So in the course of time she came to the haven
of Munarvoe in Samsö, where her father Angantyr lay buried in the
green mound.
of Munarvoe in Samsö, where her father Angantyr lay buried in the
green mound.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v14 - Ibn to Juv
In the seventeenth century there was a brief
renaissance,- of great results, however, for the ultimate preservation
of much of the ancient Icelandic literature. With the eighteenth cen-
tury came the lowest ebb in Icelandic destinies. In the seventh
year of that century, small-pox destroyed one third of the population;
in 1759 a terrible famine occurred, in which 10,000 perished; in
1762 the sheep plague devastated the island; in 1765 an alarming
volcanic eruption happened, followed eighteen years later by the
great eruption of 1783. But though from 1850, or from the earlier
free constitution in Denmark, the fourth or modern period of Ice-
land opened more auspiciously, the country has not yet produced a
new literature. With increasing wealth and population, with home
rule, and with increased advantages of all kinds, Iceland, while cer-
tainly sending out into the world many eminent scholars and men
of action, has not yet succeeded in recovering any of her ancient lit-
erary glory.
It is then to the long early period of the Commonwealth that we
must look for that Icelandic literature which is the glory of the North-
ern races. This period of the Commonwealth extends over about four
hundred years; that is, from the first settlement by colonists from
the Western Isles and Norway in 870, to the submission to the Nor-
wegian kings and the subsequent national changes towards the close
of the thirteenth century. This period again is divisible into three
sections: the Heroic Age, the Saga-building Period, and the Literary
Age. Up to close upon the middle of the tenth century, it is the
poetry of the West Islands, rather than that of the Norse immigrants,
which has to be accepted as the basis of Icelandic literature. For a
hundred years thereafter — that is, from 930 to 1030 — the Icelandic
poets were mostly singers abroad; vikings whom the old restless
spirit of adventure carried far west, far south, or back up to that tur-
bulent East whence their forbears had come. The early period of
saga-telling is a brief one, and is coincident with the entry of Christ-
ianity into the island, and while the events of the later sagas were
in actual occurrence. Broadly, this is from 1030 to 1100.
For one
hundred and eighty years thereafter there comes the period known as
the Literary Age, in which flourished Ari and his school, Thorodd, the
historic saga-writers, Snorri and his school, and the famous Sturla.
XIV-493
## p. 7874 (#66) ############################################
7874
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
It was in the first half of the twelfth century that vernacular writing
began. If the civil wars which prevailed from near the beginning of
the thirteenth century until the fall of the great houses after the
second civil wars, which culminated years later in the submission to
the Norwegian kings,- if all these interfered in some respects with
the development of literature, it is significant to note that here in
remote Iceland, as in Rome in the past and the mediæval Italy and
Elizabethan England, a period of stress and strife seems in many
ways to have enhanced the literary sense, and to have proved advan-
tageous for the cultivation of letters. “In the opinion of those most
competent to judge,” writes one of the few American critics who
have interested themselves in this Old World saga literature, this
early Icelandic literature has never been surpassed, if equaled, in all
that gives value to that portion of history which consists in spirited
delineations of character, in faithful and lively pictures of events,
among nations in a rude state of society. ”
Although the sagas were first written about the middle of the
twelfth century, the greater sagas were not composed into their
present shape till about 1220. To that year or thereabouts is dated
the 'Egla Saga'; the Laxdaela' about 1230, the Niala' about 1240,
and the Eyrbyggia' about 1260. Snorri who died in 1241, and Sturla
who died in 1284, are the two great names which are the ornament
of that heroic period of Icelandic literature which makes a large part
of the thirteenth century so memorable to its students. The oldest
existing manuscript, however, does not go so far back.
posed to be the Flatöe Manuscript, so called from its discovery in
the monastery which bore that name. This Flatöe Manuscript is of
incalculable value apart from its literary interest; for it contains the
sagas devoted to the history of the pre-Columbian discoveries of the
Northmen. This manuscript was known to be in existence as early
as the year 1395; that is, about one hundred years before the re-
discovery of the American continent by Cabot and Columbus. One
of the sagas included within its scope, that known as the Saga of
Thorfinn, was actually written in Greenland, where during the years
1006 and 1007 the colonists as the saga-man says, who had resorted
thither from Iceland, "sought amusement in reciting history. ”
Jardar the Dane is supposed to have been the first person who
made a voyage northward to Iceland, though its early name of Snow-
land was given to it by the pirate Nododd about the year 864.
There is little question however but that Iceland was known to the
Irish Gaels, and possibly also to the Britons, before this. We have
the authority of Ari Frode, in the 'Landnama Book,' in testimony of
the fact that when the first Norsemen entered Iceland they found
Irish monks already residing there.
This is sup-
## p. 7875 (#67) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7875
It is seldom that the characteristics of a race are more clearly
shown in the physiognomy of its literature than in the instance of
the Icelanders and the Icelandic sagas. Their mental and physical
intrepidity are proverbial; and this quality is exemplified again and
again throughout the early and late sagas and Eddas. Directness,
simplicity, and intrepidity, whether of mind or body,- these qualities
distinguish the Northmen of old, and the many characteristics of the
national expression of their life. For the rest, we find in the sagas,
along with the development of individual and national epic themes, a
great many superstitions; some of them folk-lore survivals, and others
integral portions of the sombrely imaginative Scandinavian. While
the combative spirit displayed throughout this early literature has its
counterpart in the Celtic sagas, it is not combined as there with the
same fantasy, color, and vivacity we find in the best early Gaelic
chronicles. But throughout we hear in them the clash of swords, the
surge of the sea, the blowing of the north wind, the full simple
heroic words of the heroic man, the full simple words of passion and
devotion of heroic women, and above all and through all the influ-
ence of mighty forces of destiny and fate. In the later sagas this
element of the workings of fate degenerates into so-called religious
teaching, but even here the old pagan spirit is observable; as in
the almost passionate emphasis laid upon the doctrine of retribution
for sin, and in the sombre pictures of the life which awaits the
sinner in the next world. As an anonymous writer has said:–«We
recognize in the old saga literature the same bold indomitable spirit
that led the Northmen victoriously up the Areopagus at Athens;
gave the swing to sword and battle-axe in the streets of Constanti-
nople; enabled them to seize Novgorod and found the line of pre-
Slavonic czars who ruled until 1598; and that caused the cheek of
Charlemagne to turn pale, while priest and monk on trembling knees
put up the suffrage, (From the fear of the Normans, good Lord
deliver us. ) )
Here is an instance illustrative of the physical courage of the old
Northern mind. It is from the death-song of Ragnar Lodbrok, a
poem belonging to the close of the eighth century, and with the
peculiar alliterative effects characteristic of the metrical literature
of that period :-
WE HEWED with our swords
quick goes all to my heirs.
Grim stings the adder;
snake house in my heart;
but soon Vithris's lance
shall stand fast in Ella.
Rage will swell my sons
## p. 7876 (#68) ############################################
7876
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
to hear their father's doom;
ne'er will those gallant youths
rest till avenged.
We hewed with our swords;
full fifty times my lance,
the messenger of death,
raged through the battle.
It was my boyhood's play
to stain my lance with blood.
Methinks than I, no king
can boast of brighter deeds.
We must to Asar call,
and without grief I go.
We hewed with our swords;
home invite we the Diser,
the maidens of Odin.
With them and the Asar
high seated shall we
there the mead quaff;
fled are my life's hours,
yet I die smiling.
So likewise Harold, the valiant rover, tells us of his own courage,
lamenting that after all a Russian maid, Elizabeth daughter of Jani-
slaus, should refuse him. We give only a part of the poem :-
My ship hath sailed round the isle of Sicily;
Then were we all splendid and gay.
My mirror-laden ship then swiftly along the waves,
Eager for the fight,
I thought my sails would never slacken:
And yet a Russian maid disdains me.
With the men of Drontheim I fought in my youth.
They had troops much greater in numbers,
Dreadful was the conflict;
Young as I was, I left their young king dead in
the fight:
And yet a Russian maid disdains me.
Well do I know the eight exercises:
I fight with courage,
I keep a firm seat on horseback,
And skilled am I in swimming.
## p. 7877 (#69) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7877
Along the ice glide I on skates,
I excel in darting the lance,
I am dexterous at the par:
And yet a Russian maid disdains me.
As an example of prose narrative, here is a brief excerpt descript-
ive of the death of the Jarl Ronald, A. D. 1046, as told in the famous
Orkney Saga':-
EARL RONALD lay at Kirkwall and collected thither all sorts
of supplies for the winter, having with him a large following
whom he entertained regardless of cost. A little before Jule, the
earl started with a numerous retinue for the Lesser Papa to fetch
malt. In the evening, as they sat a long time baking their
limbs at the fire, the man who kept it up said the fuel was get-
ting short. On which the jarl made a slip of the tongue. He
said, “We shall be old enough when this fire is burnt out. ” But
he meant to have said, “We shall be warm enough. ” And when
he perceived it he said, “I made a slip of the tongue [misspoke];
I never did so before, that I can mind. This reminds me of
what King Olaf, my foster-father, said at Sticklestad when I
observed his slip of the tongue.
He said that if ever I made a
slip of the tongue, I must make up my mind to have a short
time left to live. Maybe my kinsman Thorfinn is alive. ” At
this moment they heard people all round the house. Earl Thor-
finn was come, and they set fire to the buildings and heaped
up a great pile before the doors. Thorfinn permitted all but the
earl's men to go out. And when most of the people had come
out, a man came into the doorway, dressed in linen clothes only,
and begged Thorfinn to give the deacon a helping hand. At the
same moment he placed his hand on the balk of wood (across
the door), sprang right over it and beyond the ring of men, and
fled away in the darkness of the night. Earl Thorfinn bade
them follow after him, and said, “There fared the earl: it was
one of his feats of strength and nobody's else. ” The men set off
in search, separating into knots. Thorkell Foster searched along
the shore, when they heard a dog bark among the rocks. Earl
Ronald had his lapdog with him. The earl was captured, and
Thorkell bade his men kill him, offering them money. But all
the same they refused. So Thorkell himself slew him, for he
knew that one or the other of them would have to do it. Earl
Thorfinn now came up, and blamed not the deed. They spent
(
## p. 7878 (#70) ############################################
7878
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
the night on the island slaughtering the whole of Ronald's fol-
lowers. Next morning they laded the merchant ship with malt,
then went aboard, placing in the prow and stern the shields
which Ronald and his men had, and no more men upon her
than had come with the earl, and then rowed to Kirkwall. As
Ronald's men supposed that it must be the earl and his followers
coming back, they went to meet them unarmed. Earl Thorfinn
seized and killed thirty, most of them being King Magnus's men
and friends of his. One retainer of the King's he let go, bidding
him fare to Norway and tell King Magnus the news.
