User:Prosfilaes/Brúðardraugurinn, or, The Spectre Bridegroom

In Germany, there is a region called Frekavangur, a forested and mountainous country, and free land. A long time ago, there stood a long palace on one mountain peak, not far from where Main and Rhine flow together; then the palace belonged to the lord, who was called the Baron of Láðborg. Now this palace is deserted and nothing but a ruin; beech trees and dark-leaved pines cover the ruins with their branches, and nothing reaches up over the forest except the watchtower; it is still standing, though shaky, and looks out over the land.

The baron was of great lineage, but he had nothing left of his ancestors' property other than this palace, for everything else had gradually passed from them; but nevertheless he was considered great of both, of the genealogy and of the property, and he took care to maintain the family as much as possible, and kept himself as manly as he could, so that men should not forget who he was. The knights had, in fact, stopped cooking gray silver when this story happened, and no longer grazed in the mountain towns, which were built like falcon nests in hang gliders, but had built themselves "settlements and estates in the flowering valleys of the valleys", and "rejoiced there. with his ". But the baron kept his custom; he always lived in the old mountain town, and fortified himself against war and war, which had long since passed; he was always full of hatred for his neighbors, because they had had some quarrels with his great-great-great-grandfather, and no one remembered it but the baron alone.

The baron had one daughter; but the one-bearers are often treated in such a way that they are miraculously treated, and so was the baroness' daughter. All the nannies, babysitters, uncles and aunts went to the baroque carousel and gave arrogant speeches about how unprecedented his daughter was as an unparalleled man of womanhood, as these people were most likely to know what they were singing. Two old and unspoken virgins raised the girl; they were related to her, and had been a few years at some German court; they knew, therefore, all that was required to raise a young virgin, and were explosive in all learning by word of mouth.

This proved true and on the little miss; she was amazed at the hands of her cousins; at the age of eighteen she knew all kinds of sewing, cross-stitching and fur-sewing and flower-sewing, threading and fastening, and all kinds of glitter weaving; she wove and sewed tales of saints into tablecloths and fine linen, and it was so gloriously beautiful that men were about to bow down from watching it. She was also very literate, and so she wrote no differently than that, that she swung the pen once in a circle, and then her name was in one place like a star falling on the paper. She danced so eloquently that no one could sit still, watching, and so skilfully did she play the symphony and the salterium, that everything became a smoky journey and flight, and her instrumental beat was no less than a falconry or a frame beat.

The ancient virgins, her cousins, had been somewhat ambiguous in their youth, and there was not a thing in the kingdom of Amor which they did not know as their own hands. Such women are well-suited to raise young girls and preserve them from the lures of the world; the most vigilant headmaster can not get along with an old flirtatious woman in raising virgins. The young lady was also never allowed to set foot outside the courtyard, unless either of her cousins ​​was with her. Sermons on holiness and chastity always buzzed in her ears, and so it was almost forgotten that the men were unstable and pale and false; she could not be looked at, though the most beautiful knight lay in the spirit colors of love burning at her feet, except with their permission.

She also saw in the young lady that there were no hooves that had covered her. She was a role model for all virgins in learning and obedience. Many virgins stood in the most intense blooms of youth and ignited love in young hearts, but they were weighed and found many times and easily found at last; they faded and were forgotten. But she blossomed like a beautiful rose, beautiful and peaceful, and the cousins ​​praised her as expected.

The baron was not really wealthy with children, even though he had this one daughter, but he was richer with poor relatives. These kinsmen loved the baron, and found everything to come to him, to his joy and satisfaction, but to himself for satiety and refreshment. All the birthdays were counted, all those who were related to the baron; there were congratulatory feasts for the chalk-white and coffin-laid great-great-great-great-great-grandparents and for all the grandmothers and triplets and quadruplets, for all who were up to the second and thousandth of the baron's half-breed, and that tribe was large. Feasts were therefore rather frequent in the palace, for the birthdays became quite numerous; all the baron's kinsmen agreed that there was no one like him in the world, especially if the steak was well browned and the wine good; some people call it appetite.

The baron was a dwarf of stature and wisdom; he was somewhat like two-inch nails, small, bony and stiff, but no one knew all that had been put together in that nail head. He also suspected, but did not suspect, that he would be at the forefront of the famous countryside when the offspring of the infamous aristocracy flashed around the palace hall, and he himself in the middle like a sun. Then out of his head flowed incomparable joy and wisdom; he told of all the tales of giants and ghosts, of slaying and of arms, which had taken place throughout the centuries of turmoil in which his family had flourished in Germany. There the relatives sat around the family tree and swallowed his words like a man thirsty for death swallowing a drink of water in the desert.

