Tales of the Wild and the Wonderful [1825]

by Mary Diana Dods

Then Hiarn arose—and his melody’s voice,
As over the wild harp it swept,
Brought relief to the land, bade its nobles rejoice,
For the dark monarch listened—and wept!

And his sorrow was holy, for into his heart
Those tones tender pity had flung—
And Fate whisper’d, “Thy soul shall with music depart”—
So he died, while the sweet harper sung.

Then Hiarn was king—for the fierce nobles came
Subdued by his powers alone,
They crowned his bright brow, proclaimed his great name,
And lowlily knelt at his throne.

Then Hiarn was king, and—

“Alackaday!” said the boar, who did not appear to have any very great taste for music, and who was beginning besides to be weary of Brandomann’s dismal ditty; “alas! for the poor harper; it is a pity, after such a glorious opening, the close of his history should have been so dismal.” “What was it?” demanded Ildegarda; “tell me, I pray you, what was the fate of Hiarn?” “A prince of the blood,” replied the courteous boar, “the warrior Fridleff, who did not understand music, challenged the crown from Hiarn: he was too good a musician to make any thing but a contemptible soldier, so, as might have been expected, he sunk under the first blow of Fridleff. But, grieve not for him, charming princess, he is well rewarded for his short period of suffering; a throne in Asgard—a palace dome in Valasciolf—are surely higher blessings than even reigning in Denmark”—“Serimnor!” said the white goat, interrupting the conversation, and pointing with her horns to the stars, which were now rapidly gemming the heavens; “see, the lights in the palaces of Asgard are lit—the deities and heroes are on their way to Valhalla—let us not keep them waiting, but hasten to supper, lest we should offend the Highest by our presumption.” Thus saying, she departed, after a friendly good-night to the princess, and a promise to spend many evenings with her in the island. Serimnor, deeply engaged at that moment in a dispute with Brandomann about the politics of Jutland, did not remark her departure, but was reminded of it, to the no small astonishment of Ildegarda, in a very extraordinary manner; a gigantic pair of hands, the right brandishing an enormous carving knife, coolly entered the folding doors, and, seizing the throat of the luckless Serimnor, without any sort of notice or preparation, cut it from one side to the other, just as he was pronouncing the names of Harwendil and Feggo, which, from the suddenness of this manœuvre, burst through the gaping orifice in his throat, instead of by the usual channel of communication—the mouth. The terror of Ildegarda, who had begun to esteem the polite and obliging Serimnor, was greatly increased by the extraordinary coolness of Brandomann, who stood looking on as if nothing particular had happened, and only discontinued his speech when the body of the poor boar was dragged from the apartment by the murderous pair of hands. It seemed as if the whole party had been in a conspiracy to frighten the timid Ildegarda; for, on the disappearance of the boar, Sleipner started up, and, snorting till fire darted from his nostrils and eyes, sprung up into the air, and pawing, and dashing, and foaming, ascended up to the clouds through the roof of the palace, which parted to give him passage,—while the two ravens flew screaming out of the window. Brandomann had disappeared in the bustle, and, as he did not attend her on the following morning, she waited with much uneasy impatience for an explanation in the evening: this was given by the good-natured boar himself, who had marked her anxiety, and hurried first to the palace in order to relieve it. He thanked her for the interest she took in what appeared to be his suffering; “But grieve not, loveliest of maidens,” said the gallant beast, “at an event which is to me but the consummation of my glory: every night thus I die without pain, and my flesh is served up to the banquet of the gods,—while my spirit enjoys a blissful sleep, from which it awakes in the morning to animate the same form in which it was clothed the day before. The beautiful goat whom you saw, is the immortal Heidruna, whose milk is the hydromel served up to the table of Odin. She alone, last night, was punctual to her engagement, while the rest of the party, enchanted by your beauty, forgot the hour, and had some difficulty to reach Valhalla in time to avoid the reproach of Odin.” Scarcely was this explanation given, ere Heidruna herself entered, attended by the ravens and Sleipner, who apologised for their hasty departure the evening before; and a moment after, the clap of thunder announced the approach of Brandomann. The whole party now sat contentedly down to supper, infinitely pleased with themselves and each other; and perhaps it would have been difficult to find one more happy, or its members bearing more sincere good will towards each other. The next day was the first of the month, and the princess hastened to avail herself of the magic gift of Brandomann. With intense anxiety she raised the curtain, and her heart throbbed with delight to behold her father in health and spirits, well armed, and travelling, attended by a band of gallant warriors, who appeared to be anxious for his safety. Ildegarda looked at him with rapture, and new feelings of gratitude to Brandomann gave the evening which followed this happy morning, fresh charms in her eyes, and made her confinement in the desolate island, with none but the ugliest of orangutangs for a constant companion, no longer either gloomy or dreadful.

