Baldur

On a summer afternoon, Baldur the Bright and Bold, beloved of men and gods, found himself alone in his palace of Broadblink. Thor was walking low in the valleys, his brow heavy with summer heat; Frey and Gerda sported on still waters in their cloud-leaf ship; Odin, for once, slept on the top of Air Throne; a noonday stillness pervaded the whole earth; and Baldur in Broadblink, the wide-glancing sunlit palace, dreamed a dream.

Now Baldur's dream was troubled. He knew not whence nor why, but when he awoke he found a new and weighty care within him. It was so heavy that Baldur could scarcely carry it, yet he pressed it close to his heart and said, "Lie there, and do not fall on anyone but me." Then he rose and walked out from the splendor of his hall to seek his mother, Frigga, and tell her what had happened. He found her in her crystal saloon, calm and kind, waiting to listen. He walked up to her, his hands pressed on his heart, and lay down at her feet, sighing.

"What is the matter, dear Baldur?" asked Frigga gently.

"I do not know, mother," he answered. "I do not know what the matter is, but I have a shadow in my heart."

"Take it out, then, my son, and let me look at it," replied Frigga.

"But I fear, mother, that if I do it will cover the whole earth."

Then Frigga laid her hand upon her son's heart to feel the shadow's shape. Her brow darkened as she felt it; her lips grew pale, and she cried out, "Oh! Baldur, my beloved son! The shadow is the shadow of death!"

Then said Baldur, "I will die bravely, my mother."

But Frigga answered, "You shall not die at all, for I will not sleep tonight until everything on earth has sworn to me that it will neither kill nor harm you."

So Frigga stood up and called to her everything on earth that had power to hurt or slay.

First she called all metals; and heavy iron ore came lumbering up the hill into the crystal hall, brass and gold, copper, silver, lead, and steel, and stood before the Queen, who lifted her right hand high in the air, saying, "Swear to me that you will not injure Baldur." And they all swore and went. Then she called all stones; and huge granite came with crumbling sandstone, white lime, and the round smooth stones of the seashore. Frigga raised her arm, saying, "Swear that you will not injure Baldur." They swore and went. Then she called the trees; and wide-spreading oaks, tall ash, and somber firs came rushing up the hill, with long branches from which green leaves waved like flags. Frigga raised her hand, saying, "Swear that you will not hurt Baldur." They said, "We swear," and went. After this Frigga called the diseases, who came blown by poisonous winds on wings of pain, to the sound of moaning.

Frigga said, "Swear," and they sighed, "We swear," then flew away. Then Frigga called all beasts, birds, and venomous snakes, who came and swore and disappeared. After this she stretched out her hand to Baldur, a smile spreading over her face, saying, "And now, my son, you cannot die."

But just then Odin came in, and when he heard the whole story from Frigga, he looked even more mournful than she had done. The cloud did not pass from his face when he was told of the oaths.

"Why do you still look so grave, my lord?" demanded Frigga. "Baldur cannot now die."

But Odin asked very gravely, "Is the shadow gone from our son's heart, or is it still there?"

"It cannot be there," said Frigga, turning her head away resolutely and folding her hands before her.

But Odin looked at Baldur and saw the truth. The hands pressed to the heavy heart, the beautiful brow grown dim. Then immediately he arose, saddled Sleipnir, his eight-footed steed, mounted, and turning to Frigga said, "I know of a dead prophetess who, when alive, could tell what was going to happen. Her grave lies on the east side of Helheim, and I am going there to awaken her and ask whether any terrible grief is really coming upon us."

So saying, Odin shook the bridle, and the eight-footed horse bounded forth, rushed like a whirlwind down the mountain of Asgard, and dashed into a narrow defile between rocks. Sleipnir went on through the defile until he came to a place where the earth opened her mouth. Odin rode in and down a broad, steep, slanting road that led him to the cavern Gnipa, which yawned upon Niflheim. As Sleipnir was about to leap through the jaws of the pit, Garm, the voracious dog chained to the rock, sprang forward and tried to fasten upon Odin. Three times Odin shook him off, and still Garm fought fiercely. At last Sleipnir leapt, and Odin thrust at the same moment; horse and rider cleared the entrance and turned eastward toward the dead prophetess's grave, dripping blood along the road. Garm stood baying in the cavern's mouth.

When Odin came to the grave, he dismounted and stood with his face northwards, looking through barred enclosures into the city of Helheim. The servants of Hela were busy preparing for some new guest—hanging gilded couches with curtains of anguish and splendid misery on the walls. Odin's heart died within him, and he began to repeat mournful runes in a low voice.

