 Chapter 1 of the Frithjof Saga This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Frithjof Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt. Translated by George Upton. Chapter 1. Frithjof and Ingeborg In olden times they ruled in Norway a king of great renown called Belé, whose wife died early, leaving him two sons and a daughter. When the latter had reached her sixth year, the king said to Thorsten, his brother in arms, and lifelong friend, my rosebud, Ingeborg, is the joy of my heart, but nonetheless I must send her away and entrust her to the guardianship, of hilding the wise, so that far from the turmoil and distractions of a court, the light of true knowledge shall be hers. But lest she should miss the companionship of her beloved playfellow, I pray thee permit thy some Frithjof to accompany her, that they may be reared together. Gladly will I do so, replied Thorsten, not alone to honour thy request, but because I know thou hast my son's welfare also at heart, in sending him as the companion of thine own child, to be taught by the wives' hilding. My king's will shall be done. Hildings abode lay on the sea coast surrounded by gardens and wooded hills, and there Ingeborg and Frithjof spent the years of their childhood faithfully taught and cared for by the good old man. Two rare blossoms of the Northland were these children, both richly endowed with gifts of mind and body. Ingeborg was like the swelling rosebud within whose heart the promise of the spring-eyed streaming, or Frithjof grew up tall and strong, as a young oak tree crowned with its crest of rustling leaves. So blessed by the gods were they, with health and beauty, that never had their like been seen in all the North. Now listening to the wondrous tales of their wise master, with clear eyes uplifted to his, now racing over the sunny meadows or dancing lightly under the dark boughs of the fir trees, in the silvery moonlight, they were like the light fairies whose appearance betokens blessings and fills the heart with anticipations of joy. Frithjof was but little older than Ingeborg, and when he first learned from Hilding to read the runic signs, it was his delight to teach them in turn to his beloved playmate. Oftentimes they would sail out upon the wind-tossed sea, and when the shifting of the sail sent foam and spray dashing into the boat, Ingeborg would clap her small hands in glee. No tree was too high for the bold lad when he wished to capture a nest of young birds for the king's child. Even the osprey's eerie, high among the rocky crags, was not safe from his daring quest. It was he that found for her the first pale blossoms of the springtime, the first ripe strawberry, the summer's first golden ear of corn. Joyously they wandered together in the forest, Frithjof armed to protect his playmate in case of need, for he early strove to train himself in all a hero's duties. Thus, like a beautiful dream, the happy days of childhood glided by. Ingeborg blossomed into maidenhood, and Frithjof became a stalwart youth. The king's daughter spent more time in her own chamber now, learning the tasks of women, chief of which was the weaving of garments, while Frithjof was often abroad with the men in quest of game or booty. Inheriting not only his father's strength and daring, but also his discretion and cheerfulness, he was beloved by all and soon aroused the wonder of his companions in the chase, by the boldness with which he would attack the fiercest beasts, felling them with a blow from his spiky club, or piercing them through with the sharp-pronged spear. As in earlier days he had been wanted to bring his playmate gifts of flowers or fruit as greetings of the season, so now he laid at her feet the trophies of his prowess, shaggy bears or grizzly wild boars, often revealing upon his body bloody traces of the struggle. Admiringly Ingeborg's gaze would rest at such times on the young hero, while her heart beat fast in terror for his life. And when on cold winter nights they sat together in the great hall by the blazing half fire, listening to the legend's old hilding told them of the gods, or when the king's daughter would sing of the deeds of some great hero long at rest beneath his grassy mound, she seemed to Frithjof, like a goddess, sent by the great all-father for a brief space to the darksome earth to awaken a foretaste of Valhalla's delights. Praises of Frigger's golden hair are sung throughout the land, he would say to himself, but scarcely it can be no more beautiful than Ingeborg's fair traces. And when he gazed into those soft eyes, so full of heaven's own light and hue, he doubted Hilding's declaration that the eyes of the goddess Frigger were the most beautiful in all the world. Again the spring had come, Friga, the radiant earth goddess, had decked Meadow, Hill, and Vale with Bloom and Berger, and summoned the various warblers of Grove and Wood. One mild evening Ingeborg and Frithjof repaired with Hilding to a hillside overlooking the sea and seated themselves on the mossy stones. There, while the waves roared at their feet, the master told them of the gentle god Baldr and how Envion Malus brought him to his death. Baldr was a son of the all-powerful Odin in the fair earth goddess Friga. Beautiful is the day and so bright that a shiny splendor surrounded him as he traversed the dome with heaven on his white steed. Swifter than thought, all evil, hatred, and strife were abhorrent to him. Elegant, wise, mild, and just, he ever sought to promote peace, to avert misfortune and to ease pain and sorrow. Sometimes, assuming human shape, he would mingle in the combat, but never even in the heat of battle did he lift his sword against the mortal. Though the other gods often took part in the strife of men, it was to do good alone that drew Baldr to the field of battle. Once on a hot summer day he chanced some warriors were perishing for want of water, whereupon he thrust his spear into the ground in a cool spring gushed forth, while others welled up wherever his horse's hoofs had trodden. These springs were inexhaustible and still exist, surrounded by sacred groves, wherein the beneficent god will be worshiped to the end of time. Equally gentle and lovely was his spouse Nana, and far above the clouds, whether the eye of man cannot penetrate, they dwelt in their palace, silvery luster, where nothing evil or impure can ever enter. Baldr was beloved by all the gods and goddesses, save only Loki, the ever evil, who hated him. One night Baldr dreamed that some danger threatened his life, and so alarming was this dream that he could not shake off its shadow, but sad and heavy-hearted, though it only of approaching evil. Saro sees not only on Nana, his loving wife, but upon all the gods and goddesses, when they learned of the dark forebodings that filled Baldr's soul. In vain did Odin, his father, spend many days and nights in thought. In vain did he take counsel with the other gods and consult his two wise ravens, who see into the past and future, as to the nature of the danger that threatened his beloved son. At last he determined to undertake the perilous journey to the abode of the goddesses of fate. Rising from his shining throne, he left the palace, mounted his fire-breathing celestial steed that stood before the door, and followed by the two ravens and the two wolves, who were his constant companions, flew like lightning through the space betwixt heaven and earth, and soon reached the path that leads to the kingdom of the pale goddess, hell in the terrible underworld. Far down below Valhalla, the golden palace of the gods, where their heroes are borne by Odin's battle-maidens, the vultries, on their winged steeds, lies the dread realm of shadows, where abides the inexorable hell. Loki is her father, her mother the giantess Angravora, as a sister of the frightful wolf Fenris and the earth-enveloping serpent. Woe, thrice-woe to him who descends into the cold, mist kingdom of the goddess of death. Misery is her hall, ruin her threshold, pining sickness her bed, endanger the curtains thereof. Sloth is her thrall, and despair her handmaiden. She heats from the dish hunger with a knife of famine. To this terrible place Odin now took his way, the path which no living man had ever trodden, led between frightful abysses and icy crags. But he heeded not these terrors, nor the furious yelping and snapping of the deathhounds, intent only on learning what evil threatened his favorite son. At last he reached the spot where dwelt the goddesses of fate, and at the first gray runestone he swung himself from his steed. Below it had lain for a thousand years the norn who reads the future. While about the desolate tomb, the wind moans through the leafless branches and whirl the loft the parching sand. Odin drew his sword, and inscribed thrice with it, a runic sentence in the sand. Then he shouted thrice the runic call which, uttered by the lips of a god, has powered awake the dead within their graves. In dull hollow tones a voice answered from the depths. What mystic spell of sternest might penetrates the dungeon's night, stirs me from my sleep of old. Who art thou, O stranger bold? Go, let me rest for here below, through winter snows and summer's glow, through dripping dew and steaming rain. A thousand years I now have lain. Ruthless thou stirrus the dead deep rest. Whom hast thou be, thou stranger guest? And Odin answered, a wanderer I, unknown my name, a warrior's son, and told my fame, of the upper world I would not know. But fame would seek of those below for whom is the glittering table spread, for whom prepared the golden bed. Again the hollow tones responded, Sauce thou not in beaker bright, draught of sweet mead, foaming light? Or it hangs the golden shield, warrior's arm no more shall wield. Baldur's coming, these petoken. Baldur's death-dome half been spoken. This reed reluctant have I told. Now get thee gone, thy stranger bold. Leave the weary to her rest, and come no more, whatever thy quest. Down in the abyss the misrolled imparted, permitting Odin for an instant to gaze into the joyless reign of death. And he saw that all was indeed made ready to receive his beloved son. With the tears starting to his eyes, he mounted his steed, and turned sadly homeward. Loud cries of woe broke from the waiting gods and goddesses, when Odin told them, the saying of the Norn. Vainly they sought some means by which the doom of their favorite might be averted, till at last Friga be thought her of a plan, which was hailed with joy by all. As mistress of the earth, she bound by oath everything that existed thereon, fire and water, iron and all the other metals, rock and soil, bush and tree. All disease or poison, with all created beings of the earth, the air and the water, not to harm her son. Alone of the tender mistletoe that hangs from the bow, she took no oath, for from that she feared nothing. Deeming their favorites safe from harm, the gods and their joy began to sport with him. Some flung sharp pointed spears at him, and lo they fell harmless to the ground. Others smote his uncovered head with their keen blades, yet not a hair of his head was injured, bright and laughing as a fair spring morning. The gods stood in their mist, catching the hissing darts and lances in his hands. Their joyous cries at last reached the ears of Loki, whose only pleasure it was to awaken strife and discontent within the hearts of gods and men. And he hastened thither to blight, if it might be, these