Part 2

Huge blocks of earth-brown stone were cast into the furnace until they were in a white heat, when drop by drop red gold trickled from them into the ashes. This was all gathered together, and the glistening heap taken to the dwarf women, who, crushing it in their hands before it had hardened, drew it out upon their wheels, and spun it into fine soft hair. While they were doing this Brok sought amongst his treasures until he found the blue of the ocean and the tough inner pith of an underground tree; these, with other things, were cast into the furnace, and afterwards beaten with his hammer. As the rhythmic strokes fell, the women sang a song which was like the voice of a strong, steady wind. Then when this work was finished, the smith drew forth a little ship, which was carefully placed on one side. The third time the dwarf went to a dark corner, and brought out an ugly bent bar of iron, and this, with two feathers from the wings of the wind, was heated to melting whiteness, and wrought with great cunning and extreme care, for it was to be a spear for Odin himself, the greatest of all the Heroes.

Then Brok and Sindri called Loki to them and giving him these three things bade him hasten back to the Heroes at Asgard and appease their wrath. Loki, however, was already beginning to feel sorry that he had been so successful; he liked teasing folk but he did not like having to atone for his mischief afterwards. He turned the marvellous gifts over scornfully in his hands, and said that he did not see anything very wonderful in _them_; then, looking at Sindri he added, “However, Brok has hammered them very skilfully, and I will wager my head that you could not make anything better.”

Now the brother dwarfs had not by any means expected gratitude, but neither had they expected any such rudeness as this, so Sindri determined to give Loki a lesson. Going to one corner of the smithy he picked up a pig-skin and taking the hammer in his hands, told his brother to blow steadily, neither to falter nor to fail until he passed the word that the work was done. Then with strength and gentleness he wrought with his tools, having cast nothing into the heat but the pig-skin; with mighty blows and delicate touches he brought thickness and substance into it, until a boar looked at him from the flames. Loki, fearing for his head, changed himself into an enormous forest fly, and settling upon Brok’s hand, stung with vicious fury; but the dwarf would not trouble to brush the fly away, and steadily moved the bellows until his brother called to him to stop, when they drew forth a strong flexible boar whose bristles were of the finest gold.

Then without saying anything or paying any attention to the spiteful words which Loki kept uttering, Sindri chose from a heap of gold the most solid lump he could find and flung it into the white flames. Thrice it was heated and cooled, and the dark elf turned it and worked it with wonderful skill, and in the glow Loki saw a broad red ring, which seemed to live and move. Again he tried to spoil the work as a fly, and bit deeply into Brok’s neck, but Brok would not so much as raise his hand to rid him of the pain. When the ring was finally laid to cool, so marvellously had it been wrought that from it each ninth night would fall eight rings as beautiful as itself.

Now came the last test of Sindri’s cunning. He cast into the furnace a piece of fine iron, and told Brok his hand must neither tremble nor stay, or the whole of their work would be useless. Then with wild songs of strength upon his lips he hammered and tapped, until those who were in the cave felt that they were out among the roaring waves; they could hear the ice mountains grind and crash to pieces, and the thunder of Thor’s chariot wheels rushing through the heavens. A frenzied horror seized upon Loki’s mind. If these wretched dwarfs were going to make anything to add to Thor’s strength he knew that it would be his own ruin. So, changing himself to a hornet, he sprang upon the forehead of Brok, and dug so fiercely into his eyelids that the blood trickled down and blinded him. Then the dwarf let go of the bellows for one moment to clear his eyes, and Sindri cried out that what lay in the furnace came near to being spoiled, and with that he took a red-hot hammer up with his tongs. It was neither pretty, nor particularly large, while the handle was an inch too short because of Loki’s spite.

Then Brok and Loki set out for Asgard, Loki carrying the three wonderful things which had been given to him, while Brok carried the three marvels which Sindri had so cunningly wrought and accompanied the mischief-maker, that the Heroes might judge who had won the wager so rashly offered by Loki. When they reached Asgard the Heroes seated themselves on their high seats agreeing among themselves that Odin, Thor and Frey should be judges in this case.

