The Ugly Duckling

First published in november 1843, The Ugly Duckling remains one of Dainsh author Hans Christian Andersens most well-known - and tearjerking - fairytales. The story follows a baby swan being hatched at a farm on a country estate. In the first part of the story, neither the little swan itself nor the other animals on the farm are aware that it is not a duck, and because of its different appearance, the the swan is bullied and harassed by the others.

On November 19, 1843 in the newspaper Fædrelandet, an unknown reviewer wrote:

"The ugly duckling" is - though it has a certain, in Andersen's poetic endeavor too frequent, subjective tendency - [...] more than sufficiently varied; the poet's own misunderstood value, free from sickly sentimentality, so freshly conceived, so lively and whimsical, that it is read with much delight."

In almost all the genres Andersen unfolded in, we find more or less distinct traces of the poet's own life. This especially applies to the fairy tales, such as The Ugly Duckling, which he himself loved to read up load. The tale is often interpreted as H.C. Andersen's description of his own early youth - a fable in which animals play human roles. He later confessed that the story was "a reflection of my own life", and, when the critic Georg Brandes questioned Andersen about whether he would write his autobiography, the poet claimed that it had already been written — it was called "The Ugly Duckling".

It was lovely summer weather in the country, and the golden corn, the green oats, and the haystacks piled up in the meadows looked beautiful. The stork walking about on his long red legs chattered in the Egyptian language, which he had learnt from his mother. The corn-fields and meadows were surrounded by large forests, in the midst of which were deep pools. It was, indeed, delightful to walk about in the country. 

In a sunny spot stood a pleasant old farm-house close by a deep river, and from the house down to the water side grew great burdock leaves, so high, that under the tallest of them a little child could stand upright. The spot was as wild as the centre of a thick wood. In this snug retreat sat a duck on her nest, watching for her young brood to hatch; she was beginning to get tired of her task, for the little ones were a long time coming out of their shells, and she seldom had any visitors. The other ducks liked much better to swim about in the river than to climb the slippery banks, and sit under a burdock leaf, to have a gossip with her. At length one shell cracked, and then another, and from each egg came a living creature that lifted its head and cried, “Peep, peep.” “Quack, quack,” said the mother, and then they all quacked as well as they could, and looked about them on every side at the large green leaves. Their mother allowed them to look as much as they liked, because green is good for the eyes.  

Peep, peep.” “Quack, quack,” said the mother, and then they all quacked as well as they could. 
Illustration by Vilhelm Pedersen.

“How large the world is,” said the young ducks, when they found how much more room they now had than while they were inside the egg-shell. “Do you imagine this is the whole world?” asked the mother; “Wait till you have seen the garden; it stretches far beyond that to the parson’s field, but I have never ventured to such a distance. Are you all out?” she continued, rising; “No, I declare, the largest egg lies there still. I wonder how long this is to last, I am quite tired of it;” and she seated herself again on the nest. 

“Well, how are you getting on?” asked an old duck, who paid her a visit.
“One egg is not hatched yet,” said the duck, “it will not break. But just look at all the others, are they not the prettiest little ducklings you ever saw? They are the image of their father, who is so unkind, he never comes to see.”
“Let me see the egg that will not break,” said the duck; “I have no doubt it is a turkey’s egg. I was persuaded to hatch some once, and after all my care and trouble with the young ones, they were afraid of the water. I quacked and clucked, but all to no purpose. I could not get them to venture in. Let me look at the egg. Yes, that is a turkey’s egg; take my advice, leave it where it is and teach the other children to swim.” 

“I think I will sit on it a little while longer,” said the duck; “as I have sat so long already, a few days will be nothing.” 

“Please yourself,” said the old duck, and she went away. 

At last the large egg broke, and a young one crept forth crying, “Peep, peep.” It was very large and ugly. The duck stared at it and exclaimed, “It is very large and not at all like the others. I wonder if it really is a turkey. We shall soon find it out, however when we go to the water. It must go in, if I have to push it myself.” 

