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 her. “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, murmuringly,
Up, up, upward, still go we.
From wild Hecla’s burning cells,
Where the giant mother dwells,
Who to Lok, in days of yore,
Sin and death and horror bore—
From the Geyser’s boiling springs,
We soar, upborne on rushing wings,
Singing louder as we go,
Blow, ye wild winds, louder blow!
Up from the Dolstein still rise we,
Where about us rolled the sea,
And beneath, for ever whirled,
The master spirit of the world—
From the raging Dofrefeld,
Where green Niord’s feast is held—
From the land of eternal snow,
Blow, ye wild winds, louder blow!
We come, we come! the forests wave,
As above their tops we rave.
Blow winds, blow! the crashing tree
Of our might shall the witness be;
The staggering ship, and the broken mast,
Heaving, rended, sinking last;
And the crash of falling towers,
Speak our presence, and our powers.
Blow winds, blow! to heaven ascending,
Clashing, crashing, crushing, rending,
Wrath on earth and ocean pouring,
O’er the scared world, raging, roaring.
“The storm is indeed terrific now,” said Ildegarda; “I can almost see it in the air, as it scatters the clouds before it: look how the waters rise to meet it, roaring with the fury and force of the cataract!” Amid the uproar, she thought she distinguished other noises than those of the tempest—a sound like the howls and shrieks of pain: she noticed the circumstance to Brandomann. “You are right,” he replied; “look yonder, where a desperate battle is waging, in despite of this scene of tempest. A bear has swum from this mountain territory of Hilseggen to prey upon the flocks of Suarven, one of the few islands in this gulf which is inhabited; a single gallant shepherd has attacked him, but I fear the bear has the mastery: see! the shepherd has lost his staff, and the monster grapples with him closely—he hugs him fiercely!—Is there no way by which I can save him? What, ho! shepherd!—what, ho!—loosen yourself from the grasp of your enemy and fly—stand on the very edge of the rock, and let him spring against you!—So, so—the fellow fears me no less than the bear, yet he obeys—he is crouching—his enemy runs—plunges—ah! ah!—he has lost his balance and dashes headlong into the stream—well, run, shepherd!—He stays not to sing the death-song for his foe.—Good night, friend bear, you will sup with the fish of the Maelstrom to-night!” While they looked on, they beheld the savage animal struggling for his life against the dreadful current, but in vain; borne onward, despite of his roarings, he was soon over the terrible pool, and then whirled rapidly round, till he was sucked down into the bosom of the dismal gulf, which, sages have written, penetrates the globe. Ildegarda pitied the poor bear, whose love of mutton had occasioned him so miserable a fate; but a new wonder now claimed her attention and diverted her thoughts from his sorrows: this was another island, slowly arising from the bottom of the lake, and covered with sea-weeds, becoming stationary at no great distance from Moskoe. Before Ildegarda could point it out to her companions, Serimnor advanced hastily towards Brandomann. “There is mischief abroad, dear brother,” said he; “this storm is not of Niord’s raising. Some friend beloved of Odin, and abhorred of Lok, is certainly in danger; for look who are sporting in the tempest.” He pointed to the bosom of the gulf and to the rocky shore of Otterholm. In the centre of the one, Ildegarda beheld the head of a monstrous serpent reared above the waves, and surveying with fiery eyes the distant sea; and on the other a hideous wolf, with his attention fixed in the same direction, and howling in concert with the storm. The princess shuddered, and, for the first time in her life, drew nearer to Brandomann for protection. “You have nothing to fear, dearest,” said he, “from these monsters whom you behold; they are indeed your foes and mine, for they are the children of Lok, and the enemies of Odin; but they have no power over you, and mine, by the gift of their conqueror, is greater than their own. He whom you see in the waters is the giant snake, whose folds of sin encircle the guilty earth, and who now, from its centre, is bidding defiance to some noble foe of his evil father. Fenris, the wolf-dog, guard of hell, appears only when mischief is in the air, to increase, by his cries and the horror of his form, the fears and the danger of his victim. I deem some hapless vessel has approached too near this coast during the calm, and now the storm will drag it to destruction. But let us watch—Hugo and Mumin, stretch out your pinions—fly over the waters, and tell me what you descry.” The messengers of Odin obeyed—they flew over the bosom of the lake—then out towards the boundless and ungirt ocean: suddenly they returned. “A sail! a sail!” said Hugo. “A gallant ship!” cried Mumin; “the whirl has surely caught her, she comes on so rapidly.” Soon, very soon, she neared, and drove onwards, visible to all. Brandomann grasped his club: “Some bold adventurers,” said he, “doubtless, who seek to land upon this island in defiance of the will of Odin; if so, they are lost indeed, for the king of Valhalla has resigned them to the power of the infernals.” It was frightful to mark the force with which the ship drove on. “They make for the island which has just risen from the lake,” said the princess. “Death will too surely greet them there,” replied Brandomann; “for that is no land, but the snare of fiends to beguile; it is the dreadful Kraken, that monster of the deep, who, when the vessel touches him, will sink, and draw it with him.”—And the vessel was near the monster, when a piercing shriek from Ildegarda arrested the thoughts of Brandomann. “It is my father!” she cried—“it is my father!—I know his banner—he seeks me on this island—have mercy, Odin!—Oh, Brandomann, if thou lovest me”—“If I love thee!—lo! now I disobey the will of Odin for thee!—judge, then, how dear thou art!” He started from her side, sprung upon Sleipner, darted from the rock, and the next instant Ildegarda beheld his giant form stemming the torrent with a power equal to its own. The wolf beheld him and ran howling away, while a single blow from his mighty club drove the grim serpent beneath the waves, to howl his disappointment in Niftheim. Ildegarda heard none of the consoling speeches addressed to her by her friends; her ear—her eye—her heart, were all with Brandomann: she shrieked aloud. “He will not reach it ere it touches the Kraken,” she cried, “and then all help will be in vain.” “Not so, dear princess,” replied Serimnor; “he acts with the power of Odin, and will save your father; and then what will not his generosity deserve?” “My life—my love!” distractedly replied the wretched Ildegarda, totally incapable of accepting any consolation, and only alive to the danger of her father. “Oh, Odin! save him!” she cried; “and thou, thou the nameless!—the mighty in strength—the blind invincible—preserve the faithful Brandomann!” At this instant the Kraken sunk—the hoof of Sleipner had touched him—and Brandomann sternly approached the vessel: a band of warriors, headed by her father, prepared to oppose him, and Ildegarda beheld their bright weapons gleaming above his head. At this sight, “Harm him not,” she exclaimed; “ye know not whom ye strike!” But the next instant shewed her the folly of her fear and the mighty power of her lover. Heedless of the flashing swords, Sleipner sprung among the warriors, whose arms were now useless in their deadened hands, and Brandomann stood upon the deck, sternly reproving their presumption, and commanding the gallant ship to return home to Denmark. The vessel obeyed—the warriors knew the eight-legged steed of Odin, and were silent; but Haquin accused aloud the murderer of his daughter, for he judged he beheld the lord of the Maelstrom. “Thy daughter lives,” replied the terrible Brandomann; “but she is mine: at her entreaty I have saved thy forfeited life—but approach no more the island forbidden by Odin to mortal foot, else will I resign thee to the fate thy presumption will incur, and which, but for thy daughter’s tears, thou wouldest ere now have tasted. Hence, Haquin, and learn submission!”