|935 to 964.|
Harald II. surnamed Blaatand, or Blue-tooth, seems, during the last six years of his father’s life, to have been either associated in the government with that king, or to have ruled as his deputy. In 941, however, on the death of Gorm, he was the undisputed heir of the monarchy. The early part of his reign was most brilliant; the latter disastrous. Soon after his accession, his aid was implored by his countrymen in Normandy. Most readers are aware that, in the latter half of the preceding century, Rollo, assisted by perpetual reinforcements from the north, had wrested that province from the kings of France, and, in 912, on his baptism, had been declared the lawful duke of his new conquest. In 927, the veteran warrior, exhausted by age and fatigue, had resigned the dignity to his son William Longsword. In 943, this duke was assassinated, and his son Richard, a child, was left exposed to the hostilities of Louis d’Outremer, who naturally wished to recover that fine province, and confide the government to a French, not to a Norman, vassal. Louis led an army into Normandy, defeated the troops which the regency opposed to him, and obtained possession of the young duke’s person. In this emergency the Normans applied for aid to Harald, whose warlike actions were well known to them. In 944, that is, in a year after duke William’s assassination, the Danish king appeared off Cherburg, with a considerable armament. Alarmed at the danger, Louis had recourse to negotiation; and at the personal interview which followed, the dispute would, in all probability, have been amicably arranged, had not some chiefs of both armies begun to quarrel. This quarrel led to a general engagement, in which Louis was vanquished, and made prisoner. To obtain his liberty, he was compelled to release the young duke, whose right to the fief he also recognised. This was a proud day for Harald, who returned to Denmark with a reputation unrivalled in the north. His next exploit was similar—to place on the throne of Norway (now a monarchy) the sons of Eric, whom Hako, the reigning king, had driven into exile. His arms were successful; and he restored to Harald Grafeld the sceptre of the father. Twelve years afterwards, this prince being assassinated (an event of very usual occurrence in the history of the north), the Danish king went a second time into Norway, subdued the country, and divided it into three kingdoms. One portion he confided, under the ordinary feudal obligations, to Harald Grenshi, a prince of the family; a second, subject to the same homage and service, was bestowed on jarl Hako; the third, which was the lion’s share, was reserved to the Danish crown; and from all a large annual tribute was exacted. This policy was injurious enough to Norway, however useful it might be to Denmark. And it was scarcely less hurtful to England, since it augmented the power of the Danish kings, so as to render them formidable enemies to this island. In his next expedition, which was against no less a personage than the emperor Otho I., he was less happy. Embracing the cause of a rebel whom Otho had placed under the ban of the empire, and learning that the monarch was absent in Italy, he made a fierce irruption into Saxony, and, we are told, put to death the ambassadors of Otho. He had little difficulty in driving the imperial garrison from Sleswic, and in destroying that important fortress. On the return of Otho, however, who lost no time in avenging the indignity offered to the empire, Holstein was speedily overrun, and he driven into the north of Jutland. He was compelled to treat with the victor; and his states were left him on the condition of his baptism, and that of his son Sweyn, and of helping, instead of impeding, the progress of Christianity in his dominions. That on this occasion he did homage for them to the emperor, is asserted by the German, and denied by most native, historians. The subject may occupy our attention for a few moments.[96]
|964.|
That Harald did homage to Otho for the whole of Denmark,—that country being subdued and rendered tributary by the latter,—is expressly asserted by Sweyn Aggesen, a Danish writer of the twelfth century.[97] It is equally affirmed by Adam of Bremen, who wrote within half a century of Harald’s death, and who is better acquainted with the transactions of Holstein and Jutland than all the writers of his age.[98] And it is inferred, from a privilege granted by Otho to the church of Hamburg, exempting the lands of three bishoprics just created in Denmark—Aarhuus, Sleswic, Rypen—from all contributions to the state, from all dependence on the secular government; and extending the same privilege to all the lands which those churches might hereafter possess throughout Denmark. To weaken the effect of these testimonies has been the object of native writers. But what are their reasons? Too feeble to have any weight out of Denmark. They insist that Sweyn was misled by the authority of Adam of Bremen; that Adam, himself, was an ignorant ecclesiastic, who readily assented to whatever Otho assumed; and that the privilege in question, of which the authenticity cannot be denied, is of no weight,—a pure formula of the imperial chancellor, dictated, indeed, by an ambitious, all-grasping court, but founded on no real conquest, much less vassalage. To answer such objections would be an insult to the reader’s understanding. There can be no doubt of the emperor’s feudal supremacy over Denmark, any more than over Bohemia, or Poland, or Lombardy. It has, indeed, been contended that if Otho had a spiritual, he had no temporal jurisdiction; that he might be the protector, the superintendent, the head of the rising church, without having the least authority over the state. But this allegation is at variance with all reason and with all history. Would a sovereign have the insane effrontery to say what lands shall, and what shall not, pay taxes, unless he had some authority over them? Would he exempt them from contributing towards the support of the crown, unless that crown were in some degree dependent on him? And where is there any example of such unlicensed interference? But we all know that vassalitic obligations were of various kinds, some oppressive enough, others little more than nominal; and we may admit that though Harald was compelled to do homage, and even to pay a yearly tribute, he remained independent so far as his internal administration was concerned. It was the policy of Otho to christianise the kingdom—to transform restless barbarians into civilised creatures—to humanise the fiercest of pagans by the influence of a mild and powerful religion. Without such a change, he saw no security for his northern frontier. But in striving to attain this object, great moderation was necessary: he did not wish to exasperate, where his interest was so obviously to induce the most friendly relations; still less would he, by severe exactions,—exactions, however, which his position as conqueror might have enabled him to enforce,—indispose the minds of a high-spirited prince and a warlike people, against the faith which he wished them to embrace.[99]
|964.|
But miracles were no longer wrought in the time of the Othos. If Harald and some of his people outwardly conformed to the religion of Christ, they were still influenced by that of Odin. Besides, to both the national independence was dear; and we cannot be surprised at the hostile feeling with which the Danes regarded the Germans. During the life of the first Otho, indeed, there was outward harmony; but in about a year after the accession of the second (974), he joined the party of Henry duke of Bavaria, then a rebel, and made several irruptions into Saxony. On the defeat of that powerful vassal, Otho penetrated into Jutland, and advanced as far as the Sound which bears his name. With the result of this war we are not acquainted; but probably Harald submitted. The events, however, of both wars, which have been frequently confounded into one, are very doubtful. A more certain fact is, that the good fortune of Harald now forsook him. He failed in an expedition against Norway, which had thrown off its vassalage. Nor was this the worst: his son Sweyn, who had been baptized with him, rebelled against him. The motives which led the prince in this undutiful conduct are unknown. Probably the chief was the desire of power; and as his nature was ferocious, he scrupled not to bear arms against his father. There is also some reason to believe that he was the instrument of a great party,—the old pagans, who could not behold with much pleasure the gradual progress of the new faith, and the consequent decline of their own. His conversion was not, like his father’s, very sincere; or, perhaps, he cared not for either religion, so that his ambition was gratified. As the pagans were still the more numerous subjects of the state, he became at once their patron and their tool. The war was short, and Harald was compelled to flee. He sought a refuge in Normandy, and by duke Richard, we are told, was restored to at least a portion of his dominions. How far this relation is true, we cannot, in the absence of contemporary authority, decide. A more certain fact is, that, in 991, he was assassinated by the procurement of his own son. He was walking on the skirts of a wood, when an arrow from the bow of a Jomsberg pirate belonging to a band in the pay of Sweyn, laid him in the dust.[100]