Now the story is told that there was a great feast going on in the palace: the mistress's fiancé was expected. It was a matter of interest that the baron had made a pact with a landowner in Bavaria to connect the two clans by having their children. The son and the daughter were thus fastened to each other by the fathers, and had scarcely heard each other mentioned, let alone seen; the wedding day had now been decided and everything was arranged. The bridegroom was a count of Háborg; he had been sent home from war to fetch his fiancée; he was now on his way, but had been delayed in one city and written to the baron from there that he would come at a certain day and time. The baron had never seen the count.

Now it was not to be expected that there would be silence in the palace, where everyone was expecting the bridegroom. The bride was adorned with skins and purple, and the old men walked like deacons in a berserker's cloak, adorning a clergyman with diligence and dignity; there lay on the floor heaps of skirts, skirts, and pellets of waistcoats, silk aprons, and gold-embroidered boots made of velvet and the most beautiful skins; there on the tables were logs with kings and wreaths, bows and bristles, all of glowing gold and glittering silver, all set with precious stones, carbuncles and chalcedony, sapphires and emeralds and many kinds of splendor. From all this the young lady had now chosen what she liked best, and was now dressed up; the uneasiness which was on her, when she was now to see the man for the first time, which she was to enjoy, made her even more beautiful, and enveloped her in a glorious delight.

The baron was not idle either; he trotted around the palace like a barbed wire, and was all on wheels and wheels. He called on the servants who were doing the work, gave them a sharp admonition to be kind, and delayed them from preaching.

Now the Count's son was expected at every moment; an all-calf had been slaughtered, descended from a famous greyhound who had an even larger tribe than the baron himself; hunters had gone out into the woods to hunt animals and birds, so there was no activity left on the border; the kitchen was full of slain animals, and the Rhine wine was beginning to whitewash out of the open rivers, but the surfing beer messengers frightened all the people with humming sobs.

Is it not so to say, that everything was ready; men hoped for the bridegroom, for the appointed time had come; but the bridegroom did not come. And time passed, and the bridegroom did not come either.

It was now sunset - the evening rays flashed golden red on the green leaves of the bushes, and the mountain peaks gave a purple glow, but it did not express itself, the tenderness of nature could not bring the groom to ride home to the baron's barn. The baron went up to the highest peak of the palace and sat there like a raven on a ledge, to see if he could not see his son-in-law, who was to be born. The evening breeze blew from the valley and up to the palace - a group of knights rushed up the mountainside, but it was not the bridegroom; it turned out of the way and passed. The sun disappeared over the edge of the mountain, and the bats appeared and flickered to and fro in the twilight.

This is how it was in the barons' hall, but at the same time other events took place outside Frekavangur.

The Count of Háborg was on his way to the bride, and it could be said that he behaved slowly, which was not surprising, because he did not know his fiancée, and it did not matter whether he was married or unmarried; he only followed the wishes of his parents, and did not care for the bride or the estate. In a town called Trenta he met a friend named Hermann; they had fought together in battle and served each other well, for both were the best knights. Hermann's father lived in a knight's city not far from the baron; but they were enemies for the reason that their ancestors had chased gray silver many hundreds of years ago, but the baron never reconciled with anyone, if that was the case. Hermann and I had enough to say to each other, for many things had driven the days since they had last seen each other; there Hermann told of the cut shields and split helmets, and how he had flipped through many berserk armor and made a name for himself; but the count told him again that now he should have a virgin, whom he had never seen; he said, however, that he was thinking well of the council, for much of the woman's material had been left behind.

It so happened that Hermann had been with the count for a while, and they were to part below the baron's palace; so they rode out of the city together in the morning; but the count ordered that his companions should set out in the evening, and catch up with them the next day.

The knights had now come to the mountains of Frekavangur and rode through a narrow valley, which was lit by mountains on both sides; leafy oaks grew there in the cliffs, and it was not possible to tell what might live there. But at that time the roads in Germany were not the safest, least of all in the valleys, because the scattered soldiers and cavalry were very busy and sat in front of tourists. It was now reported, as in many other places, that the ladders jumped out of their hiding places and pursued the knights, but they defended manfully, though they were two alone, and killed the ladders a great deal. But with no one to deal with many, the knights were finally defeated; but at the same time the count's servants arrived, and then the lads fled. The count was then wounded to death and taken to a settlement. Hermann watched him, for he did not want to part with his friend on the day of his death; was then the count's last prayer, that Hermann should go to the baron of Láðborg and do all that had happened, and why he should not come to his fiancée. But for the reason that the prayer of a dying man is considered more significant and greater than any other prayer, Hermann named it when he prayed, even though there was a kali between the genealogies mentioned earlier. It was a great responsibility to take on such a message, which was to destroy all the beautiful hopes of the unending joy and rejoicing. But Hermann was a bold man and longed for chivalry and strange adventures; It was not uncommon for him to have heard of the maiden, whom few could see, but it was said that most of them were role models. Then the count died, but Hermann arranged for the funeral to be done as the count deserved, but he set off.

