Kitabı oku: «Epics and Romances of the Middle Ages», sayfa 20
III. The She-wolf of the Sea
At midnight a great column of water rose in the midst of the sea, and out of it came a gigantic woman, whose face was as grey as her garments. Her eyes shone like coals of fire, her bristly hair stood up on end, and her long bony arms were stretched out as though in search for prey. It was Grendel’s mother, who had come to avenge her son. She came up out of the sea, crossed the morass, and entered the great hall; there she slew one warrior after another, in spite of their resistance, and slaked her thirst with their warm blood.
Deep was the sorrow of both king and people next day when they heard of the new misery that had come upon the land. Then Beowulf said that the cause of all this wretchedness was Grendel’s mother, and that she would never cease to persecute the Skiöldungs as long as she lived. The only thing to be done was to seek her out in her own place, and there to slay her. This he was prepared to do. He begged Hrodgar to send the treasures that he and the queen had given him to his uncle Hygelak, king of Gothland, should he fall in his struggle with the giantess.
The whole party then went down to the shore, and Beowulf, wading into the sea, sought to find the road leading to the monster’s dwelling. Finding that it was a longer way than he had imagined, he came back to the shore and took leave of his friends, who one and all entreated him to give up the enterprise; but in vain.
“Wait for me two days and nights,” he said, “and if I do not then return, you may know that I have been conquered by the mer-woman; but that is a matter that is in the hands of the gods alone in whom I trust.”
Having thus spoken, the hero tore himself away from his weeping friends, and plunged into the raging sea with all his armour on, and with Hunford’s good sword at his side.
He swam a long way. At last he saw a light deep down in the water. “Her dwelling must be here,” he thought; “may the gods have me in their keeping!” He dived down, down, down to the bottom of the sea. Many a monster of strange shape snapped at him as he shot past, but his coat of mail was proof against their teeth. Suddenly he felt himself caught as though with hooks, and dragged along so swiftly that he could scarcely breathe. In another moment he found himself in the crystal hall of a submarine palace, and face to face with the antagonist he had sought.
Then began a terrible struggle. Beowulf and the giantess wrestled together for life and death. The walls of the palace shook so that they threatened to fall. The two wrestlers fell to the ground, Beowulf the undermost. The mer-woman pulled out a sharp knife to cut his throat, but Wieland’s armour was too well made to give way, and Beowulf struggled to his feet again. The giantess then drew a monstrous sword, so heavy that few mortal men could have wielded it; but, before she could use it, Beowulf made an unexpected spring upon her, and wrenched the sword out of her hand. He clutched it firmly in both hands, and, swinging it with all his strength, cut off the woman’s head. He felt so exhausted with his labours that he rested awhile, leaning on his sword. After a few minutes he looked about him, and saw Grendel lying dead on a couch of sea-weed. He cut off his head, meaning to take it with him as a sign of victory; but no sooner had he done so than the blood began to flow from the monster’s body in a great gurgling stream, then it mixed with that of his mother, and flowed out of the entrance door into the sea. The blade of the giantess’ sword melted in it, and vanished as completely as ice in the rays of the sun. The golden hilt of the sword and Grendel’s head were the only booty that Beowulf brought with him out of the depths of the sea.
His friends were collected on the shore, their hearts filled with a deadly anxiety, for they had seen the sea reddened with blood, and knew not whose it was. So when the hero appeared, they received him with acclamation.
Hrodgar and his people could find no words that would fitly express their gratitude to the hero who had saved the land from two such foes as Grendel and his mother; and when Beowulf and his warriors set out on their journey home, they were laden with blessings and gifts of all kinds.
Hygelak received his nephew with great delight, and listened to the tale of his adventures in speechless amazement and ecstasy.
IV. Beowulf is made King
Many years passed away in peace and quiet. At last the Frisians made a viking raid on Gothland, burning defenceless granges and cottages. Before King Hygelak could reach the place of their depredation, and offer them battle, they had taken to their ships again, and were far away. The king determined to make a descent upon Friesland and punish the marauders; he would not listen to Beowulf when he advised him to delay till better preparations could be made for the onslaught.