Such was the fate of a monarch whose memory was dear to the early Christians of Denmark. He was the first monarch that openly professed the new religion; and the constancy with which he adhered to it affords indisputable proof of his sincerity. From Ledra, the ancient seat of the Odinic superstition, he removed his court to Roskild, where he erected a cathedral to the most holy Trinity. This was a politic step; connected with the new capital were no ancient recollections to remind the idolater of the faith of his fathers. The foundation of three other bishoprics attested his zeal. The reverence in which this monarch was held in the centuries immediately following his death, and a passage, of which the application was mistaken, in the History of Adam of Bremen, nearly led to his canonisation.[101]
|991.|
On the tragical death of Harald, the sceptre devolved to the unnatural Sweyn. As the majority of the people were still pagans, the accession of this prince was beheld with satisfaction; for though, perhaps, he did not openly apostatise, he encouraged the old religion, and rebuilt many of the temples which had been destroyed. And he was the ally of the Jomsburg pirates, the leader of whom shot the arrow which had proved fatal to Harald. Yet Harald was the founder of that city,—one of the most famous in the annals of the world. It was situated near the great lake of Pomerania, on the site of the modern Wollin. It was avowedly built for a piratical fortress; yet the founders could not anticipate the greatness which it afterwards retained. Its first governor, who was also its legislator, was a pirate chief, Palnatoko, whose skill as an archer was never equalled in the north. He decreed that no man who had ever shown the slightest fear, even in the greatest dangers, should be a member of the new community. No Christian was admitted, because Christianity was supposed to enfeeble the mind; but people of all other religions and of all countries were received; and each of the great European nations had a street of its own. It was the last place of the north which was humanised by the religion of Christ; and probably it would longer have defied the general influence of that faith, had not its riches enervated the vigour of its inhabitants, and intestine dissensions still further weakened it, so as to render it a prey to its enemies. Palnatoko, the assassin of Harald, had been long resident at the Danish court, and had been the tutor of Sweyn; and to that barbarous deed he was, we are told, excited by a personal injury. His skill in archery was the quality on which he most prided himself, and he was accustomed to boast that he could hit an apple, however small, on the top of a pole. This boast, which was regarded as an arrogant display, made him some enemies. It reached Harald, who insisted that the archer’s own child should supply the place of the pole; and threatened, that if the first arrow missed its aim, his own head should bear the penalty. As there was no hope of changing the royal determination, Palnatoko warned his child to be steady—not to flinch hand or foot—not to move a muscle of his body, when the arrow approached. On the day appointed, the dreaded experiment was tried; and the apple was cloven, while the child remained uninjured. But the archer had three arrows, and being asked what he had intended to do with the remaining two, he replied, that had he been the death of innocence, the guilty contriver of the experiment should not have escaped.—Such is the story which Saxo has preserved. That it has given rise to the fabulous one of William Tell, must be apparent to the reader; for the Danish historian wrote a full century before the Swiss patriot flourished. Nor do we think that Saxo’s account is the original one: the circumstance probably took place centuries before the reign of Harald Blaatand, and became a portion of the “legendary lore” the origin of which is so mysterious. Whether this incident be true or false in regard to Harald and this archer, the latter joined Sweyn, and, as we have already related, caused the death of the former.[102]
|991.|
In the early part of this monarch’s reign we meet with much obscurity, much contradiction. We are told that in return for his rebellion against his father, and for his restoration of paganism, he was doomed to great bitterness of suffering; that he was thrice a prisoner among the pirates, and thrice redeemed by his people. For the last act of redemption he is said to have been indebted to Danish ladies, who, seeing that the money of the state was wholly exhausted by the preceding ransoms, contributed their choicest ornaments for that purpose. For this generosity, adds Saxo, the grateful Sweyn passed a law, that, in future, females should, like males, succeed, by inheritance, to a portion of their father’s property. Such a law certainly existed, and it may possibly be referred to Sweyn; but in regard to the circumstances which gave rise to it, there is room for scepticism. That a powerful monarch—for such Sweyn always was—should be thrice captured by pirates,—the pirates, too, of Jomsberg,—is surely unparalleled in the history of the world. Yet the relation alike of Saxo and Sweyn Aggesen must have had some foundation in truth. The probability is, that the king, prior to his accession, was once a captive, and that the monastic writers of the following age mistook the time and multiplied the circumstances.[103] Those venerable fathers, struck with horror at the filial no less than the religious impiety of this king, were ready to adopt, without examination, the most unfavourable reports concerning him. Another statement, that Sweyn was expelled from his kingdom by Eric of Sweden, and that he remained almost fifteen years in exile, fourteen of which he spent in Scotland, is entitled to just the same credit. His father, we are told, died in 991; yet in 994 he was powerful enough to begin the conquest of England; and from that year to the period of his death, in 1014, he was always in this country, or in Denmark. Where, then, are these sixteen years to be inserted? Assuredly no chasm can be found for them between 991 and 1014. Other circumstances demonstrate the falsehood of the relation,—a relation, however, adopted by the most recent historians. On his expulsion, we are told, he applied for the common rights of hospitality to Olaf Trygveson of Norway, but was spurned by that prince. This conduct of Olaf, says Saxo, was the less justifiable, as Sweyn had assisted him to regain the throne of Norway. Let us for a moment attend to dates. Sweyn’s restoration to his country, after his fifteen years of exile, is placed in the year 994; and as Olaf was the first monarch to whom he applied, this application must have been made about 979. But Olaf did not return to Norway before 996. How much earlier than this year must he have been assisted by Sweyn? Yet for this, as for the preceding relation, there was probably some basis. If Sweyn ever was in exile,—and there is some reason to infer that he was, during his hostility with his father,—that exile was before the death of Harald, and consequently before his accession to the monarchy. It may possibly be that he was at one time prior to that event king of some portion of the monarchy,—perhaps of Scania; and this conjecture would at once account for the facility with which Eric expelled him. However this be, there can be no doubt that if this banishment be a fact, it must be referred to a period long prior to 991. What confirms this conjecture is, the statement of Saxo, that the monarch to whom Sweyn next applied was Edward king of England. This was evidently Edward the Martyr, who ascended the throne in 975, and was assassinated in 978,—a period which will exactly agree with the duration assigned to his exile.[104]
|991 to 993.|
