Chapter LXIV: Section VII: The Iron Post

The following story from the south of Germany illustrates how stories can be remodeled and changed as to their external adornment and still preserve their fundamental feature. The reader will not fail to discover Loke in the following tradition, entitled _Der Stock im Eisen_, a story which in its most original form must date back to the time when Loke was known in Germany.

Opposite St. Stephen’s Tower in Vienna there is found, it is said, one of the old landmarks of this city, the so-called _Stock im Eisen_ (the iron post). It is a post that has in the course of time become blackened and charred, and into which nail after nail has been driven so close together that there is not room for a single one more, and the post is literally inclosed in an iron casing. This covering of iron keeps the dry post in an upright position, and near the ground it is fastened by an iron ring with unusually wonderful lock. In olden times this post was a landmark, for to it extended the great Wienerwald. In connection with it the following tale is told by H. Meinert:

A young good-looking locksmith apprentice, by name Reinbert, had
secretly won the heart and become engaged to his master’s daughter
Dorothea; but there was not much hope that she would ever become his
wife. One evening the two lovers agreed to meet outside the city:
they forget themselves in their conversation, in their doubts and
their hopes, and hear not the clock that strikes the hour when the
gate of the city is to be closed; and the lover has forgotten to
take money along to get it opened. But what a misfortune if they
should be shut out, what a disgrace to his beloved, if it should
become known that she has spent the night outside the city, outside
of her father’s house, in company with a man! Suddenly there arises
as it were from the ground a pale man, with the contour of his face
sharply marked, with wonderful flashing eyes, wearing a black cloak
and black hat, and in the latter waves a cock-feather. Reinbert
involuntarily shudders as he sees him, but still he does not forget
his misfortune in being shut out of the city; he therefore explains
his distress to the stranger, and asks him to lend him enough to pay
the gate-watch. Like for like! whispers the stranger into Reinbert’s
ear; if I am to help you and your beloved out of your distress, then
you must promise me upon the salvation of your soul never any Sunday
to neglect the holy mass. Reinbert hesitates; but it is in fact a
pious promise, and necessity knows no laws. He promises, and the
gate opens as it were spontaneously.

Four weeks later, when Reinbert sat in his workshop, the door opens
and that strange man enters. Reinbert shudders at the sight of him;
but when the stranger does not even care to look at him and only
asks for his master, he regains his peace of mind. When the
apprentices had called the master, the visitor ordered an iron
fastening, with lock and bolt, and the master is willing to
undertake the work. But now began the stranger (cunning as Loke)
with a wonderful knowledge of details to mention all the different
parts of the lock, explained with great eloquence the whole plan of
it, and took special pains to describe the manner in which the
springs must necessarily be bent and united; and although both the
master and the apprentices had to admit that such a lock was not
without the range of possibilities,—nay, that it would indeed be a
masterpiece,—still their heads began to swim when they tried to
think of its wonderful construction and arrange the plan in their
minds, and they had to admit that they did not trust themselves to
do the work. Then the stranger’s mouth assumed a deeply-furrowed,
indescribably scornful smile; and he said with contempt: Call
yourselves master and apprentices, when you do not know how to
undertake a work that the youngest one among you can do in less than
an hour! The youngest one among us, murmured the apprentices; do you
think that Reinbert would be able to do it,—he is the youngest one
among us? O yes, said the stranger, he there can do it, or his look
must deceive me much. With these words he called out the astounded
Reinbert, explained to him once more the plan of the lock, and
added: If you do not save the honor of the smiths, the whole world
shall know their disgrace: but if you can get the lock ready within
two hours, no master will refuse you his daughter, after you have
saved his reputation. Yes indeed, said the master, if you can
perform such an impossibility, Dorothea shall be yours. While the
stranger described the nature of the lock, Reinbert had sunk into
deep reflections; to his soul the narrow workshop widened into a
large plain; he saw a beautiful, happy future blooming before him;
by strange and wonderful voices he heard himself styled the master
of masters; and his beloved he saw approaching him with the bridal
wreath entwined in her locks; and just at that moment he heard his
master’s words: If you can perform such an impossibility, Dorothea
shall be yours. He immediately began his work; it seemed as if he
were working with a hundred arms: each blow of the hammer gave form
to a part of the work; by a peculiar resounding the hammer-blows
seemed to multiply, as if more invisible hands hammered with him,
while the stranger in the red glare of the flame looked like a
pillar of fire (Loke). After the lapse of an hour the work was
finished. Apprentices and master looked at it and examined it,
shaking their heads, and with mouths wide open; but there was no
doubt that Reinbert had accomplished a masterpiece never seen
before, and the master ascribed it to his enthusiasm awakened by his
love. The stranger took the lock and went ahead; the master with
Reinbert and all his apprentices and the members of his family
followed, and all proceeded to the place where the iron post (Stock
im Eisen) now stands. Here the stranger placed an iron chain around
the post and fastened it with Reinbert’s lock. When they returned,
the stranger had disappeared, and with him the key to the marvelous
lock.

