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 don’t 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) 📖
- Author: H. A. Guerber
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“Gods all, I hail ye!
Sons of Valhalla!
Earth disappears; to the Asa’s high feast
Gjallar-horn bids me;
Blessedness, like a
Gold-helmet, circles their up-coming guest!”
Tegnér, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephens’s tr.).
Frithiof watches the sleeping King
Knut Ekwall
By Permission of F. Bruckmann, Munich
The warriors of the nation now assembled in solemn Thing to choose a successor to the throne. Frithiof had won the people’s enthusiastic admiration, and they would fain have elected him king; but he raised Sigurd Ring’s little son high on his shield when he heard the shout which acclaimed his name, and presented the boy to the assembly as their future king, publicly swearing to uphold him until he was of age to defend the realm. The lad, weary of his cramped position, boldly sprang to the ground as soon as Frithiof’s speech was ended, and alighted upon his feet. This act of agile daring in one so young appealed to the rude Northmen, and a loud shout arose, “We choose thee, shield-borne child!”
“But thron’d king-like, the lad sat proud
On shield-floor high;
So the eaglet glad, from rock-hung cloud,
The Sun will eye!
At length this place his young blood found
Too dull to keep;
And, with one spring, he gains the ground—
A royal leap!”
Tegnér, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephens’s tr.).
According to some accounts, Frithiof now made war against Ingeborg’s brothers, and after conquering them, allowed them to retain their kingdom on condition that they paid him a yearly tribute. Then he and Ingeborg remained in Ringric until the young king was able to assume the government, when they repaired to Hordaland, a kingdom Frithiof had obtained by conquest, and which he left to his sons Gungthiof and Hunthiof.
Bishop Tegnér’s conclusion, however, differs very considerably, and if it appears less true to the rude temper of the rugged days of the sea-rovers, its superior spiritual qualities make it more attractive. According to Tegnér’s poem, Frithiof was urged by the people of Sigurd Ring to espouse Ingeborg and remain amongst them as guardian of the realm. But he answered that this might not be, since the wrath of Balder still burned against him, and none else could bestow his cherished bride. He told the people that he would fare over the seas and seek forgiveness of the god, and soon after, his farewells were spoken, and once more his vessel was speeding before the wind.
Frithiof’s first visit was paid to his father’s burial mound, where, plunged in melancholy at the desolation around, he poured out his soul to the outraged god. He reminded him that it was the custom of the Northmen to exact blood-fines for kinsmen slain, and surely the blessed gods would not be less forgiving than the earth-born. Passionately he adjured Balder to show him how he could make reparation for his unpremeditated fault, and suddenly, an answer was vouchsafed, and Frithiof beheld in the clouds a vision of a new temple.
“Then sudden, o’er the western waters pendent,
An Image comes, with gold and flames resplendent,
O’er Balder’s grove it hovers, night’s clouds under,
Like gold crown resting on a bed of green.
At last to a temple settling, firm ’tis grounded—
Where Balder stood, another temple’s founded.”
Tegnér, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephens’s tr.).
The hero immediately understood that the gods had thus indicated a means of atonement, and he grudged neither wealth nor pains until a glorious temple and grove, which far exceeded the splendour of the old shrine, rose out of the ruins.
“Finish’d great Balder’s Temple stood!
Round it no palisade of wood
Ran now as erst;
A railing stronger, fairer than the first,
And all of hammer’d iron—each bar
Gold-tipp’d and regular—
Walls Balder’s sacred House. Like some long line
Of steel-clad champions, whose bright war-spears shine
And golden helms afar—so stood
This glitt’ring guard within the holy wood!
“Of granite blocks enormous, join’d with curious care
And daring art, the massy pile was built; and there
(A giant-work intended
To last till time was ended,)
It rose like Upsal’s temple, where the north
Saw Valhall’s halls fair imag’d here on earth.
“Proud stood it there on mountain-steep, its lofty brow
Reflected calmly on the sea’s bright-flowing wave.
But round about, some girdle like of beauteous flow’rs,
Went Balder’s Dale, with all its groves’ soft-murmur’d sighs,
And all its birds’ sweet-twitter’d songs,—the Home of Peace.”
Tegnér, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephens’s tr.).
Meantime, while the timbers were being hewed, King Helgé was absent upon a foray amongst the Finnish mountains. One day it chanced that his band passed by a crag where stood the lonely shrine of some forgotten god, and King Helgé scaled the rocky summit with intent to raze the ruined walls. The lock held fast, and, as Helgé tugged fiercely at the mouldered gate, suddenly a sculptured image of the deity, rudely summoned from his ancient sleep, started from his niche above.
Heavily he fell upon the head of the intruder, and Helgé stretched his length upon the rocky floor, nor stirred again.
When the temple was duly consecrated to Balder’s service, Frithiof stood by the altar to await the coming of his expected bride. But Halfdan first crossed the threshold, his faltering gait showing plainly that he feared an unfriendly reception. Seeing this, Frithiof unbuckled his sword and strode frankly to Halfdan with hand outstretched, whereupon the king, blushing deeply, grasped heartily the proffered hand, and from that moment all their differences were forgotten. The next moment Ingeborg approached and the renewed amity of the long-sundered friends was ratified with the hand of the bride, which Halfdan placed in that of his new brother.
