On his part, Olaf of Norway was no less desirous of peace. The internal state of his kingdom was far from satisfactory. Many of his subjects, however they might outwardly conform to Christianity, were still pagans, and practised their rites in secret. In a tour through the uplands, in the summer of 1018, he discovered many whom the severity of his predecessor and his own had rendered apostates;—many who had been forced to receive baptism, but who, on the departure of their tyrant, had insensibly relapsed to their ancient faith. Great was his wrath at the discovery, and he evinced it in a manner worthy of the age. Some of the delinquents—those, probably, who had any substance to fill his coffers—he banished for ever; the hands and feet of some he mutilated; others he blinded; some he beheaded; others he suspended from lofty gibbets. In short, says the historian, “he did not spare one that refused to serve God.” These enormities were not to be borne. Even those who had conscientiously embraced Christianity revolted at them; and, as many had relations and friends whom no argument could induce to forsake their hereditary errors, a spirit of discontent, a smothered cry for vengeance, was soon heard in the lonely defiles of the mountains. Five upland kings,—for the royal title had been left to them by Olaf, and, we may infer, so also had their religion,—Ruric of Raumarik, Gudred of the Dales, Ring of Hedmark, with the kings of Hadaland and Ringarik, entered into a secret conspiracy against his authority and life. They had not been injured by him; but their friends and kindred had been his victims: and who could say how long they should be spared? It was, at length, agreed to fall upon him in his passage through Hedmark. Sending spies to watch his motions, they hastened to a point on the road through which he had to pass, and named its vicinity as the place where their own followers should join them. However safe this secret might have been, so long as it was confined to the kings alone, when communicated to the inferior chiefs, whose co-operation was necessary, it could scarcely remain undivulged. Ketil, one of the chiefs whom Olaf had befriended, proceeded to meet the king, and acquaint him with the danger before him. At a solitary house near the lake Miors, in the higher regions of Raumarik, Olaf was acquainted with the meditated deed. With about 400 men, he instantly departed for the villa where the five kings were, and arrived there long before their followers. Approaching it at midnight, he caused it to be surrounded by his little band, so as to prevent ingress or egress; and, at the early dawn, all were in his power. Ruric, the soul of the conspiracy, was doomed to the loss of both eyes; Gudred, to the loss of his tongue; the remaining three were exiled, on their promise never to revisit Norway. The inferior actors did not escape punishment; some being mutilated, others exiled; but the majority, who had only acted in obedience to their chiefs, were pardoned. The domains which all had held since the days of Olaf Trygveson, were next invaded, and annexed to the crown. If this was a cruel, it was a politic step; it rendered Olaf not merely the nominal, but the only, king of Norway.[244]
|1019.|
Of the two kings who were thus retained in the country, Olaf feared Ruric only, whom he always took with him. Ruric had his servants, his regal apparel, and his high seat at the table. He was noted for his revengeful disposition, and for his taciturnity. His domestics were so ill-treated that they refused to remain with him, until Sweyn, one of his own kindred, and formerly his vassal, was placed near him. It was now his constant object to prevail on Sweyn to join him in the murder of Olaf, and the man at length consented. One evening, as the king was going to vespers, Sweyn took his station at the gate, with a sword concealed beneath his cloak. But he had not courage to strike; and his agitation was such as to attract the notice of his intended victim. “Why that troubled countenance, Sweyn? Hast thou a design on my life?” Throwing away his sword, and letting his cloak fall behind him, the domestic knelt, and could only say, “To God and thee, O king, I resign myself!” He was immediately fettered; but was soon released and exiled. The only punishment inflicted on Ruric was, that his chair was taken from the royal table, and placed in another apartment; that his bed was removed to a less honourable place, and two domestics ordered to attend him night and day. After this event, he grew moody and capricious: sometimes he talked with amazing volubility, and, what was more important (for his talents were great), with wit or judgment, as the humour predominated; at other times a sullen taciturnity for days together, rendered him as disagreeable as he had before been captivating. When in these moody fits, he was evidently devising the means of revenge, or at least of escape. One night, when Ruric had retired to rest, somewhat intoxicated, a man called the Little Finn, who had been his domestic in his prosperous days, entered the apartment, with a large vessel of mead. This he presented to all the domestics who slept in the same apartment as his master, and it was so potent that it immediately sent them to sleep,—the more easily as they were previously half drunk. In a short time, Ruric awoke his two guards, under the pretext that he wanted to go outside the house. Rubbing their eyes, and gaping, they accompanied him, but were immediately slain by twelve men whom the Little Finn had brought to the spot, and who hurried the king on board a vessel which lay near the shore. One of the royal party, having occasion to visit the court-yard, found the two corpses yet bleeding and warm. In great alarm, he awoke Thord, the bearer of the royal banner, and acquainted him with the tragedy which had just been perpetrated. Both wished to awake the king; but who durst presume to do so? It was at length agreed to ring the bells of the neighbouring chapel; and Olaf, thinking that the time of matins was come, suddenly rose, and was made acquainted with the disappearance of Ruric, and the murder of the two guards. The household was soon in motion, and the fugitives pursued. Accompanied by thirty men, one of Olaf’s captains leaped into a vessel, and stood out to sea. Dawn soon appeared, and the vessel which carried Ruric, and which was manned by an equal number of men, was descried. The pursuit was vigorously maintained; when an arrow from the bow of the Little Finn, the best marksman of his age, found its way to the leader’s heart. Still the pursuit was continued; until the companions of Ruric, apprehensive of being taken, drew close to the shore, and plunged into the neighbouring woods, leaving him to his fate. The blind chief was conveyed back to Tunsberg, and consigned to closer custody than before. But even now he indulged in the dream of revenge, and fortune seemed to furnish him with an opportunity of realising it. Easter was at hand, and Olaf, with his whole household, attended divine service in the church. His seat was in a kind of crypt at the north end of the choir. Here, such was his thoughtlessness, he was accompanied by Ruric, for whose conversion he was singularly anxious, and to whose crimes he was unusually indulgent. On the conclusion of the service, when the congregation were departing, Ruric drew a concealed dagger, and aimed it at the king. The blow entered his garments, but did not touch his skin. Leaping from his seat, a second blow was aimed at him, but without effect; and in another moment, the ferocious chief was taken and fettered, and led out of the church. Olaf was exhorted to put the rebel to death; but he refused, and substituted banishment into the dreary wastes of Iceland. There, in a few years, Ruric paid the debt of nature.—Strange that Olaf should pardon the murderer, yet execute the pagan! That he should deem the most horrible of crimes less heinous than conscientious, however mistaken, belief! But such has always been the policy of the Roman Catholic church.[245]
|1020 to 1021.|
