HISTORICAL BALLADS

I, II
VALDEMAR AND TOVE (A) and (B)

The historical foundation for these two Ballads amounts only to this; that Valdemar I, or the Great (1157-82), had a mistress named Tove; that she bore him a son, Christopher; and that the King found it expedient to put her away, and ally himself with his opponent Knud Magnusson by marrying his half-sister Sophia. Nothing is known of Tove’s fate; her death at her rival’s hands is a figment of the popular fancy.

The older (A) version (preserved in Iceland) is chiefly interesting from its picture of Tove in the character of that perfect lover so dear to the mediæval masculine mind—the Patient Grizel, the Burd Ellen, who knows no jealousy where her lord’s affections are concerned. Valdemar’s apparently tactless questions are designed to bring out the contrast between the meek submission of the mistress and the frank hatred of the wife.

The Danish or B version, probably composed some fifty years later, takes a more human point of view. It sacrifices historical accuracy to dramatic effect by handing over Sophia’s son Knud (afterwards King) to Tove.

I
VALDEMAR AND TOVE, 1157 (A)

King Valdemar sailed here and there,

—Good sooth,—

He wed little Soffi, a maid so fair,

—King Valdemar he wooed them both.

“Harken, Tove mine, and hear,

Dost thou hold Queen Soffi dear?”

“Less dear to me, I ween

Than my son, I hold the Queen.

“I will give her a good grey steed,

And the name of Queen she shall bear indeed.”

“Harken, Soffi mine, and hear,

Dost thou hold my Tove dear?”

“I love her all so well

As the wild wolf in the dell.

“I will give her castles three,

She may burn therein for me!”

The Queen she spake to her page so small:

“Now bring Tovelille in to the hall!”

So fain was Tove to see the Queen

She clad her at night by the taper’s sheen.

She clad her in a kirtle of blue,

At every seam red gold shone through.

She clad her in a silken sark,

Of eleven maidens the handiwork.

She wrapped her in a cloak of red,

And thus to see the Queen she sped.

“Art fainer with the King to speak

Or the bath with me to seek?”

“Far fainer with the King I’d speak

Than the bath with thee I’d seek!”

Soffi the Queen was strong of arm,

She thrust her in to work her harm.

So hot she heated the fire beneath

That Tovelille could scarce draw breath.

“Help me, Christopher, son of mine!

Soffi will slay me in dule and pine!”

“Oh how should I give help to thee?

Twelve armed men have hold of me!”

Up spake the King, his men among,

“Why goeth not Tove to Evensong?”

Up spake Queen Soffi, red with wrath:

“Thy Tove is wearied with her bath!”

“Well, Soffi, will I pay thy pain,

Shalt never sleep in my bed again!

“Better was she with one cow for dower

Than thou art, Soffi, with town and tower!

“Better was Tove in silken sark

Than thou art, Soffi, with all thy goldsmith’s work!

“Dearer is Tovelil, tho’ she be dead,

Than thou, for all thy gold so red!”

The way was long, the way was drear,

The King himself bore up the bier.

—Good sooth.

King Valdemar, he wooed them both.

II
VALDEMAR AND TOVE (B)

Gay went the dance in King Valdemar’s hall,

There danced the Queen with maidens small;

—By my troth; King Valdemar he wooed them both.

There danced the Queen with maidens fair,

There danced Tove with waving hair.

“Harken now, Tove, my playfellow sweet!

Gird up thy silk skirts around thy feet.”

“Small praise from me the King should gain

If I might not trail a silken train.”

“Tove, my playfellow, tell to me

How did the King get his will o’ thee?”

“The King he won his will of me,

For stronger than I the King was he.

“I was but a maiden small

Dwelling in my father’s hall.

“So little and fair by the door stood I

When the King and all his merry men they came a-riding by.

“By nine, by ten, his knights he sent,

But never for their commands I went.

“The King he came himself with all his merry men,

And I, Tovelille, must follow then!”

“Tove, my playfellow, tell thou me

What bridal-gift he gave to thee.”

“He gave me a chest of golden sheen

Such as was never in Denmark seen.

“He gave to me nine rings of gold

That Sweden’s Queen did have and hold.

“He clad me in silk and in scarlet gay;

Thou and all thy maidens ne’er went in such array.”

Up spake Queen Soffi in anger wild:

“’Twas enough, I trow, for a yeoman’s child!

“By God the Lord, while I breathe and live,

Less by half to thee shall he give!”

The Queen she wrapped her in cloak of vair,

To speak with King Valdemar did she fare.

“Now answer what I ask of thee;

Why lovest thou Tove more than me?”

“For this Tovelille to me is dear,

Because she hath two sons that serve my person near.

“When Flensborg town I first rode by

Christopher bore my banner so high.

“When first I rode to Holsterland

Knud bore my banner in his right hand.”

Winters twain were gone and past

Ere the Queen got her will at last.

All on a holy Christmas day

Tove sought the kirk to pray.

Tovelille fared forth in the street,

Golden silk and samite went floating round her feet.

Forth from her window the Queen did spy,

She saw proud Tovelil passing by.

The Queen she spake to her maidens three:

“Now bid proud Tovelil come to me!”

Tove wrapped her in cloak of vair,

And unto Soffi’s bower did fare.