Now it is said of the baron, that he went back down from the palace tower, and was invisible in taste, for both bothered him, both that the bridegroom did not come, and the other, that the meat burned on the embers and became hard as stones. All the people of the baron had become so salty that they were torn apart and together, yet they bore this tragedy with the glorious crucifixion of the flesh and wondrous patience. But at last he drove out all right, and his stomachs began to rumble and sound loudly for the sake of emptiness and full fasting, and he had to give up everything and obey them. Then the baron gave a signal for communion, and men sat down at the table.

Then a trumpet sounded outside the hall gate, so that it rumbled in the hall walls, but the hall guard blew his trumpet in return. The baron hurried out to receive the bridegroom. The fell bridge was now let down over the palace grave, and there a knight rode over the bridge and into the courtyard of the palace; he was polite and handsome in appearance and the most military; he was pale in the face, and his eyes were so narrow that fire seemed to burn from them; majestic sorrow dwelt on his forehead. He rode a brown horse. The baron was astonished that he had come together alone, and was not free from the fact that he felt sorry for him; he thought it a sign of indifference and carelessness, to respect no more than the dignity of the tribes and the earring which the bridegroom should cherish. But he still thought to himself that impatience after the bridal meeting would cause the young man to come unaccompanied in this way, because the prey is a child's mood.

Then the knight said, "You will wonder, my lord, that I come so alone and uninvited" - the rhetoric did not last long, for the baron immediately took in and poured over the knight such a flow of words and glorious greetings, that it was more like a murmur than human speech ; the baron always let the pump run when he got his hands on it, for he liked the great eloquence and eloquence which was lent to him. This case was not over until they had reached the inner hall gate of the palace; then the knight intended to cancel his earring, but at that moment the woman came and led the bride forward. Then the knight became speechless.

One of the maiden's cousins ​​whispered something to her when she was about to tell the knight, but it did not happen; the maiden ran to him with her deep blue eyes, but she could not utter a word. But it did not take any kinship wisdom to see that she liked the man.

It was late in the evening when the knight arrived that there was no time to talk in detail about the councilor. The baron therefore led the knight into the banquet hall; there the images of the whole tribe hung on the walls all around, and lingered under blue steel hats and bright helmets. There hung also signs of victory and all kinds of enemy wealth, which the baron's ancestors had long ago acquired; cut armor and broken rods, torn military flags and cut shields. Many things were hung up there, which testified that the genealogy was no less composed of famous hunters than of good knights. There were also wolves and boar teeth, heart horns and bear horns, bows and arrows; and there were still all kinds of weapons and armor. Every time the baron saw this hall ornament, his brave heart fought so hard that his chest would have burst if it had not been well prepared; but the baron was strong-built and could withstand that heartbeat; then all the wars and ancient enmities of the tribe arose in his mind; the soul of the baron swelled and swelled with slaying and savages, for he knew well that he was the last offspring of this tribe, and hid in himself all its ancient fame and bright radiance.

The baron led the knight to his seat, and now joy began with those who were seated. But the knight paid little heed to it; he was silent and hardly consumed anyone; he did nothing but look at the bride. Every now and then he whispered something to her that no one heard but her alone; since female ears are also sensitive to words of love, although not loudly called. The maiden must have enjoyed this, for she did nothing but listen to the knight; It is as little known to men what happened between them as what Odin said in Baldur's ear before he was set on fire. The maiden was sometimes red as blood, but sometimes pink as bast; it was brighter to the sun, that each was in love with the other; The cousins ​​suggested to those closest to them that an unquenchable fire of love had kindled in the hearts of both of them whom they had seen, and that decision could not be challenged, for it was based on long experience and conclusive wisdom.

Now they all sat there and ate and drank and were happy. The baron was the happiest and told of all the strange events that had taken place in the family; You could hear many funny stories about fin eagles and kites, demons and regressions and wonderful nations that the knights had worked on and made a name for themselves in fame and fortune. All the invitees listened to these stories with more serious attention; now and then the baron came and with brilliant humor, and then we sang in the hall with laughter and joy; many rejoiced greatly at all the good that they had heard. The joy now gradually became general, and the baron's relatives had many useful words in their mouths, though such a thing could not be equated with the one who was the wisest of the wise.

