Chapter I: Denmark (8)

Omnipotent as was the authority of the states over the king of Sweden, when they were dissolved he was again supreme. He resolved to evade the performance of his pledge; and, instead of proceeding with his daughter to the confines of the two kingdoms, to deliver her into the arms of Olaf, he forebore even to mention the journey, nor would he allow others to mention it in his presence. He was, above all, indignant with the jarl Rognevald, to whom he attributed his humiliation at the recent meeting of the states,—for Thorgnyr was above his vengeance. At length the anxiety of Ingigerda could not be suppressed; and she resolved, whatever the cost, to learn from her father when he intended to commence his journey. One day, as he was returning from his favourite sport of hawking, and, from unusual success, was in high spirits, she advanced to meet him, and congratulated him. “Didst thou ever know a monarch,” demanded he, “whom so much good fortune attended in so short a time?” “Truly,” replied the maiden, “this morning’s sport has been successful; thou hast taken five birds: but was not Olaf of Norway the better sportsman, seeing that, in one morning also, he took five kings, and annexed their possessions to his own?”[241] The father dismounted, then looking at her, said, “Listen, Ingigerda! Whatever thy affection for this fat king of Norway, he will never be mate of thine!”—In vain did Olaf advance to the frontiers to receive his bride; neither of her nor of her father could he obtain the least tidings; and, in great mortification, he returned to Drontheim. Rognevald, whom Ingigerda acquainted with the disposition of the Swede, laid her communication before the king of Norway, whose rage was equal to his disappointment. His first impulse was to lay waste the Gothlands; but from this step he was dissuaded by his counsellors, who justly observed, that this kind of vengeance was unworthy of a monarch; that he should wait for the assembly of his states, demand forces equal to the enterprise, and then march into Sweden to obtain satisfaction for his wrongs. When he heard that the princess had been promised by Olaf to Jarislaf, duke of Holmgard, he would assuredly have instantly marched, had not another consideration detained him. Olaf had another daughter, Astridda by name, who was then on a visit to the princely Rognevald. In his anxiety to preserve harmony between kings with whom he was so closely connected, the jarl one day asked a favourite poet and emissary of Olaf whether his master would be willing to receive the hand of that princess, in the place of Ingigerda. If he would, there was the lady, and the marriage might be celebrated without consulting her father. The poet immediately repaired to Olaf, praised the beauty, the wit, the accomplishments of Astridda, who was in no respect inferior to her sister, and informed him that the princess would be ready to marry him without the consent of her father. Olaf accepted the proposal; but his motive was the vexation he should cause the Swedish king, rather than attachment to the princess. The poet was sent for her; and in a short time, accompanied by Rognevald, she passed into Norway. The sponsal ceremony was immediately performed; and, in a few days, it was followed by their nuptials. This proceeding of Rognevald would have brought ruin on his head, had not circumstances befriended him. Olaf, anxious that his daughter Ingigerda should marry Jaroslaf, endeavoured to obtain her consent. As she had lost all hope of the Norwegian, now her brother-in-law, and was offended at the manner in which he had treated her, she no longer resisted, provided she might select, as her companion and friend, any Swedish chief she wished to reside with her at the court of Holmgard. The promise was given, and she selected Rognevald. Olaf was indignant, but he could not revoke his pledge; and he only added that, if the odious jarl did not appear in his sight, and embarked without his knowledge, he would not forbid the appointment. Thus Ingigerda sailed to Gardarik, and became the wife of Jaroslaf. Hitherto she had not seen Olaf of Norway; but they were destined to meet many years after this event.[242]

[Sidenote: 1018.]

The conduct of the Swedish Olaf was resented by the states in their next assembly. He had not given his daughter to the Norwegian; he had not made peace with Norway; and, notwithstanding the recent marriage of Olaf with the Swedish princess, West Gothland was in hourly danger of war. In the next diet, the proceedings were stormy. A powerful body raised to the throne _Jacob Omund_ or rather _Emund_, the son of Olaf, a child scarcely twelve years of age. In great consternation, the Swedish king proposed to meet his rival, and to make peace on a double basis. The two kings did meet; and the Swede, who had been taught a lesson, was not merely affable, but kind. To set at rest the dispute between them, in regard to the boundary, they agreed to leave it to the chance of the dice; and the Norwegian was the winner in the game. From this day to the death of Olaf, there was no war between the two kingdoms. The Swedish Olaf was too anxious to gratify his subjects to oppose their interests or wishes. They allowed him to retain the sceptre, but a portion of his kingdom was placed under the administration of his son.[243]