The Goths landed in Friesland without opposition, and, marching into the country, revenged themselves by burning many a farmstead, and taking many a castle and township. Now the Frisians were a free and warlike people, whose heroes had played an honourable part in the great Bravalla-fight; the time had come for them to preserve their homes and liberty, and they did not shun to make ready for battle. A murderous engagement took place between them and their Gothic invaders, in which the latter were defeated, and obliged to fly to their ships, terror-stricken by the loss of their king. Beowulf and the noblest of the warriors alone stood their ground, and, although severely wounded, did not join in the retreat until they had rescued and carried off Hygelak’s body. Then the conquered army set sail for Gothland.
Queen Hygd was at first so overwhelmed with sorrow for the loss of her husband that she could give no thought to matters of state; but after a time she roused herself from her grief, and began to consider what was best for the nation. It was well that she did so, for while she was still wrapped up in her sorrow, the barons had been quarrelling among themselves, and creating much disturbance. The royal widow therefore called a meeting of the notables, and standing up before the assembly, spoke of the anarchy into which the country was falling, and said that as her son Hardred was too young to govern the kingdom, and preserve it from civil or foreign war, she strongly advised that Beowulf should be made king. The notables all cheered, and shouted that Beowulf should be their king; but the hero came forward and said:
“And do you really think, ye men of Gothland, that I would rob the child of my uncle and friend of his rights and honours? May the gods, the avengers of all evil, preserve me from such a crime! Here,” he cried, lifting young Hardred on his shield, and holding him aloft, “here is our king. I will be his faithful guardian, and will act in his name till he is old enough and wise enough to take the reins of government into his own hands.”
Nobody ventured to remonstrate with Beowulf; indeed, they all knew that remonstrance would be in vain. And so the matter was settled.
Years passed on, and Beowulf kept his word. He ruled the kingdom with a strong hand, and with absolute justice; and with the help of Queen Hygd educated the young king with so much wisdom, that when the sovereign power was placed in his hands, there was every hope that he would use it for his people’s good. But Hardred was not long to rule over the Goths. Like his former guardian and teacher Beowulf, the king was of a frank and honest nature, and trustful of all who had not shown themselves his enemies. So when Eanmund and Eadgils, the sons of Ohtere, king of Swithiod, came to him as fugitives, he received them with all kindness. He often tried to make them see that they had been wrong in rebelling against their father, and offered to arrange matters with him on their behalf. One day, when he was speaking to them very earnestly on this subject, Eanmund, a passionate, hot-tempered man, told him that he was too young to advise a tried warrior like him. Hardred sharply told him to remember to whom he was speaking; and Eanmund, completely losing the little self-control he ever had, drew his sword and stabbed his royal host to the heart. Young Wichstan (Weohstan) at once avenged the king’s murder by slaying Eanmund; but Eadgils fled back to Swithiod, and soon after succeeded his father on the throne.
The Gothic Allthing, the assembly of all the free men of the nation, was called together as soon as Hardred’s murder was made known, and by a unanimous vote Beowulf was elected king in his cousin’s stead. He accepted the office, and swore to rule his people justly.
V. The Fight with the Dragon
When Hardred’s death was noised abroad, several of the neighbouring peoples made raids upon Gothland, but Beowulf kept so strict a watch on the borders that the enemy was beaten back at all points. Scarcely was the country freed from the attacks of these sea-wolves, when Eadgils, king of Swithiod, came at the head of a large army to avenge his brother’s death. The Goths and Swedes met, and fought a murderous battle, in which many men were slain, and among them King Eadgils. After the death of their king, the Swedes retired to their ships, and sailed back to their own land. The consequence of this victory was a lasting peace. No vikings dared attack the well-defended shores of Gothland, and but few quarrels arose among the nobles to disturb the internal peace of the realm. Beowulf ruled the land with great justice and wisdom. No one entreating his help was ever sent empty away, and no act of tyranny remained unpunished.