The knight alone was strangely earnest, and never uttered a single cheerful word with the others; his seriousness intensified as the evening wore on. It was as if the baron was moving in the opposite direction, for he had never been so successful in his life before; but the knight's soul sank deeper and deeper into itself; it was obvious that his mind was other than glamor and joy. He spoke to the maiden in secret and took her to be dull in taste, and it was not uncommon for her to tremble.

It could not be avoided that the messengers noticed this thing; everyone thought that was strange. They rolled their eyes at each other, shrugged their shoulders and shook their heads, but no one could understand what was going on. There was a great silence in the hall, but when the drink began to soar, we rejoiced again, and many strange stories were told; was the last one the baron said. It was the story of the knight of hell, who took away the beautiful Leonora, and told the baron about her in such a horrible way and with such a tearing force that the women lay in ignorance, but the hair rose on men's heads and stood out in every direction.

The knight listened attentively to this story, and stared at the baron as it stood. But when the story was almost over, he rose little by little higher and higher, and when the baron finished the story, the knight stood in a cart and appeared to the baron like a formidable giant. The knight bowed before the messengers and said goodbye, but everyone was frightened, and the baron was astonished.

"Why is that?" said the baron, "it is already past midnight, and you are leaving here! Here everything is ready to receive you, and a room is available if you wish to withdraw from the joy."

The knight shook his head, and it was as if a dark cloud of sorrow was drawing over his eyes. "On a cooler blanket than a swan's breast I will doze off at midnight," he said.

His heart went up to his neck and up to his thighs alternately in the baron, when he heard the knight's reply. He took all his helmets so as not to let go of the fear, and again begged the knight not to go away like that.

The knight shook his head in silence and greeted the guests again; the cousins ​​sat stunned and stiff with horror; the maiden killed her head and tears ran down her cheeks.

The baron followed the knight out into the courtyard, where the knight's horse stood and stomped on the stone floor; the moon was full and the fox's eyes glowed by the moonlight like stars in a dark world. Then the knight stopped and spoke to the baron, but his voice was like a cowardly cry from the graves of dead men: "Now I will tell you why I am leaving here. I have promised to come" -. The baron spoke in the knight's speech and said, "You can send another one for yourselves." "I must not," said the knight, "I must come at this midnight hour to the church in Trentuborg." "You can keep it until morning," said the baron, "come now and get on the bridal bed."

"No," said the knight in a dark voice, "my heart builds no love for the bride, and my flesh will not build a bridal bed, for the cold will cover the cold, and the breathless snakes will wrap their arms around me. . "

That said, he stepped back; the horse rushed with him into the night darkness like a storm, and was already gone.

The baron went back in and told how they had been treated. Many people thought that this was a monster or the likeness of a dead man, and then two women passed by. Finally, one of the baron's relatives thought that it must have been the bridegroom, and he had done this to try to find out what the bride was like, but had not looked at the flash.

This seemed to the baron very probable, and he was so angry that he himself was about to walk and explode. He cursed and cursed, and there was no profanity or name of the evil enemy that could not be heard from his mouth; he swore to all that was holy and to all that was evil, that he would inflict the worst war on the adulterer and his father, and pour out a heavy arrow-drive over all their miserable huts and cursed bodies, as he commanded. The baron let this rumble go on until he fell asleep from exhaustion on one chair in the palace, but the others continued to enjoy food and wine, and those who could not get to bed slept there in the hall during the night between the broken and the collapsed. cups and shaft vessels, some on the benches, but some on the floor.

The next day passed, and the young lady was ill. She did not weep or mourn, and did not leave her room. There was another of her cousins ​​with her, and she tried to do everything in her power. The room was opposite a beautiful garden, and very separate. It was now past midnight, and the moon shone brightly through the room window; then the cousin fell asleep comfortably from a long ghost story she had been telling the maiden, but the maiden sat by the window and stared thoughtfully at the leaves in the garden, which flickered to and fro in the moonlight. Then a gentle and sweet stench came to her ears from the garden, and moved nearer and nearer; it was a love song and sung in a beautiful voice. The maid got up and opened the window; she could then see where a man stood between the fruit trees; the moon shone on his face, but the maiden knew him already, for the eye of love is clear. Then a terrible sound came from behind her, and she looked around; it was the cousin, she had woken up and known that the ghost of the bride had arrived; she immediately fell to the ground. When the girl looked out the window again, the man was gone. Things had now turned upside down, for the one who now needed help was the cousin; she was nearer to death than to life of rage because she had seen the ghost, but the virgin was healed, for she was envious of the vision. The cousin was insane and immediately wanted to move everything out of the room and live elsewhere in the palace, but the young lady insisted more than on her feet that she herself should stay there. It so happened that the cousin had run away from the maiden's room and slept elsewhere, but the maiden remained still; she insisted on not telling her about this thing, so that everything would not be upset. A few days passed, and everything was quiet.

