Ekkehard: A Tale of the Tenth Century. Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Joseph Victor von Scheffel

"Death and damnation!" Master Spazzo almost ejaculated, for he had got hold of the shortest straw. But he well knew that no excuse would be available, and dolefully looked down into the valley, as if he expected help to come from thence. Praxedis had tuned her lute and was playing a prelude, that blended sweetly with the rustling of the branches in the old maple-tree.

"Our chamberlain has to fear no punishment, if he will relate us some pretty story," said the Duchess. "Please to begin."

Then, Master Spazzo bent his head forwards, put his sword with its broad hilt before him, so that he could lean on it, gave a preliminary stroke to his beard, and thus began:

"Although I never took much delight in old stories, preferring to hear the clashing of two good swords, or the tapping of a tun of good wine, I yet once chanced to come across a fine legend. In my younger days I had to make a journey to Italy, and my road then took me through the Tyrol and over the Brenner mountain; and it was a rough and stony path, leading me over many a rock, and through many a wild glen, so that my horse lost one of its shoes. When the evening set in, I had reached a little village, called Gothensass, or Gloggensachsen, which from the times of Sir Dietrich of Bern, has lain there, hidden amongst the larch-woods. At the outskirts of this village, and built against the mountain, there was a house, much resembling a stronghold, before which, there lay heaps of iron dross, whilst inside there was a big fire, and someone who was lustily pounding the anvil.

"So, I called to the blacksmith to come forth and shoe my horse, and when nobody came, I gave a knock at the door with the butt-end of my lance, so that it flew open as wide as it could, whilst I gave vent to some tremendous curse, of death and murder and all possible evils. Suddenly, a man stood before me, with shaggy hair and a leathern apron, and scarcely had I set eyes on him, when my lance was already beaten down, so that it broke to pieces as if it had been mere glass, whilst an iron bar, was swung threateningly over my head. On the man's naked arms, there were to be seen sinews, which looked as if he could strike an anvil ten fathom deep into the ground. Then, I bethought myself, that under such circumstances a polite speech might not come amiss, and therefore I said: I merely wanted to beseech you, to shoe my horse. Then the blacksmith drove the iron bar into the ground and said: 'That sounds somewhat different and will help you. Rudeness, however, will attain nothing at Weland's forge. That's what you may tell the people where you come from.'

"After this speech he shod my horse, and I saw that he was a skilful and honourable blacksmith, and so we became very good friends, and I let my horse be put into his stables, and remained his guest for the night. And we caroused together till late and the wine was called Terlaner, and he poured it out of a leathern bottle.

"Whilst we were thus drinking, I questioned my sooty host about the name of his forge, and how it had got that name; upon which he struck up a loud laugh, and then told me the story of 'Smith Weland.' And if it was not exactly what you might call very refined, it was for all that a very pretty tale."

Master Spazzo stopped a while, throwing a look at the table, like one who looks about for a draught of wine, to moisten his dry lips with. But wine there was none, and the look was not understood. So he continued.

"Whence smith Weland had come, said the man of Gothensass to me, had never been quite ascertained. It was said, that in the northern seas, in the land of Schonen, the giant Vade was his father, and that his grandmother was a mermaid, who, when he was born, came up from the depth of the sea, and sat a whole night on a rock and harped: 'young Weland, must become a blacksmith.' So, in the course of time, Vade brought the boy to Mimer, the famous armourer, who lived in a dark fir-wood, twenty miles behind Toledo, and who instructed him in all the branches of his art.

"As soon, however, as he had made his first sword, Mimer advised him to go away, and to acquire the last finishing touch in his craft, amongst the dwarfs. So, Weland went to the dwarfs and became much renowned.