uncle James III. King of Scotland, husband of the Princess Margaret of Denmark.* Our hotel was once a house of some importance, built in the last century by Brigadier-General Halling, an officer in the English East India service he called himself. As a boy he had run away to sea, made his fortune in the East, and returned to end his days with honour in his native land. It was later discovered he had been a daring pirate, the terror of our English homewardbound Indiamen, and that the "honourably gained fortune" was the plunder of the captured vessels; the viking spirit bursting out, only eight hundred years too late otherwise he might have been a smaa konge, and buried in a giant's chamber, his arms and ornaments around him. HOBRØ. 6th July. We have changed our plans, and, instead of floating down the Liimfiorde, adjourn first to Viborg, where papers and letters await us. * A large number of Scots, says the historian, came at that time to Copenhagen. They were highly esteemed as warsmen, equal to the Germans and the Swiss. This caused great jealousy; and one day, when the Scots were assembled at a drinking-house, the Germans gathered round the house and challenged the Scots to come out. The Scots, finding their adversaries too numerous, refused; so the Germans set fire to the house, and the Scots had to crawl up to the roof, whence they threw down stones; but as the fire advanced they were compelled to jump down, and were all killed. The Germans took possession of the town and ran through the streets slaying every Scot they met. When the king heard of this uproar he came out and endeavoured to restore order, but without effect, though he rode through the streets on horseback. When he arrived at the Amagertorv, a Scot threw himself under the king's horse, demanding protection; but the German had no respect for the king, and slew the Scot under his horse's feet; for which outrage he was however afterwards beheaded. It is not to the credit of the Vendsyssel country, but an old proverb declares "At Aalborg Sund ends law and right." Let us hope matters are mended since those days. We roll down a hill, and arrive at Hobrø, where we dine; and the fair fiorde, with the town and its church, lie clustered before us. Nothing can be more beautiful than the site, which the foolish town has not known how to take advantage of; built in one long street scampering up the hill on the Randers road. The church is of modern Gothic brickwork, striped horizontally in dark and pale red-the effect admirable. In the churchyard stands a Runic stone, the characters as fresh as though incised yesterday. After half an hour's drive we leave the Randers road, and turn across a moor, through a windy country, all drily historical, but no remains to make it interesting." BRATTINGSBORG. Later we arrive at Kleitrup Lake, where alone a few embankments tell the existence of Brattingsborg castle; to take which the seventy-seven knights of the ballad set out from Hald by way of Viborg. A cow, tormented by the flies, fords the moat, so they follow her example and scale the walls. It was when riding in the neighbourhood of Kleitrup that Prince Inge, son of King Niels, fell from his horse and was killed. His affrighted tutor fled, disguised as a woman, and was captured in a bog-people always got captured in the bogs in Jutland-and was buried alive, without bell, book, or candle, pegged flat on his back, a høi heaped up over his body. From here, too, eloped the Princess Ingeborg, wife of Prince Henrik Skatelar. She fled disguised in knight's attire, and was caught in the streets of Aalborg. Prince Henrik, suspecting unjustly his cousin Knud Lavard, aided in his murder. He pardoned the princess because she was deserted by her lover; but later caught somebody else, and buried him, like the tutor, under a høi. Well, history compels us to gaze on this little Sø, which has seen a great deal in its day, but of which no traces remain: it looks very calm and quiet, with the white village church, built down by its water side, glad to have done with all these exciting times, and be at rest. TIELE. How the wind did blow as we proceeded! umbrellas turned inside out; can hardly sit in the carriage. My geography, too, is at fault: a new road has been opened this summer, and we are all at sea till we stop at Tiele to look at the tomb of a ridiculous puppy of the last century, a certain Capitaine de Levetzau, who left orders in his will that his sarcophagus (which looks like a work of Wiedevelt), all curves and allegory, should be supported by six undraped female figures, "in humble expression of his gratitude to the fair sex for the favours he had received from them in his life-time." Orders were given for the execution of the monument, *The cousins had already come to loggerheads, at the marriage of Prince Magnus in Ribe, about dress. Prince Henrik appeared clad in a suit of sheepskin, while Knud Lavard dazzled the eyes of all beholders by the splendour of his scarlet raiment cut after the Saxon fashion. Henrik, boiling over with jealousy, sneeringly remarked, "Such new-fangled stuff ill befitted a warrior, and would afford little defence against the sword-cut;" to which Knud replied, "Scarlet cloth was quite as serviceable as sheepskin, when the wearer had the courage to defend himself." Prince Henrik never forgave that suit of scarlet. when the Lutheran clergyman vowed no such impropriety should enter the church, even if he appealed to the Sovereign (it was under Christian VI., of pious memory, and Queen Madalena). "But they shall be all scriptural subjects," reasons the artist, by no means anxious to relinquish so advantageous an order. The pastor was inexorable. The artist, at his wits' ends, proposed the ladies should have fishes' tails and become mermaids. This settled the matter-allegory was all the fashion of the 18th century-so there they are, with their fishy continuations looking somewhat crushed, supporting the black marble which contains the body of the captain. While admiring the sepulchral stone of Jørgen Skram, founder of the château, and his wife, a message was brought to us from the Kammerherrinde de Lüttichau, the dame châtelaine, begging us to rest ourselves in the house. On entering we find old acquaintances of Copenhagen, and pass a pleasant evening. Cows are diminishing, sheep increasing in numbers, as we approach the moorlands. Cows are called "cows" by the Jutland peasant, the sheep are the "English Southdown," and the horses used of "Yorkshire" breed. The château of Tiele is of great antiquity, and the only one we have yet met with not surrounded by a moat; very picturesque it appears among the splendid lime-trees, with its striped wings and ancient gateway. On quitting Tiele we pass through the village of Lovel. The frequent occurrence of England's holm, England's this, and England's that, at first puzzled me. The word Eng signifies meadow, and Eng-land is merely common parlance for meadow-land. In two hours and a half's time we were safely housed in the hotel at Viborg. CHAPTER XXXIX. -- Pagan city of Viborg-Erik the Lovely and the harper - The Danish Luther-First of the Longobardi - Sir Niels Bugge and the Castle of Hald - Murder of King Erik Glipping-Church of Anscarius Railway engineer - King Knud's invasion of England - Manor of Krabbesholm-Parson Mads the slanderer- Caps of Fuur Island Mors, birthplace of Hamlet - His story as told by Saxo. VIBORG. THE ancient city of Viborg held high her head in Pagan times, rival to Leira and Sigtuna, for here were solemnised the chief sacrifices to Odin; and here, in an open plain before the town, were elected the Danish sovereigns for the provinces of Jutland. Numerous and important were the events in history which here took place; far too dry and tiresome to enumerate: one alone I will mention. It was early in the 11th century that Erik the Lovely, driven to madness by the strains of a wandering harper, slew four of his ministers; and to atone for his crime made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Then up rose all the Jutlanders imploring him not to leave them, and offering one third of their goods to purchase his peace with heaven: they wept, they begged on their bended knees, but of no avail. He started and died on his way at Cyprus, before his pilgrimage was completed.* * Erik Eigod was one of the natural sons of Svend Estridsen. From the time of Canute the Great till Valdemar I. no difference |