All writers allow that Sweyn, soon after his accession, sent or led an armament against Hako, the usurper of Norway. Snorro assures us that this expedition was planned by the Jomsberg pirates, who were invited to celebrate the funeral solemnities of Harald (that is, to get drunk) at the court of Sweyn; and he adds that the same vow was taken in regard to England. The vows of drunken men are not usually remembered; but these pirates remembered theirs but too well. With sixty vessels, filled by the bravest heroes of the republic, they hastened to the Norwegian coast; there they separated, and were separately assailed by jarl Hako, his son, and other chiefs of the kingdom. But, desperate as was the valour of the pirates, their numbers were too few, in comparison with those of the enemy, to fulfil their oath of taking Harald alive, or expelling him from Norway. They were signally defeated, though not until prodigies of valour had been effected by them. The contempt in which they beheld death is horribly illustrated by Snorro. Thirty of them being captured, their feet were tied by a rope, and they were carried on shore. They were placed on benches, in a right line, each near to the other, awaiting their death. Thorkil, a Norwegian jarl, advanced with a huge sword, and anticipated much pleasure from the exercise of killing them in detail. Accosting the chief of them, he said, “So, Vagne, thou madest a vow to put me to death; but it seems more likely that I shall have the honour of sending thee with my apology.” The pirate looked at him with much contempt. Beginning at the end of the line, he struck off the heads of many in succession, who faithfully observed the condition of their order,—never to exhibit the shadow of a fear. One desired the jarl to strike him in the forehead, and to look whether he should so much as blink his eyes. The next victim held in his hand the backbone of a fish. “I will wager thee,” he said to Thorkil, “that, after my head is off, I shall be able to plunge this bone into the ground!” But the boast was vain: when his head left his body, the bone fell from his hand. “Injure not my hair!”[105] cried another, as he stretched out his neck to receive the blow. An attendant held the long tresses with both hands, while the executioner struck; but, at the moment, the pirate threw back his head, and the sword amputated the two hands of the courtier, without injuring the pirate. Great was the triumph of the latter; and Eric, the son of Hako, admiring his intrepidity, procured his pardon. Another, Vagne, one of the chiefs, was pushed against the executioner by his next fellow; Thorkil fell, and, in so doing, his sword cut the rope which bound the pirate, who, seizing the weapon, beheaded the Norwegian jarl. Eric, too, procured his pardon. Eighteen being in this manner slain, the visitors began to feel some admiration for the rest. “Wilt thou accept the offer of thy life?” was demanded of the next. “That,” replied the man, who would not receive even life from an ignoble hand, “depends on the dignity of the giver!” Jarl Eric, the son of Hako, was named, and the offer was accepted. “Wilt thou?” was addressed to another. “Not unless my companions are spared also!” was the reply; and they were spared.[106]
|991 to 1001.|
If the expedition against Norway thus failed, very different was the issue of that directed against England. During the greater part of a century, this island had been unmolested by the pirates. Alfred, towards the close of his reign, had humbled them; Edward the elder had signally triumphed over them; and the name of Athelstane had been dreaded by all the rovers of the sea. There had been battles, indeed, with the Danish state of Northumberland, which, prior to Athelstane’s reign, had formed no part of the Saxon confederation; but the coasts of central and northern England had been undisturbed. On the accession of Ethelred, however, the scourge was resumed. In 991, a large force appeared before Ipswich, and marched to Malden, laying waste the country on every side. On this occasion Brithnoth, the Saxon governor of Essex, was slain; and his fate has been related in a poem, from which copious extracts may be found in a volume connected with the present.[107] These formidable invaders, as every child knows, were bribed to leave England; and, as every child knows, they soon returned in greater numbers than before. Even when steel, instead of gold, was to be the tribute, a cowardly and treacherous commander, Alfric of Mercia, was intrusted with the defence of England. In the following years, every province was desolated. In 994, Sweyn himself appeared in the Thames with a formidable fleet. He had an ally, Olaf, the son of Trygve, who, since infancy, had never been in Norway, and whose piratical exploits had been celebrated from Russia to Ireland.[108] His attack on London was repelled; but Essex, Kent, Sussex, and Hampshire suffered dreadfully from his depredations, and those of his ally. As before, though the number of pirates did not exceed 10,000, money was offered by the despicable Ethelred. Olaf, on receiving it, visited the court of the Saxon king, received the rite of confirmation (he had previously been baptized in one of the Scilly islands), and promised never again to molest the English coast. We hear no more of his depredations: but whether his forbearance was owing to his promise, or to his departure for Norway, the throne of which he ascended in little more than a year from this period, may well be doubted.[109] But Sweyn had no such moderation. In about three years from the payment of the 16,000l., he appeared in the south-west counties, advanced into Sussex and Hampshire, laying waste everything in his passage, and wintered as securely as if he had been naturalised: no opposition was made to his progress. Kent was next ravaged; and the whole of England would, no doubt, have become Danish, had not Sweyn been recalled to contend with a more formidable enemy, Olaf of Norway. One year after the death of that monarch[110], that is, in 1001, the Danes returned to a country where they had found no enemies, but abundance of prey. Another heavy ransom, and extensive estates in different parts of the kingdom, procured a temporary cessation of hostilities.[111]
|1001 to 1003.|
If Ethelred could not oppose the enemy in the field, and if his coffers were exhausted, he had still one resource left,—that of a general massacre. The day before the festival of St. Brice, the authorities of every city and town received secret letters from the court, commanding them and the people everywhere to rise at a certain hour, to fall on the unarmed, unsuspicious Danes, and not to spare one of them. The order was too well obeyed, and the English nation made itself equally guilty with its king. Many of the victims were naturalised; many had English husbands or wives; more were on terms of intimacy with the natives, and, at the moment this bloody mandate was executed, were sharing the hospitality of their huts. Nobody was spared: decrepit age and helpless infancy, youth and beauty, pleaded in vain. Even Gunhilda, sister of Sweyn, a convert to Christianity and the wife of an English earl, suffered with the rest; but not until she had seen her husband and son beheaded in her presence. This was not the mere act of the crown, nor that of a few courtiers, nor that of the municipal authorities: it was that of the English nation. Retribution, as Gunhilda had prophesied, was at hand; and every reader will rejoice that it was so. Sweyn no sooner heard of the massacre, than he swore never to rest until he had inflicted a terrible vengeance on the people. He no longer wished for booty, merely: he would also destroy. With a fleet of three hundred sail, he steered to the west of the island, landed in Cornwall, commenced his devastating career, reached Exeter, which he took by assault, set it on fire, and massacred the inhabitants. From thence he proceeded into Wiltshire, where fire and sword did their work, and passed by way of Salisbury to the sea coast, laden with plunder. No attempt was made to arrest his destructive progress: a Saxon force under Alfric had, indeed, assembled; but it would not fight, and it retired covered with the derision of the invaders.[112]
|1003 to 1009.|
The winter of 1003 Sweyn passed in Denmark; in the following year he was again in England. His destructive career now commenced in the eastern counties; but this year they terminated sooner than could have been foreseen. A famine—the result of preceding depredations—afflicted the land; and as provisions in sufficient abundance could not be found, the pirates returned home for a season. The deplorable cowardice of the troops, the imbecility of the governors, from Ethelred down to the meanest thane, was never equalled in any other country. This condition is well described by Turketul in a letter to Sweyn:—“A country illustrious and powerful; a king asleep, caring only for women and wine, trembling at the very mention of war, hated by his own people, despised by foreigners; generals envious of one another; governors who fly at the first shout of battle.” This weak and vicious king had the felicity to convert his friends into enemies at the very time he most needed their assistance. In 1002 he married the princess Emma of Normandy; but his behaviour to her was so grossly offensive, so brutal, that her father, duke Richard I., joined in making him still more contemptible by imprisoning or killing his subjects who happened to pass through Normandy. The pirates of Sweyn soon returned to consummate their work. In 1006 a heavy sum was paid them; the following year they demanded an equal sum, and declared that, in future, it must be annually paid by way of tribute. Some feeble efforts were made to defend the country; but the leaders of the fleet which had been raised turned their arms against one another. Thus fell the hopes of the nation, which prepared its neck for the most galling yoke that had ever afflicted it.[113]