It is however in the rough metres of Scandinavian poetry that
one most easily apprehends the genius of this Northern people. To
take an extract (not much earlier in date than the foregoing, namely
in 1014) from the famous Nial's Saga. The extract in question is
known as the “Spaedom of the Norns,' and is supposed to have been
based on the vision of some man of Caithness gifted with second-
sight to foretell the result of the great battle of Clontarf. The
expression in it “web of spears, however, points to a much earlier
legend. Here is the literal translation of the Spaedom as given by
Sir G. Dasent:-
S"
EE! warp is stretched
For warrior's fall;
Lo, weft in loom,
'Tis wet with blood;
Now, fight foreboding,
'Neath friends' swift fingers
Our gray woof waxeth
With war's alarms,
Our warp blood-red,
Our weft corse-blue.
This woof is y-woven
With entrails of men;
This warp is hard weighted
With heads of the slain;
Spears blood-besprinkled
For spindles we use,
Our loom iron-bound,
And arrows our reels;
With swords for our shuttles
This war-woof we work;
So weave we, weird sisters,
Our war-winning woof.
## p. 7879 (#71) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7879
Now war-winner walketh
To weave in her turn,
Now Sword-swinger steppeth,
Now Swift-stroke, now Storm;
When they speed the shuttle
How spear-heads shall flash!
Shields crash, and helm-gnawer
On harness bite hard !
Wind we, wind swiftly
Our war-winning woof,
Woof erst for king youthful,
Foredoomed as his own.
Forth now we will ride,
Then, through the ranks rushing,
Be busy where friends
Blows blithe give and take.
Wind we, wind swiftly
Our war-winning woof;
After that let us steadfastly
Stand by the brave king;
Then men shall mark mournful
Their shields red with gore,
How Sword-stroke and Spear-thrust
Stood stout by the prince.
Wind we, wind swiftly
Our war-winning woof,
When sword-bearing rovers
To banners rush on.
Mind, maidens, we spare not
One life in the fray;
We corse-choosing sisters
Have charge of the slain.
Now new-coming nations
That island shall rule,
Who on outlying headlands
Abode ere the fight;
I say that king mighty
To death now is done,
Now low before spear-point
That Earl bows his head.
## p. 7880 (#72) ############################################
7880
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
Soon over all Ersemen
Sharp sorrow shall fall,
That woe to those warriors
Shall wane nevermore.
Our woof now is woven,
Now battle-field waste,
O'er land and o'er water
War tidings shall leap.
Now surely 'tis gruesome
To gaze all around,
When blood-red through heaven
Drives cloud-rack o'erhead:
Air soon shall be deep-hued
With dying men's blood,
When this our spaedom
Comes speedy to pass.
So cheerily chant we
Charms for the young king;
Come, maidens, lift loudly
His war-winning lay:
Let him who now listens
Learn well with his ears,
And gladden brave swordsmen
With bursts of war's song.
Now mount we our horses,
Now bare we our brands,
Now haste we hard, maidens,
Hence, far, far away.
Among the old historic songs which preceded the great saga epoch
there is one attributed to Thiodolf (others say to Hornklofi), which
Dr. Metcalfe affirms in those days would be equivalent in popularity
and significance to the once famous Lillibullero' or the later Ye
Mariners of England. '
H
AVE you heard of the fight
At Hafrsfjord
'Tween a high-born king
And Kiotni the Rich ?
Came ships from the est,
All keen for the fray,
With silver inlaid,
And agape were their beaks.
## p. 7881 (#73) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7881
They were manned with Udallers,
And piled with white shields,
And West Country spears,
And Gallic swords.
Bellowed the Bare-sarks
In Hilda's train;
The Wolf-skins howled
'Mid the din of iron.
They put to the proof
One who taught them to fly,
The dauntless King Harold,
The Lord of Utstein.
He launched from the shore
In view of the stir;
What a thumping of shields
Ere Haklang fell!
He tired right soon
Of facing King Harfagr;
To an island fled he,
The thick-throated ruler.
Under the row-seat
The wounded they huddled,
With backs stuck up
And faces bent down.
In the storm of stones,
As they fled, they cast
On their backs their shields,
Bright roof of Valhalla.
Wild with fear, they fled home
Around Jadar's shores,
On their mead-bowls intent,
From Hafrsfjord.
The Hornklofi mentioned above, whose name signifies “horn-
cleaver,” was really a poet named Thorbjorn. In the Fagrskinna
there are some lines of great interest by him, describing the court of
the King, the famous Harold Fairhair, a contemporary of Alfred the
Great.
The skald relates an imaginary conversation between a Valkyr
and some ravens, who, being the constant companions of Harold in
his expeditions, were able to gratify the lady's curiosity about him.
In literal prose it runs:
## p. 7882 (#74) ############################################
7832
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
L
ISTEN, ye ring-bearers [i. e. , nobles),
While I recount the accomplishments
Of King Harold,
The immensely rich;
I must tell of the colloquy
Which I heard between
A white fair-haired maid
And a raven.
Wise was the Valkyr;
She knew the voice of birds.
The white-throated one,
The sharp-sighted one,
Spoke to the air-cleaver,
Who sat on a point of the rocks:
«Why here, ye ravens ?
Whence are ye come,
With gory beak,
At the approach of day?
Flesh sticks to your claws,
The reek of carrion comes from your mouth:
Surely you set off by night,
For ye knew that corpses lay on the plain. ”
He of the plumed skull shook his feathers;
The eagle's sworn brother
Dried his beak,
And bethought him of an answer :-
« We've followed Harold,
Halfdan's son,
The young noble,
Ever since the egg we left.
"I thought you'd know the King,
He who abides at Hvin,
The lord of the Northmen,
Who owns the deep galleys,
The ruddy-rimmed shields,
The tarred oars,
The weather-stained awnings.
«He'll drink his Yule feast at sea,
If he alone shall decide,
This courageous chief,
## p. 7883 (#75) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7883
And play Frey's game.
The youth loathes the fireside
And sitting at home;
The warm ladies' bower,
And cushions stuffed with down. ”
The Valkyr then asks whether Harold is munificent to his men :-
“Many a present
His warriors get,
Who in Harold's court
Throw with the dice;
They're with money endowed,
And handsome swords,
With German armor,
And Eastern slaves.
« Then are they glad,
The skillful men-at-arms,
Agile to jump
And swing the oars,
Till they break the loops
And snap the thole-pins;
Splash goes the water
At the word of the King. ”
The condition of the court skalds is next described:-
«You may see by their trappings
And their gold rings
That they're familiar with the King;
They're possessed of red cloaks,
And fair-riinmed shields,
And silver-strapped swords,
And gilt belts,
And chased helmets,
And armlets good store,
These servants of Harold. ”
His Berserker champions are next described :
« Wolf-skins they're hight,
They who in battle
Bear the bloody shields,
Who redden the spears
When they gather to the fray,
When they rush to the onset. ”
## p. 7884 (#76) ############################################
7884
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
1
16
1
The poem concludes with a description of the players and jug-
glers at Harold's court. Some of them indulge in unheard-of pranks,
to the great amusement of the King.
Allusion has already been made to an Icelandic poet named Eyvind
Skalda-spiller. His Háconamál' is considered one of the best samples
of skaldic poetry extant. The Hacon referred to in the title was
Hacon the Good (925-961), one of the two sons of Harold Fairhair
and the foster-son of the Anglo-Saxon King Athelstan.
HÁCONAMÁL
G
ONDUL and Skögul
The gods of the Goths sent
To choose 'mong the kings
Of Yngvi's race which
With Odin should fare
And live in Valhalla.
Bjorn's brother found they
Faring in mail-coat,
Marching 'neath gonfalon
Scared were the foe,
The shafts shook,
The battle began.
« On, Halogalanders!
On, ye West-Islanders! ”
Cried the earl-slayer,
Rushed to the fray.
Well did his Northmen
Follow their noble lord,
Dread of the Isle Danes,
Helmed in gold.
i
Flung off his armor
Down on the plain,
The chief of the body-guard,
Ere he set on.
Joked with his men-at-arms,
“We'll keep the land safe;"
Laughed the King gayly,
Helmed in gold.
So sliced his sharp sword
In the chief's hand
## p. 7885 (#77) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7885
Right through the mail-coats
As they were water.
Crash went the arrows,
Split were the shields;
Rattled the blades
On the foemen's skulls.
Through targets tough,
Through plates of iron,
Smashed irresistible
The Norse King's brand.
Th' isle pealed with battle-din,
Crimsoned the kings
Their glistening shields
In the blood of the throng.
Quivered the flashing swords
In the wounds gory;
Louted the halberds,
Greedy of life:
Soused the red wound-stream
'Gainst the splashed bucklers;
Fell crimson arrow-rain
On Stord's shore.
All blood-bedabbled
Surged the fierce fray;
Thundered the shield-rims
'Mid storm of war;
Pattered down point-stream
Odin's red shower.
Many fell fainting
In their life's blood.
Sat were the princes,
Drawn were their swords,
Battered their bucklers,
Armor all gashed;
Ill at ease felt the
Monarch, for he was
Bound to Valhalla.
Gondul she spoke,
Leaning on spear-shaft:-
«Grows the gods' company;
They have bid Hacon,
## p. 7886 (#78) ############################################
7886
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
With a great retinue,
Home to their hall! »
Heard the fey chieftain
What said the Valkyr —
Maids from their steeds;
Thoughtful their faces looked
As they sat helmed,
Sheltered with shields.
HACON
Why so the contest
Deal'st thou, Geirskögul?
Worthy of victory
We from the gods! ”
SKÖGUL
« We were the cause
The battle you won
And the foes fled.
Now will we speed,”
Quoth mighty Skögul,
« To heaven's green glades,
King Odin to tell
A great lord is coming,
Who longs him to see! »
«Hermod and Bragi,”
Quoth aloud Odin,
« Go meet the chieftain;
Hither is faring
A king, and a valiant one,
Lo! to my hall. ”
The captain he cried,
Just fresh from the fray,
All dripping with gore:-
“Very hard-hearted
Truly meseemeth
Odin to be. ”
ODIN
“All of my warriors
Welcome thee in!
Drink of our ale-cups,
Bane of the Jarls. ”
## p. 7887 (#79) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7887
«Already you've here
Eight brothers," quoth Bragi.
HACON
“All our war-gear,”
Quoth the good King,
«Ourselves will we hold;
Our helmet and mail,
We'll guard them full well;
'Tis pleasant to handle the spear. ”
Then straight it appeared
How the good King had
Protected the temples,
For Hacon they bade
Be heartily welcome,
The assembly of gods.
On fortunate day
Was that monarch born,
With such a mind gifted;
His age and day
Must ever be held
In kindly remembrance.
Ere will break his chain
And rush on mankind
Fell Fenris wolf,
Ere a man so good
In his footsteps tread,
One of royal birth
Riches depart,
And likewise friends,
The land is laid waste:
Since Hacon fared
To the heathen gods,
Sunk have many to slaves.