The cousins ​​were used to visiting the virgin every now and then. But one day, when they entered the room, the young lady had disappeared. The room was empty, no one had been in bed that night, the window was open. The cousin was now free from the vow of silence which she had given to the maiden; she roared all over the palace, holding on to a frenzy; she said the virgin had fallen into the hands of trolls or ghosts. This was believed, with two sailors saying that they had heard hooves during the night, as if they had ridden hard on the stone floors of the palace courtyard; agreed with everyone that this would have been the ghost, and that he had taken the virgin away. The baron was miserably present, and no word came up in grief; but he did not keep quiet; he made all the militaries that a mitten could cause, rusty armor and ragged jokes, sharp spears and severed shields were taken out, and now everyone who could better prepared to look for the virgin.

This was the first campaign the baron had undertaken in his life, as it was not small, as he was to attack the monsters of another world and use physical weapons against the spiritual superpowers of evil enemies. The baron was soon armored and became young for the second time, he wore a triple armor, which suited him; he put on a helmet and fastened it so tightly that his cheeks swelled; then he fastened the golden knights' spurs on his five feet, and forgot the steel spikes as he stepped down; he took a sword in his hand, it was extremely large and a rust coat to be seen; he struck the sword with a stone, and it became as bright as silver. Then the baron ran behind his armor, the horse that had come from Rispa, who belonged to Heimir, and was the brother of Skemming, who had Víðga Velentsson. The baron was always accustomed to read aloud the horse's tribe out loud every time he got into the saddle, to let it be known that he was not riding any treadmill or stallion, and now he also read out the family roll.

But when the baron had just finished reading, the palace bridge thumped; A man and a woman rode home to the barn. The woman jumped from behind and to the baron and lifted the veil from her face. The baron was then not late to jump down and throw himself into the woman's arms, for there his daughter had come and the one she loved one man and had given heart and hand. The knight got off his back and went to the baron and said his name. He was then very different from when he sat at the wedding a short time ago, for now he rode a swan-white fox, dressed in gold-embroidered purple, but he himself was adorned with the most glorious knight's ornament, he had a golden helmet on his head and white feathers on top; he was in a red scarlet cloak embroidered with gold and girded with a silver belt, a treasure of treasures hung there by the belt; a sword hung beside him, and a lily of the moon, that stone is in India. Everyone was taken aback by these incidents.

Hermann began his story there, when he found the Count of Háborg, and inquired about all that had happened, and how difficult the earring he had undertaken for his friend on the day of his death, which was to announce his death and turn joy. many people in sorrow and grief. Then he told what he could not say to the baron because of his enthusiasm, as the baron thought he was his son-in-law and could not turn away from that faith; then he said next that he had seen the maiden and from that moment on he had done nothing but get her. Then he spoke many and clever words about the ancient enmity which had existed between his family and the baronial family, he said he had seen in his hand that he would not express himself to go a lawful way, if he should have received the virgin, and therefore he would have taken her away in this way, because her love for her was no less than his love for her; he said he was now married to her, and they had now slept together for three nights.

The baron was stunned, for now all his golden rules of life had been trampled underfoot and disrespected. He who never reconciled with any of his family enemies, he who did not tolerate that the main rules were violated in the least - he now had to bow to what had happened and was not taken back. His daughter had thus been taken from him at his ancient request, and had now become the wife of the man whom he would never have given her. But now that it had to be so, and the baron's son-in-law seemed more like a ghost than a ghost, he took it well too, and they all went into the palace; was then sent after the father of the knight Hermann, and a glorious feast was established; the baron there reconciled with him wholeheartedly on behalf of the whole tribe, and was now drunk a real beer in genuine ways; there were served the most expensive dishes that the world could provide: peppered peacocks and all kinds of poultry, drank pimento and clarent, sang symphony and salterium, trampled organ and bumblebee, and was all that played on thread; The party lasted for a whole month, and everyone opened their mouths that love had produced three good things: destroyed evil enmity, connected man and virgin, and given the food that will be there for a century, and we will end this story.