On the next day the weather was delightful, and the sun shone brightly on the green burdock leaves, so the mother duck took her young brood down to the water, and jumped in with a splash. “Quack, quack,” cried she, and one after another the little ducklings jumped in. The water closed over their heads, but they came up again in an instant, and swam about quite prettily with their legs paddling under them as easily as possible, and the ugly duckling was also in the water swimming with them. 

“Oh,” said the mother, “that is not a turkey; how well he uses his legs, and how upright he holds himself! He is my own child, and he is not so very ugly after all if you look at him properly. Quack, quack! come with me now, I will take you into grand society, and introduce you to the farmyard, but you must keep close to me or you may be trodden upon; and, above all, beware of the cat.” 

When they reached the farmyard, there was a great disturbance, two families were fighting for an eel’s head, which, after all, was carried off by the cat. “See, children, that is the way of the world,” said the mother duck, whetting her beak, for she would have liked the eel’s head herself. “Come, now, use your legs, and let me see how well you can behave. You must bow your heads prettily to that old duck yonder; she is the highest born of them all, and has Spanish blood, therefore, she is well off. Don’t you see she has a red flag tied to her leg, which is something very grand, and a great honor for a duck; it shows that every one is anxious not to lose her, as she can be recognized both by man and beast. Come, now, don’t turn your toes, a well-bred duckling spreads his feet wide apart, just like his father and mother, in this way; now bend your neck, and say ‘quack.’”
The ducklings did as they were bid, but the other duck stared, and said, “Look, here comes another brood, as if there were not enough of us already! and what a queer looking object one of them is; we don’t want him here,” and then one flew out and bit him in the neck. 

“Let him alone,” said the mother; “he is not doing any harm.” 

“Yes, but he is so big and ugly,” said the spiteful duck “and therefore he must be turned out.” 

“The others are very pretty children,” said the old duck, with the rag on her leg, “all but that one; I wish his mother could improve him a little.” 

“That is impossible, your grace,” replied the mother; “he is not pretty; but he has a very good disposition, and swims as well or even better than the others. I think he will grow up pretty, and perhaps be smaller; he has remained too long in the egg, and therefore his figure is not properly formed;” and then she stroked his neck and smoothed the feathers, saying, “It is a drake, and therefore not of so much consequence. I think he will grow up strong, and able to take care of himself.” 

“The other ducklings are graceful enough,” said the old duck. “Now make yourself at home, and if you can find an eel’s head, you can bring it to me.” And so they made themselves comfortable; but the poor duckling, who had crept out of his shell last of all, and looked so ugly, was bitten and pushed and made fun of, not only by the ducks, but by all the poultry. “He is too big,” they all said, and the turkey cock, who had been born into the world with spurs, and fancied himself really an emperor, puffed himself out like a vessel in full sail, and flew at the duckling, and became quite red in the head with passion, so that the poor little thing did not know where to go, and was quite miserable because he was so ugly and laughed at by the whole farmyard. So it went on from day to day till it got worse and worse. The poor duckling was driven about by every one; even his brothers and sisters were unkind to him, and would say, “Ah, you ugly creature, I wish the cat would get you,” and his mother said she wished he had never been born. The ducks pecked him, the chickens beat him, and the girl who fed the poultry kicked him with her feet. So at last he ran away, frightening the little birds in the hedge as he flew over the palings. 

“They are afraid of me because I am ugly,” he said. So he closed his eyes, and flew still farther, until he came out on a large moor, inhabited by wild ducks. Here he remained the whole night, feeling very tired and sorrowful.
In the morning, when the wild ducks rose in the air, they stared at their new comrade. “What sort of a duck are you?” they all said, coming round him.
He bowed to them, and was as polite as he could be, but he did not reply to their question. “You are exceedingly ugly,” said the wild ducks, “but that will not matter if you do not want to marry one of our family.” 

