SAGA-BOOK VOL. XXXV VIKING SOCIETY FOR NORTHERN RESEARCH UNIVERSITY COLLEGE LONDON 2011 VIKING SOCIETY FOR NORTHERN RESEARCH OFFICERS 2010–2011 President Judith Jesch, B.A., Ph.D., University of Nottingham. Hon. Secretaries Alison Finlay, B.A., B.Phil., D.Phil, Birkbeck, University of London. Matthew Townend, M.A., D.Phil., University of York. Hon. Treasurer David Reid, B.A., University College London. Hon. Assistant Secretary Christopher Abram, M.A., Ph.D., University College London. Saga-Book Editors Alison FinlAy, B.A., B.Phil., D.Phil., Birkbeck, University of London. Christina Lee, M.A., Ph.D., University of Nottingham. John McKinnell, M.A., Durham University. Carl Phelpstead, B.A., M.Phil., D.Phil., Cardiff University. Elizabeth Ashman Rowe, B.A., Ph.D., University of Cambridge. ISSN: 0305-9219 Printed by Short Run Press Limited, Exeter CONTENTS The PATh To Blood: A ConsiderATion oF Two symBols in Gísla saGa súrssonar. Harley Sims................................................. 5 TrouBle wiTh The neighBours: The ProBlem oF ÁnABrekkA in skAllA-grímr’s lAnd ClAim. David Stevens ............................. 25 ok dulða ek þann inn alsvinna j†tun: some linguisTiC And meTriCAl AsPeCTs oF Óðinn’s win over vAFþrúðnir. Ilya V. Sverdlov ... 39 REVIEWS AlexAnders sAgA. Am 519a 4to in The ArnAmAgnæAn ColleCTion, CoPenhAgen. Edited by Andrea de Leeuw van Weenen. (David Ashurst) .................................................................................... 73 skAldiC PoeTry oF The sCAndinAviAn middle Ages. volume vii: PoeTry on ChrisTiAn suBjeCTs. 1: The TwelFTh And ThirTeenTh CenTuries. 2: The FourTeenTh CenTury. Edited by Margaret Clunies Ross. (Ásdís Egilsdóttir) ..................................................................... 75 myThs oF The PAgAn norTh. The gods oF The norsemen. By Christopher Abram. (Michael Bintley) .................................... 78 vår eldsTe Bok. skriFT, miljø og BileTBruk i den norske homilie- BokA. Edited by Odd Einar Haugen and Åslaug Ommundsen. (Christopher Abram) ................................................................ 80 english sAinTs in The medievAl liTurgies oF sCAndinAviAn ChurChes. Edited by John Toy. (Åslaug Ommundsen) ............................. 83 í gArði sæmundAr FrÓðA. FyrirlesTrAr FrÁ rÁðsTeFnu í þjÓð- minjAsAFni 20. mAí 2006. Edited by Gunnar Harðarson and Sverrir Tómasson. (Alison Finlay) ........................................... 86 TrAnsmissionsgesChiChTen: unTersuChungen zur dänisChen und sChwedisChen erzählProsA in der Frühen neuzeiT. By Anna Katharina Richter. (Chiara Benati) .............................................. 88 The lAsT vikings. The ePiC sTory oF The greAT norse voyAgers. By Kirsten Seaver. (Derek Mathers) .......................................... 91 The viking Age. irelAnd And The wesT. ProCeedings oF The FiFTeenTh viking Congress. Edited by John Sheehan and Donnchadh Ó Corráin. (Denis Casey) ........................................................... 94 The viking Age. A reAder. Edited by Angus A. Somerville and R. Andrew McDonald. (Kendra Willson) .................................... 96 The vikings And viCToriAn lAkelAnd. The norse medievAlism oF w. g. Collingwood And his ConTemPorAries. By Matthew Townend. (Joanne Parker) ........................................................................ 99 The Path to Blood: Two Symbols in Gísla saga 5 THE PATH TO BLOOD: A CONSIDERATION OF TWO SYMBOLS IN GÍSLA SAGA SÚRSSONAR By HARLEY SIMS Independent Scholar AMONG THE MORE MEMORABLE LAST STANDS to be found in the Íslendingasögur is certainly that of Gísli in Gísla saga Súrssonar. Outnumbered fifteen to one, surrounded atop a crag and disembowelled by a spear-thrust, he uses a rope to cinch his entrails back into his shirt. During the reprieve that follows, he composes his final verse, requesting that a ‘fair-faced Fulla of the rain of the spear-socket’s hall [i.e. ‘goddess of gold’]’ hear of his bravery (Gísla saga, 114). She is one of the two women he has seen in his dreams, supernatural figures who—appearing in turn amid tokens of carnage and sorrow—have prophesied this bloody end for the last seven years of Gísli’s life. It is upon commemorating their prediction that Gísli leaps from the bluff with his sword, splitting one last foe from crown to mid-section, and collapsing dead on top of him. ‘There ended the life of Gísli,’ the narrator reports, ‘a man said by all to have been most valiant, though he may not have been altogether lucky’ (Lýkr þar nú ævi Gísla, ok er þat alsagt, at hann hefir inn mesti hreystimaðr verit, þó at hann væri eigi í †llum hlutum gæfumaðr (Gísla saga, 115)). There is litotes in this assessment, but it is subtle and pathetic, devoid of the gallows humour that so often governs the understatements of heroic dialogue. This is because, while spectacular, moving and certainly graphic, Gísli’s killing cannot at all be called unexpected. From the beginning, his dreams and premonitions—combined with narrative predictions