Across land and sea: reflections on the Black Plague

Looking back, my very first post on this blog was an article about the black plague and an old hag named Pesta. Seven years later, I feel a need to elaborate. Although I will not draw any comparisons, times like these makes me think. Typhoid fever, cholera, dysentery and plague have, since antiquity, appeared in the most varied forms. With no medical understanding of the illness itself or the spread of infection, how is something similar to a pandemic explained? How did people hundreds of years ago relate and come to terms with such a catastrophe?

According to Norwegian medieval historian Ole Jørgen Benedictow, it was in September 1348 that merchant ships sailing from Oslo to seaports in Southeast England this time would return with something quite different than the usual cargo of wheat, glassware, beer and wine; the crew could tell about such a horrifying pestilence unlike anything before. Originating from parasites living on the rodents that were regular passengers on the ships, the bacterium named Yersinia pestis transmitted effectively to men, whom in turn passed it on to each other. Regardless of age, gender and social status, none were spared – under a period of only two years, nearly 220,000 of a Norwegian population on an estimated 350,000 residents would perish. It was a tribulation beyond measure, and it is natural to imagine that the plague would generate an anguish that would dominate people’s minds and storytelling in the centuries that followed.

The creation of Pesta in the folk traditions describes the need for an embodiment of a previously unknown experience. She is a mythical being, not of this world, yet she is not as regular a feature in nature and the folktales such as trolls, dwarves or the hulderfolk - she is special, unique in her malice. She gave shape to the eeriness and anguish that arose from the Black Death, and we get a rare glimpse of the experiences of the ordinary folk; dark, blind and hideous, death raged from farm to farm.

Theodor Kittelsen (1894-96). 

Illustration for The Black Plague (1900).

Nasjonalmuseet, The Fine Art Collections

In the traditional district Solør in the Southeastern part of Norway, it was told that "Pesta was an old hag, whom in previous times made her way around the farms in Solør. She carried with her a rake, and a broom. Where she made use of her rake outside the farmhouse door, some were spared. But where she used her broom, all became ill, and perished."

On that account, it is quite clear that a consciousness of the mortality of the illness emerged at an early stage; with the speed of lightening, "it ravaged across the lands, bringing Norway to a state of powerlessness that would last for centuries." And it was an old, black-backed and beastly hag who was to blame. Simultaneously, there was a need for an understanding of why there were people whom, against all odds, came out of it unaffected, while other places not a living soul could be seen for miles. Pesta’s use of her the rake and broom in fact helped explain this injustice; where she used her rake some were lucky enough to live, slipping as they did though the rakes gaps. Where she used her broom, all perished.

Norwegian folklorist Reidar Th. Christiansen presented the stories of transportation the plague across land and sea as a separate category within the folklore tradition, which indicates that stories like these were highly widespread. What’s interesting is that traces of historical truth can be detected through these legends. The plot – Pesta receiving assistance to travel across waters - can firstly be associated with the arrival of the plague by the ships from England in 1349. The legend might also be interpreted a defense technique used to prevent the spread of the plague; the technique involved quarantining an entire district, where rivers and streams marked the boundary which no one were to violate. "Where the parish or district borders were marked by a river, any traffic across were prohibited. The plague was not considered to be able to cross over running water", Swedish folklorist Carl-Herman Tillhagen writes. The consequence was complete isolation.

From Norwegian historian and priest Andreas Faye's records we find a legend from Gjerrestad in Aust-Agder in Southern Norway, which tells of the ferryman who were employed to ship Pesta across from one side of the waters to the next. It took a while before he realized who the passanger actually was, and became very frightened when the truth finally dawned on him. The man pleaded her to spare his life as a reward for having carried her across: "Pesta then took out a large book, opened it and replied: 'Your life I cannot save, but an easy death I may grant you.' As soon as the man returned home, he became drowsy. He then lay down, and perished."

Theodor Kittelsen, Across land and sea (1904)

This is not a unique formula; the stories of the folk traditions tell of supernatural beings interfering in all areas of everyday life, and as a consequense, people thought that the subterranians were nearby or followed them wherever they were. The stories about the nisse might be a relevant comparison; nissen had his abode in houses and barns, and served as a guardian, as well as a helper. He was essentially good-natured, and loved conducting 
practical jokes. It was however, important to be on good terms with him, for he could create a lot of turmoil if he was neglected. That being said, Pesta, of course, was not considered a helper, yet the story of the ferryman might be interpreteted as an explanation of why someone had to suffer the black death for days, while others were "lucky" enough to simply fall asleep, never to wake up again. 