“Lithe now and listen, proud Tove, to me;

I will seek the bath to-night with thee.”

“Ne’er of the bath can I have my fill;

I’ll do thy bidding with right good-will!”

The Queen she spake to her pages three:

“Take heed that the bath is hot for me!

“Heat it hot, and heat it red!

There shall Tovelil lie dead!”

Tovelil went in before.

The Queen herself she locked the door.

“Here is no water, here is no lye!

Let me out for the sake of God on high!”

Christopher went riding by,

He heard his mother wail and cry.

He struck the door a blow so stout

That bolt and nail came leaping out.

He burst the door with rage and wrath,

He bore his mother forth from the bath.

He bore her out where the blossoms blow,

But she was dead ere first cock-crow.

—By my troth; King Valdemar he wooed them both.

III, IV, V
THE DAGMAR BALLADS
QUEEN BENGERD

Valdemar II (1202-41) has been strangely dealt with by the Ballads. They are silent alike as to the warlike exploits which won him the name of Sejr, the Victorious, and the administrative reforms commemorated in his other title of Legifer. His crusade against the heathen Esthonians—even the miraculous gift of the Dannebrog, the national standard blazoned in the armorial bearings of the conquered city Reval—left popular imagination unmoved. It seized, however, on the images of his two Queens, ascribing to the one all that was liked, to the other all that was loathed, in the King’s treatment of his subjects.

Dragomir the Bohemian came to Denmark in 1205, bore the King a son, Valdemar, and died two years later, probably in childbirth. From the first she was the people’s darling; her Slav name was changed to Dagmar (Dag-mø = day-maid or light-bringer) “by reason,” says a contemporary chronicler, “of her great beauty.”

The Ballads of her Bridal and Death were probably composed by the next generation, and have little pretension to historical accuracy. Bishop Valdemar, for instance, was not the Queen’s uncle, but the King’s first cousin—son of Knud Magnusson, whose sister was Valdemar’s mother. In consequence of an attempt to usurp the throne, as the German Emperor’s vassal, he was thrown into prison at Søberg, where he lay for fourteen years. His release in 1205 was due to the Pope’s intervention, aided, as a monkish chronicle puts it, “by the loving representations of Bishop Andreas and others”—but the people, perhaps with some reason, pictured Dagmar as the peacemaker.

A second Ballad of her bridal describes her wooing by Sir Strange as the King’s proxy:

“I saw a sail fare o’er the Sound,

—So many a pennon of gold—

There sailed he, Sir Strange, with Dagmar the Queen.”

Little is known of Valdemar’s second Queen, Berengaria, except that she too was beautiful. But, since she came of a contentious and covetous family, the popular view of her character may be accurate enough. The “binding the harbours with iron bands” means the closing of them with chains, so that tribute might be exacted from incoming vessels. The Ballad’s account of her death—a relishing piece of poetical justice—has no foundation in fact.

III
QUEEN DAGMAR’S BRIDAL, 1205

It was the Queen of Bejerland

That to her daughter cried:

“Great honour will they show to thee

When thou art Denmark’s bride.”

—They sailed from noblest Bejerland.

“When thou art wed to Denmark’s King

Thou shalt have pride and praise;

Now bid the peasant pay no tax,

And he’ll love thee all his days!

“This first boon beg thou of thy lord,

And beg it withouten fear,

That Bishop Valdemar go free,

Thy mother’s brother dear!”

They spread the cloths of samite

To lie her feet before;

They took her, the lady Dagmar,

And led her to the shore.

They hoisted up their sails of silk

All on the golden mast,

And so they sailed to Denmark

Or e’er two months were past.

Down they cast their anchors

All in the snow-white sand;

They took her, the lady Dagmar,

And led her first to land.

They took her, the lady Dagmar,

And led her first to land;

It was the King of Denmark

Stretched forth his lily hand.

They spread the cloths of samite

To lie her feet before;

They led her, the lady Dagmar,

Up to the castle door.

All in the morning early,

Long ere the dawn of day,

It was the lady Dagmar

Her bridal-gift did pray.

“The first boon that I beg of thee,

I beg withouten fear;

Let Bishop Valdemar go free,

My mother’s brother dear!

“The second boon I beg of thee

’Tis with good-will, I trow;

Loose every captive from his irons,

And tax not the peasant’s plough!”

“Hush thee now, Queen Dagmar,

Speak no such words to me!

If Bishop Valdemar comes forth

A widow he’ll make of thee!”

She’s taken off her crown of gold

And laid it on the board:

“Oh, what shall I do in Denmark

Since thou wilt not hear my word?”

“Now bring me in Sir Strange,

And bring Sir Knud to me!

’Tis they shall ride to Attingborg

And set the captives free!”

And when he came from dungeon forth

He could not stand nor go:

“Here have I lain eight years and more,

Long years, I ween, and slow!”

She’s taken out her comb of gold,

To comb his yellow hair:

For every lock she ordered

Down fell a bitter tear.

“Harken now, Queen Dagmar,

And weep not thus for me!

For an I live but a twelvemonth

Sore shall my vengeance be!”

“Now hush thee, Bishop Valdemar,

Let be thy chiding vain!

