Chapter 3 of 7 · 3983 words · ~20 min read

Part 3

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.

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.”

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.

LEGENDARY BALLADS

HAVBOR AND SIGNELIL

The story of Havbor, or Hagbard, and Signelil is a very ancient one. Sven Grundtvig gives it a Russian origin; but, however that may be, it is traced back by other Danish authorities to the dim period of Folk-Migration, before the Skjoldung kings. Sung in an antique Lay—which has perished—it was re-told by Saxo Grammaticus, and frequently referred to in the works of the Icelandic skalds between the ninth and eleventh centuries. The twelfth-century Kormak’s Saga mentions a representation of Hagbard among the carvings in Thorkel’s hall. Snorris’ Edda (Skaldskarparsmal) gives Hagbard’s name in a list of sea-kings; and Brynhild (Volsunga Saga 25) calls him the first of men before the birth of Sigurd Fafnirsbane.

The probable scene of the tragedy is Sigarsted, in Sjælland, near Ringsted, the ancient royal residence. There the sites yet exist of Sigar’s palace and Signe’s bower—there, too, is the howe where the gibbet was raised, and the field where Sigar was defeated by Hagbard’s avenging kinsmen. They were visited by Ole Worm in 1642, and a map of them was published in _Monumenta Danica_. The Rev. S. M. Beyer, in 1791, excited the antiquarian world by his alleged discovery of a rune-stone commemorating King Sigar—but, since the stone, he was careful to add, had since been destroyed, the statement, to put it mildly, lacks verification.

The ballad-minstrel omits much of the original story, but adds details of his own—Havbor’s reply to the serving-maid, the King’s remorseful outburst, and the punishment of the tale-bearer. The binding of Havbor with Signe’s hair, and his refusal to break it, though appearing at first sight a touch of fantastic mediæval chivalry, probably harks back to a much more primitive superstition, well known to all witches—that which regards the hair as enshrining the life of its possessor. In verse 20 we have a faint reminiscence of the antique Shield-Maidens, Choosers of the Slain.

HAVBOR AND SIGNELIL

Havbor the King and Sivord the King Have fallen out in strife, All for the stately Signelil That was so fair a wife. —Ne’er wilt thou win such a fair one.

Havbor the King he dreamt a dream, And woeful did he wake; He went to seek his mother, And unto her he spake:

“Methought that I was up in heaven, And that was so fair a town; And I held proud Signelil in mine arms, And we fell from the sky adown.”

“And didst thou dream thou wast in heaven, And fellest adown from the sky, That bodes that thou wilt win the maid, But for her sake shalt die!”

“And if I win the maiden Such happiness have I, I count the cost but little That I for her must die!”

Havbor he let his locks wax long, And clad him in woman’s gear, And so he rode to Denmark As though he maiden were.

All in the midst of the castle garth His garment changèd he, Then entered in the ladies’ bower Proud Signelil to see.

“Here sittest thou, stately Signelil, With matrons and maids arow! Havbor hath sent me hither To learn to broider and sew.”

“All the woman’s craft I know Shall be for thee displayed; Shalt eat from the self-same dish as I, And sleep with my serving-maid.”

“Oh, I have eaten with king’s children, And lain in their arms at night; And must I sleep with thy serving-maid I shall die of the sore despite.”

“Now lithe and listen, my beauteous maid, Let all thy sorrow be! Shalt eat of the self-same dish as I, And sleep by the side of me.”

He’s taken out a knife so small, And cut as best he could; He’s shaped them out, both hind and hart, That run in good greenwood.

Still sat all the haughty maids And sewed as best they might, All save Havbor, the son of kings, His needle still did bite.

Up and spake the serving-maid, So evil a tongue had she: “Oh, never saw I so poor a seam Sewn by a fair ladye!

“Ever her needle is in her mouth, She sets no stitches fine; And ever she drains the goblet out, So deep as they pour the wine!

“Ne’er have I seen a lady’s hands Stiffer than steel, I trow! And ne’er have I seen so bold an eye Under a lady’s brow!”

“Now hold thy tongue, thou evil maid, And speak no spite of me! Let me turn mine eyes where’er I may I’ll turn them not on thee!”

Now all were bound to slumber, Whenas the eve was spent; Havbor and stately Signelil To the self-same chamber went.

She laid her hand on Havbor’s breast That shone with gold so red: “Why hast thou a bosom so like a man, And not the breasts of a maid?”

“Oh, the custom it is in my father’s land That maids to the Thing should fare, And therefore have I no maiden’s breasts Because of the mail we wear!

“Now tell me, stately Signelil, While we are all alone, Is there ever a man in all the world Thou hast set thy heart upon?”

“Oh, there’s never a man in all the world That lies my heart within, Saving young Havbor, the son of kings, That I may never win.”

“And is it Havbor, the son of kings, That to thy heart is dear, Then turn thee hither, mine own true love! He is sleeping all so near!”

“And art thou Havbor, the son of kings? Why hast thou shamèd me? Why didst not ride to my father’s court With hawk on hand so free?”

“Oh, how should I ride with hawk on hand To thy father’s court so free? Full well I know thy wrathful sire Would hang me to a tree!”

“Now hush thee, hush thee, Havbor, And take thou heed, I pray! My serving-maid lies waking And listens to all we say.”

“Oh, let her lie and listen, Thine evil serving-maid! Beneath my bolster are hidden Both corselet and trusty blade.

“Beneath my bolster are hidden Both corselet and sword so true; And were a hundred warriors here The meeting they should rue!”