The poem of Thrym’s-guida, or the song about Thrym, in the elder Edda, has a physical meaning, though that meaning is dark. Awaking one morning, Thor could not find his hammer. Like Jove he shook his head and his beard, and groped about in every direction. Calling Loke to him, he said, “Here is a mishap, never before known in earth or heaven,—I have lost my hammer!” No doubt but it had been stolen during the night by one of the giants, who were always on the alert to injure the Aser. Both gods then went to Freya, to borrow her hawk’s-dress, as Loke had before borrowed it to recover Iduna.[81] “And thou should’st have it,” replied the goddess, “if it were gold, nay, if it were even silver.”[82] Loke assumed the dress, and flew into the giant region of Utgard. There he found Thrym, one of Utgard’s lords, making golden collars for his dogs, dressing the manes of his horses, and singing all the time. Seeing Loke, he inquired, “What news of the Aser? What of the elves? What brings thee alone to Jotunheim?” “Neither Aser nor elves are very well, just now:—hast thou hidden Thor’s hammer?” “That I have, eight miles below the earth’s surface; and regain it shall you never, unless you bring me the goddess Freya to wife!” The condition was a hard one. Freya was the queen of love; she was the Venus of Asgard; and she was also the moon,—two things much wanted in the cold dark region of Jotunheim. Away flew Loke, his wings resounding, until he reached Asgard, where he was anxiously met by Thor. “Hast thou been to Giant-land? And hast thou succeeded in thine errand?” “I have been to Giant-land, and I have succeeded in my errand. Thrym, the lord of the frost giants, has thy mallet, and thy mallet he will not restore, unless he has Freya to wife!” The loss of Freya would be a great loss, but that of the thunderbolt was worse; for how without it could Asgard be defended against the giants? Away went the two gods to Freya, and the Thunderer most unceremoniously bade her to prepare herself for a husband, and for a ride to Jotunheim:—
The gods and goddesses were now assembled to deliberate on other means of recovering the hammer.
Heimdall proposed that Thor himself should assume the bridal dress, with the habit and ornaments of Freya, and proceed to Jotunheim:—
Thor did not much relish the proposal, from a fear that the gods would hereafter hold him to be degraded,—would regard him as really a woman. Loke told him, however, that he had only to choose between the mode of recovering his mallet, and of seeing Asgard in possession of the giants. He then suffered himself to be conveyed in the manner proposed. Then spake Loke, the son of Laufeya:—
The chariot was brought out, the goats were yoked, and the two Aser rapidly proceeded to their destination,—so rapidly, that the rocks split, and the earth blazed under the shining wheels:—
The giants arrived, and the bridal feast was prepared. Great was the surprise of Thrym to see his bride eat a whole ox, and eight salmon into the bargain; and to send after all three barrels of mead:—
The reply of Loke, disguised as a handmaid, was ready:—
The giant in a gallant style wished to kiss his bride; but no sooner did he lift the veil, and see her looks, than he started back in great alarm:—
The reply of Loke, the handmaid, was equally ready:—
The giant’s sister came for a bridal present, and one she was about to get that she little expected. The mallet, by Thrym’s command, was now brought forth, that the wedding might be solemnised over it. The god laughed as he grasped his well-known bolt; and no sooner did he grasp it than he killed Thrym, the sister, and all assembled.[86]
According to Magnussen, the physical meaning of the poem is this. During the winter, Thor, the god of thunder, sleeps; and Thrym, the lord of that season, hides the thunderbolt. Loke (flame, and by an extension of the metaphor, heat) is sent in pursuit of it. The sun and moon were very meet and very natural gifts for the inhabitants of the dark region to solicit from the gods; and the world, on the present occasion, must have been left in darkness, or rather perhaps in cold, but for the interference of Thor. In the foundation of his theory, the critic is doubtless correct; but in the explanation of the attendant circumstances,—that in which the god assumes the female habit—he is whimsical enough. The truth is, that the foundation only can be traced in any of their myths: the circumstances are introduced purely for the sake of the embellishment, or for ensuring greater probability to the fable.
Before we dismiss Thor, we must advert to the goddess Sif, his wife. The word means a conjunction, kindred, and probably she was one of his family. By her he had two sons, Magne and Mode, and two daughters, Thrude and Lora. He was not her first husband, whose name does not appear; but she had a son named Uller by that husband.[92] She excelled in chastity, and was much worshipped, not in Scandinavia only, but among the Vends, and perhaps the Slavonians, as a personification of the summer-earth. Her greatest pride is her fair hair, which, like the hammer of Thor, and the magic ring possessed by Odin, was the work of the dwarfs. She is thus described by Ohlenschlager:
Niord, a lord of the Vaner, obtained, as we have before related[93], a share in the government of the Aser. He could not, indeed, do otherwise after the junction of the two people. Mythologically, he is the lord of Vindheim, the region of the winds, and consequently the ally of Ægir, the god of the sea. His palace, Noatun, is represented as on the borders of the ocean. Thus, Ohlenschlager, who may be followed where poetical description merely is required:—
Niord was twice married. By his first wife, who was also his sister, and we are distinctly informed that the union of such near relatives was peculiar to the Vanir (the custom, however, was common to the Egyptians, the Persians, and the royal family of Peru), he had two children, Freyr[95] and Freya.[96] His second wife was Skada, daughter of the giant Thiasse. The circumstances which led to his marriage were these. No sooner did Skada hear that her father had been killed by Thor[97], than she armed herself, and proceeded to Asgard to avenge his death. As the condition of peace, the gods proposed that she should take a husband from them, but that, while choosing, she should be blindfolded. She groped about, and at length fixed on one whose feet were small and well formed, whom she thought to be Balder. It was Niord; and the marriage was celebrated. The pair, however, could not agree about their place of residence. The bride could not bear the sea-shore; the waves, she observed, would not let her sleep, and she longed for her native mountains. He was no less hostile to her father’s abode. A compromise was at length effected; the couple were to live nine days in Thrymheim, and three days in Noatun; that is, nine days in the mountains, and three on the sea-coast. But this compromise was of no long duration. The two were so dissimilar in character that they could not agree; there was a separation; and Skada became the wife of Odin.[98] Of Niord we shall only add that though little is said of him in the Edda, he must have been a primary deity from the terms of the oath solemnly taken by the Scandinavians:—“So help me Freyr, and Niord, and the mighty Aser!”