Poor thing! he had no thoughts of marriage; all he wanted was permission to lie among the rushes, and drink some of the water on the moor. After he had been on the moor two days, there came two wild geese, or rather goslings, for they had not been out of the egg long, and were very saucy. “Listen, friend,” said one of them to the duckling, “you are so ugly, that we like you very well. Will you go with us, and become a bird of passage? Not far from here is another moor, in which there are some pretty wild geese, all unmarried. It is a chance for you to get a wife; you may be lucky, ugly as you are.” 

“Pop, pop,” sounded in the air, and the two wild geese fell dead among the rushes, and the water was tinged with blood. “Pop, pop,” echoed far and wide in the distance, and whole flocks of wild geese rose up from the rushes. The sound continued from every direction, for the sportsmen surrounded the moor, and some were even seated on branches of trees, overlooking the rushes. The blue smoke from the guns rose like clouds over the dark trees, and as it floated away across the water, a number of sporting dogs bounded in among the rushes, which bent beneath them wherever they went. 

How they terrified the poor duckling! He turned away his head to hide it under his wing, and at the same moment a large terrible dog passed quite near him. His jaws were open, his tongue hung from his mouth, and his eyes glared fearfully. He thrust his nose close to the duckling, showing his sharp teeth, and then, “splash, splash,” he went into the water without touching him, “Oh,” sighed the duckling, “how thankful I am for being so ugly; even a dog will not bite me.” And so he lay quite still, while the shot rattled through the rushes, and gun after gun was fired over him. 

It was late in the day before all became quiet, but even then the poor young thing did not dare to move. He waited quietly for several hours, and then, after looking carefully around him, hastened away from the moor as fast as he could. He ran over field and meadow till a storm arose, and he could hardly struggle against it. Towards evening, he reached a poor little cottage that seemed ready to fall, and only remained standing because it could not decide on which side to fall first. The storm continued so violent, that the duckling could go no farther; he sat down by the cottage, and then he noticed that the door was not quite closed in consequence of one of the hinges having given way. There was therefore a narrow opening near the bottom large enough for him to slip through, which he did very quietly, and got a shelter for the night. A woman, a tom cat, and a hen lived in this cottage. The tom cat, whom the mistress called, “My little son,” was a great favorite; he could raise his back, and purr, and could even throw out sparks from his fur if it were stroked the wrong way. The hen had very short legs, so she was called “Chickie short legs.” She laid good eggs, and her mistress loved her as if she had been her own child. In the morning, the strange visitor was discovered, and the tom cat began to purr, and the hen to cluck. 

“What is that noise about?” said the old woman, looking round the room, but her sight was not very good; therefore, when she saw the duckling she thought it must be a fat duck, that had strayed from home. “Oh what a prize!” she exclaimed, “I hope it is not a drake, for then I shall have some duck’s eggs. I must wait and see.” 

A woman, a tom cat, and a hen lived in this cottage.
Illustration by Vilhelm Pedersen.

So the duckling was allowed to remain on trial for three weeks, but there were no eggs. Now the tom cat was the master of the house, and the hen was mistress, and they always said, “We and the world,” for they believed themselves to be half the world, and the better half too. The duckling thought that others might hold a different opinion on the subject, but the hen would not listen to such doubts. 

“Can you lay eggs?” she asked. “No.” “Then have the goodness to hold your tongue.” “Can you raise your back, or purr, or throw out sparks?” said the tom cat. “No.” “Then you have no right to express an opinion when sensible people are speaking.” So the duckling sat in a corner, feeling very low spirited, till the sunshine and the fresh air came into the room through the open door, and then he began to feel such a great longing for a swim on the water, that he could not help telling the hen. 

“What an absurd idea,” said the hen. “You have nothing else to do, therefore you have foolish fancies. If you could purr or lay eggs, they would pass away.”
“But it is so delightful to swim about on the water,” said the duckling, “and so refreshing to feel it close over your head, while you dive down to the bottom.”
“Delightful, indeed!” said the hen, “why you must be crazy! Ask the cat, he is the cleverest animal I know, ask him how he would like to swim about on the water, or to dive under it, for I will not speak of my own opinion; ask our mistress, the old woman—there is no one in the world more clever than she is. Do you think she would like to swim, or to let the water close over her head?”
“You don’t understand me,” said the duckling. 

