Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you donât realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. Myths of the Norsemen by H. A. Guerber (free ereaders .TXT) đ
- Author: H. A. Guerber
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While they were thus engaged at Sogn Sound, Frithiof hastened to Balderâs temple, to which Ingeborg had been sent for security, and where, as Hilding had declared, he found her a prey to grief. Now although it was considered a sacrilege for man and woman to exchange a word in the sacred building, Frithiof could not forbear to console her; and, forgetting all else, he spoke to her and comforted her, quieting all her apprehensions of the godsâ anger by assuring her that Balder, the good, must view their innocent passion with approving eyes, for love so pure as theirs could defile no sanctuary; and they ended by plighting their troth before the shrine of Balder.
ââThou whispârest âBalder,ââHis wrath fearest;â
That gentle god all anger flies.
We worship here a Lover, dearest!
Our heartsâ love is his sacrifice;
That god whose brow beams sunshine-splendour,
Whose faith lasts through eternity,â
Was not his love to beauteous Nanna
As pure, as warm, as mine to thee?
ââHis image see!âhimself broods oâer itâ
How mild, how kind, his bright eyes move!
An offâring bear I here before it,
A warm heart full of purest love.
Come, kneel with me! no altar incense
To Balderâs soul more grateful is
Than two hearts, vowing in his presence
A mutual faith as true as his!ââ
TegnĂ©r, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephensâs tr.).
Reassured by this reasoning, which received added strength from the voice which spoke loudly from her own heart, Ingeborg could not refuse to see and converse with Frithiof. During the kingsâ absence the young lovers met every day, and they exchanged love-tokens, Frithiof giving to Ingeborg Völundâs arm-ring, which she solemnly promised to send back to her lover should she be compelled to break her promise to live for him alone. Frithiof lingered at FramnĂ€s until the kingsâ return, when, yielding to the fond entreaties of Ingeborg the Fair, he again appeared before them, and pledged himself to free them from their thraldom to Sigurd Ring if they would only reconsider their decision and promise him their sisterâs hand.
ââWar stands and strikes
His glittâring shield within thy boundaries;
Thy realm, King Helge, is in jeopardy:
But give thy sister, and Iâll lend mine arm
Thy guard in battle. It may stead thee well.
Come! let this grudge between us be forgotten,
Unwilling bear I such âgainst Ingâborgâs brother.
Be counsellâd, King! be just! and save at once
Thy golden crown and thy fair sisterâs heart!
Here is my hand: by Asa-Thor I swear
Never again âtis stretchâd in reconcilement!ââ
TegnĂ©r, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephensâs tr.).
But although this offer was received with acclamation by the assembled warriors, Helgé scornfully demanded of Frithiof whether he had spoken with Ingeborg and so defiled the temple of Balder.
A shout of âSay nay, Frithiof! say nay!â broke from the ring of warriors, but he proudly answered: âI would not lie to gain Valhalla. I have spoken to thy sister, HelgĂ©, yet have I not broken Balderâs peace.â
Ingeborg watches her lover depart
Knut Ekwall
By Permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
A murmur of horror passed through the ranks at this avowal, and when the harsh voice of Helgé was raised in judgment, none was there to gainsay the justice of the sentence.
This apparently was not a harsh one, but Helgé well knew that it meant death, and he so intended it.
Far westward lay the Orkney Islands, ruled by Jarl Angantyr, whose yearly tribute to Belé was withheld now that the old king lay in his cairn. Hard-fisted he was said to be, and heavy of hand, and to Frithiof was given the task of demanding the tribute face to face.
Before he sailed upon the judgment-quest, however, he once more sought Ingeborg, and implored her to elope with him to a home in the sunny South, where her happiness should be his law, and where she should rule over his subjects as his honoured wife. But Ingeborg sorrowfully refused to accompany him, saying that, since her father was no more, she was in duty bound to obey her brothers implicitly, and could not marry without their consent.
The fiery spirit of Frithiof was at first impatient under this disappointment of his hopes, but in the end his noble nature conquered, and after a heartrending parting scene, he embarked upon Ellida, and sorrowfully sailed out of the harbour, while Ingeborg, through a mist of tears, watched the sail as it faded and disappeared in the distance.
The vessel was barely out of sight when HelgĂ© sent for two witches named Heid and Ham, bidding them by incantations to stir up a tempest at sea in which it would be impossible for even the god-given vessel Ellida to live, that so all on board should perish. The witches immediately complied; and with HelgĂ©âs aid they soon stirred up a storm the fury of which is unparalleled in history.
âHelgĂ© on the strand
Chants his wizard-spell,
Potent to command
Fiends of earth or hell.
Gathering darkness shrouds the sky;
Hark, the thunderâs distant roll!
Lurid lightnings, as they fly,
Streak with blood the sable pole.
Ocean, boiling to its base,
Scatters wide its wave of foam;
Screaming, as in fleetest chase,
Sea-birds seek their island home.â
TegnĂ©r, Frithiof Saga (Longfellowâs tr.).
âThen the storm unfetterâd wingeth
Wild his course; in Oceanâs foam
Now he dips him, now up-swingeth,
Whirling toward the Godâs own home:
Rides each Horror-spirit, warning,
High upon the topmost waveâ
Up from out the white, vast, yawning,
Bottomless, unfathomâd grave.â
TegnĂ©r, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephensâs tr.).
