"A cadaverous odour pervaded the place.
The silence was only interrupted by the sighs
and groans which, from time to time, escaped
from the dead. Three torches placed in the
middle of the grotto, and guarded by three
skeletons armed from head to foot, cast a faint
bluish light round. The horrors and the agony
of death were everywhere perceptible; but
nowhere was a drop of blood to be seen.

"Thor, with a smile of disdain on his lips,
stepped forward, and said to the dead men who
were shuddering with fear, 'Cowards, pusillanimous
wretches, remain in your torments to all
eternity. May your lot be that of every man
who has not the courage to follow me!'

"'Contemptible creatures! You were afraid
of wounds and death, and now Hela makes you
suffer endless tortures. You never dared to
show yourselves in the combats where heroes
measure lance with lance. You lived, only to
tremble. Tremble then eternally!'

"Approaching Hela, Thor continued, 'Pale
woman, your punishments are just; but do not
suppose that I am come to pay you homage. I
have lost my way. Tell me, if you know,
whither to direct my steps in order to reach the
domains of King Utgarde.'

"Pointing with her finger to the issue of the
grotto, Hela replied in a sepulchral voice,
'Behold your road; quit my sombre dwelling;
your brilliant health and strength offend my
sight.'"

It must be confessed that this reads not
unlike Alonzo the Brave and the Fair Imogene, in
which "the worms they crept in, and the worms
they crept out, and did something or other his
temples about;" nor is it surprising that its
author should be attacked by Baggesen, the
antagonist of romanticism; all of which did not
prevent Œhlenschläger from becoming a great
Favourite with the Danish public.

Heiberg probably owes the greater part of
his reputation to his introduction of the Vaudeville
to Danish theatrical literature; but he has
also proved his strength in criticism, philosophy,
lyric poetry, and the drama. One of his first
pieces, The Potter (1814), cleverly illustrates
one of the most wide-spread superstitions of the
middle ages. A potter, Walter, is puffed up
with ideas of grandeur, and falls in with a
diabolical friend, Ulf, who, on the principle of
"Set a beggar on horseback, and he'll ride to
the devil," supplies him with twice as much
money as suffices to ruin him. Walter, suddenly
enriched, gives way to unbounded extravagance,
until at last, poor and wretched, he is driven to
seek afresh, the assistance of his treacherous
purveyor.

"Ah! it's you, Walter?" says Ulf, with
feigned surprise. "How are matters going
with you?"

"Thank you; only so-so."

"What do you mean? Do you want for
anything? I see. I guess you have spent all
your money?"

"I have, but I don't wish for any more."

"Why, then, did you come to this place?"

"I will tell you the truth. I did leave with
the intention of again having recourse to your
treasures. But in the midst of these mountains
I found myself so secluded from the world, that
I forgot every earthly desire; and when at the
hour of midnight I beheld the waterfall glittering
in the moonlight, it seemed as if I should be
committing a crime against Heaven were I to
take your money."

"What nonsense you are talking! What
connexion is there between the waterfall,
midnight, the moon, and my money?"

"You are right, but such was my impression."

"I am very glad you came to that conclusion,
because I have nothing to give you to-day."

"You have nothing to give me?"

"Absolutely nothing. My master found out
that I had taken several thousand ducats. He
deprived me of the management of his treasures,
and not a crown now passes through my hands.
It seems you led a jolly life in the capital. I just
now met a person belonging to the court, who
told me that he once saw you passing through
the streets in company with your wife, and
surrounded by such a crowd of valets that he took
you for one of the leading ministers."

"Really!"

"He then told me you had given such a
brilliant ball that he had called the king's attention
to it."

"Is it possible!"

"And he has no doubt that, in consideration
of your splendid style of living, you will be
rewarded with letters of nobility."

"How delighted my wife Bridget would be if
she could only hear you!"

"I am told, in confidence, that at your next
masked ball it is the king's intention to be
present. You have only to give the ball next week,
and the whole of the court will be there."

"What an honour! What a happiness! Yes,
next week. As soon as I get back home, I will
begin the requisite arrangements. I will spare
for nothing—but what am I talking about? I
have no more money!"

"Ah! I forgot. That makes all the difference."

"What is to be done?"

"Give up the scheme."

"Impossible. If you could only, just for this
once, procure me a few ducats—"

"I cannot; and even if I could give you five
thousand ducats, it would not be sufficient for
the occasion. No, give up the scheme. Sell
your house and furniture, and betake yourself to
your former trade."

"But what will the king say? What will the
court say?"

"They will say that the potter's fortune went
up like a rocket and came down like its stick."

"No, no; I should be disgraced for ever. I
must find some means of getting out of the
difficulty."

"Listen, my friend; I think I still can help
you if you will strictly follow my directions."