The uplands were not the only parts of Norway in which idolatry was to be found. While at Nidaros one winter, he learned that in Halogaland, Naumdal, and the interior of Drontheim, even the outward forms of Christianity were disregarded. To judge for himself in so important a matter, Olaf, when spring arrived, proceeded into Naumdal, where he held assemblies of the people. He soon found that there were delinquents enough, and he resolved not to spare them. He afflicted them, says the historian, with grievous penalties, not sparing the powerful any more than the humble; and he made all the inhabitants promise that in future they would preserve the holy faith incorrupt. By passing through the most sequestered districts, he discovered what would otherwise have escaped him. On his return to Nidaros, he learned that in the interior of the province, at the yule festival, the horns and cups were, as of yore, consecrated to the gods; that oxen were still sacrificed, and the altars sprinkled with their blood. In great anger, yet eager to examine into the truth of the charge, Olaf sent for many of the farmers, to interrogate them on the subject. But they asserted that their convivial meetings had nothing to do with religion; that, like their fathers, they indulged over their cups, but were not so foolish as to be the slaves of heathenism. Though he was forced to dismiss them, he was not satisfied; and about the middle of winter he sent for them a second time, laying before them the information which he had subsequently received. Again was the charge denied; and they were again dismissed, but not without the assurance that Olaf would soon judge for himself. After the Easter festivities, he accordingly repaired into that district; and sending for Thorold, one of his vassals, questioned him closely as to the existence of idolatry in his neighbourhood. At first the man was unwilling to speak; he dreaded the vengeance of the Pagans; but being assured of the royal protection, he said that most of the people had not yet been baptized; that those who had, had certainly reverted to the worship of Thor and the other deities; that there were scarcely any Christians in heart; that sacrifices were still offered, at the ancient seasons; and that at their meetings, which they asserted were purely convivial, twelve men officiated as priests. Hearing these charges, for the truth of which he had no guarantee,—nothing beyond the bare word of Thorold,—Olaf summoned his vassals, hastened to the place of entertainment, put the leaders to death, imprisoned others, and plundered all. But the most arbitrary and most unjust part of his conduct was that which authorised his followers to visit the houses of the suspected, and kill or bind or plunder them at pleasure. That the innocent, if they had any substance, or any enemies, suffered with the guilty, is undoubted. Of both, many escaped before their persecutors arrived. Of the prisoners, some were put to death, some mutilated, others fined, and many banished.[246]
|1021.|
Having left many priests, and caused many churches to be erected, in Naumdal, Olaf proceeded into the uplands, for the purpose of rooting out the remains of paganism. Here, too, he found many who had not been baptized,—and many who, if they had been, were more than suspected of being addicted to the ancient religion. From the more considerable persons he demanded hostages, as pledges of their fidelity in future; the rest were more summarily dealt with. But the force he had with him was inadequate to the chastisement of all the delinquents,—for whole districts had neglected the new religion. He therefore sent out the arrow, and being joined by his vassals, issued an edict that those who refused to embrace Christianity with all their hearts must either fight him or see their lands devastated and themselves punished. As before, hypocrites enough hastened to him to profess obedience to his command, while the more conscientious, or the more indigent, fled into other districts. Hearing of these transactions, Godbrand of the Dales, a powerful man and a pagan, having sent forth the arrow, addressed his warriors at some length:—“There has arrived on the margin of the Loar a man called Olaf, commanding us to follow a religion different from that which we have hitherto followed, breaking all the images of our gods, and asserting that his God is greater and more powerful than they. To me it seems marvellous that the earth does not swallow him,—that our gods suffer him to live. Of this I am quite sure,—that, if we take the statue of Thor from the temple near us, and bear him towards the enemy, he will destroy their God, Olaf himself, and all his companions.” These words will show that there were parts of Norway which paid only a nominal obedience to the monarchs of Drontheim, which had preserved their stormy independence from a remote age to the eleventh century. These were the mountainous parts, especially the dales, which were scarcely accessible to an army, where defence was more easy, where a great number of invaders could not find subsistence. The speech of Godbrand was received by the hearers with acclamation. All cried that they would not forsake their gods; that if Olaf came into their peaceful valleys, he should not leave them alive. Seven hundred men were immediately placed under the command of Godbrand’s son, and with them he proceeded to the entrance of the Dales. His example was followed by other rustics; so that the opposition which awaited Olaf in these defiles threatened to be more formidable than any which he had yet encountered. On reaching the ground where they were encamped, he caused a trumpet to be sounded, and a herald to bear his command that they would instantly receive Christianity. They rejected it with contempt; but they were soon defeated and compelled to flee. Some were taken prisoners, among whom was the son of Godbrand. Olaf could sometimes act with policy as well as humanity; and on this occasion he dismissed the humbled chief, bidding him tell the father that the victor would soon be in the centre of the dales. Touched with this generosity, the young man besought his father not to contend with Olaf. How, indeed, could he, with only 200 men remaining? By the old pagan he was sharply reproved for this pusillanimity, and told that, for his sins, he had been accompanied by some evil genius. The question of peace or war was again proposed to the Thing, or assembly of the people; and they resolved that twelve men should be sent to Olaf, to obtain the most favourable conditions that could be granted, and to invite him to meet them. The two parties did meet in those solitary wilds; and Olaf, amidst a heavy shower of rain, which continued the whole day, proceeded to explain the leading doctrines of Christianity. His explanation, however, was not very clear to the assembled pagans. “We know nothing of the God thou preachest,” said Godbrand, “and how can we, since neither thou nor anybody else has ever seen him? But we have a god whom we can all see whenever we please. To-day he does not appear on account of the rain; but if he should come to this meeting, you could not withstand his looks: he would frighten you all,—for he is a terrible god.” The old man concluded by saying that, if the Christian God should work a palpable miracle, he would then believe in his power. After the assembly had been dismissed, and Olaf, with the son of Godbrand, had retired to his temporary abode, the former had the curiosity to ask what was the construction of the image to which Godbrand had alluded. He was informed that it was a vast statue of Thor, with crown and mallet and costly ornaments, and hollow within. Every day, four loaves of bread, and a corresponding portion of flesh, was presented to this idol. That night, says the historian, the king could not sleep, such was his anxiety to convince the people of God’s power and of Christ’s divinity. The truth is that he was more anxious for his own safety; for the countrymen were resorting, in greater numbers than before, to the scene of action. To be secure in case of attack, he despatched one of his chiefs for a reinforcement. The following day, Thor was wheeled to the place where the assembly deliberated. As it approached, the people rose and saluted it. It was placed in the midst of the place,—having the pagans on one side and the Christians on the other. Godbrand, rising, said,—“Here, king, is our god; but where is thine? He is, I suppose, in some obscure corner, with downcast looks. Thou art not so confident as thou wast; no more is that horned[247] man who sits beside thee, and is called your bishop. This our god, who rules all things, looks upon you with angry eyes; you are evidently afraid; you dare not lift up your eyes. Wherefore, lay aside your vain superstition, and believe in the present god, who has your fate in his hands.” Telling one of his attendants to have a huge club in readiness, Olaf arose, and replied to the speech of Godbrand. “Their god was blind and dumb, who could do nothing for himself or others; he could not even move from his place without being carried.” “Our God,” added he, “is in the east,” alluding to the sun as the brightest emblem of the Deity. Hearing this, the people unconsciously turned their looks in that direction. This was the signal for the chief who held the mace. One ponderous blow broke the deity to pieces; and from the fragments, as they fell, crept serpents, rats, and spiders, in great numbers. Seeing this, most of the people fled; but they were soon recalled by the king, who wished to converse amicably with them. Having ridiculed their prostrate deity, he left them the usual option,—of fighting him or embracing Christianity. Godbrand was the first to set the example. As his god could not help or revenge itself, it had manifestly no power, and he would now believe in the Christians’ God. He was followed by the rest; and, in a short time, a church arose in each valley. From this place Olaf repaired into Hedmark, Raumarik, and Hadaland, where such districts as were not already Christians were speedily made so, in the Roman Catholic sense of the word,—that is, the people were baptized. Of instruction nobody thought; or, if they did, it was left to time. But if Olaf had been as enlightened as he was ignorant, he could not, with the few priests at his disposal, have effected much good. Until England and Germany sent more ecclesiastics, and some provision was made for their education in Norway itself, little good was or could be effected.[248]