Freyr, the son of Niord, has been mentioned as one of the twelve ruling gods of Asgard—as god of sunshine, of rain, and consequently of vegetation. Alfheim, his residence, the kingdom of the light elves, was given him in the morning of time, when he had cut his first tooth. One day he had the presumption to ascend Lidskialf, the awful seat of Odin[99]; and he was punished for it by falling in love with Gerda, daughter of the giant Gymer, whom he saw issue from her father’s palace in the North. Surpassing, indeed, was the maiden’s beauty; it was so bright as to enlighten the whole region. He gazed and loved; and after the beautiful vision had departed, he descended, melancholy and miserable, to his own palace. What hope was there of winning a giant maiden? Would the gods themselves sanction such a connection? Sleep and appetite forsook him. In much anxiety, Niord besought his confidential messenger, Skirnir, to draw from Freyr the cause of his affliction. With some persuasion, Skirnir consented, and by much entreaty obtained the secret:
Skirnir loves the lord with whom he was reared; and he proposes, if Freyr will give him the horse “regardless of flame,” and the sword, to go and win the lady for him. Having mounted, he thus addressed the animal:—
He rode to Jotunheim, and before the gate of Gymer saw fierce dogs. On a hill close by was a herdsman, to whom he rode, and inquired by what means he might pass the dogs so as to speak with Gymer’s daughter. The herdsman replied, that he must either be dead already, or about to die, to venture on such an errand; never could he speak to the lady. Skirnir observed, that he could but die; that he feared not death; and he dismounted. The noise attracted the attention of Gerda: she caused the stranger to enter, and thus addressed him:—
He replied that he was not an Elf, nor an Aser, nor a Vanir; and he offered her eleven apples,—no doubt those of immortality, stolen from the treasury of Iduna,[100]—if she would bestow her love on Freyr, the most agreeable of all beings. She rejected the apples with scorn, declaring that she would never live with Freyr. He then offered her the ring—the very ring—which was laid on the funeral pyre with Balder, the son of Odin—that ring which every ninth night produced eight other rings of the same weight. It too she scorned; she had gold enough in her father’s house. He then bade her look at the sword which he held in his hand, and threatened to behead her unless she would love Freyr. Still she refused; and said that if he and her father met, there would be bloodshed. Other threats he employed, and commenced a charm which was for ever to deprive her of beauty, of happiness, of worldly esteem, and consign her to the most direful woes. In the midst of the charm, she interrupted him; she could resist no longer; she offered him a cup of mead; and at length named the very night on which she would meet Freyr in the grove of Barre.—Skirnir now returned in great joy. He is met by Freyr, who will not allow him to dismount until he has said what success has attended him. The news, which ought to fill him with joy, makes him impatient. One night seems long; nine seems an age. The giant-maiden kept her promise; and for a reward, Skirnir received the sword of Freyr.[101]
Freya, the sister of Freyr, and the goddess of love, is thus described by Ohlenschlager:—
Freya had an equal share with Odin in the souls of all slain in fight; for is not love the cause of as much bloodshed as any other passion? All maidens of birth also hastened to her palace of Vingolf. Her car was drawn by two wild cats, or perhaps leopards; and next to Frigga, with whom she has been often confounded; she was the most powerful of all the goddesses. Her husband was Oddur, of whom little is known, except that he travelled far and wide, and that her attachment to him induced her to follow him, weeping tears of gold. Yet, if report be true, she was not always distinguished for conjugal faith. She had two daughters by Oddur, both exquisitely fair to behold; and she had four attendants, to each of whom was intrusted some portion of her sovereignty. Thus Siofna was the goddess of first love; Lofna removed all obstacles which impeded the fruition of lovers’ wishes; Var presided over betrothals, and punished false vows; Tir, the portress of Freya’s palace, refused admission to all who were not qualified to enter; and she was the enemy of all unfortunate lovers: she it was who prevented the fruition of their hopes.
This mythos explains itself more satisfactorily than any other.
Were of giant race, and deities of the deep. They had nine daughters, personifications of the billows, the currents, and the storm.
Ægir might be propitiated; but Ran was always cruel, when the fates would permit her: she occasioned shipwrecks in which she delighted, on account of the spoil which they brought her. She had a wonderful net, with which she caught such mariners as fell into the sea.