After the death of Hacon the Good, all the Norwegian court
skalds named in the chronicles were Icelanders; so that from about
the year 950 to the death of King Eric Magnusson in 1299, Icelandic
skalds only were the court poets of Norway. The first Danish king
mentioned as having been commemorated by an Icelandic poet (Ottar
the Black) was Sweyn Forkbeard, who died in 1014; and the last, it
may be added, was Waldemar II. , who died in 1241. Nor should we
forget that two of our English kings, Athelstan and Ethelred, were
commemorated in the tenth or beginning of the eleventh century by
## p. 7888 (#80) ############################################
!
1
7888
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
two famous Northmen, Egil Skalagrim and Gunnlaug Serpent-tongue.
“In England,” says Dr. Metcalfe, basing his remarks on those of Jon
Sigurdson, “the age of Northern poetry may be said to have lasted
down to the Norman conquest, or about the middle of the eleventh
century; in Denmark and Sweden, to the middle of the thirteenth; in
Norway, till a little over the end of that century. ”
Finally, I may quote one interesting poem of the nature common
to all the Northern races. It occurs in the Hervorar Saga, which has
been attributed to the thirteenth century; but the poem in question
bears so strong an old Norse impress that the German critic Müller
places its composition as certainly not later than the tenth or at
least the eleventh century. The story is interesting as setting forth
the record of one of those Amazonian heroines who occur in every
popular literature. This heroine was named Hervor. She was the
daughter of a famous knight, Angantyr, who for love's sake fought
a duel with the famous Hjalmar on Samsö, an island off Jutland.
Though Angantyr fought with the sword Tyrfing, forged by the trolls
Dvalin and Dulin, which never missed its aim, he perhaps forgot
the other quality of the sword, that it always brought death to its
The result was that he and all his Berserkers were slain on
this remote island. His daughter Hervor, when she grew up, really
turned viking; daubing her lily-white hands with pitch and tar,”
as the skald wrote. She became a viking in fact, and assumed the
name of Herward.
So in the course of time she came to the haven
of Munarvoe in Samsö, where her father Angantyr lay buried in the
green mound. At sunset she goes alone on shore, and there she
meets a shepherd. The dialogue between them, and the weird scene
of the cairns flaming into life, are graphically told, as also the appear-
ance of Angantyr himself.
owner.
i
SHEPHERD
Ho art all alone
To this island come ?
Haste and seek some cot
For to shelter in.
W"
1
HERWARD
I will never go
Shelter for to seek,
For I none do know
Of the island beards.
Tell me speedily,
'Fore you go from hence,
## p. 7889 (#81) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7889
Whereabout's the spot
Known as Herward's cairn ?
SHEPHERD
Don't about it speer,
If thou’rt truly wise.
Thou, the viking's friend,
In great peril art.
Let us speed away,
Haste with might and main:
All abroad are horrors
For the sons of men.
HERWARD
Here a brooch I'll give you
If you'll tell me true.
Vain to try to hinder
Thus the viking's friend.
No! the brightest treasure,
All the rings on earth,
Would not let or hinder
Me from my intent.
SHEPHERD
Foolish is, methinks,
He who hither fares,
All alone and friendless
In the murky night.
Flames are flickering,
Cairns are opening,
Burning earth and fen;
Let us hurry on.
HERWARD
I am not afeard
At such snorting sounds,
E'en though all the island
Bursts out in a blaze.
Do not let us two
By the champions dead
Thus be made to shiver;
Let us have discourse!
XIV-494
## p. 7890 (#82) ############################################
7890
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
- Then the herdsman filed
To the forest near,
Frightened by the speech
Of this manly maid.
Of undaunted mettle
Fashioned, Hervor's breast
Swelled within her fiercely
At the shepherd's fright.
She now sees the cairns all alight and the howe-dwellers standing
outside, but is not afraid; passes through the me as if it were
only reek, till she gets to the Berserker's howe. Then she speaks :-
HERWARD
Wake thee, Angantyr;
Hervor waketh thee.
I'm the only daughter
Of Tofa and of thee:
Give me from the howe
That sword whetted sharp,
Which for Swarfurlam
Was forged by the dwarves.
Hervard and Hjorvard,
Hran and Angantyr!
I wake you, ye buried
Under the forest roots,
With your helm and mail-sark,
With your whetted sword,
With your polished shields,
And your bloody darts.
1
Ye are turned indeed,
Arngrim's sons so bold,
Such redoubted champions,
To poor bits of mold,
If of Eyfur's sons,
Not one dares with me
To come and hold discourse
Here in Munarvoe.
1
Hervard and Hjorvard,
Hran and Angantyr!
May it be to all
Of you within your hearts
## p. 7891 (#83) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7891
As if you were in ant-hills,
With torments dire bested,
Unless to me the sword
Ye give that Dvalin forged.
It not beseemeth Draugies
Such weapons choice to hide.
ANGANTYR
Hervor, my daughter, why
Dost thou cry out so loud ?
Thou’rt hastening to destruction,
Past all redemption, maid!
'Tis mad you are become,
Bereft of sober sense;
You must be wandering, surely,
To wake up men long dead.
HERWARD
One thing tell me true,
So may Odin shield thee:
In thy ancient cairn,
Tell me, hast thou there
The sword Tyrfing hight?
Oh, you're very slow
A small boon to grant
To your single heir.
[The cairn opens, and it seems all ablaze. )
ANGANTYR
Hell gates have sunk down,
Opened is the cairn;
See, the island's shore
Is all bathed in flame;
All abroad are sights
Fearful to behold.
Haste thee, while there's time,
Maiden, to thy ships.
HERWARD
Were you burning bright,
Like bale-fire at night,
I'd not fear a jot;
Your fierce burning flame
## p. 7892 (#84) ############################################
7892
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
Quakes not maiden's heart:
'Tis of sterner stuff,
Gibbering ghosts though she
In the doorway see.
ANGANTYR
1
į
Listen, Hervor mine!
I'll a tale unfold;
Listen, daughter wise!
I'll thy fate foretell.
Trow my words or not,
Tyrfing's fate is this:
'Twill to all thy kin
Naught but mishap bring.
HERWARD
I will sure bewitch
All these champions slain;
Ye shall fated be
Ever and aye to lie
With the Draugies dead,
Rotting in your graves.
Give me, Angantyr,
Out your cairn straightway
Sword to harness dangerous,
Young Hjalmar's bane.
|
ANGANTYR
Maiden, I aver you're
Not of human mold,
Roaming 'mong the cairns
In the dead of night,
With engraved spear,
With a sword beside,
With helmet and with hauberk
My hell-door before.
1
1
1
HERWARD
:
Meseemed I altogether
Was framed in human mold
'Fore I visit paid
To your halls of death.
Hand me from the cairn
## p. 7893 (#85) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7893
Straight the Byrnie's foe,
Smithied by the dwarves;
To hide it won't avail.
ANGANTYR
I have 'neath my shoulder
Young Hjalmar's bane;
It is all enwrapped
In a sheet of flame.
On the earth I know not
Any maid so bold
That shall dare the sword
By the hand to take.
HERWARD
Gladly I will take it,
Gladly keep it too,
That sharp-edged sword,
If I have it may.
I've no fear at all
Of the burning flame;
Straight abates the fire
When thereon I gaze.
ANGANTYR
Foolish art thou, Hervor,
Though so stout of heart,
If with open eyes
In the fire you dart.
Rather will I hand thee
Out the cairn the sword.
Maiden young, I will not
Thy request refuse.
[The sword is cast out of the cairn. )
HERWARD
Well and bravely done,
Say I, viking's son!
Thou hast me the sword
Handed out the tomb.
Better far, methinks,
King, this precious boon,
## p. 7894 (#86) ############################################
7894
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
Than the whole of Norway
Were I to possess.
ANGANTYR
Ah! you do not know,
All too rash of speech,
Maiden void of counsel,
What is good or ill.
This sword Tyrfing will —
If you me can trow-
Will thy race hereafter
Utterly destroy.
HERWARD
Off to my sea-horses,
Off, off, and away!
Now the prince's daughter
Is all blithe of mood.
Little do I fear,
Sire of lordly strain,
What my race hereafter
Haply shall befall.
ANGANTYR
Long thou shalt possess it,
And enjoy it long;
Only keep it hidden,
Young Hjalmar's bane.
Touch not e'en its edges,
They are poisoned both;
Naught exists more baneful
Than this sword to man.
HERWARD
Dwellers in the cairns!
Dwell unscathed on.
I'm longing to be gone,
Fast I haste away.
I myself, methought,
Hung 'twixt life and death
When the roaring flame
Girt me all around.
## p. 7895 (#87) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7895
(
I may refer readers who would like to go more thoroughly into
the subject of Icelandic literature to study the volumes of Dr. Gud-
brand Vigfusson and Mr. York Powell, — in particular the Corpus
Poeticum Boreale; or, the Poetry of the Old Northern Tongue from
the Earliest Times to the Thirteenth Century,' edited, classified, and
translated, with Introduction, Excursuses, and Notes. The first of
these two volumes deals with the Eddic poems and with the early
Western and early historic epics, with interesting excursuses on the
beliefs and worships of the ancient Northmen, and on the Northern
and old Teutonic metres. The second volume is less interesting per-
haps to the ordinary reader, but should certainly also be read; and
also its interesting excursus on the figures and metres of the old
Northern poetry, with some reference to the ancient life, thought, and
belief as embodied therein. Again, the student should turn to Vig-
fusson's three or four volumes of Icelandic sagas, to E. Mogk's (Chap-
ters on Northern Literature, and to Hermann Paul's "Grundriss der
Germanischen Philologie. Again, there is one invaluable work of its
kind, -- Dr. Vigfusson's rendering of the Sturlunga Saga,' including
the Islendiga Saga' (untranslated) and other works; though it is for
the Prolegomena, Appendices, etc. , that this recommendation is given
to the non-Icelandic student. The general reader should consult Dr.
Metcalfe's (The Scandinavian and the Englishman,' with its delight-
ful chapters on Icelandic history and literature. Among the many
important and interesting articles in periodicals, I may specify in
particular Mr. York Powell's account of recent research on Teutonic
Mythology in the journal Folk Lore, Mr. J. H. Wisley's paper on
Saga Literature in Poet Lore, Mr. W. A. Craigie's important article
in Folk Lore on the oldest Icelandic folk-lore (with translations of
old sagas, etc. ), and Mr. York Powell's interesting account in Folk
Lore of (Saga Growth. '
Waaien Sharya
## p. 7896 (#88) ############################################
7896
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
(1796-1840)
(
>
OETHE, as early as 1823, speaking of Immermann, praised his
talents highly. “We shall see,” he said, “how he develops:
if he be willing to take the trouble to purify his taste and
to follow as regards form those models which are recognized as the
best. His originality has its value, but all too easily it may lead him
astray. ”
When Goethe passed this cautious judgment, Immermann was in
his twenty-seventh year; he had published only a few youthful dra-
mas and a volume of poems, which had
enrolled him among the Romanticists; many
years of ideal striving still lay before him
ere his versatile talents found their proper
sphere. He spent his life in writing dramas,
now for the most part forgotten; and at last
won his permanent place in literature by
two novels: Die Epigonen' (The Epigoni).
and the more widely known Münchhausen. '
The year following the publication of the
latter, he died.