For a population who had no knowledge of the medical explanatory model for infection and the spread of disease, it was natural to make use of a worldview already familiar to the ordinary folk. In popular belief, disappearances, sickness, and misery were most often not something people were accidentally exposed to, but rather punishments for violating the social norms existing between humans and the supernatural. 

Plaga, a word of Latin origin meaning stroke or shock, is a term which has been in use for centuries; already Homer's The Illiad, tells of Apollon shooting arrows contaminated with plague on the achaeans, and several sections of the Old Testament tells of an angel of the Lord striking the people with plague by using a sword. In pagan times, it was also believed that sickness and good health, besides happiness and suffering, life and death, were associated with the benevolence and resentment of the gods. In the Nordic lands, long after Christianity was introduced, the folk tradition expresses a mixture of anxiety about what the ancient gods could think of to avenge, as well as thoughts about the plague as a punishment from a chastening, Christian God for mankind's sinful ways of life. 

Combined, these perspectives are important at multiple levels; embodiments such as Pesta help to form an intelligible system in spite of chaotic situations. Hence, they expresse people's need and ability to create create an unambiguous structure of a situation that has gotten out of control. The story of the ferryman verifies this viewpoint; by helping her across (although unknowledgeable), he is given the opportunity to influence his own passing. In this sense, he is rewarded in some way, even if his life comes to an end. At the same time, the thoughts and ideas centered around the reasons of the plague, reveals a basic need to understand, as well as to reflect on the fundamental questions; our relations with the divine, who we are, where we are going. Why is this happening to us? 

These notions are not restricted in any ways, not by space nor time. As a consequense, historical legends might be considered as gateways to a better understanding of how we as a joint mankind, at all times, reflect upon our existence.


Sources:

• Camilla Christensen. Against the might, ominous forces of nature... Nature, myth and national identity in the art of Theodor Kittelsen. In "Becoming the Forest", #2. A project by Una Hamilton Helle, co-edited with Lotte Brown, 2017

• Andreas Faye. Norske Folke-sagn. Norsk Folkeminnelags Forlag. Tredje Oplag. Oslo 1948.

• Ole Jørgen Benedictow. Svartedauen og senere pestepidemier i Norge. Unipub Forlag 2002.

• Reidar Th. Christensen. The Migratory Legends. Helsinki 1958

• Carl Herman Tillhagen. Sägner och folktro kring pesten. I Fataburen. Nordiska museets och Skansens årsbok 1967.

"When the yolk is large, the year shall be well". What came first, Easter or the Egg?

When Christianity reached the Norwegian shores during the 9th- and 10th century, the Easter celebration in most of Europe had become an organized and regulated festive part of the liturgical year, a custom which people for the most part had come to comply with and respect.

The first sign of a Norwegian Easter celebration is found in the sagas about the oldest kings of Christianization: Haakon the Good, Olaf Tryggvason and Olaf II (Saint Olaf), who were all baptized abroad. In the acknowledgements of their rule, references connected to Easter, Easter Saturday, Palm Sunday, and fasting are sporadically mentioned. Simultaneously, holiday regulations soon became a part of regional legislation, as well as being introduced as a festive holiday feast in order to replace the pagan sacrifice and blót.

However, either on the continent or in Norway could the Church entirely prevent that the new festival assimilated and continued elements from the ancient nature religions. In the North, the Easter festival coincided with the old Norse summer blót, held at summer day in mid-April to ensure that the gods would contribute to victory, peace and a fruitful year. The pre-Christian concept of fertility proved to have an evident ability to nurture old customs and blend in with the new, so these often got an ambiguous content which gave room for both a Christian and natural mythical interpretation. 

Perhaps the prime example of this phenomenon is the Easter egg, which to this day remains as a required element on the Norwegian breakfast tables on Easter Sunday. The egg is so strongly associated with Easter, that Norwegians in fact double the consumption of eggs in the course of the Easter holiday. During the five days of Easter, Norwegians eat about 21 million eggs!

It is uncertain when this custom first made its appearance; in the countryside, it is not likely to date back more than a century, in larger towns probably longer. However, the idea to consider the egg as a symbol of vitality and fertility is considerably older. The Roman saying, Omne vivum ex ove, states that all living things come from the egg. The early church met these notions with a Christian reinterpretation, and in the early Middle Ages, the egg was approved as a symbol of resurrection, and subsequently put into good use in the Easter proclamation. There are even pictures showing Christ rising up of a broken egg.