Forty years or more passed after this fashion. The hero had grown an old man, and hoped that the national peace and happiness would last as long as he lived. But he was to be rudely awakened from this dream. An enemy attacked Gothland, against whom all weapons and armies were useless. This was how it happened. A dishonest slave, who feared discovery and punishment at his master’s hands, fled from home, and took refuge in a wild, rocky place. When he got there, he looked about for some cave in which he might take up his abode. Coming to one, he entered, but found it already tenanted by an immense dragon, which lay stretched on the ground asleep. Behind it, at the back of the cave, were treasures of all sorts. The man looked greedily at the shining mass of jewels and gold, and thought in his heart, “If I had but a few of these treasures, I could buy my freedom, and need no longer fear my master.” This idea made him bold. He slipped softly past the monster, and stole a golden pot, the knob on whose lid was formed of a shining carbuncle. He escaped safely, and going back to his master, bought his freedom. Neither of the men had the slightest notion of the harm this deed would bring down upon the land.
The dragon, which had watched over its hoard for hundreds of years, and knew each costly thing by heart, saw at once that it had been robbed. At nightfall it crept out of its hole to look for traces of the thief. Finding none, it lifted up its voice and howled so loud, that the earth shook, at the same time flames issued from its mouth and burnt up granges and homesteads far and wide. The men, who sought to put out the fire, fell victims to its fury, or else were dragged into the monster’s cave, where they perished miserably. This happened night after night; the devastation had no end. Many brave warriors went out against the dragon, and tried to kill it, but none of them could withstand the fiery blasts with which the creature defended itself.
The old king heard the story of these events with infinite sorrow. He determined himself to attack the monster, and when his friends remonstrated with him on his rashness, he replied that it was his duty to defend his people from all their enemies, and that the gods would help him. He further announced that he would have fought the dragon unarmed, as he had done the monster Grendel, the son of the sea-witch, but that he feared he could not make his way through the flames without such protection. He therefore had a shield made three times as thick as usual, and so large that it covered him completely. This done, he chose eleven of his bravest warriors to be his comrades in this adventure, among them Wichstan, the man who avenged King Hardred’s death.
Beowulf and his companions set out on their journey, and in due course arrived at the dragon’s cave, out of which there flowed a brook whose waters were made boiling hot by the monster’s fiery breath.
The king bade his friends wait a little way off, until they saw whether he needed their help, and then advancing to the mouth of the cave, he called the dragon to come forth. The great beast came out at his call, and a terrible struggle ensued. Both combatants were hidden from view in a dense cloud of smoke and fire. The rocks trembled and shook at the bellowing of the monster, which at the same time slashed out with its tail, whose blows fell like a sledge-hammer both in sound and regularity. For a moment the smoke and flames were blown aside by a puff of wind, and Beowulf’s comrades saw that the dragon had just seized their king in its great jaws. They could not bear the sight, and ten of them slipped aside and strove to hide behind rocks and trees; but the eleventh, brave Wichstan, hastened to help his master. His shield was burnt up in a twinkling, and he was obliged to seek shelter behind the king. Both heroes seemed lost. The dragon tore down Beowulf’s iron shield, and caught him a second time in its great jaws, crushing him between its teeth with such force, that the iron rings of his coat of mail cracked like so much crockery, though they had been forged by Wieland himself. Then Wichstan seized his opportunity, when the beast’s head was raised, the better to champ his prey, and plunged his sword into the fleshy part of its throat under the lower jaw. Upon this the dragon dropped the king, and encircled both its adversaries with its tail, but Beowulf at the same moment made a lunge at its open mouth, driving his weapon so deep that the point came out at the dragon’s throat. After that they soon dispatched the monster, and then threw themselves on a ledge of rock, panting and exhausted.
When they had recovered a little, the heroes loosened their armour, and Wichstan saw that blood was oozing slowly from under the king’s gorget. He wanted to bind up the slight wound; but Beowulf forbade him, saying that it would be useless, as the hurt had been given by the dragon’s tooth, and the poison was already in his veins.
“I must die,” he added, “but I go to my forefathers without sadness, though I am the last of my race, for my wife has given me no son and heir. I can look back on my past life with pleasure, for I have wronged no man, but have shown justice to all.”
He then asked Wichstan to fetch him a drink of water, and afterwards to bring him the treasure out of the dragon’s cave, that he might see, with his own eyes, the last gift he should ever make to his people.