Immermann was born at Magdeburg on
April 24th, 1796. He took up the study of
IMMERMANN law at the University of Halle; but when
all Germany rose in the wars for freedom
he abandoned his books and enlisted in the army. Illness prevented
him at first from taking an active part in the campaign; but after
the return of Napoleon from Elba, Immermann fought at the battles
of Ligny and Waterloo, and under the command of Blücher entered
Paris with the allied troops. He left the army with an officer's
rank, and for the next two years diligently pursued his law studies
at Halle. In 1817 he entered the service of the Prussian State. It
was during these two years that he attended the theatrical perform-
ances of the Weimar troupe, and received those impressions which
shaped his career as dramatist and dramaturgist. In his profession
he distinguished himself, and in a few years became a judge on the
bench of the criminal court at Magdeburg. In 1826 he was trans-
ferred to Düsseldorf, where he brought a literary element into the
circle of eminent artists already gathered there. Here for the first
## p. 7897 (#89) ############################################
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
7897
(
(
time his aspirations as a dramatist began to conflict with his profes-
sional duties. He obtained a release for one year, with permission to
undertake the direction of the City Theatre. In spite of the enthusi-
asm with which he devoted himself to this task, and the excellent
artistic results he secured, the enterprise failed through lack of pub-
lic support; but as a theatre director he had proven himself a worthy
follower in the footsteps of Goethe.
Goethe's influence is frequently observable in Immermann's works.
His Merlin,' which he has himself called "a tragedy of negation,”
has strong traces of the Faustspirit; but it is more purely alle-
gorical, treads the earth less firmly, and as Kuno Francke says, its
keynote is one of “discord and destruction, whereas that of Faust)
is one of hope and endeavor. ” In Immermann's first romance, “The
Epigoni, published in 1835, we have an echo of Goethe's Wilhelm
Meister. ) It portrays certain aspects of the age, with its vices and
its aspirations. It is designed to show the disastrous effects of mod-
ern civilization, with its changes in the methods of industrial produc-
tion. The author declares that with storm-like rapidity the present
age is moving on towards a dry mechanism. ” He calls the time
an age of the afterborn” (hence the title), and adds: “Of misfortune
there has been enough at all times. The curse of the present gen-
eration is to be miserable without any particular misfortune. ” There
is a pessimistic coloring in his portrait of the time, and he never
found the solution as Goethe did.
Of Immermann's numerous dramas, the most important after (Mer-
lin' is Das Trauerspiel in Tyrol' (The Tragedy in the Tyrol), pub-
lished in 1828. It is the story of the heroic patriot Andreas Hofer.
But the work with which in the public mind Immermann's name is
most intimately associated is his second and last romance, Münch-
hausen, eine Geschichte in Arabesken? (Münchhausen, a Story in
Arabesques), published in 1839. It consists of two loosely connected
stories, of which the love idyl of peasant life in Westphalia with its
survivals of patriarchal traditions - sometimes separately published
with the title of “The Oberhof — is full of genuine poetic feeling
and fineness of character-drawing. Here, as in “The Epigoni,' there
are master strokes of satire, and a wealth of grotesque humor which
sometimes suggests the incredible tales of the hero's grandfather.
This book is the author's ripest work.
Immermann married in 1839 the daughter of Chancellor Niemeyer,
and it was under the inspiration of this new happiness that he under-
took to give a form of his own to the love epic of Tristan and
Isolde. At the same time he began writing his memorabilia. Both
works remained unfinished. Immermann died on August 25th, 1840,
at Düsseldorf. He was not a seer, and so fell short of being a great
(
## p. 7898 (#90) ############################################
7898
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
poet. The features of the age were plain to him, and he depicted
them with the pen of a keen satirist; but he could not see what lay
behind, nor point out the ailment which caused them to be distorted.
He stood in opposition to his time; he sought his themes in remote
realms. Merlin is not a modern like Faust; and Immermann was
not, like Goethe, able to point the way humanity should go. But
although the remote mediaval traditions which still obtain at the
Oberhof lie far from the pathway of modern progress, there are a
strange beauty and pathos in this delightful Westphalian idyl which
render it a classic of the world's literature.
A WEDDING AND A BETROTHAL
From (Oberhof)
D
URING the singing the deacon ascended the pulpit, and when
he happened to let his eye sweep over the congregation
he had an unexpected sight. A fine gentleman from the
court was standing among the peasants, whose attention he ab-
sorbed; they were continually looking up from their hymn-books
and casting side glances at his decorations. The nobleman
wanted to look over the hymn-book with some one or other of
the peasants, that he might join in the singing; but as every one
stepped aside respectfully as soon as the gentleman approached,
he did not succeed, and merely caused an almost general disturb-
ance. For no sooner did he sit down on a bench than all the
peasants who were already seated slid over into the farthest cor-
ner, and fled the bench entirely when the noble gentleman slid
after them. This sliding and sliding was continued to the third
and even fourth bench; so that the gentleman from court, who
had come to the village service with the best intentions, finally
had to give up the hope of taking any part in it. He had busi-
ness in the neighborhood, and would not neglect the opportunity
of letting his graciousness win the hearts of these country people
for the throne to which he stood so near. As soon as he heard
of the peasant wedding, he therefore made up his mind to lend
it his amiable presence from beginning to end.
To the deacon the sight of the nobleman, whom he knew to
be from the brilliant circles of the capital, was not a weicome
He knew to what strange customs the sermon had to con-
form, and he dreaded the nobleman's ridicule. His thoughts lost
one.
## p. 7899 (#91) ############################################
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
7899
thereby their natural clearness, his expressions became somewhat
veiled, and the more he said the further he got away from the
point. His preoccupation increased when he noticed that the
nobleman sent him understanding glances, and nodded his head
approvingly in some places, generally where the speaker was the
least satisfied with himself. He therefore cut short the separate
parts of the address and hastened to get to the ceremony.
The bridal couple knelt down, and the fateful questions were
put to them. But then something happened which threw the
noble stranger into the most abject fear. To the right and to the
left of him, in front and behind him, he saw men and women,
girls and boys, drawing out stout ropes twisted of sackcloth. All
had risen and were whispering to each other, and looking about,
so it seemed to him, with wild malicious eyes. As it was impos-
sible for him to guess the meaning of this preparation, he lost
all self-control; and as the lashes were undoubtedly intended for
some one who was to be beaten, the thought came to him that
he would be the object of this general abuse. He remembered
how shyly everybody had got out of his way, and he considered
how rough was the character of the country people, and that the
peasants, ignorant of his gracious frame of mind, had decided to
get rid of the stranger who was in their way. All this passed
through his mind with lightning quickness, and he did not know
how to save his dignity and his body from the awful attack.
While he was still helplessly trying to make up his mind, the
deacon finished the ceremony, and immediately the wildest tumult
ensued. All the men and women, carrying rope lashes, rushed
forward swinging their weapons, screaming in a perfect frenzy;
the courtly gentleman scaled several benches with three strides
and reached the pulpit, which he at once ascended, and from this
elevated position he called down to the frenzied crowd below:
“I advise you not to attack me! I have the kindest and most
gracious feelings towards you; but every insult shown me, the
King will requite as if it had been shown to himself. ”
But the peasants, carried away with their purpose, did not
listen to this speech. They ran toward the altar, and on the
way one and another got a chance beating before they reached
the object for whom it was intended. This was the bridegroom.
Raising his hands above his head, he did his best to break a way
through the crowd, which let their lashes dance about his head
and shoulders, and for that matter anywhere where there was
## p. 7900 (#92) ############################################
7900
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
)
room to hit. Forcing a way for himself, he ran toward the church
door; but before he reached it he had received at least a hundred
strokes, and thus beaten black and blue he left the sanctuary on
his wedding day. Everybody pursued him; the bride's father and
the bride followed; the sexten immediately shut the door when
the last one had departed, and went into the vestry, from which
there was a special exit. The church had been emptied in a few
seconds.
But the nobleman was still standing in the pulpit, and the
deacon was standing at the altar bowing to the noble gentleman
with a friendly smile. When the former on his Ararat had seen
that the beating was not intended for him, he had let his arms
sink reassured; and now that everything had become still, he
asked the deacon: “But tell me for heaven's sake, sir, what meant
this furious scene, and what had the poor man done to his assail-
ants ? »
“Nothing, your Excellency,” answered the deacon, who in spite
of the holiness of the place could scarcely keep from laughing
at the sight of the little courtier in the pulpit. “This beating of
the bridegroom after the ceremony is a very old custom, which
the people will not abandon. The meaning, they say, is that the
bridegroom shall feel how a beating hurts, that he may not abuse
his wife. ”
“Well, well, these are indeed strange customs! murmured
his Excellency, as he descended from the pulpit. The deacon re-
ceived him most courteously below, and was honored with three
kisses on his flat cheek. Then the clergyman led his noble
acquaintance into the vestry, that he might let him out into
the open air that way. The still intimidated man said he would
have to consider whether he could take part in the rest of the fes-
tivities. And on the way to the vestry the clergyman expressed
his deep regret that he had not known earlier of his Excellen-
cy's intentions, as he would then have been able to tell him of
the beating custom, and thus have saved him the terror and
alarm.
When they had both gone, the church was still and silent. It
was a pretty little chapel, clean and not too brilliantly colored: a
rich protector had done a great deal for it. The ceiling was
painted blue, with golden stars; on the pulpit was ingenious
wood carving; and among the tombstones of the old clergymen
which covered the floor, there were even three or four made of
»
## p. 7901 (#93) ############################################
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
7901
brass. The benches were kept clean and neat. A beautiful
cloth covered the altar, above which rose a set of twisted col-
umns painted to look like marble.
The light fell bright into the little church, the trees rustled
outside, and once in a while a little draught of air making its
way through a broken pane stirred the white scarf of the angel
over the baptismal font, or the tinsel of the crowns which had
been taken from the coffins of young girls, and which were now
decorating the columns.
Bride and bridegroom were gone, the bridal procession was
gone, and yet the little church was not entirely forsaken. Two
young people were still there, and did not know of each other's
presence; and it had happened in this way: The hunter had left
the bridal couple when they entered the church, and had gone
quietly up-stairs. There he sat down on a footstool unseen by
the others, with his back to them and to the altar, alone with
himself. He buried his face in his hands, but he could not
stand this long; his face, forehead, and cheeks burned too hotly.
