But if this coercive mode of proselyting was, in many places,

immediately effectual, it was not so in all. So enraged were the

inhabitants of Raumdal at the destruction of the temple at Laden, that

they sent forth the arrow, and an armed multitude rose at the summons.

But Olaf proceeded to the south, where they could not follow him, and

there he passed the winter. This opposition only rendered him the more

ferocious against the pagans and all their superstitions. In the next

assembly over which he presided, he denounced the magicians, and caused

a decree of banishment to be pronounced against them: if they did not

voluntarily leave the country, all were to be arrested, brought before

him, and put to death. Eyvind Kella, a descendant of Harald Harfager,

was at the head of a college of magicians. These the king invited to an

entertainment, and set fire to the house in which they were assembled.

Eyvind, however, was not there; but he was afterwards taken, with a

considerable number of other proficients in the art, and were thrown

from a high rock into the sea.—Olaf, like all the men of his time, was a

believer in these pretended arts; and he was sure that, unless they were

repressed, religion must suffer. His people were not less superstitious

than he; and they doubted not that he had personally to contend with

Odin himself. One evening, as he was holding a festival in the retired

manor of Augvald, an old man, with a high cap like one of the Persian

magi, and only one eye, was admitted to the table. So eloquent was his

discourse, so varied his knowledge, that Olaf was delighted with his

guest. Many were the abstruse questions which he put to him; equally

wise and ready were the answers. Thus the night wore away. At length

Olaf asked the stranger who was that Augvald to whom the house in which

they were had once belonged, but who had long been dead. Augvald,

replied the guest, had a cow, to which he paid divine honours, which

always accompanied him, and supplied him with milk. At length he fell in

battle, and in the neighbourhood of this house was buried, in one tomb,

while the cow was buried in another.—Still the night wore away, and the

stranger showed no desire to go: at length the king pulled off his

clothes, and laid down on the bed, the mysterious guest being seated

before him. But the bishop entered, to inform the king that it was time

to sleep; and at the sight of him the guest departed. The rest of the

monarch, however, was short; he could not sleep; and to pass away the

time he sent for the stranger, who was nowhere to be found. The morning

following, he inquired of his cooks and butler whether they had seen

him. They replied that a man answering the description had appeared

amongst them while they were preparing the feast; had asserted that the

meat they were cooking was of the worst kind, and unfit for the royal

table; and had presented them with two noble barons of beef, which he

had assisted them to prepare. In great consternation Olaf ordered what

remained to be thrown away; the stranger, he was sure, was no other than

Odin, who had some deep purpose in view; but never would he be the

victim or the instrument of his fiendish designs. The gravity with which

such adventures are related by Snorro is the best illustration of the

opinions and intellect of the times.[219]

[Sidenote: 998.]

But Olaf had seen more sturdy antagonists than wine-bibbing deities.

Repairing to the north, he found that his attempts to convert the people

were not always to be successful. To the states of Drontheim, which he

had convoked at Froste, they repaired, all armed, and evidently intent

on some important measure. After the assembly had been legally opened by

Olaf, he commanded this people to embrace the Christian religion. A

great clamour arose; and the people did what they had never yet

dared—assert their superiority over him, command him to be silent, and

threaten that, if he refused to obey, they would drive him from the

kingdom. They had overpowered Hako, the godson of Athelstane, and they

did not think Olaf in any respect superior to that monarch. The tone of

Olaf was soon altered; he saw that the formidable body, who had been

raised by the fatal arrow, could not be resisted on this occasion; and

he expressed his wish to live on the best terms with all his people. In

reply to their next demand, that he should join in the sacrifices, he

promised to be present on the next great solemn festival, and then

choose which religion he would follow. By this promise, and by his

unusually placid manner, the wrath of the people was disarmed; and it

was agreed that they should meet him at Laden, in the province of Moria.

In the interval he prepared for the struggle. With a stronger force than

he had yet brought to such assemblies, he proceeded to Laden. Before the

business of the meeting was opened, he gave to the assembled people a

magnificent entertainment, and all drank deeply, so as to become

intoxicated,—the usual result of all northern feasts. The next morning,

after the legal opening of the Thing, he arose, and thus addressed

them:—“Countrymen! you well know what passed in the last assembly at

Froste, and that we are here met to restore the pagan sacrifices which

you so much desire. You also know with what contumely I have treated the

gods,—how often I have thrown them to the earth, and burned their

temples, and defied them to their faces. Now, according to your own

creed, such deeds can be only forgiven by extraordinary oblations. If I

must sacrifice, I will, as the chief pontiff, select such victims as I

may approve. They shall be _human_ victims,—yea, and the noblest amongst

you!” With much solemnity, and in a most emphatic manner, he then

mentioned the names of twelve chiefs,—the noblest in Norway, who were

all present,—that were to be immediately immolated; and he called on his

followers to lead them into the temple. The result may be anticipated:

the terrified chiefs who were thus doomed, and all who feared the same

fate, left the matter of religion to the king—they would no longer

oppose him: the multitude were constrained by their example; and both

the high and the low, young and old, were led to the baptismal

font.[220]

[Sidenote: 998.]

Encouraged by the success of this policy, Olaf now hastened into

Drontheim, where the provincial states were assembled. Here, however, he

experienced the same opposition. The people insisted, not only that he

should leave them to the undisturbed exercise of their worship, but that

he should, without delay, join in their sacrifices. Accordingly he

entered the temple, accompanied by some of his own party, and of theirs.

The chief idol, Thor, was seated in much barbaric grandeur, being

covered with gold and precious stones. Olaf gazed for a moment; then,

seizing a ponderous mallet, he struck the idol with such force that it

reeled from the pedestal, and fell heavily on the floor of the temple.