|1022 to 1023.|
When Olaf found that the old religion maintained its sway among the inhabitants generally, he had always recourse to the same policy: he collected troops, marched to the place, sent forth his staff, which was the signal for the people to meet in the public Thing, just as the arrow was the signal of war; and proposed the alternative of a battle or conversion. But it sometimes happened that the arrow had been sent out before his arrival, and that the people were assembled in numbers too great for him to attack with safety. Thus, in the diet of Valders, when the proceedings were opened, and the king began to talk of conversion, he was immediately enjoined silence; nor would this have been the worst result, had he not been cunning enough to call upon the legal disputants to lay their cases before him for adjudication. In a moment the tumult was hushed; each party who was or fancied himself aggrieved began to complain, and the king was occupied the whole of the day in giving his decisions. The following days he laid waste their territory with fire and sword—fine occupation for their monarch! To protect their property the men assembled in arms; but as Olaf transferred his hostilities from place to place, no large body could be collected together; or, if it were, it soon dissolved itself. Hence he was able to assail them in succession, and force them to submission. The use which he made of his victory was the same as on other occasions; he baptized, hung, maimed, banished, fined, and returned to his capital in the belief that he had done Heaven much service.[249]
|1026 to 1027.|
But from these conversions—these persecutions—Olaf was at length diverted by the report that Canute the Great, king of England and Denmark, was preparing to assert his rights to Norway. Why so ambitious a monarch as the Dane had so long delayed the vindication of his claim is not easily explained: England had been long tranquil, and from Denmark no commotion was to be dreaded. Whatever the motives of his inactivity, he never forgot that Norway had been subdued by his father. In 1025 he asserted his claim through his ambassadors, who saw king Olaf at Tunsberg. Norway, he said, was his by the right of conquest, and that right he should not renounce; but, as he was averse to the shedding of blood, he would acknowledge Olaf as king if the latter would do him homage, and pay him the same tribute as the jarls had paid. The reply of Olaf was, that he would pay no tribute, but defend Norway to the last extremity. Knowing that the cloud of invasion must burst upon him, he selected and obtained the alliance of Sweden. Olaf was no more; but Omund (or Emund) was not inattentive to the connection which bound the royal families of the two kingdoms. To arrange the means of defence the two kings met in Gothland, and lost no time in preparing their vessels for service. As Canute delayed the threatened expedition much longer than was expected, they were unwilling to keep their armaments idle, and they assumed the aggressive,—Olaf choosing the Danish islands, especially Zealand, as the scene of his depredations; Omund preferring the nearer province of Scania. In a short time, however, they joined their fleets, and continued their ravages. The summer being past and no enemy appearing, Omund returned to Sweden,—leaving, however, a portion of his fleet under the orders of Olaf. When Canute heard of these ravages, he hastened his preparations. Another subject, too, made him anxious to revisit Denmark. The Danes were dissatisfied with the absence of their monarch. From the foundation of the state, never had they been without a present chief—often with many—to defend their coasts against the piratical kings of the north. Now that Olaf and Omund were assailing them with impunity, their complaints became the louder. To appease them, Ulf, the brother-in-law of Canute, and the most powerful of the Danish nobles, had recourse to a bold imposture; he produced forged letters, which he alleged came from Canute, commanding the states to recognise his son Harda Canute as king of Denmark. The motive which led him to this step is obvious. The prince was only ten years of age, and the regency must necessarily rest with him. How he expected to escape the vengeance of his monarch is surprising: probably he looked for impunity to the unanimous voice of Denmark, and to the interference of Emma, the queen, who had sanctioned the plot, and transmitted her husband’s signet to him. Seeing the royal seal, the people immediately proclaimed the young prince. Both Ulf and Harda Canute soon repented of the step. Two kings were ravaging their coasts: Canute only could defend them; and his arrival might soon be expected. To avert his anger, they supplicated the queen to employ her influence in their behalf; and, after some entreaty, the monarch agreed that if Harda Canute and the jarl would apply to him for pardon, and lay the usurped crown at his feet, he would exact no vengeance for the past. Accordingly, both proceeded to England, knelt before him, and humbly entreated his forgiveness. The royal child was heartily, Ulf reluctantly pardoned,—if that can be called pardon, when a secret determination is made to destroy the object whenever a new occasion shall be presented. To extinguish the last spark of this rebellion, no less than to chastise the presumption of the two northern kings, he sailed for the north.[250]
|1027.|
When Canute arrived in the Baltic, he found that Scania was ravaged by the combined fleets of Norway and Sweden. In a naval battle off that coast he had a hard struggle, but, in the end, had so far the advantage that he compelled the enemy to retire. After this partial success, he did not forget Ulf the jarl. Inviting that noble to a feast at Roskilda, the latter endeavoured, by mirthful conversation, to dissipate the gloom which hung on the countenance of the monarch. The chessboard was introduced, and, in the game which followed, the anger of Canute was still further increased. The jarl took one of the king’s knights; but the king took it back again, and, in a hasty tone, bid Ulf not play in that manner. One of this chief’s worst characteristics was an irritable temper, which he could not always control, even in the presence of his lord. He not only struck the table with much anger, but rose to leave the apartment. “Coward! dost thou flee?” cried the insulted king. “Thou wouldst have fled farther,” replied the jarl, “but for me. Was I a coward in the late action at the mouth of the Helge, when I bore aid to thee, whom the Swedes were beating like a dog?” These rash words sealed his fate. Though he took refuge in the cathedral, the next morning the monarch ordered him to be slain; and the deed was perpetrated in the choir. For this action, the royal assassin had thenceforth no peace; remorse was his daily companion: to allay it he became a benefactor to the church, and undertook a pilgrimage to Rome.[251]
|1027 to 1028.|
