"Crack and crackle and make merry!" - Keeping Warm at Christmas

Nearly all of the supernatural beings inhabiting the Scandinavian folklore were on the move on Christmas Eve, and were especially dangerous around winter solstice. For protection and safeguard against this rabble, there were a number of superstitious customs that were carefully observed. In the old society, these were important elements within the Yule celebration.

Having nothing but firewood, and in some places peat, to keep warm it was important to acquire a large stock in advance, making sure that the house would remain nice and heated all Christmas without having to disrupt the peace of mind and reduce the festivities. At Christmas, no room should be locked, dark or cold.

The Christmas wood should be nice and sturdy, preferably dry birch and pine. It was to be cut in the growing moon and with the leaves on - then it burned twice as well, it was told. In Fjærland in Western Norway it had to be of seven sorts, the best one came across in the forest during the year. On Christmas Eve, the fire should "crack and crackle and make merry", for when it crackled, the witches were scared away from the chimney! Preferably it should be one single great, big log that would burn throughout Christmas Eve or even longer.

Some notions indicate that in earlier times, the lokal fjøsnisse - or more menacing Christmas spirits - , would make sure that the right procedure had been conducted. In Lofoten it was told, that if the firewood were not proparly provided, the undead came at night and sawing and chopping, making a terrible noise. The usual practice was to chop up enough for the thirteenth or twentieth day of Christmas, and stock it inside for the first two days of the celebration. Any other procedure was considered a disgrace. Finally, a cross of firewood was placed on the chopping block, and it had to lie there until Christmas had passed - to bless the work completed and protect against evil spirits.

Theodor Kittelsen. Freezing cold, 1903

Source:

• Ørnulf Hodne. Jul i Norge. Cappelen, 1996.

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.

The Draug

It has been common belief that those whom were lost at sea – their final resting place being a wet grave, instead of consecrated soil – became outlawed wraiths, menacing to encounter, forecasting predictions of shipwrecks and drownings. In the fishing and coastal tradition along the northern Norwegian coast, the draug (Old Norse, draugr = Eng. corpse) practically a personification of all those who throughout the ages had ended their lives this way, never to be found again.

Most concentrated is the draft tradition around the areas for the two largest seasonal fishing in Northern Norway: Lofoten and Finmark. Fishing for cod in Lofoten starts in January and lasts until April. During this period, the fish searches for shore to spawn. Since the Viking era, these fisheries have been of great importance as the dried fish (stockfish) in pre-modern times was Norways by far the largest export economy.

Winter, Reine in Lofoten, painting by Norwegian artist Otto Sinding, 1894

According to Norwegian theologist and sociologist Eilert Sundt's (1817-1875) statistical surveys of the last century, 200 people drowned in the Tromsø Diocese (= the whole of Northern Norway) in 1863, which was a normal annual average. The year before, 95 boats were lost in the same diocese. The Lofoten fishing alone required 15-20 lives each year. In retrospect, the narrative tradition of the draug provides an understanding of the relentless and dangerous life along the Norwegian coast in ancient times. These stories are ultimately expressions of the collective anxiety for death and the ones lost at sea.

By appearance, the draug looked like an old-fashioned fisherman in leather coat, leather trousers, leather hat and rubber boots, yet his head was nothing seaweed, arms and legs were abnormally long compared to the rest of his body, and he sailed in half a boat. He was always alone on board and kept the same steady course as the fishermen. If he cried and shouted to them, they were wise not to answer, because then their boat would capsize. The calls sounded like screams of people in distress, and probably originated in rather tangible observations, whether coming from the boat vault or from birds or sea creatures. They were interpreted as warnings of storms and death, from which people adapted if they could.

The Sea Troll, illustration by Theodor Kittelsen 1887

A crew encountering the draug in his half-boat never arrived safely in port – many of the men even found themselves on their very last voyage. A more recent story, dating back to 1931, proclaims:

It was a winter day during the last fishing season, and lots of boats out and about. Then it suddenly a storm blew up, and everyone struggled hard to get ashore. One of the crews sailing at some distance from the others saw a boat they did not know, and looked more closely, they discovered that the boat was half. They realized it was the draug and that their chip was about to wreck. And so it did. the boat capsized during a surge, taking the lives of four men. Three survived, of which one of them later decided to tell the tale.

Source:

• Ørnulf Hodne (2012). Vetter og skrømt i norsk folketro. Cappelen. 

"Úlfhéðnar" - or Ravaging Lunetics? Manbeasts and Shapeshifting in the Nordic Tradition

“Once there was so mighty a man, that his equal was not to be found; already as a youngster, he ravaged with the Vikings. […] He was a good farmer, and had a habit of getting up at dawn, tending to the livestock, his craftsmen and his fields. Many were those who sought his counseling, and as he was wise man, he had good advice for them all.

Every evening however, when darkness fell, he became spiteful, with an erratic temper. Early at nightfall, he became sleepy, and word got around that he frequently changed his human shape and form, earning the name Kveldulv (“Nightwolf”).

From the Saga of Egil Skallagrimssons

Nowadays, the creatures we call werewolves, are mostly known from glossy television shows and motion pictures, or from classic literature such as Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The stories are most often about a man who is transformed at full moon, either as a wolf larger than a real wolf or an anthropomorphic figure resembling a wolf. In some stories, the werewolves have been portrayed more positively, with the premise that the human mind continues to work within the beast itself, such as the comedic but tortured protagonist David Naughton in An American Werewolf in London (1981), and a less anguished and more confident and charismatic Jack Nicholson in the 1994 film Wolf. 