|1010.|
In the year 1010 the Danes were in possession of sixteen English counties, and they exacted forty-eight thousand pounds for sparing the rest. But such moderation was not in their policy; and no sooner was the money theirs, than their atrocities recommenced. The condition of Kent—which was that of half England—is more graphically described by the biographer of St. Elphege, archbishop of Canterbury, than by all the chronicles of the period. When that city was first besieged, there was some prospect of a defence; the walls were strong, and there were many strong arms eager to defend their cathedral, their bishop, their wives and children. But a traitor (and England was full of them) set fire to about twenty different houses: to extinguish the flames many of the defenders left their posts; one of the gates was broken open, and the pirates rushed into the city, while the flames spread on every side. The men were cut down in the streets, or they were thrown into the devouring fire; women were violated and speared; children were tossed like balls from the points of the lances. As a last resource, St. Elphege and his clergy had taken refuge in the cathedral; but he could not hear of these excesses without endeavouring to stop them. Rushing from the sacred pile into the midst of the pirates, he exclaimed, “Spare the city! at least, if you are men, spare the helplessness of infancy! Turn your weapons against me, only, who have always condemned your crimes!” They gagged him, bound him, and led him to witness the fate of his church, to which thousands of the people had now resorted in the vain hope that its sanctity would impress even pagans. It was soon on fire; the smoke ascended in clouds; the flames spread; and as the unfortunate people, forced by the burning liquid lead, issued from the building, they were cut down by the ferocious pirates. Of eight thousand inhabitants, about a tenth of the number were spared, in the hope of ransom; and such as were unable or unwilling to pay it were put to a cruel death. Among them was St. Elphege, who might have raised the sum demanded for him—three thousand pieces of gold—had he signed an order to the churches of his diocese to pay the money from their treasuries. But he refused to allow that which had been raised for the poor to be expended on him: he would not, he said, purchase life on terms so disgraceful. He who, throughout life, had begged for the indigent, would not be the means of plundering them in his old age. After being detained for some time, kept in a loathsome dungeon, starved, tormented, beaten, in the view of subduing his inflexibility, he was martyred, his last ejaculations being for his flock, his country, his very enemies.[114]
|1013 to 1014.|
In 1013 Sweyn arrived, with new reinforcements, to take possession of the whole island. On landing in the north, the earl of Northumberland and the whole province submitted. Proceeding to the south, Oxford, Winchester, Bath, with all the towns of the west, and all the great thanes, sent in their allegiance. For some time London held out, because Ethelred was in it; but that doughty hero, having ascertained that duke Richard of Normandy would receive him for the sake of his wife, precipitately fled to Rouen, leaving his capital and kingdom in the hands of the invaders. Sweyn was king of England; and he used the title, though, owing to the short residue of his life, he was not crowned. That he exercised all the rights of sovereignty, fully as the Saxon kings had ever done, is admitted by our own historians. His reign is said to have been one of severe exaction. He died at Gainsborough in one year after his elevation, under circumstances of suspicion. The northern annalists declare that he was killed by prince Edward, afterwards the Confessor; but no English authority confirms the report. This was not the work of Edward; but it might be that of Edmund Ironside.[115]
Many years before his death Sweyn probably reverted to Christianity, and persevered in it unto his death. But whether pagan or Christian, he was a ferocious warrior and a stern king. With natural talents of a high order, with indomitable courage, with unwearied activity, he obtained advantages which none of his predecessors had enjoyed. We have already alluded to the diversion which his son, with Olaf Trygveson, king of Norway, created in favour of England. After the death of that hero (1000), he seized a portion of Norway, while the Swedish king seized another; and this augmentation of his power no doubt rendered him more able to conquer England.[116]
UNCERTAINTY AND CONTRADICTION IN THE CHRONOLOGICAL SERIES OF KINGS EXPLAINED BY THE FACT THAT THE GOTHS AND SWIONES WERE UNDER DISTINCT RULERS—HENCE THEIR CONFUSION.—THE YNGLINGS, OR SACRED FAMILY OF ODIN, REIGN AT UPSAL.—KINGS OF THAT RACE: ODIN—NIORD—FREYR—FREYA—FIOLNER—SWEGDIR— VANLAND—VISBUR—DOMALD—DOMAR—DYGVE—DAG — AGNE, ETC.—FATE OF THE PRINCES OF THIS HOUSE, OF WHOM MOST DIE TRAGICALLY.—LEGEND OF AUN THE OLD.—INGIALD ILLRADA.—CONQUEST OF SWEDEN BY IVAR VIDFADME.—GOTHIC KINGS FROM GYLFO TO IVAR VIDFADME.—KINGS OF THE SWEDES AND THE GOTHS.
In the Introduction to the present volume we have added the tabular list of kings by archbishop Joannes Magnus, as illustrative of the difficulty which must accompany all researches into the ancient history of Sweden.[117] The exploits of those kings, their chronological order, their very names, rest under a deep cloud. Where, indeed, no two authors agree,—where the names, not merely of two or three sovereigns, but of nearly one half, are as different as the actions ascribed to them,—what can be inferred but this, that little dependence is to be placed on any one of them? Compare, for example, the list given by the archbishop with that which modern Swedish critics approve[118]; and what must be the reader’s surprise to find—110 in the former case, and 37 in the other; the names, too, for the most part, dissimilar as the number! If we take that given by the authors of our Universal History[119], we shall, indeed, have some approximation in respect to the number, but little in regard to the names, of the kings. Other lists might be produced equally contrasting with the one contained in the Norwegian authorities. Whence this diversity, which modern historians have pronounced to be hopelessly irreconcileable? It arises from a very simple cause. When the Swiones, the attendants of Odin,—his companions from his Asiatic kingdom,—arrived in the north, they found a Gothic tribe, the Gothones, under Gylfo their king, seated along the maritime coast, and extending to the centre of Sweden. How long this tribe had been settled there when the Swiones arrived would be vain to inquire. By what means Odin and his followers obtained a portion of the country, and established the seat of his new empire at Upsal, has been already related. Here, then, were two distinct tribes, the Gothones or Goths, and the Swiones or Swedes, to say nothing of the original tribes, or, at least, fragments of those tribes, who had been located in these regions many centuries before the arrival of the Goths. Now the kings whom Joannes Magnus, Torfœus, Loccenius, the authors of our Universal History, and other writers enumerate, were the kings of the Goths and Swedes, while those contained in the Landfedgatal, the Heimskringla, and other Icelandic authorities, were sovereigns of the Swedes only. That the two people, and, consequently, the districts which they inhabited, were for many centuries under distinct rulers, is one of the best ascertained facts of history. The former called themselves kings of the Goths, or of Gothland, only; the latter, now kings of the Swedes, now of Upsal. This distinction was not only observed from the very dawn of their history, but is at this day preserved in the title of the monarch, who is styled “King of the Swedes and of the Goths.” Hence the two lists of kings—the two kingdoms—the distinction of history in both; all which have hitherto been confounded, and so completely as to baffle the keenest criticism. Not that the king of the one people was not sometimes the king of both. This could not be otherwise, when two conterminous nations, jealous of each other’s prosperity, were eager for the ascendancy. The superiority, no doubt, was assumed by the sovereigns of the divine race, the descendants of Odin; but those of Gothland were sometimes the rulers, and hailed as monarchs of the Swedes. On the other hand, the kings of the Swedes—those who reigned at Upsal—were still more frequently victors over their Gothic neighbours. Hence the confusion which, notwithstanding the important distinction we have been so careful to indicate, will often be found in the regal lists of this country.[120]