In folklore however, the egg retained its magical feature as a life-giving force of nature. "When the yolk of the egg is very large, the year shall be well," it was said in the county of Hedmark, in southeastern Norway. The first time during spring when milking the cows outside, the dairymaid made sure to milk the first drops into an eggshell for good fortune.

The reformists fought to detach the egg from all forms of mythologizing, and purely make it a common dish. Yet it is in the combination of ecclesiastical and popular symbolism that we must find the explanation for the current use of Easter eggs and other related Easter traditions; yellow chicks, Easter bunnies, yellow candles, daffodils, and green leaves.

The beauty of these symbols is that they not only represent the Easter season, yet also reflect new creation and new life – in nature, as well as the human mind.

Happy Easter!

Sources:

• Ørnulf Hodne (1999). Norsk Folketro. Cappelen

From Odin to Jesus: the Story of the Saintly King Olaf, and the Christianization of Norway

Gerhard Munthe, Illustration for Olaf's saga, Heimskringla, 1899-edition

Olaf II Haraldsson, the saintly king who fell at the battle of Stiklestad in 1030 and canonized the year after, quickly became a legend in the making, much due to the writings of Snorri Sturluson. Growing up I, as many others, came to know Olaf as the driving force behind the Christianization of Norway, and as Rex Perpetuus Norvegiae – the Eternal King of Norway. But who in fact was Olaf II Haraldsson?

The story goes that Olaf already at 12 years of age went to sea, and raided with the Vikings. During the winter of 1013/1014, Olaf had a longer stay in Rouen in Normandy, where he was the guest of Duke Richard II. The Normans were descendants of Norwegian and Danish Vikings, and had converted to the Christian faith, feeling very strongly for this new way of life. Spending much time with the Duke, Olaf learned about Christianity and was eventually brought to the cathedral.

There are many reasons for why Olaf during this period decided to converse to the Christian faith, and letting himself be baptized. One of them must undoubtedly have been the splendor of the cathedral in Rouen, the incense and the Gregorian chant, which together may have given Olaf a spiritual experience as so many others before him. The Christian outlook on life after death might also help to explain this transition, in which many of his men joined in. 

The nave of Rouen Cathedral, France

In addition, Olaf was very much inspired by the stories of Charlemagne, giving him the vision of a strong, unified Norway founded on the implementation of the Christian faith.

The advent of the Christian law however, was not unproblematic to say the least. Implying an evident break with longstanding traditions, the social consequences quite often emerged as prohibitive and out of the question. A man for instance, who was married to several women, now had to send away one or several wives, slave owners had to see that their slaves were redeemed and set free, no work was to be conducted on Sundays or during holidays implemented by the church, and so on and so on. In cases of people openly opposing the Christian injunctions, Olaf was unalterable – despite was met with heavy threats of violence. These threats, orchestrated in order to enforce the law seem on one hand to have had an effect; nevertheless, they ultimately contributed to his downfall. On July 29th 1030, 35 years of age, Olaf II Haraldsson died at the battle of Stiklestad after several noblemen had turned against him.

Peter Nicolai Arbo. Olav den Helliges fall på Stiklestad (The fall of Olaf in the battle of Stiklestad), watercolor painting, probably from 1859

According to Passio Olavi (Eng. "the Passion and miracles of the Blessed Olaf"), Olav's body shortly after was placed in a shed, where a blind man received his sight again as he rubbed his eyes with water which Olaf had been washed in. The body was eventually buried in a sandbank by the river Nidelva, and when the coffin was dug up a year after it was claimed that Olaf’s nails, hair and beard had continued to grow. On this basis, Olaf was declared a saint, and the cult of St. Olav spread rapidly throughout Northern Europe. Churches in honor of St. Olav's was built not only in Scandinavia, but also in major cities such as Novgorod, London and York.

Beside Virgin Mary, Olaf II Haraldsson became the most often depicted saint in Nordic Medieval art, both in painting and sculpture. From the 1100s and up until the Reformation, the saintly king is displayed either standing up, crowned and with an ax in one hand, or sitting down, often with a monster underneath his feet - the symbol of the evil forces he overcame. 

