The Myths of “Nørre Vosborg” – black dogs, murderers and toilets

Nørre Vosborg

Last week I visited Nørre Vosborg, a herregård (“manor house”) from the 1300s in West Jutland. I was on a road trip and didn’t mean to go there, but my husband came across a book that accounted for the many myths of Nørre Vosborg, and we promptly decided to spend one of our nights there.

Nørre Vosborg is one of the few manor houses of old that dot the west coast of Denmark. Indeed, it’s one of the few things that dot the rural west coast at all; the flat and barren bleakness of that coast is akin to the English moors, only with sand dunes and the roaring of the violent sea.

Story has it that the Devil himself (who, as you may recall, is a recurring character when it comes to Danish castles and manor houses) once wandered Denmark, generously sowing manor houses. Unfortunately, his sack of seeds punctured somewhere around South Funen, dumping a giant load of manor houses in that region, so when finally he got up to West Jutland, he had precious few castles and manor houses left. Nørre Vosborg is one of them.

Let’s see what Nørre Vosborg has to offer…

Entrance to Nørre Vosborg
The Contractor’s Curse

The original manor house was a farm built on a meadow at the banks of Nissum fjord, although it was rebuilt farther inland in 1532 after a violent storm surge. Word has is that when Nørre Vosborg was originally built in the 1300s, the owner and knight, Niels Bugge, doubted the skill of his contractor. As the contractor rode away from the farm/manor house, believing a job well done, Niels Bugge sent a vassal after him, ordering the vassal to tell the contractor that the tower of the castle was leaning. If the contractor turned around to look at the tower, thus showcasing doubt in his own skill, he was to be beheaded immediately per the order of Niels Bugge – but the contractor did not turn around. Instead, he answered: “Ikke hælder tårnet, thi trofast har jeg bygget det, men sig din Herre, at engang skal der komme en mand fra vest indsvøbt i en blå kappe, og han får vel tårnet til at hælde”.  He claimed that a man cloaked in blue would come from the West and make the tower lean. In the end, it was not a man who came, but the blue sea itself. When a violent, westerly storm surge passed in 1532, it flooded the meadows near the fjord, necessitating that Nørre Vosborg be rebuilt farther inland.

Let that be a lesson to trust your contractor.

Niels Bugge, knight and original owner (photo credit here)
The Gardener’s Herbs

Continuing with the thread of Niels Bugge, he had spent too much money on the manor house itself, thus resulting in him going easy on the landscaping. When an urtegårdsmand (“herb gardener”) offered to do the landscaping for a sum of money, Niels Bugge turned him away. The gardener promised, however, that if he was hired, he would sow three types of special seeds. These seeds would never waste away, no matter the circumstances, but would prosper forever. Niels Bugge hired him on the spot, unable to justify declining such a prosperous offer. The three seeds were caraway, garlic and red cloves. To this day, they still prosper all over the Vosborg fields. When they die in one place, they quickly flourish in another.

The fields (and forest) attached to Nørre Vosborg
The Black Dog and the Altar Stone

In the 1500s, Skærum Church had an altar stone that was later moved to Nørre Vosborg (and then eventually lost somewhere on the grounds). The altar stone itself is not of much interest. Rather, it’s the ghostly guardian of the altar stone that turns heads: a black dog. The story goes that a Corporal from Svenskekrigene once visited the region. He was a most boastful man, so upon hearing of this guardian dog, he decided to have a look at the dog, bringing his daughter along. When he found the dog, he tried to kick it, but his foot went right through its body. The dog then grew in size, so large that it coiled its snake-like body around the Corporal, choking him. He prayed to God, but the dog did not stop. It was only when his daughter prayed that the dog let go of her father. She was rewarded with a new dress the following morning, appearing mysteriously in her bedchamber, and the Corporal himself went from a most boastful man to a God-fearing one. 

Current Skærum Kirke (photo credit here)
The Ghost of Knud Gyldenstjerne

In the immediate years after Knud Gyldenstjerne’s death (1528), nobody dared sleep in Nørre Vosborg for fear of his ghost as it roamed the halls of his old home. A house was built in a nearby field. The inhabitants of the house retreated to this house at the first hint of sunset, leaving Knud free to haunt his home on his own during nighttime. Eventually, two priests and a priest-in-learning were called in to help. The three men set up station in the Knight’s Hall. The two priest lit candles on the table, but the priest-in-learning lit a candle above the door. He also cut three wooden pegs that he squeezed into a crack in the dining table. When the first peg shot loose, he claimed Gyldenstjerne had risen from his grave. When the second peg shot loose, he claimed Gyldenstjerne had reached the bridge over the moat. When the third peg shot loose, the door opened to the Knight’s Hall, revealing Knud’s ghost. The gust of wind that followed his entrance snuffed out the two priests’ candles on the dining table – but not the priest-in-learning’s candle, the one above the door. When Knud could not extinguish its flame, the priest-in-learning could easily abolish him to the swamp.