The deep serious tones of the church hymn fell like a cooling
dew upon his passion, and he thanked God that at last the high-
est happiness had been vouchsafed him; and with the pious
words which came up to him from below he mixed his worldly
lines:-
« Whether laughing or in earnest,
By a sweet right thou art mine. »
A little child who had slipped up out of curiosity he took
softly by the hand and patted.
renaissance,- of great results, however, for the ultimate preservation
of much of the ancient Icelandic literature. With the eighteenth cen-
tury came the lowest ebb in Icelandic destinies. In the seventh
year of that century, small-pox destroyed one third of the population;
in 1759 a terrible famine occurred, in which 10,000 perished; in
1762 the sheep plague devastated the island; in 1765 an alarming
volcanic eruption happened, followed eighteen years later by the
great eruption of 1783. But though from 1850, or from the earlier
free constitution in Denmark, the fourth or modern period of Ice-
land opened more auspiciously, the country has not yet produced a
new literature. With increasing wealth and population, with home
rule, and with increased advantages of all kinds, Iceland, while cer-
tainly sending out into the world many eminent scholars and men
of action, has not yet succeeded in recovering any of her ancient lit-
erary glory.
It is then to the long early period of the Commonwealth that we
must look for that Icelandic literature which is the glory of the North-
ern races. This period of the Commonwealth extends over about four
hundred years; that is, from the first settlement by colonists from
the Western Isles and Norway in 870, to the submission to the Nor-
wegian kings and the subsequent national changes towards the close
of the thirteenth century. This period again is divisible into three
sections: the Heroic Age, the Saga-building Period, and the Literary
Age. Up to close upon the middle of the tenth century, it is the
poetry of the West Islands, rather than that of the Norse immigrants,
which has to be accepted as the basis of Icelandic literature. For a
hundred years thereafter — that is, from 930 to 1030 — the Icelandic
poets were mostly singers abroad; vikings whom the old restless
spirit of adventure carried far west, far south, or back up to that tur-
bulent East whence their forbears had come. The early period of
saga-telling is a brief one, and is coincident with the entry of Christ-
ianity into the island, and while the events of the later sagas were
in actual occurrence. Broadly, this is from 1030 to 1100.
For one
hundred and eighty years thereafter there comes the period known as
the Literary Age, in which flourished Ari and his school, Thorodd, the
historic saga-writers, Snorri and his school, and the famous Sturla.
XIV-493
## p. 7874 (#66) ############################################
7874
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
It was in the first half of the twelfth century that vernacular writing
began. If the civil wars which prevailed from near the beginning of
the thirteenth century until the fall of the great houses after the
second civil wars, which culminated years later in the submission to
the Norwegian kings,- if all these interfered in some respects with
the development of literature, it is significant to note that here in
remote Iceland, as in Rome in the past and the mediæval Italy and
Elizabethan England, a period of stress and strife seems in many
ways to have enhanced the literary sense, and to have proved advan-
tageous for the cultivation of letters. “In the opinion of those most
competent to judge,” writes one of the few American critics who
have interested themselves in this Old World saga literature, this
early Icelandic literature has never been surpassed, if equaled, in all
that gives value to that portion of history which consists in spirited
delineations of character, in faithful and lively pictures of events,
among nations in a rude state of society. ”
Although the sagas were first written about the middle of the
twelfth century, the greater sagas were not composed into their
present shape till about 1220. To that year or thereabouts is dated
the 'Egla Saga'; the Laxdaela' about 1230, the Niala' about 1240,
and the Eyrbyggia' about 1260. Snorri who died in 1241, and Sturla
who died in 1284, are the two great names which are the ornament
of that heroic period of Icelandic literature which makes a large part
of the thirteenth century so memorable to its students. The oldest
existing manuscript, however, does not go so far back.
posed to be the Flatöe Manuscript, so called from its discovery in
the monastery which bore that name. This Flatöe Manuscript is of
incalculable value apart from its literary interest; for it contains the
sagas devoted to the history of the pre-Columbian discoveries of the
Northmen. This manuscript was known to be in existence as early
as the year 1395; that is, about one hundred years before the re-
discovery of the American continent by Cabot and Columbus. One
of the sagas included within its scope, that known as the Saga of
Thorfinn, was actually written in Greenland, where during the years
1006 and 1007 the colonists as the saga-man says, who had resorted
thither from Iceland, "sought amusement in reciting history. ”
Jardar the Dane is supposed to have been the first person who
made a voyage northward to Iceland, though its early name of Snow-
land was given to it by the pirate Nododd about the year 864.
There is little question however but that Iceland was known to the
Irish Gaels, and possibly also to the Britons, before this. We have
the authority of Ari Frode, in the 'Landnama Book,' in testimony of
the fact that when the first Norsemen entered Iceland they found
Irish monks already residing there.
This is sup-
## p. 7875 (#67) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7875
It is seldom that the characteristics of a race are more clearly
shown in the physiognomy of its literature than in the instance of
the Icelanders and the Icelandic sagas. Their mental and physical
intrepidity are proverbial; and this quality is exemplified again and
again throughout the early and late sagas and Eddas. Directness,
simplicity, and intrepidity, whether of mind or body,- these qualities
distinguish the Northmen of old, and the many characteristics of the
national expression of their life. For the rest, we find in the sagas,
along with the development of individual and national epic themes, a
great many superstitions; some of them folk-lore survivals, and others
integral portions of the sombrely imaginative Scandinavian. While
the combative spirit displayed throughout this early literature has its
counterpart in the Celtic sagas, it is not combined as there with the
same fantasy, color, and vivacity we find in the best early Gaelic
chronicles. But throughout we hear in them the clash of swords, the
surge of the sea, the blowing of the north wind, the full simple
heroic words of the heroic man, the full simple words of passion and
devotion of heroic women, and above all and through all the influ-
ence of mighty forces of destiny and fate. In the later sagas this
element of the workings of fate degenerates into so-called religious
teaching, but even here the old pagan spirit is observable; as in
the almost passionate emphasis laid upon the doctrine of retribution
for sin, and in the sombre pictures of the life which awaits the
sinner in the next world. As an anonymous writer has said:–«We
recognize in the old saga literature the same bold indomitable spirit
that led the Northmen victoriously up the Areopagus at Athens;
gave the swing to sword and battle-axe in the streets of Constanti-
nople; enabled them to seize Novgorod and found the line of pre-
Slavonic czars who ruled until 1598; and that caused the cheek of
Charlemagne to turn pale, while priest and monk on trembling knees
put up the suffrage, (From the fear of the Normans, good Lord
deliver us. ) )
Here is an instance illustrative of the physical courage of the old
Northern mind. It is from the death-song of Ragnar Lodbrok, a
poem belonging to the close of the eighth century, and with the
peculiar alliterative effects characteristic of the metrical literature
of that period :-
WE HEWED with our swords
quick goes all to my heirs.
Grim stings the adder;
snake house in my heart;
but soon Vithris's lance
shall stand fast in Ella.
Rage will swell my sons
## p. 7876 (#68) ############################################
7876
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
to hear their father's doom;
ne'er will those gallant youths
rest till avenged.
We hewed with our swords;
full fifty times my lance,
the messenger of death,
raged through the battle.
It was my boyhood's play
to stain my lance with blood.
Methinks than I, no king
can boast of brighter deeds.
We must to Asar call,
and without grief I go.
We hewed with our swords;
home invite we the Diser,
the maidens of Odin.
With them and the Asar
high seated shall we
there the mead quaff;
fled are my life's hours,
yet I die smiling.
So likewise Harold, the valiant rover, tells us of his own courage,
lamenting that after all a Russian maid, Elizabeth daughter of Jani-
slaus, should refuse him. We give only a part of the poem :-
My ship hath sailed round the isle of Sicily;
Then were we all splendid and gay.
My mirror-laden ship then swiftly along the waves,
Eager for the fight,
I thought my sails would never slacken:
And yet a Russian maid disdains me.
With the men of Drontheim I fought in my youth.
They had troops much greater in numbers,
Dreadful was the conflict;
Young as I was, I left their young king dead in
the fight:
And yet a Russian maid disdains me.
Well do I know the eight exercises:
I fight with courage,
I keep a firm seat on horseback,
And skilled am I in swimming.
## p. 7877 (#69) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7877
Along the ice glide I on skates,
I excel in darting the lance,
I am dexterous at the par:
And yet a Russian maid disdains me.
As an example of prose narrative, here is a brief excerpt descript-
ive of the death of the Jarl Ronald, A. D. 1046, as told in the famous
Orkney Saga':-
EARL RONALD lay at Kirkwall and collected thither all sorts
of supplies for the winter, having with him a large following
whom he entertained regardless of cost. A little before Jule, the
earl started with a numerous retinue for the Lesser Papa to fetch
malt. In the evening, as they sat a long time baking their
limbs at the fire, the man who kept it up said the fuel was get-
ting short. On which the jarl made a slip of the tongue. He
said, “We shall be old enough when this fire is burnt out. ” But
he meant to have said, “We shall be warm enough. ” And when
he perceived it he said, “I made a slip of the tongue [misspoke];
I never did so before, that I can mind. This reminds me of
what King Olaf, my foster-father, said at Sticklestad when I
observed his slip of the tongue.
He said that if ever I made a
slip of the tongue, I must make up my mind to have a short
time left to live. Maybe my kinsman Thorfinn is alive. ” At
this moment they heard people all round the house. Earl Thor-
finn was come, and they set fire to the buildings and heaped
up a great pile before the doors. Thorfinn permitted all but the
earl's men to go out. And when most of the people had come
out, a man came into the doorway, dressed in linen clothes only,
and begged Thorfinn to give the deacon a helping hand. At the
same moment he placed his hand on the balk of wood (across
the door), sprang right over it and beyond the ring of men, and
fled away in the darkness of the night. Earl Thorfinn bade
them follow after him, and said, “There fared the earl: it was
one of his feats of strength and nobody's else. ” The men set off
in search, separating into knots. Thorkell Foster searched along
the shore, when they heard a dog bark among the rocks. Earl
Ronald had his lapdog with him. The earl was captured, and
Thorkell bade his men kill him, offering them money. But all
the same they refused. So Thorkell himself slew him, for he
knew that one or the other of them would have to do it. Earl
Thorfinn now came up, and blamed not the deed. They spent
(
## p. 7878 (#70) ############################################
7878
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
the night on the island slaughtering the whole of Ronald's fol-
lowers. Next morning they laded the merchant ship with malt,
then went aboard, placing in the prow and stern the shields
which Ronald and his men had, and no more men upon her
than had come with the earl, and then rowed to Kirkwall. As
Ronald's men supposed that it must be the earl and his followers
coming back, they went to meet them unarmed. Earl Thorfinn
seized and killed thirty, most of them being King Magnus's men
and friends of his. One retainer of the King's he let go, bidding
him fare to Norway and tell King Magnus the news.