His commands were obeyed, and a few minutes later he had passed away quietly and peacefully. Wichstan gazed at him in silent grief. Beowulf had been his dearest friend, and he felt that, with his death, his last tie to life was loosed. Meanwhile the ten warriors had come out of their hiding-places, when they found that all danger was over. On seeing what had chanced, they raised their voices in mourning; but Wichstan bade them hold their peace, or if they must weep, at least to weep for their own cowardice, and not for the hero who had died at his post. He then advised them to make the best of their way to other lands, as he could not answer for their lives when the Goths became aware of the way in which they had deserted their king in his hour of need.
With bowed heads and shame-stricken faces the men turned away. They departed out of Gothland, and sought to hide their heads in countries where their names were unknown.
The body of Beowulf was borne to its funeral pile on the height called Hronesnäs, and there burnt amid the tears and sorrow of a nation. When the funeral rites had all been performed, the great treasure was taken back to the dragon’s cave. For the Goths would have none of the gold their beloved king had won for them in his death. So it still lies hidden in the heart of the earth as in the olden time when the dragon guarded it from mortal ken. If it is useless to men, it is at all events not hurtful.
PART THIRD
CAROLINGIAN LEGENDS
I
The CHILDREN of HAYMON
Haymon
Safe and victorious, Karl the Great (Charlemagne), king of the Franks, had returned from Hungary. He had conquered the wild Avars, destroyed their strongholds, and come back to Paris with much booty.
High festival was being held in the royal palace, for the king was busied dividing the newly conquered country into counties and baronies amongst those of his warriors whom he thought best fitted for such responsible charge. While thus employed, Lord Hug of Dordone came forward, and asked the king if he had forgotten the faithful services rendered him by Count Haymon of Dordone, that he had not mentioned his appointment to any of the new fiefs. Karl at once replied, that he had not forgotten Haymon, but he considered that bold warrior had already fiefs enough and to spare. Indeed, if he gave him more, it would only make him think himself as powerful as his master, and might even tempt him to throw off his allegiance to the Frankish crown.
“He is a faithful vassal, sire,” answered Hug, “as true as a sword to its sheath; but if he is given a lower position than meaner men, he may in good truth forget his oath of allegiance, and fight for his rights. Did he do so, he would not lack aid from many a trusty comrade.”
As he spoke, the hero touched his sword significantly. The king’s wrath was so roused by the boldness of this speech, that he drew his sword, and, next moment, the good lord’s head was severed from his body at one blow.
The courtiers drew back in speechless horror, and Haymon, who came in at that instant, asked one of the bystanders what had happened. When he heard the reason of the king’s murderous deed, he turned sharp round upon his heel, and went out without further word or greeting.
As soon as he reached his own castle, he gathered his friends about him, and declared war against his liege lord. No great battle was fought; but continual conflict raged between the contending parties, the country was laid waste, and the peasantry suffered terribly. Haymon was able to move about from place to place with such incredible swiftness that people began to say he rode a magic horse, gifted with the speed of lightning, and the wit of man. The war lasted for years, till at last King Karl came with a large army, and besieged the castle of the rebel count.
One morning, when matters were in this position, Haymon went to the stables as usual with a feed of oats for his favourite horse; but the stall was empty, the good steed Bayard was gone. Haymon was in despair. He was just considering whether it was worth while carrying on such a hopeless war, when his cousin Malagis, a small, insignificant-looking man with a long beard, came to him, and told him that he knew for certain that the devil had carried off the horse, and had hidden it in Mount Vulcanus, which is near the mouth of hell. He further promised to go and fetch it, in spite of all difficulties. Then, without waiting for a word of thanks or warning, the little man turned, and left the count.
When he got outside the castle gate, Malagis pulled a small bag of powdered hellebore from his pocket. He sprinkled a good deal of it in the air, and the wind carried it over the besieger’s camp. A general fit of sneezing suddenly infected the whole army. While the men-at-arms were thus sneezing, and calling out, “God bless you!” to each other, Malagis quietly walked through their lines, and pursued his journey to Mount Vulcanus.