|A.C. 40 to A.D. 14.|
We commence with the hallowed race, the pontiff kings of the Swedes, who reigned at Upsal. On the death of Odin, Niord succeeded, as prophet, priest, and king, in the capital of Sigtuna. It was then, no doubt, the head of a very small state. Many were the kings which held Sweden at this time: besides Gothia, which was subject to chiefs, who, in the sequel, were generally at war with the Swiones, each province had its king. Several of the states were bound in alliance with Niord. Odinsey, in Fionia, was held by a chief of this nature; Skiold, the son of Odin, reigned at Ledra, in Zealand; Freyr was the pontiff chief of Upsal; Heimdal was over the temple at Hemenbiorg; Thor was at Thrudvang, and Balder at Breidablik.[121] And though Scania was a possession of the Goths, and not yet subject to the Danish chiefs, it appears to have been held by some one of the Asser. The reign of Niord was a happy one; the gifts of nature were extraordinarily abundant, and the benefit was referred to his influence with the gods. Before his death he wounded himself as Odin had done. After it, his body was laid on the funeral pyre, and he was long worshipped as a deity. The sceptre was now transferred to Freyr, the son of Niord. His reign, too, was prosperous, and he was the idol of his people. He it was who built the great temple at Upsal, and made it the seat of his government, in preference to Sigtuna. Here he received the tribute furnished by his subjects; hence the progressive enrichment of that place. Universal peace distinguished his administration. He was held in greater esteem than his predecessors, and his surname of Yngve became the proudest distinction of his descendants, who were thenceforth called Ynglings. His death—we know not for what reason—was concealed for three years; the only reason assigned is, that a magnificent tomb was erecting for him during that period. His son did not immediately ascend the throne of the Swedes; there was Freya, the last of the divine personages who had accompanied Odin from Asia to the north. She was celebrated in her life, and still more after her death: her body was not burned on the funeral pyre, because it was believed she had returned to the gods; and her statue, as everybody knows, in conjunction with those of Thor and Odin, long adorned the temple at Upsal. Fiolner[122], the son of Freyr, succeeded. He was contemporary with Frode I., king of Denmark. Both were equally inclined to peace, and they lived in perfect harmony. More than once did he visit king Frode at Ledra, whose hospitality was the admiration of that age. But one of his visits proved fatal. Whatever might be his other virtues, sobriety was not of the number; his potations were long and deep; and one night, having occasion to rise, he fell into a huge vessel of mead which was in the cellar, the trap door of which had been incautiously left open.[123] The throne now passed to Swegdir, his son. This prince, accompanied by twelve nobles, went into Asia for the purpose of inquiring into the family and exploits of Odin. He wandered over “Turkland” and Great “Swionia,” the Asheim or Godheim of the Swedes. Here he found many of his own blood. While in the territory of the Vanir[124], he married a lady of that nation, and by her had a son, whom he called Vanland. At the end of five years, he returned to Upsal; but if any reliance is to be placed on tradition, he afterwards took a second journey to those distant regions, and never returned. A wondrous legend has been invented to account for his death. “To the east of Great Fionia,” says Snorro, “there is a large villa called Stein, a rock, from one being placed there so huge, as to equal a house. One evening, after sunset, as the king was about to pass from his cups to his bed, he saw a fairy sitting under that great rock. He and his companions, being excited by wine, ran towards the place, and the fairy desired Swegdir to enter if he wished to converse with Odin. He did enter, and was seen no more.”[125]
|34 to 220.|
By the death of Swegdir, Vanland became the acknowledged head of the Swiones. He was the first of Odin’s descendants who exhibited a warlike character, or rather the first that actually went to war. In the infancy of this theocratic state, when, through weakness, it was compelled to cultivate the good will of its neighbours, of conquest there was no dream; but when the young lion had gained strength, its natural character was unfolded. His conquests, however, have not been recorded; and we can only conjecture that they were chiefly in the provinces bounding on Upland. Nor do we know that it was a warlike expedition that led him into Finland. That country, however, was to him a fatal as well as a romantic one, While there he married the daughter of an old Swede established among the Finns. Her he soon left, with the promise of returning in three years; but ten having elapsed without any tidings of him, she sent Visbur, their son, to his palace at Upsal. Still, as he showed no disposition to visit her, she took counsel with Hulda, a famous witch,—and Finland was full of them,—how she might compel him to return. The witch readily undertook to bring him, or, if she failed, to destroy him. Her secret charms were immediately exerted, and Vanland, though enthroned at Upsal with the attributes of a demi-god, felt their power. On a sudden his heart was drawn towards Finland; the impulse to return was scarcely resistible: but his friends and counsellors dissuaded him from the voyage, assuring him that he was merely under the temporary influence of magic. Sleep now overcame him; but scarcely was he laid on his couch than he cried out that he was oppressed by that mysterious demon, the nightmare. His attendants hastened to assist him, but in vain: the power of the demon was resistless; and, after violent distortions of his limbs, he was suffocated. His body was burned; on the banks of the Skuta his mighty cairn was erected; and Visbur became the monarch of the Swedes. This prince was not more faithful, as a husband, than his father had been. Having married a lady by whom he had two sons, he unceremoniously dismissed her and them to her father, and took another to his bed. The offspring of this second marriage was Domald, whom his nurse, foreseeing that dangers menaced him, endeavoured to protect by incantations. In the mean time, Gisle and Ondur, sons of the repudiated queen, applied to Visbur for the restoration of their mother’s dowry, especially of a magnificent golden necklace; on his refusal, they prayed that the ornament might be his destruction, and that of his offspring. To effect this object, they had recourse to magic; and Hulda, who had destroyed the father, boasted that she would destroy him, and leave this doom to the whole of the Ynglings,—that either their arms should always be turned against one another, or they should perish tragically by some other means. The operations of magic, however, were too slow for their impatience; and they burned their father with the house in which they found him. Domald succeeded; but the fates were not to be averted. During three years a grievous famine afflicted Sweden. The first autumn, oxen were offered to propitiate the gods; the second, human victims bled on the altar. When neither availed, the nobles and priests, assembled at Upsal, decreed that, as the famine was owing to king Domald, he should be the next sacrifice, and the decree was carried into effect. Of the two next kings, Domar, the son of Domald, and Dygve, the son of Domar, nothing is recorded except that they reigned and died; but Dag the Wise, the son of the last-named sovereign, is celebrated in northern history. Well might he enjoy the epithet, if, as tradition asserts, he understood the language of birds. He had a sparrow which performed the same office for him that the ravens did for Odin[126]; it flew over the earth and brought him intelligence of everything that passed. One day, however, as this bird was picking some grains in a field of Redgothia, a country clown killed it with a stone. Finding that his bird did not return, Dag consulted the gods, and learned its fate. To avenge himself, he led an army against the Goths, and laid waste the region in which the misfortune had happened. Having taken many prisoners, and left many dead on the field, he was returning to his vessels, when a dart from an obscure hand sent him to the halls of Odin.[127]
|220 to 448.|