On his part, Olaf of Norway was no less desirous of peace. The internal state of his kingdom was far from satisfactory. Many of his subjects, however they might outwardly conform to Christianity, were still pagans, and practised their rites in secret. In a tour through the uplands, in the summer of 1018, he discovered many whom the severity of his predecessor and his own had rendered apostates;—many who had been forced to receive baptism, but who, on the departure of their tyrant, had insensibly relapsed to their ancient faith. Great was his wrath at the discovery, and he evinced it in a manner worthy of the age. Some of the delinquents—those, probably, who had any substance to fill his coffers—he banished for ever; the hands and feet of some he mutilated; others he blinded; some he beheaded; others he suspended from lofty gibbets. In short, says the historian, “he did not spare one that refused to serve God.” These enormities were not to be borne. Even those who had conscientiously embraced Christianity revolted at them; and, as many had relations and friends whom no argument could induce to forsake their hereditary errors, a spirit of discontent, a smothered cry for vengeance, was soon heard in the lonely defiles of the mountains. Five upland kings,—for the royal title had been left to them by Olaf, and, we may infer, so also had their religion,—Ruric of Raumarik, Gudred of the Dales, Ring of Hedmark, with the kings of Hadaland and Ringarik, entered into a secret conspiracy against his authority and life. _They_ had not been injured by him; but their friends and kindred had been his victims: and who could say how long they should be spared? It was, at length, agreed to fall upon him in his passage through Hedmark. Sending spies to watch his motions, they hastened to a point on the road through which he had to pass, and named its vicinity as the place where their own followers should join them. However safe this secret might have been, so long as it was confined to the kings alone, when communicated to the inferior chiefs, whose co-operation was necessary, it could scarcely remain undivulged. Ketil, one of the chiefs whom Olaf had befriended, proceeded to meet the king, and acquaint him with the danger before him. At a solitary house near the lake Miors, in the higher regions of Raumarik, Olaf was acquainted with the meditated deed. With about 400 men, he instantly departed for the villa where the five kings were, and arrived there long before their followers. Approaching it at midnight, he caused it to be surrounded by his little band, so as to prevent ingress or egress; and, at the early dawn, all were in his power. Ruric, the soul of the conspiracy, was doomed to the loss of both eyes; Gudred, to the loss of his tongue; the remaining three were exiled, on their promise never to revisit Norway. The inferior actors did not escape punishment; some being mutilated, others exiled; but the majority, who had only acted in obedience to their chiefs, were pardoned. The domains which all had held since the days of Olaf Trygveson, were next invaded, and annexed to the crown. If this was a cruel, it was a politic step; it rendered Olaf not merely the nominal, but the only, king of Norway.[244]

[Sidenote: 1019.]