This was the signal for the rest of his followers, who, with the

rapidity of lightning, hurled the remaining gods from their seats, with

shouts of derision. At the same time, the leader of the opposition, a

noble pontiff, was killed outside the temple. Olaf then addressed the

multitude, and left them the choice whether they would be baptized, or

fight him. They were willing enough to choose the latter alternative;

but having no chief who could lead them on, they yielded, and were

immediately regenerated in the sacred font. For their good behaviour in

future, they were compelled to give hostages. To conciliate the family

of the deceased pontiff, Olaf, who was now a widower, married Gudruna,

the daughter; but he had soon to separate from her, since, on the first

night of their nuptials, she attempted his destruction.—Olaf was not yet

satisfied; the districts north of Drontheim, especially Halogia, were

yet pagan; and he longed to convert, that is to baptize, the natives.

When any of them, by accident, or stress of weather, touched in the

ports of Norway, he hurried them away to the miraculous font; or, if

they refused to go, he punished them for their obstinacy. Eyvind, a

native of Halogia, furnishes an illustration of the manner in which the

royal missionary attempted the conversion of individuals. Being brought

into the presence of Olaf, he was exhorted to embrace Christianity; but

he refused. Mild, persuasive language, in which the bishop (and there

was always one in the royal precincts) joined, was at first adopted; but

without success. Olaf then offered him large domains, to be held by the

feudal tenure; still no assent. “Then,” added the enraged apostle, “thou

shalt die!” A chafing dish of burning coals was brought, and laid on the

belly of the pagan, whom death soon released from suffering. To avert

the odium which must attach to the deed, a report was spread that,

before his death, Eyvind had acknowledged that he was an evil spirit in

the human form.[221]

[Sidenote: 999.]

When the favourable season arrived, Olaf, with a large band of armed

men, proceeded into Halogia to convert the people. In the south of that

province they were unprepared for resistance, and the good work was

unusually prosperous. But two chiefs in the north,—Raude and

Thorer,—both zealously attached to paganism, both rich and powerful,

equipped ships to oppose him. They were defeated; and Raude, who was a

great magician, raised a wind by which he escaped. Not so Thorer, who

was driven to the shore: though, from his swiftness, he was called _the

Stag_, he could not outstrip the Irish dog, Vikia, which Olaf despatched

after him.[222] Turning round, he wounded the animal; but a spear from

Olaf entered his side. The victor now hastened after Raude, who had

found a refuge in the island of Godey; but the magician raised such a

tempest that there was no approaching the island. At the end of a week

he proceeded farther to the north; and, after a successful course of

preaching, again returned to the coast opposite to Godey. Still the

elements raged. “What shall we do?” demanded the king, of Sigurd the

bishop; “Defy the tempest,” replied the other, “and the demon who has

raised it!” Saying this, Sigurd arrayed himself pontifically, took his

seat at the helm, held out his censor smoking with incense, raised a

huge cross, recited the gospel with many prayers, and sprinkled the ship

with holy water. The effect was miraculous: where the vessel was there

was a calm; on each side of it, the billows rose furiously. During the

passage, the same wondrous phenomenon was seen: before them the sea was

smooth as glass; to the right and left the tempest remained unabated. On

reaching the bay, a huge dragon, that is, a ship, stood on the sands.

Olaf heeded it not; but, hastening to the house of Raude, he bound the

magician with fetters, killed some of the domestics, and captured

others; and the same fate was inflicted on the military companions of

the chief. Raude was then invited to receive baptism; if he did so, he

should not be despoiled of his substance. Not only was the invitation

spurned, but heavy curses were uttered on the king and his faith. This

was not to be endured; and the royal missionary determined that this

wretch should leave the world by a novel death. Raude was fettered and

gagged; a serpent was brought to his mouth, and attempts made to force

the animal down his throat; but it recoiled in affright. A horn was then

passed between the magician’s teeth; the adder entered at one end,

passed through the mouth into the stomach of Raude, and speedily ate for

itself a way out again. Great was the spoil which awaited the victor:

but his greatest pleasure was to execute such of the magician’s

dependents as refused baptism. After these notable exploits, he returned

into Drontheim.[223]

[Sidenote: 998.]

Though Olaf was as much disposed to enforce the conversion of

individuals as of large bodies of men, he was not equal to both tasks;

and, in the former case, he sometimes devolved on others the important

duty of a missionary. A story preserved by Gunlaug, the Icelandic monk,

will illustrate the manner in which he exacted revenge when his efforts

had been unsuccessful. Halfrod, the royal poet, was accused to Olaf of

being still idolatrous in heart, and of worshipping a little image of

Thor, which he carried in a bag. The accuser was Kalf, another domestic

of the palace. The poet being summoned into the royal presence,

indignantly denied the charge; and, in proof of his innocence, turned

the bag in question inside out. “After this charge,” said the king, “you

cannot both remain in the same house; let Kalf return to his farm.”

Turning to the poet, whose sincerity he probably wished to test, he

said, “Halfrod, thou must be my emissary to the uplands. There resides a

man called Thorleif the Wise, who will not be converted. Formerly, I

sent many persons to reason with him, but they had no influence over

him. Now, I send thee, with an order either to kill or blind him: take

with thee as many men as thou pleasest.”—“This commission,” replied the

poet, “scarcely becomes a freeman; yet I will go wherever thou

commandest. As my companion, I will take thy uncle Jostein, with

twenty-two horsemen.” Away they rode; and, on reaching the wood near to

the dwelling of Thorleif, they dismounted. Halfrod, who knew that the

number of his followers would be insufficient if force were required,

said to them, “I will go alone to Thorleif’s house; wait for me here

three days; and if, at the expiration of that time, you see me not,

return to your homes.” He would not permit even Jostein to accompany

him. His first care was to disguise himself so completely that no eye

could recognise him. In a mendicant garb, his face discoloured with the

appearance of squalid wretchedness, he took his staff, and, when near to

the house, began to move slowly and wearily, as if consumed alike by age

and misery. Thorleif was sitting on a bench, in front of his house; the

poet dragged himself along, and saluted him. “Who art thou?” was the

demand of Thorleif. Halfrod told a piteous tale of his wanderings, his

misery, his ill luck, his dangers: he had been so unfortunate as to be

seized by the domestics of king Olaf, and hurried into the royal

presence. As usual, conversion or death had been set before him; but he

had escaped, and had, ever since, been the sport of the elements. He

thought, however, that if he had continued rest, and good living, he

should be restored to a portion of his former vigour. “Fame says that

thou art liberal, and I hope thou wilt be so towards me.”—“Of the truth

of thy story,” replied Thorleif, “I cannot judge; but if thou art an old

man, thou must have seen much and learned much: but thy tongue runs

somewhat smoothly for one so decrepit.” If the poet was not old, he had

travelled enough to answer the questions of Thorleif. “There is a man,”