Olaf’s well

Olavskilden (Olaf's well), April 2008. Photo: Kristian Hunskaar, creative commons

“Olaf's well” is a small freshwater spring on top of Hammer mountain, a forested crag in municipality of Lørenskog in the south-eastern Norway. Located right nearby the local church, which dates back to the 12th or 13th century, the well is 8.7 meters long, and around 3 meters at its widest. It is renowned for never drying out, not even during prolonged droughts.

According to legend, Thor had been furious when he saw that it was built church on Hammer. With all his strength he therefore threw his hammer, Mjolnir, towards the church to smash it. However, the saintly King Olaf exceeded Thor in brutal force, and forced Mjolnir to change direction. Instead, the great hammer hit what is today known as Hammer Mountain. Mjolnir made a scar in the rock, and at this very spot a little well sprang forth, later on named after the King how saved the church. 

The church in Lørenskog, March 2014. Photo: Stig Rune Pedersen, creative commons

The well was said to bring health and happiness, and through the ages, many visited the spring of St. Olaf to drink, fill up their water supplies, or to throw pieces of money in hope for good fortune. Pilgrims heading to St. Olaf's grave in Nidaros (Trondheim) gladly passed through Lørenskog to visit St. Olaf’s well when they arrived from Oslo.

The legend of the St. Olaf well in Lørenskog is not unique. All over the country, there are other springs supposedly existing due to St. Olaf, which also been subjects of pilgrimage. A common feature of the sources is that they are named after and associated with King Olaf, worshiped as a saint in the whole of northern Europe, and a force to be reckoned with in the Norwegian folk tradition. By the Catholic Church, Olaf II Haraldsson is officially considered the national saint of Norway, and as Rex Perpetuus Norvegiae – the Eternal King of Norway. To this day, Olaf’s death is commemorated annually on July 29th, during a national celebration by the name of Olsok, (Eng. “Olaf's Wake»).

However; the narrative teaching us that is was Olaf alone who introduced the Christian faith to the Norwegian population is incorrect; just as there were heathens, there were also Christians, before and after Olaf’s accession into Norwegian history.

Reading about this specific legend also had me wonder; there was a time when it was Thor who battled the agony and hostility of the world, then in form of trolls – jotner. Suddenly, it was Thor who needed to be overpowered? When the stories tells us about Saint Olaf winning over trolls and Norse gods alike, it is ultimately the heathen folk belief system which is truly put to the test. Although our modern day culture bear witness of the Christian heritage and set of values, I always find it interesting to keep in mind that things however, at one time, were quite different.  

Mårten Eskil Winge, Tor's Fight with the Giants (1872)

 From the Norse religion to the Holy Trinity

Living in the outskirts of the world, the Vikings had the perfect facilities at their disposal to develop their very own mindset and way of life. It is also important to remember, that although the Vikings brought with them their Norse mindset on their journeys, the religious practice of their belief was to a great extent related to the family farm. During their month long travels, it is therefore natural to envision that unfamiliar belief systems and practices might be objects of great curiosity. Although Norway was Christianized relatively late compared to the rest of Europe, the Norsemen, being mariners, warriors and merchants, early came in contact with the Christian practice and belief system.

In England, Ireland, Germany and France, they met not only large–scale and alluring riches, but also a social structure and a set of values completely different from their own. In spite of Harald Finehairs’ previous efforts, Norway had yet to be united into one kingdom, and remained as a variety of small, undisputable regions under the control of mighty nobles of age-old ancestry. In England and on the continent, the communities were organized in a fashion implausible to a Viking.

One hand, there was society itself, built like a pyramid, with the slaves at the bottom through the tenant farmers, then the nobility and the king at the top, whom the nobility had pledged allegiance to.

On the other hand, there was the Christian faith, emerging as a fixed doctrine based on one great book. Supplemented by the ecclesiastical tradition, as well as incorporating ancient cosmology, this theology represented a mindset, a view of history and society that must have puzzled a Scandinavian Viking. The Church communicated a message compromising all knowledge known to people at the time. And the message was not aimed at one family or region alone - the target group was none other than the entire human race. Although regularly hosting the sacrifice of Jesus' flesh and blood during the service, this cult must still have seemed strangely abstract and literally anemic for a Viking, if one compares it to a Viking blot. 

August Malmström (1829-1901), Dísablót; illustration of pre-Christian celebration

For the Norse religion was not founded on a belief in the Christian sense, for there was no doctrine and no theology to believe in. The Vikings inhabited a world where the gods were just as real and just as present as any neighbor - and equally temperamental. When storms were raging and lightning struck and farms were razed to the ground, they knew Thor was angry for some reason. And when crops failed and famine impended, they were aware that it was Freyja who felt insulted. On a farm, completely entrusted to the forces of nature, it was actually reassuring to know that the gods had a human face, and thus were possible to influence. In this sense, the gods were all time present, a matter of course that had to be cultivated and fed, just as the farm animals. 