One morning, while surveying together the beauties of the island in a sentimental walk, Brandomann asked the princess if she had now entirely resigned herself to the lot of total seclusion in the island of the Maelstrom. “I may, and do sometimes regret the halls of my fathers,” replied the tender Ildegarda. “But when I reflect from what miseries my devotion has preserved my beloved country, and still more beloved father, I feel that I ought not to complain. Neither am I insensible of what I owe to you; and I acknowledge that, without any other motive, your generous protection of me and care of my happiness deserves the sacrifice even of these regrets: I am willing to make it, and should even rejoice in an opportunity that would allow me to convince you of my sincerity.” “You have, then, (and permit me to say I hope it,) banished from your heart the remembrance of Haldane?” said the monster. “Alas! no,” replied Ildegarda, bursting into tears of tenderness at his recollection; “that can I never do; and it is the certainty of his loss that enables me so well to support this destiny: but do not let this disturb you—the recollection of Haldane will never interrupt my gratitude to you.” “And you could resolve upon fresh sacrifices if they were demanded of you?” inquired Brandomann. “I could,” replied the princess. Brandomann paused—he looked sadly and earnestly at Ildegarda, and then, as with a violent effort, flung himself at her feet, and tremblingly demanded, “Princess, will you become my wife?” A shriek of horror, and a look of unmeasured abhorrence, was the only reply of the hapless Ildegarda; and too plainly these tokens spoke to the unfortunate Brandomann. He calmed his agitation—arose from her feet, and spoke kindly and steadily to tranquillise hers. “Do not hate me, beautiful sovereign of my destiny,” said he, “that thus I am compelled to add to your inquietudes. Yet be not alarmed needlessly; I adore you, but no force shall be put upon your inclinations: forgive me, if, impelled by a power I dare not disobey, I am sometimes obliged to give you pain by this question. But fear not—my wishes shall be sacrificed to yours—I would not receive that hand, dear as it would be, unless voluntarily presented by yourself.”

The princess took courage at this declaration of her hideous lover. She knew he was a monster of his word; and she thought if he would not receive her hand till she presented it, she should be safe from the infliction of such a husband. Assuring him, therefore, that she was far from hating him, and expressing with warmth the sentiments she really felt for her grim admirer, the poor monster was somewhat comforted, which Ildegarda was not sorry to remark; for if Brandomann was ugly when he was gay, he was ten thousand times more so when in sorrow. They returned to the palace in tolerable spirits, and in the evening Ildegarda took an opportunity of depositing her perplexities in the bosom of the respectable white goat, for whom she began to experience something of filial affection. Heidruna consoled the princess by her unqualified praises of the honour and sincerity of Brandomann, and her firm conviction that Ildegarda would never be molested by his fondness; although Heidruna thought, and could not help telling her young friend, that in the world she might have matched herself with many a greater beast than Brandomann: but, as this was entirely a matter of opinion, she rather soothed the princess than contradicted her. The good Serimnor interrupted the tête-à-tête, and fully seconded the opinion of Heidruna, both as to the honour and goodness of the lord monster of Moskoe. “You observe,” said he to Ildegarda, “that he has been admitted among the Scaldres, an order which generally requires perfection from its aspirants; and great must his virtues be, when the unbounded ugliness of his person could not outweigh them, nor conceal the richness and beauty of his mind. He is also, as we are, the descendant of Odin, and peculiarly favoured by the mightiest of the gods, and his son Thor, the thunderbolt: he enjoys extensive power, and many prerogatives not granted to the more beautiful children of nature, to compensate for the imprisonment of such a spirit in so hideous and detestable a frame. Were it possible to overcome your natural repugnance, you would have no reason to regret the change; but should your aversion be invincible, you will have nothing to fear, since he will continue to you the tenderest and humblest of lovers, and we shall always remain your friends.”

The princess thanked the friendly boar for his kind assurance, and they separated for the night in increased good will towards each other. In a few days after this conversation, Brandomann sought the princess in her chamber. “A storm is gathering above the whirlpool,” said he; “its effects will be terrific—our friends are collected to watch its progress—shall we follow them to the coast? If it will interest you, I will raise my magic tent upon the top of the highest rock, and, sheltered even from the slightest drops of rain, you shall see the storm in its terrors, and the fiends unseen of mortal eyes, who increase its horrors and sport in its bosom.” Ildegarda accepted the invitation, and the rein-deer swiftly bore their light and lovely burthen to the rocks, accompanied by Brandomann, whose eight-legged steed would far have outstripped the nimble coursers of the princess, but for the frequent checks of his rider. Arrived at the point of rock, they beheld the waters raging around them, (for the island was seated in the midst of the gulf,) but with less violence than Ildegarda had expected: she remarked this to her attendant. “The waters are now at their height,” replied Brandomann; “and for one quarter of an hour it will be tolerably calm, but the power of the storm will be tremendous when that short interval shall be past: many, deceived by the calm, venture out while it lasts, and encounter certain destruction at its close.” Ildegarda continued watching for the termination of the delusive calm, when her meditations were interrupted by the arrival of Heidruna, Serimnor, and the ravens: they arranged themselves round the chariot of the princess, and, protected from the storm by the magic tent of Brandomann, stood watching its progress in silent anxiety. The deceitful calm, as the lord of the island had predicted, was of no long duration. In a few minutes the brightness of Balder was entirely obscured; the wind chorus began, and swept low and sullenly over the waters, which now rose upwards, gently murmuring, as if they were the echoes of the distant song. “Listen, Ildegarda,” said Brandomann; “to you it is given to hear the secrets and wonders of the earth, in recompense for being thus shut out from its more social intercourse: listen, and you will hear the unknown song of the winds: hark! how it rises from an immeasurable distance, and yet you can distinguish their voices, and the words they utter. Now they come nearer—hush!”

THE SONG OF THE WINDS.

From the couch of the billows,
The hollow bed
Where ocean pillows
His giant head—
From secret caves,
Where ancient Night
Sleeps secure
From staring light—
From the breast
Of the trembling earth,
Scorning rest,
We have our birth.
Up, up, upward, murmuring,
Up, up, upward, still go we.