heaven-born flowers of joy. Taking the form of an aged dame with a staff in her trembling hand, he approached the goddess Frigga and said, Tell me, I pray thee, O watchful earth mother, Wherefore the gods are glad so that I may share their joy. Frigga replied, All nature has sworn to me to do no harm to my son Balder. His life was in great peril, but now shall the norns read be brought to naught, nor shall he descend into the kingdom of pale hell. But Loki asked, Dis thou take oath of everything upon the earth? And Frigga answered, Of all save the tender mistletoe that grows east of the halla, From that surely there is not to fear. Now as Loki rejoiced, for mistletoe causes the death of the tree from which it draws its life. Slipping softly out from the gates of Valhalla, he hastened to where it grew, and breaking it off, fashioned from the tough stem of dart, which he sharpened to the keenest point. Then as the old woman, he again joined the circle of the gods still busy with their sports. Proceeding Hoder, the blind god, who stood apart listening to his companion's joyous cries, when I am able to share their sports, he drew near and said to him, Why dost thou not hurl the spear or speed the dart? Alas, how can I, replied Hoder, were not the light gone from my eyes, Gladly would I also do honor to Balder. Nay, then, that thou shouts at Loki, Take thy bow in this dart, I will guide its flight for thee. Hoder did as he was told, and down sank Balder, lifeless to the ground. This was the greatest misfortune which had ever befallen the gods in Valhalla. For a space they stood horror-stricken, gazing at the corpse of the gentle god. Then the vaulted halls echoed to their cries of woe. Beyond all words was their grief and anguish. At length they bethought them to seek the author of the evil deed. But vengeance was beyond their power, for Odin's palace is a sanctuary. Moreover, Loki had vanished, with sighs and lamentations they bore the beloved dead to the seashore. Were drawn up on rollers stood Balder's ship. On this his body was to be burned. But all the efforts of the gods were powerless to stir the mighty vessel from its place. Whereupon they summoned the giantess, Hierachan, fire a whirlwind to their aid. A rushing sound was heard as she came with streaming hair, riding a great wolf bridled with a serpent. Laying her mighty hands upon the ship, she pushed it into the sea with such force that sparks flew from the rollers. Seized with rage and chagrin at this, Thor lifted his hammer to shatter the head of the witch, but the other gods hastened to pacify him. And then a fresh misfortune befell. The heart of Balder's blooming wife, Nanna, burst with its load of sorrow, and she sank lifeless into the arms of Friga. The bodies of the youthful pair, thus united by death, were laid upon the funeral pyre that had been raised within the ship. And consumed amid the lamentations of all the gods. This is the story of Balder's death, which brought sorrow and mourning into Odin's halls of joy. With rapture, Ingeborg and Frithioff had listened to old Hilding's tale, while far in the distance they heard the rumblings of Thor's chariot, in which the god of thunder rides upon the clouds, and saw the flickering lights that follow the blows of his hammer. Tears glistened in Ingeborg's eyes, and even Frithioff's heart was moved. Presently they arose and turned their faces homeward. Ingeborg retired to her chamber, while Frithioff and Hilding seated themselves on cushions, before a table upon which burned a taper. Suddenly Frithioff spoke. Terrible indeed must be the abode of the goddess Hel. Yet gladly would I die and descend thither, could I but know that Ingeborg would mourn for me as Nana mourned for Balder. Hilding was amazed at the speech. Alas, my son, he said, can it be that thou art cherishing a love for Ingeborg? Never can it bring thee happiness. Be think thee. King Bailey's ancestors art to send it from the gods, while thou art but the son of a yeoman. From the sons of princes will Bailey choose a son-in-law, nor mayst thou ever hope to wed his child. Frithioff laughed, and his eyes flashed as he answered. The gods take no heed of rank. With them Valar is all. They will spurn him who fails in courage, even though he be of their own blood. But him who strives with all his soul to imitate them, in godlike deeds they will hold in honor. The fame I have already won for myself by slaying the beasts of the forest shall count as much for me as if my ancestral line stretched up to Odin's halls. Alas, for this love of thine cried Hilding, I fear me to bear thee not but thorns. My old eyes were dim that I saw not what mischief was brewing. Nay, father, say not so, answered Frithioff. Never till this day have I thought to win Ingeborg for my wife. Tis but now my heart hath revealed its yearnings for her, and her alone in all the world. But I swear to thee, by all the gods, that never shall her image be banished, thence. If I need be, my sword shall be my war. I, I would contend for her with the thunder god himself, nor will I give her up so long as life shall last. Yet of this I will say not to her father, but sue for him in due form after the manner of our forefathers. As Frithioff thus spoke, Ingeborg sat in her chamber. Her thoughts also busy with him. In his form she seemed to see the fair young god Baldr, and prayed the gods to guard the noble youth and grant him fame and honor. End of Chapter 2. Chapter 3 of The Frithioff Saga. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Johan, Highland, California, USA. The Frithioff Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt. Translated by George Upton. Chapter 3. King Belay and Thorsten, his faithful old brother-in-arms, were now bowed with the weight of many years, like two ruined temples upon whose walls or graven runes of wisdom still powerful to stir the hearts of reverent beholders. One day the king said to Thorsten, my friend, the evening of life draws on. No longer has the mead its wanted flavor, and heavy grows the helm upon my weary head. The world grows dim before my eyes, but clear and bright toward me streams the light of Valhalla. Therefore I have summoned our sons hither, as we have ever stood fast by each other, so it is my wish that they should do. With this and other matters I would charge the young eagles ere my lips are sealed by death. The three youths soon entered the royal hall. Helga, the oldest, first. Pale and gloomy of countenance was he, as if the terrors of the Death Kingdom had set their seal upon him. With blood-stained hands, fresh from the sacrificial grove he came, for he was want to tarry there, communing with seers and soothsayers. Behind him followed Hoften, his brother, whose bright locks framed a face noble indeed of feature, but weak and effeminate in expression. The sword at his side seemed worn but ingest, and he looked like some fair maid who had sportively donned the garb of a hero. Last came Frithyoth, a blue mantle hanging from his shoulders and taller by a head than his companions. As the three stood before the king, it was like the bright noonday between rosy morn and dusky night. Then the king began, my end is nigh, oh sons. Wherefore I charge ye, govern the land in harmony, for union is like the lancering, without which the strength of the lanc is lost. Let force stand guard before the country's gate, but within its boundaries cherish the holy blossoms of peace. Let not your swords save against the foe. Let your shields be the safeguard of the peasant's home. A foolish prince is he who opposes his own people, for as their strength is, so is his own. The leafy crown of the tree whose sapless trunk is rooted in bare rock soon withers. Four pillars of stone support the dome of heaven. The throne rests only upon one, the law. Woe to the land where violence reigns, for thereby shall both ruler and people perish. The gods, oh Helga, do indeed dwell in temples, but not in them alone. So far as the voice can reach, so far as the sun's golden beams can penetrate, or the thoughts of man can fly, so wider the halls of their boundless sanctuaries. The blood of sacrificial victims off deceives. Runes, however so deeply graven, are sometimes proven false, but upon a just and upright heart, oh Helga, Odin hath inscribed runes which God and man may trust. As the flowers adorn the brazen shield, so doth gentleness become strength. It is not winter but balmy spring that opens the bud of life. Make to yourself true friends. A friendless chief, be he ever so mighty, is like a tree whose bark has been stripped away by storms. But he who is blessed with true friendship is like the forest giant, shielded from tempests by the companions that surround it. Boast not of thy ancestors' deeds and honors. What avails the heritage of a mighty bow which thou hast neither the strength nor skill to bend? The fame of thy sires rests with them in the grave. In its own waves the rushing stream follows onward to the sea. Then, turn into a second son, the king continued, thou too, Halfton, hear my words and treasure them in thy heart. A pleasant wit is the adornment of the wise, but idle chatter befits none, least of all a prince's son. Honey is sweet, but without hops no mead can be brewed. Put steel into thy sword, Halfton, and earnestness into thy play. Never yet lived there a man who knew too much, however famed for wisdom, but countless is the number of those who know too little. Disregarded at the feast sits the fool who holds the seat of honor by right of birth alone. Tis to the wise man the guests lend ear, however lowly be his seat. Choose not every man to be thy blood brother, and empty house stands open to all who pass, the rich man's door is barred. And trust thy confidence to but one, what is known to three is known to all the world. The old king ceased and thirst and rose. To permit thee, King Belay, to wander through Odin's halls befits not one who hath ever been thy comrade upon earth. Together we have shared life's changes, and in deaths me thinks we shall not be parted. Then to Frithyoth, his son, he said, The years have whispered many a counsel in my ear for thee, my son. As Odin's birds hover about the burial mound, so do the teachings of experience linger on the lips of age. This above all else lay thou to heart, honor the gods. From them alone spring all blessings and prosperity, even as it is they who send the storm wind and the life-giving sun rays. They gaze into the heart's most secret depths, wither no man's eye can penetrate. Avoid evil. Long years must off dependence for one hour's sin. Obey the king, one must be lord over all if the land would prosper. The night hath many lights, the day but one, willingly should the better man do homage to the best. One handle only hath the sword, he who grasps it elsewhere wounds his hand. Strength is a gift of the gods, but without judgment forces of small avail. The bear hath the strength of twelve men, yet he is slain by one. Against the sword thrust hold the shield, against violence the law. Guard thy heart from pride, few are moved to fear thereby but all to hate. The more arrogant thou growest, the nearer is thy fall. Many have I seen soar high who must now go on crutches. Praise not the day before its end, the mead before it is drunk, nor the counsel before it is proved. Youth is prone to trust the lightest word, but battle tests the value of a blade, and friendship is tried by need. Trust neither the ice