Tales of the Wild and the Wonderful [1867]

by Mary Diana Dods

Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.

Shakspeare—Tempest.

Day after day thus glided on without much variation, though not so heavily as formerly. One evening Brandomann said to her, “Your mornings must still be wearisome to you; perhaps it might give you pleasure to travel around this little island; when such shall be your wish, summon aloud your carriage, with the snow-white deer, (that which brought you hither,) and it will instantly attend your command.” The princess was impatient, till the next morning gave her an opportunity of indulging this new pleasure;—for when our pleasures are few, every little variation is hailed as a new one;—she sprung lightly from her couch, and, with beaming eyes and a throbbing heart, ascended her chariot, which, at her wish, waited at the gates of the marble palace. For some hours she was delighted to be borne swiftly by the coursers of light through flowery vales and blooming gardens; but at length grew weary of the silence and monotony which every where surrounded her, and the inability to utter or reply to an observation. The deer looked at her with their intelligent eyes, and seemed to understand her feelings. “Yes, turn then, my lovely deer,” she replied in answer to their silent interrogatory; “bear me again to my home.” She entered the marble hall. It was many days since she no longer startled at the clap of thunder which announced the approach of Brandomann, and now she heard it with pleasure. “You have been amused to-day,” said he to her as he entered. “Not much,” she replied; “although I blush to say so; I would be happy if I could, yet I cannot help feeling that solitude is melancholy.” “Alas! yes,” replied the lord of the Maelstrom; “but there are companions to whom it is preferable. If I did not fear offending by my presumption.”—He was eagerly interrupted by Ildegarda, who accepted the embryo offer with delight; and her manner had such an effect upon the monster, that again the princess repented her condescension. He made ample amends for his hideous joy, however, on the following day, when attending Ildegarda on her journey, by his timid and gentle modesty. Mounted on his coal-black steed, he respectfully followed her brilliant chariot, and never, except in answer to her summons, ventured to approach her side. The princess was naturally generous, and this conduct secured her confidence. She now encouraged him to converse, called him frequently to her side, and took pleasure in calling forth and listening to his observations. On their return to the palace, a huge raven flew down from a tree upon the shoulder of Brandomann, and whispered something in his ear; the latter immediately turned to Ildegarda: “Princess,” he said, “the only friends who ever enliven this solitude by visiting me, are now on the island; will you permit them to attend you at supper?” Ildegarda consented joyfully: the thought of once more seeing human beings filled her spirit with rapture; and, hastening to her apartment, she spent the intervening time in dressing her lovely person to the utmost advantage, not only for her own sake, but also to do honour to the taste and generosity of Brandomann, who had been most lavish in his preparations for her toilet. At length she descended, and, with a palpitating heart, entered the hall. At the door she was met by Brandomann himself, who courteously led her forward to present her to his guests—they rose to receive her—but imagine the astonishment of Ildegarda!—No words can do justice to her surprise, as she surveyed the assembled party: neither knight nor lady, spirit nor fiend, greeted her entrance,—but on one side stood an enormous wild boar—on the other a beautiful white she-goat—in front stood the eight-legged steed of Odin—and the two ravens, whom she had seen on her landing on the island, had perched themselves with infinite gravity upon Brandomann’s club. The princess turned to her friend, and was about to demand an explanation, when she was prevented by the beautiful goat, who, with an air at once kind and dignified, welcomed her to the island, which she said was happy under the government of the good Brandomann, the favourite of Odin, and whom all good spirits loved: the boar made her his best bow—Sleipner assured her of his devotion—the ravens were happy in the honour of her acquaintance—and Ildegarda, after replying to each of these extraordinary visitors, recovered something of her composure, and smilingly sat down to supper with her company. She was about to apologise for the want of proper fare, when she beheld them supplied with their own particular dishes by the same unseen attendants who so assiduously waited upon her. Oats and hay, in a silver manger, were placed before Sleipner—a huge tray of nuts and acorns sallied in, and stood stationary at the tusks of the boar—a salad was the supper of the white goat—and a raw beef-steak was provided for the accommodation of the ravens. The princess began to be amused with her situation and company, and listened to their conversation with considerable interest: Mumin and Hugo, the raven messengers of Odin, were talking over some of the divinities of Asgard; and Sleipner mentioned a journey which Thor the Thunderer intended shortly to take upon his back, to correct the impious inhabitants of Jutland, who, since the ascension of the murderer Feggo to his brother’s throne, had totally neglected his worship. “Is the murdered prince in Asgard?” demanded Brandomann. “He has a magnificent palace in Valasciolf,” replied the huge boar, “where he resides among the other heroes and the divine family and ministers of Odin, and with them usually spends his nights at the banquet in Valhalla; but he is not a favourite warrior there: if he was no more amiable on earth than he is in heaven, I am not surprised at his wife’s wishing to get rid of him. Hamlet is also there, and almost as unpopular as his father. Can you imagine it possible, he spends all his time with Forsete at Glitner, and has grown so wise and disputacious, that he is continually instructing Odin himself; nay, the other morning, just before the sounding for the combat, he spoke so learnedly to that blind Horror, whom we dare not name out of heaven, and who is already sufficiently inclined to mischief, that Thor, provoked, lifted up his mallet to knock out the shadow of his brains,—but Balder interfered, and his eloquence and Lofna’s smile restored peace to heaven.”

“And how go on the happy Scaldres;” demanded Brandomann; “what is become of the unlucky Hiarn, whose skill in singing gained him a crown?” “He is singer-in-chief in Valhalla,” replied Sleipner; “and indeed his strains well deserve this distinction. But see,” he continued; “the princess looks to you for an explanation: take your harp, Brandomann, and let it tell the story of Hiarn.” “I obey you,” replied the lord of the Maelstrom; and caught up his harp and sung—

THE LEGEND OF HIARN.

The heart of the monarch was savage and wild,
And his red hand with life-blood was gory;
He spared not the matron, he spared not the child,
Proud youth, nor the head that was hoary.

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.