"But he that unto others leads the way
In public prayer,
Should do it so,
As all that hear may know
They need not fear
To tune their hearts unto his tongue."
_The Complete Angler._
The next day, as soon as signs of the tobacco parliament were apparent
by Froken Helga filling and lighting her father's pipe, Karl and Axel,
who had been interested in listening to the conversation on traditions
the previous evening, besought Hardy to lead Pastor Lindal to the same
subject.
"The many ancient burial places existing all over Jutland," said
Hardy, "must have given rise to traditions of hidden treasure. Our
English word for these tumuli is barrows."
"And ours," said the Pastor, "is Kaempehoi, or Kaempedysse, meaning a
fighting man's burial place; the verb to fight is kaempe, and present
Danish. It was, however, a custom to bury treasure in secluded places,
and to kill a slave at the place that his ghost might guard the
treasure. There is a tumulus or barrow between Viborg and Holstebro.
It is related that this barrow was formerly always covered with a blue
mist, and that a copper kettle full of money was buried there. One
night, however, two men dug down to the kettle, and seized it by the
handle; but immediately wonderful things happened, with a view of
preventing them from taking away the kettle and the money--first, they
saw a black dog with a red hot tongue; next, a cock drawing a load of
hay; then a carriage with four black horses. The men, however, pursued
their occupation without uttering a word. But at last came a man, lame
in one foot, halting by, and he said, 'Look, the town is on fire!' The
two men looked, and sure enough the town appeared to them to be on
fire. One of them uttered an exclamation, and the kettle and the
treasure sank in the earth far beyond their reach. There are many of
these stories, but the principle inculcated is, that when digging for
treasure it must be carried out in perfect silence. You will have
observed that a great many of the tumuli you have met with in Denmark
have been opened. This has chiefly been done by the hidden-treasure
seekers; but it has had one good result, and that is, it has enriched
the museums in Denmark, especially that of Northern Antiquities in
Copenhagen. You have probably seen the museum in Bergen, Norway. You
will have seen precisely the same type of subjects there as in
Copenhagen; and in the tumuli in Norway, Sweden, and Denmark, what has
been found is, _coeteris paribus_, identical in type."
"You said just now that a slave was killed at places where treasure
was hidden," said Hardy; "is there much belief in that direction?"
"Yes; the belief in ghosts was very strong," replied the Pastor, "and
still exists. The general view was that if a man's conduct was
criminal in a high degree, that within three days after he 'walked;'
that is, his ghost appeared at the places he had been attached to when
in life, attended by more or less supernatural attributes. This, of
course, arose from our Saviour's resurrection on the third day; but as
to this, I will tell you a tradition that is an exception. There was
once a man who was exceptionally wicked and bad; he was a thief and a
robber, never went to church, and committed all manner of crimes. When
he died and was buried in the churchyard, and the people who had
attended the funeral had returned to the man's house to drink the
Gravol--that is the beer that was specially brewed for consumption at
a funeral--lo! there was the dead and buried man sitting on the roof
of the house, glaring down on all those who ventured to look up at
him. The priest was sent for, and he exorcised the ghost, and ordered
him to remain, until the world's end, at the bottom of a moss bog, and
to keep him there had a sharp stake driven through him; but,
notwithstanding, the ghost rises at night, but as he cannot, from the
exorcising of the priest, assume human form, he flies about in the
likeness of the bird we call the night raven until cock crow."
"In English," said Hardy, "the night jar. It was the practice in
England to bury suicides with a stake driven through their bodies at
four cross-ways. It is possible that this arose from a desire to
prevent the ghost of the dead person from troubling the living, and
being at a four cross-ways, that it should not know which direction to
take."
"It may be so," said Pastor Lindal; "but in discussing these things we
are apt, as in philology, to assume our own comparisons to be correct.
We have also the traditions of spectral huntsmen, with the
accompaniment of horses and hounds with red-hot glowing tongues; and,
singularly enough, the tradition often occurs that their quarry was
the Elle-kvinder, that is women of the elves, but who are described as
of the size of ordinary women. The spectral huntsmen have often been
seen with the Elle-kvinder tied to their saddles by their hair."
