|B.C. 4. to A.C. 35.|
Of Skiold, the reputed founder of the monarchy, who was probably king of Zealand only, though he might have a nominal superiority over the rest, we have little even in the way of fable. To his great bodily strength and indomitable courage, which are communicated by Saxo, we have before alluded[66]; and in the same manner we have alluded to the deeds, real or fabulous, of his more immediate successors. Frode I., whom Saxo calls Frode III., was no less valiant than Skiold, since he conquered from Hungary to Iceland, and from Sweden to the south of Germany. The truth probably is, that he joined some one of the warlike confederations, then so common, against the power of Rome; and that the expedition into Germany, being undertaken rather for plunder than for glory, was successful. But this prince deserves greater praise, from the zeal with which he destroyed the numerous banditti, humbled the tyrannical nobles, protected the poor, and reformed the tribunals of his kingdom. Some of his edicts were severe. He who suffered a thief to escape should himself suffer the punishment of one. He who fled in battle should be accounted a public enemy. If one Dane robbed another, he was to return twofold, and at the same time suffer public chastisement. If a man gave refuge to a thief, with the stolen property about him, he was to be whipped in a public assembly of the people, and regarded as criminis particeps. If any one banished for his crimes fought against his native country, he forfeited both property and life. In some of his other regulations there was more humanity. To females he gave the power of marrying whomsoever they wished, provided they chose a mate in an equal condition of life; for the free woman who married or sinned with a slave, became a slave herself. If a man forced a woman, he was compelled to marry her. In other respects the laws which he promulgated, or rather confirmed, were nearly identical with those of the Germanic tribes, that, in a former publication, occupied so much of our attention.[67] If there be any truth in history, they were eminently successful; for it is recorded of Frode I., as of a few other sovereigns, that when articles of value were left on the highway, no man presumed to touch them. He was the great patron of valour: slaves were not, as in other Germanic tribes, forbidden the use of arms; nor were they deprived of the hope of liberty, since a single act of valour would elevate them in the social grade. The real actions, however, of this prince are so mingled with fable—fable at once grotesque and imaginative—that we know not what to believe respecting him. That he once lived; that he was a great warrior; that he was generally victorious; that his internal administration was vigorous; that he was an unrivalled pirate—his fleets committing depredations on all the coasts of the Baltic—cannot be disputed with much reason. His was the heroic age. The north swarmed with kings. On one occasion, alone, thirty were assembled in the Baltic. Did they recognise a superior authority? Probably they did; for Frode was frequently accompanied by these tributaries. The truth seems to be, that when any sovereign of Jutland, or Scania, or Sigtun, or any other place in Denmark, Sweden, or Norway, obtained much celebrity as a warrior, the local chiefs—who always assumed the regal title—were always ready to seek his protection, and to serve under his banner. Though this obedience was temporary, a preference was usually given to such of the more powerful kings as were of the divine race—the race of Odin; but amidst the vicissitudes inseparable from such a state of society, a fortunate adventurer often dispossessed the legitimate claimant; and on ascending a throne illustrated by glorious recollections, his own personal qualities gave him an immediate ascendancy over most of his royal neighbours.[68]
The reign of Frode should not be dismissed without adverting to the hero who shed the most lustre on it, the renowned Arngrim, and to his magic sword, Tyrfing, the destroyer of men. According to Saxo, he was a Swedish champion, who, having triumphed over another hero, had the boldness to demand from Frode the hand of Osura, daughter of that monarch. Finding the royal Dane too proud to listen to him, he was advised by Eric of Sweden to achieve something more splendid than he had yet attempted, and then to renew his suit. Without loss of time he led his small but valiant band of warriors against two petty kings—the one of Biarmia, the other of Finland—who had despised the Danish power. “The Finns,” says the historian, “are the last people towards the north, and their region is so barren as scarcely to be habitable. They are good marksmen: no people surpass them in throwing missiles. They fight with long and broad arrows, are skilful in magical incantations, and delight in hunting. Their abode is variable. They wander about and encamp wherever they can find wild beasts. Borne on sledges, they traverse with safety the snowy peaks of the mountains.” Of their skill in magic, Arngrim had immediate proof. He defeated them, indeed; but then they cast three stones behind them, which, though very small stones, seemed to their pursuers huge as mountains. The trick succeeded; for Arngrim, discouraged by the abrupt eminences and steep rocks before him, recalled his men. The next day, through the same power of song, a vast river seemed to interpose between the invaders and the natives, and the former again returned. The third day, however, the Swedes were not to be deluded; the Finns were defeated, and compelled to pay tribute. The king of Biarmia shared the same fate, and Arngrim, on his return, became the son-in-law of Frode. By the princess, Osura, he had, subsequently, twelve sons, all of whom became hardy pirates, the most honourable profession then known in the north. But their end was tragical. Landing one day in the isle of Samsoe, they destroyed the crews of two boats—all pirates like themselves. But their joy was short. By the two chiefs, who had penetrated into the interior, they were suddenly assailed, and destroyed to the last of the number, one of the victors, Hialmar, dying of the wounds which he had received.[69]
This relation by the Danish historian, which, with the exception of the magical incidents, is probably true, is too simple for the Scalds, who have reared on this basis a long and most ingenious narrative—one that may aspire to the dignity of an epic. We dwell upon it, however, not for the fancy that created it, but for the light which it throws upon the manners of the period. In ancient times there reigned a king called Swafurlam, whose grandfather had received the dominion from the awful hands of Odin himself. He was no less valiant than his ancestor. He had no sooner succeeded to the inheritance than he was called to revenge his father’s death on a famous giant, the terror of the north. He killed the monster, and took to wife Frida, the beautiful daughter of the slain. Such adventures are of perpetual occurrence in the histories of the north. The life of no chief was secure; at any moment he might be surprised and slain, or defied to mortal combat, by one his superior in strength or skill. In the event of his fall, his wife, his children, all he had, became the property of the victor. In general, the Norwegian maiden—if she had no prior attachment—passed without much reluctance into the arms of her father’s murderer. That father she could not by her tears recall to life; and she might be happy with one who had acted in conformity with the manners of the age, and who certainly might be able to protect her, in a state of society in which women stood most in need of protection. Frida was satisfied with her lot; so far, at least, as Swafurlam was concerned. She had, indeed, reason to lament that a daughter was the only issue of their union; that no Herculean boys were rising before her to protect both herself and her husband, when age should have bent his sinewy frame. That period