Within the ancient myths and legends however, the actual belief in shape-shifting were regarded as the consequence of a real molt.

Although the strange notions of werewolves has never reached the same widespread distribution in Europe as witchcraft, they are in many ways closely connected. In both cases, the narrative traditions revolve around a condition which could be actively produced, by using an ointment or the like. In the terms of the “shape-shifting” tales however, there are a few other factors to be considered.

Already from Greek antiquity, there was a living notion of certain people being able transform themselves into wild animals, in order to perform wicked deeds.  As in any rural community, at large consisting of farmers and shepherds often having to fight of predators attacking their herds, an intimate knowledge of and a strong fear of the wolf has probably contributed to these notions. 

"I'm so hungry, my intestines are shrieking," said the wolf.

Painting by Theodor Kittelsen (1900)

  
Concurrently however, these notions are often been associated with cases of insanity or psychosis, in which the indisposed themselves believed to be a wild animal – in many cases, a wolf. According to Norwegian medical historian Fredrik Grøn (1871-1947), there are several things that indicate that the belief in werewolves is also associated with the illness, which we also know from our time, called rabies. It is an utterly ghastly disease that attacks dogs, and occasionally other animals such as wolves – bitten by a diseased animal, the condition can also be transmitted to humans. The illness achieved international reputation through the work of French biologist Louis Pasteur, for his remarkable efforts to find a remedy for it – in 1885 he successfully developed effective vaccine.

This illness was undoubtedly far more prevalent in the past, and even if one assumed that it was the bite of "old dogs" that evoked the disease, unfounded beliefs had a free rein. For the diseased conducted in a most peculiar way, with severe cramps, biting and barking like dogs, in short; behaving like animals. In retrospect, it is no wonder that ideas of something supernatural emerged. Even as late as the 16th century, pursuits for presumed werewolves were conducted, and those who were caught condemned mercilessly to the fires, just as the witches and warlocks.

Perhaps it was no wonder, when a learned man like Swedish scholar Olaus Magnus (1490-1557) during the mid-1500s concluded that "that kind of wolves really are people transformed into wolves" still appeared numerous in the Nordic border region and the Baltic States. Especially during Christmas, it was believed that these creatures ravaged worse among humans and animals than the "real and natural wolves." The Swedish folklorist Ella Odstedt interpreted this phenomenon as violent orgies instituted by licentious and starving people whom, taking advantage by the folk belief, acquired food and drink on any farm at close range. During the war in 1808, rumors even spread that the Russians transformed the Swedish prisoners into werewolves and sent them home to plague the country!

Researchers have also pointed to the Old Norse tradition of the Vikings era’s berserker; furious, invulnerable warriors who bet in the shield and hooted like dogs when they went to battle. Presumably, they also clothed themselves in the pelts of wild animals to scare the enemy and take part in the animal's ferocity and strength.

King Harald Hairfair's berserker were called Úlfhéðnar (wolfs’s skin), and the word berskerk can in fact be interpreted as ber (bear) serk (clothing) - that is, bjørneham, or bear vesture. The word werewolf is associated with the old Norse word for man – verr – straightforward translated to "man wolf". 

An engraving of an image shown on a Vendel era (550-793) bronze plate discovered in Öland, Sweden. Depicted are a berserker about to decapitate his enemy on the right and Oden on the left. Oden's famous characters markers are not present.

From Oscar Montelius, "Om lifvet i Sverige under hednatiden" (Stockholm 1905)

These notions indicate that the berserk cult was an ecstatic and imitating devotion to the war god Odin, who was the master in the art of procreating different shapes and forms, making travels “in mind and spirit" while the body seemed apparently lifeless. This ability could also acquired by the use of sorcery, or witchcraft. Both the Edda poems and saga literature serve as examples of that the belief in shape-shifting were regarded as the consequence of a real molt.

For anyone wanting to be free from their animal vesture, could manage to do so, either by themselves or the help of others. In the ancient sagas and fairytales, love and marriage were important aids. Most common however, was to burn the vesture or mention the animal by its human name if you recognized it. Then it would shed the animal flesh and become human again. If you felt sorry for the creature and fed it, the same effect could the obtained.

Even from our own day and age, there are records of “shape-shifters”. In Danish Sjælland, the belief in werewolves lived on well into the 19th century. As late as 1911, there is a record from a village in Østfold in the eastern part of Norway, where there lived a man who was supposedly a werewolf. According to the folktales, “something” suddenly came over him, and he disappeared for a fortnight. There was to record of his disappearance, and nobody knew when he would return. But he was doing, was not known, yet people assumed that he was running about in the woods.

From the western region of Norway, from Sunnfjord, there is a similar story of a man who owned a bear vesture, and when he wore it, no one was safe from his ravaging. If there was moonlight, he went out into the field and killed goats. If it was a bright summer night, he was found brawling with the horses. At last, when he was out for an errand, his wife found his bear vesture and burned it up. After that, the man was never quite the same. 

Illustration by Joakim Skovgaard (1889 el. 1890). 'The Werewolf".

The National Museum of Art: The Fine Arts Collection

Sources:

• Egil Skallagrimssons saga. I Norrøn saga, bind 1. Aschehoug, 3. opplag 1990 
• Fredrik Grøn (1933). Varulvtroen (av overtroens eventyrsaga). In Folkeminner no. 65, november 2016 
• Ørnulf Hodne (2012). Vetter og skrømt i norsk folketro. Cappelen Damm.