There was a brilliant feast held in the palace of Ægir, beneath the waves. Gods, goddesses, and elves were present to honour it; and the great cauldron which Thor had stolen[114] contained mead enough for all the guests. This feast, therefore, was subsequent to the other, when the want of that liquor was resented by Thor. On this occasion Thor was not present, but Loke was; yet no welcome guest was he. The deities did not like him; first, because he had a wicked tongue, and next, because he had but too much reason for using it at their expense. Two of the sea-gods, attendants, obtaining from all the praise of dexterity, Loke killed one of them, merely because he could not bear to hear any one commended. In great anger the gods excluded him from the festive hall; but he, at length, returned, and asked for his place, not in a penitential mood, but in the resolution of creating strife. All seemed inclined to reject him, until he won upon Odin by reminding him of past times:
The sire of gods was moved by this appeal; and he cried—
He did take his place; and as each of the guests remonstrated with him on his ill-nature, he launched out into new abuse. He spared none; and though his reproaches were bitter, they had foundation enough to render them keenly felt. Neither the awful dignity of Odin, nor the thunderbolt of Thor, who arrived about the midst of the festival, could shield them from his attacks. We have not space for the alleged vices of the dwellers in the Scandinavian Olympus; but his abuse made the gods inwardly resolve to effect his destruction whenever the opportunity occurred. His share in the death of Balder (to which we shall soon advert) hastened the time.
The three Nornies, Urda, Verdandi, and Skula, are celebrated in Scandinavian mythology. Of them we have before spoken, and have little to add here. Their origin was unknown. They appear to have sprung up with the great tree Yggdrasil, and to have been dependent only on the mysterious Al-fader. They were said to have more sympathy than destined beings would be expected to have, and to have wept over the fall of their favourites. Both Urda and Skula were frequently consulted by the gods, who were ignorant of their own fate.
Besides these there were inferior Nornies among the elves and the dwarfs.
Night and Day (Nott and Dagr) were also deified; so was the horse Rimfaxi (frost-mane), which carried night, and the horse Skinfaxi (bright mane), which drew the car of day. Dew is merely foam which falls from the bits of the former horse. Night was the daughter of the great Norvè; and being married to the god Delling (the dawn) the offspring was Day. There is some poetry in the following description from the poetic Edda:
The deity of winter was the giant Hrsnelgar, who dwelt in a cavern towards the dreary pole, and from whose wings comes the bleak north wind. Thus the Vafthrudnis-mal:—
This is the giant whom Thorkil saw in the cave.[116] In two or three places there is also allusion to a summer god, Sfosoder, the sweet, the pleasant; a contrast with Hrsnelgar, the devourer of carrion.
The Valkyrs, the elves, and dwarfs, having been already described, all that now remains is to relate the circumstances which will precede and accompany the destruction of the world. Many of them have a connection with the fate of
On this personage historically—if indeed there ever was one of this name and character—we have already dwelt[117]; we have now to consider him mythologically.
Balder had fearful dreams, and he believed that something dreadful was impending over him. He consulted his mother Frigga, who, though a prophetess, could not interpret his dreams, or foresee the kind of danger that was at hand. The gods were assembled; and as from ancient oracles they had learned how their fate was linked with his, they were the more anxious for the result. But all was darkness. Odin cut Runes in vain. Thrain and Dain, two dwarfs who excelled all beings in Runic wisdom, could only say that the dream was heavy, and that it portended evil. At this time Iduna was in the power of Thiasse[117], but she must be consulted, for she was a great prophetess. Heimdall, Loke, and Braga went to Jotunheim for that purpose. As she groaned for the joys of Asgard, the gods out of pity had previously sent her a wolf’s skin, by clothing herself in which she forgot the past. Why then should the three Aser proceed on their monstrous horses to her abode? Her only reply was by tears, which, though they proved that she dreaded, also proved that she knew not the cause of that dread. Again were the Aser convoked; and it was then resolved that Frigga should exact from every thing an oath not to injure Balder. But how could destiny be averted? She overlooked the Mistletoe.
At this crisis, when the future was impenetrable to the most prophetic of gods and dwarfs, Odin descended to consult the awful Vala, whose tomb lay on the confines of Helheim. His descent we have before related.[118] He returned to Asgard with the certainty that nothing could avert the fate of his beloved son, or that of the gods, of whose ruin it was the forerunner.
In the work of destiny, Loke, as might be expected, was the most active agent. He it was who drew from Frigga the secret of the Mistletoe; he it was who directed the blind Hoder to cast it; he it was who after Hela had consented to release Balder from her empire, if all creatures would lament for him, either persuaded the giant-woman to refuse, or personated one himself.
That this mythos of Balder—one of the most celebrated in the whole range of Scandinavian lore—has a physical meaning, is evident: it denotes the departure of the summer sun from the northern hemisphere. Some of the circumstances, however, have not been happily explained; and for the reason that we have more than once assigned,—that they never can be explained, since they were invented, not on physical principles, but to embellish the fable, and render it more interesting.
The crimes of Loke were now full; and the gods determined to suffer them no longer. Their vengeance fell, first, on his two sons, Nari and Vali. The latter being changed into a wolf, devoured his brother. With some difficulty Loke himself was taken by Thor, and, like Prometheus, bound to the flinty rocks. If he has not a vulture to feed on his entrails, he has something quite as bad,—a serpent hung over his head, which every moment drips its venom. More fortunate, however, than his prototype, he has a wife, Signi, who perpetually watches by his side, and building a large basin, catches the venom intended for him. But at intervals she is obliged to empty the basin; and when she does so, his agony, owing to the poison falling on his unprotected face, is the cause of earthquakes. There, like his monstrous offspring, the serpent[119] and the wolf[120], he must remain until Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods, when he and they and the whole visible universe will be destroyed.