"Your traditions of witches," said Hardy, "appear to be similar to
ours. You appear to have burnt and thrown them into ponds to drown
after the same cruel custom as in England."
"True," replied the Pastor, "and the description in Macbeth of witches
answers to our traditions. On St. John's night witches were supposed
to fly to Bloksberg, a mythical place in Norway, upon broomsticks and
in brewing tubs. There they met Gamle Erik, the evil one, who entered
their names in his ledger, and instructed them in witchcraft, and,
after executing the witches' dance, they returned to their respective
homes in the same fashion. This tradition is common to other
countries, but in Jutland the belief was that the favourite form a
witch adopted was that of a hare, which evaded the huntsmen, and could
not be shot except by a piece of silver, which must have been
inherited--a piece of silver purchased or given had no effect. The
witch was then found in the person of some old woman with a wound, who
was forthwith dealt with in the cruel fashion then the rule. The
gypsies, or, as they are called with us, Tatarfolk, from their eastern
origin, drove a good business by professing to cure the effects of
witchcraft; they generally managed to cause the ill effect, however,
before they cured it. They would give a drug to a farmer's cow, and
call a few days after and offer to drive away the witch that possessed
the cow. They would take with them a black furry doll tied to a
string. A hole was dug several feet deep in the cowhouse; suddenly the
black furry thing was at the bottom of the hole, just sufficient for
some of the people to see it when it disappeared. That was the witch;
the cow was, of course, cured by an antidote."
"The gypsy is common enough in England," said Hardy; "but they do less
in telling fortunes or in thieving farmyards then formerly was their
custom. They appear to do a good business in small wares, as brushes
and mats, which they take about in vans."
"The gypsy," said the Pastor, "where superstition exists, trade upon
it, and in old times in Denmark this brought them a rich harvest. They
persuaded the farmers' wives that they must have inherited silver, or
they could do nothing against evil influences, and acquired thereby
many an old-fashioned heirloom. With us they have never pursued, as
you suggest, a steady trade."
"Have you not a tradition of a book called Cyprianus?" asked Hardy.
"The idea of the book is from the Sibyll's books of Roman history,"
replied Pastor Lindal. "The contents of Cyprianus is very differently
described. It is related of it that it is a book of prophecy of
material events, that is not in a religious sense. Also, it is
described as containing formula for raising the devil, or a number of
small devils, who immediately demand work to do, and whom it is fatal
not to keep employed. There are many stories based on this, chiefly
related of persons who accidentally find a Cyprianus and read some of
it, when the hobgoblins appear, and the difficulty of the situation
increases until some person versed in the use of the book applies the
formula that sends the hobgoblins to their proper places."
"The devil I have always heard in Norway as taking the form of a black
dog," said Hardy.
"It is the same in our traditions," said Pastor Lindal. "An
extraordinary belief was that a carriage at certain times and places
would not move, and that the horses could not draw it. The remedy then
was, for those who knew how, to take off one hind wheel of the
carriage and put it in the carriage, when the devil would have to act
as hind wheel to the end of the journey, much to his supposed
discomfort. There are many stories of this."
"Hans Christian Andersen's stories have made us acquainted with
Nissen, or the house goblin," said Hardy.
"There is little more to tell you then," said the Pastor, "except that
Nissen's description is defined by our traditions in Jutland to be a
little fellow with sharp cat-formed ears, and to have fingers only,
and no thumb. He is supposed to inhabit particular farm-houses and
their range of buildings, and, when there is a scarcity of fodder,
will steal from another farm; and if there be another Nissen there,
they will fight each for the interests of the farm he frequents. He
will play tricks on the people working at the farms, particularly so
if every Thursday night his porridge is neglected to be put in its
accustomed place, generally in the threshing barn."
"But have you no traditions of underground people?" asked Hardy.
