Four weeks later, when Reinbert sat in his workshop, the door opens and that strange man enters. Reinbert shudders at the sight of him; but when the stranger does not even care to look at him and only asks for his master, he regains his peace of mind. When the apprentices had called the master, the visitor ordered an iron fastening, with lock and bolt, and the master is willing to undertake the work. But now began the stranger (cunning as Loke) with a wonderful knowledge of details to mention all the different parts of the lock, explained with great eloquence the whole plan of it, and took special pains to describe the manner in which the springs must necessarily be bent and united; and although both the master and the apprentices had to admit that such a lock was not without the range of possibilities,—nay, that it would indeed be a masterpiece,—still their heads began to swim when they tried to think of its wonderful construction and arrange the plan in their minds, and they had to admit that they did not trust themselves to do the work. Then the stranger’s mouth assumed a deeply-furrowed, indescribably scornful smile; and he said with contempt: Call yourselves master and apprentices, when you do not know how to undertake a work that the youngest one among you can do in less than an hour! The youngest one among us, murmured the apprentices; do you think that Reinbert would be able to do it,—he is the youngest one among us? O yes, said the stranger, he there can do it, or his look must deceive me much. With these words he called out the astounded Reinbert, explained to him once more the plan of the lock, and added: If you do not save the honor of the smiths, the whole world shall know their disgrace: but if you can get the lock ready within two hours, no master will refuse you his daughter, after you have saved his reputation. Yes indeed, said the master, if you can perform such an impossibility, Dorothea shall be yours. While the stranger described the nature of the lock, Reinbert had sunk into deep reflections; to his soul the narrow workshop widened into a large plain; he saw a beautiful, happy future blooming before him; by strange and wonderful voices he heard himself styled the master of masters; and his beloved he saw approaching him with the bridal wreath entwined in her locks; and just at that moment he heard his master’s words: If you can perform such an impossibility, Dorothea shall be yours. He immediately began his work; it seemed as if he were working with a hundred arms: each blow of the hammer gave form to a part of the work; by a peculiar resounding the hammer-blows seemed to multiply, as if more invisible hands hammered with him, while the stranger in the red glare of the flame looked like a pillar of fire (Loke). After the lapse of an hour the work was finished. Apprentices and master looked at it and examined it, shaking their heads, and with mouths wide open; but there was no doubt that Reinbert had accomplished a masterpiece never seen before, and the master ascribed it to his enthusiasm awakened by his love. The stranger took the lock and went ahead; the master with Reinbert and all his apprentices and the members of his family followed, and all proceeded to the place where the iron post (Stock im Eisen) now stands. Here the stranger placed an iron chain around the post and fastened it with Reinbert’s lock. When they returned, the stranger had disappeared, and with him the key to the marvelous lock.
We omit a part of the story, taking only that part which has reference to Loke.
On account of slander, Reinbert had to travel far and wide before he finally got his beloved Dorothea. A few days after he had returned, the government issued a proclamation to the effect that whatever smith could make a key that would open that lock should thereby get his diploma of mastership. Reinbert announced himself a candidate, and repaired to his workshop to make the key. But for the first time his work did not seem to succeed. The iron was stubborn and would not assume the form required; and it seemed astonishing to him, when he at last had succeeded in giving the key the proper form, and put it into the furnace to temper it, it was turned and twisted when he took it out again. His impatience grew into wrath. But when he at length, after many unsuccessful attempts, had got the key ready and put it into the furnace and carefully scrutinized to see what it was that thus always ruined his work, he saw in the midst of the fire a claw seize after the key, and terror-stricken he discovered that disagreeable stranger’s twisted face (Loke) staring at him out of the burning furnace. He quickly snatched the key away, turned it, seized it with the tongs at the other end, and put it into the fire again; and lo and behold! when he took it out the handle was somewhat twisted, but the head preserved its right shape. (We remember that it was Loke’s fault that the handle of Thor’s hammer became rather short.)
Reinbert now announced to the government that the key was ready; and the day after the government officials and the citizens marched in procession to the iron post, and Reinbert’s key opened the lock. In his enthusiasm at his success he threw the key high up in the air, but to everybody’s surprise it did not come down again. It was sought for everywhere, but could nowhere be found, and Reinbert had to promise to make a new one some time. To commemorate the fact that it had been possible to open the lock he drove a nail into the woodon post, and since that time every smith has done the same when he left Vienna; thus this post was formed with its numberless nails.
Reinbert became a master and married his beloved. Up to this time he had kept his promise and had attended upon the holy mass every Sunday; he began to drink and gamble, but he conscientiously continued to keep his promise. Finally it happens that he once stayed a little too long at the gambling-house, and hastens terrified in order not too late to church. But the door of St. Stephen’s church is closed. Outside sits an old woman (Loke assumed the guise of a woman[[80]] after Balder’s death), who, in answer to his question, informs him that mass is out. Filled with deadly anguish he rushes back to his comrades, who laughed at him and insisted that, as as began at half-past eleven o’clock, and as it was only three-quarters past eleven, the mass could not yet be over. He hastens back again: the church-door is now open, but at the very moment he enters, the priest leaves the altar—the mass is over. The old woman rises, seizes him by the arms, and his soul departs from him.
Thus the myth develops into traditionary story, and one story begets another; they wander about from the south to the north and from the north to the south, and change with the times, reminding us of the various manifestations of life; reminding us how human things circulate and develop, each inextricably interwoven with all, and always reminding us, too, that there is a heaven above the earth and an existence beyond what is allotted to us mortals on earth.
SECTION VIII. A BRIEF REVIEW.
We have now completed the second part of our work, and witnessed the life and exploits of the gods. It remains now to sum up briefly the main features of, and the principal lessons taught in, this portion of the mythology.
We cannot fail to have observed that the life of the gods is, in the first place, a reflection of the workings of visible nature, and, in the second place, a reflection and foreshadowing of the life of man, particularly of life in its various manifestations in the history of the Gothic race. We have also witnessed how wonderfully the interests and works of the gods—nay, how absolutely the gods themselves—are interlinked with each other,—that centralizing thought which, as has been said before, forms one of the most prominent characteristics of Norse or Gothic mythology, thought and history.
We have seen how the divinities and demons, after having been created, enter upon various activities, contend with each other and are reconciled, and how new beings are developed in this struggle, all destined to fight on one side or the other in the final conflict.