Of this consummation, so much dreaded by gods and elves and giants and men, the prose Edda gives the following account:—
“There will first come a winter which shall be called Fimbulveter; snow will fall from every quarter, and hard frost and cutting winds have sway, so that the heat of the sun will have no influence. Three such winters, unalleviated by any summer, will follow each other. Previously to this the whole world will be scourged, during three winters also, by wars and bloodshed. Brothers will kill each other through avarice, and there will be no mercy even from parents to their children.
“And now, to the great affliction of mankind, one wolf will devour the sun, another the moon, the stars will disappear from the firmament, the earth quake violently, trees be torn up by their roots, mountains fall together, all chains and bonds be burst asunder, and the wolf Fenris will break loose. Then will the ocean rise above its shores, for the great Midgard’s serpent will recover its giant strength, and struggle to gain the land.
“At length he will succeed, the ship Nagelfare will be set afloat, and the giant Hymir take the helm. Nagelfare is built of the nails of dead men, and it should be remarked that when a person dies and his nails are not cut, materials are furnished towards the building of a vessel, whose completion both gods and men should seek to delay as long as possible.
“Fenris now rushes onward open-mouthed; fire streams from his eyes and nostrils; his under jaw touches the earth, the upper heaven, and he would open them still wider if there were space. Jormungandur vomits out poison, which renders the air and the waters deadly. He is the most terrible of all, and fights by the side of the wolf.
“In the midst of the confusion the heavens are rent asunder, and the sons of Muspell (the genii of fire) ride forth, led on by Surtur, who is clothed in flame, and whose unrivalled sword surpasses in brightness the sun itself. The bridge Bifrost gives way beneath their weight. The sons of Muspell press onwards to the plain Vigrid, which extends five hundred miles every way, and where they meet Fenris and Jormungandur. Asa-Loke also has repaired thither, and at the same time appears Hymir with the Giants of the Frost. All the sons of Hela follow Loke.
“But now, on the other side, Heimdall rouses himself, and blowing with all his might on his Gjallar-horn, wakes up the Aser who hold council as to what is to be done. Odin rides to Mimer’s well to ascertain what is best; the Ash Yggdrasil is shaken, and all earth and heaven are in dismay.
“The Aser and Einheirar march to the plain Vigrid, with Odin at their head. Armed with his golden helm, his glittering mail and his spear, Gungnir, he encounters Fenris who swallows him up.
“At the same moment his son Vidar advances to avenge his father; he presses down with his foot the wolf’s lower jaw, and raising the other with his hand, rends him till he dies. Thor fights with the serpent, and acquires great fame by slaying him, but overpowered by the poison which he spews forth, recoils back nine paces, and falls dead to earth.
“Freyr is opposed to Surtur, but now misses his good sword which he had given to Skirnir, and is slain. The dog, Garmer, who had hitherto been bound in a cavern, escapes and rushes upon Asa-Tyr, and both fall. In like manner Loke and Heimdall slay each other. After all this Surtur pours out fire upon the earth, and the whole world is consumed. The great Ash, however, outlives this general ruin.
“Good and just men will now be transported to Gimlè, which is built of red gold, and where there are various splendid and delightful habitations. Bad men, perjurers, murderers, and the seducers of other men’s wives, will go to Nastrond, a vast, hideous dwelling, whose gates face northwards. It is built of adders, whose heads are turned inwards, and are continually spewing out poisons which form a large lake or river, where its inmates are to swim eternally, suffering horrible tortures.[122]
“A new earth, fairer and more verdant than the other, will arise out of the sea; from which the grain will shoot forth of itself. Vidar and Vale will survive the general destruction, and dwell upon the plain Ida, where Asgard lay before. Thither also will repair Magne and Mode, the sons of Thor, taking Miölner with them. Balder and Hoder will return from Hela, and these gods will sit together, and talk over the events of past times.
“During the conflagration caused by Surtur, a man and a woman, Lif and Livthraser, will lie concealed in a place called Homimer’s Holt, and there nourish themselves with the morning-dew. From them is to spring the second race of men.”[125]
The Voluspa also refers to the second and more blissful world:—
This is to finish the visible universe, with its physical gods. But the immortality of the human soul is a doctrine strongly inculcated by the religion of the North. The souls of the gods, indeed, are, with two or three exceptions, to perish; and for this reason,—that they are physical gods merely,—mythologic creations to denote the powers and functions of nature. In this circumstance there is something pleasing to contemplate. The physical Alfader (Odin) has passed into annihilation; but the eternal Alfadur (Almighty God) remains to govern the world, and to reward the good whom he has admitted to Gimlè. Thus even in the darkest systems (and few are darker than the Scandinavian) sages have attempted to vindicate the ways of Providence.
OBSCURE EFFORTS OF THE ANGLO-SAXON MISSIONARIES TO CHRISTIANISE FRISIA AND DENMARK.—VICTORIES OF CHARLEMAGNE PREPARE THE WAY FOR A WIDER DIFFUSION OF CHRISTIANITY.—FEALTY OF HARALD KLAK.—MISSIONARIES SENT INTO THE NORTH.—ST. ANSCAR.—CREATION OF AN ARCHBISHOPRIC.—ST. REMBERT.—SUCCEEDING ARCHBISHOPS.—FLUCTUATIONS IN THE STATE OF THE NEW RELIGION.—ITS ULTIMATE ESTABLISHMENT IN THE KINGDOMS OF THE NORTH.