The Tempest
Unfrighted by tossing waves and whistling blasts, Frithiof sang a cheery song to reassure his terrified crew; but when the peril grew so great that his exhausted followers gave themselves up for lost, he bethought him of tribute to the goddess Ran, who ever requires gold of them who would rest in peace under the ocean wave. Taking his armlet, he hewed it with his sword and made fair division among his men.
âWho goes empty-handed
Down to sea-blue Ran?
Cold her kisses strike, and
Fleeting her embrace is.â
TegnĂ©r, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephensâs tr.).
He then bade Björn hold the rudder, and himself climbed to the mast-top to view the horizon. While perched there he descried a whale, upon which the two witches were riding the storm. Speaking to his good ship, which was gifted with power of understanding and could obey his commands, he now ran down both whale and witches, and the sea was reddened with their blood. At the same instant the wind fell, the waves ceased to threaten, and fair weather soon smiled again upon the seas.
Exhausted by their previous superhuman efforts and by the labour of baling their water-logged vessel, the men were too weak to land when they at last reached the Orkney Islands, and had to be carried ashore by Björn and Frithiof, who gently laid them down on the sand, bidding them rest and refresh themselves after all the hardships they had endured.
âYet more wearied than their Dragon
Totter Frithiofâs gallant men;
Though each leans upon his weapon,
Scarcely upright stand they then.
Björn, on powârful shoulder, dareth
Four to carry to the land;
Frithiof, all alone, eight beareth,â
Sets them so round the upblazâd brand.
âNay! ye white-facâd, shame not!
Waves are mighty Vikings;
Hardâs the unequal struggleâ
Oceanâs maids our foes.
See! there comes the mead-horn,
Wandâring on bright gold-foot;
Shipmates! cold limbs warm,âand
Hereâs to Ingeborg!ââ
TegnĂ©r, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephenâs tr.).
The arrival of Frithiof and his men, and their mode of landing, had been noted by the watchman of Angantyr, who immediately informed his master of all he had seen. The jarl exclaimed that the ship which had weathered such a gale could be none but Ellida, and that its captain was doubtless Frithiof, Thorstenâs gallant son. At these words one of his Berserkers, AtlĂ©, caught up his weapons and strode from the hall, vowing that he would challenge Frithiof, and thus satisfy himself concerning the veracity of the tales he had heard of the young heroâs courage.
Although still greatly exhausted, Frithiof immediately accepted AtlĂ©âs challenge, and, after a sharp encounter with swords, in which Angurvadel was triumphant, the two champions grappled in deadly embrace. Widely is that wrestling-match renowned in the North, and well matched were the heroes, but in the end Frithiof threw his antagonist, whom he would have slain then and there had his sword been within reach. AtlĂ© saw his intention, and bade him go in search of the weapon, promising to remain motionless during his absence. Frithiof, knowing that such a warriorâs promise was inviolable, immediately obeyed; but when he returned with his sword, and found his antagonist calmly awaiting death, he relented, and bade AtlĂ© rise and live.
âThen storm they, nothing yielded,
Two autumn-billows like!
And oft, with steel round shielded,
Their jarring breasts fierce strike.
âAll like two bears they wrestle,
On hills of snow; and draw
And strain, each like an eagle
On the angry sea at war.
The root-fast rock resisted
Full hardly them between
And green iron oaks down-twisted
With lesser pulls have been.
âFrom each broad brow sweat rushes;
Their bosoms coldly heave;
And stones and mounds and bushes
Dints hundred-fold receive.â
TegnĂ©r, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephensâs tr.).
Together the appeased warriors now wended their way to Angantyrâs hall, which Frithiof found to be far different from the rude dwellings of his native land. The walls were covered with leather richly decorated with gilt designs. The chimney-piece was of marble, and glass panes were in the window-frames. A soft light was diffused from many candles burning in silver branches, and the tables groaned under the most luxurious fare.
Frithiofâs Return to FramnĂ€s
Knut Ekwall
By Permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
High in a silver chair sat the jarl, clad in a coat of golden mail, over which was flung a rich mantle bordered with ermine, but when Frithiof entered he strode from his seat with cordial hand outstretched. âFull many a horn have I emptied with my old friend Thorsten,â said he, âand his brave son is equally welcome at my board.â
Nothing loth, Frithiof seated himself beside his host, and after he had eaten and drunk he recounted his adventures upon land and sea.
At last, however, Frithiof made known his errand, whereupon Angantyr said that he owed no tribute to HelgĂ©, and would pay him none; but that he would give the required sum as a free gift to his old friendâs son, leaving him at liberty to dispose of it as he pleased. Meantime, since the season was unpropitious for the return journey, and storms continually swept the sea, the king invited Frithiof to tarry with him over the winter; and it was only when the gentle spring breezes were blowing once more that he at last allowed him to depart.
Taking leave of his kind host, Frithiof set sail, and wafted by favourable winds, the hero, after six days, came in sight of FramnĂ€s, and found that his home had been reduced to a shapeless heap of ashes by HelgĂ©âs orders. Sadly Frithiof strode over the ravaged site of his childhoodâs home, and as he viewed the desolate scene his heart burned within him. The ruins were not entirely deserted, however, and suddenly Frithiof felt the cold nozzle
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