Harold Fair-haired Founds The Kingdom Of Norway
To the far-off island of Iceland we must go for the story of the early
days of Norway. In that frosty isle, not torn by war or rent by tumult,
the people, sitting before their winter fires, had much time to think and
write, and it is to Iceland we owe the story of the gods of the north and
of the Scandinavian kings of heathen times. One of these writers, Snorri
Sturlasson by name, has left us a famous book, "The Sagas of the Kings
f
Norway," in which he tells of a long line of ancient kings, who were
descended from the gods. Here are some of their names, Aun the Old,
Ingjald Ill-Ruler, Olaf the Wood-Cutter, Halfdan Whiteleg, and Halfdan
the Swarthy. There were others whom we need not name, and of these
mentioned the names must suffice, for all we know of them is legend, not
truth.
In those times there was no kingdom of Norway, but a number of petty
provinces, ruled over by warriors who are spoken of as kings, but whose
rule was not very wide. Most powerful among them was Halfdan the Swarthy,
who was only a year old in 810 when his father was killed in battle.
He lived for many years, and he and his wife Ragnhild had strange dreams.
The queen dreamed that a thorn which she took out of her clothes grew in
her hands until one end of it took root in the ground and the other shot
up into the air. It kept on growing until it was a great tree, so high
that she could barely see its top. The lower part of it was blood-red,
higher up it was bright green, and the spreading branches were white as
snow. So widely they spread that they seemed to shade the whole country
of Norway.
King Halfdan did not like it that his wife had such strange dreams and he
had none. He asked a sage why this was so, and was told that if he wanted
to have dreams as strange he must sleep in a pig-sty. A queer recipe for
dreams, one would think, but the king tried it, and dreamed that his hair
grew long and beautiful and hung in bright locks over his shoulders, some
of them down to his waist, and one, the brightest and most beautiful of
all, still farther down.
When he told the sage of this dream, the wise man said it meant that from
him was to come a mighty race of kings, one of whom should be the
greatest and most glorious of them all. This great hero, Snorri tells us,
was supposed to be Olaf the Saint, who reigned two hundred years later,
and under whom Christianity first flourished in Norway.
Soon after these dreams a son was born to the queen, who was named
Harold. A bright, handsome lad he grew to be, wise of mind and strong of
body and winning the favor of all who knew him. Many tales which we
cannot believe are told of his boyhood. Here is one of them. Once when
the king was seated at the Yuletide feast all the meats and the ale
disappeared from the table, leaving an empty board for the monarch and
his guests. There was present a Finn who was said to be a sorceror, and
him the king put to the torture, to find out who had done this thing.
Young Harold, displeased with his father's act, rescued the Finn from his
tormentors and went with him to the mountains.
On they went, miles and leagues away, until they came to a place where a
Finnish chief was holding a great feast. Harold stayed there until
spring, when he told his host that he must return to his father's halls.
Then the chief said:
"King Halfdan was very angry when I took his meat and ale from him last
winter, and now I will reward you with good tidings for what you did.
Your father is dead and his kingdom waits for you to inherit. And some
day you will rule over all Norway."
Harold found it to be as the Finn had said, and thus in 860, when he was
only ten years old, he came to the throne. He was young to be at the head
of a turbulent people and some ambitious men there were who sought to
take advantage of his youth, but his uncle guardian fought for him and
put them all down. Harold was now the greatest among the petty kings of
Norway and a wish to be ruler of the whole land grew up in his soul.
Here comes in a story which may not be all true, but is pretty enough to
tell. It is to the effect that love drove Harold to strive for the
kingdom. Old Snorri tells the story, which runs this way.
King Erik of Hoerdaland had a fair daughter named Gyda, the fame of whose
beauty reached Harold's ears and he sent messengers to win her for
himself. But the maid was proud and haughty and sent back word:
"Tell your master that I will not yield myself to any man who has only a
few districts for his kingdom. Is there no king in the land who can
conquer all Norway, as King Erik has conquered Sweden and King Gorm
Denmark?"
This was all the answer she had for the heralds, though they pleaded for
a better answer, saying that King Harold was surely great enough for any
maid in the land.
"This is my answer to King Harold," she said. "I will promise to become
his wife if for my sake he shall conquer all Norway and rule it as freely
as King Erik and King Gorm rule their kingdoms. Only when he has done
this can he be called the king of a people."