proceeded the latter, “at the court of Olaf, by name Halfrod, of whom I

have heard much.” Probably Thorleif began to suspect that the poet was

before him; he knew that he should not long remain in peace; that his

refusal to embrace the new religion must bring on his head the vengeance

of Olaf; for, he added, “No doubt the emissaries of Olaf will soon be

here.” In reply to his question concerning Halfrod, the pirate had a

ready answer. He then, as if wholly exhausted, leaned on the bench, and

the moment he saw Thorleif off his guard, he seized him with rapidity,

and with a giant’s strength; but Thorleif struggled, and they both

tumbled on the ground, the poet uppermost. In another moment one of

Thorleif’s eyes was out of its socket. “What I have long foreseen,” said

the pagan, “has now happened. I doubt not that the king has commanded

thee wholly to blind or to kill me; I pray thee, however, to leave me

the use of the other eye, and I will give thee rich presents.”—“I cannot

accept thy gifts,” replied the poet, who had more fits of generosity

than less tuneful minds, “but I will leave thee that eye, and take the

responsibility upon myself.” He then arose, and returned to his men in

the wood; nor did Thorleif display his misfortune until they were far

enough from the neighbourhood to defy pursuit. But if Halfrod was

sometimes generous, he was also vindictive. As they returned by the farm

of Kalf, he said to Josteim, “Let us kill this man!” The other refused;

but the poet rejoined, “It is not just that we should blind a good man,

yet leave this wretch uninjured.” Saying this, he went to Kalf, who was

throwing the seed into the ground, seized him, and put out one eye. On

reaching the palace, Olaf inquired what he had done. “I have made

Thorleif blind.”—“That is well,” rejoined the king; “show me the eyes!”

In the hurry of the moment, the poet produced the one of which he had

deprived Kalf. “This is not Thorleif’s eye,” observed the king; “thou

hast done more than I commanded thee.” The other was produced. “This

_is_ Thorleif’s eye,” said the king; “now tell me all that thou hast

done.” Halfrod did so, and was pardoned.[224]

[Sidenote: 999.]

The success which through life had attended this extraordinary man did

not continue to the close. On his separation from Gudruna, he sought the

hand of Sigrida, surnamed the Imperious,—the Swedish princess who had

destroyed Harald Grenske. She accepted him; many gifts passed between

them; and an interview was appointed on the limits of the two kingdoms.

Among the gifts was a huge ring of gold, which Olaf had taken from the

temple of Laden. Two goldsmiths declaring to her that the metal was not

pure, she caused the ring to be opened, and perceived that the interior

was of brass. Indignant at the discovery, she declared that it was only

one in many cases where she had been deceived by the king. Yet, at the

appointed time, she met him, and the marriage was arranged. But Olaf

insisted that she should renounce paganism, and receive the baptismal

rite; but she refused to do either; and observed, with some wisdom, that

as she should not interfere with his worship, she had a right to expect

that he would not constrain her conscience. But the royal preacher was

not fond of opposition; he called the queen by the most opprobrious

epithet,—worse than an old heathen hag,—threw his glove in her face, and

both separated for ever. Sigrida was not of a temper to bear this

insult, and her future life was given to revenge. When, on the death of

Gunhilda, daughter of Borislaf, a duke of Pomerania, Sweyn of Denmark,

became a widower, she accepted the hand of that monarch, with the view

of hastening her revenge. At the same time, Borislaf sought the hand of

Thyra, sister of Sweyn, a young and beautiful princess, who, however

reluctant, was forced by her brother to marry him. By this union she

became entitled to the domains which her sister-in-law, Gunhilda, had

enjoyed in Pomerania. But she detested the old pagan and his court.

During the first week of her nuptials she abstained from food; on the

eighth evening, accompanied by her foster-father, she hastened to a ship

which was lying off the coast, embarked, and was landed in Denmark.

Knowing, however, that, if her brother saw her, she should be sent back

to the court of Borislaf, she concealed herself until a vessel was found

to convey her to Norway. By Olaf she was well received; and, in a few

days, she became his bride. By what casuistry he, who preached Christian

morals to his subjects, reconciled to his conscience this double

adultery,—he, the husband of Gudruna, marrying the wife of Borislaf, or

how she, who also professed Christianity, consented to the match,—we

need not inquire. History, which deals with facts rather than motives,

has now to relate, that this scornful rejection of one princess, and

this illegal marriage to another, led to the destruction of Olaf.[225]

[Sidenote: 999 to 1000.]

No sooner was Thyra the wife of Olaf, than she began to complain of her

poverty. She had only what her husband was disposed to allow her, which,

though equal to her wants, did not suit her dignity as queen of Norway.

Yet, in Pomerania, she had ample possessions, which, if restored to her,

would enrich her, and make her no longer burdensome to him: Borislaf,

she was sure, would, if asked by Olaf, quietly surrender the domains. By

degrees, she prevailed on him to equip a fleet for the coast of

Pomerania. In the summer of the year 1000, he departed on this

expedition. On the confines of Sweden, he married his sister, Ingeborg,

to Rognevald, a prince of that nation; and then, proceeding on his

voyage, soon reached the coast of Pomerania. In the mean time, the arts

of Sigrida prevailed, and Sweyn resolved to join the enemies of Olaf.