“We don’t understand you? Who can understand you, I wonder? Do you consider yourself more clever than the cat, or the old woman? I will say nothing of myself. Don’t imagine such nonsense, child, and thank your good fortune that you have been received here. Are you not in a warm room, and in society from which you may learn something. But you are a chatterer, and your company is not very agreeable. Believe me, I speak only for your own good. I may tell you unpleasant truths, but that is a proof of my friendship. I advise you, therefore, to lay eggs, and learn to purr as quickly as possible.” 

“I believe I must go out into the world again,” said the duckling.
“Yes, do,” said the hen. 

So the duckling left the cottage, and soon found water on which it could swim and dive, but was avoided by all other animals, because of its ugly appearance. Autumn came, and the leaves in the forest turned to orange and gold. then, as winter approached, the wind caught them as they fell and whirled them in the cold air. The clouds, heavy with hail and snow-flakes, hung low in the sky, and the raven stood on the ferns crying, “Croak, croak.” It made one shiver with cold to look at him. 

All this was very sad for the poor little duckling. One evening, just as the sun set amid radiant clouds, there came a large flock of beautiful birds out of the bushes. The duckling had never seen any like them before. They were swans, and they curved their graceful necks, while their soft plumage shown with dazzling whiteness. They uttered a singular cry, as they spread their glorious wings and flew away from those cold regions to warmer countries across the sea. As they mounted higher and higher in the air, the ugly little duckling felt quite a strange sensation as he watched them. He whirled himself in the water like a wheel, stretched out his neck towards them, and uttered a cry so strange that it frightened himself. Could he ever forget those beautiful, happy birds; and when at last they were out of his sight, he dived under the water, and rose again almost beside himself with excitement. He knew not the names of these birds, nor where they had flown, but he felt towards them as he had never felt for any other bird in the world. He was not envious of these beautiful creatures, but wished to be as lovely as they. Poor ugly creature, how gladly he would have lived even with the ducks had they only given him encouragement. 

The winter grew colder and colder; he was obliged to swim about on the water to keep it from freezing, but every night the space on which he swam became smaller and smaller. At length it froze so hard that the ice in the water crackled as he moved, and the duckling had to paddle with his legs as well as he could, to keep the space from closing up. He became exhausted at last, and lay still and helpless, frozen fast in the ice. 

Early in the morning, a peasant, who was passing by, saw what had happened. He broke the ice in pieces with his wooden shoe, and carried the duckling home to his wife. The warmth revived the poor little creature; but when the children wanted to play with him, the duckling thought they would do him some harm; so he started up in terror, fluttered into the milk-pan, and splashed the milk about the room. Then the woman clapped her hands, which frightened him still more. He flew first into the butter-cask, then into the meal-tub, and out again. What a condition he was in! The woman screamed, and struck at him with the tongs; the children laughed and screamed, and tumbled over each other, in their efforts to catch him; but luckily he escaped. The door stood open; the poor creature could just manage to slip out among the bushes, and lie down quite exhausted in the newly fallen snow. 

It would be very sad, were I to relate all the misery and privations which the poor little duckling endured during the hard winter; but when it had passed, he found himself lying one morning in a moor, amongst the rushes. He felt the warm sun shining, and heard the lark singing, and saw that all around was beautiful spring. Then the young bird felt that his wings were strong, as he flapped them against his sides, and rose high into the air. They bore him onwards, until he found himself in a large garden, before he well knew how it had happened. The apple-trees were in full blossom, and the fragrant elders bent their long green branches down to the stream which wound round a smooth lawn. Everything looked beautiful, in the freshness of early spring. From a thicket close by came three beautiful white swans, rustling their feathers, and swimming lightly over the smooth water. The duckling remembered the lovely birds, and felt more strangely unhappy than ever. 

