One morning Thor the Thunderer awoke with a yawn, and stretching out his knotted arm, felt for his precious hammer, which he kept always under his pillow of clouds. But he started up with a roar of rage, so that all the palace trembled. The hammer was gone!
Now this was a very serious matter, for Thor was the protector of Asgard, and Mjolnir, the magic hammer which the dwarf had made, was his mighty weapon, of which the enemies of the Aesir stood so much in dread that they dared not venture near. But if they should learn that Mjolnir was gone, who could tell what danger might not threaten the palaces of heaven?
Thor darted his flashing eye into every corner of Cloud Land in search of the hammer. He called his fair wife, Sif of the golden hair, to aid in the search, and his two lovely daughters, Thrude and Lora. They hunted and they hunted; they turned Thrudheim upside down, and set the clouds to rolling wonderfully, as they peeped and pried behind and around and under each billowy mass. But Mjolnir was not to be found. Certainly, someone had stolen it.
Thor’s yellow beard quivered with rage, and his hair bristled on end like the golden rays of a star, while all his household trembled.
“It is Loki again!” he cried. “I am sure Loki is at the bottom of this mischief!” For since the time when Thor had captured Loki for the dwarf Brock and had given him over to have his bragging lips sewed up, Loki had looked at him with evil eyes; and Thor knew that the red rascal hated him most of all the gods.
But this time Thor was mistaken. It was not Loki who had stolen the hammer,—he was too great a coward for that. And though he meant, before the end, to be revenged upon Thor, he was waiting until a safe chance should come, when Thor himself might stumble into danger, and Loki need only to help the evil by a malicious word or two; and this chance came later, as you shall hear in another tale.
Meanwhile Loki was on his best behavior, trying to appear very kind and obliging; so when Thor came rumbling and roaring up to him, demanding, “What have you done with my hammer, you thief?” Loki looked surprised, but did not lose his temper nor answer rudely.
“Have you indeed missed your hammer, brother Thor?” he said, mumbling, for his mouth was still sore where Brock had sewed the stitches. “That is a pity; for if the giants hear of this, they will be coming to try their might against Asgard.”
“Hush!” muttered Thor, grasping him by the shoulder with his iron fingers. “That is what I fear. But look at you, Loki: I suspect your hand in the mischief. Come, confess.”
Then Loki protested that he had nothing to do with such a wicked deed. “But,” he added wheedlingly, “I think I can guess the thief; and because I love you, Thor, I will help you to find him.”
“Humph!” growled Thor. “Much love you bear to me! However, you are a wise rascal, the nimblest wit of all the Aesir, and it is better to have you on my side than on the other, when giants are in the game. Tell me, then: who has robbed the Thunder-Lord of his bolt of power?”
Loki drew near and whispered in Thor’s ear. “Look, how the storms rage and the winds howl in the world below! Someone is wielding your thunder-hammer all unskillfully. Can you not guess the thief? Who but Thrym, the mighty giant who has ever been your enemy and your imitator, and whose fingers have long itched to grasp the short handle of mighty Mjolnir, that the world may name him Thunder-Lord instead of you. But look! What a tempest! The world will be shattered into fragments unless we soon get the hammer back.”
Then Thor roared with rage. “I will seek this impudent Thrym!” he cried. “I will crush him into bits, and teach him to meddle with the weapon of the Aesir!”
“Softly, softly,” said Loki, smiling maliciously. “He is a shrewd giant, and mighty. Even you, great Thor, cannot go to him and pluck the hammer from his hand as one would slip the rattle from a baby’s pink fist. Nay, you must use craft, Thor; and it is I who will teach you, if you will be patient.”
Thor was a brave, blunt fellow, and he hated the ways of Loki, his lies and his deceit. He liked best the way of warriors,—the thundering charge, the flash of weapons, and the heavy blow; but without the hammer he could not fight the giants hand to hand. Loki’s advice seemed wise, and he decided to leave the matter to the Red One.
