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"Why don't you join in the sport?" asked the wicked Loki. "I cannot see where Baldur is; and nothing could or would harm anyone so good," said the blind god. "I will show you where to sit and you shall have this little sprig that is in my hand to throw. You must not be left out of the sport because you are blind," and Loki handed the mistletoe to him.
"And why is Baldur to be so honored," said he, "that even steel and stone shall not hurt him?" Then Loki changed himself into a little, dark, bent old woman, with a stick in his hand, and hobbled away from the Peacestead to Frigga's cool saloon. At the door he knocked with his stick. "Come in!" said the kind voice of Frigga, and Loki lifted the latch.
Then the aroma of pitch, sulphur, and assafœtida cruelly strangled the other melodic emanations. Lilith, disdaining the shelter of her nymphs and their clowneries, stood forth in all the hideous majesty of Ænothea, the undulating priestess of the Abominable Shape. His nerves macerated by this sinful apparition, Baldur struggled to resist her mute command. What was it?
Then there was silence in the field of the Dead, and Odin turned Sleipner, his steed, and for four days, through the gloom and silence, he journeyed back to Asgard. Frigga had felt the fear that Odin had felt. She looked toward Baldur, and the shade of Hela came between her and her son.
"If," said she, "all things weep for him, then he shall return to the gods, but if any speak against him or refuse to weep, then he shall remain in Hel." Then Hermod rose to go, and Baldur, leading him out of the hall, gave him the ring, Draupnir, which he wished Odin to have as a keepsake. Nanna also sent Frigga a present, and a ring to Fulla.
Upon a summer's afternoon it happened that Baldur the Bright and Bold, beloved of men and AEsir, found himself alone in his palace of Broadblink.
This quintessential medley was as the sonorous blasts of Berlioz, repugnant and exquisite; it swayed the soul of Baldur as the wind sways the flame. There were odours like wingèd dreams; odours as the plucked sounds of celestial harps; odours mystic and evil, corrupt and opulent; odours recalling the sweet, dense smell of chloroform; odours evil, angelic, and anonymous.
Fairer is He than Baldur the Beautiful, greater than Odin the Wise, kinder than Freya the Good. Since He has come to earth the bloody sacrifices must cease. The dark Thor, on whom you vainly call, is dead. Deep in the shades of Niffelheim he is lost forever. His power in the world is broken. Will you serve a helpless god? See, my brothers, you call this tree his oak. Does he dwell here?
And to his wondering eyes a vision was vouchsafed, and the temple of Baldur appeared before him, rebuilt in more than its ancient splendor, and deep peace sank into the soul of Frithiof. "Rise up, rise up, Frithiof, and journey onward." The words came clear as a command to Frithiof, and he obeyed them. He rose up, and journeyed to the place where he had left the temple a heap of blackened ruins.
The sermon ended as it began: "And the Seven Deadly Sins, beloved brethren, are: Pride, Covetousness, Lust, Anger, Gluttony, Envy, Sloth. Oremus!" "Amen," fervently responded Baldur the Immoralist. Lo, this is that Aholibah Whose name was blown among strange seas.... When the last breakfast guests had gone the waiters of the café began their most disagreeable daily task.
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