of a night nor the snows of spring. It is true of all men that strength of body and mind must pass away, but the fame of an upright man lives on forever. Therefore, O my son, resolve only what is noble, do only what is right. Thou spake the aged heroes, whose sage warnings are still passed from mouth to mouth in the Northland. They further charge their sons to perpetuate the friendship that had bound them together through life in wheel and in woe. Ever back to back we stood when danger threatened, said King Belay, and if it came still closer than with one shield we met it. Hold fast together as one man, ye three, and never shall the Northland sea your overmatch. For strength bound to kingly rank and power is like the steel rim that encircles a shield of gold. Fail not to greet for me my fair Rose Ingeborg, who in peace and quiet has bloomed as becomes a royal maiden. Shield her well with brotherly love and loyalty, that no rude tempest bear away my tender flower. Be thou a father to her, Helga. Guard her as your own child, yet forget not that harsh constraint will oft revolt a noble heart, which by gentleness may easily be guided in the path of virtue and custom. Let our weary bodies be laid to rest beneath two grave mounds, on either side of the stream, that its rushing waters may chant for us eternal praises of the heroes. After the midnight hour, when the pale moon sheds their silvery splendors and the cooling doos to send upon our mounds, shall thou and I, my Thorsten, discourse of olden days across the flood, and our voices will mingle with the murmuring of the waves. And now, dear sons, farewell, farewell, leave us in peace, that far from the court we may prepare ourselves to enter into the glories of Valhalla. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Frithioff Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt. Translated by George Upton. Chapter 4. Frithioff's Inheritance The two aged heroes died as they had hoped, within a short time of each other, and were buried as King Bailey had vidden, the two princes being declared joint heirs to the throne by decree of the people, while Frithioff took possession of his heritage, Framnas. His lands were on the coast and extended for three miles in each direction. Forests of birch crowned the mountaintops, whose slopes were covered with golden barley and waving wheat, growing to the height of a man. Lakes teeming with fish mirrored the wooden heights. Through the forest, threaded with rushing streams, roamed noble stags, proud and stately as kings. On the rich meadows, herds of cattle with sweet, glossy hides, cropped the green sward, while here in their row flocks of sheep, like fleecy cloudlets slowly drifting across the blue vault of heaven. Ranged in two rows, twelve pairs of fiery coarsers, pawed impatiently in their stalls. Shod with shiny steel were their hoofs, their mains not hit with red. The great drinking hall was so spacious that six hundred guests would scarcely fill it. Round the wall extended a table of polished oak, and on either side of the high-seat images of the gods were skilfully carved from elmwood, one representing the Father Odin, the other Frey, who rules over the rain and sunshine. Over the high seat where Thorsten had sat for so many years, a glossy black bearskin with scarlet jaws and the claws tipped with silver was thrown. Midway of the hall was the great hearth of smoothly polished stone, once the dancing flame shut ceaselessly upward, and suspended around the walls, helm and shield and sword glittered in the reflection of the blaze. Rich indeed was the dwelling, abundance everywhere met the eye, crowded presses, well-filled cellars and storerooms, while many a jewel, spoil of many a conquest, lay hidden in clothes-locked chests. But the three most precious possessions of the house were famed throughout the land. Of these the first was a sword called Engel Valdel, or Brother of Lightning, forged by dwarfs in some far eastern land. Frithjof's ancestors had wrought with it many heroic deeds. The hilt was of hammered gold, and the blade was covered with strange ruins, the meaning of which was unknown saved to those who forged it in the distant Orhyn. When Frithjof drew it from the sheath it flashed like the lightning, or the streaming northern lights. Moreover a magic power belonged to this wondrous heirloom, so Lory's peace ruled the land the runes on the blade gleamed dull and pale, but when war prevailed they burned red as the comb of a fighting cock. Next to this sword in renown was an arm-ring of pure gold, the work of Halting von Lund, the Vulcan of the North. Gravedonnet were the names of the holy gods in their castles, were the signs of the changing seasons, while crowning the circlet as the sun crowns the heavens was a splendid ruby. This ring had long been an heirloom of the house and had once been stolen by the robber Sot, who roved the seas pillaging and destroying. News came at last to Thorsten that Sot had caused himself to be buried with all his treasure in a walled up mound on the shores of Britain, yet there his spirit found no rest but haunted the place as a specter. Fourthwith, Thorsten resolved to seek this ghostly visitant, and with Bailey, who offered to accompany him, took ship and sailed away to the shore of Britain, where they soon found Sot's place of burial. Like a sunken palace was the grave mound, over which lay piled up vast heaps of earth and ruined stonework. Thorsten and Bailey peered through a chink of the doorway into the vaulted depths. There stood the black Viking ship, and high up on the mast squatted a grizzly shape wrapped in a blue flaming mantle, its staring eyeballs rolling, while it vainly endeavored to scour the bloodstains from a rusty sword, all about lay heaps of gold, and on the arm of the phantom gleamed Thorsten's precious heirloom, the stolen arm ring. Bailey whispered to Thorsten, let us go down together and fight with this fiery specter. But half angrily Thorsten answered, nay, one against one was the custom of our fathers, alone will I strife with it. Long they contended as to which should first encounter that ghastly foe, but the lot fell to Thorsten. One blow of his spear burst in the door, and he descended into the vault, while shielded before him and sword in hand, King Bailey listened without. While chantings he heard at first, like some magic spell, then loud clashing sounds as of swords crossed in conflict, then came a horrible scream, and followed by instant silence, and out staggered Thorsten, pale and distraught, but on his arm he bore the ring. Never in after days would he relate what had passed in those awful depths, and when question would turn away shuddering. But he was often want to say, truly, it was dearly bought, this arm ring, but once in my life have I trembled, and that was when I took it. Last of the three family treasures was the good ship Alita. Frithios' ancestor, Viking, so it was said, returning once from a foray, discovered on his own shores a shipwrecked man, tall he looked in nobly form with an open countenance, whose expression was constantly changing like the glancing of waves in the sunlight. Sea green floated his hair, white as wave foam his beard, a blue mantle enveloped his form, and the gold belt he wore was set with corals. Steering directly to the spot, Viking rescued the unfortunate, took him to his home and feasted him right nobly. But when at night the stranger was offered a bed he shook his head smiling. Fair is the wind and my ship a good one, he said, and many a mile I hope to leave behind me ere the break of day. Not but thanks have I to offer thee in return for thy hospitality, but my wealth lies deep beneath the ocean wave. Yet in the morning it may be thou wilt find some gift from me upon the shore. At daybreak, Viking hastened to the shore and low with the swiftness of the sea eagle darting upon its prey there came flying into the haven one of the warships commonly known as dragons. Not a soul was to be seen on board, neither steersmen nor rowers, yet unerringly the rudder guided its winding course amid rocks and shoals. As it neared the land the sails furled themselves, the anchor fell, and the slender vessel rested quietly upon the sandy beach. As Viking stood gazing in astonishment at all this, voices sounded from the dancing waves. They chanted, The man thou disrescue and shelter was Agir, the lord of the sea. He forgets not his debt. See, young dragon, he sendeth as token to thee. Royal indeed was the gift of the sea-god. The solid beams of the ship were not joined in the usual way, but grown together, long in dragon shape, it lay upon the water, the head reared high, wide jaws gleaming red with gold, the body speckled with blue and gold, and ending at the rudder in a coiling tail covered with silver scales. Black were the sails with edgings of gold, and when each was fully stretched, the ship flew like the storm wind, swifter than the sea eagle. With all these treasures and more besides, Frithioff next to the two kings was the richest man in all the land. Kingly of nature was he, if not by birth, in gentle and noble in word indeed. Twelve mighty champions he had ever beside him, tried comrades of his dead father. Among these gray beards, like a rose set in a wreath of withered leaves, was a youth called Bjorn. Joyce is a child, yet with the strength of manhood and the wisdom of age, Frithioff had grown up with him, and together they had sworn blood brotherhood. Sorrifully amid these heroes sat Frithioff in the high seat, draining the mead horn at his father's grave-feast, after the custom of his ancestors. While with a heavy heart he listened to the thundering hero song, sounded in praise of the departed. Chapter 5 of the Frithioff Saga This is a Librivox recording, while Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Frithioff Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt. Translated by George Upton. Frithioff's wooing. Each day the great hall echoed to the sound of harp strings, and rang with praises of the great deeds of his sires. But not could rouse Frithioff from his melancholy. Once more the spring awoke with smiles, the blue sea was flecked with swelling, sails of ships, and still his gloom remained unbroken. His thoughts ever dwelt on the happy days at Hilding's abode, when the king's child was his beloved companion. At last Bjorn went to him and said, Why does Frithioff sit like a wounded eagle in his array? What is amiss with thee, my friend? Surely thou hast no lack of lands or goods. Song in harp sound for thee by night and day. The mead horn passes from hand to hand, but vainly thy good-steed stamps in his stall. Vanly the hooded falcon screams for prey. See how Alita strains at her cable and spreads her wings, impatient to be free. Then Frithioff clasps his friend's hand and, shaking off his sorrow, embarked with his comrades in the dragon, which was soon speeding onward through the foaming waves. Elga and Halfdown were sitting at their father's grave-mount near the sea, holding judgment for the people, when Elita approached. Frithioff landed with his men and entering the circle of warriors, thus addressed the two kings. I stand here before ye, ye kings, as suitor for the hand of Ingeborg. Surely your dead father would have smiled upon our union, since twas by his wish that we grew up together under Hilding's guidance, like two saplings with branches intertwined, whose tops friega winds about with silver