It is however in the rough metres of Scandinavian poetry that
one most easily apprehends the genius of this Northern people. To
take an extract (not much earlier in date than the foregoing, namely
in 1014) from the famous Nial's Saga. The extract in question is
known as the “Spaedom of the Norns,' and is supposed to have been
based on the vision of some man of Caithness gifted with second-
sight to foretell the result of the great battle of Clontarf. The
expression in it “web of spears, however, points to a much earlier
legend. Here is the literal translation of the Spaedom as given by
Sir G. Dasent:-
S"
EE! warp is stretched
For warrior's fall;
Lo, weft in loom,
'Tis wet with blood;
Now, fight foreboding,
'Neath friends' swift fingers
Our gray woof waxeth
With war's alarms,
Our warp blood-red,
Our weft corse-blue.
This woof is y-woven
With entrails of men;
This warp is hard weighted
With heads of the slain;
Spears blood-besprinkled
For spindles we use,
Our loom iron-bound,
And arrows our reels;
With swords for our shuttles
This war-woof we work;
So weave we, weird sisters,
Our war-winning woof.
## p. 7879 (#71) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7879
Now war-winner walketh
To weave in her turn,
Now Sword-swinger steppeth,
Now Swift-stroke, now Storm;
When they speed the shuttle
How spear-heads shall flash!
Shields crash, and helm-gnawer
On harness bite hard !
Wind we, wind swiftly
Our war-winning woof,
Woof erst for king youthful,
Foredoomed as his own.
Forth now we will ride,
Then, through the ranks rushing,
Be busy where friends
Blows blithe give and take.
Wind we, wind swiftly
Our war-winning woof;
After that let us steadfastly
Stand by the brave king;
Then men shall mark mournful
Their shields red with gore,
How Sword-stroke and Spear-thrust
Stood stout by the prince.
Wind we, wind swiftly
Our war-winning woof,
When sword-bearing rovers
To banners rush on.
Mind, maidens, we spare not
One life in the fray;
We corse-choosing sisters
Have charge of the slain.
Now new-coming nations
That island shall rule,
Who on outlying headlands
Abode ere the fight;
I say that king mighty
To death now is done,
Now low before spear-point
That Earl bows his head.
## p. 7880 (#72) ############################################
7880
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
Soon over all Ersemen
Sharp sorrow shall fall,
That woe to those warriors
Shall wane nevermore.
Our woof now is woven,
Now battle-field waste,
O'er land and o'er water
War tidings shall leap.
Now surely 'tis gruesome
To gaze all around,
When blood-red through heaven
Drives cloud-rack o'erhead:
Air soon shall be deep-hued
With dying men's blood,
When this our spaedom
Comes speedy to pass.
So cheerily chant we
Charms for the young king;
Come, maidens, lift loudly
His war-winning lay:
Let him who now listens
Learn well with his ears,
And gladden brave swordsmen
With bursts of war's song.
Now mount we our horses,
Now bare we our brands,
Now haste we hard, maidens,
Hence, far, far away.
Among the old historic songs which preceded the great saga epoch
there is one attributed to Thiodolf (others say to Hornklofi), which
Dr. Metcalfe affirms in those days would be equivalent in popularity
and significance to the once famous Lillibullero' or the later Ye
Mariners of England. '
H
AVE you heard of the fight
At Hafrsfjord
'Tween a high-born king
And Kiotni the Rich ?
Came ships from the est,
All keen for the fray,
With silver inlaid,
And agape were their beaks.
## p. 7881 (#73) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7881
They were manned with Udallers,
And piled with white shields,
And West Country spears,
And Gallic swords.
Bellowed the Bare-sarks
In Hilda's train;
The Wolf-skins howled
'Mid the din of iron.
They put to the proof
One who taught them to fly,
The dauntless King Harold,
The Lord of Utstein.
He launched from the shore
In view of the stir;
What a thumping of shields
Ere Haklang fell!
He tired right soon
Of facing King Harfagr;
To an island fled he,
The thick-throated ruler.
Under the row-seat
The wounded they huddled,
With backs stuck up
And faces bent down.
In the storm of stones,
As they fled, they cast
On their backs their shields,
Bright roof of Valhalla.
Wild with fear, they fled home
Around Jadar's shores,
On their mead-bowls intent,
From Hafrsfjord.
The Hornklofi mentioned above, whose name signifies “horn-
cleaver,” was really a poet named Thorbjorn. In the Fagrskinna
there are some lines of great interest by him, describing the court of
the King, the famous Harold Fairhair, a contemporary of Alfred the
Great.
The skald relates an imaginary conversation between a Valkyr
and some ravens, who, being the constant companions of Harold in
his expeditions, were able to gratify the lady's curiosity about him.
In literal prose it runs:
## p. 7882 (#74) ############################################
7832
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
L
ISTEN, ye ring-bearers [i. e. , nobles),
While I recount the accomplishments
Of King Harold,
The immensely rich;
I must tell of the colloquy
Which I heard between
A white fair-haired maid
And a raven.
Wise was the Valkyr;
She knew the voice of birds.
The white-throated one,
The sharp-sighted one,
Spoke to the air-cleaver,
Who sat on a point of the rocks:
«Why here, ye ravens ?
Whence are ye come,
With gory beak,
At the approach of day?
Flesh sticks to your claws,
The reek of carrion comes from your mouth:
Surely you set off by night,
For ye knew that corpses lay on the plain. ”
He of the plumed skull shook his feathers;
The eagle's sworn brother
Dried his beak,
And bethought him of an answer :-
« We've followed Harold,
Halfdan's son,
The young noble,
Ever since the egg we left.
"I thought you'd know the King,
He who abides at Hvin,
The lord of the Northmen,
Who owns the deep galleys,
The ruddy-rimmed shields,
The tarred oars,
The weather-stained awnings.
«He'll drink his Yule feast at sea,
If he alone shall decide,
This courageous chief,
## p. 7883 (#75) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7883
And play Frey's game.
The youth loathes the fireside
And sitting at home;
The warm ladies' bower,
And cushions stuffed with down. ”
The Valkyr then asks whether Harold is munificent to his men :-
“Many a present
His warriors get,
Who in Harold's court
Throw with the dice;
They're with money endowed,
And handsome swords,
With German armor,
And Eastern slaves.
« Then are they glad,
The skillful men-at-arms,
Agile to jump
And swing the oars,
Till they break the loops
And snap the thole-pins;
Splash goes the water
At the word of the King. ”
The condition of the court skalds is next described:-
«You may see by their trappings
And their gold rings
That they're familiar with the King;
They're possessed of red cloaks,
And fair-riinmed shields,
And silver-strapped swords,
And gilt belts,
And chased helmets,
And armlets good store,
These servants of Harold. ”
His Berserker champions are next described :
« Wolf-skins they're hight,
They who in battle
Bear the bloody shields,
Who redden the spears
When they gather to the fray,
When they rush to the onset. ”
## p. 7884 (#76) ############################################
7884
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
1
16
1
The poem concludes with a description of the players and jug-
glers at Harold's court. Some of them indulge in unheard-of pranks,
to the great amusement of the King.
Allusion has already been made to an Icelandic poet named Eyvind
Skalda-spiller. His Háconamál' is considered one of the best samples
of skaldic poetry extant. The Hacon referred to in the title was
Hacon the Good (925-961), one of the two sons of Harold Fairhair
and the foster-son of the Anglo-Saxon King Athelstan.
HÁCONAMÁL
G
ONDUL and Skögul
The gods of the Goths sent
To choose 'mong the kings
Of Yngvi's race which
With Odin should fare
And live in Valhalla.
Bjorn's brother found they
Faring in mail-coat,
Marching 'neath gonfalon
Scared were the foe,
The shafts shook,
The battle began.
« On, Halogalanders!
On, ye West-Islanders! ”
Cried the earl-slayer,
Rushed to the fray.
Well did his Northmen
Follow their noble lord,
Dread of the Isle Danes,
Helmed in gold.
i
Flung off his armor
Down on the plain,
The chief of the body-guard,
Ere he set on.
Joked with his men-at-arms,
“We'll keep the land safe;"
Laughed the King gayly,
Helmed in gold.
So sliced his sharp sword
In the chief's hand
## p. 7885 (#77) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7885
Right through the mail-coats
As they were water.
Crash went the arrows,
Split were the shields;
Rattled the blades
On the foemen's skulls.
Through targets tough,
Through plates of iron,
Smashed irresistible
The Norse King's brand.
Th' isle pealed with battle-din,
Crimsoned the kings
Their glistening shields
In the blood of the throng.
Quivered the flashing swords
In the wounds gory;
Louted the halberds,
Greedy of life:
Soused the red wound-stream
'Gainst the splashed bucklers;
Fell crimson arrow-rain
On Stord's shore.
All blood-bedabbled
Surged the fierce fray;
Thundered the shield-rims
'Mid storm of war;
Pattered down point-stream
Odin's red shower.
Many fell fainting
In their life's blood.
Sat were the princes,
Drawn were their swords,
Battered their bucklers,
Armor all gashed;
Ill at ease felt the
Monarch, for he was
Bound to Valhalla.
Gondul she spoke,
Leaning on spear-shaft:-
«Grows the gods' company;
They have bid Hacon,
## p. 7886 (#78) ############################################
7886
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
With a great retinue,
Home to their hall! »
Heard the fey chieftain
What said the Valkyr —
Maids from their steeds;
Thoughtful their faces looked
As they sat helmed,
Sheltered with shields.
HACON
Why so the contest
Deal'st thou, Geirskögul?
Worthy of victory
We from the gods! ”
SKÖGUL
« We were the cause
The battle you won
And the foes fled.
Now will we speed,”
Quoth mighty Skögul,
« To heaven's green glades,
King Odin to tell
A great lord is coming,
Who longs him to see! »
«Hermod and Bragi,”
Quoth aloud Odin,
« Go meet the chieftain;
Hither is faring
A king, and a valiant one,
Lo! to my hall. ”
The captain he cried,
Just fresh from the fray,
All dripping with gore:-
“Very hard-hearted
Truly meseemeth
Odin to be. ”
ODIN
“All of my warriors
Welcome thee in!
Drink of our ale-cups,
Bane of the Jarls. ”
## p. 7887 (#79) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7887
«Already you've here
Eight brothers," quoth Bragi.
HACON
“All our war-gear,”
Quoth the good King,
«Ourselves will we hold;
Our helmet and mail,
We'll guard them full well;
'Tis pleasant to handle the spear. ”
Then straight it appeared
How the good King had
Protected the temples,
For Hacon they bade
Be heartily welcome,
The assembly of gods.
On fortunate day
Was that monarch born,
With such a mind gifted;
His age and day
Must ever be held
In kindly remembrance.
Ere will break his chain
And rush on mankind
Fell Fenris wolf,
Ere a man so good
In his footsteps tread,
One of royal birth
Riches depart,
And likewise friends,
The land is laid waste:
Since Hacon fared
To the heathen gods,
Sunk have many to slaves.