Of the two kings who were thus retained in the country, Olaf feared Ruric only, whom he always took with him. Ruric had his servants, his regal apparel, and his high seat at the table. He was noted for his revengeful disposition, and for his taciturnity. His domestics were so ill-treated that they refused to remain with him, until Sweyn, one of his own kindred, and formerly his vassal, was placed near him. It was now his constant object to prevail on Sweyn to join him in the murder of Olaf, and the man at length consented. One evening, as the king was going to vespers, Sweyn took his station at the gate, with a sword concealed beneath his cloak. But he had not courage to strike; and his agitation was such as to attract the notice of his intended victim. “Why that troubled countenance, Sweyn? Hast thou a design on my life?” Throwing away his sword, and letting his cloak fall behind him, the domestic knelt, and could only say, “To God and thee, O king, I resign myself!” He was immediately fettered; but was soon released and exiled. The only punishment inflicted on Ruric was, that his chair was taken from the royal table, and placed in another apartment; that his bed was removed to a less honourable place, and two domestics ordered to attend him night and day. After this event, he grew moody and capricious: sometimes he talked with amazing volubility, and, what was more important (for his talents were great), with wit or judgment, as the humour predominated; at other times a sullen taciturnity for days together, rendered him as disagreeable as he had before been captivating. When in these moody fits, he was evidently devising the means of revenge, or at least of escape. One night, when Ruric had retired to rest, somewhat intoxicated, a man called the Little Finn, who had been his domestic in his prosperous days, entered the apartment, with a large vessel of mead. This he presented to all the domestics who slept in the same apartment as his master, and it was so potent that it immediately sent them to sleep,—the more easily as they were previously half drunk. In a short time, Ruric awoke his two guards, under the pretext that he wanted to go outside the house. Rubbing their eyes, and gaping, they accompanied him, but were immediately slain by twelve men whom the Little Finn had brought to the spot, and who hurried the king on board a vessel which lay near the shore. One of the royal party, having occasion to visit the court-yard, found the two corpses yet bleeding and warm. In great alarm, he awoke Thord, the bearer of the royal banner, and acquainted him with the tragedy which had just been perpetrated. Both wished to awake the king; but who durst presume to do so? It was at length agreed to ring the bells of the neighbouring chapel; and Olaf, thinking that the time of matins was come, suddenly rose, and was made acquainted with the disappearance of Ruric, and the murder of the two guards. The household was soon in motion, and the fugitives pursued. Accompanied by thirty men, one of Olaf’s captains leaped into a vessel, and stood out to sea. Dawn soon appeared, and the vessel which carried Ruric, and which was manned by an equal number of men, was descried. The pursuit was vigorously maintained; when an arrow from the bow of the Little Finn, the best marksman of his age, found its way to the leader’s heart. Still the pursuit was continued; until the companions of Ruric, apprehensive of being taken, drew close to the shore, and plunged into the neighbouring woods, leaving him to his fate. The blind chief was conveyed back to Tunsberg, and consigned to closer custody than before. But even now he indulged in the dream of revenge, and fortune seemed to furnish him with an opportunity of realising it. Easter was at hand, and Olaf, with his whole household, attended divine service in the church. His seat was in a kind of crypt at the north end of the choir. Here, such was his thoughtlessness, he was accompanied by Ruric, for whose conversion he was singularly anxious, and to whose crimes he was unusually indulgent. On the conclusion of the service, when the congregation were departing, Ruric drew a concealed dagger, and aimed it at the king. The blow entered his garments, but did not touch his skin. Leaping from his seat, a second blow was aimed at him, but without effect; and in another moment, the ferocious chief was taken and fettered, and led out of the church. Olaf was exhorted to put the rebel to death; but he refused, and substituted banishment into the dreary wastes of Iceland. There, in a few years, Ruric paid the debt of nature.—Strange that Olaf should pardon the murderer, yet execute the pagan! That he should deem the most horrible of crimes less heinous than conscientious, however mistaken, belief! But such has always been the policy of the Roman Catholic church.[245]

[Sidenote: 1020 to 1021.]

The uplands were not the only parts of Norway in which idolatry was to be found. While at Nidaros one winter, he learned that in Halogaland, Naumdal, and the interior of Drontheim, even the outward forms of Christianity were disregarded. To judge for himself in so important a matter, Olaf, when spring arrived, proceeded into Naumdal, where he held assemblies of the people. He soon found that there were delinquents enough, and he resolved not to spare them. He afflicted them, says the historian, with grievous penalties, not sparing the powerful any more than the humble; and he made all the inhabitants promise that in future they would preserve the holy faith incorrupt. By passing through the most sequestered districts, he discovered what would otherwise have escaped him. On his return to Nidaros, he learned that in the interior of the province, at the yule festival, the horns and cups were, as of yore, consecrated to the gods; that oxen were still sacrificed, and the altars sprinkled with their blood. In great anger, yet eager to examine into the truth of the charge, Olaf sent for many of the farmers, to interrogate them on the subject. But they asserted that their convivial meetings had nothing to do with religion; that, like their fathers, they indulged over their cups, but were not so foolish as to be the slaves of heathenism. Though he was forced to dismiss them, he was not satisfied; and about the middle of winter he sent for them a second time, laying before them the information which he had subsequently received. Again was the charge denied; and they were again dismissed, but not without the assurance that Olaf would soon judge for himself. After the Easter festivities, he accordingly repaired into that district; and sending for Thorold, one of his vassals, questioned him closely as to the existence of idolatry in his neighbourhood. At first the man was unwilling to speak; he dreaded the vengeance of the Pagans; but being assured of the royal protection, he said that most of the people had not yet been baptized; that those who had, had certainly reverted to the worship of Thor and the other deities; that there were scarcely any Christians in heart; that sacrifices were still offered, at the ancient seasons; and that at their meetings, which they asserted were purely convivial, twelve men officiated as priests. Hearing these charges, for the truth of which he had no guarantee,—nothing beyond the bare word of Thorold,—Olaf summoned his vassals, hastened to the place of entertainment, put the leaders to death, imprisoned others, and plundered all. But the most arbitrary and most unjust part of his conduct was that which authorised his followers to visit the houses of the suspected, and kill or bind or plunder them at pleasure. That the innocent, if they had any substance, or any enemies, suffered with the guilty, is undoubted. Of both, many escaped before their persecutors arrived. Of the prisoners, some were put to death, some mutilated, others fined, and many banished.[246]

[Sidenote: 1021.]