Such was the power of a correctly placed candle.

The buildings attached to Nørre Vosborg – former stables now functioning as a gourmet restaurant and a conference/party/wedding/etc. venue

The Murderer Henrik Johan de Leth & his Blasphemous Wife

(TW: mild animal abuse)

Henrik Johan de Leth was, as the myths go, the cruelest owner Nørre Vosborg had. Supposedly, he was both a murderer and enjoyed animal cruelty. One of his victims was a young vassal from Kyttrup. After discovering that the silver spoons of the manor house had gone missing, Leth blamed the young vassal. When the spoons were found in the pigsty, Leth still blamed the vassal. He forced him to run in circles, bound to one spot with a rope, while Leth whipped him as punishment. The young vassal died later that same night. When the nearby Ulfborg Church underwent renovations centuries later, the unidentified body of a young boy was found in the Gyldenstjerne chapel (the predecessors to Leth). At the time, it was widely agreed that this boy was the vassal Leth had whipped to death. Supposedly, Leth also killed a gardener of the estate and enjoyed mistreating animals. He would capture dogs, cut off their ears and paws, and have them bleed to death. The ghosts of these dogs can be heard howling at nighttime. When Leth himself died, he did so by falling off a horse that dragged him along the ground (good riddance). He now haunts the manor house alongside his predecessor, Knud Gyldenstjerne. Leth’s wife also haunts the house, although she is an affable ghost. Perhaps because her greatest living crime was to turn the family’s private chapel into a chicken coop?

Current Ulfborg Church (photo credit here)
Frederik VII and the Nørre Vosborg toilet

When Nørre Vosborg was visited by Frederik VII (mid-1800s), the owner was the Tang family. Rumor has it that both the king and Mr. Tang had to visit the restroom at the same time, so they went together. This, of course, meant they ended up doing their private business together. In the middle of the deed, the king realized he could not do his private business alongside a man of no rank. He promptly, while sitting on the toilet, appointed Tang etstatsråd, a Danish/Norwegian honorary title of 3rd rank that allowed daughters access to nunneries and remained valid until 1909.

The toilet seen from the outside
H. C. Andersen’s Summer Vacation
H. C. Andersen’s Parasol

With all this myth shrouding the manor house it’s no wonder that H. C. Andersen decided to pay Nørre Vosborg a two-week visit during the summer of 1859, documented by his many diary entries. During his visit, he wrote poems, engaged in ornate paper cutting, and fantasied about the ghosts that haunted the place. He slept in the private chapel of the house, which had been refurbished for this purpose. Using a wordplay in Danish, he claimed in his diary that ”en hvid Dame viser sig på dette Sted, men hun har ikke besøgt mig; hun ved vel, at jeg lider spøg, men ikke Spøgeri.” (“a white lady rests here, but she has not visited me: she must know I like fun, but not hauntings”).

A parasol that H. C. Andersen used to shield himself from the violent winds of the west coast still remains at Nørre Vosborg, as does some of his paper cuttings.

(H. C. Andersen’s paper cuttings, photo credit: Lars Bjørnsten)


Sources:
Myself & Husband
“Sagnenes Danmark”, by Gorm Benzon
https://nrvosborg.dk/besoeg-os/historie-h-c-andersen/
https://www.hcandersen-homepage.dk/?page_id=9350
https://www.toppenafdanmark.dk/toppen-af-danmark/se-oplev/skaerum-kirke-gdk599888
https://viborgmuseum.dk/jubel-paa-viborg-museum-bevis-paa-at-niels-bugges-borg-er-fundet
http://ulfborgsogn.dk/kirkerne/ulfborg-kirke.html

WriterWoes #2 – What’s in a language?

As a Danish writer in my mid-twenties who, in my young age, was ambitious enough to pursue my love for writing in my foreign language, I have not as much come to regret this choice as I rejoice in the challenge of it. Not only does writing in my foreign language make publication and a career in writing infinitely harder by limiting my publication and networking efforts to the online community alone, but in doing so, it creates a schism between myself and the physical world that I live in. This is emphasized, you may say, by the fact that I live in Denmark with an American roommate, effectively marking the threshold of my home as ‘English’ and the world on the opposite side of that threshold as ‘Danish’.

I suppose that I am really discussing bilingualism here, rather than straight-up writing.

A giant whorl of constant linguistic activity whirs in the background of my every thought and my every action. I have two brains, I like to say, and sometimes the two brains overlap, blurring the lines between the two and confusing me to the point where I forget what language I’m speaking mid-sentence – this quite literally so.

It’s not a bad thing, not by far, but it can be a much confusing thing, indeed.

They say that your true language is the language in which you dream, but, by that line of logic, if you are unable to read in your dreams, how can you be aware of the language that you speak within that selfsame dream?

Does your language create you, or do you create your language?