He reached the foot of the great mountain in safety, and saw smoke and flames issuing from its top. He at once went in search of the ruler of the world of fire, greeted him courteously, and introduced himself as a great necromancer, who had come to offer his valuable services to his Satanic majesty. The devil answered sarcastically, that he was accustomed to hear the followers of the black art vaunt their powers and wisdom, but as he was curious to see what the stranger could really do, he would give him a chance of showing off.
“You must know, fellow,” he continued, “that I have always hitherto ridden on the storm-wind, but I find that too great an exertion now. I am grown too old for that sort of thing, so I looked out for a good horse, and managed to find one fleet enough to satisfy me. I therefore took possession of it, and brought it here. I thought that I should now be able to ride through the world of men more at my ease than before; but,” and here he sighed deeply, and blue flames issued from his mouth as he did so, “if I were not the devil myself, I should say that that horse was an incarnation of Satan, he will not even let me mount him. I have therefore put him into the volcano, hoping to tame him in that manner. I have kept awake for months to look after this work myself, but hitherto without effect. Will you take my place while I enjoy a little nap?”
“Well spoken, great king,” said Malagis, “but should I not be able to watch the effect on the horse better if I were close to it? Let me therefore beg you to withdraw the fire and smoke for a few minutes, that I may go down into the heart of the mountain, and enter upon my duty. Perhaps, also, the horse may be more easily induced to obey, if he gets a breath of fresh air.”
Satan consented to do as he was asked. He climbed to the top of the mountain, accompanied by Malagis, and ordered the spirits of the nether-world to hold back the flames. As soon as the intense heat had cooled down, the necromancer descended into the abyss, and took up his position near the horse. Then, as if by accident, he threw what looked like a handful of ashes up in the air. But it was really a sleeping-powder. In another moment the prince of hell was sound asleep, and snoring so loud that the mountain trembled at the sound, and ignorant men thought there was an earthquake. Malagis now approached the horse, which snapped and kicked at him viciously. But no sooner had he whispered the word, “Bayard,” than the creature pricked up its ears, and when he added, “your master, Haymon, has need of you,” it became gentle as a lamb, and allowed him to lead it to the upper-world.
“To Haymon!” cried Malagis, springing on its back; and the horse, neighing for joy, set off with the speed of the wind over hill and dale, heath and morass.
At the sound of the whinny, the prince of darkness awoke out of his sleep, and at once understood what had happened. Without loss of time, he flung himself astride of a storm-cloud, and hurled a thunderbolt after the fugitives. But Malagis quietly said, “Abracadabra,” at the same time holding up his crucifix. The thunderbolt fell harmless to the ground; but Lucifer was so much startled by the sight of the cross that he tumbled off his cloud, and, falling to the earth, broke his leg; and from that day forward he has had a limp in his gait.
Meanwhile Count Haymon was in sore distress. He was hunted like a wild beast from place to place. His men were all dead, or else had deserted him. He was alone and desolate. One day, as he rode through a wood on a wretched broken-down hack, listening bitterly to the bay of the blood-hounds, and the hollo of the hunters who pursued him, he saw a rider gallop into the clearing in front, and exclaimed in joy:
“Malagis, cousin Malagis, and Bayard, faithful Bayard! My misery is at an end now.”
Scarcely had he uttered these words when his pursuers were upon him. He sprang on Bayard’s back, swung his sword, and faced his foes. He and his horse fought together, and but few of his antagonists lived to tell the tale of that day’s work.
Haymon’s evil fortune now changed to good. Friends came to his aid, and many castles and strongholds fell into his hands. The paladins of the great king avoided giving him battle, and the war seemed as if it might go on for ever. The proud king longed for peace, and at last sent ambassadors to his disobedient vassal, offering to restore all his fiefs, and to pay him four times the weight in gold of the murdered Hug of Dordone. Count Roland was sent at the head of the embassy. Haymon received the messengers with all honour, especially his old friend Roland; but when he heard the terms offered by Karl, he said that the king’s expiation for the murder must be six times the weight of his victim, and that he must further give his sister Aya to Haymon in marriage. These terms were at first rejected by the king, but afterwards he consented, partly because the country needed peace, and partly, it was said, because the fair princess Aya used her influence with her brother to that end.