After the death of Hacon the Good, all the Norwegian court
skalds named in the chronicles were Icelanders; so that from about
the year 950 to the death of King Eric Magnusson in 1299, Icelandic
skalds only were the court poets of Norway. The first Danish king
mentioned as having been commemorated by an Icelandic poet (Ottar
the Black) was Sweyn Forkbeard, who died in 1014; and the last, it
may be added, was Waldemar II. , who died in 1241. Nor should we
forget that two of our English kings, Athelstan and Ethelred, were
commemorated in the tenth or beginning of the eleventh century by
## p. 7888 (#80) ############################################
!
1
7888
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
two famous Northmen, Egil Skalagrim and Gunnlaug Serpent-tongue.
“In England,” says Dr. Metcalfe, basing his remarks on those of Jon
Sigurdson, “the age of Northern poetry may be said to have lasted
down to the Norman conquest, or about the middle of the eleventh
century; in Denmark and Sweden, to the middle of the thirteenth; in
Norway, till a little over the end of that century. ”
Finally, I may quote one interesting poem of the nature common
to all the Northern races. It occurs in the Hervorar Saga, which has
been attributed to the thirteenth century; but the poem in question
bears so strong an old Norse impress that the German critic Müller
places its composition as certainly not later than the tenth or at
least the eleventh century. The story is interesting as setting forth
the record of one of those Amazonian heroines who occur in every
popular literature. This heroine was named Hervor. She was the
daughter of a famous knight, Angantyr, who for love's sake fought
a duel with the famous Hjalmar on Samsö, an island off Jutland.
Though Angantyr fought with the sword Tyrfing, forged by the trolls
Dvalin and Dulin, which never missed its aim, he perhaps forgot
the other quality of the sword, that it always brought death to its
The result was that he and all his Berserkers were slain on
this remote island. His daughter Hervor, when she grew up, really
turned viking; daubing her lily-white hands with pitch and tar,”
as the skald wrote. She became a viking in fact, and assumed the
name of Herward.
So in the course of time she came to the haven
of Munarvoe in Samsö, where her father Angantyr lay buried in the
green mound. At sunset she goes alone on shore, and there she
meets a shepherd. The dialogue between them, and the weird scene
of the cairns flaming into life, are graphically told, as also the appear-
ance of Angantyr himself.
owner.
i
SHEPHERD
Ho art all alone
To this island come ?
Haste and seek some cot
For to shelter in.
W"
1
HERWARD
I will never go
Shelter for to seek,
For I none do know
Of the island beards.
Tell me speedily,
'Fore you go from hence,
## p. 7889 (#81) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7889
Whereabout's the spot
Known as Herward's cairn ?
SHEPHERD
Don't about it speer,
If thou’rt truly wise.
Thou, the viking's friend,
In great peril art.
Let us speed away,
Haste with might and main:
All abroad are horrors
For the sons of men.
HERWARD
Here a brooch I'll give you
If you'll tell me true.
Vain to try to hinder
Thus the viking's friend.
No! the brightest treasure,
All the rings on earth,
Would not let or hinder
Me from my intent.
SHEPHERD
Foolish is, methinks,
He who hither fares,
All alone and friendless
In the murky night.
Flames are flickering,
Cairns are opening,
Burning earth and fen;
Let us hurry on.
HERWARD
I am not afeard
At such snorting sounds,
E'en though all the island
Bursts out in a blaze.
Do not let us two
By the champions dead
Thus be made to shiver;
Let us have discourse!
XIV-494
## p. 7890 (#82) ############################################
7890
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
- Then the herdsman filed
To the forest near,
Frightened by the speech
Of this manly maid.
Of undaunted mettle
Fashioned, Hervor's breast
Swelled within her fiercely
At the shepherd's fright.
She now sees the cairns all alight and the howe-dwellers standing
outside, but is not afraid; passes through the me as if it were
only reek, till she gets to the Berserker's howe. Then she speaks :-
HERWARD
Wake thee, Angantyr;
Hervor waketh thee.
I'm the only daughter
Of Tofa and of thee:
Give me from the howe
That sword whetted sharp,
Which for Swarfurlam
Was forged by the dwarves.
Hervard and Hjorvard,
Hran and Angantyr!
I wake you, ye buried
Under the forest roots,
With your helm and mail-sark,
With your whetted sword,
With your polished shields,
And your bloody darts.
1
Ye are turned indeed,
Arngrim's sons so bold,
Such redoubted champions,
To poor bits of mold,
If of Eyfur's sons,
Not one dares with me
To come and hold discourse
Here in Munarvoe.
1
Hervard and Hjorvard,
Hran and Angantyr!
May it be to all
Of you within your hearts
## p. 7891 (#83) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7891
As if you were in ant-hills,
With torments dire bested,
Unless to me the sword
Ye give that Dvalin forged.
It not beseemeth Draugies
Such weapons choice to hide.
ANGANTYR
Hervor, my daughter, why
Dost thou cry out so loud ?
Thou’rt hastening to destruction,
Past all redemption, maid!
'Tis mad you are become,
Bereft of sober sense;
You must be wandering, surely,
To wake up men long dead.
HERWARD
One thing tell me true,
So may Odin shield thee:
In thy ancient cairn,
Tell me, hast thou there
The sword Tyrfing hight?
Oh, you're very slow
A small boon to grant
To your single heir.
[The cairn opens, and it seems all ablaze. )
ANGANTYR
Hell gates have sunk down,
Opened is the cairn;
See, the island's shore
Is all bathed in flame;
All abroad are sights
Fearful to behold.
Haste thee, while there's time,
Maiden, to thy ships.
HERWARD
Were you burning bright,
Like bale-fire at night,
I'd not fear a jot;
Your fierce burning flame
## p. 7892 (#84) ############################################
7892
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
Quakes not maiden's heart:
'Tis of sterner stuff,
Gibbering ghosts though she
In the doorway see.
ANGANTYR
1
į
Listen, Hervor mine!
I'll a tale unfold;
Listen, daughter wise!
I'll thy fate foretell.
Trow my words or not,
Tyrfing's fate is this:
'Twill to all thy kin
Naught but mishap bring.
HERWARD
I will sure bewitch
All these champions slain;
Ye shall fated be
Ever and aye to lie
With the Draugies dead,
Rotting in your graves.
Give me, Angantyr,
Out your cairn straightway
Sword to harness dangerous,
Young Hjalmar's bane.
|
ANGANTYR
Maiden, I aver you're
Not of human mold,
Roaming 'mong the cairns
In the dead of night,
With engraved spear,
With a sword beside,
With helmet and with hauberk
My hell-door before.
1
1
1
HERWARD
:
Meseemed I altogether
Was framed in human mold
'Fore I visit paid
To your halls of death.
Hand me from the cairn
## p. 7893 (#85) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7893
Straight the Byrnie's foe,
Smithied by the dwarves;
To hide it won't avail.
ANGANTYR
I have 'neath my shoulder
Young Hjalmar's bane;
It is all enwrapped
In a sheet of flame.
On the earth I know not
Any maid so bold
That shall dare the sword
By the hand to take.
HERWARD
Gladly I will take it,
Gladly keep it too,
That sharp-edged sword,
If I have it may.
I've no fear at all
Of the burning flame;
Straight abates the fire
When thereon I gaze.
ANGANTYR
Foolish art thou, Hervor,
Though so stout of heart,
If with open eyes
In the fire you dart.
Rather will I hand thee
Out the cairn the sword.
Maiden young, I will not
Thy request refuse.
[The sword is cast out of the cairn. )
HERWARD
Well and bravely done,
Say I, viking's son!
Thou hast me the sword
Handed out the tomb.
Better far, methinks,
King, this precious boon,
## p. 7894 (#86) ############################################
7894
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
Than the whole of Norway
Were I to possess.
ANGANTYR
Ah! you do not know,
All too rash of speech,
Maiden void of counsel,
What is good or ill.
This sword Tyrfing will —
If you me can trow-
Will thy race hereafter
Utterly destroy.
HERWARD
Off to my sea-horses,
Off, off, and away!
Now the prince's daughter
Is all blithe of mood.
Little do I fear,
Sire of lordly strain,
What my race hereafter
Haply shall befall.
ANGANTYR
Long thou shalt possess it,
And enjoy it long;
Only keep it hidden,
Young Hjalmar's bane.
Touch not e'en its edges,
They are poisoned both;
Naught exists more baneful
Than this sword to man.
HERWARD
Dwellers in the cairns!
Dwell unscathed on.
I'm longing to be gone,
Fast I haste away.
I myself, methought,
Hung 'twixt life and death
When the roaring flame
Girt me all around.
## p. 7895 (#87) ############################################
ICELANDIC LITERATURE
7895
(
I may refer readers who would like to go more thoroughly into
the subject of Icelandic literature to study the volumes of Dr. Gud-
brand Vigfusson and Mr. York Powell, — in particular the Corpus
Poeticum Boreale; or, the Poetry of the Old Northern Tongue from
the Earliest Times to the Thirteenth Century,' edited, classified, and
translated, with Introduction, Excursuses, and Notes. The first of
these two volumes deals with the Eddic poems and with the early
Western and early historic epics, with interesting excursuses on the
beliefs and worships of the ancient Northmen, and on the Northern
and old Teutonic metres. The second volume is less interesting per-
haps to the ordinary reader, but should certainly also be read; and
also its interesting excursus on the figures and metres of the old
Northern poetry, with some reference to the ancient life, thought, and
belief as embodied therein. Again, the student should turn to Vig-
fusson's three or four volumes of Icelandic sagas, to E. Mogk's (Chap-
ters on Northern Literature, and to Hermann Paul's "Grundriss der
Germanischen Philologie. Again, there is one invaluable work of its
kind, -- Dr. Vigfusson's rendering of the Sturlunga Saga,' including
the Islendiga Saga' (untranslated) and other works; though it is for
the Prolegomena, Appendices, etc. , that this recommendation is given
to the non-Icelandic student. The general reader should consult Dr.
Metcalfe's (The Scandinavian and the Englishman,' with its delight-
ful chapters on Icelandic history and literature. Among the many
important and interesting articles in periodicals, I may specify in
particular Mr. York Powell's account of recent research on Teutonic
Mythology in the journal Folk Lore, Mr. J. H. Wisley's paper on
Saga Literature in Poet Lore, Mr. W. A. Craigie's important article
in Folk Lore on the oldest Icelandic folk-lore (with translations of
old sagas, etc. ), and Mr. York Powell's interesting account in Folk
Lore of (Saga Growth. '
Waaien Sharya
## p. 7896 (#88) ############################################
7896
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
(1796-1840)
(
>
OETHE, as early as 1823, speaking of Immermann, praised his
talents highly. “We shall see,” he said, “how he develops:
if he be willing to take the trouble to purify his taste and
to follow as regards form those models which are recognized as the
best. His originality has its value, but all too easily it may lead him
astray. ”
When Goethe passed this cautious judgment, Immermann was in
his twenty-seventh year; he had published only a few youthful dra-
mas and a volume of poems, which had
enrolled him among the Romanticists; many
years of ideal striving still lay before him
ere his versatile talents found their proper
sphere. He spent his life in writing dramas,
now for the most part forgotten; and at last
won his permanent place in literature by
two novels: Die Epigonen' (The Epigoni).
and the more widely known Münchhausen. '
The year following the publication of the
latter, he died.