Having left many priests, and caused many churches to be erected, in Naumdal, Olaf proceeded into the uplands, for the purpose of rooting out the remains of paganism. Here, too, he found many who had not been baptized,—and many who, if they had been, were more than suspected of being addicted to the ancient religion. From the more considerable persons he demanded hostages, as pledges of their fidelity in future; the rest were more summarily dealt with. But the force he had with him was inadequate to the chastisement of all the delinquents,—for whole districts had neglected the new religion. He therefore sent out the arrow, and being joined by his vassals, issued an edict that those who refused to embrace Christianity with all their hearts must either fight him or see their lands devastated and themselves punished. As before, hypocrites enough hastened to him to profess obedience to his command, while the more conscientious, or the more indigent, fled into other districts. Hearing of these transactions, Godbrand of the Dales, a powerful man and a pagan, having sent forth the arrow, addressed his warriors at some length:—“There has arrived on the margin of the Loar a man called Olaf, commanding us to follow a religion different from that which we have hitherto followed, breaking all the images of our gods, and asserting that his God is greater and more powerful than they. To me it seems marvellous that the earth does not swallow him,—that our gods suffer him to live. Of this I am quite sure,—that, if we take the statue of Thor from the temple near us, and bear him towards the enemy, he will destroy their God, Olaf himself, and all his companions.” These words will show that there were parts of Norway which paid only a nominal obedience to the monarchs of Drontheim, which had preserved their stormy independence from a remote age to the eleventh century. These were the mountainous parts, especially the dales, which were scarcely accessible to an army, where defence was more easy, where a great number of invaders could not find subsistence. The speech of Godbrand was received by the hearers with acclamation. All cried that they would not forsake their gods; that if Olaf came into their peaceful valleys, he should not leave them alive. Seven hundred men were immediately placed under the command of Godbrand’s son, and with them he proceeded to the entrance of the Dales. His example was followed by other rustics; so that the opposition which awaited Olaf in these defiles threatened to be more formidable than any which he had yet encountered. On reaching the ground where they were encamped, he caused a trumpet to be sounded, and a herald to bear his command that they would instantly receive Christianity. They rejected it with contempt; but they were soon defeated and compelled to flee. Some were taken prisoners, among whom was the son of Godbrand. Olaf could sometimes act with policy as well as humanity; and on this occasion he dismissed the humbled chief, bidding him tell the father that the victor would soon be in the centre of the dales. Touched with this generosity, the young man besought his father not to contend with Olaf. How, indeed, could he, with only 200 men remaining? By the old pagan he was sharply reproved for this pusillanimity, and told that, for his sins, he had been accompanied by some evil genius. The question of peace or war was again proposed to the Thing, or assembly of the people; and they resolved that twelve men should be sent to Olaf, to obtain the most favourable conditions that could be granted, and to invite him to meet them. The two parties did meet in those solitary wilds; and Olaf, amidst a heavy shower of rain, which continued the whole day, proceeded to explain the leading doctrines of Christianity. His explanation, however, was not very clear to the assembled pagans. “We know nothing of the God thou preachest,” said Godbrand, “and how can we, since neither thou nor anybody else has ever seen him? But we have a god whom we can all see whenever we please. To-day he does not appear on account of the rain; but if he should come to this meeting, you could not withstand his looks: he would frighten you all,—for he is a terrible god.” The old man concluded by saying that, if the Christian God should work a palpable miracle, he would then believe in his power. After the assembly had been dismissed, and Olaf, with the son of Godbrand, had retired to his temporary abode, the former had the curiosity to ask what was the construction of the image to which Godbrand had alluded. He was informed that it was a vast statue of Thor, with crown and mallet and costly ornaments, and hollow within. Every day, four loaves of bread, and a corresponding portion of flesh, was presented to this idol. That night, says the historian, the king could not sleep, such was his anxiety to convince the people of God’s power and of Christ’s divinity. The truth is that he was more anxious for his own safety; for the countrymen were resorting, in greater numbers than before, to the scene of action. To be secure in case of attack, he despatched one of his chiefs for a reinforcement. The following day, Thor was wheeled to the place where the assembly deliberated. As it approached, the people rose and saluted it. It was placed in the midst of the place,—having the pagans on one side and the Christians on the other. Godbrand, rising, said,—“Here, king, is our god; but where is thine? He is, I suppose, in some obscure corner, with downcast looks. Thou art not so confident as thou wast; no more is that horned[247] man who sits beside thee, and is called your bishop. This our god, who rules all things, looks upon you with angry eyes; you are evidently afraid; you dare not lift up your eyes. Wherefore, lay aside your vain superstition, and believe in the present god, who has your fate in his hands.” Telling one of his attendants to have a huge club in readiness, Olaf arose, and replied to the speech of Godbrand. “Their god was blind and dumb, who could do nothing for himself or others; he could not even move from his place without being carried.” “Our God,” added he, “is in the east,” alluding to the sun as the brightest emblem of the Deity. Hearing this, the people unconsciously turned their looks in that direction. This was the signal for the chief who held the mace. One ponderous blow broke the deity to pieces; and from the fragments, as they fell, crept serpents, rats, and spiders, in great numbers. Seeing this, most of the people fled; but they were soon recalled by the king, who wished to converse amicably with them. Having ridiculed their prostrate deity, he left them the usual option,—of fighting him or embracing Christianity. Godbrand was the first to set the example. As his god could not help or revenge itself, it had manifestly no power, and he would now believe in the Christians’ God. He was followed by the rest; and, in a short time, a church arose in each valley. From this place Olaf repaired into Hedmark, Raumarik, and Hadaland, where such districts as were not already Christians were speedily made so, in the Roman Catholic sense of the word,—that is, the people were _baptized_. Of _instruction_ nobody thought; or, if they did, it was left to time. But if Olaf had been as enlightened as he was ignorant, he could not, with the few priests at his disposal, have effected much good. Until England and Germany sent more ecclesiastics, and some provision was made for their education in Norway itself, little good was or could be effected.[248]