As the introduction of Christianity into Norway has been already related, we have briefly to contemplate its origin and progress in the two sister kingdoms.
Nothing can be more obscure than the origin of the Christian worship in these regions. Probably it was much more ancient than is generally supposed; but the number of Christians prior to the ninth century must have been exceedingly small; and of these most were probably converts only in name,—joining the adoration of Thor and Odin with that of Christ. We know that in the seventh century Anglo-Saxon missionaries endeavoured to obtain an entrance into Denmark, the contiguity of which to Frisia, and especially Germany, could not fail to attract the pious zeal of those excellent men. St. Wilfrid could do no more than evangelise a few of the Frisians. His successor, St. Willibrod, who in 696 was consecrated archbishop of the Frisias, passed into Jutland. Though the mission failed, the prelate brought away thirty young Danes, whom he designed to send as missionaries into that barbarous region. Wherever this venerable man preached, he attempted to demolish the idols. Even in the sacred island of Heligoland, where a tempest had cast him, he exhibited the same undaunted zeal; and on his death in 739, he had impressed the neighbouring people with much respect for his character. That he escaped martyrdom, which seems to have been his aim, can be ascribed only to that Providence which suffers not a sparrow to fall unheeded to the ground. But ages are required to extirpate an old and to plant a new religion. If many converts were made, they bore little proportion to the bulk of the population; nor could the salutary effects be permanent when there was no church, no succession of missionaries to continue the work. We need not be, therefore, surprised at the martyrdom of St. Boniface, the apostle of Germany, in 755. When the victories of Charlemagne had disposed the Saxons to receive the yoke of Christ, there was a better opening for the gospel, not in Saxony only, but in other parts of the North; for many of the Scandinavians, especially of Denmark, were in the same great confederation. St. Sturm contemplated the conversion of Denmark; but he was prevented by the emperor, who was more anxious for the progress of the truth in his new conquests than in more distant regions.
|822 to 826.|
During the reign of Charlemagne, no serious effort was made to establish a permanent mission in Denmark or Sweden. Louis le Debonnair had more zeal or better opportunities; and he readily sanctioned the departure of Ebbo, archbishop of Rheims. Ebbo was a Saxon, and more eager for the conversion of the kindred Danes than any of the French prelates. Encouraged by a papal bull, he ventured on the perilous enterprise in 822. Fortunately for him, Harald, surnamed Klak, who ruled over a portion, at least, of Jutland, had need of imperial aid to secure himself on the throne. As the condition of such aid, he agreed not only to become a vassal of the empire, but to embrace Christianity, and do all in his power to make his subjects embrace it. The court of Harald was near the present city of Sleswic, in the duchy of that name. Ebbo, accompanied by the monk Halitger, proceeded thither, and was permitted by the royal consent to preach to the people. But the fortunes of Harald were diversified; he was expelled three or four times, and as often enabled to return, as much through foreign assistance as through the efforts of his own partisans. That he was unpopular may easily be inferred from these revolutions in his fortunes. Of this unpopularity one cause was doubtless his profession of the new faith; another was the homage which he had paid to the emperor. Yet the efforts made by the kings who reigned in Zealand to create a monarchy, and consequently to destroy the Reguli, who aimed at independence, was, doubtless, more injurious to his interests, than the disaffection of the pagans. But during his intervals of peace, his patronage of Christianity was serviceable to the cause. Ebbo naturally left the country when the king was expelled; and there was danger of the good seed being choked, when another and more zealous missionary was raised by divine Providence both to continue the work which he had begun, and to extend it to Sweden.
|826 to 830.|
Anscar, a monk of Corbey in Westphalia, was from his youth an enthusiastic churchman. He had dreams and visions, which to him seemed prophetic of his future martyrdom. For that result he accordingly prepared; and soon loved to contemplate it as an object of desire rather than of fear. When, therefore, he heard that missionaries were required to continue the labour which Ebbo had abandoned, and to return again with Harald into Denmark, he readily offered himself, and was joyfully accepted. The perils, indeed, of the enterprise had no charms for the luxurious ecclesiastics of that age,—men whom the favours of succeeding monarchs had enriched; and Anscar with another monk, Aubert, were the only inmates of the great establishment at Corbey that could be induced to go. Indeed the community were not a little amazed to witness the self-devotion of these missionaries. Leaving Corbey, the latter repaired into South Jutland. From Harald, however, they received less assistance than they had been led to expect. Knowing his unpopularity, he remained chiefly in a fortress which the emperor had given him. Of Louis, indeed, he was the vassal, not for Jutland merely, which might never acknowledge him, but for the extensive region on the sea-coast, from Holland to Hamburg. Yet he showed little gratitude to his imperial master. He was suspected,—probably with much justice—of favouring the piratical ravages of the Danes on the Frisian coast. However, he outwardly conformed to Christianity, and was the avowed patron of the missionaries, though he left them to struggle with difficulties which he might have done more to remove. But we must make some allowance for the situation in which he was placed. He had been for many years—he was now—at war with other pretenders to the throne; and as these pretenders (the sons of Gudred) were supported by the influence of the pagan chiefs, he had cares which he deemed more urgent than those of religion. In 828 he was signally defeated, and compelled to seek refuge within the bounds of the fief which he held of the emperor. Probably Anscar retreated with him; and subsequently returned to his post. But the death of his coadjutor, and the desperate state of Harald’s affairs, convinced him that the time for the conversion of Jutland was not yet come; and he listened to a proposal, made by some Swedish ambassadors to the emperor, of introducing the gospel into that country.