The dead prophetess turned heavily in her grave at the sound of his voice, and as he continued, she sat bolt upright. "What man is this," she asked, "who dares disturb my sleep?"

Then Odin, for the first time in his life, said what was not true; the shadow of Baldur dead fell upon his lips, and he answered, "My name is Vegtam, son of Valtam."

"And what do you want from me?" asked the prophetess.

"I want to know," replied Odin, "for whom Hela is making ready that gilded couch in Helheim?"

"That is for Baldur the Beloved," answered the dead prophetess. "Now go away and let me sleep again, for my eyes are heavy."

But Odin said, "Only one word more. Is Baldur going to Helheim?"

"Yes, I've told you that he is," answered she.

"Will he never come back to Asgard again?"

"If everything on earth should weep for him," she answered, "he will go back; if not, he will remain in Helheim."

Then Odin covered his face with his hands and looked into darkness.

"Do go away," said the prophetess. "I'm so sleepy; I cannot keep my eyes open any longer."

But Odin raised his head and said, "Only tell me this one thing. Just now, as I looked into darkness, it seemed to me I saw one on earth who would not weep for Baldur. Who was it?"

At this the prophetess grew very angry and said, "How could you see in darkness? I know of only one who, by giving away his eye, gained light. You are not Vegtam, but Odin, chief of men."

At her angry words Odin also became angry and called out as loudly as he could, "You are no prophetess nor wise woman, but rather the mother of three giants."

"Go, go!" answered the prophetess, falling back in her grave. "No man shall waken me again until Loki has burst his chains and Ragnarök has come." After this, Odin mounted the eight-footed steed once more and rode thoughtfully toward home.

When Odin returned to Asgard, Hermod took the bridle from his father's hand and told him that the other gods had gone to the Peacestead—a broad green plain just outside the city. This was the playground of the gods, where they practiced trials of skill, held tournaments, and sham fights conducted in the gentlest manner, for the strongest law of the Peacestead was that no angry blow should be struck or spiteful word spoken on the sacred field.

Odin was too tired from his journey to go to the Peacestead that afternoon, so he turned away and shut himself up in his palace of Gladsheim. But when he was gone, Loki came into the city by another way, and hearing from Hermod where the gods were, set off to join them.

When he reached the Peacestead, Loki found the gods standing in a circle shooting at something. He peered between the shoulders of two of them and saw Baldur standing in the midst, erect and calm, while his friends and brothers aimed their weapons at him. Some hewed at him with swords, others threw stones, some shot arrows, and Thor continually swung his hammer at his head. "Well," said Loki to himself, "if this is the sport of Asgard, what must that of Jötunheim be? I wonder what Father Odin and Mother Frigga would say if they were here." But as Loki continued to watch, he became even more surprised, for the sport went on and Baldur was not hurt. Arrows aimed at his heart glanced back untinged with blood. Stones fell from his brow and left no bruises. Swords clove but did not wound him; the hammer struck him and he was not crushed. Loki grew furious with envy and hatred. " he said.

Then Loki changed himself into a little, dark, bent old woman with a stick in his hand and hobbled away to Frigga's cool hall. At the door he knocked.

"Come in!" said Frigga's kind voice, and Loki lifted the latch.

When Frigga saw a little, bent, crippled old woman hobbling across her crystal floor, she rose with true queenliness, met her halfway, held out her hand, and said kindly, "Pray sit down, my poor old friend; it seems to me you have come from a great way off."

"That I have, indeed," answered Loki in a tremulous, squeaking voice.

"Did you see anything of the gods as you came?" asked Frigga.

"Just now I passed by the Peacestead and saw them at play."

"What were they doing?"

"Shooting at Baldur."

Frigga bent over her work with a pleased smile. "And nothing hurt him?" she said.

"Nothing," answered Loki, looking keenly at her.

"No, nothing," murmured Frigga, speaking half musingly to herself. "For all things have sworn to me that they will not."

"Sworn!" exclaimed Loki eagerly. "What is that you say? Has everything sworn then?"

"Everything," answered she, "except, indeed, the little shrub mistletoe, which grows on the west side of Valhal, and to which I said nothing because I thought it was too young to swear."

"Excellent!" thought Loki, and he got up.

"You're not going yet, are you?" said Frigga, stretching out her hand and looking up into the old woman's eyes.

"I'm quite rested now, thank you," answered Loki in his squeaky voice, and he hobbled out, the door clapping after him, sending a cold gust into the room. Frigga shuddered, feeling as if a serpent were gliding down her neck.