thread. Of no royal race am I, it is true, but the fame of my sires is often times sung in royal halls, as well you know. Easily might I win for myself a kingdom and wear the golden circlet on my brow, but tis my choice rather to dwell in the land of my birth, my sword ever ready to defend the throne or the hut of the poor. On King Belly's mound we stand, in the depths below he heareth and speaketh for me. Join ye the hands of Frithioff in Ingeborg. Frowning darkly, Helgy rose and scornfully replied, not for a peasant son is our sister Destin, none but a prince may hope to win her. Thou art called the mightiest hero in all the Northland. Let that content thy pride, and aspire not to the hand of a maiden, whose forefathers sprung from Odin himself. My kingdom needs not thy service, that shall be our own care, but if thou wouldst have a place at court among my hired warriors, that I will not deny thee. Frithioff laughed grimly, I be thy vassal, nay, I am a man for myself, even as was my father. Out on Gravado from thy sheath, bright flashed the blade and the sunlight, the runes glowing fiery red. Now on Gravado, let us see if any shall deny that thou at least art high-born and noble. As for thee, King Helgy, stood we not upon this sacred mound, I would smite thee to the dust. Take heed hereafter, that thou come not too near my blade. With one blow of Frithioff clove entwain Helgy's golden shield had hung from an oak tree, and the two halves fell with a crash that awakened hollow echoes from the vault below. Well struck my sword, cried Frithioff, hide now thy gleam, and dream thou of exploits more noble. Terror seized Helgy and his followers, and all looked unsilently, while Frithioff returned to his ship and was born swiftly away over the water, out to the deep blue sea. End of Frithioff's wooing Chapter 6 King Ring There reigned at this time in the far north the king named Ring, no longer young, but gentle and kindly, as Balder himself, and sage of Mimir, who guards the fount of wisdom. His realm was peaceful as a grove of the gods. The greenwood never echoed to the clash of arms, nor where the cornfields trampled by the hiffs of battle-states, just as held sway upon the seat of judgment about which the people gathered to hold their king, or general assembly, where each man had a voice in the affairs of the kingdom. Thither came many a white-sealed vessel, bringing treasures from a hundred coasts, in exchange for the country's rich abundance. Wisely and well had King Ring guided the destinies of his people for more than thirty years, and prayers for his welfare ascended daily to Odin's throne. One day the king sat with his warriors in the royal hall, long was the feast, and many a horn of foaming mead was strained. But at last he pushed back his gold chair from the board, while all the chiefs arose to do honour to the words of their lord. Sighing deeply, he began, my noble queen was taken, as ye know, from out these mists of earth, and now in Frigus heavenly boar sits enthroned in purple robes. Not remains to me but the flower-decked grave mound where she lies, she was the treasure of my life. But my babes suffer for a mother's care, the country lacks a queen. King Bell, he was often one to be our honoured guest, now also shares Valhalla's joy. But he in one, and her I chose, but he hath left a daughter, as fair they say, as the lily and the rose in one, and her I choose to be my spouse, it is true that she is young and like the spring, while winter's frost has touched my locks with grey. But if it so be that she can trust an upright heart and nourish affection for helpless childhood in her breast, then will autumn offer to the spring his throne. Take gold from the vault rooms, therefore, and gems and costly apparel from the chests, and go ye to Ingeborg's brothers with my suit. Also let minstrels accompany you, that they may assist your wooing with song and harp-string, a band of chosen warriors set out without delay, and reach in the court of King Bell's son, made known their errand. Three days they waited for an answer, while Helge, instead of taking wise counsel on the matter, offered up horses and falcons on the sacrificial stone, and searched the entrails to discover the well of the gods. But on the fourth day, Ring's messengers demanded an answer, whereupon Helge, deluded by the signs he had perceived, curtly rejected the monarch's suit, and the giddy Halfdan added justingly, Tis pity our feastings must have an end, had King Greybeard, but come hither with you, truly I myself would now have aided him to mount his horse. Suppressing their wrath, the envoys returned to their master, with King Helge's answer, nor did they fail to relate their front that had been offered to them by Halfdan. An evil hour shall it be for them that sees King Greybeard on their shores, cried Ring, as he smote the great warshield that hung upon a linten tree in the castle courtyard. Swift, throughout the land, sped the summons to war, and soon a host of warriors had assembled. The haven was filled with dragon ships, and countless helm-plumes knotted in the breeze. When the message of war reached King Helge, he was seized with fear and hastily dispatched his sister, Ingeborg, to Baldur's Temple, which was held sacred all over the Northland. None had ever dared to violate the sanctuary, and there he deemed her safe from King Ring and his warriors. End of Chapter 6, recording by Chad Horner for Balli Clare in County Anter Northern Ireland, situated in the North East of the Island of Ireland. Chapter 7 of the Frithy of Saga. This is a Librivox recording, or Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Frithy of Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 7, Frithy of at Chess. Frithy of was sitting with Björn in his hall at Framnes, before a splendid chess board, the squares of which were alternate gold and silver. When Hilding entered, greeting the old man kindly, Frithy of led him to the high seat and made him refresh himself with a horn of mead, till he and his adroit adversary should have finished their match. But without waiting, Hilding began, I come on behalf of the two princes, Helge and Helfdan, to pray you to make peace with them. King Ring has declared war, and they fear for the kingdom. Take heed, Björn, said Frithy of. Thy king is in danger, a pawn indeed may save him, pawns are lightly sacrificed. Hilding, who well understood the double meaning of these words, continued, Let not thine anger master thee, my son, against King Ring, the princes may be weak, against thy single arm to her otherwise. Frithy of smiled. So thou dost threaten my castle, Björn, he said, but rest thee assured it will be well guarded. In Boulder's grove began Hilding once more, Ingeborg doth weep the whole day long, or not even her prayers move thee. Ha! Björn was thou attack the queen, dearer to me than life from childhood's hour. The most precious peace in all the game is she, and her I will save, cost what it may. Would thou give me no answer, no yet end thy game? asked Hilding indignantly. Then Frithy of arose, and grasping his old master's hand, said earnestly, Nay, be not angry with me, father, but hearken to my firm resolve. Say to Bele's son, that never will he whose honour they have tarnished be their vassal. Hilding was silent for a space before he replied, I mustene perform my duty, yet neither can I blame thee for thy resolution. Odin will guide all for the best. Then, mounting his horse, he rode thoughtfully away. End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of the Frithy of Saga. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Frithy of Saga, by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Opton. Chapter 8 Frithy of Goes to Ingeborg When the sun had sunk low in the west, Frithy of said to Bjorn, Let us away, for this night I must speak with Ingeborg. How, cried his friend, wouldst thou violate Baldur's grove? Surely it will be no violation of Baldur's sanctuary, if I do but seek in all honour and propriety to hold converse with the king's daughter, my playfellow and companion from our infancy. Bjorn said no more, and Elida soon brought them to the holy grove, one side of which was bounded by the sea. By that way it was forbidden to enter under penalty of death, while from the land none but the priests might grant entrance through the door in the high wall to those wishing to visit the grove and temple. Paying no heed to this prohibition, Frithy of boldly entered the grove from the shore and suddenly appeared before Ingeborg to her mingle joy and terror. Fear not, dear Ingeborg, he cried, clasping her hand, that my presence here will profane Baldur's sanctuary, nay, rather let us go into the temple and implore his aid and guidance. In silence the lovers entered the temple, and not till the dawn began to break, did they emerge and see the shore once more. Now have we plighted our trust before the gentle God, said Frithyof, and our love for each other shall therefore be publicly made known? Thereupon the maiden besought Frithyof to forget what had passed, and be reconciled to her brother. Thy words echoed with that which Baldur has implanted in my breast, fair maid, replied Frithyof. Therefore I will appear at the ting, and before all men, offered to thy brother Helg, the hand of peace, soon shall so hear therof. And with these words they parted. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org The Frithyof Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt Translated by George Upton Chapter 9 The Parting Off the next day did Ingeborg turn her footsteps toward the sea, and at last she neared the wooded shore once more. The sails of the swiftly approaching dragon glimmered through the branches of the trees. It stopped and Frithyof lightly assured. Welcome indeed, art thou, Frithyof, said Ingeborg, but woe is me, I read my fate upon thy brow. Seeest thou not also blood-red runes thereon, bespeaking insult, shame, and banishment? Nay, come, thyself, and tell me quickly what has passed. Learn then, my Ingeborg, the disgrace that I am forced to bear. I sought the assembly of the people gathered at thy father's grave-mound. Where close circling stood the Northland's warriors, sword in hand and shield to shield. Within their ranks upon the judgment seat sat that pale, blood-man Helge, his gloomy gaze fast fixed upon the ground. While beside him half-dan, like some overgrown child, toyed idly with a slender sword. Then I stepped forth and spoke. The clouds of war, O Helge, overhang thy boundaries. Thy kingdom is in jeopardy. But give me thy sister, and I'll lend my arm, whose strength shall stand thee well in time of need. Forgotten be our grudge, for loathom I to cherish hate against the brother of my Ingeborg. Be just, O king, and save it once thy country and thy sister's heart. As proof of faith I offer thee my hand in peace. But by the almighty Thor I swear that never again shall it be stretched to thee in reconcilement. Loud plaudits rang from all about us. The clang of a thousand shields rose up to heaven. Ye, give him Ingeborg, they shouted. The ferris lily in our veils. Remember, king, that Frithioff is our stoutest swordman. Give him thy sister. There at our noble foster-father, Hilding, stepped from out the throng and spoke for me. From his lips fell many a weighty speech and biting proverb, while even Haftan, too, did urge consent. But vain were my words, vain the shouts of the warriors, vain the intercession