Loki was now all eagerness, for he loved difficulties which would set his wit in play and bring other folk into danger. “Look, now,” he said. “We must go to Freya and borrow her falcon dress. But you must ask; for she loves me so little that she would scarcely listen to me.”
So first they made their way to Folkvang, the house of maidens, where Freya dwelt, the loveliest of all in Asgard. She was fairer than fair, and sweeter than sweet, and the tears from her flower-eyes made the dew which blessed the earth-flowers night and morning. From her, Thor borrowed the magic dress of feathers in which Freya often used to clothe herself and flit like a great beautiful bird all over the world. She was willing enough to lend it to Thor when he told her that by its aid he hoped to win back the hammer which he had lost; for she well knew the danger threatening herself and all the Aesir until Mjolnir should be found.
“Now will I fetch the hammer for you,” said Loki. So he put on the falcon plumage, and, spreading his brown wings, flapped away up, up, over the world, down, down, across the great ocean which lies beyond all things that men know. And he came to the dark country where there was no sunshine nor spring, but it was always a dreary winter; where mountains were piled up like blocks of ice, and where great caverns yawned hungrily in blackness. And this was Jotunheim, the land of the Frost Giants.
And lo! When Loki came there he found Thrym the Giant King sitting outside his palace cave, playing with his dogs and horses. The dogs were as big as elephants, and the horses were as big as houses, but Thrym himself was as huge as a mountain; and Loki trembled, but he tried to seem brave.
“Good day, Loki,” said Thrym, with the terrible voice of which he was so proud, for he fancied it as loud as Thor’s. “How are you, feathered one, with your little brothers, the Aesir, in Asgard halls? And how dare you venture alone in this guise to Giant Land?”
“It is an ill day in Asgard,” sighed Loki, keeping his eye warily upon the giant, “and a stormy one in the world of men. I heard the winds howling and the storms rushing on the earth as I passed by. Some mighty one has stolen the hammer of our Thor. Is it you, Thrym, greatest of all giants,—greater than Thor himself?”
This the crafty one said to flatter Thrym, for Loki well knew the weakness of those who love to be thought greater than they are.
Then Thrym bridled and swelled with pride, and tried to put on the majesty and awe of noble Thor; but he only succeeded in becoming an ugly, puffy monster.
“Well, yes,” he admitted. “I have the hammer that belonged to your little Thor; and now how much of a lord is he?”
“Oh!” sighed Loki again, “weak enough he is without his magic weapon. But you, O Thrym,—surely your mightiness needs no such aid. Give me the hammer, that Asgard may no longer be shaken by Thor’s grief for his precious toy.”
But Thrym was not so easily flattered into parting with his stolen treasure. He grinned a dreadful grin, several yards in width, which his teeth barred like jagged boulders across the entrance to a mountain cavern.
“Mjolnir the hammer is mine,” he said, “and I am Thunder-Lord, mightiest of the mighty. I have hidden it where Thor can never find it, twelve leagues below the sea-caves, where Queen Ran lives with her daughters, the white-capped Waves. But listen, Loki. Go tell the Aesir that I will give back Thor’s hammer. I will give it back upon one condition,—that they send Freya the beautiful to be my wife.”
“Freya the beautiful!” Loki had to stifle a laugh. Fancy the Aesir giving their fairest flower to such an ugly fellow as this! But he only said politely, “Ah, yes; you demand our Freya in exchange for the little hammer? It is a costly price, great Thrym. But I will be your friend in Asgard. If I have my way, you shall soon see the fairest bride in all the world knocking at your door. Farewell!”
So Loki whizzed back to Asgard on his falcon wings; and as he went he chuckled to think of the evils which were likely to happen because of his words with Thrym. First he gave the message to Thor,—not sparing Thrym’s insolence, to make Thor angry; and then he went to Freya with the word for her,—not sparing Thrym’s ugliness, to make her shudder. The spiteful fellow!