Winter approaching, Omund of Sweden returned home with his armament. For some time longer, Olaf remained to watch the motions of the Danes; but he had some reason to know that a spirit of discontent prevailed among his followers. When summoned to the council their opinions were divided, in cases where unanimity was most required. It was evident that some of them were bought by Canute’s gold, or by the hope of his favour. Many, too, of the Norwegians even—the bravest of that nation—were in the armament of the Dane. As so little dependence was, after Omund’s departure, to be placed in his fleet, Olaf sent it to the Swedish ports, and returned, by way of West Gothland, into Vikia. At Sarfsburg he determined to pass the winter; and he endeavoured, by presents, to secure the attachment of his chief nobles; but he found that his own partisans were fewer, and those of his enemy more numerous, than he had anticipated. In some districts he could not venture without a strong armed force. As he dared not venture into the north, and was unsafe in the uplands, he proceeded to Tunsberg; from thence he despatched messengers into all the provinces, to hasten the levy of ships and men. Those in his immediate neighbourhood obeyed his mandate, rather through fear than love; by the more distant provinces it was derided. That the hearts of the people were not with him was manifest; the great preparations of Canute, which resounded throughout the kingdom, were either beheld with indifference, or openly desired. To what causes must this almost universal defection be ascribed? Undoubtedly to many. By the admirers of this king—that is, by the Roman Catholics—it has been contended, that the chief was the attachment of the Norwegians to their ancient idolatry. That this was a great cause cannot be disputed; but we may hesitate before we admit it as the principal. Olaf Trygveson was no less zealous than he; yet that monarch was in no danger from a foreign invader, and, to the very last, was supported by a loyal people. The truth is, Olaf the Saint had turned his friends into enemies, by the capriciousness of his conduct. If his predecessor was a furious bigot, he was, at least, beloved by his immediate attendants, and feared by his people. To his domestics the saint was often austere, not very liberal, and frequently tyrannical. In proof of this, we may adduce the confession of his greatest favourites, that, whatever the urgency of the occasion, they dared not awake him when asleep.[252] The man who thus inspired fear, even in his own palace, could not be loved. Then he was rigid, imprudently rigid, in the administration of justice. It was, indeed, better to err on this side than on that of laxity; still he should have made some allowance for times and circumstances, and have been satisfied with pecuniary mulcts where he exacted mutilation or death. Add, that he had not the commanding talents of the son of Trygve; that he was frequently fickle alike in his attachments and designs; that he was oppressive in his exactions; that he violated the pledges which he had given to respect the privileges of the native chiefs; and we have the key to the universal disaffection of which he was soon to become the victim.[253]
|1028 to 1029.|
In the spring of 1028, Canute, with a powerful armament, sailed for Norway. Disembarking on the coast of Agder, he commanded the people to assemble in a provincial Thing,—a command which was promptly obeyed. Here he was acknowledged king of Norway, and no voice was raised against his election. On his way to Nidaros,—the modern Drontheim,—wherever he landed the people flocked in multitudes to receive him, and to pay him homage. On reaching that city, where Olaf had so much resided, and where he was so much detested, Canute was joyfully acknowledged the sole monarch of the country. During all this time, Olaf remained at Tunsberg, in the vain expectation of succour from some portion of his subjects. At length he sailed round the southern coast, rather as a spy than a monarch; and he had the satisfaction of vanquishing one of his rebellious jarls: but this was no advantage, for it exasperated the kindred of the fallen chief, who forced him precipitately to retire. Proceeding northward, he found that his own subjects (Canute had returned to Denmark in the full confidence that the new conquest was secure) were on the deep to intercept him. As their force was so much superior to his, he hastily disembarked, in the resolution to pass overland into Sweden. But the project was not without danger; every moment the countrymen might rise and deliver him into the hands of his enemies. To escape this evil he traversed the most solitary paths, with a celerity to which his fear gave additional wings. Continuing his way into the dales and Hedmark, he had some reason to fear for his life. Though he had many kinsmen in the uplands, the majority of the people were his enemies, and were ready to seize him. As yet, however, he had a considerable guard,—about 300 men,—and open force, in a rural, secluded district, might be resisted. But when he perceived that his followers were daily diminishing, he had no alternative but to flee into Sweden. Hako the jarl, Canute’s lieutenant for the whole of Norway, would soon pursue him; and expedition was therefore doubly necessary. Accompanied by his queen, Astridda, and a few companions whose fidelity no misfortunes could shake, he passed into Vermeland, and was thus free from the apprehension of pursuit. His expedition saved him; for had he remained any longer in Norway he must have fallen into the hands of the jarl Hako, who was pursuing him with a force which he could not have resisted. There he passed the winter. When summer arrived, leaving his queen and his daughter in Sweden, he proceeded to Holmgard in Gardarik, to solicit the aid of the king, or rather of Ingigerda the queen.[254]
|1029.|
By the king and queen of Holmgard the regal fugitive was received with much hospitality. Seeing the distraction of Norway, they endeavoured, by the offer of a considerable province, to prevail on him to remain in the country. This would have been his wisest policy; but his heart yearned to the country of his birth, and he indulged the hope of being recalled by his subjects. His was not a strong mind; but in devotion—or we should rather say in the external offices of his church—he sought for consolation. But ambition was his prevailing quality. Night and day he meditated the means of returning; and, with a mind so impressed, we cannot be surprised that his dreams assumed the colour of his waking thoughts. A royal shade accosted him, exhorted him to return, and promised him success. Had Olaf been an enlightened man, or known much of that religion which he so zealously professed, he would have understood that a vision recommending all the horrors of civil war could not be from heaven. In about a year he left Gardarik, and sailed to Sweden. Here he learned that Hako the jarl was dead, and no successor yet nominated by Canute. This he thought a favourable opportunity for the vindication of his rights, and he proceeded to the Swedish court to solicit aid. By Emund he was nobly received; but the information which reached him from Norway did not induce him to hasten his departure. When the local governors heard of his arrival in Sweden, they sent forth the arrow of war, in the determination of resisting his entrance. The spies whom he sent into the country were unanimous in their report that the popular mind was indisposed to him,—that he should abandon the intention of returning. These representations, however, were counterbalanced by his hopes: in a few months after his arrival in Sweden, he procured 400 men from Emund, with permission to raise as many more as chose to join him, and proceeded through the centre of Sweden towards Norway.[255]
|1030.|
On the confines of that kingdom, being joined by his kindred and their vassals, he found that his whole force amounted to 1200 men. With this force, had there existed any attachment to his cause, he might have triumphed; but as he proceeded through the northern districts of Drontheim, nobody joined him. In some places, indeed, he forced the inhabitants to assemble, and compelled those who were still pagan to receive baptism. Thus the time which he should have turned to his advantage he lost by his injudicious zeal, and thereby afforded his enemies leisure to organise the means of resistance. In another respect he was less imprudent. Seeing the refusal of the countrymen to join him, he was exhorted by his followers, of whom many were Swedish banditti, to burn their houses, to lay waste their fields, to cut them down wherever they could be found. He had the humanity to refuse his sanction to this atrocious proposal. He had, he said, one regal prerogative left,—the power of forgiving. On entering the district of Sticklestadt, he perceived a large force drawn up to oppose him. Arranging his own followers in order of battle, he exhorted them to fight manfully for their religion, their king, their families. On the other, Sigurd, the bishop, who was in the army of Canute, no less strongly exhorted his party to drive this invader from the kingdom. The character which the prelate drew of that monarch was not an enviable one. From his youth he had been remarkable for his robberies and executions; he had exiled or put to death the noblest of his chiefs; he had acted with singular treachery towards the upland kings,—whose privileges, contrary to his solemn pledges, he had violated, and whose persons he had afterwards mutilated; to all men, high or low, he had been tyrannical; he had lost all his friends; and he was now followed only by the enemies of Norway, or by professed bandits. This description was not overcharged, and it may be admitted as a fair estimate of his character. The battle now engaged, and Olaf fought with much courage; but in the end he fell, and most of his kinsmen with him.[256]