So peace was at length concluded. Count Haymon was restored to his former rank and dignity, and was married to the princess. After the wedding, the newly married couple retired to their castle of Pierlepont, where they lived for some time in love and unity. But Haymon’s was too active a disposition to be content with an idle life for long. He thirsted for glory, and to do great deeds. So he crossed over the Pyrenees into Spain, a country where the Christians and heathen Moors kept up a constant internecine war. For the first few years Count Haymon used to return home from time to time to see his wife and children, but when the fortune of war led him further south, he stayed away altogether, and seemed to have forgotten his beautiful home, and all that it contained.
Reinold and his Brothers
Countess Aya mourned him as dead, and expended all her love on her four sons, whom she educated with the greatest care, and who rewarded her for her pains by growing up into wise and stately men. Reinold, the youngest, and his father’s image, was taller and stronger than his brothers, and a better swordsman than any one about Pierlepont. He had inherited much of his father’s quick temper; but to his mother he was always gentle and bidable.
The four lads, Richard, Adelhart, Wichart, and Reinold had already shown their prowess in the field, when a messenger came to Pierlepont to say that Count Haymon was lying sick at an inn at the foot of the Pyrenean hills, and near a place where hot mineral springs were to be found. He wanted his wife to come and nurse him. Aya prepared to obey her husband without a moment’s delay, and set out accompanied by her sons.
On her arrival at the inn, she hastened to embrace her husband, and present her sons to him. The three elder lads embraced their sick father tenderly, but Reinold hung back.
“Who is this broken-down old man?” he cried. “It cannot be my father, for he is a great hero, and that man does not look much of a warrior. I wonder if he will try a bout with me.”
“Boy,” said Haymon, standing up straight, “do you not know me for your father? Look at this ring which your mother gave me years ago, and at these scars which I gained in battle.”
“And,” continued the countess, “does not my love for him bear witness that he is your father?”
“Yes, mother,” cried Reinold, “I recognise him now;” and, so saying, he clasped his father in his arms, and squeezed nearly all the breath out of his body.
“Ah, this one is my son, and no mistake,” said Haymon. “He was cut out of the same quarry.”
Aya and her sons were anxious to hear all that the count had done and seen since they had met last, so Haymon told them all that had befallen him, and ended by saying that he had brought home great wealth. This wealth he intended his three elder sons to divide equally amongst them, whilst his youngest son was to have his good sword Flammberg and the horse Bayard, if he could manage to ride it.
Reinold did not in the least doubt his powers of riding anything, and begged his father, mother, and brothers to come and see him mount his new steed. They followed the lad into the stable. Reinold went straight up to Bayard, and seizing the halter in one hand, was about to mount, when the horse caught his coat between its teeth, and threw him on the ground. The bold warrior, ashamed of his fall, sprang to his feet, and next moment was seated in the saddle. There was a fierce struggle for mastery, which ended in the victory of Reinold. After a wild and dangerous ride, when Bayard once more stood in its stall, Haymon went up to the noble animal, and said:
“Bayard, this is my son, your future master.”
The horse seemed to understand, for it laid its head gently against Reinold’s breast, as though to acknowledge his mastery.
Count Haymon was soon strong enough to return to Pierlepont with his family. Shortly after his arrival there, he heard that the king, who had lately been crowned emperor at Rome, intended to confer the honour of knighthood on his son and heir, Prince Ludwig, and on several squires of noble birth. Haymon and his sons at once determined to go to court on this occasion.
A great tournament was held before the emperor knighted the young men, and each and all of the candidates showed himself worthy of the honour about to be bestowed on him; more especially Reinold, whose prowess brought down endless acclamations. After the ceremony of knighting the young nobles was over, Ludwig was crowned king, and named his father’s successor in the empire. The young king’s first act was to distribute fiefs to the new-made knights, save and except to the brothers alone; these he passed over entirely. He did not even invite them to the feast, and to all appearance the day of general rejoicing was to be a fast day for them. Reinold thought it too bad, so he walked into the royal kitchen and helped himself to all he needed for himself and his brothers.