According to the Swedish historians, who will not admit that the Danes were converted before themselves, Christianity had been embraced by many of the Goths many years antecedent to the arrival of St. Anscar. They assert that in 813 a church was erected at Linkoping, through the holy zeal of Herbert, a Saxon ecclesiastic. That the gospel was preached in Gothia before it reached Sweden, is probable enough; but we very much doubt whether the result was so great as the national writers would have us believe. However this be, St. Anscar was the first apostle of the Swiar. Reaching Birca, the capital—a place not far distant from the modern Stockholm—he converted some of king Biorn’s council, and was permitted to preach freely. This visit was auspicious; success appeared to be inevitable; but in the midst of his labours, after a residence of six months only, he and his companion returned to Germany. Why? To report what had been effected, says his biographer, Rembert, and to solicit further aid for prosecuting the great work. But it these objects were necessary (which we are unable to perceive), surely one of them might have remained to confirm the new converts. Anscar was the bearer of a letter from Biorn to the emperor, written in runic characters, and bearing testimony to the success of the two monks.
|830 to 852.|
The pope and the emperor were much gratified by the unexpected opening in the North. To reward Anscar, and stimulate him to greater exertions, he was made archbishop of Hamburg, with a jurisdiction over all the Scandinavian kingdoms, when he should have converted them to Christianity. In addition he was invested with the legatine authority over these regions; but it was shared with Ebbo, who knew less of the people, of their wants, and of their disposition, and who certainly had not either the zeal or the prudence of the other. One of Ebbo’s first acts was to consecrate a bishop, Gansbert, whom he dispatched into Sweden, while Anscar sent a vicar. It was evidently not the saint’s intention to return. He thought, and justly, that Denmark was a field sufficiently wide for his own exertions, and that he might superintend the Swedish mission from his new metropolis. That mission slowly but surely gained ground; while his own exertions in the more southern portion of his immense diocese corresponded, if not with his wishes, probably with his hopes. Both he and Gansbert, however, had the fault of all Roman catholic missionaries; they baptized before they had sufficiently instructed. Hence they had the mortification to see many of their converts join the worship of Odin and Thor with that of Christ; and many to forsake their new profession with as much levity as they had embraced it. Other misfortunes arrived. Hamburg was assailed by pirates: the sacred buildings were consumed by fire; the same fate attended the books which the saint had collected; and would, no doubt, have befallen him and his clergy, had they not fled from the danger. These pirates were headed by a king—Eric of Jutland and Frisia. For some time the work was nearly at a stand. Another disappointment—the loss of a monastery, which Anscar had held with the archbishopric, and from which the chief support of the mission was derived—paralysed his exertions. A misfortune no less serious was the expulsion of Gansbert from Sweden. This event is wrapt in some obscurity. It could not be entirely caused by religious persecution; for the king was still tolerant. Perhaps Nithard, the companion of Gansbert, and the nephew of Anscar, abused the popular deities and their worshippers. There was a great commotion; the mission-house was plundered and destroyed; Nithard was killed; the bishop with his clergy forced to leave the kingdom. All this, however, was “non-jussu regis,” which the Swedish historians convert into “Berone nesciente.” Yet Anscar did not despair. Though poor, he contrived still to instruct some of the Danish children, whom he designed as missionaries for both kingdoms. Being afterwards sent ambassador to Eric—the very prince who had burned his cathedral, and who by Harda-Canute’s death had become king of all Denmark—he so far softened that monarch as to obtain permission to preach without hinderance. At Sleswic he was allowed to build a new church; the number of converts increased; and their ardour was increased by the extension of their commerce with the Christian empire. Such converts, indeed, could do little credit to religion; still toleration was an advantage which in time might, he hoped, effect all that could be desired.
|852.|
Unfortunate as had been the issue of the mission to Sweden, Ardgar, a hermit of much sanctity, was persuaded to renew it. He was soon joined by some Danish converts. By Herigar, one of the chief nobles of the country, who had sincerely embraced Christianity at the first preaching of Anscar, they were received with joy. Through his influence the infant worship was again permitted at Birca; but it made little progress; and Ardgar, whose heart yearned for his old anchoretical life, at length resigned his missionary office, and left the country. Still Anscar was not discouraged. The see of Bremen being united with that of Hamburg, offered him more ample means to prosecute his meritorious enterprise. In the same view, he prevailed on the German sovereign to send him ambassador to both kingdoms. From Eric, the Danish king, he bore a letter to Olaf[127] of Sweden, containing an honourable recommendation of his character and conduct. Eric asserted that he had never known so good a man as the archbishop; he had therefore allowed him to labour in his own way for the good of the people. But on his arrival in Sweden he found new obstacles. The Odinic priests were seriously alarmed at the efforts which during above twenty years had been made to establish Christianity in the North. The imposture to which they had recourse affords a good illustration of the popular character, no less than of their religious notions. Just as Anscar and his clergy arrived at the capital, a man suddenly appeared there, who asserted that he was the bearer of a communication from the gods to king Olaf and his people. The substance of it was, that the ancient deities had conferred great prosperity on Sweden; that hitherto they had no reason to complain of ingratitude in their worshippers; that now, however, there was a sad lack of zeal, their altars being comparatively deserted for those of a new and hostile divinity; that if the people were anxious for another god, why go out of their own country for one? “If,” added they, “you really wish for another, we will readily admit your late king, Eric, to the honours of deification!” Gross as the imposture was, it was undisputed; the hearts of the Swedes began to warm towards the Aser, and a temple was erected to Eric, when altars smoked with continued sacrifices.
