People may talk as long as they please about innate dignity and the majesty of mind, but the majesty of fine clothes has a much greater influence upon popular opinion,—else wherefore that elderly proverb which sayeth that “fine feathers make fine birds?” Every body knows that king Herod’s silver petticoat made the stupid mob of Judea mistake him for a god; and on this day, so important to Haldane, Frotho’s amazing magnificence made his people mistake him for a hero. So strong ran the tide of popular opinion, that when Haldane, simply habited, mounted on his snow-white steed, and only attended by Haquin and a few of his father’s friends, rode up the area, they scarcely deigned (though he was rich in all the pride of youth and graceful beauty) to consider him worth looking at: all eyes were turned to Frotho’s painted waistcoat and superb ermine cloak; and Haldane also beheld, with extreme disgust, that all his own friends, and the warriors favourable to his claims, who had fought by his side under his father’s banner, had been carefully excluded from the council, which he beheld supplied by the creatures of his uncle; he saw that his cause was lost before he could say a word: he was not daunted nevertheless; he demanded his right from Frotho, who, refusing to admit his claim, was challenged by the youth to decide the quarrel on the spot. “The states and the troops are present,” said the prince; “let them be witnesses of this combat, which thy ungenerous ambition must render mortal: if thou desirest a double crown, shew that thou knowest how to defend it; descend from thy throne, meet me fairly, and let Denmark be the reward of the conqueror.” Slowly, very slowly, king Frotho rose from his throne, for he saw that something was expected of him: although not precisely a coward, he had no mind to encounter his nephew, whose feats of arms he well knew; and earnestly and anxiously he put up a prayer to Surter to remember his promise, and baffle his kinsman in this trying emergency. Surter was not deaf; for scarcely had the monarch put forth one leg for the purpose of descending from his throne, ere a wonder attracted the attention of the whole assembly; the sound of rushing wings was heard from a distance, and slowly, sailing steadily through the clear air towards his point, appeared a gigantic raven: black as the shining locks of Odin was the magnificent and stately bird, who, tranquilly passing over the multitude, suspended himself in air over the head of Frotho, and, hovering steadily above him, clapped his enormous pinions in triumph. Haldane suspected a trick—Haquin was startled—but the multitude beheld a miracle, and the will of Odin clearly expressed by his own particular messenger: the bird hovered in the air a few moments, to witness the general acknowledgment of Frotho, then, amidst the deafening shouts of the people, ascended slowly upwards, cleaved through the clouds, and vanished.
Haldane stood apart, during the scene, in proud contempt of the ingratitude of his people; and the multitude were making too terrific an uproar to allow his few friends one word in his favour. Frotho, pleased by the timely aid of Surter, was grateful for the first time in his life; and, remembering the commands of the spirit, abstained from taking what he yet scarcely knew how to spare, the hated life of Haldane. Assuming an air of paternal interest and kindness, he bade the young prince retire from his presence and kingdom, without fear of molestation. “Son of my brother,” said he, “seek another kingdom for thy rule, this the gods have given to Frotho; retire peaceably, and take with thee what part of my treasure thou wilt.” “The crown, then,” boldly replied the prince; “for what is there, traitor! in thy power to bestow, that is not already mine by right? No! mean-souled coward! I scorn thy courtesy, and I defy thy anger.” But this gallant resistance availed nothing in a lost cause; his own party counselled him, for the present, to get out of the reach of Frotho’s javelin; and, too wise to disdain advice alike given by friends and enemies, he obeyed their wishes, and, after taking a tender leave of his betrothed Ildegarda, and promising to claim her as a king, withdrew to Sweden to solicit aid from its warlike monarch in defence of his title,—aid which he did not receive; for king Frotho soon after received notice that he had been murdered on that inhospitable coast soon after his landing, and, as it could never be ascertained by whom, Frotho silently congratulated himself upon the sure and ready vengeance of his ally and divinity, Surter. Haquin, alarmed by this circumstance, and more than ever suspecting the honesty of king Frotho, withdrew from court with the young Harold, now the sole surviving son of his murdered master, and, proclaiming him lawful king of Denmark, set up his standard in the heart of the country. Many powerful nobles, disgusted by the cruel brutality of his uncle, immediately joined him; and Frotho, frightened by danger into valour, and relying upon the promises of Surter, put himself at the head of his troops, and prepared for a civil war.