That the moral portrait of Olaf may be finished, and his claims to sanctity appreciated, we have yet to add that he had a concubine, and by her a bastard,—Magnus the Good,—four years after his marriage with Astridda. The circumstances connected with the birth of this prince are worthy of relation. Alfhilda, the royal concubine, was observed to be pregnant; and everybody knew that this was the result of her intercourse with Olaf. One night she was seized by the pains of labour, which were unusually severe; both her life and that of her infant were despaired of before it was brought into the world. Even after that event, so precarious was its existence, that the priest who was present insisted on its immediate baptism, and desired Sigvat the poet to awake the king for the purpose of knowing what name was to be given it. Nothing can better illustrate the tyranny of Olaf than the fact that Sigvat, favourite as he had long been, durst not fulfil this commission, at a time when mother and child were apparently on the brink of the grave. “Who dares awake him?” replied Sigvat. “But the infant must be baptized,” rejoined the priest. “I would rather incur the responsibility of naming the child,” said the poet, “than of awaking the king.” The name was Magnus. The next morning Olaf was in a great rage with Sigvat, whom he summoned before him, and asked how he could have the presumption to impose a name on his royal son. “Was it not better,” replied the poet, “to give the child to God rather than to the devil? Had he died without baptism, he must have been the devil’s. For my boldness I can but lose my head; and, if I do so, I must trust to God’s mercy!” “But why didst thou call the child Magnus?” demanded Olaf: “I have no kindred of that name.” “Because it was the name of Charlemagne.” “Thou art a fortunate man,” said the king. “Nor is this strange, as fortune is the companion of wisdom. Yet it is strange when the imprudent man turns his very rashness into the source of advantage.” In the sequel this Magnus became king of Norway.[257]
As nobody can be admitted into the calendar of saints without the operation of miracles, which the church requires as evidence of sanctity, we may be prepared for those of Olaf. That he healed incurable diseases, restored sight to the blind, assisted the warriors who invoked his aid, is asserted by the gravest Icelandic writers. One which we give in the Appendix, and which is by far the most imaginative of the number[258] may enable the reader to judge of what materials they consist. The sanctity of Olaf rests on a foundation of equal solidity with his miracles. Yet all the Roman Catholics in Europe are taught, from their infancy, to believe in both. How far his character, as given in the text, agrees with that which Alban Butler has drawn from that immense heap of rubbish, the Acta Sanctorum, may also be seen in the Appendix.[259]
EARLY EXPEDITIONS OF THE NORTHMEN TO THE COASTS OF THE ROMAN PROVINCES.—CAUSES WHICH LED TO THEM.—POVERTY OF THE SOIL, FAMINE, COURAGE.—DOMESTIC PIRACY.—TRIBES OF PIRATES.—INVASION OF ENGLAND BY THE SAXONS AND DANES.—AUTHORITY OF SAXO GRAMMATICUS.—DEPREDATIONS IN ENGLAND PRIOR TO THE REIGN OF ATHELSTANE.—VICTORY OF THAT MONARCH.—RAVAGES OF THE NORTHMEN IN FRANCE.—HASTINGS.—ROLLO THE GREATEST OF THE SCANDINAVIAN PIRATES.—HIS CONQUEST OF NORMANDY, OF WHICH HE WAS THE FIRST DUKE.—THE NORTHMEN IN IRELAND.—EARLY COMMUNICATION BETWEEN THE IRISH AND THE NORTH OF EUROPE.—FIRST RAVAGES OF THE NORTHMEN.—THEIR ALARMING PROGRESS IN THAT ISLAND.—VICTORY OBTAINED OVER THEM BY KING BRIAN.—THEIR SUBSEQUENT DEPREDATIONS AND DECLINE.
That the expeditions of the Northmen were not confined to the shores of the Baltic, long before the period which is usually assigned to them, is evident from the whole course of the later Roman history. During the domination of the empire in Gaul and Britain, the local governors, whatever their zeal, were unable to prevent the depredations which the maritime inhabitants of Friesland and Jutland made on the more southern coasts. The Saxons and Franks were among the earliest pirates of the north. In the third century we find them on the coast of Gaul; in the fourth and fifth, they were no less troublesome on that of Britain. Even from the time of Cæsar, the tribes on the maritime coast, from the mouths of the Rhine to the Baltic Sea, were beginning to learn the piratical life. Their position was highly favourable to such pursuits. Located in the vicinity of rivers, friths, and bays, where the soil is unproductive, their wants must have led them to regions where Nature was more lavish of her gifts. This was more especially the case of the people on the sandy shores of Friesland and the Baltic; and, in those regions, they become pirates, just as the Arabs become robbers,—from necessity. But other causes were also at work, and probably at a period still earlier. Amidst the endless migrations of the barbarous tribes who occupied central and northern Europe, the impulse must have been extended to more distant shores. When, for instance, Asiatic Scythia sent forth her swarms to conquer and to colonise, the original inhabitants either bent their necks to the new yoke, or escaped from it by retiring farther to the west. Those of Scandinavia were compelled to look for settlements in the south; and this object could only be obtained by means of ships. There is reason to believe that these emigrations, or maritime expeditions, came to our own islands before the birth of Christ; this, indeed, is expressly affirmed by Bede, who mentions the first arrival of the Picts in these islands. They came, he informs us, from Scythia; and, sailing round the southern coast of Britain, landed on that of Ireland, where the Scots were then settled. As there was not room for both people, the new comers, in conformity with the advice of the Scots, proceeded to the opposite shores, viz., those of Galloway and Argyle. This could not have been a solitary immigration into these islands; the Scots themselves were a conquering and a new tribe when the Picts arrived. If this is true of the western, it is still more so of the eastern, coasts of England and Scotland, especially of the latter. Danish expeditions, before our Saviour’s birth, are frequently mentioned by Saxo; and, absurd as his chronology often is, we think that there is some foundation for his statement, corroborated as it is by that of Bede. But we must not lose sight of the fact, that the two writers are speaking of events in themselves dissimilar. Bede alludes to the emigration of whole tribes, Saxo to piratical expeditions.[260]
That at a barbarous period, when agriculture was little understood, and in barren countries, where the greatest industry was unavailing, there must have been many seasons of famine, would be admitted, if it were not supported by the positive testimony of history. When they arrived, the younger and more vigorous class of the people naturally betook themselves to more southern regions. He that once visited those regions, would be in no hurry to return. The long duration of winter, the uncertainty of an early spring, the coldness and humidity of the atmosphere, which often prevented the fruits of the earth from arriving at maturity, must have appeared to striking disadvantage when contrasted with the greater regularity of seasons in the south. Nor was this the worst. The north was covered with endless forests, or with extensive fens, or with bleak mountains, where industry might labour in vain; in the south, nature produced, with small labour, what was necessary for the support of man. Since, in the former, wars between one tribe and another were of so frequent occurrence, the condition of the people must have been dreadful; they must have been often thinned by famine. Hence the expatriations, whether voluntary or compulsory, of which we read so much in the ancient history of the north. One of the earliest on record is that which took place under Snio, a prince of Jutland. A sore famine arriving, he published an edict, that, to economise the grain, none should be used in the brewing of beer. But this law was ineffectual; the people were too fond of indulging in the beverage to be thus forced; and a national Thing was convoked to devise the means of public safety. That a law was passed for the destruction of the old, the very young, and those unable to carry arms, or to cultivate the ground, is affirmed by several writers; but the statement is incredible. There is greater truth in another,—that banishment was substituted, and lots were cast to determine the individuals. Sweden furnishes us with a second instance, though not so ancient as the preceding. We have already seen that, during the pressure of a famine, Olaf Trætelia was sacrificed to the gods.