of Hilding and Haftan. As little might the spring sun coax a blade of grass from out of the naked rock as our united prayers awake one kindly thought in Helje's breast. Unchanged his lowering glances, scornfully he spoke. The peasant's son might claim, per chance, our sister, but never shall the defiler of the temple win her hand. Speak, Frithioff, hast thou not broken Baldr's peace? Hast thou not forced thy way into his holy temple, despite the law which so forbids? Answer ye or nay? My life's happiness, I answered, hangs upon a word. Yet fear not, Helje. Neither for Vahala's joys nor all this earth's delight would I forswear myself. Ye, in Baldr's temple, I have seen thy sister, but in no wise did I offend the pure and gentle God. Our prayers to him did awaken holy thoughts within our hearts and led me here to offer peace to thee. More I could not speak, for a murmur of horror ran through the circle. The warriors, paled by superstition, drew back from me, as I were smitten with a plague. Thy brothers was the victory. At last he spoke, by the laws of our fathers, mine is the right to sentence thee to banishment or death. But rather will I emulate in mildness the God whose sanctuary thou hast violated. Harken then to my decree. Far to the westward lies a group of islands ruled by Ogentir. King Paley long ago did lay him under tribute, and this he faithfully remitted, so long as our royal father was alive. Since Paley's death he has refused it. Go thou and collect this tribute as atonement for thy crime. Then he added sneeringly. Tiz said this Ogentir is hard-handed, and sits brooding over his gold-like fofner, the famed dragon slain by Sigurd. But who could withstand our second Sigurd's prowess? Truly this is far other work than seeking maids and balders, holy grove. Here till the summer comes again we'll wait for thy return, bringing fresh glory and, above all else, the tribute. But shouldst thou fail in this, thou shalt be doomed as coward, branded, and banished forever from thy native land. So ended his words, the assembly was dissolved, and the warriors dispersed in silence. But what is now thy purpose, Frithioff? Have I a choice? This very day I depart to redeem my honor. And leave me here? Nay, come with me, my Ingeborg, alas, that may not be. Yet hear me, beloved, ere thou dost fix thy firm resolve. Thy brother and his wisdom forgets that Ogentir was once my father's friend, as well as Bailey's. Perchance he'll yield with good will what I ask. But should he not, this friend I carry at my side shall prove a sharp and powerful persuader. Then will I send to King Helge the gold he sowed desireth, and free as both forever from the sacrificial knife of that crowned hypocrite. Then we, my Ingeborg, will seek some distant happier land, in bid farewell to shores so hostile to our happiness. Look, my Elita doth already spring her eagle's wings to bear us swiftly o'er the waves, come, beloved, haste thee. Alas, alas, I cannot follow. What hinders thee, my Ingeborg? Were thy good father but alive? And did he forget not, Frithioff, that Helge holds my father's place with me? The gods have blessed and woven these bonds, and a woman dare not break them to steal her happiness. However near it lies. Once more consider, is this word thy last? Alas, dear Frithioff, I cannot dare not do else, if I would maintain my honor and thine own. Then fare thee well, King Helge's sister, fare thee well. O Frithioff, Frithioff, is it thus thou wouldst depart without a glance, without a hand-class, for thy childhood's friend? Methinks one who is forced to sacrifice as much as I doth well deserve at least a word of comfort. The stir of life in clash of arms will ease thy grief, but what remains for me? To whom alas may I impart my woe? Within my bower I'll sit, thinking of thee, and weaving broken lilies in my web, till spring herself with fairer lilies shall adorn my grave. Cease cried Frithioff with deep emotion, as he clasped the maiden's hand. Forgive me that my sorrow did assume the garb of anger. Thou art right, I see it now, my better angel. Tis true that only noble minds can teach us what is noble, and thy pure heart was quicker far to see the right than mine. Alone I'll go and impart from thee, but never from my hope, what hair be tied. Next spring shall Helge see me here again, the crime with which he charges me atoned. Then in full circle of the warriors, mid-glittering steel, will I demand thee from thy brother as my wife. Till then fare well, and keep me ever in thy thoughts, in memory of our childhood's love take thou this arm-ring, the treasured heirloom of my father's house. All the wonders of the heavens are carved upon it, but the world's best wonder is a faithful heart. See? See how it gleams on thy white arm, like a glow-worm of Panolili's stem. Thus they parted, and Alita bore the hero swiftly away, while Ingeborg, sad and hopeless, he took her to her bower. End of Chapter 9 THE PARTING Chapter 10 OF THE FRITCHE OF SAGA This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Fritche of Saga by Ferdinand Schmitt, translated by George Opton. Chapter 10. Fritche of's Voyage Cold blew the wind. Day by day the skies darkened. Deck and mast, sail and rudder, were covered thick with ice and frost. Fritche of was already far from his native shores, when suddenly black storm clouds overspread the heavens, and a fearful tempest arose. The sea was stirred to its depths, waves mountain-high threatened to engulf the ship, which tossed helplessly amid the boiling surges. But Fritche of exalted in the fury of the elements, the wild scene upon which he gazed was but a reflection of the storm that raged within his breast. Still the tempest increased, showers of hailstones rattled down upon the deck, and on the numbered hands of the warriors at the helm. A gust of wind tore away the cottage, planks and timbers groaned and creaked. Huge billows swept the deck, and higher and higher rose the water in the hold, despite all the efforts of the ship's people, who now gave themselves up for lost. Even to Fritche of it seemed, death was nigh. It is Helge that has sent this storm upon us, said one, and whom I withstand witchcraft. Luke cried another. Yonder swims a whale and bears on its back two sea fiends. One is wrapped in the hide of the ice bear, the other has the shape of the sea eagle, with black wings flapping. Woe unto us! This is the tea-trolls, hate and ham. We are lost. But Fritche of, summoning his friend Bjorn to take the helm, hastened to reassure the terror-stricken crew. His words put fresh courage in their hearts, and with redoubled strength they began once more to struggle against the fury of the storm. Courage, friends, he shouted. Those who trust in the gods are safe from the power of evil spirits. Then, springing to the ship's proud, he chanted. Now Elida show us, whether it is boasted, Hero would thy bosom holds. Listen, although truly Egeer's god-sprung daughter, dash with thy strong keel, and clear Yorn spell-charmed whale. With one bound, the dragon-claw, the troll whale's body, and down it sank beneath the waves. Then at once the hero hurled as two sharp spears, the ice-bears hide, versus one, the other springous, through the pitch-black eagle's side. Instantly, the storm subsided. The sun broke through the clouds, and the waves no longer swept the deck. Soon the sea was as smooth as glass, and there, before them, lay the islands ruled by Augentyr. But the weary rowers could no longer move their arms. The warriors were forced to lean for support upon their swords. When the ship touched land, Björn carried four, and Frithjof eight of the exhausted men ashore. Food and drink was unbroad from the ship, and all refreshed themselves with a hearty meal. End of chapter 10 Chapter 11 of the Frithjof saga. This is a Lubrivox recording. All Lubrivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit librivox.org. The Frithjof saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 11 Frithjof at the Court of Augentyr In his great hall, near the sea, sat Augentyr at Wasser with his champions, while outside the window, Halvar kept watch. A good swordsman and stout drinker was he, and often as his home was empty, he silently thrust it through the lattice to be refilled. Suddenly he flung it far into the hall and shouted, I see a ship making to land. On it pale warriors totter helplessly about, but so strong and fresh are two of them that they carry the others to the shore. Augentyr strode to the window and gazed out toward the sea. Then he said, that, me thinks, hath the look of Elida, Thorsten's dragon ship, and in one of yonder two stout warriors I seem to see old Thorsten's form and bearing, hath he not the heir of a prince of all the land? When the black-bearded aptly heard this, the berserk fury seized him. He sprang from the board with his eyes rolling and shouted, If this be Frithjof, now will I prove the truth of what he's said, that he hath power to render harmless every blade, and never is the first to sue for peace. He rushed from the hall, followed by twelve of the warriors, hewing and thrusting furiously at the air with their swords. They stormed down to the shore, where Frithjof had built a fire to cheer his men. From afar aptly shouted, Easy were it now for me to slay thee, but rather shall thou have thy choice to do battle with me here or fly, but if thou wilt yield and sue for peace, then in friendly guise I'll lead thee to our lord. Is it your custom thus to welcome toil-worn heroes cast upon your shores, was Frithjof's answer? Then listen, spent as I am with days of hardship and distress, yet never will I sue for peace from thee. And therewith he drew his sword, the runes on the blade growing red as fire. Fast and furious fell the sword-strokes, both shields at the same moment dropped, riven in twain, upon the ground, yet fearlessly the champions fought on. At last down swept Angovadel with resistless force and loudly clanging Atlee's blade was shattered. Frithjof stepped back, saying, Swordless I will not slay thee, but if thou was not yet have peace, then let us try a wrestling contest. Foaming with rage, Atlee sprang at him, and a fearful struggle began. Like two eagles seizing on their prey, they grappled with each other. The earth shook with the trampling of their feet. It seemed as if the heaving of their breasts would burst the encasing mail, while in awe their comrades stood about them waiting for the issue of the contest. At length Thorsten's mighty son succeeded in throwing his adversary, and kneeling on his breast he cried, Were but my sword within my grasp, its blade ere now had pierced thee through, thou swarthy berserk. Go then and fetch it, I will lie here the while, said Atlee, proudly, All brave men to Valhalla's halls must wend at last, I, today, and thou, tomorrow. Still filled with the rage of battle, Frithjof with one bound reached his sword, and was about to dispatch his prostrate, Fo, who moved not, but lay calmly gazing upward, when he suddenly relented and, dropping his sword, held out his hand to the vanquished Atlee. Just then Halvar came hurrying with her, waving a white wand and crying, Cease, cease, your furious strife, the savoury reons that await ye grow cold in their silver dishes, and my thirst does press me sore. Therewith the two heroes, who but now had striven in deadly combat together, sought the court of Organtir in peace. The appearance of the great hall filled Frithjof with