|853 to 865.|
The aspect of affairs was so unfavourable, that the companions of the archbishop urged him to leave the country. But he would not a second time abandon his post. He had been successful with Eric of Denmark, and he endeavoured to be equally so with Olaf. Inviting that king to a feast, he redoubled his attentions, which coming as they did not merely from an archbishop, but from the ambassador of a powerful monarch, were peculiarly grateful to Olaf. Yet Olaf was a limited sovereign; though he readily promised to afford the missionaries all the liberty he could, he was bound to consult the will of the people, and even that of the gods. In the true pagan spirit, he believed that other countries might have local deities as well as Scandinavia,—deities as powerful and as able to protect their worshippers. He advised the archbishop to send a deputy to the next Al-Thing, or general meeting of the freemen, promising that he would use his influence to obtain the requisite licence for the celebration of the new worship. “Olaf first mentioned the subject to his chiefs; lots were cast; and the gods were declared—probably through some intrigue of the king’s—not to be unfavourable to the preaching of Christianity. When, according to the Germanic custom, the people were assembled in their annual plaids, Olaf caused the subject of the French embassy to be proclaimed by a herald. In the discussion which followed, much murmuring was heard; one party condemning the innovation as disrespectful to their ancient gods; another vindicating it as necessary to the well-being of the kingdom. A venerable old man at length spoke:—‘King and people, listen to me! The worship of this new god is already known to us, and we also know that he often assists those who call on him. This many of us have experienced amidst the perils of the deep, as well as on other occasions: why then should we reject what we know to be useful? Formerly many of our people went to Dorstadt, to embrace this advantageous faith; now, as the passage thither is dangerous, why should we reject a good which is brought to our own doors?’—‘We have often found our own gods unpropitious: let us cultivate the favour of this god, who is as willing as he is able always to aid his servants.’ The shrewd barbarian succeeded, because he touched in the hearts of his hearers a chord that responded to his own. Neither he nor they had much notion of a religion which did not confer temporal blessings; all had been disappointed at one time or other in their invocations for them; all, therefore, were disposed to receive favourably proposals from a god who promised them a constant succession of such blessings. This was a poor foundation on which to build; but it was better than none. A proclamation was now made that churches might be built, and that whoever pleased was at liberty to embrace the faith of Christ. While these things were passing in Sweden, a revolution in Denmark was fatal to Eric, and, for a time, to the new religion, which the next king prohibited. But this time was a brief one; for the prudence of Anscar, who now returned from Sweden, fully repaired the disaster. The ecclesiastics whom he sent to both countries he enjoined to imitate the example of St. Paul,—to labour for their own maintenance, so as to be chargeable to no one. It was probably this necessity of manual labour that rebutted many, even more than the persecutions they endured; for during the whole of his pontificate, he had great difficulty in providing the infant churches with pastors.”[128]
|865 to 889.|
The work which Anscar had so well commenced, was as well continued by his disciple, his companion, his friend, his biographer, St. Rembert, who immediately after his death succeeded him in the archiepiscopal dignity, with the full approbation of the pope and the Germanic sovereign. He had, indeed, indicated to the clergy the propriety of electing his friend, to whose merits he had borne this splendid testimony:—“Rembert is more fit to be archbishop than I am to be a humble deacon.” To the success of this prelate’s labours, ample testimony is borne by writers nearly contemporary. He founded several churches, not in Sweden and Denmark only, but among the Slavi. His virtues equalled his zeal. To redeem Christian captives from pagan thraldom, he sold the very plate of the altar. One day, for the redemption of a virgin, he gave the horse on which he was riding. His time was always occupied; scarcely did he allow himself leisure for eating or sleep. During the twenty-three years that he presided over the united sees of Hamburg and Bremen, he was no less zealous than he had been in company with his predecessor. Towards the close of his life he chose as his coadjutor Adalgar, a monk of New Corbey, whom he wished to succeed him.—Of this eminent ecclesiastic, as many miracles are recorded as he himself had related of his predecessor, St. Anscar. That he believed them is certain; that his biographers believed those recorded of him, is equally so. We should have been glad to perceive them wrought for nobler occasions. With all their zeal, Anscar and Rembert left few native Christians in Sweden,—few, we mean, compared with the population, and scarcely perhaps with the advantages they possessed. But to them be due praise! If they did not effect all that we could wish, probably they effected all that they could. Their sense of responsibility was strong enough; but their diocese was too extensive, their duties too numerous, to allow of their devoting as much time as they would otherwise have done, to the Northern mission. Nor must we omit the inveterate bigotry of some pagans, the indifference of others, and (a still worse evil) the hardness of heart which a vicious system of religion had engendered.