Now you can imagine the horror that was in Asgard as the Aesir listened to Loki’s words. “My hammer!” roared Thor. “The villain confesses that he has stolen my hammer, and boasts that he is Thunder-Lord! Gr-r-r!”
“The ugly giant!” wailed Freya. “Must I be the bride of that hideous old monster, and live in his gloomy mountain prison all my life?”
“Yes; put on your bridal veil, sweet Freya,” said Loki maliciously, “and come with me to Jotunheim. Hang your famous starry necklace about your neck, and don your bravest robe; for in eight days there will be a wedding, and Thor’s hammer is to pay.”
Then Freya fell to weeping. “I cannot go! I will not go!” she cried. “I will not leave the home of gladness and Father Odin’s table to dwell in the land of horrors! Thor’s hammer is mighty, but mightier the love of the kind Aesir for their little Freya! Good Odin, dear brother Frey, speak for me! You will not make me go?”
The Aesir looked at her and thought how lonely and bare would Asgard be without her loveliness; for she was fairer than fair, and sweeter than sweet.
“She shall not go!” shouted Frey, putting his arms about his sister’s neck.
“No, she shall not go!” cried all the Aesir with one voice.
“But my hammer,” insisted Thor. “I must have Mjolnir back again.”
“And my word to Thrym,” said Loki, “that must be made good.”
“You are too generous with your words,” said Father Odin sternly, for he knew his brother well. “Your word is not a gem of great price, for you have made it cheap.”
Then spoke Heimdal, the sleepless watchman who sits on guard at the entrance to the rainbow bridge which leads to Asgard; and Heimdal was the wisest of the Aesir, for he could see into the future, and knew how things would come to pass. Through his golden teeth he spoke, for his teeth were all of gold.
“I have a plan,” he said. “Let us dress Thor himself like a bride in Freya’s robes, and send him to Jotunheim to talk with Thrym and to win back his hammer.”
But at this word Thor grew very angry. “What! dress me like a girl!” he roared. “I should never hear the last of it! The Aesir will mock me, and call me ‘maiden’! The giants, and even the puny dwarfs, will have a lasting jest upon me! I will not go! I will fight! I will die, if need be! But dressed as a woman I will not go!”
But Loki answered him with sharp words, for this was a scheme after his own heart. “What, Thor!” he said. “Would you lose your hammer and keep Asgard in danger for such a small whim? Look, now: if you go not, Thrym with his giants will come in a mighty army and drive us from Asgard; then he will indeed make Freya his bride, and moreover he will have you for his slave under the power of his hammer. How do you like this plan, brother of the thunder? Nay, Heimdal’s plan is a good one, and I myself will help to carry it out.”
Still Thor hesitated; but Freya came and laid her white hand on his arm, and looked up into his scowling face pleadingly.
“To save me, Thor,” she begged. And Thor said he would go.
Then there was great sport among the Aesir, while they dressed Thor like a beautiful maiden. Brunhilde and her sisters, the nine Valkyrie, daughters of Odin, had the task in hand. How they laughed as they brushed and curled his yellow hair, and set upon it the wondrous headdress of silk and pearls! They let out seams, and they let down hems, and set on extra pieces, to make it larger, and so they hid his great limbs and knotted arms under Freya’s fairest robe of scarlet; but beneath it all he would wear his shirt of mail and his belt of power that gave him double strength. Freya herself twisted about his neck her famous necklace of starry jewels, and Queen Frigg, his mother, hung at his girdle a jingling bunch of keys, such as was the custom for the bride to wear at Norse weddings. Last of all, that Thrym might not see Thor’s fierce eyes and the yellow beard, that have become a maiden, they threw over him a long veil of silver white which covered him to the feet. And there he stood, as stately and tall a bride as even a giant might wish to see; but on his hands he wore his iron gloves, and they ached for but one thing,—to grasp the handle of the stolen hammer.
“AH, WHAT A LOVELY MAID IT IS!”
“Ah, what a lovely maid it is!” chuckled Loki; “and how glad will Thrym be to see this Freya come! Bride Thor, I will go with you as your handmaiden, for I will not fail to see the fun.”
