The Reconciliation
After seeing this vision of the lovely temple, Frithiof, greatly cheered, worked long to build one as beautiful as his vision. At last it was finished, a noble work. It stood high up on the mountain cliff, and its image was mirrored in the ocean beneath. About this glorious temple stretched a grove of noble trees, their branches green against the sky. Here could be heard the songs of birds, but no sound of discord. All was harmony.
As Frithiof stood admiring the temple, he saw twelve virgins clad in silver gauze, with roses in their hair, enter the temple and approach the altar of Balder. About the altar they danced lightly as breezes about a fountain, or elves amid the waving grass while dewdrops glisten there. As Frithiof looked, all hate and vengeance faded from his heart as ice melts from the cliff before the sun of springtime. All was quiet,—peace and joy seemed to possess his soul. He felt love for all nature and longed to be at peace with all God’s creatures.
Then came into the temple the most high priest of Balder. Kind was his face, and Frithiof reverenced the noble man of peace. “Son Frithiof, welcome to this grove and temple. I have long expected thee. Weary with travel and longing for home, the strong man at last returns from his wanderings.
“Dost thou remember when thy heart was joyous as the birds are when summer night winds gently rock the fragrant blossoms? Then Balder was growing in thy pure soul. But always with the good Balder there grows up in every human soul his brother Hoder, the evil one, the child of night.
“No one can suffer for thy sins,—no one can atone for the living but themselves. One offering canst thou give, more dear to the gods than the smoke of victims. This is the sacrifice of thine own vengeance, the hate in thy untamed heart.
“Canst thou not forgive, O youth? Be reconciled with thyself and thy foes, and then will Balder be reconciled with thee.
“Thou hatest Bele’s sons because pride of birth was theirs and they would not give thee Ingeborg, their sister. Strange it is but true, that no one is proud of his own merit, but only of his fortune. Art thou not proud of thy heroic deeds, of thy great strength? But who gave thee this strength? Is it thy merit or Odin’s gift? Censure not another’s pride, lest thine own be condemned. King Helge now is fallen.”
“Fallen!” exclaimed Frithiof; “King Helge is fallen?”
“Yes, my Frithiof. Thou must know that while thou wert building this temple, Helge was far away, marching among the Finnish mountains. On a lonely crag of the mountains was an ancient shrine. He wished to enter, but the gate was closed and the key fast in the lock. Helge was angry, and, grasping the doorposts, he shook them with all his might. All at once with horrid crash the rotten pillars gave way, and a great image standing on the doorposts fell upon him, and crushed him to earth. Thus he died.
“Now Halfdan sits alone upon the throne of his father. To him offer thy hand. The god Balder demands this offering. If thou refuse, in vain has this temple been built, and vain are thy prayers for forgiveness.”
As the noble priest thus advised, King Halfdan entered the temple, but stood apart in silence. Frithiof at once loosed his breast-plate and placed the bright shield against the altar. To Halfdan he offered his hand, saying, “In such a strife the noblest first offers his hand for peace.” King Halfdan met his friend half-way, and their hands, long separated, met in a strong clasp.
Then the priest in solemn voice proclaimed Frithiof forgiven for his crime against Balder, the loving god, and purified from his guilt.
Scarce had the words been spoken when Ingeborg entered, attired in bridal robes and mantle of ermine. She walked among her maids as the moon glides in the heavenly azure attended by the radiant stars. With tears in her lovely eyes she turned to her brother; but Halfdan clasped her hand in Frithiof’s, and thus gave his sister, the fair Ingeborg, to the friend of their childhood, her best beloved, the noble Frithiof.