Agne, the son of Dag, mounted the vacant throne of the Swedes. Rich and warlike, he was held in high esteem; but the fate which hung over the sacred line of the Ynglings made him another of its victims. In a successful expedition against the Finns, in which he had slain the Finnish king, and, agreeably to the manners of the times, had made Skiolfa, the orphan daughter of the king, his mistress or wife, he had just returned to Stocksund, disembarked his troops, and pitched his tent on the margin of a wood. Here, to perform with passing splendour the last rites to the memory of Skiolfa’s father, he assembled a great number of guests. The cup went round until the king became intoxicated. As he wore the chain which had belonged to Visbur, Skiolfa besought him to confide the precious ornament to her care; but he fastened it the more closely round his neck and fell asleep. The tent was at the foot of a tree, and Skiolfa, assisted by her Finnish connections, tied a strong cord to the ornament, threw one end over a branch of the tree, and pulling with all their might, the body of Agne was raised, and left to dangle in the nightly breeze. The following morning Skiolfa and her companions were on their voyage to Finland, and nothing remained to the Swedes but the performance of the last rites to the royal victim. Alaric or Elrac and Eric, his two sons, divided the supreme power between them. For a season they were prosperous; but they were doomed to share the fate which hung over the house of Yngve. They were fond of equestrian exercises, especially of taming the most spirited horses. One day they rode at full gallop over an extensive plain; but they were never again seen alive: their corpses were found with their sculls fractured; and, as neither had any arms, it was supposed that they had killed each other with the reins, or that some malignant demon had destroyed them both. Yngve and Alf, the sons of Alaric, shared the government of the Swedes; but they were dissimilar in character. The latter was studious of peace, a man of few words, and severe in manner; the former was fond of war, of his cups, and of conversation, and often protracted his orgies into the silence of night. Two such men, whose jealousy was further increased by the unwise division of power, could not long bear the society of each other. One evening Yngve stabbed his brother; but the victim had strength enough left to return the fatal blow. The supreme power was now held by one, Hugleik, the son of Alf. His end, too, was tragical. Being assailed by Hako, a celebrated sea king and Danish jarl, who numbered among his captains the unrivalled Sterkodder[128], he was vanquished and slain,—Snorro assures us by the hands of Hako; but it was, perhaps, by those of Sterkodder. The victor was not satisfied with the death of Hugleik: he subdued the Swiones, and forced them to acknowledge him as their king. Yet he is not ranked by the Icelandic writers among the lawful kings of the Swedes. He was a usurper whom Jorund and Eric, both sons, both sea kings, assailed and slew in the vicinity of Upsal. But Eric had received a mortal wound, and Jorund was hailed as the monarch of the Swedes. The new sovereign, who, during his exile, had obtained considerable reputation on the deep, retained his attachment for the profession, which he exercised in the summer. But it led to his ruin. During his exile he had slain Gudlaug, king of Halogia: by Gylaug, the son of that chief, he was met, in Limafiord, defeated, and hung. Aun, the son of Jorund, surnamed hinn Gamle, or the Old, now ascended the throne of the Swedes. He was a prudent man, a great worshipper of the gods, and not fond of war. During his reign, says Snorro,—and the information is valuable,—Dan Mykillati, Frode the Pacific, Halfdan, and Fridleif III. were, in succession, kings of the Danes. His peaceful habits, probably, led to the aggressions which were committed upon him. He was twice expelled from his kingdom,—the first time by Halfdan, who reigned twenty-five years in his capital, Upsal, and there died. This remarkable event is mentioned by Saxo; but, in his usual manner of confounding names and dates, the Danish historian calls the Swedish king Eric instead of Aun. He adds that Halfdan was held in great veneration by the Swedes, who, in their deplorable blindness, regarded him as the son of the great Thor. After his twenty-five years’ reign in Gothia, Aun consulted the gods respecting the duration of his life, and, to render them more propitious, he offered his own son on the altar of Odin. The response was, that, though he was now sixty years of age, he should live sixty more. But, if he was to live, he was not to reign that time; for in twenty-five years from the date of this sacrifice, he was again expelled by Ali, the son of Fridleif. At the end of twenty-five years more, Ali, we are told, was slain by Sterkodder. Aun was again obeyed by the Goths. All this is sufficiently fabulous; but the following is more so:—After reigning another period of twenty-five years, he offered his second son to Odin; and the response was, that, if he sacrificed a son every ten years to that deity, he should live for ever; but his vigour was not to be commensurate with his life. After the seventh sacrifice, he was unable, during ten years, to walk, and was carried on a litter. After the eighth, during ten whole years, he was confined to his bed. After the ninth, he was fed like a child with milk from the horn. He had still a son, and would have offered him as the tenth victim had not the Swedes forbidden the sacrifice. So king Aun died; and his name was afterwards used proverbially to denote the diseases inseparable from old age.[129]
|448 to 545.|
Egil, whose blood should have stained the altar of Odin, became, by his father’s death, monarch of the Swedes. He now experienced an enemy in Tunne, who, though a slave, had been the treasurer of Aun. As Tunne had tasted the sweets of power, he had no wish to revert to his former condition; and when he perceived that no distinction was made between him and his fellows, he repaired to the spot where Aun had buried a large treasure, dug it up, and with it hired a numerous body of men to execute his purposes. At first the new chief betook himself to the less accessible parts of the country; by degrees, as his band increased,—and there can be no doubt, by proclaiming a servile war, it rapidly increased,—he issued from the mountain or the forest, and swept the neighbouring plains. He was a bandit on a large scale. Egil raised some force, and hastened to chastise the rebel; but, being surprised by night in his camp, he lost many of his followers, and was compelled to consult his safety by flight. This signal event increased the power of the rebel, and though forces were repeatedly brought into the field, victory declared for Tunne in eight consecutive engagements. In this emergency the king fled to the court of the Danish king, Frode V., in Zealand, and offered as the condition of aid an annual tribute. Frode accepted the offer; and, with a Danish reinforcement, Egil triumphed over the rebel. During the three years which intervened between this event and his own death, Egil sent large presents to the Danish king; but he would not allow them to be called tribute. Death was to him, like most of the Ynglings, tragical: it was occasioned by a wild bull, while hunting in the forest. Ottar, the son of Egil, succeeded. Being summoned by the Danish king to pay the tribute which had been promised, he returned a peremptory refusal. Frode invaded Swionia, laid waste the country; while Ottar, equipping a powerful armament, disembarked in Zealand, and committed equal depredations. But the latter was defeated and slain by the Danes, and his body exposed to the fury of wild beasts. Adils, the son of Ottar, was the next king. He was a noted pirate, who, in summer, visited and ravaged most of the coasts round the Baltic. On one occasion he descended on that of Saxony, laid waste the country, took much spoil, among which was Ursa, a lady of surpassing beauty. Of her the victor became enamoured, and he married her: but, being expelled from his kingdom by Helge, the son of Halfdan, who reigned at Ledra, this queen fell into the power of the victor, who, also, married her, and the issue of this union was Rolf Krake. But Ursa, who was discovered to be the daughter of Helge, returned to the court of Adils, with whom she remained during the rest of her life. On the death of Helge, in one of his piratical expeditions, Rolf, or Rollo, young as he was, was acknowledged king of Ledra. Adils did not long survive his enemy; he was killed by the fall of his horse.[130] Eystein, the son of Adils, next swayed the sceptre of the Swedes. His reign was a troubled one, his kingdom being continually infested by the royal ships of Denmark and Norway, or, what was worse, by the fierce sea kings. “In those days,” says Snorro, “were many sea kings, who levied large forces, though they had no countries to rule. He was esteemed worthy to be a sea king who never slept under a tent, and never emptied his horn by the hearth side.” The most powerful enemy of Eystein was Solvi, a chief of the Jutes, whose piratical expeditions were known on many coasts. One night this marauder advanced to the tent where Eystein was entertaining his friends; and setting fire to the place, all within were consumed. To obtain the royal title, Solvi hastened to Sigtuna; and for a moment he enjoyed it: but the inhabitants rising to avenge their late king, and to free themselves from the new yoke, this adventurer soon bade farewell to empire and to life. The lawful successor of Eystein was his son Yngvar, who, being of a martial disposition, visited many coasts. But in 545 he was slain on that of Esthonia.[131]
