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]]
|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]]
|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]]
|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]]
|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]]
|1027 to 1028.|