Actuated by ambition, no less than by the hope of revenge, he wished to

obtain some portion of a kingdom which, before the time of Halfdan the

Black, had frequently been subdued by his ancestors; and to punish Olaf

for presuming to marry his sister without his consent. Nor had Sigrida

much difficulty in prevailing on her near kinsman, Olaf of Sweden, to

join her husband in the war. Eric, the exiled son of Hako the jarl, whom

Olaf had succeeded, and who had always found a welcome home in Denmark

and Sweden, acceded to the confederation. But a more formidable opponent

still was Sigvald, a pirate chief of Jomsberg, whose close connection

with the Danish court has been related.[226] Sigvald was the more

dangerous from his treachery. So far from openly declaring war against

the Norwegian, he met that monarch, for whom he professed the highest

esteem, and whom it was his object to detain on the coast of Pomerania,

until the united forces of Denmark and Sweden arrived to crush him. At

length, when he knew the hostile fleets were in the Danish islands, he

persuaded Olaf to return, the office of pilot being intrusted to him.

With his own ships—which were eleven in number—in the van, he led the

Norwegian fleet into the midst of the enemy, who lay concealed near the

present Stralsund. Not all the ships, however, were there; some had

taken to the open sea; so that Olaf, with only a portion of his

armament, was suddenly assailed by overwhelming numbers of the enemy.

With his usual gallantry he defended himself, and great was the carnage

which he made among the hostile ranks. But the contest was too unequal;

the valiant champions of Norway fell round their master; the Long

Serpent, as the ship of Olaf was called, was boarded by the son of Hako;

a desperate struggle on the deck followed; and when few of the

Norwegians remained alive, Olaf, with three or four of them, plunged

into the sea, and was seen no more. Such, at least, is the relation of

Snorro, which is supported by reason; but the two Icelandic biographers

of this king—Gunlaug and Oddur—insist that he saved himself by swimming,

repaired to the coast of Vinland, in Pomerania, was cured of his

numerous wounds by the sister of his first wife, went on a pilgrimage to

Rome, and, after many years, died in the Holy Land.[227]

From the space which we have devoted to the exploits of Olaf, his

character may be easily inferred. The sagas add, that he exceeded all

men in two bodily qualities, which are very rarely combined,—strength

and agility. On one occasion he is said to have climbed a steep

precipice to extricate one of his courtiers, who had ascended to a great

height, and could not move upwards or downwards: taking him under one

arm, the king descended with him safely to the plain below. With both

hands he was equally expert. One of his amusements was to toss three

sharp swords into the air, and catch each by the handle as it descended,

and, without intermission, again to throw them, singly, far above his

head. This game is supposed to be of Indian origin; and, probably, Olaf

is the only king that ever played it. He was fond of poetry, especially

that which commemorated the deeds of heroes; he was liberal to all his

dependents, accessible to all the world, jovial in temper. His attention

to commerce was one of his most useful qualities; and whatever arts he

had seen practised in other countries he introduced into his own. He

founded, at the mouth of the river Nid, a city which was long called

Nidross, but the name was afterwards superseded by that of Drontheim,

from the province that contained it. In ship-building, navigation, and

the arts dependent on them, he had no equal. But, to the close of life,

he was a barbarian: he indulged in habitual drunkenness; and he shed

blood so arbitrarily as to prove that at no time, except when an

assembly was actually occupied in the public business, was he restrained

by law. He was, in the truest sense of the word, a despot. Though a

milder sovereign could not have so completely triumphed over

heathenism,—and he was, therefore, of incalculable benefit to his

country, in removing an insuperable barrier to civilisation and

morals,—this fact does not in the least atone for his ferocity. In many

points, he bears great resemblance to Peter the Great of Russia; though,

in all good and great qualities, he was inferior to that monarch. In his

reign many important voyages were undertaken; and to these we shall

advert in the chapter on the maritime expeditions of the Northmen.

[Sidenote: 1000 to 1012.]

On the death of Olaf, the two allied kings hastened to divide Norway,

or, at least, the greater portion of it, between them. Their lieutenants

were the two sons of Hako the jarl, who had assisted them so effectually

in the defeat of Olaf. The administration of these princes is mentioned

with respect by Norwegian and Icelandic writers. Though some of the

local jarls were oppressive, _they_ were no tyrants; and, though

Christians by profession, they did not persecute, but left the progress

of their faith to time and reason. Twelve years they exercised the

government, when Eric received a summons from his liege superior, Sweyn,

king of Denmark, to aid that monarch in the final conquest of

England.[228] Leaving his son Hako, then about seventeen years of age,

with the administration of the government, and confiding the youth to

the mature counsels of Einar the Archer, he sailed, with all the force

he had been able to collect, for the coast of England, never to return.

But a rival was now to appear on the scene, before whom his own power

and his brother Sweyn’s was to dissolve into air.[229]

In a former page[230], we have related the tragical fate of Harald

Grenske, who did not live to see the birth of his son, Olaf the Saint.

Fearing the vengeance of Hako the jarl, then ruler of Norway, Asta, the

widow of Harald, no sooner heard of his death than she repaired to her

father’s house in the uplands, where she brought forth her son. Under

her father’s roof the child felt not the loss of a parent. Though she

married a second time, his education was not neglected. Sigurd Syr, the

second husband, was an easy, good-natured man, whose time was wholly

occupied by his immense estates, and who left the instruction of his

step-son to one better qualified for the task,—Rane, one of the

favourite chiefs of the deceased Harald. As Olaf was destined to be a

saint, miracles enough are recorded of his infancy, and of the period

which preceded it. These, as we are arrived at the historic period, we

shall omit. Great praise is bestowed on the precocious talents of young

Olaf. To us they appear indicative of the spoiled child. One day, says

Snorro, Sigurd, being desirous to ride into the country, commanded him

to saddle one of his horses,—a menial office, but one that the noblest

youths were accustomed to discharge. He brought a goat instead of a

horse or mule, properly accoutred, and with provoking officiousness

proposed to assist him in mounting. “Thus it always is!” observed

Sigurd; “any command of mine becomes the subject of ridicule.” In the

military exercises of the age Olaf was a proficient. He could bend the

bow, or dart the spear, or handle the sword, with as much dexterity and

as much strength as any youth of the province; and in swimming he had

few rivals. Nor was he less attentive to the manufacture and repair of

armour,—a very necessary accomplishment to a warrior, and especially to

a king, at a time when smiths were not numerous and were seldom at hand.