“I will fly to those royal birds,” he exclaimed, “and they will kill me, because I am so ugly, and dare to approach them; but it does not matter: better be killed by them than pecked by the ducks, beaten by the hens, pushed about by the maiden who feeds the poultry, or starved with hunger in the winter.”
Then he flew to the water, and swam towards the beautiful swans. The moment they espied the stranger, they rushed to meet him with outstretched wings.
“Kill me,” said the poor bird; and he bent his head down to the surface of the water, and awaited death. 

But what did he see in the clear stream below? His own image; no longer a dark, gray bird, ugly and disagreeable to look at, but a graceful and beautiful swan. To be born in a duck’s nest, in a farmyard, is of no consequence to a bird, if it is hatched from a swan’s egg. He now felt glad at having suffered sorrow and trouble, because it enabled him to enjoy so much better all the pleasure and happiness around him; for the great swans swam round the new-comer, and stroked his neck with their beaks, as a welcome. 

Into the garden presently came some little children, and threw bread and cake into the water. 

“See,” cried the youngest, “there is a new one;” and the rest were delighted, and ran to their father and mother, dancing and clapping their hands, and shouting joyously, “There is another swan come; a new one has arrived.”
Then they threw more bread and cake into the water, and said, “The new one is the most beautiful of all; he is so young and pretty.” And the old swans bowed their heads before him. 

The new one is the most beautiful of all; he is so young and pretty. 
Illustration by Vilhelm Pedersen.

Then he felt quite ashamed, and hid his head under his wing; for he did not know what to do, he was so happy, and yet not at all proud. He had been persecuted and despised for his ugliness, and now he heard them say he was the most beautiful of all the birds. Even the elder-tree bent down its bows into the water before him, and the sun shone warm and bright. Then he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, “I never dreamed of such happiness as this, while I was an ugly duckling.” 

Note:

• The Ugly Duckling, translation by H. P. Paull (1872)

"They traveled through the air on broomsticks" - traditions of paschal witches' sabbaths

Easter's protective magic was especially aimed at sorcerers who were particularly active on Maundy Thursday and Easter Eve, when Jesus Christ had not yet resurrected. Central to the belief in witches were the Sabbaths, as they “traveled through the air on broomsticks, ladles and goats to specific places of gathering – be it at the Blocksberg (Brocken) in Germany, Blockula in Sweden, Lyderhorn in Norway, where the Devil held his Earthly court.

Blockula, (assumed to be a Swedish equalent to the German Blocksberg), was according to Swedish popular belief Satans domicile, where the witches were believed to be going on Maundy Thursday to feast with Lucifer, from which they returned Easter Sunday morning. The journey would be conducted on a broomstick, a green-branch, sometimes also on a farm animal, a horse or a human being. The rider often sat backwards, and the means of transport was lubricated with a kind of magic butter, which the sorceress kept in a horn. 

The witch's equipment often also included a needle, which, when stuck into a wall, for the moment created such an opening large enough to, "go through by horse and carriage." Thus it became easy for the witches to abduct children – a misdeed, which they often conducted to acquire new disciples. The witches gathered in church towers, where they scraped flakes of metal of the church bells. As they continued the ride, they threw the ore shavings into the air, shouting, "May my soul never come to the kingdom of God, until this metal makes it back to the bells!"

When arriving at Blockula they greeted Satan, whom the witches referred to as "gofar" (“good-father”) or "antifar" (“anti-father”), and presented to him the children. He signed a contract with the young ones by handshake, after which he bit them in the forehead or scratched them in the little finger, shedding the children’s blood. At last they were inscribed in a large book. After a great feast, there was music and dance, in which Satan joined in, "amused by the works of darkness." People seem to have witnessed a religious act during the travels to Blockula, whose compliance presupposed the renunciation of Christianity. 