When the differentiations were so fundamental, it is difficult to understand how the transition might ever have happened in the first place; surely, it could not have been a matter of a conversion in the modern sense, but rather a dramatic transition from one world to another.

God was far more remote than Odin and Thor, and heaven far more difficult to reach – in all his holiness, the almighty appeared as a reserved and distant character. To even be aware of his very existence took a great deal of know-how. Christianity therefore had to have a creed to guide people on the right path.

The idea of God being not just one, but three, and yet still only one, was not exactly easy to understand. For people who were accustomed to gods inhabiting their everyday lives, helping and supporting, or punishing and retaliating – on an equal foot as men – it must have been difficult to comprehend what Christianity was really about. The Christian missionaries had a problem indeed; to preach theology would fall on deaf ears. Through the use of analogy or comparison however, it was possible to find an intelligible approach. 

Hence, Jesus was kind as Balder and just as Balder, he was unjustly murdered. Simultaneously, Christ managed to give Satan a fatal stab, just as the brave Sigurd who alone succeeded in killing the dragon Fafnir, with his sword Gram (‘Gram’ meaning wrath). When Thor himself failed to capture the Midgard Serpent (norse, Miðgarðsormr) with a bull’s head (!), Jesus succeeded using his cross as a fishing pole. This was an important approach, for in the Norse religion, the whole point was that the gods were assertive and authoritative. With Odin on your side, you could win over your enemies, and if one stood on good terms with Freyja, crops would prosper and the women would bear strong, healthy children. For Jesus to even stand a chance in such a society, he had to be perceived as stronger than the old gods. 

Jörmungandr (the Midgard Serpent) gets fished by an ox head, from the 17th century Icelandic manuscript AM 738 4to, now in the care of the Árni Magnússon Institute in Iceland

When the likes of Olaf II Haraldsson converted pagans throughout the land through the use of swords and death, it in turn became clear that the Christian God exceeded the Norse ones in dominance and posture. By reusing the ancient Norse myths, the new god was brought effectively to life, and as a consequence Jesus not only appeared as gentle and kind, but as a mighty force which exceeded all of the old gods combined.

Despite the turn of events, the shift of faith was consequently implemented without the old culture being completely eradicated - it got rather a new feature. In retrospect, this might explain why we are so fortunate to know so much about the ancient religion, as so much of the old traditions and symbols initially were prolonged and adjusted into the new religion, and new way of life.


Sources:

• Lokalhistorisk Wikipedia. Olav den Hellige. [Sist redigert av Stig Rune Pedersen, 17. august 2016] URL: https://lokalhistoriewiki.no/index.php/Olav_den_hellige#I_viking 
• Olavskilden (Lørenskog) er basert på en artikkel publisert i Lørenskog Leksikon. URL: https://lokalhistoriewiki.no/index.php/Olavskilden_(L%C3%B8renskog) 
• Gunnar Danbolt (2004). Norsk kunsthistorie. Bilde og skulptur frå vikingtida til idag. 2. utgåve. Det Norske Samlaget: Oslo. 
• Karsten Alnæs (1996). «Det ligger et land». Bind I i Historien om Norge. Gyldendal Norsk Forlag: Oslo/Gjøvik 

Poet, thief and “Breakout King” – the peculiar tale of Gjest Baardsen

Some people have the ability to fascinate and intrigue, their myths kept very much alive, long after their passing. Figures such as Robin Hood, Merlin, Beowolf and the Queen of Sheba have become household names due to the legends about them, continuing to act as lead characters in the long, lasting stories of their lives.

Perhaps more fascinating, though, are the people who themselves have been eager participants in the creation of their own myth. A captivating example, is the tale of Gjest Baardsen (1791- 1849). Officially known as a master thief and the king of breakaways, Baardsen became infamous for his many escapes from jail, as well as a poet and a songwriter.

