, Sir Peter, comrade mine! Say, hast thou avenged that sire o’ thine?”

“Oh, I ha’ been so southerly Until the sun bowed down to me.

“And I ha’ been so westerly Until the sun sank near to me.

“And I ha’ been so northerly Until the frost was frore to see.

“And I ha’ been so easterly Until the day was fair to see;

“But never did I find the wight Could rede me my father’s death aright!”

“Oh, say, what wilt thou give the wight Can rede thee thy father’s death aright?”

“Of silver he shall have his fill, And of golden coin whate’er he will!

“Yea, more I’ll give to him, A ship in sailing-trim!”

He smiled, the King, his words to heed: “Here stands he that did the deed!

“By GOD in heaven, I tell thee true, None but I thy father slew!”

Sir Peter smote himself on the breast: “Heart, bide still, nor break thy rest!

“Heart, lie still, bide patiently: Sure and swift shall my vengeance be.”

In the garth Sir Peter stayed To speak with his good blade:

“Harken, sword so good! Wilt drink thy fill of blood?

“Good brown brand, wilt fight for me? No brother have I on earth but thee.”

“Oh, say, how can I fight for thee? My hilt lies broken in pieces three.”

To the smith his way he wended That the hurt might be amended.

He gave him iron, he gave him steel Of proof and price, the hurt to heal.

“Good brown brand, wilt fight for me? No brother have I on earth but thee.”

“Be only in thy blows so stern As I’ll be swift in point to turn!

“Be only in thy blows so stout As I in hilt will bear thee out!”

Sir Peter sought the hall Where the knights were drinking all.

To prove his sword he was so fain That seven champions straight lay slain;

Up and down he swung his blade, Neither matron he spared nor maid;

Behind the arras there he thrust, The King and his sons they bit the dust.

Up spake the babe, in cradle lay: “A red revenge dost thou wreak to-day!

“A red revenge for that sire o’ thine— GOD give me a day for avenging mine!”

“And have I avenged that sire o’ mine, Shalt see no day for avenging thine!”

He seized the babe amain, And struck it straight in twain.

“Cease, brown brand, thy thirst to slake! Bide thou still for our Saviour’s sake!”

Wearily whispered the sword and still: “Fain o’ thy blood I’d have my fill!

“Hadst thou not named my name, I vow I would have slain thee, here and now!”

He sought the smith again, Bade forge an iron chain.

He bound in chains both foot and hand, For now would he leave for aye the land.

But when o’er the grave of the King he passed The chains of iron were riven and brast. —Forward, hurrah! ride forward.

XVII

THE ELFIN SHAFT

“After the old gods had vanished,” says Olrik, “and before the Christian God was personally apprehended, arose the rich poetry which deals with Nature-Spirits.”

They always appear in the older Ballads under a grim and treacherous aspect; the Nixies, for instance, are such as we find in the “Ballad of Annan Water.”

“The bonnie grey mare did sweat with fear, For she heard the water-kelpie roaring.”

This fear, natural to a human-kind as yet not master of the elements, was intensified by the teaching of the Church. In the Eddic mythology the Dwarfs had their own recognized place, whereas their semi-descendants, the Fairies or Nature-Spirits, not being Angels, were regarded as Devils by priestly eyes. Only in later Ballads, such as “Agnes and the Merman,” and “The Mermaid’s Soothsaying,” do we find any hint of compassion for the soulless fay.

The theme of this Ballad—the fairy’s fatal love for a mortal—originated in Northern France, whence it crept into the folk-lore of Europe in general. (Gervase of Tilbury has a warning word to young men on the dangers of elfin flirtations; and the Rev. — Kirk in his _Secret Commonwealth_ (1691) points out their “inconvenience.”) The peasant of Annam, too, knows the “_con-tinh_,” the wild-haired feminine Genii who dance on a starless night, and lure mortal youths to their undoing.

To the Elfin Shaft or Elfin Bolt was attributed sudden death or seizure of pain, either in man or beast, among the Scandinavians.

The Icelandic form of the Ballad heightens the horror by the addition of those fiery portents associated with burial-houses containing treasure, guarded by fairies or by the dead. The “false fairy” stabs Sir Oluf with a sword, which, under cover of her cloak, she takes from her “treasure chest of gold.”

“Sign ye your brows with the holy cross, (They will woo him to undo him) Sancta Maria, watch over us! (See the red flames leaping high! Blithe lay the bower beneath the fells, Blithe lay the bower the fells hard by.)”

XVII

THE ELFIN SHAFT

Sir Oluf hath ridden west and east To bid his friends to his bridal feast. —Gay goes the dance by the greenwood tree.

By the howe he took his way, And there danced elf and fay.

There they danced in blithesome band; The Elf-king’s daughter reached forth her hand.

The Elf-king’s daughter her hand stretched she: “And will Sir Oluf tread a measure with me?”

“I may not, I dare not, the measure tread! To-morrow morn shall I be wed.”

“Oh, tread now a measure, Sir Oluf, with me! Two buckskin boots will I give to thee,

“Boots well beseeming a knight so bold, With spurs thereto of red, red gold.

“Oh, tread now a measure, Sir Oluf, with me! A silken kirtle I’ll give to thee,

“A silken kirtle so fair and fine That my mother bleached in the pale moonshine.”

“I may not, I dare not, the measure tread! To-morrow morn shall I be wed.”