Of Christianity he acquired as much knowledge as could be expected, when

the priests, themselves, were ignorant of its leading doctrines, and

when its purest rites were alloyed by superstition and heathenism. His

godfather was no other than Olaf Trygveson, after whom he was

named.[231]

[Sidenote: 1007 to 1014.]

When Olaf had reached his twelfth year, which was the seventh after the

death of his godfather, he was sent on his first piratical expedition,

under the care of Rane, his preceptor. On this occasion he assumed the

title of _king_, which was given to all sea captains who were sprung

from a royal family. The coast of Denmark and Sweden were the first to

experience his ravages; yet why in time of peace—when in addition Norway

was dependent on both kingdoms—this should be permitted, is not

explained. We do not read that either Eric or his brother Sweyn

attempted to throw off the yoke. But at this lawless period, when

pirates of all nations, from Ireland to Russia, swarmed on every coast,

it would have been impossible to discern the author of the depredations,

and, if they had been known, to punish them. Besides, the subjects of

one power were as guilty as those of another; and where both kings were

equally injured and equally aggressive, neither had a right to complain.

To Sweden, in particular, Olaf bore a strong hatred. In that country his

father had been murdered, and revenge was his first duty. On the

southern coast he fought his first battle,—not against the Swedes, but

against other pirates. These he subdued; and, emboldened by his success,

he succeeded to the eastern shores, disembarked in the vicinity of lake

Meler, and recommenced his depredations. To chastise his presumption,

the Swedish king put an armament in motion; but he escaped, and returned

home in triumph. When spring arrived, he renewed his piracy on the coast

of Sweden, and extended it to that of Finland. In the latter country he

experienced, say his biographers, what so many had experienced before

him,—the influence of magic. Missiles from unseen hands were showered

upon his little band: with his spoil he retreated to the shore, where,

to prevent his embarkation, a furious tempest awaited him; but he

sailed, and his perseverance triumphed.—As he grew in years, he

naturally grew in enterprise. The following season witnessed his

depredations in Jutland; the next, in Friesland; the next, in England.

But he did not come, we are told, to fight against the Saxons; the Danes

were the objects of his hostility; and, as the ally of Ethelred, he

assailed them with vigour. It appears, however, that he was sometimes

the ally of prince Canute, the son of Sweyn. Probably he was ready to

transfer his services from one prince to another, as the tide of victory

turned, or as he obtained a greater reward from one than from another.

He appears to have been one of the ferocious monsters who, in 1012,

destroyed Canterbury, and its good archbishop St. Elphege.[232] “He was

a leader of the army,” says Snorro, “which consumed that city.” From

this exploit few could have predicted his future saintship; but saints

then, as more recently, were easily made. In these troubled times, his

object was to collect all the plunder he could—whether from pagans or

Christians little concerned him. In France as in Finland, in Kent as in

Jutland, in Ireland as in Pomerania, his sword was equally active and

equally pitiless.[233]

[Sidenote: 1014.]

After the death of jarl Eric, and Sweyn king of Denmark, Olaf ventured

to Norway. As a prince, he could not be without ambition; as a piratical

chief, he had based his trust in his own valour: and the present

conjuncture he justly considered as a favourable one for his views. Eric

was no more; Sweyn, his brother, and Hako, his son, were not descendants

of the revered Harald Harfager; Erling, a brother-in-law of Sweyn, was a

tyrant; and the Norwegians were dissatisfied with a foreign yoke. Yet in

this voyage, in which two vessels only accompanied him, his motive must

have been, not conquest, but the desire of ascertaining the state of the

popular mind. He landed on an island on the western coast, where,

hearing that Hako was in his neighbourhood, with one vessel only, he

resolved on the bold enterprise of making that chief captive. It was

easily carried into effect, and Hako was brought into the presence of

Olaf, who admired the unusual comeliness of his person. “All that I have

heard of your bodily qualities,” said Olaf, “is, I perceive, true; but

your family is again doomed to be the sport of fortune.” “We have always

been so,” was the reply; “nor we nor our enemies have been her

favourites; and so strange are the vicissitudes of this life, that, for

anything I know, we may again be in the ascendant.” “If I pardon thee,”

added the king, “wilt thou engage never to bear arms against me,—never

to revisit Norway?” The jarl promised, and was suffered to depart, with

such of his companions as chose to accompany him. By Canute of Denmark,

then in England, he was well received, and intrusted with a share of the

administration. Olaf, therefore, was rid of one rival; but Sweyn and

Erling still remained. His next object was to visit his native region,

where his kindred and friends were ready to receive him. As he passed

along many individuals swore fidelity to him; but the majority waited

the issue of events. The manner in which his mother received him may

illustrate the domestic economy of the times. Hearing of his approach,

she commanded her servants, male and female, to prepare everything as

for a distinguished guest. Four women prepared the hall of entertainment

with benches, chairs, and cushions; two strewed the floor with rushes;

two laid out a large side-table with drinking cups and horns, and a

two-handled jug filled with mead; two laid out the table; two brought in

the dishes that would be required; two drew the beer; two were sent to

fetch such things as were not in the house; and the rest of the

servants, of both sexes, were occupied in the back court-yard. To

Sigurd, who was occupied in farming, such garments were sent as became a

king, and with them a horse magnificently caparisoned. Four domestics

went to invite guests for the entertainment, such as should do the more

honour to Olaf. The rest of the servants,—those, we suppose, whose duty

it was to wait on the guests, were commanded to put on their gayest

apparel, and “such as had none were to be supplied by those who had.”

The manners of the age and the character of the man are equally visible

in the reply of Sigurd to the messengers of his wife, when urged to

appear with becoming splendour. “Asta has before now received her

friends with much pomp, but never has she showed much respect to mine.