Many skirmishes took place between the hostile powers, though nothing very decisive occurred; but the troops of Frotho had generally the advantage, and always when the king commanded in person. Joy of this discovery nearly upset his majesty; he began to think himself a great general as well as a gallant warrior: he got exceedingly drunk with some of his old cronies who had made the discovery, and, during the deep sleep which followed this little extravagance, Haquin attacked his camp, beat his generals, carried off his son Sevald a prisoner, and nearly seized upon his sacred majesty himself, who knew nothing at all of the matter. Poor Sevald was marched off for the camp of the enemy, in a transport of sorrow and despair.
“Be not offended, prince,” said the good Haquin to him when he was brought before him in his tent,—“be not offended that the chance of war has placed thy person in my custody for a season; it is no dishonour to be the prisoner of Haquin. Our war is with thy father, not with thee; and should Harold succeed, even to the slaying of his uncle, he will never wrong thee, but yield thee thy just right, a second throne in Denmark: be not disturbed therefore at the slight accident of this war.” This was kindly meant, but it entirely failed in its purpose, and Sevald would have still continued to grieve if he had not discovered, that fair princesses are better comforters than old soldiers. He learned that his lovely cousin Ildegarda was in the camp of her father, and he concluded that things were not quite so bad as they might have been. Sevald admired his fair kinswoman extremely, and, as Haldane’s death had set her free, he worked out the prettiest little romantic scheme possible for putting an end to the horrors of civil war and restoring peace to Denmark: he determined to entreat his father to give him Ildegarda for his bride, to adopt Harold as his partner, and thus to reconcile all parties to his ascendancy; but, unhappily for poor Sevald’s delightful scheme, all the persons concerned in it were, though for different reasons, materially against it. Ildegarda, true to the memory of Haldane, would listen to no second love,—Haquin, faithful to the cause he had adopted, would rather have consigned his daughter to the grave than to the arms of a son of Frotho,—and the Danish monarch would entirely have lost the little wit he possessed, at the bare possibility of such a destructive union as that of his own blood with that of his deadliest foe, for such now had the father of Ildegarda become to him. When he did hear it, he grew absolutely wild with terror and rage; he imprecated the most deadly curses upon his son, should he venture to espouse his cousin; and flew off like a madman to the cave of Biorno in the forest, to consult him in this most desperate emergency. He found the sorcerer at home, and willing to assist him, which he civilly did by the best advice in his power; he desired him to return to his camp and attack the troops of Haquin, promising to commit that leader, his daughter, and prince Sevald, safely into his custody; at the same time hinting that, as Surter had done as much for his friend as could decently be expected, he need not call upon him for further assistance, which, unless from his own imprudence, he would not need, and Lok had prohibited them from supplying. Frotho thanked him for past favours and present services, and, promising to demand nothing more for the future, they parted good friends, though not to meet again in this world at least, whatever might happen in the other. Frotho had no sooner reached his camp, than he hastened to profit by his friend’s advice, and instantly experienced its salutary effects; he defeated his antagonists in a pitched battle, recovered his son Sevald, and, to his infinite joy, possessed himself of the persons of Haquin and his daughter, though Harold escaped in the battle, and hid himself securely from the pursuit of his enemy. Had Frotho followed the suggestions of his own cruel heart, he would have decided Haquin’s destiny at once by taking off his head; but, fearful of his nobles, who held the chief in high esteem, and having likewise no hope of discovering Harold, except through his friend, he resolved to spare his existence, but to keep him in close imprisonment with his daughter, whose influence over Sevald he still dreaded, and whom, as the daughter of his sister, he dared not injure farther. The poor prince wept bitterly over his ruined hopes, and Frotho rejoiced at the delightful consummation of his: he enjoyed himself in his own way, killing and drinking by turns,—till, in a fit of madness and extravagance, he impiously declared that he had a Valhalla of his own, which he would not change for Odin’s, upon any terms that divinity could offer. Every thing was happiness in the palace, and Frotho was the most mischievous and merry of kings.
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.
Shakspeare.
“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 success; 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 any thing 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.