astonishment. In place of the usual oaken planks the walls were covered with gilded leather, adorned with flowering vines. The chimney was of marble, tapers in silver candlesticks, illuminated the halls. The doors were held fast with locks. A bountiful meal stood ready spread in heavy silver dishes, and near the high seat a roasted stagger adorned the board. The horns entwined with leaves, the hoofs gilded. On the high seat of silver sat Organtir, clad in helmet mail of glittering steel, inlaid with gold, a purple mantle sewn with silver stars depending from his shoulders. He arose as Frithjof entered, and advanced to meet his guests, saying, For many a horn have I drained in Thorstan's company, and glad am I to do fitting honour to his valiant son. Then leading him to a place beside him on the high seat, he called on all his warriors to fill their horns and beakers, and drink to Thorstan's memory, while the hall rang to the sound of harps, as minstrels praised that hero's glorious deeds. Meanwhile Organtir questioned his guests concerning matters in the Northland, and in well-chosen words avoiding either praise or blame, Frithjof related all that had passed, concluding with his voyage and the terrible sea-witches against whose power they had been forced to contend. So eloquently did his inscribe their adventures that Organtir listened with approving smiles, and the bold champions about the board often interrupted the speaker with their shouts. Then Organtir inquired the purpose of his voyage, and Frithjof told him frankly of his love for Ingeborg, of Helga's arrogance and the penance that had been laid upon him. For this I have come, he concluded, to demand of thee in behalf of kings Helga and Helftan, the tribute thou wast want to pay in Bele's lifetime. Calmly Organtir replied, Never have I owned another as my lord. Free do I live, free also are my people about these seas. What I sent Bele was not enforced but given in friendship. His sons I know not, if they would have tribute from me, let them demand it with the sword, then they shall have the best of answers. Yet thy father was my friend. He beckoned to his daughter who sat near him on a golden stool, and she hastened to the women's chamber soon returning with a purse, whereon was worked with rare skill, a green forest scene. Animals of gold wandered beneath the trees, and above shone a silver moon. The tassels were strung with costly pearls, the clasp enriched with rubies. Organtir took this purse, filled it to the brim with pieces of gold, and handed it to his guest, saying, Take this as a gift of welcome, son of Thorsten, and do with it as thou wilt. But as for claim I refuse to acknowledge any such. Here now my wish, tarry thou here till spring comes as my honoured guest. Courage and boldness stand thee well in time of danger, it is true, yet think not, thine eleder may withstand all the perils of the stormy season. And remember, there are demons in the sea more mighty yet, than those which thou didst vanquish. To this Frithy of Gladly agreed, and he held out his hand to his hospitable host, saying, Be it then as thou wilt. End of Chapter 11 And again were hill and valley, grove and forest, clothed with bloom and verger. Then Frithy of thanked his host, and bidding him farewell, was soon speeding joyously away across the foaming main. Six times the sun rose and set, and the seventh morning found him near his journey's end. Consumed with longing, Frithy of rose early and mounted to the deck. There, veiled in the mists of dawn, he saw his native shores, and heard the familiar rushing of its mountain streams. Light as a bird flew eleder over the dancing waves, and in those sweating sails the western breezes sang like nightingales. Just as the first ray of sunlight fell on land and sea, they entered the well-known haven. Past the green birch woods now, cried Frithy of Dubion, and Fremness greets me. With beating heart and gleaming eyes he waited. But what is this? Is he bewitched? There lies the open space, where his forefathers built that welling, yet not is to be seen of it. Do his eyes deceive him? He rubs them, and looks again at the familiar spot. But neither house nor building of any kind is there. Only a tall blackened chimney stands out dark against the sky. Looking closer, where Fremness stood, he sees a great pile of ruins, from which the ashes whirl aloft. Elidas anchor is dropped, and silently Frithy of approaches the scene of devastation. Stones and charred beams are strewn around, or heaped together in confusion. Fruit trees stretch forth their shriveled branches. About the leveled grave-mounts lie the bones of heroes. As Frithy of Stence bellbound amid the desolation, his faithful hound Bran comes bounding to meet him. Yelping with joy he leaps upon his master, while out from the dale trots a milk-white coarser, neighing and tossing his gold-knotted mane. Fithy of stroked the dog's head, and patted his favorite's glossy neck, but the shadow on his brow remained unaltered. Then he saw Hilding, his aged foster-father, coming toward him with mournful look. Welcome, Father, to the ruins of Fremness! He cried and then added bitterly. But why should this sight surprise me? This when the eagle is flown, that boys plunder his nest. So thus doth King Helga guard the hut of the peasant. Thus he keeps his royal oath. Rage at his death that the act more moves me than grief for what is lost. But tell me, first of all, good father, where is Ingeborg? Alas, my son, replied Hilding, I fear my tidings will but aggravate thy woe. He had listened to what has passed. Scares were thou gone when King Ring invaded the country, his force outnumbering ours full five to one. In the desert dale we met, and bloody was the battle. The waters of the stream ran red with gore, half done as ever, laughed and gested, but so bravely did he bear him, my heart was gladdened at the sight, and twice did my shield protect him from a death-stroke. The victory might even have been ours, had not King Helga seized with panic fled, where at the people's courage too forsook them, and flinging down their arms they scattered far and wide. But in his flight King Helga paused to fire thy house. Ring then demanded of the brother's lands and crown, or that they yield him up their sister's hand. Messengers went often to and fro, and in the end King Ring bore Ingeborg homeward as his queen. Fritchov left wildly. Who now, he cried, dare talk to me of woman's truth, since she whom I deem true as none herself, hath proven faithless. Hereafter not but hate for mankind shall my bosom harbour, henceforth the seas shall have their fill of blood, for none who cross my path shall anger but else spare. Nay, son, said Hilding sorrowfully, abate thy wrath, nor seek to revenge thy wrongs upon the innocent, rather accuse the norns whose doom on thee hath fallen. What Ingeborg does suffer I alone can tell, before all others her despair was dumb as is the turtle dove that mourns her mate. So doth the sea-fowl, pierced by death's arrow, sink beneath the waves in those cool depths to pour away her life. Atonement, so she spake, hath been decreed by Balder for Fritchov's violation of his holy place, nor may I faint-hearted seek to shun the sacrifice. To death he dooms me, not swift, ah, that were easy, but lingering, slow, to waste away with grief. To that decree I yield, reveal to no one what I suffer, I desire pity from none, but bid thou the bearer of my last farewell to Fritchov. At last the wedding day was come. Oh, that evil day had never dawned. To Balder's temple walked a train of white-rope maidens, led by a bar whose mournful chant moved every heart to woe. Amid them, on a coal-black steed rode Ingeborg, like that pale spirit which surmounts the thunder-cloud. Before the doors of the temple I lifted my lily from her saddle, and led her to the altar. With unfaltering tongue she spoke her vows, but unto Balder then she prayed in such heart-rending tones, that every eye save hers was filled with tears. Then for the first time Helga marked the ring she wore, with a furious glance he tore it from her, and placed thy gift upon the arm of Balder. But thereet I could no longer suppress my rage, and snatching my sword from out its sheath, approached the king as he stood before the image of the god. Of as little worth was he to me at that moment as the lowest of his people. And verily a crime would have been committed in that sacred place had not a whisper reached my ears from Ingeborg. Nays, stay thy hand, stay not thy spotless blade. My brother might indeed have spared me this, but much a heart can suffer ere it break, and the all-father shall one day judge between us. I, Ingeborg, cried Fritjof, thou speakest truly, the all-father will one day judge between us, but he also meets out justice here below by mortal hand, and this in my heart that I am hither led to be the judge of one, is not to-day the Midsomer Feast of Balder, that Helga celebrates within his temple? Now, crowned priest, thou who hast sold thy sister, thou who has robbed me of my bride, behold to-day thy judge. 13. The Burning of the Temple It was midnight, low across the mountains burned a blood-red sun, which in far northern Scandinavia never sets on the longest day of the year, neither day nor night was it an awful twilight rain. Within the temple Balder's great feast was being celebrated. High in the air shot the flames from the sacred art stone, while pale white bearded priests raked the brands till showers of crackling sparks flew upward, clad in his royal robes Helga presided at the altar. Suddenly the clash of arms sounded without and a voice was heard, Bjorn hold fast to the doors, let none escape. If any strive by force to pass thee, cleave his skull. Helga grew deadly pale. He knew that voice too well, then in strode frithy off and addressed him. Here is the tribute thou dis-ordered me to bring thee from Arkenteer. Take it, and now for life or death will strive before this altar. One of us twain must burn on Balder's pyre. Shieldless will fight, and thou as befits a king shall have first stroke. But beware, I say, for I strike second. Nay, gaze not fearfully about nor seek escape, King Fox. Caught in thy hole art thou at last. Remember from us that thou dislay waste, and think of Ingeborg's cheeks blanched by thee. Beside himself with fury, frithy of tore the heavy purse of gold from his belt, and hurled it at the head of the king, who straight away sank swonning on the altar steps, blood gushing from his mouth and nose. What, can't thou not bear the weight of thine own gold, shout it frithy off? Shame, shame thou, coward king! Truly my sword is far too noble for thee, nor shall it taste a blood so base as thine. Silence ye pale priests of moonlight, nor dare to lift your sacrificial knives. Back, back, I say, for thirst he grows my blade. He lifted his eyes to the image of Balder, thou shining god, frown not so darkly on me. Then, perceiving the armoring he had given to Ingeborg, his anger blazed up fiercer than before. Nay, by thy leave, he cried, that ring came not in lawful fashion on thy arm. Not for thee did Vaughan forge its wonders, and he who was its master claims his own. He pulled at the ring, but it seemed grown fast to Balder's arm. Putting forth all his strength, at last he tore it loose, but therewith downcrest the image of the god into the fire below. Higher and higher leaped the flames, till beam and rafter kindled. Harastric and frithy off