Art thou thrown once more into Attingborg

Thou’lt ne’er win out again!”

—They sailed from noblest Bejerland.

IV
QUEEN DAGMAR’S DEATH

Queen Dagmar lay in Ribe sick,

To Ringsted did she fare;

All the dames of Denmark’s land

She bade them seek her there.

—In Ringsted rests Queen Dagmar.

“Go fetch me four, go fetch me five,

The wisest among them all!

Go fetch little Kirsten of Rise,

The sister of Sir Karl.”

All so modest and so mild

She came to the bower door;

So fain of her was Dagmar the Queen

That she raised her head once more.

“Now canst thou read and canst thou write

To help me in my need,

Then shalt thou don the scarlet fine,

And ride my good grey steed.”

“Oh, can I read and can I write

I’ll do it for thee full fain,

For by my troth I tell thee

Sharper than steel is thy pain.”

She’s taken up Saint Mary’s book,

And the sheen of the golden crown

She could not see whenas she read,

So fast her tears ran down.

They led her up, they led her down,

And still her pain was sore:

“Oh, send ye word to the King our lord

To speak with me once more!”

Up he stood, the little page,

Full fain was he to speed,

He reached his saddle down from the beam

And mounted the milk-white steed.

The King stood on the tower so tall

And looked out far and wide:

“Oh, yonder I see a little page,

And ruefully doth he ride.

“Yonder I see a little foot-page,

And mournful is his mien;

Now grant, Almighty God in heaven,

That all be well with the Queen!”

In he came the little foot-page,

Before the board stood he:

“Now wilt thou speak with the Queen again

Thou must speak right speedilie!”

The King smote hard upon the board

That all the goblets rung:

“Almighty God in heaven forbid

That Dagmar should die so young!”

The King he rode by Skanderborg

With a hundred swains and one,

But when he rode by Ribe

Then rode he all alone.

Oh, woe there was in the women’s bower,

And bitter dule and harm,

For the Queen, or ever the King rode up,

Lay dead in Kirsten’s arm.

And when he entered in the door

He saw the bier beside:

“Now help me, God our Father in heaven,

My bitter grief to bide!

“Now pray for me, dames and damsels all,

And see that ye pray not in vain,

So fain am I to speak a word

With Dagmar once again!”

Uprose the Queen upon the bier,

And red, red were her eyne:

“Now woe is me, my noble lord,

That thus we meet in pine!

“The first boon that I beg thee now

I beg for love of me;

Give peace to every outlawed man,

And set the captives free.

“The second boon I beg thee now

I beg for love of thee;

Oh, take not Bengerd for thy mate,

So sour a shrew is she!

“The third boon that I beg thee now

I beg for love so dear;

That thou let Knud, my youngest son,

Be King in Denmark here.

“Ne’er need I ha’ burnt in bitter pains

By night and else by day,

Had I ne’er on the Sabbath tired my head

And tied my ribbons gay.

“Now time it is I were away,

No longer may I bide;

The bells of heaven are ringing for me,

And the angels wait beside.”

—In Ringsted rests Queen Dagmar.

V
QUEEN BENGERD

All in the morning, long ere day,

She for her bridal-gift did pray,

—Woe be on her then, Queen Bengerd!

“Now give me Samsey to have and hold,

And let every maid pay a crown of gold!”

To Bengerd spake the King eftsoon:

“Thou must beg another boon!

“So many a maid lives in poverty

She cannot do it though she die!”

“Dear my lord, now heed my prayer,

Let no lady scarlet wear!”

“Oh, can she buy it with gold and fee

She may wear it full well for me!”

“Dear my lord, my prayer now heed,

That no son of a churl may ride a fair steed!”

“Oh, can he come by it in honestie

He may ride it full well for me!”

“Dear my lord, now give commands

To close all the havens with iron bands!”

“Now where shall I so much metal win

As to close all the havens with fetters in?”

“Up to Ribe will we fare,

We shall find good blacksmiths there.

“How dare the peasant hope for more

Than hut of wood and hingeless door?

“What more gear should a peasant gain

Than a single cow and oxen twain?

“For every son that his wife shall bear

A piece of gold shall be my share.

“A piece of gold for every son,

For every daughter half a one!”

The King slept first in the dawning dim,

And good Queen Dagmar appeared to him.

“When thou farest abroad thy foes to find

Bengerd must not bide behind!

“Bides Bengerd behind a year, I say,

The babe in the cradle must rue the day!”

“Now busk thee and boun thee, Bengerd the Queen!

Shalt fare to the foray with me, I ween.”

The first shaft shot from the foeman’s bark

In Bengerd’s bosom found its mark.

Now Bengerd in darksome mould abides,

And the peasant hath oxen and kine besides.

Now Bengerd lies in mirk and mould,

And every maid hath her crown of gold!

—Woe be on her then, Queen Bengerd!