“Over the copper threshold Halfdan now,
With pallid brow
And fearful fitful glance, advanceth slow
Tow’rds yonder tow’ring ever-dreaded foe—
And, silent, at a distance stands,—
Then Frithiof, with quick hands,
The corslet-hater, Angurvadel, from his thigh
Unbuckleth, and his bright shield’s golden round
Leaning ’gainst the altar, thus draws nigh;—
While his cow’d enemy
He thus accosts, with pleasant dignity.—
’Most noble in this strife will he be found
Who first his right hand good
Offers in pledge of peaceful brotherhood!’—
Then Halfdan, deeply blushing, doffs with haste
His iron-gauntlet and,—with hearty grasp embrac’d,—
Each long, long, sever’d hand
Its friend-foe hails, steadfast as mountain-bases stand!
“And as th’ last deep accents
Of reconcilement and of blessing sounded;
Lo! Ing’borg sudden enters, rich adorn’d
With bridal ornaments, and all enrob’d
In gorgeous ermine, and by bright-ey’d maidens
Slow-follow’d, as on heav’n’s broad canopy,
Attending star-trains guard the regent-moon!—
But the young bride’s fair eyes,
Those two blue skies,
Fill quick with tears,
And to her brother’s heart she trembling sinketh;—
He, with his sister’s fears
Deep-mov’d, her hand all tenderly in Frithiof’s linketh,
His burden soft transferring to that hero’s breast,
Its long-tried faith fit place for Ing’borg’s rest.”
Tegnér, Frithiof Saga (G. Stephens’s tr.).
One of the distinctive features of Northern mythology is that the people always believed that their gods belonged to a finite race. The Æsir had had a beginning; therefore, it was reasoned, they must have an end; and as they were born from a mixture of the divine and giant elements, being thus imperfect, they bore within them the germ of death, and were, like men, doomed to suffer physical death in order to attain spiritual immortality.
The whole scheme of Northern mythology was therefore a drama, every step leading gradually to the climax or tragic end, when, with true poetic justice, punishment and reward were impartially meted out. In the foregoing chapters, the gradual rise and decline of the gods have been carefully traced. We have recounted how the Æsir tolerated the presence of evil, personated by Loki, in their midst; how they weakly followed his advice, allowed him to involve them in all manner of difficulties from which they could be extricated only at the price of part of their virtue or peace, and finally permitted him to gain such ascendency over them that he did not scruple to rob them of their dearest possession, purity, or innocence, as personified by Balder the good.
Too late the gods realised how evil was this spirit that had found a home among them, and too late they banished Loki to earth, where men, following the gods’ example, listened to his teachings, and were corrupted by his sinister influence.
“Brothers slay brothers;
Sisters’ children
Shed each other’s blood.
Hard is the world;
Sensual sin grows huge.
There are sword-ages, axe-ages;
Shields are cleft in twain;
Storm-ages, murder-ages;
Till the world falls dead,
And men no longer spare
Or pity one another.”
Norse Mythology (R. B. Anderson).
Seeing that crime was rampant, and all good banished from the earth, the gods realised that the prophecies uttered of old were about to be fulfilled, and that the shadow of Ragnarok, the twilight or dusk of the gods, was already upon them. Sol and Mani grew pale with affright, and drove their chariots tremblingly along their appointed paths, looking back with fear at the pursuing wolves which would shortly overtake and devour them; and as their smiles disappeared the earth grew sad and cold, and the terrible Fimbul-winter began. Then snow fell from the four points of the compass at once, the biting winds swept down from the north, and all the earth was covered with a thick layer of ice.
“Grim Fimbul raged, and o’er the world
Tempestuous winds and snowstorms hurled;
The roaring ocean icebergs ground,
And flung its frozen foam around,
E’en to the top of mountain height;
No warming air
Nor radiance fair
Of gentle Summer’s soft’ning light,
Tempered this dreadful glacial night.”
Valhalla (J. C. Jones).
This severe winter lasted during three whole seasons without a break, and was followed by three others, equally severe, during which all cheer departed from the earth, and the crimes of men increased with fearful rapidity, whilst, in the general struggle for life, the last feelings of humanity and compassion disappeared.
In the dim recesses of the Ironwood the giantess Iarnsaxa or Angur-boda diligently fed the wolves Hati, Sköll, and Managarm, the progeny of Fenris, with the marrow of murderers’ and adulterers’ bones; and such was the prevalence of these vile crimes, that the well-nigh insatiable monsters were never stinted for food. They daily gained strength to pursue Sol and Mani, and finally overtook and devoured them, deluging the earth with blood from their dripping jaws.
“In the east she was seated, that aged woman, in Jarnrid,
And there she nourished the posterity of Fenrir;
He will be the most formidable of all, he
Who, under the form of a monster, will swallow up the moon.”
Voluspa (Pfeiffer’s tr.).
At this terrible calamity the whole earth trembled and shook, the stars, affrighted, fell from their places, and Loki, Fenris, and Garm, renewing their efforts, rent their chains asunder and rushed forth to take their
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