On all occasions she exhibits as much ambition as if the greatest

advantage were to be derived from her display; and I suppose we shall be

required to pay the youth the same honours at his departure as at his

arrival.” He then alluded to the charge of the entertainment,—to the

umbrage which the kings of Denmark and Sweden might take at it,—and

concluded by hoping that all would end better than he feared. But Sigurd

was a prudent man, and he exhibited no such spirit in the presence of

his wife. Knowing that he must obey, he sat down while one servant

pulled off his agricultural vestments; another helped him to draw on a

costly pair of boots; a third fastened the spurs; another held his

mantle and cloak: the addition of a helmet and sword transformed the

honest farmer into a noble baron. But he must not alone approach the son

of his wife. From his peasantry, hitherto busy in the labours of the

harvest, he selected thirty as a kind of a body guard, and with them he

rode in silent dignity towards his villa.[234]

[Sidenote: 1014.]

When Sigurd drew near his house, he perceived the ensign of Olaf

advancing in the opposite direction. The prince, followed by a hundred

companions, all in magnificent costume, he kindly saluted, and invited

to share his hospitality. The mother received the royal guest with a

kiss; and freely offered him and his followers all the worldly substance

that she had,—her house, and lands, and servants. Thanking both parents,

Olaf, with his chiefs, was led into the hall. The feast was prepared,

and Sigurd, who was invested with the regal title, ascended the chief

seat, which was at the head of the table, and was much higher than the

rest. But Olaf did not visit his parents for idle parade; and in a day

or two after his arrival, he invited Sigurd, his mother, Asta, and Rane,

his preceptor, to counsel him as to his future proceedings. In a

discourse of some length, he expatiated on his past dangers, on the

rights of his family, on his own claims to both the inheritance of his

father and of Olaf Trygveson; and expressed his resolution to obtain

empire, or to die. Sigurd, like a prudent man, replied, that for one so

young, and with so few resources, he had entered on a rash path; that to

defy such men as the kings of Sweden and Denmark was not the part of

wisdom; that little dependence was to be placed on popular applause;

that the present attempt was above his abilities and his means. He

concluded, however, by observing that, if the other chiefs of the

uplands—kings as he called them—were favourably disposed to his cause,

he would not be wanting in the support which his fortune might enable

him to give; and he even proposed to accompany Olaf in a visit to those

chiefs. Asta, whose turn it was next to advise, spoke like a true

descendant of fair-haired Harald. She advised him to persevere in his

undertaking; and added, that she would rather see him in possession of

empire, were he to enjoy it briefly, as the son of Trygve, than that he

should grow old, a powerless king, like Sigurd. When this council was

over, Olaf and his father-in-law went to meet the upland kings. “There

were many at this period,” says Snorro,—a proof that the destruction of

the supreme power by the death of Olaf Trygveson was hurrying the

kingdom into all the anarchy from which it had been extricated by Harald

Harfager. The sway of Eric and Sweyn, sons of Hako, had been so mild, or

rather so loose, that the country was become again the prey of numerous

independent chiefs.[235]

[Sidenote: 1014.]

In the assembly of upland kings, Sigurd showed that he was no enemy to

the elevation of his step-son; on the contrary, he exalted the valour,

the enterprise, the success of Olaf, in so many parts of Europe; and

besought them to assist him alike by their arms and counsel. The first

chief who replied was not favourable to the proposed enterprise; his

motive was evident: he feared that if a monarch of vigour, such as Olaf

promised to be, ascended the throne of Norway, there would soon be an

end of the provincial kings. The next voted for the insurrection. If

they must have a chief ruler, better was one of their own country and of

their own blood, than a Dane or a Swede. In the end, many of the

assembled princes, but not the majority, offered him their aid on the

condition of his respecting their existing privileges. The states of the

upland province were next assembled: the claims of Olaf were laid before

them; the chiefs recommended it to their support; and with one voice he

was acknowledged monarch of Norway. With three hundred armed followers,

he proceeded into the neighbouring districts; and he everywhere found

the people willing to acknowledge him. He now hastened into Drontheim,

the suffrage of which, as he well knew, would influence the rest of

Norway. At his approach, the arrow was sent forth, and the rustics

assembled in arms; but he had the address to draw them over to his own

party. Though naturally furious and irritable, he had sufficient command

over himself to control his bad passions; and every one that approached

him left him with a full conviction of his exceeding good nature. As he

drew near Nidaros,—the present city of Drontheim,—Sweyn, the son of

Hako, prepared a vessel to leave the port. At this moment, two of Olaf’s

vessels were entering, and Sweyn, to avoid recognition, steered farther

to the north, cut down some trees which were near the coast, placed them

by the sides of his vessel in such a manner that he could not be seen,

and boldly returned through the bay, on his way to the north. The men of

Olaf saw the vessel, and, believing it to be a cargo of timber, made no

effort to detain it. Landing at Froste, the seat of his government,

which he preferred to Drontheim, he counselled with Eric about the steps

which were now to be taken,—whether he should collect forces and risk

the fate of a battle, or have recourse to policy. The result was, that

he should, if possible, wait until the yule festival, when so many

thousands would be gathered together, and made the umpires between him

and Olaf. But the course of events hurried both parties on; they

collected troops, and with a body of two thousand proceeded towards

Drontheim. About the middle of the night Olaf was awakened by the news

that his outposts had discovered a strong hostile column approach.

Hastily rising from bed, the king took all the provisions he could find,

and, accompanied by a small body of followers, went on board the vessels

which lay in the river. He had scarcely stood out to sea when the army

of Sweyn entered the city and set it on fire.[236]

[Sidenote: 1015.]

This, to Olaf, was an unexpected disaster, and it was one that ordinary

prudence might have avoided. He now was under the humiliating necessity

of retiring to the uplands to acquaint his kindred that he had been

driven from his capital by the son of Hako. But he was better received

than he expected or deserved. Several of the chiefs supplied him with

men and provisions; and Sigurd Syr, his step-father, showed as much zeal

in his cause as any of his blood, and more effectually served him. When

spring approached he repaired to Tunsberg, where new forces daily joined

him. On his part, Sweyn, during the whole winter, was no less active in

raising ships and men, and he was equally successful. The day before

Palm Sunday, the two armaments were off the coast of Vikia, near to each

other. One hundred vessels accompanied Olaf; those of his enemies were

not inferior in number. Early on the morning of Sunday, Olaf, with the

banner of the cross displayed from his own ship, led the attack. The

battle was long and doubtfully contested: if Sweyn had a larger force,

that of Olaf was better disciplined. At length victory declared for the

king; many of the enemy submitted; the rest fled. Among the latter was

Sweyn, who hastened to the court of his father-in-law, the king of

Sweden, to solicit reinforcements; while Erling remained to harass the

victor. From Sweden the jarl never returned. The king offered him

troops; but he preferred a peaceful government in that country, until

the course of events in Norway were more favourable to his views. After

a piratical expedition to the coast of Gardarik, he fell sick and died.