and the generic expectations created by his outlawry—promise no happy ending. Like many saga heroes with comparable death scenes, he is a doomed man for much of his story, and his demise brings the audience of Gísla saga the satisfaction and clarification of a completed design. As is frequently the case with the Íslendingasögur, the literary forces responsible for creating and maintaining this anticipation are many and ambiguous. Analyses have suggested that Gísli’s downfall is ensured and foretokened in many ways, none of which seems to predominate. Focuses on the saga’s natural, supernatural and generic elements have offered varying conclusions, finding that social obligations, magic and tragic con- vention all seem to play a role in Gísli’s ruin (see respectively Andersson 6 Saga-Book 1968, Ármann Jakobsson 2008, Hermann Pálsson 1973). Despite these treatments and the consensus among their authors that Gísli’s downfall affords one of the richest veins for interpretation of the saga, the role of symbols has been explored only indirectly. Due attention has been given to the dream women and their correspondence to the saga’s female per- sonages (see Grønstøl 1979 and Olsen 1996), as well as to Gísli’s ‘broken token’, the two-part coin he splits with his sworn brother Vésteinn (see Clover 1977). Little, however, has been done to unify their symbolism in terms of a single agency, nor has anything been made of the salient details of Gísli’s last trek to his hideout. When Eyjólfr Þórðarson and his retinue finally locate Gísli and kill him, they follow a trail composed of two things: the fallen shavings (spænirnir) from Gísli’s rune-carving, and a path in the dew (d†ggslóð) left by the trailing of his wife and foster- daughter’s gowns. Each of these two components symbolises a crucial element of Gísli’s downfall, not simply amounting to his discovery and death, but also revealing the pervasive and fatal involvement of their agents in Gísli’s doomed life. In presenting evidence, this paper speaks of appearances rather than cer- tainties, asserting only as much proof as the topic can afford. Mentions of symbolism are not rare among commentaries on the Old Norse–Icelandic sagas, but less attention has been paid to the function of symbols within the specific literary tradition. In literature, ‘symbol’ has been described as applying ‘to a word or phrase that signifies an object or event which in turn signifies something, or has a range of reference beyond itself’ (Abrams 1993, s.v. ‘symbol’). It is a description that can make anything a potential symbol—an object, an action, even a single word. This potentiality, com- bined with the naturalistic mode of saga narrative, stands to put symbolism among the most capricious of literary analyses. The rigidly exteriorised narrative style of the Family Sagas means that physical objects and ac- tions often suggest what the dialogue may not; objectivity, in this sense, tends to emphasise objects. Where thoughts, forces and other metaphysi- cal affairs go unstated, the things done, built or otherwise mani pulated by characters provide interpretive material for those characters’ wills, conflicts and fates. George Johnston has spoken of symbolic items in the sagas as being ‘charged’, like batteries emanating causal energy. Referring to Sigmundr Brestisson’s ring in Færeyinga saga specifically, however, he admits that even the most powerful of these symbols preserves its ambigu- ity (Johnston 2002, 10). This fugitive arrangement might be considered the essence of saga symbolism, where singular items and actions suggest pivotal agency, but where the narrative flow has, as Heather O’Donoghue The Path to Blood: Two Symbols in Gísla saga 7 puts it, ‘the effect of reinforcing the fundamental causality of any course of events’ (O’Donoghue 2004, 44). It is yet another example of the strik- ing modernity of medieval Norse storytelling, where, ever felt but never confirmed, humanistic meanings are given to haunt an otherwise cold and impersonal edifice. For this reason, the validity or usefulness of any symbolical interpretation of an Íslendingasaga must ultimately be left to the taste of its assessor, and must therefore be more dependent than usual upon the argument that extends it. The following analysis is divided into three sections. The first considers the circumstances surrounding Gísli’s killing and emphasises the two-part trail by which his enemies finally track him down. The second and third sections treat these two parts independently, arguing that each possesses a distinct symbolism in terms of Gísli’s fate.1 The Death of Gísli The time between the laying of the trail and its discovery by Eyjólfr is brief, as is described in this excerpt (Gísla saga, 109–11): Nú er Gísli heima þat sumar, ok er nú kyrrt. Síðan kemr sumarnótt síðasta. Þá er þess getit, at Gísli mátti ekki sofa ok ekki þeira þriggja. Veðri var þann veg farit, at var á logn mikit; hélufall var ok mikit. Þá kvezk Gísli vilja fara frá húsum ok til fylgsnis síns suðr undir kleifarnar ok vita, ef hann mætti sofna. Nú fara þau †ll, ok eru þær í kyrtlum, ok draga kyrtlarnir d†ggslóðina. Gísli hafði kefli ok reist á rúnar, ok falla niðr spænirnir. Þau koma til fylgsnisins. Hann leggsk niðr ok vill vita, ef hann gæti sofit, en þær vaka. Rennr á hann svefnh†fgi, ok dreymir hann, at fuglar kœmi í húsit, er læmingar heita, þeir eru meiri en rjúpkerar ok létu illiliga ok h†fðu válkazk í roðru ok blóði. Þá spurði Auðr, hvat hann hafði dreymt. ‘Nú váru enn eigi svefnfarar góðar.’ Gísli kvað vísu . . . Ok er þetta er tíðenda, heyra þau mannamál, ok er Eyjólfr þar kominn við inn fimmtánda mann, ok hafa áðr komit til húss ok sjá d†ggslóðina sem vísat væri til. Gísli is at home that summer then, and it is quiet. Then comes the last night of summer. It is then told that Gísli could not sleep, and neither could the other 1 All translations are my own. In an attempt to facilitate understanding of Gísli’s skaldic poetry, I have italicised kennings and most heiti (as well as one figurative expression) where they appear, and identified their corresponding referents in a column to the right of the verse. In translating kennings, I have adhered to the practice of the Skaldic Poetry of the Scandinavian Middle Ages project, which is to identify the final referent first, and work backwards (e.g. Gefn of the serpent-field is glossed as gold > womAn = Auðr). 8 Saga-Book two [Auðr and Guðríðr]. The weather had gone dead calm; there was a hard frost, and a great one. Gísli then says he wants to head out from the farm, south to his hideout under the cliffs, to see if he can get some sleep. And so they all head out, the women in their gowns, and the gowns drag a path in the dew. Gísli had a piece of wood and carved runes into it, and down the shav- ings fall. They arrive at the hideout. He lays himself down to see if he might fall asleep, but the women stay awake. Drowsiness overcomes him, and he dreams that birds enter the house—loons, they are called; they are larger than male ptarmigans. They made a dreadful noise, and had wallowed in ruddiness and gore. Auðr then asked what he had dreamt. ‘Now as before, my dreams were not good.’ Gísli spoke a verse . . . And when that happens, they hear people’s voices. Eyjólfr has come there among fifteen men, and had already been to the house and saw the trail in the dew, as though it pointed the way. The subjunctive mood of the final clause—sem vísat væri til—is striking, and the failure of Gísli to cover or even to observe the trail seems highly uncharacteristic of the saga’s resourceful protagonist. Both the rune-shavings and the path in the dew can be read as symbols, each implicating a different party in Gísli’s inescapable fate. That Gísli is doomed seems clear, and has been thoroughly investigated by previous analyses; the serviceability of these two symbols is not simply that they reveal another (partial) cause of Gísli’s ruin, but rather that they divulge that downward force openly, like flags indicating a breeze. The spænir, as a result of Gísli’s industriousness, may be analysed in a more literal— that is, non-figurative—fashion than the d†ggslóð; their manufacture, as well as the circumstances surrounding it, appear to implicate Gísli’s own productivity in his downfall. Ever busy on some project or other, he is, in effect, labouring on his own casket. The d†ggslóð is more complicated; the involvement of dew in the disclosure of Gísli to his enemies is magnified both by the restricted use of the word d†gg in Gísla saga, as well as by its applications in the kennings of Gísli’s poetry. The d†ggslóð left by Auðr and Guðríðr is as responsible for revealing his whereabouts as the shavings he leaves himself, and the recurrence of d†gg throughout the narrative is always connected in one way or another to the hero’s devoted wife. The Rune-shavings: Gísli’s Compulsive Productivity It is not revealed what runes Gísli carves as he heads to his hideout for the last time, and it probably does not matter. Clearly, the more important message is spelt on the ground by their by-products. The significance of the spænir to Gísli’s fate is nevertheless controversial, in particular because Gísli leaves the trail himself, unlike the d†ggslóð. By the time he does so, The Path to Blood: Two Symbols in Gísla saga 9 he is exhausted from flight and haunted by prophetic dreams; he believes his end is near, as he tells his enemies shortly after.2 Gísli’s oft-repeated faith in Fate is by no means unique among the pagan-age characters of the Christian-age Family Sagas, but the weariness with which he enters his final years suggests a kind of surrender uncommon to his ilk. Peter Foote puts it best when, observing the hero’s final day, he remarks that Gísli’s courage does not fail him, but there is something self-resigning and passive in the way he faces the hopelessness, very different from the defiant courage of the doomed heroes we meet in Germanic