"The stories of underground people are more abundant than any other
class of tradition," replied the Pastor. "We call them Underjordiske,
which means underground people; but by it is included Elle folk or
elves, Trolds or goblins, and Bjaerg folk or hill people. Their homes
are chiefly placed by tradition in the tumuli or barrows to which we
have before referred; and at times a tumulus is seen as standing on
four pillars, while the Underjordiske dance underneath and drink ale
and mead. At times it is related that they come out of their dwellings
in the barrows with their red cows, or to air their money, or clean
their kitchen utensils. Through all these stories the manner of life
of the Underjordiske is the same as that of the Danish Bonde or
farmer. They are not, however, always supposed to live in the barrows,
as several stories exist of the Bjaerg folk coming to a Bonde and
asking him to shift his stable to another place, as the dung from his
cattle falls on his (the Bjaergmand's) dining-table, and it is
disagreeable. If the Bonde obeys, he is promised prosperity, and
everything thrives on his farm. They can also, however, be revengeful,
and are dangerous generally. Their particular aversion is church
bells, and it is generally attributed to their influence that there
are so few Underjordiske seen nowadays."
"Can you relate any stories of them?" asked Hardy.
"Very many," replied the Pastor. "There are several collections of
these traditions, and although each collection is generally the same
in character, yet the details and stories themselves widely differ.
But I will tell you two of the stories. A Trold lived in a barrow
between two church towers, about a mile from each other. This Trold
had a wife, who was of Christian folk. It was necessary to get the
services of a midwife, and the Trold fetched the nearest, and gave her
for her services what appeared to be two pieces of charcoal; but the
Trold's wife told her to take them home, but warned her that as soon
as she put one foot outside she should suddenly jump aside, as the
Trold would cast a glowing hot-iron rod at her. She followed the
advice and went home, when the charcoal turned to silver money. The
two women, however, became friends, and the midwife often spun flax
for the Trold; but she was forbidden to wet her fingers with Christian
spittle, and they brought her a little crock to hold water for her to
wet her fingers in. This continued for some time, when at last the
Trold wife came to the midwife and said, 'My husband, the Trold, will
stay here no longer. He says he cannot bear the two ding-dong danging
church towers.' So they left, flying, it is said, through the air on a
long stick, with all their belongings."
"A story with some imagery," said Hardy.
"The next, however, is more so," said the Pastor. "On a St. John's
night, or, as we call it, Sankt. Hans. Nat, the Bjaerg folk and Elle
folk had collected to make merry. A man came riding by from Viborg,
and he could see the assembled Underjordiske enjoying the feast. An
Ellekone, or elf wife, went round with a large silver tankard, and
offered drink to every one, and came at last to the horseman. He
pretended to drink, but threw the contents of the tankard over his
shoulder, put spurs to his horse, and galloped off. But the Ellekone
was after him, and came nearer and nearer; her breasts were so long
that they fell on her knees and impeded her. She therefore threw them,
one after the other, over her shoulders, and continued the chase with
renewed speed. Fortunately he was close to the river, and dashed
through it. The Ellekone caught the hind shoe of his horse, and tore
it off; but she could not go over the water. The tankard was said to
be the largest ever seen in Denmark."
"The story is a common one to many countries, but it scarcely exists
with so much clear and distinct imagery as in your recital, Herr
Pastor," said Hardy.
"I think now we have had enough of traditions for one evening," said
the Pastor.
"What is your opinion of the effect of these traditions on the minds
of the people generally?" asked Hardy.
"It is difficult to say," said the Pastor; "we can but guess at their
effect. As education and civilization progress, they lose their
superstitious influence and interest and amuse. There is a wild
picturesque imagery that must appeal to the most educated mind. They
afford subjects to painters; but I have never seen a picture yet based
on these traditions that grasped the graphic thought of the recital of
the tradition. In a religious sense they do no harm; they excite the
imagination of the people only to prepare their minds for the
simplicity of the Christian faith, at least they assist to do so. When
I visit my Sogneborn (literally, parish children), I tell the children
these traditions, and when they grow older they like to hear anything
I have to say; it assists me in suggesting religious thought when
their minds are ripe for it."
Froken Helga, who had all the evening knitted and listened to her
father, dropped her knitting and went to him and caressed him. "Dear
little father," she said, "you are always good and thoughtful."
"I think so also," said Hardy.