[261] The remedy, however, was unavailing; the scourge became still greater, and the people removed into Norway. Two centuries after this period, one third of the Danes, says Peter Olaf, were thus driven into exile; and they selected Prussia, Carelia, Samogitia, and other shores of the Baltic, as their future abodes. This evil was more ancient than we usually suppose. We find laws, permitting the exposure of infants where the parents were unable to support them, before Christianity was known to the Franks, or Bavarians, or Swabians, or any other of the Germanic tribes. Where no temporary law was made for the expatriation of a certain number of the people, the more adventurous would often retire of their own accord. The Scandinavians were no strangers to the sea; from their childhood they were accustomed to fish in their bays, gulfs, mouths of rivers, and other parts of their coasts. This exercise made them familiar with the management of small vessels, and led them to regard the watery element as no less friendly than land. As they became inured to the business, and extended their voyages, they learned where particular species of fish were most abundant. It is probable that at a very early period all the coasts of the Baltic were thus visited.[262]
These circumstances combined will explain the superior dexterity of the Scandinavians and other Baltic nations in the management of vessels. If want of subsistence led them to the deep, whether through expatriation, or the hope of successful fishing, other causes made them pirates. It was easier to take a vessel well laden with that useful commodity than to catch it; and when, in these practices, the crew of one hostile tribe met the crew of another, a battle was sure to follow. By degrees, vessels for piracy alone were equipped; nor were the objects of plunder confined to fish: the houses near the sea-coasts had other articles of food, other commodities, which would enrich the pirate’s home. The dangers attending a profession where the crews were necessarily armed, were not likely to damp the spirit of adventure. Courage was a part of the Northman’s religion; death in battle was a good, since it introduced him at once to the enjoyments of Odin’s hall,—enjoyments far exceeding whatever this world could furnish. Piracy, then, was the necessary result of the Scandinavian’s position; and it must have been practised more anciently than most historians admit. Tacitus tells us that in his time the Suiones were formidable by their fleets. Navigation, indeed, could not be in its infancy, when such colonies as that of the Picts undertook voyages so long and hazardous. It could not be in its infancy during the third century, when Caransius was nominated by the Roman authorities of Gaul to protect, at the head of a powerful fleet, the coasts daily menaced by the barbarians.[263]
That domestic piracy—viz., piracy confined to their own coast—distinguished the Scandinavians long before their expeditions into the south, is undoubted. First, they had to struggle with the hostile races who had preceded them in the north,—whom on their arrival they had to dislodge, and who for so many ages preserved a vindictive remembrance of the outrage. The Goth and the Finn must have been enemies from the beginning; and both must have been equally hostile to the Vends, a Slavonic tribe of Pomerania, much addicted to piracy. Position, no less than race, made tribes hereditary enemies. The Frisons and the Saxons were rivals, and therefore enemies; so were the Swedes and the Danes; so were the Scanians and Norwegians. Their fleets watched the coasts of each other, ready to fight it whenever the opportunity was presented. Thus, while the Norwegians were delighted in making predatory irruptions into Quenaland, which was inhabited by Finns, the Vends were harassing the Danes, and the Jutes the Saxons. In the fifth century—how long before we have not individual instances to select—the Vends were powerful enough to infuse terror into the whole of Denmark. Ismar, their king, ravaged Fionia, defeated king Sivar, and took prince Jarmeric captive. In the sixth century, a Slavonian fleet was defeated by Halfdan, king of Scania. Saxo is full of maritime contests between the two people; and though his chronology is wrong, the facts themselves are indisputable. In general, the Vends exceeded the Scandinavians in ferocity. Both had great advantages for maritime adventures. Lithuania, Esthonia, and Livonia were as well provided with timber as Norway or Sweden; and each country had a multitude of natural bays and creeks, where refuge could be sought when the tempest was severe, or when an enemy appeared too formidable to be resisted.[264]
But the coasts of the Roman provinces offered the greatest inducements to piracy. They were Saxons and Franks whom Caransius had chiefly to oppose. In the following century, they were more formidable to the local governors. “In the beginning of the fourth century,” says Turner, in his valuable history of the Anglo-Saxons, “the Saxons were not alone on the ocean; other states, both to the south and north of their own locality, were moving in concert with them, whose nominal distinctions were lost in the Saxon name. This addition of strength multiplied the Saxon fleets, gave new terror to their hostility, and recruited their losses with perpetual population. The league extended. Their depredations increased their population, affluence, and celebrity; and these results extended their power. What emulation, policy, or rapacity may have first prompted, success and fear made more universal. They who would not have been tempted to unite, dreaded the wrath of those whose proffered alliance they refused: and at length most of the nations north of the Rhine assumed the name, strengthened the association, and fought to augment the predominance of the Saxons. Towards the south, between the Elbe and the Rhine, the Chauci seem to have led the way. The Frisii, urged by kindred passion and a convenient position, willingly followed. The precise date of the accession of others is not so clear; but in some period of their power, the Chamavi, and at last the Batavi, the Toxandri, and Morini, were in their alliance. North of their territorial position the Cimbri, the Jutes, the Angles, and others not so discernible, added their numbers to the formidable league; which lasted until their expedition to Britain, and then began to dissolve. Without detaining the reader by a detail of the modern chorography answering to the position of these tribes, it may be sufficient to state, concisely, that the progress and leagues of the Saxon states enlarged gradually from the Elbe to the Weser; from the Weser they reached to the Ems; and, still augmenting, they diffused themselves to the Rhine with varying latitude, as the Franks, many of whose allies they seduced, quitting that region, and abandoning their exploits on the ocean, marched upon Gaul. The extension of this new confederation was favoured by the change of policy and position adopted by the Franks. As this people stood foremost to the Roman vengeance, they experienced its effects. They had many distressing wars to maintain, which in time compelled them to abandon maritime expeditions, and to consolidate their strength for their continental conflicts. Their ultimate successes made this warfare the most popular among them. Hence, the nearer we approach the period of the invasion of England, we find the Franks less and less united with the Saxons on the ocean, and even wars begin to be frequent between the rival friends. As the former moved onward, to the conquests of Belgium and Gaul, the Saxons appear to have been the only nation, under whose name the vessels of piracy were navigated. Saxons were the enemies every where execrated, though under this title several nations fought. Some of the tribes on the maritime coast, who had composed the league of the Franks, abandoned it, to share the easier warfare and ampler booty of the Saxons. At last this successful people diffused themselves into the interior of Germany so victoriously, that the vast tracts of country embraced by the Elbe, the Sala, and the Rhine, became subjected to their power, in addition to their ancient territory from the Elbe to the Eyder. An old Belgic chronicle, in rhyme, makes Neder Sassen, Lower Saxony, to have been confined by the Scheid and the Meuse; but this is a larger extent than others admit.”[265]
In contemplating the piratical expeditions or maritime conquests of the Northmen, during the pagan age, greater clearness will be attained by classing them under the head of each country visited by those people.