This French engraving shows a witch's sabbath at Bloksberg. By Mikael Herr (1650)

Obviously, the fear of such a wicked act to take place was most present. Consequently, people took as much precaution as they could muster. Pieces of steel inserted over doors, beds, and barns were safety advice that kept the witches at bay. So did crosses, open fire and brooms (!). Indeed, you read correctly. Norwegian sociologist Eilert Sundt (1817-1875) has pointed out that it was common to lay a broomstick outside the front door so that people could dry their shoes on it before entering the house. "True, spruce bushes could also be used; but according to the customs, it should preferably be a broom; for over such a device, neither sorcerers nor other hostilities could cross", Sundt wrote. Such women could be recognized by throwing the broom aside with their feet before entering!

If the sorceress couldn't find a broom to ride, she took a horse, cow or goat instead, which was much worse. This was the reason why, Sundt believed, so many people put a number of broomsticks outside the kitchen or barn door on Christmas Eve and Maundy Thursday. If there was a broom outside, the witches would not make use of other entities.

Sources:

• ”Blåkulla”, in Nordisk Familjebok. Konversationslexikon och realencyklopedi. Tredje bandet. Bergsvalan – Branstad. Stockholm 1905
• Ørnulf Hodne (1999). Norsk folketro. Cappelen forlag.

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. 

Staffan the Stable Boy

It's Christmas night. The dark winter sky is hovering above a snow-covered landscape. Nature is lifeless and quiet; only the stars seem to breathe. It is Christmas peace, and a bright star is reminiscent of the one who shone above the manger of Christ. On this holy night, one would think that humans too would find peace. Suddenly however, the sound of feet drifts across the courtyard. A torch moves across to the stables, and after a while riders in wild gallop is seen leaving the farms, following the road to the nearest neighbor. Shouting and and screaming interrupt the silence of the night.

Such nightly rides bore some resemblance to the dreaded åsgårdsreien (Eng. the wild hunt)- only worse. With their shrieks and bawls, the riders made as much havoc as they could, knocking down the doors, banging on the timber walls. At each door they got a sip of the mighty Christmas beer, and as the night unfolded, the more intense the riding became. Not seldom did a rider fall off his horse, making the animal run home unaccompanied. 

Yet these rides were not solidly an excuse to kicking down the neighbour's door for a taste of the Christmas beer. There were also had a earnest idea involved; for it was said that one should go out to the crack of dawn with the horses and let them drink of the wells. There were some springs in particular which had a reputation for their clean water, and it was important to be there first; it was "holy water," and whoever drank first, drank wine; the horses would thrive of such water. As a result, there was a violent race race to come first, people rode like crazy. Coming in second was simply not an option, stories tell even of lives being lost. This nocturnal race called for the "'Staffan's race," and songs about him have been sung in Scandinavia since the Middle Ages. Staffan was a stableboy, watering his horses… These lines of text are among our oldest musical treasures. But who was he really - this Steffan?

The biblical Staffan - Stephen – we already encounter in the Acts of the Apostles; shortly after Jesus' death, the number of disciples is increasing continuously. The original twelve apostles need help in the practical work of a fast-growing congregation and appoint seven men to help. One of them is Stephen - the stable boy of King Herrod. Stephen does not content himself with serving food without preaching; Stephen start doing wonders on his own which, eventually, resulting in him being being stoned to death by an angry crowd, as the first Christian martyr. Consequently, Stephen quickly became a revered saint and the deacons appointed Stefanus as their patron saint. His increasing popularity led to the legends surrounding his life story, legends that were both colorful and imaginative – and completely devoid of reality.

The rooster miracle depicted on an altar front from the 1100s. Originating from Broddetorp's church in Västergötland, the altar piece is exhibited at the Historical Museum in Stockholm.