“Oh, tread now a measure, Sir Oluf, with me! An orb of gold I will give to thee.”

“An orb of gold I fain would win, But I may not dance with the fairy kin.”

“And if thou wilt not dance with me, Scathe and sickness shall follow thee!”

She struck Sir Oluf under his heart, Deep in its roots he felt the smart.

She lifted him up on his horse of pride: “Go home, go home, and seek thy bride!”

Oh, he rode up to his castle door, And it was his mother that stood before.

“Lithe now and listen, Sir Oluf my son, Why is thy cheek so white and wan?”

“Well may my cheek be wan and white, I have seen the elf-maids’ sport to-night!”

“Lithe now and listen, dear son of mine, What shall I say to that bride of thine?”

“Shalt say I am in the mead A-proving hound and steed.”

All on the morrow ere dawn was grey The bride rode in with glad array

They poured the mead and they poured the wine: “Now where is Sir Oluf, dear bridegroom mine?”

“Sir Oluf is in the mead A-proving hound and steed.”

“Oh, doth he love hound and horse of pride Better than he loves his bride?”

She sought him alow, she sought him aloft, She found Sir Oluf sleeping soft.

She lifted the cloak of scarlet red, There lay Sir Oluf, was cold and dead.

She kissed him in the bridal-bower, She died herself the self-same hour.

All so early, ere dawn was red, Were three in Sir Oluf’s hold lay dead.

Sir Oluf lay dead, and his bride also; The third was his mother, that died for woe. —The dance goes gay by the greenwood tree.

XVIII, XIX

THE KNAVISH MERMAN

AGNES AND THE MERMAN

That the first of these Ballads is the more ancient appears probable through its conception of the Merman—the grim troll with his shape-changing and his glamour, fit image of the inexorable sea. The fine imaginative touch of the holy images averting their heads must have been borrowed from this by the later Ballad. Versions exist in Swedish, Norwegian, Faroëse, Icelandic, and English (“Clerk Colvill and the Mermaid”).

The “Agnes” Ballad must, I take it, have been known to Matthew Arnold, who enriched its simple folk-melody with the elaborate orchestration of his “Forsaken Merman.” But, for dramatic power and genuine feeling, the honours remain with the more primitive bard.

It dates from the late mediæval period when creative power was on the wane, and is an adaptation of the German “Schöne Agnete”—which, in its turn, has a Slav original. The German Ballad, however, takes the more primitive view of the Merman, who ends by destroying his mortal mistress. Later Danish minstrels—Sven Grundtvig among them—have altered the conclusion accordingly.

XVIII

THE KNAVISH MERMAN

Gay goes the dance in the kirkyard there, —Welladay— They dance, the knights, with blades so bare, —Methinks ’tis hard to ride away.

They dance, the maidens, with hair unbound; It was the King’s daughter sang the round.

Proud was the Princess, sweet was her song; That heard the Merman, the waves among.

Up rose the Merman, thus spake he: “Perchance the King’s daughter will wed with me!”

Garments he shaped and a golden ring, He called him Sir Alfast, son of a King.

He shaped him a steed so black and bold, He rode like a knight in a saddle of gold.

He tied his steed where the shade was mirk, Withershins went he round the kirk.

Into the kirk the Merman hied, And all the holy images they turned their heads aside

Up spake the priest by the altar that stood: “Who may he be, this knight so good?”

The Princess smiled, her cloak behind: “Now would to GOD the knight were mine!”

“Listen, proud Princess, and love thou me! A crown of gold I’ll give to thee.”

“Over three kingdoms my father was King, But ne’er did he give me so fair a thing.”

He wrapped her in his cloak of blue, Forth from the kirk they fared, they two.

They met all on the wold The steed with saddle of gold.

As they rode o’er the lea He became a troll, so foul to see.

When they rode down to the water’s brim He became a troll, so fierce and grim.

“Sir Alfast, thou art christened man, What wilt thou with this water wan?”

“No knight am I, nor christened man, My dwelling is in this water wan!”

And when they reached the midmost Sound Fifty fathom they sank to ground.

Long heard the fishers with dread and dree How the King’s daughter sobbed under the sea! —Welladay! Methinks ’tis hard to ride away.

XIX

AGNES AND THE MERMAN

Agnes she walked on the edge of the steep, And up came a Merman out from the deep. —Ha ha ha! Up came a Merman out from the deep.

“Lithe now and listen, Agnes, to me, And say if thou wilt my true-love be?”

“Yes, good sooth, that will I be Wilt thou bear me down to the depths o’ the sea.”

Oh, he has stopped her ears and stopped her mouth beside, And borne her down all under the tide.

There she dwelt eight years and more, Seven sons she to the Merman bore.

Agnes she sat by the cradle and sang, And she heard how the bells of England rang.

She to the Merman did speak and say: “May I go up in the kirk to pray?”

“Thou hast my leave to go withal, But see thou come back to thy children small.

“When to the kirkyard thou dost fare, Then see thou let not down thy shining golden hair.

“And when thou enterest in the door Then sit by thy mother’s side no more.

“When the priest names the Name of dread, Then bow not down thy head.”

Oh, he has stopped her ears and stopped her mouth amain, And so he bore her up to England’s shores again.

When thro’ the kirkyard she did fare, Oh then did she let down her shining golden hair.

And when she entered in the door She sat by her mother, as of yore.