Illustration of Gjest Baardsen, 1877

Born in Sogndal in the Western part of Norway, Gjest Baardsen early came to lead a quite restless existence. As 12- or 13-year-old, he became an apprentice for a craftsman in Bergen, only to go to sea before his apprenticeship was over. This was the start of a wandering life, where he made a living, mainly, as a thief. He was occasionally arrested and sentenced, but for many years he managed to avoid long lasting imprisonment, due to daring escape maneuvers. Emerging as a man of the people, in constant conflict with the authorities, Baardsen became a symbol of the common people's struggle against unfair taxation during the Danish-Norwegian union. Through the pending myths and stories about his deeds and misdeeds, Baardsen won a reputation as a Norwegian Robin Hood, tricking and cheating greedy tax collectors and sheriffs who were burdening the ordinary folk with heavy taxes.

Nevertheless - after much ado and many years on the run, even Baardsen had to finally succumb to the long, willful arm of the law. In 1827, he was sentenced to a lifetime of hard labour, to be served at  Akershus fortress in the city of Christiania (today known as Oslo). Here he had no social network, either on the inside or outside of the prison walls, which would also make it more difficult to escape. At last, Baardsen seemed to come to terms with this fate, for he did not flee from Akershus. Instead he concentrated on reading and writing.

As it turned out, Baardsen actually had a talent for this occupation and writing, in many ways, became his redemption. Although he gave his mother the credit for this pursuit, he also he attached importance to the practical facilitation conducted by people within the judicial and prison authorities, particularly at Akershus. There may have been several reasons for this aid; perhaps it was for therapeutic purposes, or maybe they saw the opportunity to greater knowledge of a criminal mind. Or, it may simply been an act of kindness and compassion. While still imprisoned, he released the first parts of his autobiography.

Due to good behavior (as well as a claim to start a new life as a pious Christian), Gjest Baardsen was finally pardoned by the majority of the Supreme Court, and on October 3rd 1845 he could leave the prison walls behind him, as a free man. During the time after his release, he made a living by selling songs and small writings. Along with book sales and donations, he was able to finance the long journey back to the West Coast, where he died in 1849, without a penny to his name.

To what extent Gjest Baardsen embellished his own life story, remains unclear. It is no doubt he was aware of the opportunity to influence his legacy, and in his own writings he appears as a sympathetic and loyal felon. Moreover, movies, books, and even comics have subsequently helped to maintain the myth of the gentleman thief who stole from the rich and gave to the poor. In other words, Baardsen has managed to maintain the myth of his own persona, until this very day. New research however, suggests he was probably not as law-abiding, nor as well thought of, as he claimed to be.

Nevertheless, it is no doubt that Baardsen wrote well. His language was vivid and clear, appealing to both the mind and the heart. One of his most famous songs, Grusomme skjebne (eng. “Oh, Gruesome fate!"), was most probably written in 1826. According to his autobiography, it was the rather troubled relationship between himself and his then-girlfriend, Gjertine Carlsdatter, which inspired the conception of the song. During the spring of 1826, the police tried to get Gjertine to reveal Baardsens whereabouts by claiming that he had been unfaithful, and allegedly had made another woman pregnant. As a result, Baardsen presented his hearts’ distress through this song, strongly suggesting that it was Gjertines testimony that became his downfall:

Dreary is the fate you have bestowed upon me;
grim is the future I now have to meet,
thanks to you, I have lost all hope
my heart throbs excruciatingly sore.
What do you think about that, you who reward my fidelity so poorly,
my heart bleeds, beaten to death,
even still, perhaps you think you acted right.

By letting the first letter of the in total 19 verses together constitute Gjertine Carlsdatters name, a deep impression (according to his own writings) was made on the bewildered girl.

This song is actually one of the few I can recall my first encounter with; it was the 30th of December 2005, and one of the last shows ever performed by the Norwegian cross-over band Gåte. One can't help but ponder what Baardsen might have thought about the following version; by choosing to use merely the first verse of the song, the band transformed an originally embittered lovesong, into a distressed expression of lost hope. Personally, I believed he would have loved it, finding his own words being kept very much alive, almost 200 years after their birth.

Oh, Gruesome fate, what have I done?
for you to persecute me so,
shall I ever be grieved
shall I forever be denied any joy in life?

I belong to the weary world, and all its wretchedness,
I belong to the weary world, and all its wretchedness,
I belong to the weary world, and all its wretchedness,
I belong to the weary world, and all its wretchedness,

Discouraged I wander, wistful thoughts
disturb my mind, and disrupts my peace.

Sources:  

• Erichsen, Bodil Chr. (2012, 27. april). Gjest Baardsen. I Norsk biografisk leksikon. [Retrieved January 10th, 2016] fra https://nbl.snl.no/Gjest_Baardsen.