|545 to 623.|
The next person who filled the throne of the Ynglings, Braut-Onund, was a much wiser man than his predecessors. His great object was, to clear the forests, to drain the marshes of Swionia, and thus, to convert desert and useless into arable and pasture land. His efforts were crowned with success. Where the stagnant pool had stood, golden harvests waved; forests were replaced by huts full of industrious labourers; and highways were made to pass over mountain and fen. “Many,” says Snorro, “were the provincial kings subject to him.” But this patriotic monarch, like so many of the Ynglinga, came to an untimely end: as he and his retinue were one day in the mountains, they were overwhelmed by a huge avalanche. The sceptre now devolved to the unfortunate Ingiald Illrada, son of the deceased king. In his infancy this prince, we are told, was of too gentle, too mild a disposition, for the turbulent people with whom he had to deal. This defect, however, was cured by a peculiar diet,—that of roasted wolves’ hearts; and Ingiald became as ferocious as he had formerly been the reverse. But this change of character was not for the happiness of the Swedes; and he was destined to be the last of the Ynglings that should rule at Upsal. His first object was, to exterminate the local kings, who, like mushrooms, had sprung up in the country, and who, though subject to the descendants of Odin, frequently acted as if they were independent. In the entertainment which he gave at Upsal, alike to celebrate the obsequies of his father, and his own inauguration, his character was fully displayed. Here were six kings,—all who owed obedience to Ingiald, except the one of Sudermania,—with a great number of jarls, and other nobles. On these occasions, the king, or jarl, previous to receiving the homage of all present,—a homage expressed by a general shout,—seated himself on a low seat at the foot of the one which his predecessor had filled. The Bragacup was then brought, filled with wine to the brim; and this the new heir, after giving some pledge, was expected to quaff before he ascended the high seat. When the cup—a huge horn—was brought to Ingiald, before emptying it, he vowed to Braga, the god, that he would, in every direction, double his dominions, or perish in the attempt. They who applauded the vow little foresaw the fate which awaited them. That very night the six kings and the jarls were burnt, together with the house of feasting. By this atrocious act Ingiald was absolute master of all Swionia, except that district of Sudermania which owed obedience to the absent king, Grammar. This king soon heard of the deed; and knowing that his own life was menaced, he entered into an alliance with a famous sea king, Hiorvardar by name, to whom he gave his daughter Hildegund. The entertainment at which this marriage was first projected is characteristic of the manners of the times. On one high seat was king Granmer; on another, the pirate king; and by the side of each sat his chiefs and friends. To honour the guest, Granmer called for his daughter Hildegund to present the cup. She appeared, beautiful as the day, filled the cup, and approaching Hiorvardar, said, “Hail to the Ilsings! I drink to the memory of Rolf Krake!”[132] She then emptied the half of the cup, and presented it to Hiorvardar, who, seizing it and her hand, prayed her to sit beside him. “Such,” replied the damsel, “is not the custom of pirates; they do not allow females to sit and drink with them.” “Never mind that custom,” pursued the chief; “but be persuaded to share my seat and cup.” Hildegund yielded; she drank and talked with the chief until the night was far advanced; and the next day she was affianced to him. By this alliance Granmer acquired a valiant ally; and in the battle which both had soon to wage against Ingiald they were the victors. The monarch of the Swedes was compelled to flee; but, through the intervention of friends, peace was concluded, on this condition,—that, so long as the three lived, not one of them should molest the others. Granmer could now go to Upsal to join in the great sacrifice and to consult the oracles. The response was, that his days were numbered: and numbered they were. While he and his son-in-law were in one of their rural manors, Ingiald, with a select force, silently approached and consumed with fire both them and the house. He then subjugated the districts which the two kings had ruled, and those of their allies. His surname of Illrada, the Deceitful, sufficiently shows the estimation in which he was held. He had a daughter, Asa by name, who was the heiress of his bad qualities. Married to Gudred king of Scania, she persuaded her husband to murder his brother, Halfdan III., king of Zealand. She then joined in a plot for the destruction of her husband; but this object was no sooner effected than she was obliged to flee for protection to the court of Upsal. Yet here she was not safe. Ivar Vidfadme, the son of Halfdan, in the resolution of avenging his father’s death, invaded Swionia, and wrapped it in blood and flames. When the news of this invasion reached Ingiald, he was at an entertainment, with his daughter and many nobles. He knew that he was hated; that resistance was impossible; that escape was hopeless; and by the advice of Asa he adopted an expedient which would, for ever, make his death as remarkable as his life. This was, to burn himself, his daughter, his guests, together with the house which contained them.[133]
|623 to 630.|
By the death of Ingiald, his son, Olaf Trætelia, was the last of the Ynglings; but his claim to the throne, however sanctioned by custom or blood, was not likely to avail in opposition to so powerful an enemy as Ivar Vidfadme. At this moment, Ivar was at the head of the Danish, the Swedish, part of the Saxon and Anglian states (the Angles of Holstein); and his career was not to be resisted by a youth without army, without followers. Indeed, Olaf made no effort to resist; he saw that the people were resolved on the expulsion of the Ynglings; and, with the few friends who adhered to him, he hastened to the desert lands north and west of the Vener Lake. There he cleared off the forests,—hence his surname of Trætelia, or the Tree-feller,—drained them, and not only rendered them habitable, but in a short time made them the foundation of a new state, that of Vermeland. From him descended the famous Harald Harfager, monarch of Norway, the restorer of the ancient glory of the Ynglings.[134]
The crimes and misfortunes of this dynasty must, to every reader, contrast strangely with its pretended divine origin. Compared to it, the fate of our Stuarts was a happy one. If we except the companions of Odin, the ends of most were tragical. Fiolner was drowned in a butt of mead; Swegdir, whatever the manner of his death, did not leave this world in a natural way; Vanland perished, not by the hands of witches, but those of conspirators; Visbur was burnt to death by his own sons; Domald was sacrificed on Odin’s altar by his subjects; Dag was killed by a slave; Agne was hung by his bride; Alaric and Eric were killed by each other’s hands, or by conspirators; Alf and Yngve certainly slew each other; Hugleik was slain by Hako or Sterkodder; Eric died in battle; Jorund was ignominiously hung; Egil was gored to death by a wild bull; Ottar was killed by the Danes; Adils by the fall of his horse; Eystein perished by the hands of pirates; Ingvar by those of the Esthonians; Braut-Onund by an avalanche; Ingiald Illrada was forced to destroy himself; and Olaf Trætelia was driven into everlasting exile. Thus, out of twenty-two sovereigns, from Fiolner to Olaf, three only died a natural death; for that of Olaf, as we shall soon perceive, was also tragical. Assuredly there was nothing in the pre-eminence, divine as it was, of the Ynglings, to render it an object of envy, either to their own times or to posterity.[135]