lay and epic and in the other sagas of Icelanders (1963, 112). Self-resigning, but perhaps not so passive—Gísli’s truly heroic last stand shows that he is not actively suicidal, but one has to wonder how much his belief in Fate contributed to his apparent carelessness when he left the rune-shavings behind him. He may have known that he could postpone but not avoid being killed, and simply saw an opportunity to receive his end as bravely as possible—‘downward to darkness on extended wings’, indeed.3 Deliberate, subconscious or accidental, the spænir in Gísli’s trail remain an apt symbol of his fate. The products of his own hand and the debris of an unknown inscription, they represent both art and praxis, material and intellectual, evidence of a text and a text themselves. They are, in other words, altogether suitable for a man who was both a builder and a poet—a craftsman in every respect. Even as they stand as testament to Gísli’s handiness and creativity, however, they represent the very means by which he is tracked down and killed by his enemies. This fatal correspondence, as symbolised by the spænir, is the focus of this section. It is easy to admire Gísli’s gumption. His initiative, skilfulness and accomplishments are demonstrated consistently throughout the saga, and his activity, alongside Þorkell’s indolence, portrays him as a true g†rvismaðr— a man of action or a doer, even—from the beginning. At the same time, this ostensible virtue is quick to cause problems. Of the farm, Sæból, that the Súrssynir brothers share for a time, it is written that Þorkell var óflati mikill ok vann ekki fyrir búi þeira, en Gísli vann nótt með degi ‘Þorkell was a big show-off and did no work on their farm, but 2 Munu þér nú hafa þau málalok, sem þér vilduð ‘you will have the conclusion you wanted’ (Gísla saga, 114). The significance of this passage for Auðr and Gísli’s respective views on Fate is also considered below. 3 The quotation from Wallace Stevens’s poem ‘Sunday Morning’ pertains to epic, particularly pagan heroism; it is cited with reference to Beowulf in Irving 1997, 187. 10 Saga-Book Gísli worked night and day’ (Gísla saga, 29–30). So shameful is this distinction between the siblings that Þorkell cites it as a reason—clearly a pretext—for ultimately wanting to divide their property (Gísla saga, 34–35). Though Gísli is also a poet and inventor, it is his manual labour that predominates; throughout the saga, he constructs and repairs numerous things that aid or repay his family and supporters. His inventiveness is best attested in an expanded episode in the probably younger Y-text, where the family of Þorbj†rn súrr escapes through a false wall which Gísli has built ahead of time (Gísla saga, 29, 31). The possible addition of this episode to an earlier text confirms the canonicity of Gísli’s productiveness to Gísla saga’s historical audiences and redactors, as well as the understanding of his abilities as something beneficial.4 It is true that many of Gísli’s accomplishments—including his construction and management of four farmsteads—cannot be denigrated in themselves, but a broader consideration of some of his enterprises reveals some uniform results. Besides affording Þorkell material for his grievance, Gísli’s productive nature proves destructive in at least three ways, all of which are consolidated in the rune-shavings that reveal him to his enemies. The first is that the results of Gísli’s initiatives—the products of his products, so to speak—are nowhere very positive, and are often immediately injurious. Though not a material object, the sworn brother- hood between Gísli, Þorkell, Þorgrímr and Vésteinn is a clear example; the bond is Gísli’s idea, brought about in order to forestall the prophecy of Gestr Oddleifsson that Eigi munu þeir allir samþykkir it þriðja sumar, er þar eru nú í þeim flokki ‘Not all of those [Haukadalers] who are now in that group will be at peace with each other the third summer from now’ (Gísla saga, 21). The paradoxical element of the sworn brotherhood lies in the fact that the grief foretold by the prophesy is, in true folk-tale fashion, brought about by the knowledge of and attempt to subvert it. This devi- ous causality is further corroborated by Gísli’s coin (penningr), which resembles the notorious weapon Grásíða in several ways. A comparison of the forging scenes that yield the two objects suggests that their roles and the motivation for their fabrication are equally destructive (see Gísla saga, 28, 37–38). In terms of their fabrication, the penningr and the spjótr 4 The debate about which text is more original has not been settled. Björn Þórólfsson and Guðni Jónsson clearly believe that the Y-text is younger (Gísla saga, xliv–xlv). Riti Kroesen also remarks that ‘the prevailing opinion among scholars is that the shorter version [the E-text in Íslenzk fornrit VI] is the more original one, and that the longer version [the Y-text] is an elaboration of the shorter one’ (1993, 227–28).