VI, VII, VIII
THE KING-SLAYING IN FINDERUP
MARSK STIG AND HIS LADY
EXTRACT FROM THE LONG BALLAD OF MARSK STIG

These Ballads have been selected from a cycle dealing with the murder of King Erik Klipping (1259-86), and the subsequent disturbances. All through his reign he was at feud with his turbulent nobles; in 1282 they extorted his signature to a Constitution (Denmark’s Magna Carta) safeguarding the rights of the nobility and liberties of the people; then, since he proved faithless, they did him to death. The murder took place on the night of November 22, 1286; his corpse was found next morning, with fifty-six wounds, in a barn at Finderup, whither he had retired to sleep during a hunting expedition. The assassins escaped for a time, but their identity was suspected, and the young King Erik Mœndved (1286-1319) was determined to have justice. At the Parliament of Nyborg (1287) a grand jury was impanelled to try the late King’s principal adversaries; nine, mostly of one family, were found guilty and declared outlaws, the royal marshal, Stig Andersen, among them. They took refuge among the islands, whence they harried the coasts of Denmark; and the protection afforded them by Norway gave rise to a lengthy war.

The “King-Slaying” is the earliest of the Ballads on this subject. The innocence of the King’s page Rane was loudly maintained by his friends, who asserted that he, “naked and weaponless, warded his master,” but evidence was forthcoming that proved his treachery.

The Ballad next in date describes the outlaws’ departure from Denmark, and Stig’s resolve to build a castle at Hjælm. The third of the series tells of his ill-omened dream, and his wife’s attempt to explain it away—his ride to the royal castle, the Queen’s taunt that he wishes to usurp the crown, and his reply that such an ambition rather befits her paramour, Drost Ove. The young King declares him an outlaw; Stig threatens to keep his foot in Denmark, and begins the building of his castle, whose looming battlements scare the peasantry.

The fourth Ballad, “Marsk Stig and his Lady” (No. 7), was written after a lapse of time when the political motive for the Slaying had been forgotten, and replaced by one more romantic, based on a vague tradition. The King, in fact, appears as David, and Stig as Uriah the Hittite. The Ballad has therefore no claim to historical accuracy; moreover, it places the action throughout in Sjælland.

Latest of all comes “The Long Ballad of Marsk Stig,” which—after the fashion of the “Lytell Geste of Robin Hood”—unites all the other Ballads in a consecutive narrative, reproducing them mostly word for word, yet enriching them with its own characteristic touches. The King’s villainy is heightened by his promise to watch over Dame Ingeborg during her husband’s absence; “she shall suffer no more wrong than if thyself wert home.” Rane, the treacherous page, appears as sister’s son to the Dame, with whom he plots the King’s murder. After Stig’s defiance at the Thing, and before the Slaying, the Long Ballad inserts an episode peculiar to itself; the amorous King goes a-hunting with Rane, gets lost in the wood, and encounters an Elf-Maid, who, in riddling words, prophesies his imminent death.

This poem, fine as it is, foreshadows the decline of the Ballad pure and simple, and its supersession by the more lengthy and complicated Romance, or novel in verse.

There are other Ballads (not contemporary) dealing with the minor characters in the drama, which give picturesque glimpses of the outlaw’s adventurous life:

“Marstig he had daughters twain,

And all their lot was sorrow and pain.

The elder took the younger by the hand,

And thro’ the wide world did lead her.”

(Since, in some versions, the wandering maidens are the King of England’s daughters, it is probable that Marsk Stig’s name crept in from a semi-historical Ballad of Erik Mœndved’s Bridal, wherein the young Queen begs the release of Stig’s daughters from prison.)

Another sings the “Wooing of Ranild Jonson,” who by threats forces his beloved from her reluctant parents:

“Nought for their bridal bower they found

But the wood and the wild and the low green ground,

For sorely was he severed from friends and kinsmen.

...

Forests have ears, and fields have eyes;

We must wander, my maid, as the wild swan flies,

Since we are severed both from friends and kinsmen.”

VI
THE KING-SLAYING IN FINDERUP, 1285

So many dwell in Denmark

Would all be masters there!

They’ve ridden up to Ribe

And close disguise they wear.

—And therefore the land lies in peril.

They’ve clothed them in a close disguise

As friars of orders grey,

And up the land they’ve ridden

Their leal lord to betray.

They watched him in, they watched him out,

They watched thro’ time and tide,

They watched him till the woful hour

He should to Finderup ride.

They rode into the goodman’s garth,

And shining spears they bore;

Was never a man might know them

For the monkish cowls they wore.

Oh, they rode in where the wax-light stood

A-burning in the bower;

They led him out, the youthful King,

And that was an evil hour.

“Harken, Ranild Jonson,

Wilt thou defend my life,

Half my kingdom I’ll give thee,

And my sister to thy wife!”

It was Ranild Jonson

That hewed at beam and board;

Good sooth, most like a traitor

Did he defend his lord!

Oh, they’ve struck in at the shoulder,

And out at the heart they smite:

“There shall be woe in all Denmark

For the deed we ha’ done this night!”

It was the little foot-page

That mote not bear the sight;

The saddle he took from the good grey steed

And set it upon the white.

The saddle he took from the good grey steed

And set it upon the white,

And he has ridden to Skanderborg

Before the fall of night.

The Queen sits on the tower so tall,

And looks forth far and wide:

“Yonder I see a little foot-page,

And swiftly doth he ride.

“All on his master’s steed he rides,

And woe is me for fear!

Now watch, Almighty God in heaven,

Over my lord so dear!”

“Now God have mercy on his soul!