[Sidenote: 1022 to 1023.]

When Olaf found that the old religion maintained its sway among the inhabitants generally, he had always recourse to the same policy: he collected troops, marched to the place, sent forth his staff, which was the signal for the people to meet in the public Thing, just as the arrow was the signal of war; and proposed the alternative of a battle or conversion. But it sometimes happened that the arrow had been sent out before his arrival, and that the people were assembled in numbers too great for him to attack with safety. Thus, in the diet of Valders, when the proceedings were opened, and the king began to talk of conversion, he was immediately enjoined silence; nor would this have been the worst result, had he not been cunning enough to call upon the legal disputants to lay their cases before him for adjudication. In a moment the tumult was hushed; each party who was or fancied himself aggrieved began to complain, and the king was occupied the whole of the day in giving his decisions. The following days he laid waste their territory with fire and sword—fine occupation for their monarch! To protect their property the men assembled in arms; but as Olaf transferred his hostilities from place to place, no large body could be collected together; or, if it were, it soon dissolved itself. Hence he was able to assail them in succession, and force them to submission. The use which he made of his victory was the same as on other occasions; he baptized, hung, maimed, banished, fined, and returned to his capital in the belief that he had done Heaven much service.[249]

[Sidenote: 1026 to 1027.]

But from these conversions—these persecutions—Olaf was at length diverted by the report that Canute the Great, king of England and Denmark, was preparing to assert his rights to Norway. Why so ambitious a monarch as the Dane had so long delayed the vindication of his claim is not easily explained: England had been long tranquil, and from Denmark no commotion was to be dreaded. Whatever the motives of his inactivity, he never forgot that Norway had been subdued by his father. In 1025 he asserted his claim through his ambassadors, who saw king Olaf at Tunsberg. Norway, he said, was his by the right of conquest, and that right he should not renounce; but, as he was averse to the shedding of blood, he would acknowledge Olaf as king if the latter would do him homage, and pay him the same tribute as the jarls had paid. The reply of Olaf was, that he would pay no tribute, but defend Norway to the last extremity. Knowing that the cloud of invasion must burst upon him, he selected and obtained the alliance of Sweden. Olaf was no more; but Omund (or Emund) was not inattentive to the connection which bound the royal families of the two kingdoms. To arrange the means of defence the two kings met in Gothland, and lost no time in preparing their vessels for service. As Canute delayed the threatened expedition much longer than was expected, they were unwilling to keep their armaments idle, and they assumed the aggressive,—Olaf choosing the Danish islands, especially Zealand, as the scene of his depredations; Omund preferring the nearer province of Scania. In a short time, however, they joined their fleets, and continued their ravages. The summer being past and no enemy appearing, Omund returned to Sweden,—leaving, however, a portion of his fleet under the orders of Olaf. When Canute heard of these ravages, he hastened his preparations. Another subject, too, made him anxious to revisit Denmark. The Danes were dissatisfied with the absence of their monarch. From the foundation of the state, never had they been without a present chief—often with many—to defend their coasts against the piratical kings of the north. Now that Olaf and Omund were assailing them with impunity, their complaints became the louder. To appease them, Ulf, the brother-in-law of Canute, and the most powerful of the Danish nobles, had recourse to a bold imposture; he produced forged letters, which he alleged came from Canute, commanding the states to recognise his son Harda Canute as king of Denmark. The motive which led him to this step is obvious. The prince was only ten years of age, and the regency must necessarily rest with him. How he expected to escape the vengeance of his monarch is surprising: probably he looked for impunity to the unanimous voice of Denmark, and to the interference of Emma, the queen, who had sanctioned the plot, and transmitted her husband’s signet to him. Seeing the royal seal, the people immediately proclaimed the young prince. Both Ulf and Harda Canute soon repented of the step. Two kings were ravaging their coasts: Canute only could defend them; and his arrival might soon be expected. To avert his anger, they supplicated the queen to employ her influence in their behalf; and, after some entreaty, the monarch agreed that if Harda Canute and the jarl would apply to him for pardon, and lay the usurped crown at his feet, he would exact no vengeance for the past. Accordingly, both proceeded to England, knelt before him, and humbly entreated his forgiveness. The royal child was heartily, Ulf reluctantly pardoned,—if that can be called pardon, when a secret determination is made to destroy the object whenever a new occasion shall be presented. To extinguish the last spark of this rebellion, no less than to chastise the presumption of the two northern kings, he sailed for the north.[250]