[Illustration: Loki descending into the cave of the dwarfs]

First, Loki offered to Odin the spear Gungner which was so wonderfully made that it never failed to hit the thing at which it was thrown, and it always sped back to the hand which had thrown it. Later, when Odin carried this spear in battle, if he shook it over his enemies they became so frightened that they all wanted to run away, but if he shook it over his friends they were so filled with courage that they could not be conquered. Then Thor received the hair, and when it was placed upon Sib’s head it grew to her like living tresses, curling and waving in the wind. To Frey the ship was given, and though it was so small that it could be folded and carried in his pocket, when it was placed upon the waves it would grow large enough to hold an army of warriors with all their war gear; besides, as soon as the sails were hoisted, the wind would blow it whithersoever it was desired that the ship should go.

Brok then made his offerings, and to Odin he gave the ring Draupnir which had been made with such magic skill that every ninth night eight other rings dropped off it, though no one could see how they came; this the greatest of the Heroes ever wore upon his arm, until the death of his beautiful son Balder, when, as token of his great love he placed it upon the dead youth’s breast as he lay on his funeral pyre. To Frey was given the golden boar, which would run faster than any horse, over the sea or through the air, and wherever it went, there it would be light, because the bristles shone so brightly. To Thor Brok gave the dull-looking hammer, saying, that whatever he struck with it would be destroyed; that no blow could be hard enough to hurt it; that if he threw it, it would return to him so that he could never lose it; and that as he wished so would its size be--yet there was one fault about it, and that was that the handle was an inch too short.

It was with great joy that Thor took this treasure, knowing that in it he had something to help him in fighting the evil Rime-giants who were always trying to get the whole world for themselves until driven back by him.

Then the Heroes decided that of all the gifts the hammer was the best, and that, therefore, Loki had lost his wager and must lose his head. Loki offered to give all sorts of things to save himself, but the dwarf would not listen to any of them. “Catch me, then!” cried the mischievous one; but when Brok stretched his hand upon him Loki had gone, for he wore shoes which would carry him over the sea or through the air.

“Catch him!” cried the ugly little dwarf piteously to Thor, and in an instant Loki stood before them, trembling in Thor’s strong grasp. Then the clever one argued that it was his head only which had been wagered, and that not one little tiny bit of his neck might be taken, or the dwarf would have more than his bargain. At this Brok cried impatiently that the head of a wicked person was of no use to him, all that he wanted was to stop Loki’s tongue so that he could work less evil, and he took a knife and thread and tried to pierce holes in Loki’s lips, but Loki bewitched the knife so that it would not cut.

[Illustration: Loki’s punishment]

“If only I had Sindri’s awl,” sighed the dwarf, and instantly his brother’s awl was in his hand. Swiftly it pierced the lips of the mischief-maker, and swiftly Brok sewed them together and broke off the thread at the end of the sewing.

Then the Heroes gave presents for the dwarfs in return for their wonderful things, and Brok returned to his cave. As for Loki, I think that it was not long before he loosed his lips and returned to his mischief-making.

* * * * *

When the Scandinavian dwarf ceased speaking there was murmuring all over the circle at the meannesses of Loki, and everyone felt glad that Thor had been so well served by the dwarfs and hoped that the mischief-maker, though he escaped that time after all, later met with the reward which he deserved. I think that if the Scandinavian dwarf had chosen to do so he might have told a very grim story of how it was that the wicked Loki came to his fate at last, but there were so many fairies, dwarfs, fays, gnomes, trolls, pucks, and other little people who were ready to tell stories that I don’t think that they would have let the Scandinavian dwarf tell another story if he had wanted to. When he went back to his place in the great circle, the little fairy prince of a bright warm country sprang on to the stool in front of Oberon’s throne and said that he would be glad to tell the story of his wife’s life, and how it was that she came to marry him.

“And what is your wife’s name?” said Oberon.

“Her name,” answered the little prince, “is

[Illustration: The fairy prince]

[Illustration: Right in the middle of the flower sat a little tiny girl]

Thumbeline

There was once a woman who had the greatest longing for a little tiny child, but she had no idea where to get one; so she went to an old witch and said to her, “I do so long to have a little child, will you tell me where I can get one?”

“Oh, we shall be able to manage that,” said the witch. “Here is a barley corn for you; it is not at all the same kind as that which grows in the peasant’s field, or with which chickens are fed; plant it in a flower-pot and you will see what will appear.”