Immermann was born at Magdeburg on
April 24th, 1796. He took up the study of
IMMERMANN law at the University of Halle; but when
all Germany rose in the wars for freedom
he abandoned his books and enlisted in the army. Illness prevented
him at first from taking an active part in the campaign; but after
the return of Napoleon from Elba, Immermann fought at the battles
of Ligny and Waterloo, and under the command of Blücher entered
Paris with the allied troops. He left the army with an officer's
rank, and for the next two years diligently pursued his law studies
at Halle. In 1817 he entered the service of the Prussian State. It
was during these two years that he attended the theatrical perform-
ances of the Weimar troupe, and received those impressions which
shaped his career as dramatist and dramaturgist. In his profession
he distinguished himself, and in a few years became a judge on the
bench of the criminal court at Magdeburg. In 1826 he was trans-
ferred to Düsseldorf, where he brought a literary element into the
circle of eminent artists already gathered there. Here for the first
## p. 7897 (#89) ############################################
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
7897
(
(
time his aspirations as a dramatist began to conflict with his profes-
sional duties. He obtained a release for one year, with permission to
undertake the direction of the City Theatre. In spite of the enthusi-
asm with which he devoted himself to this task, and the excellent
artistic results he secured, the enterprise failed through lack of pub-
lic support; but as a theatre director he had proven himself a worthy
follower in the footsteps of Goethe.
Goethe's influence is frequently observable in Immermann's works.
His Merlin,' which he has himself called "a tragedy of negation,”
has strong traces of the Faustspirit; but it is more purely alle-
gorical, treads the earth less firmly, and as Kuno Francke says, its
keynote is one of “discord and destruction, whereas that of Faust)
is one of hope and endeavor. ” In Immermann's first romance, “The
Epigoni, published in 1835, we have an echo of Goethe's Wilhelm
Meister. ) It portrays certain aspects of the age, with its vices and
its aspirations. It is designed to show the disastrous effects of mod-
ern civilization, with its changes in the methods of industrial produc-
tion. The author declares that with storm-like rapidity the present
age is moving on towards a dry mechanism. ” He calls the time
an age of the afterborn” (hence the title), and adds: “Of misfortune
there has been enough at all times. The curse of the present gen-
eration is to be miserable without any particular misfortune. ” There
is a pessimistic coloring in his portrait of the time, and he never
found the solution as Goethe did.
Of Immermann's numerous dramas, the most important after (Mer-
lin' is Das Trauerspiel in Tyrol' (The Tragedy in the Tyrol), pub-
lished in 1828. It is the story of the heroic patriot Andreas Hofer.
But the work with which in the public mind Immermann's name is
most intimately associated is his second and last romance, Münch-
hausen, eine Geschichte in Arabesken? (Münchhausen, a Story in
Arabesques), published in 1839. It consists of two loosely connected
stories, of which the love idyl of peasant life in Westphalia with its
survivals of patriarchal traditions - sometimes separately published
with the title of “The Oberhof — is full of genuine poetic feeling
and fineness of character-drawing. Here, as in “The Epigoni,' there
are master strokes of satire, and a wealth of grotesque humor which
sometimes suggests the incredible tales of the hero's grandfather.
This book is the author's ripest work.
Immermann married in 1839 the daughter of Chancellor Niemeyer,
and it was under the inspiration of this new happiness that he under-
took to give a form of his own to the love epic of Tristan and
Isolde. At the same time he began writing his memorabilia. Both
works remained unfinished. Immermann died on August 25th, 1840,
at Düsseldorf. He was not a seer, and so fell short of being a great
(
## p. 7898 (#90) ############################################
7898
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
poet. The features of the age were plain to him, and he depicted
them with the pen of a keen satirist; but he could not see what lay
behind, nor point out the ailment which caused them to be distorted.
He stood in opposition to his time; he sought his themes in remote
realms. Merlin is not a modern like Faust; and Immermann was
not, like Goethe, able to point the way humanity should go. But
although the remote mediaval traditions which still obtain at the
Oberhof lie far from the pathway of modern progress, there are a
strange beauty and pathos in this delightful Westphalian idyl which
render it a classic of the world's literature.
A WEDDING AND A BETROTHAL
From (Oberhof)
D
URING the singing the deacon ascended the pulpit, and when
he happened to let his eye sweep over the congregation
he had an unexpected sight. A fine gentleman from the
court was standing among the peasants, whose attention he ab-
sorbed; they were continually looking up from their hymn-books
and casting side glances at his decorations. The nobleman
wanted to look over the hymn-book with some one or other of
the peasants, that he might join in the singing; but as every one
stepped aside respectfully as soon as the gentleman approached,
he did not succeed, and merely caused an almost general disturb-
ance. For no sooner did he sit down on a bench than all the
peasants who were already seated slid over into the farthest cor-
ner, and fled the bench entirely when the noble gentleman slid
after them. This sliding and sliding was continued to the third
and even fourth bench; so that the gentleman from court, who
had come to the village service with the best intentions, finally
had to give up the hope of taking any part in it. He had busi-
ness in the neighborhood, and would not neglect the opportunity
of letting his graciousness win the hearts of these country people
for the throne to which he stood so near. As soon as he heard
of the peasant wedding, he therefore made up his mind to lend
it his amiable presence from beginning to end.
To the deacon the sight of the nobleman, whom he knew to
be from the brilliant circles of the capital, was not a weicome
He knew to what strange customs the sermon had to con-
form, and he dreaded the nobleman's ridicule. His thoughts lost
one.
## p. 7899 (#91) ############################################
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
7899
thereby their natural clearness, his expressions became somewhat
veiled, and the more he said the further he got away from the
point. His preoccupation increased when he noticed that the
nobleman sent him understanding glances, and nodded his head
approvingly in some places, generally where the speaker was the
least satisfied with himself. He therefore cut short the separate
parts of the address and hastened to get to the ceremony.
The bridal couple knelt down, and the fateful questions were
put to them. But then something happened which threw the
noble stranger into the most abject fear. To the right and to the
left of him, in front and behind him, he saw men and women,
girls and boys, drawing out stout ropes twisted of sackcloth. All
had risen and were whispering to each other, and looking about,
so it seemed to him, with wild malicious eyes. As it was impos-
sible for him to guess the meaning of this preparation, he lost
all self-control; and as the lashes were undoubtedly intended for
some one who was to be beaten, the thought came to him that
he would be the object of this general abuse. He remembered
how shyly everybody had got out of his way, and he considered
how rough was the character of the country people, and that the
peasants, ignorant of his gracious frame of mind, had decided to
get rid of the stranger who was in their way. All this passed
through his mind with lightning quickness, and he did not know
how to save his dignity and his body from the awful attack.
While he was still helplessly trying to make up his mind, the
deacon finished the ceremony, and immediately the wildest tumult
ensued. All the men and women, carrying rope lashes, rushed
forward swinging their weapons, screaming in a perfect frenzy;
the courtly gentleman scaled several benches with three strides
and reached the pulpit, which he at once ascended, and from this
elevated position he called down to the frenzied crowd below:
“I advise you not to attack me! I have the kindest and most
gracious feelings towards you; but every insult shown me, the
King will requite as if it had been shown to himself. ”
But the peasants, carried away with their purpose, did not
listen to this speech. They ran toward the altar, and on the
way one and another got a chance beating before they reached
the object for whom it was intended. This was the bridegroom.
Raising his hands above his head, he did his best to break a way
through the crowd, which let their lashes dance about his head
and shoulders, and for that matter anywhere where there was
## p. 7900 (#92) ############################################
7900
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
)
room to hit. Forcing a way for himself, he ran toward the church
door; but before he reached it he had received at least a hundred
strokes, and thus beaten black and blue he left the sanctuary on
his wedding day. Everybody pursued him; the bride's father and
the bride followed; the sexten immediately shut the door when
the last one had departed, and went into the vestry, from which
there was a special exit. The church had been emptied in a few
seconds.
But the nobleman was still standing in the pulpit, and the
deacon was standing at the altar bowing to the noble gentleman
with a friendly smile. When the former on his Ararat had seen
that the beating was not intended for him, he had let his arms
sink reassured; and now that everything had become still, he
asked the deacon: “But tell me for heaven's sake, sir, what meant
this furious scene, and what had the poor man done to his assail-
ants ? »
“Nothing, your Excellency,” answered the deacon, who in spite
of the holiness of the place could scarcely keep from laughing
at the sight of the little courtier in the pulpit. “This beating of
the bridegroom after the ceremony is a very old custom, which
the people will not abandon. The meaning, they say, is that the
bridegroom shall feel how a beating hurts, that he may not abuse
his wife. ”
“Well, well, these are indeed strange customs! murmured
his Excellency, as he descended from the pulpit. The deacon re-
ceived him most courteously below, and was honored with three
kisses on his flat cheek. Then the clergyman led his noble
acquaintance into the vestry, that he might let him out into
the open air that way. The still intimidated man said he would
have to consider whether he could take part in the rest of the fes-
tivities. And on the way to the vestry the clergyman expressed
his deep regret that he had not known earlier of his Excellen-
cy's intentions, as he would then have been able to tell him of
the beating custom, and thus have saved him the terror and
alarm.
When they had both gone, the church was still and silent. It
was a pretty little chapel, clean and not too brilliantly colored: a
rich protector had done a great deal for it. The ceiling was
painted blue, with golden stars; on the pulpit was ingenious
wood carving; and among the tombstones of the old clergymen
which covered the floor, there were even three or four made of
»
## p. 7901 (#93) ############################################
KARL LEBRECHT IMMERMANN
7901
brass. The benches were kept clean and neat. A beautiful
cloth covered the altar, above which rose a set of twisted col-
umns painted to look like marble.
The light fell bright into the little church, the trees rustled
outside, and once in a while a little draught of air making its
way through a broken pane stirred the white scarf of the angel
over the baptismal font, or the tinsel of the crowns which had
been taken from the coffins of young girls, and which were now
decorating the columns.
Bride and bridegroom were gone, the bridal procession was
gone, and yet the little church was not entirely forsaken. Two
young people were still there, and did not know of each other's
presence; and it had happened in this way: The hunter had left
the bridal couple when they entered the church, and had gone
quietly up-stairs. There he sat down on a footstool unseen by
the others, with his back to them and to the altar, alone with
himself. He buried his face in his hands, but he could not
stand this long; his face, forehead, and cheeks burned too hotly.
The deep serious tones of the church hymn fell like a cooling
dew upon his passion, and he thanked God that at last the high-
est happiness had been vouchsafed him; and with the pious
words which came up to him from below he mixed his worldly
lines:-
« Whether laughing or in earnest,
By a sweet right thou art mine. »
A little child who had slipped up out of curiosity he took
softly by the hand and patted.