[Sidenote: 1027.]

When Canute arrived in the Baltic, he found that Scania was ravaged by the combined fleets of Norway and Sweden. In a naval battle off that coast he had a hard struggle, but, in the end, had so far the advantage that he compelled the enemy to retire. After this partial success, he did not forget Ulf the jarl. Inviting that noble to a feast at Roskilda, the latter endeavoured, by mirthful conversation, to dissipate the gloom which hung on the countenance of the monarch. The chessboard was introduced, and, in the game which followed, the anger of Canute was still further increased. The jarl took one of the king’s knights; but the king took it back again, and, in a hasty tone, bid Ulf not play in that manner. One of this chief’s worst characteristics was an irritable temper, which he could not always control, even in the presence of his lord. He not only struck the table with much anger, but rose to leave the apartment. “Coward! dost thou flee?” cried the insulted king. “Thou wouldst have fled farther,” replied the jarl, “but for me. Was I a coward in the late action at the mouth of the Helge, when I bore aid to thee, whom the Swedes were beating like a dog?” These rash words sealed his fate. Though he took refuge in the cathedral, the next morning the monarch ordered him to be slain; and the deed was perpetrated in the choir. For this action, the royal assassin had thenceforth no peace; remorse was his daily companion: to allay it he became a benefactor to the church, and undertook a pilgrimage to Rome.[251]

[Sidenote: 1027 to 1028.]

Winter approaching, Omund of Sweden returned home with his armament. For some time longer, Olaf remained to watch the motions of the Danes; but he had some reason to know that a spirit of discontent prevailed among his followers. When summoned to the council their opinions were divided, in cases where unanimity was most required. It was evident that some of them were bought by Canute’s gold, or by the hope of his favour. Many, too, of the Norwegians even—the bravest of that nation—were in the armament of the Dane. As so little dependence was, after Omund’s departure, to be placed in his fleet, Olaf sent it to the Swedish ports, and returned, by way of West Gothland, into Vikia. At Sarfsburg he determined to pass the winter; and he endeavoured, by presents, to secure the attachment of his chief nobles; but he found that his own partisans were fewer, and those of his enemy more numerous, than he had anticipated. In some districts he could not venture without a strong armed force. As he dared not venture into the north, and was unsafe in the uplands, he proceeded to Tunsberg; from thence he despatched messengers into all the provinces, to hasten the levy of ships and men. Those in his immediate neighbourhood obeyed his mandate, rather through fear than love; by the more distant provinces it was derided. That the hearts of the people were not with him was manifest; the great preparations of Canute, which resounded throughout the kingdom, were either beheld with indifference, or openly desired. To what causes must this almost universal defection be ascribed? Undoubtedly to many. By the admirers of this king—that is, by the Roman Catholics—it has been contended, that the chief was the attachment of the Norwegians to their ancient idolatry. That this was a great cause cannot be disputed; but we may hesitate before we admit it as the principal. Olaf Trygveson was no less zealous than he; yet that monarch was in no danger from a foreign invader, and, to the very last, was supported by a loyal people. The truth is, Olaf the Saint had turned his friends into enemies, by the capriciousness of his conduct. If his predecessor was a furious bigot, he was, at least, beloved by his immediate attendants, and feared by his people. To his domestics the saint was often austere, not very liberal, and frequently tyrannical. In proof of this, we may adduce the confession of his greatest favourites, that, whatever the urgency of the occasion, they dared not awake him when asleep.[252] The man who thus inspired fear, even in his own palace, could not be loved. Then he was rigid, imprudently rigid, in the administration of justice. It was, indeed, better to err on this side than on that of laxity; still he should have made some allowance for times and circumstances, and have been satisfied with pecuniary mulcts where he exacted mutilation or death. Add, that he had not the commanding talents of the son of Trygve; that he was frequently fickle alike in his attachments and designs; that he was oppressive in his exactions; that he violated the pledges which he had given to respect the privileges of the native chiefs; and we have the key to the universal disaffection of which he was soon to become the victim.[253]