From this time, Olaf may be more truly called the monarch of Norway. The

people of Drontheim, who had been much attached to the jarl, now

transferred their allegiance to him. Erling, indeed, held out another

year, and some of the smaller chiefs were tardy in the payment of

tribute; but when he submitted, there remained only the two foreign

powers who could trouble the king.[237]

[Sidenote: 1016.]

After these successes Olaf began the work of legal reformation. The laws

which Hako the Good had introduced were often neglected; some of them

were no longer applicable, and new ones were demanded by the necessities

of the people. The manner in which he proceeded in this object evinces

his good sense. At a certain hour he met the wisest of his people as

well as the noblest,—the low as well as the high,—clergy and laity,—all

in whose judgment he could place any confidence. He then caused one of

Hako’s laws to be recited, and asked their opinion of its justice no

less than its fitness. Sometimes it was rejected; but generally some

improvements were made in it by common consent. At other times he

propounded new ones; but it may be doubted whether any of them were

obligatory until they had received the formal sanction of the Thing.

Ecclesiastical matters next occupied the royal attention. Such portions

of the canon law as were applicable to the circumstances of a barbarous,

half-pagan kingdom were gradually introduced. His great object was to

abolish what yet remained of paganism—a religion which had been

considerably observed since the death of Olaf Trygveson. He would not

tolerate it; wherever his jurisdiction extended he caused the temples to

be destroyed, and rude wooden churches to be built on their ruins. Nor

was he regardless of the spiritual wants of the Orkneys, Iceland, and

other dependencies of his kingdom. To them he despatched missionaries,

and inculcated on all the necessity of zeal, of perseverance, of

unwearied industry. His own conduct was, in this respect, a lesson to

his people. He rose early, heard matins and mass before he entered on

public business or broke his fast. It was his regular attendance on

public worship which, more than any other cause, led to his subsequent

canonisation. He was, indeed, the first of the Norwegian kings that

punctually observed the ordinances of religion. Hako the Good was as

well disposed; but Hako, as we have shown, was compelled to revert into

idolatry. Olaf, the son of Trygve, was too fond of the mead cup, and of

continuing his potations into the silence of night, to attend early

prayers. The present Olaf was, therefore, the first whom the clergy

could decently canonise. Not that he was without his faults. He was

vindictive, hasty, intemperate, exacting the severest vengeance from

those who disputed his commands, and not sparing of human blood. Yet he

was affable, indulgent to his dependents, and liberal to such as he had

reason to esteem.[238]

[Sidenote: 1016.]

That the kings of Sweden and Denmark should make no effort to recover

their Norwegian possessions, was not to be expected. In about a year

after Olaf’s accession, two ambassadors, with a suitable retinue,

arrived at Drontheim from the former kingdom. On their way, however, and

immediately after passing the mountain barrier, between the two states,

they had endeavoured to prevail on the rustic landholders to pay

tribute, not to Olaf, but to the Swedish king. Little do the majority of

any country care for the reigning sovereign; the rustics of Norway no

more than any other people. They professed their willingness to pay the

foreign king, provided Olaf would not require the same taxes a second

time. This conduct was treasonable. One of the ambassadors felt that it

was so, and proposed that they should return into Sweden; but,

constrained by the other, both proceeded to Olaf’s court. Here the same

man acted still more insolently: he advised the king to become the

vassal of his Swedish namesake, for no inferior step could screen him

from the vengeance of a monarch so much greater than he. The king so far

restrained himself as to bid them depart and announce to their master

his willingness to meet him on the frontiers of the two countries. They

left the palace, but soon returned, demanding, with much insolence, to

see the monarch, who was then at table. The porters were commanded to

drive them from the door. This conduct, which could not have been borne

even by a private individual, was deeply offensive to Olaf. When he

heard that, instead of retiring into Sweden, one of them remained in the

provinces to collect tribute, he sent a small armed band in pursuit of

them; and the ambassador, with his suite, were suspended from a public

gallows. To guard himself against the vengeance of his rival, Olaf now

went through the whole of his kingdom, holding assemblies of the people

in every province, receiving the homage of all, propounding new laws,

and laying more solidly the foundations of the new church. Finding that

the districts bordering on Sweden were claimed by that power,—that the

limits of the two kingdoms were not observed by it,—he slew the governor

of West Gothland, the lieutenant of the Swedish king, who had been long

harassing the Norwegian subjects of the frontier. To prevent all future

mistake as to that frontier, he caused a ditch to be dug, and a parallel

mound to be raised along the disputed line; and, to protect the

colonists, he remained there with a considerable force during the whole

of the following winter. To avenge these insults, the Swedish king began

to arm. He threatened to subdue the whole of Norway, and to drive the

sea king into exile.[239]

[Sidenote: 1017.]