1. Britain. The Jutes and the Angles were the most prominent allies of the Saxons. The league was joined by other people of the north,—by adventurous Danes no less than Slavonic Pomeranians. At the head of maritime forces so numerous and so powerful, the Saxons became dreadful scourges to Gaul and Britain. “In the latter country, their depredations were rendered more secure by the frequent irruptions of the Picts and Scots into the northern counties, who, like them, were joined in a confederation. Had the Saxons or the Picts been left to their own efforts, the Roman governors would not have been so much pressed by the pirates as they were from the fourth century downwards. In a similar combination of hostilities, Nectaridus, the commander of the Saxon shore, was slain, and the general of the island, Fullo-faudes, perished in an ambush. Several officers were sent by the Roman emperors to succeed them; but their exertions being inadequate to the necessity, Theodosius, an experienced and successful leader, was appointed by Valentinian in their room. The Picts and the co-operating tribes attacked from the north, while the Saxons and their allies assaulted the maritime coasts. Theodosius, from Richborough, marched towards London, and dividing his army into battalions, correspondent to the positions of the enemies, he attacked the robbers encumbered with their plunder. The bands that were carrying away the manacled inhabitants and their cattle, he destroyed, and regained the spoil; of this he distributed a small share among his wearied soldiers; the residue he restored to its owners, and entered the city, wondering at its sudden deliverance, with the glories of an ovation. Lessoned by experience, and instructed by the confessions of the captives and deserters, he combated this mixture of enemies, with well-combined artifice and unexpected attacks. To recall those who in the confusion, from fear or from cowardice, had abandoned their ranks or their allegiance, he proclaimed an amnesty; and to complete the benefit he had begun, he prosecuted the war with vigour in the north of Britain. He prevented, by judicious movements, the meditated attack; and hence the Orkneys became the scene of his triumphs. The Saxons, strong in their numbers and intrepidity, sustained several naval encounters before they yielded to his genius. They ceased at last to molest the tranquillity of Britain; and the addition of a deserved surname, Saxonicus, proclaimed the service of Theodosius. He added the province of Valentia to Roman Britain, restored the deserted garrisons, and coerced the unruly borderers by judicious stations, and a vigilant defence. The Saxon confederation might be defeated, but was not subdued. Such was its power, that they were now bold enough to defy the Roman armies by land, and invaded the regions on the Rhine with a formidable force. The imperial general was unable to repulse them; a reinforcement encouraged him. The Saxons declined a battle, and sued for an amicable accommodation. It was granted. A number of the youth fit for war were given to the Romans to augment their armies; the rest were to retire unmolested. The Romans were not ashamed to confess their dread of the invaders, by a perfidious violation of the treaty. They attacked the retreating Saxons from an ambush; and, after a brave resistance, the unguarded barbarians were slain or made prisoners. It is to the disgrace of literature that the national historian of the day has presumed, while he records, to apologise for the ignominious fraud. Such an action might dishonourably gain a temporary advantage, but it could only exasperate the Saxon nation. The loss was soon repaired in the natural progress of population, and before many years elapsed, they renewed their depredations, and defeated Maximus. At the close of the fourth century they exercised the activity and resources of Stilicho. The unequal struggle is commemorated by the encomiastical poet, whose genius gilds, with a departing ray, the darkening hemisphere of Rome. After his death the Saxons commenced new irruptions. They supported the Armorici in their rebellion, awed the Gothic Euric, began to war with the Franks, and, extending the theatre of their spoil, made Belgium, Gaul, Italy, and Germany tremble at their presence.” It must be remembered that under the word Saxons many tribes were included,—those of Denmark as well as those of Holstein.[266]
|408.|
The settlement of the Saxons, the Angles, and the Jutes—all comprehended within the geographical limits of Denmark—in Great Britain, has been recorded in two historical volumes of the Cyclopædia.[267] Thus, in 446, Hengest laid the foundation of the kingdom of Kent, which, under eighteen successive kings, subsisted to the close of the eighth century. In 477, Ella, another Saxon chief, called a smaller one, that of Sussex, into existence. Of this state the names of the two first princes only have descended to posterity. In 519, the more powerful kingdom of Wessex was founded by Cerdic, and its princes were destined to unite the other states into one monarchy within three centuries after its establishment. By Ida, the kingdom of Bernicia was founded in 547; By Ella, that of Deira, in 560. These states, being united in 644, formed the important kingdom of Northumberland, which subsisted, with some interruptions, until it was finally annexed, by Athelstane, to the Saxon monarchy. Mercia, founded, in 586, by Crida; East Anglia, by Uffa; and Essex, by Eswin; were all ultimately absorbed in the rising sphere of Wessex. All these royal chiefs boasted of their descent from Odin; all were of Scandinavian origin; all spoke the same language, and followed the same piratical profession. That hordes of obscure adventurers—mere sea kings—should thus subdue a great country, has been matter of surprise to many writers. But we should remember that, at the period in question, England was not a monarchy,—that, like the north, it was subject to many kings, and that the conquest occupied a century and a half.[268]
That during this period the Danes, if not the Norwegians, were brought into relation with the kings of Scotland, is asserted by Saxo. Frode III., according to that historian, gave his daughter Ulvilda in marriage to Thubar king of the Scots. Frode reigned in the fourth century, not, as Saxo assures us, early in the first. Whether Hamlet of Jutland, and other Danish princes, were really in Scotland, cannot be proved; but there is nothing improbable in the relation. That country, like England and the north, was divided among many chiefs, who assumed the regal title; and that their domains should escape the depredations which so afflicted the southern part of the island, is not to be credited. Beyond all doubt, Scotland was visited by piratical bands as early, at least, as England. Nor must we forget that the Saxon kingdom of Bernicia comprehended, besides the north of England from the Tees to the Tweed, all the east and centre of Scotland from the latter river to the Frith of Forth. At what period the inhabitants north of that Frith were first molested by the Danes and Norwegians would be a vain inquiry; we may only infer that it was much earlier than is generally supposed.[269]