[Sidenote: 1028 to 1029.]

In the spring of 1028, Canute, with a powerful armament, sailed for Norway. Disembarking on the coast of Agder, he commanded the people to assemble in a provincial Thing,—a command which was promptly obeyed. Here he was acknowledged king of Norway, and no voice was raised against his election. On his way to Nidaros,—the modern Drontheim,—wherever he landed the people flocked in multitudes to receive him, and to pay him homage. On reaching that city, where Olaf had so much resided, and where he was so much detested, Canute was joyfully acknowledged the sole monarch of the country. During all this time, Olaf remained at Tunsberg, in the vain expectation of succour from some portion of his subjects. At length he sailed round the southern coast, rather as a spy than a monarch; and he had the satisfaction of vanquishing one of his rebellious jarls: but this was no advantage, for it exasperated the kindred of the fallen chief, who forced him precipitately to retire. Proceeding northward, he found that his own subjects (Canute had returned to Denmark in the full confidence that the new conquest was secure) were on the deep to intercept him. As their force was so much superior to his, he hastily disembarked, in the resolution to pass overland into Sweden. But the project was not without danger; every moment the countrymen might rise and deliver him into the hands of his enemies. To escape this evil he traversed the most solitary paths, with a celerity to which his fear gave additional wings. Continuing his way into the dales and Hedmark, he had some reason to fear for his life. Though he had many kinsmen in the uplands, the majority of the people were his enemies, and were ready to seize him. As yet, however, he had a considerable guard,—about 300 men,—and open force, in a rural, secluded district, might be resisted. But when he perceived that his followers were daily diminishing, he had no alternative but to flee into Sweden. Hako the jarl, Canute’s lieutenant for the whole of Norway, would soon pursue him; and expedition was therefore doubly necessary. Accompanied by his queen, Astridda, and a few companions whose fidelity no misfortunes could shake, he passed into Vermeland, and was thus free from the apprehension of pursuit. His expedition saved him; for had he remained any longer in Norway he must have fallen into the hands of the jarl Hako, who was pursuing him with a force which he could not have resisted. There he passed the winter. When summer arrived, leaving his queen and his daughter in Sweden, he proceeded to Holmgard in Gardarik, to solicit the aid of the king, or rather of Ingigerda the queen.[254]

[Sidenote: 1029.]

By the king and queen of Holmgard the regal fugitive was received with much hospitality. Seeing the distraction of Norway, they endeavoured, by the offer of a considerable province, to prevail on him to remain in the country. This would have been his wisest policy; but his heart yearned to the country of his birth, and he indulged the hope of being recalled by his subjects. His was not a strong mind; but in devotion—or we should rather say in the external offices of his church—he sought for consolation. But ambition was his prevailing quality. Night and day he meditated the means of returning; and, with a mind so impressed, we cannot be surprised that his dreams assumed the colour of his waking thoughts. A royal shade accosted him, exhorted him to return, and promised him success. Had Olaf been an enlightened man, or known much of that religion which he so zealously professed, he would have understood that a vision recommending all the horrors of civil war could not be from heaven. In about a year he left Gardarik, and sailed to Sweden. Here he learned that Hako the jarl was dead, and no successor yet nominated by Canute. This he thought a favourable opportunity for the vindication of his rights, and he proceeded to the Swedish court to solicit aid. By Emund he was nobly received; but the information which reached him from Norway did not induce him to hasten his departure. When the local governors heard of his arrival in Sweden, they sent forth the arrow of war, in the determination of resisting his entrance. The spies whom he sent into the country were unanimous in their report that the popular mind was indisposed to him,—that he should abandon the intention of returning. These representations, however, were counterbalanced by his hopes: in a few months after his arrival in Sweden, he procured 400 men from Emund, with permission to raise as many more as chose to join him, and proceeded through the centre of Sweden towards Norway.[255]

[Sidenote: 1030.]