One of the legends tells about how Stephen on the night of Christmas Eve sees the Star of Bethlehem. He understands that it is a sign that the King of Judah, the Savior, has been born. Stephen tells of his discovery of Herod. The king refuses to believe his words, unless the fried rooster lying on his breakfast table rises, flaps his wings and crows. Of course, this is exactly what happens. The king is horrified at how powerful this newborn king must be who can already do such wonders. He decides to kill the child who threatens his kingdom. Stefanus himself is captured and stoned to death outside the city walls. “The rooster miracle”, as the event was called, became the prelude to the Massacre of the Innocents; by Herod’s orders, all boys two years of age and younger in Bethlehem and its vicinity, should be killed. In the Middle Ages there was a widely held belief that the child murders in Bethlehem were the first and perhaps most cruel of the martyrs.

In medieval Scandinavia, the legend of Stefanus, or Staffan as he is called here, takes on a quite different approach in which the horses play an important role. It's Christmas night and Staffan has ridden out to a well to water Herod's horses. But a horse refuses to drink from the water. It has seen the reflection of the star in the water and rears frightened into the night sky. 

Staffan stable boy and the star depicted on the ceiling of Dädesjö church in Småland.

Images of Staffan with his horses or in conjunction with the rooster miracle became popular in the early medieval Scandinavian art. The motif is often found on baptismal fonts as part of the story of Jesus' birth. The fact that it became so popular may have to do with the long and protracted Christianization process that characterized especially the ancient Sweden. Around the year 1100, the majority of the Swedish population was still pagan. It took nearly 300 years for Christianity to gain a foothold. The long missionary period caused Bible stories to emerge at the same time as a later developed cult of saints. The legend of Stephen and Herod must have been quite remodeled when it came to the Nordic countries, for then to be transformed by local traditions. In the Old Norse cult, the horse was put in the center and Christmas was a time when you should take special care of your horses. Making pagan customs Christian became a way for the new religion to establish itself. The legend of Stefan and Herod is a typical example of this initiation.

With Gustaf Vasa and the Reformation, the Catholic saint traditions connected to Stephen was abolished. Staffan the stable boy however, did not lose his popularity. During the 18th century, it was common to go horseback racing, in relation with the Staffan cult, and long into the 20th century he remained a part of the Christmas plays and carols, performed on his memorial day, the 26th of December.

Nowadays, the songs about Steffan stable boy has been as become a cherished part of the Lucia-celebration, as a companion of the female saint. "Staffansvisan", "Sankt Staffan" or "Staffan was a stable boy" is a well known and traditionally bound Swedish Lucia song, which is usually performed by the star boys in a so called Lucia proseccion.

Sources:

• Charlotte Hedenstierna-Jonson. 'Staffan var en stalledräng.' URL: https://historiska.se/upptack-historien/artikel/staffan-var-en-stalledrang/ 
• Kristofer Visted (2016). Jul i gamle dager. Norsk Folkeminnelag/ Scandinavian Academic Press/Spartacus. 

“Then rings in the mould, the ancient gold”: the Golden Horns of Gallehus

Upon the pages
Of the olden ages,
And in hills where are lying
The dead, they are prying;
On armour rusty,
In ruins musty,
On Rune-stones jumbled,
With bones long crumbled.

Much due to a renowned theft in 1802, resulting in the horns being re-melted and lost for prosperity, the Golden Horns of Gallehus became a Danish national symbol, as well as the subject of Adam Oehlenschlägger's poem by the same name. Based on previous drawings however, copies were later made for the National Museum. These copies were stolen from an exhibition in Jelling on September 17, 2007 and recovered. They are currently exhibited at the National Museum in Copenhagen.

Ole Worms drawing (1641) of the larger of the two golden horns of Gallehus, Denmark. The golden horns are from around the 4th century. The copies can be seen at Nationalmuseet in Denmark.

Krysings drawing of the smaller of the two golden horns of Gallehus, published as a fold-out in the 1734 treatise on the artefact by J. R. Paulli.