“Thank you, oh, thank you!” said the woman, and she gave the witch twelve pennies, then went home and planted the barley corn, and a large, handsome flower sprang up at once; it looked exactly like a tulip, but the petals were tightly shut up, just as if they were still in bud. “That is a lovely flower,” said the woman, and she kissed the pretty red and yellow petals; as she kissed it the flower burst open with a loud snap. It was a real tulip, you could see that; but right in the middle of the flower on the green stool sat a little tiny girl, most lovely and delicate; she was not more than an inch in height, so she was called Thumbeline.

Her cradle was a smartly varnished walnut shell, with the blue petals of violets for a mattress and a rose-leaf to cover her; she slept in it at night, but during the day she played about on the table where the woman had placed a plate, surrounded by a wreath of flowers on the outer edge with their stalks in water. A large tulip petal floated on the water, and on this little Thumbeline sat and sailed about from one side of the plate to the other; she had two white horse hairs for oars. It was a pretty sight. She could sing, too, with such delicacy and charm as was never heard before.

One night as she lay in her pretty bed, a great ugly toad hopped in at the window, for there was a broken pane. Ugh! how hideous that great wet toad was; it hopped right down on to the table where Thumbeline lay fast asleep, under the red rose-leaf.

“Here is a lovely wife for my son,” said the toad, and then she took up the walnut shell where Thumbeline slept and hopped away with it through the window, down into the garden. A great broad stream ran through it, but just at the edge it was swampy and muddy, and it was here that the toad lived with her son. Ugh! how ugly and hideous he was too, exactly like his mother. “Koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex,” that was all he had to say when he saw the lovely little girl in the walnut shell.

“Do not talk so loud or you will wake her,” said the old toad; “she might escape us yet, for she is as light as thistledown! We will put her on one of the broad water-lily leaves out in the stream; it will be just like an island to her, she is so small and light. She won’t be able to run away from there while we get the state-room ready down under the mud, which you are to inhabit.”

A great many water-lilies grew in the stream, their broad green leaves looked as if they were floating on the surface of the water. The leaf which was furthest from the shore was also the biggest, and to this one the old toad swam out with the walnut shell in which little Thumbeline lay.

The poor, tiny, little creature woke up quite early in the morning, and when she saw where she was she began to cry most bitterly, for there was water on every side of the big green leaf, and she could not reach the land at any point.

[Illustration: The old toad made a deep curtsey in the water before her]

The old toad sat in the mud decking out her abode with grasses and the buds of the yellow water-lilies, so as to have it very nice for the new daughter-in-law, and then she swam out with her ugly son to the leaf where Thumbeline stood; they wanted to fetch her pretty bed to place it in the bridal chamber before they took her there. The old toad made a deep curtsey in the water before her, and said, “Here is my son, who is to be your husband, and you are to live together most comfortably down in the mud.”

“Koax, koax, brekke-ke-kex,” that was all the son could say.

Then they took the pretty little bed and swam away with it, but Thumbeline sat quite alone on the green leaf and cried because she did not want to live with the ugly toad, or have her horrid son for a husband. The little fish which swam about in the water had no doubt seen the toad and heard what she said, so they stuck their heads up, wishing, I suppose, to see the little girl. As soon as they saw her, they were delighted with her, and were quite grieved to think that she was to go down to live with the ugly toad. No, that should never happen. They flocked together down in the water round about the green stem which held the leaf she stood upon, and gnawed at it with their teeth till it floated away down the stream carrying Thumbeline away where the toad could not follow her.

Thumbeline sailed past place after place, and the little birds in the bushes saw her and sang, “What a lovely little maid.” The leaf with her on it floated further and further away and in this manner reached foreign lands.

A pretty little white butterfly fluttered round and round her for some time and at last settled on the leaf, for it had taken quite a fancy to Thumbeline; she was so happy now, because the toad could not reach her and she was sailing through such lovely scenes; the sun shone on the water and it looked like liquid gold. Then she took her sash and tied one end round the butterfly, and the other she made fast to the leaf which went gliding on quicker and quicker, and she with it for she was standing on the leaf.