On the confines of that kingdom, being joined by his kindred and their vassals, he found that his whole force amounted to 1200 men. With this force, had there existed any attachment to his cause, he might have triumphed; but as he proceeded through the northern districts of Drontheim, nobody joined him. In some places, indeed, he forced the inhabitants to assemble, and compelled those who were still pagan to receive baptism. Thus the time which he should have turned to his advantage he lost by his injudicious zeal, and thereby afforded his enemies leisure to organise the means of resistance. In another respect he was less imprudent. Seeing the refusal of the countrymen to join him, he was exhorted by his followers, of whom many were Swedish banditti, to burn their houses, to lay waste their fields, to cut them down wherever they could be found. He had the humanity to refuse his sanction to this atrocious proposal. He had, he said, one regal prerogative left,—the power of forgiving. On entering the district of Sticklestadt, he perceived a large force drawn up to oppose him. Arranging his own followers in order of battle, he exhorted them to fight manfully for their religion, their king, their families. On the other, Sigurd, the bishop, who was in the army of Canute, no less strongly exhorted his party to drive this invader from the kingdom. The character which the prelate drew of that monarch was not an enviable one. From his youth he had been remarkable for his robberies and executions; he had exiled or put to death the noblest of his chiefs; he had acted with singular treachery towards the upland kings,—whose privileges, contrary to his solemn pledges, he had violated, and whose persons he had afterwards mutilated; to all men, high or low, he had been tyrannical; he had lost all his friends; and he was now followed only by the enemies of Norway, or by professed bandits. This description was not overcharged, and it may be admitted as a fair estimate of his character. The battle now engaged, and Olaf fought with much courage; but in the end he fell, and most of his kinsmen with him.[256]

That the moral portrait of Olaf may be finished, and his claims to sanctity appreciated, we have yet to add that he had a concubine, and by her a bastard,—Magnus the Good,—four years after his marriage with Astridda. The circumstances connected with the birth of this prince are worthy of relation. Alfhilda, the royal concubine, was observed to be pregnant; and everybody knew that this was the result of her intercourse with Olaf. One night she was seized by the pains of labour, which were unusually severe; both her life and that of her infant were despaired of before it was brought into the world. Even after that event, so precarious was its existence, that the priest who was present insisted on its immediate baptism, and desired Sigvat the poet to awake the king for the purpose of knowing what name was to be given it. Nothing can better illustrate the tyranny of Olaf than the fact that Sigvat, favourite as he had long been, durst not fulfil this commission, at a time when mother and child were apparently on the brink of the grave. “Who dares awake him?” replied Sigvat. “But the infant must be baptized,” rejoined the priest. “I would rather incur the responsibility of naming the child,” said the poet, “than of awaking the king.” The name was Magnus. The next morning Olaf was in a great rage with Sigvat, whom he summoned before him, and asked how he could have the presumption to impose a name on his royal son. “Was it not better,” replied the poet, “to give the child to God rather than to the devil? Had he died without baptism, he must have been the devil’s. For my boldness I can but lose my head; and, if I do so, I must trust to God’s mercy!” “But why didst thou call the child Magnus?” demanded Olaf: “I have no kindred of that name.” “Because it was the name of Charlemagne.” “Thou art a fortunate man,” said the king. “Nor is this strange, as fortune is the companion of wisdom. Yet it _is_ strange when the imprudent man turns his very rashness into the source of advantage.” In the sequel this Magnus became king of Norway.[257]

As nobody can be admitted into the calendar of saints without the operation of miracles, which the church requires as evidence of sanctity, we may be prepared for those of Olaf. That he healed incurable diseases, restored sight to the blind, assisted the warriors who invoked his aid, is asserted by the gravest Icelandic writers. One which we give in the Appendix, and which is by far the most imaginative of the number[258] may enable the reader to judge of what materials they consist. The sanctity of Olaf rests on a foundation of equal solidity with his miracles. Yet all the Roman Catholics in Europe are taught, from their infancy, to believe in both. How far his character, as given in the text, agrees with that which Alban Butler has drawn from that immense heap of rubbish, the Acta Sanctorum, may also be seen in the Appendix.[259]

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CHAP. IV.

MARITIME EXPEDITIONS OF THE NORTHMEN DURING THE PAGAN TIMES.