For slain our lord doth lie;

The King lies killed in Finderup,

And the land is in jeopardy!

“Now watch ye well your castle,

Now watch ye well your realm,

Now watch ye well your own young son

Shall stand at Denmark’s helm!”

“So long as thou and I shall live,

Though ill thy tidings be,

Fire and food in the royal court

This shalt thou have in fee!”

—And therefore the land lies in peril.

VII
MARSK STIG AND HIS LADY

It is young Sir Marstig must journey far and wide;

It is young King Erik that hath betrayed his bride.

—The lady she sits in Sælland, and weeps right woefully.

It was young Sir Marstig that home from sea did fare;

She would not rise, his own dear wife, nor give him greeting there.

It was young Sir Marstig that entered in apace;

She would not rise, his own dear wife, nor look him in the face.

Still he stood, Sir Marstig, and thought right heavily:

“What ails her then, mine own dear wife, that hath no word for me?”

“When thou didst depart, my husband, I was a knightly dame;

Now am I queen in Denmark—the greater is my shame.

“Never again shalt slumber all on my lily-white arm,

Until thou hast slain King Erik, that wrought me dule and harm!”

It was young Sir Marstig that rode away to the Thing;

Never a word he answered, until he should meet with the King.

It was young Sir Marstig stood forth in all men’s sight,

He greeted there both page and squire and many a noble knight.

Up he stood, King Erik, and took him by the hand:

“Welcome now, Sir Marstig, home to lord and land!”

Up and spake Sir Marstig, and wrathful was his mind:

“Oh, little I guessed when I fared forth what falsehood I left behind!

“Both Revel and Riga I won for thee, and that with mickle strife,

While thou, King Erik, didst bide at home to ravish my fair young wife!”

“Harken now, Sir Marstig, and be not wroth with me!

Seven castles in Sælland, all will I give to thee.”

“Seven castles in Sælland will never ’suage my shame;

Know thou, King of Denmark, dearer I hold my dame!

“Harken, King of Denmark, and heed the words I say:

No fealty shalt thou have of me until my dying day!”

—The lady she sits in Sælland, and weeps right woefully.

VIII
THE LONG BALLAD OF SIR MARSK STIG
(Extract)

Sir Marstig has donned his armour of proof

And ridden away to the Thing,

With his merry men well weaponed in steel,

All for to seek the King:

—My noble lord, the young Sir Marstig.

It was young Sir Marstig

Before the Thing stood forth;

He greeted the redesmen of the realm

And the nobles of the north.

Sir Marstig stood in open Thing,

And thus did speak and say:

“Because my wife hath suffered wrong

Do I stand here to-day.

“Oh, I fared forth to a far countrie

And risked for the realm my life—

Thou satst at home, King Erik,

To ravish my fair young wife!”

Up spake young King Erik,

And smiled ’neath cloak of vair:

“Oh, her consent and will thereto

As good as mine they were!”

Up he spake, Sir Marstig,

In mood that needs must mourn:

“Oh, well we wot the ancient saw

That scathe must follow scorn.

“Now thou hast ravished my fair young wife

A mock o’ me to make,

But wot thou wilt, King Erik,

I’ll slay thee for her sake!”

It was young Sir Marstig

That turned him from the Thing:

“Bear witness, redesmen of the realm,

That I defy the King!”

“Now lithe and list, Sir Marstig,

And let such prating be!

Castles and holds and lands so green

All will I give to thee.”

“Oh, little reck I of holds or lands,

They ne’er shall ’suage my shame!

I would that the wrong had ne’er been wrought

Against my dainty dame!”

“Oh, Marstig, never so fast canst ride,

But I can ride faster still;

But wilt thou be mine enemy

Then follow thy wasteful will!”

“Oh, let my riding be ne’er so slow,

And ne’er so mild my mind,

Yet have we seen a small greyhound

Run down both hart and hind.

“Only do thou remember

The cause I have had to plead;

Oft haps it that a hillock small

Doth throw a mighty steed!”

...

Now when Sir Marstig slew the King

Little he rued the deed!

Forth he fared to Skanderborg

All on his swiftest steed.

It was she, the Queen o’ Danes,

Forth from the window spied:

“Oh, yonder I see the self-made King

That to our hold doth ride!”

“Nay, never a self-made King am I

For all thy words, I ween;

That name befits Drost Lovmand,

Lay last thine arms between.

“Oh, little to thee King Erik’s death,

And less thy dule and pine,

So long as he lives, Drost Lovmand,

And thou dost hold him thine!”

Up spake young Prince Christopher,

Clad all in the scarlet red:

“Oh, little amends, I wot, ye make

For my father fallen and dead!”

Up he stood, Prince Christopher,

And spake a royal word:

“Shalt get thee gone from out the realm

If I am King and lord!”

“And must I depart from Denmark

To sail the sea so deep,

So many a widow will I make

That the noblest dames shall weep!

“And must I go a-roaming

From wife and bairn, O King,

Denmark shall feel my foot, I trow,

Both winter and summer and spring!”

...

It was young Sir Marstig,

Home to his hold did fare;

It was beauteous Ingeborg

Came forth to meet him there.

Up spake young Sir Marstig,

And held her in his arm:

“Now have I slain King Erik

That wrought thee hurt and harm!

