"Who are you?" she asked, fixing her piercing eyes on Hermod. "What is
your name and parentage? Yesterday five bands of dead men rode across
the bridge, and beneath them all it did not shake as under your single
tread. There is no colour of death in your face. Why ride you hither,
the living among the dead?"
"I come," said Hermod, "to seek for Balder. Have you seen him pass this
way?"
"He has already crossed the bridge and taken his journey northward to
Hel."
Then Hermod rode slowly across the bridge that spans the abyss between
life and death, and found his way at last to the barred gates of Hel's
dreadful home. There he sprang to the ground, tightened the girths,
remounted, drove the spurs deep into the horse, and Sleipner, with a
mighty leap, cleared the wall. Hermod rode straight to the gloomy
palace, dismounted, entered, and in a moment was face to face with the
terrible queen of the kingdom of the dead. Beside her, on a beautiful
throne, sat Balder, pale and wan, crowned with a withered wreath of
flowers, and close at hand was Nanna, pallid as her husband, for whom
she had died. And all night long, while ghostly forms wandered restless
and sleepless through Helheim, Hermod talked with Balder and Nanna.
There is no record of what they said, but the talk was sad enough,
doubtless, and ran like a still stream among the happy days in Asgard
when Balder's smile was morning over the earth and the sight of his face
the summer of the world.
Pages:
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409