stood for a moment, motionless. Then turning to the door he shouted, open beyond, let all depart, the feast is over, the temple blazes, bring water, hasten all to quench the flames. Quickly a chain of men to the sea is formed, from hand to hand the buckets fly, while high up among the rafters stands frithy up, calm amid the mounting flames, and directs his comrades. But vain are all his efforts, the golden plates of the roof melt and drop down into the fiery sands. All is lost shout the people, see the red fire cock, how he stands upon the roof tree, and ever wider spreads his glowing wings. The strong wind arose, and whirled the flaming brands into the treetops, dry from the summer heats, raging from branch to branch it leaped, and soon the whole grove was one sea of fire. When morning broke, Balder's grove and temple lay in ashes, while frithy off sat within his dragonship in wet. Chapter 14 Frithy off in exile As Elida passed the strand, Frithy off gazed from the deck with gloomy brow, upon the scene of conflagration, from which the thick smoke still ascended, and anguish filled his breast. Woe, woe is me! he cried to himself. In accusation rises yonder smoke to Odin's halls, banished was I by Helga, but for a brief space, now a must I forever leave my native land. Be thou, O sea, from hence my country, on thy blue billows will I make my home. Fromness no longer is my dwelling, thou swift Elida, shalt be now my house. My bride too, art thou in thy black garb, since she in lily robes is lost to me forever. Free dost thou roll, O mighty ocean, no tyrant's will can ever do thee wrong. The only king thou callest master is he who looks upon thee calmly, when thy white breast heaves in wildest fury, and thunder-peels are swallowed in thy voice. No grave-bound air shall rise above me, thy tossing waves shall cover deep my bones. Here Björn approached, and touched his shoulder, saying, Look, yonder King Helga makes his way amid the rocks, he thinks he hath yet a word to speak with thee. Ten dragon-ships were seen approaching, Frithy off sprang to his feet, and bade his men prepare for battle. Joyously they shouted, King Helga, weary's of the crown, his soul thirst for Valhalla's delights, now shall he fall. Bold Frithy off leads us on to victory. On came the ships in a half-circle surrounding Elida. Helga had given orders to slay Frithy off and all his men, but to capture the ship as their prize. Suddenly a strange sight met the eyes of Frithy off and his warriors, and filled them with amazement. Nine of the ships sank slowly down beneath the waves, while Helga himself escaped with difficulty to the shore. Björn laughed. To a sigh that scuttled the ship last night unseen, a good trick it was, and all we fell as I had hoped, save that King Helga has escaped. Now all the sails were spread, and the ship sped swiftly out to sea, backward gazing. Frithy off watched the fast receding shore, enchanted a song that moved all hearts to sadness. Farewell, mounds dreaming by wavelets blue, where west winds streaming white blossoms true, Odin revealeth, and Dumath well what man concealeth. Farewell ye bowers, ye limpid streams, where mid-spring flowers youth wandered in dreams, ye friends of childhood who loved me well, till death remembered. Farewell, farewell. My love insulted, my dwelling brunt, my honour tarnished, in exile sent. Heart bideth in sadness, Norn's fatal spell, to life's young gladness. Farewell, farewell. End of CHAPTER XIV VIKING LIFE Thus Frithy off became a Viking, the sea his only home, and these are the laws he made for his followers. Pitch no tent on thy ship, seek no slumber below, on his shield sleeps the Viking, his sword in his hand, his tent is the blue dome of heaven. Short be thy sword, like the hammer of Thor, strike close to the foe. When the storm roars on high, spread wider the sails, the sea in its wrath fills the Viking with joy, a coward is he who would furl. Wine is drink of the gods, enjoy thou the gift, but drown not thy senses. Beware, he who falls on the landrises quickly again, whose staggers here is the death goddess's prey. Protect the merchant ship on the high seas so due tribute it doth not refuse, thou art lord of the waves, he's a slave to his pelf, thy steel is as good as his gold, by lot shall the booty be shared among all, complain not however it falls. The sea-king himself throws no dice on the deck, he seeks only glory from his foes, he's a Viking in sight, then come boarding and strife, from us he has banished who yields, mercy fits him who conquers, he who lays down his arms at thy feet is no longer thy foe. Prayer is Valhalla's child, and a scoundrel is he who, ruthless, refuses to hear it. The Viking's rewards are his wounds, before all on the brow and the breast are they glorious. He who seeketh ere the issue of battle to bind them no longer is comrade of Viking. Thus ran the code of Frithioff, and no laws of Odin were more strictly obeyed. Many a battle did these heroes fight and win, for there was not their like on all the seas, and soon their fame spread far and wide. But not of this had power to gladden Frithioff's heart, he would sit helm in hand for hours with clouded brow, gazing out over the rolling waters, only embattled at the shadow vanish, as with flashing eyes and fiercely swelling breast he led his men to victory. For three years they sailed the seas northward and westward, then turning south, his dragon anchored one day off the coast of Greek land, Greece, with wonder Frithioff gazed upon that beautyous land, with its noble ruined temples rising amid fragrant groves. The tales his father had been want to tell of those fair aisles, still lingered in his memory, like some lovely vision, a dream that was now realized. Hither had he once thought to flee with Ingeborg from the haughty Helge, here with her to found an abode of bliss, but the noble maiden had denied his prayers and shrunk from such a breach of duty and of custom. Amid these fair scenes, memories of his native land awoke afresh within him and he longed to see it once again, but most of all he yearned for a sight of Ingeborg and to visit his father's grave-mount. Why do I linger here in strange seas and stain my hands with blood? he asked himself. Enough of glory have I won, and I care not for gold. North points the flag on the masthead. To the north land the home of my youth, up Elida, no longer will tarry, but follow that token from heaven. Chapter 16 of the Frithioff Saga This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Frithioff Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt. Translated by George Upton. Chapter 16. Frithioff comes to King Ring's court. On his high seat sat King Ring, celebrating the great Yuletide feast that fell on the winter solstice. Beside him, Ingeborg, his wife, like chilly autumn, with the youthful spring. The mead-horned went round, and joyous shouts and laughter filled the hall. Suddenly, through the doorway, entered an old man, tall as stature, and wrapped from head to foot in a great bare skin. In his hand he bore a staff and walked as if bowed with age. None knew him, and he quietly took his place on the bench near the door, reserved for the poor. The courtiers smiled to one another and pointed jeeringly at the shaggy figure, while one playfully approached with intent to make sport of him for the amusement of the others. With flashing eyes the stranger seized the rash youth, whirled him about in the air and sat him again on his feet unharmed, where at the courtiers smiles deserted them, and they fell straight away silent. What noise is that down yonder? cried Ring sternly. Come hither, old man, who thus disturbeth our kingly peace. Who ought thou? What brings thee here? Once comest thou? Much dost thou astow, king? replied the stranger. Yet all will I tell thee save my name. That concerneth none but me. Impenitence was I reared. Want was my inheritance. My latest bed, a wolf's lair. Strive my dragon with his mighty wings. I flew swiftly hither from afar. Now my good ship lies frozen in upon thy shores. I came to hear thy words of wisdom, fame through all the land. When thy people just now sought to mock me, I seized a vain fool and swung him round about, but I did him no harm. Forgive me, king. Truly the monarch cried, Thou speakest well in wisdom's teachings, bit us on our age. Come, sit at the board. But first I pray thee, Doth thy strange disguisemen, and show thyself in thy true form, for deception is ever want to be the foe of gladness. At this the stranger let fall his hairy coverant in there, in place of an old man. Peer to youth of noble stature, his loft-brow shaded with bright, flowing locks. A blue mantle hung from his mighty shoulders, and his tunic was held in place by a wide silver belt, on which, with cunning skill, beasts of the forest were embossed. Heavy gold armlets encircled his arm. At his left side hung a sore that gleamed like lightning. Fair as Balder, likely to the mighty thorn and strength of limb, he stood before the king in his astonished court. For a moment his keen glance wandered about the hall. Then he seated himself, calmly, at the board. The blood rushed to the cheeks of the queen, till she glowed as crimson, as the ice fields lit by flaring northern lights. But now the trumpet sounded, the signal for silence. It was the hour of the vow, and the crowned boar was born into the hall on a silver charger, and placed upon the board. Touching the head of the boar, the ring said, Hark any warriors to my vow. I swear to conquer Frithioff, house whoever stout a champion he be, so help me Odin, Thor, and Frey. The stranger rose with a frown and dashed to sword upon the board, with such a clang that all the warriors sprang from their seats. Here thou me likewise, good sir king, he cried, that Frithioff, whom thou namest, is my friend and kinsman, and him I swear to guard with life and limb, so help me Norns, and my good sword. The king smiled, thou speakest boldly, he answered, but words are free in Northland's royal halls. Fill for him, queen, yarn horn with draught of welcome. I hope he'll tarry with us as our guests till spring returns. This horn was a precious heirloom of the house, broken from the forehead of the Urus. Its feet were of silver, wonderfully wrought, while the golden rings about it were carven with strange runes. With downcast eyes Ingeborg handed it to the guest, but she trembled so that the wine was spilled, and red drops gleamed on her white hand like evening's purple blushes on a lily. Unmoved, the hero took the mighty horn, lifted it to his lips, and at one drop drained it to the honor of his host. Then it, asigned from the king, this gold smote on his harp strings, enchanted many a heart-stirring song and legend. In lofty words he sang of love and friendship, of freedom and the country's glory, of the high gods and thou hallows wonders, till fire shot forth from every eye, and involuntarily every warrior grasped the handle of his sword. Deeply they drank throughout the night, and many a champion, like a tower of strength in battle, was vanquished by the sweetly foaming mead. End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 of the Frithioff Saga This is a Librivox recording. All Librivox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Librivox.org. The Frithioff Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 17 The Sledge Excursion Hold for a sledge ride over the frozen lake-crowed ring one day, and the