“Now wilt thou follow an outlawed man

To dwell a landless dame,

Rather than be a light o’ love,

And bear the King his name?”

“Oh, rather I’d follow an outlawed man

To dwell a Danish dame,

Than I would be a light o’ love

And bear the King his name!”

...

100

Oh, they have builded a hold at Hjælm,

A hold with tower and wall,

Not to be won with engine of war,

By arrow nor cannon-ball.[2]

101

Forth to his field went the farmer

All for to sow his corn:

“Now help us, God in heaven above,

Since Hjælm hath gotten a horn!”

102

Marstig he builded a hold at Hjælm,

A hold with wall and tower;

The King in vain laid siege thereto

With all his royal power.

—My noble lord, the young Sir Marstig.

[2] Cannons (bösser) are first mentioned in the time of Valdemar Atterdag (1340-85), and were certainly not known when Hjælm was besieged by Erik Mœndved. Their mention here is a proof that the Long Ballad was put together some hundred years after the event.

IX
NIELS EBBESON

Niels Ebbeson was the man of his hour; and the hour was one of the blackest in Danish history. The worthless King Christopher was dead, his son Valdemar abroad, and the greedy Holstein nobles were scrambling for the choicest parts of the kingdom. One of these local tyrants, Count Gert, or Gerhardt, held Fyn and Jutland in pledge; and how the Jutlanders found deliverance is best told by a Franciscan chronicler, writing in 1385:

“Count Gerhardt of Holstein was then (Jan. 1340) in Lubeck. He heard tidings that his sister’s son, Count of Sleswik, had made agreement with the Danes that they should establish the aforesaid Valdemar (V. Atterdag, King Christopher’s son) in the kingdom, and marry him to Hedvig, the Duke’s sister. Moreover, the Count knew well that many nobles and cities would fain, for the sake of peace, have a King in the land.... Count Gerhardt sent far and wide for help, and there came to him much people.... He invaded North Jutland.... Not long thereafter the Count fell sick in Randers.... It was his custom, when he was able, to sit up at night with his chaplain, and keep the Hours like a priest. When the Danes learnt his whereabouts, sixty doughty karls assembled, came to Randers on Thursday night (April 1, 1340) and, as though they were the night-watch for the sleeping army, took possession of a stone house. When the Count had read his Hours and lain down again, they came and struck him dead in his bed, with his chaplain and three pages. This heard a renowned knight from Westphalia, Henrik von Vitinghof, whose lodging was hard by: he came forth and attacked them, but they escaped, each his own way, without hurt. The foreign men-at-arms are much to be blamed for defending their lord so ill; and they were forced with shame and scathe to return to the far countries whence they came.”

We learn from other sources that the patriots fired a house to divert the Germans’ attention, and that they escaped over Randers Bridge, which—having previously loosened the timbers—they broke down behind them. Thus they, and their leader Niels Ebbeson, saved Denmark from becoming a German province.

Little or nothing, apart from this exploit, is known of Niels Ebbeson; his very dwelling-place, “Noringsris”—“Norroway” in one version of his Ballad—is unidentified. He and two of his brothers fell, fighting against the Holsteiners, at Skanderborg, on November 1, 1340; and their bodies were taken to the family burial-place in Vestervig monastic church.

Three noble families claimed him; but recent researches have proved that he belonged to the Strangesons, chieftains in Ty, and descendants of Ebbe Skammelson (see No. 11), which family played a prominent part during the first half of the fourteenth century. They were connected by blood and intermarriage with another clan of Strangesons, with the Frosters, Ove Haas, Niels Bugge, and the Globes of Vendesyssel. (This Ove Haas was a partisan of Count Gerhardt’s, and fell at Randers.) In the opening dialogue of the Ballad the Count hints at Ebbeson’s rumoured complicity with Bugge, leader of the rebellion, and tries generally to discover the attitude of Niels’ powerful connections. With the latter’s defence of Anders Frost, the trial of wits becomes a quarrel—for here the German and Danish systems of fealty are brought into collision.

The services of the vassal, by German law, belonged from birth to his liege lord, with whose consent alone could the contract be broken; whereas the Danish chieftainship was based on the Law of Commutation, which gave the vassal the annual right to “take leave” (Orlov tage) and serve another chieftain. Twice over in the Ballad does Ebbeson gives his “swains” the choice whether or no they will follow him into danger; and twice over the system of free-will service is vindicated by their answer.

Valiant attempts have been made by Danish antiquaries to identify “Swain Trøst”—Vedel, for instance, provided him with a name and a family—just as their English confrères would fain find an original for Robin Hood. But this Trusty Page had no local habitation: his very name is borrowed from the Ballad of Young Danneved; for the Svend Trøst who saves his lord at a pinch is a figure frequently found in the ballad-world. Popular imagination, through him, does honour to all his class.

This Ballad is obviously the work of a minstrel (not contemporary with Niels), and is not associated with the Dance.

The Revised Conclusion is by another hand, and slightly later in date than the original version. A third exists, very imperfectly preserved, which is more historically accurate than either. It replaces Anders Frost by Esge, his father, and depicts Niels as asking aid of his brother Knud Ebbeson of Bygholm. We learn from it—with regret—that Niels’ speech to his house-carles, and Swain Trøst’s achievement, are the inventions of an admiring posterity.