|889 to 936.|
The successor of St. Rembert did not imitate the zeal of his predecessors. To extend his authority was apparently a dearer object than to extend religion. It is certain that he never visited Sweden: it is probable that he sent no missionaries to that kingdom; nor do we read that he showed any zeal in regard to Denmark. Hoger, his successor, was not more active. Of him the canon of Bremen expressively says: “Unde fuerit, aut qualiter vixerit, Deo cognitum est.” Yet Hoger was half a saint; he prayed and read when he should have slept, and still more, when he should have attended to urgent duties. Too many have been the churchmen of this selfish character,—esteeming every moment lost that was not devoted to their own salvation; and expressing only barren wishes for that of others. It is, however, but justice both to Adalgar and Hoger to observe that their pontificate was very brief; and that, had their lives been prolonged, history might have left some record of their zeal, if not of their success. Unnus, the next archbishop (916–936), was of a different character. When the invasions of the Huns and the pagan Northmen had been repressed by his imperial master, he proceeded to the court of Gorm, king of Denmark, whom, however, he vainly endeavoured to dispose in favour of the Christians. With Harald; the son of Gorm, he was more successful. Though this prince did not immediately embrace Christianity, he viewed it with a favourable eye; and he protected, as far as he could, all who professed it, especially the priests. From Denmark he proceeded into Sweden, which had not been visited by any Hamburg archbishop, for above sixty years. No wonder then that, as Adam of Bremen informs us, he found Christianity nearly extinct. Still he did find Christians, whom he endeavoured to establish in the faith. As Helmold asserts, whatever might be the persecution of the Swedish kings towards their pagan subjects, from the first dawning of the gospel, there was never an entire cessation of Christian worship. This excellent prelate died in the vicinity of Birca. His best eulogium is in the words of the canon Adam, who advises the idle, luxurious, worldly-minded bishops of the time to follow his example: “Look, ye bishops, who constantly remain at home, wholly given to pomp, lucre, eating and sleep, and who have no delight in the most urgent duties of your post—look, I say, at this ecclesiastic, poor in the world’s estimation, but rich in the sight of God,—one whose end was so glorious, and who has left an example to posterity that no disasters of the times, no distance of place, can be an excuse for idleness.” But what except idleness, except indifference could be expected at a period when the popes themselves were so worthless?
|936 to 988.|
During the pontificate of Adalrag, the successor of Unnus, Christianity made greater progress in Denmark than it had ever yet made. This ecclesiastic was a canon of Hildesheim; he was subsequently, we are told, the chancellor of two, or even of three, Othos. But this is incorrect. He was never at any time arch-chancellor, and was vice-chancellor only during a short period of the first Otho’s reign. Probably he was secretary to one or more of those emperors; he was certainly high in their favour. Through his influence, three bishoprics were established in Jutland,—Sleswic, Rypen, and Aarhus, and one in Holstein, that of Altenburg,—all subject to the metropolis of Hamburg. This result, as we have before related[129], must be attributed to the victories of Otho I., who subdued the whole of Holstein and Jutland. Harald would have had no peace had he not consented to reign as Otho’s vassal for the southern part at least of Jutland; to pay an annual tribute; to sanction the creation of these bishoprics; to embrace Christianity with the whole of his family; and to aid in its diffusion throughout his dominions. If, on this occasion, he was an unwilling convert, subsequently he became a sincere believer in its doctrines, which he openly and constantly professed. At the time he transferred his government from Ledra, the ancient seat of the Odinic superstition, to Roskild, he erected in the latter place a church to the most Holy Trinity. It was attachment to Christianity, even more than ambition, in his son, that led to his tragical death. The old pagan party were resolved to have a king of their own creed: hence the accession of Sweyn. Though Sweyn was an enemy of the new faith, he could not undo the work of his father, and of the Christian missionaries: the converts were too numerous to be exterminated. In a few years he himself became conqueror of England, and found it convenient to embrace the Christian faith, which from his death was the dominant faith of Denmark. Nor did the archbishop, Adalrag, lose sight of Sweden, which his predecessor had done so much to reclaim. At his instance, Liafdag, bishop of Rypen, and a Dane, Odincar the elder, laboured in the kingdom, and probably in some parts of Norway. Hako the Good was at this time the ruler of the latter kingdom, and he naturally wished to confer on his subjects the blessings which he had received.
|988 to 1026.|
Libentis, the successor of Adalrag, was also an honour to his dignity. Fit missionaries were despatched by him into both Denmark and Sweden; and if their progress was slow, it was steady. Their efforts were much assisted by Anglo-Saxon ecclesiastics, who inspired less jealousy than those of Germany, and who had the happiness to baptize the Swedish king, Eric Arsael. This monarch, it is said, was the victim of his zeal. Not satisfied with encouraging the diffusion of Christianity throughout his states, he laid violent hands on the holy temple of Upsal; and for this last act fell in a tumult of the populace (1001). On the death of Libentis, in 1013, his successor, archbishop Unver, trod in his steps. In the time of this latter prelate, Denmark, which obeyed Canute the Great, became decidedly Christian. The same blessing was in preparation for Sweden. Olaf, surnamed Scot-Konung, or the Tributary, because he sanctioned a yearly tribute to the pope, established three bishoprics, and was enabled to ensure a preponderance to the religion which he had embraced. From his death, in 1026, Sweden may therefore be regarded as a Christian state. Thus all the three kingdoms forsook idolatry for the truth about the same period, viz., the commencement of the eleventh century. This revolution, as we have had many opportunities of observing, was exceedingly progressive. In Norway it continued during three quarters of a century; in Denmark, from the mission of St. Anscar to the reign of Canute the Great; in Sweden, from the same event to the reign of Olaf Skotkonung,—in both instances about a century and a half. Yet we must not forget that paganism lingered in all three, especially Sweden, down to the twelfth, or even the thirteenth, century.