servitors hastened to lose one of the pawing steeds from the royal stables and harness it before a splendid sledge over the seat of which was thrown a silky seal-skin. "'Tis not safe,' on the lake said the stranger. The ice is thin and weak in some parts, and should it give way, full cold and deep would be thy bath. Nay, not so easily, do modder, strown before the king. Let him who fears it go around the shore.' The stranger said no more, but, frowning darkly, hastened to fasten on his steel states, while the impatient coarser pawed the air and windied loudly. "'Speed on my steed,' cried Ring, and let us see if thou art sprung from Zepner's blood.' Away dashed the sledge with the speed of the whirlwind, the stout-hearted, bold king exulting in the motion and heeding not the entreaties of his wife, but swift as they flew, the stranger still outstripped them, circling about in wide curves or cutting figures on the ice. Meanwhile, false ran, the spouse of the sea-god, has marked what is passing above. She cleaves a broad fissure in the sea's silvery roof, and into the up-foaming waves plunge horse and sledge. But swift as the wind flies, the stranger thither, fixing his steel shoes firmly on the ice, he ceases the horse by the main, and with a mighty jerk pulls it and the sledge, together on to the ice. In sooth said the king that D. Doth Merritt prays, in frithy off himself could do no better, and now my fleet of foot let us back to the palace again. Chapter 18 of The Fridge of Zaga This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Sonja. The Fridge of Zaga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 18. Fridge of Stemptation Spring is come once more, birds wobble in the treetops, freed from their icy bonds, the stream sleep gaily downward to the veils below. The roses part their delicate sheaths and blossom red as frigorous cheeks. King Ring will now go hunting, and forthwith a joyous stir pervades the court. Bows twang, quivers rattle, fiery coarsers pour the ground, the hooded falcons screams for its victim, and scarce can the huntsmen keep in leash the eager hounds. Fair as frigor, dazzling as the battle-maiden rotor, sits the queen upon her milk-white steed like a star on the summer cloud. Her hunting dresses of green, embroidered with gold, and blue plumes wave from her velvet cap. Led by the royal pair, the gay train wends its way into the forest, and soon the sport begins. Loud bade the hounds, up mount the hawks into the clear sky, horns sound, the frightened game seeks lair uncovered, and the eager huntsmen scatter in pursuit. King Ring has fallen behind. Old and feeble he can no longer follow the lengthening chase, while beside him silent and thoughtful writes his guest. At last they reach the rocky glen, shut in by thick clustering trees and thickets, and hear the king dismounted from his coarser, shaying, Full weary, a mild stranger, here will I rest me in this pleasant spot. Nay, sleep not on the cold hard ground, reply the other. I had better lead thee back to thy own halls. Sweet slumber comes when least expected. Tis the way of the gods, said Ring. Surely thou dost not grudge thy host an hour of rest. Without further words the stranger spread his cloak upon the ground, and seated himself on a fallen tree-trunk, while Ring, stretching himself out upon the mantle, laid his head against the other's knees. His eyes closed, and soon he slept, sweetly as an infant, cradled in its mother's arms. As the stranger gazed gloomyly down on the face of the king, he heard a rustling in the branches above him to the left, and lifting his eyes, he saw a cold black bird, which began to sing. Hasty feature, slay the dotard, with one sword-stroke grant him rest. Take the queen, she's dying. Her sacred kiss of plighted trolls she gave. Here no human eye can see thee, silent is the deep, dark grave. Scares had the sound ceased when from a bow on the right a snow-white bird began. Though no human eye should see thee, Odin would the death-stroke view. Wouldst thou murder him in slumber, cowardly thy bright sword-stain? No, whatever besides thou winnest, hero-fame, thou never shalt gain. Thus sang the two birds, while contending thoughts struggled within the listener. Suddenly he ceased his sword by the handle, and flung it far from him into the shadow of the forest, whereupon the black bird, with heavy flapping of its wings, flew back to the dark halls of night, the abode of perjurers and assassins, while blithely wobbling upward the white bird took its flight, and vanished at last in the blue of heaven. At that moment the king awoke, and rising to his feet said, Sweet indeed hath been my slumber, while they rest whom beller's sword doth guard. But where is thy war-blade, stranger? Me thought the brother of lightning never left thy sight. Say, who hath parted you? Little boots it, answered the other, swords are plenty in the Northland, the sword is not always a good companion. Its tongue is sharp, and its speaketh few words of peace. In steel there dwells an evil spirit, sprung from Loki's dark abode, to whom not even sleep is sacred, nor the silver locks of age. Harken youth, began the king, I slept not. T'was but to try thee, I did feign to slumber. A fool is he who trusts a man who a-blade untried. Thou art free, chieft. I knew thee even when thou didst cross my threshold. But wherefore didst thou creep nameless and in such disguise into my pals? Wherefore, if not to rob me of my wife? Honor comes not nameless to the banquet, Fritjof. Ever open-faced she meets men's glances. Clear as sunlight is her shield. The fame of Fritjof's deeds has reached us. The terror both of gods and men, careless alike of cloven shield or burning temple. The mightiest warrior known in all the land. And this bold hero, this fierce viking, creeps a beggar to our hall. Nay, cast not down thy eyes before me. I too have once been young and felt as thou. Youth, well I know, hath fiery passions. Much have I thought on thee, O Fritjof. I have pitied and have pardoned thee. Harken now, I am growing old and feeble, and soon for me the grave shall open. Then take unto thyself my kingdom and my wife. Until that time, be thou a son to me and guard my house as thou has done before. And now, my son, let there be no more feud between us. Not as a thief did I enter thy halls, O King, replied Fritjof proudly. Had I come to seize thy queen, who could have withstood me? T'was but to behold once again her, who before the altar gave me her betrothal kiss. But ah, what slumbering fires my rashness hath awakened! Too long already have I tarried. Upon my head the gods have poured their wrath. Even the gentle boulder, lover of all mankind, spurns my prayers. T'was I who burned his temple. Wolf in the sanctuary, am I called? All joy seizes when my name is spoken. The child clings trembling to its father's knees. Once more will I seek the broad free ocean, whither earth and man hath banished me. Out, out, my dragon! Too long in idleness thou hast lain. Again to the storm wind shall thou spread thy pinions. And bathe thy black breast in the dashing spray. All, all on earth is lost to me forever. The tempests roar, the clash of arms shall whisper comfort to my soul once more. So will I live, so will I fighting for all. And mounting then to Odin's throne, the gods, appeased, shall speak my pardon. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Fridge of Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 19 Death of King Ring Pale on his throne sat the aged monarch, for he felt his end approaching. Ingeborg trembling stood beside him, and a circle of silent warriors stood about the royal pair. Sorrowfully Fridge of entered, to say far well. This day for the last time, do ye behold me, he said. For the last time my foot doth tread the soil of earth. Henceforth, till the Norns shall send their summons. The ocean's boundless wastes shall be my home. Take back the ring round, which such memories cluster Ingeborg. Let it be a parting token from me. And thou, O king, go not without thy queen by moonlight to the strand, nor when the pale stars shine, for at your feet the waves my chance to toss my bleaching bones. Nay, Fridge of replied the king, such mournful planes become not men. In maids they may be pardoned. For me the death's song soundest, not for thee. Tis I must hence not thou. Take thou, my realm, and guard it well. Take Ingeborg as thy wife, and be a father to my infant son. Ever through life has peace been dearest to me. Well, have I loved to sit with friends about the board. Yet with a strong hand have I guarded, thrown, and honor. And clothe when many a shield on sea and land. Nor ever has man seen my cheek turn pale. Victory has been mine and glory. One boon only hath the gods denied me, to mount to Valhalla from the battlefield. Death by the sword is the death of heroes, to linger on. The straw death, never such will ring, lived to endure. And there was he plunged his sword into his breast. As the lifeblood gushed forth, he had his horn brought to him, and raising it aloft with glowing face he cried. To thy glory I train this man country, though Northland. Ye gods of Valhalla, all hail, all hail. Silence reigned within the hall. None gave way to grief, lest the dying man's last moments should be saddened. Thinking back on his discussions, the king clasped Ingeborg's hand for the last time, greeted his friend and son with a parting glance, and sighing, his soul ascended to the old father. Great was the mourning for him throughout the kingdom. Amid universal lamentations, the good king's mound was heaped above him, whilst scalds with sounding dirges glorified his memory. End of chapter 19 Chapter 20 of The Fritjof Saga This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Fritjof Saga by Ferdinand Schmidt, translated by George Upton. Chapter 20 The Election to the Kingdom To the ting, to the ting. The message flies over hill and whale. The people are summoned to elect their king. Champions try their swords. Vassals polish their lord's helm and buckler till they shine like the sun. Thus with clang of arms, the warriors assembled on the open plain. In their midst on the wide ting stone stood Fritjof, and at his side king Ring's son, a fair child with golden hair. To young is Ring's heir, was murmured through the multitude. No chief is he to lead us into battle or sit in judgment on the ting stone. But Fritjof placed the child upon his shield and held him high aloft, saying, Northman, behold your king, a vigorous offshoot of the fallen oak. Does he not bear him well upon the shield? Here now, my woe, I swear to guard for him his kingdom, till with his father's circlet he shall one day here be crowned. Then, raising his eyes to heaven, he added, Forseet, son of Baldor, be my witness, although who judges justly strike me dead if ever I break my word. Meanwhile the king's son sat on Fritjof's gleaming shield, gazing about him proudly, but at length he began to veery of it, and with one bound sprang lightly to the ground. A shout went up from all the ting. Ha! that was indeed a royal leap! I, shield-born, thee we choose to be your king, and though of Fritjof who shalt guard his crown and kingdom, take Ingeborg over Queen to be thy wife. At these words Fritjof's brow darkened. To choose a king are you come, he answered, My bride avoo of my own choice. In anger still does Baldor look upon me. It was he that took my Ingeborg from me, and he alone can give her back to me.