One other poetical pæan must be quoted—the song-burst of a grave chronicler:

“M semel et ter C bis binos X lege per te.

Danorum mentes beat ipse dies Sitientes!

Filius Ebbonis Nicholaus more leonis

stravit serpentem Gerardum bella gerentem.”

IX
NIELS EBBESON, 1340

The Count to Denmark took his way,

Nor failed for fear of strife,

Tho’ langsyne ’twas to him foretold

He there should lose his life.

Was none that might gainsay his will

His fate to put to test;

Yeoman and boor and knight and knave,

With all he will be guest.

The Count he called Niels Ebbeson

To come and meet with him,

And truce he sent him therewithal,

And safety for life and limb.

The Count he met Niels Ebbeson

Northward beside the sea:

“Now be thou welcome, Niels Ebbeson,

Right welcome unto me!

“Blithe is thy cheer, Niels Ebbeson,

Retainer dear of mine!

Say, what is the mind of the northern Jutes,

And what of kinsmen thine?”

“Oh, kinsmen have I ’mid the northern Jutes,

And my wife hath kin alsò;

And all of them shall do thy will,

If they thy will may know.”

“Niels Ebbeson, thou art a valiant man,

And a man of wit beside,

And canst thou not ride straightforward,

The long way round thou’lt ride.

“Now lithe and listen, Niels Ebbeson,

Wilt thou mine errand speed,

Then say how many swains hast thou

Will stand thee by at need?”

“Oh, five and forty carles have I,

Such as they well may be;

And be they many or be they few

Right dear are they to me.”

“And hast thou five and forty carles

Well art thou served, I ween!

But last night wert thou in Sir Bugge’s hold

With a hundred mail-clad men.”

Niels Ebbeson he stamped his foot,

And straight made answer high:

“Is any man here, or knight or knave,

Who dares maintain that lie?

“Is any man here, or knight or knave,

Dares put it to the touch,

Never a foot will I give back,

For I have sworn as much!”

“Lithe and listen, Niels Ebbeson,

Such words must have an end!

Now seek him, and see, Sir Bugge,

If he will be my friend.

“Sir Bugge and Povl Glob the young

To do my will did swear,

And Sir Anders Frost is one with them,

And foremost in counsel there.

“And more have sworn to do my will

That now will work me woe;

So list and heed Sir Bugge’s rede,

And see how the thing will go!”

“Oh, nought know I of Sir Bugge’s mind,

What he may say or do;

But Anders hath kept his faith with thee,

As all men will tell thee true.

“Anders hath kept his faith with thee,

As all men will tell thee true;

But, would he take leave of thy service,

Such leave is a free man’s due.

“For this is the Danish custom,

And hath been from days of yore,

If a swain would cease his service,

He should have leave therefor.”

Up and spake Sir Gert the Count

That liked his words right ill:

“Oh, never a vassal should leave his lord

Save with his lord’s good-will!”

“Oh, none is joined with a holy vow

Save a monk to his cowl of grey!

Let chieftains come and chieftains go,

Men serve them as best they may!”

“Overbold is his speech, Niels Ebbeson,

Dares bandy words with me!

Or thou shalt depart from Denmark

Or I’ll hang thee to a tree!”

“And must I depart from Denmark,

From wife’s and bairn’s embrace,

Oh, thou shalt call it a luckless hour

That ever thou saw’st my face!”

“Get hence, get hence, Niels Ebbeson,

Let all thy prating be!

Or I will do what well I may,

And break my truce with thee!”

“Oh, ne’er hast thou seen me so sore afraid

As to tremble for curse and ban!

Look well to thyself, Lord Count, I say,

And defend thy head like a man!”

“Niels Ebbeson, thy words are wild,

To hold thy peace were best;

But I will keep truce with thee to-day

Till the sun goes down to rest.”

Niels Ebbeson waved his lily-white hand,

And turned his steed on the shore:

“Farewell, Count Gert, with all thy men!

Soon shall we meet once more.”

Niels Ebbeson he fled full fast,

Nor spur was fain to spare,

And the Count held back with all his men,

Was none durst follow there.

It was he, Niels Ebbeson,

That to his hold did win;

It was his own dear lady

Came forth to lead him in.

“Now lithe and listen, mine own dear wife,

And my rede shall rise at thee;

The Count will drive me from the land

Or hang me to a tree!”

“What counsel can I give to thee

That have but a woman’s wit?

The worst of rede were here the best

Could we but light on it.

“The worst of rede were here the best,

All in this evil hour,

Either the Count to strike adown

Or burn him in his bower!

“Now let thy steeds to the smithy fare

(This is my counsel true),

And see that their shoon turn the backward way

When they are shod anew.

“Oh, see that their shoon turn the backward way,

So the foemen thy track shall miss,

And take heed and tell to no man

That a woman taught thee this!”

Up and spake Niels Ebbeson,

Unto his men cried he:

“Now which of you will follow,

And which take leave of me?

“Let him that now will follow

Stretch forth his hand to me,

And he that now will take his leave

Speak up right speedilie!”

Up they stood, his Danish squires,

And answered their lord so free:

“Lo, all of us will follow

And risk our lives for thee!”