As the inhabitants of the Danish islands and of Norway had no share in the spoils of England, they were not bound to respect the coasts after their kindred had established the kingdoms of the polyarchy. Their ravages, indeed, were experienced by the English chiefs before Northumbria became a kingdom. Offa of Mercia, whose domains were invaded by them, had the valour to defeat, and the generosity to pardon, his foes. It has, however, been contended that we find no satisfactory account of the Danes being here in such numbers as to command the notice of history, before the eighth century. In this case, the authority of Saxo is rejected as unworthy of credit. “Some documents for his history Saxo may have derived from poems of the ancient Scalds, from inscriptions on stones and rocks, from an inspection (yet how imperfect!) of the Icelandic authors, and from the narrations of his friend. We may even grant to him, that such men as he enumerates, such actions as he so eloquently describes, and such poems as he so diffusely translates, once appeared; but the chronology and succession into which he arranges them are unquestionably false. The boasted fountains of the history of the ancient Scandinavians, their memorial stones and funeral runæ, the inscribed rings of their shields, the woven figures of their tapestry, their storied walls, their lettered seats and beds, their narrative wood, their re-collected poetry, and their inherited traditions, may have given to history the names of many warriors, and have transmitted to posterity the fame of many battles: but no dates accompanied the memorials; even the geography of the incidents was very rarely noted. Hence, however numerous may have been the preserved memoranda, their arrangement and appropriation were left to the mercy of literary fancy or of national conceit. Saxo unfortunately emulated the fame of Livy, instead of becoming the Pausanias of Scandinavia; and instead of patiently compiling and recording his materials in the humble style or form in which he found them, which would have been an invaluable present to us, he has shaped them into a most confused, unwarranted, and fabulous chronology. The whole of his first eight books, all his history anteceding Ragnar Lodbrog, can as little claim the attention of the historian, as the British, history of Jeffry, or the Swedish history of Johannes Magnus. It is indeed superfluous, if we recollect the Roman history, to argue against a work which pretends to give to Denmark a throned existence, a regular government, and a tissue of orderly and splendid history for twenty-four royal accessions before the birth of Christ. Saxo, on whose history many others were formerly built, refers to the Icelandic writers; but this only increases our depreciation of his narratives, for they are at irreconcileable variance with all his history before the ninth century.”[270] Yet we are far from subscribing, in its most rigorous sense, to this unfavourable character. Saxo’s chronology we condemn as much as any writer; but we do not think that his facts, however distorted by tradition, are not, for the most part, founded in truth. That the authority of Snorro is superior to Saxo’s we readily admit,—superior, we mean, as to chronology; for that the latter must have been better acquainted with the actions of the Danes themselves few will be so rash as to deny. Yet even Snorro assures us that Ivar Vidfadme, a prince of the seventh century, conquered a fifth part of England.[271] By this expression Northumbria is usually understood; and there is nothing improbable in the opinion that the kingdom of Bernicia—that portion of Northumbria north of the Tweed—was overrun by this prince.[272]
|793 to 868.|
The alleged depredations of Ragnar Lodbrog in Northumbria, to which we have slightly alluded in the first chapter of this volume[273] have in them so much of the romantic that we can place little dependence on them. There is but one circumstance that can be made to lend them even the appearance of probability. About the period of Ragnar’s death, a formidable body of Danes descended on the island of Lindisfarne, plundered the church which contained the shrine of St. Cuthbert, massacred the ecclesiastics, defiled the altars, and consumed the building by fire. The lay inhabitants of the island were not more fortunate; the men were massacred, the women were forced, the children tossed on the points of the Danish lances. In the following year (794) the monasteries of Wearmouth and Jarrow were visited with the same fate. During full seventy years,—that is, to the period when the weak brother of Alfred allowed the centre of England to be overrun, and when Alfred himself, by his flight, left the whole kingdom to their mercy,—their depredations on the eastern coast, from the Frith of Forth to the Humber, were, however desultory, however interrupted, most harassing and most destructive. The Saxon kings of Northumbria, we are told, were too much occupied in private feuds to have either time or means for defending the country against the invaders,—if, indeed, there were any Saxon kings at this time,—if the Danes were not the actual sovereigns of the province. It is certain that all the historians of Denmark (who are confirmed by the Icelandic chronicles) speak of such a dynasty, and assure us that the sons of Ragnar Lodbrog were its kings. We see no reason to dispute this statement. There is, however, a sad confusion in the chronology. If Ragnar died in 794, and his sons avenged him in little more than a year afterwards, they could not be at the head of the armament which, in 866, appeared off the coast. Probably they and their successors reigned from the close of the eighth to the tenth century, and the confederated armament of 866 was one on a larger scale, and headed by other leaders. What confirms this inference is the fact that at this time Harald Harfager was subduing the petty kings of Norway; and that many of them, preferring freedom to the despotism of a master, left the country with their bravest warriors. During this period, all the churches and monasteries of the province were destroyed. In 828, the Danish power in Northumberland must have been great, or they would not have been powerful, enough to defeat Egbert, the conqueror of so many Saxon kingdoms, and the founder of the English monarchy. After the year 866, when, as we believe, there were many Norwegians in England, new atrocities were committed,—atrocities which threw all former ones into the shade. The monastery of Tynemouth, which had been restored, was soon in flames; that of Lindisfarne shared the same fate; yet the monks were so fortunate as to escape with the relics of St. Cuthbert. From the smoking ruins of Lindisfarne, Halfdan, one of the chiefs, hastened to the monastery of Coldingham. “According to Matthew of Westminster and succeeding writers, the nuns of Coldingham nobly redeemed the reputation of their establishment from the stain which had covered it in the time of St. Cuthbert. The monastery was now, as in the former case, governed by an abbess, named Ebba; who, if the historian be credible, deserves the honours of canonisation somewhat better than her predecessor. Hearing that it was the custom of the barbarians first to violate, and then to destroy, virgins consecrated to God, she assembled the sister-hood in the chapter house, and exhorted them to save their chastity at the expense of their beauty. With a knife she dreadfully disfigured her countenance; and her example was followed on the spot by all the nuns. The Danes soon forced their gates; but turned with horror from their embraces, and quickly consumed both them and their nunnery. Though the monk of Westminster lived so long after the time, he might follow some better guide than tradition—some record now lost; nor is the fact itself either improbable or unparalleled. The same noble conduct is related of the nuns of Ecija, during the Mohammedan invasion of Spain. During seven years similar depredations followed throughout most of Northumbria. Wherever the Danes penetrated, ecclesiastics were massacred, churches and monasteries were levelled with the ground; the whole country, in fact, became a Danish province, governed by princes of the royal house of that kingdom. Great as was the evil produced by these merciless pagans; though the monks, as an order, were almost wholly annihilated, and civilisation was destroyed, yet the invasion itself led to the conversion of the invaders. Resolved to remain in the country which they had conquered, to cultivate the lands which they had divided among themselves, they were compelled to enter into relations of amity with the inhabitants, from whose example, or by whose persuasion, they soon embraced the faith of Christ. That the Danish princes were soon no less devout than their Saxon brothers appears from the splendid donation of all the country between the Wear and the Tyne, made by Guthred to the cathedral of St. Cuthbert, now transferred to Chester-le-Street.” Out of evil comes good,—a proof of God’s particular providence.[274]
|868 to 876.|
But the atrocities of the Northmen at this period are most graphically described by the abbot Ingulf. After the destruction of Bardney, the pirates hastened to the monastery of Croyland. “It was midnight: the abbot Theodore and his monks had risen to matins when the enemy drew near: the younger brethren the abbot immediately commanded to seek a place of refuge, with their papers, relics, and jewels; while he himself, accompanied by the more aged monks, and some children, awaited whatever fate might be reserved for them. Perhaps he hoped that the grey locks of some, and the infancy of others, might awaken pity even in pagans. But they forgot, says Ingulf, the old verse,