A Danish Parsonage

by John Fulford Vicary

"The legend of the were-wolf is very general in all Europe," said Hardy. "Does the tradition exist with you?"

"It is called the Varulv with us," replied the Pastor. "It is said to be a man, who changes into the form of a wolf, and is known by a tuft of hair between the shoulders. When he wishes to change himself from the human form to a wolf, he repeats three times, 'I was, I am,' and immediately his clothes fall off, like a snake changing its skin. It is said that if a woman creeps under the caul of a foal, extended on four sticks, that her children will be born without the usual pains of childbirth, but that the boys will be Varulve, and the daughters Marer, or mares. The superstition about the latter, I will tell you presently. The man, however, is freed by some other person telling him he is a Varulv. In the other traditions on the subject elsewhere, the Varulv is supposed to attack women near their confinement; and it is related that a man, who was a Varulv, was at work in the fields with his wife, when suddenly a wolf appeared, and attacked her. She struck at it with her apron, which the wolf tore to pieces. Then the man reappeared, with a torn piece of the apron in his mouth. 'You are a Varulv,' said the woman; and the man said, 'I was, but now you have told me so I am free.' This is the Jutland legend of the were-wolf."

"What is that of the Marer, or mares?" asked Hardy.

"Marer is the plural of Mare," replied the Pastor. "It is a woman, who, like the Varulv, changes to the form of a mare. It is the nightmare, which, as we all know, is dreadful enough. A woman who is a Mare (the final e is pronounced as a) is known by the hair growing together on her eyebrows. It is a very old superstition. It occurs in Snorro's 'Heimskringla,' where King Vauland complains of a Mare having ridden him in his sleep. There are several stories based on the superstition. A Bondekarl—that is, a farm servant—was ridden every night by a Mare, although he had stopped up every hole to prevent her; but at last he discovered that she came through a hole in an oak post, which he stopped with a wooden pin, as soon as he knew she was in the room. As the day dawned, she assumed her human form, having no power otherwise. The man married her, and they lived together very happily. One day, the man asked his wife if she knew how she came into the house, and showed her the little wooden pin, which yet stood in the oak post. His wife peeped through the hole, and as she stood and looked, she suddenly became so small that she could go through the hole. She disappeared and never returned. There is also a story of a certain Queen of Denmark, who was very fond of horses, but she liked one horse far beyond the others. The groom observed that this horse was always tired in the morning, with the appearance of its having been ridden all night. He at length suspected that it was ridden by a Mare. He, therefore, one night took a bucket of water and threw it over the horse, when, lo! the queen sat on the horse's back."

"The superstition is evidently an ancient one," said Hardy. "There is no doubt that people had the nightmare very badly in old times, from their habits of life and sudden and violent changes taking place in their circumstances."

"There is a method of catching a Mare," said the Pastor; "and that is by putting a sieve over her when she is acting a nightmare. It is said she can then be caught, as she cannot come out until she has counted all the holes in the sieve."

"There are difficulties enough attending that," said Hardy. "But surely this must exhaust all the subjects you call Folketro?"

"By no means," said the Pastor. "We have a very dangerous coast on the west of Jutland, and I have heard sailors say of our sandy coast that they prefer rocks to sands to be wrecked on. There has consequently arisen a superstition as to omens, and these are called Strandvarsler, or omens from the sea-shore or strand. Varsel is an omen, Varsler is the plural of the word. In old times it was said to be dangerous to go on the roads or paths near the coast, as the Strandvarsler were often met. They were ghosts of people who had been drowned and still lay unburied in the sea. It is related that one evening a Strandvarsel jumped on a Bonders back and shouted, 'Carry me to church!' The Bonde had to obey, and went the nearest way to the church. When he came close to the churchyard wall, the Strandvarsel jumped over it; but the Kirkegrim, of whom I will speak directly, seized the Strandvarsel, and immediately a combat took place between them. When they had fought a while, they both rested to take breath. The Strandvarsel asked the Bonde, 'Did I hit him?' 'No,' said the Bonde. So they fought again, and again they rested, and the Strandvarsel put the same question. 'No,' said the Bonde. They fought again, and they rested, and the same question was put by the Strandvarsel. 'Yes,' said the Bonde. 'It was lucky for you that you said "Yes,"' said the Strandvarsel, 'or I would have broken your neck.' The legend goes no farther. There is, however, another story, but of the same character in its bearing. A Bondekone—that is, a farmer's wife—went out to milk her cows. She saw that a corpse had been washed up by the sea, and there was a purse of money on its waist. As there was no one near, she took the money, which she thought she could have as much need of as any one else. But the next night the Strandvarsel came and made so much noise outside her window that she came out, and he said she must help him. There was nothing to do but to obey, she thought; so she said farewell to her children, as she expected death, and went out to the Strandvarsel. When she came out, he told her to take him by his leg and drag him to the nearest churchyard, which was three English miles distant. When they came to the churchyard, the Strandvarsel said, 'Let me go, or the Kirkegrim will seize you.' This she did; but as soon as the Strandvarsel was in the churchyard, the Kirkegrim rushed at the Bondekone, and seized her by her skirt; as this was old, it gave way, and she escaped. But she had a good time of it after, with the money she had taken from the corpse by the sea-shore."

"These legends are fresh and interesting," said Hardy; "thank you very much. But is there no story where an omen had effect?"

"There are several," replied the Pastor, "and the people on the west coast have the reputation of having what is called a clear sight of the future in this respect. There was a man who stated that a ship would be wrecked at Torsminde, which would be laden with such heavy timber that it would take four men to carry each of the pieces of timber. He said he had the warning from a Strandvarsel. A year passed, when a ship was wrecked, with such heavy railway iron that it took four men to carry each rail. It was certainly a mistake for the omen to say it would be timber when it was iron; but as it was correct about four men having to carry each piece of railway iron, and the ship did wreck at Torsminde, it was considered a true warning or omen."