We omit a part of the story, taking only that part which has reference to Loke.

On account of slander, Reinbert had to travel far and wide before he
finally got his beloved Dorothea. A few days after he had returned,
the government issued a proclamation to the effect that whatever
smith could make a key that would open that lock should thereby get
his diploma of mastership. Reinbert announced himself a candidate,
and repaired to his workshop to make the key. But for the first time
his work did not seem to succeed. The iron was stubborn and would
not assume the form required; and it seemed astonishing to him, when
he at last had succeeded in giving the key the proper form, and put
it into the furnace to temper it, it was turned and twisted when he
took it out again. His impatience grew into wrath. But when he at
length, after many unsuccessful attempts, had got the key ready and
put it into the furnace and carefully scrutinized to see what it was
that thus always ruined his work, he saw in the midst of the fire a
claw seize after the key, and terror-stricken he discovered that
disagreeable stranger’s twisted face (Loke) staring at him out of
the burning furnace. He quickly snatched the key away, turned it,
seized it with the tongs at the other end, and put it into the fire
again; and lo and behold! when he took it out the handle was
somewhat twisted, but the head preserved its right shape. (We
remember that it was Loke’s fault that the handle of Thor’s hammer
became rather short.)

Reinbert now announced to the government that the key was ready; and
the day after the government officials and the citizens marched in
procession to the iron post, and Reinbert’s key opened the lock. In
his enthusiasm at his success he threw the key high up in the air,
but to everybody’s surprise it did not come down again. It was
sought for everywhere, but could nowhere be found, and Reinbert had
to promise to make a new one some time. To commemorate the fact that
it had been possible to open the lock he drove a nail into the
woodon post, and since that time every smith has done the same when
he left Vienna; thus this post was formed with its numberless nails.

Reinbert became a master and married his beloved. Up to this time he
had kept his promise and had attended upon the holy mass every
Sunday; he began to drink and gamble, but he conscientiously
continued to keep his promise. Finally it happens that he once
stayed a little too long at the gambling-house, and hastens
terrified in order not too late to church. But the door of St.
Stephen’s church is closed. Outside sits an old woman (Loke assumed
the guise of a woman[80] after Balder’s death), who, in answer to
his question, informs him that mass is out. Filled with deadly
anguish he rushes back to his comrades, who laughed at him and
insisted that, as as began at half-past eleven o’clock, and as it
was only three-quarters past eleven, the mass could not yet be over.
He hastens back again: the church-door is now open, but at the very
moment he enters, the priest leaves the altar—the mass is over. The
old woman rises, seizes him by the arms, and his soul departs from
him.

Thus the myth develops into traditionary story, and one story begets another; they wander about from the south to the north and from the north to the south, and change with the times, reminding us of the various manifestations of life; reminding us how human things circulate and develop, each inextricably interwoven with all, and always reminding us, too, that there is a heaven above the earth and an existence beyond what is allotted to us mortals on earth.