At this moment a big cockchafer came flying along, he caught sight of her and in an instant he fixed his claw round her slender waist and flew off with her, up into a tree, but the green leaf floated down the stream and the butterfly with it, for he was tied to it and could not get loose.

Heavens! how frightened poor little Thumbeline was when the cockchafer carried her up into the tree, but she was most of all grieved about the pretty white butterfly which she had fastened to the leaf; if he could not succeed in getting loose he would be starved to death.

But the cockchafer cared nothing for that. He settled with her on the largest leaf on the tree, and fed her with honey from the flowers, and he said that she was lovely although she was not a bit like a chafer. Presently all the other chafers which lived in the tree came to visit them; they looked at Thumbeline and the young lady chafers twitched their feelers and said, “She has only got two legs, what a poor effect it has.” “She has no feelers,” said another. “She is so slender in the waist, fie, she looks like a human being.” “How ugly she is,” said all the mother chafers, and yet little Thumbeline was so pretty. That was certainly also the opinion of the cockchafer who had captured her, but when all the others said she was ugly, he at last began to believe it too, and would not have anything more to do with her, she might go wherever she liked! They flew down from the tree with her and placed her on a daisy, where she cried because she was so ugly that the chafers would have nothing to do with her; and after all, she was more beautiful than anything you could imagine, as delicate and transparent as the finest rose-leaf.

Poor little Thumbeline lived all the summer quite alone in the wood. She plaited a bed of grass for herself and hung it up under a big dock-leaf which sheltered her from the rain; she sucked the honey from the flowers for her food, and her drink was the dew which lay on the leaves in the morning. In this way the summer and autumn passed, but then came the winter. All the birds which used to sing so sweetly to her flew away, the great dock-leaf under which she had lived shrivelled up leaving nothing but a dead yellow stalk, and she shivered with the cold, for her clothes were worn out; she was such a tiny creature, poor little Thumbeline, she certainly must be frozen to death. It began to snow and every snowflake which fell upon her was like a whole shovelful upon her, for she was so very, very small. Then she wrapped herself up in a withered leaf, but that did not warm her much, she trembled with the cold.

[Illustration: Every snowflake which fell upon her was like a shovelful on one of us]

Close to the wood in which she had been living lay a large cornfield, but the corn had long ago been carried away and nothing remained but the bare, dry, stubble which stood up out of the frozen ground. The stubble was quite a forest for her to walk about in; oh, how she shook with the cold. Then she came to the door of a field-mouse’s home. It was a little hole down under the stubble. The field-mouse lived so cosily and warm there, her whole room was full of corn, and she had a beautiful kitchen and larder besides. Poor Thumbeline stood just inside the door like any other poor beggar child and begged for a little piece of barley corn, for she had had nothing to eat for two whole days.

“You poor little thing,” said the field-mouse, for she was at bottom a good old field-mouse. “Come into my warm room and dine with me.” Then, as she took a fancy to Thumbeline, she said, “You may with pleasure stay with me for the winter, but you must keep my room clean and tidy and tell me stories, for I am very fond of them,” and Thumbeline did what the good old field-mouse desired and was on the whole very comfortable.

“Now we shall soon have a visitor,” said the field-mouse; “my neighbour generally comes to see me every week-day. He is even better housed than I am; his rooms are very large and he wears a most beautiful black velvet coat; if only you could get him for a husband you would indeed be well settled, but he can’t see. You must tell him all the most beautiful stories you know.”

But Thumbeline did not like this, and she would have nothing to say to the neighbour for he was a mole. He came and paid a visit in his black velvet coat. He was very rich and wise, said the field-mouse, and his home was twenty times as large as hers; and he had much learning but he did not like the sun or the beautiful flowers, in fact he spoke slightingly of them for he had never seen them. Thumbeline had to sing to him and she sang both “Fly away cockchafer” and “A monk, he wandered through the meadow,” then the mole fell in love with her because of her sweet voice, but he did not say anything for he was of a discreet turn of mind.

He had just made a long tunnel through the ground from his house to theirs, and he gave the field-mouse and Thumbeline leave to walk in it whenever they liked. He told them not to be afraid of the dead bird which was lying in the passage. It was a whole bird with feathers and beak which had probably died quite recently at the beginning of the winter and was now entombed just where he had made his tunnel.