When the heralds returned they told the king of their ill success and
advised him to take the girl by force.
"Not so," Harold replied. "The girl has spoken well and deserves thanks
instead of injury. She has put a new thought into my mind which had not
come to me before. This I now solemnly vow and call God to witness, that
I will not cut or comb my hair until the day when I shall have made
myself king of all Norway. If I fail in this, I shall die in the
attempt."
Such is the legend of Gyda and the vow. What history tells us is that the
young king set out to bring all Norway under his rule and prospered in
the great enterprise. One after another, the small kings yielded to his
power, and were made earls or governors under him. They collected taxes
and administered justice in his name. All the land of the peasants was
declared to be the property of the king, and those who had been free
proprietors were now made the king's tenants and were obliged to pay
taxes if they wished to hold their lands. These changes angered many and
there were frequent rebellions against the king, but he put them all
down, and year after year came nearer the goal of his ambition. And his
hair continued to grow uncut and uncombed, and got to be such a tangled
mass that men called him Harold Lufa, or Frowsy-Head.
There was one great and proud family, the Rafnistas, who were not easily
to be won. To one of them, Kveld-Ulf, or Night-Wolf, Harold sent envoys,
asking him to enter his service, but the chief sent back word that he was
too old to change. Then he offered Bald Grim, old Night-Wolf's son, high
honors if he would become his vassal. Bald Grim replied that he would
take no honors that would give him rank over his father.
Harold grew angry at this, and was ready to use force where good words
would not prevail, but in the end the old chief agreed that his second
son Thorolf might be the king's man if he saw fit. This he agreed to do,
and as he was handsome, intelligent and courtly the king set much store
by him.
Not only with the Norway chiefs, but with the king of Sweden, Harold had
trouble. While he was busy in the south King Erik invaded the north, and
Harold had to march in haste to regain his dominions. But the greatest
danger in his career came in 872, when a number of chiefs combined
against him and gathered a great fleet, which attacked Harold's fleet in
Halfrs-Fjord. Then came the greatest and hottest fight known to that day
in Norway. Loudly the war-horns sounded and the ships were driven
fiercely to the fray, Harold's ship being in the front wherever the fight
waxed hottest. Thorolf, the son of Night-Wolf, stood in its prow,
fighting with viking fury, and beside him stood two of his brothers,
matching him blow with blow.
Yet the opposing chiefs and their men were stout fighters and the contest
long seemed doubtful, many brave and able men falling on both sides.
Arrows hissed in swift flight through the air, spears hurtled after them,
stones were hurled by strong hands, and those who came hand to hand
fought like giants. At length Harold's berserkers--men who fought without
armor, replacing it with fury of onslaught--rushed forward and boarded
the hostile ships, cutting down all who opposed them. Blood ran like
water and the chieftains and their men fell or fled before this wild
assault. The day was won for Harold, and with it the kingdom, for after
that fatal fray none dared to stand up before him.
His vow accomplished, all Norway now his, Harold at last consented to the
cutting of his hair, this being done by Ragnvald, the earl of Moere. The
tangled strands being cut and the hair deftly combed, those who saw it
marvelled at its beauty, and from that day the king was known as Harold
the Fair-Haired. As for Gyda, the maid, the great task she set having
been accomplished, she gave her hand to Harold, a splendid marriage
completing the love romance of their lives.
This romance, however, is somewhat spoiled by the fact that Harold
already had a wife, Aasa, the daughter of Earl Haakon, and that he
afterwards married other wives. He had his faults and weaknesses, one of
these being that he was not faithful to women and he was jealous of men
who were growing in greatness. One of the men whom he began to fear or
hate was Thorolf, who had aided him so mightily in battle and long stood
highest in his favor.
Thorolf married a rich wife and grew very wealthy, living like a prince,
and becoming profuse in his hospitality. He was gracious and liberal and
won hosts of friends, while he aided the king greatly in collecting taxes
from the Finns, who were not very willing to part with their money.
Despite this service Harold grew to distrust Thorolf, or to hate him for
other reasons, and the time came when this feeling led to a tragedy.
Thorolf had been made bailiff of Haalogaland, and when Harold came to
this province his bailiff entertained him with a splendid feast, to which
eight hundred guests were invited, three hundred of them being the king's
attendants.