The fortunes of Olaf Trætelia and of his successors may be found in the chapter devoted to the early Norwegian history. Henceforth Sweden, or to speak more precisely, the Swedes, are under the sceptre of the Skioldungs, and not of the Ynglings, though the former, like the latter, were of Odin’s race, being descended from Skiold, whose seat was established at Ledra in Zealand. They did not exercise the sacerdotal functions; they were not pontiff kings; consequently, they were not held in the same veneration as those who were privileged to officiate at Odin’s altar.—Before we proceed with this Swedish branch of the Skioldungian dynasty, we must revert to the Gothic dynasty established in another part of Sweden. At every step we take in the history of this obscure period, we are more fully convinced that the hypothesis we have framed is based on truth; viz., that while the Swiones or Swedes were located in the provinces bordering on Upsal, and were governed by their own kings, the Goths were in the more southern and western provinces, with a dynasty of their own. Where was the seat of this latter dynasty? Probably it was not always stationary. It appears to have been sometimes in West, sometimes in East, Gothland; just as those provinces obeyed one or two kings. Scania too, which, politically, was a province of Denmark, yet geographically a portion of Sweden, was inhabited by Goths, the seat of whose government was Lund. As the kings of Scania, or of East and West Gothia, obtained the preponderance, they were called kings of the Goths. In the same measure, when the Danish star was triumphant, Ledra, or Odensee, or Lund, or some town of Jutland, was regarded as the metropolis of the Goths. But in each of the Gothic provinces of Sweden there was a resident court, and consequently a capital, whose ruler was sometimes dependent on the king of Scania, sometimes on him of Upsal, but more frequently, perhaps, independent of them all. However this be, it is certain that the kings of all these provinces, except Jutland, have been confounded. Hence the uncertainty of regal lists, and, in many instances, their contradiction to one another. In general, the prince who happened to have the preponderance for the moment, whether his seat was in the Gothlands or in Scania, was called king of the Goths. All were, or professed to be, equally descended from Odin; nor is this improbable, when we perceive how frequently a conqueror divided, at his death, his dominions among his sons. This fatal example, as we have seen, was set by Odin himself. Over Scania he placed his son Heimdal; over Zealand and the surrounding islands, his son Skiold; over Jutland and Holstein, his son Balder; over the Swedes at Upsal, his kinsman Freyr; and over the Norwegians, as we shall soon perceive, his son Semming. Such, at least, is the consistent voice of tradition, as perpetuated in the oldest records now extant.[136]
From the preceding observations, and from many others in this and the last chapter, the reader will be prepared for the amazing variations in the chronological lists of northern kings, as given by Saxo, Snorro Sturleson, and Joannes Magnus. Thus the king of Scania was sometimes the chief of all the Danes, sometimes of all the Goths, sometimes of both; but in general the kings of the two Gothlands were the acknowledged heads of their nation, whether they happened to be independent, or politically subject to the Danes on the one side, or the Swedes on the other. Besides, the intermarriages which constantly took place among these sovereigns would make them, eventually, of one great family, even if most of them had not derived their origin from the warrior god of the north. Still there were kings who had no such boast, who descended from a regal stem more ancient than theirs, whose ancestors were rulers in the Gothic provinces of Sweden, centuries, perhaps, before Odin was born. And for anything we can prove to the contrary, there might, in the interior of Sweden, be reguli who descended from the original, almost indigenous rulers—from the old Finnish stock; for though the Goths, who were there before the arrival of the kindred tribe of the Swiones, were the dominant caste, they would govern the inland provinces through native chiefs. At this distance of time, however, it is impossible to distinguish the two; nor is it often possible to distinguish the earlier from the subsequent Gothic princes,—those who sprung from ancestors prior to Odin’s arrival, from those who descended from the Swionian branch.[137]
According to the Heimskringla, the oldest and best authority for Swedish history, when Odin arrived in the north he found a monarch named Gylfo in possession of the supreme power.[138] Was this Gylfo of the Gothic or of the anterior race? This question cannot be answered. From one circumstance, viz., his alleged proficiency in magic science, we should infer that he was a Finn, were it not doubtful whether the Goths did not also cultivate this pretended science, and whether, from the facility of his intercourse with Odin, and from the locality which he occupied, he was not of a race kindred with that of the Swiones,—one that had immigrated into these regions from Asiatic Scythia centuries, perhaps, before “this king of the Turks.” Gylfo is said to have ceded to the strangers a portion of his territory, and that they settled to the north of him. This statement, again, confirms the inference of his Gothic descent. However, from that day down to the permanent union of the two nations—the Goths and the Swedes—under one head (temporary unions had been frequently effected), the more southern people had their own king, their own government and laws. By what degrees the Swiar obtained the ascendancy over the Goths may be easily conjectured. The latter were, at an early period, induced to embrace the religion of the former, or, we should rather say, a modification of that religion; for that they, like the Norwegians, combined a few more ancient tenets with the faith of Odin, may be inferred from many passages. And with all due allowance for this circumstance, we cannot but feel surprise at the facility with which both Norwegians and Goths were brought to the temples of the new faith. This could scarcely be the result of force, since the Swiar do not appear to have been very numerous in comparison with the rest of the population. Like the Saxons in England; and the Scots in Ireland, and the Mohammedans in India, they were the dominant caste, and no doubt their individual valour was superior to that of the natives. Still, in the earliest Norwegian and Danish accounts of these remote transactions, we do not read of the physical so much as of the moral influence of Odin and his immediate successors. They might be numerous enough to obtain possession of any neighbouring province, or even to defeat the petty chiefs with which the country swarmed; but they would scarcely be sufficient to make both Goths and Norwegians embrace a new faith. Between temporal and religious domination there is a wide difference; and all history proves that men will fight more willingly, more perseveringly, for speculative opinions, than for the most substantial social advantages. The comparative ease with which Odin, or rather his immediate successors, thus forced the positive or modified observance of their religious system on a great population, has led some northern writers to assume that before his arrival another Odin had been there, the apostle of a kindred faith.[139] But this assumption is gratuitous; we have no good reason for it; and even if we had, the question would still occur, “By what means did this former prophet procure the ascendancy of his religion?” There is but one mode of solving this difficulty, and this is hypothetical. Probably, as both Goths and Swedes—perhaps, too, a considerable portion of the older race—had come from the same Asiatic Scythia, there was between some of their religious opinions an affinity, if not an identity; and this affinity would naturally facilitate the progress of the new faith. If to this consideration we add the pomp with which the sacrifices were conducted—the splendour of the temple—the crowd of officiating priests, with the king at their head—the imposing solemnity of the scene—the alleged godlike descent of the pontiff chief—the reputation which all the Asser priests enjoyed for supernatural knowledge—we shall scarcely be surprised at the rapid progress of the Odinic worship. As a prophet, too, especially one so highly descended, Odin must have pretended to the gift of miracles, or, what is the same thing, to the power of effecting wonderful results by his knowledge of nature’s mysteries. This combination of circumstances must have imposed on the Goths, as on the Norwegian and other ancient tribes. It may account for the facility with which both nations embraced the new faith, and ultimately acknowledged even the temporal superiority of the Swiar. It is certain that as early as even the time of Tacitus, the latter were the dominant tribe; yet, as they occupied the sea-coast,—the usual locality of the last comers,—we may doubt whether they had been there above two centuries. But this superiority being of a moral, not of a physical nature, was often resisted by the Gothic kings, who did not hesitate to march on Upsal, to put the half divine pontiff to death, and to ascend his throne.[140]