Oh, up they rode to Lady-wood,

And there their steeds did bind,

And forth into the town they went

Count Gert to seek and find.

It was he, Niels Ebbeson,

To Randers Bridge did ride:

“Now let him take leave and go his way

Dares not the brunt abide!”

Up and spake he, little boy Trust,

More faithful than them all:

“Now give me leave, my master,

And saddle and steed withal!”

He gave him leave, his master,

And saddle and steed withal,

And or ever the day was over

He served him best of all.

It was he, Niels Ebbeson,

With sword that smote the door:

“Stand up, stand up, Lord Gert the Count,

For thou shalt sleep no more!

“Stand up, Lord Gert the Count,

And lend to me thine ear,

Duke Henrik’s messenger am I,

And he hath sent me here.

“Harken, Gert the Count,

Nor longer lay thee down!

Kolding is beleaguered,

And burnt is Ribe town.”

“And dost thou tell me tidings true,

Then good are such tidings to hear;

Forth from the hold while yet we live,

And forth with the steeds and gear!”

Oh, they have opened wide the door

That the message might be sped,

And it was he, Niels Ebbeson,

Went up to the County’s bed.

“Oh, thou and I, Niels Ebbeson,

Can a better bargain strike;

Word will we send to Duke Henrik

And Sir Klaus Krummerdike.”

“Yestere’en thy words were other,

All out upon the strand;

I should go to the gallows,

Or get me from the land.”

Up and spake the swarthy swain:

“Now waste no further word!

Let be, let be thy tedious tale,

And harken to the sword!”

They’ve seized him, Gert the Count,

All by his golden hair,

And they have hewn his neck in twain

Over his bedside there.

Now when the Count was done to death

All on their drums they beat;

Forth he fared, Niels Ebbeson,

And galloped adown the street.

Forth he fared, Niels Ebbeson,

And fain would flee away,

But there he met Sir Ove Haas

That strove to say him nay.

“Now lithe and listen, Sir Ove Haas,

And see that thou let me go,

For thou hast wed my kinswoman,

And that thou well dost know.”

“And have I wed thy kinswoman,

Then kin am I to thee,

But since thou hast struck down my lord

I may not let thee be!”

Niels Ebbeson drew his brand so brown,

For ne’er would he shrink from strife;

Sir Ove and many a Teuton swain

Must there lay down his life.

It was he, Niels Ebbeson,

To Randers Bridge did ride,

And the little page that erst took leave

Was standing there beside.

Niels Ebbeson rode o’er the bridge,

For fast his foes came on;

It was the little foot-page

That broke the bridge adown.

Niels Ebbeson rode to Noringsris,

And fast he spurred his steed,

Sore, good sooth, was his anguish,

And sore, good sooth, his need.

She sheltered him, an old good-wife,

Of loaves that had but two,

And she’s given one to Niels Ebbeson

Because the Count he slew!

THE RE-MODELLED CONCLUSION OF NIELS EBBESON

“Now eat ye, and drink, my Danish squires,

And see that your hearts be gay!

For when the night is overpast

Oh, then we will seize the day.

“When day doth dawn and sun doth shine

We shall have tidings new;

And then shall I see, ’mid all my men,

How many will stand me true.”

Up they stood, the Danish squires,

And answered their lord so free:

“Oh, we will risk both goods and life

And all to ride with thee!”

Oh, up they rode to Lady-wood,

And there their steeds they bind,

And in they’ve gone to Randers town,

Count Gert to seek and find.

Forth he fared, Niels Ebbeson,

To Randers Bridge came he:

“Now let him take leave and go his way

That will not follow me!”

Up they stood, the captains good,

Swore fealty to their lord anew,

All but Niels Ebbeson’s sister’s son,

Was there to him untrue.

It was he, Niels Ebbeson,

With sword that smote the door:

“Stand up, stand up, Sir Gert the Count,

For thou shalt sleep no more!

“Stand up, stand up, Sir Gert the Count,

And lend to me thine ear!

Duke Henrik’s messenger am I,

And he hath sent me here.”

“And art thou Duke Henrik’s messenger,

Then tarry thou not too long;

To-morrow we’ll meet in the Greyfriars’ Kirk

’Twixt Mass and Evensong.”

“Stand up, Sir Gert the Count,

Nor longer lay thee down!

Kolding is beleaguered,

And burnt is Ribe town!”

Forth from the window looked the Count,

And the shining spears he spied:

“Oh, luckless the hour that I came in!

Niels Ebbeson holds outside.”

They knocked at the door with glaive and with spear,

That loosed were lock and link:

“Art thou within, Lord Gert the Count,

A health to thee we’ll drink!”

“Now set thee down upon my bed,

A league we can form, belike;

Word will we send to Duke Henrik,

And Sir Klaus Krummerdike.”

“Oh, neither keep nor hold have I

To guard so rich a prey!

Draw out, draw out the swords so sharp,

And let them have their way!”

The goose did cackle, the sheep did bleat,

And the cock in the high loft crew;

’Twas by daylight and not in darkness

That Gert the Count they slew.

God rest thy soul, Niels Ebbeson,

All for that slaying’s sake!

Full many a German in Denmark

The self-same way shall take.