Yet, through all the hilarity of the feast, Harold sat dark and brooding,
much to his host's surprise. He unbent a little at the end and seemed
well pleased when Thorolf presented him with a large dragon ship, fully
equipped. Yet not long afterwards he took from him his office of bailiff,
and soon showed himself his deadly foe, slandering him as a pretext for
attacking him on his estate.
The assailants set fire to Thorolf's house and met him with a shower of
spears when he broke out from the burning mansion. Seeing the king among
them Thorolf rushed furiously towards him, cut down his banner-bearer
with a sword blow, and was almost within touch of the king when he fell
from his many wounds, crying: "By three steps only I failed."
It is said that Harold himself gave the death blow, yet he looked sadly
on the warrior as he lay dead at his feet, saying, as he saw a man
bandaging a slight wound: "That wound Thorolf did not give. Differently
did weapons bite in his hand. It is a pity that such men must die."
This would indicate that King Harold had other reasons than appears from
the narrative for the slaughter of his former friend. It must be borne
in mind that he was engaged in founding a state, and had many disorderly
and turbulent elements with which to deal, and that before he had ended
his work he was forced to banish from the kingdom many of those who stood
in his way. We do not know what secret peril to his plans led him to
remove Thorolf from his path.
However that be, the killing of the chief sent his father to his bed sick
with grief, and he grew content only when he heard that the king's hand
had slain him and that he had fallen on his face at his slayer's feet.
For when a dying man fell thus it was a sign that he would be avenged.
But the old man was far too weak to attack Harold openly, and was not
willing to dwell in the same kingdom with him; so he, with his son Bald
Grim and all his family and wealth, took ship and set sail for Iceland.
But long he lingered on Norway's coast, hoping for revenge on some of
Harold's blood, and chance threw in his way a ship containing two cousins
of the king. This he attacked, killed the king's cousins, and captured
the ship. Then Bald Grim, full of exultation, sang a song of triumph on
the ship's prow, beginning with:
"Now is the Hersir's vengeance
On the king fulfilled;
Wolf and eagle tread on
Yngling's children."
There were other chieftains who sought refuge abroad from Harold's rule,
men who were bitterly opposed to the new government he founded, with its
system of taxation and its strict laws. They could not see why the old
system of robbing and plundering within Norway's confines should be
interfered with or their other ancient privileges curtailed, and several
thousand sailed away to found new homes in the Orkneys, the Hebrides, and
Iceland.
One of the chief of these, Rolf, or Rollo, son of the king's friend,
Ragnvald of Moere, defied Harold's laws and was declared an outlaw. His
high birth made the king more determined to punish him, as an example to
others, and no influence could win forgiveness for Rolf the Walker, as
men called him, saying that he was so tall and heavy that no horse could
carry him.
We must follow the outlaw in his journey, for it was one destined to lead
to great events. Setting sail with a fleet and a large number of
followers, he made his way to the coast of France, and fixed himself
there, plundering the people for several years. Charles the Simple, king
of France, finding that he could not drive the bold Norseman off, at
length gave him a large province on condition that he would become a
Christian, and hold his land as a vassal of the king. The province was
given the name of Normandy, and from Rollo descended that sturdy race of
kings one of whom conquered England in the following century. Thus the
exile of Rollo led to events of world-wide importance.
When the proud Norseman was asked to kiss King Charles's foot in token of
fealty to him, he answered: "I will never bend my knee before any man,
nor will I kiss any man's foot."
He could hardly be persuaded to let one of his men kiss the king's foot
as a proxy for him. The man chosen strode sturdily forward, seized the
foot of the king, who was on horseback, and lifted it to his lips so
roughly that the poor king turned a somersault from his horse. The
Norsemen laughed in derision while the king's followers stood by grim and
silent.
But despite his unruliness at home, Rollo, when he got a kingdom of his
own, ruled it with all the sternness of King Harold, hanging all robbers
that fell into his hands, and making his kingdom so secure that the
peasants could leave their tools in the fields at night without fear of
loss. Five generations after him came to the throne William the
Conqueror, who won himself the kingdom of England.
To go back to Harold, the builder of the kingdom of Norway, we shall only
say in conclusion that he built his rule on sure foundations and kept a
court of high splendor, and died without a rebel in his realm in 933,
seventy-three years after he succeeded his father as ruler of a
province.