When Loki left Frigga's presence, he changed back to his proper shape and went straight to the west side of Valhal, where the mistletoe grew. He opened his knife, cut off a large branch, saying, "Too young for Frigga's oaths, but not too weak for Loki's work." Then he set off for the Peacestead once more, mistletoe in hand. When he arrived, the gods were still at their sport, standing round, taking aim, and talking eagerly, and Baldur did not seem tired.

But one stood alone, leaning against a tree, taking no part: Hödur, Baldur's blind twin brother. He stood with his head bent, silent, doing nothing while the others were eager. Loki thought there was a discontented expression on his face, as if he were saying, "Nobody takes any notice of me." So Loki went up and put his hand on his shoulder.

"And why are you standing here alone, my brave friend?" said he. "Why don't you throw something at Baldur? Hew at him with a sword, or show him some attention."

"I haven't got a sword," answered Hödur with an impatient gesture. "And you know as well as I do, Loki, that Father Odin does not approve of my wearing weapons or joining in sham fights because I am blind."

"Oh! is that it?" said Loki. "Well, I know I shouldn't like to be left out of everything. However, I've got a twig of mistletoe here which I'll lend you if you like. A harmless little twig, but I'll be happy to guide your arm if you would like to throw it. Baldur might take it as a compliment from his twin brother."

"Let me feel it," said Hödur, stretching out his uncertain hands.

"This way, this way, my dear friend," said Loki, giving him the twig. "Now, as hard as you can, to do him honor. Throw!"

Hödur threw—Baldur fell, and the shadow of death covered the whole earth.

One after another they turned and left the Peacestead, those friends and brothers of the slain. Crushed hearts, heavy footsteps, no word among them, a shadow upon all. The shadow was in Asgard too—had walked through Frigga's hall and seated itself upon the threshold of Gladsheim. Odin had just come out to look at it, and Frigga stood by in mute despair as the gods approached.

"Loki did it! Loki did it!" they said at last in confused, hoarse whispers, looking from one to another, upon Odin, upon Frigga, upon the shadow before them and within them. "Loki did it! Loki, Loki!" they repeated, but it was no use repeating his name when there was another name they were too sad to utter—Baldur. Frigga said it first, and then they all went to look at him lying so peacefully on the grass—dead, dead.

" said Odin at length. Four gods stooped down and lifted their dead brother. With scarcely any sound they carried the body tenderly to the seashore and laid it upon the deck of the majestic ship called Ringhorn, which had been his. Then they stood round waiting to see who would come to the funeral. Odin came, his two ravens on his shoulders, their croaking drawing clouds over his face, for Thought and Memory sang one sad song that day. Frigga came—Frey, Gerda, Freyja, Thor, Hoenir, Bragi, and Idun. Heimdall came sweeping over the mountains on Golden Mane, his swift bright steed. Aegir the Old groaned from under the deep and sent his daughters up to mourn around the dead. Frost giants and mountain giants crowded the icy shores of Jotunheim to look across the sea upon the funeral of a god.

Nanna came, Baldur's fair young wife; but when she saw the dead body of her husband, her own heart broke with grief, and the gods laid her beside him on the stately ship. After this, Odin stepped forward and placed a ring on his son's breast, whispering something in his ear. But when he and the other gods tried to push Ringhorn into the sea before setting fire to it, they found their hearts were so heavy they could lift nothing. So they beckoned the giantess Hyrrokin to come from Jotunheim and help. With a single push she set the ship floating, and while Thor stood holding his hammer high, Odin lit the funeral pile of Baldur and Nanna. Ringhorn floated out toward the deep, the funeral fire burning. Its broad red flame burst toward heaven, but when the smoke would have risen, the winds came sobbing and carried it away.

When the ship looked like a dull red lamp on the horizon, Frigga turned and said, "Does any of you wish to perform a noble action and win my love forever?"

"I do," cried Hermod before anyone else could speak.

"Go, then, Hermod," answered Frigga. "Saddle Sleipnir with all speed and ride down to Helheim; seek out Hela, the stern mistress of the dead, and entreat her to send our beloved back to us."

Hermod was gone in an instant. He chose a different way than Odin had taken—downward, slanting, slippery, dark, and very cold. At last he came to the Giallar Bridge, that sounding river between the living and the dead, its bridge paved with glittering gold. Hermod was surprised to see gold in such a place, but as he rode across and looked down, he saw the stones were only tears shed around the beds of the dying—only tears, yet they made the way seem brighter. When he reached the other end, he found a courageous woman who had sat there for ages watching the dead go by. She stopped him, saying, "What a noise you make. Who are you? Yesterday five troops of dead men crossed this bridge and did not shake it as much as you. Besides, you are not a dead man; your lips are neither cold nor blue. Why do you ride to Helheim?"

"I seek Baldur," answered Hermod. "Have you seen him pass?"