“Come, then,” said Thor sulkily, for he was ill pleased, and wore his maiden robes with no good grace. “It is fitting that you go; for I do not like these lies and maskings, and I may spoil the mummery without you at my elbow.”
There was loud laughter above the clouds when Thor, all veiled and dainty seeming, drove away from Asgard to his wedding, with maid Loki by his side. Thor cracked his whip and chirruped fiercely to his twin goats with golden hoofs, for he wanted to escape the sounds of mirth that echoed from the rainbow bridge, where all the Aesir stood watching. Loki, sitting with his hands meekly folded like a girl, chuckled as he glanced up at Thor’s angry face; but he said nothing, for he knew it was not good to joke too far with Thor, even when Mjolnir was hidden twelve leagues below the sea in Ran’s kingdom.
So off they dashed to Jotunheim, where Thrym was waiting and longing for his beautiful bride. Thor’s goats thundered along above the sea and land and people far below, who looked up wondering as the noise rolled overhead. “Hear how the thunder rumbles!” they said. “Thor is on a long journey to-night.” And a long journey it was, as the tired goats found before they reached the end.
Thrym heard the sound of their approach, for his ear was eager. “Hola!” he cried. “Someone is coming from Asgard,—only one of Odin’s children could make a din so fearful. Hasten, men, and see if they are bringing Freya to be my wife.”
Then the lookout giant stepped down from the top of his mountain, and said that a chariot was bringing two maidens to the door.
“Run, giants, run!” shouted Thrym, in a fever at this news. “My bride is coming! Place silken cushions on the benches for a great banquet, and make the house beautiful for the fairest maid in all space! Bring in all my golden horned cows and my coal black oxen, so that she may see how rich I am, and heap all my gold and jewels about to dazzle her sweet eyes! She shall find me richest of the rich; and when I have her,—fairest of the fair,—there will be no treasure that I lack,—not one!”
The chariot stopped at the gate, and out stepped the tall bride, hidden from head to foot, and her handmaiden muffled to the chin. “How afraid of catching a cold they must be!” whispered the giant ladies, who were peering over one another’s shoulders to catch a glimpse of the bride, just as the crowd outside the awning does at a wedding nowadays.
Thrym had sent six splendid servants to escort the maidens: these were the Metal Kings, who served him as lord of them all. There was the Gold King, all in cloth of gold, with fringes of yellow bullion, most glittering to see; and there was the Silver King, almost as gorgeous in a suit of spangled white; and side by side bowed the dark Kings of Iron and Lead, the one mighty in black, the other sullen in blue; and after them were the Copper King, gleaming ruddy and brave, and the Tin King, strutting in his trimmings of gaudy tinsel which looked nearly as well as silver but were more economical. And this fine troop of lackey kings most politely led Thor and Loki into the palace, and gave them a great welcome, for they never suspected who these seeming maidens really were.
And when evening came there was a wonderful banquet to celebrate the wedding. On a golden throne sat Thrym, uglier than ever in his finery of purple and gold. Beside him was the bride, of whose face no one had yet caught even a glimpse; and at Thrym’s other hand stood Loki, the bridesmaid, for he wanted to be near to mend the mistakes which Thor might make.
Now the dishes at the feast were served in a huge way, as befitted the table of giants: great beeves roasted whole, on platters as wide across as a ship’s deck; plum-puddings as fat as feather-beds, with plums as big as footballs; and a wedding cake like a snow-capped haymow. The giants ate enormous portions. But to Thor, because they thought him a dainty maiden, they served small bits of everything on a tiny gold dish. Now Thor’s long journey had made him very hungry, and through his veil he whispered to Loki, “I shall starve, Loki! I cannot fare on these nibbles. I must at least eat as much as I do at home.” And forthwith he helped himself to such morsels as might satisfy his hunger for a little time. You should have seen the giants stare at the meal which the dainty bride devoured!