The horns were recovered individually in two laps. A young girl named Kirsten Svendsdatter found the long golden horn on July 20, 1639, and on April 21, 1734, the short horn was found by Erik Lassen. Both horns were found on a field near Gallehus in Schleswig in Southern Denmark (hence the epithet). Kirsten wrote a letter to the king and received a skirt (!) as a finder's fee. Erik delivered the short horn to the Count at Schackenborg. The Count handed the horn to the king, and through the Count, Lassen received 200 Richsdaler as a reward. The horns were thus granted to the crown and stored at the Royal Kunstkammer at Christiansborg. The long horn, Christian 4. gave to his son Prince Christian ("the chosen prince") who used it as a drinking horn.

Kirsten Svendsdatter Finds The Goldhorn (1859), 
painting by Danish artist Niels Simonsen

Originating from the Germanic Iron Age in the 400s, there is no certainty about the original use of the horns. However, the precious material and the nature of the decoration suggest that they were used in rituals at religious ceremonies. Wether used as drinking horns or as wind instruments is difficult to say, as there are no definite documentation to support this assumption.

The motifs of the Golden Horns show depictions of humans, animals and fantasy creatures in several divided panels. These images can be linked to myths from the Mediterranean as well as to the Nordic and perhaps Celtic myths and have been subjected to numerous interpretations.

The inscription of the short horn, Ek HlewagastR HoltingaR horna tawiðo, has been interpreted as "I, Lægæst, Holt's son, made the horn" or "I, Lægestst, son of the forest, made the horn", but this interpretation has been doubted, as some researchers claims that HlewagastR is not a proper name. According to the classical interpretation, Hlewa probably means "shelter". A later study furthermore suggests that this reading may be extended to "a place where there is shelter", ie. a camp where the people are staying. If read as a religious motive, 'forest' may be interpreted as 'the holy tree.' 

However, in Ancient Scandinavia, there is a consistant use of the word Ihwa for holy tree. It is therefore more likely that the runes refer to the actual meaning of the word forest which, during the Migration Period signified the place of a threatening darkness. Historian Dan Hemming, in his book "The Speech of the Golden Horns," suggests that Lægæst is actually Liutgast, whom in the middle of the 5th century was referred to as a Danish king, who allegedly was "rich in gold." Liutgast is described in the German epic poem Nibelungenlied, put into writing around 1200. The content however, may be traced all the way back to the migration period at the beginning of our era, and the descriptions match other sources from that time. The stories are also known from the Elder Edda. 

The two golden horns of Gallehus. Copies on display at the National Museum of Denmark

Although the inscriptions alone cannot determine whether the Golden Horns were produced for ceremonial purposes - or simply to be part of a feast - the Golden Horns of Gallehus remains to this day as significant symbols of Danish romantic nationalism. Even reknowed Danish author Hans Christian Andersen was inspired by the theft when writing the tale of the Princess on the Pea, about a young woman whose royal identity is established by a test of her sensitivity. She claims to be a princess, so the prince's mother decides to test the girl by placing a pea in the bed she is offered for the night, covered by huge mattresses and 20 feather beds. In the morning, the girl tells her hosts that she endured a sleepless night, kept awake by something hard in the bed that she is certain has bruised her. The ending goes:

"They could see she was a real Princess and no question about it, now that she had felt one pea all the way through twenty mattresses and twenty more feather beds. Nobody but a Princess could be so delicate. So the Prince made haste to marry her, because he knew he had found a real Princess.

- As for the pea, they put it in the museum. There it's still to be seen, unless somebody has taken it.

There, that's a true story."

Sources:

• Guldhornene. Danish article at Wikipedia. URL: https://da.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guldhornene
• The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Gold Horns, by Adam Gottlob Oehlenschlager, Edited by Edmund Gosse, Translated by George Borrow. URL: https://www.gutenberg.org/files/29124/29124-h/29124-h.htm
• Hans Christian Andersen, The Princess on the Pea, a translation by Jean Hersholt URL: https://andersen.sdu.dk/vaerk/hersholt/ThePrincessOnThePea_e.html