The proposals for peace originated with Olaf of Norway; but they were

long destined to have no effect: the wrath of the Swedish Olaf was too

great to be allayed by ordinary negotiations. In 1016, an ambassador

departed on this mission; but so unfavourable were the accounts which he

received of the Swedish monarch’s disposition, that he proceeded no

farther than the house of Rognevald, one of the most peaceful of the

jarls, or provincial governors of the kingdom. But he had an Icelander

with him, Hialt by name, who offered to undertake the embassy, and to

brave the wrath of the Swede. Hialt was a poet, and his profession was

esteemed at every court of the north. Accompanied by another poet, and

also, like himself, a wit, he hastened to the Swedish capital. By Olaf

they were well received, because he knew not the object of their

journey. Their love of the cup was so tempered by discretion, that,

while they were the boon companions of royalty,—in those days every poet

was,—they never lost sight of the respect which it always exacts. After

some days, such was his familiarity with the king that Hialt alluded to

the subject,—not as one that _he_ had undertaken, but as one in which

the interests of Sweden were deeply involved. A peremptory command to be

silent afforded little hope of success: he was told that the name of

Olaf the Fat (such was the epithet of the Norwegian monarch) was not

even whispered at the Swedish court. But Hialt persevered. Knowing that

a matrimonial alliance with the royal family of Sweden was the highest

ambition of the Norwegian Olaf, he solicited the interest of Ingigerda,

daughter of the Swede. The princess readily accepted both the proffered

hand of Olaf and the delicate task of turning her father’s mind to the

subject of peace. One day, when Olaf was in high spirits,—which, to do

him justice, was frequent,—she alluded to the policy of leaving Norway

to its own kings. The people were an obstinate people, much attached to

their own regal line, and if the conquest were effected, it would not be

enduring; while on the opposite coast of Finland were regions which had

formerly belonged to Sweden, and which might be easily subdued. The lady

was rendered eloquent by the hope of a husband; but she was immediately

silenced by the king. “So, Ingigerda, thou wouldst see me lose Norway

that thou mightest become the bride of this Olaf the Fat? That day will

never arrive; I will conquer Norway.” Not daring to renew the subject,

she retired to acquaint Hialt with the ill success of her interference.

They could only await the course of events, in the hope that the states

of the kingdom which had no private resentments to gratify would require

the king to make peace with his rival. Rognevald, at the suit of

Ingigerda, and from his attachment to Norway, where most of his kindred

abode, undertook to mention the subject in the approaching assembly at

Upsal; and he had the address to interest in his behalf the venerable

Thorgnyr, the oracle of the law, the most influential of the Swedish

chiefs. After the assembly had been legally opened, and some ordinary

business transacted, the Norwegian ambassador rose, and besought the

attention of king and states while he laid before them the mission with

which he had been intrusted by his royal master. But before he could

explain it, the angry monarch arose, and sternly commanded him to be

silent. The free-born nobles of Sweden were not thus to lose their

privilege of consulting on the affairs of the monarchy. Rognevald arose,

and dwelt at large on the present state of their relations with Norway.

So long as the frontier was disputed, West Gothland would be exposed to

depredations; so long as the two kingdoms were thus hostile, there could

be no prosperity for Sweden. Olaf the Fat was desirous of peace; he had

sent ambassadors for that purpose; and, in proof of his sincerity,

besought the hand of the princess Ingigerda. At the close of his speech,

the monarch arose, and sharply upbraided Rognevald for his advocacy of

the interests of an enemy. “To this,” observed the king, “he has been

instigated by his wife, a Norwegian lady, and of the same family as Olaf

the Fat. Rognevald, as the friend, perhaps the ally, of Sweden’s enemy,

was a traitor, and ought to suffer the punishment of one,—to be deprived

alike of his dignity and possessions, and banished the realm.” The

irritated monarch then resumed his seat, but only to hear what would

displease him the more. The venerable Thorgnyr, whose beard descended to

his knees, whose wisdom was celebrated throughout the north, and whose

presence was so majestic as to inspire every one with reverence, was the

next speaker. The assembly were hushed as he rose; and such is the

ascendancy of wisdom, when associated with virtue and rank, that every

one felt that _his_ opinion would decide the controversy. They rose at

the same time,—an unconscious tribute of respect to this Nestor. His

speech, illustrative as it is of the times, and of Swedish freedom, we

give entire. “The kings of the Swedes are not what they once were. My

grandfather could remember Eric the son of Emund, when in the vigour of

manhood. That king, each summer, undertook some warlike expedition,

adding to his empire Finland, Carelia, Esthonia, Courland, and other

regions,—exploits of which the lofty mounds visible at this day are

triumphant proofs; yet Eric was not too proud to be advised; nor did he

refuse to hear every one that addressed him. My father was long the

companion and friend of Biorn, whose character he thoroughly understood,

whose reign was uninterruptedly flourishing,—no part of the kingdom

escaping his salutary care; yet Biorn was indulgent to his friends, easy

of access, and always inclined to good advice. And I remember Eric the

Victorious, whose companion I was in so many expeditions; he enlarged

the bounds of the kingdom, and nobly defended what he had thus acquired;

yet _he_ was always ready to follow good counsels. Now we have a king

whose negligence has occasioned the loss of some tributary regions; yet

he would leave to no one the freedom of speaking any other thing than

what he is pleased to hear; and to check the honest use of the tongue is

his constant aim. More ambitious than his valiant predecessors, he

really aspires to the conquest of all Norway, and thus disturbs the

public tranquillity. King Olaf! it is the wish of the country that thou

shouldst make peace with Olaf the Fat, and give him thy daughter

Ingigerda. If it be thy wish to recover the possessions which thine

ancestors once held in the east, we are all ready to accompany thee in

the expedition. If, on the other hand, in regard to Norway, thou art

unwilling to follow the advice we have given thee, know that we will no

longer tolerate thy frequent violations of the public tranquillity, and

of the constitutional laws; with our swords we will fall upon thee, and

give thee to destruction. Such was the custom of our forefathers, who

were greater than we. In the assembly of Mula, did they not cast five

kings into the deep pit, because those princes were, as thou art to us,

insultingly proud to their people? Choose, therefore, and instantly

choose, whether thou wilt follow our counsel!” This bold speech—so

characteristic of the Swedish nobles in their best days—was received

with tumultuous applause by the assembled multitude; sword and shield

rang together, and every man was ready to follow the bidding of the

venerable asserter of his rights. The humbled monarch rose; his will was

that of his people; his predecessors had always left matters of grave

import to their decision; and the present business should be left

entirely to them. In a moment the tumult was hushed; the chiefs of the

assembly, with the sanction of the rest, decreed peace with Norway,

named the ambassadors who were to be sent, and declared that Ingigerda

should be the wife of Olaf the Fat. Rognevald was intrusted with the

care of betrothing; and the princess sent many gifts, as pledges of her

affection, to her intended husband.[240]

[Sidenote: 1013.]

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.