For first under the silver veil disappeared by pieces a whole roast ox. Then Thor made eight mouthfuls of eight pink salmon, a dish of which he was very fond. And next he looked about and reached for a platter of cakes and sweetmeats that was set aside at one end of the table for the lady guests, and the bride ate them all. You can fancy how the damsels drew down their mouths and looked at one another when they saw their dessert disappear; and they whispered about the table, “Alack! if our future mistress is to sup like this day by day, there will be poor cheer for the rest of us!” And to crown it all, Thor was thirsty, as well he might be; and one after another he raised to his lips and emptied three great barrels of mead, the foamy drink of the giants. Then indeed Thrym was amazed, for Thor’s giant appetite had beaten that of the giants themselves.
“Never before have I seen a bride so hungry,” he cried, “and never before one half as thirsty!”
But Loki, the bridesmaid, whispered to him softly, “The truth is, great Thrym, that my dear mistress was almost starved. For eight days Freya has eaten nothing at all, so eager was she for Jotunheim.”
Then Thrym was delighted, you may be sure. He forgave his hungry bride, and loved her with all his heart. He leaned forward to give her a kiss, raising a corner of her veil; but his hand dropped suddenly, and he started up in terror, for he had caught the angry flash of Thor’s eye, which was glaring at him through the bridal veil. Thor was longing for his hammer.
“Why does Freya have such a fierce look?” Thrym cried. “It pierces like lightning and burns like fire.”
But again the sly bridesmaid whispered timidly, “Oh, Thrym, be not amazed! The truth is, my poor mistress’s eyes are red with wakefulness and bright with longing. For eight nights Freya has not known a wink of sleep, so eager was she for Jotunheim.”
Then again Thrym was doubly delighted, and he longed to call her his very own dear wife. “Bring in the wedding gift!” he cried. “Bring in Thor’s hammer, Mjolnir, and give it to Freya, as I promised; for when I have kept my word she will be mine,—all mine!”
Then Thor’s big heart laughed under his woman’s dress, and his fierce eyes swept eagerly down the hall to meet the servant who was bringing in the hammer on a velvet cushion. Thor’s fingers could hardly wait to clutch the stubby handle which they knew so well; but he sat quite still on the throne beside ugly old Thrym, with his hands meekly folded and his head bowed like a bashful bride.
The giant servant drew nearer, nearer, puffing and blowing, strong though he was, beneath the mighty weight. He was about to lay it at Thor’s feet (for he thought it so heavy that no maiden could lift it or hold it in her lap), when suddenly Thor’s heart swelled, and he gave a most unmaidenly shout of rage and triumph. With one swoop he grasped the hammer in his iron fingers; with the other arm he tore off the veil that hid his terrible face, and trampled it under foot; then he turned to the frightened king, who cowered beside him on the throne.
“Thief!” he cried. “Freya sends you this as a wedding gift!” And he whirled the hammer about his head, then hurled it once, twice, thrice, as it rebounded to his hand; and in the first stroke, as of lightning, Thrym rolled dead from his throne; in the second stroke perished the whole giant household,—these ugly enemies of the Aesir; and in the third stroke the palace itself tumbled together and fell to the ground like a toppling play-house of blocks.
But Loki and Thor stood safely among the ruins, dressed in their tattered maiden robes, a quaint and curious sight; and Loki, full of mischief now as ever, burst out laughing.
“Oh, Thor! if you could see”—he began; but Thor held up his hammer and shook it gently as he said,— “Look now, Loki: it was an excellent joke, and so far you have done well,—after your crafty fashion, which I do not care much for. But now I have my hammer again, and the joke is done. From you, nor from another, I will stand no laughter at my expense. Henceforth we will have no mention of this masquerade, nor of these rags which now I throw away. Do you hear me Loki?”
And Loki heard, with a look of hate, and stifled his laughter as best he could; for it is not good to laugh at him who holds the hammer.
Not once after that was there mention in Asgard of the time when Thor dressed up as a bride and won his bridal gift from Thrym the giant.